FYOP/Scenario Chamber/A Night at the Opera/0276
You pump relentlessly into the queen, drawing out simultaneous sighs from the priestess and the princess as your hands dip between their thighs. Each of the three robotic divas urges herself against you, clambering over each other in a hedonistic tangle, their components growing increasingly unsettled in the confusion of limbs.
Pamina climbs over the Queen, straddling your face with her soft thighs, drawing her golden-tufted sex to your lips, your tongue drawing out rapturous cries of pleasure from the princess, along with an electric fizzing sound you all ignore.
Your hands move across Saratra’s proud breasts, the priestess suddenly bringing her panting lips to the moaning Queen, who in turn still bucks beneath your sustained thrusts. The Queen freezes in surprise as Sarastra’s tongue lavishes her nipples, panels flying open across her icy skin, the machinery within sparking and throwing off smoke. The Queen gives a muffled protest, but Sarastra does not heed her, instead seizing her chilled, sapphire-tipped breasts and pressing them against her own larger, steaming-bronze tits.
Electricity courses between the three bots, panels springing free either to vent heat or as the result of a simple malfunction. Each robot becomes increasingly rigid as their voices develop a synthetic timbre, their chorus of moans turning into mere machine noise.
The Queen is the first to break as Sarastra kiss deepens - you feel the Queen’s pert ass clench, her still-bound hands straining as she gives a muffled chirp a second before you feel a concussive blast shudder through her body.
Pamina’s plush thighs tighten against your face as you feel another explosion. Slowly, the vice-grip of her legs becomes slack, and when she falls away, you see she has no torso, her waist terminating in an angrily buzzing cluster of machinery, her twitching torso lying on the other side of her broken counterparts.
Sarastra lies sprawled before you, wires and circuitry where her stern face once was, the Queen’s smoking headless frame atop her.
The curtain closes to uncertain applause, and you open each of the broken droids, extracting the cores from their smoldering bodies. You recover your old clothes and leave the scenario chamber.