Cyberspunk 2069 Bk 03

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.

***

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

SunLive Arena

Miami, FL

September 3, 2069

9:14 P.M.

"The Minotaur has managed to get Browning into a modified flying-v! What a transition from her side-saddle hold," Tony laughed into the mic, holding a palm to his forehead in disbelief. Lester, understandably, seemed less surprised. Manny had at least a 40-pound advantage on the girl, and was a full tier ahead in physical enhancements.

Sugar Browning's impressive afro was flattened against the mat, with her shins nearly touching her shoulders, and my brother's creaky knee pressed into her naked chest. He lay perpendicular across her folded body, with 11 of his 12 inches tunneled into her delicious chocolate puss. His sweat-soaked grin lit up the jumbo screens overhead, as he repeatedly dropped his hips against her healthy ass cheeks in a bid to wrap up the match.

But the toned, determined femme-lete found leverage to sink a blow into the heavy knee pinning her tits flat, and Manny recoiled in pain just as he was about to pop. He rolled onto his side, and Browning's legs dropped over his torso as she seized her chance to get clear of the eruption. She pressed her palms beneath her, scooting herself away - but Manny's flared cock head served its purpose beautifully.

Just before his opponent could force an out-cum and earn a round point, her tight pussy bulged around the fat tip of my brother's cock, and she was momentarily stuck. Manny's orgasm rumbled through his shaft, and he tossed his head back in a triumphant cry of pleasure as he soaked the lithe ebony's insides with a hose-blast of hot cum. Her legs trembled against his ribs and thigh, and her flat tummy swelled visibly while her hole was plugged up with oversized mod-cock.

"The Minotaur cinches it, with a last-second pussy fill!" Tony cried, and the arena fans were on their feet, whooping and clapping so hard their palms went numb. My brother mentally disengaged his EverHARD pump, and as his dick slowly deflated it slipped free from Browning's snatch, followed by a gushing river of jizz. He limped to his feet, favoring his bum knee, and held a hand down for his opponent. She lay there for a moment collecting herself, panting and oozing, then grabbed his wrist to be helped up.

I clapped along with the rest of the audience from my V.I.P. seat just outside the ring, smiling as my brother celebrated with his team. The freshly-laid silver filigree on my upper arms glinted in the light - a gift from Lane to symbolize our developing partnership. The intricate linework looked a bit like a flowered vine snaking down from my shoulders, and stopped just short of my inner elbows. She'd said that it not only looked nice, but would help vent body heat, too. I didn't pretend to fully understand it, but I liked the look even more than the Battle-brand on my neck.

***

SERVE

That's what the holo-sign said above the Pet bar where Manny's trainer took us out to celebrate. We hadn't been down to Florida in a while, and were glad for the warm escape of Fall in the South. Back home it was already growing chilly as the leaves changed and dropped from the trees, but in Miami - it was bikinis and linen suits year round.

Beneath the high-top table next to us in the neon-accented micro club, a squad of four guys got serviced by some bimbofied girls in sparkly collars. The sloppy

glukh glukh glurgh

sounds were only scarcely drowned out by the thumping of the drum and bass music, as the patrons sloppy-fucked the faces between their legs. Above the table, they prattled loudly and guffawed over a graveyard of empty shot glasses and beer bottles, toasting to one thing or another in turn.

"What'll ya have, Mimi?" Manny's trainer, Jonah, leaned close and yelled over the noise. I looked up from my shoulder design at him, and then at the server waiting beside him. She was a ponytailed Latina wearing a fishnet top and a forked streak of cum down the middle of her face.

"Cuba Libre," I projected across the table. She nodded and her eyes flashed blue for a moment, then she shifted her thonged hips as she headed back to the bar.

"Drinks on me, you two! Celebrating Colombia's finest tonight!" Jonah slapped both our backs with a cheery grin, his rough hands always a bit too heavy and harsh. He was a stocky white guy in his late 40s, with a frumpy professional wardrobe and a head of scraggly, straw-colored hair that needed cutting.

