Bukkake Brawl
Made in DNA
BUKKAKE BRAWL
plus
MEDIA WHORES
DOMEKI,
THE HUNDRED-EYED DEMON
and
SAMMIE VERSUS
THE TENTACLE RAPE
MADE IN DNA
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are all drawn from the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All stories copyright © 2010, Made in DNA
BUKKAKE BRAWL
The crowd roared–the spittle from their frothing muzzles creating a fine mist that mixed with the blood from the cut above Mei's left eye.
The cut burned with a maddening man-made piss-crackle fire. Was the jackhole in front of her hopped up on Accelerated NanoHerpes!?
She body-slammed him and placed his nuts in a crusher hold that took him out of the match. Better safe than sorry.
ANH wasn't illegal, but it puckered her sphincter nonetheless. Bukkake Brawl rules: no traditional weapons. Otherwise, have at.
DNA hacks, mouth sacs, cyborg enhancements, skin mods, pheromone differentials, pneumatics…
Customer-contestants should spend so much on their cocks. Teeny-weeny peenies.
Bukkake Brawl was the fiendishly genius marriage of extreme sports and porn. Rough, muff, and tumble.
Three scantily clad women, the Jizzabels, stepped into a pit and took all-cumers.
Their opponents were Jackals–a mob of howling contestants ready to hump anything that moved. Including the occasional stray cambot.
It attracted college kids, weirdoes, macho assholes, perverts, cherry boys, misogynists and mishmash thereof. No license required.
40 billion perved globally!
Jackals ponyed up 25000 Fuk Buks each for a chance in the pit. An entry fee that didn't actually guarantee anything.
For their chance at pussy, they had to survive the Prelims where hopefuls eliminated two-thirds of their own number.
Losers were consoled with a membership in the Circle Jerks, the group of men who did just that if the Jizzabels fell in the Homban.
No touchy-touchy fuckee-fuckee, they just pulled their dinkie twinkies until they blew wad over the subservient hostess ho-hos.
Thus the Prelims were a fierce street brawl for pussy. But it paled in compared to Homban, The Real Deal.
While the Prelims resulted in the weak being hurled from the ring like sad sacks of pig shit, Homban was blood, sweat, tears and semen.
Gallons of semen.
Homban was where it all potentially paid off for the Jackals. If the Jizzabels lost, every man still standing in the pit got their yearn.
The Jizzabels were submitted to every moan, groan, grunt and white explosion of hair-gobbing, mouth-filling, pussy-drenching spoo.
Name of the game, baby. There is no 'maybe'.
Televised globally, Bukkake Brawl was where women became adored idols, and cherry boys became men!
Lights. Action. Hover-botcams. Spectators. Screaming fists. And more fluids than any girl ever wanted to swallow.
Re-orientating herself, Mei let the mayhem of her forced profession wash over her.
The air was acrid; heavy with the dried-squid stink snack-breath of fans rabidly exhaling over her from their stadium seating above.
Brawl pits were large enough for the Jackals and Jizzabels go to work on each other, yet cozy enough so the fans above could drool on them.
To her left, Catgirl Mon was down under the weight of a heavy pinning her shoulders while a second helicoptered on her raised haunches.
It was too late save her. Penetration had been made. Fuck!
Mei took her frustration out on a nearby Jackal with an impolite chop to the Adam's apple. He gakked, jerked once and stayed down.
An announcer w00ted and ran commentary on Mei's fighting stats. She itched to jump the wall and make him a stat.
Before she could, she took a misplaced left hook that caught her in the side of the head, clipping her ear. An annoying sting and ring.
She retaliated with a pile driver and raised her fists defiantly. "You hit like your mother, bitch! At least she could ride face!"
Whipping around for another doofus to hurt, she caught sight of Tahna eating several jackhammer blows to the stomach. Pneumos!
Mei curse-winced as the perfect-breasted, blonde Slav went down with a sickening wheeze and didn't get up. Drool pooled from her slack jaw.
The Jackals locust-swarmed. Mei knew it was only moments before they devoured her clothes and reaped their reward.
Mei wasn't in the mood to play the flesh flute for anyone tonight if she could help it, and Tahna was a friend.
It wasn't too late to save her. Penetration hadn't been made yet. If Mei could clear a path...
Jumping into the fray, she dropped to her hands in a well-timed whipkick that jacked an opponent's legs out from under him.
Adrenalinized, she stood, took a running start and timed a grab to a second Jackal's head as she brought her knees up.
The crack-reply told her the only pussy he'd be getting this day would be from Rosie Palmer.
But a third Jackal was already fingering Tahna through the thin, sweaty spandex that outlined the woman's vulva. No time to waste.
Mei approached, twisted her fingers through his hair and was making to wrench out a gaping tuff when she was grabbed from behind.
Fuck. Sleeper Hold!
She shattered two ribs with a reinforced elbow. Scream replaced arms.
But her struggle was brief as she ate two hardened, clean shots from other sources: one to the kidneys, another to the solar-plexus.
Dry-heave. Stumble backwards. Struggle for air. Choking panic! A cheap shot to the throat blurred her vision with tears and anger.
Phantoms filled her waning vision, hyena-barked, danced, and flitted about her weaving form.
Jabjab-poke-tease, fists, tongues and titty-grabs whirlwinded around her, playing games, but threatening to get serious.
"Fagbots!" She lashed out, her fists flailing. No avail.
A pair of arms locked under her chin, wrenching it backwards. The unforgiving lights above bleached her vision.
Jackals everywhere! No escape! Panic seeped into her mind; chilled industrial sludge eating at the lining of clear thought.
