Mia Murcia is a 27-year-old Colombian migrant, and ambitious "Ultimate Battle of the Sexes" wrestler, living in the New England region of North America. This series follows her trials and triumphs in the corporate cyber-future of the states, where one bad deal or unlucky day could land you in contracted sexual servitude to repay your debts.
She and her biologically enhanced brother, Manny, fight and fuck their way through life inside the ring, and out - alongside a colorful cast of friends and foes who are equally committed to dominance and survival. It's skill or fill in 2069, and the threadbare leash of mercy frays a little more each day.
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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. While the story may refer to real places, none of the scenes depicted have any relation to past or current people and events. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Kink warnings: sexual slavery, sexual aggression, dubious consent
All sexually-active characters are 18+
(Feedback welcome and appreciated! But dislike doesn't need to be insulting. If this isn't your bag of bananas that's cool, no need to squash them up for everyone else.)
*****
Chapter 1
Riya Commons Shopping Center
Kendall Park, New Jersey
June 15th, 2069
3:47 P.M.
"Oh please! Please cover me!" The spunky ginger chained outside the dessert shop whined, bouncing on her knees while a couple of graybeards jerked off in front of her. She had fat, freckled titties and a round, mascara-streaked face. Her feet were shackled to a concrete post, but she had free use of her hands, and enough slack in her restraints to move around a bit.
The geezer to her right popped first, sending a thick, white ribbon up her forehead and into her fiery frizz. She squealed with delight and stuck out her tongue, catching the next rope up her nose and a third against the back of her throat. As she choked on that creamy bullseye, the other old-timer pressed his saggy cock head to her cheek and spilled a sackful of slime down her chin that plopped onto her wobbling cleavage. She shivered and cooed, wearing an expression of sloppy bliss while her donors zipped up and went inside the store.
"Guess they like both kinds of frosting," Manny remarked as we passed the sign for "DeeDee's Sweet Treats" at the start of the strip mall.
"Think she's DeeDee?" I asked, half-kidding, while the ginger lifted her tits to her wet mouth for cleaning.
"Nah, just promo - there's a different girl out there every time I come here." Manny was taking me to one of his regular mod shops to look at spring-jaws, after what we'd witnessed in Allie's match against Brawnswick the month prior. If that huge fuck had impaled me like he did her, I'd have been slurping liquefied meals for the rest of my life. So, even though spring joints were hella pricey, I decided to check out some options.
We sauntered through a pair of gliding sensor doors into "Rico's Home of Chrome," which looked a bit like a fancy pawn shop on the inside. There were glass cases all over, displaying shiny synthetic replacements for all manner of human parts. Knees, eyeballs, whole entire arms - and most prominently: big, floppy phalluses. Manny led the way to the counter at the far wall, where a tall, gangly Caribbean man with greasy black hair was tapping away at a glowing keyboard.
"¡Rico! ¿Que haces?" Manny dropped his hands onto the clear countertop, grinning like a wolf. He was wearing skinny chinos that wrapped his thighs like a second skin, and a stylish linen shirt with the top buttons left open.
"Manuel, been a minute," the owner greeted my brother with a few palm slaps and knuckle taps, leaning onto the counter and chewing what looked like a tiny screwdriver. He regarded me with a nod, eyes never traveling down from my cropped green sweater.
"This is my sister, Mia - she's looking for that spring joint I mentioned," Manny gripped my shoulder and continued playfully, "she's all grown up and looking to mod like the big boys."
"You're big everywhere except in here," I tapped his temple, below the silvery access points where his brain connected with his internal components. Rico snuffed at that.
"Sure, sure - to be honest I don't carry a
lot
of femme-lete gear, here. But I have some spring joints in from Taiwan you can check out, back row on that side," he pointed to a section behind some tall shelves and I nodded.
"I'll meet you there, Mimi - wanna see about this damn knee," my brother lifted the offending joint, and Rico invited him around the counter. I meandered past collections of low-tech prosthetic limbs, shelves full of neatly-wrapped biocables, and a bunch of scanning equipment for at-home checkups. The wall Rico had indicated seemed pretty neglected in comparison with the rest of the store, showcasing just a handful of cheap-looking lube dispensers, some gaudy anal tail inserts, and the spring joints I was looking for.
