Ch. 01-02

Preface

Please note that this is not a sex story but a story with sex.

There is a difference.

Kilmur.

© 2025 Kilmur. All rights reserved. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters in this story involved in sexual acts are at least eighteen years old.

Suffragettes Revisited -- 1 -- Annelise

Dr. Xi achieved his major breakthrough in 2034: mutagenic viruses that promoted male virility and aggression. The all-male politburo was immediately very interested. Dr. Xi promptly received unlimited funds and facilities. Thousands of Chinese soldiers were designated as volunteers. Indeed, as compared to the control group, infected men exhibited a significant increase in their sexual stamina and manliness. Without any negative side effects. Even more important, at least for the party leaders, was a measurable increase in the male reproductive organs. The Chinese Communist Party had always boasted that their leaders were superior in every way. However, this tiny issue remained their biggest taboo. Many brave members of the central committee immediately volunteered to be infected. Although brave? In unpatriotic rumors people whispered that these were mainly the numerous very small-dicked party bosses. Fortunately for them too, the results were immediately noticeable. Soon all male party members stood in line, eager to be infected with the virus.

Regrettably, no one had bothered to test the virus on women. This became painfully clear only after the virus mutated spontaneously and became airborne. As early as 2036 the virus had conquered the entire planet.

1 -- Four and one

Monday, June 8, 2094 -- 08:25 AM: a shabby coffee shop on the outskirts of Toulouse, Europe

Kilmur's phone beeped in his ears:

'I need three cunts. Agricultural work. Strong and healthy. Max 90k all-in.'

The request came from Gabin, one of the local farmers. Kilmur knew him well. He knew all farmers well. Every cunt trader did have his regular customers. During the harvest season there was always a need for more cunts to work on the fields from sunrise to sunset. Every now and then, if they were lucky, harvest-cunts got a short break during which they could eat and drink. Harvest-cunts also doubled as fuck-cunts, of course, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Harvest-cunts slept undisturbed only when every farmer had drunk too much cheap wine. A farm was a harsh environment for a cunt. It was seasonal work. When the harvest was in, the farmers sold their cunts again. To reduce costs.

Kilmur worked in the cunt trade for about a year now. Before that he had served in the European army. Seven years in the army had earned him a substantial incentive pay bonus. It was a matter of honor for him not to dwindle that hard-earned cash. Nevertheless, he sometimes used his army bonus to buy just a little more cunts than his small cunt trading company could actually afford. That large amount offered him much more financial leeway than his competitors. Of course, all investments financed by his army bonus did have to pay off. Fortunately, partly due to this bigger spending power, he had made quite a bit of profit in his first year already. He was rightly proud of that. Almost no novice cunt trader succeeded as well as he did!

Kilmur usually traded in cunts based on his personal preferences for the merchandise. Sometimes he took unjustified risks, at least according to his competitors, but thus far even all his high-risk cunt deals had paid off. Customer knowledge, good relationships, reliability and a large network were everything in the cunt trading business. In any business, by the way.

Kilmur sighed. It was still early in the morning. He hadn't even finished his first coffee of the day yet. It was also Monday, his least favorite day of the week. Then again, those farmers did provide continuous work. Anyway, what difference did it make? As if he had anything better to do. Even more important, he needed to earn some money again. Cunt trading had been somewhat sluggish over the past week.

Gabin's request was suitable only for sturdy, inexpensive cunts, he knew. A low-margin assignment, Kilmur feared, unless he could acquire rejected or confiscated cunts.

The cheapest solution was to buy some rejected cunts out of the hospitals. Although cunts that had failed their annual health check were dirt cheap, buying damaged cunts was a lot of hassle. Of course, those rejected cunts had to be patched up first and then re-inspected, before he could resell them. Gabin might not want to wait that long.

Although confiscated cunts were a bit more expensive, they were much easier to process. Anyway, even when he used impounded cunts, he would still make a tidy profit. Kilmur decided confiscated cunts were his best bet for Gabin's request. If there was any place where you could buy confiscated cunts quickly and cheaply, it was out of prison. You had to be lucky, of course. After all, the availability of impounded cunts was very unpredictable. Kilmur searched the net. Toulouse Police Prison had just put up four cunts for sale. Those would probably do.

