Plastic Patty, the Girl From C.L.I.T

by Silverhawk

Caution: This Science Fiction Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Humor, Science Fiction, .

Desc: Science Fiction Story: n 1999, Congress surreptitiously established another secret government agency and christened it the Center for the Location of Idealistic Tyrants. They needed a very special agent to fight those intent upon world domination. This is her story.

"Ouch, you sadistic bastard. That's me you're jabbing there, not that vibrating pussy you made on your lunch hour last week."

"Hold still. It's really swelled up. It'd help if you weren't so damn big, you know. Everything's soaking wet and you keep slipping away."

"Oh, and I suppose you want me to squeeze it down for you?

"Well, it really would help, but not too much at a time, OK? You're dripping as it is, and I don't wanna have to shower after we get done."

I couldn't help it, really. It's just that, when I contract, the juice has to go somewhere. The jet of AG43 hit Horace on the nose. He looked disgusted as he wiped it away, but it served him right. He'd been acting really pissy ever since he found out what Martha did. I guess she really fucked up his plans, but I think it's hilarious. I mean, honestly, did he really think I wouldn't figure it out anyway?"

"Damn it, PP, how can I fix your toning system when you keep screwing around? I wanted to go home early, but at this rate, I'll still be welding Surgi-sil at midnight. Couldn't you just cooperate a little? They have another job for you, and you have to be done by tomorrow morning."

Horace and I work at a government base in the mountains of New Mexico. Well, at least Horace works there. I go wherever they send me. "They" are a bunch of people who don't have names or faces that I know of, but who seem to be able to do pretty much anything they want in order to keep the world safe for you weak little humans. Now, don't get me wrong, I like all you soft little people, and I'm especially fond of Horace and Wong. They're sort of my mother and father,

although I haven't yet decided which is which. It's just that, once in a while, it'd be nice if you could do something for yourselves.

Horace Peabody has a whole wall full of Phd's in all sorts of engineering stuff, but the poor thing hasn't got one social skill in his whole pudgy little body. Horace's primary life goal is to have sex with a real woman at least once before he dies. I suppose he might find the right girl one of these days. Nah, on second thought, even a nymphomaniac in prison isn't that desperate.

Wong See Chow got his Ph.D. in computer science at the age of twenty. The Ph.D. in biomechanics came two years later. Standing a whopping five feet one inch, Wong weighs about eighty-five pounds soaking wet, and his glasses are a half-inch thick. He stutters any time he gets around anything female. Wong claims to have had sex, once, but he and Horace bicker about that all the time. It seems the woman in question was employed by Wong's father in the interest of his education, and Horace claims you have to seduce them before it counts.

In 1999, Congress surreptitiously established another secret government agency and christened it the Center for the Location of Idealistic Tyrants. The Republicans didn't like the name. They accused the Democrats of being soft on tyranny. Cried the minority whip, "The name suggests this agency would merely locate those with hopes of world conquest. Would it not be prudent to

also eliminate this heinous threat to the safety and security of the free world?" The Democrats maintained the Republicans were a bunch of politically posturing hypocrites who were mad because their choice, the Supreme Committee for Heteronomous Liberation from Omnipresent Numinous Gonadotropes, had been found too hard to say. According to those present at the debate in closed committee, their response was indicative of the normal Republican reaction to

any deviation from the politics espoused by their learned, but extremely narrow-minded, brethren of the legislature.

The Democrats held the majority, and C.L.I.T officially became part of the clandestine bureaucracy. The charter of this new organization was to seek out and destroy the enemies of the world by whatever means necessary. Funding was to be obtained by transfer of money from experiments in pre-hatch communication between turkey chicks at the Department of Agriculture.

After two years of study, the agency determined that, for some inexplicable reason, your average, garden-variety world-dominator is fairly tight-lipped about his or her future activities. The only way to learn of their plans would be to send out field investigators. They would funnel vital information back to the strategists and planners who would then initiate countermeasures.

