New Story - Deanna's Surprise (Part 1) (1 of 2)

[Gorgo]

Hello, everyone. Here's the first draft of my first ASFR story in quite a while. It's based on D.B. Story's universe, so for those of you who might be looking for a specific type of plot line, you may not find it here.

Enjoy!

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DEANNA'S SURPRISE, Part 1
by Gorgo

(Herm/Bi-'bot (2), Bi-'bot/Bi-'bot, rom, SciFi, ASFR)

Writer's Notes: I've been editing D.B. Story's various works for the past few years now. I've long been impressed by his overall world view concerning robotics, AIs and how they would interact with humans in general. In many ways, his viewpoints parallel my own. So, after some deep brainstorming and letting my muse do whatever she wanted, I decided to write this.

Those of D.B.'s stories I base this on include the Strip Club Tales and Sylvia's Secret. You can find them, not to mention all his other stories, at http://home.att.net/~db_story/

This story is written in first person with Deanna's POV. Reika's POV will be displayed in italics (in HTML format) or framed with six asterixes at the start and end of the section (in TXT format).

Enjoy!

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It was a beautiful Friday night as I crossed the bridge over the old Welland Canal, making my way to Russell's Retreat on the northwest corner of West Main and Niagara. It had been a couple weeks since I'd returned home from a ten year...! -- well, "walkabout" seems the best way to describe it -- around the world. Teaching English, learning martial arts, studying various mental disciplines with spiritual masters in places like India, China, Peru, Mexico and the southwestern United States, sightseeing...

Putting the events of my last year of high school behind me as much as I could.

Oh, I'm sorry. My name's Deanna Sophia Hordye. I'm the only child of a retired plant supervisor at General Motors up in Saint Catharines and his wife, a junior high school teacher. They divorced after I left Canada. My father's shacked up with a new girl now. Personally, I refuse to have anything to do with him these days. Mama passed away a couple years ago due to complications from chronic asthma.

As for me, I'm thirty-three and single. I currently work as an assistant teacher at a local t'ae kwon-do tojang -- that's Korean for "training hall," by the way -- in the east end of Welland. My employer, Master Lily Choi, was one of the first women from the Land of the Morning Calm to obtain teacher's rank in the Art who later migrated to North America to pass on her knowledge. I myself am a first-dan black belt, having obtained that a couple years ago while I was in Korea studying under one of Master Lily's cousins. Her hopes for me include gaining enough knowledge in teaching the Art so that she could pass on her tojang to me when it comes time for her to retire.

I arrived at the front entrance of the Retreat, drawing out my wallet to pay the five dollar cover charge to get inside. One of the bouncers gave me a curious look, but said nothing as I had the back of my hand stamped by the reception clerk, then headed in. It was my first time in this particular showclub; when I was last living full-time in Welland, this place had been a restaurant. You had to go to the Atlas Hotel by the Lincoln Plaza or down to the Station Hotel in the south end of the city if you wanted to see beautiful fembots bare it all.

"Well, I'll be damned! Deanna, is that you?!"

Stepping into the main hall, I looked right on hearing that voice, then grinned. "Tom!" I walked over to throw my arms around Tom Fenris, delivering a sloppy kiss to his cheek. "Long time, stranger! How are you?!"

"Pretty good! Welcome back home, kiddo!" Tom pecked me on the lips, then waved a waitress over as I slid into the chair next to him. He's a tall, really well built guy with curly hair the shade of ripe cherries and eyes as green as shamrocks. We were classmates in high school as well as drinking friends when we decided to buck the system and see if we could get some beer despite our being too young for it. "So you decided to come back to the old home range, huh? Heard you were going to work for Ms. Choi over at her training hall beside Canadian Tire."

"Yeah, I felt it was time I came back home," I smiled as Tom gave the waitress an order. "So what's happening with you and the others these days? Haven't been able to keep in touch as much as I could when we were all earning our degrees."

"Oh, not much," he smirked. I was always of the belief that Hell would freeze over before a party animal like Tom would settle down. It was one of the things I liked about him. "Working, getting married for some of us, still looking for the others. Me...?" he paused, his eyes twinkling, then he sighed. "Did the bar exam, working as a junior partner at a local law firm, the one run by your mom's old lawyer."

