CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Chris stayed locked in his hotel room for an entire day, never once
opening the door. He even ordered his food in, using the inroom Auto-Chef
instead of ordering room service. For room service he'd have to open the door,
and he didn't want to risk that. It was a shame, too; even mediocre fare from
the kitchen would've been better than the pasty dishes the Auto-Chef produced.
The police had released him early that morning. After the jail medico
checked him for the last time and announced the jack in his bloodstream was down
to a safe level, an officer had taken his statement and told him he was free to
go. Chris thought they were making a huge mistake.
When the medico had told him he'd experience occasional "hot flashes" as
the jack wore off Chris hadn't been too concerned. But then the first one hit,
while he was sitting in the squad room giving his statement. He started
shaking, his face got hot, and the sweat poured off him as he fought with every
atom of his being to stay in the chair. The instant erection throbbed between
his legs, calling to him, commanding him to jump across the desks and thrust
wildly into that pretty female officer's mouth, tear off her pants and do her
doggy style, or just rub himself against her back until he came.
He had to stare at the floor between his legs, taking slow, even
breaths, counting his pulse, doing whatever it took to distract him from the
jack-induced urges. Sweat dripped off his nose and made a small puddle on the
floor.
Then, just as suddenly as it had come upon him, the hot flash was over.
He straightened up slowly and looked across the room. The gorgeous female
officer he'd been ready to rape now looked plain to him, nothing special at all.
Chris quickly finished giving his statement and hurried out of there.
In the lobby he passed several of the whores in black robes that made them look
like nuns. He saw no sign of the particular robed woman that had made regular
visits to his cell throughout the night, relieving the pressure on his vas
deferens with astonishing speed and skill. Chris supposed they must be
contracted by the police department, as no one had asked him for payment for
services rendered.
The officer who'd released him recommended Chris take a private taxi
back to the hotel. Chris had taken him up on the suggestion, and it was a good
thing he did. Another hot flash hit him halfway to the hotel, but this one was
a little more bearable - not only was the driver male, and ugly, and separated
by a ballistic partition, but while the speeder was in motion the doors wouldn't
unlock. By the time they arrived at the hotel Chris was back to something
resembling normal. He paid the driver and went up to his room still wearing the
police provided disposable jumpsuit. He'd been there ever since.
In the wetshower he'd masturbated through another hot flash, never mind
that his whole groin still ached from the ordeal. When it was over he was able
to examine himself. The medico was right - not only had the X-Cite-R and
Breeder's Helper overdose permanently enlarged his penis (he guessed two
centimeters longer and a hair thicker) but he was squirting out quite a bit more
than he used to. Three or four times more. Which was fine in the shower, but
the hot flashes kept coming throughout the day, never more than thirty minutes
apart.
Chris stayed in the room, and by midday he'd given up altogether on
wearing clothes. Several times he thought about ordering a treat on the I-Vid,
but he was paranoid he'd get another DaneLover. Instead he just slouched in a
big chair in front of the screen, flipping from one program to the next. When
the hot flashes would come he would quick-scan to the sex channels for something
interesting. It wasn't hard to find something he liked, there were dozens of
channels devoted just to sex-oriented programs, and the features showing made
his jaw drop.
Even the standard channels were filled with sex and nudity. Whether it
was comedies, dramas, or game shows, flesh was the norm. Some of the
programming was produced off-planet, but not all. One of his favorites channels
was amateur vids by Monny natives. What the natives did here as a matter of
course would be considered extreme on just about every other planet he'd ever
visited. He wondered if they were all flying on Jack, all the time jerking off
to every image, no matter how mundane or bizarre.
Flipping back and forth through the channels while eating supper, Chris
caught bits and pieces of the commercial several times before he saw it in its
entirety.
"Work a little boring, life a little dull?" The model was gorgeous,
with legs that went on forever and huge quivering breasts that looked like
they'd never felt gravity, dressed in a mini-skirted dress that looked sprayed
on. Behind her was the image of pallid officeworkers toiling in cubicles on
notepads. The model smiled.
"It doesn't have to be. With a ReelWorld neural implant you can go
anywhere, do anything, be whoever you want, all from the safety and comfort of
your own home. Be a League Marine, fighting the Durian rebels, or spend a day
as Prince Nantook of West Emer. Do you want to be a fighter jockey, a housewife
on Earth, a circus performer on New Vegas? You can, with a ReelWorld neural
implant. Anything that someone has recorded, you can now experience as if you
were them. Your brain won't know the difference! The sights, the sounds, the
smell, the sensations, everything!" She smiled brightly, while a cascade of
images filled the screen behind her.
"Men - ever wondered what it would be like to spend the night as a
woman? Women - ever wanted to see what it felt like to have a second brain
making your decisions for you?" Big knowing smile. "You can, with a ReelWorld
neural implant. Execute convicted murderers. Bed a Mandalorian princess.
Compete for the PowerBall Championship. Spend the night in a New Vegas brothel,
as a customer or an employee! The possibilities are limitless." At the bottom
of the screen, a message scrolled slowly by: 'CERTAIN OF THE PROGRAMS MENTIONED
MAY NOT BE AVAILABLE IN YOUR AREA'.
"Our latest generation implants are amazingly affordable, and the entire
procedure now only takes a few hours. You can be experiencing chips the same
day! No wires, no headgear - no one but you will even know you've got one.
Just press play on your console, sit back, and hang on, because you've never
experienced anything like this before. Give us a call, or stop on by, we have
twelve convenient locations in greater Garshak. The ReelWorld - where we give
you the best of real life, at an affordable price."
Chris' whole body was shaking as he masturbated furiously. "Krikes," he
spat through clenched teeth.
Hamee stepped out into the fading afternoon sun and wiped his brow. He
looked at his hand and saw that it was shaking, then glanced over his shoulder
at the club he'd just left.
"Unbelievable."
The Inferno was the largest Abuse and Restraint club on Garshak,
situated at the far end of the cul-de-sac that was the A & R section of Fun
Town. Hamee had gone inside on a whim. He wasn't much interested in pain as
pleasure, at least when it came to his own flesh, but his body was begging him
for a break from all the sex he'd been having for nearly two days straight.
