Lamia Ch. 01

"Well, you agreed with me, that it might be for the best." She paused for a moment before going on. "So I went out and got an implant."

I fell on my back and closed my eyes. "I said maybe, Trish," I ground out between clenched teeth. "That is not the same thing as agreement. Christ, what were you thinking? That is a huge decision to make on your own. I thought we both wanted kids while we were still young."

"Well maybe that's not what I want anymore," she snapped. "And you would realize that if you were actually listening to what I was telling you."

I sat up and took a deep breath, trying to force calm into my voice, but there was still a quaver of anger. "You never told me you don't want kids anymore, Trish. Did you ever take a second to think about how this would affect me?" I couldn't imagine being more angry with her if she had admitted to cheating on me.

Her scoffed response, if anything, made it worse. "You're not the one that gets to blow up like a balloon and get stretch marks and who knows what else. Did you ever think how I might feel about it?"

"You know what?" I said, tossing the sheets aside and hopping out of bed. I grabbed a pair of boxers from my dresser. "Fine. Forget about it. After all, what could possibly be more detrimental to our marriage than stretch marks?"

I could tell from her tone of voice that she realized she had taken it too far. "Stephen, I'm sorry. Please come back to bed."

I ignored her and put the underwear on. "When were you thinking of telling me?" I said. "After a year goes by and I start thinking we need to see a fertility specialist?"

"I'm telling you, I thought we had discussed it."

"Bullshit. I'm done. You get some sleep. I can't stay here right now."

"Stephen!" she called, but I was out the door and slammed it behind me before she could say more.

I tramped down the stairs and dropped heavily into the sofa, still shaking with anger. I had left my rig hanging upstairs by the bathroom, so dropping into a game to take my mind of my problems wasn't even an option. I considered the disused wall display, but shook my head in annoyance. That would be like playing with one eye covered and a hand tied behind my back.

"Stephen?" a soft feminine voice said, as a hand touched my shoulder.

"Hey, Christine," I said, turning to look at the android. She wore a white satin chemise and had let her blonde hair down from the ponytail she had worn earlier. "Sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't," she said. "I don't need to sleep. It's just a simulation for your benefit. I only power down to save electricity and prolong operational life and reduce maintenance needs."

"Well you should probably go back to bed. I don't think I would make good company right now."

Instead of doing as I said, she came to sit next to me. "Maybe it would help to talk about it."

I looked at her, considering her actions. I hadn't given her a direct order, but I knew that her brain was sophisticated enough to recognize the implicit direction. Instead of clarifying, though, I found myself confessing something I had only spoken to my wife about.

"I've wanted children since I was old enough to think about it. My parents raised me as an only child, and I always wished I had a younger sister to dote on and protect, though a brother would have been fine, too." I took a deep breath that shook slightly with emotion. "And I just found out, after two years of marriage, that my wife doesn't want to have kids."

Christine wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace. "Oh, Stephen, I'm so sorry," she said. "You must feel terrible."

I put my arms around her just to have something to hold onto. She was warm and soft, and her touch calmed the anger I still felt at my wife's betrayal. I didn't realize that I was crying until I felt the first tear slip down my cheek. We clung to each other, fending off a wave of despair that threatened to swallow me whole. Christine leaned in and kissed my cheek, brushing the wetness away with the back of her hand. "There, it's okay," she crooned softly.

It felt so good to be cared for like that, and I felt sudden surge of bitterness as I realized that I could never have been vulnerable like this in front of Patricia. She would have viewed my current state as weakness and told me to get over myself, but then expected me to comfort her the next time she had an emotional breakdown.

I leaned into Christine, inhaling the faint lavender scent of her hair. I thought of my visit to her store, how she had flirted with me in not-so-subtle ways, and how, far from rebuffing her, I had brought her home with me. I had been falling, falling, ever since I had first seen her, though nothing about her was real. How could a lie possibly feel so good?

