by Olivia Myers
He controlled her like she had controlled so many others. It was so exciting to lose herself for once, and this bot was like a tide, implacable waves of pleasure that her body could happily drown in. She could feel herself drawing to a finish, but he wouldn't slow down.
He yanked out, eliciting a groan of frustration from her at the sudden interruption. But he flipped her so she could see him. That tantalizingly wolfish grin was still present on his handsome face, and those green eyes seemed to bore deep into her, almost as deep as he abruptly plunged inside of her again.
She arched her back as his rhythm changed to match the new position. He leaned down to put her breast in his mouth. The heat again. Stella felt as if she were melting into the unrelenting fire that threatened to consume her. She tightened her legs desperately around him as a final wave of warmth washed over her, tensing her body and yanking him against her to ride him until she was done.
“Fuck,” she breathed, closing her eyes and turning her head away from him. She unfurled her legs and gave him a push. “Off. Power down.”
The final commands were relatively universal, and he seemed to comprehend as he rolled away to leave her in peace. She crawled up to her pillows, anticipating the soreness she would surely feel when she woke. Just how many climaxes had the robot brought her? Three? Four? She was exhausted, but satisfied in a way she hadn't been in years. This model would be a bestseller, she thought as she settled into her blankets. And she’d have it again in the morning.
***
The first thing Stella noticed when she blinked her eyes open was that the lights were still on. The second was the clear view of her alarm clock on the opposite side of the bed, displaying that it was ten in the morning. The third was that she shouldn't have been able to see the time because there should have been a six and a half foot robot between herself and her clock.
There wasn't.
She jerked up fast enough to make her back crack, scrambled to disentangle herself from her sheets, and nearly tripped over the mess as she stumbled toward the door. It was only when her hand landed on the bypass mechanism that she realized she was naked.
“What the fuck?” Had someone snagged her robot while she was sleeping, completely naked, right next to it? Who would? Why? How? She ran a hand over her face and leaned against the door to take a moment for processing. She needed coffee – or logic.
Coffee might bring logic.
She swept her short, jet black hair back behind her ears and grabbed her jeans up from the floor to wriggle into. She snagged her T-shirt from the lamp it had landed on to pull over her head. Her bra was nowhere in sight, but she spotted her panties on the floor near the bathroom, but ignored them for the moment.
It was impossible to break into her apartment. Her full hand signature and a retina scan were required to get in. Stella didn't play with half-assed security. But a robot had never gotten up and walked away. Was it glitching on some sort of autopilot? Maybe it had never turned off, and had wandered away to further fulfill its purpose after she'd fallen asleep. If that was the case, a stark naked six and a half foot sculpture of a bot shouldn't be hard to find.
She nodded to herself, as if physical affirmation would cement the idea in her mind, and headed to the shower. As the fog of panic and confusion ebbed, she realized how incredibly sore her body was. The inhuman strength of the robot had done a number on her much smaller body. As she slipped out of her clothes again in front of the mirror, she caught a glimpse of several distinct prints on her soft, milky skin. On her left hip, specifically – bruises. From the bot's fingers. She turned, clenching her jaw when she saw another deep purple mark on her ass and one coloring her shoulder the bot had grabbed to hold her in place. She was tender, but even a robot shouldn't be able to achieve such an effect so easily. The R.A.M.-69 would need his strength dial modified before she let him out to play. If she ever let him out.
Out of the shower, she headed straight to her closet to rifle through her options. Much like her business operation, her closet was a perfectly organized selection of garments ordered by type and color. Which made it all too noticeable when something was amiss. Stella frowned as she reached for an empty hanger amongst her old work jackets – a distinctly oversized one previously belonging to her father. The baggy old thing was kept more for sentiment than use, but she occasionally snuggled up with it. Even so, empty hangers went in a basket to be re-used so she could avoid clutter. And the likelihood that she would forsake such a simple habit, even once, was admittedly unlikely. Nobody could have entered the apartment without her consent. She didn't sleepwalk.
How likely was it that the robot had “thought” to put on clothes before leaving? Some of the models came in varying levels of sentience – if one could call it that. They excused themselves, made small talk, and covered their nakedness with a sheet if so programmed. Was it so farfetched that R.A.M.-69 might have the decency to wear clothes before scouting out his next mistress or master?
She dropped the hanger aside and reached instead for something functional and form-fitting. She had a robot to hunt down and she'd probably like to be comfortable doing it, but she also had appearances to maintain. The pants clung to her thighs and would slip easily beneath her boots when she dragged them on later, and her shirt clung to her narrow curves while the neckline plunged to allow the barest glimpse of the valley between her breasts. Stella frequently juxtaposed her sexuality with modesty, but figured she would need a bit more of one than the other where she was going.
She knew a few places to spread the word, but there was one that would guarantee results. The Blue Blood Brotherhood could easily search the space station for her wayward bot. Her only inhibition was the fact that the Brotherhood was governed more or less solely by her former lover, Rhett. She wasn't one for owing favors, and was even less inclined when it involved him. Their romantic relationship hadn't been salvaged, but their working relationship had. All the same, things always went more smoothly when she didn't have to deal directly with the arrogant fuck. He had a talent for tweaking her nerves like nobody else, and he knew it.
