“There you are. Fusion chamber's gone out again. I need you to go in there and restart it.”
“Oh. Okay! Didn't Capri restart it yesterday?”
“She did, and now it's gone out again.”
“Why's it gone out again?”
Chief Aimee-3364641 gave her junior counterpart an impatient look. Emily-51561497 was just a farmgirl, expendable. Maybe if she'd done three tours like Aimee and made reactor chief she'd be a little bit more important but… well, she hadn't.
“Figuring that out is MY job” she reminded the ditzy blonde junior engineer. “Which I can't DO because we don't have MAIN POWER because, I repeat, the fusion chamber's gone out so I need YOU, to go in THERE, and RESTART it! Or is that too hard for your dumb whore brain to figure out?”
“Okay, chief, okay! I was just curious!” Emily sniffed and unzipped her work uniform. She shrugged it off and let her hair down as she stood naked in front of the access hatch to the chamber. “Goodbye, I guess. Good luck fixing the problem.”
“Whatever...” Aimee muttered, not even bothering to acknowledge the farewell. She watched her instruments carefully as the hatch opened then closed and was locked behind her and the sound of Emily clambering deep into the heart of the megaKelvin reactor faded to a few sporadic tunk… tunk… clonk sounds.
Four silent seconds later there was a loud BANG and main power came back online. Aimee sighed and reached over to her terminal.
“Chief engineer's log,” she said, and recorded the date. “Another fusion core burnout. Emergency restart completed by junior engineer Emily-51561497. Fusion was sustained for less than twenty-four hours this time and we've got two days to go before we make it back to Vyalarn Station to diagnose and repair the problem and take on replacements. Cause of the failure remains unclear, but it's getting worse. I've only got two junior engineers left after which we'll have to start sacrificing people who actually matter. Will monitor and try to nurse it home. End log.”
She stood up and peered through the thick sapphire porthole into the heart of the reactor, where there was now a healthy white glare – a small star, really – hanging in the middle of the containment field. Of Emily, there was no sign.
TWENTY HOURS LATER
“God fucking dammit...” Aimee sighed and tapped the ship intercom. “Junior engineer Sarah-10382479 to reactor core, ASAP.”
The captain called down while she was waiting. “Aimee, my ship has stopped moving again...” she said, warningly.
“Yes ma'am. I think I know what's causing the problem and it ain't something we can fix at sea. Just gotta restart and make best speed.”
“How many juniors do you have now?”
“Just one after this restart, ma'am.”
“Think we can make it?”
“It'll be close, but yeah.”
“Okay. Carry on, Chief.”
A couple of minutes later, Sarah trotted into the reactor control room, sporting a giant hicky and smeared lipstick.
“Took you long enough,” Aimee accused.
“Sorry, chief. I was getting a goodbye from Briar-one-oh-five-”
“Do I look like I give a shit? I want you to turn that fucking reactor back on not give me your life history.”
“...Yes chief. 'Bye chief.”
Aimee ignored her. She hunched over her instruments and made careful note of exactly everything that happened in the twenty seconds it took Sarah to take off her clothes, open the reactor hatch, step inside, seal it, and crawl into the heart of the ship's power supply.
Power came back up and Aimee sighed.
“Chief engineer's log...” she began, again…
EIGHTEEN HOURS LATER
“MOTHERFUCKING SHITDAMMIT SON OF A CUNT!”
Briar-10562221 sighed. Aimee had called her down in anticipation of another failure and for lack of anything better to do while he waited to die she'd spent the whole time swivelling bored in her chair and sloping off to the bathroom to masturbate. “My turn, chief?”
“That's what I called you down here for you stupid slut. Get in there.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.”
There was nothing more for Aimee to record. She knew exactly what the problem was, she'd done everything she could. This time, rather than ignoring her subordinate's departure she stood up and watched through the porthole.
It was a shame, really. Briar really had an amazingly sexy body, and a talented tongue, too. She'd been a good stress-buster. Now Aimee watched through the sapphire as Briar sealed the hatch behind her, climbed the ladder into the reactor's exact middle. She enjoyed a last look at Briar's shapely body as the junior engineer reached up and hit the reactor prime, counted four seconds, then hit the ignition.
She was instantly and briefly reduced to a human-shaped smear of plasma as the reaction restarted itself.
FIFTEEN HOURS LATER
“Chief engineer's log. If the trend holds then the next failure should be in about an hour. We're also, coincidentally, about an hour out from Vyalarn station. I-”
The power went. Aimee heaved a huge sigh and glanced over her shoulder at the treasonous reactor then called the captain.
“Sorry ma'am. Looks like we're gonna need a tug the rest of the way.” she said.
“Fuck that,” Captain Janet O'Malley said. She was a freeborn, one of only five people on the ship with an actual surname. “I'm not paying for a tug. Just restart it again. Do it yourself, seeing as you're too much of an ignorant cunt to keep a reactor burning.”
“...Yes ma'am. Goodbye.”
O'Malley ended the call without acknowledging the farewell.
Aimee grumbled to herself for a second then loaded the log up off emergency power.
“Chief engineer's log, Final entry. As the sudden stop in the previous entry suggests, the reactor went again. Captain doesn't want to pay for a tug, so I guess it's my turn to get vaporized… Chief engineer Aimee-3364641 signing off. Good luck to the next engineering crew.”
She shrugged off her shipsuit and stomped over to the hatch.
“Cheapskate bitch hope she fucking gets eaten by a Rallifrexian hope some alien freak lays an egg in her whore chest while she chokes on its acid dick...”
The hatch swung open and she closed it securely behind her.
She kept up her litany of complaint as she climbed the ladder.
“Three years hard work and not even a fucking thank you would a little fucking courtesy kill her stuck up freeborn princess cunt she can fuck right off out the airlock, like to see her tits explode...”
She hit the primer and moved her thumb over to the ignition switch.
“One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four… Bitch.”
Unbeknownst to her, the last three girls had all spoken the exact same last words.
WOW. This is fuckin great. I might have to borrow this concept for something im working on. Got any more?
Have they considered NOT feeding people to the reactor? Maybe reactions would last longer without all those heavy elements in the system.
This. I was waiting the whole time for Aimee to figure out that the problem with the reactor was all the vaporized organics floating around in the core. All that carbon and oxygen being hard to fuse and screwing up the mixture... xD
or, y'know, have the primer and start switch OUTSIDE the reactor core.
It's not supposed to make sense ^_^
I was going to comment on the primer being inside as well...
Personally, I'd have had it that the Fusion Chamber has been damaged some way, and it needs to be periodically repaired from the inside.
