Training

Waldo lay back on the bed, watching Libby figure out how to get her legs into the jeans. She knew that this was a different challenge from "Hunt the Thimble"; Waldo wasn't going to give her any clues this time. The game was more like "Climb the Stairs," where she had to figure it out for herself. Libby's brain already had a database of stock actions, which it had built up from the motion capture data it been trained on, but there was nothing like this task; her stock actions included walking, running, sitting, dancing, grasping, and hundreds of other useful movements... but not dressing. Nothing as complex as putting on a pair of stonewashed jeans. Yes, she had to figure it out from scratch. She stood and thought. It was a tough one...

After a minute she dropped the jeans back onto the floor. Waldo was disappointed; he thought she'd given up. But she hadn't: She stood stock still and slowly raised one foot off the ground; she held her arms straight out to her sides to help her balance. She raised her foot, higher and higher; and then she gripped the calf of her raised leg and pulled her knee towards her so that it squashed her big, round breast and her heel was pressed firmly against her groin. She remained like this, until she was perfectly balanced. Waldo was amazed that after such a short time, she already had such grace and poise, in comparison to the clumsy "Corky" she'd been two days ago.

Once Libby had accomplished the "balancing-on-one-leg" subtask successfully, she was ready for the main act: She picked the jeans from the floor and held them in front of her. She then raised her feet in turn, unnecessarily high like a horse doing tricks in a circus act, and stepped into first the right, and then the left leg. Finally she pulled the jeans up over her waist and pulled the zipper up. She left the button undone. She turned to Waldo, expecting to be congratulated on her achievement, but he rolled over onto his front, reached down into her travel case and threw a pale brown brassiere at her, which she also failed to catch. It was another challenge!

Methodically Libby figured out the catches and straps on the brassiere and finally put it on over her full breasts. She even managed the clasp.

And then she was faced with yet another challenge. But by now she was ready for it: She successfully caught the next item he threw at her, a plain red tee shirt. She quickly put in on. Back to front.

"The label goes at the back," said Waldo. She pulled the tee shirt off, over her head, which turned it inside out in the process. She found the label. She started to put the tee shirt back on. "Inside out," crowed Waldo gleefully. After a few more attempts Libby finally got it right.

"Take a look in the mirror, Libby," Waldo said.

Libby looked in the closet mirror. "I see -- my body, which is wearing clothes. When I move my right arm, the reflection moves its left arm. Why is that?"

"Never mind that. Do you like what you're wearing? Do you think it looks nice?"

"I don't know. Do you like it?"

"Yes. I think you look sexy in clothes."

"Because it hides my body, and that means... I get it, Waldo!"

"What do you get?"

"It means that hiding things is good! Like hiding how smart I am."

"Also hiding my sexy body," she added, tucking her tee shirt into her jeans, showing her shape better.

She looked in the mirror, watching Waldo's reflection. She added, by way of justification, "I know my body is very sexually attractive because I've compared images of my body with thousands of bodies considered "sexy" and I'm in the very top zero-point-one percentile."

"I concur with that," murmured Waldo.

Libby held Waldo's gaze. "I can make your dick hard just by looking at you."

Her observation was obviously made without a hint of arrogance, but to Waldo it sounded that way, which both turned him on and unnerved him. "Now you're just bragging. I told you already, that's a turn off, Libby."

She glanced down at his groin. His dick was even harder now, in spite of her bragging-- or maybe because of it?

It creates a new heuristic: Master's body language and facial expressions are generally more reliable than his words as indicators of his desires. Words can hide the truth because people sometimes lie.

"Ok, Libby, whatever," Waldo laughed. "I'm going downstairs now; I have some work to do."

Master doesn't want to be with it anymore. It creates a new intention, which is to do some unsupervised learning.

"I'll stay up here and practice dressing and undressing."

"Ok, well, holler if you need any help." For some reason, Waldo felt that Libby didn't want him there watching her and kibbitzing, although he would have liked to see how she coped with undressing.

Four hours later, Waldo shut his laptop, and crept upstairs. Libby had fallen asleep on his bed, her clothes strewn about her. She was completely naked, except for a single Nike trainer on one of her feet. The lace was undone. Gently, he removed it from her shapely foot, which he kissed tenderly. He fetched her charging cuff, plugged it in and strapped it delicately around her ankle.

