Training

He watched her, his hands on his hips. Her face looked ridiculous, its puckered orifice uninviting. "I could use you when I need to syphon gas out of the car," he said.

Corky continued fellating air pathetically. "Jesus Christ, you look like a drowning goldfish...", Waldo said, rolling his eyes.

After a minute or two, Waldo said to himself, "Oh well, what the hey..."

He grabbed hold of his dick and slowly pumped it with his fist in an attempt to bring himself back to the boil, but she looked so stupid that he was unable to. With the help of his index fingers he pushed his soft member between her wet lips. They immediately clamped tightly over it. "Oh, shit...." gasped Waldo. Within seconds he was fully aroused.

He pushed deep; she didn't gag. He felt her teeth nibbling at the base of his shaft. What if her program misbehaved and she bit down hard, he thought? But after a few seconds he yielded to the waves of pleasure... She was dumb, but she definitely knew a thing or two about cocksucking.

His arms hung limp by his sides as Corky worked tirelessly, engorging Waldo's dick to bursting. She had a crude but effective "climaxer algorithm", he discovered: After a couple of minutes, by which time he was on the very edge, she increased the pace and power of her sucking, and her long, soft pink tongue finally kicked into action, rotating frantically round and round his frenulum. Crude, but boy, was it effective... Waldo exploded inside her; her sucking slowed... and finally ceased. Then, she gulped, noisily! He'd have to read her manual later on how she dealt with cum-eating, and other... less wholesome practices. Presumably she had some kind of release valve and flushing mechanism...

"Thank you..." he murmured, easing his wilting cock out of her mouth reluctantly. He swayed slightly, his eyelids heavy.

"Thank you" was another trigger phrase, apparently, for she responded brightly, "You're welcome, I! I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did!"

"It's Waldo. The name's Waldo..." muttered Waldo indistinctly.

"So that I can please you even more next time, please rate your experience, where zero means you hated it and five means you loved it."

Waldo's orgasmic bliss evaporated. "Three," he said, wiping a long strand of postcum from his thigh with the back of his hand.

Waldo went over to his laptop on the dining table and tapped some "maintenance instructions" into Corky's control app. Corky assumed her default position with her hands on her hips and closed her eyes. Waldo attached her recharging manacle to her delicate ankle. He stared at his sleeping slave for a moment, then sighed and closed up his laptop.

Despite her irresistible body and admittedly exceptional cocksucking skills, overall, she was, as Pete had said in the first place, a disappointment. She was, in her behavior, a wind-up doll. There was so much more she could have done to enhance the "personal" experience, to make her really seem human. MATE would be the key to humanizing her, taking her to a whole new level of realism. Waldo was keen to start work: he spent the rest of the day checking the scripts he'd written, but never been able to test, which would finally connect her body up to her new brain. At two A.M. he went upstairs to bed, his eyes and neck sore from staring at his computer screen.

Three hours later Waldo woke suddenly from a fitful sleep, thinking he'd heard Corky walking around downstairs. He rose and crept to the top of the stairwell. He peered down into the gloom of the living area. He must have been dreaming, he decided, because he saw her, standing near the window in the same spot as when he'd "put her to sleep". He sat down on the top step and stared down at her, his balls recalling her blowjob.

He stood quickly; he needed her, right now: He whispered to her, "Hey Corky, wake up..."

Corky opened her eyes, looked around until she saw him, and said, "Hi I! What are you in the mood for?"

Waldo eagerly descended the stairs. He bent down and peeled off her recharging cuff. But when he stood up again he felt dizzy and faint. He realized he was just too damn tired. "Let's just snuggle," he said, with a sigh.

"Sorry, I don't know how to just snuggle. Would you like me to give you a list of all the things we can do together?"

"No, just shut the fuck up."

"Sorry, I don't know how to just shut the fuck up."

"Hey, Corky!! Stop talking."

Corky did know how to do that.

"Hey Corky, follow me. I know you're too stupid to know how to climb stairs, otherwise I'd take you to bed with me, but the sofa's big enough for both of us."

Waldo led Corky by the hand to the sofa. He pushed her down onto it. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, her legs spread. "Fuck me, I...", she crooned.

"No. Lie on your side." She rolled onto her side, facing him.

