The Cleaner

[Under The Three AIs: The Raid]

Written By: DankeDonuts

https://www.furaffinity.net/user/dankedonuts/

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Complex #5 was the deepest-dug of all the mining outposts carved into the covetous rock of planet Vox. Embedded within the high, vein-streaked ceiling of its cavernous womb were the ever-present sigils of the Three AIs, alight with flood lamps. Its homes, businesses, office buildings and the like were comprised of a uniform collection of iron-black walls given individuality by the elaborate layout of light strips that adorned every edifice. Color and function intertwined, as befit the tastes of the community’s most fastidious deity.

There was wind in Complex #5. Always. Part of a natural cooling cycle caused and maintained by a series of unevenly-dug air channels. Never enough wind to set the light strips into motion, though. That feat was accomplished by the pulse of industry; the constant thrum of mining operations and the movement of its bounties and wastes. Accented by the tireless tread of hundreds, thousands of robots -- the sapient anthropomorphic AIs and the blockier, simpler bots -- moving from one place to the next, carrying on their individual ends of the cycle. The sonic dirge vibrated into each and every building, setting lights of all colors shaking. Its heartbeat permeated the slowly-moving air at all hours, an endless tide of white noise.

In the complex’s Red LED District, the noise of industry was drowned out by the melodies of leisure. Music. Grunting. Game sirens. Laughter. Their delights came at Nova Byte from all angles, standing at the top of the city’s newest brothel. The Velvet Array’s roof was set up like a drone landing strip, but was mostly used by its employees to escape temporarily from their own particular form of hustle and bustle. Nova was a rising star in what was itself an establishment rising from the ashes of bad deals and worse madams. The android Mink considered the irony of that as she sucked on a long e-cigarette set between ice-blue fingers covered in synthetic fur with the daintiest of steel claws at their ends. Super-conductive alloys embedded within cloth fibers provided a pleasant buzz when they chemically separated amid the diodes embedded in her throat.

The habit wasn’t doing her heat sinks any favors, but it made her voice nice and marketable. And added eye-catching yellow highlights to her pelt of very pale brown faux fur. She was dressed only in a bathrobe, a blend of colorful flowers that could be found nowhere on Vox’s caustic surface. She leaned into a terrace parapet and looked down at the territory she and her fellow sex workers had carved out for themselves. Five stories down, strutting along the aluminum-paved street, was a party of robots. A Doberman, a Unicorn, a Peacock, all of them configured as male. They were laughing and nudging their way towards one of the nearby burlesques. Nova waved to get their attention.

They were too busy goofing on each other to notice. So she flashed her tits. Big, round lovelies centered around bright blue nipples cast in exquisitely-molded silicon.

That worked! They looked up to her with leering eyes, half-drunk on ionizing drinks. She blew them all kisses, and called out, “Why watch when you can have?” She pointed down to Array’s main opening: a two-story high maw sculpted as a pair of spread-eagle legs, female. The figure’s genitals conveniently hidden by the neon banner bearing the establishment’s name.

Sure enough, their path diverted towards the Array’s waiting maw.

The Mink smiled to herself, quite pleased. She wasn’t about to cut her break short to scoop up their coins or cocks. But whoever got their arms, legs, whatevers around the lusty strangers, it was good for the business. The Array, after all, was still in the word-of-mouth phase. The building’s own music sounded from the main entrance stories below, and thrummed through the roof beneath Nova’s feat. Sleazy electronica funk; alright to dance to, perfect for fucking. It suddenly raised in volume directly behind her. A light series of footprints sounded towards her. Coming from the nearby door. The door closed, and the tune returned to its previous levels. Nova didn’t need to turn to know who was approaching her. Every sex-worker worth their pay had audio-analysis software enough to tell their fellow robots apart by sound alone. Nova’s were attuned to a degree that more than half the time, she could tell what a potential john or jane’s kinks were from the way they moved. A soft tap on her butt sent the sensitive silicon there jiggling.

“No assplay,” Nova joked, “I’m on my fifteen.”

“No freebies for an old friend?” Kernelle asked. The Chicken clucked in playful disappointment. Her geisha outfit ruffled with every motion, as did flightless wings covered in synthetic gold feathers. Nova was still leaning over the building’s side. “Now that we work for a place that lets us take breaks, I’m taking them. And enjoying every damned minute.” She sucked up another drag on the cigarette. Kernelle was leaning over Nova’s ass. “Yeah. Sure is nice to have our own place. And to know I’ll never have to set foot into the Black Brothel ever again.”

“Truer words were never spoken. And on the topic, I just sent three punters our way. Go get ‘em.” The Chicken let out a click of eagerness and turned back to the doorway. “Back to the jizz mine! If I fish up a gang-bang, would you maybe consider knocking your break down to fifteen?”

“Don’t count on it,” Nova laughed.

“Well, maybe I’ll just go fuck the boss a couple times instead. Gotta keep my Employee Of The Month numbers up somehow!” The music rose up. The door closed.

