True to his word, Brickwork Killjoy made certain that Skye would no longer find any comfort in wearing clothes. Where he acquired the acute-membrane tissue formula, Skye would never know. How he had the clits to pay for it was even more of a mystery. Or perhaps, an even greater concern.
Acute-Membrane Tissue Therapy was something typically purchased by rogue slavers, although there were a few brothels in the seedier parts of the station that required their strippers use it for employment. The therapy was the genius of flesh-wrights, a flesh tissue ointment that, once applied, altered the nerves of the applicants skin. After being washed in it, the skin developed an allergic reaction to most kinds of fabrics, and thus the subject would find wearing clothing insufferable.
Skye had seen it first hands, walking by the slave auctions and witnessing several poor souls presented to the crowds, unadorned by even the typical smock of a serf. Sometimes lines of them would be sold in back alleys, many in tears after having just been washed with the treatment.
There was no treatment, or curative, for the therapy. Once doused in the substance, the only solution was to wear specially tailored clothing that was often more expensive than a months worth of salary at the Broken Pearl. Skye had seen the synth-weave undergarments, and lingerie, on sale in numerous outlets on the station. The brassier of choice for many after the therapy was an open cupped garment that held the underside of each breast, rather than cover them up comfortably.
Skye woke up on the streets, next to the gutter trash of society, sometime in the early morning cycle. Red strobe lights, poorly mimicking a wrathful sun, disturbed her slumber. Once goaded to stir, her head pounding like a drum, she found herself stripped of all belongings, including her precious insignia of protection. There was a perfumed odor all around her, and it took a moment to realize that the sweet stench was her own sweat. That was the first sign that something was wrong. At least, not counting waking up in her predicament.
The second sign of trouble came from the joy tow still lodged in her loins. It ran deep in her fertile cove, massaging her inner muscle with pleasing bouts of groaning vibrations. The toy’s head curved to latch onto her previous pearl, and Skye found that it wouldn’t unlatch no matter how hard she dared to pull it free.
A small message was left next to where she laid, a contractual form covered in tiny letterhead, and a small wax seal marking the bottom right corner. It hurt to try to read the tiny letters, but Skye found her hands shaking with anxiety. She clutched onto the page, and with shaking legs, she strolled naked haphazardly through the market districts toward her apartment. Each footstep was a trial of endurance, as her knees were tingling from rub burns. The toy in between her legs continued to throb, and Skye could already feel a new sense of wetness running down her inner thighs. It seemed like a strange, and somewhat pleasing, act of torture.
The next sign that something was truly wrong occurred when Skye tried to wrap a wet towel around her chest, only to find it stinging her sensitive skin. That sensation graduated to a painful itch that only lifted once she threw off the towel. All four of her nipples were perky and erect, and seemed slightly larger than normal. Her darkened areola’s were puffy, and dark blue veins pulsed just underneath the skin. Already, Skye felt that her endowments were slightly heavier; her shoulders were sore, and her pectoral muscles strained. The changes wrought to her bosoms were certainly noticeable to all the onlookers in the streets as well.
Without her insignia, there was nothing to protect her from unwanted acts of molestation. Multiple times she was assaulted by the crowds, and without the strength to oppose them, she had to endure their groping hands. Frustrated with not being able to enjoy her luscious lower lips, they instead opted to sup from her breasts, or jam their shafts in her tighter rectal cavity.
Skye was lucky not to be taken by a slave auctioneer, and she clutched onto the paper form even as she was being abused. Her body was spoiled, and milked by greedy packs of filthy men, until passed around to the next stallion eager for relief. By the time she crawled away from one crowd, she barely made it a few blocks before another surrounded her.
It was a miracle she made it back to her apartment at all, although the night cycle had already started by the time she arrived at the front door of the complex. Skye had to bribe the guard to get in without her ID or passcode. He let her in, but then spent a few hours with her, adding his seed to all the others swimming around in her rectum. She was thankful he let her bathe first, but only because he wanted to join her.
Once she was all alone, and properly washed, Skye struggled keeping anything on for any proper length of time. Her skin broke out into a rash whenever she put on a gown, or even a robe. Any fabric that wasn’t purely synthetic, which she had precious few, was simply unbearable for her overly sensitive skin.
