Foreword:

I must first express my thanks for all of the kind words and support that resulted from Book I.  It is said that feedback is the most valuable thing a reader can give an author, and in my case I wholeheartedly agree (although I suspect Jake would probably say that a blowjob truly is the gift that keeps on giving).  I have taken a good many suggestions to heart, especially since anyone who commented likely made it to the very end of my long-winded blathering.

 

I must also acknowledge Philip K. Dick for my outright theft (or homage, if you will) of one of his titles in chapter eleven, and also Alfred Bester for the use of synaesthesia, which he probably stole from someone else.

 

 

 

The Peripheral Cocksucker: Book II

Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, Fembots are from Mercury

 

Life’s been good to me, so far

Joe Walsh

 

Prologue

 

The beautiful redhead certainly knew how to suck a cock.  Her full lips slid up and down the length of my pole with an effortless grace to which 99.99% of chicks on this planet could not attain.  Her practiced mouth worked my meat feverishly, her soft tongue skillfully bathing the tender underside of my prick with her warm spit, and most erotically of all, that silky, smoky red hair falling and dancing about my thighs as she blew me, an experience every bit as intoxicating as the mouth party she was throwing.

 

I was going to cum in her mouth; we both knew it.  She began slowing her strokes and started humming; something she knew was my weakness.  I could feel my cock, as stiff as an iron bar, practically vibrating, my orgasm just moments away.  She gave a muffled laugh, pleased, no doubt, that she was in complete control of my pleasure.  I ground my ass into the red leather chair, trying to prolong the ecstasy, but it was a fait accompli.  She looked up at me, her bright, sparkling green eyes alive with mirth, and began pulsing and squeezing the fat base of my ten-inch member while she repeatedly, with a rhythm as precise as the Atomic Clock, swallowed its length – God, her throat felt fantastic!  Every millimeter of my cock was engulfed within that moist warmth, so indefinably different from her sweet cunt, and the feeling in my balls told me it was over.  I bowed to her skill and unclenched my ass, and was rewarded by the blessed feeling of my cum shooting up my johnson, only to gasp, shuddering, as it gushed load after load of my jizz into that hot, cocksucking mouth.

 

She stroked my meat earnestly; making sure that each and every drop of my spuzz was being released to her custody, while I twitched like an alky with the DT’s.  She closed her eyes and lay her head on my thigh, my big, glistening cock resting against her cheek, her mouth glazed by my cum, smiling ever so slightly.

 

I cleared my throat, which unlike hers was quite dry, “Thank you, Chancellor Simmons.”

 

Now, let me state right at the off that I never intended to turn the Chancellor into a fembot.  It was something that had more or less grown out of necessity.  That Maria and the Chancellor knew each other was by no means a surprise to me, but I hadn’t been aware that they were friends – the bumping doughnuts kind of friends.  Well, as the Fates would have it, the two of them were to have had a late-night tryst the night that Maria had become an iBod.

 

Yes, iBod.  I had decided that it was time to start classifying them by type.  Robbi is a fembot – a human, female robot – no different from any other female save for embedded programming; that and her volleyball-sized tits.  But Maria, by virtue of having sensors implanted deep within her brain, was partly mechanized, a cyborg, and it was this fine distinction that led to the unanticipated, almost accidental assimilation of the Chancellor of the University of Berkeley.

 

 

 

Chapter 10

All About Eve

 

I awoke Sunday morning, afternoon really, to the wonderful smells of coffee and freshly baked cinnamon rolls.  It occurred to me, as I lay in my obscenely comfortable waterbed, that I had finally found the peace and order that had eluded me since I’d left home (leaving Mum and Dad free to move back to ‘Jolly Old’, something they’d been wanting to do for years).  I had enormous wealth – or access to it, an absolutely stunning girlfriend who believed, because she was programmed to, that the Sun rose and set on my cock, and last but not least, I had a mission: if I could find out how my newly discovered technology worked – and control it – this world would never again know war, or aggression, or hate, not to mention anyone owning shares in Frederick’s of Hollywood would see their stock split in one hell of a hurry.

 

But I was diverted from visions of lingerie-clad robo-babes by the realization that I wasn’t alone.  I looked down the sheeted valley created by my big feet to see a large lump making its way up the bed between my legs.  Warm, silky-smooth skin brushed mine as it reached my calves moving inexorably upwards.  She did not waste time with subtlety; my stiffening cock disappeared into a hot mouth, which began making love to it beneath the silk sheet.  I lifted it up to see her lovely honey-blondeness moving up and down my meat, the scent of Chanel wafting up, adding another dimension to the sensation provided me by my fembot.  She moaned and gulped softly with every stroke, her hand simultaneously caressing and jacking-off my cock with not a single motion wasted.  And just as my orgasm began bubbling up my prick, she added something new to the mix by squeezing my balls.  My eyes rolled up into my head as I was catapulted into a new realm of sexual satisfaction, gasping as my jizz shot into her mouth, which she greedily sucked down as fast as it came out of me.

 

“So is my mother a good cocksucker, Jake?”

 

Robbi stood there, leaning against the doorframe, her great, fat boobs barely concealed by the frilly apron she was wearing – the only thing she was wearing.

 

“Wha…” I started, shaken by the seeming impossibility of the scene.

 

She walked, catlike, toward the bed, grabbed the silk covering and yanked it off the bed in one smooth motion.  Maria, smiling, waved at me, my cock still between her cum-covered lips.  She pulled it out with a wet slurp, then scootched up and knelt between my spread legs.  She was dressed much the same as Robbi, minus one apron.  “Good afternoon, Jake,” she said in her pleasant, husky voice, running a finger through my nest of pubic hair.  “I hope you don’t mind.  Roberta told me your cum was practically like sweet cream, and I just couldn’t resist.”

 

Ohmifuckingod, I thought, my mind racing with the bizarre drama unfolding before me.  I looked at Robbi, who was looking at the both of us – she wasn’t smiling.  Maria, seeming to sense her daughter’s mood, moved out of the ‘V’ of my thighs, putting me between the two of them.

 

“I told you, Mother,” Robbi said, climbing onto the bed to face her hot piece of ass of a mom, “it’s the pineapple juice I’ve been giving him.”  Robbi’s breathtakingly beautiful face looked as though it had been carved from marble.  “But you are being very rude, Mother.”

 

“I’m sorry, Roberta,” she said, looking a little worried, perhaps thinking that sucking her daughter’s boyfriend’s cock might be breaking some unwritten rule, “I-I just thought…”

 

“Didn’t Nana ever teach you that it’s good to share?”  And with that she leaned in and began licking the cum from her mother’s lips.  I watched, stunned, as the licking turned into a french kiss so hot the French didn’t even know how to do it.  Their mouths were on each other, moaning as each ran their hands over the other’s exquisite body.  Maria had removed Robbi’s apron and now had a melon-like tit in each hand, while Robbi sinuously slid one of her hands over her mother’s pubic mound and began fingering her.  My cock, feeling left out of the festivities, rose between them and nudged Robbi’s free hand.  She automatically took hold of it and began stroking it while I watched my two incestuous fembots make out.

 

I don’t know how it happened, but their loving turned to laughter.  They began giggling, like thirteen-year olds, laughing and hugging and kissing each other.  I sat there, like a dumb shit, open-mouthed, while their hilarity reached a crescendo and then slid back down.  They both fell down on either side of me, still giggling slightly.  Robbi turned to me, my cock still in her hand, “Did we fool you, Jake?”

 

I was in bed with two gorgeous women, a mother-daughter act, to boot, had just received a blowjob from one of them, and looked to be about two minutes away from a truly epic ménage-a-trois – the last thing I felt like was a fool.  “You surely did, pet.  That you surely did.”

 

But that threesome was not going to happen, at least not at that moment.  Maria turned my head her way and kissed me, but sadly it was not an ‘I’m-going-to fuck-your-brains-out’ kind of kiss, it was the ‘I’ve-got-to-hit-the-road’ kind.  “I am sorry, Jake,” she said in her warm, throaty voice, “but you two will have to carry on without me.  I’m about seventeen hours late for seeing someone, and I had better get going before I wind up on the receiving end of your wonderful cock.”  She slid off the bed and stood up, her perkier tits, courtesy of me, standing out proudly.  She came around to the other side of the bed and looked down upon the two of us – four of us if you counted Robbi’s zeppelins – with an expression that I could not fathom.  “Roberta,” she said, her crystal blue eyes shining with incipient tears, “I love you so much.  I’m so sorry that I’ve been so stupid over the years.”  She bent down and kissed Robbi, a kiss that no mother has ever given her daughter.  “And I was wrong about your boobs, honey, I just can’t imagine how I could ever have thought otherwise.  They’re perfect, just like you.”  She moved downward, taking each flesh melon in both of her hands and tonguing the perpetually erect nipples.

 

I was so entranced by this strange version of mother-love, I didn’t realize that Maria had turned her attention on me.  “And Jake, dear, thank you for saving my life.  Robbi says you are special and I can certainly see what she means.  I’m a different woman than the one you carried into this apartment last night, with so many new thoughts and feelings that I haven’t had time to puzzle out, but I have to ask you one thing.”

 

“Yes, Maria?” I said, sure she was going to ask what the fuck I’d done to her, or how the fuck I’d turned her daughter into a pair of tits that could kill and cook a wild boar.

 

“Will you fuck my ass sometime, Jake?  Please?”

 

If I weren’t such a guy I would have burst into tears at that moment.  “I, uh, um, sure, Maria,” I answered snappily.  “I’d love to.”

 

She bent down and kissed my mouth as thoroughly as she had her daughter’s nipples.  “I can’t wait,” she sighed.  And with that she turned and sauntered out of the room, her naked ass swaying gloriously.  I lay there, open-mouthed, my mind reeling – how the fuck could her ex-husband have let her get away?

 

I watched that delectable can right up until it turned the corner and out of my sight, and at just that moment a pair of gargantuan tits hove into view.  “So, Tiger,” Robbi said, very kindly wiping the drool from the corner of my mouth with a Kleenex, “what do you think of my mom?”

 

“Not, um,” I started, clearing my throat, “she’s not exactly what I expected.”

 

“You mean you weren’t exactly expecting such sweet buns?” she said, her wry expression showing that she’d read my mind.  “Poor baby.  I guess you’ll just have to make do with mine.”

 

She pushed me back down onto the bed and shoved her massive milkers in my face.  After about a minute she rose back up, straddling me, a plate of cinnamon rolls in her hand, “Will these do?” she asked coyly.

 

There’s nothing worse than a funny fembot.

 

 

Two hours later I had eaten the entire plate of rolls, and my girlfriend’s pussy for good measure.  I showered, or rather, was showered by Robbi, who cleaned every last part of my body by soaping her fat juggs up and rubbing them all over me, a practice that I would insist become mandatory.  It was to be a lazy day – a little studying, a little hide the salami – just what I needed after the hustle and bustle of the previous day.  I simply could not get over how nicely everything in my life had fallen into place: I had the ultimate girlfriend, access to a fat bank account, and I would soon get to fuck Maria’s ass.  Was a better life possible?  Not bloody fucking likely.

 

But there was also an elephant in my apartment that was going to have to get noticed at some point, and I found it damnably difficult to concentrate on triple integrals what with the image of Robbi and her mom eating each other out, constantly running through my mind.  How did they rationalize this new facet of their relationship?  Had my programming Robbi to love her mother somehow overwritten years of ingrained learning that it’s not okay to munch Mommy’s muff?  Maria and Robbi had seemed perfectly blissful while in one another’s arms, but what did they think about it?  What had happened after I passed out?

 

Robbi must have sensed my mood, for my used and tattered math book was gently removed from my lap and replaced with 125 lbs. of incredibly hot babe.

 

“Study break, my love?”

 

“You read my mind, pet,” I sighed: it was time to deal with the elephant.  But Robbi had other ideas in mind as she pulled the straps of her blue Lycra top aside, releasing her elephantine tits.  I started to speak what I knew would be at best a feeble protest, when her full lips pressed themselves against mine, her tongue pushing my concerns about morality back down my throat.  Fuck, this woman could kiss!  Moaning, she moved heatedly down to my neck, and reached down and began fiddling with my fly, my Pavlovian dick straining to be let loose: it was now or never.  “Robbi,” I exhaled, almost a pant, “can I ask you something?”

 

“I think I’m going to get rid of this chair, Jake,” she sighed, her voice slightly muffled as she continued giving me little love bites on my neck.  “You always seem to want to discuss serious subjects in it rather than fuck.”

 

The cleavage heaving beneath me beckoned, but I pushed onward, “It’s about you and your mom, Robbi, I…” I started, but was silenced as she straightened up and pushed the nipple of her left tit into my mouth, a tactic that could render the U.N. obsolete.

 

“I’m sorry, Jake, but sometimes you do tend to talk too much.  Can I ask you some questions instead?”

 

The fat nipple, nearly as big as my thumb, pressed against my tongue, forcing me to resort to the ‘nod and shake’ method of communication; I nodded.

 

“Mother and I had a long time to talk this morning.  She told me, and I quote, ‘I’ve never felt this good in my whole life!’  She said her boobs felt firmer, and even a little bigger.  But she said something else.  She said, ‘It’s like I’ve somehow been remade.’”

 

I sat there in my expensive leather chair, her obtrusive nipple rendering me mute, awaiting the question that was going put an end to my perfect reality.

 

“Jake, you put the thinking cap on my mother last night, didn’t you?” her face quite serious.  “That’s the reason we constantly want to, um, suck each other silly, isn’t it?”

 

Maybe there’s something about having a giant tit in your mouth that compels you to tell the truth.  I nodded, realizing just then that Robbi might pull the ‘Tiger Claw’ on me, forcing me to live the rest of my life without a jawbone.

 

The nipple was pulled abruptly from my mouth and replaced, not with an iron fist, but by her warm tongue.  “Oh, Jake,” she cried, real tears sliding onto my face, “thank you!  Thank you for saving her life!  For saving my life!”  She planted kiss after kiss on my face, rubbing her voluminous tits over my trapped body.  “Thank you for freeing us to live lives of beauty and joy and love!”  She leaned back, her face radiating a beatific smile, her breasts wobbling from side to side.  She ran her hands up and down their immensity, squeezing them lightly, allowing her nipples to peek through her spread fingers, “Do you think her boobs will get as big as mine?”

 

I sat there, astounded, as my girlfriend beamed down at me over her outsized cans.  I licked my lips and said thickly, “I’d say there’s a really good chance of that, pet.”

 

She squealed and released her huge knockers, allowing them to bounce about freely.  She kissed me again, and then moved fluidly down my body, coming to rest between my thighs, whereupon she proceeded to thank me with her implanted oral skills.  My concerns about the specifics of Robbi’s and Maria’s relationship had not been answered, but as she tongued the head of my cock I found that specifics could take a flying, fucking leap.   Robbi and Maria had somehow found a way to come to terms with their incestuous, cuntlicking desires and that was just going to have to be good enough for me.  I would monitor them both closely, alert for signs of psychotic behavior, and hope to hell that I didn’t wake up someday soon to find my balls floating in my morning coffee.

 

 

At seven o’clock, I sat down to a beautifully laid dinner table.  I could hear Robbi bustling about in my tiny kitchen, the intoxicating scent of barbecue sauce in the air.  She told me to close my eyes, which I did, listening intently as I heard the sounds of dishes being set before me.  Robbi liked surprising me, due mostly, I thought, to her having become the object not only of my dreams, but hers as well.  She constantly primped and preened, making absolutely sure she was the image I’d created.  I wasn’t sure how much her actions were being driven by the Ultimate Babe program, but when she had me open my eyes I couldn’t have cared less.  In one hand she held a platter of chicken wings, in the other a big plate of slathered pork ribs.  On the table before me sat plates of corn on the cob, home fries, and a freshly poured glass of beer.

 

But it was the Hooter’s outfit that just about sent me into cardiac arrest.  The ensemble of the orange shorts that barely held in her superb ass cheeks, the shiny pantyhose accentuating her long, beautiful legs, and the cute tennie-and-sock combo could bring about an end to male homosexuality.  But it was that white tank top that could cure the sick and make the lame dance a jitterbug.  It stretched over her big, gravity-defying breasts, and then slid smoothly back down to her tiny waist.  Her ever erect nipples protruded through the thin material, leaving the viewer in no doubt as to her current sexual disposition, and she constantly shifted her wide hips, making those big funbags shimmy and shake.

 

Smiling broadly, she put the plates of food down and came over to me, bending down in that classic waitress pose, allowing me to look right down into a cleavage that would require a Sherpa guide to traverse, “Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?” she inquired innocently.

 

I found myself truly thankful that breathing is a reflex, because my brain had completely locked up.  But it is for precisely this reason that guys have two heads.  The lizard brain, in conjunction with my penis, guided my hands to those big, wondrous boobs, took hold of them and brought them upward so that I might bury my face within their remarkable softness.  She ran her fingers through my hair and lightly kissed the top of my head while I continued to my massage my face with her pillow-like tits.

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” I heard her say coyly, “but your erection is bothering the other patrons.  If you’ll allow me…?”  She straightened back up and pulled up the tank top, allowing her immense cans to spill out, bouncing and swaying.  She turned my swivel chair to face her and, with a graceful sort of curtsey, bent down and deftly unzipped my fly, releasing my eager johnson.  Her boobs were now so big she didn’t need to kneel to jerk me off with them.  She simply bent at the waist, took a jugg in each hand, and smothered my cock within them.

 

She hummed a little tune in my ear while she expertly worked her huge knockers up and down my pole.  My nostrils reflexively dilated as her perfume wafted upwards, making my brain that much more incapable of higher functioning.  It took only a few more moments, and then I was gasping, cumming between her tits, so massive that my ejaculation never even saw the air but was completely contained by her fulsome cleavage.

 

“There,” she said brightly, straightening up, leaving my gooey sausage to flop back down into my lap, “problem solved.”  She turned my chair back to face the table, turned and walked around to the other side of the table, and took her own seat across from me.  She apparently wanted to tease me further because she hadn’t bothered pulling the tank top back down, but rather left her big, beautiful boobies uncovered, allowing them to rest on the table in front of her, a pleased little smirk on her face.

 

Despite it all my brain was returning to some sense of lucidity, but her assault on my senses was not yet complete; she still had one more trick up her metaphorical sleeve.

 

She daintily picked an ear of corn from the serving platter and asked me sweetly, “Jake, dear, could you pass the butter?”

 

I reached out for the butter dish, only to find that it wasn’t on the table.  “You must have forgotten it, pet,” I said thickly, shaking my head.  “I’ll, uh…get it.”  I started to get up, but she waved me down.

 

“No bother,” she said, and with extraordinary grace, slid her ear of corn over her cum-splattered juggs, salted it, and began eating with gusto.  Her eyes danced with mirth at the expression on my face, which must have been appropriate to having been kicked in the head by a mule.  And just to get the final dig in, she smiled and held it out to me, wordlessly asking if I wanted to try some.

 

“No thanks, babe” I responded, feeling a taut leer spreading across my face as my poor, harassed brain suddenly kicked into gear, “I’ve never been much for creamed corn.”

 

We laughed a long time.

 

 

The huge tit, larger than my head, completely obscured my vision.  We lay together in my bed; my head nestled in the valley of Robbi’s incredible cleavage, her heartbeat thumping lazily in her chest, her delicate hand tracing circles on my neck.

 

“I love you, Jake,” she said, her voice reverberating throughout her perfectly crafted body.  “I love it when you cum inside me.  It makes me feel somehow…complete.”

 

I pulled her big tit up until I could kiss the side of it.  “And I love you,” I sighed.  The sex had been breathtaking, astonishing, out of this fucking world.  It had not involved Nazi uniforms, trapezes, or turkey basters filled with partially set lime Jell-O.  I had only to slide inside her tight warmth, and we began moving together, developing a slow, steady rhythm, each stroke building in intensity, until I exploded like a cannon inside her.  It had been – and being an Atheist I hate using such terms – a goddamn religious experience.

 

“Jake,” she said, still a little breathless from her climax, “did you know I always cum when you fuck me?  It’s like I’m some kind of…orgasm machine.”

 

She was closer to the truth than she knew.  Whatever the reason, Robbi came each and every time I fucked her, and it certainly wasn’t due to my prodigious skill as a lover.  I mean, I’m pretty good in the rack, and goodness knows I can eat pussy with the best of them, but there was definitely more going on here.  Her body responded to the slightest touch, much like a well-designed sports car.  Was this the result of programming, Ultimate Babe, my physical changes to her formerly chunky body, or was it perhaps her own unconscious reaction to her becoming a true sex object – some chicks do get off on that.  Again I found myself needing a baseline: I really needed to start experimenting with Maria.

 

“Thank you again, Jake,” she whispered softly, continuing to stroke the back of my neck.  “Thank you for my body, and for my wonderful life; for making me beautiful and sexy and fulfilled.  Thank you for doing whatever it was you did to me.”  She sighed again, a peaceful and relaxed exhalation.  “I wish more girls could be like me: happy, loved, and with great, big boobies.”

 

I slid up her warm body, rolling on her firm juggs, until I could look into her crystal-blue eyes.  “What can I say, pet?” I replied, nuzzling her cute little nose, “I agree completely, well, except for the big boobies, maybe.”

 

She slapped me playfully in the small of my back.  “Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful,” she continued, her voice ringing, “if every girl on campus could be like me?  Can’t you just imagine it?  Thousands and thousands of beautiful, happy women.”

 

I was imagining it, all right.  Walking to classes amidst a sea of hot, busty chicks, each and every one of them programmed by me.  The image of the Berkeley campus, flooded with hordes of flawless, short-skirted, high-heeled fembots, teasing me with their sultry smiles, brushing up against me constantly, and desiring nothing more than to fulfill my every sexual desire.

 

“I see you agree,” she moaned, as my hardening cock slipped inside her sweet, sweet pussy.  She squeezed her sugar walls around my now rock-hard johnson and began describing what it would be like going to classes alongside other liberated girls, confident girls, pretty girls, with no need to strive, or to be catty, or mean…

 

But I was seeing a slightly different scene in my mind’s eye: a campus populated by sweet-smelling robot women with flat bellies, long legs, satiny-smooth skin, and glossy hair.  Perfect, white teeth, poofy lips, dazzling eyes, and most of all, tits.  Tits as big as I could imagine, as big and round as beach balls, and each girl more than happy to display them properly.  I could see myself surrounded by them, and on either side of me, Robbi and Maria, completely identical, right down to the last eyelash.  Identically smiling, identically perfect, and just as identically pregnant.

 

“Unnnh!”  I shouted, as I came inside my girlfriend’s cunt, the force of which making Robbi cum as well.  Her long legs were wrapped around my back and she held me tight as I repeatedly, feverishly, slammed into her, until I finally collapsed on top of her, as completely fucked-out as it is possible to be.

 

“Goodness, Jake,” she gasped, stroking the back of my neck with her long nails, “I’m pleased the idea of empowered women excites you but…I’m going to have wear a motorcycle helmet next time we do it.”

 

I was actually shaking, so violent had been my climax.  What was happening to me?  That I had changed Robbi was undeniable, but had I done something to myself as well?  Was I beginning to go mad: pregnant fembots, cartoon-like boobs, ultimate power?  These were not the kind of thoughts a healthy person thinks, but then no other person has ever been in my position.  But I could do it, I could make them perfectly identical; merge them.  What would they think about that?  What would the world think about it?

 

No, the thought of creating more giant-breasted fembots was exhilarating, but I could not see actually, really doing it.  Any ideas I had of producing fembots at factory speeds were simply the stuff of fantasy.  It wouldn’t be a good idea to turn unwitting females into smokin’ hot babes with huge tits who liked nothing better than to bathe their tonsils in man-gravy.  I don’t know why it wasn’t a good idea, it just seemed that way.  Robbi’s creation had been an accident, Maria’s a necessity forced upon me by circumstance.  I already possessed two fembots, and two should be enough for anyone.

 

I was saved from further selfless notions by the ringing of Robbi’s iPhone, or rather her “Born on the Bayou” ringtone – it seemed Robbi had developed an unconscious fondness for her first ever uploaded .mp3,  “Hi, Mother.  No, you didn’t interrupt anything, Jake’s finished fucking me…for the moment, at least.”

 

I gave her a little pelvic thrust but it was strictly play; that last orgasm had likely cleaned my tubes out for at least the next ten days.  I dismounted and let them talk a bit, occasionally giving one of Robbi’s puffy nipples a playful tweak, eliciting a squeal of pleasure and a mock slap.  But in the end I lay next to her, listening to her mellifluous voice and taking in the wondrousness of her body.

 

“…that’s okay, Mother, it’s not like we won’t see you very soon anyway.  I’m glad you two patched things up.”  She paused, yawning while Maria replied,  “Yes, I love you, too, Mother.  ‘night now.”  She put the phone on the nightstand then rolled over to face me, her beautiful boobs coming to rest between us.  She gave a sleepy little yawn and said, “Mother sends you her love, and says she can’t wait for you to, quote, ‘do her ass’, unquote.”

 

“Well, I’m glad everything’s okay,” I replied, yawning back.  “But what did you mean ‘it’s not like we won’t see you very soon’?  Is she going somewhere?”

 

“No, my love, nothing like that,” she said, giving another, more protracted, yawn, “we were going to have lunch tomorrow, but she had to cancel.  Chancellor Simmons, that’s her lover, by the way, absolutely insists that she see her doctor in the morning.”

 

Doctor? I thought, that one word blasting through my now wide-awake and very panicked brain.  Oh, fuck!

 

 

It wasn’t quite a mansion but it was plenty fucking big enough.  The chill mist that had rolled in did nothing to obscure the grandeur of the place: a three-story Queen Anne Victorian, complete with turret and wraparound front porch.  My iBod was somewhere inside that perfectly restored building, presumably yodeling in the Chancellor’s canyon, whilst I sat outside in her daughter’s Mercedes wondering how the fuck I was going to fix my latest lapse in judgment.

 

Only twenty-four hours ago I had been worried about Robbi being arrested, taken from me; but now the situation was reversed – it was I who was in danger of losing everything.  Those implants would show up as clear as day in an x-ray, CAT scan, or an MRI, which they would most certainly perform if they suspected that Maria had suffered a head injury.  I could see the scene clearly in my head, “Everything looks perfect, Ms. Stark, you’re in excellent health.  Oh, and by the way, why do you have a pair of quasi-experimental implants embedded in your brain?”  It would be all too easy for someone to connect me up with those things; I had not thought things through in my slightly drunken, mad scientist performance of the previous day.  If they found those implants, and they would, I would go to jail, I would lose Robbi, my Mum and Dad would be disgraced, and I would certainly not get to fuck Maria’s hot ass.

 

What had begun with something as mundane as my inability to set an alarm clock could end with my being tried for crimes against humanity.

 

It was a quiet street, in a quiet section of the city.  I could see what I presumed was a bedside lamp in a curtained window on the second floor.  My laptop sat open on the seat next to me, my Nadine Jansen wallpaper doing nothing to dispel my gargantuan worries.  Where Maria’s icon should be, sat the image of a fat nipple, mocking me.  Was she even in the house?  Had she perhaps gone home?  As I sat there, trying to fight the panic that was building within me, I found myself lamenting the fact that I hadn’t installed a GPS unit in Maria’s brain as well.

 

Robbi’s icon sat on the desktop, mirroring the fact that her body, dressed once more in her Hooters uniform, sat only a few feet away in the backseat.  It hadn’t been my intention to bring her, but once it occurred to me that I had no idea where the Chancellor lived, or any way of finding out, I had no choice but to boot her up.  My internet-surfing fembot not only found the Chancellor’s address in a trice, but also downloaded the directions from MapQuest.  The drive over had been a breeze, what with her placidly telling me where to turn and when, not to mention informing me of the nearest Starbucks every so often.

 

As I sipped my latte, I mentally ran through my options: I couldn’t very well call Maria in the dead of night and forbid her to see a doctor.  That would just look way too weird, not to mention tipping the needle all the way into the red on the Machiavelli-meter.  I could, of course, program her to refuse to go, but the more I thought about it the more the more I realized that, while that might work, it also might go terribly wrong.  Everything about the Chancellor’s house (every board of which having been personally been restored by her, according to an article in the campus newspaper, The Daily Californian) screamed control freak, from the painstakingly trimmed hedges to the four-color paintjob.  If Maria balked at seeing her doctor, Eve might well take that as a sign of brain damage, or some other form of psychosis, and force her to go.

 

It was Eve who was the unknown quantity.  She posed the biggest threat to my freedom, and in a larger sense, to Robbi and Maria’s continued functioning.  There really was nothing else for it:  Eve would have to join their robotic ranks.

 

And as though the Universe was in complete harmony with my reasoning, Maria’s icon suddenly appeared on my screen.  I looked back up to find that indeed all the lights in the house were now off.  I hoped Eve was the first one to fall asleep; I was pretty sure that, unlike me, she wouldn’t find having a robot in bed with her to be terribly cool.  Since the lights remained off, and no screams were emanating from the house, I took that as my sign to proceed.

 

Proceed how?  I had no way to speak to Maria directly, and I couldn’t just type instructions directly into her brain.  I could try breaking in, but chances were this house had some top-flight security system installed.  I could have Robbi try and hack whatever company provided Eve’s surveillance, but that seemed overly complicated and one mistake might rouse the police, the last people I wanted showing up while I had a robot woman in my car.  If I could just find some way to talk to Maria, maybe I could text her, or maybe…

 

“Robbi, can you communicate with Maria, silently?”

 

She sat there, as still as a mannequin, her full lips locked in that preprogrammed smile, her magnificent chest rising and falling like clockwork, and her crystal eyes staring straight ahead, seeing nothing but taking in everything.  “Yes, Master.”

 

I let out a pent-up breath, fogging the windshield that much more.  It seemed as though I could relay information through one device and into the next, a sort of cyber-biological daisy chain.  “Robbi, tell Maria to, without waking Eve, get up, disable any alarms that might be on, and come out to the front gate.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

I supposed I should have been whooping in glee, pleased at my ingenuity, but in all honesty I was becoming a little blasé to these miraculous events.  After all, I had, not even a day ago, gotten a blowjob from a barely recovered comatose hottie, who then wirelessly communicated with my printer, and all without rebooting her or consulting Wireless Networking for Dummies.  I had to face it: the shit was becoming pretty commonplace.

 

“Robbi, where is Maria now?  Is Eve still asleep?”  I hoped I didn’t sound frantic, but if Eve woke up while Maria was walking around in fembot mode, I was fucking toast.

 

“Maria is coming down the stairs.  Eve is still asleep, Master.”

 

The seconds ticked by tensely.  Was there an alarm system?  If so, did she know how to turn it off?  So many things that could possibly go wrong, so much on the line. 

 

The front door opened noiselessly, and to my great joy, I saw Maria, iPhone in hand, striding down the walk to the gate.  She moved smoothly through the light mist, almost as if she were on ball bearings.  Her skin shone bluish in the light from the streetlamp, and when she reached the foot of the walk she stopped, looking for all the world like a Greek statue, naked, save for the big, black strap-on jutting from her pelvis.

 

Why are they always black?

 

I got out of the car and slunk over to her, feeling incredibly exposed.  I quickly slipped the spare cap through the gate, constantly looking up and down the empty street, and whispered instructions to my phallus-wielding fembot about how to place it properly on her lover’s head.  She looked so incredibly hot standing there naked in that pool of light, the night air causing her nipples to stand out stiffly, I was sorely tempted to stick my dick through the wrought iron gate and have her blow me.  But temptation yielded to the image of a bunch of guys with dark suits and sunglasses carting my ass off to The Hague.  Maria spun smoothly around and I watched that incredibly sweet ass stride back up the walk and into the house, praying silently to God, Allah, Odin, Zeus, and Mickey Mouse that it wasn’t the last time I would ever see it.

 

I got back in the car, fretting over the possibility of Eve waking up to find her main squeeze trying to slip a battery-powered baseball cap onto her head, but it was out of my hands.  If it all went sour I would have to hightail it out of here.  Robbi and I would hare it to the airport with nothing more than our passports and the clothes on our backs – hell, she could even make the reservations en route.  But Maria must have gotten some of Robbi’s ninja skill, for a new icon joined the others on my desktop.  Fembot number three was now online.

 

 

There is something truly, indefinably extraordinary about redheads.  I mean, and don’t get me wrong, my dick gets hard for every color of hair out there – and I would even have put the wood to Britney during her drug-addled, egghead days if she hadn’t been such a flat-chested, hillbilly, skank, piece of white trash – but a redhead is just somehow magical.  Put that together with a pair of seductive green eyes, generous mouth, high cheekbones, and long legs and you would have the Chancellor of UC Berkeley…about fifteen years ago.

 

But the woman lying on the bed having her brains copied off had not been immune to the ravages of time, nor, I suspected, to the stress of a high-powered job.  Oh, she was still plenty bangable, to someone like my Dad, I supposed, but that smoky, red hair was now shot here and there with streaks of gray, wrinkles about the eyes and mouth, the beginning of jowls beginning to form, not to mention an extra twenty or so pounds about the tum.

