Five Nights at Fanny's
"Five Nights at Fanny's" by LongTimeLurker
Night One
Mike approached the dilapidated brick building with growing skepticism, wondering who in their right mind would hire a night watchman for a condemned pizza parlor. Oh well, it didn’t matter if they were crazy, just so long as they could cut a check… but that thought just brought him back to the whole ‘failed business’ thing.
He glanced up at the unlit sign: “Fanny Fazbear’s Pizza”. Beside it was the titular mascot roughly outlined in neon, a rosy-cheeked girl with bear ears, wearing a strangely predatory grin. Posters covered the windows, each featuring either Fanny or one of her ‘Fabulous Friends’, members of an all-girl animatronic band with surprisingly shapely bodies and revealing uniforms for a children’s restaurant.
A taped notice on the front door read, “To the new night watchman: let yourself in, the office is down the hall on your left.” Apparently the trend of not meeting with a single person during the entire application process was going to continue. His “orientation package” had been mailed directly to him, consisting of nothing more than a keyring, a stained placemat naming the restaurant’s mascots, some legal papers he was meant to sign, and a uniform of khakis, a dress shirt and a tie. Digging out the keys, he let himself in.
His concerns about being paid were buoyed slightly by the orderly interior, the chairs neatly put up on the tables, the floor swept, everything in the kitchen put away – in fact, if it weren’t for the thin layer of dust, everything looked ready to open tomorrow.
Crossing the main dining hall, Mike approached the parlor’s main draw –a small stage, upon which stood Fanny and her Friends. Fanny herself was posed with a microphone in hand – and just as the neon sign had depicted, her toothy smile was deeply unsettling. As the band’s lead singer, she had the fanciest outfit – a rose-pink dress whose frilled-lace skirt left her jointed-knees exposed, her bare arms revealing similar animatronic joints at her elbows and wrists. The dress was also cut low enough to show a surprising amount of cleavage, and at his current eye level, he couldn’t help but stare at her bare thighs. He wondered what was beneath the white frills of her skirt, but shook his head, muttering, “Dude, she’s just a singing theme park attraction.” Looking back at her grinning, rosy-cheeked face, he noticed the two fuzzy bear ears sprouting from her honey-colored hair, a dainty top hat perched between them.
Behind her stood “Chica”, a bright yellow animatronic dressed far more simply in a pink bikini bottom slung over her broad hips and a tight-fitting white t-shirt, the word’s “Let’s Party!” riding the swells of her very prominent bust. Similar to Fanny’s token ‘bear-ness’, she had a few ‘bird-like’ qualities, her full lips painted a chicken-beak orange, a tuft of cartoonish feathers rising from her head, her feet encased in heeled orange ankle boots. Even more animatronic joints were exposed compared to Fanny thanks to her skimpy attire, sizeable seams opening at her hips and abdomen, windows to the machinery faintly visible within.
The last of the band was “Bonnie”, a blue-haired animatronic girl with bunny ears holding a guitar, frozen mid-strum. She wore a black fitted teddy and a red bow-tie, a blue puffball tail pinned above a rump that, children’s restaurant or no, the designer had seen fit to define in loving detail. Her legs were painted a sheer color, as if she were wearing stockings, though the joints at her knees, ankles, and hips spoiled the illusion.
As Mike passed by the animatronic trio, he found it odd that they seemed to be the only things in the place untouched by dust. He spared another glance at Fanny’s skirt, his curiosity stirring once more. “I just gotta know,” he said to no one, “How sick were the guys that built you?” He took a step toward the stage, reaching out a hand to lift her skirt, when a sudden noise made him look up – directly into Fanny’s wide-eyed grin. Not just Fanny – all of them, teeth exposed in that same hungry smile.
Mike froze – hadn’t they been looking straight ahead? His eyes flicked between them, each animatronic girl totally inanimate, their eyes glassy, dead. Why was he freaking out? Was it really so unusual that animatronics might move, or even track people who got close? Nevertheless, Mike decided that the question of what was beneath Fanny’s skirt could wait. Sparing a few furtive glances over his shoulder, Mike hurried to the office.
