Carolina Jones and the Spear of Longinus

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Tap... Tap... Tap... Tap... Tap.

The little drinky-bird bobbed up and down with admirable dedication to its purpose, bowing down and tapping its plastic beak against the wood of the paper-covered desk over and over. It displayed such rhythm that organics would not discover how to keep time like that for another thirty years; during what would be known by fembot historians as the Age of Disco.

As progressively groovy as the drinky-bird is though, its story is a tale for another time. For now our focus is about five feet away from the dusty old desk and on a mechanical woman tied to a wooden chair. She was obviously mechanical even at a casual glance, her skin-colored synth-skin broken in places by clean seams where panels and joints were. Her outfit was functional if saucy; a tight pair of short brown jeans and hiking boots, her top kept modest by a teal blouse with short sleeves. Her eyes glowed green and short, roguishly mussy brown hair topped her head. She set her jaw grit as she tried the bonds holding her curvy body to the chair, robotic parts whirring in protest every time her strength failed to burst her bonds. She called out in a chipper voice twanged with a hint of mechanical inflection. “Hey! I dunno who's running this joint but someone had better come in here and untie these ropes before... uh...” She froze for a moment, her eyes faintly crossing and a labored hum buzzed about in her head. “...processing credible threat! One moment.”

Just then, the door behind her flew open, interrupting the captive's processing. She turned her head to look towards the doorway as light filled the dark office. A silhouette sporting the kinds of curves that only a heinous villain-bot would be caught dead with stepped through the doorway. Wide hips with a waspy waist topped with a pair of generous melons. All of it a gleaming chrome, this fembot was clad in a pair of knee high stilettos and black leather lady’s breeches. A riding crop bounced on her hip and as her gleaming metallic body sauntered past the captive, she could see the dreaded symbol that confirmed the identity of her captors. A red band on the fembot's arm with a black reversed swastika and a golden hammer and sickle were superimposed over it.

Nazi communist fembots.

The chrome beauty had a hinged mouth much like a nutcracker, with a pair of ruby painted lips. Her eyes glowed bright red and she took a position in front of the captive, one hand on her hip and the other reaching up to adjust her ushanka with a series of quick, stiff motions.

The captive glared at the Nazi commiebot. “Doktar Carolina Jonez. It is goot dat you join us.” Her programmed accent was thick, sultry, deadly.

Carolina glared at the sparking beauty wrapped in a leather uniform. “Inspector-Kommissar Holt. I thought you were decommissioned.”

Holt let out a brief snort of derision. She'd managed to produce a slender smoking pipe tipped with a lit cigarette and was now casually puffing away at it. “Da. Ze giant gorilla did rip mein head off but as you can see ze rumors of mein demise have been greatly exaggerated. However, zees time no monkey business vill be comink to your rescue! Now...” Holt lifted her shapely steel leg and planted the heel of her boot against Jones' soft synthetic cheek, turning it as she put pressure down.

“Ze Spear. Tell me vhere it is und you vill leave in one piece.”

Carolina Jones knew exactly what the Inspector-Kommissar wanted. The Spear of Longinus, the very weapon used by Abraham Lincoln to defeat the alien invaders manipulating the Civil War and unite a nation. It was said that the powers of a demon, an angel and a creepy tentacle monster combined and infused into the mighty weapon, allowing its wielder plot-specific powers over life, death and the cosmos. With it, Soviet Germany would be unstoppable.

“Over my fried circuits, you you... you...” Carolina froze with a click, her eyes staring ahead, dull and unfocused. “Processing scathing comment about political affiliations and/or biting commentary about physical imperfections. One moment.” Again the loud buzz filled the air, coming from the outdated archaeologist's processors.

Holt leaned forward and lowered her boot, allowing a generous look deep into her gorgeous chrome cleavage, and planted the tip of her cigarette against Jones' forehead. With a twist, the flame went out and a wisp of smoke rose from where it made contact. “Cancel command and tell me vhere ze spear is or I shall be forced to resort to... interestink procedures.”

With a forceful twitch, Jones came to and sat up straight, her soft bust straining the ropes of her chair. “I absolutely refuse to tell you where the spear is! Even if... ESPECIALLY if... you resort to some kind of kinky interrogation techniques.”

Holt tapped her chrome chin, nodded once, then drew a pistol. The barrel was roughly jammed up against Jones' head. “Und should I choose to simply blow your processors all over ze wall?”

Jones' eyes dimmed as her eyes crossed to look at the gun. “Under those extenuating circumstances I may reconsider.” Jones had to think quickly, not exactly her forte, but thankfully this solution was so well-defined and programmed that it came nigh-instantly. “But... but if you do it that way you won't get to see the saucy lingerie that I wore for just such a situation!”

