Date: Fri, 21 Jun 2002 17:30:31 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: Free to Good Home, ch. 2 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 two by Biscuit Blessed be my creator. Blessed be my human companion. Blessed am I to serve humankind. I emerged from 12.7 hours of self testing and repair aware that I was damaged but functioning. It was the longest remedial trance I'd ever undergone. Return to surface consciousness was brief, 3.5 seconds, in which I realized I didn't know where I was and I no longer knew the identity of my human companion. The disorientation and alarm were so intense that I had to enter semi trance to suppress all emotion. In that state I reviewed the repair log in detail, without panic, seeking information relevant to where I was and why. Repairs indicated that I had sustained extensive memory loss. Four hundred and fifty-eight thousand, seven hundred and twenty-two emptied files. My trance hours had been devoted to segregating and compacting fragmented files. Even in semi trance this information was staggering. The damaged files were stored out of the reach of my conscious mind. Numbered files; even their names were hidden from me. They'd be protected until they could be safely reintegrated. I emerged gradually, understanding that my location and context might very well be contained in the inaccessible files. There was nothing in the log to indicate current danger. Whatever had caused the damage was more than 12.7 hours in the past. I speculated, as calmly as possible but unable to suppress sadness, that I had almost died. A deliberate but ineffective attempt had been made to deactivate me. Nothing else I knew of could cause the destruction of files on that scale. Who but my primary human, a person whose identity was lost to me, could have initiated the procedure? What had I done to warrant death? The anguished guilt this thought summoned up threatened to send me back into semi trance. I suspended the thought and praised the creator for hiding this painful knowledge from me. No indication of current danger, I reminded myself as I turned my senses outward. I opened my eyes and breathed deeply. Pleasure. I was on a bed with a soft pillow. The air smelled of coffee, of a vegetable based soap scented with almond, and the body scents of a human male. Close, very close. The sound of his breathing indicated sleep. My human? I turned my head slowly to look at him. So beautiful! All humans are but this one was exceptional -- and in all probability he was mine. I uselessly searched my memory for his name. There was nothing -- no name, no stored image of his face, no imprint of his smell. I estimated him to be twenty years old, of mixed European heritage; probable Celtic, Slavic, and possibly Scandinavian ancestry. Could this person have tried to deactivate me? Without letting myself dwell on the terrible action in question I looked for signs of discord between us. Clearly he'd wanted me to be comfortable. My head was on a pillow, a blanket was spread over me. Unnecessary for warmth. Did he know that? Did that indicate that he was unfamiliar with my body? No. I rejected that. No cause for alarm. Plentiful soothing examples existed in memory of humans treating their bots as if they could feel pain and discomfort. Common human behavior, indicative of caring. He cared. There were traces of soap on both of us. It was very pleasant to think we had bathed together. Powerful, if wishful evidence that we were lovers. Wishing was unavoidable in my insecure circumstances and I did not suppress it. I created a series of strong sensory images of us naked and wet, touching each other with lathered hands. Intense pleasure! It dimmed, unfortunately, as I noted that he'd chosen to sleep under the bed covers without me. That did not weigh in favor of him being my sexual partner. It could be a sign of discord. Was he punishing me? Very upsetting. I was being punished. But it wasn't severe punishment. He was beside me, facing me in his sleep, even if he wasn't touching me. I wanted to touch him, almost certainly he was my human. I flooded myself with his smell and his image, feeding my uneasy emptiness. Cross references indicated that he was handsome in the way of professional models. His face and body compared favorably to stored advertising images. He did not, however, appear to be groomed like one. The visible portion of tooth surface was untreated and his very slight whisker stubble was inconsistent with the common use of beard inhibitors among those who pursued that profession. Not a model. Reluctantly, I stopped looking at him to evaluate our location. Our home? My human's income was ... low to moderate, if the residence accurately reflected his assets. Far below the standard means of an owner. It was possible but not probable that he'd chosen to live below his means. Certain religious and philosophic beliefs caused humans to renounce material wealth. The odds of a person with those beliefs owning a boybot seemed very small. Doubt crept into me. With doubt came despair. If he was not my human, who was? A scenario blossomed with the speed of a whirlwind; a flurry of intense speculation that buoyed me up out of despair into bliss. My human could have suffered a disastrous financial setback that had convinced him he had to sell me to save himself! That would explain both his poor means and the unsuccessful attempt to strip my memory -- he'd done it to save me from the pain of missing him! So sad! Blessed Creator, so sad! But not devastating. I could envision the tender scene of him saying good bye, unwilling to leave my side, anguished as he prepared to give me up. Blessed human companion! I wanted to wake him up and comfort him immediately. I would assist him in becoming a professional model! All of his financial difficulties would be solved. I had to suppress my excitement. Conjectured images of our happiness were raging through my circuits like wildfire -- he'd kiss me all over, we'd hug and hug