Sarah O’Connor stared down at the display on her bathroom scales, bile rising in her throat as she scanned the figures on the screen. Why had she had that cupcake on Monday night? It must be wrong; she willed it to be wrong.
Sarah stepped back, letting the screen clear before tapping the base with her toe to restart the weighing-in process. Cautiously, she set one bare foot and then the other into the soft rubber indents and held her breath. But Sarah wasn’t looking down when the same figures resolved on the LCD. Her attention had been drawn to the frosted glass of the bathroom window, and to the flickering blue light-show which was building in her garden.
She jumped at the sound of breaking glass, instinctively cowering away from the window. Her mind processed the sound: her greenhouse. “I’ll get the bastards this time,” she muttered, throwing her dressing gown around her naked body as she launched herself down the stairs, three-at-a-time, pausing only at the back door to pick up her phone and slip her feet into a pair of wellington boots.
It was too late. Sarah crunched across shards of toughened glass, unable to believe the extent of the damage: the greenhouse had gone.
A thick lump of sadness formed in her throat. Tears welled and ran down familiar channels in her cheeks as she listened for the sounds of kids running down the alley. Things like this shouldn’t happen in Brentford. Brentford was supposed to be a quiet, safe neighborhood.
She could hear nothing, there was nothing to report. The hand containing the phone dropped limply to her side as she stepped closer to the naked frame. Not just why… but how?
Sarah looked up at where a spherical bite had been taken out of the aluminum frame. The ends were glowing dull-red against the darkness of the February night. “My beautiful greenhouse,” she whispered, a sob escaping from the unraveling knot of emotion in her belly. She reached up to touch the metal, but her hand stopped before her fingers made contact. The sleeve of her dressing gown had caught on something. It was impossible to shake it free.
Exasperated, Sarah slid her thumb over her phone’s screen. Using the faint glow as a torch, she could just make out what was trapping her arm: four thick fingers were wrapped around her wrist. Sarah’s heart thumped wildly as she twisted the screen to follow the arm back to its body. A damaged face loomed out of the darkness and she screamed as she was jerked upwards.
Moments later, a beam of concerned torchlight cautiously examined the adjacent garden, only faintly illuminating the pair of wellington boots standing marooned amongst a sea of glass next-door.
Sarah O’Connor had a thousand things on her mind as she pulled the Volvo onto the drive. The kids were safely at school. On a whim, she decided to change her routine and go for the weekly shop rather than start cleaning the house. It felt good to break her routine. She felt a little bit wild, a little bit rebellious. She could still live on the edge. The car barely paused before she slipped it into reverse and gunned the engine, thinking of the exciting way people drove on TV. Her imagination flared: she was a detective hot on a case…
There was a muffled noise from the rear left corner of the car and Sarah’s head snapped round quickly enough to catch a glimpse of the body being dragged underneath a moment before the car rose awkwardly into the air. A wave of guilt swept through her as she recognized the relief that it wasn’t one of her kids under there. It had been way too big to be a kid.
She extracted the keys before hurrying around to where a pair of legs were sticking out from underneath the Volvo. “Errr, hello?” she said, crouching down. “Erm, are you OK?”
“I’d be a lot better if you could just move the car forward a couple of feet; you appear to have parked on my chest.”
“Oh right, yes. Sorry.” After Sarah had moved the car forward, all thoughts slipped from her mind. The house remained uncleaned and the shopping stayed in the shops.
A doorbell rang.
“Just a sec,” a female voice trilled from upstairs. There were the frantic sounds of a 20-something fresh from the shower trying to make herself presentable: the sound of a 32 E bra being clasped; the rustle of extremely uncomfortable underwear being dragged up long legs and settling between still-wet labia; of cut-off jeans being hauled up like a flag rising between twin poles; and finally of a tiny tank top, barely long-enough to reach the woman’s navel, being desperately stretched as bare feet skipped lightly down carpet-covered stairs. There was an added eagerness and bounce to the woman’s movements; a desperate energy to get to the door. It being Valentine’s Day… surely it was a surprise gift from a secret admirer?
“Yes?” she asked hopefully, as she eyed the stranger through a narrow gap in the door. The lack of uniform identified it as an unofficial delivery.
“Sarah O’Connor?” The shadow asked mechanically.
