Salvaged Hardware

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While I'm feeling creative, I decided to try something else. I'm a little weirded out by how easy this is, but I figure I'll give people more of what they want. Just trying to clear out ideas so I can get on to other projects.

This one might be a little more tedious, and it's in progress right now.

Salvaged Hardware

I had done something really stupid. I could feel it. Less than an hour from now, I was going to open a box that I had paid two week's salary for, and it was going to contain useless junk.

I might have gotten caught up in the moment. It was a week ago, and I'd been scanning Craigslist's local tech section for deals. Most of it was the usual crap, decade-old laptops that old people were trying to get rid of because they were “clogged up with viruses,” over-priced obsolete gaming systems, and the like, but one badly-written entry had caught my eye.

“$$$Sexxxxeee cuTee 4 sale, gr8 bl0wj0bs $$”

I kind of had to click on it. The spelling in the actual entry was only slightly better, but did explain a lot.

“I gots a grate deel 4 u. Im abut 2 get a reel flesh&blod ladie, n need 2 get rid ov my old plastic cumdumpster, cuz ladies don like the competishun. Shes reel cute n gvs grate head. 2 yrs old & the # on hr foot is 0104350901, if u care.”

Along with the assault on grammar was a picture of a pretty girl with blank eyes and a slack-jawed expression. Her pale blonde hair was tied back in a horrible pony-bun thing on top of her head, and I could clearly see the seam-line that looped over her ear and around her scalp.

Robots aren't the area of my expertise;, but I know how to use google. The serial number was for a poorly-selling economy-sized gynoid model discontinued several years ago, the Lily. She'd been marketed as a “maid” with brains, with slightly above-average processor power (which made her a genius by fuck-doll standards), and a much smaller chassis than usual. The manufacturers had misjudged their target audience, though, and she'd sat on the metaphorical shelves while more well-endowed models sold like hotcakes. Her short battery-life hadn't helped.

The point was, this guy was asking a fraction of her actual value, and while it was a dear blow to my disposable income, I could swing it. I e-mailed him back immediately. His reply was barely legible, but I managed to parse out that an agreement had been reached.

Now, it was a week later, and the buyer's remorse was kicking in. This guy typed like an idiot, and sounded sketchy as hell on the phone. I was probably going to get a box of pin-ball machine parts.

The doorbell rang, making me jump. I went to the door, still in standard saturday-morning atire (t-shirt & boxers), to find a hefty UPS guy at the door, Slate in hand, and a running truck backed into the driveway of my duplex. My heart fell as I pressed my thumb to the slate, and the transfer of funds was complete. I'm not poor or anything, but I used to be, and wasting money eats at my soul.

The guy and his companion hefted a coffin-sized crate up to the door, then wished me good day, got in their truck, and left.

3 minutes and some mild cursing later, I'd gotten the crate into the living room. Two minutes later, I'd found something that would work as a pry-bar, and went to work.

I let out a sigh of relief as I levered open the lid; there was indeed a robot inside. It was wrapped in plastic, and covered with a dusting of packing peanuts, which I cleared away to get a better look at my purchase.

She was petite. 4'6,” tops, and pear-shaped, with small breasts, flared hips, and some extra padding at the bottom. Her face was cute; small mouth with vivid lips, over-large forehead, delicate jaw, snub nose. She was clad in panties and a...well, it had once been a white t-shirt, but now it was several different colors, none of them appealing.

I reached into the box and, with a grunt, lifted the inert form out. Her limbs folded limply, and she wound up splayed partly to the side on the floor. I rooted through the box, and found a tangled power chord and a bunch of loose CDs. I raised an eyebrow. No remote control.

I moved to sit back on the floor, and instead found myself sitting on something hard and rectangular. It must have been in the wrap or something, and fallen as I'd lifted it out. I moved to retrieve the remote, but then I heard the sound of rustling plastic.

I turned to see the robot pressing outwards on her body bag. The look on her face wasn't one of panic, just...confusion. I saw her mouth move, and heard muted words. I don't know why I was so concerned, (It's not like she needed to breathe or anything) but I scrambled to rip open the bag. It took a little work, but I managed to turn a stretch into a puncture, and widen it to free her head. And I was met by one hell of a stench.

