Snippet: Fembot Walk

EDIT: only slightly changed from the original post

One day at work, my phone rang. My job is mostly dealing with paperwork, so the phone doesn’t ring very often, and it’s almost always either a personal call or a wrong number.

I answered. Before I could say anything, the voice on the other end spoke. “Hi, Bryan,” said the unmistakable voice of Marla, my invisible housemate. She doesn’t call me often at work, so naturally I wondered if something was wrong.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said. “I just wanted you to know I have a surprise for you when you get home. It’s something I’ve been working on for awhile now.”

“Should I try to guess what it is?” I said, getting a mental picture of a delivery man ringing the doorbell and being greeted by a disembodied voice when the door opened.

“You can try,” she said with a giggle, “but it’s something that probably never even occurred to you. I doubt very much you’d get it right.”

And she was right. I spent the rest of the workday trying to figure out what kind of surprise she had waiting for me. She’d already surprised me with clothing purchases, making the clothes move around as if an invisible woman were in them. And, just because she could, she bought the clothes in different sizes, approximating a variety of figures when making them move. And she did this for little old me, to whom she owed nothing. Go figure…

As I pulled up to the house I noticed nothing about the place that looked any different, at least from the outside. She could easily repaint the whole house, though she’d have to do that at nighttime to avoid having the neighbors seeing paint cans and paintbrushes moving around by themselves.

I walked up to the front door and still didn’t see anything out of the ordinary until I got right up to the door. The mailbox opened, and a sleep mask came floating out of it as Marla’s voice said, “I want you to feel the surprise before you see it.” The mask slipped itself up over my eyes as the strap went around my head. The door creaked as it opened and Marla ushered me inside.

“Feel it?” I said. “Why?”

“Increases the surprise,” she said. “Like I told you earlier, you’d never guess — and I wanna see your face when you can feel what it is but can’t see it.” Each of my hands was gently grasped by a soft feminine hand and held out in front of me, even while I could feel a warm body against my back, arms clasped around my midsection, and a head resting on my right shoulder.

I idly began wiggling my fingers, not knowing what to expect, when…

I felt something. It felt like… skin.

I gasped, thinking right off the bat that Marla was playing some kind of game with me and lured some woman into playing along, but I didn’t say anything. Or did Marla get me a woman? I thought, smiling. But there wouldn’t be any need for that — she might not have a default physical form but she can approximate one quite nicely when needed, even if it is invisible.

I was ready to pull my hands away as soon as I realized what I was touching, but since Marla had actually guided my hands there I figured there was no need to back off, at least not yet.

The skin was warm and yielding, just like human skin, but I had no reason to expect or even want such a “present” with Marla in my life. But I continued my masked discovery. My hands came in contact with a woman’s midriff before the
hands guiding me brought my hands upward to where they felt two large round masses, warm and firm in a way that said they were totally natural and that the body they belonged to was probably young. I felt around for nipples; when I found them I began flicking my thumbs against them, and of course they began hardening to my touch…

“Uh, Marla?” I said. “Care to explain?” The subject had never exactly come up before, but I would hardly have expected her to be OK with the idea of me feeling up some woman, and here she was leading me to said woman.

“No, not really,” she said. “I’ll just let you see for yourself.” As she said this, I felt the mask strap pull away from my head, then the mask came off… and it was indeed a woman standing there in front of me, a very attractive and very naked smiling woman with my hands on her breasts…

Kind of.

She wasn’t breathing. In fact, only now that I could actually see her did I realize that the whole time my hands were “examining” there hadn’t been any movement in time with breathing. Nor had there been any flinching, any gasps of pleasure, or for that matter signs of displeasure, telling me that all was not quite as meets the… fingertips.

She broke me out of my ruminations by asking, “You like?” She meaning Marla, not the apparent young woman I was, um, handling.

“Um, well, she’s quite a looker,” I started, “but I’m pretty sure by now that she’s not human.”

“Does she look like someone you’d be proud to have by your side at, say, a restaurant or a movie or something?”

“Um, sure, but why would you ask something like that? You’re not leaving, are you?”

Unseen lips pecked me on the cheek, and the invisible arms around me gave me a squeeze, even as the chin resting on my shoulder stayed in place. “No, hon, I’m not going anywhere. Well, I’m not leaving, in any case, but I figured that once I got myself something for people to actually see then maybe we could actually go somewhere without you always having to be visibly alone.” After a couple of beats she added, with a slight bit of irritation, “Maybe then people will stop trying to fix you up with their friend-of-a-friends.”

“Got yourself something, you said,” I said, noting again that the “something” was not moving or responding much to my still-roaming hands. “So, this is some kind of doll or robot or something?”

