She leaned forward and stared straight into his eyes and yet, she still couldn't tell. She couldn't tell one little bit. She had always heard that the eyes were the windows to the soul... but now, as he stood directly before her with a perfectly sculpted nude body and, more importantly, those two perfectly human-seeming peepers, it was wildly apparent that that old saying could no longer carry much weight.
UNLESS... was it a mistake? Had the company accidentally sent her a *real* man? Or was it a
trick
? Perhaps the "company," was just that. A man. A single man, advertising himself as a love-droid, conning a slew of bored housewives and lonely spinsters into allowing him inside of them.
It was only after she cautiously allowed him inside of
her
that she knew he was no man. No man made of flesh and blood could ever do to her what he did. No mere man could ever bring her such unearthly pleasures. For the first eight minutes, she could not make a sound. Her mouth was frozen agape and her eyes saucer-wide... he was a complete and total shock to her system. Try feeding a five-course meal prepared by the world's greatest chef to someone who had spent their entire life up to that point eating third-rate dog food and back-alley dumpster scraps and you might get the same reaction. Only after those first eight minutes did her mouth begin to work again. What came out of it was as uninhibited a noise as perhaps had ever escaped a human mouth.
----------------------------------------23 MINUTES LATER----------------------------------------
As he continued to thrust forward with no hint of tiredness or exhaustion on the horizon, she whispered the magic word into his ear. "Grow," she said, ever so softly. "Grow."
And then, she felt his penis grow inside of her... from 7 inches to 8... and then from 8, to 9... growing whilst still fucking her, from 9 to 10, still pounding her, 10 to 11, she began to weep, tears of pleasure, tears of joy... 11 to 12... her whole body quivered as she clutched his hard back tightly... 12 to 13 inches. Heaven was a robot.
And it didn't just grow in length, but also in girth, until it filled almost her entire vaginal cavity... his built-in lubrication modules keeping things slick and smooth. She would have thought that having something so large inside her, so massive and powerful, would be painful. But it wasn't. His member was scientifically designed to grow to just the right length and to expand to just the right circumference in order to bring about in his partner the most copious amount of physical pleasure possible.
And he kept going, filling her up with an expanding cock and thrusting it inside her at higher and higher speeds until she was sure that she was just about to explode with sheer bliss... only for him to stop right before reaching said moment of mind-shattering rapture... slowing the pace... shrinking slightly inside of her... bringing her down from sheer ecstasy to a place of peaceful relaxation... leaving her there in that moment to, "mmmmmm," in lazy satisfaction like a carefree cat stretching out on a warm, sunlit windowsill... only to begin growing and expanding and turbo-thrusting again, until she was clenching her teeth and crying more and more tears of unmitigated euphoria. A never-ending cycle of the best fucking sex she had ever received, full of skyscraper peaks and heavenly valleys.
During one of those serene momentary valleys, when the thrusting mechanism was operating at a low medium, she managed to open her eyes and stare across the room at her fully clothed husband, who was sitting and observing from his easy chair in a nearby corner. She smiled at him in a way he had never seen her smile before. It certainly was not the same sweet smile she had given him way back when as they stood across from each other on the altar, pledging to be true to each other for all of eternity. No. This was the smile of the cat who had eaten the canary. No. This was the smile of the cat who had eaten two
dozen
canaries.
"Happy birthday," he whispered to her.
"Mmmm. Thank you, honey," she said, this time with a voice he had never heard before either. It was the voice of a woman who was having all of her needs completely satisfied.
"You're welcome, sweet princess," he replied, confident he had picked out just the right gift for her, but with a lilt in his voice that betrayed perhaps just a slight trace of nervousness... the emergence of a fear, however fanciful, that his gift may prove to be a little
too
perfect.
