~BHM, Sci-Fi, Force Feeding, ~XWG - A rich young woman buys a young man to fatten up in this futuristic fantasy.
[Author's note: A little story I'm trying out, it's been building in my head for a bit. Plenty of the conventions I'm known for with a target I usually don't go for, a guy instead of a girl. I'll have more tomorrow. Enjoy!]
Mike woke in the dorm as usual, but today was going to be a bit unusual for him. He and the rest of the "Drop Offs" were to assemble for breakfast like normal, but from there he’d be heading to his job counselor. Orphans, or "Drop Offs," had their first 18 years taken care of for them; they would be educated, trained, and, most importantly, tested. In their 18th year, often on their birthday, they’d be given their placement. The lucky or, more precisely, the talented had been picked up already by various corporations and governments or families. Staying at an orphanage till the age of 18 was a sign of someone who lacked … prospects. By his age there weren’t many options left; slave and grunge work were about his nicest options. Experimentation and worse were also possible, but usually reserved for the intractable and obstinate.
Mike didn’t want to think about it. He was in decent shape, but not enough to get into any of the various athletic fields or the military. He was rather dim in the brains department, so skilled work was unlikely. His most recent test score was barely passable.
He got dressed in his t-shirt and pants and headed to the cafeteria, noticing how few of the kids here approached his age. They also didn’t approach him much either, almost as if they were worried his mediocrity was contagious. He ate quietly as he waited for his inevitable summons. Out there, the real kids were celebrating their birthdays, the ones with families. But for him and the multitudes of Drop Offs from illegitimate couples, with low prospects, birthdays were often a time of dread, especially for anyone that celebrated their 18th at the orphanage.
“Mike Conners, report to the office please. Mike Conners, to the office,” came the dull and bored voice of the headmaster’s secretary over the announcer. Mike sighed and put away his tray as he headed to the office with his hands in his pockets. Entering the office he saw the middle-aged woman who had asked for him. She was on the phone and merely pointed to the school counselor’s office. He walked in and closed the door behind him. Sitting there was Mr. Lafferty, the counselor for him and other Drop Offs A to D. His normally happy face was concerned. Mike appreciated that; he was a decent guy, and had often been the only one to encourage Mike at anything. He gestured for Mike to take a seat.
“Well, Mike, I’m sure you know what this is about. You’re 18, and I’ve sent your profile to everyone I can think of that might have use for you. No one’s bought you. I need to officially turn you over to the state now. I have someone waiting for you outside. From there you’ll go to the processing center and be assigned. Fortunately for you, your behavior was good overall. That works in your favor. If you applied yourself more…” Mr. Lafferty sighed, and Mike echoed it. They sat in silence for several moments. Finally Mr. Lafferty stood up and headed over to Mike, handing him a silver bracelet. “Put this on please.”
“What is it?” Mike asked, his voice creaking, but he already knew. He’d seen plenty of Drop Offs wearing those, usually only the bad ones, or the ones that had stayed here just a bit too long. It somehow prevented the wearer from escaping or resisting. Mike knew better than to try and resist; the fact that Mr. Lafferty was actually handing him the bracelet and giving him the chance to put it on of his own free will told him that he had other means if he needed them. He put it on, expecting to feel a shock maybe or perhaps a pinprick, but he felt nothing really.
“OK, let’s go,” said Mr. Lafferty as he guided him by the shoulder out the door. Mike couldn’t really describe it, but resisting was just not an option; it seemed like a much better idea to just listen to him and do what he said. They were walking out the door and past the cafeteria, then down the hall to the front entrance. There was a hover van parked there with two Corporate Acquisition officers dressed in their gray outfits, carrying a belt loop ringed with similar silver bracelets. One of them opened the side door while the other approached the pair.
“Mike Conners?” he asked as he brought out his Compupal digital assistant. Mr. Lafferty nodded and stepped back. The officer raised the Compupal to Mike’s unresisting face and a green laser scanner read over Mike’s features, concentrating on the eyes.
“Confirmed. Mike Conners, by the authority of the Federal Statues against Indigency we are placing you in our custody. You will be held briefly for processing; during that time you will be auctioned off to a buyer, either government, corporate, or private. You will be handed off to that party shortly after your purchase. I am required to inform you of this, but your comprehension is not required. Step in the van.”
