Angela and the Robo-Warriors

If despair had a face, it would look a lot like Angela Slutlon’s as the stunning ginger cunt found herself dragged back into the studio that had been haunting her nightmares. Her pretty pink lips were pouting as she anxiously hugged her arms around herself, a nervous wreck of fear and distress.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw them again. The machines. Coming to tear her apart again, limb from limb. Coming to… to violate her again.

“Welcome back, Angela.” Greeted the cruel snarl of Steve, one of the show’s producers. “It’s good to see you healed nicely, fresh and ready for your big debut episode.”

Stunned astonishment kept Angela silent for a few seconds as she tried to understand how he could stand there and talk to her so nonchalantly. Like he hadn’t been part of the plan to set a pack of mechanical nightmares loose on her for the sake of advertising. “F-fuck you…” she whispered, wishing her voice sounded as confident and furious as she had intended. Something not so broken and traumatised.

“Oh come on, Angela. Don’t be like that. Holding grudges isn’t good for your mental health.” He stated mockingly. Snickers spread through the rest of the production and filming crew as they all took amusement in her horror.

“Yeah? Well how would you feel if you were tricked into signing up for a show where lethally armed robots, rape and torture you?” She could feel her temper rising close to boiling point, her outrage evident through every fibre of her body.

“Well, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to sign a contract for such a thing. You would have to be the dumbest cunt in the world to agree to something like that.”

The look on Angela’s face was priceless. Dumbfounded by the total lack of sympathy. “S-screw all of you. You’re all s-sick, disgusting sadists.”

Their only response was to laugh at her. Apparently, her trauma was hilarious. “Hey, we’re not all bad. We payed for the best medical care money could buy. Those surgeons preformed miracles to speed up your recovery from all the scrapes and bumps that you suffered.”

She shuddered as flashbacks of said ‘care’ played inside her mind. Experimental skin grafts that burnt and stung like hellfire. Merciless bone resettings. Virgina and anal retightening and restoration. All done without anaesthesia, just so Angela could feel every stitch, cut and injection.

“You’re practically as good as new. Ready to be beaten to a bloody pulp and torn apart again for everyone’s entertainment.”

Angela just stood there, trembling with rage.

… A short while later, she was alone with the make up and costume department as they finished applying the last touches to her outfit for the night. “This is even worse than last time!” She complained, staring blankly with embarrassment at her reflection in a full length mirror.

Smokey eyeliner and thick mascara coated her eyelids and lashes, while glossy red lipstick had been smothered onto her lips. Body oil had then been massaged into her skin, making her pale flesh glisten attractively in the light, scented with sweet roses and jasmine. Angela felt more like a sex object than a person. The sorry excuse for an assemble, ensured that. The tiniest set of whorish nipple pasties and tassels, now adorned her breasts, making her look every bit like a slut. A lace garter belt supported black fishnet stockings that went up to her thigh before disappearing. And she had been given nothing to cover her ass or cunt. It was apparently more authentic that way. Easy access prioritised above her dignity.

Angela hatred it. She hatred how the tassels shook with every moment that made her perky tits bounce. How her ass shined because of the body oil. How it dripped along the puffy folds of her cunt, making it look like she was somehow aroused. Like a wet slut that wanted and deserved the abuse that she had coming. But most of all—she hatred the stupid slave collar that was wrapped around her neck, the black leather band biting into her skin as she took deep breaths to try and calm herself.

“Looking good, Angela. Real sexy.”

Angela once again stayed silent, holding back her tears.

… “Alright, Angela, you ready to get the show rolling.” The camera operator asked her, the lens moving as he zoomed in on her exposed clit. “Action!”

Lines started scrolling down from the teleprompter in front of her, loaded with self-degrading slurs and misogynistic abuse. Angela gulped hard before starting, swallowing what little was left of her pride. “H-hi rape fans,” she chirped, a poorly acted false smile forced upon her face that didn’t quite reach lips. “W-welcome to the very first episode of Robo-Warriors! The show were custom built—high octane, torture droids, beat and ravished a worthless ginger cum dumpster.”

She was going to throw up. The taste of bile built up in her throat. “My n-name is Angela Slutlon and I’m about to be raped, t-tortured, and beaten silly by our mighty Robo-Warriors—weaponised battle-bots that have been built to utterly ruin me.”

