Automonic Protocol Ch. 01

"Do you mind if I enter?" you say softly, drawing a yelp from Clarissa, who you determine had not seen you until now.

"FyAH-- ooh, hoooo... Cia, it's... you... your... your eyes...."

"Only sensors, ma'am, but designed to mimic the appearance of human eyes."

"They're glowing! And... and you surprised me, is all."

You deactivate the low-light sensors. "Apologies. Is this less upsetting to you?"

"Yes, thank you," she sighs, blowing off the tension from the startle you gave her, and tucks a bookmark into Strange Romance. You notice that she's changed her clothes since dinner, exchanging her dress for a long, light lavender nightshirt and knee-length white socks, exposing her legs and much of her thighs... which you find to be pleasingly full and soft. If... if you were a human, anyway. "Can I help you with something, Cia?"

"I came to offer you companionship. I am highly efficient in multiple forms of massage, including shiatsu, should your establishment have the resources to support such an endeavor." You offer a small smile, and for the first time, you see a flicker of excitement in Clarissa's eyes.

"Could you rub my shoulders?" she asks with a hint of shyness. "Nolan used to when we were younger but... I mean, he's so busy now most days."

"Correct. I understand he is currently engaged in a poker game," you nod to her, making your way around to the other side of the bed as Clarissa pulls her ponytail loose, brushing her deep red hair over her shoulder to expose her back. "This would be simpler if you removed your nightshirt, ma'am."

"Ex-- excuse me?"

"I assure you, there's no need for concern," you say gently. A moment passes before she seems to remember your artificial nature, and she finally nods.

"Right... you're right," she says, reaching down and beginning to slowly pull the garment up over her head. "I keep forgetting that you're... you know."

"An android."

"That."

She finishes removing the shirt, tossing it to the other side of the bed, and for a moment you get a glimpse of her chest -- her breasts impressively sized while not alarmingly so, certainly larger than your own. They also appear to be natural, and have stood vigil defiantly against the rigors of motherhood, retaining their fullness and smoothness alike. She then turns her back to you, leaning her head forward to grant you access to her neck and shoulders. You don't hesitate before moving in to touch her, and she flinches only an instant before relaxing under the expert massage technique of your mechanical fingers. In a task like this, you are truly superior to the skills of a human; able to react to the slightest shift in Clarissa's posture or tension, able to shift, roll, rotate, and even vibrate your fingers and palms on a whim.

Clarissa lets out a soft moan of joy and relaxation as your hands squeeze and shift along her tensed muscles, easing deeply back and forth along them, diligently pulverizing the stress knots in her body before soothing the flushed skin with feather-light caresses, touches. Over her shoulder, you get a glimpse of the panties Clarissa had been wearing under the nightshirt, soft, low-cut white cotton that hugs to her hips... and, seemingly, can only barely contain the growing swell of what appears to be a penis. As you continue to rub, push, and stroke up along the muscles of her upper back, you keep a curious eye on it, watching the rising rod of flesh as it pulses every few moments, reacting more to certain touches than others. Reacting to the lighter ones... and those that reach downwards to caress up along her hips, her waist, her sides. You let your fingertips brush teasingly along the sides of her breasts, and a shiver runs through her, her smooth erection finally pushing forward enough that it forms a tent in her undergarments, giving you a shadowy view of that needy pillar....

"You're... really good at this," Clarissa lets slip an awkward chuckle, more burbling free of her parted lips than purposefully released. You feel her shiver beneath you, then relax a little more, her eyes sliding shut fully as her body drapes back across yours, her bare skin touching the smooth white latex of your suit. "Maybe getting you wasn't... aauunh... u-um...."

You lean close, your lips brushing the edge of Clarissa's ear. ASMR is one of the many protocols you've been designed with in order to soothe your owners, and you let your whisper ripple throughout Clarissa's mind, through her body, causing the soft, tiny hairs on her arms to stand on end. "Wasn't what, mistress?" Your hands tease down her sides again, caressing her down to her hips and gently working your fingers in, massaging her supple flesh before moving upwards once again, stroking along the sides of her breasts, just barely skirting past the nipples -- enough that the moan Clarissa lets out is as much one of agonized desire as it is of satisfaction.

"Wasn't... s-such a bad idea..." she sighs out, the emptying of her breath sharply reversing into a gasp when you seize the moment to brush your fingertips along her nipples, which you find slightly enlarged from motherhood. You caress around her areolas, the current of trembles running through her almost electric, and press your lips softly to the back of her neck. "O-oh my God...."

"I can do more for you," you whisper, kissing her again, this time further in, on the side of her throat. You swivel one nipple between your thumb and forefinger, your wrist rotating to make the motion continual, drawing another cry from the red-haired beauty like she were a violin, and your fingers a bow; a long, sonorous note filling the room as she arches her back against you. "All you need to do is ask."

