There Ain't No Justice - #138 Detachable Penis, by Arifel ----------------------------- He leaned back, luminous graffiti patterns on the wall behind him like a halo. Waiting. Arms crossed, eyes closed, confident; it was his territory, after all. He could hear her footsteps down the street, her standard, uniform shoes clacking on the standard, uniform concrete. He could tell simply from the sound that she was determined not to show her fear, her steps slightly louder than usual, each foot put down with just a little more force than necessary. His only concession to his own nervousness was to reach down and run his fingers over the outline of the oblong drug case in his coat pocket, ensuring that it was still there. Not that the Straights would do anything rash or harmful if they didn't get their drugs; it was just that the survival of his Tribe depended mainly on the revenues that their illegal chemistry provided, and he couldn't afford to lose their merchandise. The chance of it happening was remote, as in most nervous phobias. The sound was close, now. She must have been the only person on the street at this time of night, almost certainly the only Straight. He shifted away from the luminous graffiti so that he could get a look at her before she could see him. A precaution, though he knew she wouldn't try to steal the drugs from him. To the best of his knowledge, his Tribe were the only ones who made Casmirin, using tailored e.coli (illegal - more so than the drug itself, and a closely guarded secret), so the Straights couldn't really afford to offend them. He forced himself into the `dealing-with-a-Straight' mind-set, squared his shoulders and put on a reassuring smile as the sound of her shoes approached the corner. The smile froze on his face when he saw her. The Straight uniform hadn't changed much in a hundred years; if anything, the female variant was even more severe, designed to convey the impression that the wearer was, in a business environment, not someone to mess with. She had black shoes with sensibly, relatively low heels, black stockings (unfashionably unladdered) around shapely, long legs, leading up into a thigh-length jacket, one button gathering the lapels at her belly. From there, they opened to reveal her corporate tie (short, as this season's ties were); they parted to cup her breasts, which jiggled, otherwise unsupported, beneath a smooth white silk shirt. Her hair was collar-length, caramel- coloured, held firmly in place with gel that he could smell from where he stood. She held a courier's case in one hand, the variety that would close and then refuse to open unless presented with the correct palm-print; she held a notepad in the other. She peered through her wide-rimmed zero-prescription glasses, saw a pale, thin face above the vague outlines of a black overcoat three sizes too big; the only details she could make out were his armoured boots, glittering chrome hinge-bolts at the ankles, a shock of black hair that hung down over eyes glowing softly in the darkness, eerily lit from within as was currently the fashion with 'terners. With a boldness that she didn't feel, she strode up to him and held out the notepad. The screen showed a record of a financial transaction, several thousand credits from the Basel Banking Conglomerate to Nexus Student Tuition (the standard cover account). He closed his eyes, the pale yellow light dimming, reinforced the assurance of his smile and produced the drug case, casually flipping it open to reveal rows of plastic tubes filled with pink fluid. He'd arranged to include an extra tube, something which the Straights always regarded as extreme generosity; it barely cost the 'terners anything to produce Casmirin. He could have given them a swimming- pool-full of it for what they were paying. What a way to go, he thought. Her eyes widened slightly, lashes parting with surprise as she noted the extra tube; she removed and pocketed it before inserting the case into a rectangular gap at one end of the courier's bag, which hissed and closed with a sound one ordinarily associated with armoured bank vault doors. The transaction was finished, but she felt inclined to delay, to get to know him personally. There was a part of many Straights that drew them to 'terners; the intrigue, mystery, the thrill of danger that had been carefully excised from Straight life (at least, from the lower ranks - control wars were something known only to the upper corporate board-members). She was presenting all of the standard kinesic signals, but he didn't seem interested. In an rare intuitive leap (for a Straight), she realised that he wasn't going to play Straight games, so she decided to be as frank as possible, asked him directly: `Would you like to come back to my apartment for a meal?' She knew, at least, that the majority of 'terners lived on the poverty line, were usually malnourished and rarely refused a meal. He smiled, closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, blue and green graffiti-light staining his hair. `Unless you have some sort of other arrangement for the evening, I