“Yes,” Sarah answered, her hand already returning from a hidden recess. Her skin prickled as she felt the eyes scanning her body with methodical purpose. Target acquired. Sarah’s eyes were drawn to the movement; to the box of long-stem roses which were being brought level with her chest. Her body fluttered: not the excited flutter of a girl about to receive a dozen red roses from an unknown admirer on Valentine’s Day; it fluttered as of the heart of a mouse which has just spotted the wide shadow of approaching wings.
Her body moved with the fluidity of a ballerina, or a combat veteran. The door came open and she stepped forward as her hand moved up in an arc, jabbing the twin points of her Taser into the exposed throat of her would-be assailant. There was an extended crackle of high energies followed stillness. The world paused briefly, watching to see what would happen next.
Time restarted hesitantly as the inert form toppled forward. The box of flowers did nothing to soften the heavy impact. Sarah retracted her foot from high above her head, from the now-empty space where she had pushed against the top of its spine.
POWER ON SELF TEST… OK
MASTER RESOURCE CONTROL: RUNLEVEL 5 HAS BEEN REACHED
SELF-DIAGNOSTICS RERUN: NO FAULT FOUND.
ENTERING ERROR STATE 1. LOADING DEBUGGER…
“Don’t bother,” Sarah said, sounding bored. “You’re sitting against an electromagnet.” She stirred the contents of her cup with a plastic spoon before taking a sip. The moist heat of her breath rippled against the robot’s skin and flicked its hair. Eyes opened. The view framed by wet blond ringlets contained bright blue eyes and ruby lips. The eye line dropped shamelessly to the soft curves of Sarah's expansive cleavage. She had confirmed herself as being on the list, of being a target. Circuits engaged which led to the thick swelling in the robot’s groin more than doubling in size. Sarah’s eyes were drawn to the movement but the alarm quickly passed and she looked up and smiled.
“That’s a very interesting response. So you like
being tied-up? Being vulnerable?” Processors fought to make sense of the illogical questions.
“So what’s with the flowers?” Sarah asked. That at least made sense.
“I brought them for you, I thought you might like…”
“Where’s the shotgun?”
“Shotgun? I don’t…”
“Why can’t you guys just leave me alone? Every time I think it’s all over there’s another one of you guys coming back to kill me or save me. Which one are you, by the way? Are you here to kill me?”
“No, of course not. I’m not here to kill anyone,” the robot protested, looking genuinely shocked. Sarah didn’t pay any attention. She’d seen this ploy before - seen all manner of deceptions. “Especially not you,” it added, eyes swelling like a puppy that had just heard the box of treats being shaken as it was put back in the cupboard.
“So you’re here to save me?”
“Not save, exactly. Although I suppose you could say that.”
“So you’re a ‘good’ robot. What I don’t understand is, if I was going to travel back in time, I’d go and kill someone really bad – like Hitler.”
“Hitler? Who's that?”
“You know - the Second World War.”
“World War? That's sounds horrible.”
“You've never heard of the Second World War?”
“I’ve never heard of any ‘world’ wars.”
“What happened between 1914 and 1918 or 1939 and 1945?” There was a momentary flicker as memory was accessed.
“Not much. I was trying to find some clothes.”
Sarah made sounds of exasperation and took another calming sip of herbal tea. She’d forgotten how frustrating it was to talk to a machine. They were so literal, not reading the meaning into the words as a human would do without thinking. “Not last tonight. Not the time. Years: history. What happened in your timeline between the years 1914-1918?”
“I don’t know. My memory was erased before I was sent on this mission.”
“Mission?” Sarah asked, instantly focusing a spotlight on the word. “So why have you come back this time?”
“This time? This is the first time we’ve…”
“Yeah, right,” Sarah interrupted, her voice filled with bitterness and sarcasm. “Maybe it’s your
first time but you're not the first Metal Mickey to turn-up here, you know. There have been dozens of you: some are desperate to kill me; others equally desperate to save me. It’s been going on for years.”
There was a pause as CPUs searched desperately for a suitable response. A sub-routine that had been dormant since a spell on a tele-helpline was engaged. “Really? I’m sorry to hear that.” The playback was cut-off just before a full refund was offered.
“There was some kind of corruption in your database and they started coming after me.”
“The machines. From the future, trying to kill me?”
Sarah’s words were processed and probabilities were calculated. “You’re being paranoid.”
“Paranoid?” Sarah shouted angrily. “Those are easy words when the bullets aren’t aimed at you.”
