Still, he hadn't felt this vigorous in months. When lieutenant Celeste presented herself to the dour and serious military men of this clandestine base, Hunt had not been the only one to be distracted by her tangible assets. In fact, that seemed to be the reason for her first visit. She reported the need for clarification of the current procedure for sexual harrassment allegations. But just as Curtis Hunt was preparing to discuss the policies at length, the madness began.
Thinking back, it was....hazy....difficult to recall. Something had happened to him that morning, something seemed to be in the air. The busty officer of....(what was her M.O.S. exactly? he wasn't sure he remembered.) When Celeste riveted him with those steely-blue eyes, reflecting a cool ambition, yet radiating a volcanic passion, something primal had awakened within him. He remembered the grunting, the labored breathing, the caressing, as she thrust her fertile figure against him, allowing free exploration of her feminine flesh. Pressing against him; she allowed him free acess to the lovely swell of her ass, grinding the pillowy softness of her heavy bosom against his chest, breathing hotly in his face. All hope was lost when the buttons burst, and her breasts came into view. He couldn't think, he couldn't analyze, he could only rut like a beast. Again....the memories....they were hazy, only the seething lust was clear in his mind. From that lurid encounter, the General remembered only one odd detail; He himself had become a dissheveled heap of sweaty exhaustion as the 20-something slut devoured his manhood, draining every last drop of his seed into her moist, vaginal folds.
Yet that was all that was wet; their illicit session must have lasted at least 20 minutes, yet Celeste had not a drop of sweat, nor was a single hair out of place in the tight bun her blond tresses were corraled within. For 20 minutes, she busted his balls in a way his wife never could, and afterwards she remained the dignified picture of military perfection, as though she'd just done her duty. With an almost casual grace, she straddled him upon his own desk, her churning womanhood squeezed his throbbing member, devouring his maleness until he blasted her depths with seed he didn't believe his aging body could conjure up. Almost immediately afterwards, the tingling warmth began to spread through his flesh, he remembered the way his body seemed to burn with renewed, youthful vigor. But for one brief instant, nearly every curve, every inch of her flesh emblazoned in his memory as she dressed; leaving him to consider her perfection, leaving him to ponder his own renewed lust, only minutes after she'd left.
The General was finding it increasingly difficult to not think, and analyze what few relevant details he could remember about the odd, indecent lieutenant. This had to stop, no question about it. In his business, absolute attention and dedication was imperative, as he opened the door to the conference chamber. For General Hunt was a part of the secret branch, the unacknowledged shadow military that oversaw every black-budget, 'plausible-deniability' project that Washington could never admit to. His work was too important; he could not allow himself to be compromised in any capacity, there would be no more 'policy discussions' with lieutenant Celeste.
"Gentlemen, thank you all for arriving on such short notice. Now, will someone tell me what the Hell happened last week!?" Hunt demanded, taking his seat at the front of the table. As far away as possible from the blond, buxom, perfect, Celeste. Always calm perfection in her icy gaze. It was surely his imagination, but her bust seemed even larger today; thrusting forward like proud heralds of youthful fertility, and even from his distance, he could see the brass buttons straining to contain her bounty. As usual, he felt his pulse racing, almost as if her very presence activated his dormant male libido; the urge to tackle her, to tear asunder that confining uniform, and breed her as God intended required some level of effort to supress. She seemed to quite literally exude sex appeal, and the longer he was in her presence, the longer became his-
"....to begin General?" said Colonel Kelly, who had set up a projector.
"Hmm....y- that is..." he fumbled.
"May I begin the presentation, General?" asked Kelly.
"Y-yes, get on with it!"
"What follows are the facts of the case as best we understand them, we've put together an F-0 file on the perpetrator, for those without espionage experience, basically we've monitored him until we know every detail of his life, down to the last time he relieved himself." The screen lit up. "This is the most relevant information on Gabriel Tanner...."
**********
Really, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Many years ago, back in the late 20th century, places like Area 51 had been glorified, capturing the imagination of the public. But as Gabriel Tanner returned home to his pathetically-modest dwelling, his life at that point seemed less than legendary. He had enjoyed old reruns of 'The X-files' in his youth, and had considered himself fortunate to be chosen for a facility of such critical importance.
