Gynoidsaph #1

CN: Alcohol and Drug Use, Internalized Queer Antagonism, Light Bondage

I have an affliction. It’s something I try not to dwell on too often, try to push out of my mind. But on a night like tonight, my affliction refuses to be ignored.

I reluctantly walk into The Green Fairy, ashamed at my lack of control but also secretly delighted, as I always am in these moments of indulgence and weakness. It’s a sleazy overgrown shack of a bar in the G-District, nestled between abandoned buildings and run-down housing centers. Liquor licenses are normally extremely difficult to secure anywhere outside of A-District, making alcohol something only the rich normally indulge in. But The Green Fairy is about as far from “normal” as you can get, and alcohol is the least interesting product on the market.

It certainly isn’t why I’m here, although I belly up to the bar and order a double whiskey all the same. “To calm my nerves,” I think, “Just one drink.” The pit in my stomach, which has been present since I left work, begins to grow. My glass trembles as I accept it from Becca Fairweather, the owner. She’s a tall, olive skinned woman with straight black hair braided down her back in a fat ponytail. She gives me a knowing smirk, with the slightest of lifted eyebrows.

“Good evening, Officer Warner. Always pleased to serve Our City’s Finest,” Becca says sarcastically as she idly polishes a glass, her eyes fixed on mine. I wish she wouldn’t stare at me like that. I’m ashamed enough as it is.

I take a swig of her watered-down whiskey and turn to peruse the “scenery” while she gets my real vice ready. The carpet, once a rich deep green the color of money, is now dingy and heavily scuffed from being worn down with sweat and blood and tears and oil and cheap carpet cleaner. The entire room reeks with the mixed smoke of cigarettes, cigars, and whatever other illegal substances the patrons have tonight. The floors of the four stages are dinged and scuffed from hard shoes and even harder knees. The fembots parade around in next-to-nothing while the speakers pound some awful music that hasn’t been current for at least twenty years before I was born.

If I was a better cop, if I was strong enough to fight these disgusting urges of mine, I could find a reason to arrest every single customer in here. Of course, that would include myself, and every woman here knows it.

I know you’re judging me right now. The crooked cop, the hypocrite, right? Well, I’m not proud of my affliction. I’ve seen specialists and talked to discreet doctors and taken pills and tried treatments. But this is the only thing I’ve found that works for me. And while the letter of the law may say fembots are always illegal, the intent of the law was to keep husbands faithful to their wives and to maintain the family unit. I am not a husband, and I have no family unit to maintain. As for the other thing, well…she’s not a real woman. So it’s okay. I’m not harming a person by doing what I’m doing.

There’s a word for women like me. Well, a lot of words. But the least offensive would be Gynoidsaph, a human woman who…does what I do with fembots.

I know that it’s disgusting. If I wasn’t such a coward I would turn myself in for sexual perversion and submit to reprogramming. But I can’t risk losing my edge when it comes to understanding the way radical androids, gynoids and deviants think. Because the dangerous ones, the ones who have no respect for human life, the bots I joined the force to take down? They’re nowhere near as simple minded and thoughtless as the newsvids make them out to be.

Now most fembots are not complicated machines. Usually Delta level intelligence at most. Because, let’s face it, their primary clientele are men, and men are equally uncomplicated machines: Present them with desired visual traits, speak lamentations about their bruised egos, provide stimulation for a few minutes, and then clean up the mess.

But female clients? Women like me? Our needs are a bit more…niche. Which is why The Green Fairy is really the only place for us to go. Fairweather’s fembots are as close to the real thing as you can get. Alpha level intelligence, more than just the standard blond-with-big-tits body models, and clearly programmed with female clients’ pleasure in mind. They’re so lifelike, sometimes it’s easy to forget that they’re not real.

Fairweather taps me on the shoulder, and I’m so nervous I drop my already empty glass. An android bouncer is sweeping up the mess when Becca asks me, “Would you like another to calm your nerves before you go see Naomi, honey?”

Humiliated, I nod and silently slide my standard fees across the bar. She meticulously counts it at lightning speed before stuffing it into her bra, then pours me another whiskey. Which I down in one gulp, relishing the warmth spreading through my body.

This is it then. Services paid in full. No going back now. At least, that’s what I tell myself. If I had better self-control I could still walk right out of here and never look at this place again. But I already know from too many previous failed attempts, that won’t be happening tonight.

Fairweather is leading me the familiar way through the back door into a dark, narrow hallway. From this close, I can’t help but notice the way her tight skirt moves against her hips, swaying ahead of me. On nights like this, nights when I indulge myself and allow the monster to take control, I can get a little carried away. I force myself to focus intently on her shoes until we stop in front of my room. Fembots are one thing, but anything with a real woman is punishable by death. Fairweather is lucky she has so much dirt on the force, because her days would have been numbered years ago otherwise.

