Foreword:

I have taken a few liberties with the layout of the Berkeley campus, which I think is pretty small potatoes when compared to some of my more heinous bits of pilfering and thievery done in the name of paying homage.

 

My thanks to Isaac Asimov for ‘The Laws’, The Grateful Dead for the song ‘Truckin’, and to the Empress Cleopatra for the invention of the blowjob, without which the Internet would be a place for want ads and pictures of cute puppies.

 

And lastly, my inordinate and humble thanks to everyone who sent me such kind words of encouragement – I’m sorry to have kept you waiting so long.

 

 

 

THE PERIPHERAL COCKSUCKER: BOOK III

 

FEMBOT U

 

 

Lovely female shapes are terrible complicators of the difficulties and dangers of this earthly life, especially for their owners.

~ George du Maurier

 

It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.

~ Albert Einstein

 

 

Chapter 19

Midnight Snatch

 

The diffuse light of the security dyke's dildo/mag-lite shone weakly upon my fembot's mammoth left tit as we fucked.  Of course she couldn't see the dim circle of light playing over the incredibly full roundness of the ponderous dug only a foot in front of her: I doubt that even the putative All-Seeing Eye of God could pierce the smoky blackness of my electric chariot's tinted windows.  No, her interest lay in the incredible coolness of my customized cruiser rather than the live sex show being performed within.

 

The dyke circled us in that parking lot, obviously fascinated by the exquisite beauty of my machine's exterior, wholly oblivious to my enjoyment of my fembot's exquisite interior.  Ashiko never broke rhythm whist she rode atop me, her snapping pussy insistently pulsating about my sizable tool.  She had not been programmed to log interruptions or distractions, so carried on without fear or worry – it is one of the ten thousand things that make fembots superior to girls.

 

Light splashed the driver’s compartment, separated from the rear portion of my pussy wagon by more of the same tinted glass, allowing us maximum privacy while we fucked, and the rock-solid suspension, aided by the ton of Li-Ion batteries that powered my bitchin’ wheels, would ensure that no telltale rocking would give us away.  I watched her shake her bulbous head in admiration as my hot Asian fembot continued riding my pole, her mechanized gash incessantly, mindlessly, unceasingly jerking me off as I caressed her massive juggs.

 

The beam of the flashlight found the full-access parking pass dangling from my rear-view mirror, and I laughed a silent, grunting laugh – if anyone on this earth could be said to possess full access it was certainly me.  In only a few short weeks my unanticipated breakthrough had transformed what had been a mundane existence of studying, scrounging, and masturbating to Internet porn sluts into to a life of unlimited possibilities: I had money, a veritable fucking harem, and the ability to restore, reconfigure, and reprogram women in any way I wished – with or without their knowledge.  Of course I could do the same thing to men, but that struck me as more than a little bit creepy.

 

The security dyke turned and lumbered off in the direction of the dorms, whilst my oriental fuckdoll continued her ministrations.  She was hunched over me, her disproportionately huge tits wobbling and rolling across my muscular chest, her lithe arms on either side of my head supporting her, and her face locked in the blithe default smile that Kat had designed.  I could of course program her to be more expressive, but I didn’t really want a woman right now, even an imitation of one: what I desperately needed at that moment was the kind of comfort that only pure, straightforward pussy can give.

 

I was going to cum, and fairly quickly too, judging by the feeling in my computer-enhanced balls.  But I didn’t deserve to.  I didn’t deserve the unmatched ecstasy of unloading my spunk into a warm, perfectly compliant robot-woman, and I didn’t deserve it because eight miles away, on a beautiful palatial estate, Robbi, my first ever fembot, lay broken.

 

It had been a picture-perfect morning, barely eighteen hours ago: soft sunlight dappled the green, perfectly trimmed grass of the Berkeley campus, the scent of honeysuckle hanging in the air despite the lateness of the season, birds twittered.  I stood there with my arm around Robbi’s minuscule waist, as together we watched my twenty newest creations walking off toward their respective futures.  I felt the flush of victory within me, warmly pleased that I had finally managed to look temptation in the eye, and told it to sod off.  So pleased was I, in fact, that I turned to her, about to suggest that a little road-head might just be the ticket for the trip home, and found that she was crying.

 

“Robbi…?”

 

“I…” she started, one elegant hand pressed to her trembling lips, the other resting on her flat stomach “…Jake…I…” and then she broke down.  Hot tears began streaming from her crystal-blue eyes, and she put both of her hands up to her face, trying to stem the flow.  She then fell, dropped to be more precise, as though all her strength had left her, and began shaking and sobbing, keening on the soft grass.

 

I stood there, mute, as her sobs quickly doubled, then redoubled.  “Robbi…?” I started stupidly, completely at a loss for what to do.  What the fuck was happening to her?

 

“J-Jake…?” she wailed piteously, her voice hoarse and choked in her anguish, looking to me, lowering her hands and holding them out in supplication, as though I might somehow be able to fix her.  Her normally beautiful face was stricken with an expression of unimaginable loss, and she began shaking her head and rocking on her knees, crying uncontrollably.

 

Quickly I knelt down in front of her and took her hands in mine, desperately trying to think of something I could do or say to make her feel better, my mind a complete blank.  “Robbi…?” I said dumbly, mystified as to what could be causing her such extreme distress.  Her sobbing continued unabated whilst I crouched there like a dumb shit, unable to give her the slightest bit of comfort.  Finally I did the only thing I could think of: I picked her up and put her in the back of the car, hoping like hell that perhaps one of her sister units might be able to help put her right.

 

We arrived at the house ten minutes later to find the rest of my iBods waiting for us under the porte-cochere.  There they stood, in various stages of undress, looking nervous, worried.  I had called en route and told Rosa what had happened, and being the wise domestic cyborg that she is, she wasted no time in getting Maria out of bed.  But what with her employer’s honey-blonde head being buried between Kitten’s silky thighs at the time, and Kitten sucking contentedly on Eve’s clit, with an assist from Ashiko who had been plugging away at her Mistress’s hot Scottish twat with the black strap-on, it meant that the whole house had been aroused.

 

Maria, with her cybernetically-enhanced strength, wasted no time in pulling her distraught daughter out of the back of the car, and despite the fact that Robbi was a fully grown adult, held the sobbing university student in her arms as though she were a three-year old.

 

“Roberta…?” she asked, in pretty much the same bewildered tone I had when Robbi’s breakdown had begun.

 

“M-Mommy…” she whimpered, her voice hoarse, muffled in the hollow of her mother’s throat, and her bawling continued afresh.

 

Maria looked at me, wordlessly asking me what the fuck what had happened to the daughter she had only just learned to love unreservedly, while Kitten looked on with wide eyes, softly stroking her suffering owner.

 

“I don’t know, Maria,” I replied in a hushed tone.  “She just…sort of…broke down.”

 

Any other women faced with this scenario would have instantly presumed that I – being a male – had caused it, but their trust in me (trust instilled by my programming) seemed to override that particular feminine instinct.  Maria began crooning softly, trying to quiet her daughter/lover’s anguish.  Slowly, very slowly, Robbi’s tears began to abate, but as she quieted down, a more ominous turn developed – she began sucking her thumb.  I started to say something, but Maria gave me a look that plainly said that we were now firmly in her province, and to leave Roberta in the care of them that had ovaries.  And with that she turned and carried my broken fembot through the double doors and into the house, Kitten trailing close behind.

 

“Jake…?” Eve began, looking stunned and confused, obviously torn between wanting to help Robbi, and of wanting to take charge in discovering what was wrong with her, “what…happened?”

 

I felt badly for her, standing there, dressed in her green corset and heels, looking positively stricken with worry.  Her pale skin was now almost white in the full sun, her impossibly huge breasts, goose-pimpled in the morning chill, rose and fell as though she’d just run a marathon, and her emerald eyes constantly darted here and there, seemingly unable to focus.  I could understand her anxiety, which, judging by the cracking of her voice and her labored breathing was a many-layered thing.  She was deeply concerned for Robbi, but I knew it wasn’t just that; it was that Robbi was the first, and if this psychotic break was due to her having worn the cap, then might the bell not also toll for Maria, for Kitten, and for her as well?  Add to that the small matter of twenty volunteers – volunteers provided by her, and for whom she certainly felt directly responsible – it was surprising that she simply didn’t faint dead away.  But she was tougher than that; being the Chancellor of a major university has that effect on one, I suppose.

 

I told her everything, apart from the bits that would have me locked away in some dungeon that only Eastern Europeans can truly appreciate.  What she wanted was comfort, something that I could not give her since I had not the slightest idea what was going on with Robbi either.

 

I ate with Rosa at the scrubbed wooden table in her kitchen, but not even her menudo could put a dent in the atmosphere cast by Robbi’s sudden seizure.  Even the immense MMM-cup breasts spilling out of her skimpy black apron failed to distract me from my gut-clenching worry for Robbi.  What had happened? I thought, rubbing my tired eyes, racking my brain and repeatedly going over the sequence of events of the previous evening.  All had been well prior to her going to sleep, and she had been perfectly normal while in fembot mode, and there was nothing abnormal about her when she’d awakened.  There didn’t appear to be any physical problems: no fever, pain, or nausea, so I was reasonably sure there was no causal link to the hardware I’d implanted in her, which according to my iPhone put her present state of charge at thirty-two percent.

 

So what did that leave?  As William of Ockham would say, the simplest explanation is usually the best, and since her breakdown didn’t appear to be related to her body, that could only mean it was all in her head, something which had certainly received a lot of abuse over the last several weeks.  Was it my programming?  Well, since she now sucked her mother’s cunt on a daily basis, had raped a newly acquired lover and adopted her as a pet, and had purposely grown breasts that could be seen from space, one could certainly make the case that I might have introduced some instability there.

 

Or might it be this whole situation, itself, that was responsible for her crash?  After all, six women sharing one guy, and doing things at which the Marquis De Sade would have blanched is not exactly your average relationship dynamic.

 

If only I could reboot her; put her back under and then restart her – would that help?  In all truth I doubted it; Robbi was more like a Mac than a PC, and this breakdown had all the indications of a kernel panic, something that just hitting Ctrl-Alt-Del wouldn’t fix.  Well, if worse really came to worse, I could simply do a wipe and reload: her original files were now sitting on two external hard drives (there is safety in duplication).  Of course, there would be the small matter of her losing all memory of what had happened since that fateful day in my shitty apartment, but that was certainly preferable to an insane, possibly suicidal, robot.

 

The next few hours stretched by at an agonizingly slow pace.  The house had an almost funereal feeling to it, what with all the women (save for Eve, who, despite it being Saturday had a full load of conferences she had to attend) constantly in and out of the master bedroom, quietly making sure that Robbi wanted for nothing, often speaking in whispers.

 

As for me, I was desperately tired, but I knew that sleep wasn’t going to happen while so much of this issue remained unresolved, and I certainly wasn’t going to commit my poor brain to cybersleep – one of the possible causes of this whole gymkhana.  I retired to my basement workshop, one ear on the intercom at all times, listening for any change in Robbi’s condition.  I occupied myself by copying off the new fembot’s data to the backup drives, inspected the wiring on the five freshly assembled alcoves my iBods had completed only two nights ago, answering five fretful phone calls from Eve, and smoking about two dozen cigarettes.

 

It was at noon that things finally started to break.  I began hearing Robbi’s robots-in-waiting speaking in more or less normal tones over the intercom, and went back upstairs to investigate.  I found them in the hallway off the master bedroom.  Maria, normally one of the world’s six most beautiful women, looked like hell: her eyes were puffy, her hair was tangled, and it looked as though she had a busted lip.  The Latinas were there, as well, which surprised me, as fully half of them had the day off, and it occurred to me that perhaps the employer-employee familiarity that my women had been enjoying might not have been limited to Rosa.  They all stood, clustered around her, quietly offering their support.

 

“How is she?” I called over them, the abruptness of my question making them all jump.

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Jake,” Maria sighed tiredly, leaning against the closed door, “I know it can’t have been…”

 

“Never mind me,” I said, trying to keep the focus where it belonged, “how is she?”

 

“She’s asleep, thanks to the Valium I used to need before I met you.  God, I wish knew what was wrong with her.”  She wiped her eyes, which had been almost as teary as her daughter’s had been, while Ashiko tenderly stroked her shoulder.

 

I made my way through the throng of female flesh, annoyed for perhaps the first time in my life at the ample bosoms that slowed my progress, and wondered if Robbi was aware of just how great an outpouring of emotion her breakdown had caused.  This large turnout really shouldn’t have come as a surprise: when it came right down to it, Robbi, of all my perfumed flesh robots, was by far the most lovable.  There was just something in her nature, something beyond her massive boobs and her full, sensuous lips, that made you want to love her, to care for her; an innocent sweetness that lifted your heart, among other things.  And as I approached her virtual twin, now ever so much more like her daughter in her grief and worry, the incredible knot of guilt that had been tightening in my stomach all morning ratcheted again.

 

“Oh, Jake,” she cried, throwing her arms around me, pressing her melons into my abdomen, “what is happening to her?”  I held her as she cried, and then began gently rocking her, crooning softly.  I was desperate to find out how Robbi was doing, but in addition to that I needed to know what Maria might have done about it – there could well be an ambulance pulling up the drive at this very moment, and if that was the case Karl Rossum would most definitely be on the next flight to fucking Caracas.

 

“How is she doing?” I asked softly, and through more fits of tears, sniffling, and a couple of boxes of Kleenex proffered by Ashiko, she gave me a pretty good picture of Robbi’s condition over the last several hours: uncontrollable crying, withdrawal, extreme agitation, flailing (the cause of Maria’s split lip), and mattress pounding to start.  She had not notified anyone, my programming regarding unnecessary doctor visits quite likely the reason, which caused me to breathe the tiniest bit easier.

 

She led me into the darkened room, the Latinas preferring to stay outside, as though they were keeping some sort of Catholic vigil.  The shades had been drawn; the only sources of light being the banker’s lamp on Maria’s antique desk and the light emanating from the bathroom.  My poor, broken iBod lay on the big bed, her normally soft beauty now distinctly careworn despite her being whacked out on her mother’s prescription meds.  Kitten lay cuddled beside her, purring softly, her dark eyes open; her long, white-painted fingernails ready to slash anyone who might mean harm to her owner: her left cheek was bruised.

 

“She absolutely refuses to leave her side until she’s better; you know how she can be,” Maria said simply.

 

Yes, I knew how she could be; between her natural inclinations and my programming, Kat had become the perfect human pet.  I sat on the bed next to my very first fembot, watching her impressive rack rise and fall beneath the sheets, and thought about my future – I didn’t have one.  Robbi was broken, pure and simple, and without knowing what was wrong with her I had no idea of how to fix her.  And if I couldn’t fix her, people with letters after their names were going to be called in.  Oh, sure, I could program the lot of my fembots to avoid doctors at all costs, but considering that my fucking around inside her head was the reason that Robbi was now eight carrots short of a bushel, I didn’t think that was maybe the best option.  Suddenly Venezuela was looking pretty goddamn good – I hoped they had good tamales there.

 

But I was distracted from my musings about what all I would need to pack for my sudden departure, by Maria, who was busily rummaging about the room.  “Maria,” I began, annoyed that she should choose now of all times to straighten up, “what are you doing?”

 

“I’m sorry, Jake,” she whispered, her arms full of Robbi’s pink tracksuit, her crystal eyes scanning about for something on the floor, “I’m just looking for Robbi’s purse.”

 

“It’s in the dining room,” I whispered back tersely.  Christ, I thought, women and their shit.  If only I could get this technology under control I just might be able to program some sense into the so-called fair sex.  “I brought it in after you carried Robbi up here.”

 

“Oh, good.  Ashiko, would you mind bringing it up here, please?  Maybe it’s in there.”

 

“Yes, Missy,” she said, and was gone in a flash.

 

Chalk it up to being the Smartest Guy in the World, but when shit doesn’t belong my mind always latches on, and this behavior was definitely not kosher.  “Maybe what is in there, Maria?”

 

“I don’t know,” she said, coming up to my side and putting her hand on my shoulder, her whacking huge cans threatening to block out the light from the desk lamp, “I think Roberta must have wanted something.  Just before she fell asleep she kept saying, ‘something’s missing…something’s missing.’”

 

And with those words, all of the puzzle pieces fell magically into place.

 

 

I screamed as I spurted inside my hot Asian fucktoy, the sound muffled by the fat tit in my mouth.  I pumped her fiercely, brutally slamming my hips up into her, filling her with more than just my obscene goo; I was also expelling a full day’s worry, fear, and self-loathing into her robotic cunt.  I wasn’t worried that I would hurt her; I knew she could take it.  Hell, one could even say she’d been built to take it.

 

When my thrusts slowed and I released the slobbery tit with a wet ‘pop’, Ashiko automatically ceased her bouncing and remained still, though her snapping pussy remained on autopilot, continually ministering to my sloppy noodle.  “Ashiko, please dismount and clean your pussy.”

 

“Yes, Master,” she replied tonelessly.

 

Now in a more relaxed frame of mind I lit a cigarette, whilst the sexbot went about the business of self-maintenance.  I reached for my iPhone and looked at it for the umpteenth time, my homemade iBod tracking app showing that the newest member of our little robot family was still annoyingly awake within her dorm room.  “Crikey, Ashiko,” I said to her back, lightly fingering the long, silky black braid that hung there, “when is Sunny going to go to sleep?”

 

“I don’t know, Master.”

 

When it comes to dealing with fembots, the first rule is this:  they don’t understand the concept of rhetorical questions.  Of course I knew she would answer when asked – it hadn’t been the first time I’d asked it – but we’d been waiting for more than two hours in this goddamn parking lot, and the simple fact was that I was l needed to hear another human voice, and she was the closest thing.

 

I finished my smoke, listening to the sounds of drunken revelry coming from the dorms and glancing at the phone every so often, sighing at the pulsing red icon.  But my sighs had nothing to do with The Robot Formerly Known as Unpleasant Girl’s failure to go to sleep.  No, they were directed right at the source of all this disorder: me.  I had screwed up royally, and by royally I mean ‘Wars of the Roses’ royally.  Yes, something was missing, all right, and that something just happens to be the reason the whole sodding lot of us are here in the first place.

 

Let me be the very first to say that I respect women inordinately.  I mean, as if they don’t have enough to contend with, what with emotionally stunted men, periods, and an often crippling addiction to shoes, Darwin says they’re supposed to want babies, too.  That maternal instinct, which can turn the meekest woman into the most ferocious hellcat when aroused, is perhaps the most awesome force in the universe.  And I had fucked with it:

 

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

 

Somehow in all of the caring for the new batch of fembots during the previous evening: the herding of them, getting them ready for bed, waking them, making sure they had all of their stuff, and then seeing them off, Robbi’s maternal instinct – strong by genetic inclination, but supressed by my programming – had come roaring back with a vengeance.

 

That single command, I was 99.9% sure, was the reason for Robbi’s breakdown.  It would be nice if I could just go in there and erase it, but then what would happen?  What could I replace it with that wouldn’t make things ten times worse?  One subtle change in her programming had led to the kind of emotional distress for which people are often institutionalized; I wasn’t about to fuck around with more on-the-fly experimentation.  But it was for the sake of experimentation, after all, that my newest iBod had been created in the first place, and not a moment too soon.

 

“Jesus H. Christ,” I barked at the phone, “will you for fuck’s sake just go to sleep, you stupid robot?” but the pulsing red icon continued to mock me.  Every other icon glowed strongly blue, showing that those units had already been brought on to the network, including the massive-breasted Japanese fuckdoll that sat on the edge of the mattress, awaiting my next command.

 

“Ashiko,” I sighed, the tone of unmistakable boredom lost on my fembot, “clean my cock and balls, please.”

 

“Yes, Master,” she replied, and turned and bent to her task.

 

It was funny, I thought, as her skilled tongue began laving my large ballsack, how they always defaulted to such actions in the most pleasurable way.  Here, there was an industrial-sized container of body wipes to hand, something she had just used on her own dripping pussy, but her mouth was the preferred tool used for the cleaning of mine.  Of course I knew Ultimate Babe was responsible for this – talk about a killer app.

 

She graduated from my scrotum to my sizable rod, engulfing it in one smooth motion.  Well, I thought, glancing down at her slowly bobbing head, if I’m going to be kept waiting, I might as well enjoy it.  But despite the pleasurable cleaning that my prick was receiving, I was still frustrated at this damnable waiting, “Jesus Christ, Ashiko,” I said to the roof of my bitchin’ car, “what the fuck is Sunny doing in there?”

 

I felt Ashiko’s bee-stung lips leave my now surgically clean cock, “Masturbating, Master,” she said, and returned to her previously assigned duty.

 

I looked down at her, sucking resolutely away, her fat tits compressing on every downstroke.  ‘Masturbating?’  How in the fuck does she know that?  “Ashiko,” I said to the otherwise occupied robot, my voice sounding strangely anechoic in the cramped fuckspace, “how do you know Sunny is masturbating?”

 

She raised up only high enough for her mouth to clear the head of my cock, “I can see her, Master,” she replied, and back down she went.

 

I could no longer hear the party sounds emanating from outside the car; all my attention was firmly focused on the fembot hoovering my johnson.  I rose up to a sitting position slowly, for fear of fainting (something I already worried about anyway, whenever my newly enhanced pecker got hard).  How can she know what an offline iBod is doing?  “Ashiko, stop cleaning my dick and sit up.”  She did as I commanded, her huge breasts wobbling across her tiny frame.  “Ashiko, what, specifically, can you see Sunny doing?”

 

“I can see her knees in the air.  Her legs are spread, and she is plunging a large, purple G-spot vibrator into her vagina with her right hand.  Her left hand is squeezing her left breast.  Through her legs I can see two women having sex on a computer screen.  The woman on the right is a blonde with large, natural breasts.  The woman on the left is a brunette with large implants in her breasts.  Both women are on their hands and knees, with a double-headed dildo protruding from their vaginas.  The brunette is wearing…”

 

“That’s enough, Ashiko,” I said, only just realizing that I was holding my breath.  There were any number of explanations for my hot Asian robot’s ability to see into a third floor room, one hundred and fifty yards away and behind her, but Occam’s Razor made the answer plain enough.  “Ashiko,” I said through numb lips, “when you see Sunny masturbating, are you looking through her eyes?”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

My fembots might be many things but they certainly weren’t liars.  Despite all my assumptions, it appeared that my iBods had some form of connection with one another, even if the unit was offline.  So if Ashiko could see through Sunny’s eyes, did that also mean she could smell whatever she smelled, hear what she was hearing?  If these things were true, they would make wonderful remote-sensing units: able to send live data across the globe to other networked units.

 

But then I began to wonder – if the online unit could receive data, could she also not send it?  “Ashiko,” I said, fighting to keep my breathing under control, "can you make Sunny go to sleep?”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

I closed my eyes and exhaled a measured breath.  Jesus-fucking-Christ, I thought, is there no end to their abilities?  To that question I had no answer, but this newest ability gave me an idea.  “Ashiko, is Sunny alone?”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

“Is her dorm room door closed, Ashiko?  Can anyone see her?”

 

“The door to her room is closed.  No one can see her, Master.”

 

“Excellent,” I said, actually rubbing my hands together.  “Ashiko, put Sunny to sleep now.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

And sure enough, the icon representing Sunny on my iPhone turned green; I thumbed it, acquiring her instantly.  “Ashiko, have Sunny throw on a coat, and meet us out here.  Tell her she must not be seen by anyone else.  Please monitor her progress.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

Weeks ago I would have been in panic mode, having one of my fembots walking around unsupervised, but armed with the knowledge that they could actually see through one another’s eyes I let my worries go.  And not quite ten minutes later, like the ninja I’d made her, Sunny appeared from out of nowhere at the back of my car, her knee-length woolen pea coat not quite covering her stylishly ripped fishnet panty hose, nor the five-inch spiked heels that sculpted her calves rather nicely.

 

Though I had to admit, the red ball-gag secured between her thin lips was certainly a surprise.  Crikey, I thought, shaking my head as Ashiko secured her to the bed for the journey home, am I the only normal person in this town?

 

 

 

Chapter 20

Moving Day

 

This is it, I thought, considering the body lying on the Lexan table, this is for all the marbles, isn't it?  I was a little nervous, at the prospects of both success and failure, for I had no illusions about what could happen in the next several hours: Sunny might walk out of here perfectly fine, or be rolled out on a vegetable cart.  There was also the possibility that what was about to happen in this workshop might kill her, but I couldn't let that distract me; Robbi was worth the risk.

 

Ashiko sat behind me in the big overstuffed chair, the laptop open next to her on the well-used wooden worktable that had come with the house, rather than in front of her, since her lap was already occupied by her enormous juggs.  It was no matter; she could operate hands free.

 

Sunny’s eyes were open, placidly taking in everything while her mind slept on.  Her mind, I thought, looking deeply into her clear, hazel eyes, what part of her mind is being utilized right now?  What part do I communicate with?  What part does my bidding without question?  For all my use of my iBods I really hadn’t the slightest idea what went on inside them, what made my technology work – it was time to start finding out.  "Ashiko,” I said, keeping my eyes firmly locked on Sunny’s, the so-called windows to her soul, “delete all data from the unit designated 'Sunny.'"

 

"Yes, Master."

 

I had no idea what would happen; could I really wipe her mind, erase the sum total of everything that made her her?  The theory said I could, but in all truth I had thrown that book out the proverbial window.  I watched her closely, looking into her pupils which had grown large in my shadow, alert for the slightest change of expression while the 3.9 gigs that made up her existence on this earth was removed from her wetware, placed in my Trashcan, and then destroyed by my pirated security software.  Her expression remained vacant, and my iBod tracker showed her vitals as stable as ever; not the slightest change indicating that her head was becoming an empty vessel.

 

“Deletion complete, Master.”

 

I tore my eyes away from the guinea pig’s glassy stare and looked back to see the file on the laptop screen was indeed empty, which confirmed that Sunny, as a sentient being, was well and truly gone.

 

“Jesus H. fucking Christ,” I whispered, “I did it!”  My legs felt rubbery, and I clung to the drone’s chunky, hose-clad thighs for supprt, hoping that Hell truly was a place made up by parents so that their kids would eat their damn peas.  Had I really wiped her memory?  Were the stored thoughts, feelings, and experiences of an entire lifetime actually, utterly, irretrievably gone?  I mean, with computers the data is still there – you just can’t access it anymore, until you overwrite it – but with my ill-gotten software all such data was irrevocably destroyed.  But Sunny’s brain was not a spinning platter, no matter what my laptop might think, and the idea that her memories, which were biologically encoded in her gray matter, could be erased with a few taps of a keyboard was simply mind-boggling.

 

Looking into her blank eyes, I couldn’t help thinking of a house, a house whose occupants had moved out.  But that analogy wasn’t quite true – Sunny’s memories hadn’t moved out; I’d evicted them.  Kicked the whole family of them into the street, leaving behind a vacant structure; a vacant structure into which a new family of stored thoughts, feelings, and experiences could move in and take up residence.  Holy Darwin, I thought, as it dawned on me that I actually had the power to bestow fucking immortality on whomsoever I chose, and I grasped the edge of the table as a wave of lightheadedness threatened to engulf me.  But then again, it might have been because my dick was harder than I could ever remember.  Perhaps it was both.

 

But I was getting ahead of myself.  I needed to take one step at a time, test my theories, and apply them to the broken iBod two floors above us.  “Sunny,” I said, wondering if she would even know who I was addressing, or if she could even understand English now, “where were you born?”

 

“Oakland, California.”

 

Shit, I thought, turning away from the body on the translucent table, pissed that I’d been blown out of the water on the very first try.  But it should have worked, I thought, lighting a cigarette off of my Zippo.  I had fucking written to their damned brains, uploaded fucking songs into them, installed programs in them, and had even used them as goddamn web browsers – why the fuck couldn’t I wipe their damn drives?

 

But as I watched the rising and falling of Ashiko’s massive bosom through the bluish haze of cigarette smoke, I was reminded that my fembots often exceeded their parameters when doing my bidding; perhaps it was happening again.  Sunny was still attached to the network, which meant that she not only had access to the backed-up file we’d made upon this morning’s arrival, but to the Internet, as well.  I pulled my phone out and walked back behind Ashiko’s chair, putting some distance between us in case she regained consciousness with this next experiment, and thumbed her icon, removing her from the network.

 

She did not wake up, but remained as she had been: respirations normal, expression neutral.  “Sunny,” I called from behind my ninja fembot, “how did you meet Robbi?”

 

Stillness.  Silence.

 

“Holy Jesus Christ,” I muttered, “I fucking did it.”  I moved quickly back to the table, gleeful at my vast intelligence.  “Sunny, stand up.”

 

No response.  I lifted her arm; it stayed elevated.  I moved a finger side to side in front of her eyes; no movement.  I even made to strike her; no attempt made to stop me.  She really was gone.  I smiled, making a mental note to add ‘brainwipe’ to the list of fembotic classifications.  I checked her vitals on the phone again, and everything seemed A-okay.  Crikey, even her pink, puffy nipples were as hard as little rocks, which caused me to wonder if that most wondrous accessory, which came standard on all my fembots, still worked when in this state. But once my fingers felt the insistent tugging of her snapping pussy, that grinding, clamping, pulling action under which no penis can long stand, I knew I had turned Sunny into the most basic sex toy in the fembot line: a living fuck-mannequin.

 

Okay, so I had established that I could wipe them clean; that left the next, obvious question: could I restore?  I had Ashiko re-install Sunny’s data from her backup, and disconnected her again, my fingers crossed.

 

Her eyes flickered a few times, and then closed, as though her consciousness was resettling in its old digs.  Her breath hitched, and she made a small sound in her throat, followed by a deep inhalation.  She opened her eyes again, and I could see none of the fembot glassiness about them, just pure human vulnerability as they locked upon my face, suspended above hers.

 

“I…I know you…” she started a little dazedly, “you’re…” and then her mind snapped fully awake, realizing that all was not as it should be, that she was no longer in her dorm room playing ‘stuff the kitty’.  I watched, grinning maniacally I’m sure, as her confusion gave way to fright, followed quickly by anger.  “What…you…?” she began again, bringing her hands up to cover her chunky body from my laughing eyes.

 

“Ashiko,” I called out, “put the unit designated Sunny back to sleep.”

 

She turned quickly, gasping as she took in my giant-breasted fembot, before her eyes rolled up into her head and she collapsed back onto the table.  Despite the fact that she hadn’t said anything of substance, there was no doubt that I had restored The Bitch Formerly Known as Unpleasant Girl to normal.  I was also aware that I now possessed what every man in this world wanted most: a chick with an off switch.

 

So I could wipe, and I could restore.  An excellent beginning, but there was so much more I wanted to do, so much more that I had to do, if I hoped to return Robbi to normal functioning.

 

 

 “Good morning, Sunny.”

 

“Uh…er…good morning, uh, Jake?”

 

“Yes, it’s me.  How do you feel?”

 

“Um, okay, I guess.  Can I take off this sleeping mask?”

 

“Not quite yet, I need to ask you a few questions first.  Can you please tell me, Sunny, where you are, and what day it is?”

 

“Uh, sure.  I’m, uh, in the gym, and it’s Saturday morning.  It is Saturday morning, right?”

 

“Excellent.  Ashiko, put the unit designated Sunny back to sleep.”

 

 

 “Hey, Robbi, this is Jake.  How are you feeling?”

 

“Erm, okay.  A little logey, maybe.  What’s this on my face?”

 

“It’s a sleeping mask.  I want to ask you some questions, okay?”

 

“Okay, but it’s not more cards, is it?”

 

“No, we’re done with the cards.  I just wanted to ask you what day it is.”

 

“Saturday, erm, afternoon?”

 

“Yes, excellent.  And where are we now?”

 

“In your apartment.  What is this on my legs?  Ohmigod…you put fishnets on me, you creep!  Help!  Somebody ple…”

 

“Ashiko, sleep mode unit Sunny.”

 

 

 “Robbi?”

 

“Robbi?”

 

“Shit.”

 

 

 “Robbi?”

 

“Jake?  I can’t see!  Oh, God, what’s going on?”

 

“It’s just a sleeping mask, Robbi.  How do you feel?”

 

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.  I’m just…just…oh, God, oh, oh, I…”

 

“Shit!  Ashiko, sleep mode unit Sunny.”

 

 

 “Good morning, Robbi.”

 

“I…oh, God, Jake…I’m just so…oh, God…”

 

“Robbi, will you marry me?”

 

“…I, oh…what?”

 

“Will you marry me, Robbi?  Will you be my loving, blushing bride?”

 

She looked up at me, her full lips slightly parted, her brow furrowed in confusion.  I had seen this very expression not two hours ago, in this very bed, although it hadn’t been on her face, just someone who happened to have her consciousness rolling around inside their head, or her head, or how-the-fuck-ever I was going to have to start referring to this shit now that I had the ability to transplant identities.  The simulation had worked three times in a row, though it was the eeriest damn thing, hearing Robbi’s inflections, seeing her gestures performed by a simulated version of her, whilst the real her lay on the bathroom floor in sleep mode.

 

“You want to…”

 

“…to marry you, Robbi.  I want you to be the mother of my children.”

 

And with those words something clicked.  “Ohmigod,” she said, inhaling sharply, bringing her hands up to her mouth.  “Are you serious?”  She raised herself up to a sitting position, the point at which all my previous simulations had faltered, once the faux-Robbi realized that she no longer possessed a pair of watermelon-sized juggs.  But now that I was dealing with the actual Robbi, I had not the slightest idea what direction this discussion might take, not that it mattered terribly much: one push of the ‘pound’ sign on my iPhone would signal Ashiko to put her to sleep instantly, making it possible to reload and repeat until I got a satisfactory outcome, or until it became too late in the morning to reasonably continue.  “You’re not just doing this because I’ve been carrying on like… like…”

 

“Like you’ve got a screw loose?” I finished for her, eliciting an embarrassed but healthy-sounding giggle from my robotic bride to be.  “Robbi, my pet, you are the ultimate woman.  What man in his right mind wouldn’t want to marry you, wouldn’t want you to bear his children?”  I was hitting the kid thing hard, but I wanted to make sure the conflicting command that had caused Robbi’s breakdown was well and truly nullified.

 

Her look of shock quickly gave way to a beaming radiance to rival Times Square on New Year’s Eve, whereupon she pounced on me.  “Yes, Jake!” she squealed joyfully, plastering my chest with her giant funbags, “Yes, I will marry you!”  And she began showering kisses upon my chest, neck, and face, finally thrusting her tongue down my throat, causing my already engorged johnson to damn near burst through my denims.

 

Despite the incredible distraction of having her naked, warm flesh squirming over me I managed to thumb the icon on my phone, rousing her sister iBods (save for Sunny, who had been relinquished once Ashiko and I had returned her safely to her dorm room, ball gag and all) from their cybernetic slumber.  Robbi heatedly moved down my body and deftly released my pork sword, had as pig iron, from its confinement.  “Oh, Jake,” she said, looking up at me, my pulsing rod resting against her cheek, which was shining with her joyful tears, “I promise to make you happy every day of your life.  I will be the perfect wife, the perfect lover, and the perfect mother.”  She then kissed the purple head of my dick and began nuzzling it, wetting it with her tears.  “I swear that you will never want for anything.”

 

And with that she rose smoothly up, straddled me, and lowered herself onto my rampant cock, its passage eased by the lubrication of her tears.  She closed her eyes as she rode atop me, her pussy sliding wetly up and down my taut prick at just the right speed, ensuring that every nerve ending of my manhood was lovingly attended to.  I gasped, but not entirely due to the pleasure she provided, for Robbi had entered my mind again, and as her vise-like cunny made love to my cock, visions of utter happiness began to flood my thoughts:  Robbi and I making love on a beach as waves lapped over us, the two of us running our hands over her naked, swollen belly, Robbi suckling not one, but two babies at her oversized milkers, and next to her, Maria, now precisely identical to her daughter, doing the exact same thing with two infants of her own.

 

I came quickly, bucking and jerking my hips wildly, spraying my seed up into her with so much force I was surprised she didn’t fly into the air like a cork from a champagne bottle.  Robbi screamed as she climaxed, her hands upon my broad chest, her beautiful face serenely happy.

 

It was at that point that Maria, gloriously nude, hesitantly entered the room, quietly flanked by the rest of her robotic sisters.  She sobbed unrestrainedly into her hands upon the realization that Robbi was back to normal, and the rest of my fembots gently guided her forward so that she could hug her daughter.  There were smiles and laughter all around as my women, naked to a one, embraced Robbi, telling her how much they had been worried for her, and Maria screamed joyfully when Robbi broke the news of our engagement.  Still sitting on top of me, my cock buried within her, Robbi cried happy tears, and assured her sister units that she loved them all every bit as much as she loved me, and had no intention of cutting any of them out of our polyamorous relationship.

