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Sam's In a Bad Spot (Part 1/2)
🕑 Added 2019-04-05 20:49:12 +0000 UTCSam's an exiled fighter pilot whose life has never been worse. She spends her days transporting black market goods in a shoddy cargo plane and her nights at the local bar chasing tail. Tonight, she finds the sexiest hookup ever: an anthro doberman who's dressed like a millionaire. There's far more to him than she realizes. If Sam can control her drinking, things will turn out okay. If not, her life's about to undergo some drastic changes.
Sam's In a Bad Spot - Part (1/2)
by Zmeydros
(Based on a comic of the same name by Ironmane)
(Edited by Tiliquain and Journeymaniac)
The People's Commonwealth of Altramea
City Name: Destination
First time I ever came across this dispossessed shithole of a town, I thought they were out of their minds. And my shit luck has landed me here.
The canyons here went every which way like the cracks in the mud on a dry lake bed except for the fact they were eight hundred feet deep and wide enough to easily fly a small cargo plane through. The guys in white coats said they were created by the nuclear pissing match that fucked over the world. How that was even possible, I had no clue.
The exiles, smugglers, crime lords, and hitmen that called these canyons home called them The Slots. Partially because they looked like a massive straight-walled slot canyon, partially because flying in them was like gambling. Sure, you could fly over them, but that let radar and satellites get a clear fix on you. And if your destination was the slots, you wanted all the privacy you could get.
The Slots were never my destination, they were the garbage-infested shore I washed up on when the politicians in Farisburg used my dad as their latest scapegoat.
Just about the only thing I liked about The Slots was the healthy amount of sarcasm that thrived here. The towns were all named to give Air Traffic Controllers headaches. The town I called home was "Destination" the farthest town from me was called "Departure" and scattered around throughout were the towns, "Nav Point, GPS Lock, Fix, and Waypoint." My favorite leg to fly left from "Destination" and arrived at "Departure."
I looked back at the grease monkey who was doing God knows what to my dodgy cargo plane and said, "If the yoke doesn't pull smooth when I come in tomorrow, you're gonna to have to explain why our shipment is late. I'm not gonna cover your ass this time."
Craffe snapped her head to look back at me so quick her nose ring and blue mohawk both bounced, "You never cover my ass."
"That's because you do shoddy work!" I shot back.
"You'd fall right out of the sky if anyone else touched this plane."
I glared at her. "Is that a threat?"
"No, Sam, GOD!" She tucked her wrench into her tool belt and turned to face me. Her black leather jacket looked a bit too small for her broad shoulders. "This thing's made of paperclips and tin foil. If we had money for parts, I'd toss out half the plane. You're lucky I can keep it running."
I made a show of yawning before I said, "Yeah, yeah, heard it all before. I'm gonna go get some routine maintenance and hit the hay. Try not to break anything important."
"Hope you have fun at the bar! I'll just be here, you know, making sure you don't die." She rolled her eyes and shook her head before turning back toward the plane.
She could stew in her own trademarked, "totally original," edgy way for all I cared. It's not like I had time to babysit her and show her how to properly do her job. I needed some serious R&R. The winds above The Slots today were gusting over thirty knots and I had to manhandle the yolk whenever the plane had to pop out of them to pick up black market goods. And it didn't help that Caraffe had bungled the action on the yolk last time she did an overhaul.
Our hangar, like all the living and working space in The Slots, was carved into the rock face. The result was that everything was cramped. The hangar had just enough space for the plane, some barely-functional spare parts, the hoist affixed to the ceiling, and Craffe's tools. Everything in the hangar was speckled with dents and corrosion and grime. When I first saw it, I thought everything in it, including the plane, had been forgotten in storage for a decade or two. The state of that hangar was like the state of everything in The Slots: the forgotten detritus of mankind.
We were the cast-off skin of a government that didn't give a shit about anything other than keeping money at the top and some batshit idea of "order."
Not that the people in control of "The Slots" were any different. De Balkor didn't care if my plane fell out of the sky. She pulled it out of a scrapyard for free and offered me the pilot seat. There was no Aeronautics Agency in charge of making sure the black market followed safety protocols. When people died here, they just disappeared: no paperwork, no funeral, no obituary, just poof, gone...I needed a drink.
