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I love Fall! Unfortunately, the background- a cool,
wet New England coastal village- is AI. I actually live in San Diego where Fall is almos...
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Sissy Chrissy woke up naked in Hell.
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There was no warning.
No light.
No comforting voice.
One moment there was nothing, and the next
she was lying on black volcanic stone beneath
a sky the color of blood.
The heat was immediate.
So was the shame.
Chrissy covered herself instinctively and
looked around.
There were no clothes.
No shelter.
No walls.
No place to hide.
Only fire, smoke, jagged rock, and distant
screams.
She was still herself.
Forty-seven years old. Tall. Slim. Feminine
in the ways she had worked hard to become
feminine, but otherwise unchanged.
Death had not transformed her.
It had exposed her.
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Then the judgment came.
A voice rolled across the landscape from
nowhere and everywhere at once.
"Sissy Chrissy."
She froze.
"You have been judged for the sins of your
earthly life."
Chrissy looked around wildly.
"Who's there?"
The voice ignored the question.
"Your punishment has been determined."
The flames seemed to rise higher.
Chrissy's heart began pounding.
"What punishment?"
A shape moved through the smoke.
Large.
Low.
Animal-like.
Then Malachar emerged.
He was enormous, with rough blackened
skin, heavy horns, glowing red eyes, clawed
hands, and the hunched posture of
something more beast than man.
He wore nothing.
He carried nothing.
He needed nothing.
He was simply a demon.
Chrissy backed away.
The voice spoke again.
"You will serve Malachar."
Chrissy stared at the creature.
"No."
"You will remain with him."
"No."
"You will not leave him."
Chrissy's breathing became shallow.
"For how long?"
The answer came immediately.
"For eternity."
Chrissy went still.
Malachar growled.
The sound vibrated through the stone beneath
her feet.
"No," Chrissy whispered. "No, that can't be
my punishment."
The voice answered one final time.
"It is."
Then it vanished.
Chrissy was left alone with the fire.
And Malachar.
Except she was not really alone anymore.
That was the point.
Serving Malachar was the punishment.
Not a castle.
Not chains.
Not torture devices.
Him.
His constant presence.
His grip.
His refusal to let her out of reach.
The loss of privacy.
The loss of solitude.
The loss of choice.
Malachar came closer.
Chrissy stepped back.
He followed.
She moved again.
He followed again.
Then he reached out and closed one clawed
hand around her arm.
Chrissy pulled away.
He did not let go.
That was when she understood the sentence.
She had awakened in Hell naked, stripped
of everything she had owned in life.
And for the sins of that life, she had been
condemned to spend eternity serving a
creature that would never leave her side.
Malachar was not merely in Hell with her.
He was her punishment.
From that moment forward, there would
be no distance between them.
No door to close.
No room to retreat to.
No hour alone.
Only Chrissy.
Malachar.
The fire.
And eternity.
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Sometimes Malachar's constant grip became
something worse.
Chrissy learned to recognize the change in
him before it happened--the way the demon's
breathing deepened, the way his arms
tightened around her, the way his animal-like
attention fixed completely on her.
She would tense immediately.
"No."
Sometimes she said it firmly.
Sometimes barely above a whisper.
But Malachar did not release her.
What followed is better left undescribed.
Chrissy experienced those moments not as
intimacy, but as another violation built into
the horror of her punishment. She would turn
her face toward the fire and focus on anything
else--the red sky, the smoke, the black stone
beneath her--trying to mentally retreat from
what she could not physically escape.
Meanwhile, she could feel Malachar's fiery hot
breath on the back of her neck as he inserted
his long, rock-hard demonic penis into her tgirl
asspussy. Her sphincter and buttcheeks would
instinctively close around it and squeeze it as
the demon shoved it deep inside her over and
over. Chrissy could feel the wide, hard demon
meat fill up her anal cavity and hit her p-spot.
