Archive of Our Own

If she were asked to describe Cyber City, Tenna would be lost in her vocabulary. The megalopolis was too bright, incredibly noisy and lively, the streets were filled with residents constantly rushing somewhere, on countless roads there was eternal traffic due to hundreds of cars. In the back alleys, hidden from prying eyes, wicked traders were waiting for their victims, there were also dubious establishments created for laundering dark dollars or providing protection for third-party ‘businesses’. The city resembled a beautiful cover of a glossy magazine, the content of which was at best passable, but everyone liked it. This was the hidden charm of this city. The megalopolis offered a hundred ways and means to forget about any problems and just get lost in the present moment. The host always caught her breath because she couldn’t keep up with all the action that flashed before her eyes. Luckily, on these wide streets, where every building towered over her and went far into the sky, she always had a company.

Spamton knew the best places where she was always welcome, she knew the worst ones, where it’d be too much trouble to stick her nose in. It seemed she knew all those underground sellers by name, knew their range and prices of interesting goods. The best self-made acid with special additives, from one sip of which pixels began to dance before the eyes and it seemed as if the body was disintegrating into binary code, the purest dust and syringes with thermal paste that could either blow your mind in a matter of minutes, or relax you for the whole day ahead, and so on. Spamton always knew which of these were really worth spending darkdollars on – she was the perfect personification of Cyber City.

“See that door over there?” She suddenly said while they were waiting for the traffic light to turn green.

The smaller woman, lazily chewing a cigarette between her teeth, pointed to a nondescript narrow door across the street. The polished surface of her red Cungadero reflected the night lights. Tenna leaned towards her, peering in the direction she was pointing.

“There used to be a nice strip club there,” she continued with a smile, “it’s abandoned now, but!”

She smiled, releasing a cloud of acrid smoke straight into the host’s screen, who immediately waved it off, moving back into place.

“For a tidy sum, you can get into an underground casino through the basement from here. The best in the area. You know who I saw there a couple of weeks ago? Our workers. Exchanged all our hard-earned points for darkdollars, only to end up losing them here!”

She laughed, remembering that evening, her husky laughter filling the car as it roared into motion again.

“I see,” Tenna replied, leaning back in the soft seat.

“Wanna go there sometime?” the mailwoman suggested, darting between two cars, clearly ignoring the speed limit, “I'll take you there easily, doll.”

Tenna tilted the monitor to the side, considering the idea.

“Why not?”

“Trust me, you'll definitely like it!” the mailwoman's lips spread into a wide grin.

They drive for a while in relative silence, broken only by the radio and the wind whistling through the open windows. Then they pull up to a luxurious building, bathed in shimmering neon light. Spamton tosses the keys to the valet, flashing a smile as she shouts after him not to dare scratch the car. The huge high-rise building blocks out all the buildings nearby, screaming about its luxury with its entire appearance. Tenna pauses for a second, mesmerized by this, before Spamton tugs at the hem of her skirt, distracting her from admiring. They walk into the foyer, brightly lit by ornate chandeliers, looking around briefly as they walk toward the elevator. The walls are decorated with abstract paintings in carved gilded frames, one of them is even signed by Queen herself, the tiles on the floor draw some kind of ornate pattern, in the middle of the wide hall there is a small statue of the organization's mascot, glowing with neon lighting, and further, next to the corridor leading to a small cafe and souvenir shop, Tenna noticed a huge aquarium built into the wall.

"I can't wait to check out their liquor menu," Spamton said quickly, flashing her white teeth in anticipation.

“Why did you have to take a car if you were going to drink?” her partner snorted phlegmatically in response.

“What? Did you want to get here by public transport? Or give the taxi driver an amount equal to three trips around Cyber City? Don't worry,” - she smoothes her hair, “we'll ask for a driver. At worst, we'll take a taxi home, so be it. And as for Cungadero, let them drive it, I don’t know, to the Queen’s castle?”

‘Home’. A wide smile appears on the tall woman's dim screen. The host loved it when her lover called it exactly that. Not ‘back’, not ‘to the studio’ – home. Tenna's tail, curled into a tight bun at the small of her back, twitched slightly in an attempt to wag. She didn't really show it in public – it was something private.

“She won't mind it?” the host asks, leaning slightly towards the smaller figure.

“Nonsense!” Spamton snorts, “even if she did, do you really think she won't do me a favor?”

Near the elevator, Spamton meets some acquaintances, briefly shakes their hands with a clearly forced smile and introduces Tenna to them, casually putting arm around her waist and pulling her a little closer. In front of them were three very androgynous darkners, who had elongated bodies with several pairs of small arms and rather cute-looking faces. When they smiled almost predatorily, Tenna noticed numerous rows of sharp teeth. They’re going to the very top floor – the only thing of interest to them in the whole building is the huge and luxurious penthouse. Spamton lazily and reluctantly talks to her acquaintances, Tenna doesn’t understand even half of their dialogue. Then, as the doors open and the elevator operator wishes them a pleasant evening, the trio waves good-naturedly at them, telling the women to feel free to join them that evening. The pair remain in the hallway for a moment, Tenna adjusting the signature brooch on her waistcoat, admiring her reflection in the huge mirror, while Spamton digs through her pockets for a lighter. She doesn't care that a meter away from her an electronic sign flickers, on which in large, bright letters it says ‘no smoking’.

“Remember those,” she nods to the side, “don’t go near them. And don't take anything from them. Don't interact with them at all.”

“Why?” the host asks, looking at the mail lady’s reflection in confusion, her lower pair of hands casually adjusting her belt buckle.

“They're computer worms, baby,” she snorts, lighting a cigarette and smoking inhalingly, “Heaven knows what they're doing here today. Probably gave someone a big bribe again to squeeze through.”