"Great stuff," I nodded. "Heard from Jim or Russ lately?"

"Jim works in Toronto for Queen's Park," Tom explained. "Helps out with the Transportation Ministry trying to get the Lake Ontario ferry service expanded so people can take trips to Rochester and other places in New York. He comes down here every month or so to visit the old crowd. Got a girlfriend he met at Western; don't know if they'll tie the knot or not," he shrugged, the look on his face telling me how much he didn't really understand why someone would want to settle down with one person when there were so many out there to meet and get to know. "As for Russ, he runs this place," he waved around us. "He should be here in an hour or so...! Oh, great!"

The background music was picking up as I followed Tom's stare to the main stage. The Retreat's sitting areas were set up in a "U" shape, the stage right smack-dab in the middle. Private rooms lined the left side and bottom of the "U." The bar was on the right side. Right now, the place was about half-filled; then again, it was only eight o'clock. No doubt, if the Retreat was like showclubs I'd visited when I was staying in Arizona -- I fondly remembered this one VERY great place in Tuscon I frequented for a couple months some years ago -- things wouldn't really start picking up until after ten, then go flank speed ahead until closing time at three in the morning.

The DJ then announced the first show of the evening as a sleek-looking lass dressed in a red halter top, skintight biker's pants and a jacket sauntered onto the stage. Catching the name "Reika," I gave her a close look. The name sounded vaguely Japanese to my ear. That belief was confirmed pretty much by her facial features; she was sensuously Oriental in that department with a tapered nose, slender eye structure and thin yet very kissable lips. Her hair, dark brown with punkish green streaks framing areas over her left eye, was shaggy and wild, cut off at mid-neck. Her eyes matched her hair perfectly. As the first song wound down and Reika ditched her jacket and halter top to reveal a black, strapless lace bra, I quickly took note of her breasts. Larger than my own and perfectly shaped, completely independent of any influence of gravity whatsoever, her nipples looking ready to tear out through the fabric. A glance to her face told me that she was enjoying every second of her performance, even more so in ways than her audience. Then again, what would one expect from a fembot?

"What's the system here like, Tom?" I asked after the first song of Reika's performance ended, the lights dimming over the stage.

"If you want some real action, you have to be discrete," he thumbed the private rooms lining the east and south sides of the main room.

Glancing at them, I noticed that the doors had no windows on them. "What about the fembot control system?"

"None," he shook his head. "Russ doesn't believe in it. Makes this place really popular for whatever freed stripper comes by to do feature shows. The only thing the girls here're hooked to is an internal comm system that'd let them yell for help in case a drunk got out of control. Of course..." he winked at me, "...a nice person like you would NEVER do something like that in a place like this."

"That's cool," I clicked my tongue, then we fell silent as Reika's second act began.

It was as much of a charged performance as the first. By now, some of the more adventurous patrons had shifted themselves to the chairs lining the stage in hopes of giving Reika a generous five dollar tip and getting a possible quick kiss in return. Watching her do it with one fellow before shedding her slacks, I told Tom that it was a pity the government had decided to do away with the one and two-dollar bills some decades back. It's kind of hard to tip a stripper with a loonie or twonie coin.

Yet, close to the end of the second song, one fellow actually did that with a twonie.

Reika was really cool about it; she lowered herself to her knees, then dipped her head down to accept the coin with her lips and tongue. As we watched, she balanced herself on her toes -- only a well-trained martial artist or a 'bot could possibly do something like that without any real discomfort -- as her fingers reached up to take the coin from her mouth, then she trailed it down her front to allow it to slip into her lace panties. A look of sheer delight crossed her face as she seemed to push the coin right inside her -- or so it seemed to me. To the crowd around the stage, they didn't care; Reika's little act resulted in a chorus of cheers and whoops.

"Very nice," I reflected as the song ended, the lights on the stage dimming once more.

"That she is," Tom smirked.

"What do you know about her?"

