From: rdragon@ix.netcom.com(***) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: Anya - Welcome To The Team (FM+, slut, scifi) Date: 1 Nov 1996 23:21:44 GMT Anya Welcome To The Team by Nikolai Kingsley Anya had received her `orders' from the supervisors at BuProc; she was to be monitored for a period of twelve hours, starting at eleven that evening, to establish her suitability for work with the highly-placed Bureau of Procuration. She had been stuck at a console job for so long that she was willing to do literally anything to escape it. She had no idea as to which abilities they were testing for, but if what she had heard about BuProc was correct, her best bet was to head down to the docks around the NoSan'No'Os ExPort, find at least five guys and screw their brains out. That evening, in her tiny apartment (which she shared with a neuter ex-male called Gaeren), she sorted through her sparse wardrobe, decided that nothing she owned was appropriate, and decided to blow her last three hundred WCH on some new clothes. She had only been in the local Ginza twice, and both times the security guards, two-and-a-half-metre tall hulks carrying mylar batons the size of baseball bats, had tracked her every movement with a scrutiny that she felt lay somewhere between suspicion and contempt. Nevertheless, she put on the most nondescript outfit she had, brushed her hair back into a demure black helmet-shape (a distinct contrast to the wavy confusion that it usually assumed), set the lock on the apartment door, and headed off for the Ginza. The golden lights around the door seemed to form a fiery gate, like something that would lead to a cheap HolyRoller version of Heaven; she took a deep breath, and strode forward. She wasn't incinerated. The guards didn't even seem to notice her, although she couldn't tell where their scrutiny lay, hidden as it was behind mirrored visors. Confronted by the almost obscenely rich variation, like a Sultan's treasure trove, she forgot about the security guards and stumbled around, completely dazed by the splendor. There were dresses that appeared to be woven from golden threads of light, others that were evilly-glittering black metal panels, held together by intricate magnetic fields and designed to hover one inch from the body; complete cosmetic makeovers which could make you look exactly like the latest Sensory stars (which wasn't really the point - you had to _feel_ like them; appearances didn't count for that much in Simulation). She was gazing in rapture at a necklace that generated a holographic halo, being demonstrated on a mimetic model that matched her features as she approached. It glanced up at her, and returned such a perfect imitation of her smile that she shivered. `Nice night for a walk,' an Austrian accent behind her intoned deeply. She whirled, almost falling over, and two huge hands grabbed her shoulders, steadying her. A tenin-uriku, a salesman/floorwalker, impeccably dressed in sarariman black, and easily as tall and imposing as the security, stood there smiling. One of his front teeth gleamed silver. `Can I help you?' he asked kindly. `I - I need some clothes,' she stammered. His smile broadened. `I think we can accommodate you. How much were you thinking of devoting to the worthy exercise of clothing your exquisite form?' she blushed at the compliment. `I have three hundred Work-Credit-Hours.' He closed his eyes in a fair imitation of rapture. `For that amount, we can drape you with finery that would be the envy of the Aristocracy.' `Now, I think this is what you may be after... ' He drew what appeared to be a tightly-woven fist-sized black cocoon from a rack. She glanced at him quizzically. He flashed his smile again, and shook the dress out with a flick of his wrist. A magnetic seal clicked open, and the dress unfolded, exactly like a chrysalis. Within moments, an exquisite vision in gleaming, thin black leather depended from the floorwalker's fingers. Her eyes widened. `It's rather, ah, small, isn't it?' she murmured. `Try it on,' he said reassuringly. `It IS rather small, but it covers the appropriate acreage, and does so with charm.' She turned, glancing at the holographs that showed her how the dress clung to her body, pushing her breasts up. She leaned over, tilting to one side, examining the degree of cleavage that was exposed. `It's perfect,' and before she could think of a delicate way of asking, `How much?', the salesman murmured, `It can be yours for one hundred and eighty-five Work-Credit- Hours.' `I'll take it,' she said immediately. `... and, for an additional ninety-five credits, we have these boots... ' black leather, knee-length, with a silver chain around the left ankle. As she nodded her assent, he smiled again and asked, `Would you like them wrapped?' She glanced at a nearby holograph- clock, and smiled sweetly. `Thank you. nothing fancy... it's only for me.' Despite this, he wrapped them in a sheet of silver-foil analogue, as tough as steel. She also purchased some black carbon-mono-filament mesh stockings and a pair of garters decorated with small black roses. * * * The buildings in the zone around the NoSaNoOs ExPort