FSE

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Dear Brian.

“Ugh...sounds gay."

My main man, Brian.

“Hmmm."

Brian, my main man.

“Better, but not quite there."

Brian, buddy.

“Good enough!"

John's pen scribbled away on the note paper, the inky implement embarking eagerly on its grand adventure across the page, with the goal of creating a heartfelt (but not sappy) farewell:

Brian, buddy.

Sorry I can't say goodbye in person, what with the move being on a tight schedule, but I wish you all the best.

You were a kick-ass roomie.

I got you something special as a thank-you, on the super-sweet down-low. Chores won't be such a pain no more. It'll help keep you company too.

So long fuck-face, and Merry Christmas!

John

:-)

“An emoji on paper, that's not right," John thought aloud, reviewing his note.

Eh _...__ fuck it,_ his brain said, you'll be gone soon anyway. Back to roamin' the wide wide world.

“Short and sweet," he muttered, “let's keep it that way."

You got it, me!

Next up was the present. This had John worried. For two reasons. Firstly: because it appeared to be the wrong shape and size for what he was expecting; and secondly: it wasn't strictly...uh...legal. Well...it was entirely illegal, but John thought the nature of his acquisition to be more of a grey area than any so-called 'court' full of so-called 'lawyers' might assert. His gift to Brian came hot off the dark web — paid for in the most secure cryptocurrency he could find, a transaction made behind endless layers of network obfuscation. It's country of origin: unknown. But he had been assured (by his less-than-scrupulous business associates) that the purveyor of this exquisite gift was indeed legit, that the item was indeed special.

Special, they'd said, because nobody lets anybody into the factories without a tonne of security clearance. Trade secrets doncha know.

Thanks to them he'd been given the leads necessary to track down and acquire one, straight from the source. John almost wished he'd splashed out on a second.

He picked up the nondescript cardboard box from the coffee table and brushed the dusty surface to reveal the faded lettering:

VIXNPSD009911334556

Kontor-Vyamin Manufacturing

Household & Industrial Robotics

_ Personal Service Droid _

PARTS READY FOR TRANSIT, ATTEMPTS BY WORKERS TO DAMAGE OR BY ANY MEANS HARM COMPONENTS/MATERIALS WITHIN WILL BE MET WITH PROSECUTION IN COMPLIANCE WITH LOCAL GOVERNMENT AND LAW ENFORCEMENT AGENCIES, UP TO AND INCLUDING TERMINATION OF EMPLOYEE LIFE-CONTRACTS.

John gazed silently at the blank, featureless package. The words rang out through his head: personal service droid. Personal...service...droid...

Cool, so where's the rest of it? He grew worried. This small box couldn't be the whole thing, could it? No way. How is a whole person-sized robot supposed to fit into that shoebox?

Some assembly required I guess, John harrumphed. He was in no position to complain though, having effectively (read: literally, he had an ego to protect after all!) bought stolen technology. Still, once activated it wouldn't seem out-of-place. Droids were a common sight among the wealthy. And Brian was solidly middle-class. With a nice suit and a straight haircut he'd pass for rich no problem.

Stop over-thinking this shit! Stop day-dreaming and focus. Gotta get this set up before I miss my flight!

John had never seen one of these up close, and despite his apprehensions, was excited to 'flip the switch'.

“Ooo-kayy. Let's take a look."

Confusion crossed his mind as he set it back down and twirled the box, putting it in alignment with its 'this way up' label. Too small. He couldn't shake the feeling he'd fucked up. Been scammed. Had some joker absconded with his money, leaving him without a gift for the best friend and college roommate in the world!?

Carefully, he cut the tape, separating the cardboard flaps, allowing him access to his contraband. Inside, the rustling of paper announced a second layer of dead-tree-based packaging. Half-expecting men in suits with handguns and those earpieces with the wiggly cable to barge into his apartment the minute he opened the bloody thing, he tore away the brown paper concealing his order.

No shouts? No gunshots? The door hadn't exploded? Cool, he was freaking out over nothing.

Pull yourself together bud. They have no way to track this.

...

Who's they?

