by Jessica Rael
Once in place the two fairies, one clinging to the front of her collar, the other to the back, began to gyrate their hips, those tiny Asian pelvises sucking the thick jello-poles out of the toy’s orifices, then plunging them back again. They were fucking her. The pretty, little, bad fairies were fucking her. Stephanie endured the ordeal for what seemed a lifetime, as the remaining two fairies licked her face and taunted her in fairy talk she couldn’t understand. Then they slid down to join their companions, each lying next to one of the fairies violating her.
Stephanie was still in her dizzy place, but she could feel the fairies shifting position, moving aside so that their companions could squeeze in close beside them. The young blonde felt the tips of the other two magic swords at the entrance to her vagina and anus and they began to press against the already full passages, impatient to be allowed in.
More scrabbling, fingers gripped Stephanie’s slave collar as the two other bad, bad fairies pulled and pulled trying to force their own jello-poles alongside the others. Stephanie’s mind screamed at her body not to allow it, but her body betrayed her, the dizzy place became a sleepy, fainting sort of place as her vagina and ass surrendered to the evil fairies and two more slick, fat, jello-shafts pushed aside her flesh and began their journey deep into her helpless body.
Dakota slammed five shells into the dummy the minute it sprung from behind the fake door at the back of the range. Chunks of foam rubber, blasted from the target’s face, floated gently to the ground like confetti. State Girl handed the Browning DBM to Amber, keeping the barrel pointed down range.
‘I know where you come from, Amber. In fact I know a lot about you, and I know you’ve handled plenty of guns in the time you were in that godforsaken little shit-hole you called home, but what we have here is something that’s a whole lot more expensive, and a hell of a lot more accurate than daddy’s old Colt, or the Saturday night specials the local macho boys were letting you play with for a chance to get in your panties. It’ll hit hard, and it’ll hit accurately, if you know how to point it. It won’t jam, and you’ll be able to reload the mag in under three seconds when I’ve finished with you. With me so far?’
‘Fuck Dak, didn’t know I’d joined the marine corps.’ Another target popped up and Amber pumped six bullets in the direction of the foam figure, landing one in the head and three in the torso, while two sunk harmlessly into the back wall.
‘If I didn’t love you, sweetie, I’d let you whack shells into the wall all day, but then I’d have to watch while some coked-up pimp put another hole in that cute little body of yours, and then I’d have to kill him twice and miss you for the rest of my life.’
Amber blew a kiss at the Cruza lieutenant. ‘Ooh, Dak, I love it when you talk about my holes.’
The woman laughed. ‘C’mon, bitch, get your little tush in gear and let’s get this right, security check’s only a week away.’
‘What we looking for?’
‘Nothing much, sweetie. Some jerks have been hassling one of our delivery teams, nothing the girls can’t handle, but I’m just curious. I don’t know if they have any idea what we’re bringing in, or if they just reckon anything coming into a neighborhood like that has gotta be worth something. Either way, if we don’t move them on pretty soon the cops will, and that…’ Dakota replaced the Browning’s magazine clip, ‘…we don’t want.’
The lieutenant emptied the clip into a moving target board crossing the back wall like a fairground duck shoot, and the center circle exploded into a mass of holes, not a single miss. Dakota then unloaded and checked the pistol and replaced the black and bluish-silver chunk of metal back in the rack. She then pulled out something that Amber thought wouldn’t have looked out of place in a sci-fi flick. Not much bigger than the pistol the gun was a curious sculpted shape, speaking of hidden danger and power that belied its size.
Dakota grinned as she pressed a button on the range control, loosing another foam assassin. The alluring woman seemed to absorb something from the weapon in her hand, feeding off its dark intent and potency. Looking younger than her thirty-one years, her dark eyes glistened and the young redhead looked on, quite captivated. In her old world guns had been the preserve of white men riddled with paranoia, or young punks out for trouble or to impress, but never anything like this.
The goddess of destruction raised her weapon in a smooth arc as the foam figure leapt into her view, propelled at lightening speed by the gas ram it was attached to. Her gaze never wavered; dark-brown eyes sparkling and alive tracked their target. The weapon spat fire and noise, blasting the head clean off the dummy, the rapid burst of metallic death finishing the job in seconds, leaving only the ear guard-softened echoes to soak into the shielded walls and the cloud of debris to drift slowly to the floor.
