.The Fleas

I sat in the library, reading the papers.

Water in District 14-34 was tasting rather coppery.  I made a note to follow up on that news article.  There were articles about unrest, but it was related to political infighting and not my concern.

Fogs in District 23 might be a problem.  I made another note.  Mostly I muttered the words here, knowing they'd be recorded there.

The funny pages were opaque as usual.  I didn't get a fraction of the jokes, or recognize any of the characters.

There was an article on my last visit.  They'd recreated a lot of it, but missed the library visit entirely.  And of course they never knew exactly when I entered.

A few letters on the editorial page demanded 'something be done about the Tender' but most said it was 'the price of survival' or 'the price of doing business,' some variation. 

I figured those were the smarter Keepers.

I turned off the screen, nodded to the librarians and left.  District 81 had a nice lake so I wandered along the banks for a while.  Then I went into a building at random.

I got onto the elevator and held the doors politely for another rider.  She nodded thanks as she stepped inside and selected the 95^th floor.    I picked a floor above that just to make it look right.

And I stared.  The woman was cute.  Large breasts on a nice hourglass figure.  She wore clothes that complemented her nicely.  Drew attention to curves without boasting. 

"Do you mind?" she asked, uncomfortable with my attention.

"Not really," I said.  She got a little agitated.  But I didn’t care.  She was a flea.  All the Keepers were.

Tiny and insignificant, a toy.  Or, a detail IN a toy that I kept operating.  She would soon be starving in darkness without me and my efforts.  Or drinking coppery water.

"Look," she started to say.

"Don't mind if I do," I said.  I grabbed her blouse and tore it open.  "Oooooh, look at those," I said. 

She slapped my face.  The latex wobbled a bit, but the metal chassis was unaffected.  "Ow!" she said.

I scooped the breasts out into the open.  Large and full, with huge areolas around sharp, pointy nipples.  My favorite.  I rubbed and squeezed.  She struggled, but nothing she did affected the remote.

"Oh...  Oh, God, it's you," she realized.  She relaxed and let me do whatever I wanted.

There wasn't that much sensory return from the remote, so I couldn't feel the softness of her skin, the give of the boobs.  But I could see very clearly.

So I stared and stroked, lifted and twisted.  She behaved, a good toy.  Quite literally, she was mine to toy with, and none could stop me.

I heard the doors open as I was pulling her pants down to her knees.  She told someone outside to keep away, to stay out of it.  They also obeyed, letting the doors shut once more.

She trimmed, her bush a chevron.  "I don't like chevrons," I said.

"I'll fix that," she promised.  "What would you like?"  Her voice caught for a second, then she gamely continued.  "A landing strip?  Clean?  Un, uh, untouched, natural?"

"A rubber ducky," I said.  She whimpered, but promised to fix that right away.  I stood up straight and cupped her ass cheeks in my hands.  Pulled her against me, boobs crushed between us and swelling out.

I lifted her and she conformed, wrapping her legs around my waist.  I activated a special program and suddenly the remote had a dick.  Latex over very hard steel.  She cried out as I penetrated her, pounding her fists on my chest.

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I woke with a start.  I sat up and glanced around the bunkroom guiltily, shamefully.  Which was silly, even if there were any tiny people conducting surveillance, no one would have been able to observe my dream rape from the outside.

"I've got to do something about these dreams," I muttered.