Free Cracked Porcelain by Drake Collins Page A

smooth—and nearly seamless—set of swooping curves and sporting a faceless visage; his optics were hidden behind a semi-transparent facial screen.
    At the behest of his owner, the droid was programmed specifically to perform sexually as an organic, along with all of the earmarks of an organic’s nuanced gestures; he started out fucking slow and deep and, before long, was pumping hard and at an almost preternatural speed, uttering beastly, guttural noises that only an organic would. The mechanical phallus was even designed to ejaculate powerful jets of a sticky, milky fluid that simulated a familiar viscosity.
    Of all her johns, Maximillia resented Krong’s visits the least. She allowed herself to actually even enjoy the recreation of their limited time together. He was more a mindless dildo on legs than a perverse sack of organs, although a certain guilt would well up in her as she ruminated on the borderline zoophilic nature of their interactions, considering the ape-like quality of his mechanical physiology. Although, she always felt a tinge of sympathy for Krong, who was no more a willing participant in the twisted proceedings than she was. Willing or not, she would usually be unavailable for subsequent clients after the heated sessions with the beastly droid, her stretched and hammered pussy requiring the recovery time.
    The h’Obanza twins were tarian brothers who had connections with one of the Tsen-Tze subsidiaries. They favored kabob -ing her; one would glide his long, beige member down her throat, drawing forth a froth of slobber which would trickle from her chin as the other would needle into her rumpled asshole. They reveled in coordinating their orgasms, creaming her holes simultaneously and leaving her an leaky, gored wretch.
    Mataranza was a female saracian and regular client who was constantly trying to seduce Maximillia. Her persistent wiles weren’t sufficient to capture Maximillia’s heart, but the proper fucking she delivered—via her strap-on member—was sufficient to render the young human exhaustively thrashed.
    A particularly quirky kylaxian named Grazzle was a strange gent; he was almost hilariously loud during sex and was partial to heated, animalistic groans. In his defense, having his sizeable prong buried in her impossibly tight, drippy gash would understandably elicit those noises from any man. Maximillia would sometimes have to turn her head to mask her snickering from him. He also came more than any of her other clients, dependably leaving her bald pussy a glistening, oozing ruin. Her once passive, timid demeanor had largely melted away.
    This isn’t to say that Maximillia didn’t have her moments of weakness, when the darkness beckoned her. Vaika noticed the cut marks on Maximillia’s arms and merely bandaged them, not letting on that she knew why they were there. Her only comment was not to let the customers see them. When the mask came off, the house lights went down and she and the other girls retired back to the Bruiser compound, Maximillia would often find a quiet corner and huddle up, crying herself to sleep. Most of the time, Mardo was already passed out drunk, with one of the younger new recruits splayed out in his bed so his concern for her wasn’t as paramount. She often found herself clinging to any available toilet, emptying her stomach into it at the mere thought of her circumstances.
    At Xartha’s, painted up like a demure wisp, she’d happily take a hot, steaming load across the face or allow her diminutive holes to be deluged with alien seed. After their hasty departure, she’d purge herself, the disgust overwhelming her. After several extended stays in the bathroom, Vaika began to notice. She questioned Maximillia who blew it off as nerves. The old woman knew better. She administered a test which confirmed her latent disappointment.
    Maximillia wandered on weak legs into the Bruiser compound. Finding the strength, she stomped her way past the slack faces of the