Deanna's Surprise (Part 1) (1 of 4)

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Gorgo
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Deanna's Surprise (Part 1) (1 of 4)

Post by Gorgo » Tue Nov 25, 2003 9:44 pm

Hello, everyone. Here's the first draft of my first ASFR story in quite a while. It's based on D.B. Story's universe, so for those of you who might be looking for a specific type of plot line, you may not find it here.

Enjoy!

**** **** ****

DEANNA'S SURPRISE, Part 1
by Gorgo

(Herm/Bi-'bot (2), Bi-'bot/Bi-'bot, rom, SciFi, ASFR)

Writer's Notes: I've been editing D.B. Story's various works for the past few years now. I've long been impressed by his overall world view concerning robotics, AIs and how they would interact with humans in general. In many ways, his viewpoints parallel my own. So, after some deep brainstorming and letting my muse do whatever she wanted, I decided to write this.

Those of D.B.'s stories I base this on include the Strip Club Tales and Sylvia's Secret. You can find them, not to mention all his other stories, at http://home.att.net/~db_story/

This story is written in first person with Deanna's POV. Reika's POV will be displayed in italics (in HTML format) or framed with six asterixes at the start and end of the section (in TXT format).

Enjoy!

**** **** ****

It was a beautiful Friday night as I crossed the bridge over the old Welland Canal, making my way to Russell's Retreat on the northwest corner of West Main and Niagara. It had been a couple weeks since I'd returned home from a ten year...! -- well, "walkabout" seems the best way to describe it -- around the world. Teaching English, learning martial arts, studying various mental disciplines with spiritual masters in places like India, China, Peru, Mexico and the southwestern United States, sightseeing...

Putting the events of my last year of high school behind me as much as I could.

Oh, I'm sorry. My name's Deanna Sophia Hordye. I'm the only child of a retired plant supervisor at General Motors up in Saint Catharines and his wife, a junior high school teacher. They divorced after I left Canada. My father's shacked up with a new girl now. Personally, I refuse to have anything to do with him these days. Mama passed away a couple years ago due to complications from chronic asthma.

As for me, I'm thirty-three and single. I currently work as an assistant teacher at a local t'ae kwon-do tojang -- that's Korean for "training hall," by the way -- in the east end of Welland. My employer, Master Lily Choi, was one of the first women from the Land of the Morning Calm to obtain teacher's rank in the Art who later migrated to North America to pass on her knowledge. I myself am a first-dan black belt, having obtained that a couple years ago while I was in Korea studying under one of Master Lily's cousins. Her hopes for me include gaining enough knowledge in teaching the Art so that she could pass on her tojang to me when it comes time for her to retire.

I arrived at the front entrance of the Retreat, drawing out my wallet to pay the five dollar cover charge to get inside. One of the bouncers gave me a curious look, but said nothing as I had the back of my hand stamped by the reception clerk, then headed in. It was my first time in this particular showclub; when I was last living full-time in Welland, this place had been a restaurant. You had to go to the Atlas Hotel by the Lincoln Plaza or down to the Station Hotel in the south end of the city if you wanted to see beautiful fembots bare it all.

"Well, I'll be damned! Deanna, is that you?!"

Stepping into the main hall, I looked right on hearing that voice, then grinned. "Tom!" I walked over to throw my arms around Tom Fenris, delivering a sloppy kiss to his cheek. "Long time, stranger! How are you?!"

"Pretty good! Welcome back home, kiddo!" Tom pecked me on the lips, then waved a waitress over as I slid into the chair next to him. He's a tall, really well built guy with curly hair the shade of ripe cherries and eyes as green as shamrocks. We were classmates in high school as well as drinking friends when we decided to buck the system and see if we could get some beer despite our being too young for it. "So you decided to come back to the old home range, huh? Heard you were going to work for Ms. Choi over at her training hall beside Canadian Tire."

"Yeah, I felt it was time I came back home," I smiled as Tom gave the waitress an order. "So what's happening with you and the others these days? Haven't been able to keep in touch as much as I could when we were all earning our degrees."