think I'd rather join you in bed.' He glanced over to catch her reaction to this, which was predictable; her eyes widened and her bright red lipsticked mouth formed an `O'. She was playing up to his suggestion, though; she inhaled deeply and noted, with a degree of pride, how his eyes widened at the sight of her breasts pushing up further from between the dark grey lapels of her jacket. Confident after this minor reversal of roles, she inclined her head towards the street, and, after a suitable pause, he followed. It was only a short walk to the rental AV, but long enough for him to fix in his mind the image of her jacket, tightly hugging her waist and her behind. He was sure that her hips were swaying more exaggeratedly than usual; the sound of her steps was subtly different - previously, she wasn't trying to attract attention. The AV was a large, sleekly rounded lump of dark grey plastic, the walls and door almost fifteen centimetres thick with armour and sound insulation. Once inside and moving, the journey was silent; neither of them spoke. She was planning the rest of the evening's events, and he was wondering if he'd have the opportunity to slip into a bathroom and attach the bioprosthetic hidden in his bag, a device that, once slipped over his penis, would attach itself to his nervous and circulatory system, becoming indistinguishable from the real thing apart from the fact that it was almost thirty-five centimetres inches long and, when fully erect, eight centimetres in diameter at the base. Some of his friends, when cohabiting with Straights, employed this disguise to engender the belief amongst the mainstream that 'terners were, by nature, massively endowed. Male Straights usually thought along those lines, associating penis size with success (when they couldn't subliminate it into ostentatious shows of wealth and/or power); the existence of the prosthetic was another closely-guarded 'terner secret. If the male Straights found out about it, they'd all want one; it would be a huge marketing success, but the 'terners who made it weren't that poor. One day, some Straight research lab would find a reason to replicate it. He grinned, trying to imagine what sort of excuse they'd give Management. The AV soared up, between canyon-walls of glass, steel and plastic, holographic displays cutting through the night-fog, false colours blaring into the night. He looked through the smoked-plastic window, taking in the view; anyone could see this, if they could afford it. 'terners rarely had any cash aside after their ten-daily allowance for such frivolities. When smog obscured the view, he turned back to see her sitting back on the broad leather seat; she'd unbuttoned the single jacket-button, pushed the lapels aside. The tails of the silk shirt lay between her spread legs; she smiled, threw back her head and, in a most inviting fashion, ran elaborately long fingernails over the tops of black-clad thighs. He made his optic insets flash red, giving a demonic cast to his gaze which travelled the length of her body, from her exposed throat down to the smooth, faintly fluorescent, unnaturally white cloth stretched between her breasts, down to the darkness that lay under the shirt-tails. He kneeled forward and shrugged off his coat; he slipped off her left shoe, then her right, massaging the balls of her feet, feeling the smooth, uncalloused skin beneath the stockings, holding her toes in each hand, twisting them first one way and then another, freeing her muscles of tensions she didn't know she possessed. He saw that he wasn't going to get that meal after all; but if he was careful, he could put on that prosthesis while her attention was otherwise engaged and perpetuate the myth. His strong fingers slowly worked their way up her calves, digging with almost bruising force into her flesh while she ran her fingertips over the smooth material that strained between her raised nipples, a tell-tale quiver in the muscles of her thighs belying her arousal. Impatiently, his hands darted around behind her hips, tugging her forward on the seat, bringing her closer to him, scenting her, his fingers questing up her sides until they found the hem of her tights, tugging them down and forward, peeling them from her pale thighs, chasing the slowly sliding terminator of black netting and white skin with his own pale lips, gently nibbling the scented flesh and measuring the degree of flinching his bites caused. His lips slowly, teasingly centred in on hers, gentle side-to-side movements of his head pushing her legs further apart, giving him better access, his unnaturally long tongue - another prosthesis/ surgical adaption - snaking out to tease her, then probing further, running up one side and down the other, tracing a long, slow spiral which ended at her clitoris, which responded, making its presence known. She ran a hand through his hair, the palm of her hand pressing gently against his forehead, pushing him back so that he could see the small pink tube clutched between the thumb and forefinger of her other hand. She pinched one end, which gave way with