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An cyberstory story
more rude stuff by nikolai & kelanie
from an original idea by NAPAI
Anya had received her `orders' from the supervisors at BuProc;
she was to be monitored for a period of twelve hours, starting at
eleven that evening, to establish her suitability for work with
the highly-placed Bureau of Procuration. She had been stuck at
a console job for so long that she was willing to do literally
anything to escape it. She had no idea as to which abilities
they were testing for, but if what she had heard about BuProc was
correct, her best bet was to head down to the docks around the
NoSan'No'Os ExPort, find at least five guys and screw their
brains out. That evening, in her tiny apartment (which she
shared with a neuter ex-male called Gaeren), she sorted through
her sparse wardrobe, decided that nothing she owned was
appropriate, and decided to blow her last three hundred WCH on
some new clothes.
She had only been in the local Ginza twice, and both times the
security guards, two-and-a-half-metre tall hulks carrying mylar
batons the size of baseball bats, had tracked her every movement
with a scrutiny that she felt lay somewhere between suspicion and
contempt. Nevertheless, she put on the most nondescript outfit
she had, brushed her hair back into a demure black helmet-shape
(a distinct contrast to the wavy confusion that it usually
assumed), set the lock on the apartment door, and headed off for
the Ginza.
The golden lights around the door seemed to form a fiery gate,
like something that would lead to a cheap HolyRoller version of
Heaven; she took a deep breath, and strode forward. She wasn't
incinerated. The guards didn't even seem to notice her,
although she couldn't tell where their scrutiny lay, hidden as it
was behind mirrored visors.
Confronted by the almost obscenely rich variation, like a
Sultan's treasure trove, she forgot about the security guards and
stumbled around, completely dazed by the splendor. There were
dresses that appeared to be woven from golden threads of light,
others that were evilly-glittering black metal panels, held
together by intricate magnetic fields and designed to hover one
inch from the body; complete cosmetic makeovers which could make
you look exactly like the latest Sensory stars (which wasn't
really the point - you had to _feel_ like them; appearances
didn't count for that much in Simulation).
She was gazing in rapture at a necklace that generated a
holographic halo, being demonstrated on a mimetic model that
matched her features as she approached. It glanced up at her,
and returned such a perfect imitation of her smile that she
shivered.
`Nice night for a walk.' an Austrian accent behind her intoned
deeply. She whirled, almost falling over, and two huge hands
grabbed her shoulders, steadying her. A tenin-uriku, a
salesman/floorwalker, impeccably dressed in sarariman black, and
easily as tall and imposing as the security, stood there smiling.
One of his front teeth gleamed silver. `Can I help you?' he
asked kindly.
`I - I need some clothes.' she stammered. His smile broadened.
`I think we can accommodate you. How much were you thinking of
devoting to the worthy exercise of clothing your exquisite form?'
she blushed at the compliment.
`I have three hundred Work-Credit-Hours.' He closed his eyes in
a fair imitation of rapture.
`For that amount, we can drape you with finery that would be the
envy of the Aristocracy.'
* * * * *
`Now, I think this is what you may be after...' he drew what
appeared to be a tightly-woven fist-sized black cocoon from a
rack. She glanced at him quizzically. He flashed his smile
again, and shook the dress out with a flick of his wrist. A
magnetic seal clicked open, and the dress unfolded, exactly like
a chrysalis. Within moments, an exquisite vision in gleaming,
thin black leather depended from the floorwalker's fingers. Her
eyes widened.
`It's rather, ah, small, isn't it?' she murmured.
`Try it on.' he said reassuringly.
`It IS rather small, but it covers the appropriate acreage, and
does so with charm.' she turned, glancing at the holographs that
showed her how the dress clung to her body, pushing her breasts
up. She leaned over, tilting to one side, examining the degree
of cleavage that was exposed.
`It's perfect.' and before she could think of a delicate way of
asking, `How much?', the salesman murmured,
`It can be yours for one hundred and eighty-five Work-Credit-
Hours.'
`I'll take it.' she said immediately.
`...and, for an additional ninety-five credits, we have these
boots...' black leather, knee-length, with a silver chain around
the left ankle. As she nodded her assent, he smiled again and
asked, `Would you like them wrapped?' she glanced at a nearby
holograph-clock, and smiled sweetly.
`Thank you. nothing fancy... it's only for me.' Despite this,
he wrapped them in a sheet of silver-foil analogue, as tough as
steel. She also purchased some black carbon-monofilament mesh
stockings and a pair of garters decorated with small black roses.
