Shaved smooth.  Dressed tight and small.  Made up to look like the hot chick on the cover of this month’s “Maximum Order” magazine.  The SCL card and gun’s a nice touch.  Full of blanks.  They’re both his; it was his idea.

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[Whyte's Rating: R. Adult-themed for sex.]

Chameleon

          Shaved smooth.  Dressed tight and small.  Made up to look like the hot chick on the cover of this month’s “Maximum Order” magazine.  The SCL card and gun’s a nice touch.  Full of blanks.  They’re both his; it was his idea.

          “Freeze!”

          He kept running through this apartment.

          “I said, ‘Freeze!” 

          I fire.  His fall is perfect, well done, jerking as if I’d hit him square in the back, collapsing on the kitchen tiles.

          I pull out the handcuffs.  “Now, honey, you and I are gonna have some fun before I take you down to the Shiver station and collect that Hunter Sheet.  It’s not as if anyone would notice you being a little mishandled on the way over.”

          “Don’t touch me, you bitch.  Fucking Slop!”

          He resists, but not too much, only enough that I have to do all of the work.  A smile slips briefly onto his face as his feet get tangled up in his pants and I put my hands on his chest.

          Guaranteed drug and disease free, willing and able to fulfill any fantasy, trained to rest a hand on the arm of a CEO at a charity banquet and not look anything like a whore is supposed to look.  And worth every credit.

          Or so I’m told.

                                                ****

          Clinking glasses, filled with something dark and sweet.  Water bubbling and churning warm and relaxing.  The old man is grey-haired with jowls for cheeks, small bulldog eyes staring at the young man across the hot tub from him as his fat sausage fingers explore underneath my thong.

          I’m told to carry on a conversation with the young man as my cheeks flush from the heat of the water and other things.  I smile, I breathe in and out, and I talk normally.  After more than an hour, as both are taut and huffing yet refusing to touch themselves, I cheat a little and shift in front of the jet to let more bubbles pass between my legs.  It’s all I need; the fat fingers are just pressing me now, barely moving, and that’s a fine thing.  Shows he was paying attention the last hour.

          I can’t talk as I tilt my head back and let my face contort with shuddering release.  They cum just from the sight.

                                                ****

          The heels are near six inches.  The wig is a gorgeous auburn, and my contacts are green.

          “Fuck you, Sandy.”

          It was a hard slap.  I gasp.

          “Think you’ll fuck every guy at work and make me the biggest fool in our neighborhood?  Everyone knows how much you slink around, everyone!”

          “Please, Darrell…”

          Another slap.

          “I’ll teach you.  You’re my wife, you always will be!”

          He shakes me by my arms.  I hunch my shoulders and shake and mewl, “I love you…”

          “What?  I didn’t hear you.  Say it again!”

          “I said I love you, Darrell.  I’m sorry, I’ll never cheat again.  I only want to be with you.”

          He isn’t bad.  Had a little trouble maintaining an erection but had good instincts for making love.  Lots of patience.  A pity his ex never took the time to discover that.

                                                ****

          The music is loud, I can barely hear them.  The place smells of sweat and heat and excess.  The flashing lights are all colors, rendering our Lumo a bit unnecessary.

          “Woooeeee!  The gal can hold her Slosh, that’s for sure!  Come on, sweet cheeks, let’s bump the bump a bit on the floor!”

          His girlfriend giggles unendingly, light and sweet, as we dance.  I’m the taller one, so I kiss her first.  She tilts her head back, sighing through her nose, blushing and looking at him when I finish my kiss.  He approves, that’s all that matters to her.  He looks at me like I’m an angel blessing his binding with a night’s worth of freedom.

          And his girlfriend becomes bi, just like that, as his chest puffs up with pride.

                                                ****

          It’s dim, but not dark.  There’s no one else around, and it’s quiet, except for him.  He kneels behind me on his springy mattress as I hold onto the headboard.

          “Bitch.  Fucking bitch….I told you, you’re gonna take it like I want you to take it!”

          All I can do is relax, let it happen, absorb the pain and channel it as warmth, heat, if not pleasure.  He doesn’t really want a fighter; he’d kill a real fighter.  He wants brute force to batter down the wall he’s never been able to breach.  He wants submission.  He wants her to admit she’s as much animal as he is.

          I can admit that.

          “Yes!  Fuck me!  Do it harder!”

          “Slut.”  A grin in his voice.  “I knew it.  I just knew it.”

                                                ****

          The house smells a bit like a butcher shop juxtaposed to an exercise gym.  Humidity is high, and thoughts are simple here.  Uncomplicated.

          “It a joke,” the 313 slurped, watching me with entirely neutral yellow eyes.  “A dare.  Frother put me up to it.”

          I watch the Stormer, bare legs crossed, hands in my lap, one sandal dangling from my foot.  “You paid for the whole night.”

          “Not me.  Him.”

          I shrug.  I bring out the camera my financer had suggested, knowing the Frother as he did.  I skim off my tank and shorts without fanfare; the 313 really didn’t care.  These were for the Frother.

          The camera says I’m having the time of my life, pressed against so much raw muscle.

