Cracked Porcelain

by Drake Collins

  As his spasms finally ended, he kissed the side of her sweat-dabbed head and let his now flaccid meat sloppily slip out of her. His thick, syrupy seed drooled out of her, pooling onto the cushion beneath her. His chest was heaving and his lungs were pushing fire, but Mardo weakly pushed himself erect, looking down on his conquered, ruined prey. He looked over his shoulder to find several of his male acolytes peeking sheepishly into the room. They bore the masks of hungry, deprived children. Mardo chuckled to himself, signaling them to enter with a welcoming tilt of his head. “You look hungry, boys. Time to feast.” They looked at each other, wily grins rising on each of them revealing maws of yellowed teeth.

  Mardo walked out leaving Maximillia still splayed out on the couch, a seemingly boneless heap of cum-dripping maidenhood as the marauding acolytes closed in on her.

  Over the next few hours she fell in and out of consciousness, often tumbling into consciousness to find a nameless, faceless, filth-coated mongrel of Mardo’s hunched over her, his anxious flesh needling into hers. Only moments later she’d hear a vicious, incomprehensibly lust-drenched proclamation before the man would quiver atop her, her insides coated with an unwanted warmth. The carousel of men spun round and round, the faces equally unrecognizable yet demonically threatening.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Maximillia awoke in darkness, eyes crusty and throbbing and her chest thumping. She gasped, her lungs filling with a crushing chill. Looking around, she realized she was in a section of the Bruisers’ compound which had been fitted into a slovenly-designed sleep chamber. She was, however, apparently, completely alone.

  An electric jolt smashed into her brain as a searing sensation rippled up her back originating from between her thighs. She spread her legs gently, reaching down to pull the skirt aside from the gown she’d found herself in. The gown’s material near her crotch was already dabbed in a suspiciously red hue. Pulling it aside she found herself wearing no panties and feeling as if a fire had been set between her legs. She winced, pain emanating from her nethers and spreading outward. There were a litany of fingertip-sized bruises around her hips and her labia was flared, dabbed in splotches of red. Whatever had happened the night before was a monstrously wanton affair. Upon realization of this, she let out a silent shriek, horrified. She became so hysterical that, rather than a scream, she could only loose a hoarse, quivering, high-pitched squeak.

  Several women dressed in long, flowing gowns rushed in to console her. They dropped to their knees and raised a glass decanter filled with more of the Gatekeeper. She resisted at first, but in her weakened state she could only tilt her head back as they gently yet firmly fed her the tangy blue liquor. Its effects were fast-acting and within moments the soothing merriment of stupefaction infected her once more and she collapsed back into the piles of linens that constituted the makeshift bed beneath her.

  The next time she awoke, the wounds in her nethers had been tended to, possibly by the gown-wearing women from before. Whoever dressed and treated the wound did a passable job. Her crotch was still tender and sore, but the fierce, stabbing pain had subsided. She remained cognizant long enough to realize what had happened with Mardo. An immediate, anxious nausea overtook her and she felt certain she was going to throw up, but managed to resist the urge. Her mind spun at the thought of everything she’d done.

  Maximillia noticed that the room she was in was larger than first expected. There were rows and rows of girls asleep on bedrolls on the floor beside her. Most of them had similar body types to hers; petite, slinky and long-limbed. Many of them had their hips and crotches bandaged the same ways hers were. She noticed Taryn fast asleep just a few beds away. She was one of the few girls whose nethers weren’t wrapped in gauze. The door to the bed chamber rattled so Maximillia threw herself down, pretending to be asleep. She peeked through narrowed lids at the door which slowly creaked open only to see Chota walk in.

  The bald Bruiser shut the door behind him and tip-toed, careful to tread as silently as possible, walking past her and towards Taryn. Chota crouched down and grabbed Taryn by a knee, lifting it and rolling her onto her back. Still seemingly ensconced in a deep slumber, Taryn whined in protest, even as he peeled her panties off. Maximillia gasped to herself, horrified at what she knew was about to transpire. Chota yanked down his pants until all Maximillia saw was his bare ass. He draped Taryn’s legs across his shoulders and leaned forward, pinning her thighs to her chest. Taryn was still fast asleep.

