Message-ID: <16809eli$9810290535@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/16809.txt>
From: perigryn@earthlink.net (Rosemerry)
Subject: Sharadzi (F/M, sci fi)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-Id: <v01540b00b25ccb7b7f58@[38.27.84.55]>

Notes: This story is the one I always give people when they first ask for a
sample of my erotic fiction. As a result, some few of you may have seen it.


Those who are under legal age or likely to be offended, please don't read
this. Copyrights remain with me. Archiving is okay with no alterations
including credit and statements.

Feedback would be very welcome.

----------------------------------------------

SHARADZI

       Waking up in the Pleasure Gardens was always the same. Sharadzi
always felt herself born, in those seconds, painlessly condensed out of
some diffuse selfhood that had been asleep, into a personal; into Sharadzi.
The computer in her head, delicate threads of circuitry alongside the
living neurons of her natural brain, informed her that she had an
appointment in ten minutes.
       Sharadzi stretched comfortably and rolled out of her bunk, heading
for the big double doors at the end of the long domed sleeping area.
Personals at Pleasure Gardens had a bunk each and a locker, better than
they had in some slummy sex-broker houses. She nodded to a cat-mod whom she
knew vaguely, through having done performances with him for clients; the
cat-mods were common, as were the wing-mods and the add-mods with their
double pairs of breasts and extra fingers. But by far the most popular,
even in this day and age of recombinant DNA and speed cloning, were the
ordinary-looking men and women personals, such as Sharadzi.
       Not that she would be ordinary in looks, even if she were a full
human. She was the creation of a true artist, Jeroch himself. He'd
deliberately crafted her smaller than most, standing a meter and a half
tall. But she was a beautifully designed little package for all that, being
deliciously round in most dimensions and elfin-faced, with feathery brown
hair that refused to lie flat, falling in a mane around her shoulders and
hanging to the perfect distance above the small of her back. Only the
tattoo inside her left ear and the rich fuschia hue of her eyes, and the
perfection of her beauty, set her apart from real humanity.
       On the outside, anyway.
       Five minutes, said the computer dispassionately. Sharadzi shifted
into a trot, passing out of the dorms and through a restricted tunnel
toward the Gardens themselves. The preparation zone offered her the garment
dialed by the customer, a flimsy white confection of gauzes and gold,
suitable to set off her warmly brown skin. She tugged it over her head,
guessing from the choice of jewelry that it was either a repeat client, or
someone who really studied her picture on the menu and had a keen eye for
styling. It was just what she would have chosen for herself, if she--
       The circuitry in her brain acted on its programming just then,
squelching whatever it was she'd been thinking about, and reminding her
that she would be late in two minutes. Sharadzi ran, a streaming cloud of
white gauze billowing through the hallways. Nearly there, she took a
shortcut through some of the public rooms of the Gardens.
       A tourist group, women and children and lots of men, every human
being ugly to her eyes--natural design was so inferior--stopped listening
to their guide to watch her pelt by. She saw desire in most of their eyes;
perhaps there was contempt too, but she was designed to notice the desire,
the way a cat is designed to focus on movement. The guide droned on
nevertheless, a stupid voice-mod with a single speech habitually locked in
his head.
       "When sexual activity was finally accepted as necessary to proper
social functioning, combined with the perfection of design and development
techniques for human genotypes, sex-broker farms such as Pleasure Gardens
were born," the rich, projecting voice said to the backs of all those
heads. "15 years later, court cases definitively set the status of designed
personals as "non-human sentients" and as property; and this triggered the
enormous success of sex-broker farms across the planet. Today..."
       The speech faded behind her as Sharadzi dashed into the elevator and
leaned against the wall, controlling her breathing. She was too fit to be
sweaty, fortunately for the gauze dress, but she needed to be breathing
normally by the time she arrived at the client's room. The computer in her
head informed the elevator of her destination and the doors closed. She
adjusted the lines of her clothing a little; draping the folded top of the
dress to bare her shoulders and a hint of cleavage, swinging the high slits
around to the sides so that they exposed her hips.
       Message from the dorm master, the computer announced. Sharadzi
started a little, but the image of her immediate supervisor, a big bull-mod
with intimidating horns, was already forming in midair. It was an illusion,
produced in her visual cortex by the computer, but of course it was
entirely lifelike. "Your disturbance of the afternoon tour group was noted,
Sharadzi," it said, speaking disconcertingly in her own mental voice, as
the computer did. "There will be discipline later." The message ended, and
the bull-mod faded out.
       "Wonderful," she said aloud as the elevator slowed, and the doors
opened on the client's room.
       Sharadzi's heart surged. "Rodd!"
       He turned, tall and elegant in his gray silk suit, from the bedside
table. His face positively lit up, and he opened his arms. She ran to him,
curling her arms around his neck and feeling herself lifted giddily off the
floor--really he was very tall. The warmth and security of his embrace
closing around her made her bury her face in  his shoulder, so glad to see
him again she was almost in tears.
