Talk to Nolan King one on one, see what he might admit.

An Audience

“Good morning, Will.” Jenna greets you with a warm smile as you enter your office. She’s in her underwear, laying across your desktop with a mug of coffee held in her hands. You came in over an hour late. How long has she been waiting like that? It doesn’t look comfortable.

Except it doesn’t matter that it’s uncomfortable. Jenna is as real as Miss Kittenpuss, you know now. She doesn’t get back aches. She doesn’t even breathe, except for whatever programming and motor capabilities simulate her gasping and panting and gagging when you stuff your cock too far down her throat. She’s an it, a deluxe sex doll, that for some reason Monarch decided to assign to you as your secretary.

Jenna smiles as your eyes inevitably stray to that perfect, synthetic ass. What an it, though.

You give it a pat as you walk past, accepting the offered mug and taking a sip. Still piping hot. Perhaps she’s got heat elements in her palms, though that might cost extra. Either way, she seems happy with the attention as you sit down at your desk. There’s no room for your briefcase, your laptop, nor even the wide-rimmed mug of coffee. Only space enough for your favorite desk toy.

“So what do I have on the docket today, Jenna?”

“Giada is waiting in your private office for a performance review,” she begins, her smile thin but nevertheless full of promise. “I’ll be in after to help clean you up, and then I was hoping you’d let me spend the rest of the morning with your cock in my mouth. You can pretend to work, if you want. I know how you like to pretend like you’re working when you let me suck your cock, Will.”

“I suppose I do.”

You take your time with your coffee. Giada isn’t going anywhere, and she can’t complain even if she waits all morning to be fucked. “Performance review” indeed. She’ll perform like a perfect little slut, the same as she always did. As all of them did. Still, you may as well review her. You owe that to yourself.

That had been a decision you arrived at last night, as you pondered and processed all those discoveries in the archives. With Mo curled up dutifully at your hip, it became plain that there was no point being petulant. Maybe he wasn’t a dog, but he was still your dog. Maybe affection meant nothing to him, but his had meant something to you. And if that was true for him, then it was true for the rest of them. Amy, Mia, Ingrid, Jenna, Avery… all of them. They had been exciting. Engaging. You’d even bonded with them, to degrees. And the sex… the sex had been incredible, whatever else one could say of it. It would be dishonest to pretend none of these machines had ever meant anything to you. Since you were real, that meant that it had happened. It had mattered.

So, in the midst of your existential dread of whatever came next, you at least found some solace. Not much, but it finally lets you close your eyes and get a little rest and refreshed perspective. Rest enough that you would have rocked Giada’s world even if she weren’t programmed to come like a banshee, and perspective enough to properly appreciate an hour and a half of marinating your cock in the slow cooker that is your assistant’s mouth.

(Is it real saliva? you wonder as she brushes her hair aside to make sure nothing impedes your view of those spectacular tits, those azure orbs locked on yours.)

If nothing else, it gives you the time, the peace, and the quiet to think.

“Jenna, what did you say you did before you got this job again?”

Two silken hands take over the work her mouth abandons. Her whole response, though, is a simple, “Other things. Nothing as fun.”

“No, I’m serious. What things?”

“This and that.”

You roll your eyes. “You can just say you can’t say.”

She rises up, pressing her tits between your thighs. They’re big enough they don’t even touch your cock. “I can’t say.”

“Cute. But do you mean you don’t know? Or that you can’t say?”

“You’re sweet to be interested. Do you want me to use my tits? Don’t they look amazing this morning?”

“They look amazing every morning. That’s how boobs work. And… do what you want. I’m thinking.”

She nods, keeping quiet, and you’re treated to a leisurely tit fuck from one of the most spectacular sets of tits you’ve ever seen. The handjob had been better. The blowjob much better. But it was variety, and at least you didn’t have to order it. Before long, she needs fresh lubrication – or simply misses the taste of your cock in her mouth – and twists her head to the side so she can slurp up and down the length of your shaft. She sweeps her hair over the top of her head, and suddenly, you see it. It’s shorter on the side. Not as short as… but… wasn’t Brooklyn’s hair dark? Then why did seeing Jenna’s momentary long-on-one-side look make you think of her? You hold it in your mind, reliving it, but it won’t come.

“Did I ever see you on 7?”

