Daddy's Droid Ch. 06

I was sure they did, seeing as the bot was programmed using Adele's diary. However, it was the Direct Order this Adele had just given me that I mostly focused on: 'Be a bimbo slut'. It had me groping even harder than before. I already thought about sex most of the time as it was. But, like I said, that was basically all in the family. Now Adele had stumbled onto one of my programmed-in behavior modifiers, and I had to deliver.

"I am a slut," I confirmed, as I switched arms and sucked the juices off the used one.

"Damn straight. I gotta go, but I'll have Max drop me off there. You'll see me in no time."

She was gone again. After I'd rolled off the bed and around the floor a bit, humping my arm, I felt the old energy levels dipping. I climbed up onto my chair ...

* * *

... and then it was suddenly afternoon and Adele was sitting in front of me grinning.

"There you are!" I gasped, like Adele had performed a remarkably clever act of peek-a-boo. Then I giggled and said, "Want me to lick yer honey pot?" Shit. Did I really say that out loud?

"Sure, babe – hop on over to the bed."

"Ya betcha, Mistress ... uh ... just as soon as ..." I shivered as the fat probe sucked back out of my ass. "Whoa, yeah! Okay. Here I go ..."

"Sorry, girl. Ya didn't actually have to hop."

"No problemo," I said, as I spread my co-owner's legs wide for action, and began to nibble under the tiny patch of red fuzz she considered a muff.

Adele had barely started to get her buzz on, when a horn honked outside. "That's our cab – we're goin' back to the mall. Oh – and bring that toy of yours."

"Um – which one? There's Little Willie, Big Dick, Major Johnson, Waldo the Whale, the Turbo-Twaddler ..."

I was just warming up to the subject when Adele interrupted. "The one you used on me the other night, dummy. The only one me and you've ever played with, so far."

"Cool – Tyrannosaurus Flex, it is." I fetched the thing from its drawer. The manual had mentioned that I could store one or two toys completely up (or down) inside me, but I figured that wasn't what Adele had in mind, so I plugged the TF in properly. Then I pulled on a tube-top, and a skirt that barely hid my sausage-y accessory, and trotted off after my mistress.

She had already jumped in the back of the cab and closed the door, so I got in the front. The driver turned to me and gave me THE LOOK – the total eye-fuck I'd gotten yesterday in the mall from practically everybody. "Where to?"

"Uh ..." I said, and grinned inanely. Wait – I know this one.

"West Side Mall," ordered Adele.

We'd barely pulled out of the drive when I followed my slut-directive and dove headfirst on the driver's lap. I quickly managed to get the guy's cock in my hand, while he squawked and tried to keep control of the car on the twisty road.

"Christ, lady! Stop that!" And then he added a last appeal to reason: "What about your kid sister?"

I heard Adele's voice from the back seat, slightly annoyed, saying, "Don't worry about me ... Carl." I was hugely impressed that she knew his name (even though his licence was posted on the dash right beside me). "Just stop the meter for us, okay? And try to stay on the road."

The late Tracey would have thought 'this guy's pretty buff'; as Lacy, it would have been more like, 'I wonder what this guy's love muscle tastes like'. But now I was Slut-Monkey Lacy. I engulfed the man's cock in my mouth and thought, Hey! Carl's thingie is black. Which really, really shouldn't have come as a surprise. When was the last time I ate a black one? Let's see – oh, yeah! I was a total virgin last week, so probably, like, never. I giggled yet again, with his knob deep in the back of my throat. It must have added something to his experience – I could hear the tires squeal, and the rattle from a spurt of gravel, before he got the cab straightened out.

There followed a serious time lag before a few doubts - about life, the universe, and everything - flickered through my head. I couldn't seem to concentrate on anything, apart from the task at hand (and, currently, in mouth).

Once, when I was in elementary school, my science teacher had gone round the twist and started trying to teach us quantum mechanics. After somebody's mother took the assigned calculus homework to the principal, he was quietly transferred away for a rest. But my point is that for one hour a day, every day for three weeks, my mind felt like oatmeal – my thoughts were totally mushy. Now, everything had that effect.

I'd wondered earlier whether I'd know if anyone fucked with my settings. Now a simple order had given me a major makeover. Well, I knew about it, barely, but I sure didn't care.

The cab driver lasted quite a while. I was impressed, until some analog for a neuron sparked in my head and I recalled something Adele once told me. To hold on to their load, she'd said, a boy often needed to think about something distracting and unpleasant to take them off the boil. Like, say, to picture that they were actually boinking Queen Camilla. So I bit him. Just a little – but really! Imagine him thinking about me like that!

Luckily for all three of us, he had in fact been thinking about steering more-or-less down the middle of the road. Whatever – that love-bite worked. He came in tasty buckets.

I was all for climbing into his lap, after that – the T. Flex attachment only occupied one hole, after all. But Adele spotted me getting ready for the pounce, and put a hand on my shoulder. "Easy, 'Sis'. Let the nice man do his job, now."

>< >< ><

After we'd been dropped off (Carl the Cabby had actually run around and opened our doors for us, much to the astonishment of nearby mall-goers), we sailed in though the big tinted doors. Adele turned back briefly – I think she gave the still stunned Carl a wave and a wink – then she caught up to me.

"What are you doing?"

I had collared a banker-type dude, whipping his cock out so fast (I mentioned that I could be pretty speedy if I wanted, right?) that I had it in a lip-lock before he could even thank me. We were behind the meager cover of one of the foyer's potted palms, but it was obvious to Adele what he was doing, so I couldn't see why she'd bothered to ask him. I rolled my eyes up, in time to see the guy shrug feebly in response.

Adele raised her voice and said, "I'm talking to her!"

Oh. That's me. I swiveled my head on the banker's wang so that I could see her. "I-mmm thuckin' 'is 'ock ..." As I rocked back and forth on my knees, I was also rubbing the knob of my detachable cock across the deliciously cool floor tiles, but I summed that part up: "I-mmm a thluut ... mithtreth."

Adele had flushed to her roots, and a teeny light bulb went on in my head (metaphorically – although the real thing may well be an optional feature). Even in my bimbofied condition, it occurred to me that Adele was bringing me back to the mall because it seriously turned her on to see me doing rude things where there was a good chance of being caught in the act. So far, I was obviously turning her crank. Good Lacy.

"Be a dear and spit that out before somebody comes, will you?"

Whoever was about to come, it wasn't fated to be the banker, because I obediently horked the poor man's tool out of my throat. In consolation, I gave the thing a thank-you peck on its snout, before getting up to follow Adele through the inner doors to the mall.

"C'mon," said Adele. "No more free blow jobs. Anyway, first I want to see you use that cock on that snooty shop girl – remember her? The one who wouldn't take your dad's credit card unless he came in to sign for us?"