       The computer always made sure she felt this way about every client.
       "Oh god, Sharadzi... it's so good to be with you again," the rich
son of a rich empire said into her hair. His grip trembled as he set her
down onto the bed, his long-fingered hands unwilling to release her
shoulders. He sat down beside her, looking at her as if he could never look
enough. "Sharadzi," he said again, and began helplessly showering her
forehead, her eyes, her cheekbones with little kisses. "I've missed you,
missed you..."
       "You got some time away," she said, closing her eyes under his
ministrations. "I'm glad too... I know you can't come more often...."
       "I've got to put an end to all this, Sharadzi," he whispered into
her neck, nuzzling it with the bridge of his long nose. "Somehow I've got
to have you for myself."
       She held him away for a moment, her breath coming quickly and
lightly, gazing at him with questioning purple eyes. "What do you mean,
Rodd?"
       "It doesn't matter," he said. He pressed her back on the bed with
both his hands swallowing her round shoulders warmly. He dropped his mouth
to her breast, taking the nipple in his mouth through the gauze and tugging
firmly on it, and Sharadzi's question dissolved in a hissing gasp of
pleasure. Rodd chuckled thickly around her breast, and moved to the other,
leaving the white fabric damp behind.
       Her hair crackled when he put his hands in it. Her nipples were big
on her tiny sweet breasts, and stood out as he reverently folded back the
layers of gauze to set them free. Rodd bit them, taking his pleasure from
her sounds and the way she undressed him, hungrily, impatiently.
       She wriggled and moaned underneath him, dragging her fingernails
over his back as if to dig out his spine, and when he entered her she was
like a hand of firekissed honey closing over his hardness. She was so
little he could simply hold her hips and stroke her up and down himself,
and she uttered a beautiful wailing cry and clenched around him with
fluttering, lazy orgasmic  ripples for what seemed like an hour.
       Sharadzi, clinging to him with all four limbs, felt his rhythm lose
coherence and stutter toward completion. When he went rigid, becoming a
roman candle inside her, she gripped his head in both hands, pressing her
mouth to his mouth gone soft and wide with passion, taking his grunts into
her throat as she took his seed into her body.
       Rolling off her to lie beside, folding her into his grasp and
nestling her alongside his sweating body, Rodd spoke before his breath had
quite slowed to normal. "The Adjusters say I talk about you too much," he
said, trying for a humorous tone. "I only mentioned you twice, too."
       "You saw the Adjusters?" Sharadzi asked, gazing at the ceiling in
some alarm.
       "Yes," he answered, waving dismissively in the air. "I did something
or other at work I shouldn't have, and my supervisor called them in."
       Sharadzi was silent. For the heir of a company the size Rodd worked
in, it took a very serious infraction of social norms to have the
Psychiatric Adjusters called in for an interview. He must have hit someone,
or stolen money from his father's corporation.
       The computer in her head sent her a query: was she ready for another
client? Service to the customer ends when the customer dismisses the
personal, or goes to sleep, she sent back sharply. The computer,
acknowledging this policy of Pleasure Garden, gave her a one-hour period
before it would ask again.
       "Anyway," Rodd went on with elaborate casualness, "they didn't give
me any penalties. They said I was on the verge of antisocial behavior, but
of course my father made them take it back."
       "You should be careful," she said softly, smoothing her hand along
the planes of his ribcage. "I would hate it if you couldn't come back to
me."
       He sighed raggedly, settling his fingers over the back of her neck
to tilt her eyes up to his. "I love you, Sharadzi," he said.
       "How dear your face is to me," she answered him, barely breathing
the words. "Always come back to me, Rodd."
       "I can do better than that," he said soberly. "Come away with me."
       "What do you mean?"
       He uncurled from her, taking her wrists and pulling her to a sitting
position on the bed. "I mean come now, right now, with me," he said. "I
have a plan."
       "Tell me," she said, her purple eyes steady on his natural-design
brown ones. "Tell me about it. My love."
       Dressed in a human woman's shapeless clothes, with dark glasses on
to mask her strangely-colored eyes, she checked into a small hotel with
him, a thousand miles away by sundown. Nothing could be done about her
height, but the Adjusters in the shuttleport had seemed to look right
through her as they passed. Rodd closed the door after them and heaved a
sigh of relief. "I think we made it," he said. "I can hardly believe it."
       Sharadzi looked out the window. Human vehicles roared past on the
roadways, with the shining glass tube of the shuttle suspended high over
the blacktop. Humans, in their ugly clothing ill fitting their ugly bodies,
walked by on incomprehensible errands. The architecture was badly put
together, and the layout of the surrounding city was horrible. There were
no authoriy vehicles or personnel visible anywhere; they were not pursued.
Sharadzi closed the curtain again. "I've never been out of Pleasure
Gardens," she said.
       "Of course you haven't, my love," Rodd said, from the bathroom. "But
you'll learn to adjust, in time."
       She pulled the unfitted shirt over her head, freeing the pointed
rounds of her breasts to the cooling hotel room air. Much better. She
kicked off the skirt, as well, and pulled down the lacy white panties Rodd
had seen fit to go underneath the escape outfit he'd brought to Pleasure
Gardens for her. Leaving the things in a drab heap on the floor, Sharadzi
