The Construct Of Love: Chapter 7
This is a polished draft from my debut novel, The Construct Of Love. Final version may differ.
Share Your Toys (Working Title)
Clarissa floats in a sea of touch.
Hands—warm, tantalizing —glide across her skin, caressing with a sensual precision that borders on reverent.
Fingers move like they’re strumming an instrument tuned to her soul, teasing every nerve, coaxing pleasure from places she never knew existed.
She moans.
Her breath shallow.
Heart thundering.
Another pair of hands joins in. Then another. And another.
She is consumed—lifted, worshiped, touched into oblivion.
Her body arches toward climax, pulled to some shimmering zenith—
And then—
Hands grip her throat, choking her violently.
Her eyes snap open.
Delphine and Pascal hover over her.
“Easy,” Delphine says softly. “You fainted.”
Pascal presses a cool, damp towel to her forehead. Clarissa reaches for it—
It’s the same he used to dry his detached penis.
She sits bolt upright.
She’s on the couch. Disoriented. The very place she made love to him.
Delphine stands nearby.
Pascal, still nude, gazes at her with that maddening calm.
He’s flawless.
Unreal.
Hers.
Delphine steps closer. “Do you remember anything?”
Clarissa’s mind flashes—rage, heartbreak, betrayal. The slap - A friend turning enemy?
“Which part?” she replies coolly.
“Pascal,” Delphine says brightly, “would you detach that lovely dick of yours. Hold it up for all of us to see?”
“Of course,” Pascal replies, as if asked to pass the salt.
He calmly detaches his penis.
There’s a flick—something fast. A shimmer?
The groin seals instantly.
Pascal presents the penis like a prized artifact. Smooth. Clean. Precise.
Clarissa doesn’t even flinch.
Strangely, it feels…normal.
“Thank you, my lovely man,” Delphine says, grinning. “Can you believe it?”
“I have to,” Clarissa murmurs.
Heated moments ago become now.
Salted wounds.
Delphine takes a breath, softening. “Clarissa, I’m—”
“Don’t.”
A long silence.
Mimosas and strawberries aren’t going to make up for it this time.
Delphine clears her throat.
She hides the hurt.
“You do realize what we’re dealing with, right?” She turns to Pascal. “You can put it back now.”
He reattaches his penis.
The groin seals again, testicles emerging without effort.
“He... is an it.”
“He’s not a drudge,” Clarissa snaps.
“I agree,” Pascal adds lightly. “I am not a drudge.”
“Not the kind we know,” Delphine mutters. “No puppet operator. No remote lag. Not a SynthMind Assistant, but definitely artificial. He has to be fully automated.”
“That’s impossible,” Clarissa says. “And illegal.”
“Exactly! Which is my point. This has to be something new. I don’t understand why it took me this long, but…”
“Delphine… he’s—”
“It’s—”
“Stop calling him that!” Clarissa barks, standing. “Get dressed, Pascal. We’re leaving.”
As he reaches for his jeans, Delphine cuts in: “No. Don’t, Pascal. Stay right there. I order you.”
Pascal chuckles. “Thank you, but I don’t take orders. Again, not a drudge.”
Clarissa smirks. Victory. Again.
Delphine tries again. “Please?”
Pascal stops, and calmly says, “I can wait.”
Clarissa gives him a confused glance.
“Take it off again,” Delphine says.
“What’s the point?” Clarissa shouts. “So what if he has a removable dick?!”
A hum.
Soft. Internal. Familiar.
It stops just as suddenly.
“This isn’t a man,” Delphine says quietly.
“I am a man,” Pascal says. His tone doesn’t change—but something sharpens behind it.
Delphine steps forward. “No. You’re not. I can see that clearly now.”
The hum returns. Louder now.
Clarissa hears it in her bones.
Delphine does too.
They freeze.
“Pascal… please. Detach again,” Delphine whispers, neither wanting to acknowledge the sound.
His voice. His touch. Their moment. Her memories rush in to defend him.
No machine could love like that. Could see her like that.
Pascal detaches again.
Her mind forms a narrative. One that she tells herself must be true.
Pascal is an altered, living man, abused and enslaved by another for-profit-company.
A black market victim.
The groin seals, quicker this time—but they both see it: a flicker. A glint.
Delphine narrows her eyes. “What is that?”
“What is what?” Pascal asks.
“Put it back on. Take it off again.”
“Would you prefer a different size?”
Delphine freezes. “You can do that?”
“Of course. All men can,” Pascal says dryly.
“Oh, if only,” Delphine breathes. “Now please—again.”
Pascal obeys.
This time, Delphine is ready. She snaps photos with her mobile-com as the groin seals.
She scrolls. Zooms. Enhances.
Then—she finds it.
A tiny inscription inside Pascal’s groin. She reads it aloud:
“Personalized Adaptive Sentient Companion Artificial Life #00022.”
NOTE: Sentient instead of SENSUAL
Pascal straightens, “Alpha Gamma 61616, Phi 33, Omega 11,” he says automatically. “What is your engagement?”
Delphine grins. “I knew it!”
He turns to Clarissa, as if nothing happened at all, voice soft. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I don’t think I could go on without you.”
Clarissa’s heart stutters. Tears gather.
He needs her. He’s real.
He’s a man. A man who needs saving. Trapped.
Delphine can’t help herself. “He’s a super-advanced fuck-bot. Pascal Twenty-Two. What are your instructions?”
“I’m sorry?” Pascal says. “What do you mean?”
“Pleasure me until I drown in a pool of my own succulence.”
“I would be delighted,” Pascal says simply.
“Pascal, no!” Clarissa cries.
“I am only yours, forever and more,” he says, gaze shifting instantly back to her.
“Pascal Twenty-Two, come with me to my bedroom,” Delphine commands.
“I’ve longed for you,” he whispers, turning.
“I said no!” Clarissa screams.
“Clarissa!” Delphine shouts, sudden and sharp.
It stuns the room silent.
Delphine smirks, eyes wild with triumph.
“Share your toys.”