Master of Lust

Rick pulled his thick, wet cock out of Rachel’s tight pussy. The loud, sloppy squelch echoed in the tiny supply closet. A hot mixture of his cum and her arousal juices immediately dripped down Rachel’s pale inner thighs, splashing softly onto the dirty linoleum floor.

Rachel was panting heavily. She was bent over a yellow industrial mop bucket, her tight emerald dress hiked all the way up to her waist. Her black lace panties were torn and hanging off one leg. Victoria Warner was kneeling right beside her, her lips still shiny from sucking Rick just moments ago.

The harsh, blinding fluorescent light from the hospital hallway flooded into the cramped, pitch-black space.

Standing in the doorway was a tall man in an immaculate, perfectly tailored grey suit. He didn’t have a single speck of dust or blood on him. He held a sleek, futuristic-looking plasma rifle in his hands, aiming it squarely at Rick’s chest.

It was a high-level Corporate Oversight Agent. Agent X.

"Found you," Agent X smiled. It was a cold, dead, smug smile. His eyes flicked from Rick’s unzipped, cum-stained slacks, over to Rachel’s bare, shivering ass, and finally down to Victoria on her knees. "Well, well. It seems I interrupted a very private staff meeting."

Rick didn’t panic. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even bother tucking his dick back into his trousers.

Instead, Rick reached out and grabbed a massive handful of Rachel’s bare, right breast. He squeezed the heavy flesh roughly, pinching her hard nipple between his fingers.

Rachel let out a soft, terrified whimper, pressing her wet thighs together.

"You know, pal," Rick smirked, looking Agent X dead in the eyes. "If you had a voyeur kink, you really should have just asked. I usually charge a massive premium for an audience, but I guess I can give you a free show before I kill you."

Agent X’s smug smile faltered for a fraction of a second. His finger tightened on the trigger of his plasma rifle.

"You talk entirely too much, Smith," Agent X sneered. "Put your hands on your head and step out of the closet. You are coming with me. The women are entirely expendable."

"Wrong," Rick growled.

Rick moved with blinding, terrifying speed. His right foot lashed out in a brutal front kick.

He didn’t aim for the agent. He kicked the heavy, yellow industrial mop bucket sitting right beside Rachel’s legs. The bucket was filled to the brim with highly concentrated, toxic industrial bleach mixed with dirty water.

The heavy plastic bucket flew through the air. It smashed directly into Agent X’s chest before he could even squeeze the trigger.

The toxic bleach exploded upward like a geyser. The harsh chemicals soaked the agent’s pristine grey suit and splashed square into his face and open eyes.

"AAGGHH!" Agent X shrieked.

It was a high-pitched, agonizing scream. The futuristic plasma rifle dropped from his hands and clattered onto the hallway tiles. He grabbed his face, his fingernails desperately clawing at his own eyes as the toxic bleach burned his corneas and blistered his skin.

Rick didn’t waste a single millisecond. He lunged out of the cramped supply closet.

He reached down and grabbed the thick wooden handle of the industrial mop. He brought his knee up and smashed the thick wood over his kneecap. The handle snapped perfectly in half with a loud, sharp crack.

The broken end of the wood was sharp, jagged, and heavily splintered.

Agent X was still screaming, blindly stumbling backward into the hallway wall. Smoke literally seemed to rise from his blistering face.

Rick closed the distance instantly. He grabbed Agent X by the collar of his ruined, bleach-stained suit.

"Watch the rest of the show," Rick hissed.

Rick drove the jagged, splintered end of the wooden mop handle directly into the absolute centre of Agent X’s throat.

The thick wood tore through the man’s skin, muscle, and windpipe with a sickening, wet crunch. Rick pushed forward with all his brutal, enhanced strength. He drove the stake completely through the agent’s neck until the bloody, splintered point stabbed deep into the drywall behind him.

He pinned the man to the corridor wall like a grotesque piece of modern art.

Blood erupted. A massive, high-pressure geyser of bright red arterial blood sprayed out, painting Rick’s face, neck, and shirt.

Agent X’s eyes bulged out of his skull. He gagged violently, choking on his own blood and the splintered wood lodged in his throat. His hands twitched uselessly at his sides, grabbing at the wood, but he had no strength left. His body convulsed twice before going completely limp, hanging dead from the wall.

Rick let go of the bloody stake. He spat a drop of warm blood out of his mouth onto the tiles.

"Fucking amateur," Rick muttered.

Heavy, rhythmic combat boots hammered against the linoleum. Loud, urgent shouts echoed from the far end of the hospital corridor.

"Boss! Agent X is down! Sector three! Move! Move!"

An elite backup squad of Corporate Oversight mercenaries was charging down the hallway. There were six of them. They wore heavy, matte-black tactical gear, reinforced Kevlar helmets, and carried standard-issue, high-calibre assault rifles. They were moving in a perfect tactical formation.

