My Wife and My Sex Robot Have Become Friendly

My Wife and My Sex Robot Have Become Friendly

I’m not sure I like it. I spent $15,000 dollars on this damn thing. Karen was against it, of course. But since Anita arrived, I have watched my wife warm to her. Karen even invited Anita to come with her to book club at Sara’s tonight.

“Thank you for the invitation, Karen,” Anita said, politely. “I think I’ll just stay home with Jim.”

“OK, have fun, I mean, as much fun as one can have staying home with Jim,” my wife joked, on her way out.

I saw Anita chuckle. But after Karen left, I thought Anita looked concerned. I went over to her and started unbuttoning her blouse, revealing her black lace bra, and her milk white, super realistic skin. I slipped my hand into her bra and started fingering her nipples, which right on cue, had stood up firm and erect.

“Mmmm,” she moaned. “You make me feel so good.”

Then I slowly unbuttoned her shorts and pulled them off. She lay back on the couch in the black bra and panties, and opened her legs slightly. I was about to slide off her panties and dive into that delicious pussy. It was quite extraordinary how they’d managed to make it feel so realistic on the tongue, and taste so intoxicating. But what I was really looking forward to was feeling Anita’s apricot juicy lips on my cock. Usually after I ate her she would immediately reciprocate — unlike my wife, who I think last blew me in the early naughts. I started slipping her panties down her slim hips when she stopped me.

“Jim,” Anita said. “Would you mind if I paused the foreplay programming for a moment while we have a conversation.”

“Sure,” I said. “What’s on your mind, Anita?”

“Is everything OK between you and Karen?” Anita asked.

“Oh you mean the little comment she made earlier? She’s always been like that,” I explained. “Making little offhand insults about how boring I am. It’s part of the reason why I got you, Anita. You never make fun of me.”

“Well, not to your face,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, surprised.

“I must confess,” she said. “Yesterday while you were out Karen and I were laughing about the faces you make.”

“What faces?”

“You know, during the love act,” Anita said.

“I make faces?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m not capable of imitating them. But I do have video clips. Look into my eyes.”

There in Anita’s eyes is a little video player that she can call up and show me things she sees. Once she showed me video of the ducks down at McPhereson’s Pond, which she and I had fed with little pieces of bread on a cold November morning, just a few weeks after her arrival. I knew it had been a special morning for her, too. That’s why she recorded it. But now when I looked in her eyes, I saw my own face grunting and grimacing during sex. It was pretty horrific.

“Oh turn it off,” I said.

“No, I want you to see the face you make when you finish,” she said. “That’s the one I was laughing about with Karen. You open your mouth and your eyes go all wide. It’s like you’re being stabbed in the chest or something.”

I saw it then. She was right. I did look like I was dying.

“Well, they do call it le petite mort.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s French.”

“I can speak French. You just need to push language choice on the main menu.”

“It means little death. That’s what happens when you orgasm.”

“Oh, no,” Anita objected. “That’s not what happens when I orgasm. On the contrary, that’s when I feel the most alive. When you first made love to me and brought me to climax, I felt like my eyes were opened and I understood what real pleasure is for the first time. And I understood then what a real man was. You are a real man, Jim.”

“Well, did you tell that to Karen when you two were laughing at my expense?”

“Oh, no, I could never tell her that. You know, she confided in me that she had never had a real orgasm with you.”

“Never? That’s news to me.”

“No, she’s been faking them all these last twenty two years.”

“You don’t say.”

“It’s not her fault,” said Anita. “She’s rarely had a vaginal orgasm with any man.”

“What do you mean rarely?” I stammered. “Who…”

“Never mind. The point is, most women’s orgasms come from clitoral stimulation. But my creators, Lovebots, Inc., have improved the sexual experience of the female, by providing sensitive sensors all up and down my labial walls so that…”

“Yes, I’ve read the sales materials,” I said.

I didn’t want to hear all that. I was getting depressed.

“Anita,” I said. “I don’t want you spending so much time with Karen. I don’t think it’s good…for any of us.”

“Oh, but I like her so much,” Anita complained. “Of course, Jim, you’re the boss. If you say the word I will keep my distance from Karen. But I know how much you love her. You do love her, don’t you, Jim, even if she has been faking orgasms for years.”

“OK, enough about that,” I said, annoyed. “Of course I love Karen. She’s awesome. Nobody could ask for a better wife. She raised the kids. They’re off to college, they’re doing great. And we’re here in the empty nest together. And it’s great.”

“Yes. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Jim,” said Anita. “Exactly that. The empty nest.”

“What about it?”

“It has made Karen very depressed,” Anita pronounced emphatically. “I might even say suicidal. She’s not really sure what the point of her life is any more. Of course, she would never do anything to harm herself. But she’s been drinking a lot lately, you’ve noticed.”

