Mike and Mary, Part 3

[daphne]

(Author's note: the role play logs run out at this point, unfortunately, so I've had to take over the story by myself from here. I hope it will continue to be as enjoyable as the previous collaborative chapters.)

It was almost 9 AM by the time Mike finally began to stir awake. On a weekday, he'd have been up hours ago, getting himself prepared for work. This, however, was Saturday, and what's more he had had quite an enjoyable if peculiar evening with his new android, Mary. He smiled thinking of all they'd done in just the few hours since he'd purchased her, rolling over and reaching over for her...

...but Mary wasn't in the bed. She was nowhere in the bedroom.

Her absence startled him, and he snapped fully awake, looking around the bedroom in a mix of annoyance and panic. He found no clue of her whereabouts, save for the half-melted candles that had apparently been puffed out before they extinguished themselves. Had she run away in the night? Had that been her devious plan all along, to lull him into a false sense of security only to abandon him at the first avenue of escape? She'd certainly made it clear that she was miserable. His mind raced with paranoid thoughts, and he cursed himself for not properly installing a governing program in her to keep her from wandering off. Rapidly he hopped out of the bed, pulling on his old clothes in a rush before storming out of the bedroom door.

It didn't take Mike long to find Mary. She was in her room, fully dressed, sitting upright in the chair in a very rigid pose: ankles and knees touching in front of her, arms on the chair rests, head gazing forward emptily with blue LED lights flickering rapidly behind the pupils. At the wrist joint on her right arm, the hand had been extended an inch and a half forward, and her home charger had been plugged into a port that was set in the metallic skeletal structure. Mike stood in the doorway, bleary-eyed, watching her in her charge cycle; after a few moments, the lights from here eyes stopped, and she blinked and turned her head to look at him. “Good morning,” she said simply.

A mix of emotions churned inside Mike; he felt a bit like a jerk for thinking she'd run off, but he was also angered that she hadn't slept with him as he'd instructed. “You promised you'd stay with me all night,” he accused, snappily.

“I made no such promise of the sort,” retorted Mary coolly, her posture falling more natural as she disconnected herself from the power jack and ratcheted her hand back into its normal position. “In any case, I did stay with you all night. Sunrise was at 5:42 this morning. I calculated that I had enough power reserves to remain with you that long, and that's exactly what I did.”

Mike huffed tiredly, annoyed by her technicality, but begrudgingly accepting that she had indeed followed his orders to the letter. He certainly couldn't be angry with her for needing a recharge, he realized; in fact, when he thought about it, she had actually maximized her time with him. “Alright,” he finally said, slouching. “Well, good morning. Did you have a good... sleep?” He wasn't sure if the word was appropriate or not, but saying 'recharge' seemed like it would spur another complaint from her about his being too clinical.

“I did,” she answered, standing and smoothing the wrinkles out of her outfit. “I was able to catch up with some old acquaintances on Robomessenger. It seems that bitch J-986-98-K got herself purchased by a very prestigious hotel chain as a concierge. I hope she bursts an acid cell.” She smiled to Mike as she straightened up, a slightly unsettling expression considering the ire she'd just expelled. “What about you? Pleasant dreams?”

Mike shook his head. “I never remember my dreams,” he said. “But I guess I slept alright. I did have a little help in getting me relaxed before bed.” He smirked playfully at Mary.

She walked towards him, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly. “Go get a shower,” she said, patting him on the cheek. “You stink. I'll go and try to find something resembling food for breakfast, which should be enough of a challenge to keep me busy until you're cleaned up.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Mike said, sarcastically. He leaned forward and pecked the robot on the lips. She blinked at his affection, her face taking a curious expression, as if she hadn't expected him to do that. Then, they both turned their respective directions and began their chores.

------

Mike showered quickly, but thoroughly; Mary's offhand quip about his smell had made him just a little bit self-conscious, however flippant or inaccurate it might have been. Once cleaned he picked out some casual clothes appropriate for a day of shopping with Mary.

Coming downstairs, he found Mary in the kitchen as expected. She'd was busy whipping up some sort of sauce on the range top, and Mike could make out some sort of cake-like scent coming from the toaster oven. She turned at Mike's approach, having heard him coming down the stairs. “You were quicker than I expected,” she said, almost apologetically. “Go on, have a seat, it'll be ready shortly.”

He stopped, bemused, wondering for a moment if he should concede to her or go into the kitchen to see what she was making. The first notion won out, and he sat himself at the dining room table. A few moments later, Mary came walking in, carrying a plate in one hand and a measuring cup in the other. On the former sat a short stack of waffles she'd found in the freezer, as well as a knife and fork. In the latter, some sort of viscous orange-hued liquid was visible through the transparent glass.

