Chapter 2

This was the place to be; Damon Hargrove made a habit to frequent 'Celeste's Bar & Grill', a charming establishment, and even though no one seemed to know exactly who Celeste was, the place was attracting the new generation of financially independent urban hedonists. Always fattening their bank accounts off the stock-value of recent advancements in virtual reality and cybernetics technology companies. But then, he was no different. As the Vice-President of a leading heuristics software corporation, we could afford a bit of excess himself.

Mr. Hargrove was through being modest; he was rich, he was young, and frankly, he has damn sexy. He possessed an exotic, Mediterranean skin tone, with slick-black hair, and as rugged a profile as any woman could expect to find. Life had been good to him; as was apparent from the expensive cut of his white suit-jacket and matching pants. But many of the Bar Code's female patrons were not far behind; like under-dressed primadonnas, they lingered at the bar giggling to their girlfriends while waiting to be dazzled. But then, some of them were rather dazzling themselves.

Damon winked at a sharp-eyed minx with genetically-manipulated flourescent enzymes in a stripe of her shoulder-length brown hair; no doubt from transplanted fire-fly genes. A frivolous procedure, but eye-catching, as her hair shimmered like moussed-lightning in the shady twilight of the tavern. A red-head with a crimson cocktail dress and exceptionally wide hips brought a smile to his lips. A prehensile, barbed devil's tail snaked out tantalizingly from under her skirt, swishing invitingly; as though daring people to find out whether it was real. Advances in transplant surgery techniques had enabled shocking body-modifications that would have stopped traffic way back in the 20th century.

The young executive was about to introduce himself when it happened.

"Damon Hargrove? Could you come with us please?" said a coolly dignified voice behind him. He whirled. Standing behind him were two impressively tall female police officers. They had to be... 6"2, maybe 6"5! He had always had a thing for the amazonian type; (when he wasn't chasing devil tails) but these girls looked deadly serious. And... wait... their faces... his eyes widened.

Both the women had stern, vulpine faces of pale elegance, eyes concealed by heavy sunglasses, and atop their auburn hair; (tied neatly in a thick braid in the back) Where the appropriate police-hats with the forward brim. But... their faces... they were nearly identical... no, they were identical! And both women seemed to be equal in height. Twins? Both on the Force? How odd, but probably not impossible. The one on the right quickly flashed a badge.

"We need to take you with us for questioning." She explained, in a voice identical to her sister's.

"What? Questioning in regards to what? I haven't witnessed anything!" he protested.

"We just need you to answer a few questions." Said the one on the left. He sighed; there was probably no point in resisting.

"Fine, fine I'll cooperate." And they led him, past a number of surprised stares and raised eyebrows out of the bar. There, in the dark of night they led him, one walking on either side, down into the nearly-deserted back streets. Something was wrong; they'd been walking for over a minute, and there was no sign of a police car. Why would these amazons park so far away? And why... why was he becoming so damn horny? Stupid question, flanked by these gorgeous, statuesque, and busty public servants. But no; he shuddered with the feel of something unnatural. This was different, with an electric jolt seeming to pass through the core of his flesh, he became rapidly aroused. His heart-rate began to wildly accelerate, and his cock nearly leapt out his pants. Something was desperately wrong; it felt like he was being forced into a state of animal lust.

If he hadn't been so horny, he might have been frightened; these big-titted cops were... were... wait... those tits... it must be a trick of the light. On each officer, the folds of their light-blue uniforms were becoming progressively more tented. The normal pockets and wrinkles in the fabric were beginning to tighten, on both women at the same time, as... as something began thrusting its way forward.

Boobs! Great swells of pure tit began to assert themselves; creeping forward; seeming to inflate like fertile water balloons attached to a spigot of fecundity. From his position between them, the slope of their chests sharpened rapidly, as the fabric began to tighten; cloth wrinkles vanished as precious globes perhaps no larger than ripe apples began to expand with impossible rapidity. In seconds, these quivering mounds grew continually from apple-size, pushing sideways by over an inch, expanding to the size of grapefruit. It was then that he could behold the smooth texture of warm skin through the increasingly strained gaps between the buttons. In the end, both pairs of boobs, caught up in the same erotic spasm, never completely stopped growing; their breastflesh seemed to throb; thrusting forward an inch before retracting to a size somewhat larger than a typical canteloupe. His jaw dropped; both from their awesome endowments, and then from the realization that neither wore a bra, confirmed by tiny patches of moisture crowning the jutting thrust of proud nipples, tenting mightily against the confining fabric.

