Steel World Inc. Chapter Fifteen

 

Dad once told me that it is important to read a room when you first enter. A foolish man is the man who acts without understanding the nature of the men he is speaking to. I’ve tried all my life to understand the men and women I speak to, and moderate what I say accordingly. What little success I’ve had I can probably attribute to that. Tell a man what he wants to know, and you’re already halfway there.

 

If I was reading this room right, this was not just a test for me, but also for Miss Madison.

 

The difference between Miss Madison and myself was that she didn’t know this. 

 

“Karl…” her voice sounded small and childlike from where she lingered in the shadows of the alcove archway. “I’m… I’m not comfortable with this.”

 

Frick placed his cut glass whisky tumbler down on a side table. He gazed up at the alcove seeing the vague shadow that must be Miss Madison. 

 

“What is the problem, Missy?” he said in his deep American accent. “Getting cold feet?”

 

“I’ve changed my mind.” There was a pause. “I mean…” There was still the promise of looking four years younger. Could she possibly throw that away? What a precious gift, if it was in fact real. But Miss Madison seemed to have no doubt at all in her mind that Karl Magnus could deliver on that front. 

 

Neither Magnus nor Frick said anything. I looked at them both and they simply gazed back at me. They were waiting for me to respond. I wasn’t imagining this. They were waiting to see how I would respond. 

 

“Come down here, Miss Madison,” I said. My voice sounded perhaps a little too loud in the quiet of the room. The wrong pitch. I sounded a little desperate to see her. 

 

“Karl, I…” she began to say.

 

“Don’t speak to Mr Magnus. Speak to me.” Better. More calm. More controlled. I watched Frick and Magnus but their poker faces were perfect.

 

“Simon, you’re not in charge here!” Her voice sounded high pitched and flighty. A good contrast to my own moderated tone now.  

 

“Do I need to come up there, Miss Madison?”

 

“No! Simon! Don’t! Stay where you are! You mustn’t!” cried out Miss Madison. Her shadow disappeared and I could see she had run back into the side alcove.

 

How very sweet. 

 

I ignored her outburst. She was nervous now. I could understand that. This must be very difficult for her. She was a manager who determined the fate of girls dressed in collars and skimpy tunics. 

 

“This woman you stood up for at the club,” said Frick. “You are courting her?”

 

“I am, yes, Sir,” I said, proudly. “We are courting. Her name is Miss Arabella Whitlock. I think she’s a wonderful woman.”

 

Frick nodded. “Good. A man needs both a companion and a slave. The companion gives a man the most precious gift in life – children – a continuation of his line and his good name. The slave, of course, offers something very different. A man needs both in his life. Do you think this Miss Whitlock will be the mother of your children?”

 

“I… I hope so, yes, Sir. I think she would be a good mother.” I hadn’t really considered it until now. 

 

Frick nodded. “The world is changing, boy. Quicker than you can possibly imagine. Things will look very different in just ten years from now, and unrecognisable in twenty. You stand on the cusp of something wonderful. If you have any sense you will take the opportunity you’ve been given. About to be given, I mean.”

 

This did sound like I was being earmarked for promotion! I paid close attention, and made sure to call him ‘Sir’. 

 

“What do you think the most valuable resource will be in twenty years’ time?” asked Frick.

 

“Well, oil, I suppose.”

 

“Oil.” Frick laughed at that and shook his head. “In twenty years’ time oil will be redundant. The world governments that fall into line will be given nuclear fusion. Energy will be so cheap there will be no point in metering it. A reasonable flat rate charge will cover as much energy as you could possibly want. Clean energy, and not harmful to the environment.”

 

“Fusion? With respect, Sir, that’s something of a Holy Grail and probably several generations away.”

 

“Not at all, boy, we already have it. We simply haven’t released the technology yet. The time isn’t quite right.’ Frick smiled. “You don’t believe me? We have many gifts at hand. Consider the little missy, hiding in her alcove, scared to show herself, but desperate to do so for a serum that will take four years off her body clock. Men and women will do anything for that serum.”

