tagSci-Fi & FantasyNatalie Jenner vs Puppetmaster

Natalie Jenner vs Puppetmaster


(Note: this story takes place after my story The Clone Queen, but you don't have to read that one to get this one.)

The maid was obviously a Prin. Everything about her said so. They precise, repetitive way she moved, the utter lack of boredom or wandering emotions which normally shifted across a person's face every few moments, but most of all it was her beauty. Symmetrical, smooth, and sexy, she was just a little too perfect to be human. Her short black hair was so stylish it should have been in a commercial, her gazelle-like legs put a Barbie doll to shame, and her perky breasts which strained against the tight material of her uniform were the envy of every living woman. When she bent over to pick up a piece of litter her uniform rode up the enticing architecture of her ass, revealing a scientifically superior vaginal mound barely hidden by a lacey black thong.

Natalie Jenner frowned the moment she saw the maid, and her hand subconsciously drifted to the grip of her sidearm. She hated Prins, distrusted them, and usually resented people who owned them, but the law was the law, and the Bishop family possessed all the necessary licenses for owning a Prin, so there was nothing she could do but silently fume.

Melissa Bishop, the Prin's owner, was seated in an expensive loveseat on the veranda of her multimillion dollar mansion, crying reluctantly into a damp bundle of tissues. Her husband, Sebastian Bishop, was standing further away, starring stoically over the rolling green rows of his private vineyard, coldly ignoring his wife. To say that the Bishops were rich was an understatement, and even though their exact worth was a closely guarded secret, it was widely understood that they were one of only a dozen or so families in the world worth more than one trillion dollars American. It was easy to become that rich however, when you owned one of only a firms in North America allowed to produce Prins, like the sexy maid who was strutting over with a tray of drinks.

"May I offer you a mimosa, Master Sergeant Jenner?" the maid asked in a voice too beautiful to be real, the soft suggestion of eroticism programmed into her ever word.

"I don't drink on duty," Natalie answered, sneering at the Prin's proximity to her.

The maid ignored her and walked on, offering a drink to the grieving Mrs. Bishop.

"No . . . no thank you Licorice," Mrs. Bishop waved the Prin away. "How can I enjoy anything knowing my son's life is in danger?"

The Prin showed no signs of understanding her master's emotional state. Obviously Licorice was a rather basic model. Pretty to look at, but cognitively stunted. The maid cocked her head and offered something else.

"Would you like me to please you Mistress . . . with my tongue?"

Mrs. Bishop blushed. She wept and waved Licorice away. Nat sneered at what she overheard. It was obvious that Licorice wasn't just a nice looking slave, but also the family fuck-toy, which frankly wasn't that unusual. The Bishop's made their billions producing high-quality domestic Prins, and although they were advertised as maids and butlers, they could be easily reprogrammed with third-party software for sexual service.

"And you are confident that UNABU can recover our son . . . alive, Miss Jenner?" Mr. Bishop said, having been lost in thought for several long minutes. He was trying his best to remain strong, but like his wife, his voice broke with emotion at the mention of his only child.

"It's Master Sergeant, not Miss," Nat corrected, "and I don't make promises. Your son was kidnapped by a sentient Prin who calls himself the Puppetmaster, a psychopath who usually keeps his victims alive for weeks as he tortures them, and those who do die only do so from exhaustion, not direct injury. The United Nations Anti Biological Unit is the most capable organization in the world for the regulation and extermination of rogue Prins, Mr. Bishop, as I'm sure a man in your line of business is aware. I plan to personally decommission this 'Puppetmaster,' and when I do, I will recover your son, whether he is dead or alive.

Mr. Bishob's broad shoulders tensed in a brief moment of anger at the young woman's petulance, but they quickly softened. He was breathing heavily as he held back tears. "I've already wasted millions on mercenaries and private investigators, and not a single one of them has proven worthwhile. Save my son, Master Seargent, and UNABU will have my infinite gratitude, and a very wealthy backer."

Nat turned as she made her way back to the front of the mansion, leaving the tearful trillionaires to their grief, but before she left she had one last thing to say. "Frankly, Mr. Bishop, its men like you who have made the world the way it is, and allowed monsters like the Puppetmaster to exist. All your billions of dollars can't do as much good for the world as would be done if you simply stopped making these fucking Prins."


The door to her car was opened for her by Licorice, the strutting, sensual artifice who followed her outside the mansion gates, puckering her lips in a slutty smile.

