Dream City 1

The black sedan slowed to a stop among the police cruisers. A pair of agents got out. To the cop they all looked alike. They were both small, compact women in neat business suits. One wore a skirt. The other, tailored slacks.

"Where are your men?" asked the one in the skirt. "Don't tell me they've gone inside."

He laughed. "You think we can't handle a single pusher?"

The agent raised an eyebrow. She wore a button-front skirt, he noticed. She nodded to the other agent, a redhead, and they both started toward the hotel.

"I sent four men," he said. "They'll have her down in a moment!"

The lead agent shook her head. "No, Lieutenant. They're already neutralized."

Oneira's head bobbed on the big cop's dick. She sucked it down until her lips touched the hand she'd wrapped around its base. Then she went up for air. She had another police cock in her other hand and she moved to service it with her mouth. The cop underneath her was playing with her tits. She'd unzipped her catsuit all the way and now the pull tab dangled just behind her asshole. She arched her back to present it, but the fourth man just stood there.

"It's pussy or nothing," he said. He was stroking himself to readiness.

She shrugged and sucked on the big man's cock. It was good and hot on her tongue. Her hands were moving together, faster and faster, and the big man and his partner came in the same moment. One load slid down her throat. The other splashed on her face.

"Oooooh," the big cop said, his legs suddenly weak. He and his partner moved to sit down.

Someone was pinching her nipples, sending sparks down to her pussy. It was the fourth cop, standing behind her. A hand reached up to her face and slipped a finger into her mouth. That would be the cop she was straddling. She slithered up and down on his manhood, up and down on his meat, the heat building inside her belly. The fourth cop stroked her breasts, then moved his hands to her arms. She raised her arms above her head and he pulled on them, lifting her higher.

"What... what're you doing?" asked the cop on the floor.

"Finishing you off," said the fourth cop. "You're taking too long."

The fourth cop let her sink and she sighed as she settled onto the other man's dick. Her pussy glittered in the dim light and the cunt lips dragged on cop's member. She let herself be raised and lowered. Up and down she went, up and down on the man's veiny cock. She didn't have to do anything, the fourth cop did all the work. She bit her lip as he started going faster.

"Is this gay?" asked the cop on the floor.

"It's not like I'm using a fleshlight," said the fourth cop, and that's when the other man came. "Uugh," he said, and started falling asleep.

Oneira heard footsteps in the building. She had to move fast. She rose from the floor, spunk sprinkling out of her crack. She turned and leaped, arms and legs spreading like wings.

The fourth cop had his dick out: it seemed drawn to the woman in front of him. For a long moment she hung in space, legs and pussy wide open.

The two bodies slammed together. Oneira impaled herself perfectly and squeezed her cunt muscles,

hard.

Nails raked the man's back and he ejaculated at once. His eyes rolled back and he slumped to the ground. Oneira helped him down, then climbed to her feet.

The apartment was large but the ceilings were low enough to touch. That's what people did as they leaped to the music. Oneira couldn't see through the smoke but she'd bet there were handprints everywhere. She was wearing a trench coat and nothing else.

Tartarucha's clique had gathered around a couch, where the man himself held court. People came by for a word or a smile and he greeted them. Tartarucha knew everybody. Oneira didn't, which is why she was nursing a beer against a wall.

Even a wallflower could be popular in the City, however. A girl came up to her. She had a beehive hairdo and a rubber top, not that either of these things was uncommon in that room. The girl pouted, pointed at her lips, and with the other hand pointed at Oneira's crotch.

"Go right ahead," Oneira said.

The girl sank to her knees and stuck out her tongue. Oneira pulled open her coat and spread her legs. The girl looked up at her, then got to work. She nibbled at Oneira outer lips and then licked her cleft from her taint to her clit.

Oneira took a sip of beer. Head was head, but she felt like they should've introduced each other first.

The room tilted and a short, compact woman was standing in front of her. "Hey, Oneira."

Oneira blinked. The woman had stepped out of the wall of bodies and she hadn't noticed. "Have we met before?" Oneira asked. "I can't remember."

"We haven't met," the woman said. "But I've heard all about you." She was rubbing herself through her plastic catsuit. One hand on her right breast, another hand on her thigh. A third woman, a redhead, was looking over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, did you want..." Oneira said. This happened sometimes, when someone wanted a fix. "Who are you?"

"Call me Eden."

"Eden?" Oneira said. The girl between her legs made a

mmmmph

sound, like she was tired of being ignored.

"Sorry," Oneira said. "You want I should do something?"

"La! My nipples. Get my nipples."

The girl pulled up her rubber top and showed Oneira her small dark nipples. She indicated she should play with them. But Oneira was still holding the beer, and there wasn't a table... She inserted the bottle in the girl's hairdo and reached lower to cup the girl's breasts.

"Anyway," Oneira said. "So you're Eden. Should I know you?"

The woman was still grabbing handfuls of herself through her catsuit. "I heard you were a drug designer. The famous White Rabbit."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh? What's that then?" Eden pointed at the stylized rabbit head tattooed on Oneira's pubic mound.

Oneira felt herself blush. She looked down at the girl giving her oral. She had hiked up her skirt and was fingering herself.

Oneira looked at Eden. "Do you want to get out of here?"

The woman shook her head. She'd taken a step so she could whisper into Oneira's ears. She stood to one side to keep from straddling the girl's head. "I know about the other drugs. The ones that enhance your sexuality. The ones that give you superhuman strength. The Resistance needs you." She took Oneira's hand and placed it over her crotch. "I need you."