No one was there either, not that he was surprised – a few monitors were set against the wall, all of them dark save one showing Fanny’s stage. A console beneath offered a simple bank of controls, a flashlight, and a tape recorder with a post-it reading, “Press play.” Settling into a creaking wooden rolling chair, Mike hit the ‘play’ button.
After a hiss of static, an emphatic voice burst out, “Hi there! I wanted to record something to help you get settled in on you first night. I’m actually on my last week here, on the day shift! Yeah, I got to switch after… l-look, not important. Let’s just focus on what you’ll need to get through this. Oh yeah, did you sign that waiver? Just leave it on the desk, I’ll pick it up in the morning.”
Get through this? Mike shifted uneasily in his chair, glancing at the waiver’s contents for the first time, noticing clauses absolving Fazbear Entertainment of death and grievous injury appearing with frightening regularity – especially for a kid-friendly pizza parlor.
“So,” continued the voice of the dayshift guy, losing some of that initial burst enthusiasm, “Fanny and the gang can be a bit… quirky at night. They might wander around a bit, which is fine. Your job is to make sure they don’t stray from the premises. Th-they need to be decommissioned, but the last time we tried that, hoo-boy! They did not like that! N-not one bit. There’s still stains over by the… So yeah, management is working out what to do next, but in the meantime, someone needs to be here to make sure Fanny and company don’t leave the building.”
Mike was sure this was some kind of prank. He glanced at the monitor showing Fanny, Chica, and Bonnie were all right where he last saw them.
“N-now, if you run into any of them, at night they tend to get a bit… cuddly. Which is fine. Well, mostly fine. Y-you see, they can also get jealous if they see with another animatronic. And they’re not gonna take it out on their friend, oh no, they’re gonna take it out on you. So don’t let that happen. You’re probably better off avoiding them altogether. Unless they’re trying to get out! But hey, the first night should be a breeze. Things tend to be pretty calm at the beginning of the week. You’ll be fine. I’ll have more for you tomorrow. A-alright, good night!”
Mike had no idea what to think. Was this some kind of hidden camera thing? A psychological experiment? He stared at the monitor showing the stage, looking for any sign of movement from Fanny and the others. Nothing. Mike hit ‘stop’ on the tape player and pulled out his homework and a pack of caffeine pills – at least it was quiet enough here that he could focus on getting some work done.
Throughout the night, he couldn’t help but keep glancing up at the monitor – and no matter how frequently he checked, he never saw the slightest change in the three leering animatronic band members. It wasn’t until hours later, when he wasn’t even watching the screens, that he noticed a flicker of movement. Peering up from his textbook, and he stared at the monitor showing the stage. Nope – both still there. Stifling a yawn and rubbing his bleary eyes, he returned to his textbook.
Both still there…
His head snapped up, and he realized that it was just Fanny and Bonnie on the stage. Chica was nowhere to be seen. He mashed the buttons on the control console, cycling through the available cameras – there! In the shadows of the kitchen, a dark silhouette stood unmoving, curvy enough to be the missing band member.
“Somebody is fucking with me,” Mike said, perhaps louder than necessary. “Well, I’m not gonna just sit here…” Despite his insistence, it took several minutes of watching the monitor before he worked up the nerve to grab his flashlight and head out into the kitchen.
At first he just listened, the fear of being seen preventing him from thumbing the flashlight’s power. Aside from his own breathing, there was only the hum of a refrigerator, the sound of the wind outside, then a faint mechanical whirring behind him. Mike spun and hit the button, a spotlight illuminating the colorful words, “Let’s Party!” approaching fast. He stumbled back as a very articulate animatronic female form pressed up against him, backing him up against a pizza oven as the soft material of her breasts compressed against his chest. Her purple eyes locked with his, a smile spreading over her orange lips as she said in an enthusiastic chirp, “Well… you’re new.”
Mike swallowed, looking for some sign that this wasn’t what it appeared to be, that this wasn’t a very well-endowed animatronic bird girl coming on rather strong to him – but he could see from her numerous joints that it really was just whirring machinery beneath her yellow exterior.