“So this is—" John's words died in his mouth before he finished his sentence. What confronted him was not, as he expected, a folded-up droid. No siree. Not even remotely. “The fuck is this?" he asked himself, getting angry.

Much of the space within was superfluous packaging. Meaning with the already small size of the box the contents were minuscule. A semicircular object with one featureless side; the other dotted with tiny perforations. John reached in and grabbed it, bringing it out of the box for closer examination. Strange. Was this only a piece of a complete droid? Brushing the surface of the device with his thumb he felt the side with those tiny holes. Curious. No instruction manual accompanied the object — likely due to its stolen nature. John had an uneasy feeling this wasn't supposed to be let leave the factory floor.

“What a waste of money. Should've known better."

He tossed it back onto the coffee table, preoccupied with its sunk cost. Several minutes passed with him staring at the device.

I wonder...can it be activated?

Maybe that made sense. Maybe it would expand, become its proper shape. You can do amazing things with nanotechnology these days, he recalled.

“What the hell, I've got time before I need to go." Let's unravel this mystery.

Fiddling with it, John tried his best to find a means of activation. Flipping it over in his palm, smooth side up, he tapped it a few times. Nothing. He frowned and battered the metal surface again for good measure. It glowed...

“Whoa, gettin' somewhere now!"

In his excitement John didn't devote much attention to what the lights meant. They mesmerised him. Thin concentric circles of white-green, changing over time to purple, surrounded his pressing thumb, a pulsing glow emanated from within. Pretty, very pretty—

“AGH! What the—!?"

Thousands of pin-pricks stabbed him. The device beeped calmly as it drove needles into the flesh of his hand. The object was proving far more dangerous than he'd expected. He winced at the pain. It'd started sharp, but then faded, numbness taking over his hand, spreading from his palm outwards. Now he was worried. John cried out, shaking his arm in an attempt to dislodge the device before it could do any more damage. This had been a mistake. Fuck the droid idea. Brian can get a thank-you card and he'll be happy with it.

Pain. Then nothing. Then calm.

John's worry dissolved. Why? He didn't know. The device had something to do with it. It was injecting him with something...whatever now coursed through his veins, circulating through his body, was dulling the senses.

Drowsiness.

John stumbled back into the centre of the room. His fingers and the entire length of his forearm had lost all feeling, and whatever drugs this thing was pumping into him was slowing his mind and body. He found it difficult to keep his eyes open. It latched on tight, and he lacked the strength to fight it.

Lie down.

“I...shurre...should lie down," his words came out slurred.

The emotional suppressants were doing their job. Soon he would be clay in the hands of a master craftsman. His psyche was going to need that suppression to keep his mind from driving him insane upon seeing the results after the device was finished with him.

He could feel his sense of free will shift, becoming blurry and ill-defined. More and more he heard this voice, this...calling, this suggestion...steering him towards obedience. Yes, he would need that too.

More and more he fell into a stupor, nanites flooding his system.

More and more he felt ready for his...conversion.

* * *

The 'VIXN' model personal service droid awoke, her systems rebooting. Thin eyelids withdrew, revealing a pair of striking ocular sensors. They were enchanting, fabulously ornate — with all the beauty of diamonds as they emitted a soft purple glow, warming the room. Her surroundings were alien. New. Her mind was fuzzy...scrambled. Her body was not yet responding to conscious control. A stream of low-level diagnostics flowed through her mind. She was ready to activate, and eager to serve.

A ringing sound in her head developed. Her biological components were having trouble synchronising with her central processor; her wetware was slow to adapt. No matter, soon she would be operating at peak efficiency, her mind a powerful cyborg computer, a fusion of man and machine. She wondered in her half-awakened state: what gave her that spark cascading through her systems, that special something that blessed her biomechanical frame with artificial life? How did her creators fuse metal and flesh in sublime symbiosis to create such a wonder as she? That knowledge was in reach, swirling in the murky mists of her fragmented memory, dancing on the tip of her tongue...until...

Oh, stop day-dreaming and focus on restoring all your faculties! the little voice in her head chided. She groaned, her mouth creaking open to release the animal sound. Her (his) past now relegated to the dark recesses of her mind. Hidden.

