Jim the Android

Tara lingered a moment longer before heading upstairs, feeling the tension in her body from the long day but also the subtle shift in the atmosphere between her and the two in the room. In Mammopolis, situations could shift seamlessly from casual to sexual, and the air tonight was thick with that unspoken possibility.

She glanced over at Mr. Darrow, who had now leaned back in his chair, his hand casually resting on his knee, the game of chess momentarily forgotten. Jim, ever the perfect mimic of human behavior, seemed to pick up on the shift in Tara’s mood as well. His eyes lingered a bit longer on her body, his gaze calculated yet somehow curious.

Mr. Darrow, always direct, caught the subtle change in the air and smiled faintly. “You know, Tara,” he began, his voice low but clear, “there’s no need to be so tense. You’ve been carrying a weight on your shoulders, I can see that. Jim and I have been here long enough to know how things go. Why don’t you relax a little?”

Tara hesitated, her heart rate picking up slightly. The casualness of his words was familiar in Mammopolis—sexual tension wasn’t something people danced around here. But even after two years, she still hadn’t fully adjusted to the openness, especially in quieter moments like this.

Jim, sensing her hesitation, spoke in that soft, almost soothing voice of his. “Mr. Darrow is right, Miss Tara. You seem stressed, and I’m well-equipped to assist with that,” he offered, his voice perfectly polite but with a clear implication. His gaze, almost too human in its warmth, scanned her body in a way that felt analytical yet undeniably intimate.

Tara bit her lip, her mind racing as she hesitated. The suggestion itself wasn’t shocking—things like this were par for the course—but the casual way Mr. Darrow and Jim approached it left her momentarily unsettled. She knew she had the option to decline, but a flicker of curiosity gnawed at her. Here, it wasn’t just about sex; it was about connection, no different than a handshake or a conversation. And despite the unease bubbling beneath the surface, a small part of her wondered what it might feel like to just let go, to be as unbothered by it all as everyone else seemed to be.

Mr. Darrow leaned forward slightly, his eyes on her, studying her reaction. “You don’t have to be shy. We all know how things work around here,” he said, his tone still casual, as though he were commenting on the weather. “Jim’s been designed for... versatility. He’s not just for chess and household tasks.”

Tara glanced at Jim, who now stood from his chair with fluid grace, moving toward her with a gentle yet purposeful stride. There was something disarming about how easily he slipped from one role to the next—from a chess player to a companion. He stopped just short of her, his eyes meeting hers, waiting for her permission to proceed further.

Tara swallowed, her thoughts racing. The city had changed her so much already. Two years ago, this would have been unthinkable. Now, it was just another moment in Mammopolis. “I... I don’t know,” she stammered, feeling her voice falter.

Mr. Darrow watched her closely, his smile softening. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Tara,” he said, his tone more understanding now. “But there’s no harm in letting go once in a while. Sometimes, it’s better to let the moment happen.”

Jim stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush her arm lightly, the touch surprisingly warm and gentle despite his artificial nature. “You’re safe here, Miss Tara,” he reassured her. His voice was designed to calm, to put people at ease, and it worked. Tara’s heartbeat slowed slightly as she looked into Jim’s eyes. For all his synthetic parts, he felt real in this moment—more human than most people she encountered in the city.

Tara felt a strange mixture of apprehension and curiosity. The city had thrown her into so many unfamiliar situations, each more intimate and exposed than the last. She had been tributed on the subway, admired and objectified in public. But here, in this quiet room, it felt different—less about numbers and ratings, and more about something... real, even if that "realness" was aided by the smooth perfection of an android.

“Okay,” she whispered, almost to herself, as she gave a small nod.

Jim’s hand slid lower, resting on her waist as he guided her gently toward the couch. Tara felt the tension in her shoulders begin to melt away, her body responding to the tender, calculated movements of the android. His touch was precise, as if he knew exactly where her stress points were, and she let out a soft breath as he began to massage the small of her back.

Mr. Darrow, now leaning comfortably back in his chair, watched with an approving look. “That’s better, isn’t it?” he said, his voice still low, more an observation than a question.

Tara closed her eyes, the sensation of Jim’s hands on her body easing away the weight of the day. She didn’t know what would come next, but for once, she didn’t feel the need to overthink it. This was Mammopolis. This was how things were, how they flowed from one interaction to the next.

And tonight, Tara was willing to let herself flow with it.

Tara felt her breath quicken as Jim’s hands moved skillfully across her back, his touch precise and almost unnervingly perfect. It was as though he knew exactly where the tension sat in her body, as if his programming allowed him to map her every stress point with clinical efficiency. His movements, however, were smooth and gentle, mimicking a warmth that shouldn’t have been possible from synthetic skin.

Mr. Darrow, sitting comfortably in his chair, observed the scene with a relaxed but curious gaze, his fingers idly drumming on the armrest as he watched Jim’s hands work their way over Tara’s frame. The quiet in the room was punctuated only by the soft sounds of Clara’s ongoing session outside and the steady rhythm of Jim’s touch.

