Sinthetica (5 page)

6

Ivan didn’t complain when Molenski broke their security protocol by opening the bedroom door and going through without waiting for him. They both knew the house was impregnable to all but a small army, but usually it was the boss himself who insisted they never deviate from his rules – his years in the vicious underworld having given him a unique outlook on personal security.

Once in the bedroom, Ivan took his usual place by the door to the balcony as Molenski sat on the bed and began playing with the wafer thin control tablet. Inga came to a standstill, watching him and apparently awaiting further instruction.

Ivan took the opportunity to look at her more closely. He had stopped thinking of her as a machine. His mind was unable to fathom that anything or anyone that beautiful could merely be a machine. She was perfect, and he was curious as to his boss’s motives.

Surely it wasn’t just sex? Although he thought her a bitch, Molenski’s wife Tatiana was also very beautiful, and he, perhaps more than anyone, was privy to how wild their sex sessions were. The walls of the mansion weren’t quite thick enough to block out those sounds.

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
just
a girl.

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

“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 unbuttoning 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, named you as
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 that 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 had 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.

Ivan noticed the steak knife in his boss’s hand immediately and rose to his feet.

7

“Get up,” Molenski said.

He crossed to Inga and flicked the lapel of the bathrobe with the steak knife. “What’s this? Take it off.”

She slipped off the robe and let it slide to the floor.

“Pull down your bra.”

“Yes, Dimi,” she said, and seductively touched her tongue to her upper lip before grasping her bra and pulling it down over her breasts. They sprang free, her nipples erect and firm. She held the bra down with her arms squeezed against her side.

“Excellent. Let’s see how you bleed.”

Molenski took a step closer and ignored the sharp intake of breath from his bodyguard as he put the point of the blade against the swell of her bust.

Inga flinched in artificial pain as Molenski pricked her skin with the point of the sharp implement.  

He maintained pressure on the knife as blood bubbled from the wound, pooling around the knife point and the depression it made. He seemed satisfied, pulling the knife away and watching as the blood slowly trickled down her pale skin to her nipple, where it formed into a droplet.

Molenski used the blade of his knife to collect the droplet and raise it to his mouth, licking it from the cold metal.

“Well, well, well! Even tastes like the real thing,” he said, like an excited schoolboy. He patted her cheek. “This is gonna be so much fun!”

He couldn’t wait to see how she bled when he really went to work. Finally, he could inflict the damage he had planned for that day in Russia, so long ago. It wouldn’t be quite the same as doing it to the real bitch, but it would do. A pity he had to wait even a few hours.

“Pick her a dress from Tatiana’s wardrobe and then take her to the Red Room,” he said to Ivan. “Pick from the left side of the robe; it’s the stuff she doesn’t want anymore.” 

Ivan was unhappy, not only at what he had just witnessed but also at the mention of the Red Room. Molenski’s intentions were clear now. Nothing that began in the Red Room ended well. He tried to rationalize and let it go. Inga was a machine after all – it wasn’t as if the pain she felt would be real. He couldn’t let it go, though, and it was with a deep sense of disquiet he walked to the door of the robe.

“Come,” he said.

Molenski kicked off his shoes and lay down, pulling his phone from his pocket.

Ivan ushered her through and then closed the door before turning and finding her barely inches from him. Her bra was still bunched under her breasts, the trail of blood stark against her pale skin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief.

Inga looked up at him with wide eyes as he wet the corner of his handkerchief with his tongue and lowered it to her breast. He tried to remain clinical as he dabbed away the blood, but her nipples stiffened at the innocent attention. Suddenly the proximity of her semi-naked form in the cramped space made him blush.

A blush? Is that all? What’s wrong with me?

He finished more roughly than he had intended and pulled back as he stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket.

“You can pull your bra back up now.”

“No Myfriend, Dimi told me I must pull my bra down.”

“It’s Ivan…” he said absently. “Yes, he told you that, but it’s alright now.”

“It was his last order,” she said, reasonably.

Ivan’s eyes narrowed. How to get around a robot’s logic? Then it came to him.

“No, his last order was that I find you a dress to wear. To wear a dress, you need your bra on properly or Dimi will be displeased.”

“You are right, Myfriend.”

She pulled it up and smiled. He couldn’t help but feel a pang at her puppy-like response.

“Thank you, Myfriend.”

“You’re welcome.”

He didn’t bother to correct her again. The truth was, he liked the way she called him that. It felt like their little secret.

“Now, let’s find you something nice to wear,” he said, turning back to the clothes.

“
Nice
. Giving pleasure or satisfaction; pleasant or attractive.”

“Yes. Nice, like you.”

He began to rifle through the multitude of hangers in the left ‘wing’ of the walk-in. Now and then he would pull a dress out at an angle to look at it and then back at Inga.

“Is that one nice, Myfriend?” She would ask every time he did this.

“Nyet, not nice enough for you.”

She followed him patiently as he looked and rejected at least five dresses before finally pulling out a light summer dress. It was white with black polka dots, and he looked at her as he held it out.

“Is that one nice, Myfriend?”

“Dah, I think so,” he said, pulling it off the hanger and displayed it to her. “Do you like it?”

“I am not programmed to have taste in items of clothing, Myfriend.”

“Well, I am. It will suit you – here, put it on.”

Inga took it from him and pulled it over her head. She pulled it down over her shoulders before shrugging it into place.

“Do I look nice?”

He reached out and brushed away the strand of hair that had fallen onto her face.

“More than nice. Beautiful,” he said.

Right then, even with the nasty bruise on her chin, he thought she was about the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“
Beautiful
. Having beauty; possessing qualities that give great pleasure or satisfaction to see, hear, think about.”

“Yes, all of those things,” he said, dreamily. “You are...”

“What the hell are you doing in there, Ivan? You better not be fucking my Inga!”

Molenski’s harsh voice shattered the moment and Ivan’s smile faded.

“Come.”

“Yes,
Myfriend
.”

“Oh yeah, nice choice,” said Molenski appreciatively, when they emerged from the closet. “Jesus, I could fuck her right now! But we have to leave for the airport soon. Tatiana is a real cunt when I keep her waiting.”

“Do I look beautiful, Dimi?”

“What?” asked the Russian with raised eyebrows.

“Do I look beautiful?”

“Yes, you look fuckable.”

“
Fuckable
. Highly desirable as a sexual partner – able to be or worthy of being fucked; sexually attractive.”

Molenski looked at Ivan, the question on his face, one that he didn’t need to verbalize.

His bodyguard shrugged.

“Go! Take her to the Red Room and come straight back.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Ivan led the barefoot Inga to the door and began to open it.

“Make sure my toolbox is on the bench,” the Russian said from behind him. “I don’t want to waste any time tonight.”

Ivan paused, then nodded once before continuing through the door, a knot of dread in his gut. Inga followed dutifully.

Isabella was cleaning up after the boss’s lunch when Ivan led the beautiful girl, now dressed, through the kitchen. She swallowed a sarcastic comment when she saw his storm cloud of a face. The girl turned and smiled at her again. Isabella noted the bruise on her chin. She didn’t smile back.

What the hell went on in that bedroom?
Suddenly she was not so sure she wanted to be around when Mrs. Molenski found the girl in her home.