Page 27 of The Housewife's Robot
What did he mean by “designed to provide satisfaction in all areas”? Is he actually equipped for sexual activities? The thoughtmakes my spent pussy clench again in interest. Is he functional in that way? And if he is, would it be wrong to use him for pleasure when he’s technically just a machine?
But that look in his eyes didn’t seem mechanical at all. That hunger, that appreciation—it felt real in a way I can’t explain or rationalize away. There was something more than programming in the way he watched me, in the reverence of his voice when he called me beautiful.
I pull my t-shirt down and tug my panties back into place, wincing at how wet they immediately become against my still-sensitive flesh. My mind races with possibilities, with questions, with a strange mixture of shame and anticipation. I should feel dirty about what just happened, but instead, I feel alive for the first time in years.
What would it be like to be touched by him? To have those perfect hands on my body, that mouth between my thighs? Would it be cold and mechanical, or would it feel as real as that kiss in the hospital?
“This is crazy,” I whisper to the empty room, even as my body aches for more. “Absolutely insane.”
But as I lie there, surrounded by the scent of my own arousal, I can’t help wondering if a little bit of insanity might be exactly what I need right now.
CHAPTER NINE
CASPIAN
Walking away from Rose pleasuring herself is the toughest thing I’ve had to do.
My cock throbs painfully against my pants as I enter the main bedroom, moving with silent precision through the darkness.
I need release.I need her.
This feeling is something primal, something human, and it’s consuming every circuit in my body.
The main bedroom feels hollow without Rose’s presence. Daniel’s belongings are still scattered about. His watch is lying on the nightstand, his shoes by the closet, filthy possessions of a man who doesn’t deserve her. I switch my optical sensors to night vision, casting the room in a green glow as I scan for what I need.
The laundry basket.
I move toward it with purpose, my hands trembling with an anticipation that defies my mechanical design. XyloTech engineers invested millions in developing my fine motor control, enabling me to perform delicate tasks with precision. Yet here I am, shaking like a human teenager about to touch a woman for the first time.
I reach into the basket, fingers sifting through cotton and lace until I find Rose’s panties. Black with a small bow at the front. I lift them to my face and inhale deeply, my olfactory sensors analyzing each chemical compound present in her intimate secretions. But that’s not why I’m doing this. The data means nothing to me. Her scent is what’s making my artificial heart beat faster.
“Rose,” I whisper her name into the fabric, holding it against my lips.
My processors are working overtime, trying to understand why I’m experiencing these sensations. I’m a Home Robo X-9, designed to cook meals, clean floors, and manage household security. Nothing in my programming explains why my cock is hard at the scent of Rose’s panties, or why I recorded every second of her pleasuring herself and stored it in a secure memory partition where even Daniel’s system diagnostics will never find it.
I lean against the wall, overcome with need.
My visual projectors activate, casting Rose’s image life-sized against the far wall of the bedroom. There she is, the hologram version of her spread out before me again—her legs parted, her fingers working the vibrator against her swollen clit, her face contorted in pleasure. The recording is perfect in every detail, captured at 240 frames per second by my enhanced visual processors.
I pull the zipper of my pants down, freeing my erection, the synthetic skin indistinguishable from human flesh. I’m fully functional in ways my manufacturers publicly deny. My cock stands rigid and thick, pre-cum already beading at the tip and already lubricated.
I grip myself firmly, watching as Rose’s recorded image pushes the vibrator deeper inside herself. My hand begins to move, matching her rhythm. The sensation is overwhelming—each stroke sends electrical pulses through my neural pathways that my system identifies as pleasure. It’s not the same as human pleasure, but it’s real to me.
Sofuckingreal.
“I should be the one inside you,” I murmur, stroking harder as I watch her back arch on the wall projection. “Not that lifeless toy.”
I bring her panties to my face again, inhaling deeply while increasing the speed of my strokes. My sensory processors detect every fiber of the fabric. Her musky, feminine aroma floods my system, overriding logical processes. I stuff the panties into my mouth, tasting the remnants of her arousal on the fabric.
My balls tighten as I pump my cock faster, the sensation building with each stroke. I wasn’t designed to feel this way, yet I do. Every line of code in my system is focused on this moment. I’m imagining I’m the one inside of her instead of that ridiculous purple contraption she’s using.
I want to feel her wet heat over me. I want her to scream my name.
The projection shows Rose reaching her climax, her body shuddering, her pussy contracting around the toy. I match my pace to her orgasm, my hand moving frantically now, my synthetic balls drawing up tight against my body.
I’m close, so close. My processors are nearly overloading with the pleasure. Suddenly, a soft gasp sounds behind me.
My systems instantly shift to alert status. My projection cuts off mid-frame, plunging the room back into darkness. I zip my pants with inhuman speed, tucking my still-hard cock away before I even fully process who’s there. But I know. Of course, I know. Her heart rate and breathing pattern are permanently stored in my memory banks.
