by Trent Evans
He knew the answer, of course. He didn’t have to do this to Diandra. Because he had this woman right here. He didn’t have to answer that question, because here with his artificial human, that question no longer mattered.
The only thing that mattered was that she did as she was told.
* * *
The shock overtook him so fast, he stood straight up, the android falling to the floor. She quickly rose to her knees, peering at him. He couldn’t tell what her expression said — fright, confusion, maybe even something else.
“What — what is it?” She wiped away the trail of a glistening tear.
But he didn’t know what the answer was to that question. His cock was hard, throbbing want, pulsing between his thighs. He’d never spanked Diandra. Not once. Well, there might have been a slap on the ass now and then while he was fucking her, but he’d never dared do anything else. Though he’d wanted to so badly.
And now, he could do anything. Everything. No limits.
What did it mean to a man like him to have no limits? He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.
He paced back and forth before her, gazing out at the star field, running his hands through his hair, not sure what to do next.
His cock knew exactly what he wanted to do next.
“I just need a minute to think,” he said, half to himself. He glanced down at her to see if she was still watching him. She followed his every move.
“Did I — did I displease you?” She folded her hands in her lap, her generous breasts rising and falling gently as she breathed.
God, she’s so beautiful!
In that moment, he wanted her to be Diandra, needed her to be Diandra. He wanted his wife there. More than anything else, his body — and his soul — crying out for it, he wanted her there.
But he knew it wasn’t her.
He stopped in front of the woman, gazing down upon her, unsure what to do next. Wanting to do everything next.
“You… did it… did it hurt?”
Her face blushed crimson, and she nodded at him. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” The word tumbled from his lips unbidden. Part of him was shocked at the level of arousal he felt at such casual sadism. He knew it was wrong to be aroused by hurting her, by spanking her, by humiliating her — but he was.
In his fantasies, it was a dark, twisted pleasure. It was even better in reality.
And at the same time, he knew he could never do the same thing with Diandra. He just… couldn’t.
Why don’t you tell her? For God’s sake, tell her!
He banished the thought though. He couldn’t tell her what he really wanted. But for those long, lonely days out here alone on the edge of the galaxy, he could pretend. For a while.
Martin, don’t do this.
But he did it.
Striding to her in two steps, he took hold of her soft, thick hair, twisting it in his fist. She cried out as he yanked her to her feet. Her eyes were wide as he spun her around. He smacked her ass hard, the sound like a clap of thunder, a jarring noise that surprised the both of them with its power.
She squealed as he did it, then with one hand in her hair, another wrenching her arm behind her back, he frog-marched her over to the couch. He would watch that beautiful star field as he did it, as he realized the darkest of fantasies.
“On your knees,” he growled behind her.
She obeyed haltingly, her breath coming in quick pants now. He couldn’t tell if she was afraid or aroused. He hoped it was both. Taking her hair, he pressed her face to the soft fabric of the couch.
“Hollow your back. Lift that ass for me, bitch.” He smacked it again, and she cried out. Using his booted foot, he eased her knees apart until the tendons at her inner thighs stood taut, her pussy wet and glistening, yawning open, the tight, pretty rosette above it begging for his cock.
Oh, he’d get to that soon enough.
Freeing himself from his jumpsuit, he stroked his erection as he stood over her. Gooseflesh rose upon her skin.
“Sir, I…” Her voice was high, strained.
His fist still in her hair, he shook her head sharply. “Not a word.”
He dropped down to his knees, placed the broad head of his cock against that hot, wet opening, so amazingly like his own wife’s. He smacked her ass again over the reddest part of her cheek and this time, she shrieked. He drove into her in one long brutal thrust, his hips slapping against her buttocks. The breath bursting from her lungs in a harsh, almost surprised groan.
Still holding her hair, he gripped her wrist even harder, gathering the other one until he had both of them clamped in his hand, high up her back. Her breasts bulged below her and he longed to touch them. But instead, he hung on to her, making sure she knew he was going nowhere until he allowed it.
He took up a hard, remorseless thrusting, and within seconds, the heat and wetness surrounding him threatened to draw him over the edge. He slowed his strokes, but pushed even deeper on each one. He wanted to conquer her, to own her, to imprint himself upon her in the most primal way a man could.
Harder and harder, he fucked her, his knees burning upon the carpet as he did so. She gasped and whimpered as he bottomed out, the head of his cock battering her cervix. But still, he fucked her.
Amazingly, she grew even wetter as he did. And it only encouraged him. Over and over, he drove into her, letting go of her hair finally to clasp a hand at her hip, squeezing it brutally, his thumb stroking back and forth across the red congested surface of her ass cheek, the skin mottled red and crimson with countless handprints, hot to the touch — almost as hot as the cunt that he remorselessly plundered with his cock. Over and over and over, he did it until he could feel his orgasm building.
He knew it was wrong. Yes, this wasn’t a human, but it was wrong to love this. It was wrong to do this to someone who looked so much like his wife. But still he drove onward. Still he fucked her. Took everything. Driving deeper until she groaned again with it.
