CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The ride was buttery smooth, the car hardly swaying at all even on the
curves. If the city hadn't been passing by outside the windows he wouldn't even
have known they were moving.
The sun had just dropped below the horizon and the cloudless sky was
darkening fast. Lights were popping on all over Garshak. The skyscrapers
looked like towering fountains of fire, frozen in time, lit up from within and
without, by bright spotlights that did their best to turn each building into a
work of art, lines and shadows.
It was late enough that the citizens of Garshak had already left work
and made their way home. The magrail car was half empty, and the adverts
playing on the flatscreens mounted high on the walls were ignored seemingly by
everyone but Hamee, who still couldn't get used to seeing so much nudity and
sexual content on public adscreens.
"First time on Monny?"
The speaker sat across the car and sported a long scraggly moustache.
By his dress he was a long-hauler, native to the Earth system if Hamee had to
guess. He was swigging chocolate-flavored milk from a chugger; Hamee could see
the words DAIRY MAID on the chugger's label above a picture of a busty blonde.
Hamee chuckled out loud.
"That easy to spot?"
"You're the only one in the car watching the vid. Going to Fun Town?"
"Does this train go anywhere else?"
"Not if you're an offworlder. First time?" Hamee nodded. "Want some
suggestions?"
"Uh, sure."
"How long are you onplanet?"
"I've got about five days left."
"Left? Let me guess, you've been sampling the treats from the hotel
I-Vid. Waste of time. Trust me, after you've been to Fun Town, you won't even
look at hotel treats or freewalkers. You'll be in the clubs."
"The clubs?"
"Yeah. Fun Town is laid out like a big courtyard, only it's over a
kilometer wide and about two long. Used to be several city blocks but they tore
down most of the buildings in the center years ago. The clubs are mostly on the
perimeter. You'll see them before we pull into the station. Dotting the center
are the bars and restaurants, outdoor cafes, permdye parlors, souvenir shops,
things like that. The square's filled with people, you can't even pilot a
speeder through there. I've only seen the police try, when someone got trampled
and they didn't have any floaters nearby."
"What are the clubs like?"
The spacer laughed. "Well, there are dozens of 'em, but really there
are only a few you want to hit, depending on what you're interested in. Are you
. . . heterosexual?"
"Yeah."
"And your tastes. Are they mundane, or . . . ?"
Hamee had to laugh hard at that. "I didn't think so, but this place has
redefined me." He gestured up at the adscreen, which at the moment was filled
with images of the latest speeder built by GUP Inc.
"I know what you mean. Here's my advice -- start off at the Buzz Club.
It's about halfway down the plaza, past the A & R clubs, and'll give you a real
taste of what Fun Town has to offer. If you see a club that looks interesting
before you get there, go for it, it's your layover. The tamest place here makes
the New Vegas flesh hotels look like Catholic churches."
"A & R?"
"You are new here. Abuse and Restraint," the man explained. "Their
sidewalk shows are enough to satisfy any idle curiosity I might've had."
Another spacer was nearby, and had been obviously listening in on the
conversation. He added his own words of wisdom.
"Don't forget that you're on a strange planet, with its own customs," he
reminded Hamee. "You're going to see things you swear can't be legal, no matter
what everyone says." He traded a look with the other spacer. "Things aren't
always what they seem."
"Squeakers," the other spacer said, and the two men nodded.
"Squeakers?" Hamee echoed.
"Among other things. You want to really stretch the boundaries of
reality, go to the squeaker club they've got in Fun Town. Small World."
"I thought you were going to say the Other Club," the second spacer
said.
"The morphs are the best thing in Fun Town," someone halfway down the
car called out. He looked at Hamee. "The Menagerie," he said. "The morphs are
getting wilder by the month, the government must have really relaxed the
regulations."
"I don't want a woman with fur or a tail," another person shot back.
"Everyone always overlooks the treats working the street," another man
told Hamee. "Big mistake, if you ask me. They're mostly all pretty, and the
price is next to nothing for a mouth. They usually work in little alleys
between the buildings."
"Don't forget Public Ordinance 387," someone called to the speaker.
