A Very Schticky Thing To Do - 2. Chapter 2

Spid didn’t have that much in the way of possessions, a few thin coveralls, a couple pairs of socks, three knee length undersuits, a plastic comb he didn’t need for his shortly cropped black hair, a ceramic statue of Hurl with Prisi, goddess of Schtickists, at her side, a sealed vial of his cum given during the autumn Bud and Vini Festival two years ago when he proclaimed his sexuality, and the silver brooch of grapes signifying his allegiance to Vini, god of grapes, wine and ale, distilled spirits, healthy bowels, prosperity, the Harvest, and boyoes who accept the love of another boyo. What he wasn’t wearing was put in a small net bag that hung from his left hand as he waited at the curb in front of his habitat.

The red speeder was the latest Belendan sporty two-seat convertibles with robotic navigation and power cell technology. It stopped directly in from of him and the door opened. There was no one else in the car.

“If you would be so good to get in, Spid,” the metallic voice said with a Belendan accent.

Spid stepped into the car and sat down. The seatbelt and shoulder harness fastened around him. The rollover bar extended above his head.

“Whenever you’re ready, please indicate thusly,” the voice said.

“Go,” Spid said, briefly wondering why the manufacturers couldn’t at least put a Gurdian accent in the machine considering the credit outlay; plus the credits to the smugglers since there was no trade agreement between Gurd and the rest of the Argottean Federation.

As the door shut and locked, the speeder pulled away from the curb and moved out into traffic. Spid stared straight ahead because there were a lot of Normals looking at him. S’s weren’t permitted to ride in open vehicles, especially not speeders owned by some rich person. After entering the superhighway, the speeder quickly moved into the express lane and then, once it approached the one-fifty limit, moved over into the super lane.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before there were flashing blue lights and whining sirens around them. The speeder increased speed, pulling away from the patrol. There was a slower speeder ahead and Spid’s speeder flashed its lights. The other didn’t move over to the express lane. A moment before impact, Spid’s speeder did a rocket-assist jump and landed in front of the slower moving speeder. That was new, thought Spid.

Blue lights were all around them now. Copters flew above them, but the speeder ignored all the distractions. A roadblock was ahead and as before, just at the last moment, the speeder performed a perfect jump leaving the police staring.

Spid knew he was in for it if the speeder ever stopped. The police had every right to summarily execute him for being in a speeder, for not stopping as directed, and for just being an S, which was reason enough anytime. Life wasn’t easy if you knew you could die for the slightest indiscretion.

The speeder began to slow until its speed was down enough to move over into the express lane. Most of the other lanes were free of traffic as the police were shutting down the highway, but there were a few stragglers or fools who weren’t paying attention. The speeder wove among them at a speed higher than Spid felt was comfortable, but it was a robot and most of the other vehicles were robotic, too. Likely, they were all communicating so accidents were avoided. Of course, the Normals did have override capabilities, but most of them probably hadn’t read that section of their owner’s manual.

The speeder took the next available turnoff at a high rate of speed, jumped a road block, and headed up a boulevard lined with ornamental thung trees. Spid looked up into their smooth branches and showy red and blue flowers. The sweet, spicy scent was nearly overpowering and reminded the boyo of the bar of Minn’s Mamt’s Choice soap Pubi found one day; well, he said he found it. Unfortunately, they couldn’t wash with it because someone might notice their body odor wasn’t normal for an S. They left it in the lavatory where its odor scented the room for weeks.

Only one police car was following now and its siren wasn’t blaring. This was a neighborhood of rich people who wouldn’t appreciate having that glaringly obnoxious noise interrupting their tea parties.

At the end of the boulevard, the speeder drove straight through a guarded security gate set between high walls and slowed to a modest crawl as it wound along lanes lined with shrubbery and an occasional security guard. Before him a huge four-story mansion of natural stone slowly appeared out of the foliage. The speeder stopped at a short staircase of buff manufactured stone. Supposedly, the police car stopped at the gate. Spid figured the officer would be spoken to, if there was an officer in it. Maybe the car was one of those new robotic police cars.

