He had that shifty, sort of bored look that Valerie Blackford hated, the kind of look she saw more of since she opened Gemini, her tiny little brothel, wedged beneath two noodle shops.
"What do the girls look like?"
She looked at him, expression neutral despite the pang of dislike in her chest. Stupid question. Must be a new customer, just wandering in off the street. "They look like me," she said, matter-of-fact, gesturing at herself, up and down. “That’s sort of the whole thing.”
He stared, expression blank as a wiped drive.
"They're me. They're modeled off of me.”
More staring from his wet little eyes.
"Look, I'm just going to show you." She stood, lead him back, opened the door to five identical and equally nude clones of herself, supine and hooked up to diagnostics. They could be sleeping.
His eyes traveled slowly over the doubles, then back over her clothed body. He smiled, more interested now that he saw her naked.
She didn’t blame him. She looked good laid out like that.
"They any fun in the sack?"
More stupid questions.
"They don't move. They can’t. Look at this place. You think I can afford to give them all personalities? You just fuck them like that. Twenty five for an hour. Fifty if you want me to watch."
He scoffed. "Twenty five to fuck a dead clone? I can do that for free."
She rolled her eyes, walked over to the nearest spare, spread her copy's cunt wide with two fingers for him. It gleamed wet in the soft light. "Not dead. On standby. Wet and warm." She slid a finger inside her double's pussy, with an audible squelch, watched it go in easy, felt her cunt clench. "They'll even cum for you, if you care about that. I have them do kegels and everything.”
She sucked herself off her fingers, knowing the reaction it’d get, a little smirk quirking her lips as she watched his cock tent in his loose pants.
He was thinking now, eyes darting between her and...her.
"Fifty, then. You sit on the table and watch."
“Payment up front,” she said as she hopped up, legs not quite reaching the ground.
He wasn’t gentle. He fucked her spare like he hated it, choking it, slapping its face and tiny tits hard enough to make her wince, sitting on the table next to him. She heard him grunting, heard his hips slapping against cloned flesh. It smelt like sex.
“Talk to me,” he grunted in her direction, hauling his dick out of the clone, nearly dragging it off the table by the hair. He stopped just short, and shoved his dick down the clone’s throat, its head hanging off the side of the slab. She watched with a strange sense of pride as its lips closed around him and its throat bulged, tongue moving automatically.
“It’s extra for talking. Fifteen extra.”
He grunted and nodded as he sheathed himself in her double’s throat, his balls mashed flat against its nose.
“Harder,” she started, voice low and husky, actual arousal bleeding through more than she cared to admit.
“Fuck her like you’re gonna break her.”
She put her hand on the pale column of the clone’s neck, watched as it moved up and down, ever so slightly, as the john’s fat prick forced its throat open, over and over.
“Feels good being able to do anything you want, huh? Just using those tight little holes like meat.”
He grunted, reached down her clone’s body to give its dripping cunt a stinging slap.
He was close. She’d watched enough guys fuck her clones to know.
She leaned in, lips close to his ear, started squeezing her double’s throat hard enough to feel his dick moving beneath her palm.
“You like fucking my face like that? How my throat feels?”
She pressed down harder on the clone’s throat, too hard to be comfortable for anybody conscious.
“F-feels good,” he grunted, grabbing its head behind its jawbone, slamming himself into its face so hard she was worried its nose was going to break against his pelvis.
“Cum,” she whispered, letting her lips brush his ear in flagrant violation of her own rules.
“Drown that useless cunt with your cum,” she said, and she was a little surprised at how turned on she was.
He unloaded with a low growl, his hips mashed against its face. She felt his dick jumping in its throat. She giggled, giddy, when some of his spunk came out of its nose.
He left without saying another word to her, laid the extra fifteen on the clone’s sculpted stomach.
After he left, she fucked herself to a quick and unsatisfying orgasm, sucking on her double’s tit.
It felt vain sometimes, she couldn’t deny that. Having so much her lying around, well...it implied a certain level of narcissism. But it wasn't. Well, she didn’t know what it was now. But it used to be for security.
They always said that you can’t put a price on peace of mind.
They were backups. Spares. Cats have nine lives, she had six. Including her current life, of course. If she died, she’d automatically get uploaded into one of the clones, the first of five. They had identifying tattoos behind their ears, their number in the sequence. She had given herself a little "0" behind her own ear.