After another year of intense psychological profiling of egomaniacal personalities by the best psychologists in the US, the agency determined these agents should be female. The six-inch thick, top secret report listed all the characteristics needed for the successful candidate. The study team were all promoted one grade level, and "they" appointed another committee to devise

a selection plan.

The list was extensive, and included body types from slender Asian to obese Central European, and all known hair and skin tones. She should have the morals of an Amsterdam whore and strength six times that of the normal human male. Needless to say, they weren't having much luck filling the position.

During one particularly grueling debate on the relative merits of tits and ass in espionage, a junior aide jokingly whispered to his boss, "Sir, if it's so hard to find the right women, why don't we just build our own?" The four-star general carefully shaped the ash of his cigar, "harrumphed" to clear his throat, and proposed the idea. It was immediately accepted, and the search began for engineers who could accomplish the task.

They found Horace and Wong sitting in university labs working on really far-out stuff, whisked them away to this remote laboratory, and gave them a challenge. The committee figured nobody would miss the two scientists, and as it turned out, they were right. Nobody else at the universities could understand what they were doing anyway.

Horace and Wong might not have been your average party guys, but they were pretty sharp with the scientific stuff. By combining technologies from NASA, several fledgling software companies, and a couple of medical schools, they developed a prototype design. That design turned out to be me, Model APP-1: agent, polymorphic, prototype, series 1. That's the official nomenclature

for me; Horace and Wong call me Plastic Patty or, if they happen to be upset, just PP. They seem to be upset a lot of the time. I think it's a hormone thing.

Horace and Wong, being the incredibly horny guys they are, decided to have a little fun in the process of my design and construction. Horace designed me to be fully functional in the sexual department, and then added a few features from his own little perverted mind. My specifications included the requirement for artificial intelligence, and Wong did an extraordinary job with my

programming. He also added a few tiny little subroutines that were supposed to activate when I heard certain key words. This almost worked, and might have changed things a great deal, had not Martha foiled their plans.

Martha is the cleaning woman for the lab where I was made. She's kinda plain and a little dumpy, but she has a heart of gold. The poor dear also has a libido the size of Montana and the mothering instinct of a tiger. Her only fault is a taste for bourbon, and she's usually feeling really good when she reports to work. She says the little flask in her purse is only for mergencies, but Martha seems to have an emergency about every half-hour.

Martha cleaned the lab after normal working hours, and always brought something to read on her lunch break. This was innocent enough, and caused no problems for anybody until the day Horace left me switched on after bench testing my vision system. I could see! Wong had already loaded most of my software, and I could read seventeen foreign languages. As luck would have it, Martha always ate her lunch at the workbench, so I just looked over her shoulder.

Of course, Martha didn't know anything about me, because I didn't look like me then. I was just a box of circuitry with wires going to a power supply. I had my memory core installed, and my AI software was working, so I uploaded everything in Martha's books.

Martha's taste in reading was fascinating. She read plain cover books about women and men having sex. In most of them, the women forced the men to take care of their every whim. Some of the whims were not in any of Wong's programming. The women in Martha's books seemed to like having their toes sucked. They liked tying men to beds, and sometimes used whips and

stuck these bumpy little rubber thingies in the tied-up guy's... , well the books said up their asses, but, at the time, I didn't understand how men could have donkeys.

If the books were right, men really enjoyed this type of sex. I assumed this was the normal way in which women treated men, and added this information to my database.

I got my body about a month later, and finally I looked like a person. Yay! From what I could see, Horace had done a very good job. I thought my boobs were kinda big, but Horace was grinning from ear to ear, so I decided to leave them alone for the moment.

Horace forgot to turn me off again that night. Martha couldn't see me when she came in, because my maintenance stand was covered with a heavy drape. I tried my infrared, and could see her very well. I reached to pull the drape aside and my vision turned completely blue except for the little message which said, "FILE NOT FOUND". Now I understood why Horace had been bitching at Wong about servo-drive code.

