Email: boy18cute@yahoo.com
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Dylan_Boy18cute
A Dickson Enterprises Story : The ‘BOYBOT’ - Program
By Dylan
When Mr. Anderson was woken up by the sounds of splashing water and the squeals of boyish laughter, he was not quite sure if he should be annoyed and angry, or delighted.
He realized his sleep was not as important as his joy, and as he looked out of the window of his bedroom he saw the sun was up and the pool , right under his huge french balcony doors , was the venue of a heated game of tag.
Three boys, actually young men, swam in the pool, naked as the day they were born, and Mr. Anderson knew he could not be mad at them.
The boys looked up at him, smiling broadly, waving innocently. 
”Hey Uncle Marcus! Come on, join us, the water is great!” one of them exclaimed. The other two boys were already climbing out of the pool, or rather jumping out in one graceful move, holding on to the grab-rail by the ladder just for a second while seemingly effortlessly pulling themselves up and out, landing on their feet like only the most athletic of men can muster.
As usual Mr. Anderson was taken aback by this move, by the young athletes that called him Uncle.
Totally free of the cares of the world, the two boys that had left the pool walked over to a stack of towels and while one turned around, the other dried his back. This sign of brotherly affection was beautiful, and once again Mr. Anderson was sure he had made the right decision when he took the three boys in.
His nephews were orphans.
Their parents had died in a car crash some years ago, as everyone knew, and Uncle Marcus Anderson had not hesitated for a second when he was informed. He sent his private Gulfstream G 650 to pick up the devastated boys and bring them here, to him, to the private island under the tropical sun, the place he called home. 
‘Shangri-la’, the name he had given the island after he bought it, was remote enough to allow Mr. Anderson to set his own rules, his own laws. He was rich beyond dreams, owning properties all over the world. His empire of companies, real estate, stocks and bonds made him one of the richest men in the world, but he did not rule through the tabloids, he did not preside over stockholders’ meetings and he did not join the rich and the beautiful people at the races at Ascot, the Formula One in Monaco, or the skiing season in Aspen.
He was not interested in those mundane things. 
He was only interested in living a good life in privacy, away from the prying eyes, and one of the perks of this good life was a staff of servants, always available to fulfill each of his wishes, cater to all of his dreams, serve all of his whims.
He still stood in his bedroom, holding on to the balcony rail, looking down. Only one boy was still in the water, swimming with strong backstrokes, giving Mr. Anderson a spectacular show.
James, Jimmy, the eldest of his three nephews always played the little devil. His strikingly good looks resembled his brothers, but he had a way of displaying an air of innocence coupled with a certain amount of youthful friskiness that always made Mr. Anderson’s heart skip a beat, before it started to beat faster.
The man looked down at the swimming boy, and he could easily see why his blood raced.
Jimmy looked up, his smile wide and seductive. Mr. Anderson knew the smile was meant to tease him, but he also knew the boy’s fully engorged cock had not reacted to show it’s solid erection because of him, but because of one of the men of his staff.
Anderson had to wait only a second. His nephew Jimmy knew he was giving a show for his Uncle as he now left the pool, his cock swinging around, hard as steel. The young man knew someone else was watching too, and he knew this other one would quench his thirst, satisfy his hunger, put out the blazing fire of his lust. 
As Mr. Anderson watched, a black servant walked out of the house. This man, Angelo, looked like he could have been a native to the island, and in fact he was born and raised in this part of the world.
Anderson watched as the man played the game with his sexy nephew, a slow dance of hide and seek. While his nephew pretended to be oblivious, drying his well muscled body, the other man dropped the thin silky gown he had worn and presented the body of a god.
As usual Mr. Anderson held his breath for a second as he saw the servant Angelo embrace his nephew Jimmy from behind, and he watched the men share the moment of surprise in Jimmy’s body language and the mutual affection as he relaxed and the strong arms of the black man held him tight.
Angelo was taller than the boy, and he used this difference in size to make sure the boy knew who was the leader in this mating dance.
Mr. Anderson chuckled as he had those thoughts. While the two men played their little game right under his window, the elderly man had formed the words he could write down, ready for printing.
His passion for writing had again made him think in sentences that perfectly described the scene he had watched. His powerful imagination had elevated the scene, he knew, and while the two men now grunted in lust and rolled around in simple, carnal desire, the black man fucking the white boy’s ass with his fat dick, Mr. Anderson sat down and started to take notes for another of the erotic novels he now was famous for.
While Anderson wrote down his fantasies, the scene by the pool unfolded as usual. The two protagonists of the little scene fulfilled their task. While Anderson was writing, the two figures still played the game they always played. Sexual innuendo lead to carnal lust, those scenes always took place on the island of ’ Shangri-la’.
The men of ‘Shangri-la’ were merely toys, each of them a product of a company that catered to the needs of the rich, the famous, and the ones in need of utmost secrecy and privacy.
