by Amber Jayne
But those experiences had taught her something about jail cells.
Not shifting on the cot, but quietly tensing her muscles, she looked up at the other person in the cell and said, with a trace of steel in her words, “I’m not amused. I’m annoyed. You haven’t shut you mouth since they brought you here, Laveena.”
The woman’s eyes had a natural carnal glint to them and they opened wide now, with a dangerous fire dancing within. She pressed her full lips together as she glared at Arvra. She put her hands on her hips, elbows akimbo.
“My name,” she said, over-enunciating every syllable, “is Lavinia.”
It suddenly struck Arvra as ludicrous and she burst into full laughter. Nevertheless, she kept an eye on her cellmate, lest her eruption spark a truly angry reaction. After a moment, however, Lavinia (a much prettier name, Arvra decided), shrugged her somewhat broad shoulders and offered a chuckle of her own. It had a nice sound, rumbly and rich. Arvra further judged that her earlier silent estimation of the woman as fat was unwarranted. It was only that she was curvy, with flaring hips evident even beneath the coarsely fibered robe. Her hair was full and dark, unlike the wild multicolored tufts of Arvra’s hairdo. She’d always tended toward the strange when it came to her hair. As a girl of eight or so she had once shaved her head, just to see what it looked like. All the boys had made fun of her. She hadn’t cared a bit.
“Well, okay, Lavinia. I think we’re going to be here awhile. You might as well make yourself comfortable.” Arvra gestured to the opposite cot. Then, on impulse, she added, “Why not lose that robe? It looks kind of scratchy.” Really, though, she wanted a better look at Lavinia’s figure.
The flames of anger that had flickered in her eyes a moment ago seemed to transmute themselves as Lavinia paused to regard Arvra. A knowingness moved her lips. Arvra hadn’t expected so astute a response. Then again, whatever else she was, this woman was apparently no fool with regard to certain matters.
Lavinia pulled on her robe’s sash until the garment parted. Following a graceful roll of her shoulders, it fell about her ankles. Arvra drew in a breath, held it briefly. Releasing it, she felt a quivery sensation moving through her. It wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary—she had often found other females attractive. But the force of her reaction was surprising. She counted back, tried to remember the last time she had been with a woman. Last time? she wondered with a little dismay. Did that mean she had already mentally committed herself to this time?
Well, she thought wryly, she did know something about passing the time in jail cells.
The attire of diaphanous fantasy revealed by the robe’s absence wasn’t dissimilar to what Arvra herself wore. It definitely gave her a good view of this woman’s body, which was ample but decidedly in proportion, and incontestably becoming. Lavinia was letting her have a good view too, being very deliberate about it. Her mouth was quirked into a smile, her eyes alight. Moments ago she had been brimming with wounded pride. Now she appeared playful, almost kittenish, though there was little about her that seemed genuinely innocent.
Lavinia made an elaborate pantomime of moving toward the cell’s other cot, as Arvra had recommended a moment before. Before she planted her ripe and nearly bare backside on it, Arvra said with her best approximation of a seductive purr, “No, no, sweetie. It’s more cozy over here.” And she patted the barely-there padding beside her, sitting up on the thin cot as she did so.
For a moment Lavinia looked shocked, but it was only playacting. She sashayed the two steps to Arvra’s cot, turned and daintily sat. Arvra took a look past her to their cage’s door, still seeing and hearing no one in the corridor beyond. Well, if those Guard bastards were going to leave them to their own devices, they would damn well devise something! A wicked grin pulled on her lips, shifted her jaw.
Lavinia was sitting close, the soft bare flesh of her thigh just grazing Arvra’s more muscular leg. Arvra felt excitement still rising in her. “My name is Arvra Finean.” Stupid time for a formal introduction, she thought, putting it down to the delightful, quivery nervousness she felt.
Full lips moved, communicating mirth. Eyes glittered, conveying unmistakable arousal. “My full name’s Lavinia Jamavla.”
