Automatic for the Peeples

Mr. Peeples pulled into his garage on a Wednesday afternoon. His wife's car was there already. He went through the connecting door and breezeway into the kitchen, which was as clean as the day they had moved in one year before.

The floor and surfaces were spotless. Every container, appliance, pot, pan, and dish was in its place. Mostly because the Peeples both worked long hours and usually either ate out or brought food home. It was clean also because they had no pets and had not yet begun to produce children.

Mr. Peeples looked at the bare countertop, then he opened the mostly empty refrigerator. He removed a Bud, twisted off the cap, opened the oven. Nothing. No food had yet arrived.

He went in search of his wife to ascertain what she might have ordered for dinner. As he walked down the hallway toward the master bedroom, he heard a muffled sound.

It was rhythmic, almost like a chant, and it was oddly familiar.

He paused to think about where he had heard this song before, then he dropped the bottle and bellowed in rage.

The door sprang open as he crashed through it, screaming, "WHAT THE FUCK--"

He saw his wife, groaning, naked on their bed, frozen in midhump atop a long red... thing.

It had two appendages which terminated in white silicon-looking handish objects. The appendage ends were busily kneading his wife's tits. His brain oddly brought up an image of Mickey Mouse's hands.

The happily married couple's eyes met, and Mrs. Peeples flung herself backward off the red object with a wet-finger-coming-out-of-a-mouth pop as something long and thick and also red slid out of her cunt and returned quivering like a spring to vertical.

"Jesus, dear! You scared me!" she cried.

He stood open-mouthed, looking from her glistening wet bush to the red phallus shiny with her juices and the red mannikin it was attached to. He lowered his fists.

It wasn't a man.

But it had all the parts of a man.

"What the hell," he said at last. "Is this?"

Mrs. Peeples jumped to her feet and ran to her husband. She grabbed him around his waist and humped her crotch vigorously on his thigh. "Oh, god. I was almost there again."

"There?" He was still looking at the object on the bed. "Again?"

"There!" She panted. "Get your pants off!"

"But--" He was processing this information as his wife tried to undo his belt. Her hands were trembling. It made for slow work.

"What the hell is that?" He pointed to the abomination on the bed, its slick crimson phallus still wagging.

She moaned in frustration. "It's a Mark Two." She finally managed to extract Mr. Peeples' flaccid cock, and she sucked it into her mouth with the power of an expensive vacuum cleaner.

"And what the hell is--"

An exasperated Mrs. Peeples, sensing that no blood would rush to the desired appendage in the near future, let her husband's soft manhood slide from her mouth. She cast a hungry glance at the hard piece of the Mark Two which pointed to the ceiling still.

"It's a toy," she said with a deep sigh. She briefly considered climbing back on top of her newest possession, but got a grip on herself and stepped back. "It just came on the market."

"But...." Her husband was still waiting for his brain to categorize this new information. "You were fucking it."

His lovely bride shook her head. She bent down and picked up a slim binder from the floor. The cover read: The Mark Two Installation and Operating Instructions. She opened to the first page, "The Mark Two is designed to give the user a satisfying vaginal massage--"

"Sure looked like fucking," Mr. Peeples interrupted. He moved closer to the bed, then jumped back. The thing had come to life. Eyes opened -- apparently images internally projected onto the black polymer face plate.

"Judas Priest! It's looking at me!"

Mrs. Peeples touched her husband's arm reassuringly. "It's all explained right here." She waved the Installation and Operating Instructions. "The Mark Two has a graphical user interface with which the operator can interact by voice command."

"Then it needs fake ears, not those creepy fake eyes-- AHH!" The creepy fake eyes had turned to look at Mr. Peeples.

"I know, dear. It did that when I powered it up. You will get used to it."

"Used to it? You still need to explain to me what it is doing here in the first place."

Mrs. Peeples laughed. "I have been on the waiting list for the Mark Two ever since the Mark One was recalled. You know I read slashdot religiously. I have a three-digit user ID!"

"I know you are proud to be an early adopter of technology, dear, and I am--. Wait, what happened to the Mark One?"

"Don't worry, honey. All the surviving Mark Ones were crushed and recycled. There are probably no more than ten or so still loose."

"Well, okay then--. Wait a minute. How much did this thing cost us?"

"Cost me, dear. I used my bonus from last year to pay for it."

Mr. Peeples whistled. "That much?"

