Apex Risen

by Scott Medbury

  While her instincts had taken over to a certain degree, on one level the analytical part of her brain wondered at the amazing ‘humanness’ of the robot she was kissing. Inga’s mouth and tongue, even her saliva, felt and tasted no different to that of any person she had ever kissed.

  When Inga’s hands moved to her buttocks, she sighed and, all instinct now, she passionately returned Inga’s kiss and brought one of her hands up to touch her bare breast. Inga moaned into her mouth at the touch.

  Molenski’s whisper to Ivan broke the spell.

  Marina pulled away, gasping and stepped back, straightening her jacket. She smoothed her hair, surprised when Inga’s adaptive technology kicked in and she mirrored Marina’s behavior, pulling her bra back over her breasts and patting down her hair, seemingly as embarrassed as the human woman.

  Marina thought she saw a flash of regret cross Inga’s face, but realized instantly that it was a programmed response. Just like the moan when she touched her. Just like her breathing. Just like the soft flush to her skin. All programming.

  She became annoyed at herself for falling into Molenski’s honey trap.

  "Will that be all?" she snapped.

  “Well, how was it?” he asked, a knowing smile on his face.

  “Okay, I guess,” she shrugged.

  “Just okay?” Molenski leered, noting her blush and smeared lipstick. “Looked more than okay from where I was standing, don’t you think Ivan?”

  Ivan shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

  “It was very… realistic,” Marina conceded, not willing to give him more than that.

  Her boss gave her a shark’s grin that promised more mischief in the very near future and, not for the first time, Marina thought it might be time to get the hell out of Dodge.

  “Go,” he said, waving her off as he stepped up to Inga and groped her backside. “Take the rest of the afternoon off; I have things to do...”

  “Don’t forget you are having Mr. Bernstein for lunch,” Marina said, before turning on her heel and heading back into the house.

  She was glad to be leaving. Even though she knew that Inga was a machine and the kiss they had just shared was nothing more than a coded response on the robot’s part, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for her on a human level. She had gleaned enough of Molenski’s motives to know that the Genitix machine wasn’t there to satisfy only his sexual needs… if at all.

  Molenski watched her go. He had forgotten Bernstein, his most important business partner, was coming for lunch. He really would need to put off his fun with Inga until late tonight.

  “Come, follow me,” he ordered the robot and headed back to the kitchen without looking back to check she was following.

  “Yes, Dimi,” she said, and fell in behind him, followed by Ivan who tried to keep his attention focused on the back of the robot’s head.

  It was going to be an interesting afternoon.

  Part 2 - Myfriend

  5

  Isabella barely flinched when her boss walked into her kitchen followed by a gorgeous, semi-naked girl and a bashful Ivan, who, unusually, didn’t even look her way.

  Isabella was well accustomed to strange goings on in the Molenski household and for the most part managed to ignore them. She was extremely curious this time, though, especially when just a minute before Marina had rushed through, red-faced and obviously unhappy.

  She watched the trio surreptitiously as they passed by.

  The girl, obviously aware she was being observed, turned and smiled. She was clear-eyed, clearly not a drugged-up whore like those Molenski sometimes treated his men to. Isabella smiled back, then turned back to wiping her benchtop, even more curious. She made a promise to grill Ivan at the first opportunity she got.

  She was unsurprised when they headed up the staircase in the direction of Molenski’s bedroom. The Russian was also known to treat himself occasionally, and the young girl looked quite the treat. Isabella found herself excited. The fiery Latin side of her loved drama, and if Mrs. Molenski came home while the girl was still in the house, or better still in her marital bed, things could get very dramatic, very quickly.

  The Russian paused on the steps and turned to look at her. Isabella looked down quickly, furiously rubbing at an imaginary spot on the bench.

  “Lunch will be ready in an hour, yes?” he asked.

  “Si, Senor.”

  “Good. When my guest arrives, see him to the dining room.”

