I was so aroused that I wished I had the time to stop and masturbate or find some carousing stranger to fuck my aching cunt. Running for my life always made me horny. I was almost crestfallen when my destination came into view. The sex club, The Steel Woman, was at the far end of Carnal Row. A pulsating sea of horny revelers writhed in the street between the club and my fleeing self. My newly-acquired contraband was in my pocket, and it would be a good score for me if I could deliver.

Hopefully, my friend, Spike, now making a legal living running the club, would hide me from my pursuers. The corporate stormtroopers, the Skull-boys, wanted to frag me for what I’d done. There’d be no trial, no arraignment, just my charred, fragged body left in the street, a warning to others.

I darted through an alley, nearly tripping over some greaser, so high he didn't even notice me, lying on the steel-crete. A low-lifer prosti, a common sex worker, was straddling his face, rubbing her cunt over it while she poured some Blue Oil down her throat to enhance the sexual encounter. The man was stoned stupid, jacking his cock while she humped him. His long coat lay nearby, on the pavement. I lifted the worn, leather trench, hiding my extremely-arousing body from the Skull-boys that would catch up soon enough.

I wove through the throngs of sex tourists, locals, cyborgs, and the enhanced, avoiding the orgies and fights, as well as the Skull-boys on duty. The corporate police mostly just observed, not interested in any malfeasance unless it cut into their profits. Their gleaming skull helmets and fiber-steel armor looked colorful under the clutter of neon lights and holographic VR signs, the bright, electric colors reflecting off their combat gear. Carnal Row was in full swing, assaulting the senses with never-ending clusters of gaudy neon, flashing lights, and holographic advertisements, pandering to every vice imaginable.

Slowing my pace to a leisurely stroll, I quaffed a vial of Red Oil to calm my nerves, holding my arousal at bay. The cube I’d lifted would be a big payday, and Spike’s club specialized in the production and selling of sex cubes. If he’d let me, I could hide both myself and my pilfered treasure until the badge-wearing thugs went away.

I shoved off some greasers that thought my ass was for sale; it is, just not to them. A sex-borg orgy was drawing a crowd, and I hid in their ranks, exiting out the other side. I approached the club at a tangent, smiling at the ancient music thrumming out from the interior and my friend working the door.

“I’d know that ass anywhere,” Spike’s big voice, sounding like an ESP horn being played, rang out. “Even in that moldy coat.”

“Hiya, Spike.” I stopped and swayed my shoulders at him, giving him my “fuck me” face. “What’s a sexy Junker like you doing in a place like this?” We hugged, my hot, all-flesh body pressing against his neon-lit, cybernetic-armored bio-suit.

“I prefer ‘Chemically Enhanced Human,’ but it’s hot when you say it.” He stopped, staring at me, his expression judgmental. “What kind of trouble are you in, Max?”

“I need harbor, pish?”

“Yeah, I kapish. It’ll cost you, though.”

“Your friendship didn’t have a price tag when we ran together. Fun times, remember? I still miss your super-human, Junker cock.”

“I’m legal now, so there’s a tag. Expenses. Lay it out, Hot Blood.”

Spike is a Junker, a human that chose to have his body enhanced by a power suit that gives him super-human abilities by pumping drugs from the suit into his body. Hundreds of syringes lined his armor, pumping adrenaline, stimulants, and whatever else he needed into his body. The tag for such modification was high, and it took its toll on the body. Me? I’m a real Hot Blood, a dying breed.

Whereas implants and cybernetics have become more popular, the modification of DNA to custom-design humans, prior to conception, was all the rage until several decades ago. Beastmen were created for manual labor. Now, artificial life forms, borgs, do most menial tasks. I was a Hot Blood, designed and engineered for sexual activity. That gave me a loin-stirring body, insatiable sexual hunger, and a willingness to do anything perverted and dirty. Additionally, the Yakuza-type executives that designed me were wise and imbued me with the energy and a creative, highly-intelligent mind to fulfill my designed role. Had I not loved sex so much, it would have been worthy of despair.