 

Robbi and Maria stood on either side of the bed while Eve was being downloaded onto my hard drive, which at 802.11n speeds takes approximately twenty minutes.  I thought about trying out Maria’s sweet ass, but thought better of it.  I’d rather she offered it to me of her own free will, or at least as much free will as she had left.  Since I had nothing to do but wait, I thought I might do a little poking around.  After all, if a man is going to turn a woman into a robot he should at least know a little something about her.

 

She was forty-six, never married, no children, parents dead.  Eve had never made a late payment, nor gone over limit on her credit cards.  She had never even received a traffic ticket.  I found all this out, not from any personal effects of hers, but rather from Robbi – my first fembot had, it seemed, rather extensive resources.  But all of these details weren’t Eve any more than her rather sizable collection of Geisha dolls, or the choice of plants in her garden.  No, I’ve found the best way to see inside someone, short of highjacking their consciousness with a computer, is to look at their old photographs.

 

The pictures adorning the walls of the master bedroom, and there were a lot of them, showed a woman that most men, myself included, would crawl across a mile of broken glass just for the privilege of jerking off in her shadow.  She must have been a dancer early in her life, as one 8x10 depicted her doing a high-kick in a jazzy, green-sequined costume.  I doubted that, in her younger days, she could have walked into a room without causing a boner festival.  And tough luck to those poor pricks – Eve was quite obviously a pure, dyed-in-the-wool, Sapphic lesbo.

 

Photo after photo, almost anally retentive in their progression across the room, showed an active woman going about the business of living: getting her degree, receiving her Black Belt in Judo, behind the controls of a twin-engine aircraft, camping with friends on a New Zealand mountaintop (flannel shirts and hiking boots, ‘natch), at a friend’s wedding; and it was this picture that brought me up short.  Every picture prior to this one showed a woman above average in all aspects of physical beauty save one – her chest.  At a smallish B-cup, she was bustier than most dancers I’ve ever seen, but in the wedding photo, this long-legged redhead was now sporting an obvious double-d rack: Eve had bought herself some boobies.

 

Every picture after this one depicted a woman in love with her tits: tight sweaters, plunging necklines, push-up bras, and one picture of her dressed as Jessica Rabbit that damn near put my dick through the wall.

 

But where had they gone?  I went quickly back to the form lying on the bed, to more closely examine the mystery of the disappearing dugs.  Yes, I could see them now, faint scars along her areolas, very well done.  For whatever reason, Eve had had her implants taken out.  Maybe she, like so many other women, feared autoimmune disease from them, or perhaps she felt she might not be taken seriously in the halls of academia if she looked like a stripper.

 

I went back and examined Eve’s photographic timeline, looking for the point at which she’d doffed those lovely, fake cans, and found the proof of it, albeit not presented graphically.  With jarring abruptness, the fun, playful, and very stacked Eve had given way to a serious, almost dour woman in definite need of a pussy-licking.  Freud would have made short work of the rest of the art gallery; every single photo thereafter were headshots.  Crikey, not even her shoulders could be seen.

 

I drifted back to the A-plus version of Eve.  As her boobs had grown, so had her smile.  She was radiant and happy, and perfect.  And with the loss of them, it was obvious that something more than just sacs of plastic had been taken out of her: her joy, her self-image, her very core had been excised as well.  It really was rather sad.

 

But it didn’t have to be.  It could be fixed.  I could restore this broken woman to wholeness.  I could return her boobs to her, but this time they would be absolutely real.  I could restore her youth, her beauty, and her smile, and in doing so make the world a better place.  I had done so much wrong over the last few weeks; maybe I could put a few things right.

 

But this would be a challenge, considering that I had no digital images with which to do it.  I couldn’t use Maria’s iPhone camera for fear of breaking the link, and I hadn’t brought Robbi’s.  I found Eve’s cell phone but it didn’t have a camera, and the framed pictures on the walls were all useless to me.  I could just make her up out of whole cloth, so to speak, using the computer, but that would take time, and didn’t seem exactly kosher to me anyway, especially since, judging by her house, it appeared that Eve was a purist when it came to restoration.  Well, I supposed I could always come back tomorrow night with all the needed gear, but this continued creation of cyber babes in the dead of night was beginning to wear on me – so much for the notion that robots will make our lives simpler.  So what were my options?

 

Sometimes I just have to stop and shake my head at my utter stupidity.  “Maria, lead me to Eve’s computer.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

Her office was upstairs in the converted attic.  I had to hand it to Eve, she was every bit as much a geek as I was, at least in terms of hardware.  She had a top of the line eight-core Mac Pro, thirty-two gigs of RAM, two big-ass 1-terabyte hard drives, and to top it all off, a thirty-inch HD monitor that just about made me weep.  I sat down on the stupid, ergonomically designed torture device that Eve used instead of a chair, my knees disliking being used for support, and tapped the spacebar.  Up popped Eve’s desktop, confirming that not only was I on the right track, but that I had indeed hit the motherfucking jackpot.

 

It was black and white, artfully grainy, slightly soft focus, and the single most beautiful sight that I had ever seen.  She was seated on a dark floor, absolutely, gloriously nude, her forearms crossed in front of her big breasts, and her legs crossed at the thighs.  She stared unselfconsciously into the camera, her full lips shiny and slightly parted, and extending out from either side of her, juxtaposing, and thereby enhancing the innate sexuality of the photograph, a pair of angel’s wings.

 

I had designed Robbi to be the most stunning woman in the world, and she was, but the woman on the screen before me was quite simply the most elegant creature to have ever walked the face of it.  My cock sprang to life again, yearning, sadly, for what no longer existed.  I found my shaking fingers touching the screen, tracing the soft bow of her lips, my whole consciousness focused solely on the image before me.  I had to have her; that was all there was to it, and simply making a copy of her would not be enough.  I had to have her essence, the raw sexuality that existed behind the eyes, radiating outward, threatening to consume the lucky man who looked upon her.

 

I needed more.  I opened up her iPhoto app, and found the usual folders everyone has, and found, unsurprisingly, one titled ‘Me’, and double-clicked on it.  I could only assume that Eve had once been in a relationship with a professional photographer, and that monogamy had not been mandatory.  There were over a thousand jpg’s of her, all beautifully shot and staged, in every possible position, doing just about everything sexually imaginable that two or more women can do.  From incredibly tasteful nudes to a really clever shot of her on her hands and knees, double-donging an exact duplicate of herself; not a mirror image, just a well-crafted bit of digital fakery.

 

The pictures of her were so beautiful and erotic that I was actually panting.  She definitely loved herself and had good reason to do so.  Within this folder I had all I needed to restore Eve to her former glory, but was there more?  I did a quick search for mpg’s and found another file, also entitled ‘Me’, and discovered an additional forty-two movie files, presumably starring my newest fembot.

 

I moused over to the largest file, and was just about to click on it, when I felt the pangs of conscience eating at me.  What I was about to do was a complete invasion of this innocent woman’s privacy.  My only defense was that Eve had once been one of the sexiest and most beautiful women I’d ever laid eyes on, and I was, in truth, already more than half in love with her former self: if loving Eve was wrong, my dick didn’t want to be right.  I clicked on the file.

 

There are certain things in this world that are simply abominations of Nature: light beer, Dane Cook’s career, and the fact that Eve had never been an Internet porn star.  It looked as though it must have been shot in someone’s studio, so perfect was the lighting.  The scene slowly faded in to show Eve, sitting against a whitewashed stone wall, utterly nude, fingering herself.  I could feel my jaw actually drop as I watched this incredibly hot piece of ass rubbing her fingers up and down her completely shaved snatch.  I paused the action just as one of her perfectly manicured, coral-painted nails was about to slip into her moist slit.

 

“Maria,” I rasped, “please come here.”

 

“Yes, Master.”  She strode over and stood next to me, one of her erect nipples a scant millimeter from brushing my cheek.

 

I pushed the kneeler chair back a little from the desk.  “Maria, give me a long, slow, soft blowjob.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

She sank to her knees and released my rampant prick from its denim prison, and began sweetly sucking me off.  I tapped the spacebar again, allowing Eve to resume her show.  It was perhaps the single most erotic video I have ever seen, and I have seen some truly amazing shit.  Her dark red hair billowed about her face to fall back behind her creamy shoulders.  Her lips pursed whenever she squeezed an ample breast, to be followed by a soft gasp as she brushed a finger across her clit.  But it was those startlingly green eyes that held me in thrall.  As she softly frigged herself, she raised her head to look right into the camera, right into me, mewling as she gently worked her pussy for the camera.  Her performance continued, escalating, her moans increasing as her passion became more unbridled, meanwhile Maria, perhaps sensing what was going on, seemed to be tailoring her sucking to complement her lesbian lover’s blast from the past.

 

I was now gasping along with my video vixen as her gentle tit-squeezing turned into a full-on death grip, her moaning rising in pitch until she was practically screaming, driving three glistening fingers into her dripping cunt.  Maria, either well versed in this video, or just very good at improvising, and with the experience of a lifelong cocksucker, stepped up her rhythm, bringing me right to the very brink.  I reached out, almost able to stroke the bouncing breasts on the screen, as Eve screamed, her climax ripping through her as much as mine was now roaring through me.  Jet after jet of my cum shot into Maria’s mouth while Eve whimpered and cried as her orgasm rolled over her, an orgasm frozen in time, to be replayed and relived as often as desired.

 

Crikey, I thought, as my mind, almost completely disconnected from my body, threatened to float off into the ether, who needs the fucking Internet?

 

 

Maria and I returned to the master bedroom to find that Eve was well and truly backed up onto my laptop.  It had been another long day for me, and perhaps most especially, for my balls, which were being called on to deliver more sperm than a Catholic priest’s at a boy’s softball game.  I was eager to get this shit done and get home so that I could grab at least some sleep before my eight o’clock class.

 

I opened up my word processor, wondering where to begin, when my stomach answered for me.  You’d think after all the ribs and chicken wings I’d had for dinner I wouldn’t be hungry, but repeated orgasms with hot babes does tend to take its toll on the body.  “Robbi, please go down to the kitchen and make me a sandwich and a Coke, and bring them back up here.  Use whatever is available but leave no traces.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

She left quietly, her proud bosom leading the way.  I was curious to see what she might bring me but I hadn’t really felt like listening to an inventory of the contents of Eve’s fridge, which was why I’d left it up to her good graces.  Besides, with all the shocks I’d been handed over the last nine days, I figured a tofu and bean sprout sandwich was pretty small potatoes.

 

I quickly set up new command lines for the both of them, first programming in Maria a dislike for unnecessary doctor visits, and that she really felt no need to see one now.  I then jammed about a thousand commands into Eve’s brain that she must respect Maria’s wishes.

 

I had only just completed uploading this new programming into both units when Robbi arrived with my sandwich – chicken breast on toasted whole wheat with brown mustard and sliced cheddar (if it weren’t for the fact that I was the only one who knew about them, I would recommend that everyone get themselves a fembot).  I munched my snack while mulling over my life.  Here I was, sitting in a room with two incredibly hot babes and a third one a-building.  All my endeavors were paying off; all my liabilities were now secured.

 

I finished eating, and had Robbi remove the dishes and clean up while I copied Eve’s photos and movies from her computer.  Some time tomorrow I could begin work on Eve.  Actually, I really didn’t have to do anything more than plug one of hotter photos in while she was online, but I didn’t want to do that just yet.  If Eve began spontaneously turning into her younger, surgically perfected self, it would raise alarm bells.  What I needed to do was get her to come to me, and with Maria’s help that would be all too easy.  I turned back to my laptop, reopened my word processor, and began to type.

 

 

 

Chapter 11

Jake 1.1

 

It was four o’clock in the morning before I dragged my sorry ass back into my shitty apartment.  Robbi, by contrast, walked in smoothly, betraying no signs of tiredness whatsoever since she was, in fact, asleep.  I put her to bed, where she would reside in a sort of ‘sleep mode’ – what I was planning to do required privacy, and even though Robbi wasn’t really here, at least not on a conscious level, I felt this was something that should not have a witness.

 

It was my turn.

 

I had come to that realization on the trip home.  Having Robbi do the driving allowed me time to think.  She drove beautifully, though unlike her sentient self, she drove unerringly down the exact center of her lane at all times, signaling every turn, and never, ever exceeding the speed limit.  It was definitely something I could get used to, being chauffeured about in a Mercedes by a robotic chick in a Hooters uniform.

 

I was dog-tired, with classes to go to in just a few hours, my part-time job after that, studying, the usual Bacchanalian sex, followed by the additional programming I would have to do on Maria in order to properly bring Eve into the fold.  They say college students must often burn the candle at both ends: I was hitting that fucker with a flamethrower.

 

I could not maintain this pace, but looking at the back of my fembot’s honey-blonde head as she drove brought home the fact that I didn’t have to.  My digital twin had been ready for the better part of two days, everything was fully pre-programmed, all fail-safes were in place, and two dry runs showed no errors; it might as well be now.

 

I sat in my bitchin’ leather chair, the cap nestled on my head, the laptop open before me on the coffee table.  The Quicktime app was open, the new, improved me standing there in the window, his muscular arms crossed, looking like he’d just set a new world record in the 200-meter butterfly, and was now ready to break out of his two-dimensional virtual world and start putting his sizable wood to my ultra-hot girlfriend.  The EEG program was running, showing my brainwave pattern, which to my untrained eye looked a bit erratic; visual proof that I was scared out of my everfucking mind.  The program timer was set for two hours.  I rubbed my tired eyes and ran through my mental checklist for the forty-seventh time.

 

I took a last look at my shitty apartment: it really wasn’t such a bad place.  I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and lay my head back upon the butter-soft leather.  It was now or never.  As I listened to the sound of my breathing begin to deepen, noted the feeling of my muscles relaxing, I committed myself to my technology, letting go the fears that I might never wake up, or even worse, that I might open my eyes to find a pair of huge tits hanging from my chest, some guy’s dick in my mouth.

 

 

Whiteness.  I could smell the color white.  It flowed just behind me, moving from left to right, receding until it died away.  I heard my neck turning right into the path of a puff of cyan, which was blasted away by the sickeningly sweet taste of a ticking clock, threatening to make me gag.  I heard the grating din of my eyes closing, and was almost deafened as they opened again, only to be assaulted by the scent of pink.  Where was I?  What had happened to me?  The discordant jangle of my eyes closing happened again, but this time it wasn’t quite so loud, though my skin did start feeling the chill of stale cigarette smoke.

 

And then the cold went away.  I could hear the ticking of my Kit-Kat clock, I could see my beloved big tit screen saver fading from one large set of cans to the next, I could smell the odor of stale tobacco on the air.  I was alive!

 

I stretched my arms out, stretched my legs and back.  I shook my head, trying to clear the last of the cobwebs from my mind.  My mind.

 

My laptop lay open in front me; Denise Milani giving way to Lucy Pinder, the clock under her bodacious ta-tas reading 6:32 AM – I had done it!

 

I shot upright, almost losing my balance as I regained my legs.  I walked swiftly into the bedroom, a little wobbly, but without mishap.  Robbi lay on the bed; the cap still perched on her head, her eyes closed, dreaming, perhaps, of electric sheep.  I turned to the mirror, desperate to see what, if any, changes had occurred.

 

OhJesusfuckingChrist!

 

The changes were minute, almost unnoticeable in and of themselves.  My chin was a little broader, my nose a little less beaky, and my skin a little less greasy.  There was no facial hair, none – I didn’t even need to shave.

 

Quietly mad laughter began bubbling upward as I took in my reflection.  I ripped my shirt open, uncaring as buttons went flying.  My chest and stomach were still a little warm, as those had been definite target areas.  I stared, dumbfounded, watching my reflected hands moving slowly across my chest, formerly a pale landscape of moles, but no longer.  I had pecs!  Nothing major, certainly – I had only been under for two hours – but there was now some definition there.  All of the moles were smaller, and some of them were gone entirely.  My skin looked a little less pale, a little healthier.  I moved downward, a manic grin spreading across my face as I took in my abs – actual abs!  Where only a few hours ago was peach-fuzzed flatness there now sat a slightly defined six-pack.  I was on my way to becoming a chick-magnet.

 

I quickly shucked off my jeans, frantic to see the most important change of all.  It stood out proudly from my body: longer, thicker, and quite definitely harder.  Not having a tape measure or ruler on me, I judged my improved prick to be about three-quarters of an inch longer, and about a quarter of an inch thicker.  It wasn’t quite a bitch-tamer yet, but it was getting there.  Christ, even my balls were bigger!

 

My legs looked thicker, my calves more defined, even my fucking feet looked better.  My neck was thicker, my shoulders broader – fuck, it even looked like I had an ass.

 

I looked myself over, amazed despite what I had already known was possible.  I looked from my new body to see my resting fembot’s chest rising and falling in her computerized slumber.  What would Robbi think when I showed her my new cock?  What would she think when she swallowed it?

 

I strode over to the dresser where the laptop controlling her sat, and ejected her icon.  I turned quickly to the bed, a little giddy as my larger erection described a wider semi-circle than I was used to.  I gently slipped the cap from her head and stowed it in the nightstand.  Her beautiful blue eyes opened, apparently used to the fact that she didn’t wake up, so much as regain consciousness.

 

She looked up at me and smiled, “Good morning, my love,” she sighed sweetly.  “How are you?”

 

“Just great, my pet,” I answered, unable to contain my excitement, “better than ever.”

 

She cocked her blonde head quizzically and looked up at me, almost as though she was seeing me for the first time, which, in a very real sense, she was.  She held the look for a full half-minute, searching my face, her crystal eyes darting here and there as though trying to figure out what precisely was different; an impossible task since everything was different.  “Jake…?”  She sat up quickly, the silk sheets falling onto her lap, her fat boobs rolling ponderously about her chest.  She raised an elegant hand, extending her fingers to touch my face, though hesitantly, fearful perhaps, that I might not be quite real.  “What…?”

 

“I did it, baby.  I fucking did it!”

 

Her full lips were parted slightly, but she seemed to be having trouble speaking.  “You…you put it on?”

 

“I surely did, pet.”  I took a step backward so that she could better take in the incredible vista that was me, but her ninja-bitch reflexes are considerable: she grasped my boner just behind its flared head, her eyes riveted.

 

She swung her legs off of the bed and pulled me forward by my cock so that she could look at it close up.  She examined it carefully, thoroughly, an awestruck look upon her beautiful face, “It’s…” she started, shaking her head in giddy disbelief, “Oh, Jake it’s gorgeous!”  And with that she began smothering my new and improved appendage with soft kisses all the way up and down its length, giving an appreciative “oh!” every few seconds.

 

“Oh, God, Jake, I love it!  I love your big cock!” she panted, her voice dropping into the husky range that left no doubt as to her present, rising state of excitement.  She continued showering wet kisses on my rampant monster, her big, warm boobs pressing into my thighs, “Oh, God.  Oh, yes, baby, oh, yes, oh, happy birthday to me!”  And as though leading a pony, she tugged firmly on my cock, toppling me forward onto her very receptive body.

 

There was a downside though: I missed my eight o’clock class.  I’ll live.

 

 

I managed to slip unnoticed into a seat for my ten o’clock class, having arrived only a few minutes late.  Robbi, too, had missed her first class of the day, but had pointed out that ‘it isn’t every day that a girl receives a present of an enhanced cock’, and then went on to hint that she certainly wouldn’t mind a few more enhancements.

 

As I sat in that darkened lecture hall, not listening to the pointless droning of my Bioethics professor, my mind drifted back to my warm bed.  Robbi had fucked me like no other woman has ever fucked me.  She had been possessed of an almost manic desire to enjoy every millimeter of my new cock.

 

And it wasn’t just Robbi that enjoyed it.  My new cock was far and away superior to the original version.  It just felt so much better, as though I’d added a few billion new nerve endings along with the growth, or perhaps there was just that much more skin for Robbi’s pussy to embrace, thereby increasing my pleasure.  I don’t know about how other guys with big dicks feel when they’re banging away at the poozle, I was just glad to be joining their ranks.

 

But while Professor Blatheron continued his driveling discourse against whatever it was he was nattering on about, I couldn’t stop thinking about my dick.  I’d already emptied my more capacious nuts in or on Robbi four times this morning, and my cock was already hard again.  In truth it never got exactly soft, just sort of less eager. 

 

“…so what is more important then: the needs of the individual, or the needs of the group?”

 

Right now the needs of my dick seemed to trump practically everything short of breathing.  Was this what Robbi constantly felt like; the absolute, overwhelming need to fuck?  The next eighty-five minutes crawled by at a maddening pace, eighty-four minutes of which was spent scoping out the hotter chicks in the class.  There were a few babes I’d let dance on my pole, especially the way I was feeling at that moment, but none of them could hold a candle to Robbi.  Hell, they wouldn’t stack up against Maria, and she’d only just begun.

 

Oh, Maria.  Gods, what I wouldn’t give to have her lips wrapped around my meat just now.  She’d called right in the middle of Robbi riding me, reverse-cowgirl style, to tell her that she’d decided that she felt well enough not to bother with seeing a doctor, and that Eve had, surprisingly, not fought her on it.  They renewed their luncheon engagement, which, for me, was not a cause for celebration: I had no idea how they might behave together in public – I mean, San Fran might have adopted gay marriage, but I doubted it would be hip to a mother-daughter table dance, especially if Maria still had that strap-on handy.  There was also the fact that, due to our schedules, I wouldn’t get to see Robbi until six o’clock this evening, which, considering the present state of my libido was nigh on a motherfucking eternity.

 

How I made it through the rest of that day I will never know.  Every moment I spent sorting mail, loading carts, and delivering packages was spent in a delicious agony of sexual frustration.  It had never struck me before, the sheer number of truly bangable babes on the Berkeley campus.  Everywhere I turned was a hot ass, a sweet rack, silky hair, or a truly inviting camel toe.  Bare shoulders, cleavage, pouty lips, smooth skin, and to top it all off, the smell of them; whether it was a flowery perfume or their own natural scent, the very whiff of girl drove me wild.  I had never been this hypersensitive to chicks before, and I wondered if, perhaps, my sense of smell hadn’t been sharpened or my need to procreate elevated by my contact with the computer.

 

I raced home, my bulge jutting before me like the prow of a ship, desperate to get home and start finding whole new ways of putting it to my smokin’ hot girlfriend, and, as though the Universe had decided that my incredible run of luck was over, found a note on the table.

 

‘I’m sorry, my love, I forgot I have a late lab tonight, so I won’t be able to make you dinner.  But don’t fret; I did leave you a little something to tide you over until I get back.  Love, Robbi.

 

Fuck.  Here I was, my dick the size of Kansas, and Robbi’s concern was for my stomach.  Well, right now, food could wait.  It was apparent that I was going to have to rub one out, something I hadn’t had to do since I’d created Robbi – Crikey, I hope I remembered how.  But when I walked into the bedroom, I discovered that it wasn’t food that Robbi had been referring to in her note.

 

“Good evening, Jake.”

 

Maria, utterly nude, lay prostrate upon my bed, her knees hunched under her, her supremely fuckable heart-shaped ass in the air, a bottle of lube on the nightstand.  “Oh, baby,” I exhaled, dropping my backpack onto the floor, “Oh, happy birthday to me!”

 

 

 “Jake?”

 

“Yes, doll?”

 

“Ooh,” she gasped, shuddering slightly, “I think I like you calling me that.  I shouldn’t, but I do.  It makes me quivery inside.”

 

Of course she liked it; she was programmed to.  It also didn’t hurt that I was rolling one of her nipples between my fingers at the time.

 

“What did you do to me, Jake?”

 

“Well, I believe I spread those beautiful butt cheeks of…”

 

She slapped me playfully on my chest, but then snuggled in close.  “Jake, I’m serious.  I’m different now, to the way I used to be.  I mean, I love my daughter, if you know what I mean; something else I know I shouldn’t be doing.  But something happened the other night, in between Roberta hitting me and me waking up in your bed.”

 

I knew she would twig at some point; I was just glad I got to enjoy her superb ass before the drama set in.  Not that I was worried; without the influence of beer my fingers had positively flown over the keyboard the previous night, the commands spilling onto my screen, and thence into Maria so effortlessly one would think I’d been programming fembots for years.  I was pretty sure that the outcome of this conversation was a fait accompli, but it pays not to be cocky.

 

“…and you think I had something to do with it?”

 

“Roberta said I should ask you.”

 

“Maria, my little love doll,” I sighed, the weight of the world upon my newly broader shoulders, “would you be angry with me if I said I was responsible?”

 

“I-I don’t understand,” she said, pulling away slightly so that she could better see my face.  “How could you be responsible?  Jake, do you know what is going on with me?”

 

Showtime.  “Well, let’s see, doll.  Firstly, you feel better now than you ever have before, right?”

 

She nodded, a slight frown of puzzlement crossing her features.

 

“Secondly, you feel an overwhelming love for Robbi?”

 

“Yes, I do.  But how…”

 

“Thirdly, your boobs are feeling better?  Maybe even getting a little bigger?”

 

“How…”

 

“I am responsible for all of that, Maria.  Or rather, I should say I made it possible.  Everything else is pretty much your doing.”  Her puzzlement was now full-blown confusion.

 

“My…doing?  I don’t understand.”

 

I rolled over and retrieved the cap from where I’d stowed it earlier in the day.  Her expression upon seeing it was almost exactly the same as Robbi’s had been that very first time.  She sat up and looked it over carefully while I explained the ‘official’ version of what Robbi and I thought were its capabilities.  Of course she bought every word of it: like her daughter, Maria had been programmed to trust me.  I felt bad, lying to a woman whose ass I had just so thoroughly enjoyed, but I figured Maria wouldn’t be too keen on hearing that I’d purposely turned her daughter, and soon her and her lover, into sexual showpieces. 

 

“So this cap…saved my life?  You saved my life?”

 

“I don’t know about that, but I’d say you are certainly a changed woman because of it.”

 

“So…do you think my boobs will grow like Roberta’s?”

 

“Is that what you’d like, doll?”  A pointless question, really.

 

She put the cap aside and pushed her lovely cans up and together, her erect nipples poking through her spread fingers, “I’d like that very much, Jake.”  She leaned over and kissed me, a long, deep, slow kiss that could only lead to someone having someone else’s dick inside them.  She rolled over on top of me and guided my stiff prick into her slippery cunny, gasping sweetly as it entered her.  She began riding me, as though I was a mechanical bull, and as much as I enjoyed my winsome iBod doing all the work, I couldn’t be denied sucking on her not-so-little boobies, which would very soon become a thing of the past.  She helped pull me up so that I could bury my face between her almost softball-sized tits, now as ripe and firm as a college girl’s.

 

“Oh, Jake,” she cried, moaning as she bounced up and down on my meat, “I love you.  I don’t know why, but I just want for you to fuck me like this all the time!”

 

I couldn’t speak terribly clearly, what with having an erect nipple in my mouth, but I’m pretty sure it sounded like, “I love you, too.”

 

“God, I wish Roberta were here now!” she panted, running her fingers through my hair while I massaged my face with her heaving milkers.”

 

“No need to worry about that, Mother.”  Soft hands gently grasped my shoulders, pulling me back and away from those exquisite breasts, pressing my back firmly onto the bed.  “I’m sorry, Jake, honey,” she said, leaning over me, her much larger hangers not quite obscuring the fact that she was as naked as the day she was born, “but those titties are mine.”  And without another word to me she threw a shapely leg up and over me and settled her sopping pussy over my mouth.

 

As my hands felt the weighty undersides of Robbi’s massive balloons and then Maria’s trim waist, as my cock was mercilessly kneaded by Maria’s meat grinder pussy and my face was bathed in the juices of her daughter’s gash, as I heard the two of them above me, moaning and kissing while we each got off on the enjoyment of the other’s bodies, I couldn’t help but think, who says people don’t know how to connect anymore?

 

 

Maria slept with us that night, which, for her tits, was all to the good.  I don’t know what arrangement she had with Eve, whether they were part-time lovers, or what, but I supposed it really didn’t matter – the psycho-sexual dynamics of our relationship, now, and once Eve joined our little group – were strictly up to me.  It did strike me as being more than a little psychotic, but I couldn’t see leaving the harmony and stability of three robots and a man up to mere chance.

 

But so much of what was happening in this relationship was puzzling – notably Maria’s behavior.  From that very first surprise blowjob to her telling me that she loved me, was none of my doing, at least not explicitly.  Banging her delightful body was certainly fun, but nothing I had done, insofar as programming, should make her want to have sex with me, much less love me.  All I could do was turn to old, dead William of Ockham, who whispered into my ear that it might just have something to do with blasting damn near half a million commands into Maria’s brain.

 

Well, hey, this was a new science; I was bound to make a few goofs here and there.

 

Robbi and Maria lay on the bed, both networked into the system: Maria being improved, Robbi just undergoing routine maintenance.  Normally I’d have them on different computers, but I’d decided to have them under the control of the same laptop.  The theory goes that I can have up to twenty-five fembots online at any one time; I figured the two of them could share safely.  I hoped so, as I needed the other laptop.

 

I was going to do it again.

 

I could make all the excuses I wanted: more time pressure, lack of sleep, etc., but the simple fact of the matter was that I wanted that bigger dick, pronto.  I pulled up the digital Jake and made a few adjustments, placing more emphasis on the swimsuit area; I could always work on the musculature later.  When next I woke, three hours hence, I should be packing major heat, plus some subtle improvements to the abs and chest – nothing that should raise any eyebrows.

 

I double and triple-checked everything; one error could have me dead, brain-fried, locked up, or on the business end of someone’s dick; all of those options definitely motivating me toward perfection.  When I was satisfied that everything was a-okay I sat back in the bedside chair, closed my eyes, and let go.

 

Coming back out of it the second time was not nearly so bizarre as the first time, just a slightly confusing sense of dislocation, of not knowing up from down.  But on the heels of that came an almost euphoric high, a feeling of great, good health, of infinite possibilities, of things that could not wait.

 

Well, the first thing that couldn’t wait was my prick; Crikey, the fucker still felt as warm as Maria’s boobs, which I could see were just passing grapefruit-sized.  I opened my robe and pulled down my boxers, as eager as a kid on Christmas morning.  “Oh,” I said, to no one in particular, ”now that really is impressive.”  I ran one hand up and down its considerable length, marveling at how truly good it felt.  I hurriedly took the little tape measure from the pocket of my robe, having got it ready beforehand; eight and one-eighth inches!  Bloody hell!  I looked down upon my two fembots, longing for at least one of them to be awake so that I could try out my great tool properly; I certainly didn’t want to waste it on a wank.

 

I could just slip it to Robbi; she had given me blanket permission to do so.  But I was beginning to lose count of the number of times I had more or less raped these innocent women, and while they had no knowledge of my actions, I couldn’t help but feel it wasn’t doing my psyche any good.  I caressed one of Robbi’s fat boobs, trying to figure out a way I could wake her and still leave Maria hooked in, when I caught a glance of my screensaver starting, a picture of Melony Cox-Zucker bent over a chair, her massive cans hanging down, her sweet ass just begging for it.

 

You don’t receive too many epiphanies in your life so it’s best to act on them without delay.  “Robbi, stand up.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

She stood by the side of the bed whilst I pulled up a Melony Cox-Zucker classic that I thought suitable for the occasion.  I positioned Robbi’s body in relation to the scene in the movie, sat down in the chair, and tapped the spacebar.  She went instantly from robotic stillness to slutty porn star in the blink of an eye.

 

She looked down at me, her eyes alight with sexual fire, “Is that for me?” the pornbot asked, a perfect reproduction of Melony’s voice and attitude.  She licked her full lips and dropped to her knees, her big funbags coming to rest on my thighs.  Despite the stupid cap she was so incredibly sexy, especially when she deftly swirled her tongue around the head of my engorged monster.  “Mmm,” she said, withdrawing her mouth only far enough to say, “just what every girl wants, darling: a nice, big cock.”  Silly dialogue, I know, but in the porn world one expects dicks, not Dickens.

 

Having my meat swallowed in this fashion was a truly mind-bending experience, very like having the actual Melony sucking me off.  Up and down her mouth went, a slave to the computer, making all the right noises at all the right times.  Being able to recreate scenes from classic porn was really great, the ultimate in virtual reality, but in all truth it paled in comparison to a properly designed and configured fembot.  Robbi, as a sentient flesh and blood girl put a little of her love into each and every blowjob she gave me, which, like taking the road less traveled, makes all the difference – with one notable exception.

 

With a pronounced ‘pop’, Robbi removed the flesh lollipop from her skilled mouth and stood up.  With the grace of a stripper – Melony’s first calling – she spun around, letting me gaze upon her lovely ass, backed up, and then slowly descended onto my very stiff prick.  Her snapping pussy, an accessory only available in fembot mode, literally sucked my cock into her depths and began kneading it, milking it.  “Holy fuck!” I gasped, as her computerized cunt mercilessly massaged my cock.  This had to be some sort of automatic, lizard brain response, I managed to think, while the sexbot continued mimicking the program.  Whenever anything was put inside Robbi’s, or Maria’s, funbox, those sugar walls instinctively went to work; squeezing, pulsing, or otherwise manipulating it so as to get that cum.  It was all speculation on my part; I just hoped it didn’t mean an egg automatically dropped down the tubes, as a knocked up fembot would be way too hard to explain.