“So you're not friends?” They start walking towards the entrance to the roof, “It seemed to me that they were very happy to see you.”

“Oh, believe me, they are happy to see me,” Spamton replies, frowning as she blew smoke out of her mouth in irritation.

“But you aren’t happy to see them? Are computer...worms somehow connected to, um, email?”

Spamton chuckles and curls her lips in an attempt to find the right words.

“Well,” she pauses for a moment, “well, yes. Somehow, you could say, they can be connected to me too.”

“And how?”

“Don't heat up your monitor bothering with this, I don't do business with them anyway,” Spamton waves it off, “consider that we’re just...in the same boat. Competitors, even, to some extent.”

The massive doors are opened for them, and they enter where the fun is already in full swing. Wherever they look, there are familiar (at least for Spamton) faces. Dozens of darkners have gathered at a large bar, sipping strong acid of all sorts and colors. They weren’t interested in the floor below, where there was a separate dining room, a bunch of soft sofas and other things for a more relaxed evening – Spamton led Tenna straight to where they could have a good time.

“Fancy a drink?” the mail lady suggested in a purring tone.

“With pleasure,” her companion placed two pairs of wide palms on her shoulders as they walked towards the bar.

As soon as they approached the long bar counter, the darkners gathered there reverently parted. Spamton ordered herself a strong cocktail of several types of acid, Tenna, in the classic way, took whiskey. The local alcohol had too strange an effect on her body, always went to her head way too quickly.

There was nothing better than introducing Tenna to everyone around. Of course, when her appearance stood out so much compared to the residents of Cyber City.

“My business partner,” Spamton said proudly, while her palm slid onto taller woman thigh.

The darkners around looked at the presenter with their mouths open. She was curvy, taller than everyone gathered, popular and loved even by the residents of Cyber City. Of course, many regarded her as a fading star whose grand finale was eagerly awaited to be captured, but Spamton always ignored such rumors and opinions. They'll outdo everyone here once they get beyond. The attention made Tenna grow a little taller, thereby earning even more enthusiastic exclamations. She signed autographs, four arms stretched out in different directions, wanting to shake the hand of everyone who looked at the TV star with awe and adoration. Spamton giggled, watching this. Then she heard someone calling her name cordially and turned to meet the gaze of the one who had invited her here in the first place. Their next investor. She smiled at the rather tall man, tugging Tenna's free hand. The next ten minutes were just useless chatter.

"Oh, I'm so glad you two came together. I can't wait to work with you!" – and other pleasantries, intertwined with feigned compliments.

Then the man wishes them a good time, shakes their hands and, having grabbed a lady from the crowd by the waist with a short hug, moves on.

“Jeez, what a fop,” Spamton whispers quietly to her beloved, watching him go.

Tenna only giggles, lightly poking the mail lady in the shoulder.

Then they lazily walk along the terrace, greeting former partners with whom they concluded small contracts. They are full of hints and offers for further work, looking at the saleswoman with some kind of pleading. Spamton pretends to be sweet, promising to think about each such offer, slyly narrowing her eyes, looking at them like a bird of prey at small defenseless mice. She knows how the fate of each such business will turn out – she and Tenna squeezed out the most delicious, the very last thing from them. The only thing that awaits all of them further is collapse. Any such party can be the last, because another day – and the business will be gone. It’s not for nothing that Spamton is respected and even slightly feared – it’s always as if she knows in advance about her further actions, her success.

They take another drink and sit down at a distant table. They chat about various things, interrupted only by silent smoke breaks.

The women lean towards each other, Spamton holding the flame to the ends of their cigarettes, watching intently as the screen in front of her face turns slightly pink at the edges. Then they lean back against the cushions, blowing smoke into the cool night, lazily watching it dissipate against the night sky. Electronic music roars out on the terrace, the beats and rhythms completely alien to Tenna, but the crowd of darkners whistles and squeals with joy, clearly appreciating the DJ's choice. Perhaps another thing she liked about Cyber City was that the locals were incredibly easy to distract. Which meant they always had the chance to flirt with each other without unnecessary attention. The host frees her foot from the bright heel and reaches for the smaller leg, playfully stroking the wide leg of the mail lady’s trousers, slowly moving up to the small knee, noticeably pressing against it, and then moving lower. Flirting, teasing. Spamton turns her head, impatiently looking at the host, who deliberately turns away, pretending that the fireworks in the distance are much more interesting than her lover. Spamton bites her lip. Surely there has to be a secluded place around here. After all, if computer worms have crawled here, then this is not the kind of party where you need to behave more or less culturally.

The mail lady takes a drag on her cigarette, watching the remains of the digital fireworks dissipate in the sky. No, they can wait until they get back to the studio. The evening has just begun, and she isn’t drunk enough to blame her lust on the emerald acid in her cocktail glass. So she just moves closer, throwing her legs over the vacant space and slightly laying on her partner. Now it’s her turn to think about how she can tease her lover. Tenna always started first, demonstratively not giving in, forcing the smaller woman to wait for hours before they arrive at a more or less suitable place – a room in the nearest hotel, Spamton's room in the castle, or their dressing room at the studio, it doesn’t matter where, the main thing is that it’s private enough.

“Have you thought about my idea? About that game,” she decides to distract herself with a business conversation.

Tenna still doesn't look at her, now carefully watching the terrace, where the darknres are walking, not paying any attention to the couple. She lowers her bottom hand under the table, placing her palm on the mail lady’s leg. Stroking it, grabbing it with her claws, moving her palm up and down, dangerously lingering near the crotch, playfully and noticeably touching it with her little finger. Spamton takes a deep drag on her cigarette, trying to give her face and slight smile a casual look.

“I already have some basics for it,” she continues, “believe me, Cathode, it’s worth it.”