Standing naked on her balcony, her stout nipples dripping essence past the guardrail, Skye did her best to piece together the previous nights events, while trying to read the contract that was left behind. A full bottle of synth-wine sat empty next to her, and she had already uncorked a second. It was cheap stuff, but her taste buds were already dulled after the first sip.
“Never again,” she vowed while thinking of the Viper Den. There was no chance in hell she would show up there. As if to answer her frustration, the toy in her quib jolted with renewed pleasure, sending her mind in a tizzy, and causing her stomach to lurch.
Her head was still foggy, and it hurt to read for too long, but Skye tried to make out the gist of contract, in between the sudden stimulations. With the title being, Breeding Contract, it was simple enough to guess the finer details.
There was an additional Twenty-Five thousand clits in her account from the contract, and the joy toy ensured the majority of Brickworks seed remained inside her uterus for forty-eight hours. It was tantalizing, thinking of how the very tip of the pleasure rod kissed the entrance of her womb. With the toy covering her lower lips, it certainly made it difficult for anyone else to soil the chances of the conception not belonging to Killjoy.
Whether impregnation was successful or not, the toy would deactivate forty-eight hours after the signing of the contract, and Skye would be able to finally remove it.
It was a frightful compact, Brickwork Killjoy paid for the exclusive use of her womb for a decent chance of siring a child. Further stipulations included how she would be the exclusive parent of said child, with the father having only partial rights of access upon it reaching maturity.
Why would he want to have a child with me? Skye pondered, not entirely certain she wanted to know the answer.
Twenty-Five thousand clits seemed to be the standard fee for such contracts, as there was no negotiation terms, or consultants involved. It was surprisingly professional, given the nature of one of the most brutal thugs in the station. Given his reputation, Skye half expected to find some kind of brand mark, or shameful tattoo marking her skin. Then again, perhaps the flesh altering treatment he washed her in was such a brand.
“At least…” Skye hesitating, as if not wanting to acknowledge her current predicament. “At least I can afford something new to wear…something that won’t irritate.”
She padded her upper left breast, noting how her sweat glands were also altered. Even her sweat was enhanced for pleasure, giving off a perfumed stench that was rather gentle to her senses. It reminded her of vanilla and clovers.
“That man better answer for himself.” Skye gripped the guardrail, and felt another nudge in her groin. A tight squeal followed a squirt of lust that rained onto the balcony floor.
It was but a minor earthquake, compared to the seizures of pleasure that came before. Skye fought to remain upright as she felt the tingle in her folds, and the growing shiver around her clitoris. Her breasts heaved with each lungful of air, and Skye struggled to keep her next orgasm from spilling out of control.
Once the shivering stopped, she drank more wine to soothe her resentment. Dabs of red liquid spilled from her lips, running down the curvature of her cleavage, and making streams along the abdominal muscles of her stomach. Skye hardly noticed, or cared for the haphazard waste of alcohol, instead she just wanted to keep drinking until her head stopped pounding.
Last night was a blizzard of frantic memories, a mismatch of shattered fragments that hinted at a nights worth of debauchery. She could distinctly remember someone rubbing her down in between the bouts of exhaustive sex. She assumed it was a mix of soap and moisturizer, even though it did have a unique smell. Skye could distinctly remember it stinging her nostrils, although there was little else she could reflect on about it.
As to signing a contract, she could remember nothing at all. Only smells, and the feeling of warmth spilling in her gut, keenly tickled her memory. That, and the ungodly pressure of his manhood splitting her in two. She could remember satisfaction, and an animalistic urge to try multiple positions. Moments where Brickwork found shallow spots along her inner walls, or burned the feeling of his shaft into her muscle, remolding her womanhood forever to fit him properly, returned with shocking fragility.
Goosebumps coated her skin just thinking about it. There was a knot in her stomach, imagining Killjoy explore the depths of her warmth, and soiling her precious ovaries with mouthfuls of his virile cream. Even now, if she concentrated hard enough, Skye thought that she could feel the warmth still spreading against the walls of her inner chamber, and pictured one of her eggs falling under siege.
