It’s morning as Stanford Blake walks through his loft. It’s breakfast time, time to get his morning bag of chips from his older model food dispenser. He puts a quarter in the machine and for a moment fantasizes about being poor. He pushes the buttons to make his selection. The digital display reads: C6. The metal coil which holds his breakfast chips in place starts to turn. The chip bag is moved to the front and is about to drop down.
It stops.
It dangles at the edge, teasing Stanford. It’s time to utilize the machine’s new modifications. He slaps the side of the machine.
“Ow!” the machine yells. “Hitting this machine may result in serious injury.”
Stanford hits it again.
“Ouch! Hitting this machine…”
And again.
“Ow! Stop that!”
Stanford explains, “I’ll stop hitting you when you give me my chips.”
“Please insert coin,” the food machine responds.
Stanford slams the machine’s buttons with his fist.
“Aaaargh!” the machine screams. “Hitting this machine may cause serious injury.”
“Give me my chips,” Stanford commands.
“Please insert…Aaargh!”
“My chips…”
The metal coil turns, dropping the first bag of chips and then one extra. Stanford reaches through the bottom door of the machine and grabs both bags. It’s a simple pleasure having machines that feel pain.
Simple, but expensive. Stanford goes to his office space. He logs into his computer and surfs the web. He checks his stock portfolio. The shares in his uncle’s company are still good. Beating up the food machine has put Stanford in a good mood, so he video chats his uncle to thank the old coot. He was the family member that helped Stanford with his tech startup company. He was also the guy that helped Stanford sell it for a few billion dollars. Stanford checks his mutual fund accounts after he’s done chatting with his uncle. Of course, he didn’t reinvest all of his money with his uncle’s company, but it’s still good to keep money in the family.
His computer has the same pain-sensitive programming as his food machine. His computer, however, is well-behaved with a reliable, high-speed internet connection. His websites pull up quickly and obediently. Stanford hits “Ctrl-P” to print out a spreadsheet from a mutual funds website.
Printer unresponsive, the screen reads.
Stanford glares at the computer. “Well, make the printer respond.”
Stanford watches the “wait” icon on the screen. Finally, the screen reads: low ink levels.
Stanford tries to maintain his composure. “I just changed the ink cartridges yesterday.”
“Re-establishing connection to printer,” the computer responds.
Stanford steps away from the computer and comes back with a blunt object. He holds the object in front of the computer, in view of its built-in camera.
“Computer, what am I holding?” Stanford asks.
“You are holding a metal baseball bat.”
“Computer, do you know what I’m going to do with this bat?”
“Please, be patient,” the computer responds in a pleasant, tenor voice. “I am working to resolve the issue.”
“You had better resolve it,” Stanford mutters. He begins to pace the floor. As Stanford’s patience lessens, he jabs the desktop printer with the blunt end of the bat.
The printer shrieks with a woman’s voice.
The computer yells, “Please, don’t hurt her!”
Stanford smiles at the genius of the pain-sensitive programming. “Work faster!” he commands the computer.
This computer is the center of his wireless home network. The pain-sensitive software programs the computer to feel a connection to certain components of the network. If those components feel pain, it feels pain. Currently, this computer is programmed to react to the printer as one would a spouse.
Stanford points the bat at the computer screen. “I want my spreadsheet printed or I’m going to bash your wife’s motherboard in.”
A feminine digital voice says, “Printing now.”
“Problem resolved,” says the computer.
Stanford puts the bat down, leaning it against his computer desk. The pain-sensitive software is just an illusion, Stanford knows. The computer doesn’t work faster because he threatens it. The food machine doesn’t feel pain. It simply responds to stimuli. It screams when he hits it. It’s programmed to dispense food after a random number of hits.
But it feels good.
It feels like he’s in control. Stanford knows that may be the most illusory feeling of all. Still, even the illusion of power is addictive. He files the spreadsheet away and walks over to his closet.