It was a long half mile of dusty shadows from the landing strip to "Routine Maintenance." The only time the sun actually made it to the ground was around noon. The people that didn't fly hardly saw it at all.
Repurposed LED and neon signs doused the canyon walls in a dizzying spectrum of light. The ones that strobed were always nice when one had a hangover. If you were going to have a hangover anyway, why not go big and have as much pain as possible?
A scrawny man with disheveled hair stumbled out of Routine Maintenance and unzipped his fly before taking a whizz right against the rock face. I lifted up my boot and kicked him right into the wall.
He yelped and fell forward smacking his face before falling over, his half-hard pecker exposed and shooting upwards in a little arc. "What the fuck!?"
I clenched my fist. "What, you couldn't go inside? You think this canyon doesn't have enough piss in it already?"
"I was gonna piss my pants!"
"Well, you pissed them anyway," I laughed. His stream was getting all over his pant leg. "Use the bathroom like a normal fucking person next time!" I grabbed the blood-red corrugated sheet metal door and entered ignoring further whining from that crude moron.
Routine Maintenance was a repurposed hangar for cargo aircraft which made it the largest bar in The Slots. The area in the back corner opposite the bathroom had long tables that could sit ten or so people. Crime bosses occupied them day and night making deals and hiring muscle. Then there was an area toward the middle that had family-sized tables where the smaller players would sit. Often they were quite literally players gambling their ill-gotten money away.
The area in the front near the forty-foot-long bar had a few dozen small tables made out of red-painted sheet metal where people on dates, people looking to get a cheap satisfying meal, or people looking for hookups would sit. Opposite that massive bar was a big area people could dance in with a DJ alcove cut into the wall about five feet up. There were stairs that led to the alcove around the corner near some luxurious leather-clad booths people could lounge in. I knew this because I'd used that alcove as a little fuck pad numerous times. The wall surrounding the DJ alcove was painted purple and had aviation art on it. Clouds, planes, and famous pilots arranged with great care. The dancing usually didn't start until much later in the evening.
There was a rumor that every shady deal or baby born in The Slots could be traced back to Routine Maintenance. It was not a rumor that Routine Maintenance had the best selection of wine and spirits on the planet.
The number one cargo item that went missing in The Slots was booze and I swore half of it was inside Routine Maintenance. On the far wall was the most glorious collection of spirits I'd ever seen arranged by type and grade and alphabetized to boot. A tall thin man with round glasses, a beige apron, and a blue and white flannel shirt stood behind the bar. I swore Isaac never slept.
Maybe Isaac never left because the few times he was gone were when all hell broke loose. No one wanted to cross him. Being banned from Routine Maintenance was like being a nun and getting excommunicated from the church. If you were too rowdy or maladjusted to be allowed in this bar, you were the scummiest of scum.
The only times I ever saw Isaac drink were to take a sip to check the quality of a shipment or after a brawl broke out in his bar.
My hopes at getting laid soared as I surveyed the juicy morsels scattered about the bar. Sitting at the bar tonight was a MILF that looked to be washed up military brass and a drunkard with a fedora that probably looked like a suave noir detective when he was sober. Amongst the small tables was a bodyguard in a black tank top and designer jeans, and a busty female with cat ears and tail in a plum-colored business suit.
As I walked up to the bar, Isaac's eyes latched onto me. He never quite smiled at me, just a slight upturn at the edge of his lips that let me know it wouldn't take much effort to turn it into a frown as he threw me out on my ass. He was wiping off a highball glass after washing it and waited for me to sit down at the bar before coming over.
"What'll it be tonight, Samantha?" he asked.
"Call me Sam," I demanded.
"Pay off your tab and I'll consider it." He smirked.
He was the devil incarnate! I pulled out my billfold and started laying down twenties until he stopped me and said, "That'll do."
I laid down a ten, "Here's a tip."
"You know that's less than five percent, right?"
"Just ask me to pay the tab next time."
"You never pull out your cash until I start teasing you."
"Maybe you should ask me to pay when I'm not already drunk," I suggested.