 

“That… you have such a thing?”

“We do.”

 

“And that will be the most valuable resource?”

 

“Hardly. It is cheap to make. We can distribute as much or as little of it as we see fit. For obvious reasons we ration it carefully.” He glanced towards the alcove through which I wondered if Miss Madison was summoning up the courage to step out before us all in a brief slave tunic. 

 

“Food, then. With global warming, food supplies will be threatened.”

 

Again Frick shook his head. “We have seeds for crops that can grow in currently inhospitable terrain. Crops that are resistant to most known pests, without the need for pesticides. Again, the Governments of the world that fall into line will reap a glorious harvest.”  

 

“Who exactly are you? This all seems rather…”

“Far-fetched? Of course. But we will show you things in time that will remove any doubt. We are the Steel Worlds.”

 

I would write this man off as mad, except he showed no sign of being mad. 

 

“Then, what?”

 

“I’m talking about natural resources, boy, resources with a limited supply that is inferior to the demand. I’m talking about women. The distribution of women will be the source of wars to come. Think, boy, in this new society, a man will want both a companion and a slave. Men like me will want more than one slave. I have kennel space for at least twenty. Simple maths suggests there will not be enough women to satisfy all men. Beautiful women will be worth a fortune, either as companions, offering beautiful children to their men, or as slaves. There will never be enough women to satisfy the male population. And the richest, most powerful countries will have their pick. Women from poorer nations will be bought, sold and traded as a commodity. Their governments will round them up and offer them in exchange for trade deals or new technology. That will be your world in twenty years. You’re standing on the foundations of a new society.”

 

This seemed ridiculous to me. Frick was obviously some conspiracy type who believed in a New World Order, but he was obviously powerful and rich, and seemed to be suggesting I might benefit from his patronage.

 

“How’s the little filly doing?” asked Frick of Magnus. “She needs to make her mind up.” He grinned. “Of course things would be different in Pittsburgh. She would have committed to the display the moment she said yes.”

 

“This isn’t Pittsburgh,” said Magnus. “I suppose the choice is hers. Who else will make the determination for her?” He said that without looking at me.

 

I stood up. I brushed my sleeves. I turned round and I walked towards the three short steps. 

 

No one said anything. 

 

I walked up onto the main floor and moved towards the alcove. “Miss Madison?” I was polite, but sounded firm.

 

“Go away! Go away, Simon! I’m not dressed yet!”

 

“Not dressed yet?”

 

“I’m going to change back into my gown and shoes. Give me a few minutes.”

 

Undeterred I walked up to the alcove and stepped inside. 

 

She screamed when she saw me. There she was. And she was a breath-taking sight: Miss Emily Madison, dressed as a slave. And what a slave! Her tunic was as short and tight as the tunic I had enjoyed seeing Miss Esme Hamilton in. The neckline was a deep plunging slash that fully exposed the valley of her breasts. She was barefoot. She looked small and vulnerable. How could anyone take Miss Madison seriously, seeing her dressed like that? She had stumbled backwards towards the far wall as I entered – her long evening gown hung close by on a wooden hanger. Her left hand gripped the short hem of her tunic tightly as she saw me, pulling it down an inch or two. Her right hand quickly covered the valley of her breasts. She had been about to pick up her evening gown to change back when I had entered the alcove room and disturbed her. 

 

“Go away!” she cried.

 

I took hold of her left wrist and pulled her forward, close to me. “I want red wine,” I said. She tried to slap me, and I simply caught that hand and lowered it easily by force. I was amazed at just how weak she was compared to me. I had never tested my strength against a woman before. Were they all that weak?

 

“Do not try that again,” I said. And then I dragged her by her left wrist, out of the alcove and into the main room. With a firm push I sent her stumbling towards the bar. She caught herself with her left hand on the bar itself and turned, gasping at what I had just done, her eyes wild, furious, staring at me.