"I was just about to mention it," the man replied. He turned back to
Hamee. "FunTown is always crowded with people, and the city fathers don't want
any tourists slipping and falling on wet pavement. If the police catch a treat
spitting on the ground she'll get a serious fine. A few use towels or buckets
but mostly they just swallow." He smiled. "I don't think they've even heard of
SweetSeed here." SweetSeed came in pill form and had been invented for the sake
of women. Once he took it, a man had only to wait an hour and his semen would
taste sweet as candy.
The car erupted in several loud conversations. It seemed everyone on
board was going to Fun Town, and had an opinion on what its best feature was.
Hamee tried to follow the conversation, but there was just too much he didn't
understand; slang terms, unfamiliar names. The man who'd first spoken to Hamee
pointed past him out the car window. Hamee turned.
The multi-colored lights lit up the sky. Hamee saw strobing
searchlights and flashing, garish holos, but he was still too far away, the
train moving too fast, to pick out any detail. The train curved in toward the
glowing bowl, which made the rest of the city seem dark and still.
The elevated rail ran along the rim of the giant plaza for a short
distance and Hamee had a chance to look down and see the mass of humanity
seething among the bright buildings. There was just too much detail, too many
bright lights, colors, for him to focus on anything. The train slowed and the
station walls loomed up suddenly. Not long afterward the train braked gently to
a stop and Hamee stood up, heart beating fast. He followed a row of backs
across the station platform and down a wide escalator. As soon as he reached
street level and pushed through the wide doors he was engulfed in a wave of
noise.
The station doors spit him out onto the sidewalk at one end of a short,
wide avenue that fed out into the huge plaza. At its mouth was a huge stone
sculpture, a modern interpretation of classic Greek style. It was titled
"Ecstasy" according to the plaque on its base. It featured (as near as Hamee
could tell) three nude men and two women in the throes of passion. They were
upright and so intertwined he couldn't tell where one figure ended and the other
began. The work was highly erotic and yet still could be said to be tasteful as
none of the sculpted figures displayed more than half a breast or a turned
buttock.
There were people everywhere, on the wide sidewalks, in the street,
leaning over second floor balconies. People shouting, yelling, singing. The
night sky was lit up with light, every color in the rainbow. Signs for sex
clubs, restaurants, licensed casinos, fortunetellers, attached to buildings or
freefloating above the crowd, dozens of feet tall. There were mobile food
vendors trolling the sidewalks, jugglers, magicians, and dancers. Brightly lit
floating adverts called bubbles drifted amongst the crowd at head level. He saw
longhaulers, offworlders of every size, shape, and color, in every kind of garb
imaginable, earnest locals in pastel robes, and here and there the bulky
presence of a police officer clad in hard-shell armor, looking like a two-legged
beetle. The sidewalks and street were a sea of people and he moved through them
in a daze, momentarily overwhelmed.
Sex was everywhere. Hundreds of freewalkers mingled with the crowd,
plying their wares. Bare flanks and breasts were everywhere he looked. Before
he'd taken ten steps out of the magrail station one had propositioned him. She
wasn't that pretty, but he supposed she knew that, and was looking to snare
first time visitors to Fun Town before they'd had a chance to look around. To
get his attention she'd pulled down her twoskin top, revealing what Hamee
considered average breasts. He'd demurred out of reflex, but the pimple-faced
League Marine private behind him was hooked. She led him to a shadowed alcove,
had swiped his permID through her tiny reader, and was on her knees before all
the passengers had exited the rail car.
Just about every third business was a sex club, and their illuminated
holos stretched three and four stories into the sky above the teeming plaza,
which was paved in old-fashioned cobblestone. Most of the holos featured nude
(or nearly so) women gyrating. Even though he was deep inside a modern city
what tickled his nostrils was dry desert air. It was thick with the smell of
cooking food from the cart vendors and the many restaurants dotting the plaza.
Meandering along the sidewalk, Hamee passed a narrow alley between a PermDye
parlor and a tarot reader's shop; he wasn't surprised to find it filled with a
dozen men -- and one woman -- being fellated by freewalkers out of the crush of
passing foot-traffic. What surprised him was how clean the alley was, how well
ordered the procession of treats and customers in and out of it were. The
working women knelt on rectangular pads, a supply of which were stacked against
one wall, and less than a third were using spittoons.
