Message-ID: <16809eli$9810290535@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: perigryn@earthlink.net (Rosemerry) Subject: Sharadzi (F/M, sci fi) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-Id: Notes: This story is the one I always give people when they first ask for a sample of my erotic fiction. As a result, some few of you may have seen it. Those who are under legal age or likely to be offended, please don't read this. Copyrights remain with me. Archiving is okay with no alterations including credit and statements. Feedback would be very welcome. ---------------------------------------------- SHARADZI Waking up in the Pleasure Gardens was always the same. Sharadzi always felt herself born, in those seconds, painlessly condensed out of some diffuse selfhood that had been asleep, into a personal; into Sharadzi. The computer in her head, delicate threads of circuitry alongside the living neurons of her natural brain, informed her that she had an appointment in ten minutes. Sharadzi stretched comfortably and rolled out of her bunk, heading for the big double doors at the end of the long domed sleeping area. Personals at Pleasure Gardens had a bunk each and a locker, better than they had in some slummy sex-broker houses. She nodded to a cat-mod whom she knew vaguely, through having done performances with him for clients; the cat-mods were common, as were the wing-mods and the add-mods with their double pairs of breasts and extra fingers. But by far the most popular, even in this day and age of recombinant DNA and speed cloning, were the ordinary-looking men and women personals, such as Sharadzi. Not that she would be ordinary in looks, even if she were a full human. She was the creation of a true artist, Jeroch himself. He'd deliberately crafted her smaller than most, standing a meter and a half tall. But she was a beautifully designed little package for all that, being deliciously round in most dimensions and elfin-faced, with feathery brown hair that refused to lie flat, falling in a mane around her shoulders and hanging to the perfect distance above the small of her back. Only the tattoo inside her left ear and the rich fuschia hue of her eyes, and the perfection of her beauty, set her apart from real humanity. On the outside, anyway. Five minutes, said the computer dispassionately. Sharadzi shifted into a trot, passing out of the dorms and through a restricted tunnel toward the Gardens themselves. The preparation zone offered her the garment dialed by the customer, a flimsy white confection of gauzes and gold, suitable to set off her warmly brown skin. She tugged it over her head, guessing from the choice of jewelry that it was either a repeat client, or someone who really studied her picture on the menu and had a keen eye for styling. It was just what she would have chosen for herself, if she-- The circuitry in her brain acted on its programming just then, squelching whatever it was she'd been thinking about, and reminding her that she would be late in two minutes. Sharadzi ran, a streaming cloud of white gauze billowing through the hallways. Nearly there, she took a shortcut through some of the public rooms of the Gardens. A tourist group, women and children and lots of men, every human being ugly to her eyes--natural design was so inferior--stopped listening to their guide to watch her pelt by. She saw desire in most of their eyes; perhaps there was contempt too, but she was designed to notice the desire, the way a cat is designed to focus on movement. The guide droned on nevertheless, a stupid voice-mod with a single speech habitually locked in his head. "When sexual activity was finally accepted as necessary to proper social functioning, combined with the perfection of design and development techniques for human genotypes, sex-broker farms such as Pleasure Gardens were born," the rich, projecting voice said to the backs of all those heads. "15 years later, court cases definitively set the status of designed personals as "non-human sentients" and as property; and this triggered the enormous success of sex-broker farms across the planet. Today..." The speech faded behind her as Sharadzi dashed into the elevator and leaned against the wall, controlling her breathing. She was too fit to be sweaty, fortunately for the gauze dress, but she needed to be breathing normally by the time she arrived at the client's room. The computer in her head informed the elevator of her destination and the doors closed. She adjusted the lines of her clothing a little; draping the folded top of the dress to bare her shoulders and a hint of cleavage, swinging the high slits around to the sides so that they exposed her hips. Message from the dorm master, the computer announced. Sharadzi started a little, but the image of her immediate supervisor, a big bull-mod with intimidating horns, was already forming in midair. It was an illusion, produced in her visual cortex by the computer, but of course it was entirely lifelike. "Your disturbance of the afternoon tour group was noted, Sharadzi," it said, speaking disconcertingly in her own mental voice, as the computer did. "There will be discipline later." The message ended, and the bull-mod faded out. "Wonderful," she said aloud as the elevator slowed, and the doors opened on the client's room. Sharadzi's heart surged. "Rodd!" He turned, tall and elegant in his gray silk suit, from the bedside table. His face positively lit up, and he opened his arms. She ran to him, curling her arms around his neck and feeling herself lifted giddily off the floor--really he was very tall. The warmth and security of his embrace closing around her made her bury her face in his shoulder, so glad to see him again she was almost in tears. The computer