Chapter 3 - Valeria Round-Heels: Chapter 3: Abstinence Makes the...

Valeria Round-Heels:Bunny-Fur Barbarian

Chapter 3
"Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder"

by Volpone

          "...And did he have a really big schlong?" Becky asked. She wasn't being prurient. Well, really, she was, but they were comparing notes on exactly what had happened to them both during their "Lodrick" visions. The similarities were eerie, far more than simple coincidence could ever account for.
          "Oh, yeah. He was hung to make a horse jealous."
          "Mine, too. Too much of a good thing."
          "Exactly."
          "But yours was blond, not black-haired?"
          "Yeah. Looked a little like Fabio."
          "Mine looked like that Ares character on Hercules."
          "Weird."
          "Yeah."
          "And his name was Lodrick?"
          Becky nodded. "Lodrick Dark-side."
          "Mine called himself Lodrick Great-heart."
          "Great lay, but bupkis as a kisser?"
          "Totally!"
          They were approaching the grove of trees that was their destination, but without much hope. Both the little scrawny Arab-type guy and Lodrick had said there was no water.
          "What was yours into?" Val inquired.
          "Heavy into the whole dominant scene. Good at it, too." She gave a fairly detailed replay.
          Val observed, "Sounds like you had fun."
          "It was just so totally amazing right up until the last."
          "Mine had this whole self-sacrificing, celibate for six years but still happens to be oh-so-incredible in the sack thing going." And she proceeded to share her experience in great and graphic detail.
          "You think he was just a hallucination?"
          "Separate hallucinations, both named Lodrick? Yeah."
          "Maybe those little green alien guys did something so we get, like, t.v. in our heads or something."
          "Maybe, but then I think it would have been little green Lodricks with great big green whangs."
          "Yeah. Good point."

**********

          It took them about a half-hour more to reach the shade of the grove, but long before that, a track began to become more obvious off to their right. By the time they had reached the sheltering boughs, it was clear that there was an established trail, even if it was little more than an animal path (not that either of the two urban-raised women could have told an animal path from an Interstate freeway).
          Thirst was beginning to be a major point of discussion.
          Entering the grove by the established path, it took but a few moments under the fern-like leaves of the trees before they realized that they had stumbled onto more than just a simple patch of higher vegetation. They rounded one bend, and the sight that greeted them was both a shock and a surprise.
          The pool stretched a good forty feet across, and the deer they startled dashed off into the undergrowth as they approached. (It might have been a deer, but whatever it was, the fact that the two inexperienced hikers managed to surprise it boded ill for its chances of achieving old age.)
          "Why, that lying little shit! 'No water. You die.' That slimy, sneaky..." Words failed Becky as she groped for a name strong enough to describe the man.
          Val was so relieved that she was in a much better mood than her pal.
          "Hey, you're a sweet young thing with great knockers who was raised around movie people, and you act surprised that a man lied to you? Excuse me, but what have you done with my friend Becky?
          She wouldn't be so trusting. And anyway, Lodrick sort of said the same thing."
          "Yeah, but he may not exist. It's easier to vent at someone you're sure is real."
          Becky settled down. Looking at the still water, she asked val, "You think it's safe?"
          "Bambi didn't drop dead, so I guess it's okay."
          "You know, our swim was interrupted by little green men. How do you feel about finishing it now?" She raised one eyebrow in a challenging look.
          In just over a second, both women were giggling wildly as they splashed each other, standing hip deep in the cool water. Neither was terribly serious normally, and their relief over finding they weren't going to die horribly of thirst was such that they were even sillier than usual, dunking each other, spitting water, shaking themselves to send water flying in all directions. They would occasionally relax and simply float in the water sometimes, but then after catching their breath, one would sneak attack the other and their water battle would recommence.
          After about fifteen minutes, they were both surprised by a strange voice speaking unaccented if colloquial English.
          "Jeez, ladies! Come on! People gotta drink that!"
          The man entering the clearing was so odd in appearance he might have as well been wearing a deep-sea diving suit. He looked European, rather handsome, with longish dark blond hair. It was the contrast between his clothes and his mount that was so incongruous. He wore a classic Scottish outfit of unbleached-colored poet's shirt, tam, kilt (complete with sporran) and soft hide boots. That wasn't so odd. It was that he was riding a camel that looked so out of place. He also lead a donkey (it was actually a mule, but they wouldn't have known that) pulling a moderately small cart efficiently loaded with various goods.
          His appearance was definitely unexpected and his expression disapproving, but it didn't stop both women from immediately giving him a practiced examination. With computer-like precision he was examined, measured, dissected, evaluated, graded, and both female libidos promptly registered him as "highly do-able".
          At his signal, the camel knelt and allowed the new arrival to dismount. He stood about six foot and moved easily, looking capable of taking care of himself in a scrape. There was a dagger tucked into his belt and a sword hanging from the camel's saddle.
          Gesturing impatiently, he said, "Come on, come on, everyone out of the pool! It's gonna take at least fifteen minutes for the water to clear, and I got thirsty animals here." His behavior showed them that he expected to be obeyed, but unlike their first encounter, it was more as if her was correcting a lapse in manners rather than threatening them.
          Slightly self-consciously, they climbed out of the water.