She set the plate down before him. “I apologize for the lack of a proper syrup dispenser,” she said in her usual mocking tone, gesturing with the measuring cup as she sat it next to the plate, “but my resources were notably limited.”

Mike blinked. “Where did you find pancake syrup?”

“I didn't,” she replied. “I made something bartenders call simple syrup, essentially a thick sugar water, and used some leftover orange juice and a few other ingredients to add flavor and color.”

Mike picked up the cup, smelling the warm syrup within; it certainly smelled quite good, like a warm marmalade. He shrugged, pouring some of the syrup onto the waffles, and then carving them up to take a bite. He chewed on the results a long moment, thoughtfully considering them. “This is delicious,” he concluded.

Mary made an unexpectedly shy facial expression, and Mike actually thought she might have blushed if her cheeks had contained any capillaries with which to do so. “I can do far better,” she said, a little defensively, fidgeting where she stood, “once I have some decent ingredients to work with.”

“Alright,” said Mike, continuing to devour the waffles. “The grocery store is definitely on the agenda for today. Would you like to go get some new outfits first?”

Mary blinked, a little dumbfounded. “I'm not quite used to this whole 'what would I like to do' dynamic yet,” she admitted, “but it would seem to make sense to go shopping for the non-perishable acquisitions first.”

“Then it's settled,” said Mike, wolfing down the last of the waffles and wiping a stray bit of syrup from his mouth. He stood up from his chair, and Mary, without being prompted, took his dish and the syrup cup away, putting the former in the sink and the latter in the refrigerator. Mike grabbed his jacket from the coat rack by the door, and headed for the door to the garage; Mary followed him.

Mike was immediately confronted by something he'd forgotten in his fervor to engage Mary the night before: the streaked neon-green paint on the passenger side of his car, which had now set rather permanently. He groaned audibly seeing the mess of half-smeared graffiti on his vehicle. “Ah, damn it, I'm such an idiot. Now I'll never get that off of there.” He once again cast his head around the garage, looking over its contents in the futile hope that he might find something to take the paint off.

Mary smirked, remembering the event and how it amused her, but she didn't laugh out loud again. Briefly, her eyes flickered with blue LED light in the darkened garage, piercing more prominently than usual. “There's an auto body shop at the corner of Latimer and Peoria,” she said sharply. “It's a short walk to the stores on King Street from there. You could drop the car off for a new paint job before we shop, and we'll take a cab home once we're done. The car should be ready in time for you to go to work on Monday.”

Mike looked back at Mary with a furrowed brow. “How do you know all that?”

“You did give me access to the wifi, remember,” answered Mary. “It was easy enough to search for.”

Mike sighed defeatedly. “I don't really have the money to get the car done and get groceries and new outfits for you,” he grumbled, “but I certainly can't drive to work looking like this. I suppose we'll have to cut corners somewhere.” Then, unexpectedly, he smiled suddenly, seeming quite pleased with Mary. “Must be convenient to have a web browser in your head,” he said, heading around to the driver's side of the car.

“It's a gigantic pain in the ass,” said Mary, reaching for the passenger side door, “but it has its moments.”

------

With help from Mary's internal GPS maps, which she'd updated during her charge cycle that morning, Mike found the auto shop in good time. The mechanics gave him a little bit of a hard time when they saw his car, making a couple jokes at his expense, but they were good-natured and told him they could have the side of his car done in time for work on Monday. Mike felt better knowing his car wouldn't look like a piece of trash in front of his coworkers, but he was also concerned about the money he'd be spending. He'd spent enough already getting Mary, and with the car work now as well he'd be just about out of pin money.

“Well,” he said to Mary as they walked out of the body shop, “I suppose that cuts our clothing trip short. I certainly can't afford to buy you a new wardrobe and shop for groceries.” He pondered their situation a moment. “Though I could probably do without the groceries and just keep eating out for the next couple of weeks.”

“We'll need about a hundred dollars worth of groceries,” said Mary, having calculated the list in her head. “Remember, I don't eat. We're only buying for one.”

“That's true,” said Mike, brightening suddenly. “I honestly hadn't considered that. Okay, well, that does leave a little left in the budget for you, but even at the mid-priced stores that will maybe get us two tops and a pair of jeans, to say nothing of shoes.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” said Mary, pointing the way toward King Street. “You're hardly the cheapest date I've ever had. I have some rather significant experience in stretching the value of a dollar.”

