Deanna's Surprise Pt. 02

(Herm/Bi-'bot, Bi-'bot/M-'bot, rom, oral, SciFi, ASFR)

WRITER'S NOTES:

This part takes place six weeks after Part One. It is written in first person with Deanna's POV. Marlenn's POV will be displayed in italics (in HTML format) or framed with six asterixes at the start and end of the section (in TXT format). Marlenn's narrative begins the story.

I groaned as I felt Scott thrust into me. It was the right response for this situation. Each motion sent waves of digitalized passion through my neural net, overwhelming my pleasure buffer and sending my artificial soul on a barrel trip over Niagara Falls. My own penis -- Scott asked me to assume bi-gendered format for this session -- was firmly in his hands as he jerked me off. My body shook like a sapling in a strong wind as my mind tried to process the torrents of conflicting data from my groin. All bi-gendered robots face this regardless of how advanced our programming is. For me, the problem is that if I'm tending to my "male" and "female" sexual needs at the same time, my orgasm routines trigger too early -- and quite beyond my control at that point -- for some people's tastes...

Oh!

I cried as I felt my member jerk a couple times before unloading its cargo all over Scott's washboard abdomen abutting his well-formed chest. Seeing this made his eyes go wide before they screwed shut, his back arching. I knew what that meant; his own orgasm routines were tripping over as well. Sure enough, a torrent of his own synthetic semen flooded my vagina, triggering another unavoidable orgasm inside me. That's just the way I'm built. And there's something about me that will always keep me that way. Not that I'm really complaining -- or would if I could think straight enough to form a coherent thought.

Soon enough, however, my mind returned to nominal function. I felt Scott's hands carefully shift me off his still-rigid member, allowing me to lie beside him. Reaching over to the night stand beside the bed, I picked up a wet cloth and got to work cleaning his body from my excesses. He remained still as I did this, his eyes fixed on the ceiling of the guest bedroom I'd set aside for him when he came to my shop to have his systems evaluated. No doubt, he was taking the opportunity to process this experience; we both had enjoyed several orgasms during this session. From that, he could develop new programming paths to later employ with his owner.

Scott, as you can surmise, is a male-format robot, "M-'bot" in trade parlance. His specific programming is crafted so he can provide companionship to a male lover. Like all robots though, he is functionally and happily bisexual. He is the property of one of Welland's ward managers, acting both as a personal companion at home and a professional administrative assistant at work. Last week, Councillor Chet Villard, acting on the city's behalf, went on a Team Canada trade junket to Europe in hopes of boosting foreign investment in the Niagara peninsula. While he's busy trying to win new jobs, he decided Scott should take the opportunity to have his systems thoroughly reviewed and augmented with updated programming. Since Mr. Villard was a close friend of my template's father, I was requested to handle the matter.

"Marlenn?"

I looked up from cleaning his chest to see a content smile on Scott's face. Seeing that sent another torrent of passion through my pleasure systems. My lover had been truly satisfied. If Scott was human, I would've asked him "How do you feel?" Since he is a robot -- not to mention a non-IP 'bot -- a greater level of precision is required to ascertain his outcome. "What is your current operational status?"

Horribly unromantic, eh?

"Nominal," he slowly nodded as I finished cleaning him before sweeping the cloth between my legs and around my member. Once that was done, I reverted back to my more comfortable full-female format. "This experience has been truly beneficial. Thank you, Marlenn."

"I aim to please, especially when it's a brother 'bot who requires the pleasing," I winked at him before moving to dispose of the cloth.

After a quick trip to the bathroom to allow my self-cleansing mechanisms a chance to flush my vagina clean -- not that synthetic semen from a robot contains any harmful or spoilable substances -- I stepped into my own office to slip on my smock before heading into the laboratory to check up on my other guest. Pausing before a full-length mirror, I gazed on myself, allowing the various elements of my personality matrix to lock onto that image and draw renewed inspiration from it. Like all robots, even when awake, my self-analysis routines are always active, working tirelessly to create new and more efficient programming paths for me to use carrying out my given tasks.

