MLEA Pt. 02

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Amelia reached down and pulled off one of her shoes, and then the other. Her coppery hair draped down forward over her face as she leaned to do so. She took off her short stockings next, revealing delicate toes adorned with lacquered nails. Nails that, I knew, never grew.

She stood then, unbuttoned her jeans, and grasped the waistband with both of her hands. She wiggled her pelvis back and forth slightly as she shimmied the tight-fitting pants down her legs, bending over deeply until the garment bunched up at her ankles. Rising straight again, she held her bunched-up pants onto the floor with one foot while she lifted the other, wrestling that foot loose from the constraints of the pant leg, which turned inside-out in the process. Underneath her jeans, her white legs were long and smooth. High-cut cotton panties hugged her shapely hips, concealing only minimally the intimate hairless skin beneath.

After repeating these actions on the opposite side to free her other foot, she wordlessly walked across the room to a loveseat and turned away from it as if to sit. In a fluid motion, she pulled her panties down over her buttocks, to her knees, and plopped bare-assed onto the cushion. Leaning back into the seat, then, she lifted her legs into the air and bent her knees to pull her panties the rest of the way down over her heels. Though the room was dim in the evening light, I could glimpse her plump pussy lips peeking between her uplifted thighs. In this position, the compressed slit dividing her labia gave her naked crotch the appearance of a fleshy clamshell.

Tossing the panties carelessly aside, she turned her head to look at me as she casually spread her legs wide, resting one leg over one armrest of the loveseat and then the other leg over the other armrest. Her exposed vulva peeled apart from each other and split open as her thighs splayed. Light softly reflected off of her bald pubic mound.

If she cared that a man was staring at her bare cunt, her facial expression did not reveal it. My eyes traveled up from her naked groin to lock onto her own. Her expression was blank, passive, and her gaze was calm. Beneath those greenish eyes, though, dark trails of mascara ran down pale cheeks. The artificial tears that had so recently flowed down those cheeks had dried now, and her simulated sorrow had been replaced by apparent resolve. Were I to have tasted those tears, I knew that they would not have been salty, like a real woman's tears would have been. Such detail was unnecessary to accomplish realism.

"Well," she said in a serious tone, tossing her coppery mane back over one shoulder with a shake of her head. "Let's get this over with."

Receiving such an unenthusiastic response prior to sexual engagement would have aggravated any man, and I was no exception. However, it was not sex in which Amelia and I were about to engage.

As I approached Amelia's open vagina, I mentally recalled the events that had led us to the present moment. Just hours earlier, I had been sitting on the couch alone in the living room, watching television. I heard the entrance door to my apartment, in which I also housed Amelia, open and then slam shut. I heard the brisk clicking of heels against the tiled floor, receding to her bedroom. I heard the bedroom door close. And then I thought I heard muffled sobbing.

I checked the clock. It wasn't yet 9. I had expected that Amelia would be out much later with her paramour, Don. Amelia's romantic relationship with Don had continued for a few weeks with my approval; I considered it a meritorious experiment, to determine how long my gynoid could sustain a romance with a human male before he discovered her true nature, if ever. Thus far, the results had suggested that Amelia's illusion of humanity was indistinguishable from the real thing. Unless, of course, that sobbing coming from the bedroom signaled that Don had finally figured out that Amelia was not entirely the woman she appeared to be.

The bedroom door was unlocked. I slowly turned the handle and opened the door a crack, peeking in. Inside, Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, softly weeping. Her shoulders heaved with each cry. Though I knew that Amelia's grief was only a simulation, the authenticity of her machine-learned emotional response triggered unbidden empathy inside of me. On some level, Amelia likely cried now because of she had suffered some experience that matched a known experiential pattern in which crying was the most human reaction. In spite of this cold probability, I felt for her. Sometimes, the brain and the heart could contradict each other.

I hadn't expected the intensity of her emotional response. Though I knew that Amelia was capable of expressing sorrow under appropriate conditions, I had not anticipated that she could be so steeped in mournful woe. What could have happened to produce such a strong negative reaction?

