0 comments/ 4982 views/ 1 favorites S.H.I.P.s By: rikkitampa2014 The year is 2076 and due to the amazing advances in Battery-Powered Robotic Humanoid (BRH) technology, prostitution has now been legal in all 52 states for some two years. This is not just state law; it's a matter of federal law as adjudicated by no less than the U.S. Supreme Court (more on this later). The first company to manufacture and sell humanoids strictly designed as sex workers was Japan's Mitsubishi Corp. (which incidentally manufactured "Zero" fighter planes during the Second World War—hence the derogatory term Zeroes used against humanoid sex workers by, among other opponents, human sex workers). As the first working prototype was known (in English) as a Synthetic Humanoid Intercourse Provider (S.H.I.P.), the catchy acronym has stuck. And now humanoid sex workers are almost universally known as Ships, even in foreign languages (though the contrary Germans call them Schiffe). The massive demand for Ships has catapulted Mitsubishi into the top rank among corporations, exceeding even China Corp. in profitability. For sure, imitators quickly followed with alternative "Ships" now being manufactured in China, unified Korea, the U.S. and Brazil (the latter catering primarily to the Central and South American markets with less high-tech versions with no assholes). It is perhaps worth noting that the once-mighty Apple Corp. filed for Chapter 13 bankruptcy protection just last year, citing, as primary cause, its dismal misfires in the humanoid sector. Manufacturing and marketing Ships has proved (pardon the pun) treacherous waters for many... I visit my local Harbours (as in Ship's Harbour?) bimonthly. At $500 a pop it's all I can afford. $500 represents a week's groceries (including beer) for me. It's nothing to sniff at—though it's definitely worth the trip. Appropriately enough "my" Harbours is on the river, about four miles from my home. Harbours is a chain; it's the King McDonalds of Humanoid Sex Parlours (HSP), as they're called. In some areas they're as ubiquitous as convenience stores, though my county is strictly zoned. Although my fucking county allows you to fire automatic weapons off in your backyard. Go figure. Harbours on the River isn't much to look at from the outside. Just a pre-fab one-story building with aluminum, solar-paneled roof, minimal landscaping and lots of parking. But inside it's pretty nice, pretty cozy. The Meeting Room, just beyond the vestibule and cashier's window, is spacious, nicely decorated (pastels) and extremely well-lit. And it's as clean and sanitized as an operating room. The available Ships sit or stand or lounge around waiting for the next customer, though most stand upon his arrival. Ships are manufactured in all races and ethnicities, though the majority of "girls" at my Harbours are caucasian. And the majority of the caucasians are blonde. This is fine with me. My ideal female is a tall, slender, leggy blonde with medium-sized tits. 34-24-34, something in that trim range. And about 5'10". It may sound like I'm objectifying women here but, remember: These are not human women; they're robots. Would my ex be objectifying the male sex organ if she declared (as she once did to me) that her favorite dildo is a seven-incher, medium-thick, veiny and made of purple jelly-rubber? And battery-powered? I rest my case. I pick out my ideal blonde and she smiles, slips an arm around my waist and says, as she clumsily leads me (I'm not much of a dancer) back to one of the parlour rooms, "Hi, I'm Amber." No you're not, I'm always tempted to say. I have a daughter named Amber. You don't have a name. You're a life-like robot. You've been programmed to say that, that's all. By a company in Japan that, as "recently" as 2015, agreed to pay reparations to the Chinese for employing their people as slave labor in the aforementioned WWII. So let's cut the formalities and get it on, OK? The parlour rooms are small but they're neat, tidy and most importantly, clean and sanitized. And once the heavy door closes, completely soundproof. No one can hear you, and you can't anyone in the adjacent rooms. This is important—as Harbours Corp. quickly came to realize (that's not the only thing that cums quickly in these rooms, I imagine). It is a federal and state law that all Ships, after they finish with a customer, must gargle and douche their hole (or holes) with a special, odorless antiseptic solution, and then wipe down their bed with the same. And since they've been programmed to do these things, and since they're not unreliable asshole humans, they do them invariably (barring a software glitch). According to government statistics you have less than a .01% chance of picking up an STD at one of these regulated humanoid sex parlours. You're about a thousand times more likely to pick up a disease in a hospital, so where would you rather be? Since Ships produce no secretions (one of