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Living Doll

By Predatrix
Page 2 of 4

Blake had, somewhat earlier, become suspicious. Avon was getting a particularly smug, secretive expression lately. That's worrying, Blake decided, and he seems to get more so when he looks at me. It was Avon looking at him that bothered him. Not the covert sexual attraction: he rather enjoyed that, and any time Avon felt like making it a little less covert was fine by him. More as if...Avon knew a secret. About Blake. And whatever-it-was might also involve Orac, because Avon seemed to have Orac in his room a lot more often.

     Then Avon asked for some of Blake's political speeches. Not a poster to use as a dartboard, an audio recording. What in space could he want with that? He'd even asked politely. Blake asked him what he wanted them for, and Avon just reacted with a more intense version of his I-know-something-you-don't expression, and left, the recording tucked under his arm.

     Whatever it is, it involves me. He won't tell me, but I bet I know what will!

     The next time Avon allowed Orac onto the flight deck, Blake was there. Choosing his moment carefully when he'd just finished late watch, Blake picked it up and took it to his own cabin.

     When he asked Orac what was going on, it emitted a peculiarly unpleasant whirring noise which went on for a long time. Could that be a computer's equivalent of sniggering?

     He kept asking, doggedly, and after a while, probably because he wanted to be left alone, Orac told him.

     He did not believe it. "Avon? Avon's designing a robot version of me to use for a sex toy!" he thundered indignantly.

     After telling him that his belief or disbelief was irrelevant, Orac finally said, "Would you believe the evidence of your own eyes, Blake?"

     "Well, he's hardly going to let me watch, is he? Not that I'm admitting for a moment it's a possibility."

     Orac said, "He is intending to put the machine on-line the day after tomorrow. If you are interested, I will request Zen to video the events in his cabin that day."

     "It'll show precisely nothing," Blake said confidently. "I'm sure you've got the wrong end of the stick here, Orac." After all, Avon did have some morals. He'd never expressed a desire to own a slave, anyway.  A creature that couldn't say no to him, couldn't choose for itself.

     He put the matter out of his head until he awoke late one morning to find a vid in his inbox. "Play," he told Zen, expecting to find the usual Avon-tinkering-harmlessly-with-tech version of events.

     His eyes widened with shock as something with his voice said, "Yes."

     "Pause," said Blake, and went and got himself a very large glass of whisky.

     "Play." He'd always rather fancied seeing a naked randy Avon, and even if the circumstances weren't quite what he would have wished, it was a very nice sight.

     Avon had a very odd expression on his face, a cross between sexual arousal and terror. Well, I'd be terrified if I saw something that big, Blake decided, and it's not aimed at me, even if it's giving a good impression of being attached to me. He glanced down at his lap. No: even showing distinct pleasure at the view of Avon he was getting, he wasn't that size.

     He was fairly sure the size of that erection was a mistake on Avon's part. Avon kept trying to get the machine to stop, for one thing. Not as if he wasn't aroused, more as if he was desperately wondering where all that cock was going to fit... He'd never seen Avon quite that much at the mercy of events. All the Blake-machine seemed to be able to say was "yes" or a selection of rude words. He almost laughed, a scandalised moment of humour because he realised Avon had got something without the ability to say no, and the only person it seemed to be hurting was himself. To his own surprise, he wasn't having a bad attack of ethics at the prospect of a sentient being reduced to slavery. This thing might look like himself, but it was so clearly a sex-toy without human reactions he found it impossible to think of it as similar to human. It had less of a personality than Orac, although considering Orac's personality that could only be a good thing.

     Avon himself was saying no, increasingly desperately, but the machine just grabbed him, shoved him up in the air, and lubricated its fingers.

     Avon's expression looked more like "help!" than anything else now. Blake got up out of his chair, moved by the confused desire to rush to Avon's cabin and help him out of the mess he'd got himself into, when he realised that with the time-lag of a vid he wouldn't be much help.

     As he stood there wondering whether to stop the vid, go to Avon's cabin and ask if he needed a bit of help in medical, or simply go and get on with something more sensible, another development took place on the screen in front of him. The Blake-machine pushed, and evidently got all the way inside Avon, pulling him tightly down.

     Suddenly, an expression quite far away from "help!" began to make itself at home on Avon's face, and his cock got even harder.

     Blake sat down, slid a hand absently down the front of his trousers, and watched Avon moan and wriggle. A hand remarkably like his own was stimulating Avon's cock, making it easy to duplicate those movements and imagine it was him, imagine how Avon would moan as he rubbed the head of his cock (not that he had to imagine that moan, he could hear it in front of him, and very nice too). He loved the way Avon looked so exposed while he was fucked like that. He couldn't see much more than the reddened and enthusiastic tip of Avon's cock as it moved in his (not his) hand, but the rest of his body, the way he moved, and above all his face, were all showing how helplessly he gave way to his own pleasure. Avon was getting close now, everything showed that, and Blake gulped a breath as he saw how wet Avon's cock was getting, even imprisoned in a fist, and speeded up his mimicry.

     He just groaned a little, when he came. Avon was making enough noise for all three of them.

     Through sex-blurred eyes, but slightly less distracted, he began to watch with less of an ulterior motive. To his relief, Avon had had the sensible thought of getting the machine to check him for injury, and didn't appear to have been harmed.

     Blake noticed that the machine still seemed to have an erection. Sensible, pragmatic Avon obviously saw no necessity of including such a function as its orgasm, since the purpose was his own pleasure, but...didn't that mean it was uncomfortable getting out?

     The same thought had evidently crossed Avon's mind in the complex agony of freeing himself from the overblown erection. He neatly programmed in a few alterations, then:

     "Up," he said, and it was erect. "Down," he said, and it was small and limp.

     For some perverse reason, Blake recalled a snatch of an Ancient cartoon vid he had once seen, where a fat yellow-skinned and very stupid man performed extremely repetitive actions with every evidence of pleasure. He now had an image in his mind of this Homer (the Ancients had such silly names) dopily repeating "Cock go up, cock go down, cock go up, cock go down..." It took him some time to stop laughing.




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