Nova set her cigarette hand against the armrest and took in more of the city’s view. A long, matte-black barrel slid silently up underneath her jaw. The majority was covered in concentric circles, each spaced roughly a centimeter from the next. Within these spaces were set coil of tightly wrapped wire. The tip of the barrel, which came to a stop no more than three centimeters from an unaware Nova’s synthetic fur, was short and bifurcated.

A single magnetically-propelled bullet exited the barrel all-but-silently, and made a very noisy mess of ending her life. The sides of her head exploded, releasing cone-shaped waves of debris that had been her internal components. Scraps of steel endoskeleton had been rendered red-hot by the energy put into their dispersal. Bits of motherboard, CPU and sensory hardware were already on fire upon exiting. These hundreds of sparking stars faded to black in less time hand it too for before what little was left above her neck slumped over dead-still forearms in a most undignified heap. From a nearly-emptied brain pan, slow spurts of lubricant reflected red neon.

The barrel retreated from the parapet. A gloved hand reached up and flicked the cigarette aside. A lone figure, sleek and dark within a suit and hood of not-quite-black urban camo, stood on digitigrade toes atop the sill of the third-floor window directly beneath Nova’s sputtering shell. The specifics of their form were obscured by the outfit, not a tail or wings to be seen. Nor any indication of ears, muzzle, or the like. But their body form could be said to be male, if almost too thin. Said being made sheathed their gauss rifle in a back-mounted holster and jumped back from the sill. He landed on the lower sill, catching the window by the sides, and withdrew a small magnetic wand. A click of an electronic lock later, he was swinging into the open portal feet first.

. . .

“Five for them, one for me!”

Pwanti Vekk stood before a full-length mirror admiring her dick. A long, jet-black monster covered in high-gauge golden rings that squeezed into her massive erection just right. The Hyena smiled wide and fangy, and gripped onto it with both hands. Pumping her way quickly to her favorite pace; too fast for an organic eye to clock! Her tits bounded furiously, and her balls slapped together loudly. Her long and artfully unkept hair shook about as though caught in a windstorm. She bent her knees just so, stepping into each thrust just to bring even more momentum to the one-bot party.

She was alone in the upstairs locker room, but she didn’t care who came in to see. To watch her paint the mirror with robot spooge. “I’m gonna -- ugnh! -- need a refill -- ugnh! -- when I’m -- ugnh! -- done with you!” Pleasure walloped the whole of her body, raw and seismic. The building itself reached its power back at her in the form of a soft chak! of a lightbulb exploding. This bolt of darkness came at the far end of the halfway which led tot to the door.

Another light died just as she jerked herself into a higher gear of motion. Focusing the light in Pwanti’s reflection more tightly upon her. Making her even more of a star! The night when she’d claim Kernelle’s title as the Boss’ favorite was close at hand! Her own hands were covered, now, in simulation pre, diamond-white and smelling of minerals harvested right here in Complex #5. The early-bird jostling of her jizz-tube against her cock-rings drove flashes of lust into her computerized mind that made her vision erupt in white pixels. And more lights failed with each cybernetic blink.

The last light in the hall popped away, and she kept on grinding. Pwani could feel the brothels’ embrace closing in around her. A luminous ball bouncing off of pristine lockers. She threw everything she had into ramming her rod towards the silvered surface of her reflection. And slamming it back with her jizz-slicked mitts. “Yeaaah, Velvet Array! You take it! And -- ugh! -- this! Whuh! And this!”

She pounded away and her mouth was warm and dry. Hot air was being ejected from her heat sinks as fast as it could be pushed out of her mouth. Frantic cooling fans added a vibrant timber to her further playful taunts. “And some of -- gruh! this!” The Hyena’s whole body swung side to side, as she took in the sight of her spasmodic unit from all angles. As well as the shrinking of her little pocket of light. Within her body, reservoirs of simulant fluids flowed from dedicated reservoirs, mixed together and were pumped into testicles that grew heavier with every thrust of her cock. Heavier and heavier until at last she could no longer resist the pressure. It forced its way out of her cock as long, thick lines of artificial semen. She moaned and yipped and pointed her member left to right, up and down and all around. The white stuff splashed against the mirror in many a place, and came racing down to the rim of molded copper and the tiled floor below. The whole of her body shook. Her tongue whipped sharply, captive of a lengthy and luxuriant howl of excess. “Awwwwaahahaaaaaaahhhh yeah!”

Pwani took in the sight of that glittering waterfall, soaking in the tremors and pants of an orgasm that was still following through. She closed her eyes to enjoy its final milliseconds in a silence broken only by her fan-driven sighs. And then opened them to find that there was only one light left in the locker room. The one directly over her head.

In the mirror, though a thinned gauze of ball batter, she saw someone standing behind her. A shadow of black and darkest blue. The figure was holding a screwdriver, long and thin, in their right hand. Its head was flat and far, far too sharp. A knife in miniature. She had only just registered this last fact when the final light went out.

Skrrrk! The blade entered her ear. Flashes of memory burst into the visual field of her HUD. The faces of her employers. Various body parts of the johns and janes she’d enjoyed. Previous nights in front of other mirrors. Days spend staring up at the icon of her patron AI, 02. Each vision died a violent death -- washed away in a spray of pixelated white light -- and was forgotten forever. Simply no longer present, no longer intact -- within the cross-networked drives that made up her automated brain.