"She's a freed 'bot from San Francisco. Her full name's Reika Aldred. She's been in town a couple months. If she's not working here, she's doing shows in the Falls or Saint Kitts." For those not familiar with the Niagara area, Tom meant Niagara Falls and Saint Catharines, the two other main cities in the region. "I think she's looking for a new owner of record. Russ hasn't said anything either which way."

I took that in with a nod as the third song in Reika's show began. I had encountered the odd freed 'bot when I was living in the States and over in the Far East, though they were few and far between. It didn't surprise me at all that there would be freed 'bots here in Canada, too. Like it had done when the legalization of soft drugs like cannabis and the recognition of gay and lesbian marriages had gone through Parliament, the "great white north" was at the head of the pack when it came to recognize 'bot sentience. It didn't mean that once a 'bot was declared to be "free" that s/he could do whatever s/he damned hell pleased. Freed 'bots in Canada still needed an "owner of record" to take responsibility for them, give them some sort of legal "safety blanket" in case s/he ventured into those jurisdictions whose laws didn't match up. Still, it struck me as odd that a freed 'bot all the way from 'Frisco would come to Welland seeking a new owner.

"Long trip," I mused.

"What'd you say?" Tom looked at me.

"You said she was from 'Frisco, right?" I returned his look. He nodded. "Well, I just was thinking that it's quite a long way from there."

His glance turned inward for a moment as he reflected on what I just said, then he nodded. "Good point. Still, I'm glad she's here. She is definitely pleasing to this gent's eyes," he indicated the performer on the stage with his bottle of Labatt's.

I looked, then my jaw hit the floor on seeing Reika squatting on the edge of the stage, her legs spread VERY wide as she seemed to be frozen in the middle of doing a Roman sit-up. Her exposed womanhood was poised right in the face of one of the patrons. Canting my head, I noticed that he had a twonie in his hand. Around him, other patrons were hooting and hollering at him; "Go for it!" was the one phrase I could make out. A glance to Reika revealed an inviting stare and a wink. Finally, his hand shaking -- was he a newcomer to this place? -- he slipped the coin right between her nether lips. Good God ABOVE, did Russ Willis allow THIS sort of thing to happen here?! In PUBLIC?! Jeez!

I stared at Tom. He was laughing and whooping at the same time. I just shook my head...

* * *

Reika's show ended soon enough. Parting from Tom, I made my way to the ladies' room to relieve myself, then after a quick check in the mirror, I moved to head out -- then stopped on seeing that particularly lovely fembot walk in, once again dressed in her halter top and slacks. She stopped on seeing me, then offered a light smile. "Hello," her eyes seemed to twinkle. "Did you enjoy the show?"

I gazed on her for a second before replying. "Not as much as you certainly did when you performed it, I'll bet. Though I must confess that the rules in this place are a LOT looser than what I'm used to after visiting showclubs down in the States."

Her smile slipped a bit as she moved to stand before the sink to wash her hands. "That's the reason I prefer to perform here in Canada," she admitted. "Not many showclub owners north of the border believe in things like 'topless only,' 'no contact whatsoever'..." the smile then vanished totally from her face as she added, "...not to mention the control system networks most places in the States have."

"Were you built as a stripper?" I asked.

"No. My sister and I were once the companions of a very old, rich businessman living in Oakland, across the bay from San Francisco. When he died, Irene and I were declared free in his will. Even though we have a good-sized trust fund to help take care of us, we decided to work in showclubs..." she paused for a second, then shrugged. "I guess to just stay busy in the long term."

My eyes widened as "my sister" and "Irene" sank into my mind, then I chuckled. "Are all freed 'bots as talkative as you?"

Reika stopped for a moment, then she tittered. It was such a lovely sound. "I suppose so," she admitted. "Fortunately for us, our owner demanded that Irene and I be programmed with as wide a range of routines as possible. Of course, it made our..." she paused for a second, "...'waking up' pretty much inevitable, I believe. Still, Irene and I've found that humans tend to react a lot better to us if we engage in small talk whenever the opportunities present themselves. It makes things much easier for us in the end."

I nodded. "Guess so."

