The Missing Flesh

Story by Evil Empire

This story began as an entry to smut fic exchange on LJ. Of which Elise Olisbos is a co-mod. As luck would have it I ended drawing Elise as the recipient of my fic. Although, since the fic exchange is mostly populated by female slash writers it's was nearly inevitable since Elise is one of the few willing to accept dickgirl stories.

The prompt she gave was: A mad scientist replaces limbs with weapons on their hapless experiments.

With requests for: Persons of Colour; Glasses/Bad vision

So as you can see, much of this story revolves around the prompts Elise provided. I also have to thank her for all her work helping me improve this story. She really did a great job of correcting mistakes and giving me ideas on what to change to make it a much better piece of fiction.

Warning: Oral, Frottage, Futa/Female

The Missing Flesh

How Things Must Be

"Hey, Fuckshit, come over here for a bit. I need your micro-assembly skills."

That was my boss. Of course, at the time she wasn’t my boss so much as owner. Except she wasn't exactly my owner, either. Perhaps it was closer to say I was her apprentice. Except for the fact that she wasn't teaching me a trade. You could say that we had a complicated relationship. Except we didn't.

Actually, it's really quite simple. I was her minion. Her henchwoman, or henchgirl, to be accurate. She didn't own me but she didn't pay me either. Oh sure, I could have left anytime I like but there was nowhere for me to go. Besides, without her resources there is no way I could have maintained all my cybernetic enhancements. Cyborgs don't last long without proper maintenance. So I was stuck in my situation with the woman who was my putative employer but who in truth was much more like an owner.

"Fuckshit! I said I need your help! Get your ass over here!" My boss again. Since my name is Maralee and not Fuckshit I continued to ignore her.

I was busy doing self-maintenance. Virtually all cybernetic enhancements require regular maintenance but none more than cybernetic hands. In my case my hands double as weapon systems. In fact, I have several pairs of such hands. All of them designed by my boss who just happens to be one of the galaxy's leading scientific minds. She's also something of a loon although I'd never say that to her.

Still bent over my work I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, Fuckshit. What's wrong with you? How many times do I have to ask you to give me a hand?"

I looked up to see my boss glaring back down at me, her face the very picture of severe displeasure. She happens to be both a very beautiful and striking woman. She's also very imposing and easily towers over me. Although, it’s easy to tower over me as I’m fairly short and skinny (although my girlfriend insists that I’m not actually skinny, just slender). She's also black. Well, more like a rich chocolaty brown to be more accurate. With long dark hair that cascades over her shoulders in loose ringlets.

But her most striking feature is her eyes. She has this way ​of staring right through a person. As if you were nothing more than an insignificant wisp of vapor from someone's cup of coffee. Or worse, an insignificant insect which she would be crushing under her heel soon enough. The effect is only amplified by the steel-rimmed glasses she wears. I’m not convinced she actually needs glasses and my theory is that she wears them only for the psychological effect they have on others.

She was staring at me, waiting for answer. "Sorry," I said. "I didn't realize you were talking to me."

"You didn't realize I was talking to you?" she said, her voice like solid ice. "I called your name twice!"

I shook my head. "No, you said, 'Fuckshit'. My name isn't Fuckshit."

"What? No, I did not call you 'Fuckshit'!" she replied. "I clearly called your name which is Fuckshit!"

"See, you just called me Fuckshit again!" I said.

"No I did not call you ‘Fuckshit’, Fuckshit!" At this point her eyes were bulging and bits of spittle flew from her lips. I couldn't help but shrink back from her. "I can't believe you think I'd call you ‘Fuckshit’, Fuckshit! I'm pretty sure I know what your name is, Fuckshit!"

At that point she was trembling in fury and I was shaking in fear. "Yes, Doctor," I replied. I wasn't sure what was going on but I knew that I didn't want to anger the Doctor any further than I already had. "I apologize. I wasn't paying attention. I was busy changing out the plasma connectors in my hand units."

"You can come back to that later," she said. "Right now I need your help on a new prototype I'm working on."

Not trusting myself to talk I merely nodded, stood up from my workbench and followed her to the bench on the other side of the spacious but cluttered workshop where she was working on what was clearly a cybernetic hand. An unfinished hand sti

... more on the forums ...