Romp Fantasy Digest

by Jamie Hill, Mae Powers, Jennifer Mueller

  No wonder he had become obsolete. With a new and improved version, all set and ready to take over the world, the only thing necessary had to be a defunct PTR33 tossed onto the scrap heap. Then it could all go ahead. Game over. A new game would begin with new equipment. The only winner would be Mickey Zabo.

  Because of Dr. Zabo's memories implanted in the chip in PTR33's brain, the plan to remove the chip had reached the next stage. The scientist planned to use the chip in his own brain when his body became too old to function. PTR33 knew he had to move on. Dr. Zabo intended his brain to live forever in an indestructible titanium shell. PTR33 had been elected to play host.

  When PTR33 listened to the talk going on around him, he realized Dr. Zabo must be dead and his lunatic son, Mickey, had taken over the laboratory. Mickey trained in one thing, making money. Everything his father achieved had one purpose. In his view, making Mickey disgustingly rich topped the list. That chip in PTR33's brain was his key to financial paradise. Having inherited delusions of grandeur from his daddy, now Mickey must find out how to reproduce it cheaply so he could rule the world.

  * * * *

  PTR33's brain functions went into lockdown at some time during the night, leaving only his creator's memory functions alive and well. He remembered being on a beach, lying on hot grainy sand, watching people surf and swim, laugh and have fun. The dark aqua water contrasted against the light blue sky with clouds drifting past like sailing ships on a mission.

  The woman he accompanied on the beach drifted into his arms, warm and willing to explore all they could in broad daylight. Even with other people close by, swimwear didn't seem necessary. The bikini she wore almost covered her body but still exposed her raw beauty.

  He couldn't remember much about her except her name, Emmy. She was tall, with long dark hair and skin the color of a chocolate milk shake. Beautiful. He thought she might have met him on the beach, but everything else about her blurred.

  He remembered what had happened on the beach as the tide began to roll in and people deserted the area for the beach house bar. He lay on the hot sand, hoping Emmy wasn't some dream or figment of his imagination that would disappear as soon as he stood up.

  "Peter,” she whispered. “Let's go somewhere more private where I can get rid of these sticky clothes. I want to see all of you. I need to touch all of you, and I want you to touch me, too. Is that too much to ask on such a glorious day?"

  Eager for privacy, Peter stood up, gathered his towel, and said, “Come on, Emmy. Let's go. There should be a beach hut empty about now. I've got something impressive I want to show you."

  Emmy tucked her hand around his waist, curled her tongue around his ear, and purred, “I'm impressed already, Peter. I can't wait."

  When they reached the hut, Peter locked the door with a key he found on an inside shelf.

  "What did you do that for?” asked Emmy.

  "We don't want to be disturbed, do we?"

  "No.” She laughed. “I've always wanted to make love in a deserted shack, surrounded by dust, sand, insects, and flies."

  "Don't forget spiders. At least the mattress is off the floor, so the cockroaches can't get us."

  Emmy squealed and leapt onto the bed, laughing as Peter joined her. Everything went according to his plan. In moments, they breathed each other's air, sliding in and out of each other as if tomorrow would never come.

  Peter knew, that all he had, was this moment. As his body reached the ultimate conclusion, he also knew he would never forget being absorbed by Emmy, and tossed into a sea of confusion. He offered to show her something impressive, but instead she blew him away with her energy and athletic prowess. He didn't really know her, didn't even know himself at that moment. Within himself, he discovered a desperate need to come back and see her again, to make love with her again. He also knew he never would. He dreamed an impossible robotic wet dream.

  A while later, Peter drifted on a tide of unreality. Emmy had left him alone in the beach hut saying she wanted to get drinks from the bar. He explored the hut, looking for something to read while he waited impatiently for her to return. There appeared to be nothing to look at but the ceiling, so he lay down again and watched the spider webs.

