FreeRachel gets chained to the bed; her body takes control. XXX Images

Kanesha Connors, now Slave 336 is sold to the highest bidder.

Most men made do with the fake restraints and plastic devices provided by the pleasure stations. It was highly unusual to find someone who went to the trouble to do it right like this.

And today, he was going to have the unique opportunity to find out if such obsessions justified the effort.

Job recognized the suspension cuffs from old screengrabs of women hanging from their ankles. Just the thing to stop the girl from making such a racket with her feet. And he wasn't the least bit surprised to see a maze of solid metal tubing criss-crossing the general's ceiling.

Precision. A dedication to doing things properly. The officer's creed.

The woman kept thrashing while he unwrapped the cloth up to her knees, then joined her ankles in the cuffs with two of the general's padlocks. While he would have preferred a stout length of chain, a reinforced packing strap was probably safer as a means of support. Especially given the lift load.

Job hoisted her into the air and hooked the end of the metal-laced band to another iron bar that ran across the length of the office wall. He thought it funny that he hadn't noticed the usefulness of the general's d__cor. Visitors probably presumed he had trouble walking because of a combat injury. One of the lucky wounded who was allowed to continue living.

After a few minutes, her struggles subsided to a pathetic shrug. Job took his time uncoiling the rest of the sheet from around her body, confident that the security aids around her wrists and mouth were more than sufficient to keep her pacified.

He couldn't figure out why the general specifically requested her after a single session at the pleasure station. Her muscles taut from the suspension, she was suitably slim, yet childbirth had widened her hips and enlarged her breasts appreciably. Her flaming eyes telegraphed both fear and disdain...a most worthy challenge for the man charged with channeling those exact emotions into a winning strategy against a celestial cunning that valued water above any other substance in the universe.

No one was sure what the Drinkers looked like, or if their ships were even manned. Some speculated they were piloted by remote control from billions of light years away. Others thought they were a race of machines that needed water to create biological life forms to inhabit. Or maybe it was one of the old gods fulfilling an ancient prophecy. But nobody really believed in mythical deities anymore. Not when the real thing took out the entire population of Australia in 2047 to use the island as a landing platform for their tankers.

Puzzled about her anal designation at the pleasure station, Job probed for clues. Her ass was certainly perfect, but it seemed like such a waste to specialize her for such a rank desire. Anal was usually the last stop on a woman's tour of duty, given how quickly the sphincter muscles stretched following repeated encounters. After a few minutes of exploration with his fingers, it was obvious her rectum still had the tensile consistency of an automated vacuum seal.

Since her DNA didn't indicate submission as a defining trait, there must have been another reason she attracted the general's attention. Something off the grid. Something worth discovering.

Definitely not her mouth, he decided after he replaced the self-modifying synthetic between her teeth with one of the general's old-fashioned leather helmets that boasted extra straps he could buckle tight around her lips, cheeks and chin. He doubted whether she should ever be allowed to speak again, given the stream of curses she spat at him. Officers don't take well to insubordination. Unless it makes the game more entertaining.

Maybe her odd classification had something to do with her nipples.