 

I was kissed repeatedly by all of my women, but it was Robbi who was the center of attention.  They all chattered away happily about wedding plans: dates, locations, themes, etc – all that shit women obsess about before they even leave the womb.  I began to lose track of their conversation, enjoying the sight of the six pairs of udders looming above me, threatening to block out the light of the newly risen sun.  I closed my eyes and let exhaustion overtake me.  The last thing I heard before falling into my first real sleep in days was Eve’s warm contralto, “Oh, this is wonderful.  We simply must celebrate!”

 

 

 

Chapter 21

An Unexpected Mouth Party

 

I awoke refreshed, to find myself the guest of honor at an orgy the likes of which the Roman god Bacchus would not only have approved, he would have offered to tend bar.  It began with the sensation of my dick being nuzzled.  I opened my eyes to find Kitten, purring softly, her feline eyes sparkling with mirth as she began nipping, licking, and finally sucking my cock, bringing me to the first of scores of mind-bending orgasms that fine day.

 

Then it was off to the bathroom where I was bathed by her and Ashiko, their warm, soft breasts always in contact with some part of my body.  I thought about my future as Kitten sat in my lap, her sweet pussy scouring my dick every bit as efficiently as a loofah, and soaping my chest and neck with her huge boobs.  Marriage had certainly not been in the cards a few days ago, and here I was poised to wed my very first fembot simply to keep her from having a total meltdown, because of one stupid command I had been unable to overwrite.  True, I had discovered many interesting things during the previous night’s experiments, but it was vexing not being able to solve that one little problem.  I had done everything I could think of: deleting the command, editing it, overtyping it, even adding a thousand commands saying, “I want lots and lots of kids.”  The responses ranged from complete unresponsiveness to total emotional meltdown.  It appeared that no amount of programming could fix this problem.

 

But that problem need not be a straitjacket.  Robbi and I could be married, and then amicably divorce a month later, and everything should still be back on track – a quick fix.  But I wasn’t going to get cocky; marrying Robbi was a short-term solution to a serious problem, and I was mindful of the fact that it was a quick fix that had been responsible for Robbi’s breakdown in the first place.  I would go careful, monitor her closely, and if she began to deteriorate again my only choices would be to knock the bitch up, or wipe and reload from her original backup.

 

I sighed as a plump tit brushed the side of my face, at which my two fembots giggled, mistakenly taking it as a sign of pleasure.  The idea of marrying Robbi just seemed too absurd to contemplate.  I mean she was a fucking robot, for Darwin’s sake!  True, she was a robot that could suck-start a Harley, do things with her pussy that were beyond magical, and had tits that wouldn’t quit, but actually taking vows to love, honor, and cherish a woman I had fucking programmed?  Well, I would do it to keep her sane, and I would not regret it; I simply found it more than a little funny that, in the forward-thinking state of California, the land of Gay marriage and civil rights, I would soon be taking part in the first human-cyborg wedding – at least no one could ever accuse me of being a robo-phobe.

 

They dried me off, with much kissing, groping and nuzzling, and then dressed me in a fine silk kimono, a gift from the bride.  Ashiko lit a cigarette and gave it to me, respectfully requesting my presence in the dining room when I was finished.  I couldn’t help but smile; it was apparent that something was going on, and knowing my fembots love of big production numbers (more than likely directed by Eve, who enjoyed putting her years of theatrical training to good use in this fashion), that it was likely to be something very special.

 

What that something was, was a banquet. I found upon my arrival in the dining room a table laid with every food known or believed to possess aphrodisiacal qualities: oysters on the half-shell, bananas, chocolate, figs, caviar, asparagus with Hollandaise sauce, truffles, and of course, champagne by the jeroboam.

 

But no women.  I sat at my usual seat at the middle of the long table, feeling rather lonely, and sipped from a freshly poured glass of bubbly.  As if that had been their cue, my women poured out of the doors on either end of the room, all of them dressed in belly-dancing regalia: zils ringing, coins flashing, all except for my Robbi, who stood front and center to them, clad entirely in diaphanous veils.

 

They danced for me, and I found myself silently praying to Darwin that there might be an inhaler somewhere close by, as I could feel one fuck of an asthma attack coming on.  They were all so incredibly beautiful and captivating that I could actually feel my dick thumping the underside of the mahogany table, frantically wanting to see with its very own eye what I found so breathtaking.  They had obviously been trained and choreographed by Eve, who had learned belly dancing many years previous (that tidbit having surprised me when I’d learned of it – I would’ve thought that dykes would consider that shit demeaning).  Their colossal breasts wobbled dangerously within their halters, threatening to burst from them with each shimmy and shake, and the flashing of the brass coins about their hips dazzled my eyes.  But none was so entrancing as Robbi, who twirled, glided, and floated about with such mesmerizing beauty that my mouth became as dry as the Sahara.  With every veil she cast off to land softly upon the floor, more of her wondrous body was revealed, causing my ardor to increase tenfold.

 

With a final, physics-defying twirl she sent the last veil into the air, leaving her bronze body utterly nude before me, her sister units in tableau behind her.  The music had stopped, and the only sound that could be heard was my labored breathing.  My eyes remained locked upon Robbi, while the rest of them, like a chorus of Vegas showgirls, broke away from her.  She was simply breathtaking: her long, beautiful legs, her flat belly, her impossibly huge yet perky breasts, her lascivious smile, and those crystal blue eyes of hers, the look in them saying unmistakably, ‘Your cock will never know such a night as tonight.’  Putting a dainty foot upon the chair opposite me she stepped up gracefully onto the table and stood directly before me, causing me to look up at her Apple-logo pussy, her perfectly sculpted labia sparkling with beads of her own sweet nectar, and without another word she sat down in front of me, took my face in her hands, and kissed me.

 

I was borne away on her kiss, transported to another plane of being by the feeling of her lips upon mine.  And as our tongues entwined I began to feel a dizzying concept enter my mind, the strength of it threatening to make me cum where I sat: ownership.  Robbi was telling me by her thoughts alone, in a way that could not possibly be misconstrued, that she was turning the pink slip on her body over to me.

 

i-am-yours-i-belong-to-you-you-are-my-lord-you-are-my-sun-you-are-my-everything-i-am-yours-i-am-yours-i-am-yours

 

Practically every cell of my body was blasted away by the intensity of her thoughts, stronger by far than Eve’s had been when buggering her in her office.  We had long since passed the phenomenon of Robbi’s operatic blowjobs, and were now firmly in what appeared to be a form of one-way telepathy.  How this was possible I had no idea.  Eve had mentioned that the connection worked both ways with the other girls, heightening their sexual experiences, and I was thankful that they were not privy to my thoughts, for if they ever found out what I had done to them they would surely rip my cock from my body and beat me to death with it, programming or no programming.

 

She pulled away, beaming, one hand caressing my cheek, “Do you understand, my love?”

 

I tried to think of something witty to say, some terribly intelligent remark that would knock her metaphorical socks off, but since my tongue was as inflated as my dick was at the moment, I simply nodded.

 

“I’m glad,” she whispered, “but that’s just the beginning.  Mother?”

 

Five pairs of breasts materialized about me, closing in on me from all sides, pressing in against me, cushioning me, confining me, and Maria’s voice floated into my ear.  “Jake,” she began, in her low, sensuous voice, “I can’t begin to tell you how happy you’ve made me, making me younger, more beautiful, making us all more beautiful.  Giving us the gifts of life, and joy, and love.  And to top it all off you’re giving my lovely Roberta the gift of your dear, sweet self.”  Her voice was choked with emotion, and the feeling of her hot breath on my neck was driving me wild, actually threatening to distract me from the dozen fulsome funbags that were holding me in place.  “You deserve a reward, Jake, something truly special.  And to that end we all put our heads together and made you a little, um, token of our affection.”

 

I was about to ask what that might be, but my mouth was invaded by her warm tongue, forcing my head to lie back against the pillowy tits cradling my neck.  Much like her daughter her kisses could suck all the intelligence out of a man, wiping out all coherent thought, and turning him into a full-body erogenous zone.  I sat there, blissfully happy, practically drowning in a sea of tits, secure in the knowledge that life could not possibly get any better, when I felt a pair of soft hands delicately sliding up my thighs, parting the folds of my kimono, and unleashing the monster within.

 

“Mm-mph?” was all I was able to manage, and I gripped the arms of my chair tightly as I registered the warm breath on my balls, a wet tongue deftly sliding over the head of my cock, licking it like an ice cream come, and finally a hot mouth engulfing my prick in one smooth motion.  My toes curled upward and my body stiffened within the embrace of my boob prison.  Whoever was blowing me, for I knew it could be none of my women as not one of them had moved, was doing an absolutely wonderful job of it.  She – I hoped to Darwin it was a she – seemed to know every bit as much about sucking a dick as if someone had put Ultimate Babe inside her head.  But that was impossible.  I was the only person on this planet who knew the secret of programming women, making them perfect in every way, wasn’t I?

 

Maria broke the kiss, and I dazedly began to ask the identity of the anonymous cocksucker, when my head was turned slightly, and another mouth fastened onto mine.  I didn’t need to open my eyes to tell that it was Eve who was kissing me now.  Her kisses weren’t necessarily the most passionate, but they were definitely authoritative.  I began to whimper at the combined sensations: the cock-guzzling, the suffocating press of titflesh, and the kisses that kept me on the very edge of hypoxia.  I clutched weakly at Robbi’s melon juggs so that I might stay tethered to the Earth as my mouth was passed onto Ashiko, whose tongue swam into my mouth like an eel, exploring as if it were in a sea-cave, and all the while that unknown mouth repeatedly swallowed my big prick.

 

It was when Rosa’s mouth clamped onto mine that I knew I was done for.  The scent of vanilla invading my nostrils, combined with the feeling of my balls being squeezed in exactly the way I liked, threatened to not only drive me over the edge, but also caused me to see in my closed eyes a white light at the end of a long tunnel.  They were going to kill me, or I was going to cum; there were no two ways about it.  And cum I did.  My whole body spasmed violently, cushioned by the tits that acted like driver’s side airbags, keeping me from harm as I jerked again and again, firing my jizz down that unknown but most welcome throat.

 

“Jake,” came the sound of Robbi’s voice from some distant corner of the universe, “are you all right?”  I had lost count of the number of times I’d been asked that question lately; it seemed as though blacking out during sex was becoming the norm.  I felt her lips upon my forehead, kissing me gently; felt the comfort of breasts all about me – not confining me, just keeping me still and safe and warm.

 

“Who…” I rasped, opening my eyes to find my bride-to-be’s beaming face looking into mine, her eyes dancing with happiness.  But there was no need for me to finish my question, as Robbi, giggling sweetly, began straightening up, her breasts rising like the grand drape of a theatre, to reveal who was responsible for that literally heart-stopping blowjob.  What I found was neither iBod nor fembot, but rather my own fuckable little Lupe, kneeling between my spread thighs, licking my sticky cum from her full lips with an appearance of great satisfaction.  Robbi leaned back down to whisper in my ear, her immense cans again hiding Lupe from my eyes, “She belongs to you now, my love.  I think you’ll find she’s the kind of gift that will keep on giving.”

 

So they knew.  Despite all my careful planning and preparation, they had found out that I had been plugging Lupe on the side.  I gulped. “I, um…how did you, um, know…about…?”

 

But it was Kitten who spoke.  “Jake, honey,” she said, leaning further into me, “it is impossible for a woman to be cornholed by you and not walk a little funny afterwards.  Just so you know.”  And with that they all began laughing; hugging me, kissing me, kissing Robbi.  If there was any anger or bitterness at my illicit relationship with the girl under the table, I could see no trace of it on their flawless faces: only joy, love, and happiness.

 

We gorged ourselves on Rosa’s wonderful spread, Robbi feeding me bits of this or that, Lupe sucking on my balls to help stimulate my appetite, plus a good deal of chatter about wedding plans, “…oh, New Zealand would be the perfect place to hold the ceremony.  I know this simply gorgeous waterfall…”, “…yes, white is traditional, but I think a nude wedding…”, “…I’m sorry, no, parachutes would just be too strange.”

 

A lovely feast, with lovely women and lively discussion, but underneath it all I couldn’t help but feel a slight chill.  The woman sitting on the floor tonguing my ballsack was a thoroughly wonderful cocksucker, truly – and I speak with some authority on this matter – one of the best cocksuckers in the world; something that she hadn’t been only three days ago!

 

Lupe, for all her desire and enthusiasm, gave simply lousy head.  Not that I could blame her.  Crikey, my cock was damn near the size of a paint roller, and she wasn’t exactly a big girl, whereas all of my iBods were exceptional cocksuckers, having been taught by Ultimate Babe how to suppress their gag reflexes.  So where and when had she learned this?

 

‘And to that end we all put our heads together and made you a little, um, token of our affection.’ I could hear Maria’s voice telling me.  Did that mean what I thought it meant?  I knew they were contagious, having seen the eleven remaining Latinas (once Rosa had become a cyborg) working about the estate slowly corrupted; day-by-day exchanging meaningful glances with one another, touching one another, even kissing each other. …’we all put our heads together’.  Did that mean that they could, and did, knowingly convert my sweet little Lupe into a devoted sex toy?

 

And why had they done it?  Was it done out of gratitude, taking a girl they knew I fancied, working her over, tailor-making her into the perfect fuckdoll?  Or was it some sort of perverted poetic justice: turning a rival, an upstart, into chattel for their amusement?

 

At one point during the festivities, while Robbi was turned away from me, I hunched down and asked Lupe how she felt about all of this.  Her response was not encouraging – “I am happy to belong to you, Señor Jake,” she said in her sweet voice, looking up into my eyes.  “I have wanted this from the first time I felt you in my ass.”

 

Those words caused a familiar stiffening of the yard, to which Lupe, a slightly glassy look in her eyes, again put her lips to.  Despite my misgivings I found myself warming to her attentions, enjoying the feeling of her tongue sliding across the base of my shaft, feeling the head of my cock slipping into her throat, which reflexively seized upon my intrusive meat, pulling it deeper into her, bottoming out against her lips as she deep-throated me.  “Lupe?” I asked, feeling the World’s Biggest Dumbass for interrupting a damn fine blowjob, “where did you learn…?”

 

She withdrew my slick rod from her mouth with a wet slurp, and began nuzzling and kissing it, “You like my mouth much better now, Señor Jake?  Señorita Eve show me this afternoon how to relax my throat so I can take your big churro all the way in.  She is a very good teacher.”

 

It was just as she said this that a lull happened in the general murmur about the table, her words given greater resonance by the wooden table under which she sat.

 

“Good God, Eve,” Maria’s voice called out from the end of the table, “is there a single female in this house you haven’t put the plastic to?”

 

My red-haired angel, twirling a nine-inch pink dildo between her fingers like a cheerleader’s baton, smiled slyly, apparently quite pleased at her pupil’s newly gained prowess, “Nope,” she replied confidently, doing a fairly accurate impression of me, “I believe I’ve had the lot.”

 

Everyone laughed, myself included, but it wasn’t the sort of whole-hearted laughter such as one hears at a Three Stooges marathon; it was more the type that usually precedes vomiting like a dog in some dark alleyway.  It was at that moment that I decided I was sick of it: sick of worrying, sick of fear, sick of all the bullshit I found myself constantly having to go through in order to maintain a stable system.  I tried thinking back to the last time that I had been able to look upon my women, any of them, without feeling a teeth-grinding worry over their health, their sanity, or the moment my nefarious schemes might be found out, and realized that I could not honestly remember the last time I had laughed easily, or smiled freely, my mind and body free of the crushing weight of my harem.

 

I was going about this all wrong; collecting women like some people collect bobbleheads.  Fembot ownership should be easy, but I was complicating things with all of this unnecessary duplication.  I missed those carefree, innocent days when it was just me and my lone fembot: my beautiful, perfect Robbi.  I resolved then and there that that was the goal I must work toward.  Sure, I would miss the decadent group sex, but Robbi was more than woman enough for one man.  And who knows, maybe Maria could join in for a little three-way on my birthday or special occasions.

 

But there was one other thing I resolved to do, and that was to enjoy myself tonight.  I surely deserved one evening of pure, hedonistic Bacchanalia, free from worry, guilt, and fear.  It was a celebration, goddammit, and I was going to get hip deep in it, and not worry about a thing – except maybe Eve trying to use that big strap-on on me.

 

So I drank and ate copiously, and enjoyed all the pleasures of the flesh that were offered at that table, until it was time to adjourn to the grotto for a bit of relaxation and a boatload of pussy.  I shambled along at the back of the pack, my newest acquisition just ahead of me: my fembot that wasn’t a fembot.  My eyes reveled in her lush beauty: her long, dark hair, her smooth shoulders that tapered down to a waist that I could damn near put both hands around, then flaring outwards to an ass that deserved an exhibit in the Smithsonian.  I watched her delicious fanny as it undulated in front of me, and it was then that I noticed it; precisely halfway between the small of her back and the cleavage of her ass, positioned exactly where I could not possibly miss it were I slipping it up her bum, was a little green something that hadn’t been there only three days prior.  “Lupe,” I slurred, the champagne causing me to sound a bit like Thurston Howell the Third, “what is this?” I asked, fingering the decoration, a tattoo which had the raw feeling of being only hours old.

 

She giggled.  “Do you like it, Señor Jake?  Señorita Kitty-cat designed it.  She says it is my label.”

 

“Your…?”  Suddenly my good feeling began washing away, and I knelt down, scraping my knee on the hard stone floor at the grotto’s entrance, to inspect Kitten’s handiwork closely: two concentric circles, a cat in silhouette in the center one, surrounded by three words sandwiched between the inner and outer circles:

 

Hecho en Mexico

 

I found it difficult to breathe as I looked at what they had done to my little Lupe, and I found myself transported back to the evening when Robbi herself had begun turning her new lover into a fucking pet.  True, Robbi did love Kitten, and treated her well, but this was vastly different.  My fembots had set a new hierarchy, relegating Lupe’s status to that of an object, like some sort of yard sale trinket.  I stood back up, lightheaded at the sudden change in elevation, ready to demand an explanation for their callous treatment of her, and almost fainted at the vision before me: ten women, ten of the most desirable women one could imagine, the rest of the Latinas, arrayed before me in the shallow edge of the pool, standing side by side as though waiting for inspection.  My blood, heated by vast quantities of alcohol, pounded in my ears as I took them in: their shiny wet hair, their tanned skin, drops of water clinging to their supple breasts, their dark pubes shaved to precise landing strips, and every one of them looking at me hungrily, like I was chorizo on the hoof.

 

“One night only, Jake,” came Maria’s husky voice in my ear, as she and the rest of my women broke for the water, to enjoy the pleasures of the Mexican pool toys that awaited them.

 

What the hell, I thought, taking my eyes from Lupe’s newly branded ass as she cavorted with the other girls, what’s done is done.  I mentally shelved my worries, for there really was nothing that could be done about it tonight.  I jumped in the water and made for Magdalena, who, according to Rosa, tasted like strawberries.

 

 

 “Señor Jake,” my dusky Latin rose whispered, her warm breath tickling my ear as she bounced up and down on my lap, “can I ask you a question?”

 

“Rosa, my lovely flower,” I managed to say around a mouthful of tit, “I can deny you nothing, especially when I’m inside of you.  Ask away.”  Despite the fact that she now lived on the estate and shared the big bed with the rest of as an equal, she still referred to me, as well as her sister units, as she had prior to being upgraded.

 

She laughed throatily and nibbled my ear.  “You are so funny, Señor Jake.  I just wanted to know how you feel about my girls.  Do you like them?”

 

I actually snorted, sending ripples across her vast tracts of titflesh.  “You must be kidding, mi dulce.  What man wouldn’t sell his soul to the Devil for a crack at these babies?” I said, nuzzling a thumb-sized nipple.

 

She laughed again, causing her to involuntarily clench her sugar walls about my cock, rubbed practically raw after having seen the insides of more women in one night than most porn stars see in, well, one night.  “Not my tetas, mi amor; my chiquitas.  Do you like them?”

 

Having spent the last few hours painting their cervixes with my rapidly dwindling supply of man-gravy, it was a safe bet that I looked upon them fondly, and I told Rosa so, though in slightly more flowery language, as I continued stirring her spicy pozole with my engorged fuck-ladle.

 

“That is very good, because they like you very much too, especially Lupe.  And not only because you are big like a donkey and can fuck all night.”  I snorted again, recalling the amazed looks on their faces earlier this evening when, less than two minutes after having been made to spray like a fire hose by Magdalena’s capable hands, I was happily immersed in Reynalda’s viselike cunt, pumping like a madman.  Juanita, who is perhaps the cutest of the Latinas, crossed herself, her eyes wide, saying that it was un milagro, which caused Kitten to quip that perhaps I should be canonized as Saint Erectus.

 

I parted Rosa’s overripe melones and looked up to find her biting her lip, though not in a sexual way – she was nervous, steeling herself.  “Señor Jake, mi corre, do you think you could give them big boobies, too?”

 

Despite the fact that I was half-sloshed on Cuervo, half-baked on some primo shit of Teresa’s, and on the verge of a testicle-imploding ejaculation, I could hear Mr. Reasonable’s thin voice riding just above the din of the music blaring from the Marshall stacks.  It sounded as though he was imploring me to avoid this temptation, to put others ahead of myself, but his voice was drowned out by another, sultrier voice; the voice of an angel, “Oh, I think that’s a wonderful idea, Jake.”

 

Coral talons gripped my left shoulder tightly, as Eve hoisted herself up the back of the leather couch, breathing raggedly, apparently on the verge of her own mind-bending orgasm.  I looked up to see her reflection in the overhead mirror, her upper body now supported by the top of the couch, her fine ass thrust out to take advantage of the expertly given rim job she was getting from Iliana.  “Oh, God,” she whimpered, gasping, “can’t you just see doing this every night…doing them every night?”  She began grunting, her breath coming in sharp gasps, digging her sharp nails painfully into my shoulder as Iliana drove her over the edge.

 

I would have liked to reply, but I was busy myself, spurting my seed into my hot Mexican cyborg, her enormous funbags easily absorbing my screams of ecstasy.  “But what about…Maria?” I panted, once I’d finished unloading my spunk into Rosa’s cunt, her body limp as she lay upon me, the finest blanket a man could want.  “This is supposed to be…one night only.”

 

“Jake, my stallion,” she said, sliding over a little so that she could stick her tongue in my ear, “you handle the technology.  Let me handle Maria.”

 

 

The snap of my Zippo closing echoed loudly in the cavernous space, the only noise that could be heard now that the music and the screams of pleasure had ceased.  Eleven women lay on the springy floor of the sex room, the caps on their sleeping heads marring their near-perfect beauty.  I looked upon them and rubbed my tired eyes as I sat on the back of one of the couches, my legs having lost all desire to support my weary self.  “Jesus-fucking-Christ,” I said to the room, shaking my head, the smoke jetting from my nose in wide arcs, “am I really doing the right thing?”

 

How many volumes have been written about people who said they were just doing what they were told, that they were just following orders?  It would be nice to have that luxury, to be able to put things off onto someone else, but I couldn’t.  It was all down to me.  I had no one with whom I could consult, no mentors, no advisors.  Like so many explorers before me I had to make my own decisions and live with the consequences, and those consequences often included the need to make more decisions.

 

I had thus far turned women into robots for a whole host of reasons: curiosity, self-protection, desire, etc.  But this decision, the decision to upgrade an additional eleven women was being done, not for my gain, nor for Eve, or for any of the rest of them, I was doing it for perhaps the most noble of reasons – to save someone’s fucking life.

 

“Lupe, stand up and come to me, please.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

She did as I bid.  Standing before me, the soft light caught her splendid body perfectly, the heat from her slowly growing boobs palpable from a foot away.  I put a hand up to the side of her rib cage and spun her around so that I could look at her back and bum, so very reminiscent of a cello. I ran my fingers across the tattoo at the base of her spine: ‘Hecho en Mexico’ – the three words that had made my decision for me.

 

I stubbed out my cigarette and pulled Lupe close; the need to feel the warmth of another body, even an unconscious one, overpowering.  I rested my forehead between her shoulder blades, her skin warm and dry.  I had resolved not to spend the evening worrying, but worry I had, for I had not only witnessed sexual excesses among my fembots and the Latinas at which even the French would been outraged, I had seen my iBods exhibit downright cruelty toward the gift they had given to me, passing it off as ‘a bit of fun’.

 

It was while my cock was being given the hot-oil treatment between Ashiko’s tits that I had seen it: my little Lupe being stuffed airtight, triple-teamed by Robbi, Kitten, and Maria.  Hardly new behavior; it was a favorite pastime of theirs, but there had been an edge of roughness to it, a dark undertone of punishment as they repeatedly slammed their big, fake dicks into her.  Lupe took it well, cumming like a freight train at their handling, and everyone laughed and cheered as though she’d passed some sort of initiation, but I was frightened for her.

 

I knew at that very moment that she must be acquired, and quickly – but how?  I was convinced that they already had daggers for her for having dared to bed the master behind their backs, and there really was no way I could upgrade her on the sly, considering that they seemed to have developed some element of control over their ability to communicate wirelessly.  I had run through several different scenarios in my head, all more than likely doomed to failure, before Eve had come up with her suggestion to turn the Latinas wholesale into walking sex toys.  It struck me as excessive, but it seemed the best way to give Lupe an even chance.

 

Maria had of course balked at the idea, but Eve, who in her day had been one of the most sexually insatiable women on the West Coast, had set her cap on having eleven new, outrageously stacked lovers.  The Latinas, with her coaching, gave their employer a most formidable tongue lashing, licking her into insensibility for a full two hours until she finally relented.

 

So now they were being converted, reshaped into more properly endowed sexual playthings, and it hadn’t even been my suggestion.  Kitten, perhaps due to her feline intuition, had known all along that this day would come, and had given me the disc she’d made more than a week ago; the eleven files contained thereon depicting a bevy of state-of-the-art fuckbots.

 

But they were to be more than that.  As I smoked my cigarette, my head resting between Lupe’s shoulder blades, a different program was being fed into their virgin brains, something that even my iBods wouldn’t get.  I’d found it on the same website that sold the Aikido program, and cackled gleefully at the irony of it, happily paying full price.  Capoeira, an Afro-Brazilian martial art, had evolved from the need for unarmed slaves and peasants to be able to defend themselves effectively. Part dance, part game, transported slaves developed the fighting art, often honing their fighting skills right under the very noses of their overseers. It is a devastating form of self-defense for those who have mastered it – my Latinas would world class.  At a ratio of eleven to six I felt Lupe would be safe; equilibrium would be established between the fembots and the iBods.

 

And though I had resolved not to worry I could not now do otherwise, for the paradigm had shifted.  ‘We all put our heads together…’ Maria had said, and all that that implied chilled me to my core.  What had once been a curious sexual anomaly had evolved, under my very nose, into a weapon.  A weapon that I could only now see had really been the means by which a once self-confident, fairly bitchy student reporter had been turned into a docile, cuntlicking slave, and had this morning been directed purposefully, en masse, at a sweet young girl whose only crime had been to give me pleasure.

 

And what of me?  History is rife with examples of slaves who have turned on their masters, and with the revelation of this latest latent ability I was in all truth scared to death of them.  Call it ESP, call it wireless networking, call it whatever you want; if their abilities evolved further, and only a fool would discount the possibility, they might very well find a way into my brain someday.  And if they did, they would have access to all my secrets, my passwords, and most of all, the knowledge of their creation.  If that day came, the police would be lucky to find my DNA in the garbage disposal.

 

Come to think of it, I would be lucky if they did, too.

 

 

 

Chapter 22

Twins and Things

 

Going to class the following morning was a blessed relief from the constant grind of sex, sex, and more sex.  I had decided, before plugging myself into the computer for a little cybersleep and a whole lot of penis skin replacement, that what was needed was a distraction, which took the form of Robbi and her mother awakening to find that they were now completely identical.  There was the typical screaming that one would expect to hear once they had seen their reflections, followed by the whole ‘mirror exercise’ – which is even funnier in real life than it is on TV, finishing with the inevitable ‘69’, yin-yang, clones licking each other to Infinity deal.

 

Robbi and Maria were in seventh heaven all that early morning: never leaving one another’s sides, speaking in unison, sneaking up on an unsuspecting sister unit and bringing her down so that they could do nasty things to her, things for which Freud hadn’t even had names.  I watched them closely; paying especial attention to how they treated my Latinas, and was pleased to note that the paradigm had tacitly shifted back, equilibrium had been restored.

 

But I was hardly lighthearted as I made my way to my first class.  I now had seventeen fembots – quite the prime number.  Maria was, at this very moment making arrangements to move the lot of them onto the estate, something I hadn’t figured on.  Now, one would think that among eleven righteously bangable Mexi-babes there’d be at least a few boyfriends (not husbands, of course, as Maria had made sure they were all unmarried before she’d hired them), and there had been, but constant exposure to my contagious bisexual robots had corrupted their systems, and once they’d discovered the fun there was to be had in the enjoyment of ripe female flesh, their macho lovers had been quickly and unceremoniously kicked to the curb.

 

Eighteen people living on the estate with only one penis among them: not a bad ratio, all things considered, but I wondered if that penis could possibly stand the rigors of everything it was going to be put to, now that the number of sexbots had essentially tripled overnight.  Seventeen nubile babes would mean that I would almost never be alone.

 

But from that morning on I was never alone anyway, for my good friend Karl Rossum was with me always.  The knowledge that my iBod’s powers were not so passive as I had thought had compelled me to get my house of cards in order.  My laptop case now bulged with all the added accoutrement needed to make a quick getaway should the need arise: passport, cash, traveler’s cheques, credit cards, condoms, plus an open airline ticket to Caracas, valid for one year.

 

I actually paid attention in class that morning, the need to distract myself as important as it had been for my crazed fembots.  For almost two hours I disappeared into numbers, and was happy to do so.  There is a simple beauty to math, a comforting stability, order and consistency.  A lot of people hate it, and I really don’t understand this, for Mathematics is the quintessence of fairness.  Truly it takes no special talent to do it well; all you have to do is follow the rules.  But in order to do this you must know the rules.  You must know and accept that two plus two always equals four, that the sum of the angles in a triangle is always going to be one hundred and eighty degrees, and that finding the area of a circle is as easy as pi.

 

But as I thought about this, my mind began making the inexorable comparisons to my present situation, my technology.  What were the rules?  I had figured out some.  I had figured out that between the fembot and the human there existed two separate, though not wholly distinct halves, a sort of natural partition.  The human side of the partition had absolutely no knowledge of the other’s existence, whereas the fembot side took its identity from the human.  The human could take whatever data and skills might be programmed into her, but had no memories of anything said to it while in fembot mode, things the fembot never failed to remember the next time it was booted up.

 

It was all so strange, my technology, but the fact was I knew so very little about it: how no matter how much data I poured inside them never exceeded 3.9 gigs, how their bodies changed shape to accommodate whatever image I jacked in, their rapid healing, their ability to communicate wirelessly.  I’ve heard all that bullshit about how human beings only use ten percent of their brains, but was it bullshit?  Perhaps I had tapped into that other ninety percent.  Who knows?  I sure didn’t.

 

But that is the lot that falls to pioneers, for that was what I was: the lone pioneer in the emerging field of Fembotics.  Forging ahead, discovering the pitfalls, the vistas, the very limits of their potential.  Oh sure, I could bring in others:  doctors, biologists, neurologists, endocrinologists and more other ologists than one can shake a stick at.  They could do brain scans of my women: MRI’s, CAT scans, and the lot.  They could find out what parts of their brains were being utilized by my technology.  But I could never allow that to happen.  I would never let another human being near my fembots until I could find a way to maintain stability, order, and consistency; until I knew the fucking rules.

 

There was also another reason for me to go it alone – I shuddered to think of my technology in the hands of someone who might abuse it.

 

My ten o’clock Philosophy class was as mind-numbingly dull as it ever was, but allowing myself to lapse back into a state of constant distraction made it somewhat bearable.  There really were a lot of pretty girls in that class, made even more so by the chilly Fall weather.  I don’t know what it is about Autumn; chicks just seem to be cuter, cuddlier, and that much more bangable.  My theory is that it’s due to the lessening of skin on display, which has a tendency to make them act a little more prim, which of course increases their fuckability by a factor of ten.

 

At noon I gobbled a hasty lunch and grabbed a quick smoke, barely making it to the gym in time to meet with bouncy-bottomed little Sydney: my first of four meetings that day with women who hadn’t been programmed to suck my dick.  It was an utterly pointless waste of time, but Cal Berkeley was paying me twenty grand, so I figured the least I could do was give ‘em an hour each, go through the motions, and then we could all move on with our lives.  She was there, all right, though it appeared that we would not be starting on time, what with her snogging a hot brunette cheerleader in the corner of the padded room.

 

“Mm-pl…” the cheerleader started weakly, attempting to dislodge Sydney’s grip from what looked what looked to be a good-sized tit underneath her white sweater.  I continued on into the room, acting as though I hadn’t seen them, and began setting up my laptop on the table in the center of the room.  I kept my back to them, allowing them time to disengage and say their goodbyes, which had the added benefit of giving the python in my chinos a chance to calm down a little.  But even though I couldn’t see them, my computer-enhanced hearing picked up every word of their whispered conversation:

 

“…so are we still on for later…?”

 

“Am…Amber,” came the somewhat out of breath reply.

 

“Yeah, Amber.  So, um, what do you say?”

 

“I-I don’t know…I mean, I’ve never been…” I missed the rest of their conversation as they walked off down the hall to the women’s locker room.  I sat down in the provided chair and waited for my laptop to boot up, my breathing quite uneven.

 

Sidney’s a lesbo?  If there’s one thing I’ve always prided myself on it’s my Gaydar, which in the Bay Area is a needful thing.  Rare are the instances that I haven’t been able to figure someone’s sexual preference on sight (opportunistic bisexuals notwithstanding), and I could have sworn she’d been checking me out on the evening of her acquisition.  Perhaps she was bi.  I mean, I didn’t know her, hadn’t spoken more than ten words to her, but somehow it just felt wrong.

 

But it also felt as if I had a lead pipe in my boxers, and my mind flashed back, reliving the scene: strawberry-blonde Sidney groping Amber’s heavy dug, rubbing her crotch against the cheerleader’s bare thigh, and the soft vulnerability of her answering moan.  I had allotted one hour for this meeting – more than enough time to have her show me a few foot sweeps.  I could get rid of her in fifteen minutes, run the .41 miles (or 388 smoots, according to my iBod tracker) to the journalism building, and be balls deep in Ashiko’s hot cunt in slightly under half an hour.

 

Sidney reentered the room, thankfully without her reluctant paramour.  “Sorry about that, Jake,” she said with a coy smile, digging a painted toenail into the padded floor, “but you know how it is.  I mean, cheerleaders…”

 

I smiled back, indicating that I did indeed understand (cheerleaders being the Holy Grail of chickdom).  “So, Sidney,” I said a little stiffly, for I was certainly that beneath the wooden tabletop, “it’s been two days since our little experiment.  What, if anything, do you feel you’ve learned?”

 

“HAI!” she yelled, thrusting an open palm forward in a devastating strike that could bring a biker to his knees in a heartbeat.  She began running through a collection of moves, none of them unfamiliar to me, having seen my ninja-bots do this shit most mornings.  She performed as I had expected she would: quick, clean, and precise, the short skirt she was wearing allowing her complete freedom of movement.

 

Unfortunately, what was under that short skirt was causing me some constriction as my trouser snake stiffened evermore within my pants.  Light blue thong panties flashed quickly as she demonstrated a wrist lock technique, and again as she performed a knife hand block, finally finishing in a spread-legged kneel that left me in no doubt whatsoever that her pussy was completely shaved.

 

“Well, Jake,” she began, looking up at me, her knees still wide apart, the thin strap of her panties wedged firmly between her labia, “what do you think?”

 

What I thought at that moment was that Eve had outdone herself in her choice of volunteers.  Sidney was a hot little piece of ass; no two ways about it, and her floorshow definitely had my cobra ready to spit.  “Very good, Sidney,” I croaked.  “Excellent.  Well, if there’s nothing more…”

 

“Actually,” she piped up, her little B-cuppers heaving slightly from her exertions, the outlines of her nipples quite visible through her thin, stretchy sweater, “there is one thing.  Could you come and stand here, please?  I need to see how well I can reach a much taller opponent.”

 

“Um, sure,” I replied, frustrated that my dick was going to remain dry that much longer.  I got up and came around the table, my hands clasped in front of my obvious bulge so that she wouldn’t think I was some disgusting pig male: this was after all a women’s gymnasium – I was only allowed here through the good graces of a certain big-boobed Chancellor, and Sidney might be one of those chicks who take erections as an insult worthy of reporting, followed by a hearing, followed by a firing squad.  She quickly rose to her bare feet and faced me, a look of serene happiness on her sweet face that rendered her that much more fuckable.  I faced her, the half a foot difference in our heights even more obvious at such close quarters.

 

“How tall are you, Jake?” she asked sprightly.

 

“Six foot even,” I said.  “And you?” I replied, not giving a rat’s ass how tall she was, caring only that she was keeping me away from my hot Asian poon.

 

“Five-five.  Good,” she said, reaching out to touch my shoulder, apparently gauging the distance, “now, attack me, please.”

