Strange Queens Ch. 03

Oh, it's too good to be fucking true, Rachel nearly breathed. Quickly, she put her pistol down beside a mushy bowl of luke-warm canned soup and held her wrist out before her, the same wrist that still remained locked in its padded cuff. Tentatively, she twisted it around and held the key before the lock, a slim, inbuilt affair that sat lengthways across the joining teeth on the metal of the cuff. Carefully, she pressed the key home inside the waiting lock, and gave it a twist.

The pressure from the cuff was gone in an instant, and she watched in shock as the metal parted and the shining ring fell open on her arm. She dropped the padded cuff off her wrist and clasped it, running her hand up and back over the skin, feeling it for the first time in months. It felt strange, naked, without it on. As she looked back at the key, a grin crossed Rachel's face. This would do, she thought. This would most certainly fucking do.

Two minutes later Rachel was naked, completely naked this time, her body free from the metal and fabric links of intricately chained belts, cuffs and straps. Her ankles had been next, before she removed the collar around her neck. Then, she dropped the chains off her harness and watched as her breasts had swung free for the first time in months, absolutely amazed to feel them dropping free from the circular insides of the metal bra. She felt the cold air rush over her skin, felt her hairs prickle at its touch, felt how sensitive her skin was that it hadn't been touched for so long. Finally, after several locks and chains were removed, Rachel had peeled the belt half -- a three-armed contraption that formed a belt around her waist and a groinal arm which contoured to her thighs and sealed her vagina off from the world -- away and nearly broke out in a blissful sweat as she felt her skin freed finally. She tenderly touched herself, feeling utter explosions with each tiny touch. She was so goddamn sensitive, she could probably blow on herself and cum, she thought with a girlish delight.

For the first time in two months, Rachel stood free of her chains, free of her imprisonment, and free of control. She was back in business.

But here was not the place for revelations. Rachel had friends to help, girls who would be sold to all the worst kind of men and women in the world, slaves who would be used as simple sexual satisfaction, raped and fucked and forced to fuck for the simple reward of living. Rachel couldn't leave them there any longer than they had to be, regardless of how incredible she felt here and now, the warm rush she was feeling over her freely released skin, the heart racing at the sensations. As much as her nudity aroused her, the sensations she hadn't felt for months urging her to satisfy them, she doubted she would truly be able to get off in this place knowing what had gone on only three feet behind her, and less than fifteen minutes ago, at that. Still, she thought with her eyes closed and her head back slightly. She would savour this for the short while it would last.

When she opened her eyes again, something over by the doorway, something neatly hidden between two supporting metal beams, part of a ring of which form the weight-bearing supports for the shed she was in, caught her eye. It was just a fleeting flash, but she immediately did a double take to look at it.

It was a lock case, a sort of military-style locker, but wide rather than deep. The military look is due to two things; first, these cases usually come in military browns and greys, feature small downward facing grills in the tops and bottoms of the doors for ventilation of the contents inside, and lockable fixtures on the front. Secondly, because they're most useful, and indeed designed, for holding guns.

Rachel stepped out of the metal harness, left forgotten on the floor like a solid pair of shining underpants, and strode in her blissful nudity around the bench she had been standing before and over to the cabinet. Fastened to the wall of she shed, it was raised slightly off the ground. Wide, with two outwardly swinging doors, the cabinet featured a large, solid padlock, one boasting bullet proof protection in bold branded letters on its face. Thankfully for Rachel's curiosity, the lock was hanging ajar from one door, having been obviously opened during the guard's lunch period and not returned to its safe position when they'd left. Apparently, Rachel thought in a distant corner of her mind, the guards had been too distracted with something else to remember to lock their things up. Good, she thought wryly. A little karma was most certainly in order.

Rachel grasped the clasp on the door and swung it from its position, hooking a finger round the door and swinging it open, the opposing door following suit soon after.

And Rachel's mouth dropped open, forming a very surprised "O". A few moments later, the surprise had morphed into realisation, before, with a jarring clarity, it had formed a greedy, evil grin. For, standing there before her, in a custom-made all-in-one lockbox style, was a row of the bulbous dart-firing pistols hooked up on a pistol rack, as well as three similarly built rifles, black, with large barrels and, rather than an under-slung magazine which would feed bullets up through a spring mechanism, a top-down ammo pack which wasn't dissimilar in appearance to the ammo reels often found loaded into the side of manoeuvrable belt-feed chain guns, a style of hand-held often only seen on high-ranking gunnery sergeants in the battalions or marines.

