Do Androids Fart Like Electric Pigs


While travelling across the Dead Lands, the desert that lies to the west of the Capital, the team bus of the North-Western Starfish, the state champions of the Women’s Zero-G Soccer League, developed an engine fault. The diagnostic computer told the driver that the fault was a leak in the fuel cell of the main anti-gravity coil, and it suggested either replacing the cell or finding an alternative energy source. The bus came to a shaky halt and landed on a sandy ridge in the desert. This area in the Dead Lands was a barren waste, with no trees, buildings, other vehicles or people, only dirt and rocks as far as the eye could see.

The Starfish were travelling to New Tokyo for the Tenth Annual Federal Championship, and this unplanned stop was not at all welcome, as they were running late already. The opening ceremony for the games was due to start later that day, and all of the women in the team, and their coach, Luther, were eager to be there on time.

Jasper, the elderly bus driver, climbed out of his cab into the hot sunshine, and Luther, a grizzled man in his fifties, exited by the rear doors and walked around the hover bus to join him.

The driver opened the panel of the anti-gravity coil and examined the damaged fuel cell.

“Is it fixable?” asked Luther, leaning against the support stabiliser of the bus.

“Not by me, I’m no expert though,” said Jasper. “I’ll get a message to the New Tokyo depot and ask them to send a technician.”

“How long is that likely to take?” asked Luther. “I don’t want my team stuck out here in the heat any longer than necessary. Can you at least get the climate control running?”

“No, there is no power for anything like that,” said Jasper the driver. “I’ll radio the depot, they should be able to get a technician here in a few hours, I would have thought.”

Luther stared over Jasper’s shoulder at the broken anti-gravity coil and shook his head.

The team, twenty-four fine athletic women in their twenties and thirties, physically fit young women wearing the latest in synthetic sportswear, got out of the bus to stretch their legs, drinking water, and chatting to each other.

“What’s going on, coach?” said Jemima Kraken, the team’s leading goal scorer, a tall Amazonian woman of twenty-eight. “Are we going to get to New Tokyo in time for the opening ceremony?”

“We’ll be fine,” said Luther reassuringly. “We just need to get a technician flown out here. It shouldn’t take too long.”

As Jasper was walking back to the cab to radio for help, he noticed a small hover pod appear on the horizon, heading towards the ridge where the bus was grounded. Jasper waved his hands above his head, signalling to the hover pod. It was a miniature, jet-powered one-man craft, the kind used by commodities brokers and low-ranking government officials to fly between the Capital and the other states of the Federation. The pod came to a halt and landed a short distance down the ridge from the broken-down bus. The canopy of the pod slid open, and a tall, lean man stepped out of the cockpit. He was smartly dressed in clean white robes.

“Good afternoon, sirs and madams. Please excuse my intrusion,” said the stranger. “Are you having some difficulty? I wonder if I might be of some assistance?”

“We certainly are having difficulty,” said Jemima Kraken. “Our bus is broken.”

“How unfortunate,” said the stranger. “I will do my best to assist you in these circumstances.”

Jasper noticed the stranger’s unusual way of speaking and immaculate dress. “Hey buddy, are you an android?”

“Yes sir, that is correct. I am a third-generation synthetic humanoid.”

“Whoa, OK. You guys are pretty smart, right?” said Jasper, grinning at the stranger. “Do you know anything about fuel cells, or anti-gravity coils? We’ve got a leak and we’ve got no power. Could you take a look for us, buddy?”

“Allow me, sir,” said the helpful android, striding over to the open panel of the bus’s engine housing.

“These androids are amazing guys,” said Jasper to Luther. “I seen one fix a fusion tank once, back during the war, using just a toothpick and a jar of pickled lemons.”

The android assessed the fault with the bus’s anti-gravity system. While the android inspected the bus, Luther sat down with his communicator to compose an angry message Üçyol Escort to the state governor’s office, saying the team would need a larger travelling budget if they were to be taken seriously in the Federation, in a time when the majority of professional state teams travelled by teleportation it was completely unacceptable that their partaking in the championship was being jeopardized by an old, broken-down bus.

Most of the girls had not seen an android before, the android population of the Eurasian Federation having been systematically decommissioned or redeployed to the colonies during the Great Peace twenty years previously. Some of the ladies looked at the mechanical man curiously while he examined the bus’s engine, whispering to each other.

The intelligent android reported back to Luther and the driver.

“The main anti-gravity coil is damaged beyond repair and will need replacing. I believe there is a short-term alternative to make the vehicle operable again. The landing coil could be converted to work as a driving thruster, but it will need an additional power charge. If we had an alternative energy source that we could route through the engine’s power back-up, there would be just enough thrust to get the bus airborne again. My secondary life support system runs on a micro-combustion generator array. If we could find a suitable fuel source for it, I could transfer the power directly from my generator to the power back-up. There would not be enough power for the vehicle’s secondary functions, but you would be able to get to the other side of the Dead Lands at fifty percent speed.”

