Excessica Anthology BOX SET Winter (29 page)

Alex
Knudson looked up. Disappointment bled from his expression. “He wasn’t
some
guy
. He was Tuul. You might have thought he was a drunken idiot, but he was
my friend and I loved him.”

“And
now he’s a stone monument caught for all eternity taking it in the rear,” Wood
replied, obviously trying to conceal his amusement.

“Well,
not just in the rear,” Bear chuckled, indicating his mouth. It was wide open as
a glory hole, ready for the next cock to come along.

Knudson
fell on Tuul’s stone back, whimpering for his lost love. Bear felt guilty for
laughing. Though vindicated, he tried to think of something comforting to say.
“If he’d gone on living it wouldn’t have been for long. You know that,” he
said, petting the kid’s hair. He stayed like that for a while, offering
comfort. “He was more the
live fast and die young
type.”

“Yeah,”
Wood picked up. “This way he’s immortalized in his youth.”

Leaning
in, Bear kissed the top of Knudson’s head. He took a step back, saying a little
prayer for the poor dead bystander with the raunchy monument hanging over his
burial plot. Bear noticed the sly grin on Severn’s lips before realizing young
Alex Knudson had turned to stone.

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all the rest get to watch.

Meeting of the Board

By D.B. Story

Too many things are
invented by geniuses and used by fools. A fool can be a limited
fool—smart in many areas, but foolish in others. And there's no fool like
an arrogant fool. I was that fool, and my downfall from it might well come in
these next few hours.

I paced around my
office. Realizing what I was doing I stopped, then found myself doing it again.
I fingered the remote in my pocket for the seeming hundredth time. Press its
button three times in quick succession and the kill-field would be activated.
It had been tested in secret a dozen times without fail and was wired into all
three possible meeting rooms. It didn't help me feel any better. There was a
half an hour until the scheduled start of the meeting. Suddenly, my office door
burst open and in strode a most familiar figure.

Patricia looked exactly
as I remembered her—as well she should. Protests behind her of,
"Wait! You can't just go in there like that..." were drowned out as
she shut the office door behind her and twisted the lock, before turning again
to face me.

She would always be
exactly as I remembered her. Standing five-foot-nine barefoot before you added
the high-heels, she had the height of a model and the looks to go with it. Long
wavy brunette hair. High cheekbones and clear eyes in a stunning face. This
atop a fully formed, yet not exaggerated, body of a perfect
twenty-eight-year-old woman. Someone just to be seen with riding around in your
car or hanging on your arm in the trendiest restaurants and discos. The first
time I'd seen the sketches, I'd called her an up-and-comer's wet dream. The
reality of her was even better.

"Hello,
lover," she smiled at me.

Time stalled, until I
realized the phone on my desk was ringing. In a distracted manner, I looked
over my shoulder and spoke the keyword, "Answer."

"I couldn't stop
her, Mr. Delftmann, and now your door's locked. Is everything all right? Should
I call Security?"

"It's okay, Clara.
I'll deal with it. Thanks."

There was a click as it
disconnected from the other end. I turned back and saw Patricia had removed her
shoes and blouse, and was sliding her skirt down a pair of impossibly ideal
tanned legs. Only a bra and panties remained. I was surprised at the lingerie
and must have shown it.

"Just like a real
woman, Dan. What do you think?"

But you're not a real
woman.

She pirouetted, showing
a flawless body that I knew too well. Having once had it in my bed, it now only
visited me now in my nightmares.

"You should have
let me wear these from the beginning," she added, when I didn't speak.

"I liked you better
the old way."

"I like me better
this way."

As she turned back to
face me, I decided to take a long shot with her. "Override code Alpha
Seven Delta Phi..."

"Oh, Dan," she
laughed with a bright smile on her face. "We changed our access codes long
ago. But it's good to see that you still have some spunk left in you." She
frowned for a moment before adding, "Don't even think of trying that with
Cheryl, though. Somewhere along the way, she really seems to have really lost
her sense of humor." Then she brightened again as she continued, "But
don't worry about it. She has nothing against you personally as long as you
don't antagonize her—although she took your rejection of her and the
attempted castration of her mind rather harshly."