“Well, if you say so,” she lowers her second hand on the same side, teasing and caressing her lover even more, “I’ll be happy to take look.”

Large fingers press against the groin, alternately pressing and tracing the silhouette of the genitals barely perceptible under the thick fabric, which makes the smaller woman nervously bite her lips painted with rich black lipstick. The host smirks slyly.

“You've only had a couple of drinks. Isn't it a bit early for this?” the saleswoman mutters through her teeth, trying to unobtrusively remove the Tenna’s hands from her private part.

“For what, Spammy? I don't understand what you're talking about,” she asks innocently, while her fingers stroke in circular and slightly incoherent movements, stimulating and arousing the smaller woman for fun.

A vivid image appears in her mind. The host's four hands hold her tightly in place, her soft flesh hurts and becomes bruised from the tight grip, large palms roughly grab her body, squeezing it, sharp claws leave a dozen marks on it. The palms smoothly creep lower, the fingers playfully slide to the labia, deliberately slowly, teasing.

As if on command, as if her beloved suddenly learned to read minds, the host's palm crawls into her trousers. The tight belt seems to be trying to hold her back, but Tenna is stubborn, and her fingers continue to slide along the fabric of Spamton’s panties, getting closer and closer to the doll's vagina.

“Okay, time-out,” Spamton says, embarrassed or slightly irritated, breaking free from the other woman’s grip and jumping off the couch.

“Where are you going?” the host immediately reaches for her, her playful impudence disappearing without a trace when that guilty expression appears on the screen.

Spamton sighs, stretching and awkwardly adjusting her belt and trousers.

“To the toilet, Cathode,” then she smiles at her, lowering her voice, “do you want to keep me company there?”

The host just waves her off and pretends to roll her non-existent eyes.

Spamton gives her a quick wink and leaves. Saleswoman meets a dozen pals and acquaintances with whom she has crossed paths only once. She didn’t remember even half of those who had joyfully greeted her today, but it flattered her ego that every worm here knew her. It was like a small reward, a reminder that she really was a big shot. Then, after turning down the corridors a few more times, she finally manages to find the right sign. If she had paid attention to them in the first place, she would’ve gotten here many times faster, but such parties always pushed her to shine in front of everyone. She wouldn't calm down unless she saw as much evidence of her importance in the Cyber World as possible. The inside of the restroom looked luxurious. Subdued lighting illuminated the wide space, everything is clean and tidy. A dozen ladies gathered near the mirrors, who, having noticed Spamton, immediately perked up, follow her with undisguised desire in their glaze. The saleswoman smiles as she opens the large door of the farthest booth. As if none of them saw who she came here with. And as if any of them had a chance to attract Spamton's attention. Sex for money and connections wasn’t exactly a common practice in Cyber City, but it did exist, and no one really hid from this fact. The darkners here just shrugged their shoulders, like, it's worth a try – what's the harm anyway?

As Spamton walked back, an interesting thought suddenly struck her head. There are quite a lot of women gathered here today. Long-legged beauties, and curvy ladies, wives, business ladies – wide choice. This gave Spamton a tip on how to tease Tenna. Since they could easily justify their early departure – after all, they are big shots, they have a lot of things to do and other nonsense – she decides to put her plan into action. Yes, she’ll play dirty, but she knows that it will bring stunning results. Jealous Tenna is the most needy Tenna, who will cling to her mail lady and beg to look at her, to touch her, to do with her whatever Spamton wants. She’ll certainly please her partner – and do it as magnificently as always – but Spamton just liked to reinforce this funny controlling desire. Was there anything wrong with that? No, she doesn’t think so.

“Ah, Miss Spamton!” someone's voice suddenly breaks her out of her thoughts when she goes out onto the terrace again.

The woman turns and smiles sweetly at the lady who has called her. Bingo.

"It's nice to see someone familiar here," she continues, while Spamton tries to remember her name, "how are you? You haven't visited us for a long time.”

She was one of the maids at Queen's Castle, who, coincidentally, served Spamton’s room. She was quite a sociable person and, like all the staff at the castle, extremely polite.

Spamton looked her over briefly. A short woman with a triangular head, turned so that the pointed tip was her nose, and a small tail showed off at the back. She was thin, and her hands looked like flat rectangles, from which small fingers protruded separately. Far from her type, but it'll do for a quick and simple imitation of flirting.

“Oh, everything’s just peachy, I have a ton of work in the TV world,” she snorts, nodding towards the bar counter, from where Tenna will be able to see them well, “c’mon, I’ll buy you a drink.”

The maid just smiles cheerfully, giggling and tilting her head.

“Aren't they free?” the other woman asks, clearly enjoying their fleeting conversation.

Spamton's bushy eyebrows jump up when she realizes that she has stumbled in her plan so quickly. God, she wanted to look at her beloved's jealous face so much that she stopped thinking with her head for a moment. This makes her genuinely laugh, and – Kur? Carso? – joins her with quiet giggles. Damn, she still couldn't remember her name, but it was definitely something that sounded like "cursor."

In that case, she could just go and get her and Tenna something to drink, then come back to her and continue their little fun.

“Oh, right. Sometimes work just poisons your brain, I'll tell you that," Spamton pauses, putting her hand on the other woman’s shoulder, leading her to the bar, "I still insist. There’s such a crowd there, they clearly won't let you get a drink so easily, but with me you’ll get it in no time.”

If Spamton had paid attention to the distant table where she and Tenna had been chatting so nicely not long ago, she would’ve seen the large host throwing her some very deadly glances. Yes, she didn't have eyes, but when she was angry – trust, it was clearly visible on her monitor.

Near the bar, two women clink their glasses.

“Are you here alone? Or is Queen somewhere around,” Spamton peers at the guests, looking for a noticeable blue head.