“You could say that,” Marla said. “Some people in really high places owed me some big favors, and so I called them on it and voilá! I had them use top-of-the-line materials, so that no one looking on, or feeling on like you’re doing” — she punctuated that with a giggle and a squeeze from the unseen arms around me — “would catch on that she’s not actually human. I’m still working on all the little cues you all give off without thinking.”

“OK, but if we’re gonna be going out, then I guess that means we need to do some shopping?”

“Already taken care of,” she said again. “You never noticed those boxes in the basement? Those are clothes for the ‘bot. Once I had chosen measurements, I went down to a few stores and tried on some items to be sure I knew what sizes I’d need. Then, I used one of those new cash card accounts I got us and bought some things online.”

“No, I never noticed any boxes,” I said. “What did you get?”

Right then, a procession of cardboard boxes began floating into the room from the kitchen. “I figured you’d ask, so I put them where I could easily get them while we were talking.” The fembot, still smiling, took about two steps back as my hands were released from Marla’s unseen grasp. The closest box opened and a dark pink short-sleeved top and a midlength denim skirt floated out and began drawing closer to the fembot.

The bot held its arms out as the top slid up one, then the other arm and then began buttoning up by itself.

“You should have had the bot button the top,” I told Marla. “The finger movements would give you practice at one of those little things you were just talking about. And no underwear?”

“Well, it’s just a fembot, and only partially functional at that. I’ll be managing all its movements but only what’s needed to pass for human. It won’t have to duplicate any, uh, biological functions, so no underwear would really be necessary.” As she said this, the bot was stepping into the floating skirt, which then pulled itself up the bot’s legs and zipped itself up.

“True,” I said, “but if you want it to be seen, don’t you want peop
le to see you’re doing what they think you’re ‘supposed’ to be doing? Or do you want to put on a show?”

“Maybe I do want to put on a show,” she said, with another giggle-and-squeeze. “After all, I know you’re not all that worried about all those niceties that everybody expects but no one wants to follow through with. And after I went and got you a ‘woman’ to be seen with, don’t you want people to see that she’s happy with you?”

“I suppose,” I said, after a pause. I motioned for the bot to turn around, then realized what I had just done, drawing a full-on laugh from Marla.

“It was just force of habit,” I said in a feeble attempt at a defense. The bot turned slowly to the side, then turned its back, leaning forward, thrusting its left hip to the side and giving a come-hither look over its left shoulder. In spite of myself, I immediately gave an involuntary visual cue of liking what I saw.

Marla laughed out loud again, and at the same time had the bot’s grin grow into a toothy smile. But before I could make any comment about how natural the transition to a smile had looked, my pants began unzipping.

“Hey!” I said, reaching down to zip myself up again. But as soon as my hands started moving, each of my wrists was grabbed by a hand, while my pants then began pulling down. Once they were out of the way, the waistband of my drawers pulled out and an unseen hand began to play with me.

But she wasn’t finished showing me what she could do with the bot. She had the bot fix its gaze downward, as if intrigued by the visual evidence of an unseen hand in my drawers; it (the bot, not the unseen hand!) drew itself up straight, turned around to face me, and walked closer, all the time with its apparent gaze never leaving my crotch. We really don’t need any more details of the next few minutes, but let’s just say that Marla had a better command of the finer details of human movement than she had let on.

But she still had a lot of work to do.

She’d shown me plenty of times that she was able to make clothes move as if there were someone in them, and was even able to create resistance against the fabric if you pressed against it. But actual human movement, what goes on under the clothes, is a whole lot more detailed.

For that she had to go and do some field research…

“And I have a feeling you know just how to go about that research,” I said, when she mentioned field research. She’d told me about some of her escapades in her former way of life, and what she sometimes got into when she needed to take a break — snagging herself a guy or sometimes a girl and taking them to a hideout somewhere, and playing with them. Her idea of “play” often included tickling, and for some of the less eager participants she’d had to, as she put it, “put them in an invisible suit” to get them to do what she wanted.

“An invisible suit?” I said, when she was explaining this to me.

“Yeah — think of a jello mold, only this jello is alive and the mold is animated as well.”

She had supposed she could probably do the same without actually taking over the, uh, subject. “I just have to find a woman the same size as the bot,” she said, “and mimic how she moves.”

“Somehow I hve the feeling that you didn’t go through the trouble of having this thing made without already having a potential model or two in mind,” I said. “I’d even be willing to bet the bot looks like someone you’re acquainted with.”

