Robocock Files 001_a

"Well, which is it then?" A bead of sweat coagulated on my brow. He knew it, I knew it, the heart-rate monitor on my smartwatch knew it: I was losing control. "You think you're so morally fucking superior now. What about when we were fucking on my couch? I was honest with you. Do you even want her? Or are you just punishing me?"

"This isn't about Maria, it's about you--it's about us." Framed by overcast winter sky and the grey sheen of the limestone facades of central London townhouses, peacoat and long, sandy hair trembling in the gale, Richard made the postcard picture of an aristocratic whore. In his bones he was petit-bourgeois, but every part of himself which he had been able to fabricate (his arched posture, face turned down, sandy frond hanging limply over his icy blue eyes; white linen shirt, black cloth buttons, form-fitting black suede trousers and matching blazer; russet mouth with the pout of a Byron leaving Claire Clairmont at the nunnery) made up a kind of tapestry of a gentleman with noble pretensions and few scruples. Peering down at the bulging suede lining his crotch, I could tell he was pleased with the scene he had recruited me to play out for himself.

"What about us? You knew about my interests, my politics, my career goals. You knew before we got together and it's only become a problem for you now. You keep trying to make me the dickhead, but what's actually changed?" My phone was buzzing in my pocket again. I pulled it out and switched it to airplane mode. When I turned back to look at him, Richard had shifted his gaze from my brogues to my tits.

"This is really hard for me, Jeff. I'm sorry." He wouldn't return my eye contact.

"This is exactly what you wanted. The only thing that's hard for you right now is your cock, shithead."

Always the same story with these chasers. Richard had wormed his way in with all my now-former friends and turned me into his other woman. No presents on Valentines Day or my birthday, except the one I had bought for myself on his card (and what a gift it was). When he had bent me over and fucked my ass in the studio apartment his mother was renting for him in Finchley, he had forgotten to cover the mirror facing the bed despite my repeated requests. Everything about him turned my stomach. I glanced again at his lean thighs and quivering crotch.

"A lot has changed, actually, and it's been hard for me. Your new friends are... well, creepy. I'm finding your choice of career morally dubious. And your weird thing for that Joel guy? He doesn't even like you, and I think we both know why."

Joel had playfully referred to me as 'our degenerate' at a Free Speech Society after party. He considers my body to be tainted by woke ideology, but I often find men like Joel and Rich saying one thing with their mouths and another with their eyes. Insults and lies are part of their charm. I would have enjoyed Rich's unconstrained invective against me if I couldn't tell it was all part of his dull new self-image. Why was my phone buzzing again, wasn't it in airplane mode? The buzzing was coming on stronger now, stronger than I thought my phone was capable of, coming up in mounting waves only an inch from my cunt. "Maybe you should take that call," he sneered.

"Fuck's sake. Wait here." I took a few steps back and reached into my pocket: the bottom corner was faintly damp. Some kind of warm sensation was moving up from the base of my spine. My screen was consumed with notifications from Robocock. The top one read, ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO LET HIM GET AWAY WITH IT? I looked back at Richard, dramatically sweeping his idiotic fringe from his eyes as he rolled a cigarette. I thought to myself, Here's a guy who has never faced a single consequence of his actions. Tonight, that's going to change. I walked back over to him and took the now-lit rollie from his hands. "Look, I'm freezing out here. Can we continue this conversation somewhere inside?" I took a long drag from his cigarette and puffed the smoke back in his face as he calculated a reply.

"There's that Pret right nearby; I could buy you a sandwich?" He pointed down Baker Street, his gaze following his finger, then darting back to some point just over my left shoulder. I cocked my hip and put my hand on my waist, gently pulling back my leather jacket. Robocock had picked out a frilly blouse for me from the amorphous pile of pre-transition clothes congealing under my bed. I could feel his eyes following the trim of the white chiffon up from my chest to my shoulders and back to my neck.

"I'm not hungry. A little thirsty though. Joel bought me a bottle of Blue Label to celebrate my BAE internship. I don't think he'd mind you having a glass."