“OK, great. Can you do that?” said Luther.

“I can,” said the helpful android. “But I would need a fuel source.”

“Have you got one with you?” asked the driver.

“No, but I believe I can obtain one. I would need to harvest sufficient quantities of combustible gases from the atmosphere, but I’m afraid they do not exist in high enough concentrations in the air at this low altitude to be effective.”

“What would be effective?” asked Jasper.

“The most common substance that contains the required hydrogen and methane is flatus.”

“Flatus? You mean farts?” said Luther. “He means farts.”

Jasper chuckled.

“You’ve got to be joking,” said Luther.

“I estimate the probability of this plan working as ninety-four point seven percent,” said the ingenious android. “I can assure you that I am quite serious.”

Luther gathered his team together by the main door of the bus and made an announcement. “I have some good news, ladies. The robotic gentleman who just arrived believes he can create an alternative power source and get the bus moving again, we’d get to the Capital just in time for the opening ceremony. But he needs your help making the power source. Basically, he needs as many of you as possible to fart in his mouth, and fart as much as possible.”

There was silence from the team, they stared at Luther, some of them frowning.

“Come on, ladies. We have two choices: wait here for maybe three hours before a technician gets to us, then maybe another three hours before he fixes the bus, meaning we get to the Capital at gone midnight at the earliest. Or, if enough of you are willing to help, and help by farting in the android’s mouth, he says he can get the bus working in an hour, and we’ll be in New Tokyo by this evening.”

Oholibah, the team captain, spoke up. “I’ll do it. If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.”

Jasmine spoke next. “Yes, count me in. I can do it. At least I think I can.”

More and more of the girls agreed to at least try to break wind in the android’s mouth. The team’s initial scepticism for the idea turned to enthusiasm.

“Excellent,” said the android quietly.

The girls had eaten a hearty breakfast of imitation bacon and cloned hens’ eggs. This delicious fare had been digesting and fermenting in their intestines, causing gases to build up in their colons. Gases that most of the girls were too polite to release while within the confines of the bus with their teammates. As a result, the android had twenty-four rather bloated and windy feeling young ladies from which to harvest the flammable gases that he desired.

“Form a line, ladies,” said Luther, and they obediently lined up along the side of the Üçyol Escort Bayan bus at their coach’s command. It was hot in the desert sunlight, so they lined up along the shaded side of the bus.

First in line was Oholibah, the team captain. She was a tall, powerfully built, impressive looking woman. As the android approached her, she nodded to him, then turned her back to him and lowered the synthetic silk of her trousers, uncovering her magnificently muscled buttocks. The android knelt down on the dirt behind Oholibah, and she bent forward and put her strong hands on her powerful rump, dividing her buttocks before the android’s face, showing him her dark brown anus. The android leaned forward, bringing his face in between Oholibah’s parted cheeks, until his mouth made gentle but firm contact with her sphincter. When she felt the android’s lips pressing against her, the team captain flexed the muscles in her abdomen and expelled a substantial quantity of rectal gas directly into the android’s mouth, producing a loud, resonant sound as she did so.

The android lent back and inhaled, his face impassive. “Hydrogen content thirty-five millilitres, methane content twenty-four millilitres. Generator array power level five percent.”

“OK, great job, Oholibah,” cried Luther. Oholibah pulled her trousers back up and the other girls gave her a brief round of applause.

The next girl in line was Beatrix, one of the team’s forwards, a graceful, athletic girl of twenty years old. She giggled nervously as she approached the kneeling android. He smiled in an artificial way that she found more unnerving than reassuring. But, confident of what she had to do, she turned and faced away from him and lowered her tight black shorts, showing her pert little bottom. She put her fingers on her bum cheeks and pulled them apart slightly, but not far enough for the android to have a clear view of the hole in between them. “May I?” he said politely, then put his cool hands on her warm little cheeks and gently pulled them apart, exposing a tiny, pink bum hole. He pressed his mouth to this orifice, and Beatrix promptly broke wind for the clever android. Her fart produced a high pitched, squeaking sound, muffled by his mouth.

Her teammates cheered her, she bowed in a joking way, then pulled up her shorts and went to join the team captain and Luther, who were stood by the open door of the bus. Luther gave her a congratulatory pat on the shoulder, and she slapped hands with Oholibah.

“Hydrogen content twenty-three millilitres, methane content eleven millilitres. Generator power level seven percent,” said the android.