The members of this well hidden secret society were too careful to spend their private time with normal human beings. No one outside this circle was trustworthy enough, everyone was receptive to bribery, seduction, pressure or even blackmail, so nobody who was of interest to this rich and paranoid guild should be invited to join someone’s bed, or maybe even someone’s life.
The members of the guild were human beings, after all. They had needs, desires, wishes, and usually only the prowess of a few chosen ones was good enough to fulfill those needs.
Only the best artists, the best architects, the most skilled workers, cooks, servants were able to satisfy them and meet their demands.
Mr. Anderson had typed his newest ideas into his computer. The words he had now saved in a new file, a new act, a new chapter of his book had described a scene far beyond the simply fucking that took place as he walked out onto the terrace and sat down by the table.
He had written a scene full of the lust between a lonely young man and his trusted gardener.
The scene told of a household in the South, in the old days of rich plantations, of hard working slaves and privileged owners. 
Anderson typed one of his standard stories, colorfully painting the pictures his readers wanted to dive into. As usual he described what he liked himself, and the two muscled fuckers right under his balcony, still moaning out their lust, were just the inspiration Mr. Marcus Anderson needed.
He was right in the middle of a chapter, had been writing:
“Later, after the Father of Joshua Carnegie had been called away, a black gardener slowly started to rake the leaves off the well cut grass in front of the terrace
The young master Joshua seemed to sleep in the sun, his body naked, sprawled out on the terrace, overlooking the lawn the gardener had just cleared.
The Son of the House knew nothing was more important than keeping a straight face in front of his peers, but now, here, alone with his servant, he could give in to his desires. The gardener had followed the summons the older Master have given him, had taken his rake and started to work, as ordered, but now he knew he was here to cater the needs of the younger Master. He knew what Joshua wanted, needed, craved.
The man fondled the apparently sleeping boy's tight body, his ripped abs, hard pecs, the bulging muscles on his arms. The boy’s body was pure perfection, formed by tireless hours of hard riding, swimming, walking around to check on the work on the plantation. His skin was smooth and free of blemish, he seemed to have not a single ounce of excess fat.
Slowly the gardener licked the boy’s skin, nuzzled on his nipples, sucked them to full hardness, while the boy started to squirm. The Gardner knew Joshua was just pretending to be deep in a trance as the man slowly dropped his shorts. His dick was already as hard as a rock, just as the cock of the boy was, and the gardener leaned in and licked the first drops of precum from the boy’s piss-slit, tasting the sweet and salty creamy texture.
The boy turned around, dropping his act. He had not been asleep, and now he openly started to reciprocate. The gardener followed in one fluid motion, now spooning the boy on the wide and solid sunbed. It was no planned motion, but now the man’s dick could slowly slide into the so very sweet boy’s ass.
Joshua moaned, even said something incomprehensible, as his tight little ass was fucked.
The man fucked the boy in several positions, came twice and even had the boy licking his dick clean.”
Anderson looked at his watch. As usual he had been carried away. It had taken almost twenty minutes to write down what his creative brain had generated, but a few more words needed to be saved before breakfast, so he typed away with fresh energy:
“The younger man came hard after the Gardener had pulled his dick out of the boy’s mouth and let him lay back to jerk his boyish rod. Joshua soon shot all over himself, the cum coating his abs, pecs, and even some of his face.
The Gardener used his rugged hands to cup the boy’s face, kissing him deeply. Their tongues dueled, while the man toyed with the idea to let their cum dry on their bodies. The looks of both of them, dressed just in their tight trousers and covered in cum would certainly turn heads.
The cum they had shot while making love without thinking, the cum that had squirted high above as the boy was having one of his youthful orgasms would be making erotic white patterns on the Gardeners deep tanned skin as well as the boy’s tight and lithe body.“
Mr. Anderson pressed ‘Enter’ and saved this new scene. He got up, now hungry like a wolf, and walked down to sit at the breakfast table.
His nephew Jimmy and the servant Angelo still entwined, still in the middle of a heated display of sexual desire, but Mr. Anderson did not even look over at them. He was bored by the simple display of lust. The two figures seemed to be frozen in time, moving almost automatically, moaning in lust, but seemingly unable to cum.
Anderson lifted a little silver bell and on cue another servant walked out of a side door and served his Master a tall glass of freshly pressed juice. He asked, ignoring the scene unfolding right next to the table:
”Fried or cooked, Sir?” Alphonse, the cook, knew his Master. Mr. Anderson simply looked at his trusted employee and the man answered, anticipating the correct answer as usual, smiling:
”Scrambled, light and buttery, no bacon! The smell does not fit today!”
Mr. Anderson was of British descent, with a long ancestry, but had moved away long ago and now played the true cosmopolitan with ease and grace, but his simple tastes had not changed. When alone, he preferred the most basic delicacies, like his eggs for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch, and a dish of pasta with freshly grated cheese for dinner.
