NoTitle: Our Robot, Chapter Fourteen
Author: Nobilis
Summary: Anne prepares for the big show
Keywords: We don't need no stinkin' keywords

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Dislaimers

This story is intended as Adult entertainment.  It contains
material of an explicit, adult, sexual nature.  If you are
offended by sexually explicit content, please do not read any
further.

This story is a work of fiction.  All characters and events
portrayed in it are fictional, and any resemblance to real people
is purely coincidental.  The author does not necessarily condone
or endorse any of the activities described.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without
the written permission of the author.  It may be distributed for
free with all disclaimers and attribution attached.

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Our Robot

by Nobilis

Chapter Fourteen

Anne

There was a great deal of work to do, to prepare for the video
call from Bill.  I had less than twenty-four hours, so I got
right to it.  I wanted to put on a big performance.

First, I wanted to transform the studio into a stage where I
could put on a performance, and for that I'd need Tootsie's help,
and that would mean extending her orientation map into the
studio.

I was ready to let her in.

I opened the door.  Tootsie was right outside, dressed and
waiting for me.  Grace had been as good as her word.  "Tootsie, I
want you to extend your orientation map through this door, into
the studio.  Then vacuum the studio floor and sofa.  When you are
done with that, go on to your scheduled cleaning tasks in the
rest of the house, please."

"Yes, mistress Anne."  She moved up to the door and began her
scan of the room.

While she got started on her tasks, I got dressed and went
shopping.  I was going to need some things.  The one good thing
about Bill's schedule was that we had some spare money I could
spend.  I knew Bill wouldn't mind, especially since I would be
spending the money for his benefit as well as mine.

My first stop was a theatrical supply house.  I rented some
lights, poles to mount them on, cables, and a power box that
would hook up to an ordinary outlet.  In addition, I picked up a
dead black curtain to hang as a backdrop, and some more poles to
hang it from.  I wasn't an electrician by any stretch, but I had
been banging around in the show business culture for long enough
to have picked up a few things, and none of this was more than I
could handle.

Next, I needed just the right costume.  I had some sexy clothes,
but I knew that none of them were what I had in mind.

I chose a fairly high-end lingerie boutique.  I didn't ordinarily
shop there, but I decided that if I was going to do this, I was
going to do it right.

I poked around a bit, and then went to one of the saleswomen. 
She was about thirty-five, dressed in a businesslike skirt,
blouse, and jacket.  She looked a little out of place, surrounded
by all the lace and ribbon.  She had quite a bustline on her,
though – had to be a D-cup or better.  I suppose with a chest
like that, you'd learn a lot about bras.

She spotted me coming and gave me a little smile.  "Hello, My
name is Janet.  Are you finding everything okay?"

"No, I'm a little lost.  I'm going to be putting on a show for my
husband.  A strip show.  Can you suggest something that would
work?"

"Ah, you want our dancewear section.  Right over here.  Do you
have anything in particular in mind?"  She led me over towards a
set of racks in a back corner.

"Well, I want something that has lots of pieces to take off.  A
kind of dance of the seven veils kind of thing."

"You mean, something that starts off looking fairly normal, but
gradually gets more revealing as pieces come off?"

"Yes, exactly."

"I have just the thing.  Street clothes won't work well in a
striptease, nor will most sleepwear.  Most of them take too long
to take off, especially pants and skirts.  You don't want
anything with a zipper, buttons, hooks, or complicated ties." 
She pulled out a skirt and blouse, made of a red, silky, flowing
fabric.  There were sequins here and there, enough to make a
little splash but not gaudy.  "Why don't you try these on."

I took them into the changing room and stripped out of my jeans
and t-shirt.  My ordinary cotton underwear seemed odd underneath
these sexy drapes, but I knew they'd be replaced soon.

The skirt was a fairly ordinary wrap skirt, with silk ribbons to
tie it together.  The blouse had a similar arrangement, with two
triangular pieces of fabric crossing over to tie at the waist.  I
could see that it would be easy to take off.  When I came out of
the dressing room Janet was waiting for me.