They looked small and unimpressive, sitting there on the broad white shelf behind the locked glass doors. I frowned at the appearance of their quality - or lack thereof. I was about to go back to the front and tell Manny to forget it, when a silky voice surprised me.
"You don't want this guy's cheap crap, you'll end up with an implant infection and no warranty," a short-ish woman with her hair pulled into two little black buns was inspecting some eye implants on the shelves across from the spring joints.
"I'm sorry?" I looked at the tattoos I could see on her slender arms - an empty birdcage on one, and some Latin writing on the other.
"Don't be. Mods are expensive, anyone selling them cheap is a hustler." The woman turned and looked me over with pretty, brown, Asian eyes. There didn't seem to be a pupil in the irises, just a cozy, chocolate disc adrift in a clean white pool. "I'm Lane," she extended a graceful hand, "I've got a shop down the way"
"Mia," I clasped her soft hand with my callused one, "do you sell mods too?"
"Sort of - I deal more in decoration than utility. But there's always some overlap. Wanna take a look?"
"Uh, sure - yeah," I swiped some hair from my face and then followed as she headed for the door. "Manny! I'll be back in a few!" I called toward the counter where Rico was bending my brother's leg and listening for grinding.
"Oh, okay!" Manny waved, and I exited the store behind my mysterious new friend. She wore a simple, Boho-chic dress that wrapped her slim torso like a layer of bandages and fluttered around her legs on a wind I could hardly feel. In one hand she carried a little yellow clutch purse, and her nails sparkled in the sunshine. We passed a few knick-knack stores and restaurants, and wound up at the very last set of doors at the edge of the plaza. The distorted, glowing sign said "Bod-azzle by Lane" and had a sharp-winged holographic butterfly floating around the letters.
Directly inside the automatic doors was a beaded curtain, and as we passed through that I gazed around an artistic oasis of colorful walls and collections of jewelry suspended from invisible threads. Many pieces appeared to form the shapes of women who weren't there, but there were also a number of nude ladies walking around and helping customers. They had tasteful rhinestones patterned into various limbs, and headdresses that concealed their faces like desert belly dancers.
"Your store is run by Pets?" I asked, watching a curvy black woman guide an older lady to the back. Her charcoal limbs were traced by a single, gold filament that bisected them down the fronts and the backs.
"They're not Pets, they're employees," Lane said, as we passed through the store and headed for another curtain off to the side. I wasn't sure of the difference - all Pets were "employees" they just didn't usually get to do much besides service dozens of sweaty cocks all day.
We entered a very small workshop with a couple of tables inside. One was low and wooden with a chair behind it, and was covered in gems and fitting tools and magnifying scopes. The other was tall and metal and had nothing on or around it except for a black high-top stool. Lane rounded the wooden table and bent over a rolling cabinet to pull open a few drawers, humming to herself as I stepped up to the other side of the waist-high, glittering field. Lots of the pieces looked unnatural, like they had been formed together from broken parts, rather than shaped down from larger gems. I wondered if they were fake, or if it was some kind of niche art style I wasn't aware of.
"Here we go," Lane said, standing to inspect a pair of immaculate chrome springs connected to some polycarb struts. They looked incredibly high quality, and she turned to hold them out to me.
"These are... these look really pro," I said, viewing them closely and running my fingers over the tightly-wound curls of metal.
"They are. Ten times better than what you'll find at Rico's place." She sat in the chair and started organizing some of the materials on the table.
"They probably cost ten times as much, too."
"Yup, $7,000 each," she didn't look up as she said it, just scooted some sparkly crystals into a neat pile near one of the scopes.
"I can't afford that, at least not all at once," I frowned. I was making decent money in the ring, but I wasn't
made
of money, no matter how much I wanted to enhance my abilities or safety. And I'd have to pay for the actual implantation on top of the mods themselves.
"Well, you can always work for them."
"What, like be indentured to you?"
"In a sense, yeah."
The nerve of this bitch. Like I was going to become one of those glittery fucktoys walking around her shop with my tits out just to pay off some spring joints.
"I'm not a Pet," I rolled my hand over to dump the springs onto her table and turned to leave.