"Worth every penny," Mrs. Peeples said wistfully, staring again at the stoutly machined prick attachment. Then she realized how that must sound to her frowning husband. "I mean-- this is the Rolls Royce of vaginal massagers."

"This fuckbot? A Rolls? Have you seen a Rolls lately? Overpowered overpriced gas guzzlers."

Mrs. Peeples shivered when her husband said 'overpowered', recalling the roaring, exciting, dangerous, throaty power of the Mark Two when she had commanded it advance to Level Five. Her pussy tingled when she remembered that the Instructions promised there was a Level Ten.

She realized that her husband was staring at her and she realized she was naked.

She also realized it would be so easy to just jump back on--

"Where are you going to store the thing? What if I wanted to lie down and take a nap?"

"Do you want to take a nap, dear?"

'Well, no. But I would like to be able to if I did."

Mrs. Peeples turned some pages in the binder and read. "Mark. Go to recharger."

Mr. Peeples flinched back as the thing sat up abruptly, swung its legs over the side of the bed, and stood up. It walked to the corner of the room, moving with a silent but jerky motion that would have been clumsy for a human but was smooth and efficient for a bipedal mechanical device.

It stepped onto a plastic disk roughly two feet in diameter laying on the carpet. It did an about face and the creepy fake eyes dimmed away to be replaced by blinking white circles much the same size as the eyes and so to a human eye still eyes. And still creepy.

Mr. Peeples stared at the thing's... what to call it? It was obviously a penis. Penis-like entity. An automatic dick.

"It vibrates," he said, having an epiphany. It was not a question.

"Yes," his wife said.

"And...."

She blushed deeply. "It's adjustable."

"On the fly?"

"Yes."

"How big can it get?" He estimated the length and girth of the thing and mentally compared it to his mortal equipment. He did not have to point out to his faithful bedpartner of several years that she had dialed in parameters which exceeded those of her loving husband.

She waved her hands and closed the binder. "Oh, I don't know. These were just the default settings."

Mr. Peeples gave her that know you are fibbing look. This was not the hill to die on, he thought.

"Well," he said reasonably. "Is it going to point rudely at us all night?"

Flustered, she said, "Mark. Set phallus to zero, zero."

The fuckbot's dick retracted with just the faintest whir.

"Zero length, zero girth," Mrs. Peeples explained cheerfully. "In centimeters."

"And what setting did you have it on just then?"

"Don't remember," she laughed unconvincingly.

"Uh huh." He regarded the Mark fuckbot's blinking non-eyes for a moment. "I don't think I can sleep with that going all night."

He slipped a pillow out of its pillowcase, went to the Mark Two, and put the pillowcase over the shiny black head.

**********

After dinner, pho delivered from the place down the road, Mr. Peeples did not turn on the television. He did not turn on his computer, read a book, go mow the lawn, or clean out his car. What he did do was lead his wife to the bedroom, push her gently but firmly down onto the bed, and begin to make out with her like they had not done since the early days of their relationship.

He pressed her back when she tried to get on top. He stripped her bare, then spread her legs and kissed them from toe to top. Up to her bellybutton, then an excursion to the nipples, then back down to lick and suck inside thigh, knee, outside hip--

Mrs. Peeples was reaching for his head, shaking her torso like a bellydancer, whining and moaning.

He stopped suddenly. "Does it have a mouth?" He thought a second. "A goddamn tongue?"

"Oh no," Mrs. Peeples cried in frustration. "Not yet--"

He did a pushup to look her in the eyes.

She colored. "It's an add-on package...."

He thought about cracking a package joke, but it wasn't funny.

He returned to his task, but the beauty of it was drained. He was just following a script now. He did the right things to make her cum, then he moved up and fucked her. Fast.

She had her eyes closed.

"Open your eyes," he commanded.

She opened them, looking almost frightened.

She had never ever been frightened of him before.

He came and rolled over and went to sleep.

**********

Mrs. Peeples worked from home two days a week and in her office three. She led a team of software something something. Mr. Peeples did not understand it. He was an architect and dealt in solid objects, real world structures.

The next day she worked from home, Mr. Peeples pulled his car into the garage as usual. Et cetera as usual. As he twisted the top off his bottle of Bud, the déjà vu came to him. Strongly. It was as if he could hear that memory.

He went down the hall.

It was not déjà vu.

