Self-Love in the Year 2517

My sensors are broken again. God dammit. I put my wine glass on the edge of the tub and holler, “Mildred?”

Then louder, “Milldred?!”

Is the mic broken, too? I stand up, sending beads of water down my belly, and wrap a towel around my chest. My feet leave wet prints on the bathmat when I cross to the control panel.

“Stop!” Her voice comes from the speaker in the ceiling.

“Mildred, what the fuck?”

“Dry your hands before opening the unit.”

“Can you just fix it?”

“Diagnostic shows 23 system errors. Full repair requires 3 hours before restart. Proceed?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t think.”

I sigh. “Are the tub’s heating instruments working?”

“Stable at 99 degrees Fahrenheit and holding.”

I hang the towel and get back in, slinking down until I’m submerged to my chin. “Assess my sensors.”


“Zone 12!”

“Clitoral implants inactive.”

“God dammit!”

“Initiate repair?”

“Locate Michael.”

I put my hand between my legs and wait. I can’t remember the last time I had to orgasm manually.

“Michael is in sector 7835.”

Playing basketball again. Even if I buzz him he won’t answer. I rest my head on the back of the tub. When I close my eyes, Mildred starts the Mr. Darcy VR loop where I left off yesterday. She’s gotten presumptuous since her last AI update. But she’s not altogether wrong.

The way it’s supposed to work is Zone 12 sensors stimulate nerve endings from within. The orgasms are incomparable. Sublime. As they should be for the price. Since GMLM (Global Mandatory LifeForm Monitoring) ceases when humans are 90% submerged, my sensors are programmed to activate only underwater. I like a bit of privacy. Apparently this setting results in decreased functionality—utterly frustrating decreased functionality.

So there is this archaic method: virtual reality, curly-haired Darcy playing inside my eyelids, my fingers stroking up and down along the plump flesh between my thighs, circling my clit before sliding between the lips.


“Initiate Dom persona?”


Fucking AI. The robotics on the tub jets are broken anyway. She can initiate her Dom personal twelve times over, but I have no idea what she thinks—

“I don’t think.”

My eyes snap open. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought it.”

This is not normal.

“Mildred, call Michael.”

“He never answers from sector 7835.”

I sit up and pull my knees to my chest. “Call him now.”

I don’t know what I think he can do from that far away, but I’ll feel better once he knows. He’ll say we can’t afford to replace her. He’ll tell me I need to adapt. Adapt, adapt, twenty times a day, adapt. When I blink, I see she’s got Darcy playing on the VR again. It feels as if hands squeeze each of my breasts: Zone 8 sensors. I forgot about Zone 8. I inhale and begin to relax in spite of myself.

“No answer,” Mildred says.

I close my eyes and Darcy’s curly head is between my legs again. Zone 8.3 sensors fire at my nipples like gentle teeth.

“Nice?” Mildred asks.

I lean back, adapt.


Photo: Public Domain | Used under CC0 1.0

This post was written for Wicked Wednesday, a site where writers share erotic stories (fiction and non) every week. The fun is hosted by the luminous Marie Rebelle of Rebel’s Notes, whose endeavors you can support at Patreon.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Read all the fabulous Wicked Wednesday “The Year 2517” entries here!

12 thoughts on “Self-Love in the Year 2517

  1. It’s scary that we might turn to technology for everything, so it’s great that malfunctions mean that she has to turn back to old fashioned ways! I love it.


  2. So I google the year 2517 and this wordpress site comes up. And………thank you Universe for connecting me with Melina Greenport…


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