          "You wouldn't happen to have a couple of spare towels, would you?" asked Becky.
          Ignoring her question, he looked them over and said, "Don't tell me... let me guess. Abductees?"
          Val said, "Exsqueeze me?"
          "You were dropped here by aliens, right? nabbed from somewhere in... America?" They nodded. "Three little jokers about so high..." He held a hand up indicating a bit over four foot high. "...look like something right out of 'Spaced Invaders'?" Again they nodded. "I thought so. You look like the kind they like to choose."
          Becky asked irritably, "Who are 'they'? And for that matter, who are you?"
          He turned to tend his mule and spoke back over his shoulder.
          "Don't know what their real names are, but I call them Larry, Moe and Curly. They have a tendency to pick lovely young human women to abduct, and then drop them here on Beata when their done. I call them that because they seem to be the Three Stooges of the X-Files set. From what I've been able to tell, they abduct someone new about every couple of months." He looked them over again. "Can't fault their taste though."
          During this, Becky had moved a bit closer to see if she could sneak a peek into his cart, hoping to spot something that they might use as clothes. This brought her just within reach of the camel, who in turn proceeded to stretch out his neck and do something which brought an indignant shriek from Becky, who quickly backed away. The camel tried to look innocent.
          "Fuzzy pervert just nibbled my tochis!"
          The man said, "Larry, behave yourself. She's not edible. Well... not that way, at least." To Becky he said, "He's usually harmless. He didn't actually bite, did he?" He gave the camel a look which said that if he had, there might be camel for dinner that night.
          "No. Just startled me. Tickled more than anything."
          He nodded. "Tickling he does well, especially with those lips. Huh, Larry?" He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers at the camel, who extended his neck, reached out and wiggled his very flexible lips in return.
          The sight was so ridiculous that Val lost the last of her uncertainty about the stranger. Moving forward, she cautiously held out a hand palm first to Larry.
          "I'm Valerie, and this is my best friend, Becky."
          Smiling, he replied, "They call me Trader. You've met Lawrence here. And this," he rested an affectionate hand on the mule's neck, "is Eucephalus."
          Val giggled as Larry's lips tickled her palm. Then, forcing herself to more businesslike behavior, she asked, "How is it everyone here speaks English?"
          "Well, I speak it because I was born speaking it. I'm an abductee myself from outside Seattle. Been here for about five years. But a lot of folks here speak it because it's become sort of a trade language, something like it's become back on Earth. Actually, up until a couple of hundred years ago, Latin was the big language. Still pretty popular, and the national language of Claudia."
          "Who's she?"
          "Let me get set up here and I'll try to fill you in on the local scene, okay?"
          Becky asked, "You got any little schmattas we could use in there?"
          Trader shook his head. "Sorry, gorgeous. Not even a spare shirt for myself. You better wear what you had on before."
          "We are."
          "Oops. They caught you in the buff? What were you... No, never mind. Not my business."
          "That's why we were hoping you had a couple of Tommy Hilfiger's in there or something."
          "Who?"
          Val observed to her friend. "It's okay, Beck. He just fashionably deprived."
          Something occurred to Trader. "I know what. I don't have any clothes, but somewhere in here I've got some nice..." He reached under some packages and came up with a stack of soft, grey pelts. "...rabbit furs." He looked pleased.
          Becky was unimpressed. "We need like a dress or pants or something, not to trim a coat."
          He shrugged, not at all offended. "I'm sorry, but I don't have any fabric this trip. This is the only thing I've got that I can turn into clothes." He tilted his head and looked critically at them. "Yeah. I think a couple of nice bunny-fur bikinis will make you right in style." He glanced from Becky's chest to Val's and back again. "Good thing they've got some big rabbits around here."
          Becky opened her mouth, but Val elbowed her in the ribs to shut her up.
          "He's offering to make us something to wear. Me, I'm going to feel more secure if I've got something other than admiring stares on my knockers."
          Becky shut up.
          He selected a half-dozen pelts, rummaged a bit more, then produced some funky type of scissors, needle, thread, and some soft leather straps.
          "Either of you two sew?" He looked at them and was greeted by looks that said he might have asked, "So, what do you think of Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle?"
          He went on. "Okay. Can you cook?" The same look greeted him. "Well, considering the lack of tailors who do take-out locally, I'd say that leaves me doing both."
          He walked to the far side of his cart and returned with three much larger fleeces that looked thicker and more padded than the rabbit. He laid them on the ground around the ring of stones to their right and said, "You can watch, or you can gather wood. We can eat faster and you'll have clothes earlier if you gather."
          Both girls got busy.
          "Dry wood, not green!" he called. "If it bends without breaking, it won't burn."
          Five minutes later, he had a fire going. Five minutes after that, three smallish foul were suspended over the flames and savory smells began wafting about the clearing.
          Trader was remarkably efficient. He cooked, sewed, watered the animals, found some fodder for them, and located some type of edible tuber that he set around the coals to bake, all while keeping up a steady dialogue about the planet they found themselves on.
          "You'll need to know some things to get by.
          "First, there's no shuttle service to Earth, so forget about going back. Beata is a one way trip.
          "Second, this world is like something straight out of Conan the Barbarian. Warlike. No automobiles. No television. No computers. No modern medicine. Definitely medieval."