It dimly occurred to Mike that when one had no choice but to obey, politeness didn’t really apply. He found himself obeying as he walked to the open van and was guided in by the other officer. Mr. Lafferty sighed heavily as the van door closed and he placed his thumbprint on the officer’s Compupal. His school just got another 30 pieces of digital silver.
The van ride was short and uneventful. The officer that had helped him also attached his seatbelt. There were no windows and Mike spent most of the time looking at his shoes. The officer was reading his file as they drove along, shaking his head. There was little that Mike was good at, and that would make his placement all the more difficult. Drone labor at best was going to be his lot in life.
Upon arrival at the processing place Mike was taken to a holding cell filled with perhaps a dozen other men and women of different ages, all sporting silver bracelets. There was no pecking order, no one person who was enforcing their will on the others; they all sat listlessly as they awaited their fate or their next meal, whichever came first. Few spoke, and the most common question was, “How long have you been here?”
It turned out the longest one could be there was a week. After that you were assigned to Drone work on some planet. Mining and Terraforming were the most common types of labor.
Mike’s stay was not very long, probably the shortest any had seen. He’d barely gotten situated, and was having his first meal of Pasty (they occasionally had it at the orphanage, a smooth paste that tasted pretty good, a cheap and nutritious meal), when officers came to the cell and cut him from the herd. He didn’t resist as they took his bowl and spoon and led him down the hall to the processing station. It looked like a doctor’s office, and a doctor came up to him immediately and pressed a Compupal against Mike’s arm, holding it there for several seconds. A beep came from it and he checked the screen.
“He’s good. Get him cleaned up and in uniform. He’s being picked up tonight.” Both the officers looked a bit confused.
“What’s the hurry? He just got here.”
“Don’t ask me, he was bought this morning before you picked him up. The paperwork just finished. Check it out,” said the doctor as he handed the officer a printed file. The officer gestured for Mike to continue down the hall as he read the file. He made a low whistle as he saw the buyer and the instructions on it.
“Who is it?” asked the other officer as they opened up the next room which looked to be a bathroom. “Take care of business and then take a shower. We’ll have clothes ready for you when you’re done. Don’t take too long.”
Mike did as they commanded, stopping at a toilet stall first and then undressing and heading for the shower. As he attended to himself he heard them talking.
“Some Vice P. James Kilneer. Never heard of him.” Mike could almost hear the other man wince at the revelation.
“So this poor bastard’s the lucky one!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, Kilneer has been making inquiries about getting his next acquisition. He’s a Vice President of the Company’s Bio-Mod division. You know, they’re the guys that make super soldiers and people that can live on other planets or under water? Well his particular specialty is in making luxury mods for people. Nothing useful, but if you want a human freak for a pet or something, he’s the guy to go to. From what I heard, he’s got a special thing for that guy. And he’s got a rep as being the vengeful type.”
“OK. But why would he have it in for the kid? He wouldn’t even know him.”
“From what I heard, the kid was on a field trip, mingling with the norms, you know? The kid’s get a reputation on file as being a bit of a smartass, nothing major of course, nothing that would get him in trouble. But I think he met up with Kilneer’s daughter, and maybe said something, had no idea who he was messing with. From what I hear this was one of Kilneer’s presents to her when she turned 18 a few weeks ago.” Both men shook their heads ruefully at this.
“Come on out Mike!” one of them called a few minutes later when the water stopped. He stepped out of the stall, naked and dripping wet as one of the officers handed him his clothes.
“It’s a Permasuit, it won’t come off again. Put it on.” Mike found himself donning the drab gray one-piece outfit despite his reservations at wearing a uniform that he couldn’t remove. With a little help from the officers he was sealed in it, his head poking from the top and his hands and feet the only remaining visible flesh left. One of the officers placed his Compupal to Mike’s chest and it stuck there and hummed. The outfit began to modify itself, configuring to Mike’s body exactly, tightening all over, and clinging to every inch of skin, shaping around the crotch and buttocks for proper decency. The suit’s tightness faded fast, and soon Mike was barely aware that he was wearing anything at all, he even thought he could feel air on his skin. The Compupal was removed and the other officer approached with an Air-Hypo which he pressed next to Mike’s throat, just where it emerged from the outfit.