He came upon his first sex club, The Tiger's Den. Above him a glowing
two-story woman wearing almost nothing gyrated sensuously, and the front of the
building was covered with flatscreens showing, he assumed, what was going on
inside. There was a stage, and several very athletic women, and some artificial
tentacles it appeared the audience members could manipulate by remote. A male
huckster, that Hamee took to be a synthetic because he was far too animated,
tried to entice him inside. He shook his head and kept going, flowing with the
crowd.
Every three meters or so a freewalker caught his eye, or touched his
arm, or called to him. The plainest of them by any standard was still
attractive; clothing was minimal at best. He declined each offer, ever polite,
knowing he had plenty of time to enjoy himself; Fun Town never closed. At first
he kept to the edge of the plaza, circling; away from the buildings the gigantic
courtyard was a boiling cauldron of bodies. After weeks aboard ship, even
though he'd been onplanet a while it was still a little much for him.
Apart from the treats, the majority of the crowd was men, but there were
more women than he'd been expecting. Most were shorthaired dahlias, traveling
in rowdy packs, some obviously longhaulers tired of each other's bodies after
untold weeks aboard ship. He also saw single women in the crowd as well, women
that looked to be buying, rather than selling. Mostly he saw them going in and
out a small handful of clubs that advertised male entertainment.
The mood was festive, the atmosphere that of a party still going strong.
There were several light fountains in the giant square; he supposed water was
too scarce on this desert planet for the real thing. Once he grew accustomed to
seeing pulatritas servicing their customers right out in the open, sometimes
urged on by rowdy crowds, only the truly bizarre drew his attention. He saw
League Marines, after overindulging in euphorics, staggering around in twos and
threes, trying to get their eyes to focus. Some of the small permdye parlors
also offered old-fashioned body piercing. Perhaps one in five freewalkers, he'd
noticed, had her nipples pierced. Not long after he'd arrived, a tiny blonde,
her hair cut short, hurried past him on the sidewalk wearing a big excited grin
and nothing else, not even footwear. She trailed a medium sized crowd of young
men who were hurrying to keep up. Half a block down he saw her again, kneeling
at the mouth of a busy alley, three of the nearby treats' spit buckets that
she'd collected on the pavement in front of her. Urged on by the chanting crowd
and their tossed money she quickly gulped down the contents of all three
buckets. Hers seemed a rather practiced performance. She collected her money
and disappeared into the crowd, still nude as the day she was born.
Outside of a small bar, a woman with flaming red hair stood talking with
a small weasely man. Her round abdomen and pubis were covered with some sort of
tribal tattoos, but what turned Hamee's head were her labia. They hung halfway
to her knees, sheets of wrinkled flesh that swayed gently as she gestured, their
edges perforated with holes big enough to stick a finger through. Her breasts,
oddly enough, were covered. Not far past her a vendor and his nude assistant
were demonstrating the latest dermal elastomers, this case in the form of
topical creams, at their booth. She had obviously applied a prodigious amount
to her body, as her medium-sized breasts had begun to sag solely from their own
weight. The huckster stretched and pulled and squeezed them like taffy, the
assistant smiling through it all, never experiencing the slightest discomfort.
"For those of you not wealthy enough to buy your lady a PCA,' the
salesman addressed the crowd, "I have a solution." As he bent the grinning
assistant over and lubed up his arm Hamee turned away and continued on.
He came across what looked like a small hotel. He guessed the rooms
were rented by treats by the minute or hour, as the noise from the crowds would
prevent any guests actually sleeping in its beds. Three topless women, one of
them visibly pregnant, were whooping it up on a second floor balcony and
spraying the passing crowd with milk from their breasts. A man appeared behind
them, bent the pregnant one over the balcony railing, and began roughly corking
her. Drops flew from her dark gyrating nipples into the crowd gathered below.
A small crowd had gathered to watch a knife juggler. There Hamee saw a
luscious strawberry blonde with oversize breasts barely contained in a blue
twoskin tank top. Her breasts were near-perfect cones set high on her chest,
with puffy, clearly defined areolae. Cone-shaped breasts, as opposed to globes,
had once been all the rage; perhaps on Monny they still were. From her left
hand trailed two leashes. The leashes were connected to collars on her two
"pets", on hands and knees by her heel, completely nude, oiled and glistening
for a night on the town. At first Hamee thought them two men, muscular and
sporting identical blonde brush cuts, then he noticed the smaller one, while
just as muscular, had softer lines and the barest hint of breasts. As he
watched, the male glanced up at the woman holding the leash. His mistress
wasn't paying attention, her eyes were focused on the juggler. In a flash he
was on top of the oiled female, thrusting frantically, balls swinging wildly.
