Wolf 1061

Back on earth, protestors loved to claim how severe environmental destruction was. What they didn't realize is that the best we could do was a joke to nature. Nature would always have the last laugh. I could see it here. The container had a red hue to it. An iron-eating bacteria was spreading across it. We had only been weeks into the journey, and nature was reclaiming its kingdom and adapting to the conditions. Something would develop that would eat the bacteria. I caressed the red hue, it fell off like dust floating in the air. "Ah, that's how it spreads! It's airborne," I told myself.

Paloma's neck hair stood up. Her body stiffened. I could hear it as well. A faint growl or humming sounded from deeper down the corridor. Usually, the corridors ran through the length of an empty container slot after the next length, but this time, we found ourselves at the top of what felt like a hole. An entire stack of slots on top of each other and another one next to it was empty. It felt like it invited a long dive down. The weak, blue ambient light wasn't strong enough to reveal the bottom. A constant, light growl or hum came from something down there. Paloma didn't want to go near it at all.

The psychotropic effect of the blue algae made me ignore the danger. I pushed myself to a slow glide down the hole, keeping my hands around the hand railing to arrest my progress at any moment. With my feet ahead, I peered for what was there. Halfway down, there was a perforated ventilation uptake. A tube-like structure was stuck to it from the air draft. Its surface rapidly shifted. Yellow and black movable things swirled around on the surface. The humming came from that. Coming closer, as it didn't seem very large to fight me, I recognized it as one of my poops, covered by yellow jackets, who seemed to be eating it. These were large ones, two inches long! They seemed to have very hard shells. I certainly realized the threat that Paloma perceived from them, but for the moment, they were completely preoccupied with feasting. No nutrient escapes an ecosystem.

These guys were too large to be eaten by the tiny bats that I had seen. If it didn't exist yet, a predator was sure to emerge. The bright yellow color suggested that they were very poisonous. They seemed to need strong defenses against a predator.

Their preoccupation with my poop was fascinating. Not a single one fluttered away, soared to look around. They were all tensely working to break off as many little pieces as fast as they could like, they really depended on this find. I started thinking about all the poops that I had left behind and what size of a wasp armada I was breeding with it. A sense of doom overcame me that this seemingly empty spaceship was transforming into a lively and dangerous place. There are reasons why being a stowaway is considered foolhardy. Even for the security cops, the sheer isolation put them at extremely high suicide risk. Screw unions! Why would unions fight so hard to keep such terrible jobs alive?

Back on earth, I had been a customer service agent for a hotel. Hotels were largely automated. The rooms would reset themselves to perfectly fluffed pillows and scrubbed bathroom tiles whenever a guest left for more than thirty minutes. Food came out of little maker bots. Check-in and check-out were handled by AI. The reason that hotels employed customer service was that they needed humans to lie. A machine did exactly what it was ordered to. A human could be nudged to do unethical things with vague instructions that leave the corporation with a veil of plausible deniability in court.

One of my last cases was a young man, whose entire financial assets were drained by a malfunction in the hotel accounting system. The case was so bad that the hotel transferred even assets into its own accounts that it legally shouldn't have been aware of. Ordinarily, a lawyer would have made a generous offer for a signature on a release form. However, the amount of money the hotel got a hold of was rather large, and management really didn't want to give it back. So they sent me to his room: A young, recent college grad, desperate to hold onto her first job.

I remember knocking on his door. The door was like every other door. They built the hotel rooms in a factory and then shipped them to their location to be stacked into hotels. "Why is my account empty?" the thirty-year-old with an aggressive military buzz cut and flaming red face demanded. He was out of himself in panic, exasperated. "Why don't I come in first so that we can talk?" I had told him.

The standard steps were to enter into an intimate setup. We were sitting side-by-side on his unmade bed. I was wearing a tight skirt and blouse with those clunky heels. It was very clear what the corporation intended me to do here without ever spelling it out. The next step was to deny any problem as being merely the appearance of something. I'd gently lay my hands on his shoulders to caress him there, while I told him that banks make mistakes all the time, and I was going to help him straighten it out personally. He wasn't even aware of all the other accounts that we had drained.