Then with a final flurry of brutal, deep thrusts, each one making her yelp, he emptied his seed within her, his world going a bright white for one second, all awareness lost to the intense, dark, twisted pleasure in taking this android, this woman so brutally, so heartlessly, so selfishly. He came harder than he thought he ever had in his entire life, the orgasm going on and on, his thrusts growing erratic, his muscles twitching, his breath thundering from his lungs.
Finally, he stilled, the soft feminine flesh below him quivering, the sound of her breath a frantic counterpart to his deep, exhausted satiation. He pulled his cock from her, a long string of fluid extending from the head of his penis, then breaking, laying its glistening trail along the smoothness of her inner thigh.
Still holding her by the hip, he let go of her arms and rubbed that wetness, that sticky fluid into her skin, smacking her thigh gently once or twice until her flesh seemed to absorb his essence. The pearly slickness of his seed began to drip from her inflamed, well-stretched sex, and he gathered this upon his fingertips, matting the hair at her mound with it, rubbing it up and over onto her ass, onto those painful marks, the aftermath of her spanking.
He said nothing as he did this, but he knew what it was. It was a claiming. It was a marking. It was letting her know, this android, this gift, that she — it — was Martin’s possession now.
And he intended to enjoy it.
Chapter 6
The faint smell of ozone hung on the air as the CPU began heating, the whir of the memory modules spinning up a comforting sound. Martin reclined in the pilot house chair, the images from the central computer’s gal-net access application playing across the screen. He was bathed in the ghostly greenish-white light put out by the dizzying array of monitors, displays, and diagnostics.
The steady, muted beep from the shuttle status monitor matched the melancholy beat of his heart. He should have felt happy, renewed, invigorated by his rendezvous with the strange, beautiful android. He was anything but.
Rather than sit
and quiz his visitor he decided to come to the blessed isolation — if not quiet — of the pilothouse. He was intent on learning more about her, but there was a central problem in that.
He didn’t trust her.
Unsure as to exactly why, it was more of a vague feeling, a hunch. Out here, one listened to hunches — because they often kept you from fucking up.
And they might even save your life.
The central computer was — surprisingly — able to retrieve quite a bit on the subject of artificial humans. It wasn’t a topic unknown to crewmembers like him; the rumors of humans being replaced as crew of remote mining stations had persisted for years, even after the regulations were enacted that forced the company to man all stations with at least one human crewmember at all times.
Initially developed for hazardous conditions, especially micro-gravity, androids had proven immensely successful, despite their staggering cost (for first generation models, anyway). With successive upgrades and improvements, androids — then having evolved from being termed simulacrums to artificial humans — had been developed into an integral part of galactic life, especially in the extraction industries, military applications, and as assistants in specialized professions. For instance, most medicine heavily utilized the dazzling capabilities of androids, whether assisting in surgeries, or actually conducting them entirely autonomously. Androids now often served as co-pilots of ships both great and small, and in other industries had completely taken over any repetitive, fine skill task that humans simply could not compete in.
However, the Galactic Council had eventually recognized the danger of having more and more industries turned completely over to the more efficient, precise, and reliable services of androids. As a result, the Sapiens Doctrine was adopted. One of the tenets of this doctrine was that humans would always remain a superior in any human-android interaction, and indeed, a tenet that in some cases mandated that humans would be required in certain jobs/professions, despite the obvious performance disadvantages humans held in comparison to androids.
Thus, the requirement that Martin’s company crew even remote mining stations with at least one human crewmember, no matter the level of automation — or as was the case with stations like Charon 90, near complete autonomous operation.
He’d been waiting for almost four minutes for the central computer to do a deep search of gal-net resource nodes for anything related to the android currently cooling her — its — heels in the crew module.
The vision of her eyes peering back at him as he closed the hatch behind him was still fresh in his mind. Her eyes were the same clear shade of blue as Diandra’s, a color unusual for someone with such dark hair. He wondered what those eyes would look like with tears brimming over. He’d seen Diandra cry before, of course, but the reason for the tears in his mind’s eye was something else entirely.
Something intentional.
Something caused by him.
Something he would savor — no matter the wrong or right of it.
Finally, the search concluded, and he sat up straight on the grav couch. The screen flashed red letters he hadn’t seen in a very long time indeed.
Jesus, that can’t be right.
He queried the search parameters, ensuring they were correct, then executed the search again. And again. But the result was the same.
Anything related to Model 27 or Model 27-X, returned as null.
Everyone, and everything, had a file.
Such a status invariably meant one of two things: the information was restricted military, or the information did not exist.
Little miss android had some explaining to do. Either she wasn’t really what she said she was… or she was part of a secret military program.
Either way, it wasn’t good. Not good at all.
Chapter 7
The items in the security locker took on an entirely different meaning now that he had his own plaything on board.
He’d kept her waiting, but he wasn’t sure if it was for his own needs, or simply to torment her. Either way, he found tasks to occupy his time until he was ready to use her once more.
