THREE NIGHTS LATER

Amy sat at the long side of the big dining room table, seeing her dad at one end to her left, Andrew at the other end to her right. She was bemused by the whole scene. Her dad, apparently, had taken to heart that thing he'd read in a magazine a few months ago, about having family dinners now and then to "solidify relationships." Like a little hearty dinner talk every Sunday would make up for years of benign indifference.

She looked up as James carried in a steaming platter of meat from the kitchen. "James, is that Miranda? I was hoping there was some of her left."

James nodded as he set the platter in the middle of the table. "The last of her meat, Miss Cameron. I supplemented the leftovers with some fresh girlmeat from the market. Snuffed just this morning."

Amy stiffened. Frowning, she asked, "Can you tell which is which?"

Apology was written over James's face. He must have easily been able to read Amy's expression. "I'm sorry, Miss Cameron. It's all mixed together now."

Amy ground her teeth. Nothing could be done about it now. She reached for the serving fork, and speared a slice of meat from the platter. It looked like shoulder meat, and she thought there had been some of Miranda's left when she last checked.

Andrew and his father were in a conversation over some details of Dad's business. Andrew was going to take a management-trainee job with Cameron Industries next year. Amy wondered whether Andrew's seemingly inexhaustible supply of wild oats would be used up by then. While they talked, Amy took some salad from the bowl, ignoring the potatoes. She had been trying to avoid starches, among various other classes of foods.

As she swallowed a bite of meat, convincing herself it did seem to taste like Miranda, she heard Andrew say, "Amy and I went ahead and got those genetic tests Friday, Dad."

Amy looked up instantly, puzzled by the news that Andrew had gone in for testing himself. She started to ask him about it, but stopped when she saw the look on her father's face. Preston Cameron was positively beaming.

He pounded a fist on the table joyfully. "That's great! I'm really glad you two have worked out your differences. I've been noticing it in the last month or so, but this really tops it off. Marriage is a wonderful thing. It'll be nice to see the family start growing."

Amy looked quickly back and forth between Andrew and her father, confused. What the hell was Dad talking about? Then it all came clear in her mind, the way it all connected together. She sat bolt upright suddenly with a gasp, and almost inhaled the lettuce she'd been about to swallow. She coughed in a panic, choking, feeling James behind her patting her back. She could hear James ask Preston, "Heimlich, sir?"

She finally coughed the lettuce out, and held up her hand, and rasped, "Sorry, I'm okay, I'm okay." She saw the others looking at her with concern -- well, Andrew had that smirk again, now that he saw she was safe. She coughed again. "Really, I'm all right. It's over."

That was why Andrew was so hot on the idea of Amy getting tested. Somehow Amy had missed the obvious. Why hadn't she been sufficiently suspicious to begin with? Sure, a lot of people had the testing, for some good reasons that didn't apply to Amy. It's all just a voluntary thing. It's just for information, to eliminate some worries. The only people who were required to have it...

She rested her head on her hand, trying to clear her head, while Andrew and Dad resumed their conversation. Andrew had gone back to asking about Dad's business, aiming the tiniest smile in Amy's direction, daring her to bring the conversation back to its previous subject.

The genetic tests were only required when a brother married a sister. It ensured that they weren't both carrying a recessive genetic defect that would show up in the babies.

Andrew's been telling Dad we might get married and start a family together -- and now Dad thinks I've agreed to it! I've got to straighten this out!

She opened her mouth to speak, and stopped herself just in time. She realized, suddenly, that the conversation she was about to initiate would be difficult to complete without mentioning her Academy plans -- and if she didn't, Andrew probably would, especially if Amy was wrecking whatever scheme Andrew had cooked up. Maybe he wouldn't, but she couldn't take the chance. And Andrew had known that. That was what the little smile was about. He'd wanted to taunt her by talking to Dad about the tests right in front of her, knowing how Dad would react, and knowing Amy couldn't afford to say anything to contradict Dad's current impression.

Amy knew she should have seen the signs. Ever since that day, when she came home from the mall following her major makeover, and Andrew, for the first time in his life, had looked like he had the hots for her... Amy squeezed her eyes closed. The way he looks at me in my room from the hallway sometimes, so I started closing my door more often. The way...

Oh no! She almost groaned out loud, remembering another thing she'd been ignoring.

She looked up at her father. "Dad, I, uhh... Well, I'd feel better if I could lay down for awhile."

He gave her an understanding look. "Of course, sweetheart. Will you be back down for dessert?"

"I'll... uhh, I'll try. Sorry to wreck dinner."