A fug is what it was, or a funk. It smelled like sour soda, and old beer, and sweat, and jizz, and a bunch of other smells that I didn't want to identify. She seemed totally oblivious to it, and simply lay there, looking at me curiously.

“If you are the owner of this unit, please state your name and the four-digit security code on the remote control.”

I looked at the remote. It was clearly broken now, but a sticker on the underside bore the numbers she was asking for. I gave her my name, and read out the digits. “Change of ownership accepted. Hello, Alan Ross.”

I was hardly paying attention, I was too preoccupied with freeing her from the rest of the plastic bag she had come in. As I did, my arm came in to contact with her nicely curved abdomen, was sticky. I touched her belly again, and it felt like a movie theater floor. Someone had spilled soda or beer on her, way too long ago. That partially explained the smell.

She must have misunderstood my touch, because the next thing she did was sit up and gently cup my chin in her hand, pulling me in for a kiss. She was cool to the touch, but already warming up, and a good kisser, her agile little lips nimbly teasing me. But when I opened my mouth to laugh at the sensation, and she started in with the tongue, I recoiled in horror. She tasted like a moldy, semen-stained rag. I wiped my mouth, and actually found specks of black fungus on my hand. That was enough of that.

I stood up and walked to my room, sat down at my computer, and Googled “How to clean your fembot.”

After 5 minutes of reading, I had sorted out what I had to do. She was waterproof, and all her orifices were connected internally. I just had to grab some cleaning products and-

“Would you like to have sex now, Alan?”

I jumped in my chair, and spun around. She was sitting on the end of my bed, in an inviting pose that showed off the high firmness of her breasts. As I watched, she spread her legs and gave me Come-Hither Stare #3. I sighed. The look didn't suit her. I stood up, took her by the hand, and walked her into the kitchen. Still holding her hand, I took the nearly-full bottle of Dawn from next to the sink, then turned and headed towards the bathroom, sexbot in tow.

“Lift your arms,” I said, and she complied. I lifted her stained t-shirt over her head, tossing it in the trash without a second thought. I'd half-expected what happened next, as she wrapped her arms around my waist and stepped in to press her body against mine. I gently returned her hands to her sides, stepped back, and made a 'stay there' gesture. She seemed to get the message, and didn't make any further moves as I bent down to remove the panties, rolling them down her round hips to reveal a hairless pubic area that curved inward to a well-shaped vulva. I held my breath as a did so, and decided it was simpler to leave them on the floor.

Standing up again, I took her by the shoulders, and guided her to stand in the tub. Firm downward pressure got her to sit, but she wound up awkwardly perpendicular , facing me with her legs splayed outward, looking up at me with large round eyes of an odd greyish color. I raised the bottle of Dawn and pointedly said “Open.” She did so, giving me a good look at the built-up mold inside her mouth. It was under her tongue, too. I placed the nub of the bottle inside her mouth and began spreading lime-scented dish-soap all over. Presently, she closed her lips on the bottle and began to...suckle might be the word. I saw her throat move up and down in a swallowing motion, and I gave it another few seconds before removing the Dawn. She gave a final swallow and looked at me sweetly.

I had to admit to myself that what I was doing was both mildly arousing and a little creepy. I didn't know whether I was giving a girl a bath or washing a car. I reached up and unhooked the shower hose, then splashed a little more Dawn on her chest, stomach, and arms. Turning the water to slightly-too-hot, I moved the shower head near her mouth, and the fembot obediently closed her lips around it. What came next was a little skeevy. I knew she couldn't down, but it still felt violent. I turned the water valve from faucet to shower.

Immediately, her cheeks puffed out, and foamy water dribbled out from the corners of her mouth. Her throat also bulged slightly, and I could hear a muted rushing coming from her torso. It took a moment for the water to pass through her internal plumbing, but then I started to see discolored, foamy liquid leaking from her vagina. The flow increased, and I'm not going to describe what came out. Or out of her other hole. Trust me, it was nasty. Eventually, the water became clear, and I removed the hose from her mouth. Lime foam spilled out over her lips, down her body, and between her awkwardly splayed legs, eliciting no reaction from her. She wiggled her shoulders and spoke, through the foam “It's rude to keep a girl waiting, you know.”

