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“Unghuugh!” Michiko croaked, as a swarthy, sweaty fat penis, thick as her wrist, was pulled from her throat. “Keep going!” she sputtered hoarsely, saliva bridging the gap between her puffy lips and the head of his massive jutting cock. “Do Hanako next! Spear that fuckpipe down her whore throat!” Hanako could give no retort, as her mouth was already stuffed with a cock, but her extensively enhanced body proved its worth when the first man tried to simply shove his brutal cudgel into her mouth alongside his partner. Her jaw distended hugely, far beyond what should have been possible, and the telltale seams of cybernetic implants parted from the corners of her lips all the way to her ears as her mouth was wrenched open garishly wide. The girth of those two obscene prongs made it seem as though she was being double-fisted all the way down her gullet, neck bulging with twin cockbulges hammering down her esophagus. Hanako’s pouty, sucking mouth was roughly used without any care for her well-being, and it was painfully obvious that these brutish thugs had no clue that they had mounted two Arasaka women onto their cum-leaking fuckpipes. If they had known, they undoubtedly would have been much more terrified about the repercussions that the Arasaka Corporation would revisit upon them for raping Saburo Arasaka’s own flesh and blood. Of course, the two women weren’t making a very good case for it being rape, not when their round, thick, pale bubble-ass cheeks were lewdly protruding behind them, splitting open around the equally monstrous erections of the men positioned beneath them, whose hands currently grabbed each pair of ass cheeks and pumped upward into their frothing, sloshing, soaking pussies. It was obvious that Hanako and Michiko Arasaka had been getting fucked constantly for hours, and would continue still for many more hours, their flesh rosy pink in places from humiliating slaps and spankings, and yet tears of unbridled joy were running down their cheeks as their almond-shaped eyes rolled back with sightless sexual extremity, convulsing in shared orgasm the instant one thug stepped up and jerked his disgustingly huge cock to a violently splattering ejaculation that pelted both women in gooey ropes of crisscrossing spunk. “Fucking crush my rape-gutter on your monstercock! Carve us out and wrap our guts around your fat slabs of fuckbeef, you ugly pieces of shit! Just fucking bust your nut all over my auntie’s worthless face—glaze her in your ballspew!!!” And then the scene froze instantly, all sounds cutting out and all movement stopping. ‘Hanako’ still had her tongue extended to catch an errant rope of jizz that dangled from the fat crown of the thug’s cock. The holo engram slid across the white wood table with a flick of her wrist, spinning it as it journeyed away from Hanako Arasaka and came to a stop in front of her favored niece opposite her. “Michiko,” she said evenly, staring at the younger woman’s face across the table from her in Arasaka’s executive suite. “Here in America, they have a saying: a picture is worth one thousand words. And you have accumulated enough of these… images… to pen more words than Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.” “Tch.” Michiko sucked her teeth dismissively—a supremely American habit of hers. “I prefer The Kama Sutra. The pictures in it really helped me code up this simulation.” This was not the first time that Michiko had been found in compromised positions on the news. Last time, it had been an upskirt shot at a party. The time before that, she had been getting an all-body tan at the salon and had shown no modesty to any of the other customers. The time before that, she had been caught with her hand down the pants of a random date of hers during a theatrical production of Beetlejuice. For crying out loud, they were supposed to be conservative. Hanako slid gracefully out of her seat and stood, her heels clicking on the polished floor of her executive office as she rounded the table. Unlike her niece, Hanako had been born and raised in Tokyo, inside the Arasaka Family Compound. Her father, Saburo, had doted on her in that way that fathers often did for their only daughters. He had given her the best tutors, the finest in all the world. Calligraphy, history, philosophy, mathematics, business, dozens of different languages, political etiquette, applied cybernetics, even dancing. There was nothing that didn’t come to her as naturally as breathing. Saburo had swelled with pride when he saw her conversing with Alt Cunningham back in 2020. Hanako had barely been out of college, and she was already one of the only people in the corporation—or even the world—who could understand and pick up Alt’s complicated work on Soulkiller after the woman had been digitized. Her niece was a very different woman altogether, even though there was only a mere nine years difference between them. Michiko was the daughter of Hanako’s oldest brother, Kei Arasaka, when he had fallen in love in Night City and married an American woman. It had been a thorn in their father’s side—that his eldest son and heir to the Arasaka Corporation had married an American. It didn’t matter to him that the mother was in fact full-blooded Japanese. ‘Culture shapes us more than blood,’ Saburo often said. In his eyes, an Irish redhead born and raised in Japan would always be more Japanese than his own granddaughter raised in America. And, for better or for worse, Saburo was not the type to lie to his family. He made sure Michiko knew exactly what he thought of his ‘half-American’ granddaughter. An olive branch was extended—at Hanako’s insistence—when they expanded the Arasaka Corporation into Night City, Michiko’s true home. However, her niece had already founded her detective agency, Danger Gal, under her own merits by that point, and while there was no open hostility between them, Michiko had made it very clear that she would not shutter her own business and rejoin the fold. Michiko’s netrunning skills were almost on par with Hanako’s own. But where she truly excelled was in crime scene reconstruction braindances. With a few scraps of evidence, she could create an entire simulation of an entire night, in remarkably lifelike detail. But her wild streak also led her to create some raunchy simulated braindances on the side. It was practically unheard of to simulate a BD from whole cloth. Doctor existing footage, sure. That was child’s play. But to create hours of extreme hardcore gangbang material, sodomy, quintuple penetrations, and then cast herself and her aunt as the leading ladies was as incredibly impressive as it was unfathomably perverse. “You should be flattered,” Michiko argued. “I had to pick the two hottest bimbos to really bring the sim together. Nothing but the best, hottest pieces of ass.” Hanako perched a toned hip on the table next to Michiko. The skyline of Night City was framed behind her in blues and greens, purples and yellows. In the steamy haze of the rain, the ambience of the hues bled together like watercolors on the window. “How are you, Michi-san?” she asked, defaulting back to Japanese. “You are sixty-nine years old now, and while that is indeed nice—” Michiko snickered. Her uptight aunt furrowed her brow, narrowing her almond-shaped eyes suspiciously. “What is the matter?” “Nevermind.” Michiko made no effort to remove the lewd grin from her face. “American humor.” Hanako glanced briefly to her bodyguard, Sandayu Oda, lurking at the door with dutiful vigilance. “Oda-kun, leave us,” she said, reverting to Japanese. He hesitated briefly, optics discreetly scanning Michiko for any offensive cybernetics or concealed weapons. Finding none on the younger woman’s person, he bowed silently to Hanako and slipped out of the room. Hanako waited for the door to close behind him before continuing. “It is no secret that you and I apparently want very different things out of life.” Hanako had a number of discreet cybernetics herself—proprietary technology that most people in the Arasaka Corporation didn’t even know they developed, much less had the clearance level to acquire. But all of hers were designed for the specific purposes of her job. Her SnakeCharmer emitter produced an undetectable pheromone that subconsciously relaxed those around her and put them in a kind of suggestive state. It wasn’t hypnotism or mind control by any measure, but more like a social charisma that made her ideas seem better and her opinions more insightful, giving her a bit more push with the stubborn board members. At higher levels, there were reports from R&D that one could theoretically issue an actual voice command and have it be followed as if it was the target’s own idea to do so. Her smooth skin hid a dermal weave that would make her unimaginably resilient to high velocity force, such as bombs, gunfire, and car crashes. At lower velocities, the weave remained inactive so that she could still feel things like a firm handshake or the rain on her face. However, the weave was remarkably adaptive, and the more force damage that was inflicted and absorbed, the less of it she felt. At its maximum level, a shotgun blast to her face wouldn’t even dislodge her from her chair. She had other implants—optics, neural links, cellular regeneration to keep her looking young, all of the most common upgrades for the new digital world in which they lived. But these were tools to make her excel at her job as the acting CEO of Arasaka Corporation. Michiko, on the other hand, had implants of a more… mammarian nature. Her niece’s breasts were disgustingly, degradingly, Americanly large, twice as big as her own, and stretching her button-up blouse to the point that the gaps between each button could be seen where the top was pulled to its absolute limit. They must have been E-cups, at least, and on her petite Japanese body they looked intentionally fake. As if she enjoyed letting everyone know that she had deliberately inflated her tits to pornographic excess, resembling more cow udders than womanly breasts. Hanako had no doubt that there were other implants in her niece’s body—real, cybernetic implants—but a scan of her yielded so many lewd things that Hanako had to stop reading. SnakeJaw hinge extenders. Internal throat massagers. Prehensile tongue, Mark IV. Extends up to twelve inches long with full muscle control and dexterity. Lower GI tract and vaginal tissue replaced with hyper elastic RealSkynn. DirtyMouth vocal software upgrade, forcing every spoken word to be delivered with moans and crude, vulgar languages, regardless of current mood (presently inactive). There were more, but Hanako couldn’t bear to think of her niece in that way. American culture had completely corrupted her values and her body, and it was shameful to see Michiko embrace it all so eagerly. “Different things out of life, indeed. But I have given you too long a leash to pursue your pleasures, and to release this… titillation… onto the market has created quite a shameful attack on our reputation. I cannot keep running damage control for your scandalous behavior. It is time I take responsibility for you and make you a model of what the Arasaka Corporation stands for.” “I couldn’t agree more, auntie,” Michiko replied coyly. “You and I should really be on the same page.” She uncrossed her legs, crossed them again. Hanako was taken slightly aback. Michiko was agreeing with her? That was unexpected. But she refused to show her own surprise, choosing instead to strike a more relaxed pose. It was quite difficult, as Hanako had absolutely no idea how to relax. “Yes, the Arasaka Corporation—and our family—has been led by men for too long,” she uttered, the words sounding slightly strange on her tongue. Michiko nodded, her eyes glimmering as if she alone was privy to the punchline of some cosmic joke. “We must show them what the Arasaka women are capable of.” “Y-yes, we must show them what the…,” Hanako stared at her, baffled. She tried to lift her arms. “That’s a terrible idea,” Michiko said calmly, and suddenly Hanako realized that, yes, it was a terrible idea. She put her arms back down. “What… did you….” “SnakeCharmer implant,” Michiko told her. “Overclocked mine. Research and Development deserves a raise for sure. And before you ping Oda, just know that I’ve already hacked you to deaden any outgoing neural signal, so you and I won’t be interrupted. Stay calm.” Hanako sat there demurely, unable to summon any outward display of alarm. Michiko’s mastery of Arasaka tech surpassed even her own, and made it impossible to resist her voice. “But… why?” “‘The greatest victory is that which requires no battle.’” “What?” “Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.” Michiko reached into a pocket inside her business jacket and withdrew a BD headset. “You all thought that I was the harmless nympho, but I have more ambitions for this place than you can imagine. Turning it completely on its head, for one.” “Mich…iko…,” she twitched her fingers across the table toward the panic button on the underside. She could feel Michiko probing her cyberdeck, scrambling all of her hardware and defense packages. “I’m… on your… side. Trying to… sanitize Arasaka… make it better… cut out… the filth….” “Oh, Hanako,” her niece purred, lifting her chin with two slender fingers. “For over a century our family has stirred the pot of endless wars to grow richer off of humanity’s struggles. You were always my favorite, the one good Arasaka trying to undermine the more criminal elements and steer the corporation with dignity and honor, scrubbing the miles-long blood trail with your tiny little Brillo pad and calling it ‘making a difference’. And