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The Melinda 109: A Little Shop Story
PART ONE
"I can't believe it's here!" Webb said excitedly.
Soapy shook his head, as Plato and Cato dismembered the packing case, and
pulled Melinda 109 out. She was something--five seven or maybe five eight
inches tall. Blonde. Icy sapphire eyes. Beautiful face, much like Mary
Hart from Entertainment Tonight, but with much fuller lips. And Melinda 109 was
dressed in a snug turtleneck, a miniskirt and high heels on the long legs.
"Oh she's beautiful" Webb said, his erection
poking through his pants. "Does-does she dress
like that all the time?" Soapy fished a manual out. "No, the 109 has
about seven different outfits. And she can change her own clothes, as well as
looking after your interests. There's a suitcase with her, and it's got a
leather outfit, and a cocktail dress, and some rubber stuff."
Cato grinned, a big, black grin with gleaming white teeth,
and took out the remote control. Clicking it, suddenly Melinda spoke.
"You're a bad boy, Webb. Take your pants down and bring me the
hairbrush." Cato and Plato roared. "She got yo' number, Mist'
Cleary!" Webb blushed. Her head swiveled around, looking at all
the men, and Soapy sighed and gestured to the blacks to pick up the packing
case.
Melinda 109 stepped over the Styrofoam peanuts crapping up
the floor and clicked her heels as she walked over to Soapy and Webb. Her head
turned to Soapy. "Melinda 109 is back, Mister Soaperstein. I have been
programmed to dominate Webb Cleary." Soapy gestured to Webb.
"This is Webb Cleary, Melinda. I hope you've gotten a decent overhaul up
there."
The robot smiled, and Webb gasped. "I have improved,
yes Mister Soaperstein. My fingers can move now" Both men looked down at
Melinda 109's right hand. She picked up a small dildo from a display table and
began massaging it. "I can give Webb a severe teasing without allowing
orgasm." The manicured fingers were incredible.
Melinda 109 dropped the dildo back on the display
table. "I can also give Webb a mild Number One thrashing, a moderate
Number Two Thrashing or a severe Number Three thrashing, based on what he
programs into the remote control." Melinda 109 drummed her tin fingernails
on the counter as her head swiveled and she looked directly at Webb.
"Whatever he needs."
"Watch the number #3" Plato called as they walked
back downstairs. "That's the one where she whip
you til she smells blood."
"Webb, dude, you really can get out of this with your
deposit back if you want." Soapy said. "Melinda is a lot to deal
with...at least if you have her as a submissive, you won't get hurt,
but..."
Melinda 109 smiled.
"As a submissive, I can perform orally for hours, and
my bare bottom will produce real welts that do not disappear for twenty-four
hours after a thrashing...and my nipples can be tweaked and will support
weights up to ten pounds."
Melinda's head swiveled to look sharply at Webb. "My
electronic clitoris plays like a video game. If I don't register three orgasms
from your tongue, the punishment will be quite arduous." Webb began
panting. Soapy sighed again. No one noticed the woman staring from across the
store, near the riding crop closet.
There was Melinda 109, available to a new renter, Jesus,
Serena thought. The poor guy probably had to mortgage his house to get a month
of Melinda, he doesn't look rich.
Serena was a commodities investment analyst, well off,
and even she had been a bit amazed at Melinda's thousand--a week price. But,
she’d thought she could use a little company, a little discipline in the house
when she'd rented Melinda from the Little Shop a year ago, before they hired
that ex-junkie Soaperstein to manage the joint.
The first few nights, she'd enjoyed being stripped naked
and humiliated by the clothed robot, taking harsh hairbrush whippings and
then licking between Melinda 109's metallic thighs.
When Serena needed a quiet night or friends were coming over
to watch "My Name's Earl" and have a few Long Island Iced Teas, she
could just click the remote on "off" and put 109 into the closet for
an evening...
Melinda didn't mind. In fact one night after the last friend
left, Serena was feeling a little lonely, and clicked the remote, and out came
Melinda 109, clicking on her heels. "The kitchen floor is filthy."
she'd said in her mechanical staccato. "Strip and scrub it with your
teeth."
Serena had spent from one to
When Serena was sufficiently blistered, she sneaked over to
the remote clicked it "off" again, locked up Melinda 109 and had a
feverish twenty minutes with her vibrator.
It had been such a perfect relationship, until Serena's
toddler nephew had dropped the remote in the toilet on Thanksgiving, and then
it had never worked right again. When Serena next summoned Melinda from the
closet...oh God.