Her friends had told her she was just being paranoid when she started trying to make an off-market clone, that she was going to bankrupt herself, ruin her life.
They were right.
Her girlfriend left her after finding her growing the second one in their bath. The taxmen came after the girlfriend drained her accounts, their matching suits more expensive than anything she’d ever owned. They took her house, winched it physically out of the tenement block with one of their huge machines. Meanwhile, the closest she’d come to needing any of her spares since she’d made them had been a bad case of food poisoning, and the closest she’d come to a real relationship was her cleaning the cum out of one of her clone’s holes after a john finished filling them up.
It had been a rough year.
Yet she made enough from pimping them out to keep the business going, keep on living in her little prefab domesticube up on the second floor. She could afford occasional food, instead of the standard nutrient slurry. She even had a few books. And of course, all the company she’d ever need.
It made her less frightened of the world. Less paranoid. It also made her a little kinkier than she used to be. Running a brothel did that.
She’d never admit it, not after all the time and energy she’d spent on them, but it'd surprise her if she needed her spares any time soon.
It was almost a waste.
THE VERY NEXT DAY
"Welcome to Gemini, how can I hel-"
He hurled himself over the counter, on top of her, her shoulder twisting badly, the back of her head bouncing off the floor.
He was different from the man yesterday, different from her usual clientele. Stronger. Meaner. Smarter.
His grip was like a steel ring around her throat, locking her beneath him. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He turned, looking into the back room where all her clones lay sleeping.
"So it's true."
His smile was ugly, terrifying. She felt his skin beneath her nails, blood too, but his grip didn’t loosen. Her head swam, floating. She reached to try to find something to hit him with, could only find the leg of her toppled chair.
"Well, let’s find out exactly how true."
His grip grew even tighter, too tight to let any noise out. She felt every word, every grunt, dying in her throat, strangled against his palm. Her legs jumped beneath him, and she felt his cock against her thigh, rock hard and hot even through his clothing.
She could barely hold her arms up by then, could feel the strength leaving her body, draining like blood from an open artery.
Her windpipe crumpled. She heard it compress and collapse, the frenzied heartbeat in her ears getting slower and slower.
Her arms fell to her sides with a soft little thump, eyes glassy and unseeing.
THE VERY NEXT SECOND
She woke up in the back room, gasping, hands flying to her throat to loosen a grip that wasn’t there, desperation making her flail right off the table. She was naked. Clones Two through Five were next to her.
She turned just in time to see him climb off her dead body, to see her face drooling prettily onto the floor, eyes unfocused and still open. He stepped over her, like garbage, like nothing, carefully keeping his bulk between her and the door, flicking the neon to "closed" before turning and walking back.
Towards her. Towards all of her.
“You’re supposed to keep backup bodies safe, you stupid bitch. Not pimp them out.”
”HEEEELP!” she screamed, but he just smiled.
“Good,” he said, moving closer, walking into the back room, his huge body blotting out the door.
“Keep on yelling. That’s how I like it.”
Dorian was not a patient man.
He was on her, pining her arms in a vise grip, forcing her legs apart and his cock inside her. He didn't wait for her cunt to clench around him. He just pumped away, working his hips with a furious need. Strangling the real one had ignited his lust like a spark on dry wood. He was ready to violate her, to flood her with his seed. Again and again and again.
"You really are a dumb slut," he taunted, through gritted teeth. "I can't believe you made it this easy for me."
She screamed as he stretched her with his length. He slapped her then backhanded her until she was quiet. Whimpers turned him on better than shrieking. She was already so wet.
"Enjoying this? Of course you are. Girl with five clones has to be a little depraved. She likes it rough."
The helpless clone glared at him through black tears. How vain could she be? Even her meat sleeves had makeup on. However much she struggled, her cunt still clenched around him, warm and wet and throbbing for him.
"Little rat told me about this place," he grunted out between thrusts. "Told me you made him cum in under minute, told me you had the clones on display like racks of lamb, could fuck one for just 25 an hour. I just had to see. So imagine my surprise when I find out it's true."
He saw her face flicker with shock and a hint of betrayal. It brought a smile to his face.
