My, Robot!

An Adventure where Silky Meets Tom Swift

I'm Silky and I live with George & Jessica. We're like what they call an "unconventional family." He's the dad, we're the daughters, and there is like no mom. But how many dads sleep in a big bed with their daughters like curled up naked beside them, after like fucking both of them every night? Not to mention like what we do to each other. Jess and I are what's known as 'cater-cousins.'

There are many other adventures to read if you like want to know more.

Usually I sleep very soundly, being very satisfied, so to speak. Recently, however, I had a very strange dream, and I will do my best to relay it to you:

George came in the house with an unusual smile on his face.

"You know the play I was trying to get set up?" he asked. "The censors took all the dirty bits out of it," he said deludedly. "It was going to make a great movie," he projected.

"That's the one that starts with 'Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess' isn't it?" Jess asked grimly.

"It's because we live in a processed world; people only pay attention to the process," came from me.

"It's unlikely to be rewritten until a month from now," said George.

"Dat's de end of April," said Jess in dismay.

"I thought we could console ourselves with travel. Let's take a vacation in the south of France," George said nicely.

"I could be swimming in Paris," laughed Jessica insanely.

"Let's stay in Europe. I'm afraid of the mid-east," I said. "I could drown in Egypt," I added, deep in denial.

Ultimately we went camping for a few days, a far cry short of Paris or even Egypt. I don't like camping, but it was a vacation, apparently.

Our outdoor time was not balmy. First, George wanted to get up at dawn, we didn't. We never do.

"It's twelve noon," he chimed in. "Time to get up and have fun."

"I can't be bothered," said Jess carelessly. "Where did you get this crappy stuff, anyway?" She added trashily.

"I've borrowed my sister's camping gear," said George insistently.

"But why?" I asked. We hadn't even had coffee.

"I like camping," said George intently.

"Well, at least start a fire. Can you chop down that tree?" I axed.

"We don't need that much wood. There's plenty lying around. Just gather some up," he replied abundantly.

We bitched and moaned, but finally got up. First stop, bathroom. Except, wait, there is no bathroom, ewwweh! Jess had to pee so bad she went behind a bush, but came back swatting at her neck.

"There's a blood sucking insect in the outhouse," she slapped aloofly.

She held out the dead bug in her hand for George's inspection.

"That young insect is female," he said gallantly.

""It can't be female, it's wearing a yarmulke!" I said jubilantly.

"Watch this young Semitic insect sail through the air," Jess remarked flippantly, as she popped it with her finger.

Further exploration led us to a bricolage of mud-dabbed sticks, strangely void of insects.

"I wonder why the hive's still empty," said George belatedly.

"Ouch! It's NOT empty!" yelled Jessica. "When I get stung, I want revenge," she said begrudgingly. "But how can we get close enough to illiterate them?"

"I'm sure we can fool them into thinking this is pollen," he said beguilingly, as he waved some weeds.

Soon we headed for the ER to deal with the efforts to punish the bees. We apparently unleased a hornet's nest. When we got there, awkwardly many other people were ahead of us, so we waited patiently.

"I couldn't believe there were 527,983 bees in the swarm!" George recounted.

"On reason for the delays is that our two best doctors have joined the Airborne Medical Corps," said the nurse paradoxically.

We asked many other people why they were there.

"A dog bit me," said the first man rabidly.

"I've been feeding an alligator," the second said offhandedly.

"I think I've broken my leg," reported an older man lamely.

"I've gained thirty pounds," a fat woman sighed heavily.

"I can no longer hear anything," said another deftly.

One fellow told us half-assedly that he had lost part of his rectum.

When asked, one woman replied humorlessly, "The doctor had to remove a bone from my arm."

Sam, a friend of George's told us, "I have a split personality," being frank.

The most agitated patient was a lady who hysterically said she was afraid the Doctor would have to remove her womb. Thinking about that kinda gave me the hydrostatics. But I was most impressed by a decrepit man who told us half-heartedly that the doctor had to remove his left ventricle.

We decided we weren't that sick and went home.

Once home, we tried to pass some time with poker, one of our ordinary activities.

"Pass the playing cards," I demanded ideally. "Five card draw, nothing wild, Jacks or better..." I insisted openly.

"I only have diamonds, clubs and spades," said Jess heartlessly, throwing in her hand.

Nothing seemed to be as it should be. We tried watching Animal Planet on TV, a show about veteran medicine. We were mostly grossed out.

"That is a very sick bird of prey," said Jess illegally.

"And that bird hasn't got a beak," I said impeccably.

"Boy, that's an ugly hippopotamus!" said George hypocritically.

"Well, that was a real cliff-dweller," I injected.

Cards and TV failed us. What else could we do for fun? We conceived of the concept of consummation of anti- conception simultaneously. We began speaking in tongues as soon as George put his dick in me.

"I'm in a big hurry to cum," I said, Russian.

"I'm glad I'm having sex," Tom said, Himalayan.

"Well, I'm through," I said, Finnish.

George then prepositioned to resolve Jess's needs. She demanded he attend to dental hygiene first.

"Someone bumped into me while I was brushing my teeth," he said with a gleam in his eye.

"I brush my teeth several times a day," said Jess implacably.

"Use your own toothbrush!" I bristled.

After this George took us to the new Service City store where he purchased a new robot for us. We were told that the term 'master' caused political trouble, so owners were referred to as hosts. Our robot was a male named Tom.

"You must be my host," Tom guessed.

"That reminds me of parasites!" wormed out of my mouth.

