I'm getting very good at forgetting if I've posted stories or not, apparently. I thought I had already.
But yeah, as I said in The Erotica Writer of the Year Nominations thread, my output this past year has been terrible, with only one story, itself of questionable quality. So that's reminded me that I need to try and return to form.
Hopefully, this'll be that return to form.
Now, like all other authors, I do appreciate feedback on my stories. If you want to praise my work so far, please do. If you want to provide suggestions or constructive criticism, then please do tell me below. If you want to tell me that you found it difficult to read the story and gave up halfway through, as much as I may loathe reading it, I need you to tell me. Any feedback is appreciated.
Okay, time for a little orange text:
This story contains sex scenes and discussions of a religious nature. If either of these distress you, please stop reading now.
"Oh my god, please, stoooooOOOOW!!!" I cried out as my third orgasm finally washed over me. It had been a good fuck from this spindly-limbed robot. Someone had really built it well, and programmed it better. Sure, it looked like its legs wouldn't be able to support the rest of its body normally, let alone during the intense ravaging it had been giving me, but goddamn its cock could stretch and pummel a girl's insides. That said, I still had to push it away just as it was bringing me towards orgasm number four, which I don't think my body could've taken, at least not so soon after number three. It took the hint, and stepped away, slowing that pistoning fuckrod to a stop. I collapsed on the ground, near exhausted.
It took a few seconds for my brain to rearrange its faculties back into their proper places.
Oh, shit, I finally remembered,
it still needs to get paid! I pulled a ten-bar out of the pocket of my pants, which had been lying dejectedly on the ground at my feet, and handed it to the machine. It scanned it with its singular eye, then walked off. It seemed to accept that, which was good. I got lucky; usually the cheap ones don't give you anything worth paying for. Then again, it did insist on fucking me out in the open, so maybe that was what brought the price down.
I slowly got to my feet, and looked over at the building across the road. St Denise's Catholic Church, named after the patron saint of headaches and accident victims. Ironic, really. I used to go there as a kid, until the accident that took most of my left leg and a couple of fingers. Then, like pretty much every church, as soon as I got my new robotic leg, they were quick to cast me out the door, both spiritually and literally. You see, that became the churches' new mission: they railed hard against anyone who had taken on bionic body parts to replace what they had lost. Said that "they had sold their soul" by taking on machine parts, and thus were no longer worthy of God's love. And, of course, people lapped it up. But then, someone I think said that you can't truly prove you're all-powerful unless you can make people fear.
An elderly pastor shuffled out of the church doors, watering can in hand. Father Ignatius. He seemed a lot older now than the man who pushed me out the doors yelling his fire and brimstone at me. That shit's scary when you're only eleven. I figured I'd pay him a visit, see if he was still the same after a decade and a half, so I crossed the road. "Hiya, father!"
"Have you come to tell me you've cast aside the heathen devices that plagued your body, and accepted Jesus into your heart?" His demeanour had certainly softened a little, but still spouting the same rhetoric.
"Sorry Father," I said with mock disappointment, "I still kind of rely on them."
"Then you know the rules." He shuffled over to a metal sign that sat just above the church garden:
Organics Only."Why do you hate us so much?" I asked. I mean, I already knew why; you, dear reader, have already read the reason. I just wanted to see if he still knew.
"You know why," he responded.
I repeated under exasperated breath the entire spiel from my youth. Obviously not word-for-word, but I at least had the basic idea there. "But I'm still the same person I was before the accident. I just have some parts replacing what I lost."
"Except that you know you aren't," he started. "You gave away your soul when you took those devices of Satan onto yourself. And until you cast them off, your soul will never have a place in your body, and you'll never begin to heal." Yep, he still remembered his reasons.
"Look, the doctors said—"
"Do you remember the story of Patrick McFerrin?" I pretty much rolled my eyes when I heard him say that. It was one of his favourite stories to tell his congregation, so I'll let him tell it to you, dear reader:
"Like you, he head a terrible accident. Lost an arm and a leg. The doctors wanted him to take on robotic appendages, but he stood fast to his faith and refused them, saying that they would steal away his soul. And because of his commitment to his faith, God healed him, and in a few weeks his arm and leg were returned to him."
This had been the same story Patrick McFerrin had been telling in all his appearances at churches like ours. The problem was, a lot of what he said was either exaggeration or outright lies, and people had receipts to prove it. Not only did the doctors say that at no point had he lost any limbs, and thus been offered robotic replacements, the police who attended his accident stated that he had never been trapped in his car when he crashed, and had been instead walking around without much issue (save for the 0.12 blood alcohol content he had been tested for). But, he stuck to his story, and even sued the hospital and police for slander. As you can guess, he lost, but he stuck to it even in the court room. He was willing to perjur himself just to maintain a story, and the judge noted as much when he had Patrick detained for it; Patrick being Patrick, he screamed religious persecution as they were taking him away. He wasn't heard of much after that.
Father Ignatius, like a lot of staunchly religious folk, had taken to Patrick's story hook, line and sinker, and the court case didn't sway them. "You could've had that same miracle of God given to you also, but instead you pushed your soul from your body, and replaced it with a lifeless facsimile."
At this point, it was pretty clear he wasn't going to be convinced anymore, not that I was trying to anyway, so I just offered him a simple rebuke: "Well, at least I am enjoying my life now. I'm still able to do everything I could before, and you can't take that from me."
"But your robotic appendages are preventing you from being truly whole, and as such you will never see the inside of this church, let alone the Kingdom of Heaven." That statement pushed me over the edge, and I just raised my metallic middle finger at him. "I saw that, child," he responded, and I was low-key surprised he did, since during our entire conversation, he never once looked even vaguely in my direction. I left him to his delusion.
*****
"You're late, Heather," Angelo said coarsely as I came in through the back door. The fat fuck never seemed to move from his chair in that small box of his; we were pretty certain he even slept there, assuming he slept at all.
"Yeah, well, I was seeing a 'bot about a bone," I told him, "then went to a priest on a whim."
"Hah! That's a surprise: a priest who's willing to let in a half-bot like you. I didn't think there were any of them around anymore."
"He didn't. He just kept to his usual speech."
"Yep, that sounds more like it. Now hurry up; they've been waiting forty minutes for you to turn up, so you better make it worth their while, or I'm docking you again!" That was one of his favourite threats: if we didn't perform to his high (albeit arbitrary) standards, he'd keep a larger cut of our earnings than agreed. It was the only thing he loved more than feeding his perversions through us, keeping as much of the gains as possible. So he'd find any way to take it from us. Some of the girls here, especially the new ones, were quite meek, and pleaded with him pretty much constantly to not take away any more of their pay; he seemed to get off on these acts of desperation. The others, like me, were a little more outspoken, so he saw us as quite antagonistic to him. He couldn't get rid of us, though, because if he tried, we'd just let slip of all the cut wages he was keeping for himself. Not a perfect system, but it worked for us.
I slipped into my room and stripped off. I was still a little sore down there from my piston-cocked lover earlier, but it wasn't anything I couldn't work through. I looked at what had been left for me. It was a pastel pink fur-lined babydoll with matching panties, pretty much everything I hated. I was certain Angelo had picked this out for me pretty much out of spite for me. I'd've preferred something a little more utilitarian like a leather bra and panties and studded collar.
I put on the lingerie and looked at myself in the mirror. It conflicted badly against my leg, but I really had no other choice as there was nothing else in here to wear. I stepped out of my room and to the foyer. My clients were mostly pretty easy to recognise, at least the regulars were, and there seemed plenty of them here. I looked at the first one, and signalled him to come with me.