“What’s the matter?” she cooed, servos whining as she raised a thigh up beside him, sliding her bikini-clad pelvis against his.
“You can’t be real,” he said quickly.
“See for yourself,” she squeaked, taking his hand and running it under her tight-fitting shirt. ‘Real’ wouldn’t have been his first choice in describing the soft mounds beneath: perhaps ‘substantial’. Soft, too… and surprisingly warm. As he groped his way to a better understanding of his situation, the robotic bird-girl moaned several registers lower than before, her animatronics buzzing more loudly as her body began to grind against his, artificial nipples visibly stiffening around “Let’s” and “Party!”
“Oh god!” she sighed, “Fuck me right this instant or I swear I’m gonna explode!”
Mike found himself rather amenable to this request, but was uncertain about the logistics of it. He slid his free hand down the front of her pink bikini briefs, discovering the automaton’s fully-realized and rapidly warming sex. His fingers teased along smooth folds, soliciting a shuddering gasp and a hastening mechanical whine, sparks sputtering from the seams in her body. “Yes!” she squealed. “Now! Now!”
He had to hold her recklessly rutting body and its protesting machinery at bay to get himself out of uniform. Though once he pulled his shirt from over his head, he noticed a pair of red pinpricks burning in the darkness behind Chica.
“Of course!” piped a shrill voice, and from the shadows emerged Bonnie, her eyes blazing red, a mechanical hum accompanying every stiff step. “You could have had this sweet piece of cotton tail, but instead you’re boinking the first thing that crosses your path!” Her hand shot out, snatching a kitchen knife.
“W-wait!” Mike insisted, “Put down the knife and… you can join us!“
“What?” the yellow automaton pouted, her high-pitched voice developing a threatening edge as she pulled away. “You mean I’m not enough for you?!”
“Look, if either of you kill me, nobody’s getting laid!” he pointed out, Bonnie now well within stabbing distance, the eyes of both robots flaring red.
“Choose!” they demanded in unison from either side of him, folding their arms over their prodigious chests.
“I… uh…” Mike was sweating, looking for a way out. He took a step back, but his ankle caught on his pants and he fell backward on to the kitchen floor. The two automatons closed in, reaching toward him. Mike closed his eyes, hoping only that it would be quick – somewhere, a digital clock chime rang out.
After several moments of silence, he opened one eye to see the two automatons standing, their formerly red eyes now glassy and vacant. “Welcome to Fanny Fazbear’s!” exclaimed Bonnie. Chica added in an even higher voice, “I hope you’re having a pizzariffic day!” The two stiffly retreated from the kitchen in the direction of the stage.
He was dressed in a flash, and ran full speed at the exit, crashing against the door. He wasn’t entirely surprised to discover that all the doors, even the one marked ‘fire exit’, were locked. With a nervous glance at the stage where Chica and Bonnie were resuming their former positions (and where Fanny herself had seemingly not moved at all), he rushed back to the office, hastily grabbed all his stuff, and after returning to the exit and fumbling with the lock, he managed to get out the front door. He stumbled about in the pre-dawn light, his breath came in panicked gulps. “What the fuck is this place?!” he gasped, staring at the posters that showed the automatons capering wildly, each holding a slice of pepperoni pizza.
“I should call the cops!” he said to himself, walking toward his parked car. “The news, too! A pizza parlor filled with killer, sex-crazed robots. I could probably sell the story… get paid for it, even. ‘One night at Fanny’s’.”
Back at his apartment, he had his phone in his hand… but for some reason, he wasn’t dialing. “I need proof.” What about the recordings from the day watch guy? The animatronics themselves? Did the restaurant tape any of the surveillance footage? He decided it had to be more than that – he’d grab his buddy’s camera and get the footage himself. And he was very certain that none of this was because he’d get another chance at those very willing animatronic girls.
Besides, he thought, ‘Two Nights at Fanny’s’ has a better ring to it.