"Careful, Jo - Mia might drink you dry," Manny gave me a sly look, drumming his fingers on the table to the beat. I lovingly flipped him the bird and turned to watch a competition taking place on the stage at the center of the venue. Four women were bent over with their hands and feet suctioned into shiny little buckets, and four men stood behind them, railing their exposed assholes for all they were worth. The D.J. booth was at the center of the colorful, strobing island stage, and the young raver manning it was keeping an eye on each of the contestants through red visor shades.

The women howled with pleasure and gushed occasionally from their soaked, quivering pussies - which were desperate for cock while the guys focused entirely on their tight shitters. Each squirting, orgasmic torrent splattered onto the round, metallic platform, and increased a counter for that contestant on a pinscreen overhead.

"I don't get it," I leaned toward Manny, "what's the goal here?"

"Gotta make 'em squirt!" My brother cupped a hand beside his mouth, "first to 20 is the winner, I think."

"Who gets off being used like that?" I mused, watching one of the girls nearly topple over from another earth-shattering climax.

"Sluts!" Jonah cackled, throwing his hands into the air.

"Yeah, mostly - probably helps that they're pleasure-chipped, though. Bet those things are cranked to the max right now," Manny said as one of the guys busted a nut deep in his girl's ass, and tried to keep going to get a few more squirts on the board.

"So they don't

actually

want to be up there, they're just being tricked into liking it?" I furrowed my brow.

"What! No - it's all volunteer," Jo leaned aside as the server returned with our drink orders, letting her set them down, then holding out his hand to tip her. "Pets aren't the only ones with pleasure chips, y'know."

In fact I did not know. I'd spent most of my youth and career trying to

subdue

my own pleasure, to win matches and avoid being controlled. Who would willingly install a chip in their brain that makes them lose their mind at the sight of a dick, and allow themselves to be fucked stupid by total strangers? As if to answer my question, one of the girls locked her trembling knees together and fired a hydrant-bursting final squirt onto the stage, making the cock in her ass the winner.

"I thought this was a Pet bar, though?" I looked at Jo quizzically.

"Yeah, it is - but other people like to fuck too, Mimi," he grinned and took a swig of his cocktail. "You should try having some fun now and then. Can't only fuck for sport ya know!"

Chapter 2

Harley's Holes Ltd.

Woodbridge Township, New Jersey

September 8, 2069

1:41 P.M.

Rita - Age 22 - Polish

Throat **

Pussy ***

Ass *

The hippy girl with the thick thighs and mousy bob looked straight ahead as I inspected her holo-plaque. She was in the middle of a row of girls standing at attention along the rear wall of the store. The high-quality Pets were kept near the front of the store, where Lane was conversing with the manager - who incidentally was

not

named Harley. I'd decided to browse on my own for a bit, never having been in a Pet store before.

Mona - Age 25 - Sudanese

Throat ***

Pussy **

Ass ***

"Are you actually from Sudan?" I asked the petite black girl with the short, wiry curls.

"No, ma'am - that's just my heritage," she looked straight ahead, like Rita beside her.

"You don't have to call me ma'am," I said, and she glanced at my face briefly but kept quiet. "Who determines these ratings?" I asked her, swishing my finger through the intangible stars beside her "Throat" evaluation.

"They're an amalgam of reviews from previous leases," a voice said from off to my right, "but we do try to verify in-house." I turned my head to see a smartly-suited woman with a tight silver bun and stylish glasses approaching with a smile. "I'm Deirdre, you must be Lane's associate, Mia."

"I am, yes," I held out a hand to accept hers, and her glassy bracelets clicked together as we shook. I'd taken to wearing slightly more "businessy" attire on my outings with Lane - trading up from my flight jacket and bralette to a black blazer and tank top. I'd even slipped into a dark blue thong, so as to draw moderately less attention to my exposed pussy.

"She's having another look over our front-of-house offerings, so I thought to introduce myself. I'm the curator here at Harley's, for the East Coast region." She looked over at what amounted to her "clearance" section with a mildly unimpressed face. "Why don't I give you a demonstration? With some of our higher quality offerings."