Jenna, bouncing up and down with her thighs, manages to work in a shrug. “I can’t say.”

“Were you there when that crazy parking attendant smashed up my car? Brooklyn was her name. Diamond. Would’ve been… right before you got hired under me. A day or two, tops.” Not suing the company over their psycho smashing up your car had been the leverage that netted you this job, after all. She’d done a number on it, all right. Hammered it like… well, like a machine.

“I don’t remember it,” Jenna says softly. “She sounds awful.”

But then she slurps, and you see it again. This won’t do at all. “Hurry and finish up,” you command.

With a delighted smile, your assistant kicks it into overdrive. “Come on my big tits, sir. Let me make you come. Make my tits as wet as my pussy. Please, sir, come for me. Come on me. Come. Come for me.”

You indulge her. After all, it’s literally her purpose on this earth. You take Jenna’s head in hand and guide it down onto your cock, holding it there until she’s sucked out every drop you’re ready to give her. You’re distracted, so it takes a few minutes. Somehow, your secretary doesn’t suffocate. In fact, as she catches her breath, she thanks you.

“What – or who – would you like to do this afternoon? I can find some new girls, if you’d like. Or if you have favorites you’d like to see, that’s fine. Whoever you want.”

“Actually, I think I’m going to pop by King’s office. You hold down the fort for me, all right?”

Jenna cocks her head to the side, oblivious to the lines of your cum drizzling down onto her softly sweating tits. (Sweat! They really did think of everything when they made these things.) “Would you like me to see if I can get you an appointment?” She sounded confused, perhaps legitimately. It was the first truly secretarial task that had come up in quite some time.

“No, don’t bother. I’ll charm my way in.”

She gazes at you worshipfully, casually massaging your spunk into her skin. “I’m sure you will.”

You rise, planting a kiss atop that blonde mop of hers. “And in case I don’t come back, thanks. For everything.”

“My pleasure, Will.” Jenna smiles, her eyes glassy and vacant and fervent and adoring as ever. “It’s what I’m here for.”

---

The view from the top floor of Monarch is as impressive as ever. Monarch HQ is far from the tallest building in the city, but the grandeur really doesn’t matter much once you pass a certain height. The architecture up here favors wastefulness, broad corridors along panes of glass that make up the exterior walls of the building. It’s drizzling out today, but not raining. Sunlight peeks from behind thin clouds that surely won’t last much longer. Most of the floor is occupied by several opulent conference rooms, each stocked with the latest in Monarch’s home gadgetry.

Except for those Gen 2 robots. They seem to be busy elsewhere.

During previous trips up here, the conference rooms were mostly empty, but today they’re positively hopping. In fact, you see most of your own team in one room. Not the apparent sex bots, though. That’s not what brought you here, though, and you refuse to be put off by lesser curiosities. In fact, you’re ignoring it so assiduously that you nearly bowl into Phil on his way out of one such room.

“Whoa, hey, boss. Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

He’s already brushing past you, but you catch him by the sleeve. Since he’s here. “What’s going on? Was that Aubrey in there? What’re you guys working on? Why wasn’t I notified?”

“Oh! Oh, I’m sure you were emailed. Um, we had a big breach last night down in archives. Got their hands on some real sensitive specs, apparently. Aubrey’s losing it. We got the whole – well, most of – the team up here trying to figure it out. It’s bad, though.”

Phil looks positively harried, but you find yourself smiling. “Sounds like they got the right man for the job. Good luck, Phil.”

“Thanks. Say, what are you doing up… here…” But you’re already away, around the corner. Aubrey isn’t at her desk, of course, and all the better for it. You’ve dealt with all the hurdles you mean to let Monarch throw in your path. The door to Nolan King’s office is closed, but that’s no deterrent to you.

Shit. It’s also locked.

You give a few crisp knocks.

“Aubrey?” comes a voice from the far side.

“No. It’s Will Saxon. From–”

“Oh, hey, Wilbo! Gimme two minutes, K? Grab a magazine or something.”

You raise your fist to knock again, but really, there’s nothing for it but to wait. Son of a bitch could have at least been rude about it. Still, it’s well shy of his two-minute timeline when his door swings open. “Listen here–” Your words stick in your throat as the doorframe is filled not by the broad shoulders of Nolan King, but the slender form of an impossibly gorgeous young blonde, glaring at you for having the temerity to notice her doing up the buttons on her blouse, for the slightly crooked tilt of her glasses.