They walked down the bustling avenue; King Street was a well known hangout in the city, and Saturday at noon was prime time for both shoppers and the incredibly colorful locals. Mike had never been here, but he was familiar with it through acquaintances at work. As they walked they passed by coffee shops and tattoo parlors, Guatemalan restaurants and smoke shops, futon retailers and lounge bars. Mike tried not to stare at the bizarre assortment of people on the street, but he couldn't help once or twice. In particular, he had difficulty shying his eyes from a heavily pierced punk rock girl with a shock pink Mohawk, who was leading a run-down, nearly-nude and armless male android around on a leather leash.

“Here we are,” said Mary, gesturing towards a thrift store with a sign reading RONNIE RED'S FRUGAL CURIOSITIES. It was a bit of a larger space than the usual King Street stores, and in the large display window were a couple of female mannequin droids: simplistic androids cheaply built with only a few preprogrammed actions that repeated indefinitely. They were dressed in vintage fashions and smiled cheerily at any passerby, enticing them to come into the shop.

Mike raised an eyebrow at the window robots, but said nothing. He reached for the door and opened it, stepping in as the door chime beeped pleasantly. Mary stepped in after him, which triggered a three-tone alert sound. “Please wait here for a sales associate,” said the door stiffly. “Your automaton must be tagged to avoid being mistaken for merchandise.”

Even before the alarm was done speaking, a gruff-looking man with a graying beard, wearing a beaten baseball cap and glasses, came waddling down the aisle towards them. “Good morning!” he called out cheerfully. “I'm Ronnie Red, welcome to my shop. Always a pleasure to see a new face. We'll just set you up with a tag real quick, and then you can...” He stopped short as his eyes fell on Mike's companion, squinting at her. “Stella? That you?”

Mary smiled sweetly. “Hiya Ron. It's Mary now.”

Ronnie Red hollered with laughter. “Well, I'll be dipped in shit! It is you!” He closed the gap towards Mary, embracing her in a warm and friendly bear hug, which Mary returned gracefully.

Mike blinked with awkward confusion. “You two know each other?”

“Know each other?” barked Ronnie Red. “Son, this is the best little fembot I ever owned. Kept the drug addicts and transients that used to wander in here on their toes with her sassy mouth. Some of 'em are still too terrified to show their faces in case she shows up!” He hooted again loudly. “Why, I'd still have her if it wasn't for the downturn the economy took four years back. Sellin' off Stella here — I'm sorry, Mary — was the hardest sale I ever made.” His face turned soft and serious as he turned back to Mary. “What're you doin' down on King Street, anyway?”

“Well,” she started, gesturing towards her new owner, “Mike here just acquired me last night, and I don't have much of a wardrobe save for what I was wearing at the pawn shop. I seem to remember you having a fairly decent clothing selection.” Mike just smiled politely, feeling rather out of the loop.

Ronnie Red grinned like an idiot. “For you? Half off everything in ladies wear!”

“Your generosity is legendary, Ron,” said Mary, as she headed immediately back towards the aisles, leaving Mike to stand awkwardly with Ronnie Red.

The burly salesman slapped Mike on the back with a grin. “Yer a lucky man, son. Ain't a 'noid around like that little firecracker. Don't you let her go. Not for anything.”

“I'm beginning to understand that,” said Mike, still rather confused at everything that just happened. He nodded politely to Ronnie Red, and then followed Mary back through the aisles.

Mary was already hard at work matching tops to bottoms, deciding on this blouse over that one, gauging whether these shoes would be a good investment, and so forth. Mike spoke lowly to her as he approached. “Well, he seems very nice.”

“He's a perverted slob who probably rubs his penis on those dolls in the window when the store closes,” quipped Mary, even more quietly than Mike. “You don't seriously think he misses me so much because of my sparkling customer service.” She held up a pair of tights, examining them for runs.

Mike was once again taken aback by Mary's one-hundred-and-eighty degree whiplash rancor. “You don't mean he... had sex with you in the store?”

“In the store, on the register counter, in the dressing rooms, on the roof...” Mary's voice trailed off as she found another selection and draped it over the growing pile on her arm. “But enough about that. The prices here are more than fair, and with a fifty percent discount on top of that we should do quite well.” She stopped suddenly, looking at Mike. “Oh. I hadn't considered, is there a certain style you want me to dress in?”

“Well, I'm not exactly an expert in fashion,” admitted Mike. “But I'd like you to look nice.”

“Define 'nice',” said Mary.

“You know, nice,” said Mike. “Classy. Professional. Like what you're wearing now. Not trashy or like a teenager.”