Oneira looked down. The girl eating her out only had eyes for her pussy.

"This is a bust, isn't it?" Oneira asked. She rubbed Eden's pussy through the thin PVC catsuit and the woman sighed.

"I know why you do what you do," Eden said. "I know why you try formula after formula. You spin them off into party drugs, but you're looking for something else."

She held her body against her. Her lips were at her ear. Oneira felt the words seeping into her. The other girl dragged her tongue along the underside of her cunny, dragged it back and forth, Oneira's beer bottle sloshing in her hair.

"It's the reason behind the feeling," Eden said. "The feeling everyone has, but rarely articulates."

"Why does everything feel like a dream?" Oneira asked.

Tartarucha looked over at Oneira. The drug designer was leaning against the wall, making out with a chick in a catsuit. Another girl was on her knees, her head in Oneira's crotch. A redhead stood in front of them, shifting from one leg to another. She crossed and uncrossed her arms in impatience. As Tartarucha watched, she also got down on her knees and started servicing Oneira.

"Sure is popular tonight," Tartarucha said.

It was hard not to look at the window cleaners. The girls only wore hard hats, work boots, and sunscreen, and they hung from an arrangement of straps that kept their legs spread. One of them wiped a squeegee down the soapy glass, giving Oneira a clear view of her bush.

Her boss was saying something but Oneira couldn't focus.

"You're wrong, of course," her boss said. He was still typing. "We're one of the top pharmaceutical companies in the City because every employee knows they're not alone in their struggles. If one of them has a problem, the company is there for them."

The window-cleaner girl pressed herself up to the window, flattening her tits against the soapy glass. Her pussy reminded Oneira of an aquarium catfish.

The boss was speaking again. Oneira risked a glance out the window. The window-cleaner girl had stuck a suction dildo at crotch-height and another at head-height.

His boss coughed. "I said, do I make myself clear?"

"Oh, yes, yes," Oneira said. "Absolutely."

Oneira sat at the table. She was alone, but there were probably people behind the one-way glass. The door opened and two women walked in. Eden sat down across from Oneira. The other woman, a redhead in slacks, took a position behind Oneira. She was about to speak when the woman slipped a ball gag over her head.

"Mmmph!" Oneira said. The redhead giggled.

Oneira bolted for the door but the women grabbed her and slammed her face-down on the table.

"You're going to join us," Eden said. "You'll see."

She took out several zip cuffs and started tying Oneira down. She struggled but the redhead twisted her arm. Eden cuffed her legs to the table and her wrists to the far corners. She finished with her right wrist and nodded at the other woman. The redhead used the same shocking strength she'd demonstrated to rip Oneira's business suit off her body.

Eden reached into her suit coat and pulled out something phallic and black. Oneira's eyes widened and she struggled in her bonds but she could only watch as the woman slipped the device inside her mouth.

"You're lucky," the redhead said. "She doesn't always lubricate it."

Eden popped it out of her mouth, saliva trailing from the black thing. She smacked her lips and Oneira felt her nipples harden on the tabletop. The woman walked around behind her. Oneira felt something cold, and then Eden was pushing the device inside of her.

"Mmmmph," Oneira said. Then the thing started

squirming.

"Mmmmmmmph!" She bucked on the table but it was no use, the device burrowed and slithered deeper inside her rectum. It felt fleshy and warm, like a disembodied cock.

A hand cupped her vulva. Another hand pressed her back into the table, flattening her breasts even further. Oneira turned her head and saw Eden smiling. The probe pushed deeper and that's when Oneira came.

Oneira, when the lights danced, she danced with them.

She couldn't remember anything else before that. As far as she knew her life began then as the lights flashed and flickered. She was twirling around the room when a man stepped up to her. "Oneira," he said. She wasn't used to being called that but she'd lost her old name. He was dressed in a fully-body plastic suit.

Hazmat suit

, she thought. She knew what things were called. She knew what they were for. She recognized language even if she had no use for it. "Oneira, come on," he said. She wanted to dance but he took her arm to lead her out of the room. So she broke his arm.

She was sitting in her cell. It was a large one, and well-lit, although since she could see in anything but total darkness the lights were were mostly for anyone behind the one-way mirror. There were clothes, practice weapons, and exercise equipment in the room. Oneira didn't have much use for clothes, being comfortable in her own naked skin, but the weapons and bodyweight stations saw plenty of action. She often ran through her forms, both armed and unarmed, when she knew people were watching.

Today she was just examining herself, as she often did to try to remember. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to remember, but there were hints. When she arched her back to do a full scorpion with her feet on her head, she knew she hadn't always been this flexible. When she pulled herself up with just one arm, she knew she hadn't always been this strong. But now she could do endless pullups with her body held rigid in any pose. She could do a split, grab some rings, raise herself up, and her legs would never waver.

Most of the observers liked it when she did this. Facing the mirror or with her back to it, it didn't matter. She still heard the change in their breathing. She didn't care. It was enough that when she went through her forms she could kick and punch with a speed and precision she had never known before.

Today, by the sound of it, there was only one observer. So, as she continued to pose, roll around, and explore herself yourself with her hands, she found herself directing her attention at the mirror. She risked revealing just how good her hearing was, but she didn't care. She could hear the observer (a woman) pressing up against the glass. She knew her. The woman had done this many times.

Oneira bent over, then spread her labia open to show her some pink.