The pain of Patricia's betrayal had finally begun to fade and I drew myself up to look at Christine. Her eyes were twin pools of concern and-I kissed her. It was a response owing less to the wave of desire rising in my chest as the need to banish the terror of knowing that what I saw in her eyes could never be true. She hesitated only an instant before parting her soft, pouty lips, letting me into her world. I tasted her, the mild tang no different from a real woman, felt the slight roughness of her tongue dancing with mine.

Her breath came out hot against my mouth as she moaned in satisfaction and longing. I broke from our kiss, but only because I wanted more, so much more. I kissed her as I had my wife less than an hour before, just below the line of her jaw. Her chest rose with her sharp intake of breath and she let it out in a soft mew of pleasure. The sound drew me on, a siren's song that I could not-or would not-resist. I kissed lower, getting another soft cry and a twitch of her shoulders as I reached her sensitive nape.

The creamy smooth skin of her upper chest was hot and flushed where my lips fell next, just above the neckline of her chemise. Her arm moved to the side, inviting me onward. Without thinking of the consequences, I pulled the strap down off her shoulder. The fabric fell away, revealing the perfectly-formed curve of one breast and the point of one pink nipple standing erect. I captured the nub in my mouth and Christine wriggled in my grasp with a murmured "oh" as I suckled. With her crooning in delight, I slipped the other strap off and tasted its twin, exploring the little bumps on her areola with my tongue.

I tensed as delicate fingers tentatively touched the tented ridge in my boxers, tracing the outline of my engorged member. With a bit of pressure, she curled her fingers and began to stroke me through the thin fabric. Though I had desperately needed that touch, it served only to further fuel the passion in my mind and body.

How far should I let this go? I wondered. How far could it go? However willing Christine seemed to be, my earlier musings about her anatomical correctness were suddenly relevant. I slid a hand beneath her nightgown and trailed it up the smooth, unblemished skin of her thigh. My fingers found her naked flesh at the juncture of her legs. I took my mouth from her breast so that I could look into her eyes. They were glassy, half-lidded with desire. I caught the barest hint of a nod. My breath halted as I pressed inward, and one finger slipped inside.

Christine stifled a throaty moan. I let out my breath in a shudder as I felt warmth and moisture. "How? Why?" I asked, too surprised to form proper questions.

"Shh," Christine said, putting a finger to her lips. "It's just what I am, Stephen. And you need this. You deserve it."

Doubt still warred with raw desire, even as my fingers caressed her nether lips, but when Christine slipped a hand beneath my boxers and enveloped my cock in her grasp, all hesitation melted away. I shucked my underwear, giving her full access to my body, and she slid to the floor, a wicked grin lighting up her face.

She looked up at me from her knees, one hand still slowly stroking me. I held her gaze as she leaned forward and took the head of my cock into her mouth. I was catapulted to new heights as her lips sealed around my shaft and she slowly bobbed up and down, all the while maintaining eye contact.

It had been months since the last time I had gotten Patricia to do this for me, and that only after all but pleading with her. There had been no eagerness in the act, just a chore she did to satisfy me. Christine made it a deeply erotic performance, and one that she appeared to enjoy every bit as much as I did.

Still watching me, Christine popped my cock free from her mouth and flashed me a smile. "This is every bit as amazing as I had imagined," she said. "But I want you inside me."

"Yes," I breathed.

Before I could think to do more, she rose to her feet and planted one knee on either side of me on the couch, straddling my body. Her chemise still hung from her curves, cloaking the lower half of her body. "Oh, Stephen," she whispered, taking hold of my cock with one hand, "I've dreamed of this from the first moment we met." She lowered herself as she spoke, and our bodies collided abruptly. She tried to sink down onto me, but there was resistance, despite the lubrication that was so copious that I could feel a drop running down my member. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as she made little rocking motions with her hips, her face a mask of concentration.

I kissed and caressed her body, encouraging her, but not demanding. Ever so slowly, her body gave way to allow me inside. There was a sudden release and I murmured her name as she gave a wordless cry of exultation. She moved again and I felt myself slipping more easily into her depths. Inside her, it was all soft, liquid heat. I could feel every bump and ridge within her. The pleasure, though intense, was secondary to the sense of connection that I felt, like this melding of our bodies were somehow blending our souls, our consciousness, together.