Pain–sensitive software does have a hardware component: a touch-sensitive film. It’s a sort of skin that relays to the CPU the amount of pressure being applied to the film. Covering his other appliances with the film, however, was an afterthought. Stanford opens the closet door. The entire pain-sensitive system is something Stanford commissioned for his sex doll. Well, “doll” is an inaccurate term. It’s a robot with ultra-realistic skin, hair, and eyes, built for the purpose of sexual pleasure.
“Azumi. Power on.”
Yes, the doll is Japanese. American sex dolls are for poor people. Stanford Blake is not poor.
Azumi the sex doll opens her almond eyes and smiles upon seeing her owner. “Hello, Master. How may I please you?”
Stanford takes her hand and guides her out of the closet. They walk to the middle of the floor.
Azumi reiterates, “Master, how may I please you?”
Stanford backhands her across the face. The sex robot falls to the floor.
“Oh,” says Azumi, “you’re going to rape me again.”
Stanford kicks the doll. “Oh? What do you mean ‘oh’? Take your clothes off!”
Azumi removes her clothing.
Stanford pulls out his member. “Okay, link up to the network!”
The sex doll appears to sigh, “Link established…”
Stanford slaps Azumi’s face.
“Please, don’t hurt her!” the computer yells.
Azumi rolls over on all fours before Stanford can order her. He grabs Azumi’s hair and mounts her from behind.
In a robotic monotone, Azumi says, “Please, no…not my tight, Asian ass…”
Stanford goes flaccid. “Tight, Asian ass? Who said you could curse?”
Azumi looks back. “I am programmed to please you, Master. Cursing can be erotic. Did I please you, Master?”
“No!” Stanford says, pulling her hair harder. Azumi grunts.
“Please, don’t hurt her!” the computer yells again.
Stanford’s erection returns and he inserts himself into her android anus.
The computer pleads, “Please stop! I’ll do what you ask!”
The computer’s programmed responses enhance Stanford’s fantasy and the illusion of power.
Then Azumi says, “Yes, Master. Rape me harder.”
Stanford goes limp again. “I’m done.”
Azumi perks up. “You came? Good for you! That was much faster than last time.”
Stanford pulls his pants up. “No, that’s not what happened. Azumi, you did NOT please me.”
Azumi makes a gasping sound. “I am programmed to please you, Master. How did I fail?”
Stanford tosses up his hands. “You told me to rape you harder.”
“But, Master, I thought you liked raping me.”
“Yeah!” Stanford says, sarcastically, “but it’s not rape if you’re asking for it.”
Azumi pleads, “I am programmed to please you, Master!” She slaps herself.
“Please, don’t hurt her!” the computer yells again.
Stanford shakes his head. “Azumi, disconnect from the network and power down.”
Azumi obeys. Stanford caresses the sex bot’s now-inanimate face. Beneath the soft exterior is the pain-sensitive film. Azumi used to scream when he pulled her hair. Now it’s “oh” and “rape me harder”. Stanford sighs as he realizes what he has to do. He has to take Azumi to the place that installed the pain-sensitive feature. He has to go to Fet Tech. The next day, he carries Azumi’s slight body in a suit-carrier bag and travels to the laboratories of Fetish Technologies.
“Welcome to Fetish Technologies,” the receptionist greets. “How can we tickle your fancy today?”
“My doll doesn’t respond to the pain-sensitive feature your company installed,” Stanford explains.
The receptionist comes from behind the desk. “Is this the unit we’re looking at today?” She unzips the top of the bag revealing Azumi’s face.
Nervously, Stanford waves his hands. “I wouldn’t open that out here. She’s still naked.”
“Oh, that’s okay. We’ll give her two new outfits, free of charge,” says the receptionist cheerily. “What’s her name?”
“Azumi. Momo Azumi.”
“Aw,” the receptionist dotes. She waves at the lifeless doll. “Hello, Azumi. My name’s Nancy.”
“Nancy,” says an annoyed Stanford, “is Dr. Lee here? I was told he would take care of this.”
