Chapter 5: Sharing Is Caring
The memory of the alley—the rough pallets, the line of faceless patrons, the endless, singing stretch of her vault—was a warm, persistent buzz in Lucia’s circuits. It lingered in the phantom fullness of her ass, the echo of swallowed praise in her modified throat. She’d walked back to the clinic on unsteady legs, her body humming with earned credits and the deep, neurological satisfaction of pure utility. Ripper had said nothing, just handed her a nutrient paste and a bill. The bill was large. The paste tasted like ash compared to the memory of come.
Now, she stood outside the heavily fortified blast door of the Mercenary Barracks, the sound of her own heartbeat a tinny rhythm in her ears. Zoe had pinged her a location pin and a single, terse command: Come. Side entrance. Now.
The door slid open before she could knock, revealing a narrow, poorly-lit corridor reeking of synth-leather, gun oil, and male sweat. Brack filled the space, a mountain of augmented muscle and menace. His eyes, one natural and one a glowing red photoreceptor, scanned her naked form from buzzed hair to bare feet, pausing at the glistening cybernetic sheen between her legs.
“Zoe’s idea,” he grunted, his voice like gravel under a boot. He stepped aside, a tacit invitation. “You’re a fuckin’ spectacle, you know that? Walking around with that thing on display.”
“It’s what I am,” Lucia said, her voice still carrying that new, husky quality. She walked past him, the cold grille of the floor biting into her soles. The sounds of the barracks proper grew louder—the clatter of gear, the gruff laughter, the thud of a heavy bag being punched.
“What you are is a walking biohazard and a distraction,” Brack said, following her. “But Zoe vouches. And Zoe’s call is law here.”
He led her through a common area where a handful of mercs in various states of undress were cleaning weapons or arguing over a holographic tac-map. Conversation died as she passed. Eyes followed her, not with the desperate hunger of the street, but with a calculating, predatory interest. These were professionals. Lucia kept her head up, her gaze forward, feeling more exposed than she had in the open alley.
Zoe’s bunk was in a slightly more secluded corner, separated by a hanging sheet of ballistic nylon. She was there, out of her armor, dressed in simple black fatigue pants and a tight tank top that showed the powerful cords of her arms. She was field-stripping a plasma pistol, her movements swift and sure.
She looked up as Lucia entered. Her gaze was unreadable, a mask of cool assessment that didn’t quite hide the turmoil underneath. “Shut the curtain, Brack.”
Brack pulled the nylon sheet closed, sealing them in a semi-private space that smelled overwhelmingly of Zoe—ozone, gunpowder, and the subtle, clean scent of her skin.
Silence hung heavy. Lucia stood, waiting.
Zoe finished reassembling the pistol with a final, decisive click. She set it aside and stood, towering over Lucia. “The street mods,” she said, her voice low. “Ripper did the cascade. The vault.”
It wasn’t a question. Lucia nodded.
“Show me,” Zoe commanded, the dominance in her tone a familiar, welcome anchor.
Lucia turned, presenting herself. She bent at the waist, placing her hands on the cool edge of Zoe’s bunk mattress. She reached back, spreading her cheeks, offering a clear view of the cybernetic aperture, slick and open.
Zoe let out a slow breath. Brack made a low, appreciative sound.
“Fuck,” Zoe whispered. She stepped closer, her thumb, rough and calloused, tracing the rim. Lucia shuddered, a wave of pleasure radiating from the point of contact. Her vault pulsed, clenching softly around nothing, craving fullness. “It’s completely retooled. Feels different.”
“Tougher,” Lucia breathed into the mattress. “Deeper. It doesn’t feel pain anymore. Only… acceptance. Pleasure.”
Zoe’s thumb pressed inward, just past the ring. Lucia moaned, pushing back against the intrusion. “Good,” Zoe murmured. Then her voice changed, shifted to something harder, edged with a decision she’d clearly been wrestling with. “Brack. Come here.”
Lucia heard Brack move, the heavy tread of his boots. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
“She’s got a new throat, too,” Zoe said, her hand still working slowly inside Lucia. “Means she can take it all. No gagging. No choking. Just… service.”
Brack moved into Lucia’s field of vision. He was already unfastening his combat pants, his thick, heavy cock springing free. It was a brutal-looking thing, natural, veined, and impressively large. “Always wondered about that pretty mouth,” he rumbled.
“On your knees,” Zoe ordered, removing her thumb.
Lucia obeyed instantly, turning and sinking to the cold floor. She looked up at Brack, then at Zoe, who gave a single, sharp nod.
“Go on. Show him what Ripper bought you.”
Lucia didn’t need further encouragement. The cascade mod was already lighting up her nervous system, her saliva glands flooding her mouth with that addictive, pre-emptive taste of bliss. She leaned forward, letting her lips part. Her throat opened, a dark, welcoming channel.
Brack didn’t tease. He grabbed a fistful of her buzzed hair with one hand, his other guiding his cock to her lips. “Open wide, socket,” he grunted, and shoved himself in.
The stretch was immense, immediate. The head of his cock bumped the back of her throat, and her new reflex kicked in—a seamless, automatic relaxation that allowed him to slide deeper. And deeper. She felt him push past a point that should have been impossible, the thick length filling her esophagus, the head nudging the entrance to her stomach. Her eyes watered, but there was no pain, only an overwhelming, drowning sensation of fullness and rightness. She gagged, but the gag was rewired, a fluttering, pleasurable convulsion that milked his shaft.
