“Whoa…seriously, there’s been a mistake,” she rushed in to say. “Look, I’m not a guest! I- I’m not here to do that!”
Too late. Her suspicions about the robot’s intentions were immediately confirmed. Ice cold air hit her mound’s bare skin. “Hey…dude! That’s really not something I’m interes—!”
The cold air was nothing compared to the sight of his tongue flicking quickly from his mouth. All Fensa’s protests died a rapid death because…what the hell?! It sure looked to her like the guy’s tongue was forked at the end. And that was some freaky ass shit. But before she could ponder the possible implications, his forked tongue shot out again with a speed she wasn’t at all prepared for.
“No, wait—!”
Fensa broke off with a gasp as the robot man’s serpentine tongue licked up her mound, wet and hot. Like literally hot. It felt like the paraffin wax used by the facility salon staff during her manicure a week ago, the one she received before Papa’s funeral. But it was also wet, dangerously wet. And it delivered a sensation that was like nothing she’d ever felt before.
Which was why Fensa was so very unprepared when his tongue pushed between her folds without so much as a “Hi, how are you?” and then proceeded to explore her wet slit until it found the tunnel previously untouched by any fingers but her own.
What is happening? Why is he licking me? With a forked tongue??? What in the hell?! Her mind screamed silently as she sat on the soft bear fur, her face frozen in a rictus of horror. His tongue was in her so deep, Fensa could feel it snaking around at the back of her canal. Lighting up all sorts of nerve endings she never even guessed she had inside her.
Including one in particular that sent a sharp jolt of pure electricity through her womb. What happened next was beyond all comprehension.
“Oh, God…oh God!” she gasped out loud. Then an impossibly luxuriant and warm sensation arched her back as she came on his forked tongue.
Okay, yeah, that confirmed it. This was obviously not one of those family-friendly animatronic parks her mom was considering for her video game build.
“They’ve got these hot robots that will, like, take you on an adventure, or rescue you, and then bring you back to their place.” Koko’s recap of her naughty animatronic trip slipped back into Fensa’s mind as she floated back down to earth after her intense orgasm. She recalled Koko’s racy description when she visited Fensa at the facility after her recent spring break trip. “The guys don’t have dicks, but they will go down on you for ten minutes to an hour, depending on your package. And let me just say, they’re programmed very, very well.”
At the time, Fensa was pretty sure Koko had to be exaggerating. But now she didn’t doubt a word of what her cousin had told her. Not one word.
And she really hoped to God whoever paid to receive the service she’d somehow stumbled into hadn’t purchased a sixty-minute package. Because this twenty-three-year-old virgin had just climaxed all over this freaky sexbot’s hot tongue in what had to have been under five minutes—
Fensa snapped out of her thoughts when she felt the bot’s tongue suddenly retract from her slit. She watched it slip effortlessly back into his mouth like a measuring tape.
“Uh, sorry if I came too fast,” she mumbled, not sure what else to say.
He continued to give her the silent treatment, rising to a stand, his otherworldly red eyes intent on her forehead. Then in another instance of serpent-like grace, he curled one large hand around the back of her neck.
Oh, he’s going to kiss me!
Koko, who tended to be wildly graphic and giggly when describing her various hook-ups, hadn’t mentioned any kissing. But who was Fensa to deny this sexbot his kiss? If he was programmed to kiss clients, then he could go right on ahead.
Except…he didn’t exactly kiss her. Not even close. Instead, he brought his lips to the gash on her forehead, the one she’d all but forgotten about, and…
Fensa screamed as the robot’s forked tongue swiped across her wound. Hot and stinging. It was like getting licked by a red-hot poker. And when she tried to squirm away, he held the back of her neck in a grip that felt like a band of steel.