She'd just wanted a nice Sunday afternoon humiliating
panties down bedroom-slipper paddling over Melinda 109's knee, followed by corner
time, and instead Melinda had marched out of the closet, ripped Serena's
clothes off, and then all hell had broken loose.
Melinda had shrieked at Serena, and bound her hands behind
her with piano wire. (Where had the robot found piano wire? Had she temped for
the Mafia?) Then Melinda had severely caned Serena's 32 C breasts, before
pushing 23 thumbtacks in Serena's sensitive areolas.
Then, Melinda had dropped her skirt and pulled her panties
down, and, before Serena's startled eyes, Melinda's twat had opened, and a long
dick came out. Melinda was also a transsexual! Melinda 109 had grabbed Serena
by the hair and...well, at least the semen was made of
condensed milk, which was sweet.
After that ordeal was over, Melinda 109 "boxed"
Serena's ears and said. "Now I'm going to drive my stiletto into your
pussy!" The robot was so strong! Serena had run downstairs and come back
with a crowbar, which she'd bashed in the back of Melinda 109's head,
repeatedly.
Melinda had fallen over, and Serena had run around to
the other side and whacked Melinda again, but the mistake Serena made
was...Melinda 109's brain was not in her head...but in her stomach.
And so the robot rose once more!
Because the crowbar had caved in 109’s head but, like the
Energizer Bunny, on it went. Melinda 109, metallic face bashed in, had grabbed
Serena by the shoulders and told her “I’m going to make you into a tranny slut,
boy!”
Serena screamed at Melinda that since she was a woman-born
woman, this was impossible, and continued to frantically click the remote. but 109 dragged Serena into the bedroom by her hair and
forced her in a chair and rubbed garish lipstick all over Serena’s face.
The robot then went
to shoving a blond wig on top of Serena’s brunette locks, and while 109 turned
to the lingerie drawer, Serena had jumped out of the window, falling in the
rose bushes before she’d run to a neighbors and called the Dedham County cops.
The cops had stared at her rather peculiarly, (what an
explanation) before going into the house and gunning Melinda down. (But
not before she’d ripped down the pants and caned Badge No # 093248; and twisted
Detective Kauser’s nipples )
The Little Shop had settled out of court with a very
generous gift certificate…much of which Serena had spent already. And of course
she was now in the shop after a riding crop that her
new, HUMAN Mistress could use on her.
Sixty-two year Esme wasn’t beautiful like Melinda, and her
butt was way too big (not fun for Serena to rim). Often Esme wasn’t in the
mood…and her canings were tepid. But when Serena said “stop” Esme stopped, and
that was good enough. But Serena looked at Melinda 109 with an
intensity, and had to squelch out of the Little Shop with dampened
panties.
Back at the counter, Webb and Soapy were going over payment
details, and Melinda 109 surveyed the scene. The Little Shop was just as it had
been before. She looked at Soaperstein, the manager.
Data? Ponsonby Aurelius "Soapy" Soaperstein,
five foot nine, 165 pounds, born St. Luke's Hospital in Chattahoochee,
Georgia, 4/10/65, minor public education ending with expulsion for selling
Percodan pills at Bell Vocational High
First interest in opiates after receiving Demerol for
childhood earache; arrested for breaking into People's Drugstore in Washington,
D.C. for codeine pills
Soaperstein charged with looting sister's trust fund,
Soaperstein's next twenty years was punctuated by three more
marriages, fifty-two drug arrests, thirty-three convictions, and five
trips through the Northern New Hampshire Correctional Facility.
This before Jonas Tamulevich, parole board member, had
arranged Soaperstein's release with the understanding that he work at the
Little Shop, which Tamulevich owned with his brother,
Melinda 109 turned her gaze on Webb Lionel Haskins. This was
the client. Data? Born
In
In
Then
Webb graduated from
University,
While Webb Haskins was in
Married Glynnis Purchell, owner of Purchell Department
Stores,
Webb Haskins has been a Circuit Court Judge in
Melinda smiled.
Soapy wasn’t so sure about Melinda 109, as he watched Webb
holding the mechanical woman’s hand, gazing into the glass eyes with some kind
of joy.
The first week out of prison, Tamulevich, the Little Shop
owner, had been giving Soapy training, so Soapy could run the place while
Tamulevich opened yet another Little Shop in
All of a sudden, the Little Shop door rang and a tall,
attractive blonde clicked in with high heels, accompanied by a short, pudgy
fellow in a business raincoat. Soapy’s eyes widened a bit, as he thought
perhaps the fat little guy was wearing high heels, too. Soapy shouldn’t have
left his bifocals in the cell back at Northern NH Correctional.