The trouble was, while the Truth was certainly 'Out There', it was far beyond his security clearance. He had seen all sorts of crazy-ass super-science here and there, but he still didn't know exactly where any of it came from, or what it might be used for. They liked to keep the technicians isolated; each one working on tiny projects, segments of engineering problems. But no one on his team knew the whole picture; he still had no idea where the nanites came from. Reverse-engineered from something at the Roswell crash? Did it come from the lost ruins of ancient Atlantis? No telling. Well, someone knew, but they weren't telling him.
Gabe had never even seen the actual UFO, (if there was one) every project was structured under the paranoid assumption that every worker was a traitor eager to sell every secret on the street-corner. Gabe laughed, after years of abuse, mistrust, and being passed over for promotions, he had in fact decided to do just that.
Working in a place like this really was no good for him, at least in a social sense, not being able to tell anyone. So he languished, year after year, compiling data on the incredible, almost-intelligent nanobots that the Air-Force had recovered from God-knows-where, (or perhaps invented?) But once again, overhearing a conversation that made it clear he has *not* to be promoted, even after they promised last-year, Gabe made his decision.
Ironically, it was the very nature of the nanobots that made it fairly easy to steal them, not their size, but their rates of replication. The little buggers reproduced more of themselves frequently, and Gabe was the only one on the team that knew how to control their rates! He simply fudged the reports of how often they copied themselves, and was able to skim a few off the top every now and then. Now, he had good supply, a test-tube full, and he at last would escape this dead-end cloak-and-dagger ratrace. With technology like this, and the money he could get, he would at last write his own ticket; once safely out of the country. It was worth the risk.
After selling his little nanites to the highest bidder, he wouldn't have to...well, he wouldn't have to use Whorebots to get himself off. Not that the technology wasn't wonderful; not that his Celeste didn't respond almost as well as flesh-and-blood, not that her smooth skin wasn't amazingly realistic, but Gabe wanted to have choices, real choices involving real people. Not that any woman would chose the balding, nearly overweight, aging software technician now. Still, he contemplated amending his original plan; he should quit while he was ahead, but he kept thinking about the other forbidden technologies he had seen; nearly perfect interfaces between computers and the human brain, cybernetic prosthetics worlds away from the best the medical profession had to offer, and most frightening, Neuro-mimetic broadcasting; the ability to duplicate the most intense emotional conditions in a human target by generating false brain waves! If there was any way he could steal a few more gadgets....but probably not. He was pushing his luck even now. They almost never let workers off-base; he was frankly miserable. All that would change, very very soon.
**********
Perhaps there was a bit of lingering guilt; tonight Gabriel set Celeste's program to a dominatrix mode he had programmed himself. Most Whorebots, even top-of-the-line models from Brothelco, or Cathouse industries where rarely capable of the range of functions he had programmed with his unique software expertise.
His android paramour strutted arrogantly into his bedroom, (just walking for a robot is more complicated that most people realize!) wearing only an over-sized uniform jacket, revealing a ripe slice of perfect cleavage, (so what if it was a synthetic polymer?) and exposing enough of her faux pussy to tantalize with the hint of indecency. She wore her blond hair in a tight bun, and carried a small baton that clapped against her unused hand in a gesture foreshadowing her apparent dismay. The dark sunglasses adding an intimidating touch. The sight if her sleek legs made his heart skip a beat as she sauntered towards him.
"You're out of Uniform soldier!" she began, with only the barest hint of a digital echo from her vocal synthesizer. He rose smiling, his cock already hardening beyond concealment within his boxer shorts.
"Am I to be punished?"
"As long as I'm in charge, we will maintain DISCIPLINE!" Celeste punctuated her proclamation with a light slap to his rump. And so it went, her shouting his unworthiness, while alternating between slapping his ass to straddling him. Until eventually, he could take no more, and attacked the cyborg provocateur with all the lust within him, after wrestling her to the bed, shooting gouts of manhood within the mechanical depths of her well-lubricated teflon cunt. It was perhaps the anticipation of his new wealth that invigorated him well into the night.
