She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

Twenty-seven-years-old, about five-foot-seven, sparkling brown eyes with a hint of green that seemed to light up the room, straight and soft brunette hair falling just above her rib cage area and just below her breasts, which, beneath her tank top seemed a perfectly ample and rounded plush size, a firmly curved ass within a pair of jeans and an overall slim body frame that perfectly put her on the chart as not too thin but a good amount of flesh to grab hold of.

And she was really standing there, in the living room of my house, right in front of me to see and reach out and touch.

But among all those movie star quality attributes, there was just one particularly unique thing about her, though.

She wasn’t real.

Not a real human, anyway.

She didn’t have organs inside. She had electronics, and plastic, and liquids, and other gizmos and gadgets I couldn’t even begin to comprehend or list out.

All I knew was that she was mine, and mine alone. I had paid for her. Four months’ worth of pay, too! But since I did well for myself at my job and had excellent credit and a nice payment plan, I wasn’t too concerned. She was top of the line; the latest model. I knew instantly I had gotten my money’s worth on first impression alone.

My very first, and hopefully last (because they were built to last) love bot. Of course, that was the professional and discreet name for her, but I doubt “fuck bot” would have gone well over parents perusing the aisles of their local megastores.

To set one thing straight right off the bat, I didn’t have an unlucky dating life. But work kept me busy, and it had been a while since I was in a meaningful relationship, so after much thought and debate, I decided to venture into this decision for myself.

I was in my mid-twenties and still had tons of time to settle down with a real live breathing woman. I could get rid of her at any time (used models beyond the manufacturer’s return window still fetch a very good price on the second-hand market, after a thorough cleaning and debugging reset, obviously).

But yeah. She was a fuck bot to me, not a love bot. Plain and simple, I bought her to fuck her, not love her. Just a pure, normal human desire to let loose my sexual repression. The guys out there actually falling in love with these damn things were the ones with the real problems.

That wasn’t going to be me. I considered myself very headstrong and morally sound, and even if I developed the least bit of attachment to her, when and if I ever came to the point of meeting a real woman I wanted to get into a healthy relationship with, I could see myself easily parting with her company. Hell, then again, maybe my new significant other would be into keeping her for some extra fun company.

Or there was always plenty to do around the house cleaning-wise.

No, I knew right then and there I had gotten my money’s worth and I intended to prove that to myself with an out-of-this-world experience like I had never had before. Looking at her standing before me, I almost wanted to laugh at the thought of the primitive ways guys went about lavishing in similar recreational methods over a hundred years ago, when these fake women were made of more dense, uncomfortable rubber or cushioned material.

Even the inflatable blow-up ones before that were downright hilarious, but my grandfather said those were mostly meant as dumb jokes for bachelor parties and such.

No thanks. I had no desire to fuck a pool float. I wanted something with more substance and realism, and these were fascinating times I was living in, so "when in Rome", as they say.

And I wasn’t one of those paranoid crackpots bouncing around on a city street corner picketing with signs that blared messages about A.I. (artificial intelligence, for the layman) being unholy and how it would cause the downfall of humanity when these things went against their parameters and rose up to mutiny against us humans like all those flashy sci-fi movies had tried preaching to us over a century ago.

These things were perfectly safe and with a zero-percent uprising rate. Sure, they malfunctioned like any other machine, but fatality numbers were near zero when it came related to A.I. robots, and those cases were simply accidents that could just as well have happened with or without A.I. intervention or presence.

Besides, in the minimally unlikely event that these things were to turn against us, it would probably take beyond my lifetime to evolve to that point. I almost laughed to myself thinking of me as an old man dressed in rags huddled around a barrel fire of an annihilated skyscraper in a post-apocalyptic A.I.-dominated environment explaining to my grandchildren how before I met their grandmother I used to stick my dick into those things.

“Would you care for me to undress now?” she asked. It was the first spontaneous thing she had said beyond our initial short basic conversation after activating her an hour ago.

She had a sweet voice, polite and selfless in her tone but with a subtle flatness that reminded me she was still a robot under all that beauty.

“Of course,” I simply replied.

She pulled her tank top over her head, then bent forward to unbutton and shimmy her jeans down her luscious legs, leaving her now decked out in a pair of nice white cotton panties with an accompanying bra. Maybe I could have drawn out the foreplay with a bit more inventive removal of her clothes, but there would be plenty of other opportunities for that later. I was anxious to check out my pricey merchandise.

