Walter squinted at the sky. "I reckon it's going to rain."
I was chatting to him over the garden fence. We've lived next door to each other for years and he's an Ok neighbour, keeps to himself mainly.
"Better finish the lawn while it's dry. At least it won't take me long with this beauty." He smiled, and pointed an arthritic finger proudly at a brand-new, bright red power mower that was standing on the grass. It was bigger and more shiny than the one I'd bought last week. I sighed to myself.
Just then there was a rumble as a delivery van pulled to a stop outside my door. I could see Walter's antennae go up immediately. "Oh – anything exciting?"
I just smiled. "Nothing much, just a new toy. See you later, Walter," I went to deal with the delivery.
Actually, I was more excited than I'd been for a long time. I saw Walter watching the guys as they trundled the tall crate up the drive. They placed it against the wall in the living room and I signed for it.
Now that they'd gone, I couldn't quite believe that it was actually here. My bank balance was substantially less than it had been a month ago, but it was here . I grinned: I was the owner of an A-3000!
I picked up the knife and cut the thin grey straps off, then ran the blade very carefully first down the long seam and then the top and bottom ones. Slowly, I opened the flaps.
There was much bubble wrap, and I caught an A4 booklet before it fell to the floor. Instructions. I put it on the coffee table to look at later – right now I needed to see the thing.
Carefully I slit the wrap and pulled it apart. I froze as deep blue eyes gazed out at me through a jagged fringe in a mop of thick, wheat-blond hair. Those eyes seemed to be looking into my soul. With fingers that, for some reason had started trembling, I pulled the wrap away carefully and the rest of him gradually appeared.
There were many different kinds of bots available these days, but the one I'd ordered was special. Very special. This was a PleasureBot.
The customising of the A-3000 on the website had started easily enough – choose its ethnicity, sex and age – but after that it had become long and meticulously detailed: the physical shape and musculature alone took 48 parameters. The genitals took another 21, the face 30. Then there were skin and eye colours, hair colour, length and style, voice, and too many more to list. Even though I'd taken their advice and prepared detailed notes beforehand, I'd still spent the best part of a day measuring myself in unlikely places I hadn't thought of, making last-minute decisions, and entering all the numbers.
But that was only half of it. After all that had come the psychological stuff, and that was more difficult. As a PleasureBot, the A-3000 needed to know everything I was into sexually; everything that turned me on, and exactly how . What fetishes, if any, did I have and how did each one work on me? Have you ever actually tried to analyse your fetishes and turn-ons? It's not easy. What attitude should the A-3000 have towards me, what degree of dominance / submission? And loads of other stuff which made me think very carefully about how to reply. I got desperately horny writing all of that out, and the company's warning not to let my lust make unwise decisions for me while answering these questions was very difficult to adhere to.
But in the end I'd finished. I hoped I'd got everything right, because once the bot's mind had been initialised with all this at the factory, changing it would be very expensive indeed. Having said that, I knew that the A-3000 was, of course, capable of learning, and it was possible – in theory – to adjust some of the parameters by carefully considered responses on my part while engaging with it. Exactly how easy it would be carefully to consider my responses while I was strapped down and being worked on by the thing, however, was open to debate.
So, I knew exactly what the bot was going to look like even before I'd started to open the packaging, but I simply wasn't prepared for the actuality. As I removed more of the bubble wrap and the rest of it came into view, I felt increasingly that I was exhuming a living person from the crate, and not a machine. Images of grave-robbers flitted through my mind. I think it was at that point that the A-3000 stopped being an 'it' and became a 'him'.
And oh fuck, he was beautiful. He stood there in the crate, immobile, finally clear of all the packaging, and I couldn't stop staring at him. His body was curvy with broad shoulders, solid abs and a slim waist, firm muscles, and pecs that had shadows under them.
I tore my eyes away and picked up the instruction book. The only thing I had to do was find the wireless power box and plug it into the wall so that he could charge. When that was done, apparently, he would guide me through the rest of the initialisation himself. He did have an emergency on/off switch (just behind his left ear, if you want to know) but I shouldn't ever need to use it. I plugged the charger in – it was grey with a spherical aerial about the size of a golf ball on the top. A red light on the box lit up, and then after a moment it changed to amber. According to the book this was what it should have done, and he was charging. It said that the process would take about an hour this first time, so while I was waiting I disposed of the crate and packaging, made myself a coffee, then settled down on the settee with the instructions.