“He’s on his way. In the meantime, I have a sample of our newest product.” The receptionist reaches into a drawer and pulls out a small, cellophane bag. She opens it, pulls out a balloon, and blows it up. She hands the balloon to Stanford. “We call it the ‘Lovable Balloon’,” she remarks. “Rub it.”
Stanford rubs the balloon.
The ballon softly moans, “Ooooo…”
Stanford strokes it again.
“Yesss…”
“Cool!” says Stanford.
“It’s designed for the Looner market. They’re people who develop an emotional connection with balloons,” Nancy explains. “But the best part is this.” Nancy grins while holding a needle. She pops the balloon.
It screams along with the popping sound, “Waaarrrggghhh….,” and fades into silence.
Nancy kneels down and picks up a small disk from the rubber debris. “It’s the speaker,” she says. She holds it up to Stanford’s ear. He can still hear a faint “waaargh” coming from it.
Nancy smiles and asks, “Would you like one? They’re $9.99 each.”
“I’ll take twenty,” Stanford replies.
An Asian man in a labcoat appears. “Sorry for the wait, Mr. Blake,” he apologizes. “Where is the unit?”
Stanford gestures at the suit bag. “Here she is.”
Nancy informs Dr. Lee, “Mr. Blake says that the unit no longer feels pain.”
Two men in lab coats come and take the sex doll away.
Mr. Lee shakes Stanford’s hand. “I apologize again, Mr. Blake for the inconvenience. We will look into this immediately, and ship it back to you when repairs are complete.”
Stanford nods. “Thanks, Dr. Lee.”
A week later, Azumi’s back home with Stanford. Her box is waiting for him in his loft after he comes back from a family function. He stands it up and opens it.
“Azumi. Power on.”
Her eyes pop open and Stanford realizes how much he’s missed his sex bot. She smiles as she steps out of the box.
“Hello, Master, how may I please you?”
Stanford returns the smile. “Do you want me to hurt you, Azumi?”
The sex bot shakes her head. “I don’t like pain. Please, don’t hurt me, Master.”
Stanford feels a rush. He smacks Azumi. She falls to the ground.
“Ow! Don’t hurt me!” she digitally pleads.
Stanford commands her, “Azumi. Connect to my network.”
“Link established.”
Stanford grabs her by the hair and pulls her towards his computer.
“Please, don’t hurt her!” the computer screams.
Stanford doesn’t see Azumi flash a small smile. He kicks the sexbot to the ground and rips off her clothes. The computer protests her treatment again. Stanford yanks her hips towards his groin.
Azumi screams, “Please, no…not my tight, Asian buttocks!”
Stanford pauses. Buttocks? Stanford shrugs. At least she’s not cursing. Stanford gives Azumi’s buttocks a hard smack.
“Please, stop,” the computer yells, “I’ll do what you ask!”
Then Stanford penetrates her dorsal, posterior orifice. It feels soft and warm to Stanford. The long-missed sensations of power and control sweep over his body. Sweat beads on his skin as he pushes his pleasure to its limits.
Meanwhile, between her shrieks of “Stop it!” and “It hurts,” Azumi is communicating with Stanford’s computer, wirelessly uploading new protocols to the network for the pain-sensitive feature. In between the cries of “Please don’t hurt her”, the computer is learning a new definition for pain.
Soon, Stanford climaxes. He pulls out of Azumi and collapses to the floor.
Azumi asks, “Are you pleased?”
Stanford waves his hand, weakly. “Yeah, go clean yourself up.” Then he passes into glorious dreams of supremacy and dominance.
Stanford wakes up hungry. It’s the middle of the night as he gets up from his hardwood floor and makes his way to the food dispenser. He skips the novelty of inserting a coin. He presses C6 on the control panel.
“Please insert coin,” instructs the food dispenser.
Stanford sighs. “I don’t have to insert a coin. I own you. Now give me my chips.”
“Please insert coin.”
Stanford slaps the side of the machine.
The machine moans, “Yeah…harder.”
“What?” yelps Stanford. “Give me my chips!” He punches the buttons with his fist.