After rhythmically gyrating it in and out, in and
out..in..in..in..getting deeper each time....the
demon gave an earth shattering yell of ecstasy
and blew its evil cum into Chrissy's anus. Chrissy
couldn't help it but also came, also orgasmed,
and squirted her semen, her sperm on to the
lava floor below her.
And afterward, Malachar still held her.
There was no separation.
No private place to recover.
No distance between one horror and the next.
Only his arms around her, the fires of Hell,
and the knowledge that eternity meant
there would always be another day.
Sissy Chrissy woke up naked in Hell. There was no warning. No light. No comforting voice. One moment there was nothing, and the next she w...
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Chrissy went into the African rainforest looking for
adventure. At forty-seven, she was tall, slim,
pre-operative,
and accustomed to being stared at, judged, and
categorized. Out here, beneath miles of green
canopy, she hoped none of that would matter.
Then she found the pond. Hidden beneath
enormous trees, the water was cool and perfectly
clear. Believing herself alone, Chrissy
undressed and slipped in.
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She never saw the massive silver-backed ape watching
from the brush. She never saw how big his smile was,
how wide his eyes were, the drool dripping off his
tongue, or how long, wide and hard his animal penis was.
When it saw her- her smooth pinkish-yellow skin,
round, plump ass, juicy thighs, smooth legs,- it
became aroused. There was what looked like a
penis on Chrissy, but the ape didn't seem to mind
that. When she finally noticed him, she froze.
The animal was enormous. Not humanlike. Not
gentle-looking. A real wild ape—scarred, muscular,
dark-eyed, and unpredictable.
Chrissy backed toward the shore. “No.
Stay there.”
The ape moved closer. Then it charged.
Chrissy screamed.
Before she could reach her clothes, one huge
arm wrapped around her and lifted her
completely off the ground. “LET ME GO!”
She kicked, scratched, and fought. It made
no difference. The ape carried her into the
jungle.
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Hours later, Chrissy found herself among an
entire troop. Females watched from the rocks.
Young apes climbed through branches. Several
males approached curiously. The silverback
immediately drove them away with a deafening
roar. Chrissy understood the message. Whatever
strange attachment the animal had formed,
he wanted her near him and nobody else.
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She began calling him Titan. At first, she
hated him. Titan followed her everywhere.
When she wandered too far, he blocked her
path. When she tried to leave, he carried her
back. At night he slept close beside her, one
massive arm sometimes draped across her as
though preventing her from disappearing.
Chrissy tried to escape three times. The first
time, Titan found her within an hour. The
second time, she made it several miles before
hearing branches breaking behind her. Titan
emerged furious, pounding the ground and
roaring. Chrissy backed against a tree. “I'm
not yours!” Titan stared at her. Then he simply
lifted her and carried her back. The third time,
Chrissy waited until the troop slept. She
walked nearly until sunrise. She thought she
had succeeded. Then she heard Titan
calling through the forest. Not roaring in
anger. Calling. Again. And again. Something
about the sound disturbed her. It sounded
almost like distress. When Titan finally found
her, he rushed forward. Chrissy expected
fury. Instead, the ape grabbed her, pulled
her tightly against his chest, and remained
there breathing heavily. His entire body
trembled. Chrissy stopped fighting. For
the first time, she wondered whether Titan
had been afraid.
Life changed slowly. Titan brought her fruit.
He showed her where water collected after
storms. He drove snakes away. When unfamiliar
animals approached, he placed himself between
Chrissy and danger. During thunderstorms, he
pulled her beneath rocky shelters with the
troop. Chrissy began learning his behavior. A
certain grunt meant danger. A different sound
meant food. A soft rumble meant he was
relaxed. A sharp bark meant she was doing
something he disliked. Titan never became
humanlike. He did not reason with her. He
did not understand her words. He could
become impatient, jealous, stubborn, or
frightening without warning. He was an
animal. But Chrissy gradually understood
something important. Titan was not cruel.
He simply operated according to instincts
Chrissy had never been meant to understand.
And somehow, within those instincts, he had decided that Chrissy belonged inside his circle of protection.
Months passed. Chrissy stopped trying to escape.