He stayed in the pilot house for almost two hours, researching, reading, learning all he could about whatever she might be. Finally, unable to endure denying himself any longer, he took the stroll down to the loading bay. There was one more task to complete before he indulged himself.
In all the time he’d spent on Charon 90, he’d never once opened the security locker. For all he knew, it had never been opened, the steel cabinet covered in a fine sheen of dust.
Inside were things he expected; a stun gun, the EMP projector, even a shotgun. But he was also pleased to find the pleasantly unexpected — restraints. He found not only the powered version, but also a set of the old-school ancient type metal handcuffs. He grabbed them both, then closed the locker. The restraints dangling from his fingers, he walked back to the crew module, the station shuddering rhythmically, another shuttle unloading its payload of ore brought up from the surface.
He opened the door and she was still where he’d left her. But she looked... distressed. Her eyes were as big as saucers, her thighs clapped together, her hands in her lap. She was bent halfway over, rocking back and forth.
“I didn’t… I need to go,” she said, her voice reedy, almost panicked. “Badly.”
He barely managed to suppress a chuckle, but at the same time winced a little inside at forgetting that she would need to go to the bathroom.
Androids having to go relieve themselves?
“Wait. Aren’t you an artificial person? Why would you ever need to use the head? You’re not human. Right?”
She hesitated for a moment, her cheeks burning a bright red. Then she shook her head.
“I — we’re designed to mimic humans exactly. Even down to… bodily functions.”
“Does that mean you eat too?” He wasn’t sure how much of this he was expected to believe. Like so much else, this... didn’t quite fit.
She nodded. “We can get by on far less than humans can, but if we don’t eat, we feel the same hunger you do.”
“So, let me get this straight. They replicated you down to fine bodily functions — which, objectively, are a burden for human beings.”
“Yes, that... that’s right.”
“And why would your manufacturer do that?”
She swallowed, her pink tongue darting out between the seam of her plump lips. “My manufacturer thought that it would help my model... blend in better with human beings. The less we seem different, the less we behave differently, the more we would be accepted.”
“I see.” Martin lifted the restraints still hung from his fingers, extending them toward the lavatory. “It’s in there. Around the corner.”
He watched her go, her naked buttocks rolling and jiggling as she moved.
Beautiful indeed.
It was his turn to pace as he waited, unsure what to do next, paralyzed by choice, stunned by opportunity and eagerness, a dark anticipation filling him as he mentally filed through the possibilities. New fantasies, novel things he wanted to try bubbled up in his mind, crowding his consciousness.
Finally, she returned, the sound of her soft feet on the carpet at once sweet and vulnerable. He loved the way her breasts and bottom moved as she walked — yet another thing he’d always loved about Diandra. He’d never get tired of watching his wife walk, drinking in the vision of her naked body, so feminine, so lovely, this woman he adored.
This isn’t the woman you love, Martin. This is a replica. A fake.
It was true, of course, but a man was a man. He reacted to what he saw, to what he felt, even to what he smelled. It was something else he still struggled to believe. She even smelled like Diandra, that same mix of sandalwood and sweat, the spicy, mouth-watering note of her pussy.
He didn’t even know what to call it, but he knew it was her. and it was just as irresistible to him now as it had been the first time he’d made love
to her. Perhaps more so now. Because now, unlike the first time they’d fucked, now he was in charge. Now he could do anything he wanted, whatever he desired — whether she wanted to or not.
Reflexively, he tensed at the idea, instinctively uncomfortable with the notion of how the lines of consent were blurring.
Or being obliterated.
It’s not her, Martin. You don’t have to worry about that. She’s a thing, a robot, a toy.
Returning from the lav, she stood before him, shifting from her right foot to her left, her glance nervously darting here and there.
“Look at me,” he said.
Instantly, her gaze snapped to his. Her nipples were up, thick and hard, the same pleasing blush color of Diandra’s, the areolas wide and smooth. He wanted to touch them, to suck them, to bite them, to make her gasp as he drew upon them.
Soon enough, Martin. Soon enough.
“Since it appears you’re my guest for the duration, let’s go over a few things.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice soft. She met his gaze once more, and though he saw what he thought was uncertainty in those blue depths, he saw much more than that as well.
Her own eagerness.
Why would an android be eager? Why would someone program eagerness into a machine? How could someone program eagerness into a machine?
The question bothered him because it was illogical. It didn’t matter, but yet, his mind focused on it.
Not now, Martin. Not now.
He cleared his throat. “One — and this rule goes before anything else — you do whatever I say, whenever I say it. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I mean it. If I tell you to hop on one leg or stand on your goddamned head, you’re going to do it, aren’t you?”
“Of course, sir.” She blushed brighter at that.
“Rule number two — no clothes for you. Ever.”
“But—”
He held up a finger. “Just listen. I’ll make sure the Eye in the Sky keeps the temperature warm enough for you. I like it toasty in here anyway. Luckily for you.”