Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“Man,” Neil corrected, taking that perfect bite with a smile. Chewing with his mouth closed, clearly happy to enjoy the robust flavors, he swallowed before adding, “Half my steak for one kiss on the mouth.”
Boy did these idiots underestimate just how expensive survival off this ship had been. “I don’t know where you’ve been. And as tempting as your pretty steak is, I’d rather save my skin from herpes, syphilis, chlamydia, gonorrhea. This pit must be a cesspool of disease, all the cross contamination, the—”
“Stop right there, little lady. Fresh as you are, we’re taking a risk on you. Not the other way around. All men are required to wait six months before they can even petition to join this soiree. Secondly, each man, each night he earns the right to dine, goes through a pretty uncomfortable medical check.”
“With petri dishes and blood work? This ship doesn’t have a lab, a microbiologist, or a hood.” Why had the world grown so dumb? “Many STDs are invisible upon visual inspection, especially concerning men. So, pleasant southern accent and all, Neil, I do not want to trade a bite of food for my physical or mental wellbeing.”
“I like this one!” another man at the table—one who clearly had not earned a cookie sheet or a girl on his lap—said with a grin.
And what was there to say to that? Nothing.
Hearty, healthy men wanted to fuck. Lived in a society that set up the opportunity to earn tickets though labor or trade. Had women sit on their laps with only cookie sheets, scraps of clothing, and the barter of tickets or favors between them.
And, if Brooke had spoken the truth, these same charming men would dump their home-brew beer and leftover food over women’s heads while they walked out the door. As if they had not just fucked them or shared hours of cuddles.
It had been three days since Eugenia almost died from dehydration. She was weak and already tired just from bathing and sitting on the lap of the stranger palming her stomach.
But she was far from giving up.
Coquettish, batting her lashes, she said, “I’ll tell you what, sweetheart. Take a big bite of my soup, and I’ll show you the best ride of your life.”
“Don’t!” Brooke shouted, reaching forward to knock the bowl over before Neil might grab the spoon.
And there they were, shards of glass, of clay, bits of jagged rock. Did these women not think she’d chew?
Probably not. Everyone must have been dumped on the ship starving.
“What happened here?” Joan, like the final judgement herself, landed at the table.
“I spilled my soup when I saw broken glass on the spoon. Brooke was kind enough to try to stop the mess.” A mess that was spilling into the laps of the scrambling guests Eugenia had been ordered to entertain. “Chain me and whip me, Madame. I’m too weak from hunger to satisfy these men. And though glass contains silica, it's nutrient deficient in all other ways.”
“For Christ’s sake, child. Your flair for drama is—”
“What is it? Worse than hidden shards of glass in your food? What good is a slave of breeding age if she’s a corpse? Three days max, these men could hump the body before it began to swell. After that, it will release gas and fluids. Ever seen a corpse fart? I have. It’s extremely unsexy.”
It was clear Joan didn’t want to laugh, that she fought back the tic at the corner of her mouth to snap her fingers at the women tasked with serving the ship’s fancy soiree. “Clean up the mess. Fresh tablecloth, extra beer for these men, a half-cup for Brooke. Eugenia has chosen to fast tonight.”
As pretty, half-naked women rushed forward, Eugenia set her elbow to the soiled tablecloth, pinning it in place when they thought to tug the mess away. So they had to look at her when she said, “Indeed, I have. Call it a hunger strike in female solidarity. After all, we only won the right to vote about one-hundred years ago. But then the world blew up… and now here we all are. I think we should petition for an increase in minimum wage. Fifteen tickets an hour.”
Plump-lipped with waving chestnut locks, one of the women wiping up the mess hissed, “Shut up before he hears you!”
Oh, let whoever he was hear. But not until the other women heard her first. Voice dropping to a whisper, unsure if the striking brunette was even the culprit, Eugenia said, “Serve me glass again and I’ll use it to cut your carotid artery while you’re sleeping.”
Eugenia’s elbows went up, and just like that, the table was clean. Fresh linen in place, beer aplenty for the men, and nothing but a baking sheet between the majority of Neil’s lap and Eugenia’s ass.
How had society come to this? How did that collection of adults seem so comfortable with the rules?