When the Bodies Hit the Floor

When the Bodies Hit the Floor

Author: DrGonzo124

Disclaimer: The sex isn't real and neither are the characters having it; if you shouldn't be doing it then please don't, if you shouldn't be reading it then please don't, I own nothing, I claim nothing which is what YOU'LL get if you sue me for writing this. Consider Yourselves Disclaimed.

Dedication: To the many awesome writers whose work I'm shamelessly rippi-...I mean paying respectful homage to; and the incredible people who's likes, comments and occasional emails continue to inspire and motivate my efforts.

Summary: Night City's infamously dangerous femboy mercenary squeezes in a little star fucking between side jobs.

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*opening credits*

Hi there Night City, Welcome to another edition of Info-Flash my name is Ruth Dzang

I'm gonna start tonight's show with a retraction, Nooo -- I'm not knuckling under to my corporate overlords. I'm convinced those douches are too busy spending the bank they MAKE OFF my show to actually WATCH my show.

Look guys, I hate retractions. It's an unpleasant reminder that convincing a horny teenage boy to pull OUT of the one female willing to physically touch his naughty unmentionables -- constituted legitimate sexual education in this God forsaken country for decades.

But when I'm wrong I think it's important to have the balls to admit that fact and Night City -- if there's anything you've learned from my show's opening credits, it's how spectacularly big my balls are, am I right?

*applause break*

A few nights ago when I told you there are no heroes in Night City, I was wrong about that, that's right you little monsters of Night City -- I Ruth Dzang was WRONG.

*graphic of a unknown male in silhouette*

There's an honest to God hero, Night City-- living amongst us in this shit-stain of a metropolis we call home. He's easy-on-the-eyes, self-sacrificing, charming and has a tolerable level of sexual kinks and fetishes. Now you're probably already wondering,

'Ruth -- who is this paragon of nobility, this sexual God amongst Night City's many mere sexually-impotent mortals. Where can I find him so I can buy him a drink or fuck his brains out. Where were YOU that you could actually find such a man?'

The thing is Night City, I was sworn to secrecy about most of the dirty details but spoiler alert, I might have found him the old fashioned way;...by trying to get laid while partying a few nights back...

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*Ruth Dzang*

Totentanz is a popular choice for Night City's denizens looking to take a walk on a wilder side then can be found at Lizzie's or Eternity.

I'd walked in the door ignoring the stares from the ones looking to rearrange my guts,...carnally speaking anyway. A lot of Maelstrom gangers still like the idea of fucking normies like me even though I boast only a few cybermods, Minimalistic as they call it. Of course these are guys who think nothing of carving out chunks of their skull and replacing the meat-stick eyes God gave them with optical scanners, burning red power indicators --- naked to the world.

It's not the first time I've picked up at Totentanz.

With the subdermal armor plating and pain regulators that literally turn hardcore BDSM play into the equivalent of a handjob, Maelstrom boys and girls are, by nature and design, more resilient and open to rough trade -- really rough trade.

You can have a lot of fun with one before they even THINK about using the safeword -- assuming there even is one.

I'm leaning against a wall now, sipping my drink when I catch his eye,...OK I'll be honest, it's his ass I'm drooling over first. A sweet round apple barely hidden away under a slutty short skirt and crammed into the tightest pair of short pants that advertises he's a good girl but promises some good times if I let him be a bad little brat and fuck me with the erection stuffed inside them.

His gaze tries to dart away but it's too late... I've piqued his interest. It's not the first time I've caught him looking and he knows it. Even from across the room, I can feel every single time he tries to steal a glance at me. He's got that vague and endearing light of partial recognition.

'Could it be?' He's wondering, 'here at Club Totentanz?'

I look familiar to him but it's got to be the lights and sound from the houseband Tinnitus. He's not being checked out by THE Ruth Dzang is he?

I can't blame the pretty femboy for looking.

Maybe it's the fact I left nearly all my shirt buttons undone to show off my cleavage (thank you Bobby the Ripper Doc) well-defined and ripped abs almost as nice as the ones hiding under his demi-shirt. Maybe it's the tight synth-steel leggings that can barely contain my plump bulge and soaked pussy. Maybe it's my midnight black lips, luscious and pillowy, if I do say so myself; I don't know and I don't care. I just want to know what his mouth tastes like after swallowing a load of my cum, how big he'll be when I'm riding his cock, how tight his warm walls will hug my own branded synth-cock--patant pending, when it's buried balls-deep inside his sweet boy-pussy.

