The Little Shop Ch. 04

The Melinda 109: A Little Shop Story

PART ONE

"I can't believe it's here!" Webb said excitedly. Soapy shook his head, as Plato and Cato dismembered the packing case, and pulled Melinda 109 out. She was something--five seven or maybe five eight inches tall. Blonde. Icy sapphire eyes. Beautiful face, much like Mary Hart from Entertainment Tonight, but with much fuller lips. And Melinda 109 was dressed in a snug turtleneck, a miniskirt and high heels on the long legs.

"Oh she's beautiful" Webb said, his erection poking through his pants. "Does-does she dress like that all the time?" Soapy fished a manual out. "No, the 109 has about seven different outfits. And she can change her own clothes, as well as looking after your interests. There's a suitcase with her, and it's got a leather outfit, and a cocktail dress, and some rubber stuff."

Cato grinned, a big, black grin with gleaming white teeth, and took out the remote control. Clicking it, suddenly Melinda spoke. "You're a bad boy, Webb. Take your pants down and bring me the hairbrush." Cato and Plato roared. "She got yo' number, Mist' Cleary!" Webb blushed. Her head swiveled around, looking at all the men, and Soapy sighed and gestured to the blacks to pick up the packing case.

Melinda 109 stepped over the Styrofoam peanuts crapping up the floor and clicked her heels as she walked over to Soapy and Webb. Her head turned to Soapy. "Melinda 109 is back, Mister Soaperstein. I have been programmed to dominate Webb Cleary." Soapy gestured to Webb. "This is Webb Cleary, Melinda. I hope you've gotten a decent overhaul up there."

The robot smiled, and Webb gasped. "I have improved, yes Mister Soaperstein. My fingers can move now" Both men looked down at Melinda 109's right hand. She picked up a small dildo from a display table and began massaging it. "I can give Webb a severe teasing without allowing orgasm." The manicured fingers were incredible.

Melinda 109 dropped the dildo back on the display table. "I can also give Webb a mild Number One thrashing, a moderate Number Two Thrashing or a severe Number Three thrashing, based on what he programs into the remote control." Melinda 109 drummed her tin fingernails on the counter as her head swiveled and she looked directly at Webb. "Whatever he needs."

"Watch the number #3" Plato called as they walked back downstairs. "That's the one where she whip you til she smells blood."

"Webb, dude, you really can get out of this with your deposit back if you want." Soapy said. "Melinda is a lot to deal with...at least if you have her as a submissive, you won't get hurt, but..."

Melinda 109 smiled.

"As a submissive, I can perform orally for hours, and my bare bottom will produce real welts that do not disappear for twenty-four hours after a thrashing...and my nipples can be tweaked and will support weights up to ten pounds."

Melinda's head swiveled to look sharply at Webb. "My electronic clitoris plays like a video game. If I don't register three orgasms from your tongue, the punishment will be quite arduous." Webb began panting. Soapy sighed again. No one noticed the woman staring from across the store, near the riding crop closet.

There was Melinda 109, available to a new renter, Jesus, Serena thought. The poor guy probably had to mortgage his house to get a month of Melinda, he doesn't look rich.

Serena was a commodities investment analyst, well off, and even she had been a bit amazed at Melinda's thousand--a week price. But, she'd thought she could use a little company, a little discipline in the house when she'd rented Melinda from the Little Shop a year ago, before they hired that ex-junkie Soaperstein to manage the joint.

The first few nights, she'd enjoyed being stripped naked and humiliated by the clothed robot, taking harsh hairbrush whippings and then licking between Melinda 109's metallic thighs.

When Serena needed a quiet night or friends were coming over to watch "My Name's Earl" and have a few Long Island Iced Teas, she could just click the remote on "off" and put 109 into the closet for an evening...

Melinda didn't mind. In fact one night after the last friend left, Serena was feeling a little lonely, and clicked the remote, and out came Melinda 109, clicking on her heels. "The kitchen floor is filthy." she'd said in her mechanical staccato. "Strip and scrub it with your teeth."

Serena had spent from one to three a.m. alternately waxing the house floors and hiding from Melinda's whooshing cane, which clipped Serena's sagging butt whenever she slowed in the cleaning.

When Serena was sufficiently blistered, she sneaked over to the remote clicked it "off" again, locked up Melinda 109 and had a feverish twenty minutes with her vibrator.

It had been such a perfect relationship, until Serena's toddler nephew had dropped the remote in the toilet on Thanksgiving, and then it had never worked right again. When Serena next summoned Melinda from the closet...oh God.