Luckily, that wasn’t Spid’s concern. What was his concern was a young Normal with shoulder length sun bleached hair; dark, thin eyebrows over gray eyes; a small nose over thin lips spread into a broad smile, exposing two rows of perfectly aligned white teeth; the ears were a little small for the oval face, but that was expected of a Normal. The boyo wasn’t wearing a top, fully exposing lightly tanned broad shoulders and a slight torso of someone not used to physical labor. Light green tights, showing the modest package you’d expect of a Normal, extended down slender legs to just above bare sandaled feet.

“Hi, I’m Dimp,” the boyo said as the speeder’s door opened.

Spid stood up and stepped out of the vehicle. He stood with downcast eyes. Now wasn’t a time to show this Normal he aspired to become a rebel. The boyo had his right fist extended. Spid tapped it three times with his.

“All right! I told Pubi you were the one,” Dimp said. “Come on, I want to show you our rooms. I see you have the silver grape cluster of Vini. Have you fucked yet? I hope not because I’d prefer it if I was your first. I haven’t, but I do have the flower bud cluster. I got mine last year. I suppose you got yours earlier. Schtickists usually mature faster than Normals. I’ve studied that a little bit, but no one seems to know why. I suppose it has something to do with the Schtickist gene set. How long is your dick? I bet mine is pretty puny compared to yours. I’ve only been able to suck a fifteen centimeter cock, but I’m sure, with time, I’ll get used to yours, if it’s as long as a regular S dick. Are you a natural bottom? As a follower of Bud, I’m supposed to be a top, but I kind of think I’d prefer being a bottom. I hope you know how to fuck. I suppose we can figure out what I’ll do to cum. Maybe I’ll cum when you fuck me. Sorry about talking so much, but I’m so excited you’re here. Well, here we are.”

All through Dimp’s discourse, Spid followed dutifully behind the Normal who was now his owner. The house was big, but from the side entrance where he entered there was only a short hall to an elevator. Spid couldn’t imagine having a house so big as to need an elevator. He’d only seen three of these lifts in his entire life and here was one in someone’s home. Dimp pushed the top button and the elevator opened into a broad foyer lit by a huge skylight nearly four meters above the floor. They went through a double door and down a short, carpeted hall. There was one door on the right and one on the left. They went in the left one. There was another short hall, this time with stone tiles, and they came to a broad open space with all sorts of unfamiliar furniture.

“What do you think of it?” Dimp asked with that broad smile of his.

“It’s big, sir,” Spid said looking at the floor.

“Now, we’re not going to have any of that sir stuff and raise your head and look at me,” Dimp said. He came up to Spid, who noticed they were about the same height; maybe he was a bit taller. “My Pubi may have purchased you from your Pubi, but that doesn’t mean I really own you. You’re not my slave. You’re a boyo. I’m a boyo. You’ve pledged yourself to Vini, as I have pledged myself to Bud. On Hurlshome Bud and Vini are lovers as hopefully we will be, too, but I understand your reluctance and fear. So, we’re going to go slowly. Okay?”

“Okay,” Spid said looking into Dimp’s eyes for the first time. Yeah, this could be okay. Then once they’re all used to him, he’ll murder the lot and escape into the hills. There were other rebels up in the forests around Burpiburg and, hopefully, he’d find a group who’d accept him.

Dimp leaned in and turned his head slightly. Their lips met. Spid felt his resolve weakening. He’d only imagined what it might feel like to kiss another boyo. He felt Dimp’s tongue probing at the edge of his mouth, but the spell was broken when he felt the boyo’s hand searching for his dick.

“I can’t,” Spid said pulling away. “I can’t do this. Send me home. Send me to a prison camp, a labor camp, or a death camp. Just don’t expect me to kiss you like this. I don’t even know you. You probably know more about me than I do you. I’m an S and now you want me to suddenly be something that can get me killed some places on this planet.”

