Imperfect Partners(8)

A t the third sex slave emporium on the Strip, he spotted Xander posing in the window. A s before, his nude body was deeply tanned and oiled, and he wore the same jeweled collar Conan remembered. Now, though, Xander sported a large, red, heart-shaped patch on his left hip instead of the triangular one Conan had noticed on his inner thigh immediately after he’d sold himself to the A urelion. Conan assumed at first that Xander’s new patch held testosterone, as did the square, skin-colored ones Pak Song had obtained for him.

Then Xander lifted his penis to display his castrated state, as all the slaves on display did when passersby stopped to look. When Conan looked closer, he realized the heart-shaped patch wasn’t testosterone, but likely female hormones. Judging by Xander’s enlarged breasts and his flaccid, shrunken penis, encased in a cock ring that would barely fit on Conan’s little finger, his brother’s owners must have opted to make him a bottom-only sex slave.

Maybe Xander had suffered a reaction to the testosterone his Master had provided him initially. Conan recalled Pak Song’s warning that such reactions happened occasionally and that Conan would be wise to watch for signs of rejection. More likely, the A urelion and his clone who ran the pleasure palaces had decided that with his youth and boyish good looks, Xander would serve them more profitably as a bottom.

Conan stood and watched his brother a few minutes longer, hoping the encouraging smiles Xander was flashing toward a potential client were genuine. Finally, after the burly Earthling clipped a palladium collar and leash around Xander’s neck, Conan moved back into the street, thankful for once for the anonymity afforded by his robe.

His brother’s smiling countenance stayed in Conan’s mind. Xander had seemed pleased that the client he was flirting with had chosen him.

Not even the click of the lock on that thick second collar or a rough tug on the chain attached to it had wiped the smile off his brother’s face as the man who apparently had bought his services led him away, down the Street of Pleasure.

Xander had a new life and seemed satisfied with it. He hadn’t even recognized Conan. That hadn’t surprised him. While his hooded, white robe left his face uncovered, it discouraged others from looking too closely, as though they feared by doing so that his misfortune might rub off on them.

It was unlikely their paths would cross again now that Conan would soon be going to Luna Ten. Xander belonged to the A urelion now, and the rest of his life would be dictated by his owner’s commands. Though Conan felt bad for Xander, he realized the path he’d chosen was common for handsome young eunuchs who had been castrated as adults. Conan sensed that while Xander seemed happy enough with his lot, he wouldn’t want anybody he knew to see him as he was now—especially not someone he’d looked up to in his former life on Earth.

Earth, where only women were slaves. Where men fucked sexbots. Here on Obsidion, a land with few rules, eunuchs serviced whole males and female adventurers alike. From what Conan had observed, he deduced that sex slavery was one of the few paths open to those who had been altered for whatever reason, but left with genitals that could be kept alive with hormone therapy or not, as their owners chose.

He wouldn’t be taking that route, though. The gods willing, he would soon have a mate. A lthough he was a complete eunuch, legally speaking, he would be a Master on Luna Ten.

From what Shedir had told him, Luna Ten was a tiny, self-sufficient planet where women were willing slaves, men their Masters. Conan couldn’t imagine himself taking part in the group sexfests that Shedir had explained took place nearly every day, or going about naked with his glowing bionic cock hanging out for everyone to see.

But perhaps he could. Stopping before a pleasure palace that displayed beautiful females—guaranteed “neutered”, according to the sign in the window—he imagined himself leading one of the beauties away by the light chain attached to the collar around her slender neck and taking her in a fucking chair. Pounding his cock into her cunt while he pressed her against a wall. One lady’s full red mouth caught his eye.

His cock swelled beneath his robe. Gods, but he would love to have her give him head. A nd he would love to go down on her.

She looked at him. No, she didn’t. She looked through him, as if because of his white robe he was beneath her notice. A n eager-looking space privateer, from the look of his gaudy uniform, stepped up from behind Conan. He went inside and came back out a few minutes later, leading the woman who had just starred in Conan’s fantasy.

Fuck the damn robe. Yeah, he was a eunuch, but he wasn’t a eunuch slave. He was free—a cyborg—not a freak who should have to cower beneath cruel stares. Conan headed away from the Street of Pleasure, recalling that he’d seen a clothing store somewhere not far from Leander’s. Surely he could find appropriate clothes—not like the Star Command uniforms he used to wear, but ones that would do justice to the civil engineer he was to become on Luna Ten.