Golden skin glowed in the afternoon sun, revealing a fine tracery of pale blue at the inside of the wrist. Lips, lush lips, parted to accept the ripe perfection of the strawberry I offered. A low sound of appreciation trickled out. I watched Circ eat with a simple joy and relish of the experience that I had never witnessed before.
Had humanity strayed so far away from its own innate abilities?
The robot blinked and met my eyes, smiling. I watched the fine structure of her irises flex.
"Like that?" She nodded at my question and I offered the next bit of pleasure. Her mouth opened again and I couldn't ignore the jolt that stabbed through my body as her lips brushed my fingertips.
Dammit. I wasn't supposed to fall in love with my own creation.

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AislingWeaver (joined over 11 years ago)
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Aisling Weaver has been plucking at the threads of dreams for decades but only recently has dared capture the senses with words. She writes from a tiny corner of the world known to few on stolen time and borrowed inspiration. By day chained to a desk when set free she delves the shadowy recesses where desire, need, lust and passion meet the spectrum of emotion.

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Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommerical-NoDerivs 3.0

genres

scifi

tags

whimsical

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