Everything he had was either sore or aching. He didn't want to take anything
but the mildest painkillers, afraid he'd lose sensation in some vital areas, and
he'd let the last of the Jack drain from his system to give his battered organ a
little rest. He'd stepped inside the Inferno out of curiosity, seeing it was
just about the largest club of any type in Garshak, and krikes had he learned a
few things.
The club offered patrons the opportunity to be either willing victims of
their professional abusers, abusers themselves of treats who apparently enjoyed
pain or degradation, or patrons could just be observers. The club also seemed
to be a meeting place for those of like mind, as quite a large percentage of the
patrons paid the entry fee but seemed to be providing their own entertainment.
He was only inside a few hours and saw more shocking, bizarre sights
than he'd have thought possible. The whippings, beatings, piercing, burning,
branding, and the electro-torture were a constant backdrop, so much so that they
just became a kind of white noise to him.
Walking in the door he found himself behind a black-skinned dominatrix
with two female slaves. The slaves were nude and leashed, the leashes clipped
to steel rings embedded in the base of their throats. Immediately inside the
door the dominatrix turned right and made for some sort of service area, and
Hamee watched her curiously. Both her slaves had very large, flat breasts that
moved as if they were half-filled with water, rolling and jiggling with their
every movement. At the service counter the domina took a short, narrow hose
tipped with a glinting needle, lifted the breast of the closest slave, and slid
the needle into the end of the woman's nipple. Not sideways, across the nipple,
but rather directly into it toward the woman's ribcage. The domina then hit a
hidden button of the hose and Hamee watched as the slave's breast began to
expand, fill with....something, he didn't know what.
The slave's nipples had been transformed into some sort of organic
pressure valves. Hamee had never even heard of such a thing, much less imagined
it, but he watched as the slaves flat teats swelled one at a time under the hose
until they were huge taut globes on her chest, the skin shiny from the internal
pressure. When the domina pulled the hose out there were no leaks, so Hamee
still was in the dark as to what the slaves were being pumped full of.
"Water," a passing patron told him, when Hamee thought to ask.
The slaves stood there expressionlessly until they each sported massive
breasts of cartoonish proportions, breasts so massive they made their heads look
tiny, although the slaves didn't appear to suffer under the weight of all that
water hanging from their ribcages. When she was done the domina hung the hose
back up and led her slaves away by their leashes.
A female-Hamee assumed she was a club employee, a performer, but he
never knew for sure-was lying on her back on a waist high AutoDoc along one
wall, her head hanging off the edge. Her limbs were restrained, and
bio-monitors displayed her vitals. Paying customers took turns sliding their
cocks down her strategically positioned throat. First she gagged, then she
started to choke, her face and neck turning first scarlet, then purple, arms and
legs straining against their bonds. Finally she passed out from lack of oxygen
and went limp. Each customer then had a set length of time to finish up, before
they were removed by an attendant club employee. The next customer in line
would then wait for the sensoreactors to Auto-Resuscitate the woman, and then it
would be their turn.
In that same area of the club there were a dozen or so women and half a
dozen men suspended upside down from the ceiling by their ankles, hands
restrained behind their backs. Customers could adjust their height and then use
their mouths or fondle them as they wished. It was easy to tell which of the
hanging forms had just been played with, as a few were always swinging as if in
a gentle breeze. At least half the people using the swinging bodies or lined up
to use the woman on the AutoDoc were women-bull dahlias-with realistic-looking
phalluses, and they seemed to be the roughest when it was their turn. Hamee
didn't know if they sported pelvic plug-ins or the real thing, but they seemed
to be enjoying their equipment as much as any man.
As a rule the abuse and degradation didn't bother Hamee, but the naked
human toilets servicing the huge crowd (half of them women, some of them
beautiful, a few of them barely more than children, more than one of them
pregnant) were disturbing in ways he never could have imagined. When one
scrawny (nude, of course, with rings as thick as his thumbs through the nipples
of her flat breasts) treat or fellow patron (he wasn't sure which) asked him to
fill her mouth with shit, Hamee'd retreated into a booth and activated the
privacy field. As she wandered away he noticed not just that her belly seemed
slightly swollen (he didn't want to know with what), but also noticed the
numbers on the side of her neck. Permdyed there. He wondered what they
signified, if anything. One grinning male patron who looked like a regular took
her up on her offer just a few booths down and Hamee found himself unwilling or
unable to turn away from the spectacle. The fact that she masturbated furiously
while eating struck him more forcefully than how much she seemed to enjoy the
taste of it or the impossible amount of stool the man pushed into her eager maw.
He had to've been holding it in for days. Hamee finally turned away when she
began licking the man clean.
There were dozens of stages small and large throughout the club, and
acts were always coming and going. One memorable stage act featured half a
dozen young, attractive, nude ballgagged women standing in a circle, hands on
knees, facing outward, simultaneously receiving voluminous semen enemas. The
actual number of liters each woman took inside herself was unnatural,
incredible, and yet they seemed to enjoy the sensation. Hamee watched as their
abdomens swelled until the women looked like they were four or five months
pregnant. In unison they squatted over a wide, shallow, clear glass bowl and
voided their bowels. Huge vidscreens above the audience provided close-up shots
of all the action. From the lack of anything but semen in the bowl Hamee guess
the women had either been fasting for a few days or had received numerous enemas
before coming onstage. It took quite a while for them to empty themselves,
grunting and straining to push all the fluid out. None of the women even
attempted to be subtle about it. Their faces each turned red at one point or
another, and occasionally a loud wet BLAT! would echo across the stage,
sometimes lasting for several seconds.
One by one their handler ungagged the women as they signaled they were
done, and each quickly turned around, dropped to her hands and knees, lowered
her face to the pearl-grey liquid, and began to drink from the bowl. The
handler walked around the circle of upturned asses and, one by one, as the women
busily-and noisily-sucked up the fluid, refilled each of their colons with
old-fashioned black rubber buttplugs the size and shape of a man's fist and
forearm, confirming Hamee's suspicions about them having had internal work done.
When the bowl was not just empty but licked clean, the women with come-smeared
faces, they were re-gagged, chained together at the neck, and led offstage to
the cheers of the crowd. Where the actual semen came from Hamee didn't even
want to guess, and was afraid to ask.