She reached behind her and unhooked her bra, letting it fall forward to the floor as her glorious breasts glowed (figuratively, that is, though customizations have seen these chicks lit up from within like badly colorful twentieth-century college party ravers).

Fuck! They were awesome! I was definitely a tit man, but some of my cohorts with similar tastes just went too damn far with size. How is a breast as big as a damn head attractive? These were definitely Goldilocks tits. Not too small, not too big, but just right.

She hooked her thumbs under her panties at the hip line and pulled them down, lifting a foot to let it elegantly slide off.

She returned to a neutral stance, arms hanging straight at her sides as she stared at me. I was speechless.

“Would you care to touch me?” she offered.

I slowly bobbed my head, swallowing the lump in my throat as I carefully stepped forward and reached out. I feathered my fingertips under the curved rim of her right breast, thumbing and gently plucking at the nipples.

The softness was incredible! I glided my hand over the top and dipped into her cleavage, then rotated my wrist so I could cup a breast in my hand. The weight was perfect. I gave it a light jiggle. It was so damn natural! I was in awe. “It all feels so real,” I mumbled.

“My unit is made of an organic silicone compound meant to replicate human flesh,” she noted.

I drove my wandering hand up her chest and veered along the top of her shoulder, pushing in a little. “Feels like an actual shoulder bone,” I next commented.

“My skeletal structure is made of a dense but unbreakable titanium polymer alloy meant to represent human bones. I have a fully complete skeletal structure from head to toe,” she informed me. “Would you care to hear the history of this patented material?”

“Uh, no, thanks,” I declined. It was fascinating to know she also doubled as a computer of intimate worldly knowledge, but I hoped she wouldn’t get to the point of being annoying by making little anecdotal suggestions like that too regularly.

I streamed my fingers down her front, over her stomach and bumping across her inward bellybutton (which apparently acted as one of a few plug-in ports for recharging, updates, maintenance and such), rounding to smooth over her hip. I took a step to the side, slightly bending forward to look behind her as if acting like some kind of investigative doctor.

Her ass looked stupendous. I flatly grazed my palm over her cheeks, then gave one a squeeze. My instincts expected some kind of reaction, like a grunt, gasp or giggle that a real live female would respond with, but there was nothing. She just kept staring forward. It wasn’t a dead gaze, like she was turned off or frozen. She was just simply waiting.

I pulled myself back to her front side, brushing my fingers up her lengthy legs and gliding them over her pussy, where a thin landing strip of hair neatly lined the top. I slightly pushed my fingers into her slit, feeling her vaginal lips. Just as real as everything else about her. I carefully pet the line of hair. “Is this real hair? I mean, it can’t be real, because you can’t grow it, right?” I wondered.

“This unit does not have the capability to grow natural human hair,” she responded. “However, at the owner’s discretional preference, the pubic hair supplied at this unit’s manufacturer’s default stage can be easily and safely removed by traditional approved shaving methods or any desired additional amount can be implanted through a manufacturer’s upgrade procedure."

"Right," I blubbed.

She continued with, "Please understand this comes at additional cost to the owner and do not attempt otherwise to add real or custom hair yourself as you risk damaging this unit which does not fall within your legal ownership liability warranty.”

I gave a smirk. “Okay. I won’t try to glue or tape any bushels of wiry follicle mesh onto you,” I joked. I stood back upright to face her and softly planted the flat palm of my hand against the center of her chest. “You feel so warm. Like natural body temperature.”

“This unit uses compressed heaters and cooling fans to maintain the simulation of a standard human’s average body temperature of ninety-eight-point-six degrees Fahrenheit. Please understand that tampering with this preset temperature control climate can cause this unit to overheat or function improperly which may lead to irreparable damage at the cost of the owner as per the conditions of the limited liability warranty. It is also recommended that the owner maintains this unit’s optimal operation by performing regular internal system temperature checks.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I murmured. It wasn’t that her “robot speak” was annoying; in fact, it was kind of a breath of fresh air to just get things straight from her. If I wanted her to sound like a real woman, I would have gotten a real woman.