"But people tip better when they're drunk." He made a friendly chuckle, it was a patented bartender maneuver that put me at ease even though it shouldn't have.
"Not me," I said.
He put his hand to his chin thinking for a moment. "You're right, you're to busy chasing tail to remember your tab."
"I'm gonna be chasing some actual tail tonight." I looked over at the cat girl.
"I wondered how long it would take you to find her. You're in luck, she's been flirting with other ladies."
"Oooh, has she now?" I gave her a once over and she caught my eye. I gave her a little wave.
She winked.
I turned back to Issac and said, "I'd like a bottle of Jessie Bremmer."
He raised an eyebrow, "You're gonna put your tab right back to where it was. How about I just give you a tall glass of it?"
"The whole bottle, please," I said.
"Ugh, fine, but if you make a mess, I'm gonna add it to your tab." He bottle I'd requested was about eight feet away. Plucking it from the wall, he brought it right up to me and presented it like he was setting up product shot. "You know that Kent Reserve tastes just as good and costs half as much, right?"
"But Kent Reserve doesn't impress the ladies, Isaac," I said grabbing the bottle out of his hands.
He set down two bourbon glasses saying, "Good luck, I've only ever seen her drink light beer."
"That just means there'll be more for me," I said before grabbing the glasses and heading off toward miss kitty cat.
As I approached her table, her tawny-furred ears twitched adorably. She had this little snub nose and bright curious eyes. I set the glasses down on her table and asked, "Mind if I take a seat?"
"Not at all." She gave a faint smile to let me know I had my foot in the door, but she might still close it on me.
Pulling out the other wood and steel chair and moving it so it was a bit closer to hers, I plunked down in it. As I opened the brand new bottle of Jessie Bremmer, I said, "You're the cutest thing I've seen all year."
"Is it the ears?" she asked while one of them flopped down in question.
"The ears, the business suit, the tail, and hips to be proud of...the whole package, honey." I took a swig. The burn of the alcohol gave way to a wonderfully smooth sweet and smoky caramel flavor.
She blushed. "So, what do you do when you're not hittin' on cat girls?"
After another swig, I said, "I'm a pilot."
Her eyes went wide and her ears perked up, "Y-you fly through these canyons? Isn't that really dangerous?"
"That's nothin' I used to be a fighter pilot." I grinned. This was the point where I normally hooked them.
She tilted her head, "What happened?"
"Commonwealth politics made my father its bitch." I held up the bottle of bourbon. "Want any?"
She shook her head. "Nah, I don't do the hard stuff. Sorry to hear about your father."
I took a nice long pull from my glass. The buzz of the liquor was starting to take the edge off. "What godawful thing got you marooned out here?"
Her eyes fell to the floor for a moment before she said, "I don't want to talk about it."
"Ahh, wound's a bit too fresh?" I asked.
She nodded.
I cozied up to her and threw an arm over her shoulders. "I didn't want to talk about what happened to me for the first few months either."
She pulled my arm off of her and scooted her chair away. "Slow down there, ace pilot. Let me at least get to know you first."
"You're pretty, I'm handsome, we both like girls, and we're adults. What more do you need to know?"
"Your name, for starters," she said.
"I'm Sam." I held out my hand.
She took it. "I'm Sadie."
I gave her a nice firm shake as I slammed back the rest of the contents of my bourbon glass.
She retrieved her hand. "I guess anyone would need some mental lubricant after flying through those canyons."
Not in the mood for her sympathy, I waved her comment away with my hand. "Psshhh, these canyons are child's play. I was the best of the best. Flying while hung over keeps me from getting bored."
"Are you here every night?" she asked.
"Yup!"
Her eyes locked onto my bourbon glass and then jumped to the whisky bottle that was already missing a fourth of its contents. Then her smile soured. I prepared an eye roll to respond to whatever patronizing line of conversation she was about to start. "Do you drink an entire bottle of whisky every night?"
"No." I smirked. "Sometimes it's rum, sometimes it's schnapps, sometimes it's none of your damn business."
"Look, I-I'm..." She sighed, her cat ears flitting about her head as she tried to grab a hold of the new, more hostile, terrain of our conversation. "It's just--I've never known anyone that drank that much. Isn't that overdoing it a bit?"