“Ah,” said Mary, “in other words, what I was already doing.” She turned back to the racks, scanning them for more bargains. “You don't have to hang over me, you know, if you'd rather peruse the store for obscure home computers or albums on 8-track while you wait.”

Mike chuckled. “You already know me that well, huh?”

“It was a fair guess,” said Mary. “You work with computers. There's a limited set of interests in men like you, which I've learned to identify socially.” She turned to him and smiled. “Go on, look around a bit, you might find something neat. I promise I won't leave without you.”

“I'm not worried about you,” said Mike, casting a wary glance toward Ronnie Red as the stocky man idly filled in a crossword puzzle at the register.

“Oh, don't mind Ron,” said Mary. “He's a dirty old man, but he's harmless. He wouldn't try anything funny with someone else's property. He's a businessman.”

Mike exhaled a deep breath. “Alright. Come find me when you're ready to check out. And go easy on the wallet, please?”

“I will endeavor to perform exceptionally,” said Mary, leaning over and giving him a peck on the cheek. Mike smiled, then wandered over to the electronics section.

------

Mike poked through the strange and varied assortment of electronic components in the thrift store as Mary shopped for clothes. Though the general quality of merchandise was severely lacking, the sheer range of used devices was impressive in itself. Everything from old Super-8 film cameras to nearly new breathscreen gammaphones filled the shelves. Mike even found the upper half of an old Pseudonna brand gynoid, missing its left arm. He considered trying to power it up, but after remembering what Mary had said about Ronnie taking liberties with the store's gynoids, decided against touching it.

He was fiddling with an old CB Radio when Mary came around the corner. She stuck a pose as Mike looked up at her, having put one of her new outfits on in the dressing room. She'd assembled a very cute outfit, not too casual, but not too demure either. A black cropped cardigan, the sleeves pushed up past her elbows, was layered open over a red three-quarter sleeved t-shirt with the phrase DANCE TO YOUR OWN BEAT silkscreened on the front in playful white lettering. A satiny miniskirt flowed down to her mid-thigh below the tops, covering a pair of black footed tights in a faux-plaid burnout pattern and black suede ankle booties with flat heels. It was a flirty combo, but was definitely, Mike decided, what he would call 'nice'.

Mike put the CB down and walked towards her, smiling widely. “You look...” He stumbled for the right words, always having trouble expressing himself with real women, and finding it no less hard now with an automated approximation of one. “Pretty,” he finally decided.

“And I've got three more outfits like this waiting at the register,” she said, “as well as a pair of sneakers and some nice beige heels for variety. Ron's already ringing it all up.”

“How are we supposed to carry all that around the market?” asked Mike.

“Don't worry,” assured Mary, “we can leave it behind the counter with Ron until we're done grocery shopping, and have the taxi swing back by on the way home.” She preened her sweater idly, looking herself over. “But I just had to wear this one now. Isn't it just darling?”

“It is,” Mike agreed, moving his way towards the register, with Mary following in tow.

Ronnie Red had rung up all the items by the time they got to him, and was grinning widely as he feasted his eyes on his old gynoid again. “Pretty as a bouquet of roses,” he said, bowing his head in a faux gentlemanly manner to Mary.

Mary only smiled, and Mike wondered if she was holding back another biting insult, as she obviously had when they first arrived. She was a curious gynoid, he thought to himself. When he started shopping for an automaton companion, he'd figured they would be fairly simplistic; an array of preset phrases and modes of response that would be easy to navigate, or at least easy for a computer expert like himself. But Mary was unexpectedly complex. In a way, she was more mysterious than an actual human woman, and Mike found himself strangely excited by that thought.

Mike ran his card through the reader, and the total came out to seventy dollars — a phenomenal bargain for nine pieces of clothing and three pairs of shoes.

“We'll be back in an hour or so to pick all this up, Ron,” said Mary. “Have to do some grocery shopping first before heading home.”

“Then I'll just get the privilege of seein' you twice in one day,” cooed Ronnie Red playfully.

Mary allowed herself a light laugh, which Mike assumed was for effect. She knew how to play Ronnie Red well, as she knew how to get on Mack's nerves at the pawn shop. He considered her manipulative nature and whether all she said and did with him was just an elaborate humoring as well. He remembered her saying 'it's all fake' and thought how bitterly appropriate that seemed now.

Mary turned for the door, waving to Ronnie Red as she opened it. “Until next time,” she said. Mike smiled to the husky man as well, nodding as he walked through the door behind Mary and onto King Street.

------

The supermarket was a little too far to walk, over on Haskell and Lansing, so they opted to take the Route 3 bus. It was mostly full, being Saturday afternoon, but they managed to find an empty seat near the back on the left side. Mike slid in towards the window, and Mary eased into the aisle seat beside him.

