Strange Queens Ch. 03

'Guess they should have chained my knees to my tits too, or didn't they think of kicking?'

Pleased to see Jordan back to her usual positive self, Rachel dropped to her knees beside her, taking a moment to check her over. Nothing broken, no pain to speak of, but the micro-needle in her shoulder would be problematic. Lifting her joined wrists, she cocked her forefinger and knocked the glass chamber off the housing, sending it skittling over the smooth ground and into a corner. It was nearly drained, and if the stuff in the morning chocolates was anything to go by, it'd be a chemical barbiturate or hypnotic of some kind, perhaps both, perhaps a sedative. Either way, Jordan didn't have too much time before that chemical got in her head and did its work. If Rachel was going to find it hard to get out in her chains and belts on her own, a drowsy and possibly sexually delirious girl also in chains and belts wouldn't make it any easier.

Standing, Rachel balanced herself and put out her wrist chains for Jordan to hook on to. She helped to pull her friend up, and then they were off, heading through the doorway and out. As she passed, Jordan stopped for a second to lightly kick the door shut behind them, watching it swing closed satisfyingly. It might not help much, but it could be enough to get them away.

Together, the girls reached the cafeteria doors and, cautiously, peered through the barred glass.

* * * * *

Hitting the end of the wall and dropping low, Rachel made to peer through the glass window. Across the doors, Jordan arrived at the doors looking dazed and sleepy, blinking and breathing harder than she should be. Not a good sign; sub-sonic sedative rounds were some of the quickest acting, non-mechanical darts in the world for good reason, but these ones were working even faster than most. They had to have some very special attention to be working this well.

Rachel couldn't help looking at the black adhesive casing still attached tightly to Jordan's shoulder. The idea behind the rounds was simple; a two part mechanism, a pressurised, hardened glass vial with a small hypodermic needle in one end filled with whatever substance desired is cased in a folding shell with a rounded front and four extending foot-like supports. When stored and fired, these four feet stay flush against the small vile, reinforcing it for transport and during firing and flight. Later, after being shot, the four feet automatically click out at a certain air pressure, snapping to a 90 degree angle with the glass file inside. These feet, very slightly angled at only one or two degrees from flat, start the projectile spinning in the air as it travels. The surface of the feet is coated in a super strong, oxygen reactive adhesive as well as a few micro barbs, and, combined with the rotation and momentum, drives itself home upon hitting its target.

The angled legs drive into the skin, the edges cutting shallowly under the first few layers, keeping it angled correctly, the adhesive stabilising it and the barbs locking it in place. Now holding the dart upright, in place and firmly attached to the victim, the needle, exposed only once the legs have parted but keeping it safe and sterile before firing, auto-injects its high pressure contents through the skin and into the target. Thanks to the force of impact, the needle is driven deep enough to penetrate the skin, but, because it's fired at sub-sonic and slows drastically once the feet have opened, doesn't impact hard enough to damage the needle or the target. The contents only needs a split second to empty under the pressure in the capsule, making even the fastest removal too slow to prevent its job from being done. Result? A perfect short range tool, quiet, effective, clean, and allows the user to apply any liquid administration they like to their victim.

Jordan was showing the signs of her needle's contents. Panting, she looked like she was breaking out into sweats, and her energy was draining fast. Rachel didn't have long to get her out. Making a split-second decision, she decided she had to take the cafeteria alone, and come back to help her friend -- and anyone else she could -- afterwards. Turning and peeking through the glass, she steadied herself, measured her chains in her mind, and started her count.

Three. Deep breaths. Calm.

Two. Counting down.

One. Action time.

Swinging herself up, Rachel took the biggest step possible in her restraints and swung the door wide, her head quickly darting left and then right. Too late. As she swung her gaze right, a flash of gold caught her sharply round the cheek and she stumbled back, losing her balance and crashing into a table. Her harness, for once, came in useful, the back brace taking the force of the table edge and displacing it evenly across her shoulders. Somewhat stunned, she blinked. Focussing, she saw her attacker -- the powerfully built woman in the gold chastity belts just like her own, but hers without any chains -- and with long, jet black elbow long gloves and thigh high socks on. In a distant corner of her mind, Rachel realised she was pretty hot all clad in metal like that, gold on black. But there was no time for thinking. In one hand she bore a long black nightstick, and in the other hung a stub-nosed pistol -- what looked like another dart gun. If she even scratched Rachel with a dart, it would be enough to win this fight. That was assuming the full chain chastity belts keeping her limbs close to her body wasn't enough of an advantage.