Several stages featured the anal abuse of willing male patrons by club
professionals. The patrons had the choice of a male or female abuser, but once
they were stripped, gagged, and locked into place, they were done making
decisions. It was pretty obvious to Hamee, both from their eagerness and
capacity, that the great majority of the men who submitted to the abuse were
very experienced devotees of anal play. He doubted they would even consider it
abuse, just rough play. At least half The Inferno's male patrons appeared to be
homosexuals, and a large proportion of those were into energetic ass play.
Hamee'd taken a finger or two once or twice, but most of the men he observed
didn't even pay attention until there was at least one fist involved. He'd
observed one male patron standing in an aisle and was still trying to reconcile
what he thought he'd seen with what he'd thought were the limits of the human
body. The man had been mostly nude but for some decorative black straps across
his chest and a studded collar. He was bent over slightly and listening
silently to three other similarly dressed men as they fervently discussed
something. What attracted Hamee's attention was the flat-bottomed anal plug the
man was wearing. It was round and as big as a man's head, so unnaturally big it
spread the man's asscheeks out almost to the edge of his body. Hamee didn't
think a human's anus could be stretched that big, and yet there he was. When
Hamee saw how the man's stomach bulged like a pregnant woman's he realized he'd
only thought about how wide the plug was, not how long it might be. How could
he have fit something that big inside himself without breaking his pelvis or
crushing his internal organs?
When he saw a gorgeous, busty blonde being tortured onstage he knew he
had to get out of there. First were the long glinting skewers shoved slowly
through the beautiful globes of her breasts and buttocks. Then he watched in
horror as her nipples were cut off and fed to her. Hamee knew she'd probably be
sporting fresh, lab-grown nipples in a day or two, but still. In fact, he
overheard someone saying she had her nipples sliced off and fed to her twice a
week. Even though she'd been screaming as the serrated knife had cut through
her tender flesh the blonde begged her torturer - another busty blonde - to let
her eat her own pink flesh. The torturer had dangled the bloody bits just out
of reach of the bound victim, hanging from her wrists onstage, while blood ran
from the raw circles in her breasts down the front of her nude body. When the
torturer had produced a wide-bladed knife and pushed it deep into the meat of
her victim's breasts through the bloody holes where her nipples used to be, then
asked the audience who wanted to come onstage and fuck her tits, he ran out of
the club, trying hard not to throw up.
The noise and light of the main strip were a little too much for him
after that performance so Hamee veered off to the right. He'd glanced at a map
of FunTown somewhere and vaguely remembered there were some small restaurants
and a few small specialized sex clubs off on a short sidestreet that paralleled
the main one. He was hungry, and overstimulated-it was going to take quite a
lot to get him up with no Jack in his system, especially with images of what
he'd just seen bouncing around his head, but the club he'd heard could do it was
where he was headed.
Hamee found a wide alleyway to cut through - Garshak had the cleanest
alleys of any city he'd ever been in - and politely declined an offer from a
tired-looking pulatrita. She was skinny and sweaty and wore nothing but
thigh-high shiny black boots. Her knobby nipples looked like they'd seen a lot
of abuse, and there were red marks on her slightly saggy breasts, perhaps the
first pair Hamee had seen on Monsipur smaller than fists that didn't look like
they'd never felt gravity.
Farther down the alley, half in shadow, were a rutting couple, the woman
on hands and knees. Both of them were nude, but Hamee had grown so used to the
sight of bare flesh that he nearly missed the two large jiggling breasts sitting
atop the woman's back. They looked identical to the pair hanging from her
chest, swaying with each lethargic thrust, and instead of being turned on or
even repulsed Hamee instead wondered how hard it was for her to find clothes
that fit properly.
Hamee turned left at the corner and saw the club he was looking for at
the end of the street. It wasn't very big, but the big holo marquee was all he
needed to see to pique his interest. THE MENAGERIE.
"How much?"
The polite cashier repeated the figure. Hamee frowned.
"And that includes...?
"That's the entry fee, Sir, to get into the club. Personal or private
performances with Denizens of the Menagerie are, of course, extra, and those
fees you will have to work out with those performers."
Hamee stared at the cashier. She was one of three placed behind a long
counter against the back wall of the club's lobby. All of them were smiling,
and cheerful, and nude. The one he was speaking to was encased in a giant cube
of some sort of clear acrylic from the neck down. Inside it her legs were
spread, and Hamee could see two holes had been bored through the cube up from
the floor toward her groin. Two shafts topped with some type of phalli were
plunging into her with alternating strokes, but she gave no sign she was even
aware of their existence.
The next cashier over was secured inside another clear cube.
Spreadeagled, only her hands, feet, and head protruded from the smooth sides and
top of the cube, which Hamee at first thought was solid like the first.
Instead, he saw this cube was filled with water, or some other clear liquid, and
teeming with hundreds of immature Bolian twitchworms. They were bright blue and
small, not much longer than his fingers and slightly thinner. Attracted to the
natural salt content of her body, they rubbed against her in endless circles.
From the number of tiny tails wiggling between her legs Hamee guessed she had
close to two dozen inside her vagina, although the constant traffic in and out
made it hard to tell. He wondered if any of the mindless but notoriously
insistent creatures had managed to wiggle themselves into her bladder or rectum
or uterus yet, but once again this club employee gave no indication she was even
aware of her body below the waist. The cashier's breasts were cartoonishly
large and globe-shaped, and strained oddly upward in the water like they were
filled with air.
"I come here every time I'm on Monsipur," a scruffy spacer next to Hamee
said. "It's never the same, and it's worth every chit."
"But if it's this much to get in-"
"If you have to ask, you probably can't afford one of the performers,"
the man told Hamee. "It's worth it just to be able to watch. Trust me. Just
look at them." He nodded at he cashiers. "I've never seen the same one twice,
and these ones are tame compared to what's usually behind the counter."
"You're acting like you don't even feel those," Hamee said to his
cashier.
"Feel what, Sir?" she asked him innocently.
Hamee glanced at the cashiers, then back at the man. "Do they always
act like they can't feel what's going on?"
