FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"So who am I going to get to be today?"

Peter was struck by the question as he was staring out the window, sipping on a fresh mug of blacker-than-pitch coffee, scratching through the greying stubble that had appeared overnight on his chin, and trying not to think of the idling stiffness in his left leg. He made a definite effort to swallow rather than choke on the coffee. "What... what do you mean?"

On the other side of the kitchen was Sheryl, or, more accurately, his SRL-series robotic attendant and companion. (But he couldn't very well call her SRL-0912 all the time, could he?) She had the outward appearance of an anthropomorphic border collie, five-foot-eight, with gleaming chrome, wires, and pistons not very well hidden under a semi-transparent layer of synthetic skin. Despite being dog-like, she had no fur, although the patterning on her skin gave her a fluffy appearance nonetheless. In short, there was no mistaking her as anything other than an artificial being, but there was a spark of life and humanity in those wide canine eyes and also, Peter thought, in those wide luscious lips, and in that perfectly proportioned, anatomically accurate, completely naked body. "I was looking up personality modules last night," she said brightly. Her voice was cheery, with only a slight artificial tinniness on the back end.

"Weren't you supposed to be monitoring me while I slept?" He said, by way of a joke, although as soon as the words were out he wasn't sure if she would get it. He'd only had her for a few days and still wasn't sure on how well she processed sarcasm.

"I was," she insisted. "But your vital signs only take up a hundredth of my processing power. Your breathing was steady, your heartrate was steady, and I only needed to administer a tiny bit of anti-inflammatory to help you sleep soundly." The robot wrung her hands and looked sheepish. "So I got bored."

Peter took another heavy sip of coffee and hefted himself up into the chair, wincing a little at his leg. "Bored?"

The border collie nodded eagerly.

"What do you normally do when I'm sleeping?"

Her chameleon skin changed colors to show her blush. "I patch into the wi-fi and play games. I like to drop my usable processing power and solve puzzles with optimized algorithms instead of lots of calculation." Her foot pawed at the ground in a circle. "I hope that's all right."

"It's fine. Not like I was using the wi-fi while asleep anyway." Boy, he thought to himself, it will take getting used to having a robot in the house.

"Yay!" The dog bounced a little, making her breasts dance in time. She leaned forward, hips and tail swaying a merry rhythm behind her. "So who am I going to be today?"

Peter rubbed some more of the sleep out of his eyes and waved at Sheryl. "Wait, slow down. Take it from the top. What are these personality modules?"

Sheryl sighed as she realized she wouldn't get an immediate answer. "They are technically personality overlays. All my primary objectives and duties, like maintaining your health, are still there. But they will temporarily remove, edit, or add new secondary objectives. They also modify basic response and desire subroutines. So I'd still be your attendant, checking on your health constantly, but instead of being your happy companion, maybe I could be a slutty girl-next-door type, or a whip-wielding dominatrix, or, oh, oh, a puppygirl in heat. Doesn't that sound fun?" At that last one, her tail started whipping back and forth so hard it threatened to put a dent in the wall behind her.

"And you want that?"

Sheryl's synthetic smile grew wide. "You seemed to want it pretty badly the other night."

Peter blushed at the memory. SRL-series attendants were designed to help satisfy all their owners needs, sexually as well as other ways. Sexual health was just as important as the rest, after all. "I don't mean like that. I mean, if you use one of those modules, doesn't it change who you are?"

"Of course. That's the fun of it."

"But then you're not...Sheryl anymore. You're a fabricated personality."

"Oooh, I see. That's so sweet that you're worried about me." She slipped around the kitchen table and delivered a firm kiss to his cheek. Her lips were warm. It felt real. She felt real. As real as a robo-dog could be. "My initial personality, this, is no less fabricated than any of those. I didn't choose it. But I can choose a new overlay (with your permission). If we find some traits we really like, we could make them a permanent part of my personality core."

Peter tilted up his coffee and downed the rest in three swallows. "I have not had enough caffeine, and this conversation is far too existential."

Sheryl giggled. "Choosing personality modules is to robots is like... Oh! It's like humans choosing what clothes to wear. You might choose that Hawaiian t-shirt because you want everyone around you to smile at how bad it is, or you might choose that plain gray one because you don't want anyone to notice you. You have a mood, and you choose the clothes to enhance it."

"It's still weird," Peter pointed out.

