Chapter 3: All Roads Lead to Orgasm
The `Rockhard punks' were three boys with little to their name.
Usually, guys Spit's age were not supposed to go punking anymore, and group leaders were reluctant to take grown men on board since the leader role was normally passed to the eldest.
However, Rockhard knew Spit well enough from many visits to Apex to let him join without a second's hesitation.
The team leader Rockhard, aged 17, had a violet mohawk and a color matched thong. His second in command was 15 year old Sem, with a pale green mohawk and a thong in the same color. The youngest member was Dov, hair and thong dark blue.
As expected, Spit had to purchase a thong that matched his sky colored hair to fit the theme. With his boots and a sturdy backpack, he looked like he had always belonged to the Rockhard punks, except for the more developed physique. He was also the tallest of them.
"Welcome on board," Rockhard said in his sexily raspy voice. "Don't make trouble, and do what I say."
Spit saluted. "Me and my ghost twin are at your service."
"Onto business. Fill your backpack with rinse-gel. We already have a buyer. It's a small margin but it'll do."
"Wait, where are we going?"
"Dreck Hole. Ever been?"
Spit shook his head. "That's exactly why I want out of here. See a bit more of the world. Always felt restless, you know?"
Rockhard shrugged. "How much can your ghost carry?"
"As much as I could, but it never gets tired."
"Perfect," the leader said. "Have it grab the box of jelly. The Dreck folk are crazy about it."
The outside world began right after saying goodbye to Oh.
Not that Spit has been a prisoner to Apex, but he had been outside so rarely it was like a totally different wind blew across the grassy plains.
Four boys and a hovering crate walked long the broad, fortified dirt road.
Spit got lost in the joy of not having duties and errands.
Spit had to admit, he didn't know the way to Dreck Hole, but he knew it was an underground settlement – and a failed experiment.
"How long are they going to keep the place running?" he asked. "I mean, the trial's supposed to be over, right?"
Rockhard looked back. "The guys who live there don't want to shut it down. If the Big Bulls said the Pump is no longer something to work toward, would your massive friend quit?"
"Good point. But isn't it really different?"
"How?"
Spit shrugged. "The Big Bulls train like mad because they love the Pump. The Dreck just beat each other up."
Rockhard chuckled. "You really don't know much about anything outside Apex, huh? The Big Bulls worship the Pump cause it's a different way to cum. They're not jerking off cause they can get the kinds if orgasm they want by hitting the iron."
"And the Dreck?"
"The Dreck went all out on modifying their biochemistry down to the genome. At least that's what the chief told me when I asked. They get off on violence only."
Spit had more questions but he figured he'd have a look before judging. It was still a while until they would be at the Dreck village and he didn't want to make the journey awkward.
The entrance to Dreck Hole had no gate or scanner – it was a simple tunnel into the ground.
The floor was bumpy and hard to navigate in the dim light, but a warm, inviting breeze came from within the cave system.
Minutes later, the Rockhard Punks arrived in an expansive cavern, steel houses crawling up the walls. Ladders and walkways clustered up between the housing units.
The entire place was lit and heated by giant sticks in the cave ceiling, glowing deep red, light orange or a dim white.
Dreck Holes inhabitants looked perfectly normal, until Spit noticed that the light did a good job evening out their skin. Most men were covered in severe bruises and even some scars.
Rockhard brought his team to a vendor right up the first ladder. The middle aged man had a crooked jaw and a swollen eye. Many more smaller bruises ran all over his body.
"Yo," he said. "My gel?"
"Yeah," the punk leader replied and emptied his backpack.
After dropping off everything but the ghost-carried crate, the boys continued deeper into the unsettling city.
They didn't run into anybody under 40. Dreck Hole wasn't going to exist forever.
One metal grate gave way to a bar where four men in leather thongs were fighting. Two happily grinned as they punched each other in the face and chest with their forearms over and over. The other pair was on the ground, one on top punching the other's back.
Spit leaned in to whisper. "And this is sex to them?"
"Sort of." Rockhard scratched his violet hair. "You can ask Chief Gig over there."
The `bartender' was actually the town's chief, although he may have been a bartender, too. Spit didn't need a drink, so he didn't risk ordering one and embarrassing himself.
Instead he dropped off the crate and said, "Yo, chief. Nice town you Dreck folk got here."
Chief Gig looked up and sighed dramatically. "It was supposed to be a beacon of top research," he said, sounding as if he had given the same speech a million times before. "A society that solves conflict and hatred. A way to make tensions impossible to keep rising."
"Yeah..." Spit said. "We kinda do that by, you know, fucking. When I'm mad at someone, I always fuck him."
"It began with high hopes and great payoffs," Big continued as if lecturing an entire classroom. "But taking away the ability for regular sex meant not taking enough time to heal between fights. I contend myself knowing I contributed to science."
"Right..." Spit said and felt way out of his dept.
Rockhard stepped in, demanding payment.
Gig complied with another sigh. "The worst part," he said, "is that it's not even fun to fight anymore. We got into a routine and there's no way to mix it up without risking greater injury. If you run into any novel fighting techniques on the surface, feel free to tell us."
