by Noah Rain
“If I let you in my pussy, then you’d win,” Carmen said. “But I know you like a challenge, Konnor. And so do I. You’re not going to fuck my pussy. You’re going to fuck my ass.” She leaned in, and wrapped one of her hands around the front of my throat, squeezing firmly so the blood rushed to my head. “It’s tight. And warm. And waiting. We’ll see who cums first.”
“You’re on,” I said with a smile.
Carmen released me, and turned around, presenting herself to me as she stretched out in child’s pose, only we weren’t planning on doing yoga. I brought my legs back under me and crawled forward, placing my hands on either one of Carmen’s caramel hips. My penis stood out straight. No matter how tired I was, it was impossible to resist such a temptation.
“I’m not as easy to bruise as Scarlett and Darla,” Carmen said, arching her back like a cat. “But you can try your best.”
My eyes traced a path from her raven dark hair down her muscular back, and up to her oval, swaying hips. Her pussy was dripping. It wasn’t pink like the other girls, but tanned.
I focused on the place she wanted me to. The small hole a few inches above that wet pussy. Clean and ready. At my mercy. It was almost enough to make me burst right then and there.
I bent down, leaned in and licked her, collecting her juices on my tongue and bringing them up to the other hole. Carmen spread her knees wider apart, moaning in anticipation, and I straightened, slapped her once on the right cheek, once on the left, and then brought the dripping tip of my penis up to her ass.
She rocked back, unable to wait any longer, and massaged the bottom of my shaft with her cheeks. I gripped her firm, squeezing both meaty hips, and then pressed in. The tip of my penis slipped into her ass with wet ease, but then I went slow as Carmen half-moaned, half-whimpered.
I smiled. Carmen was the strongest of the Vixens in some ways. Mentally and physically. But being the dominant woman of the house, she couldn’t help but wish for someone more dominant to come along, and put her in her place. I was more than willing to take on the role.
Carmen tried to pull away from me, to ease into things, but I held her firm, and pushed in farther, until half of my cock was submerged inside of her. It was so tight, I felt my shaft pulsing against her walls. She whimpered, and bit the blankets, caught between pulling away from me and pushing herself further back.
“Make me scream, Konnor.”
I did. I made Carmen scream, thrusting into her ass, pumping my cock. I slapped her ass, and then reached forward with my left hand, wrapping a handful of her hair and pulling her head back.
Carmen moaned and whimpered and yelled. Soon, her sounds of pain turned to pleasure, and then to ecstasy. She was delirious, crying and laughing as I pounded her from behind. We didn’t change positions. We didn’t take breaks to lick the juices from one another, or to admire each other’s physiques. This wasn’t love-making, or even having fun. I don’t even know if you could call it sex.
This was primal. Animalistic. I was sweating, and Carmen was sweating. She started to cum. She couldn’t even speak or hold her head up, and when I finally exploded, I filled her with cum.
Carmen sank forward onto her stomach, and I followed her down, easing my cock in farther as she moaned and sighed. I kept it there a while as we breathed against one another.
“You win,” Carmen said after a while. “You fucking win.”
It wouldn’t be the only round Carmen and I would have over the course of the next few weeks. I won some. She won some. But neither of us ever felt like we had lost.
Unlike my occasional escapades with Nina and Darla, my … bonding sessions, for lack of a better term, with Carmen tended to be solo, just like my more varied, passionate encounters with Scarlett. It was a perfect arrangement, as Carmen preferred to fuck in the morning, while Scarlett reserved her hunger for the deep nights.
I only saw Sascha in passing. Sometimes at the breakfast table, where she was relatively quiet. When she did speak, she only talked shop, using coded terminology to refer to ongoing missions, new missions … essentially, anything involving a mission.
Sascha and Scarlett went on an increasing number of outings together, and Scarlett’s mood continued to sour as a result. I tried to press her on a few occasions, but each press threatened to push her further and further away.