After what seemed an eternity, Christine hit bottom, her thighs slick with her moisture where they pressed against my own. For a moment, I felt her full weight, which was heavier than her girlish frame suggested. She waited there, her chest rising and falling in time with her panting breaths, her eyes opening to gauge my reaction. Inhaling deeply, she rose again, still gripping me as tightly as a fist, those perfect breasts jiggling enticingly with each movement of her body. She kept her lips tightly closed, her sounds of pleasure coming out as humming as she began to rise and fall more quickly.

I wanted to prolong the pleasure, but my body had been deprived for too long. As I rose toward the point of no return, swept along by Christine's passion, she leaned close and pressed her lips to mine, enhancing our joining even further. I came with a muffled cry as her tongue entwined with my own, pulsing my seed into her. Her rocking movements slowed and she rested her head on my shoulder. "Oh, Stephen, I felt it," she murmured.

I wrapped my arms around her and held her. Her hair tickled my bottom lip, but everything else about her, the look, feel and scent of her resting in my arms, was too perfect to spoil the moment.

But as my mind floated down from the heights where she had lifted me, darker thoughts were beginning to creep in. Could what I had just done be considered cheating on my wife? Christine was a machine, incapable of feelings and lacking consciousness, but did that really matter if the experience felt so real that I couldn't tell the difference? If her cries of ecstasy were nothing more than if-then code scripts run in response to nerve impulses, was I any less guilty if I wanted desperately to hear those cries again?

I patted Christine's back softly. "As nice as this is," I said, "I'd better get up and go take a shower."

She dismounted me and stood up, offering me her hand. After I stood and cast about to find my boxers, she re-adjusted her chemise to cover her chest once more. "I should probably take one, too," she said, giving me a sidelong look that practically screamed of ulterior motives.

"Getting wet isn't a problem?" I asked, and felt foolish the moment I said it.

Christine rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Hello? All the machine parts of me are inside this big bag of wet meat. If water were a problem, I'd have shorted myself out as soon as they turned me on."

I just shrugged at that and followed her to the downstairs bathroom, holding my boxer shorts balled up in my hands. It had only a stall shower, but it was easily large enough for two, with a bench at the end opposite the shower head. Christine started the water and tested it after a few seconds with her hand. "See if it's good for you," she said.

"It's fine," I said, and stepped into the hot stream. I watched through the open door as she lifted the chemise over her head, giving me my first view of her fully nude body. As far as I could tell, she was completely hairless from the neck down, except for a delicate patch of darker blonde on her mons. Also, she had a cute little vertical navel. Considering that her flesh was likely vat-grown from cloned cells, with no umbilical, that feature was completely cosmetic and had to have been purposefully added during her construction

She entered the stall in front of me and tipped her head back, letting the water wet her hair and run down her back. She stepped aside to let me do the same, but then intercepted my attempt to grab the shampoo bottle. "I've got this," she said. "Turn around."

I did as ordered and she began working the shampoo into my hair. It brought back memories of the times I used to shower together with my wife. Her fingers felt wonderful on my scalp. A little too good, actually. When she was done, I turned back around to rinse, and seeing her perfectly-sculpted body finished the job that her hands on my head had started. My erection throbbed and rose as I let the soapy water run down my back.

"Ready again so soon?" she teased.

When I lowered my head, she had a washcloth in her handand body wash in the other. She got the cloth wet and got a good amount of suds going. Then, eyes on me to be sure I was watching her, she lowered the cloth to her cleft and began to slowly and sensually clean herself in front of me. Her mouth hung slightly agape, and she sighed in pleasure as she rubbed in circles.

She gave my cock a hungry look, but instead of dropping to her knees as I half-expected her to, she set the cloth aside, put a generous dollop of the body wash in her hand and closed the distance between us. She worked the soap into both hands, watching my face with a mischievous smirk.

I couldn't see what she was doing, but I certainly felt it when her hand closed around my cock. Her left hand went to my scrotum, though she used a much lighter touch, working the soap into a lather. My knees very nearly gave way from the intensity of the sensation when, without warning, she moved her right hand up the shaft of my cock while simultaneously twisting her grasp around it. Her left hand immediately followed in the same twisting motion, completing its trip just in time for her right hand to arrive back at the base of my cock and repeat.

