Cracked Porcelain (10 page)

She never kissed any of the girls, even though some of them wanted to. For Maximillia, none of their interactions were emotionally-charged, genuine fits of passion; they were merely mechanical expressions meant to off put the annoyances of a demanding libido that couldn’t be satisfied otherwise. Of course, she’d always oblige her sexual partners by returning the favor and performing on them, either giving their pussies a proper tongue lashing or merely fingering them into bliss. They always left satisfied.

Maximillia’s fleshly concerns were largely met, but she still felt this uneasy sense of emptiness. She couldn’t place it, but it was there and nagged at her constantly. A fit, voluptuous body wasn’t enough anymore. An idle mind craved attention and prodded her into action. She had a grease monkey's blood coursing through her veins. Her brain was wired for mechanical utility, to repair what was once broken. She was also a rebellious young woman who didn’t want to ape her father’s life course. She wanted to blaze her own
trail. The facility had a computer terminal repair workshop where inmates could train and even become certified as repair technicians. Being legitimate? It was a long shot, but it was a shot.

Maximillia ruminated about
her time in lock-up. Maybe it didn’t have to be a
self-contained world where she was forced to marinate in her misery for the next few years. Maybe it could be a period of self-discovery and self-improvement. What were her prospects if she didn’t? She remembered the look on her father’s face on sentencing day: disappointment, concern, yet ultimately, love. Her father had worked too hard and lost too much to suffer a daughter headed where she was headed.

Mardo and the rest of the Bruisers were circling the drain. Maximillia had heard rumors that the Tsen-Tzes
—who were being assaulted on all sides by the feds—had declared war on the Bruisers. Mardo was on the run, possibly dead, and the rest of the gang had largely been scattered and decimated; some were dead while others in hiding.

The Tsen-Tzes were worse for wear, as well. Word was that
the power vacuum within Mandra Bay’s criminal underworld created in the wake of Dom's death had evolved into open warfare. Dom’s living foot soldiers had their backs to the wall and the other gangs were hungry to devour up as many rackets from the falling Tsen-Tzes as they could. Their once consolidated power was now nothing more than a withering husk.

As far as Maximillia was concerned the heat was off her back so she could concern herself with more personal endeavors. Angel Falls was largely automated, but there were a handful of organics who served various functions. Some were in medical or administrative while others either ran maintenance on the security droids or handled other repair duties. The few males on the facility found ways to exploit the sexual needs of the willing women trapped inside the facility walls. Some would trade booze or drugs for sex, which the men would then smuggle in for them. Sometimes they’d hold access to the communications network hostage until the women put out in whatever way they desired.

One particularly repugnant cur working in administrative was a guy name Cort Bindinelli. He barely broke five feet tall, was almost equally wide, and his squinty-eyed face sported a nose tipped with a particularly noticeable wart. If you squeezed his skin, the liquid that was excreted could be synthesized into the ultimate female repellent. If an inmate wanted to file a report that had to go directly through administrative, he’d position himself as an expedient obstacle. He ended up carving out a nice little opportunistic niche for himself, getting unlikely sexual favors he’d never have enjoyed otherwise. Maximillia knew that if she wanted to apply for access to the terminal repair workshop she’d have to contend with him.

Zenna was proud that Maximillia was aiming to better herself, but she also knew quite well about Bindinelli’s abuses of powers and warned the young human. There was no way to get
around the little pug, so she decided to attack the situation head on. She wasn’t going to let some  little, sexually inviable worm obstruct her path.

She waited in the administrative office while her application for the terminal repair course was processed. Of course, as luck would have it, Bindinelli was the one handling the processing. She sat across from the greasy-skinned cad, staring into him with thinly veiled contempt as his hands swayed about his
holoscreen control board, his eyes creepily darting back and forth between his screen and her.

“So, terminal repair, huh?” he asked awkwardly.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe they’ll hire you on here. Terminals around here are always glitching out.”

She cracked a half-smile that bordered on revulsion and feigned deference. It seemed that, as he gestured with his fingers about his holoscreen and filled out the necessary forms for her, he was bolstering his courage for some kind of attempt at verbal subterfuge. Finally, he cleared his throat. “You are aware of the protocols for access to the classrooms, correct?”

She rolled her eyes. This was the pitch. “Protocols?”

He looked up at her, beads of sweat crawling down his pock-marked forehead. “Yes, the protocol. There is an unofficial fee to get access.”

“Fee? What is this? Extortion?”

“Extortion is illegal, and not only is it frowned upon here, it’s highly punishable. Do you think I’m trying to extort you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Would you like to file a report against me?”

She played his game, knowing exactly where it was going and what his subsequent answers would be. “I think I might. Who do I have to talk to if I want to file a report?”

His face tightened, deathly serious. “You’re looking at him.”

Perfect. She didn’t avert her gaze. In her mind she had Bindinelli in a full choke, strangling him as he flailed into unconsciousness. Unfortunately, the real world invaded on her fantasy. “Would you like me to finish processing your application or would you like to go back to your cell?” He knew he had her over a barrel.

With a vicious ire simmering under her skin, she muttered through tight lips and scraping teeth, “I want to take the class.”

He perked up, his expression switching gears to sickeningly sunny. “Great!” He then leaned forward slightly and
spoke low, “I’m going to unlock your cell at 1300. You’re going to meet me in the resource management office. Got it?”

Her face twisted, clearly revolted. “How many times are we going to have to do this? I’m not doing this for every class.”

“Not every time. I promise.”

She rolled her eyes, stood up and walked out.

After lights out, Maximillia lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, just waiting. Suddenly a high-pitched ping rang out. She swung over and saw the security light on her cell door switch from red to green and the magnetizers deactivated. She slid off of her bed, noting her still sleeping cellmates, and gently nudged the door. It opened, so she threw on her slippers and left her cell, venturing out into the unlit hallway.