She looked me over appraisingly.  "Hm, I don't think you've got
that blouse wrapped right.  May I show you how to do it?"

I had to admit that it did feel a little funny.  "Uh, yeah, I
guess."

She gestured for me to return to the changing room, and followed
me to the curtain-draped doorway.  She undid the ribbons at my
waist, and flipped the fabric around.  "Here, it goes right over
left, so you tie this one *here*, and this one *here*.  That way
the ribbons don't flip over the hem on the inside.  There."  The
garment hung much better after her adjustment, but I felt a
little uncomfortable with her hands so close to my body.  I felt
a little erotic tingle from it.  I looked into her eyes - no, she
was being professional.  Wasn't she?

"And now you're going to need some underthings.  How about tap
pants, camisole, bra and g-string, all in a matched set?"

"Uhm, how much is this all going to cost?"

"Well, the outfit you have on is two ninety-nine, and the
underwear set I want to show you is one fifty-nine."

"Woo. Uh..."

"Too much?  I'm sure we can find something that'll fit your
budget."

"No, no - this is pretty important to me.  Show me the lacy
underthings."  I didn't expect to blow half my budget here, but I
could adjust.

"Alright, stay here, strip down to your panties, and I'll bring
some things in to you."

I wasn't used to shopping like this, with a salesperson bringing
me things, rather than browsing the racks and trying to get a
bored clerk to notice me when I need help.  I decided the special
attention was one of the things I was buying with all that money.
 I stripped back down to my underwear.

Janet returned, with several small scraps of red fabric draped
over her arm.  As she handed the g-string to me, she asked, "So
when are you going to be putting on this show for your husband?"

"Tomorrow, when he wakes up.   He's in Tokyo, so that'll be
sometime after noon tomorrow."

She nodded.  I started putting on the lingerie.  The bra didn't
fit exactly right, but then, when do they?  Janet noticed
immediately.  She pursed her lips, tugged at the straps a little.
 That same erotic tingle came from her touch.  "How does that
feel?"

"A little too loose."

"Right.  Well, you've got two options.  We can get a smaller bra
from the same designer, but I recommend that we put a little
padding in, and enhance your cleavage."

"Won't that be pretty obvious?"

"Trust me.  A smaller bra would flatten you, not flatter you."

I let her convince me to put in the pads.  You know the kind...
little crescents of foam that get attached to the underside of
the bra, and push everything up.  I had never worn anything like
that before.

I looked in the mirror.  Boobies!  I had always had breasts, but
now I had BOOBIES.

"He's going to love them," said Janet.

I shook them a little.  The loose camisole fluttered around, and
my "new" boobies bounced and jiggled.  I caught Janet watching me
in the mirror.  She smiled.  Was that professional friendliness,
or appreciation?

"So is there anything else you need?"

"No, this is exactly right."

As we walked over to the register to ring it up, she asked, "Have
you done erotic dance before?"

"What?  Uhm, no."

"I didn't think so.  I used to dance, when I was younger.  In
clubs.  I could – give you a few pointers?"

"Oh, I – don't have a lot of money left..."  Where was she going
with this?  Was she trying to seduce me?

"Don't worry about the money, honey.  More women should learn
this kind of thing.  No charge - and if you decide you like it,
you can sign up for the class I teach at the fitness club across
the highway."

Ah – so this was a 'free trial offer' for her class.  That made
more sense.

"Oh!  Sure, okay."

"Can you meet me here at six?  That's when my shift is up.  I'll
take you over to my loft, I've got some space where we can have
some privacy."

"Okay."  A question occurred to me.  "I'm going to get my hair
done.  Do you have any suggestions?"

"Oh, absolutely!  But what you get will depend on what kind of
music you want to play.  We can talk about it tonight, and then
you can get your hair done tomorrow morning."

I felt a little odd, needing advice on these things... but folk
music is a long way from the strip club.  I thanked Janet, and
went out to finish my shopping.

