The Robot Babysitter Group

I always like to try and feature more than one category just for kicks. This one has group, exhibitionist/voyeur, , loving wives, mind control, scifi fantasy, celebrity, toys and masturbation, and even transual

I probably shouldn’t have taken the call when I saw it was Harold calling. Harold Higgins was my downthestreet neighbor who was always pitching me on investing in wacky business ideas, taking a chance on risky crypto stocks, and other assorted Ponzi schemes. Every idea was always “the greatest thing ever.”

But for some reason I took the call, and Harold got right to the point. “This is the greatest thing ever,” he said. “You’ve got to see it to believe it, and you’re never going to believe it even when you see it.”

“Sounds pretty unbelievable,” I said, hating myself for answering the phone and thinking of how to end the call quick. “Maybe I…”

Harold interrupted before I could even finish my thought. “I’ll bring her down to show you right now,” he said excitedly, before hanging up the phone.

Now I was confused. Bring her down? How did he go from a business idea to showing me a her? Was her a person, or was it an animal, like maybe he was starting an ostrich farm in his backyard and he wanted to convince me to invest in it. All these things were still running through my mind when I heard my doorbell ring, and I realized that Harold had initially called me from my front yard, meaning it was too late for me to escape.

As I walked to the door, I realized that Harold did not indeed have an ostrich with him, he had a young girl. He had children, but they were boys and under 10 years old, so it wasn’t one of his kids. If I had to guess I’d say she was maybe 20 years old, but seemed short for her age. She was modestly dressed in a buttonedup blouse and a knee length skirt, and while she wasn’t unattractive she was pretty dowdy looking. She had fairly plain features, a bit on the pale side, pretty nondescript.

I opened the door to a grinning Harold and looked from him to her, and now that the door was open I realized that her eyes were closed. There was something else strange about her, but I didn’t want to stare long enough to analyze that so I looked back at the grinning Harold.

“Burt, I’d like you to meet Lexi,” he grinned, with a flourish of his hand as if he was introducing me to the Queen of England. As he spoke her name, she lifted her head up slightly and her eyes fluttered open.

I gasped and staggered back. Her eyes were not eyes, they were some kind of glittering glass, and my mind raced to try to reconcile what I was looking at. Was she blind? Was she some kind of alien? Was Harold going to pitch me on the potential for cosmetic glass eyes?

Then she spoke. “Very pleased to meet you Mr. Jones, Mr. Higgins has told me so much about you,” she said. It wasn’t what she said, but how her voice sounded, that was even further unsettling. Her voice had a metallic ring to it, an odd steadiness, almost a mechanical feel, like an automated voice call from someone trying to sell you an automotive warranty.

I gasped again, my mouth had to be hanging wide open, and Harold could hardly contain his glee. “It’s a robot,” he practically shouted. “Lexi is a walking, talking robot.”

I looked at him and then back at the girl, who had not moved or spoken again, and upon closer examination I realized that Lexi was, indeed, not of the human variety. Her skin was too perfect, and had a plastic look to it, and her motionlessness was almost unsettling. Her lips were the same color as her face. I was so stunned that I found myself staring at her, analyzing every detail, looking at her hair, her ears, her neck, her hands and fingers.

Meanwhile, Harold was watching me the whole time, with a silly grin on his face. Finally he broke the silence with a grand vocal introduction. “Behold, Lexi, the robot babysitter,” he crowed. As he spoke, Lexi turned her head slightly towards him and smiled. Both movements were not quite fluid, clearly mechanical, and quite obviously robotic.

I gasped, yet again, transfixed by what I was seeing. Once again, I became lost in a perplexed, staring analysis of what was on my doorstep, and I was so mesmerized that I didn’t notice my wife Beth coming up beside me at the door.

“Hi Harold, what’s new?” she said. “And who is this young lady?”

Harold continued his insane grinning, causing my wife to glance over at him and then back at Lexi, taking a more detailed look this time, and to her credit she didn’t gasp like I had done. She shrieked.

Once again, Harold cued up the grand introduction. “Behold, Lexi, the robot babysitter,” he said. He sounded like the guy who sold Flex Seal at 2 am on paid ad television.