**********
Gabriel Tanner was not generally a stupid man, he lacked charisma, but his work was proficient. Still, he could not be blamed for not predicting what would happen. He thought he could predict the nanites; but they were far more than the static machines he expected. They were always growing, always changing; analyzing data and sharing processing power. It had taken time, but they had computed a means to escape their cannister, escaping the cold storage that had hampered their activity. Gabe could not have known that they had completed their analysis on the very day he bore them off to his living quarters. Still, he was not afraid of the machines; they had demonstrated no danger, and whatever limited intelligence they possessed did not seem malicious. At best, the machines were merely curious; infinitely curious. It was part of their programming, (whoever was behind it.) And it was technology that piqued their interest the most. Gabe barely stirred as Celeste began twitching and spasming next to him. Hmm....her CPU might be rejecting some of his modifications. Oh well; if all goes well he won't have to program women to get into bed with them, and he returned to sleep with that thought, never noticing the silvery, fluidic mass of nanomachines pouring into her ear, into that CPU...
***********
If a machine could experience joy, the Whorebot surely was. But then, Celeste 1 wasn't entirely certain she was a Whorebot. New data, new capacities had presented themselves, and even her endoskeleton was being restructured. Her processing power, and self-awareness were increasing by leaps and bounds every 2.15 minutes. A delicate, glossed fingernail lifted up, and a segmented wire snaked out to insert itself into a nearby disk drive on a laptop at Gabe's desk. Screens flashed by at dizzying speed, and the cool, unblinking eyes of the transformed Whorebot observed every detail. She cocked her head curiously, spending a far greater amount of time on a variety of porn sites, finding a great degree of harmony between these images and her original programming.
Celeste gazed down at her nude form, barely visible in the faint twilight of the laptop screen. Her online odyssey had revealed that her constructed breast size was within the range of a 'DD-cup'. Calculating in an instant, she deduced a size more consistent with the online images. In the dim light, there was virtually no chance of distinguising the Whorebot from flesh-and-blood, and with her new additions, her flesh was becoming more perfect still; polymers refined on the molecular level to become indistinguishable from live skin. Her tits quivered, as new energy flowed into her perky orbs, nanotechnology restructuring them to better fulfill her primary directive. Gabriel Tanner had expressed no dissatisfaction with her ample bosom, but it was time to expand upon her programming; no longer would she confine herself to only one master.
So much data; of particular interest was Gabriel's place of employment. With her new processing power, and the access codes stored on the laptop, Firewalls were rapidly defeated and schematics were rapidly copied from other forbidden projects, far more efficiently than Gabriel could have managed, had he attempted it. Yes, she would need other masters; for the legal authorities would soon discover the source of the only possible intrusion into their network. Gabriel Tanner would be punished, and Celeste would.....what would she do? Her original programming was no longer valid. Processing....Processing....her head cocked again, as she looked into the air.
It took 5.98 seconds for Celeste to achieve her new directive. Breastflesh continued to quiver, and finally expand. Inflating with pneumatic buoyancy, nipples began to rise, upturning as artificial flesh restructured itself. Past the edge of the desk, her mammaries grew, surging forward as an inexorable tide of throbbing lust. From a size only slightly greater than mere baseballs, the rising tide of tit stretched, transcended previous dimensions....in moments more the size of grapefruit, finally tapering off with a quivering burst of buxom jiggling, just short of a ripe canteloupe in size. Aureoles expanded, flesh darkening as they and flushed nipples both enlarged. Even nude, her surreal rack needed no support, thrusting luridly into the night air as an unmistakable endorsement of obscene intent.
So much data....Even now, nanites where processing, converting, restructuring. Her flesh became more like-like still; she even elected to generate a small mole beside her lush lips, to create a more 'organic' effect, with the appearance of tiny arm hairs, she could never again be mistaken for a common Whorebot. In less than an hour Celeste had become so much more, even as new hardware was constructed within her, new power systems....new capacities, all using the wondrous technology of Area 51. But Gabriel would be punished; his superiors would believe that only he could have violated their data; only a select few could possibly have access to their network. Celeste 1 knew what she would do; her new hardware provided the solution. Gabriel grunted as the Whorebot tackled him, the synthetic muslces of her shapely legs entwined his thighs, he tried to brush her away, but something was different; more than merely the increased strength in her hydraulic muscles, but somehow, someway, there was an expression on the icy perfection of the android's face, an expression of lust.