“And I wouldn’t take that bet ’cause you’re right,” Marla said. “There’s a woman here in town that… well, let’s just say I’ve been watching her for a long time.” I was surprised by the wistful tone to her voice, like she had some kind of crush on this woman or something. But she was still speaking…

“She’s gorgeous,” Marla continued, “and she has the most beautiful laugh — I’d love to make her scream my name at the top of her lungs.”

“Make her scream your name?!” I repeated. “You wanna seduce this woman?!”

“No, no, I don’t want to seduce her.” Marla had told me earlier that, strictly speaking, she’s not actually female — which makes sense with her not being physical — but she likes interacting with us “meatbags” as a female, for whatever reason. “I just want to … play with her body. Take her to the limit of what she can handle, then push her ever so slightly past that mark. I just want to hear her voice over and over, deliriously screaming out my name, while I find all her spots and push all her buttons.”

I took all that in, and something occurred to me that I wasn’t sure she was prepared to hear. But I had to ask…

“Did it ever occur to you that what you want to do to her might be considered unfair?” I asked.

“Unfair?” she repeated. “Unfair how?”

“Simple. You’re not physical. You mimic a physical form during our… bedroom gymnastics but you said yourself that you don’t feel it physically the way I do, yet you enjoy the fact that I enjoy it. So it’s give and take for us. What you want to do with this woman, though, is all take for you. She may give you enjoyment by her reaction, but she has no choice in
the matter, and she can’t reciprocate. You’re not giving anything to her, and she’s not taking anything from you. How can she get to you that matches the way you want to get to her?”

She was silent for a few seconds. I began to wonder if maybe I had said the wrong thing. She was powerful, after all, and those with power generally don’t like to be reminded about anything that goes contrary to what they want to do.

I was just about to start backpedaling when she finally spoke. “I suppose you would have a point if I had chosen someone at random. As it happens, I didn’t just follow this woman around for a few minutes to get a few movements down pat. I followed her off and on for a few days, and guess what?”

I thought that was just a kind of verbal comma, until I realized she was waiting for an answer. I didn’t have any idea what she was leading up to, so I shrugged and said I didn’t know.

“She’s really ticklish,” Marla said, “and it turns out she has a few tickle buddies — she’s a natural for what I want to do with her.”

“And just what did you want to do to her, anyway?”

With an exasperated sigh, she replied, “I said do with, not do to — I’d make sure there was something for her hands to do also. But since you want to know…”

Before I knew it, her unseen hands had made short work of stripping me down to my underwear and pinning me to the carpet, at least four hands holding down each arm and each leg, along with a hand pressing down on each shoulder. I reflexively tried to tug free of the restraining hands, and she put just enough pressure on each limb to keep me from getting free without actually weighing down on me.

It seemed to me that I had been in that position for a long time, with nothing being done but holding me down. “Is this all you’re gonna do?” I asked, like a fool. “Just hold me down like this? I would have thought ‘playing with someone’s body’ meant more than this.”

“Oh, it does,” she said. “I just want to establish that you won’t get free until I want you to.” With that, I saw something stirring across the room.

Over by the fireplace there was a pair of old vases, one on each side, with half a dozen peacock feathers in each as decoration. When Marla first entered my life arrived she declared that the house needed decoration, and I guess that’s where the vases and feathers came in — I hadn’t really paid them that much attention. A feather rose from one of them and began floating over towards me.

Once it was directly over me, it turned itself upside down so that the tip of its stem was pointing up in the air, and it lowered itself and very lightly dragged itself up my right leg. That old dependable involuntary visible response kicked in again, and I don’t mean goosebumps.

“I see you like that,” Marla commented. “I thought you would.” With that, all of the feathers made
their way over to me, stopping a few inches away. I’d expected them to lay into me as soon as they got there, but first…

My outstretched arms were brought together above my head, after which my t-shirt removed itself without any of the restraining hands on my arms or shoulders moving — only someone like Marla could do that. Then one of the feathers approached and slowly began dragging its tip up and down my torso. In no more than five seconds all of the feathers were busy dragging themselves back and forth on my arms, legs, or chest, making me a twitching, guffawing mess; one was even dragging itself across my face! And just like when my shirt was removed, the feathers seemed to move through the restraining hands; the hands moved not one inch to accomodate the feathers, and I kid you not, I could actually feel both feather and hand when one approached where the other was.

Then she added another only-Marla touch. My back was flush against the carpet, but there were fingertips raking my back, and others rubbing at my sides.

Finally she spoke. “You realize that she has parts that you don’t have. Prominent parts that are really sensitive and fun to play with.” She paused, then continued, “But then, you have sensitive and fun parts that she doesn’t have…”

TO BE CONTINUED… maybe

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