"One of your own clients fucked you over. Tough. You shoulda hired a bodyguard."
She cried out again, in helpless frustration. He backhanded her again, gripped her hips and full-on rammed her.
"You kept 'em in good shape, I'll give you that. Cunt's tighter than an underage virgin and goddamn if it ain't good."
His little meatsleeve could only beat weakly at his chest, moaning in shame and protest, as he pumped her over and over with his diamond-hard cock. He let his weight fall on her, let her feel the power in his body as he slammed into her. The girl was nothing short of a specimen. Dancer's body, milky skin and hair dark as shadows, silky, done up in a fuck-me ponytail. Just the kind of slut that could make his night.
He didn't last more than two minutes.
She pushed against him with all her effort as he flooded her womb with ropes of thick, sticky seed. He worked his hips in a slow, indolent motion, a moan escaping him when the pleasure hit like a white-hot knife.
"What's the matter, bitch?" Dorian made eye-contact with her, grinning saucily as he dumped his load. "Afraid I'll get your clone knocked up?"
Through some miracle, the meatsleeve found her words. "P-please! You can have me, have all of me, every one! Just let me go after you're done! Please!"
"Aw, here comes the begging." Dorian dispensed with the slaps, gave her a fist instead. "Shut the fuck up, whore. I make the demands."
She fell back against the medtable with a dull thud. He wrapped his hands around her throat before she had a chance to recover, her protest nothing more than a gasp as his fingers dug into her throat, his palm pressing down on her windpipe. He felt the cartilage crumble beneath his grip and he reveled in the cold terror he saw in her eyes. He had cum all of a few seconds ago and already his cock was stiff again. It was like he hadn't blew his load at all.
"That's it meat," he growled, watching the light flicker and fade in her eyes. "Let go. We've got four more after this."
Her struggles became suggestions. She ended up caressing his arms, too weak to form fists to beat at them. Dorian felt her windpipe collapse against his palm, watched as her gaze glazed over and stared past him at nothing. He held her for a little longer then let her drop limply against the table, a used up piece of meat.
Moments later, the clone beside him awoke with a frantic gasp.
"The gift that keeps on giving," he said with a smile.
Valerie bolted straight for the door as soon as her brain had adjusted to the new body. That was a mistake.
She felt his hand wrap against her ponytail, felt the searing pain of her scalp nearly being ripped out. His calloused hands wrapped around her throat and slammed her into a wall. Consciousness popped in and out, black stars on her vision.
"See, I was gonna let you cum this time around but you just had to be a dumb bitch and try to run, didn't you?" His voice was pure ice against her ear. "Now I'm gonna make you hurt."
She had only a moment to take in his muscular body pressed against hers. She hated her mind and her body for betraying her; why was she wet? Why was she enjoying this? She should have been screaming until her lungs gave out or until he pummeled her to death, whichever came first. Of course she was terrified. The saying went that a woman was more afraid of rape than death yet here she was getting both and squirting like a slut in the process.
He threw her down to the floor. She hit the cold steel with a ringing impact, forced to lay under his boot. Her real body, the original one, still lay drooling on the floor, a pretty dead doll. She felt a pang of loss staring at the corpse; that body had been through alot. She'd grown attached.
Her assailant gave her little time to contemplate. He yanked her up by the hips until she was face down, ass up. A pathetic whine escaped her; she knew what was coming next.
"Goddamn, what an ass." His hand came down on her cheeks, loud and stinging. "Practically made for this cock."
Valerie opened her mouth, to plead, to beg, but screamed instead. She felt as if someone had slipped a burning brand inside her. He sank in her with no lube, stretching her asshole with his long, throbbing length. She beat her fists pathetically against the floor, kicking her legs out to try and break free. "Please!" she shrieked. "Not like this, not like this!"
He ignored her, pounded away until she was bloody and raw. She lay there, listening to his grunts and his groans, shivering with pain and chill, black tears streaking down her face. Then she felt the hot, salty splatter against her back, each drop a sticky reminder of her violation, her shame. He let go of her hips and she curled into a quivering ball, sobbing quietly against her knees.
"Hush little baby," the thug mocked. "Just three more and it's all over."
She heard a click, looking up just in time to see the ominous black barrel. The "no!" died on her tongue. She heard the shot, saw the flash and then darkness.
