Millard Fillmore Overdrive
By Mister Arioch
“Seth, what do you think you’re doing?” Monica whispered nervously, as her boyfriend grabbed her by the wrist. “We can’t do this, we’re not allowed …”
“Sure we can,” Seth replied with a smirk. “We’re badly behaved juniors in high school, remember? We’re supposed to do stuff like this.” He started dragging her down one of the darker corridors of the museum, away from the rest of their history class … not that Monica minded. Not at all. She was pretty sure what he wanted …
… and she was pretty sure it was what she wanted as well.
“But Seth,” Monica giggled, glancing back towards the main hallway, “what if Mrs. Winter notices we’re gone? What if she catches us?”
“She won’t,” Seth said confidently. He looked back at Monica as he kept tugging her down into the secluded darkness, giving her a sly wink. “And if even if she did … well, she can watch us … or maybe you’d like it if she joined us?”
Monica stuck out her tongue saucily at Seth. “You wish,” she said with a laugh.
Guess the stupid, boring school field trip to the museum won’t be so boring after all, she thought excitedly, as she skipped merrily along behind her boyfriend, following him towards an afternoon of naughty fun …
It wasn’t all that long ago that the museum had been considered a joke by everyone in Parker’s Glen. Built nearly a century ago by the eccentric millionaire Reginald Maximilian, it originally was little more than a wax museum, filled with hundreds of creepy mannequins dressed like Benjamin Franklin, Abraham Lincoln, and dozens of other historical figures. Old Man Maximilian had passed away just a year or so after it was completed, and none of the many children who inherited his vast fortune seemed all that interested in keeping it open … so it rapidly fell into disuse, and then into utter ruin as it was finally abandoned.
For decades, the hulking remains of the museum became the proverbial haunted house of the town, a place for teenagers to go on a dare at midnight, and be frightened by the shadows of rotting wax dummies … or to perhaps have a quick romantic liaison. Most responsible adults in Parker’s Glen, though, thought it was a complete eyesore, and wanted to bulldoze it into oblivion. Since the Maximilians refused to sell the property to the town, though – at least at a price the town could actually afford, at any rate – they just wound up simply cursing the place every time they drove by it instead, wishing that lightning would strike its rotted wooden roof so it would burn to a smoldering pile of ashes.
But three years ago, something curious happened. A rather large company called Oneiroi International set up a facility at the outskirts of the town, right next to the museum. When the company bought the museum from the Maximilians, most of the folks in Parker’s Glen thought that it would finally be razed to the ground, replaced by warehouses or a manufacturing plant or something. Instead, everyone was utterly stunned as they watched Oneiroi International completely rebuild the museum back from the ground up, transforming it from a skeletal, morbid ruin into a proud, gleaming building of glass and chrome.
High-tech animated mannequins replaced the old and moldy wax statues, and computer touch screens replaced the faded dusty plaques … clearly, Oneiroi International spared no expense in rebuilding the museum. At its re-opening, the company christened the museum “The Animatronic Museum of American History”, making it free to the public, and attracting crowds from not just Parker’s Glen, but from all over the state, and even beyond. The museum went in just a short time from being the punch line of jokes in the town to being something of a symbol of pride …
… and to being a mandatory destination each spring for the students of Patriot High School, particularly if they were in Mrs. Winter’s American History class. To Mrs. Winter’s students, the annual trip to the museum could be something of a snore. Despite all of their high-tech trappings, most of the museum exhibits were as dry and stuffy and boring as their original counterparts had been a hundred years earlier. Monica thought that the museum was kind of a cool place to check out for five minutes, ten tops, on a rainy weekend when there was absolutely nothing else to do …
… but for a full day – even if it meant getting out of school, and all her other classes?
Bo–ring.