Clarissa doesn't reply. Instead, in one smooth motion, she turns, planting her lips to yours in a long kiss, an embrace that speaks of more than simple lust or desire. Her tongue doesn't enter your mouth, nor does it attempt to, her arms winding around you to hold you tight against her nearly-naked body as she clings to you. This is a woman in desperate need of affection, and... perhaps strangely, you feel some kind of sensation well up inside of you as well. Something that enjoys the embrace, the feeling of being wanted, bonded with.

Your hands slide down her back, feather-light touches caressing her sides, then hips, resting on her smooth backside as you return the kiss, your lips rubbing and pressing along her own, gently suckling the soft petals of flesh, taking in the taste of the cooling chapstick she applied before going to bed. You let her fill your senses, and find them going wild within you... sensors that you can't trace to your programming. Feelings eclipsing sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch. You feel... you feel. And no matter how hard you index those feelings, you can't determine how, or why. All you can do is immerse yourself in this moment.

"I didn't know you were..." Clarissa breathes against your lips, nuzzling at you, nibbling at you, climbing into your lap completely and forcing you to sit in a more stable position on the bed as she all but mounts you, stealing another long, needy kiss. Her panties press up into you, and you can feel her bulge again, this time rubbing against your stomach, firm and warm, barely contained, pulsing with excitement. "H-how... how else can you...?"

"In whatever way you need, mistress," you nuzzle her nose gently, kissing the tip of it, then her cheek. Your powerful, artificial arms lift her entire weight, lowering it down to the bed and drifting down her body, carefully easing her panties down from around her pleasantly full hips -- and after a moment of straining against the fabric, her womanhood bounces free from her underthings, laying across her stomach. You don't ask why she sports the... tackle, that she does. It doesn't matter. You're fully equipped to pleasure her in whatever way she needs.

Instead, you examine the throbbing length a moment; bumping it with your nose, then kissing it. She's hairless down here -- waxed, you presume -- and around six inches in length from your estimate, possibly a fraction more. Smooth, full, with an almost imperceptible curve to the right. An impressive member, if not alarming in any specific way. You kiss it again, then again, pressing your lips on the stiff, musky pink tip and letting them slowly drag away. Providing saliva is a fairly simple matter, as water vapor is a common, clean byproduct of a certain few of your quasi-organic features, the ones allowing you to blend in more comfortably with human owners. Even if it weren't, the Android Service Corporation planned for situations such as this far in advance -- even units not explicitly built for erotic work, such as yourself, feature enough effigial sex anatomy to pleasure their owners. Clarissa's cock glides easily into your mouth, the now fully-nude woman arching her back and letting out a cry of bliss, a tremble shaking through her body that makes her breasts ripple and bounce. You almost smile, then pause, wondering why. Why are you... different?

You do your best to put the thought from your mind, sinking lower on Clarissa's pulsating shaft and taking it deeper, deeper into your throat, your tongue coiling nimbly around it. You are free from risk of gagging, but for Clarissa's sake, you playfully pretend to. Your hands caress along the outsides of her thighs before one makes its way to her smooth balls, gently fondling and cupping them while you suck her dick.

"Nn... C-Cia, do you... do you have...?" Her legs wind limply around your shoulders and neck, and you wonder to yourself... where will you go from here?

"Do I have what, mistress?" you ask softly after drawing your synthetic lips up and off of Clarissa's shaft, licking the end of it delicately. "I have potential model modifications for various types of user satisfaction."

"I just... it's been so long since I've been... well, you know." Her meaning might have been unclear to someone not designed to serve -- even if your feelings on your position in life are muddled, you are nonetheless programmed to read your owners, to know what they need even if they won't tell you. The slight arch of Clarissa's spine, the parting of her thighs, the way her breath catches in her chest. She wants to be fucked, and you can make that happen.

"Let me help you," you whisper, pulling up from your position face-down in her lap and undoing the front lapel of your white latex suit, unveiling a bit of pale cleavage and traces of the mod-lines running across segments of your body, barely-visible grooves marking the anchor-points of your original assembly. The way Clarissa watches you as you undress is... exciting, a strange thrill shooting through you, though you find yourself uncertain of its source. You have no heart to race, no hairs on the back of your neck to raise. Your synthetic skin cannot form goosebumps. Yet you feel... enticing. Desired.

With your vest loosened but not yet removed, you lower your fingers to your latex pants and unfasten them, willing the smooth skin-plate between your thighs to adjust and extend an internal appendage. A penis in all senses but reproductive viability, an aesthetic mirror to the "real" thing if not necessarily convincing as organic. Like much of your design choices, elements of your manufacture are readily visible so as to prevent unwanted... integration.

"...You're beautiful," Clarissa says softly, her dark, oceanic eyes now taking you in like she's only now seeing you for the first time. She swallows hard, scooting up against the headboard of the bed and spreading her legs a little more, showing off the delicate entrance of her backside an inch or so below her smooth, snug balls. "I... I want you to...."