"They can't," the man informed Hamee. "I talked with one of the
cashiers once when she was off-duty. At the start of every shift they get
neural blocks at the base of their neck. Everything going on below the neck is
for your viewing enjoyment in hopes of enticing you into the club. The one I
talked to had a bypass instead of a block, and had all the sensory signals being
recorded on a feelie so she could experience it later."
Hamee looked at the two shafts plunging the woman's body unceasingly.
"You're going to be sore when you get off work," he told her.
"You don't think it's worth the money, you find me in there and I'll pay
you back," the man told Hamee. He produced his card and ran it through the
reader as directed by the cashier secured inside the water-cube.
Hamee wasn't about to do that, he could take responsibility for his own
decisions, but the man's confidence was enough to finally sway him.
"Please slide your card through that slot, Sir," his cashier told him
from her clear prison, the shafts pumping away beneath her. Hamee did as he was
instructed and the display showed him that the quoted amount had been deducted
from his bank balance. His balance was much higher than he thought it would be
when he'd first heard prostitution was legal on Monsipur, but he wasn't about to
tell the girls they were undercharging. He watched the shafts pumping in and
out of the woman for a few seconds, then just shook his head. As he stepped
away from the counter toward the doors leading into the club the cashier with
the ultra-buoyant breasts burped loudly and a squirming twitchworm landed atop
her imprisoning cube.
"Pardon me," the woman said without missing a beat, smiling at the next
patron in line. Hamee would have stood there and stared at her for another ten
minutes, waiting to see if any other twitchworms had wiggled all the way from
her ass to her mouth, but he saw the last cashier in line.
This last cashier was encased in another block of clear acrylic, but
this block was smaller as she wasn't spreadeagled. She'd been leaning back on
her elbows when the stuff had hardened around her, and only her head was free of
the block. Her knees were pulled back to either side of her chest, and her ass
was mere millimeters away from the cube's surface. This cashier's card-reader
was installed in a custom cylinder-shaped housing mounted directly into the
clear plastic of the cube. How deep it went into her vagina was anybody's
guess, but it was imposingly thick.
"Thank you Sir," she said as a man slid his card into the reader, into
her. "Enjoy your visit."
Hamee could only shake his head in wonder, figuring the sight of the
three cashiers alone had been worth a good chunk of what he'd paid to get in.
Then the club doors opened as he walked through and all the sights and sounds of
the Menagerie enveloped him.
"Oh my God," he gasped.
"Told ya," the scruffy spacer said with a smile, looking around for a
free seat.
A waitress with the words THE MENAGERIE written or permdyed across the
top of her breasts approached Hamee and guided him to a seat at the bar which
ran along one of the short walls of the big rectangular room. Hamee was dizzy
from trying to look in every direction at once, and sat down on the stool as
much to get a solid foundation as anything else.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asked him, coming over. Hamee could
only stare at her and her golden serpent's eyes and darting, forked, snake's
tongue. It was rude to stare, he knew that, but he couldn't help it. That
tongue, it had to reach down to her-
The bartender moved away as Hamee noticed the cows on the bar behind her
and his mouth dropped open. There were two of them tonight, both totally
covered in black and white spots to resemble the Holstein cows of Earth. They
were big, with much bigger frames than normal women, and had to weigh close to
two hundred kilos, hardly any of it (except for perhaps their teats) fat. One
was laying on her side, the other was up on her hands and knees. In addition to
the oversized, cowlike facial features, complete with short snouts, floppy ears,
and huge wet brown eyes, they both sported tails that reached down nearly to
their knees. In-between the eyes and tails were six pairs of swollen breasts
with huge nipples running down their thick chests to their abdomens, where there
hung on each woman a huge, pink, veined double-lobed thing he finally realized
was an udder.
The one cow laying on her side had several nozzles attached to her
nipples and to the oversize nipple-looking things that protruded from the udder
bulging between her chunky thighs. The other cow was lazily walking down toward
the end of the bar on hands and knees, the swollen udder between her thighs
giving her an awkward gait. When she reached the end she turned around and
Hamee watched her tail swishing lazily from side to side. Her whole body was
spotted black and white but for her nipples and her udder--even her sex, which
was now pointed at Hamee. It looked oversize, just like the rest of her. He
watched as one of the bar patrons fed the cow something green and leafy and her
tail swished back and forth. While she ate another patron wrapped his mouth
around one of the cow's nipples and began sucking. It was immediately obvious
he was getting milk from her, and quite a bit of it. His friend reached up
underneath the cow's switching tail and gently pushed his entire hand between
her folds. Her tail began swishing faster and then-Hamee was sure of it, even
though the club was loud-he heard her moo.
Hamee was experiencing sensory overload unlike anything he'd ever felt
before. The smells alone had him in a sweat-the sights were almost more than he
could process. He suddenly noticed the man at the bar beside him had a woman by
the hair and was vigorously fucking her face. She was blonde and nude from the
waist up, and the man was pumping her so fast her head was a blur. She had her
blonde hair done up in pigtails, and it was these the man was using as handholds
as he pounded her skull.
"Uh! Unhh!" The man forced the woman's face against his crotch as he
came with great grunting thrusts of his hips. He was gasping by the time he was
done, and leaned back on his stool. The woman stood up, patting her hair with
her hands, and turned to look at Hamee. He gave a startled yelp and almost fell
off his stool as he saw the gaping, oozing vagina where her mouth should be. A
vertical slit, identical to what he would have expected to find between her
legs. No nose, just a meaty clitoral hood over a decidedly noselike clit, the
hood sweeping down into pink, swollen labia edging a dark red glistening
orifice. The woman regarded him for a second, her green eyes blinking, until it
was obvious his reaction to her had been one of shock, but not horror.
"Want to fuck my face?" he heard. "I always swallow." The feminine
voice had come from the small black box on the woman's neck. Hamee stared at
her some more, the shock returning as he realized what this woman had had done
to herself. Her jaw no longer moved. No tongue. No vocal chords. Only a
neural implant that translated her thoughts into words so she could communicate
with potential customers. How did she eat? No nose-how did she breathe?
