The Adventures of Robohooker (8 page)

Mr Underwood imagined, like most humans, that as sight was the primary perceptive facility, anything he did while not being visually observed would not be noted. However as most of my
senses
were infinitely superior to human ones, I distinctively heard him, while I was in the lavatory, rise and open my laundry basket. It was made of wicker-work and I had deliberately engineered it so that the lid would make a slight cracking sound when lifted.
Further shuffling sounds indicated that he was secreting his prize somewhere though, as I could not see, I did not know where and could not accuse him directly of the theft. I waited, therefore, till I was sucking his cock and my finger was inserted firmly up his back passage before I released his member from my mouth and said, “What have you done with my panties, Mr Underwood?”

He started, but with my digit several inches up his fundament he realised he was at my mercy.

“Nothing, nothing, I never took them,” he all but confessed.

“I heard you take them,” I said
. “You are a thief.”

“No, no, it is just a little sex game. I like to sniff them while I fuck.”

“I am not Priscilla, I am Robohooker,” I told him, “And you are lying to me. You have been stealing the panties of all the girls in this brothel and if you do not confess this instant I will thrust my finger so far up your ass hole that it will tickle your tonsils.”

At that a look of resignation crossed his face. “They are for Betty, my wife, I like her to wear the panties of you hookers because it excites me. I didn’t mean any harm.”

“You could have purchased our used panties, but you resorted to theft.”

“I had no guarantee that they would be genuine used panties unless I stole them from your laundry basket.”

He said this so plaintively that I saw the logic in his position, but had to insist that, “Madame Pandora’s would sell nothing but genuine soiled panties.”

“Forgive me,” he pleaded. “I will pay for all I have stolen. Jus
t don’t call the police. I am actually a famous personage and this would destroy me.”

It seemed that he was actually the actor, John Fitzwalter, and this explained his ability to don other guises and play the part of others.
In
truth he had no interest in actually fucking we whores, only in stealing our underwear so that it could be worn by his wife.

This mark of romance touched
Fifi,
who
upon being informed of the matter, agreed to dismiss the crime if the girls were reimbursed for their loss, and so ended the matter of the stolen panties, which gained me the grudging appreciation of my fellow whores.

As news
of my abilities spread, ordinary women such as housewives turned against me as the whores once had. They feared that if the I.R.C.’s plans to make Robohookers a mass market product, available at a very low price,
went ahead
their menfolk would use their services for sexual pleasure and flesh and blood women woul
d be deprived of sex fun
and left to act only as breeding stock. This was exacerbated as the strike in the Knee Department looked likely to be resolved shortly
and Robohookers would soon be in full production.

The I.R.C. claimed that they had plans for a male Robohooker who would be available to service real women but their bluff was called when they were unable to produce even a prototype. The men on the Board, being very old-fashioned, had not even imagined that women would have such desires and the women
directors had not felt able to voice the fact that they harboured a
need for cock.

So it was that female protesters, bearing placards reading ‘DOWN WITH ROBOHOOKER’ began appearing outside the
Pleasure
Palace
and on one occasion a brick was hurled through a window. No-one was hurt and Slab rushed out to remonstrate with the ladies. Unfortunately one of them had brought her handsome son with her on the protest and upon spying him Slab was so smitten that he spent the afternoon trying to woo him.

The women shouted abuse at me if I appeared at window and though
the
other girls jumped to my defence and uttered curses in response this did not deter my detractors.

A consequence of this, of course, was that our visitor numbers fell dramatically as few men were willing to face up to the gauntlet of outraged harridans at our door.

It was the lack of turnover this caused which, I believe, caused Fifi to accept the request to hold a rock star’s birthday party in the
Pleasure
Palace
.  Normally she would have rejected any such request out of hand, believing these purveyor’s of popular music to be uncouth types and nowhere near as refined as the business gents she preferred as clients.  However the sum offered for our services was immensely large and was difficult to refuse, especially in our straitened circumstances.

So it was that Fleapit Fandango
, an English punk band,
appeared at our premises in all their unholy and
impolite
glory. They consisted of lead singer, Slick; lead guitarist,
Ripper; bass
ist, Smallball and drummer, Tick
, whose birthday it was. They arrived at
9pm
already drunk but with a truck load of more booze which they continued to imbibe throughout their stay. They were loud, raucous, and seemed incapable of any kind of sexual dalliance as Fifi had insisted that no illegal drugs were to be brought into the premises.  They had complained at this and even more
so
when Slab frisked them before he allowed them to enter, but at that stage of the proceedings were still in a relatively good humor.

They did not behave like gentlemen at all and every girl, including Fifi, was subjected to much pawing and groping. Clothes were rippe
d off and obscenities hurled but
throughout it all Fifi bit her lip and encouraged us to tolerate their
outrageous
behaviour for the sake of our bank accounts.

At one point in the proceedings a bus-load of
20 of
their cronies arrived. These were roadies, groupies, and various other hangers-on and at first Fifi refused them entry, stating that the arrangement had been for the band only.  Slick told her that if she took that attitude they would take their business elsewhere and all contracts and payments would be cancelled.
As they had already all but wrecked the premises the wisest thing to do seemed to be to admit their entourage and hope for the best.

I tried to play it low-key and stay in the background as much as possible, but it was plain that it was my presence which had made the band select the
Pleasure
Palace
as a venue for their debauchery.

