“No socks. My boots are military-issue, made with a special lining that requires no extra cushioning. But you forgot to list my bra.”
His lips quirked up in a lazy slashing grin of approbation while his interested gaze zeroed in on her chest. “Now, how could I have missed that item? Especially seeing how well it’s doing its job. What other extra-body items -- constituting clothing under the rules for this game -- do you have to declare?”
She blushed hot pink and averted her gaze, mumbling, “IUD.”
“I didn’t catch that.”
“I.U.D.”
He struggled to recall the term. Ah, yes… ah, hell!
Fear flared inside. Suddenly, he was short of breath, his lungs seizing as his thoughts churned with worry. IUDs were killers. “Why are you wearing one of those horrible things?”
In the dark past, intrauterine devices had been responsible for all kinds of medical tragedies. Upon verification beyond any doubt that they caused toxic shock syndrome in millions of women, the authorities had banned all usage in the late 2020’s. The government’s decision to remove the devices from the market had proven a wise move. Besides causing numerous deaths, the high number of births occurring despite their use proved IUDs weren’t the most efficient means of birth control.
“Why would you chance your life like that?”
Instantly on the defensive, her head came up, mouth tightening at his curt question. “The members of my family have severe anaphylactic reactions to the new generation of birth controls. We dare not use the pills, injections or patches. My clan gained special dispensation to continue using IUDs, though, I think the only reason we obtained that permission is because our family is very active in the military.”
That last, Den knew, was an understatement. Her family was the military, or at least, its titular heads. Her mother -- Brigadier General Thalassic Harmon -- had been Commander-in-Chief of Earth’s Combined World Forces for the last ten years. In addition, she and her sisters and cousins -- nicknamed the Furies for their fierceness in battle -- ranked highest in all six branches of service. None of that information meant shit to him when knowledge of a startling possibility exploded his consciousness.
I can get her pregnant…
He sucked in a sharp gulp of air at the illicit thought, his cock hardening so fast it snatched his breath away. Desire hit him like a punch in the gut and his balls practically crawled up his body to nestle tight under the base of his distended shaft. He was so hard he hurt and had to clear his throat two times before managing to growl out a comment. Even so, his voice sounded gruff in his own hearing. “Then you’d better win this game before I do.” A grin widened his lips. “All is fair in strip-trivia and I will claim your last item. Once I remove your IUD, I’m going to fuck you so long and sweetly you will never forget the feel of me inside of you.”
She stood there, silent. Fathomless eyes glued to his, her body swaying toward his like a bit of iron pulled to a magnet, as a lodestone drawn to the North Pole.
He took the first step, moving to her and gathering her into his arms. “I’ve guessed one of your secrets, Lover,” he whispered, cuddling her in a firm embrace. “If the females of your family are genetically unable to use the modern medicines, it is because your clan was one of those few who volunteered for the enhancements/mutation programs of the late 2200’s. I can just imagine which modifications yours received… Hyppolyte.”
He pulled back enough to eye her speculatively, letting his gaze roam over the smooth, powerful lines of her fit body -- a body made equally for war and loving. “As the son of the High Priestess, I have never received the sterility injection. I am a fertile male. Without the IUD to shield you, I can make you pregnant, Martini.”
His arms tightened about her, bringing her flush against the hard rise of his cock. “How would that make you feel, warrior-woman? To have my seed growing in your belly, knowing you carried within you the next generation, the continuance of your Amazon race?”
Chapter Nine
Stepping away, Marti gaped at Denzel, excitement running through her veins and in a heated stream down the inside of her thighs.
How had he discovered her family’s secret so easily? Had he guessed, or, as an A.I., did he have access to computer records the regular run-of-the-mill citizen did not?
