Rise of the Machines

It was a sunny morning, warm and windless. Birds were singing, bees were buzzing, and Sandy and I were walking to college along the cycle path that runs between the fields, cabbages on our left, potatoes flowering on the right. The distant insect-whine of the drone was like electricity, both fearful and exciting. "There," Sandy said, pointing. Sure enough, there it was, small yet sinister, and flying towards us. "Shit. Run!"

There was no point running. We knew that. But everybody does. We ran, and a hurried glance back confirmed that the drone was following. My desperate and shameful hope was that Sandy, not I, was the target - but that hope was dashed as the drone shot up behind us and began spurting its vile venom at me. I screamed as I felt the wetness against my skin, the clear fluid soaking into my clothes.

I stumbled to a halt, trying to shield myself with my hands. The drone danced around me, determined that no scrap of my clothing should escape its pulsing jet. My effort to prevent it was only partly successful; the damage was done. My shirt dissolved, my bra disintegrated, my skirt peeled away.

Sandy stood panting and watching from a safe distance, her expression a picture of relief. She didn't try to help - of course not. Trying to help just makes you a target yourself. A number of cyclists and fellow students were gathering to watch my humiliation. I covered my breasts with my arms as best I could, and was grateful that at least the drone had exhausted its fluid before reaching my panties.

Perhaps, if I was lucky, there would be no more machines for miles around... but, no. A deeper throbbing could soon be heard above the murmuring of the spectators, who hurriedly cleared a path for a huge drone whose propellers beat the air with pounding resonance. This new arrival was like an inverted spider, it body dark and heavy beneath its eight slender legs.

I thought to run again, but it was too late. Long tentacles snaked out and snatched my arms, forcing them out to my sides. Two more tentacles ending in huge transparent cups immediately fastened onto my exposed breasts. I heard gasps of sympathy from all around me, along with muffled laughter, and I cried out as suction distorted my breasts and tugged painfully on my nipples.

I had witnessed this once. Four months before, I had been a crowd member, both astonished and secretly thrilled by the helplessness of the machines' target. Now I was the victim, and knew exactly what would happen next.

From the belly of the hovering monster came a fifth tentacle, tipped with a bright red dildo, as ominous as a scorpion's stinger. It was long and slender, sculpted and veined to resemble a man's cock, and a thick, creamy fluid dripped from its tip that pressed against my lips. The taste of it was like nothing I had ever known, but was not unpleasant. The drone itself stank of oil and steel and rubber.

I kept my mouth resolutely shut, denying that hovering arachnid the only way I could - but the tentacles tightened about my arms and the suction on my nipples increased until I surrendered with a cry. The dildo thrust into my mouth - not once, but repeatedly, fucking my mouth while I squirmed in its brutal embrace. I breathed through my nose because its fluid soon filled my mouth and poured down my chin.

The drone released me and flew lazily away, and I collapsed onto my knees, cradling my abused breasts. My nipples were swollen and painfully sensitive, my arms and mouth felt bruised, and I was too desperate for breath to care that my lower face was soaked in the machine's creamy fluid.

It seemed I would have a few moments' peace. Even the original drone was now flying so high that I could barely hear it. "Are you all right?" Sandy asked, kneeling beside me to clean my face with her tissues. The other watchers reluctantly went about their day, until it was just the two of us alone.

"Sore all over." Part of me wished I could cry, but the day had only just begun. A distant roaring confirmed that. "Is that -"

A motorbike, its rider a terrifying steel skeleton, raced down the path, scattering pedestrians and cyclists alike. Sandy retreated, saying, "I don't think those panties are going to last..."