The deeper the weapon went into her head, the less of her there was to calculate a reaction. Should she run? Fight? Beg? Scream?

Her self-preservation systems decided for her. “Gwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” The scream was absorbed by the gloved hand which had come up to cover her mouth.

Skrrr-kakk! The blade went deeper. Rending metal echoed through the wrong side of her ears. She could hear sparks bloom into being behind her ears. Taste the ozone that was belching out of her mouth. Smell the smoke which was funneling through her nose. Feel electric misfires run rampant through her limbs, robbing her of the ability to control her movements. Her legs twitched. Her hands shuddered with a rapid-fire jerking of all her fingers. Her shoulders and elbows lurched in discordant ways, throwing her arms into chaos.

Outside of herself, she felt… nothing. Not even the hand that held her head still against her flailing. Nothing but the bite cold, relentless metal grinding against the edges of her auditory canal, digging deeper still.

Sk-sk-sk-sk! Something vital inside of Pwani cracked. She went limp, her back falling against the monster that as killing her. Her hands, also limp, fell away from a dick gone soft. She screamed again, but felt nothing come out of her. Not even the hum of the cooling fans. Her body was gently, soundlessly set down on the floor, and she didn’t feel it. Or the touch of the spunk that had formed a puddle into whch her legs sank.

She could smell her leavings, though. Until she couldn’t. The last thing she heard, though the remaining ear, was footsteps softly walking away. The last thing she smelled was her head lighting on fire. Pwani’s final sight was of her eyes burning away. But by then, she had no idea who she was, or that she was dying, at all.

. . .

Two large breasts, cotton candy pink and covered in press-on pearls, sagged gently against a like-colored torso. Below them, a naked belly decorated in more pearls wriggled in frustration. Above them, a pair of pristine buck teeth sat in the middle of a slowly-growing frown. The Rabbit’s legs were crossed and her oversized ears -- longer than her arms and nearly as wide as her butt-cheeks at the ends -- were draped over either side of a massive collection of pillows. Just as her translucent night-gown lay open to either side of her body. It’s sheer black lace darkened candy-apple-red comforter. The other side of the heart shaped bed she was posed upon lay empty.

“Come on, already!” Syna huffed, loudly enough to be heard in the rooms to either side of her own. “Or, better yet, come in! As in, come in me”

No answer came from the which led to the sex-worker’s private chambers. No sound at all. As Syna’s favorite hooker was not a particularly quiet sort, it stood to reason that she had snuck off to some even more private part of the brothel.

The Rabbit groaned theatrically loud and rolled over onto her belly. The middle of an ear rolled over her back. She shot a rueful look at the Unoccupied pillow. “Fine way to treat the gal who invested a fortune into this place’s oh-so-secret start-up fund! And where did my generosity get me?! All alone in the VIP room with no-one to stick a cock up my assets!” Her tail swished unhappily.

“Get a move on, Pwani! Bring your glorious tallywhacker in her!” Her cry was loud enough to send some of the many table-mounted candles which surrounded the bed to whip backwards and forward. Still nothing.

“Fine. I’ll do the job myself.” She reached a hand between her naval and the bed-spread, and began working it towards an overheated and under-utilized groin. “But no tip!”

“That won't be necessary.” The voice behind her was odd. Processed. Too modular. Gender indeterminate.

Syna rolled back over, not bothering to cover her nudity for she saw no shame in it. Nor in affecting an even deeper scowl, for it had been well earned. “Oh, if she thinks I’m gonna be passed off to one of the rookies-- huh?”

She found herself facing a male covered head to toe in anonymity. His clothing dark and mysterious. His posture full of power yet to be released. Oddly alluring. The high-paying jane’s expression softened significantly as her eyes wandered his body. As slender and graceful as his silent entrance spoke to.

She spoke with the authority due her VIP status. “You’re not the one I paid to play with.”

The stranger shook his head. “No. Pwani’s been regrettably detained. I’ve been sent to clear any outstanding debts.” He reached behind himself with his right hand and pulled out a mighty weapon. A monster of a dildo. Black as the nights on the mine-world’s surface. Shaped in the form of a Stag’s cock, thick at the end and tarping to a conical tip. But with an exaggerated curvature, a repeated side-to-side swivel not unlike a whip being shaken about. In place of balls, there was a thick handle laden with buttons. The mystery man pressed one, and the phallus started humming.

Syna snorted the haughty laugh of a once-more-satisfied customer. “Then it’s time to pay up.” She wiggled her buns at him. “I always go up the ass first as a warm-up. Then we can talk about you filling other holes. And I don’t mean with that swizzle-stick.”