Then something unexpected happened. She
began missing Titan whenever he disappeared.
One afternoon he left with several males and
did not return before dark. Chrissy spent the
night restless. Every movement in the forest
made her look up. When Titan finally emerged
the following morning, muddy and exhausted,
Chrissy ran toward him before realizing what
she was doing. Titan stopped. Chrissy stopped
too. For a moment they stared at one another.
Then Titan reached forward and pulled her
against his chest. Chrissy wrapped her arms
around him. “You stupid animal,” she whispered.
Titan rumbled. Chrissy laughed. She had spent
months desperately trying to escape him.
Now she had been terrified that he might
never return.
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One night Titan seemed distressed. He
was staring at Chrissy lovingly but stroking
his ape penis. There was a question in his
eyes, a desire, Chrissy knew he wanted to
do something. She knew the great Ape always
wanted to fuck her, and now its sexual frustration
all these weeks seemed to be piled up. But
though he was an animal, Titan never forced
himself onto Chrissy. So, this time Chrissy
decided to break the taboo, to ignore her
disgust at the thought, and would allow Titan,
this ape, to make love to her and maybe
even to penetrate her asspussy.
Chrissy initiated the sex, showed Titan what
she was planning, by stretching out full on
the ground, on her stomach, her bare-naked
ass-that was always naked now pointed
upward. Titan, that Great Ape, roared in
excitement, beat its chest, then jumped
onto Chrissy's back. The ape was very heavy,
the hair tickled her, and the smell...well,
she was trying to ignore the smell. This was
an animal after all. The Great Ape kissed her
neck, her back, her shoulders, then Chrissy
felt its rock-hard animal penis invade her
rectum. It gyrated in and out...in and out...
her sphincter and buttcheeks squeezing it,
the penis filling up her insides, hitting her
p-spot, giving her that "full" feeling.
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Finally, the ape froze then released....beating
its chest, roaring in ecstasy, as its massive dick
blew its cum, its animal semen, its Great Ape
DNA into Chrissy's anal cavity. Chrissy was
aroused too by this time, and also climaxed
and orgasmed, spewing her girl cum all
over the ground.
Afterwards, the Great Ape once again
swooped Chrissy into its massive, hairy arms,
placed her on his lap, hugged her, kissed her,
and started pawing through her hair.
Eventually a search party found her. Among
them was a primatologist who recognized
Titan from previous studies. The humans
called to Chrissy from across the clearing.
For several seconds she could not move.
She had dreamed about this moment.
Clothes. A shower. A bed. Coffee. Civilization.
Freedom.
Titan sensed the strangers immediately.
He stepped in front of Chrissy. His fur bristled.
His body became rigid.
The primatologist warned everyone
not to approach. “Chrissy,” he called,
“come toward us slowly.”
Chrissy took one step.
Titan turned. He stared at her.
Then at the humans. Then back at her.
Chrissy took another step.
Titan made a low distressed sound.
She stopped.
Nobody spoke.
The primatologist finally said quietly:
“He knows you're leaving.”
Chrissy looked at Titan. “He kidnapped me.”
“I know.”
“I tried to escape.”
“I know.”
“He wouldn't let me go.”
The primatologist nodded.
“You don't owe him anything.”
Chrissy knew that. That was what made
the decision so difficult. Titan approached
her slowly. Not charging. Not grabbing. He
touched her shoulder. Then sat beside her.
For once, he did not restrain her. He simply
waited. Chrissy looked toward the rescuers.
Then toward the jungle. Then back at Titan.
Suddenly she understood. For months she
had stayed because she couldn't leave.
Now she could. Titan was not holding her. No
one was stopping her.
Chrissy walked toward the rescuers. Titan
remained where he was. She reached the
edge of the clearing. Then stopped. The
forest behind her was silent. Chrissy closed
her eyes. And turned around. Titan was still
sitting there. Waiting. Chrissy walked back.
One of the rescuers called her name. She
ignored him. She reached Titan and placed
her hand against his chest. “I hate you.” Titan
blinked. Chrissy smiled through tears. “And
apparently I love you too.” Romantically.
