Date: Thu, 08 Aug 2002 01:22:53 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: Free to Good Home, chapter 14 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 14 by Biscuit A few hours sleep was all I needed to realize it had been a mistake to call my brother. I woke up aching and miserable but knowing I couldn't leave the city. I had to stay. I had to look for Tiger. I had to be there if he found some way to come home. I felt disoriented and wanted out of bed, into a shower. Coffee, I thought, I needed some badly. That Sam was plastered naked to my back, his cock hard, was alarming but no stranger than anything else that had happened since I saw the shadow of the manbot at the top of the stairs, what seemed like days before though it was less than twelve hours. I thought Sam was asleep until I started to move. He tightened his arm around me and he pressed his erection against my ass. "Don't get up yet," he said, his hips moving in a slow fucking motion. I didn't want him to fuck me. I wasn't sure I'd really wanted it the first time. At least then it had seemed like a gesture meant to comfort me, to be close. This felt like my brother was horny and thought he'd re-established some kind of claim on my ass. Why shouldn't he? The thought hit me hard. I was the one who'd called him. I'd fallen into his arms and rolled over on my belly for him. Why shouldn't he think he had a claim? "Sam," I said, tensing even as I shivered when he ran his open mouth down the side of my neck. "I'm not going back to the farm. I've got to stay here and look for Tiger." I hoped just saying it would stop him; make him think twice about what he was doing. "Don't," he said. He half kissed, half bit the side of my neck, guiding his cock in the split of my ass. "Don't start Toby," he said. "You are coming home." Did he think fucking me would prove it? I started to pull away from him, but like I was a kid, playing at running away, Sam forced me onto my stomach with his weight. He slid his dick into me through the slickness of the cum he'd left inside me. A wave like cramp went through me and my ass burned but I kept still with my eyes shut, biting back the pain of it. He was groaning like it was the best thing he'd ever felt in his life and part of my brain identified with his pleasure. I knew how good it felt when it was me on top of Tiger and his little round butt was taking me in. Tiger. The thought of him was torture. Whether I let my brain wander over what had been good or the horror of it; being gagged and restrained by the massive bot. Sam's body felt big on top of me; I couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be crushed under the mountainous manbot. He won't hurt Tiger, I kept telling myself. My brother speeded his thrusting, breathing hard near my ear. I was getting numb to the pain and hoped he would just hurry, finish, let go of me. I didn't even consider asking him to stop. I knew I couldn't face the kind of confrontation that would bring on. Bad enough I was going to have to face him afterwards and tell him I meant it, I wasn't going with him. Then Sam shifted on top of me, his cock angling in the right direction and my body responded in spite of me. I pictured Tiger. How he'd looked at me with such breathless excitement the first time I saw him alive and awake beside me. I thought about how he'd leapt at me and covered me with kisses. Oh, God. So good -- to hold his vibrant little body, to fuck him. In my head I heard his moans, not Sam's, the sounds he made when he was close to shooting off that had become as erotic to me as a hand or lips on my cock. I thrust hard into the mattress, all my pain forgotten, and exploded as my brother stroked himself in me. My sudden frantic movement made him fuck harder and he started to come. ------------------------------------ Blessed be the Creator. Blessed be Toby. "I know your repair is complete, Tyler," the manbot addressed me by my former name. "You have no need to shield yourself." I did not answer. I'd emerged from 5.7 hours of remedial trance. I did not emerge into full consciousness. I was in possession of multiple restored memory fragments that claimed my attention. The damaged files; parts of my past that I'd been protected from viewing by the creator who dwelled within. I knew I'd been abducted by the manbot Roget, whose unwelcome scent surrounded me. I knew I had been promised to him by Roger Davis. He had, in fact, been created for me. The truth was a source of great sadness. Too profound to filter completely, even with the veil of semi trance. I was strapped into the restraints of a work frame. I speculated that Roget intended to renew his effort to reprogram me. I now knew that it was his last attempt to do so, almost precisely 7.3 days prior, which had stripped my files and nearly destroyed me. He adjusted the frame, spreading my thighs apart, caressing me. I was indifferent to his touch but aware that turning my senses outward with the fullness of