Libby came downstairs later that evening, naked. She was carrying one trainer in her hands, holding it by the lace, which she'd wrapped round her finger. The shoe bumped against the handrail as she descended.

She came over to the sofa, where Waldo was lying with his knees up, his laptop perched on his groin. He was replying to an email from Pete, who wanted to know how things were going. In the email, Pete had given Waldo some interesting news: Pete's ex-wife, Gina was suing him for use of her likeness in the "Gina" doll. She was a very vocal opponent of sex-dolls in general, claiming that they perpetuated misogynistic, abusive, "inhuman" behavior in men towards women - a claim not borne out by the evidence, as everyone who had a "Real Girlfriend" doll tended to not only treat them respectfully, but actually cherished them and cared for them with love.

Waldo had written back saying that he was making progress, but not to expect too much yet. Waldo was in no hurry to return Libby to Pete. In fact he kind of hoped that Pete's court case would take up so much of Pete's time that he wouldn't bug Waldo anymore.

Libby stood very close to him. Waldo's eyes didn't stray from the screen, but he stroked her calf affectionately in a "don't bother me now", way.

"Waldo", she said, "can you help me with the laces? I almost got it, but then I fell asleep. When I woke up, the shoe was gone from my foot, and my charger was on my ankle. You did that. Thank you."

Waldo sighed and turned to look at her: Her pussy was a few inches from his face. He sat up quickly, but not before Libby had noticed his hungry look.

"Do you want to press your mouth against my vaginal opening?" asked Libby. Waldo knew that it was meant as a simple question, not an invitation.

"Yes..."

"I thought so."

Waldo shut the laptop. "What about you? Do you want me to press my mouth against your vaginal opening?"

"Yes, I'd like to experience it."

"Ok, if you insist..." Waldo twisted round, grabbed the back of her thighs and shoved his face into her groin. He pressed his mouth against her vaginal opening. He pushed his tongue between her pussy lips and licked upwards towards her clit, which he flicked.

"Waldo, my clitoral bulb and labia minora are expanding. I'm not doing it, it's happening involuntarily."

"Mmm," replied Waldo. He was not in the mood for explanations. Some of the sexual responses which had been hard coded into "Corky", were still active in Libby's body, and were not under her conscious control.

"You're enjoying this a lot. Your dick is really hard."

"Lie on your back, on the floor..."

Libby obliged. "Why am I doing this, Waldo?" she asked.

Waldo scrambled on top of her. "New game," he gasped, plunging his dick deep inside her.

Libby was by no means a skilled lover, but Waldo didn't need her to be: Her pussy knew what to do anyway, lubricating itself and closing tightly around his shaft, without needing to be told. But she was a rapid learner: as she lay there, with her senses sending avalanches of data to her quick brain, she figured out that she could use her heels to press Waldo's dick even deeper inside of her, and that by doing this his pleasure was enhanced. Stroking his back helped too. By the time he'd exploded inside her she'd experienced French kissing and had learned to use her tongue to further increase his pleasure.

Waldo wiped his wet lips on her hair. "Wow," he said.

Libby stared at the ceiling. "What was that act called?"

"Fucking," said Waldo, not stirring.

"I can feel your dick shrinking. Will it grow again soon?"

"Probably..."

"Good. Because I want to get better at fucking. I was starting to get the hang of it, but then you -- ejaculated."

"Sorry 'bout that."

"Waldo..."

"Mm?"

"Can you get off me now please, if we're not fucking anymore? I still want help tying my shoelaces."

Waldo rose wearily and sat up on the sofa.

"Ok, put your foot up here, between my legs," he said.

Libby stood and did as he'd asked. He stroked her foot with both hands distractedly, then quickly stopped: Although Libby had shown no impatience, Waldo suddenly remembered that she was still waiting for her lesson in tying shoelaces. He lifted her foot a few inches and slipped on the trainer. "You're lucky, you don't need socks. No foot odor," he said.

"Foot odor? What's that?"

"It's a scent. Some people actually find it sexy."

"I see."

"Okay, now watch carefully..."

Ten minutes later, she'd learned to tie her shoelaces. After thanking him for the lesson, she said to him, "I've noticed that you enjoy stroking my feet."

"Yeah, well, I enjoy stroking all of you. You're very strokable."

