Cyberspunk 2069 Bk. 02

Mia Murcia is a 27-year-old Colombian migrant, and ambitious "Ultimate Battle of the Sexes" wrestler, living in the New England region of North America. This series follows her trials and triumphs in the corporate cyber-future of the states, where one bad deal or unlucky day could land you in contracted sexual servitude to repay your debts.

She and her biologically enhanced brother, Manny, fight and fuck their way through life inside the ring, and out - alongside a colorful cast of friends and foes who are equally committed to dominance and survival. It's skill or fill in 2069, and the threadbare leash of mercy frays a little more each day.

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. While the story may refer to real places, none of the scenes depicted have any relation to past or current people and events. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Kink warnings: sexual slavery, sexual aggression, dubious consent

All sexually-active characters are 18+

(Feedback welcome and appreciated! But dislike doesn't need to be insulting. If this isn't your bag of bananas that's cool, no need to squash them up for everyone else.)

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Chapter 1

Riya Commons Shopping Center

Kendall Park, New Jersey

June 15th, 2069

3:47 P.M.

"Oh please! Please cover me!" The spunky ginger chained outside the dessert shop whined, bouncing on her knees while a couple of graybeards jerked off in front of her. She had fat, freckled titties and a round, mascara-streaked face. Her feet were shackled to a concrete post, but she had free use of her hands, and enough slack in her restraints to move around a bit.

The geezer to her right popped first, sending a thick, white ribbon up her forehead and into her fiery frizz. She squealed with delight and stuck out her tongue, catching the next rope up her nose and a third against the back of her throat. As she choked on that creamy bullseye, the other old-timer pressed his saggy cock head to her cheek and spilled a sackful of slime down her chin that plopped onto her wobbling cleavage. She shivered and cooed, wearing an expression of sloppy bliss while her donors zipped up and went inside the store.

"Guess they like both kinds of frosting," Manny remarked as we passed the sign for "DeeDee's Sweet Treats" at the start of the strip mall.

"Think she's DeeDee?" I asked, half-kidding, while the ginger lifted her tits to her wet mouth for cleaning.

"Nah, just promo - there's a different girl out there every time I come here." Manny was taking me to one of his regular mod shops to look at spring-jaws, after what we'd witnessed in Allie's match against Brawnswick the month prior. If that huge fuck had impaled me like he did her, I'd have been slurping liquefied meals for the rest of my life. So, even though spring joints were hella pricey, I decided to check out some options.

We sauntered through a pair of gliding sensor doors into "Rico's Home of Chrome," which looked a bit like a fancy pawn shop on the inside. There were glass cases all over, displaying shiny synthetic replacements for all manner of human parts. Knees, eyeballs, whole entire arms - and most prominently: big, floppy phalluses. Manny led the way to the counter at the far wall, where a tall, gangly Caribbean man with greasy black hair was tapping away at a glowing keyboard.

"¡Rico! ¿Que haces?" Manny dropped his hands onto the clear countertop, grinning like a wolf. He was wearing skinny chinos that wrapped his thighs like a second skin, and a stylish linen shirt with the top buttons left open.

"Manuel, been a minute," the owner greeted my brother with a few palm slaps and knuckle taps, leaning onto the counter and chewing what looked like a tiny screwdriver. He regarded me with a nod, eyes never traveling down from my cropped green sweater.

"This is my sister, Mia - she's looking for that spring joint I mentioned," Manny gripped my shoulder and continued playfully, "she's all grown up and looking to mod like the big boys."

"You're big everywhere except in here," I tapped his temple, below the silvery access points where his brain connected with his internal components. Rico snuffed at that.

"Sure, sure - to be honest I don't carry a lot of femme-lete gear, here. But I have some spring joints in from Taiwan you can check out, back row on that side," he pointed to a section behind some tall shelves and I nodded.

"I'll meet you there, Mimi - wanna see about this damn knee," my brother lifted the offending joint, and Rico invited him around the counter. I meandered past collections of low-tech prosthetic limbs, shelves full of neatly-wrapped biocables, and a bunch of scanning equipment for at-home checkups. The wall Rico had indicated seemed pretty neglected in comparison with the rest of the store, showcasing just a handful of cheap-looking lube dispensers, some gaudy anal tail inserts, and the spring joints I was looking for.

