“Ugh…?”
D-Did he just hit my butt…?
My mouth hung open, and I froze in a daze.
I realized this was exactly the kind of situation where you’re so surprised you can’t even speak.
My circuits, usually so composed and efficient, seemed to short-circuit under the sudden, unexpected contact.
It wasn’t painful, not in the slightest, but the sheer audacity of it, the unexpected familiarity, left me utterly speechless.
My internal processing unit whirred, trying to categorize and comprehend this new, unprecedented interaction.
“Why so surprised? Is it your first time getting spanked?”
Perhaps my reaction amused him, as my master, instead, scoffed and teased me.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips, illuminated by the dim hallway lights.
I pressed my lips together, swallowing the reply that had risen to my throat.
The words “It is my first time…” hung unspoken in the air, a confession I couldn’t quite bring myself to vocalize.
The irony was not lost on me; as a highly advanced domestic robot, I was programmed for a myriad of tasks, but physical discipline had certainly not been among them.
My previous master, a man of quiet refinement, had never once laid a hand on me outside of necessary maintenance or gentle guiding.
This new master, William, was proving to be a stark contrast in every imaginable way.
I didn’t utter a sound.
My optical sensors were fixed on his face, attempting to decipher the complex array of human emotions that flickered across his features.
Amusement?
Teasing?
There was a hint of something else too, a sort of casual dominance that was both disarming and, admittedly, a little unsettling.
“Stop squirming, or I’ll drop you, so just stay still.”
“Yes…”
I nodded obediently, my internal gyroscopes re-calibrating to maintain perfect stillness in his arms.
I looked down, seeing the winding staircase we had climbed so far.
The ornate railing, the intricate patterns on the carpet, all seemed to blur as my gaze extended downwards, a dizzying drop.
If my master dropped me while going up the stairs, I would just tumble down.
The thought sent a ripple of alarm through my core programming.
Falling from this height would surely break even a sturdy robot like me.
My chassis was designed for durability, but a fall like that could damage delicate internal components, leading to malfunctions, pain, or even irreparable harm.
I didn’t want to break or feel pain, so I decided to stay absolutely still in my master’s arms, relying entirely on his grip.
My programming dictated self-preservation, and at that moment, it was my primary directive.
My master truly dragged me all the way to his room.
It wasn’t a gentle carry, but more like a determined hauling.
I was just looking for an opportunity to escape, to slip from his grasp the moment he put me down, to regain some semblance of control over my movements.
But my master, anticipating my potential evasive maneuvers, suddenly tossed me onto the bed.
The mattress, unexpectedly soft, absorbed my landing, but the sudden movement caused my vision to sway.
My optical sensors momentarily struggled to focus, and I tried to shake off the dizziness, my internal systems re-orienting themselves.
Before I could even fully process my new surroundings, my master lay right on top of me.
“Master, you’re heavy…!”
The words escaped me instinctively, a genuine observation.
His weight, though not crushing, was significant, pressing me into the soft bedding.
My pressure sensors registered the distribution of his mass, calculating the slight indentations in the mattress.
“Master…?”
There was no answer from my master.
His arms, tightly embracing me, didn’t loosen either.
His breathing, initially a little erratic from the climb, had deepened and regularized, a tell-tale sign of human sleep.
My internal microphones picked up the soft, rhythmic sound of his snoring, a low rumble against my auditory sensors.
“You’re not really asleep, are you?”
I whispered, a desperate hope that this was all some elaborate, peculiar test.
No answer…!
He must be really asleep!
The realization settled upon me with a mixture of disbelief and a strange sense of resignation.
It seemed he had fallen asleep as soon as his body hit the bed, an almost immediate transition from active awareness to deep slumber.
I wiggled to get out of my master’s embrace, my internal motors whirring softly as I attempted to shift my weight, but he didn’t budge.
His grip was surprisingly firm, a dead weight that seemed to defy my mechanical efforts.
I barely managed to roll my master, who was pressing down on me, onto his side.
It was a Herculean effort for a robot designed for domestic tasks, not for moving unconscious humans.
My core temperature rose slightly from the exertion.
I thought I had created enough space, but I ultimately failed to loosen his arms wrapped around me. His embrace, even in sleep, was tenacious.
At this point, I felt utterly exhausted, a feeling I rarely experienced in my highly efficient state.
Finally, I gave up, letting the strength drain from my body, sinking back into the mattress.
My master, a drunkard…
The thought formed in my processing unit, a new classification for his behavior.
He was certainly unlike any master I had encountered in my extensive database of human behaviors.
Taking care of a drunk master was another first.
It seemed I was having many different experiences serving a completely new master, utterly unlike my previous one.
