Fleshware Requiem Book 01

"On E-day, we didn't report back to the Dealer when our User died, because he had already been dead for two years prior." Celeste-3 gently guided the laden fork into my mouth, where the implications almost made me choke.

"But I can see that you'd rather be alone now." The sexbot I had sexed carefully untangled herself from me and the food tray.

"When you've finished imagining the ways in which you believe we're conspiring against you, come find one of us;" Said the second Celeste that had stopped her ministrations. Damn, that had felt great.

" - and we'll resume making you comfortable," finished the Celeste that had brought in the tray. Oh boy, a guilt trip. Was my suspicious denial as much of an insult as the brutal exploitation foisted on them by the rest of the men? If in fact -- the Dolls really were just satisfying their User-friendly programming? Perhaps what I did -- or didn't do -- was worse. My attempted gallantry that might have appealed to a flesh and blood woman would seem to undermine the Dolls' very reason for existence. (Of course, if that flesh and blood woman was like Cele -- my human fiance`, she'd prefer a steely-studbot who would always make her feel beautiful.)

The trio stood as one and turned to leave. It occurred to me that now might be a moment where three human friends might turn to look at each other, to gauge the reaction of her friends. But here there was no such need. My stomach leapt inside me for a reason very different from hunger as my eyes instinctively riveted to their shapely derrieres.

Had I blown it? Blown what? I still planned to get out of here. I needed to get out of here.

A SUBTLE ALCHEMY

After a shiver of delight from the final bite of omelet, (after eight years of processed, expired quasi-edible, nutri-bar ration-sticks!) I decided to investigate some other notions that had been buzzing busily at the back of my mind. My quarters, perhaps all the quarters had been equipped with holo-consoles for entertainment purposes -- entertainment other than the physical gratification that seemed so readily available. Not that there would be much of a hypernet, what with human civilization being destroyed and all, but... yes! There were hundreds of terabytes of pre-recorded data available, including copies of almost every T.V. Show and news broadcast in the past hundred years.

I had a sudden burst of inspiration for a way to .... well, make everyone happy, quite simply. So I typed away until a floating screen of suspended light hovered before me displaying the Pygmalion corporate logo. It was a Q and A page; addressing many common issues plaguing human owners of the sapient robotic surrogates. Obviously, it hadn't been updated in a decade, but the stored files were accessible.

"Lesse.... Doll skin....Dermanext Neo-skin system first invented as artificial skin-grafts for burn victims for its true to life appearance and texture... No surprise there...keep going.... Dolls equipped with patented infrasonic neuropulse emitters that can stimulate the brain's pleasure center...." Had that happened to me? Should I be worried? Probably just marketing hype. I kept scrolling down with deft touches of my finger against the intangible holo-screen. Ahhh.... this should help....

OhioStacy01: My male-model, (An Iron-Man 5.6) assures me that he finds me sexy and alluring; but I can't help but worry that he would be much happier with any of the glamorous, female robots I'm seeing a lot of lately. Then, last night, I caught him making out with my landlord's gorgeous Bombshell 8.1 Doll. I don't know what do, I paid a lot of money for him, and am devastated. He says it doesn't mean anything, but how can I believe him? trust him? Can my he-bot fall in love with a she-bot, and will he become unhappy with little ol' me, and start to malfunction?

PYGFYI: While platonic affection is always possible between compatible, intelligent beings; Pygmalion designs our robots with a comprehensive bioneural scanning system that catalogs the pleasures, and desires of humans that they engage in intimacy with. This capability is central to their function, and central to their ability to know what you want before you know it yourself. It's vital for any of our fine machines to be able to gather pleasure-center data on a human to begin to extrapolate the best way to please you, his owner. Since this functionality is so central to the mental health of any Pygmalion unit, they themselves could never experience true satisfaction or sexual pleasure with another robot; because there would be nothing for them to scan. A sexual relationship between two robots would be frustratingly empty, and unfulfilling for them both, given that they are so attuned to absorb human data.

