Diplomacy

Light blazed from every window of the Kropanian Embassy. The orchestra could be heard from the driveway, where limo after limo discharged distinguished guests. Once inside the front door, the ocean roar of voices predominated, each one of hundreds vying for attention, exclusivity, or control.

The men were attired identically and dully, with the occasional exception of a colorful sash or glittering medal. The women were as varied as fabric-making arts allowed: some sparkling, some furred or feathered, some iridescent, some understated with the degree of simplicity that becomes elegance.

The early gossip had settled almost universally on a single target: the companion of the Norgistani Minister of State. She looked as if the last significant event of her life had been puberty — whether it had quite come to a close was a matter of some debate — and wore a gown so figure-hugging that convex and concave were equally well-defined, the precise contours of bottom cleft (alluring) and nipples (remarkably erect) clear to all observers. She was young enough to be the Minister’s grand-daughter; from the way she moved with and looked at him it was apparent that their relationship was not familial.

At precisely the appropriate time, the Ambassador from Kropania appeared at the top of the central staircase, accompanied by his life partner. "Wife" would have been an excellent, though imperfect, translation. Like all of the men assembled, the Ambassador wore sober black and white. Unlike any of the women, his partner wore high-heeled shoes, a pendant sapphire the size of a meadowlark’s egg, a few hair ornaments, and nothing else at all — nudity being the traditional, in essence mandatory, formal-dress state of ruling-class Kropanian women.

In Kropania’s distant past — some might aver that the distance was not so great as it was implied to be — the country’s chief instrument of internal politics and international diplomacy had been poison, and its skillful poisoners the female consorts of its statesmen. When Kropania had finally joined the outwardly polite society of nations, its renouncement of traditional methods was exemplified by establishing the formal nudity of its well-placed ladies. Without a way to hide a deadly dose, it was implied, Kropanian women were no longer to be feared as weapons of policy. It was Kropania’s national equivalent of a peacefully extended sword-free hand.

Thus the nudity of the Ambassador’s Lady was conventional, expected, unremarkable, and largely ignored (save for a few catty — read envious — whispers about her excellent figure).

But as the couple descended the staircase with regal pace, those they passed began to lose their fixed, neutral expressions, and soon there was heard a susurration growing to outright whisper. For the grande dame of Kropania’s Embassy was as ruby abaft as she was sapphire afore: her shapely bottom and upper thighs a dreadful, fiery, deep-seated crimson, her skin marked with a multitude of broad-spaced parallel lines in even angrier hues.

Those acquainted with discipline — most of the dignitaries present — easily recognized that the lady had been strapped, severely and recently. Those who were connoisseurs could distinguish the signature of a proper Kropania-style punishment: the mark of the three-tailed Torzassen, an instrument infamous for delivering both a terrible bite and a long-lasting burn.

The nymphet from Norgistan was forgotten as a topic of gossip. Her Ladyship circulated, said the right things to the right influencers, connected the right business or social pairs, and appeared unashamed of her public submissiveness. But her appearance, and the untold story behind it, had a number of consequences.

Some thirty couples soon left the gala, eschewing the formalities of leave-taking in favor of a quick and unimpeded exit. Whether it was the ladies or the gentlemen who had suddenly experienced an urgent change of priorities cannot be said.

A dozen or so invited diplomats, male, found that their opinion of the Kropanian Ambassador had changed: more approving, perhaps, or at least more wary. An equal portion of diplomats, female, experienced a change of opinion as well: an increased respect for the Ambassador, or for his Life Partner, or both; in a few cases some envy from those who longed for firmer handling themselves. It would be impossible to tie the night’s events to the number of trade agreements and treaties signed in the ensuing few months, but the temptation to see connections is a compelling one.

The Cultural Attaché for Kropania, a woman normally overlooked at major gatherings, was approached separately by some twenty dignitaries of both sexes, wondering if it would be possible to obtain an authentic Torzassen — for study, of course, or for a museum display, or for a collection or a friend with a collection or, well, anything but intense personal interest. She was astute enough to emphasize their rarity (false) and costliness (false) in granting these requests, earning considerable good will for her homeland.

As the party came to a close, the Norgistani Minister of State was overheard to tell his consort that she had been "A naughty girl all night, extremely ill-behaved" and that he would "Soon see to her." The girl appeared (right through her gown) quite excited to hear this.

Finally, two days after the gala, a mid-level functionary from the Arano Union was sent home with a severe and unlabeled illness. If anyone noticed that he had been handed champagne by the Kropanian First Lady, or that a tiny bit of the wine glistened on her sapphire pendant and ran down between her charming breasts, such observance has not been recorded.

— Frenulum