He looked around for a bowl to recline in, but there wasn’t any S furniture. Nothing looked like it was meant to be sat upon except for the chair beside a ’xrsc terminal. He went over there and sat down. Dimp looked at him for a second then came over and knelt before him.

“Okay, Spid, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” Dimp said. He placed his right hand on Spid’s right knee, but probably didn’t register the S’s shudder. “We’ll go slow, slower than I want, but slow at your pace. Yes, you’re overwhelmed. I can understand that. Plus, you’ve just been taken from your family and probably think you’ll never see them again. And, if all that wasn’t bad enough, you’re stuck in a suite with a sex charged teenager who desperately wants to lose his virginity. But, you see, I can’t go out in public and look for a Normal boyo to love me because of my father’s position in the political hierarchy on Gurd. I’m an embarrassment, but to make me happy, he’s given me you. I talk too much, don’t I? Are you hungry?”

“I guess,” Spid said as he watched Dimp, whose dick was now definitely showing through the tights, stand up.

“What do you like to snack on?” Dimp asked as he walked into the adjoining kitchenette.

“Like? I don’t understand,” Spid said. “I’m an S. Our diet is prescribed by the government. What is a snack? I’ve never heard that term.”

“You know, I’ve got a lot of learning to do myself,” Dimp said. “Do you like cabbage?”

“What’s that?”

“Do you eat any fresh fruit or vegetables?”

“We eat biscuits, a kind of heated watery soup from a can, and once a week we’re given a stew with chunks of soft, slimy green stuff and stringy brown stuff. There’s hardly any taste to anything we eat.”

“Okay, we’ll have fresh broccoli and cabbage pieces, a creamy mustard dipping sauce. Sorry, I’m all out of fresh hog snot, but we can, no I can get some from the market tomorrow. You’ve had hog snot, right?”

“At the Bud and Vini festival they had a stand, but I didn’t try anything. It smelled.”

“Yes, it’s the garlic, I afraid. Some brands just put too much in, but that’s just my opinion.”

“I can’t go out of this room, can I?” Spid asked with a frown.

“No, I’m afraid that’s out of the question until we get that tattoo off your forehead,” Dimp said. “Personally, I’d have it done tonight, but Pubi says we need to wait to see how things turn out. You know, he’s afraid it won’t work between us and you’ll have to go back. I don’t want that to happen. I’ve wanted you for so long, my dick is sore from jerking off so much. And, now, here you are and up close you’re more beautiful than I imagined. If you don’t at least agree to sleep with me tonight, we’re going to have to have some serious discussions.”

“You’ve seen me?” Spid asked.

“Yes, you’re the boyo on the knob behind school,” Dimp said. “I had you followed by a security drone and found out where you live. After that, it was fairly easy to get you here.”

“You’re the boyo who stands at the edge of the pavement staring up at the clouds,” Spid said.

“Well, it wasn’t clouds I was staring at,” Dimp said as he put a tray of vegetables on a low table that rose out of the floor. “Come on over here; let’s get you eating fresh food. Just sit on a cushion. Do you eat like this?”

“No, we have chairs at a higher table,” Spid said. He picked up a green stalk of something and, following Dimp’s example, dipped the bushy end in the sauce. When he bit into it the flavors exploded in his mouth. This was real food. The sauce was unbelievable, but the green thing was kind of bland. Maybe that was why Dimp put out the sauce.

* * * * * * *

The first thing that occurred on that first day was being fitted for new clothes, which meant undressing, completely; being naked in front of Dimp.

“Look, I’ll take off my clothes, too, if that’ll make you more comfortable,” Dimp said. The boyo was practically drooling at the thought of seeing Spid’s nakedness.

