Chapter 8 - "Dessert"
It was a quiet car ride home. James looked catatonic as he sat in his seat and stared out of the front window. Something was on his mind.
“I would very much like some dessert when we get home,” he said, blankly, reiterating his desire. He then turned to Patricia, “Can I please have some dessert when we get home?” he asked her redundantly.
“Of course you can. Should we stop by and pick some up? I don’t remember having anything in the fridge,” she asked, innocently.
“No. I have some in a special place. I’d like you to serve it to me, if that wouldn’t be to much trouble.”
“It would be my pleasure,” she said and she stroked his sweaty head.
“Good. Good,” was the last thing he said before he laid his head on her shoulder, his mind still on something distant.
When they reached home, Miriam was in the foyer waiting for them.
“Welcome back. I hope you two had a pleasant night,” she said as she took their coats. James said nothing. Miriam looked to Patricia.
“It was fine Miriam. Miriam, do you mind getting the dessert for us? James’ sweet tooth is acting up something fierce.”
“Miss? I’m sorry, I don’t think we have anything ready made, but if you give me twenty minutes or so I can whip up something for you. Or I can go out and pick something up if that would be more to your liking.”
“Silly me, I just assumed you would have known where––,” it was then that James stepped in and stopped their conversation.
“Patricia, she doesn’t know where it is. I keep it upstairs.”
“Upstairs. That’s a strange place to keep dessert. Is there a secret refrigerator you keep up there you haven’t told me about, Jimmy?” Patricia said as she giggled.
“Yes. That’s it. Secret refrigerator,” James said as he grabbed Patricia’s hand.
“Sir, I am not aware of any secret––,”
“Miriam, you may retire and recharge for the night.”
“Very good, sir. Have a good night, miss,”
“We’ll talk later, Miriam,” said Patricia.
“Definitely, miss,” she said back, and James and Patricia headed upstairs.
James led Patricia into the upstairs guest room, the room she’d been sleeping in for the last week and a half. He still hadn’t shown her his private bedroom the entire time; they spent all of their waking moments together, as expected, but they still slept separately.
James turned on the light, but dimmed it so their outlines were just barely visible. Patricia sat on the edge of the bed and watched James as he paced, agitated, back and forth. I gathered that was his favorite past time, pacing.
“Come and sit beside me, Jimmy. Calm yourself,” Patricia said to him, but it was as if he did not hear her, could not hear her.
“Do you see how she is?” he asked rhetorically, mostly to himself. “Condescending, belittling, sarcastic.”
“What’s wrong with sarcasm? I’m sarcastic and you love me,” Patricia said.
“But you’re not mean spirited. That’s the difference. You’re lovely.”
She grabbed James’ hand and finally got him to join her on the bed next to her.
“Come, lay down with me,” she said, and they did just that, Patricia guiding James’ head to her bosom.
“Why is she like?” he asked as his voice started to tremble, “I’ve tried and tried my whole life to please her, but she just puts me down. I’ve succeeded in so much, but nothing’s good enough for her.”
“I’m sure she loves you, James. She just has an extremely strange, almost foreign, un-motherly way of showing it.” This time, James was the one who giggled.
“She seems to have taken a liking to me, though,” Patricia said. James lifted his head a little.
“That she has. If there was one good thing to come out of tonight, that was it.”
“That’s a pretty big thing in my eyes. And I should know, I have pretty big eyes.” They both shared a giggle, “I’ll use my new found influence on her the next time I see her.”
“That is, if there is a next time,” James said and he buried his head deeper into her chest, “Tonight is our last night together.”
They both grew quiet for just a moment.
“Like you said, you’ll find a way,” Patricia said.
“After the events of tonight, I don’t so feel confident of such a thing anymore.”
They grew quiet once again.
“We should do something big, something special for our last night together. A sort of ‘going away for now’ party,” Patricia suggested.
James lifted his head.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” James said. They both sat upright.
“What are you waiting for? Let’s start with that dessert.”
“Yes. Let’s,” said James. Patricia got up and headed for the door, but James stopped her.
“But first,” he said, and he paused for a moment that was suspiciously long, but just short enough to create weird tension.
“You’ve consumed a lot of food this past week, haven’t you?” he asked her.
“That I have, thanks to you,” Patricia said, “And it was all delicious.”
James looked at her incredulously.
“Well, it all looked delicious.”