Night Two
Mike passed by the stage, pointing his camera at Fanny and the band. “Sure, they look like normal animatronics,” he narrated, “but check this out.” He pulled down Chica’s pink bottoms to reveal… a completely smooth plastic crotch? He poked it – solid. “She had, like, a full on… she…” Mike switched off the camera and hurried to the office. Had he just imagined it? Was he going insane?
The flashlight had been returned to the office desk, set next to the tape recorder with another post-it reading, ‘Great job!’ He hit play, the day watchman’s unsteady voice echoing from the speakers.
“See, what’d I tell you? No problem. I’ll keep this short though, they get more active as the week progresses. A-also, some slightly bad news. I mean, it’s fine. But… Foxy over in ‘Pirate’s Cove’ has started moving around again. And here I thought she was down! Foxy is… unpredictable. She’s not necessarily interested in ‘cuddling’. Stay away, if you can. If you can’t… she’s got this thing with her tail you could try. Oh, and don’t let her out of course! You’ll be fine. Well… t-talk to you tomorrow!”
Foxy? Mike cycled through the cameras, finding one with a stage marked ‘Pirate’s Cove’. But instead of another automaton, it was just a drawn curtain with a posted sign that read Sorry! Out of Order.
He set up his camera and waited, periodically flipping between Fanny’s stage and Pirate’s Cove, seeing no change in either. He was starting to think last night really had been some kind of sleep deprived hallucination. Sex-crazed robots? Please. He just needed more sleep. He thought those had been caffeine pills, but maybe...
“Couldn’t wait, could you?” a girlish voice sighed behind him – he whirled around to see Chica, her panties still halfway down her thighs – only this time, he saw the bright yellow labia of the hairless sex he had felt the night before. Machinery clicked and whirred as she sauntered toward him, hips swaying, her half-removed panties only allowing her small steps. He glanced at the monitor, seeing Bonnie and Fanny still frozen on stage. Clicking a button, he saw the Pirate’s Cove was also unchanged.
“Are those camera’s more interesting than me?” she asked, her arms reaching around him, jointed fingers working at his pants.
“Just making sure we won’t be disturbed!” He stepped around her, bending her over the console so he could keep the monitor in view. He hit ‘record’ on the camera he had borrowed, adjusting the lens to face them (he hadn’t planned on this being a sex-tape, but oh well!), then positioned himself to enter her from behind, when he started getting nervous about the open gaps around her hips.
“What’s the hold-up?” she asked, her neck whirring as she glanced over her shoulder.
“It’s just… you’ve got a lot of… open bits? I don’t want to get pinched…”
“Well if anything got into my seams it would be even less fun for me!” Impatiently she reached behind, grabbed his cock, and guided him into her animatronic pussy. Immediately her machinery began to hum, her body rattling as she let out a tinny groan.
Mike started slow, testing her hot, tight sex, her trembling body, finding she seemed sturdy enough - soon he was pounding away as she squealed with abandon, her chassis producing buzzing and crackling sounds as sparks shot out from her with every slap of her cheerfully painted plastic ass against his unrelenting hips.
Sparing a glance at the monitor, his heart stopped when he saw a figure leaning out from the curtain at Pirate’s Cove. A red-haired vixen in an eye patch stared at the camera with a delirious smile, two fox-ears topping her head; one was covered in fur, the other’s internal mechanisms exposed and hanging slightly limp. Her frilled blouse was open, and above her ripe breasts was a rent in her frame, an ominous red light shining from within.
“D-don’t stop!” demanded Chica, raising on her toes to force her shuddering, sparking hindquarters into him. But before Mike could resume his pumping, he heard Bonnie’s voice cry out, “And here I find you again!”
“Hi B-b-bonnie!” chirped Chica, happily bucking her hips.
“Wait, Bonnie!” Mike protested as she approached. “I’m just warming up with Chica here, you’re the one I really want!”
This had the effect of stopping Bonnie, but Chica seemed incensed, her flaring red eyes reflecting in the dead monitors. “Warming up!? How about I warm you up by stuffing you into an oven!”
