The Adventures of Teen Girl - Alley Time Blues (1 Viewer)

kained

Ryonani Teamster
Joined
Dec 26, 2009
Author's note: I am slower than George RR Martin x1000, but I have returned with an update to The Adventures of Teen Girl story, a ryona story I have been kicking around for many years now. I'm at a point in my life where I crave more incentive. One thing I'd be very keen to see is art work based on my stories. A hentai style video game would be bad ass if I found people I could collaborate with. If people are willing throw me a few coin if you've ever appreciated my writing, that would be very cool. I've set up a subscribestar for that purpose. KaineD on subscribestar.adult

I've also been re-publishing these stories to Chyoa with a couple of alterations. In the Chyoa version I've aged Megan up a year. Her hair and eye color are different. In the Chyoa version the chapters are split up more in order to give people opportunities to write their own versions of what happens next. Here at Undertow I will keep Megan's original descriptions.

WARNING: This story is only intended to be read by those of legal age. This erotica contains themes of torture, abuse, non consent, and is not intended to be replicated in reality. This is a total work of fiction.

Bio and chapter 1 - Ryona story contribution project (Warning: themes of torture inside)
Chapter 2 - The Adventures of Teen Girl - Chapter 2
Chapter 3 - The Adventures of Teen Girl - Chapter 3
Chapter 4 - The Adventures of Teen Girl - Chapter 4
Chapter 5 - The Adventures of Teen Girl - Chapter 5
Chapter 6 - The Adventures of Teen Girl - One Bad Night

Chapter 7 - Alley Time Blues

Unknown Warehouse


With a tall glass of golden booze in hand, the bald-headed Big Package looms over the inventor and thief Lucas. Without his bulky 8’2 armor exoskeleton Big loses 2ft but his frame is still impressive, draped in a large leather trench coat, his presence has the air of authority. Lucas, frowning, hasn’t touched his drink, nervously pushes his rough hair away from his glasses. The vantage point of the elevated office gives view of the infirmary below, full of dozens of men suffering everything from broken bones to severe burns. Two men died at the scene of the fight, dying instantly from the cave in of the roof. Three more passed away in the night, their injuries so severe attempts to save them from the aftermath of the burning apartment complex proved useless. Still others had to be left behind as authorities began to surround the place. Dozens of advanced exoskeletons were destroyed beyond repair. Huai is a mess. Big and Lucas can hear his profuse screaming even from across the warehouse. Medics are attempting to lift pieces of charred metal that had melded to his skin. With the Captain of their unit down, responsibility for order falls to Big. Still, Big wants a drink to share in their victory over the heroine, and Lucas is weary of turning down the deadly mercenary.

“The moniker of Teen Girl is a betrayal of her strength and bravery. She was a worthy opponent”. Big gulps most of his cold pint in one go.

“I didn’t expect the fight to be so costly”, Lucas says. “We’re supposed to build an army to take the city, and one girl destroyed half that army”.

“You exaggerate – we didn’t even send half our army at her. In reality we lost only a few men. Those who were captured would die before they talk and have no identity that can be traced to us. We lost nothing that can’t be rebuilt”.

“Do you have any idea the resources it took to build those suits?!”

“Steady your tone, Lucas. Do not think me an imbecile.” Lucas shivered under Big’s dark gaze. “Still”, Big’s tone shifts. “The authorities will no doubt have confiscated a number of suits. Whether they are in working order or not it is still… precarious. The tech could be traced to the scientists who developed it, and the trail of their dead bodies would reveal too much. If the city’s police learn about that, we may lose the element of surprise in the future war”.

The large man stands, sees the twins just outside. The attractive Middle-Eastern woman leaning over the guard rail wearing her tight full-body black catsuit –the ‘underwear’ to her exoskeleton - accentuating her curves. She waits for her brother as he strolls along the walk way wearing sweat pants, towel in hand, fresh from a shower.

They turn to Big’s commanding voice. “ThunderBolt”, it was easier to refer to the twins in this way. The twins walk into the office. “You’re not done for the night. This requires the work of those who can move unseen. Go to the Haven Central Police Department, raid their evidence lockers, and take back anything they have confiscated. Destroy any records they have collected. No one is to be harmed.”

Bolt nods, his wet hair draped before his eyes. “We will not leave any traces”, his Arabic accent flattens out ‘leave’ like ‘leeev’.

Big’s face is full of consideration. “Bring me their morgue records for the night”.

…………………..