Hastily she dropped to one knee to work a little magic only to be stopped cold by a steely kick to the gut.
The unfriendly taste of bile filled her mouth. Defiantly she looked up.
A midget with a grin the girth of the Gobi Desert chuckled as he used the body of a downed compatriot as a pedestal.
His eyes were filled with a terrible greed that infected his breath with the odor of darkness. A cold chill ran down Mei's spine.
He took her head in his hands and kissed her on the nose, and then took her windpipe in a hold that slowly closed it off.
She struggled, but knew it was too late. Sickening black swirls teased at her gray matter. Merciless, nasty, black, giggling bugs.
Good night sweet princess, the midget's eyes danced with a mischievous hate-filled glee.
"No..." Her plea was a no more than a strained, desperate gasp.
Yes, the midget smiled. His large forehead went back in a cackle, and then came down in a scream.
The sound of her nose breaking was the last thing Mei heard before she succumbed to the outskirts of consciousness.
+++
Mei woke in Infirmary, the only place in the city where indentured contracts like her could get hospitalesque services.
The view from her propped bed was bleak. Cracked walls bled despair in microspasmic dependency.
She closed her eyes, wished for a nightmare and opened them once more… still in Hell.
One of these days she was going to wake in one of the coveted rooms of CareOne, the exclusive, luxury clinics for the rich and powerful.
Yeah, that was gonna happen the same week she woke up a free woman… a.k.a. Never.
An urge to laugh was ass-ended by one to cry. Both were cut short by the pain caused by the asshole skullfucking her.
A constant whine popped, going singularity in her head.
And the bells on the skates of the members of the Church of the Holy Rollers of Mars rung for broke in her head.
They played "Buttslumming with Your Ego" in C-minor. Off-key no less.
To top it off, her nose sat in geosync orbit above her face, throbbing on a rather disturbing frequency called GODASSMOTHERDOGWHORE.
Other than all that, it was a perfect day to be dead.
The room boasted three other stacked beds, one on the wall opposite her was occupied.
A bipolar light panel, gripping the ceiling for dear life, lit the room in skittish, spastic waves.
And the echoes of hallway phantoms leaked through the waif of a sliding sheet-metal door.
The door sucked in a breath as it scraped open. A battered but smiling Tahna wheeled-in in an ancient wheelchair culled from some dumpster.
"You live after all." The big girl's expression was triangulated between pained, grateful and sorry; Mei understood it all too well.
"Thanks for coming to my rescue." Tahna put her hand on Mei's. "I tried," Mei bitterly fought back a tear to no avail.
"Rescue!? She got us all pig-juiced by a bunch of hurl-monkeys with cocks the size of Titmouse tits." Monique walked through the door.
"Shove it bitch, you fucked yourself. Gotta learn to turn that catty heat off. You were ready to do the entire audience," Tahna growled.
She turned back to Mei, "After the midget worked his magic on you, no one wanted his sloppy seconds. So they went for Mon instead."
Mei screwed her eyes shut. "Sorry." Tahna's voice was soothing, "No worries hon, that's life in the pits. You know it."
"Oh sure, no worries after you've been brained. I serviced 20-odd audience-monkeys. Fully conscious."
Tahna's expression fouled, "Bitch, I heard you moanin'."
"Would've been a different story if that midget hadn't nutted her." Mon sneered at Mei, "Be thankful you were out cold."
The Russian winced in agreement, "That midget was packing some serious meat."
"Meat!? Meat don't move. That thing was alive." Monique's velvet panther fur mod visibly rippled in revulsion.
"Came out of a damn pouch. Must have had his stomach replaced with an Ener-Generator to make room for the bastard."
Joy. Mei felt her legs go to slowburn with a bow-legged aftertaste. She was no virgin, but big-n-beefy was worlds apart from rip-n-tear.
A bald, dark-skinned, broad-shouldered man with cruel scars for a face pushed passed Mon as he strode into the room.
A neon-white cobra tattoo on his neck hissed menacingly at the girls, mimicking its owner's agitated mood. Mon flinched visibly.
Noris. Mei's owner. "See they got you all cleaned up." His voice was deep, and as cold as a morgue locker.
Mei croaked-choked on an embarrassed greeting, "Hey, boss."
"Took three assisted showers to get all the semen off you. Your midget beau had elephant-testicle DNA.
"Half his wad hit the turds circlejerking over you."
Mei cracked a joke, "Any of them drown?" The intensity of his gaze savagely screwed her to her bed, twisting her guts. Her mouth dried.
He continued, no indication he'd heard her, "Bright side. Capital B 'Bank'. Bukkake Kings was filming; they were pleased. Bonuses for all."
Tahna whooped, but that was the extent of joy in the room as the steady, silent look in Noris' eyes slaughtered the mood.
He continued, "Bad news is, the only one in fighting condition is Mon. No training, no fighting... no Fuk Buks!"
The room stilled. No bank. Indentured fighters who couldn't pay off their contracts were worthless. If they were worthless…
Noris lobbed a PDaTV at Mei, and turned his gaze on the other girls. They left, no questions asked. Property didn't have the right.
Mei flipped the mobile device around to look at the screen. "What's this?"
"Your performance." His voice softened as he approached her bed. His sheer size and posture intimidated her. She dropped her eyes.
He leaned in. His tattoo stuck out at her face, missing by nanopixels.
An unadulterated hiss crawled over his words. "You fight like that again, I'll sell your ass to a bathhouse servicing poxied Jackgrrls."