Preston held up his hands. "Don't even think about it. We're just glad you're okay. Come back down if you feel like it."

She nodded, turned and forced herself to walk slowly from the room. When she reached the stairs, she took them two at a time, trying to be quiet so they wouldn't know how panicked she felt.

She eased Andrew's door open a little wider so she could enter. She tried to calm her heart. She just had to check one thing, and it would only take a few seconds.

Years ago, when Andrew had been -- oh, fifteen or so, Amy had started hearing strange noises from his room -- odd, breathless grunts, really. She had laughed when kids at school had explained it to her. Exploring his room later, her curiosity pushing her audacity, Amy had discovered, under his bed just out of sight, a magazine, turned to a picture of a gorgeous, voluptuous naked woman with such a clear "Come here, I want you" look on her face it may as well have been written there in visible letters. The next day, Amy and her twelve-year-old classmates had giggled over the idea and pretended to stick their fingers down their throats.

Andrew had never known Amy had discovered his secret vice, and he had stopped doing it several years ago, when his fantasy girls had been replaced with any number of real ones. Suddenly, lately, very quietly so that only ears that were familiar with the sound could have picked it up, Andrew had started doing it again.

It's probably in that same place, Amy thought. Old habits.

Dropping to her knees and reaching under the bed, Amy closed her fingers on a single sheet of paper. She turned it right side up and looked at it, and felt a sudden violent chill as she focused on the image on the page. It was essentially what she had suspected. Only worse. A lot worse.

It was a picture of Amy, as she'd anticipated, printed out of Andrew's computer. Andrew had taken this picture himself, and others, just last week at her high school graduation. In several shots she was beaming at the camera in her cap and gown. Andrew had suggested she take off the regalia and drape it over her arm.

Amy had been fully, though casually, dressed under the gown. She was going to be at a party with some of the girls from school that evening to celebrate, and had worn, underneath her gown, her favorite cute lacy top, showing lots of cleavage, and a short skirt, knowing nobody could tell how much informality the gown was covering, and not wanting to bother to change outfits before she went to the party. She was grinning at the camera, so happy that day she didn't care who was holding it. That was the picture she was holding in her hands now.

The knowledge that Andrew had been masturbating to a picture of her was bad enough. But he'd done a little bit of digital manipulation to the image before printing it.

In the picture, Amy was wearing a slave collar. Amy saw now that marriage was not an accurate description of what Andrew had in mind.

She had no idea how long she'd been standing there, holding the picture. She whirled when she heard a noise behind her. Andrew was standing in the doorway, glaring at her.

If he'd expected her to fly into a guilty panic at being found in his room, he was profoundly disappointed. In a tight, raspy whisper that owed nothing to her earlier choking, Amy said slowly, "Close -- the -- door!"

Andrew looked so surprised at her reaction that he actually began to back into the hallway. Amy shot him an exasperated look, her teeth clenched. "No, you ass! Close it behind you! Close it with you in here!"

Andrew seemed to be recovering some of his characteristic disdain during the time it took to follow her order. The smirk was nearly back. "Found what you were looking for, I see."

Amy took a couple of deep breaths through her nose, and spat out her words through a tight jaw. "Andrew, there is no way I'd marry you, and I'm sure as hell not going to be your breeding slave!" She shook the picture at him.

Andrew held up both hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Fine, fine, just keep it down, okay?"

In a slightly lower voice, she said, "Okay, I'll keep it down, but only because I've got my own reasons. I don't give a shit what you want."

He raised his eyebrows. "Is that what I get for offering to help you?"

She squeaked, "Help me?? How??"

"Will you let me talk?"

She stared at him, as if daring him to make a move and risk getting his arm torn off. "Go on."

Patiently, but as if he had to feel his way along that unfamiliar virtue, he started, "Look, I want the same thing you do. I'm probably just better at thinking out the what-ifs than you are." He stopped, waiting for an interruption. Amy simply went on glaring at him, so he continued.

"Nothing's changed... Amy. I do want you to go to the Academy. And you know why."

Cautiously she said, "Well, of course. The money."

He nodded. "Duh. There's no reason to lie about that."

"Like you lied about why you wanted me to get gene tested?"

He grinned and shrugged. "Would you have done it if I'd told you why?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, there you go. I had a reason to lie. I don't have one for saying I want you at the Academy. It's obviously in my interest."

She threw up her hands. "Then what the hell is this all about? Why do you want Dad to think we're getting married?"

"I told you. I'm thinking about what-ifs, before it's too late. I swear I won't say a word to dad about the Academy, and when you tell him I'll support you. But what does happen if you don't get in?"