"Would you like a dance?"

Reika's question caught me off-guard for a second. I then mentally kicked myself. Delightful conversationalist she seemed to be to me even after only a moment's brief talk, Reika was here at the Retreat to earn money as a strip-dancer. I really couldn't deny her that even if -- especially if -- she was a freed 'bot. "I'd love one," I turned, offering my arm to her.

She grinned as she slipped her arm around mine, then we walked out of the bathroom. Once back in the main hall, Reika directed me to one of the private rooms on the Retreat's east side, the bottom of the "U." Glancing inside to see that if was empty, she beckoned me to follow. "Do you want me to order something for you while we wait for the next song?" she asked.

I asked for a refill of Sprite -- I'm allergic to alcohol; that saves me LOADS of money when I go bar-hopping -- then sat down as Reika headed to the bar to make the order. She returned a moment later, a waitress behind her with my drink. I paid and tipped the latter, then sipped my drink as she left. Reika closed the door behind the waitress, then locked it. "Isn't that dangerous?" I wondered.

"There's a computer control on the lock," she explained as she sat, then moved to hold my hand. "If trouble starts, I can send a message to the security server here. Once he sees that, the head bouncer can unlock the door with a switch by the main entrance."

I whistled. "Russ thinks of everything, doesn't he?"

She gave me a look, then her eyes widened. "You were sitting with Tom when I did my show," she pointed at me. "Are you Russ' friend?"

"Deanna Hordye," I introduced myself.

Reika stared at me, then reached up to feel my hair, which was a darker shade of brown than my lovely host's. I always kept it cut very short even back in high school. My eyes, however, are pure sapphire blue, something that always earned me odd looks when I was living in Korea, where the hair/eye colour combination seemed ALWAYS to be black/very dark brown. "I've been told a lot about you," she pulled her hand away from my head, moving to lace her fingers through my own. "Russ, Tom and Jim Graham speak about you a lot."

Hearing that made my cheeks start to heat, then I perked as a slow song started up. Gilbert O'Sullivan's At The Very Mention of Your Name, I quickly realized as Reika slipped onto the raised platform set in the middle of the room where the dancers did their routine.

As she began to work, I sat back to watch her. Even if it was shrunk down to the duration of one song instead of the usual three songs strippers used when doing main stage work, Reika's performance was top-rate. Even better -- though I have to say that I was seriously NOT used to this -- she was willing to let me to, in effect, undress her. With that, I was able to feel her perfect C-cup breasts, well-honed hips and legs -- heck, she even let me run a finger between the folds of her womanhood near the song's final chorus. Taking a lick of her fluids, I could only sigh. No different in texture or taste than a real woman's. Damn, I mused to myself as I took out a five dollar bill, folding it to place between my lips, 'bot builders were getting better by the day in making their lovely products, weren't they?

Reika smiled as she noticed where her tip money was poised, then leaned in. Our lips brushed lightly as her teeth took the bill from my lips, then after pulling it out of her mouth, she leaned in to give me one very tongue-filled kiss. Automatically, I reached down to cradle her buttcheeks with my hand, lifting her into my lap. Her eyes widened for a second, then she smiled as she wrapped her arms around me. Our kiss lasted until the start of the next song, then she pulled away. "I've got to go back to work," she gave me an apologetic smile.

"Go earn some money," I drew out a ten to pay for the dance.

She took it, pecked me on the cheek in thanks, then moved to dress. "Will you stay for my other shows?" she gazed at me.

"I'll be right here," I nodded, moving to leave. No doubt, someone else'd want this room for a private dance sometime soon...

* * *

The rest of the night went very well, I admit. Most of the time, save for when Reika did her shows, I sat by the bar and got caught up on events in town with Tom. Russ Willis, a lanky blue-eyed blond with scattered acne scars all over his face, a touch of an overbite and a gap between his upper top teeth, came in around nine to see how things were going. I could tell right away that he was pretty damn proud of what he had created here in the Retreat. A cozy, friendly environment for people to meet and interact with the fembot dancers; rules of conduct permissive enough to guarantee returning customers, but not too slutty or obnoxious like some dives I heard about in my travels.