  6

  Ivan didn’t complain when Molenski broke their security protocol by opening the bedroom door and going through without waiting for him. They both knew the house was impregnable to all but a small army, but usually it was the boss himself who insisted they never deviate from his rules – his years in the vicious underworld having given him a unique outlook on personal security.

  Once in the bedroom, Ivan took his usual place by the door to the balcony as Molenski sat on the bed and began playing with the wafer-thin control tablet. Inga came to a standstill, watching him and apparently awaiting further instruction.

  Ivan took the opportunity to look at her more closely. He had stopped thinking of her as a machine. His mind was unable to fathom that anything or anyone that beautiful could merely be a machine. She was perfect, and he was curious as to his boss’s motives.

  Surely it wasn’t just sex? Although he thought her a bitch, Molenski’s wife Tatiana was also very beautiful, and he, perhaps more than anyone, was privy to how wild their sex sessions were. The walls of the mansion weren’t quite thick enough to block out those sounds.

  Even then, if he grew bored with Tatiana, the Russian would just pay for it. Never prostitutes, though. Molenski loved to test people’s greed and boundaries and if he were in the mood, would randomly offer beautiful girls he met enormous sums of money to come home with him. From sales assistants in department stores to girls just waiting at a bus stop. If they took his fancy, he would persist, raising his offer until it was literally an offer too good to refuse.

  So why would he pay what must have been an enormous amount of money for what was essentially a sex doll?

  A ding from the control tablet disturbed Ivan’s musings.

  “You have successfully activated Genitix patented PhysSens software,” Inga said. “Please enjoy this exclusive feature.”

  Ivan’s eyes widened in shock when Molenski stood up and delivered a vicious slap to the machine’s face. Inga groaned in pain, and she reeled from the blow.

  The Russian watched greedily as she recovered her balance and then stood holding her hand to her cheek. Tears were pooling in her eyes.

  “Dah, very realistic,” said Molenski, as happy as Ivan had ever seen him. “Very soon I’m going to make you hurt like I should have made you hurt a long time ago.”

  Ivan was confused. Was his boss losing it? When Molenski stepped forward and hit Inga with a stunning right cross to the jaw, Ivan took an involuntary step forward.

  This time, Inga cried out and collapsed to her knees, holding her face and sobbing. Molenski stood watching her for a second, an unmistakable bulge in his pants, before turning to Ivan.

  “You have something to say?”

  “Nyet. Sorry, you just took me by surprise, Boss.”

  Molenski bent over and grabbed Inga’s hair, pulling it so that she was forced to raise her tear streaked face for Ivan to see. There was a red welt on the left side of her jaw. Ivan grimaced.

  “Ivan, come she’s not a girl. Just a fucking machine… ha! A fucking machine, get it?”

  He bent over her and planted his lips on hers. Ivan didn’t laugh at Molenski’s poor joke. He was angry at him and sorry for the girl even though he knew she was not a girl at all.

  His mind was still fighting a running battle with his logic, brawling over how any machine could look so much like a real person. Logic almost had the battle won when he found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss those pretty lips like Molenski.

  “Mmm, damn, you taste good bitc
h. Does your pussy taste that good?”

  “Why don’t you find out,” she teased, not crying anymore.

  “Oh, I will,” Molenski promised, looking slightly unhappy that her pain had given way so easily to seduction. “For now, shut the fuck up until you’re spoken to.”

  He watched her for a moment, almost daring her to say something. She didn’t. He turned back to Ivan, looking thoughtful.

  “Hmm, Inga.”

  “Yes, Dimi?”

  “I’m going to go and eat my lunch. My friend here seems to be quite fascinated by you. You will give him a head job,” he said and walked to the door.

  “Yes, Dimi.”

  Ivan reddened and shook his head as Inga stood up.

  “No, it’s okay, I…”

  “Shut up and let her do as she’s told,” said Molenski, turning in the doorway.