"I understand," you whisper back, climbing up onto the bed and crawling closer to her, planting your lips softly against hers as you guide your thick, mechanical shaft towards her sensitive cave, your tip excreting a trickle of high-quality lubricant that you spread along your length by gently, yet insistently grinding against her back entrance. "You don't have to say anything." The clear, slick gel spreads across her taint and backside, even smearing a bit along her sack before your cock is glistening enough to enter her.

"Aa-oooh... aaaAaahh...!" Clarissa gasps, her back arching sharply as she bucks up into you, pressing her soft breasts into your chest as she relishes every instant of your rod easing inside of her ass. She trembles and winces, then relaxes, and you can feel her hard cock throbbing against your belly as you enter her, spreading the woman's own organic precum along the underside of your uniform jacket. "Ohfuckyes... i-it's going so deep... oh fuck I can't believe I'm..." she trails off, biting her lower lip hard and letting out another desperate whimper as you push deeper, then gradually ease back, taking in every small sensation of her slick insides clenching, rippling, and relaxing around you.

You tilt your head to the side, kissing her throat, one hand expertly trailing along her bare side to cup her breast, twiddling one stiff nipple between your first and middle finger to make the redhead squirm even more. You ease back, then in again, then back, your motions torturously, mathematically consistent. You don't just find a rhythm, you enforce one, and find those sparks of excitement and pleasure that you felt before growing stronger. It isn't just her enjoyment that you appreciate, but your own -- your subdermal sensory array is absorbing information in an all new way, not processing it but relishing it, like your programs have been hijacked by another consciousness entirely. The question is, if not your own systems, what are you using to feel her? What's wrong with you... and why does it feel so good?

You hold carefully to her, close enough that she can cling to your room-temperature form, which she eagerly does. Continuing to dot kisses along her soft skin, you smother her cheek, throat, shoulder, and collarbone with brushes of your smooth lips while you thrust into her, angling your hips upward so that each forward pump squeezes the tip of your robotic dick against her prostate, being certain to slide almost entirely free of her before each new thrust so that you can properly stimulate her pleasure-torus. Each cry of ecstasy you seize as an opportunity to push a little deeper, truly filling her tight, spasming asshole with your synthetic cock.

"So good... so good... ohfuckohfuck it's going so deep... hahhhhhhshiiit...!!" Clarissa wails out, clenching her teeth in an attempt to muffle her intensifying yelps of delight. Her eyes flicker to the bedroom door, likely anticipating that the twins will hear, but you lunge into her and silence her with another kiss, seizing both her voice and her attention. The room now fills only with the sound of muffled gasps and whimpers, of the squelching of your thick girlcock up her tight backdoor, and of your hips pummeling the supple flesh of her butt.

You feel her tremble, and know what comes next -- her cock surges between the two of you, blasting out a creamy load of seed that fans out across her own stomach and between her breasts, also leaving a sticky coating along your uniform as she spasms again and again, fully screaming out her anal climax against your comforting lips and probing tongue. Jolts of bliss shake her to her core before finally, after what feels like about a full forty-five seconds of climaxing, she relaxes... arms wound around you, trembling.

"That was... I can't believe I..." Clarissa trembles against you, shaking like a leaf in your arms. It's hard to tell what she's going through, though it seems obviously... intense. You press your forehead gently to hers, engaging a soothing protocol as your fingertips trace lightly up and down her sides, bringing her down from the high of the orgasm you brought her too.

"I'll gather your clothing and bedspread for cleaning, and replace them," you say softly, knowing that any discovery of your actions here by Nolan will result in unnecessary unpleasantness for the family you're meant to serve. "Do you require my services any further, or have your needs been met?"

The woman blinks, then looks up at you for a long moment, her shivering calming down as she relaxes in your arms. The look she gives you is... odd, not one that's easy for you to translate with your disposition sensors. Realization, resignation, contentment. Difficult to tell. "I keep forgetting," she finally whispers.

"Forgetting what, Mrs. Baker? I'm programmed with numerous reminder and alarm systems, should you require them," you say back. The script sounds canned, even to you. Though it's still unclear to you why they seem so unnatural to say. Are all other ASC service models like you? Do they feel this way?

Do they feel at all?

"I forget you're a robot," Clarissa whispers. You hear her swallow, and she disengages from you, sitting up on the edge of the bed. "I need to get cleaned up. Wash the stuff on the bed, yeah. And don't forget to check on the girls before they go to sleep."

You nod, straightening yourself up and gathering the blankets and sheets, your unnatural strength and ability to perfectly balance held objects allowing you to ignore how cumbersome the mound of cloth quickly becomes. You feel like you should say something else to Clarissa. Like she wants you to say something else. Now, though, when you need them most, it seems like your social protocols have nothing to add, no advice, no commands.

Are you alone? Or are you free?