          Val looked at Becky in horror. "God, Beck... STDs! No contraception!"
          Becky paled. "Enforced celibacy!"
          "I think I'm gonna plotz!"
          Trader's voice cut through their panic.
          "Whoa! Time out! Back the bus up!"
          They quieted down.
          "That's better. Before you both go in search of a nunnery, in addition to many of the things this world lacks, sexually transmitted diseases are one."
          "None?"
          "Nope. Not a one. In fact, most of the illnesses and diseases from Earth don't exist here. Seems our alien abductors did us the favor of giving everyone a clean bill of health before dropping us off here. Oh, there's a local version of the common cold, but it's a lot harder to catch here. There aren't any winter flu epidemics here, either."
          "If there's no disease," observed Becky, "who needs modern medicine?"
          Trader countered with, "That just leaves broken bones, heart attacks, wounds inflicted by angry neighbors, poisoning, and fifteen-thousand other things that can go wrong with the body."
          "Oh." Becky felt a bit foolish not to have thought of it herself.
          "On the other hand," he continued, "the herbalists here are way ahead of anything back on Earth. I think not dealing with the FDA has helped them out a lot."
          Val asked, "Herbs? Like silverleaf?"
          Trader looked at Val questioningly. "How long have you been here?"
          "Three... four hours."
          "Where did you hear about silverleaf?"
          That made her explain about their visions. She didn't go into quite the detail she had with Becky, but graphically enough to get her point across.
          He nodded. "He was right."
          Becky interrupted with, "Then we're not crazy? What we saw happened?"
          He shook his head. "Not really. That's another thing I was working up to. Don't ask me how or why, but somehow they do something here that passes for magic. Not just illusions. I'm talking genuine, no slight-of-hand, real deal Merlin-type magic. I can't figure if it's psychic, or metaphysical, or mass hypnosis, or what, but I've seen it work, and David Copperfield can't do what these jokers can."
          Becky nodded. "Lodrick said he'd brought us there by magic."
          Trader reacted strangely. "Lodrick? You're sure you heard his name right?"
          Both women nodded.
          "Well, I don't know what he was up to, but we'd better do something about that right now." He stopped cutting rabbit fur and went to his cart. He seemed to have a remarkable number of items tucked into it.
          "Here." He held out something to each. "Put these on."
          They each took what he offered, which turned out to be pieces of beautifully carved jade on leather cord.
          Becky said, "Ooh, I love a man who gives jewelry on the first date."
          He shot back, "That's okay. I've always been partial to women willing to get naked on the first date, but they usually don't greet me at the door that way."
          Both women colored a bit. Trader's actions were so homey that they had actually forgotten about being unclothed.
          Val asked, "What is it?"
          He looked and saw that they both were examining the pendants rather than putting them on.
          Smiling, he said, "Well, maybe you two will survive here after all. Lesson One: don't trust what everyone tells you, and only trust half of what you see. These should help. See?" He produced a similar piece from under his shirt. "It's an amulet to protect from malevolent magic. Anyone who wants to live long her has something similar."
          Both slipped the pendants on, which nestled nicely between their beautiful breasts.
          "Good. That should help spike Lodrick's guns."
          "So Lodrick is real?"
          A look bordering on disgust came over Trader's face.
          "Oh, he's real. Lodrick the Pervert. A wizard who lives in a town a few hundred miles from here. I've never seen him, but I've heard plenty. He seems to have some magical/sexual perversion that is extremely unpleasant for the women involved." He grimaced. "Nasty business. I saw one gal who experienced what Lodrick does. Supposed to be seventeen... looked about seventy, and an unattractive seventy at that."
          Losing color at the thought, Val asked, "What did he want us for?"
          "You mean other than that?" I'd guess he wanted to collar you."
          "'Collar' us?"
          Becky chimed in. "Yeah! What is this thing with collars anyway? First guy we met said if we didn't wear his doggy fashion accessories, that we'd die. Little schmuck even pulled a knife on us."
          She showed their trophy from the encounter.
          Trader looked surprised, but also quite pleased.
          "You two have had an eventful day, haven't you?
          "Well, one of the un-nice things about Beata is slavery. There are a few places it's not allowed, but in most kingdoms, it's a fact of life. Lesson Two: never, never, under any circumstances, even in jest, put on a collar, no matter who gives it to you. It means that you are agreeing to become a slave, and the person who gave you the collar is your owner. Of all the abductees I've ever talked to, over half are slaves now because they didn't know any better."
          Becky looked disgusted. Val looked ill.
          He went on. "Lesson Three: there are no cops that you can call on in an emergency. A few larger towns have a city watch, but their job is usually to protect the rich from being robbed by the poor.
          "Lesson Four: don't count on the law to help you, because the laws here are usually just the whim of whatever judge rules on a case. There are virtually no written laws what-so-ever."
          "Wait a minute!" Val had real trouble believing the last. "You mean that they just make it up as
they go?"
          "Smart girl," he nodded approvingly. "You catch on fast."
          "But they must have laws against murder!"
          Temporarily ignoring her outburst, he handed Becky a fur bikini bottom. "Here. Try this on and see how it fits."
          "Which way is out?" she asked, looking at the grey bit of fluff that was supposed to pass as clothing.