Her own screams echoed inside her head, the phantom pain so vivid that it felt real. She was shaking like a leaf, nails pressed hard into palms, trying her best to steady herself. “Are you r-ready to find out how much of my gorgeous body the Robo-Warriors are going to destroy? Good. Because I’m so excited for it as well. I can’t wait to start screaming for you.”

Angela started panting once the scene was over, hunching down and holding her knees with her hands. The words that she had been forced to read tasted like ash on her tongue, foul and rancid. She couldn’t believe they were making her do this again.

“That was fucking awesome, Angela. A real turn on.” Praised another director, his smile wide and toothy. “Time to meet the contestants. We lined up a really interesting cast of characters for you to interview and interact with. Not to mention the robots that they’ve built to rape and torture you.”

Angela’s heart sunk to her stomach as she made her way to the first workshop, hesitant to step into frame as she lay eyes on the first of three Robo-Warriors that would be slaughtering her tonight. The machine looked like a miniature tank, complete with caterpillar-tracks and a swivelling turret. Only instead of a cannon, two monster sized rods pivoted independently in all directions, each tipped by a giant, impossibly thick and unyielding, torture dildo.

She stared in fear at those twin elephant trunks. Each was thicker than both her arms combined, comically oversized with no possibility of actually being used as sex toys. Surely they don’t intend to squeeze them inside her. Sir Rape-a-lot’s mace had completely ripped up her ass when it raped her and not only were these dildos even longer—there were two of them.

“Um… h-hi,” Angela muttered quietly, her breathing fast paced and panicked. “You must be Alec and Robert,” she said to the two acne ridden engineers that were tinkering with the machine. “And your robot is called…” she paused, quickly checking the notes that she’d been given. “Fuck-Master…”

“H-hello Angela,” the man known as Alec replied while his friend nervously shook, frozen on the spot, cold sweat forming on his forehead as he realised he was being filmed for live television. “Yes. That’s right. Robert and I have built Fuck-Master, just for you. For your rape holes to be precise. Haha. Honk honk.”

His hands were all over her breasts, squeezing her nipples and adding his own sound effects. Angela tried her best to keep him at arm’s length, just trying to get this over with. “Ah yes. H-how kind of you,” she sighed sarcastically. “Can you two please tell me more about your creation? How does those things work? You do realise that there’s no way you can fit both of them in me, right? It isn’t anatomically possible!”

Alec just looked at her with a confused look on his face. “W-what do you mean? We brought a couple of fleshlights to run tests on and it worked just fine with them.”

“Th-that’s not remotely the same. Those things are made from rubber and silicone,” Angela tried to desperately explain. “You’re talking about tearing into my body. Ripping my cunt and ass apart. It-it could kill me!”

The two nerds shared an awkward look between themselves before chugging. “What’s the difference? A cock sleeve is a cock sleeve.”

“That-that’s n-not true… I’m telling you, you can’t put those things inside me! P-please… just change them to smaller ones. It’ll still be horrible for me…” she begged. “And w-what is that stuff leaking out of i-it?”

“Oh, that’s lubricant,” Alec proclaimed, much to Angela’s surprise. “We found that a little lube made sliding them in so much easier. And we chose the perfect substance for the job.”

“W-what is it?” Angela instinctively pulled her hand away. Even a dumb cunt like her knew that it couldn’t be anything good. But as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat. Before she realised what she was doing, her fingertips ran across the thick rubber shaft, gathering the gelatinous, slimy goop. Hesitantly, she brought it to her lips and reluctantly gave it a small lick.

The tongue ignited on fire instantly. “Ahh gakk—what? What is that? It’s so spicy!” The blistering heat made her cough as breathing drew the fumes into her lungs. Her eyes desperately searched for something to drink. Anything to relief the spice.

“It’s super concentrated ghost reaper chilli extract. The hottest we could find.”

Soon, Angela was sweating as much as Robert, her mouth still burning. If that stuff ended up smeared inside her… it was too much. Just needless, mean spirited cruelty. Maybe she would have better luck if she tired changing tact.