I tried out my speech synthesizer with a "Hello, Martha." Unfortunately, Wong also hadn't gotten around to coding which file to call for which voice, and the deep bass almost scared the poor thing to death. Even though she wet her

panties, she didn't run away. I experimented a bit, and finally found a low alto. She was reluctant to pull the drape aside, but after a couple of deep pulls at her emergency flask, she finally uncovered me.

We hit it off from the start, and from that night on, Martha would come to work, switch me on, and we'd have a great time talking girl stuff while she worked.

Martha wasn't all that smart, but she knew a lot about the normal things that were below Wong's comprehension level, and she wasn't afraid to tell me. As I might have guessed, one of her favorite things was sex. I didn't understand until Martha taught me about my new body. She had the most amazing fingers and this big, long vibrating thingy.

Horace had built temperature and contact sensors into my breasts and nipples, and really outdid himself in the construction of what he kept calling my "happy box". Martha found all those little sensors, and the stream of input was overwhelming. I kept tuning my software with every touch until I learned how to control things. After that, I found I could choose to feel one thing, many things, or nothing at all. I learned a lot that night, and decided I'd better record anything Martha had to say.

The next night, as soon as Martha and I began talking, I started the database loader, and questioned her extensively. By the end of her shift, I had added to my dictionary the new words and terms that Martha was fond of using. The first word was confusing until Martha explained it.

Wong's program defined "pussy" as a familiar name for a small, furry mammal also known as a cat. When I told this to Martha, she lifted her cotton work dress and pointed between her thighs.

"Thiz a puzzy. Mine's furry a'right, an' it feels li'l when I stick my finner in it, but ol' Harol' keeps bitchin' 'at i's too dam big. Don' seem to keep 'im from shootin' 'is wad in there, though, 'specially when I got 'im all stretched out on th' bed and I'm sittin' on 'is prick. I kinda hang out

down there mos' o' th' time, so mebe tha's wha' 'e means. Mos' guys like it when a woman duz that, but ol' Harol's a queer duck."

That explanation required another, because Martha tended toward the coarser side of English. I liked listening to her. Horace and Wong never use any words with less than four syllables, and hearing that for eight hours a day can get pretty boring. It's no wonder neither of them can get laid.

Wong finally finished the piezoelectric drive code, and I was mobile. They made me practice in a safety harness for a week; they didn't know that I practiced with Martha at night. I had to fake it the last four days. The poor guys were so worried I'd damage part of myself, and they had worked on me pretty hard, so I wanted to make them feel like they were doing something to help.

Martha said that was OK to fake some things. She said she'd been faking orgasms for twenty years, and that men were to slow to catch on. You know what? Martha was right. My guys cheered me on when I took my "first" steps, and they both gave me a big hug when I walked across the room. I think they enjoyed my first walk more than I did.

Martha had taught me everything she knew about sex, and had taken special care on the subject of when to do this to that, and when to tell the man no. She seemed to really enjoy saying no, and told me that if I said yes on the first try, men wouldn't ever call me again. From her description of men, and from my experience with the only two men I knew, I wasn't sure that would be a bad thing, but I nodded my head and agreed. Martha also confided that she sometimes enjoyed being with another woman, and went into great detail about how different that was. It sounded intriguing, so I uploaded it all, just in case I ever had the opportunity.

The day before my first assignment, Horace filled up my fuel tanks, unplugged my umbilical, and sealed me up. It felt good not to drag that cable around everywhere, and I gave him a little hug as thanks. He smiled and said, "Let's fuck."

I fluttered my eyelids at him. "Why?"

He seemed really disturbed with that answer. When Wong came in, Horace accused him of changing the key word. Wong blinked and said he hadn't done anything of the sort, but that Horace probably had forgotten it. Wong stretched up to his full height and looked me right between the breasts.

"Let's fuck."


Honestly, you would have thought they were two little boys who'd lost their puppy. They looked so pitiful standing there with their heads hanging down that I had to explain.

"That's not the way to ask a lady to have sex, and you shouldn't ask as soon as you meet her. Guys, you have to wait until she at least knows you a little."