          Trader looked amused at her question.
          "Wellll..." he drawled, "when we get around to fitting the top, you tell me how much you like having your nipples sanded all day and I'll tell you which way to wear it. Deal?"
          She put it on fur side in.
          "Not a bad fit." She wiggled her hips experimentally. "Ooh, nice!" Turning to her friend, she said, "Val, it's like wearing chinchilla against your..." She stopped suddenly and looked at Trader, who was looking at her with an innocent grin. He behaved so much like a ladies' tailor that she forgot for a moment that he was "one of them".
          "Could be a touch more snug," she said, changing the subject.
          "Come here," he gestured. When she did, he knelt and slipped his index finger into the waist and ran it along the inside edge.
          "Hey!" she said. "Aren't you even going to buy me dinner first?"
          Looking up at her through eyelashes that Becky only now noticed we so nice and cute, he replied, "Sweetheart, when I'm fitting your top, we're going to get to know each other a lot better, so I'd get used to it. Unless you'd prefer to wear air?"
          She shut up and let him do his adjusting and after a few well-placed stitches, he said, "There. Better?"
          Becky wiggled her hips again. "Much."
          He smiled. "Good. By the way... nice road test. I can hardly wait for the top."
          He turned back to his sewing and left Becky with her mouth open.
          "Now, back to the subject of murder... To answer your question, no, there are no laws against murder."
          "You're kidding."
          "Dead serious, if you'll pardon the pun." He was already trimming another pelt. "I knew one case where a woman brought the killing of her husband to court. Lost of witnesses. No defense offered, but the judge took a dislike to the woman bringing charges. He ruled that with her as a wife, the victim was probably relieved to be dead, and so ruled it a mercy killing. Made the woman pay costs, too."
          "She couldn't appeal?" Val asked hopelessly.
          He shrugged. "Maybe she could get the local lord or whoever to make an arbitrary ruling, but she could as easily annoy the lord and end up collared or worse. If you go over a judge's head, you'd better have some money to throw at the person you approach to avoid the problem."
          Becky asked, "Then what stops the yenta from waiting for the guy who did it and... " She gestured with the knife.
          "Nothing at all. The judge might witness the whole thing and decide she'd performed a public service by removing a potential threat to the community. They're not too concerned with consistency. And, as you might have guessed, the most popular sentence is..." He waited for them to fill in the blank.
          "... collaring?" Val asked, not really wanting to be right.
          "Bravo! Got it in one. Actually, public flogging is probably more frequent, but I wouldn't want to tempt fate. There are lots of ways to end up property on this world."
          He turned the cooking spits and moved the tubers as he went on.
          "One of the better ways to avoid developing a permanent neck decoration is to be a citizen of one of the countries where slavery isn't practiced. It won't guarantee you safety beyond their boundaries, but it does offer you a little protection sometimes. Liberia is a slavery-free zone but isn't old enough yet to have much clout. It does take the best care of its citizens, though."
          "Wait a sec," objected Becky. "I thought Liberia was a country in Africa."
          "It's both here and there, and has the same name for the same reason... both were founded by former slaves."
          He considered. "The three strongest nations are: Claudia, which is this world's clone of Imperial Rome; the Mongol territory, and they're just as nasty and warlike here as they were on Earth but thank heavens not as well organized; and the kingdom of Calondria, which is technically where you are now, and is sort of a Viking-Germanic-Celtic melting pot. The big problem with all three is that they all allow slavery.
          "The Amazom territory doesn't allow slavery, and is a place most other nations don't want to piss off. But they have rituals and tattooing for their citizens, so we don't want to try to fake that. They're very protective of their citizens, and very unforgiving to those who falsely claim to belong to the sorority. You'd end up a target for every real Amazon around, so that's self-defeating."
          He held up a second bikini bottom.
          "Next!"
          Val almost scampered over for her fitting, and it wasn't because she felt cold.
          The grey fur panties were almost a perfect fit, but Val wouldn't let the opportunity pass.
          "The leg hole seems a bit snug on the left. Would you check?" she asked innocently.
          He ran his finger along the inner edge by her hip bone.
          "Not there," she corrected. "Down by the leg."
          Obligingly, his finger slid down... and down. When she didn't stop him, he continued until his finger was travelling close along the left side of her labia.
          "Right in there," she said.
          His finger slid along and then back, checking the edge for tight spots.
          "That's the spot."
          Behind Trader's back, Becky gave Val a malevolent glare and silently mouthed the word "Bitch."
          Val stuck out her tongue at her friend, then tried to look innocent. She shifted her weight back and forth as if checking the fit, moving her pelvis in a suggestive manner against Trader's finger.
          "Ooh, that's much better. Thank you."
          He looked up at her with unconcealed suspicion. No, not really suspicion. There was no doubt he knew exactly what Val was about. He stood, shook his head as if in disbelief, the returning to the various tasks around camp as he resumed his dialog.
          "Basically, there are only two nations bureaucratic enough to have citizenship papers... Claudia and Trebore, and since Claudia is out, that leaves Treborian citizenship as your final option, which is fine because Trebore may not be the strongest nation, but they are rich and neutral, so everyone wants them friendly.
