Mistress Mira 4

[Karel]

“Computer, Delete Self-Simulation!” shouted Mira.

HoloMira began screaming, but (h)er program automatically converted it into a bizarre synthetic noise incapable of evoking any kind of emotional response, other than mild, sadistic amusement. (S)he began to glow, and (s)he lifted up off the ground and began twirling in place as (s)he flailed (h)er arms and kicked (h)er feet. Mira could see up its skirt; it looked like someone had lit a fire under it.

Behind (h)er, suddenly, Natalya turned around from the stove. HoloMira managed to grab the robot by the shoulders with its shimmering hands, and look it in the face. “HELP ME HELP ME OOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” (s)he screamed.

Natalya looked at the fake Mira impassively, a serene smile on (h)er face. “Good·bye, Mi·ra,” it said.

And then, with a yelp, HoloMira stiffened up. (H)er feet fell back to the ground, and began to disappear into a green line that moved up (h)er body. (H)er eyes were wide like saucers, and (h)er lips in an “O” shape. “Ouuuuuuuuu-” (s)he repeated, breathlessly, as the line swallowed (h)er thighs, totally filled with pain and, perversely, pleasure, as (h)er whole being was consumed. It moved up and erased (h)er breasts, then, when it reached (h)er neck, curved around to the back of the head, leaving the face for last. As it moved in, HoloMira uttered a last, breathless gasp: then the line swirled in and obliterated (h)er entirely, finishing at the tip of the nose. (S)he had been deleted.

Natalya, unperturbed, wearing the same serene smile, stepped forward where HoloMira had been, brandishing a single serving of prawns in white sauce. “Mist·ress Mi·ra,” (s)he said. (H)er sepia breasts bounced as (s)he walked; Mira could see a spot of sauce on the right. She stepped forward to take the appetizer.

“Thank you very, very much, Natalya,” she said, sweetly.

“You Are Ver·y Wel·come, Mis·tress Mi·ra,” said Natalya, beaming.

Mira set down the dish. “Oh, look though, you’ve got a spot there,” she said. There was a spatter of sauce on the white shirt as well. “Stay still,” she said softly, “let me get that,” and she quickly dabbed her finger on her tongue, and pressed it against the shirt, dragging it up, through the stain, and over the nipple. She brought it to her mouth. “Mmm,” she said, smiling.

Natalya smiled back.

Mira swirled her finger around the nipple, through the sauce, and tasted it again. “Mm, that’s very good Natalya.”

“Thank-You, Mis·tress Mi·ra!”

“Hold on, though,” she said, and leaned down toward the breast, pulling the shirt away slightly towards her face, and quickly lapping up the rest of the sauce with a swipe of the tongue. She placed her left hand on Natalya's chest, as though for support, and leaned up again. “Oh, and,” and her wet finger dabbed across the coffee-coloured plastic skin to get the last spot, “there! Perfect,” she said, smiling, brushing and straightening Natalya’s shirt lightly with her hands.

“Thank-You, Mis·tress Mi·ra!”

“You’re welcome,” said Mira, in a babyish voice, and she kissed the robot lightly on the lips. “Now, let’s get some drinks.”

Cherry, mouth agape, waited motionlessly.