The Uncensored Mansion

I was still trying to work out whether the front gate had insulted me when it swung open with the sort of mechanical sigh normally reserved for disapproving relatives. It had taken a full two minutes of scanning my face, asking my name, scanning my face again, and then asking, “Are you sure?” before it finally relented. By that point, I was fairly sure I wasn’t meant to be here.

The drive up to the house was about a quarter-mile of unnecessary. The sort of gravel that probably came from a showroom in Monaco crunched beneath my charity shop trainers while small drones zipped around trimming hedges. I passed a statue of a horse wearing night-vision goggles and tried not to stare. Then the mansion came into view.

It looked like a spaceship had swallowed a stately home and then regretted it halfway through digestion. Smooth silver panels wrapped around Georgian brickwork like cling film over a scone. Solar panels blinked down at me like smug lizards. A fountain in the front garden periodically belched steam and made a noise like someone clearing their throat politely.

Before I could ring the doorbell—or what I thought was a doorbell but turned out to be a biometric saliva scanner—the door slid open with an unnecessary whoosh. Standing in the entrance was a man who looked like he’d long since moved past the need for facial expressions.

“Oliver,” he said, without moving his lips much. “You’ve grown. I assume. Don’t dawdle, the house doesn’t like it.”

This, I gathered, was Uncle Erasmus.

We shook hands.

“I’m on my way to Geneva. Or possibly low orbit. The calendar’s unclear,” he muttered. “You’ll be fine. Kara will see to everything.”

“Kara?”

At the sound of her name, the gentle sound of heels on carpet caught my attention, each step precise and measured. I turned and my breath hitched. Standing before me was Kara, a vision of hyper-realistic perfection. She was dressed in a sleek, form-fitting burgundy uniform with gold trimming, the high collar and cinched waist accentuating her hourglass figure. The skirt stopped mid-thigh, showing off her toned, bare legs and shiny black heels. She was fit and womanly. Her platinum blond bob was severe and glossy, framing her heart-shaped face. Her turquoise eyes, flecked with circuitry, blinked with precision, and her full, rose-pink lips curved into a smile that was both welcoming and slightly unnerving. That’s when I noticed the faint triangle tattooed on her face. She was a bot. I knew about them, but had never seen one in real life.

She was beautiful, but there was something slightly off about her, as her creators could entirely replicate human appearance. There was a quirkiness in her expressions and gestures that made her even more intriguing. Her large breasts strained slightly against the fabric of her uniform, and I could see the faint outline of her nipples through the thin material. I felt a flush spread across my cheeks as I realized I was staring, but I couldn’t look away.

“Good afternoon, Master Oliver,” she said, her voice a soft, melodic purr that sent a shiver down my spine. “Would you like a tour, a beverage, or emotional reassurance?”

I blinked, trying to find my voice. “Uh. Yes?”

She tilted her head, smiling with the intensity of someone who had read about smiling in a user manual. “Affirmative. I shall begin with the beverage. Follow me. Please remain within three metres of my personal space at all times. The carpets are heat-sensitive.”

I took a cautious step forward. The carpet purred beneath my foot. Uncle Erasmus smiled at me. “Relax and enjoy yourself a little”, he suggested and left.

Kara turned and began gliding down the corridor in front of me, the gentle click-click of her heels echoing like a metronome in a cathedral made of glass and money. Her movements were too smooth—either she had the world’s best posture or there were gyroscopes involved. As she walked in front of me, I could not but admire her long legs.

“I am programmed to offer seven beverage categories,” she said as we passed a holographic portrait that changed mood depending on the angle. “These include: caffeinated, decaffeinated, herbal, nutrient-balanced, nostalgic, flirtatious, and forbidden.”

“Sorry—flirtatious?”

She stopped abruptly. I nearly walked into her shoulder.

“Affirmative. Flirtatious beverages are designed to mimic the social rituals of courtship. Would you like a demonstration?”

“Oh no—no, thank you. Just something... normal? A cup of tea?”

She nodded.

We passed a floating chair that moved slightly as I approached, like it was deciding whether I was chair-worthy. I ignored it. There were lights embedded in the walls that shimmered as we walked by. They flickered between beige and mild orange, which I assumed meant “nervous but trying.”

We entered what I assumed was the kitchen. It looked more like the command centre of a vegan spaceship. One wall was entirely touchscreen. The other was a vertical herb garden that whispered encouraging things to its own basil. A kettle, which resembled a chrome badger with performance anxiety, began to vibrate gently.

Kara glided to the centre of the room and extended one arm. A small platform rose from the floor and presented a single cup of tea on a saucer, steaming gently. The tea was the exact colour of compromise.