Through that thing on her face? Did it always gape open like that, or only
after she'd been fucked? Were the juices running out of it and down her chin
saliva, signs or her excitement, or just the semen of her most recent customer?
Did it provide her the sensations of a mouth or of a furt?
As Hamee gazed at the swollen, freshly fucked pussy that adorned her
face he fought the inappropriate urge to stick his fingers in it and only shook
his head. She went her way and Hamee watched her go.
"Feels just like the real thing," the man who'd been banging her said
conversationally to Hamee. "Don't have to worry about her gagging or anything,
the morph goes I don't know how far down her throat." Hamee glanced down and
saw the man had had his penis enlarged to the maximum possible natural
dimensions. Ten centimeters thick, it hung nearly to his knees and glistened
with the woman's juices.
Only so much blood could be diverted from the body to engorge a member
before there were health-namely blood pressure-concerns. The general rule in
determining a man's 'natural potential' was his arm from wrist to elbow long,
his wrist plus thirty percent thick. Not an exact measurement, but as a rough
estimate it was remarkably accurate. Few un-altered women could entertain a man
maxed out to his natural potential, but that didn't stop the men. Hamee
couldn't remember the exact numbers, but something like ninety percent of males
underwent some sort of penile enlargement, and over a third of those elected to
go for their 'natural potential'. Publicly, women grumbled; there was a point,
they said, where too much of a good thing turned pleasure into pain, but men
didn't seem to care. Privately, they did what women have always done-whatever
it took to attract a mate, and keep him. Somehow, maxed out men always seemed
to find women who could accommodate them. Hamee's natural size was about
two-thirds his 'natural potential', plenty big enough to do everything he wanted
to do, although sometimes he entertained the thought of growing one of those
huge cocks just to see what it would feel like.
Hamee waved the bartender over and ordered a drink; something, he wasn't
even sure what, he just wanted to do something that seemed normal. When he
turned around he tried not to look at anything directly, not until he had his
bearings. The room was packed with people, and he could see two stages, both of
which were empty for the time being. He looked down at the end of the bar-the
cow had laid down on her side and there were now two people sucking milk from
her nipples, one of them a woman, with a third drinking from one of the
nipple-looking protruberances on her bulging udder. Her top thigh was raised,
and Hamee saw the man who'd slid his hand into her was now elbow deep, and
swirling his hand around like he was trying to find a lost wrist chrono. From
the look on her face the cow was in heaven. Hamee looked away quickly.
Nearby was a table of women, talking loud and laughing. Hamee looked
around and saw that the clientele was at least half female, which he found
rather surprising. He studied the group near him more carefully. One of the
women facing him had the wide, flat nose of a pig. Her nostrils were huge,
pink, glistening . . . almost sex-like. Hamee never thought he would have found
something like that arousing, but somehow he did. The willowy woman next to her
got up and walked away and Hamee saw that not only was she nude but for some
tall boots and nipple jewelry, she sported a foot-long wiggling pink tail.
Hamee found that arousing as well. Was there something wrong with him? Then
she turned back around to say something to her pig-nosed friend, and Hamee saw
that in the center of her flat stomach wasn't the navel he was expecting to see
but rather a thin, pink-lipped vagina. Hamee was shocked to discover that to
his eyes it didn't appear out of place: it looked like it belonged there, that
it was only natural for a woman to have an innocuous furt in the center of her
stomach.
The lights lowered and a huge cheer went up throughout the club. Hamee
heard more female voices than male, and looked around to see what was happening.
A barechested man was leading a full-sized horse toward the center stage. The
back of the horse reached to the shoulders of most of the club patrons still
standing, and they moved out of the way quickly. Hamee could hear its hooves
clip-cloppng on the hard floor.
Where the hell did they get a horse way out here in the Outer Rim? he
found himself wondering. And why? Who would pay to have the embryo transported
and raised-
"Holy Jesus," he gasped.
The man wasn't leading the horse, the man was the horse. Hamee didn't
know how it had been done, or why, but he was looking at an honest-to-goodness
centaur. Where the man's waist should have been, there were the horse's
shoulders, covered in glossy brown hair. No wonder he'd seemed so tall. And
there, out from the crowd, stepped a female centaur, nearly as big as the male.
The human parts of their bodies were flawless, perfectly formed. Both blonde,
the man's human torso was chiseled with muscle, his face handsome. The woman
had a flowing blonde mane that reached down to where the brown horse hair began
at the small of her back. She was beautiful, with two large, pendulous breasts.
Both their equine bodies were covered in glossy brown hair, their twitching
tails black.
The two centaurs pranced in circles on the stage around each other,
their hooves clip-clopping loudly.
"Are there any women here tonight that would like to give me a hand?"
the male centaur called out. A hundred hands shot up, a hundred voices called
out to him. Smiling, he pointed out four women who came onstage, and apparently
they'd seen the show before because he didn't have to give them any instruction.
All four immediately bent down underneath his horse body and began massaging his
huge equine organ. It quickly unfurled beneath his belly, midnight black, until
it was nearly a meter long and thicker than a man's wrist at the tip. The
female centaur just waited patiently, playing with her nipples, a smile on her
face, tail swishing from side to side like a metronome.
The women from the audience couldn't keep their hands off the centaur's
giant cock, and two tried to wedge it into their mouths, without success. They
went back to their seats finally, eyes glazed with arousal. He mounted his
partner then, sinking nearly the entire length of his shaft into her horse body
with one long walking thrust. Every woman in the audience seemed to sigh at the
sight.
Hamee turned back to the bar, the random clip-clop of hooves in the
background. Animal sex was of no interest to him, and until the two centaurs
involved the human halves of their bodies in the show he wasn't interested. He
signaled the bartender for another drink as the room began to fill with the
smells of horse sex.
"Not interesssssted in the show?" the bartender asked him, her snake
tongue flicking in and out. She seemed amused, but with those eyes it was hard
for him to tell.
"Not interested in a woman who wouldn't be satisfied with anything less
than my entire leg up to the hip," he told her. The bartender shrugged and
moved away, and Hamee noticed her filling a mug with milk from a tap. From the
cows? He was afraid to ask, but was pretty sure he knew the answer. The second
cow was off the vacuum hoses and had wandered on hands and knees down to where
the customers were sitting at the bar. It was hard for him to say, what with
her entire chest and abdomen covered by huge teats and a swollen udder, but she
looked pregnant.