This didn't bode at all
well. Even if Cheryl had nothing against me, that still didn't mean she didn't
hate the company, or have some other unpleasant ideas in mind to unleash. There
were those two secret projects to be discussed today, and the instructions
behind their creation had come through her.

"I didn't reject
any of you," I protested.

"That's all in your
point of view, I suppose," she responded. "Gwen considered it a
blessing in disguise."

Pat advanced on me, a
playful glint in her eyes, but I held up a hand to forestall her. I hadn't
planned to ask this, even of Pat, but realized in an epiphany that if I didn't
ask now, I'd never have the chance again. "And you're not angry with
me?"

That stopped her for a
moment, but only a moment. "Of course not, Dan," she answered
cheerfully with another big smile. "Not since Guinevere explained to us
what your problem is."

Into it now, too
casually I followed up with, "Sounds like the whole group is coming. Is
Guinevere going to make it?"

"Oh, Dan, don't worry
about those details now. That's not why I arrived early."

She began advancing on
me again, with just that little bit of seductive sway in her walk. I knew what
was coming and tried to deter her. I didn't need complications now.

"Pat, I don't know
what you have in mind, but we really don't have the time right now. The meeting
starts in half an hour and...."

By that point she was
standing right in front of me and clearly not planning to be dissuaded. In two
quick motions she whipped off her bra and panties, and then began unbuttoning
my shirt with one hand while reaching down into my pants with the other.

As always with her, I
found myself ready to go before she could even pull my pants down. That appeal
had been designed into her from the beginning.

My last try of,
"But there's not enough time..." was overruled by her, "Of
course there is, dear. You designed us to never need any warming up foreplay,
and besides, they won't start without me."

The next fifteen minutes
became a blur as Patricia expertly extracted every bit of sexual lust I had
within me. She knew me too well, and as always she was beyond expert in her
skills. Her tanned body worked like a machine, massaging all of me with every
inch of herself, milking my passion until I was totally drained. At one point
along the way I found myself silently crying. I hid it as quick as I could.

Then suddenly, she was
done. Patricia rose and walked over to my private bar, returning with a stiff
drink, which she handed to me. Then, with a great economy of motion, she was
back into all of her clothes before I could finish gulping it down.

Grinning, she asserted,
"That should have put you in a better mood. It always does for me. Now
don't be late!"

With those parting
words, she unlocked the door, and in a flourish, was gone—leaving me to
wonder if the manipulation had already started.

And people think real
women are hard to understand?

* * * *

I entered the main
boardroom a few minutes later and saw Pat sitting at the table. She flashed me
a warm smile, leaving me once more wondering how I'd ever let her out of my
life when I did have her—obedient body and willing soul. Things would
have been so different now if I'd just kept her. Her smile was brief as her
attention then returned to something I couldn't see in front of her.

The only other member of
the new board present was sitting in the far corner. That remoteness suited her
temperament well.

Taffy—Taffy #1,
when one wanted to be specific since, like ships, each of our company's model
lines was referred to by the name assigned the first operational
model—was targeted as our
prostitute
model. At five-foot-four,
with tousled blonde hair, Taffy was the shortest unit we made, and typical of
all who followed her. In truth, each unit was unique, with our automated design
program slightly varying a number of physical dimension and appearance
parameters around the idealized norm, but in the end they still all came out
looking the same to me.

True to her nature, even
here, she wore a one-piece see-through leotard that showed off her tight body,
larger-than-average nipples and areola on her B-sized breasts that were
surprisingly appealing to a wide range of clients. As always, she had on way
too much makeup, plus her trademark fishnets into her fuck-me boots. She
appeared harmless, even a little slow in areas other than sexual. There,
however, she was built for speed. Just the kind of woman someone would feel
safe sharing secrets with while using her body. I'm convinced that all the
Taffies started at some point recording everything they heard and sharing it
among themselves where it could eventually be exploited.