She'd just wanted a nice Sunday afternoon humiliating panties down bedroom-slipper paddling over Melinda 109's knee, followed by corner time, and instead Melinda had marched out of the closet, ripped Serena's clothes off, and then all hell had broken loose.

Melinda had shrieked at Serena, and bound her hands behind her with piano wire. (Where had the robot found piano wire? Had she temped for the Mafia?) Then Melinda had severely caned Serena's 32 C breasts, before pushing 23 thumbtacks in Serena's sensitive areolas.

Then, Melinda had dropped her skirt and pulled her panties down, and, before Serena's startled eyes, Melinda's twat had opened, and a long dick came out. Melinda was also a transsexual! Melinda 109 had grabbed Serena by the hair and...well, at least the semen was made of condensed milk, which was sweet.

After that ordeal was over, Melinda 109 "boxed" Serena's ears and said. "Now I'm going to drive my stiletto into your pussy!" The robot was so strong! Serena had run downstairs and come back with a crowbar, which she'd bashed in the back of Melinda 109's head, repeatedly.

Melinda had fallen over, and Serena had run around to the other side and whacked Melinda again, but the mistake Serena made was...Melinda 109's brain was not in her head...but in her stomach.

And so the robot rose once more!

Because the crowbar had caved in 109's head but, like the Energizer Bunny, on it went. Melinda 109, metallic face bashed in, had grabbed Serena by the shoulders and told her "I'm going to make you into a tranny slut, boy!"

Serena screamed at Melinda that since she was a woman-born woman, this was impossible, and continued to frantically click the remote. but 109 dragged Serena into the bedroom by her hair and forced her in a chair and rubbed garish lipstick all over Serena's face.

The robot then went to shoving a blond wig on top of Serena's brunette locks, and while 109 turned to the lingerie drawer, Serena had jumped out of the window, falling in the rose bushes before she'd run to a neighbors and called the Dedham County cops.

The cops had stared at her rather peculiarly, (what an explanation) before going into the house and gunning Melinda down. (But not before she'd ripped down the pants and caned Badge No # 093248; and twisted Detective Kauser's nipples )

The Little Shop had settled out of court with a very generous gift certificate...much of which Serena had spent already. And of course she was now in the shop after a riding crop that her new, HUMAN Mistress could use on her.

Sixty-two year Esme wasn't beautiful like Melinda, and her butt was way too big (not fun for Serena to rim). Often Esme wasn't in the mood...and her canings were tepid. But when Serena said "stop" Esme stopped, and that was good enough. But Serena looked at Melinda 109 with an intensity, and had to squelch out of the Little Shop with dampened panties.

Back at the counter, Webb and Soapy were going over payment details, and Melinda 109 surveyed the scene. The Little Shop was just as it had been before. She looked at Soaperstein, the manager.

Data? Ponsonby Aurelius "Soapy" Soaperstein, five foot nine, 165 pounds, born St. Luke's Hospital in Chattahoochee, Georgia, 4/10/65, minor public education ending with expulsion for selling Percodan pills at Bell Vocational High 5/3/78.

First interest in opiates after receiving Demerol for childhood earache; arrested for breaking into People's Drugstore in Washington, D.C. for codeine pills 7/6/79; given probation; arrested 8/23/79 for forging Morphine prescriptions in Bethesda, Maryland; sent to Maryland State Training School for Boys; served eleven months, Married Lori Ann Minsk 9/19/82, one child; marriage annulled by Minsk's parents.

Soaperstein charged with looting sister's trust fund, 1/24/83; charges dropped by parents, then arrested 5/9/83 for selling codeine at Alexandria, Virginia Boy Scout Jamboree, judge sent him to the US Navy, Section 8 discharge ten days later for opium smoking.

Soaperstein's next twenty years was punctuated by three more marriages, fifty-two drug arrests, thirty-three convictions, and five trips through the Northern New Hampshire Correctional Facility.

This before Jonas Tamulevich, parole board member, had arranged Soaperstein's release with the understanding that he work at the Little Shop, which Tamulevich owned with his brother, Judah.

Melinda 109 turned her gaze on Webb Lionel Haskins. This was the client. Data? Born 4/14/61 in Venice Italy, while parents in Foreign Service.

In Lima Peru in 1980, parents came upon young Webb Haskins being whipped by maid with carpet sweeper. Maid was imprisoned, and Webb Haskins sent to psychiatrist.

In 3/12/78, Haskins suspended from Choate Preparatory School for stealing underclothes from girl's dormitory, sent to McLean (mental) hospital in Belmont, Massachusetts, six months.

Then Webb graduated from Rye Country Day School in Rye, New York, 6/14/78 and Princeton

University, 5/28/82, London School of Economics, 6/8/83,Cornell Law School 6/9/86.