"I'm an anthro-droid. And you don't have a lot of experience with us. Some things are going to be a little weird to start." She waved a finger as though lecturing a little child. "But stick with us and it will seem perfectly natural after a while."

Peter looked at her, into her big brown eyes. There was a barely audible whirring as her iris apertures opened even wider.

"Fine. I'll try it. For you."

"Yay!" Sheryl hugged him tight. "Which one should we do first?"

"Let's do something simple and short-term. Do you have one you can run just while you're making breakfast?" He pointed to the empty plate in front of him.

Her head turned to the side and her eyes lost their focus as she did a quick search of her memory banks. "Yes, it's--"

"No, don't say what it is. Let it be a surprise."

She nodded. "I need your direct permission to load it."

"It's given."

There was a flicker of happiness on Sheryl's face, and then she went limp. Her head landed with a dull thunk on her chest, staring down at her feet unblinking. Her arms fell flat at her side. Peter was afraid that she would fall, but her legs just locked in place. For a moment, he thought, she was broken, but then she perked right back up, smiling, moving, and blinking once more. "Hello, sir," she said.

Sir? That was definitely new.

"I'll get started on your breakfast right away. I--Eek!"

Peter had been turning to look at the coffee pot and wondering about another cup when Sheryl's outburst took him off guard. He had never heard her make such a surprised sound. He turned back to see her holding one hand firmly over her sex, the other over her breasts. Her synthetic skin was flushing pink all the way from her neck to the tips of her ears, giving an odd tinge to the normal white and black over her face.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I don't know what came over me, to appear before you so immodestly dressed."

Peter had to chomp on his lip to avoid bursting out laughing. "There's an apron on the counter," he said, pointing at it.

Sheryl dashed for it, keeping her back to him as she fitted the apron on. When she was finished and presented herself, the apron barely covered her, stopping just an inch below her sex, and squeezing her breasts so tight, they looked ready to pop out of either side. Half the areola was visible around each side of the apron. "There. That's better," she said, brightly. "Now, what would you like for breakfast, sir."

"Eggs and bacon," Peter said. He had forgotten all about the remaining coffee in the pot. He was far too interested in seeing how this played out.

It started much like any other morning. Sheryl's cooking skills were impeccable. So it came as quite a surprise when Sheryl slipped and dropped a piece of uncooked bacon right onto the floor.

"Oh, phooey," she said, and leaned over to clean the mess. She bent at the hip, tail hiked high, giving Peter a perfect view of her ass and sex.

Peter bit his lip harder and tried to ignore the growing tightness between his legs.

Two minutes later it happened again. The SRL-series was heavy-duty; one of their promotional videos had a model walking over a Hawaiian lava flow barefoot and then showing that only the skin had taken any damage and even that was mostly cosmetic. But as Sheryl worked the pans, she started to complain over how hot it was. She slid open the window, tugged the neck of the apron down, and fanned the cool morning air down along her chest and her now completely naked and exposed breasts.

Peter's pants grew tighter still.

It happened a third time. After bringing the plate of eggs and bacon out, Sheryl went to fetch some hot sauce. She slipped again and spilled a few drops on the lower fringe of her apron, right over her sex. "Phooey!" she said, and immediately grabbed a wet sponge from the sink and started trying to take the stain out. She moaned in frustration as she scrubbed right between her thighs, and if Peter hadn't seen the events leading up to that moment, he would have been convinced those moans were sexual and that Sheryl had, for whatever reason, decided to start masturbating right then and there in the kitchen.

It didn't last. A second later, Sheryl went limp again and when she came to, she was back to her usual self, only so much more excited than usual. "That was amazing!" she said as Peter ate. "I have so much data to process from that. Can we do it again? Can we do it again? Can we? Can we?" Sheryl was wide-eyed, leaning over the edge of the table, tail wagging a mile a minute behind her.

Peter smiled through a mouthful of bacon. "Let me eat first."

Sheryl kept staring at him through the whole meal, whining impatiently as he got his second cup of joe for the morning and slowly downed it.

"Can we now?" she whined.

Peter laughed and set the empty mug aside. "Sure. But what should we do this time?"

"Your turn to choose."

Peter scratched at the stubble on his chin. "I wouldn't even know where to begin."

Sheryl's hips swayed with the soft hiss of pneumatics. "Surely you must have some fantasies about me. You'd never met a SRL-series model before me. And you knew what we were capable of. You must have had some...desires."

