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falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
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Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.
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Friends will be Friends 2b/8
(Anonymous) 2012-04-13 11:36 am (UTC)(link)“We haven’t got a cap between the lot of us, Chippy”, Shrapnel fell in, his voice dripping with acid. “What did you expect? These guys are slavers, not a charity.”
“Fuck you!”
“Payment?” Jones fell in again and eyed Chippy with unmasked displeasure. She, in turn, straightened up and thrust out her breasts. “Well, I could offer payment in kind”, she purred.
Jones took a step forward and tore her shirt apart. After eyeing her tits for a moment he copped as much of a feel as he could, then nodded. “It’s a start. On your knees then and show me your arse, chick, so I can fuck you like the bitch you are.”
Chippy was about to throw another insult at him, but thought better of it. Ignoring Shrapnel’s feisty snicker, she did as she was told and let Jones fuck her in front of her gang and all slavers who happened to be present. She even seemed to enjoy it. Flak was more disgusted than ever.
“It’s a start”, Jones said again as he was standing up and buttoning up his pants. “What else?”
Still breathing hard and with her cheeks flushed, the pink-haired bitch stood up as well, pulled up her pants and jerked her chin at Shrapnel. “You can keep him.”
“WHAT?” Shrapnel jumped to his feet and instantly winced as the movement tore at his just about healed wound in his leg. “I’ll skin you alive you fucking…”
“Deal”, Jones said coldly. “And now get the fuck out of here before I change my mind and have the fucking lot of you collared.”
“The fuck you will…” Shrapnel began, but Forty, always ready to inflict a little pain, elbowed him squarely in the kidneys. The raider doubled over with a strained wheeze that made Flak flinch. He was just about to open his mouth to say something to Jones, even if he had no clear idea what, when another one, Jenkins, came over and snapped a collar around Shrapnel’s neck.
The raider jerked upright again with a roar of fury, but now it was too late. Jenkins hit a button on the controller he had in his hands, and with a yelp, Shrapnel fell onto his knees, gasping heavily as the pain from the jolt the collar had given him subsided. “I’ll get your fucking hide for this, you bitch, I swear…”
None of the other raiders made a move or said a word to aid their former comrade. They followed the snickering bitch out through the gates in silence, passing Shrapnel with shrugs or apologetic grins. There was no loyalty among these people, and no kind of honour. Not that slavers had much loyalty or honour, but Flak felt sickened at their indifference to their former comrade’s fate. Maybe they were just afraid they’d join him if they said anything, and with good reason.
And he himself… he simply didn’t dare open his mouth any more. Nothing he said would change Jones’ mind, and the only thing he would do was drag Shrapnel further into the shit he already was in. If he wanted to help him, he needed a plan, and remain inconspicuous to do so. It felt like a knife in his belly to watch Forty and Jenkins delighting in beating seven kinds of shit out of the former raider, but he couldn’t do a fucking thing.
They stopped when Shrapnel started spitting blood, and through a haze of excruciating pain Shrapnel dimly realised that they began cutting his clothes off his body, then forced him up onto his knees. The doc, used to that kind of procedure, had hovered nearby and now crouched down beside him and unceremoniously jabbed a few stimpacks into him. As soon as he was able to keep himself upright when the two slavers let go of his shoulders, Forty dragged his arms behind his back, holding him down while Jenkins equipped himself with a piece of equipment that he first recognised as a clipper when it touched his scalp.
Friends will be Friends 2c/8
(Anonymous) 2012-04-13 11:37 am (UTC)(link)“You keep doing that, and I’ll keep on turning up the power of that thing until I fry your brain, understand?”
Shrapnel couldn’t reply, but managed a nod. He thought for a second or two about fighting on to make them kill him, but he somehow knew they wouldn’t.
“Good boy. Give us any more trouble, and I’ll tell Forty to get his shears.”
In his near-delirium of pain and blood-loss, Shrapnel didn’t make much sense of Jones’ last words, but he realised even had he wanted it, he had nothing with which to fight back anyway.
They forced him onto his feet and dragged him across the plaza towards the slave pens, throwing him through the gate and slamming and locking the door behind him. Shrapnel remained where he had fallen, flat on his belly, burning with pain and humiliation. When he tried to lift his head, however, he felt his vision swim and blacken. His head hit the ground again.
With a deep burning fury churning in his belly Flak had helplessly watched the whole ugly scene, and it cost him all he had to keep his face under control and remain inconspicuous.
“That’s it, then”, Jones said. “We’ve got the ten men we need, so we can get them underway tomorrow. Tenpenny will be pleased.”
Forty rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure we can sell that snobbish fucker a raider?”
“Raider?” Jones feigned surprised innocence. “What raider? We only have slaves in our pens.”
“Yeah… but…”
“But what?”
“He ain’t broken yet, I tell you.”
“Then fucking make sure he is before you reach Tenpenny Tower.”
“Yes, boss.” Forty rubbed his hands, and Flak wanted to kill him.
The slavers went on with their business as usual, night was falling and the fires were lit, and a little later, most of Paradise Falls had gathered in the bar. Flak was there, too, but he was sitting in a corner, smoking silently and thinking furiously. His only chance was to create some kind of distraction on the tour tomorrow. For that, he had to make sure he would be among the men making that tour in the first place. Not getting hammered tonight and being one of the first to be up tomorrow was his best bet, and easily enough achieved as he didn’t feel like drinking anyway.
His eyes kept darting towards the male slave pen and the pale, silent figure that was still lying where it had fallen.
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