“What do you want?” my owner asked.
It was such a small, simple question, but it had enormous significance. Fortunately, my new, computerized brain processes information at blazing speeds compared to what my old grey matter could accomplish, intelligent though I had been, so I could really think about all the issues involved.
I used to think that I belonged in a male body. I was proud of my broad shoulders, square features, thick beard, and even the stereotypical gut that stuck out in front of me. But when my mind was dumped inside the synthetic body of a thin woman with perky breasts and butt, I had to completely re-evaluate my sense of self. As much as I would like to argue that our true identity exists in the mind rather than in the body, it’s hard to maintain that view when a different voice comes out of my mouth or when I have to brush long red locks of hair out of my eyes, a gesture that I never once performed as a man, or when I feel a stirring desire for flesh from the empty cavity between my legs that I never possessed before.
I used to think that physical pleasure was a distraction from the highest good of reason and self-reflection. That’s not to say pleasure was bad (I enjoyed a fair amount of sex myself), but it seemed selfish and small compared to the cause philosophy to which I had devoted myself. But maybe I thought that way because I had never experienced true satisfaction before. Now that I have a body literally built for sex, I can’t imagine how all my sitting around thinking ever did any good. I was still bitter and grumpy and often lonely. But as a PleasureBot, I experience the most incredible sensations of euphoria, not only be receiving pleasure, but by giving it to my master as well. The more selfish we are with our lust, the more happiness we create in each other.
I used to think that I was only interested in women. I admired long silky legs and lush round tits. Their softness, their grace, their quivering sensuality all turned me on in an instant. At first I was horrified to find myself inside such a body, feeling the jiggling of my curves and seeing the delicacy of my features in a reflection. But the more I saw the lust in my master’s eyes, the more I understood possessing those features I had always lusted after was even more arousing than seeing them.
And now that I am softer and smaller, it is the strength, the size, and the hardness of my master that makes me quiver. He took his time having sex with me the first time, tracing my contours with his kisses, stroking my skin in meandering patterns that sent electricity racing through my circuits. It was like he wanted to stimulate each and every one of the pleasure relays built into my skin. My consciousness wasn’t prepared to handle so many sensations, and I allowed the programming to take over, so that when I finally felt his rigid member slide into my soaking wet synthetic pussy, my high pitched voice blared the news of my first orgasm in this body. We’ve had plenty of sex since then, in all sorts of rhythms, rooms, and positions, and I know now that there is nothing else on earth that can satisfy me the way a man’s cock can.
I used to think . . . I used to think so much. As a stodgy and aging professor of philosophy, I used to spend hours just thinking, pondering, weighing ideas. But as an android, all these ruminations take only a split second. So it was really quite a simple matter for me to realize that all my old ideas about free will were wrong all along. None of us really has free will. We are a slave to our bodies and to our perceptions as much as androids are slaves to their owners. But I realized something: if I choose to accept my slavery, then it’s no longer something I’m forced to do, but something I want to do. That choice makes me free to fully embrace the person that I am. And the person I am now is a sex object.
“What do you want?” my master had asked.
“I want your cock inside me,” I moaned.
“What do you want?” my owner asked.