"My life is trash."
"Now, what makes you say that?"
Wrench in hand, the old doctor stared forlornly at a hoverbike. "I've lost my touch, Mike. I've been working on this thing for weeks, and always, something's been wrong with it. I'd checked my calculations nearly one-hundred times, and I'd never found anything off.
So then, Penny just waltzes in here, barely even glances at the specs, and tells me that 'This eight should be a seven.' And now that I've recalculated everything and fixed it as such, it finally works." Bitterly, he threw the wrench to the ground. "It's enough to make me wish the little runt had never been born!"
The robot picked up the wrench and tossed it into a nearby toolbox. "A few days ago, that 'little runt' was your favorite grandchild, and you wanted her to be your protegé."
The doc sighed. "You don't get it, Mike. There's a fine line. Of course I want her to be as great a scientist as I am, but I don't want her to actually be a better one until after I'm dead."
"You really should be proud of her."
"Mike. Look at me. For years, I've been the only one to turn to for modern scientific innovations and day-to-day machinery. If I can't do that properly anymore for even a day, and there's someone who can do a better job at it, I'll forever be old hat. Nothing more than a crazy old man living off the coast of Diamond City for the rest of my life. And that'd be especially bad because I don't plan on dying in the next four centuries. So excuse me if I'm not ready yet to pass my torch to, of all people, my twelve-year-old granddaughter!"
"Which you should have done by now,
" Mike muttered under whatever passes for robot breath.
"What was that?"
"Face it, Scienstein. You're over the hill, she's just starting up it. There's literally a new kid in town. It's about time you quit running from death like you've been doing since the eighties, and fork over the torch already."
I hate being called 'Scienstein'. And you're not helping."
"You didn't program me to help, sir," Mike replied sardonically. "You programmed me to clean the house and rock out."
"Then let's rock out. I'll show you. I'm not anywhere near death, and that torch is still mine."
He slapped Mike's side, starting Apollo 440's "Can't Stop the Rock" playing. With that, he went as if to jam on an air guitar, and...
"Owwwww, my hip!"
Mike didn't try to hold back his raucous chuckling.
"Oh, shut up!" the doctor whined, limping off. "I'll show him," he muttered to himself as he shuffled across the lab. "I'll show him and Penny and all of the Gooms in the audience who are laughing amongst themselves at my expense. That's right, I mean you, the one with the acne."
A very spent-looking Penny stumbled into the room and nearly slammed into him. "Uh... Hi, Grandpa," she said weakly.
"I'll die when I'm good and ready, and nobody- Er, hello..." he hesitated. "Penny. What happened to you?"
"Ehh, w-what do you mean, Grandpa?"
"Your glasses... and your pants are torn, and... you..." Slowly he turned to the door she came out of. Its plate read "Failed Inventions".
"Penny, tell me you didn't touch number sixty-nine!"
"Oh, I knew
it!" he lamented. "I knew
I should have dismantled that horrible contraption! But no, I just couldn't throw it away! And now you had to pay for it! Oh, it's all my fault-"
"Grandpa!" she interrupted. "I... I didn't touch that whatsis. I swear."
"Y-you didn't?" The doctor relaxed visibly. "Oh, thank goodness! If you had, I'd never forgive myself."
"Why? What's wrong with it?"
"Well... It was supposed to be a massager, but... it just didn't go well." He shivered in painful memory. "I'd rather not talk about it."
She recognized the implication. So, it did that to Grandpa, too? No wonder he hid it away like that...
"So, then, if it wasn't number sixty-nine, what happened to you?"
"Oh..." She groped for a plausible lie. "I... tripped and fell into a pile of junk, you see. Almost poked my eye out. It's a good thing I just got my tetanus shots."
"Yes. Very lucky."
One guilty part of her mind wanted to come out and tell the truth about what happened, and she could hardly hold it back any longer. There was only one thing for it. "Well, Grandpa, it's been fun," she said as she turned to the front door of the lab, "but I should be going..."
He caught her by the shoulder. "Where exactly
do you think you're going?"
"Not with that hole in your pants, you're not. It says things happened here that didn't. Very bad things. And guess who they'll blame for doing them to you?"
