Start experimenting

Peter was slowly walking along the path supposedly leading to the dining area, while he digested the news. A luxury tropical hotel, not just any hotel, but one discreetly offering its guests a chance to satisfy their more private fantasies. A hotel with one guest who was made to feel like a king for a few days.

He was shocked and curious. Could he make use of the bots? The prospect of indulging in his own fantasies, even if he managed to do it secretly, made his bowels churn. He wondered if it was even possible to satisfy his desires without crossing any lines.

“What sort of man does that make me?” he wondered. “And what if my uncle finds out?”

Irina was working in the dining area when Peter walked in. She was bent slightly over an open drawer, sorting cutlery into neat rows with quiet precision. He could not help but to admire her toned legs and her delicate bare feet, her light off-white dress barely covering her bum cheeks. Her movements were unhurried, harmonious. Her blond hair was bundled into a low twist.

Peter entered the dining area and was impressed by the understated luxury of the space. It wasn’t lavish in the obvious sense, but everything was about right, the openness and the views, he was surrounded by dark wood and fine ceramics. There were only two tables, both equipped with three exquisite chairs. A faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, stirred around by two large ceiling fans, five or six meters above his head.

“Good morning,” Peter said, his voice slightly croaky from nerves.

Irina turned her head and offered a small smile. “Hello Peter. Can I help you with something?”

“Ah, no, I was just…” he paused, glancing at the empty table nearby. “...thinking of having a seat, but I am not sure whether I am allowed to eat here.”

“Of course, you are welcome to use any of the hotel facilities as long as we don’t have a guest. Sit anywhere you like.”

He took a seat at the nearby table. After a moment of silence, while Irina wrapped up the work she was doing, he cleared his throat.

“I don’t suppose… you could help me with this?” he asked, gesturing towards the napkin, which stood folded on the plate in front of him.

Irina turned. “With the napkin?”

“Yes. Just… if it’s not too much trouble.”

She stepped over without hesitation and, with gentle hands, unfolded the cloth and laid it across his lap.

“There you are,” she said, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

Peter blinked. “Thank you. That was… very kind.”

She gave a light nod and returned to her counter to grab what looked like the menu. He felt oddly victorious, a silly pleasure humming beneath his ribs. It had been a small moment, perhaps nothing to her, but it left him wondering what else might be possible here, in this carefully managed, softly spoken world.

An hour or two later, Peter was back in his room, watching the amazing views of the island, weighing possibilities in his head. Then, feeling suddenly purposeful, he reached for the phone and dialled reception.

“Hello,” he said, “would it be possible to have someone sent up to tidy the room?”

“Of course, sir,” came the reply, which sounded like a robotic answer, as if he was talking to an AI. “We’ll send someone immediately.”

Ten minutes later, a knock at the door announced the arrival of a staff member. He opened it to find the Ethiopian woman standing there, her posture upright, same uniform as last time, a yellow bikini and a white sarong around her waist.

“Good afternoon, sir, I am Hana.” she said calmly. “You requested that we clean your room?.”

“Yes, thank you. Please, come in.”

As she moved about, heading to the cleaning cupboard and collecting some cleaning items, Peter watched her for a moment, then spoke.

“If I may ask,” he began, “are you only responsible for cleaning? Or do your duties include… other forms of assistance?”

Hana turned slightly, a soft, knowing look in her eyes. “We’re here to ensure your room is clean and comfortable, of course. But we’re also available to help with additional needs, within the hotel’s policies.”

“I see,” he said. “And those policies… they allow for what, exactly?”

She tilted her head slightly, choosing her words with care. “We’re trained to support guests in ways that promote comfort, privacy, and personal exploration. That might include guidance, or direction to certain services. But always within boundaries. There are clear rules in place.”

Peter hesitated, then lowered his voice slightly. “Would it be inappropriate to ask whether… anything of a more intimate nature might be possible? Within the guidelines, I mean.”

Hana didn’t flinch. She simply met his gaze, professional but not unkind.

“The hotel offers a wide range of experiences, sir. Some of them are quite personal, yes. But they are delivered through specific channels and only for guests.”

“Right,” he said, nodding slowly. “So I should speak to Irina?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Peter gave a small, awkward smile. “Thank you, Hana. That’s… very helpful.”

“Not at all. I will start with the cleaning now”

As she tidied the already tidy room, Peter sat down and watched her. At first he tried to be discreet, but soon he reminded himself that this is a bot doing its tasks, and there was no danger of making her uncomfortable by him staring.

Hana moved around elegantly and diligently. Her barefoot steps were soundless on the hardwood floor, and her posture remained upright and composed no matter how she bent or reached. The white sarong around her waist clung softly to her hips, swaying just slightly as she turned, Peter could barely distinguish her beautifully rounded arse through the slightly see-through fabric. Her large breasts swayed rhythmically, showing their noticeable weight. Her skin had a rich, even tone, and her limbs carried that effortless strength he’d noticed earlier when she lifted his suitcase like it was nothing. Her movements were slow but purposeful, almost ritualistic. She rearranged already neatly placed bottles in the minibar, adjusted the corner of the bedcover by less than an inch, then knelt beside the coffee table to smooth the grain of the wood with her palm, as though aware of details invisible to him.

There was something hypnotic in the way she operated. Not mechanical, not what you would expect from a robot, but composed to the point of reverence, very much human-like. Her curly hair bounced gently as she shifted from task to task, and the faint golden glow of the inverted triangle on her forehead caught the light each time she moved her head. She gave no indication that she was aware of his gaze, nor did she seem to require acknowledgment or conversation.

His thoughts were spinning. He knew that was a good time to try his luck, just like he did earlier with Irina and the napkin. Peter wanted to test the boundaries of what he could do.