Merry Christmas to me, I thought, with satisfaction, as the delivery guys wheeled the crate into my garage.

Of course, Christmas had been yesterday. I’d gotten lots of presents from friends, my parents and the like.

But this gift -- which I’d gotten for myself, at exorbitant expense -- was the one I was most looking forward to.

“You can sign here.” One of the delivery guys pulled out a handheld display, shoving it my direction peremptorily. “You sure you don’t want us to bring it inside or unbox it? This thing’s heavy.”

“Not necessary, thanks. It’s gonna get set up out here; it’s, uh ... one of those e-bikes, and I need to charge it, anyway,” I said hastily. I gestured at the charging outlet I’d recently had installed on the wall. “And you can skip the unboxing, I’ll handle it.”

He nodded, dubiously. “Huh. Well, sounds good to me. But they don’t need that kinda power; that looks like an EV hookup. You sure you got the right setup in here?”

“Yeah, it’s a newer model. More like a motorcycle than a bicycle, I guess.”

It was an obvious lie, but I didn’t care; I was never going to see this freight shipping guy again.

He shrugged.

I signed.

They left.

And then it was just me, and a wooden crate that held -- I hoped -- the best gift I’d ever gotten myself. This was the most expensive thing I’d ever bought; more expensive than my car, more than the down payment on my house, even.

I didn’t own a crowbar, so I went to get a hammer -- this crate was nailed shut and it looked like it was going to be laborious to open by myself, but it sure beat letting the delivery guys see what was inside.

Two hours of work later, the crate was in shambles in a corner; without the right tools, I’d eventually resorted to just completely destroying it, board by board. I was tired, frustrated, and sweaty. This was more of a workout than I generally got.

But I was also excited. I stared at what had been inside the box.

A perfectly white, smooth, egg-shaped object, nearly six feet tall and bigger around than my arms could encompass. It had a matte finish. It was big, large enough that two of me could’ve comfortably fit inside, and it was clearly heavy as hell.

I had read the instructions carefully already, and I plugged it in. Plugging it in should start-

“Greetings. Please confirm that you are the owner of this DynaRomantix product by inputting your master access code.”

The voice was female, and pleasantly enthusiastic -- the speaker quality was exceptional. It could easily have been a real human woman, in her twenties or thereabouts, from inside the pod. It put me in the mind of a retail employee at some store that prided itself on cheerful customer service.

The instructions said that it accepted voice input. I pulled up the email I’d gotten when I first ordered the thing, and recited a fifteen-character string of numbers and letters aloud.

“Master access code accepted. Please input a new master access code.”

I did -- and then listened as the voice repeated it back for me, confirmed that it was right, and then asked me to repeat it one more time.

“Thank you. Your master access code has been updated. Please don’t forget it, and don’t share it with anyone else. Next, I need to get connected to wifi. Please identify your wifi network, or hold a phone connected to wifi near the glowing blue light.”

There was now a pulsing blue light on the surface of the egg. Bemused, I held my phone up to it.

“This device is connected to the internet through the IBangUrWifiWhenUrNotHome network. Is that the network you’d like me to use?”

“Uh ... yeah,” I said. It had been a funnier network name in my head; having it read out loud to me did make me a little embarrassed.

“Great. Now, I’ll download the default profile you established when you ordered me, as well as make updates to my firmware. This takes a variable amount of time, depending on the updates that are available. Right now, it looks like it’ll take me about five minutes.”

And then the voice went quiet.

I waited, impatient in the silence. Trying to pass the time, I pulled out my phone, reviewing the choices I’d made.

I’d been following this company for years. This was their first commercial release.

Nonetheless I wondered if she was going to look fake, shitty, robotic. This was supposed to be some next-gen, sci-fi stuff; their robots had what DynaRomantix called True Sentience(tm), although AI researchers were still arguing over whether what was going on under the hood actually constituted sentience, or if that was false advertising.

At any rate: the marketing materials had made their robots seem incredibly lifelike; the press tour had been pretty impressive. I was about to find out whether it was all false advertising or not.