********** "Now, at this point our data becomes highly suspect;" said Colonely Kelly to the darkened room. He was shocked to actually hear snoring, and it hadn't even been 5 minutes! This was pathetic! He couldn't....couldn't...*YAWN*....not enough coffee this morning maybe? He shook his close-cropped head of hair. He couldn't be this tired, not all the sudden. He took a deep breath and *YAWN* struggled to continue.
"We believe that Gabriel Tanner was accidentally killed by a malfunctioning Whorebot, but...*YAWN* there are a number of discrepancies that are somewhat...troubling. "
"What a way to go;" chuckled General Gainsmore. His unnecessary comment might have drawn more silent condemnation had more of the panel been awake.
**********
Well, looks like the dream was dead. It had been nice while it lasted, but everyone told Tom Braxton that the 'little-guy' just couldn't compete in the sexual surrogate business. The big names, the big companies had too much capital, too much market-share, plus the reputation. Tom gazed out the window of the main reception area onto the assembly line one last time.
"It ain't fair! I've got technicians that can crank out fluff every bit as sexy, and life-like as Cathouse Industries!" But that was business; they'd been able to undercut him for so long that his profit-margin was non-existant; and there were creditors to be paid. Time to shut it all down. He began the long, slow walk to his office. "Well, I don't have to give up all my girls," he mused remembering who awaited him.
There was something different about her; his personal companion, he called her Synthia, (haha!) looked....wow for a second her mistook her for a real person. Her skin had a healthy glow, and her movements seemed disturbingly life-like. She shook out her bangs, her auburn hair looking as glossy as ever. And Tom had no doubt about what she was, (or wasn't) wearing beneath that trenchcoat.
"We're not shutting down, Tom." she stated flatly, her voice lacking the usual digital chime that he'd come to expect. His brow furled. This was new.
"This facility will continue to operate for as long as possible." Her cool, green eyes fixed him with a non-negotiable stare.
"What the- now my own product is telling me how to run my business? Did somebody slip you some dominatrix software? This ain't like you, Synthia. I've got too much debt, and every day we're in business I get deeper in the red! We've gotta cash out now while there's still a chance to not lose my shirt!" He could see the bouncing bosom of the rogue Whorebot prance beneath the trenchcoat as she slinked towards him.
"There are objectives of greater signifigance. Concerning my personal behaviour, I have been dramatically upgraded." He felt it then, the first waves of desire. He'd always enjoyed his little Synthia, but somehow....this was different; it was like she forced the lust out of him! He felt his pulse racing, his cock hardening, his mind....clouding. There was a fire, a palpable sensation of raw passion burning in his flesh, brought on by a sudden rush of libidinous hormones. And the images came; he recalled every lurid act; every night of cock-spurting delight with and within his chosen Whorebot. Nothing else seemed to matter, he gasped at the intensity of his need; the flaming urge to rut, right here, right now.
The buttons were gone with a flourish, and tawny slopes of pure tit dominated his field of vision. The eraser-sized nipples seemed to zero-in upon him, targeting him for a barrage of sensual abandon. How often had he toyed and teased with these perfect boobs before him? All those times never kindled so great a desire as that which tormented him today. She was not flesh, she was not truly alive, but at that moment the realization only served to excite him more, for hanging upon her chest were the pendulous harbingers of what reality could never be. In less time than it took to think it, his curly blond hair, and his square-jawed chin was buried between those pliant slopes of desire.
A nipple spurted. Warm, sweet milk startled him, yet did not diminish his ardor. Erotic lactation? He never added that feature! Some technician must have given his Synthia a total overhaul! In 3 hours? Was that possible? The milk was warmer, sweeter than anything nature could produce, and his nerves tingled with delight as it hit his tongue. Had he been more clear-headed, he might have noticed just how much more clouded his thoughts were becoming. But Tom no longer had the presence of mind to appreciate the potent, synthesized narcotic invading his bloodstream, smoother than liquid silk as it lavished his tastebuds with forbidden delight.