While Webb Haskins was in London, he visited Mistress Tymothea of Cheapside, and received enemas, corner time and many cane thrashings. While at Cornell Law School, Haskins was under care of Goddess Monetta of Ithaca, New York, who had Haskins dress as a female prostitute and fellate men at trades bars in Dryden, New York.

Married Glynnis Purchell, owner of Purchell Department Stores, 7/8/82, divorced 5/2/96, three children. Wife charged Haskins with "unnatural desires" Mistress Satania of Portsmouth, New Hampshire was co-respondent in divorce proceedings.

Webb Haskins has been a Circuit Court Judge in Concord since 4/16/93, seen variety of Mistresses, but evinces discontent, wants permanent arrangement. Renting Melinda 109 for ninety days at $1,000 per day. Needs? Infantilism, corporal punishment, general abuse and maltreatment.

Melinda smiled.

Soapy wasn't so sure about Melinda 109, as he watched Webb holding the mechanical woman's hand, gazing into the glass eyes with some kind of joy.

The first week out of prison, Tamulevich, the Little Shop owner, had been giving Soapy training, so Soapy could run the place while Tamulevich opened yet another Little Shop in Boston. Perversion travels, Soapy had thought bitterly.

All of a sudden, the Little Shop door rang and a tall, attractive blonde clicked in with high heels, accompanied by a short, pudgy fellow in a business raincoat. Soapy's eyes widened a bit, as he thought perhaps the fat little guy was wearing high heels, too. Soapy shouldn't have left his bifocals in the cell back at Northern NH Correctional.

"Good morning, Mr. Tamulevich" the blonde said as the two approached the counter. "I am returning, the fortnight with Randolph went well." The little man looked sincerely at Tamulevich. "Oh, Judah, I just wish the time had been longer, but my credit rating isn't that good."

Tamulevich smiled widely. "Well, Mr. Whitman, whenever you can afford to have ze Melinda back, you know she'd love to come back for a visit. And remember, you can have half-hour visits weet her here at ze Little Shop for only $300 per hour."

Soapy looked askance at Tamulevich. Here was the brother of the parole board member who had effectively extorted Soapy to work at this pervert store job (not that Soapy'd ever enjoyed working much of anywhere) as the price of getting out of Northern NH Correctional.

Was Judah Tamulvevich a pimp, too? Soapy had once unsuccessfully tried to convince his Aunt Maude to peddle ass for him after she'd had a face-lift, so he wasn't judging but...

Tamulevich, correctly interpreting Soapy's astonishment, snorted. "No no, jailbird. Oi veh, the day I dehumanize and exploit a real woman by having her hook for me, no." Tamulevich gestured to Melinda 109. "Melinda, show him your chest."

Soapy blushed as Melinda 109 unzipped her halter top, exposing beautiful, if a bit stiff breasts, and as she pressed a button on her right nipple, both breasts opened up to show a variety of batteries and wires where a woman's rib cage would be. Soapy felt somewhat faint, and ate a Tuinal he had been palming.

"You see, Soaperstein?" Tamulevich said proudly, as Melinda snapped her tits back in place and zipped up her halter top. "Mein oldest son, Professor Jonathan Tamulevich invented ze Melinda 109, and she is making us a fortune."

"Oh, Miss Melinda" the pudgy Randolph Whitman said simperingly. "I've never seen your inner transmission before. It's quite attractive." SLAP!

Whitman fell to the floor as Melinda 109's palm grazed his cheek. As the little man got up, his lip bleeding, Melinda 109 said, "I never even let you see my bare breasts, because you're such a wussie.

All you were allowed to see was my lingerie bikini top while I was masturbating you...You will have to earn the right to see my breasts when you rent me next time. So sell your father's Bentley! Now, Randy, I order you to open your trench coat and show Mr. Tamulevich and Mr. Soaperstein your shame."

The little pudgy man looked pleadingly at his dominant android. "Please, not that, Miss Melinda, not now." He stepped back, and Soapy noticed that indeed Whitman was wearing high heels under the normal male trench coat.

Tamulevich turned to the trembling trench coat pervert. "That's all right, Mr. Whitman. Just give me the remote clicker and I will turn Melinda off for you, and you can go home."

Randy looked terrified. "I-I gave the remote to Melinda 109, Judah. She's in charge."

Tamulevich shook his head. "That was stupid meshugennah thing to do, Whitman. Only other remote is downstairs, in storeroom near Kennel. I cannot control—"

Melinda laughed a throaty, iron chuckle. "Calm down Mr. Tamulevich. Melinda 109 will surrender the remote control to you after Randy does as he's told. Must I strip you myself, Randy, in this store where I have hundreds of whips and chains within reach?"

