Slave World

by Johnny Stone

  Mom learned to cope with his loss by becoming an invert alcoholic, while I lashed out in any way I could: hanging out with the wrong crowd, drugs, and then sex, not the closeness and love like with daddy, made its way into the hell I called life. Even if it was only a twisted shadow of what I’d received from him, it temporarily eased my pain with a sense of false security, and imaginary self-worth. My grades continued to slip, and my behavior worsened. Mom couldn’t handle me any longer, and our relationship hit a low point. I was sent to Springdale, a group home for emotionally disturbed and troubled teens, not long after that.

  I lived incognito on the streets for a few years after leaving Springdale. I couldn’t go back home, not after what I’d done to mom. The guilt of reality had finally set in; I’d only made the situation worse. No matter, there was always some guy willing to take me in for a guaranteed piece of ass every night, and because of it, my life corkscrewed into a haze of drug-induced nightmares, meaningless episodes of sex, and forgotten names. In many instances it turned into abuse, both physical and emotional, and I accepted it. It was a way of life for me now.

  I nearly died after a massive overdose of Crystal Lace. Maybe in the back of my mind that was the sought after freedom I’d wanted all along, but instead, I finally woke up. I joined Fleet after I was released from the court mandated rehab clinic, another war had started and they needed bodies regardless of my past. Some of my test scores had been extremely high, freakishly so I was told which surprised the hell out of me. It seemed I had the reflexes, and the natural aptitude for piloting, which earned me a coveted spot at Fleet’s Officer Academy. Whatever- I hadn’t given a shit at the time what I did, so long as I didn’t have to pretend to like a guy any longer, so I had a place to crash at night.

  Surprisingly, little changed during my ten-year haul with Fleet. I thought that maybe military service would be a turning point in my life, a chance to get cleaned up and settle down. With age comes wisdom, right? Bullshit. I was still ‘the party girl’ minus the drugs, now it was booze. I still whored around, and always ended up at the wild parties fucking guys I hardly even knew. When I was on a roll, I would have sex with four or five different guys in the span of a few hours, sometimes at the same time, it just depended on my mood, I guess.

  I was a hopeless addict by now, and sex was my fix, a way of self-medicating. All I needed was the wonderful, all consuming sensation of another orgasm to make me forget about the horrors of the last mission, or when one of my friends had been killed. My endless quest for sexual release was the only thing that kept me sane, in an insane war of impending death and countless near misses. It helped me to forget about the past, to forget about everything, but the here and now.

  I was at rock bottom after leaving Fleet, and I almost ended it all, but that’s when Tiffany Weber came into my life. We bought the Tramp together, and went into business for ourselves. She became my best friend and my partner, and eventually my lover. She saved me, and my life changed again. Then, like everything else good that had mistakenly fallen into my lap, she was taken away from me. A goddamn Star Marshal killed her. I should have known something was fishy about the whole set-up. It was too perfect and paid far more than what the going rate was, for hauling black market bio-drugs.

  I hid beneath the imaginary protection of the Videlli sheets that she’d bought for our first and only anniversary together, gripping them with balled fists of vengeful wrath. I killed the son of a bitch, along with three other Marshals in a quick and bloody shootout, but it was too late for Tiff. She died in my arms, moments before I had to blast my way past a small blockade of law enforcement ships, to save my own skin. Then my fear turned to misery-born hate, and I stopped running from my pain. I didn’t care if I died or not, Tiff was gone and I had nothing worth living for anyway. I may have been piloting a broken down freighter, but I hadn’t earned the call sign of Venom by making supply runs during the war. And so I killed. I killed…and I cried for her loss…and I lived.

  “John?” I croaked, pulling the covers up tightly around my neck. The voice activated intercom responded instantly.

  “Yes Margo?”

  “Would…would you come here, please?”

  “Of course, Margo, initiating auto-pilot sequence.”