“Alec… Robert. The two of you d-don’t… don’t really w-want to hurt-t me, right?” She asked them, eyeing their oily skin and snickering faces. God they were completely un-fuckable. Angela had never felt her pussy be more dry but it was still worth a shot. “If-if you and Fuck-Master are nice and leave me alone in the arena, perhaps I can make you guys feel really good afterwards.”

“What-what d-do you m-mean?” Muttered Robert with nervous ticks stuttering his words. It was the first thing the man had said all day. Of course the promise of sex was enough get him to come out of his shell.

“Oh… I would do anything…” Angela teased, lying under her breath. Her hand went to her mouth a mimed a slow sexual stroking action whilst using her tongue to poke her cheek outwards. She even winked and flashed her best fake smile.

The men burst out laughing. “It’s nice of you to volunteer, Angela. You really are a slut.” Alec mused, his hand now reaching lower to run through Angela’s ginger bush hair. “But the producers already told us that we can all gang-rape you afterwards. You’re contractually obligated to be our cum dumpster once our machines are done with you.”

No! That can’t be right! How was something like that legal? How was any of this legal?

Angela stared out blankly as tears rolled down her face, smudging her mascara into black streaks of oil like paint. She didn’t understand why everyone was being so cruel to her. Why were they abusing and humiliating her, and then laughing about it?

Barely holding back from a full on mental breakdown, she approached the next contestant. At least he was slightly better looking than Alec and Robert. Was it too much to hope that he would be less of a sadist? “Next we have Vincent and his creation… Cum-Pumper!”

Her crying eyes carefully examined the large, cumbersome looking machine. It was cuboid in shape, mounted on top of a go cart. The thing kind of looked like a fridge that you might find in the frozen section of a supermarket. Angela would be lying if she said she wasn’t intrigued. She had no idea if she should afraid of the so far, seemingly harmless robot.

“V-Vincent, what does Cum-Pumper do?” She had to ask, “I can’t see any weaponry on it.”

“Well it pumps cum into you, of course.” He answered condescendingly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He toggled with some buttons on the robot’s controller and a phallus shaped nozzle and hose came out of Cum-Pumper’s body. “There’s 20 gallons of rancid, sticky cum for you to enjoy inside Cum-Pumper’s storage tank.”

“20 gallons?!” Angela exclaimed, horror evident in her voice as her eyes went wide. “I-I can’t swallow that-that much! It’s too… p-please d-don’t make me!”

“What’s wrong,” Vincent asked, feigning innocence, “I thought a whore like you would love the idea of drinking cum.”

“W-where did you even get so much?” She gasped, shaking her head frantically, not wanting to know the answer.

“Well I had to go to several brothels and cum donor clinics for any stuff that had gone off. You won’t believe how bad it smells. I can’t wait to see you drenched in it.”

Angela could see the excitement on Vincent’s face as he spoke, cruel sadism—getting off to the thought of her humiliation. “It-it’ll make me sick… I’ll choke on it if there’s that much!”

“Oh you won’t just choke! You’re going to drown in it. I’m going to pump it into every single orifice your sexy body has.” He started ranting, eagerly rubbing his hands together. “Your belly is going to be so full that you’re going to look pregnant by the time Cum-Pumper is done.”

“No p-please Vincent. Please d-don’t do that to me,” Angela begged, her face bright red with embarrassment. “That would be so degrading… what if-if my friends and family see this show? What if m-my parents see it?”

She collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. She was entirely despondent, shaking as tears and snot ran down her face. The film crew had to drag her over to the last garage bay, where the worst robot yet was waiting for her. Bimbo-Brander was a true vision of torment when its creator, George, ripped off the black sheet that was covering his robot. The big reveal was a porcupine of metal spokes, each one with a different shape on top.

“George, w-why is your Robo-Warrior called… Bimbo-Brander?! Those t-things… they can’t be branding irons… They just can’t!”

She searched around the room for anyone to show her the tiniest resemblance of mercy. This was too far! He was talking about permanently scarring her skin. About burning like a barn animal. One hundred reasons why they needed to stop this, spilled from Angela’s mouth as she protested—all of which fell on deaf, uncaring ears.