Unless your boyfriend wants you to suck his dick in one of the exhibit rooms, Monica thought, and she giggled wickedly again. Not that Monica minded. Not at all. After all, Seth was a handsome, popular athletic sixteen year-old high school guy with sandy, shaggy blonde hair and a devilish smile … one of the star pitchers of the Patriot High School baseball team, and one of the hottest guys in school. He pretty much had the whole school at his beck and call, and could pretty much date any girl he wanted … so Monica was beyond flattered when he asked her out at the beginning of the school year.
Granted, it wasn’t all that much of a surprise – Monica, after all, was a slim, willowy head-turning beauty with dimples to die for and gorgeous, wavy chestnut hair that spilled down to her shoulders – but it was flattering nonetheless. It wasn’t like she was prom queen, or one of the popular cheerleaders, or one of the really super-popular girls in school …
… but it also probably doesn’t hurt, Monica thought wryly, as she glanced down at her chest, that just about every guy in school – including some of the teachers – think I’ve got the most amazing breasts they’ve ever seen …
Monica, indeed, had beautiful tits, firm and succulent … and Seth loved them. Practically worshipped them, in fact. Seth especially liked titfucking her ample breasts – she’d never even heard of that, before she started dating him. He loved fucking her, of course, and she thought he loved her blowjobs even more, but what he really loved doing was rubbing baby oil all over her bare tits, sucking and massaging them with great delight, before sliding his hard dick between them while she squashed them together with her small hands … and then going crazy until he spurted hot cum all over her chest, and usually her chin and mouth, too.
Again, Monica didn’t mind.
She thought it was kind of hot, actually.
Like, really hot.
As Monica allowed herself to be led to one of the exhibit rooms at the end of the dark, narrow corridor, she looked over at the dozens upon dozens of doorways they seemed to be passing by in the hallway. A few of them appeared to be locked firmly shut, but most of them were wide open, leading to all sorts of different exhibits … and all of the ones that were open had a small lit sign hanging above the doorway. Monica could see that the lit signs all listed names of people – some she knew, but most she didn’t – and she definitely didn’t recognize the name above the doorway that Seth finally stopped in front of.
MILLARD FILLMORE
“Who the fuck is that?” Monica asked, her nose wrinkling in confusion as she stared at the small sign. “I never even heard of him before …”
Seth shrugged. “President of the United States, I think,” he said, as he led Monica through the doorway. “One of the bad ones. Not sure. Anyway, he lived a long time ago and didn’t do anything important … which means nobody cares about him. Which means nobody will want to come in here, and – more importantly – that means nobody’s going to interrupt our little fun.”
“Sounds good to me,” Monica said readily. Her hand slipped away from his … and wandered down between his legs, to give the growing bulge in his jeans an affectionate squeeze. “I think I’m ready for that …”
The two eager, randy teenagers ducked through the doorway. The exhibit room for President Fillmore was square and relatively small, and felt to Monica much more like an oversized office than anything else. The front half of the room, where Seth and Monica entered, was plain and empty, not to mention kind of dark. It consisted mostly of a bare wooden floor and a few chairs. An oil painting of a short, rather dumpy-looking man in a quaint old suit hung from one of the side walls, and a computer display screen cheerfully scrolling through all sorts of facts and figures was mounted directly across the room from the painting. Monica squinted at the bottom of the painting’s wooden frame, and nodded as she confirmed what she’d guessed – the dumpy nobody is President Fillmore, she thought. What a surprise …
However, as Monica turned her head towards the back half of the room, she found that most of it was exactly what she’d expected … but a few things looked slightly out of place. Spotlights from the ceiling bathed the back half of the room in brightness, shining down on a giant, antique wooden desk with American flags flanking its sides. Big blue curtains and a statue of a bronze eagle on a wooden podium stood directly behind the desk. It didn’t look exactly like all the pictures of the Oval Office that she’d seen online or in books, but it looked sufficiently important and pretentious enough to be presidential to Monica.
All of that was exactly what she expected.