always made sure she felt this way about every client. "Oh god, Sharadzi... it's so good to be with you again," the rich son of a rich empire said into her hair. His grip trembled as he set her down onto the bed, his long-fingered hands unwilling to release her shoulders. He sat down beside her, looking at her as if he could never look enough. "Sharadzi," he said again, and began helplessly showering her forehead, her eyes, her cheekbones with little kisses. "I've missed you, missed you..." "You got some time away," she said, closing her eyes under his ministrations. "I'm glad too... I know you can't come more often...." "I've got to put an end to all this, Sharadzi," he whispered into her neck, nuzzling it with the bridge of his long nose. "Somehow I've got to have you for myself." She held him away for a moment, her breath coming quickly and lightly, gazing at him with questioning purple eyes. "What do you mean, Rodd?" "It doesn't matter," he said. He pressed her back on the bed with both his hands swallowing her round shoulders warmly. He dropped his mouth to her breast, taking the nipple in his mouth through the gauze and tugging firmly on it, and Sharadzi's question dissolved in a hissing gasp of pleasure. Rodd chuckled thickly around her breast, and moved to the other, leaving the white fabric damp behind. Her hair crackled when he put his hands in it. Her nipples were big on her tiny sweet breasts, and stood out as he reverently folded back the layers of gauze to set them free. Rodd bit them, taking his pleasure from her sounds and the way she undressed him, hungrily, impatiently. She wriggled and moaned underneath him, dragging her fingernails over his back as if to dig out his spine, and when he entered her she was like a hand of firekissed honey closing over his hardness. She was so little he could simply hold her hips and stroke her up and down himself, and she uttered a beautiful wailing cry and clenched around him with fluttering, lazy orgasmic ripples for what seemed like an hour. Sharadzi, clinging to him with all four limbs, felt his rhythm lose coherence and stutter toward completion. When he went rigid, becoming a roman candle inside her, she gripped his head in both hands, pressing her mouth to his mouth gone soft and wide with passion, taking his grunts into her throat as she took his seed into her body. Rolling off her to lie beside, folding her into his grasp and nestling her alongside his sweating body, Rodd spoke before his breath had quite slowed to normal. "The Adjusters say I talk about you too much," he said, trying for a humorous tone. "I only mentioned you twice, too." "You saw the Adjusters?" Sharadzi asked, gazing at the ceiling in some alarm. "Yes," he answered, waving dismissively in the air. "I did something or other at work I shouldn't have, and my supervisor called them in." Sharadzi was silent. For the heir of a company the size Rodd worked in, it took a very serious infraction of social norms to have the Psychiatric Adjusters called in for an interview. He must have hit someone, or stolen money from his father's corporation. The computer in her head sent her a query: was she ready for another client? Service to the customer ends when the customer dismisses the personal, or goes to sleep, she sent back sharply. The computer, acknowledging this policy of Pleasure Garden, gave her a one-hour period before it would ask again. "Anyway," Rodd went on with elaborate casualness, "they didn't give me any penalties. They said I was on the verge of antisocial behavior, but of course my father made them take it back." "You should be careful," she said softly, smoothing her hand along the planes of his ribcage. "I would hate it if you couldn't come back to me." He sighed raggedly, settling his fingers over the back of her neck to tilt her eyes up to his. "I love you, Sharadzi," he said. "How dear your face is to me," she answered him, barely breathing the words. "Always come back to me, Rodd." "I can do better than that," he said soberly. "Come away with me." "What do you mean?" He uncurled from her, taking her wrists and pulling her to a sitting position on the bed. "I mean come now, right now, with me," he said. "I have a plan." "Tell me," she said, her purple eyes steady on his natural-design brown ones. "Tell me about it. My love." Dressed in a human woman's shapeless clothes, with dark glasses on to mask her strangely-colored eyes, she checked into a small hotel with him, a thousand miles away by sundown. Nothing could be done about her height, but the Adjusters in the shuttleport had seemed to look right through her as they passed. Rodd closed the door after them and heaved a sigh of relief. "I think we made it," he said. "I can hardly believe it." Sharadzi looked out the window. Human vehicles roared past on the roadways, with the shining glass tube of the shuttle suspended high over the blacktop. Humans, in their ugly clothing ill fitting their ugly bodies, walked by on incomprehensible errands. The architecture was badly put together, and the layout of the surrounding city was horrible. There were no authoriy vehicles or personnel visible anywhere; they were not pursued. Sharadzi closed the curtain again. "I've never been out of Pleasure Gardens," she said. "Of course you haven't, my love," Rodd said, from the bathroom. "But you'll learn to adjust, in time." She pulled the unfitted shirt over her head, freeing the pointed rounds of her breasts to the cooling hotel room air. Much better. She kicked off the skirt, as well, and pulled down the lacy white panties Rodd had seen fit to go underneath the escape outfit he'd brought to Pleasure Gardens for her. Leaving the things in a drab heap on the floor, Sharadzi went into the bathroom, where