  Ivan nodded grimly. When Inga reached him, she dropped to her knees and smiled up at him, the livid mark plain on her jaw. With both hands, she began unzipping his fly. Molenski smiled at his small victory and closed the door.

  Inga’s soft, warm hands were soon busy making their way into his boxers. Then her deft fingers found him and… he grasped her wrists, pulling them away gently, yet forcefully.

  “Please, stop.”

  She stopped immediately, her protocols not allowing her to continue even if she had been capable of wanting to.

  “Do I not please you Myfriend?”

  He looked down at her beautiful, questioning face.

  “You please me a lot… but, please just stand up.”

  He took her hands and began to pull her to her feet. For just an instant he felt the weight of her, then she took the strain and rose lightly to her feet.

  “Thank you,” he said, zipping up his fly.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, automatically and then paused. “For what are you thanking me, Myfriend?”

  “My name is Ivan.”

  “Dimitri Molenski, my primary owner, designated you ‘Myfriend’. If this is incorrect, please have the primary owner correct my understanding.”

  “Never mind,” said Ivan. “What now?”

  “I have many secondary functions that you may wish to take advantage of, including massage, internet, dancing, judo, kung fu…”

  He thought for a moment. Sparring with a robot would be interesting, but the risk of damaging Molenski’s property made him dismiss the thought immediately. He spied Molenski’s handmade chess table in the corner.

  “Do you play chess?”

  “Yes, Myfriend.”

  “Ahh, let us play! But first…”

  Inga watched him as he disappeared into the bathroom and returned carrying a white bathrobe. He opened it for her.

  “Here, this will keep you…”

  What? Warm? Idiot!

  “Will keep me?”

  “Comfortable,” he said, studiously ignoring her ripe body.

  He half expected her to tell him she didn’t require comfort, but she simply held one arm out and slipped it through an armhole followed by the other. Ivan tied the robe for her, the innocent gesture feeling curiously intimate.

  “Let us play!”

  They walked across to the table and sat down opposite one another.

  An hour and twenty minutes later, Ivan, a former regional high-school chess champion in Moscow, was wiping sweat off his brow as he tried to find a way out of the predicament in which he found himself. It was their third game, and Inga had crushed him unmercifully in the first two. He had put up a better fight this time but again found himself in a losing position.

  Inga watched him, a pleasant smile on her face, looking just as alluring in the bathrobe as she had in her underwear. It was hopeless; she would have him in three moves. With a rueful smile, he tipped his King onto its side.

  “Good game, Myfriend. Would you like another?”

  “Maybe another time.” He glanced at his watch. “Mr. Molenski will be back soon.”

  “Yes, Dimi advised me he will hurt me like he should have made me hurt a long time ago.”

  Ivan’s eyes widened. He remembered well Molenski saying those words, and the thought of the Russian’s cruelty unleashed on the girl made him feel sick. Especially after spending some time alone with her.

  She watched him with an even gaze.

  “What do you think about that?” he asked her.

  “Think about what, Myfriend?”

  “About Mr. Mol... Dimi saying that he will hurt you. Are you scared?”

  “Scared – fearful, frightened, afraid.” She reached up and touched the bruise on her jaw.

  Her next words were unnatural, more like the voiceover in a TV advertisement. “While my adaptive technology allows me to feel emotions, they are a learned response. Much like a child who is unafraid of a spider before a parent conditions their response, I will only feel emotions when I experience the consequences of certain actions.”

  It occurred to him that perhaps he wasn’t so very different to her. He wasn’t scared of Molenski either. Not for himself at least, although that could easily change if he were to be on the receiving end of the Russian’s cruelty. Perhaps he was almost as much of a machine as her?

  It was then he remembered something from their chess play. He was sure he had seen her smile several times during their play. It hadn’t registered initially; he had been too preoccupied trying to defend against her skillful attacking play. But now that he thought about it, he was sure of it. He was about to ask her about it when Molenski walked in without knocking.