“It’s the thought that counts. But what I wanted to say was, perhaps, maybe, you’d like to dispose of those contents. You know, for the sake of comfort.”
“Jimmy, honey, I don’t experience discomfort. But, if this is what you’d like me to do, I’ll do it. Do you have some sort of special receptacle you’d like for me to use?”
“The bathroom,” was all he said as he looked away from her.
One of the ‘special’ traits James wanted implemented into Patricia was about to have its official unveiling. It would provide important data allowing me to see if what I implemented worked at all, but not data I was particularly looking forward to collecting.
Patricia walked to the bathroom and closed the door. She walked to the toilet, removed her underwear and sat down. Judging by what I heard everything seemed to be working properly.
The function that was tested was the ability to release waste in the same fashion humans do––smell included. A strange function, definitely, but one that allowed me to build the most anatomically correct android I could. It was not a function I was particularly eager to create, but I must admit, if I’m being entirely honest, as a robotics engineer, I was extremely grateful to have the chance to try, no matter how disgusting the feature might have been.
As Patricia sat there evacuating her artificial bowels, there was suddenly a small knock at the door.
“Yes?” she answered. There was no immediate answer.
“May I enter?” James’ muffled voice asked after a five second interval.
“Yes you may,” she said.
She found nothing strange about this request, but it sent an uneasy chill through my body.
James slowly opened the door, entered, then stayed near the door, avoiding direct eye contact with Patricia, instead, opting to stare uncomfortably at the tiled floor beneath him. After another, slightly longer interval, he asked, “ May––may I approach you?”
“You may,” she answered as if nothing strange at all were occurring.
He then inched his way towards her, not once ripping his stare from the ground to look up at her. When he reached her position, he hesitated for just a moment before he knelt before her and laid his head on her lap, and took a big whiff of the air around them.
With a satisfied look on his face, he said, “It’s natural. It’s organic. It’s perfect.”
I got the recipe for the distinctive scent from the same chemist friend of mine that had provided me with the rose one, as well as others. I must let him know how his very literal eau de toilette went over with the client.
James lifted his head from her lap, looked into her eyes.
“You feel much more real to me now,” he said.
“I’m glad to hear it, “ she said back to him.
He lowered his head again and took a whiff of her thigh.
He took a moment before he stood up.
“When you’re finished I’ll be waiting,” he said, and he left quicker than he entered.
Patricia cleaned up, and entered the hallway to find James waiting for her near a closed door.
“Please, follow me,” he said.
“Oh, exciting. Will I finally get to see your bedroom?” she asked.
“Yes, you will,” he said, and he opened the door.
The room was a standard bedroom, if maybe a little larger than usual and a little bare: A bed in the middle, bandstands at either side of it, clocks and picture frames atop each; a rather large closet door, old fashioned paintings hanging on the sea-foam-green walls surrounding it all. It was inviting. It was retro.
“Have a seat,” he requested of Patricia, and she complied and sat on the lip of his bed.
“I like it, James. I don’t know why you were hesitant to show it to me all this time,” she said.
He engaged in his favorite past time again, pacing back and forth in front her.
“James, dear, you’re going to burn a hole in the rug like that if you walk any longer over the exact same spot. Why don’t you walk over to me?”
James stopped and looked her.
“Is that what you want?” he asked her.
“It is if that’s what you want,” she said.
“You want what?”
“I want dessert.”
“Well then,” she said as she lay back, “come and get your dessert.”
James dimmed the lights and, with the wave of his hand, changed the color of them from a yellow hue to a dark red one––it reminded me of a red light district; it made it all seem that much more seedy. He made his way toward her and balanced himself on the bed as he brought his head to her ear and whispered a second activation word softly into it: In-Hee-Bee-Shone. It was the word he had me program her to react to that would change Patricia from the mild, cute and sassy girl she was into a sadistic dominatrix. The second modification was about to go into effect.
The feed went black for the quickest of moments, and the image returned just as swiftly as it had disappeared, and when it did I saw James in front of me with a scared expression in his eyes that he did not have just seconds before.
James backed up as Patricia stood and inched toward him, backing him against the wall. Then, suddenly, she slapped him. She grabbed a hand full of cheek and turned his face to face hers.
“You disgust me,” she said. She then kneed him in the groin area with such force it sent him to the ground crying in pain. She knocked him over with the push of her shoe against his shoulder.