Her only response was to stick her ass back at him and move her knees apart
slightly. Two dogs having sex in the middle of the street would have garnered
more attention than they did. Someone nudged the woman holding the leashes.
She looked down at her two pets uninterestedly, then went back to watching the
juggling.
Then there was the young woman obviously superdosed with X-Cite-R. Her
underwear was tangled around one of her shoes, the only clothing she wore. She
was cursing the armored police officer who carried her squirming body awkwardly
toward his waiting floater, using profanity that turned the heads of nearby
Marines, all the while grinding her crotch against the officer's hip-plate.
Finally he got tired of it and tucked her under one arm. The blue colored
hardshell gloves protecting his flesh made his hands look almost twice their
normal size. Two fingers so encased were sufficient to distract the woman long
enough for him to get her into the back of his floater.
Snippets of conversation floated past his head as he swam through the
crowd. Most was background noise, but here and there a word or a phrase stuck
out. "--she was so jacked up she forgot to ask me for money!" "The strip's
not very crowded tonight, I wonder why." "--I didn't even have to ask her to
eat it . . ." "Well of course you're sore, his penis is bigger than my
forearm." "I just saw -- what's the age of consent here, anyway? Someone told
me there isn't one. That can't be right, can it?" "I'm telling you, every
woman in there had a plug-in. It was krikin' intimidating."
A crowd had gathered around a magician, who'd snagged a passing
pulatrita and was pretending to pull objects of all sizes and shapes from her
bare sex with accomplished sleight of hand. A leggy brunette stood in the
audience, watching. She wore an electric green twoskin bodysuit, and was idly
stroking the erection plainly visible inside the suit between her legs. Behind
her two men were locked in a rapturous kiss.
Just past the amorous male couple he saw a large courtyard off the main
square, the hulks of two or three clubs crowding it. At the mouth of the
smaller courtyard he came across two small metal cages guarding the entrance.
In the one closest to him was a female - the other contained a male. As he
moved past the cage he could see that the naked woman sitting crosslegged
inside, her head cocked back, had free use of her arms and legs, but was pinned
in place by the steel shafts entering her through each of her three orifices.
Her eyes followed him as he walked by, and as he passed he noticed her body was
covered with gobs of spit. Apparently custom was to salute her as you went by.
He spotted the Buzz Club on the other side of the street and angled for it,
stepping into the street.
The Buzz Club was a big building, taking up most of one block. A buxom
holo woman gyrated above the sidewalk to the beat of subdued sonic pop. She was
fifteen meters tall, her nude body awash with colors, like she'd been immersed
in spotlights when the holo was recorded. There were three barkers out front,
beautiful women with the glittering eyes and crazy smiles of X-Cite-R junkies.
They wore matching latex shorts in robin's egg blue, held up with wide elastic
suspenders that clung to the outside curves of their breasts.
"We've got the prettiest women in Fun Town!" they cried to the passing
crowd. "Every one of them flying on jack! Five stages, with continuous
performances! A higher treat-to-customer ratio than you'll find anywhere on
the strip. We've got something for everyone. Come on in!"
The front of the building was awash in lights, but like every other club
had no windows. The owners didn't want to give anything away for free. Hamee
stepped past the barkers shouting and waving their arms, noticing their backs
were slick with sweat. Two men staggered past him on their way out of the club,
looking drained. Hamee pushed through the doors into a small foyer. Hidden
sensors checked him for weapons, explosives, illegal drugs, and probably half a
dozen other items. A set of double doors led into the club proper, flanked by
two more women in shorts and suspenders. Employee uniforms, he surmised
correctly. These two women were startlingly large, bodies thick with muscle,
both taller and broader than him. They had a high enough body fat percentage to
sport some breast meat, just enough to make their massive pectoral muscles look
soft. The security in such a place would be many layers deep, he knew, and this
buff, smiling duo would be but the first. He moved to the desk built into one
wall.
"Welcome to the Buzz Club," the woman behind the desk said cheerily.
