Angela and the Robo-Warriors

Angela knew she was being difficult as she crossed her arms to her perky chest and simply refused to partake with her role in the show—unless she spoke to someone who could make sweeping adjustments to the sadism. She demanded a meeting with whoever was at the very top of production. She was not going to put up with the humiliation and abuse any longer. She couldn’t give a rat’s ass if they fined her or threatened their most vile punishments. The sexy ginger strumpet wasn’t going to be pushed around any further.

“What is it exactly that you want?” The CEO asked, starting negotiations while Angela held up the filming of her Robo-Warriors’ rematch. “We’ve only have 10 minutes left until the episode starts and one way or another, I promise you, you’re going to put on a show for the fans.”

The certainty of his words made Angela flinch. It was as if he knew that this meeting would lead to a predetermined conclusion. Like it was a stern talking down rather than a downing of tools. “I-I’m asking you to see to it that the level of brutality and cruelty of last episode, never happens again! It was too much! Do you have any idea how painful it was to rehab all my wounds? The doctors said that they’ve seen rooftop jumpers and high speed crash victims that were in better condition than I was!”

“You have an issue with the amount of damage that you suffer through during the show?” The man repeated, pretending to note down Angela’s request. “We did end up receiving a lot of complaints about what we let happen to you. A contested using his robot to brand the inside you cunt wasn’t what we had in mind for the very first episode, but that’s the risk involved with live, unscripted television.”

It was sounding somewhat hopeful. It was a relief to hear that complaints have been made on her behalf. Honestly, what kind of idiotic amateur hour shit show was running this show if they thought they could broadcast what happened to her without causing mass outrage.

“Hundreds and hundreds of angry and upset letters, stating how tame everything was. But we took the criticism to heart and invested a lot of time and money to correct the issue. The level of ultra-violence that you can expect to face in the arena will make your previous experiences seem like child’s play.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Angela protested, angrily stomping her foot to the floor. “I want the torture and violence restrained!”

“Absolutely not, Angela. Your pain is the entire point of the show. It is simply not up for discussion. We will now move on to any other suggestions that you have.”

“F-fine…” she muttered under her breath, her grey-blue eyes staring daggers. “What about the humiliation? Surely you can cut that back? Dressing me up like a slut and then making me read those degrading lines. That has to stop!”

“The introductory opening monologue is just a bit of fun to get everyone in the mood. It’s like foreplay for the show,” boss explained, completely dismissive of Angela’s stupid ideas. “We cannot remove it from the start of the show. You are being asked to do the bare minimum. There isn’t even a script once you enter the arena. Everything there is improvised by yourself. The only thing we ask is that you remain respectful so the fans can enjoy your performance. You crossed the line several times by cursing at your coworkers. Sick, disgusting sadists—is what I believe you said. Such language is highly inappropriate and against our workplace policy.”

Angela couldn’t believe the audacity of what she was hearing. “What about how the awful things the commentary team said about me?”

She was quickly corrected. “Every word that our commentators spoke was factually accurate and a fair representation of the events that they were calling. They did an excellent and commendable job.”

“C-commendable? What part of encouraging turbocharged murder machines to rape and torture me, is fucking commendable?”

“Angela, I have already warned you about the way you talk to your colleagues. Any more of that from you and we will have to see to it that your tongue gets ripped out.” The threat came without a single change in his voice—just the cold emotionless calmness of a corporate executive. It was almost worse than talking to one of the Robo-Warriors. “As for your complaint about your wardrobe? What is wrong with your current outfit? Didn’t you want to be more covered up than last time? We have provided you with more clothing.”

“But this isn’t any better!” Angela whined, uncrossing her arms to demonstrate her point. The slutty cheerleading costume that she had been forced into was made from see-through material. She might have well not be wearing the tiny top that cling to her chest like a push-up bra. And the size of her skirt was ridiculous. It was a belt more than anything, barely covering the top third of her asscheeks, leaving the brand that was burnt across her rear, fully visible. She wanted to at least be able to cover up the scars that labelled her a PAIN SLUT. It didn’t do anything to hide the one above her cunt, either. Charred into the neat brush of ginger hair that grew above Angela’s cunt were instructions saying, RAPE ME.

