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"We'll call you as soon as the new sensor comes in," Spielmann said weakly. "You know, they say that sometimes if you drink lemonade or cranberry juice it will make a guy's semen less alkaline."
"Cranberry juice? Cranberry juice?" Howie demanded incredulously. You do know you're on fucking Ganymede now. Not in Wisconsin. Do you know how close the nearest fucking cranberry is? Six hundred million fucking kilometers away, that's how close. And that's in five years when we reach our closest point to Earth."
"Well, maybe lemonade then," Spielmann suggested.
"I hate lemonade," Howie sulked.
He cleaned up as best he could and he and Lucinda headed out for his place, his arm around her shoulders, hers tightly around his waist. They passed lazily through the frantic rush hour foot traffic, then boarded the moving walkway.
Once aboard, they mostly stood still and admired each other while people hurried past and the walkway moved them quickly toward the residential dome.
"You don't have those...sensors anywhere else, do you?" he asked
"No, no," she replied. "The idea is that I might be pretending to be eating and swallowing food and other stuff and something dangerous might somehow accidentally wind up in the oral storage area. But that's much less likely with any of the other compartments."
"Sure am glad to hear that," he said, and turned to face her, cupping her butt cheeks in his hands and planting a wet, passionate kiss on her open mouth.
They kissed and cuddled so hotly for the next minute that they didn't notice when they got to the end of the walkway and should have stepped off. It dumped them, sprawling, at the feet of the same Security Agent who had seen Howie fall on Monday. He had again been watching their approach with silent amusement.
Her skirt flew up, displaying her damp panties, and her big breasts slipped out from under her tight top, which had never had them under much control to begin with.
The Security Agent's bugged-out eyes were fixed on Lucinda as he addressed Howie. "You, Son, are going to have to learn another way to get off that thing." Then, tearing his attention briefly away from Lucinda and nodding toward Howie's crotch again, he added, "And it looks like that's getting to be a permanent condition with you. Hopefully, it's something your little friend here can help you with."
Then he looked back at Lucinda, who had made no attempt to cover herself and was, in fact, lying there, spread-legged with an inviting smile, the swollen lips of her pouting pussy peeking out around the edges of her tiny panties.
"Um, um, um," he grunted appreciatively. "I'm going to be keeping an eye on you two," he warned with a big grin, then turned and walked away.
They got up, dusted themselves off and turned toward the apartment. "So much for the Third Ancillary Law," Howie muttered quietly as they walked away.
"Not really," Lucinda answered with a little, flirtatious smile. "You've got me set for 'Slutty Sweetie' - which I love, by the way, so don't you even think about changing it. In this setting, I'm predisposed to determine that you're going to find slutty behavior like that stimulating, even when it's directed toward another man. So, I was compelled by the Second Ancillary Law, which as you know, takes precedence over the Third, to show myself off to that poor security guy."
She paused for a second and repeated, "Poor guy," then burst out laughing, "But did you see the look on his face?"
Like one of those old-fashioned cartoon characters with spring-mounted eye balls, thought Howie. But, Laws or no Laws, she really seemed to enjoy getting that reaction out of him. An android who is capable of rationalizing the Laws to let her do things she wants to do, but knows she isn't really supposed to do? At least if we ever need money, she can set up practice as a lawyer!
Howie briefly wondered how an android could have been unaware that they were approaching the end of the moving walkway. He considered whether she might have deliberately allowed them to be deposited unceremoniously on the floor just to create a funny/romantic bonding incident. Or maybe it was to show her panties off to the cop. But he lost his train of thought as soon as he slung his arm around her shoulders and they resumed their joined-at-the-hip style of walking.
They didn't get far, however. There were several high-end retail shops near the walkway terminus and something sparkly in one of the display windows caught Lucinda's eye. They stopped to look and found it was a set of jewelry: a brilliant choker, heavy with big diamonds, a matching bracelet and tear-drop diamond earrings.
"Boy, those would good on you," he said appreciatively.
"Then why don't we buy them?" she asked brightly.
"I would love to see you wearing them," he answered, "but we're not going to buy them because they probably cost 50,000 dollars, and I just spent a lot of money buying you. It will be awhile before I have money for expensive jewelry."
