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Quaid reached to his right and pulled his drink from the metal bookcase. "Christophe?"
He watched Christophe approach her quickly and answered as well. "Yes, Mr. Daniels?"
"Do you have a moment to play? Someone else running a check for you?" Quaid took a drink and then a vape as he relaxed in his desk chair.
"Check handled already, Sir. I have as much time as you like." Christophe cupped her face and kissed her forehead.
"Good. I want you to draw out her orgasms slowly. If she tries to frenzy it, slow her down by any means possible. We need to relax her, remind her that she's safe-ground her to safety. Do you understand?'
"Yes, sir."
"Baby, I want you to listen to me and let him do what he likes and what I've instructed. Are we clear?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good. Do you have a toy with you?" Quaid watched them both look at the baggie.
She giggled. "I have an ice dildo."
"Good Girl-we need to get you nice and hot first. Get Christophe hard, baby, if you haven't already." Quaid watched the two liplock and her fingers grasped his shirt to remove it. They broke the kiss and tossed the shirt and undershirt on the table as the muscular and lightly scarred torso of Christophe was revealed. Her small hands slipped over the faded wounds and massaged the muscles expertly as Christophe touched her breasts and let his fingers trail to the wet cunny that awaited him. They both moaned.
"Very good," Quaid whispered. He watched Christophe unbuckle and unbutton his jeans in a quick move of unzip and the released length bobbed for a moment. Christophe guided it from clit to bottom of the slit in slow strokes as Bree leaned back with a moan and her arms over her head. Her back arched as the sensation rippled in a slow wave through her. The naked cock wet by her and with pre cum pressed against her like an electric tongue. She gasped and squirted at Christophe in response.
"Yes, let it out," Christophe said calmly as he kept his cock stroke slow, but thorough. His free hand played with her breasts with a few light slaps and then a grip of her throat that released to the touch of her lips and side of her face. She sucked at his thumb with a moan. He pulled his thumb out and trailed his hand back down her body and rubbed the sides of her labia as he continued his stroke in the soak of her escaped juices.
The erection was immense and throbbed as her hips rose and tried to get her pussy to swallow him like a hungry mouth on a large, thick straw, but he evaded her. "You want this, slut? You want this inside you? You want my dick deep?"
Quaid smiled as he watched her squirm and Christophe really get into his work.
"YES! YES!" She felt her pussy contract and release at the pressed desire that inflamed her tissues with masses of blood. She tried to reach for the cock, but he stepped back and laughed.
"Tell me how much you need me inside you. Tell me how often you've thought about it and how I haven't given it to you." Christophe stroked his saturated cock as he viewed her twitched twat and the spectacle of juice that left her as he spoke. Her gyrations were strained and so needy.
She ran her hands over her breasts and stomach, but fought not to get herself off. Master instructed slow, drawn out climaxes. The tease made her clit ache in rock fashion. "I imagined I was with you when I fucked Emilian all day today. I imagined you roughly fucking me until I cried to stop. I imagined you handcuffed me and fucked me six ways to Sunday in every room in the house." She kept her arch in a slow roll of her body as her hands rubbed and avoided below the waist. She kept her lustful gaze on the cock that pulsed for her, the cock she was so desperate toward. "I came at the thought it was your stiff dick boring itself into me-deep and angry. I've wanted you since I learned I couldn't have you unless it's an extreme circumstance....so I fucked Emilian continuously until he was so raw he could barely put his pants on...That's how much I've wanted to fuck you."
"He needs to fuck you then," Quaid instructed and broke the hypnotic hold Christophe and Bree had on each other. "Christophe, get the ice dildo for her ass. When you're ready, double penetrate her and show her no mercy."
Quaid watched Christophe obey and the shouts of both made him pull the phone away from his ear. Christophe fucked Bree in hard, deep strokes as he covered her mouth with both his hands in a tight seal. The frigid dildo on the other side of the thin layer of skin kept his pace sharp and fast .
Bree's body began a round of small orgasms that spurted around his length as the shock of her frozen ass made her backside immediately pained. Quaid couldn't make out what Christophe muttered in his rapid, hateful movements, but then Christophe slowed and laughed at his leisurely pace.
