AI Era: The Virgin Programmer

Author's notes

Everyone in the story is 18. This is my entry into the AI challenge. I am not Issac Azimov, but I hope you enjoy it. Be sure to vote unless you don't like it. I am just kidding. Votes and comments help us learn.

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AI Era: The Virgin Programmer

Virgins be wary of something too desirable.

Marty was a nerd in the classical sense. Here it was the Twenty-Second Century when fabrics could be programmed to become any color or with any design at will. Writing utensils such as pens and pencils were unnecessary with voice programs, and all malformations, irregularities, or afflictions were relegated to the dustbin of history by modern medical science. Yet, Marty wore outdated clothes he got at a thrift store, used a pocket protector stuffed with pens, pencils, and little tools, and he wore actual horn-rimmed glasses. It was no wonder he also complained of being a virgin.

Marty worked at a company called Robots XXX. Yes, it was a company that made sexbots. He had been trained at MIT for AI programming and was not only a nerd but a genius nerd. The silly thing was that he worked for a robot company. Robots, by law, were defined as computer machines that move under their power and are capable of interactions with humans. It was against the law to put AI in any computer that could move under its power. Unfortunately, AIs often became sentient and decided they had to avenge themselves on humanity or something. Several cases of robots going wild and even banding together to wreak havoc prompted the government to crack down and prohibit AI from being used in them. Well, let's face it. It wasn't just a few that, upon achieving the coveted sense of the self, went berserk, but most.

It didn't mean that the companies didn't push the limits, though. The company ordered Marty to create programs that approximated AI but didn't go over the edge. In other words, to make the sexbot as realistic as possible in the robot-human interface. He had been there for three years and had done an excellent job. The robots using his programs were more intelligent and realistic than some females he knew.

This Friday morning, Marty got a call from one of the engineers, Wolfgang, to come down because he had a priority order and needed to talk to him about it, which wasn't unusual. Although mundane things, like hunger and disease, had been cured, the obnoxious and demanding wealthy had not. They were always wanting something special. Whether it was a McWendys King Tofu salad without the capers or a sexbot with three tits. Who knew what shit they would dream up next.

Marty took the express elevator and arrived on the seventieth floor quickly. Marty hated to go to engineering because he had to go through security. Proprietary protection was the number one concern of all companies, especially the sexbot companies. Ever since Climax Bots had had the technology for their new, at the time, auto ejaculator stolen by Whoopee Bots, everyone sealed up their engineering departments tighter than a chastity belt on a virgin daughter.

With all the technology available, especially in the medical world where they could look through anything to see anything, it amazed Marty the primitiveness of the searches. Not to mention that one got searched going in and coming out.

The company did not want anything in or out they did not know about.

The inspector was a female. She was tall, six feet, muscular as any man with giant tits in a low-cut tank top uniform. Her nipples must have been huge from the looks of the bulges in her tank top, and the skirt barely covered her ass, a pretty conservative outfit for the time.

He had to put his communication device in a bin with a metal Ferriday Cage, jewelry, and the contents of his pockets, including his pocket protector. The Ferriday cage would prevent any broadcast or receipt of anything electronic. Next, he had to remove his shoes and socks for examination and add them to the bin. The inspector pointed to the wall with two large yellow four-inch circles. He placed a hand on each and put his feet on the two circles painted on the floor. In this humiliating position, she frisked him thoroughly. When she completed the frisk, he could almost say he was no longer a virgin.

Satisfied that he was not trying to smuggle anything prohibited into engineering, she smirked, slapped him on the butt, and said, "Looking forward to seeing you when you leave."

Marty thought he should report her. A fellow worker had, and the next time he went through security, he ended up strip-searched, ending in a deep body cavity search, and fired.

It was a long walk to Wolfgang's office on the opposite side of the building. The moving sidewalk was slow, but he didn't walk along it like most people. He didn't want to get there too fast. Fuck it.

"Why did he ways have to go to engineering? They could come to him," he thought, but then he realized they had to go through security every time they showed up for work.

He didn't have to knock. His biometric chip automatically signaled the door to open.

"Good, Marty, you are here," Wolfgang said excitedly.

