Posted by Extranjero on April 20, 2007 at 15:14:30:
DOLL SOLDIERS (Part 9)
Danni drove in through the gates and turned the chugging Doll’s Hearse to the left. The Guards on duty barely glanced at her. The street closed round her like a gloomy canyon, but the sky above was full of limpid light.
She rumbled on in second gear, and came into the courtyard of the Doll’s House. The bodies from the ranges were returned here to be cleaned and “vivified”. Danni’s mouth was dry as ash; she wiped her lips and glanced down at her gun. A hand-pump and a drain were at the centre of the yard. The cobblestones were strewn with dirty straw.
She brought the jeep-truck to a stop and listened to the silence. The citadel from which she’d fled was waking like an anthill all around her. Her heartbeat hammered dully. There was nobody in sight. Then a girl emerged from the old building. She sauntered over to the pump, and gave the Hearse a lazy sidelong glance.
She wore a short Napoleonic jacket, in black with silver braid and yellow cuffs. It was unbuttoned, naturally, and framed her shapely breasts. In fact the girl wore nothing else apart from gartered stockings. She swung her hips as if to flaunt her muff.
Danni sat and licked her lips, eyes shielded by her shades. She guessed the girl was one of the camp whores. The Guard would sometimes hire them from the barracks, and this one looked like she’d been earning well. Her brown curls were pinned up. She had a sculpted pout and glittering cat’s eyes. As Danni watched, she worked a splash of water from the pump and let it soak her belly and her bush.
Danni’s heart was pounding. She looked over at the house. A naked Guard had stepped into the doorway. Apart from a contented smirk, she wore a shoulder holster and her boots. Too blissed-out to be bothered by the newcomer’s arrival, she lit a smoke and leaned against the jamb.
Danni took a heavy breath and climbed out of the cab. The graceful whore looked up, her smug lips smiling. She clearly thought the blonde girl was another customer. She simpered at the sight of Danni’s tits.
Danni raised the MP5 and fired a three-round burst. The bullets punched into the girl’s left breast. Blood splashed out behind her as she bucked and clawed her chest, her fine-boned face now twisted with dismay. Danni wheeled and squirted three more shots into the Guard. The silenced sub-machine gun coughed; the bullets thudded home; the victim grunted. The three red perforations drooled as she collapsed against the inner wall. The dead whore crumpled to the straw with three crimson stigmata of her own.
Danni slapped the Hearse’s side, then walked over to the building. It seemed the Guards on night duty had found some friends to help them pass the time. She stepped into an anteroom and turned towards the sound of giggly voices. Through another doorway, and she found a blonde girl in a scarlet coat. The young whore squealed, mock-demure, and pulled the white lapels across her breasts. “You’ll have to pay to see some more!” she teased.
Danni thumbed the gun to automatic and let rip. The girl squealed more convincingly and slumped against the wall, her red coat falling open on her boobs. Two more Guards were in the room, which looked to be an office, and Danni turned the silencer on them. One looked like a seasoned dyke, but the other was a startled teenager. She’d just lost her virginity to the vivacious blonde. Now she and her companion wailed and clasped their riddled breasts, convulsing as they slithered to the floor.
The last Guard heard the stifled cries, and hurried through from the adjoining room. Her name was Emily, and she’d been too prissy to join in. A slender, fragile-looking blonde with watery blue eyes. Danni’s shades came round. She squeezed the trigger.
Emily had modest breasts. She’d once considered getting them enhanced. But somebody had told her that the implants could explode at altitude. It might have been an urban myth, but she had been put off. And now she glimpsed a wink of flame, and felt the bursting agony she’d feared.
Her soundless scream was wiped out by the coughing of the gun. She flopped into the corner miserably. Danni breathed out shallowly and listened to the hush. The four dead girls lay sulking at her feet. She went back out into the yard. The others had dismounted from the Hearse. Leilani’s sword was slung across her shoulder. She clutched her M16 against her breasts.
“I guess that’s all of them,” said Danni dryly.
“Nice work,” murmured Jo. She glanced around. “Let’s do it, then. Choose your barracks, stir them up and turn the bitches loose. I’ll see you when it’s over, girls. Or on the other side.”
* * *
Jessika woke comfortably and stretched in the soft bed. The afterglow of sex still warmed her groin. The crisp Egyptian cotton sheets felt smooth on her bare skin. She nuzzled the lax body next to her.
Her bedmate stared up blankly at the ceiling, a silk scarf knotted tightly round her throat. Her eyes were wide, her pretty tongue protruding. The nipples on her smooth breasts were erect.