But the gold woman didn't seem too keen on her gun. Teeth clenched, her arm bulged as she gripped her night stick firmly in her hand. She was strong, and she was kinda angry.

'You know, bitch,' she growled, 'I fucked myself with this once watching you pathetic little slave whores live in your chains, unable to fuck yourselves. Came hard, too. Had it deep in me, tore my cunt on it. Better than any cock. Now, it's going to go deep inside you.' Fuck, Rachel thought. What a frigging psycho. She somehow had the impression that 'deep inside' wasn't a reference to how much joy she would be in when the stick found its way inside her.

She was dangerously close now, and the night stick was rising in the air. Catching her breath, Rachel dropped off the edge of the table and kicked her heels forward, trying to drive her chains into the attacking woman's ankles like she'd done before with the guard. But her opponent shifted her weight easily and stepped over the obstruction, letting Rachel's chains slide uselessly under her foot, dropping in moments to her knee, her leg now between Rachel's, locking her in place. Trapped.

'Got you now, haven't I, little slut?' She breathed, bearing down with an evil grin over Rachel. The nightstick shook menacingly by her face and her free hand tensed in anticipation. Thinking quickly, Rachel tensed and rolled, jerking her legs up high as she did so. The resulting movement pulled her ankle chains taut and as she rolled, her inner leg and it's chains to her crotch swung up and into the woman's open inner thigh. It was as good a crotch shot as she would get with the solid metal and fabric belt covering the real prize, but it did enough in the soft flesh nestled there. The gold-clad offender let out a yell and kicked back to free the sensitive inner muscle, letting Rachel get her legs free. Now with her hands under her she could stand, and she threw herself up in time to catch a swing from the night stick on the chain between her wrists.

Rachel saw her chance here. In the meta-time in which the brain works, she saw her movements and performed them. Twisting her arms over each other, she wrapped her chains around the baton and then spun, praying the differing sizes of the baton would help to channel the force back down the stick and not let the chains slide off the end. She pulled, and felt the woman pull closer to her. Success. Okay, so now she had her in a lock of sorts. But her arms were still hap-hazardly over each other and the gold and black attacker still had a second hand -- with a dangerous pistol in it. Not to mention that she could simply let go of the stick and relinquish any advantage Rachel might have had.

But her choices from here were made up for her.

Already pretty high on some concoction she'd taken earlier that morning after her ravenous fucking session with her special someone, this little shit of a slave girl fighting her was really pissing the fuck out of Gloria. With a grunt she twisted with all her might and yanked the baton free from the chains it was stuck in, jerking Rachel's arms awkwardly and readying it for another swing. The escaped slave was bent over and unbalanced, her arms twisted, she had her. This time, she thought. This fucking time, you little twat whore!

She never stopped moving, swinging the stick up again roundhouse style, and it connected with full force. There was a clang, a cracking sound, and a yelp of agony from the helpless slut in chains.

A smile swam across Gloria's face. Sweet justice. Ah, sweet, sweet, bone-cracking, whore pounding, pussy-wetting, dominating fucking justice.

* * * * *

Rachel pulled her hand back in pain, screwing her eyes shut and clenching a scream between her teeth. She was clutching at her arm, her wrist singing in agony, expecting to feel bone and blood. She's raised her arms instinctively to block the swing with nothing else left to defend herself and with and no time to back up. She'd known it would probably mean severe injury, but defence was defence, human instinct dictated that much.

Looking at her wrist, though, she realised something shocking. There was no blood, and no bones felt broken. Then, she saw -- and felt -- what she hadn't realised yet. She could feel her wrist. Feel it. The night stick had cracked down on her wristlet, and shattered it off her arm!