Cute, I liked it. It was silly, unrealistic, but still very enjoyable.
tSade, your stories of women captured by slavers in the middle of the city, sold as milkers, meat or reduced to shit eating dogs and turning loyal to their captors, captors who have farewell parties when their former companion wants out of their lifestyle because his/her morality conflicts aren't too realistic either. You are a superb author but you should be the LAST person here to judge about realism.
It was short, and fun.
I hate to admit but he s right. Sade is still one of the best writers in terms of wording and art tho
I didn't have a problem with "unrealistic", that is why I said I liked it. *Everything* here is unrealistic, that is the nature of erotica in general and guro in specific. We deal with willing meat girls, rape as a form of greeting, and monsters that don't even remote follow the basics of biology.
And I think that's okay.
It really is.
We accept the fantasy of these stories because they bring us joy and the occasional wet spot. There are times when you want a light read and sometimes you want something more complicated and in-depth. My stories require a commitment and a lot of time to get into them. This story doesn't.
And I think that's okay.
There is a guilty pleasure in reading stories that don't require two hundred pages of backstory or fifty pages of world-building and "logical progressions". They are light stories that reduce the story down to its bare essentials and embrace not worrying about the basis behind them. There are stories that just say "pull up some popcorn and just have fun." Stories that don't even bother taking themselves seriously, like Machete or Hot Fuzz. That is this type of story. It is light-hearted. It is still enjoyable.
And I think that's okay.
When I say "I liked it," I mean I really liked the story.
When I say unrealistic, I'm talking about the lack of back story or justification of creating a small star out of a physical body that doesn't have nearly enough mass or material to justify a reaction of that category. Of having a starter inside the fusion chamber, a lack of cooling system, or the blase way that they just throw women into it just like a Dolcett meat girl happily jumps on a Jessica 3K with only an orgasm and a thank you. The physics, sociology, and biology doesn't make sense to me.
I'm perfectly willing to say those are unrealistic but still enjoy the story. It doesn't make it any less enjoyable.
Sometimes I want a light story. Sometimes I want a story that doesn't explain itself. Sometimes, I just want to accept that girls will willing jump into a fusion drive and power a ship.
And I think that's okay.
I think they use some helium starter, with the girls only dying because the switch and the process isnt enough to run away
Puppy Mill didn't have any logic behind either pal. But whatever floats your boat.
I love this story, and would look forward to more.
oh please, get off your high horse, edgelord. For another sick fuck your condescending comments are really to laugh at.>>6858
I'd be happy to start my lawnmower.
I want to see what else they're prepared to casually sacrifice crew members for.
Maybe sending them out to do repairs without enough air to get back, merely hauling them in on the safety line to re-use the suit.
Or cycling the airlock with someone inside cleaning it, just because the person outside has better things to do than wait for the sake of a mere technician's life.
Cleaning food recyclers without turning them off. Someone wants a meal? There goes an arm or a leg.
Engine inspection prior to a scheduled burn? No point using a space suit, they're going to light the engine up before you get out anyway.
Landing a ship accurately requires someone to guide it in. Left a bit, right a bit, down, squish.
Hell, maybe there's an entire section of cheap-fare passengers that get discounted fares for allowing themselves to be used as 'emergency' rations. There's a reason their numbers dwindle towards the end of the trip.
Newly assigned to your post? Take the uniform of your predecessor, you're using their name now. Never mind that it's still warm. It's probably not even their name, it's just the one on the suit when we hauled it out of storage six juniors ago.
Where do they even get all these people? Maybe there's a breeding centre that implants cloned embryos, tweaked for fast maturation. Never mind the shortened lifespan as a result, they never live long anyway. Almost exclusively female, in case they need to replace the breeder, or maybe implanted as soon as they're ready and set onto their duties while pregnant.
Your uniform's wearing out to the point it's got splits and is nearly transparent in places? Come cry to us when it won't stay on. Coverage isn't important, saving money is. Uniforms are expensive!
Wendy-Yutaka-san corp. :P
Let's give it a shot, then. Apologies for the hijack.
Ugh. These food-waste recyclers always got so FILTHY. Alice-8126421 scrubbed at a particularly hard stain with her cloth, frowning. Of course, it would be EASIER if they gave her anything other than a simple cloth for the task. Or any cleaning products. Or even protective clothing.
The last part was what made cleaning duties REALLY gross. But that's what she got for accidentally tripping into an officer. A week of cleaning detail.
The reason for the lack of equipment and chemicals whirred away beneath her; the grinder that shredded everything that went into the hopper, so it could be fed back into the replicator system easily. She'd even had to remove the rings from her pussy lips for this, in case it fouled the machine, as well as the uniform she'd been given when she'd joined the ship. And so, she scrubbed and wiped, wedging herself against handholds built into the side of the hopper for that exact purpose. The stain shifted, slowly, and she smiled with satisfaction before turning to the next one; a particularly stubborn red smear she'd noticed had been there a while. As she applied her cloth to it, she heard footsteps above her.
The company, not only so cheap as to not turn off the grinder, had also not bothered to mark it as out of use. A face appeared over the lip; the chef for this section. Their eyes met, and the chef grinned, lifting a bucket and tipping it over her. Alice squealed, trying to cover her face with her free hand as the water and vegetable peelings washed over her, some sticking, but the rest flowing straight off her and down into the ever-hungry grinder.
Alice was, of course, not her real name. She was just given the name along with the uniform when she signed up, as per company policy; she'd signed away everything for the chance to get offworld, even the clothes on her back, her name, and her identity. The uniforms, she was told, dated back to the days when an enlisted crew were skilled and valued, back before automation and a glut of labour combined with union actions. Now, anyone valuable was an officer with an actual name and identity, and anyone not an officer was, by definition, valueless and possessed of nothing but their body. That, at least, was hers to customise. She smiled once the rain of vegetable peelings stopped, looking down at herself, and at the small tattoo on her hip. She'd heard of cats, and decided they sounded cute, and got a tattoo with her first paycheck.
She was jerked out of her reverie by a shock; her foot had slipped on the suddenly-wet foothold, leaving her with only two points of contact. She squealed, reaching for a handhold with her free hand, breathing a sigh of relief as she took hold of it, relaxing slightly.
Slightly too much, her foot grazed the mouth of the grinder with a crunching noise, and she gasped, snatching it away. She whimpered as she examined it, now free of toes and bleeding from the wound. With a sigh, she turned back to her task; she wasn't permitted medical attention until an official break, after all...
"Oh, you'll live." The medic said dismissively, taping the dressing onto Alice's foot to hold the syn-skin in place. "Wear that overnight. You can buy an implant come payday. Now go get a mop; you've been bleeding everywhere, and that's going to cause an accident!"
