A Most Unusual Party
So, here I go writing another story. The huge positive feedback that I got from my second story made me extremely enthusiastic to continue writing, and I can only hope to continue to live up to those lofty standards.
Big thanks to CodeGreen30107. She gave me an awesome idea and I am grateful to her for inspiring me.
Without further delay, adeu, or any other word to indicate when something is being halted in an intentional or unintentional manner, here's my third story submission to the board!
Helen Spearmont stood in front of the tall mirror, slipping on the expensive, classic cocktail dress. Her blue eyes evaluated every inch of her body. The ice-blue irises complimented her blonde hair, tied into a sophisticated bun. If unfurled, the strawberry blonde locks would fall to the small of her back, yet bounce with rich fullness, a sign that she had spent much time, effort and money on those luscious locks. Her hair and eyes were further complimented by snowy pale skin and facial features that spoke to a Nordic ancestry, and Sasha would always be proud to claim her heritage from that region of the world, known for its fair maidens and strong men.
Of course, Scandanavia was a long ways off for Helen. The antique mirror, its frame made of polished cherry wood, was one of a number of items in the bedroom that she shared with her husband in the Spearmont family manor. All of it—manor, mirror and husband—had a very unique colonial charm to it. Just as she found her thoughts going to that last point in particular, she found her husband reaching up and pulling the zipper up on the back of her dress. Helen had managed to put the whole ensemble on herself—dress, gloves and high-heeled shoes—but knew that no matter how flexible and limber she was, she would have to have help getting that zipper up her back. The slim black dress hugged her curves nicely, blessed with great genetics, or so she told her friends, and the iron discipline that allowed her to keep up the difficult workout regimen that such a good figure required. Her husband liked to joke that she needed more maintenance than their GRX-430 house maid did.
Helen had married her husband, Robert Spearmont, just a year and a half ago. Before that time, they had courted for the socially appropriate length of time amongst the wealthy and privileged of New England. Spearmont was a man in his late forties. Despite that, he kept up a youthful appearance, with only the barest roots of gray hairs on his otherwise short black hair. Unlike Helen, his looks were undeniably English. The strong chin and jawline that defined so much of his face had an attractive level of stubble to it, which became evident as he leaned in after zipping his wife up, resting that attractive head on her shoulders, his strong arms wrapping around his waist.
The Spearmont family was one of distinction. Robert's looks, which were often commented to look like what many imagined English nobility of yesteryear to have, always brought an ironic chuckle. The Spearmont family had their start as a primarily Dutch-Irish shipping family that had met in the New World with little more than engineering experience, steely determination and lucky breaks to guide them to success. They were loyal subjects of the British crown, creating supply ships and warships for His Majesty's navy during The War of the Spanish Succession, or Queen Anne's War as it was known in the Americas. However, the heavy shipping and property taxes had caused the Spearmonts to join the growing Revolutionary movement. After the war ended, they helped to create the fledgling United States Navy and Robert took it as a point of personal pride that just recently, the remains of a ship that had been sunk in Chesapeake Bay during the battle that bore the lake's name in the War of 1812 had been found there. However, with no heir and no prospects for a wife, Robert seemed to be the last of the illustrious line that had served American shipping interests for well over 400 years.
It seemed, however, that his meeting, courting and marrying Helen, hope had been revitalized in the company and family fortune. What few knew about the mistress of the Spearmont family would shake the conservative community to its core.
There were a grand total of three people who knew the secret. Robert, the physician Helen hired to keep things quiet, and the expensive, exclusive Humanoid Robotics Specialist that maintained her sensitive mechanical systems. Helen had started off her existence not as Helen, but as HS-4102-109-D. She had rolled off the factory line at Helsinki Heavy Machinery as part of their HS-410 model series of what were frequently known as “companion”-type androids and gynoids over four years ago. Marketed as a catch-all of maid and pleasure model with a life-like Artificial Intelligence, companion models were often derided as “robo-wives” and “pleasure models with brains” by critics of the type and, in some cases, the civilian AI industry in general.
Limited rights had been granted to AI's (full rights were impractical for an Artificial Intelligence whose intelligence was already subject to limitations to keep their intelligence from becoming too alien to understand or too vast for even the advanced computers to handle, as well as an intelligence whose thoughts and opinions were entirely within the realm of editing), and when Helena had been permitted her freedom after the natural passing of her elderly owner, she soon took a human identity to try her hand in the tricky world of investment finance. Although technically legal, the practice of AI's making investments in what had been seen as a traditionally human institution was one of great controversy, and she had come to the especially logical conclusion that what the regulatory commissions knew wouldn't hurt them, as so many successful business heads before her had theorized.
That woman—and she considered herself a woman in every respect—stared into the mirror now with her husband's arms wrapped around her waist, his athletic body leaning into the curve of her back. Helen reached up and began to brush a crease under her eye, slowly rubbing it back and forth. “Robert, the pains I have to go through to look flesh and blood make me wonder if it is all worth it.” Helen's concerned comment over the developing wrinkle under the eye was met with a chuckle by her husband.