Soapy had coughed, as he remembered that he had not yet gone to the Methadone Maintenance this morning. This was a helluva lot to take, even with a Tuinal down his throat. If there aren't enough feminist bitches in the world, they make them now outta ROBOTS?

Finally, with tears running down his face, Randy Whitman opened up his trench coat revealing that he was wearing only a pair of long johns with the crotch cut out of them, and his stiff dick was hanging there, dripping. The long johns were also cut off at the knee, and beneath them were indeed short stockings and high heels.

Suddenly Melinda 109 had grabbed a cane off the display counter. WHACK! The cane bounced off Randolph's dick and the little man had burst into tears. "That was for giving me such a hard time, Randolph. Get home and work on selling your father's Bentley."

The little man had scurried off, and Melinda 109 had walked to a metal dolly cart and stood on it, before holding out the remote control, which Tamulevich had clicked off.

"Now, Soaperstein, get your lazy tuchus up and wheel Melinda into the storage closet, and attach jumper cables from large battery you will find there."

And Soapy thought he'd seen the last of Melinda when he shut the storeroom door on her...but no chance of that.

Soapy's next interaction with Melinda 109 was the next day-- when he was cleaning out the storeroom. Melinda was propped by the door, and when he nudged her to pick up a discarded video box ("DETROIT HALF-SMOKE BOFFS THE HUMAN BIDET") Melinda came to life, scaring the shit out of him.

"Bad mistake, clerk boy" Melinda said as she stood up straight, knocking the broom out of Soapy's hands. "You turned me on, so to speak."

Melinda 109's clear blue glass eyes were boring through Soapy as her fingers unbuckled his pants and dragged them down.

"G-get the fuck away from me, you freaky appliance." Soapy stammered, trying to get out of Melinda's way, but her right hand grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back, reaching over and pulling his other arm there too.

Soapy struggled, but the robot's strength was incredible. Melinda 109's left hand ripped Soapy's Fruit of the Looms off and she took his penis in her fingers.

As a contrast to the iron grip of the right hand, Melinda 109's left hand went silky soft, Soapy could feel the steel fingers becoming foamy. As he looked down unbelievingly, lube squirted out of her fingertips

"Ever been teased, clerk-boy?" Melinda's breasts rubbed against Soapy's narrow chest, and her slippery metal fingers began tickling his balls and massaging the large purple vein on Soapy's under shaft.

How was this possible that she could touch his balls and his cock?

Soapy stared at her fingers, which grew longer and longer, as if she had drunk Alice-in-Wonderland's magic formula...

This was the hand job from outer space, man. But Soapy was having a hard time resisting, as the fingers were now feeling like velvet as they expertly massaged his cock, rubbing faster and then slowing in an almost perfect alternate.

In Soapy's experience, when girls gave hand jobs eventually their hands got tired, but Melinda 109's hands just kept going and Soapy's groin began trembling as he approached orgasm.

As Soapy began panting and gasping, Melinda's fingers went faster and more lube shot out of the tips. Melinda 109's boobs rubbed against Soapy's chest again, and she smiled.

"You think you're so superior to the perverts who come into the Little Shop, clerk-boy, but in my opinion you're just shut off from the real world, you know that?"

"You hide behind your needle and your provincial opinions...." Melinda 109's lovely fingers tugged Soapy's foreskin, while her thumb bounced against the shaft rhythmically, like a tiny metronome.

"You think you're superior to poor fucks like Randy, who is addicted to high heeled shoes and girls that hit him...so superior."

Melinda leaned her head to Soapy's ear and she blew air in his ear, deep from her chassis, and Soapy realized it was like putting your head next to a small air conditioner.

"Don't you know, clerk-boy, that I'm more of a woman than any of those flesh-and-blood barroom skanks you pick up at the shooting galleries?"

Melinda's breasts rubbed against Soapy, and he leaned down and Melinda shoved his head between her huge breasts, which began expanding, getting larger from a 32C to a 44DD as his head bobbed happily between the perfumed orbs.

"I know all about you, Soaperstein, that you skim from the till, that you're still getting high every day...Jonas and Judah know it too, but they don't care as most of the business is credit and since you're a druggie, you don't creep out the customers...heroin is so much more interesting than reality, eh, Soaperstein?"

And it was—Soapy recalled that his previous parole had only lasted twenty minutes because he'd begun shooting Dilaudid in the bathroom of the train taking him away from prison...and he'd opened the door and fallen into the lap of a vacationing police sergeant.