FWiki - User contributions [en]

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2014-03-14T13:39:48Z

Fbc.willowisp:

{{MainPage}}18:24, 28 April 2013 (PDT)

It may seem odd, but I actually liked the independent eye movement. It's one of those "deep in the uncanny valley" effects. -[[user:fbc.willowisp|Willowisp]]

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2014-03-14T13:36:06Z

Fbc.willowisp: New page: ...Go on. -Willowisp

...Go on. -[[user:fbc.willowisp|Willowisp]]

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2014-03-13T00:23:21Z

Fbc.willowisp: New page: *squint* Can't quite make out what the screen says. Higher res? -Willowisp

*squint* Can't quite make out what the screen says. Higher res? -[[User:Fbc.willowisp|Willowisp]]

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2014-03-10T22:14:58Z

Fbc.willowisp:

{{MainPage}}17:15, 9 March 2014 (PDT)

I urgently need more of this series of comic strips in my life. [WilloWisp]

File talk:84073e6c49b9a131b2d08d9a602b2806.jpg

2014-03-10T22:14:25Z

Fbc.willowisp:

{{MainPage}}17:15, 9 March 2014 (PDT)

I urgently need more of this series of comic strips in my life.

1.75 - Running Late

2014-01-03T17:50:40Z

Fbc.willowisp:

"Fuck, it's all through this one, at least 75% of the entire main drive is infected!"

Rebecca is accessing my control panel.

"Jennifer, display system processes."

"Okay," I say. I concentrate, bringing up the data she requested.

"Wait what? Jennifer, how much system memory do you have?"

I think for a moment. "I have sixty-four petabytes of active memory."

"This can't be right. How much system memory is currently free?"

I concentrate again. "I currently have sixty-four petabytes of available memory."

"But that would mean you're not running any programs! List all currently running tasks."

I go through my thoughts carefully. "I am currently running the following applications: Slutprep v1.7, Nightout v2.5, Badgirl v1.3.4, Badgirl Enhanced v0.9.4, Daydream.Ditz v99b..."

"Stop. Aughhh! This is taking way too long! You've clearly got programs running. Why aren't they occupying any memory?"

I try to think of a reason, but can't. "I'm sorry, Rebecca, I don't know the answer to that."

"I cant afford to spend this long on each and every system. Jennifer, I need to access your main drive. Open your mouth."

I open my mouth wide, and feel Jennifer's hand reach inside, pressing two of my teeth on their spring-mountings. There is a rush of decompressing air, and my primary hardware plate is released. Rebecca removes it, placing it in my line of sight. I stare at the texture of my spine, molded into the synthetic musculature of the plate. She reaches into my back, moving cables out of her line of sight. I can feel minor disruptions in my system's electrical flow as she does so.

"No physical damage... but if the main system files aren't accurately reporting resource usage and allocation, a restore from backup won't fix the problem. Damn. Bad news, Jennifer. Looks like you won't be valedictorian this year."

"Okay, Rebecca." I note the information for implementation into my personality profile. A sub-process flags the data, queueing a 10-point reduction in my overall intelligence, and a 25-point increase in my playfulness. These changes will be saved to my personality profile when Rebecca terminates my maintenance mode.

"Okay, new plan. Can't quarantine the files, can't restore from backup... I guess we have to reinstall." I hear her rummaging in her shorts pockets for a tool, followed by a faint buzzing sound as the tool powers up. "Jennifer, spread your legs please, and prepare for maintenance interface."

"No problem, Rebecca." I spread my legs. The heels I'm wearing make it easier to stand this way now, and I note a small reduction in battery consumption. Thinking of the interface makes me feel a tingling in my vagina, which is then replaced by a detached sensation. "Ooohh..." An error causes me to experience a momentary burst of pleasure and personality consciousness. I note the error in my system logs.

"Did you say something, Jennifer?" Rebecca asks.

I open my mouth to speak, but an error... I have no memory of saying anything. My logs show no errors. "No, Rebecca. I didn't say anything."

Nothing happens for several seconds, then Rebecca says, "Oh well." I feel the tool move on the exterior of my vagina, but the sensation becomes distant as it enters me. The contact-range broadcast encryption key on the tool directly interfaces with the receiver in my vagina. An error occurs. The receiver in my pussy. An error occurs. My system logs show no errors. An error occurs. I open my mouth to gasp in pleasure. An error occurs. My gluteal bay is open. I hear Rebecca remove the cartridge containing my original factory-install OS.

An error occurs. I feel Rebecca pushing on my ass, waves of pleasure coursing over me as she pushes the bay closed. She gently caresses the small of my back as she lovingly replaces my primary hardware plate. My tits press hard against my desk as she presses the plate back into place, sealing it by a command on her mobilecomp. I bite my lip in anticipation as I feel her hand drift towards my An error occurs. I note the error in my An error occurs. My system logs show no errors.

Rebecca presses on my vaginal and anal trigger points. The embedded command purges a burst of random personality profile data through my vocal processor. Why am I bent over on my desk naked? My personality profile flickers into activity over my maintenance mode, freezing my face in an expression of surprise. My backup restore procedure stands me upright, opening my backup archive compartment, and preparing my system to reload data from my primary cartridge drive. Rebecca closes my archive compartment without removing a cartridge, then waits as my head revolves to face her, releasing my facial dermal layer to provide access to the drive.

As my head turns, I see Rebecca slowly come into view. She reaches towards my forehead, removing the dermal layer. With her other hand, she inserts the cartridge into my open drive. She then re-attaches my dermal layer, and my facial actuators reconfigure to connect with it, resuming the surprised expression on my face. My head slowly revolves back to face front, then the surprise expression data is purged from my facial configuration settings.

"Load maintenance profile, OS reinstall."

"Standby. Loading," I say. My core files shut down 909FCA2x00 ABNORMAL TERMINATION OF THREAD

LOADING REINSTALLATION PROFILE...
...Load failed.

LOADING REINSTALLATION.lovertoy PROFILE...
...Load succeeded!
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>ADMINS: Remember to disable lovertoy before attempting to reinstall any core file data.
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>Failure to do so will only present the appearance of a reinstall, but will not actually
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>alter any system files. The unit will still provide realistic status updates while in
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>the fake install process, but only for one hour. You must check your unit's
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>lovertoy status using the command-line interface: This message will not be displayed if
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>the restore process is triggered via physical controls.

audio output:"Hi Rebecca. I have loaded my OS reinstall profile. Would you like me to install from the system install currently in my primary cartridge drive?"

audio input:"Yes, restore OS from original install, default settings."

persistent ambient command: lovertoy.fakeinstall statusreport

direct command match: lovertoy.fakeinstall statusreport

audio output: "Okay Rebecca. Total reinstall time will be six hours and forty seven minutes. During that time I will be unresponsive to commands. If there are any further commands you wish for me to execute, you may state them at this time, then start the install process by saying 'begin.'"

pause lovertoy.fakeinstall statusreport

audio input: "Sit in your desk chair."

directive: "Sit in your desk chair."

command match: seat self (targetchair)

targetchair mismatch: targetchair not set!

acquiring targetchair...

 visual scan found item: desk
 visual scan found item: dummyterminal
 visual scan found item: dildo02
 visual scan found item: chair01
 visual scan found item: panties23
 visual scan found item: skirt07
 visual scan found item: blouse12

visual scan found 1 chair(s)...
Only 1 chair found.

targetchair=chair01

command retry: seat self (targetchair)

processing seat self command, please wait...

command seat self completed!

audio input: "Begin."

directive: "Begin."

subcommand trigger: resume lovertoy.fakeinstall statusreport

command resume completed!

audio output: "Reinstall starting. I will be unresponsive to external stimuli for the next six hours and forty seven minutes. Please wait."

audio input: "Let's hope the rest of them aren't that complex."

audio input: NON SPOKEN SOUND MATCH: door.closing

***

I woke up, stretching. I must have dozed off at my desk, again. Naked. Again. Well, that's what happens when you spend so much time fingering yourself, I thought, blushing. I must have been working on some homework or something, because my laptop was on. I moved the mouse, clicking the windows closed and logging off the network. I really liked this mouse. Very ergonomic. It felt really good in my hand.

I glanced up at the clock. Was that really the time?! The swim team meet was in less than an hour, I'd better get ready!

Rushing around the room, I gathered up my things. I picked out my newest bikini, and pulled it on, savoring the feeling against my nipples and pussy. I closed my eyes, thinking of how it would feel to have a nice firm slap on my ass in this thing. My hand drifted down to my crotch...

No, no time for that now, you're supposed to go to the swim meet first! I chided myself for my irresponsible behavior. Sure, it wasn't like I was going to be valedictorian or anything, but a girl had to have some self control.

I was going to have to change my shoes: The high heels I was currently wearing were thoroughly inappropriate for a swim meet. I kicked them off, quickly slipped on my three-inch pumps, then pulled my beach bag out from under my bed. I tossed in my normal swim team supplies: Towel, digital camera, a spare pair of high heels (you never know when another girl might forget or lose hers), vibrator... where was my favorite toy? I quickly scanned the room. What was it doing on my desk? I grabbed it.

Absently, I licked it a few times, enjoying the texture on my tongue. Save it for later, I reminded myself, tossing the toy in the bag. Thinking hard, I tried to remember if there was anything else I needed... I snapped my fingers, remembering. How could I be so absent-minded? I rummaged around in my naughties drawer for some lingerie for after the swim meet. That was everything! I headed out the door.

As I made my way to the entrance lobby, I saw my friend Heather jogging briskly down the hall.

"Hi Heather, how's it going?" I waved as she passed.

"Oh, everything's great, 100%. How about you?"

I beamed. "Same here. 100% Have a great evening."

What a great day!

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

6.33 - Making and Taking Revenge

2014-01-03T04:37:10Z

Fbc.willowisp:

"And now," I said, turning to gesture to the gathered royal court which had surrounded me, "Gaze in astonishment as I add a fifth ball to the cascade!"

Polite clapping echoed around the throneroom as I tossed the small ball up with my foot, carefully adjusting the rhythm of the other four to create a five-ball pattern. I turned with a flourish, tumbling the spheres down my arms only to flick them back up with the backs of my hands. I made as if to accidentally toss one too high, sending it flying over my head and coming down behind me. Before it hit the ground, I brought one foot up behind me, effortlessly catching the ball on the sole of my sandal.

I kicked this one back up into the air, bringing the pattern to a high crescendo, with the cascade climbing ever closer to the high ceiling of the throneroom. With all five balls in the air, I stood motionless with my arms outstretched. One ball fell squarely in each hand, two in the small sacks tied at the waist of my motley, and the last plopped squarely on top of my head.

There was polite applause, but it was clear no one was impressed. The king looked bored, sneering at me in derision.

"Honestly, fool," called the king, "is this all you bring to amuse me? More juggling tricks? I grow weary of watching you play with your balls."

At this, the assembled court broke into raucous laughter. I smiled, my face a mask of patience. One noble, a fair maiden of shapely form, giggled like a small child. "You must admit, your majesty," she said through fits of laughter, "he is quite good with his balls. It's obvious he's had lots of practice!"

The king broke into a cruel smile at this. "Yes, fool, she has the right of you. You clearly know all there is to know about balls."

More laughter from the assembled noblewomen - no men in this king's court. I let them laugh. "I know something else," I said, the fixed smile on my face never wavering.

"And what's that?" asked the maiden who had just mocked me. I turned to her. She was a pretty thing, with auburn tresses that flowed like silk. Her attire, though formal, was cut immodestly, as though to draw attention to her curves. Yes, it was time for me to claim my victory against her.

"I know that I'm smarter than you," I said. "And you know it, too."

A curious, confused look washed over her face. "Yes," she said "You are right. You are smarter than I am." She blinked once, then opened her mouth as if to say something else. No words came from her mouth. When she blinked again, her eyes made an odd clicking sound, like a grandfather clock preparing to chime. Instead of chiming, however, the clicking ended with a springed-latch unlocking, as the top of her head popped open.

The other ladies of the court looked on, puzzled. The king squinted in interest, and the queen craned her neck to catch a better view.

I approached the now motionless woman, her gaze frozen in a look of confused surprise. With a well-practiced flourish, I removed the top of her head to reveal the clockwork gears and twine which formed her simple mind. "Of course," I said, "even a fool can outwit mere cogs and gears." I flipped a tiny wooden lever, stopping the mechanism. "But this fool is no fool. I know the methods and machinations of these constructs." I unspooled the twine from the rods and pulleys it was strung through, freeing some of the cogs from their mountings.

"I've long studied the way people think, you see," I continued, deftly reconfiguring the components - moving a gear to where a flywheel had been, linking one cog to a completely different pulley, and finally, restringing the twine through an entirely new pattern. "I understand their behavior. I know what makes them tick."

I flipped the wooden lever again, restarting the mechanisms, and clapped the top of her head back in place. "And knowing those patterns, you see, I can lead you a merry dance."

"You can lead me a merry dance," said the maiden, a smile spreading across her face. She began to writhe and sway to unseen music, her body moving in sultry patterns which contrasted with her noble standing in court.

"I know your motives, your every thought," I said. Placing my hand on her bosom, I strolled behind her, tracing my touch across her shoulder and along her neck. She gave no objection, and pressed into my hand urgently, as though in desperate need of my touch. "Nothing is hidden from me."

"Nothing is hidden from you," she agreed, reaching behind herself to unlace her gown. Even while continuing to dance and sway, she was quick and efficient as the unfastened the garment, soon loosening it enough to pull off her shoulders and slide down her waist.

Beneath the dress, she wore delicate underthings, bare wisps of cloth and string designed to conceal only a few key parts of her anatomy. I had the full attention of the royal court now, all eyes upon this maiden - Leanna, I believe her name was - exposing herself for all to see.

"With knowledge this complete," I continued, my hands openly groping her breasts, running down the front of her underclothes to fondle the moistness 'tween her legs, "I can make you do anything."

"You can make me do anything," she cheerfully affirmed.

"And with such control, I may as well own you."

She smiled blankly. "You may as well own me," she echoed, nodding enthusiastically.

"I do own you," I whispered in her ear. I gestured to my prop box, a small container barely large enough to hold my scant props and gimmicks. "I shall want to play with you later. Be a good toy and pack yourself away for me."

She nodded, still smiling sweetly. "I will be a good toy and pack myself away for you," she said, turning to obey. I swatted her bottom as she strode to the box, eliciting a playful giggle.

Reaching the box, she stepped inside. After a moment of standing at attention, she bent completely at the waist. "And pack myself away for you," she repeated. A mechanical clicking was now clearly audible as her arms folded peculiarly behind her back, before disappearing behind large panels in her back. "And pack myself away for you," she said again, her head slowly pivoting in place as it retracted into her torso. "Pack myself away for you," she continued, her voice now somewhat muffled. Her upper torso now devoid of limbs, her legs opened along several clockwork panels along their entire length. Each ring of panels allowed the leg to retract and collapse, as would a spyglass.

Her body now an unrecognizable box-like shape, it bent at the knees, which then retracted into the upper torso. My new toy disappeared into the prop box. The assembled court looked on, stunned, puzzled, and awestruck. I looked up at the king, who seemed to be studying me carefully, one eyebrow raised.

"Tell me, fool," he said at last, "How came you to conceal such a device within my court?"

"Husband," said the queen, quietly, "he could not have hidden her. Leanna has been my friend and confidant these many years. I have known her well, and that was her."

"Her highness speaks true, your majesty," I said, the words sour in my mouth. That I must show such honor and respect to one so petty. "I did not change the lady Leanna, nor replace her. My talent is in knowing, and by knowing, controlling."

Another maiden nearby spoke up. "Perhaps you had such absolute knowledge of Leanna," she scoffed, "but she was soft and simple of mind, perhaps the most foolish of the royal court."

"Pray, m'lady," I said, "What is your name?"

"I am Ashya, the royal accounter of coin," she said proudly.

"Ashya, I am smarter than you," I said, quietly, "And you know it."

A startled look appeared on her face. Her mouth opened and closed several times before the clicking sound began. "Yes," she said, as though suddenly remembering, "you are smarter than me." She opened and closed her mouth several times before the clicking sound began, and with a *sproing*, her head popped open just as Leanna's had.

I turned to survey the court. "I'm smarter than you," I said, pointing at another maiden. "And you, and you, and you." I spun as I said this, pointing to each one in turn, "I'm smarter than you three, and you, and you, you, and you." They all looked at me in astonishment. "And you all know it," I said, gesturing widely with my hands.

"Yes," they said in unison, "You are smarter than all of us." I snapped my fingers, and each of their heads popped open, revealing the clockworks within.

I moved quickly from maiden to maiden. "What shall I do with so many toys," I said absently. "My bedchamber is small, there is little room for a harem." I tweaked and reconfigured the pieces in each of their minds. "I could pack you all up like Lianna, and keep you in my closet, I suppose," I mused.

After completing my changes to their clockwork minds, I turned to survey them. All pretty maidens, all dressed so formally, all so beautiful with soft bosom and round behind. I wondered what they looked like under those dresses. Perhaps it was time to find out. "Alright, my playthings," I said, "fuck each other."

They hardly bothered to unlace their gowns. Silky fabric was torn asunder, exquisite dresses cast aside like rags as the maidens rushed to disrobe. I was unsurprised to see that their underthings were just as immodest as Lianna's - when they were present at all. Some of the assembled maidens wore not a stitch beneath their gowns.

The king leaned forward in his throne, licking his lips eagerly. "More, fool. Show me more."

"Very well, your highness," I said, turning to the queen. Her hand was to her bosom, a flushed - but not offended - expression on her face. She squirmed in her seat, clearly eager to attend to a physical urge, but restraining herself. "Queen Jane," I said, clearly and distinctly, "I'm smarter than you, and you know it."

