Authors: Candy Dance
*Publishers Note: This short story is previously published in Future Fantasies Volume One
Real woman, Lisette tries to take her fate into her hands by masquerading as a sexual cyborg. But her new master and real hunk of a man, Rider, has no idea that his sexy new 'bot' is really a
Master/ slave play, a little spanking, coerced dinner making, sex bot that cannot cook,
high heeled pink ankle boots, belly rubbing in an anti gravity chamber and on the hood of a cherry mustang.
Rousing partner masturbation. Tender and forceful his/her oral sex. Coerced stripping.
By Candy Dance
“A virgin what?” Rider muttered, looking down the petite length of the feminine sexual cyborg which was standing demurely in front of him. Even the incredible cyborg creation’s cheeks were turning pink.
Christ, they were manufacturing these sex bots too real, Rider considered. His black-eyed gaze latched onto a pair of buxom breasts of indecent proportions to the bot’s petite height. Not that he was complaining about that . . . she had full, rounded hips and a small waist to carry them. All of her attributes appeared young and were manufactured firm. Uplifting, so to speak. The ass on her must be decadent heaven, but he’d not moved around her to see. Her lush proportions were displayed in a skin-tight pink spandex jumpsuit, which clung so tightly he could see the expression of the plump little slit between her sleek thighs.
“I am the newest model, labeled the virgin maiden. I'm manufactured to be completely naive . . . to be molded to your personal desires.”
Rider listened raptly to her voice. It was like flaming peach liqueur sliding huskily down his throat. The voluptuous maiden had not looked directly at him once, but instead gazed shyly at his chest. Which was at her eye level, of course. Still he'd envisioned, for this six-month journey, a more brazen bot, er . . . woman, as he had always had before. A sexual bot was one of the things that kept a man from going insane during interminably long space voyages. Hell, the postal cargo ships barely needed attention . . . a human was on-board only in case of an emergency and for routine checks to make sure that all of the systems were functioning properly. Hence the sex bots . . . a man had to do something!
However, he’d learned a long time ago how to work a sexy bot for the most long-term enjoyment. A smart man drew out the experiences over time to stave off boredom later. A man could only screw a bot so many hundreds of times and be excited about it. But a virgin bot? Hell, it didn’t matter, he was stuck with her, because he’d already engaged the ship and it had left orbit two hours ago, before he’d thought to check out the accoutrements.
Molded to my pleasure, huh?
“I’m going to name you, Cherry, and you will call me Master, unless I give you permission to call me by my name, Rider.”
“Yes, Master,” Cherry replied, with a pink blush moving down her slender throat.
“Too real,” Rider muttered. Still, he found himself wondering if he could make those beautiful melon-shaped breasts of hers turn pink.
“Well . . . ,” Rider mumbled as he cleared his throat. He’d like to strip her naked now and get a good look, but six months was a long time and he knew it was best to keep his pace slow in the beginning . . . Huh, not to pop the cherry too quickly!
“All right then, go fix my dinner and bring it to me in the control room, Cherry.”
“Dinner!” Cherry squeaked, raising her eyes to him with a startled gaze.
Rider was surprised to see that Cherry’s eyes were a smoky gray with lavender highlights, quite beautiful and it seemed quite intelligent. Christ, they usually made the sexual bots dumber than dirt. Smart and a virgin? Rider realized an anticipation building inside of himself that he'd not felt in years. Not since he’d had his first sexual bot experience on his first run. They said that a man always fell in love with his first bot . . . and he had.
He’d been just a callow kid then, who could help it? It had been his first sexual encounter, even though it was a sex bot. He’d learned his lesson though, after the heartbreak of that unreality. A man doing his kind of work just spent too many years alone. Maybe it was time to retire? He had enough money saved now and he wasn’t sure what kept him doing this work. Force of habit he supposed, and the fact that he had no family or anything to stop for.
“Yes, Cherry, . . . dinner . . . in an hour. In the control room.”
Rider heard the answering demure, “Yes, Master,” as his strides took him out of the cubicle into the corridor.
“Dinner?” Lisette muttered. “I didn’t know
cyborgs had anything to do with dinner!”
Maybe they were programmed for it,
Lisette thought, and what did she know about cooking food on a technological Mecca like this ship? She'd never seen so many doodads and gadgets. Darn, this ruse could be harder to pull off than she’d thought! It had seemed like such a brilliant idea when she’d first conjured it up. She, a human woman, posing as a sexual cyborg to get pregnant. Men were so hard to find out on the rim of space. A woman just
to be clever. All the cargo carriers, who were men, shunned taking real women on their lengthy space voyages. There were stories about real-life murders a half-century ago when they had tried it, and it was not always the women who were in their last death throes at the end of the voyage.
“Men,” Lisette grumbled as she tried to turn her body in the direction in which she presumed the kitchen attachment to be, except that the skin-tight spandex she wore was anything but resilient. She moved down the cramped companionway like a pasted-up stick figure. Darn, she could not even bend her elbows. She had put on the gut-tight garment, figuring to firm up and refine any small shapely flaws she might have. Heavens, sex bots were perfect! It was one of those stumbling points, of many, her sister Leah had pointed out along the way. When she took the suit off, perfection would fall.
“Not terribly,” Lisette reassured herself. “I’m still young!”
Only she'd envisioned this man Rider, who by the way was not the lithe blond with swirling blue eyes with whom she thought this postal journey was contracted. She thought that he would be in the throes of passion when she disrobed. Or at least that it would be in the dark. She understood that men and women made love in the dark. However, this man Rider had a masculine virility that she'd never have comprehended, had she not seen him in person.
