Mira: A Slave’s Story
1 — Mira and the Pushers
The brain in Mira’s safetycar flashed her a third redlight warning, yet as she had on the previous two occasions she input her security code and overrode its wise counsel. After only the briefest of hesitations, the pod-like vehicle completed its leisurely descent onto the deserted city rooftop.
Rotors purring noiselessly beneath the sealed compartment, the automated touchdown was as light as a feather, barely disturbing the decades-old garbage scattered here and there amid the debris.
Inside, Mira’s hands were shaking. She was perspiring. She needed her fix.
It was a moonless night and cloudy. Nevertheless, the light amplifiers in the one-way window that made up the front portion of her vehicle compensated adequately, revealing all things as if it were high noon outside and sunny. Mira’s wide angle of perception was backed up by the readouts on her sensorweb: she was alone. She had arrived too early, driven by her needs, and now she would have to wait for the other’s arrival. This was a bad habit of hers—another bad habit, on top of the one that had prompted her coming—her tendency to arrive too early for any event and subsequently having to wait.
Mira hated having to wait for anything. She was Corporate. It irritated her, yet she kept putting herself into positions where she was forced to wait all the time. It was a condition.
She put her head down in her hands, fingers in her hair, and gently massaged her scalp. She didn’t quite have a headache, yet, but there was a certain tenderness behind her eyes that threatened one’s coming.
She closed her eyes and rubbed, feeling unbearably horny, trying to keep her mind off her pussy.
Few things in life were worse than having to wait. There was a sense of helplessness and, oddly enough, embarrassment that aggravated the senses. Mira’s fingertips were icy despite the perfect temperature regulation inside the safetycar. She stroked the area above her eyebrows. She squirmed, crossing and uncrossing her legs, hot and bothered yet knowing it would be fruitless to masturbate.
She couldn’t tolerate people who were late. For her, it was among the greatest of sins, that someone else’s lack of punctuality was taking time out of her life. But that wasn’t the situation here; she was early, she had arrived too early, and her awareness of the reason why made her horribly self-conscious.
How had she come to this? How had she been reduced to this, waiting around like a good-for-nothing city-dweller for the one thing now that gave her life any meaning? Mira’s lips pressed together.
Her icy fingers helped a little.
Eventually, a light ping! from her dashboard alerted her. Her heated excitement quickly turned to irritation, though: there were two of them. The rooftop door opened and a pair of young men in cheap clothing—obviously tenants, not citizens—looked around, at length spotting her pod. They weren’t wearing nightgear, so Mira could see them considerably better than they could possibly see her.
One of them smiled and whispered to the other, “You’ll never get her to come out,” and the other replied, “Sure, I will.” Mira’s sound amplifier was working fine, too.
Mira wanted to say, You’re late. Instead, as soon as they had approached, she remarked, “You were supposed to come alone.” She wanted to sound stern; she came across as merely strident. The boy she regularly dealt with—he really was as young as he appeared to be, physically; as a non-Corporate serf he couldn’t afford the youth treatments Mira’s class enjoyed—shrugged his shoulders.
“Just bringin’ a little security, pussy, ya can’t fault me that, can you?”
Mira didn’t bother to answer. For a moment, she couldn’t answer. A wave of heat had swept over her, inspired by the presence of the two men—big, strong, handsome, and oh so fuckable men!—and with a sudden uncontrollable abandon she had opened her legs wide and with one hand begun to fiddle with herself, biting her bottom lip as she used the other to expand the image of their tight, denim-clad groins. Her nipples were so hard it was painful. She was bathed in sweat. The two boys (Men!) looked at each other, and after a moment one of them stepped forward and rapped against her pod.
“Hello! Anybody home?” He and the other fellow laughed knowingly. “You alright in there, pussy?”
She was so close to a climax, she felt. She was right on top of it. She could feel it coming. But it was useless, she knew, and after a couple more futile strokes at herself she managed to pull her hand free.
It was her inability to climax without the drug that was her whole problem.
Mira used the announcer again: “Let me see it.” She had tried not to breathe into the dashboard intercom. All the same her voice came out too husky and deep. Damn it, damn it, she thought.
Adding to her annoyance, her pusher shook his head. “Let’s see what you got, pussy.” He held his fingers up in front of him, running his thumbs back and forth across them. On a screen inside, her pod’s sensorweb told Mira both young men were armed but with nothing that could penetrate the safetycar’s defenses. Restraining a whine only with difficulty, Mira depressed a couple of touch controls. Outside, a panel opened on the pod’s chassis. Automatically, the other boy reached for the gold, but the plastic meshwork in front of the nook prevented a naked grab and dash. Mira’s pusher didn’t budge, just eyed what was now in front of him. He was used to Mira’s pattern by now.
Nodding, he dug inside his jacket and held out the package of O’s. Mira’s left hand clenched. She wanted so much to open up the pod and let him in—let both of them in—so they could fuck her senseless. Her fingers actually rested on the necessary controls. But she wasn’t that far gone, not yet, not ever.
“You first, like last time,” she said. A second nook opened on the outside of the pod.
Instead of putting the drugs inside, Mira’s pusher took a step back, still holding the O to his chest.
