CyberpunkErotica (3 page)

With this encouragement, he finally got to work, squeezing and massaging my chest, his fingers rubbing against my huge nipples and sending a sensual overload through each one. I longed for him to tweak them, rub them, lick them, but I could only imagine this as I rode him harder as his attention was on squeezing my tits together.

At least I didn’t have to imagine the cock inside. I slammed myself down on it, rotated my hips, lifted and slammed down again, feeling the muscle pound inside me. My orgasm was already starting, only this time, it was so much more intense as I worked for it myself.

I hammered up and down, my stomach muscles and thighs screaming in pain and ecstasy, the sweat springing out from my gyrating body and running down me, covering me in moisture that the cool morning air licked over in delight as it strayed in through the open window. I was nearly there, at the most intense orgasm I had ever known, knowing that release was about to happen, until with a final wrench and convulsion, I came.

I think Wrecker had already come by that stage, but I was so wet I hadn’t noticed, and I didn’t much care. He was just a stud to be ridden. I’d never felt so alive.

Chapter Five

I panted, sucking in a great lungful of air. The night was catching up with me. The fear from earlier, the exhilaration as I swung the bag at the corps drone and saw him go down, the satisfaction of stopping the sex gang. I can’t explain it. I felt things. Maybe for the first time ever. Even the sex felt better. Realer. More intense.

Then the door was kicked open.

“Don’t move,” bellowed a voice. Needless to say, I moved.

I jumped off Wrecker, who was looking around him and bleating, “What the fuck, man?” over and over again. I tried to run through a gap between two of the figures who had burst into the flat. I never made it. Something struck me in the stomach and I fell in agony to the floor.

“Get some light into this hovel,” said another voice in disgust. The curtains were drawn back as I was dragged upward by two heavily armed corps security guards. With their thick armour plating and black helmets, I had no idea if they were male or female.

I recognised the two agents I had run from earlier that night. The agent who had spoken was the same one I had struck with my bag. A small bruise was developing on his face, presumably the cause of his anger. He now had the chance to take his revenge.

“Good God, look at the state of you,” he sneered, looking at my naked body.

What seemed to disgust him were my tattoos and body modifications. I have numerous works of art all over me.

“Degenerate,” muttered the agent.

“What’s going on, man?” whined Wrecker, seemingly gaining some courage from the fact that he was being largely ignored by the two suited agents.

“Your girlfriend is going to face trial for crimes against a corporation,” replied the corps operative.

“Who are you, man?” asked Wrecker. “This is illegal!”

“I am Agent Clarke, this is Agent Nichols,” said the man, still sneering at my naked body. “Miss Zara Mason is to stand trial for her criminal activity. This is your copy of the arrest form as next of kin, partner or nearest available friend.” As he spoke, Agent Clarke pressed a button on the palm-top computer he was holding. A receipt printed out. He passed it to Wrecker, who dumbly accepted it.

“These are your rights, Miss Mason,” continued Clarke. “Anything you say may be used against you in the Corporate Hall of Justice. Anything you do not reveal now may prejudice your defence and will incur a fine. You have the right to representation, if you can afford it. If you cannot afford it, you waive that right. You have no other rights. Do you understand your rights?”

“Damn your rights,” I muttered. “I want to put my clothes on.”

“You do not have the right to want anything. You certainly have no right to your clothes.” Clarke smiled unpleasantly. “I wonder what all your neighbours will think as we drag you naked out of here? Past all thirty-five flights of them?”

Agent Nichols cleared his throat. “That may lead to unfavourable publicity for the department,” he murmured to Clarke. “We’d better let her put something on.”

“Fine,” snarled Clarke. “I think I’m in danger of being sick anyway, looking at the deformities she exhibits. You can see the marks of the lowest citizen stamped all over her body, never mind in her criminal behaviour.”

“I wiped those components so I had money for food and the utility bills,” I shouted. “When have you ever had to wrap old dog blankets around yourself for warmth and eat rotten potatoes to survive?”

“The record shows that Miss Mason, without duress, has admitted her guilt,” crowed Clarke as he printed another form and handed it over to Wrecker. “The trial will now be a formality. Get her dressed and get her out.”