The feminine droid lay on the floor — sluggish, scrambled, out-of-sorts. Scraps of disintegrated clothing lay around her. She surveyed the room. A domestic building...one, maybe two occupants...an apartment...this must be the home of her new master. A giggle escaped her synthetic lips as her excitement grew. She had a master. An owner! Gosh, what was he/she like? She hoped she would be able to please him/her.

She hoped she could do her best.

Her best...

...

Who...who was she?

VIX—John—

She'd been pondering, when suddenly that name shot through her. John...who was this John? The name bounced around her synthetic consciousness, spreading like a solitary ripple 'cross the vast waters of her bio-electric brain.

John...

Male name. Unknown origin.

I am not male. I am female.

Type: CANID, species aesthetic: VULPINE...

So why do I think of myself when I think of the name 'John'?

This does not compute! Something must have happened to my circuitry in transit. Stupid human delivery service, they better not have roughed up my finish!

Diagnostics proceeding normally. I have time to solve this puzzle.

As she lay, she mustered the energy to shift her head. Her neck muscles twinged as she moved, the fibrous machinery powering up slowly. She could feel mild pain, and tiredness, at this moment. It wasn't pleasant. She could experience the full range of sapient emotion, and couldn't wait to bring joy to both her and her master through servitude. Emotions. Much like a human. Oh what was she thinking, exactly like a human!

A momentary flash of realisation caused her to stop...

Human.

John.

Then it passed safely into memory.

Silly me! I am not human. I serve humans! Her body tingled as her recently-installed robotic consciousness reminded her of her true place in the world. She couldn't wait to meet him/her.

Let's find out who this John is, shall we?

Still immobilised, she tried to sit up. Her arms shook as they struggled to support her. Her vision flickered as her systems fought to survive, fought to calibrate themselves with her brand new body. She could feel, and she felt cold. Sad. Pain was in the back of her mind, pain from sometime before. The naked trauma of her transformation became a festering wound, gnawing at her from places unknown. Why did she feel this way? She called forth memories, but they did not answer. Part of her was fighting back, fighting against herself. Who...I don't understand.

“Who am I?"

Surprise was her next emotion to experience. Her voice had come through loud and clear. Excellent! She was restoring herself. She could speak! Speak!

“Hello, hello, hello," she said, mimicking an echo. Her vocal subsystem adjusted itself to a comfortable pitch and tone. A couple more utterances and she'd settled on a voice.

Mouth, jaw, neck working, she checked her diagnostic status, hopefully arms and legs will be next.

The droid was correct. Her limbs recovered quickly. She groaned and pushed her arms out, moving her away from the floor. Yes! Getting there. Her legs jerked about, then kicked wildly, before coming under her full control.

“Wooh!"

VIXN-93 — now in good condition — raised herself up. Standing was a little tricky for her, gyros aligning her bio-mechanical frame to achieve balance. Tilting forward, she caught herself by slamming her arms up against the wall. Now leaning, she stretched her legs one at a time, and arced her back, popping joints. Refreshing.

Looking around, she noticed a note on the table near her. John's final words were within her grasp. Freeing an arm to retrieve it she read the piece of paper. It took a couple of tries for her optical character recognition processor to parse the handwriting style, but she got there in the end.

The note was vague, but enough of John was floating around her consciousness to bridge the gap — though she knew not of his true fate.

“Eeee!" she squealed, delighted to discover she was the Christmas gift. Her past was no longer important, she had a future to plan for! She had a job. A purpose.

Wow, John must be such a nice guy to leave me as a present for his friend, that's soooo thoughtful!

I wonder...has he already left...I would like to say 'thank you' too...

She felt alone. Standing without support, VIXN-93 explored her surroundings. Nobody home, she realised. Giddy at the prospect of meeting her master soon, she decided to prepare herself. Worried she might screw up, the cybernetic servant decided right there and then to put real effort into making a good first impression. No time to second-guess her abilities.

Lots to do. I need to prepare.

One step forward.

Uh-oh, she thought, that doesn't feel right.

One step back, apparently.

“Hurrgh...hmm...hurh—"

She keeled over, knees slamming into the floor as she collapsed back down. Stuck in the same spot she'd awoken, her arms strained as she felt weak again. This time it wasn't paralysis, but nausea.