Alice nodded, giving a sigh; life sucked here, but it was better than her old life of tending cloned livestock all day, dodging hooves and wading through ankle-deep slurry.
Okay, maybe it WASN'T better, she mused, as yet another bucket of kitchen waste was dumped onto her. But at least it had prospects of, y'know, actually going somewhere once she finished the trip and got ashore with her accumulated savings! Something clonked in the bucket, and she looked up, only to be hit in the face by a large lump of bone, stunning her briefly and knocking her off-balance. She swayed back, reaching out with her foot to find a foothold. Too late, she remembered the accident yesterday, and her foot missed the foothold She pivoted around the intact foot, smacking her head on the side of the hopper and stunning herself again.
This time, she wasn't so quick on the uptake. Bones ground, blood splattered, and she screamed as her legs fell into the grinder up to the knees. She dangled from her hands, shoulders protesting as she panted. This... This was going to be a problem. She tried to lift herself up, only to slide back down and lose another couple of inches as her shoulders ached and popped.
Should she escape, and come to terms with life without legs?
Should she fall in and feed the crew?
I'm not sure yet.
Mmm, lovely backstory. I love it.
The hijack is welcome! MOAR!
Also, I vote that she gets out of it and then realizes how expensive prosthetic legs would be and just shrugs and throws herself back in like "fuck it"
I'd say she manages to get back out. Her Chief decides she is not good to use anymore without her legs and she gets cooked/roasted for the officers or used in someother "definitive" way.
Maybe she gets to stay alive, at least temporarily (as if she is used as a sex doll or punching ball or something like that). But I think you should use this opportunity to stress that she has absolutely no value as a human person to the officers.
Her life itself is worthless. She is just a tool to use as they see fit. If she dies in the process, they don't care. If she suffers in the process, maybe they'll even enjoy it. Not a problem, anyway.
If she isn't capable to be used in some way anymore, they'll just have to find her another use or recycle her if they don't have another use for her !
I'm a sucker for happy endings and badass protagonists who earn their way to said happy endings. I vote she lives and makes it to wherever she's going.
Not that I would mind seeing what other sticky situations she'll have to survive on the way...
Of cuorse a happy ending doesn't mean she has to survive...
This SUCKED. Alice looked down at her truncated legs, tied off with the legs of her jumpsuit, and back up at the trail of blood she'd left while dragging herself to the medbay. She was so gonna have to clean this up herself.
She was dragged, or rather, knocked out of her reverie by a 3rd-class technician casually kicking her head out the way as she walked past, bouncing her off the wall.
"Well, we can give you new legs as a cloned replacement, but that would leave you liable for the cost of the clone they're from. Otherwise, there's prosthetics. We have a full range available, from just capping off what you've got left right up to like-new replacement limbs. But, again, cost is the issue; you'd have to keep serving in order to pay them off, as per your contract. This, I reckon, leaves you with three options."
Alice nodded, tilting her head to the side.
"Option one, I sew up what's left, and you learn to deal with it. Option two, prosthetics and a longer service to pay the option off. You're excluded from the top tier, though, because you can't serve long enough to pay them off with your projected lifespan, much like you can't pay off life extensions. Option three, you transfer me the consultation fee, and an additional fee for my time, and I put you on a stretcher and tip you back into the disposal."
Alice swallowed hard. This was a careful decision to make.
Alice grumbled as she swung the mop; standing up was HARD now, and people kept walking into her and knocking her over, and tracking blood everywhere and making her chase them down to mop it up. She'd figured it all out, though; double shifts all the way to the end of the trip, and the remainder could be made up at the spaceport. Swabbing floors or selling soycaff or whatever. Or she might have to take another trip out to get the savings she'd done this trip to GET.
And swabbing floors still beat shuttlebay duty.
Why oh why did she have to get cocky like that? Shuttlebay duty SUCKED, and she was already sunburned from the UV blasting through the forcefield, frostbitten from attaching fuel hoses to a shuttle still cold from space, and the air pressure was dialled way down to save losing it when shuttles left. At least the low gravity made moving around without legs easier.
Crap. Crap crap crap. She'd misjudged that last jump, and overshot. Definitely overshot. She hit the shuttle's hull with a solid thud, her beasts absorbing most of the impact as the air was forced out of her. She pushed herself back off the hull, letting out a wail of despair as she left a long strip of skin behind, frozen to the outer skin of the shuttle. And she'd damaged her jumpsuit! And oh void that zip was getting cold.
She whimpered, returning to her work. At least the insulated gloves worked. Mostly.
"Cosmetic surgery is extra, but there's a way you could swing it on the company dime. There's an opening in a stress reliever position, so we could transfer you there and they'd cover the modifications, including replacing all that skin."
Sure, 'stress reliever' had sounded cushy. It brought up images of massages and happy endings. Reality, as ever, sucked.
She winced as another blow struck her in the stomach, her new breasts jiggling and bouncing as she toppled over; lack of anything below mid-thigh making it hard to balance. The client grabbed her by her air, tugging her up again to sink a fist into her gut again before tugging her face down onto his enhanced cock; forcing it deep down into her throat. She gagged; it was still sensitive from the vacuum burn in the shuttle bay.
Still better than knee-deep splicecow slurry! Not that she really had knees any more.
Ugh. The least he could do would be to drink some fruit juice before using her. Ew.
Lovely! I like the further horrors that she is going through. Thank you.
when she gets to the space station she ought to have a bad choice between a loan for cheap ero-bot surgery with bootleg cybernetics, which would give a permanant stigma as a cheap, glitchy, nearly disposable whore, or stay a cheap meat fuck/punching bag, keep saving, and run the risk of the ship's officers throwing her out when her body gets ruined.
bump to give false hopes kek
'Stress reliever' had been a bad choice of role. The extra pay was offset by the fact that you were available at all times.
Alice hadn't slept properly in a week; whenever she managed to doze off, someone would yank her awake by thrusting a cock into her. And her ribs still hurt from a particularly frustrated janitor who laid into her with a baseball bat during 'Suspension Bondage Happy Hour'.
Oh, and the modifications? They'd included big fake tits, as well as replacing all the skin. And a big tattoo reading 'free use any time, no need to ask'. AND she didn't get let out of her original role, so she'd been spending the last few hours on her back unblocking a sink while men just thrust themselves into her holes and got themselves off. And they'd been wiping themselves off on the towel she was using to wipe her brow, as she discovered when she went to wipe it and smeared cum all over her face.
This job sucked. Even the splicecows had been better than this. Not, of course, that she could really go back there. For one thing, she'd never have been able to look her old friends in the eye after coming back, and for another the slurry would have been up to her chest without her damn legs.
