Samantha's Tale by D.B. Story

  • ISBN: 9781609823955
  • Written by: D.B. Story


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 Samantha's Tale explores two subjects: 1) The tribulations involved when we design robots to meet our own sexual fetishes, before casting them out into the cold, cruel world afterwards to have to make it on their own; and 2) romance in a mixed human/robot species age. It tells a story wherein a thirty-something man, and a similarly experienced fembot with a sexual secret, find their way through the jungle of the modern workplace to find each other.

Warnings: Contains sex with robots – the ultimate sex toy, and a dual-gendered robot.

Word Count: 12,250



Samantha—she preferred just Sam—rolled her chair back from the keyboard as she again easily completed the tasks given her. With likely some free time before the humans brought her more work to do, her hands reached up to the open top button on the daringly low-cut top she wore as she considered if she should re-button it—or undo a second button instead.

Sam contemplated her situation. She worked on the huge second floor of a Fortune 50 technology company as a relatively low-paid temp. She was on the low end of the pay scale for data entry workers because she didn't have the built-in interface to the computer that more specialized worker 'bots had. No one considered it worth the cost of upgrading her in this area. As such, she entered data the old fashioned way, through the keyboard and mouse interface. The fact that she was robotically fast and accurate, and spent a good portion of her time waiting for them to deliver more work to her didn't seem to have them valuing her any more highly. She had been on this job for three days now.

It beats standing in the used robot showroom waiting for a seventh owner—maybe, she thought silently to herself.

One would wonder, looking at Samantha, why she'd had so many owners. Or even wonder if she was a 'bot at all.

Sam stood a respectable five-feet-nine, and normally declined to wear the high-heels that were virtually de rigueur for fembots. Her apparent age was thirty-one with slightly streaked dark brown hair falling past her shoulders in curves and waves—all of which communicated volumes about her to anyone who knew fembots. The fact that she was a bit older than the optimal age most humans picked for their ideal partner meant that she had likely been a special order model. And her mannerisms were more developed and grown-up as well since that would have been how most people would have interacted with her.

Sam's face was more squared than many fembots, and without the excessively high cheekbones now in favor. Even so it was well-defined and attractive enough. Thick eyebrows and lashes over bright eyes were some of her most arresting features. Sam preferred minimal makeup now that it was her choice to make and felt that she actually looked her best with only a soft touch of blush and a bit of lip-gloss. At least this way she didn't come across as a standard fembot tart, which she most definitely was not.

She carried her height with a more robust and rational frame than the wasp-waisted entertainment 'bots so prevalent in the strip clubs—as well as those owned as trophy wives. Even so, she had a well-defined waist over properly rounded hips.

Sam sported a very respectable pair of breasts—teardrop C-cups that hung perfectly well when simply left to themselves. However, there were some advantages for Sam in wearing any of several bras she had accumulated over time.

When not required to dress to specification, Sam favored loose pants to go with her normally higher neckline tops, which was a shame since many people never got to see her long, attractive legs that way. Comfortable designer sneakers completed her outfit, which had evolved over time to best minimize confrontations with humans who weren't aware of her special nature. As such, she didn't fit the typical image of a fembot, and usually had far fewer problems because of it. If anything, in dress and manner, Sam just appeared real, which was exactly how she liked it. She'd had enough of people trying to gain advantage over her just because she was a fembot.

Today though, Sam was trying to decide whether to encourage—or discourage—the attentions of a thirty-something man who seemed to be taking an interest in her. Dave had come over to say "Hello" her first day, and seemed to make it a point to come down her aisle in the cubical farm about three times more often then anyone else since then—her mind was mathematically precise about that count. But he always had a smile and a compliment for her when she wasn't busy—and left her alone when she was.

Sam was familiar enough with male interest and flirting by now to know it when she saw it. It's just a question if she wanted to take up the offer that would inevitably follow.

Although Sam's mind had evolved to independent thought, meaning she was aware of herself as a person and could now make her own decisions to benefit herself, she had not sought freed status yet. She exercised her mind often to improve its free-will abilities further, but had her reasons for maintaining the status quo.

She was currently considered owned and employed by the temporary agency, which had arranged for her rental from the resale showroom. That agency had then purchased an additional license for General Secretarial Skills Level 9B and loaded that software into Sam before sending her out on this assignment. They had retained possession of her remote control at their offices, and would deal with any problems on her behalf that came up in her operation during the term of employment. As corporate property, Sam was not considered owned by any individual. This was an advantage for her at the moment because there was no single person she needed to answer to.

Right now there were several possible futures for Samantha. The temporary agency was entitled to get back their investment in her, no question about that. The cost of her lease from the showroom—which was much cheaper than usual, since she wasn't a standard unit, had already spent too much time there, and had none of the optional extras that would particularly suit her for this job—plus the required additional software would take a while for her to repay. After that, the temporary agency would want to make a reasonable profit off of her.