So I stare him down.

Now that I think about it, I feel like I've seen HIM somewhere before....and not just because I've been practically eye-fucking him.

He's familiar but I can't quite place where exactly I've seen him before.

One of Night City's many never was or will be pop acts? That rings a bell but not the right one.

Afterlife After Dark? a knock-off public access show that purports to be a clearing house for local fixer gigs and profiles of up and coming edgerunners but is actually just a way for the local gun and clothing shops to offer their clearance bin rejects onto bottom-feeder mercs stupidly drooling over shiny black clothing and guns and revealing to the world at large how stupid they are. Nope those Blackhand-wannabes ironically more obsessed with Blackhand's street cred then emulating his hard earned skills and expertise, are too hung up on celebrity to be seen partying in lowly Watson.

Maybe I've seen him here at the club, He's obviously partied at Totentanz before. I saw him exchange words with Declan "The Brick '' Griffin -- the Maelstrom Gang Leader, or at least he is NOW.

That douche weasel Royce was calling the shots for a while last I heard. I heard from The Watson Whore that she almost got her horny ass flatlined by some screeching Maelstrom bitch pissed off that Royce accepted a blowie in his private booth.

Protip my little monsters -- straight from no less than The Watson Whore herself, a BJ isn't just a great way to introduce yourself to an awkward and shy guy or defuse an uncomfortable domestic situation. Sometimes the reason your dick ends up inside someone's mouth is because it's a great excuse not to talk to someone who's dick is considerably more interesting than they themselves might be.

Don't lie bitches -- you know it's true. And assuming you've got the optional extras I have, it's 2077-- what celebrity DOESN'T HAVE a customized synth-cock; I heard Lizzy Wizzy has two, sticking your synth-erection into someone's mouth is actually a great way to get some starstruck bottom-boy to shut-up without actually TELLING them to shut-up. Even boring fanboys become tolerably interesting when they got their mouths full of girl-cock.

Anyway back to my femboy fucktoy It's like he wants to look anywhere else in the room. Hell, anywhere else in the world, but he can't. I feel like I've been planning this moment for him all night long. There might be a hundred other 'organic girls' in Club Totentanz, but he doesn't want them. He wants me.

Everyone does,...eventually.

But now that I've got HIM picked out, it's only a matter of time. I take another sip of my drink and decide that if this effeminate little fuck puppet looks at me one more time, then I'm dragging his ass into a bathroom to fuck it, assuming I don't violate him on the dance floor.

I'm not being a meanie either. His darkly coloured half-shirt has the word Fuck Puppet written in glittery letters across his slim but muscular chest.

Sure enough, only a couple of minutes pass and he turns from awkwardly dancing to the house band, to check if I'm still there, which of course I am. I lock eyes with him, pout my lips, and give him my best fuck-me smile all while using my finger to mix my drink. This time, he doesn't look away, It's fate. Then I let him watch me suck the booze from its length, running it back and forth between my pursed lips.

He probably thinks it's a promise of pleasure to come, and it is; the pleasure HE'LL be giving ME and my synth-cock.

Then suddenly his eyes light up with a digital call and he glances away -- seemingly on the phone with someone else, he gives a physical appeal to the heavens and visibly curses Gods that left this shithole of a city in the rearview a catastrophe and a half ago.

I wait until he turns away and I move from my spot to another corner of the Maelstrom bar. If he's talking to a boy or girlfriend, they can have him after I'm finished. If it's his boss, well pretty-boy has a more important job tonight and if he's even a half decent fuck, he'll be in late tomorrow.

It's dark and although I can see him, I know he won't be able to spot me unless he's got high-end combat optics.

Like clockwork, he turns to look to the spot where I stood just minutes before. The flashing lights don't offer great visibility, but they're enough to paint the disappointed look etched on his elegant and androgynous face as clear as day.

Sad little thing looks like a puppy that's just lost its favorite bone. Don't worry Puppy, Mommy's got a juicy bone in her pants that's just dying for a suck.

He heads for the restroom, perfect.

He's casually cursing under his breath, something about the "Queen Bitch of the Badlands..."

He walks into the bathroom and ignores the door which is why I can slip in behind him.