“Pretty name.” Arvra was leaning toward her. “For a pretty woman.” Then their lips were touching, that initial wondrous contact, full of sparks and jeopardy and possibilities. Lavinia’s thicker lips seemed to envelop hers, melting over them, warming her. Their mouths moved in a sudden harmony. Little of the sweet delicacy of the moment was lost when Lavinia’s tongue emerged and Arvra met it with her own. In a remote corner of her mind, she wondered if this female could taste the fading flavor of Urna’s cock in her mouth from earlier this evening. But an instant later the Weapon had vanished from her thoughts, and she was only here, with this woman, taking what solace she could find, stealing comfort from an otherwise discomfiting night.
Lavinia’s hands were larger than her own, but they had a babyish softness to them, which felt good when she stroked the side of Arvra’s face, even as their kiss deepened and deepened. Their tongues tangled with a greater urgency now. Their mouths were grinding wetly. Lavinia poured hot breath into Arvra’s body, a rising sigh trailing behind.
Arvra slid her fingers into the woman’s full, rich hair. It was almost as if its dark color gave it an added density. Her fingertips and knuckles combed slowly through it as though it were black cream. A fragrance rose from it, something refined and flowery. Maybe they anointed her before she was sent in to Rune. Maybe the Shadowflash liked the scent. Arvra certainly found it appealing.
She lifted her other hand and set it on one of Lavinia’s bounteous breasts. The nipple was fiercely erect, poking among the mesh of her draping little garment. She squeezed the full mound, amazed at its firmness. Lavinia’s mouth opened wider still as her ongoing sigh became a raspy moaning.
Following the glowing points of instinct that led the way ahead, Arvra slid open Lavinia’s gauzy gown and dropped her mouth down onto Lavinia’s breast. Her tongue tantalized the thick nipple, then she caught the bud with her teeth, being gentle and cautious about it, aware of the woman’s responses. Lavinia’s back arched and the moan twisted into a cry.
Arvra bit harder. She moved to Lavinia’s other breast, devouring, scraping at the nipple with the mild serration of her two top front teeth. Lavinia’s body heaved on the cot. She caught Arvra with a cupping hand at the base of her skull, and Arvra crushed her mouth harder onto the mound.
Hands were tearing at Arvra’s own filmy garment—literally. She heard fabric ripping and didn’t care. Heat chugged in her body. Moisture slickened her pussy, already overspilling. The shreds of her clothing were on the cell’s stone floor. So were Lavinia’s. Wildness blazed in the dark-haired woman’s eyes. Her mouth was alive with a fearsome predatory grin as she threw herself full-length atop Arvra, the heavier body pressing her into the cot. At no point did Lavinia remark on, or even seem to notice, Arvra’s scars.
The warmth of the female’s flesh was intoxicating. More than that, it was almost a hallucinatory sensation, a crazed carnal sensory experience, an excitement innately different from what the body of a male could arouse in her. Lavinia felt vast and soft, and her flattening mass was welcome, a sweet smothering of womanly sexuality.
Their mouths found each other again and the kiss was feral and savaging. Arvra closed her hands over the meaty globes of Lavinia’s ass, squeezing, fingers digging. Her fingertips discovered the delectable valley between, found the dripping wetness, grazed the brim of her sweet pucker.
Lavinia writhed on top of her at the contact. Teeth clenched and spittle sprayed. In an animalistic growl she managed to say, “Yeah, fuck! Finger my ass. Do that, do—”
The fragrant reek of her pussy filled Arvra’s nostrils as she reached around to seriously delve a fingertip into the woman’s eager netherhole. Lavinia’s crotch was grinding crazily on Arvra’s pelvic bone, more pronounced through her tauter flesh. She worked her
finger into the female’s ass, fitting it inside. She sank it in up to one knuckle, then to the next. There she wriggled the digit about, feeling the clutching ring.
Lavinia, humid and heavy and beautiful atop Arvra, spasmed through a sudden orgasm. Her writhings nearly spilled her off the cot. A moment later, dazed and glazed eyes were slowly blinking above Arvra.
“So good…” Lavinia murmured. Her gaze abruptly focused. “You like it too?”
“I…”
Lavinia levered herself up. Sweat shined on her full breasts. She was wearing that predator’s grin again. “Roll over,” she panted.