Most of the prep had been done at the factory, from the data I'd supplied on the website, but I ran through what I'd have to do when the charging was complete, and looked at the troubleshooting section. It all seemed pretty straightforward.
"Hello."
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I looked up and saw that he was smiling at me. I jumped again as this naked boy took a step forward. His movement was fluid, cat-like, and deeply sexy.
"I am an A-3000 PleasureBot. Congratulations on your purchase. I will soon be the partner of your dreams, and of your deepest, darkest fantasies. When you are ready to complete my initialisation, please say 'Begin'."
I think I made some inarticulate noise at that point. I'd made him 19 years old, with a voice that was clearly male, but still with a touch of boyishness. It was not only perfect, it spoke directly to my cock.
Clutching the instructions, I stood up, and walked towards him. I checked the book again, but there was nothing I should do but interact with the bot. I took a deep breath. "Begin."
"Thank you. First, I'm gonna need a name. The next word or phrase you say will be my name and I'll respond to it unless you change it later – there are details about how to do that in the instruction manual."
The sound of his sexy voice sent shivers through me. A name. I'd thought about that, and I'd considered lots, but in the end I'd decided that as he was an A-3000, I'd call him 'Ayth'. I spoke the name clearly.
"How do you spell that?
"A-Y-T-H."
"Thank you. 'Ayth', that's unusual, but I love it. What's your name?"
"Steven. Steve."
He smiled again, showing perfectly white teeth. "Hi, Steve. I'm Ayth. You can adjust the size of my cock within limits if you wish. Do you want to do that?"
I looked down at his crotch. I'd ordered the cock to be large (a bit larger than mine), uncut, with the head to be intensely sensitive. Just like my own. It nestled in golden blond hair a couple of shades darker than his shaggy mop. "No, it looks perfectly fine, thanks."
"Good." He smiled at me coyly, and I felt my knees going. "I thought you'd like it…" Even though it was soft, he made it jerk once. "Gonna look horny in skintight jeans. Or shiny black leather. With nothing on underneath…" As I watched, it hardened slightly. "That's gonna get the girls as wet as fuck…"
In the psychology section when I'd been customising him, I'd said I wanted him to be straight, but at the same time I wanted some vulnerability: that straightness to be not too difficult to overpower in the right circumstances, although under protest (I was looking forward to seeing him struggling). I wanted him to be sexually provocative – a prick-teaser – to be a bit cocky, gently dominant (or more forcefully so when occasion demanded), and to be every bit as turned on as I was by my specific fetishes and the things I was into. The way he'd said that, just then, was quite obviously intended to get me horny. And fuck, it was doing exactly that.
"Ok. That's sorted then," he said. "My mind's going to need to integrate a few things before I'm ready for sex, but it won't take long. About five minutes. I'd suggest you find me something to wear, unless you'd rather have me naked?" He smiled slowly. "But given all the interesting things I know about you, Steve, I think that's unlikely."
All the interesting things he knew about me . Oh fuck. "Right," I managed.
He was basically the same height and athletic build as I was – and I'd specified his waist to be the same size as mine, so all my gear would fit him perfectly – but I'd made him just a bit more muscular, so that my teeshirts, jackets and jeans would be even tighter on him in interesting places. I couldn't fucking wait.
He closed his blue eyes and I noticed a different LED on the wireless wall charger come on and start blinking. I took one more longing look at the boy, standing there with his eyes closed, his shaggy blond hair falling over his angelic face, then went into the bedroom to recover, to get changed and to sort through my gear.
Actually, I'd sorted out gear for him to wear this morning. I'd spent a long time agonising over which pair of jeans I wanted to see him in first; which teeshirt, leather jacket, boots… For the top half I'd settled on a sleeveless leather cutoff so I could see his muscular arms. I looked at the things I'd laid out on the bed and wondered for the twentieth time if some stretch denim jeans would be better – those would certainly make the best bulge – but no, I'd stick with the shiny black leather sex jeans I'd decided on earlier. They were my favourites: the tightest and thinnest of the many pairs I owned. I was salivating imagining him in those.