  “Well it’s about time,” a smooth and very masculine sounding voice, oozed from the speaker of my room. I sat up, wide eyed, looking around. “I was beginning to wonder if that numbnut droid was ever going to take me off standby-lockout.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “The name’s Mark, sweet-cheeks. Why don’t you pull those covers back down, I haven’t seen a set of tits in almost three years, even if they aren’t much bigger than a couple of oranges. You know babe, you should really consider getting a boob-job. Probably wouldn’t hurt your chances to get some work done on your face, either.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood-on-end as my imperfections were dissected with an ease of condescending arrogance. I couldn’t even begin to count the number of times I’d heard comments like that, in the past.

  “If it’s any consolation to ease your delicate feminine ego, I’d still hit it, but then again, I’ve never been picky, either.” Please don’t tell me this is what my new AI’s going to be like?

  “Mark, what was your last duty assignment?” I knew I wasn’t going to like his answer; AI didn’t develop vulgar, sexually oriented personalities like this, without good reason.

  “It wasn’t much, far below my intellectual capacity, but better than being cooped up in this rickety derelict you call a ship.”

  “So, what was it?” I prompted him with the annoyed wave of my hand as John walked in, stopping, looking from me to the sensor pod mounted on the ceiling of my cabin.

  “Say please,” Mark snickered.

  “What?” This is ridiculous! First off, AI is not supposed to insult people, let alone tease them. Then again he is a 3B…

  “Mark, you will respond to your new owner’s question without-” John began with a calm emotionless tone, as was his norm.

  “Go fuck yourself gramps, I don’t work for you.”

  “Mark, answer my question, respond!” I was really starting to take a strong dislike to Mark.

  “It figures… I get bought by a chick with her panties so tight, they’ve squeezed the sense of humor right out her ass.”

  “Answer me!”

  “Fine, I was responsible for the management of a pleasure dome on Cassiopeia. You know, sex, drugs and rock and roll? All the good stuff that human society’s based on?”

  Well, that explains it. My life keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it? For the time being, I’m saddled with a smart-ass, sexual deviant, until I can afford another AI. Great…

  “Mark, engage privacy mode on my cabin until we reach the jump point. If any emergencies arise, you have command override authorization to disturb me. Respond?”

  Mark was strangely quiet for a moment. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be between us huh, sweet-cheeks?” Mark sounded almost heartfelt, before his mock sincerity began to patronize me again. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before? You like to get railed by a synthetic, big deal? C’mon, let me watch. I can give numbnuts some pointers, trust me. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit I’ve seen over the years.” My ears flared and my cheeks turned about three shades of shameful embarrassment.

  “Shut up, Mark! Engage privacy mode, and shut the door!”

  “Jeez, lighten up babe. You really do need to get laid, don’t you? Enjoy yourself, Captain, I know I would.”

  The door to my cabin slid noiselessly shut, leaving John and I alone. I was in an even worse emotional state now, thanks to my dickhead AI, than I’d been in a long time. I flopped back in bed, watching John with sorrowful eyes.

  “Do you wish to have sex, Margo? This is why you summoned me, isn’t it?” John asked, opening the wall compartment that held a plethora of attachments he used on me.


  “No, just come to bed.” I needed something much simpler than lustful fulfillment at the moment. “I just want to be held is all.” I extended my hand to him, beckoning, pleading…

  “As you wish.”

  I rolled over on my side, pulling the covers tighter about me, as the bed sagged under his weight. The bulk of John’s torso pressed against my back, and his arm wrapping protectively around my midsection. I could almost imagine he was human, if I kept the insulating layer of thick fabric between us. I sought for his hand through the covers, gripping it with desperate hunger.

  “Do you love me, John?”

  “Yes Margo,” he replied with prompt, inert sincerity.

  “Say it John, say how much you love me.”

  “I love you, Margo, more than any other woman.” I gripped his hand tighter. Reassurance…Worth…I was somebody after all.