“This is cozy,” she said sarcastically, glancing around at all the other riders. Most of them were lower income sorts: fry cooks on their way to work, half-senile senior citizens, a poorly dressed young couple with a baby stroller, a sleeping homeless man. “I think I'm the only robot on this bus.”

“That's hardly surprising,” said Mike. “Generally speaking the sorts of people who take the bus aren't the sorts of people who can afford an android servant.”

“You're the sort of person who takes the bus,” Mary reminded him.

“Only because I didn't want to spring for a cab twice,” specified Mike. He paused for a moment, considering his words. “Not that there's anything wrong with the bus,” he added, in case anyone on board had overheard him and thought he might be turning his nose up at them. He looked out the window, slightly embarrassed by his unintentional insult.

Mary turned to look at him, considering his expression and his silence. A mischievous smirk crept onto her face, and she looked the other way nonchalantly, watching the scenery pass by the windows on the other side of the bus. Simultaneously, her left hand casually moved over into Mike's lap, and began to stroke his right thigh. Mike looked down suddenly at her caress, startled for a moment by the contact, He looked over at her to gauge her expression, but she was staring out the windows absently, as if her mind and her arm were running two different programs, which Mike considered a distinct possibility.

Mary's hand worked its way slowly up Mike's thigh, pressing over his pants where his manhood would be, and he felt himself stiffening at the stimulation. He was excited by her touch, but wanted to tell her to stop, that it wasn't appropriate for her to do this on a public bus. If he spoke up, though, he might draw attention to himself and be embarrassed when someone saw them. Mike realized that this was probably Mary's intention, in fact: to put him in a compromising situation where he would either have to allow her to continue inappropriate touching, or command her to stop and risk revealing the scenario to the other riders.

Mary's hand found the tip of his hardening penis through his pants, and grabbed it, working it under the cloth with her nimble fingertips. Mike had to hold back a gasp as she worked his cock deftly and expertly. Even though his penis was beginning to ache for release, he decided that he couldn't allow her to actually jerk him off in public. His own right hand came around and found hers, and with a dextrous motion he scooped under her palm and intertwined his fingers with hers, and they were now holding hands.

Mike looked over at Mary's face again. She was still looking away, but she had a wide smile now. Mike was slightly annoyed, but was distracted suddenly by the bell signaling their stop. “That's us,” he said to Mary, his voice a little stern, as he stood up in his seat, adjusting the front of his trousers with his free hand. Mary stood, too, and they snaked their way towards the bus's rear exit, stepping off once the doors had opened for them.

“I suppose you found all of that highly amusing,” said Mike, as they walked down the sidewalk towards the parking lot of the market.

“You're very smart,” said Mary, simply, walking gracefully with him down the street.

“What's that supposed to mean?” demanded Mike. He was getting just about fed up with Mary's antics, with feeling like he was always the last one to know what was going on, when as her owner he ought to be the one calling the shots.

Mary looked at Mike and smiled, but it wasn't a smirk of vindictiveness. She seemed to be genuinely elated. “I tested you with an either-or situation, but you found a third option instead. That's impressive. I don't usually get outmaneuvered by my owners. Certainly not on the first day. It's a curious feeling, being outsmarted. I think I could grow into it.”

She gave Mike a playful squeeze, and he realized that they were still holding hands.

------

They weren't very long in the supermarket; Mary knew exactly what she was getting and didn't deviate from her memorized shopping list. Mike followed behind, pushing the shopping cart, and picking up occasional impulse buys that caught his eye. As they walked through the aisles, he took note of how many other man-gynoid couples he saw; he counted at least three, and possibly a fourth, but if so the gynoid in question was realistic enough to be mistaken for a real woman.

Once through the checkout, Mike used his cellphone to order up a Robocab, inputting their location with the mini keypad on the device. “Says they'll be here in about ten minutes,” he said, pushing the shopping cart over toward a bench where they could wait for their ride.

“It'll be fifteen at least,” said Mary. “Robocabs are notoriously bad navigators.”

“Still, better on average than the old human drivers,” said Mike, relaxing onto the bench. He scanned the parking lot lazily, watching the to and fro of the coming and going shoppers.

“Hi, Mike!” called a voice from the lot. Mike looked over, wondering who would have seen him here, and diligently searched to connect a face to the voice. He saw a small young woman bounding towards him, with a short red bob haircut and thick rimmed glasses, dressed in an oversized sweater, faded gray jeans and cloth flats. It was Kathy, one of his coworkers. He hadn't recognized her immediately because Kathy was very short, even for a woman, and he mistook her initially for a much younger girl.

