Chapter Three
Following the show, near one of the private chambers upstairs...
"Oh yeahh... with the kind of fortune I dropped on your ass, augged-up babe, I get to do with it as I please now!" - a large, well-dressed, slightly overweight bronze skinned gentleman in his mid forties, breathed into Yelena's ear, slipping a rough hand over the curvature of her black-latex covered breasts. The other one slipped between her legs.
"M-hm... you think that's how it works, big man?" - Yelena purred mischievously, throwing her head back, rubbing against him slightly as she reached a hand behind, to grip the bulge in front of his pants, letting him crowd her through the doors, into the dimly-lit, incense scented chamber. She could feel his hot breath washing over her neck like a tidal wave. Feeling herself getting slightly wet already.
"Yep! I'm gonna TAME you... !" - the man growled lustfully in her ear, and she could literally feel his member twitch, in her grip.
"Minx!" - shoving her roughly in the direction of a wide, heart-shaped bed covered in purple-silken sheets. Clearly hoping to throw her off her feet by the force of the shove.
Biting her lower lip, the cyborg woman allowed herself to flop gracefully onto the bed, not losing balance in the slightest, before she rolled on one side, meeting his hungry gaze with a challenging one of her own.
"Tame me? Try it." - licking her lips, her eyes turning slightly hooded, as she curled a finger at him, in a 'come here' gesture.
Playing possum like this was a novelty for the aquiline woman, as she tried to balance her naturally dominant personality with an aspect of hungerful submission, meant to entice her clients.
With a roar, he threw himself on the bed after her. Easily, Yelena rolled aside, with him landing heavily on his face next to her.
"Come 'ere!" - he breathed, reaching a clumsy hand after her, but the limber woman was already back on her feet, curling her finger at him again.
"Too slow, big boy!" - teasily, with purpose. A sculpted, tall, ravishing figure, all the more so with her pointy-tiptoed aspect. In the inky shadows of the room, it was next to impossible to tell where she ended, and the machine began. Her shaded gaze... swallowing him.
Framed by the crimson shine of the light-panel on the back wall of the room, she looked like a succubus of legend, a temptation to be resisted, or given into wholeheartedly.
He glared, eyes taking on a slightly glassy aspect, the bulge in his pants getting more pronounced. From the contours, Yelena couldn't help but bite her lip slightly, in a mixture of her own... hunger... and latent, ever-present subconscious desire, to... remove it, and consume it. That idea almost turned her on more, then the notion of being filled up with his girth.
Almost.
Hunger... definitely had more then one connotation with Yelena's psyche, and the many facets of sexuality and sexual... depravity... that battled to emerge and take over. But it was something she consciously controlled, every time she was in bed with someone. Anyone, other then Irwine. He was the only man who managed to fully bridge that gap, and access the part of her that was undamaged. The only man who ever really made love, to her.
Madalyuk was an... anomaly, in that regard. Sitting squarely in between. Their night together was something Yelena didn't quite categorise yet. There was not much affection involved, certainly nothing that even remotely approached an emotional connection, and sexually, he was at best – barely adequate. But she... respected him. His ironclad determination to resist them, his fearlessness and convictions... and the way she seemed to replace, in a way, his estranged wife and daughter, intrigued her. In her mind, he was an interesting character study in... contradictions. Not to mention, she was still curious to know more about his family. And of course, the amount of expensive attention she received, certainly didn't hurt his status, either.
With anyone else... it was a balancing act. A maelstrom of lust and desire, mixed with dark, underlying urge to hurt them. Badly. Relish their pain and agony, feed on it, absorb it, allow it to empower her, before making the kill. Even after three years now... Yelena had to be aware of her psyche. At times, close to her moments of ecstasy, she could almost taste the – need. And the aquiline woman made sure her partners knew it. Not consciously, never... overtly. Her sex-drive was insane. But they could see the aspect of hollowness, behind that deep, inviting, lustful gaze. Subconsciously, the message was always clear. They were prey, not lovers.
No affection. No connection. Just... mutual using. Fun times. Primal urges to be discharged, primal needs to be fulfilled. A paradise of lust, or a purgatory of suffering, if they overstayed their welcome. Sometimes both, mixed in a brutal BDSM session.
The difference between pleasure and agony, life and death, was a razor's edge, when having sex with Yelena.