“Mike, this is the Permasuit’s maintenance program. Your body will process all its own wastes, and the suit will keep you clean and your skin healthy. The Permasuit can only be removed with a court order and a special process, so don’t expect it to happen any time soon. Also, Mike, we’ve been instructed to take away your speech; you’ll understand what you hear, and can read, but will be mute. It’s better this way, you won’t get yourself into more trouble even on accident. OK?”
The Air-Hypo hovered near his neck and Mike struggled to say something, his last chance to speak, but nothing came to mind. The officer hit the button and Mike was injected painlessly with the chemicals that instantly and permanently paralyzed and withered his vocal cords. He wouldn’t be able to make so much as a peep from now on.
“OK, he’s set. They’ve sent a car; it should be here by now. Let’s take him out; I don’t want to be the one that makes this guy wait.”
“Good idea. Let’s go.” They led him out without the slightest amount of resistance. He barely looked to the left and right as he passed the doctor who nodded grimly, or the listless others still in the cell. Soon he was outside again where he’d first come in, and a luxury hover car waited in front. A uniformed man stood by the driver side and opened the rear passenger door. Out of it stepped a sharply dressed and sharp-faced man, perhaps in his mid forties. He had a slightly annoyed look on his face as he got his first glance at the processed person he had just bought. He stepped forward and snatched the offered file from the officer’s hand, inspecting it, and then Mike. He brought out his own Compupal and scanned Mike with it.
“Confirmed,” was all he finally said as he pressed his thumb to the officer’s Compupal. Another 30 pieces of digital silver were exchanged as the chauffeur led the young man into the back seat of the car. Mr. Kilneer got in next, sitting to Mike’s left. The bracelet had a calming effect on him, otherwise Mike would have probably panicked at being so close to his new owner under such circumstances, especially after what he just heard.
“Home,” Mr. Kilneer said into the intercom on the screen in front of him. The car whispered into motion, quickly gaining speed as it flew off. Mr. Kilneer sat in silence as he flipped through the file then looked over to Mike who was staring at the blank screen in front of him which separated the passenger compartment from the driver’s side.
Mr. Kilneer reached forward and flicked a switch. The screen came to life showing a picture of a lovely young girl, as old as Mike perhaps. She was picture perfect, almost too perfect. However, this effect was rather common among the daughters of the rich; selective gene therapy and surgery produced near-perfect heiresses.
“This is my daughter, Amanda. You’re a gift for her. You met her before, though you probably don’t recognize her. It was maybe three years ago, and she looked like this.” He hit another button and the picture changed, melted into an entirely different looking girl. A short, frumpy, pudgy and pimply faced little troll of a girl. “Her first gift was to make her what you saw before; the law says such drastic surgery can only happen once a person reaches 18, which she hit a few weeks ago. Like I said, you met.”
Mike was trying hard to remember, a girl that homely would certainly be memorable. “At the fair? The UFO Spinner ride?”
Mike remembered now. They were on their field trip and he remembered they were in line at the ride and that he was about to get on with a friend when he had to wait an extra turn (after waiting 2 hours) so this little blimp could get in front of him because her Daddy bought her one of those speed passes which allowed her to cut. He was the one that laughed the loudest when she had tried to get into the seat that would have been his and couldn’t quite fit and so had to be helped out and escorted to the larger ones for the … larger guests.
“I see it’s coming back to you. You called her a Michelin Girl. She didn’t like that. She has stewed on that for the last three years. I tried to talk her out of it, I tried to help her move on, I promised her all the surgery that she has just had would make her feel different. It didn’t. She found out who you were and demanded you when you hit 18. She’s got some big plans for you, unfortunately. I feel partly responsible; she got this vindictive streak from me. I’ve mostly gotten past that part of myself, but she hasn’t yet. Oh well. We’re here. I’ll be leaving you in her charge.”
The car had come to such a smooth stop that Mike didn’t realize it until the door opened. Mr. Kilneer got out and when he got out of Mike’s view he could see an absolutely enormous estate, fenced in with metal spiked fences with gardens, fountains, servant bungalows, and a huge mansion.
Standing in front of the mansion doors at the bottom of the landing was the girl he’d seen earlier, radiant and gorgeous in a brand new outfit which looked like a party dress. She smiled a vicious smile and patted her thigh like she was calling for her dog.
“Come on out Mikey! It’s time to begin,” she said in a high voice that was playful, but cold as ice.
