Lyn Amersu

Everyday you wake up, surrounded by five others like you, or however many are left after your master throws a tantrum and replaces the one or two that he had killed, be it accidental or out of rage. Each time you wake up in the breezy, luxurious room, you’re reminded of the collar around your ankle being the only reason you have this luxury. You’re also reminded of your name’s translation from Ryl to Basic: Snow. Yeah, ironic alright, being chained to a desert planet, radiating with heat.

It’s not like you don’t get your fair share of experience with the outside world. Those wealthy, friends with, and occasionally working for your master enjoy seeing you dance erotically. If they’ve really earned it, sometimes they’ll get an eyeful. Not always is this consensual, a device hidden in every **** outfit ensures control over what the **** wears if at all. Say that you don’t strip at the right time or if the master is simply feeling like it, he can press a button that will release your bra or something. However the device has several weaknesses that you exploit often: it gets sand-clogged easily, water disarms the device, and your master has never thought too hard on easy solutions to hold it together, like a sturdy pin that keep whatever you’re wearing up.

Oola, one of the newer girls, was unaccustomed to the device and as a result had her share of embarrassment before realizing that fighting her commands only resulted in nudity. She was young so no one blamed her when she came back a blushing red tone, rather than her soothing green. She learned to follow your lead as to not end up buried by sunset each day. You and her had certainly gotten close over the months spent together.

It was normally a boring day of waiting around in the lounge before being called down to dance. Occasionally there was a crowd. Today, there was an unusual feeling assortment of people. It was different. All of it would be different today, you could tell.