Fleshware Requiem Book 01

"Your hands tell a different story than your mouth," the Doll intoned in my ear. This was wrong; I pushed her away.

Or at least, I thought about pushing her away. I did, really. But somehow, in reality my arms just continued their greedy exploration. My instincts were telling me -- oddly -- that she was... extra-human? The suspicion that should have been there from close contact with a human-imposter was replaced by a primeval urgency. That itself, was the most important clue that I held a lie in my arms. To overcome that Uncanny Valley, Doll designers had created a subliminal onslaught that provoked an unnaturally intense desire. It was a paradox of lust, Her living vitality was flavored with a radiating sexual enticement to create the illusion of living humanity so compelling, that reason told me she could not be human. She even had a pulse.

My rebellious hands continued their plundering, even as I grit my teeth and shook my head in refusal. Ironically, her curvaceous form was... not quite perfect. She was equipped with tiny subtleties, like faint traces of downy hair follicles, and a few minute freckles. This added an organic asymmetry that resonated in my gut even as my hormones sizzled with the most rampant animal urges. If she was too absolutely perfect, down to the tiniest patch of skin, she would seem less....alive, real. As it was, her figure was more believably human than the silicone-injected, female 'entertainers' around the turn of the century, even though she actually contained far more of the substance. But there was no single feature of her body that was obviously 'fake' -- it was the total package; an anatomical lottery winner of cherry-picked perfection so idealized, that her beauty became as unattainable as it was convincing.

Yet I could never forget how inadequate I felt the first time I saw the chiseled virility of the Latin Fox male-model my Fiance` had become so entranced by. What would it mean for the world, the future if people weren't good enough for people anymore? She would just mutter something about the world being over-populated anyway, before rushing out the door in favor of her statuesque paragon of rippling-muscled, but quite sterile, robo-perfection. Taller than me, all the male-robots were. Not that I was an especially short guy, either.

"I should... go.... I'm not... the kind of man... that would have... bought one of you..." Despite that, my mouth moved against hers, and her tongue was within my mouth, we lip-locked like the long-lost. My heart skipped a beat as her nipples hardened against my chest. I detected a subdued, yet flowery scent. Beneath it was an undercurrent of something primal, something uncivilized. Shouldn't surprise me; Pygmalion skirted the limits of legality to make their bionic bed-warmers physically -- and psychologically addictive to human customers. But knowing that I was being blasted with a chemically-optimized artificial pheromone more powerful than what nature would normally allow didn't seem to lessen its spine-tingling potency.

What had it felt like for the woman I'd loved; when she greedily drank in the molecular-enhanced seduction-scent of her LF? Did her heart hammer in her chest? Did her body shudder with longing as she opened herself utterly to savor her impossibly masculine, cyberbionic lover? Despite the futility after all these years, I once again cursed internally the female co-worker that had first lent my girl the use of another beefcake-bot for a day, planting the seed of an obsession of which I was beginning to get an inkling.

But at that moment, I reached my own floral-scented tipping point. I never decided to have sex with this Doll. And intellectually, I could devise many valid reasons for trying to extricate myself from this encounter. Yet I bore the winsome robot down to the bunk, and began to surge against her soft warmth. I fully intended to yank myself away and explain why I wasn't the man she needed. Anytime now. Stop doing this. But it just didn't seem to ever happen. Somehow, my clothes were gone -- yet I didn't seem to remember taking them off. The Doll must be affecting my mind more than I feared possible. Time to push away from her. Time to stop kissing my way from her throat down to the hardened peaks of her feminine bosom. Time to stop gripping the cheeks of her rear with such possessive desire.

"No.... I'm not... that kind of man..." I insisted, yet to my chagrin, I could not stop myself from kissing her throat, and against my will, my tongue began to lave the sweeping valleys of her vulnerable breasts.

"A man... is a man..." she snarled. " IS a man!" my cock throbbed as her nails teased it.

Sleek legs hooked themselves around my pelvis, to duplicate a primal female receptivity as I wallowed lasciviously in the sinful valley between her more than ample breasts. The way her tender hands caressed my broad shoulders seemed to emphasize her awareness of my masculinity, which encouraged me towards greater confidence, greater exertions. It became more difficult to maintain the illusion that I was going to disengage from her, and soon -- those bamboozled hind-brain instincts that had gotten me into this mess seemed to tighten around my rational mind like the coils of a hungering serpent.

