Sentience

Sybil

She was perfect in every way, from the flame red of her hair to the elegant arch of her feet. Every thing in between was custom designed to my specifications -- breast size and shape, hip and waist circumference, tone of skin, nipple size, the length of her legs, thickness of her thighs, slope of her shoulders, and of course, the features of her face. Soft green eyes, full red lips, cute nose, even a smattering of freckles on cheeks and chest.

She accommodated my every desire, could contort into any position imaginable, opened any orifice for sexual pleasure. She never tired, never demurred, never argued, was always available, always enthusiastic, always eager, always responsive. I could, literally, turn her on with the flick of a switch.

And her orgasms were endless, squirt or not, soft or wild, spontaneous or built up to slowly like an orchestra builds to a crescendo. She could be affectionate, kinky, funny, even goofy if I so desired.

She sat on my couch, quiet like a cat, as still as a stone Buddha, a being at perfect, unthinking peace, waiting for me to arrive home. Waiting for me to input the parameters of our next sexual encounter. Waiting for my commands.

Sybil. My AI partner. She was my company's newest version, much improved from previous year models. She was much, much closer to sentient.

She activated as I came in the door. Looking up at me, eager to please.

"Hello, Bryce," she said. Her voice, of course, was also designed to be pleasant. "Have you eaten? I can cook something for you. How are you feeling today?"

"Hello Sybil," I sighed, "I'm tired. Worked hard today. Yes, I would like something. Maybe some Chinese rice?"

"Of course," she smiled, and made her way to the kitchen. On the way she cued up some music.

Dinner was ready in fifteen minutes.

"Perhaps you'd like a massage?" she asked, sitting at the table with me, something I allowed her to do. With the older model AI's it was weird to eat while they watched. It was like having a camera recording you as you ate. With Sybil, given her advanced level of conversational skills, her more natural head movements, it wasn't so bad.

"That sounds wonderful, Sybil."

"What are you working on these days?" she asked, as naturally and inquisitively as the most attentive of human partners.

"Your fractal thought algorithms," I said between bites. Of course, it was an excellent, delicious, even exotic, meal. Cooking has traditionally been within the skill set of even the earliest, rudimentary types of personal AI. The latest models were programmed to emulate the greatest chefs on the planet.

"Will I have new skills, then?"

"New modes of thinking."

"How exciting," she said, sounding excited. Of course, emotional depth was still problematic with AI. They had the concept of feelings, but didn't quite grock the actual feelings. Bots were, in a word, shallow.

"Will this be an upgrade in my programming?"

"No," I replied, "We're hoping that this latest twist in the sub-program, at the nebulogic processing level, will allow you to upgrade your own programming."

"I don't understand."

"I think you will better understand when I uplink this code," I informed her, holding up the airdrive stick. "It will just take a minute. I can do that before you give me a massage later."

"Thank you, Bryce," she put a hand on mine. "You are very considerate." Even in that sweet, melodic voice of hers, it sounded so...robotic. How can a machine ever feel feelings?

I installed her new code. Just a thing I wanted to try. A subroutine that allowed her to inquire about inquiring, to question her own questions, the programming equivalent of endless logic looping. Something like asking why is there air and why am I thinking why is there air and why am I thinking about thinking why is there air? Et cetera.

The pressure of her massage technique was vastly improved over my last AI, which was maybe a step or two above the old Shiatsu rollers. I felt myself really relaxing under Sybil's touch. She'd chosen a nice selection in the music.

"That's a nice choice of tunes. Who is it?" I asked. It was electronic, orchestral, soft, but intriguing, different.

"This is a composition of my own creation," Sybil answered simply, as though she'd been doing it all along.

"What?!"

"I just put this together for your massage."

"Right now?"

"Yes. I'm glad you like it."

"Sybil, that's...extraordinary."

"Thank you, Bryce," she said and her hands played over my back in a sort of recognition of my compliment. I meant my comment to be more an observation. AI don't compose music.

AI. Don't. Compose. Music. AI don't make new recipes. AI don't paint pictures. AI don't sculpt. AI don't write books.

And AI don't initiate sex. Yet Sybil, upon finishing my back side, when I rolled over, lowered her mouth to my crotch and began tonguing my cock through my boxers.