I feel sick!

Her body was a powerful piece of cybernetic engineering. Muscle fibres melded organic tendon and sinew with mechanical motors. Her skeleton composed of carbon nanotubes grew entwined with the original bone. Where a stomach and digestive system would be sat a biomatter reactor capable of extracting a huge amount of chemical energy from ordinary human food. Every part of her being had been changed by the nanites in the device John had the misfortune of activating. They remained inside her still, flowing through her like blood, under the low-level control of her subconscious. They were almost finished adapting her body to its new role, and would therefore remain a part of her body, regulating it.

Thanks to this change in internal chemistry a nausea response shot through her nervous system.

The droid vomited forcefully, expelling an oily fluid — her transformed stomach clearing itself out in preparation for proper refuelling. She looked on in horror at the expanding puddle of nanite slurry. Oh God, she screamed in silence, I've ruined the carpet!

Panic at having dirtied her new master's home ruled her thoughts. What if he came home right now and saw this? The horror!

Recovering, she drew herself back to full height and took stock of the situation. Step one was cleaning up her own mess. Step two was cleaning the rest of the apartment for her master. Step three was...not known at this point. Possibly cook some food for him.

VIXN-93 strolled out to find the bathroom, the first place she was going to check for cleaning supplies. While there, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

“Whoa."

Her expression of shock did her true feelings no justice. Staring back at her was a machine, a robot, a cybernetic person. Her face, her chest, her limbs...her form was shapely, the embodiment of wild beauty contained in an artificial shell. She had an animal twist to her feminine exterior. A cute fox watched her intently from behind the mirror-glass.

Thankful to have been given this rare and special chance to admire what she'd become, and with her mind preoccupied with her duties, the memory of a person called John was evaporating fast.

Now now, no more dilly-dallying! Time to give this place a clean.

* * *

Brian arrived home to a seemingly-vacant apartment. After closing the door carefully behind him — mindful of the neighbours at this late hour — he removed his coat and stashed his bags beneath the coffee table in the hall. In no time at all he discovered John's note, conspicuously stuck to the mirror above the table. Snatching it from the silver pane, he read what his roommate had written. A chuckle at his friend's sense of humour, and intrigue at what was in store for his 'present', occupied Brian's thoughts.

Shame he had to rush off like this, could've done with a real...y'know...goodbye in person.

John must have cleaned the place up, Brian surmised after viewing the state of apartment. What he'd seen thus far was spotless, and that warmed his heart. John had always been the slob of the pair. Unkempt. Untidy. Unconcerned with general hygiene or his roommate's opinions thereof. It was a real treat to see him give the place a good tidy before departing. He finished removing his outdoor layers, eager to retire and binge-watch some TV.

Hold on...was that humming?

Yes, it was. Faint, from the far end of the apartment. Someone was humming. In a carefree sing-song fashion...

A woman? It sounded like one. Melodious tones caressed the senses.

“Hello?" he called out, probing the unknown for knowledge of this unexpected guest.

A sound of surprise reached his ears. If Brian didn't know any better he could've sworn he heard someone say 'gosh'. Perhaps this was all in his head. And the long day was getting to him. Fatigue? Does that usually lead to hearing voices?

“Probably nothing," he grumbled.

Brian had been mistaken of course. He realised this mistake while entering the living room to collapse exhausted onto the couch. From out of view he heard approaching footsteps. They hammered a steady, upbeat rhythm on the floorboards.

The tap-tap-tap of delicate feet danced their way closer, closer 'till from the other end of the living room she emerged. Brian was treated to the sight of a very expensive-looking personal service droid. Clean, presentable, and overjoyed at his presence.

“Greetings," it exclaimed, bouncing on the spot with mirth, “I am VIXN-93, your new cybernetic assistant. Are you pleased with your gift Master Brian?"

“You know my name?"

“Of course! Your dear friend John prepared everything before his departure, including the correct owner registration." She placed her hands on her hips and rested her weight on one leg, striking a proud pose. “Congratulations. A model such as myself is not usually sold to the general public. Your friend must really care for you to jump through the hoops necessary to purchase one of my kind."

“I...I guess he did."

Awesome present. Best Christmas ever?