Rodd was already starting the shower. Perhaps he had meant to leave her alone, let her adjust to the strange world in which she found herself. But the soap suds flowing over her brown skin made her irresistible, and his hands slipping over her ribs, breast, nipple caught her up in his desire. She turned her face to the water while he stood behind her, his hands roaming over her from neck to thighs. His erection slipped hotly into the crack of her buttocks, pressing insistently against her. Sharadzi turned in his arms, slippery with soap, frictionless. She drew back from him a moment to let the water sluice between them. Looking into his eyes she reached down, curled her fingers around his penis, feeling it tremble in her hand. He made an uncontrollable gutteral sound, closing his eyes. Sharadzi felt a momentary thrilling sense of her own power, stroking him against her hipbone with both hands, tugging firmly on the skin. "Sharadziii," he moaned, and his long hands closed over her breasts. She threw her flooding hair back over her shoulders, her nipples hardening in his palms. She stroked him, slowly, in her hand. Rodd bent slightly, sweeping his fingers down and between her legs, curling momentarily in her hair, then slipping past her lips into the burning slickness of her desire. She thought wildly that she loved him, she really did, and caught his other hand in her free hand. She brought his palm up to her lips, tasting his skin, rippling her tongue over the sensitive skin there. His hips began to move forward to meet the pumping of her hand on him. Rodd picked her up, hands on her hips, effortlessly sliding her up his body. She closed her legs around his waist, and he held her poised there, his skin hot where it touched hers, his eyes wide and unseeing, while she dropped both her hands to guide him. The water had cooled without their really noticing, and the heat of his entry was a shock to her. She gasped aloud as he drove in. He said her name again, standing motionless with her panting and clutching his shoulders, the beating heat of his erection surrounded by her body. Then, slowly, he began to move. "I love you... you're mine, mine, mine," he whispered. Sharadzi cried out wordlessly, rocking on his hips, abandoning herself to his grasp, his words, the base of his penis brushing with aching electricity across her clitoris every time he brought her down again over him. He cupped her buttocks with firm hands, sliding her up, slamming her down. Sharadzi dragged at his hips with frenzied, clawing hands, conscious of wanting to climax more than she ever had before, forced to maintain his rhythm and unable to disentangle her desires from his. "Mine," he said, his voice lowered and throaty, "mine, mine..." "Rodd!" Sharadzi shouted, in the instant before it struck, pleasure so deep it seemed to her that her small body couldn't hold it. The water drumming on her couldn't keep her; Rodd's hands couldn't keep her; even the computer in her head was left behind and for an instant, a moment she would never remember, the real Sharadzi existed, and swam in pleasure, and had time to know herself before she came down again. Rodd was lost in the precursor of his own orgasm, thrusting into her suddenly over-sensitive body, making a series of shouting cries, rising in tone. Sharadzi, tender with the experience he'd just given her, held him tightly and let it happen, surprised by a sense of fulfillment in the throbbing, unfurling pumping within her. He kept thrusting gently, though his head dropped forward to rest on her shoulder, and he was whispering that he loved her now. "My love," she said. He let her down, and she stood on sore legs and washed him tenderly. Rodd stepped out of the shower and she was free to clean herself up, stretching her body under the lukewarm flood of the shower. She dried her hair, the machine roaring past her ears, and went naked and warm-skinned to his bed. Rodd raised a sleepy arm to welcome her, and she cuddled willingly with him. He had drawn the curtain on the one-way windows, she saw over his shoulder. The world outside was darkening, the sun of her first day out of the Gardens drawing chords of fire and rose from the thin sheeting clouds. Sharadzi let her eyes fall from the chaotic jumble of buildings to the sweet, clean skin of Rodd, rich son of a rich empire. She lifted her hand, traced lightly the angles of his shoulderblades, straight ridge of his spine, planed hips. He snored lightly into her other arm, and she smiled a smile for him alone, just for this moment. He was a human, naturally designed by a million years of evolution, and she realized with a shock of something like dismay that he was beautiful. Sleeping... he was sleeping. Sharadzi stole a moment longer, painting the sunset in her memory never to lose. Then, as her programming demanded, she sent the call out, the computer in her head transmitting to satellites, the message reaching its main branch a thousand miles away. When the Adjusters came to pick him up, Sharadzi was dressed in the white gauze, and waiting. She smiled fondly at him, still sleeping under their anaesthetics, as they loaded him into their truck for immediate Adjustment in a facility for the antisocially criminal. Pleasure Gardens sent a vehicle around, tastefully shaped and beautifully upholstered, to bring her back. Her next client wanted her to do something he thought quite unusual; but Sharadzi wasn't very surprised. The End ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Rosemerry perigryn@earthlink.net Each star now knows your name I've wished upon them all Each answer is the same: "Not 'til the heavens fall." http://home.earthlink.net/~perigryn/ -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----