by Audrey Drake
She was simply not programmed to have such thoughts.
And just then, at the exact moment her mind had been wandering and she'd not been waiting on edge expecting it, she heard the grinding of tires against asphalt. She saw the glowing halo of headlights as it flashed through the window, blinding her for a moment, forcing her to close her eyes- not because it legitimately stung them, but because blinking at the appropriate times had been a crucial step in designing her so as not to feel too cold and unrealistic, a graceful means of avoiding a lifetime damnation in the uncanny valley of existence, too human to be a robot, too robotic to be a human.
She heard the latch of the car door as it opened, and held her breath- or, pretended to at least, in actuality stopping the continual spinning of her internal fans as she listened, her internal mechanisms all becoming heated in the process, effectively warming her body up for him.
She heard the redundant boong, boong, boong, boong, boong of the alarm telling them both that the car door was open, which of course they both already knew. She heard the clack of his dress shoes as they hit the pavement, the couple of paces it took them to remove his beautiful body from the vehicle, and the loud slam of the car door. The boong, boong, boong, boong, boong stopped, and the headlights sparked out, dissolving away into the night.
Her simulated heart beat faster inside her breast, thudding to get out against the empty pocket of his shirt. She could feel the moisture that had been programmed to appear begin to condensate between her legs. And she remembered suddenly that her supply of the liquid product that allowed this was almost depleted, and she would have to remember afterwards to remind him to buy more for her soon.
But that, of course, could wait. She had plenty still remaining to be able to get through tonight without worry, and at any rate, she wasn't sure she could withstand the amount of time it would take to tell him, and for him to write it down in his phone so as not to forget.
She wanted him, and she wanted him now.
She'd been programmed to wait, but she had been waiting long enough.
She heard the scuffling of his shoes as they paced across the asphalt. She heard them step up onto the curb of the sidewalk, and heard the jingling of his keys as he fumbled through his pocket for them.
She positioned herself by the door in anticipation, her legs out to her sides and her fingers balled into fists, standing there as though she'd been in that exact same spot the whole day through, lustily awaiting his arrival.
She heard him step up onto the ledge, then the scrape of his key into the lock, then the click as he twisted it, undoing the metal tumblers of her prison, and then the scrape back out as he extricated the thing slowly. Even this childish but overtly sexual imagery was too much for her to handle, and she shuddered with desire at his looming and inevitable approach.
The door opened, and again she experienced an exaggerated blindness as the musty yellow glow of the street lamp radiated in through the doorway, casting a black facsimile of the man she desired across the hardwood landing.
She glared with desire at the spot where his eyes should reasonably be, her pupils visibly glowing through the darkness with LED lust.
For a moment he just stood there, not moving, and it was impossible to gage his reaction to her. Or rather, it would have been impossible, except that, as we have mentioned, she was a robot, and for an instant she cheated at the game of preserving sexual tension, as in about the time it took to blink one's eye she flashed on her night vision mode, long enough to see him smiling at her with hunger in the darkness. Immediately she clicked back, hopefully before he could notice she'd done it, satisfied and aroused at what she'd seen.
At last, he relented.
He walked toward her with steadied footsteps, closing the front door behind him, and locking it shut. At long last, she remembered to resume her simulated breathing, her body almost at the point of overheating from her fans being inactive for so long. Her warm breasts heaved beneath the loose shelter of his shirt, her breathing amplifying all the more with every inch he came nearer, his silhouette fading into something more tangible as he stepped closer near to her.
“Well hello there, beautiful.”
She could feel her sensors responding to his compliment, a digitized swath of red blush radiating forth upon her cheeks, a smile creasing the folds of her luscious red lips. He touched the back of his hands to the tender pink of her face, feeling as though for heat, and was not at all disappointed in his quest. She made ravenous, yet somehow gentle eyes for him, which said that although she was his property, it was she who was doing the burning for his presence.
“I've been waiting for you all day,” she said, scarcely a whisper, her lips barely moving as she spoke.
“I know,” he said, stroking the locks of her chestnut hair in his fingers, gazing into her glowing blue eyes as though searching for a soul that wasn't there. “And now I'm here...”
And then rather suddenly, all of her waiting came crashing down into an immediate and always unexpected head. All of the tension unleashed, the top of the apex conquered, and everything that was to occur only a rapid spiral downward form here.
His lips were on her lips. His breath mingled with the heated air simmering out from her own body. His hands were on her waist, pulling her body into himself, groping through the fabric of his own shirt for the concealed wonder of her immaculate silicon curves, her hips, her abdomen, her breasts beneath their covering of lingerie.
She was glad she'd turned her fans back on, because now she was heating up at a rate that was alarming to say the least. Her sensors were flashing like crazy all over the place, the many responses that accompany impending sexual activity in a human all hitting her simultaneously, burning her up delightfully inside, the moisture of his kiss sending lines upon lines upon lines of binary shooting past across her field of vision. When at last she pulled back, the two of them looking ravenously at one another, and all she could briefly see was a zero and a one in place of his eyeballs for a moment, and she had to blink hard in order to clear up the illusion.