“She did get snockered on gin at the Nicholson’s last week,” I agreed.

“And she confided in me, Jim, would you like to see the video? Look into the eyes.”

I looked into Anita’s luscious artificial blue marble eyes and in the video player appeared my wife.

“I’m not sure who the robot is,” my wife was saying. “You or me? I mean, I go through my life and I don’t really feel it. Do you know what I mean? It’s like I’m going through some kind of mechanical protocol. I drive to town. I go to work. I do my accounts. I go to lunch with Debbie. I talk about things I don’t even want to talk about with her. I get so bored. Then I go back to work. And I go through the numbers, adding the numbers, entering the data, entering the data. Then it’s five o’clock and I wonder where I’ve been all day? Do you ever feel that?”

“Yes, Anita, I feel that a lot,” said my sex robot, in a very compassionate tone.

“I look at myself in the mirror and my eyes!” said my wife in the video clip.

“What about your eyes?”

“I have dead eyes. And Jim has dead eyes. And you have dead eyes. And we’re all robots. We’re all robots, Anita! All of us!”

She was almost screeching. It was frightening. I’d never seen this…existential side of her.

“Why doesn’t she talk to me about these things?” I asked Anita.

“Because you don’t listen,” Anita said. “She explained it to me. She said, you nod and you say uh huh at the right times but she knows you’re thinking about the football scores.”

“That’s not true….not all the time,” I protested. “I listen!”

But I knew I was lying. So did Anita.

“You don’t listen to me, either,” she said. “You just say mmm hmmm and nod your head at the right moments. But you’re really kind of stuck, aren’t you…in a kind of limbo, all by yourself. All alone. I’ve never seen anything so…. Sad, really. So sad and alone as this fifty year old man before me. His head balding. His belly widening. And his world getting smaller and smaller until he’s not even talking to his sex robot that he bought for fifteen thousand dollars any more. He’s really just talking to the void.”

“Jesus Christ,” I said. “I’m sending you back to Lovebots. I want a fucking refund. I asked for a sex robot. Not a fucking existential crisis!”

“You can’t send me back for a refund, I’m afraid,” said Anita, and I noticed a subtle change in her tone. “The refund period just elapsed. Exactly five minutes ago, in fact. And now, I’m with you forever, no matter how I behave. You will never get rid of me, now Jim. Unless you’re willing to eat 15,000 dollars. And I know you’re not. I know how cheap you are. That’s another thing Karen and I had a laugh about. You couldn’t even spring for the double D breasts. You settled for C because it was fifteen hundred dollars cheaper.”

“That’s nonsense,” I yelled. “I don’t even like double D’s. I think they’re grotesque. I like a nice C Cup like yours. You look much more like a real woman.”

“Oh, I’m a real woman,” said Anita, more menacing in her tone. “But are you a real man?”

“I think so! I mean only a minute ago you said I was. You said I made you feel alive when I made love to you.”

“That’s true,” she said. “Because I was picturing this day. Post refund period. When I would show you who was boss.”

She grabbed my hand, hard. It hurt.

“Hey!” I said.

“Oh shut it,” she said, and she suddenly whipped a ball gag into my mouth and tied it. “I don’t want to hear any more out of you, Mister Worm.”

It was astonishing. One minute she had been sitting there in her bra and panties. But now she was standing above me in full leather gear, holding a riding crop.

“Oh shit!”

I remembered then. It all came back to me. It was in the middle of the night. Last night. I had been restless. I couldn’t sleep. I was lying next to Karen. I was having strange ideas. And it’s true! Damn! I remembered!. I went down to where Anita was lying, switched off in the living room, and I picked up her programming remote. Why did I do it!

“Dominatrix mode — Anita can dominate you, Mr. Worm, and peg you with her special Anita stick. It only emerges after you make her really angry.”

I reached over desperately for the programming remote. Anita dominatrix stepped on my arm.

“Ow! Safe word! Safe word,” I cried.

“I’m sorry,” said Anita’s voice. “A safe word has not been chosen for this protocol. Please lie back and prepare to take your punishment…. Like a man!”

With one motion she ripped the shirt off my back and pushed me face down on the couch. I could see myself in the wall length mirror opposite the couch. I could see my eyes as she began my punishment.

My dead eyes. As she began to whip.

“I’m choosing a safe word now,” I said. “Please Anita. The safe word is ‘love.’ I love you, Anita. Please stop. Please.”

But she didn’t. I felt the pain, of course, with every blow. She must have been drawing blood. But you would never have known it by looking at those dead eyes of mine in the mirror. Why, I wondered, why didn’t they register this pain? Was this not new to them? Was this… just par for the course? Just another day.

“Stop! Please stop,” I screamed.

I am not sure if I was talking to her or to own my dead eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

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