A Celebration Of Drunken Debauchery

The mech is in ruins. It had sustained damage to the left arm and catastrophic damage to the cockpit itself, it’s a miracle that Mox had been able to climb out of the wreckage after her battle at the wall.

“This is… this is gonna take a minute, boss…” says Sprocket as she looks upon their new project, hands on hips with eyes focused on the bent, battered shape of the cockpit, as though trying to see a way through the problem.

“The motors in the legs are starting to give under the strain… gonna have to pitch those… that arm is more dead weight then anything else and the chassis is…” she’s not able to finish the sentence as she climbs up onto the craft to inspect the damages closer.

Sprocket had been serving the God-Empress before Mox came along, fueling up and running maintenance on her fleet of war-rigs. Since then the girl has become more of a servant to Mox herself, serving as her personal mechanic for the past 12 years.

“I expect her to be operational before the week is out” says Mox as she turns to walk out the door; placing the repairs of her craft as the mechanics highest priority.

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Entering the keep of the God-Empress the air is heavy with the scent of booze and the musty smell of sex as Mox’s boots echo off the walls of the grand estate approaching the throne of her patroness.

Along the way she passes by several alcoves hosting the defenders of the city, some chugging ‘shine like fish, others painting their faces with Bloo Blud, a **** that sinks into the pours on one’s face, created by some desert rat of days long past, supposed to make you relive your most beloved memories for hours on end.

Mox chose not to partake.

The guards gape, slack jawed as she passes by and with good reason; it’s rare to see the woman out of her suit, it’s strange to think such a powerful engine of destruction holds a woman so normal looking.

Mox could likely fit into any waster crowd anywhere, her long brown hair pulled back into a loose mongoose tail that reaches down to her upper back.

She holds just as many scars as any other person you could find in the wastes with most of them being concealed by her light clothing, fitting of her position inside a burning hot engine of war.

She stands a wee bit taller then most at 5’10” and hosts light muscle definition, but nowhere near as tall or as muscular as a changeling or a mutant.

The throne room is already in the grips of its debauched celebrations, nearly every soul in the room either drunk or high and more then a few members of the celebration are getting friendly with each other as the God-Empresses inner circle seem a hairs breadth away from a full blown orgy.

The revered God-Empress herself currently rests on her frozen throne, a girl resting on each knee with a third knelt down with her head buried between her muscled thighs, the suckling, slurping sounds painting a clear picture as to what she’s doing.

The God-Empress is rather proud of her harem of broodmares, some of the cleanest, beautiful women in the land, nary a scar or mutation to be found and not an ounce of survival instincts to share between them.

She had just finished whispering into the girl on her rights ear eliciting a giggle when she spots Mox, the one responsible for her victory above all others.

For all of the personal failings as a warrior, general or governor, the God-Empress had one quality that kept those around her loyal. She knew how to reward good work.

“Ah, my fist! A fine showing from you today!” She shouts, loud enough for the whole room to hear and elicit a small applause.

“My machine is decommissioned” Mox says plainly, she’s never had an interest in this pageantry and court intrigue.

“Indeed! It will be repaired post haste but I suspect it’ll be a while before it’s repaired…” she says, another of her pets leaning in to whisper in the God-Empresses ear sparking a smile across her face.

“…but..! I’ve another task for you to tide you over while your vessel gets the attention it so desperately needs…! You see, my women have become most needful of late and I can only attend to so many…. Would you do your God-Empress a service by…. Looking after one….~?”

This was to be expected, the God-Empress tends to weaponize her breed-slaves to keep her disciples tame and loyal, it’s only a matter of time before she throws one or two at her most valued champion.

With a snap of her fingers a guard who had been watching the exchange with drooping eyes suddenly snaps to attention and rushes into a room just near the throne for several minutes before returning with a veritable assortment of pleasure slaves and sex pets, more then a few of which sporting a gravid tummy; no doubt the God-Empresses progeny.

A few of them wear old world sex apperal, lacy bras and panties that do nothing to hide their nether regions. The vast majority are female but Mox can also spy several bulges that throb within their confines be they naughty underwear of crudely built cock cages.

Without a command they all kneel down before Mox, their eyes turned downwards towards the floor as a sign of submissive reverence, silently awaiting to be chosen or ignored.

“Take your pick, my child. My generosity is unending is it not~?” Asks the God-Empress eliciting cheers and praise from the rest of the room, no doubt hoping to see some of that ‘generosity’ themselves.

All races are present in her harem with the youngest being over 5 years younger then herself and the oldest being old enough to be her mother.

Their body shapes are also a matter of variety, skinny waifs for manhandling, chubby gals for snuggling, fat asses, fat tits, the only thing missing from the variety of body shapes is anything that could be considered ‘inhuman’ no mutants to be found amongst the lot which is as respectable as it is surprising coming from the lecherous God-Empress.

Mox is tired, frustrated and uninterested in spending a night with any of these women but more then that, she has no interest in this game, this tit for tat and court drama, all she wants in this moment is the largest bottle of ‘shine she can carry and seal herself away from this bullshit until her rig is repaired.

“I’ll pass”

“Beg pardon..?” She cocks a brow at her champion, her thoughts clear to Mox as though they were written on the Empresses forehead.

She had offered Mox a night with her pick from her menagerie of meat, each of them prized flowers from her garden, all ripe for the picking and she refuses? Who would turn down sex?

“I’ll pass, I just don’t want to be disturbed” and with that, Mox turns and begins her trek down the hallway, snatching a bottle of ‘shine on her way out of the room.