“I think someone's just a little bit eager,” he whispered, his perfect face chiseled out by shadow in a way that was almost angelic to behold. He was smiling, his sensational lips spread into a grin of delight at her befuddlement. She knew, at this point, that keeping up even the scarcest facade of composure was a mere exercise in vanity, and she decided then and there to fling herself into his arms, lunging forth at the mercy of his embrace, their bodies entwining in a passionate union that was only to intensify as it burned.
“Take me!” she pleaded, her LED eyes flashing a brilliantly blinding white, and he decided any resistance to this most desirous and sincere of pleas would be inhumane not to oblige, even in the case of a cyborg.
They locked lips once again, spinning around in one another's fumbling arms as they embraced, whirring around like a top in the throes of their desires through the shadowy chambers of the house, oblivious to direction, destination, or any obstacles that may lie in their path, yet somehow navigating with an assured gracelessness to the place where they wanted to go.
There was a chance that the robot's internal navigational computer had something to do with that, but let's not spoil the romance of the thing by dragging literalism into the scene.
Pirouetting like newlyweds they stumbled into the chamber of their consummation, descending into near darkness, and for no other reason than to seal themselves inside, closed the bedroom door behind them.
They continued to kiss for a few minutes, groping and grabbing as though striving to absorb one another, wanting to melt into one another's bodies through their clothes, flesh and bone and muscle into wires and silicon and circuitry.
They rolled around on the bed, tumbling in free-fall, their legs entwining, the covers bundling up around their eager and careless bodies as they spun. After some time, the robot managed to wrestle herself into the topmost position among them, glaring wickedly down at her human as a cat that's secu
red an especially plump and juicy mouse under his paw. Still fully clothed, she began to grind slightly against his own business-attire-clad body, their loins exhibiting a heated friction as they scraped along against one another like sandpaper, his erection progressing noticeably along through the smooth fabric of his dress pants, her own simulated femininity now soaked and raging with a desire for its consumption.
She began to strip him. She loosened his tie, pulling it down along his neck, tugging him toward her as though on a leash, and then removing it altogether, slithering it out along the circumference of his collar, making sure to brush his warm skin with the back of her hand as she did so. With reckless abandon she pulled apart his dress shirt, tearing it down the middle and sending the many buttons popping off in a dozen different directions, shooting and scattering about the bedroom, at last whittling him down to the skimpy tube of his undershirt- which, then, she also promptly removed, reducing him to a state of complete upper nudity, his beautiful pecs bulging as though being viewed through 3-D glasses, his abdominals rippling down along his body, the chiseled V of his Adonis muscles leading her eyes like a compass to the precise point where she wanted to be- unnecessarily perhaps, but very, very, very much appreciated.
She unbuckled his belt, lifting his waist by the hand as she slithered it out of the loop of his pants, the smooth hum as it slid along his body through the fabric a largely sensual thing in itself. She was careful to graze his masculinity as she unbuttoned and unzipped his fly, the heat and girth of his erection feeling wonderful to her touch. She wriggled him out of his pants, rather gracelessly, as despite all of mankind's many scientific advancements, technology had yet to devise a way in which taking off one's pants could be considered a smooth or graceful action.
She clutched at him through his boxers, squeezing on his erection as though it were a lever of some kind, making him sigh a tortured sigh on the blankets, his body burning desperately to feel the touch of her silicon flesh more directly.
And then, at last, he was bare.
His eager male arousal stood like a flagstaff pointing upward toward the ceiling, the folded flag of his boxers now lying in a heap on the floor. It throbbed and it danced, adamant to seduce the grip of his robotic vixen around it.
She scooted herself back off the surface of the bed. She kept her eyes focused intently on her aroused prey, the pupils glaring at him through the darkness. Slowly, she unbuttoned the shirt of his she wore, as careful in the proceedings as she had been rough with his own article's violent removal. Soundlessly she slid each individual button through the narrow opening of its hole, one by one by one, an act bizarrely sensual in and of itself.
At last the shirt went drifting to the floor, leaving her standing there in nothing but her lingerie, cherry red and scandalously skimpy, her decorative nipples nearly the only aspect of her plump, round breasts that remained concealed from view, and a generously large portion of her smooth, milky pubic triangle could be seen visibly showing above the negligible concealment of her lacy crimson panties.
Even this, she knew, was too much fabric for his taste, and she smiled as she saw a little dab of liquid accumulating on the raging purple tip of his engorged manhood.
Like a tiger she slouched across his splayed form, clambering on all fours up the course of his exposed body, her covered breasts hanging down in their holsters, his erection skimming along the underside of her stomach as she crawled. At last she touched down, sprawling out on top of him, and planting her lips firmly once more onto his, their breath mingling, the binary buzzing along her field of vision in a wild matrix so dizzying that she was forced to close her eyes. She savored the press of his hot, slick member up against her simmering silicon flesh as she lay on him. She began grinding her pelvis slightly into him once again as their tongues lashed together, a far lesser quantity of fabric now separating their genitals. Her breasts, too, in turn, were rubbing up against his body in their cups, smearing back and forth across his sweating skin as she dry-humped him, and after a while he reached back, purposefully grazing the simulated bony ridges of her arched spine, and began to struggle with an intense sense of purpose to manage to undo her bra.