they called me naive!” Hanako’s fingers splayed outward, scratching around the corner of the table, curling downward as she felt for the panic button. It was hardwired into the network—there was no jamming the signal on that. If she could get to it, elite security would pour into the room within thirty seconds. “They called me naive,” Michiko continued, setting the BD headset onto her aunt’s delicate face, “because I was too preoccupied with sex, drugs, and partying to be of any use to dear old grandpa. But here’s what nobody ever noticed: I did more to undermine the corruption in Arasaka with my nympho scandals than you ever did with all your board meetings and secret alliances. If you want to bring down Arasaka’s rotten influence, you don’t do it with mergers and CEO votes. You do it by posting pics of the Arasaka women getting triple-teamed by big-dicked studs.” Hanako’s fingers froze. “W-what?” Michiko smiled. “You’re right that we’re on the same side.” She dialed up the XBD package that she had prepared specifically for her noble, honorable, uptight aunt. “We’re both trying to erase grandfather’s influence. But the difference is that my way will be much faster… and much more fun.” She activated the program. “It’s just a little personality adjustment to make you more fun. You’ll love it.” She paused. “Actually, given your pathological allergy to all forms of fun, you’ll probably hate it. But it’ll grow on you.” Hanako couldn’t look away as the diodes began to pulse brightly, and her optics were force-fed the braindance with all safeties disabled, and she fell into the spiral of lights and sounds and smells and tastes and… * * * * * * * * * * Hanako flushed, her cheek pressed against Michiko’s, their lips almost touching. She felt wetness dribble down her seething quim and it made her shudder. Then she felt her niece’s hand slip into her blouse and caress her breast. Their lips met. She gulped and fought to quell the shaking in her hands. Her pussy clenched, and a flutter of arousal coiled inside her stomach. The tip of her tongue touched Michiko lightly. She parted her lips slightly. Hanako pressed herself to her niece; her tongue slipped between her lips. She sighed in pleasure. Then she was kissing her deeply, passionately, angling her hips and parting her legs, pressing her molten mound of her steaming vulva into Michiko’s thigh, grinding against her and moaning into her mouth. Hanako tried to pull away, but she couldn’t, and her hands and tongue and lips and pussy didn’t respond to her, moving by someone else’s accord. It took her a long minute to recognize what was happening—that she was scrolling a braindance, reliving the experience of someone else. That was why the body didn’t answer her command: because it wasn’t her body. And yet, the tactile sensations were every bit as real as if it was her body. She tasted the cherry gloss of Michiko’s lips and felt the aching twitch of her clit throbbing with blood. She felt Michiko’s hand groping her breast, thumb sliding over her hard nipple. Her breath hitched. She was thoroughly unaccustomed to not being in control, and she got the sense that the other person felt the same way. A quick flash of anger welled up inside her—the other her, whose body was in the BD—and the woman shoved Michiko back, breaking the kiss. “You little slut!” the woman slapped Michiko, and Hanako felt the heated sting of impact on her own palm. And then, more confusion still. The woman’s voice had sounded so similar to Hanako’s own voice. There were certain high-priced ripperdocs who could tweak the voicebox and tune the vocal cords to alter a person’s voice. Sex changes, new identities, longterm smokers… there were plenty who wanted to change the voice they heard each day. There were tiny, almost imperceptible variations in the mystery woman’s voice, but they were so minuscule that even she was almost fooled. “Kissing is only part of the lesbian bundle, motherfucker! If you want to jam your tongue down my throat, you’d better start with pumping your fingers in my twat!” Michiko smiled. “Certainly.” “And to think that you used to be such a prude,” Michiko purred. “What’s that supposed to… ooooh!” Her niece’s fingers slipped between her labia, caressing her clitoris. Michiko kissed her neck softly, gently, as her fingers played over her, tracing every sensitive spot as if she had done this a hundred times before. Hanako was confused, but her body answered automatically, and she closed her eyes and parted her legs wider, scarcely even aware of her own actions. Michiko accepted the invitation, whispering in her ear, “Slut,” as her fingers probed deeper into her heated, moistened sex. Each motion drew from her a shudder and a moan, and so subtly did the younger woman bring the pleasure from her that she was not even aware of her approaching orgasm until the wave of ecstasy rolled through her, shaking her legs. She sighed deeply and clenched on her niece’s fingers. Michiko caressed her cheek lightly. She moved down her neck and cupped one of Hanako’s naked breasts. “Kissing is a lot like sex,” she told her. “A kiss can be a tease, a kiss can be a seduction, an invitation. Or…” Her hand seized Hanako’s breast in a suddenly fierce grip. She grabbed the edge of Hanako’s blouse and pulled hard, rending the fabric all the way down to her waist, literally tearing her clothes off her. Hanako opened her eyes and let out a startled cry. Michiko, one hand still buried in her aunt’s coiling, molten, velvety pussy, took the back of Hanako’s head and held it tight, preventing her from pulling away. “A kiss can be rape,” she finished. She shoved her mouth hard against Hanako’s. Her augmented tongue thrust deeply into her mouth. Her other hand plunged aggressively into her quim, forcefully pumping into her dripping box. She tried to scream, but it mutated—half scream and half moan. Michiko fucked her very roughly, slamming her palm into the cup of her pussy mound so hard that each deep thrust lifted Hanako’s groin. Her tongue worked in tandem with her fingers; she forced it into Hanako’s mouth again and again, raping her. Her niece was absolutely fucking her—pounding her from two holes as Hanako fought weakly against… against her own body, she realized. Her body gyrated into the aggressive act, skin flushed and temperatures rising. When she felt the tightening between her legs and realized what was about to happen, her mind panicked. She battled impotently against the rising heat within her, ashamed of the way her body bucked and groaned in abject pleasure. But her struggles were in vain; she climaxed, a short shock of ecstasy, and with that the battle between her mind and body changed, becoming a willing cooperation. She relaxed and opened her legs fully, exposing her vulnerable twat to Michiko’s punching thrusts. Her cries became moans, and she wrapped her lips around the invading tongue. Sensing her surrender, Michiko pulled her mouth away and whispered again, “Slut.” And Hanako rolled her hips, grinding her snatch up into those roughly thrusting fingers, as her squirt dribbled down her niece’s digits. * * * * * * * * * * Hanako jerked back to consciousness as the BD wreath was removed from her head. She blinked to clear away the repulsive images and tastes that were still lingering in her brain. Her anger eclipsed the confusing arousal that pressed her nipples insistently against the insides of her bra cups and she tried to thrash in place. “Nope,” Michiko told her plainly, replacing the wreath a second time and prepping another program. “What are you doing? Get this thing off—” * * * * * * * * * * Hanako strolled into her favorite bar after work, with a furious headache that she intended to murder with a stiff drink. Michiko’s stupid little braindance had barely gotten past displaying the Danger Gal developer logo in the bootup sequence before Hanako’s fingers had found the panic button. Oda had naturally been the first to come crashing through the door, his mantis blades shredding the forearms of his business suit. When he saw that it was Michiko, he had quick-stepped across the office and smacked her hand away from the BD wreath, twisting her wrist and pivoting on his heels to slam her facedown onto the table, arm extended out behind her. After that… Well, after that, things happened in a blur for Hanako, who was only able to remember bits of pieces as her mind was split between reality and shaking off the lingering vestiges of braindance fantasy. But the next clear memories she had were of Michiko being dragged from the building by the rest of her security detail as Oda collapsed his mantis blades back into his tattooed forearms. As she turned her attention outward again, she noticed that quite a few people at the bar were ogling her with hungry eyes. She couldn’t blame them; her Schwarze-Limette blazer with carbon composite insets in navy had cost her over €$16000, tailored exquisitely to complement her Desert Cross strongweave button-up blouse for €$21000 and wrapped her well-proportioned upper body with tight efficiency that provided the impression of a sharp-dressed executive who was still an absolute whirlwind in the bedroom. She judged that the combined worth of everyone in the room couldn’t afford her outfit, but that they would nonetheless empty their accounts just to watch her large, perky breasts be cupped by the form-fitting fabric. They were big at 38DD, but not too big for her to be taken seriously, which was the way she liked it. Her appearance was a negotiation tool like any other, one she proudly honed to a razor’s edge. She stared down into her own sizable cleavage for a long moment, lost in thought, when one of the staff approached with a graceful roll of her hips. “Right this way, Ms. Hanako. We have prepared your usual room.” Hanako lifted herself to her feet, feeling the pencil skirt streeeeetch tautly over her outthrust, protruding buttocks. They were voluminous, each ample cheek jiggling and flexing, clapping as she extended her legs and swung her hips. Much like her clothes, her ass was another tool for the boardroom. And just like in the boardroom, every man in the bar behind her whispered into their sleeves as she strutted past. They’d give anything to see her on all fours, bouncing and moaning, clapping her ass cheeks around some giant, vein-corded cocks. “Here’s your room, ma’am.” The escort bowed next to a tinted glass door leading into a private enclosure. “We prepared everything exactly the way you always like it.” There was some distant thought prickling at the back of her head… but her hand reached out to wire the eddies as if the action was ingrained as reflex. She had no real memory of coming here. Ever. The door slid open and Hanako strolled easily into the room, her body moving on autopilot, taking in the scented smoke that filled her nostrils, the throbbing bass that set her headache to pounding again, and the curious smell of sex. “What is this?” Hanako asked, eyes widening in surprise. “This is not what I asked for!” “Is there a problem?” “This is some kind of a joke, is it not?” Hanako fumed at her. Her delicate hands moved up to adjust the collar on her blazer, ostensibly to smooth out the crease. But instead, as soon as her fingers touched the buttons they began to unfasten and remove the outer garment. “I don’t know what kind of establishment you think this is…,” she explained, shrugging out of her exorbitantly priced blazer and tossing it on the floor in a heap. “But I paid good money to enjoy myself tonight, and all I get is an empty room in some sex motel?” She continued with her blouse next, ripping it open so that buttons exploded outward and scattered across the floor. The half-cup lace bra was far more risqué than she remembered putting on this morning, but it lifted her fat slut-bags so nicely that she didn’t care. “Ah, yes, I was told that you would have more… extreme tastes.” The escort checked her datapad, tapping multiple times on different options that Hanako couldn’t see and moving half a dozen slider bars all the way to the far end. “I believe now things should be more to your liking. And, as always, we hope you enjoy your experience at Clouds. Your fellow doll will join you shortly.” Hanako sashayed into the room as if she was in a dream, rolling her hips with the practiced movements of a career hooker. It was strange, but even stranger still was how she casually unzipped her pencil skirt and shimmied it down over her hips before letting it drop to pool at her feet. “Good,” she answered, lips pursing around the word like she was delivering it via a kiss. “You know I hate to fuck in groups less than six.” The attendant moved to close the door, but a second woman appeared at her elbow. “Ah, here she is—your partner for this scene.” Hanako’s jaw dropped. “Send in the whole group if you have to,” Michiko told the attendant. “The two of us are starving for some big, fat cocks.” The door sealed shut behind her, and Michiko’s optics glinted in the red lighting. “Having fun, Hanako?” Hanako casually stretched out on the bed, fingers roaming over her large bra cups. “What did you do to me?” She asked, the demanding tone replaced with a sultry moan. “What is this?” Michiko approached the bed, shedding her own clothes with ease. Underneath, she bore countless tattoos that Hanako had never seen before. Tyger Claws, Animals, Maelstrom, Valentinos, 6th Street, VooDoo Boys. There were ownership tattoos, body count tattoos, and special commemorative tattoos that the gangs gave out to overachieving joytoys. ‘20+ Train’. ‘Triple Anal’. ‘Cyberpsycho Gangbang’. Her body was just as slutty as the simulation BD that Hanako had seen earlier, from her