"You are tense," I told him. "That'll reduce your life expectancy."

"No shit!" he hissed at me. "You guys robbed me blind!"

My hand moved from his shoulder to the nape of his neck to start pressing on those iron-hard muscles. "Let me help you relax, while our accounting department talks to your bank to give them some straight talk." Our accounting department was busy routing all the money through a second layer of offshore banks to make any hope of him getting his money back. They had made a simple calculation. They had filed legal declarations to create a separate corporation for every room in the hotel. They'd let his lawyers go after the corporation, only owning his hotel room, which was capitalized with a laughable amount compared to what they had siphoned off of him. All I needed to do was buy them time to create all the legal setup and transfer the money far out of his reach.

Young people are gullible. He was probably a trust fund baby. He'd let me roll him over onto his belly. The shirt came off his back easily. During customer service training, they had told us that we were authorized to give customers comforting touch. In the lunch break right after that lecture, they send a couple of senior reps into our lunch room to tell us that, in practice, we could go as far as we needed to. They told us stories about blow jobs to calm hotel guests down. Really anything would go in the rather unregulated wild west of customer service. The managers were conspicuously absent that lunch break to give them plausible deniability of such instructions being passed around.

I was young. I was scared to lose my job. I squirted some single-serving packaged body lotion onto his back like sunscreen and massaged it in. He had big muscles. He must have gone through military service. I could lean my whole body weight onto my fist, and he was happily letting out a sigh of bliss. I straddled his butt and started gently grinding on his butt. He really liked that intimate and nonprofessional touch. He seemed relaxed and excited to see what he could get away with.

This was the right moment to test for a deal. "Why don't I give you some hotel points? It's much easier to give you those than to transfer money. I can do it right now from my phone," I offered.

"Hotel points are shit," he said.

Fuck! As much as I didn't want to screw over an innocent person. If he wasn't going along easily, I'd have to cross personal lines that I didn't want to cross. Putting a little lotion on someone's back was one thing. I did that often for friends at the pool. I needed to stall him for at least half an hour for the lawyers and accountants to rob him blind. His phone vibrated on the nightstand. That was probably his lawyers calling to get approval to go on the counter-offensive. If he'd pick up that phone, I'd get fired for failing to meet management expectations. The thing rattled from the vibration and moved around on the black mahogany.

"It's hot in here!" I told him, tearing off my blouse to reveal my corporate push-up bra. I was in my privates in front of the stranger. I felt embarrassed for him turning around and stealing glances of what nobody should be seeing. My face was flush red, which seemed to only entertain him more. He got the vague hint that I was sent in his room to please him any way. A dirty grin rushed over his face. A little contempt and arrogance said that he had me that he'd relish taking from me what I didn't want to give.

His phone beeped as the lawyers were likely following up with urgent text messages. I was shaking from fear and adrenaline. I unbuttoned his pant, rolled down the zipper, and told him, "Those seem so tight. You must be so uncomfortable!" He turned out to be a mouthbreather. He was panting so hard from arousal of having me hover so close to him and all the suggestion of sex that he couldn't get enough air through his nostrils and started panting through his mouth. I was shaking, as I tried to pull his pants over his shoes, but realized that I had to take his shoes off first. I fumbled the pants back up, and struggled with his shoelaces. I was crouching at the foot of the bed. He only needed to roll over and reach for the phone, and I would join the long unemployment ranks of the college grads of my generation. I quickly lept up from down there and jumped on top of his pelvis to pin him there. He seemed to like that.

Prostitution was strictly illegal and carried long prison sentences. The senior customer service reps had instructed us on how to get around the rules. A square, black box was clipped to the top of my skirt. I slipped it a little forward to get a good hold. I held down the single button on it and announced, "I'm going on a break to chat with a friend. Can you confirm that's alright with you?" I spoke into the box and looked at the guy on the bed under me. He replied, "absolutely!" The green dot on the black box extinguished. The operations center was no longer recording our conversation. They were no longer monitoring if they needed to send security to rescue me from a violent hotel guest or a dangerous situation. I knew that I was now entirely on my own, surrendered to the whims of the hotel guest. He also knew that from now on, anything was plausible deniability and my word against his. He smiled at me with that superiority in his smile and a dirty, suffocating look in his eyes. I was only a bundle of limbs that pleased his eros to be used and toyed with as those trust fund babies toyed with most things. His focus was singularly past the phone vibrating again.