“Good morning, Mr. Tamulevich” the blonde said as the two
approached the counter. “I am returning, the fortnight with
Tamulevich smiled widely. “Well, Mr. Whitman, whenever you
can afford to have ze Melinda back, you know she’d love to come back for a
visit. And remember, you can have half-hour visits weet her here at ze Little
Shop for only $300 per hour.”
Soapy looked askance at Tamulevich. Here was the brother of
the parole board member who had effectively extorted Soapy to work at this
pervert store job (not that Soapy’d ever enjoyed working much of anywhere) as
the price of getting out of Northern NH
Correctional.
Was Judah Tamulvevich a pimp, too? Soapy had once
unsuccessfully tried to convince his Aunt Maude to peddle ass for him after
she’d had a face-lift, so he wasn’t judging but…
Tamulevich, correctly interpreting Soapy’s astonishment,
snorted. “No no, jailbird. Oi veh, the day I dehumanize and exploit a real
woman by having her hook for me, no.” Tamulevich gestured to Melinda 109.
“Melinda, show him your chest.”
Soapy blushed as Melinda 109 unzipped her halter top,
exposing beautiful, if a bit stiff breasts, and as she pressed a button on her
right nipple, both breasts opened up to show a variety of batteries and wires
where a woman’s rib cage would be. Soapy
felt somewhat faint, and ate a Tuinal he had been palming.
“You see, Soaperstein?” Tamulevich said proudly, as Melinda
snapped her tits back in place and zipped up her halter top. “Mein oldest son,
Professor Jonathan Tamulevich invented ze Melinda 109, and she is making us a
fortune.”
“Oh, Miss Melinda” the pudgy Randolph Whitman said
simperingly. “I’ve never seen your inner transmission before. It’s quite
attractive.” SLAP!
Whitman fell to the floor as Melinda 109’s palm grazed his
cheek. As the little man got up, his lip bleeding, Melinda 109 said, “I never
even let you see my bare breasts, because you’re such a wussie.
All you were allowed to see was my lingerie bikini top while
I was masturbating you…You will have to earn the right to see my breasts when
you rent me next time. So sell your father’s Bentley! Now, Randy, I order you
to open your trench coat and show Mr. Tamulevich and Mr. Soaperstein your
shame.”
The little pudgy man looked pleadingly at his dominant
android. “Please, not that, Miss Melinda, not now.” He stepped back, and Soapy
noticed that indeed Whitman was wearing high heels under the normal male trench
coat.
Tamulevich turned to the trembling trench coat pervert. “That’s
all right, Mr. Whitman. Just give me the remote clicker and I will turn Melinda
off for you, and you can go home.”
Randy looked terrified. “I-I gave the remote to Melinda 109,
Judah. She’s in charge.”
Tamulevich shook his head. “That was stupid meshugennah
thing to do, Whitman. Only other remote is downstairs, in storeroom near
Kennel. I cannot control—“
Melinda laughed a throaty, iron chuckle. “Calm down Mr.
Tamulevich. Melinda 109 will surrender the remote control to you after Randy
does as he’s told. Must I strip you myself, Randy, in this store where I have
hundreds of whips and chains within reach?”
Soapy had coughed, as he remembered that he had not yet gone
to the Methadone Maintenance this morning. This was a helluva lot to take, even
with a Tuinal down his throat. If there aren’t enough feminist bitches in the
world, they make them now outta ROBOTS?
Finally, with tears running down his face, Randy Whitman
opened up his trench coat revealing that he was wearing only a pair of long
johns with the crotch cut out of them, and his stiff dick was hanging there,
dripping. The long johns were also cut off at the knee, and beneath them were
indeed short stockings and high heels.
Suddenly Melinda 109 had grabbed a cane off the display
counter. WHACK! The cane bounced off
The little man had scurried off, and Melinda 109
had walked to a metal dolly cart and stood on it, before holding out the remote
control, which Tamulevich had clicked off.
“Now, Soaperstein, get your lazy tuchus up and
wheel Melinda into the storage closet, and attach jumper cables from large
battery you will find there.”
And Soapy thought he'd seen the last of Melinda
when he shut the storeroom door on her...but no chance of that.
Soapy’s next interaction with Melinda 109 was the
next day-- when he was cleaning out the storeroom. Melinda was propped by
the door, and when he nudged her to pick up a discarded video box (“DETROIT
HALF-SMOKE BOFFS THE HUMAN BIDET”) Melinda came to life, scaring the shit out
of him.
“Bad mistake, clerk boy” Melinda said as she stood
up straight, knocking the broom out of Soapy’s hands. “You turned me on, so to
speak.”
Melinda 109’s clear blue glass eyes were boring
through Soapy as her fingers unbuckled his pants and dragged them down.
