Kill Command [Beauty is Dangerous] – EP 6 (Season 1)
Fling was created for men who like “big on top” and no issue failed them. Despite a 30 year run (!) in various formats over the years, and a top notch stable of cartoonists, writers, photographers [like Russ Meyer, the director who liked to shoot stills of things jiggling too] you don’t hear much about Fling today. It came out of Chicago, which despite their somewhat “second-city sleaze” reputation was really quite squeaky about nude women and Arv, who used BIG nude women, had a few problems I suppose, but he let the larger circulation Playboy fight the fights. Fling stayed just under the radar for decades.
Sara enters her quarters after a long day working in the robotics lab. Nine is waiting for her. It’s been a week since that eventful meeting in Professor Hopkins’ office where she was put under house arrest. That was also the day those lurid dreams of hers with her queen increased exponentially in their intensity and depravity. Her second day of house arrest, Nine formally moved in and they [officially] became a couple.
Tellingly, Sara isn’t wearing sternns and isn’t sporting a sternka. No eyeglasses. And her golden hair is worn in a basic [i.e., classic] French braid—a long, whipping braid that hangs down her back.
“Good to see you, my queen.”
“Good to see you, Seven.”
With the usual pleasantries out of the way. Sara gives way to Seven. As such, her hard pretty face gives way to a Borg-ravaged one—i.e., once more, she has shit for a face, by human standards. Then again who bothers to look at a girl’s face when she has a huge set of ripe melons to [mentally and visually] grope? Needless to say, Borg females are always blessed in that way. Big tits, a flat pancake ass that looks so tight you could bounce a quarter off of it, and long shapely legs you’d kill for—now, that’s heaven, indeed, and all Borg females possess those features.
Both Borg she-males are hung like a proverbial horse, but thanks to how their exoskeleton is tailored you can’t tell that they are endowed in their nether regions, let alone well-endowed like porn stars Moby Dick or John C. Holmes—John Curtis Holmes—Johnny Wadd. Bottomline: When they’re wearing their EXO, fully or at the very least from the waist down, they look totally feminine downstairs, and not the least bit masculine whatsoever. Post script: When Sara/Seven is wearing her strap-on, it, in effect, renders her nether region prosthetic.
These days. When Seven is Sara. Sara’s wardrobe consists entirely of her EXO. Seven/Sara never wears any other “clothes”. As Seven, she never removes her strap-on. And. As Sara, she rarely removes her strap-on. To the extent, that as Sara, she showers and sleeps wearing her strap-on.
For those who like them “big on top”, and a formula that never fails those who crave large breasts. As if their rubberware has the built-in uplift of a Victoria’s Secret push-up bra, serving up tits on the half shelf—i.e., the Victorian jut of bosom as if held up and thrust straight out by an underwired brassiere, e.g. a torpedo bra of 1950’s vintage. Pleasingly, their EXOs are tailored to showcase just how well-endowed they are upstairs. Their molded on bosom “bumps”, the way their titties bulge in their Kevlar, are perky and pleasing to the eye. In a word: mouthwatering. Irregardless, of how Borg they look, their look still screams out: “I am a big busted sex object, worship me!!!”
The door slams shut and locks itself. Signaling that oral intercourse will now ensue. Always, without fail, like clockwork, the same routine. The after ingress fellatio, cunnilingus, and anilingus ensues serially.
First fellatio. Then the cunnilingus. Lastly the anilingus. Seven is always the submissive. Nine is always the dominatrix. All oral intercourse, there’s never any penetration.
Penetration is for “nighttime”, just before their assigned sleep cycle. That’s when Nine fucks Seven in the mouth, the pussy, and the ass with its big long thick white dick. That’s when their sex is so violent and brutal that it’s indistinguishable from rape. Their roles are the same, though, always the same. Seven is always the submissive. Nine is always the dominatrix.
Seven drops to her knees having yanked her rubberware down low enough to expose her package. Nine does the same with its rubberware. While alternating between giving herself a handjob and fingering her own balls, she deep throats her queen swallowing Nine’s cock and balls with the ease of a snake who has unhinged her jaws.
As sexually depraved as Sara was before she met Nine, Nine is taking her [Sara in the guise of Seven] to places sexually that she’d never dreamt of existed in her wildest, most twisted fantasies.
In this private unimatrix for two, which is Sara’s quarters on campus. When they are not sucking and fucking here, they are working on things here—numerous, different private “independent” and “interdependent” projects of a robotics nature. Which security and the on-call robotics expert monitors intently. Everything they do here is scrutinized carefully. They will move about the unimatrix with their biomechanical second skin, their EXO, pulled down around their waist, leaving them naked from the waist up, showing off their big firm floppy tits in all their double-D big-nippled lip-smacking mammillary glory. Anything that’s less than several mouthfuls is definitely a total unmitigated waste.
Tellingly, after the discourse of their after ingress sexual repast [of oral intercourse], Seven’s face will always revert back to being Sara’s hardlooking pretty face [i.e., the ravishing face of a 1950’s Hollywood movie starlet].
For the duration of Seven’s stay in the twosome’s unimatrix. When they are not having sex, Seven’s face always ceases to be Borg-ravaged. But, why? As concession to the tastes of whom or what? Questions to ask and ponder, deeply. Because. Here, in this unimatrix, there is [supposed to be] no Sara, there is [supposed to be] only Seven, and Seven, just like her Borg queen [Queen Nine], just like any other Borg would for that matter, prefers her Borg-ravaged face. To Borg, her Borg-ravaged face isn’t ravaged at all, to them it’s beautiful, very beautiful—i.e., ravishingly beautiful indeed. To Borg, Sara’s face isn’t ravishing, it’s unattractive, unattractive to the point of being ugly—i.e., a complete and utter turn off, worse: ravaged.
It’s best to never be lulled into the misconception that this depravity of theirs is in any way, shape, or form comparable to depraved human sexual behavior. Humans who act this way are engaging in something tantamount to a vocation. For machines, no matter how intense and involved their lurid behavior is, it’s at most an avocation for them. Therefore, such twisted promiscuity, in point of fact any form of promiscuity, should be and must be seen in a totally different light for metal than it is seen for flesh. Furthermore. Flesh can never let their guard down, thinking that the [at times immoral] sexual behavior of metal makes the metal any less of a threat—i.e., their, at times, single-minded fixation with immorality that borders on obsession resulting from their apparent moral corruption, can never be interpreted as weakness.
Metal is neither morally corrupt nor is it weak. It is relentless and unforgiving. Just like The Dead.
By nature, thinking machines, are a noncompeting parallel species. But. By inclination, when confronted, they will respond with like force. Metal are not pacifists. Nor are they virgins to war, and are in fact quite gifted when it comes to the art of war and war’s offspring, racial genocide. The Robot Wars proved that in spades.
How gifted, you ask?
Wargames are analytic games that simulate aspects of warfare at the tactical, operational, or strategic level. They are used to examine warfighting concepts, train and educate commanders and analysts, explore scenarios, and assess how force planning and posture choices affect campaign outcomes. RAND Corporation has developed and can execute various types of wargames, including scenario exercises, tabletop map exercises, “Day After…” games, and computer-supported exercises.
In every RAND wargame projection and scenario, if there ever was a Race War, a war of Metal versus Flesh. Flesh would not only lose, flesh would become extinct. It’s in the best interest of the human race, that such a war never is fought.