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  Then the hologram flickered out and the woman slipped it back into her jumpsuit.

  “Is... is this true?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper. The sound of the blood rushing in his ears was suddenly deafening, the muscles in his fingers, his hands, his arms twitching.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Something? There isn’t a single fucking thing right about this situation.

  But he knew this was potentially a problem.

  “Is this true what she says? You’re… not her?”

  “Yes. I’m an artificial person. Sometimes you humans call us ‘androids.’ I’m not your wife.”

  He saw something in the woman’s eyes flicker then, but he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  “Do you have any questions for me?” She folded her hands behind the small of her back. The position thrust out her chest, her breasts full and generous.

  Just like Diandra’s.

  His cock was beginning to harden already, and suddenly self-conscious, he moved back behind the control panel. He leaned an elbow on it, tilting his head.

  “You… you really expect me to believe that you’re a replica of my wife, sent by my wife for me to…”

  “Use, sir,” she said. “That’s right. My job is to obey you in whatever you require.” She smiled again, a serenity and warmth to it that was oddly unsettling.

  But it was also arousing too.

  Then she did something that he couldn’t quite believe he was seeing — she dropped to her knees, her fingers working at the zipper at the base of her neck. She drew it down slowly, her eyes locked with his the entire time, the jumpsuit opening more, more, revealing her pale flesh, exactly as he’d remembered it, the loveliness of his wife.

  She pulled the zipper down until it was just below the dark well of her navel, and then she stopped.

  “I’m here for you, sir. What would you have me do?”

  Chapter 4

  To say it was surreal seeing a woman kneeling on the deck — a woman who happened to look exactly like his wife — was the understatement of the century.

  “What are you — no, no. Get up,” he said, waving toward her. He took her hand and drew her to her feet. “Whatever – whatever this is? We need to talk first.”

  He didn’t know why he said it. Mainly, he thought it was because he didn’t want to just fuck someone he’d met five minutes earlier.

  Someone who may or may not be an actual human being.

  He had heard of simulated human beings before. The first generation had come out roughly fifty years ago. They were initially called simulacrums. They were obviously robots, plainly not human, and almost always relegated to dangerous or unpleasant jobs that human beings preferred not to — or couldn’t — do.

  Then subsequent generations of these artificial beings became more and more lifelike. There had been persistent rumors of versions of simulated persons that looked, felt, and talked exactly like human beings, but he wasn’t sure he believed them.

  Anyone who was a science fiction reader or writer knew the potential ethical, moral, and even physical peril considerations that could come from a generation of robots that looked identical to human beings.

  Then she spoke, and the sound of her voice startled him once more because it was so much like Diandra’s.

  No, it’s not so much like. That is her damn voice, Martin.

  “Would you — would you show me where you stay? Your quarters, I mean. Could you show me the station?”

  The question was almost sweet, and he couldn’t help but smile when he heard it. “Of course. Follow me.”

  He was relieved that for the moment he could concentrate on anything else but the inner slopes of her breasts on blatant display.

  Trying to shake off how incredibly odd the entire situation was, he made sure the transport was fully docked, then made the trek back down the long corridor toward the pilot house. She was silent as she walked, her shoes soft against the metal plating, walking a steady three paces behind him the entire way.

  He wasn’t sure what to say to her, so he said nothing.

  Then he was at the command module. Opening the door with a tap of his knuckles on the keypad, he waved her inside. “It’s in there. You go on ahead.”

  Watching her as she made her way into the heart of the module, he didn’t move from his spot. Since it was an accommodation for one on a massive station and thus plenty of room to spare, the crew quarters were rather large, dominated in one space by a circular room that had a massive bank of transparent plates — the station’s equivalent of windows — providing an absolutely stunning view of the surface of Charon 90 far below.

  A long, curved row of couches ran along the underside of the windows and she stood before them, the fronts of her legs pressed to the front of the cushions. She held her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide.

  Quite a reaction for an android.

  “Have a seat,” he said.

  She looked back at him, uncertainty in her gaze.

  Again, he was struck by how lifelike even her mannerisms were.

  So human.

  So much like Diandra.

  Then she sat, though he noticed she made no attempt to draw the zipper back up once more, the curves of her breasts jiggling slightly as she sat upon the couch. She crossed her legs, both of her hands clasping her knee as she watched him.

  “Look, I — it’s been a long time since I’ve had anybody here but me, so you’ll have to forgive my, uh, manners. And I hope you understand — it’s freaking me the fuck out that you look like my wife. I’m trying to get my head around this.” In a desperate bid to distract his mind from the absurdity of the situation, he cleared his throat, giving her the best smile he could muster. “So, tell me about... whatever it is you can tell me about yourself.”

  She paused for a moment, longer than he would have expected, her gaze sliding away. Then she looked up at him again. “I’m a Model 27-X, artificial human. The X is for, well, experimental. I was constructed by the company sixty-five days ago as a special order for one Diandra Acres.”

  “So, you were made to order, by my wife to... look like my wife?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she said, giving him a subtle smile.