As they walked the rest of the way to Howie's apartment, he asked, "So what's our cover going to be? You want to use the marriage thing?"
"Would we actually be married?" she asked with what seemed like shy excitement. "Wouldn't that be great? I'd be so happy."
"I'm not sure we can be actually married, what with you being an andro-companion and all," he said hesitantly.
Her big smile was instantly replaced by the cutest pout Howie had ever seen. "Why not," she asked. "Would we get in trouble or something?"
"No, I don't think so," he answered quickly. "We just wouldn't really be married. It would be pretend. We can research it when we get home." He hugged her a little closer as they approached the door of his building.
In the elevator, with privacy less than a minute away, they began to maul each other again. Howie pushed her against the control panel and they picked up where they had left off on the moving walkway. His right leg was between her thighs and she was rubbing her clit against it as hard as she could. One of his hands was under her top, playing with her stiff nipple. The other was at the back of her neck, holding her mouth tight against his as their tongues waged love-war against each other, advancing, retreating, defending, attacking.
Unfortunately, the vigorous movement of her butt on the control panel tripped the emergency stop switch, which triggered a very loud bell and caused the elevator to come to a sudden halt. In the light Median gravity they were thrown hard against the ceiling, then fell more gently to the floor. Howie lay there stunned for a moment, but Lucinda jumped up quickly to return the emergency switch to its original position, which silenced the bell and got the elevator moving again.
When they got off at the 10th floor, Mrs. Stooshey was just coming out of her apartment.
"Is that thing safe?" she asked. "I thought I heard the emergency bell."
"Oh, no. That was...umm...just my phone's new ring tone," Howie said.
"Really?" she asked enthusiastically. "Can I hear it again?" she continued, her voice slowing and losing its excitement as she began to study Lucinda, who was trying to appear casual as she straightened her skirt, pulled her tight top back down where it belonged and organized her disheveled hair.
"You see, my hearing is going a little," she explained deliberately, without taking her eyes off of Lucinda, "And I can't hear my own phone anymore. But that, I could hear."
"Maybe later Mrs. S.," Howie replied. "Right now, I'd like you to meet my new wife, Lucinda. She's just out from Earth. We met on the interplanetary net. She hasn't seen my apartment yet and she's really eager for me to show her around."
"Lulu, this is Mrs. Stooshey, a good friend of my parents," he said.
Lucinda held out her hand. "Hello," she beamed.
The portly woman looked her over again, reluctantly shook her hand briefly. "Norma Stooshey," she muttered, then looked at Howie.
"I'll bet she is eager to see the inside of your apartment," she grumbled. "Especially the bedroom, eh?" she added sarcastically. "Funny your mother didn't mention anything about her. Humph. Call her 'Wifey' if you want, but she still looks like the high-price spread to me."
MicroHard was still working on the final idiomatic expression module. Lucinda only had the preliminary, incomplete version, so she had no idea what Mrs. Stooshey meant by "high-price spread". She was pretty sure, though, that it wasn't intended it as a compliment.
"Thank you, I guess," she said innocently, "But I'm not sure what that means. Is it bad to be a 'high-price spread'? Is it better to be a cheap spread? Is that what you are?"
Howie snorted quietly as he tried to stifle a guffaw.
Mrs. Stooshey gave him, then Lucinda, an incendiary stare and snorted herself, but more like a rhinoceros considering whether or not to charge. After long seconds, she hissed one word, "Shameless," then turned and lumbered toward the elevator.
Lucinda watched her walk away. "Nice to meet you," she called, with just a hint of irony, as the doors closed.
"So, 'Lulu', is it? And what in goodness name did she mean by that 'High-price' remark?" Lucinda asked while Howie was unlocking the door.
"I like 'Lulu'. Is it okay with you?" he asked anxiously.
"Well, you're the owner. You can call me 'Fred' if you want. Right?" she teased. "But, yes, I like 'Lulu' a lot. But what about what she called me?"
"I'll explain about that later," Howie said. "Right now, I have to show you your new home, at least as much of it as you can see from flat on your back."
He ushered her in. "This is the luxurious front hall," he said, closing the door, sweeping his arm around to indicate a space about two meters wide and three meters long, and then turning toward her to try to pull her snug jersey over her head. They staggered down the hall and into a larger area as she helped him get it off.