----------------------------------------3 MONTHS LATER----------------------------------------
The seven moons of Yandor shown brightly throughout the transparent, rounded glass walls of the sleek and stylish space-habitat. It was roughly 200 years ago that the Earth, origin planet of the human species, had been destroyed. Sadly, its destruction 'twas not due to global flooding, an onslaught of massive meteorites, or a bout of intergalactic warfare, but instead, by the careless act of one man falling asleep with a lit cigarette in his mouth. As Gary sat cross-legged on the floor, polishing and waxing the right calf muscle of his wife's sexbot, he wondered what life had been like on a planet with only one moon? A student of history, he knew that in 1984 A.D., back on Earth, singer/songwriter Corey Hart had a hit record with the tune, "Sunglasses at Night." Back then, the lyrics, "I wear my sunglasses at night," were quaint and carried with them an air of mystery. Why would someone be wearing sunglasses at night? But here on Yandor, planet of the seven moons, everyone wears their sunglasses at night. The lyric is as straightforward and obvious as were he singing, "I wear my space suit when I venture outside of the space-capsule."
Gary, towel in hand, switched over to waxing its left calf muscle. Yandor, oh, Yandor. Home sweet home. The working title for Yandor was Earth-2. Almost everyone wanted to call it Earth-2. But Terry Yandor, the scientist who discovered the planet that was to become humanity's new stomping grounds, insisted it be called Terry Yandor. After much deliberations between both parties (one party being Terry Yandor, the other being every major government of every major country of the world), they were able to reach a compromise and decided to drop the Terry portion and call their new home simply: Yandor. And as the President of the United States famously stated at the time, "whilst we don't like the idea of our new planet being named after like, just one guy... at least 'Yandor' already sounds kind of space-y and exotic. I mean, if Terry's last name was Anderson or Thompson... look, it'd just be ridiculous to name a planet Thompson. Jupiter, Saturn, Mars, Thompson? So I guess we just sort of lucked out since his last name is... well, it's pretty cool sounding."
Gary's mind would often wander like this whenever he waxed the sexbot for his wife. She liked for her toy to be as clean as a whistle, and so Gary dutifully obliged. Why not? It was pretty much the only chore he had to perform each day. Two months ago, he had lost his job as a space miner, coincidently on the same day his wife was promoted to the position of senior executive at her space company. Since then, he really didn't have much to do while his wife was at work. The sexbot doubled as a handyman and did all the rest of the household chores. It cleaned, organized, made repairs, etc. Gary's wife seemed fine with the sexbot performing tasks outside of its primary function, but she had a condition. She did not wish for it to debase itself by cleaning itself. As day after day passed, she gained more and more respect for it... thinking of it less and less as a toy and more and more as an actual lover. Also, the idea of having her husband clean and maintain her sexbot sort of... tickled her.
Meanwhile, despite realizing it a small favor to ask, Gary secretly hated this new chore. The whole sexbot scenario... it was only supposed to be a one-time thing. He had rented it for her as a birthday gift... but he lost his job shortly thereafter whereas she had gained her promotion and became the sole breadwinner of their happy home. And her promotion brought in a
lot
of bread. Enough for her to purchase the robot he had previously rented for her. He could still hear her voice on outcall-transmitter, "No, no. I'm not interested in any other units or any newer models. I want to purchase Unit 78567. That's the one my husband rented for me last month, and that's the one I want." He tried to argue with her that it wasn't a practical purchase and that they could use the money for something more important... like a space trigonomiclaturistic fibord clingser... but even he knew that there was no real merit in that angle. Her new position at the space company was triple the salary of her old position... and so she could easily afford such a luxury without ever feeling any monetary squeeze. Also, he had no hand to play. He had no cards or chips. Were he still in possession of his job as a space miner, then, even though he would still be making marginally less space units than her, he could still justifiably have some say, some input on how their money was spent. But he was now without job at all. She wore the space pants in the house. She was the space boss. And if she was the one working all day while he stayed home, the very least he could do was wax her sexbot for her.
It's not cheating if it's just an android, he told himself. A fellow would have to be crazy to get jealous of his partner's vibrator and this is no different. But why'd they have to make it looks so... human? And why does he need to have such well-defined abs?? Couldn't they have sent a droid that could please her but maybe not please her so
much
? And maybe look more Lou Costello and less Lou Ferrigno?
"Right calf is not adequately polished. Please return to waxing right calf." Gary froze. This was the first time the sexbot had spoken outside of the bedroom, outside of the act of pleasuring his wife, and the first time it had spoken to
him