  It was so much like her, even down to the the two lines at the corner of her mouth on the right side, one line on the left. Laugh lines, he thought women called them.

  They were beautiful on her, no matter what they were called.

  But it was stunning that this android had even that replicated down to that level of detail. The android even smelled like her.

  What if it is her?

  What if it was? What did that mean? But if it was her, why would she send herself and not tell him? Not admit what she was doing?

  He knew that was the most logical question to ask, but the answer itself was completely obvious. Of course it wasn’t her. He shook his head, allowing himself a grim chuckle.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing... nothing,” Martin said. “I just — I can’t believe my eyes, that’s all.”

  “Do you like what you see?”

  He lifted an eyebrow at that. It was something else he wouldn’t expect an android to ask, but he answered the question anyway.

  “Oh, I do. I remember my wife. I think about her every day I’m here. She’s the last thing I see when I fall asleep at night, the very first thing on my mind when I wake. I have to admit, the sight of you sitting there, looking just like my wife, is one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen. And yet, you’re not her.”

  “Does that matter? Does it matter that I’m not actually your wife? Diandra thought...” Then she looked away again.

  But it had his attention.

  “What was it Diandra thought? Go on. You can say it.”

  She took a deep breath. “She thought that if you knew it wasn’t her that you could be… free. That you could do with me what you liked, whatever that might be.”

  The woman met his
gaze then. “Diandra thought you could be... the real you.”

  He didn’t know what to say, stunned into silence. Though he dismissed his musings as absurd, accepting that the android was indeed just that — a replica of Diandra — it was still hard for him to believe.

  One of two things were at play here: either Diandra was sitting before him on that couch, and pretending she wasn’t, or, somehow, there was a replica of his wife so realistic, so true to life, that he would have a very difficult time telling the two of them apart.

  His cock didn’t seem to care.

  He’d been hard as soon as he’d watched her walk into his crew quarters, her round buttocks rolling gently as she walked, the same long legs his wife had, the same pleasing swell of hips, the curve at the waist that called for the grip of his hands.

  No, to his body, the answer was immaterial. Someone was here right now. Someone who would allow him to do anything he wanted. And whether that was Diandra, or a replica of Diandra, his body wanted that very much indeed.

  He knew what her words meant — he really could do anything he wanted to this android. And he realized then that it was indeed a gift, if a highly illicit and twisted one.

  Diandra had sent this to him because she couldn’t be there herself, because she loved him as much as he loved her, because she missed him as deeply as he missed her.

  Oh God, I miss her so much.

  She sent this android because she wanted to comfort him and because she wanted him to have a little fun, to help remember her. To help him pass this long, lonely time alone.

  Fuck, I’m doing this.

  So, who was he to spurn her gift? Maybe it was time to enjoy himself a little.

  If she — this android — would do whatever he said, he was going to see what happened. He took a step closer.

  “Take your clothes off.”

  Chapter 5

  The words hung heavy in the air between the both of them for a heartbeat, then another, then another. He thought she might refuse, thought the spell might break. And then her trembling fingers — he couldn’t believe the detail of this artificial human — drew the zipper the rest of the way down until the dark hair of her sex was revealed. He watched her intense, aroused silence as she shrugged the jumpsuit off her shoulders, those sweet breasts revealed finally. She blushed a little as she looked up at him.

  “Keep going,” he said.

  She gave him a tentative smile and then pulled her arms free. “May I…?”

  He simply nodded at her.

  Rising to her feet, she shimmied her hips a moment as she pushed the white jumpsuit all the way down those long, long legs. Her heavy breasts swayed as she extricated her feet and then she straightened, her hands — themselves now obviously shaking — at her hips.

  “Put them behind your back.” The words leapt from his lips before he realized what he’d said.

  Diandra told him he could do anything he wanted with the android. But was he prepared to indulge everything that might mean? To really go where inside he knew where he wanted to go?

  “Fold it,” he said, putting an edge into his voice, a sort of edge he’d always wanted to use with Diandra, but never had the courage.

  He was always kind with her, loving. It’s what he always thought women wanted – especially the wife that he loved more than anything else in this world.

  But he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t think about it — think about it a lot. About what it would mean to give her orders, make her do whatever he said.

  Make her submit.

  It was a deep fantasy that he pushed down, suppressed, tried to ignore, but it bubbled up now and then, especially in his weaker moments. He knew that it was something he couldn’t shake, something he’d thought about since he was a teenager, that need to conquer, to be in control, to take.

  For a long while, he thought it made him a deviant, made him a freak — and maybe deep inside he still did. And after all those years, he’d always had the same response.

  Just because this turns you on doesn’t mean you have to act on it.

  Diandra couldn’t want that. Could she? What woman would want to be ordered around, controlled, disciplined, even hurt? What woman would want to surrender everything to the man she loved? For him, it was a sweet fantasy, but one he knew could never be realized.

  But as he watched this fake human being neatly fold the jumpsuit and set it down on the couch behind her, he wondered.

