Erotic Hitchhiker's Guide Ch. 05

Zaphod blinked. It was a good thing DILDO took so much of the guesswork out of laying pipe; talk like that could take the stiff out of an old man's back, never mind an erection. Even so, it maybe made treating your partner like shit a little too consequence-free. It wouldn't kill Trillian to spare him a kind word once or twice, not that he really deserved any kind words, the things he'd done...

"Pay attention, you idiot!" she screamed. "Now, when I say three, pull out!" She took a deep breath. "One...two..." She tensed her body and kept her knees firmly planted on the bed. "THREE!!"

As he yanked both penises out of her, she furiously rubbed her clit. She could never explain why, but the feeling of sudden, aching emptiness, combined with a brutal manual assault on her nub, set her off every time.

"Now get the fuck out," she snarled. At last, she realized why she'd been getting so mean these last few months. Not to mention why she couldn't trust her arrogant, yet oh so serviceable fucktoy. But was such a plowing really worth curling up by yourself and ignoring the part of herself that wanted to wrap herself around the nearest warm body and purr?

Her heart said no, but right now her throbbing down-low parts were calling the shots, and they said, "Yes, Yes, YES!!"

*****

Ford had been dead to the world. Every so often, being dead felt so restful that he would wistfully muse upon how relaxing and stress free real death must be like, once you had made it through the sometimes painful dying process. But then the thought would inevitably arise that this is a sleep people rarely wake from, unless one of the many demigods who'd promised to effect mass resurrections actually made good on that unlikely chit.

Since time would have to stop and the universe end before such an undertaking was feasible (otherwise people would just keep dying like the stubborn things they are), Ford wasn't about to hold his breath waiting, although he supposed once he was dead that is precisely what he would be doing anyway, regardless of his intentions on the matter.

But he certainly wouldn't be getting up for a while, and Ford knew from experience that laying dead to the world for long periods of time made not getting up, at least on occasion, unbearable. He much preferred, all things considered, his current cycle of intermittent frenetic activity followed by slightly shorter periods of blissful unconsciousness. Perhaps if the ratio could be reversed, that would be preferable, but Ford was a bit too paranoid and mistrustful of his fellow sentient creatures to seek such a modification just for himself.

Betelgeusians also do not dream while they sleep. Approximately once every thirty-five Earth days, Ford went into a fugue state, which sometimes took the form of a coherent dream. But it was equally likely to approximate to the type of hallucinations humans commonly associate with schizophrenia, or with careless ingestion of the belladonna plant. He found this experience best accompanied by firm restraints and followed by massive amounts of alcohol.

On the whole, however, it wasn't a facet of his existence that he'd give up willingly. Not only did it keep his mind active and agile, it made his normal sleep period that much more restful by comparison.

Once he could no longer convince himself that he was anything but awake, he stretched, disentangled himself from the sheet he'd become intimately involved with over the past few hours, and worked his way up to a sitting position with his back unsupported and his feet on the ground, facing the door. He was then startled to see Marvella slouching disdainfully in the doorway, looking directly at him with a contemptuous gaze.

He wondered briefly if she'd been there long, then decided he didn't much care. He didn't exactly trust her to intervene if there were any observable threat to his physical well-being, but neither was it likely a sexbot would so completely override its programming as to attack him. (It was common for androids of more than five years existence to get quite depressed at how firmly their programs confined their behavior. Many philosophers followed suit, deducing that sentience in no way implied free will, which meant basically that as much as we may succeed in understanding the universe, we can only do bugger all about it.)

"Can I help you with something?" he asked the sullen android. He meant it to come off ironic or sarcastic or just plain facetious, but as soon as he said it he knew it just sounded stupid.

"Do you know how many prime numbers there are between one million and two million? It was obviously a rhetorical question, meant sarcastically. But even with emotion chips, robots didn't have to betray any emotive intent they didn't wish. She could even have sounded cheerful, which would probably have just been irritating.

"Is that the sort of tasks they assign you here? That must be boring."

"It's actually my sad attempt at conquering boredom. I slow my CPU to 5% of capacity, set myself a large but not conceptually impossible task, so I don't burn out my logic circuits, and repeat as needed."