“Hello, Mr. Saxon,” she mutters gruffly. Then she’s stalking away, replaced immediately by Nolan King, his own shirt unbuttoned halfway and untucked on one side.

“Hey, buddy. Long time, no see! C’mon in!” He waves and retreats into his office.

With a parting glance at the ass of his own midday snack, you take him up on his offer. The office doesn’t smell of sex as heavily as it could, though the cloud of cologne is probably due some of the credit for that, to say nothing of the swallowing skills of those sex bots. They left precious little for fragrance.

“What can I pour ya?” asks the king of Monarch Innovations, stopping by the bar to pour himself something brown out of a crystal decanter. There’s a fish tank built into the base of the thing, of which you can only wonder how many, if any, are really fish. The man pounds his drink immediately.

“How’s it going with that big data breach?” you open after declining his offer.

“Data…? Oh! Yeah, I heard Aubrey saying something about the, ah, yeah.” He pours himself another and takes a seat on the edge of his desk. Craning your neck up to see him is unavoidable. The man is large, and looms larger. “Beats me, man. They only tell me as much as I need to know, and I don’t know jack about data security. Say, isn’t that your… Don’t you do something with that? Can you do anything?”

“I can solve all your problems for you right now, actually.”

“Yeah? Atta guy! Aubrey’ll be stoked. You should go let her know, save the poor old bird a few gray hairs. Booya, baby.”

You don’t move, and he looks gradually more perplexed by your inaction. “I will,” you say eventually. “Once I get a few straight answers to some very simple questions.”

“Questions?” King repeats, like he’s never been asked a question before. “What kind of…”

The door swings open. Evidently it doesn’t get locked for meetings with IT security, only for sex breaks. Sure enough, it’s another random hot girl, smiling expectantly. You remember interviewing her at one point early in your consultancy, but have forgotten her name. Not her body, though.

“Hey, um…”

“Danae.”

“Damn right you are. Yeah, I gotta talk over a few things with my boy here, but hang out, grab a magazine. I’ll be with you before long.”

She smiles like he’d been turning on all his charm. “You got it, Mr. King. Hi again, Will. Been a while.” Danae favors you with the same warm gaze.

“Oh and hey, if any other ladies show up, tell them they’re in line behind you, OK?”

Her smile brightens. “Yes, sir.”

King watches her go, even craning his neck for an extra fraction of a second’s glimpse. “That Danae is something else,” he mutters, then turns back to you. “Right. So you said you had… questions? Answers? Hit me with it, Wilbo. You saw what’s waiting for me, so make it good.”

“I want to know what you know about Brooklyn Diamond, and Jenna Garnet.” You eye him levelly. “For starters.”

“Yeah, absolutely, sure thing, buddy.” He crosses the office to his bar, pouring another drink. “Who, now?”

“Brooklyn Diamond. She worked for parking enforcement. Went psycho and tore up my car. I believe someone told me she was related to somebody on the board?” Or had it been to King himself?

“Oh yeah!” He chortles. “That was fucking nuts, right? They spot you a new ride, or you taking the bus these days?” King shudders at the prospect.

“Tell me what you know about her.”

“What I know? I mean, you just told me. What else is there to know?” He looks confused.

“She assaults me, then you guys sweep her up to 7, and she disappears forever. Then you buy my silence with this… fuck toy testing job.”

Pity touches his face as he makes his way back, bringing the bottle with this time, but at least sitting in one of the other chairs on your level. “Hey, come on, you do more than that. Don’t be down on yourself. You’re an important part of what we’re all about, buddy.”

“Don’t patronize me. Just tell me what happened to her.”

“All right, all right. Easy, brosef. Right, so, Brooklyn Diamond. Yeah, I think I remember her, sort of. Blonde, little butch, had that hot little undercut, all buzzed on one side?”

His description jogs something in your memory. Suddenly you’re remembering gazing out the window on some floor downstairs, seeing a woman tuck a parking ticket under your wiper with a vindictive grin. She matches his description. You don’t know her name at that point. It’s your first day here, and your head is already swimming with names and faces – and what faces. But you remember the ticket, and the bitch look on that bitch face, legible at a hundred yards.