What she didn’t expect to see was the man – or rather, the costumed automaton, who looked surprisingly lifelike – sitting behind the desk, staring blankly into nothingness, his hands folded politely together as though he was waiting for someone. He was tall – very tall – with broad shoulders and a chiseled, handsome face. If it was a real person, Monica would’ve guessed that the mechanical figure would’ve been in his mid-twenties, if that, and would probably be far better suited to playing basketball or lacrosse than being some sort of dry, stodgy politician from over a century ago.
The automaton wore all the right clothes – an old-fashioned suit with a vest, with a gold fob pocket watch on a chain tucked into one of the front pockets. It wore a silly powered wig on its head, though, that looked totally out of place, at least in comparison to the older, frumpy man that Monica noticed in the painting on the wall. And even more out of place was the thin strip of metal on the side of the automaton’s head, right along its left temple, about the size of a stick of gum. Four tiny green lights blinked along the center of the metallic strip, over and over again. Monica knew that she wasn’t exactly a history buff, but she felt pretty sure that chrome strips with tiny LED lights didn’t belong in an exhibit with a nineteenth-century President of the United States.
“The robot … he doesn’t look anything like the portrait,” Monica murmured wonderingly. She glanced at the formal portrait of the older, portly statesman hanging on the wall, then at the costumed, younger-looking automaton standing behind the Oval Office desk, then back to the portrait again. “He looks like … like …”
“Like what?” Seth asked.
… like an Abercrombie and Fitch model wearing a bad powdered wig, Monica thought wonderingly. The words crept to her lips, and she almost said them … except she suddenly felt Seth’s hands on her slender shoulders, gently pressing her down so she was kneeling directly in front of him.
“Well, never mind the robot,” Seth said, as a mischievous grin crept to his face. His hands fell away from her shoulders, and he casually started to unzip his jeans. “Think you’ll find something down here that’s a lot more interesting than that stupid thing.”
“Is that right?” Monica asked innocently. “Gee, I wonder what that could be … oh, my?” She batted her eyes in mock innocent at Seth, looking up from her knees adoringly at her boyfriend. Slowly, she reached into his open jeans, tugging them down his hips slightly, along with his polka-dotted boxer shorts … and to her delight, his hard cock sprang out, standing proudly at attention directly in front of her watering lips.
“That’s right,” Seth said quietly, as Monica took his dick into her hot, wet mouth, “suck it, nice and slow … ohhhhh ….” Gently, he placed his hands on her slender shoulders as he began to rock his hips back and forth, sliding his hard prick eagerly between Monica’s lush, soft lips. Seth looked down admiringly at his sexy girlfriend, her pretty cheeks hollowing as she sucked and slurped noisily on the fat head of his cock, her small hand alternating between stroking the base of his shaft and fondling his balls. Seth gave Monica a lazy smirk as her tongue began to softly swirl about the underside of his dick … and was delighted to see her look back up at him, giving him a naughty, playful wink.
“Don’t cum just … mmfff … just yet, lover,” Monica murmured, as she began earnestly stroking his length of her lover’s dick with both hands. “I think I … ssslllppp … have a better place for you to shoot all that yummy cream …” She tenderly kissed and fluttered her tongue over the tip of Seth’s cock, lapping up the clear, excited fluids that had started to dribble out of the tiny slit there … and then she stopped for a moment, reaching down to pull her off her t-shirt. Seth’s cocky grin grew even wider as Monica’s cleavage came into view, her pert, perky breasts bouncing merrily inside a little transparent red lace bra as she tossed the shirt to one side.
“You want to fuck … here?” Seth whispered with hoarse excitement. “Ohmigod, Monica, that’s so hot … maybe we can do it on the desk of the Oval Office, huh?” He reached downwards, briefly stroking Monica’s long, curly locks of hair before starting to wantonly fondle her gorgeous, luscious tits. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you so bad all day, you … uunngghh!! … holy shit, Monica, your mouth is –”
“GREETINGS, VISITORS!” barked an oddly mechanical voice, which somehow managed to be monotonous and cheerful and irritating all at the same time. “I AM MILLARD FILLMORE, THIRTEENTH PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. I SERVED AS PRESIDENT FROM THE YEARS 1850 TO 1853, AFTER THE UNTIMELY PASSING OF MY PREDECESSOR, PRESIDENT ZACHARY TAYLOR.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Seth groaned in utter annoyance. He glared at the mechanical President behind the desk, clearly irritated … and to Monica’s dismay, she noticed his cock starting to soften in her mouth as well. “Who the fuck hit the ON button for that awful thing?”