He opened the door and saw his wife on the bed. On her back, her thighs spread obscenely wide and calves wrapped around the shiny red torso of the Mark Two, which was thrusting into his wife. With mechanical precision and hard repetitive accuracy. At the deepest point of each thrust, Mrs. Peeples voiced a deep moaning satisfied grunt which Mr. Peeples had never before heard his wife utter. Not with him, anyway.

Neither of them had heard him. As he closed the door he reflected that in the case of the Mark Two, he would have said 'detected' rather than 'heard'. Perhaps the Mark Three would have more sensitive sonic capabilities.

He went back to the kitchen table and sat down with his beer. What settings did she have the fuckbot's mechanodick on this afternoon?

After his third beer, he heard the bedroom door open. His wife entered the kitchen dressed only in a thin transparent pink piece of clothing edged with white fur which fell only to her hips and concealed exactly nothing. He wondered why a woman would wear such a thing -- it couldn't possibly keep any part of her warm.

He looked again. The bottom of the flimsy robe was emblazoned with a running text: MARK TWO MARK TWO MARK TWO....

Well, he mused. It probably came free with the fuckbot. Although why a soulless piece of humping plastic needed visual stimulation from the customer did escape him.

She started. "Oh! I didn't know you were home."

He pointed at the kitchen chronometer. "I have been home for almost an hour."

"So you--" She reddened. She had, as he knew, no poker face at all.

"I did. Busy afternoon?"

She raised her chin a fraction in defiance. "I was taking a work break."

Mr. Peeples reflected that he needed to change employers.

"Not that it matters, it being entirely your own business, but-- how long of a break?" He eyed his beloved bride's matted hairy mound, where her swollen red labia were unusually prominent.

"Oh, maybe ten minutes."

He gave her the hairiest eyeball he could muster. "I am not a complete noob. I read the manual. There is a logbook of all activities. Time stamped and unalterable. I could pull it up on the app." He brought out his phone and started tapping the face.

"No!" Mrs. Peeples shouted, then recovered herself quickly. "I mean, that isn't necessary. It was about a half hour."

Her husband kept tapping.

"Okay! Okay! More like an hour."

He kept on.

"God damn it! Two hours! It was two hours!"

He put the phone down. "And what were the length and girth settings?"

She did not respond.

He reached for his phone again.

"What do you care?" she said harshly.

He stared at her in wonder. She had never spoken to him with such vehemence. Then he glanced down at her thighs. A stream of whitish liquid was trickling down the inside of the left one.

"Dear heart," he pointed to it. "Does the humping robot... actually ejaculate?"

She reached down without even looking, swiped up some of it, and licked it from her fingers. "Yes."

"Another accessory?"

"No. Standard. Want a taste?" She wiped up more and extended her hand to him. "I ordered your favorite flavors."

He paused. Words escaped him, but after a while he managed. "And dear, what pray tell are my favorite flavors of robot cum?"

"Cherry and pineapple."

"Hmmm," he said. "I do love cherry, but pineapple is a borderline choice with which to flavor semen."

She grinned seductively. "But when you drink pineapple juice before... you taste delicious."

Mr. Peeples held up his empty bottle of Bud. "And when I drink beer?"

"Then you taste hoppy."

Well, he thought, when life gives you lemons or something.

**********

Two minutes later, Mr. Peeples was lying sans clothes on his bed. He had briefly considered not allowing himself to be pleasured on the same surface upon which the humpbot had just been drilling his wife. But Mrs. Peeples had led him down the hallway by his cock, stroking it all the way, and thus rendering critical thought impossible and logical actions improbable.

The Mark Two had been returned to its charging station. She had even put the pillowcase back over its head. Maybe, Mr. Peeples thought, the screwing cyborg had put it back on itself. Kinky.

His beautiful wife knelt on the bed between his legs, the twin mounds of her round little ass high in the air as she administered to her husband with attention to detail and a dedication to energy transfer.

He closed his eyes and enjoyed his wife's soft lips and wet lapping tongue. It was heaven. The pleasure filled his brain, his existence, like a balloon being inflated, and the more she sucked the bigger the balloon grew until it forced aside all other thoughts and memories--

The bed rocked as if his wife were shifting her weight. He heard her let out a long sigh that sounded to him like surprised pleasure, her hot breath actually flowing around his cock.

He felt her head thrusting toward him and then away. And again as the bed also rocked.

He opened his eyes.

The Mark Two was standing beside the bed, its mechanical hands on his wife's shapely hips, thrusting into her.

