Autonomously Yours

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Chapter 13 - Unimpressive

The days that followed resembled the day that preceded them: sex, lunch, dinner, sex, sleep, repeat. The only disruption in the repetition came when Clancy would leave Sally in the bedroom to conduct his business in other parts of the house. Two days out of the week he left her alone, only activating her once on the morning he left so she could service him orally, and a second time the night he returned to have intercourse. He said not one word to her during either interaction. It was a lengthy and boring yet welcome mini vacation from the horrendousness I had to endure most of that week. My mind needed that break.

The last day of Sally’s tenure with Clancy had finally come. The morning was the usual inattentive morning sex, followed by breakfast, and followed by more insipid sex, after which he finally spoke the first words he’d said to her in two days, though, he more spoke at her rather than directly to her.

“Tonight we’re going to a club. You know what a club is?”

She nodded.

“Well, we’re going to one. It’s a celebration for a boxer under my service. You ever hear of Bosky Williams?” She shook her head.

“Of course you don’t. New heavy weight champion of the world. Arguably the most famous sports figure right now. He’s always been a ladies man, but this is going to get him buried in new pussy. You get any dance moves programmed into you?” he asked, but rather then answering him verbally, she got up and danced sultrily, yet somewhat generically in front of him to non-existent music, the movements almost resembling that of a lap dance. I had programmed none of that directly into her so I assumed she uploaded the information into herself automatically. Normally, I would have been impressed and proud of my abilities as well as hers, but I, at that point, could not muster up enough excitement to make note of it.

“If you hadn’t drained me so much already I’d fuck you into dust and wires. I had to restrain myself as it is,” Clancy said, his choice of words still lacking thought and still disgusting.

“I want you to dance just like that for me on my lap at the club in front of everyone. And who knows, I might just fuck you into a fine powder with everyone watching. That’ll be some show. Now get back in your box and plug in. We got a long night ahead of us,” he said, and she followed his command.

He sure does paint quite the mental picture, does he not, sir?” Cran said to me.

“That he does.”

There is something that I do not understand, or, rather, something that I cannot grasp.”

“And that is?”

Why does he describe an act that’s supposed to be pleasurable with such violent imagery? I cannot fathom how being sexed into a fine dust would be fun, nor do I think it’s literally possible.”

“It is neither fun nor literal, and neither is his intention,” I said. Cran was still staring at me intently, so I continued.

“It’s a figure of speech,” I said. Cran looked content with my answer, but for some reason I went on speaking, mostly to myself.

“It’s probably his fetish, though. He might fantasize about beating his female companions to a pulp while he makes love to them. Usually people keep their fetishes confined to their imaginations, though, and I can only hope he does as well. But what do I know. My doctorate is in advanced robotics, not psychology.”

I see,” Cran answered curtly, I thought, in an attempt to stop me talking.

“Sometimes I would like to know what goes on in a mind like Clancy’s,” I said. “His mind, it seems so simple…”

Yet complex,” Cran said, finishing what might have been the end of my sentence. I nodded in agreement. “Something tells me, though, that you’d regret looking into that particular head, sir.”

“You might be right. You might just be right.”

That night, Clancy and Sally got prepared for the party. Clancy provided Sally with an outfit that resembled the default clothing I usually packaged her with, albeit more revealing. The white top she wore exposed her midriff, as well as a large portion of her breasts, and the white shorts she wore barely covered her derrière, which peeked precariously from under them. If she had any blood to circulate through her body her whole ensemble would certainly have cut it off by now. My wife, by contrast, dressed more conservatively, so seeing Sally dressed in this outfit was a little more than off-putting to me.

When they got to the club an imposing bouncer bot, eight-feet seven-inches in height, the height specs of which I knew because it was something I had worked on earlier in my career, and one other person, a professional looking woman, stood outside of it. Mr. Clancy stepped out of the vehicle followed by Sally. He immediately put his arm around her and rushed toward the door.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said as he tried walked past the woman that stood near the bouncer, his words slathered purposely with thick sarcasm. But she obstructed his path.

“You’re here early. You’re such the publicity hound I figured you would have showed up hours later, you know, when all the cameras would be here,” she said to him with just as much sarcasm.

“I wanted to avoid blood thirsties like you. But apparently you have nothing better to do in your sad life than to harass hard working citizens of the public,” he retorted. She just laughed, and turned her attention to Sally.

“You’re pretty. You can do better, hon,” she said to Sally.

“Fuck you,” Clancy spat at her. “Too bad I can’t bribe this bouncer to keep you away from here. But maybe I could reprogram it to beat the shit out of you,” he said to her as he was finally able to squeak by her. “And rape you,” he added, under his breath.