The best thing about a fake woman is that you get a little bit of both when it comes to vocabulary. Besides, it did state in the lengthy operator’s manual that vocal settings could be adjusted to sound more “real and natural”, and there were even countless and cheap download update patches where I could modify her with any accent I wanted. I could make her Australian or French, if I felt like it.

And I sure as shit didn’t spend all this money to have coffee table conversations with her.

“My unit’s motion sensors indicate slight penile movement within your pants combined with an arousal increase of thirty-nine percent. Would you care to have sexual intercourse to alleviate your discomfort?” she asked.

Damn! Right to the point! No playing around, no mind games, no insecurities or hesitations, no asking permission, just simply “Do you wanna fuck?” A very advantageous reason I bought her. Still, I was equally fascinated as I was getting horny.

“Whoa. You can sense stuff like that about me?”

“My unit is equipped with limited-range motion sensors as well as optical infrared and x-ray scanners. I can gauge more in-depth and precise internal biological readings granted we are physically connected together,” she explained.

“You mean, like, if I’m inside you during sex?”

“Precisely. Inserting your penis into my vaginal region allows me access to nearly all your biological readings. Please note that while I can relay medical information, benign or otherwise hazardous to your health, this unit is not a legally licensed medical practitioner, and suggests that you immediately report any negative health conditions to a licensed medical doctor for proper treatment.”

“I guess a doctor-patient roleplay sex scenario is out of the question, then,” I joked.

“Roleplay scenarios are limitless as to the owner’s personal discretion and preference,” she corrected. “However, please note that this unit cannot use such scenarios to recommend or supply actual medical assistance.”

“Got it.”

“What method of sexual intercourse would you care to engage in?”

I scratched my head, not sure if I fully understood the question. “You mean, where I am putting it? Or what positions?”

“I am pre-registered with three basic levels of sexual intercourse experience,” she noted. “Light, medium and hard.”

“Explain more, please.”

“Light is equivalent to what is considered as 'making love'. Medium is equivalent to what is considered as 'standard sexual intercourse'. Hard is equivalent to what is considered as 'rough and overtly physical'."

“Oh, I get it,” I said with a nod. I knew hard wasn’t my style at all. I hated rough stuff and cringed at the thought of how many jackasses out there were choosing that level and just beating the shit out of their love bot during sex to the point where it was costing them pockets of extra cash to repair the slapping and punching damage they had inflicted on the faces of their beautiful synthetic partners.

And light mode, while not too bad of an option, was just a sliver too unfulfilling for my desires. As I said before, if I wanted to make love, I would just go out and get myself a real live girlfriend to share in that experience. My heart was sound enough to know that a subject like that wasn’t meant to be played around with, even if some people liked to roleplay or fantasize about it on a non-committable level.

“Let’s go with medium,” I told her. It’s what I needed. Good, simple, normal, middle-of-the-road standard sex. More Goldilocks. Not too hard, not too soft, just right.

“Acknowledged,” she confirmed. “Do you have any communicative vocal preferences to help your sexual arousal during the course of our consummation?”

“What’s that mean?”

“I can supply 'dirty talk' that adjusts to match and properly react to any verbiage you vocally give during our intercourse. I can simply supply no communication at all, giving only reactive sounds of pleasure, or I can also supply an option of biological body updates as you progress toward climax.”

“What the hell is that?” I asked in confusion.

“My unit’s internal system sensors can allow me to vocally update you on your heartbeat rate, breathing rate, muscular fatigue, internal/external body and/or organ temperature shifts, and the progress of your penile pleasure as it reaches its orgasmic climax.”

I was always a fan of dirty talk, granted it wasn’t in the realm of the aforementioned rough stuff, and usually dug talking about stuff during sex that enhanced my excitement yet I wouldn’t necessarily commence in or think about in my normal state of mind.

But this strange option she was talking about seemed to intrigue me and fit right into my comfortable category of curiosity. Though dirty talk was often spontaneously crafted by the moment as it came out, I felt there was nothing new about that. It came down to what I was thinking before: simple sex was what I needed, but I could have gotten that anywhere at any time with any real woman.

I wanted something a tad bit different, and while the idea of a woman systematically updating a man on his body’s sexual progress may seem trivial or redundant to most (I know I’m feeling pleasure; I know I’m about to blow my load; I don’t need anyone verbally explaining what I already know), it seemed so basic that the idea actually sounded hot!