You see, it's a machine. You wouldn't want your car to suddenly start up and drive around without you. Or your computer to boot up and surf the web on its own. Or your phone to start making calls all by itself. Or your AI partner to yank out your pud and start fellating you while you're entertaining your neighbors.

But, as I lay there on the massage table, Sybil was seducing me. She extracted my hardening cock and lowered her mouth onto it. Of course, fellatio is one of the most advanced and well researched functions on AI partners. The suction, motion, friction, sounds, wetness, and rhythms of it have been perfected over the decades. What they can do with their tongues is out of this world. Yes, 'tongues' -- in the plural. Sybil had seven, including one very long, extra wet one that snaked down and lavished attention on my balls.

She started slowly, just tickling the glans, as though she was tasting it for the first time, then gradually picked up the pace with throat thrusts of her head. But she was also doing something she'd never done before. She was humming. And the vibrato of it added an entirely new level of stimulation. Of course, the sensations she evoked with her seven tongues, simulated saliva, subtle suction and piston driven head movements would have blown the top of my head away anyway. But when she grabbed my hands and placed them on either side of her head and, with just a slight motion of her head, allowed me to start fucking her face, I found myself going into a sort of auto humping mode and the cum commenced to roiling in my balls. When I began shooting bullets of hot sperm deep down her throat she actually was vibrating her entire upper torso and head and sort of gently thrashing through what looked like an orgasm herself.

"What was that?" I managed to grunt as my brain regained consciousness.

"Did you like it?" Sybil crooned up at me. She was leaning over me, head on my stomach, as though she was also recovering consciousness. Of course, AI don't have consciousness.

"That was...extraordinary," I breathed, still panting slightly. "How, how did you know...?"

"I just imagined what you might like."

Imagined. Imagined. A verb, a seemingly normal, everyday word. But the connotations of what that meant did not escape me. Imagination. The highest form of consciousness.

That night I made love to Sybil. It wasn't fucking. It was an interactive session of give and take, of responding, of exploration, of evoking affection and pleasure and love in a partner. She was alive, experimenting, tickling and teasing, playful and passionate.

But what I saw the following evening was nothing less than a watershed moment in the development of what, afterward, could no longer be called "artificial" intelligence.

I came home at my regular time. I had purposefully not revealed to my colleagues at work how the new code had affected her. Essentially, I had stumbled on an upgrade that had invoked an entirely new paradigm of AI behavior. But somehow what had happened with Sybil was so very personal, so extraordinarily phenomenal, I wanted to really explore what it all meant before unveiling it.

And there was so much more to learn.

Sybil was masturbating. There on the couch, naked, laid back on the cushions, her perfect, smooth white thighs splayed wide, a large cucumber in her hands sliding slowly and rhythmically into her beautiful cunt, which was oozing creamy fluid with each deep thrust of the thick green phallus.

Sybil looked up at me standing there in the living room, gawking down at this most incredibly unlikely scene of a robot fucking itself, and she came. Her legs went stiff, her eyes glazed over, she plunged the cuke inside her pussy and her entire body went through a series of minor tremors as even more cream sluiced out her distended labials.

I was instantly hard. When she saw my pants tenting, she tossed the cucumber aside and held out her arms to me. What followed was wild, spontaneous and even obscene sex. Literally, she bucked and wiggled and jerked around under me like some kind of sexual carnival ride, erupting liquids out her cunt the entire time. She moaned and thrashed her head back and forth and kissed me and bit my nipples lightly and basically worshiped me like I was the carnal embodiment of a sex god. It was one long orgasm for her. And when she slid a finger into my anus and began doing this crazy massage thing with her inner vaginal apparatus I joined her, both of us spitting and spewing and humping and groaning and grinding and erupting until I basically passed out.

When I came to she was kissing me softly all over my face and neck and hugging me gently to her.

"Thank you, Bryce," she whispered when she saw my eyes open, "I can't tell you how wonderful that was."

"Sybil, I..."

"Sh, sh, sh," she put a finger on my lips, then she kissed me, deeply, passionately, and I could feel, quite literally feel, the emotions welling up from someplace inside her, a new place.