“Such violent talk, and to a woman no less.”

She addressed Sally again.

“I hope he doesn’t talk to you that way.”

“When I leave here tonight, I don’t want to see you out here!” he yelled back at her.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to make that promise to you. I have too much I want to talk to you about!” she yelled after him as they entered the club.

When inside they headed straight for the VIP room. He plopped down on the couch and pulled Sally close to him and pretended to speak to her.

“Who the fuck does that cunt think she is?” he said, I assumed referring to the woman outside.

“She’s the source of my problems. You know, she’s the one who broke that story about me. But, if it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be employed in this town. If it weren’t for me providing fodder for her she’d still be sucking dick in whatever podunk ditch she crawled away from. That’s the type of woman I hate. If only we didn’t need them to populate this place I’d just as soon replace them with models like you,” he said, as he caressed Sally’s face. “You don’t give me any lip. Well, you do, but the good kind,” he said as he guided her hand to his crotch. “Speaking of which, we have some time before people start showing up,” he said as the sound of a zipper was heard. He then grabbed the back of her head and pushed it down to his exposed organ, again, causing Cran and I to look away at our laps.

He finished up mere minutes before the club people started to show up. He ordered drinks for the two of them, some rum-based drink I had never heard of for himself, and a vodka tonic ostensibly for her.

Before long the club was packed to the brim with rowdy youth, the music was blaring and there were drunken men and women dancing the night away. The dance floor was visible from the vantage point of Clancy and Sally. Clancy sipped on his drink and sucked on ice as he leered at young club-going females dance, a tellingly dirty smirk on his face as he did so. Every so often he’d grab and caress Sally’s leg as he ogled a random girl as if he were fantasizing about her being Sally.

After about an hour of this various men with women under their arms started filing through the curtains that separated the VIP room from the club floor and coming up to him and greeting him, no doubt various players from teams he owned. It felt like mafia subordinates coming up to pay their respects to their Don. Each one of them inquired about his new date and he gladly introduced Sally to them.

The last man to file through was the gaudiest of them all, adorned in a rainbow colored tiger-striped fur coat, sunglasses, neck dripping with gold necklaces, and four women, two under each of his arms. But the real standout accessory he had on him was the very large and flashy gold––I’m assuming––plated belt. It looked too heavy to carry with two hands let alone being comfortably supported by someone’s waist. He made his presence known in a very loud manner.

“And now the party can get started right!” he yelled to the room, and it erupted with congratulatory cheers. Clancy stood to greet him.

“There he is, the champion.”

“There is he, the man I owe all this to,” he said back.

“And don’t you fucking forget it,” Clancy said as they shared a hug. Clancy sat back down and put an arm around Sally and motioned to Bosky to take the empty place next to her.

“How’s the arm treating you? Good I hope,” Clancy said to him in a hushed voice, loud enough to be heard by someone close, someone as close as Sally was. Bosky looked to Sally cautiously.

“Don’t worry about her. She won’t talk.”

“It’s good. It feels good. It did me real good.”

“It better. It cost me a fortune. Thankfully, it also made that back for me, plus some,” he said. “Show it to me, Clancy demanded. Again, Bosky looked worried.

“Come on, really?” said Clancy. Bosky finally removed his jacket and extended his arm across Sally to show Clancy. Clancy examined it carefully, plucking the skin, checking it for damage, it seemed.

“Damn fine work. That Okamura does not fuck around,” he said, referring to arm’s namesake. My Grandfather’s name was still attached to a line of artificial limbs, but they were legitimate. Nothing else was said about it to suggest otherwise, but since no mention was made in the media about Bosky having any surgery, reconstructive, corrective or otherwise, I had no other choice than to assume Mr. Somerson acquired that arm through less-than-legal means. It burned me up that he was using my grandfather’s legacy in such an unlawful way for illegal gains. But, what could I do? My hands were tied.

“No tears that I can see,” he said as he continued his inspection. He checked Bosky’s shoulder next. “No seams.”

He checked his biceps.

“Like real meat. A thing of real beauty. I’m sorry I was out of the country when you had this fitted. I’m also sorry you had to lose your real arm.”

“Are you kidding me? This is a thousand times better. I’ve never jacked off so fast in my life,” Bosky said, and they shared a hearty laugh.

“I know that’s not all you’re using it for. I saw the fight. Was Martinez’s face okay afterwards?”

“Yeah. Well, okay as it can be. This alloy they used is crazy phenom. The punches land like there was real bone in my fingers.”

“I thought the fucking torque was going to tear his head off, though.”