She was slender, her small breasts mostly hidden under the suspenders. Another
employee smiled at him from behind the long desk, moving to help a rowdy crowd
of men who piled through the door behind Hamee.
"How much does it cost to get in?" Hamee said absently, distracted by
the wall behind her. It was an ever-changing montage of faces and bodies, an
enticement for what he would see inside.
"We charge a flat, hourly rate," she explained. He could feel a
rhythmic vibration coming up through the floor into his feet. Sonic Pop, he
could hear it through the double doors leading into the club proper. "One
hundred and twenty-five UC's, with a one hour minimum charge even if you turn
right back around and walk out. Which, I assure you, you won't want to do."
"That's rather steep. What does that include?"
"The Buzz Club features five stages of non-stop performance twenty hours
a day. We have one of the largest assortments of sex workers in Garshak, and on
average you'll have several opportunities each hour to experience their
companionship. No part of the club is off limits to you, except those cubicles
that have privacy shields up, and of course the stages themselves, unless you're
invited up by one of the performers."
"Do I have to pay the treats or is that included?"
The woman shook her head. "Although you will have the opportunity to
tip those pulatritas whose company you've enjoyed. Other than food and drink, a
wide selection of which we offer at reduced prices, the hourly fee covers
everything."
"Ah, well, what the hell," he said, handing over his card.
"Thank you sir. I would recommend purchasing some Buzz Club tokens as
well. They're one UC each, and you can use them to tip the staff or pay for
food and drinks. Their price is fully refundable."
"Yeah? Krikes, okay, give me thirty."
The woman smiled and ran his card into a slot in the desk. "We'll keep
your card, sir, until you leave. That way we'll know how much to charge your
account. Please don't forget to collect it, as you might be charged for time
you weren't in the club. But we'll stop you if you try to leave without it."
"Great."
"Club employees will identify themselves to you. While their presence
is implied consent for sex, no force will be permitted unless agreed to
beforehand by both parties. The wait staff will be in uniforms such as mine."
She swept a hand down her front. "As they have duties to attend to, they are
exempt from the consent clause. They can be propositioned, but remember that
they can say no. Your tokens sir." She handed him a small pouch that felt like
velvet. It was heavy. Inside he found the tokens, small balls about two
centimeters in diameter, silver and heavy enough to be metal, although they felt
like plastic against his fingertips. They were connected by thin rubbery
strings, six strings of five balls each. Hamee clipped the bag to his belt and
moved toward the double doors. The group that had come in after him had already
entered the club, but the doorway was shielded so he couldn't see or hear
anything beyond.
The bulky doorwomen smiled and pushed open the doors for him. Hamee
stepped through the grey haze of the shield and found himself in a huge room.
The throbbing beat of sonicpop immediately got his skin tingling.
To his eyes the club seemed to be one huge room, filled with many
hundreds of people. Colored spotlights swept the cavernous expanse, which
except for the bright elevated stages was rather dim. He stood at the railing
and waited for his eyes to adjust.
The smell inside was thick enough to chew. Perfume, sweat, sex, food,
euphorics, tobacco smoke, and the faint tang of X-Cite-R all hung in the air,
creating a haze thick enough to obscure the far end of the room perhaps two
hundred meters away.
The club was a riot of narrow shelf-like levels. The stages were
elevated from the floor, but rising rings of tables and private booths encircled
each one. The lowest rings were in almost complete darkness, broken only by the
occasional sweeping spotlight.
Huge flatscreens hung from the ceiling out of sight above, dozens of
them, providing the club's best illumination. Cameras covered the five stages
from every angle and the images were fed into the flatscreens up above for all
the clientele to see, so no one could say they had a bad seat.
A club employee in the requisite shorts and suspenders approached him
while he stared out into the bubbling chaos. She had to shout to be heard over
the sonicpop.
"Would you like a booth or a table, sir?"
"Booth!" he yelled back. He followed her down a shallow winding
staircase, past levels teeming with people.
"Is there any stage you would like to be close to?" she asked him.
Hamee looked around the club again. The action on the floor was nearly as
exciting as what was happening on the stages. The management knew it, too;
Hamee noticed many of the flatscreens up above displayed activity taking place
inside the booths surrounding the stages, between the customers and the club's
pulatritas.
"Not particularly," he shouted back.