Now both my wife and I were caught in the perplexed staring phase, emboldened by the notion that it wasn’t weird to stare, because what were looking at wasn’t human. We stared, we stared closer, she even reached out and touched her face, which led Lexi to blink and smile and led my wife to another shriek.

“Composite silicone vinyl material,” Harold crowed. “The most advanced, humanlike material ever made, it looks and feels exactly like skin.”

I had finally stopped gasping, but I was still staring. “That is pretty amazing,” I said. I reached out and touched her cheek, and it did indeed feel just like skin, though knowing that it wasn’t real did make it feel a bit clammy.

Lexi turned her head just slightly and you could just barely hear a humming sound, like a gear moving. “Hello Mrs. Jones. I’m looking forward to babysitting for you tonight,” she said.

This caused my wife to gasp, both at the sound of her voice and the content of what she was saying, and she looked over at me as if somehow I was to blame, which led me to shrug and led Harold to jump in.

“Just if you want to,” he reassured. “We are willing to let you try out this extraordinary service at absolutely no cost. In fact, my wife Jean and I have reservations for the four of us to go to dinner tonight at the new French restaurant downtown, and we are buying.”

My wife and I looked at each other with the same expression, a mixture of abject horror at leaving our four year old son with a robot, tempered by the idea of a free night out at a very expensive restaurant that was two months out for reservations. Maybe that mixture was 955 for her, more like 6040 for me.

At any rate, Harold was very insistent. He practically invited himself in, Lexi coming in behind him with some reasonably fluid but still jerky movements. We sat down in the living room and he proudly described how he had purchased Lexi several weeks prior, and had become completely enamored. He would ask Lexi questions about her abilities, and she would respond in her nearly human, but still somewhat mechanical voice. I had to admit, the presentation was very impressive. Lexi could speak in dozens of languages. She was “educated” with advanced childcare knowledge and psychological skill. She had the training and medical ability of a fully licensed doctor. She could cook, do laundry, and clean house, and would do all that at no extra fee.

Of course, none of this was doing much to convince my wife. She spent most of the time staring intently at Lexi, like she was some kind of demon, and I expect she was imagining all kinds of terrible things that might happen if she left her only child with a robot.

But as fate would have it, that only child walked into the room and without a single prompt, walked up to Lexi and smiled. “What’s your name?” he asked her boldly.

I say boldly because our kid is extremely shy, not very vocal, and would never in a million years do this normally.

Lexi turned to him and smiled warmly. “Hello Bryan, my name is Lexi,” she said, shaking his hand. “And I am hoping to be your babysitter tonight.”

Our kid grinned like a Cheshire Cat. Lexi grinned like a Cheshire Cat. Harold grinned like a Cheshire Cat. My wife did not grin at all.

“Can I show you my room?” Bryan said.

“Absolutely,” Lexi said, standing up. “If that is ok with your parents.”

After some ums and ahs, we both nodded our anxious approval, and watched our four year old son go hand in hand with a machine back to his bedroom.

Harold, meanwhile, was set on distracting us. “Lexi is designed on multiple levels to be the most pleasant, appealing personae to children,” he gushed. “Children are immediately comfortable and trusting of her.”

My wife was half listening, half looking down the hall, and half standing up to see how many terrible things could’ve happened in the last 30 seconds. But Harold stood and grabbed her arm.

“You don’t need to go back there,” he said. “You can watch from here.”

He held up his phone, opened up an App called TRB, and in an instant we were all grouped around the phone, watching the scene from Bryan’s bedroom from the perspective of Lexi. I realized that Lexi had cameras in her eyes, and we could see everything that was happening. For the next ten minutes, we watched in mute fascination as Bryan showed Lexi around her room, as Lexi gave him all the attention, energy and responsiveness that most parents only dream about. She read him books, played with him and his toys, even laughed at his jokes.

It was truly fascinating to watch, as Harold droned on an on about how amazing the technology was. That when you really think about it, it would be way safer leaving your child with a robot babysitter than some kid you barely know down the block.

Still, Beth was very skeptical. So Harold suggested that Lexi stay for the rest of the afternoon, and if we were ok with it, he and his wife would be back at 7 to pick us up to take us out. Reluctantly, we agreed.