were once used as shipping dockyards; now that the NoSaNoOs could ferry materials from any point on Earth to another in a matter of minutes, they had fallen into disuse, and were mainly cheap accommodation and entertainment for the people who worked at the ExPort, a cross- section of the extreme lower social strata. It was similar to videos of depression-era Chicago (1930's) and recession-era Melbourne (mid 1990's) that she had seen at school... every third place was a club, bar or other variety of watering-hole; every fifth shop was a brothel or gambling-house. people in tattered clothing slumped in the cobblestone gutters... a young man, no older than twenty-two, with a home-made arrangement of electrodes on his head like a crown of thorns, was perched on top of an industrial waste-container, eyes glittering in wirehead paranoia, like a hawk on speed, watching her. She ventured a smile, and he grinned ferociously, exposing teeth consisting of two single white plastic ridges. He eyed the bag she carried, his attention darting up and down her form like an automatic targeting system. `Another one,' he said rapidly. Before she could query this outburst, he continued at a machine-gun pace. `... another candidate for the Bureau of Procuration. Am I right? You've just been to the Ginza, new clothes, you look like a console operator, and there are only two reasons why a console operator might be roaming the ExPort Zone at this time of night, right? and you don't look like a wirehead. At least you don't look like a wirehead to me, and I consider myself an expert in matters relating to electronic sensory stimulation.' She was stunned for a moment, and could only reply, `Yeah, so?' He giggled inanely to himself, rocking back on his heels, the wires attached to his forehead shimmering. `Just down the road, down there, an exo-joint, `s called the Suteriik Kitchen, `s a slosh-house, but they keep a fairly high profile, around here that is, that means that when the customer can't stand up by itself, they throw it out, so anyway, just head down there, ask for Granny, she runs the place, and tell her that Tybalt sent you.' He leaped up, abruptly, grabbed a fire-escape railing overhead, swung up into the darkness and was gone. It all happened so quickly that she could only stand there gaping, staring at the spot vacated by the wirehead. Suddenly, from a third-story window, Tybalt's head and shoulders popped out, and he waved to her. `Go on! it's okay! I see at least half a dozen girls head down that way every month!' She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, `Hey, come down, I want to talk to you!' To her surprise, Tybalt crawled out of the third-storey window and dropped to the ground, landing on his feet with a sharp exhalation of breath, bending his knees to absorb the shock. One of his electrodes came loose and he quickly replaced it. `Okay, come on, I'll show you the way, but I won't go in there, `cos Granny doesn't have much time for wireheads, we don't spend enough money in there I suppose, so, anyway, how many guys were you thinking of taking on at once, that is, assuming you are trying for a position in BuProc, right?' Anya was having trouble framing a reply to this, wondering if her motives were so transparent that a street wirehead could read them. Tybalt looked momentarily concerned. `Hey, I haven't pissed you off, have I? I always come on like this, hazard of the trade, so to speak, and anyway, at least I don't come on like some ProtoCharacter who thinks he's a warrior elf and tries to slice you up with his broadsword like that "Doomlord" guy-' `Look,' Anya managed to interrupt, `can you keep quiet for a moment?' Tybalt glanced at her with a jerky movement, grinned lopsidedly, placed the back of his hand over his mouth in a parody of the Bureau of Procuration salute. `Okay, yes, I admit, I am going after a position in BuProc... I'd appreciate any advice that you could give me.' Tybalt snorted, raised his eyes to the sky and chattered on, `You think I look like some sort of sex tech guru god knowledge- base like guy? I mean, reeeeealllly, I haven't done it since I went under the wire, six years ago, and beFORE you say anything,' he added hastily, noting her expression, `I do know what I am missing. This,' pointing to the electrodes studding his forehead, `is better. Believe me.' He glanced at her sideways. `Wanna try it?' Anya backed off slightly. `Oh, uh, no thanks.' Tybalt looked rather relieved. * * * They passed a number of burned-out building-shells, arriving at a five-storey warehouse that was completely boarded up. There were two troll-like doormen, both of them almost three metres tall, slouching against either side of an elaborately arched doorway. Like a lot of the architecture in use in the NoSan'No'Os ExPort Zone, the doorway was lifted from the ruins of another building, resulting in a clash of architectural styles that had almost become fashionable. She recognised it as one of those places that ExPort cargo-lifters could come to for a wash and a drink after a hard day of shifting crates. `This is where we part, because those thugs would dearly like to biff