“No! I mean no, you don’t need to do that,” Spid said looking at the unmistakable prominence of Dimp’s dick barely hidden under his tights. “No, that’s okay.”

“Come on then, take off your coveralls,” Dimp pleaded. “Do you want me to help you?”

“No! I mean no, I can do it,” Spid said with a frown. “Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around, I don’t want you watching me get undressed,” Spid said.

“What difference does that make, you’re going to be naked whether I watch or not.”

“Please, just turn around, for me, okay?” Spid pleaded.

“Well, okay, but this is silly,” Dimp said as he turned to face the wall. “Be sure to let me know when it’s safe to turn back, okay?”

“Sure,” Spid said as he began taking off all his clothes. Once he finally pulled down the undersuit, he waited. “Is something going to happen? Do I turn around? What do I need to do?”

“Just stand there trying not to move,” Dimp said. “If the tailoring system needs closer measurements it’ll come in and take care of that. Oh, speaking of which.”

Spid watched a wheeled robot trundle into the room and stop in front of him. Two arms extended between his legs and pushed. He moved his legs apart until the thing stopped pushing. A probe extended and a beam flashed all over his body, head to toe. The thing moved behind him and as he craned his neck to try to see what it was doing he felt the two arms trying to push his legs further apart. He complied. Then it pushed apart his butt cheeks. Why? Spid thought. It came back around, lifted his dick and extended a tubular probe that wrapped around it. Why?

Before leaving it picked up his clothes and his net bag.

“Can I turn around or do I have to face away from you from now on?” Dimp asked.

“What do I do for clothes?” Spid asked.

“Well, until your new wardrobe is assembled, you’ll have to be naked,” Dimp said as he turned back to face his S. “Oh, wow, I mean, wow, is that as small as it gets?”

“No, when that thing measured it, well, you know. Say, why did that thing measure it?” Spid asked as he watched Dimp push down his tights. The Normal’s dick was semi-hard, on the verge of exploding into full bloom. He supposed it was decent for a Normal, but since he’d only seen one other Normal dick, the one that took his virginity at the Temple of Vini, he couldn’t be certain.

“To fit you for a budsac,” Dimp said as he came closer to Spid. “It’s the latest thing in casual and sometimes formal wear. It’s basically a bag for you dick that’s sewn into your tights. Of course, a lot of boyoes have extra long ones that they stuff with cloth to make them appear more endowed.”

“What if I don’t want to wear one of these?” Spid asked. “Will you force me?”

“No, and you don’t have to wear tights, either,” Dimp said. “A lot of boyoes don’t wear tights, though they’re thought of as being old fashioned. I mean look at the Naked Bleakers, they walk around everywhere not wearing a stitch of clothing except for that bag belted around their waist. Nudity is not a big deal.”

“It is for an S,” Spid said sadly. “I know a boyo who was killed because he had an enormous dick, kind of freakish really. A bunch of Normals at work beat him to death with steel rods. I had to clean up. I’m an environmental assistant. I work, or, uh, worked, for a robot.”

“What happened to them? They were arrested, right?” Dimp asked with what sounded like real concern.

“He was an S,” Spid said. “Look, it’s obvious you don’t understand this, but just being an S means risking your life outside of your habitat, though it’s not unheard of security extracting an S family and summarily executing all of them simply because one of them stole a piece of fruit and brought it home. You can kill me right now and no one is going to ask any questions. I am excess to the needs of the planet.”

Dimp stared at him for a moment and then walked away. Spid watched the Normal go into the bedroom and he followed wondering what was going on. He found the boyo lying on the bed in a fetal position. When he went to sit beside Dimp he saw the boyo sucking his thumb as tears dribbled out of his eyes.

Spid got up onto the bed and spooned into Dimp. With an arm across the boyo’s chest, Spid pulled him into a tight, comforting embrace.