“Skull-boys are after me, and I need a place to hide.”

Spike smiled at me and held his left arm horizontally in front of him, typing on his interface in a blur. “Well, it’s your lucky night. My actress just canceled on me and I have a club filled with horny mooks that were promised a Hot Blood cube show. Do it and I’ll protect you.”

“Just a cube show?” I smiled, knowing better. The thought made my pussy, always dripping wet, gush even more.

“Plus the floor. Gotta sell those cubes. No event pay for you, since I’m doing you the favor?”

“Who’s doing who the solid? I want twenty percent of the cube take.”

“Ten percent,” he countered, pointing to the far end of the Row. “Hey, looks like some Skulls hunting somebody over there.”

“Fifteen?”

“Deal, Maxine. I already told hair and makeup that you’re on your way up.”

“Hide this for me.” I plucked the valuable cube from my pocket and placed it in his rugged palm. “Do I get cubed as well, or is it fuckers-only, not the fuckee?”

“Whatever makes you cum, Max.”

“You always did.” I reached out to pat his manhood. “Keep it hard for me. You know how horny fucking always makes me. Get my music ready.” Sanctuary, sex, and profit on top of that? It was definitely my lucky night.

“Do you need rets, too?” Spike was meditating over the cube in his hand. At least I knew I could trust him; we went way back.

“No. They didn’t get a chance to scan the orbs. No flashing in the eyes, I swear.”

“Right on right. Go frag ‘em and make me a ton of credits.”

“Us,” I reminded.

The Steel Woman wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill sex club. Although clients and workers were fucking and sucking each other all over the place, others milled about, their eyes glowing fluorescent blue. They were recording video, tactile, and emotional responses on memory cubes. Once one jacked in, they’d experience all the sensations the videographer had. The selling of public cubes was big credits, and sex sells. The private encoding of cubes came even higher.

I surveyed the crowd, greeted some of the workers, even admired Crestla’s new cybernetic arm she’d had installed, and then made my way up to the dressing room. The style-borgs were waiting for me. I chose red for my hair, having cyber-strands woven in to give it some extra body and sparkle, and got painted and inked up for the show. In mere minutes, I looked like a more wanton, highly-aroused version of my already-lust-filled self.

My breasts were engineered to be full and plump, sitting high, firm, and round with perpetually hard, extremely sensitive nipples. My ass was sculpted from sexual fantasies, my hips the perfect curvature to grab roughly as a hard cock ravages me. My mind, lucid, intelligent, and creative, fixated on the pleasures of sex. Even my pouting lips were genetically enhanced to make you want to fuck my face. I was built to fuck and to be fucked, and I can never get enough.

Downing some Blue Oil and immediately feeling my libido surge into uncontrollable passion, my fingers were in my cunt before I’d even descended the stairs. Spike was already making the announcement.

“A woman so horny, so fucking hot, that you might just cum in your pants…no refunds if you do! She’s a real Hot Blood, not some phony, I promise you that. Without further ado, The Steel Woman presents the one, the only, Max Ina, the hottest Hot Blood in Carnal Row.”

Rather than take the stage from the side, I strutted through the crowd, my wire-mesh dress, neon lights twinkling, matched the soft glow from my web-interface implants that pulsed with soft light on my body. I thrust my body into various patrons, letting them squeeze and lick my tits, finger my volcanic cunt, and do unspeakable things to my ass.

“You’ll want to buy a cube for this,” I told one handsome young cyborg, his cock all hard steel. I plunged my lust-filled pussy over his factory-bought member, orgasming almost immediately. “so…you…can, um, ah…fuck me….aaagh, forever.”

One by one, with Spike smiling all the while, I convinced, persuaded, cajoled, and fucked or sucked nearly everyone in the club into buying a cube. My foreplay was done; I could feel my entire body, from flesh to soul, vibrating with horny need. I took the stage, almost laughing when the troop of Skull-boys kicked the club’s door open, looking for me.

