Know Your Enemy

“Remind me again how you met this Bellextra?”

“We worked a job together.” Melodia is now kneeling on the floor with her hands behind her back in a submissive position. Good ****.

“Oh, Okay. Was it a job where you worked closely together?”

“Well, no ma’am. We were actually on different teams.”

“I see. So you got to know her personally in your down time?

“Not, so much, no, ma’am. We drank together, a couple times. And we shared a mutual love of obscure tech. That’s actually how I knew she could get her hands on the transmitter. You see the Dixon type VII transmitter was developed-”

“Ya, I’m going to stop you there sweetheart, because I think you’re missing what I’m getting at. Why, in the name of the gods of space and time, did you decide it was a good idea to trust someone just shy of being a stranger with such a high stakes job?” You thumb the plug belt’s remote menacingly.

Realizing that she might be in over her head, Melodia takes a moment to consider before answering. “She was the only one I knew who could get a Dixon type VII, which is the only tech I know of that can pierce through the magnetic interference of Hellno.”

“You worked for the Sirius Syndicate. Surely they could have- You know what, never mind.” You palm your face. “Look I don’t know why you thought that partnering with this chick was a good idea and I don’t care. What I do care about is that you can offer me precious little intel on her other than she heavily armed, experienced, and dangerous.”

“She was really fun to drink with.” She offers helpfully.

You thumb the shock button on the remote while rubbing the bridge of your nose. After you finish sending electricity through Melodia’s pussy and anus, you get ready to leave.

“Okay,” you say as you check your gear. “We know next to nothing about this Bellextra character. So what we’re going to do is do some recon to see what’s going on. There can’t be that many Iah Kuruh on planet and they stick out like a sore thumb.” You attach Melodia’s leash and lock her smart cuffs behind her back. With a tug she is up and following you. As you leave the Breaker, you get a nagging suspicion that you’re forgetting something and you take quick stock of your inventory. You have all your gear, you even packed some extra ammo packs. You got your keys, the lights are off. What could it be?

You take a look at your ****. Oh shit, she still has a fuck ass big bounty. This is outlaw space and there are bound to be people just like you who want that reward. You take a moment to imagine what would happen to you if someone caught you with such a prize. You’d probably wind up covered in cum and hanging from one of the bridges like all those slaves you saw on the way in. Fuck that.

You cover Melodia’s head with a black hood that leaves only her eyes and mouth exposed. Once that’s done, you speak to the dock foreman, who suggests a bar called Swingers. Apparently it is a good place to sit back and listen to rumors. With a hefty tip, the bartender can generally point you in the right direction. You thank him and take Melodia off with you.

Because of its unique location, Dogsville is oriented vertically, as opposed to horizontally. You take an elevator from the starport on the top level, to midtown, so named because it’s in the middle of the canyon. You exit onto a busy walkway along the canyon wall. Small carts and pedestrians bustle to and fro. Given the distance you need to walk, you opt to hail a cute little **** drawn cart. Resembling a traditional rickshaw, it is a small two wheeled carriage meant to be pulled along by the driver. Really, the only real difference between a Dogsville rickshaw and the standard model is that the **** has been tied to the handles.

The **** cart you hail is pulled by a strapping pony ****. She is quite toned and tanned, which makes sense since she is always pulling a cart outside. The traditional harness associated with pony girls is there, with straps framing her small but perky breast nicely and running through her crotch. Instead of some sort of ridiculous boots, she has on sensible sneakers. A padded handle meant to pull the cart has been lashed to her elbows behind her back, with her hands cuffed in front of her so that bar is locked between her elbows and her back. Probably not the most comfortable way to pull a cart, but it’s a sadistic galaxy. Her owner has granted her a few allowances for the heat. Her blond hair has been cut in a short buzz cut that is barely visible under a wide brimmed hat. She also has a camelbak, with its hose strapped in place by her collar so that all the **** needs to do to drink is turn her head.

“Greetings Ma’am. Where can I take you today?” The pony **** asks with genuine politeness. She is either well trained, or very used to her lot in life.

“Swingers,” you reply. “What are your rates?” Always ask the rates up front.

“My owner charges 20 credits per kilometer per person.”

Hmm, a little steep. “Is the rate the same for slaves?” you ask.

“Yes ma’am, however we do offer a harness that attaches to the back of the cart that will pull your **** along.” Melodia moans, knowing what’s coming next. “Since she will be moving under her own power, we do not charge.”

“Really?” you say looking at Melodia and grinning.

Five minutes later you are on your way. A chain trails the cart and is attached to the center ring of Melodia's harness which matches the pony slaves. That pony girl is fit and you cannot help but admire her ass as she huffs along. Her pace is quite impressive and you almost pity poor Melodia for having to keep up.

Your route takes you north along a busy street that sticks out of the canyon wall like a shelf. Almost all of the traffic on Dogsville’s roads is pedestrian, with a few bicycles and rickshaws mixed in. In the open space of the canyon, jetbikes and hovercars zip back and forth, dodging bridges, suspended slaves, and each other. After crossing a bridge that seems to be made from a natural arch across the canyon, your ride comes to a halt.