"Hey Sweetie," I called out and I watched his body tense with a quick flash as something mildly scary crossed his face then, upon recognizing me, vanished so quickly I could lie and almost convince myself I didn't see it.

"I thought I missed out on my chan--," he starts before his next words get swallowed by my mouth and tongue.

He moans into my open mouth while my tongue works over his, stroking its length hinting at what I'm gonna do with the rest of him.

"Give me more, Sweetness," I hissed, "I've got a special something for you."

I drool into his open mouth, my lips and tongue bullying him, taking the pleasure I want.

My tongue sweeps across his cheek and jaw tasting his submission in his sweat,... smelling it in his excited gasps of air.

My hand travels down between his shaking legs.

"This is mine," I growl, "you're going to be mine tonight."

I feel his excitement, his need. I shove his body against the door. I'm not worried about someone walking in because I locked the door as I entered, like I said, I've done this before. Though never with someone as accommodating as this guy.

I take his cybernetic hand in mine and pull it against my own erection. He whines even as the fingers of his Gorilla Arms work my aroused length.

"Take it out and say hello," I whisper, "you and it will be getting very well acquainted."

He takes it out and rubs his own shaft against its stiff length. I close my fist around both our shafts and start stroking while dominating his mouth with my own.

My hand slides between his twitching cheeks. My moistened fingers work his needy hole and he moans into my open mouth.

His hips jerk harder and his shaft rubbed my own. I jab my finger deep inside of his excited bussy and he gasps with the pleasure of a sissy-gasm firing rope after rope of femboy cream on my girlcock.

"You messed me up," I hissed, "what are you going to do about it."

He drops to his knees on the piss stained floor and reaches into my bottoms to expose my girlhood.

His eyes flare with a familiar hunger I've seen in other subs. I take my hardness and bop him on the cheek with the head, trailing a residue of cum, both his own and mine, across his lips and cheek before popping it into his mouth.

The moan his warm mouth pulled out of me was not faked in the slightest. His lips and tongue pleasured my length running back-and-forth.

"Clean it off Sweetness," I grunted, "I feel like it's been in my pants all day."

I'm lying of course, between my TV show, studio meetings with corpo-rats and the occasional fan -- I feel like I take a half dozen showers a day but he's a submissive bottom bitch and I've rarely been with one that didn't enjoy at least a little degradation.

His mouth absolutely devours my sex, tongue working the mushroom head and sipping at its creamy discharge like it is his favorite flavor of milkshake.

"I love your mouth," I gasp, grabbing onto his head and pumping my length down his welcoming throat.

Finally I explode, my load filling his mouth and throat, even spilling down his cheek.

I step back and tuck my girlhood back in my bottoms. Always leave them wanting more.

I smile down at him.

"How's about you and me getting out of here and keeping the party going?"

"I had a friend call me about a favor."

"Is he going to run your ass raggedy because I know I am." I chuckle, "I'm headed out, if you want to keep things going, you come find me."

I step outside of the bathroom, pretty sure he'll be following me. I'm about to make my move when a Maelstrom gang girl comes out of nowhere.

It's Patricia, one of those Maelstrom boys who I mentioned, used to be sweet on her. Emphasis on USED TO BE. Apparently Patricia isn't big on boundaries and enjoys being a bitch and not in the fun for the sexually liberated family kind of way.

She's screeching at me, calling me several different names including one someone I occasionally call a friend actually wears as a badge of honor.

As The Watson Whore herself likes to say... 'Whores get paid and when they can fuck as good as I can, they get paid a lot'.

Patricia has her thugs hustle me out a side door hurling me in a trash strewn alley.

I'm no shrinking violet but I'm no Morgan Blackhand either, I can't take on a bunch of gangers. They aren't swarming me though and I quickly figure out why. Rooting through the trash and filth is a Maelstrom gang goon,...no its a cyberpsycho.

Implant-driven psychosis, too much cyber-modification, too quickly to a 'ganic mind' that is probably already too fragile to start with.

He's got implants on top of implants. He's got a lot of chrome even for someone in Maelstrom, the scars of implant surgery are fresh but the pus and stank coming off some imply he's been like this for a while.

He's waving around a machete of dubious sharpness.

"Come on Elias," One of the gang goons laughs cruelly, "I got twenty on your traitorous ass -- so fuck up the bitch."

They've done this before. Fuckers are actually taking bets.

How long will I last?

How brutal will he be?

Will he have the presence of mind to try and rape me first?