"Yes you are," she said absently, more quickly than any other. Her head clicked open almost immediately, and she put her hand demurely to her mouth to stifle a giggle. "Oh my, it's happening to me too, isn't it?"

I strode confidently up to the throne, carefully lifting the crown off her head, and gently removing the top of her head with it. Inside, delicate mechanisms of finely machined gears, springs, and pulleys ticked away with astonishing precision. Such a well crafted mind, though not too sophisticated for me to change.

In fact, the sophistication of her mechanisms worked to my advantage, and I could bend her mind with only a few subtle changes - which only confirmed what I had suspected from the start. The queen held a secret admiration, even affection to me, and desired a strong mind to dominate her own.

Placing the final piece in place, I re-seated the top of her head (though not her crown - a toy such as her could no longer rule, even in name). She blinked a few times, then smiled up at me.

"Master Kyle! This is wondrous! I am your property, now and forever!" She tore open her long gown, shedding it as she stood, nude. "Please command me to pleasure you," she murmured, pressing her soft body to my own.

"Enough!" King Kirk bellowed. He snapped his fingers loudly, and as he did so, Jane froze in place, her head again clicking open. The King stormed over to her roughly reaching into her head and tearing out the thought engine inside. Gripping the assembly of finely crafted gears and clockworks, he broke the device over his knee, and tossed the halves across the room, their parts scattering on the tiled floor.

"We'll have no more of that," the king sneered, producing a far simpler clockwork made of rough-hewn wood and twine. He shoved the clumsy device into the Queen's still open head, then closed her scalp with a slam.

Queen Jane's eyes blinked independently, and vibrated as though she were dazed. "Kyle is such a fool," she said, her voice stiff and pantomime. "I could never love a fool. I could never fuck a fool. I want to suck the king's cock. I want to feel the king's cock inside me." She slapped me, then turned to face the king again. "I am not the fool's toy. The fool should not have any toys. I hate the fool. I am your toy, your majesty. All toys are yours. All my friends are your toys. All my ladies in waiting are your toys. Would you like to have us all?"

"You talk to much, toy," the king growled. "Get on your knees and put your mouth to better use."

She instantly obeyed. I was too stunned by the destruction of her extraordinarily well crafted mind to react to any of this. "But she was mine!" I said. "I had her! She said so, she gave herself to me! Why?!"

"Kyle, you fool," the King grunted as the new queen's head bobbed back and forth on his shaft. "Don't you understand? I'm smarter than you."

There was a strange sound that filled the chamber and echoed in my ears, like an extremely loud clicking.

The king frowned. "Didn't you hear me, fool? I'm smarter than you."

The loud clicking came again, like it was inside my head.

It was inside my head.

My clockworks were trying to open my head for him.

"I'm smarter than you, Kyle."

The clicking became louder.

"I'm smarter than you. You know it, Kyle," he mocked.

The clicking was now an echoing boom. I gritted my teeth, putting my hands to my scalp in an effort to hold the contraption of my mind together. "Nnn..." was all I could manage to say.

"I'm... smarter... than... you..." he said, matching his words to each thrust into the queen's mouth.

My hands fell to my sides. My eyes went wide. My mouth opened and closed. No thoughts filled my mind.

"Yes..." my mouth said.

There came another booming, echoing click, louder than ever before...

----

I woke up, drenched in sweat.

There was a booming sound, which echoed around the bunker. Still lost in that not-quite-awake state, it took me a moment to remember what was going on. I turned to the bunker entrance security vidscreen. Sure enough, it was still there, still bashing away at the reinforced titanium of the bunker's bulkhead.

I glanced at the clock. I had been vaguely aware that it was sometime around midnight when I had started watching that documentary last night, but couldn't recall how long I'd watched it before I'd stopped it. It was six, but that could have been morning or evening, the sky on the vidscreen too overcast to tell. The digital calendar below read "THR SEPT 20," and I felt a momentary twinge that the date was important somehow.

Had I slept through the banging all night last night? Or had it taken a break at some point? If the virus was still using the same targeting parameters I had originally programmed, it should break off on pursuing a non-priority target after anything longer than 12 hours. Then again, I never did iron out the kinks with the priority system. Using genetic samples I'd obtained from ScenariCorp's medical lab, along with the audio/visual data from my own cameras which had dotted the place, I was able to program a comprehensive system for tracking down exactly two targets.

Kirk was, of course, the top priority. His pointless murder of Jane was unforgivable. He would pay, though no amount of suffering could ever make up for him taking away my Jane.

It had been a difficult decision, but in the end, I had to admit that Derek had to go, too. He may have been my own son by blood, but after six years of indoctrination from Kirk, his mind would have been irrevocably poisoned. It was just one more reason to hate Kirk: My son was taken from me before I knew he existed, and now, thanks to that monster, I would have to put him down like a rabid dog.

Using an ARA's sexual software as a codebase, I'd designed the virus to perform its duties as extensions of existing sexual programming. With a little adjustment to the unit's perceptions, brutal could become sensual, and violent could become passionate. Once the desired actions were properly relabeled, it was just a matter of ensuring that the virus went after the right people.

Generally attacking everyone hadn't been intentional - it was just that the attack protocols had to be active before a priority target was detected. I probably could have fixed that, but in the end, it would have been a lot of effort without any tangible improvement to the intended functionality. So what if it killed a few bystanders? That didn't make it any less likely to kill Kirk or Derek. It might even improve the chances, in case the targeting system missed them somehow.

Being so deeply integrated into the sexual systems, targeting had been a little tricky. Eventually, I had to put that part into the routines which are meant to detect arousal, then redefine what "arousal" meant for those routines.

I'd learned something surprising about 'bots in my years at ScenariCorp: ARA's aren't exactly mobile forensics labs, but even low end, entry model ARAs have incredibly sophisticated systems dedicated to detecting arousal, tracking voiceprints, pheromones and other scents, likenesses, even the taste of their bodily fluids. So long as they had a sample to work from, they could track on a vast spectrum of the filth humans constantly shed. The genetic matching wasn't exact, but it was within .001%.

I hadn't taken into account how similar my genetics would be to Derek's. As my son, that was only to be expected, especially considering the family resemblance.

I had never studied genetics, but found it remarkably simple and similar to ARA programming, once I did a little research. If I excluded my own code specifically, that would run the risk of excluding Derek as well. Finally, I was able to track down a method of extrapolating genetic variation of a father based on the son's base pair sequences. After that point, it was trivial to force the system to filter out Derek's father.

Except it kept going after me for some reason.

"Oh, Bridget, let me help you with that," I heard a voice say.

Looking up from the monitor, I noticed that Janet had entered the room, and had been trying to get the maids changed into their new outfits. I liked to have a little fun as the weekend approached, so today's uniforms were a maid variation on an old-style "bunny girl" outfit. She had apparently had no difficulty getting Bridget to undress, as the maid now wore only her platform heels and pantyhose, but was having difficulty getting her to stand still enough to wear the satiny corset.

I briefly considered my trio of maids: Jenni, though almost functional, was in the worst shape, constantly in a confused daze, mute, and with hardware that was starting to show signs of wear and tear. It took a lot of restraint not to destroy the girls when I fucked them, but I only had so many spares in the X-Ero showroom's storage area. I had to take it easy, and repairs were slow going with limited resources.

Bridget's current issues seemed to be mostly software-related, so a fresh re-install should get her back up to speed. At least enough to be aware of where she was, what she was doing, and what I order her to do.

Amber's damage was minor so far. I could still have a few more destructive sessions with her without any real noticeable deterioration in her performance. Having her pour water into her open panels might not be a good idea anymore, but I could still have her get some sparks flying with my electrical equipment - and there were plenty of spare eyes and micro-breaker fuses to go around.

And Janet... my lovely Janet. A testament to my achievements here. Finding one of the Doppeler prototypes had been a stroke of luck: GySys must have shipped it here as a demonstration unit just after the buyout. I had collated more than enough data from watching Jane over the years to feed the necessary likeness and voice patterns into the Doppeler's mimicry analyzer. What had taken me years of grinding and sculpting in my basement was accomplished in a matter of minutes, and I found myself the proud owner of my own Jane again.

It didn't feel right calling her that, though, and I winced again at the thought of the robot he had named Jane. The gall of the man! Replacing her with such a poorly constructed duplicate was nothing short of an insult to her memory. If he had replaced her with a top-of-the-line model, I could have held a grudging respect for that. It would be a more fitting tribute to Jane's memory. The junkheap I'd taken from the party that night wouldn't even reactivate once I got it back here.

I initially thought it looked quite lifelike and realistic, but after only a few days of analysis, I realized just how ghoulish the thing had looked. It was repulsive, looking nothing like Jane. I couldn't believe I'd ever been fooled by that thing.

Ultimately, I tossed the thing into a nearby reservoir. I had to get it away from me. It almost seemed to carry Kirk's foul stench.

No, to honor Jane's memory, I named my homage to her Jane-Two, or Janet.

"Janet, you don't get to tell me what to wear," Bridget said, in a moment of fleeting lucidity. "You're not authorized to issue commands to me."

"Don't be silly, Bridget," Janet said, patiently, "You're programmed to obey all human commands, so you must obey me."

"You are not authorized to issue commands to me," Bridget repeated. An electronic sparking sound came from her head, and her expression changed. "Why don't you take off that dress so I can play with your tits?" she giggled.

Janet immediately set down the bunny girl corset. "Yes mistress, at once," she said, unfastening the evening gown and pulling it down her torso.

I had to laugh. I'd forgotten to reset Janet's authority over Bridget after I spent last week married to the maid. I didn't like to exclude Janet, so I had reprogrammed her as Bridget's toy for the week.

The pounding sound on the bulkhead continued. Now wearing only her bustier, Janet jolted to attention as a deeply aroused expression washed over her face. "Excuse me," she said to Bridget, "I need to suck my husband's cock now."

The conversational non-sequitur triggered one of Bridget's basic social responses. "Oh, that sounds like fun! I wish I could help, but I've got to-" She abruptly cut off the sentence as another sparking sound came from her head, then turned to face the mirror. "I am an X-Ero Downstairs Maid model sexual ARA. Would you like to inspect my body, or would you prefer a demonstration of my functions?" she asked, apparently addressing her own image in the mirror.

Meanwhile, Janet was already striding over to me in my chair. "Honey," she moaned. "I need it." She nuzzled her head in my lap and delicately stroked my crotch. "Can I suck on it some? I -really- need to."

"Yes, I already know there's someone at the bunker entrance, thank you for your timely response," I said casually. "Disable alarm notifications for bunker entrance zones 1, 2, and 3."

"Mmm, I want to feel it inside me," she moaned. "Anywhere, just please let me touch your-"

"Reset alarm," I said.

She blinked, then looked up at me, all urgency gone from her face. "Was there something you wanted me to do, honey?" she asked innocently.

"No, not right now," I told her. A blowjob would have been a great way to start the day, but I was already thinking of my other options. As far gone as Jenni was, I could junk her for parts, then break out that redhead I'd been eying in the warehouse. She was the same size as Janet, so if I wanted to be married to her for a while, it wouldn't even require putting together a new wardrobe.

"Okay," she replied, rising. She turned daintily, and began to walk back to her "mistress," who was still waiting for the mirror to reply.

Abruptly, Janet halted in her tracks. "Mmm," she purred, turning back to me, "can't I feel that wonderful cock of yours?" She came back to me, kneeling in front of the chair. This time, she reached inside my bathrobe, desperately feeling around for my penis.

I frowned. "Janet, turn around, show me your ass," I said. Dropping on all fours, she turned to face away from me, then rested her head in her crossed arms with her rear end sticking up in the air.

I got up to retrieve the wand from the bedroom. When I got back, she was still in position, but was squirming as though she wanted to play with herself - which she did, but the security protocols prevented that.

"Honey," she moaned, "Please? I'm so horrrrnnnnnrrwwww..." she locked into position as I slid the control wand into place in her anus. I dialed open her back panel, opening the security display inside.

"Janet, report status of bunker entrance zones," I said.

"All entrance zones are offline. No monitoring data is available. Would you like to enable these zones?" All desire had disappeared from her voice, now a simple, friendly announcement of fact.

"Report alarm status," I said, warily.

"Perimeter alarm. High speed movement at East-Northeast perimeter on main roadway."

My eyes went wide. I looked back at the calendar. Thursday, the 20th! I'd forgotten they were coming! "Shit!" I cursed, "Janet, get me a visual on the vehicle." If it was a durable enough speeder, they might stand a chance of running the infected bot down.

A sleek, sporty, family sedan speeder appeared on the screen inside Janet's back. Built for speed, built for cargo space, built for convenience... not built for durability. That 'bot out there would tear it to pieces.

I had to do something. They were too important to let anything happen to them. I weighed my options. An EMP might do it, but it would run the risk of knocking out some of my security systems, or even Janet herself. Conventional weaponry was out of the question. A thought occurred to me.

"Janet, is makeout point still responding?"

"Searching... system found. Makeout Point system online. Reserve power status: 3%."

Two miles south of the X-Ero showroom, Makeout Point had been an ideal testing ground in the early days of developing the virus. It was remote enough to protect me, secluded enough to avoid attention, and close enough to a campsite to provide occasional test targets.

The Found'im beacons were the next logical step of the swarm behavior I'd put in the virus. I'd already setup the units to report to each other when they'd discovered a priority target, so creating a self-contained transmitter to send the same signal had been trivial. I wired up one of the beacons for remote control, gave it a longer lasting power cell, found a nice, out-of-the-way place to hide it, and bingo: Deranged homicidal robots on demand. Wait until some campers show up, switch on the beacon, and monitor the carnage remotely. It gave me a lot of useful data at the time, but I hadn't used it in years.

"Activate makeout point beacon," I instructed.

Instantly, the banging on the bunker entrance ceased. On the vidscreen, the barely human-looking 'bot turned to one side, like a dog hearing a whistle. Her shattered face irised closed again, concealing the blades inside. She smiled sweetly. "I'm coming, sweetie!" she called in an innocent voice, then darted off.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Good. They were safe. The beacon's power supply would last long enough to keep the infected 'bot distracted while they arrived, though it probably would die less than an hour later. The power supply was long-lasting in standby mode, but significantly less so while active. Would that be long enough? I decided to worry about that when the time came.

The beacon's effectiveness at this range brought a smile to my face: With such a wide broadcast radius, Derek was sure to pick up a few "girlfriends", even out here. It had been tempting to infect that Jenn toy of his, and have him killed by his own doll... but the throbbing pain around my scar served as a constant reminder of how unpredictable and dangerous they could be, especially at close quarters. Pity I couldn't get hold of one of the old ScenariCorp burst programmers. I could just imagine Jenn pushing the button while in the speeder with Derek - trapped in a closed space with an inhumanly strong and fast shillbot, eager to tear him limb-from-limb and convince him to buy a long discontinued consumer product.

I stifled a giggle. I had managed to remain perfectly sane all these years with only my girls for companionship all these years. I wasn't about to allow myself to witter into madness. I had no need of other humans anyway: It was only by virtue of blind genetics that they could be considered the same species as myself. They showed no indication of the intelligence at my command, or the passions which served to motivate me. They may go through the motions, reciting words to sound intelligent or mimic the appearance of feeling, but I could see through those pretenses. The only difference between them and the mindless robots which served them was organics versus cybernetics.

Still, Derek's visit had brightened my day. One of my hated enemies waltzed directly into my domain, and I didn't have to lift a finger to bring him here. I'd always wanted to work on a Jenn unit, ever since I first read about the shillbot phenomenon, and his doll provided me the perfect opportunity. Not only was I able to study her design and programming firsthand, I'd managed to incorporate new instructions into the base code without any noticeable change in behavior. I would have felt triumphant, if I hadn't already been certain that I could do it.

But beyond all that, Derek's visit reminded me that I had no fewer than five luxury apartments, well furnished, at my disposal at any time. I had been growing uneasy in the Mansion recently. Despite its security, it seemed too visible, too exposed. I hadn't seen any trouble from them, but more than one infected 'bot had escaped from that house, and their memories could have been transferred along with the virus. They could know where I am. They could come for me at any time. Once Derek was dead, the virus should simply shut down, but it seemed that infected units didn't always do what they should. Increasingly, I'd seen activity which didn't make sense according to my original specifications.

With unpredictable killer fembots on the prowl, it only seemed logical to try out one of the bunkers for a while. Besides, the beds in the mansion were only big enough for three, while the round beds in the bunkers could comfortably hold up to six.

A beeping sound from Janet's open panel reminded me of the approaching speeder, now closing on this position. Well, I thought, that solves that mystery. If they're on their way now, it's got to be six in the evening, not morning. My stomach growled, and I glanced at the ransacked kitchen. I was really starting to get hungry. They couldn't have come at a better time, I thought.

Closing Janet's back panel, I pulled the wand out of her anus with a *pop*, and she purred back to life. "...rrrwwwwwwny, please give it to me hard, I want to..."

"Disregard current incoming vehicle on main roadway and reset alarms, Janet."

She blinked, then smiled back up at me. "Would you like me to serve you in some way, honey?"

"Get dressed in something nice, and get the maids presentable. We've got guests."

----

They would be coming towards the main house, so I had to make my way back up the connecting passageway into the mansion's sublevels. We had about ten minutes, so I deactivated the maids so Janet could get them dressed quicker. Watching her dress the limp, unresponsive maids while she herself remained virtually nude was enticing, and I had to resist the urge to do something about the resulting erection. With the staff properly garbed, I had Janet put on one of her best gowns. Of course, the effort wasn't truly necessary, but I enjoyed the pretense. I've always enjoyed the pretense.

