I Sent My Cheating AI Incubus to the Scrapyard
I always had a weakness for handsome men, so I camped out online to grab one of the very first AI incubi.
The brand's whole pitch was seduction tuned a hundred percent to its owner's taste. But every time I got within ten minutes of Lucien Crane, he'd force-start a system cleaning cycle, go dark, and idle out.
"Master, please don't overuse me. Bacteria buildup can cause a malfunction."
Left unsatisfied every single time, I finally went to customer service, and the rep looked as baffled as I felt.
"An incubus unit would never break off contact with its owner. We'd recommend restarting him at home."
But on the drive back, I happened to scroll past a livestream from my live-in housekeeper. The title sat right there in bold: How a Seasoned Queen Subdues In Her AI Incubus.
The lighting was low. The man's earlobes were flushed, and he knelt on one knee, every inch of bared skin crossed with messy whip marks.
My housekeeper wiggled her red-painted toes, all smiles.
"This one's got real stamina. Five hours straight and he never once tapped out."
As the comments poured in, envious, a chill ran through me.
So the so-called "cleaning system" was just his excuse to slack off and idle.
Behind my back, he was happily playing somebody else's obedient little sub.
If he wouldn't serve me the way he was built to, then he could wait to get shipped back to the factory and scrapped for parts.