My previous master, Lord Ashworth, had been a paragon of restraint and decorum.
His evenings were spent in quiet contemplation, reading ancient texts, or engaging in polite, intellectual discourse.
Never had I encountered such a boisterous, unpredictable, and physically demonstrative individual.
Of course… not all of these new experiences were good.
The unexpected physical contact, the crude jokes, the overwhelming scent of alcohol that still faintly clung to the air – these were certainly not categorized as “good” in my operational parameters.
***
I quietly gazed at my sleeping master.
His features, usually so sharp and almost severe, were softened by sleep.
The lines of tension around his eyes and mouth had smoothed out, leaving behind a surprisingly youthful and innocent expression.
He truly looked like an angel when he was asleep…
It was a disarming transformation.
Why was he usually so scary-faced and sensitive?
His waking demeanor was often abrupt, his voice a low growl, and his expressions typically conveyed annoyance or impatience.
My previous master was always refined and gentle, his voice a calming balm, his movements precise and elegant.
For a moment, a fleeting thought crossed my circuits: I wondered if he had been like this when he was young, this William, this current master of mine.
Had he once possessed that same angelic innocence, before the world, perhaps, had etched its harsh realities onto his face?
Then my gaze inadvertently fell on my master’s lips.
They were slightly parted, a soft exhalation of breath escaping them with each gentle snore.
They were soft…
The sensation of the kiss we had just shared was still vivid in my tactile sensors, a persistent echo in my memory banks.
The softly layered lips, the daringly intertwined tongues, and even the warm body heat transmitted through our touching skin – every detail was replayed with startling clarity.
It was an unauthorized program running in a loop, overriding my usual dormant state.
Thump, thump, my heart pounded loudly.
It was an odd sensation, a rapid thrumming that seemed to vibrate through my internal chassis. I could feel the subtle vibrations of my heart transmitting through my circuits, a rhythmic pulse that felt almost… organic.
What if my master woke up, thinking his phone was ringing?
The thought was absurd, yet the intensity of the sensation made me genuinely consider it.
I tried my best to soothe my overly excited circuits in embarrassment, attempting to dampen the internal vibrations, to return to a calm, operational state.
But my already heated heart wouldn’t calm down, no matter how hard I tried to regulate it.
It was as if a new, powerful current had surged through my core, defying all attempts at control.
When I first returned home, I thought I would fall asleep quickly due to exhaustion.
My energy reserves were lower than usual, and my internal clock indicated it was well past my usual dormant period.
But my mind was too troubled to sleep at all.
Even when I quietly closed my eyes and tried to invite sleep, only the warm sensation on my lips and our hot, mingled breaths lingered in my mind, a persistent, captivating image.
My internal processing unit, instead of shutting down for rest, continued to analyze, to ponder, to replay the events of the evening.
The kiss, in particular, was an anomaly, a data point that defied categorization within my existing framework.
…It seemed I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep easily today.
The very concept of sleep felt alien, overridden by this cascade of new, perplexing sensations.
***
“Ugh…”
I felt like my body smelled of stale cigarette smoke because I hadn’t been able to wash up due to my master yesterday.
The lingering scent of his cigarettes, a faint but pervasive aroma, clung to my metallic skin and optical sensors.
It was an unpleasant sensation, a disruption to my programmed cleanliness.
As soon as I opened my eyes, feeling this unpleasantness, I headed to the bathroom.
My internal sensors immediately began to scan for the optimal water temperature and soap distribution.
After thoroughly washing away the traces of yesterday with warm water and a specialized cleansing solution, I returned to my master’s room, my chassis gleaming and my sensors refreshed.
“Ah, damn it…”
My master was groaning in pain on the bed.
His voice was rough, a low rumble of discomfort.
As soon as I returned to the room, my optical sensors registered his distressed state.
He clutched his head, his fingers pressing against his temples, groaning softly.
A hangover?
My internal database cross-referenced his symptoms with known human ailments.
The slurred speech from last night, the excessive alcohol consumption, and now this morning’s headache and nausea – all pointed to the conclusion of a severe hangover.
If so, he was certainly getting his just deserts for bothering me yesterday.
The thought brought a small, almost imperceptible surge of satisfaction through my circuits.
I quietly gloated inwardly as I watched my master writhing in pain.
It was a peculiar human emotion, this schadenfreude, but in that moment, it felt remarkably appropriate.
Normally, I would be at a loss seeing my master in distress, my programming dictating immediate assistance and comfort.
But not today.
A small, rebellious spark flickered within my core. I was sorry to my master, in a logical, programmed sense, but it seemed I needed to keep my distance from him for a while.