                                                ****

          Complete darkness now, as he flips the skirt over my hips.  The shape seems so large above me, balancing, making the bed squeak.

          “Daddy?”

          “Yes, sweetie.  It’s me.  Does this feel good?”

          Actually, it does.  My voice is high, breathy.  “Yes, Daddy.  Do it some more?”

          “Anything for my little angel.”  His hands run to my back, my shoulder blades.  “You’re such an angel.  I feel them, I feel your wings.  Now can you feel that?”

          “Yes, Daddy….”

          “I love you, baby.  Just don’t tell Mommy.”

                                                ****

          I’m naked and cold, standing in front of the open freezer door like this.  Goosebumps and nipples stand up, the fan chills the ice water he poured over me.  With enough time, it is enough.

          “Lie down here.  Now don’t move.  Close your eyes, don’t look at me.”

          I resist just a little as he parts my legs, and through my lashes I can see him smile.

          I don’t move, though.

                                                ****

          The leather creaks as I shift my balance on stiletto heels that could kill a man.  The weight of the flog’s handle is heavy for me, the shlack of the wide leather strips making a much louder noise than a truly paralyzing sting.

          “Goddamn pansy!  Is that the best you can do?  Crawl.  I said crawl!  Kiss my left foot.”

          His lips gently caress my toes, painted a glossy wine red.  He licks them, and I strike his bare back with the lash, the sound ringing in our ears.  “Did I say you could taste?”

          “No, Mistress.  Please forgive me.”

          He flinches under five more strikes, but makes no sound, only reaches out to touch my foot with tender fingers.  I pull on the leash attached to his collar, pull him toward me.  He’s blindfolded and can’t see me and sucks in his breath through his nose when I kiss his mouth.

          “Forgiven.”

                                                ****

          The Wraith Raider wants to chase me.  So I run.  Run until my lungs feel near to bursting.  I pour everything into my effort, as always, and try my best to escape him.  He tells me, when he catches me, that I can take pride in the fact that it will take him several minutes to catch his breath.

          Each joining takes only a short time.  I hold still, he mates me with shallow, quick strokes until he growls and pulls out, something bulbous scraping the insides of me.  I try to move away, and I feel teeth grab my hair as I’m pulled back and onto his new erection.  I learn that my action of trying to escape, to stretch my tired legs, to stand up, the very willful act to do something other than mate, produces the right scent to make him ready again.

          He easily holds the record for quickest recovery time and most climaxes in one night.  It occurred to me to count.

          The next time I hear a human brag about “five times in one night,” I’ll have to try very hard not to laugh.

                                                ****

          I’ve drunk four glasses of wine, two cocktails, and my bladder is full as we dance in his living room.  He ignores all subtle signs until he sees me squirm uncomfortably, my eyes drifting and staying toward his hallway bathroom, and at last he offers his hand.

          “Into the tub.”

          He lay down fully clothed, though I’m to be nude.  My legs are strong and toned; I can squat and shift and do what I need to do to aim the stream where he tells me.

          In return, I shiver as his urine spatters right on my clitoris, as I hold my legs wide.  Almost as good as the jacuzzi those months ago.

                                                ****

          Three returned from the Black Op.  They didn’t want to separate, fearing they would die if they did.  Whatever they’d seen, they shared the same look in their eyes.  I’ve never seen someone tear up just from smelling the scent of the shampoo I use.

          It’s okay.  I have thee holes.  They can stay together.  We can share.

                                                ****

          “You’ll feel some pressure.”

          I feel bleary-eyed, fuzzy-headed, but he was right.  I did feel some pressure.  I cringe.

          The instrument opened me up, and I left something scraping my insides even farther in than the Wraith Raider had.  Then an aspiration tube, sucking and slurping innards out until I am empty, clean.  Sort of like changing the oil in a car.  No residue remains.  Ready for another 10,000 miles.

          “We’ll increase the dose of your birth control shot, Cami.”

                                                ****

          Guaranteed drug and disease free.  We make sure the claim is good again during my temporary period of isolation, until the shot can work again, until I stop bleeding.

          Not total isolation.  My financer finds an executive that never undresses his companions; he just wants their mouths sometimes.

          “Your lips are so beautiful.  I love to watch you move that mouth when you talk.  Do you want to be on video, my dear?  We could discuss possibilities.”

          I smile.  I’m already all over the web.  The Stormer pictures had achieved a certain fascination, an infamous notoriety among the curious.  But unless you’re my client and you’ve asked, you never see me in normal clothes.  You never see me on the street alone, buying food, watching television through a store front, hailing a taxi.  I actually don’t know how much things cost anymore.

          I shake my head.  “Not unless it’s part of the paid night, sir.”

          The night is all anyone ever gets to redeem themselves before they break from the stress.  Sooner or later I myself will be redeemed.  We can do background checks on everyone, try to be careful, but I already know sooner or later I’ll feel the step beyond the “little death.”  Probably at the hands of a client.

          It’s okay.  It’s one of two ways a whore’s career ends.  When the expectations, the guarantees are so high, it’s better than the slow decline. 

          I’m worth every credit.

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