Carbon Pink: The Exhibition(ist) (Patreon)

Not an especially big one, but took a lot of thinking, consulting and shifting around. First time with Carbon Pink where I’m using a canonized character in the setting, so I wanted to give her the respect that deserved. Especially when it’s about a shortstack Mexican wrestler chick. That shit’s sacred. Carolina Fiesta’s a dream!

Tying that into a cyberpunk heist where everything revolves around how long you can face the tiny champ in a spar felt like the best way to do it while tying in her sexy way of fighting. The base concept I took from a friend’s Warhammer 40K game they were posting online; the crew needs to talk to an important ork in this settlement. The boss of the orks agrees, but they can only talk to him for as long as one of them will fight him. Everyone hesitates, then runs away at top speed while the war-priest agrees to trade punches with him. Even after magically blinding the ork, it doesn’t go well for the priest…

I set up a lot of stuff for the next chapters, but I’m not racing to do more of it. Of course, I’ll likely end up doing more just because the setting’s so weird and fun and I like the dynamic of this crew of horny outlaws and hitmen.

The Cum Gutter Runners were loaded onto a mag train that floated steadily along its barely visible track. Large-scale travel that the corps actually needed got more complicated, especially when they begrudgingly had to actually rely on one another, so they couldn’t use it too reliably. Genuine public transport was almost unheard of with each corp’s intention of keeping its denizens loyal and stuck in place. For small groups of businessmen and the rare tourist types, travel by shipping vessels and relatively short-range mag-trains were as quick a way as possible to get around with minimal risk of bandits.

Even in all their advanced conveniences, the trip was still most of a day’s worth of travel and layovers. All the scheduled transfers were the worst part, and not all that bad to begin with. There were some of the higher class tickets who had orgy rooms to keep them busy while other passengers/cargo let themselves slip into VR pods to browse the net or put themselves into a sped up coma while they shipped them around.

While they were in the packed basic seating meant for staff (but rented out to smugglers), it was difficult to be truly bored with nothing to do on the train. Rick had caught up on his messages and done some light shopping before going through some old games he’d dug up on the dark web. The notion of a “dark web” was a lot more widely used these days; anything that went off corporate radar or had any sort of mod to it was considered a part of it, and that was especially tempting when he was doing all of his work as a violent freelancer.

Sitting in the same row as him were his crew. All of Peachy, Rendale, Mimi, Caramel and Tex had come along to ensure that the job was as profitable as possible. The thieving little monkeygirl, the grim and businesslike ELF, the ditzy AI, the towering pink sniper, and the constantly streaming gobbo hacker made for an odd lot, but with the insane levels of diversity and body mods one saw within the blink of an eye made them look no more outstanding or suspicious than any other selection of citizens.

Their shady deal was simple, as far as Rick was concerned. Habanero Fiesta's Squared Circle had an exhibition match lined up for Carolina Fiesta; the daughter of the league’s owner and champion level wrestler. A seemingly freak accident had melted Carolina’s opponent and they needed a replacement. Rick would be said replacement, and for as long as he kept the match going, the rest of the crew got all the firearms and hardware they could get their greedy hands on out of a conveniently unlocked Slyth and Jabber storage facility.

“Just remember, Rick,” Rendale spelled out as they made their journey.

“Time is of the essence, and not in the fast way. Drag it out all you can. Stay away from Carolina and it should give us plenty of time to load up before she finishes you off.”

“Wait a minute,” Rick added defensively. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she’s gonna beat your ass, shady. Just try not to die,” Tex said as he meddled with some complex code on his holopad.

“Hey!” Rick said even more offended.

Mimi leaned over Tex’s head, planting her huge, dark and fake jugs on the gobbo’s head (not that a holographic woman’s tits could be real, but they sure felt real enough).

“Come on, quit teasing,” the bimbo AI scolded.

“It’ll be a virtual match, so he couldn’t actually die. Not without some interference on his like, neural thinking wiring junk.”

“Alright. Ha ha,” Rick said sarcastically.

