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© 2008, Brenda
Williamson, Rayne Forrest Reviews For SEXUAL DECEPTIONS Book 1 by Brenda Williamson & Rayne Forrest Whipped Cream praises Sexual Deceptions as "unique, interesting...quick and entertaining." Sample Chapter For SEXUAL DECEPTIONS Book 1 by Brenda Williamson & Rayne Forrest Slave of Saharic “Go on before someone sees us.” His friend Creeg pushed him from behind. “We shouldn’t be in here.” Renn slipped through the gap, keeping a look out for a guard skulking around the big steel enclosure. “Hey, you’re the one with the bad love doll.” Creeg brushed past him, always adventurous, never worrying about the trouble he got them into at times. “Interactive partner,” Renn corrected. “Interactive partner, love doll, same thing. It’s a machine.” He stopped next to the first rack. “To relieve tension. You have one.” “Yeah. Well, I’m one horny mother...” “Shhh...did you hear something?” Renn grabbed the back of Creeg’s shirt. “No.” He shook Renn free and trotted down a row of gurney-like tables. “You still haven’t told me what we’re doing in here.” Renn followed. “New crop of dolls is going on auction today. You said you wanted to trade yours in.” Creeg stopped and stared at one female replica. “I thought we’d check out the whole batch before you grab the first one you see.” He did need a new interactive partner, and Creeg was right, he would have taken the first one in his price range. On individual tables lay the so-called perfectly engineered women. Renn moved forward, attracted to one particular model. Manufactured on the dwarf planet, Ceres, the robotic replicas were everything a real woman was without any negative emotions. Renn often wondered if it wouldn’t be nice to have one that wasn’t as accommodating. He might enjoy sex more with one that also enjoyed the physical sensations. “I heard they’re the best. Something about their skin being extra realistic and they can learn from experience.” Creeg lifted the skirt on one and gave a low whistle. “Will you look at that unused peach.” Renn stared at the smooth, pale pink skin. She did have a nice shape and tightness to her nether lips. He imagined the inside would also be a firmly structured sheath. A snug fit did feel good. “What are you doing?” Renn shook his head, watching Creeg slip his fingers into the man-made pussy. “Testing her, and damn, she’s already warm. That’s a nice touch. I never did like having to stroke them until they heated.” “You really are horny all the time, aren’t you?” While Creeg fingered the one, Renn stared
down at the female specimen that had caught his attention. Unusually
highlighted, and pretty, her honey-blond hair seemed different than
was normal on a replica. He lifted a lock and rubbed it between his
fingers. “That’s it, baby,” Creeg groaned. Renn glanced over his shoulder and saw his friend taking further advantage. Like a child in a toyshop, Creeg seriously tested the new merchandise. He had his pants open and his cock out, defiling someone’s future playmate. Renn resumed his inspection of the interactive woman intriguing him. Besides the difference in her hair, freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. They added a unique beauty to her porcelain smooth face. He reached out to touch her cheek and an electrical jolt shot up his arm. “Jeez.” He jerked his hand back in surprise. “That stung.” “Shocked you, huh?” Creeg laughed over his shoulder. “The static in this place is unreal. Twice, I’ve gotten jolted by this love doll. I thought she had some mechanical malfunction before I realized it’s this metal container reacting to us. Good thing, too. I wasn’t relishing having my rod deep-fried.” “This was different.” Renn cupped the angelic face of the robot and turned her head, inspecting her features. He wrinkled his brow as he noticed the pulse throbbing on the side of her neck. With wiring too close to the surface, she could have problems. He rubbed his thumb against the vibrating spot. Pressing harder made it beat faster. Creeg’s agonized groan signaled his finish with the toy. “You found one you like?” He moved in close while tucking in his cock and adjusting his pants. “Maybe,” Renn answered. Creeg reached for her skirt and Renn stopped him. “Don’t. You aren’t going to finger this one. I prefer to break them in myself.” “It’s just a robot. Besides, they