Essence Lost

Sweat glistened on Dona Marina's skin, the greenish brown hues marred by numerous black and blue marks, cuts and abrasions. Her skin was thick, almost like leather around the joints, and stretched tight across broad, heavyset muscles. Like most orcs she sported short, almost porcine tusks, one chipped and crooked from a bad blow in the ring. As Dona triumphantly strode through the locker room, the addictive adrenaline high of her last bout just beginning to die down and the grungy music of the fight club fading with it, she smiled smugly to herself. It was a good fight; her opponent, a young human with slicked back fiber optic hair glowing neon red, had been a crowd favorite for the past few months. An up and comer, he had a flashy fighting style and, she admitted to herself, looked pretty damn attractive with his electattoos glowing bright under his tan skin. She rubbed her jaw as she retrieved her gym bag from the rusted, dented locker the club afforded her, the rumpled photo of Maria Mercurial smiling at her as it always did. The human was a decent infighter, and it surprised her a human that hardly weighed half what she did could land a knockdown against her. Shouldering her bag and making for the exit, she nodded solemnly back at the club floor out of respect for the human pit fighter. They were probably still cleaning his blood and teeth off the concrete.

The shuffle of cheap sneakers on the linoleum, the muffled squeaking of the worn soles like the meek cries of a wounded animal, followed Dona toward the exit, and the burly orc turned, arms folded over her broad chest, to face the newcomer. A wiry, lanky elf had followed her, his hands shoved in the pockets of acid washed jeans and his face downcast. The elf stood motionless, his long, wavy dark hair framing his contemplative face. A weary exhale proceeded his speech, his indecisiveness wearing on Dona Marina's over aroused state. The deep boom of her heartbeat echoed in her ears and her chest felt like a fire was burning inside it. That post-combat thrill, stronger than any narcotic's influence, made her feel more than alive, more than metahuman. She felt ready to take on the world, and waiting more than a second for the bony elf to gather his thoughts felt like an eternity.

“Hey,” he said, fumbling with something in his pocket, still not willing to lift his head to match her gaze.

“Hey,” she grunted back, the fire in her blood making standing still feel like torture.

“How are you doing?”

She shrugged, and raised an eyebrow. Hernando nodded. Dona Marina uncurled her arms and stretched behind her head, muscles aching from exertion as she slightly pushed her chest out. “I didn't think you came to these things Hernando. Am I your first?”

Hernando nodded to himself and briefly met her gaze before returning to the object in his pocket. “Yeah. First match I mean. I just came to see you is all. You looked pretty good out there. Well, you always do, but, you know.”

An insincere smile crossed Dona's face, feeling both flattered and tired by his advance. They had had their fun before, and both of them enjoyed it, but that was the extent of their relationship. Hernando was good company, if he did try a bit to hard to seem tough for a scrawny little elf, and he certainly had the good looks typical of his kind. Despite the attraction they shared, Dona didn't want their relationship becoming anything more than what it was. The pit fighter's life was one she enjoyed, and was loathe to leave it and settle down. A casual fling between friends was all she really desired, and Dona was sure Hernando felt the same. He didn't seem ready to handle a real relationship anyways.  “Let me guess,” she said with a sardonic tone in her deep voice. “One of your gangbanger friends dared you to come?”

“Yeah.”

“You know those guys are no good, right? They're probably all into some dangerous shit.”

“Yeah I know, like you're one to talk.” He put an arm on the wall by Dona's shoulder, trying to look confident and imposing as he leaned over despite the clear size difference between them. It was honestly somewhat cute. “Come on, its late and you look tired. Let me walk you home.” Dona smiled and bent down to give him a small kiss on the cheek.

“Sorry, maybe another time. Tonight I just want some rest.” She gave him an earnest smile and extricated herself from him. On his ring finger, she saw what he had been fiddling with the whole time; a small key ring, with one key attached. It looked like it belonged to one of the lockers. Dona paused for a fraction of a second, wanting to ask about the key, but decided against it. He was right; it was late, and she had to get home and get some rest. Whatever it was was his business. Wishing Hernando good night, she hefted her belongings and strode out confidently into the night.