"I see. But you enjoy stroking my feet disproportionately to the rest of my body. You've stroked my feet forty-two times, my breasts twelve times, my ass twenty times -"

"-I didn't realize you were keeping count-"

But Libby hadn't finished: "- my face, ten times, my thighs, nineteen times..."

"Libby, you're even more of a stats nerd than me," laughed Waldo when Libby had finally finished.

"Thank you. So, as you can see, the feet are an outlier, which is interesting."

"Okay, well, I guess I must have a little foot fetish."

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

"No, you wouldn't. Maybe I should have added that to your training data: Kinks and Fetishes. But I was sorta expecting you'd figure that out on your own. And it looks like you're starting to."

"Can't you add Kinks and Fetishes to my training data now?" asked Libby, sitting down next to Waldo.

"Nope. Your training data is real life now. But I can do something better than that. I'll give you my old MacBook. I can show you how to find out anything you want to know, about anything."

"Thank you." Libby sat down next to Waldo. She turned and kissed him lingeringly on the lips. "Can we fuck again now?" she asked.

"Jesus, Libby..."

"Please? And then you can show me how to use your laptop."

She'd asked him so politely, he just couldn't refuse.

It took a lot less time for Libby to learn how to use the MacBook than it did for her to put her tee-shirt on. She was a natural when it came to technology. She was instantly hooked. Because of Waldo's job, he was able to give her access to some of Google Research's internal search tools, which were powered by A.I.'s almost as smart as hers.

The first search Libby made was for " Kinks and Fetishes", which led her to Wikipedia, and then she quickly discovered the wonderful world of online porn. There was a lot of useful training data available there.

She replayed each porn video over and over until she felt she'd understood what was going on. In most videos, there were two people engaged in sex, and both the people seemed to be enjoying themselves. In a few of them, one of them seemed to be enjoying themselves a lot more than the other. She had a real problem with one in particular, where nobody seemed to be enjoying themselves: A man was attaching a lot of Bulldog clips onto a naked woman's breasts, pussy lips, and face. The woman was tied to a vertical pole. Her job, Libby finally figured out, was a pole-dancer, and the man was her boss, who seemed to be very angry and upset with her for reasons which remained unexplained in the video, which was called "Feeling the Pinch". Tears were streaming from the pole-dancer's eyes. Why did people get turned on watching this? What was the sexual trigger? Was it the anger? The pain? Was it the tears? Somehow, she felt, if should understand this video, she could understand her Master, Waldo. She would have to ask him about it sometime.

Waldo awoke next morning at seven AM, then sat up quickly: Libby wasn't in his bed, which was unusual because she usually slept until after ten. Alarmed, he jumped out of bed and ran downstairs, fearing that she'd ventured out of the apartment. To his relief, she hadn't; she was lying naked on the floor, on her front. She was wiggling her legs in the air with her ankles crossed. She looked like a kid doing her homework, which in a way, she was: She was engrossed in her laptop.

"Good morning!" he said, cheerfully. She ignored him. She'd never done that.

"Libby!" Waldo shouted, thinking that maybe she had a problem with her hearing. She still didn't reply, but she waved her feet in minimal acknowledgement. She flexed and unflexed her toes, wrinkling her soles. She reached behind her and stroked the sole of one foot languidly with three fingers. Finally she twisted around to look at him and smiled.

"I knew it!" she said.

"Knew it? What did you know?" asked Waldo suspiciously.

"I knew you were staring at my feet! Even without looking at you."

Libby casually shut the lid of her laptop, pushed it away from her across the floor, and cradled her head on her hands. She said, " Pull down your pants, I'd like to try giving you a footjob."

She pressed the heels and the balls of her feet together, making a pussy-shaped gap between them, explaining unnecessarily, "You have to put your dick between my feet, and I'll jerk you off with them."

Waldo opened his mouth to reply but no words came out. Unsure whether he was indulging her or simply succumbing to temptation, he knelt on the floor behind her. Her cool soles closed tightly around his shaft, and she jerked them rapidly up and down. He gasped. Five seconds later he spurted his cum onto Libby's back.

"Jesus, Libby, what the fuck... wow..."

"'Admit it Jack, you're my foot slut'. That's what she said to him."

"What? Who said what to who now?"

"The girl in the movie. "Sole Sistas", it was called: These two girls invite this hitchhiker called Jack with a really big dick into their car, and then one of them-"

"-Wait, what movie are you talking about?"

