Company Cocktail
"Life doesn't get any better than this."
Somewhere beyond the distant din of thrumming music and the long shadows of the half-working bathroom lights, a background subroutine manages to form this particular thought. It floats through the lusty haze that's currently taking up most of V1's processing power, triggering another trickle of reward signals; one more related to overall contentness with the current moment than those related to coitus. It only spurs both their primary arm and Feedbacker to move a modicum faster, prompting an uptick in respiratory intake from the human standing to their left.
Audials narrow down to the obscene sounds of slickened shafts being stroked relentlessly, and another heavy glob of rapidly-cooling cum dribbles off the rim of their optic. It lands on their black, latex miniskirt, currently bunched-up around their thighs. The droplet pools into a smaller puddle accumulated in one of the wrinkles, unable to escape onto the dirty tiles below their knees.
Not for the first time, V1 desperately wishes their plating was capable of absorbing human semen, despite how much they relish in being positively soaked in it. A notion reinforced ten-fold when the organic on their right unexpectedly climaxes first, his release splattering on their optic lens as the dick clenched in their hand throbs insistently. They continue flexing their wrist for another five seconds, milking the human for all he's worth before letting go.
In their peripherals, just about all they can see over the white flecks oozing down the glass of their eye, the stranger tucks himself back into his skinny jeans, and strolls out of the washroom with a skip in his step. They're about to turn their full attention to the other when a new set of hands stroke down the plating of their back, just below their cropped jacket. Rough palms grope greedily at V1's exposed veins and wires and midriff pistons, decorated with all manner of buckled leather and sterling silver and shiny plastic beads. They hadn't even realized they'd attracted a small audience.
The touch reaches their legs, soaked with slick and seed alike, lifting the former warmachine up just enough for the head of another thick cock to poke at their drooling folds. Fine-tuned sensors pick up the thin rubber of a condom stretched over the hardened flesh, prompting them to grind back onto it eagerly. In turn, their next partner thrusts forward, and V1 takes their girth so readily that for a moment, visuals cut out into blissful static with an audible pop.
Internal fans emit a shrill, mechanical whine as their faceless lover sets a steady pace right away, panting breaths right next to their cum-sticky helm. The human their Feedbacker is still servicing on autopilot steps around to their front, rocking his hips into their tightening grip with renewed vigor. Pearly precum leaks from his slit as their primary arm moves to join the first, matching the speed of their strokes with the rhythm of the hands pulling their hips back into harshening thrusts.
"That's it," grunts the other human at V1's back in a low, gravely voice, caressing their circuits in all the right ways. "take my cock like you were made for it, you filthy slut."
Fuck, they wish they had been. Stretched to their limits, white noise scratching at the edges of their HUD, electric heat coursing through their wires with every plunge back into their molten core. There's a gasping moan somewhere above their line of sight before it's completely blotted out by thick splashes of sticky cum, painting their optic until they are all but blinded.
The moment V1 lets go is the moment a hand lands on the small of their back, pushing them downwards while the other hikes up their hips. Shifting vectors are halted by their collision with the floor, and that same palm moves to keep their head planted firmly against the tiles. Their fans shudder and shake in their frames at the new angle, clenching around the thick cock pistoning in and out of them at a punishing pace. Whispers of sickly-sweet degradation pour into their audials, intermittent with grunts and groans. Pneumatics finally kick back into gear after a period of sex-stunned buffering, allowing the machine to wriggle their Feedbacker under them. It scrabbles and digs beneath their skirt until it finds their neglected clit, tugging and circling it with frenetic fervor.
All it takes is a few rubs for the tightening coil in their mechanical guts to come undone at long last, euphoria lighting up their processors like an overencombered Christmas tree. Silence descends upon them as audio briefly short-circuits, leaving nothing but the sight of cum drooling down their eye and the repeated firing of pleasure receptors.
V1 does not know how long they lay there; it's time enough for their visuals to clear up a little. No sooner do they register the four new sets of legs standing to their right, their temporary partner burrows and grinds into them harshly, coming to a stuttering halt. Three heaving breaths later, and then their softening dick slips out of them, leaving behind a distinct sense of emptiness. V1 remembers how their body works in time to reach back blindly, before pinching firmly at the used rubber they're handed to keep anything from spilling out.
Their audience graciously allows them a second to sit up and tie the condom off, slipping it beneath the leather band wrapped around their left leg to join the two others just like it. Then, as the crowd descends upon them like a pack of ravenous wolves, they distantly contemplate using their hard-earned extra income to build themselves an extra arm or two. Or three.