  As he hung over Taryn, Maximillia noticed Chota’s trunk of a cock swaying low from between his legs like a thick, brown vine. It swung hungrily above Taryn’s bare, tender gash. The bruiser took his meat with a firm grip and in one motion slid his rigid truncheon deep into her fleshy socket. Maximillia covered her mouth but couldn’t look away as Chota stabbed into Taryn with ravenous gusto. Her pale thighs shook with each of his thrusts and within just a few minutes he tensed up and convulsed, freeing a rolling groan as he no doubt spilled his seed into her unprotected womb. After extracting his flaccid, cum-coated member, he licked the side of her face and yanked his pants up, trundling off towards the door and shutting it behind him as he left.

  Maximillia should’ve been completely overcome, drowning in a sea of abject fear and confusion, but she wasn’t. For some reason she realized that her mouth was extremely parched. Even with Taryn rolling back over, succumbing totally to sleep once again as Chota’s cum trickled out of her battered pussy, Maximillia could think only of her thirst. It was that savory blue drink she instantly thought of and strangely lusted for. The thought of it crowded out all other thoughts and fully occupied her mind.

  Maximillia rose from the linen-covered floor and inched her way to the door, careful not to awaken any of the other girls. Opening the door, she trudged along the corridor’s creaky, rusted floor grates. At the end of the corridor was a plastic tarp acting as a partition. She pushed through the tarp and found herself in Mardo’s love-den. The smell of Gatekeeper wafted temptingly through the still desert air. She scanned the room with an uncharacteristic vampiric intensity, but couldn’t spy a single decanter that contained the sweet juice. She hunted for it, head forward, neck outstretched, back hunched like some prehistoric reptile seeking a furry sack of organs for a late-night bite.

  “There she is,” a gaudy voice shot out.

  Maximillia swung her head over to find Mardo sitting on the couch, sipping daintily from a stained glass. She instantly froze, becoming timid, feeling hundreds of eyes on her, even though her only company was Mardo. He patted the seat next to him. “Come, Maximillia. Papa’s not going to hurt you. I hope you slept well! You slept like a rock.”

  She inched her way towards the couch, still visibly antsy. He noticed her bandages and chuckled to himself. “I hope you’re feeling better. It looks like we got a little carried away the other night.”

  She sat on the edge of the cushion next to him, still a bit groggy, her eyes unapologetically puffy and bloodshot. “The other night?”

  “Yes. Like I said, you slept like a rock into the night and into the day and... here we are!”

  Maximillia looked down at her bandaged lap, then back to him. “We...”

  As her words lingered aimlessly, he cut in. “After a few drinks you became quite aggressive. It was... magical. I’m not swinging around the biggest club in the cave, but you are mighty petite, my dear, so I’m afraid we caused a bit of damage down there. Nothing that we weren’t able to take care of.”

  “The women in the gowns?”

  “Like I said, we have everything you could ever need in our little paradise, including nurses.” He patted the backrest beside him, encouraging her to sit back and get closer.

  Maximillia consented with a marionette’s easy disposition. Mardo threw his thick arm around her and yanked her uncomfortably close, yet she didn’t resist. She was visibly uneasy but almost helpless to protest. “I’m so thirsty.”

  “Really?” he asked, sipping at the brown liquor from his glass.

&n
bsp; She looked at his drink. “Is that what I had the other night?”

  He tilted his head back, grinning. “Gatekeeper? No.”

  She looked up at him with a pathetic desperation. “Can I have more of that? I’m so thirsty. Since I woke up it’s all I can think about.”

  “It was good, wasn’t it?”

  “After I drank it everything was so...”

  “Beautiful?” he interjected.

  She nodded, the simple word resonating perfectly. “Yes. Beautiful.”

  “Maximillia, why don’t you lie face down here on the couch. I want to keep my hiding place for it a surprise.”