And like every other self-aware robot you'll meet, I enjoy every moment of it when I do it right.

Looking at myself, my "male" side was again quickly aroused by my gorgeous female figure. And why not? To not sound immodest, I am quite the exotic beauty to behold by most standards. Honey-blonde hair centre-parted over an softly-sculptured oval face and cut off neatly at my shoulders. Eyes as brown as Swiss chocolate. Lips a little large for a Caucasian. My skin is several degrees darker than maple fudge, though it is not the right shade to let me automatically be seen as a "black" robot. My erect nipples and areole are almost totally black, with just the right amount of pink to make them seem perfectly real. My breasts are ideally well-formed C-cups, firm and strong against gravity's influence. There is not a hint of excess mass anywhere on my body. Now in full-female format, with my phallus and its associate mechanisms stored deep inside my body, my thick, yet natural-looking, bush of dirty blonde pubic hair hoods my well-sculptured womanhood.

Since the various elements of my personality matrix have been encouraged to develop complex programming pathways to allow me to better function regardless of my gender state, my "female" side is always quick to respond to my "male" side's arousal. The inside of my thighs soon glistened with a coat of vaginal discharge. Not enough to become bothersome or to ignite other elements of my sexual programming, but noticeable. This is one of the reasons why I spend my time inside my laboratory nude, unless I'm entertaining a human customer whom I do not personally know. The other reason...? Well, I am a robot! Despite being an Implanted Personality type -- my matrix conceived from a detailed memory copy of an organic human -- I don't suffer embarrassment when I parade around my home or laboratory bare-assed to the wind.

I grinned as that particular rationalization pattern passed through my artificial soul. And yes, I do believe I have a soul. A belief built on an analogy to the faith any human may possess. Being a robot created via IP programming technology constantly forces many "normal" human mannerisms, thought patterns and behavioural codes on everything I do, including the way I speak. Most "normal" robots, even those possessing the most advanced slang speech databases, never enliven their statements with colourful metaphors otherwise heard, unless they are directly commanded to do so by their owners. For myself, flipping from standardized speech to street slang comes as naturally as allowing my body's sexual systems to shift from full-female to bi-gendered format.

Like all 'bots of my design, I can never go completely male.

Thinking that, the urge to allow my male side loose once again hit me. I fought it down easily by acknowledging the fact that I had just seen to my own personal desires with Scott. Furthermore, I have duties in the laboratory to tend to. Oh, well. Time to go to work...

You may know the personal history between my memory template, the human Marlenn Ioanis, and Deanna Hordye.

I will not say anything more about that specific incident. To do so would violate Deanna's privacy.

And I care for -- I love -- Deanna too much to do that to her.

With her now returned to Canada, I can look forward to openly expressing my feelings for Deanna very soon.

After all, my very existence was built around the aftermath of that incident fourteen years ago...

I first came on-line six years prior, having awoken in this very laboratory which once served as classrooms for eager students when this building was known as Mapleview Public School. Within seconds of my systems fully actualizing themselves, a face I instantly recognized came into my arc of vision. The face that I had been constructed with. The face of my creator. Her face. My face.

"Hello, my child. Welcome to the world," she said to me before kissing my forehead in the way mothers do with their children.

From that day on, I've always called the human Marlenn "Mother."

For the first year of my life, I served a dual role. My primary purpose -- the one I still fulfil to this very day -- is to serve as a robot maintenance technician by helping Mother in her laboratory when it comes to those who seek her services. At first, it was amusing to watch Mother's many customers do a double-take on seeing us standing side-by-side, dressed alike, when we received them in her office. Eventually, people got used to having me around. That made things easier for me after Mother's disappearance, when I finally forced myself to fully assume her duties to her various customers until such time as her final fate would be ascertained by the public authorities.