Why not? She rolled over onto her stomach, excitement still moving in heated rivulets over her body. She craned back her head as Lavinia moved in behind her, drawing apart her legs, fingers parting the halves of her trim buttocks. Then the woman with the full, dark hair was lowering her avid mouth.
Arvra gasped as the tongue touched the ring of her ass. Lavinia displayed no reluctance, no fear. Her tongue tip drilled into Arvra’s hole. It was astonishing how deep she got. The eel-like sensation was unlike anything Arvra could remember. Surely some lover must have rimmed her at some time in her life, but she couldn’t recall it ever being this intense, this earnest. Lavinia was practically reaming her with her tongue. Pleasure rose and rose. Arvra’s pussy streamed in sympathy. The wet sounds of Lavinia’s ravenous slurping filled the tight stone space. The rising elation abruptly surged in Arvra, overrunning boundaries and hauling her along into an unexpected come of her own, one that spilled from this unanticipated source, this dark pleasure center.
Her cry echoed. Lavinia’s mouth came away and a subtle chill teased Arvra’s moistened hole. Once again, a bit limply this time, she looked back over her shoulder. Lavinia’s grin was still in place. Her eyes were precious stones reflecting an inferno.
Haste took hold. They must do this now, Arvra thought with burning clarity. They must see this thing all the way through, to its molten ending.
She hopped up, beckoned the larger woman to lie down on the cot, on her back. Then, as if climbing atop some strange conveyance’s saddle, Arvra mounted the woman’s body and reversed, dropping her already sopping pussy toward the waiting mouth, while diving at the other female’s own glistening folds.
The taste of her womanhood was nectar. It bolted a furious energy through Arvra. Her tongue raced along Lavinia’s cleft, parting her. Dark curls tickled Arvra’s nose. Her tongue probed deeper, harder. She treated Lavinia’s clitoris as she’d earlier treated her nipples, nipping, grazing, stimulating, then drinking up the rewarding juices hungrily.
Lavinia was eating her out with equal ferocity, and this was no soft misapprehended imagining of female sex. This was the hard carnality of human bodies, the needs of the flesh, the gorging and gobbling and greed of a woman’s mouth. Lavinia’s tongue, working below, swirled forcefully in Arvra’s pussy, batting at her clit, catching the sensitive bud between her lips, then, perhaps imitating Arvra, with her teeth, applying exquisite pressure.
Arvra bucked atop. Lavinia shuddered beneath. Hips jerked to a mutual rhythm. Lips and tongues never tired. Sweat oiled their bodies and skin slipped on skin.
Cries of nearly simultaneous bliss were muffled against equitably drenched groins. The pleasure took hold of every part of Arvra’s body. It lit her with a rapturous glow, brighter than the sunlight that never quite seemed to fall directly on her border town. Fulfillment poured through her, streaming out onto Lavinia’s enthusiastic tongue.
Lavinia’s pussy expelled its liquid ecstasy as well, hips vaulting toward the cool gray ceiling, and Arvra was there to take the honeyed elixir, swallowing all she could, sating herself and her lover.
Eventually they unbound themselves from each other. Lavinia, chuckling, looked somewhat stupefied. Arvra oddly felt a twinge of embarrassment. For herself? For this woman? Neither seemed likely. Maybe it was simply the lingering shame of finding herself in a jail cell. That was part of what the Guard did. They tried to mortify you, take away your humanity. Well, too late for that, Arvra thought with a happy, tired smile as Lavinia clomped over to the opposite cot and threw herself down onto it and, apparently, instantly fell into sleep.
Arvra curled onto her side atop her own cot, feeling sleep coming for her as well, hoping it would claim her while the heat of sex still warmed her body. The Guard couldn’t take everything from you. Neither could the Lux, who controlled them—who controlled everything. Neither could the Weapon with the pale hair and the fey features.
Nobody and nothing, she thought as she shut her eyes, could take it all away.
* * * * *
They had taken everything from him.
The thought, new in its stark articulation, though familiar as a subject he’d nursed for some long while, beat in Urna’s skull as he raced on foot through the city streets. He was not winded, even after dashing a considerable distance through the streetlight-glowing nighttime.
