Blaise- Doppelganger-3000

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Poppaea,” he groaned. “Shall I stop?” He held perfectly still, feeling tortured as her eyes flickered open. Such a vivid colour and so full of tears. She gave him a shaky smile and he felt something twist in his chest.

  “No,” she whispered.

  He swore again and surged forward impaling her to the hilt. He felt her full-body wince as she yelped.

  “That’s it, I’m in now,” he told her soothingly. “That’s the worst of it now, okay?”

  She whimpered looking pained but gave him a nod.

  “Just bear with it,” he said gruffly. “I’ll make it good.” He held himself back despite his every instinct screaming at him to thrust into her. His temples were throbbing along with his dick and he had to remind himself to breathe at this point. She felt so gloriously tight and hot around him.

  “You can feel yourself adjusting to me, yes?” he rasped out. “You can take me Poppaea, just relax okay?”

  She nodded again and expelled the air she’d been holding. The look in her eyes was so damn trusting it made his breathing hitch. What the hell was he doing, fucking this virgin who for some reason thought he was a robot? It was messed up. Even so, he couldn’t stop now or his robot-dick might fall off from the disappointment he reasoned selfishly.

  “Good girl,” he praised her slipping his fingers back along her intimate folds until he felt her clitoris. He let out a shaky breath as he started to pet and play with her again praying for a patience he never knew he possessed.

  She made a choking sound,

  “Could you-? Could you please just kiss me?” she asked her lips trembling with the effort not to cry. He bit back his automatic refusal with a foul word. He didn’t want to kiss her. His eyes dropped to her tremulous mouth. It looked so vulnerable. He knew her other lips were in a painful stretch right now around his bruising battering ram of a cock. The least he could do was give her a little kiss he reasoned grudgingly. What could be so bad about it? Steeling himself he dropped his face against hers and pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips were cool and plump and pressed back in a very innocent kiss. He was a bastard to feel aroused by it he thought viciously as his cock throbbed in response. He shifted slightly over her to dig his elbows in the mattress either side of her shoulders, caging her in.

  “Wrap your arms around my neck,” he told her hoarsely. “Just do it,” he urged her when she hesitated. When he felt her arms slip around his neck he went back in for her kiss, opening his mouth against hers this time, silently urging her to do the same. When she sweetly opened her mouth he slid his tongue inside on a groan. Damn, he rocked his hips forward experimentally and though she tensed and panted against his mouth she didn’t cry out or tell him to stop. He tortured himself with a few shallow dips against her tight heat before he started to find a rhythm with just enough friction for him to cum. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead with the effort not to lose it on her. She was so damn tight he was scared of hurting her. This was fucking torture. He had the tightest, most sweetest cunt of his entire twenty-seven years underneath him right now and he was having to fight to stay in control instead of releasing the beast. He wanted to roar in frustration but the shaking girl in his arms was keeping him in check. Instead he pressed increasingly desperate kisses to her willing mouth and tried to regulate his thrusts to what he hoped was bearable for her poor stretched little pussy. Luckily he was over-stimulated already and he could feel his balls starting to draw up in the urge to empty himself into her. Thank gods! He jerked his head back from hers as he began to groan and bear down on her to shoot his seed. She drew her knees up to cradle his hips which sent another bolt of lust to his dick as he finally spurted long and hard. Fuck! His climax was shattering, but the minute he returned to his senses he withdrew from her, his half-limp dick protesting. When she tried to close her legs, he stopped her, reaching behind her for some cloths. She murmured in protest when he drew them between her pussy lips wiping away her virgin blood mingled with his own cum but he ignored her, staring in horrified fascination. Why in hell would the Severanius heiress want to lose her virginity to a goddam robot version of him? It made absolutely no sense.

  Crispus Pomponius’ face filled his monitor, the knowing bastard. He arched his eyebrows as if in surprise at his call,

  “Ah Mr Calvus, or should I say 320. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you, what a pleasant surprise.”

  Blaise grunted.

  “Has she called?” he ground out.

  Pomponius looked startled.