She nodded fearfully, a flood of tears welling up behind her eyes. But she couldn't cry, not here, not in front of him.
If Noris, for even the briefest, thought she wasn't strong enough to generate his Fuk Buks, she would simply cease to exist.
He loomed over her, hovering, waiting for that perfect moment to consume her. The room darkened, slathered with a tangible hatred.
He groped himself with a left-lift-lift-down-right Cocknami Code as he approached. The IF-THEN loop programmed into her tripped.
Like dialing a clit-ring tone the entirety of her pussy uploaded the command and went into Moana Pleasea Overdrive.
Vibrating on its own at orgasmic speeds, it quickly subdued her. Eye-roll, gaping mouth, just the slightest whimper of thanks.
A fail-safe designed to keep slaves on their knees. Or from running. Hard to run when you're hard up for cockballscunttits.
Every Jizzabel had the programming threaded into her DNA at indentureship. Mei's had been used on her in her early days.
Frustrated, hurt and scared, she ran straight out the doors to Noris' stable and dove into the waters outside.
Noris hadn't even bothered to give chase. He let her run. Run and run and run like a god-damned fool.
And when he felt she might have either understood her situation or was beginning to feel hope, he kicked it in.
That was all she wrote.
Now Noris activated Mei's at the lowest setting. On the highest, it would incapacitate her within seconds…
Multigasms would ripple through her every other second. Long enough to gasp for air, but just, and nothing more.
So she let the trigger roll her. Through the haze, she feared he might fall upon her right there. He could. Had the right. Had in the past.
Pain would not concern him. Only punishment, and his own pleasure. Mercy intervened in just the slightest.
Instead of his full body weight, a sizzling ripple of a terrible familiarity pressed itself to her lips, and she parted them obediently.
It slid deep as she serviced it. He growled, gnashed and gasped. It exploded. She gagged the result down, fearful of reprisal if she didn't.
Then… just as darkly as he had stole upon her, he was gone.
From her still-open mouth, a deep-throated, clicking moan climbed from somewhere hidden inside her and voiced itself.
Tears napalmed down her cheeks; burning rivers of hatred, gouging angry-red furrows.
She was as helpless to stop them as she was to stop the programmed demon buzzing deep in her cunt.
Mei fetaled as self-loathing, desperation, and depression monstrously feasted on her soul; hollowing it and leaving the husk to rot.
+++
Moana Pleasea went into Sleep Mode an hour after Noris departed.
Mei had passed out from orgasm-overload long before that.
+++
Mei's funds ran out after two days at Infirmary. She watched as her Attending signed her signature authorizing direct payment from Noris.
Minor surgery to repair her clitoris, vaginal staples for a ripped perineum, and MorphiSuppositories had depleted every Fuk Buk to her name.
Infirmary siphoned them from her owner instead and that was that. Her debt grew.
A week later she limped out dressed in nothing but a whisper of a hospital smock.
She throbbed tits to toes, to which the only answer was rest. Since she could do that at home just as easily, why stay?
Still bandaged and moving to the slow beat of snail-fucking, she was forced to take a loan with a roboa-taxi company to cover her fare home.
In her condition, there was only one stop the public transit systems would make: her last.
Transit predators would punch her ticket straight through to the crematories, if they decided to leave a body of evidence at all.
Death by PTS was something she preferred to experience vicariously through the Suicide Channel. For now.
The driver took its sweet time hitting high-traffic waterfares and scenic routes, jacking the price.
Mei bothered not with futile protests, letting the electrified hedonism of the night crackle its way into her pulped remains.
Situated in the disputed waters of the Corean Strait, Yue Fong was an autonomous entity with no formal government body.
Criminal-corporate and corporate-criminal elements were the de facto law.
By that same token, it was those same elements that depended on the denizens and tourists for profits.
Without them it would crumble and every law enforcement agency planetside would know exactly where to fill their WANTED shopping lists.
More to the point, it would be scads easier and cheaper to sink the whole place than to try to arrest a single perp.
So for two hours, the roboa-taxi dodged tourist-mad gondolas bound for live Donkey Punch 'n Judy shows, mermaid fishing boats…
and hookers with enough hack-juice to sling the atomic-driven, bullet-shaped capsules into their canal-side pay-per-play love holes.
Traversing a backalley, they nearly ran afoul a Baen special ops team taking exception to a Waterloo-based Copyleft publishing house.
All's fair in love, war and creative commons.
Dropping her at the staircase leading to her rented Gerbil Tube, the taxi encrypted her loan and mailed it to Noris' stable @.
It dove into the dark waters leaving her alone on the quiet corner of Nowhere and Bum Fuck East along the edge of the city.
Above her was home.
Slung five to a sling of industrial-grade shopping-bag plastic, the interconnected tubes swung dizzily like a jumper in that fatal moment.
Glued to the underside of sonictram bridging, the entirety of the housing complex cowered, trembling in the rampage of the predator above.
A cold, dingy, piss-yellow rain stained the city and soaked her through.
As she hadn't bothered with a breather, she was well into hacking up her second lung by the top of the second flight.
A homeless bum cocooned under a moldy blue tarp offered his if she'd give him a prostate exam. She passed.
By the third flight, she popped a staple and reconsidered giving that exam.
With a flight to go, Mei recognized the familiar vibrations of an approaching speed demon. She crouched, bracing herself.
From overhead, the sonictram screamed at her; a hodabeast enraged at the intruder, madly trying to shake her from her perilous perch.
With its impregnated belly full of beastlets, it slipped once more into the crusty night, its one-track mind thankfully prescheduled.