Looking around frantically, Mike saw the flashlight and grabbed it, trying to wedge it into one of gaps in her frame, but none seemed large enough.
“Just what do you think you’re doing!?” snarled Chica, her playful tone absent, her hips freezing. Mike pumped desperately, reaching up under her tight t-shirt, teasing one of her firm nipples. She groaned, the red in her eyes flickering, her back arching upward, the seam at her abdomen widening – it was enough. He rammed the flashlight into the opening, jumping back as he felt a sudden shock.
Chica spun to face him, the flashlight still wedged in her torso which was emitting a terrible grinding sound, tendrils of electricity dancing around the foreign object. “W-w-wwwwarming uuup-p-p?!” she growled, eyes flaring red, taking a step toward him. Something inside her gave way with a loud electrical pop, white smoke pouring from several openings.
“Warrrminnnnnnggggg-“ another step, another pop. Her entire body rattled violently, her rosy cheeks glowing incandescent, white fluid dripping from her sparking sex. Her shirt was pulled back, leaving one yellow tit exposed, a tongue of electricity licking across her pink nipple like it was a spark plug, her breast jiggling with her mechanical convulsions.
“Ssssoooo wwwarmmmed uuuup-“ she groaned, her voice distorted. Mike noticed Bonnie was taking shelter in one of the exists, and Mike dove into the other, as the electrical storm coursing across Chica grew in intensity.
One of her hands closed around the flashlight and with a few halting jerks, she managed to pull it free. Chica squeaked an indecipherable phrase as electricity poured from her in a blistering fury – the automaton struggled to take another step, her internals groaning in defiance, and was then blown to pieces in an explosion of electricity and blue flame. Animatronic machinery and bright yellow plastic pelted the walls and ceiling of the office, a scrap of charred white fabric fluttering by Mike, emblazoned with the word “Party!”
He wasn’t sure how Bonnie would react to him blowing up her band-mate, but she only regarded him with a sultry smile from across the office. “You warmed up yet?”
“Uhh… just a sec,” Mike said, running to the console, cursing when he noticed his borrowed camera had been knocked off the desk and shattered on the tiled floor. “I’ll worry about that later!” He checked the monitor – Pirate’s Cove was empty. Another curse, he cycled quickly through the feeds, finally catching sight of Foxy, rushing through the private party area toward the office hallway, her fluffed tail swishing excitedly.
Mike sprinted toward the other exit, the animatronic Bonnie watching him in confusion, then rushing after him. As her servos churned, she called, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Away from Foxy!”
“Oh,” accepted Bonnie, adding, “She’s crazy!”
Mike considered hiding in the restrooms, but that was a dead end. He kept moving, rushing through the dining hall where Fanny remained stock-still, then found himself at Pirate’s Cove. Maybe this was the safest place? Would Foxy come back here before the night was up? He slipped past the curtain on to Foxy’s stage, Bonnie leaping on to the stage behind him, her tall heels drumming loudly upon the hollow platform.
Mike grabbed her and held her still. “Shhhh!” he insisted, her animatronics making faint protests as she squirmed in his arms.
“Don’t shush me! We don’t have much time at this point!” she pouted, “thanks to you and all your ‘warming up’.”
He brushed a hand against her groin and she quieted, servos whining as she closed her warming thighs over his hand. Lying her down on the floor, with one eye watching out of the curtain gap, he slipped his fingers beneath her teddy and worked her synthetic sex tenderly, trying to walk the line of her being both placated and quiet. At first it seemed to work; the small whirrs and clicks she made along with her delicate sighs couldn’t have been heard outside of the room. But the balance kept tipping as she moaned louder, demanding more – and every time he stepped up his efforts, she only made more noise.
“The thing you need to understand-“ he began in a harsh whisper, when suddenly, the curtains parted, and there stood Foxy – she was dressed in a low-cut frilled blouse, a red sarong tied at her waist, high on one hip so that her tanned thigh and pelvic seams were exposed, as well as a hint of white panties beneath. “What do we have here?” she cried, her one eye glowing red, her fox’s tail twitching.
