Deep Tissue Relaxation
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The resupply point at India-Alpha was an area of hexagonal lead plates that could easily fit multiple battle wagons ringed by auto-zapper turrets and supply-filled steel domes.
The Sexy Scarab came to a halt ten paces from the Spider Rider -- an equally spike-riddled battle wagon with zigzagging red spray markings, vital parts marked in silver. Custom etchings ran along its handles and footholds.
Once Pax and Axil got out, they started pulling the Scarab's tarp overhead to form a shaded patio, like the Spider Rider crew had already done.
Meanwhile, Bautista and Solstice went to say hi to the other team.
Their leader Quillen was black, the bug-repellant giving his ebony skin almost a rainbow sheen. He had a white double strip tattoo running as a mohawk on his bald head, parting to hit his brows and continuing onto designs on his cheeks.
His cropped, red tool vest that matches his boots identified him as the engineer of the Riders. His tactical jockstrap was missing as he gently squatted on a teammate's fist, roaring at the sky with his muscles at tension, glutes trembling. Precum dangled off his dicklet's PA ring.
Bautista swaggered toward him. "If that ain't my best fucking frenemy."
Quillen grabbed the offered hand for a mutual chest bumping. "Beat you to the punch againaaaaung." He staggered and his abs rolled as he worked to stay upright.
"No beating *me*, old mancunt. I got a map straight out of a Dragonfly brain. Haha, you're sucking my fist as always."
"Fist off, freedicker bitch. Ughhh. Gimmi a... a sec."
"Sure."
Bautista stepped aside and Quillen's dicklet sprayed piss as the man convulsed with pleasure.
By then, Solstice gave the fisting top a greeting slap on the back.
The crazy massive, light skinned man kneeling behind Quillen -- looking tall even on his knees - was Arcadius, easily identified by his full-face skull mask of brushed metal with eyes behind a narrow visor. Dreadlocks were tied back behind the mask, falling onto his shoulder blades. He wore the shoulder pads of a grenadier and his jockstrap was covered with a brushed metal plate, his dicklet nearly squished flat between his huge, rippling thighs.
Arcadius had tattoos snaking his body, a full sleeve on his right arm winding to his left pec and shoulder, down his right flanks and left leg.
"How's it hanging, faggo?" Solstice asked.
Arcadius -- well known as a faggo enjoying the perks of zoner being an all-male job - let his free hand ran up Solstice's leg to his ass. His speech was slurred but loud from behind the mask. "Never better, holeboy. Just get in line."
"Haha, insatiable."
Arcadius sounded almost sultry. "You or me?" The faggo placed an inhaler bottle of Thunder Bliss at his mask's nostrils and his chest rose with a deep inhale.
Solstice moved for the Spider Rider's dildo stockpile in anticipation. Arcadius' deep tissue massages were legendary -- inside and out.
Quillen still bounced on Arcadius' fist but had moved into shallower, rolling assgasms. "So, Bautista, my dude, you got a psycho on payroll? How the fist's that working?"
"He's Wolfram's boy. We'll meet up again. Looks like you're still zones behind on intel, as always."
"Master, master," came a metallic voice from around the Spider Rider. A man-high robot rolled around the battle wagon on its double tracks. The brightly shining red eye at the center of its head took in the newcomers. Stickers and spray painted dots riddled the gunmetal gray body.
"You got a Cyclops?" Bautista said, genuinely impressed.
"'s a loan," Quillen said. "Hops, report."
The Cyclops moved in, holding up beige cloth. "The showers are available again and your clothing has been cleansed."
Quillen slipped into his jockstrap without interrupting the fisting -- luckily the top hem was an openable belt -- and pulled on his rebreather hood, the goggles staying on his forehead.
The guy who had showered approached from the nearby hydro-dome.
