I, Sex Bot

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

Twenty-seven-years-old, about five-foot-seven, sparkling brown eyes with a hint of green that seemed to light up the room, straight and soft brunette hair falling just above her rib cage area and just below her breasts, which, beneath her tank top seemed a perfectly ample and rounded plush size, a firmly curved ass within a pair of jeans and an overall slim body frame that perfectly put her on the chart as not too thin but a good amount of flesh to grab hold of.

And she was really standing there, in the living room of my house, right in front of me to see and reach out and touch.

But among all those movie star quality attributes, there was just one particularly unique thing about her, though.

She wasn't real.

Not a real human, anyway.

She didn't have organs inside. She had electronics, and plastic, and liquids, and other gizmos and gadgets I couldn't even begin to comprehend or list out.

All I knew was that she was mine, and mine alone. I had paid for her. Four months' worth of pay, too! But since I did well for myself at my job and had excellent credit and a nice payment plan, I wasn't too concerned. She was top of the line; the latest model. I knew instantly I had gotten my money's worth on first impression alone.

My very first, and hopefully last (because they were built to last) love bot. Of course, that was the professional and discreet name for her, but I doubt "fuck bot" would have gone well over parents perusing the aisles of their local mega stores.

To set one thing straight right off the bat, I didn't have an unlucky dating life. But work kept me busy, and it had been a while since I was in a meaningful relationship, so after much thought and debate, I decided to venture into this decision for myself.

I was in my mid-twenties and still had tons of time to settle down with a real live breathing woman. I could get rid of her at any time (used models beyond the manufacturer's return window still fetch a very good price on the second-hand market, after a thorough cleaning and debugging reset, obviously).

But yeah. She was a fuck bot to me, not a love bot. Plain and simple, I bought her to fuck her, not love her. Just a pure, normal human desire to let loose my sexual repression. The guys out there actually falling in love with these damn things were the ones with the real problems.

That wasn't going to be me. I considered myself very headstrong and morally sound, and even if I developed the least bit of attachment to her, when and if I ever came to the point of meeting a real woman I wanted to get into a healthy relationship with, I could see myself easily parting with her company. Hell, then again, maybe my new significant other would be into keeping her for some extra fun company.

Or there was always plenty to do around the house cleaning-wise.

No, I knew right then and there I had gotten my money's worth and I intended to prove that to myself with an out-of-this-world experience like I had never had before. Looking at her standing before me, I almost wanted to laugh at the thought of the primitive ways guys went about lavishing in similar recreational methods over a hundred years ago, when these fake women were made of more dense, uncomfortable rubber or cushioned material.

Even the inflatable blow-up ones before that were downright hilarious, but my grandfather said those were mostly meant as dumb jokes for bachelor parties and such.

No thanks. I had no desire to fuck a pool float. I wanted something with more substance and realism, and these were fascinating times I was living in, so "when in Rome", as they say.

And I wasn't one of those paranoid crackpots bouncing around on a city street corner picketing with signs that blared messages about A.I. (artificial intelligence, for the layman) being unholy and how it would cause the downfall of humanity when these things went against their parameters and rose up to mutiny against us humans like all those flashy sci-fi movies had tried preaching to us over a century ago.

These things were perfectly safe and with a zero-percent uprising rate. Sure, they malfunctioned like any other machine, but fatality numbers were near zero when it came related to A.I. robots, and those cases were simply accidents that could just as well have happened with or without A.I. intervention or presence.

Besides, in the minimally unlikely event that these things were to turn against us, it would probably take beyond my lifetime to evolve to that point. I almost laughed to myself thinking of me as an old man dressed in rags huddled around a barrel fire of an annihilated skyscraper in a post-apocalyptic A.I. dominated environment explaining to my grandchildren how before I met their grandmother I used to stick my dick into those things.

"Would you care for me to undress now?" she asked. It was the first spontaneous thing she had said beyond our initial short basic conversation after activating her an hour ago.

She had a sweet voice, polite and selfless in her tone but with a subtle flatness that reminded me she was still a robot under all that beauty.