They looked small and unimpressive, sitting there on the broad white shelf behind the locked glass doors. I frowned at the appearance of their quality - or lack thereof. I was about to go back to the front and tell Manny to forget it, when a silky voice surprised me.

"You don't want this guy's cheap crap, you'll end up with an implant infection and no warranty," a short-ish woman with her hair pulled into two little black buns was inspecting some eye implants on the shelves across from the spring joints.

"I'm sorry?" I looked at the tattoos I could see on her slender arms - an empty birdcage on one, and some Latin writing on the other.

"Don't be. Mods are expensive, anyone selling them cheap is a hustler." The woman turned and looked me over with pretty, brown, Asian eyes. There didn't seem to be a pupil in the irises, just a cozy, chocolate disc adrift in a clean white pool. "I'm Lane," she extended a graceful hand, "I've got a shop down the way"

"Mia," I clasped her soft hand with my callused one, "do you sell mods too?"

"Sort of - I deal more in decoration than utility. But there's always some overlap. Wanna take a look?"

"Uh, sure - yeah," I swiped some hair from my face and then followed as she headed for the door. "Manny! I'll be back in a few!" I called toward the counter where Rico was bending my brother's leg and listening for grinding.

"Oh, okay!" Manny waved, and I exited the store behind my mysterious new friend. She wore a simple, Boho-chic dress that wrapped her slim torso like a layer of bandages and fluttered around her legs on a wind I could hardly feel. In one hand she carried a little yellow clutch purse, and her nails sparkled in the sunshine. We passed a few knick-knack stores and restaurants, and wound up at the very last set of doors at the edge of the plaza. The distorted, glowing sign said "Bod-azzle by Lane" and had a sharp-winged holographic butterfly floating around the letters.

Directly inside the automatic doors was a beaded curtain, and as we passed through that I gazed around an artistic oasis of colorful walls and collections of jewelry suspended from invisible threads. Many pieces appeared to form the shapes of women who weren't there, but there were also a number of nude ladies walking around and helping customers. They had tasteful rhinestones patterned into various limbs, and headdresses that concealed their faces like desert belly dancers.

"Your store is run by Pets?" I asked, watching a curvy black woman guide an older lady to the back. Her charcoal limbs were traced by a single, gold filament that bisected them down the fronts and the backs.

"They're not Pets, they're employees," Lane said, as we passed through the store and headed for another curtain off to the side. I wasn't sure of the difference - all Pets were "employees" they just didn't usually get to do much besides service dozens of sweaty cocks all day.

We entered a very small workshop with a couple of tables inside. One was low and wooden with a chair behind it, and was covered in gems and fitting tools and magnifying scopes. The other was tall and metal and had nothing on or around it except for a black high-top stool. Lane rounded the wooden table and bent over a rolling cabinet to pull open a few drawers, humming to herself as I stepped up to the other side of the waist-high, glittering field. Lots of the pieces looked unnatural, like they had been formed together from broken parts, rather than shaped down from larger gems. I wondered if they were fake, or if it was some kind of niche art style I wasn't aware of.

"Here we go," Lane said, standing to inspect a pair of immaculate chrome springs connected to some polycarb struts. They looked incredibly high quality, and she turned to hold them out to me.

"These are... these look really pro," I said, viewing them closely and running my fingers over the tightly-wound curls of metal.

"They are. Ten times better than what you'll find at Rico's place." She sat in the chair and started organizing some of the materials on the table.

"They probably cost ten times as much, too."

"Yup, $7,000 each," she didn't look up as she said it, just scooted some sparkly crystals into a neat pile near one of the scopes.

"I can't afford that, at least not all at once," I frowned. I was making decent money in the ring, but I wasn't made of money, no matter how much I wanted to enhance my abilities or safety. And I'd have to pay for the actual implantation on top of the mods themselves.

"Well, you can always work for them."

"What, like be indentured to you?"

"In a sense, yeah."

The nerve of this bitch. Like I was going to become one of those glittery fucktoys walking around her shop with my tits out just to pay off some spring joints.

