Scott Medbury - Inga

Even then, if he grew bored with Tatiana, the Russian would just pay for it. Never prostitutes, though. Molenski loved to test people’s greed and boundaries and if he were in the mood, would randomly offer beautiful girls he met enormous sums of money to come home with him. From sales assistants in department stores to girls just waiting at a bus stop. If they took his fancy, he would persist, raising his offer until it was literally an offer too good to refuse.

So why would he pay what must have been an enormous amount of money for what was essentially a sex doll?

A ding from the control tablet disturbed Ivan’s musings.

“You have successfully activated Genitix patented PhysSens software,” Inga said. “Please enjoy this exclusive feature.”

Ivan’s eyes widened in shock when Molenski stood up and delivered a vicious slap to the machine’s face. Inga groaned in pain, and she reeled from the blow.

The Russian watched greedily as she recovered her balance and then stood holding her hand to her cheek. Tears were pooling in her eyes.

“Dah, very realistic,” said Molenski, as happy as Ivan had ever seen him. “Very soon I’m going to make you hurt like I should have made you hurt a long time ago.”

Ivan was confused. Was his boss losing it? When Molenski stepped forward and hit Inga with a stunning right cross to the jaw, Ivan took an involuntary step forward.

This time, Inga cried out and collapsed to her knees, holding her face and sobbing. Molenski stood watching her for a second, an unmistakable bulge in his pants, before turning to Ivan.

“You have something to say?”

“Nyet. Sorry, you just took me by surprise, Boss.”

Molenski bent over and grabbed Inga’s hair, pulling it so that she was forced to raise her tear streaked face for Ivan to see. There was a red welt on the left side of her jaw. Ivan grimaced.

“Ivan, come she’s not a girl. Just a fucking machine… ha! A fucking machine, get it?”

He bent over her and planted his lips on hers. Ivan didn’t laugh at Molenski’s poor joke. He was angry at him and sorry for the girl even though he knew she was not a girl at all.

His mind was still fighting a running battle with his logic, brawling over how any machine could look so much like a real person. Logic almost had the battle won when he found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss those pretty lips like Molenski.

“Mmm, damn, you taste good bitch. Does your pussy taste that good?”

“Why don’t you find out,” she teased, not crying anymore.

“Oh, I will,” Molenski promised, looking slightly unhappy that her pain had given way so easily to seduction. “For now, shut the fuck up until you’re spoken to.”

He watched her for a moment, almost daring her to say something. She didn’t. He turned back to Ivan, looking thoughtful.

“Hmm, Inga.”

“Yes, Dimi?”

“I’m going to go and eat my lunch. My friend here seems to be quite fascinated by you. You will give him a head job,” he said and walked to the door.

“Yes, Dimi.”

Ivan reddened and shook his head as Inga stood up.

“No, it’s okay, I…”

“Shut up and let her do as she’s told,” said Molenski, turning in the doorway.

Ivan nodded grimly. When Inga reached him, she dropped to her knees and smiled up at him, the livid mark plain on her jaw. With both hands, she began unzipping his fly. Molenski smiled at his small victory and closed the door.

Inga’s soft, warm hands were soon busy making their way into his boxers. Then her deft fingers found him and… he grasped her wrists, pulling them away gently, yet forcefully.

“Please, stop.”

She stopped immediately, her protocols not allowing her to continue even if she had been capable of wanting to.

“Do I not please you Myfriend ?”

He looked down at her beautiful, questioning face.

“You please me a lot… but, please just stand up.”

He took her hands and began to pull her to her feet. For just an instant he felt the weight of her, then she took the strain and rose lightly to her feet.

“Thank you,” he said, zipping up his fly.

“You’re welcome,” she said, automatically and then paused. “For what are you thanking me, Myfriend?”

“My name is Ivan.”

“Dimitri Molenski, my primary owner, designated you ‘ Myfriend’ . If this is incorrect, please have the primary owner correct my understanding.”

“Never mind,” said Ivan. “What now?”

“I have many secondary functions that you may wish to take advantage of, including massage, internet, dancing, judo, kung fu…”

He thought for a moment. Sparring with a robot would be interesting, but the risk of damaging Molenski’s property made him dismiss the thought immediately. He spied Molenski’s handmade chess table in the corner.

“Do you play chess?”

“Yes, Myfriend.”

“Ahh, let us play! But first…”

Inga watched him as he disappeared into the bathroom and returned carrying a white bathrobe. He opened it for her.

“Here, this will keep you…”

What? Warm? Idiot!

“Will keep me?”

“Comfortable,” he said, studiously ignoring her ripe body.

He half expected her to tell him she didn’t require comfort, but she simply held one arm out and slipped it through an armhole followed by the other. Ivan tied the robe for her, the innocent gesture feeling curiously intimate.

“Let us play!”

They walked across to the table and sat down opposite one another.

An hour and twenty minutes later, Ivan, a former regional high-school chess champion in Moscow, was wiping sweat off his brow as he tried to find a way out of the predicament in which he found himself. It was their third game, and Inga had crushed him unmercifully in the first two. He had put up a better fight this time but again found himself in a losing position.

Inga watched him, a pleasant smile on her face, looking just as alluring in the bathrobe as she had in her underwear. It was hopeless; she would have him in three moves. With a rueful smile, he tipped his King onto its side.

“Good game, Myfriend. Would you like another?”

“Maybe another time.” He glanced at his watch. “Mr. Molenski will be back soon.”

“Yes, Dimi advised me he will hurt me like he should have made me hurt a long time ago.”

Ivan’s eyes widened. He remembered well Molenski saying those words, and the thought of the Russian’s cruelty unleashed on the girl made him feel sick. Especially after spending some time alone with her.

She watched him with an even gaze.

“What do you think about that?” he asked her.

“Think about what, Myfriend?”

“About Mr. Mol… Dimi saying that he will hurt you. Are you scared?”

“ Scared – fearful, frightened, afraid . ” She reached up and touched the bruise on her jaw.

Her next words were unnatural, more like the voiceover in a TV advertisement. “While my adaptive technology allows me to feel emotions, they are a learned response. Much like a child who is unafraid of a spider before a parent conditions their response, I will only feel emotions when I experience the consequences of certain actions.”

It occurred to him that perhaps he wasn’t so very different to her. He wasn’t scared of Molenski either. Not for himself at least, although that could easily change if he were to be on the receiving end of the Russian’s cruelty. Perhaps he was almost as much of a machine as her?

It was then he remembered something from their chess play. He was sure he had seen her smile several times during their play. It hadn’t registered initially; he had been too preoccupied trying to defend against her skillful attacking play. But now that he thought about it, he was sure of it. He was about to ask her about it when Molenski walked in without knocking.