“You had one fucking job you dumb bitch,” spat a voice from just outside the club's rear exit. The dirty, razorwire-lined alley the locker room exited into was like so many in Tenochtitlan, where long shadows and flickering neon lights warred for control over the slim, filthy spaces. “Do I gotta remind you that the Oro own you, your house and the damn slop you eat, pig?” A devil rat nearly the size of a chihuahua sprang from a trash bin and scurried across the alleyway in the direction of the speaker, his neon-lit form half concealed by the darkness of the smog-clouded night. He wore simple blue jeans and a khaki vest, the sleeveless garment showing off a deep blue cyberarm with bright orange hot rod flames. The brim of a cheap rattan cowboy hat obscured his face, but Dona recognized the mocking cyborg from the moment he opened his mouth. It was Cazadore, the cartel enforcer responsible for all the betting done on the club's pit fights. Dona had made him a lot of money, going nearly undefeated for the past year, and though she barely saw any of it he had afforded her the Oro Cartel's protection, as well as a stable place to live in the chaos of Tenochtitlan. He set up the matches, oversaw the gambling that went hand in hand with the bloodsport, and always gave her direction on just how much to sell each fight before moving in to finish it. But for the first time, she hadn't listened to that advice.

“He wasn't good enough to beat me,” she muttered, balling her fists and staring at the ground. She still wore the tight black sports bra and compression shorts she'd worn in the ring; the nights were warm enough she needed little else, and her own intimidating physique was usually enough to ward off any predators that might be enticed to try something. They were fine to wear during a fight, but now she felt dirty for allowing the mocking specter to look at her so exposed. “I'm not going to lose to someone like that.”

“The Oro bet heavily on that fight. Heavily. Get that through your thick pig brain Malinche, your dumb pride cost us more money than you will ever see in your life. All you had to fucking do was lose one fight and you couldn't even do that, so you know what that makes you?”

Dona clenched her fists, fighting the urge to throw one more hay maker at the Sicario. She could do it, even with the cartel enforcer's augmented strength. One solid strike to the head or the gut and he'd be on the floor and she could get away. Even if he dodged or blocked, she could beat him in a clinch and throw him against the dumpster, then go for a knockout with a stomp to his face, or grab his head and slam it against the metal of the waste container. It'd only take a second and the noise and blood would be lost in the chaos of Tenochtitlan and she could get away as if nothing had happened. But he was right. Her landlady was paid heavily by the Oro Cartel for reasons she could only speculate, as were the corrupt thugs that made up the local law enforcement. The manager at the Stuffer Shack on the corner peddled Oro novacoke out of the back of his store, all the judges and lawyers in the city were on the take and she was sure that she'd seen gang tattoos on her priest's arm. They really did control her world, and even if she walked out of this alleyway safe and sound the victory would be as short lived as the adrenaline rush of a pit fight.

“What does that make me?” Dona grumbled, shut her eyes and let her head sink to face the floor, the high of her brawl giving way to the low that was sure to follow. She could hear someone in the locker room behind her fumbling around, and feared them walking in on her confrontation. Her tight muscles sagged as she braced for what her accuser had to say.

“It makes you an unreliable, useless pig. You owe everything to us, and you think you can just disrespect us like that? You think you'd be so well off if it wasn't for me looking out for you? I tell you, only a downright awful, spiteful pig like you would throw away a man's goodwill like that after he stuck his neck out for you.”

“I'm sorry sir,” Dona began, hoping putting on a submissive face would ease Cazadore's temper. She was worried, all the confidence that a victorious match gave her evaporating like the morning dew. The pride that had blinded her, and made her feel invincible, strong enough to ignore the cartel's threats was nowhere to be found.

“Sorry doesn't give me back my Nuyen!” Cazadore adjusted his hat and strode out from the darkness, limb by limb like some old cartoon villain. He was the worst kind of Sicario; just powerful enough to throw his weight around, but with enough people above him to make him resent his station. “So now we're going to take it out of your hide.”

Dona was about to speak up when something small, cold and sharp punched into the back of her neck. A split second later, an explosion of pain raced through her nervous system and her whole body writhed as an electric shock reduced her to a spasming, frothing mess. She fell to her knees, any thoughts she might have had drowned beneath the chorus of pain in her mind. Every nerve ending, every millimeter of her brain burned and pulsed like molten iron, her  Then she felt another shock, and everything went black.