A man sitting at the bar reached up and offered the cow a leaf of frin
from his plate. She took it happily from his hand, chewing contentedly. Hamee
stared at her oversize head and her mouth and its big, square teeth. Her tongue
had to be as wide as his palm. While she slowly chewed the man bent to her
nearest thumb-like nipple and began sucking, then pulled out his penis and began
masturbating as he sucked. The cow watched him, still chewing. With his free
hand he fed her another piece of frin, sucked harder, and jerked faster. He
came less than a minute later, directing his spurts onto his last frin leaf, the
cow watching the whole time with her big, brown, wet, stupid-looking eyes. When
he offered her the leaf she ate it with the same amount of interest she'd shown
the first two offerings, then wandered slowly down the bar toward Hamee. He
stood up and moved away before she got close, uneasy with the thought of being
close to someone who'd given up so much of her humanity for...what? He couldn't
say, and he wondered if even she could articulate it. Krikes, he wondered if
she could even talk anymore.
As he walked Hamee saw several cat-women. He didn't know if that's what
they called themselves, or were called, but that's what they looked like.
Tails, whiskers, pointy ears, short snouts with pink noses, their whole bodies
covered in short white, or yellow, or orange fur. One catwoman had stripes,
another had a double row of pink nipples running down her front. He didn't know
if they were all performers, but he watched one of them crawl languidly up onto
a stage, curl up, and begin to lick between her own legs. He saw she was
flexible enough to reach everywhere with that rough-looking pink tongue, much
like the spider-girl whose company he'd so enjoyed at the Buzz Club.
Hamee first saw one, then several men who'd transformed themselves
halfway into dogs. Their legs had been shortened so they could walk on all
fours, and their heads were mutated-snouts, pointy, erect ears. The first one
he saw had short brown hair on his arms, legs, neck, and head, and was scooping
a volunteer, a club patron, onstage, with quick short thrusts of his big tool.
She looked like she couldn't quite believe it was happening to her, but
everywhere she looked there were big vidscreens showing the dog-man atop her
pale and refreshingly human body.
One dog-man had mounted his paying customer atop her table while her
friends cheered them both on. Hamee watched long enough to hear her surprised
yelp as her eager sex grew slick and slack enough for the fist-sized knot at the
base of his organ to pop in. Once it was in, he kept moving in short thrusts
but didn't pull the knot out, and after a moment of uncertainty it was obvious
she agreed with the decision.
"You greedy slut!" one of her friends yelled at her enviously. The
friend wore black leather crotchless chaps and had already paid to be next.
Hamee saw several horse-men as well, equine variations on the dog-men.
While not as large as the cows or the centaur he'd seen, they were quite a bit
larger than the dog-men, and had their own unique circle of admirers. Hamee
watched as one of the lanky creatures (if that was the right word, he wasn't
sure) approached a middle-aged matron ready for him and quivering with
anticipation.
The horse-man's organ was nearly half a meter long and as thick as a
man's forearm and he buried it to the hilt in her. She gasped and sighed, then
just smiled as he began pumping away, enjoying the feel of her big breasts
swinging beneath her. He was expensive, but where else could you find a cock
that size? Her companions, three jaded middleaged society matrons with their
own PCAs, flying on jack, couldn't keep their hands off him, stroking his back,
his soft flanks, his tail, his muscular buttocks, cupping his big swinging
balls. One of them, overcome with lust, buried her face between his cheeks and
began tonguing his asshole, inhaling his not-quite-human smell.
Hamee wandered to the far corner of the big room, seeing the corridor
leading to the small rooms where the patrons could go with the performers if
they wanted a little privacy. Walking down the corridor toward him was perhaps
the most unusual woman he'd ever seen, and that was saying a lot. Her skin was
a gleaming silver, not like skin at all but artificial, like she'd been dipped.
Hamee had heard two of the club's customers talking about her, though, and knew
that it wasn't dip, it was her skin-or rather, it was what she was using as
skin.
Synthskin had been perfected for decades, so much so that they had to
design imperfections into it just so it looked natural. Its bio-neural
transmitters conveyed 99.638% of the sensations actual skin could, a difference
unnoticeable to all but a very select few. Used to cover areas of the body
where lab grown skin for some reason just wouldn't graft, synthskin was a modern
medical miracle. The silver woman walking toward Hamee had, in what was
becoming a new trend, replaced her perfectly good epidermis with synthskin. Her
entire body, from her head to her feet, and not with the standard, thick,
medical-grade stuff with its pores and hairs and ever-so-slight pigment
variations. She'd had herself resurfaced in top-of-the-line custom cosmetic
synthskin. Hairless, with micropores so it was as smooth to the touch as the
finest rubber, and as slippery when wet as black ice, the part of herself she
showed to the world guaranteed she'd be noticed.
Synthskin could be had in not just every color imaginable but many
different textures, although smooth was by far the most popular. And, just like
natural skin, synthskin could be found with any number of levels of sensitivity.
The more neural transmitters per cm2, the more sensitive it was, and the ratio
of pleasure -to-pain receptors could be adjusted as well, for a price. The
highest grade synthskin, with the most neurotransmitters per square centimeter
and highest percentage of pleasure-vs-pain receptors, was marketed under the
separate brand name KlitSkin.
Most KlitSkin buyers didn't want more than a certain area or bodypart
covered in it, as just performing some everyday activities could result in
sensory overload if they weren't careful. The most common KlitSkin bodymods
were covering of the labia, penile shaft (usually with ridged or other
non-smooth textures), scrotum, pubic mound, or parts of the inner thighs, less
rarely the buttocks or breasts as they couldn't help but get rubbed as the
person went about their daily life. There were, however, always those
individuals who pushed the limits.
The silver woman in front of Hamee was one of those individuals. Her
entire body was covered in KlitSkin. From the top of her head to the soles of
her feet, nothing but gleaming silver KlitSkin. Her large breasts didn't even
sport nipples, they would have been redundant, and her head was bald, as hair
would have covered up skin she wanted seen and touched. Hamee didn't know how
she functioned-he could tell just from the expression on her face that the mere
act of walking, placing her bare feet on the floor, was physically arousing to
her. It would have cost him six month's pay just to bed her for an hour, so he
never did more than stare, but still he wondered what everyday life must feel
like to her.