He began to think about what must be going through the Normal’s mind right now. The boyo was raised in a privilege environment. He knew little of real life and next to nothing about S’s. Dimp said he was pledged to Bud, god of fruit trees, olives, headaches, the Spring Planting, and boyoes who gave their love to a boyo, but instead of hiring a Vini boyo from a service, he convinced his pubi to buy him an S, possibly whether the S had a grape cluster or not.

Well, Dimp got lucky, in a way, Spid had the grape cluster. Maybe in time, the boyoes could achieve the mutuality of married couples and live their lives out together. He just didn’t know at the moment if that was what he wanted; or, if he was willing to kill each and every Normal in this house then head for the hills. He’d have to wait and see.

* * * * * * *

Spid woke the next morning in an empty bed. Then he realized he was still naked. Next, he remembered having something strange to eat the previous evening and getting very tired afterward; so tired he excused himself and came into the bedroom where he slipped under the covers. That was the last thing he remembered.

Oh, there was the earlier time when he and Dimp got out of bed after the Normal settled down. They went into the entertainment room and they watched a number of short Schticky films full of pratfalls, pie fights, funny walking, funny talking, and the most inane jokes ever conceived. Dimp laughed through every single one.

Spid smiled and nodded his head when asked if he thought they were funny. His mamt taught him to be polite, especially to Normals, even if they acted stupid. Except, this wasn’t acting stupidly, this was embarrassing.

First of all, a pratfall had to look as if it occurred naturally. Oh, sure, it was in the script, but the actor should at least make it look as if he didn’t see the slip coming. A perfectly performed pratfall consisted of the initial slip, the attempted correction, the reaction of overcorrection to initial acceleration, a scissoring of the legs in highly technical pratfalls or at least a bendi maneuver, a realistic torso to leg angle, and, finally, the imperceptibly slow bum fall and contact.

A true Schtickist, a genetic Schtickist, in other words an S, should be able to perform perfect pratfalls as they are learning to walk. Normals that go into performance education programs don’t learn pratfalls until the latter year of secondary school, sometimes not until postsecondary school; and, more importantly they learned most of the pratfall techniques by reading about them.

Then there were the pie fights. Normals couldn’t throw pies, period. First of all, they didn’t know how to make throwing pies. They just couldn’t figure out how to make the crust. In every one of the vids, the pie fight was a disaster when seen from an S perspective.

Spid didn’t see a single faldo, double faldo, triple faldo, or even a simple left-handed mompi. There wasn’t any technique to the tosses or the catches. The catch was just as important as the toss. Not once did he see a lemi or a koko. Not once!

But, probably the worst mistake of every single one of the vids was the lack of a properly executed double take. You could see them trying, but none of them came close to performing an acceptable wilson.

It was almost as if all the vids were done as mockeries of S’s. Supposedly, all the actors were certified members of the Schtickist League of Actors and Performers, but if those SLAP members were an example of what Gurdian schools were producing today, they were making a mockery of themselves.

Spid rolled over to get out of the bed and realized his feet were chained. The locks were the comfortable, long-term “humane” kind commonly used during the filming of execution walks for a future vid broadcast. The walks normally took up to an hour and it wasn’t uncommon for the victim to act inappropriately requiring multiple takes.

He stood up and hobbled to the waste receiver where he sat down and pondered his situation. Obviously, they didn’t trust him nor did they want him to wander away. He wondered if Dimp drugged him last night so that he wouldn’t notice being chained. That was likely. Well, tonight that wasn’t going to be necessary, the drugging, that is.

Finishing he pressed the green button and allowed pleasant and wonderful thoughts to flood his mind as the receiver cleaned him inside and out. He liked the Gurdian receivers the Normals used. That was all they had where he worked and he commonly held his bowels until getting there just so he could sit and let the unit entertain him. The unit at his habitat, like all S receivers, was made on Orcol and performed only basic functions. Often it used too much water to clean and not enough air to dry and you had to use a towel to finish up. Orcolians were not known to produce quality products.