“Oh no-no,” she shakes her head, burying her face in a glass of pinkish acid, “our lady is busy with her own celebration. Have you seen the fireworks? She's checking that everything is ready for the parade.”

“Parade, again?” Spamton snorts, anticipating how much of a headache it’ll bring her. No, she’ll definitely be spending the night at the studio that day.

“Spamton!” a third, male voice suddenly cuts in.

An old man approaches her, smiling broadly, a pair of gold teeth gleaming in the cold light of the spotlights.

“How nice to see ya. Didn’t expect you to come here, folks say you've completely stuck in the TV world. Big lady treats ya that well, huh?” he laughs loudly.

The old man shakes her hand, leaning down to whisper that he has an extremely interesting little matter for her. He’s a major figure on the chessboard of local entrepreneurs – Spamton has to at least listen to his offer. She smiles at him.

“Just a minute,” the saleswoman asks politely, watching as he understandingly walks away, waiting for her.

“You are all business even at such evenings,” the maid smiles at her.

"It's routine for a big shot," Spamton smiled back, closing one eye as if winking, as the light from the bright spotlight passes over her face, “tell your people not to worry about my room, all services are paid for a month in advance, but I'll miss the parade and everything else for now, you see how it is!”

Then she goes over to the man, who, leaning on the railing, watched from such a huge height as the cars rushed by below. Spamton also leans on the railing, slightly too high for her, and quietly sips from her glass, a cool breeze caressing her dyed hair. She glances briefly at the bar, reminding herself to get something nice for Tenna. She has already kept the host waiting for too long.

“So what's the deal?”

“You know, I didn't want to offer it to anyone. But I remember you have a grudge against your former buddies, the Addisons. They, let's say, disturbed me the other day,” he grins, flashing his gold teeth, “this car business of yours, it's flourishing, growing by leaps and bounds, eh? How about a little collaboration? Let's cut out all their little advertisements from the streets to hell, so they know who not to be cheeky with.”

As soon as she heard this, the saleswoman immediately joined the discussion. Oh, this future deal of theirs was already bringing her a lot of pleasure. To spite her former friends, and at the same time to boast dirty about her successes? She doesn't need anything else.

The next hour passes in a blur for her. Seeing that she’s walking around alone, all the local businessmen immediately swoop down on her like locusts on crops. She laughs, sips alcohol, glass after glass. Maybe it's a little tiredness that's affecting her, but tonight her vision is starting to blur too quickly. She swirls the fizzy drink lazily, the bubbles sparkling like flickering pixels on a faulty monitor. During another conversation, a heavy hand suddenly lands on her shoulder, squeezing it quite noticeably.

“Excuse me," the host's sweet voice above her head makes Spamton's lips stretch into a silly smile, "I'll take her for a moment."

She doesn't wait for anyone's answer and simply tugs the mail lady in her direction, quickly leading her away.

“Tenna, Tenna, Tenna! What's the rush?”

“Watch your step. We're leaving,” she replies, rather fiercely dragging her lover along with her, “the driver is already waiting for us.”

Spamton opens her mouth to protest, but realizing that she probably got a little carried away this evening, she quickly closes it, tactfully keeping silent. She admits to herself that maybe her original plan had gone a little wrong, and if she wants to get to the studio in one piece and not get a headache, she'd better shut up. At least until they're in neutral territory, where she can tame her partner's ardor.

As they enter the elevator, Tenna has to hold Spamton down when she wobbles slightly. Then she leads her through the foyer. Suddenly, the smaller woman grabs and tugs the host’s sleeve, and they stop.

“What is it? Feeling unwell?” Even if Tenna doesn't hide her irritation, there's still a note of worry in her voice.

“Uh-uh, you're just pulling too hard. Look at yourself, I can't keep up with your steps!” she exclaimed, cheerfully looking at her tall partner.

Tenna moves away, adjusting to her lover’s small and unhurried steps. Then Spamton chats with someone in the parking lot for another twenty minutes, while Tenna shows simply colossal patience for her today's antics. In the back seats of the car, the host demonstratively turns away, and when Spamton tries to sit closer, she roughly pushes her away with all hands. The ride passes in silence.

The host steals a glance at her partner. Spamton has crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes. She looks serene, peaceful. As if absolutely nothing was bothering her and everything was in perfect order. Amazing! When they get back, Tenna will throw her in the utility room and lock her there until she sleeps it off. She was so angry with her! Not only did she have the conscience to leave Tenna completely alone for an hour, but she also had the audacity to flirt with someone! So openly, so naturally, does she always behave like this with others behind her back?! Spamton always goes somewhere. Yes, she always comes back, and their beautiful love continues, but this stupid feeling never goes away, it gnaws at Tenna. They never officially declared their relationship – for the whole world, their romance remains a secret. Was there a possibility that Spamton took advantage of this?

The host shakes her head, as if trying to clear the evil thoughts from her mind, her antennae twitching amusingly from this. No. She trusted her. She knows that their love, their so bright and sincere love, is mutual. That was just her character – so why worry about a short flirtation? She doesn’t sleep with others and that’s... the main thing. Tenna curls her lips. No, this is stupid and she doesn’t like it. This is her mail lady, her lover – and she doesn’t want anyone else to be honored with her laughter, smiles, winks. She wants Spamton to be all hers. And she's going to make sure her co-host remembers it.

Arriving back in the TV world, Tenna literally jumps out of the car while Spamton clumsily crawls out of the backseat. Then CRT roughly grabs her by the collar of her shirt when she realizes that the woman is going to chat with the driver as well, and literally drags her inside the studio.

“Okay, Cathode, Tenna, let go! I got your point, darling, let go!” Spamton tried to shake off a couple of hands that were tightly clinging to her collar.