Holt didn't lower the gun but she did tilt her head and tap her chin, unknowingly keeping time with the drinky-bird on the table. “Hum. A tempting proposition... I suppose ze gun can always be plan B.” she lifted the black pistol and pressed it briefly to her lips. “Apologies mein little bullet-shooting führer.” She holstered the gun and with what would be an evil smirk if her steel lips could articulate a smile, leaned forward to slowly begin to undo Jones' top.

Carolina Jones couldn't help but admire how that tight leather jacket hugged Holt's curves. The way her breeches accentuated her backside. That sexy, sultry whir that her body made as she moved. Soon, her own synth-breasts were on display. Generous cups with a rectangular seam just above the cleavage, cupped by a lacy black bra.

“Doktar Jonez, you certainly know how to dress for an interrogation.” The chrome commie-bot almost purred as she spoke, reaching out to trace her cold metal finger against warm synthetic cleavage. Jones shivered at the touch, stifling a barely audible gasp. “Und so sensitive! Your construction iz so delightful.”

Jones groaned and struggled against the ropes. “You monster! I'll never tell.” The Inspector-Kommissar just continued to amp up her assault. Steel fingers claimed the edges of the bra's cups and pulled outwards until the clasp snapped and silicone breasts tumbled forward, jiggling enticingly and topped with pink nipples.

“Zhere we go. Now ze fun begins...” She used her robotic might to pinch down onto those perky pink nips. Jones squealed, her eye's green lights flickering rapidly as Holt turned and squeezed them like she was trying to dial in a radio. Jones' warm breasts pushed into those hard metal hands, her lips quivering as the evil commie-bot explored her. Holt's fingers spread and closed around those juicy mounds, squeezing in slowly and forcing Jones to quiver again.

“I-I can't take thizzzz!” Yes, even some light breast play was more than enough to cause Carolina Jones' processor to reel with pleasure. She was never at the forefront of technological advancement. Light steam began to rise from Jones' ears, her eyelids blinking rapidly as she heaved out deep sighs and moans. The sounds of buzzing fans filled the air and the Inspector-Commissar cackled with evil glee.

“Mmf, Doktar Jonez, I must admit that I quite enjoy playink vith your chest. So delicate, so warm...” At this point, Holt was watching her work intently. A dull hum could be heard inside of her chrome body, systems buzzing and coming online as she too became excited... and this was when Jones saw her chance.

“O-o-oh Holt! Unnnh! Nnnh, y-you know this is not enough, you m-might want to use that riding crop you've got with you as well.”

“Da! Good idea, Jonez.” Holt released those silicone tits and righted herself, back locking into place loudly, then turned away from Jones to undo the riding crop hung on her belt. Her wide, curvy ass was facing Jones as she went for the strap holding the crop to her belt.

At that, Jones lifted her feet off the ground and kicked her boots forward. The strong, thick hiking heels SMACKED into Holt's ass. The Nazi commie yelped out in shock and pleasure as she stumbled forward, her hands reaching forward to stabilize herself against the desk. Fortunately, drinky-bird's sweet rhythm remained undisturbed by the sudden weight. Holt's red eyes flickered independently of one another and her head spun a full circle. “V-Varnink! Sexual sp-spike detected!”

Meanwhile, the kick had pushed Jones' chair back and as she landed on her back the wooden chair shattered. This allowed the fembot to quickly squirm free of her bonds but by the time she was on her feet, Holt had spun around, the crop now in her hand. The Inspector-Commissar struck at Jones' hip but with deft hand Jones caught the weapon. She spun her wrist and disarmed her opponent, the crop now in her own grasp.

“N-now Doktar Jones, let's be civil!” Holt held one hand up defensively, the other creeping for the gun at her side. Jones was not to be fooled so easily though, and the moment Holt grasped the pistol the riding crop whipped out and cracked against Holt's metallic bust. The Nazi commie-bot gasped, her hinged mouth dropping as the gun scattered to the floor and steam rose from her cleavage. “Noooh! M-mein tits are very s-sensitive!”

“You've been a very naughty fascist, Holt! You've earned yourself a spanking!” Holt turned to try and make a break for the opposite end of the room but Jones grabbed her by the collar of her jacket. Forcing her against the desk, Holt moaned out with a clearly tinny voice as her breasts compressed into the wood, her body trembling as she clutched the edges of the desk. “P-please Jonez! Be gentle with mein chassis!”

Pinning Holt down with one hand, the other reached down to tug those breeches down, exposing a curved metallic ass clad in communism red panties. Holt groaned and rolled her hips, the embarrassment making the heat in her chest build and build... Jones pulled the riding crop back and with a clear smack brought it against Holt's ass. Holt's back arched, her jaw dropped as low as the joints would allow as her eyes blazed. “Noooh! Mein ass! Error, error, st-stimulation rising rapidly!”

The crop landed again and again, each blow making a clear metallic ring as Holt moaned out like a whore. Her shoulders trembled and smoke began to rise from under her ushanka. A metal bolt fired out of the side of her head, pinging against a wall as a steam jet fired from her mouth. “Pl-please Jones! I haff been a very naughty fembot! You are makink me so HOT!”