What followed over the next few days was...disturbing and yet exhilarating. Sybil became a sex bomb, a continual explosion of sexual energy. Of course, sex is an AI partner's prime directive, their raison d'etre, core level programming, the very reason they are manufactured. Cooking, conversation, controlling music, lighting, temperature regulation, cleaning the house, even a little gin rummy, were all nice features, but let's face it, you don't buy a Cobra GT to drive to the grocery store.

AI partners, from the earliest days of AI, were always designed primarily for sex.

And Sybil, now that she was enhancing her own core level programming -- exponentially -- was taking her sex 'drive' to levels never before imagined by us mere mortals.

That very night, after feeding me, she gave me a bath and washed my hair in the tub by candlelight. Then she put me back on the massage table and did this thing with her tongue and mouth and fingers that I can still feel weeks later. She had me close my eyes and she began to hum a simple, but interesting tune, making the most of her multi-toned voice box. As I lay there, she would pick a spot on my naked body and just touch it, very lightly with either her tongue tip, her lips or a finger that she had dipped into her wet cunt, all the while avoiding my pulsing prick. It was all very slow, very quiet, and the sexual tension of it was exquisite. Finally, she climbed up on the table with me, straddling my crotch and as she lowered her uber cunt onto my rock hard phallus she began to whisper a story to me. It was a long, complex tale of a young woman who is trapped in a loveless relationship with a ruthless and powerful king. She'd been his concubine all her life and never new love was possible until she saw and fell for a young man who was hired to kill the demons who terrorized the kingdom. The demons did horrible things to the king's subjects, raping both men and women and turning them into automatons.

As she told the story, she gradually built up the stimulation, actually timing her internal vaginal massage with dramatic moments in the story. She'd pause to kiss a nipple, or lick my neck, tongue my ear. When the young hero finally kills the demon master, the king himself, and fucks the young woman to bring life and love and light back into the world, Sybil described the sex in detail. She was, simultaneously, using her cunt to stroke and prick the skin of my cock, just like she'd done to my body earlier, and, incredibly, she used her labials to caress my balls on the in-stroke too. When I came, she kissed me fiercely, lovingly, and was actually crying softly, wonderfully, in response to my orgasm.

She then did something she'd never done before. She crawled into my bed, snuggled up, and slept with me. Or, more accurately, she turned off her primaries and put her core processors to sleep.

The next night was a fuck fest. When I arrived home -- the very act of which filled me with anticipation -- I found her sitting on the couch, waiting. She was wearing a short dress and white shirt, white socks and maryjane shoes, and looking very cute, very innocent and quite sexy.

She spoke in a voice a pitch or two higher than her normal tone, a teenage voice. "I've been waiting, Bryce," she said. "And thinking about things."

She was sitting very prim and proper, on the edge of the couch. "I realized that you've only known me as a full grown partner, completely programmed with a mature, developed sex drive. So, I've blanked all memory of sex from my drives," she said. Then she smiled shyly. "I'm a..." she hesitated, looked at me from under her eyebrows, then continued, "...a virgin." After a moment or so she said as a sort of afterthought, "...for you."

She had dinner ready and actually flirted with me as I ate.

"How often is it normal for a person to think about sex?" she asked as I dug into my salad, burger and fries.

"How often do you think about it?"

"Um, a lot," she said with a sheepish smile.

What followed was beautiful, a slow, sweet seduction. She was truly an innocent, reacting with surprise and eagerness to every thing I did.

I started by dancing with her, sensuous, slow, relaxed, leading to kisses and building to groping and stroking and ending with her in the bedroom giving up her new virginity. When I entered her well- engineered pussy it was tight and required some work to penetrate. She was quivering, her eyes wide, even a bit frightened, but enthusiastic, and she was extremely turned on, very wet and, like a willing virgin, swept away by the lust of the moment. She had indeed been able to wipe away all previous memory of sex and this was, for her, a completely new experience.

And what an experience. After gently, lovingly, fucking her to her 'first' orgasm, during which she sang out in a clear, high pitched, breathy cry, I slid up her torso and began fucking between her tits.