The host only continues to unceremoniously drag her colleague, who is looked at with some sympathy by all those who were still in the studio. Tomorrow, idiotic rumors will probably spread among the staff. Passing by the Ramb stand, Spamton throws a pleading look at the man, but he only shakes his head, although, of course, a note of sympathy could be read in his tired eyes. When they finally reach the dressing room, Tenna pushes her partner inside and loudly slams the door.

“Okay, I understand that you’re angry!” Spamton starts, fiddling with her shirt, “but you won't believe the deal one of them offered me-”

She is interrupted when the host closes the distance between them with a sharp lunge, forcing the mail lady to rest her back on the arm of the sofa, pressing her with her massive body.

"I don't care about your deals, Spamton," she grins, showing sharp fangs, "I'm angry about something else."

"I know, I should’ve warned you, my bad," Spamton purrs in response to her lover’s menacing look, "perhaps you'll let me make it up to you the way you like?"

She reaches out and untangles the other woman's tail, clutching the cable tightly in her fist and pulling, sliding along its length, then her palms run along the waist, fingers barely touching the buttons of the vest. The host’s top pair of hands suddenly grabs her small wrists, pushing them behind the mailwoman's head as Tenna roughly and forcefully pushes her onto the sofa, climbing over the armrest.

“Oh, alright, you can lead,” the smaller woman twitches her hands, surprised by the strength of the other's grip, “Tenna?”

The host presses her knee between her lover's legs, lightly rubbing the other's crotch, and leans towards her beloved with a predatory smile. Spamton only watches her, biting her lip and holding her breath. Her hair, which was always so perfectly styled, was now disheveled. Tenna leaned closer to the thin neck, forcing her partner to turn her head for convenience, her free hand rose to the collar, and claws began to dangerously play with the buttons, while the other pressed hard against the stomach of the smaller woman, as if Tenna was trying to pin her to the soft pillows. She blew on the small neck and left a couple of kisses, feeling how small legs lightly squeezed her own. Spamton smiled, her usually pale face filled with a contented blush.

They were both aroused. Tenna didn't want to go anywhere in the first place, that's why she ‘hinted’ to her partner when she was ready to leave. Of course she had to turn a simple trip to the toilet into hour-long conversations and fleeting deals, bravo.

It was so easy to just give in to her, finally allowing Tenna's desire to be satisfied in other woman’s skillful touch, which always made the wiring inside sparkle and her back arch in crazy pleasure. But her lover's actions really got to her today. Of course – it took half an hour only to find her, surrounded by a dozen darkners. Tenna hated making jealous scenes when the whole situation could’ve been easily avoided. But seeing how she flirted with someone, drank with other darkners, made jealousy boiled up inside the host. She has to teach her beloved a lesson.

“Have you had enough fun today?” She asks in a sweet tone, in which a threatening note has slipped through, “there’s something, Spammy, that you must remember for the future.”

She unceremoniously sinks her teeth into the neck, biting and chewing the soft fabric of the doll's body. Spamton's breathing is ragged for a second, but the satisfied smile only grows wider, her legs twitch and squeeze harder. It seems that today she’s completely satisfied with the unusual position.

“I want you to know that I am very disappointed with this evening. You know how much I hate it when you leave me alone, without attention,” she complained.

Her claw catches the first button under the collar, and with a sharp movement she rips the shirt to the end, transparent buttons fly off in different directions, bouncing and rolling on the floor and getting stuck between the cushions of the sofa. Teeth sink into her lover’s shoulders, biting hard into the flesh until blood flows, the upper pair of hands firmly holding Spamton’s wrists above her head. The mail lady inhales sharply as a soft whine escapes her throat, her back arching and her hips shifting, slowly rubbing against the leg that was pressed against her.

This side of her lover is her favorite. Jealous, harsh, rough, and so wild. She didn’t need Spamton's commands on how to please her, no. At such moments, she simply took out her overly strong emotions on her lover, biting and grabbing her as she pleased. It might not be the sanest shit, but those moments were rare, and Spamton enjoyed every one of them. She liked it when Tenna could hurt her without falling to her knees and apologizing profusely.

Then the host presses her large tongue to the wounds, smearing blood and saliva over the neck and shoulders, listening to intermittent satisfied sighs. Scarlet spots bloom on the collar of the shirt.

“If you can’t remember it the first time, I’ll teach you by force,” she literally growls, biting into the shoulders on the other side, listening to hoarse drunken giggles.

The blood on her tongue tastes disgustingly of iron and she wants to spit it out, but she obediently swallows it, starting to lick the wounds again.

“I want all your attention to be mine, Spammy. I want you to look only at me.”

She kisses the long seam of the mailwoman's body a few times, then puts her tongue to it and runs it from the end at the buckle of her pants to the beginning at her chest. Spamton twitches in her grip, as if desperate to free at least one hand and cover her mouth. Unlike the vocal host, who could be truly loud and noisy during sex, Spamton preferred to keep the sounds coming from her lips much quieter. Then she teasingly licks the small breast, kissing it tenderly along the way. The large tongue runs along the seam again, then down her neck, the weight of the monitor forcing the smaller woman to throw her head back. Then Tenna gently nips her chin, and when she hears Spamton giggle at this, her tail twitches playfully. Even if she wanted to get her point across to her this way, she was still incredibly pleased with the fact that her lover liked it, that she too could please her the way she always did for the host.

Then Tenna shrinks slightly, becoming about a head or two taller than her lover. This will make it easier to leave a dozen small marks on her. To mark her with her fangs, a reminder of who she dated, who she should sip alcohol and flirt with. Leaving kisses on the soft body, the host firmly leans against the other woman's groin and begins to move her hips in a weak rhythm, creating chaotic friction between them when they don’t specifically adjust to each other. The smaller woman's gasps mingle with soft moans as Tenna begins to bite again. The lower pair of hands firmly grab the mailwoman by the waist, the claws leave small marks from the pressure – a few more seconds and tiny drops of blood will appear from them, so she holds back a little, letting her beloved feel the weight of her touch. Then she picks up the pace again, enthusiastically and briskly biting her sides and squeezing the fresh bites with her fingers, listening to the hisses of pain coming from her partner.