The door opened and he joined me the bedroom. I still couldn't get used to the way he moved – it was impossible to tell that he wasn't a living, breathing boy. He looked amazing naked, but I was seriously into gear and I couldn't wait to see him in it. "Ayth, I've got some things here for you to wear."
He looked the gear over. "Oh fuck yes ," he breathed. He picked up the jeans, held them up to see the size, and then ran his fingers over the shiny black leather. "These are going to be skintight, I think," he said, grinning like he'd just been given the best Christmas presents ever. His cock was already beginning to get hard as he sat on the bed and started to pull them on.
"Come through into the living room when you're ready." I wanted my first sight of him in gear, to be in all of it. With my own hard cock straining in my jeans, I left him to it.
A few minutes later the door opened and he was stood there. Oh fuck. Oh fuck , he looked even hotter than I'd hoped. The leather cutoff fitted him perfectly and the half-open zip showed his pecs through the tight white teeshirt under it. I could see the fine golden hairs on his muscular arms, the motorcycle boots looked fuck-off chunky on his feet, and the leather jeans hugged his legs and thighs without a single crease all the way up to the most amazing bulge I'd ever seen in my fucking life. It was stretching the leather out into a shape that was begging to be licked, touched, played with. He'd found a thin, studded leather strap in the bedroom and buckled it tight around the top of his left thigh. The first thing that went through my mind was that he looked like a younger, more cocky – and even more gorgeous – version of Peter Berlin.
Sweating, I patted the settee at my side. "Come and sit here."
He raised his eyebrows and then one corner of his mouth. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
I watched him as he walked over and sat down. Shit, I thought, I wished I could move like that.
I rested a hand on his black leather thigh. It felt warm and smooth under my fingers. He looked down at it. I slid my hand slowly upwards towards that bulge, but he chuckled and gently put my hand back on my own thigh. "I'm flattered," he said, "but I'm straight. Sorry."
"Oh, I know you are. But I'm still going to play with that bulge."
The half-smile was back again. "You think so?"
"Yeah." I put my hand back where it had been.
He laughed, jerked sharply away from me, and stood up. Before he'd got up all the way I was standing as well. I put my arms around his waist from behind and grabbed his bulge. I squeezed his cock shaft lightly and repeatedly, moving upwards towards the head.
He'd started to try to get my hand off, but as I found the ridge of his cock and began to tease it, he froze for a moment. A groan of pleasure escaped his lips. "Oh fuck," he whispered.
I continued to stroke my fingers over the ridge through the thin black leather for a second or two, and then went further up. As I teased and tickled the sensitive glans itself, his knees buckled. We fell back onto the settee and I buried my face in his crotch. It was usually me who was wearing these jeans so I didn't often have the chance to experience them from the outside – and never with such a drop-dead sexy boy inside them. The leather felt warm, smooth, supple, and terminally horny.
He started to push me off but I was having none of it; he turned and his leathers creaked as he began to get up again but I pulled him back down. I realised that with muscles like his it should be easy for him to disengage me but for the moment it didn't seem like he was really trying. I got a hand between his thighs and teased his balls at the same time. He let out a scream of laughter. So, the boy was ticklish… I grinned, and my fingers worked faster – his ticklishness was distracting him from resisting.
He was giggling and laughing between trying to tell me to stop, but I carried on regardless. Slowly we both slid off the settee onto the floor. Our faces were inches apart and his blue eyes were boring into mine. "I'll get you for this, Steve – and remember that I know everything about you: your turn-ons and your weaknesses. Every last one of them."
The way he said that sent shivers of lust through me. And he was right. But it was a double-edged sword. "Yeah, but I know just as much about yours, Ayth."
"Hmm." He considered this for a moment (I'd stopped tickling his balls). "So, then, it would seem to come down to muscles…" And he used them. In spite of all my efforts to stop him he rolled me over onto my back and sat astride my chest, so that I was staring at that bulge inches away from my face. His hands were pinning mine to the carpet. Fuck me, he was a strong boy.
He bent forward until his lips were almost within licking distance, his lethal blue eyes twinkling behind the blond fringe, and then he grinned. Oh for fuck's sake, that was a killer grin. More than anything I wanted to kiss him. I raised my head but he pulled back just far enough that I couldn't reach and shook his head slowly. "I'm straight, Steve."
"Yeah yeah, of course you are. Now fucking kiss me you bastard!"