She loved his tight play-acting and his imaginative teasing. Eyeing the marauding grin slashing grooves in the dark cheeks of her M.A.N., she wondered what he would come up with next. Chills swept up and down her body, raising goose bumps along her arms and chest. She wanted this M.A.N. more than anyone or anything she’d ever longed for, but not even in fantasy-play could she allow such an arrogant comment to pass unchallenged.
“What makes you think I would find you worthy to father a daughter upon me? So far, I’ve seen no evidence of competence in battle or the discipline needed to lead soldiers. A pretty face is all well and good, but what other legacy could you give a daughter of mine, Paris?”
“I’m not just a pretty face, Lover, but you must find that out for yourself. In the meantime, by your design, I have the stamina of Spike, the vampire and I will soon prove my claim on your body, right after I prove the superiority of my knowledge. For now, let us play the game. Perhaps you will learn more about me as we explore each other’s minds.”
He skimmed his hand down his body, indicating each piece of clothing. “I’m wearing a lab coat, shirt, pants, socks and shoes -- seven items to your eight. I will allow you the handicap.”
“How magnanimous of you… I accept.” Marti blew him a kiss, too experienced not to take and use every advantage she could get. This was, after all, a type of war, and she excelled at war. “As the challenged, I claim the right to name the first category.”
Den nodded. “It’s your prerogative. Name it.”
“I choose cartoon shows and characters of the 20th century.”
“That far back?” His thick eyebrows rose.
She giggled at his disconcerted expression. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle it?”
An anticipatory grin creased his teak brown cheeks, quirked his full, mobile lips in an expression familiar to her from hours of hacking into the old video files section of the government database archives.
“On the contrary, Lover, that era is one of my favorites. Let the games begin. Since you chose, I get to start. What was the name of the superhero that started his career as an underwater villain?”
“Namor, the Submariner.”
“What was the name of the white lion of Africa?”
“Kimba. Want me to sing you the song?”
“Maybe later. What was unique about Wonder Woman’s plane?”
“It was invisible. When do we get past the warm-up questions?”
“What was the name of the Flintstones’ pet?”
“Dino -- short for dinosaur. I’m getting bored here.”
“Just testing the waters, Lover. Name Batman’s first three enemies.”
“You’re kidding, right? The Joker, the Riddler and Cat Woman.”
“Wrong! It was Joker, the Penguin and Cat Woman.”
“Uh, uh, that order took place in the live-action movies, not the cartoons. My category is cartoon shows and characters. That should count against you.”
“Agreed. I’ll play fair. What item do you want me to remove?”
“Lab coat, but I will remove it when I choose. Retain it for now.”
“As you wish, Lover and since I made a mistake it is your turn to ask the questions. But first --”
“Yes?”
“This type of knowledge is not generally accessible to the general public.”
She smiled. “No, it isn’t. And your point is?”
He frowned. “The High Priestess does not take hacking lightly. Even your family’s high standing will not be defense enough, if she --”
“We found that out when she caught us years ago.”
His eyebrows rose and he relaxed, leaning back and crossing h
is arms, one leg braced against the wall. “I would have loved to be a fly on the wall at that confrontation.”
“I’ll bet. She chewed Mother out royally. You have no idea what a joy that was to witness. We ended up buying indulgences and paying penances. After the entire hullabaloo over our hacking in, I was shocked when the Priestess allowed us to maintain the pirated link. What is it?”
Denzel’s face wore the most peculiar expression. His mouth twisted, lips pursed as if he’d tasted something sour and he muttered something that sounded like, “I should have known…” then shook himself. “Never mind. Let’s continue the game.”
“Fine, keep your thoughts to yourself, then.”
“It’s not like that, Marti --”
She held her hand up, demanding silence. “I don’t want to discuss it. It’s no big deal. Let’s get back to Batman. What was the name of his sidekick and what was their relationship?”
“Have it your way. That’s two questions but I’ll answer them, for the right to ask two of my own whenever I choose. Robin’s real name was Dick Grayson, and he became Bruce Wayne’s ward when his circus-performing family died.”