“Er, hey, man, what about me?” mumbled Wrecker as I had my clothes dumped over my head.

“You will receive a fine of two hundred credits for co-habiting with a criminal,” replied Nichols, printing off another receipt and handing it over. “If you wish to challenge the fine, you will need to provide proof that you had no knowledge of Miss Mason’s activities. If you do challenge the fine, please be aware the administrative charge is two hundred and fifty credits. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Wrecker, do something!” I shouted as I was dragged away. I should have saved my breath. As always, I was on my own.

Chapter Six

It used to be said that justice grinds slowly. This is not the case where corporate justice is concerned. The trial was set for that day.

“No point waiting around for a piece of scum like you,” was how Agent Clarke explained it as he pushed me into a holding cell at a private prison. “As you’ve admitted your guilt, you’ll be formally found guilty, and then, your arse belongs to us,” he continued with an evil grin before leaving me to suffer the wait.

“Hey, don’t sweat it, babe,” said one of my cellmates. He was muscular, covered in tattoos, had a grizzled goatee and a shock of dark hair flecked with silver at the sides. On the outside, I’d have been all over him.

“Yeah, these creeps get their kicks by scaring the little people,” added the other occupant of the cell, a short, curvy woman with several pins through her face. I would have been all over her on the outside as well. Both were watching TV on the monitors implanted in their wrists. I envied them the tech.

“I’m Clare, this is Kyle,” she added, never lifting her eyes from the screen.

“What happens if you’re found guilty?” I asked, not really wanting the answer.

“If found guilty of breaking corporate law, you belong to the corporation concerned,” answered Kyle, barely glancing up from his TV. “Totally. Body and soul, until you have paid off the debt. By the time you’ve paid off the debt, you’re in no state to do anything ever again.”

“Some are used for experiments with new or dangerous technologies,” added Clare. “People have been released from corporate imprisonment missing limbs, organs, even part of their brains. Some don’t survive at all.”

“What?” I exclaimed in horror.

“That doesn’t always happen,” said Clare soothingly. “Sometimes, it’s just a sweatshop you go in, like Kyle did in his first time in the system.”

“Yeah, I was one of the lucky ones,” grinned Kyle. “I was put to work in the corporation factories, making whatever goods were required. The work was tedious, back breaking and lasted for sixteen-hour shifts, but at least you’re alive and mostly undamaged at the end of it. Unless you’re in a radioactive facility.”

“Mason, it’s time,” barked a guard as he opened the door.

“Be strong,” whispered Clare, finally looking up. “And don’t worry. The revolution is coming!”

“Don’t I get the chance of a shower or even a wash?” I demanded as I was taken out.

“Nope,” drawled the guard.

“Why not?”

He glanced at me with a little more sympathy than I had been shown by any other corporate employee.

“You’ll create a bad impression, with your piercings and smudged makeup and grimy face,” he said. “It will confirm the judge’s prejudices against the people of Old London.”

“That’s totally unfair,” I muttered as I was led along to the court, attached to the guard by a huge chain, making me look like a criminal before I even got in.

“Best thing is to plead for mercy, make the judge feel powerful yet forgiving,” whispered the guard. “Good luck.” He shoved me into the court.

I found myself in a sort of glass cage. This was the dock. The judge, dressed in an immaculate, expensive suit, looked around in my direction. I stifled a gasp. He had just black sockets where his eyes should have been. I didn’t think I’d have much chance of swaying him toward a sympathy vote.

A man in a suit stood up and began to talk. “My Lord, case number 312787/2275/33907/exp.”

The judge’s hand groped on his desk until he found what looked like a pair of old fashioned glasses, except these glasses had red crystals instead of lenses. He inserted the crystals into his empty eye sockets and glanced in approval as his palm computer brought up the case. Then, he popped his crystal eyes out and
looked
in my direction, a scowl on his face.

“No defence is to be offered,” continued the suit. I suppose he must have been the prosecutor, though no one ever told me for sure. “I refer to the defendant’s own admission.” He pressed a button on his own palmtop and my voice came out, a recording taken at my arrest in the flat.