The Lux lived well. The homes lining the streets down which he sprinted were like little fortresses, with looming walls and soaring gates. They looked out on the night through the eyes of magnificent arched windows and from the vantages of grand terraces. These were places of vast comfort and lavishness. Inside the great houses, as well as along the avenues, electric lights burned. No power rationing in these districts. The solar arrays collected the sunlight and transformed it into electricity through a process of which Urna knew nothing. The light vaguely reminded him of the fungal phosphorescence that the Black Ship exuded.
He was escaping through the city. Behind, the alarms had finally wound down. The alert, though, was surely still on, and he was no doubt being actively pursued.
Very likely the one person best suited to tracking him would be set on his trail.
Rune…
But Urna had his speed, his stamina. He would’ve preferred the streets to be a little darker, but so far he’d managed to make his mad dash without drawing undue attention. His clothing was nondescript, the sort of outfit a worker might wear. Hopefully any member of the Lux, roused enough by the wailing alarms to glance from a window, would merely think him a menial rushing to attend some urgent repair. He was counting on the indifference of these wealthy fucks.
With the alarms at last silent, the city was still. He found very few signs of activity as he ran past the gated house fronts. Just the occasional liveried servant tending some chore out of doors. Urna was barely spared a look.
He still had the firearm with him and he would use it if necessary. He listened above the steady tattoo of his bootfalls and the even heaving of his breaths, straining to detect sounds of pursuit. It would be the Guard. That would be the logical move. The Guard handled domestic disturbances. Urna was military, true, but this was the Safe, and the Guard were supposed to deal with whatever happened within the borders of the Safe. That wouldn’t stop Rune from coming after him, though. Urna thought it not at all unlikely that Aphael Chav himself would have personally dispatched the Shadowflash to find his wayward Weapon.
They’d taken everything from him. Yes. They had. Who the “they” were in that blunt statement, however, Urna wasn’t sure. But his memories had certainly been tampered with. He’d known this. Rune had known it too. Childhood was a hopeless blur. Adolescence was hazy at best. Only his life as a soldier had any real clarity and even that was muddled somewhat by the drugs the doctors continuously fed him.
Urna patted the pocket where the last of his pills were. If he was jonesing for the dope he couldn’t feel it yet. Adrenaline was serving as a neat substitute right now. Later, though…
They had done something to him. They had taken his life. They had robbed him of the reassurance of his memories, of whatever life he had lived before becoming a Weapon. Why? Why had they done it? To shape him into what they wanted, probably. And this, then, must be what they wanted. The superhuman Weapon, the slayer of Passengers. Champion of the people.
Teeth appeared in a wicked grin that cut across Urna’s
face. “They” might be the officers who ran the Weapon/Shadowflash program, might be the Lux, might be the Toplux himself. Urna didn’t know, though he intended to find out.
At least, he thought as he grinned harder, he had given his manipulators a shock tonight by going over the compound’s fence.
By now he had crossed several miles of the city. From views of this Lux stronghold which he’d gotten when he and Rune were aloft with their wings, he had a rough idea of the scope of the city. A map would’ve served him well but he’d had no way of getting hold of one. He would manage. Right now he was only concerned with putting as much distance as possible between himself and the Citadel. Rune could detect him within a mile’s radius. But outside of that he would be invisible to the Shadowflash.
Rune. Rune. They’d taken everything from him too, but evidently he didn’t care. Or at least Rune was perfectly willing to go along with the life that their manipulators had constructed.
Poor deluded fucker.
Urna threw off the impulse toward pity. He came to a street corner and abruptly halted. There was a wheeled vehicle idling at the curb a short distance away. Its electric engine hummed quietly. Its hatch was open.
His heart made a steady hammering in his chest. Even with his considerable physical endurance he felt the strain in his leg muscles. Sweat dotted his forehead and he drew several long breaths as he scouted the street. A door in the spiked gate of a nearby palatial home had been left wide as well. Perhaps the car’s driver was making a delivery. Stupid to leave the vehicle unattended—although, not really, he immediately amended. This was the city of the Lux, those who wielded political power within the Safe. No one here would be expecting a crime to be committed.