 

And in short order, my big cock exploded within Robbi’s hole, filling her with goo.  I tapped the spacebar, freezing her right at the bottom of a downstroke, though her sweet snatch continued to milk my somewhat softened prick.  I let her carry on, stroking her smooth back while her pussy continued on autopilot, as I came down from that incredible orgasm.  But the semi-squatting position she was in had to be hurting like hell, though she certainly wouldn’t complain.  Her work done, I sent her off to the bathroom to clean up.

 

It was two o’clock in the morning, I was wide awake, and ready to greet the day: a quick shower, a little coffee.  It was so weird to ‘wake up’ at this time of day, even stranger still that my brain was just zipping along, firing on all cylinders.  I completed two hours of homework in a little under thirty minutes, which left me time (a rarity lately) to think.  It was time to take the next step.

 

“Robbi, come here, please.”  I don’t know why I was saying ’please’; good manners, I suppose.  She entered the room, her beautiful face impassive and untouchable, stopping only when her titanic tits were within licking distance.  I had her sit down at the table with me, (another rarity – we had work to do, and having her incredible cans in my face was just way too tempting).

 

“Robbi, can you access the Social Security Administration database?”

 

She blinked softly, “Yes, Master.”

 

“Can you create a new identity and place it in there?  Without anyone knowing that you’ve done so?”

 

She blinked again, “Yes, Master.”

 

I took a deep breath, more to keep myself from becoming dizzy than anything else.  This was so much more than I ever could have hoped for.  The idea had occurred to me the previous evening, when Robbi had retrieved Eve’s unlisted phone number without so much as batting her pretty, blue eyes.  She was the ultimate hacker, able to project her will into other systems, making them cough up whatever I wanted.

 

That morning I had Robbi create, not just a new identity for me, but also a new company:  Rossum’s Robotics.  It was, I’m sure, the height of arrogance, hiding my nefarious schemes in this ‘Purloined Letter’ fashion – chalk it up to having recently acquired a huge dick and an ego to match – I was pretty sure no one would get the joke.

 

Karl Rossum, PhD, was going to open some doors for me, his primary function to help me acquire new sensors for my fembots.  Maria, completely ignorant of the fact that she carried deep within her brain the means to control her, had so far performed flawlessly.  It was time for her daughter, and soon her lover, to join her.  I did have some qualms about taking such liberties, but the simple fact was I could not continue placing the cap on Robbi’s head every night – she was bound to catch me in the act at some point.  Also it was an aesthetics thing: I had created, in my humble opinion, the most beautiful and desirable woman in the world, and I found it a little distasteful having sex with her while she had it on – a total buzz-kill.

 

But as to the conversion and implantation of Eve, I could make no such defense; I was taking her for myself.  She had been, in her youth, a woman of such intoxicating perfection that I simply could not resist.  She would join us, and I would be content.  I would create no more iBods after her.

 

I had Robbi create an email account for Rossum’s Robotics, whereupon I dictated an email to BioTronics, the maker of the sensors, requesting to open an account with them.  I would have liked to use my dead professor dodge again, but going too many times to the well is what usually ends up getting you cornholed before breakfast every morning in the Graybar Hotel.

 

It wasn’t even five in the morning and I had done more than most Marines do all day, thanks solely to my big-titted PDA.  She looked so lovely sitting there, her big juggs resting on the table, that my johnson decided the two fembots had slept enough.  I ordered Robbi to go back in the bedroom and lie down while I shut everything down.

 

They looked so beautiful lying there, side by side in the big bed, mother and daughter; would it be so wrong for them to be identical?  Ah, who was I kidding, I was going to do it.  The idea of them being like, I don’t know, like two of the very first units off the assembly line was just too erotic to let go of.  I would begin their conversion tomorrow, but in the meantime there was one thing left to do.

 

Maria’s boobs were now the size of cantaloupes, firm and warm.  She was a great fuck, a great cocksucker, and knew practically as much about jerking off my dick as I did, but I needed her to be so much more; I needed her to be, like her daughter, an Ultimate Babe.  I grabbed the program and dragged it into her folder, thus beginning the process of her continuing education.

 

My morning thus far had been both productive and pleasurable, and I felt confident that my day could only improve.

 

 

 “Oh…my…God!”

 

Maria woke up pretty much like all chicks who’ve gained four cup sizes in one night do: ecstatic and ready to play.  I kept my eyes closed, feigning sleep and trying to keep a shit-eating grin off my face, while she went about the business of rediscovering herself.  I felt the waterbed shift about, ripples undulating about me, and then her warm body landing upon mine.

 

“Oh my God, Jake, look!”

 

I would have been only too happy to do so had she not plopped her melons right onto my face.  Criminy, their weight and warmth felt good, as properly sized breasts should.  She dragged them across my face, giving me one of the better facial massages I’ve ever had.  She pushed herself up, dangling them just above my lips, and then sat on my chest and began shimmying and shaking them about, giggling and laughing like a schoolgirl.

 

“Oh, Mother, they’re wonderful,” came Robbi’s voice, a little huskier than normal, owing to the fact that she had just ‘woken up’.  She moved in smoothly and latched onto one of her mother’s engorged nipples, while simultaneously reaching around her and grabbing hold of my rising cock.  “Well, it looks like the boob fairy does dicks, too,” she managed to moan around the fat tit, “Back up a little bit, Mother.”  And without another word, Robbi guided her mom backward, tit still in mouth, until Maria was well and truly speared on my enhanced cock.

 

“Oh, fuck!” she cried, as I bottomed out within her sopping canal, her sugar walls stretched tightly around my shaft, “It’s just how a cock should feel!”  She rode me, enjoying the feeling of fullness my sizable dick offered, while her daughter, just as determined to get hers, remounted my face, lowering her nether lips onto mine, thus giving me the best good morning kiss a man can hope for.

 

By 7:00 AM we had pretty much exhausted every position the Kama Sutra has to offer, as well as inventing two new ones – it’s amazing what two properly programmed and configured women can do – and lay back upon the sheets, tacky with our combined bodily fluids.  Both of them cuddled up to me, covering my chest with their warm tits, my legs with their silky, smooth thighs.

 

“Thank you for my titties, Jake,” Maria sighed, “they’re just so …wonderful.”  She sighed again, stroking her daughter’s big boob while Robbi did likewise.  “Jake,” she started, a little tentatively, tipping me off that she was about to ask the question I’d been waiting for, “I know you told me last night that you feel the cap should be kept a secret until we know exactly what it is that we’re dealing with, but…well…it’s just that there’s someone I know who could really use a…a boost.”

 

Man, I love it when shit goes my way.  “I don’t know, doll,” I said, with just the right amount of concerned hesitancy,  “I mean, you two babes (they positively cooed here) were the result of chance and necessity.  Bringing a third person in…well…I just don’t know.  And then there’s the issue of money…”

 

“Money, Jake?”

 

Yes, little doll.  That cap, I would say, is nearing the end of its useful life,” I lied.  “I would have to build a new one, and…”

 

She got up on one elbow and put a finger to my lips, shushing me.  “You’re right, Roberta, he does talk too much.  Could you…” she gestured to her daughter, a subtle nod.

 

“Sure, Mother,” Robbi replied, her full lips widening into a devilish grin.  She scootched down the bed, her giant boobies sort of trailing after her, until her mouth was level with my dick, which then disappeared faster than an éclair at a Weight Watchers meeting.

 

“Jake, beloved,” Maria began, distracting my attention from Robbi’s sword swallowing act, “I’m sure you know I’m a rich woman, and rich women generally hate being told no.  The tits you’ve given my daughter and me have a market value of, I believe, approximately $20,000.  So another pair of big boobs should bring our tab up to $30,000.  I think that should cover the cost of any materials you need, yes?”

 

I wasn’t looking for nearly this much dough, but I certainly wasn’t about to refuse.  “Maria, I…”

 

She shushed me again, this time with a kiss.  “Jake, I will leave a check for you on the table when I leave.  All I want to hear from you is ‘Yes, little doll.’”

 

I couldn’t help but smile, “Yes, little doll.”

 

“Thank you, Jake,” she said, her hand gently cupping my nutsack, then turned her pretty head back around to her daughter, “Roberta, dear, do make sure not to hog all of that tasty semen, okay?”

 

Robbi looked up, her mouth full of cock, and said something that sounded like, “Absolutely.” 

 

 

Robbi and I managed to make it to our eight o’clock Science class on time, finding seats in the back that allowed us a modicum of privacy, though boobs the size of Robbi’s made that notion pretty pointless as someone, somewhere, was always looking at us.  I actually sort of paid attention to the lecture, though I was often distracted by the incredible cleavage sitting on the desktop next to mine.  My distraction level increased, however, when about halfway through class Robbi started getting text messages on her iPhone.

 

“Jake,” she breathed hotly in my ear, “Mother has a question about your preferences in, um, wood.  Do you prefer light or dark?”

 

“Uh, what?” I whispered back, unable to think straight due to the fact that her free hand was stroking my wood underneath the desktop.

 

“Wood, my love,” she repeated, licking the inside of my ear with her talented tongue, “do you like dark wood, or blonde wood?

 

“Why do you want to know, my pet?” I replied, sliding my hand up the gap between her skin and the pink angora half-sweater she was wearing, so that I could fondle the underside of her braless udders.

 

“Because Mother is buying us a house, you big-dicked bastard,” she hissed, as I moved her tit so that her erect nipple was dragged across the scratchy material, causing her to accidentally nip my earlobe.

 

“A house?” I echoed, dropping the tit and pulling my ill-treated ear from danger, noticing quite a few heads quickly swiveling forward to face the front of the room.  “She’s buying us a house?”

 

“Well, she’s actually buying herself a house.  She’s just consulting us on what we like, what will make us feel at home.”

 

This was quite definitely unexpected.  I had figured on moving in with Robbi, if for no other reason than she has a truly awesome condo, complete with fireplace, hot tub, and a 54-inch plasma screen that would make porn come truly alive (which was pretty stupid on my part as I had already done just that, hadn’t I?), but moving in with Maria?

 

“Jake?” she whispered, her full lips beckoning.

 

When I was a little kid, my Mum nicknamed me ‘Electric Jake’.  Not because I was hyperactive or anything, but rather that I’d shown a tendency for following the path of least resistance.  She never accused me of being lazy, pointing out that whenever I engaged in something I usually put more effort into things than just about anyone else: it was the getting me engaged at all that was usually the problem.

 

And now I was engaged, after a fashion, with two, soon to be three, smokin’ hot women: would I be following the path of least resistance if I let Maria choose where I was to live?

 

Robbi began typing something into her phone, but I was unable to see what due to the large breasts that that blocked my view.  It appeared as though they were discussing my living arrangements, something that was really none of their fucking business. 

 

“Mother says she understands if you’re concerned about your independence and that you are, of course, free to keep your apartment if you wish, but advises that the pussy will be fresher at the new house.”

 

“Listen, Robbi,” I whispered, a little tensely, “I really…”

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Jake, but Mother also wants to know if you think one stripper pole is enough, or should we have two installed?”

 

“Tell her two,” I sighed, resigned to the fact that Mum was right.  Well, if following the path of least resistance leads one to a life of on-demand lap dances, it’s a character flaw I can live with.

 

 

My ninety-minute break between classes was a flurry of activity, what with getting a much needed goodbye blowjob from Robbi, racing across campus to my bank so that I could deposit Maria’s check, then electronically transferring $20,000 of it into my Rossum’s account (Biotronics had emailed me back saying that they would gladly sell to me provided that I gave them my e-signature, promising that I wouldn’t sell their technology to countries that like blowing shit up more than we like blowing shit up), renting a P.O. box, ordering three new pairs of sensors (always, always, always have a backup), and having a smoke before my eleven o’clock Multivariable Calculus class.

 

I was thankful for the tedium of my mail-sorting job, even though my enhanced dick was throbbing fit to split.  I had only just begun loading carts, however, when my phone rang.

 

“Hello, my love,” Robbi purred, “Mother wants to know if there’s anything you don’t want the movers to take.”

 

“Movers?”

 

“Yes, dear, the ones Mother hired to get the new house in order.  She needs to know if there’s anything you’re not comfortable with them handling.”

 

“She’s already b-bought the house?” I spluttered.  It shouldn’t have surprised me, not really.  On that paper Maria had printed for me showing her net worth, were more than twenty properties, ranging from a couple of strip malls in Los Angeles, to an office building in Seattle, a ski lodge in Vail, a villa in Tuscany, hell, even an island in the Aegean.  Maria bought houses like most people buy socks.

 

But this was all too much, too soon.  I needed to get some sort of handle on my life, which, despite all my efforts to the contrary, was spinning out of control.  I might have programmed Robbi and Maria, but they weren’t ‘Sims’; they were real flesh and blood women with their own ideas and motivations, implanted or otherwise, and they would do what they would do, consistent with their programming.  I would just have to be ready, relaxed, and flexible.

 

I sighed, and told Robbi that they were free to move everything, but were not to touch anything even remotely computer related: their original, unmodified brains were residing on some of those discs and I was not about to trust the identities, the memories, the very essences of three women, to the ham hands of a couple of guys named ‘Cheech’.

 

 

 “Crikey,” I muttered, as Robbi pulled into the driveway.  It was big, all right, and by big I mean William Randolph Hearst big.  The garage was bigger than the house I grew up in, and I had a nasty suspicion that I would find the closets bigger than my bedroom had been (I later found that not to be the case however, the maid’s closet was slightly smaller).

 

Robbi led me on a tour of the grounds, giving a running commentary as we hiked.  Built in 1978, it was one of those ‘wedding cake’ style houses: multi-layered, cantilever decks, white concrete walls, and a fuckload of floor-to-ceiling glass windows.  The pool was adequate for someone who had a gold medal in the butterfly stroke, but what truly made my eyes bug out was the grotto – an exact replica of the one at the Playboy Mansion, causing me to wonder whether Maria hadn’t bought this house considering my needs above all.  It would be tough getting used to this opulence, but I would certainly give it my best.

 

Robbi led me up the exterior stairway to ‘my room’, which it was due solely to the fact that that was where my waterbed and other furniture from my shitty apartment had been put.  She made sure I knew that though this was my personal space, my sanctuary if need be, I was free to sleep – and fuck – in any room of the house.

 

“And speaking of which, monsieur,” she offered throatily in her sexiest French accent, and lowering the zipper of her angora sweater so that her babies could greet me cordially, “would you like to continue ‘ze tour, or to fuck my titties?”

 

It had been eight hours since my enhanced dick had been inside something; far too long in my opinion.  I put the discs safely on my little lacquered side table and jumped on her, warmed by the knowledge that when it came to any aspect of life, I could finally and utterly retire the word ‘shitty’.

 

 

Robbi showed me the rest of the house after wiping her cleavage clean of my DNA.  Despite the fact that it was almost seven o’clock there were still movers, carpenters, and other laborers working, probably being paid out the wazoo for what appeared to me to be a rush job, although after seeing my fembot jiggle by in her short skirt, fuzzy sweater, and sky-high heels, I’m sure practically all of them would offer to work for free.

 

She showed me the kitchen, which looked as though it could crew twenty without jostling elbows, and babbled happily about all the things she would be able to cook for me, then the dining room, where she snuggled up to me, promising me that once everyone was gone she would be serving me her fresh, delicious snapper.

 

On to the basement, which had, Darwin knows why, an indoor swimming pool (I guess 56 degrees in the dead of Winter is too much for some people).  It also held the laundry, as well as a decent workshop that would come in quite handy.  Back upstairs we toured the game room, music room, and an actual fucking library; it just went on and on.

 

Back up to the second floor, which was pretty much devoted to sleeping quarters.  Every bedroom had its own fireplace and bathroom, and, of course, stunning views of the grounds, which I felt would probably be best appreciated while doing it doggie-style.  Robbi’s bedroom was practically a twin to mine, save that hers had everything necessary for turning an already hot chick into someone with whom Aphrodite couldn’t compete: make up, perfumes, brushes, tweezers, rollers, boots, belts, bags, bras, corsets, leggings, tights, teddies, body stockings, and this was just the tip of one big-ass iceberg.  Had she amassed most of this shit in the short time since I’d installed Ultimate Babe in her?  Crikey, if that was the case she should have been in charge of FEMA – post-Katrina New Orleans would have been back on track in two days and never smelled better.

 

I supposed Queen Elizabeth’s bedroom was probably bigger than Maria’s, but not by much.  The bed looked as though it could sleep twelve fairly acrobatic people, and of course had the obligatory mirrored ceiling that one simply cannot do without.  There were also numerous chaises, an antique writing desk, daybed, dining set, and an armoire that must have used up an acre of Brazilian rainforest.  “What, no trampoline?” I asked, sarcastically.

 

“Oh, that’s upstairs,” she said simply.

 

And it was upstairs that we found Maria, looking extraordinarily fuckable in an off-the-shoulder, charcoal-gray mini sweater dress, talking to a young woman I took to be an interior designer, a petite brunette who was sporting an obviously fake pair of DD’s.  It must suck, going through all that work, paying someone to make you bigger, only to find yourself still outclassed, and in this room she was definitely bottom of the heap

 

“I’m sorry, Ms. Stark,” she said in a squeaky little voice, looking down at her comparatively tiny cans, “the warehouse was all out of the giant floor pillows, but I swear I’ll have some for you by tomorrow morning.”

 

“Relax, dear,” Maria crooned, putting an arm around her, her now quite ample breasts pressing into the little girl’s shoulder, “you’ve done a remarkable job on such short notice.  This will do for tonight.”

 

‘This’ was like a scene from Ali Baba & the Forty Thieves’ meet Deep Throat.  What was obviously once a ballroom could still retain the name, although it would certainly have a much different connotation now.  Practically every last window and wall had been covered with colorful wall hangings and draperies.  Thick foam mats, reminiscent of my high school gym classes, were being laid over the intricate parquet floor.  In one corner stood a stage that had probably hosted chamber musicians, jazz bands, even a small orchestra, but which had been quickly retrofitted with two gleaming stripper poles and lit with garishly colored lights.  Radiating out from this were plush couches, beanbag chairs, and heaps and heaps of floor pillows in every color imaginable.  And in the very center of the room, beneath the ornate glass-domed ceiling, sat the biggest trampoline I have ever laid eyes on.

 

Here and there, large flat-panel plasma screens were being hung from the ceiling, so many of them that it appeared that a person would probably never be further than eight feet away from one, and still more electricians were working to install what appeared to be remotely-controlled spotlights.  It was so over the top that even Caligula, upon seeing all of this, would have whistled through his teeth, clapped me on the back, and said, “Dude.”

 

“There you are!”  Maria cried, her arm still around the little designer, and giving us a wide smile.  “Come here, you two.  You simply must meet Kat!”

 

It was truly a Kodak moment.  The expression on the brunette’s face as Robbi and Maria embraced one another was one of surprise, disbelief, and utter bewilderment, as she found herself suddenly awash in a sea of tits that were bigger than her head.  I didn’t know if she was hetero or not, but I was reasonably sure that by the time my two fembots finished cleaning each other’s tonsils and rubbing their big boobs together she would definitely want to start eating at the ‘Y’.

 

They broke apart only far enough to allow me to kiss Maria, tasting both her and her daughter on her tongue at the same time.  As I pulled away, I registered the even more astonished look on Kat’s face.

 

“Jake, Roberta, this is Kathryn Darling, no relation to the girl in ‘Peter Pan’.  Don’t you just love what she’s done?  And in such a short time, too.

 

I noted that Maria, in this not quite private situation, avoided using the word ‘daughter’ in reference to Robbi, which pleased me greatly as it meant that I hadn’t completely fucked her up.  But it was funny watching the two of them together, both of them constantly touching each other and always keeping some part of their exquisite bodies in contact with Kat, double-teaming her, keeping her off balance.  Had my programming done this?  Was it Ultimate Babe?

 

Not that I could blame them for having their fun; Kat, in painted-on blue jeans and a white blouse, was certainly a delectable piece: a wasp waist doll barely five feet high, her fake juggs were probably the heaviest parts of her body.  If I hadn’t sworn not to, I would be considering how to turn her into fembot number four.

 

“It really looks wonderful, dear, but the three of us must scoot.  Don’t work your people too late.”

 

“Are we leaving, Mo…?”

 

“Yes, Roberta, I’m afraid so,” she replied quickly, subtly reminding Robbi that their relation to each other was not exactly for public consumption at this time.  I didn’t know how they would behave in the presence of servants – a place this size looked to need rather a lot.  “The person I told you about this morning would like to meet tonight, if that’s all right.”

 

Of course it was all right – the sooner I began programming Eve, the sooner I would be enjoying her red-fringed snatch.  It would involve some sacrifice on my part, though; it looked as if I wouldn’t get to see my fembot’s striptease act until tomorrow.  “No problem, Maria, ready when you are.”

 

“But we were going to…” Robbi started, looking distressed by the sudden change of plans.

 

“I know, Roberta, and I’m sorry, but Eve very much wants to meet Jake, and I did promise her…”

 

“Tell you what, pet,” I said, channeling Hammurabi the lawgiver, “why don’t Maria and I go and see to Eve, and you can thank Kat, here, by serving her the snapper you were going to give me?  You like snapper, don’t you Kat?”

 

“Is it like sushi?” she asked, tearing her wide, dark eyes away from my girlfriend’s melons.  “I love sushi.”

 

“Oh, then I’m sure you’ll love Robbi’s snapper,” which I was pretty sure she would.  I mean, I’ve never met anybody who loved sushi that didn’t love fresh pussy.  They’re practically the same thing really.

 

 

 

Chapter 12

Dawn of a New Eve

 

“So this…thing… just unleashes the power of the mind?  How is that possible?”

 

She was nervous, not that I could blame her; I suppose people on the threshold of a miracle usually are.  She was looking very smart in an impeccably tailored knee-length green dress which I would be happy to see go once her tits attained more respectable proportions.  She had welcomed me graciously into her home, offered us drinks, though I settled on a Dr. Pepper as I had no wish to fuck things up like I had during Maria’s conversion.  But it had been quite obvious during Maria’s introductions and the subsequent small talk that Eve was a little wary of me.  Did she suspect that I was nailing her inamorata?  I doubted it, since my balls were still attached.

 

She handled the cap carefully, with a true respect for technology, looking it over, apparently trying to find some reason not to do this.  Since we had only just met, I let Maria explain it to her, figuring it would save time if Eve heard the fantastic tale coming from her lover (Maria had told me on the drive over, one hand holding the wheel, the other pumping my large cock, that Eve seemed to listen to her more nowadays).  She looked skeptically at Maria’s beautiful face, but then longingly at her oversized boobs.  She was fighting hard, trying to maintain some element of suspicion that something wasn’t right, but those big knockers had already pretty much decided her that she would be donning the cap tonight.

 

“Very well,” she sighed, “what do you need me to do, Jake?”

 

I gestured toward the chaise longue, the biggest piece on furniture in the smallish living room, “As my dad would say, Eve, ‘Just lie back and think of England.’”

 

Despite it all, she laughed.

 

 

 “Maria, my doll, could you get me another soda, please?”

 

“Sure, Jake.  Be right back.”

 

She took my glass, and clacked off to the kitchen, her pert fanny swinging deliciously.  As soon as she rounded the corner, leaving her sleeping lover and me alone, I jacked in Eve’s digital image and uploaded her new programming:

 

I love the changes that are taking place in my body.

I must not tell anyone how the changes in my body are occurring.

Jake is quite handsome.

I trust Jake.

 

Maria’s heels announced her impending return so I hid everything behind the EEG program window and sat back, more than a little pleased that the beauty that Eve had once possessed would be reclaimed, even improved upon, and that she would be mine, my very own perfect angel.

 

Maria placed the glass on the table next to me, her big boobs rolling around inside her sweater dress as she bent over, almost knocking over a little geisha doll, “You’re sure she won’t wake up?”

 

“Not until I disconnect her, which won’t be for another three hours.”

 

“So then, um, what do we do now?” she asked, moving in and nuzzling my ear.

 

“You,” I said, getting up from the leather club chair, a virtual twin to mine save that this one was light green and was lower backed.  I came around it and she melted into my arms.  She was ever so much hotter, now that Ultimate Babe had her wearing makeup, and the combination of the mini dress, bare shoulders, the big hoop earrings, high heels, and permed, shoulder-length blonde hair was enough to make a eunuch sprout wood.  Her full lips were ever so slightly parted, an invitation for someone to stick something between them; I settled in the short term for my tongue.  We thrashed about like a pair of eels, Maria squealing as I tweaked her hard nipples through the thin fabric of her dress.  I reached down with both hands and found the hem of it and began rolling it up her warm, squirming body, and when the material crested her delectable ass I found that she had gone commando tonight.  I moaned as we kissed, realizing that this scrap of clothing was all she’d been wearing since I’d laid eyes on her this evening.  I lost no time in pulling it up the rest of the way and then off, allowing her giant cans to spill out and wobble freely upon her chest.

 

I bent her over the low chair and stroked her fine ass, while her lesbian lover lay five feet in front of her, being slowly converted into my titian-haired Bride of Frankenstein.  I lowered my zipper and brought out my engorged tool, though I did have to bend a little awkwardly to get it out, such was its length now.  I placed its bulbous head at the slick gateway to her core and worked it up and down her nether lips, eliciting moans from my very turned-on fembot.

 

“Please don’t tease me, Jake,” Maria mewled piteously, arching her back, causing her pendulous juggs to sway beneath her, “Stick that thing inside me now.”

 

And being the kind and gentle master I am, I did, although with agonizing slowness, my prick enjoying every millimeter of her penetration until it was buried to the hilt within her bucking body.  God, her pussy was like molten lava around my iron bar cock, and as I continued to stroke in and out of her searing cunt I found my breathing becoming ever more ragged.  I bent over and took a fat tit in each hand, gripping and squeezing her firm milkers, and began pounding her pussy with an intensity that could only end with the both of us spontaneously combusting.

 

I held off cumming inside Maria’s sweet cunny for as long as I could – an Olympian feat – and was rewarded for my pains as I heard her moans begin turning into shrieks, felt her breasts becoming warmer in my hands and her smooth thighs beginning to tremble violently, and then the unparalleled sensation of her snatch constricting tightly around my meat, gripping it like a fist and jerking me off.

 

We came together, screaming and bucking, Maria apparently completely oblivious to the fact that she fucking me in front of her lover.  As I shot my last jet of cum inside my beautiful doll, I collapsed upon her already spent form, our breathing in chorus, like two finely tuned machines.

 

“Goodness, Jake,” she said, her voice a little muffled by her intervening bosom, “if you do that to every girl who brings you a drink, I’m never letting you out of the house.”

 

“As long as I’m inside you, my doll, I would never want to leave it.”

 

“Oh, Jake,” she sighed, “you certainly do know how to treat women.”

 

“That I do, little doll,” I said, looking over her smooth back to see my work-in-progress laying on the chaise, growing slowly younger and bustier, “that I most certainly do.”

 

 

 “Kathryn isn’t just a coincidence, is she?”

 

“What do you mean, Jake?” Maria asked, looking up at me with her wide eyes, the picture of innocence.

 

I cocked an eyebrow, a little amused at my fembot’s transparent evasion.

 

“Oh, all right,” she said guiltily, dropping the damp washcloth she’d been polishing my cock with onto the wood floor, narrowly missing her sleeping lover’s pumps, “it’s just that…she needs this, Jake.”

 

“Needs…what, exactly?”  I was a little concerned by her behavior, by this storied women’s advocate’s apparent desire to see her spiritual sisters turned into cum-guzzling sex objects.

 

“Freedom!” she said defiantly, rising to her knees, a big-titted William Wallace.  “Kat needs to be freed, and you’re the only one who can give her that.”

 

“Freed from what, Maria?  She looked pretty free to me, not to mention pretty damned imaginative when it comes to creating orgy spaces.”

 

“Did you like her tits, Jake?”

 

“I, uh…” I started, a little thrown by this Joe Frazier left hook, “well, yeah, they looked nice.  Fake, but nice.”

 

“Jake, why do you think a wispy little thing like Kat would get such huge implants?”

 

“I don’t know, doll.  Some women…”

 

“You are a dear man, my love, but you don’t know much about women.”  It took every ounce of self-control I had, not to roll my eyes at her pronouncement, considering that I knew far more about how Maria thought than Maria did, but she did know Kathryn better than I, so I shut up and gave her the floor.  “She used to be married to a perfectly horrible man.  Oh, he never beat her, or anything like that – what he did was worse, in my opinion – he took away her identity.”  I must have looked as if I was about to say something because she put a finger to my lips, shushing me, “Please don’t interrupt, Jake.”

 

I had no intention of interrupting her; in actuality I was too busy thinking that, in Maria’s eyes, I might be worse than a wife-beater.  I mean, I had to admit I wasn’t exactly engaging in the kind of behavior of which Mum and Dad would approve, but Robbi and Maria were probably the happiest women on the planet.  Surely that had to count for something in my favor.

 

“Kat, as you are aware, is a very attractive woman, but her pig husband saw to it that she didn’t see herself that way.  He constantly denigrated her, both publicly and privately, belittling her, tormenting her, brainwashing her until she believed she was everything he said she was.  She was a C-cup, Jake, with supple, pouting boobs, but they weren’t big enough for him, and so to please him she had them implanted.  And do you know what he did?  He left her.  The anesthesia hadn’t even worn off before he was shacking up with some little junior college tramp with a bust measurement bigger than her I.Q.”

 

I hung on her every word, so engrossed was I in her tale.  So engrossed, in fact, that I failed to notice that at some point during her impassioned speech, her warm juggs had come to rest in my lap, gradually enveloping my prick within their fleshy embrace; and the more she spoke, the more strident she became, her capable hands slowly, but surely, moving those big funbags up and down, caressing my cock.

 

“…she actually considered suicide because of that pig.  And after all of this, she’s thinking about having them taken out.  But you can heal her, Jake,” she implored me, fat tears leaking from her crystal blue eyes, so very like her daughter’s.  “You can make her better, as you have done for Roberta and me, as you are doing for my Eve.”

 

Despite my earlier misgivings, despite even my oath that I would create no more of them, Maria’s argument, and her tears, moved me.  They splashed upon my chest, eloquent in their soundless death, and I likewise returned the favor, my spray surging forth, like the unstoppable Pacific, breaking upon her and showering her with my unspoken commitment to her cause.

 

The things I do for my fembots.

 

 

 

Chapter 13

That Darn Kat

 

The two of them lay on the big bed, naked, asleep in each other’s arms, Kathryn’s head resting sweetly upon Robbi’s boobs.  They looked so achingly beautiful in the soft moonlight streaming through the high windows, like alabaster statues wrought by the hand of a master, that Michelangelo would have climbed off his scaffold, told his willowy little boys to take a hike, and fucked the both of them on the spot.

 

The small, satisfied smile that sat upon Kathryn’s lips gave me pause.  I don’t have to do this, I thought, the cap in my hand poised just inches above her head, another fleeting attack of conscience niggling at me.  But I had done so much wrong so far, whether by accident, or by the need to save my own skin; did another girl, more or less, really matter?

 

“Yes!” cried Mr. Reasonable, whose presence really made me want me to take a cordless drill to my skull at that moment, “everything you have done thus far, while morally reprehensible, has at least stemmed from some understandable, and therefore forgivable, motivation.  But this, Jake, this is just being greedy.”

 

“Balls, I say!” responded The Advocate, his imaginary string tie and flat-brimmed black hat belying the wisdom of his words.  “From everything that Eve has said, Kathryn is practically a robot already.  Jake is simply improving on her programming, upgrading her, so to speak.  Sort of a cyber-psychologist, am I right, Jake?”

 

Cyber-psychologist, I thought; liking the sound of it.  The Advocate was right; I wasn’t doing this for me, this was for Kathryn’s benefit.  I wasn’t creating a sexbot, or a servant; I would be healing a poor, troubled woman, and also preventing a thoroughly unnecessary breast reduction.

 

I lowered the cap onto her pretty head and looked at the screen, awaiting confirmation that fembot number four was acquired.  Ever since Maria’s creation I had always been tense when acquiring a new unit, anxious that something might go wrong, wondering about the possibility that I might find someone who would be immune to the subordination of their mind – pretty heady stuff for someone who’d never taken Psych 101, but pointless in light of the new icon that had just popped up on my screen.  I created a new file named ‘Kathryn’ and began the process of copying her brain onto my computer – welcome to the family, Kat.

 

“Good morning, Jake.”

 

I gasped, jerking away from the newly acquired fembot, damn near knocking the laptop off the nightstand.  Robbi, her eyes open, her expression unreadable in the shadow of the headboard, was looking up at me.

 

“Robbi,” I started guiltily, “I…”

 

“Will she have huge boobs, too?” she asked me simply, cocking her head slightly.

 

“I, uh…”

 

“I bet she will,” she sighed, stretching her long legs beneath the silk sheets, being careful not to disturb her new toy’s head from its perch atop her flesh pillows.  She reached up, cupping one of Kat’s heavy funbags, flicking her thumb across the nipple, which became involuntarily erect at the contact.  “All girls want bigger boobs, Jake.  It’s just fear, or sour grapes, if they say they don’t.”