Lisette shivered as she turned a tight corner in the companionway. She’d only seen two men in person in her entire life. She’d seen a lot of pictures but only two men breathing the same air. One was a postal carrier named Sam that came to Maidenheads, the all female colony where she lived. Sam came once a month to deliver the mail and the only way that she or any other women on Maidenheads could see Sam was to buy a ticket. Sam didn’t know anything about the viewing; he went about his work unloading the postal carrier, oblivious, while hundreds of ladies watch him from a distance using binoculars. The other man was her dad, but she’d only been four years old the last time she’d seen him. Lisette shook her head of short blond curls. She did not enjoy remembering her dad because it always made her sad.
Now Rider looked nothing like Sam, nor any of the other men she’d seen in the black market pictures of men that she hoarded. Rider was older. Rider was bigger. Rider was, well . . . scruffier. All of the men in her black market collection of pictures were clean-shaven. But Rider had a shadow of whiskers on his square chin. It was not a beard, just a rough dark shadow, and he had gray hair . . . lots of it. Long silvery-gray hair, peppered with strands of black, hung down to his shoulders and curled around his neck. A neck, Lisette mused, that she had spent quite a bit of time staring at. Why, there was even peppered gray hair curled in the deeply muscular hollow of Rider’s larynx. Heavens, even his throat had muscular tendons.
Lisette tried to bend her elbows so she could bring her hands up to cover her overheated cheeks, but they wouldn’t budge more than a quarter of the way up. Darn, she was going to have to do something serious about this. Maybe cut the sleeves off. If she ever found the kitchen attachment. It was a good thing that sexual cyborgs labeled "virgin maiden" were touted to be blushers, because Lisette concluded she would be doing a lot of that.
Rider paced the control deck . . . not a large space, but he could manage five long strides before he had to turn around to pace back the other way.
“So much for molded to my pleasure,” he mumbled as he checked the time again. His beautiful buxom sex bot was twenty minutes late with his dinner. Yet he refused to go searching for her. He did have the, “Master,” persona to uphold. In that vein, he would be better off punishing her when she got there. Instantly, he envisioned baring Cherry’s ripe butt and bending her over his knee to indulge himself in a spirited spanking. God, he loved a woman’s ass . . . or maybe he would make her kneel at his feet, naked, while she fed him with her fingers.
Damn, he’d been half-cocked ever since seeing that courtesan figure of Cherry’s . . .
, Rider halted in mid-stride. No it was ever since looking into those startled lilac-kissed gray eyes of hers. “Shit!” Rider rubbed a broad hand across the five o’clock shadow of whiskers on his chin. This was
“Master, please forgive me for being late.”
Rider jerked his full-size body with a tense motion as he swiveled. Cherry had surprised him, and he found that his view was of the top of her head of blond curls. She was bowing in supplication with a tray of food pushed forward in her hands. Damn, she was shaking. Without even thinking, Rider quickly grabbed the tray from Cherry’s trembling hands, noticing that the sleeves of her spandex jumpsuit were gone. It was then he heard something that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle. A purely feminine . . . delicate . . . sniffle.
crying?” Rider demanded, as he dumped the tray on top of the propulsion systems counter top with a clattering sound. He had Cherry’s fine-boned quivering little chin scooped up into his big paw a second later, lifting it so he could see her face. Miniature crystal tears ran down her cheeks. One. Two . . . in slow drops.
Rider had never heard of a sex bot that cried before, unless a man requested it for some type of sexual gratification. Only Cherry was not exactly sobbing, her eyes were closed and she appeared to be trying very hard not to cry. Her vulnerable pose allowed him a moment to study her. She was exquisite, even with a bit of a red nose. Her face had a delicate bone structure, like a fairy princess in some kid's story. She would probably bruise easily . . . if she were human.
“Christ,” Rider muttered, there he went again, fantasizing about real women. He would never-
get a real woman who was going to be as obedient as this shapely little sex bot was going to be! Rider turned his thoughts back to the moment and assumed that Cherry was sniffling from fear of punishment. Which he decided quickly, not choosing to examine the decision to closely either, that she’d suffered enough already.
“Come on, Cherry, you can serve me my dinner now.”
Cherry’s eyes snapped open, wide and shimmering in gray-lavender. The look was horrified. Christ, what had he done now?
“Oh, Master.” Cherry’s pink lips trembled in glistening moisture from her tears. “I-I,” she stuttered.
Lisette’s mind was working frantically, thinking that if Rider tried to eat the food she’d brought he might kill her or . . . or kill himself. She'd heard of people becoming sick and dying from space rations that were not properly prepared. She'd been trying anxiously to come up with a reason . . . a way to get out of this mess. Everything she’d ever read on sexual cyborgs said
about cooking and especially not with those foreign gadgets in that place called, and she used this term loosely, a kitchen.
She'd never seen a kitchen like it before; she could not even find the oven. Darn, darn, she did not think that sexual bots were supposed to cry! Maybe the virginal maiden models did? She could only hope! Desperate and not knowing what to say, Lisette began to kiss and nuzzle Rider’s hands that held her face so warmly.
, sex was what she was here for wasn’t it? Maybe she could distract him?
Rider tensed as an infusion of raw lust rode down his tall frame, pooling in his groin and nearly undoing him in the split-second that it coursed through him.
he'd never had a woman kiss his hands. His balls certainly, but not his blunt work-worn hands. The flesh of Cherry’s lips was gossamer silk, leaving dewy impressions on his knuckles, palms and the backs of his square hand. What the hell was she doing? Only his body did not give a shit for the answer to that question.