          "It is also fortunate..." he stopped sewing long enough to go and fetch two folded parchments from a chest in his cart, "...that I happen to have papers proving you are both from Trebore, and so should be accorded due courtesy. Actually, I wish I had a couple of swords for you to wear. They'd go a lot farther than any papers, but I don't have any in stock.
          "On the other hand," and again he was looking through his cart, "I do happen to have... these."
          He produced a pair of sheathed daggers. Drawing one part of the way from its sheath, he showed them the sharp, double-edged blade that was probably eight inches long. "Good steel with a grip that won't slip if your hand is wet, and a guard that'll protect your fingers some if you need it. Much better than that cheap little thing you took from the would-be slaver.” He handed one to each. "Wear them where they're comfortable, in easy reach of your good hand, and highly visible. They should discourage unpleasant behavior towards your persons more effectively than anything else I have. Good eating utensils, too. Make sure to keep them sharp or they're no good to you. Dull knives hurt the person using them more often than sharp ones.
          "However, we have these very sincere documents that it would be a shame to waste." He got out an ink-pot and genuine quill, and smoothed one parchment.
          "Now, we need a name here, but I'm afraid 'Becky' isn't going to sound very local, so we'll do an Ellis Island on you. What's your last name?"
          "Bernardi."
          He shook his head. "No good. Names tend to be descriptive here." He looked at her speculatively.
          Val chimed in. "Becky Big-Boobs? Becky Nice-Knockers?"
          Trader looked at the blonde. "Why and I reminded of 'pots and kettles'?" Turning back to Becky, he said, "Rebecca's no good either."
          The dark-haired woman looked like she tasted something especially vile.
          "No shit."
          "So we go with the closest sounding local equivalent. How does 'Bekka Raven-tress' sound?"
          She smiled. "Like I should be an exotic dancer... but that's good."
          "Done!" He carefully inscribed her new name on the parchment, waved it a bit to dry, then handed it to her with a warning about the damp ink.
          Turning to Val, he said, "And you would be...?"
          "Valerie Rondelle, but the kids at school called me 'Valerie Round-heels'."
          Trader looked dubious. "Are you sure? It'll carry the same meaning here as on Earth."
          "It's like totally better than 'Rondelle'. That sounds, you know, like I've got a weight problem.
I've always sort of liked 'Round-heels'."
          Becky, or rather Bekka said, "Truth in advertising."
          Trader shrugged. "Okay. How does 'Valeria Round-heels' sound?"
          "Ooh! I like that! It sounds tough and independent, but fun on a date. Let's do it!"
          "I assume you mean the name."
          She smiled suggestively. "For now."
          He added her new name to the second document and presented it to her with a flourish.
          Becky asked, "Will we get in trouble for this if someone finds out they're not real?"
          "Who says they're not real? See that wax seal? That's all it takes to make you two official Treborians, legal as church on Sundays, which isn't normal here, but still legal."
          "You mean we're really citizens of this place we've never even seen?" Becky was used to bureaucracy in triplicate. The informality of the process seemed so foreign to her that she questioned the legitimacy of it.
          Trader shook his head, not in denial but in disappointment.
          "You're gonna have to forget the US Constitution and the whole American way of doing things. This entire planet has fewer people on it than a moderate American city. If I'm right in my guestimates, we're talking a few million humans spread over a territory almost the same size as Earth... possibly bigger. That's lots of elbow room. Lots of room makes for fewer rules and restrictions. You are legally, officially and legitimately the subjects of His Majesty Gorboc the Garrulous, sovereign lord of the Kingdom of Trebore. You'd better be... I paid good money for those papers. So don't worry. You're covered." He grinned at them. "At least, somewhat."
          Again he turned the fouls cooking over the fire before returning to trimming rabbit skins.
          "Other than would-be slavers, the one group all abductees need to watch out for is the Beata Centrists, or as everyone else calls them, the Denialists."
          "Who's that?"
          "They're a group of native born Beatans who have formed a cult dedicated to the idea that Beata is the center of the universe, and that Earth is actually the afterlife. Needless to say, they don't much like it if someone comes along claiming to be from Earth. They have a tendency to take such blasphemy very seriously and do everything they can to discourage the individual's continued good health."
          Val was less than thrilled.
          "Oh, just perfect! Now we have a bunch of religious nuts who want to kill us."
          Trader shrugged them off. "Just be a little circumspect about who's around when you talk about Earth. You'll probably do fine. Just think of them as the Moral Majority with spears."
          He lifted two trimmed but unsewn pelts as he looked at Becky.
          "Ready to get to know each other better?"
          She stood, moved closer and spread her arms wide.
          "I guess I'm all yours."
          "Oh, I do love it when women say that."
          She tried to remain relatively impersonal during the fitting, but Becky quickly found that it was impossible when an attractive gentleman was fondling her breasts with rabbit fur. Her nipples were excited during the entire process, and it certainly didn't help when Trader kept sliding his fingers around the edges against her skin on a regular basis. Once, he even ran the back of a finger over the point of her nipple. It might have been accidental... barely.
          "Ahem," she said.
          "I beg your pardon," he said with a straight face, but when their eyes met, there was a definite wicked twinkle in his eye. He carefully distracted her with a new topic.
