I Was Made for Loving You

The alarm brought PHOEBE (Prototype Humanoid Operated Entirely By Electronics) out of sleep mode at 6:45 AM exactly. She disconnected the external peripherals from her audio inputs and placed them on the bedside table, then sat up carefully. Her owner lay in bed next to her, snoring gently. She checked the external chronometers. Fifteen minutes before she needed to wake him.

She slipped out of the bedroom and headed for the kitchen. It was a Thursday according to her internal clock, and that meant that standard weekday programming applied--eggs, toast and coffee for her owner, prepared in time for him to come out of his organic sleep cycle and eat a healthy breakfast before work. She started the coffee machine going, and went to the fridge to get out some eggs.

She put on an apron before she began to cook; PHOEBE generally only wore clothes when necessary to avoid alerting humans to her mechanical nature, but the eggs might spatter a bit of grease while they fried, and that might cause pitting or burning of her epidermal layer. Her owner had instructed her to avoid even cosmetic damage to her frame, and PHOEBE always obeyed commands from her owner. It was part of her core programming.

Once the eggs were frying in the pan, PHOEBE interfaced with the toaster using her armature to activate a manual lever; unfortunately, far too few of the electronic devices she dealt with on a daily basis were able to accept direct input. Still, that was the benefit of mimicking a humanoid form in her design--it might not be the most efficient of structures, but it was definitely the most versatile. She withdrew the toast when it popped up and added it to the plate. A few minutes later, the fried eggs followed.

She checked the kitchen's chronometers against her own. Three minutes to spare. Perfect. She placed the eggs and toast into the oven to keep them warm, then removed the apron and returned to the bedroom. A subroutine simulated anticipation in her processors as she slid under the covers. Waking her owner was always her favorite part of the morning.

She reached down and began gently stroking her owner's cock. With robotic precision, she ran her fingers up and down his slowly-stiffening shaft, carefully rolling his balls in her hand on each downstroke. After a moment, PHOEBE was rewarded with a sleepy moan of pleasure. She smiled, her electronic brain instantly processing a thousand complex external stimuli in mere moments to return what could best be translated as a sense of deep satisfaction that her erotic stimulation was having the desired effect.

As her owner shifted slightly, beginning to wake, PHOEBE opened her speaker and fuel intake port. She leaned down, swiftly and carefully docking her owner's cock in the port, and made a tight seal with her flexible lips. Once again, she admired her owner's brilliant and versatile design--every orifice in her system was capable of serving double, even triple duty when she needed to use them to please him. Judging by the way he was thrusting his cock into PHOEBE's intake port, she was pleasing him very well indeed.

PHOEBE fondled his balls while she continued to suck his cock, releasing copious amounts of automatic lubricant in order to help her owner's erect penis glide easily in and out of her intake port as his hips bucked up into the air. She could tell he was waking up--his fingers knotted into her decorative casing and pulled her down onto him harder with each thrust. PHOEBE's programming kicked in automatically, unlocking her inner seals in order to accommodate his full length down her intake ports. She rerouted ventilation through her secondary port, allowing him to press her CPU all the way up against his crotch and hold it there for a long, slow, throbbing moment.

Finally, he pulled her off of him. Long hours of programming told PHOEBE exactly what to do when her owner enacted that protocol, and she threw the covers off of them and straddled his crotch. She took his now rock-hard cock into her hand and pressed it to the entrance to her service port. Her owner rolled his eyes back in pleasure as she slowly slid onto him.

Since her cameras offered a very incomplete picture of what was going on, PHOEBE generally relied on her touch-sensitive neural network in order to get a better idea of what exactly happened when her Master docked with her service port. She could feel him sliding up into her as she slid down onto him, then letting his hips drop for a moment in order to thrust upward with greater force. PHOEBE felt her automatic systems releasing additional lubricant with each pistoning stroke, and she closed her camera covers in order to avoid overwhelming her sensors with too much input. She was getting a lot of data down there, and her systems were starting to get a little staticky.

Her owner continued pumping, in and out, the motion relentlessly stimulating key data collection points. He reached out with his thumb and began rubbing directly onto her major network node as he repeatedly reseated his cock into her socket. PHOEBE couldn't help it--her processors started erroring out, one after another, resulting in random output from her speakers and disruption to her internal chronometer.

She was losing track of all sensory input now except for the signals from her service port as her owner thrust into it over and over. Her lubrication systems were running on overdrive now, making the port a sticky mess between her locomotion units, and her network node was practically pulsing with bursts of data that completely fried her CPU. She couldn't process it anymore, it was too much data coming too fast, all she could do was run on autopilot and match her owner's rhythm with her own as she, as he, as they...

PHOEBE's service port sent a massive burst of random data directly into her brain as her owner came inside her, scrambling all her circuits for a key moment and triggering virtually every subroutine at once in a cascade failure that somehow felt like a perfect success. She let out a long wail from her speakers, quivering randomly as her drive units misfired under the surge of input, and finally collapsed forward onto her owner's chest.

"You have executed perfectly, PHOEBE," he whispered into her audio sensors as he held her and stroked her chassis. "You are a flawless machine." PHOEBE's drive units spasmed again as the words unlocked multiple pleasure subroutines in her CPU.