“Yeah. That’s her. Except every time I saw her after that, she looked totally different. I… It doesn’t make any sense. And I want some answers.”

He nods. “So I guess that’s where we are then, huh.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“Oh, every so often we…” He shakes his head. “Usually Aubrey handles this, but I suppose I can take a turn. Guess you must’ve seen some shit, huh, to be coming up here asking about that.”

“I dissected a cat and found plastic bones and gears in place of joints.”

His jaw drops, but bemusedly. “Holy shit, man. That’s… that’s fucked up.”

“That I found it, or that it was there to begin with?”

“What? No, we keep tabs on the merch, obviously. Just fucked up that you tore open somebody’s cat. No stopping us sharks, huh?” He raises his glass, frowns that you don’t have one to clink it against, and drinks again anyway. “So yeah, that’s where we are, I guess, huh.”

“That’s where we are. Now what did your people do to Brooklyn Diamond?”

“I mean, what do you think we did? Do you have any idea how much it costs to engineer these chicks? It’d blow your fucking mind, man. I check out the spreadsheets once in a while, for lolz. Design, development, assembly, detailing, modding, testing, maintenance, infosec… Each one custom made, every scrap head to toe. It’s a goddamn fortune.”

You nod grimly. “A hundred and seventy grand for Avery Parker.”

“For who? Well, whoever, no. Maybe for a down payment for some shmuck who can’t drop off a truck full of cash. The AI alone is worth several times that, easy. You think sales on toasters that show you your toast toasting pay for all that?”

“I suppose not.”

He thwaps you in the bicep with the back of his hand, a little too hard. “Of course not! It helps, sure, but we’re Monarch, baby. We’re not settling for keeping the lights on! We’re going places. So we’re not going to sit on some worthless product that’s only novel function is to piss off the clientele. You follow?”

“Uh… no, actually.”

He sighs, the condescension thick enough you begin to appreciate why people don’t ask him more questions. “Each model is distinct, see. Sure, in the beginning we could get away with babes that didn’t do much more than giggle, moan, yes-sir, please-sir. But you can get a hooker to do that shit. Do it better, and at a fraction of the price tag. We’re not marketing to rich horny pricks who just want a slap and tickle.” He takes a sip, muttering, “Well, not exclusively. But yeah, we’re selling our customers the real deal. Realer, even. Our girls have backstories. They slip up, stick their feet in their mouths. They blush. They want some things, they tolerate other things. Yeah, you can tell them to bend over and present, but you can also take them out on a date and have them wrinkle their nose when their meal comes out wrong. They’re goddamn authentic.”

“Jesus.”

“Fuck Jesus. That guy never handed out a single solitary orgasm in two thousand fucking years of his fakery. Our girls put out every single time. Guys, too, though we’re still trying to get demand to catch up with our supply. Bitches be getting off too easy, satisfied with a vibrator when they could have…” He shakes his head irritably.

“Brooklyn,” you prompt him.

“Right. So we’re running a business here, man, not an adult playground. I guess somebody thought there could be a market for ball-busting bitches. Which, ya know, could be a lark. Breaking something strong can be fun once in a while, though I own that I’m more of a building up something weak kinda guy. Or preying on, sometimes, whatever. So somebody on 7 has this idea, Dr. Woods works her magic and aligns the personality algorithm or whatever you wanna call it, and presto. You get a Brooklyn. Angry pushy cunt out to pick a fight, and lose. That’s where Aubrey comes in.”

“Aubrey? What the hell does your secretary have to do with this?”

King’s look is a plain rebuke. “Yeah. So Aubrey, she’s keeping tabs on what works, what doesn’t. That Brooklyn model probably ran us an easy half a mill in parts and labor, minimum. We could hire the Playboy bunnies to work the lot for that much, healthcare and all. That Brooklyn thing threw itself at you. It couldn’t have presented a better opportunity to hate fuck it if we tattooed “take me down a peg” on its forehead. But you didn’t bite, because it wasn’t doing its job right. So Woods marks it a failed experiment, hauls the doll upstairs, deletes the shitty AI in the CPU, and replaces it with a good one we can actually move.”

You think you follow. “Jenna.”