go through quality control and if it was done right, then it means half a dozen hairy-assed fellows have screwed all her holes to make sure she works. What do you think that lubricate is in their snatch? Oil?” “They don’t all get tested.” Renn didn’t want to think about his new doll having a reservoir filled with semen from other men. “Sure they do. It says so in their advertisement. Why do you think the directions you get with them say to wash before first use?” Renn shrugged. He never gave it a thought before. It wasn’t as if he bought a new interactive partner all the time. This would be his third. “Seriously, you have to stop looking at these pieces of equipment like they’re your true love.” Creeg moved on, examining the others in his crude manner. “Do you ever think about what it would be like to touch a real woman?” Renn stroked a finger down the doll’s smooth neck. The beat of her pulsating wiring stimulated his organ so it stiffy pressed the inside of his trousers. “What for, these are better. Have you seen some of the woman on this planet? They scare the shit out of me—too manly and way too bossy.” Creeg pushed the shirt up on a doll and massaged her breasts. “This one has some nice fat tits.” Renn put a hand out, holding it over the feminine chest of the doll he liked. From the shape, she appeared to be well proportioned. Laying his palm on her collarbone structure, he slid his fingers beneath the top, over her breastplate frame. His touch lingered for half a second and then he snapped his hand back from the thump beneath the woman’s skeletal covering. “What’s wrong?” Creeg laughed. “Another shock?” “She has a heartbeat.” He gulped, finding the human detail unnerving. “Yeah, that other one does, as well. I told you the new batch is better. I don’t think they could get them more lifelike than this.” Creeg plucked a nipple and then pulled the shirt back into place. “We better get going. It wouldn’t be good to get caught in here. I understand the last fellow they found boinking government property got a lot of time in the slammer.” Renn let the flow of Creeg’s voice go in one ear and out the other. His focus remained locked on the amazing attributes the new replicas offered. He touched her again, pressing his palm directly down on the firmly rounded breast. He rubbed the tip and discovered another new feature. Her rising nipple grew plump and hard. Fondling the nub spiking the thin cloth of her shirt, he found himself considering doing the same thing Creeg had done with the other doll—testing her. Stroking her thigh, he reached beneath the skirt, anxious to at least finger her pussy lips. Suddenly, her chest heaved. A ripple of sound hummed from her parted lips and a flutter of her eyelashes accompanied the soft moan. “What the hell are you doing?” Creeg grabbed Renn’s arm and pulled him away. “You can’t turn them on. She’ll remember every detail about your face and report you to the authorities.” Renn hurried with Creeg for the exit. His last look back, locked him in a trance with the robotic woman’s stare. It was too late to prevent her from seeing him, but somehow it didn’t matter. The blue of her eyes had an amazing realness and nothing beyond the idea of owning her entered his thoughts. “She can’t tell anyone,” Renn muttered, “if she belongs to me.” Mischief at Midnight Madelyn Murphy did not normally allow herself the luxury of indulging in panic. Panic kept a girl from thinking clearly, and she desperately needed clarity. A plan was necessary—now—only her mind had shut down. She stared at the clock and decided that maybe, just this once, she’d forgive herself for the sheer, unadulterated panic she currently suffered. In five hours and seventeen minutes, her guests would arrive, and Hazel was on the fritz. Triple D Drones were supposed to be more reliable. “Hazel, please go clean the bathroom,” she instructed through clenched teeth. The drone looked at her, confused. “I know you cleaned it, but I made another mess. Please do as I say.” “Yes, ma’am.” Hazel walked off, her right foot dragging. That had been the first indication of trouble, that dragging foot. It had been downhill from there. Madelyn knew she should have called for service the second she noticed that foot. More than a drone, Hazel’s programming allowed her to perform every aspect of domestic work. She cleaned, did the laundry, grocery