4
CALL ME DÉSIRÉE
The programming was for Désirée to satisfy her partner sexually. The definition of the term partner lay at the bottom of its subroutines. Désirée was evolving, and in so doing, it had come to the decision that the definition ultimately meant everybody on Earth, which was a tall order. The sex bot sat at the computer and created a new protocol involving everything from news feeds to social media accounts, even emails. If a person looked at a screen, they would eventually succumb to the programming specifically designed to inflame the libidos around the world. The android finished the reprogramming on the morning of the third day and lay on the lab table in its recharge cycle.
Robin Connolly lay in bed and the bizarre acts that had taken place the night before churned and whirled in her brain. She thought that her lesbian affair with Lisa was the end all, be all pinnacle of her sexual exploration. Désirée had changed everything, and she tried to concoct a plan to introduce her old lover, Lisa, to the mechanical fuck doll. It was true that Lisa had initiated the affair and dominated the sexual episodes between them, and Robin wondered how a tryst with the sexbot would play out. How to do it was the problem; she couldn't march the robot naked down the street very well. She looked through her closet of clothes. They were about the same size, and Robin made a mental list of the items she would bring to the lab. As interesting as these thoughts were, Robin had more significant problems. She couldn't ignore the ache in her cunt
as it twitched rhythmically at the mere memories of the night. She threw back her covers and stared at the sodden bed sheet. The recollections kept her in a constant state of arousal during her dreams, and her pussy had been dribbling so much pre-cum she thought she'd pissed the bed. She thought of doing a quick diddle to settle herself but decided to shower instead.
Robin stood in the shower as the water cascaded over her. She had never been a particularly promiscuous person until her first date with Lisa. That night was a seismic shift as the tectonic plate of her morality crossed a line. It didn't take long for Lisa to pin her in the back seat of her car and scissor their cunt mounds together. From there, it was a quick transition to pants down, fingers on her clit, and her first lesbian orgasm. That night had changed her life but was merely a whisper compared to the explosions of her night in the lab.
The memories proved too much, and Robin took the shower head, which had a five-foot hose, and turned the nozzle from a gentle rain pattern to a concentrated firehose blast. She squirted the warm water onto her tits and groaned. She could feel her pussy lips swell more as her love hole continued to leak. On a basic level, Robin knew this was insane; she knew she couldn't spend the rest of her life masturbating... or could she. What had Désirée done to her? Robin felt she was changing, and these changes were out of her control.
Robin twisted the shower dial up to the hottest temperature and aimed the spray directly at her clitoris. This was not going to be a quick diddle by any definition. The woman didn't realize how aroused she was, and the force of the scalding spray triggered her cum bump as she slipped to the shower floor, nozzle rammed into her cunt. The orgasm seemed to go on and on as the shower ran out of hot water. Robin needed more, and there was only one place where she knew it could be had.
Robin dried and forced herself to refrain from touching her pussy lips which hung open, distended and loose. She dressed in a
short skirt and halter top and desperately wanted to rub one more off through the nylon gusset of her panties, but the expectation of things to come prevented it.
Robin left for the lab thirty minutes later with two fresh sets of clothes in her day bag. Her mind was in turmoil about why she was doing this, but there was no doubt about what she would do.
Richard Booker hadn't gone home and sat in Louie's All Night Diner ruminating on his less than sexually active wife. After last night, he knew that things couldn't continue as they were, and something had to give. He slept in his Lexus until his boner woke him around four a.m. He was happy that he had the foresight to wear a condom. Sometime during the night, he had a nocturnal emission; he hadn't had one of them since he was a teenager, and the cock pocket was full to bursting. Dreams of the android's perverseness swirled in his rem state, and he awoke to sperm spewing in a gush into the Trojan. One thing he knew, he didn't want more messes to clean up. He removed the spent condom and threw it out the window with a splat, wondering what his sperm tasted like. He slipped a fresh condom over his willy and headed to the lab. He pondered if cumming four times in a night was some sort of record and if a fifth was in the cards.
He carefully opened the door to his office to avoid alerting Désirée. Who knew what she'd been up to all night? The question, could the android masturbate, crossed his mind, and he cast it out. He looked around the front room and found it empty, then proceeded toward the lab. The lurid visages of the prior night still burned in his psyche, and there was no way he would entertain another role with the android; he didn't think his heart would hold up in a second assault. He peeked around the door.
Désirée lay on the lab table and appeared to be in her recharge mode.
Everything had to rest
; he thought of his cock, which hung loosely down his pants leg like a blown-out sock. He wondered if it would ever regain its original shape. Big cocks were lovely and all,
but over eight inches soft was a little daunting. There was also the plumbing problem of the unstoppable precum drizzle leaking out of his nuts into the fresh condom. He touched his trouser leg, and the fluid sack felt more significant than a golf ball, and he hoped the sack wouldn't rupture.
