kagablog

Number Nun’s porcelain body also was modeled on the statuary and paintings of the Renaissance period. The forms of these android Madonna’s were designed with Botticelli’s Venus as a primary physical reference, in order to create an angelic appearance. The beauty of a sentient and spiritually virtuous statue of course attracted unwarranted attention from the upper echelons of the various sex trades. Rogue scientists were employed to devise methods to capture said robots, and the enslavement of a Missionary Model became something of a status symbol amongst the more eclectic and resourceful degenerates on the planet. When Alphonse first heard about a Religio-Robot being deployed to minister to the lost cat tribes he set his mind to adding the metal Madonna to his collection of stolen treasures. He hired the best robo-wreckers on the river to capture the android in specially designed containment fields before trucking her off to a rogue weapons developer for reprogramming. An underground chop shop on the waterfront was able to fit her with synthetic genitalia and program in certain pleasure modes copied from synth-geisha models. Thusly was Number Nun corrupted and adapted for the amusement of the imp who often employed her for his own personal and perverse indulgences.

The bedchamber of Alphonse Guava was spacious, globular and dominated by curved, tinted windows, which arced up from the floor to create an expansive bubble skylight. This greenish glass encapsulated three quarters of the room and overlooked central courtyards, sun bleached terracotta roofing and the missionary bell tower, which stood adjacent to the chamber across a wide gulf. A crescent balcony splayed out beyond the large observation windows, overflowing with tropical blossoms in large ceramic urns. Vines seethed out of these pots, crawling up the walls and lacing the glass in a meshwork of greenery, which attracted and housed all manner of insects. It was an intentional feature and made perfect sense when one considered the contents of the bedchamber. Some of the windows were chinked and a warm, fragrant breeze breathed in over the heavy vines. The room inside was hot and humid, the muggy air thick with the stench of chlorophyll and reptiles; conditions which seemed not to bother the imp in the slightest. Alphonse in fact seemed to thrive off the claustrophobic heat and fecal intimacy of the jungle. The walls that were left between the monumental windows of the room had been papered in a lush photographic leaf print, blending out into the vistas beyond the glass. The furnishings were sparse and of black wood. Large vivariums and aquarium tanks were stacked around the periphery of the chamber and many translucent pipes and life support systems ran out of them, chugging and bubbling quietly away to themselves. Some of the glass enclosures contained large orchids, but most housed various specimens of rare reptiles. Fat dwarf pythons and iguanas explored the shaggy cream coloured carpet in spastic convolutions. Giant chameleons roosted in the manner of gargoyles, their prehensile tongues occasionally darting down like fleshy lightening, as they supped upon the many bugs clustered around the windows of the balcony garden. Providing feed for the many reptiles was in fact the primary reason for attracting such a large number of insects. Alphonse had cultivated specific blooms, which, aside from their ornamental functions, served to draw large iridescent beetles, succulent night moths and bumblebees in droves. The tanks were all left open and the many creatures would leave their enclosures when they chose to feed, hiding amongst the blooms of the balcony, growing fat on the bounty which was provided for them. A large, sunken circular bed occupied the center of the chamber and it faced a large white and gold writing bureau. This ornate piece of furniture stood on a small elevation, facing a tinted jungle view. An oval monitor was attached the desk top, beside a vanity mirror of equal proportions. Many papers, cosmetics and a selection of small, luxurious pistols were disarrayed upon the surface of the bureau. Number Nun and Alphonse were on the bed. She was unclothed, balanced on her hands and knees while Alphonse grappled her from behind, engaging in intercourse with her newly installed genitalia. The sunlight refracted through her translucent skin casing, blurrily illuminating the clockwork parts which operated within her in a golden haze. Faintly glowing mechanisms ran in seams along her internal structure, giving her form a holographic, jellyfish quality when she turned in the heavy sunlight. Yet despite the vigorous thrusting of the imp, she seemed rather bored and disenchanted by the entire event; which truth be told, were something of a regular pastime for Alphonse who enjoyed immensely the desecration of the Madonna’s image.

“So how is my new Tinkerbell working out?” he panted at one point.