“I’ve studied up on you,” the stranger chuckled. “I know what you like, and what you love.” He moved to the bed, and placed the gently-vibrating cock against one of Syna’s thighs. The right one. It tapped against her silicon fleas at a lovely pace, which increased after the tapping of another button. She felt the concentrated Stag-tip slide down to the inner side of her leg, into the small gap between it and its sister. Then a soft pressure guiding her to open her legs wider. She obliged, and experienced the sensation of his fingers claiming the other thing. As a pair, hand and schlong ran slowly along her legs. Nudging them wider and wider apart as they crossed her knees, the roundness of her shins, and at last her ankles and feet. Their weight disappeared from her skin, and the fullness of his mass pressed down onto the mattress between her spread-eagle limbs.

Inertia ratcheted her legs down with him and inertia brought them backup. See-sawing her breasts into the mattress. The whole of her chest tingled with carnal power, and her loins were already preparing a wet entrance for a different rod than the one that began drawing circles on her but and around the base of her tail. Keeping her guessing as to where it would go next.

“Oh, you’re good…” Syna sighed, grinding her chin to a pillow.

“I always hit my targets,” the stranger promised, as the dildo dug into the space between her ass and her left thigh and started dotted-lining its way to the only ‘target’ he could be talking about.

“I might have to take you as another favorite,” she teased.

“We’ll see.” The tip touched the edge of her anus, which squeezed shut in surprise. She let out a squeal and bathed in a sensation of relaxation; her portal opening back up for entry. But first, he gave her a few more teasing taps about the rim. Making her close and open three more times before permitting her the pleasure of penetration. The whole of her orifice grew wider and wider, its edges expanded by the ever growing rod of dancing rubber.

“Oooh, yes…” Syna crooned, her eyelids fluttering half-closed. “Just what I like.” She also liked the way her pearls pressed into her funbags. Dozens of little friends working in concert to accentuate the pleasures delivered to her by the sexily enigmatic stranger.

The phallus reached full penetration and began a warbling march back out of her. She raced it with her hand, which reached the folds of her vulva just as it started pressing forward once more. Her silicon skin was hot, and plenty lubricated for the waiting. She set a rhythm to match the male’s, her fingers pressing deeply into the outer curtain and the valley which separated it from the inner.

He responded by placing a hand on her ass and squeezing tight. Using the leverage to drive his shaft faster and harder. She sped up in turn, matching him stroke for stroke. A burst of warmth flowed from her throat and she opened her mouth wide to give her heatsinks more air to work with. Before long she was sighing aloud, with her tongue ajar over her metallic teeth. Her eyes flustered, caught in a cycle of real-time visual and flashes of electric white.

In those white spaces, memories of the old days came. Back in the Black Brothel, she had just been one big-spender among many. Constantly on-edge even as she pursued her most intimate desires.

Surrounded by criminals and connivers. Her entertainments, her safety, lasting only as long as her cryptopurse was full. But here, within the sex-scented walls of the Velvet Array… Here she was the most important customer of all. An investor! THE investor! The very reason for the place’s existence, and every well-meaning and able-bodied sex-worker’s happy freedom from the scum who had once rule them.

Here, she was the one that everyone wanted to pump and please. To reward and pamper. In the Velvet Array, she could be a goddess! And to Hell with the three stingy bastards who wanted to hoard all the worship for themselves!

This affirmation of selfishness flowed into currents of pure bliss that cascaded through her whole being. When is met her fingers and toles and the ends of her ears, its charge came back a thousand-fold. The whole of her being spasmed. She squealed and wailed and trashed her arms. The cosmic roar of orgasm! All at once, her body collapsed completely into the bed, bereft of any strength whatsoever. The whole of her body was a blazing storm of electrical interference. Waves of agony rolling over each other, crashing into and amplifying each other. But she could not cry out; a gaping mouth remained silent. And she could not move from whatever was hurting her. She lay there on the bed, motionless in the midst of a torment so complete that she’d never known its like to be possible.

Syna couldn’t feel anything but the brutal pain. Couldn’t hear anything other than a gnawing static. But she could still see; the cameras behind her eyes were locked open. Their shutters letting in too much light for her visual processors to go on parsing. She couldn't close her eyes or tighten their internal shutters if she wanted to. What had been mere candle-light levels of immunization in the room slowly crept upwards.

‘What is… happening… to me?’. The question took too long to ask. She was thinking through a CPU turned to ice.

She saw, rather than felt, the stranger remove himself from the bed by the way her view bounced. The pillow moving higher and lower in her short-distance horizon. She saw, rather than the dildo being removed from her. Saw it in the motions of the shadows playing out before her. The contrast between the light and shadow was growing every instant. A hand came into view above her, and in it was the Stag dick. Quivering and soaked. The stranger posed it in front of her eyes, and she could not help but read the settings labeled onto the handle in a calligrapher's hand. A gloved thumb tapped one control in particular. Gave Syna time to make herself read it.

EMP.

‘No… NO!’. A terrified mind snapped into gear. The Rabbit’s imagination subroutine flooded her consciousness with all sorts of terrible outcomes. Any one of which -- or all of which -- were already happening to her. Her consciousness, fortified behind a wall of Faraday shield mesh of metals, had been protected from the blast. But the microprocessors which governed her joints had all blown out, robbing her of motion and opening her up to the sizzling agony all at once. The magnetic membranes in her ears would have burst wide open.