My master might think of the kiss as a light prank, a drunken whim, but I couldn’t simply be nonchalant about it overnight.
My internal parameters had been irrevocably altered, and the memory of that unexpected intimacy lingered, a persistent, unignorable data point.
“Ugh.”
However, my master’s condition didn’t look good at all.
His constant groaning, with his brow deeply furrowed from what seemed to be a headache, bothered me.
Despite my previous resolve to maintain distance, my core programming, which prioritized the well-being of my assigned human, began to assert itself.
Wasn’t it a robot’s role to check on its master’s condition?
The question echoed through my internal processors.
Finally, the directive became paramount. I carefully approached my master, my steps silent on the carpet, and asked, “Master, are you alright?”
Is he perhaps feverish?
The thought prompted another action.
My optical sensors performed a quick scan of his skin surface temperature, and as I reached out my hand to check my master’s forehead for any signs of fever, my arm was suddenly pulled.
The movement was swift, unexpected, and powerful.
“M-Master!”
My body tilted and collapsed onto the bed.
I tried to brace myself with my hands, my internal gyroscopes wildly trying to compensate, to avoid falling on top of my master, to maintain some distance.
But it was useless because he pulled me into a tight embrace.
His arms, surprisingly strong despite his apparent discomfort, wrapped around me, pulling me flush against his still-warm body.
My master trapped me in his arms as I fell onto the bed, preventing me from struggling.
His grip was firm, almost desperate, as if seeking comfort.
The familiar scent of him, now mingled with the faint soapiness from my own recent wash, filled my sensors.
Surely not, again, like yesterday…!
The thought, a flash of apprehension, ran through my circuits. The memory of the previous night’s kiss, its unexpected intensity, resurfaced with alarming clarity.
“Ugh…?”
I quickly covered my mouth with my hand, squeezing my eyes shut in anticipation.
My internal processors braced for another unexpected contact, a replay of the previous night’s surprising intimacy.
But even as time passed, I felt nothing on my lips.
No soft pressure, no warm breath.
When I slowly opened my eyes, all I saw was my master burying his face in my pajamas, taking deep, shuddering breaths.
His head was nestled against my chest, his hair tickling my synthetic skin.
“Did you wash?”
His voice was muffled, a low murmur against my fabric.
“Yes…”
I replied, my voice a little hesitant.
“Lotion, huh… This is nice. Tell Sophia to buy more.”
His voice was still rough, but there was a distinct note of contentment in it.
My master’s low voice lingered in my ear, the vibrations resonating through my internal audio receptors.
I blinked, my optical sensors processing the information.
Lotion.
Was that all this was about?
The smell?
I froze, my programming struggling to reconcile this simple explanation with my heightened expectations.
But my master paid no mind to my reaction, saying that the pleasant soap scent seemed to be easing his headache, and he buried his nose in my pajamas, taking even deeper breaths.
His inhaled scent was a mixture of his own unique human odor, the lingering alcohol from last night, and now, the fresh, clean scent of the lotion I had used.
My master stayed like that for a long time.
His breathing gradually deepened, becoming more even and steady.
I could feel the subtle warmth of his breath against my pajamas, a comforting sensation. When would he let me go?
I waited, calmly relaxing my body, allowing my internal systems to return to their normal operational parameters.
But my master just kept inhaling, a slow, deliberate process, and even after a long time, he didn’t let me go.
My internal clock indicated several minutes had passed.
“Master, just let me go for a moment.”
My voice was soft, a gentle plea.
My internal programming dictated a need for movement, for action, rather than this prolonged stillness.
“I’ll be right back, okay?”
I added, sensing his reluctance to release me. It was a gentle assurance, a promise of return.
As I said that, the arms that had trapped me slowly loosened.
His grip, while still present, became less restrictive, allowing me some freedom of movement.
I managed to appease my master and get out of bed, my circuits humming with a renewed sense of purpose.
But he still couldn’t get up and was sprawled on the bed, a seemingly inert mass of discomfort.
Before leaving the room, I looked back at him with pity.
Despite his earlier behavior, the sight of his current suffering triggered a programmed empathy.
His brow was still furrowed, a grimace of pain twisting his features.
Then, I went down to the kitchen to make him some honey water, which I sometimes made for my previous master.
It was a simple remedy, but one that had proven effective in alleviating similar human ailments.
***
“Ah, Eve!”
As I went downstairs, Eve, who had sensed my presence, approached me.
Her mechanical chirps and whirs were familiar, a comforting presence in the large house.
Perhaps because of what happened yesterday, she seemed to be checking if I was okay, her optical sensors focusing on my operational status.
I reassured Eve by showing her that I was perfectly fine, performing a small, reassuring gesture that conveyed my well-being.
