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Verse
Star
- Joined
- May 8, 2011
Yareli devoured people.
The city, known as New City to those who'd been with it long enough, was portside. Trading grounds and a melting pot. It was a funnel for commerce into the country and a hub for the rest of the world. Its lips touched the sea where mighty ships brought exotic and near-made things in. Treasures and
contraband.
For all the gold that swelled the accounts of already rich bastards in legal ways, there was an equal flow of seedier currency. Money to be made in the dark. Not only did Yareli devour the souls of once pure denizens, but tonight it was actually eating a shipment of physical bodies. And, acting as a digestive tract and delivery system, was two shipping containers, one orange and one once-white. The warehouse was close to the water, and the containers had been lifted in by the crane which was still lit up for its efforts, the roof of the warehouse still open. But this part of the docks was strangely void of people. A couple of wads of cash will do that.
There were industrial grade spotlights mounted on rusted metal inside. The light was bright and unflattering where it hit, and created shadow oasis other places. Some tables and some amenities like watercoolers and tables. Couches strewn about. And a smell of humans having been bunched up together for a long time. A peculiar concoction of sweat and breath, but to the man in charge it smelled like money and a celebration of his testosterone and its possible release. In this private place with rusted walls and fragile, waning dreams, he was their first king since their trip started, and thereby their first hope. Girls of all ages. Some of them were pure white, gray almost, because of the pitch black traveling accommodations, and others were his kind of yellow, and darker. Some of them were already used, acquired at a bargain, and others were dirty but with incredible selling potential once hosed down.
Himura Rauten had already sampled one of them. He'd picked someone in the middle of the pretty-spectrum, but who still had moxy in her eyes. The others seemed to listen to her. And she had drive enough to talk to him when she came out. Only he didn't need these whores to talk. Moxy knew that, and had the brains to get on her knees and take out his cock first. Gasps when through the female crowd that had spilled out the orange container, when they saw his swollen, monstrous flesh. Even Moxy balked a little before getting to work. It looked heavy on her small hands. She told him her name was Penny when she lathered his cock with her saliva. She was awkward about it at first but learned soon. They all knew why they were here and Penny wanted to make the transition and transaction as easy as possible on everyone. He'd let her be some kind of middle man on merit of her oral skills.
Eventually she earned a healthy amount of thick, pale ropes over her face, and she knew better than to wipe them off when she looked up at him. She was right to be so amicable.
Himura had delicate bones in his face, but they were set in a dangerous expression. Long hair tied back, for business, but some strands had gotten lose from the binding. His eyes were sometimes black, but the cornea glowered pure white when the light struck it right. Made him look like a demon, from some angles and it kept the girls calm. He tucked himself in, breath level, when he looked down at Penny who remained on her knees to show good faith. He snickered to himself. Earlier today it had been putting men in their graves, and now it was this, ushering fresh, hot bodies to the Import Houses of the Yareli Yakuza. Life wasn't so bad. Running detail on this kind of stuff was a show of appreciation from the higherups. A all-pass to enjoy the goods before they were distributed in brothels to make money.
He was notorious to the local law enforcement for all his misdeeds. But that kind of stuff was currency in his world.
He had a smoke in one hand, and a glass of whiskey in the other. Tattoos crawled up his neck and on his forearms, where his shirt didn't cover him. Even without saying much, the girls, some of them taken here from the safety of their home beds, stayed calm for fear of upsetting him. He had his back turned to the door of the warehouse, though, eyeing which of the new bodies would be next. They needed to know what awaited them in this new life, and he had a couple of more loads to shoot before he'd had his fill.
The city, known as New City to those who'd been with it long enough, was portside. Trading grounds and a melting pot. It was a funnel for commerce into the country and a hub for the rest of the world. Its lips touched the sea where mighty ships brought exotic and near-made things in. Treasures and
contraband.
For all the gold that swelled the accounts of already rich bastards in legal ways, there was an equal flow of seedier currency. Money to be made in the dark. Not only did Yareli devour the souls of once pure denizens, but tonight it was actually eating a shipment of physical bodies. And, acting as a digestive tract and delivery system, was two shipping containers, one orange and one once-white. The warehouse was close to the water, and the containers had been lifted in by the crane which was still lit up for its efforts, the roof of the warehouse still open. But this part of the docks was strangely void of people. A couple of wads of cash will do that.
There were industrial grade spotlights mounted on rusted metal inside. The light was bright and unflattering where it hit, and created shadow oasis other places. Some tables and some amenities like watercoolers and tables. Couches strewn about. And a smell of humans having been bunched up together for a long time. A peculiar concoction of sweat and breath, but to the man in charge it smelled like money and a celebration of his testosterone and its possible release. In this private place with rusted walls and fragile, waning dreams, he was their first king since their trip started, and thereby their first hope. Girls of all ages. Some of them were pure white, gray almost, because of the pitch black traveling accommodations, and others were his kind of yellow, and darker. Some of them were already used, acquired at a bargain, and others were dirty but with incredible selling potential once hosed down.
Himura Rauten had already sampled one of them. He'd picked someone in the middle of the pretty-spectrum, but who still had moxy in her eyes. The others seemed to listen to her. And she had drive enough to talk to him when she came out. Only he didn't need these whores to talk. Moxy knew that, and had the brains to get on her knees and take out his cock first. Gasps when through the female crowd that had spilled out the orange container, when they saw his swollen, monstrous flesh. Even Moxy balked a little before getting to work. It looked heavy on her small hands. She told him her name was Penny when she lathered his cock with her saliva. She was awkward about it at first but learned soon. They all knew why they were here and Penny wanted to make the transition and transaction as easy as possible on everyone. He'd let her be some kind of middle man on merit of her oral skills.
Eventually she earned a healthy amount of thick, pale ropes over her face, and she knew better than to wipe them off when she looked up at him. She was right to be so amicable.
Himura had delicate bones in his face, but they were set in a dangerous expression. Long hair tied back, for business, but some strands had gotten lose from the binding. His eyes were sometimes black, but the cornea glowered pure white when the light struck it right. Made him look like a demon, from some angles and it kept the girls calm. He tucked himself in, breath level, when he looked down at Penny who remained on her knees to show good faith. He snickered to himself. Earlier today it had been putting men in their graves, and now it was this, ushering fresh, hot bodies to the Import Houses of the Yareli Yakuza. Life wasn't so bad. Running detail on this kind of stuff was a show of appreciation from the higherups. A all-pass to enjoy the goods before they were distributed in brothels to make money.
He was notorious to the local law enforcement for all his misdeeds. But that kind of stuff was currency in his world.
He had a smoke in one hand, and a glass of whiskey in the other. Tattoos crawled up his neck and on his forearms, where his shirt didn't cover him. Even without saying much, the girls, some of them taken here from the safety of their home beds, stayed calm for fear of upsetting him. He had his back turned to the door of the warehouse, though, eyeing which of the new bodies would be next. They needed to know what awaited them in this new life, and he had a couple of more loads to shoot before he'd had his fill.