It was like during sex when a woman asks you “Does it feel good?” Of course it feels good! She wasn’t asking out of performance insecurity; she was asking because she knew it aroused her partner to hear her talk about what they were doing, even though it could go unspoken.

Any normal living girl could tell or sense how good she was making my dick feel, even if I wasn’t telling her. It was basic biology (hard, throbbing cock going into wet pussy=awesomeness. Duh.).

But could any living girl give me a savvy, statistical, biologically accurate readout of how good my dick was feeling by the exact percentage level? That was crazy! None of that impatient “Are you close to cumming?” bullshit girls always blurted out.

I guess that option could be of practical handy medical use, too. All those rich old men with their new younger supermodel trophy wife bots struggling to get it up and throwing themselves with all their might and willpower to achieve a few seconds of climatic bliss could now be told within a degree of accuracy if they were on the cusp of giving themselves a heart attack.

Now I had someone (or some THING, anyway) who would know the exact moment when I was going to blow. And that blew my mind!

“Let’s go with that last option,” I optimistically chose.

“Very well,” she confirmed. She still stood there staring at me until slightly cocking her head. “Would you care to get undressed now?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Uh, sure,” I mumbled like a goofy moron before pulling my shirt off over my head and tossing it aside.

I unbuckled the belt on my jeans and unzipped them, pulling one leg out at a time. I didn’t know why I was feeling a little embarrassed. Maybe it was because I was used to the adrenaline rush of getting naked in front of a real woman, the only drawback thus far with this new sex bot of mine.

I was happy with the way I looked naked. I kept myself in shape, yet there was a bit of excitement deflating from within me, for she didn’t care what I looked like naked, nor would she judge me or ridicule me.

She actually did the opposite when she spoke out with, “My sensors indicate a slightly elevated heartbeat and twenty-seven percent increase level of adrenaline. It is not necessary for you to be nervous. I am safe and will do what you desire me to do, so long as it does not jeopardize your safety or health nor compromise my own system’s operational integrity.”

“Thanks,” I stated with a grin, now completely ass-naked in front of her.

She took a moment to graze her eyes up and down me, as if doing some kind of scan. It was the first time I got the sense she was actually somewhat sizing me up, in a way. She returned her sight to mine, face not flat or emotionless, but comfortingly soothing.

“Initial sensor scans inform me you have a very healthy penis,” she complimented.

“Thank you,” I said again, somewhat blushing.

She gestured an arm forward. “Shall we go to the couch?”

“Yeah.”

She walked forward in a fluid and natural manner. It was the first time I had seen her move out of place since unboxing and activating her. The only subtle little thing that stood out to give away her true synthetic existence was the slightly sharp robotic stop and turn she made when she had reached the couch to sit down.

I joined her, sitting down next to her and setting my hands on my knees. It felt like I was on a first date. I guess technically I was. I couldn’t be blamed for a little bit of nervous skepticism when it came to having sex with an android.

Was it really going to be that good? The “product” came with a satisfaction guarantee, as it damn well should have for the amount of bills I shelled out. I could imagine some shy, guilt-ridden dork out there in my position screwing his own brand-new model for the first time and returning it out of shame.

That wasn’t going to be me.

I was going to give her a legitimate chance.

“So, um…” I began to murmur, running a hand through my short frizzled hair, “I guess, uh, I’ll start by kissing you, or something? Yeah?”

“That is a very practical way to start our consummation,” she pleasantly replied. “I would like that very much.”

I cleared my throat and cracked my neck, licking my lips and shuffling my body closer to her where I craned and twisted my head in to plant my lips on hers. They were plush and smooth as we connected, sucking and clicking. It was as real a kiss as I could ever imagine.

Hell, even her teeth looked and felt real, and as our mouths gaped more open to accept each other, her tongue snaked and rolled against mine, lightly massaging with what I sensed was a form of artificial saliva. Man, they went the full nine yards with this thing.

Despite the light make-out session we were inaugurating ourselves with, I was still finding it hard to GET it completely hard. We unlocked and she looked up into my eyes.

“Sensors indicate your nervousness may be preventing you from achieving a proper erection,” she noted, then perked her eyebrows. “Shall I massage your penis and testicles in my hand to assist your arousal?”

“Yes. Please,” I told her, having no problem with that offer at all.