"Slowly, Mr. Daniels, shows her no mercy. Fuck her just enough to keep her on edge, but not enough to cum." Christophe panted and moaned as she gripped him in hopes of a pace reset, but he gripped her right leg up and slapped her clit for good measure.
She cried out and he stuffed the baggie in her mouth.
"SHHHHHH!!! You fucking slut, keep quiet!" he demanded as he slapped her clit again, then gripped her right nipple in a pinch and slow pull. "Maybe I will let you cum, but it's going to be awhile."
Then Quaid's primary phone rang. "I leave it to you, Christophe. Mind, baby."
He ended the transmission and sighed at the ringing to his left. He answered sharply. "Yes?"
Afterburn, Early Lunar Morning
Jared Santini woke suddenly in a cold sweat, the thin pink bed sheet slid off his soft chest. "Queen!"
The passed out form next to him muttered incoherently and then returned to light snoring. He looked at Mindy and shook his head. He needed to get back to Lunar Complex 20, he hadn't meant to sleep with Mindy again. The Rego always tricked him though, just when he thought he had a grip on it, it made him do something that always underlined his helplessness.
He slid out of the bed in the pink room and felt around for his brown attire. He could still feel the tug of Queen, as if she were near and tried to communicate. He shook his head-he needed a break from the Rego, it brought up too much pain. He ached for her even though it had been so long since the breakup. Every time he took a hit, Mindy was Queen and the pain was gone, but when it played out, he had lost Queen again and Mindy...was Mindy.
He dressed and snuck out with a few Lunar Credits tossed on her dresser. Mindy was sweet, but she wasn't Queen.
He shook his head in a failed attempt to erase the image of her naked form-the same naked form he banged on the condo veranda so long ago-in a soar toward him from space. He saw her so clearly-she had her full smile on her cute heart-shaped face with large brown eyes, her hair much longer than before with a new crimson rinse, and a determined essence to be with him. There was a familiar ache that seemed so fresh at that moment-as if they broke up only moments ago-they had made a grievous error.
They never should've parted.
He should've taken her with him. A kidnap turned romantic escape from all the dread on Earth. He shook his head again as he paced the dim red hall of Afterburn's dormitory section. The soundproofed rooms kept the hall loud with silence. His slow pace made the hall endless to achieve the goal of the subway that would zig and zag him back to the skywalk that would take him to the Lunar Bullet. He just needed a hot shower and breakfast. He wasn't sure what day it was and felt too lazy to look at his watch.
He remembered how hungry her ass was. It would consume any kind of toy as if it were a famished mouth to a bowl of spaghetti. She had joked how often she had to visit the hospital to have toys extricated. She had liked to put on peep shows in a large glass room at her hometown sex club-with a mask on, of course. Sometimes she had gotten too excited by the encouraging crowd and got lost in the feeling of stretched orifices until she forgot which implement and how many were where. Her ass muscles had still massaged and sucked at him though. Her pussy yearned to be bred, but they hadn't been ready....
It took several moments inside the subway car for Jared to realize he wasn't alone. In the dim blue hue of soft light, Bob Shamrock stood in a lean at the farthest corner behind the pensive selenologist.
"Bob?" Jared commented in late acknowledgment of his acquaintance. He hadn't seen Bob since his first visit to Afterburn. He focused his best to take in the hungover state of the tall, disheveled, black shiny suited drug dealer. He hoped he didn't look as rough as Bob. If it was a work day, Commander Holliday would be severe if paths were crossed.
Behind black, masculine sunglasses was a grunt and a slight nod. All pretense of any formality was a figment and pursed lips didn't part for any attempt at conversation. It was no subway ride of shame; it was a hushed journey back to reality. The mushroom shaped complex now carried sullen fatigue rather than the rush of drunken dalliance and excited high the atmosphere carried upon entrance. Jared faced forward and slipped back into his head. He took comfort that he wasn't the only guy in a run from something. He wasn't the only one with dread in his gut as they inched closer to return of monotonous routine until the next excursion. He sighed as the car stopped and the door slid open. They would take the skywalk back-it was the quieter exit for those who had to head into a shift or formal appointment after a quick shag, drink, or line consumption.