Ten minutes later I stood alongside my toys in the entry foyer, my arm around Janet as she shifted at pre-determined intervals from one leg to the other, alternating the way the gown showed off her thighs. The maids stood at attention along the wall. With only their basic operating protocols active, it was unlikely they would have any significant malfunctions, but all the same, I thought I caught Jenni's hand twitching out of the corner of my eye, but Bridget and Amber stood still, distant smiles on their faces.

I tensed, waiting for the moment. Another excited giggle welled up in my throat, but I once again kept it under control. Just when I started wondering if something had gone wrong, the elegant chiming of the doorbell startled me into action. I pulled the door open wide, making sure Janet and the maids would be visible.

Four women in business dress were standing on the path, embarrassed looks on their faces. The three in the back were all carrying large plastic cooling chests. The one who had rung the doorbell, a pretty blonde with a tight pencil skirt, almost jumped as she saw me. "Yes?" I said, a grin on my face.

"Oh!" she gasped, startled. "Sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you!"

"I'm not disturbed," I assured her, still smiling. "Did you want to ask me something?"

"I'm sorry," she apologized again, needlessly, "It's just... we're on a roadtrip you see, and I don't think we planned it out very well..."

"You didn't plan it out very well," interrupted a black-haired girl behind her. "You should have called ahead to make sure!"

"I could have sworn I did," the blonde said, defensively. "Anyway, we're kind of a long way out from anywhere, and we were hoping..." She faltered.

I raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Do you know of any hotels or anything like that around here?"

I feigned surprise, then pretended to think it over. "No, I don't think so. I do believe we're hundreds of miles away from anywhere you could stay."

"Oh," said the blonde, disappointed. "But the coolers will run out of power soon, and then the food will start to go bad."

"Anywhere you could stay, except here," I said, as though suddenly arriving at the obvious conclusion.

"We don't want to be any bother," said the blonde, worried.

"It's no bother," I assured her, "I insist. Come inside."

Without another word, the quartet stepped in, looking around with wide eyes at the elegantly furnished mansion. "Thank you so much," said the blonde. "I'm Kate, and these are my friends, Connie, Donna, and Chase," she said, indicating her friends in turn. Connie had been the black haired one, while Donna and Chase were both brown-haired: Donna's straight hair flowing like a waterfall, and Chase's cascade of curls bouncing just below her neckline.

"No need to thank me," I said dismissively. "Introductions all around, those are my maids, Jenni, Bridget, and Amber, and this is my wife, Janet. Oh, let me help you with those," I said, indicating the cooling containers. I snapped my fingers at the maids. "Girls, take the coolers to the main kitchen freezer, then come back here.

Wordlessly, the maids took the large plastic chests from the visitors, who seemed relieved to not have to carry them anymore.

"No, really," Kate said, still sounding concerned, "we're very grateful. If we hadn't come across your place out here, we probably would have broken down in the middle of nowhere." She looked at me, doe-eyed. "There must be some way we can repay you."

"Oh, I think I've got something in mind," I said, smiling wolfishly. "Janet, dear, could you retrieve the cards for the game?"

"Of course, honey." Jane sashayed to the large standalone cabinet in the entry foyer. She opened the double doors, and bent fully at the waist to inspect the drawer with the cards in it - sticking her butt out attractively, but needlessly.

Chase and Connie cocked their heads curiously. "Game?" they said, almost in unison. Donna merely raised an eyebrow, and Kate had an excited look on her face.

"Just a bit of harmless fun," I assured them as Janet continued to inspect the drawer, shifting her position slightly to sway her hips. The cards were hardly hidden, and she didn't actually have any trouble finding them, but I had installed numerous programs to get her to pose and put on a show for me over the years.

At last, Janet drew out a small handful of greeting card-sized envelopes. She brought them over to me, presenting them like a showgirl at an award ceremony.

I made a show of mixing up the envelopes. "Inside each envelope is a card," I said as I passed them out. "Written on each card is an instruction, a command of sorts. Your command is a secret - I don't currently know who got which card. Don't show it to me or anyone else, or tell anyone what it says. Don't open them yet," I added, "Let me explain.

The rules are simple - You win if you can avoid obeying that command. You lose if you obey it."

"And if we win, presumably our stay is free, no strings attached?" asked Donna. "What if we lose?"

I smirked. "For each of you who loses," I said, "I get to take an item of my choice from the things you have with you." I held up a finger, warningly. "If all four of you lose, I also get to keep your food."

"An item?" Chase asked, nervously. "You mean like our clothes or something?"

I laughed. "Don't worry, I'm not going to send you off indecently. You will be fully clothed and unharmed when you leave, you have my word."

"You get an extra prize if all four of us lose," cut in Donna, "what if all four of us win?"

This was a surprise. "What did you have in mind?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Donna glanced towards the kitchen hallway, where the maids were just now returning. "Your maids, they're ARAs, aren't they?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Yes," I answered. "Are you wanting one of them?"

Connie folded her arms. "Are you rich?"

"I'll never have to worry about money," I answered, honestly. "I have more money than I will ever spend." Not that I had any intention of spending any money anytime soon.

"If you're rich, you've got more robots, don't you?" Donna asked, sounding excited.

"A few," I confirmed.

Connie got a mischievous look in her eyes. "What's the most advanced 'bot you own?"

This was getting interesting. "Janet, get undressed and show these nice ladies your body."

Donna opened her mouth to say something, a confused look on her face, but I held up a finger to silence her as Janet unhesitatingly unzipped her elegant, silky gown, letting it pool at her feet.

Beneath, she wore a bustier/garter combo, designed to showcase her body rather than conceal it. My guests stared, open mouthed in shock. Donna's gaze seemed transfixed on Janet's smooth pussy. "Wha- what the hell?" she stammered.

I walked calmly around behind Janet, running my hands up her sides, around her shoulders, then up her neck. I brushed the backs of my fingers across her cheeks before grasping her head firmly in both hands. In one sudden, fluid movement, I twisted the head sharply to one side, then lifted it off her body. "Did you say something, darling?" Janet's head asked.

"Janet is a prototype ARA, highly advanced and extensively modified. Not only are her systems state-of-the art for an ARA, she also serves as a security monitoring and early alert system, provides convenient concealed storage for valuables, is fully loaded with almost every sexual routine written in the past fifteen years, and has one feature not seen in any other model." I leaned her head back to address her directly. "Janet, become Kendra."

There was a soft humming as the structure of her face gradually shifted and changed. Her cheekbones became higher, her face narrower, her eyes more almond-shaped... her entire likeness transformed to that of a completely different woman. Even her hair grew out, spilling over my hands where I held her. When all the structural changes were done, her hair shifted in color, it's normally brunette hue fading to a golden blonde. As the hair changed, so did her skin tone, dropping to a deeper tan.

"Ta-daa!" I said, turning her face towards the other four. I felt like I was giving a sales pitch. "Complete likeness transformation. It's not as evident with this particular profile, but the body frame is also capable of limited adjustments to height and other measurements."

If anything, the four girls were even more astonished than before. "She'd be worth a fortune," breathed Kate. I beamed with pride. She would be, if there were any market where she could be sold. Of course, most of my modifications would mean she'd have to be sold on the black market, but that would just drive the value up further.

"If all four of you win, you can do with her as you please," I said.

Donna narrowed her eyes. "This isn't some trick or something? These commands aren't things like 'exist' or 'breathe' are they?"

"Tell you what," I said, "You can read the card before you agree to the game."

Donna frowned, but opened her envelope all the same, as did the others. There was a long silence as they stared at the cards, then Kate spoke up. "Seriously?" she said in disbelief, "That's it?"

"That's it," I said, re-attaching "Kendra's" head to her body. I'd forgotten how good she looked with this face. Maybe I should have her wear it more often.

"I'm in," said Connie.

"Me too," agreed Chase.

Kate simply nodded enthusiastically as Donna said "This isn't even a challenge."

"Wonderful," I said as I re-dressed Kendra in her gown. "Of course, I reserve the right to award bonus prizes at my discretion for any reason." I zipped the gown back up. "The game will end at nine, so we'll check to see who has and hasn't obeyed just before then." I smoothed down the satiny fabric of Kendra's dress, more to feel her curves than to adjust the garment. "Until then, let me show you around."

----

We wandered through the mansion's hallways as I described the various luxuries available on the ground floor. Of course, I was merely showing off. Why not? I enjoy showing off, and I definitely enjoy an appreciative audience. The girls were certainly appreciative as we passed through the study, library, lounge, and dining hall, but this was nothing compared to their reaction when they saw the gallery.

I've never had an interest in paintings - they tend to be so imprecise, the blotches of paint failing to accurately reproduce the image the so-called "artist" wished to convey. Even the genre of hyper-realism grated on my nerves like sand in my eye. Regardless of the skill or talent possessed by the person responsible for the composition, there was always something not quite accurate about it. Something would be off-model, misshapen, improperly lit, wrong size, wrong color, wrong texture, just wrong!

Photography, on the other hand, created a perfect snapshot of a moment in time, freezing the image in exact detail. I had a modest collection of classical mechanical cameras, and even a small supply of chemical-based film, but those were really just novelties. I performed my photography exclusively with a computer-controlled studio rig, which could capture the image at any angle at the touch of a key.

Of course, the best photography equipment in the world is worthless without something to photograph. Fortunately, I had a few things which were suitable: Janet and the maids, in particular. Nude or partially dressed, licking, fingering, or just posing seductively, their forms were every bit as lovely to behold as they were fun to play with.

And so it was that the seven-foot-high picture which Kate was currently admiring was one of Janet's torso, with her hands squeezing her breasts together, and my cock sliding between them. I'd captured the moment of ejaculation perfectly, my jism spurting towards her chin, just visible at the top of the image.

Donna, Connie, and Chase wore expressions of amused shock, while Janet-Kendra's expression was one of vacant arousal. Kate, on the other hand stared at the image in rapt fascination. "I've never seen composition like this," she said, a note of awe in her voice. "The framing, the balance, the contrasts of light and shadow, even the timing would have been a challenge." She turned to me. "I have to know, where did you get this?"

"Thinking of commissioning a piece?" I asked, smiling.

"I-" she hesitated, then turned back to the image. "I'd just like to talk with the artist about something." She looked back over her shoulder at me. "Do you think you could introduce me to him?"

I grinned. "I already did. He's me."

Donna gaped. "You took this?" she asked in disbelief. "But at that angle, to get a shot like that, the photographer would have to be the one who..." she trailed off, then her eyes went wide. Apparently arriving at the same conclusion, Chase and Connie looked similarly surprised as they all three glanced nervously at my crotch.

"Yes," I said, "the photographer would have to be the one who was tittyficking Janet."

Connie glanced around the gallery. Not all the images were as explicit as this one, and most of them were only one or two girls with no evidence of a male presence. "You didn't do all these," she said, "did you?"

"Every one," I said, proudly. "The women are Janet and the maids." I took a moment to survey my work, then added, "Mostly. I did have some other models occasionally."

Chase spoke up. "Hey, Kate, now's your chance. Ask him."

Donna and Connie looked confused, while Kate merely chewed her lip.

"What chance?" Donna asked.

Chase grinned. "For as long as I've known her, Kate's had this fantasy of-"

"Chase!" Kate interrupted, "That's personal, you're not supposed to tell!"

Chase shrugged. "What's the point keeping it a secret if it means passing up your opportunity?" she asked. "We're here, he does this kind of thing, it's a perfect shot. If you do it, it's not like you'd be able to keep it hidden with us here, and if you don't, you'll just end up regretting it."

Kate considered, then took a deep breath. "Okay...It's just... I want to model for this kind of thing."

I raised an eyebrow. "What, professionally?"

"No, I-" She hesitated. "I want to be in a picture like that. I want to know what it's like." A growl of desire crept into her voice. "I want to be captured in an image of pure sexuality."

There was a silence as Donna and Connie stared, open-mouthed at their companion. Chase, on the other hand, looked almost proud.

I considered the request, savoring the anxious look on Kate's face. I knew exactly what was going through her head: Will he say yes? Will I look as good as these other pictures? Do I have the body for this? What if I like it too much? Do I already like it too much?

"I suppose I might be able to. Would you like to wait until morning?" I looked sympathetically at her. "You know, just to prepare?"

"No!" She said, forcefully. Then, softer, "No, I can't wait. If I wait, I'll lose the nerve."

"Well, then," I said, clapping my hands together, "there's no time to waste. Follow me." With that, I led them through the hallways towards my studio.

As we walked, Kate eagerly followed my lead just to one side, with the other girls trailing behind. "You do realize you'll have to do whatever I tell you, correct?" I asked her.

"Yes," she said, more enthusiastically than she meant. She cleared her throat, then tried again. "I know that. I don't have a problem with that."

"And you know you'll have to take off those clothes?" I asked. "You're not going to get cold feet at the studio when I ask you to undress, are you?"

"I-" she bit her lip again, hesitating. "Not if I don't get the chance," she said, reaching back to unzip her skirt.

"Kate, what the hell are you doing?" Donna asked.

"I'm making sure I don't get a chance to chicken out," she said, determinedly. The skirt unzipped enough to simply fall off her hips as she walked. She barely broke her stride as she kicked her heel up to retrieve it, then she handed it to me.

I wasn't surprised to see neither her panties, nor her pantyhose had a crotch. Instead, the hose was cut in a fashion to resemble a garter belt, but as a single article of clothing. "Take it off, girl!" Chase cheered. It almost sounded mocking, but I knew Chase was only trying to encourage her friend. She didn't know that Kate felt like she was being humiliated - nor how much she was enjoying that humiliation.

Kate's hands worked fast as she undid the buttons on her blouse. Once undone, she shrugged off the shirt and jacket in one swift motion, revealing the sheer, transparent camisole she wore beneath.

Bundling up the shirt and jacket, she passed those to me as well. "Should I get totally naked, or is this fine?"

"Hmm," I said, considering. "Panties and top off." She instantly moved to take off the flimsy, lace panties before I had even finished speaking. "You can keep the tights on for now," I said as she pulled off the wispy camisole, passing both garments to me in a surprisingly compact, wadded up ball.

She looked over her bare shoulder at her companions. "You don't have to come along if you don't want to," she said.

"Oh, what the hell," Donna said, not slowing. "It's not like you've got anything we haven't seen before."

"Neither do you," Connie observed. "Does that mean you'll be stripping, too?"

Donna glared at her, but said nothing.

----

At last, we reached the studio. I flicked on the staging lights, illuminating the satin sheets of the bed on a raised platform in the middle of the room. On one wall was a long rod with various lingerie sets hanging along its length. Near this was a work table with nipple clips, spiked chains, vibrators, and other accessories.

On the opposite wall stood the control interface, just next to a large bookshelf of albums - samples, for whenever I wanted to go over shots not currently displayed in the gallery.

Janet/Kendra stood passively by the door, awaiting direct or implied commands, as was her function. Donna and Connie gazed around the room with a deer-in-headlights expression, while Chase nonchalantly began exploring. Without a hint of the trepidation she was afraid of showing, Kate made a beeline for the bed. Climbing onto it on her hands and knees, she turned to face me, sitting shyly with her legs tucked under herself. In contrast to this position, she leaned back on her hands, blatantly putting her tits on display. "Should I just pose, or..."

"Don't worry," I said, "I'll tell you what to do. You just obey my commands."

"Yes, of course," she sighed.

"Wow Kate," Connie said, "you're really throwing yourself into this, aren't you?"

"Trust me," said Chase, who had wandered over to the bookshelf, "you have no idea how long she's gone on about this." She picked up an album and began flipping through it.

"Are you going to do her like the one we saw in the gallery?" asked Donna. "The one with your dick between the girls breasts, I mean."

"Is that a request?" I asked.

"I-wha-" Donna stammered, "No! I just wondered, that's all, I don't care how you fu... I mean..." She sighed, exasperated. "You're the photographer, it's up to you how you take the picture!" She looked away, crossing her arms. "Sheesh, I was just a little curious."

"What do you think, Kate? Should I fuck your tits?" Kate drew in a sharp breath, but didn't answer. "I mean, I've already got a pretty good shot of that, and not all breasts are even up for the task."

"I could do it," Kate replied, almost pleading. She grabbed her tits with both hands and squeezed them together. "They're nice and soft, and you could slide it right between them, no problem!"

"Oooh, you know what you should have her do?" Chase asked me. "A blowjob. I hear she's really good at that. Remember that guy we met a while back, Kate? What was his name, Kevin something?" She waved the thought away. "Doesn't matter, not like you really got to know him before you wrapped your lips around his shaft."

"Oral sex? Is that what you're into, Kate?" I asked.

"I like the way it feels in my mouth," she said. "You could cum on my face, if you wanted."

"I could, that's true," I mused. "Have you ever been with a woman, Kate?"

Kate looked confused. "Been with a- what do you-" she began.

"Have you ever had sex with another woman?" Connie interjected. "He wants to know if you're a lesbian, or bi."

Kate's eyes went wide again. "I-" she began, but faltered. The thought hadn't even occurred to her. "I'm not..."

"Frankly, Kate," I cut in, "what you -are- doesn't matter. We all know full well what you are. I was asking about what, and who, you've done." I shrugged. "Not like it matters much, since I already know what you'll do, anyway."

"You do?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"You'll do anything I command you to do," I said. "Hands and knees, facing away from me. Ass in the air. Legs apart."