shopped, and most importantly, she cooked. She also had an extensive database covering everything from the history of Machu Picchu to how many pitches were thrown in every World Series, to the private phone numbers of every fashion stylist and artist in New York City from Soho to the Bronx. Friend, companion, and confidante, capable of making modest decisions on her own, Madelyn made sure Hazel received all her scheduled maintenance and every upgrade as they became available. She’d hoped Hazel had just a small glitch and would make it through the evening, but obviously, the malfunction had cascaded through her circuitry. Madelyn enjoyed preparing her own meals and rarely used Hazel’s cooking program when dining alone, but with a dinner party for her fellow board members of the local chapter of the Mystery, Mayhem, and Murder Tours scheduled for tonight, she needed Hazel’s expertise. She slipped in the menu card and hoped for the best as Hazel went to work on the bathroom. Now her ambitious menu of crostini with white truffle oil, tomato-crab bisque, arugula salad with her own olive oil, basil vinaigrette and home baked bread, baked lobster tail with a butter sauce, fresh asparagus with a homemade hollandaise sauce, white and dark chocolate amaretto swirled cheesecake, and old-fashioned caffeinated coffee brewed from freshly ground beans imported from the Pacific hydroponics platform was in serious jeopardy. Yes, a little panic was definitely in order. Well, a little thinking was in order, too. She marched to the bathroom and pulled Hazel’s cooking chip. She’d do a little reprogramming so Hazel could still do the simple things like tear up the salad greens. Thirty minutes later, she snapped the chip back into place and told her drone the bathroom had never looked better. She sent Hazel to the kitchen with orders not to deviate from her cooking instructions and said a little prayer she wouldn’t. Madelyn needed to call in the wine order and couldn’t watch Hazel and talk to the drone at the wine shop at the same time. Thank goodness the finished cheesecake sat safely on its serving plate in the refrigerator. A resounding crash sent her running to the kitchen. Hazel stood in the middle of the room, confused, a mixing bowl lying on the floor. Madelyn picked it up and examined the small dent in the copper. It wasn’t too bad. She’d still be able to whip egg whites in it. She rinsed the bowl and quickly added the ingredients for her vinaigrette and handed the bowl and a wire whisk to Hazel. “I want you to gently whisk that for two full minutes, then pour it into the crystal cruet, seal it tightly, and put it in the refrigerator. Do you understand?” The drone nodded, a blank look on her face, and began stirring, her strokes executed at uneven speeds. Maybe trusting Hazel with the crystal wasn’t a good idea. She opened the oven and checked her bread. The loaves were rising nicely. As she stood sniffing the heavenly, yeasty fragrance wafting out of her oven, another crash sounded behind her and something wet hit the top of her head. She whirled around. Her heart sank to the vicinity of her knees. Her carefully planned evening was in serious jeopardy. Oily vinaigrette dripped from the counter to the floor, coating Hazel as she knelt on her hands and knees in the middle of the mess trying to wipe it up with her bare hands. “Stop!” Hazel kept right on wiping. “Hazel, I said stop! Stop!” she yelled frantically, waving her hands. The drone appeared not to hear her. Madelyn skidded into the mess and did what she’d never done before. She hit Hazel’s off switch, freezing the drone in mid-swipe. Oh, heavens, what should she do next? Only one thing came to mind. She needed professional, technical help. She needed it now. She washed her oily hands then found the customer service number for Triple D Drones. Someone had better answer and they better be authorized to send a temporary replacement drone with full function capabilities while repairs were made to Hazel. If they didn’t, why, she’d just have to politely explain the situation. Madelyn punched the number into her
computer. The Triple D Drone logo flashed on the screen acknowledging
the call had connected. The most handsome man she’d ever seen,
bar none, appeared in front of her—wavy black hair, brilliant
blue eyes, cheeks darkened with a close-cropped beard and a killer smile.
