Robot Sex Attack

Robot Sex Attack

By Magnus Von Black

Beneath the faintly glowing veil of a young night, a blustery sea, ancient and saltily teeming with life and salt, crashed about the rocks of a promontory with joyous disregard for an otherwise tender silence. (Stephen King says not to use adverbs, but obviously we must blithely and somberly make an exception for one so lugubrious as “saltily”.) Upon this promontory stood a lugubrious and cheerful castle, not so large as those of old Europe or of the fantasies entombed in the endless piles of genre tripe which we all know make bookstores worth visiting, but of just enough size such that the competing architectural considerations of elegance and defense were married together and made to copulate, an eternal act rendered in white stone, iron bars, and ivy dressed with pale flowers.

Within this castle, in the high tower which guarded the land against the vast ocean, there was a woman. She was not so young as to be annoying and vaguely delusional in her expectations for life, but was of that sublime age where wisdom is made available to the inquiring mind, where the wiles and lusts of youth are concentrated well enough to be explored in moments of passion and resisted well enough when cool logic is best applied. She had come to appreciate all that she had learned in life, and therefore appreciated all the more the vast cosmos of knowledge which remained shrouded and was yet to be explored. These first timid steps into the very shallowest end of middle age lent to her considerable physical beauty an attractive finish. She seemed more of a moving painting, than a woman; a work of cognitive and corporeal art which could quicken both the pulse and the wit of a man who deserved it. And she had really attractive boobs.

Just beyond the large wooden door to her chamber, there stood the sort of man who deserved and could appreciate her sublime worth. He was made of muscles, and his handsome, discerning face wore a robe of long hair which trailed down the back of his frothy white shirt. As the narrator, I am privy to all the knowledge of this world and can assure you that his calves were deliciously sculpted, but you will have to content yourself with imagining them for they were concealed in a pair of high black boots. These, along with his furtive glances up and down the hall, added to his aura of mystery and danger.

He did not knock; rather, he withdrew from a violet sash about his waist a metal pin. It was a forbidden object and he moved it with calm purpose into the receptacle. He wiggled it, moved it in and out, seeking to gently unlock the source of his passion with these movements, until at last the movement of the hard probe caused the lock to quiver and release, and then there was nothing to separate him from ecstasy.

Having successfully picked the lock, he slid into the room and endured the searing perfection of the woman’s silhouette beyond a pair of glass doors. Her hair flirted with the breeze, and it seemed that the illumination of the moon was a reflection of her lonesome, alabaster thoughts. It was a moment which froze him, as if he were viewing a painting and could not bear to move and thereby alter its momentary perfection. However, the night was brought to life by her voice, a measured and knowing peal which drifted to him upon the sensual curves of the ocean breeze moving past her body and into the room.

“Buenas noches, Hector.”

“Magdalena,” he acknowledged in a baritone calm which belied all his many feelings.

“I told you that I never wanted to see you again.” Her voice was made even more beautiful by a crystalline frost of anger at the universe, in which there was encased true human sorrow.

“Surely you knew such a lie would only drive me more quickly to your side.”

“I knew that it would. I love you too much, Hector. I do not know how to hide my soul from you.”

“If you were to succeed in doing so, I would die. Now that my heart has known your love, only your love can sustain me.”

“It is my love which has nearly killed you, which will kill you in the end.”

“Not your love, and not my foolishness in coming here, and certainly not your father’s wrath.”

“He is going to kill you, Hector.” She turned to face him and there was a tear upon her cheek.

“He is going to try, I will grant you that, but I did not earn my villainous reputation by blundering about and falling prey to the simplistic schemes of overstuffed government officials.”

“You are no villain, my love…”

“I am not your villain, my dear Magdalena, but I will be the downfall of your father’s kingdom.”

“I care nothing for such things… power, prestige… not even for this kingdom I might have inherited. I want only to live in peace, with you.”

“I know.” Hector moved forward with a supernatural grace until he had joined her on the balcony and placed one of her hands in his own. “Your naivety in this regard is the crown jewel of your character.”

“Do not speak of crown jewels,” she said with a frown. She turned away and together they leaned upon the balustrade and gazed out upon the sea.

“Very well,” he said. “It is true enough that I did not risk my life upon this visit to discuss politics.”

“I am glad to hear it.” She abandoned her worries over their circumstances and basked in the delicious truth that he was finally with her, alone. “So tell me, dear Hector, what has brought you to my chambers at this late hour?” She turned and smiled at him with an impish, if reserved, joy. His face, however, remained granite.

“An errand not so rapturous as you hope, but one equally dear to my heart.”

“Oh?” The mischief had gone out of her face and was replaced by a tense curiosity. Hector returned her gaze with dark, serious eyes which radiated the unseen heat of his desire.

“I have come to take you away from this place.”

