John Ringo: Emerald Sea

“We’re a harem, not a choir,” Christel noted.

“Yes, but you said that one of our purposes is to keep Paul happy,” Megan said. “Is he going to be happier with a bunch of roly-poly slugs? Or a group of girls that are healthy, happy, in good condition and maybe can entertain him other than on their backs?”

Christel made a moue and shook her head.

“Think of it this way,” Megan said, carefully. “It’s not going to cost anything more, except maybe for some instruments, and it’s going to look good. Look, I can dance for Paul, at least. And I can teach the other girls, if there’s no one else.”

“You?” Christel asked.

Megan stood up and took off her robe, uncomfortably aware that it left her entirely naked, and went through a series of simple dance steps, lifting on a toe, turning, bending. She wasn’t about to show her advanced moves, much less katas, which looked very much like a dance when she did them.

“Me,” Megan said when she was finished. She picked up the robe and put it back on, belting it tightly. “Not to mention stretching exercises and gymnastics. I’m sure that Paul gets tired of the missionary position all the time.”

“Well, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” Christel said cattily and then sighed. “You do have a point, though. And you’re not the only one who can dance, girl. In fact, you don’t dance all that well at all.”

“No, I don’t,” Megan said, meekly.

“I’ll see about it,” Christel said.

Megan had been working all day, skipping lunch in fact, getting the books in order. She had broken out most of the items by category and had started to get a handle on in-flow and out-flow. Some of it still didn’t add up, but she wasn’t sure if that was Christel’s execrable bookkeeping or something else. But she realized that she was so tired of staring at columns, and so hungry, that she wasn’t making any more sense, so she stood up and walked out into the main room.

Christel, once Megan had demonstrated she knew what she was doing, had been spending most of her time in the main room. Ashly had been displaced from the position of prominence and Christel spent her time chatting and playing Yahtzee while Ashly sulked off to the side.

As Megan walked out and headed for her room, she heard her name called.

“Megan,” Mirta said. “I’ve got your outfit finished.”

“Let’s… see it in my room if you don’t mind,” Megan said, gesturing at the corridor.

Mirta merely nodded and headed down to the room where Shanea, inevitably, was ensconced. Megan noted that her friend was one of the ones who needed to go on a diet. Since Megan had befriended her, mysteriously larger portions had made it down the table. Amber was in there as well, knitting something golden this time.

“Here it is,” Mirta said, holding up two pieces of cloth that together might have made one decent skirt.

The top was at first glance a simple halter, with very brief coverage of the breasts; the triangular fabric might just cover the nipples. But the fabric was of some odd material that changed color as the light hit it. Small as it was, it was quite spectacular. The “skirt” that accompanied it, in the same fabric, was brief to the point of scandal in any other environment. Short, very short, and slit up either side.

“I made you some panties as well,” Mirta said. “But with that, well, even a thong might show.”

“It looks… tight,” Megan said.

“It is tight,” Mirta replied. “I got the outfit you were working on from Shanea for sizing and figuring that you went a little loose, I tightened it up, because…”

“Paul will like it,” Megan said, making a moue of distaste. She slipped off the robe, despite the company, and slipped on the skirt, which had two buttons in the back. She found it easier to slide it around to the front to button because it was tight. The buttons gave no sign of straining loose, but she had a struggle to get them in the holes. She also had to pull it down onto her hips to maintain any shred of decency. The halter top was tight as well and as she had feared the tiny triangles barely covered her nipples.

“Oh, that’s… lovely!” Shanea said.

“Pretty,” Amber said, looking up at her with a fixed expression. “So pretty.”

“Just right,” Mirta said, pushing Megan’s breasts up into the halter; the bottom of her breasts showed a goodly bit of rounded flesh. “Perfect.”

“I think I’d rather wear a robe!” Megan said.

“I think that Paul would rather you wear this,” Mirta replied. “And Christel will certainly have no problems with it. The other girls will be clamoring for one just like it.”

“I want one,” Shanea blurted. “But I don’t have anything to trade!”

“I’ll see if I can fit you into my busy schedule,” Mirta replied. “Now that I’ve got the pattern in mind, turning more out won’t be all that difficult. Some… small, strong stitches involved, but not hard ones.”

“I can’t wear this out of here,” Megan complained. “Every time I sit down I’ll show all I’ve got!”

“Not so,” Mirta said, stepping to the side. “The method for sitting is thus. You point your toes and roll down onto your legs.” The woman demonstrated, gracefully sitting without spreading her legs or showing anything she didn’t care to show to the audience.

“Where did you learn that?” Megan asked.

“That’s for me to know, dearie.” Mirta laughed, getting up with almost the reverse motion. “When you sit, you stay in the same position, with your feet tucked under your butt. Nobody gets to see anything you don’t want to show. Drives guys nuts. Try it.”

After a few tries Megan had managed to sit without collapsing or spreading her legs and she realized that it was how Mirta always sat down. It was both elegant and, she suspected, alluring. A graceful and sexy motion. Grand.

“Now, go show it off,” Mirta said.

“I’m not going to parade around in this… this…”

“Go show it to Christel,” Mirta said, definitely. “You will too ‘parade’ around in it. You’re my walking advertisement. Get out there and advertise.”

“You evil old…”

“Ah, ah,” Mirta smiled. “Me?” she added in a little girl voice. “I’m just… just a little girl…”

“Right,” Megan said, facing the door. “And I’m Sheida Ghorbani.”

She strode down the corridor and into the main room, walking over to where Christel was playing Yahtzee. The other girls watched her and she had to admit that based on their reaction she had to be the most hated girl in the harem. Many of them had some minor form of lingerie or panties and bras. But the outfit Megan sported was, to those, what a nuclear weapon is to a firecracker. It was the sexual equivalent of a weapon of mass destruction.

She stopped in front of Christel and pirouetted in place.

“Will this do ?” she asked, sharply.

“It will do very well,” Christel replied with a nod. “I’m sure Paul will love it.”

“As am I,” Megan said tightly.

“Dinnertime,” Christel said. “Why don’t you go get your… friends. And put a robe on; that thing is scandalous.”

Megan went back to the room and stripped off the outfit, replacing it with a robe. She felt more dressed with a robe on. She felt more dressed naked .

“It was a hit,” she told Mirta sourly. “Christel’s going to want one.”

“I might make her one,” Mirta replied, with a malicious smile. “And she’ll never understand why she doesn’t look as good as you do in it. But the next outfit I’m going to make is for Amber.”