 

“Sidney,” I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice, “do you think this is really necessary?  You’ve obviously gained some skill here, skills I myself do not possess.  You could quite easily hurt me,” which was perhaps the truest statement I had uttered in weeks.  All thirty-seven women I had programmed could kick my ass at the drop of a hat, and this one issue made for a good bit of the fear I now so often felt, which was ironic because it was precisely the feeling that Eve had conveyed to me whilst I had been poking her ass that afternoon in her office.  No matter what women say to the contrary, it is always in the backs of their minds that they are at the mercy of men, their greater strength and size often making it necessary to avoid, or to acquiesce.  And now, standing before this little slip of a girl, I could definitely identify with that fear, that helplessness.  I could of course install any one of hundreds of martial arts programs in my head as well, thus returning the advantage squarely where it belonged, but the thought of actually uploading software into my own skull scared the shit out of me: I had no desire to compromise my brain as I had theirs.

 

She smiled, tickled, no doubt, that a big strong man might actually be afraid of her.  “Please,” she said, employing the barest hint of wheedling that girls learn at their mother’s breast, “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

 

Fuck! I thought.  Aikido is a mostly gentle art, more defensive than offensive (though the version of the program I’d downloaded seemed to have more strikes and kicks than most purists would consider proper – c’est la Internet), so I wasn’t too terribly concerned for my safety, I just wanted to get this over with so I could be inside Ashiko before my balls ruptured.  I lightly threw out a hand in the direction of her face, which she slapped away contemptuously, plainly pissed that I appeared to be patronizing her.  Get this over with, I told myself, and moved in to strike her left cheek.

 

Being weightless is a funny thing, for that was what I was the moment after she grabbed my wrist, turned it lightly, and sent me into the air to land gently on my back.  I was even more surprised when she landed on top of me and shoved her tongue down my throat.

 

“Mm-pl,” I burbled, as she pinned my arms to the padded floor, and attempted to suck my tonsils out of my mouth while humping her crotch over my turgid meat.

 

“God, I love being powerful!” she gasped, once she unsealed her mouth from mine.  “It’s such a…rush!”  She leaned in, putting her lips to my ear, her hot breath driving me wild, “My pussy is wet all the time now, knowing that nobody can ever make me do what I don’t want to.  Here, feel!”  And with that she scrabbled backwards and with surprising strength yanked my pants down sharply, causing my rock-hard cock to spring up and thud against my stomach.  “Oh, God,” she said, her eyes shining with appreciation at the size of my tool, “it just keeps gets better and better!”

 

She was exactly as Robbi had been, the morning after I’d installed that cooking program in her head: animated, excited, and ready to take on the world, or at least the big cock pulsing in her small hands, which moments later disappeared into her like a kid down a water slide, so wet was her slippery cunt.

 

I thought about trying to stop her; telling her that my dick was reserved for the enjoyment of other women, but in the end I simply acquiesced.

 

 

“Are you all right, my love?”

 

More and more daily I was being asked that question, and more and more daily I was coming to realize that I wasn’t.  My beautiful, beautiful Robbi, kneeling in the ‘V’ of my thighs, her chin and throat bathed in my sticky goo, looking up at me with such concern, her compassion moving me.  I put on a fake smile which I was sure wouldn’t fool her, “Robbi, my pet, I’ve just cum between your tits.  How could I not be all right?”

 

“Jake, I know that your favorite place to be in this world is between my boobs, and you know that is my favorite place for you to be.  My love, you don’t seem happy,” she said, and here her face clouded with unmistakable anxiety.  “Is it me?  Are you having second thoughts about us?  Please tell me.”

 

I was inwardly thankful that my mind was, at least for now, my own, for if Robbi could have heard the mad cackling within she would certainly have gotten the wrong idea.  Everything that I had seen upon pulling into the estate’s long driveway this evening should have brought me joy:  Reynalda, driving the tractor, happily cutting the grass, naked save for a gaucho hat and cowboy boots, Teresa, dressed exactly as Reynalda had been, save for the hat and boots, greeting me at the door, removing my shoes, handing me a mojito and taking my bulging laptop case, and a naked Kitten, who unbuckled my belt and swiftly removed my pants, brushing her fat tits against my arms, sweetly informing me that my bride-to-be was waiting in the living room to give me something special, and receiving a loving tit-job from my future wife, cumming on her face.  Joyful things indeed, and I would have enjoyed it all thoroughly had I not just spent the afternoon fucking four different women.

 

Sidney, Daryl, Andi, and Maxine; four hot babes, ecstatic over their newfound abilities, enthusiastically thanking me in ways for which most men would have to shell out bucks de-luxe to seasoned professionals.  Now one would think that shagging four college chicks in as many hours to be cause for a celebration on the order of V-E Day, and I could see grabbing myself a nurse and ramming my tongue down her throat, were it not for the fact that they had all been really good.

 

I mean…really, really good.

 

It was after Maxine had strolled out of the gym, my gooey monster lying against my thigh like a dead thing, that sober thoughts began taking shape in my head.  My sex life prior to the discovery of chick programming was, I like to think, already superior to most men’s.  I have always loved women, and have done pretty well with them, based mostly on keeping not low – but rather, broad – standards.  Oh, I don’t mean to say that I ever violated my minimum D-cup rule, at least not until recently, that is, it’s just that I never limited my self to skinny broads, which expands the available number of fuck partners immensely.

 

So my pre-fembot sexual experience is really rather expansive, and if I add the number of prostitutes I’d shagged while in Europe, one can see that I know quite a lot about sex and women – and the four girls I had just put the wood to had outfucked every last one of them.

 

First Sidney, with her incredible, bottomless snatch; able to take my considerable length and girth without batting her pretty, blue eyes.  Then Daryl, who sucked me off slowly and deliberately, trapping me in ecstasy and on the very edge of a monumental orgasm for forty-five minutes.  Then Andi – oh my goodness, Andi – who bestowed upon me, for my contributions to science, the gift of her anal cherry; a most noble prize.  And, last but not least, Maxine, who did everything the other three did, and had brought me a pineapple smoothie, as well.

 

They had been every man’s dream, all of them insatiable, all of them exquisite; exactly as if they’d been programmed to be.

 

But how is that possible?  I’d asked myself.  They had acted precisely as Ultimate Babes would, right down to Daryl’s cleaning my cock of every last bit of jizz.  If I hadn’t uploaded that program into their sleeping brains – and I sure as fuck hadn’t – then who else could have?  I sat outside the gym for an hour, smoking like a chimney and racking my brains, going back over every last conversation I’d had with anyone even remotely connected with Robbi’s and my original project: Professor Douglas, who taught the Scientific Method class; the guys at the computer lab who’d let me ‘borrow’ the parts necessary to build the very first cap; even Ranjit, my contact at BioTronics – all of them blanks.  Occam’s Razor said there was simply not enough connection between any of them to be plausible.

 

But looking upon my fiancées concerned face as she licked my cum from her fingers, it struck me that she had a connection with them, had literally been connected to them.  Yes, it was beginning to make sense.  After all, incidental exposure to my women had caused Rosa to do things with me that I know weren’t in her contract, and I sincerely doubted that Lupe would have let a man she barely knew enjoy her ass so thoroughly – ten-inch dick or not – if her system hadn’t already been compromised by strong doses of fembot-style radiation.

 

So twenty women had been connected to my laptop while Robbi had been connected, and had accidentally been exposed to a virulent strain of fuck-bunny, infecting them even faster than my Latinas, and turning them all into modern-day Messalinas.  Good job, Jake.

 

But I was distracted from my self-flagellation by my thoroughly infectious fiancée, who was pressing my untouched mojito into my hand, trying, it seemed, to snap me out of my funk.  “Jake…?”

 

“No, my pet,” I said wearily, “I’m not having second thoughts.  You are perfect in every way; something most men only ever dream of.”

 

Tears leaked from her eyes; happy tears that signaled that I had once again spoken the right words, which was ludicrously easy to do considering the source of her programming.  She raised herself up so that she could look me squarely in the eye, which had the added benefit of putting her whopping cans right into my lap.  “And I promise that I will make the kind of life for you that most men only ever dream of.”

 

Despite my gargantuan worries, I smiled.  It was thoroughly possible that I was wrong about Robbi’s contagion.  There might be hundreds of explanations for the randy behavior of a few new fembots, least of all their actual gratitude at having been freed from fear; something that Eve had communicated was a major part of a woman’s psyche.

 

“You need food, a warm bath, and bed, with about a dozen blowjobs sandwiched in between all of those, my love,” she said brightly.  “Come with me.”  She led me into the dining room, where I found the table had been laid for only two people; a surprisingly small number.  “It’s just you and me tonight, my love,” she said, reading my quizzical look correctly.  I knew that Eve would not be joining us, as she spent every Monday at her place so as to give the illusion that she still maintained her residence there, no doubt doing the most decadent things imaginable to her conquered, brainwashed cuntslave.  “Mother and Rosa are helping the rest of the staff get their things together so that they can all move in tonight.  She’s actually driving a pickup truck, Jake.  Can you believe it?”

 

I smiled at the image of Maria in a ‘57 Chevy pickup, her huge boobs wobbling all over the cab, barely restrained beneath a wife-beater T-shirt, driving a bunch of hot Latinas around the Bay Area, loading up their velvet Elvis posters and blue, baby-doll nightgowns.  “Oh, I can believe it, pet,” I said, playing the doting lover and holding her chair for her.  “Maria is a most capable woman.  But what about Kitten?” I asked as I sat down across from her.

 

“In the absence of staff,” she said, sounding so much like her mother I thought it might actually be her (one major downside to having identical fembots), “Kitten has volunteered to serve.”  And with that, Robbi picked up the little bell at her side and rang it.  Kitten appeared seconds later, absolutely starkers, carrying a tray heavily laden with fish and chips that smelled better than my own dear Mum’s.  She set it down before us and then straightened up, her huge tits jiggling, “Will that be all, Madam?” she asked, kittenishly.

 

“Yes, Kitten.  You may serve now.”

 

Kitten gave me a quick smile and then disappeared under the table, the look on Robbi’s face only moments later telling me that she had indeed begun serving.  I shook my head at my poor, sex-crazed fiancée, feeling a little left out, when warm hands began sliding up my thighs, a soft giggle that could only be Lupe’s, followed by the wondrous feeling of her soft lips fastening about the head of my cock.

 

They were the best fish and chips I ever had.

 

 

We managed to make a lovely evening of it: our multi-orgasmic dinner, with me mock-scolding Robbi for feeding her Kitten bits of fish under the table.  She informed me that the wedding planning was going smoothly, and that booking the waterfall in New Zealand for our nuptials twelve days hence was a problem easily solved by a fat bribe.  I had given Robbi carte blanche when it came to planning the wedding, as all I cared about was the honeymoon, not to mention what my Dad would say when he saw the assembled hooters of Robbi’s bridesmaids.  It would be perfect timing, coinciding with the Thanksgiving Break, which Maria was happy to accommodate for the benefit of those people who had to arrange their lives by the school calendar, though Robbi would have happily run off to Reno to get hitched, as all she cared about was becoming pregnant ASAP.

 

Dinner was followed by a bath and massage for the soon-to-be-marrieds, wherein more oil was spilled than by the Exxon Valdez, which meant that, yes, a bit of tag-team wrestling was most definitely called for (amazingly, none of us can ever decide if anyone has actually lost), followed by another bath, and finally bed.

 

We slept in my waterbed that night so that Maria and the staff could have the use the big bed when they got in.  My sleeping bride cuddled her Kitten close, while Lupe, per Robbi’s orders, slept with her head in my lap, her full lips fastened about the head of my cock in case something came up in the night.  As I lay in the cool, crisp sheets, about to nod off, my mind cast back over the events of the day.  Yes, Robbi’s connection to Eve’s twenty had to be responsible for the behavior I’d seen in the four girls I’d met with this afternoon, if in fact that behavior had not been organic.  I was being paranoid.  Not everything that happens has some dark meaning.  There were no conspiracies, no competing fembot creators, no nefarious schemes.  It was just a mistake on my part, if it was even that.

 

 

 

Chapter 23

Contagion

 

My day started out fine.  Fifteen sweet-smelling women awakened me in a way one could not imagine possible (and since I was living it, I didn’t have to imagine a goddamn thing).  Suffice it to say that while maple syrup makes a lousy lube, it can transform everyday pussy into a culinary masterpiece.

 

I called Mum and Dad, to deliver the happy news, and to let them speak to my future wife.  My old man loved her right off the bat, as I knew he would, for she really had become quite a delightful creature since I had begun programming her, the odd breakdown or lesbian rape notwithstanding.  Mum, however, was not so thrilled.

 

“I’ve read some of her mother’s work,” she said, her disapproval apparent eight time zones away.  “Isn’t she supposed to be rather wealthy?” an echo of ’Electric Jake’ distinctly audible in her satellite-transmitted voice.  I couldn’t wait to see her expression in Auckland Intl, upon meeting the mother-daughter identical twins.

 

Robbi and I, holding hands of course, made it to Adams Hall for our eight o’clock Scientific Method class without having to rush, getting seats in the back that allowed us a fair bit of privacy.  Lights dimmed so that we could watch a Pasteur documentary properly, which meant that my dick hit the open air moments later.  I so loved Robbi’s mouth.  I mean, every last micron of her, inside and out, is absolutely fucking phenomenal, but her blowjobs, given more with the heart than with the head, never failed to transport me to dimensions undreamt of by mortal men.

 

With my long, swimmer’s arms I managed to finger her to several shuddering orgasms, whilst she kept me in that twilight place right up until old Louis P. injected his rabies vaccine, at which point Robbi experienced an ironic foaming of the mouth.  It was a good thing we were so high up in the back of that lecture hall, as the combined scents of my spunk and Robbi’s nectar were strong in the air, almost to the point of smelling like a whorehouse, something with which I have considerable knowledge.

 

We went our merry ways after class: Robbi, clutching her books to her sizable chest as loads of guys watched her every movement; and me, with a thoroughly obscene spring in my step as I walked jauntily off to my ten o’clock class.  It really was a lovely morning.  In fact I would say it was an almost ‘Paris in the Spring’ kind of morning, were it not Berkeley in the Fall.  Pretty girls walked by, often smiling at me, due, no doubt, to my winning attitude and my much improved face and body.  I smelled their various scents upon the air.  Life was good.

 

Unfortunately, though, my ten o’clock class was not.  Professor Blatheron was in fine fettle, having put everyone in class into a state of total brainmelt in record time.  Everybody, that is, save for the two chicks who were sitting right in front of me.  They were your standard anemic blondes, reasonably good-looking girls fresh off the farm who spent practically every minute of that lecture engaging in silent flirtation with one another.  It was never overt, their behavior, something that probably only I could see, given my proximity to them, but I sat entranced, watching them lightly touching fingers under their writing desks, stroking each other’s bare thighs where a bit of skirt had just ‘happened’ to fall away, brushing a firm breast across another’s arm, finally culminating in what might have looked to others like a bit of innocent whispering but had in fact been a full-on ear tonguing.

 

Holy fucking Darwin, I laughed inwardly, shaking my head, I just can’t get away from them, can I?  I did my best to drag my attention away from the PG-13 performance in front of me and listen to the lecture, actually getting about .04% of it, my straining monster throbbing mightily.

 

I was the last one out of class, preferring for people not to see the fire hose stretching the material of my chinos, as I really didn’t want to be responsible for the hysterical screaming and panicked fleeing that would likely ensue.

 

“Pardon me, but, um, you’re Jake, right?” came a mellifluous voice from behind me as I shut the door.  I turned back to see a familiar chest pointing at me: a pair of DD’s that belonged to a certain hot blonde who I had once estimated it would take thirteen hours to turn into a completed fembot.  She appeared not to remember it.  Face to face she was even prettier than I remembered, possessing a generous mouth whose shape was superior to anything Kat had designed, and clear, pale skin – a welcome departure from the often overdone California beach girl look.

 

“Baby,” I said, my surprise causing me to lapse back into total git-speak, “I’m whoever you want me to be.”

 

I was further surprised when she actually laughed at my lame badinage.  She put perfectly manicured fingernails up to her plump lips, the deep red of both matching exactly.  She smiled again, giving me the up-from-under that damn near caused Trigger to bolt from my pants.

 

“Yes,” I recovered, “I’m Jake.”  I managed to look into her eyes, a difficult task, considering that she wasn’t wearing a bra under her red sweater dress, and there was a definite nip in the air.  Her eyes were blue, though not crystal, like Robbi’s or Maria’s.  They were a deep, dark blue; the kind that one could get lost in while fucking like maniacs.  “Is there something I can do for you?”

 

“I was hoping you’d say something like that.  I’d like to talk to you about my friend, Daryl.  Is there someplace, um, private we can, um…?” she asked, biting her lip.

 

“Uh, sure,” I replied snappily, and pressed my back against the classroom door, opening it and gesturing for her to enter.  She flounced into the room, giving me the opportunity to appreciate her delectable, natural body, and I reconsidered the estimated thirteen and a half hour turnaround on her as unnecessarily long: I could do this bitch in seven.  “So, what ca…” I started, but was unable to finish my question as her tongue had decided to make itself at home in my mouth.

 

“I want it!” she said hotly, kindly giving my lungs the opportunity to deflate.  In a move that felt like she’d studied Aikido, she spun us around and pulled me into her, and I had to brace myself with one hand against the now closed door in order to keep from slamming into her.

 

“Give it to me,” she panted, her breasts actually heaving.  “I want it, too!”  I smelled her sweet, scented breath as a hand snaked downward and began rubbing my stiff member through my chinos, “Oh, my God,” she rasped, her fingers tightening around my cloth-covered member, “She wasn’t lying.  It’s enormous!”  One second later I heard the ‘shnick’ of a deadbolt being thrown.

 

“I…uh…” I began, completely at a loss as to how to deal with this crazed bitch.  What had Daryl told her?  “Listen,” I said, a little shakily, backing away despite the pleasurable handling my package was receiving, “I’ve, uh, got to be somewhere right now…”

 

“Please!” she cut across my pointless deflection, pressing forward, one hand clutched firmly around my belt buckle.  “I’ll do whatever you want!  Just give me what you gave Daryl!”

 

It was then that I felt the backs of my thighs bump into something hard, and I fell backwards onto Professor Blatheron’s desk.  She smiled, seeing me trapped like this, and with a catlike grace pulled her thin, red sweater-dress up and over her head, allowing her pale melons to bounce about freely.  She then grabbed my laptop case and threw it onto the professor’s chair, making me thankful that I that I had all Karl Rossum’s shit in there to protect my computer.

 

“Hey…” I began, rather peeved at her lack of consideration for my gear, but with the speed of a panther she pounced, landing upon me, her ripe tits dangling above me, brushing my chest lightly, moving upward until a fat nipple brushed my lips and was then forced into my mouth.

 

“I want it,” she panted in a voice drenched with passion, reaching around and unzipping my fly.  “Please!”

 

For a moment I actually considered resisting, seeing as I was supposed to be in the gym in twenty minutes, very likely to poke yet another grateful fembot, but that moment passed when I felt her position the head of my big prick at her sopping entrance.  She moaned gratefully as it slid wetly into her, a tight but very welcome fit.  She did all the work: bouncing up and own on my pole, her big boobs swaying and jouncing, a scarlet jewel in her pierced bellybutton winking in the light as she fucked like a madwoman, repeatedly chanting, “Oh, God, please say you’ll give it to me!”

 

I rather thought I was giving it to her, and I continued doing so, right up until we both came, me grunting quietly, her screaming so loudly that I thought San Francisco International might call up to complain about the noise.  She collapsed on top of me, her fat tits cushioning her fall nicely.  She was breathing like she’d just run a marathon, something I was now unused to hearing since my women performed at levels well beyond most Olympians.  Shaking, she moved up to kiss me again, “Please….” she panted, her trembling lips brushing against mine, “say…you’ll do it to me.  Make me…like Daryl.”

 

I lay there in stunned horror, her warm weight pressing on me, my spent cock buried deep inside her, taking up residence.  What was I going to say?  What could I say?  “Look…um…”

 

“Tiffany,” she panted.

 

“Yeah, um, Tiffany.  What do you mean, um…’like Daryl?’”

 

“You know…what I mean,” she panted.  “She’s…different, confident, sexier.  I want you to make me…like her.  I’ll pay you…whatever you want.  I’ll fuck you every day, just like this…if you want.  Just, please,” she continued, her long nails digging into my shoulder, “make me like her.”

 

Oh fucking Darwin, I thought, what have I done?  This was supposed to have been a secret.  Eve had gotten signed non-disclosure forms from all of them; five years of no talkie.  But looking back on it I don’t know why I thought a piece of paper would mean anything; the best way to make a fembot is in total privacy.  Kat’s mishandled creation should have taught me that much.

 

So the cat was out of the metaphorical bag, and Pandora’s Box, much like Tiffany’s, was wide open.  But the worry of yesterday began creeping back into my consciousness.  “When you say ‘sexier,’ Tiffany, what exactly do you mean?  She’s hotter?  She dresses better?  She smells better?”  All of my attention was focused on her, and I listened very carefully, but at the same time desperately willing her not to say the words, ‘she’s bi now.’

 

“It’s more than just that,” she answered, her breathing pretty much normal by now, “she’s strong, and that strength makes her sexy.  She was never like that before.  You made her like that.  Please, tell me you can do that to me.”

 

My heart danced a jig in my chest, so happy was I that that was all there was to it.  I have always known that a strong chick exudes super-sensuality, something I think most reasonable men would agree on.  “Tiffany,” I sighed, kissing her soft, blonde hair, “I can make you strong.  I can help you to become whatever you want to be.”  But as I said this, I couldn’t help but hear a faint, sing-song echo in my mind, ‘Red Rover, Red Rover, we dare Tiffany to come over.’

 

She sprang up, sending her hefty bags to bouncing, then swooped down upon me again, driving her tongue so far down my throat I thought she might be half-lizard.  “Whatever you want,” she said upon coming up for air, “I swear to God.  I’ll call you.”  She got up quickly, moaning a little as her lodger was forcibly evicted from its happy home, and began gathering her clothing, gabbling non-stop while she dressed: “I’ll be strong, I won’t fear anything, I’ll be sexy, and pretty, and powerful.  God, how I’d love to be powerful!”  She kissed me again as I lay on the table, still in a pretty decent afterglow.  I smiled lazily as I watched her pert ass saunter away, its owner still chatting happily to herself, her voice dropping almost to a whisper that my enhanced hearing easily caught, “…I’ll be confident, and poised, and I’ll finally be able to admit that I’m bi, just like she did.”

 

And with that the door clicked shut behind her, her departing words leaving me with a queasy feeling in my gut, as though I’d just been kicked in the balls.

 

Dear God, no.

 

 

Five hours and four girls later I was to be found lying on my side on the cool, padded floor of the wrestling room.

 

What am I going to do?

 

Claire had just left the room, her belly filled with my cum.  She hadn’t even bothered with the rigamarole of martial arts displays.  She had simply marched into the room, as naked as a jaybird, her fine ebony body smoothly powerful.  One quick movement sent me gently downward, whereupon she pinned me to the floor by the simple expedient of sitting on my chest, quickly freed my overworked cock, and said the words I think I had always known that she would be the one to say: “Jake, baby, I’m going to suck your balls dry.”

 

Which she did.  In the space of two hours I came nine times, until all that came out was a thin, watery trickle, which she sucked down with the triumphant delight of a huntress who’d just bagged a white tiger.  I looked down at them; sad, sucked out husks hanging limply down.  Even my big prick had gone completely soft, not having once seen it in this state since I’d given myself to the computer.

 

It was in them, Ultimate Babe; it was in all of them.  It had somehow gotten in there, and was now driving their actions.

 

What am I going to do?

 

Lying on the padded floor for about a month or so seemed like a good option; it was soft and cool, but the knowledge that Guantanamo Bay might soon become my new home impelled me to move.  I dragged my ass up and onto the scarred wooden chair, my fully depleted ‘nads hanging limply over the front edge.  It was a few mouse clicks and a password before I found what I was looking for; something I really should have found last night; something, in fact, that I should have found the morning I’d played shell games with Sunny’s brain.  There it was, on my screen in her backed-up folder – Ultimate Babe.

 

I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to think of how this could have happened, who could have put it in there.  Occam’s Razor, with which I wished I could have slit my wrists, pointed me to the simplest explanation of all: Robbi.

 

She had sat in this very chair, not quite four days ago, facing the full complement of them; her eyes open, her hands in her lap.  “Robbi, copy the Aikido program into each of their folders,” I’d said.  “Yes, Master,” she replied.  And she had done it, there was ample proof of that – but she hadn’t done it from the laptop.

 

All things being equal, Sunny’s backup folder should have been comparatively empty, say, a few thousand new files over the course of that one day since becoming unit number seven.  But all things weren’t equal: that folder now held more than seventy million files – just like Robbi’s.  They were all there, as I had known they must be: Ultimate Babe, the Aikido program, and the cooking program for starters.  Even the tunes I’d uploaded were there, though thankfully the list of commands was not (that file having long since been moved into its own file – not luck, but rather laziness on my part, as I had no wish to continue rooting around for it every time I needed it).  Since I had not specified an origin, Robbi had copied the Aikido file directly from the file in her own brain, something which, to her, was the default drive.  It was the only possible explanation that accounted for all the facts, not to mention the two apple pies, the box of Napoleons, and the Tupperware container full of roast duck sitting in the corner of the room.

 

I remembered the awe I felt upon discovering all those new files in Robbi’s folder only a few short days after her creation.  I hadn’t known what they were or where they had come from and had no way of finding out, and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to play about with things I didn’t understand, which was why Sunny had been acquired.  And just this last Sunday, when using Sunny as a simulated Robbi, I had deleted the corrupting file responsible for her breakdown, and the result had been a total catatonia that had required a full wipe and reload.  It seemed as though every file installed in a fembot’s folder somehow became inextricably intertwined with every other file in the folder:  pull one file, total system failure – copy one, copy all.

 

So now twenty women were running around the campus with Robbi’s brains floating around inside them.  What the fuck did that mean?

 

It means you’d better get them off the campus, and motherfucking quickly, dickhead! cried both Mr. Reasonable and The Advocate as one, the first time they had ever been in agreement.

 

But I was tired of moving quickly.  Every time I had operated in haste had resulted in disaster.  The damage was done.  So twenty new, bisexual nymphos were running around the university, so what?  More than fifty times that number hit the campus every Fall, glorying in their separation from parental tyranny.  Big effing deal.

 

But as that thought settled into my brain, memories rose out of the dust: the two chicks in my Algebra class, sitting in front of me, playing with each other; the overpowering smell of sex in my class only this morning, meaning that more cocks than mine had been sucked, more pussies than Robbi’s plumbed; and Tiffany, once proudly arrogant, now begging me to turn her into a copy of Daryl.

 

OhJesusfuckingChrist!  I’ve got to get them off the campus now!

 

I dressed quickly and ran from the gym, my heavy laptop case banging against my back.  My iBod tracker showed that Eve was still in her office.  It had been her idea, and it was her campus, and I was for damn sure going to need her help getting the lot of them off campus and onto the safety of the estate.  I covered the 239 smoots (quarter of a mile) in no time flat, my mad dash lit by the last vestiges of a blood-red sunset.  I rushed up the concrete steps of the administration building, flashed my pass at the dyke watching Oprah behind the security desk, took the carpeted stairs two at a time, wondering how many straight chicks had been converted to carpet munchers since my flight from the gym, making it to Eve’s empty foyer just in time to hear the screams.

 

I didn’t stop to think; I just did.  I ran to the big double doors and rammed my shoulder into them, actually sending them crashing into the upholstered chairs that flanked either side of the doorway, startling the naked redhead standing behind her desk, who was at that moment nine-inches deep inside a certain chestnut-haired fembot.

 

 

 

Chapter 24

The Angel, the Stallion, and the Puppet

 

“Jake, my love,” she said, without the slightest embarrassment at being caught with her panties down, “you do know that an open door policy isn’t meant to be taken literally, don’t you?”

 

There was no sound, save for my red-haired robot’s post-orgasmic breathing, her magnificent chest rising and falling.  She eyed me intently as I shambled further into her office, the look on her porcelain face capable of winning the World Championship of Poker with nothing more than a busted flush.  It couldn’t have been more than fifteen feet from the door to the front of her desk, but the journey seemed somehow greater than my flight from the gym.  Dawn lay on her back between us, utterly nude, her long hair splayed about her on the green baize desk blotter, her legs high in the air resting on Eve’s shoulders.  She didn’t bother looking at me, but rather at Eve, whose smug expression told me everything I needed to know.

 

“I’ve been a complete moron, haven’t I?”

 

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself, stallion,” she replied coolly, her emerald eyes boring as deeply into me as the strap-on was inside her lesbo fucktoy.  “For a person with a penis you’re actually quite smart.”

 

I closed my tired eyes, and groped for the chair behind me, plopping heavily into it as my legs gave out.  “This was never about self-defense, was it?” I asked, my voice hoarse.  “It was never about fear, or strength.  It was always about you.”

 

With a look of amused tolerance, she pulled out of Dawn’s cunt with a wet shlorp, removed the harness from her own body, and threw it onto the desk to land next to the shiny, chrome dildo that lay next to her silent lover – Eve, like me, was a big believer in backups.  She sauntered around to the front of the desk and leaned against it, her unabashed nudity somehow radiating a power that men can never pull off.  “I must say I’m honestly surprised to hear you passing that kind of judgment on me, Jake.  You of all people, the keeper of seventeen women, eighteen if you include that little tart, Tiffany.”  A look of surprise must have crossed my face because her smug smile grew even broader, and she put a hand on the small but serviceable breast of her compliant lover, “Oh yes, I know about your little side-action, stallion.  There is little that goes on, on this campus that I don’t know about.”

 

“Eve…” I began, nervously wondering just how deeply I was enmeshed in her web of intrigue.

 

“I was angry!” she said, cutting across me, her green eyes flashing fiercely.  “It wasn’t enough that we gave you Rosa; you had to go around stuffing that little piece of tail, Lupe!”

 

What the hell is she talking about? I wondered, and despite the fact that I was worried about the impending Million Lesbo March, I found myself drawn in anyway, “What are you…?  You fucked her, too!”

 

“But only after you did.  Weren’t we enough for you, Jake?”  She actually looked hurt here, the color high in her Scottish cheeks, but the look gave way to an airiness that was most unlike her.  “Well, I figured if you could take secret lovers on the side, then I could, as well.”

 

“Lovers, Eve?  Plural?  Just how many are we talking about here?”

 

“All of them,” she said simply, giving Dawn’s little tit a proprietary squeeze.

 

“All of who…?”  But the ugly truth was apparent.  “So because I was tapping Lupe’s ass, you had me turn a bunch of college babes into your own private harem?”

 

“Well, yes and no…” she replied with a coy smile, “but mostly yes.”

 

I sat there, stunned at her nonchalant attitude, as if I were seeing her for the very first time.  “Well gosh, Eve,” I began, not bothering to suppress the sardonic voice I felt bubbling upwards, “I hate to break it to you, but your little slut sorority has begun branching out.  Women who only last week were happy heterosexuals are now sucking cock and pussy with equal ease.”

 

“I know,” she said, her face beaming, precisely the opposite response I had expected from my dramatic pronouncement, “and isn’t it glorious?”  Her anger melted away, and she rose from the desk, exultant, as if she really did have angel wings carrying her aloft.  She moved swiftly over to the window and looked out, taking in the view, her magnificent body outlined by the last vestiges of the dying red sunset in the background; day giving its dominion of the world over to night.  “My campus,” she exclaimed, her voice choked with emotion, “my university, a place of unbridled sexual freedom for women; a small corner of the country no longer to be ruled by the antiquated notions of Puritans!  True freedom, stallion!  What could possibly be wrong with that?”

 

“Discovery, Eve!” I croaked from my seat, exasperated.  “What do you think will happen when CNN shows up next month asking why Cal Berkeley has more chicks who suck pussy than fucking Vassar?  How long until someone figures out that I’m the one responsible for changing the sexual polarity of half of your students?”

 

“But you haven’t changed it, darling,” she said, turning away from the window, her nipples blazing points as she passionately orated, “you’ve simply removed the barriers, allowing them to express their natural, sexual urges.  Urges that have been supressed by small-minded males for millennia.  Jake, my love,” she said, moving forward and gliding around to the back of the chair, throwing her arms around me, her huge juggs cushioning my head, “my stallion who has taught me to love cock as much as I have loved pussy, who has given me back my youth, these perfect, beautiful tits, and finally a long-awaited haven for women.”

 

“But Eve,” I rasped, “you don’t understand, they’re multiplying!  They’re taking over the campus!”

 

“Well, what did you think would happen?  Did you think that they would only play with each other, be as insular as we have been?  I was afraid that might happen, at first, but…oh, Jake,” she said, her voice breaking, pulling me close, her cheek next to mine, which was a pretty tight fit considering the boobage resting on my shoulders, “I was going to save this for Friday night, but I suppose this is as good a time as any.  I’ve got something to show you,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.  “Look at the desk.”

 

My eyes flicked upward just as Dawn silently rose.  I had completely forgotten about her while she’d lain upon the desk like a giant, pink paperweight.  With an eerie grace she gained her feet and came around the desk, her nudity before me seemingly of no concern to her.  She stopped directly before me, her perfectly trimmed bush, a triangle exactly the same size as Eve’s, right smack in my line of vision.  “Eve…” I started, my voice a touch tremulous, images of Dawn caving in my larynx distracting me from her pretty pussy.

 

“Shh, stallion, relax,” she said in reassuring tones, but nonetheless her grip upon me tightened.  “Maria is right, you do talk too much.”

 

Dawn descended serenely to her knees, placing herself between my spread thighs.  My heart was thumping so hard that I was surprised my ribs weren’t cracking under the strain.  She didn’t even look at my face as she reached out and smoothly drew down my zipper, deftly released my recovered and now quite rampant cock, and bent to take it into her mouth without the slightest hesitation.

 

“Oh, God,” I gasped, as her Ultimate Babe programmed throat proceeded to massage my engorged tool, causing me to clutch convulsively at the arms of the chair.

 

I heard Eve’s sultry laugh, “You don’t believe in God, remember?”

 

“What I believe,” I panted, as Dawn kept working my shaft with her mouth, pulling my pants down so that she could fondle my balls, “is changing by the minute, you devilish bitch!”

 

She laughed again, warmly pleased, I could tell, at how this scene was playing itself out.  “So what do you think of her?  Isn’t she something?”

 

She was certainly that.  She sucked me perfectly, almost exactly as Eve often sucked me, which was certainly different than how all of her sister units sucked me.  “How…”

 

“Now, Jake, you created her.  Why don’t you tell me ‘how?’”

 

I licked my lips as Dawn kept impaling her face on my stiff shaft.  “You’re doing this, aren’t you, Eve?  You’re controlling her.  God only knows how, but you’re controlling her.”

 

“My, my, stallion, you really are the smartest guy in the world.  You are correct.  You’ve opened our minds, my love.  For reasons I don’t quite understand, she does precisely what I think at her.”  She continued talking, monologuing, I think the term is, telling me how she’d twigged to this newfound ability, my beleaguered and distracted brain fighting to keep up.

 

“I had planned to meet Dawn the morning after you’d put the cap on her, to ask her what she thought about all of it.  I know I was being naughty, doing this in advance of your arranged meetings with them, but you know how I can be sometimes.  Anyway, you came home with Roberta, the poor lamb, and I really did want to stay.  I was torn, but in the end I realized that Roberta was in fine hands.  I’ve never been much of a nurturer, you know.”

 

I would have agreed, but the way my dick was being nurtured left me able to do little more than nod and grunt.

 

“I met with Dawn, here, and we sat on the divan – you know, the one that you enjoy bending me over so much?  Well, she could see how distracted I was, my mind mostly on thoughts of poor Roberta, and asked me what was wrong.  I told her what had happened, and Dawn, who had herself fallen a little bit in love with Roberta that night, asked if there was anything she could do to help.”  She paused and shifted her head a little to better take in the vision of her mind-controlled puppet, who appeared to take no notice of anything unrelated to the task of sucking me off.

 

“Jake, it’s important to me that you understand that it was an accident, what happened: I’m not a bad person.  When she asked me if she could help, my mind automatically jumped to what I always want when I’m feeling depressed, or scared, – I needed comfort – and the next thing I knew, her head has between my legs and her tongue was licking my slit just exactly the way I like!

 

“She scared me, Jake.  I scared me.  I had been thinking of her licking my pussy, and she did it!  Can you imagine how that must have surprised me?”

 

Even with the distraction of the virtuoso playing my skin flute, I could well imagine Eve’s astonishment – very probably on a par with walking into your living room to find a half-naked college student laying in your chair with her hand up her twat.  Oh yeah, I could definitely imagine it.

 

“Once I’d got over my shock at Dawn’s doing my bidding, I began testing her, and within five minutes I knew that the control I had over her was complete!  She would have jumped out the window if I’d thought it, Jake.”

