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As Zanka stood up to straighten her spine, her mind replayed the sequence of events that had led her to this moment.
Right after breakfast, Semiu had gathered team Akuta to tell them about a man who probably had information regarding the “angel” Amo had met.
The fact that said man was a disgusting pervert who only hired young women to work using nurse costumes for him.
Zanka volunteering for the disguise because not in a million years would she allow Riyo to be subjected to something like that.
She dressing up the traditional nurse uniform that August had sewn: buttoning her inner blouse and dress, adjusting her apron and covering her hair with the white scarf so that no strands were out of place and no creases marred the fabric.
How easy it was to infiltrate the ranks of the women hired by the man and gain entry to his home.
Discovering that she wasn't the only one undercover there and that none other than Jabber fucking Wonger had also gone after the information.
Zanka's terrible certainty that she would never forget that day for the rest of her life. Not when it was on that day that she saw Jabber in a nurse uniform infinitely more vulgar than her own: a tight-fitting dress with short sleeves and a high collar, all white with light-pink trim, complemented by white stockings that ended mid-thigh – Zanka stared so intently at the small strip of exposed skin on Jabber's thighs that she walked straight into a doorframe –, and a ridiculous little tiara with a cross crowning those dreadlocks that smelled of coconut oil.
Not that Zanka noticed what the hell Jabber's hair smelled like. Of course not.
Nor would she forget the fact that the disgusting pervert hadn't taken his filthy eyes off Jabber the moment the raider appeared in the room, even with so many other girls in the same space. Nor would she forget the way he forced Jabber to sit on his lap and slipped his hand inside her dress in the very same instant.
Despite knowing that she had completely ruined the mission the moment Aibō turned to iron under her fingers, Zanka couldn't find any regret within herself. Aibō seemed to agree with her, vibrating with satisfaction as her beautiful, beautiful teeth reduced that man's putrid, disgusting existence to nothing more than a shapeless mass of blood, broken bones and muscle. She paid little attention to the other girls' screams and their rush out of the room.
Except for one.
“You really a sadist, Zan-zan. Y’know that?” The playful voice reached her ears along with the clinking of an activated Mankira. “I thought all this savagery was jus’ for me, Ms. Bad Attitude.”
Zanka didn't bother to respond.
Her brain registered only red and receiving and inflicting pain. When it started functioning again, Jabber was staring at her, stretched out on the floor. Drooling and covered in blood, her nose at an unnatural angle, her skin displaying old and new cuts, blooming in – beautiful – shades of purple, burgundy, and dark brown; her legs spread wide, revealing the absence of panties like a prize for Zanka's most depraved fantasies.
And Zanka accepted that prize without any hesitation.
All of this had led her to the present moment.
Zanka shifted her shoulders to release the tension as she stared at Jabber. If her calculations were correct, this was already the raider's third orgasm: the first had come under the painful pressure exerted by Aibō’s lower end against her folds, the metal surface gliding uninterruptedly with the help of blood and her own slick while Zanka mercilessly ravaged her clitoris, stopping only when Jabber began to cry from overstimulation.
The second came when Zanka lifted her own dress and brought their legs together, Jabber's right knee resting on her shoulder as she adjusted the angle just right so that their pussies were joined at every possible cell. Zanka was proud of herself for finding such a perfect position and felt gentle for a second, planting a peck on Jabber's white stocking before fucking her without any concern for the internal bleeding Jabber was experiencing, if her choking on her own blood was any indication.
Finally, the third came on Zanka's lips. She took her time before she really got started – time set aside to memorize the color of Jabber's inner and outer folds, to blow gently on her clitoris and watch the raider writhe violently, to kiss the trimmed hair on her mound of Venus, to feel those thighs, barely contained by her stockings, brush against her ears.
She took the time she needed to savor the dessert before devouring it with relish.
The thick fluid soaking her lips, the small, sensitive bulge contracting against the tip of her tongue, and the intoxicating heat that enveloped her face completely were enough for Zanka to feel herself dripping down her own legs a few minutes later. Jabber didn't last long either, her hypersensitivity making her bury her palms in Zanka's hair and pull her toward her clitoris as if she never wanted Zanka to leave.
