Chapter 1 -- The Oldest Profession
He pushes me harder against the wall as his cock penetrates me. My circuitry overheats as he rams me. My chest heaves against the glass. I can't move away from it because polycarbon manacles have bound my limbs to it.
Warmth washes over my body as he rhythmically pounds me, strikes me, fucks me. Even though he's thrusting his bio-modded cock hard enough to irradiate me, I want him harder with every stroke. I close the eyes that weren't looking at him. I fall against the glass as the spaceship turns. He's lying atop me when he ejaculates. Semen spreads over me like quicksilver. Some of it drips to the silicon floor as he withdraws, and the artificial gravity returns. I pity whatever maid will clean this.
Slick from being inside me, his sated body collapses onto the bed. His breathing is heavy.
"Tired, Jasper?" I say. He nods.
"Twice in one night can be exhausting. But it's something we have to do. Otherwise, it would mess with your programming. I wouldn't want you to break."
His head leans back. He falls asleep with the smell of my cunt still on him.
I only take five minutes to fix my hair, my lipstick, my outfit. I look disheveled and smell of sex, which is an ideal aesthetic. I stretch the sleeping mask across his eyes. I close the lights and the window so that he's less likely to wake. Injecting him with something is too risky: the puncture might wake him.
* * * * *
The man at the bar has slow, sullen eyes. They don't have the twitchiness of cybernetic implants. If he's law enforcement, he's so mediocre and irrelevant his bosses won't read the report he files on me.
"You're looking lonely," I say.
"You're looking for money," he says.
"A stylish man like you must have the credits. If you can buy the haptic belt, which I believe comes includes the nanomachines for additional energy reserves, then you can afford me."
"How do I know I want to?" I caress his leg with my hand. I can sense his ocular aperture expand. Therefore, I slide the hand up the latex trousers he's wearing. The fabric shifts and squirms: ripples undulate outward from the crotch. He's already hard enough to pressure his own garments.
"Feels like you do."
"I don't know if you're clean. I don't know what you've got. You could be carrying the Tessier-Ashpool strain."
"I'm not carrying anything," I say. "Bots are immune to that." I lean forward toward his ear. "It makes us better at pleasing you." He tenses at the thought, the suggestion. The force spread across the palm I've placed on his thigh. My skin tingles. I relish this dominion over him.
"They just let a bot walk the streets?" He gulps down his drink after he finishes the question.
"Look at my outfit. Do you think I look like I settle for anything less than a ship?"
I take him to this ship in less than five minutes time.
He turns me around, strips the dress from my body, slaps my ass. He smirks when I ask for more.
He takes a small cylinder, presses the side, makes it expand. It's a chrome rod often used by razorgirls to ensure payment from deadbeat hackers.
It snaps against my ass. The pain swells, then surges. It's a measured, pulsing wave. It crashes against me as he strikes again. Unable to stay upright, I lean onto the bed; the silken sheets soothe my skin. He strikes, I shout. I wince at the jolting pressure, needing more.
"I'm going to make it worse," he says. I moan as I anticipate the salvo. "Although I don't have to."
"Please," I say. I hear the screech as he turns the mods to a higher voltage. His breathing slows as he relishes his newfound dominance.
"Because you can't go without the pain?"
"Yes." A strike.
"Because you want to suffer?"
"Yes." A strike.
"Because you're a skinjob bitch?"
"God," I shout after a strike shatters the cable jacks running up my right thigh. He gasps, unaware of how easy I am to repair. I brush aside the chrome with one hand, stroke his hardened cock with the either. He sinks into my pussy. That part still works.
When his hands clutch mine, I wait for white rain to douse me.
I stare at myself in the mirror as he goes to wash himself. My body glisters with him on it.
I don't count the credits he's deposited in my account. I care that he's paid me. I don't care if he's shortchanged me.
* * * * *
Jasper has brought in Sapphire, another one of the robots he constructed. He's modelled her on a modern design aesthetic: asymmetrical haircut dyed with the color and sheen of multiple gemstones, the eyes speckled like marble, the lip pierced through with a single silver stud.
Her tits bounce as she spreads her legs for me. Hers is a model heavier than mine: as she accepts me between her legs, I wonder if she can crush my head with her thighs. She pants for me, says my name, curses loudly. Her pussy is already wet and opened. The newer models have even quicker arousal: they also substituted the sweeter taste of older models for something tart. She yanks my hair and pushes me against her as my tongue penetrates her.