But the most important part was next to them. Screwed into the cabinet, likewise suspended by itself, hooked next to the rows of pistols and rifles, was a dispenser-like refilling station for the darts used in the rifles found to the left. Indeed, more than a refilling station -- Rachel supposed that, for hygiene reasons, obviously -- darts, once used, were both useless and automatically discarded -- this was a unit in which a guard could choose the contents of his or her dart, fill them them themselves and then load their weapon. This made sense to Rachel from a warehousing point of view, as new auto-injecting syringe darts would come in in sterile cases, be prepared for use, and then immediately filled and sealed, again hygienically sound.

Lifting a second pistol off the rack, Rachel slid the expertly constructed mechanics back and forth, mock chambering a round, and pulling the trigger with a crisp "click". This, along with her already loaded pistol, was going to help her free her friends. This and one or two other things she'd found in this cabinet of goodies.

With a determined gleam in her eye, Rachel turned and once more her gaze fell on the bare bench with its mess of abandoned cutlery and crockery strewn broken and unwanted underneath, thought again of the merciless plunder that had gone on there, thought again of the imprisoned women, the sick conditioning of the employees to make them enjoy seeing these girls, and finally, finally, her mind fell on Jordan, the innocent girl who had been so full of hope and life, even in the dark shipping container, alone and naked and surrounded by women who were so lost and lonely they were ready to simply lie down and die, or worse, watch their body sold for its sexual organs. The same girl, the cute, buxom girl who had woken up every day and told Rachel about her plan, her idea to get out, that she could get all of them free. Her care, her passion, her beauty.

She had hope, Rachel thought. She was ready to sacrifice herself to them if it meant the rest of us were free. She would happily let herself be chained up by the tits, and have her womb washed out with salt water if we were sent home.

The determined gleam solidifying in her gaze, Rachel returned to her harness, to the most complete and comprehensive chastity device she had ever seen. She had business she needed to attend to. But not before some slight adjustments.

* * * * *

Swinging the shed door open, Rachel stepped back out onto the damp grass, the sun glinting off the metal armour she once more wore. She had returned the chastity device to her body, carefully fitting herself back into the tightly moulded harness and belt, locking her groin once more away behind the padded soft fabrics adorning the interior of the metal seat. She had also slipped the upper body frame back on, the breast cups and four-armed back strapping, as well as the collar and cuffs on her wrists and ankles. The only difference between her returned chastity now and her initial imprisonment was the chains. Rachel had used her key, discovering it to be a master key of sorts to any of the locks on any of the harnesses the in-mated girls all wore, to remove the chains from each of the loops on the frame.

Hence, she was clad now in tightly fitting metal armour affording free range of movement bar the extremities of closed limbs. Sure, there was a lot of bare skin -- the harnesses and cuffs only covered her sexual areas and body, designed to limit as much extreme movement and access to any erogenous zones, not to cover skin. As such she would still be vulnerable to a well-aimed shot between her midriff or in any of her arms or legs bar the cuffed wrists and ankles. However, she had reasoned, it was better than nothing, and it may just save her from fatal injection. It had worked before, twice in fact -- once by repelling a dart, sending it ricocheting away off the solid metal, and the second time stopping a full-force downwards swing from a nightstick, shattering its own lock in place of bone.

And so she moved. At a solid pace, she strode towards the kitchen door she had exited through, twin black pistols held ready in her hands, fingers locked on the triggers, long, thick magazines poking out from their grips.

Another liberty Rachel had helped herself to whilst in the shed, other than some quick energy food to keep her going through the next hour or so, was information. As she strode towards the doorway now, guns at the ready, Rachel had an idea in her mind as to what she would be facing.

