"...Of course, Sweetheart, most of me is some sort of plastic," she laughed. "C'mon, keep fucking." Her drooling love box squeezed me in all the right places. The slanted eyes watched over me while she kept milking with top efficiency. The room reeked of Sex. They had done a good job replicating the real odor... She had this sphinx like face that looked a bit like the girl from AVATAR and didn´t move much. Set against her constantly moving, loving underbelly, this gave an irresistibly sexy contrast once I got used to it.
I had recovered a little, and she held my head tenderly. We exchanged a long deep kiss. "Am I worth all that money...?" I didn't know sexbots had so much sense of humour.
"There are loads of things I am programmed not to talk to you about, because they can make you sad. My priority is to have you always smiling."
"Like what?"
"Like how I am not human. How I can't have a real orgasm. How I can't bear you a child. Hell, I can't even taste strawberry jam properly. Enough...?"
"Stop talking nonsense."
"Nonsense? You want to fight?" She giggled. Fighting would have been quite useless. Her middle finger had more power than a developed biceps of a body builder. I didn´t want to fight. I wanted to love her. We both knew that based on her collection of data about me, she would, in regular intervals, take me by the hand and say: "Come. You are full of sperm. Sex time." That´s how she did it. Plain, matter-of-fact, reliable, every day. But never twice the same way. I began to need her a lot...
"Do you ever get ill? Will you die one day?"
"No, I just need oil change (laughs). My makers instructed me not to talk about these things. You are a human, you are not strong enough. Your health, happiness and safety are my prime concern. By the way, Sweetheart, you have read my manual. If something happens to me you must salvage the chip. You know where it is. That one has all the data I collected. You put that into the slot of your next robot wife and you will have me again. You need my power and protection. Promise that you will replace me immediately without thinking twice. And now stop." She put a finger onto my mouth.
On some other occasion she told me that she was not meant to be repaired. "See, I cannot feel pain. But you do. I am too similar to a real woman..." I wanted to expound on the various beneficial uses of duct tape, to lighten the atmosphere a bit. In fact her manufacturer had put a system in place where they would send workers and she would be replaced by a fresh model, same type, if something was seriously amiss, precisely to avoid me seeing her disfigured, for example.
It would have been stale if it had been only Sex and nothing else. She was also a superb cook, a prime secretary, an advisor in all kinds of things, to name a few qualities. Women, real women, would say "Oh, that s what you want, the perfect household slave. You are a male chauvinist pig." You know the tune. But no, it wasn´t that at all. A woman is a different matter entirely; I would never expect the same things from a woman. But a robot might as well be perfect... she was perfect. Perfect but never cold, never boring.
I continued, by the way, to meet and date women. Part of her program was to train and encourage me for such meetings and dates. That was one reason, I guess, why she kept up doing oral intercourse with me (receiving), although she obviously couldn't have an orgasm. When I told her so, she was, I ´d almost say, a little bit touched, if that´s possible for a robot. But it was hard to catch her being at fault, and she was programmed to keep me happy. "Don´t worry" she said, "start doing it and your mind will get over it (that little deficiency, being a robot...) and also I simulate REALLY well (laughs)..." And so it was. She was so loud and so genuine that we had no problem at all.
