The Adventures of Robohooker (7 page)

“It aint fair,” Katie added, “You spend a year loosening up your ass so you can take a cock comfortable and then the rest of your life trying to keep it tight.”

“George Turnbull liked me farting,” Linda said, “Used to make him laugh.”

“You shoulda charged him extra.”

“I couldn’t do it on command,” Linda protested but this line of conversation brought a frown from Fifi.
There were no extras
on offer as the
standard
fee was inclusive of manual, oral, vaginal and anal sex to completion,
and only specials, such as those desired by Bill Collins, w
ere charged at a different rate and had to be negotiated with Mrs Harris prior to commencement of any sexual activity.

The evening continued with further salacious stories by which time the ladies were in such a state that Slab and I had to carry them out to the people carrier so that Slab could drive us all home.

The next day and my first paying customer arrived.  He was Arnold Hope, a middle aged man who owned a bakery business.  My services were a birthday gift to him from his wife who, he told me, was very open-minded. She would, however, expect to be allowed a fling of her own when they visited
Jamaica
later in the year.

“She’s obsessed with black cock,” he informed me as he removed his clothes. “It’s not even the size that does it for her, just the color. She’d rather have a little black one than a big white one. She’s weird.”

I was already lying on the bed, my legs wide open and stroking my pussy beguilingly. Mr Hope’s cock was of an average size but already fully erect and he didn’t want much by way of manual or
oral
stimulation. He just wanted to insert his cock in me and fuck me, but in every position imaginable.
This was a man who intended to get his wife’s money’s worth.

We started in the standard missionary position, with my legs flat out. I then bent my knees and raised my legs to wrap them round his waist. Following that he required me to place my legs on his shoulders.  He pummelled me thus for several minutes before he asked me to take the superior position, firstly facing him and then away while he massaged my buttocks. After this he rolled me onto my side and took me in the spoon position. From there it was easy for him to roll me onto my face and pound me vigorously before, finally, pulling me up by the hips onto my hands and knees.  I reach
ed
between my legs and fondled his balls lovingly which eventually initiated his climax, a noisy affair which he announced with much cursing, “Damn! Fuck!
Take it, take it, you
beautiful
bitch! Take that hot come! Take it in your sweet pussy!”

I replied with lines such as, “Yeah, baby, give it to me! Give me all that hot cock!”

As he collapsed on top of me he was bathed in sweat
but with a satisfied smile on his face
.

“Jeeze, that was the best fuck I ever had and I’ve been screwing whores from every corner of the planet for years.
Even beats the time I fucked my wife’s sister, in front of her.
”

“I am glad you enjoyed the experience,” I replied. “Was my vagina adequately hot, moist and tight for you?”

“Super pussy, honey, that’s what you’ve got there, super pussy.  I never thought an android fuck would be better than a real woman, but you’re a marvel.”

“We still have over half an hour if you would like to repeat the procedure,” I offered.

“Again? Hell, no, baby. I’m no youngster that can manage a repeat fuck right away.  No, one crack at it a day is all this old boy can manage. I just wish I could afford to come visit you every day, you’re miles better than Mabel and for you I’d let her take as much black cock as she wanted.”

“I am afraid that I cannot offer a
discounted
season ticket for my services. But perhaps you should save encounters with me for special occasions so that they remain special?”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Mr Hope said, “And that’s smart thinking. Beautiful, intelligent and a great fuck, you’re the perfect woman.”

“The perfect artificial woman,” I corrected him.

He put his mouth to one of my nipples and sucked on it timidly, almost as if he was afraid to become aroused again. “You’re woman enough for me.”

And so my career as a Robohooker proceeded, as clients came and went, but mostly came. My fame as an accomplished lover grew and I was in great demand so that my waiting list, far from shrinking, grew, even though I was getting through ten men a day. I volunteered to put in a night shift but Fifi totally refused to countenance such a suggestion, stating emphatically, if erroneously, that even androids needed their beauty sleep. The number of clients the other girls received declined as most men would rather wait for a crack at me than have a flesh and blood woman they could have at any time.  Resentment towards me grew as the whores’ income decreased and Fifi pleaded with the I.R.C. to bring more Robohookers online
but their Knee Department was on strike and as knees were vital in the production of a fully functioning Robohooker, production was brought to a halt and I remained as the sole Robohooker in the world.

Alone, I bore the brunt of the other whores’ venom. They ignored me at every turn and denigrated me to their clients, claiming that a plastic pussy could never give as much pleasure as a genuine one. One of them cut the power to my recharging probe and Slab found me lying, unable to move, in my bed
one morning
. Fifi re
monstrated with them and threatened
to have them retrained as librarians’ assistants but the truth was that they loved their work and didn’t wish a life in the word of books.

Things would have come to a head if another event had not transpired which deflected their attention.

“Someone’s stolen my panties,” Mandy complained one day.

“You too?” Priscilla said, “I thought some of mine had gone missing.”

Underwear was one o
f the girls biggest expenses as
they changed their panties several times a day so that they would always be shop-fresh for their clients.  They only wore the finest and most expensive of undergarments, of course, and their loss was a major blow.

“Oh they’ve just gone missing in the laundry,” Fifi said dismissively.

Each girl had a laundry basket in her room where they deposited their soiled underwear. Slab collected these on a daily basis and they were picked up by Mr Wu for laundering twice a week.

“No, I count mine out and I count them in,” Mandy insisted, “And these ones are going missing from my dirty laundry.”