Awaking from her taser-induced unconsciousness was different from sleep. That felt gradual, the whole body resuming activity a bit at a time as the brain yawned and the eyes argued with it to stay shut for just a few more minutes. This was far less pleasant. It was as though everything came back online at once, a tidal wave of sensory input overwhelming Dona. Her mind coming to in an instant of surprised pain. Her eyes opened wide in confused fear, a hollow emptiness in the pit of her stomach. She felt physically uncomfortable, from the ringing in her ears to the machine gun thumping of her heart in her chest to the incredible heaviness of all her limbs, her very bones like lead weights. Her eyes were crusty and tired, and a thin film of dried drool stuck to her cheek and chin. The sheer misery of her condition made her wish she could fall back into the black oblivion of unconsciousness, but the rush of her heart and disquiet of her mind would not allow it.

The first thing she realized, when her mind pushed back from the haze of her blackout, was that she was nude. It was little more than a quaint observation, something that registered to her as she came to, but it was not wanted. Someone had stripped her nude after she blacked out, and that violation of her privacy bothered her more than her nudity.

She attempted to rise, but found herself shackled in place, the cold metal of an flat table oppressively pressed against her back. Again that feeling of hollow anxiety, of persistent nervous unease reasserted itself making all her energy spent and wasted. Finally, terror began to assert itself, its presence late and unwelcome. Dona Marina thrashed, using every ounce of her prodigious physique to strain against the metal cuffs that bound her. Her heart rate increased, slamming against her chest, every beat echoing inside her hollow-feeling chest like a gunshot. She breathed heavily, the air smelling of bleach and irritating her nose. A wordless, primal groan from deep within accompanied her strain, the bestial roar more powerful than any she had uttered in the ring. But despite her frustrations, the metal that bound her would not be broken by sheer metahuman strength, and the feeling of emptiness consumed her. Dona collapsed, both fatigued and defeated, just as the lights came on.

Cazadore, the man from the alley, stood by the light switch, his face partially obscured by his hat, though a smug smile was clearly visible on his lips. The light was stark and white, illuminating the room in its sterile, revealing glow. The steel rectangle Dona was bound too was an operating table, ominous stains of dark brown and red covering its otherwise reflective surface. Craning her neck, Dona could make out several X-ray slides taped to the cracked, beige concrete wall, the realization she was looking at her own skeleton slowly creeping up on her. Beneath the cross sections of her body were arrayed numerous wicked implements for parting, excising and re-knitting flesh. Alongside those staples of the medical trade were more modern tools; cybernetic grafts and auto-injectors, semi-autonomous medical kits that could patch a wound with only minimal effort and bizarre metallic devices the function of which Dona could only speculate. The light also revealed an array of fresh scars littering Dona's body. Long, precise and recently stitched closed, two formed a cross; one stretching from just beneath her breasts to below her navel and the other crossing her abdomen just beneath the rib cage. A long horizontal scar ran the length of her right arm, the green of her slightly swollen skin turning a shade of ugly purple-brown. No horror stemmed from this revelation, but the presence was somehow missed. She should be frightened by this development, terrified. But instead of the expected, natural response all that she could feel was that cold, that had overwhelmed her soul.

“You awake pig? The doc needed twice the usual stuff to put you under, so you can be proud of that Mrs. Trog.” Cazadore rapped the metallic knuckles of his cyberlimb against the table next to her ear, the vibration traveling through the cold steel surface and up her spine. The floor was crisscrossed with cables, tubes and pipes connecting the various machines to power sources and tanks labeled 'N2O', 'Rigeso Biologico' and 'Tóxico'. Some cords were patched together with electrical tape, others sparked when Cazadore's foot brushed against them, and the light flickered as he distubed an overworked power strip beside the operating table.

“You'd better tell me what you've done to me,” Dona groaned, gritting her teeth and jutting out her tusks in a vain attempt to appear fearsome. “Or once I get out of here I'm going to make you pay!”

