Booty Hunter (Harem Station 1)

I pinch my fingers together and open up a screen.

It’s Jimmy.

I tab the accept button and say, “Hey, when did you get in?”

“A little while ago,” Jimmy says in his deep, rough voice. He’s already dressed too, only his accessories aren’t pink, they’re silver with shades of gray, black, and white. He stares at me in the screen and I want to cut the connection to make that unnerving scrutiny disappear, but I don’t. Because I can’t.

I have to face up to what I did.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?” I ask. “It’s me who should be saying that to you.”

He presses his lips together. Like he’s trying hard not to frown. He’s not shaved either and he looks as strangely unfamiliar in his ceremonial garb as I feel, which comforts me a little.

“We knew this day would come eventually,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

He opens his mouth to say more but the station chime sounds, signaling that people should start making their way to the ceremonial platform.

And then I open my mouth to say more, but that’s when Lyra appears from around the wall.

I stare at her, unable to take my eyes off her, and say, “I’ll see you in a little bit,” as I end the connection with Jimmy.

She is… stunning.

Magnificently stunning.

Her long black gown has elaborate skirts that go all the way to the floor. The bodice of her dress is woven with black crystals, so that the soft light in the room makes her shimmer as she walks towards me. Over her heart is one jeweled-pink medal. For me, I realize. But on her shoulders are the same weighty pink ribbons.

ALCOR, I think to myself. What did you do?

But then I notice the high collar of her dress is open and I can see the cleavage of her large breasts, which rise and fall rapidly, like she’s scared, or excited, or maybe both.

“We need to take the collar off so she can wear this, Serpint,” Raylor says. And then I notice he’s holding another collar in his hands. This one is made out of pink and white jewels. Maybe even diamonds.

“Right,” I say, stepping forward.

ALCOR. What did you do?

“You look nice,” she says, frowning. Like she’s unsure if she’s supposed to say that when a person is dressed for a memorial service.

I stand in front of her, just staring down into her eyes. She’s glowing just a little bit. So pink against the black dress. Her hair is piled up on top of her head, but it spills out of a tiara made of the same pink and white jewels as the collar in Raylor’s hand.

“Princess Lyra,” I sigh, reaching behind her neck to remove my ownership collar.

She smiles. Weakly. Then has trouble meeting my eyes and looks down, just as a burst of glow flows up from her breasts.

I hand the collar to Raylor and then reach for the buttons on the top of her open bodice. Fastening them all the way up her throat.

She sucks in a breath. Maybe because the fabric is tight or maybe just because I’m making her nervous. Then I take the new collar and snap the magnetic ends around her neck.

It still says Serpint, because it must. But it’s very small and my name has been printed in black diamonds.

“I don’t know what to think about this,” Lyra says. Her fingertips lift up her floaty skirts and then let go, illustrating her point.

I let out a breath that, surprisingly, comes with a small laugh. “Me either, princess. Me either.”

The station chimes a second warning that people should be on their way to the ceremony, so I just hold out my hand and say, “Shall we?”

She looks up at me, then down again, and nods her head as she places her fingertips in my palm.

I turn to Raylor and say, “I can’t thank you enough.”

He smiles at me. A warm smile that says he’s sorry, and I’m welcome all in the same moment. “I’m going to close up and then we’ll be right behind you.”

I walk her out looking down at our entwined hands and notice another small medal on the cuff of her long sleeve. “What’s that?” I say, holding up her hand with the medal towards her face.

“It’s for the bot,” she says. “I don’t know why, or understand any of what just happened back there, but…” She inhales deeply, lets it out. And then shrugs.

“The bot?” And just as I say it, he’s here. In front of us. Hovering. Except his dingy gray sphere of a body has been repainted in matte black. And encircling that black body is a strip of glittery pink. “What the hell?”

He chirps out a quick litany of responses, which I don’t understand. But Lyra says, “ALCOR made him mine. So he gets to come too. And he has to match.”