We inspected our servant. We bickered over the sex, appearance, and duties of such a machine.

"The average frequency of my voice is 160 Hz," said Tom in measured tones. "Yes, we have no bananas," he sang fruitlessly to demonstrate.

Jess and I both told him things to do.

"I cannot serve two masters," said Tom. "Only one of you can give me instructions."

We did rock-paper-scissors and she won. I know she cheats. She always wins!

He also showed us his extendable jet-pack.

"These propulsion systems were used by NASA on moon rockets," said Tom apologetically.

When we got home, we thought we would check out his skills as a cook, since none of us excel in that area.

"Let's eat kosher tonight," said Tom judiciously.

"I've removed all the feathers from this chicken," he said pluckily.

"I know what herb would taste nice with this," said Jessie sagely.

"Would anyone like some Parmesan?" Tom asked gratingly.

"Be sure and put some of those neutrons on it," I requested.

When he served the chicken, we all hated it.

"This is not the way to stretch an egg," Jessica said by extension .

"This food tastes of plutonium," said George glowingly.

"Eating uranium makes me feel funny," said Jess radiantly.

"This is unparalyzed in the state's history." I complained. "It is beyond my apprehension. I prefer Lobster," I said selfishly.

"I had a little accident in the kitchen," said Tom with panache. "I swallowed some of the glass from that broken window," he reported painfully.

So we decided to try out his ability in the bedroom; he had to have some use. He was apparently the very pine-apple of sexiness. We sent him to the boudoir, but when we arrived he had done some sloppy repairs to the ceiling.

"I'm trying to get some air circulating in the bedroom," said Tom fanatically. "This fan doesn't work except on high," he blustered. "I had trouble with the wiring. I'm shocked," he said electrically. "There must be a power cut," said Tom delightedly.

So we told him to forget about it, to just move into the bed and remove his clothes. I wanted to see his genitals.

"Your zipper's ajar," said Jess openly.

"I'm embarrassed," Tom admitted readily. "This is where I keep my arrows," he said quiveringly, indicating his testicles. "I'm not wearing underwear," he said expansively.

"Your size alone would itself be a sufficient accommodation," Jess reported grandly. She got out her camera, but Tom refused. "It's just gold leaf on my cock," said Tom guiltily.

"I can take photos if I want to," Jess snapped.

"I prefer modern painting," said Tom abstractly. "Can't you persuade her to desist?"

"Sorry, she's as headstrong as an allegory in a Mississippi swamp," I replied.

Jess let down her flaxen hair.

"I like Germanic women," was Tom's gut reaction.

"Can you do the deed? That's the question." I asked him.

"I'm the world's most aggressive fucker," Tom rambled. "I can make one hundred and forty-four women cum," he boasted grossly.

We stepped out of the room to take off our clothes.

"I didn't look at all!" Tom peeped. But then he stared.

"You have a beautiful butt," Tom said assertively. "I am so hard I am vitrified," he moaned with a glazed look. "My cock's become much bigger," he said with a groan. "It's a lot taller than it was this morning," he said gruesomely.

"Your cock is blunt," I said pointlessly.

"I have a gift for you," said Tom presently. He put his hand on his penis. He tried to push into me, but I was tight.

"You pussy is so tight it has zero height, zero width, and just a little depth," said Tom, stretching the point. "It's got sand in it," he said grittily. "Are you homosexual?" he queried gaily.

"No, I just like my Greek Gods alive," I deadpanned. I pulled my robe around me.

By this time Jessica was very horny.

"I won't say anything about my how wet my pussy is," she said secretively.

"You vaginal juices have made the sheets wet," said Tom after due consideration.

"My ass is lubed enough to accommodate you," Jess said loosely.

"I want anal again," he rebutted. He moved into position.

"This Bud's for you," said Tom lightly. "This is the real male goose," he said producing the propaganda. "How wide can you spread you legs?" he asked obtusely. "The shit exits right there," he pointed out, as he slid in. "I'm falling into a void," he said flawlessly.

"There's room for one more," Jess admitted.

"I've still got two fingers left," said Tom handsomely.

"Whoa, solider, call a halt. What about me?" I asked.

"I felt like I needed a crowbar to get in your snatch," said Tom enterprisingly. "That certainly took the wind out of my sails!" he said disgustedly. "Why don't you let me suck on your tits?"

"I have a pierced nipple," said Jess punctually.

"Her tits are only average," said Tom meanly.

"I don't see why I have to get naked again," I said rebuffingly, but I opened my robe.

Tom grabbed my nipples. "What are these berries?" he rasped.

"Are you going to fuck me or not?"

"Elvis is dead," said Tom expressly, showing his flaccid cock. "Besides, your pussy smells like a trout," he said officiously. "Your pussy is foul," he groused.

"I see," I said icily, and with that I threw him out the front door.

"..." said Tom blankly.

Later we sat around and discussed my robot (Ok, Jess's robot) and his behavior.

"I love dicks bigger than hot dogs," Jess said with relish.

"The kitty-cat sounds as if she's happy," I said purposefully.

"Well, I enjoyed the show," said George. "I've jerked off so much it hurt my hand," he said callously.

"If you had continued, you would have decapitated you hand," said Jess.

"Well my head bobbed up and down on your cock like a metronome." I said.

"I tried to lick you in return, but I think the douche had too much vinegar," said George acidly.

"We are certainly making steadfast progress," said Jessica, "But my crotch is sore."

"I told you not to ride him like a horse," George nagged.