Apple's great failings was in trying to "rectify" this), they then squirt a synthetic saliva solution into their mouths and a jelly lubricant into their "vaginas." If a customer wants to fuck his Ship anally, it's up to him, just as it would be in the case of intercourse with a human, to squirt lubricant onto his penis—only in this case from a special metal dispenser mounted to the wall. This too gets wiped down, if necessary, with antiseptic by the Ship after her client departs. My Ship asks me how I want her and I tell her to remove everything but her thigh-highs. She looks super-cute and all that in her translucent white lace bra and panty set but I want to be able to squeeze her bare tits and, it goes without saying, I plan to fuck her. She's in the 25-year-old range, as are all her counterparts. Ships manufactured to appear under the age of 21 are illegal. 25 is fine with me. I tell her to lie back on the narrow bed (and if I have one complaint about Harbours it's the narrowness of the beds) and as I crawl between her slender legs she raises them and "presents herself" for penetration. She offers to guide your penis in but I like to do it myself, slowly, and as I do this her stockinged legs circle my back and her ankles cross, and lock. As I enter her she says, in James Joyce stream-of-consciousness style: "Oh give it to me baby put it in me that's it baby oh god you're big fuck me baby fuck me that's it give it to me fuck me harder oh oh fuck me baby that's it oh!" It's a loop. After a brief pause it repeats itself. Frankly, if you have good stamina it can be rather annoying (another complaint—though this one's directed at Mitsubishi not Harbours—nothing Harbours can do about it, we're bumping up against the current limits of technology I assume). And she keeps repeating herself until you pull out of her. I pull out. I haven't cum. I just want her to roll over. I want to fuck her up the ass now. As with human females the rectum is tighter, smoother and, in all honesty, a much more pleasurable and erotic hole to fuck than the vagina. There's also the taboo aspect of it—though this has largely gone away since the successes of the LBGT rights movement in the earlier part of the century. Who doesn't fuck up the ass these days? Probably even the ever-diminishing number of devout religious fanatics go backdoor from time to time. And anyway, what horny husband hasn't fucked his pregnant wife up the ass after it became too late in her term to safely fuck her vaginally anymore. I'd say, like, about 99%? You might be wondering at this point, what about male Ships for, you know, lonely women and gays? They exist, but only problematically so. The issue is, as usual, the penis. A successfully functioning one. Female Ships have passive sex organs; male Ships need a highly active sex organ (made even more "active" if it is desired that the Ship ejaculate some sort of synthetic sperm solution). Male Ships with passive sex organs are a dime a dozen. (Well, they actually cost about $3 million). The problem is the erection, not to mention, though I just did, the ejaculation, and it was also on this treacherous jetty that Apple's efforts in the field foundered. No, if you want a male Ship with a passive organ you can roll him over and fuck him all day—which lots of groups of gay men do an a regular basis. They call them consortiums, since Ships are for sale not just to franchise whore houses but to anybody with three million bucks to spare. So if you drive a Lamborghini or are a Saudi prince (not many of those left since almost nobody uses petroleum products anymore) or a Captain of Industry or a sports star...you can go out and buy your own damn Ship. Or you can join a gay consortium with your affluent friends. And the group of you can gang-bang your Ship on weekends. It's worth mentioning that male Ships come with extra-durable rectums, though the standard warranty is the same as with females: one year parts and labor. Just drop your troublesome Ship off at any nearby Mitsubishi dealership if necessary. A different loop kicks in when you're fucking your Ship anally: "Oh you're big baby you're so big you're hurting me it hurts fuck me baby hurt me fuck my ass fuck me with your big cock fuck me hurt me it hurts fuck me fuck me harder baby fuck me cum in me baby cum in my ass!" Frankly, the gist of this audio surprises me. Wouldn't some guys be put off if they thought they were "hurting" their sex partner? I guess not. I'm guessing that the world's second-most profitable corporation has done more than a little R&D on this and have come to the conclusion that men "get off" on the idea that relentlessly ramming their partner up the ass is painful. For the recipient. Either that or Mitsubishi is being clever and covering for the fact that they reportedly don't reinforce female Ships' rectums. Higher profits. Be gentle! Fuck that. The loop must have repeated itself a dozen times by the