          "Now, on the topic of religion. there's a much greater diversity here than back on Earth. Being a more primitive world, the older religions haven't died out. There are a few Christians and Muslims and Jews and others, but there are lots more who are old-style polytheists.
          "The Claudians have all the old Roman pantheon of gods plus the late emperors plus their own additions. If they add any more, each citizen could have their own god to pray to, and some still might get neglected until the weekend.
          "The Valhalla crowd is big here in Calondria and several of the outlying kingdoms, so drinking and passing out is a religious event here."
          "Like a big frat house," observed Val.
          "Except here, the Dean is leading the debauchery," he corrected.
          "The Mongols I'm not sure about yet, though I can guarantee you they ain't Buddhist. I've been keeping my contact with them to a minimum since any round-eye tends to be fair game except in rare exceptions, which I strive to be.
          "There's a healthy group of pagan-druidic-nature worshipers overall, and I think there may be a group of Mithraists, too, but not being a member, I wouldn't know for certain."
          Becky was hearing only about half of Trader's discourse. She had little interest in religion and was being distracted by his hands around her chest. If Val hadn't expressed an obvious interest as well, she'd have skipped the fitting and gone straight for shared body heat (namely his) to keep warm. From the way things were shaping up, she and Val would likely end up double-teaming him, which wouldn't be a first by a long shot. Still, it was really tough not doing something really obvious, like throwing both legs around his head right here by the fire!
          "How's that?"
          Suddenly his hands were gone and she was wearing the most sensuous-feeling bikini she'd ever experienced.
          "One sec," she said, did the traditional cleavage fluff, and moved her shoulders a bit. The fit was perfect.
          "Where'd you learn to do this?" she asked him suspiciously.
          "Same place I learned to cook over an open fire, pitch a tent properly, brew beer, make mead, dance a gavotte, read Latin, spot an honest sword and swing it without injuring myself, along with about two hundred other useful things that have kept me alive and at liberty since being dumped here. I learned it in the SCA."
          "Huh?" said Becky.
          "Exsqueeze me?" said Val.
          "The Society for Creative Anachronism. Bunch of crazies back on Earth that dress up in medieval costumes, find some completely unsuitable location for a get together and pretend they don't really know what century it is. You learn very quickly what modern amenities you can do without when a cow was grazing your campsite the day before."
          Neither woman had heard of the organization, but they decided if Trader had learned all that there and obviously enjoyed doing it, it couldn't be all bad, even if it did sound like an outing for the local sanitarium.
          The fitting of Val's bunny-fur top went much the same as Becky's, with the exception that Val kept shifting as Trader worked, and more often than not, he ended up with an exceptionally fine breast in his hand instead of rabbit pelt. She claimed it was because he tickled. Yeah... sure.
          Just as they finished, dinner was served. Trader did the Polynesian trick of serving on broad leaves as a combination of plate and napkin. The birds tasted like smoked game hens and the tubers like bready yams. It took a few minutes for the women to get used to the "eating with hands" frame of mind, but soon they were happily noshing away as they lounged around the fire, the sun finally making its way beneath the horizon. The three moons were high and their colors grew stronger as the light faded.
          As they ate, Trader kept up a cheerful monologue between bites, stories and anecdotes that all served to give them an idea of what life on Beata was like. He was entertaining and charming, dividing his attention between the two women with impartiality.
          When he had finished his meal, he set aside his leaf with its collection of small bones and reclined on his side, head propped on one elbow as he chatted away. This put him in a position which hitched up his kilt a bit. Becky noticed that much more of Trader's previously covered person was now visible, so with minimal adjustment, she was able to get a rather good look beneath his kilt, and was pleased to discover that Trader followed this Scottish tradition as well. Very pleased.
          The smug expression on her friend's face made Val watch Becky more closely, and soon she caught the lingering glance that showed exactly what she was smug about. Waiting to catch Becky's eye, Val's questioning expression and subtle nod in the proper direction made it obvious that her friend had been caught and she expected her to share her new-found information.
          Trying her best to look casual in front of the oblivious Trader, Becky moved in a seemingly offhand manner, brushing some invisible bug off the fur she was reclining on. When she finished, her hands rested open in the traditional fisherman's gesture, showing about eight or nine inches in length. 
          Val smiled and was suddenly much more attentive, hanging on trader's every word. Actually, he was covering a topic of interest for both women anyway.
          He went on. "... and of course, since there are no sexually transmitted diseases, and with maiden's-eye growing in such profusion, and also with slavery being so common place, of course you're going to have prostitution as a common fact of life. 'Pay-girls', as they call them here, have an entire social hierarchy to themselves."
          Suddenly both women realized they'd missed a vital piece of information.
          "Just a sec," said Val. "What's maiden's-eye, and why is it important to prostitution?"
          Trader looked slightly puzzled. "You know about silverleaf, but not about maiden's-eye? Okay. You know that silverleaf increases a man's sexual potency..."
          "And makes him taste like cotton candy syrup," added Val.
          "... and changes the taste of his semen. Maiden's-eye is far more important for women than silverleaf is to men. It's a small flowering plant which grows all year round over most of Beata. It's important because the flowering buds contain something which renders a woman incapable of conceiving for about three or four days. It's for more dependable that 'the Pill', and is the main reason this world has such a low population."