Kilmur quickly accepted Gabin's assignment before any of his competitors did. Worst case, if those impounded cunts could not be sold as harvest-cunts, he would have to pick up a few cunts at a local village market or buy some cunts through an online auction. Although in those cases there would hardly be any profit left in it for him.

Kilmur downed his espresso and signaled the chubby waitress-cunt to pay. Cunts in such a meager roadside coffee shop were definitely not bought for their beauty, but her coffee was good. At least the plump cunt knew how to present herself. Quickly he paid the bill. As a token of appreciation, he slid three fingers deep into her wet cunt and roughly pinched a hard nipple. At least that would do her some good, since any euros he tipped would go to her owner anyway. Cunts, of course, weren't allowed to possess anything. Faster and faster, he thrust his fingers into her cunt. Now, with each stroke his thumb also caressed her clit. Soon the cunt groaned in delight. Or was it from the pain in her nipples? Or both? Oh well, who cares? As a waitress-cunt, she was used to this. Only after she orgasmed loudly, he pulled his fingers out of her dripping cunt. Gratefully, she smiled at him. Good! Well, at least the chubby cunt had really enjoyed her tip. Obediently she opened her mouth to clean his fingers.

Kilmur jumped into his truck. His old trusty truck. She was already old when his father had bought her many, many years ago. Over the next couple of years, his father had lovingly transformed the 39 ft run-down truck into a neat mobile office with plenty of space for his cunt trading company. After his father passed away, Kilmur had taken over his father's company. Kilmur smiled sadly, that old truck and Mommy-Cunt had been his father's favorite possessions. He had always been very fond of his dad. By continuing to use his belongings, he tried to honor his father's legacy. Thus, after the inheritance came about, he couldn't bear to sell either.

Mommy-Cunt was just a nice, pretty cunt to have around. Although at times she behaved unnaturally stubborn for a cunt. Anyway, by owning Mommy-Cunt he could always fuck, even while he didn't have any cunts in stock. Moreover, Mommy-Cunt cleaned his house, cooked, maintained his computers, kept his records, and searched the net to find the most suitable cunts on offer for his small business. Yes, Mommy-Cunt was more than just a normal simple horny little fuck-cunt.

His father's old truck had also more to offer than you might think at first glance. The big truck looked rusty and tired from the outside, but that facade hid the most modern anti-gravs, the heaviest heath jets, and the strongest fusion reactor. The components were cannibalized from a state-of-the-art flying tank. Everything was of the highest military grade. Those components were far too powerful for his old truck, but he knew how to handle her. That tank had also donated the weapons that were hidden behind the body panels of his truck. It did come at the expense of some interior space, but Kilmur thought it was well worth it.

Together with his father, despite that he was already quite ill at the time, Kilmur had installed all components. How his father had obtained parts of the highest military quality he didn't know. His father had taken that secret to his grave. Well, maybe it was better that way. Anyway, from his army days he knew that there was always something to rustle anywhere. He didn't care either way. What he did care about was that his truck was much faster than anything the police could bring into the air. Even with firepower on par with the best army equipment, which also could come in handy at times.

Honestly, it suited him that his truck looked rather shabby. Now, everyone mistakenly assumed that his truck was also very slow. In any case, a low-end cunt trader like himself couldn't fly a nice, shiny truck and then expect to buy cunts cheaply. Any cunt dealer who got sight of an expensive truck, immediately increased the price of his cunts by a few thousand euros. Kilmur had quickly learned that a shabby truck was better for his business.

Ok, so three cunts it is. First, he had to check out those impounded cunts at the local prison. Kilmur rarely kept cunts in stock. His competitors often bought some additional cunts as their private fuck toys. Kilmur smiled, he already owned Mommy-Cunt for that. Unlike other cunt traders, he didn't have to stock up on cunts to always have someone to fuck. Keeping cunts in stock was expensive. Those cunts still had to be fed, of course. Worse, even his small cunt trading company couldn't escape the ubiquitous European cunt taxes.

The reactor came to life and buzzed softly. Kilmur directed some energy to the anti-grav units. Then he activated the vertical heath jets. Very careful, because those engines were strong enough to tear his entire truck apart if they weren't all powered up synchronously. Slowly, his truck rose into the air towards the city traffic lanes. His father hadn't installed any safeguards on the anti-gravs and the engines of his truck. But Kilmur knew exactly how far he could safely push her. Why take unnecessary risks?