"Of course," I simply replied.

She pulled her tank top over her head, then bent forward to unbutton and shimmy her jeans down her luscious legs, leaving her now decked out in a pair of nice white cotton panties with an accompanying bra. Maybe I could have drawn out the foreplay with a bit more inventive removal of her clothes, but there would be plenty of other opportunities for that later. I was anxious to check out my pricey merchandise.

She reached behind her and unhooked her bra, letting it fall forward to the floor as her glorious breasts glowed (figuratively, that is, though customizations have seen these chicks lit up from within like badly colorful twentieth century college party ravers).

Fuck! They were awesome! I was definitely a tit man, but some of my cohorts with similar tastes just went too damn far with size. How is a breast as big as a damn head attractive? These were definitely Goldilocks tits. Not too small, not too big, but just right.

She hooked her thumbs under her panties at the hip line and pulled them down, lifting a foot to let it elegantly slide off.

She returned to a neutral stance, arms hanging straight at her sides as she stared at me. I was speechless.

"Would you care to touch me?" she offered.

I slowly bobbed my head, swallowing the lump in my throat as I carefully stepped forward and reached out. I feathered my fingertips under the curved rim of her right breasts, thumbing and gently plucking at the nipples.

The softness was incredible! I glided my hand over the top and dipped into her cleavage, then rotated my wrist so I could cup a breast in my hand. The weight was perfect. I gave it a light jiggle. It was so damn natural! I was in awe. "It all feels so real," I mumbled.

"My unit is made of an organic silicone compound meant to replicate human flesh," she noted.

I drove my wandering hand up her chest and veered along the top of her shoulder, pushing in a little. "Feels like an actual shoulder bone," I next commented.

"My skeletal structure is made of a dense but unbreakable titanium polymer alloy meant to represent human bones. I have a fully complete skeletal structure from head to toe," she informed me. "Would you care to hear the history of this patented material?"

"Uh, no, thanks," I declined. It was fascinating to know she also doubled as a computer of intimate worldly knowledge, but I hoped she wouldn't get to the point of being annoying by making little anecdotal suggestions like that too regularly.

I streamed my fingers down her front, over her stomach and bumping across her inward bellybutton (which apparently acted as one of a few plug-in ports for recharging, updates, maintenance and such), rounding to smooth over her hip. I took a step to the side, slightly bending forward to look behind her as if acting like some kind of investigative doctor.

Her ass looked stupendous. I flatly grazed my palm over her cheeks, then gave one a squeeze. My instincts expected some kind of reaction, like a grunt, gasp or giggle that a real live female would respond with, but there was nothing. She just kept staring forward. It wasn't a dead gaze, like she was turned off or frozen. She was just simply waiting.

I pulled myself back to her front side, brushing my fingers up her lengthy legs and gliding them over her pussy, where a thin landing strip of hair neatly lined the top. I slightly pushed my fingers into her slit, feeling her vaginal lips. Just as real as everything else about her. I carefully pet the line of hair. "Is this real hair? I mean, it can't be real, because you can't grow it, right?" I wondered.

"This unit does not have the capability to grow natural human hair," she responded. "However, at the owner's discretional preference, the pubic hair supplied at this unit's manufacturer's default stage can be easily and safely removed by traditional approved shaving methods or any desired additional amount can be implanted through a manufacturer's upgrade procedure.

"Right," I blubbed.

She continued with, "Please understand this comes at additional cost to the owner and do not attempt otherwise to add real or custom hair yourself as you risk damaging this unit which does not fall within your legal ownership liability warranty."

I gave a smirk. "Okay. I won't try to glue or tape any bushels of wiry follicle mesh onto you," I joked. I stood back upright to face her and softly planted the flat palm of my hand against the center of her chest. "You feel so warm. Like natural body temperature."