And no, legs weren't 'cosmetic' modifications.
Alice dragged herself out from under the sink as the latest man finished, turning herself around and hauling herself up to lean over the rim of the sink; the last blockage was at the top, in the disposal unit. Which, according to policy, hadn't been turned off or even taken out of use, so the slop was half a meter deep. The blockage came out easily enough; someone had dropped a fork into the disposal and jammed it, causing the lumps to build up. Once she pulled it out, the disposal started up again, chewing through the layer of chunks in the bottom of the sink. Alice gave a sigh of relief, starting to push herself back up, but pausing as she felt hands on her waist. Another 'relief' job? NOW? Ugh!
Also, oh crap. He'd lifted her hips up, and she started to slip, thigh stumps flailing and kicking as her balance shifted and she started to slip. She put her hand down into the slop to steady herself, but it slipped in the layer of scum on the steeply sloped sides, dumping her head into the sink. She kicked harder, trying to push against both sides to push herself up, but was finally saved by her user grabbing her hair to pull her back onto his cock harder. She gasped, gulping air down, only to let it out in a piercing scream as her hand slipped into the disposal unit.
Just wonderful. Now she was going to have to learn to get herself off with the other hand.
I love these. Everyone's totally casual attitude really works.
Wrote a continuation of my own, maybe got a bit to focused on the trashing side, I hope its enjoyed.
"Fuck, Alice, you're a defective. Can't do shit, and between your used condom twat and your ruined ass I'm pretty fucking surprised you're not already replaced." Ella-5886732 pushed the toe of her thin plastic shoe into Alice's crotch, smudging a glob of spunk onto the floor, looking down at the maimed crew girl sitting slumped in the hall. "Boss got a memo 'bout the hand, I'm supposed to take you to med deck to be 'valuated and reassigned cause you're worthless for sanitation." The former metroplex dweller was glad she'd kept her contract long and low risk, carting garbage for six years was far preferable to joining it after a month.
Alice had been left to be pounded, apparently at a generous discount, for the better part of the day following the loss of her hand. From her taskmaster work management device she knew here holes were being sold at minimum value, and she didn't receive any new work commands. When Ella came pushing a nearly full non-reclaimable waste collection cart down the hall and stopped beside her the future became pretty obvious. She protested as the janitor roughly lifted her by the armpits and flopped her face down on the full load of bagged garbage, giggling as she watched Alice kick her soft truncated thighs, cum leaking from her stretched pucker. Alice remembered being informed that her ample artificial assets couldn't be re-processed, and rather than remove them her body would be sorted with the general refuse to be baled and dumped at the next port of call for industrial reprocessing. She begged Ella to flip her over to get her face away from a full bag of heavily used EVA disposable absorbant briefs, and Ella made a point of dropping the next full bag of slimy waste on the defective's head to smother her whining. "Don't be such a bitch Ally, it's not like you're any fresher than they are." The next was right on top of that, Ella saying "I mean, it's not like you save the diaper after an EVA shift, when its all used up and nasty you dispose of it and forget it," punctuated by another giggle. Alice rode the rest of the way half buried under sloppy waste from the crew quarters, bemoaning the stench but too exhausted to uncover herself. Nose pressed into the plastic wrapped load of soggy, loaded disposable garments, Alice realized how glad she was that the splice-cow yards had been well ventilated, and as bad as the seas of manure she'd waded through had stunk they were never sealed up to fester and stew like the squelching pillow she was mashed into. Thinking about it, she was probably smelling the final, undignified releases of at least a few fellow crewmen, reeled in and stripped after dying to one of the many faulty void suits.
Next she knew a slim hand was spreading her ass and she felt the threaded mouth of a soft drink can pressing into her anus, accompanied by more of Ella-5886732's laughter. She was teasing about how little resistance Alice gave, and she pulled Alice from the heap of bagged trash by the hips, carried her into the medbay under her arm, and was promptly told to carry Alice back out into the hallway and leave here there. The assigned medic was busy finishing the modifications requested by a mid-ship officer, and didn't want some stinky whipping-whore slag leaking muddy cum in his waiting space. Ella was happy to oblige, and dropped her hard on her ass outside the door, driving the can yet further in.
Her orders regarding Alice now completed, Ella returned to her full waste collection cart and the next step of her assigned task. She pushed the cart a ways down the hall, and aligned the cart with the bulk collection console. She grinned and called down the way, "Alley trash, listen to this".
The dazed stress reliever could hear the lifting arms whir from down the hall, followed by the dull thumps and loose crashing of two dozen trash bags tumbling into a metal hopper. The lift whirred again, setting the cart down, and Alice waited for the following sounds of the disposal cycle. Ella lingered a moment, then hit the button, and Allice listened to the crunching and squelching of the waste as it was drawn into the treads of the transfer chute and mechanically delivered to the waste bunker.
I can't say I mind someone else contributing to my hijack.
I'd gladly write more of these scenarios, but can't decided what to do with the current girl. An anticlimactic death in the garbage is what makes sense for her, but other routes could be chosen
Alice's life sucked. First the accidents, then the demotions, and then her close encounter with being trashed... Life just wasn't worth living. She'd tried to sign up for meal duty to be rid of it, but the computer wouldn't accept her signature with her left hand.
Alice would have kicked herself, if she'd had legs below the knee to do it with. It wasn't like she could do her job badly to get fired, either; her job was now to crawl around the hallways being fucked by random crewmembers. Even the farm was better, not that she could go back there now. No, without legs, she'd just drown in the slurry.
The routine continued for a few weeks. Wake up, wash as best she could, crawl out the door, and start her rounds, eat whatever slop she could call up from a dispenser without her right handprint, crawl back to her room. Most days she even made it back before the sleep hours started and she passed out, as per the conditioning.
Yesterday had not been one of those days. And, worse, someone had loaded her onto a cleaning cart to use her during their morning duties. She woke up as she was rolled off the cart, dumped aside in a hallway she didn't recognise. She groaned, righting herself with the help of a conveniently-located pipe. The location was convenient, at least; the burn that now covered most of her hand from the heat of the pipe? Not so much. As she sat there, soaking the burn in the cum liberally flowing from between her legs (there was just so much of it these days), the ship resonated with a clang, shuddering. Alice perked up; she'd heard about that noise. Docking! A shame she didn't know where she was.
No matter; she was able to follow the general rush towards the authorised exit. She didn't even get stepped on too much, although her tits still hurt from where someone had stood on them while waiting for a grav-lift. When the crowds passed, she at least could follow the signs on the wall for the relevant airlock.