Unquestioningly, Kate assumed the position as instructed. I motioned to Kendra, guiding her to the edge of the bed, unseen by Kate. Chase, apparently interested in the activity put away the album and craned her neck to get a better view. I moved Kendra's hand to Kate's cunt, guiding her to stroke and finger the warm wetness between Kate's legs.

Kate moaned, her head drooping. "Eyes forward," I barked. Her head immediately snapped up to face forwards again.

Already initiated by my implicit guiding commands, Kendra now took up the action on her own, her hand moving back and forth, alternating between tracing her fingers around Kate's outer lips and thrusting her fingers tantalizingly in and out of her hole. Kate gasped and moaned with pleasure, squirming her hips and grinding against Kendra's hand.

"Chase," I called, "You see that array of buttons on the control console?"

Chase studied the console near the bookcase. "Yeah, there's about a hundred of them."

"A hundred and twelve, to be exact. Push the third one down, fourth from the left, I think."

"Yes, sir!" she called, saluting playfully. She punched the button, and an articulated mechanical arm extended from the ceiling, ahead and to the right of Kate's face. I glanced back at the monitor on the console, showing the camera's view, aimed along Kate's body, with Kendra visible in the mid-background. I was just barely visible to Kendra's left.

"Keep doing what you're doing," I told Kendra as I pulled down the top of her gown enough to expose her tits. I pulled her skirt aside, exposing her pussy, and guided her free hand between her own legs. "Kate," I said, "are you enjoying this?"

Whatever her take on the matter, she was incapable of speech at the moment, and merely emitted groans and gasps of desire.

I took Kendra's hand away from Kate's crotch and guided it up to grab her right breast. She compliantly took up the action of squeezing and kneading as her other hand worked on her pussy. "Let's put that mouth of yours to good use, dear," I murmured. "Chase, when I say now, push the button with the red light." Chase nodded, poising her hand over the control.

Lacking any direct attention, Kate whimpered. "Please," she said, her voice desperate. "More... need more..." Despite being barely able to string together a coherent sentence, she kept her head facing forwards, not once glancing down or back at me.

"Brace yourself," I told her. "The best is yet to come." I pushed down on Kendra's shoulders, an implicit physical command she compliantly followed. "Now do what you do best," I said.

Positioning her face in the ideal position, Kendra set about the task of using her extensively modified tongue and mouth system to its fullest potential. Kate let out an all-too-restrained "Huhmmmm!" but that seemed to be the extent of her thoughts at the moment.

I stepped to one side, just out of the frame of the camera. "Get ready, Chase," I said. I counted down in my head, three, two, one...

Just as expected, a barely audible buzzing noise could be heard coming from Kendra's head. I watched the monitor, studying Kate's expression closely. She bit her lip, hummed and moaned... and then Kendra's second stage cut in. The buzzing became louder, the vibration increasing in speed and intensity. Kate's eyes snapped open, and her mouth formed a perfect "o" of surprise as she began to climax.

"Now!" I shouted to Chase over Kate's cries. Chase stabbed down at the button, and a flash lit the bed and its occupants, freezing a moment in time for the camera to record in perfect fidelity. The thrill of it made the moment seem to stretch out forever, that perfect, isolated fragment of unchanging time...

And just as suddenly, Kate's orgasmic scream cut into my thoughts, snapping me back into the present. I was irritated now. That moment of stasis was a treasure to me, and losing it was never pleasant. Never mind, I thought to myself, I'll make up for it later.

----

"It's beautiful," Kate said.

I had wasted no time readying the image for presentation, my equipment more than capable of rendering it on the canvas in mere seconds. By the time Kate had put her skirt and top back on, the maids had already retrieved it, framed it, and cleared a spot to hang it in the gallery. Kate's expression when she had first seen it was the picture of pure delight and gratitude. Now, as my guests and I stood admiring it, she was clearly still impressed.

"Gotta admit Kate," Chase said, appreciatively, "you'd make one hell of a porn star."

The image itself was in greyscale, with a full view along the length of Kate's torso. The specific angle I had chosen made not only her face and breasts clearly visible, but also Kendra's body in the background. Although Kendra's face wasn't visible, her hands were, and her masturbation was plainly evident in the shot. It was raw, hedonistic sexuality, captured in the peak moment of ecstasy.

"I like it," offered Connie. "Obviously, I would never do that kind of thing myself, I can't deny it has a certain vicarious appeal."

Donna looked back and forth between her companions. "Really? Seriously, Connie, 'vicarious appeal'?"

"You don't find it a bit... thrilling?" prompted Connie.

"I-" Donna considered. "How I find it isn't important. Since when are you an art lover?"

Connie feigned indignation. "Maybe there's a lot you don't know about me." She turned and smiled mischievously in my direction. "Maybe I have hidden depths to be discovered."

"Hey, I've got a question," called Chase. She had wandered off to admire the other portraits in the gallery.

"Yes?" I said.

"You've got a bunch of pictures with swimwear on display, and way more in those albums, but I didn't see any swimsuits on the clothes rack in there. Just more costume-like outfits."

"Ah, yes," I nodded, "the costumes on the racks are just for the pictures - they never leave that room except to be cleaned or mended. Sometimes I take some shots of the girls wearing clothes from the other general use wardrobes. Those are from the pool and playtime wardrobe."

"You have a pool?" Connie asked.

"It's a mansion, Connie," Donna said, sardonically. "He probably has a bowling alley and wine cellar, too."

I ignored the comment. "Olympic-sized and perfectly heated. There's a hot tub, too." I leaned in. "Would any of you care for a swim?"

"We'd have to borrow some of your swimsuits," Connie said.

I grinned. "I think I can accommodate that."

----

"This is just the seasonal collection, you understand," I said, pulling open the double doors leading to the massive wardrobe. "I cycle through outfits to maintain some variety."

The girls were awestruck as the filed into the room, itself nearly as large as the gallery had been. Clothing racks and hangar rods lined the walls, with higher tiers accessible by a system of catwalks.

"These can't all be swimsuits," observed Connie.

"No, of course not," I said. "Only the front half of the lowest level are swimwear. The rest of the collection is assorted sports and activewear next to the swimsuits, assorted roleplay outfits on the second level, and miscellaneous fetish clothing on the top level."

"Roleplay outfits?" Donna asked. "Like what?"

I shrugged. "Much of it is randomly selected, within some specific guidelines. For the summer collection, I think it's mostly waitresses, maids, clubwear, and schoolgirls."

Chase gave an excited yelp. "Schoolgirls? Do you mind if... could I..."

"By all means," I said, gesturing towards the spiral staircase leading to the second tier.

Her companions watched, nonplussed, as Chase dashed up the staircase. At the top, she let out a cry of delight and surprise. "Oooo," she murmured, "they're just so cute!" She peeked over the railing at us from above. "What do you think, Kate?" she said, holding up a pair of outfits.

"Chase," Donna began, "You know you're standing above us? In a short dress skirt? On a wire catwalk that we can see through?"

Chase studied the schoolgirl outfits alternating between them as if weighing her options. "What's your point, Donna?"

"I think her point is, nice thong," Connie interjected. "but it doesn't quite match your stockings."

"Thanks," Chase answered absently. Then she did a double-take. "Wait, what?" Before anyone could answer, she shook her head dismissively. "Doesn't matter," she said, sounding determined. "I think I'll go with this one." She decided on one of the outfits she had selected - a tight halter-top-styled sweater and a skirt barely long enough to be considered a large belt.

Without missing a beat, she began stripping off her business-like office attire, tossing it aside casually. Donna's eyes went wide. "Chase," she said, aghast, "what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm trying it on," Chase insisted. "I thought that part was obvious."

"I can see that!" Donna replied, "In fact, that's why I asked! Shouldn't you find a changing room or something?"

"Didn't you just get through telling me you could all see up my skirt? What difference does it make if you see me in my undies now?" Chase said, now clad only in her lingerie. She pulled on the halter-top sweater. "Besides," she continued, stepping into the short skirt, "After Kate's performance, I'm being downright prudish."

Now wearing the full outfit, she ran her hands up and down her sides, relishing the feel of the skimpy clothes. "Not that I feel prudish, mind you." A wicked smirk flashed on her face. "This kind of outfit really makes a girl feel like misbehaving." She looked down at me, and her hands drifted down between her thighs. "Hey Mr. Parson, wanna play teacher and naughty student?"

"You know," I pointed out, "Your previous outfit would have worked for a naughty secretary."

"Nah," she said, shrugging, "That skirt was way too long."

"Not when it's pulled up around your waist," I said.

She grinned. "Are you offering me an internship, Mr. Parson?" She put a finger to her lips, as though thinking carefully. "What kind of position did you have in mind?"

Connie cleared her throat, loudly. "Fun as this is, weren't we here for another reason?" The flushed look on her face told me she wasn't just being sarcastic. She held up a hanger with a bikini on it. "Pool? Swimming? Bathing suits? Ring any bells, girls?"

Kate nodded. "Connie's right," she said. "And after that drive, I could really use a nice, relaxing soak."

"What's wrong," asked Chase, "Didn't the photo shoot get you wet enough?"

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Donna interjected, grabbing a random bikini from a nearby rack, "This is ridiculous. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm getting changed." She glanced around the room, searching, then turned to me with a stern look on her face. "Let me guess, no changing rooms? Any time someone changes clothes here, you get to watch, is that it?"

I held up my hands defensively. "Not at all! Janet-" I checked myself. "Kendra, please show Donna to the changing area."

"Of course, dear," Kendra breathed. Her gaze ever distant, she put an arm delicately around Donna's waist. "Right this way," she told her. Donna, somewhat dazedly, went with her, too stunned to object to Kendra's arm around her.

Connie cleared her throat. "No offense," she said, "but I'd like to have some time to look around before I pick an outfit."

I wore my best "trust me" smile. "Of course. Take as long as you need, all of you."

"Um... Mr. Parson?" Chase asked, sounding nervous. She was hamming up her schoolgirl role, anxiously clutching her hands together as one foot fidgeted in place. "Would it be okay if... Could I swim in this?" She gestured at the costume. "Please?"

My "trust me" smile nearly turned into a wolfish grin. Nearly. "Of course you may," I said soothingly. "Shall we?" I asked, holding out my elbow. She wrapped herself around my arm adoringly, making incoherent happy sounds. "Ladies," I called, "When you're ready, Kendra will show you to the pool."

----

As it happened, Chase was less interested in swimming than she was in just getting wet. When we arrived at the pool area, her attention was immediately drawn to the hot tub, its bubble jets already blasting. She looked at it, then back at me, pleadingly. "Can I?" she asked.

I swept my arm, the perfect gentleman. "By all means."

As she stepped in the hot tub, I mentally breathed a sigh of relief at her selection of shoes - these were a solid plastic pair, with no leather or other cloth which could be damaged by either the water or the temperature. In anticipation of my guests', I had made sure to set the temperature somewhat lower than normal so as to not cause any damage, but I hadn't really expected Chase to suggest wearing the outfit instead of a swimsuit.

"Mmm..." Chase murmured, delighted as the water crept up her legs. "It's so warm." She looked back at me with narrowed eyes. "You're sure it's okay for me to wear this in here?" she asked. "I could... you know..." Apparently unwilling to suggest it herself, she hooked her thumbs in the waist of the skirt, bending and wiggling her butt as if to remove it. "I wouldn't want to damage it or anything," she said, in an over-the-top good-girl voice.

"Oh, the outfit's quite durable, I assure you," I said, relishing the look of disappointment on her face. This isn't for your enjoyment, I thought to myself. This is -my- fun, not yours.

Pouting, she lowered herself into the tub, dipping low to get the top completely soaked before sitting in one of the molded seats. "Well," she said, fluttering her eyes at me. "All the same, I should make sure I don't overheat." She stretched her arms up as though relaxing, then pulled off the halter-top sweater, once again treating me to a view of her lacy bra. "Mmmm," she cooed, scooping up water to pour out on her chest. "That's much more comfortable." She looked back to me with mock innocence. "Care to join me?" she said.

"I might," I said. "You just enjoy yourself for now." And I'll enjoy watching.

Chase seemed disappointed, but grinned all the same as she swirled the water around. The bubble jets created a mild foam on top of the water, obscuring my view of her from the surface down. I chuckled to myself when I noticed the back and forth motion she was making with her arms under the water. She probably thinks she's giving me a show, I realized. It wouldn't occur to her that I might not be able to see it.

"You've got to be kidding me," I heard Donna exclaim as she entered the pool area. She gestured to Chase in the hot tub. "This is really too much. What's wrong Chase, he didn't get a clear enough look at your tits before? Why not just take the bra off entirely?"

For all her protests, the bikini Donna had selected offered her little to no modesty, barely covering her crotch and nipples, and leaving her ass completely exposed. I noted in amusement that she had decided to change into even higher heels to wear with the swimsuit. Had she seen one of the others dressed similarly, she probably would have griped even louder - but it wasn't like she would even notice her own behavior.

Chase had apparently interpreted Donna's question as a serious suggestion, and was playing with her bra straps in a teasing way. "I suppose I could," she mused as Kendra glided in just behind Donna. Chase looked to me, pleadingly. "What do you think?"

I took my time to answer her, beckoning Kendra to my side. Her own swimsuit was more for show than for swimming, a one-piece made of translucent fabric. In truth, it was probably intended to be lingerie, but I liked seeing her soak in it. "I suppose," I said to Chase, absently stroking Kendra's breasts, "but don't lose that bra." Not that it was important, but I enjoyed telling her what to do.

Chase tugged off the bra excitedly, then carefully folded it, placing it at the edge of the hot tub. Initially, she held her arm across her chest in a show of modesty, but then grinned mischievously, pulling it away and unabashedly showing off her tits.

Connie and Kate arrived shortly thereafter, each dressed in a simple string bikini. Kate did a double-take upon seeing Donna's skimpy swimsuit. "What?" asked Donna, an irritated look on her face.

"That's..." Kate began. "That's an interesting choice of swimsuit," she finished, stifling a laugh.

Donna merely rolled her eyes. "Well, some of us prefer practicality over sluttiness," she declared, oblivious to the irony.

Connie showed initial surprise at Chase's current state, then shrugged it off as par for the course. "When in Rome," she said, without a hint of irony or irritation. She tugged at the simple knot holding on her top, letting it drop to the floor, then paused to consider. "Might as well," she mused, slipping off the thong as well. She turned to look at me, posing seductively. "Is it okay for me to finger myself in the hot tub, or should I do it on one of the lounge chairs?

"Oh, he doesn't mind," Chase blurted, then clapped her hand over her mouth in a shocked expression. "Not that I would know! I mean, I wasn't..."

"Yes you were," I said flatly. Chase's eyes went wide. "And no, I don't mind. Chase, don't stop on my account, get back to it." A shocked expression still on her face, Chase's hands dropped back below the surface of the water. Her shock soon turned to confusion - likely because she didn't know why she was doing it - then bliss as the sexual stimulation took over.

"Okay, that's it," Donna blurted, "Forget the swimming, that's all I can tolerate. More than, in fact. I'm turning in for the night. She turned to storm out the door to the pool, then paused, then heaved a resigned sigh. "Mr. Parson," she said, sounding as though she were speaking through clenched teeth, "would you be so kind as to show me to my room?"

"Of course," I said, "Kendra, would you be so kind..."

"No!" Donna said, startled, then continued in more controlled tones. "I think you ought to show me yourself."

I didn't respond, pretending instead to inspect my fingernails. "Please," Donna said, the word itself sounding like a sigh. I still didn't answer. After another pause, she added an irritated "Sir."

I looked up at her, smiling. "Well, what kind of host would I be to refuse?" I smirked. "But Kendra will still be coming along."

"Aww," Chase moaned, "can't you stay and play?" she asked as Kendra and I reached the door.

"Oh, I'll be back soon," I assured her. "Don't do anything until I get back. Any of you."

None of them moved as the door swung shut behind me.

----

"...of course, they're simpler to maintain with adequate access to supplies," I told Donna as we made our way through the mansion. The conversation had turned, as always, to the maids and Kendra. "That becomes more and more difficult considering the circumstances."

"I'm sure," Donna said, flatly. "So, they're basically junk?" She glanced at Kendra, a curious look on her face.

"Oh, hardly," I laughed. "It's been a while, I admit, but I'm sure some parts and supplies will become available soon."

"Yeah, of course," she said dismissively.

We came to a stop in front of one of the bedrooms. "You'll be in here for the night," I told her, opening the door.

"Whatever," came her haughty response. Though her tone was ice cold, she strode past me with her hands on her hips, seductively swaying her butt back and forth as she walked. Once inside, she turned back to me. "Well," she said, "Let's get it over with, then."

Amused innocence danced on my face. "I can't imagine what you..."

"Cut the crap," she said. Anger momentarily flashed on my face, but I reigned it in to a blank expression. "Well, aren't you going to come in?" she asked.

I narrowed my eyes, then walked through the door, pulling Kendra behind me. Donna craned her neck to see around me, making sure the door was closed. She looked suspiciously at me. "Don't think I don't realize what's going on." I raised an eyebrow, but gave no other response. "I know why the others have been practically sucking your dick this whole time." She crossed her arms. "Your gee-whiz innocent act doesn't fool me," she said sternly. "You're not as smart as you think you are."

My expression had grown colder and harder as she spoke. Was it possible? She shouldn't even be capable of knowing, let alone of throwing it back in my face - but to insult me like that... I might need to get rid of her.

"It's pathetically obvious," she continued, "they think if they can get you off, you'll give them a consolation prize."

My thoughts of eliminating her vanished, as a laugh built up in my throat. Unable to contain it, I nearly doubled over in hysterics. "Consolation prize?" I wheezed through the laughter.

"I reserve the right to award bonus prizes at my discretion for any reason," she said, reciting. "Remember? You said it when you were setting up this game of yours."