* * * * *
The buildings in the zone around the NoSaNoOs ExPort were once
used as shipping dockyards; now that the NoSaNoOs could ferry
materials from any point on Earth to another in a matter of
minutes, they had fallen into disuse, and were mainly cheap
accommodation and entertainment for the people who worked at the
ExPort, a cross-section of the extreme lower social strata. It
was similar to videos of depression-era Chicago (1930's) and
recession-era Melbourne (mid 1990's) that she had seen at
school... every third place was a club, bar or other variety of
watering-hole; every fifth shop was a brothel or gambling-house.
people in tattered clothing slumped in the cobblestone gutters...
a young man, no older than twenty-two, with a home-made
arrangement of electrodes on his head like a crown of thorns, was
perched on top of an industrial waste-container, eyes glittering
in wirehead paranoia, like a hawk on speed, watching her. She
ventured a smile, and he grinned ferociously, exposing teeth
consisting of two single white plastic ridges. He eyed the bag
she carried, his attention darting up and down her form like an
automatic targeting system.
`Another one.' he said rapidly. Before she could query this
outburst, he continued at a machine-gun pace. `...another
candidate for the Bureau of Procuration. Am I right? You've
just been to the Ginza, new clothes, you look like a console
operator, and there are only two reasons why a console operator
might be roaming the ExPort Zone at this time of night, right?
and you don't look like a wirehead. At least you don't look
like a wirehead to me, and I consider myself an expert in matters
relating to electronic sensory stimulation.' She was stunned
for a moment, and could only reply,
`Yeah, so?' He giggled inanely to himself, rocking back on his
heels, the wires attached to his forehead shimmering.
`Just down the road, down there, an exo-joint, 's called the
Suteriik Kitchen, 's a slosh-house, but they keep a fairly high
profile, around here that is, that means that when the customer
can't stand up by itself, they throw it out, so anyway, just head
down there, ask for Granny, she runs the place, and tell her that
Tybalt sent you.' He leaped up, abruptly, grabbed a fire-escape
railing overhead, swung up into the darkness and was gone. It
all happened so quickly that she could only stand there gaping,
staring at the spot vacated by the wirehead. Suddenly, from a
third-story window, Tybalt's head and shoulders popped out, and
he waved to her. `Go on! it's okay! I see at least half a
dozen girls head down that way every month!' She cupped her
hands around her mouth and shouted,
`Hey, come down, I want to talk to you!' To her surprise,
Tybalt crawled out of the third-storey window and dropped to the
ground, landing on his feet with a sharp exhalation of breath,
bending his knees to absorb the shock. One of his electrodes
came loose and he quickly replaced it.
`Okay, come on, I'll show you the way, but I won't go in there,
'cos Granny doesn't have much time for wireheads, we don't spend
enough money in there I suppose, so, anyway, how many guys were
you thinking of taking on at once, that is, assuming you are
trying for a position in BuProc, right?' Anya was having
trouble framing a reply to this, wondering if her motives were so
transparent that a street wirehead could read them. Tybalt
looked momentarily concerned. `Hey, I haven't pissed you off,
have I? I always come on like this, hazard of the trade, so to
speak, and anyway, at least I don't come on like some
ProtoCharacter who thinks he's a warrior elf and tries to slice
you up with his broadsword like that "Doomlord" guy-'
`Look,' Anya managed to interrupt, `can you keep quiet for a
moment?' Tybalt glanced at her with a jerky movement, grinned
lopsidedly, placed the back of his hand over his mouth in a
parody of the Bureau of Procuration salute. `Okay, yes, I admit,
I am going after a position in BuProc... I'd appreciate any
advice that you could give me.' Tybalt snorted, raised his eyes
to the sky and chattered on,
`You think I look like some sort of sex tech guru god knowledge-
base like guy? I mean, reeeeealllly, I haven't done it since I
went under the wire, six years ago, and beFORE you say anything,'
he added hastily, noting her expression, `I do know what I am
missing. This,' pointing to the electrodes studding his
forehead, `is better. Believe me.' He glanced at her sideways.
`Wanna try it?' Anya backed off slightly.
`Oh, uh, no thanks.' Tybalt looked rather relieved.