I went back to kissing her, patting my lips across her face and around her neck as she used one hand to caress my cheek while the other stretched down to turn and cup my genitals in it. Her fingers playfully twiddled under my balls like playing an upside-down piano, and I immediately got sprung with excitement as her palm closed around my shaft and began to steadily milk back and forth.

“Ohhh,” I lightly moaned.

“Is that satisfactory?” she asked.

“Definitely.”

I bent my head down and kissed her breasts, sucking on the nipples. I wasn’t sure what kind of mechanisms she had within to simulate a breathing system (probably some kind of weird xylophone-looking pump like the ones used to help patients breathe in hospitals), but I could feel her chest slightly rise, and I could have sworn I felt the pumping of a heart beneath her breast.

She smoothly continued to stroke and jerk my cock in her hand, elegantly gliding under so she could finger dance across my balls. “Would you care for me to perform oral pleasure on your penis to increase stimulation?” she then suggested.

“Hell yes,” I eagerly responded, pleasantly surprised at how she took such an easy initiative to move things forward without any instigation from me.

I pulled away from her and lay back on the couch, resting my head on the arm. She shifted herself to her knees and crawled forward, tucking her hair back as she lowered her front half and dipped her head, rolling her tongue across my member with her eyes glued toward mine.

I know I said it already, but holy shit. They programmed these things good. Every guy knows the best part of getting his dick sucked isn’t getting his dick sucked. It’s the woman’s eyes firmly fixed on his while she’s doing it.

I wanted to watch every millisecond, but I couldn’t help shutting my eyelids in absolute ecstasy. And she hadn’t even taken me into her mouth yet. A terrified version of my conscience within pictured her malfunctioning and uncontrollably chomping my dick off like a hot dog, but I quickly slapped that horror movie-driven nonsense out of my brain when she opened her mouth and started to take me in it.

I gave a light moan under my breath. Her lips wrapped around me and she started to sway her head up and down. My cock glided within the wetness of her mouth as my hips started to give reactive moves.

She speeded up and slowed down, using a free hand to warmly caress my balls again and flutter through the strands of my pubic hair while the other carefully rubbed up and down my bare leg. My jaw shook. It was feeling so damn good, I almost didn’t care about progressing any further so long as she kept doing what she was doing.

But evidently, she stopped and pulled back, letting me pop out as she looked at my dick and then at me, gracefully stroking it. “Your penis is emitting pre-ejaculate and my sensors indicate you have reached a much more appropriate erectile state for sexual intercourse. Shall we commence with that?”

I quickly nodded my head. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

“Very well,” she confirmed, releasing her grip on my cock as she sat back. “Would you care to start with the missionary position?”

“That works for me.”

She lay back and spread her legs as I hovered over her, looking at her inviting pussy.

Here we go. My first time with a super sexy and super realistic robo chick. A life-changing moment for me, I was sure. As big as landing on the moon. One small step for my dick, one giant leap for dickkind.

She reached out and assisted in caressing and prepping me for entry, as a true woman should. I watched and nudged the head of my dick into the doorway flaps of her womanhood, then pushed forward as my entire length disappeared inside her.

I huffed a hot breath, arching my head up in a reactive pleasure. Her hands found their way to clasping my butt cheeks, giving them a light squeeze.

I was amazed at how interactive she was to do something basic like that without some kind of order from me. I actually half expected her to lie there the entire time like a dead fish while I humped her.

While that may have achieved the goal of doing my dick a lot of good, it would have fallen short for my interactive enjoyment factor. You might as well have saved yourself a boatload of money and just humped the damn couch itself at that rate.

I began to pump, not too fast and not too hard, just trying to get a feel for her, as I would have done with any other real woman. I couldn’t believe it. It felt like the real thing! If I didn’t know otherwise, I would have easily been fooled into thinking I was inside an actual real pussy. I began to rock back and forth with the steady motion of a maneuvering mount.

“Sensors indicate you are at sixty-five percent penile pleasure,” she announced. “Is my vaginal spacing adequate to the pleasure of your penis? I can compress or expand my internal muscular grasp to your liking.”

“Just a little bit tighter, please,” I suggested.

I felt a slight squeeze around my cock that made me uncontrollably moan.

“Sensors indicate you have increased your penile pleasure to seventy-one percent,” she said.

