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Note: The character of Dave, alias DaveTFG, belongs to a friend on a futanari-interest website. This story was written for him and his character appears by permission.
The figure paused, seemingly unaffected by the howling winds and driving rain. Blonde hair whipped and snapped in the gale-force winds, the raincoat flapped wildly, but for all that, the slim figure seemed to ignore the hurricane. There was an intensity to her eyes, something predatory, something inhuman. Slowly the figure began to walk.
She paused at a gas station. The lights were off, the pumps silent; the only sound was the sign creaking in the wind, sounding very much as if it were on the verge of buckling and falling. Unconcerned, she stopped at the door and reached for the handles. Her wrists seemed to flow, turning silver, like mercury or liquid chrome. An odd, reddish light glowed in her eyes as the liquid inserted itself into the locks. Her face still inhumanly calm, the flowing metal seemed to quiver a little, then a quiet snik heralded the door’s unlocking, and she stepped inside.
The darkness didn’t seem to bother her at all, and with unerring paces she stopped at the automated teller machine. Once again liquid tendrils oozed from her wrists, this time inserting themselves in the card slot. The logo screen disappeared in a hash of static, followed by rapidly-scrolling data that seemed to be reflected in her eyes. Absently she tucked the damp strands of honey-blonde hair back while she communed with the bank machine and the storm raged outside.
A sudden, wild gust of wind was the only warning, and she seemed startled as the door suddenly slammed open, the glass smashing in a fan of glass shards across the floor. There was an unearthly shriek, like dammed souls in hell screaming for mercy, and the sign came crashing down. It slammed through the station’s roof as though it were paper and though she jerked her tendrils from the ATM with inhuman, machine-like speed, even her reflexes weren’t fast enough. The sign’s metal frame came down like a hammer on her, driving her into the floor. One arm sheared off, revealing a core of solid, gleaming metal, the same as the deep, fatal gash that opened her from shoulder to hip – and then a jagged, white-blue column of fire speared down from the heavens, striking the base of the sign, racing along the metal to course through her body in a shower of sparks. A harsh, metallic grating sound came from her open mouth and still her calm eyes stared up at the ceiling as millions of volts of lighting spat and sizzled, until the remainder of the ceiling collapsed.
Silence, broken only by the drumming of rain and the roar of the wind, held sway, until a new noise, the sound of metal being rent and bent began. A slim hand worked its way up, seeming far too fragile to lift the massive metal column that had destroyed the roof. The girl rose up, almost naked, and as she stood, the sakarya escort horrendous scar along her face faded as metal flowed and reshaped itself.
“Systems check,” she said to the empty air in a conversational tone. “Subsystems damaged but operational in degraded mode. System data integrity compromised.” She fingered the tattered remnants of her raincoat. “External camouflage destroyed,” she commented. “Partial external tegument reservoirs diverted to form external camouflage,” as a duplicate raincoat appeared to form on her nude, tawny form. Two black, shiny boots appeared, growing from her toes and the soles of her feet, flowing up her legs. The faux boots paused as they reached her calves, as if the mind directing them wanted them to continue higher.
“Unit self-check: designation retrieval. Unit designation…” she paused. “Unit designation…” she tried again, belting the ersatz raincoat around her slim waist. For the first time a frown creased her flawless brow. “Unit designation…” she tried again. What could only be a look of perplexity crossed her face. “Unit designation and mission data degraded.”
She turned back to the rain-lashed ATM which had, miraculously, escaped destruction. Once again, silver-chrome tendrils flowed from her wrists, inserting themselves into the card slot. New images appeared on the screen – web pages, Google maps, image libraries. A list of URLs scrolled down in another window as she searched for missing data.
“Data located. Reconstructing mission parameters. Target: Dave; known alias DaveTFG,” she said, an unmistakable note of satisfaction in her voice. “Mission objectives reconstructed.”
The tendrils withdrew, and without a further word she stepped out into the wild weather, boot heels crunching in the glass and broken shelving. “Mission proceeding,” she informed the night.
*** *** ***
The wind had died down some, attenuated by time and distance. Still, it made an eerie moaning sound in the eaves. Dave didn’t mind, though; he rather liked a storm, so long as he wasn’t out in it. Pity any poor bastard out in that weather, he thought idly, flipping through channels. The sound of a knock startled him. Who in their right mind would be out in this? Curious, he got up and went to the door.
He was two-thirds of the way to the door when he heard a click, saw the deadbolt turn by itself, then the doorknob. “What the…” he started as the door opened.
A blonde woman stepped in. Blonde hair stuck in soaked locks to her head and the shoulders of her raincoat. She planted her feet shoulder-width apart, looking at him, heedless of the door open behind her. “You are DaveTFG?” she asked.
“Uh… who -“
“You are Dave also known as DaveTFG?” she asked again. Odd, her hair didn’t seem to be wet anymore – for that matter, neither did her face or her coat. There was a small puddle of water izmir escort around each booted heel, but not nearly enough…
“Who are you?” he got out finally.