His broad shoulders filled her screen and five curly hairs teased their
way free of his shirt just below his throat. She counted them. Twice. “Triple D Drones. May I help you?” Falling back on the very strict training of a very expensive finishing school education, Madelyn managed to keep from gawking. Or at least she didn’t gawk openly. Much. Not that it would matter if she did. Damn. He had to be a drone. The gorgeous ones always were. * * * * Dallas Dyson had weathered his fair share of calamities, but this one threatened to expand far beyond the initial predictions. A tiny, fifty-cent relay wreaked havoc across his multibillion-dollar, service-drone empire. The years it had taken to build his company into the industry standard, the long hours, hard work, and personal sacrifices would all be for nothing if he didn’t manage this crisis very carefully. Almost eighty-percent of the Hazel I model drones around the world equipped with the Gamma Del Royce upgrade had crashed and burned. His screen lit up with information about the incoming caller, identifying her as one Madelyn Murphy. Damn. This customer had a GDR equipped original Hazel. He took a deep breath and forced his lips into a smile. “Triple D Drones. May I help you?” Dark hair, dark eyes, the pale complexion of someone who took care not to allow sun damage to her skin, and a smudge of… Was that a parsley leaf on her otherwise perfect nose? Dallas discretely zoomed in for a closer look. It was a basil leaf on her nose and olive oil in her hair. This didn’t bode well for the condition of her drone. The GDR upgrade involved Hazel’s cooking protocols. “Are you authorized to dispatch a temporary emergency replacement drone for the Hazel I model?” Her voice, soft and schooled, complete with a charming touch of southern accent, quivered. “Yes, ma’am, I am. Tell me a little bit of what’s wrong with Hazel. Is her right foot dragging?” Relief washed over her attractive oval face. “Does that mean you know how to fix her? I’m having a dinner party in a few hours and I need her desperately!” Her full lower lip trembled. A drop of olive oil broke free and dripped from her bangs. Her eyes rounded in horror as she swiped her hand over her face. “Oh, dear. I must look a fright,” she murmured. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re a drone.” Drone? Not the last time he checked, he wasn’t. Last night, he’d been a flesh-and-blood man as he sweated through his workout at the gym. His shoulders and thighs still ached from the punishment he inflicted on his body to keep it in shape. He checked her account. She didn’t own a Triple D personal pleasure drone, but that didn’t mean some of her friends didn’t, which would explain why she thought him a drone. Not for the first time, he cursed his vast stupidity in basing the appearance of the Trent personal pleasure model on his own features. Dallas quickly gave her the good and bad on her drone, his mind racing as it tried to come up with a temporary replacement for her. “Ms. Murphy, we have isolated the problem with the Hazel I model with the most recent food preparation upgrade. However, we’re waiting for the repair part to become available.” Her lovely face carefully arranged itself into a bland expression. She blinked rapidly, several times, her long, thick eyelashes dampened. Dallas knew from experience to choose his next words carefully else he’d fall into the bottomless pit of feminine desperation. A woman’s tears sent him to his knees, every time, and this one hovered on the verge of major flooding. “However, I’m available to assist you in any capacity necessary.” He’d not planned on saying that. Good lord, how had that spilled from his lips? He’d lost his mind! She stared at him, astonishment holding the tears at bay. He watched, mesmerized as the tip of her tongue flicked over her full lips. She cleared her throat—twice. “I need an emergency replacement that can assist with preparation and serving a very important dinner party in…” She checked her watch. “Four hours. I need the replacement to arrive immediately.” Insanity seized him, sucker punched him right in the gut and he didn’t even feel the blow until it was too late to dodge it “I am trained as a chef, ma’am, and as a server with full host protocols. I will arrive in approximately thirty minutes.” What the hell is wrong with me? He couldn’t impersonate a drone! His Ms. Madelyn Murphy blinked. Her cheeks darkened. If only he were psychic—but an experienced man didn’t need to read minds to see where her thoughts had gone. She believed him to be what he wasn’t and what his penis told him to pretend to be. If she took him up on his offer, he’d confess and clear up her misunderstanding. She nodded, forging brusquely ahead. “I’ll expect you to be prompt. Thirty minutes. Please be prepared to remain on call until my Hazel is repaired.” She pursed her lips. “And…um…activate your level five personal interaction chip before arriving.” Dallas’ stomach plunged nervously even as his penis sent out urgent, greedy pleas that he fulfill that level five personal interaction request to the best of his ability. After all, hadn’t he invented what was frequently called the ‘love machine’ chip? Hadn’t it made him a very wealthy man? Before he could say another word, his screen blanked as Madelyn severed the link, eliminating the opportunity for him to tell her the truth before he reported for the assignment. Only one option remained. Tough it out. |