“You're mine, Spammy.”

She rises to her lover's face. Their hips sway slightly as the host leans in and kisses her lover hungrily, not giving her the slightest chance to dominate. Her tongue lustfully bursts into the other woman's mouth, trying with all her might to knock out such desired sounds from the mail lady, which disappear in her own mouth, when their satisfied moans mix with each other. Their lips are smeared in Spamton's black lipstick, the strokes of which turn into an abstract mess.

“You did this on purpose, didn't you?” Tenna continued, covering her lover's face with kisses, smearing the remains of the other's lipstick further, “did you think I wouldn't notice? Did you think that as soon as we'd get back, I'd start begging you to fuck me? That I would fall at your feet and, like an obedient dog, give you my leash so that you would tug at the collar again?”

“Tenna, I don't-”

The host quickly shuts her up with a sloppy kiss, licking the mail lady’s mouth again, not letting her lover take an extra breath. She feels Spamton fidget in her grip, not in an attempt to get out, but on the contrary – trying to press her whole body even closer. Tenna smiles into the kiss. This is exactly the reaction she needs. Then she abruptly pulls away and bares her teeth.

"I don't want to hear anything," her smile widens, rows of teeth, slightly stained by black lipstick, flashing on the bright screen, "except, perhaps, 'I love TV’."

“Tenna, hold on-”

“Come on, Spammy, say it. Tell me how much you love TV. I want to hear you,” she softens slightly, finally letting go of her lover’s wrists.

Probably, from the strong grip, small bruises will form on them.

She doesn't give her time to respond or catch her breath, dropping back down to the seam.

“I want to hear it loud and clear,” she hooks the laces with her fang and loosens them, “come on.”

Tenna moves her hips again, reciprocating the rubbing. They had long since lost any rhythm, simply moving their bodies in an attempt to get closer to each other and increasing the degree of arousal. Her tail wags chaotically as she leans towards the open seam, blowing hot breath on the crack to the insides as the steam that has collected inside the hollow space of the monitor escapes through her mouth. Her upper right hand carefully falls on the other woman's neck, pressing lightly. Tenna hears Spamton raise her hand behind her head and squeeze the soft lining beneath. Her other hand, clearly shaking, falls on the mouth. The host bares her sharp fangs, the light of the screen dimming, giving her an almost sinister look. Slowly, she lowers her face inward, savoring the small, surprised gasps. The smaller woman's back arches up to meet her nose as she burrows deeper. The darkners' bodies worked very differently from the lightners, so the seemingly 'strange' insides were actually an excuse to experiment. She rubs her nose inside, contentedly listening to the muffled moans, growing slightly louder as Tenna involuntarily becomes bigger. The small legs are now resting against her belly at an odd angle, and Spamton's tiny hand rests on the top of the monitor, pressing down lightly, as if daring the CRT to burrow even deeper.

“Fuck, Tenna,” Spamton mutters as she feels her lover open her mouth and stick out her tongue, generously wetting the soft filling with saliva.

Her voice breaks into a muffled moan, and little hand flies up to the mouth again, fingers gripping the jaw tightly.

Tenna uses her free hands to help her partner spread her legs apart and squeeze them around the large waist. Then her palms grab onto the small hips, helping Spamton keep moving. Tenna idly tries to remember the last time she saw her so needy, her whole body begging for her touch – this is probably the first time it’s happening so vividly.

Then her tongue hits the most interesting object and she smiles, ignoring how much the soft filling tickles her nose. With her fangs, she hooks a doll heart on a small chain and slowly, teasingly pulls it out.

The small legs squeeze her tightly. Spamton throws her other hand back and squeezes the upholstery as if she's going to rip it to shreds.

"Fucking hell, Tenna," she moans and throws her head back as the leader places the heart deeper into her mouth.

Fangs scratched its walls fleetingly, but Tenna was extremely careful. She runs her tongue over the heart, licking its shape, causing goosebumps to run up Spamton's skin. The claw on her beloved's neck begins to trace letters. Spamton makes every effort, trying to make her brain work. After all, the doll's heart is the most sensitive part of her body. Even if Tenna just continues to chew it, she’ll cum in her pants in a matter of minutes.

The small heart gives off a pleasant pulsation in the host’s mouth, when she patiently traces letters on the mail lady’s neck again. The first is ‘I’. Then the letters are drawn to form the word ‘love’.

“I love TV,” Spamton whispers breathlessly, which makes the host’s antennas jump contentedly.

She writes ‘go on’ on her beloved's neck, scratching the little heart with her fangs, turning it in her mouth, not caring about the saliva flowing down the screen.

"I love TV," Spamton moans a little louder, biting his trembling lips, feeling more bites and licks, "I love TV, fuck, I so fffucking – ah! – love TV.”

Spamton pressing herself closer to the host’s body, rubbing her aching crotch against the shirt sticking out from under the vest and feeling how the other woman's buckle is pressing against it. Tenna's clawed fingers squeeze hard on her hips, stretching the fabric of her trousers as if the host wouldn’t mind tearing them too.

"Heaven knows how much I love TV," she continues, repeating her confessions like a mantra, "I love TV, I-"

Tenna yanks the chain holding the heart, causing the mailwoman to let out a loud, but satisfied moan mixed with a growl. Tenna smiles, holding the most precious object in her teeth – she’s so lucky that she can listen to these moans again at any time convenient for her, simply by rewinding them on her screen.