So I focused on what I could control, and on what I was good at, which happened to be what Carmen was good at. Sascha recognized the asset she had in me. A former League champion who was relatively impervious to harm could come in handy when it came to intimidation. Carmen made a few more house calls on Sascha’s behalf. None of them ended up getting as serious as that initial one; it seemed word had got out about a certain company using off-duty Enforcers as private security, and the Suit we had roughed up ended up cast out by the very system he had been working to preserve. We did have a run-in with another Guild. I think they called themselves the Rippers. That one had left a few cuts. They didn’t use guns, but they had used blades. If they’d killed us, none would have been the wiser, but, well, we won, and the weapons had been reported to the Enforcers, who locked the company down and impounded the whole gang.
Things seemed to be going well. More and more Suits seemed to bow down to the wrath of the Vixens, and many of them started doing so without a fight. I found it peculiar that I had yet to run into one of the so-called Pearls of Silk City, but I supposed they spent their time focusing on other aspects of the system, leaving the penthouse meeting rooms to their faux husbands. I guess I should have considered the fact that some of the Suits were already in league with Sascha, and our house calls were little more than friendly reminders of where they stood. More importantly, I should have considered the unfriendly Suits that rolled over and exposed their bellies.
But. Hey, I was having too much fun to delve too far into the potential consequences. Could you blame me? I was either sleeping with beautiful double agents by day and fighting Guilders by night, or the opposite. Either way, I felt like more of a winner than I ever had before.
Of course, word was spreading that the Vixens were no longer operating solely on blackmail and Nina’s rumored ‘Suggestive Formulas,’ as they were known among the Guilds, but that they were taking a more direct approach to relationship management on the back of their alliance with ‘The Bull.’
As nicknames went, it wasn’t the most complex or original, but I had to admit, I kind of liked the sound of it. I was a good fighter. I had been for a long time, but with Nina’s increasing testing showing just how far I could push my body, my confidence was at an all-time high, which meant my chances of losing were at an all-time low.
I knew retaliation was inevitable. Sascha was being too greedy and too bold. She was flaunting her Guild/Syndicate in public, and she was coming dangerously close to upsetting the unspoken, agreed-upon balance between the companies of Silk City.
A system could not remain a system with so much chaos in its core, and, despite the fact that I was small potatoes in the grand scheme of things, the shadowy powers that be had decided that I was the only thing that had changed of late. Thus, one or more Suits, Pearls, Guild Captains or even Syndicate leaders, for all I knew, had called in some favors, and decided to take out the trash.
They picked a day when I was alone. Sascha was taking the week off from sending Carmen and I on house calls, Darla’s insatiable sexual appetite had been satiated for the time being, Scarlett was off on one of her covert operations that I assumed to be political in nature, and Nina had grown frustrated with me during that morning’s battery of formula tests.
As it turned out, Silk City wasn’t all that bad once you got to know it. Sure, everyone smiled at you through their teeth, and you couldn’t trust anyone from the cab drivers to the bell men to the high-end waitresses, since all of them were playing the same credit game as the people across the river, only these ones felt like they had something t
o lose. But, with that said, there was a lot to like. Good food. Good coffee. Great scenery, if you know what I mean.
I was leaving a café on the north end of town and getting ready to cross to the east, to explore the featureless, black glass skyscrapers in that part of town, when an armored car barreled around the corner, ran another vehicle off the road, and came to a rubber-burning, roaring halt in front of me as I crossed the street.
I froze, latte in hand, looking through the tinted windshield to try to get a look at the driver. The truck idled for a few pregnant moments, and then a half dozen doors opened from seemingly every seam in the tank on wheels.
Enforcers poured out of the truck. I dropped my latte, looked around and found that a street that should not have had fewer than a hundred pedestrians on any given corner was utterly deserted. Quite by design, I assumed.
I raised my hands and tucked them behind my head, flaring my elbows out and adopting an easy stance.
“What’s the message?” I asked. “I’ll pass it along to her.”