I haven't lost any of Mother's original customers. Even more, I've expanded my customer base to nearly double its size over the last five years. As one recent customer told me, many people would trust a robot 'bot technician much more than they would a human 'bot technician.

My second role for Mother necessitated that I be an IP -- Implanted Personality -- robot, plus being constructed as bi-gendered. Mother wanted to learn how she herself could have lived as an intersexual like Deanna Hordye. Despite my mother's normally outgoing and friendly nature when it came to interacting with her peers, there are things she found she simply couldn't tolerate dealing with. One of those matters are the circumstances that lead to the altercation with Deanna, but I will say nothing more about that.

What I will say is that after coming to the realization that her actions cost her the chance to be with someone who deeply loved and cared for her, Mother decided that it was in her best interests to learn about being an intersexual. With IP programming technology, this is possible. It was certainly a daring and innovative idea to try, well beyond the imagination of most of Mother's peers.

Despite some significant shortcomings, my mother is an exception woman in many ways.

Mother also believed right from the start that I should have the freedom of choice when it comes to deciding which gender role I am to assume. Hence, she constructed me as a bi-gendered, not a hermaphrodite, robot, which would have been a more precise emulation of Deanna. Over the year we had together, we had many long talks about how I felt, constructed as I am. It is those talks now that I miss the most.

To this day, I strive to be comfortable with both sides of my nature. With my template personality being female, for a long time I would automatically revert to full-female format any time I stopped experimenting with these wonderful new options I was given. Being encouraged to do more from the beginning, however, helped advanced my self-will to the same heights as my recently new friends, Reika and Irene Aldred, achieved despite the strong differences between our types and the very different routes to self-awareness we have travelled.

I believe Deanna will be very satisfied with me the day she becomes my owner of record.

As to how that will happen however, I have yet to determine...

I walked into my laboratory to see Chie where I'd left her, lying dormant on a diagnostic bed as my programming analysis units performed their detailed examination of her internal systems. Chie is one of Russ Willis' newest strippers, having started work at Russell's Retreat only two weeks ago. She is one of a dozen robots Russ was able to obtain from a would-be showclub owner in Vancouver whose business plans fell through at the last moment, forcing him to sell off his dancers at fire-sale prices before they'd ever strutted once on his stage. Instead now, they are making a big hit among the Retreat's patrons, not to mention attracting interest from the owners of Welland's other showclubs, the Atlas and Station Hotels. Understandable; all of them were designed with the most advanced programming technology, giving them capabilities beyond what anyone in this town has seen before.

Right from the start however, Russ noticed something a bit off about Chie. His ability to sense these things is exceptional. Since the day he opened the Retreat, Russ has pushed himself to learn all he can about robots, how they can best interact with humans and how he can take advantage of that interaction to run a successful showclub business. His success rate in this field is amazing. After a two-year "warm up" period working out the many problems and kinks running a showclub demands -- especially one without an omniversal fembot control system to keep his strippers under control -- it has been one profitable year after another for him. I'm sure it is that lack of a control system -- something I appreciate every time I visit the club -- that allowed him to spot Chie's struggles so quickly.

Gazing at the readout, I saw the problem affecting this robot. Before receiving the specific task programming that would set her up to work happily as a showclub performer wanting nothing more than to entertain many customers well within those walls, Chie had awakened for a short period. A total of three hours and seven minutes, I noted. Shaking my head, I gave the lovely raven-haired woman before me a sympathetic glance. This admittedly wasn't the first such instance I've seen, where a robot has been activated prior to the installation of her final programming and given a chance to initialize her personality matrix without any guidance beyond the hardwired influences of her basic social programming and the immutable Four Laws of Robotics.