“Would you prefer to be unclothed? If so, we will require the costume department to brainstorm ideas of how to add artistic flair without dressing you. Perhaps we could use tattoos and skin grafts to create interesting visual elements?”

“W-what? No! P-please don’t do that. I-I’ll wear it, okay. You happy now?”

The man simply nodded, having not given Angela an inch during their decision. “Is there anything else?”

“Th-the after-show gang-r-rape!” She quickly blurted, anger swelling up inside her chest from just thinking about it. “After the show was over. They l-let the contestants rape me! I was bleeding and severely injured but instead of rushing me off to the hospital in an ambulance, the people who built those robots were allowed to have their way with me first. How is that possibly fair?”

“It is in the contract that you signed. A sign of gratitude and appreciation for their hard work. You are contractually obligated to allow them to use your body however they want and at anytime they request.” The man then checked his watch and announced that this was all a waste of his time. “This meeting is now over. I’m glad I was able to alleviate all your concerns about the direction of the show. We will now proceed to start filming the episode. Break a leg, Angela!”

A pair of silver pom-poms was tossed into her hands as the man left. Angela was instructed to shake them whilst she read the show’s introduction from a teleprompter. “Hi rape f-fans!”

Try as she met, Angela just couldn’t force herself to smile or put any cheer and pep into the words that she spoke. “Welcome to Robo-Warriors! The home of b-brutal, mechanised cunt wrecking action!” It was just as nauseating as last time. More so even. Each syllable of it left a sour taste in her mouth. “I’m Angela Slutlon, the worthless ginger fuck pig that’s about to become a b-bitch shaped crash-test dummy for the Robo-Warriors to ruthlessly beat, torture and rape!”

The camera worked its way down her body, lowering from her pretty pouty face, pass her sexy throat, across her perky tits that were visible through her top, down her toned midriff, before finally stopping at the RAPE ME brand above her cunt.

“And tonight, there’s a bunch of new surprises in store for me that I just know you’re all going to love.” Her mind raced as Angela imagined what horror could have been added. The fact everything was going to be so much worse than last time, made her feel sick. “Doesn’t that sound like so much fun? It’s making me so wet, just thinking about it… Tell you what. Let’s hurry to meet tonight’s contestants and their Robo-Warriors so we can hurry to the part where I’m being beaten senseless!”

The redhead was very upset about what she had just been made to say. Miserably, she made her way to the first contestant who was busy screwing on a final decorative piece to his robot. “Starting things off, we have Mark from Whitechapel with his mechanical creation that plays homage to his local legend. Jack the Raper certainly looks like it wants to eviscerate me.”

Mark was a heavyset man in his forties’ with greasy unkempt hair and very handsy fingers. He flipped up Angela’s skirt more out of habit than necessity, and then whammed his palms to grab a handful of asscheek. Angela unsurprisingly did not enjoy being groped by him. Her attention however was mainly focused on his machine. Jack the Raper was a tall, humanoid creature, complete with a top hat and steel wire detailed moustache. A thick black trench coat covered most of its metal frame, leaving Angela in the dark about what tools the robot was going to use when it terrorised her in the arena.

“Um… that’s a very nice looking machine, you have there, Mark. Very d-distinguished.” She said while sighing softly. “Any chance of it being a gentlemen like the way it’s dressed? It would be bad manners for this well groomed metal man to hurt and rape a filthy worthless whore like myself.” She added the last part herself in half hearted hope.