Next in the queue was Dot, the team’s secondary goalkeeper. She had a bum so big that it looked like it had been grafted onto her from a cow. With a smirk, she lowered the waistband of her trousers and bared that enormous arse to the android’s appreciative gaze. Dot gripped her fat bum cheeks with her gloved hands and opened her cleft for the android to inspect. A large, sore-looking hole glistened in the sunlight between her cheeks, the android licked his lips and then pressed his mouth to that hole. She could feel the breath from his nostrils on the top of her crevice. Dot gasped, then strained, and forced out a long, mellifluous fart for the cunning android to breathe in. The team whooped. “Good job, Dotty,” shouted Luther. She pulled up her trousers and went and high-fived Oholibah and Beatrix.

The android sighed deeply and smacked his lips. “Power level at eleven percent. Next please!” he shouted enthusiastically.

The next team member to offer up the gaseous by-products of her digestion to the android’s waiting mouth was Tegan, the Starfish’s star midfielder. Before she did so, she looked the android in the eye, and asked him “Aren’t you ashamed to be sucking the farts out of the bum holes of all these women?”

“My programming does not allow me to feel shame,” was his simple answer. His candour made Tegan laugh.

She unzipped the panel on the back of her jumpsuit and presented her nicely rounded arse to him, and the android eagerly buried his face in between her cheeks. She farted several times, long rumbling farts that he excitedly gobbled up. She giggled while she farted. As she zipped up the back of her jumpsuit, she noticed the android Escort Üçyol had started perspiring, and she thought she saw a slightly crazed glint in his eyes.

The android suggested that it might be more efficient if he were to lie on his back and the ladies were to squat over him to deliver their gases. This was agreed to, and he led on his back in the dirt.

Jemima Kraken, the team’s top scorer, was next in line. She took off her knickers then pulled up her skirt, then lowered her bottom onto the android’s face. She noticed he slipped one of his hands into his robe while she did so. She shuffled around until she felt her arsehole make contact with his mouth. She tried to fart. She strained, but nothing came out.

“Come on Jemima, you can do it!” shouted Oholibah, and the other girls quickly took up the cry, cheering Jemima Kraken on, and urging her to fart in the android’s mouth. “Go on, Jemima!”

She strained some more, turning red in the face as she struggled to vent her bowels. She felt something tickling her, the android was licking her clenched anus. This stimulation was enough to loosen her guts, and a potent, wet fart blasted out of Jemima Kraken’s arsehole and into the android’s mouth.

Jemima Kraken stood up and put her knickers back on, her teammates cheering and applauding her. Next was Jasmine, a talented midfielder with spots on her bum cheeks and hairs around her hole.

All of the team took their turn to fart, each of the twenty-four young ladies took their turn depositing their windy offerings in the mouth of the increasingly excited android. The android became flushed and sweaty. He began to groan after each fart he received. Some of the girls noticed a hard little bulge had appeared in the front of his robes. When Jasper, the driver, suggested he could help by farting in the android’s mouth too, the android politely but firmly declined.

Once he had harvested as much of the gases from the women as he could take, the cunning android stood up and announced, “I am going to go and recalibrate the main power coil.” He hobbled round to the other side of the bus and stood by the engine housing. His nimble hands worked quickly. He would frequently look up from his work to peer round the bus at the twenty-four young ladies who had so willingly helped him, the twenty-four delicious arses that had farted for him, the forty-eight cheeks that had parted for him, his memory banks flooded with images of their anuses, his mouth filled with the taste of their farts as his hands busied themselves.

The girls heard a rhythmic grunting followed by a loud bellow from the other side of the bus.

The crafty android staggered back around the bus and said, “I just need to go and fetch something from my vehicle.” Jasper nodded to him. The artificial android walked stiff legged across the dirt for fifty paces or so to where his hover pod was parked. He opened the canopy and climbed into the cockpit. He rummaged through the small ration locker underneath the control console and found a bottle of Jamaican rum. He took a long swig of the rum, rinsed it around his mouth, and swallowed. He gasped, then stared at his reflection in the pod’s display panel. After muttering a brief but profound soliloquy on the transitory nature of human experience, he took another gulp of rum then tossed the bottle under his seat. The dubious android slammed the canopy shut and started the pod’s engine. He gunned the pod’s thrust jets and took off in a cloud of dust, accelerating hard and climbing quickly.

“Hey, where’s he going?” squawked Oholibah.

The team watched as the pod containing the fake android sped away.

“You know, I don’t think he was an android at all,” said Jasper.

“He definitely seemed to be very excited when we farted for him,” said Jemima Kraken. “I didn’t think androids ever got excited.”

“Did he at least fix the engine?” asked Tegan.

Luther went to check. “No. But it does look like he spunked over it. He definitely wasn’t an android. I guess we will need that technician after all, Jasper. Sorry, girls.”

Jasper walked to the cab of the bus and radioed the request for a technician to the depot. Some of the girls sat despondently on the ground by the bus, others went back inside to look for food. The opening ceremony had already started by the time the technician arrived to repair the bus. The Starfish did not reach the Capital until one o’clock the following morning. The fraudulent android was never seen by the team again.

“All of these moments will disappear, like farts in the wind.”

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