“Almost th-there!” Bonnie moaned. “P-please, just a little more!”
Foxy crouched beside them, glaring at Mike. “Could you maybe hurry this along?” Leaning over Bonnie’s straining body, said, “Y’know, she loves it when you…” Foxy tugged down Bonnie’s teddy, then stuck out her pink tongue, flitting it over Bonnie’s nipples. Mike felt a rush of warm fluid over his fingers as Bonnie cried out in exultant joy, sparks bursting like fireworks from her seams.
“Now?” Foxy asked, her red eye fixed on Mike.
“S-sure…” Bonnie sighed, her eyelids clicking shut.
Remember what the dayshift guy had said, Mike quickly reached out and grabbed Foxy’s tail, giving it a gentle but firm tug as he ran his fingers along its length. She froze, wide eyed, a look of stunned bliss on her face as her exposed animatronic ear twitched uncertainly, the light from the tear at her clavicle throbbing. He repeated the gesture, following it with a slap where her sarong left part of her ass exposed. Her shapely body buzzed and ticked, blue sparks squirting from the open machinery of her neck. Feeling he had the situation well in hand, Mike sat up, sliding a hand beneath her panties.
“It’s t-too m-much,” she protested, her body quaking as he continued to stroke her tail, his other hand brushing her animatronic labia. “Y-you’ll mmmake me <ahhh!> y-you’ll mmmaaake me explode!” Mike worked her harder, faster, Foxy’s body quivering as her servos whined and clicked, heat coursing from her sex, her moans becoming frantic cries of pleasure. He could feel the electricity tingling across her, a burning electrical smell filling the air, her red hair whipping across his chest as her head swiveled and swung with impossible speed. “Y-y-youuu <ahhh!> willll mmmmake <ohhhh!> mmmeeee <nnnnngh!!!>-“
In this distance, he heard a digitized chime. In an instant, Foxy froze. He felt her sex ‘seal up’, forcing his slick fingers out of her while she abruptly stood, readjusting her blouse and sarong, striking a pose with her arms akimbo as her machinery quieted, then went silent.
Bonnie sat up robotically and, after fixing her teddy, marched in a stiff-legged gait toward the main stage.
“Please step off the stage, matey!” Foxy stated absently – but the tone was such that he obeyed without hesitation, feeling that even when the animatronics were in this state, they were far from defenseless.
“Alrighty,” Mike mumbled as he stalked to the office to collect his things, already formulating tomorrow's plan, “three nights at Fanny’s!”
Night Three
“What do you mean you broke my camera?! After one day!? Are you kidding me?!”
Mike flinched from the receiver, cautiously returning it to his ear once the shouting had stopped, “Listen, I can get you a new one, a better one, it’s just… right now I’m in this crazy shit you would not believe-“
“And what crazy shit is that?”
Mike considered telling him the truth, and even (for a brief moment) considered inviting him along to see for himself. But in the end, he decided the best thing to do was to keep his friend out of it. “Like I said, there’s no way you’d believe me if I didn’t have it on tape, hence my need for a camera! So… um… I know you’ve got another one, right? Maybe you could…” There was a distinct click. “…ummm… hello?”
He hung up the phone, looking at his options… the loss of a camera didn’t strike him as that big of a deal. He had actually been spending more time responsibly envisioning one-on-one scenarios with the remaining animatronics out of concern for his own safety than fantasizing about blowing the lid off of this Fazbear Entertainment… cover-up? Conspiracy? Whatever. That would still happen, of course.
And during all of this, the thought of simply not going to work didn’t occur to him at all.
The main stage was now only occupied by Fanny and Bonnie. “That should make tonight easier,” Mike muttered, noting the empty space where Chica had been. He watched Fanny apprehensively as he passed, the only one of the animatronics who had yet to do anything. Maybe she was broken? Or specifically not broken in the way the others were?
In the office he found no evidence of Chica’s explosion, save for a few scuffs and scorches on the black and white tile. It looked like the tape recorder had survived, a fresh post-it reading, ‘Keep it up!’ He hit ‘play’ and began checking the camera feeds.
