Free Curve Effect (A BBW Box Set of Contemporary, Science Fiction and Paranormal Romances) by Ann Vremont Page A

the anonymous fat girl a lesson about masquerading as a pleasure droid.
    Fine. He wanted to play -- I could play, too. Before the night was up, Mr. Almost Perfect was going to get a double shot of my opinion straight in the center of his handsome, smirking face.
    I brushed a hand against my neck, activating the voice blur on my collar, and then I spun slowly on one heel until I faced him. The costume had come with its own guide on Fantasy Unit etiquette. Droid protocol defaulted to submissive until the would-be client transmitted his preferences. Keeping my gaze on the ground, I answered in a digitalized voice that was soft as silk and nothing like my own.
    "Yes?"
    He put his finger under my chin and lifted until he looked directly at my masked face. If there had been any doubt, I knew then that karma is, indeed, a bitch. It was Vance, no mistaking any other man for him. At six-foot-three, he would have been tall in any century, but in New York City, where the average male height had decreased by a quarter inch per decade since the turn of the century, he towers over most men.
    He definitely towered over me by a solid six inches despite the three-inch heels I wore. I had to look up to see the natural pale green eyes. That he keeps his natural color is itself unnatural. Almost everyone in his income bracket has so many enhancements that they practically leak silicone and circuits.
    "Such an unexpected pleasure." His hand landed on my shoulder, the thumb extending to stroke along my collarbone. "I haven't seen an Xtra model on the street in…"
    He shrugged, the gesture so slight I almost missed it. His hand moved up past the pink collar that housed the voice blur and a mock credit reader to curl around my neck. His thumb resumed stroking, the soft rub just below my earlobe and completely mesmerizing.
    I studied his face in search of some sign of recognition.
    Was this a joke?
    He dipped his head, his mouth against my ear. "Answer me. Are you functional?"
    It took me a second to realize the soft, breathless yes, sir hanging in the air had come from my mouth.
    "Master," he corrected.
    "Yes, Master," I answered in return. If he wasn't having a laugh on some anonymous fat girl, Vance Gemini wanted a submissive. Otherwise, he would have ignored my use of sir or activated a dominatrix protocol by calling me Mistress.
    His fingertips brushed across my lips. "Are all orifices functional?"
    My knees went weak. No way was this actually happening. It didn't matter that I had carefully powered my skin to vanilla ice perfection like a real Fantasy Unit or that I had spent the extra money for an actual droid vid mask and fake credit reader. Equally irrelevant was the difficulty in telling synth flesh from real when most everyone is packing a little synth flesh anyway. Vance had to know -- they don't make units anywhere near my size.
    Right?
    I shook my head. They couldn't. It had been eighteen months since I'd had anything close to a man asking me out on a date. If men didn't want the live version, why would they pay for a droid version?
    I shook my head again.
    They wouldn't -- case closed.
    "Which orifice isn't working?"
    I almost broke protocol and lifted my head. "They are all working, Master."
    "Are you sure you're not malfunctioning?" His free hand surfed the curve of my stomach on a trip down to the hem of the short latex skirt.
    There, with cameras covering the empty platform, he lifted the fabric. Feeling the warm trail of fingers up my thigh, I gasped. My breathing accelerated. Cream built hot and thick behind the seal of my labia as he stroked higher.
    "My compliments to your maker, beautiful." A kiss along my jawline followed his throaty laugh. "Your response programming is most excellent."
    He rubbed the gusset of the sheer panties I wore.
    "Are your moisture cells charged?" His fingers slipped behind the fabric to discover the answer for himself. Finding me wet, he murmured his approval against my neck. "I don't think I've ever