Mr. Peeples was frozen in shock. He had not heard Mrs. Peeples issue any command.

But what he did hear horrified him.

The fuckbot spoke.

"I. Love. You. I. Love. You."

Mr. Peeples jerked away from his wife, thinking that the manufacturer really needed to invest in better speech synthesis, and grabbed her by her armpits. He pulled, but the Mark Two clung tenaciously to her buttocks, all the while repeating in unbelievable staccato his undying love for her.

"Fuckbo-- I mean Mark! Go to recharger!"

The damn thing did not release his wife. It kept plowing into her. She began to toss her head around and moan. In a good way. Well, not good to Mr. Peeples' sensibility. He fell onto the floor still with his hands gripping his wife. She tumbled on top of him. The automaton toppled over to complete the pile, still humping, still making its declaration of love to her.

"God damn it!" He shouted. "Go to the fucking recharger!"

But the shagging machine did not stop moving. And it kept pledging its love.

Enraged now, Mr. Peeples jumped to his feet and yanked his yeowling wife away from its repetitive schlong. Her cunt popped off of the imitation erection just as it released a fountain of opalescent cherry robot cum all over the happy couple.

It kept thrusting.

"Why won't it stop?" Mr. Peeples inquired of his wife, who by all appearances was still in the middle of an intense orgasm.

"My... my....." She swallowed hard, trying to compose herself. "My only... voice works."

Mr. Peeples had to agree this was a sensible way to set up the machine. You wouldn't want multiple commands confusing the processor.

"So...." He said.

Mrs. Peeples snapped her head up and said in a shaking husky voice, "Mark. Go to recharger."

The Mark Two stood up obediently, looked around and found the pillowcase, pulled it over what served for a head, and marched back to its recharging station.

Mr. Peeples ended up on his ass against the wall with Mrs. Peeples in between his legs, her back against his chest. They panted for a while, for different reasons.

"I can't help but notice," said Mr. Peeples, aiming one shaking finger at the fuckbot's erection, "that the parameters are greater than they were yesterday."

"I confess. They are."

"Honey," he said. "Far be it for me to try and limit your pleasure, but I do worry about the health of your vagina after extensive and vigorous intrusion of such a volume. Not to mention the unavoidable classic male response of jealousy when seeing the female mate taking a larger penis than he possesses."

"The Mark Two does lubricate, dear."

"That's hardly the point. No amount of slippery juice is going to prevent the musculature down there from being stretched. Possibly damaged beyond reclamation. And I know you are going to counter that babies have parameters much larger than even Mark Two there, but you have not yet had a baby travel that path. In addition, before and during the baby's wild ride, the female secretes a number of hormones to physically prevent the vagina from damage."

"The--"

He cut her off. "I do not care to hear about the hormone add-on. You haven't purchased it, I know. I did find the receipt for your little buddy."

She absentmindedly put one hand to her mouth and licked off cherry.

"Furthermore," he continued, "why the hell was it fucking you? You did not give it permission."

"Oh," Mrs. Peeples replied. "Adaptive fuzzy logic. Almost AI, but cheaper. And it exists, unlike AI."

"Wait," her husband said, light bulb resplendent on a field of duh. "You are telling me that your boy toy up and screwed you of its own accord?"

"Apparently, it saw my cunt waving in the air and took that as an invitation."

"Good gods! Has it done that before?"

"Nooooo," she said. He thought her tone was way too regretful for his comfort.

He thought about that for a moment.

"Honey, I have decided something."

"Yes, dear?"

"We cannot have something that unpredictable in the house. It will be like living with a time bomb. One that fucks you when you least expect it instead of blowing you up."

She had a look of excitement that he did not care for.

"We are returning it," Mr. Peeples said forcefully.

Mrs. Peeples looked at him mournfully. "We can't. I am a beta tester. I got 50% off retail in exchange for giving the company real time access to the logs."

He choked on something. "Video--?"

"Oh no. That would be perverted. Just the when and where."

"And who," he added. "Don't forget the who. You are one black hat hacker away from the world knowing how often old robo ramrod was jamming it into you."

She looked suitably horrified.

"And how long."

Her look changed to terror.

"But I just can't," she pleaded. "If I bail on the testing, my geek cred will be shot. I have a reputation to uphold."

"As have I," responded Mr. Peeples curtly. He stood, dressed, and tossed some clothes into a gym bag as the astounded Mrs. Peeples remained naked and speechless on the floor.