Jessika smiled lazily, caressing the warm flesh. The body, freshly-killed, was slumped and slick. The girl had been the duty section leader - the one who’d missed the fleeing fugitives. She’d reported to the Spearhead Leader’s quarters looking nervous, but Jessika had put her at her ease. All the girl would have to do was pleasure her superior in order to escape being disciplined. Relieved and rather flattered, she’d responded eagerly, her busy tongue delighting Jessika. And then Rebekah had joined in, garrotting her as Jessika reached orgasm. The doomed girl’s tongue had squirmed against her captain’s clitoris, and Jessika came fiercely as she choked.
She laid her head against the dead girl’s shoulder. The gold of early morning filled the room. Then Rebekah come back in and Jessika looked up. Her lover wore one of Louise’s robes.
“Would you like a cup of coffee, Spearhead Leader?”
Jessika’s smiled widened and she stretched out like a cat. “You can call me Jessie when we’re out of uniform.”
The dark girl stayed expressionless. “Do you want some honey with it?”
“Sure I do,” said Jessika and beckoned her across. Rebekah came and sat down on the bed. “You po-faced tart,” purred Jessika and fondled her firm breast, then kissed Rebekah’s pouting scarlet lips.
As they rolled back on the bed, the dead girl gazed unblinking heavenward.
* * *
The barracks yard lay silent in the pinkish light of dawn. The air felt almost chilly in the shade. Jemma was only wearing her black satin bra and panties, and the freshness woke the fine hairs on her skin. Her nipples bulged like buttons, and she welcomed the sensation. This might be her last morning, after all.
A row of swords lay on the bench: all modern steel, but in the Roman style. Daggers, legionary swords and cavalry-length blades. She picked one of the latter up and drew it from its scabbard. Her biceps rippled as she swiped the air.
Jemma had a sweet, superior face and long brown hair, a mane of satin hanging down her back. She pursed her full lips thoughtfully and flexed her wrist again, then padded over to the training post. This was just a wooden pillar, notched with many cuts. She hacked at it from different angles, tightening her sinews – preparing for the butchery to come.
The chopping sound bounced round the yard. She took a step away and rubbed her arm. Then she swung the sword again – and someone else’s blade flashed out to block it.
Jemma looked round in surprise, and saw a girl in doeskin briefs beside her. She had dark hair, and darker eyes which shone with confidence. Her Japanese sword glinted, held out stiffly in both hands. A spark of mischief danced across her face.
Jemma tried to break away, but both their blades stayed locked. The edges grated as their muscles strained. The girl’s bare breasts grew fuller, and she showed her small white teeth. Then she broke the contact and stepped back.
Jemma kept her own sword raised. She scowled at the intruder. “You’re on the wrong turf, girl,” she said. “But if you want a fight, I’ll give you one.”
“Ooh, miaow!” the dark girl teased, but then her face grew serious. “You look like you’ll be fighting anyway.”
“We’ve got a battle coming, yeah – perhaps against your team. So why not join your girlfriends while you can?”
Jemma stalked back to the bench and sheathed her sword again. There were bits of armour piled up on the porch. She put a Roman helmet on and tucked some of her long hair under it. The polished cheek guards framed her face and made it haughtier.
“Good of you to dress up for the Guard,” Leilani said.
“Fuck the Guard. I’m fighting for myself,” the girl replied. She strapped a groin-guard round her waist and snugged it into place. The studded strips hung down between her thighs.
“Yeah, that’s what we used to think,” Leilani went on dryly. “Until we realised it was just a show. You’re playing Roman games, all right. Those bitches will just love to watch you die.”
Jemma looked round sharply. Something flickered in her eyes. Leilani spread her hands and ventured closer. The girl still had no memories, but doubts were setting in. This cat-fighting in fancy dress was losing its appeal.
“You make it sound as if we had a choice,” she murmured flatly.
“Perhaps we do,” Leilani said. “How else did I get here?” She nodded to her rifle, which was propped against the wall. “I took that from the last one that I killed.”
Jemma stared at her, wide-eyed. She moistened her dry lips. Leilani sauntered to the bench and picked the sword belt up. She handed it across, and Jemma slung it round her hips. She left the heavy weapon in its sheath.
People had begun to stir inside the building now.
“You said ‘we used to think …’” said Jemma carefully. “Who’s we?”
“There’s lots of us,” Leilani said. “We’re opening the doors. So how do you feel about the Guard?”
“I hate the sluts. They’re evil,” Jemma said.
“I’m sure your girlfriends feel the same. Come on, let’s talk to them.”
Jemma glanced around, as if afraid they were being spied on. “But they’ve got guns, and we’ve got swords and arrows.”