          "How dependable is 'more dependable'?" asked Becky.
          Val jumped in. "And what's it look like?"
          "It's a small blue flower, about so tall," he indicated about three inches high, "and it'll grow and bloom anywhere vegetation can survive. There's some around here, I'm sure. Grows like dandelions back in America. And as for effectiveness, I've never heard of a 'maiden's-eye baby'." Becky looked at Val.
          Val looked at Becky.
          "No STDs."
          "No unplanned pregnancies."
          "And that means..."
          They said in unison, "No condoms!" They didn't break into song, but Trader got the impression that both women were doing the Happy Dance inside. They did, on the other hand, high five.
          He smiled. "It's a good thing, too, since latex is a bit beyond their level of chemistry here. They're still trying to develop a good soap."
          He rose, saying, "We need to get you gals set up for the night. I wasn't anticipating guests, so we'll have to fake it. My canopy isn't designed for sleeping three."
          Val said pointedly, "Oh, I'm sure we'll manage to get cozy somehow."
          He produced a roll of canvas which hooked to the side of his cart and staked out to the side like a low shed roof. the furs they sat on would serve as bed pads, but the lack of shelter would cause some problem.
          Coming to a decision, he said, "I tell you what... you girls will get the canopy and a couple of blankets. I'm used to roughing it a bit more, so I'll just bunk down by the fire." He nodded, as if that settled everything.
          Val started to say, "But I thought..."
          Trader raised a hand to cut short any objections. "No, it's all settled. I won't hear any arguments. You two get the awning."
          The girls exchanged glances, trying to figure out how to get around this sudden attack of chivalry. Neither of them had any intention of getting cold. Neither had any intention of sleeping alone. Hell, neither had any intention of getting any sleep, period. But it seemed that Trader was willing to let all of the previous by-play remain just that.
          Soon, both women were snuggled under the awning... with each other, not with Trader, who was bunked down alone by the fire pit.
          After several minutes of frustrated silence, Val asked, "Beck?"
          "Yeah."
          "You think maybe he's gay?"
          "Are you kidding? If he's gay, I'm Saddam Hussein."
          "Then how come we're in here and he's out there?"
          "Beats the hell out of me, Batman."
          "Think we were too subtle?"
          "Sweetie, anything less subtle would need neon lights and the USC marching band."
          "We could have just asked him."
          There was a definite pause.
          "Oops."
          "You think like maybe we screwed up somehow?"
          "Are we gettin' shtupped by a handsome Trader right now? Yeah, somehow we screwed up."
          "How?"
          "Am I buzzin' my answer button? If I knew, I'd be swapping bodily fluids with him right now."
          "Yeah. Too bad."
          "Yeah. Now go to sleep."
          "'Night, Bekka."
          "'Night, Valeria."

**********

          After she was fairly sure Val was asleep, Becky carefully slipped out from under the covers.
          It wasn't that she didn't want to wake Valerie. She just figured that maybe one woman might succeed where two women might be intimidating. Maybe he thought he wasn't up to both at once.
          Yeah, right. If Trader was lacking anything, it wasn't self-confidence around women.
          She quietly slipped out of the fur bikini he had made for her and crept close to where Trader was lying. The silhouette of Larry the camel in repose was visible nearby the man's bedroll.
          As she knelt by his reclining form, Trader suddenly grabbed her arm and the next thing she knew, she had a very awake male kneeling over her prone form, a no-nonsense knife at her throat. He realized who his supposed assailant was just in time.
          "Dammit, woman! Do you want to get yourself killed?" he whispered angrily. He returned the knife to the sheath strapped high to his thigh under his kilt.
          She tried to laugh it off, whispering back, "Listen. sweetie, if you like to play rough, I'm sure we can work something out. I can be very flexible about foreplay."
          Trader wasn't amused. "Foreplay means something else is going to happen, so this doesn't qualify." He got off her, indicating that she should leave. "Go back to bed."
          "I'd much rather stay here." She tried to look her sexiest, which was difficult in near blackness.
          "That's something else that isn't going to happen."
          Becky couldn't understand the problem. "But I really can be very flexible. I'd love to show you."
          "I'm sure you are. You're young and gorgeous and willing and probably incredible between the sheets. but I don't sleep with women who may feel indebted to me. It smacks of prostitution."
          "But we do owe you a lot!"
          "Exactly, and I don't take payment this way."
          "It's not payment. It's not even a 'thank you'. I'm here because I want to shtup your brains out. I'm just that kind of girl."
          He unbent a little. "Okay. You want to play doctor... fine. You pay me fair market value for what I've set you up with... say eighty silver pieces... and you still want to 'shtup my brains out', you're welcome to try. Hell, I hope you do. But until then, you sleep in your own bed."
          "But why?"
          "Because, sweetheart, I don't buy my women. I'm too stinkin' proud."
          Damn. A cute, honorable, straight man who couldn't be had. He was almost irresistible.
          Becky knew she'd lost, but she wouldn't give up without giving him a rough time for rejecting her offer, even if it was for honorable reasons. Honorable reasons did not cause multiple orgasms.
          Besides, it was his honor, not hers.
          "Suppose I won't leave. What'll you do? Spank me? You're welcome to if you want." She rolled over, presenting her round derriere for him to spank if he wished. She wiggled it in invitation.