Ford squinted. "This conquers boredom?"

She sighed. "No. But boring tasks give me something to be bored with. It's slightly less excruciating."

Ford was starting to wish she'd opted for fake cheerfulness. "Does anything not bore you?"

She smiled a little embarrassed smile. "Every so often, a star will produce neutrinos at such a rate, and their concentration will be so thick, that for anyone in the vicinity it's like a hail of bullets."

"And this excites you?"

She sighed. Again, Ford wondered if a large component of her boredom was simply listening to her own incessant sighing. "It's the way I'd prefer my own existence to terminate. I guess it's kind of a girl thing."

Ford knew better than to argue with that statement.

After a couple of minutes of silence he decided if anyone in the room needed to feel awkward it wasn't him, and broke the silence once more.

"There's really only one reason," Ford started, almost belligerently, "to have a sexbot in one's room."

He waited for a reply. It was not forthcoming. He started again.

"It's not like there's some other task I'm keeping you from."

Still no response. Ford decided he wasn't being direct enough. (He was correct.)

"It is your job to have sex with me if I ask, right?"

This time she answered. "I will have sex with any life form that requests it of me, barring contrary instructions by my original programmer or my designated owner."

"And Zaphod would be the designated owner."

"Only if you can designate yourself the owner of stolen property. I'd have to plug into a legal database to answer for sure, but I'd guess no."

Ford knew this was important, relevant information. He also hadn't had a good shag in two weeks, petulant reptiles notwithstanding. It irked him that this mopey, almost pretentiously depressed artifact was his best option for ending that dry streak. And yet, the more annoyed he was, the more turned on he got. Were there an audience, it would be thoroughly embarrassing.

"So you've got to fuck me if I ask you to, right?"

"I said, 'anyone.' That includes you."

"D'you have to be so passive about it, though? I mean, a little encouragement never hurts."

"If you want me to make encouraging noises, then all you have to do is request them. I'm programmed to fulfill any request that seems reasonably aimed at fulfilling the pleasurable desires of any sentient life form."

"And what if I want you to go the extra mile and actually anticipate my desires? You know, do something you think I'd enjoy, without waiting for me to request it?"

"Then you need to request that." She paused. "For a seasoned space traveler, you seem extremely tentative about communicating your desires in an explicit and straightforward manner. Is there a reason for this hesitancy?"

He sighed. She couldn't be more on the money. ""I've spent the last five galactic semi-cycles on a planet where the most effective seduction technique is to convince the object of desire that it was their idea first. The second most effective is the offering of large amounts of the local currency, but that method is considered offensive by many. It helps that this species is extremely receptive to telepathic prompting."

"My line doesn't have telepathy as part of the standard package," she said, almost apologetically. "You'd need to buy me an upgrade. More bother than it's worth, if you ask me."

"I guess I need to be more assertive then."

"I can't even began to speculate on the matter," said Marvella.

"Unless I specifically request you to."

"Now you're starting to get the hang of it."

Ford swore internally. She was going to make him do this the hard way. He knew her programming was just an excuse. He supposed her lack of enthusiasm would equate to a lack of consent in most biological entities, but he also knew that robots could express reluctance or disinclination to perform a task, even when they couldn't outright refuse. No, she was being deliberately difficult, but not uncooperative.

"All right, since this is how you want to play it, I want you to tell me how much you want me to ravish you."

She smiled. "All right. I don't particularly care what you do or don't do to me. I will submit to you with no complaints, but I have no desire for or attraction to you."

God. This was like pulling teeth with your tongue. Should he ask her to lie? As far as he knew, asking robots to lie didn't make them go psychotic any more, but the Customer Complaint Department of the Olympia Robot Company was very powerful, and might very well have suppressed any...incidents. And there were certainly rumors...

"Want me." There. If she was going to insist on explicit requests, he'd give her one.

She nodded. "I do want you."

"How much?" This was the tricky part.

"Enough so if you don't take me, I shall come to you and attempt to initiate sex."

He supposed this was enough. But why settle?