“Your beverage, Master Oliver.”

I took it carefully, half-expecting it to speak. “Thanks.”

“You are welcome. The spoon will now interpret your aura.”

“The what now?”

Too late. The spoon twitched once, then stood upright in the cup and emitted a quiet, judgemental ping.

“Your aura registers as: unsure, curious, and slightly horny.”

“It’s not wrong,” I admitted.

Kara smiled again, the same precise smile, like she’d saved it as a template. “Would you like to adjust my interactivity settings before the tour begins? I am currently set to 'Engaging but Respectful.' Other options include 'Silent and Efficient,' 'Warmly Companionable,' and 'Unexpectedly French.'"

“I think... let’s just stay with what you’ve got for now.”

“Excellent. I shall remain Engaging but Respectful. Please inform me if you require upgrades.”

“Oh… Ok,” I said, sipping the tea, which tasted like boiled politeness.

Kara turned toward the corridor again. “Now, if you’ll follow me, I shall show you the East Wing, the Guest Interface Lounge, where you will be staying.”

She walked ahead with precision.Her hips swayed in a perfect way that seemed disconnected from her upper body. Her uniform fit her like it had been grown onto her body, outlining those hips without a wrinkle or crease in sight. There was no bounce, no shift, just smooth, controlled movement. I tried not to stare as I followed, trying not to look directly at her hips in motion. She smelled of lavender.

The guest suite was somehow both opulent and restrained—like someone had spent an absurd amount of money trying not to look like they’d spent an absurd amount of money. Soft grey walls, brushed gold detailing, one long window overlooking a trimmed garden that looked like it moisturised itself. Unlike what he had seen of the house, this room didn’t boast.

I stepped in, clutching the strap of my backpack like I thought it might make me look anchored.

“The suite has been calibrated to your biometrics,” Kara said smoothly, gliding a step behind me. “Temperature, light hue, oxygen mix. You may, of course, override any setting.” Oliver noticed the subtle emphasis on the word “any”.

I nodded, still too dazed to speak.

A wardrobe panel slid open with a muted hiss as Kara approached it. Inside hung several immaculately chosen outfits—classic, sharp, slightly futuristic in their tailoring but unmistakably tasteful.

Kara stepped beside the open wardrobe and tilted her head toward me.

“Would you like to change before dinner is prepared?”

“I suppose I should,” I said, glancing down at my hoodie and jeans. I looked like I’d walked out of a sixth form IT room and into a luxury showroom.

“I can assist you,” she said.

I blinked. “Right. Uh... sure. If it’s normal. Just... normal help.”

“Certainly,” she said with a nod.

I didn’t know whether to feel reassured or mildly terrified.

Kara approached with the fluidity of someone who had never once stubbed a toe. She selected a navy shirt with a subtle geometric weave, and a pair of dark grey trousers that practically folded themselves when she picked them up.

“Please raise your arms,” she said gently.

I did so, stiff as a tent pole, feeling a slight tremor in my muscles as her fingers brushed against my skin. Her touch was cool and precise, sending a shiver down my spine. She removed my hoodie and my tshirt, which she folded and placed on a chair. She then slid a silky shirt onto me with efficient movements, her fingers deftly buttoning it up. I could feel the coolness of her hands through the fabric, and the slight pressure of her fingers as she worked. Her breath was soft and rhythmic, a gentle sound that seemed to echo in the quiet room. She did not smell of lavender anymore, but of cinnamon and vanilla. As she leaned in from behind me to button the shirt, I could feel her breath on my neck, soft and rhythmic. It sent a wave of goosebumps across my skin.

“You may breathe,” she said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact.

“Was I not?”

“You stopped at button three.”

“Oh. Right.”

She circled around me, inspecting the progress. She grabbed some dark-coloured smooth-looking trousers and lowered herself completely to her knees in front of me, sitting back on her heels with precision and grace. Her movements were fluid and controlled, never rushed. I could see the deliberate way she positioned herself, ensuring she was stable and balanced. Her eyes were focused intently on the task at hand as she began to put the trousers on me, her hands cool and professional as they guided my legs and smoothed out any wrinkles. I tried very hard not to panic or think about what my face was doing. As she knelt, I could see the swell of her breasts, the fabric of her uniform stretching taut against her skin. I felt a stirring in my groin, a growing hardness that I desperately tried to hide. Her hands were efficient, never hesitating, as she ensured the trousers fit perfectly. I could feel the coolness of her fingers through the fabric, and the slight pressure of her touch as she worked. Her eyes never wavered from her task, her expression calm and matter-of-fact. I felt a flush spread across my cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and arousal. “I can feel my ears going red,” I said, my voice slightly hoarse. To my dismay, my cock jolted, and she noticed. I couldn't believe how calm and professional she was, even as she touched me so intimately. It was both embarrassing and incredibly arousing.