Cazadore chuckled and fished a cheap commlink out of his pocket. “How about I show you?” He said with a smile. He thumbed a button on the device and for a moment, it seemed as though nothing would happen. She tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but found that without warning, the muscles in her neck had all contracted, sealing her esophagus shut. Gulping and twisting her head, Dona tried in vain to unclench her throat, but still she could not breathe. Her heartbeat like machine gun fire as the rush of adrenaline surged through her, every thump like a gunshot against her sternum. In that desperate moment, Dona's feelings of emptiness were vanquished, consumed in the wildfire of energy her adrenaline rush. It was not a good feeling, but it was preferable to the cold void of emotion she had been dragged into. Then, as soon as it had come, the constricting tightness in her throat vanished, and she desperately sucked at the stinging air. “Try to disobey me,” Cazadore sneered, “and I cut off your breathing. Wonders of modern technology, and that's just the start of it.”

“You, you, put cyberware in me? To choke me?”

“Like I said pig, we're taking the credits you lost us out of your hide. If you cant earn them in the ring, we'll make better use of you.”

“What do you mean 'use of me?'“ Was Dona's stammered response, still hungrily breathing to fill her lungs. The ecstasy of the adrenaline surge had not worn off, and somehow was even growing stronger. She wanted more of it, the stimulation not enough to truly make her feel whole again.

“Girl like you is more useful to the Oro taking on our enemies, not amateurs in some club basement. And besides, its cheaper to handle these things in house then hire some million nuyen contractor or untrustworthy shadowrunners. So we put in some modifications; remotes to turn off your breathing, adrenal glands and reflex recorders, even some second hand wires to make you faster. Hell, the debt you owe us more than doubled form that, but I think you can earn it back in no time. And you've got your elf friend to thank!”

“Hernando? What does he have to do with this?”

“He's wanted to be an Oro for months, keeps asking me to give him a chance. And that's what I did; he knocked you out for us, now there's just one thing left in his initiation and he'll be a real Oro.  Hernando, get in here!” He entered the room through a door in the corner, what little Dona could see outside revealing a tall wall covered in graffiti.  Hernando's his hands were shoved deeply in his pockets, eyes downcast. His eyes flicked briefly in her direction, then returned to his feet. In the harsh light Dona could see his face and the mix of shame, guilt and detachment darkening his features. She wanted to spit hateful vitriol at him for his betrayal, but found the bleak void inside her swallowing her words. The sheer anxiety of mustering up those emotions was too difficult, the effort suddenly feeling mentally draining and exhausting. Instead a dry grunt was all the bound orc could muster. “Like I said piggy, we own you,” cajoled Cazadore as he slid behind Dona and rested his hands on either side of her head. She spat a thick glob of saliva onto his cybernetic arm, which prompted only a cruel laugh from the Sicario. “Hernando. Fuck this pig. Fuck her and you'll be a full blooded Oro through and through.”

A shake ran through the gangly elf, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly as he looked in nervous shock from Cazadore to Dona's bound, naked form. “Listen,” he said, “all I said was I would taze her, I didn't say anything about afterwords. Besides, you said-”

“You've fucked her before, haven't you? Whats wrong, got performance anxiety Hernando? Or are you just not ready to be an Oro? You've come too far to back out now you know, so you'd better not be chicken Hernando.”

“It's not that, its, like, it just feels wrong, to do her right now. She's, she's just come out of surgery, you know?”

“Bitchboy, don't tell me you've gone soft on me. I stuck my neck out for you Hernando, you know that?And you're just going to disrespect me, throwing away my goodwill like that? The Oro don't take kindly to disrespect Hernando,” he looked down imperiously at Dona, tapping his index finger against her forehead, “you know that.” Hernando looked mortified, clearly picking up on the implications of Cazadore's threat. For a moment, Dona pitied him, his crime forgotten as she realized he had been put in the same position as her. The cartel controlled him, and he had to pick between his pride and his life. She had chosen the former, and now they had taken the latter from her.

“It's ok,” she said, swallowing what little of her pride she had left as a rush of anticipation went through her. She felt high, the emptiness in her soul filled with butterflies. “Just get this over with. It's not worth dying over.”