“Ha-haw,” Mark guffed, squeezing harder on Angela’s ass while running his other hand underneath her top. “There’s nothing gentlemanly about anything Jack does. Allow me to demonstrate. The obese man pulled up a tarpaulin that was covering something on the ground. Underneath, Angela saw a medium sized dog cage and didn’t like where this was headed. She watched as Mark unlatched the lock and opened it, his gross, sweaty hands reaching in to grab a tuff of messy blonde hair.

The young girl that he pulled out couldn’t have been any older than 20. She was a mess with injuries covering her entire body. Not an inch of her had been spared. Bite marks were sunk into her small breasts, around her nipples. Ugly purple bruises left large patches of her skin black and blue. Welts and cuts gashed her back and legs. The fact that her ribcage was so visible hinted at just how long ago her last proper meal had been. She couldn’t even see what was happening to her with both her eyes swollen shut, her mouth gasping for shallow, pain exerted breaths.

“Who’s this, Mark?” Angela had to ask, the energy in the pit bay changing into something sick and twisted. The camera zoomed in to the blonde, documenting her battered body in tantalising detail.

“Just some drunken party girl I found last week. Poor thing must have gotten lost from her friends on her way home. Luckily for her, I was there to look after her.” Mark answered proudly, his foot kicking the girl in the side of her ribs. “In return, she’s been helping me test out Jack’s weaponry and functions. I’ve really been going full on serial killer mode on her, beating the living shit out of her on an hourly basis.”

He grabbed Jack the Raper’s controller and activated the torture bot. It moved with jolted, jerking motions, hinges squeaking like a string-puppet miming how a human walks. Its metal hand grabbed the blonde girl by her hair and effortlessly hurled her to her feet, forcing her to bend over a nearby work table. The machine then reached into its trench coat and pulled out one of its many tools. The coil of barbed wire was braided together to form a whip.

“A-actually Mark, I don’t think a demonstration is necessary.” Angela voiced, concerned by what was about to happen to the poor girl. “And we don’t really have time. Right guys?” She asked the filming crew, imploring them to agree with her.

“What are you talking about? We have plenty of time. Go on Mark! Make Jack whip the little bitch bloody.”

A flick of a switch was all it took for just that. Jack the Raper swung the whip like a lion tamer. The sound of the lashes was vicious, metal meeting flesh, barbed wire embedding into skin, only to by ripped out. The girl’s screams were hoarse, her voice broken into anguished coughs and whimpers from days of unrelenting pain. Angela watched it unfold and couldn’t do a single thing to stop it.

Specks of the girl’s blood was spilled onto her see-through top when she approached the next pit bay to interview second contestant. She was surprised to find that the mechanic was a woman. A tall, butch, and all too eager dominatrix that had spent her entire life in motorbike workshops. Oil stains made her leather corset and bodysuit appear even blacker, matching her heart as she lustfully licked her lips.

“Next, we have the boisterous Gail and her turbocharged rape hound, Doggy-style.” The metal attack dog was gigantic, built like a robotic pit-bull, complete with teeth and claws. A low growl came from its body, menacing and threatening to tear out Angela’s throat. “J-Jesus Christ! Why is-is its cock so big?”

Gail let out a haughty laugh, her gloved hand stroking her pet’s angry red knot. “What’s the matter, Angela? After seeing you in action last time, I figured you wouldn’t even feel anything smaller than a 12 inch monster. I made it specially for you. Designed it to really hurt a slut.” She said it all proudly, her eyes leering at Angela’s cunt from under her tiny skirt, imagining the damage Doggy-style was going to inflict. “And look at what I glued to the shaft and head. That’s sandpaper! Perfect to make you feel every inch of your hate fucking.”

“W-what!?” Angela gasped, her mouth going wide. “You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, I’m deathly serious,” Gail replied, patting the smaller woman’s back and forcing her closer to the canine machine. “And I also modded a bullwhip tail to lash you silly in case you insist on being a disobedient little whore.”