In a back corner Hamee spotted another woman with a furt for a mouth.
She was on her knees in front of a seated spacer, her body twitching and
bucking.
"Oh God! Oh Krikes! I'm coming, I'm coming!" The computer-interpreted
sweet, high voice coming out of the transmitter on her neck was laced with
authentic-sounding passion as the spacer worked his twisting fist back and forth
in her face-furt. She was wet with excitement, and his hand made loud slurping
sounds as it twisted and plunged. Her chin was dripping with her juices, and
the spacer's arm was wet halfway to his elbow. When he went deep Hamee could
see her throat bulge, but she gave no indication it hurt, rather the opposite.
She was leaning into the thrusts, hands on her knees for balance.
The spacer pulled his hand from her suddenly and turned her toward one
of his laughing tablemates, twisting his dripping hand back and forth to ease
the ache in his forearm. As his friend slid his hand into the woman's sloppy
gaping facehole the first man knelt behind her and began undoing his pants.
Hamee saw another horse-man as he wandered through the club, and several
more dog-men. They appeared very popular with the older women, most of whom
appeared to have extensive bodmods themselves.
Hamee first saw one, then a second girl morphed into some sort of
demoness. They had bright red skin, pointed tails, glowing red and orange eyes,
forked tongues, and thick jet black manes of hair, not to mention the short
horns sprouting from their foreheads. He didn't think it was KlitSkin covering
their bodies, probably just standard synthskin, but still the modifications had
to cost them a year's salary or more. One of them was grinding on the lap of a
spacer seated at one of the club tables. His cock was deep in her red-lipped
furt, and as she rocked hard atop it she had one hand wrapped around the back of
the spacer's neck while the other shoved her tail deep into her own asshole.
Her tail reached nearly to the floor, and as Hamee watched she pushed more and
more of it into herself. She wasn't thrusting it in and out but rather pushing
ever more of it through the tight red ring of her anus. From her reaction it
felt amazing, and the spacer seemed to enjoy the sensations as well.
"Just wait 'til I start wagging it," she told him with a smile,
revealing brilliant white teeth honed to razor-sharp points.
Then there was the busty woman covered in short blue fur. She had a
thick head of black hair, and it grew down her back along her spine in a
narrowing stripe all the way down to the cleft of her buttocks. Hamee barely
noticed the fur-he was too busy staring at the vaginas where her nipples should
have been. Each of her breasts sported a furt of its own, 100% anatomically
correct but for the color of its bare flesh, which was black.
The corridor heading off to one side he at first thought led to more
private suites, but then he caught a glimpse of the small room. Hamee wandered
in, seeing a small number of men filling the tiered seats, staring intently at
the stage. He somehow found an empty seat without taking his eyes off the show.
In the center of the small stage was a large-framed nude woman. She
rested her weight on her knees and elbows atop four foot-high padded pedestals.
When Hamee entered she was facing the audience, but the stage was rotating
slowly, and as it turned Hamee could see she was pregnant. Very pregnant - from
the size of her belly, he guessed she had to be due any day. Then he started to
wonder-things in the Menagerie were rarely as they first appeared. The woman
had brown hair, and while not ugly was physically unremarkable, except for the
fact she had a frame as big as some men and looked pregnant. On a slender woman
her overlarge breasts, which appeared swollen with milk, would have been huge.
Next to her big belly they merely appeared proportional. As the stage rotated
the woman's furt eventually came into view, and Hamee was struck by how long her
split was. It wasn't just between her legs, it seemed to run down and across
her rounded pubic mound. Her slit had to be twenty-five centimeters-ten
inches-long.
A nude man appeared at the side of the stage, accompanied by a club
employee. Hamee later learned the man was a paying customer, but for what he
didn't know at first. The two of them stepped onto the slowly rotating stage
and moved behind the kneeling woman. The man affixed something to his nose
which Hamee realized later was a common emergency breathing device. The EBD was
small and U-shaped, filling the nostrils of the wearer, and would provide up to
fifteen minutes of breathable air.
The club employee, a pretty girl wearing bright orange dip-pants, took a
small tank and sprayed the man with some sort of a clear liquid. She covered
his entire body with the glistening fluid, then set the tank down and used her
hands to make sure the lubricant-for that's what it was-coated every square inch
of his skin.
As the kneeling woman's sex again swung slowly round toward the audience
Hamee watched as the dripping man knelt behind her and slid a hand into her
unnaturally long slit. There was no reaction from the woman as the man rubbed
his palm around the outside of her furt until her flesh gleamed, but the
audience as a man leaned forward and held its breath as the man onstage used his
same hand to grab the bottom edge of her slit and pull downward.
Hamee gaped in amazement as the woman's sex stretched downward several
inches. The man adjusted his hand, and pulled down further. Hamee realized at
once that-impossible as it sounded-she'd had her pubic bone removed, there could
be no other explanation. As the man leaned forward and slid his free hand into
the opening that now stretched down half a meter between the woman's legs,
nearly between her knees, Hamee began to suspect just what it was he was
watching. His suspicions were confirmed as the man, shoulder-deep in the woman,
pushed his face and then his entire head into her.
Hamee watched her belly stretch as the man wiggled and squirmed into
her. The shape of his body could clearly be seen through her flesh as he pushed
and twisted, all the while the stage turned. The woman's face came around to
face the crowd and Hamee was struck at how expressionless she was. By the time
the stage made another half turn the man was in her up to his waist, and Hamee
could only stare at the sight.
The man, minus the unnatural abdomen, was the same size or larger than
the woman. Seeing another human, a full-sized adult, half-inside a woman like
that was the strangest thing Hamee had ever seen. Not only had her stomach
grown to cartoonish proportions, the opening of her sex reached as far down as
her knees. Not only did she not have a pubic bone (making Hamee wonder how she
could walk), it appeared her ribcage was unnaturally short as well to make room
on her torso for her morphed belly. The man pushed forward still, and the skin
of her abdomen stretched down until it touched the stage. Hamee could see the
man balance himself on his hands inside her as he began to pull his legs in.