Story continued in post 2 of this thread
[Author's note: A little story I'm trying out, it's been building in my head for a bit. Plenty of the conventions I'm known for with a target I usually don't go for, a guy instead of a girl. I'll have more tomorrow. Enjoy!]
Digital Silver
by JP
Mike woke in the dorm as usual, but today was going to be a bit unusual for him. He and the rest of the "Drop Offs" were to assemble for breakfast like normal, but from there he’d be heading to his job counselor. Orphans, or "Drop Offs," had their first 18 years taken care of for them; they would be educated, trained, and, most importantly, tested. In their 18th year, often on their birthday, they’d be given their placement. The lucky or, more precisely, the talented had been picked up already by various corporations and governments or families. Staying at an orphanage till the age of 18 was a sign of someone who lacked … prospects. By his age there weren’t many options left; slave and grunge work were about his nicest options. Experimentation and worse were also possible, but usually reserved for the intractable and obstinate.
Mike didn’t want to think about it. He was in decent shape, but not enough to get into any of the various athletic fields or the military. He was rather dim in the brains department, so skilled work was unlikely. His most recent test score was barely passable.
He got dressed in his t-shirt and pants and headed to the cafeteria, noticing how few of the kids here approached his age. They also didn’t approach him much either, almost as if they were worried his mediocrity was contagious. He ate quietly as he waited for his inevitable summons. Out there, the real kids were celebrating their birthdays, the ones with families. But for him and the multitudes of Drop Offs from illegitimate couples, with low prospects, birthdays were often a time of dread, especially for anyone that celebrated their 18th at the orphanage.
“Mike Conners, report to the office please. Mike Conners, to the office,” came the dull and bored voice of the headmaster’s secretary over the announcer. Mike sighed and put away his tray as he headed to the office with his hands in his pockets. Entering the office he saw the middle-aged woman who had asked for him. She was on the phone and merely pointed to the school counselor’s office. He walked in and closed the door behind him. Sitting there was Mr. Lafferty, the counselor for him and other Drop Offs A to D. His normally happy face was concerned. Mike appreciated that; he was a decent guy, and had often been the only one to encourage Mike at anything. He gestured for Mike to take a seat.
“Well, Mike, I’m sure you know what this is about. You’re 18, and I’ve sent your profile to everyone I can think of that might have use for you. No one’s bought you. I need to officially turn you over to the state now. I have someone waiting for you outside. From there you’ll go to the processing center and be assigned. Fortunately for you, your behavior was good overall. That works in your favor. If you applied yourself more…” Mr. Lafferty sighed, and Mike echoed it. They sat in silence for several moments. Finally Mr. Lafferty stood up and headed over to Mike, handing him a silver bracelet. “Put this on please.”
“What is it?” Mike asked, his voice creaking, but he already knew. He’d seen plenty of Drop Offs wearing those, usually only the bad ones, or the ones that had stayed here just a bit too long. It somehow prevented the wearer from escaping or resisting. Mike knew better than to try and resist; the fact that Mr. Lafferty was actually handing him the bracelet and giving him the chance to put it on of his own free will told him that he had other means if he needed them. He put it on, expecting to feel a shock maybe or perhaps a pinprick, but he felt nothing really.
“OK, let’s go,” said Mr. Lafferty as he guided him by the shoulder out the door. Mike couldn’t really describe it, but resisting was just not an option; it seemed like a much better idea to just listen to him and do what he said. They were walking out the door and past the cafeteria, then down the hall to the front entrance. There was a hover van parked there with two Corporate Acquisition officers dressed in their gray outfits, carrying a belt loop ringed with similar silver bracelets. One of them opened the side door while the other approached the pair.
“Mike Conners?” he asked as he brought out his Compupal digital assistant. Mr. Lafferty nodded and stepped back. The officer raised the Compupal to Mike’s unresisting face and a green laser scanner read over Mike’s features, concentrating on the eyes.
“Confirmed. Mike Conners, by the authority of the Federal Statues against Indigency we are placing you in our custody. You will be held briefly for processing; during that time you will be auctioned off to a buyer, either government, corporate, or private. You will be handed off to that party shortly after your purchase. I am required to inform you of this, but your comprehension is not required. Step in the van.”