“G-get the fuck away from me, you freaky appliance.” Soapy
stammered, trying to get out of Melinda’s way, but her right hand grabbed his
wrist and twisted it behind his back, reaching over and pulling his other arm
there too.
Soapy struggled, but the robot’s strength was
incredible. Melinda 109’s left hand ripped Soapy’s Fruit of the Looms off and
she took his penis in her fingers.
As a contrast to the
iron grip of the right hand, Melinda 109’s left hand went silky soft, Soapy could feel the steel
fingers becoming foamy. As he looked down unbelievingly, lube squirted out of
her fingertips
“Ever been teased, clerk-boy?” Melinda’s breasts rubbed
against Soapy’s narrow chest, and her slippery metal fingers began tickling his
balls and massaging the large purple vein on Soapy’s under shaft.
How was this possible that she could touch his balls and his
cock?
Soapy stared at her fingers, which grew longer and longer,
as if she had drunk
This was the hand job from outer space, man. But Soapy was
having a hard time resisting, as the fingers were now feeling like velvet as
they expertly massaged his cock, rubbing faster and then slowing in an almost
perfect alternate.
In Soapy’s experience, when girls gave hand jobs eventually
their hands got tired, but Melinda 109’s hands just kept going and Soapy’s
groin began trembling as he approached orgasm.
As Soapy began panting and gasping, Melinda’s fingers went
faster and more lube shot out of the tips. Melinda 109’s boobs rubbed against
Soapy’s chest again, and she smiled.
“You think you’re so superior to the perverts who come into
the Little Shop, clerk-boy, but in my opinion you’re just shut off from the
real world, you know that?”
“You hide behind your needle and your provincial opinions….”
Melinda 109’s lovely fingers tugged Soapy’s foreskin, while her thumb bounced against
the shaft rhythmically, like a tiny metronome.
“You think you’re superior to poor fucks like Randy, who is
addicted to high heeled shoes and girls that hit him…so superior.”
Melinda leaned her
head to Soapy’s ear and she blew air in his ear, deep from her chassis, and
Soapy realized it was like putting your head next to a small air conditioner.
“Don’t you know, clerk-boy, that
I’m more of a woman than any of those flesh-and-blood barroom skanks you pick
up at the shooting galleries?”
Melinda’s breasts rubbed against Soapy, and he leaned
down and Melinda shoved his head between her huge breasts, which began
expanding, getting larger from a 32C to a 44DD as his head bobbed happily
between the perfumed orbs.
“I know all about
you, Soaperstein, that you skim from the till, that you’re still getting high
every day…Jonas and Judah know it too, but they don’t care as most of the
business is credit and since you’re a druggie, you don’t creep out the
customers…heroin is so much more interesting than reality, eh, Soaperstein?”
And it was—Soapy recalled that his previous parole had only
lasted twenty minutes because he’d begun shooting Dilaudid in the bathroom of
the train taking him away from prison…and he’d opened the door and fallen into
the lap of a vacationing police sergeant.
Soapy was a heroin aficionado…it was sad…but he wasn’t
thinking about heroin now!
No sir. This was really something, Soapy thought. Soapy felt
Melinda 109’s fingers rubbing faster and faster, giving him a hand job like he’d
never experienced, and he again tried desperately not to care, she was, after
all just an automaton, but in a way so was he, right?
109 kept tickling Soapy’s testicles, rubbing her metal
fingers gently on the underside of his cock, and as he got more and more
excited, he felt his cock getting harder, and his legs trembling.
Suddenly, Melinda’s fingers began stroking slower and Soapy
frustratedly realized that she’d cheated him of a chance at an orgasm. This
must be the all so important tease denial, right?
“C’mon android, let me cum, honey.” Melinda 109 ignored him
and just kept rubbing her fingers on his cock. By this time, Soapy had
dislodged his head from her full breasts and they’d shrunk back to 32C again.
“Look, Melinda, let me go or let me shoot, this is
ridiculous…you’re like a R2D2 whore or something.” Suddenly Melinda’s glass
eyes narrowed.
WHACK! Suddenly Melinda’s metal mitt pulled away from
Soapy’s dick and she bitch slapped him two or three times, before genuflecting.
Melinda 109 then threw Soapy across her knee and began whacking his bare ass
again and again until he began howling.
“Who do you think you
are, Soaperstein? You’re just a pitiful creature and you make me sick!”
Suddenly Soapy reached around behind Melinda and flicked a switch behind her
head and she stopped in mid motion, and Soapy struggled out from her knee and
moved away as fast as possible.
Leaving the storeroom, he’d gone to a shooting gallery as
soon as possible and spent the rest of the day high and drunk.