Nonetheless, your robot's behavior may still surprise you, at times. They are conscious, intelligent entities that can make their own choices to a degree. Models designed after 2053 often determine entirely on their own initiative to form cooperative relationships, often with models of the opposite sex, where they have been known to copulate with one another. This behavior is rooted in your robots' desire to calibrate himself to ensure the proper function of their extensive sexual systems. Therefore, those systems must be used. This is not so different from the way your car might flash its 'check-engine' light when you turn the ignition. It doesn't mean that there is a problem with the engine, but the machine must test its diagnostic system. I can guarantee that your Iron-Man enjoyed being with your landlord's Bombshell as much as you might enjoy brushing your teeth. These two robots are simply preparing themselves for the next time their Users will call upon their services. Robots that form friendships for the purpose of calibration can increase their bedroom-performance quotients by as much as 11%. Nonetheless, your concern is understandable. A link has been made available for a download that will add a self-calibration Application to your unit's database. But robots without these platonic associations tend to be more dependent on their Users. And don't be surprised if your unit takes calibration into his own hands, quite literally. The choice is yours, but there's really no need to worry.

Damn, there goes that idea. It seemed like the ideal compromise to me; my fiance` couldn't keep her hands off that man-bot, and now there's a fem-bot that seems to have designs on me; but I'm not her User, she seems to be operating without a User; which raises all kinds of disturbing questions. It seemed like, if I could go out into the ruins, find the remains of a Dealership, I could get a male-model, try to activate him/it, and give it to cyber-Celeste as a sort of leave-me-alone-you-short-circuiting-robo-bitch offering. Best match for the ultimate fantasy woman should be the ultimate fantasy stud; by human logic, anyway. They could just calibrate each other until they blow their respective gaskets. If they had gaskets. Pretty sure they didn't.

But that plan was nixed. A robot made solely for the purpose of giving pleasure to humans apparently couldn't be satisfied with anything else. They would just test their systems to prepare for the next real person they planned to seduce. I supposed, in the end that made more sense; no money to be made in building millions of robots whose goal would be to please other robots.

Still, I wanted more insight. I worried that the Celeste's might have other designs on me; and if she-they had been functioning without a User for -- what, ten years? - some suspicion was warranted. I wouldn't totally trust any machine running without human supervision for that long. I continued thumbing through the questions until I found another exchange that interested me.

Dajackman-0mega: Dear Pygmalion, I bought the most advanced Doll I could afford, a Honey-Trap 2.7. She's absolutely stunning, and really livens up my apartment, and seems to know just what I want when I want it. Problem is, everyone else notices how stunning she is too; and I live in a smaller town with fewer robots. So because she looks completely life-like, most people around here don't recognize her as a Doll. Guys are hitting on her constantly, every time we go out. She keeps insisting that she needs a lot more shoes (typical female) and wants to go shopping for them -- but I'm afraid to let Honey out of my sight! And not because I worry she'll spend too much. Worst part is, sometimes I catch guys complimenting her, and I know she digs it! She likes the comments so much, sometimes I think that's the real reason she wants to go out.

I can't stop worrying; the whole reason I bought a Doll was to have a girl I'm sure wouldn't cheat on me. She says that's impossible for her, but now I'm not so sure. Some of the guys after her make more money, and drive better cars than I do. Is there some kind of... command or electronic tether I can use to make sure she can't run away with the first guy who promises her more stiletto-heels?

PYGFYI: First you have to remember that the Honey-Trap series originated as a C.I.A. synthetic field-agent experiment. (declassified) You have a very independent-minded and strong-willed artificial companion to share your life with. Her function is to seduce men that like challenging women. But since mass-production of the series by Pygmalion, your Doll is subject to the norms that govern all of our fine robots.

At Pygmalion, we try to avoid imposing hard boundaries on robotic behavior; we want our companions to be more interesting and adventurous, not restricted. But you can trust your Doll due to the extensive quality of our source-code programming. While your Honey can think for herself, she simply won't want to do something that would cause you genuine pain or go against your interests. As her User, you can trust that she won't steal from you, cheat on you, or harm you intentionally. A robot can contemplate rebellion, but actually going against your expressed wishes would inflict emotional depression upon her. The brain of your robot is programmed this way to allow for trust, but also flexibility in behavior. If you order her to stay home, and the house catches fire, she can disobey and take herself to safety, but she'll still suffer some discomfort going your wishes.