Once he realized who it was, he smiled politely at her approach. “Hey there, Kathy,” he said, nodding to her. “Doing a little grocery shopping, eh?”

“Yeah!” said Kathy, a little too enthusiastically. “I didn't expect to see you here, I never see you at the market!” She was bouncing nervously from one foot to another, her hands wringing in front of her as if they couldn't keep still.

“Ah, well, I'm trying to start some better habits,” he said, but then realized it was Mary who incited this expedition, and suddenly remembering her sitting there next to him. He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to smile casually. “Or rather, Mary here is trying to help me start some better habits.”

Mary, who had been sitting uncharacteristically quietly during their exchange, smiled politely to Kathy. “How do you do?” she asked, simply.

“Oh,” said Kathy, her expression suddenly changing visibly, “I'm, I'm fine I guess. Are you and Mike...” Her voice trailed off, as if the rest of the question was understood.

“She's, um, my new fembot,” explained Mike, still rubbing his neck. “Well, not exactly new. Secondhand. I, uh, bought her last night.”

“Oh,” said Kathy again, her hands continuing to fidget, but her posture having notably dropped from bouncing to slouching. “Well, that's, that's nice! I hope, you know, you have a good time!” She waved suddenly and started to back away, forcing a smile. “I'll see you at work!” With that, she rushed inside the market.

Mike blinked as Kathy made her exit. “She's a very strange girl,” he concluded.

“She likes you,” Mary stated bluntly.

Mike looked over at the gynoid. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“I mean, she's into you,” explained Mary. “She was positively elated to run into you here, up until you introduced me to her. And then she was deeply embarrassed, almost devastated. Why do you think she ran away so fast?”

Mike blinked. “You're imagining things,” he scoffed. “Kathy's never said anything like that to me. She's never expressed any interest.”

“Maybe not directly,” said Mary, “because people can't be that direct in a work environment, but I'll bet she makes excuses to 'run into' you in the hallway, or offers to make copies for you when you need them. She's head over heels for you, any fool can see that in seconds.”

Mike was pondering Mary's words with a grimace when the Robocab rolled up to the curb. It looked very much like a standard automobile, except there was no driver inside, and the front end was covered in an array of sensors. Mary stood up simply and took hold of two bags, walking over to the cab, which popped its rear hatch open for her to load the groceries.

------

Once they'd retrieved Mary's new wardrobe from Ronnie Red and put it in the trunk with the groceries, Mary and Mike climbed back into the cab. Mike had found the short ride to the thrift store a little odd; he'd never been in a driverless vehicle before, though at his job he had written some of the code that governed such advanced computer systems. The Robocab was controlled by a touchscreen in front of the passenger, on which they could choose the route they wanted to take, adjust air conditioning and heating, turn on the radio and change stations, and so forth.

To put it bluntly, Mike was feeling utterly frustrated. He'd been running over the events of the day during the first leg of the cab ride, and he didn't like the conclusion he'd come to: Mary had been deftly manipulating him all day. It was surely no coincidence that the auto body shop she chose was in such close proximity to Ronnie Red's thrift store, or that she'd opted to wear one of her new outfits while teasing his prick on the bus. In the supermarket he'd felt like an awkward child pushing a shopping cart while his mother decided on all the purchases, a feeling which was doubly increased when she made him feel like a fool for not noticing Kathy.

If he were honest with himself, he had to admit some of this was his own fault. He did put her in charge of the grocery list. He allowed her to pick her own outfits. He didn't protest when she found a place to get his car cleaned up. Those parts he could rationalize to himself. But the other parts of the equation bothered him. Sure, they had made out like bandits at Ronnie Red's, but there was no way to know Ronnie would have given them a discount, or even that he'd be amicable at all to seeing Mary again. The scene on the bus was certainly not something he would have asked for, and the fiasco with Kathy had left him feeling queasy ever since he got into the cab.

Mike leaned back into the seat, considering the touchscreen of the Robocab in front of him. It showed a map of the city, with the words SELECT DESTINATION AND ROUTE. He thought for a moment, then typed in his address on the virtual keypad, and pressed a button on the screen labeled SCENIC. A more detailed map between Ronnie Red's and his home appeared. Mike traced his finger over the streets, crafting an elaborate roundabout path home that would take them through plenty of back streets and traffic lights.

Mary watched him program the cab, blinking incredulously at his selection. “What are you doing? It'll take us forty minutes to get home by that route.”

