100 Days Fan Fiction Contest

Second Runner-Up:

"Sweet Bodhisattva."

By Wader. Page 2 of 2.

Thinking of Grunge and his musky odor, sometimes thick enough to surround the room - even after a shared shower (of, admittedly, mutual gropings and frothingly topped off libidos), she begins to smoothly caress her heel towards the taught lower tendon, and repeatedly grabs at her relaxed calf muscle without general purpose in mind. She enjoys these calming sensations in there simplicity, feeling weighted by complexities she cannot take time to describe. Her normally rock-like, sinewy calves which become like iron when her talons instinctively emerge from all four corners, now feeling soft and pliable between independently knowing fingers and matured palms. "Typically petite, but eminently practical Oriental hands" . . .a pickup line she often uses in casual bar chances - hands which unfailingly provide an indescribably thrilling joy as they mold and form their entirety of surface to a willingly engorged penis, only inches from her face. Hands which intuitively cup the bottom of a casual lover (somehow, this feels more playful and personal than it should, from which she laughs more nervously than playfully, hmm . . .), searching for the goals she ever seeks. Sure, she's come to relish throwing her mouth forcefully onto Burnout's smooth, white shaft - and she teasingly tounges, while gently kissing, Fairchild's suede-soft stomach - but, these are enjoyable acts which she manages without much planning; well, beyond the basic scrubbing with a shower rag before hopping into bed, at least. It's the action, itself, which somehow manages to pierce through her inner core at rare moments of clearly viewing the scene from afar - in a strange, lucid moment: almost like pulling her senses from a major battle with Gamorran servants, only to realize the true depth of her involvement in something far beyond her emotional capacity to absorb.

Shen is alone in a world of idolatry that she can't help but entertain - this she knows and accepts willingly. For now. Baby Jenny offers her only grounded sense of purpose in any human sense, outside of stopping the bad guys and all, that is. Still, it's like being an Aunt, at best - with limited visiting rights and the knowledge that you're caring for someone else's loved possession. Yes, kids are possessions, aren't they? Like an ancient, embryonic child in a worshipped shell, we're all gifts to someone else, and gifts become property by the nature of being transferred from one to another. Shen habitually avoids thinking of her parents, whom she misses and despises - somehow.

"Well, the bleeding looks better on the outer right side; OK, time for the 'ol clove and aloe oil -", which only reminds her of how soothing that backrub from Jack's strong hands felt the other night. He was a piece, too. Hawksmoore was gleamingly pleased with her seemingly mature curiosity about how to earnestly treat his dick, which kind of resembled an inside-out hot dog with swiss-cheese for flesh. But, it *was* a good fit for her soft, strong hands, and surprisingly supple when erect. The damndest thing, it was soothingly strange when she felt massive sucking from inside her vagina as he came - which mixed with the usually fun feeling of having something intensely personal and "dirty" being shared beneath her ever-massaging muscles. "Do you want to hold me? Oh yeah!", she hummed to herself, feeling some dainty Bow-Wow-Wow butterflies from their intense afterglow (Jack said that was pretty typical for his experiences) -

"Oh God, let me finish these feet in one sitting, for once." Well, it was becoming almost no use, as she began to lick her big right toe in an innocent try to test it's smoothness, and only ended up engulfing half her foot. There was a time - seems like long ago, when Shen would think that this was applauded as a feat of child-like dexterity, but now only symbolizes masturbatory foreplay.

"Fingers, toes, and Angie's custom nano-penis make quick work of things", she surveyed in an ever-increasing sense of heat and adrenalin. Not like it's been long since she last "jerked off" (she loved using butch descriptions for female acts, just to be offsetting and cutesy - not sure why, though), and she had some time before meeting up with Gen13 and their buds for a workout in Gym 4. She never handled more than 2 guys before, and -"wait a fucking minute - what the hell am I doing? I sound like a whore, or maybe- shit! Fuck! Damn Damn Damn!", as she began to silently gasp, then depressingly sob while continuing to rub her left sole.

Shen's life was more in her own hands and of her own choosing than ever - she was in total control. Her life was not her own, more so than in any of her couple decades of living. She felt trapped, and -

Finished her massaging. Mechanically wiping the oil from her feet, lifting them in a dainty fashion as if posing for a men's fetish magazine spread, she approved the results with a whimper. Trance-like, she fell into a laid-out skirt and blouse, then looked in the wall mirror. She saw dry tears on her cheeks, but they didn't exactly register - her whole being felt somehow encompassingly hollow. Then she saw her beautiful, bare feet.

Wiping her face with a sense of purpose, she picked up her sneakers and swiftly left the room - on her way to visit Baby Jenny. It was going to be a happy birthday this year, she said to herself - beginning to smile as she marched down the hall.