“I handcrafted all the designs myself. We have the classics X shape and metal skewers, but there’s custom irons as well.” George explained, proudly showcasing his handiwork. “Phrases like ‘RAPE ME’, ‘SLUT’, CUM DUMP’, and ‘FUCK DOLL’. All ready to be burnt into your pretty freckles, Angela.”

Violent shudders pierced through her body as she started to hyperventilate. Each one made the tussles on her nipple pasties twirl, degrading her even further as eyes begged directly into the camera. “S-so there y-you h-have it…” Angela choked, knees shaking as she talked. “Tonight, Fuck-Master, Cum-Pumper, and Bimbo-Brander are going to be metal m-masters. I’m going to be raped like no cunt has ever been before, made to swallow gallons of rotten semen, and then b-branded with hot red irons.

Rivers rushed from her tear ducts as she struggled to speak, words forming and then vanishing in her throat. She just wanted to hug herself and cry. She’d do anything to shrink and disappear, wishing she could curl up into a ball and then rock herself to sleep. Anything but this sick and depraved mockery of a television show.

“L-let’s head to the Robo-Warriors’ arena so these l-lovely machines can h-have their way with me!”

… A completely sold out, live audience roared in their seats, thousands of them packed inside the building like sardines. The noise that they made felt like a wall of lewd insults and sexist taunts, loud enough to make the entire arena shake. Angela heard those sitting in the front row, banging on the bulletproof plexiglass that walled off the enclosure, the sound beating like war drums. She was crying so much as two burly security guard thugs threw her through the gate as a sacrificial lamb.

“Cunts and gentlemen, it’s time for what you’ve all been waiting for!” Shouted a member of the commentary team, his voice booming through the loudspeaker system. “Please put your hands together to welcome Robo-Warriors’ worthless ginger slut, Angela Slutlon!”

The crowd erupted with cheers, crude and vulgar comments coming from all sides as Angela stood there, helpless and frozen to the spot. “RAPE HER CUNT! RAPE HER CUNT!” Chanted half the crowd while the other half duelled another suggestion. “BREAK HER ASS! BREAK HER ASS!”

Stupidly, she closed her eyes tight and tried to pretend that she couldn’t hear them. Accepting that thousands of ‘fans’ had payed for tickets to this nightmare of a show—with the explicit purpose of watching her get destroyed and violated by robots—was something that her heart just couldn’t handle. None of this could be real. It had to be all a bad dream. Something that she would wake up from in any second…

“Please let me wake up…”

The audience’s cheers grew louder as the three Robo-Warriors joined her in the arena, wizzing around the concrete floor, their weapons paraded for everyone to see. Fuck-Master’s twin turret rape system, Cum-Pumper and the sloshing sounds that came from its body as the robot encircled around its victim, and Bimbo-Brander’s many branding irons that began to heat up, the tips glowing a subtle shade of orange before turning up until they were red hot.

“Is everyone ready to watch Angela get raped, tortured and destroyed?” Asked the commentator, drawing wild applause as the crowd went feral. “Fuck-Master, Bimbo-Brander, and Cum-Pumper, are going to give the slut exactly what she deserves. Total annihilation!” The sadistic shrieks made Angela tremble, lead sinking into her stomach as she took sharp, panicked breaths.

“And joining our three mighty Robo-Warriors tonight, we have the house robots, Sir Rape-a-lot and Bitch-Beater!” Further cheers ignited from the fans as the show’s resident torture machines made their entrance. “They will be patrolling the corner rape zones, making sure Angela doesn’t get the idea of running and hiding from the beating that’s rightfully coming her way.”

Her eyes quickly glanced at the corners of the arena and the hazard symbols that marked the designated zones. She made a mental note to make sure she stayed away from them. She needed to skirt around, staying far away from everything. It was the only way she was going to walk out of this mess.

“Join us for the countdown for the first ever Robo-Warriors showdown! 10! 9! 8!…”

Angela wept, her heart fluttering inside her chest. She couldn’t do this. There was no way she could do this!

“7! 6! 5! 4!…”

“Someone… anybody—make this stop!”

“3! 2! 1!… ACTIVATE!”

The three robots came straight at her, charging in unison. Angela stumbled backwards and landed sorely on her sexy ass, the concrete smacking her firm the bum cheeks of her bubble-butt. She whimpered and then started crawling away on her hands and knees, desperately trying to escape.