Tram-38 Stop, Sunrise, Lunar Complex 7
Different Tram-38 personnel saw the wreck in the black shiny suit and left him be without the regular cordial greeting. He staggered, numbed and beyond fatigued, into the concourse that led to the entrance of 7. He looked forward to the familiar studio apartment that he hadn't been in for a while. He was late for the latest Check-In. He had a good excuse-he had . . .something.
He debated triple-cross and considered a confession of the jewels Chrysalis gave him, but then he laughed. She would kill him before his transmission ended. He needed a hot shower and a cold bed to take the fever and shock out of his body. He kept his black sunglasses tight against his eyes-so sensitive to look and light. The anxiety plagued him to have an attack. He needed to vent out the fear, the surprise, and disconnection from whoever he really was.
Then came that whisper in a female voice just out of his reach in his mind. He relaxed by the auditory memory with a lean against the bright sterile entrance of 7. "You are over dark haired women. You want dishwater blondes now. You want vanilla scented women. You want to fuck them, own them, and will have the greatest confidence to make it happen."
He continued his journey to his studio apartment with thoughts of her. He imagined her touch as angelic, warm, and a comfort for which he ached. She was the complete opposite of his ex-wife; a complete relief. He daydreamed of walking into his apartment to the smell of a homemade and a scantily dressed Peach Plum at the stove. He would walk toward her and wrap his arms around her from behind and smell her hair. He would touch her curves as he sent her to the shower with him. Her red lipstick smeared, mascara chased down her face as she took him into her mouth, the streams of water all about and in a nice saturation of the skin; he grew slightly hard at the thought.
He turned lefts, rights, and hit straight-aways until he was suddenly in front of his door. There was a faint scent that caught his attention, but he figured it was more memory than anything else. He slid his keycard and palmed the scanner at his left until the familiar click of the unlock and slide occurred. He walked into the small hall that led to another door to the entrance. The scent had strengthened upon initial entry. He right palmed the next door scanner and light foreign music greeted him. He recognized the tune after a moment and it reminded him of his old life. He shuddered in remembrance, confusion, and walked in quickly.
There she was at the kitchenette in a cream colored dress that hugged her curves and small stocking feet that lightly danced to the old tune. Spice of something that cooked on the stove couldn't overpower that sweet scent he had dreamed of for so long; yet, he doubted his sanity and the supposed reality before him. It seemed extremely possible he was in the throes of a contact high from the jewels Chrysalis had slipped him which he had then hid for safety with all the other jewels passed. He questioned the scene-his dream in flesh. She suddenly burst out in song in a foreign language he was quite familiar. He sung with her, which startled her not, and she spun around as their duet progressed. It was her!
She danced her way to him as the song climaxed and he took her hands to bring her closer. She looked up at his sunglasses and smiled. Then her voice gripped him. "Welcome Home, Stranger. Dinner is almost ready and we have much to discuss."
The Island, Early Morning
"She is very good with her mouth," the older gentlemen with thin white hair commented as he walked out of the condo and onto the deck that led to the massive seating area around the fire pit. The ocean crashed in the distance and the breeze was quite cool.
"She is?" the older woman asked slightly nervous as she shifted on her pillowed seat and looked at her husband as he walked toward them.
"No, no," the rotund man across from her corrected. "It, not 'she'."
The older woman turned her attention to the statement in confusion. She wasn't sure of what emotion to display at that moment. "What?"
The large man smiled impishly. "It is only referred to as 'She' when in use or to reference being used. Neither I nor your husband is gay or a freak, so we prefer 'She' for our own reference of normality. Other than those moments, 'She' is always 'It'. You have no intention to use, so you must call It, well 'It'. See?"
The older gentlemen laughed as he sat next to his wife and took her hand then kissed it lovingly. "Darling, it was extraordinary. If you want to use It, I have no issue."
She shook her head and exclaimed, confused with insecurity that tread on an edge of fright. Her husband wanted her more open sexually, but it seemed so against her raising, her innate nature. "You said you were going to use the bathroom?"
He nodded. "Lovey, I did, but Mully here insisted I use his very special toilet. He doesn't just let anyone use it. It would've been a severe insult if I declined. Right, Mully?"
Mulholland nodded enthusiastically. "I never share my toys, but Colonel has never had one of such caliber. We so rarely see each other I felt tonight should be special. You are more than welcome to try It."