“Wow, you managed to decommission Chica! I don’t know how you did it, but she was long overdue. Of course, the others are too. But best not to press your luck. A-and really, I hope Fanny doesn’t take it personally. Chica did great backing vocals. No, it’ll be fine.
“Sooo… you made it to hump day! You’re in the home stretch. Just… keep doing what you’ve been doing! Umm… OK. See you on the flip side.”
No movement from the stage or Pirate’s Cove. His plan was to subdue Bonnie as quickly as possible (she seemed relatively easy), get to Foxy, do the tail thing until she popped – then it’d just be Fanny left. Dayshift guy hadn’t given any specific warning against the lead-singer, so he figured she’d be simple enough to handle on her own. Mike realized he had lingered on the honey-blonde singer in her low-cut, high-waisted pink frills for too long, and flicked back to Pirate’s Cove – empty. He didn’t want Foxy to catch him here, since the first place Bonnie would look for him. But before he was out of his chair, he already heard Foxy’s servos straining at a feverous pitch from the hall.
Mike escaped through room’s only other exit, looking for somewhere to hide in the kitchen when he was suddenly tackled from behind. He rolled in a tangle with his assailant, ending up on his back with Foxy straddling him, her red hair hanging disheveled in front of her one good eye. “You’re not getting away that easily,” she purred, whipping off her red sarong with a flourish, her panty-clad crotch sliding to meet his stiffening groin with a faint mechanized whine. He reached for her tail, only to have his arm slammed to the ground, her right hand sprouting wicked claws. “I’m quite sensitive about my tail,” she calmly explained, her clawed hand walking up his chest, “and you were rather reckless the last time you got a hold of me, weren’t you?” A razor-sharp talon rasped along the stubble of his throat.
Mike swallowed, holding as still as possible. “I thought that’s how you liked it…”
“Let me show you how I like it!” she growled, tearing off his clothes as her machinery hummed in anticipation. She flicked her claw along the front of her white panties, neatly tearing a clean vertical slit in the fabric, and then drove his rigid member through it as she thrust herself upon him with a throaty moan. As she rode him savagely, he reached again for her tail, but quickly withdrew when she raised her clawed hand with a series of sharp snipping motions.
He diverted his hand to the frilled blouse that could only just contain her bouncing tits, a slight tug on the low collar freeing them both. Sparks shot from her neck as he fondled her, her hips faltering when he gave her nipples a tender pinch. Soon he was the one setting the rhythm, her servos only working in response to his own pumping, her once aggressive moans replaced by desperate, higher-pitched cries. With each subsequent thrust, Foxy’s machinery spun up louder, her head lolling on her animatronic neck, eyes clenching tightly shut, her poised taloned hand drooping at the wrist…
Mike’s hand shot out, taking hold of her tail and giving it a sharp tug; she gasped, her eyes flying open, claws whistling toward his face. Another tug and she froze, a ring of sparks flowering from her neck, the tips of the claws tickling the tip of his nose. His hand glided up and down her soft tail as it stiffened and thrummed, her hips bucking in stuttering thrusts as he felt the inside of her grow warm and wet, then hot and drenched.
“I-it’s <nnnngh!> I-t’s t-t-too much!” she moaned, electrical energy spidering across her trembling body. He gave her taut backside a swat and some component inside her trumpeted a surrender with an electrical whine. Her face froze in a dumbfounded expression, eyes and mouth agape, and she fell forward, white smoke venting from her seams. She landed face down with her tail in the air, Mike scrambling for safety as the noise from her internal workings accelerated to a dangerous pitch and showed no signs of slowing.
Suddenly, music blared from the restaurant speakers, a rousing stirring of strings, then an unfamiliar woman’s voice singing out, “To-ré-a-dor, en garde! To-ré-a-dor! To-ré-a-dor!”