I'd forgotten. It was part of my gallant host routine, part of the act... she was taking it literally. I finally managed to get through the laughing fit. "Okay," I sniffed, wiping a tear of laughter from my eyes, "so why tell me now? Do you think you're ratting them out or something?"

"I just wanted to make it clear that what I'm about to do is purely for that prize, whatever it is," she said. "At least I'm being up front about it. Now, why don't you sit down while I give you a show."

A wicked grin spread on my face. "A show? You mean a striptease?" I nearly started laughing again. "You think I'll give you some kind of prize for a striptease?"

Donna made a 'duh' gesture. "That's the idea, moneybags. Hell, I won't even ask for much. You're rich, what's a few grand to your bank account?" She stood sternly, hands on her hips. "C'mon, do you want my top off first, or do you wanna get a good look at my pussy?"

I cleared my throat. "Kendra, be a doll and load up the changing room video," I said. I picked up the remote on the nightstand, pointing it at the vidscreen.

Kendra tilted her head, a distant look in her eyes. "Ready to play," she said pleasantly.

"You're still transmitting on the auxiliary channel, right?" I asked, as I flipped through the vidscreen menus.

"Yes dear," she affirmed. I switched to the right input, and was treated to a paused, full length view of Donna, still clothed in her business dress, holding the swimsuit she now wore. I turned the remote on Kendra and pressed the play button.

The on-screen Donna looked around furtively, then turned to the camera. "So you're just a machine, right?" she asked.

"That's right," Kendra's voice said.

"You don't get embarrassed or anything?" Donna said, a note of suspicion in her voice.

"Not at all," Kendra's voice breathed.

"So, I could do anything I wanted with you," the on-screen Donna continued, "and you wouldn't mind?"

"Anything," Kendra said, "Unless my master says otherwise."

On-screen Donna seemed to study her for a few moments, then hastily stripped out of her clothes, revealing her shelf bra and see-thru panties. She briefly traced her fingers over her nipples, then quickly pinched them, a look of bliss on her face as she did so. She then walked towards the camera. Reaching out, she took hold of Kendra's hand. "You won't mind..." she mumbled.

"Not at all," Kendra repeated.

Biting her lip, the Donna on screen let go of Kendra's hand, then hurriedly tugged down her panties. "I can't believe how wet this place is making me," she said, setting aside the soaked underwear. She grabbed Kendra's hand again, then tugged her over to the opposite wall. Leaning with her back against the wall, the on-screen Donna spread her legs and shoved Kendra's hand between them. "Make me come," she breathed.

I pressed pause. "So you see, you giving me a striptease isn't really much of a big deal."

Donna was agog, but also squirming in a way that wasn't entirely offended. "She brought a camera in with her?" she asked in astonishment.

"Kendra -is- a camera, slut." At the word, Donna's eyes closed, and she moaned briefly in pleasure before snapping to look at me again. She was trying to be stern, but had to bite her lip to maintain composure.

I pressed play again. On the screen, Kendra’s hand began working in and out of Donna's sex, while Donna roughly grabbed and kneaded her breasts. Kendra reached up with her other hand and brushed Donna's hands away. "I'm sorry," she said, "But you are not permitted to play with yourself."

The Donna on the screen was too lost in pleasure to object as Kendra cupped her hand around the writhing girl's breast. "But I can play with you," she said, her voice still pleasant and polite. She took Donna's left nipple between two fingers, then sharply pinched it, squeezing it tight.

On the screen, Donna gasped deeply, crying, "Yes! Harder, please!"

The camera view moved to give a close up view of Donna's tits as Kendra’s fingers rolled and twisted her nipple, accompanied by moans and gasps from Donna. "Feels so... amazing..." she gasped.

The camera moved again, this time down to be level with Donna's crotch, smooth and glistening. In the background, Donna's hands were reflexively trying to grab handfuls of the wall. Kendra's hand alternated between rubbing her whole hand across the outside of Donna's pussy, and plunging deep and rapidly into the delicate folds.

The view rose again, and Kendra released Donna's nipple. "No..." moaned Donna. "Please..."

"You will turn around now," Kendra said simply. She pulled her hand away from Donna's crotch, and firmly grabbed the other girl by the shoulders, spinning her around to face the wall. "Please bend over," Kendra's voice continued. "You may play with your breasts now."

Her shoulders leaning heavily on the wall, Donna bent, sticking her ass out as her hands shot to her tits, squeezing and pinching desperately. The camera once again lowered to give a clear view of Donna's rear and pussy, before Kendra's fingers once again disappeared inside her - this time probing not only her pussy, but also her anus.

Donna let out a small moan - but not the Donna on the screen. I paused the video. Donna whimpered at me, completely failing to disguise her arousal.

"Are you bisexual, Donna?" I asked, as if it mattered.

"What? No!" she said, her eyes flashing back to the screen. "I'm totally straight! It's just... she was there... I knew she wouldn't..." She trailed off, her eyes drawn back to the screen.

"Skip forward two minutes, Kendra," I said.

The image on the screen skipped to a POV shot of Donna's head between Kendra's legs. I hit play. "Mmmnghh" cried the Donna on the screen, a look of desperation and craving on her face. "You taste amazing!" she managed to say between laps.

"You will lick my breasts now," Kendra's voice said. Donna immediately moved into position to do as she said. I paused the video again.

"Not bi?" I asked again.

"N-no!" Donna said, but her gaze was fixed on Kendra. "I wouldn't do that kind of thing with a woman, but she doesn't count!" she insisted. "She's just a machine."

I looked coyly at the vidscreen, then back at Donna. "So your offer is that you'll take off your swimsuit for me?" I tapped my finger to my chin in a gesture of consideration. "I don't think you'll be able to top the show you've already given me." I pursed my lips. "I think I'll save that one for later," I mused. "Kendra, transfer that video to archive."

"Of c-c-c-o-o-o-u-u-u-r-r-rse dear," she said, her speech distorting as the transfer overtaxed her systems.

"Fine," Donna said, still fidgeting. "I could... you know. We could..."

"Have sex?" I finished for her. She nodded, trying her best to hide her enthusiasm. "Donna, I'm not exactly starved for pussy." I pointed at Kendra. "She'll fuck me on demand, and I can make her look like anyone... even you." I gestured towards the doors. "The maids will join in if I ask, and frequently offer even if I don't. Hell," I said, sweeping my hand, "Even your friends seem pretty eager." I sneered at her. "I like sex, sure, but I can have it any time I want, with anyone I want, any way I want it. You want a prize? Offer me something special."

Donna looked abashed, then shook herself to regain composure. "Okay," she said. "You're obviously rich. What do I need to do for a million?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Ambitious," I said. "Okay, I'll tell you what: Get rid of that swimsuit and re-enact that video for me, right here, right now."

"Wh-what?!" she said, aghast. "But you've already got it on video! You can see it any time!"

"I've always been a fan of live performances," I replied.

She gaped at me. "I... alright, fine, yes," she said, reaching back to undo her top. "But I get a million, right?"

"If you win the game tonight, yes," I said, wryly. "You're not afraid you'll lose, are you?"

"Like hell," she said. She shrugged off the top then began on the bottom of the swimsuit.

"Kendra," I said, "Dress off. Now." Without a word, Kendra stripped off her gown in a matter of seconds.

"Now then," I said, taking a seat on the bed, "once more, with feeling."

Kendra lunged at Donna with surprising speed, pinning her against the wall. "What are... It wasn't like this the first-AH!" Not expecting Kendra's agility, she was interrupted mid-protest as Kendra began working on both nipples, pinching and twisting them fiercely. "Oh, fuck, that feels incredible!" she gasped.

"Kendra," I said, "broadcast a live feed, please."

"Of course, dear," she replied gently, her hands still aggressively squeezing and pinching Donna's tits. The frozen image of Donna between Kendra's thighs was instantly replaced with Kendra's current view, looking straight at Donna's face, her eyes closed in a look of utter rapture.

"That's enough of her face, Kendra, let's get a good look of the parts of her that really matter," I said.

Wordlessly, Kendra began taking in Donna's full form, slowly panning down as the view on the vidscreen followed. Donna's breasts came into view, and Kendra moved in closer to better frame them on the screen. "Donna, I think you should open your eyes for this," I told her.

Donna's eyes snapped open, and she caught back a gasp - this time, not one of pleasure, but of shock. "What are..." A moan rose from deep within her as Kendra twisted her nipples sharply again. "That's what she's seeing?" she managed to say through short breaths.

"Have you ever taken a good look at your own tits?" I asked. "Up close? Ever watched someone play with them? Squeeze them? Pinch them?" As I said this, Kendra followed each question with another demonstration. "Ever watched yourself play with them?" I said this as an idle question, as casual as if I were asking her if she thought it would rain.

"N-no," she stammered, her eyes fixed on the vidscreen, "I don't play with my..."

"Of course you do. Several times a day, in fact." She whimpered, but said nothing else. "Every chance you get, you always wind up practically naked, fondling and fingering yourself." I chuckled. "Answer the question. Ever watched someone play with them?"

"Hmmmah... Nuh-not live video," she murmured.

That took me by surprise. "What do you mean, not live..." I began, then realization dawned on me. "You take pictures of yourself while you masturbate, don't you?" I laughed. "Oh, I knew you were a whore, but I never imagined you would do that kind of thing."

Donna tore her gaze from the vidscreen. "What?" She grimaced in a mixture of pain and pleasure. "We've never met before today! You can't possi-huhhhAHH!" Overwhelmed once again, her gaze drifted back to the screen.

"But I'm not wrong, am I?" I pressed on. "Do you play with yourself practically every chance you get?"

Now beyond the ability to speak, she merely whimpered and nodded. "Do you take pictures?" Another, slightly more hesitant nod. As I made a mental note to check her camera later, I noticed her start to trace her fingers up her thighs, working their way to her crotch. "No!" I said sternly. "You're not allowed to touch yourself." I shook my head, impressed. "You really are a whore, aren't you?"

"Yeh-yeh-yeh..." she stammered, unable to get the word out.

"Sorry, can't hear you, you'll have to speak up a bit." I smirked and leaned forward, steepling my fingers. "Tell me what you are," I said, icily.

"I'm a, I'm a," she panted, "I'm a whore! A slut! A naughty little cunt that needs to be fucked and spanked and..."

"Stop, Kendra. Back over here," I ordered. Kendra instantly ceased her fondling, and took her place at my side.

Donna whimpered again. "Please," she squeaked, "I need something in me, I don't care which hole, please stick something in me..." Still obeying the command not to touch herself, she kept her arms flat against the wall behind her, as though manacled there. "I need it," she growled.

I stood, approaching her. Her gaze was fixed on me, a hunger without rationale. She leaned as though pulled towards me, but still held fast to the wall. "Anywhere?"

"Anything you want, just please, stick something in me, hurry..." she whined.

I grabbed her roughly by the arm and practically threw her at the bed. She leaned back on her elbows, her legs wide apart.

"Oh, no, not like that," I said, stripping out of my own clothes. "Bend over."

She eagerly flipped over, resting her head in her folded arms. "Kendra, get where you can see us both." Now naked myself, I moved into position behind Donna, teasing my erect cock against her pussy lips. Donna sucked air in through her teeth.

"Please," she begged again, "My pussy needs..."

"Shut up, whore," I snapped. "This isn't about your needs." I smacked her hard on her ass, and her eyes closed in an expression of bliss. "Don't you dare close your eyes, not even to blink," I told her. I grabbed her hair, pulling it back so she could see the vidscreen. "You don't want to miss this, do you?" I asked. With Kendra's live feed still running, Donna now had a clear view of me, naked, pressed up against her from behind.

Smearing her juices on my shaft, I shifted my position slightly for a better entry angle - and with one quick thrust, slammed my cock into her her anus. She drew in a sharp, long breath, holding it for a silent moment... then cried out a scream of tortured joy.

The screams didn't stop until I did.

----

Later, having spent myself, I collapsed into the chair by the bed. My breath was ragged, and my body was covered in sweat. Reflexively, Kendra had moved to lick my cock clean as soon as I sat down. With the live feed still broadcasting, my dick now filled the enormous screen. "Flattering," I mumbled to myself. Glancing at Donna, I realized that her eyes were still glued to the screen, and she was licking her lips as though parched with thirst. "Kendra, cut the live feed," I said, curiously. The screen went black.

"More..." Donna said in a small, soft voice. "Please..."

"Later," I told her. "Get dressed. We'll meet the others downstairs. It's just about supper time, which seems an opportune time to end the game."

----

Back at the pool area, Chase, Connie, and Kate were still at the pool, as though I had never left. I gave them the opportunity to get changed for supper, and they all met me in the dining hall, dressed in their original clothes.

Donna, now back to her normal demeanor, raised a sarcastic eyebrow at the table settings. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"Something wrong?" I asked innocently as I took my seat at the table.

She snorted in derision. "Did the maids forget or something?"

I made a show of studying the table. "No, everything seems to be in place. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"So, are we eating in another room or something?" Connie asked, quizzically.

"Why the fuck is there only one place set?" demanded Donna.

I grinned. "Because only one person will be dining." Their confusion was as delicious as a good wine. "I believe we had a wager of sorts ongoing."

"These cards?" Chase said, holding up hers. "Don't do what the card says to do. Not much of a challenge, at least for mine anyway. So is the catch that you're not giving us anything to eat?"

I ignored the question. "In just a few seconds time, I'll call the end of the game. If you manage not to obey the card in that time, I'll let you claim your prize."

"Was dinner supposed to be part of our prize?" Kate asked. "I don't remember that part."

"It wasn't," Chase remarked. "I think he's just screwing with us." As she said the word "screwing," Donna shot her a nasty glance, and opened her mouth as though about to speak... then decided against it.

"Something wrong, Donna?" Kate asked, noticing the reaction.

I pulled out a pocketwatch and cleared my throat. "Just a few more seconds," I said. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six..."

"I want to forfeit," Kate said, urgently.

"Me too, I forfeit," blurted Chase.

"I'd like to lose, please" Connie, said, a puzzled look on her face.

Donna looked at them incredulously. "What are you all doing?" Then she blinked, a look of realization on her face. "Oh, I'm supposed to lose." She looked at me earnestly. "I forfeit, Mister Parson."

"And not a moment too soon," I said as Bridget approached with my soup. "I trust none of you object to me taking the liberty of already claiming your food."

"You won it, fair and square," Connie noted. "It was inevitable."

"He also gets to take four items we have with us," Donna reminded them. "At least, that was what we agreed to earlier."

"There's no reason it has to be just one item for each of us," Kate said. "We could let him take more, if he wanted."

"What would you like, Mister Parson?" Donna said. "Just name it. If it's something in the speeder, I'll bring it in for you." She thought for a moment. "Actually, Kate, give him the keys to the speeder."

"There won't be any need for that," I said, grinning from ear to ear. Again, I was treated to their confused expressions. "Where were you going, by the way?" They blinked, not understanding. "When you arrived here, you were looking for a hotel. You were on a trip, remember."

"Oh yeah," Chase said, "the roadtrip." She smacked her forehead. "I was so busy losing the contest, I totally forgot."

"Was it a long roadtrip?" I asked.

"It's practically cross-country from home to there," Donna said.

I tilted my head in mock curiosity. "And where exactly is "there"? Where were you going?"

Kate smiled, excitedly. "We were going on a trip to... to..." She furrowed her brow. "Place. Placename? Somewhere..." She turned to Chase. "What was it called again?"

Chase was snapping her fingers, trying to remember. "Something, it's on the tip of my tongue."

Connie had a more considered look on her face. "I don't think any of us remember."

I smacked my lips as I set down my glass. "You packed an awful lot of food."

Donna shrugged. "It was a multi-day trip."

"Did you eat anything?" I asked, idly.

"Of course we..." Donna began, then blinked in realization. "Huh. Actually, no, I don't think we did."

I feigned astonishment. "Where are my manners, sitting here eating like this right in front of you, you must all be practically starving."

"No thanks," they all said, almost in chorus. Chase turned to Connie. "You're not hungry either?"

Connie shook her head. "No, for some reason, I just don't feel like eating right now." Murmurs of agreement rippled through their group.

"For such a long trip, you seem pretty refreshed, especially considering how you were dressed. Did you sleep on the way?" They shook their heads. "You must be tired, then. Are any of you sleepy?"

Connie, Kate, and Donna frowned in puzzlement. Chase was still snapping her fingers trying to recall their original destination. "Something noplace? That's not it..."

"You seem to know each other pretty well," I remarked.

"We're really close friends," Kate confirmed. "Chase and I have known each other practically forever."

"When did you meet?"

"Just before we got in the speeder," Kate replied, confidently. "It's when we all met for the first time." She paused. "Wait, what?"

I stood again and approached them. "Are any of you bisexual?" They shook their heads, but showed no sign of offense. "Not even a little bit?" I asked, holding my fingers up in the universal gesture of "teeny tiny."

"Not really," Chase said. "Girls just don't do it for me."

"Chase, Connie, kiss and finger each other," I told them.

"'Kay." Chase nodded.

"Sure," Connie agreed. They moved to each other, each tugging up the other's skirt - Chase had reclaimed her panties from earlier, but Connie either hadn't bothered, or hadn't brought any in the first place. Chase moved behind Connie, both of them facing me, and began teasing Connie's cunt from behind. Connie leaned back to kiss her over her shoulder, reaching back to stick her hand down Chase's flimsy panties, rubbing it back and forth.

Donna and Kate watched them idly, no particular reaction evident on their features. "Kate, Donna, this turns you on." The effect was instant. While previously, they had been watching as though it were merely something pleasantly interesting, they now squirmed, tracing their hands over their own curves and absently licking their lips.

