“Different usages,” said Paul, though it wasn’t clear whether this was a guess or a statement of fact. “You can see that that area with all the flags was probably a market of some kind. There’s a stage over in the far corner.”
They walked on, through the eerily empty expanse. Paladian bones were chemically constructed to dissolve and biodegrade, something Suka knew the Earth scientists were working to incorporate into humans. It was as if nobody had ever been here, Planet Marie Celeste. She felt nervousness at the pit of her stomach that wasn’t entirely down to the bizarre atmosphere of the dead metropolis. Commander Paul read my dissertation continued to flash through her mind in bright red alarm mode every now and then. He knows what I am.
They stopped at the top-left corner of the square, where a small platform acted as plinth to what looked like some kind of sculpture. Crafted from a smooth obsidian-like mineral, it mimicked the crude outline of a humanoid shape, dark legs travelling upwards in an inverse V to a broad flat torso, with arms raised. The only thing missing was the head—at neck height, a padded semicircular dip curtailed the body’s progress. Suka and Paul, once on the platform to examine the installation more closely, noticed thin leather straps dangled from the knees, waist and wrists of the sculpture.
“You know what this is?” Paul turned to Suka, seemingly expecting her to supply the answer.
“I’m…not sure,” she hedged, though actually she had seen a picture of one of these in her copy of Peoples of the Outer Reaches. That chapter had been abandoned halfway through for Suka to dive beneath the covers and think about it in exquisite detail, fingers working busily inside her slicked sex lips.
“Yes, you are,” contradicted Paul, one hand travelling down the defenceless left arm of the headless statue. “You know exactly what this is.” He turned and grinned, challenging her. “Don’t disappoint me. You aren’t usually so coy.”
“It’s a whipping post,” said Suka, the thought of disappointing Paul somehow unbearable.
“That’s right. The nobility of Sevarium underwent an interesting form of training. They believed that, to demand service, you first needed to experience it. To rule, you needed to understand how it felt to be ruled. Men and women alike, it must be said. They were equal opportunities deviants.”
Suka laughed.
“Judging by the height of this, it was the women’s post. Tell me what you know about this aspect of Paladian society, Suka. What have you read?”
“Once a Paladian noble reached majority, they were put into the service of a Sevarian master or mistress. It was quite a harsh regime, I think. Training lasted three or four years…I can’t exactly remember. If they didn’t please the boss, they were whipped.”
“Good thing we don’t operate that policy on the Ulysses IV, eh?” Paul smiled. “Or is it?”
Suka’s cheeks burned. She was uncomfortably damp between her legs at the thought of standing on the whipping platform as it was, and her trousers felt too tight all of a sudden. If Paul was going to personalise all this, she was going to end up coming then and there, right in front of him. She wondered what the Federation penalty for that was. Nothing as exciting as a whipping, obviously.
Paul began searching the deck, looking for something he eventually found beneath a loose plank of the platform. It had an ornate, marbled handle and six stiff leather tails. A whip.
“Ah,” said the Commander, swishing the thing through the air.
Suka was transfixed. An actual whip. In the Commander’s hands, it looked so deadly and sexy that her knees began to feel as if they might give way. She held on to the sculpture, wrapping an arm around its waist for support.
“Commander Paul,” she ventured faintly, pressing her body into the cool, sleek embrace of the whipping post.
“Mm-hmm?” he replied absently, running fascinated fingers along the whip strands, curling them around and around.
“Are we…observable? From the Ulysses?”
He looked up sharply. “No. This is a low-risk mission. Visual satellite link has not been enabled.”
“I see.” She fitted her chin over the padded neck rest. Exactly the right height.
“Why?” Paul’s arch question hung in the air, seemingly laden with hope to Suka’s oversensitive ears.
She spread her legs to fit the sculpture’s inverse V and raised her arms up, pressed in a close embrace with the whipping post. It felt too good, wickedly good. She knew she ought to take a step back, recover her wits and ignore her senses, but this was too intoxicating to resist. She was a young Paladian noblewoman, in the service of a strict lord who looked highly reminiscent of Commander Paul…and she had failed in her duties…and now the price must be paid…in front of the populace. There they would stand, all around her, munching on hot snacks from the nearby market, jostling and catcalling, remarking on her physical attributes.
Her master would approach, whip in hand, and then…
She flinched as something—it could only be the handle of the whip—came to rest at the small of her back.
“Suka.” Paul’s voice, in her ear, saying her given name, was so intimate that she shivered. “I asked you a question. Why did you ask whether we could be seen?”
She gripped the top of the model, where the hands were meant to rest, and thought that, perhaps if she wasn’t looking directly at Paul, she might be able to say this.
“Because I can’t help thinking…this chance will never come again…”
“You may well be right. But I’m your commanding officer. If it ever gets out that I—”
“It won’t. It wouldn’t. Ever.”