Pie Box 1

by George Saoulidis

  When she could breathe again, Tanya pulled her up and kissed her deeply. “It was true. I couldn’t, not until just now.”

  Mamacita beamed at her, her smile glinting with her juices.

  “What are you, magic?” Tanya panted, touching Mamacita’s cheek.

  “I’m the one whose name you’ll be screaming as I do it all over again.”

  DROP NINETY

  It took Mamacita a week before she had the couple eating out of her hand. She had calculated at least thrice that, but the sudden improvement on their marriage made all the difference. She put them on a drug-fueled bender of sex and pleasure, a tribute to Dionysus that even he would stop and appreciate.

  They had everything that could be delivered to them that was frivolous and luxurious, and a couple of things that could not, yet they still got somehow. They had sex with one another, but after the obligatory threesome they usually just kept a specific position: Tanya would enter her husband in missionary anal, it was an awkward pose that required him having his legs up in the air, and Mamacita would work Tanya’s pussy from behind with her expert tongue and fingers. The couple liked that because it allowed them to see each other face to face and say sweet nothings into each other’s ears, while being serviced by Mamacita and bringing them to the edge of orgasm. Then Tanya would pull out and they’d move their legs around to have her on top, her husband entering her pussy, leaving just a couple of final thrusts for the big finish.

  Embraced, satisfied and spent, the couple would remain there for a long time, kissing and touching each other, while Mamacita gave them their space.

  She had effectively conditioned her to be able to come vaginally on top of her husband. They were both incredibly happy with each other and were easy pickings for Mamacita. She made the offer, and they immediately agreed to both switch over to Aphrodite Cosmetics.

  Tanya was about to sign the contract. This was it. Everything Mamacita had come here to accomplish.

  “Stop!” Mamacita shouted and pushed her hand away.

  “What is it?” Tanya said, startled.

  Mamacita sighed. “I can’t let you do it.”

  “What are you talking about? You’ve been going on about this for two days straight.” Tanya looked confused.

  Mamacita touched her cheek. “I can’t let you go through this, it’s a mistake. You’re such a wonderful person, and I... I took advantage of you.”

  Tanya snorted. “I think there was plenty of give and take, no need to keep track of it.”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. If I let you sign this, I’ll be letting you get screwed over, and not in a good way.”

  “How?”

  “I have no clue about the legalese. But I’m telling you, Aphrodite will screw you over. She doesn’t really want you, she just wants your market influence. Whereas Apollo helped bring you to life.” Mamacita weighed the concepts with her hands. “It doesn’t even compare.”

  Tanya seemed thoughtful. She pushed the contract away. She stood up, and she was very imposing with her tallness. Mamacita thought she was about to get slapped, or punched.

  Instead, she got hugged, squeezed into a juicy bosom. “Thank you for warning me. It must have been very hard to do.”

  Mamacita started, then hugged her back. “You’re not mad at me?”

  “I am, a bit. But you fixed my marriage, really. And there was no real harm done in the end.” Tanya leaned down and kissed her.

  Mamacita ran an augmented finger around Tanya’s breasts. “So... I should go.”

  “You should, yeah,” Tanya said, licking her neck.

  “We never did that thing with the double dildo we talked about,” Mamacita said, moaning.

  “Oh, no!” Tanya said in mock surprise. “We can’t let you leave before doing that.” Then she knelt down and started undressing her guest.

  DROP NINETY-ONE

  Mamacita stepped outside of the Apollo skyscraper. She barely moved a metre before she heard engine roars and a terrible commotion. From each side of the street, Armoured Personnel Carriers were tearing up the place, plowing through the cars that didn’t get out of the way soon enough and racing towards the middle.

  Her.

  Mamacita let her head hang.

  The APCs stopped before the stairs and groups of armed men and women surrounded her. The passers-by promptly ran out of the way or simply hid wherever they could, behind a column, behind a car, in the bushes.

  Mamacita sighed and raised her arms in the air.