 

I quelled my desire to give in to the shakes, relieved that my ninja fembot wasn’t going to cave in my larynx.  She actually approved of my behavior?

 

Robbi squeezed the fat tit in her hand, and kissed her petite playmate sweetly upon her temple, just below the band of the cap.  “Mother called about ten minutes ago, to tell me she wouldn’t be home until morning, and to make sure I rewarded you properly.”

 

“That was…sweet of her,” I said, my heart pounding in my chest.  I didn’t like how this was playing out, as though my fembots were somehow colluding, gathering information perhaps.

 

“She also said it was wild watching you work.  How Eve wouldn’t wake up until you decided she should; how she had no memory of what went on around her when she did wake up.  Don’t you think that’s wild, Jake?”

 

“Wild stuff, all right, pet.”  What was she getting at?  Were they beginning to figure out that it might not be coincidence that I was the center point of their lives, and that the two of them were being subordinated to my desires, my tastes?  I had been stupidly arrogant to have begun working with Eve in the presence of Maria – what the fuck had I been thinking?  And, more importantly, what the fuck were they thinking?

 

Robbi put her arms around the unconscious form and held her close, “She’s so little and cute,” she said, nuzzling her, “can I keep her?”

 

Oh, Christ, I thought, this was getting out of hand.  My fucking fembot wants a pet?  My eyes had adjusted to the light sufficiently enough so that I could read Robbi’s expression now.  She was looking at me plaintively, biting her lower lip, apparently worried that I might tell her no, which my better nature was telling me I must do.  But the look in her eyes was more than I could bear, and Robbi had, in truth, given me so much more than I had given her; I really couldn’t see the harm in it.

 

“Very, well, Robbi,” I sighed.  “You mother wanted her set free but I suppose you can keep her.  Should we get her spayed?” I asked, stroking Kat’s thigh, fighting to keep from leering.

 

Robbi let go the tit and pushed my hand away, grinning, “She’s my Kitten, Jake, though I might let you play with her from time to time.  Oh, my very own big-boobed, darling Kitten,” she sighed, nuzzling and kissing her newly won pet, her hand returning to the caressing of its big tit.  “I do hope they’ll get bigger, though.  As big as mine, maybe even bigger.”

 

“Bigger than yours, pet?” I said, sure that my eyes were probably as round as saucers.  “I doubt that.  Maria told me she got those implants in order to please her ‘pig husband.’”

 

“Well, that’s fine, then,” she said, her fingers squeezing her Kitten’s tit heatedly.  “I’ll just tell her that she can grow them to please me.  And I’ll want her to please me – a lot!”

 

Robbi continued to stroke, fondle, and nuzzle her new pet, giggling all the while, and I, by virtue of having a penis, watched, my mouth dry, as my first ever fembot began taking practically the same liberties with this woman as I had once done with her.  She was like a wild thing, moaning now, apparently unable to stop herself from enjoying the pleasures of her pet’s warm, unprotesting body.  She suckled on those well-crafted tits, swirling her tongue around one erect nipple while rolling the other one between her fingers, moving further down the bed, licking her way down to Kat’s flat belly, her fingers clutching at the tanned thighs, bending her knees so that her own sweet ass presented itself, her beardless clam a shining beacon of pleasure in the moonlit room.

 

My cock was now at full mast, my pulse pounding in my temples, beating out a code that translated as ‘fuck…something…now.’  I stood up quickly and shucked my jeans to the floor faster than any human being has ever done and came around to the foot of the bed where Robbi’s moist slit was practically winking at me, beckoning me to enter.  I got on the bed, and positioned myself squarely behind that gorgeous rump, glorying in its softness as it swayed in front of me, nudging my dick to and fro, stopping only when I slipped its full length into her lovely warmth.

 

“Omigod!” Robbi yelled, her head snapping up quickly.  “Jake!  Kitten’s pussy!  It’s got me!”

 

“I hear you, baby,” I moaned, barely hearing her as her slippery cunny lovingly embraced every inch of my long, thick sausage.  “God, I love your pussy!”

 

“Not my pussy, Jake, hers!  It’s sucked my finger right into it!”

 

Oh, Christ, I thought, my brain coming back to what I laughingly call reality, my rampant cock buried to the hilt inside my own sexbot; I should have seen this coming.

 

“Oh, Jake,” she said, her voice alive with wonder, this is so cool!  You’ve got to try this!”

 

“Um, Robbi?” I asked, no longer stroking but still deep inside her body, and hoping like hell I could bullshit her convincingly, considering the distraction posed by her own incredibly tight snatch, “what are you talking about?”

 

“Kat’s pussy, Jake!” she said excitedly.  “It’s like it’s alive or something!  Here!”  And before I knew what was happening she jumped up, causing my turgid meat to slap my stomach with a wet thud, and, as if she were in a wrestling match, she whipped around so that she was now facing me, kneeling over her unconscious playmate, her strong thighs straddling Kat’s neck and shoulders, forcing those big, fake funbags up and together.  She grabbed my right hand excitedly and guided it to Kat’s vulnerable opening, nudging the soft lips with my now nerveless fingers.  “Try it, Jake!  I’ll bet you’ve never felt anything like it before!”

 

My head was swimming with the bizarreness of the scene, and I knew I had to proceed with the utmost care: Robbi was now witness to the most earth-shaking technology ever created, but she also had access to a woman in fembot mode.  Her sopping hole hovered barely inches over Kat’s mouth; if either of us said the wrong thing, Robbi might well feel her Kitten’s tongue begin lapping at her own pussy, and it would be too much to hope that she wouldn’t start putting two and two together, possibly realizing that Kathryn, and therefore any woman – including herself – was potentially a fully programmable pleasure droid.  I had to somehow defuse this situation before it got even more out of hand.  “But, Robbi,” I said, hoping she would mistake the shaking of my voice as passion denied, rather than the balls-out fear I was feeling, “I can’t do that.  That would be, um, wrong.”

 

“Nonsense!” she cried, her eyes blazing, her long-fingered hands now gripping the fat, flesh melons trapped between her thighs, unconsciously squeezing them as she spoke.  “This is Science, Jake!” she boomed, eerily reminiscent of the black-hatted bastard who often rules my brain, “Stick ‘em in there, it’s okay.  She is my Kitten, after all.”

 

I felt it would be better to appease her at the moment, rather than argue a moral point I certainly had failed to live by.  I gently parted Kat’s moist labia with my two outstretched fingers, felt the heat emanating from her eager cunt and the pulsations within as it waited to be penetrated.  Robbi sat across from me, her chest heaving, her expression wild.  “Go on, Jake, do it.  It really is the coolest thing!”

 

I moaned automatically as Kat’s sugar walls clamped down on my fingers, as I had done with Robbi, as I had done with all my fembots, save for Eve.  All pussy feels great, I know, but the snapping pussy of a fembot is vastly superior; the difference between hamburger and filet mignon.

 

“It’s neat, isn’t it?” she asked.  “I just bet your cock would love it, too.”

 

“Robbi,” I gasped, ”you can’t be serious.  That would be ra…”

 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” she said, smiling lasciviously, her fingers now positively buried in the soft flesh of Kat’s breasts.  “Go on, your cock is right there, just a few inches away, all nice and hard and ready to play.”  She released her death grip on her pet’s boobs and slowly leaned over, and, grasping Kat’s legs behind the knees, raised her fine ass upwards, presenting me with a loving cup of the finest kind, “You did give me a kitten, after all, Jake.  The least I can do is give you a little pussy.”

 

I couldn’t believe what was happening: Robbi, my sweet, big-boobed prototype was sitting here exhorting me to rape her unconscious lover.  Why she was acting this way I had no idea; I hadn’t programmed it, and I was pretty sure Ultimate Babe didn’t approve of rape (which reminded me that I really must take a detailed look at that program in the very near future).  So either this was Robbi’s raw personality when given a little power, or, and I think was the most likely explanation, that I had completely fucked her up.  Well, the first pancake is usually a little burnt, isn’t it?

 

“Robbi…” I said in a voice of forced calm, forced because my throbbing prick, so very close to Kat’s split, wet beaver, was straining like a dog on a leash, wanting to have at that tender, young pussy, “…pet…I, um...”

 

The eloquence of my argument seemed to be working on her, for her manic expression began to soften, as though her sense of right and wrong was being restored.  “Oh, Jake,” she said softly, looking down at the vulnerable body lying between us, ”I’m so sorry.  I-I guess I just got carried away.”

 

“That’s all right, pet,” I said, barely able to concentrate what with the vision of four big tits and one very wet and ready cunt before me, and here I was saying, ‘No problem, I’ll just sit here until my overheated balls reach critical mass, thank you very much – virtue is its own reward, my ass!

 

“Oh, and look at you, poor baby,” she crooned, her eyes rapt upon my rampant tool, “Let’s see if I can’t help you with that swelling.”

 

And with the grace of a ballerina she lowered her upper body down, almost completely eliminating Kat from view, grabbed my johnson and began licking the head like an ice cream cone.  God, her tongue was talented, and I moved forward so that she could take my length down her trained throat.  It was bliss, being gobbled by Robbi, so much so that I failed to notice when, at the end of a long stroke, she smoothly popped my engorged monster right into her Kitten’s grasping cunt.  “Oh, you bitch,” I moaned, gasping as my cock was drawn fully inside her pet’s body.

 

“I don’t really think you mean that, Jake,” she said with a low giggle, straightening back up, her eyes hungrily searching mine, enjoying my inordinate pleasure vicariously, “but you are free to stop whenever you want.  Do you want to stop, Jake?”

 

I was spared having to answer that question as her mouth quickly fastened onto mine, her tongue quelling any incipient protest I might make, any token resistance I might offer.  I felt her hands grab mine, and place them onto Kat’s firm knockers.  Despite my earlier worries I was enjoying the feel of her, inside and out.  I also assuaged my concerns over Robbi accidentally finding out about the subservience of a fembot: if her lips were busy she couldn’t give orders.

 

But Robbi broke the kiss, and put her lips up to my ear and whispered hotly, “That’s it, Jake, fuck my sweet, little pussy!”

 

I hardly needed Robbi to tell me what to do when it came to fembot fucking.  I stroked savagely in and out of Kat’s pussy, which remorselessly kneaded, massaged, and manipulated my cock, all in apparent, unconscious desire to obtain my seed, a prize my overworked ‘nads would be only too happy to give up.

 

As Robbi began nuzzling my neck in a fashion she knew drove me wild, I looked up at the mirrored ceiling; Kat’s body was completely hidden from view, save for her legs, which were still high in the air, bouncing about in response to my fevered thrusting, almost as if she were being utterly consumed by some horrific monster.

 

Robbi continued whispering in my ear every dirty phrase that Ultimate Babe had shoved into her brain, while I repeatedly rammed my meat into what she now considered her property, “Do it, Jake!” Robbi moaned throatily, rubbing her clit back and forth across her pet’s chin, her hands now clasped around my lower back, setting the rhythm for my strokes in and out of Kat’s superlative funbox, “Cum in my hot cunt!”

 

Which I did, loudly; my feral grunts and yells mingling with hers as we both came hard, our screams echoing throughout the empty house, thankful we weren’t in my old apartment as the commotion would likely have drawn a SWAT team response.

 

 

We both lay there, on either side of her, our breathing having only recently returned to normal.  Kat’s breathing, of course, had not changed one bit.  “Robbi, I…”

 

“Did my pussy do that, Jake?”

 

“Your pussy, Robbi…?”  I wasn’t surprised by the question, having figured it would probably be asked in short order; I was mostly just stalling for time.

 

“Mm-hmm,” she responded, having gone back to cuddling her new kitten.  “Did my pussy suck your cock inside me that first day, when I wore the cap?”

 

“No, Robbi, it did not,” I replied truthfully, having first visited her meat grinder pussy on the second day of our new and improved lives.  “I had no idea that would happen to Kat.  Do you think the cap is somehow responsible?”

 

“Trust me, Jake, her pussy didn’t try to eat me while you were at Eve’s; quite the other way around, in fact,” she said with a little giggle.  “It was only after you came home and put the cap on her that it turned into a Venus Cocktrap.  You really didn’t stick your dick in me while I was out?”

 

“No, Robbi,” I lied.

 

“Pity, if I were a guy I’d have fucked me in a heartbeat.  So did you enjoy it, Jake, fucking my little kitty?”

 

Discussing this sort of thing with Robbi was going to be like traversing a minefield: I had lies to keep track of, as well as steering clear of such pesky subjects as involuntary servitude, sexual slavery, etc., and having been awake for pretty much twenty-four very busy hours now, my skills were about to be put to the test.  “I enjoyed it very much, pet, as you knew I would.”

 

“The best you’ve ever had?”

 

Mine number one.  “Yes, Robbi, Kat’s pussy is the best I’ve ever had.  It is not, however, the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

 

“I don’t under…”

 

“Your blowjobs, pet,” I said, placing my hand atop hers as she stroked her Kitten’s tit.  “What can I say, they’re just…magical.  I’ve never had better, I doubt anyone, anywhere, has ever had better.”

 

She looked at me quizzically, “You mean my mouth is better than…this?” she said, sliding her hand and cupping Kat’s pubic mound, which, judging by the look of awe crossing her face, had sucked her fingers back in again.  “Jake, you’re a sweet man, but even I can tell that this pussy is just made for getting a guy off.”

 

Mine number two.  “I wouldn’t dream of arguing with you, pet,” I said, plotting my course carefully, “but tell me, your fingers are inside her right now, what does it feel like?”

 

“You know how it feels, Jake, it feels wonderful.  God, if I had a dick it’d be inside one of these all the time.”

 

She didn’t know the half of it.  “Yes, Robbi, I know, but what does it feel like?  What does that snapping feeling remind you of?”  A dangerous step, I know, but I was sure it was the right move.

 

She cocked her head, concentrating harder as her fingers were being pleasantly mauled by her pet’s automated gash.  “It…it feels almost…well, mechanical, Jake.  Like she’s a…a machine, or something.”

 

I was now in very dangerous territory, but with some fancy footwork, skilled oratory, and some very needful programming, I might just be able to defuse this latest fuckup of mine.  “You’re right, pet, I think Kat is now like some kind of machine: unfeeling, unthinking, uncaring.  But you’re not, my pet.  Your blowjobs are given with love, with desire, as though our sexual bliss was the most important thing in the world.  Can a machine do that, Robbi?  Can a machine love?”

 

She looked down at Kat, lying there, completely oblivious to the moral debate raging about her.  “I suppose not.  But, Jake, even though I’m not as worldly-wise as you, I know that men don’t always want love.  Sometimes they just want to fuck whatever is available, and if this, well, sex-machine, was available…”

 

“I won’t lie,” I lied, “some men do, but not all.  And that is because they haven’t had you, my pet.  You could line up a dozen, a hundred sex-machines,” I said, placing my hand over hers, Kat’s pussy still incessantly kneading it, “and I would take your mouth every time.”

 

“Oh, Jake,” she said, the tears beginning to form, “how did I ever get so lucky?”  She raised herself up on one elbow and leaned across her unconscious pet, her big tits completely covering Kat from the neck up, her full lips coming to meet mine.  We kissed a while, neither of moving our hands away from that marvelous, pulsating pussy.  She began nuzzling me, as she had Kat, her cheeks still wet with her falling tears, and brought her lips to my ear, “Jake, my darling, I’d like you to do something for me, please.”

 

I was dog-tired, and all I wanted to do was sleep, but this situation had grown out of my arrogance and negligence, and I needed to resolve it before a certain cyborg came home.  “Of course, pet,” I whispered back,  “your wish is my command.”

 

“Turn me into a sex-machine.”

 

Boom.

 

“Robbi?”  I pulled away, so that I could see her eyes, just to make sure smoke wasn’t wafting out of them.

 

“I want to try it, Jake!  Just once, please.  Let me be your mechanical fucktoy; use me as your very own sex robot!”

 

I gulped, all thoughts of what to do having just been blasted from my brain.  Think quickly, Jake, I told myself, what are your options?  I could say no, but then she would likely just hound me, unless of course I programmed her not to, which, judging by her most recent request, I had done a real bang-up job of.  That left two options: stall, or say yes.  I figured stalling was a pretty good first gambit, “Robbi,” I said, my voice thick, “why?  You’d have no memory of it.  What do you think you’d get out of it?”

 

“Satisfaction,” she sighed, “the satisfaction of knowing that I have been everything for you, that I have been your ultimate woman in every possible way.  But there’s more, Jake.  We have to test this, systematically.  Maybe Kat’s pussy is special; we need to find out if mine behaves the same way, Mother’s too.  You would have to film it, Jake, document it.”  She gave a little giggle, “I think I might rather like watching what you’d do to me if left to your own devices.”

 

Her eyes were blazing again, with the same sort of passion one usually associates with religious zealots, forcing me to look away.  “Robbi, I…” I started.

 

“There’s also another reason, Jake,” she said, putting her hand up to stroke my jaw and guiding my eyes back up to hers, “I want to be bigger!”

 

“Are you serious, pet?” I asked, trying not to sound incredulous.  I had programmed her to want to have huge boobs, and now she had them.  She was supposed to be finished, perfect.  Unless she thought that what she had wasn’t huge.  Crikey, what did huge mean to her?

 

“Well,” she started, a little sheepishly, her apparently too-small boobs still dangling in her pet’s face, “Mother’s boobs are growing, and I’m sure Eve’s will, too – and now my Kitten, as well.  I don’t know, Jake, I guess I’m feeling left out, now that I seem to have stopped changing.”

 

“And you want to keep going, pet?  To get even bigger?”

 

She nodded, biting her lip again, “I’ve tried imagining them bigger, but it doesn’t seem to be working anymore.  I think I need to put the cap on again, to recharge myself, or something, once Kitten is through with it.”

 

I sat there, dumbfounded, but maybe Robbi’s suggestion could afford me a way out of this.  My biggest fear lay in her, and the rest of them, discovering that I had turned them into human robots.  I needed to find a way to make sure they wouldn’t find out, or at the very least throw them off the scent.  And as to her super-sizing her tits, well, what would it hurt?  “Very well, pet,” I whispered, unnecessarily, “As it happens I’ve already completed work on a second cap.  I could plug you in now, if you like.”

 

“Plug me in?” she said, her voice sounding amused, her full lips relaxing into a satisfied smile.  “Goodness, Jake, that really does make me sound like a robot.  Yes, I would like that.  Plug me in.  Make me bigger!”

 

I went off to my bedroom to get the cap, plotting how best to proceed once Robbi was back online.  I grabbed cap, camera, and tripod, cursing myself that if it hadn’t been for my haste in acquiring what really was a completely redundant unit, I would now be happily asleep, quite likely with one of Robbi’s operatic blowjobs for a lullaby.  As I walked down the hallway toward Maria’s bedroom, or rather the Master bedroom, considering that I would likely be sleeping there most nights, I caught a glimpse of myself in the wide, gilt-framed mirror that hung there.  Jesus, Jake, I thought, is this what technology is all about?  I was looking a bit haggard, albeit a better-looking version of haggard than I was used to.  Do I really have to do this now, I thought, the whining in my head every bit as annoying as the audible kind.  I could still grab a few hours normal sleep (since I sure as fuck wasn’t going to cyber-snooze, what with Robbi the Curious Sexbot in a mood to experiment) and nail the crazy robo-bitch tomorrow.

 

But any thoughts I had along those lines were shot to shit as soon as I saw Robbi again, two of her fingers in Kat’s mouth, “I thought she might suck on them, but no go, Jake.  I guess at least my blowjobs will still be superior, huh?”

 

I laughed, outwardly.  But inside, practically every internal organ was clenched in fear.  She was so very close to discovering her true nature.  All she would have to do is say something like, “Here, suck on these, Kat,” and this time tomorrow would find me apartment hunting in fucking Venezuela.  Well, they have chicks there, too.

 

I set everything up, while Robbi, at my request, saw to the cleaning up of man-gravy from her Kitten’s whiskers.

 

“Mmph!”

 

I turned around quickly and was greeted by a sight that would send the dourest Swede into gales of raucous laughter: Robbi, her eyes wide in alarm, arms flailing madly, her mouth firmly seated over Kat’s vulva.  I raised a hand to my mouth, fighting to keep from laughing myself into insanity, and failing miserably, as her beseeching, muffled wails filled the room.  “What’s…wrong, Robbi?” I managed to ask between spasms of laughter, “Kat got your tongue?”

 

“Mmph!” she cried again, most of the sound echoing through her lover’s reproductive system.  I took pity on her, and helped her extricate her tongue from her kitten’s grasping hole.  I held her in my arms while she made sure that her tongue was still properly attached.  “You bastard!” she spat, slapping my chest spitefully, “’Kat got your tongue?’”  But her small frown quickly gave way to a grudging smile, which quickly turned into giggles.

 

“What’s so funny, pet?” I asked, holding her close, one arm keeping her huge melons from wobbling all over the place.

 

“I think…” she started, getting her giggling under control, “I just now figured out why it’s called a snatch!”

 

I laughed with her, delighting, despite everything else, in the joy of my creation.  My lovely Robbi was the perfect girlfriend.  A little crazy, maybe, but it was the kind of crazy that both saw the humor in truly bizarre situations, and got your dick sucked four times a day.

 

After the giggles had subsided I had her lie down next to Kat.  She donned the cap, for what I hoped would be the last time, seeing as how the sensors I ordered yesterday morning should be somewhere over Colorado by now.  And in another five minutes she was asleep; a second server sitting on my desktop.  Now that I was the only sentient being in the house I could work, free of the fear of discovery or interruption, my heart finally resuming a normal rhythm.  First off, I needed to secure my fembots, so that, even in the unlikely event of another occurrence like this evening, their robotic nature would remain hidden: “Kathryn?” I called out.

 

“Yes.”

 

“From now on you will respond only to the sound of my voice.  No one else may command you.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And whenever I speak to you, you will respond with, ‘Yes, Master’, or ‘No, Master’, whichever is appropriate.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

I felt a little guilty, doing this to a woman to whom I’d spoken less than a dozen words, but if she really was going to be Robbi’s pet, I was damn well going to keep it on a leash.

 

Now, as to her paradoxical freedom, I had not the slightest idea what to do.  Maria wanted her to be free, but what does that mean?  She was as free as anyone else in this country; more than most, considering the black Saab I’d seen in the driveway.  So how could I free her?  What could I do to make her less a victim of her own subservient personality?  It was then that I realized why mad scientists are always fucking nuts: they have no one to help them.  Again that feeling of loneliness crept in, which I managed to shrug off by concentrating on the four fat tits in front of me.  I opened up my word processor and waited for inspiration.

 

Ten minutes later I still had not progressed beyond, ‘I must not be…’, feeling more than a little pissed that Abraham Lincoln had managed, without a Mac, to free a few million slaves whereas I was struggling with one silly little breast-implanted bitch.  Well, I thought, we are what we are, aren’t we?  Even a fictional, homosexual wizard once put it down to our choices.  So if Kat was a slave by nature, all that mattered, really, was the choice of her enslaver:

 

I love Robbi.

I want to make Robbi happy.

 

Not exactly what Maria had had in mind, I know, but I was tired, and this seemed as good a solution as any.  I then installed Ultimate Babe in the sleeping girl and turned my attention to Robbi.

 

It was the work of a minute, adjusting Robbi’s digital bosom from merely huge into something gargantuan bordering on mythic.  I have found that when it comes to breasts, there are all kinds of men in this world: some who believe that anything more than a mouthful is a waste (closet homosexuals), others who believe that a pair of tits as big as a woman’s head is just about right (average male), and those who like them so big that a wheelbarrow would make a good brassiere (a school of thought made possible due solely to the Internet).  I, however, fall into none of these camps.  The perfect pair of tits, which until now I had always considered unattainable by virtue of the fact that it was impossible, would require the girl to stand on a stepstool so that she might see over them.  Anybody who finds this to be ridiculous suffers from a deplorable lack of imagination.

 

I jacked the new image into her window, and placed my hand upon her nearer breast.  Almost immediately it became warmer, the growth process getting underway.  As I absently stroked her big tit I couldn’t help but be concerned for the future of my very first fembot.  She had shown such strange behavior tonight, and all of it due to my fiddling about with her base motivations.  I couldn’t just go in and yank the files and commands I’d put inside her, not without knowing what possible outcomes might result.  I pulled up Robbi’s folder, stored goodness-knows-where inside her brain and found that the original nineteen files now numbered more than seven million!  I had no idea of the interconnectedness of these files – pull one and the whole system might crash, doing Robbi irreparable harm.  I couldn’t go backward, which meant I had to go forward:

 

I must always treat Kathryn with respect.

Having sex with sleeping girls is wrong.

 

I looked long and hard at that last line, not liking what I saw.  Robbi had already more or less raped her sleeping lover; would my command engender feelings of shame?  If Robbi were sufficiently mortified by behavior that she would now consider ‘wrong’, might that not lead to depression, withdrawal, suicide?

 

Melodramatic, perhaps, but I could never forget the enormity of what I was doing.  One minor error had led to Robbi’s almost killing her mom, another to creating a pair of incestuous sexpots that seemed to have no shame as to their wanton relationship.  I had so far been lucky – a word I detest – that none of my Frankensteinian exploits had ended in failure – or worse, so I needed to make damn sure I knew what I was doing before I started slapping moral judgments inside my fembot’s clockwork:

 

I must always treat Kathryn with respect.

I love Kathryn and will never do anything to hurt her.

 

That would have to do for the moment, but I would have to keep a close eye on her, and make sure any erratic behavior was acted upon immediately.  I then gave Robbi the same verbal commands I had given Kat, thus locking out anyone else that might wish to program my women.

 

I also decided to check on Maria’s status.  Unsurprisingly, I found I could not communicate with her, which meant that she was still awake, probably facedown in her pillow, that big strap-on fully up her bum, considering the randy look I’d seen on Eve’s face before I left.

 

That just left the small matter of making my girlfriend happy by having sex with her unconscious body.  Five minutes later we were ready, the camera was aimed at the spot where the action would take place, and Robbi was positioned on the edge of the bed, my big dick poised at her glistening entrance.  I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and I had no one to blame but myself.  Robbi had said it earlier, ‘…you are free to stop whenever you want.  Do you want to stop, Jake?’  An important question, but one I would have to answer later because at that moment I became overwhelmed by the sensation of my cock being pulled inexorably into her depths; a sexual tug-of-war in which there were no losers.  I closed my eyes and moved my hips in time with Robbi’s rhythms, unimaginable pleasure washing over me.  I opened my eyes again, to gaze at my first-ever fembot, busty and beautiful, and then at my newest acquisition, who would very likely follow in her high-heeled path.  I looked about me, taking in the majestic room in which I was now fucking away, so very different than the one in which I had started the day fucking, and found myself wondering, would I ever have a normal day again, and did I really have the strength of character to want one?

 

 

Dragging my ass to class hours later was a truly Herculean achievement.  It wasn’t so much that I was tired, because I was.  It was more the fact that two incredible women had decided to eat me for breakfast.

 

‘May you find what you are looking for’, is the third of the Chinese curses, and as I hobbled across the quad, unshaven, my still somewhat engorged monster practically in tatters from the attentions of two sex-crazed fembots, I had to admit that I felt well and truly cursed.  First Robbi, with her incredible, expanding breasts, who giddily leapt upon me and began fucking herself into multiple orgasm-land, followed quickly by Kat, who, amazed at the size of my schwantz, mounted it immediately upon its exit from her senior fembot’s quivering snatch, and rode me like I was the prize bull at the Annual Texas Roundup.

 

I stopped for a quick ciggie on a bench not too far from my class, mindful of the scornful stares thrown my way by some of the beautiful people.  I very much felt like giving them all the one-finger salute, but I was just too fagged and shagged to care.  It was a gray day, for which I was thankful: any bluebird attempting to land on my shoulder risked having its motherfucking head bitten off.  Christ, I thought, feeling like Wile E. Coyote after one of his less than stellar attempts at catching that goddamn roadrunner, what the fuck are you doing to yourself, man?

 

I could not go on like this.  The fembot population was growing steadily, no matter what oaths I had sworn to the contrary, and all of them were, or soon would be, fixated on my dick – I would be dead by Sunday if I didn’t get a handle on all of this.

 

Firstly, this indiscriminate conversion of women into robots had to stop; it would stop – tonight.  By the time this class was over, three pairs of sensors would be sitting in my P.O. box, and before this day was over they would be installed; the backup pair going into Kat once the other two were confirmed successes.  Once they were implanted, I would be out of the fembot business, at least until such time as I could find a better and more systematic way of programming them that didn’t involve my putting the wood to every damn one of them.

 

But at least one thing was under control: “Jake,” Robbi had whispered into my ear while we showered, her legs wrapped around my lower back while our soaped-up bodies rubbed together, “we should never do that again, what we did last night to Kat.  She deserves respect.”  And she later showed her respect, the kind that involves the grasping of hair and the humping of a face; at least Robbi’s tongue was no longer in danger of being sucked out.

 

I finished my stogie and headed into class, resolved to the fact that I was, or would, regain control of my life, and of my fembots.  As I took my seat I couldn’t help noticing the busty, blonde babe sitting one tier below and slightly to the left of me, the gyrations involved in her taking off her red blazer affording me a good look at her rack.

 

“Thirteen and one-half hours,” I heard myself mutter.

 

“Excuse me?” she said, turning around and then looking up at me, giving me that special look that all hot chicks reserve for any guy who isn’t Ashton Kutcher.

 

“I’m sorry,” I replied, looking at her over my Ray-Bans.  “I was just estimating how long it would take to make a robot that looked like you.”

 

She turned away, a confused, disdainful expression clouding her Teutonic features.  I shook my head, laughing inwardly.  She was safe from me.  Despite the quick turnaround I could do on her, my fembot factory’s doors were closed.  I would create no more of them.

 

And I kept that promise – for almost nine whole days.

 

 

 

Chapter 14

Almost Nine Whole Days Later

 

Bliss.  That was my life now – sheer motherfucking bliss.

 

I awoke that Thursday morning, the morning that fembot number five came online, to the feeling of a heavy pair of breasts being lowered onto my eyes, the sound of slurping, and the sensation of my cock being swallowed.  It was a game we played every morning now, my fembots and I: could Jake guess who was sucking his dick?  Now, one might think that with only four babes to choose from, this shouldn’t be too difficult, but with my upgraded versions it was damn near impossible.  “Maria?”

 

“Um-mmm,” which means no in blowjobese, an answer that never failed to cause my toes to curl in pleasure, something that had prompted playful accusations that I was really tanking my scores on purpose.”

 

“Robbi?”

 

“Um-mmmmmmm,” the anonymous mouth hummed, causing me to clutch at the sheets convulsively.  Crikey, the scent of perfume, the feeling of warm flesh all about me, and that talented tongue bathing my ten-inch pole were already threatening to drive me over the edge.

 

“Kitten?”

 

“Mmm-row,” came the response, followed by the licking of not one, but two, tongues, signifying that I had guessed rightly.  The heavy breasts were lifted from my eyes, but due to the way their owner shifted her body I couldn’t tell to whom they belonged, but I had gotten a brief glimpse of pubic hair – blonde, and shaped exactly like Apple’s trademarked logo – a scant second before a pair of glistening, Chanel-scented pussy lips fastened themselves onto mine, sweetly kissing me good morning.  As I inserted my tongue into that heavenly cunt, a flash of light caught my eye, winking in the early morning sun, reflected off the little golden plate secured in her bellybutton, which undulated above me in silent sexual pleasure, a single word engraved upon it – Maria.  My eyes scanned upwards, like a hick in the big city for the first time, to see two massive juggs, as big as beach balls now, hovering over me, two elegant hands hefting them, rolling them apart and then smashing them together, all the while that wet snatch insistently ground back and forth across my mouth.

 

“Good God, Jake,” the voice above me hissed, the giant tits separating enough to let me glimpse Maria’s pretty face between them as she bit her lower lip, an expression so very like her daughter’s, to whom she was now practically identical, “you sure can suck pussy!”

 

We continued on in this fashion until she came, screaming and bucking, in my mouth, whilst I did the same into, well, someone else’s.  My sated cyborg collapsed to the side, falling onto the sheets, her big boobs actually bouncing until they came to rest next to her.  I blinked and craned my neck upwards to see Kitten lapping my jizz off of Robbi’s lips, their huge breasts, every bit as big as Maria’s, rubbing across one another as they shared my cream.  But where was my angel, my Eve?

 

“Hey, sailor,” whispered a sultry voice in my left ear, “don’t I get any?”

 

There were so many things I could have responded with, but my sexy banter was shunted to the side as a warm tongue inserted itself into my mouth.  She rolled on top of me, her volleyball-sized tits like soft pillows cushioning our upper bodies.  I was borne away on her kiss, the warmth of her flesh, the scent of her hair.  Time didn’t stop; it rather simply ceased to exist when she was in my arms.  Kissing Eve differed only minutely from any of my other iBods, but that small difference transcended the sum total of all the knowledge in the Universe, and that was nothing compared to how she fucked.

 

My big prick had come to life again, and was resting in the cleavage of her rump, waiting to be acknowledged, which she did by moving forward slightly, allowing it to fall, and then sliding slowly backwards, plugging me into her depths.

 

“Oh, God,” I moaned, as my dick was consumed by her inner fire.