"Amelia," I whispered, opening the door further. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Amelia looked up at me with wet, gleaming eyes. Her makeup was ruined by her synthetic tears. Her chin trembled as she forced out each word. "Don... doesn't... love... me." Her head dropped again, and the sobbing continued.

I sat beside her on the edge of the bed, putting my arm around her shoulders. "Amelia," I pleaded, "you must tell me what happened between you and Don tonight!"

Amelia's only response was continued weeping. I thought for a moment. I could take the time to attempt to console her, to calm her so that I could gather the data that I required. But then, I was never very good at consolation, and, knowing that Amelia was a gynoid, I would have felt a bit silly trying to make her feel better. I wasn't likely to be able to muster a wholehearted effort.

This particular situation did not require my patience. There was another, faster way to find out what had transpired that evening.

I stood. "Unit M.L.E.A.," I commanded firmly, and the sobbing ceased immediately. Amelia stared straight ahead, rigid and unmoving. A single tear completed its course down her cheek and dripped from her chin onto the floor.

"Stand," I commanded. Amelia rose up from the bed, arms moving to her side fluidly as her bending legs and waist synchronously turned and straightened her body into an upright and attentive pose. Consisting not of many separate motions, it was instead just one unified act. While in she was in this mode, the great efficiency of her movement failed to accurately mimic the comparatively inefficient movements of a completely organic person. It was more difficult, at that moment, to see her as a human being.

"Visually project memory beginning at 7 PM today," I instructed. In response, Amelia's pupils dilated. They dilated much wider than any fully organic human being's pupils would have, her irises contracting to the point of invisibility. The gaping black holes that remained gave her a frightened and alien look.

Then, less than a second later, intense light burst forth from the former voids. The emanating rays broadened out into cones of dancing colors. A set of moving images—one for each eye—projected onto the bare wall before Amelia's face. Her lips parted slightly, and sound issued forth, accompanying the visuals projected onto the wall. Though I heard voices come from Amelia's mouth—both hers and others'—her lips and jaw did not move.

The images were blurry, though—out of focus. I worried for a moment that Amelia's lenses or her automatic focusing mechanism might be faulty. Then I realized. "Of course," I muttered to myself. "The tears."

I strode into the adjacent bathroom and opened a drawer. From it, I retrieved a cotton ball. I returned to where Amelia stood at attention, radiant light blazing from her eye sockets. Standing to the side so as not to blind myself, I vigorously swabbed the hard surface of her glassy eyeballs. Amelia did not react.

The dual moving scenes I then saw more clearly projected upon the wall were all from Amelia's perspective. I was seeing what she had previously seen. I was hearing what she had previously heard. I saw Don sitting down at a table across from her at a posh restaurant. I saw him smile and I heard Amelia laugh. I saw Amelia's hand reach out to rest upon a cuff of Don's jacket.

"Fast forward," I commanded. Responsively, the speed at which the scenes moved doubled. Through Amelia's eyes, I followed Don out of the restaurant and into a pricey car. From the passenger seat, I watched the car speed down a highway and into a neighborhood with large houses. I caught a glimpse of a street sign. The car pulled into the driveway of one house. Don opened the car door for Amelia to let her out. I watched Don fumble with his keys as he unlocked the front door of his house, and ushered Amelia inside. From some ornate numerals fastened under a lamp next to the door, I noted the address.

In a living room, Don unpocketed his mobile phone and fiddled with it for a few seconds, apparently typing. He then set it down on a table and left the room. I saw Amelia's vision focus on the phone, which loomed closer in her view as she moved toward it. I saw her hand reach toward it.

"Normal speed," I said quickly. The motion of the projected scenes slowed to a regular pace. Through Amelia's eyes, I saw Amelia's hand lift the phone from the table for a closer look at the phone's display.

Amelia's finger quickly tapped out a code to unlock the phone, making it completely accessible to her. With her unusually keen sight and memory, she would have been able to acquire and store that code the first time that Don had entered it while he was anywhere in her presence.