"You won't be walking for a week, when I'm done with you..." - the man growled, scrambling off the bed and rushing her again. This time, Yelena allowed herself to get pinned against the wall, where he pressed into her, ravishing her neck, as his hand slipped under the elastics of her latex bra.
As he growled in her ear, she could feel the bulge prodding into her ass.
"How hard can you squeeze, bitch?" - he breathed in her ear, licking her neck, as he pressed her even harder into the wall, before he love-bit her at the base of the neck, almost breaching the skin.
Yelena bit her lower lip in affectation, throwing her head back.
"You will find out." - lustfully. Then she used her knee to effortlessly push-off the wall, overpowering his bulk pressing into her, and making him stumble backwards to plop back onto the bed, her landing atop of him. In an instant, she twisted around, straddling him between her cybernetic thighs, the metal shins and leafsprings crossing behind his back. He was... trapped.
Then she squeezed.
Measuredly, fully aware of how easily she could, in fact, crush the life out of him if she overdid it, but enough for a tormented groan of pain to slip past the man's clenched teeth, as he felt his ribs creak.
"Quiet." - she hissed, reaching down to rip his shirt open, the buttons flying off, to clatter around the floor, as she planted her palms on his bare, hairy chest. Her eyes full of wild desire, caressing his mind.
"Ooo...ggghhh... bad... I'll... h-have to... PUNISH you...!" - he growled, tightening-up his abs to try and resist, as he reached up to pull her down, his tongue tracing across her breasts. Then he bit her nipple.
"Say please, and I will... mmmm... release you!" - she teased, enjoying it.
His bite tightened, and he could feel her blood on his tongue. Just a drop... the metallic taste of it mixed with a strange, yet exotic, undertaste. Courtesy of various enzymes and electrolytic compounds being mixed-in with Yelena's blood on a regular basis, helping to regulate her cybernetic components.
"Stubborn? Good." - she growled lustfully, relishing the pain, as she squeezed tighter, beginning to cut off his breath.
His diaphragm began compressing.
With a reflexive gasp, he let go of her nipple, scrabbling at her thighs. A drop of blood sliding slowly from her nipple, down her rock-hard midriff.
"N...never..." - he pushed out, narrowing his eyes. But his cock was throbbing, by now, even if he was literally gasping for breath, and the pain in his ribs began to spread.
"Are you sure, stud?" - Yelena purred, the lust in her eyes mixing with a slight sadistic undertone. She didn't amp up the pressure any further, but neither did she lower it.
"...bad... bitch..." - he croaked, his face turning a flushed shade of red, as he reached up to slap her hard, provoking an evil giggle from her. Finally though, he caved.
"P...please... aaghh!" - through his teeth, pain clearly audible in the tone.
Yelena hissed in delight, letting off the squeeze, as she leaned down to smother him with her breasts.
"Mmmm... good boy. Keep... mmmmhhh... begging." - she purred, feeling his hungry lips on her firm breasts.
"You... uhhh... are evil... oww." - he mouthed into them, the tone carrying some pain.
"M-hmmm. Now. Lie back..." - Yelena smiled wickedly, switching back into the... appeasing... mood. She sinuously slid downwards, as she pushed him back down onto the bed.
Her tongue traced across his chest, down the stomach, to the pants, before she started unzipping them. He took her admonition seriously beforehand, about taking a shower... if not, he would've been reminded of the standing rules, quite a bit more – painfully. Yelena was a stickler for cleanliness.
Then she gave the raging bulge beneath, a playful bite. He inhaled sharply, tensing for a brief moment.
"Be still. Or I'll hurt you." - she hissed, yanking down his underwear, and exposing the stiff prize. She gave the underside a lick, tracing with the very tip of her tongue, before she gave the head a kiss.
He was big.
"Y... ooohhh... yes, ma'am." - he clenched his teeth, as he suddenly felt a powerful vacuum effect around his penis, the cyborg woman's lips closing around the shaft. She took it all in, the vacuum effect not slackening off even for a moment, her tongue tracing all around the head, like a snake.
When it came to oral attention – Yelena could write a book, if the mood struck her, given all the hundreds of partners she'd been with. Consentually, as a rapee, as a rapist... all three ways. She kept at it, taking it all the way down to the throat, relishing his tension and subtle buckling under her... fighting an almost equally intense urge to simply bite it off and gorge on his manhood.
