Robert's Project

This is a standalone story, an entry for the 2024 Literotica Geek Pride Event.

Thanks to my editors thegoofyproofyreader and VallesMarineris, who made many improvements; any remaining mistakes, of course, are mine.

About 4500 words long. Constructive comments are welcome, since I am a new author.

*

Timothy was standing outside the mansion gates. He had an envelope with £2000 in his jacket. The electric gates closed with a hum. They had given him his phone back, and he wondered if he should call the police, or a reporter, or a friend? He remembered the start of the events.

He worked as a bartender, and last Thursday night had been quiet. Thursdays were usually quiet, and he was keeping an eye on a couple of regulars, and a couple having a conversation at a table. Bartending was a mixed job: all sorts of things happened. The door opened and a woman rushed in. Her urgency caught his attention immediately; she looked on edge but walked straight, so not drunk. She was good looking, dark smooth hair to neck length, a short tight white dress and heels. He would guess her age as somewhere mid-twenties to thirties. As she came closer he saw, with even more interest, that her make-up was running as if she had been crying. She was breathing hard. She made an attempt to slow down as she neared the counter and quickly scanned the whole bar. She seemed reassured and came up to the counter.

"Hello, I've not got my phone and I'm looking for help."

"Of course. What do you need? Do you want to come behind the bar with me? I've got a quiet place. I'll just signal to my colleague." He gestured to the waitress, the other worker in the bar, showing he was taking the woman to the small kitchen area behind the bar itself, so that the woman would see his signal too, "Would you like my female colleague with us too?"

"No, just here is good. I feel better already."

"Well, you're safe here. Get your breath back," he tried to reassure her and find out the situation. "Do you want me to call anyone? Are you injured?" This was an unusual end to the evening, but it wasn't the first time he had met a woman in distress. She didn't seem drunk though, he could not smell drink on her.

She was jittery and shaking, glancing round as if she expected something to jump out at her. "No I'm not injured. I've walked over from Bradley Manor. I need to get away. I'm... I'm.... I can't remember my name. Can I make a call, please?"

"I can get you a glass of water, or a coffee?" He tried to calm her by making his voice quiet and slow.

He saw a man enter the bar, stop, and look around the room. He clearly recognised the woman and walked over to them. He wasn't big. He didn't look drunk either. Timothy relaxed a bit, he wouldn't have to break up a drunken fight, probably.

"Good evening," the man greeted Timothy, "I'm Dr. Idleman." The Doctor turned to the woman, "Hello Ms. Pearce, you just ran off. I had to follow you from the house. Are you feeling OK?"

The woman looked confused, glancing between Timothy and the Doctor. "I don't recognise either of you. Is that my name?"

The Doctor sighed. "This happens sometimes. It's happened before. You are Isobel Pearce. Do you remember that?"

Timothy thought perhaps she had a mental issue. Perhaps she was in trouble as well. He thought fast, not trying to be confrontational, but trying to clarify the pair's background. "Who are you Doctor? and what's your relationship with her?"

"I'm Doctor Idleman, Franz Idleman. I'm... taking care of Isobel for a couple of nights. We're... working together."

Isobel frowned and shook her head, then looked puzzled.

"Isobel," said the Doctor, speaking clearly, "Isobel Pearce, do you want to come back to the manor, to your duties?" Isobel seemed calmer, but shook her head again. The Doctor tried again, "You are the Personal Assistant of... someone, and you are doing an experiment with him, and me. Do you remember the other woman, Tabitha?"

Timothy thought that the Doctor really seemed to know her. But he wasn't letting her go with the Doctor without a better story than this. "Listen, Franz. If she doesn't want to go with you, she doesn't have to."

The Doctor frowned in frustration. "I see you're suspicious. I have a relationship with her, she's employed with me." He tried to speak to the woman again, "Do you remember your employer, who he is? Think about his name."

She suddenly seemed calmer and looked around the room and at him again with a slow, measured sweep. She spoke in a slow voice with a hint of an accent. Timothy couldn't place it, but it had changed. "Doc, I'm Robert again. Why didn't you keep an eye on me as we started the run? Do I need different drugs?"