The Sonic Pop made his skin tingle at first, and his eyeballs felt fizzy
until his body grew accustomed. Flashing lights in a hundred colors swept the
club, and he had to be careful not to trip as he followed the waitress down a
narrow lane between tables.
Scattered randomly throughout the club were thick pedestals, four or
five meters tall, each topped with a gyrating dancer. Hamee looked up as he
passed one and saw the woman's body glistened with sweat as she jerked to the
beat. A drop of sweat hit him on the nose as he walked alongside the pedestal.
From the expression on her face and the way she ground her muscled thighs
together Hamee could tell she was flying on jack. She had a glowing oval patch
of synthetic pubic hair that flashed different colors in time to the beat. The
two-cem-long synthair was straight and dense, making it look like she'd glued a
brush to her mound.
The waitress led him to what was closer to a cubicle than a booth,
barely two meters wide and one and a half deep. When he sat on the U-shaped
cushion the partition only reached to his shoulder, but he saw if he activated
the privacy feature the grey egg-shaped field would conceal him even if he
stood. A small table folded back against the wall when not in use. From his
seat he could still see the pedestal dancer. She was still dancing wildly,
jerking her body and swinging her arms. Other than the chameleon-like pubic
brush she was nude, her lower body thick with muscle he suspected she'd
developed while grinding atop the pedestal. The light made it hard to be sure,
and in any case she was bouncing them so wildly it was hard for his eyes to
follow them, but Hamee was almost positive her big breasts were pulsing in time
to the sonicpop beat.
"No," he murmured, and squinted again. After a minute of staring, he
was positive. They were pulsing to the beat. They swelled for three beats,
then shrank for three beats, over and over, changing at least two cup sizes
during the cycle.
"Oh yeah!" he heard. He looked over and saw the man at the next booth
looking at him. "Sound reactive implants," he told Hamee. "The latest thing.
Can't wait to get my hands on a pair."
There were perhaps two dozen pedestal dancers throughout the club, and
after much squinting Hamee was pretty sure they were all equipped with the
implants and flashing pubic hair. Club bought and paid for? he wondered.
Wouldn't that be something.
He leaned over to ask the man a question and suddenly noticed there was
a head bobbing over his lap.
"Oh, excuse me."
The man waved his hand dismissively. "If I wanted privacy I'd have the
field up." He held out a hand. "Guy Ferkeris, from Earth. And this is
Minnako." He motioned at the woman between his legs. Her long black hair
pooled around him, obscuring her face. The bobbing of her head continued apace.
"She'd say hello, but . . . ." He laughed, then saw Hamee's attention had been
caught by the two men just below them on the next level, double-teaming a club
treat. In fact, as Hamee looked around, he realized just how many people he
could see having sex.
"First time?" Guy asked, knowing the answer.
"What? Oh, uh, yeah."
"Look around," Guy told him. "You'll never find anything like it on any
other planet, and I swear I've been to them all. And this is a Mundane club."
"Mundane?"
"They don't feature any morphs, any GELF's. Just flesh the way nature
intended. More or less," he said with a belly laugh.
Hamee looked at the closest stage. There, under the bright lights, a
couple had just come on. The man was impressively well endowed, even from a
distance. The woman began by kneeling and sucking the head of his cock until it
had swollen to heroic proportions. Loudly and theatrically she hawked and spat
wad after wad onto his length, stroking him with her hand until his whole shaft
was shiny with her saliva. Licking her lips she cracked her jaw wide and
smoothly slid his entire length into her mouth. Her throat bulged downward,
quite a bit, but she never gagged. As soon as she had his length all the way in
she grasped his hips with both hands and began ferociously pumping him back and
forth. Ropy veins bulged in her neck, and a long string of saliva hung from her
lower lip.
"I've seen this before," Guy said. "I think she's got KlitSkin lining
her throat, you see how she's so into it? That's another thing I love about
this planet, all the women are Jacked up. I don't think any of these girls are
faking it." He swung a hand around the club.
On nearby flatscreens Hamee could see close-ups of the action. Other
screens showed him what was taking place on the other stages: a pretty
brunette, nude and visibly jacked up, pulled men two and three at a time from
the audience and with consummate skill masturbated each one, directing their
spurts into a clear, pitcher-like container set on a low table. Before the
night was over she'd fill it with over a liter of semen which she would then
drink to the roar of the crowd, rinse it out with her own urine and then drink
that as well.