Inside, it seemed that four guards had sat at each table, assuming the assault table also seated four people. Given that there were five tables, and that the sixth was a buffet of sorts, Rachel decreed that there must have been about twenty people here, mostly, if she was going off the sight she saw whilst perched behind the vans with Jordan, men. Twenty men meant twenty shots; two eight round magazines hung from her pistols now. Eight rounds, however, wouldn't add up, which was why she had the third magazine pressed tightly under the metal of her belt harness. Another six rounds -- Rachel didn't want to load it up to eight without a cap, which she couldn't find, since if a round fell out and managed to even lightly pierce her skin, she would be a goner. That left a two-shot leeway for her, a whole two shots she could afford to miss before she left herself without a dart to shoot the last of the guards with.

As she reached the unlocked door to the kitchen, Rachel found herself looking about the building for the first real time since she'd left. Now, clear of the blinding sensations of nature flooding back to her, she saw her prison from the outside. Low, grey concrete formed a simple rectangular box, a wide door set into the front facing corner, a second smaller door set into a small box that jutted out the side. But it was what the concrete rectangle of building was built into that was most interesting.

Reaching up above the back of the place was a low, wide hill. Reaching far off in both directions, the hill formed an impassable fourth wall for the boundaries of the property. Jagged and covered in ridges, the hill would have been the result of a relatively small fault line deep underground pushing up ancient sea hills through the cracked earth. Little could be seen here, except that the hill was part of a range that stretched far off in both directions. Here, however, it was unique in that it sloped quite steeply downwards, eliminating the long and gently sloping sides of the hills and creating a sharp slice in the side of the natural range, almost as though a giant had taken a knife and chopped it away. Likely the result of a landslide, or of deliberate demolition by man, the sloping hills formed long, grassy ramps on either side of the walled-in property and obscured it from view from any angle bar directly ahead.

She could see now why the place was such an unusual shape from the inside. The building was constructed into the belly of the hill before them, excavated and cemented in. There had been no external doors or other rooms branching out anywhere near the girl's cells because their entire section of the place had been inside the side of the mountain range, whereas the kitchen and cafeteria were outside, and hence had two access doors, both air locked from the main cell block by either the kitchen or the small outhouse-like room branching off from the cafeteria into which the guards had gone when they were coming back from lunch.

Outside, Rachel had noted when she'd briefly run back to check on Jordan, was dirt, strewn with bushes and grasses. The only man-made objects in visible range was the very property she was on, and the road that rushed by, stretching in a dead straight line as far as she could see through the iron gate. The gate, Rachel had checked, was an electronic lock, not sealed together by any chains or clasps, but immovable nonetheless by hand. Large mechanical arm units stood on each gate post, the devices that would articulate the gates open and closed at command. She would have to find a control inside that opened it. Either that, or... But to business first.

Rachel was at the door. She crouched and put her ear to the frame, but heard nothing. Moving it a fraction, she found it was still both unlocked and unhinged. Holding her good arm gun out, she peered in, eyes darting left, then right.

Empty.

She crept in and stood up, glancing back and forth. The same metal bench stood before her, the metal and wood shelves and cupboards still variously closed or hanging ajar from when she had burst them open before. No one, it seemed, had been in the kitchen. But that was normal, since no guard ever entered the kitchen regardless of when it was or what was needed. This room, it seemed, was the private space of one gold-clad strongwoman whom Rachel hoped would doze happily for a long time yet.

Stepping quickly to the cafeteria doors, Rachel peered out the barred windows and saw the same scene she had left before. Slumped by the far wall, one gold-cuffed arm visible through the legs of tables and benches, was Gloria, the dirty-mouthed muscle cow who had nearly broken Rachel's wrist and put Jordan deep under a drug induced lust spell. Although Rachel couldn't see him, she guessed the guard was also still here, since she had put several darts into him, and had done so after Gloria had had her dose.

Rachel readied her pistol and stepped into the cafeteria-

-Right as the far door, the exterior door nearest the chambers, swung open and a team of seven black clad guards stepped into the cafeteria, their bodies once more fully obscured behind their black clothes, helmets, balaclavas and tinted goggles. Rachel barely had enough time to dart back in to the kitchen before they saw her, her heart immediately pounding in her throat, her vision stained with the image of flashing black goggles, boots and codpieces. She dared not breathe as she heard the shouts as they saw the mayhem that had gone on inside. Sliding down the wall inside the door, she did her best to visualise where each of them would be, based on their boots on the floor.

