Disclaimer: The following is fiction. The story’s content does not represent the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote unlawful activity as described in the story. By continuing to read this work, you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character they are depicting, but they remain at all times adults.
Writers: Anon / Augmented by Regis
Subject: WAR GODDESSES CHAPTER 2
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
War Goddesses 2
CHAPTER 2 — PIT BITCHES
As soon as the stretch limo driver slammed the door on my side, two things immediately happened. An environmental control sensor, much insulted by the molten Baja California air that followed me in, sent an arctic blast of air-conditioning into the roomy “den” sandwiched between the bullet-proof glass between the driver and the rear window.
Like all Nervous Young Moderns, as soon as her shapely ass hit the seat, Salma snapped on the television hung above the passenger seats facing us. She constantly needed stimulation. Her full scarlet painted mouth sagged into the “O” of those who see their Master’s Face on television.
In the time it took to pull out into the pedestrian choked main sea line street of Sol California, we were treated to seeing CNN’s newsflash about an upcoming Senate Hearing on the problem of whether juveniles aged twelve to seventeen, who, convicted as adults for crimes carrying mandatory death-sentences, should be redirected to the gladiatorial death-sports here in Baja like their brothers and sisters over the age of eighteen.
The all-powerful Conservative Lobby in Washington believed those who were adult enough to commit an adult crime like murder ought to take their place in the sun with Uzis and swords and whatever, providing socially useful tension release for Citizens who worked hard all day as productive workers.
Why should they get the benefits of citizenship like those who subscribed to Family Values, and used their hard-earned dollars as ballots to vote for consumer goods produced by Corporations that had their Company Headquarters located within the borders of the fifty-seven United States!
Of course, Bleeding Heart Liberals found reason to complain. Salma lost interest as soon as Arguing Talking Heads replaced the robot aerial mini-cam footage comparing a ghastly, bloodthirsty war of rival Japanese girl-schools waged a month before in the main concourse of Tokyo’s inter-Island Subway.
Their competition was a German Sports Channel’s video coverage of a recent Interpol-sponsored Girl’s Prison Gang Semi-Finals, where a small girl army of teeny-bopper Basque Separatists arrested by Spanish security forces routed the much vaunted Mob made up of the daughters of Sicilian Mafioso.
(Editor’s Note: Italy had adopted the new, and controversial, practice of arresting and convicting the whole family, from grandparents right down to infants, when arresting and convicting a criminal.)
“So …” Salma said, purring wetly, as she raised her knee, slipping off one crimson stiletto pump, and bracing her heel on the leather upholstery.
Her naked crotch radiated heat and menace like a blast furnace when the door is opened.
”It’ll take twenty minutes to circle the Coliseum-2000 to the main entrance.”
Her pubic bush was an Amazon Delta, mysterious and equatorial.
“Do you think you can keep me amused for twenty minutes?”
She eyed the onset of an erection in my pants that was so sudden that my eyes swam from loss of blood to my brain.
“Won’t ….” I struggled to recall if I had ever heard her pimp’s name and drew a blank, ”he mind?”
Salma threw her magnificent mane of hair back and laughed so lustily her basketball boobs nearly bounced out of the scoop neckline of her skin-tight red dress.
“Any man man enough to fuck me is man enough not to care what any other man thinks,” her eyes twinkled as she looked at me, struggling to look at her face instead of her gaping vulva, “But Hell, you can just look at it if that’s all you’re up for”.
I could all but hear my penis telling me, “I can smell it and it’s worth dying for!”
Picking up on a missed beat in our conversation, Salma looked away, freeing me from her gaze, and asked in a not unfriendly voice.
“So tell me, Jack, where did this wonder drug that’s going to make me an unkillable Wonder Woman in the death fights come from?”
She looked back at me with a softened gaze, an almost serene Himalayan intelligence behind her huge brown eyes.
“I’ve read the literature and all that Vietnamese war stuff the military cooked up in the MKSUPRA program, like ZAM and MDRNA that produced uncontrollable apeshit soldiers. Kill everyone. Kill themselves. Attack hallucinations.”
She looked at me for a minute.
”I go into the ring sober, Honey, with true religion. Sorry, Honey, I’m gonna win, you’re gonna lose. I’ve fought girls high on speed, booze, pills, whatever. They’re all collector’s videos now. Why should I put my life in the hands of your bosses back in Uncle Sugar?”
“This is something new,” I said, thinking back to my informal, after the briefing, given to me in my holding cell by the man who would be agent handler in charge of my case, my spy-guy parol officer, you might call him. He was a computer guru for the National Security Agency.
