Women of Steel 1: Marti Gets Her M.A.N.

by Camille Anthony

  She was a handful, for sure. A fireball of pent up lust, waiting to explode. He offered a quick prayer of thanks that she had walked into his office, demanding his company meet her needs.

  Beneath the tempting weight of her full bottom, his penis throbbed, long and erect again, without benefit of the innovative pumping apparatus. He could hardly wait to sink balls deep into her hot, clasping channel and give them both the hard, lengthy, no-holds-barred fucking they both craved. It had been so damned long since a woman’s wet heat and tightness had surrounded his cock -- too long.

  She sighed in her sleep, shifting in his lap, and he ran a calming hand across her brow and down the side of her face, marveling at her soft female flesh and the gentle aspect she exhibited while sleeping. He liked her looks.

  Fingering her feathered cut, he savored the silky slide of her tresses against his callused palm, wondering what color to call it. He couldn’t honestly say it was blond, not with so many other colors interwoven amongst the long, shimmering strands. From blazing white to warm gold lit with fiery streams of auburn, the straight mass caught the solar rays and reflected them, shining in a glowing nimbus about the distinctive molding of her strong features.

  Sleeping, she looked so soft and innocent, her relaxed face displaying nothing of the hard-nosed soldier with the kick-ass attitude evident during her waking hours. Her closed lids concealed the clear, bright blue of her beautiful eyes, but Den had no problem recalling their vibrant color and the way they flashed, revealing every emotion bombarding her.

  Despite her overlay of hardness, there was an underlying air of innocence about her, a naiveté exposed by her unjaded lust for life and childlike joy over the basic pleasures found between males and females.

  He swept his thumb over the shape of her wide, curvy top lip and the fullness of her bottom lip, entertaining some serious dreams of putting those ripe lips to good use. Her mouth could give wet dreams to a comatose man and he had the persistent erection to prove it.

  With a sigh, Denzel tightened his arms around the curvy bundle in his lap, gritting his teeth as his shifting caused her bottom to graze the swollen surface of his cock. He could do nothing to alleviate the pain pulsing along the length of his hard-on while she slept. Since he didn’t believe in taking unfair sexual advantage of his partner, he’d just have to wait until she awakened. Had he been tempted to sneak more than a feel while she slept, his guilt over the current situation would have stopped him from carrying it through.

  The voice of his conscience, sounding suspiciously like his mother, had been bombarding him sub-vocally ever since he’d consented to defrauding Martini Harmon. He winced, now, knowing just what his mother would have to say about his present self-serving actions…

  As I’ve told you so many times, son, one must never give in to selfishness. Denzel, our civilization almost fell because of the selfishness of Mankind. We cared more for ourselves than for each other and paid a heavy price. When the first aliens came, Earth had not one cohesive fighting force capable of working together to prevent the hostile alien takeover that ensued. It took seventy-nine years of relearning unity while fighting the most vicious guerilla warfare this planet has ever known to throw off the yoke of the Rrehlabal. Today, we are still struggling to regain all that was lost…

  He could offer no specious argument to alter the fact of his culpability. What he should have done was insist Chad tell the truth. Instead, he had succumbed to the thrilling temptation of Marti’s touch, to the pulse pounding possibility that she could help him recover his lost manhood. He’d been lost to honesty, so desperate to be normal again that he’d chosen to let her believe he was an android with artificial intelligence.

  Den shifted, settled more comfortably against the seat support. His arms full of luscious woman, he searched deep within, examining his motives, and didn’t like what he found.

  His mother had raised him to practice honesty, to put others’ needs before his own wants and wishes. An obedient son, he’d followed her holy lead with undiminished fervor… until now.

  For the first time in his life, he deliberately planned the opposite of what his mother had drilled into him over the years. For the next ten days, he would be the most selfish bastard on earth, snatching every opportunity coming his way, utilizing every chance to sink his starved cock into the sweltering heat of Marti’s available little sex. In exchange, he would play her willing sexual slave. Hell, he would submit to whatever kinky thing she wanted to do to him and with him. He even had a few innovative sexual twists of his own he wanted to try.