“Did you pretend to be Batman when you were little?”
“No. Did you?”
A smile blossomed as she recalled the fun childhood games played with her sisters. “No. I wanted to be Bat Girl, but Daiquiri always got to be the heroine and made me play Cat Woman. Okay, I have an oldie but goodie for you. What superhero sang opera while he helped victims and what did he sing?”
He didn’t come right back with a snappy answer and feeling a victory, she snickered, “Did I stump you?”
He raised his eyebrows and quirked a half smile at her. “I’ll take Mighty Mouse for a hundred, Alex. The song he sang went like this: Here I come to save the day! That means that Mighty Mouse is on his way!”
Her shoulders drooped. “Crap. I didn’t think you’d get that one. You have a lovely voice by the way. I look forward to hearing you sing out with passion while I ride your thick cock.”
Denzel chuckled. “Piece of cake, Lover, baby. I guarantee I won’t be the only one singing, though we’ve yet to see who will be doing the riding.”
His chocolate colored eyes gazed at her, the gleam at once hungry and patient, the intense stare spearing straight to her nipples, making them tingle. As if attached to a string of his making, her nubs drew up and out, pushing against the confining material of her tunic.
He caught her hand, brought it to his mouth and planted a kiss on her knuckles. His voice rough and uneven, he admitted gruffly, “I want a look at those luscious nipples, so I’m now claiming my two questions. I doubt you’ll be able to answer this next question.”
She flashed a flirty smile at him, taunting in light-hearted play, “Give me your best shot, sport.”
“Captain Kangaroo showed an underwater cartoon that had --”
“Diver Dan!”
“Hhmm, yes,” he drawled, “however, that isn’t the answer I’m looking for. I want the name of the main bad guy.”
Disgusted, she bit off an unladylike curse. “Shit! Damn it, I knew this one… Baron Barracuda.”
“Too bad, darling. You should have waited for the end of the question.”
“Don’t pretend you’re sorry, damn it.” She sighed. “My impulsiveness always worked against me whenever I played this game with my sisters.” Resigned, she raised her hands to her tunic, preparing to strip it off.
“What are you doing?”
She paused, arms crossed high over her breasts. “I’m taking off my blouse. Isn’t this the item you wanted me out of?”
A slow, sly smile spread across his face and a wicked light shone in his eyes. “Retain it for now. I will remove it when I choose. Do nothing unless I order it, woman.”
A shaft of pure heat stabbed through her belly, vaporizing more of her restraint and reserve, rendering her weak-kneed with damp panties. In her wildest dreams, she’d never thought to tremble before any man, but Denzel -- this A.I. unit -- artificial lover… M.A.N. -- made her hornier and hungrier than she’d ever been in her life.
It was as if he had discovered and tapped into her darkest, most secret desire -- her longing to be cosseted and controlled, powerless.
She’d discovered a long time ago that she’d been born into the wrong family, the wrong century, with the wrong genetic codes. Though her mind and body were Amazonian, at heart, her secret, sexual core was that of a submissive.
Just once she wanted the same treatment as other females -- petted and cosseted, not expected to do the rescuing or solve all the problems. If only for a little while, she wanted to lay down the burdens of rank and clan without having to worry about the state of the war or the safety of her platoon of soldiers.
She dropped her arms to her side, conceding his present victory. “You’re calling the shots -- for now.”
“Yes, I am. My next question is going to be another stumper. I want to see those pert breasts of yours totally bare, not covered by that no-frills military-issue brassiere.”
Shrugging nonchalantly, she said, “I’m a soldier. Frills are wasted on me.”
He shook his head. “I disagree. Frills are never wasted. I imagine a gentlefem soldier, more than the regular run of females, would need the softness and beauty. If for nothing else, then to remind her she is feminine and special. Very special, indeed…”
His eyes roved her body and her nipples rose in answer to that heated stare. Unbalanced by her sudden arousal, she gulped and snarled, “Ask your question, damn you.”
