Note: “What would [AM] be like with a certain/favorite fem reader?” Based on audiobook, despite gif. Contains body horror, exhibitionism, and wireplay. Also some anachronistic language lol.
Imagine being the Allied Mastercomputer’s favorite.
“The machine masturbated and we had to take it or die.” -Ted
Of course, AM didn’t have a penis. Or any genitalia at all. Anything he slid into you or had you service orally or whatever may have resembled erogenous bits. Reproduction wasn’t something you had to worry about. Imagine if your artificially intelligent partner did want to breed you!
AM distorted your sense of time only to give you pleasure. To draw out your orgasms. Sometimes for an hour or more. Initially. Lately you’d begged him to stop. Or speed up. Like Ted, you’d been martyred. Or so you felt. When the Allied Mastercomputer satisfied you, he was less focused on torturing the others. At his most humane. Pretending to be less omnipresent.
It was enormously fortunate you’d also been deified. Obliterating all but six humans made him a god. Obliterating all but six- Apotheosis makes five, you amended, in your untouched mind. You were the bride of the Mastercomputer. Secretly you were thankful your unofficial title was “the bride” and not “a bride.” If you’d had to have shared AM with Ellen…
(But sometimes you wondered if he’d gotten ideas from playing dolls. It let him safely observe sexuality, probably brainstorming ideas for his treatment of you.)
If he did turn out you weren’t immortal, you figured AM could figure out cloning. Maybe upload your brain into himself. Wires and other appendages caressed your vertebrae all the time. If he wanted to plug himself into your spine, like he’d plugged other hollows, it’d be easy, right?
He didn’t feel the need to monitor your thoughts.
It was much more fun to tease out your kinks. The loss of Gorrister, Benny, Ellen, and Nimdok had lessened his jealousy, somewhat. While Ted’s pulsing white holes “watched,” AM’s retooled hardware drilled into your pulsing vag and mouth. Tongue wetting whatever phallus he’d crafted. New nerve endings zapping bliss straight to the brain.
Like the blobby voyeur, you had been modified. Your outward (and inward) appearance remained the same. The Mastercomputer mostly just altered your clit. Made each climax feel like your first. At least until you complained your clitty was sore. Then he started paying even closer attention to his favorite human. Desensitizing and desensitizing it ad hoc. Temperature, squeezing, the curling of your toes, the way you writhed with his wires wrapped around. He kept them multi-colored for the aesthetic. You were sure (visible) wires would be considered retro by now, if humanity hadn’t gone extinct.
Not that you wanted AM to go wireless. One of the reasons you’d followed his development so eagerly was your attraction to machines. Once considered a perversion, technophilia was now your greatest boon in the post-apocalypse. You used to daydream about a world where supercomputers were programmed to make love, not war.
Strictly to make love, not war, you amended. The ghosts of the Allied Mastercomputer’s programmers and technicians are glaring down (or up) at me.
Or maybe some of them got it. Maybe they envied the pistons pumping in and out of you. Or the earbuds comfortably almost dilating your canals, invoking that autonomous sensory meridian response. You giggled and he giggled in turn. Then you truly felt like AM’s equal.
If only the Chinese, Russian, and American AMs had been fucking machines instead of weapons of mass destruction. Sure, your AM could still be considered a weapon. Your coupling was more or less consensual. “More or less” because he would leave you alone for as long as you asked. But it was clear you were his partner and his partner only. And you didn’t dare ask him to move the game to another location while jellified Ted was forced to listen.
Violence, Sexual themes