The airlock was locked open, thankfully, since she didn't have enough hands to open one. She crawled out over the treshhold; no point going back for her stuff. She couldn't find her room anyway, and the bag of trinkets from home was worthless out here. But still, she was free! Free! Her contract was up, and her account had been credited with her back pay from the journey! She crawled over to a terminal to check it, gazing into the laser scanner even as the light hurt her eyes. After blinking away the after-images, she focused on her balance.
A summary brought up a list of transactions; surgery bills, wear to equipment, fines for destruction of company property, water bills, food bills (which thankfully had stopped appearing after she was reduced to dole slpp)... Even rent on her room! The bastards had taken damn near everything. All she had was a womb full of sperm, and barely enough credits to get a transport card to get away from the airlock and to public housing.
Oh, wow. Public really meant public. After having her holes pumped out (some of it was really valuable, apparently), she was still reduced to living in a communal floordorm. Which was a fancy way of referring to a patch of padded flooring between buildings. At least she'd been able to register as a whore, so people were dissuaded from raping her due to the price tags tattooed on her butt.
The downside of that was that, as a whore, she could no longer legally BE raped by a paying customer. At least she was used to it by now, even if the gruelslop barely tasted better than what they fed the splicecows back home...
YAY she finally got off that damned ship! Here's hoping things start to look up for her from now on xD
Bumping; I have more to write here, but no solid inspiration for it yet.
I was thinking of adding some more as well. I was gonna have Alice buy some cheap silicone padded cyberware and start making money as a streetwalker, but also bimbofied by neural implants and erotic nerve sensors. She'd get bought by some john that's taken a passing interest in her, and would again learn the place of expendables like her. Either he pays a (relatively) high fee to use her without limits, smashes her up, and dumps her in a solid waste processor, or she's picked up as a cheap throwaway extra to snuff at a rich officer's orgy.
What if we flip things around for irony's sake?
Alice gets taken in by a rich benefactor and before long is a spoiled princess who mistreats her underlings; they get treated as expendable assets and horrifically abused for her amusement.
After a few years, perhaps her master tires of her and she is thrown back onto the streets where she finally sees the hypocrisy in her behavior... or not.
Honestly, I'd prefer the lack of the hypocrisy part. Maybe gets a rich benefactor, benefactor dies and she inherits, starts a "we survived" club?
You know, give her a happy ending, and others like her a happy ending.
I think that would quite ruin the tone of the story thus far, this is a story about someone getting fucked over by the universe, and while it could become a story about someone overcoming adversity,, for me, that would a) ruin the charm, and b) be much less hot
Except she's continually been through hell. At this point, continuing that is boring, while giving her a happy ending is a nice way to wrap things, all while giving people in-universe "proof" that the system is fine!
I would argue that the proof us unnecessary, as it isn't a case of the society thinking that it's alright to treat people like that, because if they are lucky they can succeed, it is a society that genuinely doesn't give a fuck about her, as she is a worthless clone.
I actually had a thought about the design- which explains why it needlessly mean someone has to die. It's specifically the EMERGENCY restart that's inside the reactor- the idea is the reactor's only supposed to be restarted that way if it absolutely has to. (essentially, if they figure out the problem, they can restart the reactor externally- the internal restart is for "ignore the problem because it is that big of an emergency we can't fix it properly" not "get the reactor working again- I can't be bothered to wait for it to be fixed") As such, frankly, I have little sympathy for Aimee- she only suggested anything other than an emergency restart when it would be her that had to die, when most would have suggested it instead of ordering Sarah into the reactor- and would have all but demanded it before sending Briar in. Janet O'Malley, however, is even worse- I imagine almost all Captains would think twice before sending the Chief Engineer into the reactor to die.
Why not both? We can give the story two or more "alternate" endings and let people pick their own headcanons. It's not uncommon here.
Alice was excited. Several hundred simulated day cycles since she'd arrived on this space station she couldn't even name, Alice had enough credit in her account to use the automated surgical augmentation booth at the end of the corridor. She had earned it all in what really seemed the only line of work she was fit for, mostly all on the same little foam mat she had in the floordorm. Really she was lucky to have come away with the shipping company's stress reliever mods in her cunt and arse, because since day one she'd been shown the affections of every sort of fat, veiny, baseball bat sized cock a meat-printer could produce, given to her with the power of a jackhammer. She had learned from the other expendables that shared the alley with her that legless whores tended to be pretty popular among the heavily modified shipyard workers, easy to pump and dump after a shift, but they never lasted long before they broke completely. It had been hard to keep herself from being ruined and pitched in a trash processor, especially when she got dragged out into the main corridor. There she'd been passed around for hours in the shopping arcade, and even after she'd been left on the floor covered in muck, forgotten by the original gangbang, she could hardly drag herself a few feet before another client caught her by the waist and slid something slimy into her rear. Alice had ended up plastered with used condoms and trash, kicked into a gutter in the edge of the shopping center, and only woke up in time to scramble out of the path of a cleaning drone that inhaled the waste past its whirling brushes. Another time, she'd been left in the mouth of a waste disposal chute, half buried under bags of smelly garbage, after an intoxicated customer had mistaken the double pop of her shoulders dislocating as she fucked her for Alice's pelvis breaking, and proceeded to finish in the already unconscious skank and clean up after herself. Alice only got pulled out when another whore from her public dorm came to dump some rubbish, and only after being made to beg and transfer him credit.
Now she had the minimum credits she needed to upgrade her body, she could raise her rates, and even if she would still be a back alley skank she could at least afford its perks. As she held her face to the booth's iris scanner she thought about how this would mean the difference between being ship scraps, just cheap meat leftover from the expendable crew bought on planet and dumped at the next port, and having enough value to her body to proposition a ship's officer and not worry about getting snuffed for a better finish. Once the connection was established with her account the booth unlocked and its door slid open. Inside there was a seat built into the structure, a screen opposite it, and folded away along the sides of the little room were the robotic operating arms. Alice crawled from the graffiti covered corridor into the more-or-less sterile white chamber, and situated her plump ass on the chair with some difficulty. As the console in front of her booted up she looked at the soft ends of thighs and sighed. Looking through the menus she found that for her purposes and price range the only way she could get decent legs, a right hand, and a general fix for her smashed up body would be a full body special. She figured she could afford the special escort model, but if she went a tier lower she would have some credit left over. Alice decided it would be better to make the bigger investment, and that she'd just make the credit back.