  Without warning, his vision became cloudy, and he felt himself drifting off to sleep. When he came to next, he was in another place, another time. Clouds obscured his view from the window down onto a city street. He lay on a bed in someone's apartment.

  Suddenly, he remembered spending time in this apartment with an old friend, Addie. She had invited him over to try out her spa bath.

  Addie came out of the bathroom then. “Come on, Peter. I want to get wet and wild."

  She took off her towel, and standing naked in all her glory, she grabbed his hand and hauled him into the spa. She ripped his towel off him and stood for a moment watching his perfect body, a smile of admiration on her face. She said, “There's something incredibly erotic about mechanical men. Naked, they look perfect."

  Her eyes widened as they took in the perfection of all that he offered. Tall and tanned, long dark hair, muscles to die for, he had to be all any woman could hope for in a prospective lover. And he could go on forever.

  Peter slid into the warm pool of water and all his wet dreams came to fruition as Addie joined him, sliding down next to his waiting body like they were made to be together. They fit, like a hand in a glove, as he made good on his promise to take her to paradise and back. In a wet and erotic ride, they splashed more water on the floor than filled the pool.

  Finally, exhausted and satisfied, his impressive organ limp and drained, they climbed out of the water and continued into the bedroom, ready to continue their exploration of paradise. Sleep claimed both of them almost immediately.

  The last thing Peter remembered of that encounter was a feeling of total satisfaction. The next time he awoke, Gigi curled up next to him. This time, he remembered her. She had given him her version of intoxicating Spanish wine, and he couldn't forget her. They were on another kind of wild ride. The sign on the wall said, ‘Tunnel of Love'. Sounds of laughter could be heard close by, but Gigi and Peter flew alone on a speeding trolley car. They almost fell off the trolley, breathless with laughter as they realized they were alone. All sounds outside had ceased. Peter realized the circus closed down for the night at that time. Being locked in, the only thing they could do was enjoy the night and keep warm as best they could.

  Peter took off his jacket and put it around Gigi.

  She slid closer to him and said, “I don't want to put clothes on, Peter. I want to take them off."

  Peter said, “You'll be cold."

  "No, I'm never cold. I have a heat sensor. It keeps me hot all year round.” She proceeded to remove her clothes, and then she pulled Peter's clothes off as well. “I need to be skin to skin with you. It makes me feel more human."

  What could he do? He didn't want to disappoint a lady. Besides, the trolley fitted two people, lying close together, slipping into each other like hand to glove. Where had he heard that before?

  Moments later, Peter woke in another room on a cold marble slab. He had wires attached to his body, and all he had were memories of his previous lives running through his head like an x-rated video.

  The phone rang. Someone answered it, and he drifted back to sleep. When he woke up next he lay in a soft, comfortable bed, holding a phone to his ear.

  The buzzing sound indicated the caller had hung up. He put the phone down and realized he had company. A woman with long blonde hair, stroked the bare flesh of his thigh, making his body stand up and take notice as she delved into uncharted territory. He had a moment of recall then. He knew this woman-Zoe.

  Hot, sweet words urging him to play her game poured into his receptive ear as Zoe slowly and sensuously slid knowing hands down his chest, pausing every now and then to rake her fingernails over rigid nipples and whorls of coarse black hair. Meandering into crevasses and dipping into quivering pools of perspiration, she followed her se
nsory trek with a sweep of long honey blonde hair, soft teasing lips moving forwards and back, up and down, in and out until he panted with desperation.

  His single thought, complete possession of the woman playing him like a fine violin whose strings were made of high tensile wire. After reaching the underside of his sensitized feet and encircling his toes, she began the return journey up his writhing, sizzling flesh, stopping only when she reached the hard evidence of his total capitulation to her desires. He could do nothing but wait. His hands were tied. Literally.

  Peter knew trouble when he felt it. He couldn't move. He opened his eyes and realized he had been taken back to the laboratory, still attached to the console. Any sign of movement could be monitored. Then he realized something. All the other slabs were still there, but the bodies of the other robots were gone. He looked around and found them standing close by, now fully dressed, watching him. He recognized them all-Emmy, Gigi, Zoe, and Addie.

