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Living Doll

By Predatrix
Page 1 of 4

It started as a cross between an extra tech project and a joke.

     The last thing we need's extra rebels running around underfoot needing to be rescued, was his first thought about the Avalon robot. On the other hand, the programming was nearly comprehensible and very interesting. However, an extra Avalon wouldn't be any use to anyone, except Gan, who had become droopily sentimental about her and would evidently have loved a more romantic version without the politics.

     About as likely as Blake without the politics, he decided, and what _would_ Blake be like without the politics, anyway? shortly followed by Hmm. Could be interesting.

     He thought no more about it, because he was a practical man and he knew he couldn't do more than the most basic "pick up this, drop that" with such an incredible machine. And it was immoral anyway. Not that he cared about ethics.

     A few weeks later, he acquired an even more incredible machine. He told it about the Avalon android, and it (being rather like him) thought "Hmm. Interesting programming problem." Then he happened to acquire some top-secret Federation files including some of the tech specs for the Avalon android. Oh, not everything, but enough to get a better idea of it. Unbelievable piece of work, even more when one saw some of what was behind it.

     At that point, Orac began pestering him to build one.

     "The last thing the universe needs is another Avalon. And look what happened to the last android," he told it.

     "Well try somebody else then!" it snapped waspishly. Despite the fact that its tone of voice reminded him of one of the more annoying maths dons at university, he actually considered the question.

     Gan--well, as with Avalon, one was more than enough, really. Vila--he'd never have the chance to put anything down for a moment before it was nicked by one of them, who would promptly blame the other. Blake--oh god not more speeches!

     Then he got an idea of what Blake could be doing, with him, if not plagued by the necessity to make speeches. The copy would never have to meet the original--the orator could be rabble-rousing on-planet, while the copy could be rousing him. In bed. It was a ridiculous idea, but an extremely interesting technical problem. Besides, Orac wouldn't stop going on at him about the idea. It wasn't as if it was impossible to build a more erotic version: a couple of extensively perverted databanks would take care of giving Roj the Second some extremely apolitical ideas.

     After a week of being pestered by both Orac and his own imagination, he decided it wouldn't hurt to look at the specs. Maybe work on a couple of circuit boards. Perhaps he could start downloading the aforementioned extensively perverted databanks. And after that, maybe design a few externals--now the skin was an interesting problem. He wouldn't put up with anything less than soft and warm. Those evil bastards had had it down pat with the Avalon android, because nobody had guessed. Had they left any hints?

     Ah, he thought ten minutes later, _that_ was how they did it. With extreme difficulty, in fact. Maybe I could start with some of the easier bits. Like the brain. He started working on that, not that it was much of a challenge as it was going to be fairly much a porn-vid version of Blake, while an acceptable version of humanoid skin was still growing in the vat under the bed, and while he started to disassemble a child's toy parrot he'd picked up to see how it was programmed. It could say, "yes," "no," and "Polly wants a cracker". He worked on "yes", "yes, yes, yes!",  and "Roj wants a fuck". "No" wasn't going to be in there. Obviously. He did, however, give it an extensive vocabulary of sexual activities, and a few words it could use to praise him.

     After a couple of weeks, the skin was still in the tank. This was intentional. He'd never be able to resist test-riding the bloody thing if it looked convincing. The android had some fleshy padding, a large Blake-like shape, a voice (Blake hadn't been bright enough to ask why Avon wanted those tapes of his political speeches), a large Blake-like cock, and an adequate, if...specialised...brain.

     The rest of the padding, plus the skin grafts and final preparation, could run overnight, which he'd prefer. There would be something a little creepy about watching "Blake" be put together.

     He didn't sleep particularly well. Various wet, fleshy, stretching-and-bending sounds went on in the darkness, and he wished he hadn't seen that werewolf vid when he was fifteen. He went to sleep, eventually, mainly by force of will.