“Yeah – but even they don’t take their rifles to the bath-house.” Leilani smirked and turned towards the door.
Jemma lingered in the yard and listened to the silence. The dawn felt sweeter on her naked skin. She unhooked her constricting bra and shrugged it off her shoulders. The dewy air of freedom bathed her breasts.
* * *
Tracey lay back on her bunk and stared towards the ceiling. The cracks and stains formed patterns in her mind. She scanned them like the maps she would be reading on the mission. Anticipation buzzed beneath her skin.
They’d all been psyched up for the coming battle. The Guard had briefed them on the looming threat. It all seemed like a game sometimes – a school grudge match, with guns – but if they lost today, the town might fall.
Like all the Dolls who’d got this far, she didn’t dwell on losses. The risk of dying seemed irrelevant. But stretched out on her narrow bed, she sensed her heartbeat quicken. Her body felt more precious than it should.
Tracey had a strong, wide-cheekboned face and thick brown hair. Her blouse was blotched like seaweed, and beneath it she wore black lace lingerie. She rubbed her stomach absently, still gazing at the ceiling, then let her fingers slide into her briefs.
The other girls were slouching round, caught up in their own thoughts. She wasn’t bothered if they noticed her. All girls masturbated in the barracks: it was the only means they had of pampering themselves. And who could say if this was her last time …?
Her fingers found a slow, arousing rhythm – and then she felt somebody’s gaze on her. Not one of her team mates, but a stranger in the doorway. Tracey drew her hand out with a gasp and raised herself, her large breasts joggling in her low-cut bra. The newcomer was smilingly wryly, leaning on the doorframe. She wore a camo blouse and red beret.
“What is it?” Tracey blurted. “Who are you?”
“You’d better get your boots on, girl. The battle’s started early. The Guard have sold you out to someone else.”
Tracey frowned, then glanced round at her girlfriends. The team peered back at her uneasily. The redcap straightened up, her brown eyes mocking. She had an automatic in her hand.
“Another team are on their way to hit your barracks – now.” She paused, as if to listen for their boots. “It’s all part of the training, but they haven’t told you that. You’re just the objects of the exercise.”
Their faces fell, but instincts were already kicking in. They were too combat-ready to ask questions. Tracey swung her tanned legs off the bunk and grabbed her boots. “Christ,” she gasped, “we don’t have any guns!”
“The armoury’s wide open,” Jo said calmly.
Tracey raised her long-lashed eyes. They narrowed warily. “You never told us who you were,” she said.
“Just someone who’s pissed off with being a plaything.”
Those words struck a chord, at least. Jo smiled and jerked her head. The girls came after her into the passage. Like Tracey, most wore lingerie beneath their combat blouses, though one big girl wore baggy camo pants and nothing else.
An iron gate stood open at the far end of the passage. Jo led them past the Guard whose throat she’d sliced. The spray of blood across the wall convinced them this was serious. She felt excitement brewing in her wake.
The armoury was tucked into one corner of the building. The heavy wooden door had been unlocked. Jo walked through, still dangling the dead Guard’s ring of keys. The walls were lined with racks of weaponry.
Tracey followed her inside and peered round like a schoolgirl in a sweetshop. She’d never had this choice of guns before. After a delighted pause, she took a sub-machine gun from its slot. It was a Russian PPS from 1943 – skeletal and crudely-made, but brutally effective. A curved clip had been fitted, and she slung a pouch of spares over her shoulder. “Help yourselves, come on!” she said. Her girlfriends crowded round with greedy eyes.
Jo smiled like an indulgent older sister, and stood aside to let them take their pick.
* * *
Danni reached the corner and looked round it cautiously. The pre-dawn chill still lingered in the square. Three vehicles were lined up with engines running. The gatehouse waited like a stony mouth.
Her boobs grew taut as she breathed in. Her sunglasses concealed her nervous eyes. Gnawing at her lip, she ventured out into the open. No-one challenged her. The engines idled steadily. She heard a Guard’s clipped voice above the clatter, but it came from someone far away who hadn’t even realised she was there.
The rearmost vehicle was a Boar, but with a canvas back. She sauntered up behind it with her MP5 clasped lightly to her stomach. A tactical truck was just ahead, again with a soft cover, no markings on the flat black bodywork. The lead jeep was a standard Boar, its sloping backplate hunched aggressively.
The first packet of Doll Soldiers was ready for the off. The Guards were simply waiting for the word. Danni glanced around her as she reached the softback Boar, then fired a burst into the driver’s window. She glimpsed two bodies jiggling and a squashed-tomato splatter on the windshield. The clink of spent shells falling to the pavement made her wince, but nobody shouted out or shot at her.