"I'm not a Pet," I rolled my hand over to dump the springs onto her table and turned to leave.

"I'm not looking for a Pet - I want to sponsor you." Lane stopped organizing her wares and leaned back in her seat. I paused, confused, and looked back at her. "I know who you are, Mia."

"So? You have a TV, congratulations. Why not just pick up the phone?"

"I wanted to meet you in person. To see you for myself."

"Cut the crap, what do you want?"

"To sponsor you, like I said. Unless you're married to Tauren Energy - I'm sure you enjoy the free cases they must give you as part of your deal."

Tauren had been sponsoring me for a couple of years, after I made a good impression in my freshman U.B.S. season. But I didn't even get free drinks from them - just the benefit of "brand recognition" from fans of their product. I folded my arms and tried to figure the viper-like woman seated across from me.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because, you're fierce. And beautiful. And you don't give up."

"So you want to hitch your brand name to my wagon."

"That's how all sponsorships work, right?"

"Yeah - but I don't think sex-wrestling fans are really your target audience, are they?"

"Sure they are, everybody has Pets these days. Especially beer-swilling fanboys with too much money. I'm sure they'd love to add some sparkle to their toys, if for no other reason than to brag about them."

So it was a Pet jewelry store. That explained the naked "employees" showing clients around. I didn't love the idea. I didn't really want to be associated with Pets, and I didn't think Lane's brand would really bring me any recognition. It was just a strip plaza corner store between highway exits. But... the spring joints. And I really didn't give a shit about Tauren.

"How long would it take to work off the springs?" I stepped forward again to look at them on the table.

"Maybe eight months. Less if you bring in good business, and then you can dump me off your back if you want." Her chocolate discs searched my scowling face. She was cool, but not quite an ice queen. I didn't get the sense that she wanted to fuck me over - I just couldn't quite figure out what she actually wanted. I doubted that it was just to sell Pet decorations. But worse terms had been set by greater devils in the past. If there was any paperwork, I'd have Mackey triple check it to make sure I didn't end up in some rubber stocks somewhere.

"Okay," I said finally. "How do we get started?"

Chapter 2

Marriott at the Navy Yard

South Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

July 1, 2069

7:22 P.M.

Fucking Pennsylvania. Even though I was just barely across the chemical-laden waters of the Delaware, I felt far from home, and dirty. My upcoming match would serve as a little Independence Day appetizer, and thus didn't merit a billing at either of the New York arenas, or even a flight to Miami or L.A. Manny drove us the hour it took to get to South Philly, and U.B.S. put us up in some Courtyard suites.

They booked suites for Mackey as my trainer, and Lane as my new sponsor, too. Tauren wasn't exactly sad to see me go, as there were plenty of more fitting wrestlers out there to latch onto. And the reps they sent were always amped up psychoboys, anyway - so I didn't think I'd miss them much, either. Lane said she'd never been to a match before, and didn't sound thrilled about all the noisy spectators. I told her it came with the territory, and that unless she wanted to send one of her "employees" to rep the store, she'd just have to deal.

My jaw mods had healed up nicely in just a couple of weeks, but I was still weirded out by the sensation of springiness - and how wide I could suddenly open my mouth. Manny had a gas daring me to take bigger and bigger bites of food, until a triple-decker sandwich unhinged my jaw briefly and I freaked, spilling the sandwich across the diner table. As quickly as the hinge popped loose, it pulled back into place, but I held my hands to the sides of my face in fearful disbelief for a good five minutes after.

The night before the match, we sat around the ambient lighting of the huge outdoor pool rehearsing plans.

"Now, O'Neill ain't a doormat, like Abbadon was - this boih's Borg-tier," Mackey leaned forward on a luxurious, micro-mesh lounge chair, with his fingers loosely knit between his knees.

"I know, I know - and he's a transplant, and they do things different in the Euro-Union, and keep my guard up," I didn't mean to sound impatient, I'd just probably heard the sentiment eleven times since the commission had set up the match. Special migrant access was sometimes granted to major and minor celebrities, or anyone else from another country that might put clout or money in the invisible hands that pulled the strings of the I.S.A.