The Enforcers were arrayed in a line of ten. They wore the same sort of armor and glass as the ones I had fought with Carmen a few weeks before, but these ones seemed even more humorless. One curious difference was the fact that these ones were holding what looked to be guns. I could only assume they were tasers or tranquilizers, since Enforcers didn’t use guns. Nobody did but the world military, and they didn’t operate unless there was a rebellion to be put down.
I was feeling uncomfortable under their dark, emotionless scrutiny, but I wasn’t feeling worried right up until an eleventh Enforcer climbed out of the truck and walked through the line. This one stepped in front of the others and took his helmet off.
It took me a few seconds to put the pieces together. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. A few missing teeth—he was grinning as he levied the taser or tranq gun at me.
“Barter?”
“Bingo,” he said, and he pulled the trigger.
Despite the dark alleys of Jaxton and the violence my life had entailed, I hadn’t heard gunshots since I was a kid. That was undoubtedly a gunshot. I didn’t realize I had closed my eyes until I opened them, and saw a thin trail of white steam curling from the barrel of Barter’s rifle. A real rifle.
“G … gun?” I asked, sounding like an idiot and not caring. I felt something. It was dull, but it felt familiar. Something I felt years ago, and often.
It was pain.
I looked down, and saw that my white shirt was dyed red. There was a dark splotch of blood in the center of my chest, and my silver belt buckle looked bronze.
I felt woozy, and I felt angry.
“You fucking piece of—“
Before I could finish the sentence, and before Barter fired another shot, another high-pitched sound of screaming tires cut over the idling of the truck. I turned, unsteady on my feet, and saw a silver bullet of a car warping around the corner at my back like liquid metal. This one was heading right for me, and I didn’t have enough wits about me to get out of the way.
Lucky for me, the driver cut the wheel hard and peeled in front of me, and I hit the pavement on a delay as eleven guns roared. Bullets pinged off of the opposite side of the car.
“Kayde! Kayde! Up you fucking idiot!”
I felt hands grabbing at me, peeling me up off the pavement. I looked to either side and dimly recognized a dark-skinned, dark-haired woman in white, and a blue-haired one in a matching outfit. They hurled me into the back of the car, where a third woman was waiting. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, but she was a lot prettier than Barter.
“Drive!”
That car was made of sturdy stuff.
I don’t know how long we drove. It felt long enough to take us out of Silk City, but I was fighting consciousness, trying to orient myself. One of the women ripped my shirt off and set to work on me, scalpel in hand. I felt nauseous and got sick.
When I woke up, I groaned, and then winced and let out a small puppy yelp as my chest seized with pain.
I tried to wrap my arms around my chest, but realized they were chained up above my head, spread in a Y pose. Thankfully, my feet were flat on the ground. My chest was wrapped in bandages, and I still had my pants and boots on. I felt like I was dying, or coming back to life.
I was in some kind of converted loft. Or. No. The only sunlight coming in was coming down in a beam over my head, bathing me in soft white light. The walls were bricks. There was a red tint over everything in the middle distance. Red and blue, like police lights. I think I was underground.
“Cali. He’s awake.”
I squinted, seeing a figure sitting on a couch against the wall across the way. I was tucked into an alcove, and another figure walked around the bend, coming toward me.
She was wearing silver pajamas. Designer. Her hair was down. Shoulder-length. She looked much less bitchy in the mundane setting than she had at the club a few weeks ago.
“Ca … Calisto?” I managed. My throat was parched.
“In the flesh,” she said, crossing her arms and tilting her hips. Why did they all do that?
“Wh … where am—“
“That’s need-to-know,” Calisto said. “And right now, I decide who needs to know more. I pick me.” She took a step toward me. She cupped my cheek. I winced, but she was surprisingly gentle.
“What … what do you want from me?”
“Oh, Konnor,” Calisto said. “I only want to talk.”
Man. This city was going to be the death of me.