Spid went out into the living area looking for food. On the counter between the kitchenette and the dining area there was an audio memo unit. The message waiting light was flashing. He pressed it.

“Good morning, Spid. This is Dimp if you don’t recognize my voice. I hope you slept well. I’m sorry about the drugs, but Pubi’s security man said that was probably best on your first night. Hopefully, I won’t have to give you something tonight. Anyway, oh shoot, how much time is left on this, anyway, uh, sorry about the chains, too. Rule one of the S owner’s manual states any S in a Normal residence that is left alone must be secured with chains in a locked room, sorry my door is locked, or put in a secured room, you know, a cage. We have to do this until either you completely accept life with me or, oh shoot this stupid thing is running out of memory. Stupid Orcolian shit! See you in a few. Bye.”

Spid looked down at his chains and nodded. Yes, they were significantly better than being locked in a cage. Obviously, Normals didn’t trust S’s at all. He wondered how many of these ownership deals fell through when the S killed the whole family in their sleep. Maybe he was going to have to wait on that piece of his plan.

“Food, where do I find food,” Spid said out loud to no one, since there was no one there.

“May I suggest eggs, bacon, and toast with a fresh green chili salsa?” a metallic voice said.

“Ah, a robotic food server, we had one of those in the lunch room at work,” Spid said to no one, “but I never used my credits as I brought an S biscuit from home. I guess you can serve that because I don’t know what any of that is.”

“Please sit at the table,” the server said, “your meal will be served in a moment. Would you prefer a musical accompaniment to your meal or a news broadcast?”

“Music, S metal,” Spid said.

The table rose out of the floor, cushions dropped from the ceiling, and the heavy thump of the Breakers thundered into the room. Spid sat down on a cushion and began to rock to the reverberating tempos of his favorite S band. He almost didn’t see the little robot trundle out of the kitchenette with his tray of food. There were two drink containers. He pointed at them. The music stopped.

“Broccoli juice and lemon water,” the robot said.

“Oh, thanks,” Spid said. The music started. He stared at the robot knowing it could’ve heard him. It probably could’ve read his mind, most robots had that capability or their network did, but it chose to stop the music for a normal volume conversation. Spid found that interesting.

* * * * * * *

Later that afternoon, Spid was in the library looking at an S education module on one of the terminals. It was basic reading skills, probably equivalent to a Normal grade four, but was marked as S grade eight. He was on the last test when he heard the door chime. He ignored it.

The door chimed, again, twice this time.

He got up and hobbled to the door. The keypad’s lock light was flashing red. Spid flicked the intercom.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Hi, uh, I’m Kimp, uh, Dimp’s older sister. Um, can I come in?”

“No.”

“You’re an S, you can’t say no to me.”

“The door is locked. I don’t know the combo.”

“Oh, yeah, you wouldn’t would you. Uh, do me a favor, please? Um, please don’t tell Dimp I was here. Okay?”

“Sure, anything for a sister.”

“Oh shit!”

“Spid, move back from the door.”

“Yes, master.”

Spid hobbled back to the library as quickly as he could. There was a lot of arguing behind him, mostly concerning the size of his dick. Obviously, the sister had a plan of attack. As an S he would have to submit to her, even if it angered Dimp, but could he get an erection with a dottir? The thought of her touching him soured his stomach. He sat down on the cushion.

“There, there is my S,” Dimp said behind Spid. “Are you happy now?”

“Have him stand up and turn around,” Kimp said. “I want to see his cock. I want to see if it’s true what they say about S cocks."

“Spid, please stand up and turn around,” Dimp said.

“Oh, by Bizzo’s word, look at that thing,” Kimp said. “Can I touch it?”

“Go ahead, who am I to deny my older sister,” Dimp said. The look he gave Spid said he was sorry, but he was only an S.