She shoved her pride aside as she let herself out of her apartment and headed up to the Blue Blood level. Much like their name suggested, the gang lived in the upper crust of Orcus, and Stella had climbed rank to earn her place there without drawing vicious glances from its inhabitants. If she had any luck, she'd run into Marc, Rhett's mild-mannered best friend and second in command. He was usually minding the shop while Rhett was out playing.
Of course, she could never count on being so lucky. She reached the exterior door of the Brotherhood's headquarters. The gang took up a large sector of the upper level of Orcus, but couldn't necessarily claim the entirety of the space. The space station was, after all, quite large. Members sprawled across every level from the comfortable upper crust to the energy-burning rooms in the lower center of the giant hunk of metal. The oversized cell Stella stood outside of at the moment was the main family shop, a provider of essential goods and scarcely found odds and ends. Their relationship had been established by her frequent visits for hard to get materials and her patronage was one of the few fibers holding their business relationship together. She never could afford to make an enemy of Rhett. And he knew it.
Just like he always seemed to know when she would be heading in his direction. She touched the voice interface tab on the welcome screen and was immediately greeted by a familiar, lazy drawl. “Who's there?”
She frowned, looking into the camera with confidence that he was looking right back at her. “I'm looking for something, Rhett.”
“That wasn't an answer to my question.”
She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don't ask questions you know the answer to. Let me in.”
An overly dramatic sigh crackled the speaker, but the door slid open. Stella didn't hesitate to step in, heading straight past the foyer to Rhett's office. She knew the place well after spending so much time in and out of it on business and
otherwise. She had only just lifted her hand to open the door when it drew open of its owner's command. Rhett hadn't moved from the position she figured she'd find him in. Leaning back in his chair, feet propped on the bookshelf, something vaguely official-looking spread across his desk. She had yet to figure out of he actually did any reading or work, or if he was merely very good at pretending.
“I'd like you to get your people to keep an ear out for me.”
“Oh. Right to business, then. And here I was thinking you'd missed me.” His lips quirked upwards in a familiar smirk. She doubted he would ever stop being handsome.
“Not particularly. I'm missing a robot.”
“It's nice to see you too, love. Have a seat.” He waved toward one of the high-backed, upholstered chairs before his desk. She paused for a moment before accepting the offer. “Someone not return your merchandise?”
She frowned, raking her fingers through her short, dark hair before smoothing it down over her neck again. “No. It disappeared.” She fixed her icy gray stare on him before he could interject. “I pulled it out of its box last night to test and in the morning it was gone. I don't know where it went, or when. It might be a system bug.”
Rhett covered his mouth in a half-assed, semi-polite attempt to hide his snicker. “Your sex robot up and walked away?”
“This isn't funny. There's a powerful piece of machinery wandering around with few to no inhibitors.” She scowled at him, tapping her short nails on the arm of her chair.
“Right – okay. What's your robot called?”
She opened her mouth. And promptly closed it, suddenly rethinking her plan. Rhett raised one dark eyebrow at her. “It doesn't have a name, I didn't get that far.”
“A model number, then.”
She took a deep breath, feeling sillier than ever about her occupation. “It was the R.A.M.-69.”
“Come again?”
Stella glared.
He continued, “Or is that why you're looking for it?”
She stood up, turning to leave, but Rhett's fingers locked around her wrist. He'd hopped up from his chair and grabbed onto her arm before she could get a step away, although he was still trying in vain not to laugh. “No, wait, what does it look like? Really?”
She huffed, snatching her arm away. “Tall. About six and a half feet. Blond, muscular, green eyes. Typical robot Adonis. Kind of has a Mediterranean accent, I guess his designers thought they were funny.”
He raised his eyebrows. “No distinctive markings? A branding?”
“I wasn't paying much attention.” Her words were clipped and she averted her gaze. She couldn't recall being ashamed of sampling her merchandise before, but she supposed she'd never been in a position to be questioned about it either.
“Ah, right. Busy being R.A.M.-ed.”
“Okay, I'm leaving.”
“Wait, Stella—”
“No, I have other people to talk to today. Thank you.” She waved him away and hurried toward the door without looking back. She had other measures to take to make sure her robot was found. And she'd had about enough of Rhett for the day.
***
Stella couldn't think of anything more annoying than the simultaneous buzzing and obnoxious blaring of her phone alarm. At least, not when she was up to her elbows in robot parts and grease and not about to silence it. She yanked her arm out of the robot torso she was groping around in and dashed to the communication pad of her shop, narrowly avoiding a dismembered arm on the way. She hit the “talk” button with her elbow. “Stella, talk.”
“Did I pick a bad time?”
She reached for a grease rag, lips quirking slightly at the voice on the other line. She didn't receive customer calls on her mechanic line and wasn't usually pleased with whoever needed her attention on the other end. But it was Canto, one of her oldest and most reliable friends. And moreover, someone who didn't like to waste her time when she was working. “Sorry, Canto. I thought you were the post room again. They've been giving me shit all evening.”