me, and I dearly don't want to give them the opportunity. Take care, have fun, and I don't want to put you down in any fashion,' here, he adopted a serious expression, `but like, don't be too ambitious, and if I were you, I wouldn't try taking on more than five guys at once, hey? No offense.' She smiled. `None taken, Tybalt.' He leaped up, grabbed a ledge and squeezed his way into the vacant building next door to the Suteriik. The door-things pretended not to notice him. Anya drew a deep breath and stepped forward. The trolls took no notice of her. She paused, standing between them, glancing from one to the other. No response... they may as well have been statues. She pushed the door open and entered. A few moments later, a smirk crossed the coarse features of one of the trolls. There was a short, unlit stairwell that led straight down to another door. She stepped down cautiously, and flinched slightly as the door at the end opened by itself. It revealed a long, low- ceilinged twilight lounge, wafts of smoke from various pipes (which contained the expected mixture of exotic herbs) drifting through soft hazes of golden light in a landscape of darkness. There were wide tables scattered throughout the room, clustering around, but not actually in the pools of light, like cautious animals daring to approach campfires. There were only a few port laborers present, none of them xenoforms; the evening shift wouldn't finish for another forty minutes. She cautiously, unobtrusively, stalked over to a door near the back of the room, and entered the shower rooms. There were three regular laborers, humans, all of them in their mid-twenties, two of them showering and one drying himself, ruefully regarding his dirty coveralls. They paid as much attention to her as the doormen had. She stood there with her hands on her hips for a moment. This (as she imagined it) deliberate refusal to even react to her presence was galling. She smiled to herself as she thought, `Let's see what we can do about that.' She stripped off her office clothes, removed her underwear, stepped under a shower-head and slid her wrist past the reader. It read the implanted chip under the skin, clicked (docking half a WCH for the cost of the water) and magnetohydraulic pumps behind the walls kicked in with a rumble. A broad spray of hot water gushed out, blasting her hair back, pounding into her shoulders as she turned. It was set to the strength preferred by the laborers which frequented the showers, but she found a control-plate, waved her hand at it and the stream dropped to a point where she was no longer about to be blown off her feet. They were still ignoring her. She stuck her hand into the soap-recess, coated it with the green liquid, and rubbed it over her breasts. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the laborers glancing covertly at her. She pinched a nipple with one hand while the other smeared soap down her belly, closed her eyes and gasped as the water's temperature rose ten degrees and began to pulse in intensity. Her hand slipped down past her belly to nestle in the soft tufts that lay at the junction of her thighs, and her fingers began to stroke the lips that lay there. With her eyes closed and her face directly in the shower stream, she could still sense one of the laborers approaching her from behind. He gently placed his hand on her hip; she grasped it and moved it up to cup her breast. He moved closer, pressing against her back, nuzzling her neck and running his other hand down her side, stroking her hip as he circled her nipple with his index finger. This hand then crossed her belly as he hugged her to him, kissing her shoulders and her neck. She felt his tongue, rough like a cat's, trace a path along her jaw, through the hissing stream of water. She gripped the hand that rested lightly on her breast, turned slightly and faced the stranger. with a slight shock she discovered that he was not one of the three laborers that she found when she entered; this was a heavily-bio-modified human male, almost a xenoform; he had two insect-like feelers mounted under each ear, parallel to his jawline; these could act as second hands while his regular hands maintained their grip in zero gravity. His eyes were smooth black spheres, no whites; like pools of glittering oil. Apart from the feelers, she found him quite attractive (which was a relief, as she had had some vague disconcerting ideas about being assaulted by something that looked like a cross between a plateau Bythian and an orang-utan), and a quick glance down revealed that he was still human enough for her. She noticed a tattoo on his shoulder, and similar marks on the shoulders of the other three, which meant that they were members of a Crew, a tightly-knit team of specialised starship workers that were employed by the NoSan'No'Os. She smiled as they all moved in. The leader (the one with the feelers) held up five fingers, his thumb, index and pinky fingers folded down: binary 00110, or 6. She frowned slightly until the Crewmembers also held up their hands; she thought for a moment that they wanted some sort of group discount. They all briefly