A crime unknown

"Are you alright?" Asked a voice, close by and slightly out of breath. It took Betsy a second or two to realise it belonged to the man currently inside her and bucking his hips against hers. She had been lost in thought again, and rather out of orgasms at this point. Come late afternoon, her body just seemed to settle acceptingly into its role as a cock-receptacle… without wanting to bother her by making a fuss about it. Most of her partners didn't even appear to notice this. Some seemed to actively seek out the most bored-looking girls. She'd never realised even passive disinterest could be a fetish.

This man was different though… a little scruffy and unshorn. She'd seen him come and go for most of the week's sessions, unhurriedly traipsing over to whichever girls had not been picked out by the more discerning customers. He looked to be somewhere in his early forties, always wearing the same workman's jumpsuit. She realised she'd seen him around outside of the usual visiting hours too; carrying around a bag of tools and tinkering with various bits of machinery the maintenance robots were struggling with. It had been him, in fact, that she'd had a fascinating discussion about the milking pumps with. Betsy found it odd that she hadn’t recognised him quicker after that… the man just seemed to blend into the background here.

“Oh, no. I’m fine... sorry! Do you want me to move about and moan more?” The girl went a shade of red that almost matched the one she was thinking of. She didn’t want to seem rude in her daydreaming away from this gentleman’s panting efforts. But then, he didn’t seem particularly upset about it either.

“Don’t worry about all that…” He murmured, his soft tone holding a gentle world-weariness that suddenly made Betsy feel like all her concerns were just silly and girlish. “We’re both just going through the motions at this point. I wouldn’t have bothered you… ‘cept they get antsy if I don’t fill my quota for the day.”

Betsy was intrigued. She’d just been thinking that it was odd that there were no quotas placed upon them... and that this whole thing could be run a lot more efficiently if the aim was just to get each of them to pop out a baby every 9 months or so. Yet, here was one of the people she’d thought were getting the most out of this arrangement, looking decidedly unhappy to be here.

“Do they pay you to come here?” She asked, wondering if it was a ‘filling up the numbers’ sort of thing, in order to give the new girls more practice.

“Not really… no.” Replied the man, leaning back upright for a moment between her legs and scratching his head. He was clearly a little uncomfortable talking about himself… but did so anyway. “It’s more a part of my punishment… community service, working detention… that sorta thing. I’ve been living and working here for… well, years now… an’ this is just part of it.”

Betsy felt the rough, calloused surface of the man’s hand upon her naked hip. Not to mention the thickness and weight of his penis inside of her. She’d never even considered that the algorithm might let criminals come in and fuck them. Her heart seemed to leap sharply in her chest.

Yet... the man could clearly see the fear creeping in to the way she looked up at him, and his reaction to that was a look of such dismal dismay, that she hardly felt she could be intimidated by him. It was almost perfectly the look of a kicked puppy that Jesse grew across his features, when he thought he’d disappointed you. That same, wide heart of hers could not resist such a pull.

“What… What did you do?” She asked… deciding that her opinion was best shaped by knowing more about this deflated creature. He could just be a victim of circumstance, after all.

“Well I… I don’t rightly know, actually…” The man sighed. That admission clearly being an old, but still open, wound. “They must’ve mind-wiped me after I did it… whatever it was…”

He looked down at the eighteen year old he was buried to the hilt in, assessing him with clever, but kind eyes. Something in that gentle calculation made him want to talk… to share some of the soreness that ate away inside of him, year after year.

“All I can bring up is this feeling I was looking for something… something important… but I don’t even know if I found it...”