  “Miss Severanius?” he asked.

  “Of course Miss Severanius, who the hells else would I be calling about?” Blaise growled uncivilly.

  Crispus spread his hands with a small smile,

  “As you yourself predicted, she has not requested a repeat performance,” he answered smoothly.

  Blaise swore, staring blindly at the monitor.

  “What happens now?” he demanded.

  “Now?”

  “What usually happens next?”

  “Well, usually we will contact the patron requiring an upgrade, maintenance costs or to discuss the droid disassemble date.”

  “Disassemble?”

  “It’s a logical way to bring the arrangement to some conclusion,” answered Crispus blandly. “For such a sophisticated machine there would be frequent upgrades and costly maintenance. I’ve never known a customer require a Doppelganger-3000 for longer than a month.”

  “The Doppelganger-300 doesn’t fucking exist,” Blaise reminded him bluntly.

  Crispus laughed.

  “Miss Severanius would beg to differ,” he reminded him. “After all, you made her every sexual fantasy come true didn’t you.”

  Blaise stared back at him moodily.

  Crispus regarded him with some amusement.

  “Of course, I could always contact her on some pretext…” he suggested. “If that is what you are suggesting..?”

  “Why should I care if she gets value for money?” Blaise answered belligerently. “If she wants to pay thousands of dollars for one lousy fuck that’s her business.”

  “Lousy?” asked Crispus with a frown. “Oh dear me no, that really won’t do. If that were to get out…” he sighed. “It could reflect badly on The Pleasure Palace. Imagine if it started doing the rounds that the Doppelganger-3000 couldn’t perform to customer satisfaction.”

  Blaise opened his mouth but then closed it again. After all... he did want to see her again. Even though it went against every fibre of his being. He ran his thumb along his bottom lip, waiting for Pomponius’ next move.

  “If I was to set up this… second tryst. Could you guarantee Miss Severanius would derive more pleasure from it then she did from the first?”

  Blaise narrowed his eyes.

  “She was a virgin,” he replied a little huskily. “The first time’s always the worst. Or so they say.”

  Crispus nodded slowly.

  “So I am led to believe.”

  “So… contact her,” answered Blaise. “Set up this second meeting.”

  Pomponius gave a thoughtful nod.

  “I will give it some thought.”

  “Now,” prompted Blaise. “You can call me straight back.”

  “Dear me, you do seem to be keen,” Pomponius commented blandly his eyebrows shooting up to his blonde curly hair.

  “I don’t have much time left,” frowned Blaise. “I’m leaving shortly. For the outworld colonies.”

  “Ah I see,” Pomponius’ expression cleared magically. “So we really do need to bring it to a swift and inevitable conclusion.”

  Blaise nodded shortly.

  “I’ll expect your call,” he snapped, terminating the call. He fell back onto his hard couch and brooded moodily. What in the hell was wrong with him? He felt out of sorts. Distracted. The sex had not been good, he reminded himself savagely. It had been nothing short of frustrating. So why the hell could he not stop thinking about her? He should never have kissed her. That had been a mistak
e. He swore. Truth was, her mouth on his had been a fucking revelation. She kissed him like she thought he was precious and he had responded in kind. Hell, he didn’t even know he could kiss like that. He chewed on his bottom lip remembering the incredible feel of her beneath him. Her cries of pleasure in his ear. He was hard just thinking about it. He wanted her again. At least a half dozen times before he left Constantinopolis. And why the hell shouldn’t he have her? They were both consenting adults. There was no reason why they shouldn’t thoroughly explore each other while they had the chance, he told himself belligerently. A persistent beep told him he had a call waiting. He fired up the comm panel immediately. As he’d thought. Pomponius looking inscrutable as usual.

  “Well, it wasn’t the easiest sell, but she has agreed to have one final meeting with you.”

  Yes, wait.. Final? Blaise glowered at the screen.

  “Tomorrow evening, at seven. Here at the Pleasure Palace.”

  Blaise bit back his annoyance. He hated that damn place.

  “Fine,” he ground out tersely. “I’ll be there.”