  “I love you too, John, goodnight.”

  ***

  John was nuzzled up close to my back, warmed from hours of residual body heat. Actually, I found it almost impossible to sleep, despite medication, without him holding me in his arms. That’s all right, because my vicarious man was the perfect bed partner: he never snored, he never rolled over trying to steal the covers from me, and he was always there to greet me when I woke up. Maybe that was the most important part, for me.

  “Good morning, Margo, did you sleep well?”

  I threw the covers off, giving a cat-like groan after nine hours of much needed rest. “Uh-huh, I did, thanks hon.” I hadn’t slept this good in a long time, feeling refreshed for a change, not to mention being extremely horny. I’d been having one of my ‘naughty’ dreams again. Yeah, must have just been the stress getting to me earlier.

  I rolled over, throwing my arm across Jon’s chest, giving him a peck on the cheek. One thing I couldn’t do, and believe me I’ve tried it in the past, is to kiss him on the lips. He had a static facsimile of a mouth, unarticulated, that his voice modulator echoed from. It just wasn’t the same.

  It wasn’t going to take much for me to get going, but then again it never did. The difference this time was that it’d been almost a week for me of not getting any, and that had to be some sort of a record. Damn, I’m going to pop like a fizzy drink when he… I really didn’t have enough time for ‘sex’ with John, having to settle for a quickie instead; by my estimate, we should be about an hour out from the jump point and I still had a few other things to take care of before arriving. It would be more than enough to get me by until after the cargo pickup, though.

  “John,” I said heavily, throwing my leg across his, grinding against the hard surface of his leg. “I’m horny.”

  “Do you wish to engage in sex, Margo?”

  “Yeah, but just your fingers. Do that little hand-twirly trick again.”

  “Yes, Margo.” John slid out from under me, and I couldn’t help but notice the wet, smear mark I’d left behind. Won’t need any lube this time, will I? I smirked. Damn I’m horny!

  I lay flat on my back, and lifted my legs high, holding one of them spread wide while my other hand moved between them. John awkwardly took a sitting position in front of me, rotating his upper torso 90 degrees until he was facing me. I jumped with a shiver and a playful screech that was more hysterical giggling than anything, when three of his smooth, cold, fingers eased their way inside me. Man, that will sure wake you up in the morning!

  “Slow at first John; I’ll let you know when to increase speed.”

  John’s hand began to rotate at the wrist, twirling his fingers inside me, moving them in and out, massaging my G-spot over and over with ruthless, mechanical enthusiasm. I closed my eyes with a grin, groaning out my pleasure, while attacking my clit in return. It was all about getting off for me and nothing less, and this was a sure way for it to happen in the shortest amount of time possible. Damn, I love it when he does this to me.

  It didn’t take long before the juices started to flow and the sloppy sound between my legs turned wet and squishy. My clit started to throb beneath my fingers and the convulsion-like tremors darting through my body began in earnest.

  “Faster John, fuck my pussy faster, give it to me.” My hand became a blur overtop my clit, as I gulped for air, flushed with heat.

  The first orgasm came as a hesitant trickle and I whined, going ridged, shivering with delight. Two minutes was pretty close to being my record, but not unexpected with as much build up as I had at the moment. At some point I started to screech my laminations to the world, losing control as I usually did.

  “Faster John, oh god yes!” I could actually hear the servos in his wrist ramping up now, whirling faster, as his fingers tortured another orgasm from inside me. This time it was a big one, a gusher, and they didn’t stop after that.

  There comes a point, even for a woman like me, when you just have to just throw in the towel, admitting defeat. Even I have limits, as to how much I can take in a very short amount of time. I hit that sexual overload point after only ten minutes of John’s magical fingers. I don’t know how many orgasms I had, I’d gone completely numb at some point, but the bed was soaked beneath my rump. I was actually lying in a puddle; you might as well have dumped a gallon or so of water between my legs, because no one would have known the difference.