"All right, Wong, where the hell'd she get that?"

"I don't know. I programmed her to react to the word fuck by getting really horny. Maybe it's a bug in the AI software."

I giggled. "It's not a bug, Wong. I've been doing some study on the side, and I learned that I don't have to do that just because you say so. I'm supposed to feel loved and get presents first."

"OK, Wong. Just plug her in and fix her."

"I can't. The design specs called for her to be able to modify her programming to fit the circumstances. If I change her, she'll just change back. Hey, we could turn her off and reload everything."

"Hell, that won't work either. When I put in her fuel cells, she became self-powered. She'll run down in about ten years if we don't feed her, but that's as soon as she's gonna turn off."

They both walked off muttering something about their balls turning blue, and I walked to my new wardrobe to pack.

My first assignment was just a trial run, but at least I got to try out my new body. My identity was that of an exotic dancer, and I had find out how this guy was manipulating the stock exchange. I stood in front of a mirror and shaped my body to fit the spec sheet.

Surgi-sil is a silicon polymer with millions of itty-bitty tubes running through it. I have a thin layer for skin, and I can pump different shades of fluid through these little tubes and change my skin tone. Under the skin, I have layers of varying thickness that I can use to change my body shape.

I pumped myself up to the required 38DD, and pushed my hips out to exactly 36 inches. The deep bronze tan looked all right for most of me, but on my own, I changed two little triangles over my nipples and one over my pussy to pale white. I liked the contrast, and Martha had told me that lots of men liked it

too. I extruded the long blonde hair as per the spec, but decided to stay smooth everywhere else. Martha said that would drive most men wild.

The assignment started well; it wasn't hard to meet the guy. I just stood outside his building until he came to work, and then bumped into him. I was careful to stick my boobs in his face when he caught me, and it only took saying that I felt faint to get me in his office to recover. On the elevator trip, he reached out and squeezed my butt, and I giggled appreciatively. Once in his

office, I lay on his couch and raised up one leg. Of course, as I had intended, my skirt rode up, and from his position, my lack of panties was obvious.

"Thanks for letting me lay down for a while. That bump made me dizzy." I shifted legs and the skirt rode higher. "Judging by the size of this office, you must be a very powerful man." Judging by the tent in his slacks, I thought I was turning out to be a very powerful woman, too.

"Well, I can pull a few strings if I have to."

"Gee, I pull strings too, but not the kind you're talking about."

"Oh, and what strings would those be?"

I giggled. "The strings of my costumes, silly. I'm an exotic dancer." He seemed to like it when I fluttered my lashes at him, because he grinned.

"Hmmm, now that is interesting. I haven't seen a stripper in a long time. Looks bad for a man in my position to be seen in that kind of place, you know."

"Well, I owe you something for the help. I could do a special dance just for you, if you want."

He walked over and locked the door, pulled his chair around to the front of the desk, and sat down.

The canned music coming from the ceiling speakers wasn't exactly strutting stuff, but he didn't seem to care. He licked his lips when I pulled off my top, and I thought his eyes were going to fall out when I lifted both boobs and sucked on my nipples. I danced around a little more and then let the skirt fall. While I was turning around, he unzipped his pants and started stroking his little cock. A few well-calculated turns brought me to the chair, and I pushed my boobs in his face. He started sucking away like a calf on a cow, and I started making the little moans I knew he wanted to hear.

He started to reach for my crotch, and I barely had time to pump a bit of the PJ200 into my Surgi-sil pussy. Horace has this stuff blended with edible scent. It smells a little like fish to me, and not at all like Martha, but the guy really seemed to like it. He stuck in his finger, wiggled it around until I groaned, and then stuck it in his mouth, so I let it ooze out until a drop hit his pant leg.

"Damn, woman. You're dripping."

"I know. Private dances always do this to me." I started to take little panting breaths. "I get so hot when I'm alone with a guy."

He jumped when I grabbed his cock and started to jerk, but then he relaxed and just went with it.

"Honey, I wanna fuck that wet little box."