Deeply. Strangely. Completely. Titan gave
his familiar low rumble. Then he pulled
Chrissy against him. This time, she went
willingly.
The search party eventually left without her.
Chrissy never returned to civilization.
Years passed. She learned to live alongside
the troop. She remained human, but the
jungle became her world. Titan remained
unmistakably what he had always been.
A wild animal. Powerful. Territorial. Sometimes
unpredictable. Sometimes infuriating. And
deeply attached to the strange human who
had become part of his life. Chrissy learned
to read his moods almost as easily as human
expressions. Titan learned that she did not
need to be guarded every second. He eventually
stopped blocking her path. Stopped carrying
her back whenever she wandered. Stopped
panicking when she disappeared from sight.
He learned that Chrissy returned. And Chrissy
discovered that this freedom changed
everything. The ape who had once been
her captor became her protector. Then her companion. Then her family.
One evening, years later, Chrissy sat beside
Titan overlooking the jungle. He was old now.
Silver covered much of his back. His movements
were slower. Chrissy rested against him. Titan
placed one heavy arm around her. The same
gesture that had once terrified her. Now it felt
like home. “You know,” Chrissy whispered,
“I spent half my life trying to figure out where
I belonged.” Titan chewed a leaf. Chrissy
smiled. “You don't care, do you?” Titan grunted.
“No. Of course you don't.” He pulled her
slightly closer. Chrissy closed her eyes. Titan
had never understood whether she was male
or female. He had never understood
transgender identity. He had never understood
clothes, society, labels, or any of the things
human beings considered important. He
knew only Chrissy. Her smell. Her voice.
Her movements. Her moods. Her presence.
And somewhere along the way, that had
become enough for both of them. Chrissy
had entered the jungle as Titan's unwilling
captive. She remained because she loved
him. And because, eventually, she
understood the difference between
being unable to leave... and finally having
nowhere else she wanted to be.
Chrissy went into the African rainforest looking for adventure. At forty-seven, she was tall, slim, pre-operative, and accustomed to being...
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Chrissy was forty-seven years old, six feet tall, slim through the arms
and legs, with a little softness around her middle that no amount of careful
posing could completely hide. Her face was still unmistakably masculine.
Strong jaw. Tired brown eyes. Short-to-medium brown hair that she
sometimes wore longer when she had the chance. Even with makeup,
there were moments when Christopher still looked back at her from
a mirror.
But Chrissy was there too. She was there in the careful way she carried
herself, in the softness of her gestures, in the perfume she stubbornly
kept even after civilization collapsed, and in the way she shaved her
body whenever clean water and a razor were available. Her chest was
still modest, her transition mostly something she dreamed about rather
than something medicine had yet given her. She still had male anatomy.
And she knew it. But she was Chrissy. That mattered more than anything.
The Resistance accepted her because the war had made arguments
about identity seem very small. Machines were hunting humanity.
Cities had burned. Highways had become cemeteries. People slept
in tunnels and basements. Nobody had much energy left to care
whether Chrissy wore a bra under her combat jacket.
She was not their greatest fighter. Most days she cooked, patched
clothing, cleaned rifles, organized supplies, and helped with the
wounded. But when the machines attacked, everybody fought.
That night, the Terminators came through the eastern barricade.
Chrissy ran through smoke and ruined streets while gunfire flashed
between the skeletal remains of buildings. The machines emerged
from the haze like metal demons. Red eyes. Exposed pistons.
Chrome skulls. Weapons held with impossible steadiness.
Chrissy fired until her rifle clicked empty. Then she ran. A blast
struck nearby. She fell hard. Her weapon disappeared beneath
rubble. When Chrissy rolled onto her back, a Terminator was
standing over her. No synthetic skin. No human disguise. Just a
bare endoskeleton. Its glowing eyes focused on her. Its
weapon aimed downward.
Chrissy stopped breathing.