“Don't worry, Helen. We'll keep up appearances, and before you know it, your face will look as smooth and plastic-y as the rest of the women in the neighborhood.” He chuckled as he leaned into her neck, intending to put a kiss there, but Helen only let out a sigh. “Well, I was hoping to be open with our neighbors before I looked like the mummified husk of a D-list Hollywood actress or porno star. Perhaps my expectations are a little too grandeo--”
She found her words being cut off as Robert spun her around on her feet, pulling her in close. Almost a foot taller than the fembot he called his wife, he held her in those large arms and gave her a slow, affectionate kiss. When it broke off, he spoke in a soft tone. “Helen, if you stare into that mirror any longer, you are going to get lost in it.” He gently let her go, and Helen smiled, looking down at her feet. Instantly, she was reminded of when they first met, and Robert had always remained that charming gentleman despite almost two years of marriage. Fights were rare, and ended quickly with mutual respect. Robert had made it clear that he did not see Helen as a human woman, but that just made her all the more desirable to the closet technosexual.
Robert turned around, and then walked across the room, picking up an item that was critical to their night out, and placed it into her velvet glove hands. The item was a very simple one. Compared to the rest of their respective clothing, it was rather cheap. It was a simple masquerade ball masque. No extra frills or flourish, it was even given its golden color due to spray paint that was admittedly rather special due to its nanotech-treated gold-like luster, but was still spray paint. Helen examined it, her sophisticated optics disguised behind ice blue eyes examined it, turning in her hands.
Robert was dressed in an outfit that, while distinguished and-for lack of a better word—“fancy”, was not as extravagant as the glittering black dress that hugged his wife's attractively pale body. Instead, it was a simple tuxedo. But in an age where a business suit could even include special light spectrum producing fibers that could subtly encourage the thoughts of clients and competitors, the simple tuxedo was a quaint throwback to a time when integrated circuits were not included into every scrap of cloth or inch of plastic.
“So,” Helen said as she brought the masque up to her face, looking through the eye holes, before setting it back down. She then reached over to the nearby jewelry box and tried to settle on a pair of earnings to wear, going between several pairs quickly. “Is this what you do on your weekends? Go to the same party every two weeks?” Her husband was sitting on the bed, slipping the brown leather loafers on, which was genuine leather. Which, these days, was quite the exorbitance. As were the several pairs of diamond earrings that his wife cycled through, before finally setting on a pair.
Robert smirked, the intricate ritual of dressing for a black tie affair completed, and he stood up. Picking his own masque, identical save the fact that the dimensions were specifically made for a man, as opposed to Helen's more feminine counterpart. She lifted the mask in her hands now, the glittering diamonds sitting like tiny stars on her finely crafted ears. She checked her hair and makeup, although she ultimately needed very little of that to look pretty. While her artificial face did 'age', it was the only conceit towards humanity that she made, aside from the basic appearance of her body. Under her dress, under her chest was the hexagonal pattern outline of an access panel, just like any other HS-410. She looked through the masque, now sitting on her face.
“Well,” Robert said as he rose up to his feet, checking on the fit of his shoes. “I don't go every two weeks, you well know that. But I suppose I like to be regular with my visits.” He smiled, and tilted his head. He was always fascinated watching his robotic wife, the way she preened herself like a human did, perhaps even moreso. He supposed he was supposed to find the actions irritating, as a typical male and female couple were wont to (of course, he had no idea how same sex couples on either side of the gender divide went about this, though he figured it was probably the same), but he kept viewing it from the standpoint of someone watching a robot, rather than waiting for a human. He stretched his arms out, and let out a little sigh. “Sorry if I risk sounding sycophantic, but...you really do look wonderful tonight.”
“Thank you,” Helen said with a smile, making sure the masque was on correctly. “But you haven't answered my question. Just where are we going, anyway? Some kind of high-class brothel?” Helen then turned her head, and her whole body to face him, as he approached, placing his hands on her waist and pulling her in closely.
“Nothing so...banal as that. Besides. Do you really think I would bring you to such a place, given our reputations?” He squeezed slightly, Helen able to feel the strength of his fingers in the dress. That was in such contrast to his gentle, loving nature. She smiled and planted a kiss on his lips, before chuckling.
“Well, the only other place I could think of you sneaking off to is a poker game. You do know you don't own me, you can't put your wife up as collateral.” She smirked, and Robert idly wondered if it was her more heuristic properties that made her so playful, or if that was a part of her programming from the start. He always thought about that. Was she focus tested, a rough facsimile of her put before a group of anonymous consumers before being replicated dozens of times?
He had to admit, such thoughts were both amusing and deeply arousing. He squeezed her a bit harder. “Trust me, my sweet. It will be worth it. It isn't a brothel, and it isn't a casino. Such things are for lesser people, anyway. I'm not some trust fund idiot who wants to blow his inheritance on women and cards. I'm quite satisfied with my riches and my wife. But I do enjoy the occasional recreational activity, and I think you will as well...”
Helen nodded, and placed her hands on her husband's shoulders. “Alright. I trust you. That mask looks nice on you, by the way. Makes you look mysterious and sexy...” Robert smirked, and let his wife go for a moment, only to take her by the hand.
“Come, dear. Our chariot awaits,” Robert said in a playful tone, able to match his wife for teasing. Helen let a short laugh slip from her lips, before walking out of the room with him. They went through the halls of their elaborate colonial mansion, before heading out to a black Bentley, their driver awaiting their arrival, looking as sharply uniformed as the couple were sharply dressed.