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Standing by the horrendous art-deco drinks trolley I had inherited from my mother, glancing into the mirror and watching Richard survey my student bedroom, I noticed the mirror had been cleaned. Everything in the room glinted in the artificial candlelight as if freshly polished. I had learned the smoke alarms were dreadfully sensitive in my halls the week I moved in. I remembered buying some electric "candles" while hungover in a lecture a few months back, but I hadn't seen them since. That is until Richard and I had arrived back in my room to find them turned on and arranged along my shelves and on my dresser. I hadn't cleaned the place in weeks. Richard dangled his legs over the side of my bed talking as if to himself about what some 19th century philosopher might think of Bitcoin. His head cocked back, pale throat exposed, Adam's apple bobbing with activity, one arm raised in a gesture of profound locution: his image was most seductive when he was engaged in some pointless activity. Looking at him, he gave the impression of something willowy and ethereal, but his body in motion rigidified, betraying a secret, lean musculature. My shoulder ached with the memory of him bending my arm back and pushing me against the very wall I was standing in front of. His body reminded me of those skeletons in that 60s Jason and the Argonauts movie.

"What do you think, then? Does it even count as real intelligence?" He was looking directly at me expecting an answer. I shot him a condescending gaze as I approached with the drinks. "Artificial intelligence, I mean. I'd be interested to hear what someone more science-oriented has to say."

As my eyes ran along his calves, hard musculature revealed by his posture through the suede, I noticed Robocock's red light blinking from under the bed. My vulva gave an involuntary twinge. Which of my suitors had caused it? I put the tumbler to my mouth and leaned my head back, letting the burning fluid run along my tongue and down my throat. An electric pulse seemed to run from my lips to the base of my spine.

"I think you're supposed to sip this stuff..." Wrapping my long, bony fingers around his small, sinewy hand, I raised his glass to his lips. I had been very careful not to confuse the glasses, doing everything just as Robocock had instructed. With my other hand, I placed my index finger and thumb on his chin and gently tipped him back, grazing his throat against the back of my hand.

"Don't be silly, darling. It's all just computer programmes. A machine only knows how to do what it's told. Now unbutton your shirt and take off your trousers." I took his glass and walked back to the drinks trolley, watching him undress in the mirror. "I'd like to try something different this time, if you don't mind."

I fetched a bedsheet from the dresser and covered the mirror before gliding back to the bed.

"I know you've been resistant to the idea of me strapping you, but something tells me this time will be different." He sat before me, arms stretched back, chin raised up expectant. I sank to the floor, knees resuming the familiar position, cunt pressed against the floor, feet nestled against my buttocks. I could see the outline of his cock through his boxer-briefs, the little splotch on the inside of his left thigh signaling the tip. It was, to his credit, seven inches when fully erect. But, instead of reaching for his cock, I reached under the bed for my own.

It's metallic, scaled carapace was tinted green at the base, fading to black at the tip. Eight inches long and an inch in diameter at the base, tapering towards the helmeted tip, it had the appearance of some faceless reptile. It was strapless, with an egg-shaped bulb protruding at an angle from the base intended for my cunt and a small vibrating rubber appendage intended for my clit. Robocock lolled flaccidly, feigning lifelessness. It had a coquettish streak. I drew Robocock along Richard's hard, trembling thighs so he could feel the metallic sheen. All of his leg hairs were standing on end. With my other hand, I reached into the left leg of his boxers, grazing his penis before stretching my middle and ring fingers under his ballsack and stroking his perineum. With my long fingers, I could fondle his cock with my thumb and tease his rectum with my ring finger even from this angle.

"What do you say Rich? Variety is the spice of life after all."

"Do you want me to eat your pussy first?" Richard was a male feminist.

"No thanks, Rich. You can suck my cock though." In one slow motion, I reared my body up, running my chest across his until our faces were nearly pressing. Then I grabbed him by the hair and pulled him off the bed.

"Ow! What the fuck, man--" Having taken his position on the bed, I guided him by his hair into my former position on the floor.

"If you feel any pain, I'll tell you when it's appropriate for you to cry out. Move your foot." While he shuffled around on the floor I began to rub Robocock on myself. The soft contact of enveloping flesh, the gentle grazing against my expanding clit woke Robocock from its slumber. Green LEDs running from base to bellend lit up one by one. It began to vibrate in low gentle pulses, like a cat. Lubricant was secreting from artificial glands on the bulb, but my sopping cunt hardly needed it. I had been aching for its touch throughout this whole game. I slid Robocock inside, groaning at the sensation of his metallic hardness opening my flesh. My internal softness turned to stone as I gripped down on it, muscle meeting steel already sending hot currents across my skin. Robocock seemed to be pleased with my devotion to kegel exercise; its nodding weight was suddenly flush with hydraulic rigidity.