 

“You don’t believe in God, remember,” she breathed hotly into my ear, rolling back and forth atop me, floating on her fat boobs.

 

“Well if I did, I’d sell my soul to you, you devilish bitch,” I rasped.

 

“Why, Jake, you do say the nicest things,” she laughed throatily.  She raised herself up, in that majestic way only a redhead can pull off, and began grinding her pussy into my pubic bone.  “Girls…?”

 

And as though this was a choreographed dance, which it probably was, each of my other fembots prowled about us on the huge bed until Robbi, at my head, lowered one of her fulsome juggs onto my face, the fat nipple invading my dry mouth.  I felt other tits being lowered into my hands, whereupon I seized them, massaged and kneaded them.  I could see nothing, the sun having been blotted out by the vastness of the suspended dug above me, but I could feel soft hands rubbing my chest, stomach, and thighs, while another began gently squeezing my sack.  Eve’s pussy worked my cock, first sliding up and down the full length of my pole, then squeezing it, jerking me off with muscles toned by the kind of exercises that should be mandatory in Girls P.E.

 

I moaned around the tit, the combined pleasure made possible by the skills of four perfected women had me practically convulsing on the bed.  I was right on the verge of cumming, my big prick straining as precum dribbled up through it, but Eve’s ministrations were only just enough to keep me in that twilight place, between life and not-life, between existence and oblivion.  I screamed at them, to beg them to please finish me off, but my pleading yells were lost within all that voluminous titflesh.

 

“What do you think, girls?” came Eve’s voice.  “Has he had enough?”

 

I tried shouting again, to cast my vote for the release of my innocent semen, but the tit gag was quite effective, and, to make matters worse, pillows were then shoved against my ears, thus acing out another sense, making me focus that much more upon my overwhelming pleasure.  I could scarcely breathe, was covered in acres of female flesh, and my dick was in danger of going thermonuclear if I didn’t cum in the next five seconds.

 

And with one final squeeze of my balls, I did, my hysterical screaming muffled by Robbi’s jugg, as my body jerked uncontrollably in the grip of a sexual grand mal seizure.  It is said of men that they would prefer to die betwixt the thighs of a woman, but if Gaia, or the Great Spirit, or who-the-fuck ever took me at that moment, I’d have gone kicking and cursing, spitting in fury for being taken from my fembots: I would conquer death for them.

 

Consciousness returned by degrees, and soon I found myself staring into four lovely faces, two of them deeply concerned, one biting her lip in apparent fear, and one of them wearing a subtle smile of the utmost satisfaction.  “So we didn’t quite kill you, Jake,” Eve smirked, “I guess we’ll have to try harder next time.”

 

“You’d better, you delicious whores,” I replied, reveling in the feelings of good health that my enhanced body provided me.  I sprang up, surprising them, and quickly pinned them beneath my long, swimmer’s arms, with much grasping of tits and tweaking of nipples.

 

I was the happiest of men.

 

 

I took a long hot shower with Kitten (I honestly could not remember the last time I had showered alone), quietly enjoying the feel of her.  Of all my fembots she was the most submissive, as sweet as a stolen kiss, and with a smile of such warmth that it could melt the Ross Ice Shelf.  She also possessed a surprisingly wicked sense of humor, often playing practical jokes (although I have to admit the chili-flavored lube was probably not the wisest choice she could have made).  She loved the changes her body had undergone – thinking that they were her doing – especially her massive funbags, so huge on her tiny frame it seemed that it was she who was appended to them.  But even more than her tits she loved her new face.  I had decided that, since she was Robbi’s, that Robbi should be the one to choose how she should look.  I let the two of them loose on the Poser program, unbeknownst to the others, so that Kat could see exactly what Robbi wanted, and then begin concentrating her mental energies on that image, so that she would become Robbi’s perfect pet.  It was all bullshit of course, but it did save me some work, and I was more than a little curious to see what one woman would do to another if given free rein.  After several hours of giggling, heated kissing, and heavy petting, the two women completed the image, with Kat in charge of the keyboard since she had used similar programs in her design work.

 

That image now knelt before me, cleaning my cock with her tongue.  They had done a good job of her: the subtle reshaping of the eyes, the slightly enlarged cheekbones, her reduced nose and pointed chin all combined to give her an undeniably feline appearance.  And as she became physically more cat-like, so too did her behavior.  Whenever she and Robbi were together she always stood behind her, moving side to side, usually rubbing some part of her body against her owner’s, often nuzzling her.  If Robbi sat, then Kat sat at her feet, her head in Robbi’s lap, purring contentedly.

 

Kat’s programming made her desire to please Robbi, and since Robbi wanted her for a pet, Kat became that pet.  Maria, unsurprisingly, objected to this treatment of her de facto ward, her objections mounting even more when Kat’s physical changes had started to become apparent.  But Kat, having taken a page from Robbi’s playbook, simply pounced upon Maria, pinning her down, and began licking her clit for sixty minutes and fourteen orgasms.  All of Maria’s objections melted away after that.

 

Very intelligent people with too much time on their hands have fixed the number of people who have ever lived on planet Earth at approximately 110 billion.  This is a quite an astounding figure, especially when contrasted against the fact that I am the only one of that number ever to have received a truly Kitten-ish blowjob.  Now, Robbi, it must be understood, gives the absolute best head in the world, but Kat, when fully immersed in her adopted feline role, would do things with my dick that Robbi had not been programmed to, nor had the nature.  It would start with her softly purring, looking up at me with her dark, catlike eyes, then nuzzling my cock, rubbing it across her nose and cheeks, then graduating to little nips and licks while she sucked and stroked me off until I would cum, gasping and shuddering, spattering her face with my cream, which she would clean off with her paws – as she referred to them – making sure to swallow every last bit of it.  Not quite the best blowjob there is, though I would rate it the sexual equivalent of an ice-cold beer on a hot summer day.

 

I dressed, watching the mass of tits and thighs thrashing about on the big bed; my insatiable fembots licking and fingering each other in ways undreamt of by most people.  I was sorely tempted to join them but my stomach was rumbling and I was hungry for more than hair pie.

 

As I made my way toward the kitchen at a leisurely pace – leisurely because there was no school for the next two days due to conferences and contractual we-get-time-off-because-we’re-better-than-the-rest-of-you-uneducated-drones.  I delighted in my new life, at how I loved waking up every morning, and not just because of the mind-blowing sex that awaited me.  Every day promised newer and more fascinating developments with my iBods – and not just them.

 

“Buenos dias, Señor Jake.”

 

“Buenos dias, Rosa.”  That I had just wished a good morning on a woman, and not a cyborg, was a testament to my incredible restraint.  She, like the rest of the household staff, was everything a young, healthy, red-blooded male could want in a woman not under computer control.

 

It was upon arriving home from work, on the third day in our new digs, that I was introduced to the staff.  Maria, in her usual frighteningly capable manner, had hired a full complement of domestics to take care of the house, the grounds, and us.  How she managed to pull it off I will never know, but the twelve Latinas that stood before me that day were all beautiful, leggy, and busty as hell.  I was surprised, at first, to find that she hadn’t hired any men, but Reynalda, Juanita, and Lupe were apparently more than up to the physical demands involved in keeping the grounds in tip-top shape.  It also didn’t hurt looking at them in their highly-cut jeans shorts and tied-off shirts, which Maria had evidently decreed comprised the uniforms of the gardening staff.

 

Later on, I started to ask Maria about her choices in hiring, but she silenced me with one of her breathtaking kisses and then said, “Jake, honey, you’re not the only one who likes big boobs, you know.  Besides, making beds and mowing lawns isn’t all they do.”  What they did, it seemed, was to keep me hard, all the time.  From the moment I set foot on the place to the moment I might leave, it was always, “Hola, Señor Jake,” or, “Como estas, Señor Jake?” accompanied with a smile, usually a giggle, and always with a lingering, knowing look at my crotch.  It was also apparent that Maria had instructed them to tease me at all times.  They were forever bent over this or that, or allowing me long looks down their blouse-fronts, their sizable milkers swaying side-to-side as they worked.

 

And it was Rosa’s that now dangled ponderously before me, as she placed in front of me a breakfast fit for a king, or in this case, rey: two pork tamales, eggs and salsa, skillet potatoes, and orange slices.  Now, my mum is a fine woman, who, as a teacher, imparted to me a love of mathematics and logic, but she is first and foremost a Brit, which meant that practically everything she served me was motherfucking boiled (mind you, she could fry fish like nobody’s business), so my passion for Mexican cuisine should be seen, not as the quirk of a multi-cultural California native, but rather as an act of sheer desperation.

 

I loved eating in the kitchen, especially after Rosa had put her stamp on it.  What had been a fairly characterless, utilitarian workspace had been quickly converted – with little more than some curtains, a scrubbed wooden table and chairs, and some authentic crockery – into a warm, homey environment redolent of cinnamon, cilantro, and cocoa.

 

But it was more than just my sense of smell that was stimulated.  Rosa was by far the best looking, the sexiest, and the most buxom of all the staff.  She had a smile that could light up a stadium, and one look from her deep, brown eyes would send most men running to the bathroom for a quick wank.  Well, most men who didn’t have four fembots to handle that job for him, at any rate.

 

I ate my meal in silence, savoring every bite, enjoying the intermingling aromas and appreciating the scenery.  I often ate alone in the mornings, my fembots using this time to play with one another and to make themselves ever more attractive, and I relished the comparative solitude.  But more than the meal, I was savoring every aspect of my life.  Gone was the tiredness, and the attendant feeling of treading water.  My sleep, whether natural or cyber, was untroubled and refreshing, and I always woke up feeling great, ready to take on the world.  My studies were coming along nicely, and I never felt rushed or out of control.  I could honestly say, for the first time in my life, that all my ducks were in a row; the trains were running on time.

 

And that was just my days.  My nights were filled with the stuff upon which dreams are made: lap dances, table dances, pole dances, belly dancing, Jell-O wrestling, olive oil wrestling, and ping pong ball shooting for distance contests (Kat seeming to have a knack for this, her personal best being twenty-two feet, four inches).  But it wasn’t all just mindless sex and frivolity.  Just last night, in honor of Eve’s having attained JJ-cup status, she and Maria performed for the rest of us her adaptation of The Bitch-Taming of the Shrew.  Maria was brilliant as Petruchia, wielding the black strap-on with verve, vigorously pumping Kate’s (Eve’s) pussy while reciting vastly improved versions of the Bard’s words.  It was a magnificent performance, made all that much better when Eve, bent over a wooden bench, her big juggs swaying pendulously beneath her, invited me up on stage to assist in her double-penetration.

 

It wasn’t my first foray into interactive theatre, but it certainly topped anything I’d done before.  Gazing into Maria’s eyes, while the both of us sawed in and out of her former lesbian lover, went beyond magical, and, when cumming in Eve’s mouth, my face buried in Maria’s enormous cans, I was struck with the blinding realization that I had truly found Paradise.

 

Paradise, pure and simple, but that didn’t mean I was free to lounge about, enjoying the favors of four incredibly stacked cyborgs and drinking imported beer all day long: I had experiments to conduct, so that I could understand just what made my fembots tick and what their limitations were.  I started with track meets, had them lift weights, swim, jump, cycle, and even had them do gymnastic floor exercises in the orgy room.  Maria and Kat, both runners prior to their acquisition, reported their times in both the 5K and 10K had improved by approximately fifteen percent, which were the only numbers I had to go on.  I also had them do the same exercises against Reynalda, Juanita, and Lupe, three young, fit girls used to physical exertion, and in every single event the Latinas were simply blown away.

 

With the help of cyber-sleep, I also had about five uninterrupted hours in the dead of night to test my fembots against their waking scores: the results were astounding.  Without the distractions of thinking, doubt, technique, etc., my giant-breasted Amazons were fully fifty percent stronger, and had more than double the endurance of their daytime selves.  And there was more than just physical stuff.  I tested their memory (perfect retention of anything shown them), vision (20/14), even typing (with Maria ever so slightly the fastest at 246 words per minute – no mistakes).

 

But they did have their limitations, too.  Robbi the fembot gave the absolute best head of any girl I have ever had save one: Robbi the person.  It was something about her sentience, her desire to please me that elevated the merely magnificent to the utterly sublime.  It was the same with all of the other units, as well.  Without their humanity they did lack a certain something.

 

That certain something, however, could almost always be found close to hand though.  As I smoked my post-meal ciggy, I found myself entranced, hypnotized by Rosa’s graceful movements as she moved about her domain, warming up my coffee, or removing empty dishes.  Her jet-black hair, the long, flowing skirt, the white peasant blouse that left her shoulders exposed and followed every curve of her exuberant breasts, but most of all, her bare feet, innocent yet blatantly seductive, almost always left me with a case of blue balls by the time my coffee cup was empty.

 

“Gracias, Rosa,” I said to her boobs, which were well within sucking distance as she hunched next to me, clearing the last of the breakfast dishes, “it was maravilloso, as usual.”

 

“Con mucho gusto, Señor Jake,” she replied, but then put her lips to my ear and whispered softly, “but Miss Maria said that I was to make sure to give you dessert.”

 

The warmth of her breath in my ear was maddening, as was the scent of her, which I was sure was nothing more than a little vanilla extract daubed within her cleavage.  She took the dishes and the ashtray away, leaving me sitting there, the beating of Aztec drums pounding in my beleaguered brain.  Grabbing a small covered plate, she stepped up onto the chair opposite me, and thence onto the tabletop, all the while looking at me with the intensity of a jaguar about to pounce.  When her bare feet were directly in front of my chest she stopped and sat down on the edge of the table, placing her feet on my chair seat, locking me in.

 

She held the plate in front of my eyes, her big chest making a splendid backdrop for the unveiling, “Duraznos a la Rosa.”  She uncovered it – two peach halves sat there, on a bed of some curly lettuce-like stuff – that was all.  I looked up into her face, silently praying to holy Darwin for confirmation that something in the very near vicinity was about to get sucked on.  Her deep brown eyes locked onto mine, hypnotizing me.  She really was extraordinarily beautiful, and I found that my mouth had gone dry.  She put the plate down next to her and brought one of the peach halves up to my face, where it glistened softly in the overhead light.

 

“Durazno,” she said, her voice coming from a long way off.

 

“Durazno,” I repeated, my own voice rasping in my ears.

 

With her free hand she smoothly pulled down the right half of her blouse, her tanned dug standing out proudly from her chest, brown and firm, the dark nipple, so reminiscent of a Hershey’s kiss, scribing the air.  She grabbed her tit, squeezing it roughly, “Teta,” she breathed.

 

“Teta,” I echoed, my tongue thick.

 

She then took the peach half she was holding and began smearing it over her wobbling jugg, coating it with nectar, biting her lip as she did so.  I was so captivated by the seductive movements in front of me that I didn’t realize that her other hand had snaked its way around to the back of my neck, and was now impelling me forward into the mass of shining titflesh.  I almost cried as my parched lips made contact with her succulent skin.  I was lost within the taste and scent of her, the vanilla extract and the peach juice combining with her own natural flavors to create a culinary masterpiece of which I hoped to be having seconds.

 

We wrestled there an unknown time, me suckling at her juice-slathered tit, Rosa moaning softly, clutching at me as I did so.  When I had cleaned my plate, so to speak, I pulled back, the scent of peaches strong in my nostrils.  “Muchos gracias, Rosa,” I said giddily, “that was even more maravilloso than breakfast.”

 

“Again, con mucho gusto, Señor Jake, but that was just to clean your palate.”  She smiled devilishly at my confusion and hiked her long skirt up to reveal her black fringed pussy, shining with a nectar all its own.  “La Rosa,” she whispered, spreading her shining labia wide with two peach-slicked fingers, allowing me to peer into her pink depths.  My eyes were glued to her twat as she took the remaining peach half and began working it up and down her cunt, mewling softly.  After a minute of this, or perhaps it was ten lifetimes, she held the sodden fruit out to me.  I took it, my mouth dry, and was about to bite into when she put her hand to my cheek, “No, no, Señor Jake,” she said in a throaty, lust-drenched voice, “la Rosa.”

 

She reclined onto the table, her shining pink pussy before me, a confection that no Cordon Bleu chef could ever hope to match: I dove into it like a trucker at a chili bar.  The taste of it was amazing, like no other pussy I’d had before, either free or professionally catered.  There was more there than just her natural flavorings and peaches; there were hints of vanilla, cloves, even juniper berries – it was the god-damnedest cunt I ever ate.  I slurped up every last bit of it until all I could taste was Rosa, which was pretty fine all on its lonesome, while she moaned and bucked, pounding the table as her orgasm took her, her big boobs flailing.

 

I could have easily slid my length into her right then and there, the first truly real woman I would have had in some time.  She was sopping wet and more than ready for it, but it would be difficult to justify having the hot and spicy poon on a spit when there were four other women in the house who would gladly serve up whatever I wanted.  I don’t know why I was denying myself such a lusty treat; I suppose I felt I owed it to my fembots not to go around shagging every busty piece of tail that happened to be lying in front of me with her gaping slit dripping onto my shoes, practically screaming, ‘Entrada!’  So I guess, in a way, I was becoming more responsible.

 

But my newfound inner strength didn’t keep me from kissing those big boobies adios.  She laughed throatily, stroking my hair while I frenched her puffy nipples, “Muchos gracias, Señor Jake,” she sighed, “eso era maravilloso.”

 

“Con mucho gusto, baby,” I replied, nuzzling her fat nipple and wondering how long it would take before my resolve cracked; how long before I would hear Rosa saying ‘Si, Master’.

 

 

Leaving Rosa, both the woman and the color, was tough, especially since a large part of me wanted to stay and explore her inner beauty.  But I stuck to my guns, so to speak, and marched out of the kitchen, my head held high, in search of something warm to apply to my throbbing johnson.  Mercifully enough I ran into Robbi in the hallway, wearing a pair of lace tanga panties and nothing else, and greeted her with a kiss so thorough that it was probably illegal in ten states.

 

“Mmm,” she said with a sly smile, “so you’ve had the ‘Peaches a la Rosa’, I see.”

 

“How…?” I started.

 

“I had it yesterday,” she giggled, “we all did.  Mother thinks she might have to renegotiate Rosa’s salary what with all the perks she seems to be getting.”

 

“Oh, I agree,” I replied, “tell her to double…”

 

“YOU LITTLE BITCH!!”

 

Robbi looked at me, her features clouded with fear and worry.  “Jake…?”

 

“Get behind me, Robbi,” I told her, every bit as worried as she was.  It had been Eve’s voice, screaming in a fashion I’d not heard from her before.  I would not say that she was the most beautiful of all my women, nor by any means the sexiest, but of all my fembots she did have the fiercest temper, and woe betide whoever might be on the wrong side of her sharp Scottish tongue.  Mind you, the make-up sex after an argument with her could leave one in need of lifetime chiropractic care.

 

We made our way quickly to her room, or at least the one she used as a closet and second office.  We found Eve sitting at her desk in that stupid kneeler chair of hers, dressed only in a green G-string and matching heels, staring at her monitor, her mouth agape, her breasts heaving.  I slowly approached her, the curious voices of my other fembots could be heard out in the hallway, Robbi making shushing noises.

 

“Eve?” I asked tentatively, strongly regretting having installed that Aikido program in the lot of them: if I had fucked something up, if Eve was in the midst of some feedback loop, there was no end of places on this property they could bury my remains if she went all Jackie Chan on me.  Her eyes stayed fixed on the computer screen, and as I reached her shoulder I was able to make out what she was looking at; it was the realization of my worst fears.

 

“Jake…?” she asked, in a little girl voice.

 

My fembots waited at the door, nervously awaiting word from me that it was okay to enter.  I motioned for them to come in, which they did, though with great trepidation.  Silently they gathered around her, Maria placing her hands upon her naked shoulders.  Eve looked up at me, high color in her cheeks, a sardonic smile disfiguring her lovely face, “Well, Jake,” she said, “I guess you can say I told you so.”  She closed her eyes and laid her head back, seeking comfort in the warm softness of Maria’s naked bosom.

 

“I’m so sorry, my angel,” I said in a hushed voice.  They were all of them, save for Eve, looking at the monitor, their faces running the gamut from confused to righteously pissed-off.  I joined them, feeling the color rising in my cheeks, as well:

 

CHANCELLOR BIMBO?

 

by Ashiko Watenabe, Editor

 

Has anyone noticed something different lately?  It would appear that our illustrious Chancellor, that champion of gay rights, and the rights of women in general, our fearless leader who stood up against the wishes of the pig-military machine to place killers on our campus, has drunk the Kool-aid of cosmetic surgery.

 

It was as nasty an editorial as I’d ever read coming out of that waste of pixels known of a student newspaper.  Whoever this chick was, she seemed to have it in for my redheaded iBod in the worst fucking way.  Line after line of vitriol poured out of her poison pen: calling Eve ‘the Pamela Anderson of educators’, and that her new slogan should be ‘Boobs, not books!’  She even postulated whether Eve might not be thinking of turning the dorms into California’s first legal cathouse, which I’m sure was what caused Kitten to actually hiss.

 

I had been afraid of something like this.  Eve and I had discussed how she should look, once she realized that she, like Robbi and Kat, had some form of control over her physical characteristics.  I had originally intended to restore Eve to her former breast-implanted perfection, plus a little cantaloupe-sized upgrade for me.  But it quickly became apparent that she disliked being on the bottom of the big titty totem pole, and sought to correct it, which I, in a reversal of principle so great that it should have sent the Earth to spinning backwards, opposed.

 

“Eve,” I said, examining the digital image that she, with Kat’s help, had created, “are you sure this is a good idea?”

 

She crossed her slim arms underneath her already proud bosom and narrowed her flashing green eyes ever so slightly, unconscious signals that she was preparing for battle.  “I’m surprised that you, of all people, would feel this way, considering the bevy of boobs that were living under this roof before I started spending most of my nights here.”

 

“Eve, my angel, you must know that I would like nothing better than for your breasts to have their own zip codes, but don’t you think the Trustees…”

 

“Oh, hang the Trustees,” she said dismissively, “it’s my school and my body, and I make the decisions for both.”

 

“But Eve,” I plowed on, “ you are a very public figure, the face of UC Berkeley.  What you’re planning will be noticed, and you know that a good bit of that attention is going to be negative.  Crikey, what will the newspapers say, and the feminists…”

 

“Half of the feminists in the Bay Area have sucked my pussy, Jake, and the other half of them will want to by the time I’m done.  I’m also on excellent terms with the editors of the Chronicle, the Tribune, and the Times, and even if they wanted to print something, they wouldn’t dare – an attack on me would be perceived as an attack on lesbians, and by extension, women.”

 

Shit, I thought.  I was not going to win this argument, if one ever can with a woman, and since I’d set up the whole visualization scam, I was now more or less committed to letting it play itself out.  Of course I simply could have programmed her to like her GG-cup boobs as they were, and to not dress like a Vegas showgirl when going to budget meetings, but I disliked the idea of programming their every little thought, for fear I would set up some conflict that could lead to a breakdown.

 

Which could happen.  Ultimate Babe had something of a stranglehold on how all of my fembots comported themselves, especially when it came to their appearance: a babe must always look her best, and she must always, always, always dress to reveal.  This particular snippet of their now ingrained instruction was the cause of Eve’s, and my, woes.  As her hair regained its color and her skin began to tighten, as the crow’s feet vanished and the sparkle of youth lit in her eyes, and most especially as her chest expanded day by day, Eve dressed as her programming dictated: skirts above the knees, clacking heels, glittery jewelry, and always, always, always her burgeoning boobs on display.  She didn’t exactly dress like a stripper, in fact she managed to look as professional as she always had, but it was those ever growing cans of hers, stuffed into corsets, pushed upwards and into one another, that tended to dominate the viewer’s eye and caused students to walk into walls.

 

And now it was in print, an issue for public consumption cast in such a harsh light that most readers – the ones who didn’t have testicles, at any rate – would be storming the administration offices, torches and pitchforks aloft, loudly demanding her immediate dismissal, public flogging, and the name of her plastic surgeon.

 

“Who sent this to you, angel?”

 

“She did, this Ashiko bitch!” she spat.  “She says she’s giving me the opportunity to comment before it goes into print tomorrow.”

 

“So it isn’t in print yet?” Robbi asked, unclenching her fists, “Well, good, then you can expel the little cunt!”

 

Eve smiled another rueful smile, “No, I can’t.  If I did that, tomorrow’s headline would read, Big-Titted Chancellor Abuses Power!  Abridges Freedom of the Press!  No, Roberta, I can’t expel her, censor her, or remove her as editor.  The only thing I can do,” she sighed, “is to say, ‘No comment’.”

 

There was a funereal hush about the room, the quiet of people wanting to say something, desperate to help, but forced into heavy, impotent silence.  It was broken by Kitten, who was looking at the lot of us with an expression of comic disbelief, “I don’t know, Eve,” she said softly, the words sounding odd coming from a woman who usually only purred and meowed when amongst us, “but she is very pretty.”  She picked up the small, kimono-clad figurine on Eve’s desk and held it up in front of the monitor, obscuring the picture of the cute, almond-eyed girl.  “I think she would make a lovely addition to your collection, don’t you?”

 

 

 

Chapter 15

Eve of Destruction

 

“Good evening, um, Madame…Chancellor.”

 

A quote often falsely attributed to P.T. Barnum (it was actually H.L. Mencken) goes, ‘No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public’, and as I looked at the image of the little girl in the short grey skirt standing on Eve’s front porch, I couldn’t help but realize how true that statement is.

 

But maybe it wasn’t stupidity so much as pig-headed arrogance, which Eve maintained it would be, and perhaps in this she was right: I certainly could think of no other reason for willingly walking into a person’s home after you’ve threatened them with less than favorable media exposure.

 

“Eve, dear, please,” my cunning fembot replied graciously, holding open the big oak door.  “And do forgive my attire,” she said, her huge juggs practically spilling out of the mist-green leotard she was wearing, her erect nipples prominent lumps beneath the skin-tight material, “I was getting in a quick workout.”  I had thought her provocative garb a strange choice, considering the circumstances, but this was Eve’s show, and her years of Judo training had taught her that victory lay in keeping your opponent off balance.

 

I had to give the little Asian twit credit; most girls, when greeted at the door by a big pair of tits and a smile, would probably freak out and start dropping shit and/or stammering, but Eve’s geisha-in-progress pretty much kept her cool, stealing sidelong glances at Eve’s massive bosom only when it was safe.

 

“Won’t you come in, Miss Watenabe?”

 

“Of course, um, Eve,” she said, entering the foyer, “if you’ll…call me Ash.”

 

“Oh, you don’t like Ashiko?  Pity, I think it’s a lovely name.”  She was the very picture of the perfect host as she bowed her guest into the foyer, but the thing about a picture is that you only see what’s on the surface, which is a good thing because if Ashiko could have seen into the depths of Eve’s mind she would have run off screaming into the twilight.

 

What should have been a day of rest, relaxation, and of copious amounts of bodily fluids being exchanged had instead been devoted to bustling.  Of all my fembots Eve was the most given to lead, and upon hearing Kitten’s idea that Ashiko’s future might best lay in becoming a human collectible, she lost no time setting in motion the plan that now had me sitting here, two stories above them in Eve’s attic office, watching and recording the unfolding events on several monitors, everything having been installed at breakneck speed by Maria’s private detective firm.

 

“…it’s all right, I suppose,” she said, now looking furtively about the smallish living room while Eve hung her light jacket on the big antique coatstand, “but most people have a tendency to treat me differently once they hear my name, like I’m some sort of quaint throwback to traditional male-dominated behavior, and I’m really not into all that ethnic stuff,” which caused me to chuckle, seeing as how it was Eve’s intention that she become that sort of ‘stuff’.

 

Eve, looking positively radiant, joined her guest in the living room, the same room in which she herself had received her second dose of fembot programming; the room in which Ashiko would soon begin her new existence.  “Please, have a seat, dear,” she said briskly, indicating the low, green chair that held fond memories for me.  “Would you like some sake, my dear?” Eve asked, filling one of two glasses sitting atop the antique bar – a nice opening gambit; to force her host to drink alone would be a form of rudeness that, despite Ashiko’s apparent rejection of her culture, would be too ingrained for her to permit, “You see, I am into that ethnic stuff.”

 

“Um, well, okay,” she said, obviously trying to appear composed, and perhaps older than her twenty-one years, “a little would be nice.”

 

“Lovely,” Eve replied, looking straight into camera number four and giving me a little wink as she poured a generous measure for her guest.  She glided over, graceful in her matching high-heeled mules, and placed the footed glass on the little table next to Ashiko and then reclined on the chaise opposite her, looking unabashedly resplendent in her skimpy get-up, her deep, milky cleavage rising and falling hypnotically.  “So,” she said, all business, “you wanted a comment.”  It was not a question.

 

What was going on in Ashiko’s mind as she considered her hostess I could only guess at, but the six wireless video cameras planted about the room picked up her every expression.  Kat was right; Ashiko was pretty, if you dig that waif look, which I don’t.  She was somewhat boyish in her construction, which was probably why she seemed to accentuate her female attributes wherever possible: the short skirt, plus the heels of a height that Robbi would approve of, produced a pair of legs that would definitely get the looks.  But the killer was her hair: long, lustrous, and glossy.  The kind of silky hair you could imagine wrapped around your shaft while she played with you, and I could imagine Eve, not to mention my other fembots, wanting to braid and style it, and whatever else chicks did when they played with dolls.

 

“Um, yes,” she replied, looking startled by the directness of Eve’s manner, “I wanted to know what you thought about my editorial.”

 

“I thought it was mean.”

 

“That’s all?” Ashiko asked, nonplussed at the simplicity of Eve’s answer.

 

“Well, what would you call it when someone attacks you on the basis of your looks?”

 

“I see,” she replied, smiling, obviously having been prepared for this line of questioning, “but it isn’t your looks I’m calling into question, Eve, but rather,” she paused, looking directly at Eve’s bountiful bosom, ”your choices.”

 

“Oh,” Eve said, looking down into her canyon of cleavage and then into her Ashiko’s deep, dark eyes, “so it’s my large breasts you object to.”

 

“No, it’s your large, fake, breasts I object to,” she answered with a sneer, and took a drink of her sake, quite pleased with herself that she had scored so deftly upon her superior.

 

“Oh,” Eve replied again, cocking her head slightly, her face composed, but her eyes smiling nonetheless, “and what if they’re not fake?”

 

I actually laughed out loud upon seeing the comic expression on Ashiko’s face, thankful that I could replay it again and again if I wanted to.  I quickly shushed myself as she opened her mouth to speak, closed it, started to open it again, and ended up taking a drink of sake instead.  Though Eve boasted no musical skills she was playing the little bitch like a fucking Stradivarius.  I had no idea what to expect, Eve having been quite secretive about how she was going to play this fish.  “Relax and enjoy, Jake,” she’d said, “and if I’m feeling generous I might let you play with my doll afterwards.”

 

Ashiko must have found some inspiration at the bottom of her glass for she managed to rally, ”Are you actually suggesting that those,” she spat, staring quite unflatteringly at what I’d spent a good deal of time making perfect, “are real?”

 

“I’m not suggesting it, you little twit, I’m saying it,” she said, pushing her big boobies up and together, “These babies are one-hundred percent real.”

 

Again I had to give her credit as she sat there, open-mouthed but not backing down, “You…you can’t honestly expect me to believe that those aren’t implants.  I don’t believe it, and my readers won’t believe it either.”

 

“Oh?” Eve replied, with just the perfect amount of iciness in her tone.  “And what proof do you have to offer that they’re not real?”

 

Like a good little reporter she’d come prepared, “This is my proof,” she shot back, an air of triumph in her voice, reaching into her laptop case and pulling out a handful of 8x10’s and holding them out to her.  “These photos were taken just two weeks ago, at the Annual Alumni Dinner.  I don’t see those boobs on display there.”

 

Eve looked at the photographs, scowling at being reminded of her former unattractiveness.  She dismissively tossed the photos onto the little table on her right, “Well, you certainly are very thorough,” she said politely, “but you are also wrong.”

 

“Oh, am I?” she said, finishing her drink, exultant in victory.  “And what proof do you have that they’re real?  Such growth over a short time, especially for someone of your age, would be very abnormal, wouldn’t you say?  Are you saying that you haven’t been to a doctor, perhaps rightly fearing some glandular condition?  To not do so, I think, would show extremely poor judgment.”

 

“No,” Eve said smoothly, camera number three capturing her sly smile, “as a matter of fact I’ve not been to a doctor.  One seldom does when one feels good.  But if you want proof,” she said rising to her high-heeled feet, “I will be more than happy to show you.”  And with the most elegant of movements she stepped right up to the front of the low chair, hooked her thumbs behind the straps of her leotard, and pulled sideways, sending her majestic cans spilling out to bobble animatedly in Ashiko’s surprised face.  “Not bad ‘for someone of my age’, huh?”

 

I clapped a hand to my mouth, preventing my cackle of maniacal laughter from taking flight, while managing to slow zoom camera number four in so as to perfectly capture Ashiko’s amazed expression as those two heavy juggs bounced and dangled before her.  I had figured Eve was probably going to get her drunk and seduce her, which would be only too easy considering her programming, experience, and major-league yabbos, but this didn’t seem to be the kind of ploy that would get a girl, especially one as reserved as Ashiko appeared to be, to start bumping doughnuts – Eve’s tits, to someone who wasn’t expecting to be confronted by them, could be quite frightening – so what was she playing at?