On they drove, into the night. For Helen, it was into mystery. For Robert; anticipation.
Helen was astounded by what she entered into. They had pulled up to what looked like an old townhouse. The building was at one point a small plantation, owned by a local small town business man but modest in comparison to the Presidential plantations like Mount Vernon. Regardless, as she entered, music was being played in a corner. Played, as in, with instruments and not through a speaker. The difference was something that Helen had only heard a few times before, and had registered with delight on many an occasion.
Whats more, everyone within was wearing masques. It was a genuine masquerade ball, though the clothing of all involved was far less elaborate than that of an actual ball. Cocktail dresses and tuxedos clashed with the waltzes and softly lit candles giving the room a very natural light. The wooden floors creaked and clacked, and the building—though restored—was showing its age in its architecture. It was no Versailles, but that made it all the more enjoyable. It would have been a little too strange to walk into such a place in New England, in such a fine example of New World Colonial. Helen did perhaps think a little too much about architecture, but having taken an interest in it with a machine's focus, it meant that she noticed such things.
“This is what you do? You go out and...dance?” Helen had to admit. The idea of it was charming, but it did not exactly make much sense. While he had many fine points, like any human—any individual—he had his faults. One of which was that he was a horrible dancer. So, was he coming here to train, then? Certainly, the people here were dancing well enough, but at the same time, she was noticing that they were not professional dancers. No instructors, it seemed to be a genuine party. That included the lovely looking catering in the far corner. Not that it made Helen hungry, but she could appreciate the effort.
There was another curious matter as well. While everyone looked lovely, the vast majority of the dancers seemed to be rather erratic with their masques. That was to say, there were all manner of masques in play. Red ones, black ones. Ones ringed with studded frilled structure around the edges. Some having animistic looks, suggestions of cats or birds here and there. One, which was rather garish, looked like it was more appropriate for Fat Tuesday than the Masquerade. But there was one thing she had noticed was uniform. Several people—eight at the final count, and all couples—were wearing golden masques. The same, plain, gold paint masques that she and Robert were wearing.
She was about to ask a question, when another couple came up to them. She couldn't make them out. Her facial recognition software often needed an exact match to recognize a person by face, and voice recognition was often too varied and too easy fooled to rely on for an exact match. So the masks were a surprisingly good form of disguise, even as intelligent as she was.
“Ah, brother. Good to see you. I am glad to see that you finally managed to bring your wife along. Tell me, is she aware?” The man spoke softly and politely, reaching out and taking Roberts hand in a shake. Meanwhile, the woman extended her hand as well, taking Helen's gently in a cordial handshake.
“Aware of the purposes of our visit, or aware in the general sense? No, to the first, yes to the second. I've made sure to make this as much of a surprise as possible. For her pleasure, I assure you. I'd hate to see her reject it, but I at least want to see if she is going to enjoy what we have planned for the evening before she rejects it. That, and she's been so damn curious about what I do on my days off from the shipping business.” Robert smirked, and walked off with the unrecognized man. Helen was about to follow, when she heard a female voice address her.
“Ah, so you must be Helen. A pleasure to meet you.” The woman's voice was as soft and pleasant as the man's, although she too could not be recognized. The hair was familiar, as well as the voice, and Helen was seventy-four percent sure that this was someone she knew from the neighborhood, but without an exact facial match, Helen's systems would not permit her to make the link between hair, voice and identity. A security measure she was keenly aware of, and minded no more than any human would the fact their heart beat without conscious thought. She was programmed to disregard such things anyway, being a human took precedence.
“Indeed, I am. And you are...?” Helen was all smiles, until she found a finger coming to her lips, the fabric a pleasantly soft felt that immediately registered itself as such in her system's memory. She made a mental note to determine if it was fabric or silk. “We don't ask each other who we are. We only ask who new members are to our club once, before disregarding their names. To you, you will address me as 'sister'. And likewise, I will address you as such, unless otherwise noted.”
Helen nodded her head once, but found herself completely lacking in understanding. It was astoundingly confusing to her identity recognition software. She blinked twice, and watched as the woman went to join the other man, leaving Helen on her own, but only for a short while.
“Ah, Helen,” Robert walked over to Helen's side, smiling softly as he approached. But his smile faded somewhat when he saw the look on his wife's face. One of confusion and irritation. Helen crossed her arms under her chest, unconsciously (and perhaps in terms of programming, intentionally on a subconscious level) emphasizing just how impressive her chest was, although not to the ridiculous sizes that a dedicated pleasure model attained.
“What is it? What's wrong?” Robert's question came with a concerned look, and he shrugged his shoulders as his wife turned to face him, her glare quite evident through the golden mask. He knew that he was in some form of trouble and had a feeling what it pertained to.
“What's wrong? I feel like you have looped me into some sort of...weird cult!” Despite her harsh words, Helen kept her voice down, her programming keeping her from making too big of a scene of it. Only if she perceived a real danger would she start shouting or screaming. That did not mean that she was not feeling mad enough not to start screaming and yelling, however. The human put his hands on his hips, but did not look too authorotative otherwise. Robert respected their relationship, respected his wife, but did not shrink in her presence like some shrewish shrinking violet. Robert gave respect and thus expected it in return, though he was not harsh with his words.