“It’s some dirty pervert,”
Katie snarled. “What john have you both
entertained recently
?”

Mrs Harris was called to produce her appointment book but it seemed that they had not shared their services with anyone.

“Maybe there’s more than one
of them
then?” Katie suggested.

“Your theory may be correct, Kate,” I said, “I have suffered no losses and this may be because I do not soil my panties.”

I had at one point considered exuding moisture from my vaginal orifice regularly to better simulate a real woman but had decided that it was unnecessary.

“No one wants panties soaked in engine oil,” Priscilla snapped, which showed her ignorance as
,
though my
vaginal
lubricant was synthetic
,
it was not engine oil and I had even been told that it tasted nice.

“Maybe it’s Slab,” Mandy suggested.

Kate snorted. “The only panties he’s interested in are those worn by blond, twenty one year old white boys.”

“Yeah,
but
maybe
they’re
not for his personal use,
he could be selling them. Pandora’s Panties, bet there’s a market.”

“I have known Slab for over fifteen years and he has my absolute trust,” Fifi said imperiously which removed our handyman as a suspect
immediately
.

“Hell, I could sell my panties myself and
put the fucker out of business,
”
Mandy offered.

“I don’t think profit is the motive,” I said, “The thief derives a perverse pleasure from purloining your panties.”

“But I don’t see that we could have a bunch of thieves all appear at the same time. And that’s all that makes sense if we haven’t had the same john.”

“We must set a trap to capture the miscreant,” I suggested.
“If it is the same culprit he must be booking under different identities. He must also be a master of disguise otherwise he would run the risk of being identified.” I paused and considered. “I think another reason that I have not been targeted is that I do not visit the toilet when a client visits, which is obviously when he strikes.”

Fifi nodded sagely, but said, “I don’t see what kind of trap we can lay, especially
if we don’t know who the shit
is and I’m not sure I’m happy about putting the girls in harm’s way by asking them to collar him.”

“What about Slab, surely that’s his job?” Mandy said.

“Slab’s big and strong, but if he’s in the middle of Carousel he’s not fast,” Fifi admitted. “Our
bad guy
could
rob
a girl and be on his way before the big man got moving. I like to think of him more as a visual deterrent than anything else.”

“I could be put in harm’s way without endangering anybody,” I said.

“But he doesn’t want your panties because you don’t leak and he can’t get them because you don’t go to the can,” Fifi reminded me.

“My physical appearance can be altered so that I
look like any one of you,” I said and as they all turned and stared at me I added, “The fee for the encounter would go to the girl I imitated.”

“The I.R.C. might not accept that, Andi,” Fifi said.

“My owners do not need to know,” I said.

“I didn’t know you could lie.”

“Saying nothing is not lying,” I answered, though the truth was that I could
deceive
as well as the next girl if required
because e
xaggeration and dissimulation were programmed into me as a Robohooker.

“And you’d do that for us?” Mandy asked.

“You are my sisters and I must defend you,” I said blandly.

“It’s only a few pairs of panties,” Fifi said weakly, fearing that I would jeopardise her relationship with the I.R.C.

“That does not matter. It is an offence against our dignity. If a gentleman wishes to purchase a pair of our panties he should state his intent and offer a reasonable price. What this miscreant is doing is theft and he must be stopped.”

It became very clear, on further investigation, that all of the girls apart from Priscilla had suffered a loss and as it seemed likely that he was working his way through all the girls, she would be the next target. I, therefore, took photographs of her and precise measurements and relayed them to the lab, requesting that my appearance be changed to hers. There were enquiries as to my purpose from I.R.C. of course, but I informed them that I wished to establish how much my physical appearance had to do with my popularity, and that seemed to satisfy them.
The major alterations were that my cheekbones were reduced in prominence, my lips thinned and my red mane was replaced with Priscilla’s short dark curls.

“Goddam, it’s like looking in a mirror,” Priscilla said when I met up with her after being refitted.

“In terms of body shape we are
roughly
the same,” I informed her, “It was only my face and hair that have been altered. I will try to keep conversation to a minimum so that the clients will not recognise my true nature. This would have been more difficult with Mandy as I have not yet mastered her command of filthy language. I know the words but cannot deliver them convincingly.”

“You’re a peach,” Priscilla said, though neither she nor I
resembled the fruit in any way, even when I was wearing my own face.

I had to increase vaginal pressure slightly to encourage my own clients to finish more quickly so that I could squeeze in the one client a day Priscilla entertained, but it was so slight that nobody noticed or complained.
For her customers, of course, I could not do this, but being a more mature type she seemed to attract a younger client who climaxed quickly in any case.  The first few of these were no more than routine, though I offered every opportunity for theft by making two calls to the bathroom during each encounter.

It was while entertaining her fifth customer, a
small man called
Mr Kevin Underwood, that I became suspicious, especially as he insisted on buying me copious amounts of drink before we retired to my room. Was this a ploy to ensure that I visited the lavatory thus allowing him the freedom to rake through my dirty laundry, I
wondered?
I explained my lack of conversation as we sat in the bar by claiming to have
a
sore throat, an explanation he accepted willingly as it allowed him to talk at length about himself.  He was a highly successful artist, he told me, who specialised in water colors, though when I questioned him about the subject it was scant, implying that he might be a master of disguise but he was not a master of deception. Basically, he had not done his homework adequately
and had expected that no whore would have an in-depth knowledge of the subject. It was not a part of my primary programming
either
but my neural banks had wireless access to the internet and
so I
caught him out on several errors, though I said nothing.