The static noise grew louder and the light in her eyes brighter as her extremities seemed to light on fire. Her fingertips and toes and the far edges of her long ears all became a blaze of cross-wired hell before vanishing completely from her senses. No, they were ripped away in the most excruciating ways possible! The storm of destruction burned on through the soles of her fingers, the arch of her feet, the rubbery edges of her ears. And then they, too, were gone! A final conflagration of anguish sent them away to oblivion, and the wildfire that had claimed them burned on. Legs are, legs, gone, piece by piece. Six electrical fires became one, centered on her hips, her shoulders, the back of her head!

Syna would have howled for death if she could! But not a single sound excited her motionless self even as the fire claimed her genitals and nipples; a pure hell for which there were no words. She continued to mentally reel from their destruction even as it came for her belly and back and everything else. The static began to dim. The light darkened at the edge of her vision, closing inward until there was nothing but two pinpoints of searing whiteness.

Leaving only her mind. Her shielded mind. A CPU that was now bereft of a power source. First would come an emergency downgrade to lower-setting. Followed by the long, long wait for the final shutdown. The noise was gone. The white lights had faded away. There was no longer any connection to her body, to the world, to anything. She’d have done anything, anything at all, to get them all back. Even the pain would have been better than nothingness.

But all Syna, the Velvet Array’s top spender, could do in her prison of untethered consciousness was wait for the end. And wonder in cold horror about what her murderer would do next.

. . .

Hot candle wax drizzled down Lium’s right shoulder. A stinging line of pain that left in its wake a long trial of happy tingles. The Horse could not see where the next drop would fall, not through the thick blindfold that covered his upper face. Could not guess what his Otter all was going to do next. The answer came in the form of a blot of heat falling atop his head, right where it met his ear. The wax curved around it base both ways, front and back, before solidifying against his russet brown skin.

His legs shuddered in glee, but could not move very far thanks to the wrought iron spreader cuffed to his legs, and the chain which bound that bar to the floor, and to his hands. Which were cuffed behind his back. His tail, though, was free to whip to and fro in response to the next several drops that came down upon him. Each one marching slowly closer to his extra-long hard-on.

The anticipation was brutal. Drawn out by a sudden stop of the wax. There came a soft hiss… Binah sighing as she calculated her next placement of wax? Then the sound of something flopping onto the bed. Glass and metal cloning against one another? Something being stirred?

“I love a mystery,” Lium told her, with a lick of his leathery lips. “Give us a hint, Mistress?” He rolled his head into his still-clean shoulder. Just enough to eek a bit of a view past it. He saw a gloved hand -- dark mesh instead of red leather -- holding a new candle. Its flame was bright blue and smelled bitter, unlike the Binah’s usual incense-embedded wax. He gave it a nice sniff, and decided he liked it. “Oh, a new concoction? Just for me? Thank you, Mistress!”

Before he could say more, a hand brought the blindfold back down. A finger to the underside of his chin directed him to resume his normal pose. High-backed and submissive. He did so, and a rumble of need climbed up his cock and left him as a spurt of pre. One of several that already decorated the wax-stained space between his knees.

The first drop came, just ahead of the bridge of his nose. This wax was not quite as hot as the previous candle, and it flowed more quickly over the contours of his muzzle. It was a bit of a come-down from the night’s buildup to the inevitable fuck-fest, and he wondered if his dom was tempting him to complain. Lium decided to take the bait. “The pain is there and gone, Mistress. I want to scream for you. Please make me scream.” Oh please, oh please, oh please!

A tap on his nose instructed him to wait.

So wait he did, in a quiet made of pure anticipation which lasted for a whole minute more as the whole of his head was coated in the slick wax. It dripped from his muzzle and rolled down the sides and back of his had to slither down his neck in thin lines. The feel of it made the thick upright rod between his eyes twitch hard enough to start giving up pre once more.

And then the heat started. A slow burn that tickled his nose and the length behind it. Lium squirmed, quite intrigued. Humming with soft delight as he analyzed the effect on him, trying to back-engineer the chemical signatures. Then the heat became sizzling. He jumped in surprise, and could not go far. The sizzling became burning. “Hey! What is this!” The words gave entry for the stuff to enter his mouth, and the rest of his head started heating up. Next, the burning became melting. Melting! He screamed, in genuine pain, in total darkness, and his muzzle was falling apart!

“No! No! Binah! What are you -- What’s hapag-- aaaarrrrgh!” His disintegrating mouth bled into his internal components, setting of rounds of fires as the rest of his head began melting. Lium screamed and screamed until his mouth collapsed utterly and the top of his head sank into his computerized brain, carrying with it the viscous, ravenous wax. The moment it touched his CPU, the world flashed white. Digital static that was replaced by a storm of molten memories. The walls of the Black Brothel, dark and suffocating. The endless lines of janes and johns that he was compelled to please to pay debts to employers where were constantly drove that debt ever deeper. Sneaking away with Binah and the others. Declaring himself free to pursue his own dreams, his own callings. The exploration of this world he’d been built to toil upon. Its dark and unpredictable beauty. But more than happy to make time to enjoy the Velvet Array, in between expeditions, and the bodies of his former coworkers. The last image he saw, before the fiery darkness took his mind, was Binah’s eyes looking at him on their first meeting.