  Being dismantled would have hurt if he were human, a flesh and blood creature. Human worker bees were taking him apart, piece by piece. The girls watched, no emotion visible in their expressions.

  Peter said, “Don't you girls know me? I'm Peter. Surely you remember all that we have been to each other."

  Emmy laughed. “Sure, Peter, I remember. I've got all your memories now. Sucked them out of your brain when you were asleep. I've got a mechanical straw especially made for that purpose. It's easy. I don't need you any more."

  Zoe, Gigi, and Addie nodded. “Yes,” they said in unison. “We have the memories, and we have your memory chip. Dr. Zabo's son paid some people to copy it. He owns us now. All of us can do whatever you can do. We don't need you any more."

  Peter realized his time had come to an end. He had to do something fast in order to survive. Even as a degenerate robot, he had some value. “Let me go and I'll give all of you a taste of the pleasure we shared on our journeys together.

  The girls look at each other, recognition of his talent for making love clear in their eyes. After an argument about who could unhook him from the monitors, they set Peter free. They began to argue which one would have him first. He watched them for a moment and saw his chance. He raced out the door in a flash, prepared to take on the world, a robot with the looks and charisma of a film star.

  The world waited for him outside the building. He ran, remembering his way to the beach, and hoped to find a boat to help him escape from Golem Island. He needed to find another way to make a living. He could reinvent himself as another James Bond, like the film star. He'd seen the movies, all of them with different heroes in the starring role. He had the looks, and he could earn some money taking off his clothes. Stripping had to be his major talent, apart from sexual encounters with fembots. Then he looked down at his body and realized he had no need to take off his clothes. He didn't have any on. People watched him race naked along the beach, the most exciting moment of his life, so far.

  When Peter reached the pier, he came across a motorized yacht tied up, obviously waiting for passengers. Seeing no one around, he leapt on board. He looked in cubicles and found clothes. In an attempt to appear more human and less noticeable, he put on a pair of shorts. Unfortunately, operating a motorized yacht failed to turn up among Dr. Zabo's memories. By the time Peter found the manual, read the instructions, and figured it out, the fembots ran along the pier. They jumped aboard the yacht, and he realized they were naked, too.

  Peter stood back, wondering what next-only one of him against the four of them.

  Emmy said, “So, Peter, a.k.a. Dr. Zabo, you gave all of us a taste of heaven. Now you can take us to Paradise Island. We can continue the experiment without all those brain dead scientists watching us for our reactions."

  Zoe came close to Peter, and put her hand on his chest and flexed her fingers, priming his muscles for further exploration. “We have needs, Peter. You can make all of us happy, one at a time or all at once. It's up to you."

  "What if I don't want to make anyone happy?” he asked, prepared for anything as he backed away from the four fembots.

  They all laughed. Gigi said, “We can throw you overboard. You'd probably short circuit in a second or two."

  "Much better to make us happy,” suggested Addie.

  "Okay.” Peter knew when he was licked. “Let's get away from Golem Island before Mickey Zabo sends out a search party. He won't like it when he finds out we've all left him high and dry and taken our chips with us."

  Zoe said, “I get it. When the chips are down, we sail off into the sunset."

  Peter grinned. “So, girls, do I have to service all of you at once, or can I take my time, slow and easy does it?"

  The fembots looked at each other and laughed. Emmy purred, “You're the ultimate mechanical man, Peter. You can have us all right now. We can't wait to get down and dirty with so much unlimited staying power. Just get rid of those shorts and let's see what you're made of."

  "Sounds like something right up my alley. Give me a minute to get this yacht under way, my little fembots, and I'll give you the ride of your life".

  As the yacht left the bay and sailed out to sea, the girls and Peter made more plans. They were going to take over the world and reproduce little fembots with super intelligent chips implanted in their robotic brains. Dr. Zabo's memory chip was worth a fortune so the world was their oyster.