Rick turned his head and looked back into the dark supply closet.

Rachel was still bent over the bucket, shaking uncontrollably. She was naked from the waist down, her emerald dress hiked up, displaying her wet, swollen pussy. Victoria was kneeling right beside her, staring at the dead agent pinned to the wall. Both women were looking at Rick with a complex mix of absolute, paralyzing terror and raw, burning lust.

Rick smirked. He reached down and slapped Rachel’s bare, wet ass cheek hard.

Smack!

"Ah!" Rachel yelped, jumping slightly.

"Stay right here, ladies," Rick commanded crudely, his voice low and raspy. "Keep your clothes exactly how they are. Do not cover up. I’ll be right back to finish what we started. Just enjoy the fireworks."

He stepped fully out into the brightly lit hospital hallway. He didn’t even bother zipping up his trousers. He just let his leather belt hang loose, his dick tucked hastily into his slacks.

He bent down and scooped up the futuristic plasma rifle that Agent X had dropped. The weapon was heavy, humming with a deep, magnetic energy in his hands.

Rick aimed the barrel straight down the hallway at the charging squad of six elite mercenaries.

"Say cheese, you corporate fucks," Rick growled.

He held the trigger down.

The rifle didn’t fire standard bullets. It fired heavy, glowing bolts of superheated blue plasma.

The recoil was massive, slamming against Rick’s shoulder, but his System-enhanced strength absorbed it easily. The bright blue plasma bolts tore down the narrow hallway, illuminating the walls with a harsh, neon glare.

The lead mercenary caught a bolt square in the centre of his chest. His heavy, military-grade tactical vest didn’t do shit. The plasma melted right through the thick Kevlar plates and blew a hole the size of a basketball completely through his torso. Literal chunks of cooked meat, shattered ribs, and boiling blood sprayed against the wall behind him. The man dropped dead instantly, a smoking crater where his heart used to be.

Rick kept his finger glued to the trigger.

A second plasma bolt hit the mercenary behind him right in the shoulder. It ripped his entire left arm clean off his torso. The man let out a blood-curdling scream, blood spurting like a fountain from the cauterised, smoking stump before a third bolt took his head completely off. Brain matter, melted plastic from his helmet, and bone fragments rained down on the white floor tiles.

The remaining four mercenaries panicked. Their tactical discipline shattered in seconds. They dove for cover behind medical supply carts, flipped-over stretchers, and waiting room chairs. They began firing their conventional assault rifles blindly down the hall.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Bullets chipped the drywall and shattered the fluorescent lights around Rick. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t take cover. He just kept walking forward at a slow, terrifying pace, holding the plasma rifle trigger down.

He blew a thick metal medical cart completely in half. The superheated plasma melted the mercenary hiding behind it into a screaming, thrashing pile of burning flesh and nylon. The smell of roasting human meat filled the corridor.

Suddenly, the futuristic rifle in Rick’s hands beeped loudly. A harsh red light flashed on the side display. The metal barrel hissed loudly, glowing white-hot. The weapon was overheating from the sustained rapid fire.

"Piece of shit toy," Rick muttered angrily.

The weapon hissed, genuinely burning the palms of his hands. He tossed it aside. It hit the floor and sparked uselessly, completely drained.

There were three heavily armed mercenaries left. They saw Rick drop the overpowered weapon.

"He’s unarmed! Push him! Take him down!" one of the mercenaries yelled, rushing forward out from behind an overturned stretcher.

Rick laughed. A dark, brutal, highly amused laugh.

He didn’t run away. He charged right at them.

The first mercenary swung the heavy stock of his assault rifle directly at Rick’s head, aiming to crush his skull. Rick ducked under the wild swing with effortless speed. He stepped quickly inside the man’s guard, pressing chest-to-chest with him.

Rick grabbed the mercenary’s right wrist with both of his large, muscular hands. He twisted his body, planted his foot firmly on the floor, and pulled with explosive, terrifying, System-enhanced force.

SNAP! CRACK!

The sound of thick tendons ripping, muscles tearing, and bone popping forcefully out of the shoulder socket was deafening. Rick literally tore the man’s entire arm completely out of its socket.

The mercenary let out a shrill, high-pitched shriek of absolute agony. He collapsed to his knees, clutching the gaping, bleeding hole in his shoulder, blood pouring onto his tactical boots.

Rick didn’t drop the severed arm. He held it tightly by the wrist. It was heavy, wet, and dripping hot blood everywhere.

The second mercenary froze in his tracks. His eyes widened in pure, unfiltered horror, staring at Rick casually holding his squadmate’s ripped-off limb.

"What the fuck..." the mercenary gasped, his rifle lowering.

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