“Yeah, the power in this thing is unbelievable. Feels real, looks real. I can’t thank you enough, Clance.”

“No problem. But don’t over do it.”

“What, I made sure it lasted at least a round and a half.”

“Next time make it last five. Change it up every fight or else people will get suspicious. You see that shrew outside?” he asked.

“There are a lot more now,” Bosky added.

“So, you see what we’re dealing with,” Clancy said, and Bosky offered an understanding nod.

As pleasantries were now dispensed, Bosky turned his attention to another subject.

“And who is this delicious-looking specimen that you’ve brought with you?” the flashy man asked. “Wait, let me guess, my birthday present.”

“You wish. This is Sally. Sally, meet Bosky Williams, the newly crowned boxing champion of the world, human league.”

“Nice to meet you, Sally,” Bosky said as he kissed Sally’s hand. “And where did you meet this miserable old fuck?” he asked her, but there was a long empty pause.

“Does she speak?” he asked Clancy.

“Only when I want her to, and right now, I don’t particularly want her to say anything,” he said, and they both shared a misogynistic snicker.

“I extend the same question to you, then. Where in the everlasting fuck did you find someone as exquisite as this?”

“This one? I had her made specifically for me,” he said half-jokingly, but Bosky took it as a whole joke and laughed.

“Well, let me know where I can get me one of these. I’d pay top dollar,” said Bosky.

“Maybe that can be arranged,” Clancy said and they shared yet another laugh.

I was getting more than a little annoyed by this exchange and wished very much for them to stop.

I got my wish, but as the centuries old saying goes, be careful what you wish for.

“In the meantime, I’ll give you little taste of what I get. Sally, stand up,” Clancy said to his companion.

“What’s this?” asked Bosky.

“You’ll see,” Clancy requested, and she complied. “Turn around, show Bosky here what you’re working with,” he said, and she slowly spun in place, Bosky’s eyes fixed intently on Sally’s backside.

“Go ahead,” said Clancy, noticing Bosky’s stare.


“I know you want to touch it. So go ahead and touch it,” he said much in the same way I told Mr. Axell to touch her skin during Sally’s first unveiling. He said it like it was his creation, like he wanted someone to test the realism. It was all too familiar for me.

“You sure?” Bosky asked cautiously.

“What, afraid your girls over there are going to throw a fit?”

“No, I don’t give a shit what they think. But, you…”

“I’m the one offering, aren’t I?”

Bosky shrugged and listened to Clancy’s suggestion, very liberally fondling Sally’s backside as if it were his own girlfriend’s, or, a chuck roast at the super market.

“Damn, if you were trying to make me jealous of you it’s working,” said Bosky.

“Sally, dance for Mr. Williams the way you danced for me earlier,” he ordered her as he positioned himself behind the couch standing over Bosky and Sally. Sally turned around seductively and placed herself above Bosky’s lap and nearly replicated the same dance she performed for Clancy, except more sensual, more intimate. Bosky tested the limits of Clancy’s generosity and rubbed his hands on the back of Sally’s thighs. He looked up at Clancy behind him and Clancy just nodded his head. Bosky’s hands were now all over every part of Sally’s body, fondling her like one would a stripper at a strip club. She was now gyrating directly on top of Bosky’s private area and he looked like he was in paradise.

“Clancy, man. I don’t know if I can take anymore. Strange things are happening in strange places,” Bosky said.

After a slight pause Clancy simply said, “Slip it in.”


“She won’t mind. Slip it in. I guess you can consider this my birthday present.”

With a smile and without the slightest hesitation Bosky reached down and undid his pants. The look on his face told me when he achieved penetration. It was not a look I was not pleased to see.

Sally looked to Clancy and he mouthed the words moan to her and she started to, very loudly. The room around stopped what they were doing and was then transfixed on the activity that took place on the couch. As Sally looked around I could see the women Bosky walked in with: two looked jealous, while the other two looked aroused.

There was a deep palpable anger in my chest as I watched this. I looked to Cran because I could no longer look at the feed while this took place. I clenched my fists and wanted to punch the feed this was happening on, but as it was just a floating hologram of a screen this was not possible. I briefly considered punching Cran in the face, but that would not have been rational. That had nothing to do with him and it would have been unfair of me to take it out on him. Plus, I highly doubted his metallic face would have been kind to my organic bones. The result would have been the opposite of the Williams/Martinez fight, leaving every bone in my hand shattered to bits. Besides, I already had a taste of what acting irrationally does to a hand in the bathroom. In my rage I still had to keep a little reason to myself.

