Hey, everyone. Doctor Touche here. It's been years since I last wrote a new Guilty Gear fic, and it feels good to be back. This one's a little longer than my previous entries, so if you want to skip straight to the dirty bits, just use your browser's search tool and look for the <wristcandy> tag. Also, keep in mind that breathplay is dangerous and should only be attempted by partners with impeccable communication skills. As usual, enjoy!
Gabriel strode through the marble and steel hallways of Zepp's military headquarters, his perfectly polished boots clacking a stacatto on the sanitized alabaster tiles. As the leader of the most powerful military in the world, he was a man accustomed to respect. New recruits learned to recognize the sound of those boots, even from a distance, and to snap to attention until they faded from earshot. Everything around Gabriel ran with clockwork precision, and the tiniest of mistakes were unacceptable. Punishment was swift, brutal, and rarely required more than once.
Today, however, Gabriel's carefully calibrated countenance was askew, his Zen-like emotional state dangerously unbalanced. Panic spread throughout the complex like a brushfire as he stormed through those flawless halls, his mind fixed grimly on his destination. A lazy cadet heard the footsteps too late, saluted too slowly, and got a backhand to the teeth for his efforts. Another worker had two ribs cracked by a powerful kick for daring to clean the floor.
Gabriel growled gutturally, his jaw set, his mouth a pink slash of displeasure. To think that his star pupil, a soldier known for his loyalty, bravery, and above all, punctuality would be over a half hour late for morning exercises? Unthinkable! He stormed into the soldiers' barracks, eyes crackling like twin Tesla coils. There would be punishment, oh yes.
"SOLDIER! Stand at attention!" he bellowed at the hulking shape lying in the impossibly massive bed. Gabriel felt the veins on his neck twitch, and he waited for his ears to stop ringing from the potent echo of his own outburst. A steady snore was the only response to his command, and the imposing shape didn't move a muscle. "At attention, NOW!" he repeated. "That's an ORDER!" Still no response.
Gabriel pulled furiously on the blanket, determined to haul the three quarter-ton monstrosity out of bed by the topknot if need be. He whipped back the thin piece of fabric, revealing a life-sized cardboard mock-up of Potemkin, the face drawn on crudely with crayon. He spotted a small recording device on the bed next to it, set to play a ten-second loop of snores. Casual observers, suddenly remembering or inventing other duties that required them to be on the opposite end of the compound, cleared the area as surely as if a crate of frag grenades was about to go off.
"PotemKIN!" Gabriel bellowed, shaking his fist angrily at the heavens.
* * * * *
It had been a routine sting, a mission to clear out a group of rebels holed up in an old munitions plant on the outskirts of the Zepp nation. Hackers, who had been trying to break into the central database. Idiots, Potemkin mused, as he sent two of them flying through a stack of empty pallets, bringing the kill count to 27. As usual, this was a solo mission, as he alone was more than sufficient. A bullet pinged off his impossibly tough combat armor as the rebel leader, hands shaking, fumbled for another clip before a massive hand of muscle and metal closed around the sides of his head.
"W-w-w-w-WAIT, man!" he stammered. "Th-that's a Zepp m-m-military issue Loy...Loyalty Collar, right?" Potemkin, expecting the usual "please don't kill me" garbage, almost dropped the frail little man in surprise. What a strange thing to point out! "Yeah," the man said, emboldened, "this is one of the old ZX models, from the look of it. They didn't even give you one of the new ones, huh?" Potemkin, though he realized he should have smashed this man's head like a plastic vending machine egg by now, was nonetheless interested in this line of conversation. Though he had decided to wear the collar voluntarily a long time ago, lately he had felt occasional urges, strange twinges that stood out even through his reinforced combat armor, itches that begged to be scratched.
The conversation went on, and the man made a deal with him. He described a loophole in the collar's triggering system, that an EMP pulse of a certain frequency could disable the triggering and tracking systems for a few hours before the collar's self-repair systems kicked in. He placed a small, round metal device into Potemkin's brobdignagian hand, a device that would set off a pulse of the desired frequency, the type the rebels had used to start a slave uprising many months ago. Potemkin thanked the man before smashing his face through a wall and snapping his spine. There would be no negotiating with terrorists.
He resumed his normal duties, taking care never to mention the conversation to anyone. Above all, he kept the EMP device tucked away in the bottom of one of his ammunition pouches, taking it out in private sometimes, rolling it between his fingers, its smooth, cool surface triggering goosebumps of anticipation. He called in favors from other cadets, intimidated others in secret, and bided his time. Finally, when the fateful day arrived, he was up before the sunrise, and, loaded in the back of a supply truck, he watched HQ shrink into the horizon. At last, as the truck sped away as fast as the driver could take it, Potemkin found himself alone in the dirty alleyway of a border town. His fingers trembled as he took the device out carefully, lovingly. He was shaking and his breath caught in his throat; he was like a child getting ready to unwrap a Christmas gift. And this particular gift had been a long, long time coming.