touched wrists, the implanted chips exchanging Work-Credit- Hours. Then they all helped her wash the rest of the soap off; they shut off the showers and as one, they moved into the adjacent bed area. This was divided into partitioned areas by sound-damping curtains, each area dominated by a large foam mattress. They found an unoccupied area and towelled her dry before stretching her out on the bed. Well, they certainly don't waste any time, she thought, as the leader kneeled at the head of the bed, grasping her head and guiding his erection to her mouth, and the other Crewmembers arranged themselves at the other end; one kneeling astride her chest and gently massaging her breasts; one poised over her loins and the third wriggling underneath her, the tops of his feet resting on her shoulders. She closed her eyes for a moment, and performed the mental dissociation-exercise she had learned as part of her quaternary school term. Her consciousness divided into four separate channels, each one possessing only a spark of her intelligence but backed by the full force of her lust. One of them concentrated on using her mouth and tongue to manipulate the shaft that she held in her mouth; another induced her hands to press her breasts together around the penis of the second Crewmember; another caused her to press her thighs together, squeezing the third Crew'er's member and the fourth relaxed muscles as the Crew'er underneath her began to slide his erection into her ass. she gently nibbled on the head of she tweaked her nipples as his erection, running her tongue she firmly pressed her over the head and then sucking it breasts against his shaft, into her mouth, moving her head rubbing up and down, feeling back and pressing her tongue his thighs press against her against him, massaging the shaft ribs as she breathed deeply, with her lips his hands flat against hers her thigh muscles twitched as he he lubricated the passage slid the engorged length of his with a finger coated in cock into her, felt his balls liquid soap, and with a slapping against her perineum rotary motion of his hips, with each thrust, felt the head slowly slid his column into of his penis sliding over the her rear, the head pulsing inner lips and her clitoris as it passed the tightness and then deep within her of the opening and pushed in She gradually became aware of a vague fifth consciousness hovering behind the others, co-ordinating them, trying to match the bobbing motions of her head to the sinuous writhing of her hips as she slid into the third Crew'er and out of the fourth, reaching out with her fingertips to massage the shaft of the Crew'er poised between her breasts. From this fifth awareness, she sensed that the Crew'ers were linked together into a single mind, as they must be when they are working. This fifth mind also sensed that the Crew were co-ordinating themselves, conspiring against her wishes to bring her to a climax before they did. In time, she realised what was happening, and took steps to prevent coming, as she had noted that her performance tended to deteriorate after her first orgasm. Wavering on the edge of the incline that would irrevocably lead to climax, she mentally squared her shoulders and drew her four streams of consciousness closer together. Her four separate selves dipped and dived around each other like ribbons twisting on a maypole, as she fought to bring the Crew to a climax which they were obviously avoiding just as intently as she was avoiding hers. She realised that she'd have to break up their internal rhythm, to divide into four separate minds completely and break all coordination between them, which was dangerous, as it often effected permanent changes in personality, assuming that the original consciousness could be reasserted. However, this was something she'd had a lot of practice at: she had spent hours at her work terminal, divided into three minds; one performing her regular mundane duties, another assimilating an instruction tape and the third chatting with a friend on KetherNet. Her jaw quivered and her hips shook as her minds disassociated, and she renewed her attack on the leader with a snarl. she could sense his breathing she managed to introduce an patterns change as she dragged acceptable variety of arythmia him closer to orgasm, as she between the contractions of her scraped the sides of his penis vaginal lips and the muscles of with her teeth and pressed the her anus as the two Crew'ers tip of her tongue into the slit alternately lifted her up and at the end. he suddenly thrust pressed her down into the soft in as far as he could, the head sponge-foam mattress. it was pressing against the base of her this disruption to the tongue. she managed to grab a established beat that they were deep breath just before the dancing to that threatened to bulging end of his erection tip the two less experienced sealed the passage. this was Crewmembers over the edge. something she had trained she spread her legs slightly, herself to deal with as well. allowing some of her wetness to she wrapped one hand around the drip down between her buttocks base of the penis that was and lubricate