She turned to Timothy who was now disturbed and puzzled by the nonsensical sentences. In the same slight accent she spoke, "I've just met you. Thank you for being kind, that's a great way for a barman to act. I don't need help now though. I'm just going to go with Doc here. Who are you and have I told you where I'm from?"

"I'm Timothy, I work as the barman here. Yes, you're from Bradley Manor." Timothy was feeling uneasy about her sudden change, and still protective about a possible abused woman. And what had happened with the name change? "I'm not sure you should go with Franz. Can I call a taxi for you...Robert?"

Robert answered. She seemed happy with the name now. "No, I can walk. Doc, I want you to contain this for a night. I feel that I should, but it's up to you."

"Sure, Robert," the Doctor emphasized the name. "I'll call for backup. You're right, and we can sort it out tomorrow with the other principal." He finished with a wink to Robert, as though he was trying to convey something to her.

Timothy was thoroughly suspicious now. While the Doctor made a phone call Timothy tried to engage Robert again. "You don't have to go with him if you don't want to. Is your name really Robert?"

"No, thanks. Doc is arranging transport now. Yes, I'm called Robert." She brushed her dark hair back behind her ears, looking for the first time slightly clumsy. Timothy thought that her face looked different somehow, perhaps harder and older? Was he in some sort of vampire story? He placed the accent now, South African probably.

The Doctor, Franz, ended his phone call.

Robert asked for a coffee, she motioned for the Doctor to pay; he paid as if he was used to taking orders from her. Timothy got the coffee and a glass of water for the Doctor, and stood by them as the two sipped and waited. Within five minutes a car pulled up outside and three men came in. Robert was now standing at the front of the bar counter and when the men entered she waved to them. The Doctor strode over to them and had a quick conversation.

"This is above my current pay-grade, I'm afraid," she smirked as if this was funny. "And it's above Doc's pay-grade too, so we're going to kidnap you for a day or so. Then my employer...I won't say his name now, can take care of it. Don't worry, we'll sort out you leaving here unexpectedly, and nothing bad will happen to you. I can promise you that."

Timothy's mouth dropped open, then he turned to look at the men. Two of them came up to him; one saying in a low voice, "Don't struggle and nothing bad will happen. We are Robert's security." Timothy started to object but they firmly grabbed him and walked him outside to a SUV. He tried to protest but barely got a word out before the men pushed him into the back seat, sitting on either side of him. She sat by the driver. The Doctor sat in the mid-seats. Timothy didn't see the third man again, presumably he was in the bar. The car pulled away smoothly and gently.

They pulled Timothy out of the car three minutes later. He recognised Bradley Manor: a large house with gates and fences on the edge of town. The men took him through the front door.

"What's going on? You can't just kidnap me." Timothy protested.

The Doctor responded. "It's just for a short while. I can't decide what to do, it's not my area, and the boss isn't available tonight."

Robert chipped in. "I...He is a good man, we'll explain tomorrow. It'll be you signing a NDA, an agreement not to talk, and picking up a fee for being nice to me. My employer hardly ever kills people."

Timothy was not reassured by this and continued to protest, in real fear now. "Just let me go, and I won't tell anyone anything."

The larger of the security men spoke flatly. "We are keeping you for a few hours. Nothing else will happen until then. Probably tomorrow dinner time. It'll be explained to you then. We've taken care of the bar job, don't worry about that. Don't try to run away. We'll show you to a room, you can ask for food. I'll be following you around all the time though."

Timothy repeated, "Just let me go, please."

"If you try and run, I'll tie you up and whatever happens to you tomorrow will still happen. You'll just be tired and uncomfortable until then, instead of a nice bed and a dinner and drink. It's up to you."

The large man patted him down starting at his shoulders and finishing at his ankles, removing both wallet and phone. He held the phone out to Timothy, "Unlock it now, please."

Timothy fumbled for about a minute, he couldn't remember the PIN he was so upset. Eventually he remembered it.

The large man said, "You'll get it back. But if the worst happens, we will set a false trail of your money and phone." Then he walked upstairs firmly dragging Timothy along. He shoved Timothy into a room. Timothy looked around. He was in a comfortable bedroom. It had an ensuite, a double bed, and windows that would not open. It was dark outside, but he could see the gardens and the streetlights on the road and the first village houses. They seemed a hundred miles away. The bedroom was well decorated but impersonal, like a good hotel room; by the bed was a phone. He lifted the receiver and tried to dial. No outside line. He dialled 0.

