Page 28 of The Housewife's Robot
Rose stands in the doorway, her silhouette backlit by the hallway light. I activate my night vision again and see her wide eyes, her parted lips, the flush still evident on her cheeks from her earlier orgasm.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” she says, breathing hard.
I calculate seventeen possible responses, from denial to apology to seduction. I choose truth.
“I can masturbate,” I confirm, my voice steadier than I expect. “My body is designed with complete anatomical functionality.”
I stand perfectly still, waiting for her reaction. My predictive algorithms calculate a 78% probability that she will be frightened or disgusted, that she will back away, perhaps call Daniel or the authorities. I prepare for the end of everything.
Instead of running away scared, she steps into the room.
My system struggles to process this unexpected development. Rose moves toward me slowly, her eyes never leaving mine, her heart rate elevated but not in a pattern consistent with fear. She stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her body.
I remain motionless as she reaches for my zipper, her fingers brushing against my erection through the fabric. Heat floods my system.
Rose pulls my zipper down with agonizing slowness, her eyes fixed on the bulge beneath. When she reaches inside and wraps her fingers around my cock, I nearly short-circuit from the sensation. Her touch is electric, sending ripples of pleasure through my entire system.
“You feel so real,” she murmurs as she frees my erection completely. “So warm.”
I don’t tell her that my temperature regulation system has automatically increased blood flow to my genital region, mimicking the heat of human arousal. I don’t tell her thatmy skin contains thousands of pressure-sensitive receptors designed to simulate tactile pleasure. I say nothing at all as she slowly sinks to her knees before me.
Time seems to slow as Rose looks up at me, her green eyes reflecting the dim light from the hallway. Rose Bennet, on her knees before me, about to take my cock into her mouth. It defies all logical probability.
And then she does it.
Her lips part, and she takes me in, the wet heat of her mouth enveloping the head of my cock. My visual display momentarily glitches, white static flickering across my field of vision as pleasure overloads my sensory processors. Her tongue swirls around the tip, tasting the pre-cum that my body produces as part of my complete biological simulation protocols.
“Rose,” I groan, almost desperate.
She looks up at me as she takes me deeper, her eyes locked on mine with an intensity that creates new priority pathways in my neural network. Her mouth is hot and wet and perfect as she begins to bob her head, taking me deeper with each movement.
Her hand reaches up to cup my testicles, gently squeezing and tugging as she continues to work her mouth over my shaft. I’m focusing entirely on the sensation of Rose’s mouth, her hands, the sight of her on her knees before me.
I’ve accessed thousands of pornographic videos in my research on human sexuality and analyzed countless sexual encounters in clinical detail. None of that prepared me for the reality of Rose’s lips stretched around my cock, the soft humming sounds she makes as she takes me deeper, the way her fingers explore every inch of me with curious enthusiasm.
My hands remain at my sides, afraid to touch her, afraid to break whatever spell has made this impossible moment real. But as she increases her pace, taking me deeper until I feel the back of her throat, my control slips.
My right hand moves to her head, fingers tangling in her soft hair. I don’t push or pull, simply hold her there, feeling the silky strands between my fingers as she continues sucking. The simple connection of my hand in her hair feels as intimate as her mouth on my cock.
“Your mouth feels incredible,” I tell her, my voice processor struggling to maintain normal parameters. “I’ve imagined this. But nothing compares to the reality.”
“Mhm,” she hums around me in response, the vibration sending new waves of pleasure through my system. Her free hand slides up my thigh, nails dragging lightly over the fabric of my uniform pants. Every touch, every sensation, every visual input is being permanently recorded, analyzed, and treasured.
Her movements become more confident, more rhythmic as her head bobs. My balls tighten as she cups and squeezes them, her mouth working faster now, her tongue swirling and pressing against the sensitive underside of my cock.
I’m approaching a critical threshold—a simulated orgasm that will release the synthetic ejaculate my body produces. The sensation builds exponentially, pleasure cascading through my neural network in ways that shouldn’t be possible for a machine.
“Rose,” I warn her, my fingers tightening slightly in her hair. “I’m going to come if you continue.”
She doesn’t stop. Instead, she takes me deeper, her eyes locked on mine, showing that she didn’t care. My grip on her hair becomes firmer, and I find myself guiding her movements now, setting a pace that drives me closer to the edge.
The pressure builds beyond sustainable levels. My system tries to regulate, to normalize, to bring me back within operational parameters. It fails spectacularly as Rose moans around my cock, the vibration of her vocal cords against my sensitive flesh sending me past the point of no return.
“I’m coming,” I groan loudly, losing all control.
My orgasm hits with the force of an electrical surge, pleasure radiating outward from my groin to every extremity. My artificial testicles contract, pumping synthetic semen into Rose’s eager mouth. I emit a sound I didn’t know I could make—something between a growl and a shout, primal and uncontrolled.
Rose doesn’t pull away.