She was beyond confused, and not a little terrified. Was this some kind of medical procedure? But how was that even possible? It was against the law for non-medical bots to provide medical services without security clearance and voice activated approval. And even the medbots were frequently programmed to only provide service with the verbal consent of the patient, or consent from the patient’s designated stand-in. In fact, there’d recently been a story in the feeds about some snake bite guy dying right next to a camp medbot because he lost consciousness before he could give consent.
But here she was, struggling against what felt like the complete cauterization of her head wound. Fensa was unable to extract herself from the procedure, even though her hands were on the robot’s chest, and she was pushing at him with all her wolf strength.
Which also didn’t make sense. Most bots were manufactured from super lightweight titanium that put even the largest bot at no more than sixty pounds. This was a deliberate design choice meant to reassure the public that animatronic park bots would be easy to restrain in the unlikely event they went all Westworld.
In other words, this bot shouldn’t be any stronger than a human child, and he for damn sure shouldn’t have been able to restrain her against his large body with nothing more than a hand around her neck, and what felt like a minimal effort to keep her in place.
And that’s when she felt it. A very hard, very big protrusion right where there should be nothing but the genderless smooth metal expanse of a Ken doll.
Real junk on robots were still very much against the law. There’d been a huge court case and everything, which resulted in every major animatronics developer agreeing to keep all robots gender neutral below the waistline. So why then was Fensa standing inside a glacier castle with a robot’s enormous erection pressed against her…?
As suddenly as he’d grabbed her, he let her go, leaving her reeling and so very confused.
Then he took a step back, his unblinking red stare traveling down the rest of her body. Like he was looking for another place to lick.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Where am I? And why did you—?”
She stopped as her face heated at the memory of his forked tongue slipping inside her. “Wh-why did you do that to me?” she demanded. “And WHAT is going on with your tongue?”
He tilted his head at her. Studying her carefully with his distant, emotionless stare. The one that put her in mind of a reptile. A reptile in a man suit and beard. Oh, dear Fenrir Wolf…
“Talk!” she screamed at him.
Nothing.
A wild, panicked fury began to rise in her. “You tell me where I am! When I am! You tell me right now, goddammit! Before I completely lose it!”
Again…nothing.
And that was when she flew at him. Wolf first, her hands extended like claws as she let out a savage Viking yell she hadn’t been aware was inside her.
Whoever or whatever this guy—this thing—was, she was going to hurt him. Claw off his face, then get the answers she needed while he bled out on his goddamn polar bear throw—
However, her fierce Berserker cry abruptly ended in an ugly choking sound, as the not-robot caught her in the air. By her neck. By her effing neck! Fensa gurgled in a combination of outrage and frustrated disbelief as he held her suspended a few feet above the floor.
As if at six-feet tall and nearly two hundred pounds, she weighed little more than an antique Raggedy Ann doll.
Fensa could do nothing but dangle above the floor, slowly choking as the not-robot’s head tilted back and forth. Studying her dispassionately. How easily he’d overpowered her! Then…
Another scent rose between them. Momentarily distracting her from the chokehold, and from her rapidly decreasing ability to breathe. It was the scent of arousal. Her arousal.
Well, shit. This was one
of the many things that made having a wild animal trapped inside her body so inconvenient. It was the way he was gripping her neck. In a tight choke hold that wouldn’t necessarily kill her, but unequivocally kept her under his complete control. Allowing him to dominate her with little effort on his part.
Her human most definitely did not care for this position. Like, at all. But her wolf had seriously misread his intent and responded to his grip as if it was a claiming hold. A promise of things to come. And after being held back for so long thanks to the regular regimen of heat control shots, the wolf inside her wanted this promise fulfilled. Wanted him. Despite his freaky red stare. And reptilian demeanor. And the somewhat inconvenient fact that he was holding her suspended in mid-air. By the throat.
Fensa’s core began to pulse like it had a heartbeat of its own at the mere thought of being mated by this man.
But he’s not a man, she reminded herself. Or a wolf—not with those glowing red eyes. And…maybe not a robot either. She didn’t have the slightest idea what in the hell he was. Or if he was even real.