Instead of yelling at her right then, I filled my glass full and drank half of it in one gulp. Setting it down, I said, "What do you care how much I drink? You think my performance in bed's gonna suffer? 'Cause I can tell you right now, I could drink two of these bottles and I'd still blow your mind when my head got between your legs."
As her mouth hung open and a blush bloomed on her cheeks to match the pink of her ears and tail, my snatch started to tingle. Maybe I could get her to follow me into a bathroom stall and we could get off before going back to my place for the main course.
My hopes for a tryst with her died as her bubbly infatuated smile became a straight-lipped expression of concern. "I don't doubt you, but have you ever thought about what you're doing to your liver? My dad says that cirrhosis is a leading cause of death in The Slots."
"Let's make a deal," I said gripping my glass hard enough to feel the faceted detailing on it press into my palm. "You let me worry about my own damn body."
"Sorry, didn't mean to put you on the defensive. Just hate to see someone do that to theirself."
So, she was one of those. "What the fuck is your problem? Lemme guess, your daddy bought you that suit? You ever had your life in your own hands, like in real time? One false move and you're paste on the side of the canyon wall? I face that every fucking day. I don't need you reminding me of my mortality, I'm quite aware of it, thank you."
"Well, that didn't take long." She shook her head while running her fingers along the the thick glass of her beer mug.
"What didn't take long?"
"Figuring out you're an angry drunk and an asshole."
Grabbing the bottle and both glasses, I got up. "And you're a stuck-up bitch!"
I walked over to option number two, the handsome bouncer. The moment I got up to him, he said, "I'm waiting for someone."
"I bet you they aren't as good a lay as me."
"You propositioned me when you were ugly drunk last week and I've had enough of you."
"Well I've had enough of you too!" I shot back.
Storming over to the military MILF, I said, "Can you believe these self-important bastards?"
She raised her glass. "Filth of the world, all around us."
"Hey, I'm Sam, how about we blow this joint and then blow each other back at my place? It's practically across the street from here."
"Bravo for your direct approach, but I don't swing that way." She held up her wedding ring. "Plus, I come with attachments."
The warmth of the liquor was pooling in my crotch. I wanted to bang that woman so bad! From the short dark blue-gray straight collar of her military jacket to the tops of her black boots, she was pristine. As if the dust of The Slots had never touched her. The three gold stripes on her lapel gave her the rank of Captain.
"Five minutes with me and you'll swing every which way." I laughed.
She blushed.
I gave her my most confident smile. It was always fun to teach your date how to eat pussy and I had a feeling this woman didn't do anything halfway. "Come on, you gotta admit you're at least a little curious."
"You talk a good game, but I'm gonna have to pass," she said. "I'll share a drink with you, though."
"You talk a good game, but I'm gonna have to pass," I replied.
She laughed. "Should've seen that coming."
Damn it! She was exactly my type. Sure, I could have shoot the shit with her, but that wasn't gonna get me laid and there was some fresh meat in the bar.
The noir detective was a no go since he was passed out and making a puddle of drool on the bar. Isaac was busy trying to get him to wake up so he could get the guy to go home. Sometimes Isaac had to resort to having his bouncers cary someone home. People passed out in the bar often ended up missing some of their belongings. This was the home of the world's most talented thieves, after all.
I downed the rest of my glass and surveyed the room. It was just starting to spin. The booze pumping through my veins was taking the edge off of everything and leaving me nice and cozy. I poured myself another half glass and sipped at it as I took my time deciding who to try next.
There was a tall black dude with the world's most gorgeous beard. He'd cut the thing so clean, so perfect and had these amazing full lips. I'd seen him in here before, but he'd always been with a bunch of friends. Today he was alone and accessible. Two more women caught my eye sitting at opposite ends of the bar, I was busy viewing the lanky one closer to the front when I spotted something unbelievable out of the corner of my eye.
First, I checked my bottle of bourbon to see if I'd drank the whole thing without realizing it. Still half left, there's no way I was drunk enough to be hallucinating. That meant that the five-foot-tall doberman guy viewing the wall of aviation art was the real deal.