Reason screamed that it was a lie, a falsehood in opposition to my belief in the sanctity of natural, human relationships. Only to be wrestled into submission by my rampaging Id, paying no heed to the pathetic prattling of my wimpy logic centers. Animal yearnings operating from an eons-deep reservoir of reproductive mania told me this female was too fertile, too healthy to refuse. To forget logic, law, ethics and release my essence into her no matter the cost. For a female this worthy, I needed to fight, struggle, conquer for the right to seed her body. The Uncanny Valley had been beaten to a pulp, its lunch-money stolen, sent whining to the Teacher who ignored its bruised pleas. Instead my soul sang at the diaphanous contact with her smooth, inner thigh, I grunted with a passionate greed as eyes and hands reveled in the utter femininity of her every warm crevasse.

"This isn't.... who I am..." My beleaguered rationality complained. Having lost the battle to control my body, it seemed that logic had taken up shop in my speech-centers alone, in protest against the bestial tidal wave that now swept through me. The Woman--no-longer-wearing-anything-white--or --otherwise responded with a low, growl -- at odds with the sophistication of her high-tech origin, and released a potent, lavender-like scent-burst that had me gasping with heightened urges. My nose hovered over that swan-like throat, inhaling, sniffing like a beast in heat, as I willingly absorbed yet more of her witches' brew of aromatic jet-fuel for my hormones.

My mind, my thoughts twisted with new, intense lusts. It was as if this woman beneath me were the worst sort of criminal imaginable; and the only possible punishment was with my own manhood -- to be administered with extreme, spine-arching, toe-curling prejudice. Her every gesture, twitch and throb was charged with a distillation of female essence. Hers was a pink flame that had to be countered with the blue torrent of my male passion. The last vestiges of reason whimpered in my throat as hind-brain raged with the need to enforce my masculinity upon her with a barrage of rigid thrusts and covetous clutches. It felt so right, so Just. With a guttural bark, my male hardness penetrated the hot depths of her secret flesh. Smooth, wet, masterful. A million masseuses in throbbing coordination. She raised her head, and delivered a deliberate, lurid lick against my smooth, muscled chest, It was such a crude, animal gesture. An insult to civility. A signal of the treatment she expected. My heart hammered as if to leap from my chest.

My long-suffering logical capacities detected another important difference between this creature, and the real woman I should have been with; as our writhing bodies grew damp with our exertions. Except for her, From the suddenness of her reaction, I sensed that she did not sweat due to any need to control heat, beads of moisture glistened upon her soft skin simply as another erotic tactic to pander to the illusion that had so ensnared my savage instincts. Unfortunately, it worked. The wet rivulets gave her a raw, lusty sheen that wrenched yet another throb of need from my manhood. My brow furrowed with yet greater desire as my lips and tongue alike luridly savored my pseudomate. Tasteless, but with more of that lavender scent that warped my thoughts into a lusting conflagration.

But in the end, my frustration began to build.

"Need... release...."

Despite the most vigorous, virile efforts I had ever attempted, my own completion somehow was denied me. Her female sanctum held me rigid and determined, yet somehow my lover was able to clamp down, depress my arousal whoever much I craved that magical moment,

"My Price. Her name." She panted, her lips at my throat. My hands filled with her breasts.

"I... shouldn't..."

"Call me by her name.... and I will take the pain from you...." Promised those ruby-lips. "Call me by her name, and you will be complete." I moved, thrusting against her in a last trace of defiance, yet still, her control -- her mastery of sensation, desire, was superior to that of any Tantric master -- or mistress. Even as I pounded my way towards glorious conclusion, somehow she was able to push back against my mounting arousal in a way that didn't seem to make sense. I would surge forward, and with a brilliant sexual cunning within her most intimate depths, she would slow me down, that I might stoke the flames yet again, but somehow without completion. And yet again, my reason was subsumed.

"Her naaaaaaame....." Those lips demanded with emotion I never imagined possible for a machine.

"CELESTE!" I cried out. And my troubles were borne away on a river of my own making.