“Aaarghh!” She screeched, sobbing as a sharp pain stung her thigh. She looked back and to her horror, found a dart sticking out of her leg. A second dart then hit her shoulder while she was still caught off guard, firing from a hidden barrel inside Cum-Pumper’s body panels. Apparently the robot had plenty of ways to encourage Angela to swallow its foul payload.

“J-Jesus!” She yelped, pain shooting from her shoulder and thigh. Her limbs scrambled as she barely managed to dodge another dart, its tip missing her ass by just a hair. “Ha! You missed me!”

Fuck-Master sped at Angela in response, aiming for her open mouth as she taunted her would be robot rapists. The tank was faster and far more nimble than it appeared, having flanked in front of her while her attention was turned to Cum-Pumper. It came at her like a cavalry charge, its two massive dildos extended outwards to lance her throat.

Angela was lucky that she saw it in time, rolling right at the last second, screaming as the dart in her shoulder ripped free. “Fuck! That was too close…” She tried to stand up but slipped again as Bimbo-Brander made its assault, branding irons glowing with her name on them. They were working together, trying to cut off her paths of escape.

The only thing left that she could do was gamble, running through the narrow gap between Bimbo-Brander and Cum-Pumper. She felt the heat of the irons brush against her skin as she passed, trying not to think about what would happen if they were pressed into her flesh. She just had to keep going. If she kept running, she could stay away from them. Maybe they would run out of batteries if she kept dodging their attacks.

“Fucking cunt!” Complained George from the elevated control booth as the robot’s pilots toggled with the controllers, trying to steer Angela into their grasp. “Don’t worry, I have just the thing for this slut.” Vincent said as he activated a switch that opened up another panel from Cum-Pumper’s body.

The ginger whore was running at full speed now, her perky tits bouncing as they jiggled from her chest, nipple pasties twirling. She didn’t hear the soft puff of compressed air as Cum-Pumper launched out a set of bolas to restrain her. The coarse cord and weights, wrapped around her legs at her ankles, constricting like a snake. She fell face first, unable to get her arms up in time.

SPLAT—Angela’s chin collided with the concrete floor, the hard jolt making her bite her tongue as she landed in a heap. “Ow! It-it hurzzz!” The poor girl whimpered, holding her face as a bruise began to form on her jaw. All while the audience cheered and laughed at her misfortune.

“Looks like Cum-Pumper has hooked a big one!” Said one of the announcers, making light of Angela’s suffering. “And now it’s reeling her in to flood her throat with its sticky man juice.”

“No!” She cried out, fingers clawing at the floor to try and drag herself back. Her nails scratched across the hard concrete, screeching like flint on chalk as Cum-Pumper wrenched her towards itself like a landed catch. Her ankles pulled her backwards, twisting her body back and forth as she inched closer to her doom. “P-please let me go!” Her blue eyes stared wide in horror as the phallus shaped nozzle attached to Cum-Pumper, started leaking out pre-cum, its hose twitching in mimicry of an erection. “No… p-please! I can’t swallow that-that stuff! I won’t!”

“Ha ha. You’re not going to get a choice, sugar-tits. And besides, no one asked for your opinion or consent.” The live commentary was feeling more and more like a deliberate slap in her face with every word that was said over the loudspeakers. “And it looks like you have more immediate worries. Here comes Fuck-Master again. Let’s see if Alec and Robert can land a direct blow by slamming those giant dildos into Angela’s slutty mouth.”

“Mmmm! Aaahh! Nnn-ooo!” Angela whined, complaining vibrantly as one of Fuck-Master’s elephant sized cocks forced their way past her lips. “Ack-ack-HURK!” She choked, the chilli coated dildo hitting the back of her throat, causing her to make such a fuss while gagging like a whore.

“Look at her. Listen to the sounds her throat is making. Our Angela is such a naturally talented cock sucker. She was born to be throat raped.”

“Fuck you!…” is what Angela would have screamed if her mouth wasn’t filled with a massive, chilli infused fake cock. It pushed against her oesophagus, making her throat bulge obscenely. Still Fuck-Master kept pushing more and more inside her, inch after inch of thick, uncaring rubber—as hard as stone. She choked on it, her face turning blue as it completely cut off her breathing, her entire respiratory system feeling like it was being set ablaze by the unbearably hot spice. Her jaw was forced as wide as it would go, to the point of dislocating. It was torture by blowjob.

