– really was in the rocking, steel plated guts of a 4-Sale-4-Cheap supertanker somewhere off the Sea of Japan, really in that seasick haven for maverick outlaw programmers, really was in a second skin complex polymer suit packed with the best-you-can-buy, state-of-the-art neurofacilitators, really was jacked into the public domain Glade of the Datasea.--

No, just kidding, Cole was really virtually in a too-beautiful scene: walking through too-green parkland, on picture-perfect grass, under a too-blue perfectly perfect sky– and a butterfly was flirting with her.

COME WITH ME, FOREST QUEEN, the butterfly flashed with dosed-Disney wings -- zooming rudely, filling her field of vision, becoming a sprite with wings, with a leering smile the size of a house. Back when the gear still smelled of packing she might've whipped the set off her face and panted with shock -- now she absently noted that its face was artful, elegantly programmed.

OH, PRETTY LADY, said yet another, fluttering up from nowhere, flashing Technicolor words at her.


A faster flicker of brilliant wings, and then there were two hundred -- a fission done with programming cubism.

LET ME MAKE SWEET TO YOU -- just how many were there? Cole saw nothing but the strobes of fractal wings, heard nothing but soft applause. Laying on her bunk in the creaking, groaning, oil-smelling, too-small cabin of the Liberty Ship, Cole was really in her suit, really rolling on deep sea waves -- and was virtually being assaulted by a mad swarm of -- for god's sake -- butterflies.

They were nothing, really, but a feeling of electric softness and the sharp spice of almost pain. Assault, ok, but is it rape when you can click your heels together and be back in Kansas? O-U-T in VRslang and she would be back to the main menu and out of the satellite link. Besides, she had some pretty snazzy security and immune-system software. What could happen?

Like a great 256 color wave, the swarm swallowed her. It was like splashing into an ocean of small, brilliantly beautiful colors and the feel of silk and bristle-brushes. She was lifted and carried into a zero-G oasis of a thousand silken wings, a million miniature hands, a billion tiny cocks. Zooming, one of the swarm, one of the gang, filled her eyes with a naked, elfin body, a long and hardening cock, and then nothing but a slyly smirking face.

Oh, she... she... they -- were good. Very good.

Their wings were eyelashes batting at her breasts, tickling her ass, flickering their gentle edges across her stiffening nipples, brushing the brush and thicket of her pussy, the pad of her mons. She couldn't see one butterfly, couldn't make a single out of the swarm -- so she wasn't really being caressed by one. She was being caressed. Universally. Totally. Everywhere. By all of them.

One hot, quick breath and the many became one: the swarm reverse-fireworked into a huge hot mouth that kissed and sucked each of her medium-sized tits, pulling them in as if they were huge pink nipples. Sucking, pulling, twisting and squeezing -- not damned mouths, but wringers and god-fucking strong hands. Bruises, probably. Fuck yes, but Christ, she wanted to come! Then there were more lips inside those great suckers just for Cole's tight, aching nipples.

The come started somewhere in her cunt, somewhere that exploded up and through her like a wild pony ride of happy spasm. Her hips bucked and shook as her pussy sought something hard and thick inside her, or at least something fluttering and sweet on her throbbing clit. But the lips were single-minded and whoever was that single mind was sticking to just her nipples, her tits. Then they were a mass again, an orchestra of a billion tiny parts; tiny teeth nipping, pinching her tit-flesh, biting mouthfuls --

-- she was being violated --

-- out of her nipples till she screamed (again). The coming came without a mouth between her other lips, without a cock of meat or at least plastic in her cunt.

Tasting her own distant breath in the suit, Cole basked in twitching muscles and flickering eyelashes. It was the first time she'd ever come with someone (something) playing with just her tits. And, fuck, was it good --

Blowing hard, heaving, she floated. Slowly, she opened one eye, seeing just for a flicker, a tiny butterfly perched on her nose, feverishly pulling at a cock no bigger than a bee's stinger.

For a flicker. Just. There was that jacking butterfly, then a rainbow-colored storm, then they formed into a hand that ran a Corinthian column-sized finger down her belly.

It was a swirling inkpool of brilliance; vibrating, fluttering, larger-than-life, hand-made of butterflies -- and Cole wanted it in her pussy now. She wanted the whole god-damned thing, the swarm in her. She ached for, spread for -- god, yes -- butterflies.

-- she was being taken --

One of her started the VRslang hand-gestures that would pop her chute and drop her back to the liberty ship. The other of her started crying and just spread her legs wider. The hungry pussy won and CANCELed the command. The gang-rape cock moved between her legs and spilled into her pussy, onto her clit, into her asshole. It was a whale's cock that suddenly turned liquid and fluttered onto her clit's hard dot, poured like liquid silver balls into her eager fuck-hole. and pressed towards her asshole. Eyes pressed phosphor-brilliantly shut, she could see with her pussy a hundred horny butterflies rubbing the globe of her clit, washing her basketball with their tongues, fucking its hot skin, stroking it like their own huge cock. A hundred thousand tiny horny guys washing her clit with their hot tongues, stroking it with their hard hands, milking her.

Down where she knew she was torrentially wet, she could feel the millions rubbing themselves on her lips, pulling, stroking, rubbing them as no mouth or finger of her size could. There was a fucking ballet dancing on the lips of her cunt.

Her asshole? Oh, they licked there, too -- stroked there, and slowly pressed their many hungry hands and mouths inside.

There were butterflies in her that slowly, then eagerly, bucked against her g-spot and cervix. Her eyes flashed open and she saw a pair of them on the end of her nose -- and, as the first ripples of a great deep sea orgasm began in her wet, wet cunt, she watched one of them take his partner up the ass in a feverish, Eros-driven hard fuck.

Loved to watch, but Cole's eyes snapped shut in concentration of what was happening -- lost herself in the tide of coming, in the breaking waves that snapped her jaws and arched her back. She was aware that she'd jetted, she'd ejaculated (and that, somewhere else, she knew that she'd jetted, she'd ejaculated (and that somewhere else she'd have to wash her suit). The coming that came a second later rocked her, dazzled her, pushed her eyes open (butterfly sucking butterfly in a hummingbird 69), and she cried (yet again -- gloriously again, religiously again) -- a deep bellowing scream that ebbed into exhausted near sobs.

Rolling down from the peak of the come, the fluttering mass became rolling waves of sensation. Caressed and fondled by a huge and gentle lover, a lover made of butterflies, of flashes of pure color, she was THANKED in brilliant color for such a good fuck and then was wrapped in silk and furs and tucked into bed with a kiss on her cheek --

Hands stiff from clenching the bunk rails, Cole carefully pulled the facegear off, and creaked her head back into the cheap foam pillow. Every joint she had was aching. Her pussy throbbed, and her clit was sore from the suit's version of the butterfly fuck.

Javier, her bunkmate, wasn't there -- so he missed Cole almost tearing her suit to shreds.

The Fabricscreen window on the side of her helmet, the little panel that showed her mileage for this trip -- and her general bank balance, glowed with a row of angry red eggs that drilled into her shocked, then berserk eyes: BALANCE:

She's been taken, all right -- she'd been robbed.

Smoke screen for a brilliant (well, fuck, she knew that) hack; a quick sneak undercover of a teeth-rattling come. She'd been violated, she'd really been taken --

Cole sat on her bunk and couldn't help but think of the cost of butterflies. They certainly weren't free.

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