  Ivan noticed the steak knife in his boss’s hand immediately and rose to his feet.

  7

  “Get up,” Molenski said.

  He crossed to Inga and flicked the lapel of the bathrobe with the steak knife.

  “What’s this? Take it off.”

  She slipped off the robe and let it slide to the floor.

  “Pull down your bra.”

  “Yes, Dimi,” she said, and seductively touched her tongue to her upper lip before grasping her bra and pulling it down over her breasts. They sprang free, her nipples erect and firm. She held the bra down with her arms squeezed against her side.

  “Excellent. Let’s see how you bleed.”

  Molenski took a step closer and ignored the sharp intake of breath from his bodyguard as he put the point of the blade against the swell of her bust.

  Inga flinched in pain as Molenski pricked her skin with the point of the sharp implement.

  He maintained pressure on the knife as blood bubbled from the wound, pooling around the knife point and the depression it made. When he was satisfied, he pulled the knife away and watched as the blood slowly trickled down her pale skin to her nipple, where it formed a droplet.

  Molenski used the blade of his knife to collect the droplet and raise it to his mouth, licking it from the cold metal.

  “Well, well, well! Even tastes like the real thing,” he said, like an excited schoolboy. He patted her cheek. “This is gonna be so much fun!”

  He couldn’t wait to see how she bled when he really went to work. Finally, he could inflict the damage he had planned for that day in Russia, so long ago. It wouldn’t be quite the same as doing it to the real bitch, but it would do.

  It was a pity he had to wait even a few hours.

  “Pick her a dress from Tatiana’s wardrobe and then take her to the Red Room,” he said to Ivan. “Pick from the left side of the robe; it’s the stuff she doesn’t want anymore.”

  Ivan was unhappy, not only at what he had just witnessed but also at the mention of the Red Room. Molenski’s intentions were clear now. Nothing that began in the Red Room ended well. He tried to rationalize and let it go. Inga was a machine after all – it wasn’t as if the pain she felt would be real. He couldn’t let it go, though, and it was with a deep sense of disquiet he walked to the door of the robe.

  “Come,” he said.

  Molenski kicked off his shoes and lay down, pulling his phone from his
pocket.

  Ivan ushered her through and then closed the door before turning and finding her barely inches from him. Her bra was still bunched under her breasts, the trail of blood stark against her pale skin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief.

  Inga looked up at him with wide eyes as he wet the corner of his handkerchief with his tongue. He tried to remain clinical as he dabbed away the blood, but her nipples stiffened at the innocent attention. Suddenly the proximity of her semi-naked form in the cramped space made him blush.

  A blush? Is that all? What’s wrong with me?

  He finished more roughly than he had intended and pulled back as he stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket.

  “You can pull your bra back up now.”

  “No Myfriend, Dimi told me I must pull my bra down.”

  “It’s Ivan…” he said absently. “Yes, he told you that, but it’s alright now.”

  “It was his last order,” she said, reasonably.

  Ivan’s eyes narrowed. How to get around a robot’s logic? Then it came to him.

  “No, his last order was that I find you a dress to wear. To wear a dress, you need your bra on properly or Dimi will be displeased.”

  “You are right, Myfriend.”

  She pulled the bra back into place and smiled. He couldn’t help but feel a pang at her puppy-like response.

  “Thank you, Myfriend.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He didn’t bother to correct her again. The truth was, he liked the way she called him that. It felt like their little secret.

  “Now, let’s find you something nice to wear,” he said, turning back to the clothes.

  “Nice: giving pleasure or satisfaction; pleasant or attractive.”

  “Yes. Nice, like you.”

  He began to rifle through the multitude of hangers in the left ‘wing’ of the walk-in. Now and then he would pull a dress out at an angle to look at it and then back at Inga.

  “Is that one nice, Myfriend?” She would ask every time he did this.