It's certainly up there.

Only now did he catch sight of the big red ribbon decorating her head, tied in a pretty bow. Actually, only now was her appearance truly beginning to sink in. Her form, her figure, her slender beauty.

She...uhm...is quite attractive. For...errhhm...a robot...

...

Yep. Best Christmas ever.

She stood five feet tall, a light pink colouration over most of her body. White highlights were present around joints or in areas of solid resin and carbon fibre. The synthetic vixen's 'skin' (if you could call it that) was marked all over with thin lines, hairline gaps between sections of her artificial exterior. Little patterns decorated parts of her; none too big or unsightly, but reaffirming her manufactured origin all the same. This exoskeleton, this carapace, was soft in most places, hard in some. This much could be told from how her body looked in motion — the minor adjustments she made while standing still sent subtle ripples coursing over fine-tuned muscles. Her figure, despite obvious differences to a human, looked so real, so life-like.

He saw her smile, the upturned corner of her muzzle growing broad. Yes, she was...she was...

“I, uhm, Ms. VIXN—"

She gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh Master, there's no need to address me so formally!"

“Sorry, I—"

“No! Don't apologise! It's wonderful you respect me like that, but I'm quite okay with you calling me just 'VIXN'. Or servant. Or 'you there'!" she chuckled. Brian wasn't sure if she was being serious, or just coy with him.

“Okay then. VIXN. I suppose that means you're a fox?"

“A fox? Why yes. It is kinda in the name! VIXN...vixen..." she said, her angelic voice caressing Brian's hearing.

Her face and head were shaped into a muzzle, with matching ears and eyes shining a vibrant, entrancing purple. When she spoke her lips parted to reveal a maw of dazzling teeth, behind which lay a flexible tongue, and a realistic throat that led all the way down to VIXN-93's artificial innards. The lack of a tail left the rest of her body more in line with ordinary humans, except for her hands and feet, which took the form of dexterous paws: hands slender with tender gel-pads on the ends of her fingers, feet digitigrade and bearing jagged pink claws. Were they sharp, or just for show? Brian kept his mouth shut, there was always time for questions later.

Her appearance made her a fox in more ways than one. Naked she stood, her body exposed, no shame holding her back. Why would she hide herself? Why should she hide herself? No-one expected droids to be clothed. Her feminine form may be a bit on the saucy side, more than a lot of other types of humanoid robots, but if she was at home serving her master was modesty really a concern? Brian's eyes travelled down from her pretty face, noticing two nicely-sized breasts adorning her chest. A keen eye could see them bob slightly when she moved, the semblance of real flesh reaching an uncanny level. To protect what little modesty she had, it seems her manufacturers had neglected to install nipples. Instead, plain circles, composed of the same gelatinous material he'd noticed elsewhere, acted as smooth aureolae. As if that counted as decent! Between her legs was concealed as well, this time beneath a hard plastic casing — the pattern of seams giving the appearance of underwear. This reminded him of the skimpiest censorship of nude women in media.

Thinking important thoughts, Brian pondered: is her butt this gorgeous?

When she shifted stance again whilst his eyes were fixed on her feet, he caught a glimpse of the soft pads underneath. Everything she did continually added to her allure. Again his gaze wandered back up along her body. The noise of VIXN-93 clearing her throat pulled Brian away from his examination of her hourglass figure. “Ahem." She waggled her head, shaking the ribbon bow. “Aren't you going to open your Christmas present? Make it official?"

Her master laughed. He approached her, arms out, fingers delicately tugging at the red fabric. The knot came apart in his hands. Brian let the material fall, brushing against her back and sliding over her shapely rear on its way down. “Merry Christmas," she purred. She was now his.

I got me a smokin' hot fox ladybot. Merry Christmas indeed!

It took a while for Brian to compose himself after stepping back. Part of him was still a shy schoolboy, memories of avoiding girls fresh in his mind, though they were many years old. He coughed awkwardly, trying to avoid meeting her gaze as she looked at him dotingly. “Are...are you cold?" he asked. Cursing his stupidity (she's a robot, moron) he quickly followed up with another question:

“What, uh, what can you do? I've never owned a droid before."

