by Trent Evans
“Rule number three.” Inside, he wasn’t sure what else he should say. He never thought he’d have such an opportunity, such a chance to realize long-held desires, to make suppressed, twisted fantasies come to life. And yet, here he was.
“Rule number three — whenever I want you, you’ll come to me. Do you understand?”
“I–I think so, sir. You mean sexually?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I can do that.” She gave him a tentative little smile.
“Good, good” He willed himself to keep going. “Rule number four — if I want to hurt you, if I want to punish you, I will. I don’t have to have a reason. Do you understand?”
Her face paled at that, but her eyes never left his. She slowly nodded, her voice a whisper. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. That will do for now. I’ll probably add more later as I think of them, but that‘s a decent start.”
He sat down on the couch, his erection already growing insistent against his zipper. Opening his fly quickly, he pointed at the floor between his legs. “On your knees.”
Diandra moved with a feline, effortless grace, as if she luxuriated in performing for him, in satisfying him, in arousing him. It was one of her many wonderful features, her desire to please him.
This android perfectly replicated the sway of Diandra’s hips, the languid shivering of the tips of her hair. How was that possible? How did one program a machine to move exactly like a specific human being?
He pushed the disquieting thought aside though, his cock already rearing high between his legs. He fisted the shaft, crooking his finger at her.
“Closer.”
She knelt up, the cool palms of her hands laid across his inner thighs, making him shiver for a moment. It only made his cock harder.
“Take it in your mouth. You know what to do,” he said, though he had no real idea if she actually did.
Instantly, she complied, her head darting down, the hot, wet clutch of her lips drawing a tight seal upon the head of his penis.
He threw his head back as she began to bob up and down the shaft of his cock, her fingers gently stroking and squeezing his balls.
“Farther,” he said with a grunt, looking up at the ceiling. “All the way down… that’s a girl.”
He rested his hand upon her head as she took him into her throat, remaining motionless, her nose and her lips pressed into the tight, dense thatch of pubic hair at the base of his cock. Then he let her up and her eyes met his for one electric moment. He didn’t see reproach there though.
He saw lust.
Good. Robot she may be, but she at least seems to enjoy this.
Unlike with Diandra — whom he took great pains to be gentle and loving with when she sucked him — he was anything but with this artificial person.
Taking firm hold of her hair, he drove the tight circlet of her lips up and down his cock, making her swallow it over, and over, and over again. He didn’t stop until twin tracks of tears coursed down her cheeks. Amazingly, she never protested once, aside from a few gasps, and some gagging. It was remarkable.
If she was — for lack of a better term — a pleasure model, as he assumed some androids must have been, it was interesting that such a model did things like gag, and cry, and look distressed as they were forced to swallow a man’s cock.
It was fetching indeed.
Rather than dwell on it, the thought only amplified his dark arousal, increased the eroticism of the moment of using her mouth so callously, so selfishly. He yanked her head off his cock, then he slapped her face with it, once, twice, a third time, tapping her swollen, crimson lips with the glistening head.
“You’re good at this, aren’t you, bitch?” he asked, the words seeming to tumble from his mouth.
He would never have talked to his wife this way, even though he’d always longed to. He didn’t understand precisely why but it turned him on, the degradation of it.
Oh Martin, you’re fucked up in the head.
But again, it didn’t matter. This wasn’t Diandra.
“You’re not done,” he growled, forcing the head of his cock into her mouth again, driving back, back, pulling her down until his member was completely engulfed once more. He could feel her throat working around the head of his cock, almost frantically, and he wondered if that was something else that had been programmed, or if that was simple reflex. Could they program reflex into a robot? If so, it was the most lifelike reflex he’d ever felt.
Taking twin handfuls of her hair, he barked at her to clasp her hands behind her back. He fucked her face for real then, forcing her down upon him relentlessly, more tears streaming anew, her lips awash in saliva, mixed with his precome, the smell of it driving his arousal still higher. He grunted with each plunge into her throat, the sight of her brimming eyes making his balls draw tight to his body. He was close to finally losing control.
Oh God, so close!
With a final flurry of merciless thrusts, he made a split-second decision, pulling her head off of him, a great gust of breath bursting from her lungs, her lips opened wide, saliva dripping from her mouth, from her chin, her cheeks smeared with tears. He stroked his cock several times, holding her with a tight handful of her fringe and then he groaned, cursing savagely as he held his penis before her face. His orgasm boiled forth, suffusing every nerve-ending with overwhelming pleasure, his vision blanking for a long, sweet moment as it overtook him.
Thick jets of pearly come leapt out, draping across her nose, her eyes, her lips. His seed kept coming and coming, the android flinching now and then as more spurts further painted the evidence of her degradation upon her flushed face, the final proof of his callous use of this female.
And of her status as Martin’s sexual plaything.
* * *
The beautiful android blushed fiercely as the wet cloth wiped away the last remnants of his seed. She glanced away as he looked at her as if she couldn’t bear to meet his gaze, couldn’t endure the shame that he knew he’d see there. Her lips were swollen cherry red, her eyes puffy. But still, her nipples were rock hard, her breathing rapid. She was either scared or excited — maybe both.