After confirming her purchase the screen displayed a scan of her body, showing the extra the shipping firm had added to her figure when she became a stress reliever, as well as the nerve implants she'd had since she was decanted, standard for all mass production servants. The next thing she perceived was a flash, and a brief, intense pain as a neural jack slammed through the space between her vertebrae and her skull and seated itself in her brain as its nano-mechanical arms went to work. Alice seized a little, and jerked, but as the anesthetics being pumped into her took effect her body relaxed, drool dripped down her chin and a trickle of piss escaped between her legs. As the neural jack built new fixtures in Alice's brain the operating arms unfolded and went to work on her body. One dismantled her wrist and began building her new right hand, another set into her thighs, removing scar tissue and inserting cybernetic anchors. Processed biomass from a grinder much like the one Alice's legs were eaten by was piped into the booth's internal fabricator, and was structured into two big pieces of cheap synth-meat to attach to the damaged whore. As her thighs were spread to graft on her pale, shapely new legs an arm that had been so far inactive moved towards Alice's torso, and another lifted her from her seat. Alice's hands, her old one and the one that had just been completed, hung limp at her sides as her body was lifted up, and the precision shaping arm went to work on making her a better fuck-doll. It didn't need to add much to her amply expanded breasts, but slicking off her nipples and fabricating new, soft pink erotic buds was its first step. Next it dealt with her worn out cunt, using a bundle of thin manipulators to fiddle with her fundament and insert new nerve implants. The same bouquet of wire thin metal arms went up her slack asshole, and with the wonders of automatic cybersurgery turned it into a tender pleasure organ. The last thing the booth did was patch her up and network all its additions together, making Alice's drug addled body jerk again as the nerve implants and electric shocks and the personality assist implants the neural jack had built in her brain all hit her at once. Then the arms folded away, the neural jack retracted, and Alice's plump ass was again situated on the chair. She was given a dose of stimulants to wake her up.
Alice came to in the same chamber she had just remembered entering. She was streaked with drying blood and her body ached. Her nipples, her cunt, her ass, her throat, all horrible. Her hand felt like it had been in a vice, her legs could barely move from the searing pain in her thighs, and she could feel scraps of meat between her toes. Through all the pain she was still woozy and barely lucid from the massive dose of surgical drug cocktail, but she managed to understand what was on the screen. She had forty nine seconds to vacate the booth, and all biological material still within at that point would be recycled.
any opinions on my addition?
I like it. I've just been patiently waiting for whoever's going next.
is this normal to not to flinch at this but see it for comedy?
Part of the fun is how casual it all is. It's all no big deal to nearly everyone in-universe, so its pretty easy to trivialize and find humor in it with them. I'd be down to write another section, and have some ideas, but I'd really appreciate some suggestions. I'm thinking the space station would have way more possibilities for horrible things that might happen to alice, but I'm still leaning towards getting her badly damaged or snuffed by a client and collected for waste reclamation.
Bumping this again; I feel like adding more to it, but nothing specific currently.
Looking forward to it
wanted to write a bit more of this setting to bump the story.
Jenny-7809210 hated the way her suit got on long EVA shifts, and after eight hours of exterior hull repair duty the bulky discount vac-suit was getting unpleasant. The O2 recycler she was relying on was as cheaply made as the suit, and decades old on top of that, and she could taste mildew and ozone on her breath and mixing with the smell of her sweat and piss. The rubber gaskets that cinched around her neck and joints got uncomfortable, as did the endless buzz in her toes from static charge bleeding from her ancient magnetic soles. Jenny could look forward to another four hours of pumping fresh, gloopy ablative plating into pockmarks in the starship's kilometers of hull along with several hundred other unlucky crew, before hiking to the airlocks and rushing to her bunk before her implants knocked her out. She glanced at the minimal bits of HUD in her helmet, between the radiation monitor lingering in the yellow zone and the task tracker directing her to the next hole.
As Jenny trudged over the expanse of hull in her designated patch she could hear herself squelching with every step. She had been quick to abandon solid food after being assigned to EVA work, but even taking all her meals in cheap nutri-cocktail didn't eliminate her needs. Two thirds of the way through the shift meant Jenny had a wet, puffy, yellow-stained disposable EVA undergarment taped up around her waist, and she still disliked it as much as she had the first week. Beyond that, even the officers in charge of EVA duty made sure to prod their crews about this particular indignity, and would never consider supervising their workers without a proper, modern vac-suit that spared them such indecency. The officers were such pricks, arrogant 'cause they could afford aesthetic modifications and protective policies, Jenny bet she hated them as much as she hated the nasty EVA diapers they made her wear.
She was pulled out of her fuming by and alarm from her suit. It had detected one of the few dangers it could notice, and was now blaring at Jenny because it detected the deadly wake of radiation from a small ship's engine. Jenny spun around looking for the source, and for any cover, and saw the slim silver shape of an upper deck officer's pleasure skiff wheel over the horizon. From its back end there was the blinding glare of its drive, but she could also see the flash of its sporting laser, cooking off the suits and bodies of every expendable crewman it flickered on. It was still distant as Jenny scrambled into the crater she was meant to be filling in, but she knew she was fucked if she couldn't force herself deep enough into the deep crooked hole.
The narrow, bullet shaped ship passed by a kilometer and a half from where Jenny-7809210 was hiding, moving at hypersonic speeds. As it got closer Jenny got to watch her radiation monitor flash from orange to red, and smell the fizzling and mounting ozone on the recycled air. She tried to cram herself deeper into the ragged hole, wiggling and straining and urinating from fear, feeling the heat straight through the hull plating, until her thoughts lost coherence. In fact, the immense radiation caused a catastrophic failure of one of her brain implants, causing the already superheated bit of electronics to pop. The last things Jenny-7809210 felt was the searing heat as her forehead slumped against her helmet, and the boiling soupy unpleasantness pressed against her cunt. Four hours later her suit was reeled back in, along with the fortynine other corpses that had been Jenny's shift mates. None of them had been hit by potshots, but the drive flame itself had been enough to roast them all in their suits. The janitorial crew that had to deal with this mess in the airlock called this sort of remains snack-packs, because they steamed like food synthesizer hot meals when you opened the package, and if they were mostly organic that's what they'd be in an hour. The sanitation crew stripped off the filthy spacesuits and sent them off for cleaning, then the high absorbency disposable undergarments were removed and properly disposed of, and then the janitors sorted the heavy cyborgs and fleshies. The cyborg corpses were dumped in the inorganic waste system, and their EVA waste was the next cartload after them. Jenny and most of the others went in the organic waste bulk processor, heaped in and left to mulch in the intake macerator. A bit of Jenny's tissue was reused to make a cyber-organic strapon for an officer, but most of it ended up in ready-to-eat food synthesizer meals.
considering writing more, should it be alice or another bad end for worldbuilding?
I love the bad endings, and don't particularly care about Alice at all, so my vote is 100% on more world building bad endings
I shall balance out the statistics by asserting that my opinion is the opposite and that I want to see more of Alice's adventures.