"Is that thing controlled from your phone or something?" Richard, eye to eye with my cock, appraised it with suspicion. He had interrupted a tender moment between us and neither of us were pleased. Robocock curled left and swiftly wheeled right, connecting with Richard's jaw. "Ow, the fuck?"

"Open up." Still holding Rich by the hair, I drew his mouth onto me and gently fucked it with just the tip. I could feel his lips running over the chrome glans. He looked up at me and smiled idiotically. Gradually, I began to bury Robocock deeper into his throat, almost halfway to the base. Rich began to choke and splutter, raising his hand in an appeal.

NO BACKING OUT NOW.

My hips began to ache, drawing themselves slowly deeper into his face and pulling back of their own volition. With my free hand, I cupped his chin and looked into his pleading eyes. Globes of drool were beginning to leak out of his mouth.

"Shhhhh..." I stroked his cheek with my thumb as he gave off a muffled whimper. I quickly drew my hand back and boxed the side of his face with my knuckles. His eyes widened and his feet arched in.

THE SLUT LOVES IT.

I stood up, legs straight, rocking my hips above him, pumping more and more of Robocock into his widening throat. His arms began to move like pendulums and there were bubbles of tears and snot dribbling down his cheek to meet the trickles of saliva around his chin. His eyelashes were dewy, like an angel's. I let go of his hair and gathered his flailing wrists in my hands, pulling his mouth onto me. All of his wiry strength seemed to have disappeared. Beads of sweat were forming on his neck and thighs. I could see his ass shuddering through his white boxer-briefs. Fuck, I'm gonna split him open. Heaving myself into him, holding him by the shoulders now, I could feel a static hum coursing through my dick. My ass tensed with the effort, shoulders hunched forward. His back was stiffly arched, head raised up to receive me, body and limbs hanging limply like a marionette. Suddenly my body seemed far away: it was someone else's enormous cock fucking this bruised russet-coloured mouth; someone else hearing the vague muffled screams; someone else pumping spurts of hot artificial semen into this lanky marionette's stomach.

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I recovered on the bed, idly stroking Robocock's underside as it hummed in long, regular intervals, like a lover catching his breath. I had almost forgotten about Rich. Leaning up, I could see him shuffling around on the floor on hands and knees looking for his trousers. The front of his boxer-briefs was distended by his erection and marked by a grey smear of cum. He was mumbling something.

"Speak up, buddy. Your throat can't be that sore."

His left elbow gave in under his weight, cheek hitting the grey lino with a wet slap.

"Urgh. Uh, look mate, I'm just not feeling so well right now. Can we maybe finish this another time?"

His right arm was bent at a strange angle, visibly shaking with the effort of trying to get back up. His dainty fingers were locked in consternation, pressing against the floor, strength dribbling out with each tremble. I could almost see the strained shoulder muscles on his back relaxing into a doughy softness.

"Another time? But we're only just getting started! Besides, nothing's really wrong with you. My little potion wears off in a couple of hours. It's just to keep you from squirming away, but don't worry. You'll be conscious the whole time. Most importantly, you'll feel everything."

I slipped off the bed and stood over him, taking a second to marvel at my handiwork. His body, splayed out before me, more and more gently quaking with anticipation; the shallow pool of saliva, snot and tears pooling by his face, thin stream of blood issuing from the bottom lip to meet it; the gentle squirming of his hips as he struggled to find a position face-down which wouldn't crush his erection.

HE LOVES IT REALLY.

I reached down and grabbed him under the armpits, dragging him on the floor over to the dresser on the opposite wall from the bed. He was skinny, but fucking heavy. He seemed to be humming and flailing his wrists around in some gesture of protest. I made out a couple of words from his mumbled soliloquy.

"Mm-mm-mental patient."

"Now, now, Rich. What is it that you're always telling me about ableist language?"

