I could let her have an orgasm.
But after a few seconds, I decide it’s better I don’t touch it. Not yet. I close the direct feed to her room. If she thinks this is what submission feels like, it will be interesting to see how much she likes it when it’s real.
31
THE TWINS TOGETHER, EVE
I’ve takena break from checking in guests. I’m letting Lira handle everyone without a human in tow. I almost lost my composure a few minutes ago. A young human couple was brought in on leashes attached to their nipples, completely nude, with their Imperial owner. What twisted the knife even further was that that they were about my age, but their eyes were completely vacant and empty.
I am a handmaiden for the Devil here.
I didn’t even have to say anything to Lira, she came over as soon as they left and gave me a new assignment. “This needs to be completed right now. I will cover any guests arriving who aren’t human. Mark your desk as closed.”
My new assignment is reviewing guest movement logs for the west maintenance ring. It’s boring work—time stamps, access permissions, redundant security sweeps. Which is why it’s perfect for me right now. It gives me a chance to calm down and put some distance between me and the slavery, I’m not only witnessing, but participating in.
Almost mindlessly I scroll through the logs, manually checking all the flags and then I notice it. There’s a gap. Not a blackout, glitch, ortampering. Just an absence of time. A time stamp that jumps forward twelve minutes.
I scroll back to make sure I haven’t made a mistake.
Still there. Or not there. The system registers the passage of time, but no movement, no personnel tags, and no environmental data.
That shouldn’t be possible.
I check all the metadata. The file hasn’t been altered and there are no override signatures from management or the Sovereigns.
I cross-reference it with a different archive—maintenance drone activity. The same gap is there. The same twelve minutes are just missing.
I tap my finger on the side of my terminal.
This isn’t erasure; it’s omission.
I stare at the screen.
Rafe never said the records were complete. He said they weretrue.
True.
I don’t flag it, or annotate it, nor do I ask the system to explain itself. I just close the archive exactly the way I found it. Then, I open a private note—one the system doesn’t index—and I write a single line:
West Maintenance Ring — twelve minutes unaccounted for.
I don’t speculate.
If it never happens again, it means nothing. If it happens twice, it means everything.
I spend the rest of my shift doing what I’m supposed to do. I checking guests. Some have human pets with them. It makes me feel filthy.
So when the rush ends, I go back to the West Maintenance Ring logs. I just want to make sure all ofthis wasn’t in my head.
It wasn’t.
I decide to send a message. Nothing official. Just a clarification. I route it through standard internal channels, tagged low priority.
I don’t mention time gaps or missing logs, nor do I reference the twelve minutes.
I send it and the reply comes back shockingly fast.
I stare at the message. I hadn’t asked for a review or a suggested failure.