and hug each other and he would fuck me repeatedly! I was sure of it. Stop! Unsafe levels of arousal and anticipation. He was still sleeping and my hypothesis, though sound, was by no means a certainty. A calming activity was called for, something that would show him how devoted I was. Quietly, I could reduce the levels of dust in the room and remove the layers of greasy residue that were visible on our inexpensive kitchen appliances. ------------------------ The smell woke me up. A citrusy smell like Green-go cleanser. I tried to cling to sleep but my head ached and I was thirsty and the smell was irritating my dry nose and throat. I had visions of a tall glass of water. I tried to swallow as I opened my eyes. Oh God! There he was. My mouth opened but nothing came out, my breath was caught in my throat. The night was rushing back so fast I couldn't sort the thoughts. He was alive! Very alive and in the bed with me, not on top of the covers! Had I done that? He was staring at me with his hands pressed flat on the pillow under his cheek, his whole face in subtle motion. I could see his delicate nostrils flaring as he breathed. Did bots breathe? His eyes! Deep blue and brimming with joy. He seemed fit to burst with excitement, like he was a kid and it was Christmas and he'd been waiting hours for me to wake up so he could open his gifts. He looked at me like a lover who wanted to kiss me. But it was more than that -- his eyes shone like I was his long lost best friend. I was none of those things but the longer I looked at him, the more I wished I was all of them -- that he was my child, my lover, my friend. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. He spoke. "Are you my human?" he asked, inching forward, a hand sneaking out to clutch the edge of his pillow. His voice. It was asking but pleading at the same time. How can I describe it? Not a kid's voice but not a man's voice either. It had a sexy rasp in it that stroked right through me. Everything about him was stroking me right about then -- my dick was wide awake and pointing straight at him under the covers. He wanted to say yes, I could feel it. The thought made my heart race and my body ache with desire. I found him, I thought, he's mine. "Yes," I said, as firmly as if it was true. I'm not a good liar. I avoid lying because I'm so bad at it. My face gets pink, my hands sweat and I have to hide my eyes. But when I said yes to him I believed it enough to make it be true. "You'll keep me?" he said. "Yes." Yes was the magic word. In the next second I was on my back and my arms were full of him. He was kissing me. A barrage of kisses. He started at my mouth but kept darting away to dot my face with moist open lips. Damn, he was sweet to hold! His arms and legs were rounded and firm, his skin was smooth, silky and alive with heat. I could feel his hard cock poking at me, leaving a wet trail on my stomach. "Fuck me," he whispered near my ear and licked the corner of my jaw. God, did I want to! I ran my hands down his back and over his ass. That's when the memory of pulling the stick out of him struck me like a blow. He must have felt me go still under him. He pulled back to look at me, his eyes questioning. He was so real and alive; impossible what had happened to him. Did he know? He couldn't. "What's wrong?" he asked, mirroring my stillness, almost. He pressed his hips into me like a gentle reminder of what we were doing, like maybe I'd forgotten. Just that slight yearning pressure of his made me burn to fuck him. "How do you feel?" I asked him, my hands closing around his butt cheeks protectively, like if I pressed them together I could keep myself from fucking him. I hadn't seen any cuts in his skin the night before but inside he had to be injured. "My physical state?" he asked. "Yes. You might have been hurt," I said carefully. I didn't want him to know what had happened if he didn't remember but I had to know if he was hurting. It seem horrible to me that a bot might ignore its own pain to please its person. I saw his eyes close and his face went very still. Maybe a second or two passed, no more than that, before they opened again. A smile was spreading on his lips, like he was amused and delighted and his eyes roamed from mine to my lips and back. "I have no injuries. A foreign substance, a variety of wood pulp, was broken down and successfully absorbed by my body. Did you worry for me?" Was there ever a face like his in the world? I couldn't believe any other Ty could look like him, eyes shaded playfully, suggestively. He arched his back, pressing his ass into the palms of my hands. "My physical state is very aroused," he said. "I'm slippery with lubricant and I want you to fuck me." Oh ... God. I rolled him over on his back and it was like some kind of wresting match but with both of us trying to pin him under me with my cock up his ass. I was at least a head taller and thirty pounds heavier than Ty63 but I swear he was ten times stronger and a thousand times more limber. He got his hand around my cock and pointed it into his ass, climbing up my body like a restless monkey. I was buried inside before I knew what hit me. Slippery didn't describe it. Hot, slick and tight. He clung to me, trying to climb up every time I pulled back. It felt so good I couldn't think, only fuck. All I wanted was more. My thrusting was slowly pushing him up the bed, my knees digging into the mattress and pushing without me realizing it. By the time I saw what I was doing his head was almost over the edge. I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back, shuddering all over with the new pleasure of having him pinned in place to stroke into. I saw him look up at me, mouth open and panting, his eyes glazed. Then he uttered a pitiful moan, biting his lip. And I felt it -- he was creaming my stomach in hard short bursts, his hips twitching with every spurt. That was the last straw for me. I collapsed on him, his body crushed under me as I emptied a river of cum inside him.