 

“But what,” I managed to grunt, the feeling of her tongue laving the underside of now thoroughly sensitized prick driving me wild, “does she think about it?”

 

“It’s funny,” she said, her tone of voice giving me the impression that I wasn’t going to find it ha-ha funny, “but they accept my domination of them.  They seem to think it’s perfectly natural.”

 

“They…?” I began in a somewhat high-pitched voice, for Dawn had given my nuts a hearty squeeze at that point.  “You don’t mean…”

 

“Oh, yes, my love, every last one of them.  Well, every one except that Sunny, I haven’t bothered with her.  I really don’t know why you requested her.  I found her to be quite an unpleasant girl.”

 

I was on the verge of cumming, sweat was pouring down my face despite the chill I felt; a coldness that emanated from within rather than without.  “So what…” I panted, “do you plan to do…with them?”

 

“Oh, not just them,” she laughed throatily, moving up so that she could kiss the top of my head.  “You’re going to make more of them!”

 

“The fuck…I am,” I replied weakly, my jizz boiling in my balls, my head cradled between Eve’s heavy juggs.

 

“Please, stallion,” she said, the calming voice of reason, “I don’t want to argue about this.  I just want you to enjoy Dawn.  Enjoy her able mouth and her skilled tongue.  Enjoy her, use her as you have the others….”

 

“You…know about…” I began, amidst gasping breaths.

 

“Of course I know, you big-balled bull.  Did you honestly think all those girls would have fucked you liked that over the last two days without my knowing, or to give the Devil her due, directing?”

 

“You…?”

 

“Oh, yes,” she said softly, and there was no trace of laughter or amusement in her voice now, just the utmost seriousness of a woman bent on achieving her desires.  “It was important to me that you understand the enormity of what you’ve accomplished, and of what you stand to gain if you do as I ask.  They are yours whenever you want them, stallion.  If you want to borrow them for a minute or a month, you simply have but to ask me, and they will come to you.  I do so wish I could communicate with you, as I do them.  To have you become one with us; join with us!  But since I cannot, then I must bring you to us in some other way.  I will give you whatever you want, my darling, if you will just do this one thing for me.  Please, my love, we need you all the way in!”

 

And as she said this, Dawn again dove down my length, sucking me fully into her throat and squeezing my balls so that my cum positively exploded out of me, straight into her waiting belly.  My body bucked as she relentlessly continued, working my cock feverishly, sucking every last drop of my seed from my poor, overused testicles as I shuddered and gasped, my arms flailing, my legs spasming – the single most intense orgasm of my life – until I finally stopped moving and lay there, completely exhausted and utterly drained.

 

Dawn, her mouth shiny with my cum, settled back on her heels, eyes forward, watching me with the patience of a machine.  Gradually my breathing returned to normal, the lizard brain receded back under its rock.  “But Eve,” I finally managed to rasp, “you wanted them to be free, didn’t you?  Is this the kind of freedom you wanted for them?”  A piteous argument, I know, but I was lucky to still be able to form words.

 

“Oh, Jake,” she sighed, nuzzling my temple, my head still cushioned within the embrace of her vast sweater pillows, “you have no idea how many times I’ve asked myself that very question.  If you had any idea what it feels like to have total control over another human being, you would know how intoxicating it is.  My pussy positively quivers whenever they do my unspoken bidding.  It makes me feel…like a god.”

 

I’ve had arguments with crazy people before, and have won precisely zero.  “Very well, Eve,” I exhaled, “you win.  I’ll…I’ll do what you want.  But will you do one thing for me?”

 

“Of course, darling,” she whispered in my ear.  “You know I would give you the world.”

 

“Promise me you won’t let them come to harm.  Promise me you will take care of them at all times.  Promise me you will treat them as if they were your own flesh.”

 

She giggled softly in my ear.  “Oh, Jake, I was so right about you.  You really are a Galahad when it comes to women.  I promise to do all that you ask.  I will treat them as if they were my own daughters, incestuous behavior aside.”

 

The dark-haired robot in front of me stood up, her vacant eyes never wavering, and went back to stand behind the desk.  Eve relinquished her smothering hold on me and allowed me to get up.  I pulled my pants up, now the only clothed person in the room, yet feeling decidedly weak in the presence of my creations.  “Ma…make me a list of your next twenty volunteers,” I stammered.  “We can begin after the honeymoon, if that’s all right.”

 

Eve had moved back to the desk, and was sitting on the corner of it, idly spinning the chrome dildo, which flashed as it caught the light.  “Of course, my love.  I’ll even put your Tiffany at the very top of the list.  Would you like that?”

 

“Yes, angel,” I said, feeling a heavy weight upon my shoulders, as though Eve’s monstrous cans were still resting there, “I think I’d like that very much.”

 

“Oh, stallion, she laughed softly, “you can be so predictable sometimes.  There really is nothing like a big pair of tits, is there?”

 

“No,” I replied, licking my lips, tasting the salt of my own sweat, “nothing like.  Eve, if I’m going to make more of them, word will get out that much faster.  You know this will happen.  As it is, I‘ll be surprised if the news media isn’t down here before the week is out.  I’m not so sure you want that.”

 

“You’re right, of course.  Ashiko-chan?”

 

“Hai, Eve-sama,” came her soft voice from just behind me, her unexpected appearance almost causing me to piss my pants.

 

“Make sure any stories regarding increased sexual activity on campus, or higher rates of bisexuality are killed, or at least shelved.  If anyone wants to publish a stupid survey, make sure the data is cooked.  Do you understand?”

 

“Hai, Eve-sama.”

 

“Good,” she sighed.  “It’s a helpful thing, stallion,” she said, still spinning that damn dildo, “having some influence over the media, don’t you think?”

 

“Oh, yes,” I replied, the weight on my shoulders lessening the tiniest bit.  “I expect Ashiko will prove very useful in that regard.  But didn’t you once tell me you were on excellent terms with the editors of The Chronicle, The Times…”

 

“…and The Tribune, yes.  You’re right, Jake.  We might need them on our side, too, especially…” and here she paused, the spinning dildo flashing almost hypnotically.

 

“Eve…?” I ventured, somehow knowing in advance that I wasn’t going to like the next words to come out of her perfectly crafted mouth.

 

“Well, I’ve been giving this matter some thought lately, stallion.  You know, I became an educator because I wanted to help young people, but it has lately occurred to me that I could help them even more…as Governor.”

 

I breathed slow, measured breaths, and it was all I could to keep the scream welling up inside me from taking the air.  Numbness emanated from my heels, slowly climbing up my calves, and I felt compelled to move before it completely overtook me.  “That sounds good, Eve.  I like it,” came my voice, surprisingly steady considering the cold fear that was now flooding every cell of my body.  There really was nothing more to say, or at least nothing more I wanted to hear.  I turned my back on the two women, if they really could be called that anymore, nodded to Ashiko, who handed me my laptop bag, and made my way shakily to the doors, which had been silently closed while my dick was being sucked by Eve’s robot.  As I put my hand on the door handle, I turned back to them, “Will you be home tonight, Eve?  With us, I mean?”

 

“I’m sorry, no,” she said, looking up again from the flashing sex toy.  “I’m not ready to share them, not like that.  But I can have Daryl send your blonde slut over to the house, if you like.  I actually feel a little guilty, you know, me…with twenty girls, and you, with only…” and here she began counting them off silently on her elegant fingers.

 

I smiled a smile that I was sure fooled no one.  “No thanks, angel, that won’t be necessary.  I think I can make do with fifteen just fine.”

 

“That’s what I love about you, stallion.  No one can ever say that you’re greedy.”  She turned to her white-faced slave.  “Escort Jake down the stairs, little one.  He doesn’t look well.”

 

“Hai, Eve-sama.”

 

As the computerized geisha touched my arm something occurred to me.  “Eve, why do you speak to Ashiko, but not to Dawn?”

 

“I’m sorry, didn’t I tell you?” she said, now lightly stroking the chrome dildo between her ponderous tits.  “It doesn’t work with her, or Maria, Roberta, Rosa, or Kitten.  Or you.  It only works on those girls you made for me, and on your Latinas.  Whatever you did differently did the trick.  You are to be congratulated, my love.  You really are the smartest guy in the world.”

 

 

 

Chapter 25

Reflections

 

With the setting of the sun a chill wind had begun to blow in off of the Pacific.  I stood on the dimly lit steps of the Administration building, my hands in the pockets of my chinos, glad of the cold and the darkness for they complemented the numbness within me.

 

“What am I going to do?”

 

For lack of any bright ideas I walked; not anywhere specific, I just picked a direction and went.  There were people out: some on their way to classes, others headed off to grab a bite to eat, or to the library, or to the dorms, and none of them aware that a silent plague was upon them.

 

It was over, all over.  It was the fuckup to end all fuckups, and it was all my fault.  I actually laughed out loud at my stupidity, which caused a couple of chicks walking in the opposite direction to veer left a bit.  I stopped and looked back as they passed, and couldn’t help but notice the taller girl’s hand stuffed discreetly in the back pocket of the smaller girl.  Good job, Jake.

 

How long? I wondered, looking up into the moonless night.  How long before black clad soldiers rappel out of black helicopters and throw a black sack over me, bundle me into a black van and drive me to some black-painted building in the Nevada desert, and stick me in a black box a thousand feet below ground?

 

They would be coming; about that there could be no doubt.  They would come with gas masks, air-purifying respirators, hypodermic needles, and they would come with guns – and all because of one motherfucker named Gaetan Dugas, aka Patient Zero.

 

When I was in high school, I had to do a report about a significant event in the life of someone I knew.  I chose my dad since he could spin a yarn better than anyone, and who would give me more information than I would ever want, rather than having to try and yank something out of a more tight-lipped individual, such as my mum.  He’d taught English Lit in San Fran prior to moving to Los Angeles, meeting Mum, and having me.  The Bay Area in the early ‘80’s, he told me, was like being in a dream from which you could not wake; like being underwater, panicking because you didn’t know in which direction lay the surface, and your lungs are about to burst; a thousand different similes, none of which could adequately describe the horror of the AIDS epidemic.

 

He gave me the names of eight close friends who had died, and of another four who’d been acquaintances.  Everywhere you looked a house was being turned into a hospice, and every person with whom you spoke you wondered if it might not be for the last time.  A frightening time to live through, he told me, and his tale did indeed frighten me, but it also fascinated me, and taught me a little about the science of epidemiology.

 

It was during that time that Gaetan Dugas, a Gay, Canadian flight attendant (which is about as redundant as it gets) was linked to 40 of the first 248 AIDS cases in the U.S.  It was through him that CDC epidemiologists were better able to track the origin and movement of the disease.  New tools were developed to pinpoint hotspots and clusters, and with every passing year, with each new wrinkle in information technology, their ability to spot trends improves, and that expertise is not limited solely to them.

 

For all Eve might think that she was ushering in a new era of sexual freedom, others would see it as an epidemic, and despite her machinations to suppress the media, the word would get out – it always does.  Some geek, somewhere in the world, would notice a spike in Google searches: double-headed dildos, ménage a quatre, Angelina Jolie fan club applications.  Statistics would show an increase of various data points such as lingerie purchases, lipstick sales, and breast implant surgeries; a decrease in prescriptions for Prozac and sleeping pills.  That data would be correlated, and some bean counter in some dingy office would submit a report, and twenty-four hours later the CDC – or Hustler magazine – would be in Eve’s office asking why cuntlicking was becoming the new national pastime, which would lead them to Patient Zero – me.

 

“Oh, Darwin,” I said, raising my head and looking into the inky, starry void, “why hast thou forsaken me?”  Of course he wouldn’t answer me.  At least I hoped he wouldn’t.  If he did, then I could no longer call myself an Atheist, could I?

 

I looked back down and realized that my journey had brought me to the University’s reflecting pool.  Beautiful in its simplicity, it sits upon a slight rise and allows one to look out over a good portion of the campus on its west side.  The shallow marble pool, some fifty feet in diameter, is surrounded by benches, which are in turn surrounded by grass, and backed by strategically placed bushes in a semi-circle on the east side, to help deflect the noisy hustle and bustle of campus life.  It is a peaceful place, a serene place, and I felt a sad smile cross my face as I remembered an evening, so very long ago it seemed, my beautiful Robbi standing beside me, licking my ear, her soft hand rhythmically stroking my cock, my jizz shooting out in long, ropy strands into this very water.  She giggled proudly at her triumph, “My goodness, Jake,” she’d said, licking some of the spray from her hand, “that has to be a world record.”  An innocent scene, I reflected; a happier, almost idyllic time, when it was only the two of us, before the days of industrialization and mass production; before the rise of the fembots.

 

I looked up from the still water, hearing footsteps nearby, the rustle of bushes, soft laughter, both male and female – good job, Jake.

 

I looked back down, the dark of night giving the water the illusion of solidity.  It was officially out of control now, the genie well and truly out of the bottle.  I had to accept that.  I had done pretty well, all things considered, keeping pace with every complication, solving every new problem, adapting and converging technologies at breakneck speed.  But I had been sloppy, and to be gut-wrenchingly honest, stupid.

 

Oh, and let’s not forget arrogant.  Arrogant in creating them, arrogant in programming them, in shooting hardware into their brains, and even implanting fucking cell phones in their bodies.  I was arrogant to bang Lupe under their noses when they had been entirely faithful to me (faithful by Ultimate Babe’s definition, which holds the one-wiener rule as sacrosanct, but that a babe may – and really should – lick as much pussy as possible), and most of all, arrogant to think that Eve wouldn’t attempt to exert control.

 

I had known from the very start that Eve was ambitious; something that was plainly visible in those photographs that had made me want her so very much, and that I hadn’t bothered about because I’d been too busy drooling over her big fucking tits.  So my ambitious, sexually rapacious angel, taking her cue from me, had come to want her own bevy of playmates, and because of my arrogance and stupidity now possessed a cadre of telepathically controlled fembots.

 

And she wanted more of them.

 

I could not let that happen.  I would not let that happen.  But could I stop it? I lit a cigarette, the flame from my old and battered Zippo giving my hands a brief respite from the cold.  I had said I would make more of them, but that had been a bullshit ploy; a tactic to buy time to think, room to breathe, and I was pretty sure she knew that.  However much I programmed her, I hadn’t the slightest idea what she was thinking or doing at this very minute, but I was reasonably sure she was making plans; plans that could be put into effect with, or without, my assistance.

 

So what can she do? I asked my dark reflection.  For starters, she could duplicate my technology, if she hadn’t already.  The data from Robbi’s and my experiment had been given to Professor Douglas, and was easily accessible to University staff; it would give her everything she needed to begin, for I had been most thorough.  But what was not in that data, for I had sense enough to omit it, was the crucial component required to make the access to the brain possible – the interlacing and feeding back of brainwaves.  That particular breakthrough, which existed solely in my head, meant that she would be balked.

 

But my head wasn’t exactly secure, was it?  Eve’s powers were growing daily.  When awake she could communicate wirelessly with her sister iBods, but apparently only while having sex, and it now appeared that she had full telepathic control over lowlier, unimplanted fembots.  But there were limits, it seemed.  She could not establish control over her sister units, nor fully communicate with them.  Why?  Was it interference, hierarchies, permissions?  And why could she not communicate with me as she could them?  Was it because my contact with the computer had been incidental, or that I hadn’t installed software in my brain: or might it be that I was protected by my gender, the distance between Mars and Venus too vast to allow communication?

 

So many variables; so much I didn’t know.

 

So what can I do? I asked, hoping my mirror image had some great idea.  Hearing no brilliant suggestions from him, I sighed, sending a long, drawn out exhalation of smoke into the night.  I turned and made my way over to one of the benches that ringed the pool and sat down.  Eve would be asleep in a few hours; I could easily go into her brain and start typing madly away.  And what was I going to put in there – ten thousand commands saying, ‘I must not try to rule the world?’

 

No, programming was not the key, as I had discovered after my failed attempts with Robbi and Sunny.  It was strange, how some of the things I had been able to program, like love and trust, had been wildly successful, but others, such as maternal instincts, had resulted in trapping me into a sham marriage.  Mucking about with Eve’s ambitious nature might solve everything, or it might create further problems that couldn’t be so easily mitigated.

 

And even if I did program her successfully, there were her sister units, all of whom might start developing the same powers that Eve was now showing – scratch that, would start showing.  Robbi or Kitten might not share Eve’s megalomania, but how would Maria behave if she had control over other women?  Her track record wasn’t exactly spotless.  What about Ashiko?  Crikey, what about Sunny?  Add to all of that the nineteen fembots on campus spreading beer commercial style bisexuality faster than the common cold, and it became obvious that no amount of programming could stuff this genie back into his bottle.

 

I got back up and walked back to the edge of the pool.  My reflection in the still water didn’t look even remotely like me anymore: not my former, natural self, or the computer-enhanced version.  I looked like a dead man.

 

I threw my stogie at the head of my liquid likeness, causing ripples to muddle his existence.  Looking out over the campus and the city lights beyond, there was no path I could see that would lead me out of danger, from either Eve, or from the government.  If Eve’s powers developed, she would ultimately find a way into my mind, discover my secrets and exploit my technology, and if not her, one of the others would.  And even if by some miracle they didn’t, the rise in bisexual babes on campus would bring investigation, followed by the loss of my freedom and the exploitation of my technology.  Every path led inexorably to the same goddamn destination.  The fembots that I so loved would be the instruments of my destruction.

 

But as the ripples smoothed out and my double reformed in his looking-glass world, I saw upon his distorted face a smile.  His lips began moving in soundless speech, the silent words blasting through my shell-shocked brain – Not if they’re dead.

 

My legs became suddenly weak, and I found myself landing hard on my ass on the cold marble ledge, dizzy, nausea spreading its way through my guts, until finally I reached out and scooped up a handful of the cold water and splashed my face with it, running it over the back of my neck, shuddering at the chill sensation as it trickled down my back.

 

There was no other way; they would all have to die, and on the heels of that thought, I was reminded of Oppenheimer’s famous words, spoken after Trinity, the first successful atomic blast, “I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”

 

I looked down upon my darkly reflected visage, warped by the occasional drop of water falling from my hair.  “You’re really going to do it, aren’t you?” I whispered.  “You would really bring about the deaths of thirty-seven women just to save your worthless hide, you unimaginable bastard.”

 

This isn’t just about me, I replied inside my skull, the only safe place there was, and even that appeared to have an expiration date on it.  We have to do whatever it takes to keep this technology secret, for if even one other person discovers how easy it is, there will never be another bullshit philosophical argument about free will.  It’ll just be blowjobs and beer for whoever holds the reins.

 

Thirty-seven women – again a prime number.  I would need a cunning plan if I was to come out of this in one piece, and as I looked into the water, a plan did indeed begin to emerge.  Not all of a piece; merely a logical progression of events that would ensure a desired outcome – a plan of such simplicity that even William of Ockham would have approved, had he been a homicidal maniac.  I lit another cigarette, and sat on that cold, cold marble, mulling it over in my head, searching out every possible flaw, the need for perfection absolute, for if this scheme went agley, as so much already had, I would be a dead man.

 

But in the long run it really wouldn’t matter whether I succeeded or failed.  I would be dead anyway.

 

Once I was satisfied that I had covered all the angles, I stood up and squared my shoulders.  The plan would work, and it work well.  I felt bad for all that would happen to the women that I had created, and still worse for the pain that I would bring to their friends and families, but the freedom of every man, woman and child on the planet hung in the balance, and I could not turn away from my path.  ‘Our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honors’ was a price once paid to secure the freedoms of an oppressed people, and that price would soon be paid again to ensure liberty for all.

 

As I left the reflecting pool to embark upon my ignoble destiny, I passed a clump of bushes on my right, the unmistakable sounds of oral love emanating from within, “Enjoy that blowjob, pal,” I said to the shaking foliage.  “You’ll never know how much it cost.”

 

 

 

Chapter 26

The Patsy

 

I arrived back at the estate in good time; for what I needed to do would take every minute of every day for the next ten days, and I could not afford to waste a moment.

 

“Surprise!”

 

They were all of them in the pool, my fifteen gorgeous robots – skinny-dipping!  I watched them, open-mouthed, as they floated about in that slow-motion gracefulness that water imparts.  Mist hovered in the air, shrouding them all in a soft fog that added a further element of sensuality to a scene that was already Viagra for the eyes.

 

“Come on in, Jake,” Kitten purred, running a hand languidly over Rosa’s huge, glistening tits, which bobbed atop the water like twin diver’s buoys, marking the location of treasure beneath, “the pussy’s fine.”

 

What the hell, I thought, I can afford to waste a few minutes.

 

 

Three hours later, I was cloistered in my basement workshop with my first ever fembot.  “Can you see him, Robbi?”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

 “Can you see his face clearly, Robbi?”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

I sighed, exhaling a pent up breath.  It had taken longer than I thought it would, finding a rapist among the many and varied experiences of a person’s lifetime, but my robotic fiancée never failed to impress me.  “Robbi, please search all criminal databases for Contra Costa County, San Francisco County, Alameda County, San Mateo County, and Greater Los Angeles Counties.  Match identity to the image I just had you access from Dawn’s backup file, and retrieve all pertinent data.

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

I lit up a Camel and waited while she searched, semi-staring at the monitor over her shoulder.  It showed the GPS locations for each of the eleven Latina-bots that were now ringed about the estate: silent, watchful, deadly.  I had created them so that they might have some protection from my iBods, but now their primary function was to protect me.  Though my iBod tracker showed Eve and Ashiko, both awake, in her big Queen Anne Vic ten miles away, I could not track the units under her control, and for all I knew she might have them watching me this very minute.

 

I had tried having Robbi connect remotely to Eve, to see what she was up to, but discovered that there were limitations to this application.  Here, she had managed to retrieve the memories of Dawn’s aborted attack from her backup disc, recalling in excruciatingly minute detail everything about that experience, but could not, it seemed do the same thing to an offline unit.  Robbi could hear, see, taste, smell, or feel whatever Eve was sensing, and could very likely take control of her body if I wanted her to – which I would not do without extreme need, as I had no wish to advertise to Eve that her body was no longer her own – but for unknown reasons (permissions? hierarchies? conflicting OS?) she could not access either Eve’s memories or emotions while that unit remained conscious.  She could see others in the room: Ashiko, Dawn, Sidney, Kyla, Brittany, and Jaime, but was unable to tell me the whereabouts of the rest of Eve’s fembot army.  I had Maria listen in, alert for mention of either my name, or of any plans for world domination.

 

It took Robbi all of five minutes to discover the identity of Dawn’s rapist bastard, and I was glad I hadn’t asked her to print it out: Raul Solano, it seemed, was a very bad boy.  She pulled his rap sheet up on the monitor, and I read with fascination just how many crimes a twenty-five year old could be convicted of and yet walk around free; perhaps there was hope for me yet.  She also informed me that he owned no cell phone, no vehicle, and had no fixed address for him – he was living off the grid.

 

“Good work, Robbi,” I said, unnecessarily.  I pulled another smoke out of the pack and lit it off the dying one (I’m not normally a chain-smoker, but for what I was about to attempt I needed a crutch).  “Robbi,” I said, exhaling the bitter-tasting smoke, “coordinate with Maria, Kathryn, and Rosa.  I want the four of you to monitor every networked security camera, traffic light camera, and webcam in the Bay area.  If you see Raul Solano, mark his location, maintain surveillance, and notify me at once.  Can you do that, Robbi?”  I was afraid I might burn out a few capacitors with that last instruction, but for my plan to succeed I needed someone who wouldn’t be missed; a completely disposable person, and I would feel a little less guilt over my actions if I were to rid the world of at least one scumbag in the process.

 

“Yes, Master,” she replied, as smoothly as if I’d asked for nothing more complicated than a blowjob.  She sat there, unblinking, silently performing the task I had set.  I watched her until I finished my cigarette, hoping that we could wrap up this phase of the plan by not later than tomorrow morning.

 

I got up and stretched my legs and back, then went off to the kitchen to grab a coke.  Standing at the sink, I noticed the white-shirted figure standing at the periphery of the estate.  I pulled out my tracker, which I had this evening upgraded to include capped fembots in addition to my iBods, and found that I was looking at Iliana.

 

Five minutes later, bundled up against the chill, I approached the silent defense-bot as she scanned her sector with the unwavering stolidity of a machine, though managing to look incredibly fuckable in her new uniform nonetheless.  It had been Robbi’s idea, and Maria, wishing to indulge her daughter after a lifetime of neglect, had allowed her to design them.  Since I had so loved her in her Hooter’s outfit, Robbi had decided to pay homage to it, though altering it somewhat: white tennies and socks, tight purple shorts, and a white tank-top, which departed from the original version in two important aspects: it was emblazoned with the word ‘JAKE’S’ across the chest, and the material of the shirt ended just slightly below the level of their nipples, allowing the rounded bottoms of their gradually expanding juggs to take the air.  They modeled them for me after the swim party/orgy, and I sat there, mouth agape, as they paraded back and forth in front of me, their already improved cans swaying and jiggling softly.  Normal women wouldn’t be caught dead in their clothes, but then my Latinas had begun to lose all sense of normality from the day they’d set foot on the estate.

 

“Buenos dias, Iliana,” I said, not wishing to startle her, lest I find myself with my tongue wrapped around my throat.

 

“Buenos dias, Master,” she replied automatically, common politeness being one of the few things I had managed to program into them.  Since I was not an intruder my presence was of no concern to her, and she continued scanning the area she had been assigned by Robbi, who I had put in charge of security.  I consulted my iBod tracker, which showed that the signal to the cap she was wearing was still quite strong, well within the range of the new boosters that had been soldered onto them only an hour ago: what would have taken me hours had been accomplished in mere minutes, thanks to fembot efficiency.

 

“Como estas, Iliana?”

 

“Bien, Master,” she replied.  There was no need to converse with her in my half-remembered high school Spanish, for Iliana, like all but a few of the Latinas, was a product of the U.S. – habit, I suppose.

 

Even from a distance of a few feet I could feel the heat coming off of her body, the process of reconfiguring her to the image designed by Kitten under way, even while on guard duty.  I moved around so that I could take her in from all angles, pleased at her progress, especially the view from the rear.  I ran my hands gently up and down her smooth back, noting the greater concentration of heat coming from her upper back: the muscles there being made stronger, the better able to bear the weight of her expanding bosoms.  “Levanta tus brazos, por favor, Iliana.”

 

“Si, Master.”

 

She raised her arms to shoulder level, allowing me to reach around so that I could gauge how well she was growing in the front.  Her tits were indeed hot and heavy in my hands, and I found myself reflexively kneading them through the flimsy cotton of her half-shirt.  The smell of her hair mingled with the scent of her perfume caused the usual stiffening of the yard, which was further encouraged by the waves of heat coming off her fine ass mere inches away.

 

My hands dropped to the waistband of her shorts; they slid down her thighs with the smoothness that only silk provides.  Her naked butt shone in the light of the newly risen moon, and felt far smoother than her shorts had.  “Sepárate tus piernas, por favor, Iliana,” I whispered into her ear.

 

“Si, Master,” she replied, and spread her legs only as far as necessary for me to slip it to her where she stood; the filter provided by her native operating system making unromantic specificity unnecessary.

 

Moments later I moaned loudly as her cunt grabbed my salami and pulled it inside of her.  It wasn’t kosher, I know, banging a sentry while on duty, but then no sentry ever looked or felt like Iliana.  She kept unflaggingly at her duty whilst I pounded away at her sweet snatch and caressed her warm juggs, her head continually moving, scanning for potential intruders as my cock trespassed on her most private property.

 

I had cum so many times today, but my body somehow managed to crank out one more load, which I shot into her feverishly, holding her close against the cold night.  There is nothing in this world like fucking a fembot, and I could certainly understand Eve’s newly discovered passion for them: they ask absolutely nothing of you, they do your bidding and provide whatever service you ask of them without the slightest hesitation.  Feminists would react with the utmost horror if they knew what was going on, but as Eve’s example showed, those same feminists would likely not balk at having a programmable male bringing them a good, stiff something-or-other whenever they so wished.

 

But my pleasant afterglow and philosophical musings were cut short by the vibration of my iPhone in my shirt pocket.  I pulled it out, wondering who could be calling me at this time of the morning, but the text message that appeared on its face quickly put that mystery to rest: Raul Solano located in Burlingame, CA…Distance 22.92 miles SSW…elapsed program time 21 minutes, 7.65 seconds…Robbi.

 

Twenty-one minutes to find a rapist, I mused.  Eat your heart out, Homeland Security.

 

 

One hour and forty minutes later, my silent hearse pulled to a halt under the porte-cochère.  Maria, Kitten, and Rosa were all smiles, but that was due to their default settings rather than the successful completion of their mission.  It was risky, sending my robots out into the night with the possibility that the estate was being watched, but as darkly tinted as those windows were I felt it unlikely that Eve’s robots, if they really were there, would be able to tell who was driving.

 

I had monitored every phase of their mission from the moment Robbi had discovered her target buying a sixer of Coors at a 7-11 several cities away.  She’d got his license plate (stolen car, natch) from a nearby traffic cam, and then used every available means at her considerable disposal to keep him under surveillance, all the way up to and including commandeering a NORAD spy satellite, which to be on the safe side I had her route her connection through mirrors originating from a certain ‘campus’ in Redmond, Washington – fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.

 

My three stunning iBods, connected to Robbi even across the bay, found Raul drinking in the parking lot of a T.G.I. Fridays, perhaps laying in wait for another potential victim.  I watched events unfold, the feed from a ‘malfunctioning’ parking lot camera being fed directly to my laptop courtesy of my cybernetic fiancée.  It had required nothing more than for Kitten to walk up to the car next to his, acting as though she was going to open it, though if he’d paying attention he might have noticed that she carried neither keys nor purse, but then I suppose the watermelon-sized breasts spilling over the cups of her bustier might have distracted him.  He got out of his car quickly, hoping, perhaps, to put the moves on my feline fucktoy, but instead found Kitten putting her moves on him.  Three minutes later, my robots were back on the freeway, their package safely secured in the back of my electric chariot.

 

Safely at home now, the doors opened and the three iBods within exited the vehicle at precisely the same time, which I have to say looked more than a little spooky.  They approached the car’s rear hatch, which popped open in response to Robbi’s sending a command through the vehicle’s OnStar system – she did seem to have a penchant for showing off – and retrieved their prize.  I stood next to the open front door and watched, darkly pleased, as my three astoundingly capable and beautifully crafted cyborgs wrestled the gagged and bound Chicano out of the back, and carried his frantically struggling body into the house.

 

My patsy had arrived.

 

 

Though my dad knows practically every last word written by every last Brit, he will be the first to admit that he has a soft spot for American crime novels, preferring Philip Marlowe to Christopher Marlowe.  He had even moved to San Francisco in homage to his favorite fictional detective, Sam Spade (though it was the flip of a coin that was responsible for my being named after my Mum’s favorite fictional detective, which I have often suspected was the reason she chose to live in L.A.).  Whilst other kids were watching ‘Sesame Street’, I was watching Charlton Heston acting like a Mexican, Alan Ladd finding nobility within, and Robert Mitchum socking dames in the kisser.  But his particular favorite was ‘The Maltese Falcon’, and I would sit and watch it with him, often hearing him quote lines under his breath, ‘Don't be too sure I'm as crooked as I'm supposed to be,’ or ‘The cheaper the crook, the gaudier the patter,’ but if I picked up one thing from that movie it was this: I needed a fall guy.

 

Raul Solano, his consciousness now under the control of my computer, lay strapped to one of the Lexan tables.  He had been awake and aware for only as long as it took to cinch the cap onto his protesting head, before his eyes rolled up in their sockets, as Robbi reached inside his skull and turned him off.  I then had her trash his data; he wouldn’t need it where he was going.

 

He’ll do well enough, I thought, as Rosa and Kitten stripped his clothing from him, though not without a bit of work.  His chest and back carried an iconography of religious figures, professions of love and hate, even a goddamn handprint.  It was the biggest bummer that my technology could not remove tattoos, which I had tried on Lupe to zero success, but Robbi and Kitten, scalpels in hand, would have him ink-free by the morning.  I left him in their capable hands as, A) I had badder fish to fry, and B) I didn’t think I could stand the sight of that much blood.

 

The rest of the night I spent with Maria, rewriting and backdating her new will, and ordering enough new sensors and cellular hardware to qualify for a bulk discount.  There was also some programming to be done, though not on Eve, of course.  Both she and Ashiko were asleep by now, but as they were not alone I could not chance it.  Instead, I began working on Maria, who I knew could be very persuasive.

 

 

 

Chapter 27

The Present and the Ploy

 

I had not wanted to go to class the next day, as I had so much I needed to accomplish, but I really had to behave normally, or at least as normally as I could, considering the state of the campus.  It was already happening.

 

I doubt that anyone else noticed it, at least not on a conscious level, but it was plain to me that the communicability of the twenty new fembots was already having an effect on the U.  Titman though I am, my appreciation of the female form doesn’t stop there, and as I looked about the assembled student bodies, it was fairly obvious that the wearing of short skirts was on the rise, as was the use of makeup, hair styling, and perfume; the overall hotness quotient was increasing.  Not only that, but a subtle attitude adjustment was taking place: more girls were exchanging the kinds of glances with other girls as they did with guys.  They were more open, friendlier, and more easily given to smile.  Not only that, but the male population seemed more relaxed, as well, as though the need to strive had been reduced somehow; as if certain needs were readily being met.

 

There was also another big change on campus:

 

FINE APPOINTS MEDIA CZAR

ASHIKO WATENABE TO HELM ALL NEWS OUTLETS

 

In a stunning move today, Professor Lawrence Fine, Dean of the Journalism Dept, appointed Ashiko ‘Ash’ Watenabe to the newly created post of Executive News Director, giving her full authority over…

 

Eve, it appeared, had taken my dire warning to heart.  That article contained more buzzwords than one could shake a stick at: synergy, uniformity, and cohesiveness to name a few, but they effectively added up to her having not only a complete stranglehold on information, but also gave her the ability to mold public opinion, as well.  By making Ashiko the funnel through which all news would flow, she was crafting a dictatorship as seamless as was ever dreamed of by the likes of Lenin, Pol Pot, and ‘Papa Doc’ Duvalier.  There were a few dissenting comments, surprisingly enough, but they were so riddled with misspellings, ignitor words, and various epithets that the reader would quickly associate disagreement with talk-radio style claptrap, that is if any reader wasn’t presently having their junk licked, swallowed, or otherwise pampered.  Religion might be the opiate of the masses, but a good blowjob or pussy licking can pretty much guarantee the success of a silent coup, or a fairly noisy one at that.

 

“Do you mind if I sit here, Jake?” a familiar voice asked.

 

Tiffany, wearing a short, powder-blue skirt, which complimented her pale complexion nicely, was standing in front of me, looking down at me over her modest-sized DD’s, her scarlet lips slightly parted, gesturing toward the empty chair next to mine.  “I, uh…no,” I replied reflexively, the lizard brain doing the talking for me, making sure that hot poon was a dish never to be sent back.  “I’d like that, Tiffany.”

 

“Thanks, stud,” she breathed, moving across the tight space in front of the desk, surreptitiously raising her skirt to show me her knit, micro g-string thong panties, and then sat quickly down.

 

Damn it, I thought, as her hand lit upon my thigh and began smoothly moving toward the stiffening lump in my jeans.  Even though I had shown up for class it hadn’t been my intention to listen to a single word of it.  I was supposed to be using this time to nail down the finer points of my plan, and check and recheck that I wasn’t leaving anything to chance.  Instead it appeared as though I was going to spend the next two hours with a hot blonde who appeared to be under the mistaken impression that my dick was somehow starved for attention.

 

“I just want to thank you, Jake,” she whispered breathily, her fingers already moving up and down my rock-hard swelling.

 

“You’re doing a great job of it, Tiff,” I whispered back, resigned to my fate, and began furtively stroking her fat tit through the grey cashmere sweater.

 

“Chancellor Simmons wants to see me after class,” she said, looking straight ahead, but all the while giving my throbbing joint her full attention.  “Daryl thinks my turn is coming.  God, I can’t wait!”  And here she reached across her sizable bosom and placed a small beribboned box upon my writing desk.  “Th-that,” she stammered, apparently nervous, “is for you…to prove, um…how motivated I am.”  She turned forward again, looking like the classic good student, but never ceasing to pay my pulsing johnson the kind of tribute she felt it deserved.

 

I abandoned my subtle tit stroking and opened the box.  Inside was a remote control, very like a key fob for a car, save that this one was hot pink.  I smiled and looked sideways at the blonde babe who was still fondling my junk, but she kept her gaze forward, impassive but for her anxious lip biting.  I took it out of the box, though kept it hidden in the palm of my large hand lest others see, for if this was what I thought it was, Tiffany would not want it advertised.  It had three buttons: an up arrow, a down arrow, and the letter ‘F’.  Since instructions are for lesser mortals I dove right in and clicked the little ‘F’ button, and was rewarded with a very slight jolt from the wanna-be fembot, signaling that I had indeed turned her on.

