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In an age where the human mind and the internet are separated by only a thought, Detective Jaine Ryle is an expert in getting into your head. In a time when androids are as perfect and real as any human, Cynthia is enlisted. Moving inside Cynthia's body, can Jaine infiltrate the secretive Droid Society: a place where beautiful female machines are sent to fight--and fuck--to the death? More
In an age where the human mind and the internet are separated by only a thought, Detective Jaine Ryle is an expert in getting into your head. She's tough, skilled, and determined to get the job done wherever it takes her.
In a time when androids are as perfect and real as any human, Cynthia is enlisted. She's delicate, beautiful, a perfect pale creamy-skinned doll built for pleasure and paperwork.
Diving into her skull and moving inside Cynthia's body, able to taste, smell, and hear everything as though she were really there, can Jaine infiltrate the secretive Droid Society: a place where beautiful female machines are sent to fight--and fuck--to the death?
This 5,000-word story contains graphic depictions of exhibitionist f/f/f/f group seduction and sex on stage of a consenting adult mind by synthetic beings, her m/f sexual fantasies, voyeurism, rough sex, a f/f struggle for survival, and the violent sexual destruction of android bodies. It
is not intended for underaged readers.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” asked the android. “A shoulder rub? Or I could try to locate some refreshments.”
I ignored her, focused on maintaining the illusion of an ordinary day for the people inside. I couldn't touch the secretary's artificial intelligence however. As the detectives bore down on her workstation I saw her eyes grow wide through the feed, and made the staff momentarily deaf as Walden expertly put a bullet into the power connector in her neck. I placed a ghost in her chair as the pair grabbed the disabled robot and manhandled it back to the van.
“They're back,” called Lorenz from the driver's seat.
The doors flew open and they heaved the secretary's body into the back. She thumped onto the floor and after a curt wave to me the pair slammed shut the doors and disappeared into into the parking lot.
/We'll see you kids back at the house/, sent Walden.
/Have fun/, sent Staddon.
Cynthia sprang into action, connecting a lead from her own skulljacks to the secretary's, downloading everything she might need to blend in for the rest of the day. Nodding to herself, she stripped the office clothes from the secretary, then began disrobing.
That milky artificial skin was seamless. The body of a modern android is indistinguishable from a person's, and in fact are often manufactured in the same factories as human prosthetics. Units for special purposes exist, but a mass-production model like this meant for a range of tasks from answering phones to acting as a living mannequin was built from common parts meant to simulate real anatomy as closely as possible. That explained the realistic bounce of her modest breasts as she freed them from her functional black brassiere, and the bumps of her nipples which caught the cathode lighting of the van's interior with just enough imperfection to be believable. She moved believably, too: the way she pivoted her hips to pull her panties down over the roundness of her firm, youthful rump was uncannily human. This completeness extended to her vulva. Sex models could be shipped with optional pubic hair, but hers was smooth and hairless, a neat vertical smile with a hint of natural pinkness.
She dressed again quickly in the secretary's clothing, impervious to my stare.
“I'm ready, Associate Detective. I'll probably be destroyed tonight, so I wanted to thank you for this chance to work together,” she said cheerfully.
I wasn't sure how to respond to that. “It's, uh, been a pleasure,” I said. “But call me Jaine.”
She let herself out of the van made her way to the secretary's desk, invisible to the people she passed. I released their senses and left Cynthia to her work.