“I wiped those components so I had money for food and the utility bills. When have you ever had to wrap old dog blankets around yourself for warmth and eat rotten potatoes to survive?”

“We also ask for the normal expenses to be made against the defendant,” continued the suit. “The cost of the investigation into her, the cost of fuel in the vehicles that carried the agents, the cost of authorising the arms and equipment to break into her flat, wear and tear of boots and the ram used to batter down the door, expenses incurred by the agents as they stopped for food and drink during the case, and the cost of holding her in a cell as well as the future costs of keeping her incarcerated.

“Oh,” continued the suit as an afterthought, “and compensation against the defendant for striking Agent Clarke in the face with the stolen memory chips, and of course, the costs of vandalising the same chips.”

“Have you anything to say in mitigation?” demanded the judge, looking bored and contemptuous, his black eye sockets glaring at me.

“Doesn’t it bother you why I did it?” I asked. “What I said in that tape? I would have starved if I didn’t bring money in somehow, and despite being first rate with tech, I can’t get a decent job anywhere because I never went to the right schools or have the right accent. That is what life is like. Don’t you care about that? Don’t you understand about reality?”

The judge looked stunned at my words. “This is a corporate court. This has nothing to do with reality! This court is here to ascertain if you are guilty.” He screwed the crystals into his sockets and looked in satisfaction at the court records. “We have done so. Sentence can now be passed.”

“And that’s it, is it?” I shouted. “That’s the system? Narrow and blinkered? Tick the boxes and be done?”

“They system works,” screeched the judge, shocked and appalled that I dare question him. He waved his palm computer in the air. “The records prove it!” he gazed lovingly at the records on the computer before un-popping his rose-coloured eyes. “You are guilty! I could tell as soon as you were brought in you were guilty! Filthy, degraded creature! You belong to
Vine Corp
now! You will work off the debt to them in any way they see fit! Take her away!”

Before I could say anything more, a different guard yanked on my chain and pulled me back to the prison cell, where my two cellmates were still watching TV on their wrist monitors.

“What did you get?” asked Clare as I was thrust back in.

I wiped my eyes as I sat down on the bunk, Kyle moving up to make space for me. “Guilty. I’m now the property of
Vine Corp
.”

“Oh, god, I’m sorry, babe,” said Clare, giving me a hug.

“Stay strong, babe,” said Kyle, lifting his eyes from his TV viewer. “Did they say where you’d be taken?”

“No.”

“You might just end up in some safe facility, working off the debt,” said Clare encouragingly.

“Yeah, when I was in the Trenton Corporation Correctional Facility, we all got food and lodging while we worked, plus sometimes, we had the chance to nick a bit of tech and sell it on,” said Kyle. “We still had the chance to stick it to the bastards.”

“I hope we get the chance,” said Clare, rubbing her shaved head while grinning evilly. “Let the drones know they may legally own us but we’re still free inside.”

“Shaddup in there,” growled a guard through the wire grate in the door. “You’re not free, never will be.”

“Like you’d know,” shouted back Kyle. “You’re just a dog on a leash, following your master’s commands in return for a bowl of food.”

“Yeah, and I’m on this side of the door, so that makes me more free than you and better than you,” grunted the guard.

“You think you’re as free as us with all your regulations and commands and laws,” laughed Clare. “When did you last do something spontaneous, something for joy?”

“Yeah, we’ve got more freedom in here than you have out there,” shouted Kyle. “We’re free inside. You’re not. You’re in chains.”

“Yet, I can go home tonight, which you’ll never do,” sneered the guard.

“You’ll never do this, because you’re too scared,” laughed Clare as she suddenly peeled her top off. Underneath she was naked. She cast the t-shirt down and lifted her arms up, laughing at the scarlet face of the guard.

“Stop that, put your clothes back on!” he demanded. “That’s against regulation five seven three, sub section four nine one!”

Clare responded by pulling her skirt off. She stood totally naked apart from her heavy boots. “Fuck regulation five seven three,” she shouted in jubilation. “This is why we’re free! We’re free of your restraint, your codes, your oppression. You may control our lives, but you don’t control our bodies or our minds!”