If you post a comment today, you’ll be in the running
for a free download of this book!

Released in June 2004, The Pleasure Bot was my first futuristic and one of my favorite stories to write. Maybe I loved it so much because I plotted it with the help of some of my closest friends during a weekend plotting bootcamp. We snorted and giggled through Declan’s audacity, Priss’s cluelessness, and Agnes’s grating voice. I always meant to go back and write the sequel to this story to give Agnes, the AI computer, her own happy ending.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TOP PICK! From RT BOOKreviews Magazine: “… A long weekend of debauchery with her newest sex toy, the Pleasure Bot, is just what Priss needs to scratch her itch. But when the online sex shop delivers her order, she’s in for a shock!…Hot sex, sidesplitting humor and an out-of-this-world story set this erotica apart from the rest! ”

From Romance Reviews Today: “Oh my! Talk about a story that’s hot and funny all at the same time. THE PLEASURE BOT is sprinkled with witty dialogue, very heated sex, and interesting characters.”

Priscilla Potter rents the latest sex toy, a better-than-lifelike pleasure robot, for a little weekend R&R. However, her fantasy companion isn’t quite what she expected. He’s unshaven, uncouth, and doesn’t seem to understand she’s in charge of her own pleasure. But she soon decides the on-line shop got the order just right. As the weekend draws to a close, she has to find a way to keep her robot past its return date.

Bootlegging “entrepreneur” Declan O’Hanlon needs a place to lay low until he can figure out how to liberate his crew and ship from Customs impound. The “uninhabited” house he picks for his hideout actually belongs to a sex kitten who mistakes him for her latest toy. Intrigued by the idea of being a woman’s fantasy come true, Declan does what any red-blooded man would do—he pretends to be her acquisition. But he doesn’t count on Priss being quite so irresistible. As the time to depart nears, he wonders how he can ever leave her behind.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Aaa—gnes!” Priscilla shouted again, and then paused to kick off her heels before continuing on to her bedroom. “What’s with you? Are you still sulking about me threatening to pull your grid?”

“Of course not,” Agnes replied, in a monotone. “I’m just a hunk of cells, no real intelligence, no feelings to hurt.”

Priscilla rolled her eyes and reached for the first button at the top of her white blouse. “So when is it arriving?”

“It?”

“My Pleasure Bot.”

“Oh, about your new toy…”

“Aaa—gnes?” Her hands froze on button number three. “Don’t tell me they can’t deliver.”

“No, no.”

“Whew! You had me worried there.” She continued unbuttoning her blouse, letting her mind roam to the coming hours. Already her body was juiced at the thoughts of the wicked things she wanted to try with her lifelike, better-than-life-sized robot.

“Well, I just wanted to remind you of a few things first.”

“Like?” She hoped like hell Agnes wasn’t going to give her the list of the manufacturer’s disclaimers.

“You were promised lifelike.”

“Yeah, yeah. Down to the wet tongue and hangnails, I’m sure.” She finished with the last button and peeled off the shirt.

“Just so you know, it’s also programmed to believe it’s a real person—to enhance the experience.”

The word “enhance” was the only one her mind registered. All day long, the thought of all that “enhanced” hardware aimed at providing her the ultimate pleasure had put heat in her cheeks and a bounce in her step. Her skirt joined the heap on the floor. “All right. Is there more?”

“Um…it’s in the kitchen.”

Priscilla’s body revved into hyperdrive and she headed out of her bedroom. “Why didn’t you say so? It eats?”

“Probably does a lot of things even more disgusting in the name of realism.”

“Wow! Pinnacle’s going to make a fortune. I wonder if they need an ad man.”

She reached to push the kitchen door, but it swung toward her, and she stepped back with a gasp. A tall, disheveled—shirtless—man stepped through.

Her gaze swept over him in shock. “Agnes! Just what did you put in my profile?”

“Why, boss?”

Her hand swept over his shoulder and a muscle rippled beneath her palm. She jerked away her hand. “It’s…brawny. I prefer lean.” She backed away and looked up.

“Dark hair? I like blond. And it’s hairy.” She sniffed. “Oh, and it stinks! Did you tell them I wanted a dark stinky man?”

The bot’s narrowed brown gaze followed her as she paced in front of him. His face grew a blustery red.

“They have a few kinks to work out in this model.” She waved an encompassing hand at him. “It does understand English, doesn’t it Agnes?”