It wouldn't be the first time, after all. The spray of blood into, and around her mouth, coupled with his scream of agony... but... no. She wasn't that person, anymore.
Impulse control, you bitch! Impulse... control.
She affirmed to herself, with a mental smirk. He would be feeding her, either way. And his hour had just begun. She was nothing if not consistent, in making her clients get their money's worth.
Sex was a... spiritual, as well as metaphysical experience, for the woman. She remembered with perfect clarity, each time. In her mind, she would give each man she coupled with, a comprehensive, detailed assessment of worthiness. That included those she murdered, during coupling.
During the latter part of those seven years in the Tyrants... the members of her units were her unwilling playthings, that she would choose for the night on occassion. In silence, just by her uniquely hollow, yet hungry look, and a 'come here' gesture, late in the evenings when she would make her rounds through the barracks.
Most knew better then to refuse her. Those that did – their expected lifespan usually measured in days, from that point. Sometimes hours.
They all knew, that they would be graded. And that they stood a good chance of losing their manhood, or sometimes their lives, if they failed to satisfy her. But their rewards, in the form of preferential assignments, increased salary, and added perks, including off-duty... latitude in conduct towards civilians... were also great. Rumours spread far and wide. Yelena practiced a stick-and-carrott approach, where the 'stick' meant at the very least, emasculation, or sometimes death. Not usually by her own hand. But as the one doling out assignments and coordinating operations, it was a simple matter for her to assign someone a suicide-mission. Or assign someone else to – 'accidentally' – kill the one who displeased her, during one. It was an applied exercise in pure, unadulterated supremacy, on the damaged woman's part. She didn't want to be there, subconsciously. She hated them. But as long as she was... she was determined to make all of them feel as... trapped... as she felt.
Psychological pressure. One of the many tools in her extensive, deadly arsenal.
A small part of her coping mechanism, during those years. Her ongoing retribution. Her unit was her own... harem... of sorts. And she was the empress, her power over them absolute. As long as they performed up to standard, Namir was perfectly content to leave the day-to-day management of the Sneaker batallion in her capable hands, and didn't care whose balls got cut off, on occassion. In hindsight of course, whenever she thought about it these days, Yelena felt a little guilty. Some of those guys... not many, but she could remember a few by name... they were actually ok people, who just landed on the wrong side of Belltower's operational underbelly, and in the clutches of the Tyrants, drafted as support corps. Specifically hers, in the case of the Sneaker program. But back then... she was a different person.
And to be fair... some did thrive. Those that learned to stay on her good side, and please her properly. And some... actually grew to enjoy being incubi, for her. There was a pecking order, and some found their place in the top segment of it. Her own personal circle of fuckboys. If nothing else, none of them ever experienced sexual frustration while on duty, something all too common in military ranks of any kind.
Old habits died hard, though. She still graded her sex partners. Only the lethal aspects of it, were gone. And the stick-and-carrott approach was still there, only transforming itself into very... stimulating... BDSM sessions!
Downstairs, in the club's admin section... manager's office.
"Lessner? I've got a job for you. From our mutual – friends – if you get my meaning." - the club manager, a homely, severely overweight gentleman with eyes sunken so far back into his face that they gave him a perpetually quizzical-looking, piggy expression, sat down at an expansive table, motioning to the opposite chair.
Irwine, in his 'Erich Lessner' persona, another Germanic alter-identity that replaced his Van Strohm one, suppressed a scowl.
Figures.
The manager, in addition to being a sleeper agent for the Collective, was also the local lieutenant for the Cartel. Him, their landlady, and several other people... they were all part of the same group. And the Juggernaut Collective's arrangement with them was such, that an occassional off-channel job was par for the course. They shelter a Collective cell like the three of them, and in return, the Cartel gets access to their – unique - expertise, when needed.
"Not my friends. If it's the kind of job like last time-" - the ex-Marine growled in distaste, trying very hard to keep up some semblance of an accent. Mostly successfully. Like Yelena's efforts, it was far from perfect, but like Yelena, Irwine knew he had to sell the act. That also included taking German lessons, across the net. He had an easier time with it, since they were likely to run into very few native Germans around here.