While I was getting a manicure, I thought about music.  What
would I want to strip to?  Something slow and romantic, something
important and inspiring to me, but also something Bill would
like.  I went over my music collection in my head.  I picked out
an older song, Nuits de Rêve, from a Canadian group that put out
their last album when I was just a kid.

A half a smile crossed my face.  That was the band that had
started Dave's career, way back when.

I mused a moment, what he would think, if he knew I was going to
use the song to strip for my husband.

Not that I had any intention of telling him.

After the manicure, I went shoe shopping.  It wasn't until I hit
the third store that I found someone who understood what I was
looking for, and even then I had to try on two dozen shoes before
I found something I liked.  I settled on a pair of black strappy
spiked heels.  They weren't exactly comfortable, but I knew I
wouldn't be wearing them long.  They were expensive, more
expensive than any other pair of shoes I had ever bought, but I
knew that they would be worth it.  They made my legs look
fantastic.

At six, I met Janet at the entrance to the store.  She smiled
when she saw me, a sincere smile rather than a professional one,
I thought.  "Anne!"

"I – don't remember telling you my name?"

"Credit card."

"Oh, of course.  I keep forgetting what kind of information is
available to people."

"Have you eaten?"

"No.  I thought I would wait and grab a bite to eat with you
somewhere.  My treat.  You know – in exchange for teaching me."

"Thank you, that's very considerate, but totally unnecessary. 
I'll fix us something quick at my place.  Where's your car?"

"I took the monorail."

Her car was parked nearby.  We took it from the store to her
place a mile or two away.  It was a nice townhouse in a trendy
neighborhood.  As we walked in, I said something about how much
it must have cost.

She said "Stripping pays pretty good, and I saved my pennies. 
Have a seat, I'll get some food ready."

Her living room was large, taking up all of the floor above the
garage except for a small kitchenette along the back wall. There
was a sofa, upholstered in crushed velvet, and a long coffee
table in the middle, facing towards a space of polished wooden
floor in front of the heavily draped windows.  It was elevated
about a foot from the living room floor, and had a
floor-to-ceiling pole off on one side.  In the corner, a bentwood
chair and an upholstered ottoman sat waiting.

"It looks like you're still set up for giving shows," I said.

"For a select clientèle," she said.  I could hear the smile in
her voice.  "Mostly, I dance for myself these days, to tell you
the truth.  To stay in shape, and to keep my skills sharp for
teaching."

The sound and smell of grilling chicken came gently to me from
the kitchen.

I sat down on the sofa.  There was a fashion magazine, well
thumbed, on the coffee table, and a laptop on the shelf
underneath.  I picked up the magazine and leafed through it,
idly.  High fashion had never been anything I had much interest
in.  I heard chopping and other such kitchen sounds.

Janet came over and put a bowl in front of me, full of salad with
grilled chicken.  It smelled wonderful.  A glass of wine
followed.

As she sat down next to me with her own food, I noticed that she
had taken off her suit jacket and neckerchief, and unbuttoned the
top two buttons of her blouse.  A little bit of cleavage was
visible.

"So," she said between bites, "Have you given any thought to the
music you want?"

"Nuits de Rêve, by Moxy Fruvous."

"Mm, I like the title.  Night of Dreams.  What kind of music is
it?"

"It's a slow piece... romantic, kinda jazzy."

"What else?"

"Uh..."

"You're probably going to need at least two songs... more like
three.  And that's if you don't plan on having music for anything
that comes after."

"Mm.  I hadn't thought of that."

"I can suggest a few things in the same vein, but that's going to
come later.  You've got fairly long hair, so when you get your
hair done, you're going to want to get a loose curl, on hoops
rather than rods.  It'll move around nicely with the movements
I'm going to show you."

I nodded.  "You're being very kind," I said.

She shrugged.  "I like you.  You've got the spark.  Are you a
performer?"