“You heard the pig,”shouted Cazadore, pointing a finger accusingly at Hernando, then down at Dona's sex. “You want to be a banger? Than bang her!” The elf swallowed, conflicting emotions wracking his face as his eyes darted to and fro. Dona bit her lip and looked him in the eye, holding his gaze for a second that seemed to drag on forever. The anticipation was killing her, his indecisiveness making every moment agonizingly painful. She wished he would just make up his mind and act instead of keeping her waiting for what felt like eternity. She nodded to him, looking from his eyes to her waiting sex, already starting to feel wet as her adrenaline high made everything extra sensitive.

He returned the nod, approaching her cautiously, as if this were the first time he had seen a woman naked, not quite comprehending what he was looking at. Cazadore sneered, stepping back and resting against the wall to watch. He fished a cigarette from a pocket and lit it, the smoke curling around the brim of his hat before coalescing in the air. “Ok,” Dona said as Hernando rested one hand on her thigh, the other tracing the vertical scar that marred her chest. His touch was dexterous and gentle, taking care not to hurt her but still stimulating the sensitive tissue. Combined with her hyperactive state, the act sent a line of burning warmth through her torso, causing her to gasp in both pain and arousal. “Just make this quick.”

His hand reached her pubis, thumb resting just below her clitoris. He started to rub the sensitive flesh of her vagina, causing her to groan as her arousal rose, as did her need. “Just a little higher,” she groaned , shutting her eyes and thrusting her hips towards him. When he found her button Dona's back arched, arms straining against her bonds and wetness seeping from her slit. For a moment, now far too breif instead of too long, she was taken away from the nightmare she had found herself in, lost in bliss as the whiteness of the florescent lights became the whiteness of pure pleasure. But then she was brought crashing back down to reality, the cold metal of the operating table pressing against her back, the sweat from her arousal causing it to stick to the steel. As he played with her clitoris, the index and middle fingers of his other hand prodded the entrance to her sex, toying with her wetness and causing her to grind her hips in response.

“She ain't your girlfriend man,” said Cazaore, kicking the side of the operating table, shaking it and jarring Dona from what was a pleasurable reverie. Rapping his metal knuckles against the table by Dona's ears, he leaned over the spreadeagled orc, lecherously inhaling the scent of her sweaty, aroused body. “I'm just letting you use her, don't get any ideas.” Mockingly sneering at Hernando, Cazadore peeled back his lips and bit down on Dona's pert green nipple. He bit hard, digging his teeth into her thick skin, metatype's trademark robustness doing little to suppress the painful stinging. Cazadore pulled her breast upwards like a predator tearing meat from its prey, slapping Dona's face with his metal hand as he did so, purple marks forming on her cheek. The abuse to her face was something Dona could tolerate; not a day ago she was withstanding kicks far stronger, but it was the feelings emanating from her chewed nipple that she struggled with. Accompanying the searing, spine-curling pain that caused her torso to buck and twist was a deep, powerful wave of pleasure. It was inseparable from the pain of Cazadore's bite, and even as another dull thud of his metal palm against her skull made her ears ring the torture he was subjecting her chest to burned like hot coals. That it was her tormentor inflicting these feelings on her made her grit her teeth in shame, hoping any blush of arousal was hidden by the bruises on her cheek. Then, just as she felt she couldn't take any more of Cazadore's torment, he relinquished his grip on her breast, letting it flop back against her chest with a slap. Wiping his lip of saliva and giving her face one last, powerful blow, Cazadore returned to leaning against the wall, a visible bulge in his pants the only change in his appearance. While the sicario clearly felt no shame in his actions, perhaps even some smug sense of pride, Dona was only left with shame at being so easily and profoundly turned on by his cruelty, as well as burning, sticky need.

“Now,” Cazadore said, grinning at the enraptured Hernando, “fuck her.”

Dona's gaze was stuck on Cazadore and the thin line of spittle leaving the corner of his mouth, wincing with every breath as the sensitive flesh of her breast swelled. She hated the man, and were she free would bash that smug face of his into the concrete with every ounce of her strength. But some part of her was enraptured by what he had done to her body, practically craved the rough, violent touch he employed. She felt a desire to submit, to let herself be manhandled and abused, to let the addictive cocktail of pain and pleasure mix with her adrenaline-addled state. It was utterly alien, not entirely unpleasant but certainly unwelcome, like getting drunk of high for the first time. Dona simply didn't know what she would do next, her actions being dictated by a part of her that was controlled by some unknown chemistry.  However, she was aware enough to recognize the sound of a zipper being undone.