Dorian was staring at his reflection in the pool of blood her head leaked when he heard the third clone gasp awake. A grin crossed his face at the sound. He was enjoying this far more than he should have.
She didn't try to run this time when he walked over, simply begged him, pleaded with him to let her go. Her black tears only made him harder. He whipped her in the face with his pistol, grabbed her by the neck, threw her down bodily against the floor. Dragging her by the ponytail, he slammed her up against the wall and slapped her in the face with his cock.
"Alright bitch," he growled, pressing the gun to her temple. "Only hole I haven't used yet so open wide."
When the meatsleeve didn't comply right away, he whipped her again and again until she had an ugly bruise on her cheekbone. Eventually she got the message and opened wide like the good little slut she was. He forced his entire length down her throat for the trouble.
"Fuck! You're even tighter here." Dorian dug his fingers deep into her scalp and forced her head to bob up and down his cock. "The goddamn definition of fuckmeat."
Screams, squeaks and whines. It didn't matter with his length lodged down her throat. They all sounded like moans to him. He worked his hips, letting his balls slap against her chin. She could only look up at him with wide, mascara-streaked eyes, tears spilling down her face in black rivulets. He was broken; her crying only made him want to fuck her harder.
He used her throat as his sleeve for minutes of tight, suction-like pleasure. He still had a load for her and when it came, he kept her face pressed into his crotch, forcing her to swallow the salty load down to the very last drop. Only when he had nothing left did he let her go, sputtering and coughing and shaking like a used whore. When he snapped her head back with a yank, she sobbed at him for mercy.
"You can have them all!" she cried. "Every single one! I'll be your slut, your slave! Just p-please let me go!"
Dorian merely smiled at her and flicked a knife from his boot. He drove the blade in, again and again and again into her taut belly. Stab, stab, stab. Each dull punch was punctuated by her screams, the next as ragged as the last. He kept sticking her with the blade until she gurgled up blood then he opened her throat from end to end to save himself the trouble of listening to her.
She fell over, gasping noiselessly as a crimson pool formed underneath her. He stepped over the dying meatsleeve and stood by the fourth clone, watching over her. That one hadn't awakened yet. In fact, it stayed still for quite a while, allowing him to admire the warm, breathing shell. Then, at last, she sprang to life, hyperventilating with terror.
He didn't give her a chance to find his eyes. His hands were around her neck in an instant. He wrenched them back, heard the shrill pop of her snapped vertebrae. The clone fell back onto the bed, convulsing with all the violence of a seizure victim. Spinal fluid leaked out of her mouth as her dying body thrashed in its confines, carrying on for a minute or so before the corpse relaxed into a twitching slab.
Dorian stepped over the last clone, watched and waited.
What a shame, he thought. The fun's almost done.
Valerie returned to the world in agony. She felt every injury she had suffered, the nerves in her brain remembering the ghosts of pain from the other bodies. The knife wounds seared with the fire of a hundred burns. She felt whiplash in her neck and the phantom of cold steel against her neck. It was true suffering, the kind no human was meant to endure.
She heard the click of his boot and it filled her with a terror so cold, she could barely even control her hands as she clasped them together. "P-p-pleasssse! What do I have to do?! I'm your slut! Yours! I love you! Just let me live!"
Her pleas, her cries, they were all for naught. He answered her only with low laughter.
She was too traumatized to notice how gentle his fingers were when he pushed them inside of her, when he pressed his thumb against her clit and started to rub. Fear and pleasure blended into a hot-cold pit in her stomach that blossomed into an aching warmth that spread across her body. He met her gaze as his free hand wrapped around her throat, as his fingers pistoned in and out of her, soaked with her nectar.
"No," she whispered, over and over again, her voice cracking with each utterance. She knew that once she came, she would go, and she just wasn't ready, would never be ready. "Please..."
Her body, once more, betrayed her. She came, shamefully, fearfully, squirting all over his murderous hand. He coaxed two more out of her, until her thighs quivered and ached from the release.
"No," she repeated, her voice little more than a wisp, as his sticky hand wrapped around her throat to join its twin.
He leaned forward and whispered something into her ear, too low for her to hear. As darkness edged around her vision and swallowed her up for the last time, Valerie wished she could have known what he had said.