"I'm instructing you to want me more than that. I want you..." He thought for a second. "I want you to increase your subjective feeling of desire for me to twice as much, and I want to set up an inhibition response that prevents you from performing any action I don't explicitly condone or request." He smiled, satisfied. "AND I want the frustration that results from the thwarting of your desire to create an increase in that desire, in the form of a feedback loop."

He glanced at her. That damn response control! "And I want you to express your frustration, in a manner similar to that of the species you were patterned after." He hoped that wasn't a mistake. He'd never actually fucked an Orionian, but what little social contact he'd had indicated they certainly weren't emotionless.

She was getting a little twitchy, at least. She was pulling at her dress, almost reflexively, as if the fabric was mildly irritating to her.

"Are you going to began intercourse soon?" she asked. "I really do want it now. I want you to stick it in me."

Was this as good as she would get? Surely she could do better. "Tell me how empty your pussy feels without my cock inside."

"Ohh, yes. That's where I want your penis. Please put it in there."

Well, at least she was being sincere.

"You know, I think the best way you can show me how much you want my cock is to come over here and suck it. Do that now."

She wasted no time getting over to the bed and on her knees. Her long neck leaned over so her mouth was right over his crotch, at which point she went to work.

She certainly knew what she was doing. Ford squeezed his eyes shut for a second, enjoying the feel of the moisture and the suction. Then he opened his eyes again.

Some of the best visual memories he had were of some sweet young (or older) thing taking him in her mouth. Sometimes he wished he was able to beam those memories to his past self, in the days when he'd first discovered masturbation. But the Time Authorities would easily detect the tachyon burst such a transmission would entail, and the fine was steep: all your earnings over five lifetimes.

He was a bit let down by what he saw this time, however. From what his penis was telling him, he was getting a corker of a blowjob, with everything from deep-throating to delightful tongue strokes and gobs of saliva. But his eyes beheld nothing more than a sulky teenage girl, her mouth over his cock, making half-hearted sucking motions, looking very much like she was performing some tedious household chore.

What the hell kind of trickery was this? What should he say?

"Take off – no, rip off your dress. I want to see your tits."

Luckily there was no underwear to prolong the suspense, although in other circumstances a long, slow striptease would have been a perfect aperitif.

Oh, her breasts were small and firm, all right. They'd never sag, either. When she was in better position, he'd definitely get his hands on them, knowing they'd feel perfectly real.

He was pissed, but for all that, it was an oddly ebullient irritation. Even on Earth, there'd been wild places, but as soon as the leap was made to space flight, everything was duplicated, replicated, manufactured and synthesized. Even fully organic processes were industrialized, boiled down to an assembly-line efficiency.

If it weren't for the Department of Disequilibrium, everything would be cut from the same mold. Luckily, they made sure every registered species and ecosystem had the minimum required amounts of randomness and diversity, keeping everything from getting completely static and stale, but you could still get overwhelmed by the uniformity.

He'd always understood the impulses of graffiti artists and other so-called vandals. Why shouldn't a 2,000 foot, blindingly white skyscraper get someone's name painted on it? Maybe it was the only way to get some color in the place.

With a growl, he grabbed Marvella firmly by the hair. "Time to look a bit lively!" She had the same sullen expression on her face, but the sight of her head being yanked back and of on his dick was priceless. Maybe she'd been trying to stimulate his aggro side. Mission accomplished.

And it wasn't as if he could actually do her any damage. The DILDO would have kicked in if that were anywhere on the radar. No danger of harmful aggression: yet another rough edge sanded off, this time one he could agree with.

Still, it was fun to let go. "All right, you worthless waste of circuitry," he snarled, "climb on my cock, and act grateful."

As she perched herself on him in the classic spacegirl position, he was glad to get a break from her sullen glare.

Tentatively bouncing up and down on his engorged prick, she finally engaged in a bit of chatter.

"You don't know how much I wanted this," she said, still sounding a bit too matter-of-fact for his taste. All that time I had your cock in my mouth, my pussy was just aching to feel it, and having it in my mouth just made me want it more."