Everyone else was asleep. She paced down the coldly smooth hatholite floor, heading towards the dim lights emanating from the administrative sector. As she approached the security doors leading into the adjacent wing, their lock lights flickered to green, their mag-locks deactivating. She pushed her way through and found the sector eerily dormant. It was usually a bustling den of controlled bedlam.

The resource management office was right around the corner. As she reached the end of the corridor she eyed the door and noticed that it, too, was unlocked. The lights inside weren’t on. She opened the door and stepped inside. Bindinelli was sitting in the dark, eyes on a
terminal’s holoscreen.

“Alright, come on in," he said, not bothering to acknowledge her by looking up. He was too busy watching a dream-state burn of a massive kylaxian male vociferously drilling into a thick-assed tarian female from behind. The poor girl was wincing as his meaty girth stretched her petite hole.

Maximillia noticed that Bindinelli’s pants were around his ankles and he was energetically fisting his pathetic erection. As the tarian girl’s muffled cries whined aloud, the tubby mongrel called her over with a curl of his finger. She stepped closer apathetically.

“Drop them pants,” he commanded, still not bothering to look her in the eyes or cease his fervent masturbating.

She stood there for a pregnant moment. Finally, he drew his eyes over to her, mild irritation brimming just under his skin. “Now.”

She sighed, thumbing the waistband on her sweat pants and slid them down her legs, stepping out of them. He glanced over at her for a moment before returning his glare to the animalistic fucking on his screen. “The panties. Lose ‘
em, too.”

Maximillia growled. He glanced over at her again, shrugging. “Hey, if you don’t want this, you can always go back to your cell. There’s plenty of girls who can take your spot in that class.”

Biting her tongue, she ever so slowly slid her panties down until they piled up at her feet. Looking over and seeing her bare nude from the waist down, his attention was finally drawn. He slid his chair out to get a clean head-to-toe view of her. He was clearly impressed.

“Holy shit,” he exclaimed, jerking his pitiable cock to an even more heightened fervor.

She rolled her eyes; he was truly a filth-ball worthy of derision. He didn’t care. He was too busy strafing her tight, young body with his hungry eyes. Her well-trimmed mound of dark pubes framed her taut little cunny. He began to salivate.

With eyes locked on her pussy, he gestured her with a circling finger. “Spin around. Let’s see the back.”

She couldn’t have looked less enthralled as she spun a slow one-eighty. The second he saw her scrumptious ass his eyes nearly tore their way out of their sockets. “Fuck me...” he muttered, using his feet to shuffle closer to her, still seated.

He grabbed at her cheeks and she instinctively spun around. “Hey!”

Bindinelli looked up at her in shock. He’d done this many times before and wasn’t used to the resistance. “Okay, this is your last warning. Do you want to do this or not? I’ve got a couple other girls I could’ve made appointments with but I set aside this time for you. The next fucking time you piss me off we’re done. You can park this tight little ass in your cell for the rest of your stay here, class or no class.”

Maximillia wanted to deck him and it took every iota of her self-control to deny herself this. She finally straightened up, eyes forward, face tense and slowly spun back around, her ass level with his face. He rubbed his hands together, licking his lips in giddy anticipation as he clasped his grubby paws around her delicious cheeks and began to
knead them. He couldn’t see, but she was grinding her teeth, eyes forward in defeated indignation. He continued to just stare in awe at her ass, squeezing her luscious globes with a stunned fascination. His massaging became so firm and insistent that she had to lean forward and grab the countertop in front of her for purchase.

The despicable tub leaned forward, nearly slobbering at this point and buried his face between her tight cheeks. Nuzzling his fat, greasy face betwixt her warm flesh, he just imbibed in the sensation of being partially buried in her. He let one of his hands free to wander back to
his partially-erect nubbin as he began to curl his tongue up her ass crack, much to her dismay. He stroked his cock faster and harder, his breathing growing heavier to where he was emitting these low, growly mutterings.

Suddenly, he stood up, possessed by an animalistic urgency. “Bend over! Bend over!”

She obeyed, hoping this debacle would soon be at an end. He scooted forward, fisting his erection mere inches from her ass, caressing it with his free hand until he began to let loose the familiar short gasps that signaled an impending orgasm. With a desperate wheeze he thrust out his hips and a streaming gush of hot seed squirted out the tip of his needly cock and splashed against her bare ass in thick globs.

Finally having expelled the last drop of his semen, he stood back, his chest heaving and gazed at the beautiful sight of her cum-drizzled ass.

“Can you clean me off, please?” she asked, annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah!” he said through labored breaths as he scuttled off, pants still around his ankles and returned with a large napkin that he proceeded to wipe her down with.

She quickly hiked up her panties and sweat pants. “Are we done?” she asked with a stewing defiance. “Can I go back to my cell?”

“Yeah, sure. Of course. Whew!” he exclaimed, chortling. “You have got to have the sweetest fucking ass I’ve ever seen.”

“When does the first class start?”

“Tomorrow. Room 12B. Be there at 0930," he huffed.

Maximillia lowered her head and strode out of the room, her hands bound into fists so tight that her nails nearly broke the skin of her palms.

She spent the next hour in her cell, thoroughly taking a towel that had been soaked in hot water, and scrubbing the remnants of Bindinelli’s seed off of her bare ass. The only true way to rid herself of the repulsive film that had absorbed into her skin would’ve been to take a torch to it, but she wasn’t prepared to commit such self-destruction to cleanse herself of him. She tended to this most foul ta
sk without so much as stirring the deep sleep of her cellmates. Her defilement would remain a secret.