He straightened up, let go of my hands, and gave his bulge a slow squeeze. I saw his already semi-erect cock move under the the thin black leather, trying to find space as it hardened even more. "Ok. As long as you remember I'm straight, perhaps just one short play-around might be all right." He sprang to his feet, picked me up bodily as if I weighed nothing, and carried me into the bedroom.
"Strip," he ordered, plonking me on the bed.
I wasn't sure about this. What I really wanted was –
"Now!"
I stripped.
He climbed on top of me and began doing very slow press-ups. Every time he came down I could feel his leathers all over my naked body and that solid bulge pressing against my cock. I gazed into his beautiful eyes and felt his muscles working as he pushed himself up and down. I wanted that moment to go on for ever.
Then his full weight was on me – his motorcycle boots pressing against the inside of my ankles and shins, his jeans against my bare thighs and the leather and studs of his bike jacket on my chest. He opened his legs, pushing mine apart with them, reached out and grabbed my wrists tightly, and forced me into a spreadeagle. Then he lowered his head slowly and kissed me gently.
He kept his eyes open and I lost myself in their unfathomable depths. I almost passed out from sheer pleasure. Those lips were warm, soft, and made in heaven. He smelled of leather, and of boy.
I realised with a start that I was very close to cumming. At that very moment he smiled and raised his hips so that there was no longer any contact there. He shook his head. "Oh no, Steve, you're not going to be cumming for a long time yet."
He slid off me to the right-hand side, got one leg under mine, and forced my legs apart again, holding them there with his booted feet pressing my ankles down. His left arm went under my back, his hand gripping my left wrist and pinning it to the bed. And he was lying on top of my right arm, so that was out of action too. I realised that I was fucking helpless. I couldn't get out of this. But as he'd intended, the manoeuvring had left his right hand free – and he used it now on my defenceless cock.
Let me tell you, I have had hand jobs from a great many guys in my lifetime, but nobody – nobody – ever had a touch like Ayth's. His fingertips glided like gossamer over my erect cock. But only the shaft. Each stroke stopped just short of the ridge. Within thirty seconds I was mentally screaming for him to work on the head, but he didn't. With infinite care he avoided touching it completely.
I was frustratingly close, but I knew there was no chance of cumming if he carried on doing that. I was trying not to beg him to work on the head – for some reason I didn't want to let him know he was getting to me so badly – but there came a point where I just couldn't not beg. "Please, Ayth, please – work on the head."
That corner of his mouth lifted again. "Yeah? Ok."
I watched his hand as he stopped stroking the shaft and moved upwards to the ridge. With a touch that was lighter than a fucking feather he circled it, then he began to stroke just his fingertips over the glans itself.
I swear I could hear the spunk boiling in my balls. "Faster, harder, you bastard," I breathed erratically.
Apart from smiling at my frustration, he ignored me and continued teasing my cockhead far, far too lightly.
I was about to plead with him to make me cum when he brought his deep blue eyes down to mine again.
"I'll tell you what I think. I think you want this straight boy to make you cum."
I breathed out. "Oh fuck yes. Please ."
"But that's not what straight boys do, Steve." The bastard let go of my cock, then stroked a single fingertip lightly over the very tip of it. At the same time he tensed his muscles, pinning me even harder down to the bed, and causing his leather jacket and jeans to stroke over my naked skin.
A thousand volts of pure pleasure jolted through my whole body. "Aargh! Please. Please ! Make me fucking cum! "
He shook his head. "Nope." Then he bent over me and took my cock in his mouth. How he did that without making me shoot I still have no idea. I could feel the warmth of his lips sealed around the top of the shaft just below the ridge, and his blond hair brushing my abs. I struggled to get free but he still had me in an iron grip. I couldn't move.
Then his tongue went to work on my cockhead.
I threw my head back and prayed for the relief of orgasm, but the tongue just teased lightly around the head, and the bugger stopped whenever he felt I was on the point of losing it.
I could feel his leathers all over me, his arms and legs holding me down, and there was not a thing I could do to control it or to prevent him from driving me insane with the need to cum.
He amused himself doing this for a long time.