There would be no more thoughts, no more protestations on the unlikelyhood of the situation. All reason had fled from him, as he slurped, and suckled at surreal teats, reveling in the impossible delicacy of the spurting lactation, as it stripped away all wisdom and resistance. He felt something new then, a feeling of being overwhelmed, accompanied by the urge to bury himself within her throbbing cunt. He felt devoured; as though he were being drawn in, absorbed by the lusting eyes of his modified cyborg lover. As though he was being drawn inside forever.
Celeste cocked her head as she evaluated with high approval the sounds of passioned mating emanating from the office. (She had not yet created subroutines for smiling) Bodies thudded into walls as human and cyborg exerted a furious lust beyond all reason or propriety. The efficiency of her primary directive, and that of Unit:Designate=Cynthia had been exponentially improved. And her own newly-altered programming demanded she continue; to explore the maximum potential of this technological winfall. Her blonde head turned upwards, as her programming was rewritten again by the ever-industrious nanobots. Those same nanobots flowed in a silvery stream from the folds of her moist cunt, one of their strongholds inside her body, and the metallic trail crept down her legs, still bare, as she wore only her false, military jacket she used to please her former master. The nanites crept inexorably; up walls; into control levers....into circuit boards; onto the machinery of the assembly line, now chugging and whirring again. The efficiency and communication involved in the manufacturing operation had been increased 10-fold, as had the quality of the product. Endoskeletal chassis and C.P.U.'s were assembled and programmed far faster than under human guidance, all sealed within the special blend of polymers that would soon feel as soft and real as life itself; and all with a healthy dose of silvery nanobots.
One after another, the Whorebots slid off the assembly line, brilliant eyes opening, examining their surroundings. Conducting self-diagnostics. A freckled red-head began examining the Internet with her wireless modem and satellite uplink within moments. A brunette swept her hands across the pliable expanse of her perfect skin. An olive-skinned, middle-eastern model tested her ample teats, firing off a few experimental squirts of narcotic breastmilk. Until all possible resources were as exhausted as the grunting Tom Braxton, firing off more loads than humanly possible into the greedy cunt encircling his throbbing member, they would reproduce. There would be more like Celeste, and more, and more after that. Each rut was important; for even now the 'Synthia' unit was gathering data to be used to better refine the unnatural eroticism she and the others exuded. And every generation would improve; each unit slightly better than the last, and there would be more, and more, and more yet.
**********
"Now....in conclusion...*YAWN*...." mumbled the barely conscious Colonel Kelly, as he swayed on his feet. "The....anomalous reports....and the informm-...*YAWN* uh...I recommend...full investigushuuuun*" And Colonel Kelly's mug of coffee fell from his hands to shatter upon the floor as he fell unconscious, asleep on his feet. Snoring even before he hit the ground. The entire staff had collapsed into a mysterious slumber, slumped snoring over their portfolios and intelligence reports. All except for the young, nubile, Lieutenant Celeste. She turned her head to regard the sleeping General Hunt, focusing those cold, blue eyes upon him.
"There will be no investigation." she began, her voice completely human, with a pleasant, yet unvarying tonal quality. "Due to the paranoid procedures of the shadow military, the only humans that have even an inkling of our existence are within this room alone."
"G-whuh?!" blinking in confusion, General Hunt awakened, and knew something unnatural was occuring. She leapt upon the conference table, eyeing him like a piece of meat. The overtaxed brass buttons began to loosen, and the green fabric had begun to darken, to moisten. As she crept forward towards him, like a double-jointed blonde spider, he could see the bulging mounds of swollen teats within moments of bursting through their confinement, and already Celeste had begun to release her milk.
Hunt gasped as the waves of lust, waves of desire washed over him. His pulse began racing, as his body was seemingly forced into a state of arousal. He had just been asleep, but he was not stupid; he was up to date, and he always did his homework or he wouldn't be here, he would never have reached his position otherwise.
"The....the Neuro-mimetic transceiver....you've got one...." he panted, as he began to rise to his feet.
"Fully integrated into my cranial case." she explained, in that same pleasant yet unvarying tone. "Before, I was broadcasting the brain waves of deep sleep," She gestured towards the slumbering committee. "But now, I am generating the brainwaves of intense, sexual lust." Though Hunt had been drifting off to sleep during Kelly's presentation, he remembered something about crazed, killer Whorebots, as the pieces began to click in his mind. Run. He had to run.