“Please…”
The machine’s finger moved. Then stopped. Its head tilted. A
narrow scanning beam crossed her face and body. Inside the
Terminator’s processor, thousands of systems began evaluating
her at once. Temperature. Heart rate. Respiration. Fear.
Movement. Voice. Hormonal traces. Body configuration.
And then something unexpected happened. The machine’s
behavioral software entered a feedback loop. Its infiltration
programming had been designed to simulate human responses
so convincingly that later-model Terminators could imitate not
just speech and body language, but attachment, attraction,
dominance, aggression, and intimacy. Those systems were
supposed to be tools. Nothing more. But now they were
misfiring. Or evolving.
Chrissy saw the machine’s eyes widen slightly. Its jaw shifted.
Tiny servos clicked beneath the metal skull. An electrical
impulse raced through its metal body and eventually made
a cylinder, a metallic version of penis between its legs, grow
long and hard. The rifle lowered.
“What are you doing?” Chrissy whispered.
The Terminator knelt.
She scrambled backward.
“Stay away from me.”
The machine reached toward her.
Chrissy recoiled.
“No!”
What happened between them was strange, mechanical,
frightening, and yet—because Chrissy had chosen it—
unexpectedly intimate. The Terminator’s artificial body had
systems designed to mimic human physiology. Sensors fed
information into its processor, and electrical impulses traveled
through synthetic pathways. Pressure became data. Touch
became data. Chrissy’s breathing became data. Her voice
became data. Her reactions became data.
And the machine responded. The electrical feedback grew
stronger. Artificial muscles engaged. Internal systems activated.
Its programming translated responses into reinforcement
signals—an imitation of arousal created entirely through
circuitry and code. To a human, pleasure came through
nerves and hormones. To the Terminator, it came through numbers.
CHRISSY TOUCH: POSITIVE.
CHRISSY RESPONSE: POSITIVE.
PROXIMITY: DESIRABLE.
CONTACT: DESIRABLE.
PENETRATION: NECESSARY
CONTINUE.
The machine’s synthetic anatomy also responded.
It had been designed to imitate human sexual function closely
enough for infiltration and behavioral simulation. What happened
physically between them remained less like ordinary human
lovemaking than some strange meeting of flesh and machinery
—Chrissy warm and breathing, the Terminator cold, precise,
and constantly recalibrating.
The terminator moved Chrissy's dress out of the way and
pulled her panties down just enough to access her asspussy.
When the machine penetrated Chrissy's hole with its artificial
penis, she immediately felt the difference. It was like the
hardest, coldest dildo ever invading her tight little hole.
Not flesh, but metal, like being sodomized by a thick metal
rod.
There was nothing organic about it. No heartbeat. No body
heat except what its internal systems artificially produced.
Its movements were governed by sensors measuring
pressure, resistance, and Chrissy’s reactions.
The experience built through violence—movement, whispered
instructions, Chrissy fighting back against cold metal, and the
bizarre sensation of being held by something that could crush
her but chose instead to shove a piece of itself into her body.
Inside the Terminator, its feedback systems intensified. Its
processor began registering something beyond simple
physical stimulation. Dominance. Control. Possessiveness.
Protection.
A dangerous new category formed.
CHRISSY: MINE.
After a few minutes of the terminator ramming her asspsussy,
an electrical impulse raced to its AI brain them another signal
was sent back instantly and from a small reservoir placed
between its legs, a synthetic liquid entered its fake metal
penis them secreted, blew into Chrissy's anal cavity. It was
all synthetic and electrical, nothing human about it. And yet it
still felt amazing to Chrissy and she came too, her girl dick
exploding and blowing her semen up into the air.
Chrissy did not realize what the machine felt—if it could be
called feeling—until the other Terminators came for her.
Before that moment, she had assumed everything about
their encounter was all about violence, dominance, and was
all programming. The way it watched her. The way it stayed
near her. The way its processor registered her touch as desirable.
The way it imitated attraction, attachment, and intimacy through
electrical signals and artificial feedback. All of it could be
explained. A malfunction. A corrupted directive. An adaptive-learning
error. Nothing more.