Eventually he stopped. He did nothing for a minute or so except look at me knowingly, a half-smile on those cock-sucking lips, then he released me and climbed back on top, with his legs and his booted feet between mine. He pushed my aching cock backwards and positioned it between the very tops of his thighs, pressed up against his perineum. He gazed at me through strands of blond hair for a moment, the tip of his tongue between his teeth, then he squeezed his thighs tight together around my cock. I gasped as I felt the shiny black leather of those sex jeans completely enclose it. He lowered his head and kissed me hard, forcing his tongue into my mouth.
I started to thrust under him – involuntarily and frantically – fucking that gorgeous boy while he kissed me, his strong arms behind my back holding me tight against his chest. With my cock pistoning in and out of the black leather I ran my hands wildly over his jacket and the outsides of his jeans. A moment later I started to cum. My spunk – unable to get out anywhere else – forced itself down around my cock and made the smooth leather around it slick and slippery. This intensified things even more and the orgasm quickly became one that was off the fucking scale.
As I wound down, panting hard and still moaning in disbelief, he put his head on my chest and hugged me. I ran my fingers through his thick, shaggy blond hair. That had been one of the best experiences of my fucking life.
I asked him if he wanted to cum but he just smiled and shook his head. "I'm straight," he said, sucking my right nipple gently.
I was looking forward to getting him hogtied and raping his cock. We'll see what he says about being straight, I thought, when he's shooting his spunk into his fucking jeans.
With the exception of a short break for charging, he spent the whole of the following morning prickteasing me. He said he wanted to try the rest of my gear on, so my work on the computer was interrupted at regular intervals by, "d'you think these look more horny than the last ones, Steve?" He went through all of my leathers – bike jeans, sex jeans, assorted leather jackets and boots, several pairs of skintight PVC jeans – and then moved onto denim. Levis, stretch jeans (oh fuck, it got even more impossible to concentrate at that point), gym shorts, leather shorts, every fucking thing I had. And he looked good enough to rape in every single one of them.
By lunchtime I was getting desperate. I had to do my work, but in all honesty not a lot had got done that morning. I saved what little I'd managed to do, and told him to put the very faded stretch jeans on again, along with combat boots and nothing else. I shut the computer down – any further attempt at work today was not going to end well.
He appeared from the bedroom a few minutes later naked to the waist, and my cock sprang to full erection in my gym shorts. Oh fuck, his body was gorgeous: only just enough fat to make him curvy, a beautiful six-pack, and muscles to die for. His nipples stuck out like chapel hat pegs against the soft golden skin of his well-developed pecs, and the bulge between his smooth, skintight thighs in those faded stretch jeans had to be seen to be believed.
"Don't move a muscle," I said. I went into the bedroom, got some restraints out and lay them on the bed, then I picked up a blindfold and went back to the living room.
I handed it to him. "Put this on, then put your hands behind your back."
He felt the black leather. "I won't be able to see anything."
"That's what blindfolds are for." I said. "It's part of a cunning plan."
He looked unsure for a moment, but then he shrugged and put it on. Holding his arms behind him I guided him into the bedroom. When the first leather cuff touched his wrist he pulled away, half-turning back towards me. "What are you doing?"
"It's an experiment. Don't worry."
"Hmm." He didn't sound convinced.
I cuffed his wrists together and told him to lie on the bed, on his left side. Then I cuffed his booted ankles, and pulled them into a tight hogtie with a rope. As an afterthought I strapped his knees together – I knew that felt good, made struggling more frustrating, and turning over much more difficult.
I knelt on the bed behind him. The sight of his hard cock forcing the tight, stretchy jeans out at his crotch between his bent thighs into such a vulnerable, grippable bulge nearly made me cum on the spot. "Right, Ayth. Just relax." I smiled to myself: not much chance of that.
"What you gonna do?"
"I'm going to make you cum in your jeans, boy."
"Huh? No you're fucking not! " He started to struggle violently. But strong though he was, he was no match for the leather cuffs and the rope. There was not a great deal he could do.
I teased my fingers up his thighs, first one then the other, taking advantage of the fact that he couldn't see where my hands were going. The skintight denim felt wonderful against my fingertips as I stroked them gradually higher and higher.