"And this is the living room," he continued, tossing the top onto a chair and beginning to unbuckle his belt. The room was about six meters square and littered with magazines, half-eaten food and dirty clothes. "As you can see, there's a small balcony with a view of the park," he droned on as he pulled down his zipper and kicked off his shoes.
Lucinda didn't look around the room. "Lovely," she remarked, staring into his eyes and beginning to unbutton his shirt.
"Over there is the dining area," he said, nodding to an alcove off the living room and stepping out of his pants. "And there's the door to the kitchen."
"Such a convenient layout," she whispered, fumbling with the last of his shirt buttons as she nibbled at the base of his neck.
"The bedroom is up there," he declared enthusiastically as he tossed his pants onto the couch and pulled her toward a steep staircase on the side of the room opposite the dining area.
"A duplex!" she marveled, pulling his shirt off and tossing it over the banister.
"Also the master bath and a guest room," he went on, pushing her up the stairs as he reached under her skirt to pull her panties down.
By the time she reached the top of the stairs the panties were down around her ankles, which caused her to fall headlong onto the second floor landing. He quickly scooped her up and carried her down the short hallway to the master bedroom. He stopped at the door.
"This, madam," he announced, "is your boudoir of bliss, your chamber of carnal delight, your bower of... bower of... Damn, what's another word that begins with b and means complete and total happiness?"
"Beefcake?" she suggested.
"Right. Your bower of beefcake," he proclaimed and, with no little ceremony, but also no significant delay, carried her through the doorway and dumped her on the queen-size bed.
Her panties were dangling from one ankle and she was still wearing her skirt and shoes. She spread her legs eagerly, revealing a bright pink, lacy pubic heart tattoo and a bald little pussy, which winked open and shut like a miniature eye searching for something long, thick and hard.
"Perfect," he groaned and pulled off his undershorts. His stiff cock stood tall and proud, like a thick, drooling flagpole. "But you can leave your hat on," he muttered.
"What hat?" she asked.
Howie had a soft spot for mid to late 20th Century culture, especially American music and films.
"Never mind - ancient song," he said as he jumped onto the bed and knelt at the end of it. "Do we want to spend time on foreplay?"
She answered with an edge of frustration on her voice, "We've been foreplaying for the last forty-five minutes. Actually, more like the last five days. It's time to stick that thing into me," and spread her legs even further.
He waddled forward on his knees until she could reach his hard-on. She snatched at it firmly and pressed it against the slippery entrance to her soaking wet cunt. He pushed and the head slid in. God, she's tight! he thought, forcing his way in, inch by delicious inch.
"Oh, oh, ooooooh," she moaned. "I think you might be too big." She writhed and whimpered in what could have been either pleasure or pain.
Simultaneously, he had two thoughts. On a rational level, he thought, She can adjust her pussy tightness. She's making it that tight because she likes it and knows I'll like it, too. But on an emotional level, he thought, Damn right I'm too big, bitch!
When he was all the way in, he began driving in and out, faster and faster, like a piston in some manic sex engine. They were both too excited to hold off orgasm for long and, within less than a minute, they were wailing an ecstatic duet and he was pumping her cunt full of hot cum. To their mutual relief, it didn't immediately spray back out.
They took a short breather and he went to the fridge for a Red Spot, then came back to bed. But before he had more than a few sips of the beer, she was sucking on his prick and he was quickly stiffening again.
This time, she begged him to fuck her ass. He teased her with unconvincing reluctance, but quickly gave in. Soon, he was on his back and she was sitting on his rigid cock, back to him, squeezing it into her tiny asshole. He reached around her and grabbed her big, rock-hard clit to roll it between his fingers. She responded with a shriek of bliss, and a string of colorful expletives and immediately fully impaled herself on him, then began bouncing up and down wildly.
It took Howie a little longer to cum this time and, by the time he did, she had had four orgasms, each bigger, louder and more profane than the one before.
They took a longer break this time. Howie needed it. She didn't.
They lay side by side, with satisfied little smiles. "That was so much more exciting, so much more fun than with…" she began then paused. "Well, more fun than anything I've ever done before," she finished.
Howie gave her a confused look and Lucinda changed the subject.