“I’m not sure where all this is comin’ from, but I threw a robot off a bridge last week. I snapped a dude’s robotic arm OFF once and beat ‘em over the head with it. I took out THREE armed dudes in an alley once when my buddy Donny got some shitheads thinking he was cheating at lightball. You’ve all seen what I can do in a fight. I can take care of myself.”

“Yea, but Carolina can take care of you even better than yourself,” Tex giggled, his hands playing idly with Mimi’s tits on his head.

“You ain’t seen shit ‘til you’ve seen Lina piledrive Reggie the Ugly Bastard through a concrete floor TWICE in the same match!”

“Or when she popped Jill Lightstick’s head off her shoulders between her thighs,” Peachy added cheerily. She purred and shivered at the thought of it.

“Or suplexed that one guy, what’s his face, while still keeping his dick in her!” Tex ranted on with her.

“Or that footage of how she took out that whole posse of bandits with machine guns in Halo Hub barehanded!”

“How the hell do you two know so much about her anyway?”

“Dude, this girl is amazing,” Tex assured him.

“Current Shortstack AND Luchadora champion. And an ass like DAMN that’s a lotta ass!”

“Hips that could bear a whole family but instead they’re ending lives,” Peachy sighed with a dreamy look in her eyes.

“So nobody thinks I can win this? Mimi? Cara?”

Caramel grunted dismissively, laid back in her seat with her cowgirl hat over her face. Mimi pursed her pouty lips.

“Given all the combat data I have on the two of you… ummmm… so I was thinking, for the physical part of the job, should I go for two real big arms or a lot of regular arms?”

She changed the subject as she held up her hands, sprouting a few more out of her sides.

“Let’s just say!” Rick pressed impatiently.

“I won’t end the fight too soon. Leave it at that.”

“And hopefully with your balls still intact,” Tex muttered.

Rick gave him a firm shove in the head and went back to his browsing.

---

They finally arrived at the landing station right on the edge of Slyth and Jabber’s territory. The match was going to be held in the digital realm, but Ren had explained something about the source code required them to broadcast him from a particular location to avoid suspicion about them hiring a ringer. Any cursory investigation would mistake him for “Wrecking Balls” Rocko Rodram; a heavy hitter splicer with some league-approved body mods and dashes of gorilla and grizzly bear DNA in him. Anyone could have slid into his digital skin, but the management needed somebody with actual CQC skills and who was off Habanero records.

Their stop was in the business and pleasure district of S&J, if one could call it that. There was no true megacity to the turf, but many scattered and intensely well-defended settlements. The area was built like a rather tiny and humble town for all the colossal skyscrapers Rick was used to living around. Buildings that peaked around five stories tall gave him a sense of reverse vertigo, but at least they had bigger gun turrets stations around.

The crew entered with little difficulty; as a company, S&J technically didn’t produce anything at all. They were simply stationed on the border of the most monster-infested part of the world and took payment to stay there, slaying whatever came too close to the rest of the world. Their only real “export” was exceedingly badass mercenaries for hire, so bodies coming and going wasn’t the most shocking thing to see.

The edge of town seemed to be a place for the guardsmen of the borders to relax and unload (preferably inside somebody). Blatant brothels, eateries packed with all the artificial flavors/drugs one could want, and VR Sense Tanks were all on display, and the group easily found themselves the Wet Pipedreams virtual cafe. They paid off the right slacking employee and got a private room. Mimi and Tex fiddled around with the wiring while Rick stripped naked. The tubes were so advanced that he didn’t need to be nude, but he didn’t feel like messing up his clothes with protoplasmic tube goo.

“Ok, you should be set,” Mimi explained. “You should adapt to Rocko’s sim-body within a few seconds ‘til it’s like your own.”

She planted a kiss on Rick’s cheek.

“Thanks for doin’ all this for us. The boss suuuuper appreciates it.”

Tex nodded up at him, his eyes tracking Rick’s swinging dick to keep from taking an accidental wang to the head.

“I patched in a slight time delay for the Realm you’re entering. It’ll buy us a little longer than whatever you can manage,” the gobbo assured him.

“Loving the confidence in this, crew.”

“Just remember to fight dirty in every sense of the term. I’ve seen enough of these vids and it’s encouraged more than anything.”