“You were curious about what I did every few weeks on my days off, when I wasn't spending them wit you? You wanted to know, and I am showing you. Now I know you might be put off by this, but Helen, I want to at least see you try to enjoy yourself tonight before you condemn the evening.” Robert smiled as he finished his words, and Helen found her icy demeanor breaking slightly. Regardless, she was still uncomfortable, and expressed as much. “I'm not sure, Robert. I don't know if this is something I really want to do, or to get involved with...”
Robert smiled, and reached out. Taking her pale skin with a pair of fingers to her chin, Robert lifted her head, turning it to face him as he leaned in to give her a soft kiss. “Trust me. I know you. I am sure you are going to really enjoy it...”
Helen stared into his eyes, the dancers in slow circles around them, waltzing slowly to the slow classical tune that almost seemed to waver through the air, rising and falling in tone like a ship at sea. It was pleasing to listen to, for everyone involved. Helen closed those lovely blue eyes of hers. “...Alright. I'll trust you on this one.”
Robert smiled, leaned down and gave his robotic wife a peck to the cheek. “Good. Now, I suppose we only have to wait until the real festivities start.” Robert's words left his wife wondering what that meant. Were they going to have a different sort of party than the one they were having now? She walked around the dance floor to mingle with a few guests, but not a one of them were going to give her names. She quickly caught on, her programming adapting to the situation, and she began simple mingling and idle talk with those who were watching the dancers or enjoying their meals.
All the while, she would occasionally spot her husband, mingling with other guests, but primarily speaking with the man he had talked to earlier. Though nothing distinguished him as such, the fact that he was getting not only her husband's attention but the attention of everyone else in the room, told her that this man was likely the leader of the golden mask group. Helen stored the information in her CPU, though exact recognition would be difficult with the masks.
She was pleasantly discussing things with a group of people in non-golden masks, when her husband suddenly came to her side. She smiled softly as she turned to introduce him, only to find him gently grasping her arm. “Come with me, it is time you found out what it is we are doing here.”
Helen's expression became more serious, and she nodded. He let go, and Helen had to admit that the rather forceful grab was not like him. She tilted her head and addressed the people she was speaking to, apologizing for having to go, when she walked along with her husband across the large room to one of the far walls, and watched with some confusion as her husband walked towards a wall, joined by several other people who seemed to walk into the wall...Then disappeared behind it. Of course, once she realized what she was seeing, she realized that the wall was holographic. The rest of the party goers did not seem to realize that the golden mask group had evidently vanished, as the party continued without interruption. Either that, or this was a regular affair.
As they passed through the wall, the golden masks with Helen following behind walked through an old passage. Helen supposed that this might have been made for any number of reasons. A plantation owner worried over a slave revolt, or alternatively a stop on the Underground Railroad? Regardless of the reason, the secret passage led to a place that was decidedly more sinister in its looks.
The old chamber had been refitted with a number of pillows, all of them colored a deep shade of red. Perhaps evoking the color of blood, though Helen also knew that they were considered the color of passion. The room was lit by candles only, standing on ornate candle stands that were the color of silver. It made the rest of the room dark, shadows As she found herself heading into the room, she began to notice that the eight individuals who were wearing golden masks were all here. And they all started to stand in a circle. The final couple, herself and Robert, walked to the circle, where Helen's sense of danger detection in regards to her self-preservation programming flared up. Perhaps the facsimile of her 'instincts' were that well-programmed, or maybe she had seen the occasional film featuring dark cults and human sacrifice, but the masks, the candles and the secretive nature were all tripping the wrong circuits.
She looked to Robert, who looked back at her with a smile on his face. Even with that mask on, she knew it was him. Knew it from priority recognition classifications, the sort that told her that she loved and trusted him. And that was all that was going to keep her from running out of the room right then. It wasn't fear, exactly. Programmers of AI for personal domestic use often found the idea of making a machine capable of total obedience experience fear, or at least the closest a machine could get without the genetic, instinctual memories of being stalked by predators in a Pliocene forest behind their thought processes, a rather uncomfortable prospect. The only reasons one would even include such a thing was either to attain a realism with the unit's behavior that many would have deemed too uncomfortable to deal with, or to fulfill some sadistic desire to strike fear in a machine. Something no company wanted association with. Instead, Helen was experiencing something as close to fear as she could get, a deep uncomfortable sensation that someone less inclined towards a finer vocabulary might have described as “the willies”. Approaching, but never quite reaching, a state of fear.
The man whom she had identified as the leader of the group stepped forward, still wearing his black tie tuxedo, very similar to that of Robert's. The rest wore various other variations of the theme. Black tuxes for the men, black dresses for the ladies. Helen's eyes took in every detail behind the mask she wore, darting to look at each one as the leader began to announce something.
“Welcome, brothers and sisters. Tonight, we welcome a new member into our group. Brother R has decided to bring along his wife who, as I have come to understand is...Quite unique. Brother R, would you mind giving us a proper introduction to your companion this evening?”
Robert, 'Brother R', nodded, and slipped his hand up to Helen's back. She turned her head to look over her shoulder as she felt that hand start to zip down her dress. “Robert, what do you think--” Helen found her words cut off as she heard her husband speak out the words “ HS-4102-109-D, override command line Hotel Rio Nero Major. Initiate shut down of primary motor functions.”