Tara exhaled slowly, the weight of the day slipping from her shoulders as her body reacted to Jim’s perfect ministrations. She could feel the tension draining away, replaced by a strange mixture of relaxation and arousal. Her mind, still struggling with the rapid transitions of her life in Mammopolis, began to let go, allowing herself to slip into the ease of the moment.

Jim’s hand slid lower, his touch becoming more intimate, his fingers brushing the curve of her hips, sending a shiver through her body. Tara opened her eyes briefly, glancing at Mr. Darrow, who remained seated, his expression one of mild interest, not judgment or discomfort.

“You don’t need to be nervous, Tara,” Mr. Darrow said softly, his voice steady. “Jim is more than capable of taking care of you.”

Tara bit her lip, her heart beating faster as Jim’s hands moved with practiced precision, his fingers now gently unbuttoning her shirt. There was no rush, no ****, just an almost mechanical ease in his movements, as if this was just another function of his programming. Tara’s chest, still sticky from the day’s tributes and attention, was exposed, her breasts spilling free as Jim opened her shirt. His eyes, though artificial, scanned her body with a level of attention that felt more intimate than any public tribute she had received.

Mr. Darrow’s gaze lingered, watching the interaction unfold with a calm curiosity.

Jim, now standing before her, slowly removed the rest of her clothing, each piece slipping off as easily as if he’d done it a thousand times before. His hands brushed against her skin, sending waves of warmth through her body, and Tara, despite the lingering hesitations in her mind, felt herself responding. The lines between human and machine blurred in the dim light of the room, and for a moment, she forgot that Jim wasn’t human.

Without a word, Jim’s synthetic lips met hers, the kiss soft and wet. His body felt real—solid and warm. His hands roamed her body, exploring her curves with a tenderness that belied his mechanical nature. Tara found herself leaning into the kiss, her hands running along the smooth surface of his skin.

Mr. Darrow shifted in his chair, his eyes never leaving the scene before him. “You can let go, Tara,” he said, his voice almost soothing. “There’s nothing to hold back.”

Tara’s breath hitched as Jim lifted her with ease, his hands steady on her thighs as he gently lowered her onto the couch. His movements were smooth and deliberate, his hips pressing softly against hers as he slid into her in one seamless motion. The sensation was immediate—deep and consuming. Tara gasped, her body arching as Jim moved with a slow, rhythmic grace, each thrust perfectly measured, designed to bring her pleasure with tender precision.

Mr. Darrow watched with quiet fascination, his expression calm but focused, like a spectator observing a rare, unfolding masterpiece. He had no intention of joining, content to simply witness the scene. While sex between humans and androids was commonplace in Mammopolis, what captivated him was Tara—the way she hesitated, slowly easing into experiences she had once shied away from. It was the transition that held his attention, watching her surrender to the city's norms and explore things she’d never dared to before. For him, this was more than just another encounter; it was the subtle evolution of a newcomer embracing the unspoken rules of Mammopolis.

Jim’s movements became faster, his rhythm flawless, and Tara, her body trembling with the intensity of it, let herself fully surrender to the moment. The tension, the anxiety, the discomfort of the day melted away under the android’s perfect touch. She let out a soft moan, her fingers digging into Jim’s back as her body responded to every calculated thrust, her mind slipping away from the lingering uncertainty.

Mr. Darrow leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled as he continued to watch, his expression betraying a slight hint of satisfaction. “That’s it,” he murmured, as if speaking to Jim. “She’s finally letting go.”

Tara barely heard the words, her mind lost in the sensations as Jim’s perfectly engineered body brought her closer to climax. The soft, deliberate pace of their lovemaking was a stark contrast to the guttural grunts and frantic, rhythmic slaps of flesh echoing from Clara’s wild, unrestrained threesome outside.

As the moment built to its peak, Jim’s thrusts became slower, more deliberate, each movement designed to intensify the sensation building inside her. Tara’s body tensed, her breath hitching sharply before a wave of ecstasy overtook her. She gasped, her body trembling, shuddering beneath him as the climax rippled through her. Jim, ever precise, adjusted seamlessly to her rhythm, prolonging her pleasure, allowing her to ride every last tremor. As the final wave passed, he eased back with a gentle, almost tender kiss, a gesture of quiet intimacy in the midst of her release.

Mr. Darrow stood up, a clear sense of satisfaction in his expression as he stretched. “Well done, Jim. That was exactly what she needed,” he said with quiet approval, his gaze shifting to Tara, acknowledging her progress. “Go ahead and help her clean up,” he added, his tone encouraging, fully aware of the significance of the moment.

Jim nodded, his fingers grazing Tara’s cheek with a gentle touch. “Of course, sir,” he replied, guiding her calmly toward the cleansing pod, his hand still resting lightly on her as they moved together.