He made his bones by putting the secret police in the personal computers of eighty per cent of the households in the USA. In the early 1980s, he figured out that the home computer would not only develop a graphical interface so the average guy would be able to use it, but that all these computers would become a new kind of telephone that everyone would have to have.
So when he saw Compuserve start to get popular, he told his bosses they should repeat their success with Driving Stoned, a hippy-age magazine the CIA had secretly bankrolled so they could monitor what the counter-culture was up to. His idea was to start the USA. Online, a graphic interface magazine and meeting place on the Internet.
Since articles would change every day, new graphics would have to be downloaded. It would be during the thirty seconds or so the guy at home drummed his fingers waiting for the graphics to download that the USA Online Super Computer would scan the PC owner’s hard drive for text files with words on a flag list for the NSA, even copy them, address lists, private letters, anything.
His genius was rewarded with much power and dollars when the USA. Online easily outsold all other competing online services, using its secret NSA techno-weenie software to make its service a little better than all the others. Frank had told me the story of Professor Henri Jeff, a French recombinant DNA scientist the CIA. Had been recruited to develop bio-chemicals for Military Applications.
Henri Jeff had told my Control this Story: I will never forget the elevator ride down to MKCOMPLEX. It took forever, it seemed, to go down, down. A mile below the Pentagon in the bedrock below Washington, DC, where a cubic mile of secret black operations was headquartered.
Thousands worked there, on six-month shifts, like submariners. They had movie theaters. Malls. A university of forbidden subjects. Supercomputers such as none else existed. The secret MKCOMPLEX was the home of the secret government of the world!
Ten million dollars had bought me. A secret cover the French Secret Service could never break. I had developed a cell-level RNA transport virus that, within sixty minutes of ingestion or injection, would perform subtle grafts of DNA in the enzymes and hormones of the host that would remain in action in the host body for several hours.
It would continue to work until the host’s body replaced them as they were used up with unaffected chemicals. Many uses could have been made of this, but the Military uses, being those of National Security, meant that I could never publish again, except for them. And they wanted to create a fighting machine, a controlled genius of physical combat. So this is what I gave them.
The girl in the elevator with me had joined as my guide, or armed escort, as I said my goodbye to my life as Henri Jeff in the world above. Although I could see no weapons, I had no doubt this twenty-five—year-old beauty of Vietnamese-French blood could deal very well with me!
She introduced herself as Charlotte, and her cold almond eyes never let me forget that within the 38D/26/38 body of a university girl dressed in a tight white silk short-sleeve blouse and mid-thigh length black leather dress, was, in fact, a She Cobra ready to strike!
The elevator came to a stop, and the doors of hell opened. How can I describe my first Journey through the world below? Leave it be, we passed through many marvels until entering a passage guarded by a woman behind a bullet-proof window in a booth and a hand-print as well as a retina scan.
After the heavy, blast-proof door shut hermetically behind us, my girl led me through a maze to a private theater in the round, so to speak. An unlit ring of sumptuous, maybe 81 box seats enclosed a brightly illuminated pit of stainless steel, six meters across and four meters deep.
It was equipped with two heavy steel doors facing across its diameter. I was introduced to Presidents and Kings of Foreign Lands as well as Billionaires, Generals and famous faces, all accompanied by gorgeous male and female consorts, dressed as if for the Opera!
Champagne was served, and we each entered into a booth that seated up to six in velvet lodges. Conversation hushed in the theater as my companion slipped away without a word and left me trembling at what I might see. A British-born woman I knew from American television joined me.
As chamber music piped over speakers, she slipped out of her little black evening dress and revealed a very voluptuous, creamy white body, wearing only a black lace bra and panties. I was stunned as she undid my pants and began caressing my cock and balls, her deep bosoms pressing into my shoulder, her child face framed in brunette masses of curls.
Like a kitten, she licked her lips and explained.
”You are my prize, lucky Man. And I am part of your ‘thank you’ from The Management.”
Before I could stutter a reply, a voice broke off the music and announced over the loudspeakers that the evening’s events were to begin!
“Tonight we are pleased to play Host to a Great Scientist known above as Professor Henri Jeff. As France weeps for his tragic demise in a small plane crash, he sits with us now, One of Us, One to whom we owe much Gratitude. A round of applause, please!”
As I sat in frozen astonishment, Emma’s head rising and falling enthusiastically in my lap, applause ringing in my ears, I saw both doors open in the Pit below, my own girl, Charlotte, completely naked, bare limbs and shapely torso bleached white by the overhead spotlights flooding the pit so it was without shadows.