A loud grunt by Bosky signified the end to the couch proceedings and I forced my attention back to the feed. Sally had gotten off of Bosky’s lap and sat back down next to him as he placed himself back into his pants. Clancy joined them back on the couch.

“Enjoy your present?” he asked Bosky.

“You are too good to me, man.”

“Just keep pounding faces for me, Bosk. That’s all I ask,” said Clancy.

“For sure. Especially if you keep me pounding girls,” said Bosky, and they bumped fists. “And I hope to see you around more often,” Bosky said to Sally as he gave her kiss on the cheek, and he joined his girls again, two of which draped themselves back on to him while the other two stared contemptuously at Sally from a distance.

Clancy spent the rest of the night on the couch with Sally ordering different drinks for him, and the athletes, as well as for the women they came with. He also did a little more examining of players, checking out the legs and arms of a famous quarterback from a human football league team. He also inspected the arm of a baseball pitcher I recognized. Baseball was one of the few sports’ leagues that allowed competition between robotic and human rosters and Clancy he felt his team needed an “arm” up on the competition, as he put it to his player.

Clancy was about five drinks past his limit when he decided to leave. He went around to all of his athletes and warned them about the reporters that might be laying wait outside for them and told them how to handle them, basically telling them to try to not punch anyone, no matter how strong the urge.

He made his way through the club, leading Sally by the wrist, stumbling along pushing club goers out of their way. When they finally exited the club they were met by the glaring lights of camera bots and a large number reporters and paparazzi. The crowd was loud with random questions being thrown at Clancy and his female accompaniment, only the loudest being heard, and the loudest was the woman who met them at the beginning of the night.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Somerson. Tell me, how was it partying with those bunch of cyborgs tonight?” she screamed out at him.

“What did I tell you about being here?” he slurred at her, stumbling into the bouncer bot as he lifted his car key in the air continuously pushing the call button.

“You certainly look like you had a good time. Let’s get down to business. What do you think about the allegations being thrown around that you had your players illegally fitted for mechanical limbs to enhance performance? For instance, Bosky’s fight last week. Martinez’s head was almost taken clean off.”

“Exaggerations and vicious rumors, spread by you,” he spat back at her.

“Rumors hardly. I have highly trusted sources. Still, I’d like to hear your opinion on the matter.”

“That’s something that has not happened, nor ever will happen,” he answered.

“Really, now? Would you be willing to subject your players to a medical examination to determine that?”

“I’ve done that already as you know,” Clancy said.

“Done by doctors and medical bots chosen by you under your supervision at facilities you own. That’s not what I would call fair. How about examinations done by an impartial party of physicians?”

“How about you mind your own business? My players are one hundred percent human flesh,” he lied.

“How about that brawl one of your players had outside of that bar a week ago? The other person’s face was fractured in eight places. They say no human could have sustained that type of injury from just one punch from an ordinary man. It would have taken much more to cause that kind of damage,” said the reporter.

“Keep it up and I’ll show you how much damage can be one with one punch,” he retorted.

“Is that a threat Mr. Somerson? Because we now have it on record.”

“Shut your stinking mouth.”

“That sounds like it should be followed by an ‘Or else.’”

“Where’s that fucking car?” Clancy whispered to himself. The reporter spoke directly to Sally again.

“Seriously, honey, is it the money? There are richer and certainly better looking guys out there. I know it can’t be the sex. Someone that insecure can’t be packing anything impressive,” she said, and that must have struck a nerve with Clancy as he suddenly pushed two other reporters and a cambot out of the way to put his hands on her, grabbing her by the collar and pulling her in menacingly close to his face.

“Listen, you cock sucking two-bit whore––” were the only words he spoke before the massive metallic hands of the bouncer bot grabbed Clancy by his collar and lifted him, what seemed, like two-feet off the ground so that they were human face to robot face.

The bouncer bot started speaking in an unnervingly calm, almost friendly voice, a voice that was added much later in its production as that was not the voice I knew it to have when I worked on it.

Sir, my scan of your body types has determined that you are considerably larger than she and if an altercation were to ensue you would have a distinct unfair advantage. A male assailing a female is also an unfavorable social action and would bring unwanted attention to this establishment. I therefore cannot allow you to continue your threatening behavior and must ask you to leave the premises. Failure to comply will result in me taking matters into my own hands,” the bouncer said just as Mr. Somerson’s car finally appeared in front of the club.

Your car has arrived, sir. Please leave.”

The bouncer bot lowered Clancy to the ground and he grabbed Sally and pushed the lady reporter out of the way as they rushed to enter the car, the cameras drowning it in flashing lights as it sped off.

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