She moved on to the idling truck and raised a flap of canvas to peer in. The back was full of blank-faced girls who sat along each side. They wore sand-coloured shirts and desert boots, with bare legs in between. None of them looked round or showed a flicker of reaction. Their glazed eyes watched the girls across from them. The Dolls were always hypnotised in transit, Danni knew. She saw the earphones they wore – amorphous music to maintain the trance.
Leaving them, she eased along the side and reached the cab. The driver was alone and chewing idly. She slouched like a disgruntled teen, one boot against the dashboard. She jumped as Danni swung open her door.
“Easy, now,” said Danni. “Let’s unplug those Dolls of yours and bring them back.”
The Guard was young and gawky, big eyes swimming in her face. She stared at Danni helplessly, then bent and fumbled with the truck’s controls. Danni waited, counting down the seconds of her life. Her breast caressed the sub-machine gun’s butt. “Okay, that’s it,” the driver gasped. She looked up pleadingly. There was a bleary stirring in the back. Danni flicked the gun to single-shot and started squeezing – then let the trigger go before it gave. Impulsively she raised the MP5 and clubbed the Guard, who grunted and slumped back across the seats. Danni stared at her unconscious body – then closed the door and moved back down the truck.
The Doll Soldiers were shaking off their daze when she looked in. This time they turned round expectantly. “Okay, girls, we’re here,” she said. “Come on, the mission’s started.”
She stole a look at the lead Boar. The tail lights seemed to stare like dim red eyes. But the crew still hadn’t noticed what was going on behind them. The Doll Soldiers were getting out and peering round the stone walls of the square. “Shit, it’s like the barracks we just came from,” whispered one.
Their uniforms were desert pattern, mixing sides from 1942. Some of them wore black berets and Desert Rats insignia, while others had Afrika Korps-style caps and dust goggles like Danni’s round their necks.
“Your weapons are in here,” said Danni, making for the softback Boar again. The sight of the red windshield made the other girls stop short. “Yeah, this is the real thing,” continued Danni tersely. “This town’s been taken over by renegade Guards … your mission is to wipe the bitches out.”
These nubile killers didn’t need convincing. They followed Danni round behind the jeep. She pulled the canvas open to reveal the weapons they’d been issued with.
“Nice to get my hands on this again,” a wry voice said. Danni watched the speaker pick an M1 Thompson up and draw the bolt back smartly in its slot. The girl’s brown hair spilled loose from underneath her black beret. Her thigh-length blouse was held closed by her belt. She gave Danni a quirky smile, her cat’s eyes mischievous. She sounded cultured, confident – a well-bred English rose.
“I’m Jenny, by the way,” she said, and moved back while her team-mates chose their guns. Danni glimpsed a rack of MP40 sub-machine guns – and variant MP41s, half-wood, half-steel.
“I’m Danielle, but people call me Danni.” She hadn’t used the full form of her name since she’d been snatched. It made her think of home for just a moment. Then she gestured off across the square.
“There’s two Guards in the leading jeep. You need to take them out. But quietly - we can’t get cornered yet.”
A couple of the girls had bayonets sheathed at their belts. They exchanged a wordless glance and slipped away. Jenny looked expectantly at Danni. Her gaze flicked down, then up again. “Nice boobs.”
“So people keep telling me,” said Danni.
“When the mission’s over, maybe you could … de-brief me?”
The blonde girl only smiled beneath her shades.
* * *
Gail’s hair was much longer than a Guard’s was meant to be. It tumbled down her back in chestnut curls. Every morning she spent ages pinning it all up so she could fit it underneath her cap. And that was after washing it and towelling it dry. She had to get up at the crack of dawn!
Bending over the stone sink, she dunked her head into the chilly water. The bathhouse air felt steamy on her skin. Gail was comfortably nude, a slight girl with a splendid pair of breasts. She felt them dangling as she rinsed her hair. Some of the other girls had just come padding in to wash, still dopey and dishevelled from their dreams.
As she straightened up, her soaked hair dripping in her face, a Roman sword appeared across her throat. She felt a stinging razor cut, and then a blow like a karate chop. Her mouth yawned open, horrified, as blood poured down her cleavage. She scrabbled at the sword blade, but the edge had sunk too deep. Jemma clasped her from behind, completing the incision, and Gail began to wriggle like a fish. She stuck her tongue out helplessly and watched wide-eyed as scarlet sprayed the wall. It doused her heaving bosom, and her head began to nod, eyes glazing over as her brain ran dry. Jemma held her close until her body had gone limp, then lowered her face-first into the sink.