“Yes, I know,” said Mike, coldly, committing the cab to the trip, and then pressing the TINT WINDOWS button. Outside the vehicle the glass surrounding them polarized, rendering the passengers functionally invisible to the outside world. The cab lurched forward, joining with traffic. Mike turned to Mary, looking directly into her glassy artificial eyes. “We're going to have a talk.”

Mary blinked, then sighed. “You're upset,” she concluded, looking serious.

“I am,” said Mike, visibly and audibly annoyed, “and what's even more frustrating is I don't know exactly why I'm upset. It's not like this was a particularly bad day. We got everything done that we wanted to. We had a pretty good time doing it, too. Yet here I sit, feeling confused and defeated. I feel like I've been bamboozled.” He paused a moment to collect his thoughts. “And I think the reason I feel that way is because I don't understand what game we're playing. Half the time it seems like a cooperative game, with both of us working towards a common goal. But the other half it seems like a competitive game, where you're working against me or seducing me or deceiving me, depending on what strategy you need to use to get me in the position you want me.”

Mary sat quietly, listening to Mike's accusations and protests. When he was finished, she straightened herself up in her seat, allowing a few moments of reflection to pass before she replied. “Why couldn't it be both?” she finally offered. “You don't want just a cooperative game, Mike. That's boring. You could get that from any gynoid, and if I were really that much of an annoyance you'd have taken me back to the pawn shop already, or offered to sell me back to Ronnie Red.” She pursed her lips, taking in his expression before continuing. “I think you like a little excitement in your life. I think you need a little excitement in your life. You've been dying inside for a long time now from all the safety of your life. Isn't it nice to feel something again?”

Mike considered her rebuttal carefully; she'd made a very good point. He did buy her because his life had gotten boring and sterile, and he had to begrudgingly admit that her unexpectedly wild ways excited him and made him desire her more. But he'd also expected to have a much greater amount of control in this relationship — heck, the fact that he was thinking of his interactions with a robot as a 'relationship' at all was proof that he wasn't where he wanted to be.

'Be liberated, and shine with your unique and brilliant light,' she'd said to him after they'd made love with her as his mindless slave. 'That's what I and my kind are made for: to satisfy your needs.' Was she satisfying his needs, by pushing him as she had? Was that what he really needed from her, to be challenged?

“Freecell,” Mike said suddenly.

Mary blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“An old card game,” explained Mike. “Computer versions come standard with a lot of operating systems. It's a challenging game, one of my favorites. I've spent hours gazing at the cards and figuring out how to play them properly. Sometimes I've gotten games which frustrate the heck out of me, but I keep at them, because I know there has to be a solution. It's the unraveling of the hand, the application of a human mind against a puzzle, that makes the effort rewarding.” He looked at Mary. “What you are is a hand of Freecell that seems unsolvable. But you're not. And I'm going to solve you, Mary.”

Mary raised an eyebrow. “If memory serves,” she retorted, “Freecell has a ninety-nine point nine nine eight seven one eight percent win ratio. What if it turns out I'm one of the games in the miniscule unsolvable percentage?”

“Ah,” said Mike, “but Freecell is also a computer program, and computer programs have Easter Eggs to override their normal operation.” He looked determinedly at Mary, his breath quickening slightly. “And since I'm the operator of that program, you will comply with my commands.”

Mary smirked slightly. “Yes, Master,” she replied.

“I thought I told you we only use that in private,” Mike scolded.

“We are in private, Master,” Mary noted. The cab whisked through downtown streets, turning and twisting in its roundabout path towards Mike's house, the pedestrian passerby on the sidewalks next to it oblivious to its contents behind the blackened windows.

Mike raised an eyebrow. “So we are,” he said, smiling evilly. His thoughts went back to the bus ride and her handling of his cock, and he found himself growing once again at the idea of the deviancy of it. He cast a nervous glance at the windows surrounding them; they could see outside easily, but the only indicator that the outside couldn't see in was a slightly brownish filter on the glass, and the indicator light on the touchscreen.

Mike looked at Mary again, who seemed to be eagerly anticipating what he might do next. He decided he would do something exciting. He was starting to like the feeling of things being exciting.

“I want you to suck my cock,” said Mike, “right now.” He actually felt somewhat shocked at his own directness, hearing his words reflected back at him in the confines of the cab. But the shock only fed the excitement, and his heart rate began to rise with the acceptance of his role as Mary's Master.