“Aww, don't be nervous Master. I am here to serve."

“I know, I know. It's just that you're very...distracting."

She smiled, turning away sheepishly. She mouthed the words 'thank you'.

“I can feel by the way."

“Really?"

“How else am I going to function as well as a human? Dh'oy."

“Well you certainly look as well as a human," he joked.

VIXN-93 glanced down at her body. “Gee," she said, “I suppose I do look great."

“Ahem—ack—yeah, so back to my question: what do you or can you do?"

His robotic servant was more than keen to elaborate on her many uses, housekeeping chief among them. Brian would never want for a clean apartment again. Catering was another notable duty she had so willingly assigned to herself, and his belly rumbled in eager anticipation of delicious home-cooked meals. There were more. Actually a lot more, and Brian was beginning to regret his asking.

“...and that's not including my mental acuity," she beamed, pleased with her impressive repertoire of skills.

“Uh-huh," he nodded.

“While I am a fully-autonomous cybernetic being with a huge amount of computing power inside me, interpersonal vocal communication is not the only way to harness this power. Holographic projections for example..."

She turned her head. Her eyes radiated a blinding brightness, stunning Brian before she focused the beams into a clear strip of light. In the middle of the room a purple-tinged hologram materialised. It was a VIXN model like herself, adopting a set of different poses. “Part of my line's catalogue," she explained. Brian mumbled an acknowledgement, his gaze occupied with the shining miniature. VIXN-93 moved her head, allowing the hologram to walk across the floor, strutting, with a sensual and feminine gait.

“That is impressive!"

The figure vanished. VIXN-93's eyes dimmed.

“And I also have legacy support for monitors and other peripheral devices."

“Wait, do you mean you can plug yourself into a screen and show...like...an old-school graphical user interface? With a mouse and keyboard too?"

“Yes!"

“That's awesome. I think."

“From what I gather about humans, this mode of interaction is quite archaic."

“It is, but I'm sure I'd like to try it."

“I'll keep that in mind, Master." She reached out and put her hands on his. Brian looked up and smiled. She returned the favour.

“Is there anything you can't do?"

She laughed. Brian looked a little annoyed.

“No, I mean really: is there anything you can't do? You haven't come with like...a manual or anything."

“Oh. Ohhh! Sorry master, I though you were making a joke." She pondered, a single finger pressed to her lips. “Well I'm sure there's lots off the top of my head I can't do. You wouldn't see my kind performing heavy manual labour of course!"

Grinning, she continued: “although, it's not just work I'm good at Master. There's plenty of other roles I am capable of fulfilling."

“What do you mean?"

“I am equipped to provide comprehensive emotional support services. A shoulder to cry on when you hit hard times. A friend to talk to. Someone to snuggle up to when times are dark. As a sapient intelligence it comes naturally, as if we were both human." She looked away. There was a hint of mischief in her electronic eyes.

“The provision of more intimate personal support is also available. Especially ones suited to your...needs," she ended her sentence with a giggle.

Her master raised a curious eyebrow. “What do you mean by 'intimate personal support'?"

The droid's muzzle curled into a seductive smile. She stood straight and breathed a pleasant sigh. The area on her chest where nipples should've been reshaped, the gel-like substance coalescing into prominent nubs of synthetic flesh, completing her breasts. Similarly, the area between her legs reconfigured; the tough material cover retracted into her body, and the same nanite gel lining was exposed to the elements. It adopted and refined the form of a woman's most precious parts, settling into the shape of a soft, heavenly entrance. Other minor changes occurred across her body, dialling up the physical attractiveness. Brian was left gobsmacked, staring at the rapidly beautifying droid.

“I...uhm," Brian laughed nervously as the gorgeous robot vixen eyed him up, the tent in his pants a sign of his own body's hopefulness.

VIXN-93 spoke, this time sculpting the words with enhanced, pillowy lips:

“Allow me to start the tutorial."

* * *

Springs creaked and cracked under the strain of supporting two full persons on a small single bed. The laboured breathing of the sole organic being echoed through the room and out the partially-open door, his naked body glistening with sweat — hunched forward, hips bucking in rapid carnal embrace. VIXN-93 squealed as he thrust, her pleasure sensors working overtime to flood her system with ecstatic sensation. She felt every precise motion in his body, every gasp of air, every infinite instant of their lovemaking in perfect clarity. She threw her head back as he fucked her doggy-style, his body straining against her expensive exterior.