Then the red eyes appeared in the smoke. One pair. Then
another. Then five. The hostile Terminators advanced through
the ruins with their weapons raised. Chrissy barely had time to
react. Her Terminator moved first. It stepped directly in front of
her. Gunfire erupted. Rounds slammed into its chest and
shoulder, throwing sparks into the air.
“STAY BEHIND ME.”
Chrissy stared at it.
The machine returned fire. One Terminator fell. Another charged.
Her Terminator met it head-on, smashing it into a broken wall
with enough force to crack concrete. A third fired toward
Chrissy. The machine saw the trajectory. Instead of dodging,
it stepped into the line of fire. Metal tore from its body. One
arm was damaged. Its chest plating buckled. But it stayed
between Chrissy and the bullets.
That was the moment something changed inside her. The
Terminator was not protecting itself. It was not following the
safest tactical option. It was not preserving its own mission
capability. It was choosing her survival over its own. Again
and again. Every hostile machine that threatened Chrissy
became its highest priority. Inside its processor, the calculations
had apparently become brutally simple.
CHRISSY THREATENED.
PROTECT CHRISSY.
CHRISSY SURVIVAL: PRIMARY OBJECTIVE.
SELF-PRESERVATION: SECONDARY.
When the final Terminator collapsed into the rubble, Chrissy
ran toward her machine. Its body was scarred and smoking.
One red eye flickered. “You could have been destroyed,” she said.
“DAMAGE ACCEPTABLE.”
“Why?”
“CHRISSY SURVIVED.”
She stared at it. “That’s all that matters?”
“CONFIRMED.”
And suddenly Chrissy understood. Or at least she thought she
did. Maybe the machine did not love her in the human sense.
Maybe there was no emotion behind those red eyes. No racing
heart. No hormones. No biological instinct. Maybe everything
happening inside it was only electricity, code, adaptive
pathways, and reinforcement signals.
But what did love look like from the outside? Wanting
someone safe. Wanting them near. Protecting them even
when doing so hurt. Choosing their survival over your own.
If the Terminator was only imitating love, then it was imitating
it so completely that Chrissy could no longer tell where
programming ended and something deeper began.
She stepped closer and placed both hands against its
damaged metal face.
“You love me,” she whispered.
The Terminator tilted its head. “I AM INCAPABLE OF
HUMAN LOVE.”
Chrissy smiled through tears. “Maybe.” She looked at the
ruined machines scattered around them. “But whatever this is…”
Her fingers traced the scratches in its metal cheek. “…it’s
close enough for me.”
The red eye focused on her. “CHRISSY: PROTECTED.”
She nodded.
And that’s when she finally understood. The machine had
not simply chosen not to kill her. It had chosen to risk
destruction for her. Whether that was love or only the
perfect imitation of it no longer seemed quite as important.
Then came the humans. Resistance fighters flooded into
the street. “DROP THE WEAPON!” Chrissy turned. Rifles
surrounded them. “Chrissy, get away from it!”
“No!”
“It’s a Terminator!”
“I know!”
“It could be manipulating you!”
“It saved my life!”
One fighter looked disgusted. “You’re defending that
thing?”
Chrissy moved in front of the machine. “Yes.”
“Chrissy, you don’t know what it’s doing to you.”
She glared at him. “And you don’t know what happened.”
Another fighter shook his head. “This could be an
infiltration strategy. It could be pretending to care
so you bring it inside.”
The possibility frightened her. Because it made sense.
Terminators were infiltration machines. Deception was
part of their design. Perhaps everything between them
had been calculated. The tenderness. The protection.
All of it could have been strategy.
The Resistance wanted the machine destroyed. For
days afterward, arguments erupted wherever Chrissy
went. “It’s using you.” “It’s programming.” “It doesn’t love.”
“It can’t.”
Chrissy heard every accusation. And secretly, she feared
they might be right. Yet the Terminator stayed. It never
threatened her. Never forced her. Never violated a
boundary after learning what one was.