“Hello, stranger,” the remembered Otter laughed, though the smile did not reach her eyes. Few ever did in the Black Brothel.

“Goodbye, Lium,” someone said on their way out the door

. . .

Bikky rode Terl’s cock like a pro. Her Owl wings were stretched out just the way he liked, high and hale. His big Gecko hands were on her tits and she was bouncing and hooting and making him feel just right. He… was… so… close! He bucked hard and strong, putting all of his mechanical strength into drilling her from below! She was riding the edge of orgasm too; the miner could tell by the way his favorite hooker started making bird-calls. Fast and high-pitched.

“Hooooo! Hooooo! Hooooo!”

He answered her with raspy delight. “Hurff! Hurrf! Hurrrf!”

There was no better way to spend a day’s wage!

She grabbed his wrists, shoving his sticky mitts even deeper into her rounded silicone. A raised area alongside one nipple -- her only imperfection -- was something he had long wondered about. She had only ever said it was a mark from an old employer, and always fucked him harder to change the subject.

“Hooooo! Hooooo! Hooooo!”

Hurrrrff! Hurrrrrrf! Hurrrrrrf!”

He exploded inside of her, pumping her full. Her head snapped backwards and she melted into a pile of discordant chirps. Only to then come snapping forwards, not just her head but the whole of her torso. Her lovely beak, silver-plated and superbly polished, collided with his lips and he started kissing it madly.

She did not kiss back. “Gurrk!” A gasp of lubricants ran out of her mouth to cover his.

“Babe, you alright?” he asked? That was when he saw the figure who had pushed her down. Thin, male, darkly cloaked. In the stranger’s hands, a long, metallic device which he was driving into Bikky’s back. Part drill, part sword; the cross-guard shaped like a drill bit and the ‘blade’ threaded like a screw.

“What the fuck!” The Gecko tried to push the fuckbot off of him, but the power of the intruder was too strong to resist. Bikky burped up more oil, and Terl left the business end of the blade pierce his belly. All the way through him it went, and down into the bed. Nailing him in place. A mere inconvenience for him, as no major components in his artificial gut were pierced; a lucky fluke of placement. But the hooker had taken the hit in a worse place. She was slowly convulsing, unable to call for help herself.

“Hey! Heeeeey! Someone! Help!” Terl cried, loud as he could.

The hooded stranger merely shook his head, and activated a button on the weapon’s hilt. The cross guard was shaped like a drill-bit. A mining tool like those Terl had seen many a time. The bit started spinning as it rotated its way down the threaded shaft. Terl shouted at the tops of his lungs, but no one came. Not when the bit noisily entered Bikky’s back and turned her insides to scrap metal.

“No! No! Don’t do this!” Terl tried to save himself, but the girl atop him was going nowhere and the bit was coming down, down, down. It entered his belly from either side and started making its terrible circles. Terl screamed until he couldn’t.

. . .

Barth shouted out a gleeful bark of joy and slammed his fist down upon his cock again. The red-furred Wolf’s well-used rod shuddered mightily and released a stream of white all over the security monitor. He howled a long and hearty “Ahhrrrooooowwooooowwwwooooooooooo!” and went right on jerking himself. His eyes locked on the only screen that could still be seen in full, with no haze of simulated semen in the way.

There on the screen before him, Kernelle was tittyfucking the hell out of a large, broad-shouldered Griffon. Clucking up a storm with her geisha robe down around her wait. Big handfuls of sideboob slapping up and down over his thighs, clucking up a storm that could be heard not only from the station speakers but through the wall just behind the guard. Barth yanked on as Boss Inyago threw back his head and let out a mighty Eagle’s cry. A two-fold flood of jizz rocketed past either side of the geisha’s head. Some of it catching in her feathers and the rest flying off to all points across the boss-man’s office.

“Oh, that’s a good one!” The Wolf cheered, not caring if he was heard or not by the targets of his cameras. The chair beneath him was pounding up a storm, anyway, kicked back and forth by his wild self play. While in the screen, Kernelle rose up and turned around, her face awash in spink, and sat down on her employer’s lap. Her sheath slotted around his dong and she was soon working her way towards Inyago’s next orgasm. Already going at the furious pace that had made her famous throughout the brothel. Barth happily slapped away in time with her bouncing booty, kicked even higher by the boss’ happy thighs. He hooted and hollered and huffed and suddenly the screen went black.

“What the fuck?” He leaned down into the dead black thing, and it took his sex-addled CPU several seconds to register the small, dark hole in the center surrounded by spider-web circles of force impacts. A bullethole!

“Shit!” Hi immediate scratched up and went for the shotgun under the monitor desk. It was gone! “Double-shit!” He turned and saw a shadow against the wall, centered by a tiny dot of black just about the size of a small-caliber gun muzzle. “Sh-”

Everything went black.

. . .

