Trash Punk Frontier
Content: Three boys travel the edge of civilization, fight raiders, shoot mutants, buy slaves and maybe even make some friends (and fuck them).
Sci-fi, chastity, muscle growth, punks, body mods.
*** 1. Don't Raid This Asscunt ***
Five men rose unnoticed from the high grass. They wore masks over their faces and camo thongs, but where otherwise naked, showing off their sweat glistening, tanned skin.
The two of them carrying sizeable phaser rifles were the first to advance on the victim – a lean teen in a white thong, crouching next to his dysfunctional hover bike.
The teen was busy trying to fix his ride, occasionally wiping away sweat that ran from his dark violet mohawk down his smooth body.
But actually... Asscunt had already noticed the raiders' approach, despite having his lithe back toward them. He had stopped fiddling with the bike's ion-chamber and gripped his little phaser gun, ready to act.
"Yo," said a raider. "Hands where I can see th-"
Asscunt whipped around and fired. He missed, but caused a second of confusion he could use to jump over his hover bike. Taking cover behind the low vehicle, he fired another shot around the side, missing again.
The men ducked back into the grass. One of them shouted, "Yo, since when do trash punks get phasers?"
It was probably directed at the other raiders but the boy answered anyway, just to buy time.
"Ain't mine," the boy shouted. "Borrowed it from my unit leader."
"And do you think you can take us all on, little bitch?"
"Probably not. But I can take a few of you with me."
"We just wanna grab whatever you have in your bags. And prolly that bike, too. I'll let you go if you surrender."
Asscunt chuckled. "Funny, I was just about to say the same thing."
He had bought enough time. The phaser fire had alerted his unit members.
A deeply tanned twink came running across the gently rolling grassland, his white hip scarf fluttering. As he drew closer, his pupil-less, pitch black eyes became obvious.
"Fuck," yelled a hidden raider, "It's a freak."
"I dunno," said another from farther back. "Maybe he's not that powerful or-"
The freak boy – Bucket – waved his hand while running and ice shards crystalized in the hot air. They shot toward the only upright standing raider and hit him in chest and throat.
The man fall over, blood gushing.
It didn't take long for the two armed raiders to open fire. Now Bucket was quite exposed and had to duck into the grass. His mohawk – amber hair tied up into three short braids – still stood out.
But now the raiders with rifles gave away their positions by firing and they weren't looking at Asscunt anymore. The twink behind the bike popped up and fired.
One raider dropped, his head smoking under the mask from a phaser shot that had fried his brain.
The remaining three raiders were probably ready to give up, but then Tyrant was upon them.
The final member – and leader – of Asscunt's unit was a lean muscled teen taller than most adult men. He stood up to full height behind the wavering raider trio, his royal blue mohawk pointing up in shaggy spikes. He wore a pouch over his dick and balls in blue that matched his hair.
Usually there was a phaser gun on Tyrant's utility belt that he had slung across his tight pecs, but with the weapon currently in Asscunt's hands, fists would suffice.
Tyrant missed his first big swing and gave the raider an opening. The masked man slammed his arm into Tyrant's face, which made the boy stagger but not fall.
As the unit leader, Tyrant had ultimate armor - an invisible, implant-based protection against melee damage. The raider clutched his own arm, having hit the invisible force field around the leader's skin.
A kick to the guts sent the raider flying. Meanwhile Bucket had crawled closer and used his freak power again to slam an ice projectile into the remaining phaser rifle, whose user dropped it in surprise.
The raider trio ran.
Asscunt was about to fire after them when Tyrant jumped at him and tore the gun from the smaller boy's hands.
"We're paid per encounter," the leader said. "If we let them recover and come at us again, we get another reward. Now, Bucket, try fix the bike. A good brawl gets me excited and this one wasn't nearly long enough to satisfy."
Asscunt pulled his thong down and bent over the hover bike's seat, exposing the bubble butt that had given him his name.
Tyrant spit on his fingers and shoved three into the presented hole. Within ten seconds, Asscunt got to feel the leader's still hardening dick as the smooth skin of a crotch and an ass slammed together.
He got fucked while Bucket tried to get the bike working next to them. Tyrant had been honest about not being satisfied with the brawl – he was more brutal than usual. Slapping Asscunt's head from the back and occasionally leaning down to leave bite marks on neck and shoulders, the leader made full use of the willing trash punk.
Bucket had to be a little envious, especially when Tyrant pulled Asscunt up by the mohawk for the deep kiss, but Bucket would get a turn some other time.
The reason they had split up in the first place was to find a rumored raider group in the area. Obviously, they had found those. After marking the two dead one's, the trash punk trio hopped on the bike again.
Tyrant was at the front, driving, while Asscunt and Bucket were behind him, holding onto sweaty muscles. They got lifted into the air just enough for the bike to loose contact with the ground and drove off, to report the encounter.
The tops of Far Summit were still visible in the distance, but the grassland immediately around the settlement was featureless in every direction.
The tall corrugated steel walls of Crimson protected the town from any raiders that have still have been left in the area, although most of the greenhouses were outside those walls.
In front of the open gates, Tyrant stopped the hover bike. Before they had even dismounted, they were approached by 69.
Like all thug clones, 69 had his serial number (and therefore name) on the chest, next to the suspiciously dick-shaped rocket tattoo, which was the emblem of NewLaw.
All thug clones worked for NewLaw and, incidentally, so did the trash punk trio.
The same tattoo – number plus rocket – was repeated on the side of his head and on his lower back. His short mohawk was naturally hot pink like his thong. It was NewLaw's color, so they obviously wanted their thugs to look that part, even on a genetic level.
"Yo 69," Tyrant said. "We got somethin' for ya. Two bodies right this way. Grass is still scorched from phaser fire, can't miss it."
The thug clone who worked as Crimson's town guard flashed a dumb grin with his square jaw. "So, the raider problem is solved?"
"Unless there are more groups, yeah, for the moment."
"Good, cause we have something new. A special mission right from the town's chief."
"Oh man," Bucket said. "I was looking forward to a relaxing visit at the bar. I need to get fucked."
Tyrant chuckled. "Could've rubbed off on Asscunt on the way at least. Suck it up. Well 69, what've ya got for us?"
The group of four moved into the shade under the city's deep red banners. While workers in equally red loin cloths walked in and out the gate, 69 whispered.
"Crimson's folk took the change well. They're practically in NewLaw hands by now. But there are a whole bunch of illegal drug brewers who didn't get the memo."
"Yeah, we know," Asscunt said.
"Well, the chief got a warning. If he can't put an end to it, NewLaw sends someone to take his position. Or they won't give us more material or something. Politics."
Tyrant shrugged. "And now what? We were lookin' for a brewer's den for weeks and... nothin'."
"We found it. There's a vault no one knew of. It's where they must have been hiding. I'm supposed to go with you."
"Sure, let's move."
"Actually," 69 said with his eyes on Bucket. "I've been standing here all day, waiting or any trash punks to show up. I could totally pile drive a bitch right now."
The thug clone nodded toward a crimson red tent. "Let's grab a Hydro-Cola at my place first."
The twink with amber braids dropped his hip scarf before they were even inside. Usually, a town guard had to reprimand indecent exposure. But Bucket was going to get a rather more pleasant treatment from this watchman.
Note: This is the third story in the Trash Punk Saga. You don't need to have read the others but if you want to, the first is Trash Punk World, the second Trash Punk Tide. This is set decades later.
Hope you stick around to see the next fight and the next fuck. The vault will contain a few surprises.
Chapter 2: The Lost Boys