Whimsy

By Thayer King

Princess Whimsy Featherstone is shopping for her trousseau when she is kidnapped and sold as a pleasure slave. When she’s given to a stranger as a gift, she has every intention of denying him. However, resisting the sexy stranger is easier said than done.

King Gaedrian has been injected with fate, a drug that induces a pheromone enhancing mating heat. Every woman wants him but only one woman can free him. Whimsy may be that woman, but she comes from a world where giving into their desire will cause her to be an outcast. Can fate bring these two together?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Publishing
• Release date: Jan 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781927368398

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Published by Evernight Publishing at Smashwords

http://www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2012 Thayer King

ISBN: 978-1-927368-39-8

Cover Artist: LF Designs

Editor: JC Chute

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

WHIMSY

Thayer King

Copyright © 2012

Chapter One

Whimsy Featherstone stood in line with the rest of the women, trembling and trying to hold back tears. She did not want to fall into hysterics as the woman with blonde hair had done.  The guards had hauled the woman away so roughly, there was no doubt she was to be punished.

Whimsy had been kidnapped by the Gogath while at the Colony 9 mall along with a group of other women. The Gogath were an ugly group of Colony 13 dwellers who occasionally enjoyed making life miserable for those around them. They were all big; it was nothing for a Gogath to be seven feet tall. And they were all ugly. Perhaps they wouldn’t be so ugly if they gave a care for hygiene, but to a one, they did not. They all had long filthy black hair, rotted teeth, and grime-streaked faces and hands. Their clothing was always made of things they had stolen, but never washed. To the Gogath, the clothing they wore was a trophy. One of them wore a vest to which he’d sewn a billowy white sleeve cut open at the wrist to fit over his thick forearm. It looked to be a woman’s sleeve. The front of the vest held hoops of gold and silver earrings. Another of the Gogath had tacked loops of hair down the entire front of his shirt. The back of his shirt had been a patchwork of different bits of cloth.

Sure, the Gogath were a grumpy, thieving and unpleasant lot, but they’d done nothing of this caliber in a long time. They’d raided the mall, taking everyone unawares, and kidnapped women of every age, shape, and race in a short period of time. Those who had tried to stop them were brutally beaten and tossed aside. Sheer pandemonium ensued for several minutes, with everyone running and screaming as the Gogath had come pouring in from every entrance, waving crude weapons.  At first it was not obvious they were taking captives, but in the midst of the commotion the Gogath steadily pulled women from the fray.

Whimsy had run just like everyone else, but was caught while stopping to help a man who’d been beaten trying to protect his daughter. Strong arms had lifted her body from the floor and tucked her under one malodorous arm like she was a sack of flour. Momentarily stunned, she’d done nothing.

Before she could gather her wits or get a headache, she was passed off to another member of the troop. This one bound her hands with cuffs made of a soft cloth, but which proved to be surprisingly restrictive. The material did not give at all. After that, she was herded off with a group of likewise bound captives into the belly of a large waiting craft. The hovering ship was already more than half full with women. 

Oh, blessed Myrna, Whimsy had whispered, speaking to the soft pink moon of her own Colony 7, Will I ever see you again?

The craft had been swift. They were only on the ship for a few hours before they were docking and the women were herded off the ship into a building of arena-sized proportions. Other ships docked and spilled their contents. More women. All women. It was then that Whimsy realized they were to be sold. She vaguely recalled a news story about these auctions, but in the safe world of Colony 7, she had dismissed the stories as sensationalism.

The place they were in now was probably a temporary facility, to be used only once or twice, but not so much that they would get caught in the illegal trade of women.  She couldn’t believe this was happening. Her mind recoiled from the ugly truth.

Despite her mental withdrawal, everything else seemed to be speeding up at an alarming rate.  As the Gogath sorted their bounty, the older women were separated from the young. Those deemed too old would be ransomed or just dropped off on a nearby colony. Once the sorting was done the women were shuffled about again and separated into classes. Of the young, some would become servants and some would become pleasure slaves.

Whimsy stiffened her spine when it was her turn to be sorted. She didn’t know what a Gogath’s tastes leaned to, but she hoped he found her extremely unappealing. Her sorter was perhaps eight feet tall, but he had all his teeth. His smell was fetid, his hands and face caked with filth. When he raised his hand to touch her cheek, she flinched but didn’t pull away. She couldn’t. Another of the Gogath stood at her back, prodding her forward, ready to pull her aside once the decision about her class had been made.