A few minutes ago, I was a sexy blond with blue streaks in her somewhat short hair; now I was just a horny, long-haired redhead with a cum-draining body. I doubted they’d pay me any heed.

“Have you seen her? Seen this girl?” they were asking. Nobody had seen me, it seemed. One of the armor-clad troopers even sidled up to the stage and asked me, showing me a picture they’d taken during the pursuit. I was blurry, but my tits looked amazing.

“Haven’t seen her,” I told him. “But why don’t you pull out your cock and leave your helmet on? I’ve never been skull-fucked by Skull-boy, before.”

“On duty, prosti,” his voice sounded demonic through the skull helmet, and he pushed me back, roughly, which made my clit throb.

“Come on, fuck me,” I urged. “Lay the law down on my cunt.”

“Come on, men,” his stern voice cracked static through his helmet. “The greaser-bitch isn’t here.”

I stayed in the position I’d been shoved into, my overheated ass on the lit stage, legs spread. Euph-smoke began pouring out of the vents, the mood-enhancing, aphrodisiac vapors igniting everyone’s desires. Inhaling deeply, I began the show.

“I hope you’re all horny,” I began. My fingers ran over my body, squeezing my firm tits, fingering my dripping snatch. “I need every cock, every cunt, and every tongue in the room. I’m so horny; I’m always needing a hot, hard fuck.”

My music, ancient music they called stone-roll, blared out. Good music died out just after century 20.85. Hundreds of years ago, musicians used technology to help them create; after that, the technology created music for them, substituting computerization for talent. The stone group, a band named after residents of another district, sang about Hot Bloods, and how our body temperatures are feverish and burn inside us at one-hundred-and-three.

Growling in passion, I beckoned two of the staff over to help me. “Give me your cunt to lick.” I turned to the other. “I want him,” I pointed, “to fuck your ass, so I can suck the cum out of your hole.”

Turning to the crowd, I yelled, “I need at least five cocks lined up and ready to take me.” I got down on all fours and lowered my head to the sex worker’s pulsing womanhood. “Take my hot, dripping cunt; finger my ass and clit. My safe word is ‘harder,’ so use me like a hot-blooded whore.”

My tongue was custom-designed to be long and talented; the sexy woman with short-cropped white hair and glowing eye implants moaned as soon as the whirlwind of my oral attentions hit her labia. Her cybernetic hand grabbed my hair, pulling my face into her wetness.

“Fuck, oh snark, I’m cumming already.” Her body gyrated uncontrollably under my mouth, and she pushed her sodden sex into my face with violent force, muffling my ecstatic screams as a cock brutally shoved itself into my fiery core.

Although an engineered human without any cybernetic enhancements, my stamina, and physical strength are well beyond regular, birthed people’s. I grabbed her legs, pulled her convulsing pussy back into my mouth, and continued drinking her juicy nectar.

The man pounding my cunt from behind was brutally slapping my ass. Each stinging, abusive blow was translated into pure bliss by my Hot Blood essence. By then, we were surrounded by horny clients. Men were jacking their cocks, watching the spectacle; women customers were fingering themselves and each other, some of them joining in on the action and fucking and sucking anyone nearby.

I felt the first cock erupt deep in my cunt, each shot of hot cum triggering an orgasm deep in my body. As soon as he pulled out, my body still quaking in rapture, another cock, this one huge and thick, slammed into my cum-filled pussy, stretching my sex so wide that it hurt. Pain makes me horny, so I screamed for him to go harder.

“I can’t cum anymore,” the woman I was orally servicing cried. She was drenched in sweat. Her breasts heaved with her laborious breathing.

“Go keep their cocks hard for me, then.”

She rolled out from underneath me, kissed me passionately, and then went to service the cube recorders, so I could get my much-needed fucking. Just then, the other woman I’d recruited screamed in horny passion. Her client was unloading his jizz in her ass.

“Come squat over my face and let me suck the cum out of your ass. It’s so fucking dirty; I need it so bad. Give me more cock; I need more cock. Come on, you lazy greasers, fuck me until I die.”