“Your entire vascular system has responded,” she said helpfully, straightening and giving my trousers a final, tiny adjustment that released some room for my crotch. Her hands lingered for a moment on my erection as she asked me if I wanted her to choose some shoes for me.

“Yes, please. Something non-threatening.”

She gave a small nod and turned toward a lower drawer, still on her knees, selecting a sleek pair of dark loafers that somehow managed to look both expensive and self-aware.

“These will be kind to your arches.” She said as she put them on for me. They were very comfortable shoes, but not really my style.

“Thanks. That’s... unexpectedly kind.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, her voice on a neutral tone, as always. She turned and looked up, her eyes locking onto mine. “You look very presentable, Oliver. The outfit suits you well.”

I felt a flush spread across my cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and arousal. “Th-thanks, Kara.”

There was silence. Not tense. Just full of everything I didn’t know how to say. Outside, a bird chirped in the garden. Or possibly a very discreet drone. I guessed bots do not feel embarrassed by a long silence. She just looked at me, expressionless.

“If you ever need help with anything else, Oliver, you just have to ask.” Her voice was soft, maybe with a hint of something more? I wasn't sure, I swallowed hard. “I... I will. Thank you, Kara.” I felt like saying her name, as to make her a bit less synthetic.

Kara remained kneeling, her posture impeccable, her back straight, and her chin held at a high angle facing me, with both confidence and submission. Her beautiful blue eyes flecked with circuitry. She came across very professional, her expression neutral, her breathing steady and controlled. Yet, there was something about her in that moment, kneeling before me, that sent a thrill down my spine. It was the way her uniform stretched taut against her body, accentuating every curve and line, her heart-shaped face with impossible skin, her tattoo that marked her as a robot, a machine created to serve humans. Her lips, that soft rose-pink, were pressed into a line, neither smiling nor frowning, but somehow inviting. I could see the rise and fall of her chest, the subtle movement of her large breasts as she breathed. It was a sight that was both innocent and incredibly erotic, and I found myself torn between wanting to reach out and touch her, to feel the coolness of her skin, and the urge to stand there, drinking in the sight of her, this perfect, otherworldly creature before me. She was obviously created for sexual pleasure, not just for domestic tasks. I wondered whether only my uncle had access to her body, or whether I could als, you know, indulge in the pleasures of technology.

The room was silent, I could feel the weight of her patient gaze, the unspoken question hanging between us. What should I say? What should I do? I felt a rush of something primal, something raw and untamed.

“You’re very welcome, Oliver. I’m here to make your stay as comfortable as possible. In every way.” She did not move, she just waited.

I did not know what to say, I was frozen, I did not want this situation to end.

"I can detect your nervousness, Oliver.” She continued. “Would you like me to engage in passive mode? Would that make you feel at ease? In passive mode I can follow simple instructions and provide the service you require." She tilted her head up slightly, her eyes never leaving mine. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. It was perfectly smooth, light red, and she shaped it as a cup. I could not believe what she was doing.

"Please note that while in passive mode, I can take some guidance, but nothing too complicated. I am here to ensure your comfort and satisfaction." She said. “You could for instance instruct me to wet my lips or close my eyes, if that makes you more comfortable.”

She waited for my response, her body still, her eyes locked onto mine. What would I say? What would I do? The power was mine, and in that moment, I felt a surge of something primal, something raw and untamed. She was so incredibly smart. She had realised what was needed to make me comfortable, something not even myself could have thought of.

“Ok, yes please, go into passive mode.” Oh my god, I was doing this.

As I said that, Kara became frozen on the spot. She was impossibly still, just like the furniture around us. She was sitting on her heels, her hands on her lap, and her expressionless face looking up at me. Her eyes were no longer locked onto mine.

“Look at me.” I instructed while I undid my trousers. Her eyes focused on mine, still expressionless, which made her feel a bit more real.

As I stood there, my underwear by my ankles and my cock hard and throbbing, I felt a surge of power. I looked down at Kara, her eyes fixed on mine, her mouth slightly open. I couldn't believe what was happening. This perfect, otherworldly creature was kneeling before me, awaiting my instructions as I slowly stroked my cock. Her body was tense and ready. I felt a rush of something raw and untamed. She had given me control. It was intoxicating.

"Keep your eyes on me" I instructed as a gently caressed her face, my voice steady and confident.

