There was simply no way for normal traffic to use Unity Plaza on a Saturday night. From Tech Boulevard up all the way to the northern stretch of the Wall, Plaza Street was bound to be aswarm with party people. The hip bars were already attracting their crowd as darkness fell. In a few hours the elite clubs would power up, churning in and spilling out those eligible for this sort of life style.
“Wait…!” Rika squeaked in peril of losing her two friends within the human torrent.
Although only a few metres away, Erilyn was on the verge of being swallowed up. Luckily Paz’s cyan-dyed hair was outré enough even for such challenging environments. Continue reading
The Office Horse
Part Two: The Horse
Immediately she tried to wiggle out of Rob’s grip, yet at the same time seeking hold at him to lift herself off. Her legs stretched out in a wild search for the ground, but more than a span remained between her toes and the carpet, no matter her struggles. Jördis managed to get a hand before and the other behind her, pushing herself up a crucial centimetre.
“Are you fucking mad?! Let me down!”
The edge was painfully digging into her palms. Reuben had repositioned his hold to her shoulders, effectively preventing the girl from throwing herself off the horse.
“Are they always making such a fuss?” Continue reading
Darkness and disorientation awaited her as Denise woke up. Only slowly, in the rate her dizziness faded away, she was able to make sense of her surrounding and situation. Her body felt weak and chilly, and her back throbbed from lying on some hard surface. Her loss of consciousness hadn’t been caused by the stun gun. That deceiving bastard must have drugged her up once she had been incapacitated!
Denise tried to rise from her recumbent position, only to find her arms and legs trapped. At wrists and ankles as well as above elbows and knees she was bound with broad leather belts. Oh, and she was down to her slip and bra.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…!” Continue reading
Khisara’s Last Walk
Never before had Khisara witnessed such splendour. Even in her distressed state the Great Hall made her marvel in utter awe. One hundred and twenty cubits the numberless columns reached into the air, and upon entering the hall, one’s eye could not fathom its far end. The palace guards marched her along, keeping the chain to her high gold collar free of slack, but felt no need or inclination to drag at it. Whither could she flee? How could she form the mere concept of defiance in such overwhelming manifestation of unquestioned power? Continue reading
No sooner had I finished my reading than Sixteen materialised next to my bunk. She turned her bleach-blond haired head left and right, as to make sure she would not be overheard.
“I think they put stuff in our food.”
I made the fatal error of humouring her:
Oooh, stuff…! I sat up on the bunk edge.
“Mind expanding on this a bit?” Continue reading
The following narration is a commission from Suspension Guy, a constant reader who had asked for an interrogation story set in the HardSkill universe. I have received word that he is well pleased with the result, and I hope to get similar feedback from other readers, too.
Muriel hadn’t seen the punch to her neck coming. The grunt behind it was big enough to send her spinning into the nearest strut. The impact hadn’t only shattered her night vision goggles, but also had forced what air she had left out of her lungs.
Muriel was in serious trouble.
The guards had caught her on the mechanical level of the AReFa main building. And they hadn’t been on patrol duty. The company mercs had waited for her. Whilst two of them were holding Muriel subdued in collaborative joint locks, a third steel-trapped her wrists in rigid handcuffs. Before hauling her back up on her feet, her broken NV gear was replaced by a tight hood shutting out all light and most sounds – surely nothing a common security bloke would bring to his nightly round. Continue reading
Better Feared than Loved
Sleeping with somebody is considered to be the most intimate act to perform. Torturing them comes in a close second. In the light of this, Miss Cuntling and I were one step away from being fuck mates.
Kendrick might have been technically right about the abuse my fellow fillies and I were subjected to not being torture in that it wasn’t meant to extract confessions or information. He had applied a rather narrow definition, though. The purpose of interrogative torture may differ from the one of punitive torture; the underlying methodology stays the same. Pain may be inflicted for the sake of pain, but in the long run it is a means to an even more diabolical end. Continue reading