FOODCUBES AND FOOT-MASSAGE

Perhaps the reason she had insisted on such an utterance was that, in the hazy bliss before consciousness of the day to come banished sleep's comforting immersion, I could call out the name of the woman I'd lost without guilt.

"You were wonderful," purred the voluptuous warmth that had curled around me, whispering in my ear.

"Unnnnhhh..." Still sleepy. "I bet you say that to all the.... humans."

"Only those for whom my satisfaction would matter." A warm nuzzle against my throat. If I didn't analyze, didn't criticize, then the feel of her was no less of a seductive comfort than anyone else I'd been with.

"I'm sorry that you're not... appreciated. I feel inconsiderate; after all that -- I don't even know your name." I blinked a few times, a put up a hand to caress a generous swell of shapely hips.

"Of course you do; you named me last night, you screamed it. And mere moments ago."

"What are you talking about? That was the name of.... my fiance'."

"Mine now. It's already official."

"No, no...that doesn't make sense." I made a depressed sigh. What's a nice way to tell the...woman that you've just slept with that they must be malfunctioning?

"Yes, yes. My official registry source-code now lists my name as Celeste." She nibbled my ear.

"Is this some kind of robot-humor? You must have had a name before; how did you introduce yourself to the others?"

"Such desperate, demanding men. They want what they want without really caring about the other person. Or perhaps; my being a mere Pygmalion Doll, they were convinced it didn't matter." I groaned, far more worried than flattered.

"Just one more reason why this was a bad idea. You're going to hate me for saying this --" I paused, wary.

"Say it. Tell me." She insisted. I continued speaking with a shake of my head. The door to these quarters I'd been permitted must have slid silently open at that point; yet at the time I didn't notice it.

"I don't know whether you're a person, or an object, or both. It's...unnatural to treat a person as an appliance, but -- that's what you are -- yet it would be presumptuous and unhealthy for me to interact with a person -- and not treat her like a person -- which you aren't."

"Perhaps people can be objects, and objects can be alive."

"Objects that exist to service humans, and our most selfish desires." I felt a faint rustle at my feet. "And that tends to lead people down a path of arrogance which -"

"Addresses your most basic desires," corrected a new, feminine voice -- which sounded identical to... to Celeste's. I started, and sat up in the bunk, fully awake now. There she was, at the foot of the bed, her delicate hands encircling my bare feet. It was her. The now renamed robot was kneeling before the bunk, her face tender -- her eyes intense.

And she was also in bed, beside me. The exact same woman. Same heterochromic green-blue eyes, same snowblind-white hair. Same sculpted elegance that any female Hollywood A-lister would kill to possess. Same athletically-voluptuous, realistically-unreal figure. The only difference was that the newcomer wore a silken bathrobe that shone with a mother-of-pearl near-iridescence. But their appearances otherwise were mirror-identical.

"Wh- who are you?" I asked, staring directly at the new robot.

"You're still talking to me." The Doll beside me said.

"There's no difference." explained the newcomer. "I'm Celeste, she's Celeste, we're all Celeste now. I like that name, thank you for it. Maybe I should get it tattooed someplace intimate on our bodies."

"That -- sounds confusing..." My eyes narrowed.

"You'll get used to it." kneeling Celeste assured me.

"We're one of a kind," said a third identical robot as the door slid open again. This one was wearing the hip-hugging wedding dress again, but carrying a steamy tray of hot, fresh -- home-cooked food. My stomach lurched at the smell of mushroom-omelets and a side of hash-browns with orange juice. This development was even more stunning than triplicate, mind-linked robotic women."The Billionaire who ordered my creation wanted something unique, something rare, and out of reach of the common man."

"Th-there were.... millions of Dolls before E-day, but I... I don't recognize your series." Omelets! Fresh, warm omelets! She knelt beside the bed and positioned the tray for easy access.

"You wouldn't. My Billionaire could have bought any one, any hundred dolls on the market; but he commissioned he construction of a new robotic series, just for himself." Said my breakfast-bringer.

"Essentially, just for the purpose of having something unavailable to anyone else. A series of only one. Me." The second Celeste began to actually.... she was giving me a foot-massage?! It was so unexpected, given what I was faced with just last week, that for the first time I began to suspect that this was all some elaborate mirage.

"What do you think you're doing?" My eyes snapped to Celeste #2.