  Gut churning with rising lust, Den licked dry lips, readjusting Marti’s limp weight more evenly across his corded thighs. He bit back a hoarse cry at the drag of her breasts across his masculine nipples. The thin material of his shirt did little to insulate the screaming nerve endings embedded in his flesh.

  By the Matrix, he wanted her! Thank the stars above she wanted him, too -- no need to feel guilty about that, at least.

  Denzel Wattana reverently stroked the plump sides of Marti’s pert breasts and thumbed her tight, hard little nipples. He trembled at the soft, cushiony feel of her flesh as his fingers sank into the resilient mounds.

  “I’ll make this up to you,” he vowed ardently, his whispering lips barely brushing the lobe of her ear. “I promise I’ll never lie to you. Everything -- my actions and my words -- will be the absolute, actual truth. One day you’ll look back on this time and realize I tried to be as honest as I could in this situation. I will do everything in my power to help you realize all the fantasies you’ve ever had… and some you could never imagine.”

  He tightened his arms around the unconscious battle-honed warrior curled so softly in his lap. “I may lack the voice of Sean Connery, but thanks to an influential mother who’s spent her life lusting over the image of a dead icon, I do have the face of Denzel Washington.”

  He paused, sighed, shaking his head ruefully. He’d never imagined he would ever be able to think of his accident in a positive way. The pain and agony he’d gone through to survive and conquer the lingering results of that hellish time still echoed in his soul. Yet, today, for the first time, he gave honest thanks for the results of that horrific shuttle explosion and the prolonged exposure to the radiation that had destroyed his bones and rendered them soft as cheese. Due to the numerous, extensive corrective surgeries he’d undergone to have an exoskeleton of baridiium fused to his shale-like bones, he now possessed the staying power of Spike the Vampire.

  A hard-edged smile stretched the muscles in his face. The next ten days were going to be… interesting.

  Chapter Seven

  “Grab my carry-all and bring it in with you, will you Denzel?” Marti absently tossed the order over her shoulder as she strode quickly out from under the cool arbor shading her small private parking area.

  Behind her, Denzel emerged more slowly from the interior of the flitter, easing muscles cramped by the long ride in squished quarters.

  Damn. Her short nap seems to have revitalized her and now I need a nap just to keep up with her.

  Focusing on the sway of her full hips as she stalked up to the porch, he frowned, jaw firming with determination. She was so used to instant obedience that she hadn’t given a thought to her casual command. Well, he did not intend to provide her with an opportunity to relegate him to the tasks of a mindless service droid whenever her sexual needs were not uppermost on her mind.

  “My name isn’t Rover and I ain’t your valet, I’m your M.A.N.,” he drawled with a nasty tone to his voice, eyes narrowed. “Get your own bag, Lover. I fuck… I don’t fetch and carry.”

  Marti froze in place. Slowly, she turned to face him, her head angling up and firm little chin jutting out aggressively. Balling her hands into fists, she planted them on her hips and stared at him, the expressions of confusion and disbelief warring on her easy-to-read face gradually giving way to a growing anger. “What did you say?”

  Not used to being spoken to like this,
are you, baby? Denzel mentally rubbed his hands together. Well, this next should make you totally rabid…

  “I didn’t stutter. If you want your bag, you best hoist it yourself. The only thing I’m interested in hefting is your sweet cheeks as I shaft that tight pink vagina of yours.”

  A wash of bright color bathed her face as she hesitated, unsure what to do or say in response to his unexpected and crude challenge.

  Yeah, Lover, unsure is just the way I want you -- unbalanced and off kilter. You’re so used to commanding, but I want every moment that we spend together to be memorable, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before.

  A slight frown creased her forehead as she stammered, “B-but… you’re my M.A.N. and… y-you’re supposed to obey my --”

  “Can we spell E-M-A-N-C-I-P-A-T-I-O-N?” he interrupted, deliberately goading her. “Lover, you’ve given me my freedom, and it feels heady. I have better things to do than bother with lugging luggage.”