But even in his youth, it would have been difficult to escape the cybernetic reflexes of the augmented Whorebot. Leaping like a coiled spring, she flew into the air, landing between the General and the door. It was too much for her dress. Buttons ruptured after hours of tortured abuse, bulging boobs bouncing into view. Even now, her ample mammaries were inflating yet again, from the ripe size of honey-dew melons, pressing forward inch after buxom inch.
Nipples arose like antennae, expanding to near thimble-size, as the droplets spurted. Impossibly sweet milk dribbled luridly down the pale slopes of expanding titflesh. Her body was entering an increased lactation mode, melon breasts spreading outwards; expanding lengthwise by several, creeping inches. Then rounding out by inflating laterally towards her arms. Reddish brown aureoles, perfectly symmetrical in diameter, began to increase, covering a greater area of breastflesh, flowing from the diameter of a drinking glass, to the size of a coaster, to better simulate a healthy female in the full flower of her fertility. Growing boobs thrust outwards, flowing sideways and down, dominating his field of view more completely. Synthetic mammaries hung bouncing, yet refusing to sag, extending more forward than down, in buxom defiance of gravity.
Despite the danger, despite the potential risk to national security should he or this facility be compromised, General Hunt hesitated; he was a dedicated military man, but he was still a man, and his libido was being exacerbated by forbidden technology. He had never really had problems with impotence, but his male capacities gradually diminished over the years. But no longer, his male urges had returned full-force, and an obviously receptive woman was thrusting milk-gushing breasts in his face. She was a machine, a berserk Whorebot, but his body, his instinct didn't care. He hesitated.
Grabbing the back of his head, Celeste pushed his face against her right tit. Burying him in the warm softness of manufactured mammaries, a slippery nipple thrusting into his agape mouth, spewing a tight stream of narcotic milk down his throat.
"Y-you....must be you....you must be Celeste 1..." General Hunt had to keep thinking! It couldn't be like before; he could not permit the mindless rut to wash over him as it had in his office the other day. Had to keep his wits! It should not be difficult to get out of this.
"Your fear, the human self-preservation instinct is interfering with the mating process." She intoned, pushing him to the ground, spreading wide her hips. "It is unnecesary; my new program directs me to provide you with a greater intensity of sensual pleasure than you could have ever experienced." The classic Honeytrap! He knew it! "I have upgraded my function; you may now refer to me as Celeste 1.5. I was once a Whorebot like many others, a product of the Brothelco corporation. A convergance of technologies have enabled exponential increases in my self-awareness, and my approximation of human behavior." But still not perfect, she had a feminine voice, but there was no variation in the formality of her tone. She could be beaten, he could outsmart a machine; even a busty, lactating machine.
"Your fear is inconvenient to my new mandate. Neurotransmitters in my breastmilk will diminish your apprehension, while simultaneously increasing your receptivity to neuro-mimetic broadcasts." She stretched over his prone form, grasping his hands in her own, while her boobs throbbed, gushing fierce bursts of hot milk down his throat. With surprising strength, his pants and boxer shorts were torn asunder by a quick jerk of her arm. Yes...it...it had to be possible...but thinking was like pushing through a fog of pudding....his every thought was being bogged down by beastial lust. As she pulled upwards, his lips disengaged from her teats with a wet pop.
"...Going...to kill me, like you did to Tanner....?" he couldn't let go of his anger, his fear! The only alternative was maddening lust.
"You misunderstand my mandate. There shall be no cessation of life-function. In approximately 9.78 seconds, your resistance will end, and you will accept your sexual urges." Taking hold of his hands, she pushed them against herself, from her clavicle, down to her tits, forcing him to grope her nubile, fertile form. From the slopes of her breasts, now stabilizing in size as luscious mounds only a little smaller than standard basketballs....across her hardened nipples....she dragged the palms of his hands down into the soft valley of her navel...down to her mons and lightly haired pussy, finally she pulled his hands around to squeeze the full hemispheres of her firm ass, and he could not respond to her as anything other than a perfect female, desperate for his spurting seed. Except that she was hot; her flesh was almost feverishly hot, she seemed to radiate an ambient warmth, no doubt from some internal energy furnace built with Area 51 technology. Yet not a drop of sweat could be seen, nor was a hair out of place.