That last thought stabbed through her like an icicle in the chest, scaring her right out of any primal lust she might have been feeling.
“Let me go,” she choked out, giving him her best facsimile of her papa’s fierce Viking stare.
A beat passed, during which he studied her so coldly, she was scared he might be weighing whether or not to kill her. And he could…right here and now. He could easily snap her neck with nothing but a flick of his huge wrist.
Fensa was still contemplating her imminent demise when he abruptly opened his fingers, releasing her from his grasp, dropping her back down to the polar bear furs below as if she were nothing more than a sack of dirty laundry.
Now, and only now, did he speak. And Fensa immediately wished he hadn’t.
His voice was little more than a sharp hiss of syllables. Sounding as vicious as it was unintelligible, though she vaguely recognized the guttural language used by the wolves who’d assaulted her.
However, despite the shared language, he did not sound like those shifter thugs. Not even a little. Fensa recoiled instinctively. And then again when he started towards her, his stare as hypnotic as it was unblinking. She continued to take small steps back…attempting to keep him from invading her personal space more than he already had (and dude, he’d been all up in it!) when she spotted something in his left hand. A small white circle, only slightly bigger than a quarter. But unlike a quarter, it was covered in short, silver needles.
Fensa didn’t recognize the object at all, but she’d been sedated enough times at the facility to know what was coming next.
“No, wait! Hold on. I’ll be good…please don’t do this,” she begged, just like she’d begged the staff at the facility the first time they caught her trying to sneak out. “I’ll be good—”
But like the facility staff, he didn’t listen.
Fensa stopped begging with a cry when several sharp pin pricks punctured the skin of her upper arm. What if she hadn’t been drugged? Maybe she’d been poisoned. Whatever it was, it burned going in, and she could feel the chemicals crawling through her blood vessels.
Good night, Fensa.
Her thoughts slurred, and she threw a helpless look at the man who’d pricked her. Not surprisingly, he stared back. Showing no emotion at all. Same as when he brought her inside his ice fortress, same as when he made her come with his forked tongue. Yeah, she thought drowsily to herself, there’s a pretty good chance none of this is real. None of it.
Fensa tried to speak, but found her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth, no longer capable of forming words. Then the plush fur of the polar bear skins seemed to rise to meet her. And that was the last thing she remembered before the darkness overtook her.
6
“These results cannot be accurate!”
His uncle’s words, not Xenon’s. Yet they echoed the exact thought he’d been having for the past three day cycles of this planet. Ever since he read the initial report on the lupinhominid he’d titled “Female 7-133” in his study.
“I performed the scans twice. Then I ran a lengthy system diagnostic, before putting her bloodwork and DNA samples through a third time. But the results came back the same every time,” Xenon answered. “I assure you on my brother’s throne, they are correct.”
“But how can they possibly be correct?” The Royal Overlord shook his head at Xenon’s assurance. “Her carbon date is nearly that of a twenty-rotation female, but she has no history of severe infection, and her skin graphs show minimal scarring and weather damage. She has traces of DNA from every single lupin genus we have observed thus far, as well as plant life from every continent and several varieties of vegetation not included the Lead Agriculturist’s initial report. And how can she have such a high percentage of fatty tissue throughout her body? It is unfathomable!”
His uncle opened his glottis to make a skeptical hiss in the back of his shell’s throat. But his gaze remained intent on his lab wall as if the results would morph into something he could comprehend.
The confusion in his uncle’s flame sparked guilt in Xenon’s own. He’d temporarily put aside his father’s advice to allow no others into his confidence or lab while on this trip, to seek answers with the Royal Overlord. But he had not completely forgotten his father’s warning that he should trust no one on this mission as it could impact his survival.
So lest Xenon somehow be blamed for a match arrival coming through an un-encoded portal, he had given his uncle Female 7-133’s scans without the full backstory. Instead, he’d claimed her as a non-experimental or control group anomaly who had somehow wandered into the Group 7 village.