  He could almost see her thought processes churning over the situation, debating whether to use their safe-word and reassert her control. He stiffened. If she tried that petty shit this early into the game, he would turn her over his lap and administer a firm attitude adjustment.

  He needn’t have worried. She proved she was made of sterner stuff when, after a long moment, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders and strode back to the flitter, mumbling under her breath. “What the fuck… I can carry my own bags… been doing it for years.”

  One hand on the frame of the open door, she leaned in and hauled out her bulky, military-issue duffel. Just as she turned about, hefting the weighty bag over her left shoulder, he moved, grabbed her by the waist and swung her into his arms.

  “What the --”

  Den tossed her and her bag high into the air, his reinforced arms catching her with ease. Grinning at her shocked cry, he flexed his muscles, pretended he would fling her again.

  Tightening one hand on the handle of her duffel, she slung the other around his shoulder, holding his neck in a tight, anxious grip.

  The feel of her small hand was soft and warm against his neck, causing his blood to heat. It rapidly approached boiling point.

  “I thought you didn’t want to carry my bag.”

  A smile widened his mouth and a laugh escaped him as he shifted his grip on her surprisingly rounded curves. Bending his neck, he brushed a teasing kiss across her lush lips and started toward the porch of her upscale dwelling. “I never said I wouldn’t carry you, Lover.”

  Her eyes, hazy with a look of dazed wonder, scanned his features. “You shouldn’t be carrying me. I’m very heavy.”

  His baridiium-strengthened hands contracted about her, molding her long, feminine body against his broad chest. “Hmm, everything feels just right to me.”

  He liked the helpless blush that painted her face a heated pink. Her throat worked as she swallowed convulsively. Her hand clenched on the handle of her tote and she bowed her head against his chest, refusing to look at him as she asked, “What are you planning to do to me once we get inside?”

  He heard the hesitant note in her voice and his cock rose hard and high behind the closure of his slacks. From what he had already learned about her, this timid reaction was totally out of character for her. He liked this softer, more easily led version. It showed he had her guessing, titillated and worked up over his possible actions. However, he had also found the single-minded warrior woman a huge turn-on. His full lips turned up in an anticipatory grin. The way he saw it, whichever way she jumped, he was looking at a win-win situation.

  “We’re going to play strip-trivia.”

  “Oh?” She managed to sound both questioning and disappointed at the same time. “What’s the prize?”

  Easing the door open with one hand, he ignored the blaring alarm shattering the air in a loud Klaxon-call of warning. Denzel carefully set her down on a white retiring bench. It was situated against a long bare wall tinted in a swirl of pale blues and pastel yellows. “The loser will be the sexual slave of the winner for the next twenty-four hours.”

  Marti stiffened as he released her. Settling down on the bench, she leaned back against the wall, sliding a considering glance over him before addressing the domicile computer. “Alarm override, authorized by Martini Harmon, daughter of the house.”

  The resultant silence sounded blessedly loud in the cathedral sized room. Ears still ringing and cringing, drawn tight against the recent wild cacophony, Den roamed the entry hall, trying to discover that one intimate touch that would betray to him Marti’s unique style, give him some inkling of her personal taste.

  The central wall, alone, sported a splash of vivid color. The rest were tinted a subdued computer beige, a shade that contrasted nicely with the swirl of rainbow hues on the focal wall. Furnished sparsely and void of any softening touches, the place looked like just what it was -- an occasional R&R domicile that rarely saw its owner. Nothing about its formal decor revealed the heart of the woman standing beside him.

  As if privy to his inner thoughts, Marti flipped her hands out, her gesture encompassing the entire grounds. “I don’t come here often. My elder sister, Daiquiri, used to own this place. No one’s been here for years. I don’t know what we will find to eat, or even if the cupboards are stocked.”

  “Daiquiri? What sort of name is that?”