“Where’s that fucking robot whore?” Smallball roared, “I’m gonna fuck her brains out!”

“No, you aint!” Slick repli
ed, “She hasn’t got no brain
, just a computer.”

Betty was appalled at her countrymen’s behaviour and apologised profusely
but this only served to further arouse them.

“Here, Betty, what you doing selling your pussy to Yanks? Aint English cock good enough for ya?”

I had no ability to judge men as I was expected to be available to everyone, but Mandy told me these examples of humanity were odious and repulsive and I took her word for it.

A dispute arose over who would get to fuck me first. Tick demanded to go first as the birthday was in his honor, but Slick claimed that as the leader of the band he should go first.

“It’s me birthday, I’m not having no sloppy seconds,” Tick screeched.

“No sloppy seconds are offered,” I corrected him, “as I wash myself thoroughly between bouts.”

“It don’t matter, I’m the birthday boy. That robot pussy’s mine.”

Slick, a tall gangly youth, attempted to place proprietary arms around me and when the smaller drummer attempted to
remove him
the two squared up to each other. 
Slab, who was in the lounge with us, moved to intervene, but Fifi waved him back. “Let the fools kill each other if they want to.”

They circled each other as the crowd parted to allow them room rather than attempting to stop them. “Leave them to it,” Ripper said, “They’re always fighting.”

If size was to be the deciding factor Slick definitely had the advantage, but Tick flew at him in a frenzy, raining blows on the singer’s head, which caught him unawares and sent him sprawling to the ground.  His state of inebriation no doubt helped in assuring that he could not defend himself so that it was the drummer who
rose triumphant from the fracas, while the lead singer lay in a daze.

He proudly took my arm as his friends and supporters applauded him and led me off to my room. I was wearing a long, silver, gown and had only begun unzipping it when loud snoring attested to the fact that Tick had fallen asleep on my bed. He made the place look untidy, so I rolled him onto the floor before returning to the party.

Slick was on his feet again but had a mean look on his face as he staggered towards the bar, the natural grudging look of the loser in any battle. He lifted a bottle of Bourbon to his face and chugged down half the contents before dropping it to the floor and belching loudly.
A pair of half-dressed groupies attempted to engage with him but he snarled them away, unwilling to be placated.

“I don’t want no cheap, groupie, pussy! I wants an expensive whore’s stinky crack!”

“Now, young man, behave yourself,” Fifi chided him.

Slick grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him.. “You’ll do, you old trout. Let’s see if we can get a
juicy
ride out of your dusty old hole.”

“I am not available,” Fifi screeched, “I am no longer a hooker.”

“Once a whore, always a whore,” he replied, nuzzling at her neck.

Slab saw what was happening and moved towards them at which point Slick pulled a knife from his boot and placed it against Fifi’s throat.

With all eyes on him, for the room had gone silent, Slab looked sheepish. “I was told to frisk them for drugs, not weapons,” he pleaded.

“Not one step closer, big man,” Slick spat, “Or the old broad gets it. Now, back off.”

Slab hesitated and I said, “Retreat, Slab, he has you at a disadvantage. You cannot possibly reach him before he harms Ms Fontainbleu.”

“Yeah, listen to the robot, minder man,” Slick added, “She knows what she’s talking about. Now I’m going to take this old bitch up to her bedroom and fuck her, but I’ll have my knife by my side and if I’m disturbed I’ll stick her. Get me? 
One little noise, a floorboard creaking, anything, and the knife slides straight into her guts.”

“Fifi has informed you that she is no longer a sex worker. If you intend to have sexual intercourse with her, it will be rape and you will be brought to account,” I said boldly.

“Rape? Yeah, won’t be the first time. But money talks, metal Miss, and I aint never done time yet.”

“If you persist in this course of action I will be obliged to stop you,” I warned.

“She can’t do nothing, Slick,” one of the groupies shouted. “She’s a robot and they can’t harm humans.”

I was amazed at how ingrained Asimov’s fallacious dictums had become.

“Oh yeah, supergirl,” Slick sneered, “You might be mechanical but the black guy’s closer to me than you are, so what makes you think you can get to me faster than he can?”

“Because I have no need to ‘get to you’.”

“What?”

I did not answer him immediately but took a sip of my drink. Rather, it was a large mouthful of the vodka and ice I had in my glass.  I allowed the liquid to slip down my gullet but retained the ice cube in my mouth.
I had a nose and lungs which
allowed me to breathe, but thes
e were not to supply me with oxygen but to cool my internal mechanisms. Now I filled my lungs and spat out the ice cube at close to the speed of sound, directly at
Slick’s eye. At the
same time I raced forward
,
for if I had miscalculated he might still have had time to exert pressure on the blade at Fifi’s neck. I had no need to knock the knif
e away from his hand however, for
he dropped it himself as he lifted his hands to his face with an exclamation of surprise, shock and pain.

Slab was close behind me and grabbed the stunned youth.

“I thought you couldn’t hurt people,” the factotum said.

“I can’t and I didn’t,” I lied, “I just coughed.  But I understand yo
u are capable of harming people. P
lease feel free to do so.”

And so Slick suffered his second drubbing of the night before Fifi announced that this outrage was too much and everyone must leave.
As the band and their entourage trooped out, vastly deflated, my fellow whores crowded round me and I was, once again, the hero of the hour.