Peter coughed and tried to hide his face under a desire to scratch an itch on his chin stubble. "Well, I..."

"Come on, Peter. You can tell me." He couldn't believe how coy a robot could be.

"But it's degrading."

Her head canted to one side, so very dog-like. "How would your fantasy degrade you."

"Not me, you. I first thought you might be like some sort of sex doll." He coughed again and looked down.

"Oh, I see. Let me check." Her eyes scanned at some list only she could see. "I've got one of those. With your permission, I can load it."

"You'd be okay with that?"

An eager nod answered his question.

Peter wet his lips. "Fine. Do it."

Sheryl went limp again. Peter's heart beat a frantic tattoo inside his chest.

Then Sheryl straightened. Where before she had a natural posture, now her spine was unnaturally rigid. Her eyes stared directly ahead. Her hands and arms were held in doll-like postures at her side. Her mouth hung open and the synthetic skin started flowing over it, until her lips had formed a simple "O" shape. As Peter watched, he could see a motion inside her mouth, like that of a rhythmic suction, opening and closing. "Unit online. Ready to receive orders," Sheryl's voice intoned, this time without her mouth moving at all.

The tightness was now unbearable. Peter gave up on any sense of decorum and shoved the elastic band of his pajamas out of the way to allow his shaft to thicken in the air. "Get on your knees," he said, his voice trembling a little.

Sheryl squatted down, then slid her weight forward onto her knees. Any part of her that wasn't necessary for the process of kneeling did not move.

Peter, his pajamas now around his ankles, shuffled forward. He braced his weight as best he could against the edge of the kitchen table to take it off his bad leg. He felt his shaft touch Sheryl's now unnaturally cool lips. "Suck it," he said.

Sheryl's head slid forward. The long tube that occupied the space where her mouth had once been easily fitted like a glove around his length. Her nose buried itself in his pubic hair and he gasped at the feeling of being deep-throated. Her mouth sucked, vibrated, caressed him in ways no mouth should be able to. He didn't care. It felt great.

Normally, when he had slept with Sheryl the last few days, her body was tuned to be as human-like as possible, for a dog robot. Her sex had acted as a human sex ought to have. Her mouth had acted as a human mouth ought to have. This was something else. Something incredible: an AI with full control of its chassis, using every possible ability to bring him pleasure.

But it was not to be.

Well before orgasm ever arrived, pain shot through him. His leg went rigid and Peter could feel himself starting to tumble to the floor.

Sheryl caught him half-way.

"What happened?"

Sheryl smiled. Her face was back to normal already. "Emergency override of the personality." She hefted Peter's entire body easily in her arms and carried him to the couch, propping up his leg under a pillow. "Stay..." she said, treating him like some disobedient dog. He huffed in complaint, still naked around the middle with his shaft throbbing in the air and his pajamas around his ankles.

Sheryl lightly caressed down his injured leg. Her claws pricked the skin around his knee and injected the painkiller directly into the needed areas. "It'll feel better soon. But my official attendant recommendation is that you need to stay off it for the rest of the morning."

Peter frowned up at the ceiling. He could already the sharp pain receding. Sheryl was damn good at her job. The bulky automatic injector he used before could still leave him laid up for hours, and it was impossible to travel with. Despite the occasional missteps like what had just happened, he'd been living with less pain than he had in years.

Still, he sighed.

Sheryl looked concerned. "Is something else hurting?"

Peter shook his head. "No, just frustrated. That was really good until..." He gestured down at his leg past his still throbbing shaft. "And now I've got blue balls."

Sheryl flicked her tongue over her lips. "It's only been a few minutes. You can't have blue balls after that long." But even as she said it, her hand stroked down over his chest and stomach until she circled a single finger around his shaft and stroked. "We could still continue where we left off. Maybe with a new personality module."

He groaned and lifted his hips into the touch. "You really want to test that again, don't you?"

She squeezed the base of his shaft. "And you really want to see what all it can do, don't you?"

She had him there. He nodded.

"Well, since you're going to be laid up for a little while, I have the perfect one for the situation. All I need is your permission."

Her hand was teasing and stroking along his shaft. Peter wasn't in the mood for thinking long and hard about things. "Given."