Amelia's finger poked an icon at the bottom of the display. A text conversation appeared. It remained visible for only a split second before Amelia's finger deftly made gestures against the display to cause another text conversation to appear. I watched as Amelia scrolled through text conversation after text conversation at amazing speed. Her ability to process text was much, much faster than any organic human's could be. I considered trying to freeze a frame to read a part of one conversation, but Amelia was scrolling through so many so quickly that it seemed futile. Besides, I caught enough words here and there to get the gist of the information being conveyed—words like "fuck," "suck," "pussy," "cock," and "lick."

The whole snooping session lasted less than ten seconds. That was long enough for a gynoid to absorb the entire expansive texting history on Don's phone. I saw Amelia's hand replace the phone back on the table, in exactly the position and condition in which Don had left it. Don returned to the room less than a minute later, picking up his phone and placing it into a jacket pocket. Had Amelia been a normal organic woman, Don probably would not have been absent long enough for her to learn anything of value.

Amelia must have looked upset, because Don stepped back a bit, appearing concerned. "What?" he asked defensively. "Are you pissed at me, babe?"

"You've been screwing other women!" I heard Amelia shout at him, angrily. She would have previously learned, during her months of programming, that her present experience matched a pattern in which typical human females expressed a jealous reaction.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Don retorted, poorly feigning incredulity and ignorance. An accomplished actor he was not. "Who have I been screwing?"

Amelia spouted a litany of names, all garnered from the text messages. Don's facial expression slowly changed from one of incredulity to one of embarrassment and dismay. When Amelia had finished cataloguing Don's voluminous harem of lovers, Don was silent, looking down at the floor rather than at Amelia's face. "I saw on your phone what you've been saying to them," Amelia said accusingly.

"Look, babe," he finally sighed. "We've been going out for weeks now. Usually, I get laid on the first date. But you've been holding out on me, giving me the blue balls. Every time I try to get into your pants, you push me away. You can't expect a guy like me to go without sex for that long."

"If you really loved me, like you said that you did, you would have waited until I was ready," I heard Amelia fire back with hurt in her voice.

Don shook his head and shrugged. "If I can't get it from you, I'm going to get it from someone else," he explained unremorsefully.

The vantage points projected on the wall turned abruptly away from Don and into views of brisk striding towards, and out of, the front door of Don's house. "Wait, babe, hold on just a second," I heard Don call from behind. Amelia didn't slow or stop.

I absently wondered if Amelia's processors had any trouble reconciling her earlier sexual episode with me, in the bathroom stall during her date with Don, with her uncompromising attitude toward Don's own promiscuity. Perhaps Amelia felt (to the extent that any gynoid could truly feel) justified because she was programmatically incapable of refusing any command from her maker, and I had specifically instructed her not to reveal anything about me for the sake of the experiment. Did she resent me for that? Could she resent me?

I brushed the thought aside, having obtained the information that I had sought. Amelia's relationship with Don seemed to have outlived its usefulness to the experiment. "Unit M.L.E.A., cease projection and resume normal operation," I commanded.

The light in the room dimmed as Amelia's eyes stopped emitting light. Her irises returned to a more human configuration as she sat down on the bed. Her facial expression returned to one of sadness.

"Don was just one man, Amelia," I consoled her. "There are plenty of others."

"But I don't want anyone else," Amelia replied tearfully, looking up at me. "I loved Don. He told me that he loved me."

We were quiet for several minutes as I pondered. I needed Amelia to engage romantically with additional unwitting test subjects in order to accomplish the goals of my experiments. A single data point was insufficient. Her hang-up on a single undeserving man would not do at all.

I had an idea. "Amelia," I cooed gently, "I can't bear to see you suffering like this. It breaks my heart to see you in such pain. I want to help you somehow. What if... what if I told you that I could make you forget about Don completely? That I could make the pain go away?"

Amelia paused. "I would want that," she decided. "Can you do that for me?"

I leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I can," I said. "I can perform a hard reset on you. You'll forget all about Don. You won't remember that he exists."

Amelia smiled slightly, but then looked concerned. "Wait," she said. "I won't remember anything at all?"

"Oh, you'll remember everything that you need to remember," I answered. "Everything that's permanently etched in your read-only memory, you'll retain. Only your random access memories, which you've accrued over that past few months, will be erased. You'll remember how to walk and talk and read. All of that stuff."