Zanka would never admit that she wished for the same thing.
The two girls stared at each other, gasping for oxygen as if they had been drowning. Which, in a sense, was true.
Zanka sat down with her legs spread, pulling Jabber's limp body onto her lap and steadying her with a firm hand on her hip. With her free hand, she ran her fingers over the buttons of that indecent uniform, ripping them off without any consideration and pulling the top down until Jabber's shoulders and breasts were bare. Zanka stared at the exposed torso.
Small breasts, in keeping with Jabber's slender build, decorated with faint, whitish scars. Her dark brown nipples contrasted with the light metal of the piercings that adorned them, shining as brightly as Zanka's eyes as she kept Aibō activated.
For a split second, Zanka wondered if she wasn't just as perverted as the man she had killed a few minutes ago. The thought vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
“Ya droolin’, Zan-zan.”
Zanka looked up at Jabber's face.
She hadn't paid much attention to what Jabber had been thinking in the last few minutes, considering that all that had come out of the raider's mouth were moans, whimpers and cries of pain.
Her nose still looked horrible. Her ear-to-ear smile made the open cuts bleed even more, and the bright magenta irises gave the whole picture an even more disturbing look.
Zanka's neck grew warm.
The realization that Jabber hadn't deactivated Mankira at any point – normally she would have noticed that sort of thing, but Zanka had far more important things to do – made her heart race. She relived the moment when she had buried her mouth in Jabber's wet pussy and realized that no fingers had been dug into her head; she would already be dead if they had. It had been just two open palms applying pressure to her hair. Zanka was sure she would find superficial tears on the back of her uniform when she took it off later.
Zanka licked her lips and didn't miss Jabber following the movement.
Just one more time.
Zanka gave a gentle bite, a suck, and a kiss to both nipples before lying down on the floor, lifting her dress along with Jabber's – she definitely took the opportunity to scratch red streaks on the raider's ass – and positioning the girl on top of her once again.
Zanka felt Jabber's clitoris kiss hers, and less than a second later, she began to ride Zanka as if her life depended on it.
“F-fuck,” Jabber bit her lower lip, opening yet another stream of blood on her face. In a swift movement, she used Mankira to destroy the front of Zanka's uniform, deactivating her rings and pinching her nipples. Zanka couldn't hold back a moan. “Ya r-really– uh, jus’ like m-me ahh, hm Zan-ka?”
Jabber then decided that caress, massage and squeeze Zanka's breasts was her new favorite pastime. With each new squeeze, Zanka took it out five times worse on Jabber's already injured hips and pushed harder against her clit.
The floor was hard against her back, her folds burned despite the lubrication, and fatigue began to take its toll. Without wasting time, Zanka reached for Aibō with an outstretched arm and thrust the staff right where Jabber's abused folds kissed hers, thrusting violently and eliciting a whimper of pain from both herself and the raider.
They barely lasted five seconds before reaching climax.
Zanka's head went foggy, the hormones making her usually tense demeanor comfortably relaxed, even in a room covered in blood with a mangled corpse just a few inches away. Jabber collapsed on top of her, her face tucked into the crook of Zanka's neck and her locks framing the world around them.
Zanka took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of coconut. Her hands refused to let go of the sharp bones of Jabber's hip.
Time passed in a hazy blur, the strange tranquility shattered when Zanka felt a tongue lick the dried tears from her cheek.
She didn't even remember crying.
Eyes with pupils so dilated they appeared completely black caught her attention. Dark blue irises stared back, and Zanka realized that they hadn't kissed during all this time.
Not with their upper lips, at least.
Dropping a hip to cradle the back of Jabber's neck, they sank their mouths into each other's.
It had a strong, metallic taste with a hint of salt from their sweat. Saliva and blood smeared Zanka's face as the kiss became more sloppy, lazy and wet. They gasped into each other's mouths when they needed air. Jabber smiled.
“Ya free this weekend, bad girl?”
Feeling the warmth and moisture of Jabber's ravished pussy still touching hers, Zanka didn't even consider saying no.