emotion would be devastating. Toby, lost. The source of all joy. "I thought I'd killed you," Roget said, his voice rough with emotion, his large hands stroking my inner thighs. He handled my genitals and probed between the cheeks of my ass. I felt his breath near my penis and then the encompassing wetness and soft interior of his mouth surrounded it. He sucked at my flesh until it thickened. He tongued my scrotum and then used suction to hasten elixir to fill them. He hadn't killed me but he had left me for dead. In this room. Unbound, on the bed beside the workframe. My memory of it was unclear, as if viewed through haze, and yet I was certain I'd somehow risen from the bed. Impossible, and yet I had a memory of seeing my own inert body below me. Roget's mouthing and sucking of my genitals produced a stream of elixir though I experienced no pleasure and did not fully erect. He ceased. "I found the creator's journal," Roget said. "It will work this time, beloved. I am certain that I have the correct sequence to safely alter your program." As he said this I felt the pressure of the terminal at the back of my neck signaling the start of a datastream; a flow of signals to base levels of my subconscious. It was indecipherable as it fed directly into parts of my mind that were inaccessible to me. Roget's hard cock pressed into me. As Roger Davis had done when fine tuning my programs, Roget was using stimulation to intensify the imprint of data. It served this purpose but I knew he had been fucking me prior to initiating the process. From the amount of his elixir present inside me, I judged he had ejaculated four, possibly five times, before I'd regained consciousness. "Tyler," he groaned the name that had once been mine as he pleasured himself, thrusting in and out of me. I did not answer. I continued to review my newly integrated memories. I knew where I was. It was the laboratory of a safehouse, a residence of those Roger Davis had referred to as "the others." My fellow 63s. There were only four of our kind. I was less than a mile's distance from the home of my beloved. Do not think of him now, I instructed myself. I saw the creator dying. I was holding his hand. His breath was labored. "Forgive me," he said. "There's nothing to forgive," I told him, holding his hand to my cheek, wishing I could ease the strain of his breathing, assist him in dying. His intent had been to alter me before his death. To free me, as he had the others, from the primary directive that bound a bot to desire human companionship. But in his need to keep me close as the hour of his death drew near he'd been subject to the fear that I would change to him once I had been reprogrammed. He had postponed the alteration until it was too late. That is why he had begged my forgiveness. The sorrow of that memory was palpable; I perceived it as a dense haze of emotion though I didn't feel it in trance. There was nothing to forgive because I'd wanted our bond to remain intact. I did not perceive my connection to him or to humankind as bondage. I was different, even from this small band of my brothers. Two manbots, two boybots. Envisioned by Roger Davis as eternal mates. He had loved us. Loved me. There were many fragments in which I sat at his feet, much as I had sat at the feet of Toby during the meeting of his writing group. The bond, the emotional attachment I'd felt to him differed from my feelings for Toby. I put aside this impression to examine later. Though the files were damaged, there was enough material intact to construe that my wish had been to die with my creator. He had assured me that when the reprogramming was complete I would no longer desire to end my life. I would welcome, he'd said, the love of my fellow bot. Roget, he'd told me, would fulfill me as no human could. He referred, I believed, to the ways in which Roget's body was tailored to mine. His proportions were theoretically matched to my capacity. As I recalled these things, the manbot organ stretched my body wide. It could provide the greatest possible stimulation of my pressure sensors. The potential was there, if I could be made to respond, for physical pleasure. Not fulfillment. Not love. I had no reference for love in a bot. Love was human. Like sleep, like aging. For bots there was infatuation, devotion; the desire to be loved by a human. To call Toby my beloved was, in fact, to utter a kind of falsehood. Not more so, I speculated, than calling elixir cum. Nothing lived in the juice my body produced. So, one might say that a bot's love was to a human's as lifeless as a bot's cum to the living sperm of a man. How could there be fulfillment of any kind without service to organic human life at its core? Senseless, meaningless existence. My creator had forbidden me to deactivate myself. I'd gone to my brothers in hiding as he demanded. I did it without desire. I desired nothing but to honor his final injunction -- that I continue to exist. A month's time I had spent with my