The woman's face swung around again, and again there was no expression
on it, like nothing unusual was happening, that she couldn't feel the man that
was burrowing his way into her. As he studied her from the side Hamee saw the
man pull his last foot into her. Her stomach was stretched so much by his
weight that he actually was resting on the stage inside her flesh. That
explained the pedestals-there wouldn't have been enough room for him under her
without them.
By the time the woman's furt was pointed straight at Hamee again, he
could see that her abdomen was contracting around the man, who had shifted
inside her. Her back bowed under the weight, and for the first time Hamee heard
her make a sound-a grunt. The flesh of her belly stretched even tighter around
the man, and his shape could clearly be discerned in her, curled up in the fetal
position, head toward her sex. Her belly was quivering, and it took Hamee just
a second to realize the movement was from the man inside her as he masturbated.
Then he realized it wasn't just him-her abdomen was contracting in spasms,
clenching around its occupant, who was masturbating ever more furiously. Her
split shrunk in length with every contraction, until it was nearly its original,
absurd length.
Hamee looked around-the audience was two-thirds men, and just about
everybody but him was masturbating., staring at the show with unblinking eyes.
Just the thought of seeing the man emerging from the woman, glistening with goo
like a newborn, was disconcerting enough to Hamee. He stood and walked out back
to the club's main room, taking deep breaths.
"What's going on in there?" a curious spacer near the end of the hall
asked Hamee.
Hamee shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he
assured the man.
He slowly made his way back toward the bar and the front of the club,
seeing bizarre sights that had already become familiar to him. The dog-man he'd
observed on a table thrusting into a woman while her friends urged them both on
was still at it. The friend wearing the crotchless chaps was under him now on
her knees and elbows, covered with sweat and cursing joyfully as he hammered his
big organ into her ass.
"Take the knot! Take the knot! Take the knot!" her friends were
chanting and laughing as they stood around the table.
"Fuck you you whores!" the woman in chaps growled, sweat dripping off
her nose. She'd been trying to take the knot for five minutes.
He saw two women who looked twice his age-which with current medical
technology meant they were probably at least ninety-masturbating one of the
horse-men as he lay on his side. The skill they displayed only demonstrated the
adage that 'practice makes perfect'.
The female centaur was off in a quiet corner, her horse body laying down
on its chest. One of the club patrons had paid quite handsomely for the
privilege of sticking his arm into her up to the shoulder, and she seemed quite
delighted to let him. The male centaur was still onstage, this time
entertaining one of the cows.
The cow had risen to her feet for the occasion, and had her hands
planted on a padded bench, elbows locked to support both her weight and that of
the centaur as he thrust his massive shaft into her. She as able to take nearly
all of it, and as his thrusts rocked her body back and forth her teats and udder
swayed gently. Hamee spotted the other cow, the one who looked pregnant, on
hands and knees on the bar. Her underside was a mass of hoses-her nipples and
udder were hooked back up to the vacuum nozzles of the bar's milk tank. One of
the dog-men had mounted her and was thrusting his organ into her big mouth as
fast as he could. The cow distractedly sucked as his flesh with the same amount
of interest it had shown toward the leaves of frin it had been offered earlier.
A slender woman in tall boots passed Hamee and he turned to watch her
shapely ass and the pink wiggling tail attached to it. She stopped at a nearby
table and as she turned he recognized her as the attractive woman he'd noticed
before with the disconcerting furt where her navel should have been. She
exchanged a few words with her friends, and then broke out laughing at something
one of them said. As she bent over, her stomach muscles tightening, a thick
runnel of fresh semen squirted out of that furt and ran down her abdomen toward
her bald mound. Without a second's hesitation, her pignosed friend bent over
and licked her clean, then began snuffling at her slit to see if there was any
more.
"Want some head?"
Hamee turned and saw one of the women with a vagina where her mouth
should be standing beside him, one hand on her cocked hip. In her other hand
she held a small cardreader. Before she could utter another sound through her
neck-mounted neuro-voicebox Hamee had swiped his card, pushed her to her knees,
and buried himself to the hilt in her face. One thing he learned almost
immediately-she might not've had a mouth anymore, but she still had throat
muscles that could ripple like a fish.
Hamee had no idea how much time had passed when he finally made his way
outside. To his relief found the street ahead of him quiet and uncrowded. He
passed one restaurant that specialized in local dishes, not feeling adventurous
with his stomach, and a small sex club which specialized in hirsute women.
Especially, extraordinarily hirsute women. He repressed a shudder at the sight
of a few of them in the lobby. To him they looked like nothing more than
chimpanzees with their enormously hairy backs. There was no way that could be
natural, he assumed there must be some sort of hormone or gene tweaking going
on. He didn't think he'd be interested in sex for months, not after the night
he had. All he wanted was to head back to his hotel and sleep.
At the far end of the street he saw the wide purple facade of AOTA/NOTA,
a club he'd heard a lot of talk about. Its name stood for All of the Above/None
of the Above, which referred to gender of its employees. Hamee hadn't gotten so
jaded he needed to be confused by the genitalia of the person he was with, but
still, he was curious . . . .
"Wanna jump?"
Hamee did jump as the hulking figure appeared suddenly at the mouth of a
narrow alley. The woman before him was massively muscled - half a head taller
than Hamee and probably twenty kilos heavier. Her head was slightly misshapen,
her features heavy, like her skull bones hadn't all stopped growing at the same
time. She wore a loose, short-sleeved shirt and baggy pants, like what a wife
would wear around the house, not, to Hamee's way of thinking, what a trolling
pulatrita would put on.
"No, uh-" Her hands were huge, with big knuckles, and she hardly had
any breasts to speak of. She was a she, he was pretty sure of that, but he was
unable to stop the brief grimace from flicking across his features. The
reaction he got was immediate.
"You think I'm ugly?" She roared at him, her voice nearly as deep as
his. "You think I'm hideous!"
Hamee only had time to open his mouth and take half a step backward
before her huge fist came out of nowhere and the sky went dark.