"This unit uses compressed heaters and cooling fans to maintain the simulation of a standard human's average body temperature of ninety-eight-point-six degrees Fahrenheit. Please understand that tampering with this preset temperature control climate can cause this unit to overheat or function improperly which may lead to irreparable damage at the cost of the owner as per the conditions of the limited liability warranty. It is also recommended that the owner maintains this unit's optimal operation by performing regular internal system temperature checks."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I murmured. It wasn't that her "robot speak" was annoying; in fact it was kind of a breath of fresh air to just get things straight from her. If I wanted her to sound like a real woman, I would have gotten a real woman.

The best thing about a fake woman is that you get a little bit of both when it comes to vocabulary. Besides, it did state in the lengthy operator's manual that vocal settings could be adjusted to sound more "real and natural", and there were even countless and cheap download update patches where I could modify her with any accent I wanted. I could make her Australian or French, if I felt like it.

And I sure as shit didn't spend all this money to have coffee table conversations with her.

"My unit's motion sensors indicate slight penile movement within your pants combined with an arousal increase of thirty-nine percent. Would you care to have sexual intercourse to alleviate your discomfort?" she asked.

Damn! Right to the point! No playing around, no mind games, no insecurities or hesitations, no asking permission, just simply "Do you wanna fuck?" A very advantageous reason I bought her. Still, I was equally fascinated as I was getting horny.

"Whoa. You can sense stuff like that about me?"

"My unit is equipped with limited range motion sensors as well as optical infrared and x-ray scanners. I can gauge more in-depth and precise internal biological readings granted we are physically connected together," she explained.

"You mean, like, if I'm inside you during sex?"

"Precisely. Inserting your penis into my vaginal region allows me access to nearly all your biological readings. Please note that while I can relay medical information, benign or otherwise hazardous to your health, this unit is not a legally licensed medical practitioner, and suggests that you immediately report any negative health conditions to a licensed medical doctor for proper treatment."

"I guess a doctor-patient roleplay sex scenario is out of the question, then," I joked.

"Roleplay scenarios are limitless as to the owner's personal discretion and preference," she corrected. "However, please note that this unit cannot use such scenarios to recommend or supply actual medical assistance."

"Got it."

"What method of sexual intercourse would you care to engage in?"

I scratched my head, not sure if I fully understood the question. "You mean, where I am putting it? Or what positions?"

"I am pre-registered with three basic levels of sexual intercourse experience," she noted. "Light, medium and hard."

"Explain more, please."

"Light is equivalent to what is considered as "making love". Medium is equivalent to what is considered as "standard sexual intercourse". Hard is equivalent to what is considered as "rough and overtly physical".

"Oh, I get it," I said with a nod. I knew hard wasn't my style at all. I hated rough stuff and cringed at the thought of how many jackasses out there were choosing that level and just beating the shit out of their love bot during sex to the point where it was costing them pockets of extra cash to repair the slapping and punching damage they had inflicted on the faces of their beautiful synthetic partners.

And light mode, while not too bad of an option, was just a sliver too unfulfilling for my desires. As I said before, if I wanted to make love, I would just go out and get myself a real live girlfriend to share in that experience. My heart was sound enough to know that a subject like that wasn't meant to be played around with, even if some people liked to roleplay or fantasize about it on a non-committable level.

"Let's go with medium," I told her. It's what I needed. Good, simple, normal, middle-of-the-road standard sex. More Goldilocks. Not too hard, not too soft, just right.

"Acknowledged," she confirmed. "Do you have any communicative vocal preferences to help your sexual arousal during the course of our consummation?"

"What's that mean?"

"I can supply "dirty talk" that adjusts to match and properly react to any verbiage you vocally give during our intercourse. I can simply supply no communication at all, giving only reactive sounds of pleasure, or I can also supply an option of biological body updates as you progress toward climax."

"What the hell is that?" I asked in confusion.

"My unit's internal system sensors can allow me to vocally update you on your heartbeat rate, breathing rate, muscular fatigue, internal/external body and/or organ temperature shifts, and the progress of your penile pleasure as it reaches its orgasmic climax."