Rick leaned back into the tube and let it seal him inside. Some people got claustrophobic, especially their first time or two. Rick had rented enough hours on VR games and the tamer interactive servers, knowing there were far wilder ones out there for whoever felt like making and modding them on the dark web. Either way, he’d been through this enough times to know the sensation. A translucent, vaguely flesh-colored fluid filled up the tank, tinting the shade of everything he could see for a few seconds. He breathed normally, letting the breathable ooze seep into his nostrils so it could get a detailed read of his entire body before he blacked out.

It felt like he had only blinked his eyes when he reappeared in what looked like a luxurious dressing room. Beneath the lower levels of even the slums, there were the deep, dark tunnels where countless servers maintained an endless ocean of data. All so the population could enjoy their almost completely realistic virtua-porn and simulations.

“Alright… what am I workin’ with here?”

Rick approached the large and well-lit mirror, dressed somehow in some of his favorite boxers. There were a few wardrobes and closets with hints of clothes inside, but with a bit of effort and a couple of mods, he had heard about people altering their look, their species, and even their size on a macro/micro scale. Seemingly taped onto the mirror was a flat icon with “Rocko.skin” typed across it.

Rick tapped it and it lit up, making his skin turn into a translucent blue grid. He wiggled his fingers curiously until some grayish-pink skin spread across his body with paler, more purplish shades here and there. He bulked up slightly and a short set of furry bear ears popped out of the top of his head. His short purple hair grew over his shoulders, turning into long, oily black locks while thicker hair grew over his forearms and chest. A short, solid coat ran across his shoulders. Rick was already large for a basic man, but Rocko was a splicer and a full-time wrestler. While his simulated body was huge, the proportions weren’t exactly alien to him. There was little wonder why the crew and their employers had agreed to put him into this form.

As the semi-literal bear of a man, the finishing touch manifested in the skintight blue trunks that replaced Rick’s boxers. They were tight enough to cling to his sizable bulge, and Rick had to pull on the waistband to check on the most important part.

“Ha. Sorry, Rock. Mine was bigger,” he chuckled to himself.

Rick knew he had free reign of the prep room, conjuring a few weights and random objects to experiment with over the next few minutes. The body was a bit stiffer and heavier than his usual, but he adjusted his style slightly and it felt familiar enough to bust heads all over again.

“Señor Rodram?”

The door to his digital dressing room glowed and a busty, bubblegum pink, almond-eyed humanoid wearing a luchador mask (and nothing else) emerged from it holding a clipboard.

“Yup. You’re lookin’ at ‘em,” Rick replied. Technically, he wasn’t lying.

“We’re ready when you are. We can upload you into the arena whenever you’re ready.”

“Happy to beat another ass for the fans,” Rick chuckled, cracking his thick but dexterous knuckles before following her into the light.

---

The nude luchadora mascot appeared in the middle of the huge arena. She projected herself especially huge, floating over the ring for all to see her and her every intimate curve as she spoke into a mic purely for theatrics. Thousands of viewers were tuned into the stream, some of them broadcasting themselves into the stands to watch it as in-person as one could get. The ring itself was especially large, a 50 foot long square of padded mat floor surrounded by classic ring ropes, with chest-high walls barely a foot past the ropes to let the virtual fans be as close as possible to the action.

“Ladies, gentlemen, others, and bitches of all 18+ ages! We are back and ready with more dick-tingling, clit-crushing, cum-guzzling action here at Habanero Fiesta's Squared Circle! Brought to you by Habanero’s Fiesta hot sauce! No finer way to make your tongue want to tap out! From the name you can trust, the makers of Habanero’s Paint Remover!

“Now we all just saw Lady de Zire barely squeak out a win over Wreck Tirepopper with her Thigh-High Surprise finisher! I don’t think aaanybody could top that level of excitement… EXCEPT FOR OUR NEXT MATCH, that is!”

“Introducing first! Our spicy chica champion! The Fiesta princess! The girl with ass, sass and class, it’s Carolinaaaaa Fiestaaaa~!”

With a flashy burst of light and fireworks, Carolina appeared to come shooting down from the sky and crashing into the ring. She landed in a stylish pose kneeling with her fist on the mats, leaving a pair of craters that looked like a giant’s ass had just hit the ring. They rapidly closed back up as the ring repaired itself and Carolina Fiesta stood up to her full height.