Dakota lowered the weapon, retracing the identical arc of motion as if her arm were some smoothly oiled machine running on a shaped track. Her movement stopped, the weapon resting on her fatigue-covered thigh.
‘Uzi pistol; small, light and deadly, especially if you’re using titanium tipped shells.’ Dakota’s gaze stayed resolutely ahead, as if the machine arm had infected her somehow, spreading the mechanical efficiency throughout her body, seeping into her brain, producing a very beautiful cyborg of death. ‘We always use titanium; vests are so available now you never know if some punk’s wearing one. They’ll rip right through your average two-hundred dollar flack-stopper.’
‘Can anything stop them?’ Amber ignored the gun, staring intently at the dark-haired goddess and feeling glad she was on her side.
‘Highest-grade vests maybe, but they’re heavy. If you come up against one then they knew you were coming, and they’re not going to be street gangs. That’s why I, and only I, carry a little something extra for emergencies.’ Dakota pulled a mag clip from her vest pocket. It had tape wound round it, yellow and black like on police hazard warnings. She held it up in front of the girl. ‘Depleted uranium. Nothing stop’s this shit.’
‘Then why don’t we use it all the time?’
The machine melted back into a human being as the woman chuckled. ‘Be like writing your name, address and social security number on the wall in ten foot high letters, sweetie. This shit’s rarer than unicorn piss. Like I said, for emergencies only. Here.’ Dakota passed the tiny angel of messy death to the girl. It ain’t neat, but then that’s not what you’re here to learn, is it, darling? We have people that do neat and tidy very well. I am just making sure you know how to protect that very cute and very tight little butt of yours.’
Amber giggled as she held the gun in her hand. ‘If you give me a good grade, Dak, I’ll let you kiss it.’ The redhead flickered her eyelashes at the woman, doing her best bad little girl impression.
Dakota smiled. ‘Just tell me where and when, cutie, but you’ve still got to know your stuff. I like my butts with only one hole. If it comes down to someone gaining an extra bodily orifice or two, make sure it’s them not you.’
By the time Amber arrived all the best couches had been claimed. The Deadnight Teeze was locked in its usual teeming Friday night bustle and spiky looked run off her feet, despite having two helpers. No time for customized margaritas tonight.
As she weaved through the throng, the redhead wondered if spiky used depleted uranium in the drinks; it certainly felt like it the next day. She thought about asking, and then realized she had no idea what depleted uranium actually was. The micro sex machines were fairly easy to spot, mainly because the rest of the clientele had left the sort of gap around them that said ‘please don’t talk to me I think you’re a fucking flake’ in most bars in the world. Of course, they weren’t wrong about the geisha sluts, but Amber could get into crazy women, even Lauren, in small enough doses. She sauntered over to their table, but didn’t sit down.
‘Boss lady,’ Mayu squealed in delight.
‘You come to rescue us?’ Yoshi looked oddly serious.
‘Sure,’ Amber said. ‘Tell you what, how would you like a tour of my room?’ There was excited assent and the girls bounced excitedly. ‘Give me a minute to make a phone call, I’m going to seriously abuse my authority and get spiky relieved so she can come with us – as long as she promises a color change in the margaritas. Blue would be sweet, right?’
‘Ooh, yummy, lets go.’ Mayu leaped to her feet and planted an impromptu cherry-flavored kiss on Amber’s lips, the redhead licking off the traces of fruity gloss and smiling approvingly.
Mayu giggled. ‘I can put some on my other lips for you. You want, yeah?’
‘Yeah, I want.’ Amber realized she really did. The girls were dressed in tight jeans, strappy little tops and baby-blue skater shoes, the minimalist approach cleverly accentuating their slender frames and small tits. But that wasn’t what was drawing her in, it was their explosive and darkly twisted sexual energy, like a nuclear warhead, so much awesome power held in a tiny container and when it went off… well, she wanted to be there.