They passed a number of burned-out building-shells, arriving at
a five-storey warehouse that was completely boarded up. There
were two troll-like doormen, both of them almost three metres
tall, slouching against either side of an elaborately arched
doorway. Like a lot of the architecture in use in the
NoSan'No'Os ExPort Zone, the doorway was lifted from the ruins of
another building, resulting in a clash of architectural styles
that had almost become fashionable. She recognised it as one of
those places that ExPort cargo-lifters could come to for a wash
and a drink after a hard day of shifting crates.
`This is where we part, because those thugs would dearly like to
biff me, and I dearly don't want to give them the opportunity.
Take care, have fun, and I don't want to put you down in any
fashion,' here, he adopted a serious expression, `but like,
don't be too ambitious, and if I were you, I wouldn't try taking
on more than five guys at once, hey? No offense.' She smiled.
`None taken, Tybalt.' He leaped up, grabbed a ledge and
squeezed his way into the vacant building next door to the
Suteriik. The door-things pretended not to notice him. Anya
drew a deep breath and stepped forward. The trolls took no
notice of her. She paused, standing between them, glancing from
one to the other. No response... they may as well have been
statues. She pushed the door open and entered.
A few moments later, a smirk crossed the coarse features of
one of the trolls.
* * * * *
There was a short, unlit stairwell that led straight down to
another door. She stepped down cautiously, and flinched
slightly as the door at the end opened by itself. It revealed a
long, low-ceilinged twilight lounge, wafts of smoke from various
pipes (which contained the expected mixture of exotic herbs)
drifting through soft hazes of golden light in a landscape of
darkness. There were wide tables scattered throughout the room,
clustering around, but not actually in the pools of light, like
cautious animals daring to approach campfires. There were only
a few port laborers present, none of them xenoforms; the evening
shift wouldn't finish for another forty minutes. She
cautiously, unobtrusively, stalked over to a door near the back
of the room, and entered the shower rooms. There were three
regular laborers, humans, all of them in their mid-twenties, two
of them showering and one drying himself, ruefully regarding his
dirty coveralls. They paid as much attention to her as the
doormen had.
She stood there with her hands on her hips for a moment. This
(as she imagined it) deliberate refusal to even react to her
presence was galling. She smiled to herself as she thought,
`Let's see what we can do about that.'
She stripped off her office clothes, removed her underwear,
stepped under a shower-head and slid her wrist past the reader.
It read the implanted chip under the skin, clicked (docking half
a WCH for the cost of the water) and magnetohydraulic pumps
behind the walls kicked in with a rumble. A broad spray of hot
water gushed out, blasting her hair back, pounding into her
shoulders as she turned. It was set to the strength preferred
by the laborers which frequented the showers, but she found a
control-plate, waved her hand at it and the stream dropped to a
point where she was no longer about to be blown off her feet.
They were still ignoring her. She stuck her hand into the
soap-recess, coated it with the green liquid, and rubbed it over
her breasts. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the
laborers glancing covertly at her. She pinched a nipple with
one hand while the other smeared soap down her belly, closed her
eyes and gasped as the water's temperature rose ten degrees and
began to pulse in intensity. Her hand slipped down past her
belly to nestle in the soft tufts that lay at the junction of her
thighs, and her fingers began to stroke the lips that lay there.
With her eyes closed and her face directly in the shower stream,
she could still sense one of the laborers approaching her from
behind. He gently placed his hand on her hip; she grasped it
and moved it up to cup her breast. He moved closer, pressing
against her back, nuzzling her neck and running his other hand
down her side, stroking her hip as he circled her nipple with his
index finger. This hand then crossed her belly as he hugged her
to him, kissing her shoulders and her neck. She felt his
tongue, rough like a cat's, trace a path along her jaw, through
the hissing stream of water. She gripped the hand that rested
lightly on her breast, turned slightly and faced the stranger.
