Unusual Benefits

Share your fembot fiction and fantasies here or discuss the craft of writing by asking for or giving suggestions.
Post Reply
User avatar
mister_minations
Posts: 101
Joined: Sat Jul 11, 2020 2:13 pm
Technosexuality: Built
Identification: Human
Gender: Male
x 9
x 60
Contact:

Unusual Benefits

Post by mister_minations » Fri May 07, 2021 4:28 pm

https://www.fembotwiki.com/index.php?ti ... l_Benefits

Image

"Okay, I guess that makes sense, but you still didn't tell me where the keys were."

"Keys? What keys?"

"Well, the whole point of this conversation was to figure out where the keys were. I kind of need them to undo the handcuffs."

"Kid, I already told you. I looked around, and there weren't no handcuffs."

"When you say 'looked around', do you mean 'searched every inch of the room carefully'? Because I have the strange impression that this is more the 'casual glance-over' kind of looking around."

The gruffy old man awards me a similarly gruffy noise of mild amusement. "Looks like you finally got a sense of humor, kid. Good to see that the old boulevard's been growing on you."

He jokingly sort of turns around, well aware that the other customers are watching, and whispers rather ostentatiously in my ear.

"Between the two of us, I still have no idea how she gets into half the things she does. You can't even lock those kinds of handcuffs without at least two people, and she's pretty much the only person around in the evenings. If you want, I have an old hacksaw somewhere out back. Bit rusty, but I have a few hands I can spare--"

"Sheesh, I don't think we need to get THAT desparate."

"Okay, but when you inevitably manage to cuff yourselves together, I'm completely absolved of all legal responsibilities".

We share a laugh, and I'm left to my business.

It's been a few weeks on Burnbarrel's Boulevard, and life is good. I mean, I can see why they tell stories about this place, but it's not really that bad when you know how things work. Everyone needs repairs, and I'm really enjoying some of the clients.

I mean, it's probably obvious that I pick favorites. She was the first one I met, and I've since then become one of her regulars. Seems like every few days I'd get a call for some problem or another, and I'm pretty sure she does it on purpose. I know I should be annoyed because some of her problems actually get pretty serious, but I really can't bring myself to do anything but look forward to these visits.

Speaking of the problems, they are legitimately annoying to deal with. As it turns out, a lot of the folks here are a bits of that and bobs of this, but her bits and bobs are more "bit" than "bob", a phrase which I'm pretty sure means something to someone other than me. Regardless, her chassis was clearly designed as some sort of cheap, disposable escort, but, over the years, a number of auxilary odds and ends were installed to drastically extend her lifespan by several magnitudes. However, owing to reasons outside the understanding of the average layman, several of those modules were somehow routed directly through her existing ports and interfaces, meaning even basic things like balance and stablity are handled by her sexual programming.

This, obviously, has some very strange consequences.

One occurred as I was trying to load up her terminal (taking care to first check for fireworks or another one of her "pranks"). The immediate problem seemed to be another round of blown fuses and a burnt-out power cell, but, from experience, there's usually some other problem that won't appear unless she's turned on for a few minutes. As a strong believer in experience, I did just that. Because her startup sequence tends to take a while, I decided to grab some extra towels in case something happened. Foresight must be my new strong suite, perhaps even on-par with comedic timing, because she only started her uniquely embarassing set of glitches when I was at the maximum possible distance away from her.

Again, I wasn't in viewing distance when it happened, so I only saw the aftermath, which consisted of a large puddle and a gynoid collapsed in a twitching heap. Even though I've been with her long enough, the really drunk subsection of the clientele was all too eager to unleash a torrent of smut and purple prose befitting several poorly-written erotic novels. On the other hand, the regulars were far less impressed, motioning not-to-discretely for me to move our hapless friend somewhere with a more restricted splash zone.

I'm all too happy to oblige.

Behind a locked door and away from prying eyes, I get to work. I find it good form to ask for keys first to throw off suspicion. Skeleton keys are hard to come by, and it doesn't do to make one public knowledge.