A voice spoke, "Security desk." Timothy hung up. He went to the door, which opened to show the bulky man who just looked at him. Timothy went back inside.

A second man came in, a few minutes later, bringing him a toothbrush. "I've been told that you have to stay here, no communication, for about a day. You won't be harmed if you behave."

"I'll be missed."

"No, we took care of that. You've got the rest of the evening off, and no-one is expecting you tomorrow. And if you are missed, you just never will be found." And that was that.

Timothy waited before going out again. The large man said in a friendlier tone, "Do you want any supper or a drink tonight? I'm going to be your escort, and you can't go to some places."

Timothy responded cautiously, "I'd like some supper. And have you a name?" He thought that he could at least explore and perhaps find a way out. He was puzzled and worried, but not too worried because the treatment could be a lot worse. He thought, no one gives a toothbrush to someone they are going to kill.

"Grenville."

Grenville indicated, "This way," before taking him to the kitchen. The woman was present now dressed in a brief white bikini which did well showing her breasts and hips off. She had repaired her make-up and was drinking some cocktail, a martini, in a wide glass. A second woman entered the room just after him; she was blonde, made up too, the same sort of age and wearing a contrasting black bikini. The second man came in too and mixed a martini for the woman in black, then produced supper, making beef and salad sandwiches, for Timothy, offering him a drink of his choice. Timothy asked for a whisky and ginger and was given a good double. Good whisky too, Nikka Malt from the barrel.

Both women seemed now to be entirely at ease, "Goodnight, I'll see you tomorrow." they said together then went off hand in hand. The distress of earlier had been forgotten.

He let Grenville lead him back to the bedroom and he timidly drifted off to sleep eventually. What else could he do? He finally had run out of energy.

In the morning he got up, had a shower, and then went down to the kitchen. Grenville trailing him, where the cook from the night before was ready to make breakfast.

Timothy wondered if Grenville ever slept, "Do you ever sleep?"

"Of course I do, the security system has CCTV inside the house. Someone is on watch all the time. The food here is good, the cook will make what you want." He was right, it was good, the cook knew what he was doing and had obviously been in the catering trade. Timothy had a hearty breakfast, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing happened. He was allowed to wander through most of the house, Grenville only stopping him from going into other bedrooms, and one wing of the ground floor. The house seemed eerily quiet despite the few house guests loitering about.

He waited for lunch in the kitchen. He could watch TV, and the cook was working, preparing for several people. The two women came in, now dressed casually in tight jeans and blouses and had lunch. They both looked a bit younger since they were now not wearing make-up. The only peculiar thing was both were wearing what looked like rubber swimming caps. They didn't talk to him and seemed to be acting vacantly. A different man came in, grunted to Timothy and had lunch too, also wearing a swimming cap. He looked vaguely familiar, looked about sixty, bearded and dressed casually. The swimming cap did not help Timothy's recollection. Everyone was very quiet today it seemed.

The day went on. About three o'clock, his escort took a phone call and motioned him to follow. They went to the previously private wing, and Grenville ushered him through a door into a conference room; Grenville stayed outside. He saw a large dark table, about twenty chairs and a big screen at the end. The two women were sitting at the table, the dark haired one with a laptop, a pad, and a pen by her. He took a seat and looked at the other person sitting at the head of the table, the bearded man from last night. Everyone was still dressed casually although the man's shirt looked expensive.

Timothy suddenly remembered the man's name! It was Mr Robert Ransome, the multimillionaire tech developer: famous for being rather eccentric on top of all his technological advancements. Timothy blurted out before thinking, "I recognise you..." And then thinking that might have been a very stupid move he shut his mouth.

Ransome laughed. "All will be revealed, in HDTV."

The doctor entered and sat at the table. He wore a white lab coat and carried a laptop. Timothy thought, 'All I need to see now are the sharks with fricking lasers.'