"Oh, I don't..." I started, unsure how to respond and having no idea what she meant, specifically. Neither of us had a cock, and I didn't really want to watch some random stock boy plow one of the girls in an aisle somewhere.

"Come, come - follow me," she turned and beckoned over her shoulder. We passed through the busy store into a quiet back hallway that contained a series of swinging double-doors. Deirdre led me past a few before stopping and pushing one open for me to enter. Inside, there were four nude girls in temporary, paper collars, waiting patiently on flat, padded benches. The rooms had a clinical feel to them, apart from the wall of sex toys behind the benches - all colored bright orange and neatly arranged on their racks.

One of the girls smiled as we entered, and sat up tall on her bench. She had thick, dark hair and a slight sunburn - the others were mostly petite white girls with light hair and blue or green eyes. Deirdre clacked over to the sunburned girl and stopped in front of her.

"Lynette, wasn't it? Are you ready for your ratings review?" She smiled down at the naked girl, and Lynette nodded enthusiastically. She had narrow hips, and perky tits that defied gravity, and her nose was dotted with a cute mask of freckles. "Mia, would you grab for me one of the 12-inch dildos from the wall, please?" Deirdre turned in place to face me.

"Sure, okay..." I paced between the benches and traced along the labels beneath the toys, selecting one of the veiny, floppy 12-inch phalluses and bringing it over to Deirdre. She accepted it and turned it over so that it hung above Lynette like a rubbery sword.

"Head back, please. Mouth and throat open." Lynette did as she was asked, tilting her head back and sticking out her tongue. She even said "ahh" like she was at the dentist, and then Deirdre began lowering the dildo into her mouth. It slid easily along the girl's tongue for five or six inches, then butted and bent against her throat.

"Open, I said," the silver-haired woman reiterated, and pressed down on the dildo's base. Lynette gurgled and shifted on the bench, trying to make room for the rubbery head prodding her tonsils. Deirdre adjusted her grip to give the cock another push, and with a choking groan it plopped into Lynette's neck and sent a light spray of spittle over her lips. The next sound the girl made was as close to laughter as I can imagine from a choking person.

"Better," Deirdre smiled, "now try to relax." Lynette nodded, and I folded my hands together in front of me as I watched the older woman begin fucking her throat with the veiny dick rod. Tears trickled down Lynette's cheeks, and drool bubbled at the corners of her mouth, but she didn't resist at all. In fact, her bare feet rubbed together beside Deirdre's heeled ones, and she placed her hands over her shaved pussy. The girl on the closest bench watched and listened to Lynette gurgle and gag, but the other two looked away, trying to block it out.

Deirdre placed both hands on the base of the cock and forced it down as far as it would go, causing Lynette's eyes to bug out as her neck clogged with 10 thick inches of rubber, and snot splurted from her nostrils over her lips. Deirdre held her there like that, counting the seconds in her head, until a deep, groaning retch cued her to pull the huge blockage out. Lynette strained wetly, lurching forward and spilling a thin stream of bile onto the tiled test room floor. She gasped and coughed her throat clear as strands of drool and snot swayed from her face - and when she'd caught her breath some, she raised herself up with proud, expectant eyes to look at the curator.

"Not bad, seems your four-star throat reviews had some merit to them after all," Deirdre placed a hand on her hip, letting the dribbling dildo sag from her other hand toward the floor. "Alright then, pussy next - hands and knees, please."

***

"But they're not actually

married

to the girls, right?" I jostled in the passenger seat of Lane's van as we turned down another cobblestone road on our way to her friend's house.

"No, standard leases don't allow for marriage of a Pet. They're just called 'Wives' because they're contracted for breeding." Lane's round, mirrored sunglasses reflected the cute little neighborhood trundling by us through the windshield.

"But Girlfriends aren't," I was starting to get the terminology down.

"Right. SexCorp even implants birth control to prevent it during the lease - in Girlfriends and in public Pets." That was surprising. But every corporate decision could reliably be traced to pursuit of profit or avoidance of legal headaches. That much I understood.

"And what determines the type of contract these girls end up with?"