Coming to face her was a 25-year-old All-American girl with straight brunette hair falling down her naked back. Freckles gave charm to her milky countenance, her exquisite child-woman’s face. About five foot seven, her own breasts were honey-dew melons, swaying out from her ribcage as if gravity were nothing to her 40 D-Cup bust!
She was introduced as Jennifer, the mistress of the billionaire boy-wonder of a computer software empire. An aspiring actress, when she met her Patron, he had forbidden her to pursue a career that might keep her from answering her telephone. She had an affair with the head of a Japanese Industrial Empire, whom she hoped would finance a film for her to star in and had been indiscreet enough to be seen in Public.
Now she would fight to redeem herself in her lover’s eyes. If she survived, she would be the star of the most expensive private film ever made. Charlotte, I later learned, was an assassin for the NSA. The name of the last Prime Minister of what had been Canada was mentioned.
The woman was the mistress of the Prime Minister, had been shot, gunned in a sauna with her girlfriend. The scandal had shamed her Party and turned the tide to a vote for Union with the US. In conclusion, the Announcer described how my discovery worked and how the drug had been fine-tuned so it took a physiological shock to the nervous system.
It had the effect of a physical confrontation, a scare, or being startled to trigger the Battle Reaction. But when triggered, we would all see what these two girl gladiators would become. The sheer spectacle of two beautiful girls, fighting naked, to the death, hushed the crowd to a reverent silence, electric as the tension below in the Fight Pit!
A starting pistol fired, and both girls jumped comically, then began shuddering, as if they had stepped in a puddle of water, an electric kitchen utensil had dropped in. Then both fighting girls wrenched themselves, as if shrugging off a swoon, sweat suddenly pouring down their white bodies in sheets. Their eyes were all jet pupil, as they raised their gaze, panting, saliva foaming from their open mouths.
Their gazes locked together, and with twin banshee screeches, they threw themselves across the chrome finish plates of the floor, claws outstretched! The action was so furious and so fast that it was hard to follow the first two minutes of the girl fight as kicks and punches were thrown with deadly accuracy, only to be dodged or returned with equal intensity.
Jennifer and Charlotte’s hair snapped left and right like whips as they engaged in a circle dance of leaps around one another, lunging, exchanging bare knuckle blows to snarling faces and soft female organs, and leaping back only to close and battle and separate again and again and again!
Yet as the fighting began to slow to a violent yet followable rate, one was thunderstruck at the martial science behind each feint, parry, wheel-kick, and retreat. Their minds must have been as enhanced as their bodies were to this grim yet exceedingly exotic business.
Suddenly, the whole character of the death fight in the pit below the screaming audience transformed when Jennifer dropped to a stoop and kicked straight forward, her heel slamming like a hammer into Charlotte’s wet belly, knocking the wind out of her, and bowling the Asian girl onto her back.
Rolling even as she landed on the cold steel plates, she wasn’t fast enough to prevent Jennifer from straddling the small of her back, wrapping her arms around Charlotte’s throat, and brutally wrenching her head counter-clockwise in a hideously horrible move designed to snap her neck!
But Charlotte grabbed Jennifer’s arms and cut off the twisting just short of having her spinal vertebrae dislocated by the wrench. Arching her back, thrusting up onto her knees, Charlotte, grabbing Jennifer’s forearms, suddenly curled forward, casting the American girl all the way over her shoulders onto the floor with a sickening crashing splat.
But Jennifer, face twisted with fury, hurtled forward, even as she was rising to her knees, and the force of her impact into the French-Vietnamese girl’s torso drove both bitch battlers upward, bloody boobs and bellies smashed together, faces mirrored masks of wild-eyed murder-lust, blood squiring from their nostrils, and flowing copiously with boiling saliva from their mouths.
Charlotte’s knee rocketed up into Jennifer’s sopping wet crotch, lifting the howling girl to her tiptoes, yet Jennifer stood her ground, and, elbows flared out, pressed the heels of her hands together on Charlotte’s temples. The Asian beauty screamed as a crushing pressure was applied, vice-like to her head. She grabbed Jennifer’s wrists, but …
“Her head exploded?” Salma burst out, interrupting me.
Her eyes were incredulous.
“That’s what my control officer told me that this guy, who was there, Professor Jeff, told him.”
I let Salma just sit and boggle as our limo finally pulled into a cue in front of the main entrance to the Colosseum-2000 Hotel-Stadium Complex.
“I’ve never seen this stuff in action.”
“Jack”, the drop-dead wonder woman in an ultra-slut red dress said, “If this stuff works for me, I’ll ball you to death before any other spies get a chance to torture and kill you!”
With that comforting thought, I followed her into the crowd pouring into the Lobby.
THE END OF CHAPTER TWO