Over the next several hours, we became less reluctant. The more time we spent around her, the better Lexi got. She was so attentive and helpful with Bryan, constantly explaining to him about whatever he wanted to know. She had him reading words, doing artwork, even speaking some basic French, all in the course of a few hours. When he took an afternoon nap, she cleaned the house, did the laundry, made a casserole for later, and helped my wife pick out an outfit for dinner. As time went on, she seemed less and less robotic, I wasn’t sure if it she was changing or I was just getting used to her, but by the time 7 pm rolled around it seemed like she was just a normal person. The eyes were the only thing that were overtly unhuman, but even they had become less glittery, so when she looked at you they just had a dull glassy appearance.

At any rate, by the time Harold and his wife Jean came by to take us to dinner, Beth had all but fallen in love with Lexi, and had started talking about how we might consider having our own Lexi, and just how much that would cost.

At dinner, Beth did get nervous, and frequently she would check the phone app that Harold had installed on my phone, so she could monitor what was happening at home. Meanwhile Harold and Jean couldn’t stop raving about how much better their lives were with Lexi. Every once in a while I would get the weird feeling that while they were telling the truth about Lexi, that there was something else, like an inside joke, that they weren’t telling us.

Now when my wife gets nervous, she drinks, and when she drinks she gets silly, and if I’m lucky, horny. Harold kept ordering bottles of wine, and Beth kept drinking them, and the more she drank the less time she spent checking in with the phone app and the more time she spent rubbing my leg under the table. By the time the meal was finished and we were leaving the restaurant, she was tipsy drunk and I was tipsy horny. Harold dropped us off at our house and told us just to keep Lexi overnight and he would come get her in the morning. I was in the middle of thanking him for the dinner and trying to get my wife out of the car when he leaned in close and said “I hope you have an intriguing night” and gave me a sly wink.

I was half drunk and half preoccupied with my fully drunk wife to fully evaluate the comment, I just nodded and thanked him again and we stumbled into the house. We had already seen through the phone app that Lexi had long since tucked Bryan in to sleep, so we weren’t surprised to see Lexi sitting quietly on the couch. Beth came in an gave her a hug like she was an old friend and briefly reached into her purse to find some money to pay her, before realizing that you don’t need to pay a robot, and then she laughed and gave me a “come on and fuck me look” as she stumbled back to our bedroom.

It was about this time that I noticed some changes in Lexi. First, her buttoned up blouse was now buttoned down, exposing a smooth chest and just a hint of cleavage. Her skirt that had been below her knees was now much higher, showing off at least half of her very shapely and attractive thighs. Her pale and pasty skin had changed to a summer tan look, glowing with radiance. Her thin lips that had been the same color as her face were now redder and full. And her eyes were no longer glassy, now they looked completely human. As in, deep brown bedroom eyes that took my breath away. In a word, she was now completely stunning.

My first thought was that this was because of the third bottle of wine, but I carefully refocused and confirmed that she had transformed. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out “You look….” before I stopped myself, realizing that it would be inappropriate to say that she looked hot, or even better, which was followed by the thought that wait, this is a robot, what difference could it make if I said she looked better, or even if I said she looked entirely fuckable. In the midst of watching me working through these thoughts Lexi spoke up.

“I look different,” she said. “Research has shown that clients do not want robots to look exactly like humans on initial contact, so we retain some robotic qualities until they are more used to us. Do you like the changes, Mr. Jones?”

I stood in shocked awe, part because of how she had self transformed but mostly because of how she had turned from dowdy babysitter to y babysitter in just a few hours.

“I hope you approve,” she said. Even her voice had lost the robotic edge, and was now smooth and sultry. “Our research indicates this would be a…pleasing look.”

“I do,” I said, almost too quickly. “I mean, it is.”

She smiled with a very satisfied look on her face, leaned back and crossed her legs. “Please let me know if I can be of any more service to you this evening Mr. Jones.”