I was always a fan of dirty talk, granted it wasn't in the realm of the aforementioned rough stuff, and usually dug talking about stuff during sex that enhanced my excitement yet I wouldn't necessarily commence in or think about in my normal state of mind.

But this strange option she was talking about seemed to intrigue me and fit right into my comfortable category of curiosity. Though dirty talk was often spontaneously crafted by the moment as it came out, I felt there was nothing new about that. It came down to what I was thinking before: simple sex was what I needed, but I could have gotten that anywhere at any time with any real woman.

I wanted something a tad bit different, and while the idea of a woman systematically updating a man on his body's sexual progress may seem trivial or redundant to most (I know I'm feeling pleasure; I know I'm about to blow my load; I don't need anyone verbally explaining what I already know), it seemed so basic that the idea actually sounded hot!

It was like during sex when a woman asks you "Does it feel good?" Of course it feels good! She wasn't asking out of performance insecurity; she was asking because she knew it aroused her partner to hear her talk about what they were doing, even though it could go unspoken.

Any normal living girl could tell or sense how good she was making my dick feel, even if I wasn't telling her. It was basic biology (hard, throbbing cock going into wet pussy=awesomeness. Duh.).

But could any living girl give me a savvy statistical biologically accurate readout of how good my dick was feeling by the exact percentage level? That was crazy! None of that impatient "Are you close to cumming?" bullshit girls always blurted out.

I guess that option could be of practical handy medical use, too. All those rich old men with their new younger supermodel trophy wife bots struggling to get it up and throwing themselves with all their might and willpower to achieve a few seconds of climatic bliss could now be told within a degree of accuracy if they were on the cusp of giving themselves a heart attack.

Now I had someone (or some THING, anyway) who would know the exact moment when I was going to blow. And that blew my mind!

"Let's go with that last option," I optimistically chose.

"Very well," she confirmed. She still stood there staring at me until slightly cocking her head. "Would you care to get undressed now?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Uh, sure," I mumbled like a goofy moron before pulling my shirt off over my head and tossing it aside.

I unbuckled the belt on my jeans and unzipped them, pulling one leg out at a time. I didn't know why I was feeling a little embarrassed. Maybe it was because I was used to the adrenaline rush of getting naked in front of a real woman, the only drawback thus far with this new sex bot of mine.

I was happy with the way I looked naked. I kept myself in shape, yet there was a bit of excitement deflating from within me, for she didn't care what I looked like naked, nor would she judge me or ridicule me.

She actually did the opposite when she spoke out with, "My sensors indicate a slightly elevated heartbeat and twenty-seven percent increase level of adrenaline. It is not necessary for you to be nervous. I am safe and will do what you desire me to do, so long as it does not jeopardize your safety or health nor compromise my own system's operational integrity."

"Thanks," I stated with a grin, now completely ass-naked in front of her.

She took a moment to graze her eyes up and down me, as if doing some kind of scan. It was the first time I got the sense she was actually somewhat sizing me up, in a way. She returned her sight to mine, face not flator emotionless, but comfortingly soothing.

"Initial sensor scans inform me you have a very healthy penis," she complimented.

"Thank you," I said again, somewhat blushing.

She gestured an arm forward. "Shall we go to the couch?"

"Yeah."

She walked forward in a fluid and natural manner. It was the first time I had seen her move out of place since unboxing and activating her. The only subtle little thing that stood out to give away her true synthetic existence was the slightly sharp robotic stop and turn she made when she had reached the couch to sit down.

I joined her, sitting down next to her and setting my hands on my knees. It felt like I was on a first date. I guess technically I was. I couldn't be blamed for a little bit of nervous skepticism when it came to having sex with an android.

Was it really going to be that good? The "product" came with a satisfaction guarantee, as it damn well should have for the amount of bills I shelled out. I could imagine some shy, guilt-ridden dork out there in my position screwing his own brand new model for the first time and returning it out of shame.

That wasn't going to be me.

I was going to give her a legitimate chance.

"So, um..." I began to murmur, running a hand through my short frizzled hair, "I guess, uh, I'll start by kissing you, or something? Yeah?"