 

“Well, here they are,” she said, towering over the little, wannabe reporter, freeing her arms from the leotard’s straps and rolling the material down until it was just above her pierced bellybutton, “Are they real, or real fake?”

 

Ashiko’s small mouth was open, mere inches from the erect nipple that was pointing directly at the back of her throat.  She looked almost hypnotized, like a small animal before the glare of a cobra. “I-I…” she stammered, as those two immense flesh balloons floated in front of her, defying gravity and obscuring her vision so that all she could see was tit.  She cleared her throat, which by the sound of it had gone quite dry, “Th-They look, um…r-real…I guess.”

 

“Oh, I see,” Eve replied silkily, bringing her hands up to lightly fondle her big boobs, causing gooseflesh to break out upon her creamy milkers, “so you just think I have an excellent plastic surgeon, do you?”  Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, barely audible, “Give me your hands, Ashiko.”

 

From both side and aft cameras I watched the trembling girl trying, and seemingly failing, to raise her head high enough to see over the mountains of titflesh, into the face of her tormentor, “W-Why?” she peeped tremulously, her defeated tone signaling she already knew the answer, fearing the response.

 

“You know why, Ashiko,” she whispered the name, almost lovingly.  “A good surgeon can make the biggest boobs look real, but we both know that no matter how good they look, the hands of a woman can always tell the difference.”

 

“But…” she said, her voice weak, “I-I’m…straight.”

 

It was funny watching Eve watch Ashiko.  What I saw in her almost predatory expression, in her eyes and her smile, was a woman who was not looking at another human being, but rather something that would soon belong to her, an object for her enjoyment.  I almost felt sorry for her – almost.  Eve laughed a low, sultry laugh, as though her impending victory had just been made all the sweeter, “I’m not asking you to lick my slit, you little bitch, but if you want to publish that tripe about me on your little website, you’ll give my titties a good squeeze.”

 

What the fuck is she doing? I thought.  This is not the sort of conversation that gets a chick to open her legs.  Almost as if on cue, Eve’s botched conquest looked up, scorn in her eyes, and spoke icily to the tits that dominated her reality, “So you think you can spike my editorial?  I know my rights, Madame Chancellor, you don’t have the power to kill a legitimate story.”

 

“On the contrary, little one,” she said, unmistakable menace coming through my headphones, “I can do just that.  You see, if you do not gather sufficient proof prior to publication, the Chancellor of this University, me, can judge that you are acting with malice, summarily remove you from the staff, and bar you from putting so much as a want ad in that cyber rag.  But on the other hand,” she continued, her tone quite reasonable now, “if you do as I say, if you feel my breasts, you may print whatever you like, so long as it is the truth, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.”

 

“So that’s all this is,” Ashiko replied, her disgust and outrage apparent, “a filthy ploy to get me to grope your tits?”

 

“It is you who started this, little one,” Eve replied indulgently, “I’m just keeping you honest.  Trust me, there is no end of people who would love to be in your place right now.”

 

It must have been odd, sitting there losing an argument to a pair of tits, but the cameras certainly didn’t miss her defeated expression.  “All right, you win,” she spat, clenching her fists, steeling herself to do the thing upon which all good Internet porn is made, “I’ll do it.”  She looked up, squarely facing those huge boobs with the sort of resolve that must have been employed to bring down Nixon, “But you can bet I’m going to report every word of what’s happened tonight, including an exact description of the size and shape of these oversized monsters, and how you tried to harass me into an unwanted lesbian relationship.”

 

“I would ask nothing more or less of you, little one.”

 

“And stop calling me that, you old dyke!”  I watched the aft camera intently, my cock as hard as a fencepost, as she straightened up fully in the chair, addressing Eve’s expansive funbags with her head held high.  From behind, her head looked almost queerly insignificant in comparison to the mammoth mams in front of her, which considering the scheme of things it was: pushy, prying, flat-chested bitches are a dime a dozen, but a pair of cans you can rest your head upon and sleep the sleep of the truly blessed are fucking priceless.

 

She put her small hands up, holding her breath, her fingers evidently feeling the heat rolling off those big juggs, warming them…and pushed upward.  Had it been a football game the crowd would have been on its feet, stamping, cheering, and holding up those goddamned stupid foam fingers which really should be the basic criteria for forced eugenics.  Eve sighed as Ashiko began, hesitantly at first, hefting, rolling, and then finally kneading her firm boobs in order to find out where she was hiding those huge sacs of plastic.

 

But a look at the feed from camera number four showed that it wasn’t all just business.  Ashiko, like quite a lot of flat-chested women, eschewed wearing bras, and there was no mistaking that the nipples beneath that white, faux-silk blouse were hard enough to cut glass; something that Eve apparently already knew.  “And here I thought,” she said, running a finger over that thimble-like erogenous zone, “that you didn’t like girls.”

 

Ashiko, mortified, shot bolt upright from her chair, narrowly avoiding being knocked back down again by Eve’s zeppelins, “I am…” she started, but what she was was lost as Eve’s mouth clamped down upon hers.  “Mmmggh!” she cried, her protest devoured by the older woman’s carnal appetite.  Anyone else looking at this scene would think that it was a really hot exchange between a pair of very bangable lipstick Lezzies, but I knew better; Eve was going to rape this little girl.  With the skill born of her Judo training, Eve deftly spun Ashiko onto the chaise, sending her legs flying into the air.  She quickly reached underneath the almost weightless girl, seized the back of her panties, and pulled them up to the backs of her knees.

 

“Please…” she managed to utter, before Eve’s mouth descended on her again, silencing her weak plea.  I realized what was coming only a split-second before it happened, having seen Eve do this before.  With a quick, precise movement, Eve popped the special Velcro fastening at the crotch of her leotard, inserted two fingers into her dripping pussy, removed them and then smoothly slid them into Ashiko’s defenseless hole.

 

I actually heard the sound of Eve’s fingers entering Ashiko, so wet was her little Asian poon, heard her pitiable moan as Eve found her G-spot and began rubbing it, almost violently, with her two fingers, actually lifting her ass off the chaise.  This was not something that Ultimate Babe had taught her, but rather something that she brought in to my robotic harem, to their delight and my amusement.

 

Ashiko screamed into Eve’s mouth, and bucked against the invading digits, but she stood no chance against the larger woman.  The poor little girl’s body could now no longer be said to be her own as Eve worked her fingers up and down inside her sopping box, the liquid sounds distinctly audible to the central microphone.  Eve worked her pussy expertly, and despite my having seen her do this to all of her sister fembots, I still found myself amazed at the forcefulness of her ministrations, how she would actually bounce Ashiko’s ass up and down on the chaise until, after only fifteen seconds or so, Ashiko’s back arched almost painfully, her arms gripped the sides of the chaise, and her weak screams of fear became muffled wails of pleasure as stream after stream of hot girl juice came squirting out of her slick cunt.

 

My cock felt like cement watching this forced orgasm, and I found I was drooling only slightly less liquid than was shooting out of the rag doll that was flopping about on the chaise.  Eve now had complete dominion over her, and was moving the limp, gasping body about so that she could continue plying her craft in greater comfort.  She pulled Ashiko’s thin arms over her head and locked her wrists together with one strong hand while the dazed girl whimpered mindlessly, her consciousness lost within the pleasurable sensations overloading her brain.  I found it a little funny – at least the part of me that could do more than grunt, that is – that what Eve was doing to this girl, and what I had done to Eve and to three other women differed only by technique, for what was now painfully obvious to me was that Eve wasn’t just going to exhaust her into a sound sleep from which she would wake as my newest piece of feminine hardware; Eve was going to break her.

 

I sat and watched as Eve bent over her again, her fat juggs resting on Ashiko’s featureless chest, and reinserted her fingers into that sweet, but now sloppy, snatch.  Ashiko seemed to come out of her ecstatic reverie, somewhat, but Eve was on her like soy sauce on rice, pinning her back down with her heavier body, her rapacious mouth hermetically sealed over Ashiko’s thin lips, looking for all the world like some sort of giant-titted succubus bent on siphoning off the very life-energy of her hapless victim.

 

I felt guilty, sitting there watching this on six different hidden cameras, feeling like I should maybe put a stop to it, but Eve had extracted a promise from me not to do anything unless Ashiko somehow incapacitated her – bloody fucking unlikely now – or she simply said my name.  Was this where my devotion to science was leading me?  Not only had I done things that I would certainly be ashamed to tell others, but it appeared that I had – accidentally, mind you – created a race of sociopathic female robots, as well.

 

But Eve was right; it was Ashiko who had brought about what was now happening to her; she was the one who had set in motion the events that were inexorably leading her to an existence of complete enslavement.  Well, I thought, sitting there with my dick throbbing uncomfortably in my khakis as Eve wrung yet another squirting orgasm out of her bucking antagonist, at least I can program her to enjoy her new life.

 

And that new life was beginning, not with a bang, but with whimper after whimper.  Eve had apparently tired of using her mouth to silence Ashiko’s inconsequential whines, and had produced from the little side table next to the chaise, a cock-shaped gag which she gently inserted into the girl’s mouth, quickly pulling the nylon strap around her head so that she couldn’t dislodge it.  But Ashiko still had some fight left in her.  Mustering what must have been all of her available strength she managed to roll her lithe, sweating body off of the chaise, landing on the large area rug that Eve had had put in that very afternoon (no doubt hoping to save her wooden floors from the copious amounts of girl juice she expected to extract).  Eve, looking tolerantly amused, allowed her her freedom, which lasted until Ashiko rashly attempted to stand on her orgasm-weakened legs.  Eve caught her as she collapsed and laid her gently back upon the chaise, lovingly inserted her fingers back inside that still dripping twat, and continued the process of breaking her.

 

It was a nasty business, this technique.  Each successive orgasm would be stronger than the last, and if the subject wasn’t hydrated regularly, it could be quite damaging.  After Ashiko squirted a third time, Eve twisted the cock gag and removed it from the dazed girl’s mouth, leaving an o-ring behind through which she could squirt what looked to be Gatorade from a plastic squeeze bottle she’d stowed underneath the chaise, which Ashiko accepted, her chest heaving.  Eve then licked the inside of her captive’s lips, reinserted the gag, and it was off to the races once more.  Ashiko had by now sweated clean through her blouse, her round, hard nipples showing prominently through the material as Eve bounced her ass up and down again and again, eliciting a fourth, fifth, and then sixth orgasm from her.

 

What Eve was doing to Ashiko was nothing short of torture, so much so that the United Nations would put an immediate stop to it, or charge $29.95 to see it on pay-per-view.  She had by now completely removed all of Ashiko’s clothing, and her little frame quivered as orgasm after orgasm racked her, Eve squirting more and more liquid into her vulnerable pie-hole, as she caused more and more liquid to squirt out of her, then putting a hand to heart to make sure that she wasn’t stressing her beyond her capabilities.  It was at orgasm number twenty-six (more than twice as many as I had ever seen her employ on her sister iBods) that Eve finally stopped torturing her insensible foe.  She gently removed the cock-gag and the o-ring from Ashiko’s dry mouth, while the tormented girl shivered in the warm room.  “What is your name?” she asked softly.

 

“M-my…” she panted hoarsely, her throat still dry.  Eve put the squirt bottle (the fourth of the evening) to her lips, which Ashiko reflexively sucked on.

 

“Your name is Ashiko.” she said patiently.

 

“M-my name…is…Ashiko,” she responded thickly.

 

“And I am your Mistress,” Eve continued.

 

“Y-you are…my…” she started, her hesitation obvious.

 

“Oh, yes, Ashiko-chan,” Eve replied smoothly, her right hand snaking back down to Ashiko’s honey-pot.  Milliseconds later I heard the wet sound of her penetration in my headphones, followed by more weak moans of forced pleasure as Eve brought her off again.

 

“Who am I?” Eve asked.

 

“You…are… my Mistress!”

 

“And do you love your Mistress, Ashiko?”

 

“Yes!” she replied hoarsely.  “I…love…my Mistress!”

 

Apparently satisfied, Eve then began her method of chick reprogramming; informing Ashiko that she would not print a word about her in the school news, that she would end any romantic relationships she had going on, and that she would come to live with us and serve her at all times when school was not in session.  It wasn’t the easiest thing to watch, especially when Ashiko showed signs of confused hesitation, which brought her three successive orgasms that I could have sworn would have killed her.

 

But Eve had done it, had finally, irrevocably broken her, and having done so it was time to claim her prize.  She knelt upon the chaise, her drenched pussy hovering just above the parched lips of her conquest, “Drink from me, Ashiko,” she said, her own voice rather hoarse, but due to excitement rather than thirst, “draw life from me.”

 

And it was camera number two that caught what had to be the quintessential expression of rapture upon Eve’s triumphant face, as Ashiko, without the slightest pause, began lapping the nectar from her Mistress’s cunt.

 

 

As I put the cap on Eve’s early Christmas present and waited for her subsequent acquisition by my laptop, my mind raced about a million miles a second, thinking about all the things I wanted to discuss with her: her callous indifference, her arrogant presumption, and, most of all, her Queen Bitch of the Universe behavior.

 

All that made Ashiko what she was popped up on my screen; I clicked and dragged it into her prepared file, and, since Eve had gone out of the room, bent down and whispered into her ear the verbal commands that would lock out anyone else who might try to command her.  It was as I straightened back up that I heard the clacking of heels that heralded her impending arrival.  She stood in the doorway, holding a champagne flute in each hand, smiling broadly, her big boobs still wobbling freely.  She glided up to me, stopping when her pendulous cans made contact with my chest, and handed my glass to me.

 

“To us,” she said, clinking my glass.  I drank it, tossing it back quickly.  She cocked her head quizzically, “Why, Jake, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were angry.”

 

How do you explain to a woman that it might have been a mistake turning her into a robot?  She was, in my honest opinion, one of the four most beautiful and desirable women in the world, but the performance I had just witnessed quite frankly scared the shit out of me.  I had never seen her act like this with any of her sister units, so was this just a case of her fiery Scottish temper run amok, or might it be the beginning of some sort of bio-cybernetic breakdown?  “Eve,” I started, hoping that intelligent words would start magically falling out of my mouth because there sure as fuck weren’t any rolling around in my brain, “I…”

 

“Dear Jake,” she interrupted, cutting short my brilliant dialogue, looking up at me sweetly with her flashing, green eyes, “you’re thinking that she didn’t deserve what I did to her?”

 

“Well, um…yeah, I guess,” I replied in my usual eloquent fashion.  “I mean, Jesus, Eve, where did you learn to do that?”

 

“It’s the first thing they teach us at lesbian school,” she replied sarcastically, “it’s how we recruit.”

 

I passed over her flippant remark, but reflexively logged the visual in my spank bank, something from which I hadn’t had to make a withdrawal in ever so long, “And now what, she’s going to become your devoted, cuntlicking slave?”  Despite my anger I had to be careful here; one wrong remark to my hot-tempered, Aikido-programmed fembot could result in her wearing my dick for a pendant.

 

“I hope so, Jake,” she replied, an unpleasant smirk marring her lovely face, “it’s no less than she deserves, and it’s no less than I deserve, either.”

 

“And just how do you figure that?”

 

“Oh, I see, it’s only Jake who gets to play with dolls, is that it?” she fired back, pushing her cans further into my chest.  “It’s only Jake who gets to decide what we do and to whom we do it?”

 

We were getting into uncomfortable territory here.  I had programmed her to trust me, but despite that she still obviously had her own ideas about what was going on, “Just what are you saying, Eve?” I asked, hoping my bogus look of exasperated confusion was masking my very real feelings of exasperated terror.

 

“Jake, don’t you find it a little more than passing strange that four incredibly beautiful women, one of them a formerly committed lesbian, believe that the Sun rises and sets on your monster cock?”

 

Had she somehow put it together?  Did she know that her love for me was nothing more than a command in a file stored deep within her brain?  “I don’t know, Eve,” I said, remembering something that Robbi had once postulated, “I just thought maybe you girls were transferring, or maybe just grateful for your new and improved bodies.”

 

“Hmm,” she said, taking a half-step back and folding her arms under her considerable bosom, “I don’t know, Jake, maybe I should expel you for your lack of inquisitiveness.  I should think it was obvious.”

 

“Why don’t you tell me then,” I said slowly.

 

“Jake, who was the first person I saw when I woke up after you removed the cap from my head?”

 

“Um, me, I guess,” I lied – in actuality it was the second time I’d done it, but I certainly was about to confess that.

 

“That’s right, and I love you so much that it’s all I can do not to have this argument while spinning around on your wonderful cock.  And what about Roberta?  Who was the first person she saw after she woke up?”

 

“Me,” I said, wondering where she was going with this.

 

“Yes, and she practically cums in her panties whenever you walk into the room.  And Maria?”

 

I thought back to that night, that incredibly strange night when I’d discovered that two fembots were better than one, “Um, she saw Robbi, and then me.”

 

“Very good.  And who would you say she loves the most, Jake, you or Roberta?”

 

I could see where this line of inquiry was heading, which was far away from the truth – I meant to keep it that way, “That’s easy, she loves Robbi more.”

 

“True,” she said, “but not by much.  And what about Kitten?”

 

“The first person she saw was Robbi…and it’s Robbi she cuddles up to every time,” I said, acting as though I was cottoning on.

 

“Don’t you see, Jake?” she said, “We’re not transferring, we’re imprinting!”

 

“Yes!” I cried, more relieved than I had been in the longest time, even more than when the Army review board had decided not to have me shot at sunrise.  “Okay, so my invention is acting like some sort of fairy tale love potion.  That still doesn’t explain your almost killing her,” I said, pointing at her future Oriental love doll.

 

“Oh, Jake,” she said with a dismissive wave of her elegant hand, “she was never in any danger.  It isn’t the first time I’ve frigged a chick into unconsciousness.  It’s fun!  I can teach you how if you’d like.”

 

“And what about all that ‘Mistress’ stuff?  Do you honestly believe she’ll break up with whoever’s nailing her, and become your devoted servant and pussy slave?”

 

“Well,” she said, finishing her champagne, “here’s hoping.  I do have to admit her total submission surprised even me, but I figure if she does imprint on me when she wakes up, it will set a really excellent tone for our relationship, don’t you think?”

 

Ashiko’s ‘total submission’ might have surprised Eve, but it was beginning to make sense to me.  Somehow, whether it was Ultimate Babe, or my programming, or just the cybernetic spin-dry I’d put them through, my fembots seemed to exert an almost subliminal power over other women.  It was Kat in whom I’d first noticed this phenomenon, and she had confessed to me, after one of her mind-bogglingly good blowjobs, that before meeting Robbi, she had been as straight as an arrow, the thought of having sexual relations with another woman making her want to gag.  She told me the tale of her seduction, of how, upon meeting with Maria that morning she became fascinated by her greatly enlarged breasts, how they moved so naturally, and of how her erect nipples poking through the cloth of her sweater dress had left her pussy positively dripping.  And then of her dinner with Robbi, her own breasts queerly hot, an almost suffocating feeling in her chest whenever Robbi fixed her gaze upon her, how she actually came in her pants when Robbi kissed her, and how, thirty minutes later, the both of them lying on the dining room table, their naked bodies sticky with the remnants of the sweet white wine that Robbi had chosen to go with their meal, she could have ever thought that sucking another girl’s pussy was a bad thing.

 

But I knew how.  During my nine-day hiatus from fembot manufacturing, I’d finally gotten around to taking a good, though not exhaustive, look at Ultimate Babe, and found that it was the contention of that program, which now held more sway over my fembots actions than does the Bible for people who like to fuck up their Sundays, that all chicks are inherently bisexual.  Now, anyone who has ever read more in their life than Hustler magazine knows that this just isn’t true, and that Ultimate Babe is actually being satirical in that proposition – but to my fembots this was now the literal Truth.

 

And now it appeared that that Truth had just been spread to another self-confessed straight chick, and that Eve had transformed her into a willing carpet-muncher in less time than it takes to watch an episode of American Idol.  And, oh my Lord, what about Rosa?  When I first met her I hadn’t seen so much as a hint of her wanting to floss her teeth with Robbi’s pubes, but now she seemed to be all for being the main course at a lesbo luau.  Were my fembots turning hetero chicks into bi-curious babes by their proximity alone?  If that was true, I’d have to quarantine their fine asses post-fucking-haste or UC Berkeley would end up becoming Beaver Lick U before Winter break.

 

“I suppose so,” I sighed, tired of the argument, wanting nothing more than a good blowjob and a couple of hours of dreamless cyber-sleep, “if your hypothesis on imprinting is true.  But will you promise me that you will at least treat her with respect.”

 

“Oh, Jake, you’re such a Galahad when it comes to women,” she sighed, “but I promise you that I will treat her appropriately.”

 

I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but I figured it was probably as good a response as I was liable to get.  As with Robbi, I would just have to throw in some additional programming, monitor her closely, and hope she didn’t end up selling Ashiko to some demented doll collector.

 

Fifteen minutes later, we had everything loaded into my car – a gift from Maria, presented to me the morning after Eve had been formally inaugurated (completed, implanted, and bellybutton pierced) into our little family.  I found myself longing for the innocence of that scene, of how Maria, her hands covering my eyes, her massive cans pressing into my back, guided me out to the driveway.  When I opened my eyes I found that my other three iBods were there, not quite dressed in the skimpiest bikinis known to man, posing upon and around a 2009 PT Cruiser that looked as if it had just rolled off of the cover of Custom Rod magazine.

 

“Wha…?” I started, unable to take in the sight of the vehicle and the super-hot chicks adorning it. “What, no Hummer?”

 

“Well, Jeez, Jake,” Kitten giggled, lying on its hood, “don’t you think twelve of them a day is enough?”

 

“It’s the least we could do, Jake,” Maria breathed into my ear, “after all you’ve done for us.”

 

I have never been a car guy – I admit that up front – but even the most die-hard, anti-consumer, environmentalist fuck could not fail to be impressed by these wheels.  It was black, and by black I mean the blackest black you have ever not seen, and to look into its glossy depths too long would be to stare into Oblivion, and it isn’t many cars that can suck out your soul and do 0 to 60 in 5.3 seconds.  Maria took my hand and led me around it while I gaped at the beauty within and without, dumbfounded at the artistry employed in its creation.  It was a good three feet longer than the stock model, and there were no door latches or protrusions to speak of, giving it an ultra-clean, flowing elegance.  All of the glass aft of the driver compartment had been tinted black, which I thought was a little over the top, but when Maria produced the remote control key fob and pointed it at the rear hatch, I realized why this was an absolute necessity: the hatch rose smoothly to reveal that the entire rear portion of the vehicle was a rolling bedroom, complete with silk sheets, champagne chiller, and a container of Swiffer Wets.

 

“But that isn’t the best part,” Maria cooed into my ear, “come with me.”  She led me around to the driver’s side door and pushed another button on the remote, causing the door to open slightly: the front seats had been removed and replaced with one long bench seat that more resembled a couch, which caused me to cock my eye at Maria.  She returned my look, “Is there any reason a girl shouldn’t be comfortable when giving road-head, Jake?” she asked.  “But here, get in.”

 

I did so, Eve quickly joining me from the other side as Robbi and Kat hopped in the back and immediately began playing with one another.  “Start ‘er up, Jake.”  I put the key in the ignition and turned it.

 

Absolute silence.

 

I was surprised by this and looked at the dashboard for confirmation that I hadn’t tried to start it in gear or some other bonehead move.  The blue display was quite eye-catching: speedometer, rpm’s, GPS, and the one little bit of information that brought it all together – charge status!

 

I turned to look at Maria but was unable to see past her melons as they took up practically all of my view through the window, but then she stooped down so that I could see her beaming face, “An electric car for Electric Jake.  Do you like it?”

 

I looked in the rearview mirror to see Robbi and Kat now locked in a furiously wriggling sixty-nine, and then felt Eve expertly undoing my belt.  “Oh, Maria,” I breathed, as I took in the new-car smell, the beauty of the pristine, black interior, and the feeling of my sausage being swallowed by my red-haired suckbot, “I…I…”

 

“You don’t have to say anything, Jake,” she said softly, straightening up again and thrusting her driver’s side funbags through the window for me to rest my head upon, “for some things in life there are no words.”

 

And I had none now as my newest acquisition lay in the back, her arms folded over her non-existent breasts, while Eve the psychotic iBod lay beside me on the seat, her head in my lap again, giving me a gentle blowjob – a calming blowjob – one that felt as if she were trying to suck all the angst from my being, which, of course, a good blowjob does anyway. 

 

Poised on the edge of Eve’s driveway, I surveyed the dark street, a chill mist having rolled in while a young girl had had her identity frigged out of her.  I couldn’t say why exactly, but this was somehow different than any of the others; like I was taking but without any intention of really giving back, and as I felt the warm air from Eve’s nostrils blowing upon my balls, I couldn’t help but feel that more than my dick was somehow being swallowed up.  I shook it off, leaving that big, old Victorian house in my rear-view mirror as we drove smoothly off into the mist, as silent as the grave.

 

 

 

Chapter 16

A Little Night Musing

 

We arrived home without incident, whereupon Eve carried her new doll off to her bedroom, smiling like a little girl on Christmas morning.  I watched as she put Ashiko in her bed, undressed, and joined her.  She was asleep within minutes, all of those forced orgasms probably having taken a toll on her, as well.  I brought her online to ensure that no further bizarre behavior would occur for the rest of this evening and also to implant Ashiko’s prepared programming.

 

The rest of the house was peculiarly quiet, but after the events of the evening quiet was a needful thing.  I nuked a couple of tamales and grabbed a glass of milk, wondering if this house (and I) could really support a fifth fembot.  I finished my impromptu dinner and went upstairs, hoping for a little loving from Robbi, Maria, and Kitten; the kind that requires a little extra virgin olive oil, rubber sheets, and a shitload of wet-naps.

 

I smelled them before I saw them, and it wasn’t three women on the big bed, but rather four, not to mention the overpowering scent of peaches that assaulted my nose.  Rosa, dark and exotic, lay sleeping in the center of them, her head resting on Maria’s giant sweater pillows, while the rest of her beautiful body lay buried beneath the combined thighs, arms, and boobs of my other fembots.

 

I sat on the blanket chest at the foot of the bed, to better appreciate the soft beauty of them, and found a DVD case there with my name on it.  There was a DVD-RW in there, all right, not to mention a check made out to me in the amount of $10,000, a note in the memo space saying, ‘for Eve’s new doll’.  I chuckled sardonically at this, at how my creations seemed to view other women – non-enhanced women, that is – as being somehow less than human.  But my quiet laughter died as I realized that there was another check under the first one, stuck to it by the peach juice that also covered the four fucktoys on the bed.  It was for the same amount, and in the memo space were written three short words, ‘For Rosa, please?’

 

Darwin’s holy trousers, I thought, where is this going to fucking end?

 

When I was a little kid, I used to play a game called Red Rover.  It would start with one kid in the middle of a field and a bunch of other kids at one end of it.  The kid in the middle would call out, “Red Rover, Red Rover, I dare Mark to come over.”  So Mark would then have to try and run across the field without getting touched, or in our version tackled, by the kid in the middle.  If he made it across he would stay on the other side waiting for his mates to join him, but if he got tackled he would have to stay with his captor, and help him to catch the other kids, until every last one of them was caught.

 

I pulled up a chair and looked at the four sex and juice-drenched women.  Was that what this was?  Was I playing a far more sinister version of Red Rover, wherein my fembots were going to end up turning all of their spiritual sisters into a bunch of sex-crazed cunt-lappers who wanted nothing more than a big pair of knockers and a life of never ending orgasms?

 

A few weeks ago I wouldn’t have hesitated to slap my headgear onto Rosa, to begin her conversion into a properly-chested sex goddess, but I had to quit being Electric Jake and start seriously considering the possible consequences of my actions.  But after five minutes of watching the various body parts of four exceptionally hot women rise and fall, I really couldn’t come up with a good reason not to do it, but I was glad that I had at least given the matter some thought.

 

I grabbed the spare cap from my bedroom and got to work, and in a very few minutes, I sat at Maria’s carved oak antique writing desk, craving a peach margarita, and looking at the six servers sitting on my screen.  I popped the DVD in while Rosa’s brain was downloading, and found, unsurprisingly, two Poser files on it, detailing the new looks for both Ashiko and Rosa.  I shook my head at Kitten’s perverted efficiency, for I could tell that this was her work, but I wondered if Rosa, or indeed any of my other iBods, had been consulted.  I supposed it didn’t matter, as redesigning a fembot was simplicity itself, and went ahead and plugged them in.

 

“Robbi, stand up.” I said.

 

My very first fembot extricated herself from the pile of the most fuckable female flesh there is and stood by the bed, waiting for input.  I found her iPhone amid the bunch of them on the desk, and strapped it to her thigh, getting my hands slightly sticky with peach juice.  “Robbi, put on your shoes and come with me.”

 

“Yes, Master,” she replied tonelessly.

 

Together we made our way downstairs to my basement workshop, where I unlocked the door (making a mental note to myself to install a heavy wooden bolt, if I was going to do this whole mad scientist thing properly).  “Robbi, wash your hands with soap and hot water,” I commanded her, and she clacked off to the sink, her heavy breasts swaying softly.  I gathered everything that would be needed for the conversion of my two newest fembots into fully-fledged iBods, unable to shake the nagging feeling that I was rushing into this; perhaps The Advocate had Mr. Reasonable in a chokehold or something.

 

They were both as I had left them, Eve’s innocent smile belying the cunning that lay below the surface of her porcelain skin.  I popped a pillow under Ashiko’s neck so that her head would be at the proper angle and then prepped the area around her eyes with alcohol, while Robbi, surgical programs in place, stood at the foot of the bed, the little compressed air gun in her hand gleaming softly, awaited my instructions.  Two minutes later, $6,000 worth of hardware found a new home in the sleeping girl’s brain – if she had simply kept her opinions to herself, none of this would have been necessary.

 

Though as I looked down upon Rosa’s delectable form, only seconds before Robbi increased my inventory of iBods to a cool half-dozen, I felt a little sheepish.  Rosa hadn’t done anything other than to be so incredibly hot that I couldn’t resist, and I hoped that if she were admitted to the harem Maria would then relent and allow me to fuck her peach-soaked pussy.

 

But now that all that needed to be done was a-doing, I still wanted some loving, dammit!  It seemed to me that ever since having moved into this house of harlots I was getting the least rack time of any of them.  I knew this last wasn’t true, but I did need me a little pick-me-up, and it struck me that I deserved nothing less than a Showstopper.

 

We dropped everything off in my room, and together Robbi and I headed upstairs to the sex room so that I could get the full show.  Of all my fembots, she was, perhaps, the most special to me.  She was, after all, the first, and I suppose that most inventors probably long for the simplicity of their prototypes.  She also, hands down, gave the best head of any of them, and right now I really needed the whole Jake’s-cock-is-the-center-of-the-Universe treatment.  We mounted the stage, whereupon I took my ringside seat and said the magic words, “Robbi, give me the best blowjob you can.”

 

It never failed to amaze me, the shit they could do.  She fixed me with that expression of lioness lust that always appeared whenever I gave that command, and her giant breasts heaved as she slowly brought a hand up to her tit and squeezed it roughly, eliciting a subtle moue with her sexy mouth.  She then glided forward, landing lightly on my lap, facing me, pressing her mounds into my chest and throat, kissing me roughly, passionately, causing my heart to race at twice normal speed.  She broke our kiss with a wet slurp to whisper the words I had been waiting for, the dialogue pulled directly from Ultimate Babe, “I’m going to suck your balls dry, Jake.”

 

A driving, heavy bass beat blasted from the Marshall stacks planted about the room as Robbi dismounted from me, rolled backwards and came up in the splits, her gravity-defying globes wobbling about her.  Robbi, like all of my other fembots, was the ultimate sex machine, not only capable of any and every action having to do with eroticism, but also able to interface with any networked technology that would enhance the experience.

 

The driving bass pounded my ears as disco lights began whirling about, flashing color upon color over her glorious body.  She danced for me, moving gracefully around my chair, making incidental contact with my almost painfully hard cock, which the evil bitch still hadn’t let loose from its cotton confinement.  But then she came around to my front, straddling me again, and began grinding her pussy over my bulge, rubbing her wondrous, peach-scented cans across my face, my breathing ragged with unrequited lust.

 

I was not allowed to touch her with my hands, but I was permitted to kiss, lick, or suck anything I could reach, so my mouth glommed on to the fat tit directly in front of me, inhaling as much of the ripe flesh as I could, reveling in its yielding softness.  And, predictably, she pulled away, leaving me almost in tears as she ran back to leap high up onto the gleaming stripper pole, wrapped her legs around it, and hung upside-down, shaking her immense funbags from side to side.

 

And that was when it happened.  If I hadn’t been paying such close attention to her wobbling tits I might have noticed it seconds earlier, but it was the sound of ripping Velcro riding just over the din of the music that got my attention, the realization of what it meant coming too late as Robbi put her hands on the floor, unwound her legs from the pole and flipped over, sending her iPhone, pouch and all, flying high into the air on an arc that would bring it down somewhere near the center of the huge room.