She didn’t just touch it; she held it and caressed it, quickly bringing it up to its full presentation, much to Spid’s disgust that it betrayed him like that. Spid stared back into Dimp’s eyes as Kimp knelt down and took his dick into her mouth. It quickly became obvious she knew nothing about giving head. Plus, her mouth wasn’t quite big enough and the teeth scraping was becoming nearly unbearable.

Suddenly, she pulled off. There were scratches around the head, some were beginning to bleed enough that blood was dripping onto the floor.

“Get out of here!” Dimp exclaimed. “Look what you’ve done to him. I’m telling Pubi you’re not to come here again.”

“You’re a bud head,” Kimp said. “Pubi isn’t going to listen to you. I have half a mind to take this S out onto the lawn and have Thuni vaporize that thing of his.”

“That’s it!” Dimp exclaimed. He took a black, squarish thing out of his pocket and pushed one of the buttons on it.

“Yes?”

“Pubi, Kimp forced her way in my rooms and forced Spid to allow her to suck his dick. She didn’t know what she was doing and scratched the shit out of him. Now she wants to take him outside and have Thuni kill him.”

“Kimp go to your room, now!”

“But . . . I don’t have to. And, you can’t make me,” Kimp said.

“There are security men outside Dimp’s room at this moment. Don’t make me have them remove you and put you in restraints. Dimp, can you and your S be ready to leave within the hour?”

“His new clothes haven’t come back from the tailor,” Dimp said.

“Is Kimp still there?”

“Yes, Pubi,” Dimp said thumbing his nose at her.

Two muscular security men ran into the room, looked at the situation, and then pulled out the restraints and put them on Kimp. One of them dropped a black bag over her head and pulled the strings tight. They picked her up and hurried back out of the room.

“Is she gone?”

“Yes, Pubi.”

“Okay, Dimp, I’m having you and your S moved to my mountain retreat on Bobbysland. You will remain there until I decide what to do with the two of you. The tailor has assured me he will be there before you leave. Oh, and Dimp?”

“Yes, Pubi?”

“I know I haven’t said this enough, but I do love you.”

Spid looked at Dimp as his face went blank. He hobbled over and pulled the boyo into a hug. After a moment, Dimp pulled away from him.

“Did she hurt you?” Dimp asked.

“Yeah, but I think I’ll live,” Spid said. “Do you have some ointment?”

“No, uh, I’ll call the medical unit,” Dimp said with a slight smile. “I’m sorry for all that, but at least when we get up to the retreat you’ll have more freedom and I’ll be around you all the time. Chains off.”

The shackles on Spid’s ankles released and the chains fell to the floor.

“Voice response, that’s kind of neat in a weird sort of way,” Spid said.

Dimp moved in to him and put a hand on Spid’s hip. Spid held the boyo’s chin and their lips met for a moment before Spid broke away.

“I hope we can do more of that soon,” Dimp said.

“Yeah, probably, but we might have to wait until my dick’s better,” Spid said.

At that moment a robot trundled in and reached out with an appendage and grabbed Spid’s dick. Lights flashed across its small vid until another appendage came out of the unit. It was tubular and slipped onto the boyo’s now softened member.

“What the?” Spid exclaimed as he began to feel the strangest sensations as the unit ministered to him. At first there was a moment of pain, but that was quickly followed by increasing warmth which moved up the temperature scale to hot before quickly going nearly ice cold. It went through the warm to hot to cold cycle twice more and then the tube retreated back into the unit. He picked up his dick and saw that all the scratches were gone.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Spid said.

“I take it S’s don’t have medic units,” Dimp said.

“Like I said last night S’s are excess to the needs of the planet,” Spid said. “We get a cut that gets infected likely as not we’ll die of the infection. We don’t get medicine. We can’t go to hospitals, except for births and sometimes death. If one of us should come down with Spotted Scum Duck Fever or one of the indigenous viruses, then a whole group of habitats get quarantined until everyone is dead or everyone has recovered. Sometimes, they just come in and kill everyone. It’s the same story every time, if an S dies, no one weeps.”