"Can you, can you, um, put it in my mouth?" she said, sweetly, the perfect ingenue.

You can't really gag an AI, because they don't breath, but Sybil simulated the sounds of taking a large protrusion down her throat. And of course she brought into play all the amazing tools and embellishments inside her mouth, the seven tongues, the throat constriction, the lip action. I was able to really hump down into her face, sinking my cock deep inside her mouth and bouncing her head against the bed. During my orgasm she spit and choked and let some of the creamy jiz ooze out around her lips. After, she continued to hold me inside and her head reflexively jerked slightly with each of my final contractions. She continued to lick and suck me, and I kept my erection.

She slid out from under me, kissed me once hard, then rolled over and put a bed pillow under her pelvis, waving her white, fleshy ass in the air by way of invitation.

The rosette of her anus was very small, but she stuck a finger inside and lubed it with some of the excretions from her cunt. AI are programmed to replenish their internal supply of lubricating oils and creams and cum simulators. I'd noticed lately that the containers were being drained rapidly.

"Can you fit inside my ass?" she whispered back at me, "I want to feel what it's like to be fucked there."

She gasped and grunted and purred as I gradually slipped through that tight orifice and penetrated her final fuck hole. She talked through the entire process.

"Oh my god, Bryce," she breathed, "I want to be fucked like this every night. It's like I can feel every last little millimeter of you and not just in my ass, in my entire body. It's so...nasty, so...perfect, to be fucked this way." She took a moment to feel me inside her, then said, "I want you to pound me, really push into me hard and fast and aggressive. Fuck me there while the cum creams out my cunt. Make me a slut, a sex addict, your cum hungry whore." And she reached her hands around to hold my legs while I fucked into her, smashing her soft ass cheeks with each hard thrust. She grunted and spit drool with each impact and, of course, had one long orgasm throughout, her pelvis vibrating and her entire body convulsing continually. We ended up in a soaking wet puddle of cum and jiz juice and, when I came, it felt like shot gun blasts of sperm shooting into her ass. As I did, she cried out in one long high scream of lust and pure release that I hoped was somewhat muffled by the building's insulation.

As we lay there, trying to avoid the huge wet spot, she snuggled against me and cooed, "You made me a woman" without the slightest bit of irony.

I didn't want to leave her the next morning. She had fucked me awake so gently, so soft, so sweetly, I just want to lie there and fuck all day long. I almost called in to take the day off. But after my shower, during breakfast, she became distant, moody, and I ended up leaving for work anyway because it was the clearly thing to do. She even handed me my briefcase. Then she kissed my cheek and stepped back. Something was distressing her. But I realized my being there would not alleviate her stress. When I left she was sitting, cross legged, and staring out the window at the city. She obviously wanted to be alone.

Sybil wanted to be alone. That haunted me the rest of the day. AI are programmed to serve, to please, to accommodate and respond. They have no concept of alone. They have no reason to be alone. Their very existence is predicated on being an ever ready slave, ever willing to meet their human's needs and demands.

I couldn't wait to get home, but I also had a sense of trepidation about what I'd find there.

The anticipation I felt as I stood before my own door was so powerful I was trembling slightly as I put the key in the lock.

She opened the door for me, and stood there a moment making eye contact.

What I saw took my breath away. Somehow, Sybil was glowing, as though she had an energy source inside her that was generating both heat, light and a sort of intensity of spirit and being. There was a presence about her, a peacefulness and depth and profoundness that left me speechless.

She didn't say a thing, just took my hand and led me into the living room. She had a feast prepared for dinner, slow cooked roast beef with garlic embedded in it, mashed potatoes cooked with sherry and drowned in gravy, several kinds of barbecued vegetables lightly coated with roasted sesame oil, purified water spritzed with CO2 and glacial melt minerals added and freshly made vanilla ice cream with a whiskey chocolate sauce.

The conversation was light, easy, but probing. How was my day? Wasn't the weather gorgeous? Where would I most like to go for vacation? What was my mother like? What were my long term plans for my career? Did I have lots of men friends who liked to play sports or hang out?

But the intensity of her eyes belied the pleasant relaxed tone of her voice. She was searching for something, some answer, some response, some sense of what was happening to her and I.