* * * * *
The trail of destruction was immense. Potemkin, having torn off the elaborate series of buckles and harnesses that kept his thoroughbred-sized manhood in cruel bondage, had gone on a spree of brutal, unrestrained rape from which no person, animal, vegetable, mineral, appliance, or potted plant was safe. The streets were littered with mangled, still-twitching forms, the moans of those whom death had decided to take slowly formed a somber chorus as police sirens wailed in the distance.
Potemkin, though his seemingly bottomless urges had abated somewhat, was still in need of release. Furthermore, all of this rape was making him hungry. His mother had always told him not to sexually assault people on an empty stomach, after all. He spotted a small restaurant on the corner and decided that a bowls of ramen or twenty would help him keep up his strength. And for dessert? A frosty bowl of rape.
<wristcandy>
He entered the restaurant and was not surprised a the lack of customers, figuring he must have sodomized them away from the downtown area. However, his hunger was momentarily forgotten as he saw a lone woman wiping down tables. The woman's chocolate-colored hair, arranged in a pair of tails that formed a hoop around her head, gave her a sense of girlish exuberance and adult sophistication. Her perfectly toned body was clad in a tight, tight red uniform that reminded him of a Chinese ching pao, which cradled a pair of perky pomegranate-shaped breasts. The uniform terminated in a flared pink skirt that was so short, he could practically taste the cameltoe. But the legs, oh, those legs were a Hellenic masterpiece, twin towers of perfectly toned muscle that looked like they would melt in his mouth. Potemkin salivated. This woman would make a perfect rape-itizer before the main course.
"May I help you?" she asked demurely, her large, sparkling brown eyes intent on her work as she cheerfully wiped the tables with a vigor bordering on OCD. Getting no response, the woman looked up, and was suddenly hauled off her feet by an impossibly huge cybernetic hand, which had grabbed hold of her strangely circular lock of hair. He was surprised at the lack of resistance on her part, not even a yelp. He even detected a faint hint of a smile as he slammed her through a section of drywall, smiling grimly at the feeling of power.
Some small part of Potemkin felt guilty that he was about to snap this frail woman in half, but the burning in his loins was not to be denied. He tore her pink silk panties aside with a single finger, ripping them as easily as a human might snap a rubber band. He was mildly surprised to smell the scent of her womanly juices, but pushed those thoughts aside as his massive mouth engulfed her womanhood, covering even the tops of her thighs, her hips, and the bottom of her stomach. He felt her lower body spasm as he laved her tender nether lips with the tip of his tongue and heard soft moans from the top half of her body that was still embedded in the wall. The tangy flavor of her juices, which started to flow freely, was a sweet nectar to him, and he ground his face into her to squeeze out more of that delicious glaze.
When he'd had enough of this warm-up, he yanked her free of the drywall, dumping the disheveled young woman to the floor in a shower of plaster. He considered the slender woman's size in proportion to himself and decided that more warm-up was necessary before she could accommodate his pachydermian girth. He activating the built-in lubrication system on his robotic hand enhancements, as the woman moaned and tossed her head, causing strands of her unkempt hair to fall over her oval-shaped face. As gently as he could, which was not very gently at all, he worked his cucumber-sized index finger into her, sliding it in and out slowly until it was thoroughly coated with her sticky juices. He then decided to insert a second, which she received with another soft grunt, and he continued on in this way until his whole hand was inside, the juices from the woman's gaping gash running down his wrist like blood from a severed hand. He marveled at her nightmarish elasticity as he drove his fist inside of her, the force emanating from his shoulder, a blow that could have shattered a reinforced titanium door. Instead of the bloodcurdling shrieks he was expecting, he was greeted with hearty animal moans.
"Mmm... that's the spot..." she droned as he slammed into her with everything he had, picking her up off the ground and driving her into the floor several times, each more forcefully than the last. The woman felt his hand reaming out her insides, sending shocks of pleasure through her body, carried by bolts of lightning through her spine. Potemkin gritted his teeth in anger. "WHY WON'T YOU BREAK, HUMAN?" He hoisted her up above his head and, grinning, pressed another button on the side of his arm to activate the built-in automatic gun, which was loaded with thick rubber riot control rounds. He let out a single, feral growl as he emptied an entire magazine inside of her, determined to destroy this woman from the inside out. He felt her body shake with each blast, and her moaning grew steadily louder, but that was all. Her dilated pussy, now filled to capacity, began to squeeze out the honey-coated rubber bullets, pushing them out slowly in a parody of childbirth. Fuming, Potemkin kissed the side of his fist and slammed it through a table while still inside of her, which elicited a particularly loud squeal, but nothing more.