Leilani looked on, panting, fingers gripping her own sword. The doomed girl’s proffered arse had turned her on. She’d never thought she might be gay, but now her heart was pounding. Her groin was full of sticky heat, like syrup coming slowly to the boil.
She and Jemma walked into the steam room, side by side. A naked Guard with slicked-back hair was emptying a jug over her tits. She gave the newcomers a glance, then squealed and dropped the flagon to the tiles. Jemma closed with her and thrust the sword into her belly. The Guard grimaced and writhed against the wall. Another girl sat on a bench, a towel round her waist. Leilani lashed out with her blade and sliced the helpless scream out of her throat.
* * *
The small refectory was almost empty, with most of the day shift still curled up in bed. A handful of the hungriest were sitting at the tables and tucking into gruel, bread and fruit.
“I’m sure that stuff is fattening,” said Leah piously. She took another bite out of her peach. Across from her, Denise just shrugged and shovelled up more gruel. She was a rather well-built girl, but most of it was muscle. She did her share of heavy lifting, unlike certain others she could think of.
Leah sucked her fingers with a ladylike precision. Her dark brown eyes flicked over to the door. A girl in an unbuttoned camo blouse had just come in. She held a sub-machine gun in both hands.
Leah gave a startled gasp and Tracey looked right at her. “Thought you’d catch us napping, huh?” she said and opened fire. The perforated barrel blazed, and bullets hammered through Denise’s back. She grunted, spat out blood and gruel and let her face smack down into her bowl. The tabletop was shredded and the fruit bowl burst apart, and then it was the turn of Leah’s tits. Bloody holes appeared in her tight tee-shirt and she quivered as the shots tore through her flesh. Body weight bled out of her and splattered on the wall. She hit the floor a good few ounces lighter.
The throaty burrrp of Tracey’s sub-machine gun filled the room. The other Guards died choking on their breakfasts. The PPS was pumping out eleven rounds per second, but she caught the last of them before the magazine ran dry.
The Guards still in the dormitory were stirring grudgingly. The sunlight could no longer be ignored. At this hour, even narrow cots felt much too comfortable – but then they heard the shooting from downstairs. One girl sat up groggily, still tangled in her sheet. Another started pulling on her shorts. Their M16s were propped up in a rack beside the door. The nearest Guards slid out of bed – and found their way was blocked.
A buxom girl in mottled pants was standing in the aisle. Her ample breasts were bare, and she had tied her hair back with a black headband. An ugly AK47 was braced against her ribs. “Come on, ladies, shake a leg!” she called, and pulled the trigger.
The hapless Guards were nude or in their panties. They wailed as bullets thudded into them. The big girl raked the row of beds, her tits vibrating with the weapon’s recoil. A frantic squealing filled the dorm, but nobody was getting out alive.
A second gun began to blast the facing row of cots. Nicola had joined the fray, her rifle pumping fiercely – her own breasts barely covered by her gleaming bandoliers. Her wide eyes watched as bodies bucked and crimson roses blossomed on the sheets. The soldier pulling on her shorts was caught as she bent forward, her dangling bosom sprouting bloody holes. Another girl could only press her sheet against her breasts, and scream as white-hot bullets shredded it.
The snarl of gunfire rose above the rooftops, and Jessika was put right off her stroke. “For God’s sake!” she said irritably, and looked up from Rebekah’s juicy slit. The noise came from the Guardhouses, and wasn’t target practice – at least, not of the kind her girls preferred. She licked her lips and raised herself. “It sounds like we’ve got trouble.” Throwing back the sheet, she picked her sub-machine gun up.
“I wondered why we had to share our bed with that,” Rebekah murmured. She reached out for her holster on the nightstand. Jessika swung her long legs from the bed and pulled her boots on. A new excitement thrummed into her veins.
Rebekah’s fringe was in her eyes. She looked completely gorgeous. Jessika could hardly wait to settle down again. But first things first. She picked her shoulder holster off the floor and shrugged it on as if it were a bra. The automatic nudged against the swell of her left breast. She pulled her jacket over it and drew her hands back through her tousled hair.
Rebekah found a pair of briefs. She sniffed them. “Mm, they’re yours.” She held them out, but Jessika just smoothed her auburn muff. “Knickers – huh! Who needs them?” she said smugly.
Still smiling, she bent forward and they kissed compulsively. The sub-machine gun dangled from her hand. She stroked Rebekah’s cheek. “Take care. I’ll finish you off later!”
Her lover purred, and pulled her pistol out.