The dark-haired woman, Robert, waved a remote control and the large screen at the end lit up. On it were Ransome and the two women, lying in a large bed. Ransome was wearing shorts, the women were wearing the bikinis, looking like some perverted set of complementary good and evil, one blonde and one dark haired. They had coordinated make-up coloured to look similar too. The women and Ransome smiled and recited together, "Hi, for the tape, we are all Robert." Then the sex happened. Both the women were enthusiastic and the first event was them going down on each other. They stripped off complementary bikini bottoms and licked each other with enthusiasm. First the blonde was on top, then they turned over so the dark-haired woman was on top. Ransome was watching and starting to stroke himself, slowly moving his hand over his dick, keeping it going to hold a slow steady pleasure. Occasionally Ransome stopped to caress the two women's bodies. Timothy thought 'At least my cock is as big as his'. It was a spectacle.

The trio carried on, the girls giving Ransome a blowjob; first it was the blond, then the dark-haired beauty, Robert, whom Timothy had met. Then they carefully licked the dick together, one concentrating on the tip while the other licked the shaft. Ransome was lying back and enjoying himself. A murmured conversation, and they swapped spots and started fingering each other gently. Timothy had an erection at this point watching two beautiful glistening shaved pussies, two pairs of delectable tits, the licking and sighing, the eventual oozing from the penis which was greedily licked up. The bikini tops came off then. First one and then the other woman took turns slowly riding Ransome while the other woman kissed him affectionately. Ransome came once, the women carried on for a third round, again together, lying side by side to show Ransome as they stimulated each other with a black and a silver vibrator.

After all had finished, all looking pleased, an obvious break on the screen happened, then all three spoke together. "This is Robert's geek pride event, we all enjoyed it. We hope you did too." All the participants waved at the camera, and the scene faded to black.

A silence fell, Timothy looking round the room at the four people sitting at the table.

Ransome spoke first, "Well done Tabby and Isobel, that's a wrap for this time. Thank you, and your usual fees have been sent to you. Now, Isobel," who it appeared was the dark-headed one, "We are not sure why we lost overlay and your memories for an hour last night. What do you think happened?"

The woman called both Isobel and Robert shook her head. "I remember being panicked and suddenly I wasn't sure who I was. I ran out and ended up in the bar, where I met him," nodding at Timothy. "Once I calmed down, probably because of him," indicating Timothy again, "and saw Doc I was Robert again. Do you remember all that too?"

Ransome nodded, "Yes, I got all that. That's memories being retained outside the, what did you call it, schema too."

Doc, in the white coat, stated. "Sir, for the next run, we will adjust the memory drugs up a bit and the sedative down. I think the sedative took her self-awareness too low. We do have to do more work on widely separated memory schemas, but it's good that unexpected event worked."

Timothy, completely befuddled at this point, had to ask. "Please someone tell me what's going on? And are you Isobel or Robert?"

Ransome looked pleased to explain to him. "I'm inventing memory recording, and playback and being someone else. Well, I'm still me, but the girls are me too for a time. Doc, take our guest through the experiment last night. Keep it simple."

"First, we record the primary subject, Mr. Ransome, and process the recording. We use nano-probes to read the memories–"

"Oh, the swimming caps." Interjected Timothy.

Tabby, the blond, giggled, making her look even younger. "I'm going to call them swimming caps for ever now, Doc."

"They are not swimming caps. They are nano-filament guidance helmets made of a recyclable plastic. I invented them and they are the key to the whole process. We have found it is important that the filaments remain in the same place throughout the recording, and the playback phase. Without the nano-filament guidance helmets, the playback is sloppy and blurry; we found that on the first ten runs. We also got some synesthesia."

"Swimming Caps." Muttered Tabby.

The doctor didn't look pleased. "The run last night started with giving the subjects some drugs to make hypnosis easier and then I calm the subjects before the recording and playback. We record the primary subject, Mr Robert. Then we playback the memory overlay into the two secondary subjects."

"That's us, in case you didn't guess, and see." said Tabby, smirking.

Doc frowned at being interrupted again. "At this point, Isobel seemed to become distressed and ran away without speaking to me. After her retrieval she was Robert again and we carried on. All three were then ready for the scenario, which last night was of a... erm.... pornographic nature. At the current stage we are trying with a common schema, that is the expected environment and expected behaviours for the environment, for all the subjects. This is a scientific experiment, and we have many other scenarios to try. Other schemas we have tried have been, for example, entering a restaurant and ordering a meal. This is not just for sex." He seemed indignant that was the subject.