Potemkin had had enough. Whipping open his pants, he thrust his engorged minigun-sized member into her with the full force of his body weight, stabbing at her wide-open slit like a soldier wielding a bayonet. Her hands slid down to her waist. Was she finally resisting? No, she was actually guiding him into herself, teeth locked in a wolfish grin, large brown eyes consuming his with lust. Potemkin actually felt a brief moment of panic, but it was quickly quenched by his overwhelming desire to destroy this surprisingly smug woman. Driving himself into her like a one-ton jackhammer, he could feel her juices pouring down the sides of his mechanically-reinforced manhood, like rainwater pouring from gutters during a typhoon. He felt the muscles of her thighs tighten, squeezing him like a python, crushing him almost uncomfortably as the bolts of pleasure coursed through his lower body. Finally losing his patience entirely, he activated the rocket boosters on his back, blasting through the ceiling of the woman's restaurant and scattering wood and metal everywhere. She moaned quizzically as his flight reached its apex, then he cut the power and let his ridiculous body weight carry the two of them down to the earth. He bellowed unintelligibly as he picked up velocity, bursting through a different part of the roof as the two hurtled to the ground, Potemkin's epically-proportioned cock leading the charge, as he sought to drive this woman through the floor like a railroad spike, felt the overwhelming desire to snap her in half with sheer momentum. The two of them slammed into the floor like an asteroid.
She came, back arching as an unholy cry was ripped from her ragged vocal chords. However, her pelvis was still intact, along with the rest of her body. Disheveled and feeling wholly inadequate, Potemkin untangled himself from her. Her body had left an imprint in the ground, like a concrete snow angel, but she was very much alive and afterglowing. "Wow..." Jam murmured, "I haven't been fucked like that since I was late with my tuition payments back in culinary school." She turned to the mysterious robotically-enhanced man to thank him for a lovely time, and caught him slinking toward the front door.
As Potemkin crept away, hoping to get out of there before this obviously deranged woman came to, he heard a loud "HWAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" and felt a massive force slam into the back of his head in a blast of fire and incredible velocity. The blow caused him to stumble forward, but before he fell on his face he felt several more strikes, whirling around him and smashing him at different places in rapid succession, causing him to be tossed about like a wet sock in a dryer as the attacks were punctuated by additional HWAAAs. He somehow landed on his back facing the middle of the restaurant, and this was the last thing he saw before his face was smothered with sweaty, succulent flesh.
"You forgot something," he heard her growl ferally, though with difficulty since her thighs were clamped on opposite sides of his head. Ordinarily, he could have picked up this sprightly human and tossed her with no effort, but between the previous exertion and the force of her surprise attack, he was completely spent. He struggled to breathe as he felt something, soft and muskily fragrant, grind into his face, cutting off the flow of air. The giant of a man squirmed, his murmurs increasingly frantic, and white stars exploded in his flesh-blinded eyes until he was sure he would lose consciousness. At this moment, his aggressor let up and he took in a burning gulp of desert-hot air.
"Lick it," she commanded simply. Potemkin, a man who was used to taking orders, stuck his cat-sized tongue out tentatively and took a lap of Jam's twitching asshole. "MMM!" she gasped, feeling the slick roughness of his tongue as it slowly circled her puckered anus, causing her to rock back in forth with short, rapid motions. When she was sufficiently teased, Jam mashed her butt into his face, causing his tongue to flatten out as all the resistance was crushed out of him, and gyrated back and forth violently, working the slick lingual carpet like a chihuahua trying to clean itself on the corner of a concrete sidewalk.
Potemkin wasn't too fond of the taste, though it was still better than field rations, and besides, he had no choice in the matter. She smothered him again, giggling to herself as the mountain of a man struggled underneath someone less than an eighth his size, finding his choked gasps ineffectual and cute. She continued to alternate between crushing his face and abusing his tongue with her dirty hole, until she finally felt another massive orgasm tear itself free from her body, the geothermal explosion of pleasure even more intense than the last. After some time, she calmly stood up, leaving the sheltered soldier to question the nature of what had just happened. Wistfully, he found himself missing the safety of his cock harness.
</wristcandy>
After awkwardly slurping down several bowls of ramen brought to him by the insufferably chipper Jam and paying the required money, he stammered out a "thank you" and had to stop himself from sprinting away from that foreboding place as he scuttled to the nearest video phone. After calling back to HQ apologetically and enduring another lecture on responsibility from Gabriel, Potemkin was picked up in a Zepp military issue hovertank and brought back to headquarters, where Gabriel grabbed him by the ear and somehow paraded him through the hallways to his office, where Potemkin would await his punishment. From that point on, he was fitted with one of the newer Loyalty Collars, not allowed to go on solo missions, and he certainly kissed his weekend hovertank privileges goodbye.
Meanwhile, Jam fixed the twin holes in the roof, always singing a happy tune to herself as she did so, and within a day or two, business was back to usual, the patrons long since having grown accustomed to this particular restaurant being closed for extensive repairs. The only difference this time was that a large number of her customer base were sporting new colostomy bags for some reason.
One day, as Jam was busy tending to her business, she spied a familiar man approaching the the front of the lunch rush line. A few days ago, the sight of him would have driven her into a glomping fangirl frenzy, but now she regarded him coolly, as if he were a puppy dog that used to be cute but was now a moving piece of furniture with a few annoying habits.
"Hey, Ky." Jam said. "So what can I get you?"
Ky paused, turning his gaze away from a muscular male kitchen worker in a half-open dress shirt, and regarded her with equal amounts of apathy. "Oh, hi Jam. Just the usual. And make it quick," he said, all business. "I'm uh, on assignment, and I don't have any time to waste."