  She moved to turn and face him, but he stopped her.

  “No, stay just like that. Both hands on the couch.”

  He heard her catch her breath. He marveled anew at the amazing realism, her reactions so much like Diandra.

  Shockingly, she obeyed his command. He drew closer, just off to the side so he could admire her form, the lush, heart-shaped ass; the smooth, lithesome thighs; the way her breasts — too heavy for a woman that slender — swayed below her, ripe, so vulnerable, so feminine, so her.

  How very much he wanted to touch them, squeeze them, to make her gasp again as he hurt them with his strong fingers.

  What are you waiting for?

  He moved behind her, taking in the pleasing breadth of her hips, the generous, round buttocks. He took hold of her just above the hips at the enticing curve of her waist. She shivered a little as he touched her, gooseflesh breaking out on her skin.

  “Are you cold?” he murmured, knowing it wouldn’t stop him even if she was.

  “No,” she whispered. “N-No.”

  “You can call me ‘sir.’” He was shocked again at the words, the way he seemed to be on autopilot, the unfolding realization of so many things he’d always dreamed about. And here it was. This was happening.

  “No... sir.”

  “I like the sound of that.” He palmed one of her buttocks, giving it a squeeze. She let out a long breath as he did it, and he squeezed harder. Then he let himself explore her, his fingers dipping between those soft luscious cheeks, feeling the hot proof of her arousal.

  She was wet. Very wet.

  Just like Diandra.

  His cock was so hard now, he thought his zipper was going to break under the relentless pressure. But he waited. It wasn’t time yet.

  He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do, what he could do, what he needed to do.

  “I—” he said, then cut himself off.

  He didn’t need to explain anything. She was there to obey him. She’d already proven it; she’d done everything he’d asked of her.

  Just go with this. Just go with this.

  “Down on your knees,” he ordered, slapping her on the ass. She jerked as he did it, the ghostly pink of his handprint beginning to darken upon her pale skin.

  He’s always wanted to spank his wife. One of his favorite fantasies being taking her over his knee, smacking that sweet, soft bottom over and over and over again until she was crying, until she was begging him to stop.

  Until she’d surrendered to him.

  Did he have the courage to do it though? Would she let him do it? He was about to find out.

  He took hold of her arm, dragging her up. Not letting go, he slid in front of her upon the couch. He met her eyes. They were alive, bright with as yet unshed tears, her lower lip trembling ever so slightly. But in those eyes, he didn’t see resistance. He saw, if anything, a keenness, an eagerness. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  Relax, Martin.

  “Get over my lap.” Then he pulled her down with a firm grip on her arm. She grunted softly as she did, her smooth belly a pleasing contrast against his thighs, her soft vulnerable ass laid bare, inches from him. He could feel the heat of her sex against his thigh, smell her wetness. She was aroused. Oh, she was aroused.

  He kept hold of her arm then, squeezing harder as he talked. “We’re going to test how much you want to obey. I’m going to spank this ass until it’s the color I want it. You can cry if you want, but I’m not stopping until I want to. Do you understand me?”

  “Y –
Ye – Yes, sir,” she said, her voice faltering. “I—”

  “Are you going to obey me?” His cock throbbed at the sound of the words, speaking them much sweeter, more darkly arousing than anything he’d ever dreamed of.

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  “Keep your legs closed. Up on your toes.” He had no idea why he told her that. But she did it, and the sight was beautiful indeed. He patted her ass, loving the feel of her warm flesh beneath his palm. Grasping her proprietarily, he made her wait, loving the way her entire body tensed. The seconds ticked by, and he couldn’t believe how much he enjoyed holding her over the precipice, loving the way her anxiety heightened with every passing second.

  And then he started.

  The first few slaps were just that — almost playful. He luxuriated in the deeply erotic sight of her soft flesh wobbling and jiggling each time he slapped it. Diandra wasn’t fat my any means, but she was built like a woman, a healthy woman, and he loved the way her flesh moved, the way it felt, the way her heat only increased as he continued slapping her ass.

  This isn’t Diandra.

  He increased his pace, hitting harder now, his palm heating up as he slapped up and down each side, then back again, covering the entirety of her left cheek with several slaps, then down the right side, steadily increasing the intensity.

  She began to hiss and grunt as he smacked her harder, the sound of the sharp blows ringing in his ears. His cock was so hard, jutting against her hip, but he didn’t stop. He was almost in a trance as he continued to spank her, the color going from light pink to red to scarlet. By the time it was a uniform deep crimson, a storm of livid handprints merging together like a chaotic maelstrom, he stopped for a moment, savoring the heat of her punished flesh, the way her legs pumped gently back and forth as she tried to deal with the pain. He let go of her arm, stroking a palm over her upper back, playing with the strands of hair there.

  Incredibly, she said nothing, though he could tell she was in serious pain. He wasn’t sure how to react to the fact that he’d punished her so hard turned him on even more.

  What’s wrong with you, Martin? Would you really be doing this to Diandra?