Angela remembered that trying to sweet talk her way out of her deserved torture raping, didn’t work last time—but surely as a woman, Gail would be able to empathise with her plight. “Gail, th-that thing will rip the lining of my vagina and ass to-to shreds-s! Please d-don’t put it in m-me…” she begged, dropping down to her knees. “Think about h-how much it-it’ll h-hurt me… please p-please look in your heart and-and…”

“Oh, what’s the matter, Angie-kins? Is my robot too mean and scary?” Gail asked, thumping Angela’s back with her meaty palm each time she laughed. “You would think that a whore with PAIN SLUT labelled on her asscheeks, wouldn’t mind a little torture.” Her mockery was just as cruel as any man’s. Crueller even. A carnal desire to see a pretty girl suffer. “Thing is, I definitely want to see your tight little cunt hurt. What happened to you when that house robot knight raped you there with its mace was spectacle. I’ve never came as hard as I did when I watched it wreck you.”

The memory of what Sir Rape-a-lot did to her was still a fresh scar in Angela’s psyche. Whenever she heard a loud bang, she imagined its steps. When she saw shadow move, she felt the giant brute looming behind her. And whenever she felt the thudding, frantic pounding of her own heartbeat as a panic attack suffocated her, Angela was right back there in the house robot’s corner rape zone, having her cunt bludgeoned into pulverised pulp.

She started hyperventilating, the entire room spinning out of control as her brain went numb and silent. The taste of bile washed over her tongue as nausea became unbearable and impossible to ignore. Angela collapsed to the floor and threw up everything in her stomach.

“Gross,” Gail said. The woman actually giggling at the sight of a dumb cunt, too terrified to even breathe. “I know what will help. A nice hard cunt punt!”

She booted Angela as hard as she could, taking a run up before kicking the redhead in between her legs. A hand grenade detonated point blank at Angela’s pussy. The puffy lips of her sex collided with Gail’s steel toed boots, her rose petals flattening to meat flaps as the impact drove her face into the puddle of puke. Angela saw stars, her vision whitening for a few seconds as her pupils went cross eyed.

As a result, her appearance made a terrible first impression on the last contestant, Tyrone, who saw a sobbing, wheezing slut, with vomit on her cheek and in her hair. She couldn’t walk in a straight line and her pom-pom shaking hands were clutching her swollen and bruised cunt. “What a stupid bitch. I’ve seen £5 crack addicted whores that looked more classy.”

The disgust in his words as he said them really drove a sucker punch into Angela’s gut. How far exactly had she fallen? When he punched her stomach for real, she fell down onto her branded ass so in terms of actual distance, about a metre. “Uurghh! Th-thank you, Tyrone. Welcome to Robo-Warriors.”

The tall black man spat at her face, annoyed at how long it had taken her to get to his assigned work station. He had finished assembling his machine an hour ago and was now extremely bored of waiting. Bondage-Storm was a jet black wedged robot with a very clear theme. A dungeon’s worth of BDSM equipment was dangling from its body, affixed by mechanical arms that allowed for the cuffs, gags, yokes, and collars to be locked around Angela’s limbs or neck.

But what probably scared her the most was the massive wooden paddle attachment to Bondage-Storm’s front. It looked like a large charcuterie board, only this one had the words—Ass Breaker—carved into its surface. “W-what’s that?” She stuttered out, her brain incapable of imagining what it would be like to be hit by something that sized.

“That’s the Ass Breaker!” Tyrone answered like a drill sergeant, so matter of factly that it bordered on psychopathic. “And trust me, it’s going to break your ass. I guarantee it.” He even had that same crazed look in his eyes that all these rape and torture loving engineers had. Perhaps there was a secret club of them. One where they would all meet up and talk about all their innovative ideas on how to make her life hell. “I’m going to make it spank you so hard that it breaks every bone in your pelvis.”

“N-no… p-please… why do you need to h-hurt me that much?” The cunt sobbed, pom-poms raised in front of her face like a shield. “Can’t you j-just rape me? Isn’t that enough? Why do you have to beat the p-piss out of me as well?”