I was leaned back on my lounge chair, scanning the scattered throngs of other hotel guests swimming and relaxing around the pool. Manny had gone to the bar, and Lane was busy with phone calls in her room. So I listened to Mackey's reminders and toyed with the drawstrings of my flowy, silk top. With my ankles crossed on the micro-mesh seat, fewer guys were staring directly at my bare snatch. Fewer, but never zero.

"He's gonna have some moves you're not familiar with - maybe some ah'm not even familiar with," Mackey was looking at me, not the other guests.

"Like what?" I turned my face to him.

"Just said ah'm not familiar," he gave me a tired smile. "Just stay on your toes, No-no." He agreed that my moniker was dumb, but pointed out that most things in the sport were dumb when you thought about them too much, and liked to tease me with the little nickname. He had a playful side, beneath all that wisdom and mystery. And could be very charming during the rare bits of downtime we had together. I knew we'd never be best friends, or tell each other all our secrets, but I appreciated his presence and his support all the same.

I stuck around the pool for a bit after Mackey headed up to his room, then retired to my suite with Manny when the cleaning Pets came around to start straightening up for the night. The league wouldn't shell out for my brother to have his own suite, even if he was my chauffeur, but it's not like we were unused to sharing space. When I swiped into our luxurious pad, my brother was getting his huge, dark dick sucked on the horseshoe sofa. Well, "sucked" is generous - a chubby white girl with a bright red side-cut was struggling to get her mouth around his huge, flared head, and pumping his shaft with both hands.

"Oh, shit hey Meem - sorry thought you were still down by the pool," Manny leaned his head over the back of the couch but didn't make the girl stop. She was working hard, bobbing between his knees, and only peeked up to see who'd come in.

"I was. Gonna get ready for bed, though. Should get some sleep for tomorrow." I drifted by the couch toward the bathroom as the suckling sounds turned to intermittent gagging. I'd seen my brother get head before - both inside the ring and out. At least out here he wasn't pinning the girl's head to a mat with his v-cut hips. And for once I'd get first crack at the shower, so I decided to take full advantage of that. While I was conditioning my hair I heard the frame of the couch creaking from some undoubtedly extreme sex position, and then a mingling of guttural yells as Manny creamed his fangirl with probably the biggest load she'd ever receive in her life.

When I eventually came out of the bathroom the girl was gone, and Manny was on the phone with room service. The ring at the center of the horseshoe sofa was puddled with white slime, and I made sure to remind him in the morning that he was paying for any cleaning fees.

Chapter 3

Lafayette Highrise Apartments, #1403

Trenton, New Jersey

July 1, 2069

10:43 P.M.

The red rope tied around her ponytail, and looped over a beam on the ceiling, was connected at the other end to a shiny, silver hook - the tip of which was lodged up her asshole. She knelt cautiously that way in front of her owner, tonguing his balls while he jerked off against her face. Her full, pale tits wobbled against his knees in the middle of the living room.

She wanted him to cum, so badly. Not because she craved it, or because he would enjoy it - but because she was sore all over, especially in her neck and tight, abused pucker. She looked up at him with smudges of black makeup all over her face, but his eyes were closed while he imagined somebody else. She kept tonguing, nuzzling her face into the tangy sourness of his crotch while his fingers beat against her nose and forehead.

"Open," he breathed, finally looking at her, and she opened her mouth wide. But he hadn't meant her mouth. He moved his free hand to pry her eyelid open, and pointed the head of his cock right at the pink iris hovering there. She wanted to blink and pull away when the first gush of cum flooded her vision, but he would surely think of something worse to follow his orgasm if she did.

Chapter 4

DynaBank Center Arena

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

July 2, 2069

8:23 P.M.

"Do the lockers smell like this at every arena?" Lane rested a shoulder against the cold metal cubes where we competitors stored our clothes during matches. She had on a long, sleeveless, yellow frock dress, and it looked like she'd cut and hemmed the skirt into broad slats herself. They'd danced over her legs above her black platform heels on the way into the building.

"As ah matter of fact they do, Ms. Tran," Mackey tapped my foot to swap it for the other one atop his knee, as he lightly rolled each ankle to loosen them up. I sat on the broad, lacquered bench, trying to finish the messy twin hair braids that joined together at the nape of my neck.