Another stage was covered with women in a glistening, oil-soaked pile.
They were wildly licking, sucking, fingering and fisting, so intertwined it was
hard to tell how many of them there were. Hamee tried counting heads and
guessed twelve.
Other screens showed him two whipcord-skinny women abusing a naked,
ballgagged man, bound vertically spread-eagled on stage. One would whip his red
ass with a long black rod while the other jerked his cock, then they'd stop and
take turns spitting in his face and calling him names. One attached a large,
very realistic penis to her bald groin, Hamee wasn't sure how, and roughly took
the man from behind while her partner slapped his swinging balls. All three of
them looked to be having the time of their lives.
"Hey!" Guy called. He shot out a hand and snagged a short, stocky woman
going by. Hamee realized she was a pedestal dancer just finished with her shift.
Her muscled body was dripping with sweat, and she was breathing hard. Up close,
her breasts were even more startling. Swell, swell, swell to the everpresent
beat, shrink, shrink, shrink, over and over again. They just about doubled in
size during the cycle. Hamee wondered what it felt like - at their largest, the
skin of her breasts was shiny taut.
Guy pulled Minnako up by her hair, revealing a heart-shaped asian face
framed in ebony. Her full lips were slack and wet, and she wore a vaguely dazed
expression. "Go work on him," Guy said, pushing her in Hamee's direction.
"No, that's really not, uh," was all Hamee got out before Minnako was on
her knees before him. She tugged down the elastic waist of his trousers, fished
out his hard penis, and had it in her mouth before Hamee could collect his
thoughts. He cleared his throat, then slowly leaned back. Damn. She was good.
Her long hair covered his waist like a cape, and hung down her bare back; idly,
he wondered why she'd bothered to take off her top, he still hadn't seen her
breasts.
Guy pulled the unresisting pedestal dancer close and leaned back in the
booth, cock ramrod stiff. He reached between her legs and chuckled.
"You're wet as a river," he told the woman. Her breasts continued to
pulse to the musical beat, her pubic patch still blinked through a rainbow of
colors. She backed up to Guy, muscled ass moving to the beat, and slowly sank
onto him, her legs between Guy's spread thighs.
"Oh baby!" Guy exclaimed as she stretched back against him like a cat.
Her arms went up and behind her to stroke the back of his head while Guy's hands
started at her hips and slid up her body to her breasts. She ground her ass
against him as he squeezed her pulsing tits and tugged at their flat nipples.
She had a wild mane of light brown hair that covered Guy's face. Her eyes were
closed as she moved on him in time to the beat.
"Krikes," Guy gasped. The dancer spread her legs and bent forward until
her head was between her knees. Hands on her knees, she began bouncing her ass
up and down. Her face was hidden by her wild hair, but Hamee could hear her
panting.
Guy produced a string of tokens and began thumbing them one by one into
the dancer's ass. At first she gave no sign she even noticed, then Hamee saw
she was bouncing harder and starting to grind against Guy at the bottom of every
stroke. When the first string of five was gone he started on a second.
"Shit," Hamee groaned, and tensed as he came into Minnako's clutching,
talented mouth. He ran a hand through her long thick hair as she licked him
clean.
"Club policy," Guy yelled at him over the music. "With all the action
in here they have to keep it off the floors or people'll be slipping all over.
Can't say that I mind." The dancer was still bouncing in his lap, shaking her
head from side to side. "Some of these girls eat so much belly jelly they gain
weight!" he said with a laugh, as Minnako stood up and brushed her hair off her
face. Guy nodded at her. "Give her a token or two."
Hamee dug into his token bag and jerked his hand away in surprise. The
token balls were reactive, vibrating to the sonicpop. He pulled a string out,
his fingers tingling, and looked at Minnako. She carried no bag, wore nothing
over her skinny body, not even shoes. He separated two tokens and held them out
to her in his palm. Minnako, who was older than she first appeared, bent at the
waist. Her wet lips closed over a ball, and he felt her tongue massaging his
palm. Then she swallowed the ball and straightened. Hamee held out the other
token, wondering if perhaps she didn't want it. With a leer Minnako lifted a
leg and set her bare foot lightly on his shoulder. He got a splendid view of
her flat mound and unusual labia, swollen to the size of tiny sausages and
permdyed a bright red. She took the ball from his hand, wet it in her mouth,
then reached down and with a fingertip pushed it into her wrinkled anus. The
gleaming, vibrating, silver orb vanished inside her. Then, with a blown kiss,
she was gone.