  “One other request, Mr Calvus”

  Blaise cocked an eyebrow quizzically.

  “No sex.”

  “What?” he stared. “She thinks I’m a sex-droid for fuck’s sake!”

  Crispus shrugged.

  “Perhaps you can change her mind if you show a little finesse this time?” he suggested mildly.

  Blaise swore.

  “We have several instruction manuals for pleasuring women…” Crispus began before Blaise hit the ‘terminate call’ button and sat back in his booth. No sex! What the fuck did she want from him – a massage? If so, she was shit out of luck.

  It was a different room this time decorated in various shades of blue and gold. There was a long low couch along one side of the room smothered in cushions. You’d be hard pressed to know where to sit your ass down he thought with irritation. Opposite the couch was a huge flatscreen thronged in draped blue velvet curtains. Your own mini-cineworld. He had a bad feeling about the films that would be on offer – chick flicks every one he’d bet his life. He sighed. This was what Poppaea had requested and it was her gig. He’d pushed for this second meeting he thought rolling his eyes as he shoved an armful of cushions onto the thickly carpeted floor with ill grace. After brutally taking her virginity he supposed it was the least he could do. He glanced up, the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight as he found her stood in the doorway staring at him, those huge violet eyes of hers wide and frightened. He forced his brow to un-frown and his mouth to relax into something approaching a smile, holding out a hand to her.

  “Poppaea.”

  She jumped at his voice.

  “I forgot … how life-like you are,” she murmured with a nervous smile. She came forward jerkily and after a painful pause, placed her hand in his. It looked pale against his weather beaten tan. He drew her down onto the couch next to him and he could feel how tense she was at once.

  “Which movie do you want to watch?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her firmly against him. She exhaled shakily trying to relax.

  “What’s on offer?”

  “Computer, list films,” he commanded.

  He had been right of course, he realised glancing at the list of films on display. Love stories every one. Probably her favourites he realised dimly, but somehow he could really care less now he had her practically sat on his lap.

  “Oh I love that one,” she said brightening as the list scrolled down. She cast a look of enquiry at him.

  “I haven’t seen it,” he admitted. “Whatever you want to watch is fine.”

  She spoke the title and settled back a little further onto the couch. He shifted in, curving around her. She had a casual outfit on of a soft cashmere type wool knit in a creamy shade which set off her pretty skin. He shifted his hands over her shoulders, her neck, her arms, softly rubbing over her in an attempt to get her to relax. As the film started up he could feel the tension start to leave her. She settled against him and let him pet her. When she kicked off her shoes and curled her legs up on the couch he felt his lips quirk into a genuine smile. The film was utter shit of course. The hero was some artistic type and the heroine his muse. Blaise paid very little attention to it, concentrating instead on the fragrant armful curled up against him. Gods, she smelt good. Her hair smelt of apples. It had to be her shampoo. Such a simple scent, but for some reason it had him hard. He wondered if she was aware of what was pressing insistently against her ass, but if she did she gave no indication. Her soft brown hair was caught up in a sort of low bun at the back of her head. He ran his fingers into it massaging her firmly at the base of her neck. She let out a startled moan.

  “Oh that feels good,” she murmured appreciatively and couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

  “Why don’t you call me by his name?” he asked her quietly against her ear. She made to pull away but his arms closed firmly around her holding her close while he nuzzled her neck. She made a strangled noise.

  “That…” she licked her pink lips. “I don’t know. It seems a little disrespectful.” She said regretfully.

  He gave a small laugh.

  “Really? After you had a giant sex toy made in his image?”

  She flinched.

  “I know, I’m ridiculous,” she whispered.

  He shrugged.

  “He’ll never know. Why don’t you give it a try? Go on, be brave.”

  She stared up at him, giving him a quick shake of her head.

  “Live dangerously,” he dared her.

  Her gaze wavered with indecision.

  “Blaise,” she said at last, her voice sweet and low.