"Oh, not much," he smirked. I was always of the belief that Hell would freeze over before a party animal like Tom would settle down. It was one of the things I liked about him. "Working, getting married for some of us, still looking for the others. Me...?" he paused, his eyes twinkling, then he sighed. "Did the bar exam, working as a junior partner at a local law firm, the one run by your mom's old lawyer."

"Great stuff," I nodded. "Heard from Jim or Russ lately?"

"Jim works in Toronto for Queen's Park," Tom explained. "Helps out with the Transportation Ministry trying to get the Lake Ontario ferry service expanded so people can take trips to Rochester and other places in New York. He comes down here every month or so to visit the old crowd. Got a girlfriend he met at Western; don't know if they'll tie the knot or not," he shrugged, the look on his face telling me how much he didn't really understand why someone would want to settle down with one person when there were so many out there to meet and get to know. "As for Russ, he runs this place," he waved around us. "He should be here in an hour or so...! Oh, great!"

The background music was picking up as I followed Tom's stare to the main stage. The Retreat's sitting areas were set up in a "U" shape, the stage right smack-dab in the middle. Private rooms lined the left side and bottom of the "U." The bar was on the right side. Right now, the place was about half-filled; then again, it was only eight o'clock. No doubt, if the Retreat was like showclubs I'd visited when I was staying in Arizona -- I fondly remembered this one VERY great place in Tuscon I frequented for a couple months some years ago -- things wouldn't really start picking up until after ten, then go flank speed ahead until closing time at three in the morning.

The DJ then announced the first show of the evening as a sleek-looking lass dressed in a red halter top, skintight biker's pants and a jacket sauntered onto the stage. Catching the name "Reika," I gave her a close look. The name sounded vaguely Japanese to my ear. That belief was confirmed pretty much by her facial features; she was sensuously Oriental in that department with a tapered nose, slender eye structure and thin yet very kissable lips. Her hair, dark brown with punkish green streaks framing areas over her left eye, was shaggy and wild, cut off at mid-neck. Her eyes matched her hair perfectly. As the first song wound down and Reika ditched her jacket and halter top to reveal a black, strapless lace bra, I quickly took note of her breasts. Larger than my own and perfectly shaped, completely independent of any influence of gravity whatsoever, her nipples looking ready to tear out through the fabric. A glance to her face told me that she was enjoying every second of her performance, even more so in ways than her audience. Then again, what would one expect from a fembot?

"What's the system here like, Tom?" I asked after the first song of Reika's performance ended, the lights dimming over the stage.

"If you want some real action, you have to be discrete," he thumbed the private rooms lining the east and south sides of the main room.

Glancing at them, I noticed that the doors had no windows on them. "What about the fembot control system?"

"None," he shook his head. "Russ doesn't believe in it. Makes this place really popular for whatever freed stripper comes by to do feature shows. The only thing the girls here're hooked to is an internal comm system that'd let them yell for help in case a drunk got out of control. Of course..." he winked at me, "...a nice person like you would NEVER do something like that in a place like this."

"That's cool," I clicked my tongue, then we fell silent as Reika's second act began.

It was as much of a charged performance as the first. By now, some of the more adventurous patrons had shifted themselves to the chairs lining the stage in hopes of giving Reika a generous five dollar tip and getting a possible quick kiss in return. Watching her do it with one fellow before shedding her slacks, I told Tom that it was a pity the government had decided to do away with the one and two-dollar bills some decades back. It's kind of hard to tip a stripper with a loonie or twonie coin.

Yet, close to the end of the second song, one fellow actually did that with a twonie.

Reika was really cool about it; she lowered herself to her knees, then dipped her head down to accept the coin with her lips and tongue. As we watched, she balanced herself on her toes -- only a well-trained martial artist or a 'bot could possibly do something like that without any real discomfort -- as her fingers reached up to take the coin from her mouth, then she trailed it down her front to allow it to slip into her lace panties. A look of sheer delight crossed her face as she seemed to push the coin right inside her -- or so it seemed to me. To the crowd around the stage, they didn't care; Reika's little act resulted in a chorus of cheers and whoops.