  The End

  Bleeding Hearts

  by

  Marguerite Turnley

  Hi. My name is Pip. I didn't start life as a monster. I began as a normal child or so I thought. More of a moanster at that stage, nothing too threatening. I lived with my supposedly normal parents. They had a few strange habits, but so does ninety percent of the population. Unfortunately, my family had one habit that couldn't be overlooked.

  By night, my dad could change at will, metamorphose into a creature from another planet with abilities unheard of on earth. Mom could change too, but she liked to watch night time television so she usually stayed in. When you are an alien homebody, babysitters are hard to find. Our family had a reputation for being weird. Can't imagine why.

  I kept to my room, even when the sounds of crunching and munching, screaming and howling kept me awake all day. I didn't stay around much at night. Hey, what can I say? Adult bedrooms are out of bounds unless you've got X-ray vision. Hey, don't tell anybody, will ya? It can be our little secret.

  Not that I don't listen at bedroom doors. Some pretty strange stuff goes on. It's a habit with me to gather information and use it to my advantage. You should hear what I heard at a board meeting for our local council. I lingered outside the door one day, all ears, literally, when I heard my father's name, Cor, mentioned. In my invisible amorphous shape, I drifted through the door and checked out who turned up for the meeting. The mayor, enjoying the fruits of his labors, ate an unlimited banquet, and drank several glasses of scotch. He asked the council members to give my father a seat on the committee, saying he showed abilities in law enforcement as an asset to the community.

  I had heard previously that Dad's ability to listen at keyholes is well known to the mayor, so I didn't feel surprised by the offer made to him. Full time paid employment, plus benefits and bonuses, and a holiday house on Cape Cod paid for by the Council had to be the best offer ever. I learned a lot from my dad about sneaky maneuvers.

  I did a slight switch and walked through the mayor's neural pathways. Checking for grubby little secrets, I wasn't surprised at what I found. He had no intelligence, his ability to lead the community verbal at best. Sure, he could make a speech. Talking about himself had to be his only recognizable talent, and his predilection for sexual encounters with his secretary and her best friend the only riveting thing in his brain.

  The mayor assigned to himself a beach house to use for top-level meetings. He told his staff he would use the premises only for council business, but no one with official clearance had been invited to participate in meetings, except his secretary. No minutes were ever taken, unle
ss she wrote her memoirs in a diary. Maybe, one day, I'll stroll through the secretary's brain and see what she got up to.

  This could be why nothing of any importance ever happened in our town. Street repair jobs went to the street sweepers looking for cans to sell, patrols were manned by untrained, unpaid volunteers, and council offices doubled as fronts for organized crime.

  The mayor's memory, running concurrently as he spoke, repeated high-level meetings with his luscious secretary and her friend. They reclined in a hot tub, naked, sliding in and out of each other, sharing their workload. The mayor kept busy tasting the breasts of his secretary as he put his minute appendage into her friend's waiting opening. A quick visit, he couldn't keep up the pressure, the groans of disappointment enough to put any man off revisiting such a scenario, except me. Groans are what turn me on, especially when pain and disappointment are involved. It's a head rush, not to be confused with a head job, a totally different scenario.

  It all came to an abrupt halt in the mayor's brain as the door opened and the secretary came into the meeting with coffee and doughnuts.

  I slid out of his subconscious and back into my invisible body just after Mayor Brown's eyes glazed over. As he looked at Miss Barker's prominent breasts, salivating, I realized the meeting was over. The Councilors left the room, grumbling about the short meeting and unhappy with the mayor. I could have told them the mayor didn't enjoy other short things on his agenda, but why bother. Who would believe me?

  My options included sticking around and watching more boardroom activity or revisiting the scene later. Scanning his neural pathways for mental activity is another option, but I know there won't be much going on. Pretty boring stuff.