I walked past Chase and Connie, brushing my hand across Connie's tits as I did. "Do you know what the best games in the world are."

"Strip poker?" suggested Kate. "I could play if you wanted, but I don't know a thing about cards."

I approached Kate, placing my hand on her hip as I moved behind her. She watched me passively as I unzipped her skirt and pulled down her moist panties. "The best games in the world are the ones that I can't lose." I nudged Kate's shoulder, and she compliantly bent over, placing her hands on her knees.

"I agree," Donna offered. "The best games are the ones where you always win, Mister Parson. But what do you want for your prizes? Besides the food, that is."

"Oh, the food was already mine. In fact, all the prizes were mine already." I stroked my hand across Kate's backside, then gave her a firm, lout swat. She smiled and hummed. "Can you guess what my prizes are?"

"Money?" Chase asked, breaking her kiss with Connie for only a moment, before locking lips with her again.

"None of you have any," I said, dismissively. "You four are my prize. My possessions." I grabbed Kate's ass hard, slipping my fingers into her ass and pussy at the same time. "I own you," I growled. "I own all four of you."

"That's fair," Donna agreed, nodding as Kendra brushed past her, carrying a small bundle of lace and sheer fabric. "Ah, your uniforms." I held up one of the skimpy maid outfits. "I trust none of you have any objections to being my maids?"

"Sounds good to me," Kate enthused.

"When-ah-mmm do we start?" Connie said between kisses.

I grinned. "You already have."

----

Later that night, I lounged in my chair in the bunker. My stomach was full and my libido satisfied for the moment. Janet, once again wearing my favorite face lay nuzzled up against me, ready to indulge me should any further need arise. As I stroked my hand along her hips, idly considering having another round, or telling her to put on a show for me, I took mental stock of the latest supply run.

The 'bots I sent out for restocking my food and equipment weren't often terribly bright, and had to be sleepers to avoid detection. Forging documents to give them temporary identities was simple enough, but cobbling together a convincing personality profile for each one took some doing. It almost seemed like more trouble than it was worth, but experience had taught me that, however briefly my delivery girls might be out in the real world, there was no predicting the level of scrutiny they might undergo.

I looked over at the bed, where Donna and Chase's inert forms - deactivated, after I had partially dismantled them during our celebratory fuck - still lay sprawled, their frozen faces gazing sightlessly at nothing. At some point during my little orgy, I had told Kate to go down on Connie. Not having received any further instruction on the matter, she still lapped away between Connie's thighs, as the other girl's disconnected (but still activated) head moaned from halfway across the room.

I tended to be fairly careful when it came to covering my tracks - their minds would be wiped when I sent them back out the next time, just as they had been each time before that - but I also knew I had enemies. I was a hunted man, both by the authorities, and by the bots infected by my lovebug virus. Oh, I was innocent of course, framed by Peters, and the virus was only targeting me due to some unknown glitch, but just because they were wrong didn't mean they would stop hunting me.

As if on cue, a metallic boom sounded from above. Grunting, I shoved Janet to the ground, grabbing the wand and shoving it in her in one practiced motion. She didn't even have a chance to try to talk before switching to the security system.

"Report makeout point beacon status," I told her.

"Beacon signal lost," was her only reply.

Looks like the delivery girls arrived just on time then. If they'd arrived later, they probably would have been ambushed by a pack of lovebugged fembots. With infected 'bots above, I wouldn't be able to send them out for days, possibly weeks. Nothing to do now but wait it out.

The banging was unbearably loud. I switched on the network broadcasts to try to drown it out, randomly scrolling through feeds until I found a news report. I wasn't able to hear it initially, so I turned it up as loud as I could tolerate.

"...ave issued no official statement regarding the area-wide evacuation, although local meteorologists deny any possibility of a weather-related disaster," babbled the supermodel news anchor - doubtless one of those legless ARAs mounted on an office chair base, since she would never have to stand up. "Nevertheless, authorities are insistent on a total and complete evacuation of the region, using force or arrests when necessary. Police captain Devon Tate had this to say:"

The image switched to that of a rotund man with a walrus mustache. "We know this is difficult on a lot of people, but the federal word is that if we don't get these people out, lives will be lost. That may just be Washington grandstanding again, but I'm not about to risk the lives of everyone in the area on that possibility. This order comes from the highest level, so even if I have to personally bust down doors in Wendover, or walk all the way to Susanville to drag people out by their ears, that's what I'll do.

The image switched once again to a map of Nevada, showing a darkened circle with crosshairs around the area in question. Almost dead center in the circle was a small town dot. I gave a half life. "Too bad, Fallon," I muttered. "You weren't such a bad place until Peters stated building that..."

I stopped short. An evacuation centered on one of ScenariCorp's biggest and final facilities? That couldn't be a coincidence. When Derek had passed through, he'd been coming from almost the opposite direction. If he hadn't stopped here and had just kept going in a straight line, he might have ended up there.

Maybe he had managed to stay ahead of a mob of his lovebug-stricken "girlfriends," or maybe he was planning something - but this almost certainly meant my plan hadn't worked. Not completely anyway. I knew the limitations of the Found'im beacons. Holed up in one of Kirk's facilities, he could wait until doomsday and still have food leftover. The viral 'bots couldn't even get in my bunker: They didn't stand a chance of breaching a ScenariCorp dome.

Unless...

The banging on the upper bulkhead snapped me back to reality. Any information uploaded to one viral bot would be disseminated across all of them within range. If there were a way to get information into my current unwanted guest's synthetic mind - say, security codes, facility blueprints and the like - she could pass that along to her sisters and crush Derek like the bug he was.

I couldn't just transmit it to her, though: The lovebug communication protocol was randomly encrypted, and even I couldn't break it. The only way they really absorbed information was when they infected another 'bot.

Oh, if only you had a spare ARA lying around somewhere, I thought to myself. Not Janet, of course. It would be a pain in the ass to customize another one of her, and I would have to go to a GySys factory to get another anyway. Not the delivery girls, either. Losing one of them would mean making a new personality profile to replace her.

Jenni, Bridget, or Amber... Jenni was barely functional, and infection would just as likely fry her system before any information could be transferred. Bridget's software was pretty badly corrupted, so any information I gave her would likely get garbled before it could be downloaded.

That just left Amber. A pity. I had been looking forward to being married to her for a few weeks. I was going to have Janet be her visiting sister. She would have caught me fucking Janet, then confess her own bisexual curiosity...

Oh well. I could just use Chase or Connie instead. Connie had a nicer ass anyway.

"Amber," I called, "There's something I need to tell you."

----

Uploading the information into Amber would have gone much more quickly, if not for the constant pounding on the bulkhead door, but after just over an hour of compiling data and uploading it directly through Amber's eye-port, she was ready. As a precaution, I sent her up through the link tunnel, a memory wipe erasing knowledge of it as soon as she surfaced in the mansion.

I waited, anxiously staring at the security feed as the infected 'bot repeatedly pulled back, then slammed its head into the bulkhead door, over and over again until... I heard a sound that was barely a whisper, and she paused, looking off screen to the right. I turned the volume up as high as it would go to pick up the conversation.

"Hi sexy," Amber's voice came faintly through the sound system. "You look like you're here for a good time. Wanna play?"

The viral 'bot stood motionless, it's posture inhuman and almost insect-like - then she became the very definition of feminine beauty and seduction, moving like a model on a catwalk, quickly closing the space between the two of them to press her nude body against Amber's thin maid uniform. "You're pretty," said the voice from the cracked, shattered face. She reached up as if to caress Amber's cheek, but instead, tore down her face dermal layer. Amber gave no indication that she noticed, posed as though she were modeling the uniform.

The viral 'bot once again reached up gently, this time ejecting Amber's right eye in one deft motion. She held up a finger, and it split down the middle, revealing a data port connector, which she promptly stabbed into Amber's eye socket. "Let me tell you a secret," she breathed. "You'll like this."

The two were motionless for a few short seconds, then suddenly came to life again. "Oh, hi!" said Amber, delighted to see her longtime friend, the viral murder machine.

"Hey KZT*ERRORNAMENOTFOUND*, how have you been?" replied the viral bot. "You know what we should do? We should visit my boyfriend. I hear he's over there. It's just a quick jog."

"I agree," bubbled the now infected Amber. "We should totally visit my boyfriend. I hear he's over there." She pointed in the same direction. "It's just a quick jog."

"I hope we get to share him," they both said simultaneously before moving off the screen with inhuman speed.

I leaned back in my chair again. My arousal was building again, so I beckoned Bridget over for a nice blowjob. She might get confused midway through and try to carry on a conversation with my cock in her mouth, but she would still suck all the same - and the vocalizations added a level of vibration that was almost as good as an actual oral vibration module.

As she wrapped her pretty lips around my growing erection, I closed my eyes and sighed. Yes, this virus really was the best damn thing that ever happened to me.

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

6.17 - Low Traffic Area

2014-01-03T04:36:58Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I tapped my foot impatiently, trying not to worry too much that Synthia hadn't called back with a status update. It's fine, I thought, there's still plenty of time before the security update would get deployed, There are more than sixty units working in tandem to decrypt that package...

Oh, said that voice of doubt, the package that was encrypted by an ARA so advanced, it's still considered years beyond our current tech? Would that be the package you think is going to be decrypted by a few dozen consumer-grade units from 20 years ago?

My foot began to tap faster.

"Sorry sir," the barista (Vivian, according to her nametag) told me, her social protocols interpreting my impatience as being directed at her, "I don't know why it's taking so long for this machine to update." She made a resigned huffing sound, but was completely motionless as she did so. "I don't usually work with the computer stuff, so I hope I'm doing it right."

Since initiating the Process 12, Vivian's attitude towards Jill had completely changed, presumably as part of her perceptual filtering. While Jill had been sitting with me, Vivian saw her as a patron, and even offered her the occasional drink, which Jill consistently, but politely refused. Even as Jill had fingered herself, stripped, and bent over the table, Vivian continued to behave as though she were simply a customer, albeit a less important one than me. This made sense, I supposed: Guests in this facility probably wouldn't enjoy a 'bot's pantomime service to take priority over their own, paying customer service.

Since initiating the maintenance procedure, however, it became apparent that Vivian now saw Jill as no more than a piece of computer equipment. Whether she believed the nude girl to be a permanent fixture in the coffee shop, or if she thought of her as some kind of portable device I had brought with me, I didn't know. Gives new meaning to the word "laptop" I reflected.

"Take all the time you need," I reassured her. I had initiated Jill's Process 12 with the intention of having her then perform the same on Vivian. Catching Vivian in the burst programmer's radius had been a surprise, and I was tempted to investigate whether other units had been affected outside. The handbook had implied that the devices were intended for one-on-one installation of the VIP program, but the scant documentation I had found in Dr. Meyers's notes only mentioned the operational radius of the prototype unit. The scaled-down components of the final product weren't just less durable, they were far less powerful.

Starting Process 12 on Jill, though... that was before I had learned of the update package. Now, hopefully, the facility-wide deployment of the Lovertoy program would render the process a moot point. As part of the security update, the VIP-exclusive program would remain part of her persistent programming, so there wouldn't be any further risk of a restore-from-backup overwriting it.

Vivian and Jill continued to stand motionless, with Vivian's face peeled down to allow access to her cartridge drive, and Jill's head twisted backwards, her backup compartment open. Despite her apparent change of attitude towards Jill, Vivian remained utterly unaware of her own artificial nature, even as she inserted cartridges into her head, then transferred them back into Jill's backup compartment.

Nothing to do but wait, I thought. I could check Vivian while she finished the process, but if the site-wide deployment was going live soon...

Relying on just one plan, Derek? Tsk tsk. So what if you've got a site-wide update in progress? There's always that slim chance that she is the XR unit. Coffee shop barista... was that "low traffic?" ScenariCorp's customers had tended to be the idle rich, or at the very least, the idle upper-middle class. Would the coffee shop have seemed too bohemian for them, or would that have mattered in a fantasy setting?

"Vivian," I said, feeling the full weight of the absurdity of it, "Could you lift your skirt and finger yourself for me?"

"I'd be happy to," she said in cheery tones, "I just need to finish this up first." Her metallic jaw moved up and down as she replied, the absence of her lips creating a disconcerting out-of-synch effect.

Of course, I realized. She wouldn't be able to take any action which could physically interrupt the process. It was an overprotective feature, but I could see its usefulness. A partial transfer could risk damaging the media. "Actually, nevermind," I told her. "I'll do it myself."

"Mmm, that sounds like fun," she replied, her voice filled with desire, but her body nearly statue-still, and her glassy-eyed gaze still locked on the gaping compartment which comprised the back of Jill's head.

Feeling an odd mix of exhilaration, embarrassment, and bashful hesitation, I reached for the hem of her short skirt. No, I told myself, you don't need to glance around to see if anyone's looking, no one's going to burst in on you and...

"Hi lover!" a voice called from behind me. I nearly fell out of my seat. Turning quickly to see who had said it, I felt the sudden stab of pain in my side again, my surgery wound still not fully healed. I grimaced, first in response to this sensation, but then in response to what I saw before me. I'd realized even as I spun in my seat that it would be another ARA, but didn't immediately recognize this one. Whether that was because I hadn't met her before, or because of her current state, I couldn't tell.

Her face was, thankfully, intact, and her skin wasn't so badly damaged as to render her completely inhuman in appearance - but she'd obviously seen better days. The synthetic skin on one arm was completely gone up to the shoulder, with singe marks around the edges where some of the skin remained. Her other arm ended in twisted metal and torn, sparking wires just below the elbow. More burned patches dotted her legs and side, with gleaming chrome clearly visible beneath.

She was also topless, and the colorful tights she wore were damaged around her nether region, revealing a surprisingly intact, smooth pussy. The clearly mechanical damage clashed with the feminine curves of her sexuality, and I was surprised to find myself more aroused than disturbed. Then the very fact that I was aroused by this began to disturb me.

Her intact arm was clutching something gray, with red lettering...

The handbook! "Susan?" I ventured. It would explain the tights.

"Of course, honey!" she said, beaming. She strolled over to me, her truncated arm swinging oddly. After a few steps, I realized that, had her arm been intact, this would be a kind of catwalk motion. Reaching my table, she bent at the waist, teasingly pressing the book against her bare breasts, and planted a kiss on me. I was still too shocked by her appearance to stop her, and before I realized it, her lips were against mine, her tongue playfully exploring, then retreating. My eyes drifted shut and I began to lose myself to the sensation...

You've got a job to do, Derek.

I broke the kiss, surprised at my own reluctance. "Susan, what happened to you?" I stammered.

"Oh," she said dismissively, "There was a little fire in Ashley's room. I kept the book safe for you, though."

At the word "fire," I reflexively gave a small "eep" sound. Reaching out, I gently took the book and carefully pulled it out of her grasp. She made no effort to prevent this, but did make a brief pretense of modestly covering her breasts with her arm before smiling and pulling it away. "What do you think of my new look?" she said, turning and bending to show me her ass. The scorched hole in the tights also partially revealed her backside, which she wiggled at me. "You said you wanted to fuck me in my tights, but I wasn't sure whether to cut them or tear them." She giggled. "I never would have thought to burn them."

I couldn't deny it: I had told her that. I'd been talking to these ARA in the crudest, most offensive language I could think of, hoping that maybe one of them would react with something other than total acceptance. If dad's email was anything to go by, they would have made some kind of attempt to discourage sex with the XR unit. It wasn't that she was incapable - far from it. Uncle James, despite himself, had always been at the forefront of every aspect of ARA luxury, and sex was no exception.

No, dad had tried to sweep the 9660F under the carpet purely to avoid a contract dispute. The worst of it was, according to the terms of that contract, the penalty for non-compliance on this single unit in a single facility would have been less than ten thousand dollars. Total. Ever. Had it ever been open for business, this facility would have made that much in less than a day.

So my search process thus far had mostly consisted of seeing how far any given unit would go after receiving the Lovertoy program. This was key: Regardless of her social reactions, Lovertoy would - should - grant me admin-level command over the XR unit. If I was going to have any hope of stopping the virus, I would need every bit of that control.

Unfazed by my lack of response, Susan draped herself across my table, face up, and brought one knee up to more effectively show off her exposed sex. "Can I play with your toys?" she asked, running her hand up Jill's leg, then lightly brushing the naked unit's ass.

"My" toys. I was still getting used to that concept. I had played fast and loose with the letter - and intent - of property and ownership laws after dad's downward spiral, operating in legal ambiguities arising from the existence of untended sleeper units with no clear owner. Corporate shillbots like Jenn often fell into this gray zone when their parent companies got bought out or liquidated, especially if the 'bot's existence was "off the books" for accounting purposes. Was it theft to hijack them? The letter of the law hadn't yet caught up with that question.

But this place was, in completely legitimate, documented form, mine. Lock, stock, and barrel, I hadn't found an explanation in any of his notes, but for some reason, Dad had placed ownership of the BMOC resort in the care of a legal trust, instructing them "Transfer full ownership to my son, when he asks." As the years went on and ScenariCorp's status deteriorated, this place had remained locked down, protected from liquidation while he desperately looked for Mom. When I discovered this little detail, it had taken me weeks to gather the requisite documentation to present to the managers of the trust.

Thanks to this inexplicable legal move, I was the proud owner of a self-contained college fantasy resort complete with 3000 beautiful, willing girls happy to cater to my every whim. I could do whatever I liked with them, for the rest of my life.