My fingers flew over the control board to commence an intensive memory scan of that time in Chie's life. Granted, this is a profound violation of her privacy. It is something I wouldn't normally do without her express permission -- provided she had enough true awareness to actually give it. Unfortunately, Russ needed to know what was wrong with her now. As Chie's present owner, he has every right to demand it. In a situation like this, dealing with a "normal" robot, I simply have no choice. Still, I strongly suspected that, regardless of what I found in Chie's memories, Russ' ultimate reaction will turn out to be in her very best interests. Russ simply isn't that type of person, which is why I'll do things for him I'd never consider for other customers. The showclub dancers who work in the Niagara peninsula, all of whom gain many chances to strut their stuff at the Retreat, speak positively of him. Knowing Russ through my own interactions over the last six years -- plus the memories Mother had that were passed onto me -- I empathize with my sister robots' feelings for him. And yes, we do exhibit real feelings, even if scant few believe it.

The memory scan was soon finished. I spent time looking over the images. When I saw Chie interact with another robot of her specific model series -- the two had been standing side-by-side on an assembly line -- I could only nod, a snort escaping me in a perfect emulation of what Mother's possible reaction to this situation would have been. Figures it would've been something idiotic like that, for Heaven's sake. And the other robot's actions only made it worse. By herself, Chie might have just stood there waiting. But when the other 'bot innocently spoke to her, Chie had to initialize herself just to be able to answer. And that's what really forced it for her.

Seeing that, I tapped controls to wipe the recording. Glancing over the other diagnostic tools scanning my guest's internal systems, I nodded with satisfaction, then walked over to a video phone to make a call downtown.

"Hello, Russell's Retreat. May I help you?" a lovely redhead with twinkling chestnut eyes called out.

"Hi, Yuu," I grinned in return. Yuu is another one of the strippers Russ obtained with Chie. She was already proving useful in a variety of roles outside her programmed function as a dancer, just reinforcing back to me what a special batch those dozen girls were. Russ had really made out on this deal. He deserved it. He'd earned the good karma he was now experiencing, in my eyes at least. "Is Russ around?"

"Just a moment, Sensei," Yuu nodded, then cut out the visual image.

My grin grew wider. I liked being called "sensei," the omniversal Japanese term for teachers, doctors and sages. Thanks to the many advances Japanese scientists made in the early years of the Humanoid Robot Age, it became the adopted term robots applied to those technicians who kept them whole and healthy. That I am a robot myself doesn't matter to Yuu and her sisters.

The video screen came back on, projecting an image of Russ. "Hey, Marlenn! Anything on Chie yet?"

"The last diagnostic should be done in another hour or so," I reported. "I've already found out what's different with her however."

A concerned look crossed his face. "Bad?"

"Not really, but this is a situation I've run into before."

Russ contemplated that for a few seconds, then nodded while making yet another perfect intuitive leap. He is that good when it comes to us. "Woke up before final programming was installed, then had it slammed down on top of her mind just as she was seeing a world far bigger than that which it was going to confine her to?"

"Unfortunately," I noted.

"Okay, fair enough. Finish the diagnostic, then have her come back over. I'll figure out what to do next. Even if I end up losing her much sooner than I'd planned, she's a pretty girl who draws in the crowds. I think she does like dancing. Let's use it while we can."

"Alright..."

"Okay, everyone, that's it for tonight! Chulsa!"

Hearing that, my twenty students quickly assumed formation. "Tor'a!" the senior student in my class, Iruka Shiina, called out.

We turned to face the Maple Leaf Flag and the Korean T'aegukki, both hanging at the head of the main training hall. "Kyoungnye!"

We bowed to pay respect to our homeland and the homeland of the Art. "Tor'a!" Iruka called out again.

We turned to face Master Lily, who remained kneeling at the side of the training room during the class, as impassive as the sitting Buddha I remember seeing at the Soukkur'am Grotto near Kyoungju, one of Korea's most ancient cities. "Kyoungnye!"

We bowed to her, chanting "Kamsahamnida!" in unison to thank Master Lily for the evening's classes.