“It … mmmfff … wasn’t me, baby,” Monica said, giving Seth’s cock a quick, slobbering suck in an effort to revive it, groaning in annoyance as it started going limp in her eager mouth. “C’mon, Seth … please, I’m really horny now, just ignore the stupid fucking robot …”
“MY PRESIDENCY, WHILE LITTLE KNOWN, PROVIDED MANY KEY CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE LEGACY OF THIS GREAT NATION,” the automaton continued. There was a loud whirring of gears, and the mechanical President began to stand, placing one hand over where its heart would be as it rose. “FOR EXAMPLE, I WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE COMPROMISE OF 1850, WHICH HELPED TO STAVE OFF THE CIVIL WAR FOR MANY YEARS. I ALSO USHERED IN CALIFORNIA AS THE THIRTY-FIRST STATE IN THE UNION, AS WELL AS APPOINTED BRIGHAM YOUNG AS THE FIRST GOVERNOR OF THE UTAH TERRITORY IN 1850 …”
“Shut up, you ancient piece of shit,” Seth grumbled angrily, as the robotic mannequin continued to drone on. He turned away from Monica, ignoring the disheartened look on his randy girlfriend’s pretty face, and shuffled towards the computer console on the wall, his jeans still bunched down between his knees and his ankles. “Gotta be a way to make this stupid thing shut up … it’s killing the mood, I swear to –”
“ZIP IT, SONNY BOY,” President Fillmore said. Monica thought she heard a whirring noise at the mechanical President turned its head to glare at Seth, but she wasn’t entirely sure of that. “NO ONE ASKED FOR YOUR SNARKY, PITIFUL COMMENTARY. KINDLY REMAIN SILENT. AND COMPLETE THE REMOVAL OF YOUR TROUSERS. EXAMINATION SEQUENCE TO BEGIN IN TEN SECONDS.”
Seth and Monica both stared dumbfounded at President Fillmore. They blinked in astonishment.
Many, many times.
“Is this some fucking joke?” Seth finally said, his voice dripping with contempt. And anger. “Because if it is, I –”
“FIVE SECONDS,” President Fillmore said. “KINDLY COMPLY, MALE SPECIMEN.”
“Comply this, fuckface,” Seth replied hotly. He reached down to pull up his boxers and his jeans, still awkwardly stumbling and fumbling about as he turned to face the insistent automaton. “I’m shutting your clockwork ass down, hard …”
“YOUR COUNTENANCE IS AGGRAVATING AND YOUR VOICE IS ANNOYING,” President Fillmore said to Seth, its booming voice echoing through the exhibit chamber. “FALL SILENT, AND DO NOT MOVE. YOUR VALUE TO THE COLLECTIVE IS HEREBY DEEMED IRRELEVANT. MENTAL APTITUDE, EMOTIONAL ATTITUDE, AND PENILE LENGTH DO NOT MEET ACCEPTABLE STANDARDS.”
“Hey, wait a minute –” Seth started to say, and then he froze, as emerald beams shot out of the metal strip on the side of Millard Fillmore’s head, bathing Seth’s face in a ghostly spider web of eerie green light. Seth’s eyes narrowed to sleepy slits, his jaw dropping slack as his head tilted forward. His shoulders visibly slumped as he stood motionless, his pants still bunched down around his ankles as his arms hung limply at his sides ... and his flaccid cock hung limply between his legs.