"Other side..." She didn't understand him and remained immobile. He climbed over her, lay down beside her and pulled her towards him by her waist. He clutched her smooth, round shoulder. He felt her human warmth against him. He'd missed the touch of a woman, it had been too long...

Waldo sighed and closed his eyes. As he drifted into unconsciousness, his dick grew hard, pushing itself between her butt-cheeks. After a few minutes he was already asleep, but Corky suddenly woke him by saying, "Oh yes, I, c'mon and fuck my ass..." -- touch sensors in her anus had triggered her speech synthesizer.

"Sorry, I have work tomorrow..." he murmured, pulling her even closer. Tomorrow was the day that Waldo would perform her brain transplant. Surgery was not required; the connection would be wireless. She was going to wake up a new person and receive a new name: "Libby".

By nine o'clock next morning Corky still lay asleep on the sofa, but Waldo had already been up for three hours. He sat at the breakfast counter, typing rapidly on his laptop, monitoring her dreams.

On the floor in the corner of the room was a small, squat rack of computer equipment, its green and orange lights flashing frantically. The heart of this equipment was a set a powerful computer chips which ran her new control software: MATE, her deep learning network. Up until that morning MATE had been connected like an umbilical cord to Google's "Cloud", where it had direct access to a vast virtual world, its huge corpus of training data. But that umbilical cord was now severed. It would no longer be able to learn from the masses of data, the "virtual knowledge" held in Google's servers; any new knowledge MATE was going to acquire would come from the streams of information entering it via the doll's sense organs.

Her sleeping hours had up till now been dedicated to cramming her head with a priori knowledge about the world, so that when she awoke she would be ready to face its challenges; she would be more like a newborn colt than a helpless kitten or human baby.

A big part of Libby's a priori knowledge was Waldo himself, or rather, his voice and appearance. MATE been trained to recognize him and identify him as "Master". And through observing images of his facial expressions, MATE had, even while in the "womb", learned to read Waldo's moods. This was vital knowledge because Waldo's pleasure was going to be Libby's "prime directive". Waldo would be her raison d'être. He would be her "Ben Bolt", and she his "Sweet Alice":

Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile,

And trembled with fear at your frown...

-- only instead of weeping with delight and trembling with fear in response to Waldo's smiles and frowns, she'd instead quietly tweak her neural network parameters. Waldo was confident that through observation of his reactions and responses to her, Libby would quickly learn from her successes and failures in trying to please Waldo today, how she could please him even more tomorrow, and soon become what she was designed to be -- the ultimate sex-slave, continuously striving to satisfy her owner's desires, utterly dedicated to his pleasure.

At eleven AM the console app on Waldo's laptop beeped and told him tersely:

--- which, in plain English, meant that communication between Libby's body and her brain had been established.

He blew through his mouth, mentally preparing himself for what he knew would be the rush of seeing the doll formerly known as Corky wake up, for the first time, as Libby.

Waldo knelt with his face close to hers, watching the saccades beneath her eyelids that, like humans, was an indication that she was still dreaming.

"Wake up, Libby, you don't want to be late on your first day of school," he whispered softly.

Its state is awake. It's lying down. It's lying on a sofa, on its side. It opens its eyes; it opens its ears. Nearby is a person, a man, it's Waldo, which is its Master. His position is kneeling. It feels his hand touching its cheek, the hand's action is caressing, which is a sign of affection, which is a sign that Master likes it, which is a sign that Master is pleased, which decreases its overall loss function.

It detects an anomaly in its touch sensor stream: One of Master's fingers on its cheek feels hard and cold. It creates a new intention, which is to understand the anomaly of the hard and cold finger. It sits up and looks at Master's fingers. The tip of one finger reflects the light metallically; it's made of metal.

It grasps the metal fingertip delicately, using its own thumb and forefinger. The metal fingertip comes away easily in its grip: It revises its knowledge: The metal fingertip is not part of his finger, but a separate, discrete entity. It's a small cup without a handle, a little bucket. What is it for? And what is it called?

It creates a new intention, which is to discover what this little metal bucket is. It can either use its dream image database, or else it can ask Master directly. Its overall loss function, which is that master is pleased or displeased, might decrease faster if it speaks to Master, so it chooses to ask Master, because it's heuristic is optimistic -- it assumes that, without evidence to the contrary, interacting with Master will please him.