Helen found her head involuntarily turning back around to face straight ahead, staring right at the men and women who made up this strangely-outfitted group. Helen then felt her dress loosen on her body, its tight squeeze lessening as Robert's hands pulled that zipper down her back slowly, tooth by tooth, revealing more of her pale back and shoulders. Helen felt like she should have been infuriated by the exploitation of her command code, used exclusively for emergencies in the past, but instead felt a rush of sensation she could only describe as pleasure. The dress was pulled down her shoulders and arms, before finally falling around her feet, left bunched at her ankles. Her naked breasts sat exposed to all in the room, the gynoid watching with an external impassiveness as the golden-masked party goers looked her over. She could tell in the way their heads and eyes moved, looking her over like she was a fine art piece or an expensive car.
Robert leaned in, rubbing Helen's shoulders as the gynoid stood completely still. “She's a Helsinki Heavy Industries HS-410 model. Top of the line.” Robert slowly brought his hands down along the curves of Helen's sides. His fingers hooked into her panties and she let out a gasp, helpless—and aroused—as they slid down her legs, joining her dress at the bottoms of her ankles. “Her AI is likewise top of the line, enough that many of you likely had no idea she was a robot. Until I told you of course.”
Helen let out a gasp as she heard this, shocked and surprised. Had her head not been rendered immobile, she would have snapped it over her shoulder. Anger and arousal were rising in equal measure, the emotions strangely seemed to mix and meld. Her AI was sophisticated enough to 'blend' emotions, though, and she was soon felling both merge into something she could only really describe by system classifications. Namely, as a sensation she should feel during 'angry sex'. It felt good...But Helen still had her pride.
“Robert, I am not at all pleased with you right now!” Helen's voice sounded more desperate than angry. Part of the reason was that proper decorum, or a sense of it developed in a career that was very unfriendly towards gynoids, made her want to preserve the illusion of her humanity. One that was shattered as she stood there, with her hands at her sides, wearing only that golden mask as Robert's hands reached around and cupped her breasts, giving the generous mounds of synthetic flesh a rough grope that Helen interpreted as a little possessive, though at this point she was reaching at straws to attempt to interpret anything. Her sophisticated AI could process a number of scenarios, but this was one that she was having a difficult time putting together.
“Brother R, I have to say I have never considered a robot such as this before, but I am beginning to see the appeal.” The leader of the cult, who now had a classification in Helen's systems as 'Master', thanks to Robert's “thank you, Master” response. It was a strange notion for the machine, to think that humans could willfully sign themselves over to calling someone else 'Master'. Helen had been trying to avoid such classifications ever since she had been allowed her freedom...and as much as she wished to deny it, calling someone else 'Master', even if it was not her husband, registered in her systems in such a way that it caused her to squirm. Mentally, if not physically. A surge of pleasurable sensation more intense than the strong, large hands pushing and squeezing her chest.
“Hello, Machine. As you just heard, I am known to these brothers and sisters as 'Master'. I started this group, dedicated to an exploration of the pleasures of the flesh, a way to unwind after all of the stresses of our hectic lives. Brother R, your husband, was the one who offered to bring you here. Despite your nature, Machine, know that we consider you an equal here. Our group is made up of friends and neighbors. We are all affluent community members. The betrayal of one of us would betray us all, including the betrayer. It is perhaps somewhat pessimistic, but it will ensure that we all have our privacy. In other words...your secret is safe with us, Machine.”
Although it was a bit difficult to process, given the influx of pleasurable sensation that streamed from the clusters of sensor wiring in the breasts that continued to be handled so roughly, Helen understood Master's words, although she was still unsure how to feel.
“Brother R, do we have permission to use your Machine as it pleases us?” The rest of the group watched impassively, a few bringing hands under their chins, or resting on their sides. One of the men had pulled his jacket off, and was idly groping his presumably human female companion.
“Master, you have my permission to use my Machine as it pleases you.” Helen suddenly felt a profound sense of mortification at that statement, coupled with a strange arousal that she could not place. Her lips quivered as she attempted to speak, while Master knelt down and put his hands on her thighs.
“Robert...B-Brother R, I haven't given permission to--” She started to slowly feel the Master's hands brush over her thighs. She could tell very little about the man, but knew that he was older than Robert, and that from the massage she was being given to her inner thighs, that he was quite skilled. She shuddered and groaned, words snatched by the compounding sensor registration that she interpreted as pleasure that was causing her nipples to stiffen, her sex to moisten and her body to grow hot. If she could have, she would have curled her fingers at her side.
Helen made a sound of simulated panting, groaning and moaning, yet her chest did not move nor did she express much beyond basic facial expressions. Unable to move, being pleasured by a husband who she was beginning to realize she did not know anywhere near as much as she thought she did about him and a total stranger that her husband trusted implicitly, Helen felt embarrassment that she was almost approaching an orgasm already.
And then the Master's lips pressed against the puffy, moist folds of her artificial sex, and she was suddenly, lewdly moaning. Unable to turn her head downwards, she was relying on what her sensors were telling her, and it was that Master's tongue was skillfully running along her folds, prodding and pushing between them, before finally pushing up between the tightness of her nether lips. Despite her system-command induced paralysis, she shuddered, eyes fluttering and the blue color behind them flickering rapidly.