Setting the damp and now sticky cloth on the back of the couch, he laid his hands on her knees, luxuriating in the feel of her soft skin against his palms. “Now, whoever you are, here is Rule number five: I want the truth. Anything I ask you, you’ll tell me the truth. Understand?”
Her throat worked, but she finally looked at him. “Yes, sir, I understand.”
“Good. Good.” He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to go through with it, but his cock was already getting hard again just at the thought of what he had to do next. He stood and looked down at her for a moment. She finally met his gaze, the whites of her eyes bright.
So beautiful.
Then he took hold of her hair, yanking her to her feet. She cried out as he did, but made no other protest. Her hands fluttered in front of her nervously, then he took hold of both her wrists. He spun her around, her breasts swinging, until she faced away from him, the sweet, round perfection of her ass mere inches away from his crotch.
Unable to help himself, he gripped one of her buttocks, squeezing and kneading it brutally. He heard her draw a sharp breath, her muscles tensing.
“Easy now,” he said. “Easy.”
Then he smacked her, still holding her tightly by the hair as he watched silently, the ghostly pink imprint deepening to a livid red. His cock was at full erection already, mere minutes after he’d shot semen all over her face, after he’d used her like a common prostitute. This toy, this living, breathing sex toy that looked exactly like his wife. Even her lips felt like his wife’s. And still, that wasn’t going to deter him from what he had planned next.
Which makes it even more fucked up, Martin. You sure you really want to do this?
Oh, but he did.
Drawing her wrists together behind her, he wrapped the white belaying rope in a clean noose around her wrists, drawing them to
gether, then binding them fast. He checked the grip of the ropes. Tight enough to keep her secure, not quite enough to cut off circulation.
“You’ll live” he said.
She twitched at the sound of his voice, and she tried to look at him over the back of her naked shoulder.
“Eyes forward, bitch.” Then he smacked her ass again — the other side this time. And just as before, he watched, mesmerized, as the handprint appeared on her bottom — one of many he hoped to leave there if he had the courage to indulge himself. In the fantasies crowding his mind, there would be time.
The question was — did he have the courage?
He spun her around again, loving the way her breasts moved as he did it, taking a deep, primitive enjoyment in manhandling her, and showing them both that her strength was no match for his.
Are you sure about that, Martin? She’s a robot. For all you know, she could break you in half if she wanted to.
Luckily for him, she seemed… less than inclined to do so.
But somehow, seeing her there in front of him, it didn’t seem right. He knew that there would be a way to perceive that strength, that instinctive, almost subconscious registering of a being so formidable that it posed a physical danger. It was something humans ignored but has always possessed, that ability to assess threats, possible dangers to life and limb.
And to one’s heart.
He ignored that thought. It wasn’t time for that. This was time for answers, and he intended to get them. One way or the other.
He forced her back down to the couch, then he took hold of her chin, yanking it up, forcing her to look at him.
“I’m going to ask this, and ask this once. If I have to repeat it, you’re going to pay for it. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” her lower lip quivered, and it make his cock even harder.
“I did some checking on your story. Looked for your model. 27X, is that right?”
She nodded.
“So, it was surprising to find that that model has no file. None. Can you explain to me why that is?”
“I-I don’t know, sir.”
“How do you not know? That’s your model. That’s you.”
Her lips moved, but nothing came out. Then she blinked several times. “I — our programmers, the manufacturer, they didn’t give me that information. I-I don’t know, sir. I’m telling you the truth. I just don’t know.”
He smacked the heavy weight of one of her breasts, loving the way it bounded against its twin, both of them swaying like bells. He took hold of her nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezed it hard until she whined.
“I’m going to ask it again — even though I said I wasn’t going to. Why do you have no file?”
“I don’t — ahhh, I don’t know, sir! Please!”
“Hmm.” He let go of her nipple and slapped her breast again, her body tensing. He smacked the other breast and she yelped this time.
“We’ll come back to that.” He paced in front of her, loving the way the position of her seated with her arms behind her thrust her plump, heavy breasts before her, giving him targets, emphasizing her vulnerability, her femininity, her utter helplessness to whatever he chose to do to her next.
Her lips were wet, her eyes wide. Her hair was wild from where he’d grasped it, two strands hanging down over her left eye. She shook her head, trying to clear it away.
“Stay still!” he barked at her. “Don’t move unless I give you permission.”
She dropped her head. “Yes, sir.”
Incredibly, there was something on the air, a scent.
Holy shit
It was her. More to the point, it was her cunt. She was excited. He took hold of the hair at the top of her head again, dragged her up to her feet, his palm clutching the dark vee of curls at her sex. He plunged two fingers between the lips of her pussy. It was a sodden, soaking wet furnace, her clit a hard little pearl against the heel of his hand.
“Jesus Christ,” he hissed. His cock was so hard, he thought it might burst its way through his zipper. He took hold of her chin again and slapped her face crisply.