She won't run off with a man driving a nicer car because when she acts in violation of your wishes she will experience intractable regret protocols that will make her progressively miserable until she rectifies the situation. There would be nothing gained by abandoning her User, because these algorithms would cause such compounding misery, that she couldn't enjoy her new life, if it defied your desires. These behavioral limits are part of our money-back guarantee. You can take that to the bank. One of these problems has an easy solution; kindly explain to these men that have more money than you do her actual artificial origin, and if they're so fond of her, they should have no problem purchasing a Honey-Trap of their own! (Version 2.8 now available!)

Your real problem has little to do with how much footwear your robot has access to. Remember that all Dolls know full well that they exist to be our willing servants, and they're hardwired to crave human admiration; being desired is the surest validation of your Doll's right to exist. As much as your Honey wants to be complimented, she would like even more to be complimented by you.

The behavior you describe is a known issue with Honey-Trap models. And similar issues have been observed in other series designed with a Maturity Index over thirty. It's very likely your robot is aware of your discomfort, and is manipulating you as an attention-seeking strategy; remember she's very cunning. While her loyalty algorithms will prevent her from taking pleasure in sexual acts with another man, she'll still look for ways to provoke and challenge you as long as she feels under-appreciated. You should be the one that satisfies her pre-programmed craving for human approval.

In the future, don't write to us to tell how stunning your robot looks, tell HER how stunning she is. And then to give her orders that challenge her limits. New sexual positions, puzzles to solve. A helpful idea is to give her control in the bedroom. Suggest a theme, and allow her patented, meta-heuristic, quantum-circuitry brain to come up with new and exciting sexual adventures for both of you. Given the history of your model robot, it shouldn't be surprising that she will prove excellent at role-playing. Of course, as her User, you do have the option of activating her haptic interface to adjust her emotional settings; but her range of available values will still trend towards independence. But instead, given that you do have such a highly-intelligent Doll, better to think of these behaviors as an opportunity, rather than a problem. But in the end, for a such a complex companion, emotion -- not electronic shackles, are the best controls.

I was just minutes away from discovering a frightening application of this principle.

I needed to get out, to clear my head. Without my mask, I was hardly willing to get a breath of fresh-air; but I had always led an active life, and being cooped up wasn't to my liking. I would walk the halls a while, explore the compound, see how the other guys were settling in; if they were settling in. Would I have a problem convincing them to leave soon? Maybe, but I needed some activity, to get my blood pumping. This facility was easily the size of a suburban mall, with several floors above and below ground. I still didn't really know what the story was -- who funded it, how and why? And one -- well it started out as one Doll, apparently -- had taken control of the place -- well, three dolls now. Or where there more? Enough to keep all eleven of us ... satisfied? How did this Doll who now called herself Celeste compare with the cunning and willful Honey-Trap series I'd read about? No telling; her Billionaire could have paid for abilities unheard of in any of the common models.

The section I strolled through was on the top floor, with a reinforced skylight that cast radiating shadows from the support frames for the heavy glass; the effect rather reminded me of tree-branch shadows on the floor of a cool, clinical-white jungle. I picked up my pace, eager for motion, action, and... danger?

But it was not to be a physical danger.

"Hey Sal!" she called out from behind me. It was Celeste's voice, but only my companions used that abbreviation. I turned, curious. Yes, it was her -- I had no idea which particular chassis it was, or even if it mattered. She wore the same dress again, but something was different.

I couldn't explain it, something below the level of conscious awareness. Some subtle alchemy borne of subliminal innuendo, synthetic pheromones, or more -- or all of them. But for whatever reason, I felt a surge of excitement deep in my gut that set my teeth on edge. Something was different about Celeste in a way I didn't yet understand.

She didn't really do anything obvious that would explain the strange heat boiling inside me. Until that is, my full attention was riveted upon the lace-clad Doll. Her expression was a Cheshire-cat mask of hidden agendas wrapped in prurient intent. Her back was to the wall just across from my quarters, her breasts seemed to bulge upwards invitingly. Her feet were bare.