Granted, it wasn’t even five feet tall, even if you included the boosted platform sneakers that were there to compensate. She had a huge mass of black hair with silvery highlights that was bound back in a long, tight braid that went all the way past her hips. The girl was thick all over, particularly in her big, pouty lips and ass cheeks so big that just one of them jiggling or dropping could have completely crushed a man’s head under all that booty meat. And he would die happy in the process. She wore nothing but a thong bikini bottom, her sneakers, hoop earrings and a short, snug sports top over her round tits. Her shoulders, elbows, back and hands showed various patterns where flesh-colored bolts and plates were fastened in as high-quality artificial limbs.

As the league owner’s daughter, multi-title champion, and a bit of a wandering folk hero for suplexing countless bandits and troublemakers, Carolina was met with the usual countless cheers. She strutted around with her fists up in the air before blowing the audience some kisses and settling back against the ropes, sitting on the middle one and letting it bend deeply from the weight of her hips.

“And her opponent! The beastman of the ring! The teddy bear bruiser! The horny and hung hangman here to wreck your shit and your womb! Give it up for Rocko “Wrecking Balls” Rodram!”

A box of thick iron appeared in the ring, just for Rick to thrust out his arms and send it flying apart in pieces. He gave a throaty bellow, venting any tension and excitement he had for the match through his voice. The crowd reacted to it well, hooting and cheering if not as fiercely as they did for Carolina. One of the fans who had been crushed by the flying cage debris was especially excited.

“Crush me again, Daddy Rocko!” she hooted, kicking her feet in delight.

Rick smirked at the bottom-heavy champ across from him. If the adventuring thing didn’t work out, at least he seemed to have what it took to join pro fighting. He drew on what he could recall of Rocko’s seemingly limitless confidence that he was ready to back up with his fists.

“Don’t worry, princess!” he called across the ring, pointing menacingly.

“I’ll make sure you’re impaled on The Ramrod before I twist you into a pretzel!”

The crowd ate up the trash talk but Carolina looked unimpressed. She sat up from the ropes and the ropes rapidly bounced back up as if relieved to be free of the crushing weight.

“Listen up, carbone. I don’t know where chu got the idea you can handle all this…”

Carolina pointed down at her enormous ass with both hands, giving the crowd a second to get their whistles and shouts in.

“But I’m willin’ to bet chu ain’t twerked so hard you set off a car alarm either. So how’s about chu shut the fuck up and we settle this mano y chica, huh?”

Rick smiled and shook his head, letting out a held breath. The legendary booty, the attitude, thick as butter accent…

“The hell I gotta do to land a girl like her?” he muttered to himself as he loosened up and put up his dukes.

“You know the rules!” the nude luchadora reminded as she reappeared in the ring for a moment.

“Fuck each other up until one wrestler passes out, taps out, or logs out! BEGIN!”

The bell rang out noisily overhead and the arena filled with a heart-pounding, lively club remix of a fight song. Rick squared up with Carolina as they started in opposite directions, walking out a wary circle. Her hips jiggled and her long braid bobbed around, both visible behind her as she clearly remained loose and limber on her feet, keeping to the rhythmic beat. Rick’s fingers flexed as the music started tapping into the same eager energy he felt when he went into his battle hype.

Starting to sync up with the rhythm himself, Rick felk like he drew things out long enough. He charged at Carolina when she had just gone into one of her hopping steps, trying to catch her off balance with her center of gravity way off.

The grappling girl’s eyes widened in momentary surprise before she shifted her weight, seeming to fall backward as her limbs lashed out. She braced a hand under his armpit and hooked her leg around behind his knee, leaving herself suspended but still snatching away all control he had over his leverage. She finished her flip while tripping him up, flinging him completely across the ring. Rick slammed noisily into the mats before bouncing the rest of the way into the ropes, his bulky body draping over the powerful elastic.

Rick grunted as he regrouped, dragging his newly acclimated body back to his feet. Carolina tumbled rather nearly back to her feet as if the counter was just another fluid motion in her bouncy workout routine.