He cleared his throat. “Felix the Cat had a sometime sidekick -- wait!” Seeing her mouth opening before he finished his sentence, he held up his hand in caution. “Don’t answer too soon. I want the win, but not like that. This sidekick had a big mouth that often got him into and out of trouble. Name him.”
His voice came out husky, as though he struggled with the same heated responses filling her. That couldn’t be, could it? This was only make-believe, with him carefully calculating his reactions to make her hot, make her squirm, purposely gearing his conversation and actions to further his encrypted goal: to make her want him with a desperate, thought-fogging hunger that would eventually drive her out of her mind. It was working.
She couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate. She didn’t care what the answer was. She wanted him… his lips on hers, his tongue delving deep, his mouth tugging on her swollen nipples. She wanted his hands cupping her ass, his fingers digging in and anchoring her to his strong body as his cock claimed and conquered her. She wanted to be forcibly taken and fucked to orgasm by her masterful M.A.N.
Chapter Ten
In order for Denzel to be in charge, he had to win this game. In order to win her goal, she had to lose. Usually, she always played to win, but she’d had enough of being the one doing the driving, thank you very much. She wanted to be the fuckee, not the fucker!
Sensing he would not appreciate winning by deceit, she kept her manner confidant and her voice bright as she answered, “Poindexter.”
His hands were slow and burning against her needy flesh as he removed her blouse and bra. A sharp, attention-riveting pinch to both nipples had juice bubbling in the depths of her womb. When she came back to herself, he was asking the next question.
“The name of this show was also the name of the boy whose father traveled with him through India and other exotic locales. His dog’s name was Bandit.”
“Dennis the Menace.”
Her breath stalled in her chest as she obediently lifted her leg, watching him unzip her boot, trembling as the back of his fingers brushed the exposed skin of her knee. Cupping his palm around the heel, he tugged, releasing the boot’s hold on her leg. She flexed her foot, watched his inscrutable eyes following every sinuous movement.
Clearing her throat, she asked, “What is your next question?”
Oh, Matrix, is that my voice, all breathy and needful?
“What was the name of the lead
er of the Transformers?”
She had to answer some of his questions correctly, or he would realize what she was doing. “Optimus Prime.”
“What were they?”
“Autobots: Robots from another planet that could transform into automobiles.”
“And their enemies were?”
“The Decepticons.”
“Very good. For a minute, there, I thought you were trying to throw the game.”
Affront came easily. She actually felt insulted before recalling her true game plan. “Why would I do that?”
A smirk tipped his well-formed lips. “My first guess would be that you’d rather be under me than over me.”
Damn him, he is too observant. She bristled. “In your dreams, robot-boy.”
Every bit of amusement drained from his face and he stiffened, his body coming erect. Hands clenched into fists at his side, he snapped, “Never call me that unless you are ready to end our games.”
“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d take it so personally.”
He looked sheepish. “I guess I overreacted, but please don’t do it again.”
“I won’t. Sheesh!”
His overboard reaction unsettled her. What’s going on here? Why would he object to gentle teasing? Just how far does he plan to go with these fake emotional responses?
As if he had never snapped at her, he continued his line of questioning. “Okay, what was the ‘Heart of Cybertron’?”
Oh, now this one, she truly didn’t know. She vaguely recalled it had to do with some type of power source that both sides were always trying to obtain, but for the life of her, she couldn’t drag forth any more details than that. She met his eyes straight on. “That’s one I don’t know. The Transformers cartoon was too male oriented for Mom to allow us to watch regularly.”
He smiled, reminiscently. “My mom used to say it was ‘genderly unbalanced.’ The writers structured the later editions of it to be more politically correct for the times. They did eventually have a few female transformers. Let’s see if you can do better with the next question.
Women of Steel 1: Marti Gets Her M.A.N. Page 5