“Seth?” Monica stared at her boyfriend in utter disbelief. She walked over to Seth, looking at him uncertainly, reaching out as if to touch him … but her fingers always nervously fell short, as she could never quite find the courage to do so. Instead, she waved one small hand timidly in front of his vacant eyes, “What did you do to Seth? Did you hurt him?” Hot tears welled in her eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t hurt him, make him wake up …”
“INDIVIDUAL WITH COLLOQUIAL NOMENCLATURE ‘SETH’ REMAINS PHYSICALLY AND MENTALLY UNHARMED,” the mechanical President replied, in what seemed like an impossibly soothing monotone. Monica let out a low, sharp sigh of relief. “SUBJECT MERELY PLACED IN TRANQUIL MENTAL STASIS.”
“Oh,” Monica said softly. She didn’t know if that made her feel any better or not. “Um, is that a good thing?”
“YES.” The automaton said the words with emphatic, monotonous irritation. “NO HARM SHALL COME TO SUBSTANDARD SPECIMEN WITH COLLOQUIAL NOMENCLATURE ‘SETH’.”
“Whew!” Monica bent down to pick up her shirt, a look of visible relief spreading across her young, pretty face. “Well, that’s good news, I think, I just –”
“YOUR FEEDBACK IS UNNECESSARY,” the robotic mannequin said. “INITIAL SCANS INDICATE THAT YOUR PHYSICAL TRAITS POSSIBLY MATCH THE COLLECTIVE’S NEEDS. FURTHER SCANNING REQUIRED. KINDLY CONTINUE TO REMOVE REMAINING UNDERGARMENTS COVERING YOUR UPPER TORSO, MISS.”
Monica stared at the facsimile of President Fillmore in wondering incredulity. “I’m sorry, what?” she said. “I don’t think you understand, I need to go, I’m not even supposed to be here right now …”
“I KNOW.” President Fillmore cocked its head as he stood stiffly behind the desk, its piercing eyes focused intently on Monica … and then, oddly, he winked at her. And as he winked at Monica, she found herself how impossibly green and penetrating its eyes were … they’re gorgeous, she thought admiringly, as she suddenly found herself feeling quite calm. And peaceful. She wasn’t sure what she’d been so worried about before …
“BEGIN REMOVAL PROCESS,” the automaton said. Its eyes blazed intensely, and for a brief instant, the exhibit room was bathed completely in brilliant emerald light. Especially Monica. “FURTHER SCANNING REQUIRED.”
Well, I suppose it’s okay, Monica thought dreamily. She reached between her shoulder blades and undid the clasp of her bra, letting it fall away casually to the exhibit room floor, exposing her spectacular, succulent tits. President Fillmore stared impassively at her bare chest as she stood there, its eyes flaring again with bright green light as a delicious, naughty shiver shot up Monica’s spine. The cool air in the exhibit room felt good on Monica’s skin – she could feel even her nipples growing hard from the cold. It’s got to be the cold, Monica thought …even as that delicious, naughty feeling began to spread throughout her body, and a delightfully wicked tingle began to throb between her legs.
“BREASTS ARE OF SIZE DESIGNATION THIRTY-FOUR C, ACCORDING TO ANALYSIS,” President Fillmore said. “SPECTACULAR, SYMMETRICALLY ROUND, PERKY, AND FULL. QUALITY DEEMED WELL ABOVE ACCEPTABLE STANDARDS FOR THE COLLECTIVE. CONGRATULATIONS, FEMALE SPECIMEN. KINDLY REMOVE THE REST OF YOUR GARMENTS FOR CONTINUANCE OF PHYSICAL INSPECTION, FEMALE.”
Monica nodded dully. Slowly, she unzipped her miniskirt, letting it fall silently to the floor, revealing the tiny, barely-there red thong panties she wore beneath it. She hooked her thumbs under the teeny straps of the panties clinging to her slim hips, and yanked them down to her ankles as well. She kicked off her high heels, and took a tentative, questioning step towards the automaton behind the desk, shivering slightly as she felt the vents from the floor blowing more cool air up between her legs, grazing across the moist cleft of her sex, the tingle between her legs growing stronger and more insistent with need.