  “Freeze!” they demanded. Four armed men covered her with their rifles, while two more put cuffs on her that could hold an augmented person. They locked up in both wrists and elbows, pulling her arms back in a very uncomfortable position. She couldn’t move her augmented leg too. “You have been neutralised, do not resist,” a woman said, pulled a black bag over her head and kicked her in the belly.

  Mamacita folded up in pain and fell on the ground, then they carried her away in the APC.

  When she came to, she was still in the dark. She could hear weird slurping other sounds of machinery, perhaps medical. “Forty armed men to come and get me? That’s what we call ‘overkill,’ you overdramatic puta- person,” Mamacita said, coughing the last word and correcting herself at the last second.

  They pulled the bag over her head and she could see a smirking goddess. She was on her throne. Oh, sure she pretended it wasn’t a throne, it was some avant-garde fashion chair, but everyone could see what it was.

  A throne.

  She had her legs crossed and her back straight and looked stunningly gorgeous. If Mamacita could make men want to jerk off by simply winking at them, this woman could make them wanna tear off a limb if it meant they could have her.

  She was surrounded by six beautiful young women. They wore sheer iridescent dresses that made the arrangement look like the plumage of a peacock.

  So far, so good. Theatrical, but normal, in some weird, celebrity-loco sense of what’s normal.

  And then Mamacita noticed the tubes.

  They were robotic, slithering away with a mind of their own. They all came from the throne, and some ended up in the girls’ thighs, others ended up inside the goddess. Right before her eyes, she saw one unstick the needle from one of the girls and move in place to stick it to another. She heard a slurping sound, and thick, red blood trickled from the girl and into the goddess.

  “I am displeased,” Aphrodite said simply, then gestured with her finger and sent unimaginable pain down Mamacita’s body. Her brain was on fire, her limbs were electrocuted, her augmentations grinded with one another and smoke came out of them, smelling like burnt metal. Mamacita slammed her head on the floor to divert the pain somewhere else, her body convulsing, locked up in agony. She left a bloody stain on the otherwise immaculate floor.

  Then the pain stopped, and the simple absence of it was even better than an orgasm.

  “I know, oh, Nymphia, Fairest, Ambologera,” Mamacita bowed as well as she could with the awkward handcuffs and limited mobility. “I ask for your forgiveness, Divine one, Morpho, Lusted After by All.”

  Aphrodite raised her chin at the cascade of ass-kissing epithets. “I know you’re intelligent. Why would you invoke my wrath like this?” she snapped. The tubes kept on sucking blood from the girls. Mamacita noticed that they were far too pale.

  “I was a fool. I-I messed up,” Mamacita stuttered, bracing herself for the inevitable return of the searing pain. “I’m stupid, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she snivelled.

  Aphrodite looked smug, which was a mean feat for a perpetually smug person such as she.

  Mamacita snorted. “I’m sorry, but I can’t, I have to say it, I can’t take it any longer: Can you please not exchange bodily fluids with three different people while we’re talking? This is very distracting.”

  Aphrodite’s gorgeous face distorted into a mask of anger for a second, and for the equivalent amount of time, Mamacita was back in hell, being burned alive.

  Th
en it was gone.

  Aphrodite waved away and the tubes unstuck themselves from her body and from the girls’. They seemed to breathe in a bit easier now. The robotic tubes covered up their tips and slithered away out of sight. The goddess stood up with grace and walked towards Mamacita.

  She tsked, then raised Mamacita’s chin to her face. Aphrodite kissed her on the lips lightly, just a touch, a soft peck.

  Mamacita shuddered and felt waves of pleasure all over her body, ending up in her centre. She came, just like that, no rubbing, no foreplay, no penetration. The dam just broke and she had an orgasm. “What did you- Oh, my goddess, oh... Yes! Oh, yes. Fuck! Ohhh...” she petered out, panting. It wasn’t the best orgasm she ever had, but the sheer suddenness of it would make it easy to remember.

  “Do you love me?” Aphrodite said softly, dreamily, batting her eyelashes, brushing Mamacita’s face with them.

