“Doesn’t anybody just do a nice double penetration with sheep anymore?” I asked.
We both convulsed in hysterics.
However, staying alive has always been a good motivation for me. I pulled on the briefs and half-shirt that hid my arm damage, wrapped the shoulder cloak around and fastened it, sat down and pulled on the boots, put on the hood and stood so she could fasten the collar around my neck.
“Well done on the boots,” I said. “They’re heeled enough to fit the outfit, low enough I can still run.”
She burst into helpless peals of laughter.
“Running in that outfit. So very discreet,” she said.
I choked for a moment myself, but got it under iron control. I tapped her cheek with fingertips to get her attention.
She snarled, “Show some respect, slave,” and then lost it again.
Dammit, this was not going to be easy. I snickered myself.
She continued, “Perhaps you should sleep on the floor until you learn proper respect.”
“Will that stop you laughing?” I asked.
That dropped her jaw again.
“Yes. It does. I think I’m just squicked enough at the idea of treating someone like that, that it’s no longer funny.”
“Well, good as it goes,” I said. “So let me change back for now and we can get a few hours sleep in shifts. I want one of us awake and both of us in work clothes for now in case we have to bail.”
She’d also bought some contact paper, and printed out copies of various travel stickers, which we distressed against the carpet and our shoes. She had more throwaway accessories for costuming, and those went into the bag.
Four hours before departure time, we were ready, and gradually getting over the snickers. Something that helped me was that she looked spectacular in a high-hipped fake leather leotard. Too spectacular, even with the fitness fetish common in that community. Very few people on Earth have muscle tone like that, and certainly not in the urban supersprawls. I was a bit older, so I could mask it a bit better. But we did stand out. Hopefully, the disguise was so blatant no one would be able to mark the discrepancies.
Feeling ridiculous, and very nervous because I had no weapons or decent clothing, I opened the door and preceded her into the hallway. She carried a doccase in one hand. I carried a rolling bag in my left. I let her take the lead and get a gentle tug on the leash.
That was strictly a costume piece. She’d stitched it with a breakaway fastener, because if it came to a fight, the last thing I needed was either a collar or a rein.
There are two ways to evade notice. Either be so drab you’re invisible or so blatant no one notices anything except the distraction. This was that. At each turn or change or floor, Silver made a light tug on the leash, and said, “Come, boy,” or, “Stand here, boy.” It was way out of my character, of any military or police guideline, and our faces were masked enough we shouldn’t show. We had fresh tourist ID. My concern was her accent. I was better, but an expert would know we were Freeholders. I was betting on both discomfort for the security; D/s is not uncommon, but public presentation is, and makes a lot of people squeamish. If they were fascinated, same deal. The ID had codes and stamps for previous visits, so we could present as ex-pats.
There was a train station in the sublevel. I paid us through with a cash card, made a point of handing it back to my “mistress.” We boarded, I stood, she sat, and no one said a word for the duration of the trip. They even left room around me, though not her. She managed it well, but I could tell she wasn’t thrilled with Earthies rubbing against her scanty outfit.
Her outfit was more elaborate than mine. The leotard had a built in corset with boning and cups, scintillating bars running up the outside, with bright metal highlights. As I was more visible than she, though we were presumably both wanted, she stood out more. I was merely a muscular sub in a mask, half-shirt and shorts. With glitter on my chest.
We debarked in a gaggle, both of us keeping tight hold of our luggage and personal pouches. Petty theft was so common on Earth it wasn’t even reportable. No one carried enough to even bother with insurance claims.
It worked. We passed several cameras and walked right by a police stand. No one twigged, no one came for us. The male cops eyed her up and down and ignored me completely. The two female cops glanced at me, shrugged and grinned. One looked embarrassed, the other amused.
Port security was still a madhouse of silliness. There were cameras, sniffers, penetrating sonar, chemical sensors, the works. We passed through each stage, being eyeballed and scanned and directed around. It certainly felt as if they were thorough. They never once actually looked at our ID, though, or even asked about the masks. Social “culture” meant hands off. They even had a warning about a known enemy from a high-G planet, and chose to randomly harass an ancient lady in a powered chair in front of me instead. Utter waste of resources.