"Fuck, fuck!" I hissed as she did not let up, and had to steady myself with a hand on her shoulder as she stimulated me in a way I had never felt before. She stopped well short of getting another orgasm from me, though. Instead, she turned and ground her firm but supple backside against me.

I groaned as my cock nestled into the crack of her ass, sliding easily on the soap she had used on me. When she bent forward, palms resting flat on the tile bench at the other end of the shower, I grabbed her by the waist, dipped my knees, and found the cleft of her sex with the tip of my cock. I pushed with my hips, her tight opening once more resisting my entry. She pushed back, and there was an exquisite heat and pressure on the mushroom head of my cock as I forced it through.

Like before, the pressure suddenly eased and I was inside. I took a moment to test the waters, finding that when I drew back, her tight opening resisted my effort to fully withdraw where the head widened. There was something intensely erotic about this, being joined to my lover in such a way that breaking our connection was difficult. On my next stroke, I impaled her to the core.

Christine cried out as my cock penetrated fully, my pelvis hitting her ass with a satisfying slap. I drew back and slammed home again and again, forcing a cry from her lips each time. The sight of her shapely body bent over and taking my cock made me wild with lust. I fucked her as fast and as hard as my body would allow, while she wailed and writhed.

On an impulse, I yanked myself backward, pushing off from her hips, and my cock popped free with a wrench. I was back again at the opening of her pussy in the next instant, shoving hard to regain entry, and she cried out sharply as as I forced my way inside. I repeated this pattern a few times, fucking her hard for several strokes, pulling out, then savagely reclaiming her. Her cries rose in pitch until, as I forced my way inside for the fourth time, she began to tremble and threw her head back in an almost-shriek. Her pussy gripped and released my cock rhythmically as she came.

I growled in answer at the clench and throb of my orgasm, emptying my semen into her for the second time in under an hour. I stood there, gasping, buried to the hilt in molten ecstasy. We disengaged only after my cock had begun to soften, allowing me to pull free without resistance. I turned to rinse off in the stream of water, then looked back to see Christine sitting on the bench watching me, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her nether lips peeked enticingly from behind her legs.

"I have to go back," I said, feeling suddenly awkward and perhaps a little fearful of what might happen if I remained in her orbit. I still needed to sort out what had happened and what it meant.

"I know," she said. "Go be with your wife." There was no jealousy in her words.

"I'm sorry," I said.

She shook her head slightly. "Don't be, Stephen. I'm only a machine."

Her words haunted me as I mounted the stairs back to my room. I thought about them as I slipped in next to my sleeping wife. I could not reconcile what i knew to be true with what my senses were telling me. To distract myself, I thought of an old song, one of the tracks that had played at my wedding.

"I've got you, under my skin," I sang softly. "I've got you, "deep in the heart of me. So deep in my heart that you're really a part..." I closed my mouth and swallowed as the image of Christine intruded on my thoughts.

"Only a machine," I murmured. "Only." But I knew it was a lie.

*****

A note to my readers:

Sometimes a story begins to form and percolate, building on itself slowly from a single scene or an interesting concept. That's what happened with "Double Helix", whose conception took me several months, and I've known how the story will end in an approximate sense since before I ever started writing it. At other times, a story pounces on you in the dark, sinks its claws into you and bites down hard, forcing you to write, often at odd hours of the day and night, until it is finished. This is what happened with Lamia.

I explain this as a roundabout way of apologizing to my readers. I know that there are a few thousand people out there who have read all the way up through chapter 15 of Double Helix, and that was published eight months ago. In my defense, chapter 16 is mostly written and has been for some time, but I've been struggling with a scene near the end. I feel like I should have been working on that rather than putting out a new story. On the other hand, I churned out over 14,000 words, edited, in under a week, so I doubt it has managed to set me back much, and I plan to redouble my effort to get the next chapter of Double Helix out and stay on track.