Since her thrashing has significantly quieted down, I feel safe letting her hands free. Next, I take the tape off her nipples. As stated before, as a haphazardly retrofitted former sexbot, a lot of her current functionality is routed through her original chassis in unconventional ways. I've actually asked her why so many sensors and physical inputs need to exist in her admittedly impressive breasts, but she never gave an answer clear of sarcasm. However, she did admit that she used to suffer a lot more embarassing moments in the past owing to unexpected stimulation, forcing her to, at the very least, keep her nipples well-secured out in public.

I take a mound in each hand and feel their firm, heavy weight fill my grip. Once I'm certain that I've found the right circuit, I squeeze. Lights in her open abdomen blink in sequence, imploring me to continue massaging her voluptuous chest. Her body heaves in undulating motions, her breath first hard and labored, then slower, more careful. When she seems to be in a calm enough state, I help her up, making sure to keep the movements nice and slow.

Abruptly, a loud torrent fills the air. From her groin, a large gush of fluid rushes forth, soaking my trousers and ruining the carpet. Now cognizant, she moves to muffle her cries, but the frustrated ecstasy still seeps through. At least some of the fluid is not meant for intercourse, and it isn't long before I hear the whine of over-burdened hydraulics. Unable to support their own weight, her knees buckle, conveniently throwing her weight in my direction. I'm as surprised as she is, and Isaac Newton casually exacts his revenge, subjecting us both to the unyielding judge that is gravity.

Her body bare, the sudden shock to her gwnitals is too much for her, and she's unable to supress her cries. Having long abandoned any attachment to my current attire, I surrender myself to a mix of orgasmic cries and a carpet not cleaned since Prohibition. It takes a while, but her climax finally ends in a shudder of failing motors and singed electronics, leaving only a naked doll, gasling for air as we do our best to not look each other in the eye.

She spoke first.

"Wow...you...you really know how...how to show a girl a good time", she managed between pants.

I smiled.

"How's life, fire hose?"

"Pretty good, waterworks. You planning on idle banter, or you planning on doing your job?"

As is customary, I did both.

Setting her upright, I produce a spare fluid reservoir from my bag and hook her up, eliciting a soft aigh as her spent fluids are replenished. With her placated, I make my way through an impressive checklist of errors. All the while, we kept a running dialogue. Casual gossip really, catching up on bits of celebrity news, sports news, and even the occasional bit of real news. Every once in a while, I'd catch her sneaking a glance or two, only to cover her tracks with a witty remark or smirk. After what seemed like an entire afternoon (it was really only 15 minutes), I get the last few joints oiled up. One final squeeze, and I'll be free again this evening.

Hm, free again...

"Are you going to apologize again?"

"Huh?"

"You have that look you get when you want to apologize. Your face kind of tilts upwards, your eyes kind of glaze over, you get this really dopey, confused look (yeah, just like that), then I have to start arguing--"

"No, I'm not going to apologize. Sorry for--"

I catch my mistake, but it's too late. My face must look really stupid because she starts laughing, and I can't help but laugh with her. As we settle, she takes on a look I can only describe as pensive. Her eyes pore over me like I'm some sort of really interesting book, and the jovial atmosphere from before becomes rather disquieting.

The reverie is broken by a curt yell from her boss. Afternoon rush is starting for all the workers who need their noontime siestas. I turn to take my leave, but she stops me.

"Oh, right. Look, he knows about the carpet. I'm sure I can ask him for a few minutes to get you cleaned up."

"No, it's not about the carpet."

"Really? It's a pretty ugly carpet."

"No. I mean, yes. No, I mean...Okay, the carpet is pretty ugly, but that's not what I'm talking about."

I wait as she struggles with her words.

"...are you free tonight?"

"Yeah"

"You want to go...do something tonight? Like...the two of us?"

I think for a moment.

"Yeah, okay."

She's somewhat taken aback.

"Wait, you're just going to agree?"

"I mean, yeah."

"Oh, okay then. Meet me at 6:00. Do NOT be late."

With that, she strides out the room, her nudity ignored as she goes off to wash away the events of the past hour.

Post Reply
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 21 guests