“Why? Because it’s so god damn hot to see your sexy body get butchered by our machines.” Tyrone informed her, his erection pressing against the fabric of his trousers. “Listening to you screaming and crying as you beg us to just kill you. It’s the entire reason I applied to be on this show!”

Angela couldn’t believe that she was about to be slaughtered again. Another three Robo-Warriors were set up and ready to destroy her, piloted by sadists that made seeing her in pain their hobbies. “P-please, do something to m-make them not hurt me as much.” She begged the film crew, her puppy dog eyes pleading. “What if th-they end up k-killing me? If I die, you guys won’t be able to film this stupid show anymore!”

Another round of laughter greeted her. “That’s a risk we’re willing to take. And besides, if you do end up being snuffed out—we’ll just find another dumb slut to replace you.”

Angela had never felt more like disposable trash. It insulted her to her very core. “F-fuck you! I’m a person! A human being with thoughts and feelings. How can you do th-this to me?”

“Oh quit your bellyaching. You’re being such a crybaby.” The cameraman replied, zooming in on Angela’s tits that jiggled through her thin top as she hyperventilated in exasperation. “Hurry up and read the rest of the script so we can get to the good part.”

“No!” Angela retorted, throwing her pom-poms to the ground. She shook her head vigorously, determined to make her refusal adamant. “I won’t do this again! I don’t care what legal action you all threaten or if you try to scare me with these evil robots! I’m not taking part until I speak to the manager again and this time he has to make the changes that I want!”

More laughter was directed at her from men who found hilarity in her misery. “The boss had a feeling that you would try something like this. That’s why we came prepared.”

The violent humming of rotator blades came down from the ceiling, shaking the floor and blowing tools off tabletops and walls. Horrified, Angela looked up at what was causing the sound and saw a giant drone flying above her. Welding to its lightweight chassis was a weapon that she recognised well. A spinning metal drum that flapped a set of vicious, steel studded leather belts. “Meet the new and improved, Bitch-Beater. The arena floor isn’t the only thing that’s been upgraded. We’ve given the house robots a makeover as well.”

The flying whipping machine swooped down like a hawk, its belts flailing at high speeds. The sound of those straps might as well been supersonic to Angela’s ears. They were being spun faster than ever before. “No don’t let it whip me again!”

“Then you better start reading the rest of the script.”

“Okay okay! I’ll do it…” It was too little too late. Bitch-Beater’s body collided into Angela’s chest, knocking her down. The belts spun in a blur of studded leather, biting into her flesh before she could react. It struck her hips first, then her thighs. Each blow reconfigured the robot’s stabilisers, adjusting its weapon until it zoned in on its target. Angela screamed her head off when it pummelled her already bruised cunt.

“Aaarghh! F-fuck! No… N-no!” She wailed, scurrying backwards towards the arena gates. “Now that you’ve all been—Aaagh!—been introduced to the magnificent Robo-Warriors that are g-going to—Oww!—brutalise me! Jack the Raper, Doggy-style, and Bondage-Storm!” The flurry of whipping straps followed after her, belting her midriff and crotch. “You get to see them have their way with me. They’re going to kick my ass!”

Her back bumped into the arena gate’s portcullis, the iron lattice pressing into her back as she flattened against it. “Hey! Open the gate! Th-they’re going to kick my ass! I said it!” Bitch-Beater swung its belts higher, painfully lashing her tits, the thin see-through fabric of her top offering no protection.

“Mmmh. I think the gate might be struck. Say a couple more lines about what’s going to happen you in the arena while we get it fixed.” A producer demanded before speaking into a headset.

“Like what? J-just keep Bitch-Beater away from me!”

“Improvise.”

Her eyes focused on the flying buzzard as it hovered in front of her, belts still lashing her body. It went low again, adding more punishment to her aching pussy. “Uh? I… I’m going to get smashed! Beaten and violated so badly that my own mother won’t be able to recognise what’s left of me. Like sexy, chewed up hamburger meat—for fucks sake! Open the gate!”