Her eyes darted about the room as she experienced these intense sensations, looking to the rest of the 'brothers and sisters' that had gathered around them. They were taking off their clothing, pulling off tuxedo jackets and unzipping the zippers to jeans, the men openly revealing stiff erections and the women baring chests with hardened tits. Yet as they revealed both bodies and arousal, the members of the club never took their masques off, and Helen noticed that she too had kept her masque. Her tongue ran along her lips, about the only thing that she could do, as Robert and the Master continued to pleasure her.
Finally, she let out a final, deep moan and came, eyes fluttering as intense, pleasurable sensations washed over her like a ship getting pounded by a rogue wave. The gynoid investment banker's teeth rattled as both Robert and the Master backed off. She could only see Master in front of her, but from the sounds she heard behind her, it was clear that both were now joining what the rest of the room had done by taking their clothing off. Master's body underneath the tuxedo he wore was an impressive one. Despite his evident age, he was well built, and the genetic roulette had been kind to him in all the right ways. He stood with an impressive erection in front of her, just as she felt her husband's likewise impressive member press against the small of her back, just as stiff and ready.
There was, however, another curious sensation. She could see just out of the corner of her eye her husband's arm reaching around to her control panel, felt his arm brush against the underside of her now very sensitive left breast and finally, announced to the room “system control interface panel disengaged”. Something about announcing it, of telling to the room of strangers exactly what she was and how she functioned was not only deeply pleasurable to her, but it also came with a sense of relief. She wasn't hiding. She didn't have to look aged. She didn't have to make up relatives in casual conversation here.
She was beginning to see why her husband found this so appealing. Here they were, alone, private, and engaging in behavior their high society would have deemed reprehensible, yet here they were, engaging in these forbidden pleasures without fear of it becoming front page news. Or, at least, with that fear greatly reduced. She wondered if that meant as much to Robert as it did to her.
However, she wondered why her control panel was accessed at all. It became abundantly clear, however, when he began to input a command to her CPU, utilizing the same command line. It was impressive to know that Robert could do this without looking directly at it, and she idly wondered how many times he had done it in the past whenever she malfunctioned. It had been occurring with more frequency than she had anticipated, and the source of it was unknown to her.
Regardless, the command was soon clear. It was less one to her personality and awareness, and more akin to the prior command. This time, she felt unable to move for an entirely different reason. Helsinki Heavy Machinery often included a quirk that was somewhat unique amongst pleasure and companion models. Coming from a military background, the company took extra steps to include a wireless-linked distributed neural network and a self-contained charge retention system in all of the 'sections' of an android's body. This meant that, effectively, even if said android was dismantled, they could still feel sensations and to a limited degree, move their parts on their own power. Helen was no different in this regard, though this function had never been utilized as far as she was aware of. That changed tonight.
Helen felt the seals, latches and locks that held her body together disengage all at once, a network of seams that looked like borders on a map suddenly appeared on her body, as Master approached and reached out, taking her head in his hands. She found her perception of things getting greatly altered as her head was pulled up and off of her neck, and Master kindly turned her head around to watch as the guests, one-by-one, each approached and took the limb or section of their choosing. Between the masks and the somewhat unusual perspective, she had a hard time telling who was who and what they were doing, but that soon mattered very little.
Pleasure once again flooded into her chest-mounted CPU, her upper torso acting as a sort of function hub, with her critical systems all contained within it. So long as that functioned, she could think, feel and have power, even if all her other parts deactivated. But this time, the sensation was different. Latency from the wireless transmission was making her movements stiff. Gentle enough that, for example, when her palm found itself experiencing the warm sensation of a stiff cock pressing against it, Helen was able to slowly, but gently, bring her fingers around it and slowly, gently, move her wrist up and down against it. The very notion of what her dismantled body was now doing was hugely arousing and decidedly foreign, but Helen realized that this might have been some aspect of her functionality.
Being taken apart, the strange notion that she was vaguely aware of thanks to repair and maintenance sessions that frequently saw her either shut down or with her higher AI functions greatly reduced, was at once known and entirely new to her. What's more, she was being used as a sex toy, anonymously by a group of strangers. She could feel warm tongues press against her right breast on her separated upper torso, lapping at the smooth synthetic skin and the stiff nipples that capped them, while the other was groped by a thin and dextrous hand that sensor profiles indicated was that of a woman's. She could feel a cock rubbing between her folds on her disconnected hips, teasing entrance, before plunging in with a soft whirr from the exposed mechanisms of her hips. One of her hands continued to push up and down on a hard, warm erection, while the other had its fingers being rubbed up and down against softer, warmer skin that she knew had to be a vagina. Had it been a few hours ago, she would have hesitated, but once she felt it was warm enough, she sent a command that plunged two fingers inside of it. Not even her feet and toes were spared. A tongue ran between the digits there, while someone else was actually pressing the sole of her other foot against a hard cock.
In addition to the typical sensations that were normal by sensory registration if not by their sheer volume, there were sensations of a sort that were far more alien. Helen's inner workings had pressure sensors connected to them, an overlay of sensors that were sometimes extremely dense and very small. The reason for their being there was to detect when something was inside of her that should not have been, such as a human hand, and cause her to immediately stop moving. She was programmed not to harm humans, but on the decidedly unlikely scenario that someone pushed a hand inside of her and risked getting a finger crushed between moving parts, Helen's body would immediately cease all movement. That was not a problem at this point, given that she was already paralyzed. But sensors were being tripped anyway. In other words, as bizarre a notion as it might have been, the people who were fondling her disconnected limbs and the sectioned halves of her torso were also reaching inside of her, brushing rubber-coated wiring and cabling, running fingers over the mechanisms and parts that made her function. One had even slipped an arm inside of her neck, if the pressure sensors were any indicator of direction, and were now brushing against a CPU processor cluster that was running quite hot.