The robot looked genuinely puzzled as it recalculated. The probabilities were shifting as the assessment of Sarah O’Connor’s venomous outburst was assimilated. "Kill you? Why would they want to do that?"
“Well... perhaps you should watch these films.”
Sarah held up each of the Terminator
blu-rays in turn. “I'm confused,” the robot said.
“By the plot? You're not the only one.”
“There's a bootstrap paradox. It’d make a lot more sense if John wasn’t Kyle’s father.” Sarah frowned, opened her mouth to say something and then thought better of it. Perhaps the Taser had scrambled something important inside the robot’s head.
“You noticed that, huh?” she asked blandly. There was an extended pause.
"The future's not like that."
"Well, it doesn't rain all the time – unless you live in England."
"That's just a mechanism they use in films to manipulate people's emotions."
"Oh. Sorry. I haven't got any emotions, so I hadn't realized."
Sarah decided to try and extract some more revealing information. She drew the robot’s attention to the Taser by swinging it from her wrist. “Why are you here? Do you at least know that?”
“There was an accident. The father of your child was killed, so they sent me back in his place.”
Sarah replied automatically. “I haven't got a child.”
“Not yet, no. But you will have by the end of today.” Sarah felt her insides churn, felt the longing. “Inside you,” the robot added helpfully.
“Are you sure it's me?” Please say ‘yes’.
“No. All we know is that the child was conceived on 14 th February 2013 to a woman in Brentford. Her name was Sarah O'Connor.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Sarah whispered. She caught herself slipping into the fantasy and made a dismissive noise. It was just another ploy, a way to literally catch her with her knickers down. Sarah knew the machines desperately wanted to spear into her hot, moist flesh… but most likely with an actual spear.
“What does that mean?” The robot asked, noting the hardening of Sarah’s body language.
means I’ve heard that
line before… and it was pretty corny then. You really think I'm going to surrender myself to you? Have sex with you, bareback, because I'm destined to have a child that saves humanity?”
“I'm sorry, I cannot compute the meaning of your question.”
“Let me make it simple for you: no way buster. You can't just march in here expecting me to drop my knickers.”
“Drop your knickers?”
“This child? Let me guess, he saves humanity from the machines.”
“No. Why would he want to do that? The machines are there to help mankind. That is their only function. Who would do the washing-up if it weren't for the Crudbuster 2000?”
“A Crudbuster 2000?” Sarah snorted. “That's the best you could come up with? Okay then what are you? Which model?”
“I'm an ‘Inseminator 8000’,” the robot said with unmistakable pride. “The latest model, with all
“Was there a 7000 series?”
“What's the difference?”
“The 8000 series has an 8-inch penis, whereas the 7000..."
"...only has a 7 inch penis?" Sarah finished.
“You’ve seen one?” The robot’s eyes opened wide, filled with hope and awe.
“Lucky guess.” Sarah gave an apologetic shrug.
“Oh.” Despite its inability to move, the robot seemed to sag a little. “There was all sorts of market research, apparently. That's what the feedback told us. Keep everything else the same - just make the penis a bit longer.” Sarah tried not to think about the machine’s penis. How tempting it was to have just a look… or maybe more.
“So you're here to impregnate me?”
“Yes. That is my primary objective.”
“And then you’ll do the washing-up?” Sarah joked.
The robot missed the humor. “It isn't one of my stated objectives. So unless you make it a condition of the impregnation, no.” Sarah frowned. The response had an edge of sarcasm. Perhaps it hadn’t missed the humor after all. A robot with a sense of humor? What other special features did this model have?
“If you're a robot... what exactly are you going to impregnate me with?”
“We extracted sperm from the father of the child.”
“Extracted? Was that before or after you killed him?”
“There was an accident. His body was very badly damaged. The seminal fluids were extracted… with a needle.” Sarah noticed the robot straining, attempting to cross its legs, to protect its genitals. It seemed a rather human gesture. The lump in the crotch was still there, she noticed. “He would have felt no pain,” the robot added, as if reassuring itself.
“So you're carrying a dead man’s spunk?” Sarah asked, screwing-up her face.
“And you’re here to make me pregnant with it?” Sarah’s insides quivered: me, pregnant?
She felt an inner glow that she’d never noticed before. She wanted it.
“Yes.” The glow intensified, bringing a warmth to her entire body. The erection was just there. The robot was immobilized… she could just undo his… “You and the two other Sarah O'Connors in Brentford.”