The Russian girl-band’s music thumped from the powerful widescreen as the two young lesbian pop stars cavorted together on video. The deep base rumbled through Amber’s suite as the party upgraded itself to an orgy. Spiky stood by the small bar table, mixing her deadly potions and spilling most of it as Kichi burrowed upwards between her legs, drilling the peroxide-blonde’s pussy with her tongue. When the Asian had first discovered spiky’s little heart shaped tuft of bright pink pubic hair she’d squealed in delight, clapping her hands.
Mayu and Nyoko had pulled Amber to the bed and stripped her, throwing off their own clothes in turn, the three young bodies writhed in a frenzied tangle of limbs while the redhead sucked on a tiny breast, its owner twirling her fingers in the boss lady’s pussy like she was whisking cream. Yoshi appeared at the edge of the bed near Amber’s head, the Japanese girl rubbing her clit furiously as she slowly descended onto the redhead’s face. Making way for the incoming slit, her two companions slid down between Amber’s legs where the two experienced mouths worked on the redhead’s shaven vagina, slurping, sucking, nibbling, probing, drawing orgasm after orgasm from the object of their attentions. Yoshi’s pussy moved slowly down to dock with Amber’s waiting mouth, like a space shuttle zero gravity maneuver. The redhead extended her tongue. Contact. Huston, we have an airtight seal, proceeding with entry to the module as planned.
Amber tasted the girl’s sweet wetness, sucking it into her mouth. Spiky appeared with a fresh batch of blue margaritas in a jug and pressed the lip against Yoshi’s muscular stomach, tilting the glass pitcher until a river of blue wound its way down the girl’s torso, spilling into her bellybutton then trickling down over her shaved pubic mound, dribbling into the pink gash and finding Amber’s mouth. The redhead drank down the heady brew of azure-blue alcohol and sweet pussy juice, chugging down the liquid passion as Kichi joined the other two geisha sluts between her legs, the three mouths fought over their soft, pink wet prize like a pack of hungry coyotes snapping at a kill. The redhead moaned in pleasure as another orgasm welled in the pit of her stomach, then rippled outward to flood through her body and mind.
Stephanie lay on the floor beside the giant bed, wrapped in red silk and sobbing quietly to herself. Surely even bad girls didn’t deserve this. Nobody could ever deserve this. The fairies had played their horrid game with her body for hours, and then dressed in very un-fairy like clothes, just regular jeans and T-shirts, and wandered off, leaving the blonde lying strewn on the floor with all the other toys that were carelessly scattered about. Like bratty teenagers they hadn’t even bothered to pick up after themselves.
A long time passed when she heard footsteps, and Lauren sauntered into the room and stood surveying the mess. Rather than being angry the woman seemed pleased, as if surveying the remnants of a fun game her beloved kid sisters had been playing. Stephanie’s owner walked to the dresser and pressed a blue button next to the phone, and within minutes the silk-wrapped mummified blonde heard more footsteps. It wasn’t the fairies, she knew that, because they always giggled, always, and these people were silent. Several maids entered the room. They weren’t slaves but well-paid assistants, and they stood confidently beside their employer staring at the fun time carnage with looks of mild amusement.
‘Can we get this place cleaned up, Debbie? I want the girls to be in bed as soon as they get back, and…’ Lauren walked over to Stephanie and nudged her with her shoe, ‘can you clean this up to? I’m going to let them take it to bed with them. They’re such little cuties, don’t you think? And so full of fun.’
Stephanie moved back into her dizzy place at those words, as two of the maids cut away the silk and dragged her off to the bathroom.
Being forcibly washed was a surprisingly humiliating act; it made her feel like a thing perhaps more than anything else. Things get used, and then have to be cleaned and put away after. The two maids had reinforced this by chatting idly to themselves while they soaped the blonde down, bending her over so they could insert soft foam nozzles into her vagina and anus, flushing out the lubricant that smeared her inner walls. They washed her long blonde hair, dried it, and then pulled it back into a ponytail. Stephanie was then dried, moisturizing lotion was rubbed into her skin and she was carefully perfumed. Then her restraints were replaced. Stephanie never even considered trying to get away during wash time; the maids were strong and they carried electric prods, and besides, where would she go? She was so far through the looking glass that she had no idea of the way back.