"Delphi: destination Toulouse Police Prison."

His computer responded in the horniest female voice possible: "Transponder inactive."

Kilmur had carefully selected that horny voice for Delphi. The sexiest feminine voice he could find.

"Delphi: avoid main routes."

To travel on the main routes, you had to have an active transponder. Officially, an active transponder was also mandatory on local routes and on the city traffic lanes, although you could fly there without one. So, as long as you avoided the main routes, an active transponder wasn't necessary, Kilmur concluded. Unless you were stopped by the police, of course. Oh well, when an officer pulled him over, he would quickly activate a transponder. He had several, most of them undistinguishable from legal ones. In his military career he had been taught early on not to leave any traces. That had become second nature by now. So, no main routes if you could avoid them, and certainly no traceable transponders! Anyway, he wasn't in a hurry, the prison was close by. Little chance those cunts would sell quickly, this early on a beautiful, sunny Monday morning.

His computer panted back: "Course set in, expected travel time: 5 minutes."

Kilmur nodded. "Delphi: start."

The computer moaned sexily: "O yes! O yes! I'm coming!"

Kilmur grinned. He had also programmed that himself. Simple adolescent humor, but much more fun than the simple 'Ok' the computer used to say. Delphi engaged the propulsion jets. Quickly his truck mingled in the city traffic and flew away.

Indeed, Kilmur arrived at the prison within five minutes. Gently Delphi reversed the propulsion jets and landed his big truck in the courtyard. He nodded to Kurt, the head jailer. The only jailer even, so it must have been easy for him to become head jailer. "Ça va, Kurt! Do you still have those cunts for sale? I've run out of stock," he said as they shook hands.

"Ça va, Kilmur. You're in luck! We just seized four Latina cunts. Illegal contraband! Chips have been reset." Kurt was always rather direct and short-tempered. Kilmur liked that. "I've just put the cunts up for sale! Do you want to see those cunts?"

Kilmur nodded. "Yes, of course. Do you have any more cunts in prison?" He was there now anyway.

"Only a young drug addict cunt. Has puked all over herself. She also emptied herself out. Cunt is covered in piss and shit. That cunt is dirty! She smells like a pigsty! Cunt isn't yet put up for sale."

Kilmur shrugged. An addicted cunt could rehab in a few weeks. Cold turkey! Just tie her tightly on a sanitary restraint chair, push a feeding tube into her stomach, and strap her to a treadmill for a couple of hours a day. Other than that, all you had to do was wait. Simple. Even Mommy-Cunt could do it. Drug cunts were very cheap. However, former junkies were not really suitable as harvest-cunts. Such cunts he usually sold as cheap fuck-cunts. After he got rid of all their addictions, that is. Any cunt could lie on her back and spread her legs, right?

Junkie cunts didn't grow old. The cheap drugs those junks got nowadays were polluted to such an extent that addicted cunts didn't survive very long. But even then, some cunt owners still preferred to fuck stoned cunts only. They believed stoned cunts were even hornier than normal cunts. Kilmur thought that was just a load of nonsense. Anyway, for a cunt trader it was only worthwhile to buy a young junkie and rehab her. Then she could serve as fuck-cunt for many years to come. If her new owner kept her clean, that is. The younger and the prettier the junkie cunt, the more expensive of course.

Kilmur was always up for a quick profit. "Why is that junkie not yet for sale, Kurt?"

"Cunt isn't chipped. I found her in my courtyard this morning. Probably seized last night. They just dumped her on me! Doesn't get into my prison like that. Way too dirty for my clean cells. Cunt isn't for sale yet. Cunt is still in her first twelve hours. Her owner can still pay the fine."

"Come on, Kurt, you never used to have a problem with those twelve hours. Not even with chipped cunts, so certainly not with an unchipped one! And you know: unchipped cunts have no owner."

Kurt shrugged. "The paperwork must be right, Kilmur!"

"But Kurt, that cunt isn't chipped, man! Thus, your paperwork is already all right!"

Kurt nodded briefly. He had already figured out all that by himself, of course. "What's in it for me?"