  “There you go,” his own voice was husky with need. He lowered his head slowly so as not to frighten her before his lips met hers, gently, experimentally. He kissed her like a lover, ardent but considerate. He didn’t remember ever kissing anyone like this, not even as a youth. He’d always been a bit of a rough-neck even before he was a soldier and then a slave. He felt a ridiculous sense of achievement when he felt her hesitantly kissing him back. His hands shifted to cup her face and hold her in place as he angled his mouth against hers, kissing her slow and sweet. Her hands came up to press against his chest, gently exploring his bare skin, stroking and making his muscles flex and leap under her fingers. He figured turnaround was fair play and slid his hands down from her face to cup her full breasts and rub against her nipples through the fabric. She gasped into his mouth, jacking up his lust another notch as he pushed firmly against her, until she sank back onto the sofa on her back with him looming above her, fondling her pretty tits and trying to figure out how to get her naked. His hands slid down her gently rounded stomach, but when they slipped beneath the soft fabric she gave a soft cry and her own fingers flew to halt his progress.

  “It’s okay,” he struggled to soothe her. “I won’t hurt you this time.” He pulled back to look into those soft violet eyes.

  “I can’t do this again,” she told him her voice shaking. “It’s wrong of me.” Her eyes filled with tears.

  He looked down at her in consternation. Why the fuck not, he wanted to ask, but bit back his words and his own frustration.

  “Why is it wrong?” he asked instead.

  “Because… “ she turned her head away wretchedly. “I should never have had you created. Purely to slake my own lust. It was wrong. Very wrong.”

  She carried on talking but Blaise’ head had started buzzing at the word ‘lust’ and he couldn’t for the life of him have followed her after that. Instead he decided to give her what she wanted, what she’d paid for. His body. Every last inch of it. He slid his hands under the soft fabric, against her silky skin, around her smooth thighs until he palmed the round globes of her ass and then he pulled her hard against him, luxuriating in the voluptuous feel of her plastered against his hard length. His fingers grasped sensible underwear and yanked it down out of his way so he could pet and play with her pre
tty pussy. He wanted to get a good look at it, but realised she would balk at this, so instead he kissed her neck where it met her shoulder, under her ear, along her milky throat, always returning to those perfect plump lips. Her body was cool, rounded and delicious. She made small strangled noises as he slid his fingers into her wet, welcoming warmth and he realised he was murmuring her name over and over. Her eyelids kept flickering open to look at him before drifting shut as she panted and moaned in helpless pleasure. She was weak to this, weak to physical pleasure and he was playing her untutored body like a master. With every stroke and caress he learned where she was vulnerable and needy for his touch. The gasps of surprise and the pink flushes that swept her cheeks and throat enchanted him. This was how it should have been the first time. He should have had her eating of his hand, but truth was he’d never seduced anyone before. It was a heady and intoxicating pleasure. Poppaea was spread out before him like a delectable feast.

  “What are you – oh!”

  He smiled against her soft quivering thigh as he kissed and licked his way towards her mons. Her hands plucked at his shoulders fitfully before her fingers shifted hesitantly to his head and brushed against his hair before sliding against his scalp. Dimly he realised at the back of his mind that his reactions to her innocent touch were extreme. He was hyper-aware of her of her every movement, despite his eagerness to taste her sweet pussy. He wanted her to touch him some more. Her fingers in his short hair were nearly making him groan. She was so gentle. As if he wasn’t a great nasty brute she’d seen maiming and killing in the ring. Of course, she thought him a synthetic copy but he doubted many owners of sex-bots spent time caressing their purchases. She was stroking his neck now and to his surprise he found he liked it. He grasped the back of one of her knees and spread her open to his voracious mouth. She gave a keening cry as he plunged in with his tongue. Her fingers closed on the hairs at the back of his neck spasmodically. He didn’t even wince. He’d never particularly enjoyed being clawed or scratched during bed-sport before, but he found himself wondering what her nails would feel like down his back. The slight pain was a spur to his desire and he ate her out with relish. To his disappointment she grabbed the couch, sinking her fingers into the cushions as she wailed her release. He wanted her hands on him.