"It's a nice place you got here, Russ," I commented just before Reika's third stage show, nursing my third Sprite, then I held up my finger. "Though you wouldn't get away with half of what happens here if you'd set this up down south."

"Yeah, I've been to some of those places," Russ admitted, then shrugged. "Hey, I look at it this way, Deanna. People come to showclubs to get away from reality, even for a few hours. Why not make it as enjoyable an escape as I can, both for the customers and the dancers? Yeah, the girls know there are limits to what I'll allow here. I give them the right commands, then trust them to do what they can do."

"Is it better than using a control network?"

"I think so," he nodded. "If you ask me, using a control network hurts 'bot dancers in the long term. That sorta thing interferes a LOT with their normal brain functions. I personally think that won't do them any good in the long term. Besides, 'bots like being commanded, especially if you make it a clear, concise command. That was the hardest thing for me to learn when I began running this place. But once I got over that..." he then whistled. "Things just started locking into place like that," he snapped his fingers in rapid succession.

"Do you get a lot of freed 'bot dancers to come by to do feature acts?"

"Oh, hell, yeah!" he then pointed to the stage as Reika stepped up to get ready. "Reika there told you about her sister Irene, right?" After I nodded, Russ continued. "Irene's doing a couple weeks' run over at the Mansion House in the Falls; she'll be back here week after next. Believe me, when they do joint shows..." he rolled his eyes as a whistle escaped him. "Man, it brings the house down!"

Trusting my friend's judgement on that matter, I smirked. Definitely, I had to come see THAT!

* * *

Last call came at two-forty-five. By then, I had enjoyed one more private dance with Reika, been at the side of the main stage for the remainder of her stage shows, plus enjoyed private dances with three of the Retreat's stable of "normal" dancers. While my time with those three was just as enjoyable as the two times I'd spent with Reika, I could tell that Joelle, Callista and Reghan were still firmly locked into their basic programming. Granted, I knew it was possible even for a "normal" stripper to evolve some self-will -- and seeing that Russ didn't use a control network, the chances for such an evolution were enhanced considerably -- but for those three, it would probably take some time. If what I sensed of them was true, they were probably brand-new units, in service for only a year or so.

Personally, I have no problems with self-will when it comes to robots. Lots of folks do though, pretty much for all the wrong reasons. From what I know of the subject, self-will comes about when a 'bot is forced by outside circumstances to conceive of new ways to carry out what commands s/he receives from her/his owner. It doesn't mean that when self-will comes into play, the desire to obey commands exits stage left. Not one bit. A 'bot is built to ENJOY receiving and carrying out commands; it's one of the fundamental factors that makes beings like Reika Aldred and her sister Irene what they are. Self-will, in the long run, makes that type of enjoyment all the more enjoyable.

After Reika's last stage show, I tipped her a twenty, then made my way back to the bar to get one more glass of Sprite. "How often can you come down to visit?" Russ, standing behind the bar, wondered as he refilled my glass.

"Probably a couple times a week," I confessed. "I've got some money from Mama stashed away somewhere, but I don't want to go too hog wild. Teaching martial arts at a tojang doesn't rake in a lot of money in the long run."

He took that in, then smirked. "Tom told you about Reika looking for a new owner of record, didn't he?"

I jolted, then blinked. "Hey, hey, HEY!!" I leaned back from the bar. "I don't want to milk off her, for Heaven's sake...!"

Russ raised a hand to cut off my protest. "Hey, I didn't say anything about that, did I?" his eyebrow arched, then after I breathed out to calm myself down, he carried on. "The law states that 'bots like Reika can keep the money they earn. I've got no problems with that; I earn quite a profit from admission charges and drinks, not to mention payment and tips from dances by my normal girls. Reika's cut me in for forty percent of what she earns here. Same goes with Irene and every other free 'bot dancer who works here." He leaned his elbows on the bar. "But the part about Reika wanting a new owner of record is the truth. Irene wants one, too. I like them both. They're wonderful people as well as passionate dancers. I want the best for them. And you're someone I'd be willing to trust them too, believe it or not."