Her sorter smiled. Whimsy bit her lip, praying frantically. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. Pretty, he said at last. His eyes, a light shade of brown, dropped to her chest and then narrowed. 

Whimsy wore a pink zip-up sweater, zipped to the neck, over a simple tank top. When he reached for the zipper, she backed up. She was immediately shoved forward. I’ll do it, she said. She grasped the small metal catch with the heels of her bound hands and quickly unzipped her sweater. 

The sorter took the edges of the sweater and spread them apart so he could look at her. His smile widened to a grin, and Whimsy felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. He said some words in his native language to the Gogath behind her and she was pulled away. 

Whimsy shivered as she sat in the belly of the ship. She had only to look around to know into which class she’d been sorted. All the women around her were beautiful. She wasn’t sure how she’d made the cut.

There was nothing extraordinary about her features, in her opinion. Her long hair was black, her eyes were brown, and her skin was the color of cinnamon. She’d struggled for years to be as skinny as some of the other women here, but always consoled herself with the knowledge that she carried her hourglass figure well and had always had the same figure. No matter how much weight she put on, that didn’t seem to change. Her hips were well rounded, her waist was unbelievably small, and her breasts were more than a handful. Whimsy supposed it was the latter that had swung the sorting choice in her favor. Or rather, against her.

This second journey was proving to be longer than their first. Some of the women were still crying, others like herself she supposed were in a state of shock and denial. 

Whimsy thought of her family and wondered if they knew she was missing. Were they already worrying about her? Did anyone know what had happened on Colony 9?

Exhausted from the day’s events, she fell into a troubled sleep on the floor. The Gogath had given them not so much as a blanket for comfort. 

She was awakened by more screaming. The Gogath had finally landed and were roughly hauling the women to their feet. Whimsy gained her feet with no time to spare as she saw one of them heading her way. Her hands were still bound, throwing off her stability and making her quickly scramble to stand in a less than graceful position. The Gogath propelled her towards the exit with a hard shove. She whipped her head around to glare at her assailant for the unnecessary roughness. She received a nearly toothless grin in return.

The light outside was blinding after the long trip in the windowless belly of the Gogath ship. The building they were led into was a dome made of glass. It was very similar to the first one—large and open, but this one was teeming with men from other cultures. Once again, she was placed in a line with the other women. 

Whimsy shivered and kept her arms close to her body. Her sweater was taken before she was allowed to disembark. This room was cold. The men openly examined the women, which led to much screaming and crying on the women’s part and much laughter on the men’s. The entire spectacle was degrading, to both sexes.

Anger simmered hotly inside of her, but Whimsy wasn’t stupid enough to raise a protest. After all, what could she do?

Whimsy was not overly harassed. She thought it was because there was nothing special about her looks. Perhaps the sorter had been wrong––quite a few men did look at her, but their glances were quick and furtive. They didn’t linger.

One man did try to feel her breasts, and Whimsy growled at him and given him such a glare the timid little thing had almost run away. She heard the Gogath behind her laugh. She’d turned to glare at him and found the same man who had sorted her before.

Keep this up and I will buy you for myself. His eyes caressed her curves with heated interest.

Whimsy’s eyes widened. He spoke her language far better than he’d let on earlier. She discounted his statement of wanting to purchase her. She didn’t think the Gogath race mated outside their kind. She hurriedly whipped back around anyway. Keep what up? she hissed.

You are scaring off potential buyers with your glare and your posture.

My posture?

It is very royal.

And if I am royalty?

It does not matter here. She could hear the shrug in his voice. He took a lock of her hair in his hands. She froze. If you are not purchased, I will buy you for my own. I do not mind a royal bedmate.

Whimsy gritted her teeth and lowered her eyes. It seemed that no matter what, she would be purchased this day. For the first time, tears of frustration and fear ran down her cheeks. What would become of her? Would her family ever find her? Or would they forever wonder what had become of her?

This one, what color are her eyes? asked a deep male voice in her language with only a hint of an accent. Her chin was grasped firmly and lifted to the light. Whimsy’s eyes snapped open. ‘This one’, indeed. Indignation dried her tears.

This one’s eyes are none of your concern, she snapped, nearing the end of her tether.

The man, tall and good-looking with long blonde hair and chocolate-brown eyes, smiled at her. An elderly woman at his side let out an outraged gasp at her comment. She was almost as tall as the man, a fact heightened by the way her graying hair was piled atop her head. She wore all black, the severity of which competed with that of her expression. "This one, she said with venom, needs discipline and punishment. Let us move along, Chaldor."

This one–– Whimsy’s angry flow of words was cut off