“Yes...oh...M-M-Master!"

She stared back at Brian with desperate 'fuck me' eyes, begging for him to push deeper, harder...

“VI—" her master lacked the pure strength of will to muster together a sentence. His moans accompanied hers in the cacophony of their intimate encounter.

“Nnnggh!" He could feel his member sliding up-and-down her warm passage, being massaged as he forced himself in further and further. Her insides were wonderful, they caressed his tender shaft, sucking him in, enticing him deeper and deeper. Her body was soft and smooth to the touch, even the areas he thought would be rough or composed of hard plastic — there was something about them that made it seem natural. He reached in front of his sexual servant and cupped her synthetic breasts, pinching her rock-hard gel-nipples sending waves of pleasure pulsing through the robot vixen.

His droid let her mouth hang agape. It wasn't idle for long as Brian came up to her neck, nibbling her shoulders then coaxing a kiss from her plump lips. She mashed her mouth against his, slippery, drooling. “V-Vuh—" he began as he pulled away, but she silenced him with another kiss.

“D-Don't talk..."

Their bodies writhed. The room heated up, Brian's sweat dripping as he exerted himself. VIXN-93 had no such physical limitations, but her design made her adopt a similar mental attitude to exercise (to better adjust to human interaction). She smooshed her soft, bubbly ass into his groin, eager to fill herself as much as possible. Her motor system told her she should be growing tired, so she obliged it, quickening her pace to bring her master to orgasm.

Brian gasped, inhaling vast quantities of air to fuel his relentless action. But it — like all good things — would end.

Her legs clamped him tight, foot-paws slapping her master's butt as he made shallow thrusts in spite of her leg-lock. Close now. Very close.

“Aggh...FUCK!"

Brian bent over sharply and suddenly. He came hard, his muscles spasming, causing VIXN-93 to fight this involuntary onslaught. She pushed herself backwards, sitting up and forcing him down onto the bed. Brian groaned as he ejaculated, body jerking, his seed spraying wildly, coating her insides with his hot goo. Now in reverse cowgirl, and with a belly fast filling with cum, VIXN-93's body responded in kind. Her clawed toes curled as pleasure circuits fired, her synthetic orgasm blasting through her delicate frame. She gripped bundles of bedsheets, screaming as release took her. Her cries filled the room, and her master bucked his last, his voice joining hers.

She'd wanted to make a good impression. It was clear to her now she went above and beyond; she had made an amazing impression.

Exhausted, and very much satisfied, Brian and his robotic servant cuddled, basking in the splendid warmth of the afterglow. Embracing turned to canoodling, passions still burning strong and affording them a period of extra-sensitive touch. Their hold finally gave way to sleep, tiredness overwhelming the pair. For Brian this had been quite a day. Something which he would be eternally thankful for. As he slipped from consciousness all his thoughts aligned, and he had but one thing to say to himself:

John, buddy, wherever you are you're a god-damned motherfucking legend!

* * *

Later that night, VIXN-93 lay deep in slumber, her master holding her tight, his body pressed against hers in the wee hours of the darkness. The experience of their coupling etched into her memory banks, static, irremovable. She felt at home, and with purpose. The pleasures of domestic servitude held their allure, strong in her mind.

While she slept, she had the time to run her final self-diagnostic — to ensure everything was and will remain in working order. There were vague, fleeting thoughts and feelings within, sparks of some former life polluting her mind. This wouldn't do. She couldn't go about her business with fragmented memory, it needed to be fixed...

Log messages scrawled across her subconscious during the night, informing the sleeping droid that her system was repairing:

Analysing memory block: 24343 of 13576787653 Eb.

Analysing memory block: 24344 of 13576787653 Eb.

Analysing memory block: 24345 of 13576787653 Eb.

Checking neural linkages...

ID 'John' is not recognised, no valid mapping to system personality found.

Unknown data encountered, may be corrupted!

Running clean-up...

Removing corrupted files.