“She’s the business all right,” Number Nun replied over her shoulder.

“Well that’s just peachy,” Alphonse grinned, returning to his exertions with renewed alacrity.

“There is another matter which I need to bring to your attention,” she mentioned.

“My psychic intuition tells me that it concerns Mister Sister,” he breathed raggedly.

“Yes,” she answered. “Right again.”

Her midriff abruptly split along a seam. The seam was hermetically sealed and circled her naturalistically, following the line of her hips and abdomen. Her glassy vertebrae expanded and the spinal column unfurled telescopically, like a geometric snake. Her upper half moved at the tip of this extension, drifting to the bureau like the head of an anthropomorphic plastic flower. Her lower half remained where it was while the rest of her busied itself at the desk. Alphonse, by now accustomed to the secretarial flightiness of Number Nun, gripped the disembodied hips and continued to thrust into the kneeling lower half. Her torso wafted over the surface of the bureau with a low hydraulic hum while she sorted through a pile of letters. She eventually located a violet scented, violet coloured envelope and extracted the sheet of paper sequestered within.

“Apparently Mister Sister has acquired something from Dr Dali,” she said, scanning the florid quill scrawls with an amusing impersonal detachment.

“It’s something which he claims will put you out of business,” she added. “He’s invited you over to gloat.”

“Ah Dr Dali and his fabulous Clock Shop!” Alphonse thrusted mercilessly. “What new and terrible joy has the good doctor birthed into this black world…”

“Shall I RSVP?” she asked, swiveling in the air to face him.

Alphonse ejaculated dramatically and fell backward across the sheet twisted bed, accidently crushing a blue-headed gekko beneath a carving knife of a shoulder blade. In the drowsy light, naked and glazed with tropical perspiration, it was possible to witness his inhumanity a little more clearly than usual. His powder white skin gleamed like ivory under the gold glare and tiny spiracles gleamed in the fashion of tiny navels along the sides of his torso, quivering open and closed as he breathed. His genitalia were also unusually formed and he carried no scrotum or testicles. His member seemed rather to extend from his girlish hips like a threatening, barbed tentacle. The rose-thorn barbs along the edges of his sexual organ were legendary of course, and it was widely known that he could not indulge in sexual congress without irreparably damaging the other party. There were stories of course, of lovers he had torn apart, but these were rare. Despite his various wicked streaks he was not particularly fond of mutilating people in acts of lust. Perhaps it was the crudity of the screaming, the baseness of accidental bleeding and general physical resistance which failed to appeal to his delicate sensibilities. Alphonse after all favoured slow spiritual corruption over casual annihilation when it came to love-play, and it was a peccadillo which caused him much sexual frustration. In this matter Number Nun, saw it as her duty to appease the physical needs of the imp and thus avoid the rare, but occasional mutilation of waifs and strays. He could not damage her bulletproof porcelain body and her pirate programming would allow her to satisfy his alien appetites to no end. She watched him slip out of her with a clinical disinterest as her lower half rose and walked across the chamber to rejoin the rest of her body. After clicking smoothly back into cohesion, a small glassy capsule of fluid could be glimpsed, moving through the tubes of her pelvic region. Various robotic relays and devices manipulated the capsule upward, into her frosted glass belly. A navel port irised open, and the capsule was delivered smoothly into the palm of her hand. Number Nun knelt down and opened a small metallic fridge, upon which was printed the legend” ‘PERM BANK’. A gush of icy gas flooded out, creating a small silvery cloud for an instant. She placed the capsule amongst other similar capsules and sealed the airlock. Alphonse lay like a speared marlin, staring at a progression of livid white ants along the ceiling. He clicked his fingers and Number Nun placed a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it with one of her laser fingernails.

“Well why not,” he exhaled thoughtfully. “Tell the fat man that Judas, Mary and I will join him for cocktails by the pool.”

Number Nun had by now crossed to the edge of the room and was buttoning herself back into the long, black cassock which she habitually donned. She nodded to him and an autodial sound emitted from the communications array in her face. Mister Sister was on the line within moments.