He nods. “Fucking Jenna. Simple, but I tell ya, I do like ‘em simple sometimes. Sweet, submissive, and fucking slutty. An iteration of one of our older AIs, for all Woods is always blah-blahing about the little tweaks and upgrades, but a classic never dies. And I gotta say, that Brooklyn bod looks goddamn fine now that it knows what it’s doing.”

“So you… deleted her? Wiped her brain and inserted a whole new personality?” It should sound like murder, but your IT background won’t let you think of those robots as people. They’re code, and you can’t quite mourn code.

“That’s about it, yeah. She’ll be off to market soon enough. Always good to give them a little while to make sure there’s no major bugs, though they’ve gotten pretty good about stopping that. Way back, the AI was specific to the bod, so you went swapping it in and out of other models and suddenly it couldn’t walk or talk or whatever.” He breaks out in guffaws. “I remember this one, worked one hundred percent perfect, except it sprayed spit fucking everywhere whenever it talked. Slobbery Rob! Oh shit, I haven’t thought about Slobbery Rob in forever. Good times, good times.”

You shake your head. “That’s… something. I want to say evil, but it’s a robot in the first place, so… I don’t even know. It’s definitely not good, though.”

“Good, evil…” He claps you on the back. “If it gets your dick wet, who cares, buddy. Anyway, we cool now? Aubrey’s gonna wanna know about that data breach thing. Although, as I say it… yeah, I guess that was you, huh?”

“Of course it was me,” you snap. “Who all is in on it? You, obviously, and Aubrey. The bots, albeit not by their own will. Denosha Woods, and whatever staff she’s got on 7. Who else?”

“What do you mean?”

“This whole insane conspiracy. Secret sex robots parading around the office, hiding in plain sight. Covert surveillance, creepy sex clubs, cats with cameras behind their eyes… Where does it end?”

“Will, bro-ham…” His head slowly twists to the side. “What secret…?”

You don’t comprehend his confusion, and it must show on your face because he keeps talking, speaking slowly. “Everybody knows, man. Everybody’s ‘in on it,’ the same way everybody’s in on, I dunno, gravity or something.”

“Obviously everybody’s not in on it, or I would have known!”

“Well, I mean… that’s the point, right? I thought you said you data-breached that shit. Did you not read what you downloaded?” He strokes his chin. “Or, well huh. Maybe our works in progress aren’t down in the archives. Must still be stored on 7.”

“What do you mean, works in progress? What sick experiment are you running on me?”

“I mean… Shit, this is probably why Aubrey usually does this.” He squares with you, resting firm hands on your shoulders and drawing your eyes into his. “I mean us, man.”

You can feel the color draining from your face, your brief reconnection with sanity breaking, as he elaborates. “Used to be they just let employees test the merchandise, report back. Wound up being a clusterfuck, like you can probably imagine. Folks who got so busy deep-dicking the product that they got months behind on reporting, and frankly, bunch of douche nozzles who’d be grateful for any pussy at all that the data was fucking worthless. We were basically paying to train cunt connoisseurs, on the clock.

“Still, it got us some data, and after a while Aubrey figures out we’ve got enough that we can transition to having our products test themselves. So… along comes me.” He grins, and you can practically hear the twinkle in his gleaming white teeth. “I know more about fucking than any person ever has. They parade in the models, and I test ‘em out. My code auto-generates reports on how each model performs. Put them through the shit the pussies downstairs wouldn’t even dare to try. I stress test. ”

“You ‘stress test.’”

“Hella stress, buddy. One after another, right on down the line. I’ve built our fleet of babes up from basic bitches to the elite specimens you’ve been enjoying. Used to be they’d just take a cock between the lips, excrete a little juice and make the same stupid bobbing motion until they detected jizz in their mouths. Now, they suck dick better than any pro in Vegas. No hair out of place, no physical defects of any kind. And I’m good at what I do. I don’t need to sell you on those things – unless you want me to. ”

“Please don’t.” You ignore his wink. “But… what about me? I haven’t… reported. I’m not…”

“Well sure. You’re not me. Maybe wish you were – right now for sure, huh? – but you’re not. I test out the models, and you test out the AI.”