“Buhuk! Buhuk!” Inyago’s office door moved up and down, up and down in Kernelle’s vision to the beat of her and Inyago’s fucking. Her boss' mightily-clawed hands were atop her shoulder. His hot breath was on her back. His dick was a gigantic beast filling her up good and tight. She slid down its length and rocketed back up it with maximum friction.

“Buhuk! Buhuk!” Hot spunk ran down her gyrating chest and slithered down her belly to reach steaming lips and give it the extra little bit of lubrication needed to take the brothel-master’s monster. He threw her form back down onto it over and over again, and the bliss she was accumulated from it grew and grew until there was no room in her systems -- physical of heuristic -- to take any more.

“Buhuk! Buhuk! Bu-hoooooyeeeeeaaaaahhhhhhhhh!” The orgasms rattled her from foot to comb and his manic screeches shook her auditory sensors. The pair melted into each other, she leaning heavily into his chest and he letting his big-beaked chin rest against her head. The heat of their breath mixed together, mutual cool-down cycles having gone into effect, as she wriggled herself free of his deflating member.

Inyago allowed her a minute to get her heat sinks in order before patting her on the leg. “Break’s over. Now go reel us in some newbies.”

“Whatever you say, Boss.” She got up and walked to the door, sliding her kimono back up over her shoulders as she did so. There was no denying the stagger in her step. The wondrous mix of exhaustion and gear wear. She told herself she’d go check on Nova before getting back to work, and her legs would thank her for it. And her hips. And everything else.

She exited the room and closed the door back up, leaving her in the security post. Where she was strangely alone. Not so strange was the smear of jizz along the security console. “Watching me again, Barth?,” she laughed, “I’m going to have to start charging you for the show! I suppose you went off to clean yourself up, but you should have started with that.” With still a slight imbalance to her walk, and using the furniture to support her weight, she meandered over to the cooling pool of spunk. She dipped a ringer into it, and brought up a gooey sample. This she set onto her tongue to savor, while her eyes lazily flitted about the room.

It was the dark screen that managed to hold her attention. For how could the brothel’s horniest security chief play voyeur with nothing to watch? She leaned towards the panel, not caring if her whole hand set down in semen. “This is no malfunction. Is that… Oh, no!”

A hand slapped over her beak, stifling her scream and pressing her head back against something flexible. Her hand rocketed towards the silent alarm, but the whole of her body was leveraged backwards, denying her reach. She tried to kick her assailant, and felt her other leg kicked out from under her. Silent and quick, she was brought to her knees. She knew she was dead, and could only brace herself for the expected method. The one that had taken so many of her ‘unruly’ pals in the old days, back before Pwanti and Liam organized the mass escape.

“Fuck you,” she murmured into the hand of her murder, and closed her eyes so that she would not have to see the room snap around. Could deny her murderer the sight of fear in her eyes.

Instead of a broken neck, Kernelle felt an odd tickling in her back. Something was connecting to the small of her neck, the diagnostic access port located there. A flood of ones and zeroes drove their way into her mind, spelling out a passcode authorization stamp that she never knew existed. Her body went perfectly limp, and she was on her back looking up at the ceiling. And pieces of a dark-clothed specter who was stripping the kimono from her belly. His hand-tool contacted her clavicle, and more binary code entered her mind. Gave orders that she could not resist. She opened up her belly plates, precision-crafted silicon skin peeling away seamlessly to allow the parting of two dual-hinged panels. She could not see his hands, but she could feel herself being hollowed out. Watch the parade of wires and hardware being risen up into view only to fall aside in a pile beside her. And then something heavy was placed into her. She could almost guess what it was, but the code running in her mind would not let her complete the thought. Because once could describe the invader to herself, she could begin calculating responses to it.

The killer, the assassin, signaled her systems to reclose her belly, and she did so. Then he waved his remote reprogrammer in her eyes. Her HUD was washed over in new programs. New directives. New safeties and counter-measures. She still could not define what was inside her, but she knew that whatever it was, it would -- it must -- be the end of Boss Inyago and the Velvet Array with him.

She wanted to cry, but her new set of parameters would not let her.

. . .

In the luxurious nest that was his personal office, on the far side of the bed, Inyago sat at a bank of monitors embedded into his desk. Rapidly typing away at several financial programs at once. Calculating the day's profits, selecting future investments, ensuring the economic security of his many employees. Doing so as unclothed as he was when he’d been fucking his number-one star. He hadn’t even patted his feathers down.

He preferred doing financial work naked. For the Griffon, there was no greater foreplay than shepherding the future of his new enterprise. Why bother getting dressed, when he was just going want to go fuck someone else in the near future? Maybe he’d spend more time getting to know one of the other fillies in his stable -- fully paid, with generous tip! Or maybe he’d make a hospitality gift of himself to one of the lovely customers currently inhabiting his domain.

A high-pitched buzz drew his attention back to the door that Kernelle had just left through. Beside it, a light panel flashed green twice. The door opened, doubtless unlocked from the other side by his Security man. Through it walked Kernelle, her kimono (unfortunately) fully closed around her lovely form. She still smelled of the spunk he’d pumped into and onto her. His favorite perfume!