     Orac woke him up, luckily, chattering about didn't he want to test the android. At least that meant he wasn't woken up by the Blake-facsimile jumping on him. He took the key out, and threw it across the room.

     "Yes," said something that sounded like Blake. He rather wished he'd worked on the vocabulary, giving it at least "good morning".

     "Roj wants a fuck," it told him. He tingled all over, embarrassed, amused and aroused at the same time, and finally looked up.

     Quite convincing, as far as the face went. Down a bit. Oh, very nice. He was glad he'd seen Blake naked, seen enough of Blake's hairless chest to borrow it for his own immoral purposes. Down a bit. Time to go a little lower. Oh. My. God. Avon's jaw dropped.

     He realised instantly what he'd done wrong, that rather optimistic estimate of a well-endowed Blake had now got a little extra padding, and the skin graft, and he hadn't corrected down for that, which meant he'd ended up with something slightly off the scale. Rather too big to use, probably. Definitely oversized. Pity, he'd have to do a few minor alterations to that before they could...

     Damn. He'd been moving his hands while trying to work out where he'd got the size wrong, and it had been programmed to respond to gestures. Now he had an armful of something remarkably difficult to distinguish from warm, aroused Blake. How was he going to explain to something with only the most rudimentary consciousness that it was too big and would need a few changes made before he....

     He sucked in a breath. Those fingers are quite big as well. He'd left a container of lubricant on the bedside table the night before, to aid in whatever he had intended to do with the android, and now, with a couple of enormous fingers sliding into him, he remembered he'd programmed the thing to use lubricant. Which it was now doing, rather extensively. Well, it had been a sensible idea to tell it to, but really he'd need to make a few alterations before he let it go any further.

     "Look, you've got to..." he said, not being able to get the word "stop" out, considering what the fingers were doing inside his body.

     "Yes," said the android, and went on doing it.

     "I can''s physically impossible..." he said, the last word trailing into a whimper as the fingers rubbed back and forth.

     "Yes," said the Blake, as if it were agreeing with him, and continued.

     "Down, boy," he said, and managed to suppress a hysterical giggle.

     "Yes, yes, yes!" it said, and came out with an erotic groan he'd quite forgotten he'd put in, and which made it even more difficult for him to think.

     "Be reasonable," he said to the Blake. "Something, something that large won't..." my god he's nearly got his damn hand up there! he thought, panicking as he realised his body wasn't cooperating with his perfectly sensible desire, desire to, to stop doing this. Not that he was doing anything. Well, he couldn't. Apart, that is, from nearly panic as the android, with its superhuman strength, withdrew its fingers gently and then lifted him up and pulled him down on top of it.

     It'll kill me! he decided, and why couldn't I have thought to put in a way to make it stop doing something he went on, thoughts slowed down by the indubitable fact that it was doing it. Breaching him carefully with something larger than even those fingers.

     "Stop!" he said, in a hoarse voice approaching a sob. He couldn't stop himself relaxing: it was going to stop hurting any time now, and then how would he persuade the thing to stop?

     "Yes," it said reasonably, and entered him a little further. 

     "You're going to kill...don't...oh fuck!" he said, as it went in somewhat more thoroughly.

     "Fuck," agreed Roj peacefully. "Beau-ti-ful fuck, yes." It growled, and began to suck his neck. Then it angled its cock just right to nudge then slide against his prostate. All the way in.

     "Stop...don't...stop!" he moaned, a little confused and abruptly far less concerned that this was probably going to kill him. It's my fault for programming it to move exactly how I like, he thought, with difficulty.

     "Yes," it agreed, with another merciless thrust.

     What was going to make it stop? He hadn't programmed it to be able to have an orgasm, partly because adding a fluid chamber and the plumbing would have been more difficult, and partly because, well, it would make it a bit too real. It was a toy, and he wanted to keep that in mind. Ah. He'd programmed it to stop when he came. Not difficult, considering the way he was feeling, but he wished he'd programmed a "deflated" mode into that cock.