He fought back a chuckle. "No, me. A few of them are convinced I've been doing those things already, and if they have any sort of evidence, circumstancial as it may be, they'll lock me up and throw away the key. And we don't want that, now do we? So, give me those pants and I'll mend them."
She stayed quiet at this. How would she explain those spiral-shaped bruises running up her legs?
"Of course, you don't have to take them off in front of me," the Doc added quickly. "Go into the bathroom if you'd rather."
She grinned sheepishly, and dashed towards the bathroom. Once in, she threw her pants in the hallway and slammed the door.
When she turned around, there was a mirror over the sink. Her reflection shocked her; with her clothes wrinkled, her hair wet and tangled, and a pair of cuff-shaped marks on her wrists, she clearly looked like she'd been raped. She could hardly believe she'd gotten away with lying about what had happened.Look at yourself,
she thought as she stared at her reflection. Look at what that machine did to you. Forcing itself into you, touching your insides... Lord knows what it did to Grandpa. It hurt you, it tore you open, it took something precious from you, and you have the nerve, the gall to have liked it. You think it was the best you've ever felt! You filthy, rotten little girl...
She looked down. Her hand was between her legs, stroking the sore lips of her second mouth. Feeling terribly guilty, she sunk to the floor. "Ohh, what's wrong with me?" she asked the air, still fondling herself. "Why do I like this? Why does it feel good?"
She felt another orgasm coming on and forced herself to stop masturbating, halting it in its tracks. Her hand came away coated in sticky fluid like before, except it was all white. Also like before, she spread it over her hand, but this time she rinsed it off in the sink.
"Hey," a voice asked. She turned sharply, thinking it was her grandfather, but no one was in the room with her. "Over here," the voice said again. She turned back to the sink, and her reflection waved at her.
She blinked twice. Her reflection leaned on the sill. She took off her glasses, rubbed her eyes, and put them back. Her reflection waggled her eyebrows.Okay,
she thought, now I know I've gone crazy...er.
"Don't think so poorly of yourself," her reflection advised. "Did you ever consider that you're supposed
to like it?"
"But..." she replied. "It hurt so much at first... and Grandpa, he..."
"If you'd liked it when it hurt, yes, that would be bad. But after a while, it felt good, right? I should know." The reflection chuckled and held up her hand, covered in the same white stuff Penny had just rinsed down the sink. "I've felt that way five times already: once with the machine, twice with myself, and twice during that dream you had when you fell asleep after it."
"But... I... Even if it does feel good, it's still wrong..."
"Who said? Hmm?" The reflection spread her arms to make a point. "Who said it was wrong? Nobody did, because it's not. If it were wrong, then why did you like it? Why did the pleasure mount and mount until it felt so great, it made your whole body shiver? If it were wrong, why did it feel right?"
She didn't have an answer to that. The logic made sense. Maybe she wasn't so dirty after all.
"So, don't be ashamed," the reflection told her, leaning forward. "Go ahead. Touch yourself. Love the way it makes you feel. It's a good thing."
Timidly, Penny let her hand slide down between her legs again. That tickle that undeniably felt fantastic warmed the spot her fingers brushed. She rubbed the spot gently, and then a little harder, on until she was lost in it and her hand rubbed of its own accord.
"That's right," her reflection purred, masturbating with her. "Just like that. As long as you need to, as much as you want to. Whenever the desire strikes. And take that machine with you. When your own hand isn't enough, it will satisfy you."
"Ahhh... I can't do that..."
"There's no reason not to. Grandpa won't miss it. You have a hundred places to hide it. Think about it, remember how good those tentacles felt, how they stroked you and brought you to the height of pleasure..."
She remembered it vividly. And her whole body tingled with the recall, every cell on the brink of climax.
And then, when it was too late to stop it, someone knocked on the door.
"Oh, Penny!" her grandfather called. "I'm respecting your privacy by knocking, but asserting my authority as your grandfather by coming in anyway!"No... Not now...
was the last thing she thought before that almost-seizure took over and left no room for anything other than its consuming ecstasy, just as the door burst open...
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