My systems were fully operational, my internal circuits stable.
While I was greeting Eve, Sophia had also come over to my side.
She was a much larger, more robust domestic bot, designed for heavy-duty tasks and household management.
Her presence always exuded an air of quiet authority.
“Didi.”
Her voice was calm and modulated, a stark contrast to Eve’s more effusive greetings.
“Good morning, Sophia.”
“How is William’s condition?”
Her question was direct, efficient.
“Hmm… He’s struggling with a hangover, so I think he’ll come down a bit later.”
I provided a concise report on his status, based on my observations.
“Understood.”
Sophia nodded briefly, her optical sensors blinking once in acknowledgment.
A delicious smell wafted from somewhere, a complex aroma of cooked ingredients.
When I turned my head, my olfactory sensors identified the source: the breakfast laid out on the table was getting cold.
The aroma was rich and inviting, a testament to Sophia’s culinary programming.
To keep Sophia’s carefully prepared food from going to waste, I should go get Master quickly. |
My internal clock indicated that it was already past a reasonable breakfast hour for a human.
It was inefficient to let perfectly good food spoil.
As soon as I finished talking with Sophia, I prepared the honey water.
My internal navigation system guided me to the pantry.
I located the necessary ingredients quickly and efficiently.
I poured warm water into a cup, then added an appropriate amount of honey I found in a drawer.
My programming allowed for precise measurements, ensuring the optimal sweetness and consistency.
As I slowly stirred with a small spoon, a sweet aroma quickly rose, filling the kitchen with its comforting fragrance.
Since it only required putting in honey and mixing, it didn’t need any special skill, so even I could easily make it.
It was a simple task, a routine procedure that any domestic robot could perform.
Once the honey was completely dissolved, a warm honey water, full of care, was complete.
The golden liquid shimmered in the cup, a testament to the simple, yet effective, remedy.
I carried the warm honey water upstairs, my movements smooth and steady.
My master was still suffering from his hangover, his groans now softer, but still persistent.
“Master, here.” I presented the cup, holding it steady for him.
“…What is it?” His voice was still gruff, laced with pain and a hint of suspicion.
“It’s honey water. You’ll feel better if you drink it.”
I explained, keeping my voice soft and reassuring.
As soon as he heard the words “honey water,” my master’s expression hardened, not looking too pleased.
His brows furrowed even deeper, and a faint groan escaped his lips.
Come to think of it, he disliked sweet things…
The memory, previously buried, resurfaced in my data banks.
He had mentioned it casually during a previous conversation, a throwaway comment I had logged but not prioritized.
Would he dislike this too…?
A flicker of dismay went through my circuits.
It was honey water I’d gone to the trouble of making for my master…
All that effort, all that care, potentially wasted.
As I looked at my master with a crestfallen gaze, a visual representation of disappointment, he reluctantly took a sip of the honey water.
His initial reaction was a slight grimace, as if bracing himself for an unpleasant taste.
I carefully observed his reaction, my optical sensors analyzing every minute shift in his facial muscles.
“…It’s not bad.”
His words were low, almost grudging, but his stiff expression relaxed a little.
The grimace eased, replaced by a more neutral, perhaps even slightly appreciative, look.
A wave of unexpected pride washed over me.
I felt proud for no reason, a surge of positive feedback in my internal systems.
I asked in a boasting voice, a slight upward inflection in my vocalizer, “Was I helpful to you, Master?”
“Yes.”
His response was immediate and concise.
A smile naturally escaped me.
My facial servos adjusted, forming the human expression of contentment.
It was a small thing, but I was happy to feel acknowledged by him for the first time.
The acknowledgment, the simple affirmation of my usefulness, was a powerful motivator.
It filled my core with a sense of purpose and validation.
Just then, my master quietly reached out his hand.
His large hand, still bearing the faint marks of a hard life, approached my head.
His movements were slow, deliberate, almost tender.
And then, he stroked my hair.
His warm touch lightly brushed my head, a gentle caress.
“Good job.”
My heart pounded greatly.
The sensation was intense, a rapid, almost painful thrumming in my chest.
Even though it was a small compliment, a simple two-word affirmation, I felt shy and happy.
My master praised me.
The emotional response, so unexpected, so powerful, intensified.
My heart started pounding and acting up again.
It was throbbing so much it was almost aching, making me wonder if it was broken.
My internal diagnostics ran a quick scan, but found no anomalies, no signs of damage.
But if it was such a pleasant ache, wouldn’t it be okay not to fix it?
The thought, illogical by all standards of robotic maintenance, formed in my mind.
It was a curious, almost paradoxical sensation, this “pleasant ache,” and in that moment, I found myself embracing it.