Then suddenly HE'S there,... My wannabe-fucktoy... except the femboy I was stalking inside the club mere moments ago radiated submissive bottom like a cologne I could small across the dance floor.

THIS guy is cloaked in badass, wearing it as comfortably as his synth-leather Samurai jacket or the armored thigh high boots that manage to show off legs, I'd need a couple of trips to the ripper doc to pull off.

He swings a cane at two of the goons. The cane appears to emit some kind of green & blue electro-static discharge from the ornately designed head. The attacks succeed in taking them both down in a half heartbeat. He flicks a wrist and a slim blade appears as if by sleight-of-hand into his inverted grip, a quick toss sends it into the thigh-meat of the other goon, sending him crashing to the ground wailing and pissing himself.

Then he moves on to the cyberpsycho, knocking him backwards with a backhand from his cybernetic fist.

The amped up psycho sprawls like a broken toy on the floor of the alleyway but he climbs back to his feet. I'm not sure if he's suffering more from the Frankenstein's-worth of implants or the beating he's enduring from my rescuer.

I see a telling burn of a cyberdeck interface in the femboy's eyes and suddenly the psycho is puking out his guts, vomiting a gray-green sludge all over himself and the ground before meandering around; blindly swinging his blade wildly.

A ganger, the one with a blade in his leg, makes the extremely poor lifechoice to try and stand up with the knife he pulled out of his own flesh in hand.

Fuckboi just glances at him, his eyes shimmering with malevolence. The ganger starts vomiting, his optics and mods sparking and flashing as they fizzle from overheating, malfunction and dim, all of his cyberware just shut itself off. He falls over groaning, still alive but probably wishing he wasn't.

At one point the cyberpsycho staggers towards him. The femboy turns and blocks the swings with the pimp cane before using its head to jab him in the stomach. The psycho wails, an electronic cry ripped from lips he no longer has and filtered through the mechanical larynx that replaced his organic vocal cords. He stumbles blindly around the space. The cyberpsycho swings his weapon into a set of pipes. I have a half second to notice the warning about volatile contents rendered in augmented reality before the resulting explosion fills the narrow space with fire and roaring noise.

I should be getting burnt but instead the flames lick around, but do not touch me.

Again, HE'S the cause -- sheltering my body from the explosion. The heat and flames sliding harmlessly off the reinforced Samurai jacket. I guess it's functional combat armor, not just a nostalgic showpiece.

He steps away from me, mumbling an apology as if he accidentally groped me on the metro instead of, you know,... saving my gonk life.

My wannabe assailant is rolling around on the alleyway floor moaning in agony, clothing smoldering and smoking. The femboy strides over and raises the pimp cane, bringing it down hard with a brutal smash that quiets the psycho's pain-filled wailing but he's not trying to kill the creature, just knock it into unconsciousness.

His eyes flare bright, a different color from the quickhacking from before. This time he's making a phone call.

"Reggie -- it's V, that uh, package you wanted from Totentanz?... that's the one... I managed to find him after all, one of Brick's loyalists,...Someone decided to crowbar an assload of chrome into him for his trouble,... Send someone to collect him, he got a little bit crispy but is alright otherwise."

He looks at me with resignation.

"I might have a little complication," he says while loudly whispering, "your cyberpsycho attacked a civilian,...a very noticeable and high profile civilian."

Whoever he's talking to responds so excitedly I can almost hear them through the digital connection, they are not happy.

"Oh no THEY'RE fine -- couldn't be safer if they were on board The Crystal Palace itself." V replies.

More chatting though a little more calm.

"As a matter of fact, yes... you do, in point of fact, know her," he looks at me a moment before replying, "it's Ruth Dzang from Info-Flash."

Their response is, if anything, even louder than before. His facial expression reminds me of what my corpo-lawyer looked like after they saw my piece on Rosalind Myers.

"No -- I am not shitting you, " he replies, "as a matter of fact, I was trying to get bent over in a Maelstrom bathroom and was hoping she'd be doing the bending -- anyway long story shorter, shit got weirder than either of us was expecting."

He looks at me apologetically. I am a complication. Edgerunners, if that's what he is, traditionally deal with complications in only a handful of ways. Judging by the fact nobody including the goons or the cyberpsycho are already dead, implies that this Edgerunner clearly has a preference for non-lethal -- if not nonviolent solutions, but that's still no guarantee of safety.