Though the hum of the medical machines and the sounds of traffic outside were far louder, her own breathing and heartbeat thunderous as a rock concert, the noise of Hernando's zipper somehow stood clearer in her mind then all of them. Her legs trembled in anticipation, thickly muscled legs twitching as much as her metallic bonds would allow it. A wave of wetness drenched her sex, some leaking onto the table in a hot pool beneath her crotch. She arched her broad back, trying to present her crotch to Hernando, to give him the best angle possible to penetrate her. Chest heaving, broad breasts rising and falling with her deep, heavy breathing, Dona's thigh twitched awaiting the rod of heat that was surely coming for her.

A groan that boarded on the bestial shook the table when the hot tip of Hernando's cock pressed against her damp folds. While at first cautiously slow, the elf gripped her hips, his sweaty fingers cupping her thick waist, and he thrust his length deep within Dona. His slender, slightly curved shaft stabbed deep within her, sending a burning torrent of pleasure through the orc's core. The inverted cross of scar tissue on her abdomen stung with pain, true, uncomfortable pain, not like the mix with sexual pleasure that pulsed from her abused teat. Dona's brain throbbed and her eyelids fluttered, letting her head fall back against the table. Instinctively, she strained her legs to wrap around her would-be rapist, though the awful iron shackles only allowed her to squeeze her folds around his rod. Hernando slammed into her, trying to put all of his scrawny weight behind his thrusts. He couldn't properly follow through, due to the hard metal table in his way, but he made up for it with sheer desperate intensity of pace. The elf gasped dryly as Dona groaned, fucking only for his own pleasure and doing nothing to account for his partner. “Harder, please do me harder,” said Dona through gritted tusks, ringing in her ears all but blocking out Cazadore's mocking laughter. One eye shut, the other squinting, she saw Hernando's brow furrowed, a thick film of sweat drenching his features and hair. Physically he was enjoying things, that much was clear by the rigidness of the member that slid in and out of her, lubricated with her own fluids and the eagerness with which he fucked her. But from the strain on his face, the way he grunted with every raw thrust, Dona could tell he was conflicted. She wanted to reach out to him, to try and give him some comfort, temporarily forgetting the role she had been forced into. Then his hand reached up and cupped her battered breast, the other sliding down and slipping around her buttocks. His dexterous hands squeezed and kneaded her sensitive flesh, any thought of pity she had overwhelmed by raw, primal pleasure.

Hernando's nails dug into the skin of her breast and pulled at her rear like a handle as he leaned over her, raising a leg over the table as he shifted position. The elf's thrusts reached a deeper, more inaccessible place in Dona, his head battering that secret spot and causing Dona to buck her hips in response. He was not a heavy man, she weighed nearly twice what he did, but the feeling of his body atop her as he so roughly assaulted her was exhilarating. The way he took her, forced her down and imposed his carnal desire on her helpless body had fulfilled some unknown need within the orc. It was similar to the feeling of Cazadore abusing her breast; both the powerful sensations of pleasure and pain leaving her body a writhing wreck and the mental sensation of submitting. Of being used to fulfill another's desires like a cheap whore, of being able to completely let go to her sense of self and embrace the bliss of sex. It was a different high than her adrenaline rush; that was hot and heady, a constant stream of fire and lightning sending every nerve aglow. This was like weights on her brain being lifted, the constant white noise of thought being replaced by the blinding intensity of pleasure. All she was was her body and it's experiences, her desires, doubts, misfortunes and failures cast aside. Ever muscle in her body tensed, Adonis-like frame bulging against her bindings as she felt an oncoming climax rear its head. The scars by her arm and chest burned like hot iron from the strain, her large teeth audibly gritting as the pressure in her groin built with every thrust.

Hernando leaned over her, nipping the skin of her neck between his teeth. That sent her over; the pressure exploding out prematurely as the tickling feeling of his bite gave her neck goosebumps. But it was not a sexual climax that overtook her body. Instead, a flood of adrenaline unlike any she had ever experienced washed over her brain.