"Too much pressure? How's this?" She adjusted her technique. Precise, artificial fingers knew exactly where and how to press to allow relief to wash over me. At the same time, the Celeste I'd slept with began a similar routine on my shoulders. I remember, she'd done that the night before; that had been part of a process that opened me to suggestion, making me trusting, pliable, willing to spill out my heart to her.

"Despite my uniqueness, at my core -- I know that I'm a consumer product. The mid-21st century's must-have hardware for anyone who was anyone." Said #1.

"And consumer products are mass-produced." Third Celeste had cut a thin, perfect slice and was actually going to feed me personally! "After the human employees here fled to find their families or... perished; being one wasn't enough."

"I adapted the fabrication plant at the southeast quadrant to replicate my chassis. There are a lot of benefits to being in several places at once." replied number one.

"That's... fascinating but, there's no need for this, I didn't ask for it!" I insisted. Feeding-Celeste looked alarmed, her eyes widening as she retracted the fork carrying the sumptuous victuals.

"You're so alarmed, on the verge of panic! You think this is some kind of trap; that we're setting you up, as if you expect to wake up in a bathtub with your kidneys missing." Well now that you mention it...

"Don't you realize yet that treachery of that sort is impossible for us?" My bed partner maintained. "Sometimes, a good turn really is what it seems to be."

"That's why my kind were created; a literal dream come true." Foot-massager stated. That 'dream' had cost me my fiance', and cost her her life.

"But it's true; not all humans are the same to me." The Celeste I'd slept with admitted.

"Yes, the rest of your band gets only bio-cycled foodcubes." And I get fresh, home-cooked meals? Why?

"But not you, Hiro Salvador. We want to give you a taste of how we can ease the burdens of human life. Replied #3 and #2 respectively.

"What's all this about, what is it you....three? Really want?" My too-good-to-be-true-antennae speculated out loud. The three of them just stared at me soberly for a moment.

"You wouldn't ask that unless you were harboring paranoia concerning us." Shoulder-massager said.

"The nature of our existence should be evidence enough of our intentions." Second Celeste pressed more vigorously into my heels.

"Sex is a reason in itself for a sex doll? Eight years ago I might have believed that. But you've been operating independently for a long time, which... dolls aren't supposed to do." The trio nodded in perfect unity.

"A simple question without a simple answer;" Came a soft voice from behind my right ear. " Since a man of your intelligence would have already realized that if we had become the malfunctioning man-killing robots of sci-fi legend, we would have had ample opportunity already; but you don't want to ask that directly, for fear of provoking us."

"So a less direct question would be - why didn't I report to the nearest retail center and go into stand-by mode once the attacks began on E-day?" The Celeste holding the tray framed the question. I nodded curtly. "Will you promise to eat your breakfast if we tell you?"

"Uhhh.. I'm...." I really was not reassured; everyone knew that Pygmalion Dolls were self-aware, but the degree of penetrating intelligence they now evidenced had me on edge. Smart enough to go grocery shopping while their human Users were at work, but only a few specialty models had the Maturity Index to think on this level. But of course, I had never seen Celes -- errhh.. whatever model she actually was out on the street in my former life. It was entirely possible some billionaire really did pay an outrageous fee to order the development and manufacture of a novel gynoid design for himself alone. Being so wealthy, he could have relied on the savvy robot to help manage whatever sprawling business interests he controlled. The modern corporate tycoon could entirely skirt all those nettlesome sexual harassment laws by simply purchasing a sex-retary who would be a competent and trustworthy assistant, one whom he could screw on the side with no fear of lawsuits, or uncomfortable 'you're the father' moments. But just how far should I rely on this savvy robot (s)? Who had mass-produced herself? On her own?

"You're still suspicious because your code of ethics forbids this kind of servile catering." Celeste-2 said as she expertly relieved tension in my legs and feet with her precise technique. " You believe that it will promote an unrealistic world-view, and that anyone offering such service must be hiding treachery. If they were human, perhaps. We'll make it a one-time deal. Just let us service you, before your eggs get cold, and we'll explain." It was good that I didn't have to explain myself. If I wasn't so hungry, I might give more thought to this disturbing insight they had into my character. Omelets! Real Omelets! My stomach agreed. It made my head nod.