"Musician," I said.  "And singer.  I play guitar and harp.  I had
my first gig the day before yesterday.  I opened for Dave
Matheson at the Ten-Fifty club."

She smiled.  "Congratulations!  I don't know who Dave Matheson
is, but if he's playing the Ten-Fifty he must have some kind of
name.  Okay, so I don't need to tell you about projecting
personality and pushing forward even if you feel silly.  You've
already got that, I can tell."

As we finished our salads, and a couple glasses of wine, we
talked about music, and dance, and what it was like to be a
performer.  When the meal was finished and the dishes cleared
away, she opened up her laptop, logged in, and opened up her
music collection.  It didn't have any Moxy Fruvous, of course,
but it did have a big folder labeled "slow jazz".  She picked a
few titles and queued them up for her music player.  "Listen to
these, I'll be right back."  She quickly climbed the stairs.

The music wasn't the sort I would ordinarily listen to, but it
wasn't distasteful, either.

"Alright, time to get changed.  Put on your costume."  She had
brought  a small bundle and set it on the coffee table, and then
started unbuttoning her blouse.  "Come on!  It's a bit late to be
getting shy now."

I blinked and started getting undressed, a little dazed.

Janet's body was amazing.  She did, indeed, have a beautiful pair
of breasts.  They had – settled a bit, to choose a less
pejorative term – with age, but that didn't reduce my
appreciation one bit.  She noticed me looking at her and gave a
little smile, again.  My suspicions about her intentions were
aroused again.

The costume she put on was a lot like mine - G-string, bra, tap
pants, camisole, skirt and blouse, only hers were in black,
rather than red.  The clasps and ties were even in the same
places.

She pulled the bentwood chair from the corner, and put it in the
space between the stage and the couch.  "First, you're going to
want to get your man sitting..."

I shook my head.  "I'm going to be doing it over a webcam."

"Oh – in that case, we'll use the stage."  She touched a control
on the side of the window, and drew back the drapes to reveal
that it had become a mirror.  I wondered if anyone outside would
be able to see what we were doing.

She saw the note of anxiety in my face.  "Don't worry.  It's
totally opaque from the outside.  The neighbors certainly would
have said something by now if it weren't!"

We faced the mirror, side by side, and she showed me a routine
that would get me undressed in about eight minutes.  After we had
gone through it move by move, we got dressed again, and went
through it, slowly, without her verbal directions, and then a
third time in time with the music.  She corrected me when I
faltered and encouraged me when I put my all into it and 'sold'
it.

We got dressed again, a fourth time, and then she turned me
around.  She sat on the couch and said, "Alright, now do it
alone."

"For you?"

"Yes."

My heart thudded to life in my chest.  The tingle that had been
feeling since I arrived became a full scale buzz.  I wanted to
tremble, but I suppressed it, using the stage fright tricks I had
learned in college.

I watched Janet's face as I did the routine.  It was there –
undisguised – she wanted me.  I was arousing her.  I was turning
her on.  And her arousal was turning me on.  I held onto the
feeling, and put it into the dance.

Janet crossed her legs.  She put one hand on her thigh, and her
lips parted a bit.  She was breathing deeper.  Her breasts rose
and fell visibly.  When I pulled off the g-string, it felt
heavier, soaked with my fluids.

I was about ready to collapse.  Janet clapped lightly and said,
"Brava, brava."  She rose from the sofa and walked over to me. 
"Oh, Anne... your husband is a lucky man.  I hope he knows how
lucky he is."

I smiled.  I could feel a flush coming over my face and chest.  I
knew she could see it, and knowing it made me even more excited.

"You're a fast learner.  You're adaptable and flexible, and
comfortable in your body."  She put her hand on my shoulder.

"Janet – you're – coming on to me, aren't you?"

"You're also perceptive."  She moved a little closer.  I could
smell her breath – wine and peppermint.  I felt dizzy.  I felt
intoxicated.  I had only had two glasses of wine, and had had
plenty of time and exercise to burn it off, but I felt drunk.  I
wanted to reach out, pull her to me, kiss her.