  “Yes!”

  “Say it, please.”

  “I love you!” Mamacita blurted out, unable to control herself.

  “Good. Everybody loves me. Do not fail me again.” Aphrodite brushed Mamacita’s augmented neck with her finger, exploring her body millimetre by millimetre.

  “I-I won’t,” Mamacita said, still reeling from the sudden orgasm. “Never again,” she gulped, and she wanted to lean forward, close in on that last couple of centimetres that separated her face from her goddess’.

  “Excellent. I desire that you join up with that little team that approached you. I have plans for them.” Aphrodite said and walked away.

  Mamacita managed to look up. “Holy shit, that’s a fine ass!” The peacock girls gasped. She quickly added, “Oh, you... Morpho, of shapely form.”

  Aphrodite looked over her shoulder and winked at her. “Why, thank you.”

  “I assume the tubes and the peacocks have something to do with it?”

  Aphrodite shrugged. “I try to preserve my youthful beauty.” Then she sat back down on her throne, and the tubes came to life. They popped open needles at their ends, and two stuck into Aphrodite’s thighs, the rest looked for juicy, youthful bodies to bleed dry.

  Her face changed into a scowl and her voice became commanding. “You will be reduced in every way. Your pheromones will be disabled, your funds limited, your luxuries taken away.”

  “For how long?” Mamacita squealed.

  Aphrodite leaned forward on her throne. “Until I’m satisfied that you’ve learnt your lesson, mortal.”

  DROP NINETY-TWO

  “Pickle, I need a lesson,” Hector said, plopping himself down on the table. He had an ouzo ready and everything.

  “Oh?” She turned her attention from a file she was working on, it was an organisation chart for the Pies. She hadn’t even touched the pickles beside her, she was that focused on the task.

  “I don’t really know anything about jugger. And now that I’m an owner, it’ll be very easy to make a fool of myself. I know when to keep my mouth shut, but it’s bound to happen sometime.”

  She sighed and swiped the file away from her veil. “You’re right. What do you wanna know?” She interlocked her fingers, her thicker augmented ones pushing the fleshy ones wide.

  “Well, everything! I know some of the basics. What else is there?”

  She sniffed, thinking. “The game is simple, really. Let’s take it from the top. You have five juggers, which consist of one Qwik, one Chain, and three Enforcers. Nobody but the Qwik can pick up the skull. Some leagues call it jugg, in Greece we call it as it was traditionally, the skull. The other juggers can push the skull around with their weapons. For example, to get it away from a qwik opponent.”

  “Right, I had noticed that.”

  “When an athlete gets hit, she gets a penalty of three stones in duration. That means she gets paralysed and is unable to move. You can pin down an athlete by keeping your weapon on them, that’s not a foul. You can’t keep hitting them, you get a foul that way. You just keep your weapon resting on their shoulder or something. Depending on the weapon you carry, you can block an incoming strike. That’s why I like the shield, because it opens up many options. The Qwik can’t carry a weapon, but can block with her forearms only.”

  “And it’s why I added in more padding there,” he offered with is palm.

  “Exactly. Normally, none of the weapons could cause any major harm. You’ve seen them, they’re made of foam and duct tape,” she reached down the side of her chair and picked her ‘sword,’ then struck her arm with one. “But...” she trailed off, tilting her head.

  “You are so fucking strong,” Hector added, nodding.

  “Yes. That simple stat, the second skull in my statistics might not seem like much, but it does make a huge difference. I can basically punch twice as hard as a professional non-augmented martial artist in my weight-class.”

  Hector whistled.

  She blushed, she didn’t really like to brag, but it was a fact.

  “But, wait, Cherry has 2 speed, but she isn’t augmented.”

  “Yes, that’s an innate talent. She has been tested from the Cyberpink officials and she qualifies as a natural athlete who is superhuman in speed. She is barely over the line, but it’s there.”

  Hector whistled again. “Nice!”