When they had finished and the toy was properly clean and secured, they walked her back into the strange fairy room. It still glittered like a million stars had been snatched out of the sky and scattered across the ceiling, and now it was dark the effect was even more magical.
Stephanie realized, as the maids lifted her onto the giant bed, that it had not been an illusion of her dizzy place. The maids, struggling to get her into the center of the enormously exaggerated bed were normal sized women, and it still looked vast. Stephanie was laid between the scarlet pillows in the center of the bed, and arranged carefully so she looked her best. One of the maids ran a silver chain from the slave’s collar and attached it to the head of the bed so that she didn’t drift out of position. Her ankle cuffs, removed the day before, were replaced and clipped to a spreader bar so she couldn’t close her legs. Now her owners would be able to see her freshly shaven vagina, lying invitingly between her obscenely spread thighs.
Lauren walked ahead of the fairy girls like a schoolteacher on a field trip, ushering them into the fairy bedroom. The fairies were now dressed in identical light-pink, long T-shirts that fell about a half-inch below their pussies. Each fairy had her name printed in dusky pink glitter across the front of her T-shirt; the words clear, undisturbed by having to deal with much in the way of breasts. Kichi came bouncing in first and stood beside Lauren, then Mayu, who followed the first fairy. Nyoko sauntered in like an arrogant teenage brat, and jumped up to sit on the edge of the giant bed, Yoshi came in last and looked as sulkily brooding as her predecessor. Kichi took a running jump and leapt onto the bed, clambered over to the blonde conveniently laid out for them, and whispered in her ear.
‘Ooh,’ the fairy said, giggling, ‘you are in so much trouble. Yoshi and Nyoko have been drinking, and they get really mean when they do that. But I like it …’ the girl confided in the bound slave, ‘cos they’re really fun to watch when they get like that. But you’re not gonna like it. No way. When they’re tight they bite, for sure.’ Kichi laughed and lay back on the pillows.
‘Okay, time for bed, girls, you jump in while I get your toy ready.’ Lauren clambered over to Stephanie, unclipped her chain and pulled her to the edge of the bed. The fairies climbed into the blood-red silk sheets, looking lost in the exaggerated bed. ‘Now, my little toy, I am going to put a magical fairy strap on you so our friends can play with you properly.’ Lauren held out a leather harness for the sla
ve to see, and for a moment Stephanie thought it was her ass-worship brace that Lauren usually made her wear when they were in bed, but as the blonde looked closer she could see differences. The older woman slipped the leather brace onto the bound slave, sliding the straps over her head. It seemed a simple affair to Stephanie and nothing covered her face at all. There was a headband and two straps that came down the side, tucking behind her ears, which then clipped to her collar, and it wasn’t until Lauren reached behind her head that she understood. The strap that ran down the back had a thick rubber handle grip in the center. It was as simple as that; her owner had attached a sturdy handle to the back of her head.
Lauren then produced a number of delicate chains from her pocket and began to attach the tiny clips to the slave’s piercing rings. Four were attached to each nipple ring, Stephanie was slipping back into her dizzy place, but the significance of the number didn’t escape the helpless girl. Then Lauren moved down, working between her spread legs, attaching four chains to the toy’s clitoris ring. When Lauren had sent Stephanie to the curators for piercing, she also specified that the girl’s soft pussy lips have four rings inserted, two each side, upper and lower, but Stephanie’s owner also had the slave’s labia majora, the fleshy area either side of her vagina, pierced. This was unusual, and thankfully the curators had used anesthetic; something they hadn’t done for the minor piercings. The labia majora rings were two large circles of steel, one on each side that disappeared deep into the relatively thick flesh. Their purpose was more than decorative or for improving access to a slave’s vagina; they were a sturdy implant. Lauren had once dragged the bound slave across her bathroom’s shiny tiled floor using thick chains clipped to the toy’s labia majora rings. It had not been particularly painful, but reinforced Stephanie’s mental picture of herself as a utility, dissolving some of the last remaining shreds of human identity the girl still possessed.