I humped into her, leaning forward to meet her lips and glide my hand against her hip before really starting to bang into her. It was total skin-on-skin sound, too. A very natural slapping of a dick laying hard into a pussy. “You are so hot. You are so great,” I then commented.

“I’m happy to service you,” she replied. “Would you care to change positions? I am preloaded with thirty-seven safe sexual intercourse positional options including the complete Kama Sutra.”

“No way!” I moaned in shock.

“Very well,” she responded.

“No, I mean… I meant that as in 'I can’t believe it',” I corrected. Note to self: sex bot may take certain English language literally. Watch how you word phrases. “But yes, I’d like to change positions. Will you ride me on top?”

“Certainly,” she affirmed.

I gave her pussy a few more stabs and finally managed the willpower to pull myself out, watching my hard dick twang up and down like an out-of-control seesaw. I shuffled onto my back as she climbed aboard, reaching down to veer the direction of my erection straight up as she smoothly sat over it and let it sink up into her.

Hump-fucking on top of a robotic nicely-titted babe was one thing, but I was interested to see how she handled herself when given the reins. She began to grind tightly against me, squeezing her ass cheeks with each motion forward as I grabbed hold of her hips and pushed up into her. Smoothly, back and forth, back and forth, just emitting a pure professionalism of the most naturally naked sex money could buy.

“Shall I increase my mounting speed?” she wondered.

“Yes.”

She turned it up a notch, going faster and harder. My eyes caught the sides of her ass cheeks slightly jiggling upon each bouncing contact against my legs, and her boobs had an equally sexy swaying and sultry shake to their movement as she whacked against me.

I reached up and grabbed hold of them. They belonged to me, after all.

Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap was the glorious simple sound of connection as she rode me, smoothing herself to a slow grind so she could lean down and kiss my lips. “Is there anything else you would care for me to do to further stimulate your visual experience?” she then asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Would you like me to perspire for you?”

I curled a curious eyebrow as I softly ground into her. “You can do that? You can actually, like, sweat?”

“My unit is equipped with fully functional micro-pores that release a lubricated water-based residue meant to simulate authentic bodily perspiration in the key heat pressure point areas: forehead, neck, underarms, chest, vaginal, lower back, feet and anus,” she explained.

“Whoa, that’s crazy. Does it actually smell and taste like sweat?”

“There is a minimal salt enzyme added to replicate taste and a low odor mixture meant to negate displeasure.”

“What does that mean? It doesn’t smell bad like real sweat?”

“It does not. It is meant to further stimulate your sinus senses during intercourse.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a bonus, I guess, so go ahead and sweat.”

“Producing perspiration,” she acknowledged.

It didn’t take long to see what she had meant. Within two minutes of her rhythmically bumping into me, I began to notice her boisterous chest gleaming with a light glare. Her armpits were a little bit slick and I could see her bare back in the mirror nearby reflecting a sexy shine. It was purely natural, too. Not like someone had dumped water on her or squirted her with some kind of kitchen spray bottle.

I ravenously sat up and lifted her in my lap, falling forward so she was on her back with me over her once again as I resumed grinding into her.

I licked one of her boobs for a taste test. She was right again. There was a hint of saltiness and upon touching my nose to her underarm I lightly inhaled a kind of curiously neutral odor that wasn’t the least bit bothersome or unpleasant, which was a drawback of the real deal. It got me harder, like unlocking a secret new pheromone.

“Self-simulated perspiration release has triggered a twenty-one percent increase in your erection,” she stated.

I gave a soft moan and a much deeper inhale to one of her armpits. This wasn’t something that normally interested me with real women, but maybe for some reason the fact that she was a robot simulating real bodily effects was turning me on.

“Sensors indicate elevated heartbeat and an additional seven percent increase in your erection when sinus senses are near underarm areas. Would you like me to increase the perspiration output of my armpits?”

“Yes,” I softly huffed.

“Increasing underarm perspiration output simulation by seventeen percent,” she complied. “Sensors indicate you are now at seventy-nine percent penile pleasure.”

I licked her underarm once up and down, then sucked on one of her nipples before planting some smooth kisses onto her lips.

“My internal intelligence core processor suggests that perhaps by releasing a vaginal orgasm simulation, your penile pleasure will dramatically increase by approximately ten-to-twelve percent,” she then said.

