The fuckable robot was, like, incredibly impressive.
Oh my goodness.
I mean, seriously.
She had skin as smooth as delicate porcelain. Not in a racist way or anything, but the texture and material resembled it. Now, if I were more like the character I was currently embodying, Malfoy, I might describe her as 'full-figured' or maybe even 'Rubenesque.' However, being myself, the first thought that crossed my mind was: Wow, she has some seriously impressive breasts for a robot. And there was no doubt she was a robot. Firstly, she had glowing holographic eyes and hair made of coiled wires like those found in computers. Secondly, it was quite obvious she was a robot. And thirdly, I could see the seams on her arms because, well, she was a damn robot. But none of that detracted from her breasts, which were almost as big as her head, her beautifully curved belly—perfect for cuddling and more—and a remarkable posterior that was simply astonishing. Her thighs were wide, and her legs tapered slightly, giving her an absolutely desirable body shape. She wore a leather apron and gloves, and...
Then she turned to the side, and...
Nothing else.
There was her derriere, and her back was exposed, and she was naked beneath that apron, holy shit. I could even see the outline of her genitalia, and...
Oh, and she had, like, dyed herself pink. It made her resemble a walking glass sculpture, although not as transparent as that might sound. As she murmured, I could hear a soft whirring sound, akin to a CPU fan warming up. "If I were a human lad on my eighteenth birthday, what would I choose?" She paused. "...apart from losing your virginity, Polly. In terms of food."
Another robot emerged from the other entrance. It was also a female robot, with ebony black skin and bright white hair, dressed in a more formal black tunic and white undershirt. She wore white gloves as well. So, in essence, she looked like a female robot version of Walter from Helsing, with a slight touch of drowish appearance. But, you know, still a girl. And maybe not armed with monomonocular finger wire. I mean, I wasn't ruling anything out.
"Pollyanna, the young master will be back soon!" she whispered urgently. "You need to put on some clothes."
"As if he cares, Marci," Polly scoffed. "He called me a fat tub last week."
Both of them had the most adorable British accents, too. 'Marci' (if that was her real name) sounded extremely posh, while Polly (and I had no doubt about her name) sounded more like a cheerful country girl who might engage in some fun and giggles.
"It's a matter of principle, Polly," Marci said, her face showing disapproval, even though her lips didn't move. Just like Power Ranger masks—purely for aesthetics, I suppose. And yet, despite that, Marci managed to convey a frown. It was all in the expression of her holographic eyes and the way she held herself, with her hands on her hips. "You're the only cook we have left, and we can't let the Master be more disgusted with you than he already is."
Okay, wow. Whoever inhabited this body was a jerk, I thought.
"Yeah..." Polly sighed. "Let me just select some meats. I'm thinking...venison?"
"Yes, venison should suffice. And a cake," Marci nodded. "You only turn eighteen once."
"Has he...inquired about the, uh, other guests?" Polly whispered, her voice soft.
"Of course not," she snapped. "And the other guests haven't asked again after I informed them that the Master wanted to celebrate his birthday alone. This is our last chance to reach out to him." She sighed. "I hope it works..."
"Well, in the worst-case scenario, we could-"
"For the last time, we cannot send him to the army!" Marci interrupted. "Can you imagine...ugh." She shuddered from head to toe. "We're lucky that our Dora is so level-headed. I'm surprised she hasn't thrown him out of a window..." She shook her head and then walked away.
What a major jerk, I thought.
Polly hummed and then turned towards my hiding spot. I tried to shift to the side, but it was too late. Her fans whirred a bit louder. Then, hesitantly, she said, "...young Master?"
"Uh, hey, hi! Hello!" I said, blushing.
"Master, are you okay?" she asked. "You sound..." She paused. "...is that an...American accent?" She paused again. "No, not quite..." She walked around the tube, observing me, and tilted her head slightly, her fans whirring louder. I coughed and adjusted my collar.
"Well, uh..." I said, trying to sound as much like Johnny Depp as possible. He was English, right? ...oh shit, I just realized, I didn't know if Johnny Depp was British or not. But Jack Sparrow was British, right? No, shit, that was a pirate. Fuck. "I...I'm just...having a nice day out, and, uh, you're looking..." I paused. If I wanted to stay in character, I should probably insult her and call her fat or something. But come on, she was a robot who had clearly put a lot of effort into having the best breasts in the universe. What kind of complete asshole would criticize her for that? "Good!" I said, nodding.
"Good?"
I nodded. "Absolutely. Good."
Polly tilted her head and then flashed a grin. "Wait, did you switch minds with some pauper from the American colonies or something, master?" she asked, letting out a soft laugh.
"...yeah, actually," I replied, taking refuge in audacity. Polly laughed and placed her hands on her hips.
"No, but seriously..." She squinted her eyes. "Is this some kind of prank? Did you convince your friends to come over and mock your Polly? I wasn't built yesterday!" She pointed her finger at my nose. "I once threw an apple core at Old Bones Apart, mind you!"
"Who?" I asked, tilting my head.
She blinked. "...Napoleon," she said slowly, then stepped closer. Her breasts pressed against my chest, and well... I'm a total gay disaster, you know? Being really into girls is allowed if you're trans, that's covered in Article B of the Queer Articles of Alliance. So, having this soft, squishy, incredibly gorgeous girl pressed against me while she was naked and interrogating me (which, lowkey, is one of my kinks, really!)... well, I reacted. My cock hardened and my cheeks burned as she narrowed her glowing eyes at me. Her projections didn't have eyelids, but they narrowed themselves, leaving part of the glassy material of her eyes in shadow.
Then she grinned slightly. "Georgetta will have your head for neglecting your history books, young master," she said, laughing. "I... Oh, what's this? Did you find some...thing in..." She trailed off, looking down. "Master!"
"S-Sorry, it's just, uh, you're a very beautiful...uh...woman!" I stammered.
"...did you hit your head?" she whispered. "Are you...was I right?"
I blinked.
"About the mind swap thing?" she asked. "I read about it in a book once!"
"...honestly?" I said. "...yes?"
She narrowed her eyes again, placed her hands on her hips, and stepped back. I could hear her fans revving up slightly. "Prove it," she said, her voice soft. "You've hurt me too many times, young master. All of us have. And if this is just another one of your childish, mean-spirited, cruel pranks-"
I kissed her.
Okay.
So.
While my lips were pressed against her soft, plush, inviting lips, I discovered they had a slightly rubbery texture. They were warm too. And she had a tongue. Like, an actual tongue, which met mine as she kissed me back, her gloved hands gripping my hips. But as I kissed her, the first girl I had kissed since a disastrous prom night that resulted in three beatings and two broken ribs in a row, my mind was spinning... and the question at the forefront of my thoughts was: Seriously? Kissing as proof?
Yes. Well.
This had to be a dream, right?