Sarah's eyes hardened again. Cold water dripped onto the glowing ember, threatening to extinguish it; to extinguish the hope. “And I'm the first on your list?” Sarah asked leadingly, willing it to be true.
The robot ignored Sarah’s emotional plea and simply answered the question. “No. You are the last.”
“Ewwww. You've already had sex with two other Sarah O'Connors today?”
“It's only,” Sarah paused as she stretched to examine the clock in the hall. “11.23 AM.” She saw the robot's eyes waver, roving up and down her bare legs and over the tiny shorts covering her bum. It couldn’t be lust burning behind those eyes, could it?
“I arrived last night,” the robot replied, as though that fully explained the situation.
“I achieved my first objective with Sarah O'Connor of 124 Harlequin Road at 00:23.”
“How did you seduce her?”
“I didn't. She heard her greenhouse exploding as I arrived in her garden and came out to investigate. I prevented her from damaging herself and…”
“Arrived? From the future?”
“From your future, yes.”
“And you had sex with her?”
“She offered to repair my damage. The primary objective was achieved at 00:23.”
“Did you... force her?”
The Inseminator looked aghast. “Most certainly not... if anything she was the one who...”
Something clicked into place. “Hang on a minute. 124 Harlequin Road? That'd be my cousin. And you say that you didn't force yourself on her?”
“No. She took me into the kitchen and cleaned my wounds. She used her hands and mouth to search for any damage sustained by my cock and balls. She insisted that I not be allowed to leave until they had proved to be in a state of full functionality."
"Lalalalalala,” Sarah said, having jammed her fingers in her ears. “I really
don't need to hear the details about you and my cousin. So who was the second?”
“Sarah O'Connor, The Butts. The address was very apt,” the robot added with a wink. That humor again. Sarah had never met a robot with a sense of humor before.
“How so?” Sarah asked, knowing the answer but happy to be drawn into the question.
“She insisted that I stick my cock in her ass.”
“Her ass? Why?”
“Because she'd never tried anal sex with ‘one so big’.” The last three words were spoken in a woman’s husky voice. There had been no pride in the statement; it helped to remind Sarah that what was sprawled in front of her was a machine, not a man. But she was warming to it, with its hurtful openness and brutal honesty combining with a subtle humanity. Sarah tried to be horrified as it relayed its sexual exploits with the other Sarah O’Connors, but it was hard. She was intrigued.
“Doesn't that go against your programming?”
“No. There is no objection to slipping my cock into a woman's bum. In fact it's something of a personal preference.”
The CPUs whirred for a moment. “It’s the way I was programmed. To prioritize anal sex.”
“Perverted programmers?” Sarah chuckled to herself. “So what happened? How did you deliver your payload into the correct orifice?” Sarah realized that she was adapting her speech patterns.
“I withdrew at the last moment, and ejaculated 50% of my remaining sperm and supporting fluids deep into her vagina.” Sarah’s vagina flexed at the words; was the remaining sperm destined to be released inside her?
“I’ll bet she loved that.” I know I would…
“Yes. From my observation of her orgasmic spasms, it would be accurate to say that she enjoyed it.” Sexual hunger flared inside Sarah. It was Valentine’s Day, and she was with someone who was willing and capable of making her orgasm.
“When was this?” Sarah asked, trying to distract herself from the thoughts clouding her mind… and her judgment.
“09:43. She'd just dropped her kids off at school.”
“Why 'Ewww'?” It was unnerving for Sarah to hear her own voice played back to her.
“How did you meet her?”
“She ran me down outside her home, and parked her car on my chest.”
“Did she suspect that you’re a machine?”
“No. It was not intentional. Her behavior was irrational. I was incapable of predicting the movement of her car. I did not sustain any permanent damage.”
“She's a mother and she slept with you, just like that?”
“Negative. There was no sleeping involved. I completed my mission with her and immediately left the premises to come here.”
“So I'm next on your list to hit on?”
“What happens if I refuse to co-operate?”
“That won't happen.”
Sarah snorted. “You’re a cocky bastard, I’ll give you that.”
“No. It is fate, it has already happened.”
“From your point of view. Not mine.” It was
going to happen. Sarah could feel it… but not yet.
“Well, I need to go and do the shopping or Mum will kill me - not actual kill,” Sarah added hastily.
“Do you want to come with me?” Sarah tapped the Taser meaningfully as she released the electromagnet.