I had heard rumors of what kinky, fetishist customers had done to customer service girls and the states that they had been left behind. Surely, those were extreme cases, not what typically happened and not what would happen today. But I could see him seize me up. I was sitting on his groin. My hands rubbed lotion on his big hairy chest. He observed my wrists, probably imagining that he'd restrain me by them. He'd dissect my boobs in the white bra, holding himself back to tear it off of me because the suspense of waiting for it to be revealed was so tantalizingly arousing. His was showed how cocksure he was that he owned my body in every which way.

I made soft little circles on his chest to buy time. Evidently, his willingness to be tantalized went only so far against his raging arousal. He partially got up to finger for his pants on the floor. With a tug, the thin, brown Italian leather belt slipped right off the pants. The leather was very expensive and supple.

"Unwrap it," he ordered me, clearly implying wanting to expose his raging hard-on to me.

I was frozen. I was innocent. I realized that I was supposed to please and seduce guests, but I wasn't prepared for something overtly sexual in my first month. He didn't seem to be upset that I refused him. He calmly put the belt buckle in his right hand and then made two wraps of the belt around his palm. He snapped the belt in the air to ring that tell-tale sound of a belt snapping, which sent shivers down my spine.

"I like a stubborn girl because she takes longer to be broken," he said calmly.

He took the safety square of my skirt, checked that the green recording light was off, and threw it to the floor. He shoved me off his hip. I was standing straight and with my hands at the side, shivering with anxiety. A voice deep inside my head reassured me: "You are doing well. He pays absolutely no mind to his phone. You are doing really well." I remembered the tall, dark-haired senior colleague with deeply red lipstick and big, luscious lips laughing at the lunch break. She was amazing. I wanted to be strong and successful like her. She was sitting on one chair, her right arm hanging on another chair, and her feet with the heels kicked off on a third chair. She took up so much space. The managers were always really smiley around her, like they were trying to please her hard. I wanted to be beautiful, strong, and successful like her.

"Lift it," he ordered me, tugging on my skirt.

I knew that he didn't simply want to see my butt. He wanted to discipline me. With pale fingers, I grabbed the bottom of the skirt and pulled it up to my lower back. "Such perfectly white skin!" he complimented me. The compliment was a false sense of comfort because I knew that he was going to redden and bruise my body all over. The way how he took his time, it was very clear that he had done this many times before and had his lawyers clean up after him.

Thud! His belt whipped down and across my bottoms. The sharp sting made me clutch my bottoms with both hands and double forward. He was a sadist. With him, I didn't need to perform. He liked my rough and struggling reactions more. It slowly dawned on me why the managers had sent me, an inexperienced rep in. I had been fodder to them. They new that from the moment, I disabled the security surveillance, I'd be fodder to him for as long as they needed me to, if I wanted or not. I was simply a disposable body to them.

"I'll make you a deal!" he said calmly to savor the look of desperate fear in my eyes. His fingers unsnapped the bra buckle behind my back. "You have a choice. You can use your hands to cover your boobs or your butt. Your choice is between modesty and pain!" He let the bra straps slide down my arms. My hands rushed to hold my boobs in my hands. "You're a real modest one," he triumphed.

The belt swept down on my bottoms. I squealed. I jumped away. He leapt after me to set another shockwave across my bottoms with that sharp sting. "This isn't fun," he told me. "I like precision." He softly caressed through my hair. I was confused by how tender, he groomed my hair, working it into one long ponytail. The tenderness was a sudden turn. I let him have his way with my hair. Carefully, he raked his fingers through my hair, until he was happy with the ponytail. He had me sit in between his lap, while he fished his shoelaces off his shoes.

He pulled me up by the ponytail, quite roughly, and dragged me to the bathroom. I was wondering if he'd continue grooming me. He had me stand under the shower curtain. He caressed all the hair to the top of my head. Then he twisted it and looped it over the shower curtain rod. He pulled my hair over the rod until I was on my tippy toes, swaying with imbalance, and the shower rod sagged a little from my weight. I was still clutching my breasts to protect my modesty.