“Enjoy yourself, Officer. And thank you again for your patronage,” as she makes a deep, mocking bow.

Whatever, dyke.

Fairweather’s smugness is one of the worst parts of coming here. But imperfect solutions are often the only way to function. The room is cramped and dark, barely big enough for the bed. The big, soft bed that Naomi is already stretched across.

Goddamn, that body. That body has become far too familiar for me. That gorgeous brown body with little dark freckles and the softest skin-that’s-not-skin I’ve ever touched. Those wide hips and shapely ass literally made for gripping onto. That curly black hair in all the right places. Those sloping breasts and those big, dark nipples I love to put in my mouth. I know it’s really just a combination of plastics and plasma and who knows what else, but it never stops that body from haunting me. That body. That face. That is why I can’t stop. That is why I have to keep coming back.

“Hi Officer Warner. Long time since I saw you,” Naomi purrs.

“You know I hate when you call me that,” I lock the door and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Sorry Liz. But isn’t the taboo of fucking a cop half the fun? Why don’t you take your shoes off and I’ll help you relax, okay?”

The thought of putting my bare feet, or any bare skin, on any surface in this room makes me cringe. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and I am a desperate woman tonight.

Naomi reaches around to unknot my tie. I feel her breasts against my back as she begins to undo each button of my shirt, her breath against my neck. The warmth of her touch makes my skin break out in goosebumps and my nipples erect. She peeks her head around to kiss me and her lips are soft and moist. I don’t know what kind of engineering goes into that, but it’s the only thing that’s kept me from going overboard like Fairweather. Damn near the real thing. But not the real thing, thank God. I have to keep reminding myself that.

Naomi moves in front of me to pull open my shirt. Her fingers glide along my shoulders and arms as she gently pulls the sleeves away. She eyes my breasts with a hungry look and lowers her head to take my right nipple in her mouth. I moan and grip her thick hair as that perfectly programmed mouth suckles, flicking the tip of her tongue in that very particular way I like. I’m already imagining where else I would love that mouth to be. But that’s a line I promised I wouldn’t cross. Ever.

She moves to my other nipple until she’s satisfied, then lifts her head back up to mine, her lips slightly swollen as she kisses me. She fumbles with my belt and slides the rest of my clothes off as we tumble into the bed.

You would think a fembot would be heavy, given all the wires and circuits and whatever else must be in there. But Naomi’s practically weightless. So easy to carry and position however I want before securing each limb with the ropes she already has laid out for me on the nightstand. So effortless. It must be the plastics and polymers that make her feel so fragile. But I already know from experience she’s anything but delicate. When we first started this, I was so nervous I just used knots from my scout training days. But now I’ve learned beautiful knots that adorn her like a goddess.

I lay her out on the bed spread-eagle, carefully positioning each limb as she looks up at me and smiles. The ropes are for my own control, not her personal preference. But she’s been programmed to show an interest in the details of what we do, so she’s at least feigned an interest over time. Once she’s secure to my satisfaction, I dive between her thick thighs, kissing and licking them while I slowly make my way higher and higher, breathing in her scent. Oh yes, you heard me right. Even her scent is perfect. The attention to detail in Fairweather’s fembots is astounding. I don’t know how she can afford these upgrades, but at times like these I don’t really care either.

As her legs begin to twitch ever so slightly, I finally give in and put my mouth where she wants it. She’s warm and slick as I spread her open with my tongue. She whispers a moan as I find those familiar spots, focusing my attention and then exploring in order to work her up. My own clit is throbbing as I grind my hips against the bed, burying my head even deeper into her as she arches her back.

“Goddamn, Eliza,” she sighs, trailing off in a breathy laugh as I work my tongue back and forth right where she loves it. We’ve been doing this dance for a long time. I know how she’s programmed. No matter how terrible I feel leading up to it, once I’m actually here with her, the rest of the world fades away and I forget all the reasons I should hate myself right now. Because right now the only thing that exists is her body, the beads of sweat building up across my brow, her legs around me, my strong hands gripping her hips to pull her even closer, her slight fingers grabbing the ropes above her head. There is only Naomi. And she’s all I need tonight.

Gynoidsaph #1

4 thoughts on “Gynoidsaph #1

  1. 3

    [editor hat]
    “I’ve seen specialists and talked to discrete doctors…” should be “I’ve seen specialists and talked to discreet doctors…”.
    [/editor hat]

    Great, great start to this story. As a longtime fan of amateur erotica, I salute and thank you! Looking forward to more!

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