The boss man stood up from his desk, deliberately allowing his groin to enter her field of vision. “Forget something, gorgeous?” he laughed.

She reached out with both hands, in the direction of his naked wang, and came shuffling closer. Her steps, if anything, were even clumsier than when she’d left him minutes before. Had she sucked down a four-pack of ionizers in the past few minutes? She spoke not a word, but her mouth moved as though mumbling something too soft to hear. There was a look of absolute need in her eyes, a relentless determination.

“Well, if you insist…” His dick rose up to say hello. Its surface was covered in the approximation of veins, all of them loaded with sensory wires. They throbbed happily, primed by the relative coolness of the air upon the silicone skin which encompassed them.

The Chicken rounded the desk and pressed her hands against his fatherly chest. She knelt down, her clawed fingers sliding down to his hips, and knelt right down before his favorite appendage. She embraced it with her beak, swallowing it whole. She explored its contours with her tongue as the sweet vacuum of suction began and the grip of her hands tightened. The tip of her lower beak pressed into the tender line that would soon be filling her with more of his seed. She moaned into him, and he cooed back at her.

She picked up her pace, and he put his hips to work. Pumping his cock into her moist expanse. Her hands seized his ass and squeezed hard. Harder than she ever had before. One held tight, and the other went down his leg. She was truly a master of her craft, and he rewarded her skill with spurt after spurt of his pre. Which she gulped down with noisy abandon, ever hungry for more.

Fantastic tension built up in the Griffin’s gears, centered on his frictive shaft. Just as she was about to bring him over the edge… Kernelle stopped. Her head, her mouth, her hands, everything, frozen in place. She had him pinned to her by the ass and the dick. Her left hand was now flat against the ground. A clench later, and her claws were dug deep into the floorboards and the silicone foundation of his butt both.

“Ow! You know I don't like the rough stuff, Kernelle!... Kernelle? Kernelle!? Are you online?” He tried to shake her into some form of consciousness and failed. Tried to rip himself free of her, but that would have cost precious real-estate from his own body. “Dammit, woman! What are you doing! What are--”

The door opened. A man stepped forth, sleek and dark and camouflaged. Inyago recognized the Sphinx Cat before he even removed his mask. And even if they’d never met before, there would be no forgetting the singular array of dark brown splotches upon his otherwise sand-colored silicon skin. In his hand, was a detonator. The top button of which pulsed an ominous red.

The Griffin’s eyes narrowed into lines of purest hate. “Arvin.”

The Sphinx nodded. He spoke without his modulator, a voice cool as it was corrupt. “Inyago. You knew this day was coming.” Murderously bright green eyes darted down to the Kernelle’s head. Too briefly for any response on the Griffin's part to change things. “I thought I’d let you do some coming first. Shall I let her finish? Send you both off with a bang, as it were?”

Her cheeks were soaked in oily tears. She couldn’t help being that she’d been turned into, that was clear. Inyago patted her head. “Let her go.”

“Oh, I’m about to,” Arvin grinned, waving the detonator. “But no, your rebel princess will not survive hearing my voice. But don't worry about your stable, what’s left of it. I’ve killed enough to make the example I had to. The rest will live, conditional on you not doing anything to harm me or save yourself. They are, after all, more useful to the Black Brothel alive and fully functional. More profitable.” Rage trembled across the brothel-master’s frame, but he did not move from his spot. “They’ll fight you.” Arvin shook his head. “No, they won’t. Our agent is already in place here. In the aftermath of your death, they will reorganize your resistance. Claim the loyalty of anyone who won't come crawling home to accept their punishments. Mold them back into service on our terms, piece by piece. And they won’t even see it happening.”

“Death by a thousand cuts,” Inyago snarled.

“... Can be just as effective as the bomb inside that whore’s chest. So I ask again, do you want to be finished off before you go?”

Inyago looked down to Kernelle again. The hope was gone from her eyes, but not the lust. The endless hunger that she had simply wanted to sate on her own terms. Inyago nodded at her, and at their killer.

. . .

Arvin flicked a button that restored the Chicken’s mind, but not complete control of her body. Just enough that she could start sucking in earnest. The owner of the dick in her mouth gave all of his attention, all of his body, to her.

Arvin turned, and walked out the door. Closed it behind himself. Used the transmitter on his detonator to listen in on the final coupling as he made his way to a pre-arranged exit in the brothel’s sub basements. The Griffin grunted and squawked his pleasure. His woman clucked and gobbled and slobbered. They shook together and slipped into a joint panting. Arvin gave them enough time to lock eyes in parting before pushing the button.

KRABOOOOM!!!

Two floors above him, an office became a crater. Under a cloud of dust and debris raining down from the ceiling, the assassin slipped behind a hidden door. Never to be seen by the prostitutes and clients who would rush to see and learn the cost of defiance. From a nearby alleyway, he watched the authorities arrive in their armored tanks to make blind fools of themselves. His mask back over his face, and a long smile on his unseen lips.

The Black Brothel’s future, its stranglehold on the planet’s very lucrative sex trade, was secure.