Sheryl went limp. A moment later, she reactivated, and if there was a noticable difference in her personality, he didn't notice it. She gripped his shaft and stroked. She smiled up at him and let her free hand slither under his shirt, pushing it higher. He stifled a groan as her finger circled a nipple while giving a quick pump of his shaft.

Sheryl pushed the shirt higher, around past his head, and then her demeanor changed in an instant.

As the shirt passed his elbows, her grip tightened and tugged. His arms were stretched high-over head and pinned in place by the robot. "I have you now, rebel scum."

"Wha--"

Her hand delivered a quick slap to his shaft. It stung, but only for a moment, then she was stroking it languidly again. "I didn't give you permission to talk. And don't bother crying for help either. No one will haer you here." She leered over him.

It took Peter a few moments to piece together what was happening. A roleplay module? He wasn't sure. He stayed silent and nodded.

"You learn quick. Good." Her voice had a hint of hardness to it, but was still playful and lustful underneath. "Stay still if you know what's good for you." She stood and tied the shirt in a tighter knot around his arms. She picked up a shoe and used its lace to tie the shirt to an end table. Then she moved to his feet, used the loose pajamas around his ankles as another set of makeshift cuffs, and tied them off to the other endtable with the second shoe. It was a bit silly: with his leg acting up, so he wasn't going anywhere. But still, it was different. It was fun even.

Sheryl straddled his hips, pressing her nethers directly to his shaft. She was hot to the touch, and needy fluids dripped all around his shaft. He grunted and thrust up against that pleasure, sliding against her sex.

"Oh my. You're so pent up." She mocked. "But you aren't getting off until you tell me what I want to know."

Peter dared to try a few words. "What do you want?"

Sheryl leaned down and ran her clawtips over Peter's sensitive nipples. "I want information on your rebel friends of course. Tell me, and this can be over in an instant."

"Never," Peter said, feeling a bit of daring in his role.

Sheryl gave a shrug, slid her sex up and then down over his shaft, and started thrusting hard. She may not have been a living doll, focusing her entire will on pleasing him, but all the same, stars exploded in his vision as he rocketed towards orgasm.

At the last second, Sheryl pulled off and his shaft humped uselessly into the air.

"Didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you?" Sheryl said, teasingly.

"Fuck."

"When I'm good and ready, you horndog." She towered over him, grinding her sex against him once he had fallen far enough from the edge. "You aren't getting what you want until I get what I want. Speaking of which..." She reached down and teased at her clitoris, rubbing it faster and faster until with a sudden gasp and a rush of heat, she came. "Jealous?"

Peter nodded. He idly marveled at the ability of the robot to basically climax on command.

"Tell me what I want to know and I'll give you all the pleasure you need. Or refuse and..." She slid the tip of his length into her sex, but kept a firm hand on his hips to prevent thrusting. Not like he could with the way his leg was.

"All right. All right. I'll talk." Peter said quickly.

She clenched her sex around his tip, staring down into his eyes. "Then talk."

Peter quickly wracked his mind for something that would fit the scenario. "You know that kid, Thomas?"

"The one who brings your groceries? What about him?"

Peter bit his lip. "Sometimes I run messages to others through him."

"Oh, good boy. See? I knew you could be agreeable with the right stimulus. Now let me show you the rewards of cooperation." She started to bounce over his length. She didn't hold back this time. Her hips slammed down against him, and her internal muscles tensed around him in the perfect way. Within seconds, Peter grunted and spurted inside her. His chest heaved with the exertion. Slowly, slowly, he came off the orgasmic high and relaxed.

Sheryl's body thrummed for a moment, and just before his wilting shaft slipped out of her sex, he felt an odd sucking motion: the robot's internal recyclers cleaning herself out from the inside. "Much better." She stood and stretched non-existent muscles. "If you ever want to cum again, you know what you need to do."

Peter shivered a little. "Uh, Sheryl, don't you think we should stop?"

Her eyes seemed to flicker as she glanced down at him. "I think you can go a few more rounds, can't you?"

"Sheryl!"

She swatted his shaft again. "No more words from you, not unless you're going to be telling me more luscious secrets." She turned on the balls of her feet and marched into the kitchen, where the sounds of dishes being washed echoed out moments later.

Part of Peter wanted to complain, but he looked down at his once more achingly hard shaft and felt the desire within him burning. He already knew that as soon as this experiment was over, it would be him, not Sheryl, eager to try swapping out her personality again.