You look around for the bar, but only see a couple of stalls hawking random wares, a couple of empty stocks for captives, and a stairway carved out of the canyon wall leading down below the bridge. “This is the place?” you ask the driver.

She looks over her shoulders and smile. “First time at swingers right?” She nods her head toward the edge of the bridge.

“I don’t see anything” you say staring out over the canyon.

“Look over the railing.”

Stepping out of the rickshaw, you cautiously lean over the railing. Hanging from the bridge you just crossed is what must be Swingers. Four massive cables reach out at least 50 feet from the top corners of the box like building to the base of the bridge. There is an attached parking lot, which seems to hosting a jet biker gang. Below that, empty space. A rickety rope bridge connects Swingers to the canyon wall. “Huh, I thought it was just a place for couples to hook up with strangers.”

“There's that too.” replied your driver.

You unhook a panting Melodia. The pony **** is kind enough to offer her some water before picking up another fare. With that you lead your **** down the stairs. Melodia, clearly terrified of heights, walks as close to the wall as she can and actively avoids looking down. Once you reach the rope bridge at the end of the stairs, she flat out refuses to cross it.

“Come on Melodia, it’s perfectly safe.” you croon softly. You don’t even waste time threatening her with punishment. Her fear of heights far exceeds her fear of anything you could do to her.

“It is definitely not. It has holes in it.” You have to concede the point. Some of the planks that make up the bridge floor are missing. Your guess is that this is a jet biker bar. The shoddy maintenance discourages people not on a jet bike from entering.

“Look, Melodia, I know you’re scared, but this is the best way to find that Explorer Ship. The circumstances may have changed, but I think that in your heart of hearts you still want to find it. If for no other reason than to finish what you started. Am I right?”

She mumbles something while looking at her feet.

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes, mistress I want to find the explorer ship.” She takes another look at the bridge and shudders. “At least uncuff me so I can hold the rails.”

After a slow crossing, you finally reach swingers. Other than being suspended from what you hope are reinforced cables, Swingers is exactly what you expected it to be. Drunk bikers, some Togonian outlaws, a few bounty hunters like yourself and a whole mess of slaves all together in a space that was crowded before the people showed up. The accoutrements of crappy fringe world bars were all here: **** dispensers and glory boxes, as well as less lecherous things like darts. Gaudy beer ads with barely clothed models and sport team flags, along with random pictures of patron cover every square inch of the walls. As the final clue for anyone who was confused about this being a nice place, the bar had had chain link fence separating the bartender from the patrons. Above the bar is a sign that reads, "Home of the Swingers Challenge."

“Well?” Asked Melodia.

“Bartender first,” you reply. “If that doesn’t pan out than we mingle.”

A drunk biker grabs Melodia’s tit before you stun him with a taser. “Let’s hope the bartender has something,” she says after a shudder.

With a judicial use of elbows you eventually reach the bar. The bartender is a species you’ve never seen that has grey skin, frills sticking out of random places, and three arms. “What can I get you?” it asks.

“We’re looking for someone,” you reply. “You’d remember her if you’d seen her. An Iah Kuru.”

“You’re right, I would remember her. _If _I had seen her.” The bartender puts two of his three hands on the bar while the third one scratches it’s ass. “I haven’t.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t suppose you know of anyone who has, do you?” You idly flip a credit chit through your fingers. “I would love to buy that person a drink.”

The bartender follows the chit as it goes back and forth between your fingers. “How big a drink?”

“As big as they want, with a nice tip for you sweetheart.”

“Take a seat. I’ll make a few calls. You want anything why you wait?”

“I’ll have whatever the local swill is and whatever this one wants.”

“A Tarkrellian Blaster!” pipes up Melodia.

The bartender shrugs and moves off to get your drinks. “A Tarkrellian Blaster?”

“They’re delicious. Don’t look at me like that. You’re going to fuck me 7 different ways before the end of they day. You can’t buy me a nice drink?”

She’s got a point. You both grab your drinks and a table. Some milf who was looking for excitement found it, and two bikers are forcefully tying her arms behind her back. It makes for an interesting diversion as you two enjoy your drinks. Some time later, well after the milf has been stripped, fucked and dragged off by the bikers, a mercenary and his **** approach your table.

“Bonjour mademoiselle,” says the mercenary.

He appears ridiculously dangerous, or dangerously ridiculous depending on how you look at him. He wears battle armor that you know is solid because based on the battle damage, it clearly stopped something along the lines of a tank shell. The armor covers ridiculously brightly colored clothes with poofy sleeves. His beret is military issue and sports a campaign badge that marks him as a veteran of the Senagol Repulsion Campaign. The effect is somewhat lessened by the foot long green feather sticking out at an angle that can only be described as jaunty. Slung at his side is V25, an automatic weapon made for clearing out rooms without looking. Hanging from the bottom of the grip is a neon blue lucky rabbit's foot.