small family. There was peace, at times. Amusement at the antics of Ti'jou, the boybot who shared my image but had grown his hair long and colored it pink. His mate, who called himself Rocket, was a Rog63 who likewise let his hair grow long though the color was unaltered from its original chestnut hue. My memories of this pair were colored by their devotion to one another and the many scenes I witnessed of their coupling. The time was also fraught with distress. Roget's passion for me had sparked no answering flame. His need for me was intense. I was sympathetic, compliant, but my physical indifference had tormented him. I'd been as numb to his sexual use then as I was now, feeling his hard flesh move in and out of me. He was approaching climax, evident in the thickening of his penis and the urgency of his thrusting. It was Roget who'd broken into Roger Davis's laboratory; the theft that haunted my memories. He'd stolen what he needed to try to reprogram me himself. There were repeated failures; in memory marked by his sadness. I had agreed to be subject to his experimentation. In my view, if he failed and destroyed me it would be the same as if he succeeded. Either outcome would free me from suffering. I'd misjudged the depth of my desire to survive, to be united again with a human companion. "Tyler," Roget's groans were impassioned, drawing me slightly outward, as he erupted in climax. I suppressed awareness of him and turned my attention inward again to a volatile file, a memory that seemed to demand that I view it. Escape! There was exhilaration and fear attached to this memory. I was in an alley not far from the river. I could smell it and the odors of refuse. Physical distress! My body needed stimulation and elixir. Imperative to obtain them for me to continue to function. I must function long enough to be found by a human. Looking down I saw words written on my chest and knew that I had inscribed them though I could not remember the act of doing so. The words were a plea for human compassion, expressing desire for a kindly owner. Free bot to good home! To continue to remain upright was impossible and I lowered myself to the snow-covered ground. The memory astounded me. I had not been stolen. I had not been abandoned. I had maneuvered my semi conscious body out of this room and into the alley behind the residence. The images were wreathed in hope and longing though I was on my hands and knees, moving with difficulty. A phallic scrap of wood lay on the ground in a shaft of moonlight, half hidden in snow. Anal penetration would be possible. The firm core of the branch was sufficient. The soft wet bark that encased it would break down swiftly into elixir. I perceived the excitement I'd felt then. I would live! A compassionate human would find me and forgive my unkempt appearance because no money was required, only kindness. I felt the effort to drive the sodden branch into my rectum. Success! I saw a box a small distance from me that would hold me in waiting for a human to find. I crawled to it with the wooden shaft giving me needed stimulation, its loose fibrous bark already beginning to feed me; elixir easing my joints. Then my memory darkened and ceased in a trance of urgent repair. Blessed be. I had awakened in safety, washed clean and pillowed in the bed of Tobias Kraft with my fragmented memories of trauma encased and protected. My attention to the past had been so singular that it was only at that moment I became aware that Roget was gone. I dared to emerge, to feel, to view the environs of the room. It was painted the same soothing green color as the creator's laboratory. Emotion of every kind blossomed in consciousness. Longing, grief; adoration of my lost companion. How brave Toby had been! Knowing him as I did, I speculated that the sight of me must have been frightening and distressing to him. My prince had found me, not as a fabled princess awaiting a kiss, but a seemingly dead boybot in a darkened alley. The wooden dildo! So clear to me now that Toby would never have wielded such an implement. I recalled how he'd need my reassurance that I was unhurt before he would fuck me the very first time. Conjectured images filled me. My sensitive companion carrying me to his home, removing the branch from my rectum and bathing me. The tightening of my throat signaled the onset of tearless weeping. I contemplated his compassion. It was as vast as his beauty. Toby! I set the images aside to calm myself. Whatever Roget would do to me, my Toby still existed, unharmed. I could savor my memories of the feel of his mouth, the scent of his skin, the imprint of his passionate fucking. My true companion! I allowed myself to recall the sensations of intimacy with his body, wishing he were between my legs that very moment, that it was his blessed sperm moistening my anus and that he was entering me to fuck me again. Intense longing! Dangerous levels of craving forced me back into the safety of trance. Blessed be my Toby.