“You mean for tonight? Hector, my love, it is too risky. I can’t leave now…”

“No.” He placed a firm hand on her arm. “I mean for this night, and for all the nights to come. This place is no longer safe, and will very soon be even more dangerous. I hope you will consent to staying with me on my ship.”

“Hector…” she breathed.

“There is going to be a battle. You must come away from this place.”

“And you will fight in this battle?”

“Of course, my love, I must.”

She responded only with her eyes. Their bodies separated imperceptibly, and across this distance she regarded the man with whom she had fallen into a torrid and dangerous love; this rogue, this rebel, this dashing representative of all that her tyrannical father sought to stamp out within his deceptively picturesque little kingdom. Now all the machinations, the thievery, stealth, propaganda, and other clandestine preparations had taken the cause of justice as far as was possible. If her people were to purchase their freedom, the transaction would have to be completed with steel, gunpowder, and blood. The thought of this maelstrom swallowing the man before her wrenched her insides. It filled her belly with a cold elixir of anxiety.

“When is this battle to occur?”

“It is not safe to discuss such things here. It is not safe even to remain for another minute. Say that you will come with me, my love.”

Now it was Magdalena, her resolve heated by the noble blood thundering in her ears, who grabbed his hands in her own. She placed them against her heart and straightened her posture.

“Even if you should ask that I walk with you into hell and slap the Devil himself, I would do it. I will go with you now, and in the future, to wherever you choose to guide our entangled lives.”

His jaw tightened with emotion, and he squeezed her hand. There was not a word, not a turn of phrase, with enough elegance to summarize his broadened perspective of her love and courage. In granting him permission to take her anywhere, she had only affirmed that he belonged to her; that he must now and forever choose those paths which he believe might preserve and edify her heart first and his own second.

Hector released her hands and reached for a coil of rope hanging on his belt. Magdalena had been so intoxicated by his unexpected arrival that she had not at first noticed it. They stepped apart and he tossed one fluttering end of the rope over the balustrade and down the side of the cliff, while securing the other to the castle firmament. There did not exist any more need for speech between them. With a gesture, he explained his intent and she responded by climbing onto his back and clasping firmly to his neck and shoulders. As though she were weightless, he moved easily over the edge and began descending to the sea below.

They arrived upon the misty, narrow beach among the rocks and she dismounted. Waiting for them was a small dinghy, which they entered. After casting off, she watched in silence as he rowed, while he alternated between checking their course and meeting her gaze. An intensity of determination and desire smoldered in his expression.

The froth and the mist of the ocean enveloped them, and they were gone from the night-shrouded land of her birth. The universe was divided by a single line where the black water met the speckled dome of the sky. It was that sublime sort of quiet which can only be achieved in the presence of small noises; the slosh of the keel moving through the water, the creaking of the oars, and Hector’s faintly elevated breathing.

“When I was in prison,” he suddenly said, “your father promised me that I would never see you again.” Magdalena looked rather devilishly amused by this, and admired the strength of her defiant lover as he pulled her farther into the ocean with each stroke. “I told him that when I disappeared from his prison, you would disappear from his country, and that would be a sign that his reign would end in three days.”

“So the attack is in three days?”

“No. The attack is tomorrow.”

“Then you lied to him?”

“Of course. The state of affairs is such that our freedom can be won only with violence, and lying is an elegant and effective form of violence. When he discovers your absence, he will believe that he has three days to prepare his forces, which will be to our advantage on the morrow.”

“And how did you escape Los Condenados prison? I have heard it said that God himself could not break free from that horrible place.”

“God could,” replied Hector, smiling into the darkness of the wild sea, “if he had spent a year corrupting the guards and installing a conspirator as the commandant prior to his incarceration.”

“Hector,” she laughed, “did you get yourself caught on purpose?”

“Of course, my love. I needed to speak to your father, but I simply could not secure an invitation to His Majesty’s court. I decided, therefore, to arrange my own sort of meeting.”

“And why did you need to speak to him, except to strut and taunt?”

“I will tell you, but first, we must disembark.”

She turned and almost gasped in surprise as the imposing form of a ship had hovered into view without her having noticed. The deck was too high to see, but it was well lit and there seemed to be a festivity of some sort occurring. They approached the vessel from an angle so that she could see the ornate cabin sagging in the rear, with a kaleidoscope of colors oozing out of the mosaic of stained windows. Two heavy torches burned on either side and the shadows running along the hull made the ship seem like a flaming apparition from another world.

A rope appeared over the side and Hector lashed their dinghy to the ship’s flank before helping his dear Magdalena ascend a wooden ladder.

She gasped again upon taking the ledge and being hoisted onto the deck by an enthusiastic sailor. There were two dozen men and women gathered about in good cheer, with lanterns, candles, food, and drink swaying about on a collection of tables. Three musicians with a flute and some guitars kicked into a whimsical little swing as Hector rose to the deck behind her.

“Hector… what is this? A party? On the eve of battle?”