"Usually the amount of debt, but in some cases they get a bit of say. You've already seen how some enjoy it. And plenty weren't even in debt when they got contracted," Lane turned into the driveway of a two-story home with a wide front porch.

"Not in debt... then, why become a Pet?" I looked at her. She looked back and I saw my face reflected in her shades.

"Plenty of reasons - might just like leather, or the taste of cum." Lane popped her door open and headed for the front steps of the house. I was still in my business thong and aching to get back home so I could relax. I picked at the shoestring being swallowed by my ass as Lane rang the doorbell. I could hear voices upstairs, and distant thudding, but no footsteps coming to the door. Lane pressed the little round button again.

A minute later the sound of heels on hardwood approached and the front door swung open. Standing in the frame before me was the most gorgeous Ebonite human I'd ever laid eyes on. They had on a brutal leather corset and a beaded headdress over their shaved pate, and heavy metallic eyeshadow around narrow, slanted eyes.

"Hello, Xu - how have you been?" Lane smiled, holding her little yellow clutch against the thighs of her white pantsuit. Her tall friend regarded us for a moment longer than was comfortable before speaking.

"You beautiful bitch, where have you been?" They smirked, and invited us in. The inside of the house was packed with pastel furniture and bizarre sculptures. I could see why Lane got along with this person. They led us into the kitchen and offered us seltzer, but we declined.

"I'm in the middle of some recreation, if you don't mind talking upstairs," Xu said, and guided us to the brightly carpeted staircase on the left side of the house. The second story was primarily an open space, bookended by a couple of small rooms. And on the far wall as we reached the landing, a large-bellied black man was sitting on a bed with a tiny white girl on his lap. Even from a distance, I could see his fat shaft stretching her pink puss and holding her upright like a sock puppet.

"This is my partner Devan, and our Pet, Lacy," Xu said as their heels stabbed across the upstairs carpeting, and the sheer, sparkly train of their corset fluttered behind them.

"Afternoon," Devan said gruffly with a stubbled smile. He had hairy arms and legs, and a reddish mop that looked chemically straightened. The little white girl on his lap had sweaty, stringy blue hair and a body like the college girls at Rutgers. I wondered for a moment if she

was

a student, paying off her loans through a Pet contract rather than a Scholarship Station.

"Hi, Devan - good to see you," Lane held up a hand. Then she shifted her gaze. "Lacy, nice to meet you." The little white girl smiled.

"Continue," Xu flicked a hand at her partner and their Pet, settling down into a basket chair with a clear view of the bed where the recreation was taking place. They gestured to a nearby loveseat for Lane and I to occupy. As we did, Devan circled Lacy's hips with thick, black fingers, and started pumping her up and down on his cock like a toy. We watched like a miniature audience at a peep show, as Lacy placed her hands over Devan's and her feet on his thighs.

"So, I hear you've been busy," Xu said, not looking away from the bed.

"I have, but I'm keeping it reasonable," Lane said, adjusting her clutch on her lap.

"I don't know that I'd call den-diving reasonable."

"Mia was with me, there weren't any problems."

"Not yet."

I blinked away from the sexual display and looked between the two of them. They didn't look at me.

"Don't worry, I'm doing a good deal more selling than anything. There are no strings."

"I've seen the stories about the vandals up the coast. And the disappearances. Just make sure you're being more subtle."

"I know. Thank you for your worries, darling. Here." Lane opened her clutch and took out an envelope. It was unlabeled. She handed it to me to pass over, and I stared at it for a moment before doing so, unable to glean anything from it. Xu accepted it, and tucked it beneath their thigh to open later.

"On her knees now, facing me," the bald-headed beauty clicked their long nails together, and Devan quit fucking for a moment to adjust. Lacy groaned ecstatically as she was lifted off the thick rod between her thighs, and flopped forward onto her belly. Her colorful hair tumbled over the sheets as Devan moved behind her, grabbing her waist and hoisting it up so that her knees propped her ass in the air. "Eyes here, dolly," Xu said, and Lacy swept the hair out of her face so she could look at her owner.