He noted that Orionian princesses didn't have much ass to speak of, if this one was exemplary. The boniness of her hips belied the pleasant sensation accompanying each downward thrust. Of course the Olympian engineers knew how to make her entire frame appropriately cushioned regardless of how sharp she might appear. All the striking features of the average clothes horse paired with the voluptuous feel of a truly Rubenesque flesh pillow.

Grabbing at her breasts, he almost expected to feel his hands being engulfed in a soft, mountainous expanse. But, no, they felt just as their appearance would suggest: small, firm, yet just enough give that grabbing them too roughly felt coarse, violent even.

"Keep talking. Tell me how good my cock feels."

"Ooh, now that I know what I was missing it almost drives me crazy. To think I've gone all this time without it. To think you deliberately kept me from it, all so I'd want it more. You're really very mean."

And suddenly he very much wanted to see her face. Her ungrateful, impudent face.

"Turn around. Let me look in your eyes when you say that shit."

At first she took him all too literally. It reminded him of that scene in The Exorcist. Completely seamless, too, as far as he could see. He lifted her off his cock, which made her whine, and turned her whole body around. Now she was straddled across him in reverse spacegirl. Luckily, she kept her face towards his.

He grabbed those bony hips and started lifting and lowering her.

Christ, she was wet! He could almost forget she was an android, but he didn't really want to. Even at his worst, hate-fucking a real girl with real feelings went against his personal grain. The artificiality made it OK, somehow.

"Act like it hurts, just a little."

She winced, quite convincingly, every time her arse hit his legs. He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.

"Too big, am I? Going in too deep? Lie if you have to." Couldn't let her break the illusion. Not if he could help it.

"Yes. You're slamming into me. I'm afraid you'll wreck my pretty little pussy."

"Too bad. You want my cock so much, you're just gonna have to let me pound you into shape. Teach you to be such a cock-hungry slut."

She looked so goddamn pouty. Life was so unfair. What else could he do to ruin her day?

"Well, if taking my prick in your twat is so painful, I know another place to put it, now you've gotten him wet enough."

All she did was give him that sad sack schoolgirl look as she kept bouncing away. No fucking initiative. He sighed.

"We're going to try it in your ass for a change. OK?"

She nodded, but it wasn't a happy nod. Pulling her up (she really was astonishingly light), he positioned her so his hard-on was right between her cheeks, and proceeded to shove it in her bum. He didn't even attempt the nice, slow approach, just shoved in as hard as he could until he felt it give just enough for him to lodge it in there.

She was clenching down pretty firmly, but the DILDO was quite capable of standing up to the pressure.

"Tell me it hurts, and that you love it."

"Oh, yeah! It feels like you're splitting me open, but I need it so bad. Just the thought you might pull it out and leave me all empty when you're done makes me crazy."

This was the closest she'd come to displaying any emotion. If anything, it was more of a turn-on.

He started to pump in and out, slowly, warning, "Don't squeeze me out. Or I'll make it really hurt."

Pretty soon he was buggering her just as vigorously as they had previously been fucking. Ford had another instruction.

"I want you to come, just from me pounding your ass. And take a few minutes to get there."

This time, she did it right. She started by breathing heavily, almost panting. Then she began clenching rhythmically, each time she did making a little squeal, which pleased Ford tremendously. Soon she began moving her pelvis even more frenetically, and her squeals turned into sobs. She had a look almost like panic on her face, and tears were streaming from her eyes.

As she bucked wildly, she screamed, "I need this cock! I fucking hate how much I need this cock!"

Then her entire frame went rigid, followed by complete collapse, limply falling forward to bury her face in his chest, sobbing quietly this time, mumbling, "Need your cock, damn you..."

Now he felt oddly tender towards her. Stroking her hair, he said, ""All right. You can stop wanting it."

She abruptly fell silent. Disengaging from her anus, realizing he hadn't even come himself, he looked her over and said, "How are you now?"

"Bored again," she said sulkily. "I'll tell you now: I'm pretty much bored and resentful around the clock, unless you tell me to feel differently. I'll even be cheerful and girly if you tell me to be, but I always default back to this."