"I will get in."

"Amy, get a grip for just a minute. All the girls who apply think they're getting in. A lot of them don't. Most of them don't. Then what? What happens when you get that rejection? Go running to that guy, what's his name, Scott? The guy you met at the mall? Get a little comfort from him? Get married to him?"

She sighed, exasperated. "I've been with him like three times. It's just for fun. He knows we're not getting married because of..." She stopped, blinking.

Andrew grinned. "Because of the Academy? Try to keep up, Amy. We're tripping through the what-if world now."

She raised her voice for a moment, then remembered to keep it lower. "Okay, I don't know, I don't know. I don't have my whole life planned out."

"You think you do, but only if things go your way. Will you admit you might get married? I know you want to get away from here. And I know with your money you can stand out among all the other girls looking for husbands. That and..." He looked at the picture still in her hand, and snickered. "Okay, I admit I think you look a lot cuter lately. Since you're holding the evidence. See, look, I'm being totally honest with you now."

She had forgotten the picture for the moment. She looked at it again, and winced at the thought of how Andrew had been using it. "So you're saying this..." she waved it at him, "...isn't your first choice? You'd still rather see me go to the Academy than get me in a collar?"

Andrew snorted. "Hey, I never bagged the babe in the magazine either. I'll live."

So he had known she'd found that. She pushed the insignificant thought aside. "Then I still don't get it. What's the charade with Dad about me marrying you all about?"

He shook his head. "I didn't say it's a charade. It's the alternative."

"What??" She didn't need to think about keeping her voice down this time. It came out as a hoarse croak.

"Look." His veneer of patience was starting to decay around the edges. "What I'd really want most is to roast you now, but you know how Dad is about that. He thinks a woman should have children before she's eaten. So roasting is not going to happen, not until you have kids, and if you have them with someone else, I'm screwed. I want you to be a slave, one way or another, because then your fate is out of his hands and all the money is in mine. If it's the Academy, then that's simpler for me. I don't have to take care of you, and convince dad I'm treating you well, I'm more free to keep doing what I've been doing, et cetera, et cetera. But if you don't get in the Academy, I can't take a chance on what you might do instead. I don't want you taking Dad's money with you to give to the first guy who wants to marry you. Now Dad thinks that's going to be me. You saw Dad tonight. He loves the idea. You going to disappoint him?"

She looked at him sideways. "He's thinking of a more traditional marriage, isn't he? That I'd be your wife, not your breeding slave. Right?" She couldn't believe she could calmly discuss either possibility. She was just looking for a wedge to break the whole idea apart.

"For now, yeah. That's why I want you to volunteer to be my slave. He'll be fine with it, if it's your idea."

She clenched her hands into fists, crumpling one corner of the picture. "Are you crazy??"

He glared at her. "Let me say this all really slow. I've said I'll help you with Dad about going to the Academy. And I will. But I want something in return."

She knew something like this must be coming. But something still wasn't making sense. "I thought me getting into the Academy was its own reward, for you. Why do you need something else?"

He sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Why are you so..." He stopped, seeming to remember his promise to avoid insulting her gratuitously. He took a deep breath. "I do want that. As much as you do, maybe more. But you probably won't get it. If I can't get some guarantee that I'll come out okay if that happens, I need to look for other options. I've got another one, but you wouldn't like it. I don't like it either, but I'll do it if I have to."

She stared at him, her stomach twisting in knots. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

He met her stare, his eyes boring in on hers. "I've got names of some people. If they go into action, you'll feel the sting of a sleep dart, somewhere, sometime in the next few days. By the time you wake up, you'll already have been through the surgery to convert you to a puppygirl. After that you'll be sold to one of these people's clients. Most likely somebody who likes to break and train unwilling puppies -- see, there's a reason why these owners don't go through regular petgirl channels. After a few years missing, you'll be declared legally dead. See, one way or another I'm going to be Dad's sole heir."

Amy was slowly shaking her head, her mouth open. In a stunned voice, she said, "You'd never do that to me. Not even you could do that."

He shrugged. "I don't want to. I'd have to pay for the conversion surgery myself, and the rest of these guys'... services. I'd really rather have you in the Academy or else here as my slave. Either of those would be free. But I'll do it, I'll spend the money, if I don't get a guarantee some outsider won't end up with half of Dad's fortune." He grinned unexpectedly. "Isn't it weird? There are three different things that can happen to you, and I think your order of preference is exactly the same as mine, even if it's for different reasons. Who would have thought?"