went into the bathroom, where Rodd was already starting the shower.
       Perhaps he had meant to leave her alone, let her adjust to the
strange world in which she found herself. But the soap suds flowing over
her brown skin made her irresistible, and his hands slipping over her ribs,
breast, nipple caught her up in his desire. She turned her face to the
water while he stood behind her, his hands roaming over her from neck to
thighs. His erection slipped hotly into the crack of her buttocks, pressing
insistently against her.
       Sharadzi turned in his arms, slippery with soap, frictionless. She
drew back from him a moment to let the water sluice between them. Looking
into his eyes she reached down, curled her fingers around his penis,
feeling it tremble in her hand. He made an uncontrollable gutteral sound,
closing his eyes. Sharadzi felt a momentary thrilling sense of her own
power, stroking him against her hipbone with both hands, tugging firmly on
the skin.
       "Sharadziii," he moaned, and his long hands closed over her breasts.
She threw her flooding hair back over her shoulders, her nipples hardening
in his palms. She stroked him, slowly, in her hand. Rodd bent slightly,
sweeping his fingers down and between her legs, curling momentarily in her
hair, then slipping past her lips into the burning slickness of her desire.
She thought wildly that she loved him, she really did, and caught his other
hand in her free hand. She brought his palm up to her lips, tasting his
skin, rippling her tongue over the sensitive skin there. His hips began to
move forward to meet the pumping of her hand on him.
       Rodd picked her up, hands on her hips, effortlessly sliding her up
his body. She closed her legs around his waist, and he held her poised
there, his skin hot where it touched hers, his eyes wide and unseeing,
while she dropped both her hands to guide him.
       The water had cooled without their really noticing, and the heat of
his entry was a shock to her. She gasped aloud as he drove in. He said her
name again, standing motionless with her panting and clutching his
shoulders, the beating heat of his erection surrounded by her body. Then,
slowly, he began to move.
       "I love you... you're mine, mine, mine," he whispered. Sharadzi
cried out wordlessly, rocking on his hips, abandoning herself to his grasp,
his words, the base of his penis brushing with aching electricity across
her clitoris every time he brought her down again over him. He cupped her
buttocks with firm hands, sliding her up, slamming her down. Sharadzi
dragged at his hips with frenzied, clawing hands, conscious of wanting to
climax more than she ever had before, forced to maintain his rhythm and
unable to disentangle her desires from his. "Mine," he said, his voice
lowered and throaty, "mine, mine..."
       "Rodd!" Sharadzi shouted, in the instant before it struck, pleasure
so deep it seemed to her that her small body couldn't hold it. The water
drumming on her couldn't keep her; Rodd's hands couldn't keep her; even the
computer in her head was left behind and for an instant, a moment she would
never remember, the real Sharadzi existed, and swam in pleasure, and had
time to know herself before she came down again.
       Rodd was lost in the precursor of his own orgasm, thrusting into her
suddenly over-sensitive body, making a series of shouting cries, rising in
tone. Sharadzi, tender with the experience he'd just given her, held him
tightly and let it happen, surprised by a sense of fulfillment in the
throbbing, unfurling pumping within her. He kept thrusting gently, though
his head dropped forward to rest on her shoulder, and he was whispering
that he loved her now.
       "My love," she said. He let her down, and she stood on sore legs and
washed him tenderly. Rodd stepped out of the shower and she was free to
clean herself up, stretching her body under the lukewarm flood of the
shower. She dried her hair, the machine roaring past her ears, and went
naked and warm-skinned to his bed. Rodd raised a sleepy arm to welcome her,
and she cuddled willingly with him.
       He had drawn the curtain on the one-way windows, she saw over his
shoulder. The world outside was darkening, the sun of her first day out of
the Gardens drawing chords of fire and rose from the thin sheeting clouds.
Sharadzi let her eyes fall from the chaotic jumble of buildings to the
sweet, clean skin of Rodd, rich son of a rich empire. She lifted her hand,
traced lightly the angles of his shoulderblades, straight ridge of his
spine, planed hips. He snored lightly into her other arm, and she smiled a
smile for him alone, just for this moment. He was a human, naturally
designed by a million years of evolution, and she realized with a shock of
something like dismay that he was beautiful.
       Sleeping... he was sleeping. Sharadzi stole a moment longer,
painting the sunset in her memory never to lose. Then, as her programming
demanded, she sent the call out, the computer in her head transmitting to
satellites, the message reaching its main branch a thousand miles away.
       When the Adjusters came to pick him up, Sharadzi was dressed in the
white gauze, and waiting. She smiled fondly at him, still sleeping under
their anaesthetics, as they loaded him into their truck for immediate
Adjustment in a facility for the antisocially criminal. Pleasure Gardens
sent a vehicle around, tastefully shaped and beautifully upholstered, to
bring her back.
       Her next client wanted her to do something he thought quite unusual;
but Sharadzi wasn't very surprised.

The End


-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Rosemerry
perigryn@earthlink.net

Each star now knows your name
I've wished upon them all
Each answer is the same:
"Not 'til the heavens fall."

http://home.earthlink.net/~perigryn/




-- 
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>