  She blinked slowly, still a bit drowsy. “Okay.” At the prospect of tasting the precious Gatekeeper once again, she acquiesced without question, rolling over onto her belly, turning her head to the side and shutting her eyes. Mardo didn’t let the opportunity slip to lift her gown and take a handful of her bare ass cheek in hand. She gasped at the sensation of his cold paw clamping onto her flesh. He chuckled, gently slapping her rump. She winced, not enjoying the gesture but not voicing protest, lest she be refused the Gatekeeper herself.

  After a few seconds he patted her on the butt again. “Okay, my dear. Here we go.”

  Hearing those words, Maximillia, eyes bulging with anticipation, energetically shoved herself up, turning to Mardo. He was holding a small shot glass filled with the glimmering blue liquor whose intoxicating flavor had bored itself into her mind. Barely a single gulp’s worth of the drink. Her disappointment was clear. “That’s all?”

  He pulled her close. “There’s much more where this came from, my dear Maximillia. Much more! You trust me, don’t you?”

  She didn’t truly, but felt the need to keep him as at ease as possible. “Yes, I guess.”

  “You don’t know how honored I am to be the man who claimed your purity. You weren’t lying about that, were you?”

  She shook her head. “No. Of course not.” She was no professional, but his wasn't the first bare cock that her body had cradled. Not that Mardo needed to know this.

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  She nodded shyly. Another lie.

  He peered down into her ample, almond-shaped eyes, those dark jewels that exuded innocence, and something stirred in his loins. He was struck with a rare moment of honesty. “You are such a raw beauty, my Maximillia. You are mine. You know that, yes?”

  She hesitated for a few moments before finally nodding slowly, almost surrendering against her own compromised will. “What happened to Flower? You were calling me that before but not anymore?”

  He chortled. “Maximillia, I can’t very well call you a flower since I plucked you. Plucked flowers wilt and die. I want much more for you than that. Now, do you want your drink?”

  Finally. She perked up, nodding with unrestrained gaiety. He marveled at her giddy honesty.

  Captivated by Maximillia’s seraphic naivety and struck by an epiphanic courage, Mardo lunged forward and kissed her. She was repelled and instinctively backed away, but he persisted. When he slipped his tongue into her mouth she knew that the stomach-churning events to follow most certainly had to be preceded by her finally claiming her thirst-quenching prize. He anxiously grasped her hand and guided it to his crotch, which was unpleasantly inflated by the undoubtedly turgid erection swelling beneath it.

  She pried herself from his face. “I’m thirsty. Can I have my drink now?”

  “I’m going to give you a drink, my dear. Then you can have some Gatekeeper.”

  Mardo peeled off his pants and stood up, letting his erection flop out. His romantic veneer having melted away, he clasped the back of her head with one hand and guided his veiny spear towards her lips. A part of her mind resisted this awful suggestion but the dominant portion of her Gatekeeper-starved mind lusted for the drink and was prepared to compromise her body into whatever lecherous depths would deliver it. She closed her eyes and braced herself as he slipped the head of his cock past her lips. He sighed in relief at the sensation of having his meat deeply sunken in this young girl's warm and wet mouth. Maximillia, on the other hand, was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. She wasn’t intoxicated like the first tryst with Mardo so every moment clung precariously on the edge of physical trauma. She tried with every fiber of her being to not vomit as he prodded her delicate gullet with his single-minded cock.

  Mardo proceeded to slowly fuck her mouth for several minutes. She gagged continuously throughout, not knowing what to do with her hands. Between holding them up with flat palms aiming outward, clearly signifying her effort to maintain herself, and placing them on his thighs to brace herself, he was greatly entertained.

  “You ready, sweetie?” he asked without provocation.

  Maximillia, confused, tried to look up, but was burdened with a throat full of cock and could only gurgle an answer. He finally grasped the back of her head, holding her firmly in place as he tensed up, hunched forward and grunted madly, his prick angrily spilling hot streams of cum against the back of her throat.

  She gagged ferociously, coughing, but he kept her mouth wrapped around his meaty girth as he emptied his balls. Finally, he pulled himself free and she lurched forward, coughing and gasping for breath as she slobbered a bubbly wash of spit and cum. He smiled with sadomasochistic pride over his spoiled angel until finally offering her the shot glass of Gatekeeper. Seeing it, she forgot about the throttling he’d just given her and snatched up the glass, downing its contents.