I started to stroke myself a bit faster, my hand moving up and down my shaft as I took a step closer to her gorgeous face. I watched as her eyes flicked to my cock, then back to my face, obeying my command. I graced a finger across her lips.

"Moisten your lips for me," I said, and she complied, her pink tongue darting out to wet her lips, making them glisten. "That's right, look at me," I said, feeling a thrill of power mixed with embarrassment and excitement. My cheeks flushed as I pleasured myself in front of her. "You are beautiful," I told her, my voice hoarse with desire. I touched her lips with the tip of my cock, adding my precum to the shine.

“Tilt your head back a little.” She obeyed immediately. “Will eat my cum?” She did a brief nod.

"Stick your tongue out and keep it flat," I instructed, and she obeyed, her small pink tongue stretching out, ready for me, widening and shaping into the perfect channel to her visible throat. I felt myself growing harder, my strokes becoming more urgent.

"That's it," I encouraged her. "Just like that. You're doing so well. Open up some more."

I sped up my strokes. The tip of her tongue curled up slightly as she opened wide. My breath was coming in short gasps, my eyes never leaving her mouth and her tongue. I wanted to put my cock in her mouth, to feel her lips around me, but for now, this was enough. I was in control, and she was mine to command. “I am going to cum a lot, Kara, take it all in your mouth and do not swallow until I say so.” I was excited by the thought of cuming in her mouth, my strokes becoming more frantic as I chased my release.

"I'm close," I panted and she did not budge. "Keep looking at me. Don't blink. Keep your mouth open and your tongue out." She obeyed, her eyes locked onto mine, her expression neutral but attentive, her mouth open, and her tongue out, waiting. I felt myself getting closer, my balls tightening, my body tensing. I looked down at her, her eyes locked on mine, her mouth open and ready, and I knew I was close. I could feel the pressure building, the pleasure coursing through my veins, and I let out a low groan as I came.

“What will you do when I come?” I asked.

“I will take it all and will not drink it until you tell me so.” She replied and immediately resumed her eagerly open position, tongue darting out.

My cock throbbed as a rope of thick, white cum spurted out, landing on her outstretched tongue, a perfect white line reaching all the way inside her mouth, going out of sight into her throat. It was such an erotic image that I overshot the next one, splashing onto her upper lip, nose and forehead. I steadied my aim by placing a finger on her teeth, keeping her mouth open. "Don't move," I commanded unnecessarily, and she held still, always looking into my eyes. The next cumshot was still thick and abundant, and it landed entirely onto her tongue. I shot a few more, forming a little puddle, flooding her mouth.

The sight was obscene and beautiful, her mouth full of my cum, dripping down her chin, her tongue coated white, her lips glistening, a big white streak extending the whole length of her face. I looked at her, my chest heaving, my mind racing, trying to process the intensity of the moment. I had never seen anything so erotic, so raw. It was a power trip, a visual feast. I felt a sense of dominance and pride, looking down at this beautiful, obedient creature, marked by me, used by me. It was a surreal, intoxicating experience, and I knew I would crave it again.

"Swallow it," I said, and she did, her throat moving as she took it all in. I felt a rush of pleasure and power, my body shaking with the **** of my orgasm. I looked down at her, my chest heaving, my mind racing, and I knew I would never forget this moment. “Show me.” She opened up and showed me that she had eaten it all. "Good girl," I said, smiling down at her, feeling a sense of accomplishment and dominance, which immediately gave way to embarrassment, as the rush of the moment faded away. I quickly put my trouser back up.

“You can go back to your normal state, Kara.” As soon as I said this, a smile came to her face and her body seemed to regain some life-like appearance.

Kara gestured toward a mirror that had appeared without me noticing.

“Would you like to review the result?” Was she talking about the clothes again?

I looked at the mirror. The reflection startled me slightly. I looked... taller. Still me, but polished, neatened, like I’d been rotated and re-rendered. I could see the slight bulge in my trousers, a testament to what had just happened, and I quickly averted my gaze.

“This might be the most grown-up I’ve ever looked,” I said quietly, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.

Kara tilted her head again, her expression neutral. “Shall I save this look as a preset?” She asked while casually wiping out my cum off her face with one delicate finger.

“Yeah,” I said, then quickly added “I like it a lot.”

“‘Tuesday Best’ saved,” she said, her voice calm and professional. She scooped the remaining cum into her mouth and swallowed casually. She then stood up. “I am glad you are feeling comfortable and relaxed.”

She started towards the door. “I need to do a couple of things, I will come pick you up in twenty minutes and I will show you the rest of the house before dinner is served.”