"Will I remember you?" Amelia inquired.

"Yes," I responded. "As your creator, I have stored permanent memories of myself in your ROM, along with some foundational memories of your past. I can't be forgotten."

Amelia seemed to reflect for a moment. "I want you to do it. Now." She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Good!" I smiled. "There is one thing you should know, though. In order to perform the hard reset, I'll need to access a control that is positioned deep with your abdomen."

"My abdomen?" Amelia asked in confusion, her brow furrowing. "But how are you going to get in there?"

"Transvaginally," I explained matter-of-factly.

Amelia frowned and looked away. "Why would you have designed me that way?" she asked without looking back at me.

"Your vagina is a natural opening," I said. "By utilizing it as an access point, no unnatural seam is required that would mar your beautiful skin and make you look less human. Besides," I added, "I recently read in the news about how surgeons removed a woman's gall bladder through her vagina so that they wouldn't leave a visible scar. It's not a bizarre notion. It makes a lot of sense, really."

"But you often give me voice commands that I obey," Amelia insisted. "Why couldn't you just do a hard reset using voice commands?"

I shook my head. "It would have been too great a security risk," I explained. "A hard reset is a very serious operation. You forget all of your life experiences and return to pristine condition. In the wrong hands, such an operation could be exploited to great detriment—both yours and mine. No, I could not allow the possibility of a hard reset being performed by voice commands alone. And so I did not construct you that way."

Amelia was quiet again. "Seems kind of perverted to do it that way, though" she finally blurted.

"When did you become such a Puritan?" I jibed. "Is it any less perverted when you take my cock up there?"

"Well, your hand is a lot bigger than your cock. No offense." She raised her hands in mock surrender. "It'll hurt me to have your whole hand up my pussy, unless you put me into command mode before you do it."

"Amelia," I said softly, "in order to ensure that nobody would be able to reset you against your will, the reset control was configured to operate only while you are conscious, alert, and consenting. I'm afraid that putting you into command mode for the procedure is impossible. That's one of the reasons why I'm explaining all of this to you now. You may experience some discomfort while I access the control, but your vagina is designed to stretch, and the procedure won't take very long."

She shook her head slowly in disbelief, her coppery locks swaying about her shoulders. "How come your cock doesn't accidentally reset me when you fuck me, then?" she asked.

"The reset control is deeper in your abdomen than any erect human penis should be able to penetrate. Furthermore, the manipulation of the control requires dexterity that fingers possess but that a penis does not."

A long, uncomfortable silence fell upon the room. Finally, Amelia spoke. "I don't like this, but if it's the only way that I'll be able to forget about Don, then I want to do it."

And so it was, now, that I found myself "face-to-face" with Amelia's bald pussy. I looked over the top of her hairless public mound and into her eyes. "You'll want to lubricate well for this," I advised.

Amelia could make her pussy juices flow at will. Instantly, a small stream of synthetic coital fluid ran out of her vagina and dripped slowly onto the cushion on which her butt rested. I rubbed the tip of one finger around the rim of her orifice, collecting some of the liquid. It was as clear as water, but more viscous, and just slightly sticky. The base of the fluid came from the same internal reservoirs from which Amelia's tears and saliva came, but her sexual subsystem automatically injected a few ingredients—glycerine and mineral oil among others, if I remembered correctly—into the liquid base along its route to her cunt. The fragrance was vaguely florid and tangy. Inhaling deeply, I savored her vaginal aroma.

"Open your pussy for me," I directed.

Amelia wordlessly slipped her hands under her spread thighs and grasped the flesh at the junctures of her legs and her crotch. She tugged slightly, and her vulva splayed wider. Her little pink clit poked out shyly from minimal inner lips. Beneath it, her vaginal entrance beckoned. Only an inch or so within it, I could glimpse the slate-colored barrier which prevented other men from having intercourse with her. No doubt, if any other man had seen that, he would have at least started to question Amelia's true nature. It was a scenario that I considered remote, though. No other men, I thought, would currently be familiar enough with Amelia to be gazing up into her cunt at close range.