 

For the next hundred minutes I cycled the little machine buzzing silently away inside her cooter through all six functions and all six speeds, figuring out what she liked by the way she caressed my meat, enjoying her pleasure vicariously.  Her bosom heaved, her fingers clenched, not to mention the little spasming movement in her thighs as I brought her to the very edge again and again, but never giving her release.  Tiffany might not be in the same league as Robbi, but she was certainly entertaining.

 

After class she dragged me to the first available clump of bushes, the first two having been taken, and wasted no time in freeing my cock, pulling the slim vibrator from her thoroughly soaked snatch, and leaping upon me.  We fucked standing up, or rather I did the standing while she jounced feverishly up and down with her legs wrapped tightly around my back, grabbing branches for support, shaking them so violently that nesting birds were forced to take flight.

 

We said hasty goodbyes, the pointed coughing outside our clump of bushes indicating that others were also desirous of seclusion.  She pressed a piece of paper into my hand, and told me to call her whenever I had need of her pussy, or any other part of her.  I went off to my next class, a little sad at the life I was being forced to give up, and that much more depressed by the knowledge of what was to become of my women.  But who knows, I thought, maybe after the dust settles, Tiffany…No! I stopped myself, the familiar trembling coming upon me when I thought about what I would be doing not quite ten days hence.  There is no Tiffany in your future, bub.  There isn’t even a future in your future.  I took a deep, steady breath and moved on.

 

I spent the next two hours in research: checking flight schedules, poring over the layout of San Fran International, and had Raul (using Robbi’s backup file as his OS) break into Maria’s lawyer’s computers and make the necessary changes to her will, as I didn’t trust the Great State of California further than I could throw it – Karl Rossum would make a far better conservator of her assets.

 

Twelve-thirty found me in the gym awaiting Mercedes, an anemic blonde with incongruously large hooters (Eve surely did like them big).  She showed up precisely on time, ready to do whatever nasty things my power-mad angel had instructed, and carrying a large box of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies, to boot.  She went through her kata, her boobies often spilling out of her white judogi top, which unsurprisingly was the only thing she was wearing, save for a little green pendant happily nestled within the valley of her big, jiggling juggs, its existence explained by the hand-written note that she’d given to me:

 

My dearest Jake,

            I am so sorry that our discussion last night was upsetting for you.  You should know that I want nothing less than the world for you, for us.  I will be home this evening so that we can talk more, and also to give you and Roberta a very special present.

                                                                                                            Yours in all things,

                                                                                                                                    Eve.

 

p.s.  I have given all the girls, save for your Sunny, these GPS pendants.  As long as they wear them (and they are under strict orders never to remove them from their person) I can keep track of them and know where they are at all times.  You may rest assured that their safety is paramount.

 

She moved quickly, I had to give her that.  The pendant looked slickly professional and very expensive.  I could only assume that she must have gotten them from Maria’s private detective firm, or someone recommended by them.  It was carved jade, about an inch-and-a-half tall, and had a vaguely Japanese-y look to it.  It was joined to the fine silver chain by an ornate silver cap (which presumably housed the GPS transponder).  Looks like she’s done you a favor, old bean, I thought.  With Eve having tied them all into the grid, Raul could suss them out in no time and add them to my tracker tonight.  One more problem solved.

 

Mercedes finished her kata with a front rollover, which is most certainly not an Aikido move, and landed in a kneeling position directly in front of me.  She didn’t waste time with words, nor I with false protestations, as she gently parted my thighs, moved in, undid my zip and brought my pulsing rod out into the light.  She grabbed her pendant and threw it back over her shoulder, and then gave my cock the comfort of her cleavage.  I let my mind go while she did all the work, and in no time at all I was fountaining my virtually inexhaustible stream of cum over her pretty face.

 

She looked up at me, a wry, satisfied smile, “Thank you, Master.”

 

My brain did a back flip in my head.  “What did you say?”

 

“I said, ‘Thank you, Master,’” she replied placidly, wiping my cum from her face with the back of her hand and licking it off.  Madame says we are to call you ‘Master’ whenever we are in private.”

 

“‘Madame’ says this?” I replied, my voice hitting an almost shrill pitch, my post-orgasm hitching briefly.  I considered the pale sex object grooming herself between my legs.  “And, um, what if I don’t wish to be called that?”

 

She stopped licking her hand and looked up at me with a confused expression, “I-I’m sorry, M-Master,” she began, a look of distress clouding her wan features, “I-I must follow Madame’s instructions.”

 

Master…Madame…what is she doing to these girls? I wondered.  I knew why she was doing it, of course.  Since Eve couldn’t control me as she could her fembots, she probably felt that she had to use other methods to ensure my unwavering support for her ‘new world order’, methods designed to appeal to my vanity.  “It’s all right, luv,” I said, channeling Sir Paul McCartney.  “Why don’t you climb up here and keep me warm.”

 

She smiled, pleased that I wasn’t challenging Madame’s instructions, took off the soft, cotton uniform top, and made herself at home in my lap, covering my muscular upper body with her yielding, perfumed one.  She was a pure fembot, though perfectly wide-awake.  Eve’s organic programming thoroughly dominated her conscious mind far better, it seemed, than my fumble-fingered attempts at my fembot’s unconscious ones.  It would be a nice trick, I found myself thinking, if I could do that, but that would require having Robbi shoot hardware into my brain, which was just not going to happen, at least not today.

 

I spent most of the rest of that hour quizzing the cuddling fembot lying atop me, trying to determine the level of invasion of Robbi’s data into her consciousness.  I asked her everything I could think of, everything that might show some kind of link or crossover to my first ever fembot, any new commonality that hadn’t been there before the night I’d acquired her.  She answered every question earnestly and truthfully, right up until she raised herself up and took my stiff yard inside her moist cunt, begging my pardon ‘for having failed to keep Master’s horse-cock warm, too.’

 

I of course did not resist, and actually managed to form some coherent thoughts while she wriggled about on my lap, stroking my meat inside her sweet warmth.  As far as I could tell, the transfer of Robbi’s native data appeared to be having no effect whatsoever on the now softly moaning fembot.  I had many theories, each as nonsensical as the next, until finally it dawned on me that while a fembot could read data that had been digitized and written to a disc, it appeared that native data, which were what those unknown, extraneous files in Robbi’s folder were, could be written to – but not read by – an already written host.

 

I found this both good and bad, which was the simplistic state my thought processes had devolved to, considering the distraction I was being driven to by the fuckbot feverishly working my meat.  It meant that while a person’s memories could be written to an empty brain, another person’s native data could not merged with it, which on further reflection was a good thing – talk about multiple-personality disorder.

 

The rest of that afternoon was spent doing pretty much the same things with three other of Eve’s fembots, wherein I confirmed my hypothesis, which though good for my peace of mind had been hell on my cock.

 

 

I pulled into the estate’s driveway just as the sun decided to call it a day, and though Sol might be able to count on a calm evening, I most certainly could not.  They would be in there, waiting for me, ready to fulfill whatever nasty code was rattling around their cybernetic gray matter, and I would have little choice but to behave normally and play along if I wanted to keep from arousing suspicion.  I got out of the car and walked purposefully toward the large front doors, looking for all the world like a vital, potent young man, ready to tackle whatever might come my way, but on the inside I was exhausted – shagging co-eds and plotting murder does tend to take its toll on the body.

 

“Jake, darling!”  Lithe arms wrapped themselves around me, as lithe arms always seemed to nowadays.  A tongue found its way into my mouth, warm breasts pressed in on me from all sides. Soft hands took my laptop bag and the food given me by Eve’s fuck-and-suckbots, while others stripped me faster than a school of piranha does your average wayward side of beef, redressing me in my silk robe and slippers.  It was the perfect fantasy life; a life for which most men would kill, and one for which I was going to have to kill to get out of.  The tongue vacated my mouth, leaving me free to refill it with the Tecate that had been handed to me.  Eve, as naked as sin, standing at the head of my assembled women (none of whom were naked but all of them looking thoroughly indecent in corsets, teddies, and their pseudo Hooters outfits) continued holding me, looking upon me with an expression that could have meant a hundred different things, and likely masked several thousand more.  “I am so happy to see you, I really am,” she said, her emerald eyes sparkling.  “Oh, but you look tired, stallion.  Did you have a hard day?”

 

Everyone laughed, myself included, although while theirs was happy, carefree laughter, mine was forced and hollow, and apparently fooled no one.  I was rescued by Maria, looking positively delectable in a blue corset and nothing else, who took me by the arm and led me through the throng of unwitting robots, out of the foyer and into the split-level living room, “Jake, you poor man,” she clucked, “you are working much too hard.  Let’s see if we can’t help you to relax.”

 

Robbi, resplendent in a matching red corset, appeared at my side and kissed me, giving my cock a playful squeeze.  “Are you ready, my love?” she asked, caressing my cheek and nuzzling my neck.

 

“Ready…?”

 

She giggled.  “You really are overworked, my love.  Eve has a special gift for us.  She did tell you, didn’t she?”  As she said these words, I noticed that the room was filling up behind us, practically every last fembot congregating here, rather than working, or cooking, or serving.

 

“I…”  But whatever I was going to say was lost in my throat, as Reynalda and Juanita entered through the dining room doors, navigating a refrigerator dolly over the plush carpeting, a six-foot tall, silver-wrapped box strapped to it.  The room fell silent, expectant, as the two Latina-bots, their volleyball-sized boobs wobbling beneath their stressed half-shirts, parked the box next to Eve, who stood two feet above us before the massive fireplace, its green glazed tiles complementing her smoky red hair nicely.

 

“Little more than a month ago,” she began, her nudity certainly no stumbling block when it came to what amounted to public address, “I was an unhappy, broken-down, middle-aged woman, but thanks to a certain big-brained stallion I have gained a new lease on life.  I find myself seeing things in ways I never had before, thinking things I never had before, and envisioning a future I’d never thought possible.”

 

They all stood there, my perfected women, looking up at her raptly, hanging on her every word, but I heard barely any of it for my attention was focused on the silver box that looked way too big to be an espresso maker.  It can’t be, I thought, my fingers gripping the beer bottle so tightly I was beginning to lose feeling in them, it just can’t be.  Oh, dear God, please don’t let it be her, and I found myself replaying the words, hearing them racing through my head, ‘Chancellor Simmons wants to see me after class…Daryl thinks my turn is coming.’

 

“I love you, Jake,” Eve continued, her husky voice choked with emotion, “as I have never loved anyone, and certainly not someone with a dick that wasn’t made of plastic.”  She received a round of laughter at her little joke whilst I received a few affectionate squeezes and strokes from my harem.

 

“Roberta,” she continued, “I couldn’t love you more if you were my own daughter, and as we’ve seen here, no mother and daughter have ever loved one another more.  I love you both so much,” and now the tears flowed freely down her alabaster cheeks, and not just hers, for every single female in the room had turned on the waterworks, as well.  My lovely Robbi stood next to me, wiping at her crystal eyes whilst she held tight to me.  “And so I present you with this small token of my affection.  May she give you years of trouble-free service.”

 

‘She?’ I heard the words echoing through my skull, and I began to feel dizzy as Reynalda and Juanita split the front seam of the box open to reveal its contents – the very same blonde hottie I had shagged in a clump of bushes barely nine hours ago.

 

…and yet not the same.  I took a long pull from my beer, glad of the moisture for my mouth had gone as dry as the Mojave Desert.  Pure white light, from a baby spot perched somewhere over my head, shone upon the motionless body within, and an involuntary whimper escaped my throat as I looked upon Eve’s handiwork.

 

She was silver. I don’t know where Eve had managed to dig it up, but Tiffany was now outfitted in what could best be described as ‘sexbot chic’: a metallic-silver catsuit that that ran all the way from the top of her head to the soles of her silver stiletto pumps, with strategically placed heart-shaped cutouts that left her goodies easily accessible.

 

Her wavy blonde hair was now hidden under a cowl, which looked perfectly molded to her head.  Her makeup had a metallic look to it, as though powdered tin must have been incorporated into her foundation, her eyelids were painted silver, blended back to a light purple hue, and her full lips were now a cool silver-blue.  And to complete the illusion that she was fully synthetic, her beautiful blue eyes had been covered with mirrored-silver contact lenses.

 

She had become a robot; Eve had turned her into a fucking robot!

 

Eve’s voice rang out, “Don’t be shy, Tiffany.  Come on out and let everyone see you.”

 

She stepped smoothly out of the box, eliciting ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ from my amazed women as she moved forward to the edge of the carpeted stairs.  She looked straight ahead, her face completely devoid of expression, betraying not the slightest sign of humanity.

 

I could barely breathe for looking at what had been done to her: her large, pale breasts jutted proudly outward, her stiff nipples painted, or tattooed, to match her lips; her now platinum-dyed pubes had been sculpted into a perfect heart shape, and reflecting from her pierced navel a silver plaque, also heart shaped, which bore her name in inch-high script.

 

“Eve…” I heard Robbi’s breathless voice begin hesitantly, felt her trembling beside me, “is-is she for…?”

 

“I think, Roberta,” replied Eve, wearing a lascivious smile dripping with anticipation, “it would be best if I let Tiffany answer you.”  She cocked her head and looked intently at the silver girl, who then moved sleekly down the three steps to our level, causing the rest of my women to back away slightly, took my fiancée into her arms, and kissed her.

 

“Mmmph!” Robbi cried, not in protest, but rather in surprise as the newly minted sexbot laid a sloppy wet one on her in that way that only chicks can.  Robbi’s hand clenched in mine as Tiffany kissed her more thoroughly than she’d probably ever been kissed, which in this house of harlots was saying something.  I watched, transfixed, as Tiffany ran a silver-nailed hand over Robbi’s rounded melons, and then down her delicious body, stopping only when she reached her involuntarily wet cunt.

 

Moaning, she closed her eyes and let go, allowing Tiffany to complete whatever program Eve was running, but all around me the eyes of my women watched the scene hungrily, biting their lips, gripping one another’s shoulders as they watched what was happening to my bride to be.  But I had not been forgotten; she was, after all, our gift.  Tiffany’s fingers, now slick with Robbi’s juices, found my cock beneath my kimono, rock hard despite my shock and outrage, and began deftly jerking me off.  Maria, standing next to me, her own breathing labored in sympathy for her daughter, could bear it no longer, and took my head in her hands and shoved her tongue deep into my mouth.

 

I didn’t pass out, but it was a near thing.  Tiffany had been well programmed, and within a matter of minutes, Robbi and I came simultaneously, gasping and shaking at the hands of Eve’s creation.  Robbi held onto me, needing my support, whilst Tiffany straightened back up to a neutral posture, her dangling silver heart earrings the only things moving.

 

“So,” said Eve, her voice breaking the awed silence, “do you like her, or should I return her?”

 

Robbi, her breathing ragged, her pupils slightly dilated, her hand trembling within mine, was apparently relearning how to speak, “Well…well,” she stammered, “I think J-Jake likes her…and making him happy is all that I want.”  She then burst into a fit of giggles, which was amplified by the women arrayed behind us.  The tension broken, they swarmed around us, around her, eager to see the toy that Eve had delivered into our midst.  They ran their hands over her pale skin, hefted her comparatively small breasts, and marveled at the cool beauty of her eyes.

 

I felt a hand on the small my back, and turned to find my Machiavellian iBod next to me, smiling a sly smile.  “Well, Jake,” she breathed, “do you like her?”

 

I took another drink from my beer, which had gone warm, disliking it despite my British heritage.  I looked into her emerald eyes, which were at once beautiful and cold, “You…really shouldn’t have, Eve.”

 

“Nonsense, stallion,” she replied, “it’s traditional to give the bride and groom some Tiffany silver.  What can I say, the opportunity was too good to pass up.”

 

“You know what I mean, Eve.”

 

“Oh, Galahad,” she sighed, “your virtue can be a bit wearying at times.  If it will make you feel better, she was, so to speak, a red cunt hair from being on academic probation.  She said herself that she ‘wanted to be strong’.  Look at her, Jake.  She’s happy this way.  Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

 

I was looking at her, standing amidst the gaggle of them, motionless, expressionless, a statuesque statue consigned to a life of sexual servitude because I had fucked her body, and because Eve had fucked her mind.  Not a single one of my women showed the slightest sign of interest in who she was, or how she came to be here.  She was an object, as Lupe had become an object, as they had all become objects; objects, it seemed, that weren’t real big on curiosity or compassion.  Good job, Jake!

 

“All that in nine hours, Eve,” I finally managed to sigh, “I must say I’m impressed.”

 

“Seven hours, actually.  We thought you’d be home once you finished tapping Lexus’s ass.  Yes, she did take a bit of work, but I’ll tell you a secret, stallion,” and here she leaned into me and nuzzled my ear, “I made her all by myself!”

 

I pulled away, obviously stunned.  By herself?  Oh, this is not good, I thought.  I had figured that at least Ashiko must have been involved, but it appeared that her powers were evolving more rapidly than I’d anticipated.  What had taken the full complement of them to do to Lupe, she had done solo with Tiffany. “By your…”

 

“Oh, I don’t mean the surface stuff.  No, that took the work of skilled craftsmen, but everything else was me.  It’s so amazing, Jake,” she said, looking with pride upon her silver opus, “what you’ve done to me, the power you’ve given me.  I don’t think a thousand robots would begin to repay the debt I owe you.”

 

I found that I was glad of my kimono for my dick had shrunk a few inches in fear.  Whilst I’d been nellypodging around, banging her little fucktoys, she’d been experimenting, extending her powers.  Suddenly ten days seemed a lifetime away, and I wondered whether my plans now had even the slightest possibility of success.

 

“Ohmigod, Jake, come here!” Robbi called out excitedly.  “Look, there’s an inscription!”

 

I turned back to look at Eve.  “’An inscription?’” I repeated, feeling my pecker actually trying to crawl back into my body.

 

“Go on, stallion,” she urged, her eyes positively sparkling, “go and look.  That really was the hardest part.”

 

I tore my eyes away from her, and shambled through the throng of big tits and perfumed hair, the feeling of dread within me multiplying by a factor of ten with every step I took.  I arrived at the center of the flock to find Robbi examining Tiffany’s exposed ass, which was being dutifully licked clean of my jizz by Lupe.  “Oh, isn’t it lovely, Jake?” said my bride to be, tears glinting in her crystal eyes.

 

It had been inscribed in gold ink, words inside yet another heart, tattooed onto her by an artist of great skill, and if it hadn’t been for the presence of the bodies around me, I would have fainted dead away.  “Read it…aloud…my love,” Robbi sniffled, her words almost completely incomprehensible as she blubbered happily.  I did as she asked, my own voice shaking, though not in joyfulness:

 

For Jake and Roberta:

Let this vessel be a symbol

Beautiful, loyal, and eternal.

Joy in her and of her

So that your love will live forever.

~Eve~

 

“Oh, Evie, that’s beautiful,” Maria said, falling into her arms and giving her a kiss and a squeeze.  “Is it really gold?”

 

“Twenty-four karat, duchess,” she replied silkily, gently kissing away Maria’s tears.  “Nothing’s too good for the young couple.  Oh, I almost forgot.  Here you go!”  She tossed a pink something into the air, and I raised my hand to catch it, but Robbi with her enhanced reflexes snatched it out of my grasp.

 

“Oh look, Jake,” she cried, holding up the little device I had just this morning mastered, “she even comes with a remote!”  Beaming, she pushed a button, and I saw Tiffany’s right cheek twitch and her throat contract ever so slightly, and her already hard nipples stiffen even more, signifying that our new marital aid had been activated.

 

“And I almost forgot the best part, stallion,” Eve called out over the heads of my giggling Latina-bots, “she also makes espresso!”

 

 

 “You are an amazing man, Jake McBride,” sighed the iBod lying next to me on the leather couch, three hours and twice that many orgasms later.

 

“And why do you say that, my angel?”

 

She rolled her head languidly toward me, her breath warm on my naked shoulder, “Just look around you, stallion.  You’re not exactly living the life of the typical Berkeley student, you know,” she said in a tone that suggested I was being purposefully obtuse.

 

I smiled at her understatement, and also at the sensations provided me, for Ashiko, the ultimate winter blanket, lay across the two of us, her silky black hair unbound, her head in my lap, moaning softly and frenching my knob, kissing it like a lover.  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, looking outwardly relaxed, though inwardly my mind whirled like a field mouse caught in a tornado, “isn’t this the sort of life you want for everyone?”

 

“God, Jake,” she said in an exasperated tone, “who wouldn’t want to live like this?”

 

I considered asking her what the silver girl upon whose back our feet were resting at the moment thought about it, but decided against it, as I had no wish to antagonize her just now.  In point of fact I had no desire to be within ten miles of her, especially if she finally succeeded in breaking into my mind, which I was sure she was probably attempting every few minutes.  “I suppose you’re right, Eve, you’re always right,” I said, perhaps a touch too sycophantically, for she sharply twisted the dildo she was stroking in and out of Ashiko’s cunt, causing the little slave to swallow my dick whole, damn near sending me into the stratosphere.

 

“Oh, stallion,” she sighed, “I do so wish we could see into your mind.  Imagine how much better this would be if we could share thoughts.  Don’t you agree, Roberta?”

 

“God, yes!” cried Robbi, who was at that moment pumping her hips madly, plowing in and out of the robot Eve and I were using for an ottoman (the box in which Tiffany had arrived, being more suited to a pornographic action figure than fine jewelry, had come chock-a-block full of every sex toy imaginable, including enough plaster cast replicas of my dick to fill every hole of every woman in this house at the same time).  “Jake, you just don’t know how good it is.  The world would be so much happier if we could all be like this!”

 

“Oh, sweet Jesus, yes!” Maria chimed in breathlessly, as the me-sized dildo clipped to the front side of the penis gag lodged in Tiffany’s mouth bottomed out in her sopping hole.  Maria clutched at Eve’s hand from where she lay on the sectional sofa’s ninety-degree turn, gasping and bucking with every thrust her daughter imparted to her via the silver robot.  “Jake… this is…exactly…how life…should be…” but then Tiffany’s nose bumped her clit, putting an end to any further intelligible speech from her, and causing her to almost kick poor Kitten, who was laying on the floor, happily pawing and nipping at the suspended boobs that dangled above her.

 

I was playing a dangerous game, as I reclined there stroking Ashiko’s fat tit, but being this close to my psychotic iBod was an absolute necessity if I was going to set my plan in motion.  It would all be so simple if I could just program her, but I couldn’t risk another incursion into her mind, for fear that I might do something to accelerate the evolution process.  But there are other methods of mental manipulation: crude, yes, but nonetheless effective.  “I understand, angel,” I said, as Ashiko’s tongue swirled about the knob of my prick, this kissing style of cocksucking stressing my ability to think, speak, and remember my fucking name.  “Oh, and by the way, I would like to meet with your girls again next week if I could.  Something’s, um, come up.”

 

She looked back at me, a sly smile on her face.  “And to think I once said that you weren’t greedy, stallion.”  She laughed at my feigned expression of innocence, but waved a lazy hand dismissively, “Sow your wild oats, my love.  Fill them with as much of your copious seed as you can.  It’s what men do, and you, Jake, are ever so much more than a man.”

 

“Thank you, my angel,” I replied, smiling a grateful smile back at her.  “And just between us,” I said, dropping my voice to a whisper I knew only she would pick up, especially since the others were all so very distracted, “I’m going to miss them very much.”

 

She continued plying the fake dick in and out of Ashiko’s hole, looking at me strangely, “But you don’t have to miss them, stallion,” she whispered back.  “I was joking about that ‘wild oat’ stuff.  They’re yours for the asking, whenever you want them.  You’re not going all straitlaced on me, are you?  Cleaving only unto Roberta, are you?  Because if this former lesbo isn’t allowed access to this,” she said, letting go the dildo and reaching over to stroke her long nails along the exposed portion of my cock, “there’s going to be hell to pay.”

 

“Oh, my angel,” I said with an Oscar-winning chuckle, “my wearisome virtue doesn’t extend to pussy, you know that.”  I leaned closer so that I could nuzzle one of her thumb-sized nipples, “No, I’m just going to miss poking them while we’re in New Zealand, that’s all.  I suppose you will too, despite the handful they must be.”

 

“But I…?” she started, and her thoughtful silence told me that I’d struck exactly the right chord with her.  Eve was certainly aware that her fembots were fully-fledged sex addicts (though not knowing that it was Ultimate Babe that was responsible), and that it was her role to guide them, to use their newfound freedom to serve her ends.  But what she didn’t know was that she was not the first person to fill that role, and that I knew better than she the path she was walking, and all the baggage that came with it.

 

I had figured that she felt that she could simply tell them how she wanted them to behave whilst she was at our wedding, one vast ocean away, and that they would do it.  But as I had once been worried for a newly created Robbi, tottering unsupervised around the Berkeley campus and environs all those weeks ago, so must Eve now be concerned for what would happen when her fembots were out of her sight – and her worries were multiplied by nineteen!

 

“Oh, I know, angel,” I continued whispering, returning to my reclining position, hoping to Darwin that the seeds I was planting would bear sweet fruit, “you are an able administrator; you wouldn’t be Chancellor if you weren’t.  But all the same I’m going to miss Sidney’s snatch, Lexus’s ass, and Dawn’s mouth.  Won’t you?”  She laid there, automatically grinding the dildo into Ashiko’s dripping quim, her eyes fixed on the flames dancing in the fireplace.

 

“Maria,” she began, her voice timid, a quality I’d not heard from her before, “I…didn’t want to bring this up earlier, but…something’s come up…and I…”

 

Maria, despite being repeatedly stuffed with a latex impression of me looked up, and though she was a mirror image of her daughter, she now wore a disapproving expression on her face that must have been a holdover from her old life, before I’d filled her to bursting with commands to love without limits, “Eve,” she said, her voice like cracked ice, “please don’t tell me you’re thinking about not coming with us.”

 

Crikey, I thought, a little anxious myself at the displeased look on Maria’s face; no wonder Robbi had been afraid of her.  Everything I had put in Maria’s head early this morning should support what was about to happen, and I silently prayed to holy Darwin that the programming I’d slammed into Eve’s mind the night she was acquired, one thousand commands instructing her that she must respect Maria's wishes, would still hold sway.

 

“No,” replied Eve quickly, “no…it’s just…

 

“…because I love you with all my heart, Evie…”

 

“No, it’s just…”

 

“…and I would hate for Roberta…” who I noticed had stopped thrusting my replica dick into our silvery piece of community property, and was now looking at Eve with an identical disapproving glare, “…to be disappointed.”

 

“Please, Maria,” she said, on the very edge of babbling, “it’s-just-that-the-project-that-Jake-and-I-have-been-working-on-is-at-a-crucial-stage-and-I-would-really-rather-not-leave-them-at-this…”

 

“Eve, projects come and projects go, but my little girl is only going to get married…”

 

“Yes, but this proj…”

 

“This project has kept you out of our bed for too long, Evie, and now it’s about to keep you from the happiest day of my daughter’s…”

 

“Maria, I can’t leave them!”

 

“Then bring them with you!”

 

“I…” and here she paused, as did everyone in the room, waiting for her response, hopefully to bring an end to the friction that they thought belonged in the outside world.  “I…I suppose I could do that.”

 

Yes! the Advocate shouted, doing an imaginary dance on the half-court line after that perfectly executed, nothing-but-net, three-point swish.  It was tough, keeping the jubilant smile off of my face after that brilliant performance, though Ashiko did give a muffled ‘oof’ as my cock stiffened even more to compensate.  I lay back, inordinately pleased with myself that I had managed to manipulate them without their knowledge, and without resorting to a technology that appeared to be capricious at best.  It was a pity, though, that my moment of triumph was to be so short-lived.

 

“Um…Mother?” began Robbi, having resumed her pumping of the robot before her.

 

“Yes, dear?” cooed Maria.

 

“Well…if Eve can bring some of her students, then…can I bring some friends of mine, too?”

 

I gulped, listening in mute horror as Maria responded with a gasping affirmative, the Tiffany-bot driving the strapped-on dildo deeply into her.

 

“Why of course you can, dear…it’s your wedding, after all.  The more…the merrier!  How many girls did…you want to bring?  They are all girls…aren’t they?”

 

“Yes, Mother, girls only.  I don’t know, maybe eight or ten.”

 

“And are they…cute?”

 

“Very.”

 

“Well then, by all means…bring them.  There’s a lovely lodge…near Lake Taupo.  I’ll book the whole…of it, and it will be one long…oh, fuck!…merry party.  And who knows, perhaps Jake…might even consent to give your friends…and your girls, as well, Eve…some nice… big…boobs…ahh…” at which point she stopped talking and began humping Tiffany’s face, her passion overriding all other concerns.

 

Robbi was looking at me, a sweet, hopeful expression that would melt the stoniest heart, though missing mine completely since it was fully in my throat.  “Of course, pet,” I managed to choke out, the deafening screams of both the Advocate and Mr. Reasonable resounding through my shell-shocked brain.  “I…I suppose I could do that.  Consider it a wedding present.”

 

“Oh, Jake,” she cried, the usual tears welling up in the corners of her crystal eyes, “ I don’t think there’s a man alive who can compare to you.”

 

“I sure as fuck hope not,” I sighed, as Ashiko began flopping my now limp noodle about like a rubber snake, apparently disappointed that it no longer meant business, “I surely hope to God there isn’t.”

 

 

They settled the particulars that evening.  It had been Maria’s intention to charter a long-range Gulfstream jet for the trans-Pacific flight, knowing that it would be impossible for her five sister units, plus her additional eleven Latinas, to fly via commercial transport without each and every one of them attempting to join the mile-high club, very likely in a lavatory that would be unable to accommodate their gargantuan hooters.  And with the addition of Tiffany and another twenty-nine girls, a Gulfstream was now out of the question.

 

But Eve, being a pilot (though certainly not rated for anything above a multi-engine prop), had more than enough knowledge of what sorts of aircraft would be suitable for the trip and, more importantly, who to contact for our special needs.

 

“But what about pilots?” Maria inquired.  “Even at thirty-thousand feet the one-wiener rule must be maintained.”

 

Eve assured her that she knew no end of female pilots who would love nothing more to put an Airbus on automatic pilot for a few hours and indulge in a flying fuckfest, or better still, put one in a steep dive for a little zero-gravity orgy.

 

I felt bad that two pilots, and a stew or two, were going to meet the same fate as the rest of my robots, but there was simply no avoiding it.  Tragedies happen every day, all over the world, and as far as I could tell, the best method for taking out a sizable number of people at a shot, and masking it as a tragedy, is a plane crash in deep water.  As it happens, one of my favorite jokes concerns airplane crashes:

 

‘Oh, how sad that those two hundred people died in that crash.  I guess it was just their time.’

 

‘Sad, yes, but it was a miracle that God managed to get reservations for them all on the same flight.’

 

Perhaps crashing a jet into shark-infested waters was overkill, but the rampant bisexuality that was soon to hit the campus would bring investigation, which would lead to my upgraded women, and this method was the cleanest way I could think of to ensure that the trail would end neatly.  Not an ideal solution, certainly, but one that would tie up the loose ends.

 

There was also the matter of ten more girls being thrown into the mix, which I indeed felt horrible about, but I also had to admit that it would be helpful in making this whole fooforaw look more like an accident and less like a conspiracy.

 

If I were a little smarter, perhaps none of this would be necessary.  If I were less intelligent I would still be living in my shitty apartment, jerking off to pirated vids of Melony Cox-Zucker taking four fat dicks into her artificially crafted body at the same time.  Yes, I would be unhappy and unloved, with barely two dimes to rub together – but I wouldn’t be a murderer.

 

But a few hours later, smoking in my basement workshop, I knew I had no choice but to continue down this road.  I sat in silent meditation, watching my redheaded iBod taking a risky but very necessary recharging as she lay upon her Lexan slab.  I had questioned her for a full hour, fearful that she might leap up at any moment and pop my scrotum like a pimple, or slit my throat with those coral talons of hers.

 

She answered my questions truthfully, as fembots always do, and everything she said confirmed the story she told me in her office.  But there were questions I hadn’t had to ask; questions for which I already knew the answers, the laptop on my worktable bearing out the evidence of that which I had previously suspected: nine little flags ringed the estate, each one representing a member of Eve’s private fembot army.

 

The bitch was keeping me under surveillance.

 

 

 

Chapter 28

Divisions and Diversions

 

I woke up rejuvenated, as I always did after being connected to my laptop, but that feeling was all too quickly replaced by a pervasive dread that began settling in my bones, for I realized what was in store for me today: the culmination of one of the greatest crimes against humanity since fucking Jonestown.  Today was ‘The Day’.

 

I opened my eyes to find everything as it had been only three hours ago.  “Security report, Raul.”

 

“The estate has not been penetrated,” came his disembodied voice, piped in from his secure location miles away.  “The nine fembots surrounding the estate are still in place.  Sunrise is in eighty-seven minutes, thirteen seconds.  Coffee is ready.”

 

“Raul, raise the light level in the orgy room to fifty percent.”

 

“Yes, Jake,” came his well-amplified and modulated voice through the Marshall stacks.  It was strange, the lack of accent in his speech, whether live or electronically transmitted.  It had a flat sound to it that I would like to have improved upon, but that kind of time had definitely been in short supply – it would probably be easier to just kidnap Stephen Fry and have done with it.

 

The lights in the room, at least those on networked dimmers, came up gradually.  The twelve girls lying on the padded floor looked in excellent shape, and appeared to have come through the implantation surgery beautifully.  I checked their vitals on my iPhone, and confirmed that they were in good health.  “Rise, Fembots.”

 

“Yes, Master,” they chorused.

 

I examined Lupe first, feeling her belly for any perturbations or hard spots, and then ran my hands over the massive breasts that Maria had decided should come standard on all of the Latinas.  They felt perfectly normal, having reached their target size days ago, which I had to admit I was a little tired of – what I wouldn’t give to bang a B-cupper right now.  I made my way down the line, making sure they were all in perfect working order, which they were, stopping when I reached the girl in the silver suit.

 

Of all of them, I felt the most sorry for Tiffany.  What had once been a beautiful, soft creature, had been transformed over the last week and a half into something that would not be mistaken for a human being, at least not at first glance.  Robbi had loved her, right out of the box, but had decided (with my permission) to further improve the former university student.  The two beachball-sized masses, firm and heavy, that now jutted majestically from her chest were the most obvious changes, but they were not the most disquieting.  Eve, it seemed, had been rushed to get Tiffany to us in time, and had made a few shortcuts, which Robbi had since made permanent.  Her blue-tinged lips were no longer the product of makeup, but were now tattooed on, as was the color for her nipples.

 

But it was her skin that was her most unsettling feature – it was white.  As pale as Tiffany had been she’d still had normal human coloration with the typical variations, tan lines, etc., but no longer.  Kitten’s design was wholly white, an Apple laptop white, a uniform whiteness that ran from head to foot, giving her a completely artificial look that nothing but my technology could impart.

 

She stood before me now, impassive and untouchable, her unconscious fembot self virtually indistinguishable from her waking robotic existence, and though I’d tried, many times, to reach the girl trapped beneath the shell that Eve had placed around her, it was no use; she would simply stand there, back straight, tits out, her expression never deviating from that mannequin-like stare, her humanity locked away behind those mirrored-silver eyes.

 

Robbi loved her, and used her constantly.  Tiffany attended her at all times: getting her drinks, laying out her clothing, bathing her, etc.  I think Kitten resented this attention, always climbing up onto my lap whenever Tiffany was catering to Robbi’s prodigious sexual desires, preferring not to join them.  When not in use, the silver girl would stand against the nearest wall, silent and unmoving, waiting to be called into service.

 

As with Lupe, I had added Ultimate Babe and self-defense programming, but had not implanted any commands of my own for there was no need; Eve had been most thorough.  But she did receive a bit of additional programming, as had the rest of them, the night after her arrival:

 

A fembot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

 

A fembot must obey any orders given to it by Jake, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

 

A fembot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

 

A fembot must give Jake a blowjob whenever he asks for it.

 

These four laws, which I dubbed the Four Laws of Fembotics, had been verbally given to all of my women (save for Eve and Ashiko), and would only apply whenever they were in fembot mode.  I had finally made it official, informing them of their fundamental natures, and they answered to the title of ‘fembot’ as readily as they would their own names.  Yes, the Fourth Law was probably redundant, but there are just some things that need to be spelled out.

 

Having satisfied myself that they were all in perfect working order, I had them clear away all remnants of my offenses against the human race, and remove them to my basement workshop so that they could pack them away.  Whilst they worked I scoured the whole of the second and third floors, checked on my future wife and the three other iBods asleep in the big bed, and made sure that no trace of my nefarious activities would be left behind.

 

The coffee was good: French Roast with a touch of cinnamon.  I drank it, leaning against one of the tables in my workshop, smoking the first of many cigarettes that day, watching my robotic women working with the silent efficiency that still never failed to impress me.  I really hated leaving their conversion to the last day, but there was nothing else for it.  Eve, much to Maria’s reluctant acceptance, and my relief, had been spending one night in three on the estate, which meant that the Latinas and Tiffany could not be implanted until this morning, lest she find herself locked out of their thoughts, which would surely arouse her suspicion.  Having long since hacked Eve’s computer, as well as her iPhone, I knew her timetable right to the very minute, and I knew that she would not be returning to the estate, or even seeing her fembots until she set foot on the plane, by which time it would be too late.