The punk leader turned to leave.
Spit had an idea.
He conjured his ghost and had it knee the chief in the stomach without warning. That was probably like licking someone's balls without asking, right?
Gig huffed and sunk backwards. Then he looked up, grinning. "Again!"
The ghost followed Spit's orders. A spinning kick to the neck, sending Gig down. A kick to the flank. A knee to the chest. Gig fell over, allowing the ghost to sit on top of him. Slaps to the face, left right left right.
Gig hit back, punching the ghost with absolutely no effect. Spit directed his shadow twin to get up and keep kicking down. Gig kicked up in turn.
The chief convulsed, making Spit think they had gone too far, but the huge grin on the man's face told him something else.
Everybody in the room stared in shock.
Gig got up and whispered, "Thank you young man. That was by far the most fun sex I had in many, many years. Now I know what to do. We need some freaks with telekinetic powers. I'll draft a recruitment call."
Shortly afterward, the Rockhard Punks left.
Weird to think there was such an odd place on Apex' doorstep. Spit was glad his friend had felt the calling of the Big Bulls, not the Dreck.
"What'll we do now?" the hunk asked in the tunnel to the surface.
Rockhard wiggled his head. "We got a lot more money than I had planned. Gig tipped us. Thanks for that, honestly. But I don't like carrying significant sums around."
"What will you spend it on?"
"I know a guy at farm C4-77h who sells piercings. We wanted those for a long time."
"You never had enough money for that?"
Rockhard gestured at Sem and Dov. "We swore we'd always look like part of the same group. We're only getting them when we have the budget for everyone to get them. Are you in? I'd understand if-"
"No, it's fine. I'll do it, too."
Farm C4-77h was far enough away for the sun to go down when they got there. The farmers were kind enough to let the trash punks sleep on their floor, mixing themselves into the orgy.
Sem was a lot of fun to fuck, bouncing like a super-charged rubber ball. Dov on the other hand moaned as if he was crying. It annoyed Spit enough that he used his ghost's dick to stuff the brat's mouth for most of the fuck.
Spit was awoken at sunrise by his team members and the three farmers spitting in his mouth. Rockhard must have mentioned something. It was enough attention to get Spit hard.
The punks were allowed to use farming tools as weights in a quick morning routine.
Then every Rockhard Punk member received vertical studs through the nipples, topped off by stones in the color of each boy's hair. Exactly what they had come for.
The head farmer approached them as they left the house. "Yo trash punks, I need you to take this notice to Apex and inform NewLaw."
"What is it?" Rockhard asked.
"Someone's been stealing equipment. We'll need help tracking down the thieves."
"Don't worry, this'll go right on the notice board. We're heading back to Apex now."
The group was halfway to Apex when they passed a farmer, who hammered the side of a tractor. The gray vehicle, assembled from welded together pre-fab plates, wasn't making a sound.
"Yo, can we help?" Rockhard asked.
"Nope," said the driver. "I'll fix it just fine. Fuck off, kids."
Dov tapped Spit on the shoulder and whispered, "Yo, this says C4-77h on the side. Isn't a tractor one thing that got stolen?"
Spit stepped up to the man. "Yo, excuse me. Could you tell us where you got this machine?"
The man growled. "You better just leave. I have nothing to say to you kids."
"Yo, this isn't even yours, is it?"
Now the man wiggled his hammer in Spit's face. "I. Said. Leave."
Spit raised his hands and stepped back. "Yo yo yo, it's fine. I'm on my way."
His ghost had already slipped out and held position.
When the man lowered the hammer, he was hit me an invisible fist and slammed into his stolen equipment. Before the thief could react, the ghost had grabbed the hammer and threw it to the side.
A well placed kick sent the man to his knees.
"E-enough," the thief huffed. "I surrender. It's not mine. You can have it."
Rockhard shook his head. "We don't want it. We're giving it back. Now tell us where the rest of the stuff is hidden."
In the end, it turned out the man had lost his farm when it had come to light he was renting the space to illegal drug brewers. Once delivered to NewLaw, he was put on a hover train to the nearest enslavement center right away.
With the reward for catching a thief, Rockhard decided to take a next day off, to relax in the bathhouse at Apex.
Already a vacation on his third day, right after proving so useful? Spit was not happy about this development. At this rate he'd never leave Apex's horizons.
Luckily, there were more trash punk groups to try out.
While Tightass didn't know Spit too well, the hunk came with Rockhard's glowing recommendation.
All three boys in the Tightass team were the same age. They had known each other from the day there were born' in the laboratories of Big Daddy as biological teenagers, leading a lifelong' 3 year friendship.
Spit was going to continue punking with them. At least, until after Rockhard's spa day.
He also made a round through Apex to see if Crisp was doing well. While the citizens kept the Big Bull busy, they were satisfied with his performance.
Spit could return to the trash punk life without second thoughts.
The trash punk life seems to be going well for Spit, but there are more exciting things to do than transporting goods.
Chapter 4: Tightass Extraction