Monthly Drawing 25: No Laughing Matter... Aftermath (Patreon)

“Now, now, Lala, remember to be on your best behavior for the nice gentlemen in the out-of-place suits,” Dr. Bassington-Bassington smiled condescendingly at the small, feminine figure by his side. He laughed when it growled at him, “Millie definitely named you correctly, my girl. Quite correctly.”

The figure beside him scowled as she watched the black, twin-engined aircraft come to a halt on the dirt runway. She was as much hyena as girl. She was around 152 cm tall with a build that was slightly rounded but with a powerful, athletic grace. Her hyena-like face seemed to be perpetually scowling as her large foot-paws moved nervously in the dust and her clawed hand-paws flexed. 

She wanted to tear into him, rip him open for what he’d done to her; what he’d made her. But, she couldn’t. Weeks of drugs, hypnotic suggestion and training had left her unable to fully disobey any command given her by anyone in authority. She could, however, complain, which she did quite often. Not with words, as she could no longer speak but, with sound, expression and action. She always obeyed but, sulkily and sullenly. 

So, Millie had named her “Lalamika”, the Swahili word for “Complain”. The name had become part of her training and now she answered to it. She’d almost completely forgotten her old name: Reginald Jeffries. 

“Don’t worry, Lala,” the doctor said lightly, “As I told you, I won’t be selling YOU.  You’re just the sample, my girl, just the sample! If you perform well, you’ll get an extra marrow-bone for tea!”

Despite herself, Lalamika found her mouth watering. Damn him, she thought but, as the scents of the men reached her, she turned her attention to them. 

Their suits were indeed out-of-place. Black and grey as opposed to linen. She herself was dressed in a mix of African styles. A Maasai beaded neckring hovered over her heavy, black-nippled breasts, a Krobo loincloth covered her crotch and large gold hoops decorated her large ears. She was on display and she hated it but, because of her training, she felt an odd sense of pride. 

She knew her senses were more finely tuned than the humans around her. She sniffed to get a scent of the suited men. They smelled like the city to her; aftershave, exhaust fumes and spicy food; Persian food, she wondered, or something like it.

“Good girl, Lala, good girl,” The doctor said quietly as the men were nearly to them, and Lalamika felt pride and shame in equal amounts…