After wriggling her way through the sticky tubing to her hall annex, Mei exhaustedly sunk her hand up to the wrist into the lock recog-pad.
"Bitch! Rent is three days overdue!" She barely pulled to safety as the lock's curse tried to take her hand off.
"Pay up!" it snapped hungrily.
On the verge of collapse, anxious foam-futon flop desire sent her into visible shakes. "Open. I'll pay when I get inside."
"Lying whore! You told me that last month."
Fucking A.I. landlording systems. "And last month I paid you."
"A week after I let you in!"
"I don't have my paychit. I was in the hospital." Her voice dropped a desperate octave. Her knees began to buckle.
"Do I look like I give a dolphin's big pink cock where you were? Pay up!"
"You don't look like anything. You're a fucking A.I.! Now open up!" Tears welled in her eyes, clawing at her last vestige of self-dignity.
"No."
What oozed out of her was instead acceptance. "Fine. Don't. I'll die right here. By law, you'll be unrentable for a minimum of a year."
The A.I. fell silent.
It burst into grumbling about worthless meatbags and pleaded to its programmer to deliver it from the insanity that was human reasoning.
The door opened and Mei, quite literally, fell in. "Two days, Brawler. Two days."
+++
It was still dark when she awoke whatever-later. Groggily stumbling to the corner, she placed her palm against the womb-sleeper wall panel.
A large bulb of goo whetted down from the ceiling like a gob of snot to engulf her, then lifted her in a fetal position off the floor.
Flashmares brutalized her subconsciousness until she awoke once more into disorientating darkness.
Struggling ineffectively against it, she cried out like a newborn child overwhelmed by incomprehensible sensations.
Then, just as suddenly it was gone. A phantom of a victimized mind. The gob dissipated as she stretched toward the only light in the room.
Light struggled through her abode's single glaucomic window yet only managed a muted presence through its thick spidery cataract of age.
No matter. There was nothing to avoid in the sparsely-furnished room; she had few possessions. Everything else was globbed to the walls.
She surveyed the room listlessly, reorientating herself. A momentary misplaced desire to hit the training pits burned acidly.
Fortunately it was squelched by a pounding ache that ninja'd up behind and kicked her in the cerebellum. She hurt. Indescribably so.
Shower, her body begged. Underneath the pain a second feeling she could put words to emerged: used condom. Rubbery. Smelly. Splurchy.
Letting the hospital gown dust the floor, she heard the crack-cry of the PDaTV as it flopped from the pocket like a fish out of water.
It eyeballed her like some grotesque thing, mocking her, blackmailing her. Pride burned in napalm flareup.
A short, brutal kick sent it flying off the wall and defiantly back toward her, yet, just out of reach.
Feeling stupid, she checked the shower's position on its monitor; two floors down, but its in-use indicator was off.
Pressing the call button she waited while the communal stall thrummed the stories to hers. It opened with an annoyingly cheerful ding.
The light from inside bathed her bruised body in a sickly orange reminiscent of the faces of corpses featured on The Morgue Channel.
A cursory check of her 'shower' basket next to the open door yielded an Ozeki One-Cup Sake pull-tab plastic can she could use to power it.
Not good. Why did she have the distinct feeling this was the only piece of garbage in her place? Sometimes 'neat' didn't pay.
With only the one can, she'd have to dumpster dive later to power the other essentials like lights, refrigerator, the Wall-V, mail.
She rammed the can into the open maw of the hot water converter. It would be enough for five minutes. It would have to do.
The scalding water sputtered to life, running over her body in stinging rivers. Inside thirty seconds it induced a blissful, standing coma.
At 157cm, Mei was shorter than the average Western and EuroUnion Brawlers, but she made up for it in hard muscle and kinked smackass curves.
She was blessed with a plainness that worked as beauty; soft lips, slightly pronounced nose, and deep brown eyes that dove to oblivion.
Ugly truth was looks didn't matter as long as she had a number of holes that could be stuffed. Life of indentured fuck doll. End of story.
The pits weren't picky because the audience wasn't. Yet nor was the sport necessarily populated with girls from impoverished nations.
Naturally more than the fair share had been sold into it by parents or husband, but still others were simply deep-credit debtors.
Then there were the lost, discarded, wannabes, thrill-seekers, and the stolen. Their stories were as varied as their faces and scars.
The sisterhood of white spunk cared not about or for class, ethnicity or national allegiance; its only demands: fight and submit.
To free themselves from the pits, many girls upgraded and modded their bodies. Indeed they were encouraged to.
Why not? Mods were loans straight from their owners' pocket. In turn it drove them further into debt; kept them treading semen.
Mei's own petite breasts were punctuated by dark, 50-caliber nipples designed to distract her opponents while she pounded on their skulls.
Upgraded with TittyPop, they flashed to eye socket-penetrating rigidity in a synapsebeat.
Most Jackals didn't realize the danger they were in as they brought their heads to her bosom. But they did get an eye-popping experience.
All's fair in love and sexual juices.
Shower finished, she spied the PDaTV eyeing for her, an illegitimate, abused child in need of love.
Scooping it up, she fetaled back into the gob and floated languidly while visions of sugardaddy bums danced on her head.
Hitting the repeat button, she allowed the footage to wash over her endlessly, possessing every neuron she still had firing.
She wanted to comprehend it. Needed... answers? For what she did not know. But there was nothing.
The midget headbutted her thrice total. The audible crack was clear over the sound of the raging crowd.
Blood sprayed the little man as he had flung off his robe.
Standing back he spread his legs, and gave birth to a thick, fleshy member that flopped to the canvas with a resounding thud.