It dimly occurred to Mike that when one had no choice but to obey, politeness didn’t really apply. He found himself obeying as he walked to the open van and was guided in by the other officer. Mr. Lafferty sighed heavily as the van door closed and he placed his thumbprint on the officer’s Compupal. His school just got another 30 pieces of digital silver.
The van ride was short and uneventful. The officer that had helped him also attached his seatbelt. There were no windows and Mike spent most of the time looking at his shoes. The officer was reading his file as they drove along, shaking his head. There was little that Mike was good at, and that would make his placement all the more difficult. Drone labor at best was going to be his lot in life.
Upon arrival at the processing place Mike was taken to a holding cell filled with perhaps a dozen other men and women of different ages, all sporting silver bracelets. There was no pecking order, no one person who was enforcing their will on the others; they all sat listlessly as they awaited their fate or their next meal, whichever came first. Few spoke, and the most common question was, “How long have you been here?”
It turned out the longest one could be there was a week. After that you were assigned to Drone work on some planet. Mining and Terraforming were the most common types of labor.
Mike’s stay was not very long, probably the shortest any had seen. He’d barely gotten situated, and was having his first meal of Pasty (they occasionally had it at the orphanage, a smooth paste that tasted pretty good, a cheap and nutritious meal), when officers came to the cell and cut him from the herd. He didn’t resist as they took his bowl and spoon and led him down the hall to the processing station. It looked like a doctor’s office, and a doctor came up to him immediately and pressed a Compupal against Mike’s arm, holding it there for several seconds. A beep came from it and he checked the screen.
“He’s good. Get him cleaned up and in uniform. He’s being picked up tonight.” Both the officers looked a bit confused.
“What’s the hurry? He just got here.”
“Don’t ask me, he was bought this morning before you picked him up. The paperwork just finished. Check it out,” said the doctor as he handed the officer a printed file. The officer gestured for Mike to continue down the hall as he read the file. He made a low whistle as he saw the buyer and the instructions on it.
“Who is it?” asked the other officer as they opened up the next room which looked to be a bathroom. “Take care of business and then take a shower. We’ll have clothes ready for you when you’re done. Don’t take too long.”
Mike did as they commanded, stopping at a toilet stall first and then undressing and heading for the shower. As he attended to himself he heard them talking.
“Some Vice P. James Kilneer. Never heard of him.” Mike could almost hear the other man wince at the revelation.
“So this poor bastard’s the lucky one!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, Kilneer has been making inquiries about getting his next acquisition. He’s a Vice President of the Company’s Bio-Mod division. You know, they’re the guys that make super soldiers and people that can live on other planets or under water? Well his particular specialty is in making luxury mods for people. Nothing useful, but if you want a human freak for a pet or something, he’s the guy to go to. From what I heard, he’s got a special thing for that guy. And he’s got a rep as being the vengeful type.”
“OK. But why would he have it in for the kid? He wouldn’t even know him.”
“From what I heard, the kid was on a field trip, mingling with the norms, you know? The kid’s get a reputation on file as being a bit of a smartass, nothing major of course, nothing that would get him in trouble. But I think he met up with Kilneer’s daughter, and maybe said something, had no idea who he was messing with. From what I hear this was one of Kilneer’s presents to her when she turned 18 a few weeks ago.” Both men shook their heads ruefully at this.
“Come on out Mike!” one of them called a few minutes later when the water stopped. He stepped out of the stall, naked and dripping wet as one of the officers handed him his clothes.
“It’s a Permasuit, it won’t come off again. Put it on.” Mike found himself donning the drab gray one-piece outfit despite his reservations at wearing a uniform that he couldn’t remove. With a little help from the officers he was sealed in it, his head poking from the top and his hands and feet the only remaining visible flesh left. One of the officers placed his Compupal to Mike’s chest and it stuck there and hummed. The outfit began to modify itself, configuring to Mike’s body exactly, tightening all over, and clinging to every inch of skin, shaping around the crotch and buttocks for proper decency. The suit’s tightness faded fast, and soon Mike was barely aware that he was wearing anything at all, he even thought he could feel air on his skin. The Compupal was removed and the other officer approached with an Air-Hypo which he pressed next to Mike’s throat, just where it emerged from the outfit.
