Clocking Off: Friday Freestyle

Since I totally surpassed last week’s target by like a thousand words. I thought I’d participate in Kate Valentine’s Friday Freestyle again this week but actually follow the rules this time.

Here was the prompt if you also would like to play💛

The wealthy, elite, and powerful have all been through my doors.

Billionaires, tech moguls, legendary movie directors, actors and actresses, heads of state.

They call it a lot of things.

Most despicably…

The Island 2.0.

Disgusting.

I want you to know that’s not why I got into this.

I was chasing a love.

I was chasing a dream.

I was chasing justice.

I was freshman at university when I watched Westworld for the first time, and that was when the spider bit me.

As a young Black woman specializing in Artificial Behavior and Psychology, the work that grew from the seed of that bite was in the highest demand.

I did things that, frankly, no one else in the world could do.

While all the dorks were rambling ad nauseam about agents—I was programming flowers, thunderstorms, Maya Angelous, and Cleopatras.

My ladies were superior, like the geishas of the past.

Sexy, charming, graceful, and refined.

Intelligent, empathetic, and masters of seduction.

Providers of any level of fantasy you could imagine.

Whether, exctasy, or agony— they performed like artisans.

Without legal constraints, without consequences.

…and they brought out the monsters in a way Congress never could.

On one screen I watched as five of them surrounded one of my creations.

She was on her knees, spitting and drooling on multiple cocks as they came at her from every direction.

On another, an heir to one of history’s largest fortunes wanked as another nearly passed out, hands restrained above her head, completely naked minus a dog collar and leash, while being fucked by some contraption built from a converted reciprocating saw.

On another still, an ancient geezer role-plays a private audition for a movie role: “There is a love scene in this movie. I have to know that you are able to convey complete surrender and convincing pleasure. Take off your panties and touch yourself.”.

Those are three screens amongst seventy-five.

Each filled with a different predator and a different machine.

I’d had enough.

This was my last day.

I’m sure at some people would ask me if I felt guilty for what I created.

I rehearsed my response, “No. Machines are machines. With no feelings, no age, and no concept of consent.”

My fingers tap, a script is executed.

“They were designed to be convincing. To mimic pleasure and pain without ever experiencing it.”

I press a red button concealed under my desk.

“I don’t feel guilty because they did exactly what they were designed to do.”

My chair slides back across the concrete floor.

“They brought in the untouchables like exquisitely engineered honey traps…”

A tasteless, odorless gas enters each and every pleasure room.

“And I turned out lights”

The switch flips with a satisfying click and the screens go black.

The door shuts behind me.

My pupils contract as the sunlight hits my face.

And just like that a vigilante escapes from the underworld.