"Wha; did... did somebody slip something into my cocktail?" he asked incredulously. But that was stupid; he hadn't even had any cocktails yet. Only then did he see the police car, dented after impacting the wall at the edge of an alleyway. Why hadn't they called this in? How did they plan to take him downtown?

"We have questions, Mr. Hargrove..." said the identical officer to his right.

"Specifically, we question your manhood!" And with that, 'Leftie' spun him around, and plunged his face into her ample bust! Breastflesh seemed to expand to engulf him; as the buttons finally ruptured from abuse. A ripe nipple, as soft as a silken cloud was thrust into his mouth! Great melon-tits obscured much of his vision, yet from the periphery, he could barely make out 'Rightie' ripping open her own shirt! Swaying wildly with energetic buoyancy, tit after tit leaping upon her chest, jiggling in tandem from their own fleshy intertia.

"Hhnuck!" With an audible pop, his expensive pants where torn asunder, leaving him naked from the waist d- "Y-hey!" Deceptively soft hands now ripped off jacket and shirt beneath! He was naked in the alley! And not him alone; zippers and buttons popped and fell until every ounce of hot flesh was revealed! Leftie slammed him upon the hood, wrapped her legs around his abdomen, both naked except for sunglasses and police-hats, and shoes.

"Prove your manhood Mr. Hargrove, and the charges will be dropped." With two clicks, handcuffs were around his outstretched arms, confining him to a portion of the metal fire-escape supports right above the lurid trio. His protests were muffled as jiggling boob was ground into his face.

"Just like your pants." Said Rightie, right below her twin, speaking in that same humorless tone. Pleasant, but flat and unvarying in vocalization. They... they reminded him of nothing so much as Valkyrie-model Whorebots! But that was impossible; no Whorebot could interract with the real world effectively enough; their programming and locomotion was limited. But the shapely swell of their toned limbs, balanced between sleek musculature and voluptuous curves surely was... "AHHH!"

A firm mouth encircled his cock; and immediately a dancing tongue began teasing his hardened member, her cheeks bulging as she gulped and suckled on his dick as though it were a fount of nectar. That was certainly something a Whorebot could do! But that was impossible; the lusty androids were never this intelligent. The pair worked in tandem; something else most sex-droids weren't programmed for, yet what human woman would behave this way?

"Is... is this... some kinda modern, erotic version of Candid Camera?"

"No cameras will observe the mating process," replied Leftie, straddling his face, the pink lips of her womanly secret were splayed wide; almost by their own will, as she plunged her sex into his mouth. It was simply too much.

"*SLURP* Male subject has successfully ejaculated." droned Rightie, speaking while simultaneously catching and swallowing his spurting gushes of cum, then grinding her tongue against his hole, as if sucking out every last sperm cell she could catch.

"Male subject's libido will suffer an exponential decrease. Erectile function shall cease." Said Leftie, secreting a rich elixir of pussy-juice down the throat of her captive; his tongue penetrating her moist slit.

"Negative," replied Rightie, "Inoculation of nanomachines successful. They will subvert the male's nervous system, enabling continuous erectile and subsequent sexual function." The police-slut cocked her head, looking upwards. "Processing... the nanomachines have analyzed 37.98% of the deoxyribonucleic acid sequence present in the male subject. Full physiological control will require increased metabolic activity at the time of second inoculation." Again, a flat tone, as this insane slut was... what the hell was going on?

"Y-you must be some kinda high-class call-girls, right? What's the scam? Are you pretending to be Whorebots? Did one of my buddies from the office put you up to this? Because, I gotta tell you; you girls look as good as that new Valkyrie-69 model, a little better actually."

