Clinton St. Quarterly, Vol. 3 No. 1 |Spring 1981 (Portland) Issue 9 of 41 /// Master# 9 of 73

4 erineDunn RLY on the morno in n g d o b f ir h t e h r da fo y, rty T -s h e e c l ­ ma Vole stood naked in the closet where her four MALE robots hung, and deJtf\{ff{{f{ �:�� d f:r h t�r ��� �� the Bureau convention. Boss Vole, as s e h r e b w ee a n s k a n b o e w a n m i i n ng th r e o o d f e f o ice q , u h ee a n d , n b e u v t at that moment her two hundred and thirty poun ds heaved with blue veined menace. A knot of dull anger sat in her heavy jaw and rippled with her thoughts. She hated business trips. She hated hotels. She hated the youngsters who were her peers· in the Bureau, fifteen years her junior and far less experienced. More than anything else she hated having to go to a meeting on the weekend of her birthday. . She considered whether in her present mood it might not be best to take the Wimp along. She reached into the folds of the robot's deflated crotch and pinched the reinforced tubing that became an erect penis when the t Wio i nm a p l. wT a h s e s pw r i e t s c s h u e r d e o o n f a h n e d r p o l p u e mra p fingers on the skillfully simulated skin gave her a vivid satisfaction. She picked up one of the dangling legs, stretched the skin of its calf across her lower teeth and bit down deliberately. The anger in her jaw clamped on the t N iv e a a t r e -Flesh. If the Wimp had been ac­ d, t�e force of her bite would

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