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- Joined
- Jan 14, 2009
The rulers of the Old World, brought to their knees by what was in their pants. How ironic. Or was that a coincidence? Krysta had a feeling that she knew the difference, once--she had vague, distant memories of studying English literature in college. She had been brushing up on her history, in the distracted, half-horny way that most bimbos approached learning. She had a higher attention span than most, though, as a peace officer and part of the Anti-Terrorist Task Force. It was part of her job to know these things, after all.
It had begun with body modding, making plastic surgery as easy as a trip to the tattoo artist. Then, mental modding was invented, with one company holding a monopoly on the technology. It was something only those with the money or the means could get, making it nearly exclusive to millionaires, heads of state and the like. Then, all of a sudden, they all seemed to vanish at once--the most powerful people in the world, gone. Then in She had come, offering leadership, peace, protection.
Leadership had come from herself. Peace, by spreading the government-run sex industry across the planet, keeping men plenty busy...and women, too, as lesbianism became almost second nature in the world where women were literally sex objects. Those who tried to question where the strippers, hookers and call girls came from tended to vanish, mysteriously...sometimes turning up in a sleazy brothel giving blowjobs, and sometimes simply vanishing. Most people grew quiet and content, but some tried to fight back, and from there came the protection: peace officers, women charged with ensuring the safety of citizens from the violence of the dissidents.
That was her, Krysta thought proudly. Her black uniform top was stretched tightly over her huge breasts, showing deep cleavage, while the shorts she wore clung to her ass and hips tightly--the shiny black boots pushing her heels high into the air, and wrapping around her legs all the way up to her thighs. Her thick, plump lips glistened with pink makeup, her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail with her officer's cap perched atop her head. A plasma pistol sat at her hip, the power dialed down to something that would only incapacitate, among other devices of more...sexual natures.
She climbed out of the door of the hovercar and out onto the ground, walking quietly to the basement door of an abandoned apartment building. She listened for a minute, waiting quietly, before slamming into the door with her shoulder. "Peace officer, nobody move!" she shouted, pistol raised as she stepped into the hideout. They always ran, of course--she just needed an excuse to shoot.
It had begun with body modding, making plastic surgery as easy as a trip to the tattoo artist. Then, mental modding was invented, with one company holding a monopoly on the technology. It was something only those with the money or the means could get, making it nearly exclusive to millionaires, heads of state and the like. Then, all of a sudden, they all seemed to vanish at once--the most powerful people in the world, gone. Then in She had come, offering leadership, peace, protection.
Leadership had come from herself. Peace, by spreading the government-run sex industry across the planet, keeping men plenty busy...and women, too, as lesbianism became almost second nature in the world where women were literally sex objects. Those who tried to question where the strippers, hookers and call girls came from tended to vanish, mysteriously...sometimes turning up in a sleazy brothel giving blowjobs, and sometimes simply vanishing. Most people grew quiet and content, but some tried to fight back, and from there came the protection: peace officers, women charged with ensuring the safety of citizens from the violence of the dissidents.
That was her, Krysta thought proudly. Her black uniform top was stretched tightly over her huge breasts, showing deep cleavage, while the shorts she wore clung to her ass and hips tightly--the shiny black boots pushing her heels high into the air, and wrapping around her legs all the way up to her thighs. Her thick, plump lips glistened with pink makeup, her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail with her officer's cap perched atop her head. A plasma pistol sat at her hip, the power dialed down to something that would only incapacitate, among other devices of more...sexual natures.
She climbed out of the door of the hovercar and out onto the ground, walking quietly to the basement door of an abandoned apartment building. She listened for a minute, waiting quietly, before slamming into the door with her shoulder. "Peace officer, nobody move!" she shouted, pistol raised as she stepped into the hideout. They always ran, of course--she just needed an excuse to shoot.