Gnjal

The surplus store had the standard red white and blue painted sign out front, “Army Surplus, Buy/Sell/Trade”. Amy had come looking for another M17 gasmask when her old one, a gift from a past rubber master, had been stolen out of the back of her car. Wearing a black spandex unitard and white vinyl skirt outlining her curvaceous ass, with a heavy leather belt cinching her waist, and black high heeled granny boots finishing her outfit, she appeared to be a normal twenty-something ready to go clubbing. ...

“Baby, are you comfortable?” Jeff whispered into her ear, his moist lips less than an inch away, his eyes intent on Kim’s lips framed by the opening in the spandex hood covering her face. He watched as she licked her lips, and turned her face to him. “Yes…” She answered, her voice low, subdued but charged with emotion. She knew that he loved her above all else, and that with just one word she could be free. But she didn’t want freedom, she wanted to be owned, to be used and possessed by this man, the man she loved so deeply, so completely. ...

After the cosmetic surgery robot had gone crazy and killed Doc, Holly had run for her life. The sandmen were after her now! And it wasn’t even her time, her crystal had months till it began flashing. She looked down at the hard chip of silicon embedding in her palm, and squeezed her hand into a fist in frustration and fear. The explosions and screaming people back at the Cosmetic Bazaar had given her a chance to slip away unnoticed as the rogue Sandman Logan had blasted his way out of the office, killing Doc in the process. A tear wet the corner of Holly’s eye as she thought about Doc, cut to ribbons by the suddenly maniacal surgery robot on the session table that they had both used to create such beautiful people with. ...