“Every reaction, is that right? Your manufacturer’s programmed you to be turned on by me doing this to you?”
“I… I don’t know, sir.”
He squeezed her chin harder and she gasped. “Please…!”
“Please, what?”
“Please, sir.”
He let her go and she hung her head again, the thick locks of her hair hiding her flushed face, concealing her embarrassment, her humiliation... the same embarrassment and humiliation that seemed to be turning her on.
What does that mean, Martin?
It meant one of two things — either she was human, or her manufacturer had programmed her to respond this way. He wasn’t sure which possibility blew his mind more — or enticed him more.
But it’s not her. This is not your wife. This isn’t Diandra.
Yes, she looked like her, smelled like her, sounded like her, felt like her, but this… this reaction was nothing like his sweet wife. She would have been horrified at being treated this way, especially by her husband.
Would she though? Do you really know?
He just couldn’t believe it. When they made love, it had always been so gentle, so loving, so... boring? It had never once been boring to him, of course, but if it had been for her, would she have told him? That doubt, that thought, planted itself in his mind and he knew if he dwelled on it too long, it would grow — until the implications of it could no longer be denied.
So, he ignored it, turned away from it in his mind’s eye, focused on the task at hand — which was to get answers. Lifting her chin in his hand, he brushed the long locks of her hair out of her eyes. Amazingly, a shadow of a smile flitted across her gaze, her lips moving ever so slightly.
“Now, I still don’t know any more than I did the first second you stepped off of your shuttle. I want to know why you have no file. And I’m going to find out. Because no file means one of two things — either you’re military, or you’re lying. Did your manufacturer program you to lie, Model 27X?”
“That’s not my... y-you can call me whatever you want.”
“Yes. We haven’t gone over that, have we? Let’s just call you ‘D.’ That should work, for now”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
“You haven’t earned a full name yet. Right now, it’s just a letter. Maybe if you start cooperating with me, maybe you’ll earn more than that. Or maybe I’ll like it this way — just D. Anonymous. A subject. A model.”
He paced in front of her again, stopping now and then to fondle her breasts until her breath came faster, her chest heaving. He squeezed them hard, then turned away, knowing if he kept this up, he’d be fucking her within seconds.
Not time for that. Not yet anyway.
He tried a different tact. “What was your first memory, D? Your very first memory. Did your programmers give you any?”
“I... there was a technician. He was blond. H-his hair was too long. His eyes were an off-green color — hazel, maybe. He had a mole on his chin, left side. Kind face. His voice was soft. I remember his face. That’s the very first thing I remember, sir.”
“Do you remember how long ago that was?”
She looked at him this time, her eyes suddenly looking as if she was staring off at a faraway object. “Yes, it was six months, twenty-nine days, thirteen hours and seventeen minutes, sir. I can give you the seconds if—”
“No. Save it,” Martin said, shaking his head. “That’s enough.”
Shit. This isn’t helping.
“How do you know the exact time?” he asked her.
“We have… my model has an internal clock, sir.”
“And you can see it right now, right this second?”
“Yes, sir, always. It’s continuously visible to me.”
He turned away again, shaking his head, disgusted with himself. It had to be. While i
t made no sense to program her the way they had, at least at first glance, she wasn’t lying. There was no way she was being deceitful. There would be no point in programming her and giving her the ability to lie.
How would you program such a thing? He chuckled at that.
The same way they program it to look, smell, and taste exactly like your wife.
If they could do that, what couldn’t they do?
He turned and strode up to her, taking hold of both of her shoulders, squeezing them tightly, lifting her onto her toes. He bent close, his nose just brushing the tip of hers. He searched her eyes.
“I know you’re not lying, yet this makes no sense whatsoever.”
“What makes no sense, sir?”
“All of it. All of this. You. The fact that you’re here. This makes no goddamned sense, D. And yet, here you are. I can feel you. I can smell you. I can taste you. How is this possible?”
Chapter 8
He waited until the computer had given the all-clear sign. He’d instructed Eye to purge the atmosphere of the shuttle to disinfect it. It was standard quarantine protocol — but not one usually applied to transfer shuttles.
Still, something told him he had to be safe. He had to be sure. At this point, he still didn’t know either way if she was lying to him, or if she was what she said she was.
And if he were honest with himself, he’d say he was beginning not to care anymore. She was still beautiful, she was still helpless.
She was still his.
Do you really think that, Martin? Do you really think there’s no distinction to be drawn there? If she’s a human, you’re abusing her. If she’s a toy, then you’re doing... something else.
That was the distinction he wasn’t quite ready to tackle. So, he ignored it. His working assumption had to be that she was indeed what she said she was — an android, a robot, a thing.
It was the only way he could continue to justify continuing his... extracurricular activities.
That sounds a lot more like rationalization.
He had left her on his couch in the crew module, her arms bound behind her back, wrists lashed to her ankles. It was a hogtie — a sloppy one, but it would keep her in place for a while.