"So, is that lady's name really 'Norma Stooshey'?" she giggled. "You know, Norma Stooshey, like 'normous tushy'?" While her knowledge of idiomatic expressions might be a little thin, Yiddish based slang was pretty well covered.
An android with a sense of humor? Howie wondered. This is going to be interesting.
"It's worse than that," he smirked as Lucinda tried half-heartedly to get her chuckles under control. "Norma is her middle name. Her first name is really 'Edna', but she only uses her initial." He paused to let it sink in and waited curiously for her reaction.
Lucinda looked at him blankly for a second, then began to snicker quietly, then exploded into uncontrolled cackling. "E. Norma Stooshey?" she erupted. "Eeeeee Norma Stooshey?"
For the next thirty seconds, the two of them were convulsed with laughter, repeating "E. Norma Stooshey" and "enormous tushy" back and forth to each other with every possible inflection and in every possible tone of voice: incredulous, matter-of-fact, demanding, inquiring, angry, embarrassed, seductive.
Finally, when they had worked most of the silliness out of their systems, Lucinda asked, "So what was our friend Edna talking about when she said I looked like 'The high-price spread'?"
Howie hesitated. "She meant...um...that you looked.... in her opinion, anyway..., you looked like a prostitute," he said carefully. "But a very classy one... a really, really classy one," he added quickly. "One who is smart, very good looking, great in bed and has good taste and would be able to charge a whole lot of money for her services."
"So," she mused, barely suppressing another chuckling fit, "When I asked her if she was a 'cheap spread'..."
"Yeah, that was pret-ty funny," Howie laughed. "It really pissed her off."
They shared another round of giggles like a pair of old friends, then lay quietly next to each other.
Suddenly Lucinda turned more serious. "If I'm all those things, and you paid a whole lot of money for me... mainly, I think, to have sex with me... doesn't that make me a prostitute?" she asked. By the end of the question, her voice seemed almost hopeful.
"No, no, of course not," he laughed. He paused and grew more solemn himself. "Because we have..... special feelings for each other."
She grinned happily and kissed him, gently at first, then nibbled on his lip a little, then thrust her tongue into his mouth and climbed on top of him.
"Whoa," he said, breaking the kiss off. "Give me a few minutes to recover, and finish my beer. Anyway, it's my turn to ask a question."
Lucinda sat up so that she was straddling Howie's lap. "Fire away," she said.
"He paused, unsure how to put it. Finally, he said, "What's up with us falling off the moving walkway? I thought an android would be pretty much completely aware of everything in its... her... environment. A guy like me... a human... but especially a guy, I'm going to get distracted by all the kissing and stuff, and not know that we're coming to the end. But you, how can you not know? Don't you have distance and speed sensors? Hazard detection programming? Don't you calculate vectors and monitor approaching dangers? Aren't you supposed to keep track of things like that and protect yourself… and me?"
She lowered her eyes in a coy expression of mixed embarrassment and amusement. "You know I'm only a Beta," she said quietly, "And that I'm bound to have a few bugs. Well, remember how Dexie explained the sequence of circuits being activated and that cascade-thingy at the end?"
Howie nodded.
"Well," she continued, "The arousal sequence goes faster than MicroHard thought it would. And the activation of circuits spreads unpredictably into areas which aren't supposed to be part of the sequence, like circuitry which maybe should be processing visual input or keeping track of lateral velocity. And the normal signal in those circuits gets drowned out by the intense activity of the arousal sequence and... well..."
"You get distracted," Howie summarized.
"I get distracted," she admitted. "And it'll happen again. But I'm sure they'll fix that when they come out with a final model."
"I hope not," said Howie defiantly. "I like that about you."
She smiled almost proudly. "And that's also why my orgasms are so... enthusiastic," she said. "I don't know if you've noticed that. But that's because it's not just the arousal sequence which is spilling over into unintended circuitry. The cascade of cybernetic activity that Dexie described – you know, my orgasm - is overflowing into all of my circuits, too, all of them."
"Aaah, yes," Howie said, "Speaking of that, and getting back to the ever-vigilant Mrs. S., it's a good thing that she's not home right now. She lives right next door and the walls here are so thin that even she could have heard each of your orgasms. She heard the elevator alarm bell, and you were at least that loud."