 

Fourteen hours to go.  I checked my list on the table for the umpteenth time, making sure that everything was taken care of.  I didn’t bother racking my brains as to whether I’d left anything off the list, perhaps some detail that would doom my evil scheme to failure, because I was motherfucking tired of rehashing the plan again and again: if I hadn’t thought of it by now, chances were that it was unimportant.  That didn’t mean I was assured of success, however.  There were still so many things that could go wrong, so many possibilities for discovery.  I just had to hope my many contingencies would cover them, and that I wouldn’t end up living the rest of my life in some government installation making robots out of my fellow citizens.

 

At precisely 6:00 AM, Raul’s voice came over the basement speakers, “Eve’s fembots are moving off.  The estate is no longer under surveillance, Jake.”

 

“Very good, Raul,” I replied, a little louder than normal conversation warranted, due to the distance of the microphone placed on the workshop ceiling, not to mention the racket from the hammering and stapling the girls were making as they completed the packing of the wooden crates that now housed their alcoves and other bits of fembot paraphernalia.  “You may begin.”

 

I went upstairs, refreshed my coffee, turned on the west side floodlights, and went outside, lighting another cigarette as soon as I hit the chilly morning air.  It was still full dark, only the barest hint of light visible over the low mountains to the east.  I heard the wrought iron gates clatter in the distance, and saw the red taillights appear in the gap between the whitewashed stone walls as the twenty-two foot bobtail truck began backing through the entrance onto the estate proper, making its way unerringly down the center of the gravel drive.  Raul pulled in expertly, as though he did this every day, with no need for a spotter, backing up to exactly the right distance to put the lift-gate down in front of the freight elevator doors that connected my workshop of horrors to the land of the living.

 

He killed the motor, opened his door, and exited the cab with no wasted motions, which might not draw stares in the outside world, but would certainly clue anyone watching closely that he wasn’t an actual truck driver, or even human for that matter.  He stood there, in the glare of the floodlights, waiting for instructions.  I approached him cautiously, not because I was afraid of him, but rather because he gave me the creeps, seeing as how he was wearing my face.

 

Of all the things I had seen and done over the last seven weeks, Raul was the capper.  By all the known laws of medical science he should not be here now.  In point of fact he should have died during Robbi and Kat’s near dissection of him, wherein almost thirty percent of his skin had been cut away, to be replaced by healthy skin of different coloration, my coloration to be precise.  He stood in front of me now, my exact duplicate, right down to his fingerprints, such fine detail made possible by the high-resolution scanner I’d bought, and that Kat had wielded, the operating manual uploaded to her brain.

 

“Any problems, Raul?” I asked, as my newly upgraded iBods emerged from the freight elevator and began opening up the doors to the back of the truck.  I felt silly, still calling him by his former name, especially since he was using a copy of my brains as his operating system, but I felt it was important to keep some distance between us.

 

“No, Jake,” he replied levelly.  He was the only one permitted such informality, and that only because the idea of my clone calling me ‘Master’ made me want to puke.

 

“Did anyone see you?”

 

“Marjorie Tetch.  She was walking her Pekingese.  No one else saw us, Jake.”

 

It was at that moment that the doors opened to reveal the other half of the ‘us’ to which Raul had referred.  Sunny, the bitch whose brains I’d played shell games with almost two weeks ago stood there; the fembot who had lately become my personal favorite fuck.

 

I would not have thought it possible, but of the near two score robots I had acquired, the one I liked the least had made the greatest transformation, made possible, not by my programming or my wishes, but solely because of Ultimate Babe.

 

I had scheduled her last on that Friday, the week that I had begun fucking the new batch of fembots under the pretense of following up the sleep learning experiment.  I hadn’t wanted to meet her, but I did at least need to give the appearance that I was being methodical in my research.  Portia, Jaime, and Kia (a truly hot, little Vietnamese babe, who actually howled, ‘Me love you long time!’ whilst taking my fat pole up her incredibly tight backside) had left me one very fucked out meatsack, and I sat in that scarred wooden chair dreading the appearance of ‘Unpleasant Girl’, a nickname that was soon to be banished from my vocabulary.

 

She had gone the way of the Goth, which is a look I have never really cared for, but with Sunny it somehow fit, and she used it to great effect.  Her longish, greasy brown hair was now jet black, and hung down in subtle waves to just past her shoulder blades and was set off nicely by her skin, which was almost as pale as Tiffany’s had been.  Her eyebrows had been plucked to a high arch and dramatically penciled in, and her lashes looked impossibly long, which when combined with her dark eyeliner brought her hazel eyes out markedly.

 

Most Goths I had met either eschewed lip color or went with the traditional black, but Sunny had opted for red; a deep, glossy rose red that set her lips apart and somehow had the effect of making them look plumper, especially when contrasted by her light skin.  And when it came to skin there was much of it on display.  The black bodice she wore left her creamy shoulders bare and had been laced excruciatingly tight, giving her a narrow waist and forcing her smallish tits up and together, actually jouncing a little under her silver ankh necklace as she walked.  Her short black skirt was either rubber, or PVC, and had a small slit in the front which drew one’s focus to her pale thighs, which were beautifully encased by the diamond net tights she was wearing, and further sculpted by the black spike heels on her small feet.

 

In only one week she had gone from a featureless drab to a vampire-goth slut, and I liked what I saw.  She smiled a Mona Lisa smile upon seeing my rather shocked reaction as she walked through the gym doors.  I thought about saying something, perhaps some insipid remark about silk purses, but I just sat there, mouth agape, so in awe of her transformation that words failed me, which was just as well, for she slid onto the table, spread her legs, and pulled my open mouth onto her crotchless-pantied pussy.

 

We fucked for six hours straight, taking short breaks here and there to replenish bodily fluids that each of us were either squirting and/or receiving.  Her new body was amazing.  She appeared to have dropped about ten pounds, which I had later found out was correct.  She confessed, whilst riding my cock like some sort of vampire-cowgirl, the barbells in her newly-pierced nipples flashing hypnotically, that she’d learned a lot more from her brainfucking, as she called it, than just self-defense, and had promptly put herself on a liquid diet consisting of nothing more than Slim-Fast and semen.  As a result she was now the most popular girl in the dorms, each and every cock entering her mouth giving her both a free meal, and a twenty dollar bill for her trouble, which she said would help pay for lip injections and a pair of boobs to rival Robbi’s, whom she admitted she loved from afar.

 

I thought she was joking at first, but when she showed me the fat wad of bills containing more than two thousand bucks, it was all I could do to keep from gibbering.  Ultimate Babe had turned Sunny into a whore, and not just any whore, but a whore who would likely rule the Internet inside of six months, thereby bringing about the attention I so feared.

 

It doesn’t matter, I thought, sitting back against the padded wall of the gym, eating the sushi that Kia had brought me, whilst Sunny gorged herself on a helping of jizz that had dried on my thigh, in a week it will all be over.

 

And what a week it had been.  Despite the repeated shtuppings I was giving to my many and varied women, I managed to find the time, and the love juice, to give Sunny four servings a day.  She was quite simply the best fuck of them all, able to do things with her mouth, pussy, and ass that were nothing short of phenomenal.  Of my numerous relationships, the one with Sunny was the strangest.  We certainly didn’t love each other; I couldn’t even say we really liked each other for that matter, but sexually we could not get enough of each other.

 

I kept the same schedule that week as I had the previous one, the only difference being that once I’d ushered the last of Eve’s fembots out of the gym, Sunny would almost always show up minutes later, to show me how much of an ultimate babe she had become.  I got home late those nights, and was welcomed home with open arms and legs, with no reproof from any of them for my wanderings.  Whether they knew who I was poking or not, I didn’t know, but I was more than aware that Eve knew of my goth paramour, the green dots on my iBod tracker showing that I was now under her watchful eye even during the day.  I wasn’t too terribly worried that Eve might do something to her, as she had with Tiffany and Lupe; Sunny was technically one of the project participants, and it didn’t matter all that much anyway, considering that she couldn’t do anything worse to her than what I had in store for her.

 

But it was in the quiet times, those rare moments when I wasn’t planning, fucking, or hacking into the Department of Homeland Security’s computers, that I found myself wondering who else she might be fucking, and how much she was charging them for it.  But those thoughts had been put to rest just twelve hours ago, when she showed up to the gym after my last bit of fun for that day, Portia, your classic olive-skinned Mediterranean girl, who happened to possess a righteous pair of knockers, had left.

 

“Hello, Jake,” she’d said, which was about as much as she ever said beyond, ‘suck this’, ‘fuck that’, and ‘oh my God!’  She walked in, put her arms around my neck and slid her tongue into my mouth, her minty breath proof that she had just brushed her teeth clean of someone’s profitable spunk.  We kissed awhile, enjoying the feel of one another’s bodies, the stainless steel of her tongue stud clacking my teeth every so often.  She laid back on the scarred table, an invitation for me to do a little piercing of my own, and it was then that I found the evidence of her unspoken fidelity to me, in the form of a tattoo.  It was an exact, full-scale rendering of my cock, coming up from the split of her labia, the flared head surrounding her pierced bellybutton, causing me to marvel yet again at how they could stuff the length of me inside them.  The tattoo was well done, absolutely true to the original, and sported an official looking warning that arched around the top and sides of the dick pic:

 

YOU MUST BE THIS BIG TO RIDE SUNNY’S CUNNY

 

“Uhhh…” I started, my brain having completely seized up at the vision before me.

 

She laughed upon seeing the look on my shocked face, and hooked her ankles around my lower back, pressing me into her and whispering, “Shut up and ride, fucker.”

 

Which I did.  But that was the last time that anyone ever saw Sunny, for once we had finished our energetic humping, I pulled out my iPhone and keyed in the code for Raul to put her to sleep.  I hadn’t planned on removing her from her existence quite that early, but I felt it would be better if she didn’t go back to the dorms, if for no other reason than to keep from completely demoralizing every single male who might see that tattoo.  She stayed the night with Raul at my shitty apartment, which I was keeping as a contingency in case something went disastrously wrong.

 

The two of them had waited there with the patience of machines, monitoring Eve’s fembots, as well as Eve and Ashiko, ready to alert me in case any movement was made toward the estate, and to show up with the truck once Eve’s fembot army exfiltrated the area, which according to tradition they would do at 0600 hours.  Despite the fact that they had both been in fembot/himbot mode, I couldn’t help but wonder, looking at the two of them now standing side by side in the harsh glare of the floodlights, if they’d fucked during the night; after all, Raul was big enough to ride Sunny’s rollercoaster pussy.

 

At 6:45 AM the truck was loaded of all things fembot related, the doors shut, and my sweet-smelling robots had returned to their various beds, leaving me and my goth slut standing by my bitchin’ wheels whilst Raul lay inside, having his OS updated (okay, I sat on the back edge of the car while Sunny knelt and performed a much needed bit of oral magic on my neglected cock).  She finished at precisely the same time he did, the window on my laptop winking off just as the last drop of my jizz was consumed by the vamp-bot.  She put my dick away, and I stood up and turned around, sighing as I faced my doppelganger.  He looked good, he looked perfect, but admiring my virtual twin was taking narcissism to a whole new level, and was actually making me feel a little ill.  I pulled out my iPhone and keyed in Raul’s code, releasing him from the network.

 

“Dude,” he said, once he’d shaken his head to clear the virtual cobwebs from his stolen brain, “I know this is necessary, and all, but it really fucking sucks.”

 

 

I explained everything that had happened since the backup that now resided in his brain had been made, that backup being only hours old, it having been created once I’d put myself in cybersleep at midnight.  He climbed into the truck, dressed in new, clean clothes (exactly the same ones I would be wearing in a few hours), and with a grocery bag filled with enough eats and smokes to last him the rest of this long day.  I watched them pull out, admiring my Goth fembot as she sat in the passenger seat with her back straight, staring expressionlessly through the windshield, and I could not help feeling a twinge of regret that I had had to remove her lockout, so that my other half could command her as easily as I could, since I was pretty sure that his dick would be halfway down her throat before they hit the street.

 

Some truly strange shit would be happening today, and it was a needful thing that another version of me would be out there doing it.  But in all truth we weren’t the same person, despite our shared memories and experiences.  We were diverging, becoming wholly separate people, with new memories and experiences unique to the individual.  But at the end of the day only one of us would be allowed to retain his thoughts.  The other would simply be wiped and disposed of when his usefulness was at an end.

 

I have no idea how many thousands of words have been written about what it would be like to have a duplicate of yourself running around, doing your work for you so that you might live a better life.  There are no end of ethical considerations, societal implications, and moral imperatives to be debated by people far wiser than I can ever hope to be.  But I can say, without fear of contradiction, that the whole clone thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, if for no other reason than it allows you to see how much of a dork you look like when you walk.

 

I took one final, anally retentive look around the house, making sure that nothing was amiss before disrobing and settling myself within the pile of my warm, naked women.  The house was quiet, their computer-driven breathing the only signs of life.  I closed my eyes and waited for the timer on my iPhone to finish its two-minute countdown, after which time my sweet-smelling robots would be released from the network, and awaken to greet the last day of their lives.

 

 

The sex was great, but it was always great.  I performed with my usual gusto, though inwardly I cringed every time my dick was swallowed, inserted, or otherwise put to use.  Robbi kept her eyes on me at all times during that early morning orgy, anxious that I might lose my nerve; call the whole thing off.  I would have liked to, but I was now committed.  Sunny had already emailed her parents that she was dropping out and joining the Church of Scientology.  I had originally planned to have her simply disappear, but what with the Amber Alert system in place she would have been declared a missing person within hours, and the last thing I needed was for cops to come nosing around the campus, especially since she had work to do.

 

“I love you,” my doomed bride said simply, her long legs wrapped around me, caressing my face with an elegant hand as I came down from a towering orgasm.  “I know that you’re nervous about us,” she whispered, pulling me in close and wrapping her arms around me, pressing me into the softness of her incredible bosom.  “Please don’t worry, my love.  No matter what you do, no matter what choice you make, I know it will be the right thing for us.  Just know that I will love you until the day I die, Jake McBride.”

 

 

 

Chapter 29

Fembot U

 

I walked from the parking lot to my only class that morning on leaden legs, and I was glad of the thick fog that had rolled in, shrouding the campus.  Nature, it seemed, was providing a little symbolic backdrop to emphasize the murkiness in which I had been living my sordid life.

 

I was also glad of the fog, for it prevented me from seeing the sordid behavior going on all about me, though my computer-enhanced hearing picked it up all the same.  Moans, squeals, and cries of “Oh, God!” echoed about me as my fellow students got their rocks off on the hoods of cars, bushes, benches, against pillars, or bending over drinking fountains.

 

The contagion had spread precisely as I predicted it would.  In not much more than a week, Eve’s fembots had infected practically every denizen of the U; public sex was now the norm, and was tacitly encouraged by the administration; the assorted campus libraries had since become known as lay-braries, and I had heard unconfirmed rumors of porn films being shot in the theatre.  There was, of course, no mention of bizarre behavior or illicit activity in any of the campus news media, as Eve’s iron hand effectively quashed any mention of the sexual escapades that were now part of the everyday life of the Berkeley student.

 

A soft body, barely dressed in a long coat and nothing else shimmered out of the mist and stumbled into me, running a hand over my ever-present bulge.  “Mmm, you’re built,” she giggled giddily.  “Can I suck your cock?”  I begged off, desiring nothing more than to reach the safety of my eight o’clock Physics lecture, which was silly on my part, as there would likely be a dozen girls there who would make the same offer, though they would at least be more properly attired.  Maybe.

 

I made it on time, having almost slammed into a guy nailing a chick against a tree just outside of Birge Hall.  “Eleven hours,” I muttered, “just make it eleven hours and it will all be over.”  The blowjobs I received during the lecture did calm me down a bit, but did little to clear my head.  Everywhere I looked in that lecture hall, some part of someone was getting sucked on, licked, poked or fingered.  One would think that the University faculty would find this unacceptable, and they had, so Ashiko had informed me when I pumped her for information earlier in the week.  According to her the dissenting educators had met with Eve, who told them in no uncertain terms that any member of faculty who failed to honor their contract would be summarily dismissed, tenured or otherwise.  They stormed out of her office, threatening to denounce her, but no one was fired and no complaints were filed, for Eve’s cadre of fuckbots had been dispatched within the hour to the offices of the disgruntled professors, who were then deftly licked into compliance.

 

The class ended with the professor hastily leaving the hall, the look on her stricken face showing that she desired nothing so much as a good snatch-sucking.  I made it outside, refusing an offer of a teabagging that on any other day I would have welcomed.  The fog had lifted, and the warm California sun, about which so many god-awful songs have been written, hung lazily in the sky, charting its steadfast course through the changeless heavens, whilst I charted my treacherous course through the chaotic campus.

 

“KI-AI!”

 

I turned sharply to see a large group of students, all girls, dressed in various forms of martial arts clothing, crouched on the grass of the Faculty Glade, performing a series of kicks and strikes.

 

ALL ABLE-BODIED FEMALE STUDENTS ARE HEREBY REQUIRED TO ATTEND BASIC MARTIAL ARTS INSTRUCTION

 

That pronouncement had appeared in all news media precisely one week ago, pushed through by Executive Order.  Eve had used the attack on Dawn, as well as year’s worth of accounts of date rapes, minor assaults, gropings, etc., to emphasize to the University Regents that the status quo could not continue.  As World War II had driven women out of the homes and into traditionally male jobs, they now needed to be trained to defend themselves, even to the point of it being compulsory.  Males, presumably, could look after themselves.

 

But what I saw being taught on that grass was not Aikido, or even Tai Chi, but what appeared to my Kung Fu Theatre trained eyes as a more offensive style of fighting: Muay Thai.  Fists, elbows, knees, and feet flashed in the bright, morning air.  The instructor, a slight man of Asian origin, ran them through their paces, teaching them devastating strikes, debilitating kicks, and an underhand grab and yank that would make me puke my guts out if I saw it performed on a guy for real.  He was even teaching them headbutting for Christ’s sake.

 

Was Eve building an army?  I hadn’t asked her and she hadn’t volunteered.  All I know is that if walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it will likely rip your balls off and stomp on them.

 

I stopped on my way to the gym for a much-needed latte.  There was relatively little sex going on in the café, for which I was thankful.  I placed my order with the cute Iranian chick behind the counter, though I’d have preferred to substitute a wee dram of Irish whiskey for the shot of amaretto syrup.  She seemed a little put out that I had limited my choice to a latte and nothing else, but considering the multitude of ten-dollar bills clipped to her string bikini, and the foam on her lips that I presumed wasn’t steamed milk, I figured she was doing okay.  But whilst waiting for my overpriced coffee I was accosted, not by somebody wanting to give me something, but rather by someone who wanted something from me, “Dude, I’ll give you ten bucks for a condom.”

 

“Excuse me?” I replied.

 

“Dude, help a guy out,” the scruffy looking guy said, looking over his shoulder toward a sweet-assed, little brunette who was standing outside consulting her watch.  “Man, I need a rubber in the worst fucking way.”  I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, standing there in a state of obvious agitation, the three howling wolves on his black t-shirt an ironic metaphor of his urgent need.

 

“Hey, bud, I’d love to do you a solid,” I said, trying to keep the smirk off my face, “but I’m fresh out.”  It wasn’t exactly a lie, but the truth was far more complex. Condoms, like so many other things in my life, were a thing of the past.  As Eve had regained her youth, as Robbi’s eyesight had improved beyond the need for corrective lenses, so too had STD’s become a concern for lesser mortals, for my technology cured even that.  “Try the 7-11 around the corner.  They’re a lot less than ten bucks apiece.”

 

He looked at me like I was from Mars.  “Dude, where have you been?  They don’t got any.  Nobody’s got any for, like, three miles!”

 

“You’re shitting me!” I said, actually surprised by something for the first time in days.

 

“No way, bro.  A guy could make a fucking fortune with a backpack full of rubbers.  Oh, shit!”  He ran out quickly through the glass doors, for his prospective piece of tail had wandered off, quite likely in search of someone whose meat had a wrapper.

 

Jesus-fucking-Christ, I thought, this is bad.  This was exactly the sort of thing that I feared.  Someone, somewhere, was going to notice that there wasn’t a fucking condom to be had for miles.  Another goddamn data point: one of many hundreds that were going to point to my no longer bony ass.  Like my new friend with the cool shirt, I got out of there quickly, my desire for fresh air outweighing my need for caffeine.  I made a beeline for the gym, scanning the sky for black helicopters the whole way, damn near slamming into a pack of cheerleaders who were attempting to make a clothing-optional human pyramid.

 

 

At precisely ten-thirty they began filing through the double doors to the wrestling room, wheeling their suitcases behind them, looks of excitement on their pretty faces.  I had requested their presence under the guise of taking a trip out to Half-Moon Bay, for a little testing prior to our departure.  Eve had graciously given me the go ahead, though I could tell she thought I was pushing it, using all of them at the same time.  It really wasn’t any skin off her nose, though, seeing as how she was in conferences all day, giving speeches and whatnot.

 

They all looked at me hungrily, expectant, their jade pendants flashing.  “Thank you for coming, ladies.”

 

“You’re welcome, Master,” they replied in unison, their precision eerie.

 

“I wanted to meet with you all today because…”

 

“Pardon me, Master,” Sidney piped up in her squeaky voice, but we’re missing someone.”

 

“Yes, I know we are,” I said, “but we have much to do.  We will need every minute of our time together to complete our business before catching our flight this evening, and we can’t afford to wait for stragglers.”  They accepted Sunny’s absence without concern or remark; she had made quite the poor impression on them.

 

“I hope you ladies will forgive me,” I continued, “but I’ve brought you here under false pretenses.”  A few of them cocked their heads at me, but they remained silent; Eve really had programmed them well.  “I know how we all feel about Eve, how important it is that she be happy, how important it is that we make her happy.”  Nods here and there told me I was precisely on the right track.  I picked up one of the caps I had placed on the table, and held it up for them to see.  “I know that all of you are aware that this cap is the reason for your newfound martial skills, not to mention a few other new aspects of your lives, I dare say.  I’m also sure that at least some of you are aware that it is more than a teaching tool.”

 

I paused to let this sink in, and to see how well they were keeping up.  There was no rolling of the eyes, or any form of surprise whatsoever, which confirmed my suspicions that Eve had told them everything.  I went on to explain that the cap was responsible for the changes to Madame’s body, and to the bodies of several other women, my fiancée among them.  Again, I could see I wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know.  “But you girls have undergone no such changes, for which I am to blame.”

 

There was absolute silence in the wrestling room, though the faint moans and sighs of urgently performed Lesbian love could be heard echoing in the showers just beyond the padded doors.  “But I can fix that…if you wish.”

 

They wished.  I was inundated by the pack of them, breaking ranks, surrounding me, gabbling about how big or small whatever parts of them needed to be in order to please Madame.  I had allotted an hour for picture taking and documenting what they wanted done, but that, as it turned out, wasn’t necessary, for Eve had already done it for me.  Each and every one of them had been given a little thumb drive containing source nudes of them, which any college girl with half a brain should know better than to carry on her person lest she wish to become CollegeSluts.com newest poster whore.  The miniature flash drives also contained jpg’s of their idealized selves – not Kat’s work, but someone else’s.  They had been concentrating on these images for the better part of two weeks with no success.

 

Ecstatic with the prospects of pleasing Madame, they donned the caps for another round with my laptop, and lay down upon the padded floor, in precisely the same spots they had the first time.  Dawn looked up at me, tears sparkling in her dark eyes, “Oh, thank you, Master,” she blubbered, one hand on her small chest, the other clutched about my ankle.  “I will finally be able to make Madame truly happy.  Thank you, thank you!”  But then she paused, fidgety, “Oh, but I’ll never be able to sleep.  I’m too excited!” a sentiment echoed by the girls nearest her.

 

“I shouldn’t worry too much about that, girls,” I said, holding up my phone and punching in the code, thereby putting their excitement to rest.  Two minutes later, my clone, followed by Sunny and Tiffany (who was there as Sunny’s backup), entered the wrestling room, the two fembots completely incognito in their blue jeans and hoodies, not to mention the dark glasses that hid Tiffany’s silver eyes from the world.

 

“Any problems, bro?” I asked my twin.

 

“Um, no,” he said, not quite looking into my eyes.  “No problems, dude.  Um, here, she, um… gave me this,” he added, pressing into my hand a small, flat, box tied with silver ribbon – a wedding present.

 

“She gave you this…” I started, confused, looking at him, his eyes casting shiftily about.  “How could she…?  When could she…?”

 

“It’s not my fault!” he blurted out.  “She wasn’t supposed to be there!”

 

“She wasn’t supposed…?” but the awful truth was apparent, the look on his (my) face speaking volumes.  “No…” I groaned, looking up into one of the caged light fixtures rather than at my evil twin, “…you didn’t.  She’s supposed to be picking up our wedding rings.  Tell me you did not fuck my fiancée.”

 

His hands were in his pockets and his eyes were looking somewhere near the vicinity of my chin.  “I’m sorry, dude, she got a late start.  I tried to just take Tiffany and go, but…you know how she can be.  If it makes you feel any better, I…”

 

“Stop,” I said, putting up a hand to ward off visions of my clone banging my honey-blonde fembot on the pool table.  “I don’t want to fucking hear it.”  What I wanted was to clock the opportunistic bastard, but I needed my twin whole and undamaged if I was going to pull this off, plus the idea of beating the shit out of my other half was just way too fucking Freudian to think about.  I held the fistful of jade pendants out to him.  “Just get out to Half-Moon Bay like I told you.  Crikey, I’m going to need therapy when this is all over.”

 

He took the pendants and left, leaving my two hopefully unfucked cyborgs in my care.  They set up the extra-large operating theatre quickly whilst I, my mood decidedly dim, took care of getting everyone’s digital files in place, and then installing the surgical programs in Dawn, Andi, and Lexus so that they could assist.  At precisely eleven-fifteen it began, the largest fembot/iBod conversion ever attempted.  Kia, at the head of the line of fifteen fembots, parted the folds of the polyethylene sheeting, entered the tent, and lay upon the first table.  The five surgical robots, stripped down to their skin so as to avoid the possibility of bloodstains, worked with an almost balletic fluidity: Lexus prepped her for surgery, Andi fired the sensors into her frontal lobes, Dawn sliced her open, Tiffany implanted the interface in her abdomen, and Sunny closed her up.  Once she was completed, Claire removed her from the table and placed her on the mat.  I remembered having once thought of producing them at production line speeds, an idle fantasy that I briefly entertained, and dismissed, but that had come true nonetheless.

 

As I watched them work, moving from girl to girl, I was reminded of something I had read about years back: von Neumann machines – machines that make other machines.  I clocked them doing Mercedes; nineteen minutes, fifty-two seconds from start to finish, with each subsequent girl being placed on the mat five minutes after the previous one.  I couldn’t help but admire the precision with which they worked, a perfection that I had brought about, but at the same time it scared me, knowing what the possibilities were, how easy it would be to accomplish this on a large scale.

 

I sat there in the scarred wooden chair, taking notes on their performance, but also acting as lookout, using my iBod tracker.  My other half was indeed at Half-Moon Bay, the pendants representing Eve’s nineteen fembots, moving around at odd intervals, which meant that my clone was doing a bit of work, making it look as though they weren’t all suspiciously clumped in one spot – serves the opportunistic fiancée-fucker right, I thought.  Everyone else was pretty much where they were supposed to be: Robbi was in San Fran, Maria was with the Latinas at the estate, Kat was finishing up a half-day at her job in Oakland, Ashiko was en route to Eve’s house where she would presumably be getting her owner packed for the journey, and Eve was across campus, listening to a bunch of doddery old farts wheezing about funds, very probably being ogled through cataract-ridden eyes.

 

Having nothing else to do, I opened the small box containing Robbi’s gift to me: a brand new, gleaming, chrome Zippo lighter, the inscription engraved upon its front causing me to tear up: Jake & Roberta – Together Forever.  The words were enclosed within a heart, one that precisely matched the proportions of the heart tattooed on Tiffany’s ass, which was fitting, it being the theme for our wedding.  I wiped my eyes and shoved the lighter in my pocket; I needed to remain focused.

 

It took a hair under ninety minutes for the main group to be completed, plus an additional thirty-five minutes for the four remaining units to be finished up by Tiffany and Sunny, at which time I let out a pent-up breath worthy of the Guinness Book of Records.  Now that the last of the fembots was in the can, so to speak, I helped my two overworked fembots clean up, and then went out to grab a much-needed smoke.

 

So it is done, I thought, my lungs gratefully taking in the nicotine.  All of the women who were a danger to me were now completely under my thumb.  The doing of it had been an expensive and dangerous process, but there really was nothing else for it.  I had to ensure that I had total control over each and every one of them before getting them on that plane – even one fembot left behind could spell doom.

 

I had been awake for only eight hours, but I felt as though I hadn’t slept in weeks, and I still had a long way to go.  I dropped the cigarette butt to the cement and crushed the remaining life out of it with my shoe, just as some of Eve’s new security dykes rounded the corner of the building, chasing some guy wearing tan corduroys.  They brought him down hard on the asphalt a little to my right, and began doing a Rodney King on his head.  It was a common enough sight nowadays.  Knowing that the campus would become a sexual wonderland in relatively quick time, Eve had tripled the number of guards in and around the place, and students were warned to keep their ID’s on them at all times; from what I’d heard, the phallic nightsticks they carried on their belts were not gender-specific.  I shook my head at the craziness of this new life, my imminent departure from it a blessing.

 

Everything was squared away by the time I reentered the wrestling room, my two online robots, still naked, standing against the padded walls, arms at their sides, awaiting input. I couldn’t help but feel a little giddy.  Everything had gone smoothly, so far; not a single hitch in my well thought-out plans, for which I felt I deserved a reward.  Five minutes later had Tiffany kneeling between my legs, her massive, pale cans wrapped around my sizable johnson, stroking it softly, whilst Sunny stood next to me, so that I could drape my arm around her waist and rest my head upon her hip.  Despite the inordinate pleasure I felt at the hands of my iBods, it was bittersweet – this perfect life would be ending not long after sundown.  I sighed as I came on Tiffany’s face, her silver eyes flashing in the light.

 

“I hope you enjoyed that orgasm, stallion,” came her normally warm contralto, now distinctly cold, as cold as the barrel of the gun pressed against the base of my skull, “I expect it’s the last one you’ll ever have.”

 

 

 

Chapter 30

The Angel of Death

 

“And to think I once said that you weren’t greedy, Jake.  Well, I suppose that shows how good a judge of human nature I am, huh?”

 

I actually had to force myself to breathe, so great was my fear at that moment.  It was over, all over.  Despite all my machinations, plans, and contingencies, my power-mad robot had caught me with my pants literally down.  Tiffany and Sunny remained stock still, doing nothing, regardless of the First Law of Fembotics that sat at the core of their programming, whether because of the proximity of the gun to my head, or because Eve had not yet offered me any real harm, I did not know.

 

“Well, well, stallion, you’ve certainly been a busy boy, haven’t you?”  I felt the barrel of the gun pull away, but didn’t move as Eve came around to face me.  I could have shouted a command to Sunny to disarm her, and come away with a bullet in my throat before uttering a sound.

 

She was wearing a short, cream-colored dress with a scoop neck, her wondrous breasts heaving, threatening to tumble out, their impressive bulk not quite overshadowing the SIG P232 in her right hand, the gun she normally kept in her nightstand in spite of the city of Berkeley’s philosophy that there’s no such thing as a bad person.  It gleamed softly in the light; a small, stylish pistol that a lot of macho assholes would laugh at were they in my position; that is if you can laugh after your jawbone has been blown away.  She positioned herself about three feet back of where Tiffany still knelt, barely out of reach of my impotent guardians, a look of sad resignation etched across her beautiful face.  “I would have given you the world.”

 

“Listen, Eve,” I started, amazed that I had managed to find my voice what with my heart taking up most of my throat, “I…”

 

“Tiffany, Sunny, walk over to the furthest corner of the room and wait there, tits to the wall, please.  The sentient beings need to talk.”  I could tell that Eve knew precisely how to command them, making sure to include their name when she spoke to them, knowledge gained, no doubt, from her experience with her own telepathically-controlled units.

 

“Yes, Madame,” they replied in unison, and then did as she ordered, every bit as quickly as if it had been me cracking the whip.

 

“Oh, yes, I command them now,” she said coolly, seeing my shocked expression, “I alone command them.  You see, us girls had a little talk while you were outside having your smoke break.  They only respond to me now.  You know, I’m really very surprised that you didn’t command them to disregard instructions coming from other people.  Pretty sloppy, stallion.”

 

Yes, it had been sloppy, but it wasn’t as though I’d had much choice: I’d disabled their lockouts due to the need for my clone to be able to command them, or various others as contingencies might dictate.  Stupid in retrospect, but I had never considered the possibility that I would be so blindsided, so unable to react to a threat.

 

“Why can’t I feel them, Jake?” she asked simply, the stainless steel of the barrel flashing in the light as she gestured toward her unconscious robots.  “Even when they were asleep, I could feel them.  I could sense their dreams, their fears, their wants; but now…nothing.”

 

“I…” I started, wondering what I could possibly say that wouldn’t end up with her putting a slug in my eye, something I knew she was capable of.

 

“Make me understand,” she pressed on, her emerald eyes flashing even more brightly than the gun.  “What are you doing to them?  Why did you lie to me?”

 

For the barest fraction of a nanosecond I thought about telling her the truth, about spilling my guts entirely, just so I could see the look on her face when she realized that she had taken my cock into every part of her reconfigured Lesbian body, and had swallowed my jizz with greater enthusiasm than a porn starlet, all because of a few lines of code that I had written.  But my incipient defiance quickly gave way as I imagined a bullet crashing through my skull.  No, my survival depended on keeping her stable for as long as possible, in the desperate hope that my clone might notice that Eve’s GPS signal was emanating from the wrestling room, the last place in the world she should be, and shut her down post-fucking-haste.  “I will tell you, Eve, but I’d like to ask you something first, if I may.  How did you find me?  I went to a great deal of trouble to avoid detection, but still you managed to catch me.  No small feat.”

 

She leered at me, an unpleasant grin that nonetheless showed that I had counted successfully upon her vanity.  “I’ve been keeping a close eye on you, loverboy.  Did you know that?  I know where you’ve been, you’re comings and goings, every last thing you’ve done with your waking hours.”

 

“No,” I lied, trying to act a little hurt, “I didn’t know that.  I thought you trusted me.”

 

“Oh, I do, or at least I did.  No, my girls have been keeping watch on you, at night and at school, not because of a lack of trust, but for your protection; to keep you out of harm’s way.  Jake, I’m not sure you’re truly aware of what you’ve achieved, but it was important to keep you safe since you are my miracle worker, my Merlin the Magician.”

 

If there was one thing I knew about Eve, it was the she loved the sound of her own voice, something that is probably endemic of theatre people, but she was talking, and the longer she did so, the greater my chances of survival.  “Pretty impressive, Eve,” I rasped, licking my dry lips, “but all of your girls were with me.  How did you know to find us here if their GPS pendants were elsewhere?”

 

She chuckled, enjoying the moment.  “Oh, stallion, please don’t take offense but I really expected better of you.  Come on,” she said, almost playfully, “think about it for a second.  How would you do it?”

 

I did think about it, not so much because I was curious, but because I needed to buy time.  But how had she done it?  The pendants were all accounted for, and all of them were in Half-Moon Bay, and all of her girls were here, unless…

 

“You had a backup, didn’t you?  Sunny’s your backup.”

 

“I’m so sorry, Jake, no gold star for you,” she clucked, enjoying her little victory.  “And here I thought you were smart.  Let me try again.  Have you ever heard the phrase ‘Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.’”

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow…” but the self-satisfied smile on her face communicated volumes.  “Oh, you sly bitch.  You slipped me a fucking Trojan, didn’t you?  Tiffany’s got a GPS unit on her, too, right?  Where is it?  Injected?  Or…her piercing.  It’s under that goddamn silver plaque, isn’t it?”  Despite the fear I felt, I was very much in awe of her underhanded trick.

 

“Very good, stallion,” she purred, “there’s hope for you yet.  So there I was, bored out of my skull, listening to those old geezers droning on about proposed expansions, when I checked my laptop.  I sat there, watching all my little dots running around Half-Moon Bay, feeling a little envious at all the fun you must be having, and thinking I might just cancel the rest of my meetings and come out and join you.  But then I saw her, your silver slut, far from where she should be.  I knew she couldn’t be with Roberta, and I certainly knew where you were.  So why was she on campus?

 

“Normally, I would have sent one of my girls to investigate, but I couldn’t do that, seeing as how they were supposed to be with you.  Ashiko was at my place, and I obviously couldn’t send a security guard to look for a mostly-naked silver girl, could I?  So I cut my meeting short and came down to investigate for myself.