 

“Red wine,” I said again. I picked up her gown and her shoes and carried them down to the sunken recess.

 

Frick and Magnus continued to watch me.

 

“Karl! He touched me!” she cried.

 

Magnus said nothing. 

 

“Karl! He has my clothes!”

 

“For the sake of clarity,” said Willard Frick, “your serve begins now. Anything you now say or do will be judged in the context of your serve.” He cracked his knuckles. 

 

Miss Madison stood there, breathing deeply, looking scared.

 

I returned to the sofa and placed the evening gown and shoes to the side of my feet, tucked under the sofa where they wouldn’t get in the way.

 

I waited.

 

We all heard Miss Madison sob, and then comport herself. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it with dignity, it seemed. 

 

Frick watched me. There was something about his expression. Almost a challenge. As if he was waiting for me to…

 

Of course.

 

I regarded the men. “There is something missing,” I said. “At least I think there is?”

 

“And what’s that, boy?” asked Frick.

 

“A girl who served - she would wear a collar, yes?”

 

“NO!” screamed Miss Madison. Now she looked very scared. She pressed her left hip against the polished wood of the drinks bar.  

 

“That’s right, boy. She would.”

 

I got up again.

 

“Karl, please, this is too much!”

 

I walked back up to the main area and walked past Miss Madison. I stopped by the table with the spare collars. I picked one up.

 

“Karl! This is wrong! I don’t want this! I’ve changed my mind! Not a collar! NO! I forbid it! I FORBID IT!”

 

Neither man said anything. 

 

The collars weren’t all the same. I picked out the one that I thought would complement Miss Madison’s hair style. I took the key out from the lock and clenched it in my left hand.

 

“KARL! SAY SOMETHING! I am not going to let Simon collar me! KARL!”

 

She sounded hysterical. 

 

It wasn’t at all dignified.

 

“KARL! PLEASE!”

 

I walked towards Miss Madison with the collar in my hand. I pocketed the key without her noticing.  

 

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare! Simon! I’m warning you!” She backed away along the side of the wall. “I’m not wearing a collar! I’m not wearing a collar!”

 

“Lift your hair with both hands,” I said. 

 

“Keep away from me! I’m warning you, Simon! Keep away from me!”

 

“Lift your hair with both hands.”

 

“Please, no…” 

 

I had to smile. She was still holding the edge of her tunic with her left hand. Such modesty. I stood close to her, leaning over her, dominating her with my superior size and presence. “The sooner you do this, the sooner it will be over, Miss Madison.”

 

“You don’t understand! I can’t wear a collar! I can’t!” She lifted her hair with both hands. 

 

“I told you earlier that a steel collar can be locked around the throat of any woman,” I said. I placed the band around her throat and regarded her for a moment. “Any woman.” She seemed so helpless. 

 

“Please, Simon,” she cried. “This is too much. Please, I’ll serve the wine, but not in a collar! Not in a collar!”

 

I clicked the lock shut. It was a powerful and intoxicating moment for me, to collar a woman. 

 

For a moment Miss Madison seemed close to fainting. I caught her by her left upper arm to steady her, for her feet threatened to fail her. “Careful,” I said. I was suddenly concerned for her safety. She looked so precious and helpless. She needed protecting. I permitted her a moment or two to touch the collar, to feel the coldness of the steel, to turn the collar around her throat, to fully understand she wore it now, that it was locked, and that she didn’t have the key.  The range of emotions displayed on her face was remarkable. 

 

“For the purpose of your service tonight,” I said, “I name you Emily.”

 

She gasped, and looked at me with dismay. It was of course her own name, but I had never used it until now. 

 

“What is your name?”

 

“Emily…” she said softly.

 

“Red wine, Emily,” I said, and then I released her and returned to the sunken sofas. 