“That all you got, cabrón? Don’t tell me you’re goin’ limp already!” the fiery champion called out to him.

Rick shook his head to ditch the last of the cobwebs she’d knocked into him.

“I’m likin’ you more and more, little lady,” he chuckled.

The two of them approached more directly and Rick took a heavy but more cautious swing at her head. Carolina bobbed around it and shot a countering elbow at his temple but he got his arm up in the way to deflect it. They swapped a few more speedy strikes, trying to get a clean hit in until Rick twisted to grab her by the wrist, squeezing it tightly in his massive hand. He gave it a yank, forcing her closer to him as he rammed a knee up into her slender stomach. Carolina gave a loud huff as some spit flew past her pouty lips. Rick was never the type to judge by the countless races and genders out in the world, and that meant he had no qualms in the slightest with fighting a lady when she was set on doing the same to him.

The audience’s voices burst into a garbled mess as Rick gripped his second hand around Carolina’s hair. He had taken toughs out with a single shot to the guts like that, but the champ had clearly taken plenty like it. She doubled over as much as she could as her free hand braced on his junk. He was used to women wanting to get their hands on his dick, but usually their grip wasn’t this strong.

Rather than stroking, Carolina squeezed it like a handle and rammed her shoulder into Rick’s abs. Both rattled him but she was more intent on shoving her short and stacked figure into his midsection. With a huge grunt, she slung him completely over her shoulders and spiked him head-first into the mats. Rick’s body shook all over as the mighty impact shook the ring with his bulk and Carolina’s power.

“Gotta love chu pendejos comin’ in here with those big swingin’ dicks. They make easy handles when I’m beatin’ yer ass.”

Rick groaned as he forced his arms to get under him, starting to push himself up. Carolina bent over, hands on her knees to stick her massive ass out for the crowd and hang her tits out near his face. She flashed him a confidently playful smirk.

“What’sa matter, niñito? Too tired from draggin’ that limpin’ log around to throw a real punch?”

Rick let out a low and heavy growl, pounding a fist into the mats. Carolina clearly lived up to all the hype that the crew had been warning him about, and that meant no holding anything back. He gave in to the music and the frustration and the simulated pain pumping through him and was glad to find that his usual battle frenzy was still there waiting for him to let it loose.

Rick shot up to his feet and swung his meaty fist up along with him. It swept in a hard and heavy arc, uppercutting Carolina right in the tit. The fleshy orb snapped up sharply enough to smack herself in the face, jerking back upright in surprise.

“You punched my fuckin’ tit, you fuckin’ ass!” she snapped, more annoyed than hurt.

Rick quickly set to fixing that as he unloaded several heavy blows to her face. Carolina’s head snapped away from a hammering punch to the jaw, sending her soft cheek and pouty lips squashing to one side. Sweat and spit flew from her face just for Rick’s left to follow up on his right, pounding away on her with all he had.

“It looks like Rodram’s found his second wind!” the lucha announcer narrated, firing up the crowd into cheering or booing the sudden comeback.

“He’s turning this fight around! He’s pounding Carolina like a recycled bimbot! This could be a real upset nah just kidding~!”

Carolina had backpedaled a couple steps while Rick poured everything he had into her head. His boxing blows suddenly halted as she threw up a palm, catching his fist and stopping it immediately in its tracks. She gave him a stern scowl and spat out a few flecks of blood, and apart from some light bruises and scuffs left on her cheeks, she seemed troublingly unphased.

“Chu done with your free shots, cabrón?” she fumed quietly.

With a light pull on his fist, Carolina thrust out her palm. The short but bottom-heavy brawler bashed the heel of her hand right between Rick’s pecs, sending a shock of nauseating pain through his midsection. He choked on a breath so that when she snapped a side kick into his leg, the burly beastman body fell to his knees while coughing out wetly. Carolina kept up her fluid rhythm of her attack as she shifted her stance, swinging her immense hips out with it.

Rick had chased out enough gang members to have been hit by a car once. It wasn’t going especially fast for the short amount of time it had to build up speed, but colliding with it still felt comparable to the dense mix of fat twerk meat and powerhouse wrestler muscle’s fleshy slap against his face. There was a small but noticeable gap in time where he must have whited out because he heard the cheeks clap against his face and suddenly he was coming to on the mats with a ringing headache.