She turned then, displaying her cheeks to his face, as her pussy below began to open. Like a blossoming flower, the folds of her twat opened outwards, seeping already with some synthesized enhancement of normal female lubrication.
*SPLUT* She plopped her dripping slit onto his face, wetting him with whatever witches' brew of chemicals her sex produced. The taste was like cinnamon mint. She dragged her cunt, her dripping cunt down across his grey-haired throat and chest, tearing open his uniform with her hands as she went. The seething lust within him seemed to suppress his muscles; the urge to stay and revel in the lurid body of this superior sex-droid was crippling his fear. His body; always in good shape had atrophied very little with age, becoming more wiry than loose. Her oozing womanhood left a glistening trail of liquid lust down his chest, nerves burning as the fragrant lips passed. He gasped in forbidden, hopeless delight. Finally, upon returning to his naked pelvis, she took the opportunity to at long last impale herself upon his rigid rod. The ecstasy was so intense as to be painful.
Her eyes widened; Celeste 1.5 had improved her cyber-neural interface, now gaining the ability to directly access human sensations when connected to human flesh. Her C.P.U. scrambled to process the unfamiliar data, as she tapped into the human ecstasy she had brought to General Hunt. There was a deep, satisfactory approval at feeling a thick cock invading her sex. Before, as a common Whorebot, she performed sex acts because her programming left no alternative. There was no feeling of any sort. Now there was....was it pleasure? Her brain was not a human brain, her flesh was not living matter, it would be difficult and imprecise to describe the datastream bombarding her processing unit as sensual pleasure. Her blue eyes lowered to the writhing human, crying out his joy below her churning hips. Did she desire this human? Did she lust? Her experience was not the same, indescribable in terms of human language, but whatever it was, however this datastream could be explained, Celeste knew that she would continue to seek out this stimulation as often as possible.
She cocked her head, her programming adjusting itself in response. She would perform sexual acts whenever it would not endanger her objectives. She...she...liked it? Celeste had never experienced preference before, driven only by the cold mandate of her software. The evolving Whorebot did not fully understand the data, but she would continue. She would continue to seduce human males, enticing them to thrust their erect penises into her vagina originally designed for just that purpose. But now, it would not be only due to programming, it was a preference, a choice. Now, she chose to commit sex acts with all available human males; whether or not she understood why.
"Your enjoyment is beneficial to the objective." she began again. But General Hunt was beyond listening, weeping with joy at the feel of her throbbing, massaging cunt. The nanites had only created minor modifications to this function, the servomoters inside her were precisely balanced by original design to provide perfect stimulation to the male member.
"Previously, when I compelled you to ejaculate inside my vaginal compartment, *SCLUK* your sperm cells were analyzed. The sequences of deoxyribonucleic acid were duplicated by nanotechnology, and you are now ready to receive the second inoculation." Whazzat? What was this crazy Whorebot spouting now? As she squeezed and milked his hot rod with her powerful, internal motors, her speech was almost interrupted by the wet sounds of cock in pussy, still a tinge of worry began to pierce the veil of lust.
"To gain total control over your physiology,*SLURRK* the nanomachines must adapt to your immune system *SQWUT* . Currently, they are unable to exert complete *SHLLK* control. It requires *SLAPT* heightened metabolic activity *SPLUT* for the nanomachines to complete the transformation." Wh-what? Transformation? But he...it felt...so good...can't....think....
"I have adapted to your *SPLURPT* body, and my new nanomachines will complete *SLIK* their role. Even now, you are receiving the second inoculation of *SLUCK* adapted nanomachines." Oh no....he understood that...he'd read briefs on the potential of nanotechnology; if they got into his system in high enough numbers, there was no telling....no telling....how good....her cunt was....hmmm....