 

She collapsed before it hit the floor.

 

I sat there for several seconds while the echoes of the music died away, my body seemingly unable to move, my mind racing eight ways from Sunday, trying to cope with what had just happened.  My body unfroze and I raced over to the side of my fallen fembot.  She lay there, upon the dance floor, like a marionette with its strings cut, her crystal eyes open, staring off into some dimension that I could not hope to understand.  I rolled her over gently onto her back.  She moved without resistance, her arms and legs coming to rest beside her, her breasts flattening naturally in repose, her default smile gone, replaced by a neutral mask that was impossible to tell from a coma, or even…

 

“Robbi?”

 

Stillness.  Silence.

 

I put my fingers to her neck, silently praying to God and all that was holy that she wasn’t dead; that I hadn’t fucking killed her.  She was looking upwards, into my eyes, into the depths of me, but she wasn’t seeing anything for I could feel no pulse beating in her perfect body.

 

“R-Robbi?” I whispered falteringly, shock beginning to overtake me.  But there was no response, just a deafening, suffocating silence that threatened to completely overwhelm me.  I stood up quickly, trying to think of what I could do.  I leapt from the stage, landing on the springy mats underfoot, and raced to where her phone had fallen.  It took only seconds to find, having landed squarely upon one of the giant pillows Kat had purchased.  It was still on, still connected to the network, but Robbi was no longer connected to it, the phone being too distant from the sensors implanted in her brain.  I ran back to her, leaping onto the stage and scrambling to her side, holding the phone right next to her ear, hoping to God it would reconnect, the little spinning gear on the screen indicating that it was attempting to do just that.  But it would not be able to, not without a brain wave, which Robbi was no longer generating.

 

Or was she?

 

I had no idea where that thought had come from; I just knew that the phone wasn’t reconnecting, and that Robbi’s brain would quickly die if it did not get oxygen, and it was that thought that sent me into the blind panic that impelled me to slam the phone down onto the stage floor.

 

“GYUUUUHH!” came the sharp intake of breath from Robbi as her whole body spasmed.  I scrabbled backwards as fast as I could, amazed and frightened, as her back arched painfully upward, and she began bucking and jerking like a fish out of water, her limbs flailing wildly as though she’d been hit with 10,000

 volts of electricity.

 

“Robbi!” I yelled, not knowing whether she was even conscious or if her brain was just randomly firing in the grip of a grand mal seizure, but I had to do something – this was all my fault!  She looked to be in such pain, and if she was still alive she might injure herself while in the throes of her violent fit, so I did the only thing I could think of and leapt upon her spasming body, or rather I tried to, for as I made to cover her body with my own, her left knee connected hard with the side of my head, and everything went black.

 

 

Wherever I was it was dark, but I knew I was alive because my head hurt like a motherfucker.

 

“Jake?”

 

It sounded like Robbi’s voice, but that couldn’t be – Robbi was dead.  I tried to open my eyes but found that they already were open, which could only mean that the blow to my head had caused me to go blind, or…

 

I reached my hands up and felt them, their soft, plushy firmness; their warm, full heaviness that could only mean that she was alive, we were both alive.

 

“Goodness, Jake,” I heard her giggle, “I guess you must be all right.”

 

Feeling began flooding into my body, and I realized that my head lay in the softness of her lap.  I could now see light coming in around the gentle curves of her boobs, could faintly make out the silhouette of an erect nipple which meant that my eyes were in the full umbra of her immense cans.  She pulled them apart so that she could look at me.

 

“Dear Jake,” she clucked, shaking her head, “don’t you know that you should never try to awaken a sleepwalker?”

 

I couldn’t make out her face too well, given that her features were in shadow, but she seemed okay, and though I could live the rest of my life with my head in her lap I really had to determine the extent of damage she had sustained.  Getting up was no more difficult than lifting a small hippopotamus but I did manage it, barely.  We were still on the dance floor, Robbi still nude, her heels having gone astray during her seizure.  She looked like she’d just gone ten rounds with the champ, her normally beautiful face was now ashen, and her eyes had a slightly deadened look to them.  “How do…”

 

“…you feel?” she finished, apparently every bit as worried about me as I was about her.

 

“I’m okay, pet,” I lied, really feeling as though I’d been bitch-slapped by a sack of Portland cement, “but what about you?”

 

“I-I’m not sure.  My head hurts, a lot, and I’m just exhausted.  Jake, what happened to me?  Did I really sleepwalk?”

 

It sounded like as good an excuse as any.  “I think you must have been, pet.  I found you up here, dancing, was worried you might fall and hurt yourself, and tried to wake you up.”

 

“And I hit you,” she whispered, putting a hand up to the side of my head where she’d walloped me, “Oh, Jake, I’m so sorry!” she said, and burst into tears.

 

She fell into my arms, where I dutifully cuddled her, feeling like the biggest heel on planet Earth, knowing that I’d deserved what I’d got for having almost killed my fembot.  I cooed into her ear, rocked her, and stroked her breasts softly while she cried it out.  I raised her chin up so that I could wipe her tears away, and as I did so she looked at me, her expression unreadable, “Jake, I’m pregnant.”

 

If it hadn’t been for the blow to the head I probably would have fainted at that pronouncement, but somehow that injury seemed to have inured me to this latest shock.  A pregnant fembot?  How the fuck was that going to work?  She couldn’t be pregnant; she was perfect!

 

“Um, Robbi,” I began, trying manfully not to gulp and/or hyperventilate, “how do you know you’re pregnant?  Did you, y’know, take one of those tests?”

 

“No,” she said, sniffling, “but I’m late, and if there’s one thing about my periods it’s that they’ve always been rock-steady.  I should have got it yesterday but…”

 

“Robbi, my pet,” I said, understanding her drift, my breathing beginning to return to normal, “I want you to go and see your gynecologist tomorrow.”

 

“Oh, Jake, you’re being such a guy.  I’ll pick up an EPT tomorrow and we’ll find out for sure.  I’m sure it’ll be negative, I mean, I am on the Pill…

 

“Pills can fail.  Please, humor me on this one, pet.”

 

“All right, I will,” she replied with the kind of obedience made possible by my programming.  “Why?  Do you think I really might be pregnant?” she asked, and there was no mistaking the hopeful tone in her voice.

 

“I don’t know, Robbi, you might very well be.  But do remember that your body has been through an awful lot of change in a very short time, add to that you’re now living with other women, and I think I read somewhere that close proximity to other women can often lead to changes in a girl’s menses.”  But this was only partly true, for I was beginning to think that not only was she not pregnant, but it was quite unlikely that she could become so, what with me plugging her in every other night or so, and if that was the case then I needed to find out if I was royally fucking up her reproductive system.  But it was something to imagine, a chick that never had periods, cramps, or could get knocked up, except when it was desirable – in the mind of her programmer – that she become so.  Darwin would be so proud.

 

And with that imperious thought I put her to bed, not difficult to do considering how lousy she felt.  Her forced disconnection and subsequent seizure had really done a number on her, and I was anxious to put her under computer control pronto.  She surprised me by actually asking if she could put the cap on since she always woke up feeling grand after a session with it: I praised her forethought and did as she requested.

 

But now that all of my women were abed, so to speak, and my unrequited desire for pussy had been shelved by two near-death experiences and a possible pregnancy, I returned to the orgy room to address that which I had stupidly taken for granted.  As I looked at its smashed face, I found my thoughts drifting back to when they had first been presented to the world.  The iPhone was rather like my fembots: revolutionary, useful, and motherfucking beautiful, but as I took in its shattered face and gaudy innards, I was reminded that this technology, like all technology, has its limits, and that this was a problem that had to be fixed post-fucking-haste.

 

The nominal range of the sensors implanted in their brains – the things that gave them their true elegance as wireless devices – was not greater than eighteen feet.  In my shitty former apartment, where it had been almost impossible to be greater than that distance away from anything, this had not been an issue, but here in the NoCal version of Pemberly, where we needed a cut-off man to pass the dinner rolls, it was a considerable mess.  I could play no more games with them, no more track meets, no more Jell-O wrestling, nothing, until such time as the security of their linkage was put to rest.

 

But how could I do that?  The sensors were designed to be passive indicators, not the active interlinks that I had altered them to be, and the cell phone booster was indispensable to their ability to function as fembot controllers.  So how could I slice this problem with Occam’s Razor?  The guts of the problem lay in the lack of range of the sensors – something I couldn’t improve.  Since the iPhone pouches were now suspect, their further use was out of the question, so what did that leave?  I could install repeaters around the house, but that didn’t address the issues of going outside or of taking them off the property.  No, the problem was the proximity to the iPhones themselves.  As good as they were, they were limited: they always had to be kept close and protected against the elements – if only I could just jam them inside their skulls alongside the sensors, then everything would be golden.

 

It was an interesting thought, a cell phone in someone’s head, but a stupid one.  But then I thought about it.  It didn’t need to be in their heads, per se, it just needed to be really close, say in the abdominal cavity.  I mean, Crikey, people often unknowingly walk around for years with clamps and sponges and shit floating around inside them after a surgery.  And I didn’t need the whole goddamn iPhone in there anyway – just the motherboard, a battery, and an antenna!  Cram the whole thing in a titanium alloy housing smaller than your thumb, build a proximity charger for it so that the battery can be charged through the skin, and…can you say fembot army?

 

 

 

Chapter 17

Kat 3.0

 

“How do you feel, Kat?” I said into the phone.

 

“I feel fine, Master,” came her response, the sound of crunching gravel audible over her lightly elevated respirations.

 

She had taken the surgery well, as I had expected she would, Robbi having a steady hand and a thorough knowledge of Kat’s vagina – the gateway to her abdomen – she hadn’t even needed a Tylenol when she woke up.  I monitored her progress on my iPhone screen: the GPS was functioning perfectly, giving her global position to within a meter of her location, the cellular signal showed five bars, and the battery indicator fully in the green at 68%.  As an added bonus I was able to monitor her core temperature, pulse, and blood pressure – ah, the wonders of technology.

 

Eight days of solid activity had led to this moment, well, solid activity punctuated by regular bouts of decadent, stress-relieving sex.  And when I wasn’t banging away in my workshop, or banging away in the bedroom, dining room, sitting room, or under the porte-cochére, I was either studying, or slaving away at my campus job.  Oh, yes, I still worked there.  I had seriously considered giving it up, now that I was turning a cool four grand in profit per each iBod and had no living expenses to speak of – hell, I didn’t even have to buy gas for my car.  But the job did afford me a veneer of respectability, and it also gave me a few hours a day to think and plan without the scent of Chanel in the air to distract me.  This plan worked except for Robbi’s insistence on showing up every day with some hot lunch and even hotter pussy.

 

Despite the early morning darkness, I could see Kat off in the distance, seemingly unaffected by the cold, running with the grace of a lynx, her bountiful breasts supported by her white, custom-made sport corset, pounding step after measured step at a pace a marathon runner would be hard put to match, her heart rate never exceeding 120 beats per minute.  “Return to me, please, Kat,” I said into the phone.

 

“Yes, Master,” came her reply.

 

And in less than a minute she stood before me, her face pink, her breath steaming out of her, and her breasts heaving over the edges of the corset’s cups, lightly goose-pimpled in the chill of the early Autumn morning.  “How do you feel, Kat?”

 

“I feel fine, Master.”

 

She felt fine, she looked fine, and more than that she was fine, the finest of her kind: Kat 3.0, the world’s first fully autonomous fembot, was complete.  I walked around her, taking her in from every angle.  “How does your belly feel, Kat?  Is there any discomfort of any kind?”

 

“No, Master.”

 

“Excellent.”  I placed one hand on her lower spine and the other on her flat stomach, feeling about for the slightest perturbation below the skin, anything that might mar her physical perfection or that might indicate that she wasn’t entirely organic anymore.  I found nothing but smooth, toned stomach.  I had outdone myself.

 

But feeling the soft flatness of her belly was beginning to cause a familiar stirring below my own, and as I looked down into that valley of compressed titflesh, more inviting than an oasis in the middle of the Sahara, I was reminded that I had foregone all pleasures of fembot sex since the night of Robbi’s collapse, and, goddammit, I deserved a reward.  Besides, she was already wearing kneepads.  “Kat,” I said, noting that my breathing was now more elevated than hers had been during her run, “please give me a soft, sweet blowjob.”

 

“Yes, Master.”  She landed softly on her padded knees and efficiently drew my stiffened rod out into the chill morning air only to give it the warmth of her wet mouth moments later.  I so needed this, especially after everything I had endured over the past week: the design and multiple redesigns of the cell phone case that now resided in her abdomen, the selection of components, programming, reprogramming, trips into Oakland for fit testing, and finally the tense midnight surgery performed by Robbi within the sterile plastic tent I had set up in my workshop.  I had to admit I felt guilty, using Robbi’s pet as the test subject, but animal testing has been the traditional method of experimentation for years.

 

I had Kat, and the rest of them, under the entire night, waking them quite late Saturday morning so as to give Kat the greatest amount of healing time as I could get away with, and doing all I could to minimize any movement on her part throughout the day.  She made no complaint of any kind, and seemed completely unaware that she carried within her the hardware that made her the most advanced piece of feminine technology on Earth.

 

My breathing quickened as she slid my length in and out of her mouth, and I reveled in her ability to operate perfectly in the cold weather despite her minimal covering, her breath emanating from her nostrils like an angry dragon.  I spent the whole of Saturday on tenterhooks; concerned about the possibility of infection, toxic shock syndrome, and also hoping that I hadn’t forgotten to disconnect the ringer.

 

I put her back under as early as I could, giving her an additional four hours of healing before beginning this morning’s trials, monitoring her closely for any signs of bleeding, fever, or dropouts: she performed every test flawlessly.  And with the conclusion of this final test, performed with her skilled tongue and a steady, low humming, I could feel the tight knot of tension that had built up inside me during the week gradually uncoil, and when I exploded in her mouth, my fingers locked within her brunette curls, I knew that the peace that had been shattered on the night of Robbi’s accident would very soon be restored.

 

Kat continued sucking me off, consuming every last bit of my jizz as though it were her power source.  “You may return to your alcove, Kat.” I said breathlessly.

 

“Yes, Master,” she replied, regained her feet, and loped off back to the house.

 

I gathered up the few items that had been employed in her testing: camcorder, softball, three-sectional staff, etc., and put them in the wheelbarrow for the trip back, grateful for the post-orgasm solitude, but unable to stop myself from wondering what crises lay in store for me now that this one seemed to be resolved.  So many things had happened since Robbi’s creation, so many problems met and dealt with, so many victories, so many goddamn balls in the air – it was enough to drive an evil genius crazy.

 

For that was what I was now, wasn’t I?  I was Lex Luthor, Doctor Doom, and Magneto all rolled into one, with just a little sprinkling of Wile E. Coyote on top.  It hadn’t started out that way, though sometimes it was difficult to recall just exactly what had led to what.  I mean, Robbi had been an accident, and Maria’s acquisition and implantation were done in order to save Robbi’s delicious skin.  Eve was just me being drunk on my own newfound power, but what about the rest of them?  And before I could bullshit myself into believing that there was some perfectly reasonable excuse for my behavior, an echo of my mother’s voice whispered inside my head, “Electric Jake.”

 

I dropped the handles of the wheelbarrow and looked around.  I hadn’t really heard anything, but then I suppose insane people probably say the same thing.  No, I hadn’t heard her, but I had heard what she would say if she were here, rather than five thousand miles away, likely buying a cartful of HP Sauce at the local Marks and Sparks.

 

I stood in that gravel driveway as the first light of a new day began creeping over the distant hills, suddenly feeling the autumn chill despite the new jacket Robbi had bought me.  I had always hated it when my mum called me that, feeling unfairly judged for doing what most people would probably do given the same circumstances.

 

But was that true?  Would most people turn six women into the ultimate sex objects if they were given the chance?  Would most people implant devices in sleeping women if they could?

 

Cheese ‘n’ rice, if there was one thing I hated it was bullshit philosophical questions.  What is the sound of one hand clapping?  If a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it does it make a sound?  If a chick gets pregnant from anal sex will she give birth to a lawyer?  Crikey, Berkeley had more philosophy majors than anyplace this side of Germany, but still the unanswerable questions remained – students, students, everywhere, but not a one can think.

 

So philosophy wasn’t going to get it: what about simple ethics?  Admittedly, I hadn’t exactly listened to every word of every lecture in my Bioethics classes but I was reasonably sure I would have perked up if Prof. Blatheron had mentioned the word ‘fembot’.  I suppose I could pose the question in some Internet chat room or other, where I could expect no more intelligent response than, ‘FUCK EM ALL, MAN!!  OOT OOT!!’

 

Well, I could always let Mr. Reasonable and The Advocate hash it out, but upon further reflection I couldn’t remember Mr. Reasonable ever having won an argument, the stupid fuck, so what did that leave me?

 

It leaves you with one simple question, Jake.  Are you doing wrong?

 

“HELL, YES, I’M DOING WRONG!” I yelled, causing some birds to take flight from a nearby tree.  I turned and sat on the edge of the wheelbarrow as I began to feel a weakness overtaking me, could feel myself beginning to tremble, wondering if I was having a stroke, and would it kill me, or simply leave me as a vegetable, perhaps to be displayed in my own wing in the Josef Mengele Museum of Evil Motherfuckers.

 

Yes, I had done wrong, was actively doing wrong, and I couldn’t bullshit myself that I was doing it in the name of science.  I sat there, balanced on the thin lip of the wheelbarrow, as feelings of nausea, dread, and fatigue washed over me, interspersed with images of my various and sundry crimes.  “My God,” I whispered through dry lips, “have I really done all of that?”  I began feeling short of breath, as the weight of my misdeeds pressed upon me, threatening to crush me into the gravel.

 

I don’t know how I found the strength, but I ran, desperate to get away from the terrible claustrophobia that had begun to set in.  I scrambled up the walk, bumping my shoulder painfully against the jamb of the big front door as I entered the huge foyer.  I continued on, my breathing ragged as I pelted down the stairs to my basement workshop, skidding to a stop in front of the large laundry tub that served as a sink, hastily turning on the taps and thrusting my wrists under the cold water, and when that didn’t work, shoving my head and the back of my neck under the stream, the urge to vomit close at hand.

 

Minutes passed, the din of the splashing water echoing loudly in my ears, dominating everything else, but gradually my head began to clear, the gorge in my throat subsided.  My hands still shaking, my legs weak, I managed to grip the sink for support with one hand while I pulled off a couple dozen feet of paper towels with the other.  “Jake,” I whispered to the whey-faced apparition in the water-spotted mirror, “what the fuck have you done?”  But my reflection, a figure that I could barely recognize, just looked tiredly back at me.  But over his shoulder I could see only too well what I had done.  I turned to look at her, lying on the cool-blue Lexan slab at a 30-degree angle in her makeshift alcove, sleeping her dreamless sleep, her eyes closed, her enormous breasts covering most of her upper body.  I slowly approached her nude form, mindful of her carefully folded clothing sitting on the chair, her scuffed kneepads atop the pile.  The readout showed that she was charging properly, her present state of charge at 74% and rising.  I shook my head, thinking of everything that had gone into her alcove’s construction: the use of the nearly transparent Lexan for its futuristic beauty, the stainless steel panel that housed the induction charging unit poised over her stomach, invisibly sending electricity into my robot – my human, female robot.

 

All that thought, all that planning; all of my nights spent devising it, researching it, building it so that she, and ultimately the rest of them, would always be operating at the very peak of performance – but absolutely no thought or energy had been expended in stopping me from doing it!

 

And why had I done it?  Why, to protect Robbi, of course, to protect them all.  Dude, I thought, if you really wanted to protect them you would leave them.  You would go to some faraway place where no one would ever find you, and where you could never a pose a threat to innocent women.

 

But I couldn’t very well do that now, could I?  What was done was done and I would do more damage undoing it than if I just left it alone.

 

So why not do it, why not just leave them alone?

 

An interesting thought, but a most naïve one.  I turned away from the body on the table and shambled upstairs, the need for a beer driving my legs forward.  Yes, I could just walk away, take the money I had left over from building my internal fembot interface and charging stand, and start a new life; it wouldn’t be the first time I’d done it.  And what would happen the first time Kat tried walking through a metal detector at the airport?  Jake McBride would become known as ‘Jake the Ripper’ all too quickly, and even though I could change my face, even my fucking fingerprints, I couldn’t change my DNA, and that fact alone would be enough to keep me looking over my shoulder for the rest of my days – I would be forever on the run.

 

Okay, fine, I told myself, putting the bottle of Tecate up to my forehead to cool my overheated brain, stay here, protect them, protect yourself – just stop being Electric Jake, and stop turning every other chick you meet into a goddamn robot!

 

The thing about arguing with yourself, aside from it being a sign that you really should invest in some top-flight medication, is that you tend to accentuate the negative.  I hadn’t turned all that many chicks into fembots; hell, eleven out of twelve Latinas in this house were still fully human, though I had to admit I had given serious thought to giving the whole lot of them some huge mexi-cans, especially after they began licking each other and touching each other all the damn time, which pretty much proved my theory about my iBods being more contagious than Ebola.

 

But I hadn’t done it.  I hadn’t bowed to the temptation of playing melon farmer despite the ease with which I could have.  Not only that, I hadn’t even overrode Maria’s mandate that they were not to make me cum, though Rosa’s recent exemption from this rule more than made up for me not plugging Lupe’s incredibly hot ass.  No, when all was said and done I was not being Electric Jake – I had resisted a fair amount of temptation, and had been, all things considered, fairly responsible.

 

Okay, so maybe I wasn’t likely to be canonized any time soon, I thought, as I made my way upstairs, but I did need to give myself some credit.  Yes, my behavior had been less than perfect, but when it came right down to it, a good chunk of the things I’d done had arisen from the need to maintain a stable system, which, with the cellular interface, I had now done.  I would monitor Kat closely for a week, and if there were no problems – which there really should not be as my interface was barely more complicated than a pacemaker – then I could implant them all, thus ending any worries of potentially fatal disconnections.  Then I could put all of this academic bullshit aside, limit my experimentation to my six iBods, quit berating myself for failing to make the best choices, and start making better ones.

 

But as I looked upon my five beautiful cyborgs, asleep in each other’s arms, their ten almost cartoonishly round tits rising and falling, peacefully undergoing the simple daily maintenance my laptop provided, I wondered what those choices might be.

 

Of course I couldn’t very well stop having sex with them – they were programmed to want it, as often as possible.  As to having sex with them while they were in fembot mode…well, who was it hurting, really?  They had no memories of it, and besides, even Robbi herself had once begged me to fuck her while she was under.  Hell, the only person who could be said to be harmed by it was me, and it was a very necessary bennie I was taking to offset the terrible stress under which I often found myself.

 

I sat on the edge of the bed, where my very first fembot lay on her side, her boobs in repose actually taller than the rest of her.  She had cried for hours upon finding out that she wasn’t pregnant, had clung to me, sobbing into my chest, pleading with me to fuck her, now! to make her pregnant so that she could have a little Jake of her very own.  I did as she asked, feeling like a royal heel as I fucked her for hours, feeding her my cock while at the same feeding her unattainable dream, knowing that she could never conceive while her body constantly renewed itself night after night.  I had never felt so low as I had that night, sitting there at my keyboard typing the new command that would go into Robbi’s folder:

 

I don’t want to have a baby until after Jake and I are married.

 

She seemed fine the following morning, her baby mania suppressed, but I could not forget that I had done something that I had sworn not to: meddled with their basic instincts, perhaps the most basic of all.

 

I put my empty bottle on the nightstand and stood up, weary of all this breast-beating and self-flagellation.  Yes, I had done some fairly bad things, but there was nothing I could do to undo them, and I was still committed to further not so saintly actions if I wanted to ensure my remaining iBods were free of potentially fatal disconnects.  But beyond that, I could put this technology to better uses than I had been: it could be a teaching tool, a healing tool; it could mean the end of sickness, old age, even death.

 

I stood up and walked over to the south-facing window.  It was full dawn now, soft sunlight setting the dewy landscape to sparkling like so many thousands of diamonds.  A new day was beginning, and I could begin again, as well.

 

But as I looked out onto the grounds I noticed something else sparkling, a car windshield.  I looked at my watch (there being no clocks in the bedroom at Maria’s insistence) to find that it was just on 7:00 AM.  I looked back and realized that I recognized the vehicle coming up the long driveway – it was Lupe’s VW Bug.  What was she doing here on a Sunday morning when she should be off, when the whole staff was off?  She pulled around to the side, where the staff was permitted to park, and got out.  Now, I have said that I am a confirmed breast-man, as is evidenced by my balloon-titted harem, but one look at Lupe’s incredibly hot ass has actually made me forget what I was saying and walk into walls.  She was wearing a red shirt today, tied under her DD’s and revealing a flat, tanned stomach that I would dearly love to drink shots from.  She reached into the back of her car, giving me a clear view of a booty that J-Lo would envy, and retrieved what appeared to be the answer to the mystery of her presence – a gym bag.  Unless I missed my guess she was here to use the grotto.

 

She walked around to the back of the house; her long legs accentuated by her high-heeled strappy sandals, but my eyes were fixed on her fine ass, watching it swinging its delectable figure-eight – a more apt expression of infinity not existing anywhere else on this planet – until it turned the corner and was out of sight.  I wasn’t worried that she might stumble upon anything, as the staff had strict orders not to enter the upper floors until such time as Maria or I gave the good word, nor would she find Kat laid out in the basement as that room was only slightly less secure than Fort Knox.  She could play without worry.

 

I turned back around and took in my sleeping fembots.  It was quite early in the day: too early to wake them, really, and Kat did need another hour or so on the charger.  I looked back down to where Lupe had disappeared.  Was there really anything to be gained in denying myself the pleasures of her sumptuous ass?  After all, it was her day off; what better way to spend it than with some really great anal sex by the pool?  Oh, there was Maria’s mandate, but I wasn’t too terribly worried about that – a ten-inch dick pretty much trumps everything else.

 

 

 

Chapter 18

Dawn of the Fembots

 

The beautiful redhead certainly knew how to suck a cock.  Her full lips slid up and down the length of my pole with an effortless grace to which 99.99% of chicks on this planet could not attain.  Her practiced mouth worked my meat feverishly, her soft tongue skillfully bathing the tender underside of my prick with her warm spit, and most erotically of all, that silky, smoky red hair falling and dancing about my thighs as she blew me, an experience every bit as intoxicating as the mouth party she was throwing.

 

I was going to cum in her mouth; we both knew it.  She began slowing her strokes and started humming; something she knew was my weakness.  I could feel my cock, as stiff as an iron bar, practically vibrating, my orgasm just moments away.  She gave a muffled laugh, pleased, no doubt, that she was in complete control of my pleasure.  I ground my ass into the red leather chair, trying to prolong the ecstasy, but it was a fait accompli.  She looked up at me, her bright, sparkling green eyes alive with mirth, and began pulsing and squeezing the fat base of my ten-inch member while she repeatedly, with a rhythm as precise as a Swiss watch, swallowed its length – God, her throat felt fantastic!  Every millimeter of my cock was engulfed within that moist warmth, so indefinably different from her sweet cunt, and the feeling in my balls told me it was over.  I bowed to her skill and unclenched my ass, and was rewarded by the blessed feeling of my cum shooting up my johnson, only to gasp, shuddering, as it gushed load after load of my jizz into that hot, cocksucking mouth.

 

She stroked my meat earnestly; making sure that each and every drop of my spuzz was being released to her custody, while I twitched like an alky with the DT’s.  She closed her eyes and lay her head on my thigh, my big, glistening cock resting against her cheek, her mouth glazed by my cum, smiling ever so slightly.

 

I cleared my throat, which unlike hers was quite dry, “Thank you, Chancellor Simmons.”

 

She laughed, squeezing my dick lightly, causing a pearly drop of unclaimed semen to ooze out of the head, which clung to her lustrous hair, “You bastard, you just love calling me that after you cum in my mouth, don’t you?  Makes you feel like the cock of the walk, eh?”  But she was smiling a satisfied smile.  She opened those incredible green eyes of hers, turned her head slightly and began tenderly kissing my somewhat softened prick up and down its length.  “But you’d better call me Eve, or the next time I swallow this monster cock of yours, you won’t be getting it back, capiche?”

 

“Absolutely, Eve.”

 

We sat there awhile, lazing in the afterglow of well-performed oral love, my fully-perfected, fully wireless, and completely self-contained fembot at my feet, hidden from view underneath her massive oak desk, which was a good thing as she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on.  “Honestly, angel,” I teased, “what would the Trustees say if they could see you now?”

 

She gave my dick another sweet kiss and looked up at me with her dazzling eyes, “I think they’d say, ‘That big-titted lesbo sure can suck a cock, can’t she?’”

 

I laughed, which caused her lazy smile to grow ever broader.  I had really outdone myself; she was superb.  She mightn’t be the easiest of my fembots to get along with, but she made up for it in other ways, ways that involved the curiosity of a woman for whom a penis was a new toy.  I bade her come up and sit in my lap so that I could better enjoy the visual feast that she was.  As she hoisted herself up by the arms of the stout desk chair I was treated to the sight of her large, creamy breasts, so full and round, swinging pendulously beneath her.  They now matched those of her sister units, heavy and firm, with large, perfectly circular areola, capped by perpetually hard, thumb-sized nipples.  Her trim waist and wide hips set off her tits nicely, giving her an hourglass figure of which Jessica Rabbit would be envious.  Moving downward, one could not fail to be captivated by her precisely triangular red bush – so very different from the Apple logo pubes of her sister iBods.  It barely came up to the top of her slit, and, like the Bermuda Triangle, one could get lost in there forever.  Her long legs, slim ankles, and her dainty feet completed the look nicely, not to mention her toenails, painted coral to match her fingernails, and finished with two coats of high-gloss lacquer.

 

And because no detail is ever too small, the little gold plaque in her belly button that bore her name, the graduation present bestowed upon all my iBods by Robbi (some details of fembot dynamics are bloody impossible to figure out).

 

She climbed into my lap, or rather I should say, she leapt upon me, shoved those big funbags in my face and settled her hot pussy over my throbbing prick.  “Exercise time!” she whispered, hot breath in my ear, and began pulsing her sugar walls around my intrusive member.  “A girl’s got to do her Kegels if she wants to stay in trim, right?”

 

“Yeah, ‘trim,’” I managed to mumble around the mounds of milky titflesh that were pinning my head to the chair.  I had programmed them to be sexually insatiable, but it sometimes seemed as though Eve was making up for lost time when it came to my cock – the only flesh and blood one she had ever held in her hand or permitted entry into her snatch – a true cave of wonders.  She didn’t move or make a sound, save for softly humming into my ear as I sucked on her immense melons, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t fucking the life out of me.  Her well-trained gash pulsed and squeezed my meat relentlessly, rhythmically jerking me off within its tight warmth.  She giggled lightly, obviously enjoying the fact that she was driving me crazy with her attentions.  Time lost all meaning as I sat there, connected by my throbbing cock to the sexpot I had reclaimed from the ravages of age, but even a nympho has her limits.  As though some internal mechanism had tripped, she stopped pulsing her cunt around my pole, and began sliding up and down its considerable length, moaning through her tightly compressed lips, apparently afraid to let loose her screams of pleasure for fear of shattering the windows of her office.  We came together, my crazed screams muffled by the fat tit occupying my mouth as spurt after spurt of my goo erupted into my angel, who, taking her cue from me had also stifled her screams using her idle left tit.

 

We sat there, two of the happiest, exhausted people in the world, our joy made possible because of a technology I had learned to control.  “Why do I love you so much, Jake?” she asked, pulling away from me, looking down into my eyes, “I’m supposed to be a lesbian.”

 

“I don’t know, my angel, “ I lied, “does it really matter?”

 

She continued looking into my eyes, as though trying to find something that I was for damn sure never going to let her see, “No, I suppose not, not so long as I have access to this,” she said, pulsing her snatch about my cock again, “Ashiko-chan?”

 

“Hai, Eve-sama,” came the soft reply from over my shoulder.

 

Despite having had her around for more than two weeks, she still always managed to surprise me whenever she did her ninja-from-the-shadows bit, though I doubted that any ninja could function with tits so big that she could barely reach around them.  She was wearing a robin’s-egg blue kimono, tied tightly about her minuscule waist, and her long hair had been put up in some complex swirl that she would never have been able to master were it not for my computer.  She bowed slightly to me, and I noted that she was not wearing the chalk-white makeup that she normally wore when attending Eve, which implied that she, like me, was really only here during a break in the school day.

 

“Jake, here, has been a naughty boy, little one.  Please attend me.”

 

“Hai, Eve-sama,” she replied, as obsequiously as any good servant.  She quickly removed her kimono, which turned out to be the only bit of clothing she was wearing, while Eve, wearing only her queenly glory, dismounted from my not quite soft rod and waited patiently while Ashiko lay down upon the floor.  Casually, but with the same look of triumph that she always wore whenever her former foe was about to do her bidding, she knelt over her brainwashed slave’s face, gasping as soon as Ashiko began sucking my semen from her cunt.