          "Come on, lover. I could use a good spank about now."
          He said, "I don't think that'll be necessary." Turning to the camel, he said, "Larry..."
          The camel slowly swung his head around at hearing his name.
          Becky said, "You wouldn't."
          Trader leaned down and patted her on the ass.
          "Treats, Larry!"
          The camel leaned in, his flexible, fuzzy lips reaching out, questing for the promised treat.
          With a soft squeal, Becky was up and out of the Bactrian's impertinent reach.
          "Good boy, Larry." He resumed his vacated bedroll, giving Larry a small bit of tuber in reward.
          "Ooh! You... shit!" she stormed back to the awning where Val lay.
          "That was fast," Val's voice observed. "Was he any good? Wait... you were gone five minutes. Stupid question."
          "No, he wasn't good," retorted Becky as she crawled in beside her friend. "He wasn't anything. He turned me down."
          "What ? Not even a blow job?"
          "Bupkis. Negotiations broke down before getting that specific."
          "Well, serves you right, sneaking off without inviting me."
          "You're welcome to try if you think you'll have any better luck." Despite her words, Becky wasn't in a charitable mood.
          "Gee, thanks."
          "Whatever." Becky rolled over on her side facing away from Val.
          "Don't wait up." she slipped out from under, shed her bunni-kini and slowly approached Trader's spot.
          "Trader?" she called softly.
          "Yes, Val," came the reply. He sounded weary, as if he knew what was coming, which he did.
          "Are you awake?"
          "Yes, Val."
          "Can I talk to you?"
          "Of course."
          "Uh... I'm sorry, but it's cold out here. Can I borrow part of your blanket while we talk?"
          "Come on."
          She quickly snuggled up to him under the cover.
          "Thanks. This is nice."
          "You wouldn't get so cold if you left your clothes on."
          "Uh... that's part of what I wanted to talk to you about."
          "No, Val."
          "Huh?"
          "No, Val. No sex."
          "What makes you think..."
          "When a beautiful woman crawls into your bed wearing nothing but a flimsy excuse, it's kind of obvious."
          "Oh." She thought a moment. "You know, it wouldn't have to be regular sex." Her hand began to slide up under his kilt. "If there's anything you want... I admit I'm really curious about this silverleaf. Do you use it?"
          Just as her fingers were about to encounter what they sought, Trader's strong hand restrained her by the wrist.
          Very gently, he said, "You girls make it difficult to be noble, but I'm afraid your curiosity will stay unsatisfied."
          "Oh, I'm sure I'd be very satisfied." She put her head on his shoulder and ran her hand into the split in the front of his shirt and across his firm chest.
          "Not by me... at least not now. I don't do 'obligation sex', and I don't do sex by default because I'm the only male in range. Neither one is very flattering."
          "Really, that's not it. I promise."
          He removed her hand from inside his shirt.
          "Val," he said patiently and not unkindly, "you're a big girl..."
          "I'm glad you noticed," she interrupted, pressing two of her bigger features firmly against him.
          "... a big girl who understands the word 'no' when she hears it. I'll tell you the same thing I told your partner in crime over there: when you have repaid me for the things I've provided you, that balances our obligations and then I'll be happy to entertain you offer. Until then, you're off limits."
          Val either missed his reasoning or chose to miss it.
          "You're saying you won't sleep with me until I pay you back?"
          "No, I'm saying I won't sleep with you until you can no longer feel obligated to me. Now, please go back to your own bed so we can all get some rest, or I'll have Larry see how much you like camel kisses."
          She said poutingly, "Spoil sport. Tease. Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired."
          "My bedside manner is fine. It's Larry's you have to worry about."
          With a sigh, she reluctantly got out of his bed.
          "You know," she observed, "by the time I pay you back, I may not be interested any more."
          "Val, do you like to shop?"
          "Uhh... sure."
          "By the time you pay me back, I may be too old to get it up any more."
          She knelt over him and leaned forward, her chest just inches from his face. Even in almost complete dark, it was impressive.
          "Trader, that's never been a problem for me."
          With a chuckle, he answered, "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."
          "Good night, Trader."
          "Good night, Val. Sleep well."
          As she slipped back under the awning, Becky asked, "Any luck?" She was going to be really pissed if Val succeeded in getting around Trader's defenses.
          "Just a rain check."
          "Oh." She relaxed. "Me, too."
          "It's weird."
          "What is?"
          "Being turned down. I think it's my first."
          "Yeah. Mine, too. I thought I'd like it a lot less."
          "Yeah. Me, too." then she added, "He's a nice guy, huh?"
          "Uh-huh. Back in Queens, we'd call him a mensch."
          "Oh. Yeah. Nobility sucks sometimes, huh?"
          She nodded. "So... what're you gonna do?"
          "Me?" Val thought a second, then answered vehemently, "I'm gonna save up enough to pay him back as quick as I can."
          There was a definite smile to Becky's voice when she replied, "Oh, yeah! Me, too."
          Val went on. "Then I'm gonna track down his kilted butt and make him regret he turned me down by boinking him blue. He'll walk crooked for a week when I'm done."
          "Sounds like a plan. But I'm gonna make sure that fuzzy-lipped water tanker is elsewhere when I do."