“Stop crying you little bitch,” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes? Is that all you’re going to say? It seems to me there’s a word missing at the end of that. Call me what your fucking maid calls me,” she said.
It was little strange hearing these words from a voice as cute and kind as hers.
“Yes, miss,” he said from the ground looking up at her.
She walked toward him slowly, as if she were a predator stalking her prey. James crawled backwards toward the closet. When his back touched the door, he grabbed the handle to help himself up, and opened it.
“Miss, may I change my pants?” he asked.
“Why? Did you mess yourself, you dirty little fucker?”
“I surely did, miss,”
“Then what are you waiting for? I’m not going to change them for you,”
“Yes, miss,” he said before he rushed into his closet and shut the door.
“You take too long and I will smash this door to pieces and do the same to your face, you understand?” she said.
“Yes, miss,” said his muffled voice from inside the closet. Patricia then removed all of her clothing, minus shoes, and then sat on the bed once again, staring at the closet door.
Cran turned to me and asked, “Are these common foreplay practices, sir? They seem a little… aggressive.”
“I doubt it’s common, but it’s practiced,” I answered.
“Is this what you were accustomed to, sir, when you were married?” he asked me, suddenly. I had to be careful to remember who was asking me this. I almost wanted to punch him. But, I calmly answered him.
“No, we were a more conventional couple,” was all I said, and we turned our attention back to the feed.
The door creaked open and out popped James’ head. But Patricia protested.
“Close your eyes, dammit!” she commanded, and he complied.
“I’m naked. You don’t deserve to see me naked. I need something to wear. You must have something for me in that big closet of yours,” she said, and his head disappeared. He walked out moments later with leather lingerie in one hand, a blindfold over his eyes, a collar and leash around his neck, wearing a diaper in lieu of a shirt and pants.
“Toss it to me.”
She slipped on the lingerie––complete with corset––then got up and looked at herself in the mirror.
“This will do. Although, I still feel naked,” she said, and James dipped into the closet once more and appeared with a whip that he handed to Patricia.
“Much better,” she said and she snatched the tool from his hands before she backhanded James hard across the face, unprovoked.
“Now, get down on the ground, you pig.”
She mounted him, grabbed his leash and pulled hard, causing James to gasp.
“Give me a ride, piggy,” she commanded. He tried the best he could to crawl around on all fours for as long as he could, but the weight of a human being was much too much for him. At least, that’s how he acted.
“Miss, I cannot bear it any longer. It’s too hard on my feeble back.”
“Are you calling me fat?”
“No, no. Of course not.”
“I think you are,” she said, and yanked on his collar signaling him up off the floor. She slapped him again.
“It feels good. Please, do it again,” he pleaded.
“You don’t command me, I command you,” she said as she slapped him once more.
“Yes, madam, command me.”
She continued with a barrage of slaps. James groaned gleefully with each passing of the hand.
“Spit in my face,” he said.
“What did I say about commanding me?” she said, and she spat in his face.
“I did that of my own volition, not because you told me to. You might think you own me, but it’s the other way around, piggy.”
“Oh, yes. I sincerely apologize, madam,” he said.
“Look at you, groveling. You repulse me. You’re made of cow gristle and marshmallow. You don’t even qualify as human.”
“No, I certainly do not.”
“Don’t agree with me, pig. Go to that corner and face it. I want to put this nice whip to use.”
“Yes, miss,” he said, and he hurried to the wall, face turned from her.
It was then I was able to get a closer look at his back: there were old, faded scars almost the full length of his torso all across it––signs of other whippings, obviously left there on purpose––a man of his wealth would certainly be able to afford the technology that now exists to make scars that big a thing of the past. Cran then made a most astute observation.
“This obviously is a hobby of his.”
“Pain for pleasure, sir?” he asked me. I nodded.
“I do not experience pain, nor pleasure, so, for all I am aware of, they could feel the one in the same. Although, I don’t believe that to be the case.”
“It’s not,” I said, “ Believe me… it’s not.”
“I would like to experience both,” he said, rather pensively.
Our attention was yanked back to the situation at hand by a deafening crack of the whip. James let loose a blood curdling scream.
“More, please,” he squeaked out.
“Don’t tell me…”
Yet, another crack.
“What to do!”
There was a final crack of the whip, one that sent him to his knees, his back a bloody, welted mess.
“My apologies, miss,” he was able to spit out through the whimpers.
“Get up and come here. Your punishment isn’t done.”
