Imagine Nick Valentine stuck in a wall. On one end you see his face; his eyes are rolled back, mouth wide open, tongue hanging out. His face is covered in drool and tears, his arms tied back under the long bench he’s laying on. And through it all he’s smiling, mindless and ruined. Then, on the other side, his legs are strapped to the wall, his cunt exposed and defenceless. There’s a small pink vibe taped to his clit and his gape is pulsing, dripping with cum and gushing coolant. Thirty-six black ticks on his thighs mark the number of cocks that have tamed him, having their way and wrecking his sanity.
His synthetic heart skips a beat as he hears another enter the room. He struggles to lift his head, thinking he might get a decent view through the cracks, but he's wrong. Within seconds, a hard, textured cock slides into him, pushing him back and making him scream. His voice breaks as whoever it is pounds relentlessly, just like the others before him.
Big cock. HUGE cock. His hole is sore and exhausted, but he takes every thrust like a champion. He knows he’s meant for this, and he has no right to complain. His cheeks glow as every fake nerve in his body relishes the pain and ultimate pleasure. He can’t deny what he is. Not anymore.
The cock fucks hard, deep, hitting his cervix and sending brutal rings through his system. His stomach tightens along with his cunt, and he knows he won’t hold out. He can’t. Not after so much abuse. He cums with a powerful scream that only spurs the man to fuck harder. He pushes through Nick’s raging orgasm and reaches for another before he’s even had a chance to heal. Over and over he cums at the man’s mercy, rebooting several times before whoever it is finally explodes inside him. The old synth screeches in silence, feeling the hot load burn his walls with unthinkable pleasure. The man grunts, letting Nick’s body milk every drop and enjoying the aftershocks before pulling out and laughing at his triumph. Nick’s hole squirts and convulses, his vision blurred and face tangled in a euphoric mess.
“Thanks for the party, Sunshine.”
The man’s voice echos as he leaves five ticks on Nick’s thigh-- one for each orgasm-- then leaves, his footsteps fading in the distance. Nick moans in lunacy, no longer himself, no longer Nick Valentine. He's just a machine trapped in a world of debauchery. He feels so good. It can’t be real. This can’t be happening.
His synthetic heart skips a beat, hearing another enter.
“Give me a few minutes, soldier. I’ll be out soon. Ad Victoriam.”