The cock snapped to life like a blood-engorged firehose. The man laughed the laugh of the ever-victorious–confident, bold, deadly.
Like vultures, the surviving Jackals gathered around him, raging approval as he took Mei's unconscious body.
Timed to his slamming thrusts they danced and mumbled like victims of neural toxin or Virtual Rabies.
It had all the hallmarks of a porn-grade horror flick. Alien parasite mimic and all. Which victim number was she?
And… why?
There was nothing in the Brawl rules that prohibited the midget's modified cock. But it wasn't the cock that disturbed her.
The whole thing was oddly unsettling… as if it were deliberate and needlessly brutal.
The usual uncontrollable desire to fuck that most Jackals displayed was non-existent.
The midget was plowing his cock in and out her as if he meant to fuck her to death with it.
This was blood-lust.
Mei closed her eyes, succumbing to the darkness of self-pity-loathing.
Overhead, the vicious vibrations of the sonictram thrash-screamed tangibly, angry that she was always just out-of-reach.
+++
The solar-flare brilliance of the Wall-V scorched her awake. From its core, the god-like visage of Noris appeared.
Her head lolled out of the gob in half-measure. Wrestling with sleep, she watched through the amber goo that slimed its way across her vision.
A recorded message forced through her wire at his expense.
His eyes burned, scars screamed, and his tattoo fed on some hapless thing that no longer resembled anything but mess.
In measured tone, he addressed his property, "Bitch. Get your bleeding twat to the stable. Don't make me activate Moana Pleasea."
And he was gone. The Wall-V reverted to inactive.
Mei floated a while longer before she deemed to task the world with her presence again.
Twenty-odd hours had passed. Her bartered time was near its end.
Out of curiosity, she half-heartedly tried the Wall-V... nothing. No power to her pad. Not at all unexpected.
Chowing on pull-heat instants from an emergency stock of food, she abandoned spoiled krillbars and Soyjoys to a solemnly silent fridge.
Knowing the A.I. would come for its money soon, Mei dressed in clothing loose enough to both fight and scoot-boot in.
She would not be able to return to her place without paying rent. The A.I. would call the authorities at any sign of amateur monkey-hacking.
A pair of brass knuckles in her pocket gave her the confidence to walk across the city. Retro but effective. Most folks were pain-aversive.
In the light of day, Yue Fong's orgasmic halogen and neon dazzle dried up like an octogenarian hooker's cunt.
There was still plenty of life in it, but it paled to the hot pink flare of night when it was a panty-staining sticky thread of excitement.
Mei followed the main webwork of waterfares that was the backbone of the city. They carried her through the shopping and business districts.
These two districts in particular were the most vital after the entertainment and red light. Their slidewalks carried her with relaxed ease.
Breakfast was several bakeries and cafes offering cake, bread and coffee samples. But mooching carried one only so far.
Tired, and fearful she might hurt herself again, she decided she needed to find a ride.
Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't think about saddling Noris for a ride home or to the stables.
But she wasn't traveling in that direction. She wasn't ready.
Scrounging a lift off a waterbike ramen-runner for a jerk and her panties, she hitched to only place she ever felt safe–TranSister's.
+++
Buried in heart of Yue Fong, TranSister's was named for its proprietress, a beefy yet effeminate transgender cyborg.
A long-term denizen of the city, TranSister had been an American male who flipped her gender from 1 to 0 when she Upgraded.
A natural with computer systems, she worked jobs for global patrons who wanted deniability yet task accountability.
The runner dropped her off in gaudy neon light and the excited screams of patrons fighting to give their money away.
Mei smiled as familiarity blanketed her. She sprinted through the front entrance of the gaming establishment.
A towering world of arcade games embraced her with a blaring, blinking klaxon that was deafening. The audacity of it raised her spirits.
Mei strode confidently into the crowds of consoles, virtual rigs, and hologaming boards, her eyes sweeping the space for her friend.
She caught sight of a pair of Refreshment Bunnies–copper-topped beverage tanks strapped to their backs, ears adorning heads–but not TranS.
Spinning on the roar of an explosive crowd, she spotted a familiar cyborg in semi-transparent black plastik and LED light schemes.
Atop a red-leather bound humanoid body on thick, triangular treads, a color-changing cranial dome proudly displayed its IBM brain.
Pushing her way into the group, Mei smiled as she found TranS taking bets on four waist-down nude men in a display of sexual prowess.
Each man's engorged cock was sheathed in a multiplayer Virtual Vickie Nookie Blaster port as they leaned back in vinyl, STD-resistant seats.
Force-fed intensive sexual stimuli via nutsak-jacks and nookie sheathes, they had to control their urge to blowad. He who spunked last, won.
The tang of grinding teeth was palpable as the contestants spasmed like deathrow BBQ rather than Handjob Joes getting their jollies.
The crowd howled as a doughy frat boy with freckles lost his wad first with an insane grunt that resonated through his flabby ass.
The sound of orgasmic flow cultivated the others one by one until only a rugged young man with skin the color of red earth remained.
He rode Virtual Vickie to triumphant end, only pulling out to give a screaming admirer a pearl necklace which she shared with her friends.
"TranS," Mei smiled, keeping her voice at conversation level. She knew the big cyborg could hear her.
LED outlined eyes widened and the machine-woman bowled through the onlookers to roll up on the Brawler on its triangular treads.
TranS lifted Mei in her arms, its faux female flaming baritone positively squealing as the machine gripped her in a bear hug.