Looking down, Rachel saw the cuff hanging limply from her other hand, open, a joint in its clasp horribly mutilated. She couldn't believe it, the swing had snapped the locking pin clean out and freed her arm. The pain had been from the force jolting her sprained joint -- this was her bad hand, the one she'd fallen on before, and fuck her sideways and call her Samantha did it hurt. But that didn't matter now -- she had a real chance here, an advantage she didn't have before. She had to make the most of it.

The gold clad attacker before her saw what she was looking at and growled in rage, the growl sounding like the human female version of an angry, horny alpha lion chanced upon while he was preparing to mate. It was a lucky block, but ultimately still not enough to help her. She'd feel the pain of her stick across her back and beg for mercy before she threw her back in her cell where she belonged, waiting for her new master to drag her away, praying he'd come before she saw these golden cups again. Gloria would make sure the fear stayed in her head long after she'd left here.

Rachel didn't waste time waiting for the next swing. She doubted she could be so lucky as to crack another shackle; she would have to make do and fight, and the microscopic window of opportunity she had was fast closing.

Charging, she threw her weight forwards and caught the woman around the waist, one arm rugby charge style. They fell backwards and now Rachel had the upper hand, straddling the girl below her, her knees wide, her chained ankles conveniently holding the woman's legs down. Raising her arm she made to strike her but the night stick came up around her back and cracked sharply off her shoulder. Yelping she twisted and managed to catch the arm with her elbow, pushing it down and dropping her hand onto it. She panted, face inches from the other woman's, leaning as much weight as she could on the stick arm. The two glared at each other, and Rachel only had a moment to move her head aside before the woman beneath spat at her. The projectile missed and Rachel took the moment to grab her attacker's wrist and slam it repeatedly into the floor, eventually causing her to reflexively let go. She yelled and seconds later she was exploding up, growling in rage and twisting Rachel off her furiously, scrambling forwards.

The fight was a ridiculous one by any standard of hand to hand combat. Sloppy, desperate and restricted, and made all the more surreal by the stark cafeteria and chastity belting, it was one pent up woman against another dire woman for life or slavery.

'You know,' the gold woman spat through gritted teeth as she stood up, her stick once more gripped by bulging muscles, 'how many times I got off to you and your friend? I get off to all of you in here. It's my job -- and I love my fucking job.' She was coming closer now and Rachel scooted back from her, 'but every now and then there's something more satisfying than camera fucking, and that's when one of you little whores tries to escape. Oh it doesn't happen often, but that's why it's such an enjoyable rarity. Then, I get to have my fun with you. Then, I get to beat you. Then I get to fuck you brainless. Then, I get to really dominate your fucking ass!' she shouted, in victory. Rachel was against the wall now; nowhere else to run, nowhere else to hide. Her wrist was burning and she wouldn't be standing quickly. Glaring down on her, look of evil joy in her eyes, the gold-clad woman stood victoriously. Then her left hand began to rise, the glove on her arm and hand torn along its length, and Rachel saw what she was holding ready.

Shit.

Standing over the pitiful slave girl in her chains, Gloria raised her pistol and laughed. All it would take was one shot and she'd be out like a light, and then Gloria would have her fun with her. It had been a while since she'd seen a back door slowly give way to her night stick, and she was going to enjoy this one even more when it happened. She could already feel herself wet at how she'd fuck herself with the same stick that was inside this little cunt. Taking aim carefully, she said her last, biting part, and pulled the trigger home.

Rachel saw the gun rise and knew it was too late. She was low to the ground, against a wall, her chains dug under her, her chest heaving, her wrist aching. She would have the dart deep inside her before she could get to the woman. She was done for here. The towering female stood powerfully before her, muscles glinting with sweat, endorphins pumping through her at her victory, oestrogen soaring. She was relatively unscathed, her glove torn, her hair lose, her chest heaving. Rachel bore cuts from their scrabble, her wrist ached, her back panged sharply in pain from her crashing into the table earlier and worsened by the large bruise from the stick. Her opponent had little damage at all to show for her fight. She looked like she'd been through several.