Amy struggled to control her emotions. She hadn't lost the Academy. Andrew wanted her there. He'd even help. But the alternatives... She cleared her throat. "So what kind of... guarantee are you talking about?" Great, she thought. I said it without my voice trembling.

Andrew reached over to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper. "Tomorrow we can take this to a lawyer, and get it signed and witnessed. Look it over now, see what you think."

Amy absently dropped the picture of herself on his bed as she reached for the paper Andrew was holding out to her. She read the document slowly, concentrating on every word. "I, Amy Cameron, being of the age of consent for voluntary slavery, do offer myself as a slave to Andrew Cameron, the offer taking effect if I fail to be admitted as a student to the Hanging Academy. Done this sixteenth day of June..." There were spaces underneath for her signature, Andrew's, and those of two witnesses.

She tried to breathe calmly. Assembling the sentence in her head so she could say it without stammering, she asked, "And what if the gene tests show we shouldn't have kids?"

Andrew shrugged, a smile twisting the corners of his lips upward as he perceived he'd won. "You'd still be my slave. I'd find some other duties for you. And maybe do an insemination. Dad still wants to see kids. You know gene tests come out okay about ninety-nine percent of the time, though."

Amy stood looking at the contract for several minutes, silently. There had to be a way out of this. "Could I look into other slavery options? That'd work okay for you, right?"

Andrew shook his head. "Outside my control? With somebody you choose, who might decide to set you free later? Uh-uh."

"Can't I... Can't I just tell Dad I don't want any of his money? I'll just make it on my own?"

Again, Andrew shook his head, his smile growing wider. "That's not your call. You know that. Dad wouldn't just say, 'Okay, I'll cut you off without a penny,' just because you asked him to. And what happens if you get in trouble later and change your mind?"

There had to be something she could do. Miranda would have found a way out of this, Amy felt sure. Amy knew she couldn't tell her dad, not now. The time wasn't right for him to find out about the Academy. If she was finding, now, that she didn't know Andrew as well as she'd thought, she still knew her dad. His inevitable opposition at this point would kill her dream. "What if I... tell your friends... you know... our little secret?" She felt little hope her blackmail, so effective before, would have any use here.

She wasn't mistaken. Andrew shook his head and laughed. "This is too big a deal to me, for that to carry any weight. Don't bother using up your trump card on this. Save it for something where it'll work."

She closed her eyes and sighed. He'd thought of everything. Even that. He was right. She couldn't afford to waste it on a petty revenge.

Maybe she could salvage one thing, she realized. "While I'm waiting to hear from the Academy... no sex, okay? No kissing, no displays, especially in front of dad. And James is always here, and he'd probably pass it on. I want Dad to think it's more natural when I tell him I'm going to the Academy instead of marrying you. Like... the relationship just wasn't working out, and my heart was always really set on the Academy. See what I mean?"

Andrew bit his lip. His eyes wandered down to the picture lying crumpled on his bed, and over Amy herself, roaming up and down her body. He obviously didn't want to give in on the point, but realized Amy actually was making sense. At last he said, "Okay. I'll wait on that." His skepticism about her chances of Academy admission finally worked in her favor -- he obviously felt sure he'd have her eventually.

Marginally relieved, but realizing at last to her dismay that there was no more ground she could recover, she clenched her teeth, stifled a moan and said in a rasping voice, "Okay, I'll sign the thing tomorrow." Before then, she told herself, maybe she could come up with a way out of it.

Andrew grinned broadly and opened the bedroom door for her. He looked down at the picture on his bed again. "You've kind of mangled my picture. Don't worry, I'll print out another."

Amy muttered, "I'm sure," as she trudged down the hall to her own room.

She knelt on her own bed, alone at last, communing with Miranda's head as she did so often. Stroking Miranda's hair gently with the backs of her fingers, she said, "I controlled him a little, on the sex thing, but that isn't enough. He won too much. I'll learn, okay?" Amy sighed deeply. "It won't matter. I'm still going to the Academy. You'll be proud of me." She kissed Miranda's lips and dropped down to lie on her bed, on her back, her fingers laced behind her head. She cleared all thoughts of Andrew from her head, and went over her mental checklist in preparation for her interview, now just three days away. After fifteen minutes she sat up, reached up to her headboard, picked up a video disk whose cover showed two women locked in a tight embrace, titled "How To Make Love To A Woman," and slid it into her player. She had another disk covering male/female sex, but she knew that many of her customers at Academy parties would be women. As the disk began playing, she picked up a pen and pad to take notes. She wanted to have some new things to try the next time she hooked up with a girl at the club downtown.