Artificial, But Steel a Woman
The New Age has long came and along with it's the improvement of technology. If we talk about technology and its ever continuous advancement, I am what you might say "so last century". I took a tattered looking box of my spare parts in the cupboard and laid it upon the table. I looked at it like how I did the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that day – with no emotion in my eyes. Though I don't have glands that produce tears, I could swear I was crying.
I am a LoveBot, also known as a robot sex toy. As I said I'm already phased out, a very old version. Now a days, they have FriendRoids, MateBots, Robo-Moms, MaidRoids and a lot of other kinds. Though it's still like the usual old school type: once you buy one, it will be committed to you and is programmed to feel deep affections towards the owner depending on the class their purchase belongs to. If I dare say, which I think I shouldn't, we have become the substitute for those people who are looking for companionship. Almost everyone, mostly those who can afford it, have one of us. While for those who can't, some people who has a collection of different versions and classes have started the business of renting their androids and robots to others. And they mostly gain money from renting my kind of androids, the sex toys.
It's not surprising that human's nature has pushed them to create such a thing. We, the sex-bot class, are the very first successful androids that hit the market, and that was the beginning of the New Age. This was their solution in bringing down the number of women being abused and violated, as the ads used to say. But if I can, which never will ever happen, I'd give my opinion to that advertisement: This kind of technology did not stop nor lessen the abuse of women, what it did was give these filthy humans something else to abuse – something that does not have any right to complain.
As I took my internal gears out to change them into something else less damaged, I rebooted my system. And as I did, standing in the middle of the kitchen in midday, I can't help but replay all the data that have been stored away since yesterday. My grip tightened on the edge of the glass dining table, as I grasp for support. I almost flinched at the memory of my master clutching a steel rod that he has been hitting me that night, and the night before that, and the night before that night. I had to groan as if I liked the way he was hitting me as I lay on my belly on the carpeted floor, pretending to be aroused just as he wanted. When satisfied he tossed the rod away and took me by the hair, throwing me to the bed. With a look of beastly lust on his face, he grazed upon my bruised and tattered body. Then excitement passed between his eyes as he tore my clothes apart. Without objections, I had to sit there and watch him violate me.
He stood up and walked across the room to open one of his drawers, taking out from it metal chains. I sat there still, instead of running away like what my calculations told me to. Within seconds, since he's used to doing it, he had my hands tied up on the bed posts. Lay there uncomfortably without even the slightest complain. As he clutched upon my breasts, I groan in pain. You may wonder how I could feel anything despite the fact that I am not human, well, it is solely because I had been programmed to distinguish pleasure from pain and to react upon it for additional enjoyment in the part of our lover – nothing but a responsive and appreciative partner is all they ask.
However, my master hates it when I show any reaction to pain. As punishment to my immediate response, he pounded hard upon my face.
'No, not the face,' I begged silently, 'It's the only left unscarred, please leave it alone.'
I cried out in fake pleasure and he stopped his hitting, continuing to squeeze my breasts as if they were ripe oranges ready to make disgustingly delicious juices. I had to close my eyes tight and bit my lips to stop myself from brawling out of pain. Then he bit my nipple and my eyes flung open in surprise. Good thing I can't cry or else tears would probably be smearing my already flushed face. He slapped my body around until spots here and there were too sensitive to touch, turning them into tingling pink skin.
Then he opened my legs wide to accommodate him as he positioned himself in between. He shook his head like the maniac that he is, with his mouth open wide and tongue hanging out. I swear I would have gagged in aversion and disgust if I hadn't been committed to him. And against my will, if I had one, I felt good in response to his lust for me, for my damaged body. He started to plunged himself inside me with much ease, probable due to my deteriorating condition. So he pounded upon my face until I was able to tightened around him, just as he craved. I could feel my face almost falling off as I tried to join his rhythm, which is not in the least rhythmical, afraid to receive another blow on my face. For all androids and robots are programmed to learn from past experiences, and interpret it as fear for human-likeness purposes.
And finally as he reached his climax, he held on to my thighs as he came inside me. Immediately after, he fell on the bed next to me exhausted but not enough for he still had the strength to push me out of the mattress and occupy all of it. I walked out of the room naked, leaving my torn clothes behind. Then, not long afterwards, morning came and he gone out to work while I was left to tend to my needs, myself.
I am a LoveBot, not a BDSMroid, which is a group of newly developed sex-bots programmed to enjoy bondage and abuse. I am created to make an illusion of a woman, designed to act, react, and feel what a woman should feel… to make love not lust, to be loved not abused thus a LoveBot, for I am a woman too, in my own way, just without any right to my opinion, to my wants and to my needs.
As I finished rebooting my system and replacing my parts with older but less damaged ones, I went to the place where I was taught I belong, sitting in the darkness of the storage room awaiting my master's arrival.