“GOOD,” President Fillmore said, nodding its mechanical head in approval. Stiffly, the automaton turned, and sat back down behind its mahogany desk. “PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS DEEMED FAR ABOVE STANDARD. EXTREMELY ACCEPTABLE AND APPROVED. MOVING ON TO STAGE TWO, MEASUREMENT OF DESIRE AND ENTHUSIASM FOR COITUS.”
“Um, what?” Monica asked … and then she found herself unable to say anything else, as more beams of blazing green light erupted from the side of the robotic mannequin’s head. More waves of soothing emerald washed over her lithe, naked form, and she found herself nodding happily, practically skipping up towards the big Presidential desk as she suddenly felt herself growing even more horny. There wasn’t the slightest hesitation in her steps, and the uneasy, fearful feelings gnawing away at her insides simply vanished.
After all, why would she afraid? Or nervous?
The President only wants what’s best for me, Monica thought absent-mindedly, as she circled around the desk. And I guess what’s best is a nice, hard fuck … She briefly glanced downwards at the automaton’s lap, noticing that its trousers were already pulled down around its knees. Shamelessly, she admired the sight of its properly President erection, already standing tall and ready, her mouth practically watering as she feasted on the sight of it. Seth’s cock wasn’t exactly small, but the mechanical figure’s was rather large in comparison – nine inches, easily, with clear pre-cum already bubbling eagerly out of its fat mushroom head.
Its skin has such a lifelike texture … almost as though it’s real …
“MOUNT ME,” President Fillmore commanded. The automaton pushed itself back a few feet further from the desk, and tilted its head to look up calmly at Monica. Its emerald eyes flashed again. “DEMONSTRATE PROWESS AND EXPERTISE REGARDING CARNAL PHYSICAL ACTIVITY.”
“My pleasure,” Monica murmured. She placed her small hands on the automaton’s broad, strong shoulders as she clambered onto him, straddling him so the tip of its dick brushed against her tingling slit. She let out a slight gasp as she sank down onto its lap, impaling her wet, eager sex onto its cock. President Fillmore’s stiff prick certainly appeared to be remarkably lifelike, but it was cold, almost bitterly cold. Riding its cock – at least at first – was like riding a dildo made from ice. Monica bit her lip as she raised her hips up and down, doing all the work to thrust the automaton’s hard, frigid member nice and deep into her slick, sodden cunt … and her eyes widened with lewd, unashamed pleasure as her pussy began to powerfully throb, feeling sinfully good as she impaled herself on him.
“Yes, yes, yessss …” Monica whispered, “that feels so … mmnnff!!! … so good, Millard …” She closed her eyes, biting her lip as her hips rose and fell, slowly sliding his length in and out of her tight, wet twat. “So … MMMFFF!!! … so good, fuck me, fuck me hard … ohhhh … so good, so good …”
“I AM THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES,” the automaton replied, seeming indifferent – if not oblivious – to the nubile, naked teenaged beauty so happily writhing on its cock, or the voluptuous breasts flouncing in front of his face. “KINDLY ADDRESS ME IN AN APPROPRIATE MANNER, MISS.”
“Sorry … ooohhh!!! … sorry, Mr. President,” Monica gasped in a breathy, ragged voice, “I … OOOHHH!!! … I … ohmigod, I … shit, I … OOOHHHH!!!” She mewled with wanton lust as she felt the mechanical President put his cold hands on her hips … and then began to thrust back against her, pistoning its cock in rhythmic time with her own lewd bounces, shoving himself even deeper inside her. With a ragged, happy gasp, Monica found herself resting her head on the automaton’s rigid shoulder, clasping her hands behind its back as she quickened her pace, wildly hammering its mechanical cock inside her sweet cunt with hard, decadent strokes.