degradingly overstuffed tits to her tiny, cockbulgeable waistline, to her pants-splittingly fat ass; she looked nothing like an esteemed and distinguished Arasaka, and looked instead like the kind of body-warped gutter-whore bimbo that the gangs unwillingly modified to be their permanent fucktoys. “I’m… still in the simulation,” Hanako breathed, hands cupping and mauling her own tits. “This is… this whole thing… I’m in a Doll’s BD.” Michiko feigned surprise. “What? But that would be impossible! That would require me to train a degenerate bimbo into an insatiable cock-starved whore, take her to a ripperdoc, stuff her tits and ass full of chrome, get her a new faceplate and voicebox to look and sound like you, edge her for two months without an orgasm, register her name as Hanako in the Clouds doll registry, then scroll the BD of her denial-soaked slutholes getting railed by a train of thugs, and then make you relive it as if you’re in her body.” Michiko paused for a moment, brow furrowed and one finger tapping her chin. “Come to think of it, that all sounds pretty doable, doesn’t it?” The door reopened behind her, and a huge black man stooped to pass under the frame. Two powerfully built Japanese men came next, their muscular bodies pulling their clothes tight around them. And then there were three more—at least three more—lingering outside and waiting for their turns to come in. Michiko crawled onto the bed with her, whispering in her ear. “You’ll hear them call your name, you’ll feel them cockslap and cum on your face, and you’ll hear your voice thanking them and begging for more.” “You two look like those ‘Saka cunts,” the black man growled in a deep voice, popping his neck left and right. There was an outrageous bulge in his pants like a heavily-loaded satchel hanging from his crotch. “Always wanted to drill those corposluts.” “Half the city wants to drill those corposluts,” replied the nearest Asian, already reaching down to grope his groin. Hanako’s eyes widened as the pant leg outlined a long, huge log of fucking cockmeat that sagged the fabric almost down to his knees. “And the other half has probably drilled these two instead,” confirmed the third. Hanako flushed at the indecency of their language, and the obscene, perverse sizes of their fat fuckhoses. But there was something else she couldn’t deny, and that was that the woman in the original BD was achingly wet to get slammed between all three huge men. Braindances synchronized the haptic, sensory, and tactile sensations of the scroller with the scrollee, meaning that as much as Hanako was disgusted by this deplorable, depraved travesty, she also got the same gnawing, throbbing, molten heat boiling through her pussy, the same aching twitch of her stiff clit, the same simmering ocean of untapped lust churning inside her. The other Hanako, the… impostor… eyed those arm-length slabs of pelvis-breaking rape as if they were injections of a favorite drug to an addict. In a way, they were. Michiko touched her face and pulled her closer, until their cheeks were touching and their lips almost brushed together. Hanako felt wetness dribble down her seething quim and it made her shudder in revulsion and lust at the same time. Then she felt her niece’s hand slip into her bra and caress her breast. Their lips met. She gulped and fought to quell the shaking in her hands. Her pussy clenched, and a flutter of arousal coiled inside her stomach. The tip of her tongue touched Michiko lightly. She parted her lips slightly. Hanako pressed herself to her niece; her tongue slipped between her lips. She sighed in pleasure. Then she was kissing her deeply, passionately, angling her hips and parting her legs, pressing the molten mound of her steaming vulva into Michiko’s thigh, grinding against her and moaning into her mouth. Hanako tried to pull away, but she couldn’t, and her hands and tongue and lips and pussy didn’t respond to her, moving by someone else’s accord. She knew it wasn’t her body, and she had no control over any of her movements or choices. And yet, the tactile sensations were every bit as real as if it was her body. She tasted the cherry gloss of Michiko’s lips and felt the aching twitch of her clit throbbing with blood. She felt Michiko’s hand groping her breast, thumb sliding over her hard nipple. Her breath hitched, and somewhere deep in her subconscious she had an intense feeling of déjà vu, as if she had experienced this braindance before. A strong hand grabbed her wrist and lifted her hand up, shoving it roughly against a tube of meat so huge she thought it must have been a muscled bicep. Hanako couldn’t turn to look at it, and so instead she was left to imagine its dimensions from the space between her thumb and fingers. Thick, gnarled veins bulged under the hot, throbbing flesh, so terrifyingly solid. Her hand moved a long, long way before it finally smacked against the root and stopped at his pelvis, and the woman that Hanako was trapped inside of gave a throaty, guttural groan as she leaked all over Michiko’s leg. Her eyelids fluttered, her hand started to pump back up the shaft, and a second gigantic, anaconda-sized penis was slapped into her other hand. Her heart raced; she poured her drool across Michiko’s tongue. This woman, this Hanako imposter, was a depraved whore. A worthless piece of shit who had completely abandoned all decency and surrendered herself to be meat and holes for carnal, visceral pleasure. “Over here, big boys… mmm fuck… you feel like you got some BIG FUCKIN’ DICKS!” The voice was flawlessly, unmistakably Hanako’s, but without any hint of refinement or dignity to it. Every syllable seemed saturated in crude vulgarity, as if she was getting brutally fucked already… just from the simple act of holding their humongous fuckprongs! The impostor pulled away from Michiko’s drool-coated lips to regard the men’s enormous pricks, and inside, Hanako fell speechless. They were cudgels—gargantuan fence posts made of vein-choked cockmeat! She didn’t want them anywhere near her; one look at those heavy fucktrunks could confirm that just one of those things would complete rearrange her insides around its monstrous shaft… but all three of them would split even a cyber-enhanced woman in half! “Why don’t you bring those over here… SLAP THEM ONTO MY DOLLED-UP LIL CORPO-WHORE FACE… Nngh… mmmph… and let me FUGGINGGGG CHOOOKE MYSELF ON THEM? Ahn… I’ll SLURP ON THEM SOOO FUGGING WET AND NASTY FOR YOUUU, STUDS!” “You heard her, boys! Hanako Arasaka wants to get her face smacked around under those hot, throbbing cocks!” Michiko crawled behind her on the bed, pressing her bulging fuckmelons into her aunt’s back as she held Hanako’s head in place. Hanako’s restrictive, conservative values warred with the hypersexualized moans and the full-body micro-orgasms that tremored through the other woman—and through her. She felt her own flesh heating up as their hands grabbed her tits and her throat and the side of her face and her arms. She was like a plaything to them, her whole body was just meat to grope and fat to slap and curves to squeeze as she pressed herself into their hands, begging for more. One hot log of Japanese fuckflesh dropped across her upturned face from one cheekbone up over her eye and across her forehead, pressing down onto her face with its weight. It was so long that it passed the top of her head and draped in a downward arc behind her, the twitching, leaking cumhole staring right at Michiko behind her. In her other eye, she saw a flicker of resentment in the black man’s eyes as he stroked his ebony python with long pumps, swelling it to full hardness so close to her that his fist knocked her chin at the apex of each stroke, his bloated tip leaking directly onto her lips. The imposter Hanako was probably too blissed out on cocklust to tell, but the real Hanako could expertly discern his disgust at the corpo-elite. How could he not be disgusted by such a depraved whore? In public, Hanako Arasaka was the buttoned-up, dignified leading woman of the Arasaka family, giving no outward sign that anything was amiss. But behind closed doors? She was letting these strangers swab their gruesome monstercocks all over her face, jerking off on her, slapping her ass and crushing her fuckcow tits. For reasons that she quite articulate, she hated this other woman for the way she degraded the Arasaka name. There was a small part of her that was glad for the resentment she saw on his face; she wanted the imposter to get treated more harshly than this… wanted her to be punished for being such a deranged slut and wearing Hanako’s face to do it. “Come oooon,” the imposter said, his cockhead so close that her lips distorted around the tip as she spoke. “Mark me like your bitch! Mushroom stamp my whore face with your big, fat cocks!” Hanako could feel the heat coming off the bitch’s simmering pussy. She was already soaking wet before the third man stepped up to the side and eclipsed her other eye socket with his veiny dick. Her nose was pinched between the two white cocks, and her mouth was panting hot breaths over that black shaft. Churning, molten balls as big as her fists swayed and slapped at the sides of her head, and she felt precum spilling down her scalp with honeyed slowness. “You really should be ashamed for rubbing your cocks on such an elite, pure Arasaka… you nasty fuckers.” She seemed to understand how to wield Hanako’s sterling reputation to provoke even greater abuse from the three enormous thugs. At the mere mention of the word ‘pure’, one of them—her eyes were covered by slabs of dick, so she couldn’t tell who—spit a wad of slimy throatslop directly onto an exposed part of her face, then slapped their cock noisily and wetly onto the mess, slathering it across her features. For once, the fake Hanako and the real Hanako had a uniquely shared enjoyment of fake Hanako getting degraded like that. “Fuckin’ corposlut bitch!” One of them growled, just before the black man speared his prick through her lips. “What I’d do to skullfuck the real cunt!” He’s not disgusted by this fake Hanako, she realized with growing dread as her lips wrapped his warm, fleshy obelisk. He’s disgusted by the real Hanako… by ME! She couldn’t fathom that thought at the moment, because the fake Hanako’s fat lips parted and pressed her inflated, donut-shaped maw around a fist-sized cockhead. Her tongue lapped at the meaty engorgement, and she slowly devolved into making out with a stranger’s freakishly huge fuckpole, moaning and groping it as her pussy’s heat spread and her slit began to literally drip. “Mmm… hmmm-hnngh… fmmmck-mmm…” Her drool was running like a faucet all over his fat crown, and she licked and guzzled at the slimy precum that leaked onto her tongue. Hanako could barely think straight over the constant choking of her gag reflex, the ache in her jaw as she sucked his cock, the overpowering salty taste of his prejizz and the many hands grabbing her body. Then, without warning, the cock was wrenched from her mouth amid an explosion of spit. Her mouth dropped open, tongue out, desperate, and another cock was crammed through her lips. Her head bobbed up and down, twisting and turning, bulging out one cheek as his knob warped the shape of her delicate face. He pumped in and out of her maw roughly, using her lips and tongue to polish his dick, and Hanako couldn’t stop the imposter from spreading her legs. Michiko reached around her and petted her soaking cunny as her eyelids fluttered. She was absolutely enthralled by the taste of his salty precum surging from his dick and blasting into her mouth. Her hands found the black man’s prick as she pumped at it furiously, and Hanako was tossed between conflicting sensations like driftwood in a sea storm. She had never felt her mouth open so wide before, not even during a huge yawn! She could barely imagine how she must look, with her face stretching to wrap itself around a common thug’s gigantic fuckstaff. They passed her mouth around for many minutes, sawing their enormous meaty prongs back and forth, violating her with increasing roughness. The imposter gurgled with panty-slopping delight as Michiko warmed her up for some brutal penetrations, expertly rubbing at her needy slit until the hole between her legs was a molten, seething, sopping mound of engorged cuntmeat. Spit and precum plastered her face, and Hanako could barely see through the thickly glazed mask of whore-spit and cock-slop. Her skin felt hot. Her chest heaved and her nipples hardened further as strong hands crushed her tits and pinched and pulled on her stiff teats. “Come on!” Michiko goaded them on. She pulled the cock out of Hanako’s mouth, spit on it, then slapped it against both of their outstretched tongues. “Make the Arasaka’s your cock-blasted nut sponges! Just motherfucking rut those dicks into our skulls!” Michiko wasn’t left out from the depravity. They spread her legs and spanked her pussy hard enough that she squirted, and Hanako found herself wanting that. She wasn’t sure if the desire came from her or the imposter, but her pussy was already a twitching pile of glistening, dribbling meat bucking at the empty air, begging for someone to come along and—
SLAP!
Her pelvis shot upward, legs lewdly spread, as a big, meaty hand cracked down directly into the delta of her slobbering twat. There was a noisy, gibbering squelch as wetness sluiced through his fingers and his cupped palm mashed into her soggy folds. He pulled his hand away, and Hanako tried to suck in hisses of hot air through her clenched teeth, her body tightening in the buildup to an explosive climax.
SLAP!
He hit her again, and this time she completely lost the ability to breathe at all.
SLAP!