My skirt came down. My panties came down. I wrapped my right arm across my breasts and covered my sex with my left hand. "Choices! Choices!" he whispered to me tellingly. Then he slipped out of his clothes as well. We were both naked in the bathroom. He had a raging boner, about six inches of solid white meat. I knew perfectly where this was headed. I only didn't know how depraved it would get on the way. Naked, on my tippy does, unable to get away. Foolish me, I told myself that I was doing well. He couldn't hear his phone vibrating from the bathroom. I had lured him away.

"Still modest! I love it," he praised me, watching how desperately, I held on to cover myself. The belt whipped down on my butt. The sting was hard. I instinctively grabbed my butt and quickly regained the covering posture. He liked how important it was for me to cover myself from being exposed to him. The belt came two more times down to flash him with microexposures of my composure failing, overcome by pain. Then he turned me around so that I could see the red welts on my butt cheeks in the mirror.

"I have a new game for you!" he said, sparkling with enthusiasm. "I'm going to whip you on the exact same spot on your butt until you beg me to do something to you. Then I'll give you a break and do that to you. Simple enough! Nod if you understand."

I nodded. He whipped my bottom and whipped my bottom, diligently driving a painful spot to become unbearable. My mind raised for a comforting request. "Kiss my belly," I stammered! The downpour of belt whipping stopped. He smiled and told me how easy that was. He knelt and kissed my belly. I hadn't really wanted him to kiss me at all, but he had made me complicit in breaking my own boundaries.

Savagely, his belt whipping continued on the same spot. "Kiss my shoulders," I called out. "Rule change!" he replied without stopping the whipping. "I only stop whipping if I like your request!" Realizing what he wanted, I shot right back, "Grab my boobs!"

He stopped immediately. "You are going to have to let go of them first!" he prompted me. I let go of my breasts. He took a look at my pink nipples. He adored them with a smile poised to whistle. "They'd look so much better with some blue bruises," he said, stepping back and belt-whipping my breasts.

When he paused for a moment to catch his breath, I had noticed that the phone had stopped vibrating and beeping. His lawyers must have realized that his money was gone out of their reach and they were no longer paid. I pulled all of my strength together to give my voice an upbeat tone, "Now, may be a good time to discuss the offer of points for a small signature holding us harmless of the banking mistake. We'll match every dollar of your primary account with a hotel point."

He looked at me confused. He had thought I was some kind of morsel that the hotel had thrown his way to appease him. I had left out matching the money in his other accounts, which he hadn't realized yet was gone as well. My barbary of breaking him down only started here. I sent him to check his phone. He read me the last message from his lawyers: "Seeing as your funds are transferred through multiple veils of incorporation, we have the following recommendations for new lawyers."

"What the fuck?" he added with a wilting boner.

"See this room around you? It's a self-incorporated room, worth about 60,000 credits. You can take possession of the corporation that harmed you, or I can give you points for the entire hotel chain," I told him with a bittersweet voice, while still standing on my tippy toes, naked, and covering my modesty with my hands.

"I've had over two hundred million in my main account!" he cried out.

"Well, maybe I change my mind!" I told him. "Do you feel better about getting one point for two dollars?

"No! No! No!" he stammered. "I can trade the rooms for cash with my friends. I'll take the points."

"Alright then!" I congratulated him. "You are going to have to help me back into clothes so that we can make register the agreement through customer service channels."

He undid the shoelaces that fastened my hair to the shower curtain rod. He picked up my clothes from the floor for me. He got himself nicely dressed and straightened out. I tapped the button on the security square. "Preparing contract," I spoke into it. I gave it a bunch of shorthands for contract clauses. "Mayonaise" mean that the points would have a six months expiration date. I completely screwed him to have to use or lose the thousands and thousands of room rentals that his points were worth within six months. The box spoke out the contract terms at a speed that was legally determined to be a possible speed that humans could understand words. Then I held the security box to his mouth. He hesitated. He kept reloading the account screen on his phone, but the amount remained at zero. The portal to log into his lawyers' website kept denying his password. "Yes," he said.