The manager waved a dismissive hand, with an oily smile.
"Oh no, no, nothing like that! That was an... unfortunate necessity, mister Lessner, when dealing with clients who refuse to honour a deal in good faith. No... we're talking something less... conspicuous. One of my VIP patrons, is an assistant manager for Port Royal Cruises. They're a local-based charter company, usually catering to select clientele, for private tours of some of the more exotic locations around the Caribbean. Ancient 'pirate' coves, supposed locations of long-buried treasures; you know, the kind of things your dirty-rich daddy's boys on vacation, like to take their dates to, to impress them, no credit limit."
Irwine smirked.
"Given the locale, makes sense. I've seen more pirate-themed stuff around here, then I can shake a stick at. Must be lucrative for the outfit. But where do I come in and what's this guy's problem, exactly?" - his adopted accent momentarily floundering, which he covered up with a fake cough.
Focus, man...
He upbraided himself with a minute headshake. Fortunately the club manager wasn't the type to notice nuances like that.
The fat man chuckled sleazily.
"No problem... at least none for him. But he wants out, and he is not satisfied with the kind of retirement package he is being offered. So he wants to arrange a little... accident... to happen during the next scheduled cruise, set to depart in four days. Then cash-in on the insurance money, at the company's expense."
Irwine's face twisted in disgust momentarily, as he couldn't help but roll his eyes. Still... if there would be no murder involved...
Hard to keep any kind of moral high ground, given our nominal assignment here. And we really can't be picky about keeping the cartel on-side...
It left a sour taste, though. Yelena was right, all those months ago, when she said that the notion of 'good' and 'bad' guys was irrelevant. But the ever-shrinking idealist in him, refused to let go of the idea completely.
"How much? And what kind of 'accident' does he have in mind? Remember though – not like last time. Just property damage and a few bumps! That's where I draw a line for this one." - he growled, adamantly, cracking his knuckles.
"Of course not! Just imagine the kind of bureaucratic mess otherwise... he doesn't want to deal with that anymore then you or I do!" - the manager assured him, then continued, handing Irwine a pocket secretary.
"It's all here. Including the payment account details, half of it negotiated in advance." - he smirked at a raised eyebrow from the ex-Marine.
"Just because he's a VIP client, does not mean I trust him."
Irwine gave the device a quick look for now, scrolling down to the payment details. He nodded to himself. 250,000 credits was nothing to scoff at, and about what he espected from an 'accident' job, that did not involve getting one's hands bloody. The last one, they were paid a milion... and for good reason.
Reason that neither him or Yelena, ever told Jamella what exactly happened during the time the two of them went on a 'romantic picnic' across the island, two and a half months ago. Of course, the young hacker was not born yesterday, she had her suspicions, especially given the front page story in the papers a few days later, but that was all they were. Suspicions. And there were other cartel-affiliated operators around, so it was easy to come up with plausible theories for her benefit.
Still, the man felt bad about it. Lying to Jamella, even to ostensibly protect her from the low-points of their 'vacation' here, felt rotten. But he agreed with Yelena. The girl had the kind of... innocence... that deserved to be protected. He wasn't sure that outright lying to her, at times, was necessarily the best way to go about it, but Yelena was insistent, and frankly, he couldn't think of a better way either. And Jamella made no secret of her distaste for their... allies... here. She loathed the cartel, and if she knew the full scope of the things they had to do, to keep up the Collective's end of the bargain – she woudn't be happy about it, to say the least.
Still. This one's not so bad... and it'll be easy enough to pass it off as an accident. If we do it right.
He thought, moving over to the locker room to get out of his tuxedo and tie. Inside, he also spent a couple of minutes adjusting the response inputs on his artificial left shoulder, with a phase-caliper tool he got in the habit of carrying with him. The augmetic inserts and polyfibral tissue still needed occassional fine-tuning, to stay fully in sync with his nerve inputs and prevent uncontrolled movements of the arm. The cybertechs back at the Kiss had given him a full seminar on the subject, emphasising that it would take time for him to fully adjust to it. Also making Irwine appreciate, how much self-maintenance and habitual adjustments Yelena had to do on herself, each day.
Finally, on his way back to the club's lobby...