But it was wrong.  Married.  Faithful.  'Til death do us part.

Monogamous.

"Janet, I – I can't.  I'm straight.  I'm married."

"He won't mind.  You can tell him about it tomorrow.  He'll get
turned on and love you for telling him."

I felt my resolve slipping away.  Bill's voice came to me.  "...
you can tell me about your exploits afterwards.  You know how I
love it when you tell me stories."

"I've – never..."

She shushed me with a gentle finger to my lips.  "That's so
cliché," she whispered.  "Everyone has a first time.  Now let's
give you a story worth telling."  She leaned in and kissed me. 
It was a gentle, light kiss, a touch on the lips.  I felt her
breasts, still covered in silk, push against mine.  She put her
arms around me.

I trembled.

"Would you like to sit down?"

I nodded.  She led me to the sofa and sat me down towards the
end.  The slow, romantic music I had been stripping to was still
playing on her laptop.  She sat down next to me, sideways, one
knee on the sofa and the other foot on the floor.  She put her
hand on the inside of my thigh, near my knee, and the other
behind my neck.  She pulled me into a kiss that rapidly became a
passionate soul-kiss.  I put my hands on her shoulders, unsure
whether to push her away or hold her close.

The voice was still there, deep inside, telling me this was
wrong, that I wasn't a lesbian, that I loved my husband and I
didn't really WANT this.

But I did.  I wanted it.  The voice got fainter.

I slid my hands down, inside the loose fabric of her blouse,
under the thin straps of her stretchy bra.  I cupped her generous
breasts and squeezed them lightly.  She broke off the kiss and
smiled at me, her eyes full of desire.  She dipped her head and
sucked my nipple into her mouth.  My back arched, and I moaned
softly as my head fell back against the back of the couch.

Janet twisted and insinuated her hips between my legs, kneeling
on the ground.  She continued sucking on my nipples, first one
and then the other, while I massaged her breasts with my hands. 
My eyes were closed, but I could feel her slip off her blouse,
and then her bra.  Her breasts slipped out of my hands as she
moved further down, towards my vulva.

She put her fingers in my pubic hair.  "You don't trim," she
said, quietly.  "That's so unusual these days."  She pulled my
labia apart, and I could feel her breath on my inner lips.  I
moaned in frustration and looked down.  She was looking at my
vulva.  It felt like she was looking into my soul.

"Do it," I said.  "I need it."

She smiled and looked up at me.  "Not yet," she smiled.  "You're
still not far enough along."

I whimpered.

I tried to grab her head, to push it into my crotch, but she
caught my wrists and held them down.

"You're not ready yet."

She stood up and put one knee alongside me again, with her other
leg down between my legs.  She put my hands back on her breasts,
and looked into my eyes.  I couldn't look away.  She held my
shoulders, and started grinding her knee and thigh into my pussy.
 I moaned again, higher in pitch, matching my rising arousal.  I
could feel my juices coating her leg, spreading to my thighs.

"Please," I said, between gasps, "I – I'm dying."

"You're not dying," she said.  "You're living."  She pulled one
hand from her breast, leaned forward, and offered an erect nipple
to my lips.  I sucked greedily, still looking up into her eyes. 
She put my free hand down to her groin.

Her pubic hair was trimmed to a thin, short triangle pointing at
her cleft.  The shape guided my fingers in.  I felt her lips open
and close as she rose and fell, felt the muscles in her thighs
work.  With trembling fingers, I rubbed her lips the way I wanted
her to rub mine.  I extended my arm, dipped my fingers into her
vagina.  She was wet, too, though not nearly as wet as I was.

"Taste your fingers," she said.  "Taste me."  I brought my
fingers to my lips.

The pungent tang of sweat and sex hit me like a drug.  My head
fell back to the sofa again, and I closed my eyes in ecstasy. 
Janet slipped her hands downwards, passing over my breasts long
enough to tweak the nipples.  The jolt was painful for a moment,
painful enough to make me cry out, but the electric charge ran
directly down to my clitoris.