 

I couldn’t say I felt terribly proud watching the display before me, the complete and utter degradation that Ash was being put through, but I took some solace in the fact that I had programmed her to enjoy serving Eve, so at least her existence was not one of constant torture and humiliation.  In short order, Eve’s gasps turned to stifled whimpers as Ashiko brought her to a shuddering orgasm, her firm thighs pressing Ashiko’s huge boobs together so that she looked like she was sitting on a pair of beanbag chairs with legs.

 

“Thank you, little one.  Now, if you would please take care of Jake’s tool before you go …?” she let the sentence trail off as she exited the room into her private bath, expecting her homemade geisha to fill in the blanks.

 

“Hai, Eve-sama,” she replied again, as close to being a waking fembot as it is possible to be.  She managed to actually roll over and rise to a kneeling position, placing her heavy milkers in my lap.  Ashiko’s massive udders were precisely the same size as those of my five other iBods, but on her 4’-7” frame they looked truly gigantic: what had once been a 72-pound Asian hottie now tipped the scales at 106 pounds – making her almost one-third tit!  A little excessive, yes, but that was what Eve wanted, and what difference did a few cup sizes matter beyond a certain point?  I just made sure that Ashiko loved them every bit as much as the rest of us did.

 

She arranged her giant funbags around me – which would make one hell of a lap blanket come Winter – and settled to her task.  But after about a minute of her sucking and licking my now surgically clean cock I realized she was putting rather more effort into this than was necessary and that we were now in blowjob country.  “Ash,” I rasped, my glossy dick sliding in and out of her full lips as she bounced up and down on her almost spherical cans, “you, uh, don’t have to do everything she says, you know.”

 

She looked up and shook her head, her mouth full of cock, tacitly letting me know that it was her Mistress’s commands that held sway, but I could also see in her eyes that she appreciated my consideration.  She got back to it, making soft, gulping noises whenever my cock disappeared down her throat, every slow and deliberate stroke drawing me that much closer to an orgasm that I was sure would cause my overworked testicles to implode.  Thankfully my kiwi fruit-sized ‘nads did not rupture under the strain, giving up their bounty to Ashiko’s waiting tummy with pleasure.  Her duty to her Mistress complete, she rolled back until she was sitting cross-legged on the shag carpet, her big, round boobs on her lap – obscuring it, rather – her small hands lightly caressing their sides, while her head rested comfortably in her own cleavage.

 

“Stop teasing him, you little slut!” resounded Eve’s voice, more amused than stern, as she re-entered the room.  “If that thing gets hard again we’ll be here all day.”

 

“Hai, Eve-sama,” she replied briskly, raising her head from its pillowy perch.  She gave me a sly wink and rose gracefully to her tiny feet and tottered out of the room, a walking affront to the laws of physics.

 

“All in all, I think she’s turned out rather well.  Don’t you agree, Jake?”

 

I turned my head back around to face her, the image of Ashiko’s monstrous, wobbling boobs still burned upon my retinas.  Eve was leaning on the corner of her antique desk, now impeccably attired in a sand-colored linen dress that looked more in keeping with her position, although the spike heels and the black stockings made me wonder just what was going underneath that skirt.  “My angel,” I started, leaning back in her comfortable chair and remembering that I had just enjoyed both ends of this woman, “what the fuck is going on?”

 

Her smile broadened.  “I sometimes wonder if I love you more for your mind, or for your horse cock, Jake.”

 

I waited.  Having just had three orgasms in the space of a half-hour had left me in a very patient mood.

 

“Oh, all right,” she snapped, obviously hating being caught out.  “I want something from you.  Can you blame me for trying to, um…soften you up first?”

 

I sidestepped the pun.  It was most unlike her to be so cutesy.  Of all my fembots she was the least prone to ‘girlish’ behavior; I was beginning to get the feeling that I was being handled.  “And what is it you want, angel?”

 

She looked at me, her slim arms folded under her imposing chest, with an expression more suited to a game of high-stakes poker, and then moved off to her right, and began looking intently out of the bank of mirrored windows that made up the north wall of her office.  “Jake,” she sighed, all playfulness gone from her manner now, “take a look at the courtyard below.  Tell me what you see.”

 

I stood up, a little self-conscious at being bare-assed in the Chancellor’s office, but Eve had given orders not to be disturbed so I put my concerns aside and joined her, fighting the desire to lift the back of skirt and find out just how clothed she was.  I looked down to see the courtyard was filled with women, clerical staff, perhaps, or maybe just students, doing tai chi.

 

“Well?” she asked.

 

My first impulse was to say ‘Pussy on the hoof’, but I avoided that particular temptation, settling for the safer answer, ”Girls, Eve.”

 

She gave me a dry smile, as though she’d somehow read my thoughts.  “And tell me, what do you think of the girl with the chestnut-colored hair, the one with the dark glasses?”

 

I paused, wondering what this was about.  “She’s attractive, though certainly not up to your level, my angel.  I’d also say this looks like her first session.”

 

“You really are quite perceptive, Jake,” she said, giving me a warm smile.  “You don’t miss much.  Someone tried to rape her last night.”

 

I looked back down at the woman stumbling through her slow-motion kata.  She looked to be in her mid-twenties, though with those huge shades covering most of her face it was hard to tell.  It looked as though she was having trouble raising her right arm, rather like she’d been injured.  “Tried to rape her?  And where did this attack take place?”

 

“In the North parking lot.  We’re not sure if her attacker’s intent was just to rape her, or possibly even abduct her.”  Eve laid out the whole scenario for me.  Dawn, the woman in the glasses, was a post-graduate student, and had been heading to her car in the early evening after her last class.  Her car had been near the edge of the lot, right next to a lightly forested area that came out into the city proper.  Some guy, wearing a hoodie and jeans, darted out of the trees and grabbed her around the neck, and began pulling her in the direction of the wood.  Dawn had been frightened out of her wits – as most people are when confronted with the fact that civilization is a game that most of us play, hoping that everyone else will play along, too – and fought back fairly bravely, her resistance earning her a punch in the face.  The thing that saved her from becoming a tidbit on the news, however, was her decision that her life was more important than her stuff, and tried hitting him with her laptop case.  He deflected the blow, sending the case flying onto another car, which then started alarming loudly.  He ran off, leaving Dawn a crying mess.  Security came, but Joe Scumbag was long gone.

 

“After last night, she decided to join this tai chi group, not wanting to depend on luck ever again.”

 

“A wise move,” I said.  “I’ve believed for a long time that ‘luck’ is a four-letter word that should be banned from polite conversation.”

 

“I know you do, Jake,” she said, turning to face me, a beam in her eye, “That’s why I think it’s time!”

 

“Time…for what?” I asked, but somewhere in the back of my mind I heard the words only milliseconds before she said them.

 

“Time,” she said, her impressive cans heaving beneath her lapels, sending her cleavage that much higher up her chest, “to move your technology beyond our groins, Jake.  It’s time for you to change the world.”

 

“No, Eve.”

 

“Just ‘no’?” she asked, her eyes wide in mock surprise.

 

“Yes, Eve, no,” I replied, trying to keep my voice calm and steady.  The bitch was handling me, I was sure of it, but this was not an argument or a debate that I was going to entertain.  All of my fembots were now in perfect working order, free of the dangers of accidental disconnects, and able to be wirelessly controlled no matter where in the world they might be, so long as there was a cellular signal and they remained charged.  Things were now stable; my life was back in order.  It was time to monitor them, and to make sure of what my technology could do – safely and methodically – rather that running off, willy-nilly, creating big-titted sexbots just because I could.  “It is still early days.  I need to find out just what we’ve got here before we…”

 

“Jake,” she started softly, the calming voice of reason, “we both want something, something that both of us feel is important.  But you, in essence, already have what you want.”  She moved closer to me, trailing her nails on the top of the low, oak bookcases that stopped just below the windows, and looked up into my eyes.

 

Oh, yes, she was handling me, all right.  The totality of her, painstakingly prepared in advance and now being flawlessly executed, was bent on her getting what she wanted: the sexy but coolly professional dress, the heels, her perfectly applied makeup, her intoxicating perfume, even her violet pastille-scented breath, all designed to keep me off-balance.  My cock certainly knew what it wanted, stiffening slowly upward until it made contact with her hose-clad thighs, rising until I could feel its head disappear under her skirt, nosing around for her pussy.  “Umm…” I started, clearing my throat, pissed at allowing myself to be ensnared in Eve’s machinations much as Ashiko had only a fortnight ago, “Eve, I…”

 

“Jake, if I can communicate to you, make you understand why I want this, will you consider it?” she whispered, serenely ignoring the fact that my insatiable prick was now throbbing against her pubic hair, a barbarian at the gate.  She made no provocative moves, or squirmed or undulated against me, which just seemed to excite me all the more.

 

What could I do, just stick my fingers in my ears and walk away from her tantalizing cunt?  Not bloody fucking likely.  I could at least listen.  “Make me understand, Eve,” I rasped hoarsely, although I doubted that I’d hear a word of it, I’d just be concentrating on trying to get her to let me fuck her tits.

 

“I can’t put it into words, Jake,” she breathed, “I have to show you.  Close your eyes.”

 

In a move that would surprise no one, I did so.  She backed away, leaving my cock to quiver, panicky in the open air.  She gently positioned my body, turning me and backing me up a little ways.  I smiled, sure that something wonderful was about to happen.  I felt her hand upon my agitated member, felt her pull lightly upon it, and then felt it make contact with her entrance.  I surged forward and felt, to my surprise, not the warm, yielding softness of her pussy, but the even hotter, tighter embrace of her ass.

 

“Ohhh,” I groaned as I slipped into her well-lubricated hole, her own accompanying moans every bit as loud.  Well, if I was being handled, I was certainly being handled in exactly the right way.  I opened my eyes and looked down upon her while I pumped her hot ass.  She had raised her skirt up so that I could take in her superb bum, and was bent over, resting her forearms on the bookcase, her fat tits dangling out her dress, slapping audibly against the books with each and every one of my thrusts.

 

“Oh, yes, Jake, fuck me!  Close your eyes, feel me!”

 

I closed my eyes again, reveling in the tightness of her ass, thankful that I had cum so recently, so that I could enjoy being inside her for as long as possible.  Time seemed to float away, in fact the world seemed to float away; all that existed was me, and Eve, linked by my thick umbilical, our bodies joined, our consciousnesses melding.

 

It had only ever been Robbi with whom I felt some form of communication while having sex, and then only when she gave me one of her truly stupendous blowjobs, and now it seemed that I was experiencing the same thing while butt-fucking my angel, but on a much more complex level.  My cock was as deep inside her body as she was inside my mind, conveying feelings of fear, desire, helplessness, joy, need, love; a lifetime of emotions gathered up, rushing into my brain, filling me up with her experiences.  It was complete sensory overload, leaving me able to sense nothing more than her invasive thoughts and the now super-intensified feelings of my cock, buried within her, occupying her, taking root within her as though she had become nothing more than a flesh wrapping for it.

 

For an unknown time we fucked like gods in this twilight of existence, joined at the head and hips, lost in a yin-yang of sexual ecstasy that both defined us and consumed us.  But even gods can’t fuck forever, and from somewhere in the bowels of my being, imperceptibly at first, I began to feel a growing, rushing upsurge of emotion, threatening to overwhelm me, expanding outward as though I were a red giant, nanoseconds away from going supernova.

 

I screamed, a rising primordial yell, unable to bear the pressure of these feelings that threatened to destroy me utterly, until finally, with a flash of realization so bright that I thought I would be burned, I understood!  I understood with perfect clarity what Eve wanted, why she wanted it, and, at the most fundamental level, what she had become.  And with that epiphany to end all epiphanies I burst, erupted, exploded, the entirety of my being rushing outward into Eve, as though my cock were a conduit through which poured the totality of my being, the essence of Jake.

 

It was one big…motherfucking…bang.

 

Corporeal existence resolved itself into being again.  I felt my legs, weak and shaking as though I had just completed a marathon that had spanned Infinity, my breathing labored, gasping like a man nearly drowned.  I felt Eve’s body beneath me, supporting my dead weight with unknown reserves of strength.  She was crying.

 

“Eve?” I rasped.

 

“J-Jake?” she started tremulously, her head resting on a thick, leather-bound book, reaching an arm back so that she could hold my hand, “I…are you all right?”

 

I laughed reflexively, still connected to my angel by my spent cock.  “That’s what I was going to ask you, my angel.  You’re the one who’s crying.”

 

“I…” she started, her tears slowing, “I…was just…so overwhelmed by that…by you.  I thought that…I might die.”

 

“But you planned this all, angel.  Didn’t you know that would happen?”

 

“I thought something would happen.  But do you understand now, Jake?”

 

“Of course I understand, Eve,” I said, a little flabbergasted that she would ask such a stupid question in light of what had just occurred.  “Couldn’t you read my thoughts?”

 

“No,” she said, giving a little sniff, “I thought I would be able to, like with Roberta, but all I got was an ass-reaming of Biblical proportions.  Can we do it again soon?”

 

“Sure, my angel,” I chuckled, “just as soon as I make out my will.”

 

 

The rest of my working day was spent going about the business of gathering everything necessary to the doing of that which I had sworn I would not do.  Eve, by virtue of her magical, mentalist ass, had swayed me to her position – I was going to create more of them, and what was more, UCal Berkeley was actually going to pay me to do it.

 

It was the stuff of fantasy, creating a veritable army of giant-breasted fembots, utterly submissive to my will, an entire campus whereon my wishes would be their commands.  Fantasy, yes, but I was not interested in it; it carried too high a price.  No, this was my opportunity to make up for at least some of the wrong that I had done, to finally do something to make the world a better place.

 

Twenty girls at twenty thousand dollars; that was the deal.  But I had made it very clear to Eve what the ground rules were: whatever volunteers or recruits she dug up were not to be told anything about what was going to happen to them except that it was to be an experiment in sleep learning.  There would be no expectation of body alteration of any kind.

 

She agreed, warmly pleased that she would be helping her spiritual sisters to live better, safer lives, more fulfilled lives, lives free of the fear that so often gripped them.  “But what about your imprinting theory, my angel,” I’d asked her.

 

“There must be ways to defeat it,” she’d said, “ways that I’m sure you can figure out, as intelligent as you are.  And if you don’t get it right the first few times, well…it’s an awfully big house, Jake.”

 

Well, there weren’t going to be any worries on that score, as Ultimate Babe was not going to be a part of their education, nor would I program them in any way other than to give them the ability to defend themselves.

 

Dinner that night was strange, strange because, for the first time in memory, we were actually talking.  Eating with my absurdly breasted women was often a comical affair as each meal offered new and exciting avenues of sexual exploration.  But tonight there was no grab-ass or BJ’s under the table, no innuendos or flirting, or games of guess-who’s got-the-zucchini; just actual serious and sober conversation.  Of course that didn’t mean it was the kind of meal to which you’d invite the Vicar.

 

“Will their boobs get big like ours, Jake?” Robbi asked.

 

“I don’t know, pet,” I lied.

 

“Will they all love you, or us, or each other?” Maria piped up, her manner indicating that she would like nothing better than to play den mother to a score of busty, bisexual nymphos.

 

“Again, I do not know, my doll,” I lied, thankful that I wasn’t wearing pants, as they surely would have burst into flames by now.

 

Well, I hope they do,” she continued, “there is not enough love in this world, and if Jake can spread more of it around with his magical cap, then the world will be the better for it.”

 

“I don’t know,” Kitten said doubtfully, delicately ripping a piece of chicken off the bone with her teeth, “I think if Jakes spreads it around any more he’s going to need a Viagra drip.”

 

All my other iBods laughed uproariously, but I merely gave Kitten a wry smile, inwardly thankful that my nightly rejuvenation sessions made it possible for me to enjoy my cyber-concubines to the fullest.

 

“Well, it doesn’t matter who Jake nails, or how big their boobs get, just so long as they’re happy like us,” Robbi stated, so decisively that they all nodded their heads in agreement, even Ashiko, who was attentively refilling Eve’s wine.

 

Any normal person would have simply shut the fuck up and said, ‘Could you please pass the couscous’, but the idiot in me couldn’t let it go at that – chalk it up to the luxury of having as much sex as a man could want plus free beer and tamales on the side.  “Are you really happy, Robbi,” I asked, honestly curious as to how it could be so.  “Are all of you really happy with this life, this never ending Bacchanalian revel?”

 

They all looked at me as though I was speaking another language.  “Of course, Jake,” Maria replied simply, with a glance down her immense chest and a smile to her sister robots, “what woman wouldn’t be?  Speaking for myself, I am enormously pleased that I have finally become, all modesty aside, the perfect woman.”

 

Crikey, I thought to myself, watching as the others all nodded their pretty heads in agreement, I really have done a number on them, and I owe it all to Ultimate Babe.  That stupid little program, installed in Robbi for the sole purpose of getting me a decent blowjob, had become something akin to a religion for them, and as anyone who has ever had a debate with a believer can confirm, getting past that filter of irrational belief is well nigh impossible.

 

Some people, Eve among them, I suspect, would say that I was pussing out, ‘What would be wrong with them enjoying their bodies, enjoying other’s bodies, living joyous lives of utter sexual fulfillment?’  But others, Mr. Reasonable for starters, would respond, ‘It’s about choice, the freedom to choose your path.  Women are not objects!’

 

Which is the biggest bunch of bullshit there is.  I mean, honestly, if you assert that women are vessels of wisdom, well then you obviously get it, don’t you?  And if you say that women are the essence of nurture, then you move to the head of the class.  And if you say that women are the embodiment of tolerance, patience, strength, endurance, and yes, even love, then you truly understand ‘woman’.  But if you dared, even for a moment, claim that a woman is an object of pleasure – something to which her nine-inch Black King dildo and her $799.00 recumbent fucking machine (robofucker.com, with a six-month backorder) could attest – you would be castrated, shaved bald, and ultimately made to serve them Mai Tais in their little femdom fantasy worlds.  I shit thee not.

 

We are all, in a certain sense, objects; a concept that my women now wholeheartedly embraced.  But they were far more than objects, just as they were decidedly more than the sum of their programming.  True, they did have limits in their choices, but that was due to my libertine behavior – something that would not be repeated with any future fembots.  Crikey, I thought, reminding myself that there were not going to be any more fembots; I was just going to implant some Aikido lessons in them – that was all.

 

But that wasn’t all.  From the moment dinner concluded, with all six of my iBods physically dragging me onto the table and giving me a full-body breast massage (“because you seem so tense lately, Jake”), I had this argument with myself again and again.  I had it later that evening, as I watched them soldering the connections and wiring in the batteries for twenty new caps, with the silent efficiency and teamwork that is the hallmark of fembot operation.  I had it the following day in class, and again while scoping out the wrestling room where my ‘experimental technique’ was to be conducted this Friday evening.  I even had it in my basement workshop, as I prepared and tested another cellular interface and a pair of sensors, getting them ready for their upcoming implantation into unit number seven.

 

Eve was right – it was time.

 

 

They filed into the wrestling room in dribs and drabs, some knowing others, most not, but all of them unable to mask their excitement at the prospect that they were about to take part in something new and experimental.

 

More than half of them were dressed in sweats and other types of loose, warm clothing appropriate to spending the night sleeping on air mattresses on a gym floor, which had been outlined in the packets given to them by Eve.  I looked up from my laptop and counted four of them wearing shorts, halters, even one in a fucking leotard of all things, and mentally shook my head, trying to avoid thoughts of how easy it would be to program them to read a goddamn leaflet.

 

I counted heads, and came up with eighteen, not knowing any of these chicks but knowing precisely who was missing.  They were a diverse bunch; some tall, some short, but all of them undeniably bangable.  But I was not going to bang any of them, not even the tall, black chick that looked like she would make for one hell of a good ride.  I had no idea what Eve’s criteria had been in her choice of them, but I was reasonably sure that grades hadn’t been number one on her list.  “Good evening…” I started, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps clocking in the hallway outside.

 

She appeared in the wide doorway, still wearing the dark glasses – despite the fact that she was indoors, at night – flanked by a campus security dyke, phallic baton a-swaying from her broad hips.  She carefully kicked off her shoes and stepped onto the mat, her face to the floor, “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said timidly, “I, um, had to…”  But she left the sentence to hang there, the heavy footfalls of her departing escort finishing it for her.  Dawn, thanks to her failed rapist bastard, now had a very real fear of being attacked – something that I was going to correct despite my sworn assertions that I would not do any programming this night.

 

“Not to worry,” came Robbi’s melodious voice from behind them, as she strode into the warm room, pushing a cart laden with pillows and blankets, wearing a pink tracksuit that in no way diminished her sizable bosom, “no one ever really expects a nine PM class to start exactly on time, do they, Jake?”

 

I suppressed the desire to reply that punctuality is a mark of respect – something I could also program into them before this night was through if I wanted to – but I recognized that she was trying to put Dawn at her ease, and I also reminded myself that everything good about my life I owed to my having once been late to a class.

 

I was about to introduce myself again when she walked in the door, every bit as haughtily as I had expected.  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, giving the impression that she wasn’t sorry in the least, all the while eyeing Robbi’s cans longingly.  I smiled inwardly; the arrival of Unpleasant Girl, requested by me and arranged by Eve, meant that we could now begin.

 

“Good evening,” I said again, more pleased than I had been all day, except while Ashiko had been jerking me off with her massive cans.  I introduced myself, telling them who I was, and that we would be conducting an experiment in sleep-learning.  What I told them was pretty much the truth, not including the parts where I would be downloading the sum total of their identities onto my hard drive, shoving a computer program inside their brains, and turning one of their number into a cyborg while they slept.

 

They listened attentively, looking with mistrust at the minimalist caps I had designed for this mass brainstorming, and stealing glances at Robbi every so often.  Daryl, a petite blonde with a cute little rack, asked what they would be learning, to which I responded that this was a blind study – they would tell me what, if anything, they felt they had learned after they woke up.  Another girl, a bouncy-bottomed lass named Sidney, asked the question that I, and perhaps all of them, had expected would be asked once they’d seen my smokin’ hot girlfriend, “Are we going to wake up looking like her?”  There was no disguising the hopeful tone in her voice, though it was obvious that some of the assembled girls were put off by my Robbi’s considerable charms.

 

I said I sincerely doubted it, which was probably the most truthful thing I’d said all day, introduced Robbi and let her take over the arduous task of getting them ready for bed.  She handled them well, confident and poised, and in less time than I would have thought possible she had all of them abed, the lights low, their provided sleeping masks covering their eyes, their caps in place.

 

She came over and sat beside me on the little bench, rubbing the inside of my thigh pointedly, “So what happens now?” she whispered.

 

“Now you join them, my pet,” I replied, honestly regretful that I could not let her stay awake during this night’s endeavors – so much of what would happen required that she be in fembot mode.

 

“Oh, Jake, must I?” she whined.  “I was hoping we might be able to…” she whispered hotly in my ear, describing sexual antics most men would be embarrassed to request of a Tijuana whore.

 

“Yes, my pet, I think it would be best,” I sighed, though I must admit my straining cock certainly thought otherwise.  “This promises to be a long evening, and I may need you to spell me at some point,” I lied, having taken a couple of hours of cybersleep late in the afternoon.  She bedded down with the rest of them, on the spare mattress that we had brought, after having twice made sure that I really didn’t need a goodnight blowjob.

 

And, one by one, they began popping up on my screen, girl after girl now coming under the control of my laptop, server after server coming online, the last one being acquired in slightly less than thirty minutes.  I chuckled slightly to myself, realizing that I couldn’t get a pizza delivered that quickly.

 

But there they lay, ready for me to work my magic, not to mention doing the one thing that could get me thrown into the deepest, darkest hole in fucking Albania were it ever discovered.  “Robbi, come here, please,” I commanded.  She arose with her usual unnervingly silent grace and walked over to me, stopping only when the erect nipples poking through her tracksuit were scant millimeters from my eyes.  I stood up and bade her sit at the computer, figuring she would be able to accomplish this next, very necessary task far quicker than I could, “Robbi,” I said, pointing at the laptop screen to the unreadable fonts under each girl’s icon, “please assign the name of each girl to the proper server shown on the screen.”

 

“Yes, Master,” she replied tonelessly, and without so much as lifting a finger, each icon’s label quickly renamed itself.

 

Crikey, I thought, there really is nothing like a computerized woman to help you get things done.  “Robbi, please create a folder for each server, and copy the contents of each server into its folder.

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

As quick as a wink, twenty transfer windows appeared on the screen, indicating that my computer was quickly being filled with chick.  This was by far the most ambitious thing I’d ever attempted, but I had no worries – I had arranged the connections so that there would be no harm done if the network failed; we could simply try again some other time.  I was probably being overly thorough, backing them up to my hard drive prior to uploading, but I could never forget what I was dealing with here: if I ever needed to restore I would need their data in its pristine condition.

 

If my calculations were correct it would take just about five hours to back them all up, which would leave Robbi more than enough time to pick up her scalpel and do what she had done to her sister cyborgs.  We worked quickly, setting up and sterilizing the mobile operating theatre in the corner of the room in just over an hour.  “Sunny,” I called out, unable to imagine a more unlikely name for a bitch with her disposition, “walk over here and lie down on the table.”  Unpleasant Girl rose from her mattress as ordered, strode over to the table, and lay down.  I briefly considered commanding her to refer to me as ‘Master’, but decided against it – she was a guinea pig, not a servant.  Looking down upon her unconscious form I realized that she wasn’t really all that unattractive, just poorly maintained.  If she dropped a few pounds, grew some tits, and developed a personality she might be worth a quick shag.  But not by me; I was spoiled by my first-class trim.

 

Once Robbi had prepped her for surgery, she lost no time in firing the sensors into Sunny’s brain, where they would reside undetected, giving me unfettered access to what most people would consider inviolable.  That done, Robbi went to work between her legs, efficiently implanting the cellular interface inside her abdominal cavity.  I could feel a sardonic smile playing over my face as I watched her work, remembering something I had thought not so very long ago: chicks are the ultimate storage devices.

 

Well, Sunny now had just about $6,500 in hardware stored inside her, and as soon as I could arrange it I would see just what, exactly, I could do with it.  Once Robbi had dressed her back in her clothes, I had her pick up the new cyborg and carry her back to her mattress, not wishing to incur any damage to this new unit by having her walking around so soon.

 

Robbi and I quickly cleared away all evidence of my mad scientist antics, which unfortunately left me with something like two and one-half hours to twiddle my thumbs, waiting for them to finish backing up.  Well, since I wasn’t in a mood to play Minesweeper, I opted to fuck my fembot instead.

 

We rolled about on that floor for all of the rest of that time, utilizing every unoccupied square inch of the wrestling room, actually running into some of the new fembots from time to time.  At one point we ended up near the black chick, whose name was Claire, where I briefly succumbed to the desire to squeeze her fine juggs, then regretted it as that just made me want to get to know her inner fembot that much more deeply.

 

It was just past 3:30 AM when the final transfer window clicked off, meaning that I was now free to upload whatever I wished into the twenty sleeping volunteers.  Since Robbi was so much faster than I was, I had her create files in each girl’s brain and then load the Aikido program onto them, which she did, entirely hands-free.  But there was one thing that Robbi could not do for me, and that was to repair Dawn; only I could do that:

 

I am not a victim.

 

It didn’t seem like much but I was sure that was where Dawn’s head had been ever since she’d been attacked.  I hoped it would work.

 

But again, thanks to fembot efficiency, I found myself with time on my hands.  I didn’t feel like waking the gaggle of them up so early, nor did I wish to have Robbi awake while the rest of them were asleep, on the off chance her fembot skills might be needed, so I whiled away the time by having Robbi give me a massage and another wonderful blowjob.  She was, as she had been from the moment of her creation, the perfect woman.  Okay, that wasn’t entirely true, there had been some oopsie-daisies along the way, but all in all I couldn’t be prouder of her as I watched her honey-blonde head bob up and down at just the right speed to ensure that I wouldn’t cum too quickly, maintaining just the right amount of suction without being too sloppy or noisy, so very different from that first blowjob, before Ultimate Babe.

 

That program really had sparked such a difference in the gawky student, turning her, in the space of an afternoon, into a confident, capable cocksucker.  But it had also done so much more.  It had transformed her into a poised and positive woman who, and I had observed this closely, made others happy by her mere presence.  And it wasn’t just Robbi, it was the same with all of my fembots; wherever they went they spread happiness.  The synergism of computer program and human machine had produced an organic life-form that finally defined the essence of everything a woman should be, and more importantly, what they really wanted to be.

 

I came in her mouth, amazed at how a good blowjob could help crystallize one’s feelings.  Once she had licked me clean she knelt between my thighs, her eyes calmly staring into my chest, awaiting further orders.  She was so perfect, my ultimate babe, and as I looked over her head to take in the array of sleeping fembots behind her, I remembered what Eve had communicated to me that day in her office, my cock buried in her ass, her thoughts blasting through my mind – you have made me complete.

 

Well, I sure wasn’t going to make these new units complete, at least not tonight.  I had, stupidly perhaps, made damn sure to delete Ultimate Babe from my laptop prior to leaving home so that I would not be tempted, as I was now.  But to the sufficiently motivated there are always options.  I went back to my favorite file sharing website, and found that those fuckers had deleted it.  I went to a few other sites, but they also were either deleted or not posted, Crikey, I thought, here I had actually bought the goddamn program and could not now download it; ain’t that a kick in the head?

 

I supposed I could just have one of my iBods deliver my other laptop, but I didn’t like the idea of them walking around unsupervised.  But I could have one of them upload it to my phone in half a heartbeat.  I switched on my phone and pulled up my homemade iBod tracker, and found, to my consternation, that Rosa was already awake, which shouldn’t have come as a surprise: she had mentioned that she would be getting up early to start the meñudo.  I was shit out of luck, as my dad would say.

 

No, I wasn’t; there was another option.  I reached over and double-clicked on Robbi’s icon, again boggling at the staggering number of files within, thankful that they were sorted by type, and found Ultimate Babe where I had originally installed it in her.  I looked back at her, still kneeling before me; she could do it, upload and install it into the lot of them in the blink of an eye – all I had to do was say the words.

 

But then I heard another voice echoing through my head, ‘…Electric Jake…’  Crikey, even across the bloody fucking pond she was still telling me what to do.  But Mum’s was not the only voice resounding through a head in serious need of medication.  I replayed all of the arguments and the discussions I’d had over the last several days: Maria’s feelings of personal perfection, Robbi’s overpowering enjoyment of her femininity, but it was Kat’s words that struck me the most deeply, spoken to me only minutes before Robbi and I had left on tonight’s business, her eyes looking up into mine, her tongue coated with my slimy jizz, ‘Jake, I love feeling like this.  I would make it mandatory if I could.’

 

Had they been the words of a robot, or of a woman?  As much sway as Ultimate Babe held over their thoughts there was no way of knowing, which meant that it all came down to me.  What was more important: the freedom to enjoy their lives, unfettered by the antiquated and downright perverse customs of a society that couldn’t find its ass with both hands and a flashlight, or the freedom to choose?

 

It was Jean-Paul Sartre who once said, ‘Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you,’ which meant they were as free as they wished to be, but it was also Goethe who said, ‘None are so hopelessly enslaved as those who falsely believe they are free’, which meant their freedom was an illusion.  Who to believe – the Frog, or the Nazi?

 

So what was it to be, twenty women, or twenty robots?  I would not have another crack at them, not in this large a number, but once done there would be no going back.  It was a tough decision, but Eve’s thoughts still rang clearly in my mind, ‘you have made me complete.’

 

But then I remembered another quote – Oscar Wilde, a favorite of my father’s, ‘I can resist everything except temptation.’

 

“Robbi,” I said, my voice echoing in the still room, “go clean yourself up.  It is almost time to leave.”

 

“Yes, Master,” she replied dutifully.

 

 

I took Robbi offline first, and together we went through the charade of waking the rest of them up, making sure they kept their sleeping masks on for a full five minutes (my bullshit theory designed to prevent imprinting, thereby proving to my iBods that I really was the Smartest Guy in the World), before allowing them to get up.  One at a time they arose from their mattresses, collected their packets from Robbi, and left the room to go through their morning ablutions.  My original plan was to have Robbi lead them in stretching exercises, to see how quickly the Aikido program would take hold, but I wanted nothing so much as a big bowl of meñudo, a pot of strong coffee, and some truly epic loving from my six fabulous women – science could wait until Monday.

 

When they had finished, Robbi and I escorted them out of the building, Dawn staying close to my girlfriend, but no longer keeping her head down as she walked.  We watched as they walked off to their various destinations, some to the parking lot, others in the direction of the dorms, as the new morning sun crested the low, Northern California mountains and shone upon the newest iteration in women.

 

‘I can resist everything except temptation.’   Well, thanks to a memory of my father, I had been able to do what Oscar the Buggerer couldn’t.  I had done precisely what I had set out to do, and, outside of a little boob grab, nothing more.  Twenty women would be going out into the world, fully able to take care of themselves, hopefully to inspire others.

 

It was a shame that they would all be dead within two weeks.

 

END OF BOOK TWO

 

Comments, feedback, or pictures of really big boobies always appreciated

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