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Street Masters	By : HunterOpera Category: +S through Z > Street Fighter Views: 7424 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Capcom does, having created Street Fighter, Slam Masters, Megaman, Resident Evil, and a whole whack of other great games. I make no money from this, but I does like reviews. Pandering complete? Pandering comple

Chapter List
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Written as a favor to a friend, nine chapters or so are plotted out. I do this for feedback, so all reviews will be responded to within forty-eight hours; responses can be found here (just copy/pasta the link): http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/36931-metroid-the-bergman-affair-feedback-comments-and-workshopping/ Yes, it says it's a Metroid fic. I wrote it. I just wanted to consolidate my feedback and get some conversation going. Enough non-story dribble. Thanks for reading!
Juri awoke standing up in the dark.
This wasn't the first time she'd been knocked unconscious. The car crash that had murdered her parents had knocked her out, and various fights over the course of her life had also left her not really awake. There'd been surgery, falls, sometimes even force of impact.
Always before she'd woken up on the ground, pressing herself back up, filled with a heady mix of lust and fury. It had sustained her through everything, made her the person that she was.
To wake up standing...
She frowned, intending to walk forward, but her legs wouldn't move. Her arms were loose, so she reached down to touch them, found steel in the way. Bending at the hips, she traced cool metal all the way down to where her feet should have been.
A brief moment of panic struck her. Had she been injured somehow? Paralyzed from the waist down? She closed her eyes, concentrated on feeling, wiggled her toes and tensed the muscles of thigh and calf. Every muscle therein answered her call.
Well, that's kinda weird. Captured by the kinky, maybe...?
Her legs were held a shoulder's width apart, steel covering her legs all the way to the bottom curve of her hips. She was resting comfortably on some sort of pad, given just enough slack to lift herself from one foot to the other without breaking contact.
She felt the fabric she was resting on, some kind of strong rubbery thing that seemed to trace down inside the metal that was holding her captive. She tensed a leg, bending at the knee. There was a little give, not much, but just a knee. .
Trying to tie me up, she thought, licking her lips and smiling. There's something to be said for this sort of game... She tapped the metal cocoon around her legs with her hands, shaking her head and grinning. This was not going to be enough to hold her.
She twisted her torso to one side, pushed her weight down on one foot and prepared to kick with the other. Her hands weren't strong enough to break this sort of trap, but her legs...
Laughing, she twisted, tensed, and then screamed.
Electricity ran through the rubber, somehow, traveling from her toes to her ankles, up her calves and knees and inner thighs, surging along the core of her. She convulsed, twisting her hips, trying to break free and failing, pain robbing her of control.
The current faded but still she convulsed, writhing limply, unable to fall. The room came alight, revealing smooth white walls, a room that was seven foot cubed. She couldn't see where the light was coming from, even when her eyes were ready to focus again.
“Juri Han.”
The voice was just as sourceless as the lights had been. She struggled to look this way and that, her muscles still twitching beyond her control from the electricity that had run rampant through her. There was no sign of anything other than the smooth endless white, not place for even shadows to be cast.
“Who are y-”
She didn't even complete the sentence before the electricity surged through her again, knocking the words off her tongue and from her mind. She screamed, wordless, her arms shaking akimbo at her sides, her hips grinding herself into the rubber that was causing her so much pain.
“You will not speak.”
“If you think you can tell me w-”
The pain was worse this time, and though she had no way to measure time she was certain it had gone on longer. By the time it stopped she was covered in sweat, her body shaking, her arms hugging herself. When the pain ended she punched at the metal, accomplishing nothing.
“Juri Han. You have been chosen. You will learn.”
“What am I suppo-”
More electricity. More pain. It felt like it went on forever this time, and she wondered if it would ever stop. It bothered her, the mingled feelings of gratitude and relief when it did.
“Juri Han. You will not speak. You have been chosen. You will learn.”
She said nothing this time, just looking around herself. Minutes trickled by and nothing happened, but then the white walls flickered and images appeared on them. Some trick of the room gave the illusion of depth and scent, sounds matching the vision around her.
Without orders, she learned that there were different things expected of her. The room around her could be city streets or airports or office buildings. Sometimes, she would follow a person and be asked what he did or who he spoke to. Sometimes, she would have to fight and kill that person.
The cocoon around her legs gave her the illusion of movement, the illusion of being able to fight. She could point, learned to communicate via mime. Any time she spoke her captives shocked her, then started the simulation all over again.
She was being trained, she realized, in a vicious way. There was no chance for her to escape, and no one ever came near her or spoke to her other than the mysterious voice, reminding her of the rules when she broke one – just before shocking her into senselessness.
When she managed to figure out what they wanted her to do, the voice praised her and rewarded her. The first time it happened she had cringed, feeling a pulse travel along the rubber she was bound to, but her fear had quickly turned when she realized that something was different.
The surge, this time, played to her nerves, awakening lust in a way that she could never have imagined. Her sex drive had activated during the time she'd first started killing, so sex and death were mingled in her eyes, one nothing more than an extension of the other, but the things she was feeling now...
Gasping, she huddled into herself, low moans escaping her mouth as she clawed at her hips, her stomach, her breaths. Her inner thighs vibrated up to her center, throwing her back so that she hung limply, facing the ceiling, eyes wide but unseeing.
It was like nothing she had ever felt. They gave her the pleasure whenever she killed those they wanted her to kill. Curious, addicted, she tried killing other people, everyone, hoping that maybe the pleasure would come for her.
It didn't. Acting out of turn, as always, only brought her pain.
They pushed her to exhaustion, forcing her into one activity and then another until she finally passed out, then shocking her awake and running her through more activities. She was barely capable of thought, all of her prodigious intellect tuned to figuring out what was required of her and carrying it out.
She had no way of keeping track of time, but they fed her at intervals determined by criteria she did not understand. A nozzle would extend out of the wall, hovering a little before her. Hitting it with her hands or trying to grasp it with her fingers only resulted in her being shocked.
But it was just close enough for her to reach forward and wrap her lips around it. If she sucked it or pushed with her tongue, it would expel a paste into her mouth. The paste was sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter, but always oddly satisfying.
It never occurred to her that it might be laced with drugs. She was far too tired by then.
She was cleared of waste after every feeding, things pushing through some unseen holes in the rubber she was sitting on, penetrating her. She whimpered every time that happened, but no matter how she struggled she was pumped full of some substance, which sloshed around inside her before being pulled out.
Enemas up front, enemas behind. Hoses to wash her body, cool water to wash away the sweat and spittle that ended up covering her. Clean within and clean without, allowed to rest for too short a time, and then it would all start up again.
She killed and killed, learned to obey the voice, purring happily at the praise and the orgasms. When she was too tired to continue they showed her images of herself cumming or sucking on the nozzle, telling her that she was a good girl, that they were proud of her, and she'd fall into unconsciousness hearing words of prey.
It was hard for her to think of a time when this had not been her reality – hard for her to even think of how she had gotten here. Nonetheless, in those few clear moments before waking and unconsiousness, before the pain and the pleasure had their way with her, a single thought managed to form in her head.
I will have my revenge.
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Street Masters