It’s 3AM as Bolt sprints through the streets of East Haven, her cherry hair flowing long behind her, the wind beating upon her face as her brother races beside her, a pair of sports shades over her eyes. The twins see an opportunity to sprint straight through open doors into the Police Department, sneaking through the darkness past bored security and using the blind-spots of security cameras. The police are none the wiser for their intrusion and they were unopposed as they went straight into the evidence room where they packed duffel bags full of the remains of exoskeletons. The nearby mortuary was even easier, with a single guard at the reception. “We’re in trouble”, Thunder stated bluntly as he read the paperwork. No girl listed in the files for the night. They checked the bodies in the mortuary room, pulling out the beds only to see the charred remains of men. No girl.

On the way back to base the twins masterfully avoid traffic and the few pedestrians there are in these early hours. They stick to the shadows. One drunkard half-collapses on his way out of a bar, and feels the gust of air, can see the shadows pass him by… but that’s all the twins are to him - shadows, and like anyone else who catches a glimpse they don’t give a second thought. They’re so fast that if you manage to spot them you might as well be looking at a trick of the light, a flickering of black and nothing more.

The world around Bolt fades into semi-consciousness. She thinks back to a time when she had a name – a real name. Mira. Such a long time ago now. Living in the Emirate of Ajman, in a home just outside the city limits, she would spend hours gazing out across the Persian Gulf and exploring the desert hills. She was exceptionally intelligent, devouring the books of her parent’s library. Her strict father did not approve, always trying to control and limit her behavior, she was sent to attend a Madrassa. Though her brother kept a secret stash of salvaged laptops and phones not far from their home where he built up his own digital library of books and films that she would use too. Together they would use VPNs to explore the Internet, a window into the huge world and spectrum of cultures beyond their home. Mira was particularly resistant to wearing the hijab. Her brother would listen in the next room as Mira was harshly punished, the twins crying angry sobs together.

One day, Mira was taken to a clinic. She was wheeled on a hospital bed through pristine hallways into an impersonal white room with no windows. A masked doctor emerged into her vision, wielding a scalpel. Though her father did not tell her why she was sent here, Mira knew as soon as she saw the blade – Mira had read all about it. She screamed, fought, leaping from her bed wrestling the scalpel from the doctor and slashed it right across his throat. She still remembers his cries – “Allaaaaah ackb-aghhgbuuhh”, his voice came through as though he was drowning, and fell silent as a pool of dark blood formed. This was the first time Mira killed.

She remembered the almost gleeful glint in the eye of her brother as the Teen Girl was tortured. Had the twins really seen and endured so much that they could take sadistic joy in the suffering of others?

……………………

Lucas rubs his hands together, tinkering with the rescued equipment in his workshop. In the office above, ThunderBolt explains the bad news to Big. His anger ferments into a single blow decimating the table before him. “Maybe the authorities may yet recover her remains”, Thunder offered. However, with the impossible staring him in the face, Big knows the truth, knows it in his bones. The girl lives.

……………………


The taste of copper fills Megan’s mouth as her senses slowly return to her. She realizes she can’t hear anything above the dull ringing her brain’s doing as it seemingly swings back and forth in her skull like a heavy church bell. Her long eyelashes flicker as light filters through the slits of her eyelids when she tries to open them. Spitting out the mouthful of blood to the gravel floor, she shifts her weight into a seated position, pieces of cardboard falling from her. “Nnnghh!” Her stomach is in knots, every part of her abdomen feels battered and bruised. Even momentarily shifting her weight to her arm causes pain to shoot up it. If it was broken during the fight it wasn’t broken now, yet paradoxically everything in her screams out that her body is broken. Her eyes open further and adjust, taking in more spectrum of color.

It’s daylight, and she’s sitting in a filthy alley, large green trash bins either side of her, litter and grime covering the floor. Despite the rays of the sun piercing through the crud across her face and hair, she shivers, and the floor beneath her feels like a seesaw that could tip her over at any second. She has no concept of how long she had been unconscious, sleeping with nothing but the rags left of her red costume which even now flake off from her lithe, mostly naked body covered with cuts and dirt. Slow gusts of wind blow her filthy dark hair in front of her but she lacks the strength and will to brush it away. She sits like this for a long time, aware of her shallow breath coming in and out, ragged, feeling it along her tender throat, the bones of her ribcage creaking and mending. Megan gazes out along the brick wall away from her, trying to trace patterns along it like a game, noticing its sprouting slimy green moss. It’s like the endless corridor from Labyrinth, she thinks. Then, flashes of brutality through her mind. Fire. Blood. Death. She pushes it back. Thinking instead of fantastical puppets doing their gravity defying jumps as she watched on DVD a hundred times. No, a wave of depression won’t crush over our heroine, Megan Summers. She won’t think about last night – won’t let those images come to the forefront of her mind. Instead, absurdly, she thinks about the crush she’s had on Jared for years. Dance magic dance.