Rick was flat on his stomach when Carolina grabbed him by the legs. She lifted them off the mat despite being longer and heavier than her own, hooking them under her arms.

“Ride ain’t over yet!” the southern wrestler warned.

She grabbed his trunks in both hands, tearing them off to expose his muscular ass and thick, hard hog. The audience went nuts for the stripping maneuver, even as Carolina angled him lower to the mats and stomped her heel down between his nuts. Rick let out a loud and guttural howl as she nailed him at the perfect angle to rack him with pain while also grinding over his nuts until she seemed to beat the cum out of them. He shuddered as his overworked body nutted over the mats, absentmindedly noting just how little chance he really had.

“What’sa matter? I thought Wrecking Balls was an invitation more thanna nickname!” Carolina boasted.

“You betta not be tappin’ after just one, ninito!”

Rick was still stuck on his stomach as Carolina lifted his legs up, completely hefting the huge man onto her shoulders. His largely listless body was left straddling her head as Carolina turned her head, planting a firm showoff of a kiss on the side of his hanging cock. A glossy imprint of her lips in saliva and lip gloss remained before she grunted again, spinning on the spot. Rick was whirled around in the runaway airplane spin, leaving his heavy limbs and hardon whirling with it and splashing the leftover cum out of him like a centrifuge. Carolina only stopped to swing him back down in a power bomb that smashed his head and shoulted into the mats. Rick flopped as he heard something crack, unsure if it was his spine or the ring.

His blurry vision stared up at the spotlights until Carolina grabbed his legs again. She hopped over his lower half, catching his cock between her thighs in one nimble move.

“Don’t go thinkin’ this’ a favor or nothin’,” Carolina warned him.

The vice-like grip of her huge thighs crushing his dick gave Rick equal parts pain and pleasure. She bent and directed his cock around as she gave a tug of her thumb at the waist of her thong. It snapped away with conveniently little effort, letting her slingshot it off into the audience. The nearby fans broke into their own little battle royale over the souvenir as Carolina’s powerful hips dropped, forcing Rick’s contorted cock inside her.

“Gonna make that loser dick tap out to me, puto. Gonna make yer cock cry for mercy!” Carolina threatened as she aggressively rode his dick.

Rick grunted and grimaced, his battered body too weak to stop her reverse mating press. She had wrenched his dick around to get him bent into this position so that every drop of her hips made her ass jiggle just over his face while sending mixed pain and pleasure through him. Even at the awkwardly bent angle, he was big enough to cause a visible bulge in her belly as he was rammed inside her.

Her pussy felt amazing, at least what parts he could feel through the twisting submission hold she had on his cock and legs. His body had no idea what to feel as he tried to hump back into her, only to find his body was so bent out of shape that he didn’t know which way was up. He mostly just ended up twitching as she had her way with his captive dick.

Her bouncing butt kept sending jolts of pain through his back as she bent him more and more in half. That also brought his feet up past his fuzzy ears as her ass drew closer and closer. The eclipsing booty finally smashed down on him in a wave of hot and sweaty flesh. Her world famous ass cheeks slapped audibly down on his face and he felt the ring shift as her crushing ass left a small crater in the mats. He tried to suck in a gasping breath and found nothing but her booty sweat and the powerful smell of her aroused pussy.

“It looks like it’s ass up and lights out for the challenger! Hardly anyone has escaped the unstoppable twerk tactics of Fiesta!” the announcer boasted.

Rick didn’t have the time to consider what exactly she meant by that before Carolina made it painfully clear. She started bouncing in place, smashing her cheeks into his face before bobbing them back up again. They wobbled and clapped like thunder around his face, and soon most of his entire head was between the meaty buns. His ears rang and his head spun as she simultaneously fucked his dick while bending him back far enough to twerk so hard that she was beating his senseless with her ass cheeks. His cock and balls twitched in the merciless grip of her pussy.

“C’mon, bitchdick! Chu give? Either’s fine with me! I can just keep dehydratin’ ya an’ keep you alive with my ass sweat if chu want! Dis booty giveth and it taketh away, comprende!?”