"I'll also be grateful if you return Master Benjamin Bishop home," Licorice said, sounding husky and horny. "I miss him ever so much."

"Only because you're programmed too, slut," Nat said, wondering for a moment why she was even having a conversation with a sex-bot.

Licorice reached out and grabbed Nat's rather large breasts, grazing over the woman's very sensitive nipples. "Oh no! I do love him! I-"

Nat shoved the Prin away. "Touch me again, and I will shove my combat knife so far up your ass I'll be able to carve my initials into the top of your mouth! Got it?"

Without waiting for an answer (it had been a rhetorical question anyway) Nat stepped on the acceleration and her electric car whizzed down the private road, away from the Bishops' obscene mansion, and away from the confused, horny bio-robot who had touched her.


" . . . . 13 . . . . 14 . . . 15!!!" Nat grunted in a deep, feminine vice as she dropped her barbell to the matt, where the impressive weight bounced with a titanic impact. The young woman panted as she wiped sweat from her glistening face, and she checked out her progress in the full-body mirror on UNABU's gym. She was a good looking girl, as everyone explicitly said so. Tall, toned, busty, and beautiful without makeup, Nat could have had an easy life getting by on her looks alone, but Nat didn't want an easy life, as the rippling but subtle muscles of her hourglass abdominals proved. She was a woman in her physical and sexual peak; a rough-and-rumble tomboy with the body of a goddess. The only thing fake about her was her hair, which was dyed with blue and red streaks. She looked especially good wearing as little as she did. Her workout clothes were nothing but a tiny little tank-top that left much of her under-cleavage exposed, and a tight elastic thong that rode high up her feminine hips and melted around the swollen mound of her hairless pussy. Working out made her horny. REALLY horny, and she was so wet that it was actually clear which parts of her inner-thigh were glistening with sweat and which with pre-cum. Luckily she kept a vibrator in the locker. She was going to need it, along with a hot, long, private shower.


The deceptively calm robotic voice of the alarm system jolted Nat out of her aroused fog, and within seconds she was jogging down the main hallway of the UNABU facility in which she was currently stationed, despite the fact that she had neglected to wear a sports bra and her pert breasts bounced with such buoyant energy that they forced her sweaty tank-top up into a damp scarf. Shocked coworkers and aroused admirers looked on in shock as the nearly naked Natalie dashed passed them, her tight ass flexing in her tiny thong, and she even pushed a petite intern aside like she was just an annoying obstacle.

Nat burst into the War Room expecting to see her squad suiting up for an operation, and her Executive Officer (XO) prepping them on the mission details, but instead what she found was a giant pair of milky white tits bouncing up and down like a pair of jelly-filled beach-balls. The massive fun-bags did belong to her XO, but she sure as hell wasn't getting ready for a briefing. At that moment it looked more like Caitlin Callahan was getting her freckled Irish brains fucked out by a big, black cock. Standing behind her was Douglas Cartwright, an American, and another UNABU soldier Nat had fought beside. He was a handsome man, and his reputation as a pussy-slayer was well established. Nat had been tempted to find out for herself, but as much as she liked Douglas, she had yet to come out of her shell with him.

"Holy shit . . . FUCK . . . so deep . . . . hitting me so deep," Officer Callahan gasped and she drooled onto her desk, her balloon tits bouncing so wildly that one came up and slapped her in the face. Her emerald green eyes were rolled up as tears dripped from her cheeks, and her wavy red hair clung to the sweat on her brow and neck. Her pale white skin was blushing a very bright pink, and judging by how high pitched her squealing was, she was about to experience a very satisfying orgasm.

"FUCKING NIGGER YES!!!" the Irish slut screamed, gritting her teeth and whimpering incoherently. Her legs were trembling like phone-lines in a windstorm as she came, and a puddle started to form on the floor from her explosive climax.

"Hey!" Douglas yelled. "Just because we're having sex doesn't mean you can call me the n-word, you stupid . . . fucking . . . Irish . . . FUCK!" Douglas was cumming too, the beautiful muscles of his chest exploding in ebony glory as her grabbed the Irish woman's fiery locks and yanked hard, pulling her body back just as powerfully as her pushed forward, driving ten inches of African fury deep into her soft, defeated body. Nat could practically hear his sex-muscle pumping semen into Callahan's well-used cunt, and even after depositing several nuts worth of man-batter into her unprotected womb he was still spurting as he pulled out, thick strands of superior seed splashing over her back and hair, one last rope streaking across a framed photo of Callahan's 18 year old daughter. An obvious omen.