I forced myself to turn my eyes away, to turn my thoughts away from how many different ways she could be of service, and I staggered back to the bedroom where I presumed my wife would be waiting, dressed in y lingerie and fully charged up for a wine fueled romp. As it turns out, she was not, she was face down on the bed, still fully clothed, and snoring like a lumberjack. In the entire process of getting her undressed and under the covers she never showed any signs of coming any where near consciousness. Leaving me all horned up, with nowhere to go. Well, almost nowhere.

Almost nowhere, because as I lay in the bed staring at the ceiling, all I could think about was sneaking back out into the living room and playing out the ultimate babysitter fantasy. Except that this babysitter wasn’t real…which made it better, less scandalous on the one hand, but also worse, in that what kind of pervert has with a robot? This led me down the road of thinking about what kind of activities a robot babysitter would be designed to participate in, specifically what kind of ual activities. It had not crossed my mind until now, but I had always just assumed she probably had a barbie style crotch area, with no genitalia. Then I started thinking about her shirt being open and exposing cleavage, and how maybe it would make sense for me to unbutton her shirt to just inspect the goods, I mean, after all, this was something I was thinking about buying.

At some point in my extensive evaluations and moralizations I made a very key decision, that being that I was quite thirsty, so I got up and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. As I exited the kitchen from the other side I saw Lexi, eyes watching me. Curiously, she had turned down the lights in the living room and had lit a candle, and in the soft glow she looked even more amazing.

“I, um, just came out to get some water,” I stammered.

“I see,” she said smiling. “Can I have a sip?”

“Of course,” I said as I walked over and held out the glass, before stopping. “Wait, can you drink water?”

She smiled bigger. “I am engineered to consume a variety of fluids, which are periodically expelled in a fairly traditional fashion,” she said.

I gulped and handed her the glass, reviewing in my head the facts that she could both swallow liquids and expel them in a traditional fashion, and the advanced implications of both of those things.

She took a sip of water and set the glass on the table. “Why don’t you sit down and relax,” she said. “I expect you have some questions, Mr. Jones.”

Mesmerized, I sat down on the other end of the couch from her and began to formulate questions in my head, wondering how to delicately ask them and then remembering I was talking to a robot. My thought processes were not nearly quick enough to keep up with her.

“Our field research determined that the optimum baby sitter robot would be more than just ideal for the child,” she said, in a deadpan, scientific tone. “The optimum baby sitter robot would also be helpful in a variety of other ways, from housekeeping to… entertaining.”

She ran her long fingers through her hair.

“Entertaining?” I stammered.

“Yes, I am fully capable of being very entertaining in many ways,” she said. She moved closer to my end of the couch.

“Ways?” I stammered.

She smiled at me warmly, as if enthralled by my astounding wit and conversational skill. “Would you like to hear more…Mr. Jones?” Her voice had lost all its robotic stiffness, it had become smooth and sultry.

“More?” I stammered.

She smiled at me again, and moved closer to me on the couch. “Did Harold tell you about the lifelike quality of my skin?” she asked. “You can feel it again if you’d like.”

So there I am, sitting on the couch with an increasingly y 20 year old, being invited to touch her skin. On the one hand, I felt pretty darn oldman creepy. On the other hand, I kept coming back to the realization that this was not a real person, this was a robot. A machine. A toy. I timidly reached my hand over and let my fingers rest gently on her arm.

It was amazing. Earlier, it had felt somewhat plastic, cold and clammy. Now it was warm, supple, it almost felt electric. She could tell I noticed the difference.

“As I said, our research shows that on initial contact, clients are more comfortable with more robot, less human,” she said. “Especially the women of the house, it is important for us to be…nonthreatening. We have the ability to become even more human if needed.”

I was nodding, still mesmerized by the feeling of her arm under my fingers. My eyes must’ve drifted down to her legs, which had become more exposed by a skirt that had somehow become shorter.

“Go ahead, Mr. Jones” she said, her eyes motioning to her thigh. “You can touch me there too.”

It felt like an out of body experience as I watched my hand move off her arm and drift down to her thigh. Her skin was perfect, her thigh was toned and amazingly warm. At the moment my fingers made contact, her skin seemed to glow just slightly and her leg twitched, as if reacting to my touch. Without thinking I moved my hand up and down her thigh, both amazed by the realness and aroused by the moment. As I touched her I was certain I heard her sigh and blushas if my touch made her react.

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