“Hiiiiirrrrrgggghhhhh!!!!” On the third strike, Hanako was cumming, spraying her juices directly into his palm as it sealed over her pussy, forceful arcs of squirt fanning out like the blast caused by a thumb pressed over the mouth of a garden hose. Hanako’s brain was skewered with a thousand stabbing spikes of white-hot pleasure, and then suddenly her hands were grabbing that wrist and her slick pelvis was humping his fingers as they plunged into her greedy, sucking hole. “This ‘Saka pig looks disgusting when she cums!” laughed the black man. “Listen to her grunt and howl!” He shoved a hand into her face as if to push her away from him, but her eyes rolled back and her tongue flopped out to drag over the creases in his palm, licking between his digits as her muffled oinks and squeals separated her from any respectable woman. And then they were shoving her onto her back, with Michiko still behind her, wrapping her limbs around Hanako’s arms and legs to subdue her as a hulking behemoth of fuckbeef slapped down atop her drooling, spitting cunny. Her pussy lips bulged around the meaty goliath as it pressed into her mons, pissing fat bolts of lumpy precum into her steaming fucktunnel. Hanako hissed through her teeth as liquid pleasure poured into her, and a molten bar of black fuckpipe was fed into her sucking, frothing pussy— * * * * * * * * * * Oda ripped the wreath off her head with an explosion of raw sensory data crashing into her lane a wave of roaring static. Hanako gasped in shock and fell out of her chair, convulsing on the ground next to a handcuffed Michiko, who grinned lewdly at her with one cheek flattened against the floor. “Hanako-san, can you hear me?” he called out to her. She could still taste cock on her tongue, her nipples stood out like twin tents under her blazer. Her eyes darted wildly all around the room before alighting on Oda, who knelt over her with a hand on her neck to check her pulse. Inexplicably, she caught herself staring at his inseam and trying to guess how he might measure up to the men in the fuck room. Her mouth started to water, but she quickly dismissed the thought and allowed her bodyguard to perform the diagnostic on her interface. You need someone to diagnostic the everliving FUCK out of your ‘interface’, don’t you? Hanako stiffened, hearing her own thoughts in her own voice, just as in the braindance. But she had no excuse for such crudeness now, not when she was out of the simulation and alone with her thoughts. Her nipples were painfully tenting the fabric of her dress so hard that she knew she should have worn a bra today. But how could any bra fit her immense 46F bust? It was impossible, and she found the very idea of it so… restrictive. Sure, 46F was big, but not too big to be taken seriously, just as she liked it. Why cover up one of her best negotiating tools under such drab undergarments? She ran a hand over one explosively curvy hip and pursed her collagen-stuffed lips in consternation. The outfit that she had selected this morning seemed… different somehow, but she couldn’t figure out how. Her shoes were the same six-inch platform heels that she always wore, as they were the pinnacle of professionalism. Her nails were expertly manicured and lacquered, extending out exactly two inches past each fingertip. Nothing unusual there. Her large hoop earrings and gold choker were in place and glittered teasingly in the light. Her short, tight little white dress clung to the curves of her hourglass figure like she’d been vacuum-packed into it. It had a deep, U-shaped neckline, inside of which bulged sumptuous swathes of Hanako’s lightly tanned cleavage, with just a hint of her goosebumped areolae peeking out too, so every time she leaned forward it looked like her nipples were about to pop out into the open at any second. It had slim straps looping up and around her shoulders—the only way to hold it up since her fat fuck-jugs were far too cock-fatteningly huge to be contained in a strapless dress—and a plunging, backless design that showcased her slender shoulder blades and the tensing musculature needed to hoist her slut-bags, following all the way down her spine to the tops of her buttocks. The sides of her dress were transparent all the way up, clearly revealing that there was no panty strings resting on her hips, not that underwear would have fit under the tight dress anyway. It was a negotiation tool, just like her obscene breasts and her heavily augmented, twerking, fat dumper, which wobbled and clapped with every slight shift of her hips. Yes, of course, she knew that… somehow… these strange fashion and body decisions were pivotal in controlling the Arasaka Corporation with grace and finesse. She was wearing her long raven black hair loose today. It tumbled around her shoulders and upper back in luxuriant waves, tousled from her fall and the BD wreath to give her a bedroom look. And her face was immaculately made up, with glossy crimson lipstick, smoky eyeliner, charcoal mascara, and just a hint of peach blusher under her cheekbones. She noticed her hand steadying herself on Oda’s leg, pressed unusually high up his thigh, fingers flexing gently against fabric, searching for some kind of thick meat. She pulled her hand away, but still saw the wrinkles in his suit pants. “What do you want us to do with her, Hanako-san?” he asked tersely, his body stiff and his face confused by her behavior. Her eyes were drawn to Michiko, whose hands were cuffed behind her but was otherwise unharmed. Oda was a consummate professional, and even with Hanako in danger, he could still neutralize the younger woman without harming any of the Arasaka family members. To be honest, Hanako didn’t care what they did with Michiko. She just wanted everyone to leave her alone for the next hour. Those braindance scrolls had put her in a strangely aroused mood, and she needed a few minutes to calm herself, either by breathing exercises or by… more physical ways. But then, she had an idea so raunchy that it could only have come out of the imposter Hanako’s head. “I want you to personally take her to Clouds,” she told Oda, smirking knowingly at Michiko. “Trick her out with the best augments, bankrolled from my personal account, no trace back to the Arasaka Corporation. Give her a Doll implant, some humiliating gigantic fucking knockers, the biggest ass on the implant market, and then… turn her loose on Jig-Jig Street. Code in some malware that will shred her neural interface if she tries to remove the new implants, and drop her in the roughest, most violent corner of that neighborhood you can find.” Oda hesitated. “Are you sure?” Hanako grinned even wider as the panic sank in on her niece’s face. “I’m positive. Watson Whore is going to be your fucking biopic, Michiko. You’ll be taking so much dick you’ll need secondary ports for breathing and shitting.” She snickered triumphantly to herself as Oda led a struggling Michiko out of her office and they disappeared into the elevator. Hanako felt her bare pussy moisten at the mere prospect of Michiko being punished so lewdly. Her own juices continued to spill down her legs for many long minutes as she fantasized about her disobedient slutty niece being torn open on so much cock that her body doubled its weight in anonymous gonk cum sloshing inside her. She hoped they treated Michiko ten times rougher than what she had experienced through that imposter whore’s braindance. For the rest of the day, Hanako couldn’t get those gigantic, nasty cocked out of her head. She kept imagining Michiko being thrust into by lurching, slobbering gangoons, spaced out on cocktails of drugs and cyberpsychotic lust, ravaging her holes with footlong cocks. Her mind was barely on work, but instead on fantasizing about the biggest, ogrish, knuckle-dragging brutes carving out Michiko’s guts on their huge, hard, hot, throbbing cocks. Nothing else seemed important or of the slightest interest to her. Her cunny was a constant sopping mess throughout the day, and she spent many of her private moments with a hand between her thighs, imagining that lithe, tight, fuckable Japanese body barely visible in the humping, thrusting pile of muscled thugs and vein-choked monstercocks. Her juices continued dribbling down her legs, which was unmistakably obvious given how her dress ended so shortly at mid thigh. Frequent trips into her private restroom when she couldn’t prevent herself from moaning, and she seemed to always come back to a line of workers waiting impatiently for her to answer this or that email, schedule this or that meeting, critique this or that design plan. The clattering of her platform heels as she trotted off to go masturbate meant that she could never slip away from her desk unnoticed. She would stare at the files spread across her desk, but she couldn’t even summon the focus or care to read the words on them. It was impossible to type up emails when Michiko was getting SMASHED by brutal, savage slabs of augmented fuckbeef, reshaping her entire torso around their gargantuan prongs. With those thoughts floating through her mind, her fingers were very active under her short dress. The hours dripped away just like her pussy juice did, forming a puddle at her feet of wasted time and wasted lust at the end of the day. Still Oda had not returned. She told herself that Oda missing was a reason to investigate, a reason to take the trip down to Jig-Jig Street. It never occurred to her that she had given him hours of work to do, and that she had instructed him to personally oversee it. It never occurred to her that everything was being handled by his usual capable professionalism. No, she needed to see the job done. She needed to see those massive, heavy, flopping fuckhoses core out her niece, she needed to get close to the quivering dual craters of her cunt and ass, blasting thick slimy waterfalls of lumpy, chunky, steaming semen all over the street corner. She needed to see those cocks in action, crashing into Michiko’s pornographically hypersexualized body, bulging out her skin with their immense fucklogs, making her moan and scream and cum her brains out. She needed to see that. To confirm Oda’s task was completed, of course. She took her personal vehicle, a customized luxury Rayfield Aerondight S9 Guinevere. The hex-turbocharged V16 12.4 liter engine could be heard from three blocks away, and all of the drugged-out plebs and grimy-fingered mercs poured out of their holes to get a look as it drove past. Not that she cared; the car’s windowless body design provided her the absolute privacy to openly masturbate at every red light, even as the more daring—or drunk—walked right up to the driver side and tried unsuccessfully to peer in. She watched them, and rubbed faster, even pulling down her dress and mashing her obscenely gigantic tits against the bulletproof glass where their faces lingered. The external view was projected inside the cabin using Rayfield’s patented CrystalDome technology. “You like those fat fucking milk tanks slapping your head, don’t you?” she hissed through clenched teeth, one full hand pumping in and out of her meaty, sloshing pussy. “Look at you, swabbing your nasty, sweaty dirt and oils all over my perfect titties! I bet my niece would lick your fucking ass! She’d let you jerk off into her busted bucket cunt while I suck your balls!” The Guinevere’s auto-drive took over as Hanako finally pulled both hands from the steering wheel and jilled herself senseless, moaning and screaming inside the impenetrable vehicle. She was a dripping mess when she finally arrived at Jig-Jig Street, parking haphazardously and lurching out of the car. She couldn’t waste any time—she had to see those humongous fuckmasts destroying a tiny Japanese body now! Without any bodyguard, she staggered into the nearest alley. Her Trauma Team infolink warned her that this was a particularly violent neighborhood run by the Animals, and that there were 117 open NCPD cases for sexual assault that had been filed within three blocks just this month. Michiko wouldn’t have lasted more than ten minutes before getting piston-fucked to oblivion by a train of psychotic degenerates! Hanako followed the Ping hack to find Michiko’s signal, and, true to his word, Oda had indeed taken her to the roughest part of the city. Barely two hundred feet from here, in fact. She opened a nav point and followed the path through stinking alleys and grimy burned-out warehouses until she heard the fleshy slaps of many, many bodies crashing together in a sweat-slick pile. Hanako rounded the corner, activating all of her defensive implants, just in case. She took two steps around the corner and nearly crashed into the outer perimeter of a circle of men in the dozens. She found herself staring at a wall of back muscles as broad as a fridge, and when she let out a small gasp, three of the onlookers turned and saw her. “Hey! Here’s another one!” They grabbed her entire forearm in one hand and yanked her forward. “Must be her sister!” She was shoved into the crowd, deeper and deeper into the press of bodies, before finally being squeezed out into the opening at its center. “Get the fuck away from me, you animals!” she sneered. But then a netrunner from somewhere in the crowd bombarded her firewall with quickhacks. Then another. Then another. She had the highest encryption possible, but there must have been fifty men here, and probably a dozen different runners trying to break her protections simultaneously. “Get out of my head, fucking pieces of shit! I’ll rip your dicks off with my teeth and spit them back in your fac—” Her voice trailed off as she heard Michiko’s moans behind her. She turned and saw her sandwiched between three huge guys, each one extensively modified to the very limit of cyberpsychosis. They withdrew their fat pricks from her holes with a wet, meaty belch of displaced air. The cocks that she’d seen in the braindance at Clouds had been as big as her arm. The cocks she saw here today on these men were as big as their arms, and seemed twice as long as the footlong pythons she had been expecting. “God… damn!” she gasped, in spite of herself, her eyes transfixed. She’d never seen such heavy, thick, brutal lengths of meat! Their cocks didn’t just bob between their legs—they flopped, they swung like elephant trunks. Those gigantic slabs hung down past their knees, bulging with veins, knotted with scar tissue from numerous implants being inserted and added to in ever-increasing sizes and extremisms. Each one of those weighty sledgehammers pointed toward a different ruined hole on her niece’s body. There was no telling how long she had been here, but she had been broken in well before Hanako had arrived. At that exact moment, half a dozen quickhacks penetrated her ICE wall and exploded through her deck. Neural shocks, Overheats, Brain scrambles, Sensory overloads… she couldn’t even process them all. But they all had the similar effect of discombobulating her and sending her hormonal regulators into overdrive. While staring at those disgusting, grotesquely mutilated monstercocks, Hanako’s brain was flooded with pleasure chemicals like a thousand kisses from her true love. It was like falling in love at first sight. “Hanako!” Her niece gaped at her deliriously. “Being a braindead cum toilet is the best ever! I’m in love with splitting my shitter open on their brutal cooooocks!” Hanako wanted to… run? No, that didn’t seem right. No, she wanted to… wanted to…. “I can’t believe… what you’ve done… to your body…” Hanako crawled up onto Michiko’s lap, running her fingers over the rim of that excavated fuck-cavern. Without even trying, her hand slid right in barely touching the walls. Her own skirt rode up over her trim, petite asshole and her narrow slit, showcasing the shocking difference between the two women. Michiko’s cunt muscles weakly twitched around Hanako’s wrist, but her delicate forearm was way to slender to elicit any tightness from those ruined muscles. The smell of wet, queefing pussy was overpowering, and Hanako thought it was her niece’s slobbering, sloppy twat she was smelling. She was wrong. And the Animals, true to their name, could smell the ripe, wet, readiness of her cunt as she began to churn her fist in and out of Michiko’s sagging hole, mesmerized at how devastated her niece’s body was. She would need a completely new cunt canal, an artificial fucktunnel, an implanted cocksleeve to replace the her old one. It seemed impossible that any woman could wear out the lifetime warranty on a VelvetVise pussy replicant in a single afternoon, but somehow Michiko had done exactly that. “If you didn’t have money,” Hanako moaned into Michiko’s face, “this would be your sloppy twat forever.” Her hand started to pump harder. “You’d have this disgusting busted-out bucket cunt… this slack, mashed-out meaty hole dropping out whenever you open your legs… for the rest of your life!” Michiko grabbed Hanako’s wrist and began to really piston her arm into that sagging tunnel, grating her knuckles against the back wall of her breedpit. Without knowing when it happened, they were both moaning and Hanako was fisting her niece, pressing their tits together and making out with her. She felt a gigantic, spongy crown mash at her own drooling slit, and Hanako thrust backward without thought, her body craving the penetration on an unconscious level. Hanako’s mind went blank with lust. She spread her legs wider as the Animals laughed and cheered, many of them openly masturbating now. The man behind her wore a long Mohawk that closely resembled the mane on a horse, and his genital enhancements had followed suit. He mashed the spongy, flaring tip against her swollen pussy folds, applying insistent pressure. Hanako squirmed, but her body demanded a big, fat cock, and it refused to listen to any sensible words from her lust-fogged mind. Not that she had any sensible words to give while she and her niece were sucking on each other’s tongues. “The other ‘Saka cunt is too fuckin’ broken,” he growled as his cock slid into her. “Too useless. There’s just empty, raped-out mindlessness in her eyes now. But you…,” he slapped one fat ass cheek and pulled it open wider. “You want this.” Even in her crazed stupor, the words penetrated even deeper than his cock. ‘Saka. Arasaka. “You… know… who we are?” He laughed, and others followed suit. “Animals. Maelstrom. VooDoo Boys. We all know who you are.” His voice held an edge on the word ‘know’, as if it had a more lewd subtext, in the sense that a pornstar was ‘known’ by her fans. But that was impossible; Hanako had never had sex with anyone in Night City, and only a scant few very secret encounters back in Tokyo. “You… don’t know… me…,” she moaned, thinking to call his bluff. But he slammed his hips forward suddenly, exploding his cock deep into her core, and the words blasted out of her without conscious thought. “OhhhhGAWD!” She shuddered, climaxing instantly, uncontrollably, and the next words tumbled from her mouth in a long stream. “Stir me up with that big dick, daddy! Smack around my FAAAT FUGGING ASS while my slutty honeypot eats that horsecock!” “OhhhhGAWD! Stir me up with that big dick, daddy! Smack around my FAAAT FUGGING ASS while my slutty honeypot eats that horsecock!” The words echoed from a playback speaker being held up by one of the many spectators. “OhhhhGAWD! Stir me up—YES!—with that big dick, daddy! Smack around my FAAAT FUGGING ASS while my tight slutty honeypot slurps on that horsecock!” came her voice again, subtly different inflections from another, different playback device. “OhhhhGAWD! Daddy’s corposlut is cumming! Stir me up with that big dick, daddy! Smack around my FAAAT FUGGING ASS while my greedy honeypot sucks your fugging horsecock!” There were more, but they each had tiny variations on the wording and tone, sometimes with her sobbing in defeat, other times purring like a sultry sex kitten. Her confusion mounted, and she couldn’t think and couldn’t stop fisting Michiko and couldn’t stop kissing her and couldn’t stop cumming on that cock and couldn’t stop anything as he started to thrust in and out of her juicy, sloshing pussy. “Do you get it now?” Michiko groaned, sucking at her aunt’s bottom lip and nibbling it gently. “That you’ve been here before… done this before?” She stared into Michiko’s eyes as the huge thug behind her sank two feet of horsecock into her pussy. She knew such a monstrous, fencepost-sized cudgel should have broken her, but it penetrated with such ease. More than that, it reminded her how hollow she felt without it. It would feel soooo good to be full again, like last time….
Last time?
With her arm buried up to the elbow in Michiko’s sloppy cunt, some broken memories were pushed into the spotlight by the cock pushing inside her, churning up into her stomach and shoving her organs aside. Memories of Clouds, of Doll gangbangs, of incestuous lesbian scissoring, of hands tearing off her clothes and multiple pairs of hands mauling her gigantic tits. They hadn’t always been this big…. “Fuck! That ass is even bigger than last time!” laughed the horsecocked thug behind her, pummeling her obscenely wobbling cheeks with a rain of blows and stinging slaps. “I fattened it just for you, daddy!” The words jumped out of Hanako’s mouth as warm familiarity flooded her brain. “See how much it JIGGLES AROUND on your BIG, FAT HORSECOCK! Gawd, it needs to be spanked SOOO BAD right now!” Her psyche was standing on the edge of a cliff, as if in a dream. And just as she felt him harden inside her, his thrusts growing rougher and faster, she felt her psyche extend one foot off the cliff. And then, with a soupy, sloshing, chunky spew of anonymous stranger spunk busting through her cervix and into her womb, Hanako fell off the cliff. But, just like in a dream, the plummet was too slow and too surreal to be authentic. Instead, she tumbled through layer after layer of suppressed memories, of experiences that she had lived—not through braindances, but through reality! Enormous VooDoo Boys slamfucking her between their huge black bodies, balls slapping at her ass cheeks and chin, her petite hands pumping hot, hard obsidian shafts, begging for them to clog her airways with their salty ball bisque and literally drown her in it, as she screamed over and over about how much she wanted to have her throat and lungs packed full of it, motherfucking murdered by nut. And psychotic, drugged-out Maelstrom boys hammering into her ass, into her mouth, prolapsing her pussy and fucking her exposed cervix, even shoving their cocks into her augmented breasts and fucking her nipples! She remembered being dragged over to the toilet in some nameless, decrepit Maelstrom hive and shoved face first into the bowl. She remembered the humiliation, and the wetness in her cunt as one long train of drugged-out gangoons grabbed her hips and plowed her from behind. She remembered her head banging painfully against the inside of the toilet bowl, and the shuddering thrusts and one throbbing prick after another ejaculated into her womb. She remembered herself climaxing uncontrollably, unable to shut up, and one Maelstrom leader closing the lid on her and flushing to shut the bitch up. As the cold water had splashed against her face, she had thanked them. And the Animals, with their synthetic adrenaline boosters and animorphic enhancements, all rage and primal lust, smashing her against the walls, against tables and floors, rutting into her dozens at a time, uncaring for the many sloppy creampies that each man plunged his dick into. They were feral, and thought only of the pleasure of her degraded meat sleeve gripping and milking their disgusting, beastly prongs. And through each layer she fell, further and further backward through time, Hanako remembered her body changing, until she recalled the very first incident, where Michiko had tricked her into a gangbang with the Tyger Claws. The racial tension had been boiling, and Hanako had felt the anger every time they bit down on one of her natural B-cup titties. This was before the slow, creeping advancement of slutty modifications, and Michiko was there for every encounter, corrupting her. “There was no ‘imposter Hanako’. Do you see now?” Back in reality, Michiko grabbed Hanako’s colossal fuckballoons and buried her face in those fat F-cups. “You’re scrolling yourself, you dumb cunt. Every time, it’s always been you watching the previous version of your own cock addiction.” No imposter? But Hanako had hated that whore in the braindance! She’d hated how the bitch was destroying her own reputation, and, more importantly, Hanako had fantasized about that horny slut getting demolished on freakish monstercocks. But that horny slut was her. It had always been her, destroying Hanako’s reputation. It had always been her deserving to get demolished on freakish monstercocks. She nearly passed out from sexually depraved ecstasy as the horsecock was violently ripped out of her cunt. A deluge of semen spilled out of her gaping hole, but it was only mere seconds before another contender stepped forward and crammed his bloated penis into her. He grabbed her shoulders and started to ram into her without compassion, simply brutalizing her soft body in service to his cock. But Hanako’s defensive cybernetics kicked in—the reinforced muscles and the cellular regeneration, and with an animalistic roar of surprised delight, he bellowed, “She’s as good as new boys! Tightens right back up!” After that, there was no reason to go easy on her. Horsecocks, fat canine knots, barbed feline penises, heavy slabs of bullmeat, there were no end to the zoophilic monstrosities that were crammed into her pussy, and her ass, and her mouth. She heard the words escape from her mouth in between choking on four thick fingers and one monstrously bulging dog knot. “Slap my whore face! Rape our ‘Saka slutholes! No condoms—just fucking nut in our fucking cunts!” It came out as if it was some habit ingrained through dozens of such outings, completely bypassing her conscious mind. She wanted to say that no, she absolutely didn’t want that—but even if she was willing to risk angering fifty savage Animal thugs… would it even have been true? It scared her… but at the same time, she was so wet that she was practically drooling from her cunt. “Slap…,” she said, in a dry, awkward voice, “slap my wh-whore face….” “That’s what you want, bitch?” “Yes,” she breathed. And he slapped her hard across the face. Hanako felt the wind go out of her, and all resistance went with it. The knowledge filled her that this was really happening—she was going to be fucked nearly to death by these brutish monsters, her body used to satisfy their carnal needs whether she wanted it or not. There was nothing she could do to prevent it; in fact, it had already happened dozens or hundreds of times before, and her body remembered it all, even though her brain was wiped. Her body gyrated and slid against their pelvises and rolled her hips and devoured their cocks and yielded to every savage thrust. She had always been a whore; she had just forgotten. Syrupy canine sperm and lumpy, chunky horse semen sprayed over tits and face and ass and she gasped. “Nnngh! Fucking coat us both!” she moaned, her shapely lips locking over Michiko’s mouth as they snowballed huge loads of spit and cum back and forth. Their chins glistened with a constant stream of gooey jizz that carried the pungent scent of hot, sweaty, raw sex. Hanako and Michiko were pulled apart and smashed by one cock after another, sometimes two or three or four or five at a time, their bodies shuddering from the onslaught of relentless fleshy impacts. Hanako’s body sizzled with arousal and need, and her shoulders pulled back so her tits could be thrust outward for every vile method of abuse. Her cellular regeneration was working constantly to repair her damaged innards, but also recalibrate her nerves to adjust to greater and greater levels of damage. She realized with a shuddering moan that it must have been doing this very thing for months or even years, conditioning her to crave and consume the filthiest, nastiest cumloads out of the biggest, fattest, most fucked-up degenerate cocks. Her cellular regeneration had made her a total masochist cockwhore for violent criminals! The Animals wasted no time in making use of Michiko and Hanako, violating them in every hole with bloated, deformed cocks stretched and scarred by numerous implants to achieve the shapes and proportions of beasts. These were not full genital replacements, but rather alterations to their biological equipment. As such, Hanako knew that each defiling ejaculation that flooded her womb was packed with viable sperm. But she didn’t care about the risk; all she cared about was the fat fuckpipes prying open her lips, her cunt, and her ass, skewering into her body, bulging her stomach and throat. Lumpy dog-like sperm burst from her nose and her eyes rolled back. When there was a brief lull in the action, Hanako slid off the numerous cocks stuffed into her ass and collapsed on the ground next to Michiko. Under the pounds and pounds of nut sludge that painted her body, her niece was barely recognizable as a human, much less an Arasaka. But Hanako straddled Michiko’s slimy thighs, lifting one of her niece’s leg up vertical and setting it on her shoulder, sliding her pelvis up into the delta of Michiko’s simmering pussy. Even though Michiko was laying down and Hanako was sitting upright, their breasts were so unfathomably huge that the bulging orbs slapped together between them, compressing as Hanako leaned in, grinding her quim against her niece’s own slippery, soaking wet gash. “We Arasaka cunts are… too slutty to ever run a business!” Hanako seethed. They both moaned in unison, and their hands moved to knead each other’s swollen nipples and grope huge handfuls of titflesh. “Look at these fat fucking knockers! They get bigger and lewder every time!” “Oda might walk into your office and slap his cock on your face, and you’d suck it on instinct!” “Oh, fffuck!” Hanako moaned. “I could never… that would be so… degrading!” But her protestations were worthless against the lie detector test that was her steaming, slobbering twat mashing and sliding against her niece’s slit. She knew that her body would be so conditioned for rough, savage sex that she would probably force herself on him like a feral bitch in heat! “Someone as honorable and dignified as him… would spit on me! He would call me a worthless piece of shit! A plow-sow not fit to carry the Arasaka name! Oh, god, I’m cumming from the thought of it!” “Yes! I would suck his cock while he chokes the life out of me!” Michiko blurted, unable to stop herself. Her pussy was on fire. Hanako’s wet cunt grinding into it was too much! “He can punchfuck my womb and clog me up with his nutslop… and tell me how disgraceful I am… how much he hates me!” “Yes!” Hanako hissed back. “I’d let him crush me in a mating press and piss his cum straight into my baby sack!” She could barely think straight, especially as the ring of Animals jerked their bloated, bestial, abominable monstercocks all around them. With each guttural groan and sudden surge of hips, with every fleshy slap of balls against thighs, with every roaring ejaculation that blasted from a bulging cumpipe, the Arasaka bitches descended further into their depraved fantasies. “Would you really fuck Oda?” Michiko asked, on the verge of orgasm herself. “Would you grunt like a pig as he fucking impales you on his cockspear? Would your cervix suck him into that busted baby sack and let him use it as his personal cum sewer?” “YEEEESSSS!!!” Through their combined geysers of hot, splattery squirt, Michiko made a motion with her head that could have been a nod. The Animals grinned and chuckled to themselves, many of them wringing their floppy fuckhoses out over the whorish bimbos as the crowd began to part near the back of the ring. The chuckles turned to outright laughter, and the rattling of chains and muffled grunting pulled Hanako out of her orgasming stupor to see what all the commotion was about. “Every cycle this happens,” Michiko began, gasping and heaving for air, “every time we go through this process of corrupting you… he’s there… standing in the way. It’s not just you that had to be… readjusted. Your bodyguard always proves to be a stubborn bastard.” Hanako’s eyes widened as the closest, innermost ring of Animals parted, and familiar dress shoes and suit pants staggered through the opening. Arousal and horror crashed together inside her like opposing armies. “In the beginning, in the first few cycles, I simply got some thugs to knock him out. But I’ve been corrupting you like this over a hundred times by now, and, eventually, I asked myself why should I just limit my games to you, Hanako?” Oda lurched and stumbled into the open center, both arms painfully wrenched behind him and bound in heavy chain shackles from elbows to wrists. His shirt and coat were in tatters, displaying the many cybernetic upgrades that had been installed within him. His bulkier, more muscular legs strained his suit pants to the breaking point, and a jail-broken BD wreath was bolted to his cranium, modified with leather straps that crossed over his mouth in a sadomasochistic gag of some sort. His spine protruded from under the skin of his back, and his shoulders were huge enough to shame an ox. His eyes darted everywhere through narrowed slits, barely open, barely cognizant of the world around him, and his skin was drenched with sweat from the heat of dozens of overclocked implants, plus the hundreds of malware-infused daemons that had been uploaded to his cyberdeck, wreaking havoc with his mind. But, while his eyes darted everywhere, Hanako’s eyes were riveted to one place only. “Every cycle, you pick a different gang to ‘punish’ me,” Michiko explained. Unlike Hanako, her niece remembered every cycle of this recurring game. “By now, you’ve probably started to remember glimpses from Maelstrom and the others. But my favorites are always the Animals, because they have access to shit like that.” The brutish hulk did not dangle between his legs but rather sagged—a swaying, hanging, unfurling monster that was as enormous as it was grotesque. It was somehow thicker than Oda’s own legs, and almost as long as them too, hanging all the way to the floor, with the bulbous tip, crusted with bumps and scar tissue from the heavy modifications, nearly brushing the top of her bodyguard’s shoes. The ogrish slab forced his thighs apart with its impossible girth, a testament to how such a monstrosity was thoroughly incompatible with a human body. And yet, there it was. Urethral dilators. Synthetic extenders. Erectile reinforcement. She could see the bumpy distortions of twenty pounds of cyberware bulging and stretching the skin. And behind it were a pair of balls that hung down almost as low as the appendage itself, each colossal cum tank twice as big as his head, nearly as big as Hanako’s degradingly gigantic maxed-out, bolted-on slut-bags. Even from several feet away, her brain got drunk on the musky, animal cock fog that wafted off of that behemoth. It was no feline penis. It was no dog dick. It was no horse cock. It was a disgustingly accurate, anatomically correct elephant fuckspike. “The Animals have the best toys, don’t they?” Michiko asked dreamily, and even she wasn’t immune to the raw brutality of that third leg. It seemed to radiate a sick heat that boiled the air around it, and both Arasaka corposluts fell into a hypnotized trance of worshipful need. Three solid feet of elephant cock… and what must have been forty-pound elephant balls swaying with gravid cum-heaviness. They dominated Hanako’s whole world. “Fuuuuck,” Hanako and Michiko breathed simultaneously, and their optics lit up with pure reverence for that monstrosity. The tip was bigger than both fists laced together, and it leaked a lumpy, chunky river of semen all over the ground. Oda lumbered toward them, his legs bowed and the crotch of his pants split at the seams, unable to close around that freakish, nightmarish thing. By the time he stopped in front of Hanako, the swollen, swaying, elephantine behemoth looked even more ruinously huge. She couldn’t help reaching up and putting her hands on its warm surface. She moaned aloud as she tried to lift it, arms shaking from the strain of so much meaty weight. A bigger burst of chunky sperm splattered over the ground and her legs as she manipulated that brutal shaft, and she groaned with perverse pleasure at the sheer virility of it. Her loyal, stoic bodyguard had been torturously augmented and broken, and all she cared about was the suped-up rape engine that had been forcibly grafted into his body. She peered behind the hanging shaft to where his massive balls were hanging, stretching his scrotal skin with their weight. The skin was thicker and tougher, like an elephant’s hide, and she had no doubt that it was a deliberate and necessary change, for such extreme weight would have surely torn his normal human skin at the seams. The synth-skin matched his original tone fairly well, but the serial numbers clearly indicated that it was an artificial reinforcement. The animal stench of musk and meat and sex and sperm rolled across Hanako’s face, stronger than ever, and she heard a churning noise deep in those boulders that vibrated the ground and made her ribs rumble: the churning of fat nuts working tirelessly to produce an inhuman, inexhaustible supply of porridge-thick, bubbling, slurping, semi-solid sperm. Michiko licked her lips. “It’s always fun breaking you, Hanako,” she cooed as her aunt knee-walked toward that abomination, nuzzling her face into the heavy slab and dragging her tongue over the thick, toughened flesh. “But Oda can do things to you that the entire pack of Animals could never imagine.” A pair of burly, swarthy thugs reached behind Oda and released his shackles before quickly stepping away. His arms shook the chains loose, and for a second he stood there, seething, his chest rising and falling with barely controlled breathing. “God, your cock is so huge,” she marveled, gasping at the throbbing, nasty weight of it. “There’s not a single drop of humanity in this brutish fuckmast. Just the most grotesque mods… the biggest and most inhuman chrome… the most vicious, sadistic hog I’ve ever seen.” She looked up into his barely cognizant face, worshipful tears streaming down her face. “Please, I’m begging you…. Rape me with it! Make me your fuck toilet!” There was no question about it: after being fucked almost to literal death countless times by hundreds—possibly over a thousand—merciless Night City gangoons, her cellular regeneration had become a curse, continuously strengthening and recalibrating her body’s nerve endings as it sought to redefine the organ-smashing, pelvis-breaking gutfucking as ‘normal’. Even the Animals, Maelstrom, VooDoo Boys, 6th Street, all of their most sexually violent psychopaths felt like heavy petting and neck kisses to her. As Oda’s arms snapped forward and locked around her legs, throwing them open, Hanako knew that this was now the only sort of male that her body could desire… the only kind she could respect. His massive cock and balls slammed across her torso and all the way from pussy to face, the most depraved fuck-tech she could’ve imagined… and it was enough to make her drool. “I wanna be your cum ditch!” she gasped, barely able to breathe past the cumbersome weight of his genitals flattening her chest. Her absurd, modified body seemed even more a condemnation when his ghastly thigh-thick fucktube rested in the channel between her huge tits. Those fat orbs were not constructed for any dignified human, just like his cock and balls were not meant for procreating with any creature with an actual soul. No, her fuck-boulders were a sick joke to be laughed at, to be ridiculed amongst actual humans, not for feeding babies or filling out a corporate executive business suit, but rather to be wrapped around an enormous elephant’s disgusting member. “Everyone knows that Arasaka bitches are fucking sluts who only want dick buried between their huge tits. Everyone knows that Arasaka bitches deserve to be thrown on the ground in a filthy fucking alley and pumped with cock. Everyone knows that Arasaka bitches are fucking ready for it!” Her SnakeCharmer implant did its job perfectly, insinuating the idea into every man in range that these Arasaka bitches were meat to be fucked. Her social implant dialed all the way up to the point of red-lining, and suddenly her unproven claim became to them an incontestable truth. Of course Michiko and Hanako were just trenches for men to dig out with their cocks. They were holes to clog with lumpy semen—cum dumpsters, fuckpigs, subhuman trash whose only worth was in their ability to consume all the worst psychopathic tendencies of violent, sadistic, monstercocked gangoons like a bottomless pit of sexual depravity. Oda—or the thing that used to be Oda—lifted and slammed her back down on the cracked concrete. Her cellular regeneration implant had already repaired the hairline fractures before her lecherous moan had fully escaped her mouth. She didn’t care about any damage done to her mind or body. Her implants boosted her durability higher and higher, along with her pleasure/pain threshold. She was dripping for his abuse—the idea that he wouldn’t stop had her cunt absolutely soaked and splashing the insides of her thighs. Oda loomed over her, wrapping one hand around her throat, his other hand pushing the top of his shaft—it was way too wide to actually grip—in line with her slobbering, quivering, queefing cuntmeat. Despite all sanity, the enormous crown of his cum-leaking prong was able to mash enough of itself through her fuck-blasted entrance that those first inches remained lodged there when he removed his hand, guiding it up to join his other around her throat. Drool leaked from the X-gag over his mouth and long strings of it pattered wetly onto her face. He choked her harder, ignoring the way her body bucked upward into him, pressing her curves against his unyielding muscles like an affectionate pet seeking rewards. And only after her face turned red and her eyes rolled back, then he pressed his enormous body down on top of her, easily eclipsing her with his bulk, and his gargantuan prong began to crush its way inexorably through the quivering, fat labia of her hyperstretched sex. Oda gave a beastly, roaring growl from his frothing lips and dropped his hips, tearing open her wet fucktunnel, abrading the walls with the lumpy deformations of his heavily modified shaft. “God… my womb… won’t be worth shit… if you fuck me with that,” she choked out, her pussy clamping down powerfully. But such sudden tightness was not made to keep him out, but rather to suck that freakish column of dickmeat further inside. He pinned her into a mating press and dug his cock all the way to her cervix, the bone-pulverizingly wide cockhead grinding against her womb’s entrance. “The best part of this,” Michiko told her, as fully ten enormously hung men began to crowd around the younger niece, their cocks flopping across her body like fat snakes, “is that you’ve gotten your guts demolished by Oda dozens of times already, but the brain damage is always so intense that Arasaka has to hard-wipe your mind every time. But they can never quite get all of it, and so there’s a few glimpses from each cycle that carry over, snowballing you into a bigger whore, happening so slowly that you never recognize what a cock-starved fuck addict you are. I remember more of it than you, but these bastards are so extreme that even I can’t fully recover from auugggghhhh!” Whatever else was going to say, it was cut off suddenly when two monstrously huge penises were shoved into her gaping mouth, drilling her high-end, elite corpo throat-pussy with over a foot of arm-thick, beefy fuckpipe apiece. Michiko’s eyes rolled back in her head as her SnakeJaw hinge extenders were presented with the maximum girth that they could handle. “This bitch’s face-cunt feels better each time!” one of them groaned, pulling her by the hair and making her neck bulge as two oversized shafts pistoned into her gullet. There was no glimmer of Arasaka respectability to her. She was gurgling… heaving. Sperm-burping. Barfing spit and throat-lube all over their dicks and the front of her body. “Gluuuuuuuuark!” Michiko gagged. “GLUAAAAAAAAAARK! BRUUUAAAGGHHH! GLUUUUUUGGGH!” Her eyes rolled up and her throatslop splattered all over her breasts. Other Animals joined in, sliding underneath her two at a time to stuff her lower holes. And when those were full, more joined in, cramming an extra cock into her pussy, and another into her ass. Michiko’s smooth, seductive body was turned into a fucksack for six cocks. She groaned and shuddered as she gripped her belly—it looked as if half a dozen snakes were prodding, stretching, poking around inside her normally flat belly. Hanako was faring no better, taking a single cock that was equal in length and width to those six cocks combined, and Oda was fucking her from guts to gullet with wild, furious thrusts, tenting her entire torso with the obscene, demented cockbulge that distended her once-petite body. With each backthrust, her body was lifted off the ground, as her wet, meaty hole was stretched so tightly around that savage cuntsplitter that he could lift her body weight on the end of his impaling rod. Hanako climaxed continuously, deliriously, and Oda hoisted her off the ground, grabbing handfuls of her degradingly fat, wobbling ass cheeks. He continued slam-fucking her, crashing her against the alley walls, carrying her mounted to his monstrous prong. Gradually, she noticed a change in her environment—more lights, more noise—as he took her to the mouth of the alley where she had parked her car. Night City never slept, and the streets were just as crowded now as they would be during the peak of day. Old clunkers and off-road trucks and tricked-out motorcycles and exotic imports and sports cars honked and flashed as Hanako Arasaka was carried naked and slammed onto the hood of her luxury hypercar. This seminal moment in her life—violated in the roughest, seediest slums of Night City, cored out on a jutting, elephantine fuckpole, having her most intimate places reconverted into a quivering, slopping meat-condom and cum toilet, degraded and displayed in public like some three-holes joytoy whore—brought an orgasm ripping through her body that made her insides liquefy and all muscular resistance finally surrender. Oda drooled into her open mouth, choking her still, slamming her onto the hood again and again. Her legs flopped open, yielding completely to his furious thrusts. Without any more tension, her cervix opened with all the tightness of a hand-me-down turtleneck, and her back arched as three feet of inhuman monstercock destroyed her birth canal, wrecked her uterus, and shoved her entire womb deep, deep, deep up into her chest. She no longer felt human, no longer felt like a sentient being at all, but rather a pile of pleasing meat to thrust into and stir up around the biggest, fattest, nastiest cocks. All of her mental cognition, all of her personality, all of the things that made her her came flooding out of her, and as Oda’s enormous root sank into her quim and his balls mashed against her like sandbags and his dehumanizing bitchbreaker delivered a meaty, churning, disgusting slosh inside the core of her womb, she came like a braindead pig. Like an animal, howling through his choking hands, blowing drool out of the corners of her mouth and thrusting her tongue into the air as her cunt was stretched to the breaking point and beyond. Oda’s cock rioted in her womb, tenting it upward into her guts. Synthetic organs were shoved aside, bones were broken and healed instantly, skin was stretched to dimensions that should’ve torn but never did. Her repeated cycles of steadily increasing depravity had allowed her to absorb such a brutal penetration without rupture. Even so, Oda thrust all of his weight atop her, splitting her legs around his waist and drilling down into her, digging out her twat with his excavating, thick-skinned, monstrous prick. Lube squirted from the seal her cunt made around the girthy base, and his wrist-thick urethra disgorged a steady river of molten, gurgling prejizz that packed her baby sack with lumpy sludge. Her guts were churned up with thick, meaty noises and degrading queefs and airy belches that blew regularly out of her overstretched slit. Her belly tented up and his cockbulge sliced between her ridiculously oversized slut-udders as he claimed her flesh as a playground for his insane abuses. He destroyed her vagina, pulling every fleshy fold from its designated spot inside her body and prolapsing it all into a slovenly, blown-out, pink meat-sleeve that seemed to almost excrete itself from her hole on each backthrust, as if her fucktunnel was vomiting itself up just to get away from the depraved choad-clogged fuck-swamp that her body had become. The sound of him erupting into her steaming cunt box was louder than the engine on her Guinevere. If her car could be heard for the next three blocks, his violent ejaculation could be heard for the next three miles. The chunky, fermented sludge was dumped from his villainous, defiling meathose like wet cement being poured from a mixer’s trough. Even deep inside her, she could feel the chunky, oatmeal-like consistency of it dragging across her quivering, foaming walls as hehe swabbed his shaft with her sloppy cunt. And as his choking hands made her vision fade to black, she imagined being his cock-mounted jizz jar forever, his choad urinal from now until the day her cutting-edge implants could no longer extend her unnaturally long life. A dead-eyed smile came to her face. She passed out, going limp with three feet of godhood pouring an ocean of vile fuck sauce into her smashed-out bucket cunt. But Oda wasn’t done, and as he dragged a yard of meat from deep in her entrails, Hanako’s torso seemed to collapse under its newly carved-out hollowness. But it wouldn’t stay hollow for long, not when that freakish leg-sized monster mashed the melon-sized knob against the puffy ring of her ass next, and her cellular regeneration implant reprocessed the agonizing, body-destroying girth of his violation as the penultimate ecstasy in all of existence. * * * * * * * * * * When the squad of MaxTac on Arasaka’s payroll kicked in the door on one of the many hideouts deep in the Animals territory, the rolling wave of new blood, old sweat, and raw sex fell over them like a fog bank. It stank like a zoo, and there was not a single square inch of real estate that had not been tagged with graffiti, oftentimes overlapping or outright replacing the tags of last year, last month, or even last week. The Animals, much like every other gang beside the Valentinos and maybe the VooDoo Boys, had no reverence for what came before the now, caring only for who was on top today, who was the biggest and meanest today, who could they rob, kill, or fuck today. Against MaxTac’s elite gear and training, the Animals in this particular nest didn’t stand a chance. There were only about ten or so, and none of them were any recognizable names in the loose hierarchy. But the security team wasn’t merely there to stomp out another drug den or fuck pad. “Yeah, we found ‘em alright,” the riot captain reported into the live feed being fed back to Saburo Arasaka. Of course, the ‘emperor’ of the Arasaka Corporation wouldn’t be within miles of the dirty work that needed to be done here, but the ancient corpo tycoon was still watching every move as it unfolded. “At least, whatever’s left of them.” He stepped over the bodies of dead gangoons and approached the hulking brute sequestered what looked like a full-sized gorilla cage. He swore under his breath. The Animals who had captured Michiko, Hanako, and Oda last month had certainly moved fast in so short a time. He had seen yearslong POWs in the Corpo Wars more intact than these three. Hanako and Michiko were shaking uncontrollably, as if a continuous pleasure had been surging through their bodies every moment of every day for these past weeks. They had bruises, slap marks, bite marks, and crude tattoos inked onto the flesh of their degradingly gargantuan udders. Each bore a heavy gauge ring slotted through their fat, engorged nipples, and a bio-powered electrified shock barbell piercing their swollen, outthrust clits, which twitched and bounced like little thumb-sized cocks. To complete the degradation, they both also bore a final thick ring pierced through their septums, resting on the top of their swollen, collagen-plumped upper lip, giving them an appearance not dissimilar to a barnyard animal like a cow or pig. However, instead of feeling shame for dishonoring their family name, Hanako and Michiko were moaning with obvious arousal, their sagging, slovenly cunts dripping with great slopping deluges of juices despite the abuse they had suffered. “I hope they stuff me airtight in every hole… then pull out and shove all three cocks in your tight little throat, fucking your face with so much huge cock that it dislocated your jaw!” One of the two women whispered to the other, drawing an anticipatory moan from her as they wriggled their bodies. “I just want to see their cum-leaking pricks skull-fucking my niece!” There was no realistic way for the women to have escaped. Even if the cage had been unlocked, there would be no walking out for them. No walking anywhere for a while. Their arms and legs had been surgically removed at bicep and mid-thigh. Unlike most hack jobs, where the implants were violently ripped and torn loose from their bodies, these had been carefully removed at the seams and covered with metal plates over each stump, complete with a handlebar welded to each cap. This was not done to grant them any level of dexterity, but rather to give easy handholds for the countless brutes to grab during sex, or to simply hang them up for decoration when the women were not in sexual use. “Yeah, looks like they took the limbs again,” the captain noted, just in case the visual feed didn’t make it obvious. “Those were preem Arasaka limbs, so they would fetch a high price on the street. We can pull up the serial numbers and check with local ripperdocs to see if they turn up, but in the meantime, we can prep these two for fresh replacements when we bring them back in.” Michiko was on her knees—or at least her mid-thigh stumps—in between Oda’s spread legs, and most of her upper body was smothered beneath the sandbag-sized scrotum that hung with gravid weight from his naked groin. She was continuously swabbing his nuts with her tongue and doing her best to drag the tops of her breasts along the bottoms of those monstrous gonads, a task made almost impossible with all four limbs removed. She glanced over her shoulder at the riot squad only once before worshipfully returning to tongue-washing the crevice between Oda’s balls and the root of his cock. Hanako, on the other hand, was straddling Oda’s lap. In reality, she couldn’t straddle with her legs gone, so she was really just mounted—impaled—on his upward jutting monolith, whose visibility was mockingly displayed by the most disgraceful modification of all. Hanako’s dermal armor had been replaced on the front of her torso, everywhere except for her tits, with a transparent layer instead. This transparent layer allowed them all to see the deplorable state of her innards, in particular her horrendously resized vaginal tunnel. There was a three-foot-long behemoth of incalculable