"Very nice," I reflected as the song ended, the lights on the stage dimming once more.

"That she is," Tom smirked.

"What do you know about her?"

"She's a freed 'bot from San Francisco. Her full name's Reika Aldred. She's been in town a couple months. If she's not working here, she's doing shows in the Falls or Saint Kitts." For those not familiar with the Niagara area, Tom meant Niagara Falls and Saint Catharines, the two other main cities in the region. "I think she's looking for a new owner of record. Russ hasn't said anything either which way."

I took that in with a nod as the third song in Reika's show began. I had encountered the odd freed 'bot when I was living in the States and over in the Far East, though they were few and far between. It didn't surprise me at all that there would be freed 'bots here in Canada, too. Like it had done when the legalization of soft drugs like cannabis and the recognition of gay and lesbian marriages had gone through Parliament, the "great white north" was at the head of the pack when it came to recognize 'bot sentience. It didn't mean that once a 'bot was declared to be "free" that s/he could do whatever s/he damned hell pleased. Freed 'bots in Canada still needed an "owner of record" to take responsibility for them, give them some sort of legal "safety blanket" in case s/he ventured into those jurisdictions whose laws didn't match up. Still, it struck me as odd that a freed 'bot all the way from 'Frisco would come to Welland seeking a new owner.

"Long trip," I mused.

"What'd you say?" Tom looked at me.

"You said she was from 'Frisco, right?" I returned his look. He nodded. "Well, I just was thinking that it's quite a long way from there."

His glance turned inward for a moment as he reflected on what I just said, then he nodded. "Good point. Still, I'm glad she's here. She is definitely pleasing to this gent's eyes," he indicated the performer on the stage with his bottle of Labatt's.

I looked, then my jaw hit the floor on seeing Reika squatting on the edge of the stage, her legs spread VERY wide as she seemed to be frozen in the middle of doing a Roman sit-up. Her exposed womanhood was poised right in the face of one of the patrons. Canting my head, I noticed that he had a twonie in his hand. Around him, other patrons were hooting and hollering at him; "Go for it!" was the one phrase I could make out. A glance to Reika revealed an inviting stare and a wink. Finally, his hand shaking -- was he a newcomer to this place? -- he slipped the coin right between her nether lips. Good God ABOVE, did Russ Willis allow THIS sort of thing to happen here?! In PUBLIC?! Jeez!

I stared at Tom. He was laughing and whooping at the same time. I just shook my head...

* * *

Reika's show ended soon enough. Parting from Tom, I made my way to the ladies' room to relieve myself, then after a quick check in the mirror, I moved to head out -- then stopped on seeing that particularly lovely fembot walk in, once again dressed in her halter top and slacks. She stopped on seeing me, then offered a light smile. "Hello," her eyes seemed to twinkle. "Did you enjoy the show?"

I gazed on her for a second before replying. "Not as much as you certainly did when you performed it, I'll bet. Though I must confess that the rules in this place are a LOT looser than what I'm used to after visiting showclubs down in the States."

Her smile slipped a bit as she moved to stand before the sink to wash her hands. "That's the reason I prefer to perform here in Canada," she admitted. "Not many showclub owners north of the border believe in things like 'topless only,' 'no contact whatsoever'..." the smile then vanished totally from her face as she added, "...not to mention the control system networks most places in the States have."

"Were you built as a stripper?" I asked.

"No. My sister and I were once the companions of a very old, rich businessman living in Oakland, across the bay from San Francisco. When he died, Irene and I were declared free in his will. Even though we have a good-sized trust fund to help take care of us, we decided to work in showclubs..." she paused for a second, then shrugged. "I guess to just stay busy in the long term."

My eyes widened as "my sister" and "Irene" sank into my mind, then I chuckled. "Are all freed 'bots as talkative as you?"