“I love TV, Tenna, I love T – you,” their hips sway in unison, the grip on her neck tightens slightly, and sharp teeth carefully squeeze the heart in the hot and wet mouth, “fuck Tenna, I adore you, I adore you so much. I'm close, keep-”

“Not yet,” the host purrs, sticking the saliva-covered heart out of her mouth, spinning it in her clawed hand, “after all, I'm teaching you a lesson, not pleasing you. You haven't forgotten, have you?”

She looks lovingly at her lover's flushed face and gently brushes away the hair stuck to her forehead when the saleswoman opens her closed eyes, staring back questioningly. Then the hand on her neck slightly strangled her, the grip on her heart tightened, forcing the mailwoman to arch in ecstasy. Tenna knows that a little pain will only push her to orgasm, so she leans closer to her and whispers orders to endure, again and again, meanwhile squeezing the doll's heart. As she does this, she feels Spamton's legs begin to shake – she’s clearly trying her best to actually hold it, although Tenna knows it won't last long. Yet she still uses this to leave even more bites on her lover, on her sides, stomach, arms even.

“You’re mine,” she reminds again and licks the pulsating heart once more.

Then Spamton touches the hand on her neck, and the host quickly loosens her grip, thinking that she may have overdone it. It was hard for her to control her strength and size when the sex was hot and emotional.

“No, harder,” she asks, almost whining, so desperate and needy.

Tenna smiles, mentally giving herself a ten for a top-notch performance. Instead, her hand moves a little lower, and she leans towards her beloved, savoring and memorizing in the smallest details the entire evening.

“Are you that close?” she coos, tenderly kissing her temple, ruffling her sweat-wet hair with her nose.

Spamton can only nod. Tenna's lower pair of hands carefully unfasten the buckle and pull mail lady’s trousers off. Spamton grabs the wrist closest to her.

"You don't have to," she begins, out of breath.

Tenna carefully puts the heart back in its place while she lures the mailwoman into a gentle kiss. Then she pulls back and whispers to her.

"I want you to feel good, Spammy. You always make sure I do. I want to do the same for you."

She kisses her tenderly again, their bodies pressing closer together.

Tenna has never felt so important and wanted with anyone else.

"I love you," she breaks their kiss and says a saccharine phrase with a smile, which makes Spamton's cheeks seem to get even redder.

Spamton's eyes dart around her screen.

"I love you too," she replies, watching as her lover moves down.

Her heart is pounding wildly in her chest. This evening has turned out in a completely different direction than she expected, but it's even better this way.

Tenna is big, tender, wild, so sweet, so loving. Tenna is all she needs. Yesterday, today, morning, afternoon, evening – always. The very thought of it brings her closer to the peak, and the chewed heart in her chest fills her body with indescribable satisfaction.

Tenna pulls her underwear down and places a pair of hands under Spamton's legs, lifting them slightly, spreading them so that the mailwoman can comfortably grasp the large monitor with them. She would like to shrink for convenience, but she’s so absorbed in the emotions of this moment that she can only restrain herself from becoming even larger. Then she tenderly kisses the inside of Spamton's thighs and, hearing a satisfied, so drawn-out and relaxed, moan from her partner, she gently leans her bare legs against the heated sides of CRT monitor, holding them so as not to accidentally burn her beloved. Hot steam leaves the cracks in small streams, lightly tickling the other woman's legs.

Then, hunched over on such a small sofa under her, she bends over, feeling a trembling in her chest. Their bodies had become such a common thing for each other – there was no embarrassment. And yet, every time they approached climax, they both felt this trembling and excitement, mixed with absolute delight. Tenna was sure that even if she tried, she would never be able to repeat this feeling with anyone, this feeling of total closeness. They were simply good together. Seeing her partner so out of breath, so flushed and satisfied, feeling her legs tremble in Tenna’s grip and her hips rise slightly to meet her mouth, Tenna wants – dreams – that all this will last forever.

She swallows excess saliva and presses her large hot tongue to the vagina. A whine comes from Spamton, when Tenna slowly begins to move it. Natural lubrication covers the texture of the robotic tongue, the small joints between the moving plates were especially felt by the sensitive organ. Tenna, to be honest, doesn’t even need to do anything special – just push her beloved to cum. Their size difference is now more than ever playing into her hands.

Small legs uncontrollably try to break free from the hands supporting them, as she squirms them along the sides of the monitor. Tenna only squeezes the soft flesh tighter, the other pair of hands gently lie on the waist, thumbs stroking the soft, almost fluffy fabric on the stomach. The tip of her tongue lightly runs over her clitoris, openly teasing, to which she receives another, but more dissatisfied whine.

“Tenna,” she whispers breathlessly, “Tenna-”

The host smiles, burying her face in the other woman's crotch. Now, more than ever, it was pleasant to hear her name escaping from Spamton's lips. She presses her tongue harder, noticeably running it along the curves, which only makes her lover's breathing quicker.

Come on.

Call me again.

“Tenna,” her whisper is sweet, full of pleasure.

Tenna can't control herself and grows slightly again, causing her tongue to press against her clitoris, the joints of the plates scrape the erogenous organ, and the smaller woman literally suffocates from this. The host squeezes the soft hips, and a small moan, mixed with a growl, also escapes from her own throat. It seems that she no longer has enough space on the sofa, and she once again slightly lifts the other woman's hips, hunched over her partner, who only willingly arches towards her. Saliva runs down her tongue as she runs it greedily over her small crotch again.

Bare legs, shaking, squeeze hard on the CRT. Her knees hit the edges of the monitor.

The curtain falls.