  “Obviously that speed will decline if she doesn’t maintain it, especially as she gets older. That’s why I insist on such vigorous training.”

  “And how fast can she become with augmentations?”

  Pickle raised an eyebrow at him. “Planning to augment her so soon?”

  “Not really,” Hector shrugged. “Just asking, getting the feel of it.” He moved his hands in circular motions like holding a ball.

  “With basic speed augs, she’ll maintain the second point. With top-of-the-line augs, she might reach the third point.”

  “That’s the maximum?” he asked, mimicking the level with a horizontal palm.

  “The legal one, yes. There are experimental stuff that are way dangerous that can get you ranking even higher, but those would get you disqualified anyway. It’s military tech, we’re talking about a whole different level.”

  Hector thought about it for a minute, sipping his ouzo. She knew him well enough by now to wait as he digested the information. He wasn’t stupid, no. Okay, plenty of people couldn’t keep up with her thought processes, if she started considering them all stupid she’d be left with no one to talk to. No, Hector liked to mull it over, to let the thoughts marinate. He was clever, it was just that his cleverness manifested in different aspects of life. In this one, for example, he was clever enough to let her do the thinking about the team. He finally opened his mouth and asked, “Is that why you like Cherry? Because of her prospects?”

  “Yes, and no. I like her as a friend, too. The fact that she fills out a part of the team that I’m not capable of, is just a happy bonus.”

  He frowned at her for a while. He didn’t seem to buy it, but made no further comment on that. “Okay, back to Jugger. So, the teams stand at each side of the field. It’s octagonal, with the two mounds a few metres in front of the starting line. Like having the goal posts in front of the team.”

  “Yes, that’s one of the reasons Jugger is so explosive and fast! You gotta run and claim your side of the field, you gotta hurry and get the skull,” she said, excited, gesturing wildly.

  He smiled at her, raising the side of his mouth. “And the stones start, wait, I know that one...” he clicked his fingers many times. “Two-and-a-half seconds apart, right?”

  “Correct.”

  He clicked his fingers. “One-hundred stones in total, for the entire match. Every time you score, the clock stops, and you reset, going back to your starting line.”

  She nodded, munching on a pickle. “Whoever has the most points when the time runs out, wins. If it’s a tie, it becomes a sudden death round. That’s basically the entire game.”

  “Yeah... Simple, but with so many nuances. I’ve seen you strategise, play the opponent’s mind. And obvi
ously the choice of weapons matters, right?”

  “Definitely. That’s the entire metagame. For example, if they all go with long reach, you can expect them to play accordingly, perhaps gang up two-at-a-time on an athlete, paralyse them, then move on to the next. If they’re practised and well-trained they can really ruin your play-style like that.”

  “So, what’s the counter? For all-reach?”

  “Q-tips or shields, basically.”

  “Right, thought so. You put a lot of thought into it, don’t you?” he chuckled.

  She rolled her vowels, looking away, “Well... yeah... I like it...”

  Hector stood up and clapped her shoulder. “I know you do,” he said. “I’ll leave you to your team planning.”

  DROP NINETY-THREE

  Hector sat down on his seat. Pickle sat next to him.

  “We could have gone to the VIP booth, you know. I haven’t taken you up there yet,” Hector said, pointing back with his thumb.

  Pickle waved it away. “Nah, that’s not jugger. This is,” she breathed in, “the sweat and dirt and stale hot dogs.”

  Hector chuckled. “Okay, I get the appeal in a masochist sort of way. This is more real, sure. So, which one are we scouting for?”

  Pickle stretched her neck and looked at the gate. “Sit down, will ya?” she said to the indecisive fan in front of her.

  “Sorry, ma’am, sorry,” he said and finally placed his butt down.

  “All of the Lasses are great, but I really like Billie.”

  “And they all Scottish?” Hector asked, pulling up stats and search results on his veil. The amount of data was staggering, it made his head spin, and he wasn’t really interested in them.

  He focused on the athlete’s summary stats, those came in digestible chunks: