In “The Siren’s Bite,” Colonel Ionescu revealed the truth about Finn to Iker and Peregrine. Meanwhile, Ohannes begged for Finn’s bite, becoming bonded to the amphibious pleasure clone.
General Bissette revealed that he was more slave than master to the sexy merman and was rewarded with a hearty spanking and a lusty romp with Ohannes. While Finn’s attentions were focused on directing the hot man-to-man action, Iker, Colonel Ionescu, and Peregrine put their rescue plan into action. Unfortunately, Peregrine was bitten by Finn and had to be subdued along with the other men.
Ionescu and Iker set out for the monastery, hoping to find a way to break Finn’s spell over their comrades.
Colonel Ionescu kept the transport vehicle low and slow, resisting the urge to hit the hit the hover-jets. The vehicle was unlicensed decommissioned military salvage and Ionescu wanted to avoid attention from the air patrol. Ionescu noticed that the normally impatient Iker seemed transfixed by the beauty of the surrounding forest.
“Pretty, yah?” the Colonel inquired.
“Yeah, Man, it’s gorgeous. Sometimes me and Perry would look through binoculars from the top of the rig and say that one day we’d go camping in the forest, but we always wound up either staying at the rig on our downtime or going into town to find a way to kill time. Either way, we always ended up in some kind of sex game. Ain’t no better way to wind down after a hard day’s work than fucking a dozen of your best friends, right?”
That's the first eight sentences. If that's your limit, this is your stop. If you'd like more, read on.
“Dat be de way of t’ings,” Ionescu laughed. “’Course your fuck-buddy might not be such a good fren’, but when de time come to get down, dere be somethin’ dat keep you comin’ back for more even if most of de time you wanna punch him in de face.”
“You mean Bissette?” Iker smirked. “Well, I never got to meet his fuck-buddy side. I only saw the punchable face. But from what I heard, the little shit’s a damn fine lay. That salty little mer-slut Finn was miffed at our boy Ohannes for enjoying General Tin-Horn’s cock a little too much.”
“Bissette be a good fuck,” Ionescu admitted. “He like me to be de one drivin’ de train when de geyser gonna erupt. He let de other fellas fuck him first, den me come in and plow ‘em all. Me admit me put up wit’ Bissette’s shit ‘cause me an’ de boys havin’ fine times playin’ his games. But den him build Finn and dat little fucker take over. Me suppose dat me still be dere bein’ Finn and Bissette’s fuck-muscle if us not find you boys. Me ain’t got nothin’ better to do.”
“Yeah, Perry and me would still be mining Gaccov, likely till the day we dropped, if we hadn’t found Ohannes. Same reason as you. We didn’t have nothin’ better to do and the after-hours fucking was good. Hell, I was bred to be a physical powerhouse, which means that I was either gonna end up being an agricultural worker, being in the military, or being a miner or a rigger.”
“Same, Mon. You like bein’ a rigger?”
“Yeah, I liked it a lot. I could have requested a transfer to agriculture or the military, but I liked being a roughneck. I was glad I wasn’t bred to be an administrator or an executive or a pleasure clone. I like being strong and feeling like I’ve done an honest day’s work, and I sure as hell don’t want to be anybody’s slave. But when it comes down to it, me and Perry have been Hangiri’s slaves for all these years. The corporation literally owns us.”
“Dat’s de truf of bein’ a clone, Mon. De law don’t see us as human, so Hangiri or de military or Mon-Agri can do what dem want wit’ us, so long as it ain’t outright cruelty. So long as dem keep us fed an healthy and ain’t beatin’ on us, de human rights counsel ain’t gonna crack down. Dey fuck us from de incubation tank to de grave, an’ it’s all legal.”
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Unfortunately, with the disaster that the last couple of weeks have been and my subsequent psychological breakdown, this book is still in the WIP stages. I hope to finish it this coming week. Hopefully, Amazon won't give me a ration of misery this time. I designed the damn cover.
The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)
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