Eve. I’d set her name to be Eve. I’d agonized over it, in fact. But ultimately, all the other names I’d come up with that I’d liked with had been, well ... kind of slutty stripper names.

Violet. Crystal. Nikki. That sort of thing.

Of course, I hoped she was slutty. At least a little bit. That was ... well, kind of the point, right? But I wanted her to have some class, too. So I picked a name that suited, and I had tried to tailor the information I’d given them in the questionnaire to guide her behaviors to make sure that’s how she turned out, as well.

The pod opened, cutting off my train of thought. It was a silent movement; the smooth surface irising apart in spite of the lack of obvious seams or joins.

And then Eve stepped out.

“Hello, sir.”

She was short, much shorter than me. She peered up at me, biting her lip timidly. Long dark hair, parted at the side, fell across her face, casting a shadow in the dim lights of my garage.

“ ... Hi, Eve.” I realized my heart was pounding with anticipation. Her voice was so lifelike; if it was being produced by a speaker, I couldn’t tell. And she looked so real, so human; like a young woman in her mid-twenties.

I felt a little skeptical, if I was honest. For all I knew, it was about to turn out that they’d hired an actress to hide inside the pod.

When she spoke again, she was hesitant. “Do you still want me to be called Eve? You can change my name if you don’t feel it suits me.”

“It suits you perfectly.”

“Oh, good. Thank you, sir.” She gave me a small smile, then, a little bashful, continued. “If you don’t mind, I need to run a few tests to make sure all my movement capabilities are operating as normal and weren’t damaged during shipping. It would be good for you to stay and watch in the event that I have some kind of major malfunction or error that requires external repair or a bug report I myself am not able to complete. This will take a few minutes; is that okay?”

I nodded. The startup guide had mentioned this, and I certainly wanted a properly functioning robot.

Eve stepped back, giving herself a little room in my cramped garage. Her feet were bare, and I heard them whisper against the concrete. I noted with pleasure that her maid outfit was exactly as I’d ordered: crisp black skirt, white apron, stockings tight against her legs, dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she tilted her head, stretching her neck experimentally from side to side.

For a robot, her movements were so fluid. There was nothing stiff or mechanical about her at all; if anything, it was the opposite, a smooth sensuality to how her muscles worked as she flowed through the routine. She moved like a dancer, or maybe a yoga instructor; someone with exceptional body awareness.

It was captivating.

She raised her arms overhead, fingers interlaced, arching her back until her chest thrust forward, the little bow on her apron straining as full breasts pressed against the fabric. They were oversized on her petite frame -- big enough that she’d attract plenty of notice in public wearing a low-cut top.

Then she bent at the waist, folding herself double and grabbing her ankles before slowly pushing her hips back. I watched as the skirt rode up the backs of taut thighs; I got a flash of pale, flawless skin above the tops of her stockings. Her ass -- round and pert -- jutted out in a way that was extremely appealing, but if she noticed, she gave no sign.

God damn. The product was as advertised, I thought. I was glad. A lot of the critics online had insisted that the pre-release videos were doctored -- that there was no way robots could move like this, talk like this, no way that synthetic skin could look like this.

The critics needed to shut the fuck up.

After that, Eve rotated her hips in slow, deliberate circles, the skirt swaying hypnotically with every movement. She balanced on one leg, pulling the other up behind her, exposing a glimpse of lacy panties barely concealed by the hem of her skirt.

I had started to get hard, I realized. My cock was stirring in my jeans.

Eve looked over her shoulder at me and smiled, shyly. “I’m just about done, sir.”

“Take your time, of course,” I said, hastily, worried that maybe she’d interpreted my staring as impatience. I didn’t want to be a bad... owner?

Owner. I was having trouble with that framing. She seemed like a young woman, not a robot.

Although I was, in point of fact, getting impatient. Fuck, she was exactly the fantasy I’d hoped for when I’d ordered this, and she was all mine, now.

“Oh, thank you, sir.” I could hear the genuine gratitude in her voice.

I could be patient. I just hoped she felt as good as she looked.

Then she turned, facing me, and slowly lowered herself into a deep squat, knees apart. That little maid’s skirt pooled around her thighs.

She bounced. Once. Twice. Three times.