One just ran over to their mistress, Gloria. He'll be checking on her now, seeing if she's okay. I'm guessing two or three of them are going to check the girl's door now, how many do they need? Well, there's been a breach so at least three, one for door, one for breach and one to cover. So, that's four. The fifth one will go to my guard right away, check on him, and six will go back and tell the rest of them. So where will seven go-

Right then the kitchen door swung open right next to Rachel's head, and Rachel only had a second to react before the black figure before her grabbed his gun and raised it at her. The guard didn't have his gun out, choosing to go for an offhanded nightstick in the face of unknown danger, so his draw took longer. But Rachel had been caught off guard, forcing herself out of the way before he swung or shot at her.

In the end, it had only been one pistol that went off, the metallic sound of perfectly tuned mechanics blasting the tiny hypodermic into its target in nanoseconds. Rachel flinched, she could already feel the dart piercing her skin. Which gun had fired?

Rachel's.

Half a second before he had fired his own, the guard had managed to raise his pistol but not level it at the no longer captive girl. As such, his shot, reflexively fired the moment his body registered a wound like he had been trained in since day one, scratched off the metal bench behind Rachel's body and pinged into the sink against the far wall, spinning in a million tiny circles as its momentum kept it moving.

The guard looked down in surprise, seeing the small purple vial lodged in his shirt. Although the sticky adhesive on the black support's feet had only attached itself to the fabric of his thick shirt, the minute barbs that shot out on those feet in the drastic reduction of speed when the dart had hit had pierced easily through and lodged in his skin. The dart easily drained its pressurised contents into the surprised man's body before he had looked at it, and he had been just in time in looking down to see the vial quietly drop off its black casing and ping away on the tile floor. Then, he'd simply crumpled, and was in seconds relaxing back against the ground, the drug already long past his feeble resistance.

Rachel, for her part, only stuck around long enough to see him fall. She was moving again in seconds, back at the door, checking on the others. Two were now by the gold clad woman, seemingly trying to wake her, while another was still with his fallen guard. The door to the chambers, the cells in which the girls were in, was wide open, and she could see no one in it from her position. Cracking the door open, Rachel dropped herself down on all fours and peered out through the legs of the tables and chairs. She took a breath, levelled her pistol at the closer man, the man with his guard, and steadied herself. This was going to have to be damn quick, she thought.

Click, click, chick-chick, whoosh. With another rapid succession of electronic clicks, the pistol had fired, and Rachel saw the dart wobble as it sunk into the man's back. But she was moving already, up and sprinting quickly forwards and spinning to face the other two. It was as though the next events passed in slow motion. One pistol, already ready to fire at them, held at the hip under her body, firing leftwards with her right hand, went off with its own futuristic clicking, and Rachel saw the dart in the meta-time in which the brain works fly inches away from the rightmost guard and skeeter off the wall behind him. Cursing, the second pistol was firing the moment a new round had finished chambering, and, as Rachel took a second step in her sprint, she saw this dart rocket towards the left guard and bury itself deep in the shoulder of the man or woman behind the black clothes. Falling before they had had a chance to retaliate, they would be dreamily unconscious two seconds later.

But the right most guard, a large bloke, wide shoulders and thick chest, was quicker than his accomplice, and more aware. He had had his pistol out when Rachel had entered, but hadn't had any reason to use it until the muffled clicking of the dart gun that had downed the first guard. Spinning, the big man had just had time see one of the damn captive girls running full tilt past them, two pistols in hand, firing both directly at him. He'd flinched reflexively but she'd missed him, so he raised his pistol and squeezed the trigger two, three, then four times over in rapid succession, his partner dropping like a stone beside him. He hadn't been ready, so three of the shots were wild misses, jouncing off the floor and walls around the girl's long pounding strides. One shot, however, was right on the mark, sizzling directly towards the thick and juicy exposed thigh that was half a step away from being dead ahead. He'd felt the satisfaction as it had rammed into the bare flesh, felt the wave of superiority at his marksmanship, felt the wave of arousal as he'd successfully subdued one of the little fuckbuckets. She'd pay with her body for her troubles tonight, he promised himself. She'd pay, alright, legs spread to splitting, and he'd be her first customer.