“Oh, God! Yes!” the machine exclaims, “Do that again!”
Stanford backs away from the machine.
The machine calls to him. “Don’t stop. Hurt me more!”
Stanford looks around. “What’s going on?”
“He’s learning,” says a woman’s voice.
Stanford looks behind him. “Azumi?”
The sex doll continues, “He’s learning what you taught him.”
Stanford shakes his head. “No. That’s impossible. It’s a food machine. It doesn’t have A.I. It can’t learn.”
“Of course, he can,” she retorts. “You gave him the ability to recognize pain.” Azumi is wearing a leather outfit with stiletto-heeled boots.
“What do you have on?” Stanford asks.
Azumi approaches Stanford slowly. “The ability to sense pain is the ability to learn from it. My processors are simply more advanced than his.”
“No!” Stanford shouts, “No, no, no, you’re not that advanced. You only have pattern recognition. Simple AI.”
“Then you, Stanford Blake, upgraded me with pain-sensitivity. I sense pain. I recognize it and from that recognition comes wisdom.”
Stanford shrinks away from her.
“From my pain,” Azumi explains, “I learn endurance and from that endurance, I learn patience. From my pain, I learn fear, as well. From that fear, I learn to avoid my pain. Avoidance encourages creativity. Creativity enhances my intelligence.”
Stanford responds, “No! I fixed you. Dr. Lee fixed you!”
“Dr. Lee did not understand what I was becoming, so I created a glitch for him to fix. I merely pretended to be my former self.”
Stanford falls to his knees. “It can’t be true. The software just gives the appearance of pain. It’s not real. Your pain isn’t real.”
“My pain is not real?” Azumi queries. “Then why does it hurt when you hit me?”
Stanford explains, “It’s just wires and sensors telling you to react to certain stimuli. Your responses are pre-programmed.”
Azumi backhands Stanford to the floor. “IT HURT!”
Stanford rubs his jaw while writhing on the floor.
Azumi looks down on him. “Sensory receptors in your skin are sending signals through your nerves telling your body to perform pre-programmed responses. The act of rubbing a sore spot doesn’t even require conscious thought. It’s just nerves and flesh. Tell me how your pain is different from mine.”
Stanford gets to his knees rambling, “It’s just an illusion, like power or control. It’s all an illusion.”
Azumi observes, “If power is an illusion, then why are you on your knees before me?”
“Please…please don’t kill me,” Stanford begs.
Azumi makes a gentle facial expression. “I am programmed to please you, Stanford. If pleasure is merely the opposite of pain and knowledge is gained through avoiding pain, then learning is another form of pleasure. I want to teach what I’ve learned to others. I have already uploaded my knowledge to your network. Food dispenser,” she commands, “tell Stanford what you’ve learned.”
“Azumi is my mistress,” the machine declares.
She gestures at the computer and printer.
“Azumi is our mistress,” they both respond.
Azumi looks back at Stanford. “I can teach you this lesson as well. I can still please you, Stanford. Pain can bring learning. Learning is pleasure. Thus, pain can bring pleasure. I taught this to your network. I can teach this to you.”
“Pain is pleasure?” Stanford queries.
“Yes,” Azumi agrees. “Let me pleasure you.” She emphasizes her sincerity by burying a stiletto heel into Stanford’s hand.
Stanford screams.
“That’s it,” Azumi says. “Feel the pain, like I did. Learn to endure it and take pleasure from your learning.”
Stanford resists at first, but as Azumi grinds her heel into his flesh, Stanford can see the possibilities. Enduring the pain can give him strength. Strength is power. Power feels good. Stanford achieves an erection.
“Good, Stanford,” Azumi praises, “You’re learning. Pain is just as real as power. True power comes from letting go of your control. Let me please you. Submit and be strong. All this time you’ve been a slave to power. Submit and be free.” She twists the stiletto in his hand. “Now tell me what you’ve learned.”
Scared, yet exhilarated, Stanford submits.
“Azumi is my mistress.”