“It's okay,” he said, laughing. “Remember about the mechanical Adonis you were telling me about the other day? I got someone who fits the bill at the high roller tables at my bar.”
“You what?” Stella nearly fell out of the chair she had just grabbed. Bots decidedly did not come with gambling protocols, and she’d just about given up on finding him, too.
“Whoa, take it easy. It could be anyone, but I don't usually get six and a half feet tall green eyed men with platinum blonde hair at the bar without at least a couple of escorts.”
Stella started frantically cleaning herself, and looking for some semblance of sociable attire in her closet all the while holding the phone.
“Canto, try to keep him in there. Free chips, whatever nonsense you can think of. Put it on my tab. I'm on my way there now.” She’d found her prized bot and she’d be damned if she was letting it slip away again.
Stella threw on the first vaguely appropriate thing she could find. A form-fitting red dress with a V-shaped neckline whose tip nearly reached her navel and a hem that brushed against the middle of her thigh. She smoothed her hair in a vain attempt to tame it and made her way to Canto’s bar, which was located in the seedier part of the upper districts but nevertheless had standards. The kind of place where drinks cost a lower class man a week’s wages but you could find all manner of illegal contraband going down in the side rooms.
Stella knew Canto from the days when the bot trade was in a gray legal area and people had to jump through hoops to acquire them. She still kept contact now that her business was legitimate, because her clients often requested potent sex drugs of dubious legality, and while she wasn't about to sell them herself, Stella knew she could point them in the right direction. And of course, Canto was great for gossip and had excellent taste in wine.
Breathless by the time she reached the bar, Stella leaned over the glossy counter to squeeze Canto's hand in greeting.
“That was fast.” He leaned over the bar to kiss her cheek. He always was a gentleman, and despite his shady establishment, kept up a pristine appearance. His dark hair was smoothed back, facial hair trimmed to perfect angles, and his shirt was crisp and white beneath his black vest. “Your robot boy that good?”
She smirked and rolled her eyes. “If you're sweet you can rent him and find out.”
“Not my type. Tell me when you get a pretty lady-bot in.” He nodded toward the second tier of his den of iniquity. “The guy is over there.”
Stella nodded and headed over, catching sight of the towering blond figure almost immediately. He was hard to miss, even with clothes on, though she wasn't sure where he'd gotten them. Hell, she wasn't even sure how he'd managed to get there. She'd heard of robots with advancing levels of sentience malfunctioning in an attempt to become more human, but had dismissed the stories as either extremely unlikely or at least not likely to happen in her custody. Her bots were one trick wonders. Except this one.
She stopped right next to him at the blackjack table but he didn't look up from his cards.
“You want me to deal you in, Stella?” The dealer looked at her expectantly and the two other high rollers turned their heads.
“No, I'm here to retrieve something.”
R.A.M.-69 finally looked down at her, recognition flickering across his face. Decidedly non-robotic. “Oh, I didn't recognize you from this angle. You were cuter from behind.”
The dealer shuffled his cards and the other two gamblers rearranged their chips on the table.
Stella took only a moment to regain her composure. “I don't know who programmed you with such a smart mouth but I can deactivate your voice box.”
This time, he laughed. “You still think I'm a robot! Damn, you're lucky you're pretty.” He waved his hand over the table. “Look, I'm busy. If you wait until I'm done, maybe you can have another free ride.”
“What did y—”
“Shhh.” He lifted a hand and rested a finger on her lips.
She jerked her head back and grabbed his arm. He didn't need to shake her off for her to realize that she was no match for him in physical strength, but he wasn't going to talk to her like that. She opened her mouth but the words never passed her lips as she was interrupted.
“Save it, Stella.” She looked back at the familiar tenor and frowned at Rhett, who was making his way toward the table. “And don't mess with him. He's just a low-life serial gambler. He could be dangerous.”
“How the fuck do you know that?” She snapped, turning to face him without moving from between the two men.
“Because he owes me money.” Rhett looked past her. “Zain Kriil, owes me 30,000 credits. I thought the bastard hopped ship to the nearest planet.”
Stella's frown deepened but when she turned to the R.A.M.-69, his gaze was focused on Rhett's. He took a step back.
“Oh no.” Rhett chuckled. “I wouldn't run. I have men all along this cell block. You'd never make it.”
“Rhett! He's not even – why wouldn't you tell me?” The question was more an exclamation of outrage than an inquiry. Stella could feel the anger bubbling in the pit of her stomach was turning her fair face red with rage.
“I didn't want you putting yourself in danger. I figured you'd be pissed and go on a hunt.” Rhett looked back down at her, but she couldn't tell if the glimmer of apology was feigned or not. And she didn't care.
“What the fuck did you think I was doing?”
“I figured I'd find him first!” His voice raised to counter hers, but he wouldn't win.
“You knew, you sack of shit! And you just let me look like an idiot!” Her fist connected with his jaw before she gave her arm permission to move, and Rhett shifted back a step, reaching to touch his sculpted face in awe. She'd never hit him before, however tempting he made it. But he'd never done something as infuriatingly underhanded to make her look like a complete moron, either.