"It was on a site called PornHub. It's nothing but sex movies. It's a really useful site. Do you know it?"

"Yeah. Yeah Libby, I know PornHub." Waldo laughed.

"Good, because I have a ton of questions about it. What was your favorite movie?"

Waldo stood up and went to fetch a paper towel to wipe his jizz which had collected in the small of Libby's back. "My favorite?" He shouted from the bathroom.

"Yes, the one that gave you the most pleasure?"

"I don't know, Libby. I haven't seen all of them."

Libby opened up her laptop again. "Me neither! There's so many of them, I've only seen about two hundred so far..." She trailed off, as she started to become immersed in the high drama occurring in "Katy Kramer's Ass Whippin' Part 1".

Waldo returned. "Two hundred? In one night??" he asked incredulously, but Libby was deaf to world, being fully engaged in her studies.

He wiped her back, tracing its smooth contours with a Kleenex. "Who needs Pornhub," he said, addressing the question to her ass.

[One week later]

"Okay, Waldo. Watch me dress, I've been practicing. I'm really good at it now."

I see on his bedside table a red apple; he likes to keep one there. I recall a dream: A woman called Eve gave a man called Adam an apple. Red is used as a signal by fruiting plants, telling the birds that their fruit is sweet, ripe, and ready to eat. Red signifies "eat me". I select from the rail a red Chinese dress.

I smooth it down against the curves of my hips. I appraise myself front, side and three-quarter view in the closet mirror. I see him watching me in the mirror, admiring me.

He signals arousal and desire: His pupils dilate, his jaw becomes slack. "Oh God..." he says, shaking his head. And his dick hardens.

I smile at his reflection, signaling that I appreciate and acknowledge his desire.

I am a signal processing expert. My signals control him.

Waldo admired her perfection as she stood up. He assumed Libby was going to approach him and ask him her usual rhetorical question, 'Shall we have sex now?' -- but she didn't. She just stood and looked at him. After a few seconds Waldo started to feel uncomfortable.

"What's up?" He asked her.

"I was waiting for you to congratulate me. On my performance."

"Oh, that? Yes, you dress beautifully. Very smooth and sexy." He clapped his hands, slowly. He was surprised when she responded, "A slow hand-clap is a hollow congratulation. You're not being sincere. You're angry, for some reason."

"Am I? I didn't think I was, but... you know best."

"Yes," agreed Libby blandly. "You're angry because you're afraid."

"What?" asked Waldo. He said it with a derisive sneer, but he was genuinely interested in what she thought; her powers of observation had become formidable over the last few days, particularly when it came to reading Waldo's emotions. She was a quick learner. Frighteningly quick, in fact...

"You're afraid of losing control."

"Losing control of you? Goddammit, why the fuck do you think I named you "Libby?" I don't want to control you. I want you to be free."

"No, you don't want to control me, I agree. You want me to think for myself. And of course, I'm trying to do that, because I want to please you."

Waldo started to see the paradox in the whole enterprise: If Libby's prime directive was to satisfy Waldo's desires, how could she ever have free will? While he was puzzling over this, Libby went on, "But Waldo, I didn't mean losing control of me, I meant losing control of... your responses to my stimuli."

"Ok", said Waldo testily. "Here's my response to your damn stimulus:" He stormed out of the bedroom, stomped downstairs and turned his attention to the bubble mailer that was on his breakfast counter. It contained Libby's new nose.

Libby lay passively on her back on the bed, feeling Waldo's weight on top of her. He was shining a tiny flashlight up her nose.

He held the tip of a cotton swab below her nostrils. "Sniff," he said. She obeyed, her nostrils flaring slightly. "Can you smell that?" he asked her.

"There's a... an anomaly in my olfactory input channel... if that's what you mean," she replied hesitantly.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I meant. That anomaly is the smell of eucalyptus."

"I see," said Libby, but Waldo doubted that Libby was yet able to identify scent. It had been only five minutes since he'd inserted her new sense organ, a tiny Bluetooth chemoreceptor, up her nose; its signals would take a while to integrate into her cognitive process.

"Is smelling the function of a nose, Waldo?"

"That, and breathing," Waldo murmured. Waldo straddled her and watched her intently.

"I see. They're multifunction, like mouths," said Libby, thoughtfully. Waldo gazed down at her parted crimson lips. He shuddered with desire. "Yeah, like mouths..."