The Claiming

The Claiming

by

Kaitlyn O’Connor

© copyright May 2003 by Kaitlyn O’Connor

Cover Art by Eliza Black

ISBN 1-58608-417-8

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA

www.newconceptspublishing.com

Chapter One

Earth, 2152

Carter City

“You must know hiding is useless. I can find you anywhere on the planet with your IT. Why do you persist in putting me to the effort of locating you every time we have a new customer for you?”

Jana opened her eyes and tried to peer past the beam of light shining directly on her face. She could see nothing beyond the dazzling light, however. Not that she needed to know who had found her. She recognized Marty’s voice.

She was curious, though, to know just how peeved he was. Angry enough to beat her? Or just enough to slap her around a little?

The worst of it was, either way, she probably wouldn’t find out until after she’d serviced the customer—he wouldn’t want her marred in any way—which meant she’d have to wait in dread—as if the other wasn’t bad enough.

Regardless, she had no choice but to face his wrath. He was standing in front of the only way in or out of the container she’d wedged herself into, hopeful that the lead lining would prevent him from picking up the signals from the Identification Transmitter surgically implanted in every slave’s spine.

Reluctantly, Jana began the painful process of wriggling out of her hiding place. She was stiff from having hidden for so long and, despite her diminutive size, it had taken a great deal of effort to squeeze into the container to begin with. She had been petrified with fear once she had wedged herself inside, wondering if she would be able to get out again—assuming her ruse worked and allowed her a chance to escape the city—but her fear of being caught had outweighed her fear of dying a horrible death stuck inside the small container—just barely.

She was sweating with effort by the time she managed to wiggle part of the way out. Instead of helping her exit, however, her sweat dampened skin seemed to cling to the lining of the container, making egress even more difficult.

Impatiently, Marty grasped her beneath her arms and yanked her out before she’d managed to wriggle her hips free, chafing her hips and the tops of her thighs.

He set her on her feet and looked her over angrily. “Just look at you! You’re a total wreck—and the customer due in little more than an hour! And you’ve marred your flesh, as well, damn it!”

Jana longed for the nerve to inform him that she wouldn’t have been marred if he hadn’t jerked her out, scraping her hips on the rough sides of the container. However, she had better sense than to provoke him. It was obvious from his manner that she was already facing a sound beating once the customer had departed.

She dreaded it, but in some ways it was a strange sort of blessing.

She was so very fair that it took little to bruise her. Since customers were inclined to be turned off by a battered courtesan, and since Jana pretty regularly managed to provoke Marty’s wrath, she was rarely available to his customers.

In truth, Jana had deliberately provoked Marty on more than one occasion, when a particularly nasty individual had requested her services, but that had not been her intention this time. She had thought she had finally stumbled onto a way to escape the life she hated and find a better one for herself.

So much for that.

Grasping her by her arm, Marty began rushing Jana along through the ancient, abandoned warehouse that stood just beyond the outskirts of the city.

At five foot nothing, Jana’s legs were considerably shorter than Marty’s, however, and she stumbled repeatedly, unable to keep step with him. Each time she stumbled, he jerked her upright once more.

“If you don’t stop dragging your feet, I swear I’ll beat you now!” Marty snapped angrily after the third such incident. “You’re so banged up already, it can hardly matter!”

“You’re moving too fast,” Jana complained. “I’m trying to keep up.”

“Watch your tongue! They don’t need you to talk, you know!”

“They want me to scream, though,” Jana muttered. She thought for several moments that Marty would lose his precarious hold on his temper at her comment, but apparently he realized she was right. She was expensive, delicate equipment and if he wanted to get some use out of her he would have to control his temper.

He scooped her into his arms and began to run with her, leaping over the debris that littered the floor and had tripped Jana up repeatedly. When they left the building, Jana could see that the sun was indeed very low on the horizon—she hadn’t missed her appointment, unfortunately, but she would be hard put now to prepare herself for it.

Marty’s craft, a sleek black cruiser, was parked just beyond the old loading docks of the warehouse. He leapt from the dock onto the ground, which was choked with weeds, and strode quickly toward the craft. The doors, keyed to his RIT—retina identification transmitter—opened automatically as they approached.

Tossing her into the passenger compartment, Marty dove into the pilot’s seat, the doors slammed shut and the cruiser shot from the ground and into the air at a dizzying velocity.

Jana landed on the passenger bench and bounced, ending up in a tangle on the floor of the cruiser. She could almost hear Marty grinding his teeth.

“Do I hear bruising? I better not hear bruising back there!”

Jana grunted, scrambled back onto the seat and fastened her belt. “No. I’m fine. Really.”

Setting the cruiser on computer control, Marty swiveled his seat to face her, inspecting her carefully.

Jana placed her scraped palms over her scraped knees and offered him a tremulous smile. “I’m fine. See?”

He glared at her. “You are NOT fine! What, by all the saints, was in that damned container you climbed into?”

Jana shrugged. “I’m not sure. Dye maybe?”

“Oh my God! Tell me you have not dyed your ass that putrid shade of yellow I see on your elbow! Let me see. I have to know the worst!”

Reluctantly, Jana unfastened her seat belt and turned, lifting the skirt she wore.

Marty screamed. “It’s yellow! It’s ruined! We’ll never get it off in time. How could you do this to me!”

Jana bit her lip. “Maybe it’s just paint,” she suggested hopefully.

“Sit down!”

Obligingly, Jana sat and fastened her seat belt again.

