The Adventures of Robohooker by Sally Hollister Page A

harm’s way without endangering anybody,” I said.
    “But he doesn’t want your panties because you don’t leak and he can’t get them because you don’t go to the can,” Fifi reminded me.
    “My physical appearance can be altered so that I look like any one of you,” I said and as they all turned and stared at me I added, “The fee for the encounter would go to the girl I imitated.”
    “The I.R.C. might not accept that, Andi,” Fifi said.
    “My owners do not need to know,” I said.
    “I didn’t know you could lie.”
    “Saying nothing is not lying,” I answered, though the truth was that I could deceive as well as the next girl if required because e xaggeration and dissimulation were programmed into me as a Robohooker.
    “And you’d do that for us?” Mandy asked.
    “You are my sisters and I must defend you,” I said blandly.
    “It’s only a few pairs of panties,” Fifi said weakly, fearing that I would jeopardise her relationship with the I.R.C.
    “That does not matter. It is an offence against our dignity. If a gentleman wishes to purchase a pair of our panties he should state his intent and offer a reasonable price. What this miscreant is doing is theft and he must be stopped.”
    It became very clear, on further investigation, that all of the girls apart from Priscilla had suffered a loss and as it seemed likely that he was working his way through all the girls, she would be the next target. I, therefore, took photographs of her and precise measurements and relayed them to the lab, requesting that my appearance be changed to hers. There were enquiries as to my purpose from I.R.C. of course, but I informed them that I wished to establish how much my physical appearance had to do with my popularity, and that seemed to satisfy them. The major alterations were that my cheekbones were reduced in prominence, my lips thinned and my red mane was replaced with Priscilla’s short dark curls.
    “Goddam, it’s like looking in a mirror,” Priscilla said when I met up with her after being refitted.
    “In terms of body shape we are roughly the same,” I informed her, “It was only my face and hair that have been altered. I will try to keep conversation to a minimum so that the clients will not recognise my true nature. This would have been more difficult with Mandy as I have not yet mastered her command of filthy language. I know the words but cannot deliver them convincingly.”
    “You’re a peach,” Priscilla said, though neither she nor I resembled the fruit in any way, even when I was wearing my own face.
    I had to increase vaginal pressure slightly to encourage my own clients to finish more quickly so that I could squeeze in the one client a day Priscilla entertained, but it was so slight that nobody noticed or complained. For her customers, of course, I could not do this, but being a more mature type she seemed to attract a younger client who climaxed quickly in any case.  The first few of these were no more than routine, though I offered every opportunity for theft by making two calls to the bathroom during each encounter.
    It was while entertaining her fifth customer, a small man called Mr Kevin Underwood, that I became suspicious, especially as he insisted on buying me copious amounts of drink before we retired to my room. Was this a ploy to ensure that I visited the lavatory thus allowing him the freedom to rake through my dirty laundry, I wondered? I explained my lack of conversation as we sat in the bar by claiming to have a sore throat, an explanation he accepted willingly as it allowed him to talk at length about himself.  He was a highly successful artist, he told me, who specialised in water colors, though when I questioned him about the subject it was scant, implying that he might be a master of disguise but he was not a master of deception. Basically, he had not done his homework adequately and had expected that no whore would have an in-depth knowledge of the subject. It was not