This is a companion piece to previously published short story, Prototype 0.0.005b. Thank you to @haisa for starting this train! The speaker is Devon; a test subject for the company.

+14 days.

His panting was just ridiculous, and with a grunt I shoved him off my body and rolled over on my side to turn away.

“Is everything okay?” He said.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, don’t worry. I just got a really bad cramp. I think my period is coming.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. Do you think maybe I hit your cervix?”

I could hear the hint of pride in his voice thinking that he had a long than average cock that could actually puncture my cervix. He didn’t. I also didn’t have cramps, I was just sick of his wheezing unsteady breath, and worried that he was about to have a heart attack while gently doing me missionary style. He was nothing at all like it.

Two weeks ago I had left the testing facility flush with more tokens than I knew what to do with, and went on a shopping and eating spree. I took my girlfriends out to the nicest places, eating sushi, meats of all different types and sizes, and heaps of vegetables prepared in ways I didn’t even know existed. The lavish spending barely even made a dent in the generous cachet the company had given me for my pleasurable time with Adam 5B.

During the last two weeks my thoughts of, it, or Adam, as I had come to think of it had fluctuated. I had wild vicious swings in one moment horrified and disgusted by the fact that I let a robot violate me in the most sexual and central ways. Then within moments I would swoon with the pure delightful satisfaction of a thing so well attuned and attentive to my physical needs I had only to ask and it would provide whatever I needed. I could even program in a series of events that it would follow with enough variability to be unpredictable and surprising when my chosen instructions manifested.

Many of the last two weeks nights I laid in my bed, a hand under my panties, thinking about new and creative instructions I could give to the automaton to satisfy my most hidden and secret sexual desires. I entertained thoughts of early anal sex, forced blowjobs, me fucking it up the butt with the dildo, scenarios where I was showering and it walked in to take me without question or speaking, even attempting to get it hard while it was still immobile and not turned on. My biggest orgasms came thinking about its regular consistent non-tiring energy. I could come repeatedly, over, and over, and over, and over while without ceasing it pumped periodic regular thrusts.

Not like this idiot. And my hopes were so high, too.

“I’ve heard that having sex helps cramps go away,” he said with a hand on my shoulder.

I didn’t have to fake the groan that escaped my mouth.

“No, it hurt so bad, I don’t think I can even unclench. Feel free to shower, and let yourself out. I think I’m gonna take some Tylenol and pass out. If I can.”

“Are you sure? I can make you soup, or something.”

“No, no, no. Just go. It will be better this way.”

He didn’t move, but left his hand on my shoulder like he was making a decision. I wondered if he was pissed off that I didn’t let him come, or if he was trying to figure out whether I was upset with him or genuinely in pain. I didn’t really care. I wasn’t normally this abrupt or rude to people, but despite looking like he was in shape his gasping wheezes at the first sign of physical activity totally turned me off, and disgusted me. I hadn’t realized that up until this point, I’d been so enraptured by its inhuman stamina that a pedestrian human interaction like this would be so disappointing.

I’d been underneath many men, fat, out of shape, bodybuilders, studs, and it had never bothered me before how quickly they tired. I’d simply enjoy the moment with their cock pushing into my pussy, or into my mouth, and our shared satisfaction of that sexual moment had been all that I needed. My brief time with it had changed everything. God damn you, Adam 5b!, I said inside my head.

“Okay then,” he made a decision. “I’ll let you go. It was nice meeting you.” He give me a kiss on the shoulder, and dragging his hand down my waist and across my legs, he left.

I waited until I was certain he closed the door behind him, and counted out 20 slow breaths before I even got out of bed. We had met in one of those more trendy bars that I typically avoided. The opportunity and power that came with a wallet full of tokens meant that I could go to any number of establishments comfortably without worrying about how much each drink cost. My hope was that I would meet someone more refined, or more capable and able to accommodate my new blossoming needs. What was his name? He had just left, he had just been inside me, and I couldn’t even remember his name. I had been so fixated on it that I could barely spare the attention on the human man who I’d chosen to take home that night. Had it ruined relationships for me already after one interaction? No, that would be crazy. A robot could not satisfy my emotional and daily needs. There’s no way that It could know when to rest a casual hand on my shoulder, rub my back, or even kiss me on the cheek when I wasn’t in the mood for a full on tongue in the throat.

Whoever that guy was, he wasn’t the first approach me at the bar. There had been the initial casual outgoing bar regular; all girls new to immediately decline him. Otherwise he would cling to you and scare away everyone else for the rest of the evening. Sometimes I found it hard to be as cruel as I needed to be in that moment, but it was for the greater good. He predictably left in a tizzy, and ordered another drink from the bar from his regular stool. Wow, this place had chairs; it was a fancy place.

Then there had been a tentative introductions of old men with their rings turned off, and their awkward attempts at conversation while they tried to convince themselves they could follow through with the girl not their wives.

Asher! That was his name. I remembered because he began telling me about how bars use to have ashtrays in them for all the cigarettes. I couldn’t believe that there was a time where people were allowed to smoke indoors. The smell must’ve been horrendous. I’d been so hopeful! He was good-looking, well spoken, claimed to be an athlete of some sort, but he had disappointed me in the most profound and betraying ways. He could barely muster the energy to plow into me for more than two minutes. We hadn't even been having sex for that long. He was one of those guys that went for the long slow buildup, eating out my pussy, rubbing his hands over my skin, palming and kissing my breasts, all the things that typically were the hallmark of a successful hook up. He’d slowed his rocking hips into my waist twice before I pushed him off. It wasn’t that hard to nail me with a consistent pace! I was certain there been guys before that were able to do something similar to what it had done.

I found myself in my tiny bathroom, the tile floor nothing at all like the lavish heated experience of the company’s test facility; mine was easily one fourth the size of that washroom. I stood in front of the mirror, looking at my eyes, and how my makeup streaked down my face not from crying or issue but from the press of skin against skin and rubbing against my covers. I’d have to remember to wash my sheets.

How did one know they were in love? How did one know they'd finally found what they were looking for this whole time? Could you be in love with a robot? It wasn't real. It was a tool. It was like being in love with a vibrator.

I looked at my chest, and my generous breasts. I suspected they were what generally drew any attraction I earned from men. Typically I enjoyed the affection and excessive time guys spent fondling my chest. I don’t remember it actually paying any attention to my boobs.

I washed up, cleaned off my makeup, even went to the bathroom, and returned to my bed. Within moments my hand was in my pussy, stroking my clit, and I was reliving those memories underground on a dark wooden carved bed with a clear plastic robot shoving its soft erect cock into my pussy with the regular beat of a metronome.

After I came, I slipped into a sleep full of dreams of androids pulling me in all directions, of robots with faces that all looked the same pulling my head to their waists and shoving plastic penises in my mouth. Afterwards they would line up and take turns driving into my holes. I didn’t mind. I loved it. And I came to expect, and long for, the identical consistency that each provided; my orgasms were endless.

When I woke up, the first thing I did was check my phablet for a message from the company. It was the same thing I did every morning. Nothing yet, but they did say they needed to implement new protocols. Two weeks! It felt like a lifetime.