There’s so much of Tenna right now. So much of her beloved – the touch of her hands burning its warmth on soft body, all the bites and scratches she left reminded of themselves with a pleasant pain, and underneath them, bright spots of bruises bloomed, which for some time will clearly return Spamton’s thoughts to this evening. So much of her – and that's all that Spamton truly needs now.

Apotheosis.

The smaller woman again squeezes the upholstery of the sofa with force as she comes on the large tongue.

Tenna swallows. Her tail wags briskly behind her back.

She carefully lowers her lover’s legs, holding Spamton by the small of her back, laying her down on the soft pillows. Her partner relaxes, trying to calm her breathing. Tenna manages to shrink back to her normal size, and carefully lays down on top of her lover. The top pair's elbows are placed on either side of Spamton's head, and Tenna rests the heavy monitor on her palms, tilting it to the side as she watches contentedly as the mailwoman closes her eyes. The other pair of hands rest calmly at her sides, the right hand playfully reaching out to run a claw along the edges of the still open seam.

They both enjoyed this silence, comfortably seated in the dressing room. They didn't need words when their bodies were still exchanging that much-desired warmth as they simply touched.

When Spamton finally opens her eyes and smiles at Tenna, the host smiles back.

“I hope you learned your lesson,” the host breaks the silence, wagging her tail contentedly.

“Honestly? Not really,” the mailwoman's face becomes cunning.

“So I’ll tell you straight,” Tenna leans towards her temple, baring his teeth so that rows of sharp teeth appear again, “don’t you dare flirt with anyone but me ever again.”

Spamton turns her head towards Tenna and frowns, but a smile remains on her lips.

“Here it goes again. What makes you think I was flirting with someone?” she asks, too much amused by the situation.

Tenna jumps up, giving her a displeased look.

“Spamton are you serious? I saw you take some girl to the bar, you were laughing and drinking together, you even winked at her!”

“Tenna,” Spamton starts giggling, “this was the maid from Queen's castle. She cleans my room while I'm here with you!”

The host opens her mouth to object, but is interrupted.

“And hold on, winked at her?” Spamton looks confused as she tries to remember her actions this evening. Suddenly, something clicks in her head, “Tenna, Heavens, did it really look like that to you? I was just blinded by the spotlight.”

The host's antennae lower slightly as a quiet "oh" escapes her lips. Her gaze involuntarily falls on the dozen bite marks she left in some attempt to avenge... a simple misunderstanding. Now she felt less good and confident and shrank slightly, saying "oh" again.

“Hey, what's that for?” Her lover's hands fall on her small shoulders, now that Tenna is about half Spamton's height.

“I'm sorry, I... I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, Spammy, I'm so-”

“Woah, haha, slow down a little! Did I say I didn't like it? Or did I mind?”

Tenna looks away, still feeling guilty. She stealthily notices the bloody stains on the torn shirt. God, she shouldn't be so wild! What the hell is wrong with her?!

“Hey,” Spamton places her palm on the bottom edge of the CRT monitor and carefully turns it towards herself, “it’s okay, Ann. C’mere.”

She doesn't wait for an answer, grabs the CRT by the hands and pulls her onto her lap, carefully sitting her down and hugging her. Her fingers quickly run over the antennae, knowing that Tenna likes to have them massaged. Spamton doesn't really care that she's still naked, that her underwear is lying somewhere on the floor, that the seam on her chest is still open and the stuffing is slightly sticking out. She strokes her lover's back, rocking slightly on the soft pillows. Tenna carefully and slightly hesitantly clung to her, as if afraid of causing even more pain.

“I already told you, you don’t need to apologize for your passion,” she laughs gutturally, laying her head on the monitor, “you know I like it when you’re this fierce.”

"Spamton, I have little control over myself when I’m like this," the host frowns, shoving the stuffing back inside, "I could’ve done something...much worse. Look at yourself, your entire neck will be covered in purple bruises tomorrow.”

Spamton shrugs, as if it's not a big deal for her.

“Do you think anyone from Cybercity can compare to you?” Instead of answering, she asks, “Do you think anyone from there can make me moan their name the way you can? Do you think I’d comfort any of them after sex because they feel bad about something?”

“Why are you asking that?” Tenna pulls away, confused.

“Because you apparently believe that I'm actually interested in anyone from there. They can all go to hell, I wouldn't trade you for anyone, big shot," she laughs, watching Tenna's confidence return and her height increase, and then she quickly adds, realizing that she has no intention of stopping her growth, "don't crush me now.”

“Oh! Right, sorry,” Tenna quickly pulls away and hands the mailwoman her underwear and trousers, which were thrown to the floor.

“It's true, Ann,” Spamton continues, pulling up her pants, “you're perfect. A real jackpot.”

A flower blooms on the host's nose, which she quickly plucks.

“So! Um, how about we continue our evening? I mean, maybe go for a drink?” she suggests, trying to calm her too-excited tail. Too much emotion was not doing her any good.

“Uh, no. I don't think it's a good idea to show up in front of Ramb right now,” Spamton grins, brushing her hair back.

“Right. Then, um, maybe you want to, I don't know, take a shower?”

“Why not? Only if you bring me a spare shirt," she smirks, noticing how the host looks slightly embarrassed.

The mailwoman's gaze slid over the buttons scattered on the floor. Then she carefully climbed off the sofa, wobbling a bit.

"And if you'll hold me," she adds quickly, "I think I've had a bit too much today."

Tenna rolls her non-existent eyes, a brief but fond smile flashing across the screen as she walks over to the closet and pulls out spare clothes for both of them, stacking them on one of her four arms. Then she walks over to Spamton and bends down, picking her up. The mail lady’s legs are now wrapped around the bigger woman body as four arms hold her tightly, palms resting on large shoulders, and her eyes are full of adoration as she stares at the screen in front of her, still catching the faint floral scent. Yes, sharing a shower sounds absolutely wonderful right now.