The blue-haired woman, her body covered in net interface implants, crawled over me and presented her shapely, store-sculpted butt for me to clean. My magical tongue darted out, swirling into her hole as I lapped the man’s sexual gift from her anus. I just had to reach around and finger her swollen clit. Feeling hot cum landing on me, shot by some of the bystanders, I got her off as she screamed.

“Your tongue feels so good in my ass; deeper, fuck. I’m cumming.”

As her orgasm ripped through her body, I pushed her down and onto her back. That caused the cock deep in my cunt to pop out, white ropes of sex spraying from it as the sensation of being released from the vacuum of my fuck-hole caused the eruption. I held the woman’s head in my hands, staring into her cybernetic eyes, and opened my mouth.

The hot cum I’d sucked out of my first helper’s ass oozed out of my mouth and into the other woman’s. She moaned and began furiously fingering her clit as our lips met, and we licked the goo off of each other. I crawled down her body, licking and sucking her flesh as she masturbated, and added my tongue to her fingers.

Then, I felt a hard, cold shaft invade my ass. It immediately began humming, throbbing, and vibrating—a vibro-cock.

“Fuck my ass. Yes, more, harder, harder, deeper. Unnngh, fuck. Oh, by the God of Tech, fucking fuck my ass.”

My state of arousal, the sex-enhancing drugs, and the euphoric smoke all combined, forcing me into a state of constant orgasm. My sphincter became a pulsing vise, clamping down on that steel member and milking it for every last drop of cum. My cunt poured arousal like a water hose, taking cock after cock until I’d drained every milliliter of hot sex from everyone in the room.

The staff was not immune to my lusty needs, either. I’d licked every cunt, fingered every hole, and crammed my serpentine tongue up every ass, exhausting some of the best professionals in Carnal Row. Still, I needed more.

“Get those fucking cocks back up and fuck me more. I need more. Give me more.”

When it was all over, I was still incredibly horny. Half of the staff and patrons were passed out. The bouncers, most of them Junkers or Bounty Cyborgs, carried out the drained, letting them sleep it off in the streets. The others filed out, thanking me, fingering me, and kissing me. My insatiability earned the club and Spike bountiful profits.

“Here’s your cut, Max. You did good, kid. Ever think about going legal? We’d make one hell of a team.”

“Speaking of teamwork, Spike. I need to deliver that parcel you’re holding for me to that Yaks in Clemtown district. I could use your protection.”

“Nah, Max. I’m legal now. Yakuza means shady, right on right. I couldn’t get involved…”

“They’re paying three million credits for what I’ve got,” I interrupted. My hand fondled his oversized cock to help persuade him.

“As I was saying, I couldn’t get involved for anything less than thirty percent.”

“Twenty.”

“Twenty-five?”

“Deal. Let’s go; they’re waiting for me.”

Spike’s hovercycle glowed orange as he powered it up. Soon, we were sliding on the ether, speeding through the various districts. While Carnal Row is a touristy section, once one gets off the beaten path, the bright neon colors, and VR signs grow fewer and fewer, replaced by squalor and grime. The Skull-boys, the ever-present cronies of the ruling Mitsumu Corporation, grew fewer and fewer. Roving gangs of punks became the de facto law once the district got to be too unruly. The Skulls would only go venture into those areas in force.

The bangers eyed us up, gauging if we here predator or prey, but we made it to the Samurai, a Yakuza-run diner, without being harassed. I debated the wisdom of asking my friend to protect me.

The atmosphere of the diner was sordid and hostile. Darkened, lit only by the flashing lights of net interfaces that lined the walls. A true cyber-diner, this place had VR-web kiosks at every table. Armed cyborgs lined the walls and doorway, a blaster arm on one, a vibro-blade on another. There was barely any visible flesh on the lot of them; mostly, it was glistening steel cybernetic enhancements.

“I see that humanity is the minority, here,” I observed.

“You,” Spike's brassy voice bombarded the guard with resounding authority. “We’re here to see Kim Yan. Tell him his Hot Blood is here to deliver.”