“Why don’t you come out this time, pussy? No charge this time, if you come out and blow me right here.” And with that he put his free hand to his zipper and revealed himself to her in all his glory, as the boy beside him laughed. At the other’s daring, he lowered his pants, too. The sight of the men’s naked cocks galvanized Mira. She moaned in unadulterated lust. The intercom was open, too, so she knew they could hear her. For a timeless moment all she could do, all she could see, was fantasize about doing exactly what they had suggested.
She saw herself climbing out of the safetycar, casting her dress—what little of it she was still in—away, and going to her knees in front of the man. She saw herself opening her mouth and leaning forward, imagined the absolute bliss of swallowing his dick, of swallowing his cum, of him putting his hands to the back of her head and ramming himself deep down her throat, of going to her hands and knees and lifting her ass, opening herself for the other boy to stuff his meat inside her, so he could use her, too, so he could fuck her like the slut she was, like the slut the drug made her, like the sex slave the mutagen was slowly turning her into. It was fortunate she had taken precautions. When she keyed the pod’s release hatch, the carcomp refused to acknowledge the request without her first inputting a random twenty-digit code that she had thoughtfully written down and put inside her purse, which was in the seat behind her.
Mira screamed in frustration. The delay, however, was enough for her to regain her senses, a sense of equilibrium. “Fuck you,” she said, eventually, through the announcer.
“That’s the idea, missy!” The two boys laughed. “You know you want to.”
All the same, the first man zipped up and put the package of drugs inside the open nook. Mira wasn’t at all tempted to leave without paying. The expense she would save wouldn’t compare in the least to the trouble she would have in trying to find another pusher to sell to her, if she screwed him (she wanted to screw him, just not that way).
Buying O wasn’t illegal. The criminality, slight though it was, lay in finding someone to sell to her anonymously. As soon as the drugs were in the first hold, she unlocked the mesh in front of the second.
The boys grabbed the coins at once. “Nice doin’ business with you,” the other boy said, trousers still around his ankles.
They stood back in expectation of the pod’s liftoff. “Why don’t you step out, missy?” the first boy said, his manner a trifle more seriously. “It’s only a matter o’ time,” he added. Mira said nothing, only gave the necessary instructions for the pod to take her home. In moments the rooftop was behind her.
Mira was an O addict; but she wasn’t a complete fool. No matter how much she wanted—needed—to just open the package, inject one of the vials inside, and ride her vibrator all night long to climax after mighty climax, she had to test it first. Mira was wealthy; her safetycar had all the perks, including some not provided in the standard model. On the flight home, in the small and now sealed space where the package was secured, tiny robotic arms reached in spiderlike and took samples, running them across a base for comparison. Mira lay back in her seat and closed her eyes, waiting. The headache had come.
Her skull was aching, and her pussy was wet and boiling. Knowing it would come to naught, she played with herself anyway, unable to resist the crawling lust consuming her. Fuck the vibrator, she thought, and suddenly giggled, knowing that she would.
“Call Simon,” she instructed the carcomp. “Arrange for him to come at two-thirty tonight. Tell him I’ll have all the equipment ready.” That would give her an hour alone in her bedroom before he arrived.
As good as any private pleasures were when mimicking, the experiences were better—far, far better—when she herself was fucked. The mimic drug amplified every sensation, augmented every climax, made any woman under its influence feel as if she were, at least for the moment, herself an abject, helpless slave.
Mira was still fantasizing about the things her lover-master would do to her when the safetycar gave her its report. She read the display and sat bolt upright.
There were two items of concern, one already taken care of. “You bastard,” Mira said, realizing that in spite of it all she would have to find a new pusher now anyway. Insolence, she could handle, but that tenant bastard had tried to slip a signal tracer(!) onto her pod, presumably to track her back to her place and find out who she was, as if his kind would be allowed anywhere near her neighborhood.
The sensorweb had detected and defeated the tracer, but that didn’t make the situation any better.
He was going to enslave me, Mira understood, and she felt inappropriate heat at the very thought.
He was going to wait until I O’ed-out and then come seize me.
Her breath came hot and hard. He was going to claim me as a slave.
For the second security risk the safetycar had discovered lay with the O he had sold her. The dosages, the carcomp told her, were too high. Way too high. They hadn’t been cut whatsoever. They were 100% active. If she had taken even one of them, she would have overdosed. She would have overdosed, and the final mutagenic changes they mimicked, which had been building up in her system, would instead have finally, fully been initiated.
Instead of luxuriating in brief slave-like bliss, Mira would have fucked herself, or been fucked by Simon, to utter unconsciousness, then woken the next day . . . a slave. A full, legal sex slave, and thus eligible for seizure.
In spite of the smoldering heat inside her—God, she needed to be fucked, it was hard to think about anything other than being fucked!—a little piece of Mira went cold. If she hadn’t checked . . if she hadn’t checked . . ! More trouble came to her: not only would she have to find a new and more reliable pusher now, not that any of them could really be trusted, more immediately she would have to personally dilute each and every vial of O before any of them could be used.
It would take hours to finish processing even one.
She would have to wait tonight to O-out . . . damn it, she was going to have to cancel her lover of the night! “Shit!” she screamed inside the pod. “Shit! Fuck! Fuck!! FUCK!!!” Mira began pounding the inside of the pod, kicking at the seat, the side-walls, the overhead, everything. The carcomp switched off all the control systems to prevent an accident and placed itself on full automatic until it arrived home.
It would be hours yet before she could let herself get fucked the way she now needed to be fucked.
Mira hated to wait.
She hated to wait more than anything.