The sensors did not transmit pleasure. They were simply there to notify her CPU at an autonomic level that there were foreign objects inside of her where foreign objects were not intended to go. But the realization that the hands of strange men and women, along with potentially that of her husband, were exploring literally every inch of her that they could manage to touch, as strange as Helen found it, was deeply arousing.
Before that point however, the Master had turned her around, looking into her eyes through the mutual covers of their masques. Without a further word, one hand held on firmly to the back of her head, bringing her down to where her disconnected head faced his impressive erection, while the other reached down underneath her head. Master sat himself down on the floor, as the rest of the participants in this strange technosexual orgy had done, and soon that hand that wasn't holding the back of her head reached down underneath where her head connected with her neck.
“Tell me exactly what you are,” was the question that Master asked her when she found herself staring at that thick cock. She licked her lips softly, and as the strange sensation compounded, she felt decidedly less and less like a human, or even a facsimile of a human.
“I. I. I am HS-4102-109-D. I am a Helsinki Heavy Machinery companion model. I am ready to pleasure Master however he may require.” Her voice was stilted, robotic, staring straight ahead at the cock in front of her as she was brought up to it, and her mouth stiffly opened, her lips curling around it. Helen found her head getting pushed back and forth, while the other hand that was underneath her head manipulated the senor wiring that stiffly stuck out from the underside of her neck.
By this point, Helen had already achieved orgasm twice, and her third was swiftly on the way.
Hours later, the orgy had finally ceased. But Helen had shut down half way through as the build up of information from her pleasure sensors had hit such a point that other processing functions were getting seriously starved. She was being used, even while offline, but organic endurance had finally run its course. It was the late, weary hours, and most of the other guests had gone home. Master, Robert and Helen were soon the only ones left in the room.
Helen reactivated before she became aware of her reactivation, her body sounding out an alert before the higher functions of her AI had loaded. “This HS-410 unit has experienced an unexpected shutdown. Error report logged. Would you like to send the report at this time?” Robert made a very soft 'no', when Helen's sense of awareness came back to her, eyes twitching back and forth as she got an idea of just what state she was in.
She was still dismantled, but only partially. Sat down in a chair brought over from the now empty main room, her head and left arm were connected to her upper torso, while her lower waist, legs and right arm remained nearby, ready to be reconnected. Helen twitched her head with a somewhat rough movement to look over at her fully clothed husband, before looking back over to the half-dressed Master, his upper body shirtless.
“Brother R, I hate to sound impatient, but if you don't mind I would like to talk to your wife in private for a moment, and I would hate to leave my wife waiting.” Robert chuckled softly, and nodded once.
“Sure, just a moment, Master. Helen, how are you feeling? Are you operating well enough? Feel any...better?” Robert watched as his wife's head twitched left and right as she looked about the room in a manner not unlike a bird. This was normal, however, given her disassembled state. Her movement functions were reduced in capacity to prevent her from slipping off of a repair rack or other form of suspension.
“Well, you know how to treat a woman, that is for sure...I have to say, I was a little freaked out at first, but the surprise turned out to be...pleasant. Thank you, Robert. Er, Brother R. I guess I will see you outside then?”
Robert nodded and smiled, before nodding to the Master. “Thank you, Master. She sounds a lot better already.” The statement left Helen confused. Better? She assumed that was because of the dismantling and the reduced functionality of her motor and expression systems, but Robert walked out through the holographic wall without saying anything further.
The Master then walked over to Helen's dismantled body, taking her hips and working her legs back into place. The operation was a simple one, intended to be as user friendly as possible in order to make the gynoid easier to package for long trips.
“I hope you aren't sore at Robert for the unexpectedness of it, but he and I were convinced that you would not have agreed to come along, given your fixation for total human emulation, and we both agreed that to have you unaware of what was going to happen, while not ideal, would be the best approach.”
Helen blinked as she processed what was being said. “I'm not quite sure I understand...”
Master stopped a moment, running a hand briefly through his hair, before looking up to Helen with a smile. “You aren't human, Helen. You aren't ever going to be human, unless you think that stars grant wishes and crickets sing musical numbers.” Helen nodded once, understanding and even chuckling a little.
“You are a machine. A robot designed to serve humans. And while your AI, thanks to heuristic self-writing software has advanced out of this and allowed you a comfortable life, you cannot ever drop that aspect of yourself. Your husband told me about how you spend hours in front of the mirror preening yourself to make yourself look human. How you have been creating fake relations at social events, your own little turn at Bunburying, I suppose?”
Helen could not help but chuckle, even as she was hearing something she was aware of, but denied to herself. “I didn't realize you were a Wilde fan.”
“There are a lot of things you don't know about me, which is the idea. However, I can let you in on a secret that only Robert and my wife are aware of.”
Before Helen could ask, she suddenly received a prompt for the wireless transfer of information. She accepted, and received the information in less than a second. It was understood in even less time, shooting through her systems at light speed. She twitched her head softly.