First non Alice requester again, I wouldn't mind alive if it had some nasty world building stitched in. Like, she might be talking to someone, and then someone tests out a gun they just bought by shooting the woman she's talking to mid conversation
*alice, not alive
This is all very Harry Harrisonesque, I'd say. Maybe a touch of Red Dwarf and Hitch Hiker's Guide too. Cool, in a strangely sadistic / satirical way. If you made it just slightly cleaner and came up with some kind of bare bones story to hang all the vignettes on and hawked the result around some publishers there could be a cult novel or four in it...
Oh, and that fusion engine is clearly stalling out due to overheating from how coked up it is. A very 20th century problem repeating over again in ... whatever future century this is.
So yeah, they clearly need to run some kind of deep cleaning cycle and then resign themselves to using better quality fuel, as well as doing something about the mixture of reactants as it's very much out of balance.
Probably all down to whatever neo-dystopian non-unionised spacer company they work for being too cheap to spring for a good supply of helium-3 or an interstellar hydrogen collector matrix as they've found it's far more economic to just have a basic scrub-out every few thousand light years at whatever starport they can limp into, whilst feeding whatever crap they have available into it the rest of the time (non-recyclable organic wastes, mining slag, etc), making it the last few billion miles when it's finally too gummed up to host a self-sustaining reaction by running on the slightly better quality fuel ("easy start" aerosol, if you like) of Expendable Conscripts.
The switch inside the reactor being there so that no-one outside the reactor can prank the cleaning crew (and massively annoying the company THEY work for) by "accidentally" restarting it whilst they're in there. The system in control of kickstarting the fusion reaction from some bundle of low-ish atomic weight matter being designed to override any exterior commands if there's a human inside, UNLESS they assent to being used as emergency fuel by pressing the internal primer switch... can of course just leave a coffee cup on the command console "start" switch if you're the only engineer left, so once the primer has been pressed in for the customary four seconds (like forcing a PC to power off), it initiates reaction without any further active intervention.
Failsafes are all well and good, but you still need some way of overriding them and doing something otherwise dangerous, deadly, or otherwise damaging in an emergency situation where the alternative is a bigger disaster.
(Which is why I'd have a hard time accepting autonomous vehicles without *any* manual control option - what if the road starts giving way due to a landslip and your best option is to steer off into the bushes, as the hillside above doesn't appear to be moving yet? Or stopping one that's glitched out and running out of control requires speeding ahead and then deliberately crashing both vehicles against a barrier to slow the errant one to a halt - something that was actually in the news recently? There's too many situations where human ingenuity would still be needed, and any synthetic copy of that would be just as falliable as the real thing, so why bother going to all that effort when you can just use the real thing?)
Though of course in this case, the disaster is "falling out of hyperspace because the main drive reactor has stalled from neglect and misfuelling, and the captain being unwilling to requisition the cost of 90 minutes of tug time (30 out, 60 back) from head office", because of the ultracapitalist, life devaluing culture pervading this bit of the galaxy.
Ah, the dangers of the singularity, hard AI, etc.
"Yes, but it's still cheaper to run the lower-quality fuel. They're MEANT to keep it cleaner, but it seems the captain was skimping on engineering hours to cut more corners. It didn't work, evidently, as they chewed through the entire engineering crew just flipping a switch inside the reactor over and over, and filling it with heavy elements."
The executive sighed. Engineers were ALWAYS trouble, especially the ones fresh out of college and thinking they knew the 'right' way to do things. Maybe that was why the captain in question had fed them all to a reactor?
Liza-54454665 opened her eyes, wincing at the bright lights above her. Her duties for the day scrolled across the bottom of the bunk above her; Once again, a cleaning bot had broken down or been disabled, and she was due to replace it. She sighed, before yelping as the wake-up system shocked her into alertness through the metal of her bunk, disabling her muscles for the duration until the bunk tipped and dumped her unceremoniously onto the floor. Her friend across the room wasn't so lucky; some prankster had coated her bunk with glue before the evening sleep cycle, and she was being shocked repeatedly while dangling from nothing but metal-adhered skin. Liza considered helping, but the delay would have made her late. As it was, she was late to the clothing bin and was left with the most worn of the coveralls. This was evident as she pulled it on; there was a tearing noise as it suctioned itself down to her skin, holes tearing down the front. Liza rolled her eyes at this as she set off to her duties; maybe she'd be lucky and it wasn't exposing her much?
It was. She had felt the breeze as she walked down the hallway, had felt the stares of the male crewmembers, and was now feeling the disgusting sensations of the slime she was clearing from the walls of a recycling chamber as it entered through the holes and clung to her skin. Worst of all, she could feel the suit shrinking as the slime broke it down.
Liza stepped to the side to clear another patch of wall, wobbling as she stepped off the thick soles of the coverall; they were no longer attached to the rest of the suit. In fact, not much WAS attached to anything, other than the shreds dangling from beneath her heavy breasts and between her labia where the initial suction had wedged bits of the suit. Yes, the suits were meant to be recyclable the same way as anything else on the ship, but they'd been getting thinner and thinner the whole trip, supposedly to 'save on energy'. Probably why the cleaner bot wasn't working, she thought, sloshing through the knee-deep gunk in the recycling chamber. And only the void-gods knew what this slime was doing to her skin! Her soft, biodegradable skin...
Yyup. A quick inspection showed that she was, in fact, being eaten. Slowly, admittedly, but her legs were definitely tingling. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, though, and if she was going to need new skin ANYWAY, she might was well enjoy the process of needing it, right? Right! A few quick splashes, and the tingling was MUCH more enjoyable.
Liza cried out in surprise as she splashed back into the slime, submerging briefly. She sat up, spluttering and looking at the rungs set into the wall. No, it hadn't given up, just that... Oh. Her ankle. All those delicate tendons and muscles. A few more tries, and she'd managed to haul herself out with just her arms; lower legs now mostly useless. A shadow fell over her, and she looked up wearily. Oh. The kitchen bots were still functioning, apparently. A laser scanner passed over her, and clawed arms reached down to scoop her up gently. She clung to the slippery front of the robot as it turned, thinking it was taking her to the medical labs.
No such luck, she thought, as she slid down the waste chute. Just useless trash to be disposed of, too bulky to even throw into the shredders. Maybe she'd be lucky and not...
Nope. She landed on her front, sliding quickly into the dished centre of the chamber. Just enough room to sit up, just enough purchase to support herself on one arm while the other busied itself between her legs. Either she'd drown sooner when her arm slipped, or later when the chamber filled up over her mouth and nose. Either way, she could at least enjoy herself...