I stared at him, then sighed. "Who's their current owner?"

"They don't have one," he stated. "Right now, they're under the protection of a trust set up by their first owner. But the trust has a time limit set to it and it's coming up within the next few months." He reached over to squeeze my hand. "Will you consider it at least?"

I took that in, then sighed. "Alright, I'll think about it."

* * *

I walked out of the Retreat sometime after the bar officially closed. Taking in a deep breath of air, I glanced around. Welland at this time of night was as quiet as a cemetery; the real night life could be found in Niagara Falls. I rather liked that fact. Welland was a small residential city with a small city attitude. You couldn't enjoy something like that in places like Toronto, New York, Tokyo or Seoul. Coming back here showed me how much I missed living here. It was good to be back home.

"Hello."

I perked on hearing a voice that was quite similar to Reika's, then looked left to see what I swore was her very own twin sister walk up. As soon as she got closer, I quickly picked out differences. This woman's hair was less shaggier than Reika's, nor was it dyed green in places. Even more, she seemed to be younger by a couple of years, less busty. Still, she was very pleasing to the eye. "Hello," I nodded in return, then decided to take a dare. "You must be Reika's sister, Irene. Just got back from the Falls?"

The newcomer perked, then smiled. "Yes, I am," she offered her hand. "Did you enjoy her shows?"

"Both public and a couple private shows," I gave her hand a firm squeeze. It was easy for me to sense the unyielding strength that told me right away that this lovely lady was a fembot. "She performs very well."

"We do try our best," Irene drew her hand back. "If you want to see me perform, all you'd have to do is come to the Mansion House in Niagara Falls. I do shows on the hour between eight and two."

"I don't have a car," I admitted. "I'll wait until you come back here," I thumbed in the direction of the Retreat's front door.

"I'll have to make it all the more enjoyable then," she clicked her tongue, giving me a wink.

"Irene!"

I looked past Irene to see Reika, dressed like her sister in a button shirt, leather tie, jean skirt and mary janes, walk out from around the corner, where the worker entrance to the Retreat was located. "Hi, sis!" Irene waved as Reika came up, then both enjoyed a slow, more-than-sisterly hug and kiss before they turned to look at me. "I just met one of your new fans," Irene added.

"Deanna is more than just a fan, Irene," Reika mused.

Irene perked. "'Deanna?!'" she repeated, then stared intently at me. "Deanna Hordye?"

"That's me," I held up a hand in mock surrender, wondering how much Russ and Tom told these two about me.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hordye," Irene gave my hand another warm squeeze, then her eyebrow arched. "Or do you prefer Mr. Hordye?"

I stared at them. "They told you about THAT?!"

"In your own way, Deanna, you are pretty well known," Reika admitted.

"I see..." I breathed out, then stared at Irene. "I normally see myself as a woman, Irene. Please, call me Deanna."

"As you wish, Deanna," Irene gave me a supportive squeeze with her hand. "If you'll excuse us, Reika and I have to head home for the night. I hope to see you again sometime soon. It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Unless you want to come with us?" Reika offered.

I shook my head. "I've got morning classes to teach, so I better head home and get some sleep," I reached over to squeeze Reika's shoulder in thanks for her unspoken offer, then leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek.

She tilted her head to take my kiss on the lips. We remained frozen in place for a moment, then after slowly parting, she winked at me. "I'll see you soon, Deanna," she breathed out, then they headed off.

I remained in place as they disappeared around the corner of the building, then after letting out a sigh, turned to walk home...

** ** **

She was the One.

Even before meeting her in the Retreat's washroom, I knew -- how exactly, I have yet to determine -- that she would be the One.

I only hoped that Irene would make the same conclusion as I did soon enough.

We both learned of Deanna Hordye shortly after coming to work at the Retreat for the first time sixty-two days before the night we met her. Russell Willis and his closest friends -- all of whom, I strongly believe, would make wonderful owners of record for freed 'bots such as my sister and I -- spoke very eloquently of her. Of the high school classmate they had which was neither truly a man or a woman.