  Maximillia noticed him filling up a tall glass with a decanter filled with Gatekeeper as she licked the shot glass clean of every drop. The effects of the drink crawled down her spine with electric potency and possessed her immediately. She eyed the tall glass with an obsessed alertness.

  “You lack skill, but there is potential. There is one thing you’ll need lots of, though...” he said as he dunked his flaccid cock in the glass, soaking it to the hilt in the blue liquor.

  “...practice. Lots of practice.”

  Over the next few hours he sprayed the back of her throat with ropey blast after ropey blast of his thick juices. The Gatekeeper crawled into her frontal lobe and constructed itself a deeply-set fortification.

  Days and weeks flew by in a dreamy, muffled haze. Maximillia remembered little; passing, blurry visions of Mardo’s sweaty rotund frame hovering over, laboring to empty himself into her once more. Sometimes it was just him, other times she recognized Chota sitting against a far wall watching his portly potentate violate her sodden crevices. There were visions of foggy silhouettes voyeuristically entertained by her carnal humiliations. Sometimes, as she felt Mardo’s slimy girth worming around inside her she’d see an unidentified cock dangling towards her face. As a prisoner to the Gatekeeper, she’d willingly take this anonymous member into her mouth until it sprayed its warm contents across her cheek or forehead.

  Mardo knighted her an honorary member of the Bay Bruisers association by inviting several of his boys to sample her. The Gatekeeper was a relentless taskmaster, ensuring her passive servitude, even as she lowered herself to service greater and greater debaucheries. Her “initiation” stretched out over days where her drugged form became a veritable buffet for an endlessly rotating cast of Bruisers. Mardo watched for the most part, verbally coaching her on her performances and giving advice on how to improve her oral techniques. During this marathon she’d lost an astonishing amount of weight with her diet consisting largely of Gatekeeper and a deluge of Bruiser semen.

  Maximillia spun into an endless void where time lost all meaning. Days, weeks, months all flew by with only faint sparks of significance. She had been marked by the Gatekeeper, an unwilling slave to it. Mardo was her dealer so she acquiesced to his every request. Now, she resembled little more than a hellish archangel in all of its infernal glory: bloodshot eyes sunken into dark sockets, her face a skeletal visage, rib bones pressing against sweat-dabbed skin and weak, bony legs incapable of maintaining a sober balance. Her only valuable utility at this point wa
s as a receptacle for Mardo’s daily seminal deposits, or the seminal deposits of whichever lucky member of the crew he allowed into her.

  Often times Maximillia would wake up in the middle of the night crumpled in a heap on Mardo’s couch, naked from the waist down, only a cum-stained blouse to cover her, with globs of dried semen in her hair, on her face and thighs and her vagina a beaten, frothy mess. How many lovers she’d serviced that night she didn’t dare speculate on. She’d spend hours in the bathroom clinging to the toilet seat, spewing out a bellyful of Gatekeeper, semen and undigested food into the bowl. Her hair would sometimes fall in, marinating in this foul stew. The extended lack of nutrition barely allowed her to remain conscious. She should’ve been worried but she had been deadened to the capacity for self-preservation. Still, her mind centered solely on the demonic blue liquor, which Mardo doled out to his benefit.

  Her new family unfortunately required financial resources to continue their wild ways so she learned the martial ways by which the gang pilfered. Of that they had refined to a science. A crude, sloppy science, but a science nonetheless. From armed robberies of docked cargo ships to midnight warehouse raids, the gangs’ transgressions ran the gamut. They collected protection money, did random armed and unarmed robberies, muggings and even got into gun and

  drug-running, prostitution, extortion and kidnapping. Maximillia was embroiled in all of it. Mardo masterfully guided her along with promises of Gatekeeper at every turn. When she ran her first robbery with the rest of the crew, they congratulated her by getting Maximillia her first ink job. A tattoo of a little inverted star was etched onto her right ankle. This concluded her rite of passage and her marriage to the gang was consummated. The successive string of crimes was followed by a successive string of ink jobs. Before long, her arms and legs became a full-color tapestry acting as an illustrated portfolio of her criminal history.