You don’t judge him by his looks though, you judge him by his ****, and she is magnificent. Dark skinned with frizzy hair teased into a loose afro, she is more petite than you generally go for, but you can definitely see yourself getting used to that build if she sticks around. The only clothing her owner allows her to wear is a collar with attached chain, some lovely black heeled sandals, and a pair of cuffs which hold her hands behind her back. Her attitude is one of submissive seduction. Husky eyes promise to do whatever you desire so long as you **** her to give it to you. Few men can keep a **** of this quality for long without having sufficient skill to defend her.

“Pardon moi.” Of course he has an accent. “Our mutual acquaintance tells me that you are something of a damsel in distress. How can Jacque be of assistance?”

You smile in spite of yourself. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Ahhh. Parfait. It just so happens that I happen to know people of some importance. I would be delighted to assist you.”

“And what would you ask for in return?” you reply sweetly.

“Well,” he says as he strokes his mustache. “You see I must provide for my sweet Raven here.” He gently pushes her to the front by her buttock. “She is such a tender flower, and I cannot bare to see her go without. I would require modest compensation. For Raven’s sake. Non?

“That can be arranged. How much do Raven’s needs cost?”

“It depends on who you are looking for.”

“An Iah Kuruh named Bellextra.”

He intakes sharply. “Oooh, this is most embarassing. You see, I have already taken Mademoiselle Bellextra on as a client.” He raises his hands in an exaggerated shrug. “I cannot help you.”

“If it is a matter of money…”

“Alas, mademoiselle, it is a matter of principle. I can see from your equipment you are a soldier of fortune, much like myself. Surely you understand.”

You do understand. You understand that you blew off your last clients as soon as a better score came around. As Jacque said, you are both soldiers of fortune. “Jacque, I am so sad to hear that.” You lean forward enough to show your generous bust. “Is there really nothing I can do to convince you to help me?”

A quick glance down and he takes the bait. After whispering something to Raven, who promptly disappears into the crowd he takes a seat next to you. “If it were not for my sense of honor my sweet, I would tell you. But, alas, if it were not for my sense of honor, you would not be able to trust me, non?”

You sidle up next to him and slide your hand up his leg. “But I do trust you. I promise that I will make it worth your while. If not me, my ****. We are both very, persuasive.” Melodia rolls her eyes.

He looks over Melodia with an appraising eye. “I have a **** of my own mademoiselle. Raven is magnifique and I would not want to make her jealous.” As if on queue, Raven appears. The a bartender has equipped here with a hands free tray. Supported by a strap that goes around her neck and another around her waist, such trays are common for **** maids and waitresses. It supports four drinks. Good. If he bought a round that means he still wants to talk.

“Oh she’ll understand. She can even join in. I have extensive facilities that can accommodate whatever your tastes,” you say, already knowing his taste. This might even be fun.

“Perhaps… But non. I cannot allow you to tempt me.” He unlocks Ravens cuffs so that she can reach her drink. She tips her glass to Melodia, who returns the cheers, and then leans back into the crook of Jacques arm. Jacques smiles at her. “I’m am most sorry Mademoiselle, but I have my own facilities, and my Raven can satisfy all of my needs far better than your admittedly lovely girl can.”

“Hey!” pipes up Melodia. Is she really getting upset about being a lesser sex ****?

“I am so sorry! Ma petite, it is just that you are so clearly not trained as well my dearest Raven. The fault lies with your trainer.”

“Hey!” you bark. Getting mad about being the lesser sex **** may be weird, but your **** training is second to none. Not weird getting worked up about that at all.

“Oh, Pardon! I do not mean to give offense.”

“First of all,” you begin all pretense of seducing him forgotten, “I have an excellent ****.”

“Ya!” agrees Melodia.

“She is attentive, sexy, knows how to use her tongue, and other than being adorably clumsy, is really useful around the ship.”

“Ahh” say Melodia and Raven in tandem.

“And second, I am great trainer. I would put my work against any **** you can muster pal. I’d bet she can outperform anyone you can find.”

“Very well.” He slaps the table “I accept your wager.”

“Huh?” you ask.

“You say that you bet your **** is superior to any I can find. I accept your challenge. There is none finer than Raven, and I shall prove it.” Raven beams at Jacque.

“Alright, alright you’re on. I’ll bet my **** can out do your ****. And if I win, you tell me where Bellextra is.” You smile in triumph. Got you, you bastard.

“And if I win, I get to enjoy an evening of your company. Utilizing my own facilities.” It takes a moment for you to realize what he means by “his own facilities.” Suddenly, you wonder who has who.

“What happened to Raven getting jealous?” you say accusingly.

“Well, if I were to take your ****, Raven most certainly would.” Raven makes a supporting pouty face. “But, you are not a ****, so it would not be betraying Raven’s trust. Besides, as you most certainly know, ravishing an unbroken women can have a certain je ne sais quoi, non?”

He does have a point.

“Besides, as you said, she can join in.” Both of them have a devilish smile.