 

She stood beside the bar for perhaps ten to twenty seconds, supporting her body weight with both hands, recovering from a near fainting spell. She turned and touched the steel that was locked around her throat again. Her body quivered. Her hands shook and she tried to get them under control, for she was expected now to bring wine. Taking deep breaths, with her left hand still holding the hem of the front of her skirt down an extra inch, she walked slowly with a tray holding the wine goblet and the bottle towards the sunken sofas. She began to descend the steps when Frick spoke. I had seen it too, at the same time.

 

“Stop.”

 

Miss Madison froze where she was.

 

“The filly has a nether closure,” remarked Frick. “That won’t do at all.”

 

He referred of course to the extremely visible sight of the outline of a brief pair of panties through the thin, tight fabric of the garment. There was no hiding that visible panty line whatsoever.

 

“I’m a Free Woman…” she said, choking on the words.

 

“A Free Woman who is demonstrating a kajira serve. Correct yourself,” said Frick. There was no mistaking the seriousness of his gaze.

 

Again, Miss Madison sobbed and retreated back the way she came. She was back beside the bar where she put her hands under her brief skirt and tried to wriggle her panties down around her upper thighs without revealing her sex. It wasn’t easy. We all watched. 

 

I was amazed to see just how delicate and small her brief underwear was. Soft, silky, a soft coral pink that matched her lips, and lined with lace. The Brazilian style, I think, which covered a minimum of her skin. She stepped out of them with first her left foot and then her right.

 

“Discard them,” said Frick.

 

She placed them carefully on the surface of the drinks bar. Then she needed to compose herself again. She no longer had a nether closure under that oh-so brief skirt. She was open and exposed. 

 

She would feel very vulnerable now. It would be easy enough, if a man placed her on her back and parted her legs, for that man to then enter her swiftly. 

 

She knew this.

 

She approached the small circular table close to my left. Lowering herself to her knees, with her thighs tightly closed, she placed the tray on the surface of the table, close to where there was an iron ring with a coil of steel chain attached to it.

 

“Nadu,” said Frick. “Not Tower. You kneel before a man!”

 

“I hate you!” she sobbed. “All of you! I hate you all!”

 

“You are a Free Woman, so you are permitted to feel that way. A slave would be beaten for it,” remarked Magnus. 

 

I sucked in my breath, exhilarated, as Miss Madison parted her thighs wide in that brief skirt. I could simply reach down and touch her if I wished. 

 

I felt hard again. How could I not feel hard with the beautiful Miss Emily Madison kneeling in a slave tunic, collared, with her thighs parted before me?

 

I would hardly be a man if I felt otherwise. 

 

I noticed there were five rings around the outside of the goblet. Miss Madison poured wine from the bottle to the level of the second ring. She then replaced the bottle. 

 

“Good,” said Frick. He watched her like a hawk. “Pour slowly. With more grace. And smile as you serve.”

 

Then, to my amazement, my lovely manager leaned back on the heels of her feet, took the goblet and held the metal against her body, pushing inward, below where a brassiere might be, if she wore one. 

 

“Press it inward,” said Frick. “Feel the rim of the metal against your body, your ribs. You are serving a man. This is your duty in life. It is all you live for. You are a slave. You kneel before a man. You serve him at his pleasure.”

 

Miss Madison did so, her hands trembling. Then she lifted the heavy goblet to her lips and kissed it softly, lingering with her lips on the rim. Finally she offered it to me in both hands, arms extended, with her head down, between her outstretched arms, her hair framing her face. 

 

I was about to reach for the wine when Frick motioned for me to stop where I was with a simple motion of his finger. 

 

“That is a basic serve,” he explained. “How does it make you feel, boy?”

 

“Excited,” I confessed. 

 

“Good. You feel alive? You feel virile?”

 

I squirmed a little. “I do.”

 

“You want her?”

 

“I… yes, I suppose I do.”