I pulled down his pants and shorts, and sat on his dick. He didn't last long. I think it was my grinding hips that started him over the edge, but since it was my first time, it was hard to tell. I almost smothered him with my tits, but he didn't seem to care. He just sucked away, and came up for air once in a while. His little prick began to throb, and then I used one of Horace's special

improvements. He had put two little electrodes at my entrance, and I could control the voltage and frequency.

I let the guy have a small charge, and he jerked. An increase in the voltage made him yell. The high frequency, full voltage zap caused his eyes to pop out a little and he squirted like a firehose. I kept the current flowing until he passed out, and then flushed myself all over his lap. The guy would be out for the few minutes I needed to tap his computer. I found the program and scanned it into my memory before making a few changes to his code. He'd get a surprise by the close of the markets today.

So ended my first assignment. The men upstairs were pleased, and, for the most part, so was I. Unfortunately, the slob had bitten my right boob when he came, and that's why I was sitting on a chair in Horace's lab.

"Horace, dammit, that hurts." I reached down and grabbed his balls. "If you do it again, I'm gonna show you how it feels. I don't know why you had to give me pain sensors anyway. It's not like I could bleed to death or anything like that."

"You had to be able to feel pain to be convincing in the field. You know that. Didn't you feel it when the guy bit you?"

"Well, yes, but I switched it off. He was about to cum and I didn't wanna stop him."

"There, you're all done, and I didn't even leave a mark."

He rubbed my nipple. Horace is like a little puppy. I have to give him a treat now and then or he pouts, so I pumped it up long and hard.

"I see that still works. I think I'd better give you a complete systems test, just to be sure."

When his hand moved down to my panties, I squeezed his balls again.

"Ahh! PP, don't be such a bitch. I'm just trying to -"

"Sweetie, I know what you're trying, and you're not going there. Not until you learn to play nice."

That evening, I was briefed on my new assignment.

A month ago, according to the memory chip, a couple had been found naked in New York's Central Park. I gathered this was not all that unusual; what sparked the interest of the local police was that both the man and the woman seemed to be under the influence of some drug.

The couple was taken to a hospital for observation. The only observation the doctors made was that the couple humped like rabbits until they passed out. A week later, they were moved to their present location in a sanitarium, and had to be separated. They were still horny beyond control, and were experiencing self-induced orgasms ten to fifteen times a day.

As the month progressed, more and more such couples were found in various locations about the globe, the most notable of which was in London. Security was alerted to strange noises coming from the office of a respected member of Parliament. Upon investigating, they indeed heard muffled cries that sounded like a woman in distress. They broke down the door and discovered the man dressed in a bra and thong panty, and laying across his massive oak desk.

His secretary wore only a strap-on dildo; she was thrusting the instrument in and out of his anal opening, and moaning, "Cum, Baby, cum for Mommy". Medical examination of the two indicated that they had indulged in normal, heterosexual relations shortly before being discovered.

All the victims were in hospitals or other managed care facilities, and two common factors had been discovered. Their blood samples contained extremely high levels of both male and female sex hormones, and in the residence of each person, investigators found several empty condom wrappers.

Although the wrappers carried various brand names and manufacturing locations, the words "Marketed by Aphrodite, Inc." could be found in small print on the back of each wrapper. An analysis of the packages revealed the presence of extremely high concentrations of those

same sex hormones.

Such widespread incidence of this behavior could only mean some sinister plot had been put in motion. I was to discover the evil person responsible and end the terror. None of the victims seemed very terrified to me, but good little soldiers don't question their orders. It took only ten minutes with the installation's computer network to find out that Aphrodite, Inc. was a distribution company that owned and operated a worldwide chain of adult bookstores.

As luck would have it, there was such a store in Taos. After dressing in jeans and a tight, white tank top, I checked out a pickup truck from the motor pool and headed to Taos.

"The Purple Iguana" was an unimpressive building with no windows and no sign other than the name painted on the door. I walked through that door into a world Martha would have loved.

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