“You ain't had nothing yet!” Jones gripped Holt's hips and turned her over on the table, forcing her legs to spread. Servos labored and buzzed as wide chrome thighs spread, and red panties were pulled down to expose a slick, shiny rubber pussy. Jones leaned in and dragged her tongue against the slick slit, dipping in to briefly brush against her clit.

At that, Holt cried out, bending her back and grasping at her jacket until the buttons burst, her chrome breasts fully exposed and covered in a tight red bra. “Doktar! You are m-making my circuits go c-c-crazy!” Her head spun again, glowing eyes getting brighter and brighter as the steam rising from her head grew thicker.

Jones stroked again and again, plumbing deeper and deeper with each pass of her warm tongue. Holt was gasping for relief, fingers tweaking at the metal dials she had for nipples. A spring fired from her open mouth, a few bolts and screws dropped onto the desk. Her body trembled and buzzed. “Error. E-error. I am-am-am overloadink! Unnh!”

Jones' lips left Holt's sopping sex, leaving the chrome bot a spare moment to try and cool off. The reprieve was all too short as Jones laid a pair of fingers along Holt's slit. “Let's see how you handle THIS!” With a click, Jones' fingers buzzed mechanically with vibrating pleasure.

“A-a-a-a-a vibration function!? Zat is chea-aaa-ahhhh!~” Those buzzing digits sunk in deep, Holt's warm, wet walls squeezing down like a vise. Sparks fired from her open mouth now, her fingers twitching and grasping at nothing as her body shook like it was being vibrated from the inside. “You! You bitch! I cannot handle zees! Mein processors vill ex-explode! I'll be sc-scrap!”

Jones smacked her free hand against Holt's hip and watched her head rotate rapidly for a few seconds. Lines of communist code scrolled rapidly across Holt's eye lenses. “What's wrong, Inspector? I thought you were enjoying this interrogation!” Holt's only response was a pitched, squeaking moan as she trembled, trying desperately to not overload.

Holt's hips lifted with a whine and black smoke wafted from in between the seams. “I! I! I! Overload-load-load... c-cumming!” Thick lubricants painted Jones' fingers as Holt's cunt squeezed down with enough force to pin her fingers, then with a POP she fell against the desk, heaving... panting, her eyes flickering on and off. Despite black smoke rising from her lips, she managed to struggle to her feet, panties around her ankles.

Jonez. J-Jonez... I... Overload. Ex-excuse me. Excuse. I have to... rep-repair station.” Holt took a step forward, servos grinding, then another... each step was punctuated by a second of pause. She haltingly lifted a hand to her head, shook it a few times and continued to stumble. “I am goink to blow. Use-useless metal scrap... unnh! So hot. Hot. Hot.”

Jones admired those chrome hips as Holt tried to make it to the door, a wet mess still dripping down her inner thighs. Reaching out, she traced her warm hand against the now-hot metal ass. Holt whined, her head spinning again and her arms locking outward stiffly. “Noooh! Jonez! P-p-please have mercy! Any more stimulation at all vill result in mein destruction!”

“So I shouldn't...” Jones said, coming up behind Holt and peeling her bra away from her metal breasts.

“Jonez...” Holt said, fear in her robotic voice.

“Do...” Jones continued, her hands stroking those metal tits, fingers headed for those metal nipple-dials.

“JONEZ!” Holt's head was wreathed in steam now, and arcs of electricity begam to rapidly spark around her trembling body.

With that, Jones pulled away, mercifully sparing Holt. “Alright, alright. Just... watch who you kidnap in the future.” With that, Jones started top button her own top up and strolled off, leaving the sparking, steaming Inspector-Kommissar by herself, the only sound that of her processors and fans struggling powerfully.

“Zhat... was... t-t-t-too close.” Holt exhaled a blast of heat and steam, then leaned back against the desk. Her chrome ass pressed against the edge of the desk, she allowed her arms and head to slump...

Tap.

In the commotion, the drinky-bird had been jostled slightly. Just enough that as Holt sat back, its plastic beak tapped against her rump. A surge of pleasure raced through Holt's body. She twitched, moaned, sparked, head a blur as it spun and jerked side to side, a red glow building inside of it.

“Ohhhhh SCHEISSE!”

Her head detonated with a blast of smoke and light, her CPU detonating in the resulting fireball. Sparking from the headless rump, she pitched forward and landed on her breasts, ass tilted upwards and presented lewdly.

Meanwhile, miles away in Kompound 5 where the Nazi-Communist regime produces their fembot units, another Holt-model Inspector-Kommissar activates, stepping out of her charging station. She clenches her fist and shakes it towards the heavens in synthesized rage and fury.

“NEXT TIME, JONEZ! NEXT TIIIIIIME!”


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