Marty swiveled his seat around once more. “Computer. Analyze the warm body in the passenger seat.”

The screen between the two front seats of the vehicle came to life. “Analyzing.”

After a moment, the computer began quoting. “Carbon based life form—female—weight 100 pounds—length--”

“Stupid! I know it’s a god damned woman! I need to know what that is on her ass … computer, the foreign substance, please ... and don’t tell me about her clothing!”

“Dye … composition--”

Marty cut into the dialogue again. “That’s enough! Find me something to remove it--something that won’t mar the subject, please. It’s no good to me if it takes the hide with it! And, when you get it, program it into the Virgin Suite. I want it ready when we get there—ten minutes.”

The computer screen went blank.

Jana swallowed with some difficulty, but otherwise looked the picture of calm, her legs crossed casually, her hands resting in her lap. Inside, however, her emotions rolled.

There seemed little doubt she had really done it this time. As many times as she had crossed Marty in the year since he’d purchased her for his House of a Thousand Courtesans, she had never seen him quite this angry.

“A glass of bourbon,” Marty said.

With the faint whir of gears turning, a slot opened in the console and a glass tumbler with a finger of whiskey appeared.

Marty lifted the glass with hands that shook, took a sip. After a few moments, he spoke again, this time to Jana. “As badly as I hate to do it—because it’ll mean damn near six months of down time, I think I’m just going to have to send you in for re-conditioning.”

“Re-conditioning?” Jana echoed faintly.

Marty swiveled his seat again, facing her, studying her.

She was at once sheer perfection and an absolute disaster. Despite the fact that he had been both genetically oriented, and conditioned, to have no interest in the female of the species, he had thought the moment he saw her that she was the most beautiful piece of work the geneticists at Bondage Inc. had ever turned out.

She was actually quite sturdy, but had the appearance of being as fragile as a flower blossom. She was tiny enough to make even the smallest man, or the weakest, feel extremely manly around her. Her coloring was delicate, her skin practically flawless, her hair a glorious mass of gold. She had an almost child-like air--probably because she had huge blue eyes that made her appear guileless—while possessing at the same time the body of a goddess--and to top that off, she had been endowed with the latest development, the virgin gene—making her, all in all, the most expensive courtesan he’d ever purchased.

He had been certain she was worth it.

Until he discovered her flaws.

She was surprisingly resistant to conditioning. She faked stupid quite well, in fact he thought it entirely possible that she was intelligent and still lacking a great deal of common sense … but, be that as it may, she simply would not settle into the role she’d been designed for.

Truth be told, he sincerely doubted that re-conditioning would help matters—re-conditioning was generally more intense, but conditioning obviously had had little effect the first time around—at the moment, though, he was at his wit’s end and could think of nothing else to try. She had barely earned her price back in the time he’d had her—when he’d expected to double or triple his money in very short order. He could count the number of customers she’d serviced on one hand, for god’s sake!

And it only took a matter of days for her hymen to heal intact … She should have been ready to work again within a week at most, should be servicing no less than fifty two customers a year, which, at the going rate, would have earned him….

“I expect that’s what I need,” Jana said, breaking into his thoughts.

He lifted his brows.

“You said you thought you might send me back for re-conditioning.”

Marty’s eyes narrowed. “On the other hand, you barely earn your keep. I’m not sure you’re worth the cost.”

Jana felt the blood leave her face. Marty had beat her, many times, but he’d never before suggested she was of little use to him. This was bad, very bad. “I could try harder,” she said hopefully.

“You could. But the question is, would you?”

***

Jana was used to fear. She had lived with it throughout her adult life … for a full year, in fact, since she’d reached the maturity for release and been sold to Marty.

Fear did not begin to describe her current state, however. She could scarcely put two thoughts together and make any sense of them.

Upon their return, Marty had taken her straight to her suite, calling for handlers as he marched her up the stairs and down the long corridor to the suite at the end, the Virgin Suite—her quarters.

Once there, her clothing had been taken from her and the dye removed from her buttocks, the bottoms of her feet, her elbows. Marty had gone over her with a magnifying glass after the first round of treatment, discovered several areas that still retained faint discoloration and ordered her treated again. When he was satisfied at last, she had been whisked into a bath, soaked, scrubbed, then soaked again, and finally removed. There followed a session with oils, which were worked into her skin thoroughly before she was powdered to soak up the residue and then buffed from end to end to make certain her skin was soft, sleek, and smooth as a baby’s.

Marty had examined her again once the handlers had finished.

The beginnings of bruising were unmistakable.

He screamed, cursed, the servants fell over themselves, scattering like rats before a flood.

Jana could not run—there was no where to retreat to—and neither was she able to think for several moments. “We could dim the lights,” she finally said.

“NO!” Marty screamed. “No, no and no! You are not a slut! You are a virgin! We must have innocence!”

Jana feared for several moments that she would cry. Tears welled in her eyes, but she managed to blink them back before they could further infuriate Marty. “We could do ‘the sleeping child’,” she suggested a little desperately.

Marty glared at her, but after a few moments his anger seemed to dissipate somewhat. “He specifically said he wanted a young virgin,” he said slowly, thoughtfully.

“But I would be … am! We could tell him it’s a new fantasy game … turn the white lights out, put a hint of blue … just enough for him to see, but not enough to see the … uh….” She shouldn’t have reminded him of the bruises. She saw that right away. After a moment, however, he seemed to dismiss it.