Rick slapped a powerless hand against her crushing booty, but only groped it. He felt too weak to tap again, or maybe it was the last part of his brain remembering the mission was to hold out as long as possible. Carolina’s corkscrewing hips kept grinding his dick in maddening ways while slapping his face back and forth between her ass cheeks, all while crashing her dense center of mass down on top of him. He caught and pulled on her braid, but Carolina just moaned from his basic struggling.

“Mm~! Harder, papi~!” she purred, a confident smirk crossing her pouty lips.

With one more head-crushing hump, Rick’s body shuddered as he came inside her. He was surprised that he did, almost forgetting he was fucking her for all the confusing pain he was going through. He felt his jizz oozing out of her and onto his stomach as his jaw dropped open. Her pungent asshole grinding mockingly over his tongue as her ass cheeks slapped at his face were the last things he felt before blacking out.

---

Rick saw a simple black screen reading in fancy text “Carolina Fiesta wins! Thanks for playing!” before he woke up back in his Sense Tank. He grimaced as he found the smooth keypad inside the tubing and hit the button to drain it. The fluid slurping noise finally ended before he cued the drying air jets and left to get dressed again. Nobody else was there, of course. They were too busy grabbing everything they could get their greedy little hands on while he bought them time as their ringer.

He took out the tiny communicator from his pockets and got in contact with the rest of the crew. He met them back by the drop station where they were waiting with several sealed, unlabeled carrying cases and crates.

“Impressive stuff, Boldstein,” Ren praised him with an upward nod.

“I barely got a hit in,” Rick shrugged.

“Which is more than most amateurs can do against a Fiesta. Even their youngest. You did your part and bought us plenty of time.”

“I went with tentacles~!” Mimi chimed proudly. A couple of the stretchy appendages finished unloading the boxes from a hover-lift nearby.

“Great. Looks like a good haul,” Rick said, nodding over the view.

“So let’s get it back to HQ and celebrate, yea?”

Peachy cleared her squeaky little throat.

“Riiight. Slight problem with that…” the wukong muttered.

“Boss got word from our smuggler friend. He got busted for, wouldn’t ya know it, smugglin’,” Caramel explained grimly.

“The corps don’t take kindly to people who get caught undercutting their profits,” Rendale nodded.

“So it’s a burned contact, but a setback we can handle. In the meantime, we still need to get back to Cardinal with a lot more product than we were planning on getting out of this.”

“Okay,” Rick shrugged.

He winced as his muscles tensed and stung. The beating he’d taken was completely virtual, but his body was still catching up to that fact compared to what his memory told him was real.

“So how do we do that?”

His E.L.F. boss nodded towards the part of town he’d just left.

“We liquidate what we can’t carry for credits and put that into transportation. Considering we’re selling stolen S&J goods back to them, it won’t be much profit until we’re back home.”

“Works for me. Who do we have that can fly us back out there?”

Ren scoffed. Caramel smirked. Tex just sighed and hefted a backpack over his scrawny shoulders.

“Keep dreamin’. We’re gonna have to hoof it most of the way back. No offense,” he added, nodding towards Caramel’s long hooved feet.

“At the exchange rate we’re looking at, we’ll be lucky if they get us anything more than a few ridin’ lizards.”

“Hey now. Lizards don’t come cheap,” Caramel corrected. “You’re not just payin’ for a ride. You’re payin’ for meat, hide, milk, and if you’re lucky, a dimwitted companion…”

“Doin’ the numbies… hang on…” Mimi muttered as she stared into space.

“Boom~! Got us something I think we can afford! The owners don’t feel like cleaning out all the cum stains, so we can get it for a steal!”

She held up her hand and projected a hologram of the large but beat-up vehicle. Rick grimaced at the strange mess of machinery, unlike most things he’d seen even at street level in Cardinal Holdings.

“The hell is that supposed to be?”

“Y’all ain’t seen a pickup truck before?” Caramel grunted. “Fuckin’ city boys… don’t worry. Your candy ass will get used to all the bumpin’ when we’re drivin’ halfway across the desert.”