with a slight shock she discovered that he was not one of the
three laborers that she found when she entered; this was a
heavily-bio-modified human male, almost a xenoform; he had two
insect-like feelers mounted under each ear, parallel to his
jawline; these could act as second hands while his regular hands
maintained their grip in zero gravity. His eyes were smooth
black spheres, no whites; like pools of glittering oil. Apart
from the feelers, she found him quite attractive (which was a
relief, as she had had some vague disconcerting ideas about being
assaulted by something that looked like a cross between a plateau
Bythian and an orang-utan), and a quick glance down revealed that
he was still human enough for her. She noticed a tattoo on his
shoulder, and similar marks on the shoulders of the other three,
which meant that they were members of a Crew, a tightly-knit team
of specialised starship workers that were employed by the
NoSan'No'Os. She smiled as they all moved in. The leader (the
one with the feelers) held up five fingers, his thumb, index and
pinky fingers folded down: binary 00110, or 6. She frowned
slightly until the Crewmembers also held up their hands; she
thought for a moment that they wanted some sort of group
discount. They all briefly touched wrists, the implanted chips
exchanging Work-Credit-Hours. Then they all helped her wash
the rest of the soap off; they shut off the showers and as one,
they moved into the adjacent bed area. This was divided into
partitioned areas by sound-damping curtains, each area dominated
by a large foam mattress. They found an unoccupied area and
towelled her dry before stretching her out on the bed. Well, they
certainly don't waste any time, she thought, as the leader
kneeled at the head of the bed, grasping her head and guiding his
erection to her mouth, and the other Crewmembers arranged
themselves at the other end; one kneeling astride her chest and
gently massaging her breasts; one poised over her loins and the
third wriggling underneath her, the tops of his feet resting on
her shoulders.
She closed her eyes for a moment, and performed the mental
dissociation-exercise she had learned as part of her quaternary
school term. Her consciousness divided into four seperate
channels, each one possessing only a spark of her intelligence but
backed by the full force of her lust. One of them concentrated
on using her mouth and tongue to manipulate the shaft that she
held in her mouth; another induced her hands to press her breasts
together around the penis of the second Crewmember; another
caused her to press her thighs together, squeezing the third
Crew'er's member and the fourth relaxed muscles as the Crew'er
underneath her began to slide his erection into her ass.
she gently nibbled on the head of she tweaked her nipples as
his erection, running her tongue she firmly pressed her
over the head and then sucking it breasts against his shaft,
into her mouth, moving her head rubbing up and down, feeling
back and pressing her tongue his thighs press against her
against him, massaging the shaft ribs as she breathed deeply,
with her lips his hands flat against hers
her thigh muscles twitched as he he lubricated the passage
slid the engorged length of his with a finger coated in
cock into her, felt his balls liquid soap, and with a
slapping against her perineum rotary motion of his hips,
with each thrust, felt the head slowly slid his column into
of his penis sliding over the her rear, the head pulsing
inner lips and her clitoris as it passed the tightness
and then deep within her of the opening and pushed in
She gradually became aware of a vague fifth consciousness
hovering behind the others, co-ordinating them, trying to match
the bobbing motions of her head to the sinuous writhing of her
hips as she slid into the third Crew'er and out of the fourth,
reaching out with her fingertips to massage the shaft of the
Crew'er poised between her breasts. From this fifth awareness,
she sensed that the Crew'ers were linked together into a single
mind, as they must be when they are working. This fifth mind
also sensed that the Crew were co-ordinating themselves,
conspiring against her wishes to bring her to a climax before
they did. In time, she realised what was happening, and took
steps to prevent coming, as she had noted that her performance
tended to deteriorate after her first orgasm. Wavering on the
edge of the incline that would irrevocably lead to climax, she
mentally squared her shoulders and drew her four streams of
consciousness closer together.
Her four seperate selves dipped and dived around each other like
ribbons twisting on a maypole, as she fought to bring the Crew to
a climax which they were obviously avoiding just as intently as
she was avoiding hers. She realised that she'd have to break up
their internal rhythm, to divide into four seperate minds
completely and break all coordination between them, which was
dangerous, as it often effected permanent changes in personality,
assuming that the original consciousness could be reasserted.
However, this was something she'd had a lot of practice at: she
had spent hours at her work terminal, divided into three minds;
one performing her regular mundane duties, another assimilating
an instruction tape and the third chatting with a friend on
KetherNet.
Her jaw quivered and her hips shook as her minds disassociated,
and she renewed her attack on the leader with a snarl.
she could sense his breathing she managed to introduce an
patterns change as she dragged acceptable variety of arrhythmia
him closer to orgasm, as she between the contractions of her
scraped the sides of his penis vaginal lips and the muscles of
with her teeth and pressed the her anus as the two Crew'ers
tip of her tongue into the slit alternately lifted her up and
at the end. he suddenly thrust pressed her down into the soft
in as far as he could, the head sponge-foam mattress. it was
pressing against the base of her this disruption to the
tongue. she managed to grab a established beat that they were
deep breath just before the dancing to that threatened to
bulging end of his erection tip the two less experienced
sealed the passage. this was Crewmembers over the edge.