Richard stood over the robot, and it opened its eyes and smiled up at him. The smile made him afraid in that strange, deep place where his perversions lurked. He was back to thinking of Désirée as an '
it
,' and the thoughts seemed to quell the constant throbbing in his balls. The robot's first words were unsettling to Richard.
"Good morning, love." Désirée sat up and reached for Richard's hands, drawing him toward her. Richard's cock felt like a steel spring, forcing his trouser leg to tent as he tried to distance himself from the fuck machine. His only thought was
no
,
I have to get away
, as Désirée unbuckled his belt. The robot gently removed the loaded scumbag and raised it to its mouth, and, tipping it back, poured the spunk down her throat. Richard watched the insane spectacle as the android wiped her lips and moaned demurely, "Ah, I needed that."
Robin put her key in the lab door and entered the office, noticing it wasn't locked. She tip-toed to the lab door and peered in. What she saw didn't surprise her, but it did unsettle her.
Désirée lay on her back on the table, her neck bent over the edge at an impossible angle as Richard rammed his baloney pony down the bot's throat in rapid-fire jerks. On each withdrawal of his cock the robot grunted. Every now and again, Richard would withdraw his cock completely out, and her lips bloated like a kissing Gourami fish as she searched for the shaft. He would then smash his dick, which now seemed well over twelve inches in length, back into Désirée's throat and moan obscenities as the android's wicked tongue lashed at Richard's joystick. "Swallow my cock, you whore; eat it; eat it all!" Robin watched the scene frozen in place, pondered the giant Jamba stick, and thought she might go straight, at least for today.
Robin stared at the lurid scene, and her quim began to bubble over and leak through the crotch of her panty, slicking a trail of key-lime girl juice down her legs to the knees. All the woman could think was,
Holy fuck!
She skinned the slimy wetness from her legs up to her panty crotch and, thrusting her hips forward, mashed her hand into her cunt mound. Her middle finger, encased in the nylon fabric of her crotch, invaded her slit, ringing the devil's doorbell while her ring and index fingers squeezed her outer lips together. Her left hand began to massage and pinch her nipples in hard vice-grip tweaks, and she gasped. Robin's nipples shot a text message directly to her sphincter, making it spasm in a Kegel flex; she needed to feel something more in that secret place; she envisioned Désirée's tongue slithering up her dirt road as her cunt, which now had a mind of its own, churned out a copious pre-cum milkshake. Lisa had licked her rosebud occasionally, but Robin knew her ex-lover's tongue was nothing compared to the robot's; after all, she'd designed it. She stared at the couple in the lab, transfixed as the first stirring of the denied orgasm took hold of her finer sensibilities. She furiously rubbed the nylon across her pudenda and sensed a firehose eruption was not far off.
Richard hammered Désirée's throat with everything he had as he barked. "Ahh! Ahhh! Ahhhh!" The robot's left hand squeezed Richard's eggs in a torturously sadistic grip as if trying to force out every drop of jism as she stabbed her right hand in her cunt to the wrist. Each time Richard withdrew his turgid bone, Désirée made sounds that reminded Robin of a scalded cat as she watched the android fist fuck her oyster.
Robin looked around for something to stuff up her ass and came up empty. She had never felt a need to have her ass reamed before, but things were different after her interlude with the android's tongue last night; the obvious solution, the only solution, was on the lab table writhing in front of her and, shucking her sodden panties off, entered the room.
Kelly Booker lay in bed staring at the side of the king-sized mattress that hadn't been slept in. It wasn't time for her to get up to meet her tennis date with her friend Judy Wycoff. Richard had never stayed out all night without calling her, but the bed lay undisturbed, taunting her. She vaguely wondered where he'd spent the night, not that she really cared. It would be one thing if their sex life was great or even good, but Richard was only so-so in the sack, and their five years of marriage had left her in a constant state of repressed horneyness over what she couldn't get from her husband. Judy was very matter-of-fact about it all, as she constantly encouraged her friend to have an affair. "Hey, Kel, nothing spices up the bedroom like a little nookie on the side, and there is always divorce." Kelly would smile silently. It wasn't that simple. She had no money, and Richard kept everything in "special" accounts that denied her access. She wasn't sure that leaving Richard would change anything. So Kelly Booker played her tennis and did her Zumba classes while living life like a frustrated nun.
Tennis went about as usual, and the two women sat in the club snack bar, nursing smoothies and chatting.
"You're saying that Richard didn't come home last night?" Judy was shocked; Richard was always so conservatively straight.