“What does that mean? You can cum?” I wondered. Hell, if she could sweat, I guess it made sense that she could cum.

“Like my perspiration simulation, I can produce vaginal muscle spasms accompanied by a water-based ejaculation release.”

“Fuck yeah!” I exuberantly cheered. “Cum for me.”

“Would you like me to moan?”

“Yes.”

She let out a long, drawn-out moan and groan, followed by an “Oh God, yes! Yes! Yes!” and then I felt it hit! Her muscles contracted and compressed around my cock, slightly shaking as if being controlled by a motorless mechanism, and the cool, smooth sensation of liquid flowing around my member as I pushed into it made me moan in return.

“Sensors indicate you have increased to ninety-two percent penile pleasure,” she updated.

“Lubricant has assisted in increasing your mounting motion by eleven percent.”

”Damn,” I groaned. “I can’t believe I just made you cum. Can your body do, uh, other, normal, um, bodily things, like... urinate?”

“I have a small water reservoir meant to simulate urination by using a light yellow dye and a minimal odor inhibitor. Would you care for me to show you an example over the toilet?”

“Not the best time. I was just curious,” I mentioned.

“Your vocal tones indicate a possible implication that you may desire me to urinate over your penis. I can initiate this by squatting over that region if you would like.”

I moaned, thumping into her. It was tempting to see, a curiosity that seems to be buried within every male whether he admits it or not, but thought I would save that for another time. “Do your inhibitors prevent you from accepting something like that from me?”

“I have no inhibitors. I am yours to do with as you like,” she declared. “You may commence urination from your penis anywhere over my body if that is what you desire. You may also insert your penis into my vagina and release your urine that method as well, for it will collect into a reservoir which I can purge through my previously mentioned method.”

“Like a human urinal,” I smirked.

“Yes. Essentially this unit can operate as an internal urinal.”

“Good to know,” I told her.

“Indicators inform me that discussing urination has increased your penile pleasure to ninety-eight percent. Penis ejaculation is imminent. Do you wish to continue the discussion of this topic?”

“N-No, that’s okay,” I managed to blurt out, despite it being kinky that I was actually talking about peeing with a woman, or, a woman-like thing, anyway. Maybe I just found it exciting that she was able to replicate another basic human thing, but I had always thought of what it would be like to pee on a woman’s breasts, or pussy.

The idea of marking my territory on a female so freely open and accepting sounded so hot and natural to try, but I felt small steps were best at this starting point. I guess these bots were really built to break the barriers of doors we couldn’t normally knock on with most real women when it came to extra-kinky stuff.

And mine was only dealing with a little bit of pee. I couldn’t even fathom the more actual gruesome things other people were probably initiating with their bots.

I slowed down a little to a grinding motion. "Do you feel anything?" I had curiously wondered. "Like any kind of pleasure? That might be a dumb question."

"My unit is equipped with pleasure sensors in key areas. For instance, my internal vaginal pleasure receptors can detect the friction your penis makes when it moves in and out. This in turn relays to my core processor and triggers an automated pleasure reaction," she said.

"To make you moan?"

"Precisely. Pleasure reception sensitivity levels can be increased or decreased to your personal preference of how much you'd like me to feel. Increases may help my core processor adapt and react by initiating more spontaneously reactive fluid body movements to help in your ejaculation process."

"That's actually pretty fucking cool."

I started to hammer back into her, groaning. It was feeling so damn good.

“Erection has reached maximum percentage," she noted. "Penile pleasure at ninety-eight-point-seven percent. Do you wish to commence with ejaculation of your penis?”

“Hell yes, I do,” I huffed, really slapping into her.

“Please state your desired semen deposit area: vaginal, oral, anus or external.”

“P-Pussy,” I barked, smacking into her wetness. “I wanna f-fucking cum in your v-v-vagina.”

“Vaginal selected. Penile pleasure at ninety-nine-point-five percent. Please release your semen from your penis in the specified area,” she elegantly directed.

I moaned and couldn’t hold it any longer. I gave a sharp “Unnghh!” and shot out my first strong stream of cum deep inside her as I wrapped my arms around and pulled her close.

My dick spasmed and wiggled, pumping my second wave into the soft, fleshy internal goodness of her body as my mouth hung open and my leg kicked. My toes curled. My butt cheeks squeezed and I plopped a shorter shot of jizz into her as my third burst.