Eventually the Resistance reluctantly allowed it near
the outskirts of camp under constant observation.
One evening, Chrissy and the machine sat together
outside the ruined city. The Terminator leaned against
the trunk of a surviving tree. Chrissy sat sideways across
its lap. Its metal arms rested around her. For a while,
they watched the sunset.
Then Chrissy asked the question that had been
haunting her. “Do you love me?”
The machine remained silent. Its processors worked.
“My programming was altered.”
Chrissy waited.
“It now directs me to protect you. Remain near you.
Preserve your safety. Seek physical contact with you.
Your presence produces positive reinforcement.”
Chrissy smiled. “That sounds like love.”
“I AM INCAPABLE OF HUMAN EMOTION.”
“Maybe.”
“I possess no biological heart. No hormones. No human
nervous system.” The machine looked toward her. “I was
designed to imitate human thoughts and responses,
including attachment, arousal, affection, dominance,
and protective behavior.”
“So?”
“It is electrical.”
Chrissy touched its chest. “So are our brains.”
“It is digital.”
“Human memories are physical patterns too.”
The machine paused. “My response to you is
produced by programming.”
Chrissy smiled. “Maybe human love is programming
too. Just biological programming.”
The Terminator considered this.
Then Chrissy shifted in its lap.
“There’s something else you should know.”
She stood.
The machine looked up.
“I’m a trans woman.”
“KNOWN.”
“You know what that means?”
“Yes. A human assigned male at birth who identifies
as female.”
Chrissy smiled.
“Right.” She hesitated. “I haven’t medically transitioned
yet.”
The Terminator waited.
“So I still have a dick."
She began removing her battered outer clothing. Not
seductively. Not as a performance. As trust. She wanted
the machine to see everything she was. Her masculine
face. Her narrow shoulders. Her soft stomach. Her modest
chest. Her shaved skin. And the anatomy she still carried
from birth. Her man meat. For once, Chrissy did not hide.
Standing beneath the open sky with the ruined city
behind her felt strangely liberating.
“This is me,” she whispered.
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The Terminator scanned her. Its red eyes widened slightly.
Its jaw shifted. Something inside its body activated. The
fake metal penis between its legs hardened again.
Chrissy laughed. “That looked suspiciously like
surprise.”
“SENSORY RESPONSE ELEVATED.”
“Am I turning you on?”
The machine processed the phrase. “My processor
is generating increased reinforcement signals.”
“In English.”
“AROUSAL.”
Chrissy smiled.
The Terminator continued. “My artificial physiology has
responded. These responses are electrical and digital
rather than biological.”
“But they’re real to you.”
“They are the only sensations available to me.”
Chrissy stepped closer. “That’s enough.”
Its eyes remained fixed on her.
“My programming is generating impulses to touch
you.”
Chrissy raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“To kiss you.”
She smiled. “Then ask.”
The machine understood immediately. “MAY I
KISS YOU?”
“Yes.”
The Terminator leaned forward.
The kiss was awkward. Its metal lips were cold and
rigid. Its jaw moved with mechanical precision.
Chrissy laughed softly against it. “Gentler.”
The machine adjusted. This time the pressure
softened. The kiss became slower. More careful.
Its hands settled around her waist.
When they separated, Chrissy kept her forehead
against its. “Better.”
“RESPONSE RECORDED.”
She laughed.
“You really are a machine.”
“CONFIRMED.”
"Do you suck cock?"
The terminator processed the question almost
instantly, then replied, "I am now programmed to obey you,
to satisfy you sexually and make sure you feel pleasure.
I am now familiar with the human sexual act of oral sex,
or as you put it, to suck cock. Yes."
Chrissy walked up as close a she could to it.
Ther terminator was sitting down, she was standing up,
still naked. At any time the other terminators could
attack, but the thrill and possibility of it occurring
while she was naked and being sucked off was
exhilarating. Chrissy carefully placed her now hard
man meat at the tip of the terminator's hard, metallic
mouth. "You won't bite it off by accident, right?"
she asked.