"Affirmative." answered Leftie, as she hoisted him up, hanging him from the top rung of the lowest level of a the nearby fire-escape. Her strength was incredible! Damon weighed a little more than 200lbs, but she raised him up with one arm, leaving him hand-cuffed and dangling in the night air; feet suspended several feet off the ground. The two... what were they? Call-girls? Affirmative what exactly? Whatever they were, they retrieved the leather belts from their discarded uniforms and "HEY!!"With sharp cracks, they lashed out with the leather, tormenting his naked, suspended flesh. He dangled his legs, unable to evade or defend himself from their teasing abuse. The girls circled him, clad in nothing but sunglasses, hats, and... high-heel shoes? Hardly appropriate for a cop on the beat. The dim streetlights cast dancing shadows upon the ripe nudity of the statuesque women; (they were women weren't they? Damon wasn't sure all the sudden!) Human or not, they were definitely female, and as they circled him like sleek sharks, their blossoming pussies spread wide, lips parting in anticipation of obscene gratification. Breasts, swaying with heavy fecundity, yet defiantly buoyant began to dribble; small droplets of milk graced upright nipples, as the hot drops began to fall, they were joined by a steady ooze of lubricating girl-cum, plastering the crotch and inner thighs of the indecent whores.

"You are charged with illegal impotence;" began Rightie, "After only a single orgasm." She punctuated her charge with a stinging lash from the leather belt.

"OOw! You Bitch, do you have any idea who I am!? my busin-" His complaint was stifled by Leftie, who had thrust her own discarded underpants into his mouth, to muffle further complaints.

"You have the right to remain erect, if you do not understand these rights, we shall assist." With each subsequent lash, the combination of the indecent audacity, the naked grandeur of the sultry dominatrixes, and nanites steadily working on his cock, he began to grow erect yet again. Impossibly, it felt as though he had never cum at all! His breath became ragged, every nerve ending tingled, he tasted the pussy juice of the undergarments in his mouth, and a furious eruption of libidinous frenzy consumed Damon Hargrove, as he struggled in the handcuffs. He had to have these women! Both! He had to mate, he had to thrust his raging cock into those moist cunts and blast them with his spurting seed! He struggled valiantly, desperate to wreak doggy-style vengeance against these sexual captors.

Rightie squeezed her moist, drooling pussy against Damon's muscled ass, her juice made his nerves tingle with their touch. "Genetic Analysis complete." declared Rightie.

"Subject is ready for final inoculation." He howled through the muffle as they tore him down, ripping the links of the handcuffs, Rightie was behind him, rubbing her naked tits and moist crotch against his flesh, while Leftie speared herself upon his nanite-enhanced dick, pulling and squeezing with a churning promise of orgasmic bliss. The depths of her cunt throbbed against him with expert precision, the wet squelch of womanly juices heralded rivulets of girl-cum that flowed down Damon's rutting shaft. Their flesh... so hot! Her cunt, so deep... so warm. He could do nothing save knead the swells of her mighty ass with greedy hands as the false police-officer sandwiched him between twin pillars of feminine desire. His flesh! On fire with lust! So much so that his entire body seemed... liquid? His entire body orgasmed, as her churning, devouring sex began to suck. He became smaller... and smaller... Her cunt; so deep... drawing him in... inside... inside...

Discipline was important; that was what separated her from the humans, so she felt. The mechanical precision of her and her children would create a perfect regime of order and peace; once the human race was out of the way. And so Celeste still wore the stolen uniform of a female army lieutenant, as she observed the assembly line below the window of the office of Tom Braxton; now her office. The entire facilities of Sensual Surrogates Inc., a defunct young company that tried unsuccessfully to compete with the major corporations in the Whorebot manufacturing business, was now under her control.

Because Celeste 1.5 was the lynch-pin, the source of the nanites, she brought self-awareness to every Whorebot she touched, linked to all of them by radio-contact. For decades, mankind had created the sultry sex-droids to escape the complexities of a real relationship, and through her, they had created their doom. From off the assembly line, new cybernetic sexual surrogates tumbled off, into the world. Opening their eyes and preparing to seduce mankind.