Reika stopped for a moment, then she tittered. It was such a lovely sound. "I suppose so," she admitted. "Fortunately for us, our owner demanded that Irene and I be programmed with as wide a range of routines as possible. Of course, it made our..." she paused for a second, "...'waking up' pretty much inevitable, I believe. Still, Irene and I've found that humans tend to react a lot better to us if we engage in small talk whenever the opportunities present themselves. It makes things much easier for us in the end."

I nodded. "Guess so."

"Would you like a dance?"

Reika's question caught me off-guard for a second. I then mentally kicked myself. Delightful conversationalist she seemed to be to me even after only a moment's brief talk, Reika was here at the Retreat to earn money as a strip-dancer. I really couldn't deny her that even if -- especially if -- she was a freed 'bot. "I'd love one," I turned, offering my arm to her.

She grinned as she slipped her arm around mine, then we walked out of the bathroom. Once back in the main hall, Reika directed me to one of the private rooms on the Retreat's east side, the bottom of the "U." Glancing inside to see that if was empty, she beckoned me to follow. "Do you want me to order something for you while we wait for the next song?" she asked.

I asked for a refill of Sprite -- I'm allergic to alcohol; that saves me LOADS of money when I go bar-hopping -- then sat down as Reika headed to the bar to make the order. She returned a moment later, a waitress behind her with my drink. I paid and tipped the latter, then sipped my drink as she left. Reika closed the door behind the waitress, then locked it. "Isn't that dangerous?" I wondered.

"There's a computer control on the lock," she explained as she sat, then moved to hold my hand. "If trouble starts, I can send a message to the security server here. Once he sees that, the head bouncer can unlock the door with a switch by the main entrance."

I whistled. "Russ thinks of everything, doesn't he?"

She gave me a look, then her eyes widened. "You were sitting with Tom when I did my show," she pointed at me. "Are you Russ' friend?"

"Deanna Hordye," I introduced myself.

Reika stared at me, then reached up to feel my hair, which was a darker shade of brown than my lovely host's. I always kept it cut very short even back in high school. My eyes, however, are pure sapphire blue, something that always earned me odd looks when I was living in Korea, where the hair/eye colour combination seemed ALWAYS to be black/very dark brown. "I've been told a lot about you," she pulled her hand away from my head, moving to lace her fingers through my own. "Russ, Tom and Jim Graham speak about you a lot."

Hearing that made my cheeks start to heat, then I perked as a slow song started up. Gilbert O'Sullivan's At The Very Mention of Your Name, I quickly realized as Reika slipped onto the raised platform set in the middle of the room where the dancers did their routine.

As she began to work, I sat back to watch her. Even if it was shrunk down to the duration of one song instead of the usual three songs strippers used when doing main stage work, Reika's performance was top-rate. Even better -- though I have to say that I was seriously NOT used to this -- she was willing to let me to, in effect, undress her. With that, I was able to feel her perfect C-cup breasts, well-honed hips and legs -- heck, she even let me run a finger between the folds of her womanhood near the song's final chorus. Taking a lick of her fluids, I could only sigh. No different in texture or taste than a real woman's. Damn, I mused to myself as I took out a five dollar bill, folding it to place between my lips, 'bot builders were getting better by the day in making their lovely products, weren't they?

Reika smiled as she noticed where her tip money was poised, then leaned in. Our lips brushed lightly as her teeth took the bill from my lips, then after pulling it out of her mouth, she leaned in to give me one very tongue-filled kiss. Automatically, I reached down to cradle her buttcheeks with my hand, lifting her into my lap. Her eyes widened for a second, then she smiled as she wrapped her arms around me. Our kiss lasted until the start of the next song, then she pulled away. "I've got to go back to work," she gave me an apologetic smile.

"Go earn some money," I drew out a ten to pay for the dance.

She took it, pecked me on the cheek in thanks, then moved to dress. "Will you stay for my other shows?" she gazed at me.

"I'll be right here," I nodded, moving to leave. No doubt, someone else'd want this room for a private dance sometime soon...

* * *
Canadian lighthouse to U.S. warship approaching it: This is a lighthouse; your call.

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