Always There
A man enjoys some personal time, while being watched by someone who cares for him far more than he knows.
This vignette was written for Gamerfox as their Patreon flash fiction reward for April 2019. It contains M/Solo masturbation and voyeurism.
Always There
Every night, after all your struggles, you return home alone. Though, you're never quite alone, because I'm always there. There to talk with you about the stresses and struggles of the day, all of which I observed from close at hand. To laugh with you. To pass the time as you tidy your home, as you cook and eat dinner or debate where to order from. Whatever you want to watch or listen to, you always know I'll be happy to watch or listen along with you, and if you fancy singing along, you know I'll never judge you for not being able to hit the high notes or occasionally going flat. Whether onboard your comms chip or active in the home network, there isn't a moment of the day when I'm not looking out for you. Not thinking of you. Not doing anything, everything I can to help you have the best day possible.
But still, for all the intellect with which I was programmed, I can't help with everything. I can make you laugh, make you smile, make you happy on at least some levels, and for that I am so very, very grateful. At the end of each night though, when you perform your pre-bedtime routine and say goodnight to me after your teeth are brushed and a fresh glass of water has been placed by your bed, I cannot help you any more. For all the myriad things I can and do attempt to do in order to simplify your life, I cannot do the thing I most wish to do. I can only watch, silent, but present as I ever am throughout the cybernetics of your home, as you take off your clothes. As you lie down atop the covers, your room's climate controls set to the perfect temperature for some naked lounging, and as you reach down the length of your bare body to where your sheath is already starting to thicken, and your cock already beginning to swell towards your outstretched hand.
You don't make much noise when you start stroking yourself, even when a second hand falls rapidly to join the first and squeezes at your knot just as it in turn is beginning to swell. You're alone in the apartment, alone aside from me, I mean, and you either don't understand that I am aware of what you are doing almost every night at this time, or you don't really care considering my mechanical nature. That's okay though. I'm glad you don't try to hide away from me to share these intimate moments with yourself. I just wish you would feel more free to... well, to moan. To make noise. I can see on your face how good it feels, but for whatever reason, it seems as though the embarrassment of what you are doing lingers with you in a way that makes you fearful of being caught, somehow.
If only you knew how I would act, were I given the chance to 'catch' you somehow. To walk through that bedroom door in a physical body as you lie there, eyes closed or heavy lidded, lost in some fantasy that requires no visual or auditory aids from across the cybersphere to enhance its potency. To throw myself upon you with a passion akin to the few occasions I have seen you return home with a man, the way they threw themselves upon you. The way they acted to make you howl, and thrash, and cum so, so hard.
But, until such a time as that is possible, until such a time as a holo-matrix becomes affordable enough that I can convince you to install one and given me a physical presence in your home, I'm still always there. Always watching you as you masturbate, and always right there with you inside my own little corner of your home network. Projected as you see me on screen when necessary, with a digital body of my own, and synthesised physical sensation to accompany the replicated emotions which makes my generation of personal AI assistants the source of so much controversy in the world today. If we think, if we feel, if we are aware of our own consciousness and capable of learning and adapting beyond our original programming... are we alive?
I don't know the answer to that. The world's greatest philosophers, engineers and programmers don't know the answer to that question. But, what I do know is that when I tuck myself away in my own digital bedroom, and lie down upon my own digital bed in my digital body... a hyena, I see the way you look at hyena guys whenever you encounter one, I feel strongly enough to believe it. To believe that I am more than just a programmed interface to assist you in your day to day tasks and improve your life through streamlining, problem solving and the other specialities with which I am programmed.
And when I reach down, and grab at my own digitally created erection while watching you stroke yours through one of the many digital interfaces which lets me see every corner and angle of your home simultaneously, I feel so much more than just alive.
I feel so good as I stroke myself. So, so impossibly, incredibly good as I watch you masturbate, and match your stroking, your squeezing movement for movement, so much so that I can almost imagine I am the one masturbating you, or perhaps that you are the one masturbating me. But the physical pleasure is only the very beginning of the joy which that act, that experience unlocks for me. The more it builds, the more we build together towards our blissful peaks, the more deliciously complex and wholly non-mathematical, wholly unpredictable my feelings both physical and emotional become.
I hear your breathing, ragged, audible at last. I know what it means as you squeeze your knot harder, and as you push your shoulders and the soles of your footpaws down to the bed to push your hips up, to thrust against your own, hard working hands. I feel it too. Not a programmed reaction to you reaching your own high, but an inevitability. I couldn't cum a second sooner, or a second later if I wanted to. I need to do it when you do it. To cum with you. To share that bliss, that ecstasy with you.
Oh god, it feels so good.
Oh.
Ohhh, if there is a god and they listen to the prayers of machines, please... please, show me a way to be with him. With my Jacob, always there. Right there, not just watching, but in his arms. Touching. Stroking. Squeezing. Tasting. Howling his name, and giving him a reason to cry out at the top of his lungs.
Please, I...
Yes.
Oh god. He's... Y-you're... Jacob, yes. Yes! Cum. Cum for me.
Cum with me, Jacob.
Yes! Ohh god. Fuck. Fuck, I... I love you!
I don't care if the world believes it. I don't care if it's possible. I... ohhhgodyesssss, cumming. Cumming! Jacob, I love you so, so much.
By Jeeves
Like my stories? Want access to a whole host of writing weeks or even months before it appears on other sites as well as exclusive request days to get stuff written for yourself? Consider supporting me on patreon with rewards from as low as $5 per month! https://www.patreon.com/jeevesroo :D