The gun came up and levelled at her body, ready. 'There's one thing I like most about this place, more than the secrecy, more than the cameras, more than you pathetic sluts, more than all of it. And it's that I own it. Me. Mine. I run this place, I own you here, and I am the only way in and out. There's no one else to save you, and no one to tell me I can't do any fucking thing I want to you while you're here. So I'll let you in on a little secret. This gun here is my personal toy. It's loaded with a much more concentrated form of suppressant barbiturate, more than you can buy from anywhere worldwide. This has enough juice in one pill to sap your fucking brain dry and leave you a slobbering wet body, free from fight, free of pain, free of anything worth shit. I can see you, little whore girl, with the right rehab, being a lovely little flesh light toy for my guards once I'm done with you, and you won't even be able to argue. Just you chained to the wall with your little cunt, and some very, very, horny boys and girls.' a grin spread her cheeks, and she levelled the barrel evenly at the exposed skin on Rachel's chest.. 'But of course, you'll never know it. And you'll like it. Fortunately for me, all that comes after I've fucked you till I make you run with blood.' She winked. 'G'night, bitch.'

Then she fired.

* * * * *

A clicking, mechanical sound rang out around the cafeteria and Rachel flinched, her eyes pressed firmly shut. There was a second set of clicks, and then a third. She supposed she wasn't likely to feel the impacts until it was too late. If the concentrate was that strong, it was likely she'd be drooling by the time she opened her eyes. It was probably already turning her brain into horny soup.

But she was still thinking all this now, which didn't quite seem to fit in with that description.

Hesitantly, Rachel opened her eyes, holding her arms before her. She couldn't see any black shells clinging to her skin, couldn't see any glass chambers discharged deep into her. She frowned. Then she looked up, and saw why. Before her, her mouth open in an "O" of surprise, was the gold-clad woman, her pistol held somewhat upright before her. She seemed to be dizzy, swaying a little on her feet. For a moment she seemed to focus on Rachel and took a short step forwards, but almost immediately froze again, her eyes foggy. She stepped again, or, rather, stumbled. Then, with a gurgle, her legs gave way below her and she crumpled sideways, sliding off a table and lolling back on the floor, twitching rhythmically. As she fell, someone behind her -- their hair greasy with sweat, chest heaving -- stood, bent low. It was Jordan, a black, bulbous pistol in one hand, leaned heavily against the inside of the doors. As she saw Rachel, her own body seemed to give out with a groan, and she slumped down the wall, spent. Rachel sprang up, her wrist panging in pain, but she ignored it, shuffling with speed over to her friend.

'Jordan, my god, you just saved my, my life.. Thank you, thank you so much.' She breathed, dropping to her knees beside the stricken girl. 'How... Where, did you get this?'

Jordan was panting, her chest rising and falling. 'From, the other guard, in our cell,' she breathed, 'Went back and, picked it up... Knew I couldn't move fast, but maybe, shoot straight enough.' She finished with a huff, looking for all the world like she was in the preliminary stages of child birth. She would likely recover, Rachel thought, but when, and how quickly? She could only hope that this serum wasn't the kind that needed careful rehabilitation. Or a padded cell.

As she looked Jordan over, she checked her carefully. She was hot, very hot, and her body was working hard, muscles rhythmically tensing and relaxing. Given what she knew, and what she could see, Rachel made out that the girl was stuck in some kind of sexual ecstasy loop, her body receiving orgasm after orgasm, or something of that nature, but never actually being granted the release of a true climax. It was draining her, sapping her energy, and apparently, was accompanied by an equally draining mix of pain and pleasure. No doubt the stress on her mind was equally as intense. 'Bloody hell, Jordan, you're not doing too well. Here.' Rachel helped her up, carrying her most of the way to the nearest table and helping her to lie back. Then, Rachel looked around. She could only hope that the serum the dart had injected was only an aphrodisiac. If it was also a hypnotic, or a barbiturate based suppressor, she would have to carefully guide her mind back to stability. The wrong treatment here might lead to something the gold-cupped Gloria might have had fetishes about, but Rachel wasn't sure she would be able to deal with that.

Turning her mind to immediate problems, she looked about. Her first goal would be to free them of their chains. Even if she couldn't unlock the belts, anklets, cuffs and harnesses on their bodies, she might be able to find something to wrench open a link or crack a fastening. That way, at least, they'd have full range of movement, and even some level of body covering, even if it was more scant armour than warm clothing. It was the best out of a worst situation.