"Hi mister Lessner! Done for the day? Wanna get together later? My roommate's throwing a pajama party! Minus the pajamas if you know what I mean...!" - a familiar Jamaican-accented voice at the far end of the hallway made him chuckle to himself. He turned, seeing a big toothy grin over a pair of enhanced boobs that looked ready to spill out of a tank top she was wearing.
The dancing girl was insatiable. So much so that Irwine privately wondered if she really had a crush on him, or was she just that promiscuous. Once or twice he thought he overheard her mentioning having a boyfriend – clearly their relationship was of the open variety. Then again, that seemed to be the norm, around this place.
But he had a lot to think about. And he was looking forward to brainstorming the cartel assignment with Yelena, once she was done for the day, and came back. Not to mention, someone had to escort Jamella home. While Saint John's was an ostensibly peaceful city, things could still get a little dodgy after dark. Especially in the district the club was in.
"Maybe next time! Say hello to your friend for me, will you?" - he gently rebutted her with a smile, turning a corner.
"Will do!" - she called back.
Half an hour before midnight, back at their suite...
Yelena was the last to come home, following the conclusion of her session with a customer. As per usual, she radiated a certain... self-satisfied, almost – giddy - aura about her, that Jamella could pick up on, as the young woman watched her take off her jacket and throw it on the sofa, slip out of the slacks and top, and head to the shower.
"I don't get it... don't you ever feel dirty, doing stuff like this? Cover or not, fun or not... you are just letting guys fuck you for money. Dancing is one thing but... look. Don't take it the wrong way, but I could never bring myself to go as... far... as that. " - the hacker asked, wonderingly, as she made sure to put Yelena's jacket on the hanger.
The aquiline woman chuckled easily, letting her hair out of the band that kept her ponytail in place. A very far cry from her one-time short, half-shaved styling. Once out, the mane of luxuriant raven-black hair spread like a carpet across her shoulders, making her look at the same time, less forbidding and more ravishing, yet also... it looked slightly out of place, on her sharp, aquiline features.
"I always feel dirty, dear. In a thousand different ways. Here's the thing. It's empowering. To not care to the level I don't." - she turned briefly, with an evil grin, that looked unsettling, framed by her lovely hair.
"Don't you? You like saying that, a lot." - Jamella pointed out, significantly. She refused to see the other woman's choice of words as a coincidence. Especially given what she picked up from her mind, five months ago. Even now, the figure made her nauseous to think about it. But Yelena shrugged it off, continuing.
"And just to correct you – I'm not letting them fuck me. I fuck them. Or fuck them up? Sometimes both at once. Just ask the last guy! He'll hurt when he inhales, for a week, given how hard I squeezed him! I could swear I felt a rib or two crack, in fact. And the best part is – he will be back for more. Willingly. Eagerly. He will spend his last credit on me, to make him suffer! That, Jamella... that is power." - her dark gaze flashing with sadistic delight mixed with lust. And something – darker. A dark, twisted need.
There was no mistaking the underlying sense there. It was much more then a domme-mentality, for Yelena. It was personal. And it went deep.
Jamella shook her head, some sadness in her gaze as she lowered it. She picked up on the subtext. And it.. scared her.
"I guess you were right earlier. It's not worth the price." - turning to walk away. Yelena's smirk died on her lips, as she sighed to herself, with a nod, before she closed the bathroom door.
Glad you realise that, girl.
In the master bedroom...
"Mmmhh... I was looking forward to this, all day! People think standing in one place for hours on end, is easy. That we bouncers got it easy... fuck 'em. At least when staking out a place, I can lie down and get comfy. Get a bite to eat, make my own little cosy sniper spot as I wait. Got plenty of practice doing that on recon assignments. But standing in one spot? Looking tough? Yeah... I'm stiffer then a parade lineup!" - Irwine grunted, lying on his stomach in their bed, as Yelena's strong, slender fingers pressed-in hard between his shoulder blades.
Massaging him, she paid special attention to the bionetic contact points lining the edge of the artificial tissues that comprised his left shoulder. She knew first-hand, that the connections needed tactile stimulus to retain their malleability. His shoulder setup was very impressive, to be sure... and several generations more refined then hers, of course – but it still took a lot of getting used to. A lot of breaking in. Five months was barely scratching the surface.