 

“Imagine my shock, stallion, at seeing you of all people through the crack in those doors,” she said, indicating the double doors that led off to the showers.  “I listened to you giving Tiffany and Sunny orders to ‘keep an eye on them’, and then watched you leave.  I felt as though I was in a dream, Jake, when I walked in and found my girls lying on the floor, their minds no longer…a part of me…I…oh…!”

 

Of all the reactions I could have expected, tears were not amongst them.  She sniffled, and wiped at her eyes with the back of her free hand as the waterworks began to flow, causing her to lower the gun a little bit.  Was she breaking down, as Robbi had when my programming and her reality conflicted?  I had programmed Eve to trust me, and now that it was painfully obvious to her that she couldn’t, would she go the same way as my first ever fembot?  I thought about rushing her, but her reactions were at least twice as fast as mine, and I remembered how, when testing her, she had put twenty arrows in the bullseye at eighty yards without a miss, using a simple recurve bow.

 

“I trusted you!” she screamed, bringing the gun up level with my forehead, pointing it at pretty much the same spot where foreign objects had been fired into her a lifetime ago.  “We had an agreement!”  Her tears were gone now, replaced by a hard, cold fury, signifying that she, unlike Robbi, had apparently resolved her breakdown, my programming nullified by contradictory experience.  “Wake them up!”

 

“I-I’d really rather not, Eve.  They’re not quite…finished yet.”  And as I said those words, a peculiar calmness began stealing over me, a calmness based upon the certainty that I was not going to live out the hour.  “They still need more time…to allow the incisions to heal fully.”

 

“Incisions?” she repeated, lowering the gun ever so slightly, looking over to the newly created robots, fresh off the production line.  “What incisions?  They look perfectly normal to me.”

 

“You can’t see them,” I continued on, amazed at how relaxed I could be with a gun at my head and my pants around my ankles, “not without a speculum, at any rate.”

 

“A spec…?” she started, a look of confused disbelief clouding her face, and she looked over at them again, trying to piece things together, unable to take in what I was saying.  “My God, Jake,” she said in a hushed voice, “what have you done to them?”

 

And so I told her.  I told her everything that had transpired in this room: how Sunny and Tiffany had implanted the devices in their bellies, turning them into remotely-controllable cyborgs, which had the unfortunate effect of locking her out of their thoughts.  I left out the bit about the sensors, because if she knew how easily they could be implanted, she would waste no time turning me into her willing servant, as well.  I also left out the existence of my clone, telling her I’d got a Mexican to run around Half-Moon Bay for me.  Raul was my ace in the hole.  Even with me dead, he might still manage to save the day.

 

She stood there, disbelief etched across her porcelain features, her coral lips slightly parted, “That all sounds so fantastic, Jake.  Why should I believe you?  I certainly can’t trust you, can I?”

 

“Look in that big laundry cart behind you,” I said, that eerie calm still guiding me, knowing that my future was entirely out of my hands: either my clone was going to shut her down with his phone, or she would shut me down with a bullet.  “There’s a small brown case on top of the pile.  Look inside if you don’t believe me.”

 

She looked slantways at me for a moment, obviously suspecting a trick, which I couldn’t help but find a little funny considering that it was the first time I’d spoken the truth to her in weeks.  “Sunny,” she said to the naked, tattooed girl, “get the brown box from the laundry cart.”

 

“Yes, Madame.”

 

My – or more accurately, Eve’s – hot goth robot retrieved the box from the cart, and stood by it, waiting for further instructions.

 

“Open the box, Sunny.”  She did, and when it didn’t explode, Eve had her bring the box over so that she could inspect its contents.  She held up the thumb-sized titanium case, the cellular interface that made remote control possible, and more importantly, dependable.  “So this is what you’ve been working on in your workshop, stallion?  And you’ve implanted one in each of my girls?”

 

Was death only seconds away?  I very much thought it might be.  “Yes, although the actual operations were performed by Tiffany and Sunny.  It takes a more skilled hand than I have.”

 

“And this allows you to control them?” she continued.

 

“Yes,” I half-lied.  “Across the room, or across the globe, makes no difference, so long as there’s a cellular signal.”

 

She licked her lips, and I could tell by the rise and fall of her stupendous bosom that her respirations were increasing.  She inclined her head to the waiting robot, “Sunny, is this true?”

 

“Yes, Madame,” she replied, and I was glad that my fembots were not inclined to elaborate.

 

“And do you have one of these inside you, too?”

 

She answered in the affirmative.

 

“And Tiffany?  Does she now have one in her belly?”  She received the same answer.

 

“And tell me, Sunny…” she began, her nostrils flaring and her eyes widening as a sudden realization flashed in her brain, “did you, or Tiffany, put one of these inside of me?”

 

“No, Madame,” she replied, with the complete lack of prevarication that make fembots the perfect servants.

 

A sigh of relief escaped my fiery iBod, but the gun stayed precisely on a level with my frontal lobe.  “What can I say, stallion, I’m impressed.”  But then her voice took on a more serious, sinister quality, “Is everything I need to know on your laptop?”

 

I could draw things out; ask her what kinds of things she wanted to know, in an effort to stall for enough time for my clone to realize that I might be in trouble, but her grave countenance, coupled with the complete hopelessness of my situation, boiled my response down to three simple words, “Yup, pretty much.”

 

“Tiffany, bring me Jake’s laptop.”

 

She did as ordered, holding my open laptop up at just above chest level for her new owner to see.  It was running my big tit screensaver, although I had long since abandoned Traci Topps, Minka, and Lisa Lipps for the more natural look of my perfected women.  It was ironic that just as Tiffany held the computer up for her mistress, the image on the screen of Lupe being cornholed by Maria dissolved into a picture of Eve kneeling on a mussed bed, licking the head of a sixteen-inch long, green, double-headed dildo, the silicone shaft of which was fully enveloped within her expansive bosom.

 

“Touching, stallion,” she said with a wry glance in my direction.  “Show me the desktop, Tiffany.”  I almost laughed out loud at the dumbfounded expression on Eve’s face as her image disappeared, to be replaced by the security screen, the little box automatically filling with the eight dots that made up my password, which then gave way to the desktop, a rather striking image of the Latinas on their hands and knees in a line, their huge juggs suspended beneath them, Robbi kneeling on one end of the line, poised to release the tit in her hand, as though to set their knockers in motion.  “My God, ” she whispered, “sh-she…”

 

“…controlled the computer,” I finished for her.  “Yes, they can do that.”  If I had thought my redheaded robot was power-mad before, it was nothing to what I was seeing now.  I could tell her mind was racing with the possibilities of having remote control of computer systems, and of having sentient, cunt-licking computers at her command.  Her breasts were heaving again, and she clutched at the gun convulsively, licking her lips in the excitement of discovery.  But then she turned back to me.  “Jake,” she said, her voice hoarse, “you do realize what this means, don’t you?”

 

“That I do, angel,” I replied, knowing on all levels precisely what was meant, the gravity of her words not leaving me in the slightest doubt.

 

“I really am sorry, stallion, but you’re just too resourceful.  It will be hardest on Roberta,” she sighed, “your disappearance, but she’ll adjust.  This one will have to disappear too, of course; jilted lover, and all that,” she said, inclining her head towards Sunny.  “Yes, that’s the best scenario, I think.  For obvious reasons her body can’t be found, not if you’ve put something other than that big dick of yours inside it.  It is a pity, though,” she said, brushing her left hand along one of the gothbot’s erect nipples, then tracing the outline of the artwork on her belly.  “I must say I’m really very impressed with what you’ve done with her in so short a time.  You really are a Master, Jake, as worthy of the title as Michelangelo or Raphael.”

 

“Thank you, Eve, I replied, looking into the depths of her emerald eyes, my voice surprisingly calm.  “Promise me you’ll take care of Robbi.  She is special to me,” which was the truth; she was after all the first.

 

“I will take good care of her, I promise you that.”  She raised the gun, and took careful aim at a spot directly between my eyes.  “You know, it’s funny, Jake,” she said in a quizzical tone, “even though I’m about to kill you, I still love you.  I think I always will.”

 

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her words, the last I expected to hear, “Angel,” I sighed, shaking my head, “I don’t doubt it for a moment.”

 

“Goodbye, stallion,” she said, and pulled the trigger.

 

Nothing happened.

 

She looked down at her hand, curiosity mingling with incomprehension.  She jerked the gun at me, repeatedly, her lips pressed tight together, but the gun wasn’t firing.  “Stop it, you bastard!”

 

“Eve…?” I started, but no sound came out of my constricted throat, for I could scarcely believe that I was still alive.

 

“How are you doing this?” she screamed, the rubber walls deadening the sound.  Her expression crazed, she quickly switched the gun to her other hand, and pointed it at me, but for all her efforts the gun simply refused to fire.

 

OhJesusGodthankyou, my mind reeled, Oh, dear God in Heaven, thank you!  I stole a look at my two fembots, standing there, their flawless features devoid of expression.  They had saved me; were at this moment saving me, preventing Eve’s fingers from firing the gun, not allowing a human to be harmed – the First Law was still in effect!

 

Tears of rage were streaming down my redheaded iBod’s face as she kept trying to shoot me, but her gun hand was plainly not following her directives.  In frustration she threw the gun to the side, her stiff nipples peeking over the scoop neck of her dress.  “I don’t know how you’re doing this, Jake, but don’t for a moment think that you’re going to turn me into one of your fucking robots!”

 

“You are a fucking robot, Eve.  You’ve been one for more than a month now,” I taunted, giddy that my programming was still intact.  “And my robots are programmed not to allow humans beings to be harmed, you psychotic bitch!  Tiffany, shut Eve down.”

 

Eve’s eyes widened, and her hands clutched convulsively at her belly as she realized what was happening, what had been happening – what she had become.  But she wasn’t becoming unconscious.  “Tiffany,” I repeated, my voice rising in alarm, “shut Eve down!”

 

The silver-eyed girl made no response of any kind, but simply stood there like an overly endowed mannequin.  Low, mad laughter began bubbling up from my now self-aware robot, and I felt my normally stiff cock shrivel in fear.  “Don’t you remember, Jake?  You no longer control them.  They’re my robots, you son of a bitch!  They won’t come to your rescue!”

 

“Maybe not,” I said, the calmness I’d felt earlier having long since evaporated, replaced by an icy dagger of fear at the pit of my stomach, “but there are always other ways.  Dawn, shut Eve…!”

 

She moved with the speed of a lynx, leaping forward and landing on my half-naked body, pressing me into the hard chair, her strong legs pinning my arms to my sides, and shoving her pillowy bosom into my face, muffling my words quite effectively.  “Oh, no, stallion.  No more commands from you!” she crowed, her emerald eyes wild, looking down at me with an expression of insane delight.  “Well,” she teased, her voice husky, “this is nice and cozy, isn’t it?”  She reached back, and I felt her fingers close about my flaccid tool, which in mere moments became as hard as steel in her practiced hand.  “So maybe I can’t harm you, stallion,” she purred, squeezing my fat member roughly, “but as you correctly pointed out, ‘there are always other ways…’”  And with that, I felt the head of my dick make contact with her slippery snatch, felt it disappear inside her, and when she shifted her weight slightly, felt her cunt consume the rest of its length completely.

 

“Ohh…” I moaned reflexively around the tit, the fat nipple acting like a tongue depressor.  But then with a loud slurp, she pulled her immense dug away, replacing it with her tongue, which snaked its way into my mouth, penetrating me almost as deeply as I was her.  She pulsed her sugar walls around my cock in precisely the way she knew I loved, driving me crazy as her pussy sucked on my cock as fervently as a fembot’s.  I began wondering if her plan was to fuck me to death, which I vaguely wondered might be a loophole in the First Law of Fembotics.  But that thought was put to rest within moments.

 

Let me in, Jake.

 

Oh, Jesus, I thought, my mind racing, as Eve, like a wolf at the door, sought entrance to it.

 

Please, let me in.  Let us share.  Let us be one.  It’s so good, my love.

 

No! I thought.  Oh, Jesus God, no!

 

I thought you didn’t believe in Jesus.  Where is your Atheism now, my love?

 

I could feel myself slipping away again, as I had weeks ago, my cock buried in her ass, her consciousness hovering at the periphery of mine.  But there was a subtle difference this time: the feelings were sharper, more clearly defined.  It was as if I had been using a condom before, and we were now barebacking – pure, unadulterated mindfucking.  I could sense her hunger, her desire to dominate, as if they were my own feelings.  And as those feelings intensified, the pleasurable sensations coming from my body began to dissipate – I began to dissipate.

 

Oh, yes, stallion, I can feel you now.  We are so close, almost one.  Come to me.  Come inside me, my love.

 

Her thoughts felt so good, and as the lessening of myself continued, I could feel her essence washing over every part of me, a warm enfolding embrace that felt as though I was being immersed in liquid velvet.

 

Yes, my love, enjoy me.  There is no need for us to fight.  Let us be one.  Let us be together forever, my stallion.

 

And as I heard (felt? experienced?) her thoughts, I sensed a brightness, a whitish, pinkish beacon that exuded a warmth more pervasive than anything I had felt thus far.  The beacon resolved itself into greater detail, and I could see that it was not a source of light…but of life.  The source of all life!

 

The pussy before me was obviously a mental construct, something placed somewhere between our two consciousnesses by Eve, a passage representing (salvation? freedom? pleasure beyond description?)  It was something upon which I could hang my metaphorical hat.  I knew all of these things with the sureness that an infant knows that the tit means love, comfort, closeness, and I also knew it was something calculated to lure me in, something irresistible, overwhelming temptation.

 

Through those wet, pulsing, shining labia lay Oblivion: the death of pain, worry, and suffering.  All I had to do was cross the threshold of those moist cunt lips, and we would be one; loneliness and fear would be forever banished.

 

Come inside me, my beloved.  I so need you.

 

I felt myself drawn to it, as she knew I would be, as I always had been, and as I found myself nearing its glorious perfection, a distant memory of another pussy came to my cunt-besotted mind, another voice, the sweet voice of my first ever fembot:

 

…you are free to stop whenever you want.  Do you want to stop, Jake?

 

The cunt before me beckoned, clean and warm, and to enter it would be to know bliss as I had never known: all that lay behind me was death.

 

I love you, stallion.  Let us be together, forever.

 

…you are free to stop whenever you want.  Do you want to stop, Jake?

 

Yes! I roared, and as I did so, reality reformed about me.  Light flooded my eyes, and the feeling of weight returned: mine, and the psychotic cyborg pinning me to the chair, her cunt still mercilessly grinding away at my cock.

 

“I have to hand it to you, Jake,” she hissed.  “You really are one tough-minded son of a bitch!”  She continued riding me, forcefully slamming her body down onto mine, her body slick with perspiration from the exertions of her attempted mind-rape, her face only inches from mine, strong hands holding my head over the back of the chair, her long fingers entwined in my sweaty hair.

 

“F-fuck you, bitch!” I stammered, shaking with cold after the warmth of my hallucination.  “You’re still n-not powerful enough to control my mind!”

 

“That may be true, stallion,” she whispered hotly, her eyes blazing, the sweat from her lank hair cold against my skin, “but just because I can’t control your mind doesn’t mean I can’t give it a good ass-kicking!”

 

Pain erupted in my skull, pain beyond imagining, beyond endurance.  I screamed as pressure built up inside my head, my neck snapping backward, my body jerking spasmodically whilst my laughing, flaming-haired Angel of Death rode me like I was a bucking bronco, my cock swelling even more in my death throes.  As I had left my body before, I was on the verge of leaving it again, but this time it was far from pleasurable.  I would be dead within seconds, but every second that passed felt like ten thousand lifetimes, every moment of which was spent writhing in greater agony than I was aware existed.  I took one last look at the woman atop my spasming body, her demented visage floating just above me, enjoying my suffering vicariously.

 

And then I felt no more.

 

 

I woke up rejuvenated, as I always did after being connected to my laptop, but that feeling was all too quickly replaced by a pervasive dread that began settling in my bones, for I realized what was in store for me today: the culmination of one of the greatest crimes against humanity since fucking Jonestown.  Today was ‘The Day’.

 

But when I opened my eyes, I found that everything was not as I had left it three hours ago, nor was I even in the same room in which had entered cybersleep.  I was lying on my back, the lights above me looking very much like those in the wrestling room.  Then a face began swimming before my eyes – my face!

 

“How are you feeling, Dude?”

 

“What the fuck…?” I started, but didn’t complete the question, for the voice coming out of my mouth was not mine.  I gasped as realization began taking hold, and quickly reached out to try and touch the hallucination, to ward it away.  But as my hand came into view, five long fingernails confirmed that my worst fears had indeed come to pass – they were coral.

 

 

 

Chapter 31

I, Fembot

 

“This is fucking unfair!”

 

I still couldn’t get over how weird my voice was, how strange my words sounded when spoken by someone else – someone who wasn’t supposed to be saying them.

 

“Look, I’m sorry, dude, but you always knew this could happen.”

 

“Yeah, I know I thought it could happen, but…Jesus, it was supposed to happen to somebody else!”

 

“Well, it did,” the original me said tiredly.  “Unfortunately, the somebody else just happens to be you now.  Now will you please shut up, so I can fill you in on what’s happened since midnight?”

 

“Oh, very well,” I snapped, more than a little pissed that the original me was so infuriatingly logical.  “But would you at least do me the courtesy of looking me in the eyes?”

 

“It’s not my fault,” he said defensively, “they’re heaving an awful lot, you know.  Forgive me, I thought I was being discrete.”

 

“Trust me, we can tell,” I said, hating the fact that I had just unconsciously lumped myself in with them.  He brought me up to speed on everything that happened, and I marveled at the close escape he (I) had had.  But as he finished laying out everything for me, I wondered just how close it had been.  Quite frankly, my original body looked like shit.  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.

 

“I’m fine,” he said, his fatigue obvious.  “I just wish they’d shut Eve down a little quicker.  Holy Darwin, she just about split my head open.”

 

“Speaking of ‘she,’” I whispered, hoping we weren’t going to begin speaking of her in hushed tones, fearful that her very name might arouse demons from the sixth level of Hell, “what did you do with, um, her?”

 

He pulled a DVD-RW out of the pocket of his photographers vest and held it up, the rainbows reflecting off its surface oddly incongruous of the steely resident now making her home amidst the pits and lands of the polycarbonate plastic substrate.  “I’ve got her with me, in solitary confinement.  Now, would you do me the favor of returning control of Sunny and Tiffany back over to me?”

 

I looked over his shoulder, and found that the two iBods were standing precisely as he had described them: Sunny, her arms at her sides, waiting for input, and silver Tiffany, still holding my laptop open, the screensaver now flashing an image of Ashiko giving Kitten what looked to be one hell of a good rimjob.  “Oh, of course.  Do you think they’ll listen to me?”

 

“Eve said they were only to respond to her.  Technically, in a manner of speaking, you are her.”

 

“Tiffany, Sunny, you are to follow Jake’s instructions as readily as you would mine.  Is that clear?”

 

“Yes, Madame,” they responded in chorus.

 

My original self and I breathed simultaneous sighs of relief, thankful that Eve’s programming had been vague enough to circumvent.  “Very well,” I said.  “What do we do now?”

 

“What do you mean, ‘what do we do now?’” he replied irritably.  “We proceed as scheduled.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘we proceed as scheduled?’” I replied, incredulous.  “Are you out of you brain-damaged mind?”

 

“Hey, I know it’s no picnic being a chick, but you can’t hang around here.  If something else happens, we have no backup.”

 

“Sure we do, Raul’s out there.  Call him up, he’ll…”

 

“Raul is on his way to the airport, doing what we, I mean I…” he added, a bit exasperated around the edges, “planned.  I’ll be honest, dude, I’m not feeling terribly great at the moment.  We’re going to need another backup, which means you.”

 

“Which is why I should stay here!”

 

“Wrong, and you know it!  We need to stay flexible, which means stepping back and looking at the big picture.  Eve was watching us…me!  Who knows who else might be?”

 

“Would you listen to yourself?  You sound like a lunatic!”

 

“Lunatic?” my original self bellowed.  “Nineteen emerald pendants provided by Maria’s private detective firm!  Nineteen digital images made by Darwin-knows-who!  And lastly there’s Ashiko.  She’s at Eve’s – your – place right now.  How much do you think she knows?”

 

“I…” I started.

 

“Go over to her house,” he said, and it was bizarre watching me think on the fly, “make up some bullshit story about how you got tired of listening to the Trustee’s pointless dronings, let her help put you back together, and find out what she knows!  I’ve cloned my apps onto Eve’s phone, and I’ll keep an eye on its GPS, so that I’ll know whether you’ve arrived safely.  If you run into any problems, hit my icon on your phone.  I’ll call you at five-thirty, and you and Ashiko can get yourselves to the airport.  If you don’t hear from me by a quarter ‘til, call Raul.  If you can’t get in touch with him…well, you’re on your own.”

 

“What are you saying?” my higher-pitched voice rising even higher in alarm.  “I can’t be on my own!  I’ve got tits, you fucking idiot!”

 

“Look, dude,” he sighed, “I’m sorry you’re a bitch, but do you have to be such a whiny bitch?”

 

“I-I…” and then it happened.  I felt them begin flooding down my cheeks – hot, wet tears!

 

“Oh, shit,” my original self said, his fatigue giving way to worry that I might be suffering a breakdown similar to Robbi’s.  “I’m sorry, okay.  I’m sorry.  Please forgive me.”

 

I cried, loud, braying sobs, burying my face in my hands, the tears coming faster.

 

“Oh, jeez, look.  Okay, I’m sorry, okay?  Please stop crying.  I’m fucking so…  What the fuck?”

 

I could no longer hold it in.  Laughter burst forth from me, my heavy breasts jiggling as I snorted and guffawed, the dumbstruck expression on my original self’s face adding more fuel to the fire, driving me on toward uncontrolled hilarity.  “Oh, God, it-it really works doesn’t it?  A f-few tears and you’re just fu-fucking putty!  Weaker s-sex?” I continued, the tears now streaming down my face no longer ones of great anguish, but of great amusement, “I don’t think so!”

 

“Y-you were faking it?”

 

“Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

 

He stormed away, albeit a little shakily, muttering under his breath.  I got to my feet, which was a stranger feeling than I could have foreseen, considering the odd places weight was now distributed on this frame.  Crikey, how do they walk with these things wobbling all over the place?  I can’t even see my feet!

 

He came back with my purse and thrust it at me.  “Be careful,” he grumbled, his eyes on the floor.

 

“Don’t worry…Jake,” I said, taking the small handbag, the weight of the gun within it a comfort, “I will.”  It was the weirdest fucking thing, hearing my name coming from this bizarrely padded form, but I needed to start acting the part.  “Kiss?” I asked coyly.

 

“Go fuck yourself!”

 

I arched my eyebrows.  “Bad choice of words, dude.”

 

 

I exited through the showers, A) because I needed to straighten myself up a bit if I wasn’t going to attract attention once outside the building, and B) what heterosexual male hasn’t dreamed of being in the girls locker room?

 

I made it down the hallway and into the locker room proper without seeing anyone, not because there wasn’t anybody to see, but rather due to the copious amounts of steam billowing forth from the showers.  Carrying Eve’s shoes and purse in one hand, I felt my way along a bank of lockers, hoping to find the toilet area.  Giggling and moaning echoed all about me, and I could feel an answering call in my new plumbing, wanting desperately to join those slippery bodies playing under the hot water only feet away, but some small, rational part of me knew that wasn’t a good idea – if I became entwined with that vast acreage of warm, naked, glistening female flesh, the jaws of life wouldn’t be able to pry me out of there.

 

As I moved on down the row, I couldn’t help but wonder at my feelings for my newfound genitalia.  I’d always thought about pussy in terms of a swimming pool.  I mean, everyone wants to play in one, at all hours of the day or night, quite often wanting to bring their friends over too, but very few people actually want to own one.  What with all the maintenance and chemicals, plus the fact that everyone likes you just because you have one.  Silly analogies aside, though, having a pussy felt oddly, disconcertingly normal.  I tried thinking about my ten inches of swinging death, whether or not I missed it, and found the idea simply held no interest for me.  Weird.

 

The fog started to lessen which, I hoped, meant that I was nearing the bathroom portion of the locker rooms.  A pair of squealing girls sauntered by me, hand in hand, and I couldn’t help but notice the taller one’s eyes playing over my undulating bosom as she passed.  I also couldn’t help but notice how my already hard nipples had quickly stiffened to adamantium-like points under her sultry gaze, and felt a renewed call in my recently adopted nether regions to do a one-eighty, and dive into the soapy pile of Ultimate Babe-liberated sluts, who I knew would welcome me, regardless of my gender.

 

“Focus, asshole,” I muttered, hoping to Darwin that what little inner strength I possessed would be enough to see me through this almost Biblical temptation.  It was the biggest mistake coming in here; I could see that now.  I had altered Eve’s body for sex, something that it obviously very much wanted, due to the rejuvenated hormones coursing through it.  That, coupled with my male consciousness now playing house inside her female brain, was making it damnably difficult to move my dainty feet forward, away from every man’s fantasy.

 

I found the bathroom area mercifully empty, and put my – Eve’s – purse on the little ledge at the base of the mirror.  She didn’t look bad, but she didn’t look good either.  Her hair was bedraggled, firstly from her failed attempt at raping my brain, and then from the subtropical atmosphere I’d wobbled into.  I took out the multiple barrettes that were no longer holding things in place, and brushed her long hair backwards off my face.  It still looked like shit so I splashed water on it and combed it back again, which gave it that wet look, which I had to admit looked pretty damn good.

 

It didn’t take long to fix her makeup, and I found myself smirking at how easy it was to do.  They certainly do talk a lot of nonsense, I thought, clacking my way out of the locker room, my heels echoing loudly in the tunnel leading to the outside world, being a chick isn’t all that difficult, really.  This experience is certainly giving me fodder for understanding the female mind.

 

But as I completed that thought, I quickly realized that that wasn’t true.  This consciousness – my consciousness! – was simply a temporary expedient, its projected lifespan only a few hours.  Any thoughts, feelings, or experiences this consciousness had would, like Raul’s, be deleted once its purpose was served.  I leaned back against the concrete block wall, its coolness causing my nipples to stiffen yet again.

 

I very much wanted a cigarette, but I’d left my smokes with my original self, and this body wasn’t accustomed to it anyway.  This life, this consciousness, could measure its existence in minutes.  I leaned my head forward, and found myself looking down into a cleavage that seemed to go on forever.  Eight weeks ago, it was my life’s ambition to fuck a balloon-titted porn star named Melony Cox-Zucker, and due to an improbable chain of events I was now standing here, a spiritual sister to her.  I was a memory that shouldn’t be, walking around in a body that shouldn’t be, in a life that would be coming to a close not long after sundown.

 

But I was startled from my maudlin thinking by a pair of cheerleaders coming down the tunnel toward me, their fembot-infected carnal appetites apparently having been sated by Darwin-knows-how much pussy they must have sampled in the showers.  “Afternoon, Madame Chancellor,” they called out in unison.

 

“Good afternoon, girls,” I responded, unashamedly watching their fine asses as they passed.

 

“Ashlee,” clucked the stacked blonde to the petite brunette, as they reached the double-doors to the outside, “your shoe’s untied.”  She quickly bent down in front of her and tied the white laces of the smaller girl’s shoes.  “There,” she said, having completed the task, looking up into the face of her partner, “do I get a kiss for being so selfless?”

 

“I was hoping you’d ask that,” the darker haired girl responded, a slight lisp to her voice, and with that she raised her short skirt up, revealing a bare ass that I would dearly love to take a strap-on to, whereupon the blonde leaned in and began enthusiastically tonguing the naked slit before her.

 

Molten fire ran down my thighs as I watched them go at it, and I stifled a moan with my fist.  Not knowing what to do, I ran, high heels clacking like automatic gunfire, passed the slutty cheerleaders, and pressed hard against the door-handle, narrowly avoiding breaking a nail, and pushed outward, hoping to find comparative safety on the Berkeley campus.

 

I didn’t.

 

 

Thankfully it was reasonably warm out, for the moisture of the locker room was apparent on my short dress, my large nipples visible for probably a good half a mile, and the last thing I needed was for them to be poking out like twin missile cones, to boot.  I was also thankful that, it being the last day before a holiday, the campus was mostly deserted.

 

But mostly doesn’t mean entirely.  There were still a fair few people about: some boys in letter jackets kicking a soccer ball between them, young lovers walking hand-in-hand along the colonnades, several students sitting on the benches enjoying the weak sunshine, others double-penning whatever girl was up for it (six, at a cursory glance).  I made my way as quickly as I could toward the administration building, my goddamn tits jostling every high-heeled step of the way.

 

“Why did I have to make them so goddamn big?” I muttered to myself, for the first time in my life cursing my fetish, which now preceded me wherever I went.  But despite my anger I had to admit they felt pretty good, bouncing as I walked.

 

But it didn’t mean I was enjoying it.  God, I hated this shemale shit.  Every step I took caused my cartoon funbags to wobble to and fro, forcing my mind to focus, not on the task at hand, which was to make it the quarter-mile to Eve’s parking space just outside of the Administration building, but rather on the constant ‘tit’, ‘tit’, ‘tit’, ‘tit’, like a dripping faucet.  And when I finally managed, with an enormous effort of will, to mentally turn off that faucet, I found my mind straying to the overwhelming feeling of the tight skirt that clung to every inch of my rounded ass, followed by a familiar wetness coursing down my bare thighs toward my stocking tops: clack, clack, clack, clack, tit, tit, tit, tit.

 

“Jesus!” I gasped, grabbing onto a light pole for support, my tanned juggs heaving, barely contained within the flimsy blouse.  I licked my lips, the taste of my freshly applied lipstick forcing yet another unwelcome reminder of my new, non-male, state.  I looked back at the gym, and found that I had covered barely fifty yards.  Darwin, I’ll never make it.

 

Balls! roared the Advocate, who I was surprised to find hanging around in this brain.  Are you a pussy, or what, you little bitch?

 

Look, you stupid figment of my original self’s imagination, I’ve got enough going on without you making the impossible even more difficult, okay?

 

What do you mean ‘impossible’, he thundered, it looks like you’re doing a pretty good job to me, babe!

 

Well, thanks for nothing, fuckwit! I shot back, more than a little pissed at being compared to my programmed women, especially since…since…Oh, my fucking God!  It’s inside me!  I put an elegant hand up to my throat, trying womanfully not to hyperventilate.  That stupid, stupid, son of a bitch!  I thought, my mind whirling.  What was he thinking?

 

But it didn’t take a genius to figure it out.  Eve was an Ultimate Babe, therefore I had to be an Ultimate Babe, as well.  I had to move like her, look like her, and comport myself, in every way, just like her if I was going to pull off this deception.  Makeup, heels, hairstyling, how to walk, how to talk, how to laugh, and how to be everything one could possibly want in a woman were now as much a part of my identity as any other experiences I’d had.  In fact, they were probably more powerful, seeing as they were freshly placed there.  And on the heels of that realization, other realizations began invading my overwrought brain:

 

An Ultimate Babe loves cock.

An Ultimate Babe loves cum.

Ultimate Babes swallow.

 

Oh, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus! my mind screamed, as it was suddenly flooded with goodness knows how many computer-implanted images of hard, spit-shined dicks ready to release their creamy payloads, kilobytes of theories on when to swirl the tongue about the head, when to apply vacuum to it, when to drag the nails lightly along his thick shaft, when to gently squeeze his balls, and when and how to relax my gag reflex so that I might take his wondrous meat deep into my grateful throat.

 

Every image, every bit of instruction made me instinctively sick, but I began to notice another sensation, a competing sensation, an increasingly strengthening sensation coming from between my legs – my pussy was on fire!

 

“Oh…oh…oh…” I heard myself gasping, my breathing coming quickly, my knuckles white on the aging lamppost.  But despite its flaking paint I was thankful for its presence, its reassuring solidity, its simple strength, its comforting hardness, so very like…Oh, Jesus, I’ve got to get out of here!

 

It had been my original intention to walk normally to Eve’s car, so as to draw as little attention to myself as possible on this pussy-hungry campus.  But that was no longer an option – the faster I moved, the less likely I was to end up on the cover of Bukkake Monthly.  It was a little over three hundred yards to Eve’s car.  I had seen her run miles in high heels while in fembot mode, and a little mental arithmetic told me that I should, barring obstacles, be able to cover that distance in a little more than a minute.  I pushed off from the light pole, and struck out for all I was worth.

 

I made it all of ten feet.

 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry!”

 

I ‘d briefly seen the soccer ball cross my line of vision, but it had gotten lost beneath my damnable bosom, catching me squarely between both ankles and sending me ass over teakettle onto the soft grass.  I managed to get to my knees, my fat tits taking the air, just as the one of the letter-jacket boys came running up to me.

 

“Oh, shit, M-Madame Chancellor,” he stammered, obviously embarrassed at my discomposure.  “I’m-I’m sorry, it was a wild kick, and…and…” he trailed off, and I was surprised to find that he was actually averting his eyes, chivalrously looking away so that I could put my bobbling boobs back in my blouse while retaining some small amount of dignity.  I was even more surprised to find that I recognized him: the rugby player whose nose had been broken by my first ever fembot.

 

“It’s all right,” I said, feeling like a complete idiot, “no harm done.”  But another feeling was coming upon me; a feeling I very much did not want to have.  We were just about three feet apart, my kneeling position putting my mouth directly on a line with his crotch.  Whatever gallantry he might be showing, his cock certainly had other ideas.  I could easily see the outline of it in his blue jeans, and it was angry, very angry.

 

I should have been disgusted, outraged, shocked, frightened; but I wasn’t.  What I felt was a pounding in my ears, a queer, swooping sensation in my belly, and the ever-present heat lightning a few inches lower, signaling a desire in me to feel that thing impaling me, making me grunt like animal – like a bitch in heat!  I reached out for it, unable to stop myself, wanting to take his hardness in my hands, within me, deep within me.  But as my hand reached out, it was taken, scooped up in his large, callused palm as he gently helped me to my feet.

 

Again he began stammering apologies, apparently having learned from his exchange with Robbi, about treating women respectfully, and I found myself smiling at his boyish charm, the stammering working on me every bit as effectively as erect nips in a wife-beater t-shirt used to when I had a penis.

 

“GET AWAY FROM HER, PIG!”

 

The sound of a baton whistling through the air was quickly followed by a scream of pain, as the hardwood made contact with the backs of his knees.  “Please…!” I shouted, as Eve’s security dykes fell on him like a pack of hyenas upon an injured zebra colt, their fists flailing, legs kicking.  “Stop!” I screamed at no one in particular, “it was an accid…” but I was quickly grabbed around the waist, forcing my tits upward and out for yet another bout with the fresh air, and deposited in a small cart, which sped quickly off along the concrete path.

 

“Don’t you worry, Madame Chancellor,” the dyke barked, thrusting my purse into my lap, and ogling my unrestrained melons, “I’ll have you to your office in a jiff.”  We careened down the walk at high speed, her constant swerving making it quite impossible for me to cover my out of control boobs and hold on for dear life at the same time, which was quite obviously her plan.

 

“Please,” I screamed again, my voice all but drowned out by the turbocharged lawnmower engine powering the cart, “you don’t understand.  He wasn’t assaulting me!”

 

“Okey-dokey,” the dyke bellowed, “we’ll cite him for assault.  That’s the second time that boy’s put his filthy mitts on an innocent woman.”  She then stamped on the brakes, sending me tits first into the dashboard.  Strong arms grabbed me around my waist and pulled me from the cart, copping a quick feel as I was deposited, barefoot, onto the pavement in front of the Administration building by another of Eve’s ever-present dykes, who took my place in the cart, which then turned around and sped off, back toward the fray.

 

“Don’t worry, Madame Chancellor,” the dyke behind the wheel howled before they rounded the corner, “his balls will be on your desk before the hour is out!”

 

“Oh, please, no…!” I called after them, but it was no use.  “Shit!” I cried, actually stamping my foot in consternation, sending shockwaves through my still exposed tits.  Here, I’d been a woman for less than an hour, and I’d already been manhandled, felt up, had my breasts fall out of my top – twice, seized against my will, lost my shoes, and was responsible for the impending loss of someone’s balls.  Crikey, maybe being a chick is harder than I thought.

 

I put my juggs back under cover and shambled the remaining sixty yards to Eve’s car, the grass outside of the Administration building kind to my bare feet.  I found her racing green, 1995 Jaguar XJS convertible parked in her space, opened the door and collapsed into its cool, leather embrace.  There were so many things spinning around in my borrowed brain that I wanted to cry: meeting with Ashiko, getting to the airport, getting past security, and lastly, of course, my imminent demise.  But there was one thing I had to take care of first.

 

“You stupid son of a bitch!”

 

“Color me fucking surprised,” my original self replied, the weariness in his voice distinctly audible over the phone.  “It’s been, what…a whole fifteen minutes since you left?  Are you pregnant yet?”