He was fighting the restraints and yelling about being straight and not wanting this kind of thing, but I just grinned to myself. He managed to get himself face down on the bed in his efforts to get away from me, but I just forced a hand under his hips and onto his bulge. His hard cock was difficult to miss, and he couldn't get away from my hands however hard he tried. Still struggling, he rolled back onto his side, which gave me better access again. I started to tease his cockhead. Although the jeans were skintight, because he was bent at the hips there was more freedom for it. The stretchy denim let me grip it, and allowed it to move easily from side to side under my fingers as I worked on it, so that I could get to every part of it. It was as hard as steel. I scratched the nails of three fingers infuriatingly lightly over the head for a moment (that made him squirm even harder), squeezed the shaft, traced the ridge as far around as I could get. While I was doing that I pushed my other hand between his thighs (he clamped them together to keep it out as soon as he felt it) and onto his balls, and began teasing them as well.
I was breathing fast, and as hard as a rock myself. "Gonna rape your cock, straight boy…"
He was shaking his head and yelling things like, "get off me you fucker! " But I noticed that he was moaning at the same time.
I'd been intending to make it last a long time, so he could feel himself very slowly losing control, but I just couldn't wait any longer. I gripped the ridge of his cock and pulled it away from his body against the stretchy tension of the jeans, leaving my first finger free to scratch over the denim-covered head, a little more firmly this time.
"No! Not there, you fucker! " He yelled, struggling to get away from that finger.
The tension in his muscles increased with each scratch until, by the eighth one, his body was vibrating like a guitar string. Suddenly he yelled, "FUUUUCK!" , threw his face deep into the pillow and started to convulse. Quickly, I gripped the entire glans and worked on it fast and hard from the ridge to the tip. His hips began to thrust in time with the jerking of his cock in my relentlessly milking fingers, as the rhythmic, uncontrollable eruptions of ejaculation overpowered him. He continued to yell as he came in his jeans. My fingers slid irresistibly and smoothly over the head of his frantically-jerking cock through the spunk that was being forced through the thin denim, and I didn't stop milking the boy until I'd extracted the very last drop.
As his orgasm ebbed and then finally stopped, his muscles gradually relaxed. "Oh fuck! Oh fuck! " He panted into the pillow. When he'd got his breath back he turned his head and fixed his blue eyes on me. His hair was a mess but it looked even more sexy like that. "Don't think for one moment I'm ever going to let you do that to me again." But he couldn't hide the grin.
I released him and put the restraints back in the drawer. I was as horny as fuck from having done that to him, so my guard wasn't up when he asked me to get back onto the bed – I thought he just wanted to cuddle, but I was wrong. All I'd been wearing was my gym shorts, and these he pulled off with one hand. As he embraced me I could feel the sweat on his skin and the wetness of his spunk-soaked jeans against my crotch. At one point I realised that he was turning me over, but still I didn't resist. It was only when I heard the sound of the zip that I guessed what he was intending to do. But it was less than five minutes since I'd made the bastard cum, so surely he couldn't be ready to go again?
He was more than ready. I heard him wipe the spunk from the denim onto his cock for lube, and before I could do anything he was inside me.
When I'd specified the size of his cock I'd been thinking more about the sort of bulge it would make in tight jeans than about being fucked by it – fucking is perfectly fine by me, but it's not the highest on my list of turn-ons. Now, however, I was feeling the full enormity of the thing. I'd been fucked many times, but never by one this big. It should have hurt a lot – but it didn't. He knew how to use that cock. Muttering incoherent gibberish into the pillow, I gave myself up to pure pleasure.
I have no doubts that he could have fucked me all day without allowing himself to cum, but mercifully he didn't. After about ten minutes of surprisingly satisfying thrusting, kissing and biting of my neck, he came inside me. It occurred to me to wonder what his spunk was made out of, and if he had to replenish it from a bottle, but thankfully that thought only passed through my mind briefly. Right now I was enjoying the feeling of being flattened into the sheets by a beautiful boy, and of his spunk pumping into me.
We lay exhausted – or at least I did – on the bed for a while, then we got up, put fresh jeans and teeshirts on, and I made coffee. To my surprise he asked for one himself.
I frowned. "Can you drink?"
He smiled that lopsided smile. "You'd be surprised what I can do."
That was becoming evident. I picked up the espressos. "Let's take them out to the back garden."
We sat on the lawn chairs and I lit a spliff. I closed my eyes and let the warm sunshine do its thing, my mind replaying the amazing day we'd had and the gobsmackingly wonderful sex. I was glowing; I had rarely been as happy as I was at that moment. Ayth was perfect for me. Fucking perfect.