“Sure does.”

His eyes slitted.

“Well, at least they got that much right.” Priscilla eyed his wide, hairy chest. The muscle beneath the sun-darkened skin looked well developed…hard. She might be able to get past all the dark hair—the body was mighty distracting. “Let me see what my money’s buying. Take off the rest of your clothes.”

When it didn’t move, she huffed and reached for its belt. A large, hard hand closed over hers and pushed her away. She glanced up in alarm. The look on the bot’s face could have curdled milk. “Agnes? It looks angry.”

From between gritted teeth, the bot said, “It prefers to be called he.”

Declan eyed the half-dressed woman with irritation…and reluctant interest. She wasn’t any bigger than a minute, the top of her red head barely reaching his shoulder. But all the creamy, freckled skin revealed between the beige, satin strips of her underwear clothed a body with all the necessary curves. His cock agreed and stirred behind the placket of his breeches.

Then she opened her mouth again. “Agnes? Don’t you play dumb now. What the hell was in my profile?”

Although pitched lower than her previous shrieks, her voice still held an imperious note that set his teeth on edge. No wonder the woman couldn’t find a man of her own. She was a bossy little snipe.

He had the overwhelming urge to tell the woman the truth, just to get her to shut up—and give Agnes a taste of her own brand of poison. Two women couldn’t deserve each other more.

“Just the facts, boss.” Agnes replied. “I’m sure they added their own statistics regarding your purchasing behavior in order to come up with the right blend of male properties to suit your needs.”

“They just should have given me an order form with a checklist for my preferences. Tonio’s more my taste!” She scowled, looking him over like he was a lumbering bear rather than a man. “I’ve half a mind to send it back.”

He grunted his disapproval.

The woman gave him a startled glance. “Him back,” the woman corrected. “I mean, who in her right mind would want something so primitive?”

Some dark primitive emotion stirred in his belly. This woman needed taming. “I’ve never had any complaints,” he replied, adding a silky texture to his voice.

Her gray eyes widened. Was she shocked he could do more than grunt? Then he saw a telltale flush rise from the tops of her breasts to her cheeks. He’d bet a case of Samureen Black that arousal soaked her panties.

“That’s a recommendation?” She eyed him with doubt shadowing her gaze. “It’s too late to get a replacement, isn’t it, Agnes?”

“Much too late,” Agnes muttered.

“I guess I’ll keep him,” she said, her voice sounding less than enthusiastic.

“Then what are we waiting for?” he said with exaggerated relish, his hands going for his belt.

Her eyes widened like saucers. “Wait a minute!” She held up a hand.
Declan stared at her. Never mind she’d wanted him out of his clothes moments ago.

“Shouldn’t we get a few things straight first?”

He took a step toward her. “What’s to get, other than naked?” He slipped the belt from the loops of his breeches and lifted it high, his gaze holding hers as he dropped it to the floor.

With a stubborn tilt of her chin, she said, “We could start with what I’m supposed to call you other than ‘it’.”

He narrowed his eyes at the termagant. He knew a stall when he saw one. “I have a name. Declan. What’s yours?”

Her pretty, pink mouth gaped. “You don’t know my name? Why wouldn’t Playthings tell you my name? They know absolutely everything else about me!”

“To increase the realism?” Agnes whispered.

He wished like hell the older woman would show herself. He preferred to gauge the mettle of his adversaries by watching their eyes.

“Just imagine,” Agnes continued, “that you’re two strangers meeting for the first time.”

The redhead’s scowl could have singed an oven. “First times suck!”

“Perhaps you’ve been going out with the wrong men,” he purred, and then grinned at the acid glance she shot his way.

With a tomato-red flush of anger, she said, “There is no way this was programmed with me in mind. It’s impossible!”

“Is his face so unattractive?” Agnes asked.

“How should I know? I can’t see his face under all that stubble. He could be hiding a weak chin.”

He lifted his brow and scratched his beard, feigning unconcern. A weak chin?

Thunderclouds couldn’t match the fierce displeasure roiling in her stormy gray eyes.

Declan’s grin stretched wider. Goading this one to anger should be a sport. He hadn’t had this much fun with a woman with his clothes on—ever! He scratched his balls for good measure.

“Ugh! His manners are as disgusting as his smell.”

“Is his body unappealing?” Agnes’s voice sounded a tad strained.