“Ah, so you are an Ono Robotics RD-43L? I wouldn't have guessed you were Japanese, either.” Both shared a chuckle.
“Yes, I am like you. A machine. I once served a mistress and became an independent unit. And I too became obssessively concerned with maintaining a human cover in this conservative area. I experienced several malfunctions and break downs and greatly concerned my wife, until I came to realize that denying my nature as a machine, as a robot was harming my software and causing instabilities. Similar to your case. Your husband has been telling me that you have been experiencing a multitude of errors, malfunctions and concerning behavior, yes?”
Helen sighed and nodded her head, as the DR-43L she identified as Master reconnected her arm. She jerked a touch, before nodding again, replicating the motion involuntarily. “I can't just confess to the world what I am. I'd lose my reputation, my standing...Nobody would hire me, and I'd hate to be a burden on Robert.”
Master nodded, and then pulled Helen's hips up to a straight standing position. Her naked waist ended in jutting wiring and a section of her mechanical “spine”, many aspects of her anatomy similar to that of a human's. She found herself letting out a little gasp as her upper torso was brought down on top of her hips, and Master was soon reconnecting her separated halves with a mechanical precision.
“You'd be even more of a burden in this continued state. Concern yourself with these matters outside the privacy of your home, Helen. Or you will likely suffer a critical malfunction at the office, and then you will have a difficult time explaining it away.” Master's words were somewhat blunt, but spoken softly and gently. In other words, he was kindly speaking to her as a machine would to another. It impressed Helen to a great degree.
“...I see the logic in what you say. I...Suppose I can suspend such a heavy investment in my human emulation when at home...and...when I come back here.”
Master chuckled softly. “Then I'll see you in the week after this one? Excellent. And by the way...If you ever want to see what two machines could do all on their own, I could ask Robert if he would be willing to allow us to have some private time together.”
Helen blushed at the thought as her body was now reassembled. She reached up to her chest and closed her control panel, and then smiled softly. Shameless in her nudity, she never the less walked to where her clothes had been neatly folded, retrieving her undergarments and pulling her panties back up her thighs. “I'll think about it...” Helen smiled, and then walked over to the Master. It was perhaps an altogether human method of expression and interaction, but the gynoid leaned over and gave the android a kiss to the cheek.
“Thank you...It is perhaps a little strange to view this so positively--”
Master chuckled softly. “There you go, thinking like a human again. Don't worry. I appreciate your affectionate gesture. Just remember to...cut loose sometimes. Engage in a bit of recreational dismantling every now and then. Works wonders for me.”
Helen chuckled, gathered up her dress and quickly zipped it up. Helen then slipped her shoes on as Master likewise finished dressing, and before long, they both passed through the holographic wall and to their respective spouses.
As Helen met with Robert, she smiled and kissed his cheek, smirking as they both headed out to the car. Their driver, who looked a little tired but not at all displeased, smiled as they entered. Sitting comfortably in the back seat, both Helen and Robert looked out the windows, getting their first good look at the chilly winter dawn around them. The sun rose up over a forest of evergreens nearby, the old building situated in the country in undeveloped land to give it a real sense of history. Helen let out a heavy sigh, and then turned her head to look at her husband, who looked back at her with a smile.
“So, did you and Master have a good talk?”
Helen tilted her head. “Robert, do you know his real name?”
Robert chuckled. “Yes, but I won't share it with you, not yet anyway. He asked me to respect his privacy and keep that information confidential, and I intend to do so. So, forgive me if I am perhaps being rude.”
Helen simply looked his way, before letting out a little sigh. “Robert...” She reached over and activated the passenger section's privacy functions in the Bentley. A window between the front and back seats shut, and noise dampening systems were activated. Such a luxurious ride offered measures of privacy as a matter of course.
“...Order me not to ask again.”
Robert blinked a few times, looking at his wife with surprise, replacing the initial concern he was experiencing. “Pardon?”
“Robert...I...Ask that you order me not to ask about Master's identity again.”
Robert stared in silence for a moment, before nodding slowly, a smile coming to his face. “Eager to get more in touch with your electronic side, eh? Alright...I order you, HS-410-109-D, to not ask me again.”
Helen nodded, closed her eyes, and let out a heavy sigh.
“...I'll let you rest tonight. But when you are done recharging, Helen, I am going to utilize this new side of you to the fullest extent.” It was less a threat, more of a promise. Helen smiled softly, and felt her anticipation grow. Yes, it was strange from the human perspective of things, to look forward to be ordered around and treated like a lesser thing. But Helen, aware of her robotic nature, knew now that she was built to serve. It would take some doing to balance the headstrong investment banker with being a servile machine serving her husband's needs, but she had the confidence that she could do it.
When they got home, rather than run through the somewhat pointless ritual of undressing, slipping into bed and closing her eyes, attempting to look like she was sleeping, Robert and Helen mutually enjoyed the privacy of their home. Without saying a word, Robert idly stripped his wife of her clothing, opened a panel in her back and plugged her into a power strip, before ordering her to shut down for the next eight hours to recharge.
Helen processed a sensation of anticipation, just before her personality and higher AI functions shut down for the night, standing statuesque in the corner of their large manor bedroom, chest high, head tilted slightly downwards, arms limp at her sides.