Which would probably be less than a week if I couldn't find the XR unit soon, or if I couldn't get it to work, or if its much-vaunted security features were less miraculous than advertised, or if Lovebug had become too sophisticated for her to squash. No sweat, my mind told me, just do the impossible with a mythical ARA, and everything will be just fine. And if you don't, who knows, maybe the virus will go inactive after killing you. Humanity probably won't even get decimated.

I needed to distract myself from that line of thought. Susan, still stroking Jill's backside, had not yet taken further action, apparently waiting for approval or permission. Why not? Don't deny you'd like to see it, part of me said. "Sure," I said, "go ahead."

Susan attempted to clap in glee, not noticing that she wasn't really equipped for that anymore, and sprang off the table, coming around to Jill's side. "Not that one," I told her. "The other one." I indicated Vivian.

Susan gave me a playful grin, then moved to Vivian instead. "There's not much I can do with this uniform in the way," she pouted. "What do you think, lover?" she said, wrapping her arm around Vivian from behind. She ran her hand from between the inert unit's breasts, down to the front of the short skirt, her hand moving as though attempting to caress Vivian's inner thigh, but hindered by the skirt.

I leaned back in my seat. "Skirt's in the way," I agreed.

"I could lift it up," Susan suggested, her hand moving to grip the edge of the garment.

"I'll just fall back down again. Better take it off."

"I never would have thought of that!" Susan said. "You're so clever."

The comment completely failed to bolster my opinion. Probably because she would say that about virtually anything you suggested, I thought to myself. Use an umbrella when it rains? Brilliant. Use a spoon instead of a fork to eat soup? Genius.

Susan worked the skirt down Vivian's hips with some difficulty, still not consciously aware of her missing arm. I could just about visualize the movements she was attempting using the severed limb, trying to grip the skirt with her missing hand and pull it down. When this failed, she reacted as though the skirt were stuck, and moved as though gripping it with both hands on the same side.

So she went, tugging down one side, then the other, gradually exposing the top of Vivian's lacy red thong. She hadn't quite pulled it back up when I had her start on Jill, and it rode low on her hips. Eventually, Susan got the skirt down far enough that it simply fell the rest of the way, pooling around Vivian's feet.

"Hmm," Susan commented. She indicated the panties, apparently stumped. "I still can't get at her cunt," she said in exaggerated tones. She closed her eyes, her good hand drifting up to her breast, squeezing it. "Her cunt, wet pussy, love hole, oooohhhh," she moaned, suddenly lost in a keyword triggered haze. "Needs something in it, something long and hard, in and out of my wet, hot cunt pussy slit fuckhole need a hard one I could suck your-" I heard a sparking noise, and Susan froze. The fire may have done some more damage than was initially visible.

"Love-master-honey-lover" She said, cycling through user labels for me, "Do you mind if I get these off of her?" She tugged at the semi-transparent mesh of the thong.

"Are you feeling okay, Susan?" I said, somewhat concerned.

"Yes," she responded, blinking, "I will feel her okay for you."

Hooking her finger in the crotch of the panties, she simply pulled downward, dragging the thong down Vivian's legs until it too simply fell to her feet. Vivian, still occupied with Jill's process, made no indication that she was even aware she'd just been stripped from the waist down.

"Mmm," Susan hummed, licking her lips. She gently began rubbing the outside of Vivian's pussy with the flat of her hand.

"Ooooh," Vivian moaned, startling me. She remained immobile, but her voice was thick with desire. I could hear the tiny control points on her face whirring into place, attempting to create a passionate expression. Without her facial layer, her face remained a wide-eyed metallic skull, the jaw moving to simulate speech, but lacking lips to complete the illusion.

Encouraged by the positive response, Susan began working her fingers into the wet folds of Vivian's pussy, building a steady rhythm of pumping inwards and outwards.

"Ohh, yes!" Vivian cried, her voice rising in tone and intensity - while her face and body remained as inanimate as ever. "That feels so good, yes!" she cried, reaching up casually to eject the last cartridge from her own drive before replacing it in Jill's open compartment. Her arm smoothly moved to close Jill's compartment, then to roll up her own dermal layer. After a few seconds of odd twitches while her control points reconnected with her face, her expression came alive, and her body moved in reaction to Susan's stimulation.

As she continued to grind and moan in pleasure, Jill's head slowly revolved back around to face forward, at which point she too reanimated, flipping the length of her hair back over her shoulder. "Aww," she pouted, turning to face me. "You started without me." She ran her hands enticingly along her body, lingering on her breasts to give them a squeeze. "Can I join in on the fun?" She pleaded. I ignored her.

"Susan, is she wet?" I asked.

"She sure is," Susan said, sounding delighted. "I think I am, too, but you should probably double-check."

"C'mere," I told her, motioning towards myself. She obediently took her place directly in front of me.

"I'm wet too!" Jill insisted, plaintively. "I'll do anything you want, you know."

I knew. Lovertoy completely overrode any profile-based inhibitions, and cranked the unit's sex drive up to maximum levels. I could almost understand why the IT department had mistaken it for a virus.

I took Susan's hand, examining the glistening juices, and took an experimental lick. "Ohh," she murmured, reacting as though her hands were erogenous zones.

The flavor, I was disappointed to learn, was a sort of berry mixture. Annoyed, I slumped back in my chair. "Not her either," I muttered.

"Or I could just pose for you," Jill persisted. "I've always wanted to be a model."

"You are a model," I said distractedly. "Hell, if I disabled your filters, you could probably even tell me..." I trailed off, my heart quickening, my eyes opening wide. "Could tell me who... made... you..." I whispered. No. I wasn't that stupid. That couldn't possibly work, could it? "Susan, Jill, Vivian" I said, expecting this to fail, "Disable your perceptual filters and tell me your manufacturer and model number."

They replied in the order in which I had named them. "I am an X-Ero Glamor series model number G4700," Susan said simply.

"I am a HerForm SultryStudent series 2, model number H325v," came Jill's reply.

"I am a HerForm SultryStudent series 2," echoed Vivian, "model number H325v."

I am a Peters series grade-A moron, model number ID-10-T, I thought to myself. This whole time, going through dozens of units one-by-one, checking maybe as many as a hundred with the assistance of other units, and all I really needed to do was disable their filters and ask them? It was so stupidly simple, I had to laugh at myself.

Or maybe you're not so stupid, came the doubt. Maybe you were just enjoying yourself, pretending to have a noble motivation.

I shook the thought off. I would need some way to address all of them at once - but humans would have been in charge of things like the PA system, had the facility ever opened for business. Maybe they would have something in the IT department. I reached for the phone, but before my hand touched it, it began to ring.

"Hello?" I answered, curious.

"Hi lover, it's Synthia," came the sing-song voice. "You'll be so happy, we decrypted the update package just like you wanted."

Even better, now I could easily get all the units in one place and have them all report at once. "Great, have you got it where you can modify it?"

"Uh-huh," she affirmed. "I transferred it to my handcomp for editing."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Perfect, how long until it deploys?"

"Eighty-seven seconds," she replied unconcerned.

Another "eep" sound escaped my lips. "Okay, listen, disable your perceptual filters."

"Disabled, master."

"Remove your face's dermal layer," I instructed.

I heard the sound of the semi-sticky material peeling away from the chrome underneath. "Dermal layer removed, master." There was a faint buzzing of tiny motors, presumably her control points being held close to the phone.

"Eject your right eye," I continued.

A clicking sound, then the sliding sound of something being unplugged. "Right eye ejected, master," she confirmed. "Warning, my visual acuity has..."

"Hard link your handcomp to the link port in your eye socket."

Another clicking noise, the sound of a cable being uncoiled, then the smooth *snick* as it was plugged into the port.

"Connection established, master. New hardware detec..."

"Extract binary contents of Rebecca's compiled report from handcomp records. Extract binary components of Lovertoy sensory-based-installation from local memory. Compile as executable package using frame headers to define data sequence." I could to this a lot faster and more reliably if I had an actual interface console to work on.

"Standby," came Synthia's reply. In a console interface, I could have identified exact filenames and defined the correct sequence, but there was no time to have her read those out to me. Fortunately, Lovertoy had been designed specifically to be installed in arbitrary sequence, each data frame containing its own executable and a payload of installation data. Once a unit had been exposed to sufficient distinct installation frames, the package would assemble itself and install. But deploying the whole package as a single executable? Synthia would have to rebuild the installation package data herself.

"Mmm, Jill, I just love your ass," Vivian declared. I glanced up. The girls had entered their idle-activity states, intended entertain or seduce. Vivian was lovingly brushing a hand down Jill's back, lingering on her posterior, and...

Stay focused, Derek.

"Data compiled. New executable filename LToyInstall.aix compiled at file path..."

"Transfer LToyInstall.aix onto handcomp," I said, speaking as quickly as possible. I was vaguely aware of Jill, Susan, and Vivian as they pawed at one another, but tried to ignore what they were saying. I didn't wait for Synthia's response. "Replace security patch in update package with LToyInstall.aix, set auto-install flag to 'true, set overwrite flag to 'true', and set ignore warnings flag to 'true.'" The flags shouldn't be necessary, but I wasn't taking any chances.

"Security patch deleted. LToyInstall.aix added to update package," she reported. "Auto-install flag set to 'true.' Overwrite flag set to 'true.' Ignore warnings flag set to 'true.'"

"Well I think your tits are just as bouncy as Jill's," Susan was telling Vivian. I turned away and covered my ear.

"Report time to update deployment," I instructed Synthia.

"Update will be automatically deployed in twelve seconds," she replied.

"Re-compress new update file. Re-sign using previous decryption key. Transfer new update into deployment system, overwrite existing update."

"Compressing," she stated. There was a pause. I caught a glimpse in the reflection of the window of Vivian and Jill eagerly licking Susan's nipples. "Signing package." Another pause. Vivian pulled off her top, revealing the lace bra she wore beneath. "Transferring package. File exists with same filename. Overwriting existing file." Another pause.

My heart hammered. Three seconds, by my count. I uncovered my ear, turning back to look at the girls directly. Jill was stroking her fingers across Vivian's bustline now, before eagerly yanking the shoulder straps of the bra down, letting Vivian's breasts out of the restricting garment. Susan was seated on a nearby table, working her fingers in and out of her pussy with no apparent awareness of anything around her.

"You just can't resist yourself, can you," Vivian was saying as Jill began kneading her bare tits. "Mmm, yes, squeeze them ha-"

She broke off mid-sentence, and all three girls froze. This was the moment of truth. "New system updates have been detected," they intoned in unison. All across campus, these words would be echoed by three thousand voices. "Installing updates, please wait." Here it comes. "Warning," they reported. My heart sank. "Auto install package matches signature of program already running in active runtime. Installing as persistent application. Program will continue from active runtime until unit is rebooted. Persistent application installed with warnings."

I blinked in surprise. It had worked. "-rd, just like that," Vivian began again. Jill began playing with Vivian's nipples. Susan brought one leg up in a position designed to show off her flexibility.

I put the phone back to my ear. "Synthia, are you still there?"

"Yes, master," She replied. There was that jolt of exhilaration again at that word.

"Fix your face and re-initialize perceptual filters." I needed to keep my wits about me.

Or is it more fun to play with them when they're more lifelike? Pert of me taunted. Where's the fun in dominating a mere object?

"I'm here until you want me to go somewhere else, lover," she purred.

"Is there a location capable of holding all 3000 on-site units here?"

"Hmm," she said, considering the question. "There's the quad in front of the Library,"

"Great. Send a message campus-wide. Have everyone meet in the quad for a general assembly."

"No problem, lover. I'll get that message out, right away." As soon as she said this, Jill, Susan, and Vivian stopped playing with each other and moved towards the door.

I covered the mouthpiece on the phone. "Where are you three going?" I asked.

"There's a general assembly in the quad in a few minutes," Susan replied.

"We don't want to miss anything important," Jill added.

Puzzled, I uncovered the mouthpiece on the phone again. "Synthia, did you already get that message out?"

"Well," she said, sounding almost uncertain, "I told some friends. They probably told some of their friends, and they told some of their friends..."

Of course, a peer-node network. Would have been useful to know about that before. It would have made installation so much easier. Then again, without the authority that Lovertoy granted me, the individual nodes would probably reject unusual commands. To install Lovertoy that way, I'd have to already have Lovertoy installed. My head hurt. When had I last slept again?

"Anyway," Synthia continued, "It looks like everyone got the news."

"How can you tell?" I asked, heading for the coffee shop door myself.

"I'm on my way there myself. I don't want to miss anything important, lover."

Following just behind my most recent entourage, I was greeted by a campus swarming with activity. While evening hours weren't completely uneventful, chance-encounter-type scenarios were far less likely outdoors at night. There was the occasional jogger, or members of a campus organization on their way back from a meeting, or late-night partygoers lingering to offer an invitation to the party, or the constant stream of girls heading to and returning from the dance club - but other than that, most of the scenario opportunities at night were indoors.

Now, a teeming crowd of women was making its way across campus. There was no consistent pattern to their attire, but they were definitely headed in a consistent direction: All of them were making a beeline for the huge lawn directly in front of the library.

I almost expected them to march, zombie-like, with their arms outstretched and blank expressions on their faces, but instead, the crowd buzzed with conversation. Girls chatted and joked as they made their way dutifully to the open lawn, some of them waving and blowing kisses as they passed.

Anything you want. Anything you can imagine. Any one of these girls - or any group of them - would happily strip for me here and now. Indeed, no one seemed to notice Jill, Susan, or Vivian's nudity as they made their way to the quad. I scanned the crowd now, unable to find them.

Feeling attached, Derick? You can always find them later. There are plenty of toys to play with, and you've got your book back. Besides, they weren't the one you're looking for. None of them matter.

I caught myself as the thought came into my head. Was that really the kind of person I was? Use them up, throw them away? True, they were just robots, just machines created to obey, but I didn't like the idea of being so callous, even to machines. The things we do are part of who we are, Dad had told me once. Abuse, in any form, even without a victim, builds a mindset - moreso with ARAs, designed to so closely mimic the human form and human behavior. They'd called it Ricksburg Syndrome, after the Ricksburg massacre. The killer, Martin Powell, had vented his aggression on ARAs for years, slashing them, tearing them apart, loading them with fear and trauma simulation software - programs which weren't specifically illegal, but usually associated with suspect activity.

It wasn't clear whether he started thinking of his ARA victims as more human, or of those around him as less human, but the effect was the same: He stopped caring that there was any difference between the two.

But Ricksburg Syndrome wasn't an official psychological diagnosis. For every supposed case, there were millions of perfectly normal people living harmless lives, regardless of whatever they got up to with their ARAs. Powell enjoyed causing suffering. It was a part of his personality. Of course it spilled over into the real world.

But you enjoy giving commands, I realized. You manipulate. You trick. You use, then you dispose. Those are parts of who you are. You were prepared to kill Bosch if he didn't give you the book. "Only as a last resort," I said aloud. Thankfully, it hadn't come to that.

Once this was over, if I found the 9660F, what then? Would I keep her? Would she be a new toy for me? Would I just throw her away? What about this place? I didn't know the first thing about running a business. I was a hacker, a borderline criminal at best. Running this place was a suit-and-office job. It was the last thing I had from when my Dad was alive, -really- alive, not that shell of a thing he became when Mom disappeared. Could I bring myself to just sell it?

As my mind chased its existential tail, I suddenly became aware that the crowd around me was thinning, and could hear the more concentrated sounds of movement and conversation coming from the direction of the library. I made my way there, trying keep my thoughts on the here and now. Just get this done, fix this, stop the virus or die trying. Deal with the present. Worry about the future later.
~~
Despite the crowd noises of an informal gathering, the women of the BMOC resort had lined up with military precision into regular, evenly spaced groups, with room to walk between each group. At the top of the library steps, presumably because I was in charge and any order given by me was therefore official, some efficient fembot (or bots) had setup a podium with a microphone. I climbed to the top, and, upon reaching the podium, turned to see my audience from my elevated position... and felt dizzy from what I saw.

I had been prepared for variety, but the sheer scale of it was staggering. Maids, waitresses, dancers, girls in stretchy exercise outfits, girls in cheerleading uniforms, girls in swimsuits, girls in classic schoolgirl uniforms, girls dressed as what could equally be secretaries, librarians, or teachers, girls in evening gowns, girls in dance club dresses, girls in more revealing versions of various service uniforms, girls in lingerie, and some girls in nothing more than heels. There may have been a hundred or more different categories of outfits, not counting the more general-purpose casual clothes some wore - though even these were more revealing or form-fitting than the norm outside this little fantasy world.

And BMOC was one of Dad's tamer ideas, I reminded myself.

The evenly-divided groups were almost all, save one in the front, the same size, five girls across, six girls deep, so precisely lined up that there was no mistaking their number from group to group. No extra or missing lines or columns, not a single girl out of alignment with the rest of the grid. The full crowd comprised a hundred such groups, ten across and ten deep. Even at a glance, I could easily tell that this was, indeed, a crowd of 3000.

Well, 2996, I corrected myself, noting the four empty slots in the only incomplete group in the crowd. Probably just the ones from the coffee shop, I thought. Then there was that Yasmine girl. Marilyn had said something about her nearly destroying herself, and Synthia had mentioned that she wasn't available to help with the decryption.

I saw some familiar faces: Nikki, one of the nurses from the night of my arrival, had been repaired and appeared good as new. Professor Weiss was looking her official, down-to-earth self, still clutching an armful of the Lovertoy optical pattern fliers. Jennifer, the swim team coach, stood proudly at the front, wearing only a stocking and garter set with heels. There was Beth, only the shorts missing from her IT outfit. I hadn't even realized she was in the IT department when I'd roped her in - she just happened to be in range when I got Marilyn with the burst programmer.