“We are not gathered to celebrate the war, but something else… if I may be so bold as to hope.”

“Hope, for what?” She turned in awed surprise at the lively gathering, pausing only to steady her legs against the movement of the sea. When she had returned her gaze to Hector, he had lowered himself to one knee.

“Dearest Magdalena, surely you know that you have conquered unalterably the entirety of my heart’s landscape, and turned what was once a tundra into a forested wonderland of hope and ineffable pleasure.” For her part, Magdalena could not respond, except to hold her breath and place a wavering hand against her breast. “I orchestrated my imprisonment and my escape so that before I tear our land from your father’s grasp, I might first ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

She laughed, and wiped a tear away from one of her gentle eyes. “And what did my father, the King, say to this request?”

“He promised that if I ever said your name again, he would have my entrails made into a rope, and use it to hang me over a fire.”

“Oh Hector, I am so sorry, but it sounds as though we shall have no one to pay for the wedding.” This earned a hearty laugh from the assembled crew, and an appreciative, wolfish smile from Hector.

“You may save your worries on that matter, dearest, for on my way out of Los Condenados, the commandant and I helped ourselves somewhat generously to his treasury. We shall have a wedding which will live in infamy for both its cost and its beauty. Only promise me, dearest Magdalena, that there will be a wedding. Say that you will marry me, say that you will spend your years with me, that together we will explore the farthest reaches of mortal life and form a bond which shall reunite our spirits in the infinity which follows.”

Hector withdrew from his pocket a glimmering ring, which he extended toward her. “Magdalena Illidonya de l’Escalda, will you join me in marriage and allow me to be your husband?”

The celebration had paused almost magically and the deck crew was held in a brief moment of suspenseful silence, but an affirmative answer was inscribed so clearly over her face, in her eyes, and in her pose, that there was no one surprised when she consented and captured him in an embrace which culminated in a tremendously passionate kiss.

They went through the motions of a celebration, but their eyes and their thoughts were continually on the cabin. The crew, in their wisdom, detected this and quickly ushered the happy couple away. The pall of impending war hung over them, but Magdalena had come to the desperate decision that she would rebuke her fears, would rebuke war itself, with the intensity of her passion.

And so it was that they entered the cabin in a stumbling embrace, kissing and proclaiming their love, exploring with their hands and seeking with each moment a new way to communicate with sensation the complex universe of love which was blossoming in their hearts. At the moment when the door closed, Hector fought himself free of his shirt and Magdalena found herself running her fingers across a fragrant sculpture of masculine triumph.

Suddenly they were no longer Magdalena and Hector, but were simply two bodies rendered helpless by a blissful voltage which existed between their hearts and minds.Their manners, their places in society, their plans, all of their expectations and inhibitions, were blown completely away by a hurricane gale of ancient instinct and untamed desire. The Lady de l’Escalda leaned back and reveled in the sensation of being undressed. When she leaned once more into her lover, and her pale breasts pressed against his skin, they become a single moving flame, flickering and tearing across the room until they settled into a bonfire upon the bed.

On that bed they writhed and kissed, celebrating and accentuating their naked embrace by changing positions and striving to etch into their memories the fantastic views, the mind altering scents, and the relentless electricity of physical contact with which the air itself seemed to hum. They created there a manifestation of pure longing, of ecstasy and perfect communication. If the ultimate moment could have been captured in a painting, it would have had to rest in the temple of Eros himself, driving even that fickle deity mad with envy.

It was only when they had completed this wild ritual of human bonding and collapsed into the sheets in a glistening daze that things began to go wrong.

A miasma of glowing color, a portal to another dimension, opened near the end of the bed. From the undulating rainbow maw emerged a giant killer robot alligator. Steam, incense, and glitter billowed from its ass, and it roared at them with a thunderous, emotionally dead-pan computer voice.


Before Hector could formulate any reaction beyond a gasp of horror, the inter-dimensional sex attack robot lunged onto the bed and cleanly bit off his head. Blood sprayed everywhere, most directly onto a completely horrified Magdalena. She screamed wildly, flailing and falling backwards as the sex attack robot bit through more of Hector’s torso, then turned and announced itself once more in a computery voice.


The steel grimace of the machine pressed towards her, the red eyes glowing like two evil glowing red eyes, and in the monotonic, disjointed voice of a primitive computer interpreting text, it mumbled a single additional phrase before biting effortlessly through her skull.

“Why did you read this stupid story?” were the last words, electronically generated or otherwise, that her delicate ears would ever transmit to her sexy brain.

In the sublime, fragile instant before her death, just as the robot’s teeth had begun to pierce her scalp, her final, desperate thoughts were of Magnus Von Black’s incredibly huge student loan payments.



Thank you for reading Robot Sex Attack for some reason. Although this story is genuinely awful, I am also the author of a long, beautiful, complicated science-fantasy adventure called The Song and the Pendant. I hope you will give it a shot!

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