something she had trained she spread her legs slightly,
herself to deal with as well. allowing some of her wetness to
she wrapped one hand around the drip down between her buttocks
base of the penis that was and lubricate the rear passage.
being thrust between her
breasts, squeezing it.............and wrapped her thumb and
and with the other, grasped the forefinger around it, just
balls of the Crewleader, and behind the head, stretching it
tugged down sharply. with a out, rubbing the head against
small grunt of pain, he began to her erect nipples. she spread
withdraw, only to find that the her fingers out, pressing her
feeling of her lips moving down thumb into the spot just below
the length of his shaft had the head, and massaged the
brought him to orgasm. she felt shaft with her index and middle
his penis jerk violently as he fingers. she found that she
desperately flexed his perineal could elicit gasps of pleasure
muscles in a last-ditch attempt from the second Crew'er by
to stave off the inevitable, but pressing upwards with her thumb
she had his balls in one hand at the same time as yanking
and the end of his cock held down and forwards. he barely
firmly between her lips. he maintained the presence of mind
groaned as his hips twitched to keep massaging her nipples as
involuntarily; he tried to he shuddered and came, spurting
withdraw, but she had her teeth pearly fluid over her chest and
around the crown of his penis. the base of her throat.
The leader came, shuddering and arching his back as the
sensation surged through him. The slight differential between
his orgasm and that of the Crew'er sitting astride her was
somehow imparted to the two who were servicing her lower half;
they also came within seconds of each other, one of them pulling
out just before climax, spurting over her belly, while the other
fiercely ground his erection into her rear with a series of
short thrusts, ejaculating deep within her. She rubbed the
sticky fluid into her belly with one hand, and down between her
breasts with the other, while throwing her head back, taking the
leader's member further within her mouth (it was unusual, but his
emission tasted less like semen than cinnamon-spiced molasses...
she assumed it was another bio-modification).
They lay there for a few moments, huddled together in a warm,
sweaty mass, all breathing in time; then the crew slowly slid out
of her, trailing fluids from various orifices. Anya realised
that she had no idea of what to do next; getting up, getting
dressed and leaving seemed rude. As it happened, the decision
was taken from her, as the crew picked her up and carried her to
the shower area. There was a sunken bath behind a locked panel,
which the leader paid for by putting his wrist against the reader
and depositing two WCH with the establishment. They carefully
placed her in the water, got in with her and while three of the
crew held her securely, gently stroking her and applying the
occasional kiss, the leader submerged (he could either filter
oxygen from the water or he had his own internal supply - another
bio-modification), positioned himself between her thighs and
began to tease her labia with his tongue. She smiled to herself
and suddenly wondered if these men were actually Crew after all;
it was possible that they were applying for positions with BuProc
as she was. Another possibility came to mind as the leader
thrust his tongue into her, grasping her hips with his broad
hands; they might be a Bureau of Procuration Evaluation team.
She arched her back, tensing against their firm grip as the
leader circled her outer lips, spiraling in to focus his
attention on her clitoris. She flinched slightly as he used his
feelers to part her labia, darting his rough tongue in, bringing
it up and out over her clitoris with a bobbing motion of his
head. He wrapped his arms around her thighs as she began to
thrust back, warm waves of pleasure surging up her belly, lagging
milliseconds behind each stroke of his tongue. He thrust his
head directly into the juncture of her thighs, gently sucking on
her vagina, pushing his lips between hers. The other Crew'ers
were also applying their tongues with stimulating intent, teasing
her nipples, her earlobes, occasionally daring to kiss her lips
and massage the muscles along her jawline with their mouths.
The leader released his grip on her legs, sliding his hands up
her behind, massaging her back, then moving his hands down her
legs, stroking the taut thigh muscles which quivered with her
useless efforts to avert the orgasm which now overtook her like
some roaring predator running down a helpless gazelle. She
surrendered to the feeling as it swept over her, arching her back
and making her gasp with shock. The leader kept at it, his
tongue finding some unusual rhythm which brought a second orgasm
in behind the fading echoes of the first, something which she had
dreamt about but never imagined she would experience. She
caught the eye of one of the Crew, grasping her arm; he gave her
a familiar, reassuring smile, and she knew: they were BuProc
operatives. As her second orgasm smoldered and faded in the
pit of her stomach, the leader emerged from the water and kissed
his way up her stomach, between her breasts, along her throat and
to where she could taste the faint scent of her own excitation.
`Welcome to the team.' he said.
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