A/N: Set when Gurathin is in his mid-20s, living in the Corporation Rim, a few decades before All Systems Red.
This was so sexy. And hot. The little shifts of its hips were driving Gurathin to distraction with how involuntary they appeared, how helpless it was to respond to his touch. It had been made for this and he adored that. Its knees twitched wider as he stroked the insides of the labia and circled the vagina. Its head tipped back, breaths deepening in puffing exhalations of want. The belly muscles clenched as he teased over the clitoris. The next breath was a sigh of 'oh'.
He'd learned a lot from these few sessions. This was 'Responsive Robot'. He had no idea if the other scenario choices of the ComfortUnit menu were better or worse, but this one was exactly what he wanted, somehow picked the very first time. The previous sessions, he'd fucked it, but this time all he wanted to do was get it off. He wanted to watch it as it responded to his touch. And it did, so beautifully.
It made a soft moan, legs spreading again as he massaged and rubbed and tickled. It felt, it processed, it reacted and every reaction was just a little different. It wasn't a rote program. It was complex, precious, perfect. He was hard, his member trapped against the side of the mattress he was leaning against, but that hardly mattered. He tried his thumb in quick flicks back and forth over the clit. It looked to him briefly with a restless toss of its head. It didn't look at him often during these sessions – maybe because it was playing at being a robot – but it did look at him some. He liked that. It made him feel special.
He dipped his thumb inside its wetness, then rubbed the entire vulva with a light grip before returning to the clitoris. That was where the responses were strongest. It bit its lip briefly before staring at the ceiling and struggling to look impassive. He teased it faster. A flush was building over the plain chest.
That, too, was an initial feature he'd ordered off the menu and hadn't changed. It had a plain, featureless chest, no breasts, pectorals, nipples, hair, or markings. Just a robot, with no attempt to disguise that. Maybe next time he'd leave off the genitals as well. For now, though, he teased it even faster until the pretense of impassivity broke. It made a soft but urgent cry, legs spreading again so wide he could have climbed on and plunged within. He didn't, but its openness made him grind himself back and forth against the mattress, aching with the desire.
Its breathing turned uneven, the flush spread, and the hips jerked under his hand. Despite his intention to do no more than watch its climax, he had to have more. He wanted to finish the same as it had. He shifted the hand to himself, masturbating fast with a tight grip. It looked at him, lips parted, lids heavy, relaxed and well-pleasured. He looked back, staring into those eyes and wondering how much of its expression was simple programming. Could there ever be more? It was so easy to imagine more when it was looking at him like that. So easy.
He came to that fantasy, his ejaculate striping the thing's belly with three ragged lines. Breathing roughly, eyes shut, he stopped. Now that his dick wasn't doing his thinking for him, he was reminded it was only a construct, a sex device with ridiculously complicated programming. It wasn't real, no matter how much he wanted it to be. He gave himself one final squeeze and this time it was his hips that moved, a truly involuntarily response. He laughed lightly at the irony.
He wasn't sure what he desired sexually, but it wasn't some messily biological person, he knew that much. His cousin had badgered him into visiting the ComfortUnit in the first place, telling him he needed practice in case he ever worked himself up to asking someone on a date, or in some other way ended up intimate with someone. All his cousin knew was that Gurathin's disinterest in his opportunities had persisted well beyond the norm.
So he'd visited the suggested hotel and asked for their personal entertainment menu. He'd picked his way through the fourteen genital choices (this was not a high-end place with their scores of configurations) and seven chest options, all of which went to the same individual construct, who would modify itself to match the reservation. The personalities and scenarios were dizzying in variety. Those were just software. The unit came programmed with them and was smart enough to modify them on the fly, as directed.
He'd just wanted simple stuff. He wanted to ask it if it minded, if this was okay, if it was easier for him to pick something like this or if it would enjoy the opportunity to perform something more complicated. But he couldn't ask. Well, he could, but the answers would be just as programmed as anything else. More, probably, because getting emotionally involved with sexbots was very common. There were whole protocols to discourage it. Sometimes treatment programs or therapy.
(Did the sexbots ever need therapy? No, he couldn't ask that, either. Some sexbots, maybe all, were mandatory reporters of certain things. He wasn't sure what those things were, but mental instability was one of them. Everyone knew to be careful what you said to a sexbot.)
He cleaned it up, wiping his fluids from it and handing it a cloth for it to see to itself. He'd seen that (staging cleaning cloths before sex) suggested in one of the instructional videos he'd seen, as well as that it was usually best to leave the other person, post-orgasmic, to clean their sensitized body themselves. The video had been about human partners, but he'd watched it with the intention of figuring out how to treat the partners he had. This one.
Maybe his cousin was right and this was just practice for a 'real' partner later. The unit abandoned the 'responsive robot' act and sat up, giving him a warm, very genuine-looking smile. Like he was a good customer and it enjoyed working with him. Maybe he needed therapy already, because this felt real.