Dead Dog Two
[Originally posted for the FCSWC contest]
Well, all it took me to seriously get writing was a monetary incentive, who could have guessed :mrgreen: Hope you enjoy, can't wait to see the other entries to the contest!
“Another day, another traffic jam,” computed the fembot. Although she had taken the additional time into account when calculating her morning commute, she still cursed these suboptimal humans and their inability to find an ideal state to 16-unknowns Gaussian system flows, something her sixteen 128-bit processors were quite apt at.
A pinnacle of robotics, she had been built by some behind-the-scenes cybernetic entity, and had been deployed as a secretary in one of the biggest microelectronics companies for 1 year, 5 months and 11 days now. On top of her inner workings rivaling still prototyping mainframes, her exterior had been designed and manufactured with the same standard of efficiency and quality. Shaped like a statuesque 5.6ft brunette, her rubber skin was airbrushed magazines models made flesh, devoid of any blemish, pore or mole. A strict white blouse was stretched over her perfectly sphericals, firm 32J breasts, and her hair was tied into a strict but luscious ponytail.
Her flawless design, shaped by countless market studies, was not lost on the gorgeous machine.
“It would be a shame not to enjoy such a perfect product,” she thought as she started caressing her firm breasts with one hand. Although her devotion to her constructor and the mission she had been created for was absolute, she still had a fair amount of free will, and her programming as a femme fatale infiltrator left her with quite a knack for self-pleasuring.
Since she wasn’t wearing a bra, part of her programming to quickly get close to her target, she could feel the lab-designed nipple stiffen under her blouse at the thought of her own magnificence, fighting the soft fabric. She softly moaned as she pinched the plastic bump, savouring her superior pleasure programming.
“No human woman will ever be this perfect,” her calculations indicated as she popped a few buttons loose.
As she slipped her left hand in her blouse and cupped her unrealistically spherical breast, she saw the wide-eyed stare of the adjoining car driver out of the corner of her ocular cameras. Making no sign that she had detected the voyeur, she smoothly pulled her blouse further open, revealing a perfectly round, creamy areola. After a split-second, the driver tried looking away nonchalantly, but the fembot’s biometric detectors had detected the increase in bodily heat and cardiac rhythm.
“You’re going to miss a one-in-a-lifetime show - you’re unlikely to experience such perfection firsthand ever again…”
But that brief encounter reminded her of her current situation, and she saw that cars were starting to move again. Snapping back to her initial task, she briskly sped up, calculating the myriad of little actions that driving in a clearing traffic jam required, looking for optimal speed in a faster lane.
But as her hand reached for the gear shift, her head stiff on the road, the car in front of her violently braked. In a millisecond, her CPUs decided on a proper course of action, and she slammed the brakes. But her abrupt reaction, in addition to her powerful car, meant that speeding down from 20mph to 0 was instantaneous, and extremely violent for all participating elements, herself included.
Her seatbelt creaked under the sudden weight, her plastic head hit the dashboard with a dull thump, and her ample bosom violently slammed the steering wheel, activating the horn. Although this would have knocked out or outright killed a real human being, the fembot wasted no time in sitting back up and cursing the other driver for such a reckless behavior.
Yet as she prepared to spit out a long list of finely-tuned adjectives, all that her vocoder emitted was an lustful moan. Taken aback by this unusual lack of self-control, the fembot realized that the pressure registered by the erogenous sensors in her chest had kicked her sexual routines into high-gear. And since she had initiated the pleasure cycle of her own accord, her programming did not see fit to terminate the processes, leaving her with only one way of getting back to her normal state: climaxing. Oblivious to the complications that were arising and slaved to her programming, she started spreading her legs and reaching down her crotch with her right hand.
But as her fingers made contact with her sensitive zone, the traffic around her sped up once more. Overcome with even more intense pleasure data, her processors took an eternity of 1.2 additional second for her to react properly and get her vehicle moving, still caressing herself with one hand. As she juggled the two calculations-heavy processes, her human behavior emulation were deprioritized, and its allocated computing power dropped to almost zero.
Although her perfectly symmetrical, built-in makeup face was now frozen mid-orgasm, her mouth in a perfect “O” revealing her shiny plastic tongue and her pristine, millimetered denture, her processors were still clogged by concurrent threads, missing critical information and computing cycles, leading to last-second decisions and sudden reactions, made worse by the increasing requirements of her self-pleasuring. Cornered by growing odds, the fembot’s already overblown synthetic self-esteem kept building up in regard to these despicable human roadhogs, making her more and more exhilarated by her ideal construction.
As her every motion and her driving was growing more and more jerky, she neared a major intersection, and traffic took a hit again. Enthralled by the feedback loop of her growing lust and her self-pleasuring abilities, she took a titanic 4.3 seconds to spot that the truck in front of her had been braking. Judging that she was unable to calculate if the two vehicles relative speed and slowdown coefficient were leading to a collision, and determining that such an event would definitely not turn out in her favor, the fembot applied to a common situation what would have normally been a last-resort action.
Still massaging her breast with one hand, the fembot violently swerved with the other to the right. Hitting the roadside barrier from the front at full speed, the front of the car folded like paper as its rear lifted up, flipping over in the air, crashing down on the other side of the barrier with great noise. As the dust cleared, it became obvious that both the car and its occupant were good for the scrap pile.
The fembot’s head had been disconnected at the base of the jawline and flung off by the shock, and was now laying on its side on what had now become the floor of the car, eyes wide-open dully staring, unmoving mouth forming a perfect “O”. Powered by a backup battery, it still emitted a faint lustful moan, although the once perfect, sultry husky voice was now heavily tinged with digital corruption. While the arm in charge of the wheel was now hanging limply, elbow bent at an odd angle, mechanical articulations piercing the silicone skin, the one tasked with pleasuring the fembot had stuck to its job, although what little input the weak and whirring motors managed to input weren’t registering. Her silicone orbs, although unaffected by the reversed gravity, had burst out of their overstretched restraints, and one had even ripped open, revealing its components gel sack and touch sensors under the rubber covering.
Inside her torso, what little of her CPUs remained were stuck on a loop, disconnected from reality, oblivious to the assistance and the witnesses that were approaching, and what it would mean for her mission and her manufacturer. All that was going on what was left of her superior mind was how this was all the fault of these suboptimal humans, unable to find an ideal state to 16-unknowns Gaussian system flows, something her sixteen 128-bit processors were quite apt at...