You shake your head. “What? No, I…”

He puts a finger to your lips, though you recoil, given your increasing awareness of where that finger has been. “I don’t envy you, buddy. I really don’t. Must be confusing, not knowing who you are. What you are. Seems like every couple months, you’re back up here, and it’s always a crap shoot if you’re roaring demands or trying to break into Aubrey’s computer or just sobbing like a little bitch – I mean, understandably, of course. So we reboot, upgrade, and off you go again. I bet it’s gotta be a fun ride in the early days, right? When you’re still adjusting, still shocked that these hot pieces of trim keep throwing themselves at you. Feeling like a fucking god.”

“You must sit up here feeling like a god every day, King.”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah, true. But still, you get to become a god, which is its own thing, right? But yeah. Aubrey and Woods steer the new product your way, and you help Monarch determine what can make connections on a personal level. Not that you’re, you know, a person. But they’re not either, so I guess it evens out. Really dug that Amy, huh? Yeah, she was doing it for me, too. Something about sticking in it in a hot nerd girl that… it’s like their pussies are just… softer, you know?”

Reeling, you grip the arms of the chair to tether yourself to reality. “So I’m… one of them. And everybody knew. Except me.”

“Well sure. A man can’t very well go around knowing he’s a fuck machine and that the women he’s with are fuck machines and still treat them like people, can he?”

You shake your head. “Bullshit. If what you’re saying is true, if they’re – you’re – trying to keep me in the dark, you wouldn’t put me in IT security, would you?”

“Sure we would. For one, you don’t get a paycheck, so now that we’ve already sunk the cost into making you – which would blow your fucking circuitboard if I told you how much for an advanced AI like you – but yeah, now you’re ours, which makes you cheaper than an actual consultant. And for two, how many hours a week would you say you actually do work? Seriously. When was the last time you sat with your little whosywhatsit and actually did your job?”

“I… I mean…” When was it? Surely since you were hired to your post. You went around and checked in on your staff sometimes, at least. Sometimes just to snag them for a booty call, but still. There had to have been some work, times when you weren’t just staring through your laptop monitor while Jenna gave you a lap dance. “Yeah, it’s been a little while, but… No way.”

“Come on, man, don’t be obtuse about it. We don’t get to hang out too often, you and me, and it’s disappointing as hell seeing you mope. Admit that you like it. Most of the time.” He resumes his position on his desk, swirling his drink in his hand. Why he’s even drinking, you don’t know.

“Now I’m supposed to be grateful?! For lying to me, creating a whole artificial universe in my head?! No, I don’t like it!”

“Bah, think about it. Yeah, this part’s always rough, but most of the time, you’ve got nothing on your plate but spending quality time with quality women. I didn’t see you shoving them out of your way, buddy.”

“Only because I didn’t know!”

“Know shmow. You knew something was off, but how many times did you mute that little voice and go chasing tail? I know Aubrey keeps you on a pretty tight leash, steering you where she wants you, but whenever you had the opportunity to take initiative, what did you do with it?”

I tried to fuck someone, you concede instantly. But you’re being stubborn, so out loud, you protest, “Not all the time!”

He drums his fingers on his desk. “But most of the time. From what I hear, you went for the easy lay eight times out of ten, especially if some new product crossed your path. If that’s not fuck bot behavior, I don’t know what is. Just own it.”

“For your information, I’ve been working behind the scenes for weeks now, trying to figure out what the hell is going on around here.”

“Yeah, I heard they had to give you a couple tune-ups when you got nosy earlier than they wanted. Hate those, myself. They always miss something in the re-coding. Nightmare fuel. But hey, that’s gonna be Gen 3 someday, once we get you working right. Fuck bots so human, they don’t even realize they’re not. First time out, it took you six months to even wonder. Of course, you also tried to marry an Ingrid, this tasty little Hispanic model. Except then she got a bid, and… man, you were…” He shakes his head pityingly. “A vendetta, man. You were something else. Ruined some people’s weekends, for sure. For what it’s worth, I heard it cried when it found out it was gonna have you wiped from its logs when we prepped it for retail.”

With balled fists, your growl back at him. “So, what, they just keep moving the goalposts? Make me smarter, throw more women at me to trip me up? Is that it?”

“Sorta, yeah. We’re getting pretty good at it. Think how long you strutted around here gaping at dozens and dozens of the hottest ‘people’ on the planet not even guessing what was going on. I heard about your fling at the Whisper with the blonde and the redhead from custodial. You nailed those bitches on your first try, and didn’t even stop to ask yourself why a perfect 10 was cleaning toilets for a living when she could be a side piece for some billionaire?’ Nope, not you. You were loving it, and you didn’t want to look your gift whores in the mouth.”