“Mike, this is the Permasuit’s maintenance program. Your body will process all its own wastes, and the suit will keep you clean and your skin healthy. The Permasuit can only be removed with a court order and a special process, so don’t expect it to happen any time soon. Also, Mike, we’ve been instructed to take away your speech; you’ll understand what you hear, and can read, but will be mute. It’s better this way, you won’t get yourself into more trouble even on accident. OK?”
The Air-Hypo hovered near his neck and Mike struggled to say something, his last chance to speak, but nothing came to mind. The officer hit the button and Mike was injected painlessly with the chemicals that instantly and permanently paralyzed and withered his vocal cords. He wouldn’t be able to make so much as a peep from now on.
“OK, he’s set. They’ve sent a car; it should be here by now. Let’s take him out; I don’t want to be the one that makes this guy wait.”
“Good idea. Let’s go.” They led him out without the slightest amount of resistance. He barely looked to the left and right as he passed the doctor who nodded grimly, or the listless others still in the cell. Soon he was outside again where he’d first come in, and a luxury hover car waited in front. A uniformed man stood by the driver side and opened the rear passenger door. Out of it stepped a sharply dressed and sharp-faced man, perhaps in his mid forties. He had a slightly annoyed look on his face as he got his first glance at the processed person he had just bought. He stepped forward and snatched the offered file from the officer’s hand, inspecting it, and then Mike. He brought out his own Compupal and scanned Mike with it.
“Confirmed,” was all he finally said as he pressed his thumb to the officer’s Compupal. Another 30 pieces of digital silver were exchanged as the chauffeur led the young man into the back seat of the car. Mr. Kilneer got in next, sitting to Mike’s left. The bracelet had a calming effect on him, otherwise Mike would have probably panicked at being so close to his new owner under such circumstances, especially after what he just heard.
“Home,” Mr. Kilneer said into the intercom on the screen in front of him. The car whispered into motion, quickly gaining speed as it flew off. Mr. Kilneer sat in silence as he flipped through the file then looked over to Mike who was staring at the blank screen in front of him which separated the passenger compartment from the driver’s side.
Mr. Kilneer reached forward and flicked a switch. The screen came to life showing a picture of a lovely young girl, as old as Mike perhaps. She was picture perfect, almost too perfect. However, this effect was rather common among the daughters of the rich; selective gene therapy and surgery produced near-perfect heiresses.
“This is my daughter, Amanda. You’re a gift for her. You met her before, though you probably don’t recognize her. It was maybe three years ago, and she looked like this.” He hit another button and the picture changed, melted into an entirely different looking girl. A short, frumpy, pudgy and pimply faced little troll of a girl. “Her first gift was to make her what you saw before; the law says such drastic surgery can only happen once a person reaches 18, which she hit a few weeks ago. Like I said, you met.”
Mike was trying hard to remember, a girl that homely would certainly be memorable. “At the fair? The UFO Spinner ride?”
Mike remembered now. They were on their field trip and he remembered they were in line at the ride and that he was about to get on with a friend when he had to wait an extra turn (after waiting 2 hours) so this little blimp could get in front of him because her Daddy bought her one of those speed passes which allowed her to cut. He was the one that laughed the loudest when she had tried to get into the seat that would have been his and couldn’t quite fit and so had to be helped out and escorted to the larger ones for the … larger guests.
“I see it’s coming back to you. You called her a Michelin Girl. She didn’t like that. She has stewed on that for the last three years. I tried to talk her out of it, I tried to help her move on, I promised her all the surgery that she has just had would make her feel different. It didn’t. She found out who you were and demanded you when you hit 18. She’s got some big plans for you, unfortunately. I feel partly responsible; she got this vindictive streak from me. I’ve mostly gotten past that part of myself, but she hasn’t yet. Oh well. We’re here. I’ll be leaving you in her charge.”
The car had come to such a smooth stop that Mike didn’t realize it until the door opened. Mr. Kilneer got out and when he got out of Mike’s view he could see an absolutely enormous estate, fenced in with metal spiked fences with gardens, fountains, servant bungalows, and a huge mansion.
Standing in front of the mansion doors at the bottom of the landing was the girl he’d seen earlier, radiant and gorgeous in a brand new outfit which looked like a party dress. She smiled a vicious smile and patted her thigh like she was calling for her dog.
“Come on out Mikey! It’s time to begin,” she said in a high voice that was playful, but cold as ice.
Story continued in post 2 of this thread