"Krikes, you're a machine," he heard Guy gasp, and looked over. The
dancer was still wriggling in his lap, bouncing and grinding. Guy saw Hamee
glance his way. "She's got another implant underneath her pubic bone," he
explained, panting. "Vibrating like a son of a bitch, no wonder she was so wet.
If I hadn't come so many times already I'd be drowning her in it. It'd be
running out her nose. Hell, who'm I kidding? Without the X-Tend I'd be an
overcooked noodle. I'm just dry-barring her." He slapped the dancer's ass.
"Why couldn't I have found you two hours ago. I'd really have liked to decorate
your cake."
Hamee felt a touch at his arm and turned to see a woman standing beside
him. She was short, and very slender, with dark brown hair pulled tight against
her skull into a short, braided ponytail.
"I'm Breena," she told him. "Do you want a show? I'm a Spider-Girl."
She wore black twoskin shorts and nothing else. Her breasts were nonexistent,
just nipples with no weight behind them. She was skinny as skinny could be, but
with excellent muscle definition. A washboard stomach, firm shoulders, and
tight calves.
"Yes he does," Guy answered quickly for him. He looked at Hamee. "You
must be some sort of good luck charm or something. First missy here comes
along," he slapped the everbouncing rump before him, "and now you get a
Spider-Girl. Sit down, shut up, and do whatever she says," he told Hamee.
Breena smiled demurely.
"I need some tokens," she said almost apologetically. "Two strings
would be better. Still together."
While Hamee dug in his bag she unfolded the table from the wall. It was
round and smooth, just large enough for her to sit on crosslegged. "First time
on Monny?" she asked pleasantly, as Hamee produced two strings. "You hold onto
them for now." She brought her thighs together, and with a little hop pulled
her shorts down to her knees. She rocked back and extended her legs.
"Take 'em off." Hamee grabbed the shorts and pulled them free of her
legs, letting them drop. Just that quickly she assumed the splits on the table,
legs out sideways to her body, feet and half her shins sticking out past the
edge. Her hairless crevice was mashed against the tabletop, but she didn't act
like it hurt.
"Flexible," he said appreciatively.
"Somewhat," she said. She leaned to one side, touched right hand to
left foot, then arched the other way, left hand to right foot. She
straightened, and pressed her palms flat to the tabletop in front of her groin.
Locking her elbows, Hamee watched as she lifted her entire body off the table.
Her legs stayed parallel with the floor. It was impressive as hell, and he told
her so.
"Thank you," she said. At once her knees pulled back, legs turned
inward, and Hamee's jaw dropped in amazement as she crossed her ankles behind
her neck while still balancing above the table on her hands.
"Krikes," he said, as she slowly lowered herself to the table. Her
torso looked oddly shortened with her knees behind her shoulders, and he had an
unrestricted view of her thin-lipped sex. His eyes rose to her face. "Quite a
sight," he told her.
"Can't see it very well though, can you?" And keeping her palms pressed
to the table top she somehow pulled her knees even farther down behind her back
so they nearly touched the table. Her crossed shins slid down until they were
in the middle of her back. She rolled gently backward until she was sitting up
on the table, resting on her buttocks and her heels crossed behind her back.
Her furt bulged at him, a dark red gleam at its center. She looked down at it,
then at him.
"Try me with a finger," she purred.
Hand shaking, he extended an index finger. She was warm and wet.
"Okay?" she asked him. "Maybe a little dry. Let me take care of that
for you." And with that she folded herself in half, like she had no spine at
all, grabbed her ass with both hands and buried her face in her own upthrust
groin. She sucked at her clit and licked it with enthusiasm, her tongue
wiggling.
"Krikes that feels good," she gasped wetly, then shoved her long tongue
deep into her furt. After a few seconds, she raised her head and looked at
Hamee. Her cheeks and chin were wet with her own juices.
"Want to help?" she asked him with a grin.
Hamee had no words.