A lot was said about managing tissue rejection, and with Neuropozyne no longer being a factor, that was easier now then ever before. But just because the body didn't reject the technology, didn't mean it felt natural, yet. She was one with her systems, most of the time. Studying him over the months, she knew that he still had ways to go, before he fully adapted.
"How does that feel?" - she asked.
"Mm... tickles a little. Like tiny electroshocks! You're not trying to short-circuit me, are you?" - he wisecracked.
She smirked.
"Couldn't, if I tried. You don't have a unified bioelectric supply. Your shoulder is a self-contained system, rechargeable from external source. No control units, no power grid. In augmetic terms, you... barely got your little toe wet."
He nodded, shifting his shoulder slightly, under her touch.
"Yeah. It feels... more natural then I expected. And I still look the part. Not gonna pass an EM scan, of course, and on the beach, it's pretty obvious, but visually, when dressed, I still look natch. Probably can get past 90% of the dumb cops out there, without getting a second look. That should come in handy when we get to the states..." - he paused.
"They did a hell of a job back at the Kiss... especially calibrating the nerve-responses. I barely had to adjust my shooting habits at all."
"No regrets?" - she asked with a smile.
"None. I'm glad you talked me into it, love! I mean, sure... I was hoping to stay natural a bit longer, but losing my shooting ability to a stupid wound would just be idiotic!" - he smiled back.
Their conversation moved to the cartel assignment. Yelena wasn't any more enthusiastic about it then Irwine was; but for interestingly different reasons. She had no qualms about the moral aspect of it – little wonder, given how hardened she was - but she saw it as a waste of their talents.
"Is he serious?! An 'accident'?" - she rolled her eyes with a snort, "What, maybe slip some mescaline into the command crew's drinks, so they run the ship aground on some reefs, while seeing pink mushrooms? Or just set fire in the engine room, and make it look like negligence? I mean, as far as an insurance-fraud goes, I suppose it would allow his client to collect... but I don't see why we are needed for that kind of job. He could spend five times less credits just having local talent do it. What is the catch?" - she wondered, suspiciously.
Irwine shrugged.
"I suppose the client's looking for it to be done right, with no risk of one of those hothead sicarios messing it up and giving the game away. Worse, leaving corpses behind. Now I get it, it's not much of a challenge, especially on a civilian boat, but... look on the bright side; we'll get to see the wider Caribbean! And maybe work on our infiltration techniques. Practice makes perfect, after all."
Giving him an exasperated look, Yelena smirked, snatching the pocket secretary to take another look at the cruise route...
"Well... a week long circle around the islands. I suppose it will be a nice change of scenery. I know Jamella will love it... until the accident happens. But.. uh.. do you think we should take her along? If we do – maybe we will need to tell her in advance what would happen. But it would ruin it for her." - tone turning conflicted as she frowned.
"I don't think we should. If you're dead-set on shielding her from these kinds of things, then we don't do it halfway." - Irwine was serious, "Then again... how do we explain just going on a pleasure cruise without her?! We'd never hear the end of it, plus—" - he was cut off, by Jamella's scornful tone, past the door.
~"Plus I'm not stupid, you know?! News flash, folks – I'm not a ten-year-old kid, I know what we're doing here isn't mom and pop roses and rainbows bullshit, and I also KNOW about the hit you guys did, two and a half months ago! Get it thru your heads – I'm a hacker. I know how to get info when I want it. Plus, Yelena's not the only chick here with cochlear implants. I hear things. I know what kind of scum we're in cahoots with. And I know what kind of shit they want us to do, sometimes! I'm coming along, so that's non-discussion. Just promise me one thing. Nobody dies on this cruise. Deal?"~ - angrily.
Irwine glanced at Yelena, whose expression spoke volumes, as she let out a sigh, and a 'well, that answers that' shrug of her shoulders. Both felt at the same time – embarrassed, and... resigned, mixed with no small amount of shame.
"It's a deal, Jamella. And I'm sor-" - Yelena started earnestly, but was promptly cut off.
~"SAVE IT! Goodnight."~ - footsteps, stomping downstairs, before they both heard the sound of doors, slamming shut.
Both of them lied down, staring at the ceiling. Irwine chuckled.
"Wonder if this is what it's like, being a parent?"
"I would not know." - Yelena murmured, feeling... drained of all emotion, as she cozied-up to him.