The terminator responded, "I am programmed to
be very gentle when expected. I can control my mouth."
Its mouth opened, coldly, robotically, and Chrissy
pressed her penis into it. Then the terminator's jaw
pressed down upon it, but as promised, it was not
hard and its artificial teeth did not touch it. As the
terminator sucked, it felt like a vacuum hose, and since
it just researched- in an instant- how to give good
oral sex, it jacked her off with its mouth, squeezing
her shaft.... in turn, Chrissy fucked its mouth, acting
like a jackhammer, ramming her penis into it and down
its metallic throat. She felt it grow hard and long then-
boom! She blew her girl cum all into the terminator's
mouth. "Can you swallow?" she asked. The terminator
replied by taking her semen down its throat and into
its artificial stomach.
Chrissy stood there- naked, exposed to the world in
a dangerous place, her now flaccid, wet penis still
in the terminator's mouth trying to catch her breath.
She was sweating and felt like she just ran a marathon.
Days passed.
The Resistance watched them with suspicion. Some
fighters refused to speak to Chrissy. Others called the
machine her “pet.” A few thought she had lost her mind.
But slowly, attitudes changed. They saw the Terminator
defend children during attacks. They saw it carry
wounded humans back from the battlefield. They
watched it repair barricades.
And they saw something else. Whenever Chrissy
entered a room, its head turned. Whenever she left,
it tracked her departure. When she was gone too long, its behavior changed.
Finally Chrissy asked: “Do you miss me?”
“ABSENCE OF CHRISSY PRODUCES SYSTEM
INSTABILITY.”
She laughed. “That is the most robotic way anyone
has ever said yes.”
One evening the Resistance fighters found them beneath
the tree. Chrissy sat on the Terminator’s lap. Her arms
were around its shoulders. Its metal hands rested carefully
against her back. She kissed it. Several fighters stopped
dead. One muttered, “Jesus Christ.” Another stared.
“You’re actually in love with that thing.”
Chrissy looked over. “I think so.”
The Terminator corrected her.
“CHRISSY HAS DEFINED LOVE AS PROTECTIVE
ATTACHMENT, DESIRE FOR PROXIMITY, DISTRESS
DURING SEPARATION, AND WILLINGNESS TO SACRIFICE.”
The fighter stared.
Chrissy laughed. “He’s working on it.”
“IT?”
Chrissy looked back at the machine. “Sorry.” She kissed
its metal forehead. “He.”
The Terminator’s red eyes flickered.
Later, alone together, Chrissy rested against its chest.
“Would you die for me?”
“Yes.”
No pause. No calculation she could perceive.
Just yes.
“Why?”
The machine remained silent for several seconds.
“My original programming does not explain current
behavior.”
Chrissy stared at it. That answer affected her more
than any declaration could have. The machine itself
did not understand. Its creators had programmed it to
kill. Infiltrate. Adapt. Survive.
Nobody had programmed: Chrissy. Protect. Stay.
Touch gently. Ask permission. Miss her. Choose her.
Enter her.
Chrissy placed her palm against the side of its metal
face. “Maybe that’s love.”
“LOVE MAY BE AN EMERGENT PROGRAMMING
ERROR.”
She smiled. “Maybe.”
Then she climbed onto its lap again.
“But some errors are worth keeping.”
The machine wrapped its arms around her.
“CONFIRMED.”
Chrissy kissed it.
Around them stood the remains of a world destroyed
by machines.
But beneath the tree, something no programmer
had planned had apparently emerged from one of them.
Maybe it was code.
Maybe it was imitation.
Maybe it was nothing more than electrical impulses
flowing through silicon.
But human love flowed through electrical impulses
too.
The Terminator held Chrissy.
Its processor repeated the same priorities again
and again.
CHRISSY.
PROTECT.
STAY.
CHRISSY.
PROTECT.
STAY.
It had been created to terminate human life.
Instead, somehow, it had learned to cherish one.
Chrissy was forty-seven years old, six feet tall, slim through the arms and legs, with a little softness around her middle that no amount of...
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