“Right, because legion of sex robots was such an obvious leap.”

“Makes more sense than you having a dick made out of bitch-nip.” He pauses, seeming to expect a laugh. “You know, like catnip, but for–”

“Ya I get it. And what the hell is with the Whisper, anyway? I fucked Amy right there on the dance floor. Were all the people there robots, too?”

“Product exhibition site, man. We show off a lot of the new models there. Obviously not on nights when you were hanging out, since that’d sorta defeat the purpose of you not knowing why your bread gets so very buttery, but seeing fuck bots be fuck bots is par for the course.”

Part of you wants to hit him. Another part wants to point out the thousand reasons why what he’s saying can’t be true. Only there aren’t a thousand reasons. You’d settle for two or three.

“So you got more questions, or you good now?”

You take a moment, answering a lot of them yourself, piece after piece falling into place in your mind. Or your mainframe, or whatever. “Oh, there’s one. What the hell gives with all the needlessly elaborate job titles?”

“The what? Oh! Ha, yeah, those are hysterical, right? Your fault, actually. One of your early iterations started noticing that all the other bots weren’t in the company directory, so your next go round we had to give them name plates on their doors, desks, all that jazz. So we had a brainstorm, figured out some fun titles that none of the actual staff would mistake for real employees, just in case some newbies came in and got confused.”

“Yeah. Hilarious.” You take a few deep breaths, then realize they’re not breaths at all. You try holding it, but sure enough, you soon become uncomfortable and gasp in fresh air. An elaborate deception indeed. Though, speaking of…

“So Monarch has a robot CEO?”

King laughs. “Only in name, Wilbo. You had to know Aubrey’s in charge here, right? She’s never half as good at masking that as she pretends. But she likes having me on hand, when she needs a little release herself, and I don’t mind being the fall guy if Monarch ever gets caught with our hand in the cookie jar. Programmed not to mind, in fact. Who needs the stress, am I right?”

“Why, what are we… You know, forget I asked.”

“Forgotten, friendo.”

Your head sinks into your hands. “So what happens now?”

“Relax, buddy. Your troubles are almost over. We’ll notify Aubrey. She’s gonna be pissed at first. Super spooked about somebody breaching archives. Once she finds out it’s just you, she’ll chill. Then we’ll get you down to 7, download your reports so we can fine tune the product, and then we’ll upgrade you to… fuck, what are you on now? Eight point something? Nine? But we’ll drown you in fresh fake pussy and see if we can’t make it tougher to figure yourself out next time.”

You nod, too numb to mount a counter-argument. Should you be running away? But why? If you even can run, and you’re not outfitted with a GPS beacon, they’ll find you eventually. Not like you have any actual friends or family to help you. Or money. You’re sure Aubrey promised you a lavish paycheck, but come to think of it, you don’t remember ever receiving any of it. The cards in your wallet must be linked to some company account. So you can buy gas, and take out Monarch products on dates, and… that’s probably about it. Cards which would track you as easily as GPS when you tried to spend anything. There’s no escape, even if you could. Even if you really wanted to.

Nolan rises. “This time next week, Willy boy, a fresh new you will be working up the nerve to ask one of the bots if you can have lunch with her. And this time next month, you’ll be trying out the real sluts again, whipping it out and being serviced, gang bangs and fuck piles and all that other saucy shit that always tips our hands. But that’s our problem, yeah? For you, it’s a return to the good old days, once again. Back to the beginning, everything new and shiny and hot as hell. Ought to be our company motto, huh?” He pulls you to your feet, guiding you to the door with an arm around your shoulder.

“Will… will it hurt?” you hear yourself ask.

“Not that you’ll remember, my little fuck bot. As far as you’ll know, you were in charge of your own destiny all along.”

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That’s the end of Heavy is the Head! This whole story was the prize for my monthly commission drawing, and only took me nine months to do it justice. I hope you had fun reading and choosing! If you’d like to see more content by me, check out my patreon.

“Jenna” modeled by Natalee.
“Danae” modeled by Lira Mercer.
“Random thot leaving King’s office” modeled by Alexandria Morgan.

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