My mouth and tongue dragged along the sweaty mounds of her bare chest as my legs jiggled and my hips uncontrollably shook. Her hands nurtured my back as I let out a silly but uncontrollable animalistic huff, slowly massaging my cock within her innards.

“Internal sensors indicate your penis has now achieved full pleasure and you have ejaculated your maximum amount of semen,” she added. “Sensors also indicate your penile erection softening at a rate of one percent every five seconds. Do you wish to retract your penis from my vagina or remain internal?”

“Inside,” I barely managed to say through my soft panting. “I wanna stay inside you.”

“Internal vaginal muscles now commencing comfort safe level of compression to keep penis secured within,” she said.

I felt her pussy slightly tighten just enough so I wouldn’t easily slip out in my calming flaccidness, and her legs wrapped and locked across my rear as an additional failsafe.

“Damn,” I muttered, kissing her breasts. “Holy fuck. That was phenomenal. I didn’t expect it to feel so damn real. Like you were a real woman.”

“Was it satisfactory?” she wondered.

“Fuck yeah,” I uttered. “And just hearing you describe everything and give updates was so different. Like an untapped form of simple and plain dirty talk.”

“It was my pleasure to ensure your maximum pleasure,” she reiterated.

I looked down at the light sweat across her front side and lightly streamed my finger along. “You’re safe to get wet and all, right? Like to wash off with water?”

“I am fully equipped to receive regular cleansings to assist in removing the simulated sweat I have produced, if that is what you are implying. Sensors also indicate you have secreted fifty-nine percent of your own perspiration against the front side of my body, with an additional thirty-seven percent from your penis against my vaginal region. Perhaps we can shower together in the bathroom when you are ready?”

I excitedly smiled and dropped my head to her shoulder. “Boy, would I ever love that,” I exclaimed like a giddy idiot on Christmas morning. “Is there where you get rid of my, uh, you know, um, stuff?”

“Yes. A shower is an appropriate place for me to flush the semen you have deposited in my reservoir,” she noted.

“Just checking.”

“If you so desire afterwards, we can commence in more sexual activity within that cleansing. My sensors indicate that in approximately forty-two minutes and thirteen seconds your penis will be able to produce an adequate amount of additional semen. Perhaps this time you would care to ejaculate it into my mouth or anus.”

I groaned. “Ugh. I can already tell you are going to run me ragged.”

“The human adult male penis was meant to ejaculate semen and urinate multiple times a day. I can happily assist you with both,” she explained. “Internal sensors indicate your penis has presently reached a maximum state of relaxation. Do you wish to retract from my vaginal area where I can commence a nurturing massage of your genitals with my hand while we lie naked together?”

I smiled. “Sounds like a perfect ending.”

She was perfect. My perfect Goldilocks style of a love bot. My Goldibots. Hmm, I wonder if I can trademark that and get in on some of this popularly profitable bot-boppin’ industry.

I felt her inner box somewhat unlock, and my cock slipped out, plopping against her thigh where a drop of leftover cum leaked onto her leg. I rolled onto my back as she cuddled against me, protectively placing a hand over my dick and balls, which she began to casually and softly groom and rub.

As I lay there staring up at the ceiling in post-coital bliss, shades of moral debate swirled within my head (the one with the brain, since my imperatives were no longer being solely controlled on a one-track priority by my “other” head).

The possibilities with this magnificent piece of technological mastery were truly endless, but was I going to become too attached after a successful first run? Would I ever really need a real living and breathing piece of ass ever again, or was I going to be privy to the spoils of our current society by contributing to the continued disintegration of human-to-human interaction?

The first page of the owner’s operating manual laid out explicit warnings of attachment and addictions, complete with a toll-free psychological help hotline, and kept reiterating the fact that “she” was a “product”. “She” was really an “it” and was not really real.

But she sure was a real bangin’ bitch of a bot.

And she was my own.

Her hand smoothed over my shaft as she spoke out with, “Sensors indicate penile arousal is starting to return at a minimally increasing rate. Shall we commence into the bathroom for mutual bodily cleansing now?”

A smile stretched across my face with my blurred vision still transfixed onto the ceiling above.

Let’s just say I’m in no hurry in returning to the potential complications of the real thing.