Obviously, the wrong tack, Spike's words were answered with every weapon, too many to count, being trained on us. Blasters, needlers, ion pistols, and lightning rods materialized, all of them pointed at us.

“Come, sit,” a smooth and very human-sounding voice stated. The figure that stood up wasn’t what I was expecting. Sparse of build and wearing cyber-armor based upon ancient Samurai armor, the man was elderly and mostly human. His right eye glowed with red luminosity, probably an enhanced eye that allowed him to see in a broader spectrum than mortal eyes, as well as X-ray. “Would you like some Ramen?”

“You’ve got real noodles in this shithole?” Spike inquired.

“Yes, come, eat.” The man eyed up my companion. “How long have you been sucking Junk? We can detox you, for a price.”

“I don’t need no dirty, Yakuza Junk messing up my Junk. How about them noodles?”

“Bio-suit yourself,” the man said. “I’m Kim,” he turned to me, “and you just have to be Max. You’re definitely a Hot Blood; I haven’t been able to get hard without a stim shot for years, and my cock is aching for you. Do you have the parcel?”

“You got the creds, big shot? The tag was high.”

“Of course, of course,” he smiled and poured three tiny glasses of some clear, odd-smelling liquor. “Sake? Don’t worry. We unsanctioned entrepreneurs don’t betray our friends, unlike Mitsumu.”

I peeled back the skin on my left, middle finger, exposing my link node. He did the same. “Give me the finger, and I’ll deliver.”

We touched digits and the link connected his private server to mine. Through the holo-membrane in my pupils, I saw his account transferring the required credits to my account. I also saw Spike taking stock of the multitude of thugs in the diner. They were quite menacing.

“The cube, Spike.”

He shrugged and tossed it onto the table. The muted lights on the table blinked toward the memory cube, encircling it in a blue halo. Mr. Yan took it in his hand, his animated dragon tattoos writhing on his forearm. I waited in silence as he placed the cube into a reader and jacked in.

“Yes, yes, there it is. I see it. Ingenius.” He paused the cube and addressed me. “He didn’t notice you browsing through the design plans while he was fucking you? Most impressive.”

The plans I’d stolen for them were the designs for the new series of net portals for the Mitsumu corporation. The hardware and software code was on my mark’s computer, and he was far too easy to seduce. I fucked him while bent over his office desk, his holo-screen, and controls right in front of me. It was easy to go through his plans without him noticing because I’m that good of a fuck.

“You’ve obviously never had sex with a true Hot Blood, before,” I told that criminal leader. “He’s lucky to be alive.”

“Lucky, indeed. Lucky, indeed.”

As easy as it seemed to do the drop, it seemed that the ease of leaving was uncertain. The tattooed, cybernetics-enhanced goons lined either side of us as we made to leave. They didn’t do anything, but they had threatening countenances and their hands were on their weapons.

“Too easy,” Spike grumbled. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Let’s streak out before they force us to run Oil for them, or worse. My thirty percent won’t do me any good if I’m fragged.”

“Twenty percent!”

“Twenty-five.”

I’d just begun to breathe easier when some bangers decided that we were prey and ambushed us. A glowing green energy net materialized in our path. It would dice the hover-cycle to little cubes of scrap and chop me up into bite-sized pieces.

“Fuck! Jump!”

The cycle sped into the energy net, showers of sparks, flames, and black smoke accompanying the explosion. I hit the steel-crete hard, rolling to lessen my injuries, while I wondered why almost dying made me need sex so badly. Then, they surrounded us.

“Low-lifer greasers,” Spike was screaming. “I liked that bike.” He’d landed on his feet, his Junker metabolism super-human. Not even waiting for them to begin attacking, he charged the first one, his blaster attachment popping out of his forearm.

Bolts of color, orange, red, and blue shot through the air as the “phhhm, pheew” of needle projectile buzzed around me. A thug went flying past me, hurled by Spike, as I sprang to my feet, kicking out at my nearest attacker. My steel-booted foot connected with his nads; he fell, but not before my foot extended down and past his jewels to pop his kneecap out of place. Grabbing his fallen lightning rod, a sleek one with a full charge, I aimed and fried two of Spike’s antagonists.