“That’s it, Angela, you dirty slag. Choke on it!”

And she did, spit and drool hacking out of her mouth the splattered all over her face as she sucked on the monster cock wedged down her windpipe. Her body thrashed and convulsed, her hands reaching up to desperately slap Fuck-Master’s steel body—tapping out for mercy.

By this time, Cum-Pumper had finished dragging Angela to itself. The cord around her ankles lifted up her legs, still bound together, giving the machine perfect access to her body oil and sweat glistening cunt. The dick shaped nozzle stabbed into her, stretching out her tight pussy with a single painful thrust. It was inserted into her without lube, while she was bone dry and choking to death.

Then it started pumping its vile contents into her. She felt it squirt out, thick and lumpy, rancid from deliberate fermentation. Hot, disgusting semen flooded her cunt in nauseating surges. Litres of cum, splashing into her womb, leaking out of her as it overflowed—her pussy turned into an overfilled Twinkie.

“There you are, everyone. If there was ever any doubt that Angela anything but a worthless cum dumpster—here’s visual proof.”

They were mocking her as she suffered through hell. The embarrassment alone was enough to kill her. Cum pulsated out of her cunt like slimy white glue, streaking down her thighs. Angela had never felt more like a filthy whore. It was hundreds of loads, from hundreds of men that was leaking out of her. What little dignity she had left to cling onto was being destroyed in the most humiliating was possible.

“And here comes Bimbo-Brander to join in the fun!” The commentators celebrated, eager to see the robot’s cruel branding irons in action.

Panic made Angela thrash even harder. Her body spasms sent her limbs everywhere, her bound legs kicking out like a mermaid tail while her arms thudded against Fuck-Master’s metal armour. Just the thought of being burnt by those irons made her scream loud enough that it could be heard from the sound of the pistons that were slamming the oversized cock into her gullet. But George had other plans, cruelly teasing her first before really burning her.

He skilfully positioned two branding irons as close to Angela’s breasts as he could without touching her, letting the scotching heat flicker the tussles attached to her nipples. The cheap plastic was highly flammable, igniting in no time. The pasties burnt like candle wicks, orange fire dancing from Angela’s chest that caused anguish whenever they touched her sensitive skin. The plastic melted, spreading outwards like a forest fire.

Screaming and in sheer panic, Angela started slapping her tits, trying desperately to put out the flames. “Hah. Why are you hitting yourself?” The commentary asked like playground bullies. “Go on. Smack your tits harder, you useless pain slut.”

The quill of branding irons poking out from Bimbo-Brander’s body then reconfigured, slotting around until George picked the perfect one to burn Angela’s flesh. Spit-roasted with Fuck-Master abusing her mouth and Cum-Pumper violating her cunt, Angela couldn’t move as the glowing red iron found its mark. Searing heat ravaged her pale skin, tuffs of ginger hair burning away as the branding iron pressed down directly above Angela’s cunt, her pale skin sizzling as smoke whiffed through the Robo-Warriors arena.

The sorry slut smelt her own burning flesh, her own sweat evaporating as agonising pain shook her entire body. It was almost gentlemen like for Fuck-Master to withdraw from her mouth, just so everybody could hear her scream. “AAARGHH! NO-OOO! “

Bimbo-Brander kept its iron pressed against Angela’s pubic mound for far longer than it needed to, really searing the outline of its stamp into her. Blackened, third degree burns, scarred where the metal made contact, while the residue heat made blisters around the branding site. Ugly dark red lines that would last forever.

“I wonder what it says,” came further abuse from the commentary, “let’s see, R.A.P… Oof! I imagine Angela isn’t going to be too pleased with that.”

“W-what?! What does it—what does it say?” She breathlessly whined, begging to know what was now permanently encased on her skin. With absolute dread, she looked down, her eyes going to the source of the hurt. “Rape m-me… You burnt RAPE ME into my groin?!”