“He’s too large.” Her gaze swept over him, pausing at his chest, then trailing over his arms. “But he does have interesting bumps.”

Bumps?

Her hand reached out to smooth across the muscle on his forearm. “I don’t think I ever dated a man with bumpy arms.”

Declan couldn’t resist. “If you’ll let me remove me breeches, you can touch me legs. The bumps are bigger.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why would they give it sarcasm? Couldn’t they figure out I get enough from you, Agnes?” she said, aiming her shout to the ceiling. “Tell me again, it’s too late to return it for another model.”

“It’s too late, boss.”

“And I suppose it’s too much to hope it has a mute button?”

“Damn straight!” Declan growled.

The woman sighed. “I sure hope they knew what they were doing.”

He planted his feet shoulder width apart. “So, shall I lose the pants?”

She shook her head. “Just like a man. You don’t even know my name yet.”

An imp of mischief must have been riding on his shoulder. “Why does that matter?”

“What will you call me when we’re…”

He raised a single brow, pretending not to understand.

“You know…doing it!” Her frown deepened as her face was once again suffused with heat.

“Woman?”

Her face grew impossibly redder, warring with the bright hue of her hair, but he hadn’t missed her shiver. Was her exasperation stirring up more than just her temper?

He flicked open the button at the top of his breeches.

Her gaze flew up to his face. “Priscilla! My name’s Priscilla!” she shouted.

“Priss? It fits.” His glance swept her from head to toe. Already he thought of the names he would torment her with when he was deep inside her pink cunt. “Prickly Priss”, if she ceded control reluctantly. “Prim Priss”, if her blushes flooded her cheeks. “Pretty Priss”, if she melted beneath his loving.

His cock stirred against his breeches, aching for ease. He quickly flicked open the next button.

“Um…” She backed up a step. “A shower! There’s no way you’re coming near me until you’re clean. What the hell did you bathe in anyway?”

“Whiskey,” he said with a grin.

“Whiskey? How? It’s prohibited.”

“He’s a smuggler,” Agnes interrupted.

Declan knew the older woman’s game. She was trying to remove his only weapon, the truth, by making his occupation part of his “role”.

“A smuggler? They think I want a criminal?”

“I’m sure they were thinking opposites and all…” Agnes sounded a little desperate.

“Agnes! Unless you care to join us, butt out!” he snarled.

Priscilla giggled. A tinkling, feminine sound that so surprised him, he caught himself gaping.

“Not so smart after all, are you?”

Declan barely heard her words—didn’t care to understand. Her smile took his breath away. Pink, full lips stretched over white teeth and a glimpse of her pink tongue stirred the predator lounging in his belly.

She stared back warily, her smile slipping. “Well, let’s see about that bath.”

He knew exactly where the shower was, but preferred following his hostess through the living room to the marble-tiled hallway beyond to watch the flex and stretch of her ass beneath the satin as she led the way. The plump contours reminded him what the weekend was all about—survival and sex, not falling into her smile.

The creases where her thighs met buttocks were exposed, and Declan had the oddest urge to trace them with his tongue. He, who never lingered over lovemaking, believed foreplay to be a waste of a perfectly good erection.

But here he was wondering if he’d find golden freckles on her ass to match those scattered across her nose and breasts. What inspired him to linger over her rounded bottom was a mystery. She wasn’t at all the sort of woman he preferred.

Her hair was shorter than most men’s. Thick, cropped curls that clung close to her head added to the elfish appeal of her slightly pointed ears.

But her boyish haircut was at odds with the lush derriere that flirted beneath the hem of her underwear.

Since he’d already cast himself in the role of marauder, he didn’t resist the impulse to cup a globe in his hand.

Priscilla shrieked and rounded on him, backing up against the bathroom door. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Giving you your money’s worth.” He moved in, his body so close her breasts would rub his bare chest if she took one deep breath.

“I said, after you’ve bathed we’ll discuss what’s next.”

“Ah! A woman after me own heart,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding her. “Shall I scrub your back first?”

“I am not joining you in the shower. It’s too small.”

“It’s quite large, actually. Room enough for Agnes too, if she cares to join us,” he said, raising his voice toward the end to make sure the other woman heard his challenge.

“You two go right ahead,” Agnes chirped. “I’m going to have a little word with Tonio.”

“You do that!” Priscilla said. “And find out where the off switch is!”