Douglas let go of Callahan's hair and she fell onto her desk like a wet back of shit, barely conscious and crying pathetically with intense catharsis, an insane smile tugging at her pretty face. Douglas looked over her naked quivering body with a mixture of satisfaction and contempt. It was pretty well known that Douglas hated Callahan's guts and thought she was unfit for the position of XO, but that clearly hadn't stopped him from taking a turn with the office cum-dumpster.

"Hey Nat," Douglas said, putting his clothes back on. "Sorry you had to see that." But he wasn't, obviously, from the arrogant way he smiled. He wanted Nat. He wanted to fuck Nat harder than he had ever wanted to fuck a woman since high school, and yet, after two years he had never gotten inside her, even after he had done two tours of all the pussy in UNABU. Most girls didn't last a week against his infallible charms. Callahan hadn't lasted an hour.

"Hey Doug," Nat said, shyly covering her exposed breasts and thong-clad pussy. Her camel-toe was so tight her clit made an impression, and her nipples so erect it was like her tank-top was hanging from them. "I . . . I thought there was an emergency."

Douglas shrugged his massive, herculean shoulders. "Callahan's tits were slapping against everything. Dumb bitch probably flipped your squad's drill button. Sorry. We did get some intelligence on the Puppetmaster earlier though. Nothing groundbreaking, but I'm sure she'll fill you in on it as soon as she wakes up." He looked her over, analyzing her near-naked, well-toned body like it was a work of art. He was hungry for her, and even a girl as withdrawn as Nat could feel it.

"Hey Doug . . ." she whispered, trembling a little.

"Yes," he whispered back, their mouths so close they could taste each other's breath.

". . . don't forget to file a fraternization report with Human Resources. Interoffice relationships are frowned upon by High Command, even with a slut like Callahan."

Doug was stunned and hurt by Nat's cold, uncaring demeanor. "Nat . . . I-"

"Get out."


"I swear, it's a bloody miracle my daughter isn't half-black, " Callahan said as she returned to the War Room from the showers, her sparkling pale body covered by nothing but a vastly inadequate little bathrobe, her green eyes glowing with that happy 'I-just-got-my-brains-fucked-out-by-a-big-black-cock' look that white girls got after a date with Douglas. White girls other than Nat. "I mean, Siobhan in as white as powdered sugar but I can't remember any point 18 years ago when I wasn't passing out in rap clubs or-"

"OFFICER CALLAHAN!" Nat practically screamed. "Can we please, PLEASE get back to the mission?"

Callahan grumbled as little as she retook her seat, allowing her bathrobe to fall open so her naked body was totally visible. Nat was fully clothes again, wearing a tight black t-shirt and cargo-pants, along with a heavy utility belt and combat boots, her usual fashion. The rest of her squad had gathered into the War Room and were also suiting up for the impending intelligence gathering mission, three women Nat had come to trust and rely on this last year, and although they had come to love and respect her as their field-leader, she did her best to keep them at arm's length. She didn't like getting attached. Not when death came so easily, and so unpredictably.

The first of Nat's team was Private Penny Andrews, a 20 year old American. An attractive and very petite girl, Penny had short brown hair and big green eyes, almost like a doll. She had been a computer-wiz since before she could ride a bike and graduated with top honors from a prestigious tech-institute when she was 14. She was the team's field technician and security officer. In the last year there hadn't been a single lock, firewall, or computer Penny hadn't been able to hack in less than a minute, but her proficiency in combat and with firearms was below average. When Nat first met Penny she had been a shy, introverted virgin with a pornography addiction, but after being drugged with a powerful aphrodisiac called A-4-D-C-AK, and raped by Prins repeatedly for many hours, Penny had become something of a sex-fiend. Her perversions had been getting stranger and stranger these last months, to such a point that even the hornier men of UNABU were afraid to date her, despite her being an easy lay. Just for instance, Nat knew that Penny kept her own Pikachu Prin locked in her room, one she had modified to possess and rather large penis. There was no imagining what terrible things Penny had done to that Pikachu.