the rear passage. being thrust between her breasts, squeezing it... and wrapped her thumb and and with the other, grasped the forefinger around it, just balls of the Crewleader, and behind the head, stretching it tugged down sharply. with a out, rubbing the head against small grunt of pain, he began to her erect nipples. she spread withdraw, only to find that the her fingers out, pressing her feeling of her lips moving down thumb into the spot just below the length of his shaft had the head, and massaged the brought him to orgasm. she felt shaft with her index and middle his penis jerk violently as he fingers. she found that she desperately flexed his perineal could elicit gasps of pleasure muscles in a last-ditch attempt from the second Crew'er by to stave off the inevitable, but pressing upwards with her thumb she had his balls in one hand at the same time as yanking and the end of his cock held down and forwards. he barely firmly between her lips. he maintained the presence of mind groaned as his hips twitched to keep massaging her nipples as involuntarily; he tried to he shuddered and came, spurting withdraw, but she had her teeth pearly fluid over her chest and around the crown of his penis. the base of her throat. The leader came, shuddering and arching his back as the sensation surged through him. The slight differential between his orgasm and that of the Crew'er sitting astride her was somehow imparted to the two who were servicing her lower half; they also came within seconds of each other, one of them pulling out just before climax, spurting over her belly, while the other fiercely ground his erection into her rear with a series of short thrusts, ejaculating deep within her. She rubbed the sticky fluid into her belly with one hand, and down between her breasts with the other, while throwing her head back, taking the leader's member further within her mouth (it was unusual, but his emission tasted less like semen than cinnamon-spiced molasses... she assumed it was another bio-modification). They lay there for a few moments, huddled together in a warm, sweaty mass, all breathing in time; then the crew slowly slid out of her, trailing fluids from various orifices. Anya realised that she had no idea of what to do next; getting up, getting dressed and leaving seemed rude. As it happened, the decision was taken from her, as the crew picked her up and carried her to the shower area. There was a sunken bath behind a locked panel, which the leader paid for by putting his wrist against the reader and depositing two WCH with the establishment. They carefully placed her in the water, got in with her and while three of the crew held her securely, gently stroking her and applying the occasional kiss, the leader submerged (he could either filter oxygen from the water or he had his own internal supply - another bio-modification), positioned himself between her thighs and began to tease her labia with his tongue. She smiled to herself and suddenly wondered if these men were actually Crew after all; it was possible that they were applying for positions with BuProc as she was. Another possibility came to mind as the leader thrust his tongue into her, grasping her hips with his broad hands; they might be a Bureau of Procuration Evaluation team. She arched her back, tensing against their firm grip as the leader circled her outer lips, spiraling in to focus his attention on her clitoris. She flinched slightly as he used his feelers to part her labia, darting his rough tongue in, bringing it up and out over her clitoris with a bobbing motion of his head. He wrapped his arms around her thighs as she began to thrust back, warm waves of pleasure surging up her belly, lagging milliseconds behind each stroke of his tongue. He thrust his head directly into the juncture of her thighs, gently sucking on her vagina, pushing his lips between hers. The other Crew'ers were also applying their tongues with stimulating intent, teasing her nipples, her earlobes, occasionally daring to kiss her lips and massage the muscles along her jawline with their mouths. The leader released his grip on her legs, sliding his hands up her behind, massaging her back, then moving his hands down her legs, stroking the taut thigh muscles which quivered with her useless efforts to avert the orgasm which now overtook her like some roaring predator running down a helpless gazelle. She surrendered to the feeling as it swept over her, arching her back and making her gasp with shock. The leader kept at it, his tongue finding some unusual rhythm which brought a second orgasm in behind the fading echoes of the first, something which she had dreamt about but never imagined she would experience. She caught the eye of one of the Crew, grasping her arm; he gave her a familiar, reassuring smile, and she knew: they were BuProc operatives. As her second orgasm smoldered and faded in the pit of her stomach, the leader emerged from the water and kissed his way up her stomach, between her breasts, along her throat and to where she could taste the faint scent of her own excitation. `Welcome to the team,' he said. 1994 nikolai alekseivitch kingsley