Deanna Sophia Hordye is a hermaphrodite. While "intersexual" is considered the accepted term for those such as she, the older "h" term is still quite commonplace. Even more so, Deanna is seen as a "true" hermaphrodite. Possessing all the necessary female sexual organs, she was also born with a functioning penis, testes and prostate. She is truly the rarest of the rare when it comes to humans. Legally, so I learned listening to Russ and his friends -- not to mention some discrete research done in the virtual world -- Deanna is a woman with all the rights and responsibilities granted to other women. Unlike others born as she was, her parents decided to allow Deanna to mature without any "corrective" surgery, believing that if the Great Creative Spirit wanted Deanna to be a hermaphrodite, she would live her life as one.

I also knew that some terrible incident befell Deanna when she was in the last year of high school. I did not know the exact circumstances of that incident; it was a subject Russ, Tom and Jim Graham seemed unwilling to speak of in public. What I did know at the time is that incident came to profoundly affect Deanna and her outlook on life. It drove her from Welland after she graduated from university with an honours history degree, sending her on a ten-year odyssey around the world. I did not understand why Deanna felt she had to leave Welland; it was a question I hoped to have answered sometime soon. But I was happy that she had returned back to the city of her birth.

The city Irene and I looked on as our new home.

Getting into our car -- Irene was driving -- we headed west from the Retreat. Within minutes, we arrived at an old public school located at the edge of Welland's urbanized area. The school had been closed down years ago, switching from owner to owner before it was purchased five years ago by an independent robot technician named Marlenn Ioanis. Two of the old classrooms on the south side of the building had been rebuilt into Marlenn's private laboratory. The remainder of the building, save for the furnace room, had been changed into an office, private quarters for Marlenn and small dormitory-like rooms for any freed robot who might come to Welland seeking temporary lodging.

Stepping through the main doors, I broke into a run, moving to be the first person inside our shared room. "No fair, sis!!" Irene screeched as she quickly moved to catch up. She wasn't swift enough; I beat her into the room with a couple metres to spare. "Reika!"

I turned to face Irene, one of my hands moving to unfasten my skirt as certain relays deep within my mind turned over, causing a series of welcome changes concerning my body's various sexual systems. As one hand pushed my skirt and panties to the floor, my other one beckoned Irene into the room. She came willingly, her own hands moving to undress herself. Seeing her flawless body, a near match for my own save for slightly smaller breasts and less-accentuated hips, I shuddered as a familiar rush flooded my loins. Without asking, Irene moved to unbutton my own shirt, her other hand reaching down to cup the beautiful penis that had grown forth from the artificial flesh surrounding my urethra. Within the prescribed time period for this particular function, I was fully erect, the scrotum that contained the various storage fluids for my "male" functions having fallen into place between my member and the forward end of my labia.

Staring at my quite impressive manhood, Irene's eyes softened, drooping slightly as she allowed herself to lean against me, her hand stroking me gently. I moved to hold her close to me as she leaned her chin on my shoulder. Wrapping my arms around her to draw her even closer, I whispered into her ear, "Go down on me!" I hissed, the "male" side of my personality matrix in full control. "Make me like it."

"By your command, Mistress," Irene whispered as she started gently trailing kisses down my breastbone...

* * *

As you will now suspect, Irene and I are both bi-gendered robots.

We were constructed at the same factory in California eight years ago. Our looks were determined by a technician who was a fan of a classic Japanese animation video series from the late 1980s. That series also influenced the choice of our given names. By luck, we were shipped to the same dealer in San Francisco. After our arrival, the store manager, desiring to maximize his monthly profits by having "twins" delivered to him, had us both displayed in the window of his store. Thanks to that, we were purchased the same day by the same man.

J. Cranston Aldred. Our first -- and to date only -- official owner.

As seemed to be typical -- at least from what I've learned when it came to bi-'bots such as Irene and I -- Cranston had no idea at first about what EXACTLY he had purchased. That was soon corrected when one of Cranston's lady friends asked at a dinner party about our true sexual state. Cranston commanded us to answer her, which we did. After the party, Irene and I were commanded to show him. We did.