Foxy stirred, haltingly picking herself up from the floor, her body twitching from an occasional electrical discharge. Her eye flared red as she turned it to where Mike peered from behind an oven. With no forewarning, she sprang, bowling toward him with her claws raised. He jerked to one side and she slashed, catching his arm before her momentum send her careening into a shelf of pots and pans with a thunderous crash. In stiff movements she righted herself, wracked by frequent bursts of electricity. Her teeth were clenched in a feral smile and he saw her eyepatch had been knocked askew, a second red eye glowing from within its metal socket. He grabbed a wooden pizza peel, holding it defensively.
“Toréador, l'amour,” the voice sang, “l'amour t'attend!”
Again Foxy charged, but the prior collision had damaged her leg, much of the workings now visible beneath her torn shell – he spun to the side, swinging the peel in a broad arc, its flat wooden surface connecting with her backside to produce a satisfying smack. Her eyes snapped wide open, a chocked and digitized gasp echoing from her speakers as she stumbled forward, electricity blazing from the point of impact, her internals spinning hopelessly out of control. Foxy pitched wildly about, her animatronic legs flailing out in increasingly desperate attempts to keep her upright as sparks shot from her straining mechanisms. She slammed into a table and collapsed across it, hands grasping its edge for support. She struggled to right herself, but her uncooperative animatronics only produced trembling gyrations of her outthrust posterior.
He heard someone humming along to the music, and Bonnie was suddenly beside him, grabbing the peel from his hands and skipping over to where Foxy remained bent over. Squaring her feet like she was going up to bat, Bonnie wound back with the peel and swung, halting mere inches from Foxy’s quivering backside: the fox-girl’s cheeks clenching the fabric of her torn panties as the wind from the swing stirred her fluffed tail, and she emitted a scarcely audible moan. Bonnie flicked the makeshift paddle the last few inches, the wood barely kissing Foxy’s bottom as Bonnie squeaked, “Tap!”
Foxy sucked in her breath, her rattling body covered in a near-constant field of electricity as droplets of glowing liquid fell from her quivering sex amidst a blazing fan of sparks.
Bonnie winked at Mike, holding the peel over her shoulder. “She likes it when you-“ behind her, Foxy exploded, sending Bonnie sprawling to the ground as the bits that made up the mechanical fox-girl pirate pizza parlor mascot showered the kitchen in metal and plastic. The music abruptly cut out, and Mike watched as Bonnie pulled herself up to all fours, giggling maniacally.
“All for me,” she tittered, servos whining as she began crawling toward Mike.
The singer’s voice cut through the sound system once more, a melodic “Tomorrow~!” echoing through the deserted parlor. There was a hint of command to it, one that Bonnie instantly obeyed. Standing up, she walked past Mike with a sway to her hips, smiling back at him as his eyes following her swinging rump – but despite the admirable qualities it contained, his eyes were actually drawn higher, past her puffball tail, to a gaping hole in her back, her humming machinery plainly visible as it churned away with every step. “Tomorrow,” she said in a low voice, placing a hand on her round hip as she returned to the dining hall.
Mike glanced at his arm, noticing he was bleeding where Foxy’s claws had caught him. With a sigh, he picked himself up and walked to the men’s room.
While rinsing off the injury, he considered that after three nights with nothing to show for his efforts but a bloodied forearm, perhaps it was time to call it quits – why not notify the authorities and simply walk away?
Just then, a treacly piece of muzak came tripping down the halls, and at first he thought it was the digital chime announcing the end of his shift. A moment later, he realized it was a music-box rendition of that ‘Toreador’ song from before.
Was Fanny mocking him?
After binding his arm in gauze from the surprisingly well-stocked medicine cabinet, he returned to the office and checked the camera. Bonnie and Fanny bobbed mechanically to the insipidly sweet music, their faces frozen in those vapid yet somehow threatening grins. The song ended and the two remaining members of the animatronic band settled stiffly into their default positions just as the digital chime signaled the end of the night.
“Alright, Fanny - you want a night four?” Mike said, jabbing his finger at the monitor. “You got it.” On his way out of the restaurant, Mike found himself humming the chorus of the aria, with a parting glance at Fanny who seemed to be grinning even wider than before.