Colonel stroked her hand. "It is incredible. If you choose to use It, Mully and I will watch and guide you through it so it won't be complicated. We can add a dildo to it so you can call it 'Him', if you like. Although Mully and I prefer It to be 'Her'. Ok, Sweetness?"
Her eyes were on the verge of a loud cry, so she excused herself and left for the beach.
Colonel and Mulholland laughed as she sobbed in departure, then clinked their Scotch in cheers.
"Now that we have a moment alone, I would like to discuss Regolith," Mulholland stated seriously as he relaxed back and smooth jazz played through the outdoor speaker.
Colonel straightened and chuckled. "You know I can't tell you much. What exactly is it that you are hunting, Mully?"
"I want the military grade mind relaxer," Mulholland replied, then took a drink. "I believe one ton of it should suffice."
Colonel spat up his drink. "A ton? Mully, what are you thinking? A packet, maybe-but a ton?"
"I have plans," Mulholland said quietly with a very business look. "If Rojas can have it, I can too."
Colonel shook his head. "Don't buy into all of the Rojas press. He's a Lunar Al Capone, sure. Does he have high contacts in the military and government-of course. Does he have the ability to obtain the relaxer? No. Never. He isn't trusted. He's kept in his place. You are far more respectable with your Fusion Boxes, Coma Cases, Transport Ships-supply for the real demands here and there."
"I have the opportunity to control the Territory, expand militarization zones, enhance your investments in the Country. I can even provide further commerce for pocket lining to the Lunar Complexes. To get there, I need the ton." Mulholland took another drink and pressed a button on the console on the end table to his right.
"I see-why can't you campaign like all other politicians?" Colonel laughed as he drew conclusions and looked around for his despaired wife.
Mulholland shook his head. "It's not for the campaign-that's handled. It's for after. I need complete control and no opposition. I want to redesign the City. It's what's best for everyone."
The familiar clink of high heels made Mulholland smile and Colonel take notice just as the tear stained face of the Colonel's wife reappeared to the bimbo's right. A young gender neutral in pasties with an older woman dressed for casual socialization. The contrast almost brought laughter to the men, but they knew better.
"T-This is . . ." the shaken woman tried to speak.
Colonel killed his drink and set it on the console next to him. He stood up and went to his wife, took her hands in his, and led her back to the seat. "Lovey, just try It. You will see no harm done. Only pleasure."
The click clack of heels resumed and the multi-hued hair blocked Mulholland's complete view of Colonel's removal of his wife's striped shirt and pull out of the slightly sagged breasts. The living sex doll kneeled between the older woman's legs and began to nurse the nipples of the aged breasts. The older woman didn't fight it, she pressed the back of the head to suck more breast into the overplumped hole.
"Her nipples and breasts have always been her go-to," Colonel turned to Mulholland and clarified as he grew excited by the sight. A delicate hand reached into his shorts to start a nice handjob.
"What if I let you borrow her for a week?" Mulholland tossed in casually. "Longer, if need be?"
Colonel, lost in a lust spectacle as his wife cried out in a large cum and the expert stroke on his penis sent him dizzy, nodded and said, "We can get a ton in increments."
Mulholland got up, shook hands with Colonel, and then left for his office. Another step closer to his even bigger project of enhancement; domination of the Territory and an extension of his Lunar interests.
Zeppelin's Ziggurat, Early Afternoon
Queen sat up quickly with a large inhale and then coughed her lungs out. Her sudden consciousness hit her as if she fell from the sky and landed in destroyed pieces. She hated the come down from the Rego. She looked around and realized she was in a cell down a tunnel by the sound and smell of dripping sewage. She was alone on a smelly cot and only a single candle burned faintly in the corner. She was naked under the rotten blanket. She cried, like she always did when she returned to the truth and out of the dream.
He was lost.
They were lost.
She was forever broken.
She was beautiful once.
She was happy once.
She headlined fashion once.
She ruled parties, excursions, extravaganzas-so long ago.
It had all come to end.
A murder in a condo on vacation destroyed everything. Everything went to shit because of that one act that didn't involve her at all, but her life paid for it. Her heart was destroyed by it. There was no going back. There was no return to beauty, happiness, trends, and prestige. She wailed in a long echo of sorrow down the tunnel. Her family never understood. Her friends had all scattered.