"Oh the eGods be blessed!" Crushed in polymer arms, Mei was running out of air. "TranS..." she managed to gasp. "Down..." TranS complied.
Air burnt her lungs as it rushed back in to fill the vacuum. Mei coughed a thanks, and was offered a drink by a summoned Refreshment Bunny.
"It's been nearly three months since I last saw you, girl. Where have you been?" TranS scolded.
"Livin' the good times."
"So I see. I caught your last fight. If you could call it that," TranS had never been one to mince words.
Mei shrugged at the commentary and followed her friend as the big cyborg rolled off deeper into the arcade.
TranS' office was a reasonably comfortable arrangement for entertaining business and social guests.
"You got yourself in a pretty fix obviously," TranS purposely gave Mei's nose a glancing touch. Mei winced.
"I see they gave you something for the bruising, but not the pain.
"Serves you right, I suppose. I told you to watch your ass."
Mei nodded, sat down, and knowing there was more, waited for her friend to continue.
"Honestly, you know they occasionally toss ringers into the pits. Otherwise how they gonna keep in profits if you win consistently?"
It wasn't officially condoned, but Mei didn't doubt it. No Brawler to-date had a perfect record.
The rules were fight or be fucked. It didn't get any simpler.
Every time a Brawler entered the pits, she knew there was a chance she knew it might be her day to fuck.
"I don't see why you don't get out of the biz."
Mei gave her friend a veiled look, "And I suppose you want to pay off my debt to Noris, do you?"
"Girl, don't you have that damn thing paid off yet?"
Mei bit her lip. The space between them fell silent; muffled, the inquisitive bleep-donk-widdledap of the games outside prodded them.
"I got modded."
"Brilliant. So what?"
"Cost more than I thought. The interest payments are killing me."
"No, you are getting shafted for more than it's worth."
The Brawler hung her head at the truth. But what recourse did she have?
Every week it was ten new Jackals. Ten fresh contestants vying for vaginal victory. When did she have time to rest?
TranS reached out, touching Mei's shoulders with both hands, "I've known you since you first stole in here to run from training.
"You were feisty and smart. Fought like a wildcat when they came for you. Fought harder in the pits. But now... you're running out of time."
Mei looked up into the cyborg's sensors. "Need a place to stay."
Shaking her head, TranS pulled Mei to her and put her arms around her. "Girl, you always welcome here."
A single, silent tear ran down Mei's face.
+++
Mei dropped out of the sleeping gob as the Wall-V's alarm mode stabbed her retinas with visions of BoyRockets probing Ganymede.
Her eyes napalmed in their sockets, and her brain felt rough-grit polished. Heavy and sedated, her body snarled at the thought of waking.
The night before, TranS had lead her to this loft-like abode hidden somewhere behind? under? the arcade. It was impossible to tell.
The corridors were a dark, deceitful labyrinth designed to give the cyborg time to disappear if trouble came trolling.
With no need for light herself, she navigated it sans; with Mei in tow, she had activated a rolling light sensor that had preceded them.
A metal ladder released from its flush wall concealment with a press.
Detaching herself from her tread-base, the cyborg climbed the ladder after Mei, pulling herself up and balancing herself in the opening.
"The equipment's a bit dated, but you should be able to access all relevant media and channels."
"Kitchen's that way. I'll leave the light on. Not sure what's in there, but shouldn't be too off." TranS had given her run of the place.
"Showers are still in the arcade of course. But they aren't too crowded in the mornings as the semen games pull an evening crowd."
Mei had plonked down on a legless love-sofa across from the Wall-V after TranS left.
Nothing better to do, she had given herself over to a night of auto-surfing: random fifteen-second snatches of every channel. Brain smash TV.
Now her ears rung and head pounded. Her Fung-Shui was more like Fung-Shit. She was pulling some seriously bad karma lately.
She ran through a short, cautious stretching routine reviving the flow of energy and blood in her somewhat.
Mei teased-treated the morning patrons to an impromptu nude show as she padded through the arcade to shower.
An autograph and an anal fingerbang scored her some cash along the way.
She dressed and returned to the arcade to immerse in fantasy holos.
TranS' appeared behind the Skeleton Demon King's army some hours later; the cyborg zapped her way through several high demons to greet her.
"Morning, Mei," and was gone, message delivered. The Brawler jacked out, leaving the skeletons to skull-fuck her avatar.
TranS smiled and called for one of the Bunny Girls who brought Mei a complimentary breakfast from the bar.
The two of them retired to TranS' office. "Plans for the day?" Mei mulled over her friend's question. She knew where she needed to go...
But a phlegmy wad of pride, a more than healthy dose of fear, and good ol' fashioned indecision stopped the words in her throat.
Why was she so reluctant to go back to the stable? Noris owned her. She had no choice in the matter.
And yet, despite the threat of Moana Pleasea, he'd not summoned her. Yet. Noris wasn't a man to show much kindness.
In the face of this latest defeat and the money she'd cost the stable, he wasn't likely to be forgiving for breach of contract.
Dread curdled her stomach into a ball of ill that wouldn't subside. "I'm not sure. Noris..."
TranS' faceplate plastik exploded in a patterned lightshow of LED sympathy. "Noris is no Samaritan, but he's no fool either. Biz is biz."
Biz is biz, the axiom the city afloat in the rough waters between countries, enemies, heaven, hell, law, chaos.
So why did biz seem so...? There were no words for the complexity of emotions confounding her brain right now.
TranS inserted herself into Mei's thoughts, "Obviously you are not ready to go back. But I don't really think that's an option."
Stating the painfully obvious was the cyborg's way of bringing problems to solution. And then from left field...