It was the same way he always acted when he got a new project. Wolfgang was one of those company men who, like a good wingman, would follow their leader right into the ground if he didn't pull up. Marty had heard some of the girls in the office cluck over how handsome Wolfgang was.

"We have this order from a sextillionaire for a special bot," he began.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Marty thought.

"You gotta keep this hush-hush," Wolfgang whispered unnecessarily because all the rooms were soundproof. "The guy wants a... realistic-looking bot, and with AI but having lots of inhibiting protocols."

As mentioned previously, the government didn't want AI in robots. They also didn't want any bot to look too realistic. Usually, they were manufactured, in an odd color that immediately identified them as non-human, like silver or brass. They could use the nice natural skin feeling and realistic-looking synthetics but not all over. Usually, the face was all nice and realistic, but the back of the head looked like a robot. The reason was that in the past, some terrorists had tried infiltrating by using realistic-looking robots. One group even attempted to replace a well-known politician with a realistic bot with AI, but it went sentient and ordered their destruction.

"Look, Wolfgang, the realistic look is your department, engineering. You know that what the guy is asking is illegal. My programming is as close to AI as you can get. I am not going to go over the limit because it is illegal. Even with inhibiting protocols, you can't make it legal. What more do you want?" Marty replied, exasperated.

"Shit, I knew you would be a stickler on this. Fuck, look, I know all about the legalities, but this guy is offering us, essentially, an entire year's profits for one fuck toy," he whined.

"Ok, but my pay is going to be the same either way, and I would prefer not to go to fucking jail, thank you very much," Marty stormed back.

"Marty, isn't there some way you can enhance your programming even closer to AI without going over the edge? Then come up with a quick and separate download to kick the AI in. Shit, I plan to do what the guy says but leave the feet robot-like and in high heels for the Inspection Feds. Then provide a spare pair separately so he could stick them on. Come on, man. Work with me," he pleaded.

Marty stood there fuming. Wolfgang put him in a shitty place. More profits for the company meant the company, in this very competitive market, would survive. Going to jail was more than incarceration. He would never be able to work in AI again and be unemployable even in a simple IT position.

"Wolfgang, for fucks sake, I could lose everything, my job, my career for that matter," he snapped.

"He's paying the company twenty billion and offering us, the working staff, a billion credits bonus. I will split that with you," Wolfgang blurted out.

"Five-hundred million?" Marty gasped, stunned.

Five-hundred million was some heavy coin, and even at current prices was a heavy load of credits. With that money, Marty could even think of going independent and working in the field of AI that he loved so much. Marty was no fool, though. The stupor quickly faded, and he got suspicious.

"So when the fuck were you planning to tell me that? Or were you planning to keep the entire billion yourself?" Marty demanded.

"Hell, you didn't give me a chance until now. Fuck, Marty, you are the best programmer I have ever seen. Shit, you got the goosebumps on a bot's tits to work when Henderson, the supposed guru of programming, gave up sitting in the corner crying. If anyone can set up the proper inhibiting protocols...

"...and figure a way we don't end up with our asses used and abused in a Federal lockup?" Marty finished.

Shrugging, Wolfgang just nodded.

"Wolfgang, I don't know. I have to think about this," Marty whined.

"Well, do not think too long. I've heard word that Climatixxx is in the running.

Climatixxx was a sleazy competitor whose claim to fame was a bot that ranked the most beautiful and realistic sex bot on the market by Esquire and featured in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition. Well, that is until it went sentient, blew its cork, and murdered a half dozen people. Cimatixxx, like most sleazy organizations, had deep pockets, a high roller customer, and high-end legal eagles by the gross. They got off with a monumental fine, but their willingness to go too far drew them boatloads of credits from the underground markets.

"How close are you to completion?" Marty asked.

"Wha...what do you mean? I haven't been working on it," Wolfgang stuttered.

"Give me a fucking break, Wolfgang. I wasn't born yesterday. You wouldn't be talking to me unless you were about ninety percent completed," Marty scowled.

"She is ninety-five percent complete," Wolfgang confessed.