And then, for an instant, the robot was filled with a sense of delight, hoping beyond hope that being stripped bare in this position would lead to him allowing her to be on top during lovemaking, something that had never once happened during her years of ownership by him. Always between the two, sex involved her owner climbing on top and fulfilling his carnal cravings in the missionary position, every time, without variation. And so many times she had lain in silence beside him, wishing it were in her place to request this one small variation in their routine, not to dominate him, so much, as simply to experience something new, to know some variation among the endless possibilities of uninhibited sexuality. But always, her master was content with the plain, the unadventurous, un-exotic, the vanilla, and she found it inappropriate for a machine designed specifically for his pleasure to protest, or to in any way deny him what specifically he desired from her.
Tonight, maybe, things would be different...
But then at last he managed to unhook the bra from behind her shoulders, sliding it out from between them and exposing her succulent breasts, the nipples pressing tenderly into his wet skin. And then he added, “Stand up so I can take your panties off for you,” and she knew that the hope- or delusion, rather, was over.
Disappointingly, he laid her down on the bed, and climbed over her body as he always did once her wispy thread of panties had been peeled down off of her. She perked up, though, once he'd slid his erection gingerly into the slender, slippery slit between her legs, and slowly, very slowly, he stretched the length of his immense, veiny shaft into the deepest, darkest reaches of her tight, perfect void.
It may not have been on her preferred terms, but it was still sex. And it was very, very good sex at that. It was routine, but it was still the thing she'd spent all day long salivating over, and she was going to lie back and enjoy the show regardless of her position.
Sex between the two of them was like a dream, not in its goodness exactly, though it was good, but in its strange quality, the oddness of its very existence, wonderful and powerful, but almost as though it had never actually happened once it was all said and done.
His strokes were long, measured, gliding gently in and then drifting back out of her synthetic body like a hot breeze. She shuddered, as was her habit, when he reached back in far enough, tapping up against a tender bit, activating the electrical nerve ending that sent a familiar pulse of wonder surging through her taut, synthetic body.
“Ohhhhhhhh, Gooooddddddd,” she sighed, as she always did, as he lovingly caressed her breasts, as he always did, and it felt wonderful, like it always did.
Innnnnn, ouuuuuuuut, innnnnnn, ouuuuuuuut, he slid, a mechanism activating that filled the inside of her narrow feminine tunnel with a warm, tingling lubricant, coating his penis more and more thoroughly each time it came digging back in, first the tip, and then inch by inch by inch of the shaft, until the whole thing was gooey with the beautiful substance, and his thrusting had to increase, faster and harder, in order for his erection to satisfy him with the amount of friction within her body that he craved.
Accordingly, the beating of his pelvis grew quicker, steadier, and at last fast, vigorous even, like smacking on the taut, echoing skin of a bongo drum. Wham, wham, wham, over and over and over, he pound, pound, pound, pounded into her body, his wet skin slapping like thunder against the silicon flesh of her manufactured genitals, her electronic body writhing about the sheets, her spine rising in mid-air as though possessed, her breasts lulling back along her chest as she cringed with passion, the nipples pointing upward toward her tortured face, her mouth open and her eyes lit up like two great spotlights toward the ceiling.
“OHHHHHHHHH, GOOODDDDDDDDDD!” she wailed, the thing that such unholy men cherish to hear for some reason, and wham, wham, wham, WHAM!
With a final lu
nge he'd crammed his erection all the way into her, digging into her innermost depths, and holding himself there, his pelvis stifling her own, his breathing heavy, pouring through his lips in sweaty puffs, his eyes squinted fiercely with the onset of climax.
“OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH YEESSSSSSSSSSSS!” she cried, because it was the proper thing, and she felt his hot gush of lust spurting forth through her vagina, twirling around inside, coating the thin walls, activating her pleasure sensors and causing her to orgasm as well, her waist gyrating beneath his body, her knees clenching as tightly together as they could around the obstruction of his clenched and sweaty buttocks, her nipples crackling with sensation, and her entire body surging with an overwhelming feeling of absolute carnal delight. The ones and the zeros and the ones and the zeros and the ones and the zeros took over, swarming about frantically as insects across her field of vision, blinding her with pleasure, sending her fading into a lusty nowhere that was precisely where she wanted it to be.
And then it was over.
Charles and K8-E lay there beside one another in the afterglow, kissing for a little while, but then both just laying there in silence. Things were clear now again following the fulfillment of lust, as sex eats away at a certain part of the identity, making you forget who you are or who you're with, what the true dynamic is between your partner and yourself, making you equals of a kind for the mutual state of animalism thrust upon you by your desires. In these moments, it was almost, almost enough for Charles to see K8-E as human, possessive of all that it took to engage in sexual activity with him, and therefore close enough to be treated as an equal. Now, though, their roles became abundantly clear again, human and robot, master and slave, superior and subordinate. Although the robot still felt as much desire as ever to be pleasing, Charles himself felt no need whatsoever from here on out to carry on with the illusion, at least not until he was horny again.