After a long moment, she finally disengaged his cock from her docking port and climbed off of him. She went into the bathroom and cleaned off the excess lubricant and biological residue while her owner showered--thankfully, she'd been careful about utilizing fuel additives to prevent a potential von Neumann scenario. It made their morning docking operations much more pleasurable.

After her owner got dressed, she brought him his food and tidied up while he ate. Her programming made sure she was regularly diligent about cleaning, so there was never too much work to do around the house, but she preferred to do her cleaning while he was there to watch her. It satisfied numerous directives to know that he was pleased with her functioning.

After her owner ate, he gave PHOEBE a kiss on the fuel intake port. "Love you, PHOEBE," he said. "Activate your maintenance systems as soon as I leave, and I'll see you when I get home." PHOEBE smiled and nodded, giving him a wave as he walked out the door.

Once he'd left, PHOEBE went into maintenance mode. She returned to the kitchen and prepared additional toast and eggs, inputting them into her own fuel intake port to be converted into chemical energy over the next several hours. There had been problems during her initial programming with getting maintenance mode to work right--for some reason, she got very buggy about letting her owner see her do standard maintenance tasks like washing, fuel intake and waste dumping. It made her feel like she wasn't a machine at all, let alone that operated at peak efficiency. Thankfully, she had a caring owner who wanted to make sure she was well maintained, and gave her space to perform her upkeep without being observed.

Once she'd fueled up and overclocked her processor with a cup of coffee, PHOEBE went ahead and ran a performance test on the treadmill. She usually ran for about thirty minutes, just to confirm that her drive units were operating to within tolerance levels. By the end, she could definitely feel a little bit of battery loss, but nothing significant. She hopped off the treadmill and headed to the shower.

After a moment of fiddling with the water temperature to get it to optimal levels, PHOEBE washed her chassis. She remembered when she first came online--she had been absolutely terrified of the shower! It wasn't until her second or third debugging session that her owner had programmed her to understand that she was waterproof. Now, PHOEBE actually enjoyed spending a little extra time under the sluicing water. She always took a little bit more care than was necessary soaping up her drink dispensers--they were more decorative than functional, but they definitely fuzzed up her CPU with pleasant bursts of static when she handled them. It was easy to lose track of her internal chronometer while she indulged.

But PHOEBE had other tasks to perform, so she reluctantly rinsed off and stepped out of the shower. She dried her chassis and put on some clothes--Thursday was always grocery day, which meant interacting with humans other than her owner. Even though her chassis was generally weather-resistant and aesthetically pleasing, PHOEBE's core programming prevented her from leaving the house naked. She got in the car and headed for the grocery store.

She was about halfway down the shopping list when she heard a voice call out to her. "Phoebe! Hi!" PHOEBE turned and instantly accessed her databanks, cross-referencing the woman's image against her previous human encounters. She came up with a match--this was Joyce Bates, a woman who was flagged in PHOEBE's database with the instructions, 'INTERACTIONS PRIOR TO ACTIVATION--UTILIZE ARCHIVAL MEMORY BANKS'.

PHOEBE smiled and waved. "Joyce!" she cried back happily. "How are you? I don't think I've seen you since the reunion. Still teaching?"

"You know it," Joyce said, parking her shopping cart next to PHOEBE's and giving her a hug. "And how about you? The real estate business treating you well?"

PHOEBE re-routed her internal hydraulics to her CPU, causing a mild reddening on her chassis near her fuel intake port. "Well enough that I quit," she said, a trace of sheepishness in her voice. "Mike's hypnotherapy practice is up and running now, and we ran the books and had a long talk, and we decided I could do the housewife thing after all. I'm cooking and cleaning and I've never been happier."

Joyce laughed ruefully. "Wish I could get out of the rat race that easily. But ever since Kyle and I broke up, I've barely been making ends meet with my mortgage. I've been looking to sell, but well...I'm sure I don't have to tell you what the market is like."

Outwardly, PHOEBE just nodded, but internally, her CPU was racing at lightning speed. She was accessing old audio/visual files of her owner and her discussing their mutual attraction to Joyce, lamenting the other woman's relationship status. She was processing the information Joyce had just relayed, cross-referencing it with the profile in her archives and bringing up old data on Joyce's known sexual proclivities, privately-confessed fetishes, and susceptibility to hypnosis. She was devising an algorithm for target acquisition on the fly, and discovering that the only bug she could find was that it was causing her service port to lubricate uncontrollably.

"You should come to dinner with us tomorrow night," she heard herself saying. "I still have a few contacts in the business, I might be able to help get you out of that house...and out of the rat race, too." That gave PHOEBE just over twenty-four hours to convince her owner of the utility of the idea. PHOEBE estimated a ninety percent chance that she could succeed. Ninety-five if she docked with him before bringing the idea up.

"I, well...sure!" Joyce said, an expression of joyful surprise on her face. "Wow, guess it was a lucky thing I bumped into you!"

"It sure was," PHOEBE said. Internally, she was already devising an acronym for JOYCE.

THE END