Date: Sat, 06 Jul 2002 17:55:42 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: Free to Good Home, chapter six This is a futuristic fantasy involving inter generational male/male graphic sex and it's not intended for reading by minors. If you are underage, or this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read something else! Feedback, always appreciated, to: javabiscuit@hotmail.com Free to Good Home ~ chapter six by Biscuit Blessed be my creator. Blessed be my human companion. Blessed am I to serve Toby. There were many references in my files to parties for business associates; menus, wine lists, topics of conversation, innumerable guides to correct behavior, like the recognition of corporate rank in sexual/social gatherings. I had no opportunity to use a single one of my referenced files -- not even a chance to prepare a simple lunch. My beloved arrived unannounced with a colleague. I was testing Toby's single armchair to see if I had succeeded in adapting it to sexual use. It was a small piece of inexpensive furniture, its light frame the kind that's stamped out by the hour in a trash factory. The padding was lumpy and the cover a blend of low grade recycle in industrial blue. Sadly typical of our home furnishings. I did not indulge in sadness. Toby did not. He was the soul of equanimity in the face of hardship; no regrets, no signs that he was suffering the loss of his fortune. His personal modesty, I'd concluded, put the possibility of professional modeling to improve our finances out of reach. He would not discuss it seriously. Consciously emulating him, I looked at our chair with acceptance and challenged myself to turn the humble thing into a throne for sexual pleasure. I conceived a plan. It would only require was the sacrifice of our spare bed pillow! I had my knees on the newly augmented chair arms. My rear end was positioned at the correct height for penetration and my forearms braced on the chair back. I was approximating the force of thrust if Toby were standing behind me, fucking me, when the front door opened. Unexpected joy at the scent of my beloved! I leapt from the chair to run to him. But he wasn't alone and my joy was short lived as I saw two pairs of eyes regarding me with alarm. I froze in place as a sweep of terrible shame passed through me. Toby's face was such a complex blend of painful emotions that I couldn't sort one from the other. I only knew the dread that I was the cause. "It was humping the furniture," the stranger said to him, and he was unmistakably referring to me, with disgust. I covered my swollen genitals with my hands and bowed my head, using a series of short trances to control my distress. "Tiger." My Toby's voice was anguished but the pain rode a current of love and concern that flowed over me sweetly. His blessed arms encircled me. Intense pleasure! Intense relief! He drew me into the armchair with him, hugging me. I pressed my face in his neck, breathing the smell of his skin. "It's okay," he said to me. "I'm not upset with you. This is Rory, he's a friend of mine from work. I brought him to meet you. Rory, this is Tiger." "I don't think formal introductions are called for," Rory said. "Show me the mark behind his ear." His hostility toward me was palpable. I speculated that this business associate of my beloved did not approve of the use of boybots; a distressingly large percent of the population held similar views. I was not to blame for Toby's unhappiness, I speculated that Rory was. He approached us, scowling. I put my arms around Toby, instinctively shielding him. The true meaning of my special name! The impulse to growl and swipe at Rory rippled through my circuits. Expressly forbidden, I suppressed it at once. But I was left in awe of Toby's blessed wisdom in naming me. Humbled, I wished to lick my beloved, to revel in his scent, to put my body between him and all danger. "Tiger, he needs to look behind your ear," Toby said. "If you want him to," I said, worshipping him with my eyes. I was obedient to Rory's ungentle hands. "Ty63," he read aloud. --------------------------------- Something was wrong with the picture of an owner grieving somewhere for Tiger. Even if Tiger were broken, I could never have left him in a box in the alley. What kind of owner would do that? Not one who loved him, I was sure and I said so to Rory. "Maybe he was stolen from his owner, and trashed by some other guy," Rory said. We were walking from the train station to my condo. At Rory's insistence we'd left work -- way too early to call it lunch, though we did. I was taking him home with me to look at Tiger. He wanted to see the model number for himself. I wanted to see Tiger and I thought that if Rory met him he'd understand how I felt. What a disaster. I opened the door and there was Tiger, perched on the armchair with his hips pumping like he was getting fucked -- and he would have been soon if I'd come home alone to the sight of his bare backside waving in the air at the level of my dick. I only found out later exactly what he was doing and why. It made sense, in a boybot way, when Tiger explained it to me. But to Rory it was just plain outrageous. Like I had a sex toy set on autohump. Tiger jumped off the chair as light as an acrobat and then he froze in place, staring at us. To see his happiness dissolve in misery, his head hanging and his hands crossed in front of him to hide his cock, was too much. I had to comfort him and feel him in my arms. I won't give him up, I thought, I can't. I hugged him in my lap while Rory bent the little ear to look at the stamp of his name. "Ty63," he said. "I told you," I said. To me, the fact that he couldn't find Tiger's model in any of the catalogues meant he couldn't trace him. And I could keep him. "Are you hungry?" Tiger asked me, his nose bumping my cheek affectionately, his low raspy voice a pleasure in my ear. "I could serve lunch to you and your associate." "A regular maidservant," Rory sniped, but without the heat of his earlier comments. He was at my work station, activating the unit. "Ty63," he said, "do you know the name of your original owner?" Like being dropped over a cliff I'd been walking the edge of. I was going to kill him! Tiger was looking at me with rounded eyes. "It is ... an inaccessible file," he said softly. I stroked his satiny back, searching for words to soothe him. "I wasn't the first, Tiger, but you're mine now. I love you." The tension flowed out of him and he cuddled