Sure, people modded themselves to have animal traits, but I'd never seen anything like him. Even from where I was standing, I could tell his deep blue-green suit would cost me a few months wages. His jacket didn't hang as low as most and his matching dress pants fit his ass like spray-on jeans. I liked his style: showing off the goods as classily as possible.
When he turned to face me, his muzzle pulled up into this slight grin, like he was king of the world and he couldn't be happier. This dude was loaded! His pearl cufflinks and pin for his maroon ascot were of the highest grade possible. His white dress shirt was so pristine I wondered if he'd bought it on his way to the bar. What was I going to do with this guy? Would he even waste his breath on someone who couldn't afford five minutes of his time? He was either royalty, a brain surgeon, or a lawyer that only represented other lawyers.
Other people seemed to be avoiding him, their loss. People who got mods were often the coolest people you'd ever meet. This wasn't the time to chicken out!
I filled my glass and sucked down some more liquid courage. Of course he'd like me. I was the hottest piece of ass in this entire joint and he was clearly on the market. I rubbed my legs together thinking about the long canine tongue that was likely hiding in that maw of his.
"Pleasure to meet you, you can call me Lu." He bowed like the only gentleman in the room and offered his hand, er, paw?
There were a few bar stools along the wall so people could set down their drinks. I set down the two glasses and the whisky bottle before shaking his paw-hand as normally as I could. "Well, hello, Lu. I'm Sam."
He retrieved his paw and said, "I've caught your eye, have I?" He did a little spin idly wagging his doberman tail. "Magnificent, aren't I?"
Any other person being so overtly narcissistic would have put me off, but this guy was as magnificent as he thought he was. If I was a doberman person like him, I would have growled him to show just how much I wanted to grab a strap-on and stuff him with it. Instead, I just nodded and said, "Never seen anything like it."
As I spoke, he did a clinical once over of my body starting from my toes. If it would have been acceptable for him to take out a tape measure and get hard data on every curve and muscle on my body, I think he would have.
"And I've never seen anyone with as perfect a figure as yours, my dear." He grabbed the bottle of whisky. "May I?"
"Oh sure!" And he was going to drink with me? I was head over heels for him already!
He poured a full glass for himself and then a full glass for me. Either he could really hold his booze or he had no idea what he was doing. "It's refreshing to have someone to talk to who can truly appreciate all the effort I went through...Is it bold of me to assume you really like mods?"
"Nope! Mods are fucking awesome!" This was going so well...So well that I needed to make sure I stayed relaxed. I drank half the glass of whisky feeling a delightful numbness trickle down my throat.
He instantly refilled it and then took a hefty sip from his own glass and didn't cough or sputter at all. This guy was my perfect date! "It's a shame others in the commonwealth are so close-minded toward modification. If it's just parlor tricks like a pair of horse ears or a fox tail, it's treated like a fashion accessory. But full body modification? Somehow that's too far? Please! It's only through full body modification that we can test the limits of our species, stop staring at the stars and actually live amongst them."
“Isn’t it so funny how humans just keep blowing themselves up, ruining everything they touch? It’s like the human race is just a cosmic joke. A cautionary bedtime story aliens tell their children.” All the alcohol I'd consumed was starting to catch up with me and I swayed a bit as I spoke. Lu didn’t seem to mind, and I felt so damn good!
“Couldn’t agree more, my dear!” Clinking his glass against mine, he said, “Cheers to you for seeing the world as it truly is.”
We both took a nice long sip before I replied, “For what it is? A steaming pile of shit?”
He laughed. “Your bluntness is delicious.”
The way he said the word ‘delicious’ made my clit throb. I swore every time he enunciated a word, his net worth increased. I poured more booze in his glass. The looser both of us were, the easier it would be for us to just give in and start making out. “Not as delicious as some of my other features, can you guess which ones?”
With a grin, he said, “Your ears?”
“No, much lower than that.”
“Your fingers?”
My glass was half full again. That top shelf whisky just begged to be drank. “Oh, you’re really beating around the bush, aren’t ya?”
“ Your toes?” He gave me this adorable sheepish grin telling me he knew his cute innocent act was making my pussy do backflips.
“What, you’re too rich to talk dirty?” I unbuttoned one of the buttons on my bright red dress shirt so he could see the top of my bra.