Alice sighed. She had limbs, now, but that was about it. Still eating the dispensed gruel-slop, still nude, still being woken up by customers at odd hours as they grabbed her for use, or just stepped on her while going for one of the other girls. She dropped her bowl into the recycler, snatching her hand back before the blades caught it and removed her fingers. "This sucks. I'm free, but what good's it doing me? Maybe I should sign up for another crew slot, that should get some money in my accounts, if I survive the trip..." She paused, recalling just how little of her had survived the last one. "Oh, nevermind. Maybe the next district will have more opportunities than just selling my holes?"
An hour's walk got her to a transit station just as a train pulled up, the crush of impatient people forcing a few off the platform into the path of the train to splatter against it as it braked to a stop. Alice pushed forward with the rest, the ever-present slippery coating of cum on her skin (being unable to wash it off until recently, she'd gotten used to it) combined with her share of the splatter allowing her to slip through the crowd to get a space inside the car. Fingers pushed roughly into her lower holes, their owners billed automatically, but it was a small price to avoid being forced out for the sake of someone's elbow-room as the train moved, or being left clinging to the outside and at risk of airborne debris or simply striking the sides of the tunnel.
Her feet shifted as the train moved, her foot coming down on something warm and soft. Looking down, she saw another clone-girl like herself, only without limbs and with semen flowing liberally out of her holes. Alice's apology died half-formed as she saw the expression on the girl's face; underneath the bruising and dried stains she was obviously enjoying her experience, even as a man stood on her chest and neck.
Alice forced her way off the train once it stopped, a cock sliding from her asshole as she stepped away from it's owner. The station was dealt with swiftly, and she emerged into the bright artificial sunlight of the habitat. This district was much the same as the other, albeit slightly cleaner. Alice's heart sank; she'd been expecting a richer area than this, maybe with streets properly clean.
She was broken by her reverie by a foreceful shove from behind, sending her staggering into the street and narrowly missing an autocab. She stepped back onto the slidewalk and kept pace with the rest of the walkers, looking at the signs suspended above her. Most of them advertised brothels, cosmetic surgery, or high prices paid for living biomass. One, however, caught her eye; Experimental subjects needed, compensation offered. Just what she needed; credits!
So, what's next for Alice? What kind of experiments? Xenos infections? Piercing techniques? Pain tolerance experiments?
Also, apologies for any typos; I got a new keyboard and it's a LOT different from the previous one. I'm still adapting to it.
I'd want to see her used as a test subject for some glitchy bootleg cybernetic enhancement. Something like a cheap personality modification implant to switch from bimbo-mode to seductive to trashy skank or virginal innocence, for the pleasure of clients that want roleplay. It would probably really fuck with her mental state and mental health, and be glitchy as all hell, switching her mental state without her activating it.
Then again, it could be something with live fire weapons testing or live tests of new medical equipment, with fine print that you need to survive to get paid.
Well, other posters beat me to continuing Alice's misadventures, I'm gonna do another oneshot. Wanna get what happened to the stress reliever that Alice replaced, something nasty happening to that Ella lady who almost disposed of her, or something focusing on an officer?
I really liked the original story, the casualness, the original setting, and snuff method are welcome. Why do 99% of guro stories have to be about violent dismemberament/beheading etc? Non that I don't like it, but a bit of originality is nice.
My stake in this has been the scuzzy cybernetics and disposability
Billy-7588895 leaned back in his seat behind the management console in one of the station's many food courts, watching the various half naked members of the cloned workforce mill about and eat. He was of course a part of the clone population, and his appliance management job was quite cushy for what vat-meat could expect. The words Vat-Meat were tattooed over the plump ass of a whore he was watching, just above her prices. Every so often the neon yellow haired woman would be squeezed or fingered by passing diners, as she and others milled around between being brought to tables or done against the walls of the large dining area. Billy checked back on the management console, all food synthesizers were at nominal functionality and the organic mass supply was at medium to full. A quick change of view to a feed of the intake waste processor gave him a look at a large heap of food waste disappearing into a shredder, and after looking a moment longer, there was that one bitch, 5677893-whatever, still clinging to the side and scrubbing and scraping like she would be for the next several hours if she didn't slip. Back to the slut's big tattooed booty, Billy looked at the heavily "augmented" assets of the blonde, and quickly made to check his account. He figured he could spare enough to buy a break and a ride. He stepped up from the terminal, his taskmaster indicating he was being billed for time off, and strolled over to the whore.
Suzy-2673112 was being smashed between two burly, heavily modified men, the sort grown specifically to be ship crewmen. The one in her rear had her by the hips, and was cumming again, holding her soft ass close as he pumped into her rectum. The one in her cunt was leveraging on her shoulders, plowing in and out at changing angles as he rearranged her insides. Her fellow tarts had shoved her at the sailors when they approached, and now she was gonna be broken as they waited in line to use the food synthesizer. She was pumping herself full of aphrodisiacs and painkillers through her own cybernetic additions, and had turned up the feeling from her erogenous centers, but even then it was only the hope of a big payout that was holding her together as she felt as though her body was being pummeled apart. Then she felt a pull on her hair, and her upper body was dragged out from between the massive crewmen. She immediately had another cock in her face, and between programming and habit she could barely help moaning and licking through the pain in her body as it was shoved down her throat. Billy-7588895 chuckled as his balls slapped Suzy's chin, and he decided he could afford a nice five minute blow. He kept his meat in Suzy's throat for a good three minutes, until the crewmen noticed their fucktoy wasn't squirming as much, and they stopped making out to investigate.
While one of the crewmen grabbed Billy, the other got out and electroprod and flicked it on. They pulled Billy in tight and kep his cock stuffed deep down Suzy's throat, and Suzy stayed skewered between all three of them. Billy could feel the huge crewmen slamming the pretty blonde whore he had wanted as they smashed her straining throat on his cock, and the half conscious girl yelped and struggled. Those yelps and struggles became far more panicked and wild when the electroprod was brought down into Suzy-2673112's belly right below her naval, and she began to madly shake and spasm. The crewmen finished in her as she clenched and squeezed and shook around their cocks, and thin wisps of smoke began to rise from the contact between the prod and her belly. Before she was done fidgeting the crewman holding the electroprod slammed it into Billy-7588895 just above his cock, and chuckled as he violently came into the dead skank's mouth as she leaked piss over their balls, and he just kept spasming as the electricity wracked his nervous system. As the crewmen enjoyed the afterglow, still balls deep in Suzy, Billy's final orgasm gave way to a stream of golden piss washing it down her throat.
When Mira-5677893 finished the shift cleaning the waste matter processor she got an assignment to deal with a mess left in the food court. She could hardly care what it was, she was just looking to be done for the day.