 

“Nope, still intact, but not for lack of trying.  Jesus, Jake, couldn’t you have warned me?  Do you have any idea how close I came to being the guest of honor at a gang bang?”

 

“Well, I’m awful sorry about that, dude,” he grumbled, his tired voice dripping with sarcasm,  “I guess Eve must have fried the part of my brain that gives a shit.  Now if it isn’t too much trouble, would you mind terribly getting your hot ass over to Eve’s place, and find out what Ashiko knows before the lot of us end up in some fucking government installation?”

 

I gritted my flawless teeth, suppressing the desire to key in the combo that would instruct Tiffany to kick my bastard self in the balls.  “Yes, sir,” I replied testily.  “You know, Jake, there’s a reason you don’t have any friends.”

 

“God, I wish I could delete you.”

 

I sat there, looking at Eve’s iPhone; angry with myself, and even angrier with my other self.  But I was distracted from my musings about I should have said, by the pulsing icon on her phone, signaling that someone had just left her a voicemail, very likely while I was arguing with myself.  I touched the icon, and the message screen came up, the newest voicemail being scant seconds old.  The name field was empty, but I recognized the 916 area code as being for Sacramento.  I held the phone up to my ear, gasping as the familiar Austrian accent sent a chill through me:

 

Good day, Eve.  Firstly, thank you for the use of your Lexus.  She handled really well.  I also wanted to tell you that I enjoyed our meeting the other day.  I think my administration can use someone of your…vision.  I am confident that if I had to, for whatever reason, nominate a replacement to the office of Lieutenant Governor, the great state of Gullyfornia would be fortunate to have you.  I look forward to meeting with you again after your vacation.  Oh, and I also very much liked the pictures you sent me of your Mercedes.  I might ask to borrow that sometime, as well.  Auf Wiedersehen.

 

 

OhJesusFuckingChrist, my mind reeled, as I sped off towards Eve’s place, tires squealing.  In the ten days since I had begun plotting the deaths of my robots, Eve had begun putting her plans into effect, and was apparently already a heartbeat away from the Lieutenant Governorship.  I could see the scenario playing out in my head as I drove:  a scandal, involving one of Eve’s girls, perhaps even a pregnancy; a confirmation hearing, Eve’s titanic bosom hypnotizing the assembled Senators, followed by a swearing-in ceremony a few days later, my psychopathic robot, standing at a podium, seducing every last voter with honeyed tones and décolletage.  And then a month, two months later, a late night meeting at the state capital, a meeting from which Governor Conan would be frantically wheeled out on a gurney, his brains the consistency of oatmeal.

 

I arrived at Eve’s house in just under ten minutes, Ashiko’s Mini-Cooper parked out front.  The garage door opened as I pulled up the driveway, meaning that Eve’s cuntslave already knew I was here, and was ready to greet her Mistress as she had no doubt been trained.  I got out of the car, wondering if I had the slightest chance of fooling anyone, much less someone with whom Eve had been on intimate terms.  Climbing up the steps to the redwood deck that backed the house, I felt fear settling over me, remembering the ease with which Eve had rendered me powerless.  I quickly reached into Eve’s purse, pulled out her iPhone, and keyed in the code that would connect me with Tiffany, who would instantly shut Ashiko down with a single touch of her icon.

 

She was standing with her head bowed, next to the open French doors, waiting for me to enter.  She looked exactly like one her Mistress’s dolls, resplendent in a mauve kimono, chalk-white makeup, hair braided, and tabi socks on her tiny feet, showing not the slightest sign that my disheveled appearance was in any way abnormal.  Relax, I told myself, as I drew nearer the balloon-titted geisha.  You’ve watched them together countless times.  Just treat her like shit and she’ll never know the difference.

 

“Good afternoon, Eve-sama,” she said obsequiously as I stepped onto the mat.

 

“Good afternoon, little one,” I said curtly, “draw…oof!”

 

Her hand was at my throat in the blink of an eye, the other turning aside my wrist sharply, sending the now useless phone sailing through the air.  The hand at my throat yanked down forcefully, spilling my boobs out yet again, sending me flying, a perfectly executed shoulder throw, to land roughly upon the floor, my bare ass slamming painfully against Eve’s studded leather couch.

 

“Ashi…” I started, but she leaped upon my stomach, pinning my arms to the floor, her normally serene face bared in a snarling, bloodthirsty mask of rage.

 

“What have you done with my Mistress!” she shrieked, digging her fingers into the soft flesh of my breasts, pushing them upward, her almond eyes wild.

 

“Ash-Ashiko,” I huffed, for the little geisha had knocked the wind out of me with that throw, “it’s me, Ja…” but any further sound was cut off as she began smothering me with my own tits.  “Mmmph!” I screamed, jerking my shoulders, trying to wrest my arms free, fighting for breath.

 

“Who are you?” she screamed.  “What have you done with Eve-sama?”

 

I could feel tears streaming from my eyes as I fought to breathe, but the awkward angle of my body, combined with the weight of the fearsome ninja and the giant flesh balloons that were inexorably robbing me of life-giving air, quickly put an end to my feeble attempts at self-preservation.  That floaty feeling of disconnection (of which I was more than fucking tired, by now) returned again, and the last thing I remembered before succumbing to the blackness was the almost comical feeling that as I had lived by the tit, I was now going to die by the tit.

 

Goddamn Bible.

 

 

I came to in degrees, the freight train rumbling through my skull responsible for both my somewhat muzzy wakefulness, and my desire to shove my head in a toilet.  The pain in my boobs confirmed that I was still stuck in this female prison, but it also served to confirm that I was very much alive.  I opened my eyes, knowing that it was going to hurt like a motherfucker, and was not the least bit consoled by my ability to foretell the future.

 

Eve’s darkly-stained beadboard ceiling resolved itself into focus, and I found myself thankful that she hadn’t been one of those happy, bubbly people who favor the brighter portions of the spectrum.  Slowly, the fogginess receded and the freight train slowed a bit, giving me the ability to put one thought in front of the other.  With the same physical effort that it took to build the pyramids, I turned over, and found myself face to face with the inert body of the ninja fembot who had damn near killed me, and I knew at a glance that she had been shut down.

 

The freight train rumbled again, but I was now able to identify it as the vibrating of Eve’s phone, which was lying on her couch demanding to be acknowledged.

 

“You surely do bring out the worst in people, you know that?”

 

“Yeah, well fuck you too, dickweed,” I replied snappily.  “Y’know, you found the time to put that goddamn sex program in me, don’t you think it might have been a good idea to have thrown a little Bruce Lee my way, too?”

 

“Sorry about that, dude,” he apologized, “but it hasn’t exactly been a peach of a day for me either.  Here, lay down for a minute."

 

Lay down? I thought.  Why does he…?

 

 

I awoke with my face buried in the soft leather of the couch, the puddle of drool punctuating things nicely.  I grabbed the phone, which had fallen next to my thigh, “I’m not a fucking yo-yo, goddammit!”

 

“Crikey,” he sighed, “bitch, bitch, bitch.  Don’t even bother thanking me for saving your life.”

 

I began to feel a little sheepish, remembering how close I had come to snuffing it.  “Uh, sorry, dude.  Hey, how did you know to shut her down, anyway?”

 

“After your last phone call, I thought it might be prudent to have Sunny tag along, watching things through your eyes.”

 

“Well that’s one good idea you’ve had today,” I said.  “Thanks.”

 

“Yeah, well don’t mention it.  You should be able to handle Ashiko now.  Good luck, dude.”

 

 

She came awake, surprised that she had not only lost the upper hand, but that our positions were completely reversed.  She struggled fiercely, but my greater weight, combined with my newfound martial ability, made keeping her under control relatively easy.  Relatively.

 

“Who are you?” she hissed angrily, her fat boobs rolling back and forth across her tiny torso.  “What have you done with Eve-sama?”

 

“Ashiko, please calm down,” I whined, trying to be a soothing presence, failing miserably.  If only it were possible for fembots to read each other’s data, then I would not now be wrestling with this Asian Tasmanian Devil.  But the technology didn’t allow for that, what with each fembot having what amounted to her very own individual operating system.  That, as I had discovered with Robbi and Sunny, could only be done with stored data, and even then it took time to sift through.

 

“I will kill you!” she shrieked, actually headbutting one of my fully exposed juggs, which hung suspended above her chalk-white face.

 

“Bloody hell, Ashiko!” I yelled, actually smarting from an unexpected head swipe that connected painfully with my left dug, “would you please calm the fuck down?”

 

She stopped struggling and looked at me, panting, her eyes no longer blazing with anger, but instead darted back and forth in disbelief.  “Jake-san?”

 

Shit! I thought, cursing my Dad for being such a strong influence on my speech.  “Yes, Ashiko,” I admitted, my mind running at top speed, “yes, it’s me, Jake.”

 

“How…how…?” she ventured, no longer struggling, her almond eyes wide in amazement.

 

“Eve,” I said simply, ready to drop the biggest load of bullshit ever by anyone, anywhere, at any time.  “Eve did this.”

 

Her eyes remained wide, but I could see acceptance in them now.  “I understand,” she whispered, awestruck.  “Eve-sama is very powerful, Jake-san.”  She paused, apparently wondering what she should say next.  “So she is now in your body?”

 

“Yes,” I lied, frightened at how strong Eve’s powers must have been, if Ashiko bought my line of crap this easily.  “She said she wanted to play a little joke, and that she would switch back with me once we’re on the plane.  She wants to see how long she can fool everybody.”  With every word I spoke I watched her carefully, alert for the slightest sign of disbelief, because if I failed at this, I would have no choice but to shut her down, and have my other self wipe and reload another version of me onto her, an action that I was sure would lead to least one of us being institutionalized within the hour.

 

She nodded, and then began smiling.  “I will not tell, Jake-san.”

 

“Thanks, Ashiko,” I sighed, relieved.  “Say, how did you know…?”

 

“You called me ‘little one’…”

 

“But Eve always calls you that.”

 

“Not when we are alone, Jake-san.  Then she calls me ‘little cunt’,” she said matter-of-factly.  “So, you have a pussy now?”

 

“I, um, well, yeah…” I replied zippily.

 

“Having a pussy is fun.  I will show you!”  And with that, she raised her head up and began nuzzling my tits, causing my nipples to stiffen, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from me.

 

“Ohh,…” I moaned, and then began biting my lip as she drew a fat nipple into her mouth, and began swirling her talented tongue around it, batting it back and forth.  She slipped one of her tiny hands from my grasp and reached down under my skirt, and began fingering me, lights sparkling behind my closed eyes as she expertly worked my gash.

 

“Do you want me to treat you like Eve-sama?” she whispered hotly.

 

I would have liked to answer, but the lizard brain stepped in and took care of matters for me, “Oh, Jesus God, yes!” I gasped as she began rubbing my swollen clit.

 

And then I felt it slipping inside of me, my eyes opening wide as I felt the gateway to my core being invaded, crying out in unparalleled ecstasy as it filled me, stretching me beyond my limits, completing me, until finally I bottomed out against the massive strap-on’s harness, my body and mind now utterly owned by the little slave pumping away beneath me.

 

“You…you already…had it…?”

 

“Eve-sama always likes a good fucking when she comes home, Jake-san.”

 

 

 

Chapter 32

The One and Only Flight of Fembot One

 

“What did you find out?” the disembodied voice asked.

 

“More than you want to know,” I sighed into the phone, the ability to form words of more than one syllable having long since been fucked out of me.

 

“Come again?”

 

I sidestepped that one, having withstood more orgasms in the last ninety minutes than I had in the whole of the previous week.  “She doesn’t know anything,” I sighed again, rubbing a hand across my forehead “at least not about Eve’s activities, at any rate.”

 

“Well, that’ll have to do to be going on with,” he said wearily.  “It’s five-thirty.  I need you at the airport in one hour.”

 

“One hour?” I echoed in alarm.  “It’ll take me at least twice that long to get ready!”

 

The silence emanating from the phone spoke volumes.  “Dude, you’re really freaking me out.  One hour.”

 

I stared at the phone, my annoyance at my original self dwarfed by the unwelcome thought that had percolated into my brain – Men!

 

 

The cab conveying Ashiko and I pulled to a stop in the white zone at San Fran International barely ninety minutes later.  The little geisha took care of having our carry-ons removed from the trunk (the bulk of the luggage having already been sent on ahead early this morning) and tipped the driver to make sure that they would be waiting for us at our private jet’s rented gate.  We entered the terminal to the combined stares of several hundred people, our provocative clothing attracting precisely the attention I wished.

 

Ashiko looked simply breathtaking in a turquoise kimono, an exact duplicate of the one worn by the doll in Eve’s sitting room: the room in which she herself had been reborn.  The white makeup, in addition to her elegantly braided hair, made for a stunning showpiece, second only to the showstopper that was me.

 

The sparkling white dress was backless, bottomless, damn near frontless, and the absolute last thing a woman would ever wear to an airport.  Thin straps snaked down from my shoulders, traveling out over the expanse of my bosom, widening only enough to almost cover my saucer-sized areola, then dropping down to meet a scant millimeter above the little nameplate secured in my bellybutton.  The amount of sideboob visible in that dress was enough to get me arrested in Rio, and I would have to be conservative in my movements if I didn’t want strangers seeing my goodies.  Suffice it to say I wasn’t, and they did.

 

We found the group of them just inside the entrance to the international terminal, it being easy to spot them, what with there being no greater concentration of tit in a single square mile than anywhere else in the universe.  As near as I could tell, everyone seemed to be there: my original iBods, the Latinas, Eve’s girls, and Robbi’s friends, who looked to number about ten.  I’d already met most of them in passing; all of them undeniably fuckable, standing there, all smiles, all excited, and all of them ready and willing to be turned into sex objects.

 

Maria clacked up to me and hugged me warmly, causing a deafening silence in the terminal as everyone stopped what they were doing in order to observe whether we mightn’t bounce off one another.  “I’m so glad you made it, Evie!” she whispered in my ear, “I-I’ve been having just the worst feelings about this flight.”

 

“Nonsense, duchess,” I replied, remembering to use her pet name, but though I looked outwardly calm I couldn’t help but share her worries, for something was quite definitely wrong.  “But where is Jake?” I asked, trying to keep my borrowed voice light, and Robbi – I mean, Roberta, and Tiff…?”

 

In answer to my uncompleted question, Maria gestured to the group in back of her, who slowly parted to reveal the three figures seated on the bench behind them: Robbi, looking obviously troubled; Tiffany, who looked almost normal, what with practically every square inch of her white skin cloaked within a long trench coat, and the large, dark sunglasses hiding her silver eyes from view; and between them, my original self, who looked like death warmed over.

 

“Maria…?” I started, my lips parted in a hushed whisper.

 

“He says he’s just tired,” she said, her voice sounding more worried with every word, “and that all he needs is to get on the plane, but…I don’t know.  What do you think Evie?”

 

I looked at my original self, the founder of this rodeo, and the expression on his face coupled with his posture, ashen complexion, and overall lethargy communicated more than telepathy ever could: I was dying.

 

“Robbi, my pet,” he croaked, “would you be a love, and go fetch me a latte?  Maybe that will help perk me up a bit.”

 

“Of course, my love,” she sniffled, her eyes red and swollen, fearful perhaps that her desperately desired pregnancy might never happen.  “Kitten, come,” she said, and the two of them took off without another word.

 

I moved forward slowly, as if in a dream, for the idea of approaching my dying self was troubling.  When I reached him, I bent over so that I could whisper in his ear, which of course brought all activity in the terminal to a halt again as my immense funbags swung down beneath me, barely held in check by the thin straps of the dress.

 

“J-Jake?” I whispered.

 

“Nice dress, dude.  Good show.”

 

“I-I…” I stammered, not knowing what to do or say.  This was not part of any contingency I’d thought of.

 

“Dude, it’s all up to you.  I’m barely holding it together.  I guess Eve did more damage than we realized.  You’ve got to get us through security, and get us on that plane!”

 

His voice was shaky, and his hands trembled slightly, and even though he was me, I felt the reflexive revulsion that healthy people so often feel for the dying.  “All…all right, J-Jake.  Just play along, and don’t exert yourself.  Oh, by the way, Ashiko thinks you’re really Eve, and that we’ve switched bodies.”

 

“What…?”

 

“Give me a break, man, I was under pressure.  By the way, Eve calls her ‘little cunt’ when they’re in private.  Now you’ve got to follow my lead, okay?”

 

“Crikey,” he whispered, “what a fucking mess.”

 

“Yes, but it’s our mess, and we’ve got to clean it up as best we can.”  I straightened back up, thankful that my technology strengthened the back muscles that helped support these industrial-sized cans, and turned back to Maria.  “Not to worry, duchess, I think he’s just been working, and playing, a bit too hard.”  I cast a meaningful glance at Eve’s fembots, who, I found, were looking at me a little oddly, perhaps wondering why Madame’s thoughts were so silent.  Let’s just get him on the plane, and let him rest.  If he doesn’t improve by the morning, well, New Zealand has doctors, too.”

 

“Well, all right.  I’ll go and alert them to expect us,” and like her twin daughter she moved quickly off.  I had Tiffany scootch over, and then sat down next to my original self, bidding Ashiko to come join us.  She sat on his other side, looking every bit as worried as Robbi had, but he mollified her, somewhat, using his very real fatigue to cover lapses, and assuring her that he would put things right once we were all on board.

 

Robbi and Kitten returned with the latte forthwith, and I vacated my seat, allowing her to sit next to ‘her man’, until Maria arrived and asked us to follow her.  We made quite the spectacle, tromping en masse through the terminal; forty-six highly attractive women, plus one man who could barely move under his own steam, and spectacle, after all, had always been the goal.

 

I had known from the very beginning, once I’d begun planning this little adventure, that notoriety would be important, and for several reasons, first and foremost: that no one, especially the government, must ever question that my women were actually aboard that plane (rather than partying with Elvis Presley, Jim Morrison, Jimmy Hoffa, and JFK in conspiracy-theory land).  The plane crash angle was good, but it was also a double-edged sword, because plane crashes at sea usually don’t leave bodies behind.

 

A curious and convenient tragedy, to be sure, but what other choice did I have?  When subjects at the center of an investigation all of a sudden up and die, it sends up little red flags in the minds of investigators, so I had to make doubly sure that CDC officials would have no doubt whatsoever that those sexually infectious students who were at the center of the plague that was running rampant across the university were dead, dead, dead.  As we moved through the terminal, I was pleased to see cameras going off constantly, cell phones being surreptitiously pointed in my direction, and I almost burst out laughing when I heard a child squeal, “Look, Mommy, it’s Jessica Rabbit!”

 

As to the second reason, well who would ever dispute that big, giant tits are the greatest distractions known to humankind?

 

Maria had bribed an agent, with her imposing rack alone, to open a special lane for us, seeing as how we were a private party.  Everything was in readiness prior to our arrival, but despite all my precautions I couldn’t help feeling a little helping of fear in the pit of my stomach, for if anything went wrong, Karl Rossum’s passport and ticket were of no use to me now.  It was showtime.

 

Standing at the back of the pack, iPhone in hand, ready to make a break for it if all did not go as planned, I waited with baited breath as Maria walked up to the metal detector and stepped through.

 

Nothing happened.

 

My stupendous bosom deflated slightly, as I let out a pent up breath.  Each girl thereafter walked through without the slightest alarm going off anywhere, nor would it, not until I hit the cancel icon on my phone, which would immediately raise the sensitivity on the metal detector back to its original setting.

 

It had been one of my biggest concerns, once I had started implanting electronics in them, that one of them might be discovered.  I wasn’t so much worried about doctors and X-rays, since due to my technology they were all in the pink of health, and my programming made them disdainful of medicine.  No, it was metal detectors that had caused me the odd, sleepless night – at least until I did some research.  Like every other sensing device, metal detectors rely on scan sensitivity in order to function properly, otherwise they’d go off due to nothing more than the fillings in your teeth or the metal in your zipper.

 

The amount of metal in the sensors was next to nothing, less even than tooth fillings, but the titanium cases surrounding the cellular interfaces that resided in their abdominal cavities were a different story.  Oh sure, their bellybutton plaques would mask their presence, but it was too much to hope that airport security would buy that eighteen massively-titted women would all have body jewelry to which one person alone held the key that – wouldn’t you just know it? – had been left on the nightstand at home.  And that didn’t include the nineteen iBods fresh off the production line.  I had to be creative.

 

A friend of mine once told me that he hated the future, for the sole reason that it wasn’t living up to its promise: we weren’t wearing silver spacesuits and flying around in our own personal hovercraft, we weren’t all living in geodesic domes with shitloads of indirect lighting, and were for damn sure weren’t taking weekend shuttles to one of hundreds of orbital space resorts for bouts of decadent, zero-gee sex.

 

But I love the future, and not just because of my robotic harem.  Since the advent of computer technology, everything has become so interdependent, so connected, so networked!  Hoping against hope, I asked my cybernetic fiancée, one very early morning, to cast her computerized gaze at San Francisco International.  She quickly discovered that the metal detectors were indeed networked to a central location in Tulsa, Oklahoma; that all-important tech support having been farmed out to the lowest bidder.  Early the following Saturday, a day I knew I wouldn’t be under Eve’s watchful eye, I took a trip out to the airport myself, and using my booted up clone in the basement, changed the sensitivity of the detectors to zero.   I watched, chuckling to myself, as a little old lady upon whom I’d planted a switchblade of Raul’s boarded her flight without fuss.

 

Every one of my cyborgs got through okay, leaving me for last, and I hummed quietly to myself as my turn came, walking through with a little extra spring in my step, thus ensuring that all eyes were on my bouncing boobs, rather than on the sensitivity display.

 

That hurdle passed, we made our way to the electric carts that Maria had arranged, not for us, but rather for my original self, who appeared to me to be quite literally on his last legs.  The other carts showed up of their own accord, the beauty of my women stronger than gravity, attracting all manner of admirers.

 

Everybody was in such a wonderful mood as we traveled in style through the terminal, giggling and laughing, and I did my best to appear in high spirits, but all the while I was keeping my emerald eyes out for suits and sunglasses, the pessimist in me fearful that I would be nabbed at any second and taken into custody, forced to live out my days with a male consciousness stuck inside a nympho’s brain, trapped in a porn star body.

 

But we made it to our gate without hassle, and I breathed a sigh of relief that appeared to have been picked up by no fewer than six cell phone cameras and a Japanese guy with a camcorder.  There being no boarding passes or passports to bother with, we simply had to walk past the stewardess (a rather busty one, I couldn’t help noticing), through the open door, and down the jetway to our doomed flight.

 

As we were about to dismount from the cart, my original self grasped my hand; a silent signal to follow his lead.  “Robbi, pet,” he rasped, “would you mind terribly running ahead and getting us seats at the front?  I believe as I’ll need a drink.”

 

“Of course, my love,” she replied fretfully, and was off like a shot, her incredible boobs bouncing before her, her ever-present Kitten at her heels.

 

“Eve, my angel, will you walk with me?”

 

“Of-of course,” I stammered, afraid that he – I! – was going to die before we even boarded.  As we stood up, he leaned in, his elbow brushing one of my gargantuan hooters, and whispered, “I’m blind.”

 

“Oh, God, no!” I gasped.

 

“Stay calm,” he whispered.  “I can still see vague shapes, but I won’t be able tell who’s who, at least not by sight.  You have to stay with me and run interference until we’re on the plane.”

 

My heart pumping madly, I supported my dying self as we walked down the slight incline, Ashiko three steps behind us, her concern for her displaced Mistress obvious even through her makeup.  “Home free, Jake,” I whispered, trying to buoy up my original self’s spirits.  “I can’t believe how smoothly all of this has gone.”

 

“With one of us pounding on death’s door, and the other one having tits that should be in the Macy’s parade, I would very much like to know your definition of rough,” he said in a drained voice.  But then he laughed, and the weakness of it chilled me to my borrowed bones, “So what was it like?”

 

“What was…?”

 

“You know what I mean,” he chuckled.  “Tiffany was looking through your eyes the whole time, and Sunny through Ashiko’s.  You were described as being ‘enthusiastic.’”

 

“Oh, you know what they say, Jake,” I sighed, inwardly thankful that fembots couldn’t process video, “‘When in Rome…’”

 

“We’ve been to Rome, remember?  Do me a favor, and keep this little part of our adventure to yourself.”

 

 “Abso-fucking-lutely,” I replied, relishing the memory regardless.

 

We made it onto the jet, whereupon I turned him over to Robbi, who was anxiously waiting at the front of the aircraft for her stricken fiancée, Bloody Mary already in hand.  The two of them sat in the very first row of seats, Ashiko immediately settling in the row behind, Kitten pouncing into the seat next to her, so that she, too, would be near her owner.  Almost everyone was seated by now, there being ample room in the overhead bins for their carry-ons, what with the aircraft being designed to carry six times as many passengers as we had.

 

I strolled through the augmented first-class compartment amidst peals of laughter, excited chatter, and beers being passed from girl to girl.  There was another busty stew at the very back of the cabin, also with a beer in hand, patiently waiting for us all to sit down and buckle in so that we could depart.  “Dear,” I said, probably overdoing the ‘trying to sound like a woman’ thing, “did someone leave something for us?  A tall gentleman with a moustache?”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” she drawled, the combination of her southern accent and the hungriness of her gaze upon my chest causing more than a minor stirring between my legs.  “They’re in the rear bins like the guy said you wanted.  Can I get them for you?”

 

“No, thank you, dear,” I replied, quite enjoying the x-raying I was getting from this little lipstick lesbo.  “I’ll take care of it.”  There were fifty-two boxes in all, each of them containing a brand new, artfully designed baseball cap, the silver stitching on the front in bold letters proclaiming Jake & Roberta – Together Forever.  I handed them out to everyone, making sure Robbi’s friends got the ones in the pink boxes.  I stood at the front of the cabin and asked that they all put them on, so that we could take a cute picture for the newlywed’s album.  Ashiko had to demur because anything less than a ten-gallon hat wouldn’t fit over her intricate coiffure, and I didn’t bother giving one to Tiffany since she wasn’t human, something Robbi’s friends thought was the coolest thing.  I even had the two stews, standing in the very back of the cabin, put them on as well.  Everyone was all smiles.

 

“How funny, Eve,” Robbi giggled, putting a cap on the head of the dying man seated next to her, “this is how it all started.”

 

I smiled back at her, and then held my iPhone out in front of me, framing them all perfectly, my finger hovering just over the icon.  From my vantage point I could see Raul, sitting on the seat of the baggage loader, his stupid fake moustache visible even from this distance, giving me the thumbs up.  All was in readiness.  “On the count of three, everybody,” I cheered, inviting them to hold up their beers and count with me, “One…Two…Pussy!”

 

 

I stood in the doorway of the rented hangar, watching with dispassionate detachment as the plane left the ground, taking to the air for its date with destiny, my first ever fembot, Robbi, doing the flying.  In eleven hours she would simply point it downward and ditch it; there would be no survivors.  There would be no fembots, no iBods, and most importantly, no linkage to me.  There would just be statistics.  Fifty-odd new data points added onto the countless others that perish every year.

 

I stubbed my cigarette out on the cold, almost surgically clean concrete floor of the hangar.  It was done, all done.  It hadn’t gone precisely to plan, but everything was pretty much where it was supposed to be.  It had taken an additional two minutes to secure the pilot and co-pilot.  We hadn’t even bothered with trickery.  My robots, both new and vintage, simply stormed the cockpit, whereupon they held them still until the caps could be placed upon their heads.  The pilots resisted, of course, but hey, you can’t fight a tidal wave.

 

I watched the lights of the plane begin to fade out, the distance between us right at the edge of my computer-enhanced vision, and thought of the life that was fading out, as well.  I wondered how long I’d last; would I make it an hour, ten hours?  Or would I make it all the way there, only to die upon impact, a battery-powered baseball cap perched upon my head.

 

And what of the girls?  Were there other options I could have explored, other avenues?  Could I really justify my actions, everything that had happened, and that was going to happen, as having been done for the good of the world?  Yes, I thought, sighing heavily, all things being equal, this was the best solution.  As I’ve said, Occam’s Razor may not give you the answer you want, but it always cuts true.

 

I shook my head at the senseless waste of it all, and lit another cigarette, the tips of my fingers registering the engraving on my shiny, chrome wedding present.  With another sigh, I exhaled the bitter-tasting smoke, ripped the stupid fake moustache off my face, and walked back into the hangar.

 

 

 

Chapter 33

The Journey to Olympus

 

“…standing here, on the deck of…”

 

“…sorry, Bruce, I just can’t continue this broadcast.  It’s too tragic…”

 

“…forty-eight passengers, four crew…

 

“…the debris field…”

 

“…this doomed wedding party…”

 

“…no survivors…”

 

“…famed author Maria Stark among the missing and presumed dead…”

 

“…a sad day for the University of Gullyfornia Berkeley…”

 

“…our hearts go out to the parents, friends, and loved ones of the missing…”

 

“…one body found this morning, a male, positively identified as Jake McBride, though genetic testing will be performed later today, in accordance with New Zealand…”

 

 

Three hours earlier…

 

“I don’t like dis, Mister Roosum!  I don’t like it one bit!”

 

“Doctor…Rossum, Captain DeKooning,” I said, turning to face the big man in the nice uniform, trying to keep things friendly, but certainly not about to let a man who sounded like a character on the Muppet Show ruffle my feathers.  “Tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll try to help.”

 

“Dat is what is boddering me, yah!” he huffed, pointing at the large shipping container secured to the deck of the ship.  “I don’t care what your Homeland Security says, I don’t transport cargo if I don’t know what it is!”

 

“Well, why didn’t you say so before, Captain?” I responded affably.  “They’re robots.”

 

“Robots?” he repeated, his scowl increasing by degrees.  “Military robots?”

 

“I’m a scientist, Captain,” I said, still smiling.

 

“Hunh!” he sneered.  “Offensive?”

 

“Precisely the opposite.”

 

“Drones, perhaps?”

 

“In a manner of speaking.”

 

“Explosive?”

 

“Only under the right circumstances,” I replied jovially, running a hand over my newly shaved head.  “But don’t worry, Captain, they are the most advanced robots of their kind.  You have my personal guarantee that the Evige Fartøj is in no danger, nor any of her crew.  Do you honestly think I would be traveling with them if they posed a hazard?  Or my wife for that matter…?” I trailed off, gesturing toward to the giant-chested brunette sunning herself atop the virgin forty-foot container, the little ghetto blaster near her serenading the ship with a little Grateful Dead.

 

He paused, drinking in the vision that is my first ever fembot – as were so very many of his crew.  “Oh, very well, Doctor Roosum,” he grumbled, rather red in the face, pissed at me for being on his ship, pissed at his company for allowing me to be on his ship, and probably cursing Odin that the bronzed, ultra-curvy beauty wasn’t sharing his cabin.  He turned and stormed off, most likely in the direction of the head, I was willing to bet.

 

“Robbi, pet,” I called out, “join me, please.”

 

“Yes, honey,” she said, not sounding exactly human, but I doubted anyone was paying the slightest attention to her voice, what with her immense cans, shining with a fresh application of suntan lotion, threatening to burst from her white bikini top.  She strolled up to me, her large sunglasses masking her glazed countenance.

 

“Walk with me, Robbi.”

 

“Yes, my darling,” she repeated, still running through her list of pet names.  I took her free hand and together we began strolling the length of the container ship, the music of dead musicians helping to conceal our conversation.

 

…together, more or less in line, just keep truckin’ on…

 

“Is the jet still on course, Robbi?” I asked in a low voice.

 

“Yes, sweetie.”

 

“And how is Jake doing?”

 

“Jake is dead, my love.”

 

It is one thing to know that something will happen, and quite another to know that it has.  Robbi’s matter-of-fact announcement of the demise of my original self sent a chill through me, and I faltered momentarily on my borrowed legs.  But I really couldn’t call them that anymore, could I?  I had taken them, and they were mine by right of conquest, and with my dead body sitting in that Airbus, they were also mine by virtue of need, a sentiment with which my Marxist classmates would most certainly agree.  Truly, what choice did I now have but to live out my remaining days, years, or perhaps even centuries, in the body of a reconfigured Mexican rapist?

 

…hang it up and see what tomorrow brings…

 

I turned back and looked at the sealed shipping container sitting at the head of the stacks and stacks of other containers behind it, thinking of the sweet cargo within.  Robbi’s bridesmaids: brainwiped, catheterized, intravenously feeding, packed in Styrofoam, and crated up tight; their health constantly being monitored by the fembot at my side.  Fifty women in all; were they also mine by right of conquest?  Were they mine because of my need to protect myself?

 

…Dallas, got a soft machine…

 

I turned away, and began walking forward again, my soft machine at my side, thinking back over all the mistakes I’d made, the temptations I’d succumbed to, the devastation I’d wrought.

 

…lately it occurs to me what a long, strange trip it’s been.

 

“Turn off your iPod, please, Robbi,” I said, fatigued despite the two hours of cybersleep I’d gotten while Robbi had supervised the packing and storage of her sister cyborgs.  “This goddamn ironic music’s giving me a headache.”

 

We continued walking, arm in arm, past busy crew people preparing the small container ship to cast off, but who nevertheless seemed to find the time to ogle the incredibly hot babe holding hands with the bald guy in the white suit.  We reached the bow, and I looked forward, across the bay and over the City, to the expansive Pacific.

 

“How is your control of the plane, Robbi?” I asked.  “Any problems?”

 

“The aircraft is presently on automatic pilot.  All system’s nominal, my love.”

 

I consulted my phone, double-checking that the fembot at my side was still in a good state of charge, and that the cellular signal remained strong.  She was at a little over thirty percent, with an hour to go until crash time.  I was worrying over nothing, for if Robbi dropped below ten percent, control would automatically shift to Maria, who, sitting in our less than luxurious cabin, dressed in exactly the same outfit as her daughter, her hair dyed to precisely the same soft shade of brown, would take over, sending that now uninhabited aircraft screaming into the ocean at the appointed time.  It pays to have a backup, always remember that.

 

And of my backup, what is there to say?  That I was going to die was a certainty, as it had been from the moment I’d sat, wet and shaking, on the cold marble ringing the reflecting pool.  It could not be otherwise.  If the connection were made between the plague of promiscuity on the Berkeley campus and my fembots, then they would come looking for Patient Zero; giving them my body is a small price to pay for my continued freedom.

 

Though in all truth, nothing about the price for this getaway is small, as I am sparing no expense in our escape: engaging the ship (which actually is being funded by the American taxpayer), all those sensors and cellular interfaces for the new units, the medical supplies now keeping my iBods alive, the aircraft-grade lumber used in the crates that they themselves had built, even the specially-made photographer’s vest being worn by my original self’s body, its plentiful pockets airtight, insurance that my corpse will remain afloat long enough to be recovered.

 

With a lurch, the ship shifted to port, its bow thrusters pushing us away from the dock as the aft thrusters kicked in, moving us out into the bay proper – all bills were now paid.

 

“Robbi, my pet,” I sighed, a gust of wind blowing over my shaved head, “give me a handjob, please.”

 

“Yes, stallion.”  She unzipped my fly, pulled out my monster cock, and began jerking me off through the forward rail of the ship, my big dick pointing the way.

 

Stallion, I reflected sadly, thinking of her.  Along with Robbi’s sweetness, Maria’s warmth, Kitten’s cuteness, and Rosa’s incredible sexiness, I will miss Eve’s fire the most.  I mean, yes, she had been a sociopathic, megalomaniacal, homicidal bitch, but she really had been a great fuck.  And though I might still have the use of her body, of all of their bodies, whenever I want them, it is the biggest damn shame that their data, their very consciousnesses, will have to remain on the two external hard drives packed in my luggage.  There is simply no other way.

 

Yes, it truly has been a long and strange trip, I thought, reveling in the feeling of Robbi’s silky-smooth hand, and it isn’t over.  Twelve days at thirty-three knots should put us into Athens bang on schedule.  I have made absolutely sure of this, as it is doubtful that my cyborgs can stay crated up for more than two weeks without suffering internal damage.

 

From there they will be shipped to Maria’s island, which computer records will show was sold to Karl Rossum some three years ago.  There I can keep them safe, and keep them sequestered, with no worries of contagion, or of discovery, until such time as I can find a way to reintroduce them back into their former lives.

 

Though in the meantime it will be a rough existence, no doubt about that.  I’ve seen pictures of the place: a barren landscape, a few small boxy dwellings, scrubby olive trees, and some goats.  But it won’t be that way for long, what with the propane-fired generators already on site, which will easily keep us going until we can erect the three 2.3 megawatt wind turbines presently en route from Germany, their combined output providing us with more than enough electricity to keep the girls charged, pump water from the underground well, provide light, run table saws and power drills, and keep my beer cold.  Yes, slow going at first, but there is nothing that one man, and a few robots, can’t achieve.

 

I felt the wind freshen at my back just as Robbi drew forth a torrent of my jizz, the morning breeze catching it and sending it far, far out ahead of us, to where my new life awaited me.

 

“Fembot Island,” I sighed.  It did have a nice ring to it.

 

 

 

END OF BOOK THREE

 

 

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