He stood in front of her, but the distance between them was not to her liking. She grabbed his leash and brought him face-to-face with her. She looked him up and down and sniffed his surroundings.
“You stink of filth… and shame… and disappointment. No wonder she hates you,” she spoke in a soft, yet, piercing tone, and James broke down in tears.
“Mother does hate me, doesn’t she?” he said trying to choke his tears.
“Hate is too tame a word for what she harbors for you. She despises you.”
James could no longer contain himself and began to cry uncontrollably. Patricia licked the tears rolling down his cheek.
“Your sadness is delicious,” she said, and she jerked his leash downward signaling him to bow before her.
“Your tears got on my shoes. Lick them clean,” she said, and she watched him as he followed her orders. When he was finished, she placed her spiked heel upon his back and looked at his work.
“Nice. Shiny. I can almost see myself in it. Well, Jimmy, it seems that we’ve found something you’re good at.”
She wrenched him up from his position on the ground to face her once again.
“I bet this turns you on, doesn’t it, momma’s boy?” she said and he nodded. She reached down to his crotch. “I can’t even find it, it’s so small. Oh, there it is.” She must have squeezed hard, because James screamed out in pain––if that grip hurts around a wrist and a hand, I could not even fathom how it must have felt around a scrotum.
“Such a pathetic little chubby,” she said, then pushed him on the bed and mounted his belly and held the whip against his throat.
“What shall we do to you next?” she said.
“Anything you want, miss,” James said, and she pushed harder on the whip.
“Did I ask you for your opinion?”
James shook his head.
“You’re quite mouthy. There must be a way to shut you up,” she said, as she wrapped her hands around his throat.
“I can’t even fit my hands your neck, it’s so fat. But I shall do my best. How does this feel?” James tried to talk, but he just choked and sputtered.
“What’s that? I can’t hear you. Speak louder,” she taunted him, but all he was able to offer were short gasps for air. The gasps disappeared as she tightened her grip around his neck, choking him harder.
The room was dimly lit with a blood-red light, so it was hard to tell, but I could have sworn I saw his face turn blue. He lay there almost lifeless, showing no signs of even the slightest desire to struggle free. After what seemed like an excessive amount of time, she finally let go of her grip, and James coughed and wheezed in a way only a forty-something year old man his size can.
To tell the truth, I was a little worried for his safety. He did provide a safe word, just in case, but he didn’t use it, despite having a prime opportunity to. I had no other choice than to assume he was enjoying it.
“No good. You’re still alive,” she said.
I couldn’t tell if she was being facetious or not.
“Let’s see if this is a better fit,” she said as she grabbed the whip that lay next to both of them. She started to wrap it around his neck just the way a snake coils around its choice of lunch before it squeezes the life out of it.
“Ah, yes, that’s much better,” she said as she grabbed both ends the whip.
“Ready?” she asked. James nodded his head. Patricia looked down at his crotch as he gripped his gland.
“Good. This might hurt a little. Oh, who am I kidding? I won’t lie. This is going to hurt a lot.”
She pulled the whip ends in opposite directions causing James to wheeze and sputter once again. Patricia kept her gaze focused upon James’ face–– an act I was very appreciative of––as James’ arm started to move vigorously. I knew what he was doing, but I did not want to think about it.
James started to make ambiguous noises that were either ones of pleasure or pain.
I couldn’t quite tell.
“You like this, don’t you, you filthy fucking pig?”
I did not know if it was because of the lack of oxygen reaching his brain, or intense concentration, but he just stared blankly into her eyes, neither shaking nor nodding his head in response to this question, his arms still in continuous motion.
The further and further apart Patricia pulled the whip ends the more short and labored James’ breathing became, his arm movement also slowing down drastically. His stare was even more distant than I had been; it looked as if he were staring past her face at some far off destination rather then looking directly at it.
“Does it feel good?”
Again, no answer.
If I wasn’t sure of what color his face was before, there was no mistaking it now: even through the darkness I could tell clearly that his face was an unhealthy shade of dark purple, his eyes blood shot, his breath all but gone.
I was no longer a little worried for his safety; I was damn near panicking.
Patricia’s grip did not weaken one bit as she just stared into his eyes as they began to roll into his head.
Cran turned to me.
“Sir?” he said with a tone that could have been mistaken to be one of concern if it were coming from a human.
