Bottomless N' Blushin'

Should have put on the goddamn panties, Alt thought. Whoever had come in behind her had her at gunpoint, and here she was with no pants on and an ass too big to hide behind her hands. She felt self-conscious, she never felt self-conscious and now she was on the verge of blushing. Fuck. "Hey, man, listen," Silverhand was saying. "Least let the lady put some pants on, ain't no dignity in pointing iron at a chick with her hoo-ha out, right?"

The only reply was a dull thud, and then a sound from Silverhand like air escaping a bag. "Turn around," the unfamiliar voice commanded. Alt was caught between relief at getting her ass out of sight and a creeping discomfort at the idea of risking baring her front to a random. "Can I...just lemme grab my panties, real quick, no tricks. I promise."

He seemed to get a rise out of that. "Oh, no tricks?" He chuckled, "Well that's alright, then. Go right ahead, choom!" Alt took a step forward, then winced at the razor sharp whine of a bullet whistling past her ear. "Turn. Around." He repeated, in a tone that brooked no fucking around. Alt swallowed thickly, nodded to herself, then turned, hands transferring deftly from back to front to shield her pussy from view. She ground her teeth and looked over at Johnny, who was bracing himself against the dressing table and massaging his stomach. "Hell of a right hook, this one." He grunted.

"Shut it!" The invader ordered, levelling his **** rifle at Alt. He wore black Armourjack, unassuming enough, vaguely tactical but not enough to peg him as a corpo at first glance. No obvious logos on him either, no iconography of any kind. Alt craned her neck a little to get a look at his rifle—slightly beat-up looking, scope bound to the rifle with some kind of brightly-coloured wire. Corpo adjacent at best, most likely some amateur hired by Saka or Millitech. Saka, maybe. Right about now, she was really missing those panties, feeling several times more exposed than she'd like in front of an armed man with a distinctly unfriendly look in his eyes. This wasn't the kind of situation you wanted to be 'pussy-out' in, to say the least. "Hands where I can see 'em." He said, a funny little smirk lifting up the corner of his mouth. Alt pursed her lips, she knew damn well what that meant. Whatever he'd come here for was starting to take a backseat to getting his own little strip show from the girl who was dumb enough to get caught with her pants down. "Gonna get you for this, I swear." She seethed, colour spreading across her cheeks in anticipation of what was coming.

Finger by finger, Alt lifted her hands up and away from her pussy, the landing strip and the slit it led down to exposed without anything left to shield them. "Behind your head," he said, already admiring the view. Alt complied, raising both hands and folding them neatly at the base of her skull. Around the landing strip Alt had left a field of dark stubble, the size and shape of a bikini tan line; the lips a little further down were shockingly bright against it—pale and soft enough to tempt the casual observer into going down there to plant a little kiss on 'em, and more besides. The sight made the huscle forget himself, he whistled appreciatively and stepped forward to walk around her in a half-circle, gun never leaving Johnny's centre-of-mass. "Goddamn," He exclaimed, zeroing back in on her ass. "Now that's one preem trunk, baby girl." Alt glared at Johnny, mouthing the words, Malorian, where? Johnny turned up his palm and grimaced apologetically, glancing momentarily at the couch on the other side of the room.

"Yeah, well I'm glad you like what you see." Alt replied tersely, shaking her head slowly at Johnny. She opened her mouth to say something else, but instead was **** to let out a quiet gasp and wince as he shifted his grip on the rifle to one-handed and used the free one to give her a hard smack on the ass. The toned flesh jiggled invitingly at his touch. She thought he'd stop there, but he followed up by copping a feel, grabbing as much cheek as he could hold and squeezing good and tight—a whole lotta peach for a whole lotta huscle. Alt flushed further, biting her lip and shifting on her feet uncertainly. Manhandling from some hired goon wasn't what she'd been expecting tonight, but maybe...maybe there was a way to turn the tables back round some. All she needed was to get back over to the couch; once either of them had the Malorian in hand, this one would go down easier than a Joytoy in heat.