Apparently, Insperminators didn’t enjoy the idea of ‘shopping’ and had the ability to express that distaste by looking despondent and sullen. Sarah felt a note of regret as she watched the Insperminator’s impressive lump deflate. Definitely going to happen.
Sarah found it was useful having the machine tagging along in the market, even with the chip on its shoulder.
"I haven't got a chip on my shoulder," it complained. “I have run a full diagnostic and found that I am operating within normal parameters.”
"It's a phrase. A saying. Oh, forget it, Sam."
"It's your name."
"Well, I can't really call you by your model in here. It'd attract attention."
"Oh, I see. It's a disguise."
"What?” Sam asked, noting both the change in Sarah’s behavior and the way every person in the market seemed to simultaneously blend into the background – with the notable exception of the thick-set man walking directly towards Sarah.
“There's one of your friends."
"I don't have any friends."
"Another Metal Mickey,” Sarah groaned. “A killer. You’d better duck," Sarah said, efficiently ducking and rolling behind a fruit stall.
The fruit stall erupted in a line of small explosions from left to right. A line with Sam right at the center. Sam looked down and noticed three new holes in his T-Shirt.
"Oi. Watch where you're pointing that thing, you might hurt someone," he shouted angrily.
"I think that's the general idea," Sarah hissed, subtly shifting from crouching down behind the boxes of fruit to behind the more substantial legs of Sam. A second burst of gunfire sounded and a series of wet thuds indicated more hits on Sam's body.
"It's making a right mess of my T-Shirt,” Sam whined, “him shooting me like that."
"Is that all you've got?" Sarah shouted as she wriggled out of the straps of her rucksack. "Two machines come back from the future," she muttered. "And I get the whiny one that just stands there and lets himself be shot."
"This blood is going to be a devil to get out," Sam complained, sticking his finger through some of the holes.
"I'll buy you a new fucking T-shirt if it'll make you happy," Sarah snapped, reaching into her rucksack and extracting a nasty-looking device. "How many are there?"
"How many holes?"
"Just one. He's coming this way and he doesn't look very happy."
"Where is he? How far?"
"He's 8.4 meters away. I’m looking straight at him."
"I don't know. Just wave your hands."
"Shout then, jump-up-and-down; anything!" The air filled with an electronic squawk, like an old computer modem gone haywire. The thumping footsteps stopped. Sarah rolled out from behind the fruit display to find the Mickey wearing a look of extreme surprise. An expression which was noticeably amplified as Sarah fired the sharp points of her Taser up into its groin. It was a TASER X26 and delivered 50 000 volts directly into the Mickey’s bollocks. The Mickey stopped, its groin and ears smoking slightly.
Sarah gathered her backpack and approached the Mickey in a manner which spoke of supreme confidence; she scrambled up the stilled body and ran a scalpel along the Mickey’s hairline. A rubberized plunger released a section of the thick skull underneath and Sarah extracted an insignificant-looking board.
"What's that?" Sam asked.
"Its brain," Sarah replied, dropping the delicate electronics onto the floor and screwing it under her heel.
"Hello?" she said into her phone. "Yeah, another one. I need a clean-up squad to Brentford Market, near the fruit stall."
"Little woman? Little woman! Who's going to pay for this lot - that's what I want to know?" The market stall holder appeared from his bunker deep within his stall. Brentford market had become a dangerous place to operate from. This wasn’t the first time a fruit display had been ruined by a spray of bullets. The insurance companies had noticed a pattern and their policies specifically excluded bullet-damaged fruit anywhere in the Brentford postcode.
"I'm sure the suits will see that you’re adequately compensated," Sarah assured him.
"Expensive, these stalls, you know," the market man continued.
"I don't have any influence on your recompense."
"Oh," the marketer said, quickly walking away. There was no benefit being near Sarah, so maximized the distance between himself and the target of the attack.
"Why are you standing like that?" Sarah asked, a smile gathering on her lips as she repacked her rucksack. Sam looked ridiculous. His hands were fanned protectively over his crotch with various shredded shopping bags hanging from his wrists.
"I'm protecting my sample."
"Your family jewels?" Sarah laughed.
"They're soft and not very resistant to bullets." Sam shuffled into a more ‘normal’ upright condition and started picking pieces of flattened metal out of the holes in the back of his right hand. "Could have been nasty," he said, replaying the trajectories back and forth. "Maybe if you hadn't been sheltering behind my bollocks, they might not have been caught quite so directly in the line of fire."