Slowly, she can feel her body get better. Her powerful healing ability had to have been working overtime all night, but clearly still she isn’t anywhere close to being recovered. The ringing in her head subsides and her legs can move. She pushes herself up, standing, and immediately regrets it. Doubling over with the agony from her cunt up through her uterus, and every nerve ending she has firing up. She falls to her knees, clutching them, tightening up into a ball. Her consciousness betrays her, remembering the shades of black that battered her head around like a yo-yo. The explosions so hot on her skin. The wrecking ball that should have killed her. The metallic monster Big Package moving through the smoke, a nightmare of tentacles writhing all around her… inside her. No… the girl whimpers. No…

Megan’s soft hands drift across her stomach. The tears flow freely. Her cries are fierce, full of anguish.

34003.jpg


……………….

The sky is an ocean blue with orange rays through the clouds as Megan emerges from bushes not far from the back of her suburban home. She’s covered in a long coat stolen from a clothing line, her bare legs showing at the bottom, and her filth covered jet-black curls falling out from under her hood. She scopes out the scene, peaking through the kitchen windows of her home. Her parents aren’t even here by the looks of things. Typical. She looks around, and ignoring the aches in her body she half-scales, half-flies up the wall of her home towards the open window of her bedroom. Her room is as she left it - a cupboard leaning on the door, stuffed bears on the dresser, and a poster of Jared holding a crystal ball with Sarah hiding inside. She removes the coat and the tattered remains of her ruined costume before checking her phone – left unattended on her dresser. Six messages from Ross, her stomach flipped at the name. Somehow, she had forgotten all about him, then it all came back. She remembered taking his insane monster dildo all the way down her throat, remembered his awful cum dripping all over her face just yesterday, before the Syndicate got their hands on her. God… all of that was just one day… She leans against the wall, holding herself with an arm against her thin waist, her naked body still covered in dirt and bruises. Megan was supposed to be at school today, and Ross explicitly ordered her to wear the tiny tartan skirt to school. Her heart suddenly skips a beat –would there be a reprisal from Ross for failing to follow through? She checks the first message.

‘We know what happened to you last night. You are to come to my classroom tomorrow morning, 8AM, wearing the skirt you were ordered to. No more second chances – if you fail to obey, everything gets released’.

“We”, she says aloud. Ross and his mysterious benefactor. The rest of the messages are image files – Megan’s bright blue eyes looking directly into the camera as she sucks Ross’s dick, the teenager in various states of rope bondage with sweat glistening on her skin, cum dripping down her pretty face as she wears a doggy bowl on her head, stills from her rape by Raptor. The last message shows pictures of Megan’s own facebook photos. Her angelic, cheerful smiles in each picture hide her own loneliness as she is faintly aware, remembering back to all the years of an empty house. But what is most distinct about these pictures is they have been printed out, and thick gobs of cum are plastered over them. Megan shivers with revulsion at her reality as a teenage sex slave to this vile creepy man.

There’s a message from Jamie. ‘Hi, I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I’m so sorry about this horrible crap with that video. I didn’t see you today. I really hope you’re okay. If you’re up to it, we can meet tonight at the Apiary. We’ll just chill and we can talk if you want! Hugs!! xx’

Megan draws herself a hot bath, filling it with bubbles, filling it practically to the brim. ‘Oooh’ she coos, slowly allowing her lithe filth covered body into the steamy water, soothing her cuts and bruises. _Jamie’s so sweet to be concerned about me… just about the only person concerned about me. I’m always ditching out on Jamie. _She holds her phone out of the reaches of the water, replying fast. ‘Hey girl, you’ve got yourself a date! It would be so good to see you tonight! xxx’.

Megan rubs the dirt from her tan, shimmering skin with a soft sponge. She dunks her head beneath the bubbles.
 

kained

Ryonani Teamster
Joined
Dec 26, 2009
To me this kind of feels like chapter 7.1 rather than a chapter as full and complete as previous chapters, and I am sorry for that. It's just that it's already written, and I don't want to keep anyone who's been waiting any longer for a new update. I can be a terribly slow writer and that isn't fair on people who have enjoyed the story and want updates.
 

noche

Casual Client
Joined
Mar 3, 2012
Is good that you update this storie, It was always one of my favorite ryona stories. Hope we can see more in the near future.
 

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