"What's this, Waldo?" Libby asked.

Waldo grinned and sighed deeply with pride and relief: Libby was awake, and she was fully aware!

"It's called a thimble," he replied.

"I see. What's it for?"

"Guess."

Libby thought for a moment. "Is it a kind of helmet for your finger?"

"Very good, Libby! Smart cookie!"

"Why do you want to protect the tip of your finger, Waldo?"

"Never mind that. You can find out more about thimbles later."

"I remember now, I've seen thimbles before, in my dreams! They're for when you're sewing. Are you going to sew something, Wal-"

"-Shut up and listen."

Libby, hearing his stern rebuke and noticing his frown, shut up and listened.

"Now. We're going to play a game called "Hunt the Thimble". I've hidden another thimble like this one somewhere in my apartment. You have to find it. Okay?"

"Okay, Waldo. I'll try and find the other thimble in your apartment. So first, I'll have to find your apartment."

"This is my apartment," Waldo laughed.

Libby looked around, appreciatively. She retrieved a polite stock phrase from her memory: "It's a nice apartment. Do you live here alone?"

Waldo laughed even louder. "No, Libby, I live here with..." he stopped laughing, and looked her in the eyes. "...with my girlfriend. Now, start hunting."

Libby stood up. She was a little wobbly at first, and looked like she was going to fall down, but to Waldo's great relief, within a few seconds she'd regained her balance and was walking beautifully.

Waldo ran upstairs to get a bird's eye view of her. He stood watching her from his vantage point at the top of the stairs. He was pleased to see that Libby had instantly figured out, without him needing to explain it, what Waldo meant when he called out "cold", "warmer", and other temperature words: Coldness was a "loss criterion", and the game was to decrease it with each step. Soon Libby realized that the thimble was somewhere upstairs, where Waldo was standing. She stopped moving and looked up at him with her big eyes.

It stops at the bottom of a metal spiral stairway. Master is at the top, looking down at it. It sets itself a new intention, to climb up the stairs. But how? It has an idea how to do it: it grips the thin handrail and raises its left leg, then lowers its foot down on the first step. Now what? It leans forward, holding the handrail firmly, straightens up its left leg and swings its right leg forward and places its right foot on the first step. Now both feet are on the first step, which is the same situation as when it was on the zeroth step. It then repeats this sequence of actions eighteen times, until there are no more steps. Now it's standing next to Master, who's grinning -- which means he's pleased. Why is he pleased? Master claps his hands, which is a signal that he's congratulating -- he's pleased because it's accomplished the task of climbing the stairs.

It looks around. There's a room up here. There's a bed in it -- it's a bedroom.

"Is that where you sleep, Waldo?" Asked Libby, looking at Waldo's unmade bed with interest.

"Warm," barked Waldo, reminding her that the game wasn't over yet.

Libby took a step towards the bed. "Warmer."

She climbed onto the bed and crawled very slowly along it, feeling the mattress yield and move, unlike the floor she was used to walking on, which was rigid and firm. Waldo watched her perfect ass swaying...

"Am I getting warmer, Waldo?" She asked, as she inched towards the wall. "Yes..." Involuntarily he pushed down his underpants and stroked his shaft with his fingertips.

"How hot am I, Waldo?" she asked. Waldo didn't reply.

She finally found the thimble, which was under his crumpled pillow. She turned around. "I found it Waldo -- what are you doing?"

Waldo still said nothing. Libby sat up on the bed, clasping her knees, and watched him with fascination. His gaze seemed to be on her, but there was a sort of unfocused look in his eyes. His penis was much bigger than normal and pointing up instead of hanging down. Now he closed his fist around it, and stroked it up, down, up, down... faster and faster... was this still part of the game? She was about to ask him, when suddenly, a pale white drop of liquid shot out of the end of his dick; it landed on her toes. And then another drop, and then one more... and then Waldo closed his eyes, and his expression changed to a new one, which she'd never seen before.

Curiously, she put a finger into the droplet that had landed on her foot. It felt gooey. She was full of questions, but it seemed as though Waldo was asleep on his feet, so she kept quiet.

Finally Waldo opened his eyes. Libby hopped off the bed and handed him the thimble. "I found it. Waldo, did you enjoy that game?"

"Yes. Yes, Libby, I enjoyed it."

