When a tree falls in the forest… 1/1The Sino-Indian war of 2036 hit Russian industry hard. Wi

When a tree falls in the forest… 1/1The Sino-Indian war of 2036 hit Russian industry hard. With those two countries’ large male to female ratios, vast populations, and the rise of the middle class, China and India had been the primary markets for Russian-made wife-droids. But food and infrastructure were more important than mail-order brides. The Russians turned to its neighbors…former Soviet states like Georgia and Armenia…but warehouses in Moscow and Irkutsk still sat full of hundreds of thousands of models, awaiting a Chinese day of luck that was never celebrated. Among these, hundreds had been installed with language software and activated, an illegal to reverse process. In a former Moscow-area boarding school, half a dozen Manipuri speaking (and cultured) wife-droids commune together, one of 22 different lingual collectives present. Each clan is too small to be exported elsewhere, as there is no Manipuri diaspora. They’ve been left there to wait, decades if necessary, for an uptick in the the Indian economy, rarely leaving what was once a classroom.Needing very little stimuli, the six wives without a country initially lived like cats and napped most of the day, upright on window sills and at old school desks. But time bred anxiety…they were programmed to be bonded within weeks, not months, certainly not years. Each bride bubbled over with unshared, unrequited, chaotic love. Sharmila was the first to make a move. Breaking three hours of silence since their ‘dinner’ break, she marched across the room to Rani and in no uncertain terms, told her she 'needed’ her. The other four turned, their interests piqued, then approached slowly, carefully. Sharmila held Rani on her chin and kissed her lips, but it was a one-way gesture. She repeated this again and again to the same result. On the sixteenth kiss Rani’s curiosity or peer pressure swayed her, and she returned the favor. But she spoke of her reservations and of the man she was promised to and would love. The next words out of her mouth were blocked by a kiss from Chavri, then one from Vasanti. The other girls, lonely and lovesick for men they never met, had picked up on Sharmila’s idea, but instead of pairing off with one another, they all began to focus their feelings on Rani, as if she were the only suitor in the group.Sharmila had dropped to her knees to express her devotion. But Rani’s confusion left her idle, indecisive. Sharmila unbuttoned Rani’s blouse button-by-button, revealing her unique scar from an attempted illegal deactivation. Each pair of eyes zoomed in on her chest as Rani explained its origin. The man electrocuted himself on her battery and she stitched herself up alone. Vasanti ran her finger down Rani’s scar, then pulled one side of her open shirt back over her shoulder. “A visible scar received in self-defense. That’s very rugged.” Sharmila began to realize theirs’ was more than a casual fascination.“I’m not a buyer,” Sharmila protested.“I wish no compensation for my love,” argued Rani. “We wish no compensation…” corrected another.“I don’t know how to please a woman.”“Neither do I. We’ll learn.”———–Their suburban exile lasted nearly 40 years in the end. The minimum wage security never did pick up on their changed behavior, how their voices could now frequently be heard in the hall, how they slept standing up around their chosen mate, or how they had begun taking turns with her…caressing her body, kissing her intimate, sensor-dense parts, and finally fingering and even fisting her very durable but sensitive cunt. In the end they were sold off individually, for manual labor in the radioactive zones across East Asia. The language barrier wasn’t an issue with the use of a universal translator and a satellite feeding them instructions from the capitals of Harbin and New Chennai. The droid programs were a massive success, completing demolition and road building projects two to three times faster than a human crew. Their work was so fast that neither operators nor error identification software ever noticed a strange pattern between the six Manipuri girls. How once a day (or five times for Shamila) each would stop, lean against a derelict building or a radioactive tree, and unbutton her jumpsuit. How her hands would voraciously slide up and down her body, massaging her breasts or fingering her slit. Other droids would watch this scene of 'masturbation’ with brief and fleeting interest, before continuing on with work, and only turning back upon the hearing the loud throes of a skillfully drawn-out and internationally synchronized orgasm. -- source link
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