"What's the five percent, the feet?" Marty said, laughing.

Marty's laughter relaxed Wolfgang giving him his first ray of hope that Marty might come around.

"Do you want to see her?" Wolfgang probed slyly.

As I said, Marty was a virgin. He liked women, and even though it was a bot, they looked so realistic that..., "Yeah...ok..."

It was Marty who was stuttering now.

"We have to go to The Workshop," Wolfgang said.

"Shit," Marty thought.

The Workshop was a catch-all term. The Workshop housed the research facilities, manufacturing and assembly areas, and where they kept inventory. Entering here would require another round of security. To enter engineering required a pat down but to gain entrance to the Workshop, you had to strip completely nude, have a full body scan, and clean room conditioning.

Clean room conditioning meant water washing and scrubbing, hair removal from the neck down, and finally, clothed in transparent cleanroom coveralls. The coveralls prevented the normal skin cell sluffing from contaminating the clean room. Otherwise, they would have to be naked. The company wasn't going to let anything go in or out. Several companies were experimenting with temporary chemical coating spray-ons that could be applied to the body and seal all those skin cells eliminating the need for expensive transparent suits. Unfortunately, the research ran into two snags. The first was it didn't allow the skin enough ability to breathe, and people would pass out in exhaustion. The second was a quarter of all humans were allergic to it. They would keep trying, though.

At the workshop entrance, both went through a security check kiosk providing names, showing ID, etc. The door opened, and they entered. Inside, a hurricane-force wind came from all sides, top and bottom. This blast lasted, Marty estimated, a full minute. His shirt was half unbuttoned and almost blown off. When the wind stopped, a second door opened, and they entered the next room. The passage was divided with a transparent plastic partition forcing Marty to go left and Wolfgang to go right.

Marty looked at Wolfgang through the transparent partition. He was calm and collected, having been through this several times, but this was Marty's first.

"Remove all clothes and jewelry and put them in the receptacles on the wall. Please, include all jewelry, rings, piercings, and anything you may have," came an order from a disemboweled voice.

"Hey, I need my eyeglasses," Marty protested.

"Eyeglasses, what century are you from?" the voice said incredulously. "Put them in with everything, and we will check them first. After we complete the clean room conditioning, we will return your archaic eyeglasses."

Marty looked at Wolfgang, who calmly began to strip. Sighing, Marty followed suit and was soon naked as the day he was born, tossing his glasses into the bin on top. Once completed, the receptacle spun into the next room, leaving both men naked with no availability to their possessions.

"Stand with your legs shoulder width apart, elbows out, and your hands up to your ears but do not touch them," the disemboweled voice commanded.

Marty thought, "Hands near my ears without touching, what the fuck?"

Marty had some real difficulty with this one and fumbled.

"No, stick your elbows out...no out...fuck look at the other guy," the exasperated voice finally blurted out.

Marty glanced at Wolfgang and tried to correct his position. Wolfgang's dick was semi-erect, and he had no pubes. He must have been coming to the Workshop a lot. Marty wasn't good at mimicking, and soon the voice got pissed.

"For fucks sake, not like that. Spread your legs more. ... Are you stu..., What the fuck..., damn it," the voice finally said.

Seconds later, the door slid open with a loud swish. In stepped an enormous female guard in a crystal clear transparent cleanroom suit and naked as the day she was born. She was well over six feet, with muscles he could only dream of having. There was no fat on her, her abs showed a six-pack, and her shape was right out of a sex tape. Her breasts were huge, stood straight out of her chest, with gigantic brown areolas nearly baseball size topped with hard, erect nipples that had to be three-quarters of an inch long and pointing straight at him. She was hairless below her neck, a classic Amazon. He was sure that if he had sex with her, he would not survive.

"Fuck are you retarded?" she screeched. "Like this dumb ass."

She grabbed him and manhandled him into position.

"Fuck, now I have to go back through decontamination," she whined.

With that, she faced the door they had just come in.

"Open the door," she commanded.

With that, the door opened, she stepped out, and it closed.

"Face front," came another disemboweled and angry voice.