  “The same sort mine is. My mother is a throwback. She always loathed the new simulated inebriation beverages and claims the closest she could get to old world grain alcohol was to name her daughters after the most popular drinks of the time. So my sisters and I all ended up with the retrograde names of Daiquiri, Martini and Tequila.”

  “It sounds like your family is as unique as mine.”

  “You don’t have a family. You’re a construct.”

  Yeah, right, forgot about that. He’d have to give this some thought.

  “This entire time is a bubble of fantasy for us. You have given me freedom of choice and action, but I wish to be more than an artificial intelligence unit in your eyes. To make you see me as a real man, I have created a background for myself. I have decided to be the only son of the High Priestess of Historical Sanctity and Cultural Holiness --” he paused when she choked on a laugh.

  “Funny, you look nothing like your pictures.”

  No, he didn’t. There had been no public pictures taken of him since his face-changing accident. When the surgeons had dithered, arguing over the dynamics of having to reconstruct his face over the heavier, denser baridiium-enhanced bone structure, his mother had stepped in. The rest was truly history.

  When he struggled free of his memories, Marti was nodding, a playful smile wreathing her beautiful face. “So you wish to play-act. I can do that!”

  Eyes lowering demurely, she bowed from the waist, graceful hands held palm-upward and out at her sides in the proper salute to the son of the High Priestess. “My home is honored. The son of the High Priestess is noble in his own right. You bless me with the opportunity to learn from you. Just thinking about all the arcane knowledge you have had access to --” She shook her head. “My mother and sister will be envious.”

  An exasperated huff of air lifted his chest. “Don’t start that shit, please, Marti. My mother is the official, not me. The only time I want you bowing and scraping before me is when you’re bending to accept my cock in your mouth or up your ass.”

  “That will happen only if you win the game, oh, braggart.”

  Amused, he laughed. “You’re forgetting all that arcane knowledge I have. Knowledge I am going to use to best you in our little game,” he taunted. “Now, enough talk about me. I want to hear more about your sister. This is a beautiful domicile, on some fantastic hectares of land. Why did she give it up?”

  Her smile faded. “Daiquiri was one of the first casualties of the Scarth-Human war. Her entire battalion was lost in the opening scenes of the first incursion wave.” She sighed, sorrow turning the bright blue of her eyes a stormy hue. “Sh
e left me this place as a retreat. This is the first time I’ve stayed here since she disappeared.”

  “You loved her.”

  “I love her, still. Death does not destroy emotional ties, only physical ones.”

  “Are the memories so painful? Is that what kept you away?”

  She shrugged. A half smile came and went, tipping up the corner of her mobile lips before they smoothed out into a firm line. “Don’t know. Until now, I haven’t stayed still long enough for any memories to bombard me. The war has kept me busy. I can’t say what I’ll do, feel, when…” Her voice petered out as she glanced about, her features growing wan, face twisting into a mask of sad uncertainty.

  He couldn’t help it. He had to hold her. Picking her up and enfolding her in his arms, Denzel sat on the bench and cuddled her close. “You don’t have to go through this alone. Tonight, I’ll hold you. My arms will shelter you and together, we will drive away any demon memories.”

  Her head came up at that and she struggled off his lap. Hands flat against her chest, as if she would calm the racing of her heart by sheer pressure, alone, she stared down at him, a guarded expression on her face and in her eyes.

  She examined him closely, her bright blue eyes, unblinking and direct, seemed to delve beneath the thin outer layer of face features and mannerisms, to weigh him at the soul level.

  Den squirmed inside, uncomfortable under her deep scrutiny, feeling exposed and frighteningly vulnerable. He could not afford for his secrets to come out now, not yet. He needed time to explore all the possibilities with her, to see where these feelings of connectedness were leading to, to see if her nearness was the catalyst for the sudden, frequent and spontaneous erections he’d been experiencing.

  Chapter Eight

  Diversion -- that’s what he needed. This is the perfect time to start the game. “Are you familiar with the rules?”

  At her nod, he continued. “You’re wearing military-issue blouse, short pants, T-shirt, panties, socks and boots. I count eight items.”