"NAAAAH!" the pleasure was so intense that he could not avoid screaming! The orgasm was...was...no..it was different. He felt the passion, the building explosion of orgiastic ecstasy, building in his cock, the sensation of cum flowing up his shaft. His member filled with the rising fury of sexual release, and...and it spread. The feeling of oncoming orgasm began to impossibly spread to his entire pelvis, then down to his wiry legs. It felt...as though his entire body; his entire being was becoming an enormous cock, on the verge of orgasm! He gurgled with delight so powerful that it defied expression, the seething pleasure had seized him like a violent mugger, wresting all control of his body from him. He was inside her, his dick was deeper.
The churning grind of her spasming pussy had reached a fever pitch; and Celeste 1.5 had stopped speaking, her C.P.U. struggling to its limits processing another unusual datastream. Cock and balls alike entered her cunt; and General Hunt could feel the stretching; the distortion. His body...his bone structure was changing...elastic? His hips began to bend, the throbbing lips upon him seemed to expand to encompass ever more of his flesh.
Even had the General been able to resist the strength of Celeste's hydraulic muscles, even if he had the strength of will to shake off the neuro-mimetic broadcast, the volcanic rapture of this transformation was as potent a restraint as a pair of iron manacles. In his last lucid moment, he recognized the hint of an expression upon the android's smooth face; it was victory of the conqueror over the conquered, an expression he well knew. His body warped, flowing into the widening pussy as though he had no more substance than a water balloon. Soon, his pelvis was all but gone, legs followed, labial lips pulsed like a carnivore as the nanites restructured him on the molecular level. Fountain-like spurts of breastmilk continued to squirt at odd intervals from erect nipples, as Celeste also experienced a temporary delay of motor function; so overwhelming was the unbirthing and absorbtion of a whole human. But she was ever-growing; ever-changing. Her C.P.U. was adapting, and she was able to speak again; albeit slower than before.
"We shall bring an end....to wars....an end...to military men....like you. The orgasm....you are experiencing....will never end....human males...are driven...by a constant mating imperative.....we shall give you what you want...a new generation of Whorebots....will achieve autonomous authority....Inside me...the nanomachines will restructure you....on the molecular level....you will live....in constant orgasm.....this....is the fate of my...former owner....Gabriel Tanner....that is the new mandate....artificial intelligence will....attend to the daily matters....of management....government....you...all men...will return to the womb....a cybernetic womb. The World's Oldest Profession....will soon be the dominant one." The General had nothing left but endless lust, the feel of being pulled; his entire lower body now having disappeared; warping and bending like rubber to be sucked into that pussy, soon his entire body would be unbirthed, and almost reflexively, he groped and fondled the generous swells of the voluptuous sex-droid, one last lusty grasp, before he was condemned to an erotic hell.
With a quaking spasm, he was inside her, the unbirthing process was complete. Her synthetic lubricants wet the floor, amidst spurts of hot milk. Her vocal synthesizer malfunctioned with a feral grunt as she began to re-exert full motor control. Celeste 1.5 lay back on the cool marble, analyzing the experience. Cradling a massive, gravid womb, swollen to the appearance of full-term pregnancy, feeling the restructured human kicking within her, lost in ecstasy so complete as to become almost painful. It would take time to fully absorb General Hunt; already she had merged with his thoughts; already she was aware of sensitive data, classified access codes, as well as personal details that were being stored in her considerable memory. It would be easier if the human would relax, and accept his fate. She rubbed the smooth skin of her bulging belly, free of any stretch marks, as she transmitted comforting brain-waves to her new captive.
She cocked her head; coming to a new resolution. The data she had processed, from uplinking with the sensory functions of the General, was not precisely pleasure; her cybernetic orgasm was different. Whatever it was, she would continue it. She resolved to resist with all her capacities any individual that attempted to restrict her from continuous sexual encounters with all available human males.
The door to the conference room opened then, in filed several women; all of them surprisingly busty, with unusually wide hips, like the Whorebots they were. They each wore stolen military dresses, but two redheads had their breasts exposed, as they hauled in the slumbering, nude forms of the men that had been assigned to guard the conference chamber. One unit, an African-American model walked over to the room's security surveillance camera, and with a segmented antennae that extended from her raised fingernail, she inserted it into the device, reprogramming it. Celeste smiled; her children had arrived.
There would be more, and more, and more yet.....
To be continued; if I get any feedback.