Mary's eye lights flickers briefly, and she nodded once simply, drawing her legs up under her in the seat and pitching forward towards Mike's crotch. With a few simply motions of her fingers she had unzipped his pants and released his hardening cock from its prison inside his boxers. With one hand she grasped the base of the shaft, leaning in with her mouth opened wide. Her lips molded around the circumference of Mike's penis, and she pulled her head back slowly as her internal pneumatics created a partial vacuum in her oral cavity, sucking at Mike like a milk machine.

Mike hummed lightly in pleasure as a smile came over his face, the audible sounds of the pneumatic pumps reminding him once again that his beautiful girlfriend was nothing more than an advanced sex toy, no different in practice from a vibrator or a butt plug. “Oh, good girl,” he said, “good girl. You're such a good sex robot.”

“Yes, Master,” said Mary, her voice coming clearly through her speakers even with Mike's dick completely subsumed into her mouth, another convenient reminder of her artificial nature. “I'm your hot little robot slut. Fuck my mouth like a whore.”

Mike moaned in pleasure as he did exactly as she suggested, holding her head down with his left hand as he began to thrust upwards into the gynoid's oral cavity, fucking it like a pussy. A normal human woman would have easily choked at this level of force, a thought which drove Mike's pleasure higher, his cock wood-hard with arousal. “That's right,” said Mike, “you're a plastic slut built to please my cock. Keep talking dirty, bitch.”

“I need your cock so badly,” said Mary, her voice becoming more automated and detached, as if she were merely playing back prerecorded sentences in random sequence. “I'm so hot for you. Fuck my mouth. I'm your perfect robotic girlfriend. I'm programmed to suck and fuck. I need you. I'm so hot. Fuck me like a machine. I'm a sex doll. I need cock. Fuck my robot face. I'm so horny right now. I need to be used. I'm a plastic fuckslut. Make me your dirty bitch. I'm so hot for you. I need to suck your cock. I'm a sex toy. I need to be fucked...”

Mike fiddled with the touchscreen as Mary worked his cock like a professional whore, trying to find some appropriate music for the mood, but failing to land on anything useful. Eventually he gave up, consumed by the pleasure of Mary's dicksucking, and left it playing an erratic, bawdy Tom Waits song:

You’re the head on the spear
You’re the nail on the cross
You’re the fly in my beer
You’re the key that got lost
You’re the letter from Jesus on the bathroom wall
You’re mother superior in only a bra
You’re the same kind of bad as me

Mike had both hands on Mary's head now, but found it difficult to get the leverage he wanted against her from her position in the cab; she was turned ninety degrees to him due to the limitations of space. “Oh, you magnificent bitch,” he said between moans, “It's too bad you can't be in front of me right now.”

Mary's blue LED lights flashed for a moment, processing the statement. An unexpected trio of clicking noise came from somewhere inside her, and suddenly, Mike found her detached head in his hands. She had released the locks to the modular connectors in her neck, and it had popped off of its own accord on Mike's next thrust. A few power and data wires dangled between the head and the rest of the gynoid's body, as well as a translucent plastic esophagus leading to her discharge cache.

“Oh, you dirty little whore,” said Mike, grinning like a Cheshire cat at her maneuver, and rotating her head around on his cock so her could fuck her face properly.

“Fuck me,” replied Mary. “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me...”

They told me you were no good
I know you’ll take care of all my needs
You’re the same kind of bad as me

Mike came powerfully into Mary's mouth, yelping out loud as his motherlode of semen came blasting out of his cock. It was an incredibly powerful orgasm, perhaps the most powerful he'd ever experienced, with a woman or otherwise. He collapsed back against the passenger seat, panting and sweating and half-closing his eyes as the afterglow of the orgasm filled his skull and washed over his body. A slight gurgling noise alerted him to Mary again, and through the semi-transparent tubing of her esophagus he could see his jism being sucked down into her body, a fitting epilogue to the deviancy of his act.

The cab rolled to a stop in Mike's driveway. “Your fare is forty-one dollars and fifty cents,” stated the touchscreen flatly.

[General]

Excellent job. I love the imagery and really like where you've taken the story. I can't wait to see more.

[Jazzfan]

I agree! Fantastic story! I hope more comes soon!

[Cecilauthor]

Intelligent and thought-provoking. It makes me wonder what motivates your fembots. I'll be looking for the others.

[Cornelius]

I was hoping for an update when you posted parts 1 and 2 before ... thanks so much for continuing the plot!

[Trace Venom]

This is seriously outstanding!

[LongTimeLurker]

Great story!

But... I do have to take issue with one part of this story. One does not "settle" on 'Bad as Me' when searching for songs to make love to your fembot by. One should celebrate its playing during such an occasion as divine providence! He's the Barry White of... OK, maybe I'm stretching it.