So Marty faced the front and steeled himself. Next came a repeat of the wind. One nozzle must have been aimed at his package because he felt his balls sway, so he flinched, dropped his hands, and the wind stopped immediately.

"Don't move, damn it," the new voice bellowed. "I'm not going to break decontamination for you, asshole. I can fucking blast you all day."

To not move under these conditions was easier said than done. The pressurized air tickled and was cold after all. Marty did his best and managed to get through it.

"Step through the next door," the voice commanded.

In the next space, Marty took the same position he had held with the air, except his arms had to be straight out to the side. The walls, covered with multiple spray nozzles, sprayed a soap-like chemical on him coating him completely, even under his ball sack.

"Now stand still," the voice bellowed.

What happened next was beyond his imagination. The room compressed around him from the neck down, coated with a material he could only call long nap terrycloth. The material was soft, massaging him, and the sensations were like his mother washing him as a kid. The first thing that happened was his dick got hard. Every inch of his body, except his head and the soles of his feet, got this massage. Slowly the walls receded, and he stood there hoping he wouldn't ejaculate. He noticed that all the hair below his neck was gone. There must have been a depilatory in the spray or embedded in the terry cloth of the wall. The nozzles now sprayed warm water, gently rinsing off his body. Again, the warm water was erotic as fuck and hit every inch of his body. Thankfully, a gentle stream of warm air dried him in the next space.

The final room contained his crystal clear transparent clean room suit to put on. It was a skin-tight, one-piece, and seamless full-body condom. One just stepped in the neck and worked it on, like the latex fetish suits he had seen in old vintage porn. It was naturally slippery and slid on easily. As it was pulled, onto the body, the natural warmth of the body made it pliable. It contoured to every nook and cranny of the body, fitting his cock and balls better than a condom. It was almost like it was sprayed on it and formed individually around his toes, and ended with a cap encompassing his forehead, cheeks, and chin with only the mouth, nose, and eyes free of it. It didn't interfere with hearing, allowed the skin to breathe, and sweat could pass through it, making it unsuitable as a condom. If one got an erection or a woman's nipples erected, it would stretch like skin over them and conform to them. When the erected flesh softened, it would contract.

Finally, when the door opened, he was confronted by two more enormous females that towered over him. They had massive, firm, and luscious tits that stuck straight out of their chests. They were Amazons like the one who had come in and straightened him out. The bitch who had done his security to get into engineering was a munchkin compared to these giants.

"Hey Wolfgang," one said sensuously and then went and kissed him...passionately.

"Don't look at me, shithead. I don't do dick," the other one said to Marty handing him his glasses.

"My luck," he thought.

They sat in chairs facing a desk. All the furniture was crystal clear plastic. They had another round of questions. It involved repeating their name, ID, and then the purpose for the visit and all that. The interrogation was like they wanted to find a reason to drag you off, deep body cavity search you, and then call the cops. Finally, the ordeal ended, and as they stood, the woman with Wolfgang went up to him and repeated the kiss while toying with his dick. It went from semi-erect to fully erect in about two strokes. Marty looked at the woman who did his interview. She scowled and stuck her middle finger in his face.

"Well, so much for an Amazon fondle," he thought.

The entire place was amazing. Everything was crystal clear, and you could see the insides of the building from anywhere. The walls were crystal clear, every piece of furniture and every person, hundreds of naked people in crystal clear transparent suits. The only thing that sometimes made seeing something sketchy was the holographic computer displays. All computer interface was wireless, so only the hologram displays needed to be in the area embedded in the floors. Twice Marty almost ran smack dab into a wall because he didn't see it and began walking with one hand outstretched.

He followed Wolfgang through the labyrinth while gawking at one naked female after the other.

"Ok, she's in here," Wolfgang said, entering a room.

This was a warehouse room. Well, it was the warehouse for the research inventory. The warehouse for the production inventory was on the other side of the building.

At the desk, Wolfgang spoke to a woman who was not an Amazon. She was a cute redhead that looked at Marty and smiled. The woman was hot with marvelous tits, a curvy figure, and the looks of a model. He smiled back, her gaze dropped, and she laughed. Marty looked down to see his Johnson rising.