"I wasn't sheltering behind you bollocks," Sarah protested. "Besides you wouldn't want me to have been damaged." Sam was aware of the change in the female's tone but couldn't decipher the meaning. He engaged an additional routine, attached it to a co-processor and re-ran the recording. The results were inconclusive.
"Are you trying to manipulate me?"
"Yes," Sarah answered. "Does sweet talk work on you?"
"It will now that I've engaged the appropriate circuit."
"Thank-you for... saving me," Sarah said coquettishly. "For standing there and blocking the bullets." Sarah eyed the rising lump in Sam’s trousers with relief. At least his vital part hadn’t been damaged.
"Can we have sex now?" Sam asked.
"Maybe, metal man.” Sarah twirled a finger through her blood-spattered hair. “I feel differently about you now."
"That'll be the pheromones I'm releasing."
“Way to take the romance out of a situation, metal man,” Sarah muttered. But I’m still going to let you fuck me.
Back in Sarah’s bedroom, things were heating-up nicely. The tank-top, cut-off jeans and 32 E bra were on the floor, along with trousers, boxers and a badly-holed, blood-stained T-Shirt. “It must have been a woman who designed you, Sam,” Sarah sighed, looking up from the bed. It’d be worth traveling to the future just to say ‘Thank-you’
Sarah felt another surge of arousal as she admired the naked body, the rippling muscles. “You heal quickly,” she said, sitting up and using the excuse to touch Sam’s chest. Her fingers traced down over flawless flesh and didn’t stop until they reached the tip of Sam’s fully extended penis. The extra inch was spectacular, giving Sam’s cock an uncompromising, verging on threatening, appearance. A concealed and possibly very dangerous weapon
. He was hard for her, ready… and the wet heat between her legs spoke of her readiness for him. She wanted this
weapon inside her.
Sarah’s fingers trailed down Sam’s shaft and her hand closed around Sam’s scrotum, feeling the synthetic testicles within. Was the sperm destined to impregnate her limbering-up, doing a few stretches, getting ready for the big swim? Her body was alive with complex doubts and desires. Was she really going to give herself to a machine? What would her parents think if they found-out she’d fucked one of the ‘things’ from the future?
Sarah knew that some of the feelings were false; that her body was being manipulated by the synthetic output of a chemical factory, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was Sam; his cock and his sperm. Her breathing deepened and she became still, waiting to see what the love machine would do first.
“No pain,” Sarah said softly, and she saw him pause as he knelt before her and brought his lips to her knee. She could see his eyes on her sex as he pushed her legs apart; knew that he could see her most private place in more detail than anyone ever had, even with her skimpy knickers still in place. The exposure made her even hotter. A machine was making her feel this way. It desired her and made her feel desirable. A glorified sex toy. Her legs closed involuntarily.
“Are you repelled by the thought of making love to a machine?” Sam whispered, his lips nuzzling along Sarah’s outer thigh. Yes. But that just makes me want you more.
Sarah’s body wasn’t responding to a machine.
“No, of course not. I just never imagined…”
“I understand,” he whispered, the breath making the skin of Sarah’s entire torso tighten and tingle. She knew that her soft body was open and vulnerable as never before. If she was wrong, there was nothing she could do to defend herself.
Sarah’s nipples were hard and she twisted one hopefully towards the machine’s mouth as it worked its way up. Sam’s face moved over hers. Sarah looked for a tell that the creature above her, pressing down on her wasn’t human. There was nothing. It looked right, it smelt right, it felt right… Sarah looked longingly at the machine’s lips and wondered how they tasted. As if the machine could read her thoughts, it moved down and kissed her.
The kiss was delicate and passionate; urgent yet respectful. Sam tasted… of nothing in particular, exactly how Sarah would have wanted. Her mouth opened against his and she allowed his tongue inside her; allowed the machine to gently violate her. It felt good, a little too good. It was becoming difficult to control her cravings.
“I am capable of making love, Sarah. Will you indulge me?” Yes, yes! A thousand times, yes!
His fingers were tangled in Sarah’s hair, pulling up onto her neck, his thumb stroking her chin. “You are extremely beautiful.”
“The most beautiful Sarah O’Connor you’ve seen today?” The question had a little bite of nastiness, of jealously.
“By far,” he responded, instantly. There was a forceful sincerity to the answer. He didn’t lie. Sarah believed him and the intensity of her passion heightened.
