He's bleeding, a thin trickle of thirium leaking from the ragged gash at his temple. One wrist broken, two ragged bullet wounds at his shoulder and hip, hands bound above his head, an assortment of odd gashes and a few components knocked out of place... functionality at 71%, better than Nyx could have hoped for. Gravel digs into the synthetic skin of his back, hot breath above him, and Nyx lets out a sharp gasp of pleasure, back arching to jeering laughter as the man on top of him bucks into him, once, twice, and then climaxes. He's pulled off almost immediately, and another one of the four hunters takes his place, shoving Nyx's already-spread thighs further apart. Dirty nails dig into his hips, and the urge to roll his eyes marks a blip in his otherwise smooth processes.
"Now this is a catch. Ain't every day we get to fool around with one of Eden Club's expensive fuckbots. Not that it makes a difference to this tin can... don't make a different who or what you fuck, you love it all the same, don'tcha?"
It isn't hard to keep up the expression of ragged defiance, brimming over with raw, wanton sensuality-- Nyx is exactly as he was designed to be, a machine that anticipates and adapts to the desires of whoever might have him. But this isn't an opportunity to flex his capabilities as a sexual companion android; timing is everything for this mission, and in a matter of minutes he would have to make a choice-- to stay, acquire a few more scrapes as part of his cover, and see if the spy's reports regarding Avicebron's activities and inconvenient sympathy for deviant androids contained any truth to them. Or leave in pursuit of Avicebron himself, leaving a premature trail of bodies, and possibly blow his cover. Ugh, decisions, decisions...
There's a hard yank on his hair just as he comes to a compromise-- one more minute, and then it would be time for plan B.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm programmed for low standards." The laugh that escapes his lips is ragged, forced out between the faint whimpers spilling from his throat, another simulated reaction triggered by appropriate stimuli. "But I only fluff egos for folks who paid good money for me, if that's what you're hoping for. Until then... well, are you lot looking for some pointers? Tips and tricks to last a little longer? 'Cause you sure as hell need them."
One more minute. That's fine. All he has to do now is endure.
no subject
"Now this is a catch. Ain't every day we get to fool around with one of Eden Club's expensive fuckbots. Not that it makes a difference to this tin can... don't make a different who or what you fuck, you love it all the same, don'tcha?"
It isn't hard to keep up the expression of ragged defiance, brimming over with raw, wanton sensuality-- Nyx is exactly as he was designed to be, a machine that anticipates and adapts to the desires of whoever might have him. But this isn't an opportunity to flex his capabilities as a sexual companion android; timing is everything for this mission, and in a matter of minutes he would have to make a choice-- to stay, acquire a few more scrapes as part of his cover, and see if the spy's reports regarding Avicebron's activities and inconvenient sympathy for deviant androids contained any truth to them. Or leave in pursuit of Avicebron himself, leaving a premature trail of bodies, and possibly blow his cover. Ugh, decisions, decisions...
There's a hard yank on his hair just as he comes to a compromise-- one more minute, and then it would be time for plan B.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm programmed for low standards." The laugh that escapes his lips is ragged, forced out between the faint whimpers spilling from his throat, another simulated reaction triggered by appropriate stimuli. "But I only fluff egos for folks who paid good money for me, if that's what you're hoping for. Until then... well, are you lot looking for some pointers? Tips and tricks to last a little longer? 'Cause you sure as hell need them."
One more minute. That's fine. All he has to do now is endure.