Chapter 408: The Rat From Yesteryear

It was day, well, kind of.

Because in the Underground "day" was just when the fake ceiling lights cranked all the way up around ten in the morning, somebody up there having apparently decided nobody would tell 10 from noon and dumped the same light on everybody.

Nash was running and his lungs were literally on fire. Twelve, maybe thirteen, you never really knew, because down here nobody had a real birth date and you changed age by feel.

The guy was skinny, actually too skinny, ribs sticking out under a wrecked T-shirt that had probably belonged to three people before him, sneakers holed and slapping the cracked concrete every step.

Kid body, but legs that already knew exactly where to land in the dark, the kind of thing school does not teach you and survival does, fast, if you do not want to eat pavement.

In his pocket, a few crumpled bills, six hours unloading crates in a black-market warehouse, a real job, and like every "honest job" in this hole it paid 5 credits a day. Great, right? The problem was he had worked on the wrong gang’s turf, because of course, even earning your bread honest you still had to pay somebody a tax, that was the rule.

"HEY!"

The shout exploded behind him the second he turned the corner, then heavy footsteps, several pairs, already on him, and Nash did not even think, he just ran faster. He dove into an alley he knew by heart between two completely rotting buildings, a hooker leaning on the wall smoking without even looking at him because in this neighborhood a kid running was almost never a customer, and a bit further two dealers jumped out of his way, one of them dropping an insult Nash was going too fast to hear the end of.

"He’s going nowhere, that little shit!" a voice yelled, a lot closer.

His lungs were burning, his legs too. He knew the block better than anyone, but so did they, and well, universal rule: the people who already own everything always end up winning.

Creeeak

He dove behind a pile of rusted containers and flattened against the cold wet metal, heart going a hundred, the steps slowing right behind his hide while a flashlight swept the dark a few centimeters from his head.

Creeeak

"He’s there, I’m telling you!"

A hand shoved a corner of the containers just above him and the beam swept the space, stopped, left, came back.

Really the kind of place nobody should grow up, twelve-year-olds hiding in trash so adults would not beat them for a few bills, so banal nobody even got offended anymore. A whole system leaving its own kids to rot underground while the rich lived quiet up top under real sun without even knowing this existed. Honestly, what a beautiful civilization.

The hand stayed hanging, the torch kept searching, and time stretched in a way it should not have.

Creeeeak

"Mmh..."

The torch froze right in front of him.

"Wait," a voice said, close. "I think I see something."

Creeeeeeak

"...Ahh."

Nash held his breath, sure this time it was over.

Creeak... Creeak... Creeeeeeak...

"...Ahh... ahh..."

Then a hand slammed shut on his shoulder.

"HE’S HERE!"

Nash opened his eyes, and just like that the dark alley was gone. The air was not sticky anymore. Now it smelled like nothing, that kind of "neutral" smell, air scrubbed by machines that cost an arm just so it would not smell like anything at all.

He blinked, looking around, done with the tired neons that buzzed and gave you a headache.

Here the light was soft, filtered by curtains that looked so expensive they honestly probably cost more than everything he had touched, or stolen since he was born, and in the distance he could see the glow of the Spires, the exact same picture as the dream except here they did not look like they were laughing at his misery, they were just there, like a postcard stuck behind glass, spectators to his new life.

And right above him, there was Sarra.

She was completely naked, her eyes a little squinty because she did not have her glasses, her cheeks already all red, brown hair a mess on her shoulders, sitting astride him buried to the hilt, lifting a good centimeter and dropping wet.

Her cunt was wide open around him, hot and super tight at the end, and Nash only had his shorts, shoved down under his balls and stuck against his thighs, so every time she sat her hips hit his, skin on skin.

The bed creaked -Creeeak- Same sound as the dream, except here it was not metal, it was the wood cracking under her weight and his cock disappearing all the way inside her on every drop. And then there were her tits, crushing onto his stomach when she leaned in, then bouncing when she sat back up, heavy, soft, the flesh shaking a little late, nipples already hard and rubbing his skin every stroke.

"G-good morning..." she breathed, out of breath, with a huge embarrassed smile, going even redder when she saw he was actually opening his eyes for real.

She definitely had not planned on waking him, she also could not stop anymore, one move up, one move down, his head bumping the end of her pussy, a dull little knock against her cervix, and she let out a moan too sharp for someone who was still apologizing.

Nash blinked. He could still see the kid hidden behind the containers, and now he had this, this shy girl completely naked fucking him awake in a bed that probably cost five figures while his shorts were still hooked on his legs like he had not had time to become a proper man.

"...morning."

Without thinking his hands landed on Sarra’s hips, then slid lower to grab her ass, the flesh hot and spilling between his fingers, and Nash pushed a little to guide her deeper, pulling her onto him as she came down until the sound got wetter, fuller, and she clenched hard.

"I didn’t want— hnh— to wake you," she whispered, sounding sincere, which was almost ridiculous because she was already moving her hips on him.

She was not just doing a basic up and down, no; she was turning, making little circles with her hips to rub everywhere, greasy, intense, everything locked at the bottom of her, the walls pulling on him with every move.