The second was Natasha Tsarina, a beautiful Russian woman with long blonde hair and graceful, elegant limbs. Natasha had once been a world famous supermodel, but she was severally injured when rogue Prins attacked a vacation resort she had been staying at with her family near the Black Sea. Natasha was forced to watch as her entire family was torn apart, and then the Prins who killed them brutally raped her, going so far as to skull-fuck her right eye out. UNABU replaced her lost eye with a telescopic cybernetic implant, one that allowed her to become an almost perfect sniper, but she always kept that side of her face covered by her long blonde hair, ashamed of her deformity. Nat had grown closer to Natasha in this last year, but their relationship was complicated. Because of their shared pain and hatred of Prins, there was a deep unspoken connection between them, but for weeks this bond had been growing colder and more carnal. When Nat woke up at night, horny and alone, she'd go to Natasha's room, crawl into her bed, and they'd fuck each other violently like wild animals for hours, until they would collapse onto the floor in exhaustion. When it was over, Nat would get up, leave, and go to sleep in her own room. They never talked about it, they never acknowledged it. It was easy, commitment-free sex between two women who understood each other. Nothing more.

Last was Fatima Oshondo, the team's 'heavy.' She was a very tall, very strong, very Amazonian black woman from somewhere in West Africa. Despite her bulging muscles and incredible strength, there was a savage femininity about her, especially her wide-hips and large, firm breasts that required her to wear custom fitted armor. Nothing UNABU mass-produced could accommodate a woman with such an impressive chest. She went into battle strapped with an assault riffle, an automatic shotgun, a missile-launcher, and a good deal of explosives. Fatima was also the teammate Nat enjoyed working with the most, because they were professional, uncomplicated, and focused on the mission. Fatima had saved Nat's life a dozen times the last year, and there was no one Nat wanted more at her back than her.

Despite still being mostly naked, Officer Callahan started to press buttons on her control screen, lowering the lights in the room and summoning a large holographic display. Electric blue light sizzled to life in the air and made ghostly 3-D images for the team to study.

"The last known victim of the sentient Prin calling himself the Puppetmaster was Benjamin Bishop, son and heir to the trillion dollar Bishop Company, which ironically makes its money by producing high quality Prins." As Callahan said this an image of Benjamin Bishop came into focus.

"Wow," Penny huffed. "What a sexy little boy."

Benjamin Bishop had turned 19 just a month before being kidnapped, and although Nat didn't find him attractive at all she could see what was getting Penny's panties so bunched up. Benjamin was a classic pretty boy, with a soft feminine face, a fresh sexy smile, and a stylish hair cut that put spiky blonde bangs hanging over his big blue eyes. He looked like a teen pop star.

"This represents a break from the Puppetmaster's usual M.O.," Callahan continued. "Benjamin is the first male he has ever kidnapped. The rest have all been young, sexy, female, and usually celebrities, which is reason the Puppetmaster has been causing such a panic. His most famous victim was the K-pop sensation Cinnamon Cumdrop." An image of a sexy Korean girl in her early twenties came on screen. She was dressed like a cross between a piece of a candy and a total slut, her perky breasts covered by bubblegum pasties and her crotch by a thong made from licorice strips. "She was the highest grossing musician in the world for about a year before Puppetmaster got to her. He pumped her full of A-4-D-C-AK and a number of other aphrodisiacs and psychotropic drugs we still can't identify, and kept her as a sex-slave for over a month. We recovered her, alive, unlike many others, but the damage from the drugs was too severe. She's been reduced to a babbling, mindless hedonist who spends every waking moment seeking sexual stimulation, and if she's denied it her body goes into shock. We've had to manually induce between forty and fifty orgasms a day with her just to keep her stable. The weirdest part is all she talks about is the Puppetmaster, begging for him to come back and 'save' her. In her most coherent moments she says she's in love with him. Watch."

Callahan pressed a button and a video came up. It was of Cinnamon Cumdrop strapped down to a bed, her naked, sweaty body crisscrossed by strong leather straps and buckles. A machine like a piston had been placed in front of her open legs, and a lubricated dildo the size of Nat's forearm was fucking the Korean girl like a jackhammer, fucking her hard enough to break a lesser woman's hipbone. Despite the almost fatal degree of plowing Cinnamon was getting, it seemed like the girl was barely on the cusp of a small orgasm, as if she were just getting fingered by a little pinky. "PUPPETMASTER!" she screamed, she cried. "I LOVE YOU! SAVE ME! I . . . I'LL TRY HARDER! PLEASE!"

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