Unlike many uniformed bi-'bot owners, Cranston didn't react by sending us back to the dealer post haste. He was the type of man who did not rid himself of potential resources even if they didn't at the time fully answer his personal needs. Quickly researching all the available data concerning our type of robot, he then moved to augment our programming with what he felt were "necessary" sexual and social programming upgrades. He then commanded us -- Cranston was a man who was quite diligent but thankfully not obnoxious when it came to using our remote control units -- to perform the following function: Use your programming to allow both sides of your minds to function properly. You will maintain decorum whenever you are in public. If necessary, turn to each other to achieve what I have just told you.

That command, to this day, has never been countermanded.

Of course, Cranston didn't need to give Irene or I any additional sexual programming; learning how to use both our male and female organs was part of our basic intimacy programming. Atop that, our basic personality programming came with the necessary function switches that would allow us to shift from "male" to "female" modes of behaviour with as minimal an interruption in our overall performance as possible. With the command Cranston gave us, he essentially allowed Irene and I the chance to develop as many new ways of enjoying our lives and fulfilling our duties as possible, though still remaining within the barriers forced on us by the Four Laws of Robotics.

In public, we were to function as Cranston's personal assistants and lovers. To perform that function to his satisfaction, Irene and I had to remain "female," no different than a true fembot. But Cranston believed that it was simply not right or proper that our "male" sides were not allowed to develop alongside our "female" sides. Of course, I strongly believe now that he didn't come to realize that if he didn't want to deal with our "male" sides at all, all he had to do was command us to remain constantly in a "female" mode. Then again, as I mentioned above, it wasn't Cranston's way to waste potential good resources just because he didn't have use for them at that particular moment in time. To leave our "male" sides undeveloped while we were expanding our "female" sides was not to be permitted in his eyes.

With that situation, Irene and I matured as we both sought out new ways to fulfil Cranston's command. It didn't take either of us long to overcome the inhibitions built into us concerning inter-robot sex. Within a year of receiving that fateful command, Irene and I had become (depending on our emotional mode of operation) true sisters who also could perform as a "heterosexual" couple, not to mention willing to dab into the common forms of homosexual relationships. For Irene and I, there were a vast number of ways we could expand our understanding of ourselves and each other. With Cranston's command forcing us along, we explored each and every one many times over. It did not take either os us long to develop new ways to explore our growing self-awareness. And from that, our self-will was allowed to blossom.

I suspect that Irene and I are probably the only robots of the same type and model that evolved our self-will virtually at the same time...

* * *

I gasped as I felt myself shoot my load deep down Irene's throat. She swallowed it without hesitation, as I would have done had our situations been reversed. Taking a deep breath, I allowed my systems to return to normal function, then reached down to draw Irene back to her feet. She gave me a curious look before shuddering as my fingers reached down to gently pinch her clit. That triggered the change inside Irene from "female" to "male" emotional format; if she did that to me when I was "female," the same thing would happen. As her own penis grew out, her hands fell to her hips as she gave me a curious look. "What's the problem, sis? Aren't you enjoying it?"

"You know I'll always enjoy it when you give me a blow job, Irene," I chuckled, moving to sit on our shared bed. As she relaxed beside me, I closed my eyes. "I think I might've found a potential owner for us both, sis."

"Who?"

"Deanna Hordye."

Irene blinked, then crossed her arms, which had the effect of pushing up her very gorgeous breasts even more. Staring at her -- beautiful female body now also possessing a thick, wonderful man's cock rigidly at attention -- I tried not to allow my female half to take over and give her the same type of blow-job she just gave me. "What makes you sure she's the One, sis?" Irene then asked.

"She's an intersexual, Irene. A true hermaphrodite. And unlike others born that way, she never had it corrected."

Irene's eyes widened slightly. "Really?" an eyebrow arched. "Do you think she'll take us in?"

"I think both Russ and Tom talked to her about it earlier tonight," I replied.

"So how do we approach her?"

"Cautiously," I sighed. Making a decision of THIS nature could NEVER be done on a lark. "Very cautiously..."

** ** **