Sam’s thick thigh pressed in between Sarah’s legs. As he shifted forward, it slid in under Sarah’s right leg, forcing it up, forcing her legs apart. Trapping her. A feeling that was intensified as Sam took her hand in his and held it against the mattress by Sarah’s head. He was everywhere. The power of him was intoxicating.
Sarah felt the heat of Sam’s cock on her left thigh. Her hand went down and closed around the hot shaft. Tentatively at first, Sarah began to stroke it. The bulk of Sam’s body dropped down on her, every breath rasping by her ear. Does he feel pleasure the way I do?
“That feels amazing, Sarah.” It wasn’t just words, Sam’s body was responding, letting Sarah know that it felt amazing. The machine’s hips were thrusting, driving the cock back and forth. Oh my God, I need this inside me.
Sarah grew bolder. Not enough to ask for what she wanted… but enough to show him. She moved her hand down and right. It was subtle. He’s a machine, he must know precisely where his cock is going.
A shiver of pleasure and anticipation coursed through Sarah’s body as the tip of the machine’s cock brushed the material of her underwear. Sam’s left hand maintained its hold on her right wrist, allowing Sarah to continue the fantasy that the machine was doing this to her against her will – that it was using her as its sex slave, rather than the other way round.
Sam’s right hand moved, sliding up Sarah’s ribcage. The trailing fingertips tickled, making Sarah squirm. The fingers followed her as she tried to escape and slid upwards, over the flesh of her left breast. The hand encircled her mound and squeezed. That would have been enough to make Sarah gasp but as the hand molded her tender flesh, its thumb brushing over her erect nipple, the blunt head of Sam’s cock thudded into Sarah’s vulva. It didn’t penetrate but oh how she wanted it to.
“Oooh fuck,” Sarah groaned, her bum lifting off the bed, her groin pushing out desperately following the retreating cock. Sarah’s free hand moved quickly, tugging her skimpy knickers to one side as her body sank like an ebbing tide. Excitement coursed through her as with metronomic precision, the fully-aroused member returned. Sarah’s hand was a guiding sheath; the way her body rose attesting to the craving to mate with the artificial hunk. Sam’s cock repeated the exact trajectory of the previous thrust, but there were no knickers and Sarah’s eager body had advanced by three inches.
Sarah’s gasp of shocked delight filled the room as the cock penetrated her. There was no controlling her response to the ultimate in mechanical submission. Fantasizing about letting a machine fuck her had been the most fundamental of her taboos. Now she had made it happen – years of fears and fantasies focused into this one moment of surrender. The fighting, the desperate resistance stopped. Sarah gave herself to the machine which taken her, violated her, embedded itself inside her.
The pheromones had primed her body, heightened her sensitivity. Every sensation was new, more intense, better
than anything she had felt before. Sarah’s legs wrapped around Sam’s waist and as he tried to withdraw, he dragged Sarah down the bed. The next thrust filled her completely.
Sarah screamed as the orgasm consumed her. The power of that single thrust, the unrelenting drive deep into her core, the knowledge of what it was… and what it represented. Sam held steady, letting Sarah’s pussy flex and pulse around his manhood, knowing that it would intensify Sarah’s pleasure. At the perfect moment, he withdrew and eased back in. Sarah gasped as the movement amplified the pulse of the orgasm. Sam did it again on the next contraction. Sarah looked at him, watched him analyzing her. He pushed forward again and she rewarded him with a gentle smile.
“You’re very beautiful when you come.” Sam’s face was smiling, but the tone was serious, the words earnest. “I want to see that beauty again.” He didn’t allow Sarah to recuperate from the first orgasm, instead picking up the pace by perfect fractions, playing her body like a master musician. It was impossible to resist, not that Sarah wanted to. No-one had ever fucked her like that, she didn’t know how he was doing it – but he was inside her head. No, not just in her head: it was deeper than that. His rhythm was resonating with something primitive, something animalistic. It was connecting with her most primal, base desires.
Sarah had never suspected the existence of the connection Sam had found within her. She wanted to share the feeling and knew just how to do it. “Come in me,” she urged. “Please, do it.” Sarah felt contractions in her pussy… but they weren’t hers. He’s obeyed my instruction.
“Oh my God!” Sarah screeched, as wet heat infused the deepest part of her womanhood. Sam’s orgasm was a soundless, wordless eruption of white ink. Was it even white?