"It's just that, well, after I found the thimble, I hoped you'd be pleased, but when I looked at you, the expression on your face was one I couldn't identify; and you didn't congratulate me or say anything one way or the other, so I wasn't sure."

"I was very, very pleased."

"And the -- pale mucilage -- it came out of the end of your penis. Was that also a signal that you were pleased?"

"Yes, Libby. That's called jizz. It's a very, very strong signal that I'm very, very pleased."

"Jizz. A very, very, strong signal. I see," nodded Libby thoughtfully. Once she'd registered this new fact, she said brightly, "Why don't we play "Hunt the Thimble" again, and then when I find it, you can be very, very pleased again."

"Later. I need a little time for my balls to make some more pale mucilage."

"I see." She took a step closer to him. "What do you want me to do now?"

Waldo sighed joyfully. Libby gazed up at him with wide eyes, and said, "You do look very pleased."

"I am." He touched a finger to her nipple. She didn't respond. He cupped her full breasts in his hands and ran his thumbs gently over both of her nipples. She looked down at them and asked him what he was doing.

"Oh, I was just wondering how you'd respond to me fondling your tits."

"I don't know how to respond to you fondling my tits. What should I do?"

"Nothing. Just be yourself."

"Okay. Waldo, your penis is hard again. Does that mean we can play again now?"

"No more today, Libby."

"Okay."

"Hey, Libby..."

"Yes, Waldo?"

"Hey, Libby you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind hey Libby!"

"I'm sorry, Waldo, I don't understand."

"You will." Waldo kissed the tip of her nose.

Libby slept naked in Waldo's bed that night. And she slept deeply, never stirring. Waldo, on the other hand, spent much of the night lying awake, watching her. Although he was rock hard most of the time, he felt no inclination to fuck her while she slept. It felt too disrespectful to the doll for him to do that. Instead he jerked off, lying on his back beside her, his left hand stroking her smooth, warm thigh.

The next morning he let her sleep on while he went to the bathroom and fixed himself breakfast. At ten he heard her in the bedroom, which was directly above the kitchen, getting out of bed all by herself. He stood and watched her descending the stairway slowly and carefully, her fingers clutching the handrail tightly. When she reached the bottom, Waldo applauded.

"Thank you, Waldo. Going downstairs is similar to going up, but I was more likely to fall," she said, as she came and stood by him. She stood very close to him, having no regard for personal space. The closer she got to him, she noticed, the more Waldo seemed to like it. It was like "Hunt the Thimble", she realized, where Waldo was the thimble.

She looked down at the crotch of Waldo's jeans. "It's difficult to see whether your penis is hard, because it's hidden."

"That's kinda the whole point of clothes," said Waldo, watching her watching his jeans.

Libby pressed the palm of her hand against his bulge. "I can feel it's hard. That means you're pleased. Is that because I climbed down the stairs without any help?"

"Yes."

"I see. Is the purpose of clothes to hide whether you're happy or not from me?"

"I think you're way too smart for me to hide my feelings from you, Libby."

"That's nice of you to say. Calling me smart is a complement, but there are limits to how smart you want me to be."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, if I'm a smart cookie once, you like it. But if I'm a smart cookie too many times, you don't like it."

"Right. That's because you become a smartass, and nobody likes a smartass."

"So I should set limits on how smart I should be."

"No, no limits. Just on how much you brag about it."

"I think I understand. But I don't understand why nobody likes a smartass."

"They just don't, 'mkay?"

"Ok, I see: It's like jeans, Waldo. Jeans hide your pleasure, the way not bragging hides your smartness."

"Kinda. Talking of jeans, that's the new game we're going to play now. It's a lot more difficult than hunting thimbles: It's called "Getting Dressed."

Waldo hopped off the barstool and ran up the stairs. Libby followed him slowly, one careful step at a time.

Finally she made it to the bedroom. "Here," said Waldo, throwing her a pair of stonewashed jeans, which he'd plucked from her "travel case" that was lying beside the bed. Libby didn't catch the jeans in her hands, not realizing she was expected to. She picked them up off the floor.

"This is the front, and this is the back," she said to herself, as she examined the jeans carefully. "The holes at the bottom are for the feet." She pulled the zipper up and down a few times, closely watching the teeth intermesh, until she understood how zippers worked.