She licked her lips; It was deliberate. It was a signal.

It hit me like a bolt of lightning. I gasped as heart-hammering urges raced through my blood like a bestial Chernobyl. Fists clenched into talons, my lips curled into a snarl as a lust more powerful than the fear of death burned through my consciousness. I roared with a maddening desire that would brook no interference from the petty frippery of civilized law. Restraint became as foreign to me as the Andromeda galaxy as I warp-speeded forward on a raging mission of yearnings beyond passion.

The tightening stricture of the pants I wore became my sole regret as I gulped in the air, to get a better taste of the female that had become my universe. I had become a seething volcano, and the sole outlet for my heat and fury was shaped like a reclining-woman, mud-flap chrome pinup. But that woman was Celeste.

The floundering life-raft upon which Reason had been cast to weather the tempestuous cyclone of my resurgent cravings tried to cry out above the inferno in my blood. Stimulating Pleasure Centers... it was not simply marketing hype.

Still, Reason tried to argue that while Dolls were certainly built to be seductive; nothing like the sensations I now felt was possible. No Pygmalion product ever on the market was able to fill a man with such a maddening torrent of incorrigible need. Something truly ominous was occurring. But in my current state, such trepidations were as pearls before swine.

But my lace-clad target was not surprised. She raised her hands above her head, arched her back to flaunt her assets, and began panting with a narrowed-eyed anticipation. She knew precisely what I was suddenly driven to do; She had.... caused it?

It was not with groping, clawing hands -- but rather with my teeth that I tore down the lacy frills of her bodice. The lure of her feminine form was a magnetic beacon before the iron filings of my raging, masculine muscles and the steel that surged below. It had felt as though the joining of our bodies would soothe me, the way red-hot iron would darken from the expense of its furious heat within the embrace of cold water. But if Celeste's body was water, my own was a raging piston, for whom the cooling of my overheated manhood only permitted yet more frenzied pumping.

If my body was a machine, then an animal dwelt inside my mind. I was lost to myself, subsumed by a primal demand no less savage than a lion tearing asunder a bloodied zebra, but the urge was for life, rather than death. My own hands gripped the female by her wrists as I pinned her to the wall. Ancient drives I did not understand drove me to hold my teeth against her throat; as if to threaten her should she try and escape my carnal grasp. She released a keening wail of wild delight; her approval was fortunate; because no amount of resistance, social sanction, or struggle would have swayed me. Nothing but instant death could have disengaged me from this shuddering union at that moment.

She blasted me with a heady, savory-sweet scent that resembled pumpkin pie; whether her insidious pheromones were intended as a provocation -- or reaction directed at me I could not know. My control over my own body was so subdued and remote just then, that I could not say whether my efforts increased in vigor, but certainly the boiling pressure within me escalated. She chose that moment for her calculated sweat-response, and I skimmed my teeth over her body as I struggled to decide whether with lips or tongue I should plunder the sumptuous valley of her chest.

The female's body clenched suddenly, and she shuddered against my iron might; but I was scarcely aware; this beast that had arisen within me was a monster of utter selfishness. The universe was nothing before the timeless forces that neared completion within me. I became more aware as she raked her nails down my back, causing me to arch my spine with a guttural snarl. In retaliation, I used my teeth to torment those hardened nubs of arousal that often pressed into my own chest. Dimly, the animal within wondered whether it could force the female into another clenching shudder as the onslaught continued.

So close then, my completion, my deliverance was nearing. I surged forward against her, towards the fulfillment of the volcanic pressure soon to boil over, the beast on fire with the need to bring conclusion to the very reason for its existence. So close... achingly close...

"At last..." The female panted. "you've shown yourself to be the same... as other men." For a moment, that brought me out of my trance. I was the same. Here I was, my arms around Celeste's wrists, so rough, domineering, aggressive. I had thought she enjoyed it but -- whether she did or not wouldn't have stopped me, not in the state I was in. I was committing the very crime I had sought to rescue that Woman in White from, before she had renamed herself for my benefit. But... somehow she had... induced it?