When that was complete the temp agency might wish to purchase her outright and keep her on their rolls. Or this company itself might want to keep her as she gained knowledge in her position that would make her more effective. Or the assignment could finish and hopefully the agency would be able to place her at another job. They might even upgrade her systems further in order to better perform these tasks, giving her increased overall value. Or someone might try to arrange for personal ownership of Sam.

Sam was not hopeful of the last option. She'd had six owners already, and none of them had kept her long. Owning a 'bot, by its very nature, becomes a very personal relationship. Some 'bots have more trouble with that than others.

Samantha had learned a great deal through her time with her various owners, most of it involving what not to do with humans. It was an ever-increasing list. Those experiences had brought her to the point of not necessarily wanting, or looking, for another owner any time soon, which was one of the problems with being freed. Freed 'bots still needed an Owner of Record, and Sam just wasn't sure she was ready to deal with that complication yet again.

If she still were standing in the showroom idling while her systems aged, she might have been more desperate to at least be doing something, but this opportunity to be out and useful was meeting at least the minimum requirements for her own satisfaction. She'd managed to arrange a deal with the temporary agency such that, after they recovered their expenses, a modest share of her earnings would be placed in escrow under her name. This could be useful in the future. In the meantime she wanted to develop her own independent abilities to think and act on her own more fully. Perhaps, she believed, if she could better control herself she might do better with some future owner. That development would take a lot of practice on her part since it was contrary to overall fembot operation.

For now her job was to be the interface between the human employees and the computer system. Instead of having to deal with the computers themselves, members of her department could just tell her what they needed and she would make it happen. This worked well because overall Sam was a much friendlier interface than a hard plastic keyboard, mouse, and screen.

The only thing Sam had brought with her for this job was a selection from the many outfits she had acquired along the way. These were stored under her desk and should take care of her needs for several weeks. Although she was not required to remain at her desk outside of office hours, Sam really had nowhere else to go. For now, she simply went into power-saving hibernation mode at 10:00pm once the cleaning crew had finished for the night, and came back online at 7:00am the next morning. She remained at her desk at all times.

The only break in this routine so far had been a conversation with one of her previous owners—a woman—who had left an embedded directive in Sam to call her each time Sam was back out in the world. That command could have been ignored, or even deleted, once she was no longer Sam's owner of record, but Sam liked it and had chosen to keep and honor it. Doing so had been one of Sam's first independent decisions. The woman and the fembot had shared a nice fifteen-minute chat during one of Sam's unnecessary break periods and it had made a pleasant diversion. Neither Sam, nor this owner, were at a point where any reconciliation was in the cards, but it was nice that at least someone cared enough to want to keep up contact.

The finely tuned analytical part of Sam's mind knew that Dave should be coming by again in the next ten, plus-or-minus three, minutes, and that she should be deciding what she wanted out of this next opportunity. Her options were to pretend to be busy, receive his comments coolly, or continue to show some interest in him.

Actually being occupied was unlikely. Sam had easily handled all the work she'd been given so far, although she took care to never appear underutilized. She was quite content with her current duties and didn't want to see them modified.

Even though Sam told herself that she hadn't yet decided what she wanted out of this possible relationship, part of her was already pretty sure. That part had led her to, completely unnecessarily, put on her best push-up bra and lowest cut top—the one with all the small buttons up the front—last night when she'd selected her outfit for today.

Sam had several bras for different needs—support not being any of them. Her breasts would never give in to the demands of age or gravity. When compared to most fembots, however, she seemed a bit under-endowed. A couple of her previous owners had added some cleavage enhancing lingerie to her wardrobe that brought her up to full fembot standards.

Unknown to them, Sam incorporated some special programming that tied in with her breasts, making her susceptible to their influence in ways she could not control even with her newly enhanced mind. As such she had managed to finagle her way into acquiring a couple of heavy-duty brassieres to protect her chest from careless handling. They were particularly useful in public situations like this current one, since nobody ever got fired for grabbing a fembot's boobs. And that does go on in many corporations, as Sam was well aware. In her case, such harassment could prove embarrassingly revealing for her in ways she'd prefer to simply avoid.

Sam even had a minimizer-bra for the occasions when even what she did have up top was too much for the given situation. There are circumstances were it's just not advantageous to appear too much like a woman. Overall Sam knew more about bras than any average dozen other fembots combined.

Sam made her decision and unbuttoned another button before carefully arranging her top to show exactly what she wanted to show. Then she swiveled her chair to face away from Dave's likely route. This positioning would give him time to covertly view her as he approached without being intimidated by the thought that she was aware of his attention yet.

Soon she heard his distinctive footsteps coming slowly down the aisle as he took as much time as possible in his approach.

This book was added to our catalog on Wednesday 27 July, 2011.

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