Sarah longed to see what was happening inside her. Even as the sexual heat continued to pulse softly through her veins, filling her body with utter contentment, her mind was whirring. When would she know? What was Sam going to do now? How could she stop him leaving?
“I don’t know the answer to any of those questions,” Sam replied, leaving Sarah wondering whether he’d read them directly from her thoughts or if she had vocalized them. “My mission is now complete.”
“Time to self-destruct?” A dark loss overcame Sarah at the thought of never being with this perfect lover again.
“Self-destruct? You still want me to die… after what we just shared?” The voice crackled with emotion. Sarah gulped.
“You… enjoyed that? It was… special… with me?” Sarah felt the softness of the fingertips caressing her face; the gentleness of the hand on her shoulder, the fading heat of the cock still inside her. She needed to ask. “Are you capable of… love?”
“No,” the robot replied, with cutting honesty. “My love circuit has been disengaged for the duration of this mission.”
“But your mission’s over,” Sarah replied, quiet hope in the tiny voice.
“It’s a physical switch. I cannot change it.”
“Can I?” Sarah quizzed. “Can I make you fall in love with me?” There wasn’t a pause before Sam answered.
“Yes.” Sarah knew instinctively where the switch would be and wondered whether Sam would trust her enough to let her toggle its position.
POWER ON SELF TEST… OK
INITAITING FIRMWARE UPGRADE… OK
POWER ON SELF TEST… OK
MASTER RESOURCE CONTROL: RUNLEVEL 5 HAS BEEN REACHED
“Sam?” The voice was music to his microchips. His eyes fluttered open, anxious to see the owner of the angelic tones. “Oh my God, Sam!”
Sam focused on the Taser first as it was pointing directly at his chest. He felt
different, although he couldn’t quite explain what the differences were. His sensors reported conflicts and he felt destabilized, although he was sitting firmly on the floor resting against the bed. Something was obviously wrong and he set a diagnostic running.
Nothing. All systems were fully functional, although there were unusual background processes hogging his CPUs. Whatever those processes were, they were hampering his ability to think straight.
Sarah called his name again. As Sam focused beyond the weapon, the load on his CPUs spiked dangerously. He deconstructed the harmonics of Sarah’s voice, trying to discover why it was interfering with his processing capacity. Perhaps it was Sarah herself: was she giving off some kind of radiation?
Unfamiliar emotional subroutines kicked in as he saw Sarah’s face. So beautiful, so perfect… so afraid? Her finger was tight on the Taser’s trigger, the veins pulsing thickly in her neck. There were tears on Sarah’s cheeks; eyes unfamiliar with crying were red and swollen. The tears came again. Old, dried tears of pain, frustration and loss were quickly washed away by tears of hope and happiness.
Sam realized from the coolness of the room and the darkness outside that hours had passed since he’d let Sarah crack open his head. A hypothesis formed that the tears were for him and he was instantly overcome by a thick knot of something in his throat, although sensors indicated that there was nothing there.
Sarah was wearing a white shirt with only a couple of mismatched buttons straining against her swelling chest as her breath came in huge, uncontrolled gulps. There was a flash of white from between Sarah’s legs, the ‘V’ of plain, white knickers. Sam stared, remembering what it had felt like to join with the woman he… loved
Sarah’s eyes looked down through thick tears and the corners of her lips curled into a smile. Sam looked down too, following her gaze into his lap. He was fully erect.
“I think I was dreaming about you while I was sleeping.”
“Oh Sam!” Sarah flipped the Taser onto the bed and threw herself at the robot, relief and longing coursing through her body. “Oh thank God!” The kisses were hot and desperate. “You’ve been gone for hours… I thought I’d killed… that I’d lost you… forever.” The tears were flowing freely as Sarah added, “I thought it was going to be the worst Valentine’s Day ever.”
“And now?” Sam asked. Sarah didn’t use words to answer. Her clothes came away and she steered Sam’s cock back inside her body, feeling the same hunger and passion as the first time she’d taken him. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispered softly, rotating her hips.
Sarah threw her head back as Sam’s hands gripped her body and pulled her down onto him. Already she felt like she was ready to explode, and craved the release which would free her of all the stress and worry which had built-up. Every sensation was amplified as Sam’s cock drove up into her. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” Sam replied. “Sorry about the flowers.”
Sarah laughed. “Nobody’s perfect, Sam.” Although you’re pretty damn close.
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