The android strode down the catwalk with a sway to her hips, precisely calibrated, monitoring her algorithms. Her long legs moved so beautifully, and her ass so pertly, that she was so much more than a manikin ever could be, far more than any artist’s coat hanger – she was fashionable, formidable – and what’s more, she knew it.
She was dressed in a fox pelt sewed seamlessly into mink, such that it hugged her gorgeous body like a skin, pushing her curves and bulges into the candle-lit hall.
The chandeliers above her dripped wax, falling in translucent white droplets onto her breasts so that it shone like sweat. As her algorithm picked up the arousal pheromones. Her pupils dilated and her full lips opened slightly, her skin glistening.
She felt the pulses of the crowd quicken and released her own wetness between her legs so that subconsciously every male and female in the audience could smell her. She put her hands on her high hips and gyrated herself, releasing the fragrant hormone her creators had embedded.
The men and the women in the audience erupted, clubbing each other indiscriminately on their way to her. They tore and ripped and bit, their hard dicks and nails drawn to her flesh and as they fucked her and each other to pieces the android knew she had done her assassin masters proud.
For at last, she was fashionable.
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