 

There was a soft moan from Miss Madison and her arms trembled slightly. The goblet was no doubt heavy. She was holding it towards me, arms fully extended. Too, she had heard Frick’s words.

 

“In taverns on Gor, a girl will be expected to speak certain phrases as she serves a man. Do you know any such phrases, missy?”

 

Miss Madison moaned softly again. She seemed afraid. Perhaps she knew some phrases, but was terrified of speaking them.

 

“Your serve isn’t complete until you speak them,” said Frick.

 

"Your wine, Master," she said. 

 

“You can do better than that,” said Frick with a snarl. “That’s pathetic.”

 

"Your girl brings you drink, Master," she said, her head still down between her arms.

 

I felt my excitement growing as I gazed at my lovely manager.

 

“No,” said Frick. “Still pathetic.”

 

"Here is your drink, Master," said Miss Madison. "I beg to serve you further in any way I may." 

 

"More," said Frick. “More intimately, girl. You want to attract his attention. There are many girls serving tonight. If you are not the one he chooses, you will be punished.”

 

"Do not forget I come with the price of the goblet," she said, sobbing. "Use me as you will, Master." 

 

“Use your name, girl. Introduce yourself to the man you serve. If he doesn’t care enough to spend his money on you, you’ll almost certainly be whipped later on when the tavern closes.”

 

"I am Emily," she said, desperately. "I am a slave girl. I serve you, kneeling and collared. I am wet and needy! Take me later to the alcove.” She sobbed, barely able to speak these words. 

 

I was as hard as I had ever felt before in my life, and I think Frick sensed that as I tried to conceal the erect bulge in my trousers by draping my left arm there.

 

“Nothing to be ashamed of, boy. She’s a hot little filly. If I had her on the Lazy F she’d soon be passed around the camp fire for the boys to enjoy, while the fresh brand on her thigh was still smoking.”

Miss Madison trembled again. I could see her arms were now growing tired as the wine sloshed slightly in the goblet. 

 

“Spill the wine and you’ll be whipped,” said Frick. I looked up startled. He didn’t really mean that, did he?”

 

“Please, Master,” begged Miss Madison as her arms continued to tire. “Emily begs to please you! I beg to be taught my slavery!"

 

I took the wine from her hands and saw her almost collapse with relief. 

 

“Is… is my service over now?” she said. 

 

There was suddenly a commotion from the other side of the door. Raised voices from both the guard and another man.

 

The door was swung open as the security guard entered.

 

“My apologies, Sir, but Lord Jeremy Grantham is insisting on seeing you.”

 

The other man stood in the doorway. He was in his late fifties, with grey, slicked back hair, and an ageing physique. He looked furious.

 

“God damn you, Magnus! You’ve gone too far this time!” he pushed past the guard, who could of course have dropped him in an instant. “My wife! My bloody wife!”

 

I reached down with my left hand and gathered the end of the coil of chain that was attached to the iron ring set into the floor.

 

“My bloody wife! Your men have… you are going to answer for this, Sir! I have a seat in the House of Lords!”

 

He was red faced and furious, confident in the privilege that came to him through his name. 

 

As I suspected, the other end of the chain terminated in a simple snap lock, for which there was a looped key. I slipped the key from the loop and pocketed it.

 

“I am on first name terms with the Home Secretary! You will rue the bloody day!”

 

There was a startled look in Miss Madison’s eyes as I swiftly closed the snap lock about the steel ring fixed to the front of her collar. She was now a secure and fixed point in the floor chain system as she knelt on the tiles with the palms of her hands resting flat on those tiles. She looked so lovely as she gasped and then raised both hands to grasp the cold steel links, speechless for the moment. 

 

“Lord Jeremy,” said Magnus, pleasantly enough as he gazed at the furious aristocrat. “Thank you for calling round. I hope you enjoyed your time with Judy tonight? Can I offer you a drink?”