It took a second to figure that one out, but then it came to me. I'd undressed her a full 5 minutes ago, and we still hadn't fucked yet.

Explaining was pointless. I went to work on the rest, scrubbing where I could, and untying her hair to fall in a wet white-gold tangle around her face. She seemed to enjoy that bit, moaning a little as I scrubbed her breasts and pubic region, removing the sticky patches of what I assumed to be mountain dew.

I got her as clean as I could, gave her a rinse, then carefully helped her stand. As she straightened out, more water fell from her vagina. I toweled my fembot off, and wrapped her in my bathrobe, which was hilariously oversized on her. Satisfied that I'd solved one part of my problems, I retreated to my sanctum to think. I have a kick-ass bond-villian desk chair, perfect for scheming, which I collapsed into with a grunt. The Lily had followed me, and stood in just inside the door, robe open just enough for me to get an eyefull.

She definitely had a lot of software missing. Presumably, she should have had some sort of automatic hygiene prompter or whatever. Or maybe her previous owner had only turned her on to fuck. I'd known slobs with more money than brains. They tended to buy expensive things, treat them poorly, then sell them for a fraction of the cost and buy something else. Wash, rinse, repeat, but with less washing and not much rinsing. They didn't treat their women any better, and this Lily had gotten the worst of it from two directions.

I wasn't even sure why I'd bought it. I'd seen an opportunity to try something new, and taken it. Okay, I hadn't had much luck with women in the past...shit, two years and counting. Well, that explained that. Too busy working, and ego too crushed from last relationship disaster. No wonder I'd sprung for this.

I'd expected something between a maid, a new computer, and a fuck-buddy. Something like another person, but simpler, less demanding. A lot like a pet, I realized. Like a dog that would do the dishes and have sex with you. Instead, I had a goldfish that kept trying to grope me. As I watched, she shifted her hips a bit and let the robe fall fully open. The Lily ran a hand along her belly, then up to cup a small, well-shaped breast. I realized I was becoming aroused.

She'd apparently relaized it as well, because she smiled, then sunk to all fours. Her shoulder blades flexing under the white cotton robe, she stalked foreward so that her face was even with my crotch. She put her elbows on the corner of the chair, then reached out and started to pull down my boxers. I slid down in the chair and lifted my ass slightly to help her. Once they were off, she played with them for a moment before flicking them to the side, and reaching for my now-erect cock. I had other ideas, though. Instead, I took her by the upper-arms and lifted her on to the chair, so that she straddled me with her strong, stocky legs, and pulled her down on top of me. I wanted to try kissing her without the taste of rot and jizz. As before, she had excellent technique, and I lost myself for a while in the nimble softness of her lips and tongue. There was still a hint of dish-soap mixed with her artificial saliva, but that just reinforced the impression of cleanliness.

After a while, she seemed to want to move on from kissing. I had some other ideas, too. As she lifted her body away, I reached down to grab her well-padded ass and pull her pelvis toward me. It took a little shimmying, and she didn't quite seem to understand what I was doing, but I managed to get her smooth, pink snatch right in front of my face. I started with tiny licks and nibbles, which elicited a gasp, followed by a few giggles. I continued like that for a while, her moans getting progressively louder, then swiftly changed tack, going in with long, solid, forceful licks up and down her slit. The response was impressive. I heard her clutch the back of the chair hard and moan so loudly I worried about the guy next door hearing. She started to grind her hips against me, and her mons pressed onto my face, fouling my rhythm and making me push her away.

She seemed to take this as a signal to start the main event, and the next thing I knew, she'd neatly impaled herself on my now-throbbing member, and was looking down at me with a big, satisfied grin, pumping away.

Again, I was gone for a time, until I realized I was nearing the peak. Partway through, the Lily had switched from long strokes to quick little bounces that were driving me wild. I could hear her simulated breathing coming hard, and she-

Collapsed on top of me like a puppet with its strings cut. I waited for several moments with an inert fembot on top of me, before cursing. I sat up, letting her arms fall around my shoulders, and placing my hands under her ass, stood up and lay her on the edge of the bed. She fell back, gray eyes utterly blank, and I decided that I was damn well going to finish before sorting this out. It took another minute of pumping, in which I felt just a wee bit ashamed, before I blew my load and collapsed back in the chair. I zoned out for a while, and when I came to, she was still inert. Putting on some pants, I dragged her over to the wall next to the desk, and started looking for her access port.