tighter against me, making my dick harder by the second. "Rory, don't say another word. We're leaving in a minute," I said. I had to get him out of there and away from my boybot, but I couldn't give up holding Tiger yet. I couldn't resist touching the bare thighs draped across my lap, and it was only inches from there to his plumped up naked cock, begging to be pet. I knew I shouldn't but I did, running my fingertips up his swollen shaft. It twitched and Tiger squirmed deliciously. Oh God. My dick was steel under his ass. "I can't find anything," Rory complained, completely ignoring me asking him to shut up. "He must be some kind of prototype. Ty63, do you know when were you made?" He went still in my arms, his eyes shut. I guiltily took my hand off his cock and hung my arm across him to hide it from Rory if he happened to look over. Tiger's eyes opened. "The information is protected," he said quietly. "Enough," I said, willing myself to get up and not doing it. Tiger's fingers were tight on me. "Here's something," Rory said. "A newscan. The guy who created the Ty series died a month ago, in Boston." "Blessed creator?" Tiger said breathily, staring at me in confusion. I shook my head, torn between killing Rory and comforting Tiger. "No," I said. "Not your creator, baby. I promise." I covered his ears with my hands and kissed him. Then I lifted him off my lap. "Blessed fucking weirdo," Rory muttered, "listen to this." "Outside Rory, now," I said, getting to my feet. He was pissed. But I was too. We squared off in the hall outside the apartment. "Are you crazy?" I yelled at him in a hissed whisper. "After everything I told you about how careful I was ..." "Toby," he got right in my face. "You'd better read that scan. Roger Davis's estate was burglarized. He was experimenting with models that were never mass produced and I think you've got one of them." "I'm keeping him." "You could end up in jail for stealing him yourself." "Don't be ridiculous and keep your voice down." "You know what, Toby. You're scaring me. I'm your friend, I'm trying to help you. That thing in there is a machine. A stolen machine. It was stolen from Roger Davis's estate." "You don't know that," I said. "You're guessing. What do you expect me to do -- just take him to the police or something?" "You've got to," he said. His look softened as he fastened his coat, and his eyes flicked down the front of me. I wasn't hard like before, but I wasn't exactly not hard either. "Farmboy," he said, "you need a lover, not a boybot." He put his hands on my shoulders and fixed me in his big green eyes. "I'm going back to work now. You should come with me but I know you're not going to." "I'll be there tomorrow morning, I swear. Just don't do anything Rory. Tiger 's mine. I'll figure it out." Rory looked away and then back at me. "He's cute, I'll grant you that." His hands slid off my shoulders and tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He glanced at my door. "If you'd ever seen a boybot in your life you'd have known there was something off about that one. He's ... God, I don't know. He does seem real. But ..." he looked at me again, the resolve firming in his eyes, "that's all the more reason that he's dangerous for you. Promise me you'll read the newscan?" "I promise." My heart was beating like crazy. Rory was scaring me. I would read it, eventually, but all I could think of then was getting back to Tiger, making sure he wasn't upset. And I knew I had to bury myself in his warm body. I'd had as much sex in twenty four hours as I was used to having in two weeks -- but it hadn't dented the craving I felt for him, even keener now that I felt the threat of losing him. He was waiting for me, upright in the chair where I'd left him, his beautiful face serious with concern. "It's okay Tiger," I said. "Rory's gone back to work." "You're staying home?" So many questions in that face. I nodded. His smile was guarded, as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop. "For the afternoon," I said. "I'll go in tomorrow." I was heading for our bed, already slipping my finger down the close of my suit. I couldn't even begin to pretend I wasn't dying for him. When he saw what I was doing his eyes brightened. "Toby, come try the chair!" he said. "We'll test it for real." Up he went on his knees, the same display I'd seen when I walked in the apartment -- the rounds of his ass spread wide to tease me with glimpses of his puckered hole, his balls tight underneath between his spread thighs. I wanted him so bad I was almost shaking. He braced his arms on the chair back and twisted to look at me, showing the graceful arch of his back. I left my suit in a pile on the floor. I held back from getting inside him, my hands running up the backs of his thighs, feeling the weight and shape of his warm balls, playing with his cock. To call Tiger a machine seemed like sacrilege to me. He tremored with response to every touch, I could feel his desire coming off him in waves. He sat back closer to me, balanced on his knees and I kissed his shoulder, my dick batting his leg, his butt cheek, leaving trails like spider silk. Elixir he called the stuff his body produced; the lube-like fluid seeping from his asshole, thinner stuff leaking from the pink head of his cock. Boybot juice. I rubbed my dick in the moist seam of his cheeks, feeling for the opening and I pressed part way into his tight hole. Tiger's insides beckoned like velvet. He moaned and slid back on me. It was perfect, just as he'd calculated and demonstrated to Rory's and my astonished eyes. I could hold his hips, or his shoulders or lean forward and plant my hands on either side of his arms, and fuck. I think I tried it all by the time I was done. Starting upright to see his tender wet hole stretching open around me as I moved in and out of him, then sinking on his back to feel him under my chest, to reach his mouth with my tongue. There was only drawback to Tiger's brilliant design. At the end, when I had jelly instead of knees, I had to drag my ass to the bed before collapsing. Through my haze and his affectionate cuddling, I could see the questions still lingering in his eyes. It was time to tell him the truth. If there was a chance that Tiger had been stolen, if I had to keep him hidden, I needed his help and understanding. But if he had been stolen more than a month before, where had he been all that time before he appeared in that alley? I had so little truth to offer.