The answer his cook had given him sounded familiar, and in fact the man had basically quoted a book Mr. Anderson still read from time to time, a classic novel by Dorothy Sayers. He did not wonder about this coincidence. His staff were well trained and basically programmed to know what he liked. 
Another servant, Alberto, an athletic looking young man who seemed to be of northern Italian descent, a native to the art of brewing the perfect caffè, served Mr. Anderson his first cup of coffee.
The beans had been carefully selected, a blend of Brazilian varieties, and Alberto had roasted them freshly, just a few minutes before the Master of the house woke up.
In fact it had been that smell of the roasting beans that had revived Mr. Anderson’s spirits, and he carefully got up, trying not to disturb the blissful slumber of his young companion.
Alberto meanwhile put a cup in front of Mr. Anderson. The cup, made of the finest porcelain and glass, was served on a small tray made of fine Sterling silver, and Mr. Anderson as usual marveled at the perfectly displayed layers of black coffee, white milk, and a foam on top that was a dream, almost a cloud of a milky mousse, a rich cream that sealed the aroma and crowned his delicious beverage.
He usually wondered how the young man, one of the best baristas Anderson had ever met, prepared his favorite brew with such a perfection, and as their eyes met, Anderson smiled in appreciation and Alberto simply nodded, turned around, and left the terrace.
Mr. Anderson followed the young man with his eyes. Like every other member of his staff, Alberto had the body and the face of an angel, carefully selected, chosen from a wide variety of possibilities.
Anderson picked up a long silver spoon and slowly dipped it into the creamy ‘schiuma di latte’, carefully avoiding to stir as he took a little off the crown of this wonderfully presented specialty.
Alberto had, as usual, laced the foam with just a hint of powdered sugar, vanilla and cinnamon.
Mr. Anderson knew the rich and strong double espresso deep down in the glass would be sweet from brown sugar, while the hot milk was simply the best fresh milk anyone could get.
After tasting the sweet aroma of the foam, he dipped the long spoon deep into the beverage and stirred robustly. The work of art that Alberto had served was turned into a blend of a milky coffee specialty, tasting sweet and creamy, rich and strong at the same time, and after a careful first sip, Mr. Anderson felt his spirits rise and the day looked very promising again. 
Mr. Anderson had enjoyed his breakfast alone. Antoine, a boy of maybe sixteen, often shared Mr. Anderson's bed nowadays. The elderly man loved to talk to a companion before he was sleepy enough to embrace Morpheus’ blessing and go into a deep sleep, and to feel the boy snuggle to his side gave him a peaceful feeling when he woke up in the middle of the night.
He loved to feel safe, secure, loved, and Antoine was just one of many companions that shared Mr. Anderson’s island with him.
His nephews, he knew, had catered their bodily needs earlier in the morning and now waited patiently to start another part of their day.
Mr. Anderson smiled knowingly as he sat down in front of his computer and opened a video-call.
On screen his long time friend and business partner Biggelow Dickson appeared, for a second looking to the right to give a last order to someone Anderson could not see.
Dickson said:” You can start the program, Dr. Smith, Mr. Anderson is online!”
The men animatedly talked for a few minutes, exchanging the newest gossip, before their demeanor changed and they opened extra windows on their huge screens, checking files, and watching video scenes.
Dr. Smith had started a computer program, and the newest line of products began a presentation.
While they watched their screens, Biggelow Dickson told his friend: ”We did not cover them yet, the user can decide what color and overall appearance he wants, but they are fully functioning.”
Anderson watched the metallic sheen of the machines he saw on screen. Titanium, carbon fiber, ceramic and even industrial diamonds had been used to design this newest line of products. On screen appeared the newly designed ‘Alberto’, with his servant’s overall features, but an improved body.
One of Mr. Anderson’s companies had delivered the computers, actually the most complex positronic brains the world had ever seen, while several of Mr. Dickson’s companies had designed, constructed and built the bodies.
Yes, bodies. While Anderson watched the presentation, he pressed a button and the door opened admitting Alberto, serving a fresh cup of coffee. As the young servant wanted to turn and leave, Anderson stopped him with a code he uttered under his breath: ”Boybot stop!”
The screen showed a presentation of the new ‘B’ line of prototypes. Alberto, one of the first ‘A’ line robots, would be picked up soon, as soon as the delivery of the new ‘B’ line arrived.
Anderson knew the boys personality would be transferred together with his skills. ‘Alberto’ would end up on a scrap-pile, but the new ‘Berto’ would be as good in the art of preparing a cup of fresh brew, but more reliable, a little more muscular, and very well versed in the art of lovemaking, Mr. Anderson knew.
All he had to do until the plane landed was to think of names for the new ‘B’-class.