Bending down deep, I grabbed him from behind by the armpits and hauled him onto the dresser in one motion. He landed hard and groaned. I nearly took the wind out of myself too, mind. Bodies look so much lighter on TV. I suppose that's one difference between a plastic sex doll and the real thing, I thought to myself as I whisked the bedsheet off the mirror.

"Tada! Look, it's you."

I stood behind him, nestling Robocock in his asscrack, bending over his body, burying my mouth in the hair behind his ear until my lip was touching his ear tip. I whispered softly, "I really want you to see everything that's going to happen tonight."

Looking up into his eyes reflected back in the mirror, I thought I could see that intoxicating mix of fear and desire in his eyes. Perhaps it was just my fancy; his body had gone almost completely limp.

I ran my thumb over the top of my hard Robocock, feeling the smooth sheen of the metallic scales against my human skin and the electrical tingle of arousal coursing through my inorganic flesh. I pulled apart his asscheeks with one hand and guided myself in with the other, gently opening his asshole with my chrome cocktip, savouring the closing and tightening of his soft ring of muscle over my hard rod of steel. His legs straightened, toes curling in, light, gurgling moan.

Robocock used transcranial magnetic stimulation to send signals straight to my lateral hypothalamus through my twitching cunt nerves. As the aching in my loins increased, running myself deeper and deeper into him, feeling his muscles tense around me, aching turning to bucking in my hips, fucking him deeper and deeper, almost the whole thing, losing the edges of vision, his fingers curling, shoulders tensing, arching up, my hands around his neck, digging fingers into his throatflesh, on my tiptoes pulling him deeper onto me, his fleshy ballsack bruising itself slapping against my steel rod, as I arched myself over him, half crawling over the dresser to get deeper into his red, screaming asshole, my fingers in his mouth, down his throat, catching myself in the mirror, hair bristling, eyes murderous, drenched in sweat -- as I caught that unforgettable image of myself in the act of losing myself, I knew it was Robocock turning up the dials of my desire.

Really losing my shit now, I was basically on top of him, the flesh-puppet splayed out over the dresser. I sank my teeth into the soft flesh just above his collarbone, gripping him hard and pulling him into my hips with my whole neck and back. I could feel it, I could feel it, rising well of release running through my whole body, every synapse firing, speeding up, hitting white out, slowing down. I unloaded artificial cum into his rectum. I could feel the scales on my cocktip moving as the glans swelled, each pulse of cum sending a current through me and a spurt of warm liquid into him. I must have been there on top of him, shuddering and quaking, legs extending fully straight as each wave of the orgasm hit me, filling Richard up in long spurts, for at least three or four minutes. His shoulders and upper arm were red with my fingernail marks. I stood up and drew myself out of him slowly, savouring the image: His legs splayed akimbo, arms dangling meaninglessly over the sides of the dresser, asshole up and exposed to the harsh artificial light, cum dribbling from his asslips like mutilated oysters onto the tip of my dick. I could taste something coppery. I realised I had drawn blood when I bit down into his shoulder.

I wasn't about to let this vision disappear into the night which had conjoured it. While I was wondering to myself if I had brought my old polaroid with me in the move, my gaze drifted over my inexplicably tidy desk only to find the camera perched right on the corner of the desk, offering itself up to me. I did something I had seen before on the internet and grabbed a black erasable marker which my flatmates kept attached to a seldom-used chores allocation whiteboard. I wrote "CUM SLUT" on his lower back and started a tally on his left thigh, marking the two loads I had put into him. I stalked around the room, finding the interesting angles, left hand hovering over the shutter-release, right hand massaging my bionic penis.

Taking out the old, battered shoebox and looking through those photos now, faded, dog-eared and yellowing at the edges, sensations begin to awaken in this body. This body, separated by many years from that body holding the camera. They do not share a single cell. This body, me, who long ago rejected the person I became when Robocock entered my life, entered me. I am not simply reminded as I might be of the date and time of some engagement I had forgotten. I am there now, moistening and hardening still with memory, a memory which survives in prosthesis, keeping itself coded, not solely within my flesh, but there in the frozen film image. It is this artificial memory, I am reminded, which awakens a pleasure buried deep within my body, a pleasure which I should, perhaps, try to forget. I could have burned this battered shoebox. But I never did.