The Missing Flesh

This story began as an entry to smut fic exchange on LJ. Of which Elise Olisbos is a co-mod. As luck would have it I ended drawing Elise as the recipient of my fic. Although, since the fic exchange is mostly populated by female slash writers it's was nearly inevitable since Elise is one of the few willing to accept dickgirl stories.

The prompt she gave was:  A mad scientist replaces limbs with weapons on their hapless experiments.

With requests for: Persons of Colour; Glasses/Bad vision

So as you can see, much of this story revolves around the prompts Elise provided. I also have to thank her for all her work helping me improve this story. She really did a great job of correcting mistakes and giving me ideas on what to change to make it a much better piece of fiction.

Warning: Oral, Frottage, Futa/Female

The Missing Flesh

How Things Must Be

"Hey, Fuckshit, come over here for a bit. I need your micro-assembly skills."

That was my boss. Of course, at the time she wasn’t my boss so much as owner. Except she wasn't exactly my owner, either. Perhaps it was closer to say I was her apprentice. Except for the fact that she wasn't teaching me a trade. You could say that we had a complicated relationship. Except we didn't.

Actually, it's really quite simple. I was her minion. Her henchwoman, or henchgirl, to be accurate. She didn't own me but she didn't pay me either. Oh sure, I could have left anytime I like but there was nowhere for me to go. Besides, without her resources there is no way I could have maintained all my cybernetic enhancements. Cyborgs don't last long without proper maintenance. So I was stuck in my situation with the woman who was my putative employer but who in truth was much more like an owner.

"Fuckshit! I said I need your help! Get your ass over here!" My boss again. Since my name is Maralee and not Fuckshit I continued to ignore her.

I was busy doing self-maintenance. Virtually all cybernetic enhancements require regular maintenance but none more than cybernetic hands. In my case my hands double as weapon systems. In fact, I have several pairs of such hands. All of them designed by my boss who just happens to be one of the galaxy's leading scientific minds. She's also something of a loon although I'd never say that to her.

Still bent over my work I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, Fuckshit. What's wrong with you? How many times do I have to ask you to give me a hand?"

I looked up to see my boss glaring back down at me, her face the very picture of severe displeasure. She happens to be both a very beautiful and striking woman. She's also very imposing and easily towers over me. Although, it’s easy to tower over me as I’m fairly short and skinny (although my girlfriend insists that