"Is there any way out of your contract?"
Yes. A very simple way. "Physical death." To which TranS nodded seriously, "Okay then. We'll kill you." She piped happily.
In truth, Mei could have been 'dead' within minutes if wanted it that way, but it would just lead to a life on the run.
She wanted freedom with no strings attached if she could help it. Or at least mostly unfettered.
Mei shook her head. "Nice offer, but the restricted lifestyle would give me cramps worse than my period."
"Not my fault you left that turned on. You could return to the mainland." Mei frowned, "Thanks, but no. I prefer to be me."
"I can understand that Sweets, but 'me' is so passe when you could be any onething. I hear there's good work as a constructionbot on Lybia."
Lybia. The orbital colonies. If she could afford a dream like that she wouldn't be chugging man-cream from the closet-aggressive masses.
They both fell silent.
"Not my place to tell you what you should do. It's your life as far as I'm concerned," TranS chirped.
No. It wasn't her life, but the cyborg's sentiment was appreciated.
"You have support and the limited protection I can offer as long as you stay...
"There is nothing Noris can do to me; I simply invited you to stay. But he could send in stompers to make business hard."
The message was clear: meet with Noris, so he doesn't need to come to collect his property. Work shit out.
"A little groveling never hurt anyone, hun. And you don't need to swallow anything you don't already do on a daily basis.
"Once you are healed and brawling again, things will get better. We can work something out after you mend fences."
The burly tranny-borg left Mei chewing her thoughts and a chocolate-covered krill bar. Neither sat very well in her stomach.
+++
Armed with a debit card linked to TranSister's, Mei took a high-speed water taxi to the warehouse district housing Noris' stable.
Inside she bowed in respect and greeting to the stable god hologram attached above the outer office.
A tiny gong sounded and the hologod held up a hand sagely, blessing her entrance.
Stepping into the main stable, she was greeted by the groans, moans, rages and whimpers of Brawlers in training.
She bowed in greeting; not a soul responded in recognition or respect.
As a senior Brawler, she was entitled to have the lower ranks grovel at her feet if she so desired. That no one greeted her was unusual.
Mei studied the faces of the girls in the reg-sized pit below her. None of them acknowledged her and she instantly knew why...
She didn't recognize a single one of them.
Fuck the what? As she made to approach the pit, she was intercepted by an OL droid.
Its flimsy Office Lady uniform was faded, but the chrome on her visored-yet-otherwise-blank face gleamed in the cruel overhead pit lighting.
It bowed, "Ma'am, your presence is required." The synthetic voice was faux-feminine robotic reverberation. Arm extended.
Mei followed it to the other side of the pit where a tired, pine-green sofa lazed in front of a three-meter multifaceted viewing screen.
The OL bot was gone before she had gingerly seated herself on the sofa. Via the screen, she had an unfettered view into pit.
Littered with flesh and pheromones, she could smell the desperate desire reeking up from out of it like a savage perfume.
Desperately trying to spot a familiar face, Mei scanned the screens and scaffolding leading to Initiate quarters with no success.
Below her in the pit nearly a dozen young Brawlers worked under an obviously experienced girl who wasn't much older. Bot trainers supervised.
Working in pairs a few smacked each other's faces; their reddened, tear-streaked visages were grim testaments to their determined dedication.
Another group ran hip-deep laps in SimuJizz, a substitute that smelt, felt and tasted real, yet actually was good for the skin.
A third group battled free4all that saw the losers bound to Vibrochair Bots that mercilessly buzzgasmed for them hours on end.
And in the middle, on a raised platform, Mei spied an anal dildo tug-of-war bout and took interest.
A big-boned brunette strained against a petite black woman with rock-hard ass muscles and a twitching technique that told the story.
Mei nodded approvingly as the black woman gave her ass a twist-whip that sealed the victory for her.
The dildo splurped out and a waiting double-barreled Pump-o-taun was on the brunette before she could stand.
The brunette doggedly took the bot's dual-shock pistons with labored breath and a mewling.
Mei looked on with a degree of nostalgia–her encounters with Sullivan-bots during her teen training years were not without moments.
Her first crush had been on a particularly gentle SPT model with a fondness for shiofuki and spit swapping.
Truth was, despite all the beatings she had taken and all the manmeat she'd been force-fed, there were memories here.
She had been ten when she first entered Noris' stable; before that, she had lived on the streets of New Kowloon.
Running with a pack of other girls, most of whom were younger and the oldest just eleven, she had survived on garbage scraps and theft.
It had been hard; territorial gang fights, cold nights, sickness, the Urchin Catchers and the ghosts all took their toll on the group.
But nothing was more frightening than the police raids. With gangs and sickness, death came or it didn't. With the police...
It was harder to accept the disappearances than the public-graveyard visits. At least the graveyards offered the tangible.
Mei became leader of her group when Banno was snatched by the red-eyed, polymer monsters of Hong Kong's Public Security.
Nin–a young Thai girl Mei harbored under her wing–had fallen ill, and Banno, as group leader, had snuck out into the night to find medicine.
She had gotten the medicine alright, stole it from a drugist shop, but she had been followed to the abandoned building they called home.
Mei threatened the other girls with a severe beating if they dared cry out from their hiding spots within the crumbling concrete walls.
They watched tearfully as Banno was silenced, snatched and sacked by prowling, feral Public Security bots.
Motion-detector eyes probed the 30-story building for hours thereafter searching for other tasty morsels for their masters.
In the end, they had escaped the vicious spiked tongues tipped with powerful immobilizers, but they had also lost Banno.