My body burns, pulses, aches. I crave her taste even as I have it; I bury my face against her to taste more of her. Beside me, I hear Jasper's sinewy hand stroking his twitching cock. There's a measured rhythm, then an accelerated one, and then an uneven, frenetic one. I hear his semen plop over the ground. A warm droplet oozes down the side of my ankle. As his muscular legs tromp over floor, I pull away from Sapphire, languid with the pleasure coursing through her. The door closes as Jaspers runs the shower. I rise and look at Sapphire.
"Do you want to use the shower on the upper level?"
"No," I say. I stretch my panties off my body as I lower myself onto the bed. "I want to keep fucking you." I turn her so that both of our mouths can press between the other's legs.
"I was hoping you'd say that," she said. She moves the aquamarine strands of her hair away from her flushed visage. However, her head lingers before my legs.
"But what if Jasper comes out while we're still together."
"Then he'll probably touch himself again," I say. "He'll commend us for being efficient."
We are lying there, sated and denuded, when Jasper exits the wash room. His suit is taut against his body. With the skin modification stretched over the right arm, I can't even tell it's bionic.
He looks at us, smiled, and says: "You two seem d to have enjoyed yourself as much I did." We both nodded.
"Sapphire" he says, "I have an outfit ready for you. It's in the flatline room. Would you please change into it?"
"Of course," she says as she rises. She struts toward the door.
"Do you have something for me to wear?" I say.
"I'm just taking Sapphire, for now," he says. "The Straylight has a large arena. I'd hate if we got separated."
I agree that such a fate would be horrendous. I refrain from saying "what would I do without you" because it would sound desperate and needy, and he only liked that when both of us are naked and pressed together.
"If you are attending this exhibition all day," I say, "then I would like to visit the Sprawl for the day. If that is appropriate."
"Of course," he said, "Although it seems you're spending more and more time there."
"I must confess," I said, "I'm getting quite good at the haptic competitions. They had the best player from Chiba there last week, and I took two games out of five against him."
"Well, I don't see much harm in that," he said, "I'm proud that my girls are so talented, whether it's in pleasing a man or competing in modern gaming. Just as long as you aren't doing both for any of those champions from Chiba."
"Of course not," I say.
"And you know why not?" he says. This is information I should know. He wants me to repeat it to assess me. He's studying my circuitry for errors that might've arisen.
"Because I was built to please only you," I say. The last two words in that were incorrect. He does not suspect what he would assume is an error rather than an overlooked feature.
"That's my girl," he says. He kisses my forehead, takes my hand, walks me to the glossy, pristine living room. The other girls are sitting on the vinyl couches around a projected display of the andromeda galaxy. Jasper stands at the head of the circle, looking at so much beauty so effortlessly presented. Eventually Sapphire, now with fishnets spread over her body, enters from the side of the living room with the pod bay doors. She strolls up to Jasper, takes his arm in hers, and looks at us.
"Sapphire and I will be at the straylight for the rest of the day," he says.
Another girl asks if we'll have new companions. It's Pearl, the tanned blonde modelled on starlets from a bygone era. Pearl has expressed to us that we bore her, by which she meant we never engage in the few niche activities she enjoyed. She's hoping for a robot who shares her fetishistic tastes. She's hoping for a girl to bring hot wax.
"This the latest showing of the 3Jane models," he says. "But it's not just about them. That's why this is a full day affair. I need to examine all the different wares that Diamond is selling. There's some real innovations for you girls." He wants us to ask about the type of innovation to which he refers. Nonetheless, we remain silent. He continues to speak, as if the pause were a dramatic part in monologue performed on a hologram stage.
"I'm a magnanimous sort of man," he says. "I want to make this experience the best for all of us." He winks at us, as if he is our father who informed us of a family secret. I shudder as I extract this thought. Incest was not a desire programmed into my biochemistry. I, fortunately, was not built to look like someone's sister or daughter or mother.
* * * * *
"You're Amethyst then? You're the pleasured-based robot," says the man as he arrives at the bar. He's standing while his friend, a long-time client, sits across from me.
"Yes."
"Or is