Angela couldn’t believe what she was looking at. Her own body felt like it belong to someone else. It was already so violated and dehumanised. Spit and slobber coated her face and neck from the forced blowjob, her nipples were throbbing under a layer of melted plastic, and when Cum-Pumper ripped out of her cunt, a river of rancid semen came rushing out. She hatred to admit it, but at that moment, the brand suited her.

Pained sobs wrecked her spirit as she stayed there on her back and cried. “Y-you all had your fun! St-stop now! P-please no mor-e…” she begged. Her arm covered her face as she wept, ugly, snot ridden cries screaming from her body. “H-haven’t you done enough to m-me?”

Angela’s little temper tantrum was interrupted when a loud klaxon sounded, accompanied by a strobing red light. “W-what’s that?” She asked reluctantly, not wanting to participate further in this barbaric blood sport.

“Quick, Angela! That’s the immobilisation warning! If you stop moving for longer than a minute, you’ll be deemed as incapacitated and the house robots will be allowed to move out of their corner rape zones.” Explained one of the announcers, much to the delight of the fans that clearly approved of this rule to encourage more action. “You don’t want this fight to turn into a five-on-one, do you? You’re hardly managing to handle just three of the contestants’ bots.”

The strobing light and migraine causing siren, buzzed through the arena, counting down the precious few seconds that Angela had left. She forced herself to untangle the bola around her ankles and then struggled back onto her feet. “This isn’t fair! “ she moaned, willing her body to move. Her eyes looked back at the three Robo-Warriors that were still hungry for more of her flesh, and she just ran.

Her legs felt so heavy, her balance perilously unsteady and her lungs were burning just as badly as the brand on her pelvis. Even worse was how she could feel Cum-Pumper’s repulsive semen still leaking out of her pussy, running down her legs as she rushed to get away.

Just get as far from those three as she can. Anywhere but where they were. She darted forwards, looking over her shoulder in case one of them fired another long range projectile. WHAM! Not looking where she was going, the silly cunt slammed straight into the brick wall that was Sir Rape-a-lot!

“Oh no!” Angela screamed, looking up at the towering robotic knight. PTSD flashbacks froze her solid as the titan loomed over her, fuelled by malice and blood-thirst. A metal chain whip was held in one of its gauntleted fists while its massive, ghastly, bludgeoning mace cock was wielded like a lance.

“N-not m-my…” was all Angela could mutter as her petrified legs refused to listen to her. The chain whip flew through the air with a horrid whoosh, hydraulic powered fury unleashed for an earth shattering blow. It crashed into her torso, hitting her side first before it foiled around her back, each chain link biting into her skin like flesh ripping venom. She somehow managed to stay standing for the first two merciless lashes but collapsed after receiving a third that flogged her across her tits.

Sir Rape-a-lot then grabbed hold of his favourite ginger fuck toy, lifting her up with ease. “No! Not again! P-please not my ass again!” Angela shrieked, hands clasped in prayer as she begged the house robot to spare her from another mace shaped anal rupturing.

“What’s that, Angela? You don’t want Sir Rape-a-lot’s metal cock to obliterate your asshole again?” Asked commentary, enjoying the look of utter fear that had drained all colour from Angela’s face.

“No! Please not that! Anything b-but that!”

“But it looks like Sir Rape-a-lot is already powered up to give you a turbocharged jackhammering.”

Fresh tears fell from Angela’s eyes as she realised that she had no choice but to beg to be raped in her cunt instead. “P-please, Sir Rape-a-lot… fuck my tight p-pussy.” She besieged, arms wrapping around the robot’s gothic helmet as if she wanted to kiss it. “P-please put it in my cunt instead of my ass. I-I promise that I’ll make it g-good for you.”

“Yeah? What you going to do to make it so good?” Asked another announcer, snorting as he fell out of his seat with laughter.

“I-I’ll moan like I’m loving it. Like a good slut. Like a horny whore.” She promised, swearing on her grandmother’s life.

The audience reaction was instantaneous, a cruel improvised chant that roared from every nook and cranny of the building. “MOAN LIKE A SLUT! MOAN LIKE A SLUT!”

“Aaahh! Mmmhh Please Sir Rape-a-lot! P-please f-fuck my wet horny cunt.” Angela begged, biting her bottom lip as sultry as she could, whimpering and moaning with poorly acted eagerness.

To be cunt-inued…