A vibro-net careened toward me. “Take the prosti alive, we need her finger.” I ducked under the flying shock membrane, rolled, and fired.

“Told ya,” Spike shouted over the din.

There were only seven of them, so the fight didn’t last long. It took longer for Spike to hack and tear off their cybernetic limbs and enhancements than it did for us to finish the lot of them. The writhing tattoos proved they were low-lifer thugs for the Yaks.

”Hello there, beautiful,” Spike said, staring at me. I smiled and stuck out my swollen tits that were begging for attention.

To my surprise, he walked right past me and knelt before a still-warm, deluxe hovercycle, decked out for combat.

“By the god Tech, an upgrade. Look, Max, it’s a Grenadier 2300, still has that factory smell. Mine now.” He dragged the corpses, two at a time, over to the bike until he found the owner’s prints. “Just need to transfer ownership. There. All legal.”

“Give me the finger,” I said to him as I hung on the back of the cycle, speeding back to Carnal Row. “Funds transfer.”

“You got it, Max. I forgot how much fun it is rolling with you. It’s just like the old days.”

“Speaking of which, Junker, do you have enough chemicals in there to fuck me properly. You know how horny I get when I fight.”

“Let’s get to safe harbor, and I’ll pull over.”

“No need.” My hands reached around his metal-clad torso, seeking the latch to unleash his cock. When I got the codpiece open, I climbed over his broad shoulders, stripping my bodysuit off my flesh, and eased myself down onto his lap. That nearly caused another crash, but Spike didn’t object.

My tongue darted into his ear, my lusty breathing and whimpering moans probably causing static in his bionic ears. “Get that cock up for me, make me cum.” I stroked his shaft, feeling it grow in length and girth until my hand couldn’t fit around the circumference. I straddled both him and the bike, the vibrating of the power cells making my thighs tingle.

Impaling myself on his cock and screaming my head off, I hugged his body with all my might and bounced my lust-filled ass up and down on his cock until I felt it slide in.

“Fuck, I love your cock, Junker. I fucking love your cock.”

The hovercycle swerved as I maneuvered to find the perfect angle. Lost in lust, I slammed my body down on his shaft as hard as I could, making the speeder dive and tilt in the air.

“You’re going to make us crash,” Spike warned, but I didn’t care. I need cock, and the prospect of crashing while fucking made me horny.

“Fuck me, Spike. Take my cunt. Fill me with your cum.”

The newly-commandeered craft bobbed and rose, matching my needy humping. His chemically-enhanced libido was almost a match for my natural one. His girth increased, and his member grew long, throbbing as overheating as his bio-suit pumped endorphins and performance-enhancing steroids into his body.

“Your fucking cunt is so tight, Max. How do you manage that? You’ve had at least twenty cocks tonight alone.”

“Twenty…oh fuck deeper…eight, I think. Fuck me, Mr. Twenty-nine, fill me with your seed.” My pussy was genetically engineered to always be hot, wet, and tight.

We crossed the entire metropolis like that, going from one district to another. The stunned look on a few of the faces we passed turned me on. I slammed my body up and down his cock, squeezing it with my cunt walls until he unloaded a geyser of cum deep in my womb. His orgasm triggered mine, and wave after wave of horny bliss tore at my body.

Our simultaneous cum caused Spike to lose control over his cycle, and we veered into a building, disintegrating the VR sign depicting a horny sex borg fellating a well-hung man. Sparks flew and shattered shards of plastic rained down on us as we screamed in pleasured release. The hover-cycle smacked the pavement, nearly clipping a topless prosti getting ass-fucked in the street.

We skid to a halt, overturning some trash receptacles, but, otherwise, in fine condition. The Steel Woman was just a few yards away.

“Wanna spend the night up in my bunk, I missed you, Max.”

“Sounds good. Cumming and crashing together like that made me fucking horny.”