It turned out to be on the back of her head, a plastic plate just under the hairline, at the base of the skull. Press to either side, and the plate hinged upwards, revealing a power socket, data port, single button, and a LCD readout. I pressed the button, and got an orange light. Briefly, the readout said: Cannot Activate. Battery Charge 1%

Dumbass hadn't even sent her over with a full charge, and whatever utility that would have prompted her to warn me about imminent shutdown hadn't been installed.

I went back to the living room and retrieved the power chord and CDs. I plugged her into the power strip, then sat down to sort through the stack of software. Most of it was unopened. The only one that seemed to have been touched was Playbot v4.9. I sorted through discs with names like “Mom's Home Cooking (Love's Flavor),” Ms Intuition, Songbird, and something called “Anticipator.” The description on the disc said it would let the robot perform actions not directly commanded by the owner, like preparing breakfast, cleaning up obvious messes, and personal cares.

I plugged a USB cable into her head, and let the drivers load on my PC. I then sorted through the CDs one at a time, installing them onto her Operating System, doing the normal chores of agreeing to things and clicking Next a lot. I gave her most of the software, leaving out stuff like the Personal Trainer, My Favorite Tutor, and Nannybot v3. The last CD in the stack didn't have a version, just printed words made to look like handwriting. Somewhat girly handwriting, at that. It said simply “hi my name is Marcy,” with circles instead of dots on the 'i's. When I loaded the CD, the program that launched was just a empty window. But then a girl walked into view.

She was slightly cartoonish, but I still recognized the Lily's facial features and physique. A sweet, throaty voice came out of the speakers. “Hi, customer. You've purchased a mrk 2 LILY human-form android. As a beta-tester, your unit has been shipped with a semi-random persona suite. Installing Marcy on your robot is not necessary, but may enhance your ownership experience. As always, we appreciate your feedback, and would love to know what you think of me. See you soon!”

The little animated girl blew me a kiss, then vanished, replaced with the usual License agreements, registrations, and install directories. I thought for a moment, then clicked yes, yes, I agree, next, default, next and yes. Installation said it would take a long-ass time, and she was only up to 5% charge after an hour, so I decided to do other things with the rest of my day. Grocery shopping, a jog, the usual. She'd hit 70% by the time I was getting tired, and I turned in early. She'd still be there in the morning.

Waking was a protracted experience for me. I was in no condition to notice that something was awry, but I could have sworn I'd heard running running water from the bathroom, and smelled something sizzling. I was only half-conscious when a voice said “Breakfast is ready,” and my response was to turn over and mumble something. I felt a jolt, as though someone had kicked the bed frame, and the voice said “It's rude to keep a girl waiting, you know.”

I opened my eyes to see a petite woman standing at the foot of my bed, hands on her hips, small mouth smirking. Her face was framed by hanging tangles of pale blonde hair, which formed a wavy bun at the back. She wore denim shorts which, since they were mine, reached to her calves and were only held up by a belt. The sleeveless top I at first couldn't identify, but then realized that it had been my ex's, left behind to sit in a untouched basement hamper forevermore.

“If you're not going to eat the breakfast I went to the trouble of cooking, maybe I won't do it again, Alan.”

I smiled, and moved as though to get up. Instead, I shot out a hand and pulled. She lost her footing on the baseboard and fell on top of me, squealing in surprise. I reached under her top to fondle her breasts, and though her laughter, she managed to gasp “The food will-(ooh)-will get cold.”

“What did you make?”

She lowered herself so that she was laying directly on top of me, arms splayed out to the sides, and I felt the warm weight of her. “Bacon and hashbrowns” said Marcy, not an inch from my face. Her breath still smelled faintly of lime dish-soap.

I thought for a moment, then replied. “Those can be re-heated.”

Marcy smiled, and put her dextrous little lips to work.

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