Chapter 8

As most men of science would tell us, the computer cannot lie. Of this fact, Master McClain was completely sure as he hulked over the control panel.

What he had perhaps forgotten in his desire to flatter his own ego, is the other simple truth about the computer.

Like most machines designed by men to do tasks that were originally performed by men, the computer is capable of only one truly human feat. That feat is the performance of the mistake. It is significant that some scientists and their machines are prone to make these two mistakes simultaneously. Such was the case with McClain and his control panel.

The Orgasm Meter had interpreted the fear-stimuli as being orgasm-stimuli.

Thus, as he bent over the control board, Master McClain saw that the needle of the Orgasm Meter pointed to the category: SUPER ORGASM.

Busily, McClain noted all the pertinent data into his little book. The stoppage of the heart for an instant, the increased heartbeat after resumption, everything!

Both, he and his machine, had been completely fooled.

The quick-thinking Lenny Morgan, however, was a bit more difficult to trick. She had watched with horror as McClain craned his tiny body over the control panel. She had expected to be found out and exposed for what she was-a spy from Carl Industries Incorporated.

But the sudden, exciting release of the hot syrup solution into her cunt gave her all the data she needed. The machine was as truly stupid as it was unsatisfying, she mused proudly to herself. It had given itself away by a simulated male orgasm.

With a disguised disgust, Lenny let the device fall to the carpet. The insides of her thighs still glistened in the dim light with the juices of her intense desire.

"Yummm, umm," she moaned falsely, "that was the most beautiful thing in the whole world, Mr. McClain."

McClain whirled toward her, suddenly saying, "Like to do it again, baby?"

Lenny was taken aback, did this man still suspect something? Then she saw him consulting the back pages of his little notebook. Of course, she said to herself, that's all it is. He obviously had planned out a set of questions to ask her in advance.

What would the proper response be? she wondered, letting her hands slid down the smooth, desirable flesh of her shapely thighs.

"I sure would," she replied reverently, "sometime, but right now," she fell back in a fake swoon, "right now, I'm just too pooped. That little bugger really works a girl over."

"Wonderful!" McClain was overjoyed, "that's just wonderful Lenny, you've got the job. Report to my office tomorrow at seven o'clock."

"In the morning?"

McClain smiled indulgently, "No, of course not, I know you love a little night-life. Seven in the evening will be just fine."

With that the small man beckoned to the workmen who proceeded to wheel the machine from the small, padded room. In a moment, Lenny lay alone on the carpeted floor. Only the exhausted Cubbings was in the room, and he was sprawled out on the carpeting in a dead sleep.

Lenny cursed her luck. She was still red-hot from the stirrings of that diabolical plunger in her snatch. What she needed right now was a man.

She stood and began to look around for some clothes. There were none. All of her clothes had been taken away by the workmen, whom the fussy Masters McClain had instructed to clean the place thoroughly before they left.

"Bastards," Lenny cursed violently and kicked at the wall.

Cubbings rose reservedly from his place of sleep.

"Pardon me, Miss Morgan, but..."

Lenny turned to him quickly, she was startled, having thought him completely dead to the world.

"Uh, nothing is wrong, really, but I don't have any clothes here. The workmen seem to have taken them away."

"Oh, of course, how stupid of them, my dear." Cubbings seemed to have more trouble with his voice control in this exhausted state. "Why don't I lend you my raincoat?" he blurted.

"Thanks, buddy," she said distantly.

Lenny took the raincoat and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was not the safest kind of attire for riding the city subways, but it would have to do.

"Thanks, buddy." she said distantly.

"Uh..." Cubbings seemed almost shy as he spoke to the blonde dancer, who had turned away to leave.

"What is it?" She was tired of these creeps, all of them with their stupid sex-machine. What she needed right now was some good old-fashioned flesh inside her. Something big and real!

"I just wanted to congratulate you on your performance, Miss Morgan!"

"Thanks a lot, it wasn't anything at all."

"No," Cubbings caught her by the arm. She could smell the freshly spilled sperm on his trousers. "Wait, please. I really mean it."

Lenny eyed this odd and sophisticated man in a new light; perhaps he wasn't so bad after all. At least he'd had some kind of normal reaction to the display of sexual excess.

"You really liked it, huh?" She felt a stirring in her loins; perhaps this man might be of use to her in her presently desperate position.

"Yes, yes, I did." His face was strained with emotion; he had a secret desire to enjoy this woman more directly. He harbored an unexpressed longing to be in closer sexual contact with this gorgeous blonde than simply handling the control board of the xylotrope.

She leaned back against the padded wall, she shoved her hands deeply into the raincoat pockets, letting it slip open just wide enough to reveal her cleavage.

"I think you're a very nice man, Mr. Cubbings..."

"Do you really?" he bubbled with an almost childish excitement.

"You can knock off the fake speech impediment," she growled.

"Well," he looked furtively around the room, "can you keep a secret?"

"Yeah, I can keep a secret." She let the trench coat slip open a little further. One breast's round, red nipple was exposed.

"The truth of the matter is, I had a speech impediment like that. And it really was caused by a war injury, well, not an injury really. It was actually a case of shell shock. But, unbeknownst to the master--I mean Mr. McClain--I only have it around women, really."

"Yeah?" Lenny was somewhat interested in his story.

"Yes, Miss Morgan... you see, I've been frightfully scared of women ever since the war. I've covered it up as well as I possibly could by working with McClain, telling him that I found the normal sexual activities something of a bore and all.

"Ya know..." Lenny's voice was deep and seductive now, "it all depends on how normal ya gotta be."

"Yes, well, I can never control that speech impediment when I'm with women I find sexually attractive. In order to cover up the fact that it's caused by a sort of sexual embarrassment, I've adopted it as a regular speech pattern. You understand McClain feels secure with a lot of weird people around him. He doesn't like normal males very much, he says they remind him of animals."

"Don't like animals, eh?" Lenny made a mental note of this new and interesting facet of McClain's personality.

"No, I'm afraid he is not able to stomach nothing larger than a chipmunk. He becomes terribly upset if he goes to the zoo. Often the odor of a dog or cat will be enough to make him completely sick."

"Groovy," Lenny pushed her hands deeper into the slash pocket of the raincoat, allowing both breasts to be bared. "And, do you like animals, Mr. Cubbings?"

Cubbings blushed bright red.

"Yes, I should never admit it around here, but the fact is, I grew up with animals. Hunting and riding and all that sort of rot. I find them terribly beautiful and exciting."

It always pleased Lenny Morgan when she found herself gaining sexual control over a man. Particularly wealthy and powerful men like Cubbings.

She reached out and touched him lightly on the cheek.

"Do I remind you of an animal, Cubbie?"

With an embarrassed shuffling of his feet, the wealthy businessman admitted that he did think of her as resembling an animal.

"What animal do I remind you of, Cubbie?" she purred.

"Most of all, Miss Morgan, you remind me of a beautiful and powerful tigress."

"Why is that, lover?" she moved her body closer to his.

"Uh, it's because you are so very graceful and beautiful, and you, you seem so commandingly independent."

"Like that, huh?" one of her breasts brushed up against his expensive dress shirt.

"Oh! Oh, yes!" He raised his arms in a tentative gesture, half in desire to embrace her, half a kind of embarrassed shrugging.

"What would you do if you were locked into a padded cell with a beautiful tigress, Cubbie?" She shifted back against the wall, letting the raincoat slide down over her lovely white shoulders.