Mira: A Slave’s Story
11 — Marlene
They glued the slave spots in. This extra attention detail really helped in sustaining the illusion. And while there were other PaintO slave colors they tried, in the end green proved to be definitely Mira’s favorite, and both she and Marlene stuck with that. From the start, it was a blast.
The two pretty pretend bioslaves knelt in front of one another. Pretending to be in their Master’s dungeon, but actually only in Mira’s bed/playroom, the back of Marlene’s hands clutched Mira’s head, and the blond pressed her green boobs against her fellow slut’s. They kissed passionately, lips contacting, tongues entwined, eyes closed in bliss. PaintO reacted in contact with PaintO, or real bioslave flesh. Mira could only marvel at the sensitivity of her skin beneath the green bodypaint. It was always almost just enough.
Marlene’s hands stroked downwards along Mira’s back. They came to rest on the emerald slave’s hips, and her fingers continued to caress there the hypersensitive painted flesh. Mira rose slightly to allow her friend greater purchase of her ass. All the while, they continued kissing, Marlene’s hot breath streaming into her mouth. Mira was aroused: she could hardly believe it. It had been so long.
“We’re slaves,” she cried out, and Marlene laughed. “You’re so fuckable,” Marlene told her. She laid Mira out, pushing on her until she was lying prone on the carpeted floor.
Mira watched her friend straddle her. Her skin was bright and green, as shiny and artificial as any true bioslut’s. Her breasts were high and firm; they were also much bigger than Mira remembered, and she speculated again on her friend’s overuse of O. Marlene stretched forward, lying atop Mira. Their thighs parted. Their breasts once more slid against each other, and under the effect of the touch-enhancing PaintO the resulting sensation shown unbelievable. Mira’s hands roamed over Marlene’s body, stroking, grasping.
Marlene’s hands crept inwards. Mira gasped as she was entered by those talented fingers, and she began squirming uncontrollably as Marlene finger-fucked her with a feminine attention to detail, running her thumb and fingers over Mira’s clit like an expert. Mira clenched her pussy, relishing the penetration, imagining it was a man’s cock.
When’s Vincent going to start? she thought, impatient to begin.
Despite his tardiness, Mira’s pussy began convulsing in pleasure. It wasn’t an O orgasm: it wasn’t as intense; it wasn’t nearly as all-consuming and powerful. Yet for the time being it was enough. It had to be. Her body pressed against Marlene’s atop her.
Her fingers teased the cleft in her friend’s backside, and Marlene too soon began seizing in pleasure. “Oh, yes . . yes!” she moaned, wriggling her hips against Mira’s.
They began to roll over. Mira wanted to stay on her back, but one had to give what one got. She wanted to be fucked; she would have to fuck. Her hands strayed over Marlene’s bare and painted green vagina. She lowered her mouth to her pussy, enjoying the soft fleshy lips of Marlene’s labia brushing up against her own equally painted face. She penetrated Marlene with her tongue, stroking her clitoris, and Marlene jumped.
“More!” she gurgled deliriously. “More, you slut, you bitch!”
Mira brought her hands up. She slowly lowered them inside her friend. Marlene clinched her thighs shut around the penetration, thrusting her hips toward Mira and trembling. She began climaxing again. Her whole body shook under the effects of the pleasure-paint, and again Mira wondered about Marlene’s use of the real drug, not just this pale substitute.
The “pretending to be bioslaves”—fest had started after Mira’s first PaintO-enhanced fucking by Vincent. Whereas before her post-O sex had been painful and incomplete, the skin-sensitizer made it pleasurable and whole, and for the first time in weeks Mira had had an orgasm. It was beyond belief. It was magnificent. Wondrous. Awe-inspiring. Almost as good as an O orgasm.
The second time had been somewhat less than magnificent. The third time was even worse.
The problem with PaintO was that the flesh grew dulled after each use. The same efforts failed to produce the same effect. In order to achieve the same quality of orgasm, Mira had had to take it to another level. She had had Vincent rape her. Then she had had Vincent whip her. Those experiences were good, but, again, a certain amount of satiety set in. Marlene was the first to suggest role-playing.
The girls were whimpering and moaning heavily as they played and penetrated. First one, then the other would go slightly rigid as a burst of pleasure surged through her. They kissed and sucked, stroked and pleasured. There was no part of their green-painted skins they did not touch.
Marlene reached down with her head and kissed Mira hard on the neck. She sucked at her flesh like a vampire, and the pain was almost beatific. Mira’s thighs were wet with passion and heat. Her body tingled. The PaintO enhanced sensation, making the low feel high, making the high incandescent. But only for so long, only so long.
The two sluts were deeply intertwined and engaged when the door slammed open with a crash.
At last! Mira thought. The “slamming of the door” had actually turned out to be a moderately difficult matter to arrange. Most of the doors in Mira’s home either slid or irised shut. But Marlene was an inventive girl—whenever she wasn’t blissing-out on O, that is—and the sound effect at last was made possible, with only minor carpentry required.
“Slaves!” Vincent bellowed, standing before them (the “bellow” was another thing that had had to be worked on; that kind of assertive aggression did not come naturally to the gene-resequenced biostud). “You were forbidden to touch one another! I gave explicit instructions!” (He was a bit too loud now.)
Mira and Marlene scrambled to put themselves on their knees at their Master’s (Vincent’s) feet. Marlene had the temerity to giggle and fondle herself, and that upset Mira. She was breaking character! She was such a thoughtless cow, but what could you do?
“What do you slaves have to say for yourselves?” Vincent demanded (well, moderately voiced “requested”).
“I beg forgiveness and punishment, master,” Mira said, putting her face down and kissing her slave’s feet.
“I beg forgiveness and punishment, eh, too,” Marlene said, also putting her lips to Vincent’s toes. “Master,” she added a second later, semi-contritely.
“You must be . . . punished.” Truth to tell, Vincent’s delivery was bad; he wasn’t very convincing. Then again, the true convincing had to be done by Mira, and her audience was herself. “Turn around,” her pretend-Master ordered (half-heartedly), and the girls did so.
Mira felt Vincent touch her. He pushed her by the back of her head. His hands—expert in this, at least—lifted her haunches. She felt his fingers running along the cleft of her ass. He brushed her thighs, his touch enticing, amplified by the PaintO.
His hand rested on her backside a moment. When he broke contact, she involuntarily tensed, knowing what was to come. The first slap sent sensation pulsing through her body, from aft to stern, and made Mira’s nipples as rigid as rails. Her pussy vibrated enticingly. The second slap did the same, and the heiress (slave) whimpered and moaned in her heat.
He spanked her a third time, and a fourth: the pain and warmth settled in, sank into her exposed flesh, and, augmented by the sensitizer, brought forth a submissive delight that was almost, but not quite, worth it.
Between strikes, Vincent fingered and rubbed her clitoris, as engorged now as her nipples; and the biostud’s manipulations did well their work, slowly brining Mira to the final cusp of pleasure.
After the tenth blow, he grabbed her ass with both hands. He lifted her up and rammed his long and delicious meat inside her.
Mira’s orgasm was good. She fell to the carpet exhausted, physically and emotionally. It was easier on the O. Much easier.
“It’s my turn,” Marlene declared, a little peevishly. Vincent directed his attention on her.
It’s good, Mira thought, lying there. It’s good, trying to convince herself, as Marlene’s assault began in earnest. She watched, eagerly, hoping to pick up new ideas.
This time, she almost succeeded.