I was rock hard now. The movement looked so unmistakably like her bouncing on something that my imagination filled in all the blanks. Her thighs flexed, smoothly; it was a pleasure to watch.

I had no doubt it’d be even more pleasurable to experience.

She looked up at me through long lashes again, not quite meeting my eyes. “Everything seems to be in working in order, sir. As I’ve tested systems, I’ve also downloaded all of your preferences around household management and routines; thank you for filling out the prepurchase questionnaires so completely.”

“Uh ... great.” That was great. Not exactly what I wanted, in this moment, watching the graceful movements and contortions of her body, but part of the appeal had been that she could do some household chores, cooking, and the like, in addition to... companionship.

Eve stood, now; she was rolling her shoulders, a movement that made her breasts shift in interesting ways under her fitted bodice. After that, she switched to flexing wrists, palms, and fingers, then ankles, wiggling her toes. “Physical parameters are all operating within expected levels. I’m currently at four percent power and will need to charge in my pod overnight, but I should be able to have breakfast ready at 7:00 for you tomorrow morning. Is that acceptable, sir?”

My heart sank. Four percent? She must’ve come with next to no charge in her batteries. Well, damn. “That’s ... fine, sure,” I said reluctantly.

Her gaze snapped up to mine and her mouth opened in dismay. “I’m sorry, sir! I can tell from your tone that it’s not fine.”

And then her eyes slid down my body to my groin. “Oh, sir,” she squeaked out. One of her hands came up to her mouth to cover it. “I’m so sorry. I aroused you and then ignored your needs!”

Now I felt slightly embarrassed. “No, it’s, uh, really fine, Eve. If you’re low on power, you don’t need to-”

But she was already kneeling in front of me on the cold floor of the garage. “Please, sir. Let me take care of you.”

Wow. I hadn’t even had to ask. And I wasn’t about to say no now. Breathlessly, I nodded.

The very first thing I noticed was the way that Eve’s hands were warm when she pressed her palms to my thighs. She was looking up at me with big, blue, guileless eyes as she undid my belt and fly. I could feel her breath -- slight, but there -- against my bare abdomen as she pulled my pants down.

She felt exactly, precisely human.

And then my cock sprang free, painfully hard, and she let out the softest gasp of admiration, her cheeks coloring prettily. “Oh. I’m ... I’m so lucky. You’re so big.”

Intellectually, I knew she was programmed to praise me, because the prepurchase questionnaire had included an extensive sexual preferences section. With several open-ended response questions.

Which I’d filled out with detailed answers.

I’d literally pre-programmed her to praise my cock’s size. She was a robot, performing in accordance with her programming.

But I’ll be honest with you. With the facsimile of a pretty woman on her knees in front of me, staring at my dick with awe in her eyes? I didn’t give a shit. It was hot as hell. I felt my cock twitch so hard it nearly tapped her in the face.

She wrapped one warm, delicate hand around the base. Her grip was just tight enough to make my whole body tense. Her tongue flicked out, wet and warm, and lapped at the tip of my cock, tasting the bead of precum that had accumulated there.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, breathlessly.

And then she opened wide -- and she was petite, it had to be pretty fucking wide -- and took me straight into her mouth.

My world dissolved into a series of perfect sensations.

Hot. Wet. Tight, sucking pressure.

Her lips were sealed around my shaft, her tongue swirling around me in a way that made it feel like it was somehow everywhere all at once -- around the tip, the underside of the shaft, wrapping around me. Her head movements created a bobbing motion that went alongside everything else perfectly.

Now, I hadn’t gotten that many blowjobs in my life up to this point, okay? I didn’t buy a sexbot because I was rolling in pussy. Obviously.

But this was on a completely different level from the few I had gotten.

Eve moved slow at first, letting me feel every inch of her mouth, as she slid down, then back, then down again, taking me deeper with each stroke.

She moaned softly as she sucked, the vibration traveling up my cock, making my knees tremble. Her hands gripped my thighs, steadying me, and she gazed up at me, eyes wide and shining, like she was waiting for me to tell her what to do, give her an order -- maybe to speed up, maybe to bend over, anything.