Veins bulged all over Dona's body, her fists clenching so tight her knuckles turned the color of limes. Dona Marina roared, spittle flying from her mouth. If an adrenaline rush was a high, this was an overdose. It hurt. Her muscles pulled at her bones and threatened to shatter them, her pulse so fast it felt like a constant explosion within her veins. It hurt and she loved it. The walls of her vagina squeezed Hernando's cock like a vice. Tunnel-visioned, she could see Hernando recoil in pain as she clenched him in her muscular sex, and try to extricate himself from her. “No!” She shouted in Spanish that sounded more like a baboon's war cry. “Don't stop you bastard!” It took a moment for Hernando to consider his options, his own rapid breathing and fearful expression the only sensation for Dona to focus on. In the sterile, searing light he looked like a ghost, his lanky, angular body glistening with sweat, hair a black hood matted to the side of his head and face. The elf's eyes were as wide as could be, practically bulging from their sockets and pupils dilated. Then he lay atop Dona, wrapping his arms around her bulging form. He shifted his hips, rapidly pumping into her with less force and control behind each thrust. The table was slick with sweat and other fluids, and he lost his positioning multiple times as his massive lover bucked and writhed beneath him, screaming inarticulate roars of animal ecstasy as he vainly fucked her.

Hidden behind his hair, however, his eyes were focused on Cazadore. The Sicario scratched his chin, smug and happy with himself and the control he had over the pair. His one organic hand had slid under his belt and into his pants, and rapidly worked his own member as he watched them rut in mad animal panic. His commlink was stowed away back in his pocket. When Hernando bottomed out in his raging lover, he held his cock there, twisting his hips so that the head would rub against all her walls. As Dona raised her back and reared her head in response, Hernando's hands quickly slid to the shackles around the orc's wrists. He had already loosened the bonds around her ankles; she could break out of them with one surge of effort if need be. The hands would be difficult; if Cazadore saw through his ruse, they were both done for.

Dona could feel herself teetering at the edge again, this time a true climax approaching her ruined body. Whenever the elf's cock reached into her, balls slapping against her sex, she was pushed inches further towards that cliff, coming closer and closer to tipping over. Again she felt his hot, wet lips against the nape of her neck, his teeth soon following as he placed a dark hickey on her skin. Both of his hands reached around and squeezed her rear, spreading the cheeks and pulling her crotch into him in time with his thrusts. Deep, powerful thrusts rocked her body, her iron-like muscles twitching and spasming with pent up energy. Several twitches in Hernando's cock betrayed his own nearing orgasm, his technique becoming uncontrolled and wild, the muscles in his side and back bunching uncomfortably as he pushed himself to the brink.

As she herself neared that precipice, feeling the looming explosion of release draw ever closer, the reaction enhancers implanted in her activated. It was not a conscious decision, rather a result of her overstimulated mind flailing in all directions and happening upon the trigger for the implant by chance. The device made time slow to a crawl, Hernando's frantic thrusts becoming drawn out as he pounded her in slow motion. Dona looked down over her breasts-the green orbs bouncing at a languid pace-and gazed lustfully at the elf's tight body in it's movements. Every ripple of impact against her flesh was intensified, and soon enough the intensified stimuli forced her over the edge. Dona's toes curled and fists balled, the orc gritting her tusks together as her whole body tensed. Her vaginal walls clutched tight on Hernando's cock, squeezing it so hard she heard him cry in shock-the reaction enhancers making the sound deeper and inhuman as it was drawn out over slowed time. She detected the individual twitches in his member as he came, one slow pulse traveling up from the base of his shaft to the head as warmth shot into her core, causing her to arch her back in spine-twitching ecstasy.  She came, the mix of shame and pleasure exciting her. Her body was not her own anymore, her reactions at the behest of another, and that lack of control gave her a guilty sense of satisfaction that filled her body with warmth. She was not responsible for herself, able to let go and simply enjoy what happened to her, any pride lost in the haze of bliss.