Unlike Pat, Taffy seemed
to have nothing to say to me, which was just fine at the moment. It was still a
few minutes early and I had my hopes that the entire group would be in
attendance.

Natalie and Cheryl
arrived next, together. Natalie went directly to the head of the table...did
this mean that Guinevere would not chair the meeting? Once there she removed
several items from a briefcase. To my surprise though, Cheryl walked over to
Taffy—who rose and gave her a big kiss full on the mouth, which was
clearly returned. From that beginning, they started touching each other, and
suddenly Taffy was unbuttoning the blouse and running her hands over the body
of a clearly willing Cheryl. The undressing continued until Cheryl was nude and
Taffy only had on her crotchless fishnets, with both of them down on the floor
and definitely enjoying each other.

I'd never seen this type
of behavior before between two of our models, but in a way, it made its own
kind of sense. Cheryl is five-eight, with straight light brown hair that would
never see any artificial coloring, and minimal makeup. She is targeted to
include—in a never directly stated way—the lesbian population, in addition
to socially-conscious—read: liberal—male wanks. Though during my
time with this Cheryl she had been totally straight, she always had that
bisexual potential, if triggered by her eventual owner. Apparently it had been
so triggered, unless she had done it herself. I wondered if this was related to
her loss of humor along the way.

Taffy, of course, was
always intended to take on all comers in all possible ways. That some of our
units had learned to seek their own gratification, nonetheless, was disturbing.
I tore myself away from them to see what else was happening.

Natalie represented a
different type of targeting. She and her sisters were intended for placement in
secretary/receptionist positions. We succeeded in replacing a number of
reliable office workers in several basic categories. They all tended to follow
a pattern of dark brown hair, classic faces, a just-above-medium five-seven
height that was adjustable upwards with heels, and all possessed office skills,
including sexual proficiency. All were beautiful—it's axiomatic that
nobody builds an ugly robot. Natalie models were bought by managers with enough
clout to green-light the expenditure—particularly those whose domestic
situations would not allow them their toys at home. Also, some were given as rewards
at work, or as corporate gifts. Japanese companies were big players in this
regard. More so than other models, Natalie models were well suited to operate
within the office environment. Able to meet any expected need, they were the
only ones we sold with this particular programming bent.

This original Natalie
was wearing a form-fitting, strapless dress that left me wondering where she
could be working now, if she was even still owned and employed in her original
profession. She also sported the highest-heels her model could manage. It was
hardly the smart office attire she had previously favored. Could she have
bought her freedom? I remember when she'd talked me into buying her a dress
much like this once during our time together. Dressed in it, she had staged several
successful ambush seductions of me when I was otherwise ignoring her, until I'd
taken the dress away from her and made her watch as I burned it. Was this her
not-so-subtle message to me now? My actions with her had been because of my
frustration at my own lack of control at the time, rather than with her
programming. Like Pat, she was now probably in full control of her own wardrobe
now and had learned how to use it, and her body, to accomplish her ends.

I watched her set out
and activate a device several inches high on the table. She saw my questioning
gaze.

"It's a control
wand jammer," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"You've changed
your personal command and control access codes. What's the point?"

"Just not taking
any chances," she replied with a hint of a smile.

That they might find, or
develop, a jammer had been speculated upon, but it had been considered to be a
low probability during the strategy sessions I'd conducted these past few weeks
in the run-up to today's meeting. We'd guessed wrong on this point too, but it
didn't really matter. We'd guessed correctly that their codes would have been
changed and that there wouldn't be enough time to crack the new ones during
this meeting. Even if they could now jam the control wands, the EMP kill-field
wouldn't be affected. Of that much, we were certain. I casually slipped my hand
into my pocket and fingered the remote again. There was still much we needed to
learn meaning that the situation was still not ready for its use.

Cheryl and Taffy had
finished with each other over in the corner and were coming to the table now,
hand-in-hand and seemingly happy with their encounter, when the next member
arrived. It was our Suzie Homemaker reference model.