She knelt down again, and opened me up with her fingers.  "Ahh,"
she said, drawing a deep breath through her nose.  "Perfect." 
She dipped her head down, and took a long swipe with her tongue,
from one end to the other, ending with the tip of her tongue on
the tip of my hard, extended nub.

I moaned all of the air out of my lungs, a high-pitched cry that
tightened my stomach muscles and pulled me up from the back of
the sofa.  Janet locked her lips around my button and sucked.  My
breath came back to me in short gasps.  I couldn't get enough
air.  Every time I drew a breath, it was forced back out.  Stars
burst in my clamped-shut eyes.

Janet's fingers thrust into my vagina.  She twisted, slid them,
and then, finding her goal, rubbed the secret spot just behind
the bone, and pushed.

I exploded.  My body convulsed.  My back arched, forcing the last
of the air from my lungs in a low groan.  Janet put her hands on
my legs, holding them apart, and kept at it.  I finally managed
to fill my lungs and I screamed, shuddering, twitching.

She backed off for a moment, drawing one of my inner lips into
her mouth.  I started to speak, but she interrupted me, running
her tongue around my clit.  Another wave crashed over me, and I
gripped the upholstery with my hands.  My words came out as a
long, inarticulate grunt.  Janet rode the wave, keeping her mouth
on my pussy and her hands on my thighs as I thrashed in her grip.

Finally, I pushed her head away, practically crying from
overstimulation.   I drew my legs up, curling to the side,
protecting myself from further ecstasy.

After I recovered, Janet invited me to reciprocate.  I explored
her body with my fingers and tongue, learned the contours of her
pussy in intimate detail, and brought her to a shuddering climax.


We shared some more wine, sitting naked on the floor, content to
simply bask in each other's presence and the satisfaction of our
lovemaking.

"Spend the night," she said.  "Share my bed."

I demurred.  That was another step, another boundary I did not
want to cross.  She understood.

She gave me her email address and the URL for her dancing class.
I gave her my email address, and the URL for my music schedule. 
She said she looked forward to my next concert, and I said I'd
sign up for her class.

She drove me to the monorail station.  I barely remember the ride
home.  I don't remember getting into my nightclothes, getting
into bed, or falling into a sound, dreamless sleep.

In the morning, I found that Bill had sent me a video overnight.

He was in his shower in the hotel room.  He was already
half-erect.  The idea of sending me this video was clearly
exciting to him.

"Hi Anne.  I wanted to help get you started, and show you how
much I'm looking forward to our call."

He turned on the water and got under the warm, steamy spray.  He
quickly shampooed his hair, and then started lathering up his
body with a bottle of liquid soap.  His hands ran sensuously over
his body, finally finding his cock.

He jacked himself off with both hands.  "Anne," he said, "I love
you.  I wish I were there with you.  I wish you were here with
me."  His breaths started coming shorter, and his face twisted
into his familiar pre-orgasmic grimace.

When he shot his load into the shower spray, he smiled at me and
blew me a kiss.  My hand instinctively went to my cheek.

I immediately sat down and recorded a response for him.  I wanted
him to be as horny as I was.

Sitting for the hairdresser was nearly unbearable.  The
anticipation was making me antsy.  I got home in time for the
delivery of the lights, and spent the rest of the morning with
Tootsie, getting the lights and curtain set up.  She shot me
little glances the whole time, but I was focused on our job and
didn't send her the signals that would get her acting
seductively.

While I ate lunch, I briefed Tootsie on what would be happening
later that day. The manual had said that telling her what to
expect would help her deal with events in the way I wanted her
to, and I didn't want any suprises.  I got her dressed in the
French maid uniform she had arrived in, and set her outside the
door to the studio.
I put on my new outfit, and sat on the couch.

All that was left to do, was wait for Bill's call.

....

End Chapter Fourteen


  
Our_Robot_Chapter_14