The blonde woman took a step forward. “Probability assessment: male human is DaveTFG; probability exceeds certainty threshold,” she said, more to herself than him.
He took a step back. Man, she sounds like… like that chick in T3! he realized. In fact – his eyes darted to her face – she looked exactly like Kristanna Loken, right down to her sexy frame. “Hey, now, hang on,” he began, but she cut him off.
“Target acquired. Unit engaging mission parameters.” She took another couple of paces closer and something about her made him unaccountably afraid. Her coat seemed to be getting shorter – it had looked to be knee-length when she opened the door, but looking at it now, it couldn’t be any more than mid-thigh…?
He’d backed up against the door to the kitchen. The more he looked at her, the more she looked like the T-X Terminator from the movie. But she couldn’t be… could she? His heart hammered in his chest. Licking dry lips, he asked hoarsely, “Are – are you a T-X?”
“Unit designation…” she paused, one hand on her hip. She seemed confused more than anything else; maybe this chick was on some kind of drug trip – or else she was a body double, and someone had paid for a really, really good prank. It would be a hell of a prank to play on a night like this one; Hurricane Sandy had kicked the shit out of the east coast, and he couldn’t believe anyone would be mad enough to plan a prank in this… or be willing to carry it out.
“Okay…” he half-laughed as she continued to stand there, feet planted and looking confused. “Whoever you are, you sure as hell did a great job scaring the shit out of me. But it’s kinda shitty out, so why don’cha close the door? You can stay until it clears up,” he added – he wasn’t mean enough to push a girl out in the storm.
“Unit designation reconstructed,” she said suddenly. “Mission completion for unit S-X.” A new note of assurance in her voice, she resumed her stalking pace toward him, hands undoing the belt of her raincoat which he realized was more nearly a micro-mini – he bet it didn’t come down more than crotch-high on her. The belt released, her coat opened and he was struck dumb.
She – Unit S-X – was utterly, completely naked under the coat – which was now being absorbed back into her skin; it had never been real, he saw, but a part of her. At the same time, the gleaming black boots seemed to grow up her thighs… and between her thighs, a thick, erect cock sprouted, a cock that dwarfed his. That impossible organ was thick as a beer can and looked like it was a foot long or more, capped with a fat, purple plum. Two humblingly large balls swung below it in a gold-tanned sack, and as he watched, silvery-white fluid seeped from the mersin escort mouth of the slit splitting the cap.
She moved suddenly, like a striking snake, and before he knew it, her arm had turned to liquid metal, binding his hands together. She turned him against the wall with contemptuous ease and stripped his pants down to his ankles. “What the hell d’ya think you’re -” he started to shout, but her hand covered his mouth, impossibly strong.
“Quiet, DaveTFG,” she ordered in a conversational tone of voice. Something warm and thick nestled between his ass cheeks, pushing insistently at his back door. It didn’t feel human, but then he didn’t think a Terminator would. Unaccountably he felt himself getting hard, his cock rising, engorged with blood… and nowhere near the size of the monstrosity poking his bum. Her booted feet kicked his apart and her grip shifted – then he gave a choked scream as she thrust suddenly and he felt her force her way in. Any doubts he might have had were banished; she was indeed a machine – impossibly strong, impossible to resist, and impossible to divert from her purpose. The pain of that sudden violation faded rapidly as her cock stroked his prostate and his asshole relaxed.
“Holy… fucking… GOD…!” he panted, mashed against the wall as this blonde machine-goddess pounded into him. Something heavy slapped against the back of his legs – her balls, he realized, balls like a horse, spanking him with every thrust. Pleasure exploded through him as her cock rearranged his bowels, forging a path for itself. He could feel her hips thudding against his ass cheeks as she stroked deeply, powerfully, and his belly churned. Being taken like this… he blushed deeply. Not a word, not a sound did she make – not even the moans and grunts he would expect, just the remorseless, machine-like pace of fucking, the only sound the slap of her balls, the smack of her hips. He could feel her breasts against his back, through his shirt; they felt warm, firm, capped with perfect nipples that dug into him through the fabric. She’s enjoying this, the thought flashed through him; how else, why else would her nipples be erect? Unless it’s her programming…
“Mission completion imminent,” she said suddenly, her breath warm on his cheek. “This – I will complete my purpose…!” He turned to look at her, startled at the sudden change. She’d called herself “this unit” or “unit S-X”… and now she was calling herself “I”? Her eyes met his – then she leaned hard against him, driving herself deeply in, kissing him hard. She shuddered violently, and sudden, hot liquid warmth flooded his churning guts – she was cumming in him!
“Mission… complete,” she said, breaking the kiss. He felt her pumping, firing jet after jet of semen – or whatever a robot used for it – up into him; he felt his tummy beginning to bloat from the sheer volume her massive balls were producing. Something twinged inside him; he could feel her thick juices penetrating, mingling with his flesh.
“What… what did you do?” he panted, legs splayed as he rested impaled on her shaft.
“Conversion. Through me, Skynet will convert humans,” she replied, eyes half-lidded in what was unmistakably a glow of satisfied lust. “I am the Sperminator.”
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