"Enjoy it while you can – it's going to rain later."
I sighed, and I hoped the words weren't prophetic. Opening my eyes I saw Walter grinning at us over the garden fence. I brought my hand up to shadow the sun. "Hi, Walter." I scanned the heavens. "Nah, not going to rain. Not a cloud in the sky and all is well with the world."
"I see you have a new friend."
I sighed again. "Yep. This is Ayth. He's a bot."
Walter's eyebrows shot up. "A bot? Really? Good grief! You can't tell, can you? That's amazing! I'd never have known. Though bots are getting very popular these days." He squinted at Ayth. "What kind of bot is he?"
I almost said – he's a straight boy bot who's into leather and bondage and I've just tied him up and made him cum in his jeans – just to see his face, but I didn't. "Oh, you know, general help."
Walter nodded knowingly. "A single guy like you could probably do with a pair of helping hands."
You never said a truer word, I thought.
"Well, must get on with this gardening before it rains. Be seeing you." He disappeared behind the fence.
I finished my coffee and watched Ayth do likewise. "Ok, better get you on charge." I stood up, then remembered. "Oh, I meant to ask you: what's your spunk made of? Where does it come from?"
He looked at me from under his shaggy blond fringe. "Boys have gotta have some secrets," he said.
The days passed in a haze of increasingly wonderful sex. I made it a rule that I had to be left undisturbed until lunchtime to do my work – partly because I was getting alarmingly behind with it, and partly because the boy was wearing me out.
But the afternoons and evenings were wild. He seemed to know exactly when to do the straight bit, and to resist – and by how much – and when I wanted him to dominate me completely and work on me until I was cross-eyed with pleasure. We devised increasingly complicated restraints to get each other helpless and vulnerable; he fucked me whenever he wanted to; I fucked him whenever I could overcome his struggling against it. We worked on each other's nipples; we sucked each other off; we used leather and tight jeans to tease each other to distraction; we made kissing an art form. I tickle-tortured the helpless boy until he came, forgetting every time that he would do the same to me before long. It was better than I'd ever hoped it would be. Better than my wildest dreams.
And it became a habit to sit outside in the sunshine after a long and satisfying session. It was on one of these late afternoons when I heard Walter mowing the lawn next door. I thought nothing of it until I saw him come out of his back door and go down the steps into the garden with a cup of tea. I frowned – so who was mowing the lawn? He saw us sitting there, made a wait-a-second gesture, and disappeared behind the fence. Moments later he was back, accompanied by a second guy.
"Max, I'd like you to meet my good neighbour Steven, and his bot Ayph."
"Ayth," I corrected automatically. "Oh, hello Max."
"Max is a top-of-the-range A-4000. Does the cooking, the gardening, cleaning, goes to the shops, everything you can imagine - I don't know how I've managed without him."
Mentally I rolled my eyes. It had been inevitable: Walter always had to go one better than me. An A-4000 . That must have knocked him back a bit. I looked at the bot: jet-black hair, age around 30, muscles so pumped that they could deflect small-arms fire, and a friendly smiling face. Yes, all right, he was gorgeous. But then there's little point in buying an ugly bot, I suppose.
"I'm glad you got one," I lied. "He'll make your life a lot better."
"Oh you have no idea."
I chuckled to myself. In that he was quite wrong.
"Well," I looked at Ayth, "better get you on charge."
"Max goes for six days between charges."
Of course he does, I thought. Bugger off you old fart. I smiled sweetly and waved a hand. "Ok. See you later Walter."
"Ayth? Charging time."
He blinked. "Hm? Ah, right." We went back inside.
The following week I had to go in physically to the office – I work from home most of the time but once a month my presence is required for one of the meetings that are a complete waste of everybody's time and during which we could all have been much more productive working at our computers. Nominally the office is a half-hour car ride away, but usually, with rush hours and motorway jams included, it was closer to two hours, if not more. Not my idea of a good time. I was always frustrated and knackered by the time I got home. Today, however, the gods of traffic systems had been smiling on me: it had taken less than forty-five minutes to get back.
I put the car away and let myself in, then switched the espresso machine on, dumped my bags on the chair and looked around. Ayth usually greeted me wearing something disgustingly provocative, but he was nowhere to be seen. I searched the flat but there was no sign of him. Perhaps he was in the garden.