A week or so later, a largish muscled and tattooed
bald man stalked into the Little Shop, and Tamulevich looked up at him. “Hello,
Mr. Gridwell. I assume you have the money?” The bald man grinned, and Soapy,
surreptitiously snorting a bit of crushed Oxycontin in the bookstore section,
noted only three teeth.
“Yeah, here you go, Mr. Tamulevich. Took me eight
months to come up with it.” The bald man opened a briefcase filled with green
bills. “Four thousand for the damages, seven to rent her again for six weeks.”
Tamulevich counted the bills quickly, and looked at
Gridwell severely. “You have learned, I assume, that Melinda rusts in the rain.
Do not do that again. My brother was quite irritated at the repair work.”
“Well, she didn’t tell me nothin’ like that, and I
ordered her to kneel in da back yard for punishment.
I done that
to my wife and kids, made ‘em take off all their clothes and stand in d’ rain,
nuttin’ happened.” The big man shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe it,
Georgette got feminism or an attitude or some’pin and she and da kids moved out
dis year.”
Soapy came out of the book section, scratching his
head, as Tamulevich went to the storeroom.
“Gridwell? From Anger Management class in
“Oh, hi, Soapy, how you doing? I was just up at New
Hampshire Correctional for aggravated assault onna meter maid an’ dey told me
you useta have the cell next door.” Gridwell smiled pleasantly.
“You know, Gridwell, Melinda 109’s kind of a
bitch…you sure you want her?” Soapy couldn’t imagine the hulking man putting up
with all that Randolph Whitman had.
“Oh no, Melly’s a real sweetheart.” Gridwell said,
smiling.
There was a noise, and behind them Mr. Tamulevich
came out, accompanied by Melinda 109. But now the severe blond bun had been
dismantled, and instead Melinda’s blonde tresses were in curling
ringlets on both sides of her head.
Melinda had
discarded the halter top leather miniskirt and high heels that Soapy had last
seen her in, and was now clad in a short ruffled pink dress, designed, Soapy
might think, for a girl of eight back in 1939.
Melinda carried a parasol in one hand and a Raggedy
Ann doll in the other...
She looked like Shirley temple, but with huge
knockers and long legs, with her feet in white knee socks and black patent
leather Mary Janes. As Soapy watched, Melinda skipped gaily up to Gridwell.
“Hi, Uncle Oscar! Uncle
Melinda jumped up and down, and despite looking
rather light on her feet, the weight of a metal robot’s bounce made everything
jiggle, and the nipple clamp bulletin board fell to the floor.
Gridwell smiled indulgently, until he saw the mess
of the nipple clamps, which Soapy went over to clean up. “You’re making messes
again.” Soapy turned to watch Gridwell’s face burn with rage. “Why are you such
a clumsy girl?” Gridwell slapped Melinda’s face, and then sucked his hand, as
he’d forgotten what her face was made out of.
Tamulevich said hurriedly, “You can use a cane if
you like, Gridwell, her butt is foam as you know.” Melinda was now looking at
the floor, and wet drops of salt water were falling out of her eyes. Not quite
down her cheeks; Jonathan Tamulevich hadn’t quite gotten that right yet.
Gridwell grabbed a cane and came back over to
Melinda. "You're a bad, bad girl, and you're going to have to be
punished!" Melinda 109 looked sadly at Gridwell, her plastic lower lip
trembling.
"H-here, Uncle Oscar, in front of all these
people, Uncle Judah and Uncle Soapy?" There was a clatter of nipple clamps
dropping behind her.
Gridwell showed his teeth, and whacked the bamboo
in his hand. "That's right, and you're gonna bend over that counter and
pull down your pants, an' at home I'm gonna hang you by your tits, you little
bitch!"
Melinda 109 began crying more, and "Uncle
Soapy" was afraid he might have to get a mop. It should be my constitutional
right to shoot dope working here, he thought.
"I'm a big girl, and I'm so
ashamed." Melinda said, and she lay over the counter, pulling
up her skirt and edging down her panties.
Even Soapy had to admit she had a beautiful ass,
and he winced as Gridwell whacked the shit out of it with the bamboo, before
taking a bullwhip that Tamulevich handed him.
Gridwell hit Melinda 109 for nearly half an hour,
ignoring customers coming in, by passers, etc., and then he took the remote,
clicked her off, and threw her over his shoulder, her panties around her
ankles.
"You got her suitcase with the schoolgirl
outfit and the footie Dr.
After "they" left, Soapy had staggered
off to Methadone Maintenance, wondering if he'd lost his mind somehow.
TO BE CONTINUED
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