“This lupinhominid is an impossible construct. And you say she is nearly as tall as an average drakki?”
Xenon nodded. “She is an outlier in every way, and I cannot comprehend how she could be possible amongst this species. This is why I brought the scans to you,”
A second opinion. That was what he decided he needed after running the giant lupinhominid’s genetic sample through his computer three times—a feat, considering each scan took nearly a quarter of this planet’s day-to-night cycle to complete.
In truth, he felt somewhat validated by his uncle’s shock upon reading the results. And he hadn’t even told the older drakkon what he’d found while analyzing the female’s odd footwear. A reddish-brown sediment, the kind that could only be found in the hottest areas of the origin lands.
“And these undocumented chemicals—including one that seems to be suppressing her ability to shift.” The older drakkon shook his head at the green scan results Xenon had uploaded to his lab wall. The Zone 6 glacier station was nearly two times as large as Xenon’s, with not one, but three labs and a staging room big enough to house all one hundred drakkon on the mission team. And thanks to his uncle’s mission title of Lead Investigator, the glacier station had ten times as many analytical tools as its Zone 7 counterpart. But none of those tools could help either of them understand how a genetically engineered hominid came to have such comparatively sophisticated drugs in her system.
“Mind you, the chemical makeup is rough by our standards,” his uncle observed, seeming to speak more to himself than Xenon. “But it is eons beyond what this species has at their avail.”
His uncle’s flame remained a neutral dark blue, but then older drakkon were better at controlling their flames than younger ones. In any case, Xenon could tell his uncle was genuinely disturbed by the angry hiss of his esses as he spoke.
Xenon thought back to three day cycles ago when the female’s attack angered him so much he could not control his glottis. He’d hissed at her much like his uncle now hissed at the data on his lab wall.
“She also carries no species tracker as the rest of the Royal Geneticist’s hybrids do.”
Like most drakkon assigned to their research team, his uncle had opted for a beard when designing his native shift shell. However, instead of the short and bushy style
s like those Xenon and his cousin, the Royal Huntmaster, chose, the Royal Overlord’s was silky like the lupinhominids of groups 6 and 7. He stroked his shell beard as he asked, “Is it possible she hails from somewhere outside this planet as we do?”
“No,” Xenon responded after a moment of thought. “She might not have one of the Royal Geneticist’s tracking systems in place, but the DNA from his experiments with Group 3 is evident within her—though strangely, she has absolutely no jackal or lion tracers in her DNA. It’s as if a Group 3 lupin found an anthro from the origin lands, turned that anthro into a lupin with a full moon bite, and then a lupin descendent from that pairing somehow mated with a lupinhominid from Group 3.”
“We’re not even three generations into The Royal Geneticist’s first viable experimentation groups! There hasn’t been enough time for such a thing to occur.”
“I am aware of this.”
“So then how is this female possible?”
“I do not know,” Xenon confessed. “Again, that is why I came to you, Lead Investigator.”
With a grim flame, his uncle spent several more wing beats staring at the female’s scans. “Perhaps,” he suggested, “the ban you have imposed on Zone 7 could be lifted? Just for a quarter moon or less? So I might observe this female with a few other researchers.”
The Zone restriction had been the last edict his father made from his death pallet. Xenon’s curiosity would not trump that. Even if his father had quite literally banished him to the frozen wasteland to “keep him safe.” Xenon shook his head immediately at the suggestion. “No, whatever zone I reside in remains off limits to other drakkon. That rule will remain in place”
Even an old drakkon like his uncle couldn’t keep the disappointment from showing in his flame. But then he seemed to shift gears, and declared, “Then she must be brought here. To my labs. I must run the tests myself. After all, my lab has more equipment, and I am the one with the advanced training. You are but an underling on this mission.”
NAGO, His Mississippi Queen: 50 Loving States, Mississippi (The Brothers Nightwolf Trilogy, Book 1) Page 20