     "Make me come," he ordered it, and it went still, apparently awaiting further instructions. He spared a moment to wish he'd given the thing more of a brain. "Touch my cock," he told it, and it slid a large firm and conveniently prelubricated hand into place. Where it stopped. He definitely wished he'd given it more of a brain.

     "Beau-ti-ful big cock," it said. He was surprised to find he found the flattery erotic, considering the thing was too stupid to make invidious comparisons. Now, time to get down to business.

     "Do this to my cock," he said, illustrating with a rather shaky hand gesture. "Keep doing it until I come, then let go," he specified. It could get rather painful if the thing went on too long.

     Rhythm--perfect, and that incredible grip couldn't have felt better if he'd...well, he had programmed it himself. Even with a few extras, he remembered, as it rubbed a wet thumb over the tip at the same time as its cock shoved in behind. He couldn't order it to do anything now, so damned close he couldn't speak, couldn't think, and it just kept on rubbing him as he panted and moaned and gasped, as the orgasm came rushing up to meet him and--

     He gave a yell of mingled pleasure and outrage as the bloody thing let go just as he started to come,  grabbed for his own cock and squeezed frantically (fuck! that's better!), feeling himself clenching onto that immense cock in spasms, coming and coming and coming until he'd finally had enough.

     The damn thing had blanked out when he came, so, after a few minutes gasping for breath, he said "Activate."

     "Roj wants a fuck," it said.

     "I know all about that, you've just had one anyway, and I've something more important to tell you. For future reference," he went on, "when I tell you to do something until I come, go on doing it until I stop coming."

     "Yes," the brainless beauty told him, although it was anyone's guess whether it had understood.

     "Now move your cock...gently...out of me," he said, wincing. It followed orders enough to go slowly, but the experience still hurt like hell. White with the considerable discomfort of it, and the fear of injury that had returned full force afterwards, Avon waited while it extracted itself. Why couldn't I have just used a bloody dildo. Normal-sized, he thought morosely. He was shaking by the time it got out, and for some reason he felt melancholy as well as pained. He slapped the thing on its face, and it didn't react.

     Hell of a time to get post-coitum triste, he decided. I didn't think it applied to messing about with sex toys. But he wanted something, and it couldn't be sex, because he'd just had that. He felt frustrated, though certainly not sexually frustrated. Well, time to get on with life in general.

     "Check me," he commanded.

     Luckily, he'd remembered to give it some minimal medical training, relating to checking any after-effects of fucking him. Mainly because it was so difficult to keep an eye on it oneself, and this was easier than building some sort of periscope arrangement. He was grateful for his own forethought as it gently and clinically spread him.

     "It tear skin," it said.

     He'd been afraid of that. "Extent?" he prompted it.

     "Small," it said.

     "Cover the tear with antiseptic cream," he told it, and when it had done that, he took it into the shower and did his best to clean up both of them.

     Clean, he brought it out into the main room and deactivated it, adding a few details to its programming now it was docile, mainly to do with understanding negatives. He left the cock's erect size the way it was, and programmed in a rather clever way to let it detumesce to something more normal. He didn't mind being fucked by something that excessive, but he drew the line at it hurting when it came out. He tried it. Tiny. Which was only useful afterwards, but if he'd programmed it right...

      He tested it. "Up," he said, and it swelled into the familiar vastness. "Down," he said, and it shrank obediently. Good enough.

      "At rest," he said. It didn't breathe, didn't react, didn't do anything. Since it was his toy, that was acceptable.

     He went and lay down for a bit. When he felt rested, he opened a cupboard with a computer-controlled lock even Vila could not open (he'd tested it by putting his good brandy in there for two months, so he was fairly sure). He walked the unconscious android there, practically having to move its feet for it, and folded it in in a sort of crouch. This was one secret he wanted to keep.




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