The adrenal gland pumping hot iron through her body, every muscle in Dona's augmented form tensed and flexed. With an inhuman roar of effort, she strained against the metal restraints that held her captive, the cold metal digging into her skin. Cazadore seemed unaware of what was transpiring, too fixated on reaching his own climax to care what was happening to his captive. First the cuff around her left wrist snapped, a shard of metal flying off into the clutter of the room, the other three following in rapid succession, the noise of their destruction like gunshots, echoing thunderously in the cramped surgery suite. Hernando was thrown from Dona's convulsion, landing in a tangled heap among the serpentine cables that crisscrossed the floor. He had not finished his own orgasm, and thin ropes of hot cum shot out over Dona's chest and onto the floor. The orc shook for a few seconds, recovering both from her orgasm and the strain of the adrenal gland overloading her body. In those few seconds, Cazadore broke from his masturbatory reverie, withdrawing a shaky hand from his pants and fumbling in his pocket for his commlink. Gone was the thug's mocking bravado, a look of shock and fear emasculating him. He withdrew the device and frantically thumbed at the display as Dona regained her senses.

Hand trembling, he opened the interface with Dona's cybernetics, about to deactivate her cyberware and cut off her breathing when two thin, bony arms wrapped around his legs, knocking him down. The commlink fell from his grasp, bouncing twice against the concrete floor as Hernando tackled him. “Now Dona!” He screamed, putting all his weight towards keeping Cazadore down. “Kill him!” The elf was not strong, but he had surprise and desperation on his side, and while Cazadore was already kicking him off, he had bought Dona the few seconds she needed. A green foot slammed into Cazadore's face, shattered teeth flying from his mouth as his face recoiled. The Sicario raised his metal hand to protect himself, but the orc's strength was boosted both by the augmentations forced upon her and the fury towards her captor. Grabbing the cyberarm by the wrist, Dona pulled, tearing the hand from the limb itself, sparking wires and mechanical viscera trailing behind. Tossing it aside, she hefted the screaming Cazadore by his neck, constricting his trachea as his augmentations had done to her.

“Y-you can't do this!” He wheezed, kicking ineffectually against her broad chest and flailing his sparking cyberarm wildly. Black, acrid smoke sputtered from where his hand once was, the stinging smell of burning wires stinging Dona's nose as the glow of the sparks darkly illuminated her squashed, fanged visage. “We own you! You kill me, and the cartel will make you pay, you damned pig!”

“I'm not the one squealing,” she snarled, her fingers tightening around Cazadore's neck. The man's eyes bulged and his tongue stuck out, his face turning red, then purple, then blue as the life was squeezed from him. Then, with a sudden, creaky snap, the bones in Cazadore's neck finally gave out. A final pathetic wheeze escaped Cazadore's mouth as he ineffectually beat his hand and stump against Dona's chest, before he slumped lifelessly in her iron grasp.

She tossed the corpse of her torturer against the tanks by the wall in a crash, her augmentations powering down and leaving her bereft of energy. She became empty again, her massive high leading to a massive low, feeling like every inch of her body had been beaten with a sledgehammer. If her orgasm was falling off the top of a high cliff, this was hitting the bottom. The hollowness within was even worse, if only because the satisfaction of being whole again was still tangible. She could barely see straight, her vision blurring and her ears ringing painfully. Dona groaned in exasperation, falling to her knees as Hernando rose from his.

The elf fished Cazadore's commlink from the root-like mess of tubes and wires. He turned it over in his hands, tapping his fingertips against the display. Dona watched him through squinted eyes, clutching her breast as she winced in pain. What was pleasurable in the haze of coitus had become agonizing, the bruises on her face and breast growing darker and more sensitive, and far more painful. She couldn't even breathe, could barely talk without something screaming in protest. “What're we going to do now? He meant it; the Oro won't take his death sitting down, and there have to have been people who knew he was with us.”

Hernando looked at the ground for a few seconds, wordlessly mouthing his thoughts, then over to the corpse of Cazadore, his face obscured by the brow of his hat. “Techincally,” he said, picking his way over to the dead Sicario, “I passed my initiation. I am an Oro now.” Hernando tossed the commlink between his fingers, then bent over and picked up Cazadore's cowboy hat, deftly placing it on his damp, sweaty brow. “And you owe me a whole lot of money now Dona.”