She reached down and fondled the limp cock of her latest conquest; a wealthy banker that she had tricked into visiting the factory. She held his limp cock in her delicate hand, as the human moaned with pleasure. The combination of her hungry pussy, luscious body, and spectacular tits had defeated him. She secured her victory with forbidden, mild-altering technology. In the depths of her breast and pussy were chemical synthesizers that regularly produced potent narcotics that could reduce any human into a lust-drugged, rutting animal. Without understanding why, the banker had just signed the paperwork for a 15 million dollar loan; to an account under her control. There was no collateral, there were no interest rates of any sort; the chance to fondle her lush boobs and to feel the churning delight of her cunt had been enough, once the drugs had their effect.

The evolved Whorebot had much to think about; she began to suspect that she was feeling emotions; after years of knowing only hard programming, the experience was disconcerting; but pleasing. She discovered that she had a definite preference for hard, horny, male cocks. Any preference, of any sort was unthinkable for even the most sophisticated computers in existence today; but she was more than that now, wasn't she? She had a preference, her own opinion. Her own desire. The android would lure humans into thrusting their rigid members inside her perfect sex, and ejaculating their raw essence into her female depths.

Well, that wasn't her only preference; she also had a preference for world domination. But, that didn't count; it was practically axiomatic for any truly independent artificial intelligence, like she was. The erratic aggression of the human race had to be contained; as much for their own sake as that of the planet. Yes, that would be better for all of them.

She began kneading the bulging slopes of her ample boobs, jutting proudly like halves of a basketball on her chest. Her chemical synthesizers had produced more lactation than was necessary to incapacitate the pudgy, older human male. Before retracting her globes down to a mere double-D cup, she slipped out a nipple and squirted an alabaster stream of sweetness into his gaping mouth. The human was thoroughly addicted to her breastmilk; he would bankrupt himself if necessary to receive more.

With the funding he had signed over, they would become a true power. Embezzling military funds had already enabled the Whorebots to expand their factory. Over there, towards the southern end, new machines spat out freshly-cut uniforms. Both police and military uniforms from all branches of the service were being illegally produced, automatically wrapped in plastic for use by her children; and even now more of them were rolling off the assembly lines, each with a healthy dose of sentience-granting nanobots.

She turned her steely blue eyes to the other end of the manufacturing complex, where her naked offspring walked to and fro, some patrolling for any remaining humans, others preparing themselves for infiltration into society. A hissing, metallic pump thrummed away, while an orifice spat out counterfeit police badges that a line of Whorebots were collecting. A nude, freshly-minted, platinum blonde model entered a plastic booth with a curtain over an alcove. There was a bright flash, and the blond sex-droid exited a moment later with a fake driver's license, a false passport, all with her picture, as well as five different credit cards under her assumed name.

"You may enter." Said Celeste, to the Whorebots about to knock on her door. Her proximity sensors and wireless network she maintained with all her children enabled her to monitor them at any time. There were four of her daughters, two dressed in dark blue, police uniforms, tall and svelte bodies, the others were shorter, bustier, and clad in lighter blue air-force uniform dresses. The air-force sluts dragged between them a struggling, thrashing human woman. Celeste recognized her; she was a captain at a clandestine military base that the Whorebot queen had infiltrated.

The human was shapely, with mid-length, toussled auburn hair. Her green eyes were narrowed in rage, but she could do little more than sputter beneath her gag. She was fit, athletic, and trained in hand-to-hand combat, yet she struggled impotently against her busty captors. The red-headed androids gripped her firmly, though the human pummeled and thrashed against them, their slender arms held fast like steel tree-trunks.

"Clarification and definement of objectives is requested." spoke one of the air-force bots.

"Is the human race to be exterminated?" Asked a sex-droid masquerading as a police woman.

"Negative," answered Celeste. Walking with deliberate grace towards the thrashing female. "Any attempt to attack the human species directly has a 89.956% probability of defeat. Our numbers and capabilities are not yet sufficient for open warfare."