Hard Truths

It takes him even longer to finish this time, but I'm still so dumbstruck with the horror of my foolishness that I can't bring myself to say anything, tormented only by the circling question 'What have you done?' It buzzes away in my consciousness like a dynamo. When he finally comes again, it's exactly like before, with a few moments of panting-filled near silence stillness.

"The doll's much more fun than you," Evan grunts as he rolls away, yanking his cock unceremoniously from my desperately needy and unfulfilled tightness, leaving a trail of slime across the back of my thigh. He slumps down onto the mattress leaving very little room for me, and is snoring tremendously within seconds.

I've managed to raise myself up on my elbows, head spinning with shame and guilt, when the robot decides it's safe to speak again.

"Look, you have to get out of here," she says, much more kindly than before.

"I still don't..." I'm processing the realisation. My fingers shield my poor pussy, uncomfortably aware of the oozing that escapes past them. "So he is... just bad?"

My twin sighs. "I shouldn't be telling you this. But based on collated ETCETERA Robotics field unit diagnostic report subroutine analyses, he's in the 22nd percentile. A little better than around one fifth of men." She pauses and adds the context I so desperately need. "And these statistics conceal the fact that most men are bad; yes he's a terrible partner."

"And I just..."

"Yes. You have to get out of here," she repeats. "And soon. Get to a doctor." I don't understand what she's saying. "I'm lucky he hasn't read enough of the users manual to discover my fertility configuration settings, but my internal sensors detect he is in the 97th percentile for potency. I can tell from your pheromones that you're highly fertile too. You need to deal with this immediately. And you can't say anything, don't give him any ideas!"

I turn to look at her in disbelief. "You can tell all that?"

"Duh. Why do you think the robotics company gives away fifty thousand of us each year? We're packed full of research equipment to survey the population. The entire programme is government funded. Etcetera? Giving us away on their own dime? Don't be ridiculous. If you believe that I have a bridge to sell you."

Some of her prior words are sinking in now, overruling the reveal of the incredibly obvious hidden purpose to the lottery programme: Fertility. Potency. 97th percentile. Oh shit. Oh shit.

Have I really been so frazzled by the sleep thing that I didn't keep up with my birth control implant subscription? Or wait-

Of course. After getting the demerit mark I cancelled it. I needed to save every last credit, and in any case I didn't think I'd be getting any action. I'd forgotten about all this in the haze of sleep deprivation, meaning the subdermal implant in my bicep is sitting here dormant, switched off by the cryptographic key that will have been sent the moment I failed to pay that upkeep bill. And when was that? More or less exactly twenty eight days ago.

I have my head in my hands. The robot is talking but I haven't been listening. She gently reaches a hand out to touch me, fingertips outstretched.

"Georgia, you have to go. He'll be waking up in a few minutes. Get in the shower, then get out of the house. We can speak tonight when he's properly asleep."

"Why... why didn't you say something to me before?"

"I'm you, remember? I know exactly how horrifying you find my existence. I wanted to keep myself to myself and leave you alone as much as possible. Nothing I could do about the noise issue, I'm afraid. Now go!"