Her tits followed the rhythm a beat late and knocked into each other with a dull sound, and she let out a higher moan like she was overexcited now that she could see he was awake and watching her. Suddenly she sped up, the moves faster and jerkier, that clean -schlk- every time it slotted in and the slap of their thighs hitting.

"But I couldn’t— ahh— wait," she breathed, face pink from the pleasure. "I saw your face and I— mmh— I had to..."

She clenched sudden, turned even faster, a slightly broken smile on her mouth.

"Ahh... Nash..."

Nash laughed quietly and pushed up a little on one elbow, one of her tits coming to crush against his forearm, so heavy, so hot, and he started working it even though his hand did not even go around the breast, the flesh escaping and coming back while he caught the nipple between two fingers.

Sarra looked away for a second, like she always did when he stared too hard, then forced herself to look at him again, still smiling even if she let out a "mmh" every time he hit the bottom.

"You don’t have to apologize for that."

"It’s just that..." She lifted up to the head, hesitated a second, then impaled herself in one hard drop until her stomach slapped his, a warm line of fluid running down Nash’s balls onto the shoved-down shorts. "I watched you sleep. You looked... I don’t know. Peaceful. And I wanted it. And after that I didn’t really think..."

"No problem with that."

He ran the other hand up her back, then back down to spread her ass so he could feel her better around him, and she went even redder and moaned against his mouth without kissing him, then started again, slow, steady, her tits bouncing between them and hitting his chest every time she came down.

Nash watched her do it, the luxury, the clean air, the view of the Spires, and this bomb of a girl, all shy and completely naked, opening herself on his cock like the rest of the world did not exist anymore. Who would have thought that would be the fate of the little street kid?

His smile turned more mischievous.

"Right. Let me return the favor, then."

Before she could answer Nash sat up, wrapped her, and flipped her onto the bed, the wood cracking louder, his shorts slipping a little more. Sarra ended up on her back, eyes wide, thighs still open, his cock sliding almost out of her then going back in on one stroke all the way to the end, and she squeaked with her hands on his shoulders.

"Nash—"

"Shh," he murmured against her ear.

He grabbed one of her ass cheeks, lifted her hips, and hit harder, skin on skin, her tits smashing to the sides then bouncing back up while he took both of them, pressed them, licked one nipple then the other, fucking her for real, faster, deeper, punching the bottom of her every stroke.

"Let me handle it this time."

She nodded very fast, unable to talk normally, cheeks on fire, and opened her knees even more to give him all the room. The wood picked up its -creeeak- again, faster this time, and in that room too luxurious for the kid he used to be, Nash gave her the good morning the way he knew how: all the way to the end, until she did not have a voice left to apologize.

An hour later, the silence was back in the room. Outside, the Spires kept owning the view behind the glass, like they had always been there to crush the rest of the world.

The bed, though, looked like a fucking battlefield. The king-size sheets were completely wrecked from the hips down. It looked like a map made of sweat and all the cum he had dumped in her.

The white fabric had gone translucent in some places and stayed thick and sticky in others, soaking straight through into the mattress under the sheets. A pillow was hanging around, half off the bed. The blanket had slid down to her waist, and even that fabric had wet marks where it had gotten trapped between her thighs while he was railing her.

Sarra was not really "there" anymore. Physically she was still in the room, but her head was already gone. She had been taken all the way, again and again, until she could not even get a word out. You could see it on her body, completely slack and emptied.

On her side, one of her huge tits was crushed against the sheet, brown hair stuck to her mouth, cheeks still all pink while she slept. She was so wrecked one thigh had stayed open; her body did not even have the strength to close anymore.

A line of fluid kept leaving her cunt, slow and continuous, sliding down her skin, making a warm stain that got bigger every time she moved a little in her sleep. Right above the mattress, the air still smelled like sex and that weird intoxicating smell of Nash’s cum.

"...Nash..." she murmured, a little stupid smile on her lips. She let out a small exhausted moan, her hips lifting one last time at nothing, letting a bit more fluid slip out. "...again... Nash..." she breathed, completely blissed, like she was still getting fucked in her dreams.

Nash was standing in front of the big bedroom mirror, a smile on his mouth while he watched Sarra.

[SARRA YVES — Bond Status]

Type: Soft Devotion

Affection: 100%

Lust: 99%

Trust: 100%

Pregnancy: 38%

Bond Sync: 5/5 – Deeply in Love

Thirty-eight percent, for an hour of non-stop creampie. It was moving slower than he had imagined.

He thought about Zayela. He had wanted to do for her what he had done for Victoria, but at this pace he figured it would probably take more than a single night to get the same result. It would be a real mission, but maybe a season 2 of their 24-hour connected marathon would fix the problem? The idea alone made him smile. How far he had come. Having that kind of relationship with Zayela? Today it was routine, but back then?

He put his attention back on his reflection and looked at himself another second.

The body in the mirror had nothing left in common with the old one. He had a real frame now, wide shoulders and muscle sitting clean under the skin. His physical presence literally filled the space in the glass.

He remembered the old body he had just seen again in the dream. That skinny kid with the ribs showing, that famous "shrimp" everybody looked down on, literally and figuratively. The contrast made him smile.

Not bad, he thought, for an old nobody from the Slums.

He finally turned away from the mirror, threw one last look at Sarra still sleeping, and headed for the door to go to the bathroom.