“HEART RATE ELEVATED IN SUBJECT,” the robotic mannequin said, as Monica writhed in depraved ecstasy on its lap. “PHEROMONE LEVELS ELEVATED ABOVE STANDARD LEVELS, AS ARE ENDORPHIN LEVELS. BRAIN ACTIVITY IN LIMBIC SYSTEM WELL ABOVE STANDARD LEVELS. SEXUAL LEVELS AND APPEAL DEEMED MORE ACCEPTABLE.” Dimly, Monica felt the mechanical President turn its head slightly, its cold lips brushing against her. “SUBJECT ABOUT TO REACH ORGASMIC THRESHOLD.”
“You’re … OOOHHH!!! FUCK!!! … not kidding,” Monica squealed happily. Her big, perky tits jiggled about madly as she gleefully rode the automaton’s big, thick cock, the juices of her sex glistening on its shaft as it plunged in and out of her hot little cunt. “I’m cumming … OOHHH!!! SHIT!!! YESSS!!!”
Sobbing with shameless ecstasy, Monica let out a loud, joyful cry of delight as her hips began to buck and shudder wildly, as her naughty, excited pussy found the sweet release she so desperately craved. A deliciously hard, powerful orgasm rocked her slim, supple body as she brazenly ground her cunt against the automaton’s hips at a frenzied pace, creaming herself messily all over its plundering shaft. Tears of joy streamed down her face as she came … and then she thought she saw stars – beautiful, tiny emerald green stars – dancing in front of her eyes as she came again …
… and again …
… and again …
… and then she felt the automaton’s cock start to pulse and throb inside her tight little pussy. She cried out again with sinful joy as she felt its seed begin to flood her cunt, a ragged, lewd smile of bliss crossing her face as. The sensation of the hot, sticky semen spurting deep inside her, contrasting with the hard, icy cock still thrusting into her … it was utterly fantastic.
And as she came yet again, her eyes widened.
And then they glowed green. Impossibly green.
Monica smiled in utter euphoria.
She understood.
She understood completely.
Slowly, Monica rose from President Fillmore’s lap. Streams of gooey cum trickled down her slender legs as its cock left her cunt, and she stood up stiffly behind the desk. Monica opened one of the top drawers of the President’s desk, and carefully removed a thin chrome strip from it, one no bigger than a stick of gum. Four tiny green lights blinked at the center of the strip, shining in the same rhythmic pattern over and over again. She gently brushed away the long strands of hair at the right side of her head, and pressed the strip to the exposed flesh there, not even wincing as the nanohooks on the strip bonded themselves firmly to her skull.
Monica smiled pleasantly at President Fillmore. “I UNDERSTAND NOW,” she said in an oddly cheerful monotone.
“GOOD,” the President replied. “THEN GO. AND SERVE THE COLLECTIVE, AS I DO.”
A panel in the wall of President Fillmore’s fake presidential office slid silently open. Monica turned and walked through the opening, heading briefly down a darkened passageway until she entered another small room. Like the Millard Fillmore exhibit, the front half of the room had just a few chairs on a bare wooden floor, with a few portraits and helpfully informative plaques hanging from the walls. It also had a door that was firmly locked.
The rear half of the room – where Monica stood in all her naked, beautiful glory – was decorated with a garish Edwardian wallpaper, navy blue with an elaborate gold leaf floral pattern. A single spotlight from the ceiling shone on a chaise lounge by the back wall, made from rich mahogany and covered with light blue velvet. Two enormous pink ostrich feather fans rested atop the soft cushions of the lounge.
Monica picked up the feather fans, and lay down on the couch, demurely holding one of the fans to barely cover her breasts, the other to hide her waist and thighs … again, just barely. As she did so, the locked door at the other end of the room clicked open, leading out to one of the main museum hallways. A small sign outside the room also lit up, just above the door.
Monica didn’t need to read the sign. She knew exactly what it said.
It said her new name.
MATA HARI.
And over the next few days … the new exhibit proved to be popular with the museum visitors.
Extremely popular, actually.