the softest of wet pops, a fat pink droplet running down her thumb. She pointed the open end of the tube at the abbreviated light-brown curl of pubic hair two centimetres above his nose, squeezed gently; the aromatic fluid coursed out and dripped onto her skin, twin reflections of his glowing red eyes glittering in the wet trail which ever so slowly wound its way down to disappear between her vaginal lips. The psychoactive took effect quickly; she arched her back with the sudden rush, carefully set the tube aside, grabbed his head with both hands and pressed his face hard against her. The Casmirin tasted oddly sweet, like honey and cinnamon with a hint of rose, and it entered his system through the soft tissues in his mouth just as fast as it had entered hers. While she was busy sitting back and moaning softly, eyes closed, he undid the front of his pants and freed his growing erection. He cautiously slipped one hand into his bag and found the prosthesis, one finger reaching inside and tweaking the soft-switch. The device came to life, the end writhing open like a mouth, nanotech lubricants sweating out of the inside surface. His lips carefully nestled around her clitoris, he hummed to distract her further while he slipped the prosthesis on. It always felt strange; slightly cool, clammy; two distinct, sharp pricking sensations as it connected to his circulatory system and began engorging with blood, growing warm; the nanotech lubricant changing cohesivity and becoming an infinitely flexible fixative, a tissue-thin tube extending down his urethra and fixing itself to the inside. A moment later, the nerve links connected and he experienced the strange thrill of running his hand along a swelling appendage that wouldn't have looked out of place hanging under the belly of a small horse. Something of the Casmirin-fuelled thrill he felt on grasping his enhanced endowment made its way to his partner; he didn't change the rhythm of his ministrations, but she cried out and her thighs tightened their grip. He thrust his arms under her knees and pushed her back in the seat, his lips struggling to maintain their close contact with hers, tasting her excitement, feeling her climax kicking back at him and yet staying with her. They huddled there, clenched together, shaking, her wetness lubricating the smooth leather seat so that he could slide her forward again to sit on the edge. She fell back on the seat, her breasts shifting apart inside the silk shirt, her attitude one of dazed, heated lust. With a 'terner's sense of the dramatic, he slowly moved back to where she could get a better look. She lay before him, panting, her eyes half-lidded, a sensual smile on her lips, fingers idly running around her nipples which were still standing up stiffly; the look of surprise which accompanied her glance down at his erection was almost comical. `It's true!' she whispered to herself. He grinned, spread her legs further apart and moved in, almost revelling in the mixture of lust and fear in her expression. He rubbed the head against the outer lips, lubricating the head with the wetness there before slowly pressing it into her. Her legs wrapped themselves around his waist and held him like a vice; it took all of his concentration to stop himself thrusting straight into her, which could have injured her. Instead, he teased her, sliding in a fraction further each time until the head was pressing against her womb. She lifted her legs up, her calves resting on his shoulders, squeezing him and giving an added depth to her vagina; positioned like this, he could almost get all of the prosthesis into her without causing undue discomfort. They established a smooth motion and as the AV circled the city, he ploughed on, powered by the Casmirin which surged through his system. In her, the Casmirin - coupled with some other drug which she'd been taking - had an unusual effect on her; she was taking slow, deep breaths in time with his thrusts; every eleventh thrust would bring her to a minor climax, and these orgasms were growing steadily in strength, to the point where he was concerned that she might rip the prosthesis off him. With the next orgasm, her fingernails broke the skin on his shoulders; the following one made her moan and shove herself onto him hard; the next made her scream, and at that point he decided to release the block he'd put up and allow his own climax. She slid forward, the leather slick with their combined fluids, and kissed him passionately. The prosthesis had detumesced almost to normal size, the head still inside her; she ran her hand down his chest and stomach, and then she grasped his erection and inadvertently triggered the soft-switch. The device shut itself down and released its chemical grip on his real penis; it slid off into her hand. She looked down, screamed and fainted. ----------------------------- Phoenix Modernz Systems: 732/xxx-DEAD! BBS's are DEAD, do you hear me?!? However... www.etext.org/Zines/ASCII/ThereAintNoJustice or... members.bellatlantic.net/~talmeta/ (official homepage of TANJ etc.) TANJ Lives! (for today, anyway...)