He stepped closer. “Your nipples?”
“Ooh! Give the dog a treat, he got one!” I laughed.
His tail was wagging now. “Would it be forward of me to guess that the other location lies between your legs?”
“Nope. Come on, I wanna hear you say it.” The room was swaying, so I put my hand on the stool that we’d set the whisky bottle on.
“We’ll retrieve that line of conversation a bit later, I promise.” He picked his glass up from the stool. I hadn’t seen him set it down, but I was getting quite tipsy. “First I want to return to what we were talking about earlier, about the state of the world...What if I told you the human race is on a precipice? That the age of easy, repeatable, full-body morphs was upon us?”
“I thought you were old money, like a baron of something.” I grinned at him. “Now you’re sounding like some sort of scientist guy.”
“Oh, I specialize in DNA and species splicing, my dear.”
“That’s--” I belched. “--Rad! You know what’d be cool?”
“Yes?” He leaned forward, ears perked up in interest.
“Bein’ a fuckin’ horse dude!”
“Hmm...One moment, I’d like to relocate our discussion to more comfortable surroundings.” He put down his glass, took off his suit jacket and folded it over his arm, grabbed a dark brown all-leather briefcase that he’d set against the wall at some point, and picked his glass back up. Then he walked toward an unoccupied cocktail table just at the edge of the aviation art area. After he carefully laid his jacket over the back of a chair and set down his briefcase, headed back to me. Everything about his mannerisms screamed “gentleman.”
As he made his way back to me, I downed the rest of my glass and put the bottle between my left arm and my side so I could carry both to the table and have a hand free for groping. It was well past time to show my appreciation for Lu’s ass.
“Follow me, my dear.” He bowed slightly and gestured toward the table before turning around.
“I thought you’d never ask.” I said this as seductively as I could and barely managed not to slur. I unbuttoned another button on my shirt. That whisky was way too tasty for my own good.
As I followed close behind him, he said, “What is your profession, may I ask? YIP!”
The yip was because I pinched his ass. Taking his yip and lack of complaint as a good sign I’d be getting literal tail that night, decided to seal the deal. I unbuttoned my shirt the rest of the way and took off my bra and let my breasts pass right by him as I said, “I’m a fighter pilot! Er, at least I used to be one.”
He grinned at this. “You have an affinity for danger.”
“Uh, doi?” I replied as I sat down and slipped out of my shoes before putting my feet up in his lap. I felt like I was going to fall out of my chair. The room felt like it was on a tiltawhirl. “I’m actually doing a bit of ‘freelance’ work at the moment.” My mouth felt heavy and hard to control. I knew what I was saying, but what came out sounded muddled.
“You know…” His eyes darted down to the silver barbell piercings on my nipples and then across my toned abs, then they took note of the cool tribal tattoo that went down my sides and curved up over my tits. “I have a ‘business’ opportunity that might interest you.”
Isaac came by just then to complain. “Don't scare my customers away, Samantha.”
“Bitch, you should be charging them to see these!” I hefted my heavy breasts to show them off to Isaac, Lu, and everyone at the nearby tables. Everyone seemed to want to see them which fueled my confident smile.
“Hey! The strip club’s down the road.” He pointed in its direction.
I poured Lu and I more whisky and flagrantly took a nice big swig before I said, “Maybe I’ll go apply once I’m done having fun with, Lu, here. You gonna kick me out or let me keep the shirt off for a few more minutes until Lu and I go back to his place?”
Isaac looked at all the happy faces staring at my cleavage and then sighed. "Fine, but this is your first and only warning. If you flash your tits out at my customers again and I get complaints you're out the door and on your ass." He cracked a slight smile. "And ya ain't getting back in without scrubbing the head for a month."
I called out to my onlookers. “Y’all wouldn’t complain about seeing these, would you?”
There was a chorus of “Nah” and shaking heads. I held up my drink and saluted my loving audience.
“Good luck with that.” Isaac said before turning heel and walking back toward the bar.
Lu didn’t miss a beat and just continued where he’d left off, “About that business opportunity I thought you’d like a chance to…”
After that, I have no idea what happened. I’d gone blackout drunk for the second time in my life.