“Which gate?” Mark asked as he and the other contestants walked past. “The one that leads to the Robo-Warriors’ arena where our machines are going to beat the bitch out of you and then rape you until your heart stops? That gate?”

“Yes!” Angela pleaded, her hands rattling the bars of the gate, trying to lift it herself.

“Beg for it.” Gail spat, her giggle filled with sadistic amusement.

“Please—please open the gate. P-please open it so I can be severely tortured on live television.”

“Such an eager slut,” Tyrone glared, grinning as Bitch-Beater started whipping Angela’s back. “Tell us how much you want it.”

The lashing that the flying house robot was giving her was too painful for Angela to argue. “Aaarghh! I want it! I want it so-o bad!” Her cunt swelled up from the bruising—her clit red and enlarged, a pretty little bullseye to be tormented. “P-please open the fucking gate already!”

They made Angela insult herself a dozen more times. “I’m a stupid cunt that needs the shit beat out of me. Please let me go in front of all my adoring fans so I can be torture raped!” Soon, her back was covered in angry red welts, all ready to be split open by the contestants. “P-please just stop-p whipping me!”

The gate flew open while she was pressed against it, sending her stumbling into the arena where she tripped and fell in front of everyone. The stadium speaker system played a comedy sound bite of a trombone going—Wah wah wah, drawing in a chorus of laughter. “Careful, Angela. She’s tripping over herself. The ginger slut must be gagging to get this show started.” The commentary team sneered. “Cunts and gentlemen, thank you for joining us once again on Robo-Warriors as everyone’s favourite sexy punching bag is about to go up against another trio of devastating battle droids. We’re going to twist her bouncy tits off, turn her pretty ass into paste, break her fuck bitch face, and commit war crimes on her stupid cunt!”

Angela gulped loudly, her heart pounding in her chest as she saw Bondage-Storm, Doggy-style, and Jack the Raper, enter the arena. The machines spread out, each occupying a section of the arena floor as their chosen hunting grounds. Her eyes tried to following all three of them as they surrounded her and blocked off any escape.

“Not a single hint of mercy is going to be shown to our robot-rape addicted cum-dumpster. Which is exactly what she deserves!” The announcers added, egging on the crowd to cheer for her oblivion. “Especially with tonight’s lineup of house robots, upgraded and improved to be deadlier and more bloodthirsty than ever. Make some noise for Clit-Stinger and Slut-Zapper!”

The two house robots let out loud metallic screeches from their corner rape zones, weapons snapping and hissing with power. Clit-Stinger, the giant robot scorpion had been rebuilt bigger and more predatory. Thick steel plates now formed an indestructible carapace, with legs that shuttered the machine from side to side. Its claws were truly terrifying, resembling the tools rescue teams use to tear open cars. And its tail! Why did they have to make it bigger? The steel rape drill spun, barbs whirring like a screw. Angela had never seen something so cruel looking.

Slut-Zapper wasn’t any better. The entire robot had been redesigned—not resembling an electric chair. Its iron frame was blackened with char marks, spikes lining the seat where she was supposed to be strapped into. Two large metal rods stood where her cunt and asshole were meant to go, built to allow thousands of volts of electricity to be fired directly inside of her.

“Clit-Stinger is going to tear Angela to pieces and if the lazy whore is dumb enough to pass out, Slut-Zapper can recharge her cunt batteries!”

Her trembling legs folded like matchsticks, the ground slamming into her knees as she collapsed. Cold sweat drenched her face, sticking to her skin like icy snowflakes. She was having another panic attack. “No… p-please—please n-not again…” her lungs begged for air as her chest tightened, her own bloodcurdling screams replaying inside her head. “Don’t m-make me go through this a-again!”

“10!”

“I’m begging you!”

“9…8…7!”

“I—I c-can’t—!”

“3…2…1!”

“P-please don’t! No… Noooo!”

“ACTIVATE!”