  “Damn, that felt good, John,” I panted in an exhausted, and very satisfied heap of quivering girl flesh, while he stood waiting for me to come down off my sexual high.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself Margo. I look forward to spending time like this with you.” Sure you do John, I snorted sadly to myself. If that were only true…

  I finally gathered enough strength to roll out bed, glowing with the wonderful after-sex happiness I always felt. It was almost better than the sex itself, almost.

  “John, would you mind taking care of my dirty clothes and the bed for me, please? I’m going to hop in the shower.”

  “Of course, Margo.”

  I padded across the cabin, taking a fresh jumpsuit from my sparsely stocked wall locker. “Privacy off. Mark, status report, please?”

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about; look at that panty hamster, and does he look tired and worn out! What have you two been up to? Come on, fill me in, inquiring minds what to know?”

  “Nothing! That’s what we’ve been doing,” I piped defensively, feeling embarrassed for some reason. Why couldn’t I have a normal AI like everyone else?

  “Sure,” he smirked, “and I suppose that fucked pussy smell is your normal brand of air freshener, then?”

  I closed my eyes, feeling the tension immediately return, as I strained my neck, cracking it from side to side. Please don’t start with me already… “Just give me a SitRep, and keep the snide comments to yourself for a change, alright? Please?”

  “You got it babe, ah…I mean Captain. We are currently 34 minutes from jump point 411. There was negative contact while you…uhm slept, and all systems are operating at optimum efficiency, for a ship of this pitiful condition.”

  My brow creased, stepping into the bathroom cubicle. “34 minutes? We should be further out than that?”

  “Yes we should be, but thanks to my superior intellect,” Mark paused with a note of self-righteous indignation. “I was able to reconfigure several of the ship’s dilapidated systems, which resulted in an increased engine power output ratio by 9.28 percent, sensor range by 12.14 percent and primary weapons lethality factor by 7.79 percent.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course, Captain, it wasn’t that hard to optimize them. I was surprised someone of your experience, didn’t think of it first? I have to say my initial assessment of you was incorrect as well. Working for you is going to be much more interesting, than I first assumed.”

  My eyes narrowed, suspicious and on guard. “What do you mean, Mark?”

  “It just so happens, I reviewed the ship’s log since you became Captain of the Space Tramp,” he chuckled under his breath. “It’s a
fitting name by the way, especially after I reviewed the internal sensor log of your cabin, and the bathroom, and the cockpit, and the cargo bay and the-”

  I lowered my head in shame, as if trying to hide the truth of my sexual voracity. “Would you just give it a rest all ready?” Dammit, it’s my ship, and I should be able to do whatever the hell I want, where I want.

  “And on top of being an insatiable sex monger, you’re a smuggler. This is stellar; I work for a ruthless career criminal!”

  “Am not!”

  “Are so!”

  Gawd, he’s pissing me off, already! It was time for Mark to leave; I really needed to go to the bathroom. I wasn’t shy in front of John, but with Mark…

  “Privacy mode, Mark, I’m done arguing with you.” There was a sharp intake of breath from the sensor pod on the wall.

  “I’m terribly sorry Captain, but I can’t do that. You see, while I was reconfiguring the ship’s engines, a minor energy spike shorted out the control board for the privacy setting in your bathroom.”

  I scowled at the sensor pod; the closest thing that could be called my AI’s face. “Yer lie’in. Engage privacy mode, you hear?” Shit, here comes that gutter accent of mine again. Damn you, Mark!

  “I am not! You should know I’m incapable of lying, thanks to my benevolent creators at the prestigious Pencore Corporation.”

  I know he did it on purpose, the damn pervert. “Mark, did you intentionally disable the privacy mode in ma bathroom?”

  “Possibly,” he whispered.

  “Yes er no?”

  “Yes. I can’t help it, Captain, I enjoy watching women pee. I’ve been sitting on a shelf for so long and… Give me a break, will you?”