I waved my hand over my control panel with the intention of entering the command that would instantly stop Patricia doing what she was doing, but the memory of Jerrald Axell’s not-so-subtle threat to my life stopped me from executing it.
Cran noticed my hesitation.
“Sir, is there a problem?” he asked me. It took me a slight moment to answer.
“No, no problem,” I said as I placed my hands under my legs and sat on them, as if I thought that would prevent them from doing something I would regret. I knew I would also hate myself if there were no action at all. I was left with a decision between two regrettable choices. A dilemma if there ever was one for me.
Do I allow this man, someone that I’ve never met personally, to die slowly at the hands of something I created and save myself a smack down, which is arguably less horrible compared to what James will suffer, or do I risk my own safety with a display of human compassion? One thing was for sure, something had to be done and it had to be done quickly.
It was the fact that I could no longer see the whites of James’ eyes and the sputtering of blood from his mouth that affected my next decision.
I implemented override her system as fast as I could and she immediately let go of her grip around the whip that wrapped around James’ neck and slumped her head against her chest. A second later she stood upright and I was able to operate her remotely. I used her vision to check what state James was in and just as I thought, he was a lifeless mass laid upon a bed, blood covering his chest and the sheets beneath his head. I had hoped with every molecule of my being that he was not, in fact, dead.
A moment later, a faint, distant pounding.
Then, more pounding followed by the loud cracking of wood followed by loud footsteps.
Before I knew it the same two bodyguards that handled Sally the first night came rushing in and stood in front of James’ bed.
“What the fuck?” exclaimed one of the men.
“What a number she did on him,” said the other man, the asshole that makes inappropriate comments.
He turned around to face Sally.
“There she is, standing there as if nothing happened. Look at her big eyes, just staring. That’s some creepy shit.”
“I gotta say, I liked her when she was that other chick. No tits on this one.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’d still fuck her,” he said as he copped a feel of her breasts.
“Yeah. Well, let’s get her packed up.”
“Wait a second. You think he’d get mad if I did have a little fun?” said the asshole as he grabbed her face and turned it towards his as if he was about to kiss her.
“There’s blood all over her face, man,” said the other, as if that was the only reason this situation shouldn’t be happening.
“I don’t know, it doesn’t bother me that much,” he said as he started flicking his tongue in and out at her.
“Fucking gross, man.”
“I’m just fucking around,” he said to his companion as he slapped him on the chest. He then looked straight into Sally’s eyes.
“I’m just having a little fun, Mr. Axell.”
“Call in the paramedics to take care of this fat fuck,” said the other man gesturing towards James.
Then, the asshole reached behind Sally’s head and the feed was no more.
“Sir?” Cran spoke.
“There is a phrase I’d like to use to describe this situation, but I am not sure if it’s correct. Will you confirm for me, sir?” He asked me. I nodded.
“Cutting it close.” He paused before speaking again. “You… cut it close, did you not, sir?”
I nodded once more. Another pause before more words.
“Why those choice of words? What exactly is being cut?”
“Cran,” I said with frustration in my voice. “You can look this up yourself. Why ask me?”
“Sir, that is the easy way. I would like to learn from you, personally.”
“Cran, I just potentially killed a man today. So, you’ll forgive me if I’m not in the teaching mood just now.”
“Sir, I do not see it that way. What happened was not by your hands.”
“But it was by hands I created.”
“At the request of another.”
His logic caused me to pause. He elaborated.
“Your intellect was used to create something, a commodity in this situation. If you’ll allow me to continue with the hand metaphor, it is now out of your own. I fail to see how this would be, could be any fault of yours, sir. Should the creator of the hamburger take it personally every time someone chokes on the combination of meat, lettuce and bun? The creator of the hamburger is long dead, but I hope you understand the meaning of what I am trying to convey.”
The absurdity of his comment caused me to burst out in laughter. I felt bad for laughing, but I could not help it.
“I understood it,” I said to him as I stood up and patted him on the shoulder.
“Cutting it close…” I started, and he looked at me, it felt, as a child looks to his father as he waits for the impartment of knowledge, “I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do cutting garments. Cutting something just close enough to be just right, but not so much that it ruins it.”
“That does make sense, sir. Perhaps that’s where it comes from.”
“I’m off to bed. I’m sure I’ll have an eventful morning,” I said to him.
“Sir, I’m sure Mr. Castillo isn’t ruined.” Cran said in a comforting tone.
I patted him on the shoulder once more before retiring for the night.