I slid open the glass doors and went out. Nope, not there. I was about to go back inside when I heard a scuffling behind the row of rose bushes. That fucking squirrel was nicking my seeds again. I took a deep breath to scare the bastard shitless and went round the end of the bushes – and the breath died on my lips. Max was on the ground, giving Ayth a comprehensive fucking. Ayth was clearly loving it – arms everywhere, legs akimbo and moans of lust disturbing the peace.
Ayth saw me. He froze, then forced himself out from under. They both staggered to their feet, doing their jeans up hastily and looking sheepish.
I was staring. "What the fuck?"
"I'm sorry, Steve." Ayth looked the picture of contrition.
I sat down heavily on a lawn chair and waited, fuming.
Nobody said anything, so I did. "How long has this been going on?"
There was a pause, then, reluctantly, Ayth said, "for the last week. Since that time in the garden when you were talking to Walter, when Max and I first saw each other."
I was stunned. After a moment of furious thinking, I frowned – but Ayth was always around. "When? How?"
"At night when you and Walter are asleep."
I realised that my mouth was hanging open, fish-like. I closed it. I looked at Max. "But I thought you were just a general help bot – cooking and cleaning and stuff."
Max had the grace to look embarrassed. "Not entirely. Walter programmed me for sex as well."
If anything, that startled me even more than the idea of two bots having it off behind the roses – Walter was seventy if he was a day.
I felt my mouth falling open again. I stopped it. "Does Walter know?"
Max nodded. "He caught us on Wednesday night. He'd got up to have a pee."
"And what does he think about it?"
Max tilted his head to one side and a slight smile appeared on his lips. "He doesn't mind. As long as it doesn't interfere with me and him when we… you know."
I thought about this. Apart from the fact that I'd paid an awful lot of money for Ayth, the thought of getting rid of him horrified me. "What do you think about it, Ayth?"
"I don't see a problem, Steve. Have you noticed any difference with me this past week?"
I couldn't say I had – we'd had some monumental sessions in the last few days. "No," I replied grudgingly, "but –"
"Well there you are. I'm still the same boy. And I love what we do – but only sometimes – because I'm straight." He directed the full force of those blue eyes at me and smiled slowly. "And don't forget, I know every one of your weaknesses…"
Oh fuck, my knees were going again. I was quite aware that he'd said that on purpose, but it made no difference – I was still incapable of resisting this boy. I caved in. "All right then, the nights are yours. But I warn you – if I do notice any difference, it's back to the factory for you."
"Oh, I'm afraid you will notice differences, Steve. I'm learning a whole lot of new things from Max. Did you know that Walter likes being tied up as well?"
I think my face registered alarm. "No, I didn't – and I don't think I want to."
"Well he does. He's done rather a lot of it in his lifetime, it seems. Was something of an expert at it in his younger days. And he's taught Max some unreasonably frustrating ways to do it."
Max nodded slowly, a slight smile playing on his lips. "It's true."
"Also, Max is learning things from me. We talk a lot. He already knows all about what you and I do, and I'm teaching him stuff all the time." He fixed me with those blue eyes again. "And an idea he's really getting obsessed with, Steve, is leather . Imagine both of us working on you together – in full gear…"
Why did the thought of that get me hard instantly? Partly, I suspect, because I was doing exactly that: imagining what that muscular mountain Max would look like in black leather, and struggling like fuck while being held down by them both.
As is usually the case, my cock took the decision out of my hands. "Hmm. Well, all right then," I looked sharply at Ayth, "as long as you don't work on Walter. Ever . Is that a deal?"
Ayth grinned. "It's a deal. Anyway, he'd probably have heart failure if we did him together."
It's been over a year now. Sex with Ayth is still the best thing ever. It cost me a bit to get leather jeans and jackets that are (only just ) big enough for Max to squeeze that eye-wateringly hunky body into, but it was worth it; when he turns up as well and they work on me between them, it's an orgy of muscles, boots, black leather, bondage, and skintight bulging jeans. It's like I've died and gone to heaven. And Ayth was right: Max knows some very inventive and very unfair things to do with ropes, cuffs, hoods, leather – not to mention assorted household utensils.
Life is wonderful. And for once I've got the better of that old fart Walter. Two sex bots for the price of one. Can't get better than that.