brutality sheathed in her body and fully visible through her transparent torso in all its gruesome glory. If that image existed in a medical textbook, not a single member of the squad would ever have confused it with a human reproductive system. Her torso looked like one big meaty tube, with all unnecessary organs removed, and all the necessary ones streamlined to be as small and non-intrusive as possible. She had been completely reconfigured into a living, breathing onahole, her breasts shoved out to either side by the hideously gigantic bulge that separated her excessively oversized fuck udders. Out of the three captives, Oda had perhaps seen the fewest overall modifications, aside from the singular obvious one. It was that singular obvious one that was currently lifting and dropping Saburo Arasaka’s only daughter. The way Hanako’s slumped body sank onto that massive monolith was vile and unnatural, as if there was not a single ounce of resistance left in her slackened vagina, especially given the way her belly tented outward and upward, stretched around that prong, her pubis dilated as wide as her own waist. It was like watching her get lifted and dropped on a wooden stake. The wet sounds of penetration mixed with her broken groans spoke to the deep, violating nature of the act. Hanako’s massively enhanced, globe-round buttocks smashed and bounced against his lap, and his shaft was pouring sheets of her foaming, syrupy pussy juice for Michiko to hungrily drink down. As they all watched, Oda grunted, and a liquid sound emanated from his crotch. Hanako jittered and seized as a chunky waterfall of defiling nutslop expanded her sagging belly to new levels before pouring down his shaft through her thick, meaty cunt flaps. It spilled across the floor, joining gallons of the pearly sludge that radiated outward. As voluminous as that expanding pool was, they could tell from its wet freshness that this must have been from only the last few hours. The Animals must have been mopping out the cage floor everyday to prevent themselves from suffocating on the overpowering nut. Saburo’s measured tone filled their earpieces. The man knew every major language, but rarely did he ever converse in anything but the Japanese tongue. “Behold how this nation treats its kings and queens,” he croaked, his voice more disappointed than distraught. “The youth of today are so easily corrupted by the pursuits of the flesh.” “At least it wasn’t Maelstrom this time,” one of the security detail offered, shuddering at the memory of what happened last time they had been sent to recover the two women from one of those maniacal, twitchy hives. “We can wipe them and purge the memories, same as before.” “And replace their limbs, too,” the captain added. “Most of the added implants might be removable, or at least…,” he stared at Hanako’s monstrously gaping pussy, her globe-round dumptruck ass cheeks, and her indulgently, excessively oversized breasts, “…manageable.” * * * * * * * * * * “Fucking crush my rape-gutter on your monstercock! Carve us out and wrap our guts around your fat slab of fuckbeef, God! Just fucking bust your nut all over my auntie’s worthless face—glaze her in your ballspew!!!” And then the scene froze instantly, all sounds cutting out and all movement stopping. ‘Hanako’ still had her tongue extended to catch an errant rope of jizz that dangled from the fat crown of the elephantine monstercock. The holo engram slid across the white wood table with a flick of her wrist, spinning it as it journeyed away from Hanako Arasaka and came to a stop in front of her favored niece opposite her. “Michiko,” she said evenly, staring at the younger woman’s face across the table from her in Arasaka’s executive suite. “Here in America, they have a saying: a picture is worth one thousand words. And you have accumulated enough of these… images… to pen more words than Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.” “Tch.” Michiko sucked her teeth dismissively—a supremely American habit of hers. “I prefer The Kama Sutra. The pictures in it really helped me code up this simulation.” This was not the first time that Michiko had been found in compromised positions on the news. Last time, it had been an upskirt shot at a party. The time before that, she had been getting an all-body tan at the salon and had shown no modesty to any of the other customers. The time before that, she had been caught with her hand down the pants of a random date of hers during a theatrical production of Beetlejuice. For crying out loud, they were supposed to be conservative. Hanako slid gracefully out of her seat and stood, her heels clicking on the polished floor of her executive office as she rounded the table. A microscopic frown creased her mouth for an instant as she could have sworn her legs were slightly longer than they should be. But that was preposterous; it was probably just the heels confusing her sense of height. And maybe she was imagining things in the lights of her office, but it seemed like the color of the synth-skin was just a shade darker on her arms than what it was yesterday. But no, maybe it was just her white outfit making it appear darker. Unlike her niece, Hanako had been born and raised in Tokyo, inside the Arasaka Family Compound. Her father, Saburo, had doted on her in that way that fathers often did for their only daughters. He had given her the best tutors, the finest in all the world. Calligraphy, history, philosophy, mathematics, business, dozens of different languages, political etiquette, applied cybernetics, even dancing. There was nothing that didn’t come to her as naturally as breathing. Saburo had swelled with pride when he saw her conversing with Alt Cunningham back in 2020. Hanako had barely been out of college, and she was already one of the only people in the corporation—or even the world—who could understand and pick up Alt’s complicated work on Soulkiller after the woman had been digitized. Her niece was a very different woman altogether, even though there was only a mere nine years difference between them. Michiko was the daughter of Hanako’s oldest brother, Kei Arasaka, when he had fallen in love in Night City and married an American woman. It had been a thorn in their father’s side—that his eldest son and heir to the Arasaka Corporation had married an American. It didn’t matter to him that the mother was in fact full-blooded Japanese. ‘Culture shapes us more than blood,’ Saburo often said. In his eyes, an Irish redhead born and raised in Japan would always be more Japanese than his own granddaughter raised in America. And, for better or for worse, Saburo was not the type to lie to his family. He made sure Michiko knew exactly what he thought of his ‘half-American’ granddaughter. An olive branch was extended—at Hanako’s insistence—when they expanded the Arasaka Corporation into Night City, Michiko’s true home. However, her niece had already founded her detective agency, Danger Gal, under her own merits by that point, and while there was no open hostility between them, Michiko had made it very clear that she would not shutter her own business and rejoin the fold. Michiko’s netrunning skills were almost on par with Hanako’s own. But where she truly excelled was in crime scene reconstruction braindances. With a few scraps of evidence, she could create an entire simulation of an entire night, in remarkably lifelike detail, so lifelike in fact that it sometimes felt like Hanako was reliving actual memories of the experience. But her wild streak also led her to create some raunchy simulated braindances on the side. It was practically unheard of to simulate a BD from whole cloth. Doctor existing footage, sure. That was child’s play. But to create hours of extreme hardcore gangbang material, sodomy, quintuple penetrations, and then cast herself and her aunt as the leading ladies was as incredibly impressive as it was unfathomably perverse. “You should be flattered,” Michiko argued. “I had to pick the two hottest bimbos to really bring the sim together. Nothing but the best, hottest pieces of ass.” Hanako perched a wide-flaring hip on the table next to Michiko, shifting one gigantic shelf of bouncing, bubble-ass meat. The skyline of Night City was framed behind her in blues and greens, purples and yellows. In the steamy haze of the rain, the ambience of the hues bled together like watercolors on the window. “How are you, Michi-san?” she asked, defaulting back to Japanese. “You are sixty-nine years old now, and while that is indeed nice—” Michiko snickered. Her uptight aunt furrowed her brow, narrowing her almond-shaped eyes suspiciously. “What is the matter?” “Nevermind.” Michiko made no effort to remove the lewd grin from her face. “American humor.” Hanako glanced briefly to her bodyguard, Sandayu Oda, lurking at the door with dutiful vigilance. For some strange reason, her eyes darted down to the inseam of his suit pants. The echo of some vague memory washed over her—a trip to a zoo, the thick skin of an elephant brushing against her thighs… maybe a dream where she had ridden an elephant?—and she unconsciously licked her lips. “Oda-kun, leave us,” she said, reverting to Japanese. He hesitated briefly, optics discreetly scanning Michiko for any offensive cybernetics or concealed weapons. Finding none on the younger woman’s person, he bowed silently to Hanako. When he straightened and turned to slip out of the room, she caught a distortion in his groin, like some stunted third leg. Her vagina flooded for unknown reasons, as if her body was reacting automatically without her conscious mind controlling it. Hanako waited for the door to close behind him before continuing. “It is no secret that you and I apparently want very different things out of life.” As she turned her attention outward again, she straightened the collar on her blouse, aware of the plunging neckline that drew the eye of every man she crossed. She couldn’t blame them; her Schwarze-Limette blazer with carbon composite insets in navy had cost her over €$16000, tailored exquisitely to complement her Desert Cross strongweave button-up blouse for €$21000 and wrapped her excessively-proportioned upper body with tight efficiency that provided the impression of a sharp-dressed executive who was still an absolute whirlwind in the bedroom. She judged that few in Night City could afford such an ensemble that was one of many in her wardrobe, but that they would nonetheless empty their accounts just to watch her large, degradingly protruding udders be cupped by the form-fitting fabric. They were big at 48G, but not too big for her to be taken seriously, which was the way she liked it. Her appearance was a negotiation tool like any other, one she proudly honed to a razor’s edge. She stared down into her own sizable cleavage for a long moment, lost in thought. 48G was not too big to be taken seriously? The curious thought circulated in her head like grains of sugar in a stirred cup of tea before the thought dissolved away. Hanako crossed one leg over the opposite thigh, feeling the pencil skirt streeeeetch tautly over her outthrust, protruding buttocks. They were voluminous, each ample cheek jiggling and flexing, clapping and compressing against the edge of her desk, pancaking outward to appear even larger than their already considerable size. Much like her clothes, her ass was another tool for the boardroom. And just like her breasts, those wobbling fleshy cheeks were big, but not too big, even though she had difficulty squeezing in and out of her seat. And even when she finally managed to cram those ultra-expanded ass-globes into her chair, her breasts draped across the tabletop and made it difficult to reach—or even see—her keyboard. But her brain reiterated that all of this was normal, that her sexual assets were big, but not too big for her to be taken seriously. Her mind told her that it was perfectly normal for her to feel proud of such a slutty body, to know that every man in sight would give anything to see her on all fours, bouncing and moaning, clapping her ass cheeks around some giant, vein-corded elephant cock.
Why do I have elephants on the brain today?
She uncrossed her legs in front of Michiko, and was suddenly aware of the breeze tickling the wet flesh of her bared cunt lips. She wasn’t wearing panties today, mainly because of the restrictive feel of them, but also because she couldn’t find any garment that could adequately cup the full bulge of her obscenely bloated, lust-fattened cameltoe. Had it always been so big and meaty… and so constantly wet? She could almost remember a dreamlike memory when it wasn’t, but it seemed so vague to her that it must have been imagined. She had always had big tits, a big, fat ass, and a tingling, abuse-wetted cunt. “Different things out of life, indeed. But I have given you too long a leash to pursue your pleasures, and to release this… titillation… onto the market has created quite a shameful attack on our reputation. I cannot keep running damage control for your scandalous behavior. It is time I take responsibility for you and make you a model of what the Arasaka Corporation stands for.” “I couldn’t agree more, auntie,” Michiko replied coyly. “You and I should really be on the same page.” She uncrossed her legs, crossed them again. For a brief instant, Hanako saw that her niece wasn’t wearing panties either. She saw the fleshy delta of Michiko’s pussy, and a wave of undefinable desire welled up inside her. She tried to squash it, tried to continue her suddenly jumbled line of thought. She had a feeling of deja vu, as if she had been here before… many times, in fact. “Y-yes, the Arasaka Corporation—and our family—has been led by men for too long,” she uttered, the words sounding slightly strange on her tongue. Michiko nodded, eyes glimmering as if she alone was privy to the punchline of some cosmic joke. “We must show them what the Arasaka women are capable of.”