Kilmur laughed. To be honest, he had hoped for such a response. "Let me take a look at those four Latina cunts first!" The assignment to provide his farmers with cunts took precedence. But maybe he could get a discount if he bought all the cunts in one deal.

They walked inside. It was nice and cool in the prison. In the first cell four clothed Latina cunts were lying on the floor. Strange, normally cunts were naked, as they should be. Kurt opened the cell door. Immediately, Kilmur inspected the cunts. The legs of the youngest cunt were spread wide obscenely. Large globs of sperm oozed slowly out of her dripping cunt. It was obvious what Kurt had been doing just before he arrived. "Right, Kurt, is that young cunt a good fuck-cunt?"

"Could be worse. Could be worse. However, I prefer blondes. Latina cunts aren't really my type!"

"Oh well, even a Latina cunt has three holes!" Kilmur deliberately acted somewhat disdainful to keep their price down. He knew Kurt well. Indeed, Kurt nodded in agreement. Good!

Kilmur inspected the cunts thoroughly, every now and then he pinched their muscles. The offer consisted of one older cunt, in her mid-forties he estimated, and three young cunts, just over eighteen. They were a bit skinny perhaps, but still sturdy enough to work on the fields. Pretty enough too. Anyway, those farmers would fuck any cunt, even that old one.

One by one he kicked the legs of the other three cunts further apart. They didn't complain, of course, they were probably used to worse than this. He slid two fingers into their wet cunts for a couple of times. All cunts moaned with pleasure. Then he pushed his lubricated fingers all the way up their assholes. Now the cunts moaned even louder. Kilmur nodded approvingly. All their fuck holes were supple and tight, surprisingly even those of the old cunt. Finally, he pushed his fingers into the old cunt's mouth to clean. The cunts had no visible damage, no torn-out holes, no obvious diseases. They all seemed quite healthy.

Kilmur took a closer look at their faces. They looked alike. It could very well be a mother with her three daughters. "Is it a family, Kurt?"

Kurt shrugged indifferently. "I've no idea. Chips were from South America. Cunts were smuggled into Europe."

Kilmur nodded, that happened quite often. Cunts were much more expensive in Europe than in South America, even without the taxes. Pity their chips had been erased already. Selling a mother together with her three daughters fetched much better prices, especially in the kinkier scenes. Mothers tended to react just a bit more forcefully when their daughters were tied up, beaten, tortured, or fucked in front of their eyes. The other way around too. Men who had such a fetish usually paid handsomely for a family of cunts. Unfortunately, genetic research was too expensive for cheap cunts like this. Hence that old cunt could only be sold as a simple middle-aged worker cunt. Pity! He would make much more money if he could have sold them as a set of a mother with her three daughters.

Frightened the cunts looked up at him. Oh well, he was used to that. They were only cunts after all, weren't they? He opened the blouse of the old cunt and squeezed her tits. Again, she moaned hornily. Her breasts were still quite firm for her age. Big enough too, a good handful. Not too small, not too big. With nice, big, hard nipples. Not bad for a cunt in her forties. The three younger cunts had beautiful perky tits, although they were a bit smaller. He roughly pinched their nipples. All the young cunts moaned hornily too. A good sign.

Those three young cunts he could always sell as simple fuck-cunts, in case Gabin didn't want to buy them. Maybe not to Kurt, but there were always enough takers for cheap Latina cunts. Few legal genuine South American cunts were offered for sale in Europe. Most of that merchandise came from illegal imports, but there were still plenty of men who preferred to own their cunts legally. No big sales risks there! Only that old cunt might be hard to sell.

Strange that they wore clothes. Cunts were always kept naked, also cunts in prison. "Actually, Kurt, why do these cunts wear clothes?"

Helplessly, Kurt raised his arms. "Lack of staff, Kilmur! Had no time to properly undress them. It's way too busy. I'm here all by myself, you know! And they've just arrived. So, you're lucky! Trafficked cunts. Confiscated contraband. Were illegally used as strip-cunts. Hence the clothing. These are good clothes. These are good cunts. The clothes are included in their price." Kurt clearly didn't want to waste time undressing them. Anyway, he could just as easy fuck them with their clothes on. They weren't wearing any panties, obviously. Simply pull up their skirts and fuck. Despite that Kurt didn't fancy Latina cunts. Still, even for him a Latina cunt was better than nothing.