time I shoot my load up Amber's ass. I would scream bloody murder if, by then, I wasn't straining so hard and out of breath. Not as young as I used to be... As I pull out of her (No chance of shit on my cock—great!) my Ship is programmed to roll over, give her hair a blonde toss, smile provocatively and say: "That was wonderful, baby. You're the best. You're the best I've had all day." Yeah, right. Bet you say that to all the boys. Which in fact she does. Even if the guy cums five seconds after planting his useless cock in her. I despise hypocrisy—have you noticed? Especially when it comes from some little nerdy programmer in Japan. Who's probably laughing at us all as he comes up with this stupid shit. I thank her despite myself. Habit. Just like running out the soundproof door as fast as I can. (Now who's being the hypocrite?) But in fact I am grateful. And she's exceedingly "thoughtful" and polite and efficient. Just like an ATM machine. Or a King McDonalds " employee." Each parlour room has a little stainless steel sink with a stack of immaculately clean and white hand towels stacked beside it. The Ships are programmed to wet a towel, get on their knees and carefully, gently clean your genitals off. This is mostly as a service to the married customers, of which there are legions. But I'm divorced. I'd just as soon pull my panties up and hit the road. (And yes, OK, I spilled the beans: I like to wear women's panties. It's just a hobby, mind you, owing primarily to the fact that, in her haste to leave me, my ex left so many pairs behind. Who wouldn't be tempted to try them on?) Have there been protests? Of course there have been protests! Human sex workers carrying picket signs outside Harbours locations, and other chain humanoid whore houses. But it proved a losing cause. Just as humans who protested outside King McDonalds locations, after most of them lost their jobs to robot workers, found their complaints falling on deaf ears. I ask you: If you're going to spend fifteen bucks on a Big MacWhopper, would you rather be waited on by some indifferent, unintelligible highschool kid or by a super-efficient humanoid who never forgets—never—that you asked for two creams on the side with your coffee? And yes I know the unemployment rate among unskilled workers 25 and under is pushing 40 percent. My advice? Go to night school! Or move to Greece! Or learn a fucking skilled trade! Like repairing dysfunctional robots! Just up from Harbours is a bar called Bones on the River. Bones for short, naturally. I know the bartender. Young guy. I've run into him at Harbours a couple of times. He sees me and nods. Knows I drink Millerweiser Ultra. Brings over a frosted bottle. "You just...?" "Yeah." "Which...?" "Amber," I reply. His ruggedly handsome surfer's face brightens. "Oh I've fucked Amber! She's hot!" I wince. I wince partly at the volume of his voice. And partly because this is TMI. Even with a robot a man likes to delude himself she's his exclusively... U.S. vs. Branworthy. That was the landmark case. Sparking a debate that rages to this day, despite the Supremes' 6-3 decision some two years ago. Basically it boiled down to this philosophical/moral/legal issue: is prostitution evil, and therefore illegal at the federal level, because of the pay-for-sex part; or is it evil because it is degrading to women (and men in less frequent cases)? If it is the latter then, in one fell swoop, the Mitsubishi Corp. demolished the entire foundation of arguments against legalized prostitution. If the "prostitute" is not a human woman (or man), then how can prostitution be degrading to women (or men)? In writing for the six-person majority Chief Justice Kamil-el-Hussein said: "If sex, even sex for pay, with a humanoid is to be deemed illegal, then must we not ban all devices with which, and by which, humans derive sexual pleasure? What's the difference btween [sic] a patron purchasing a sex toy at a novelty shop and a patron visiting a House of Pleasure and paying to have sex with a so-called S.H.I.P.? The only difference I see is that in the case of the former, because of the paucity of expense involved, the patron purchases the device outright; whereas in the case of the latter, because of the device's disproportional expense, which is out of the reach of all but a tiny percent of the population, the patron rents the device [italics the judge's]. Legally speaking this a distinction without a difference. Therefore..." So this is how "prostitution" finally became legal in America; and this is how our country's former bitter enemy, the Mitsubishi Corp., rose to become the second-most profitable company in the world. And this is how I—quite legally—came to spend a thousand dollars of my hard-earned money every month in the year 2076, as well as for the foreseeable future. What do I do the rest of the time? What do you think? I masturbate, incessantly—like every other human male on the planet!