“Holy fucking shit,” Brack gasped, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “She just… took it. All of it.”
Lucia’s world narrowed to the smell of him, the taste of his skin, the incredible weight on her tongue. She began to move, bobbing her head, her throat muscles working in a rhythmic, perfect suction. The sounds were obscenely wet, loud in the confined space. She looked up, her eyes meeting Zoe’s.
Zoe was watching, her own breath coming quicker. She had undone her pants, her cybernetic cock emerging, already fully erect and glowing with a soft, internal blue light along its seams. She stroked herself slowly, her dark eyes fixed on the sight of Lucia servicing Brack.
“That’s it,” Zoe whispered, her voice thick. “Take it all, you perfect fucking whore. That’s what you’re for, isn’t it?”
Lucia moaned in agreement, the vibration making Brack curse and tighten his grip on her hair. He started to fuck her face in earnest now, short, powerful thrusts that forced her nose into his coarse pubic hair with each plunge. “Yeah, choke on it,” he growled. “Suck my fucking dick, you cyber-cunt.”
Spit and pre-come slicked Lucia’s chin. Her caged cock was a burning, trapped knot of need. She reached between her own legs, fingers finding her gaping hole, and pushed two fingers inside easily. The dual sensation was maddening—the relentless pounding in her throat, the slick, empty ache in her ass.
Zoe saw it. She moved then, coming behind Lucia. “No,” she said, pulling Lucia’s hand away. “That’s mine.”
She positioned herself, the smooth, cool tip of her cybernetic cock nudging against Lucia’s vault. With one hand on Lucia’s hip, she pushed forward.
The invasion was seamless. The vault accepted Zoe’s girth with a slick, wet sound, the internal sensors translating the stretch into a crescendo of pleasure that burned through Lucia’s spine. She screamed around Brack’s cock, the sound muffled, vibrating.
Zoe buried herself to the hilt, groaning as she felt Lucia’s new mods clasp around her. “Fuck, yes. Tighter. Deeper. It’s like you were built for this.”
Now Lucia was held between them, impaled at both ends. Brack fucked her throat with steady, punishing strokes, while Zoe began a deep, rolling rhythm into her ass, each thrust pressing Lucia forward onto Brack’s cock. The pressure was immense, overwhelming. Lucia’s consciousness frayed at the edges, dissolving into pure sensation. She was a conduit, a living vessel being filled and used with perfect, brutal efficiency.
“Look at her,” Zoe panted, her thrusts becoming harder, faster. “Look at our girl. Taking it like a champion. A perfect, fuckable socket.”
Brack’s rhythm faltered, his grunts turning into sharp, frantic gasps. “Gonna come,” he snarled. “Gonna flood that fuckin’ throat.” He slammed in one last time, his body locking, and let out a raw shout. Lucia felt the hot, rhythmic pulses against the back of her throat, flooding her esophagus. The cascade mod lit up like a supernova, and she came, her body seizing in a silent, shuddering orgasm that made her vault clench wildly around Zoe’s cock.
Brack pulled out, his cock slipping from her lips with a wet pop. Lucia gasped for air, her throat working, swallowing the thick load instinctively. It tasted like victory.
Zoe didn’t stop. She kept fucking Lucia’s ass through the aftershocks, her own pace turning desperate, frenzied. “You love it, don’t you?” she hissed, her fingers digging into Lucia’s hips. “Being our little cum dump. Being used by the whole damn squad.”
The words should have horrified her. Instead, they sank into her rewired brain, a perfect validation. She nodded, drool and come dripping from her chin. “Yes,” she croaked, her voice ruined. “Please.”
“Tomorrow,” Zoe promised, her thrusts losing all rhythm, becoming primal, jackhammer bursts. “Tomorrow, after the op, we’ll line the squad up. Every one of them. We’ll use that perfect throat and that greedy little vault until you can’t remember your name. You’ll be our little good-luck charm.” With a final, broken cry, Zoe came, her cybernetics humming as they pumped a synthetic, electric-hot load deep into Lucia’s ass.
They collapsed together onto the thin mattress, a tangled, sweating heap of limbs. Lucia lay between them, spent, trembling, utterly filled. Brack ran a rough hand over her buzzed hair, almost gentle.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed. “Good girl.”
Zoe curled around Lucia’s back, her arm possessive across Lucia’s waist. In the quiet dark, with the sounds of the barracks a distant murmur, she pressed her lips to Lucia’s shoulder. “You scared me today,” she whispered, a raw confession for Lucia’s ear alone. “On the street like that.”
Lucia, floating on a sea of endorphins and synthetic bliss, turned her head. She saw the fear in Zoe’s eyes, the love that looked like anger. She understood. The alley was a different kind of danger, an uncontrolled one. Here, in the barracks, she was claimed. Protected, even as she was used.
“I’m yours,” Lucia whispered back, the words tasting true.
Zoe held her tighter. “Damn right you are.” Her voice hardened again, shifting back to the commander. “Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. We move on the Kartell supply depot at dawn.” She paused, her hand drifting down to Lucia’s flank. “And after… we celebrate. The whole squad.”
Lucia closed her eyes. The promise thrummed inside her, a darker, warmer echo than the street’s anonymous transactions. This was belonging. This was purpose. She was their socket, their port. Their good-luck charm.
She fell asleep to the sound of their breathing, her body a well-used, contented thing between its two mercenaries, already dreaming of the line that would form tomorrow night, and the deep, satisfying emptiness that would follow.