Three weeks later, Nin had recovered, and the girls were scavenging in an upper-scale shopping district scoring bread.
Mei perchanced upon an alley-bound Doll mercantile that favored overseas clientele. There, in the window was a transformed Banno.
From meticulously tattooed joints, she moved robotically; performing simulated tasks to clockwork algorithms: mimicking tea and blowjobs.
Mei's unconscious scream at the sight of the large windup key in the girl's back called the unwanted attention of the shopkeep.
Swatting at her with a large broom, a balding man chased her off with threats of calls to Public Security.
She kept what she had seen a secret, and scolded the girls when they suggested returning to the area for more food.
As leader, it was up to her to protect them; a job in which she ultimately failed. By autumn, they had all been snatched.
At the police warehouse, they had been stripped of all their clothes and hosed down day after day after day by unsympathetic officers.
De-liced, checked, poked, prodded, Two-Finger tested, immunized, polarized, drugged up, drugged down, and experimented on.
They were submitted to the whim of every sadistic state mandate that could be brought to bear on their young psyches.
And then they were set upon each other like fighting dogs.
Prodded by shock sticks and goaded by promises of 'new homes', waves of frightened children threw themselves at each other.
Those who remained standing were sold to the Brawl pits. Those who fell and survived were sold to brothels on Mars.
Those who fell and did not, were served at meals to the next batch of girls brought in.
Which of the groups was the luckiest was a tough call.
"Mei." Noris' dry, craggy voice scraped harshly against the memory of her bittersweet ascension to Brawl.
He turned and walked away wordlessly. She followed him into his office where she remained standing as he sat.
"Where the fuck you been?" His voice was icy and expectant. "Infirmary records check you out almost a week ago."
Mei bowed in apology, not bothering with excuses he wouldn't want to hear. He continued, "And taxi loans..."
Inevitable inconvenience, she bowed once more. But this was a song and dance as ritual in nature as fucking. They both knew it.
He waited.
In the struggle to say something, words blundering, yet well-meant passed her lips like after-thoughts.
"Something was wrong with that match…"
"Fuck straight! You lost. That's what was wrong. You girls let a piss-ant midget and his fairy boys go to town on you."
"No, I mean–"
"Mean!? Meaning ain't shit! This is Brawl!"
That was true, but after she'd spoken the words, she couldn't escape them.
And Noris' dismissive retort only clawed at the scabbed-over memories of the fight. They opened and oozed agitated ichor.
The words festered–giving off a retched, foul stench, "We were set up," she blurted. "Maybe..." and stumbled.
Noris squinted at her, mouth agape. "Set up?" He regurgitated the cud of the words and vomited a look.
It was the same look as when he had shoved his meat into her piehole at Infirmary.
His A.I. cobra coiled and struck and his own words dripped with venom, "You got fucked. It's your job to bonk not bitch."
Her stomach recoiled, but the words just keep coming, untamable, "I don't know why, but something was wrong with that midget."
Exploding out of his chair, he grabbed her by the back of the head and slammed her face flat against a wall monitor of girls training.
"Look at that fish market out there! Any one of those cunts would take a sonictram up the ass for your slot, Mei. "
In years under Noris, she'd only seen him this mad a couple of times. He hadn't even been this pissed when she'd first run away.
"Maybe I should give it to them. Whaddya think?"
"I've made you money!" She rebelled. Tears stung her cheeks. "Made you money..." It came out softer.
"How the fuck isn't your contract paid off then? You had five years left. This loss bounced you to seven. You cost more than you generate."
He leaned in hard behind her, crushing her against the monitor; it groaned meekly in protest as if it might shatter in her face.
She pasted her eyes shut, and waited for whatever was to happen, to happen.
The sound of grinding fury echoed in her right ear. Was he going to bite it off? Maimed fighters were sometimes premium.
"There was a day Mei..." he growled, "but the crowds don't want you no more. Maybe your titties are too small," and viciously twisted one.
"Maybe your pussy's just too flabby. I don't know. Doesn't matter. You can't pay, you don't play."
He eased himself off of her, and turned his back.
Mei had grossly overestimated her worth to Noris, and he'd correct her on that mistake.
She'd shot off her mouth, when she should've been flagellating herself with Noris' cock, bathing in the jizz shower to show tribute.
What the hell had she been thinking? She'd come here to get back into the good graces of her stable owner, and pissed him off instead.
There was only one way to reconcile that kind of breach of etiquette, if it wasn't already too late.
Dropping to the floor, she folded her legs under her, placed her palms flat down, and touched her head to the unforgiving concrete.
"I have caused you great embarrassment and considerable money loss, Noris. I apologize for my actions and ask for forgiveness."
The sound of training girls screaming and moaning wafted into the muted room like cheap perfume.
Everything depended on what Noris–what Mei hoped Noris–would do next.
"There is only one thing I want..." Deep, cold resolve filled his words.
"Of course." She stood with a speed and agility that only years in the pits brought, ripping off the breakaway unitard she had worn.
Knowing Noris' preferred method of taking tribute, Mei bury-braced her head into a couch, and spread her bunghole as wide as possible.
A callous sting rose from between her two pleasure holes. She bit her lip and slammed her eyes shut.
She hoped the preemptive offer of anal sex would spare her the busting of her remaining vaginal staples, but wasn't counting on it.
As she nervously awaited the prick of his prick, the pink softness of her sphincter puckered in goldfish anticipation.
Nothing. Mei stood face buried in the couch for a full five minutes before she realized Noris was not going to fuck her in the ass.