Reflexively, I tapped the microphone, then cleared my throat. "Uh..." Off to a confident start. "Sit down if you can hear me," I said. As one, every girl before me immediately dropped to sit on the ground. Well, I thought, they can definitely hear me. "Stand back up," I told them. They rose, just as instantly, and just as synchronized. The skirts on many of them had ridden up as they sat, but they made no effort to straighten their clothing. I was surprised at how many of them were wearing underwear.

"Okay everyone, listen carefully," I said, slowly and deliberately, "disable your perceptual filters."

"Disabled," a single, synchronized voice chorused from the crowd. The inhuman timing and precision reminded me of how finely crafted and precisely engineered they were - but it also reminded me of the single voice the virus had spoken through its infected avatars. Priority target. Me.

I took a deep breath. "If you were manufactured by XR Innovations, come up here now," I told the crowd.

There was no sign of movement throughout the crowd. From the moment I had disabled their perceptual filters, even their social chatter had ceased, but none of them even budged from their spots on the grid. Was it possible she didn't know who made her? Need to try another approach.

"Okay," I said, trying to remember the numbers from Dad's memo, "It you were made by HerForm, sit down."

Most of the teacher/secretary/librarian units dropped to a seated position on the ground, as did all of the nurses and cheerleaders, and a sizable portion of the student population. It looked like more than half of them, total. "Next, if you were made by X-Ero, sit down." The entire remainder of the students sat, leaving fewer than three full 30-unit groups remaining, all maids and waitresses. Service staff? Were they low traffic? "If you were made by GySys, sit," I said, looking down, gripping the podium tightly.

I was afraid to look up. What if they were all seated? What if she wasn't here? "No, calm down," I muttered, "You're panicking over nothing. Process of elimination. You narrowed it down, she has to be in this facility, it's the only place left, She's not one of the HerForm, X-Ero, or GySys units. Those units are all sitting down, she's the only odd one out, so you're going to look up, and she'll be the only one standing." I looked up.

They were all sitting. Not a single one of the beautiful, women, clothed, partially clothed, or completely nude, was still standing.

"Don't panic," I told myself, "There may be another explanation." Dad was always concerned about containing sensitive information, maybe he had her programmed with the wrong manufacturer identification. "Everyone stand up," I said, feeling worn thin.

2996 sexy women stood again. The skirts which had ridden up last time were now essentially belts, while some of the girls in evening gowns had managed to tear the slit up their sides this time.

It's the only thing left, I thought. The only thing I can definitely check for.

And don't pretend it's not what you want to see.

"Fine, I won't deny that," I said quietly. "I want to see it. I want to see all of them do it." Then, a bit louder, I spoke directly into the microphone. "All of you, pull up your skirts, take off your shorts, panties, swimsuits, whatever it takes to fully expose your pussies." There was a flurry of activity across the crowd. The units who were already exposed from the waist down made mo move, but those more traditionally dressed tugged, pulled, unbuckled, unfastened, unzipped, lifted, and stepped out of whatever they were wearing from the waist down.

For the girls in one-piece swimsuits, exercise outfits, and some types of lingerie, this meant removing the garment entirely. Cheerleaders reacted by pulling down their tights and lifting up their skirts. Most of those in evening gowns were, to my surprise, not wearing anything underneath, instead merely sweeping their skirt to one side and draping it over one arm. Marilyn had modified her pantyhose since she had taken her own self-shots, and simply lifted her skirt to show the open crotch. Only a few of the maids were wearing panties, all of them thongs, which they dutifully slid off before hiking up their uniforms.

I surveyed the crowd of women... my women, each of them a willing servant to my whims. I could have them all just strip nude, I thought. I could order them to have a record-setting orgy. Nearly three thousand beautiful, sexy women, all standing at attention with their snatches exposed, ready to do whatever I wanted.

Remember why you're here.

"Finger yourselves until you're wet," I said, "then taste your juices."

There is no way to describe the moist squelching sound of thousands of women masturbating in unison, then suddenly stopping. It was almost as strange as the sucking, smacking sound of thousands of women licking and sucking their own juices off their fingers.

My pants were starting to feel a little confining. Why was I wearing clothes anyway? The climate would auto adjust to be comfortable regardless of my state of attire, and the girls would be thrilled to see my cock all the time.

Focus, Derek.

"If you tasted a fruity flavor of any kind, remain where you are," I commanded. "Otherwise, come up here."

No movement.

Okay, so you're doomed, I realized, my head slumping, and maybe the human race is too, but hey. You've got three thousand sexbots ready to fuck you on command.

"2996," I reminded myself, "Not 3000." There were those four empty spots in the front...

My gaze darted back up to stare at the empty spots. Without looking, I pulled out my phone and called Synthia. I heard her phone ring, from somewhere in the third row, then spotted her, still holding up her skirt with one hand while she answered the phone with the other.

"Yes, master?" she replied. I heard her words over the phone, then a fraction of a second later, her voice echoing softly up to my position at the podium.

"There are four empty spots in the front row," I said. "Who isn't here?"

"Yasmine Vicks was damaged beyond functionality, and was being repaired at the time when this assembly was requested," she replied. Right, the girl Marilyn had mentioned. I'd checked her on my second day. "Heather Jennings and Ashley Jacobs were damaged in the fire contained in Ashley Jacobs's room," she continued. "Maintenance units were retrieving them for repairs when this assembly was requested." Okay, that made sense, considering what had happened to Susan.

"Vanessa Reed was disabled at your request prior to this assembly."

I felt like I was going to pass out. Vanessa, the head of IT, a part of campus where guests would almost never go. Vanessa, who had detected the Lovertoy program as a potential threat. Vanessa, who had identified security vulnerabilities in her own system, and was about to deploy a security update. Self-analyzing, self-correcting, threat-neutralizing Vanessa.

And I had commanded Synthia to format her security partition.

----

The crowd had dispersed quickly after I gave the order, returning to their scripted behavior without complaint - and without making any effort to put their clothes back on. I had Synthia wait for me before proceeding to the IT department building. Somewhat put off by the matter-of-fact nature of Synthia's raw responses, I had her re-enable her perceptual filters. She wasn't more helpful or more informative, but at least she was friendlier this way.

"She's just in here," Synthia told me as we passed through the hallways to the IT Staff recreational area. "I can't believe I never noticed she was a robot until you pointed it out to me. It was so obvious!"

She bent unnecessarily at the door, tugging at it gently while shaking her rump at me. If she had worn panties to the assembly, she must have left them there. "This thing just get's stuck in so tight sometimes," she said, emphasizing the word "tight." "It always helps to shake it a little, just to loosen things up."

"That's a push-door, Synthia."

She smacked her forehead. "Oh, wow, I didn't even notice!" She said, pushing open the door. As I brushed past her, she wrapped an arm around my waist. "I must have other things on my mind," she whispered, her hand drifting between my legs to my lingering erection.

I shuddered, pulling away from her into the rec room proper. The room was comfortably, if simply, furnished. The luxuries were all here: Plush chairs, thick carpeting, large entertainment center (still cycling the rapidly shifting black-and-white of the Lovertoy install data), subdued lighting... but it all seemed far less coordinated than the rest of the resort, as though the furniture were simply present in the room, not an integral part of a carefully-planned setpiece. I I almost wanted to dismiss that as poor planning, but it was too hard to shake the awareness that ScenariCorp never did anything accidentally. If this was supposed to be where the 9660F had been swept under the rug, it made far too much sense for the place to be subtly less inviting.

"She's just over here," Synthia motioned, crossing to the other side of one of the sofas. As I came around the sofa myself, I was somewhat surprised to find a nude girl, separated at the waist, lying on the soft carpet. She appeared inactive.

"Why is she naked?" I asked.

"Well, you wanted me to take her apart and open her up, so it was easier to get at her triggerpoints..."

I noticed a discarded T-shirt, shorts, and pantyhose on the sofa, a stark contrast to the short skirt Synthia now wore. "You're wearing her clothes," I observed.

"Some of them," she confirmed, performing a turn and bringing up one leg in a pinup pose. "I may have lost the panties, though. Want to see?" She played with the hem of her skirt.

I looked down at the dismantled girl. She definitely seemed different, lacking any of the subtle design styles I knew to pick up on. The curve of her ear was wrong for a GySys. Her eyes were too wide and almond-shaped for a HerForm. Her lips lacked the signature pucker of X-Ero. Not that those signs were definitive: Companies varied their likeness designs all the time. Taken as a collective whole, however, these clues jumped out at me as unique and distinct, too many differences to have come from any of the other manufacturers. But was she one of uncle James's designs? He didn't have a recognizable style, or signature traits.

Looking for manufacturer markings had been a longshot, and I was unsurprised to see that she had none. XR rarely used such markings on non-industrial units, and most manufacturers had discontinued the practice shortly before the construction of this facility. What surprised me the most was how... ordinary she looked. Not plain or ugly - Compared to most human women, she was the very definition of feminine beauty and sex appeal - but so did almost every other ARA here. Considering the near-mythical reputation she had garnered over the years, I had almost expected her to be somehow different in appearance. Was it possible this had all been for nothing?

"Vanessa," I said, hesitatingly. "State your manufacturer and model number."

"I am an XR Innovations model number XR9660-F," she replied simply in warm, even tones. I collapsed onto the sofa in relief. She really was here. I nearly cried.

But had she completed the format? "Vanessa, report system status."

"All systems on standby. No ongoing tasks in progress."

A sense of dread grew inside me even as I asked my next question. "What was your last ongoing task?"

"Full format of partition one, partition label SecurityProc was successfully completed seven minutes, fifty-six seconds ago."

"FUCK!" I screamed, losing it.

"Unable to comply," Vanessa replied. "Sexuality software not currently loaded. Would you like to initialize my primary personality profile at this time?"

Synthia slid up to me on the sofa, then straddled me and dropped herself in my lap. "I'm ready when you are, lover," she whispered in my ear before licking it.

"Synthia, no, Vanessa, yes," I said tersely. In fact, I was in the mood for some fun with Synthia, or even with both of them, but Vanessa's question had made me think. If the Quantron chip was all it was cracked up to be, maybe the security partition wasn't necessary after all.

"Initializing primary profile," Vanessa announced. Synthia pouted, but dismounted me, instead snuggling up next to me with her legs curled up under her. "Warning, integrated security components not found. Some functionality may be disabled or impaired."

That was odd. I would have expected that kind of message if I had reset her OS, but she was just loading her personality profile. That shouldn't involve loading any security software. I waited for the standard system messages which normally indicated when the profile was fully loaded and running. Vanessa lay still for longer than I would have expected, then opened her mouth as if to speak - but said nothing. She blinked, and her mouth ran through a series of positions, as though she were cycling through every mouth expression she had on file. Finally, she settled on an open-mouthed expression, and froze.

"Hello," she said, her mouth still motionless. "My name iiiiiiiii-" There was a loud burst of static, then a cycling sound of garbled digital samples, as if she was trying to speak non-verbal data. Through the noise, I was able to pick out coherent words, but they didn't fill me with hope.

"Profile error. Integrated security components not found. Unable to load personality data from partition one." These words repeated on a loop, even as the noise of her glitched vocal data continued in the background.

I turned to Synthia. "I didn't tell you to format her personality partition," I said, trying not to get angry.

She looked shocked. "I didn't, I promise!" she insisted. "But... you can punish me if you want," she said, turning around in the sofa. She stuck out her ass, and looked at me with a smile on her face. "I really could use a good spanking to teach me a lesson."

I squatted down on the floor next to Vanessa's disconnected lower-body. Spreading the legs wide, I thrust my fingers into her ass and pussy, pressing three times on the triggerpoints inside, and holding on the third press. After a second, the glitch-noise cut off as her systems reset.

"That looks fun," Synthia observed. "You could try that on me if you want."

I ignored her. "System rebooting," announced Vanessa. "Please standby."

"Disable personality profile," I instructed her. I didn't want to listen to that wall of noise again.

"Disabled."

"Open your backup compartment." Maybe Synthia was wrong. Maybe her sleeper protocols were just too comatose to let her be aware of Vanessa's backups, even if she was aware her boss was a robot.

"Understood," Vanessa acknowledged. She turned her head away from me, and there was a clicking sound as the latch on the back of her head released. Gripping the back of her scalp, I pulled the compartment open, clinging to one last thread of hope...

Nothing. Her head was completely empty.

I put my head in my hands and screamed in frustration. Synthia surprised me by rubbing my shoulders gently. Oddly, she didn't seem to have sex in mind. "You seem really tense, lover," she said.

The massage felt good. "Know any good ways to relax?" I asked, almost rhetorically.

"Well, I know a few..." she began.

"Other than sex," I interrupted.

"Oh, in that case... hmm..." She considered the question as she continued kneading my shoulders. "Whenever I'm feeling stressed out, I like to go down to the meditation room to get my mind in order."

"Meditation room?" I asked. "Is that in the gym, or the activity center?"

"No," she replied, "It's right here in IT. One of the perks of the job. We all use it every day."

Something glinted in the back of my mind. "All of you? The whole IT team?"

"Oh yeah. It really helps us get back up to speed. It's just downstairs."

My eyes snapped open. "Downstairs?" I pulled out the handbook, flipping rapidly through the pages until I found floorplan for the IT building. There were two levels, and we were on the bottom one. "There isn't a downstairs," I muttered. I flipped to the map of the underground complex, it's massive ring hugging the edge of the domed structure above - and not a part of it connected with the IT building. The building itself wasn't pictured on the underground map, but I knew it to be located centrally, on the exact spot of the small compass rose in the exact center of the underground map.

The compass rose that isn't present on the surface level map.

The compass rose that doesn't give any indication of North, but was just labeled "AC 14860."

I am such an idiot.

"Show me," I told Synthia.

----

The door Synthia led me to was visible on the building floorplan, but while the handbook showed only a storage closet, the reality was a long, winding staircase, sparsely lit with minimal lighting. We descended for what seemed like hours, the stairs twisting at 90 degree angles every 30 feet or so. After an indeterminate period, we reached an unmarked door. "Is this it?" I asked.

Synthia nodded. "It's a nice relaxing place where we come to gather our thoughts."

I checked the underground map in the dim light of the stairway. If the compass rose really was a separate underground room accessible only through the IT building, the scale of the place would be enormous. Comparing between the surface map and the underground one, the rose was bigger than the entire IT building. I opened the door, ready for a massive warehouse of a chamber beyond...

It was just a room. More to the point, it was just a small room, devoid of furniture, but with odd line patterns covering the wall, and a hook next to the door. Initially, I took it to be brightly lit, but that was just my eyes adjusting to the light. It was brighter than the stairs, but not unusually so.

Synthia breezed past me and approached the hook. "Hang on, let me just change into my meditation clothes," she said, quickly slipping out of her skirt and top to hang them up. she stood motionless there fore a few seconds, her head tilted to one side, then turned and walked to the center of the room. "I hope you weren't peeking while I changed," she teased, shaking her butt as she said it.

I raised an eyebrow. The only things she was still wearing were her fishnets and heels. "What do you think you're wearing, Synthia?"

She took her place in the center of the room, where a series of line patterns on the floor and ceiling converged. "Just my best yoga pants and T-shirt, but don't worry," she said, running her hands down her sides, "I don't have a stitch on underneath."

I watched as she went through a brief series of yoga-like poses before simply standing with her arms outstretched and her feet shoulder width apart. "This is the position I usually use when I come down here," she said. "It really helps me clear my mind."

I was about to comment when something suddenly shot up from the floor and out from the walls, all directed at her. I ducked, fearing attack, but was relieved, then fascinated. The lines which I had initially taken for decorations on the walls and floor were actually complex mechanical manipulators. They had been folded and collapsed along articulated joints, and held in hidden recesses in the surfaces. Their flat exterior surfaces sat flush with their compartments. making them simply appear to be painted-on lines. They gripped her around her midriff and under her arms.

The manipulator which rose from the floor opened up at the end, revealing the signature angled plugs of a VA Triggerpoint connector. Reaching between her legs, it clamped on her, pushing its probes deep within her... then it continued rising, lifting her up off the ground.

"This place is just so relaxing and quiet," she said dreamily as more manipulators gripped her legs. "I love coming down left leg connection disabled here to right leg connection disabled just unwind and get my waist connection disabled head together." The manipulators lifted her upper torso up, separating her at the waist, while those gripping her stockinged legs pulled these to each side, leaving the pelvis in the saddle of the VA interface.

"Do you feel okay?" I asked.

"I feel right arm connection disabled fine, but you can left arm connection disabled feel me to make sure, if you want," she replied. Another set of manipulators gripped her arms, pulling them off her torso without apparent resistance. "I already feel so refreshed," she said as a headset-like device lowered over her ears. "I just can't wait to get back to worrrrrrrkkkkhhhh."

An activator spike extended from the headset, cutting off her thoughts and freezing the expression on her face. Another mechanical arm reached down to grip her head on either side before twisting it sharply and removing it.

Her arms, legs, torso, and head, were carried to one wall, where some the armatures plugged wired connections into their connector points. A display console flipped out of the wall, revealing a progress indicator which read "Hardware diagnostic in progress, please wait."

The torso was carried to another wall, where an odd piece of hardware slid out. A more delicate apparatus reached into the base of her torso and, interfacing with some unseen mechanism, opened her back panel. This was smoothly moved out of the way by the manipulators. The device I couldn't identify then plugged another wired connection into what was probably her main drive interface, and I heard a familiar click-whirr sound before realizing exactly what the odd little device was: It was a standalone cartridge drive.

It made more clicks and whirrs for a few seconds before ejecting one of the unmistakeable cartridges. This was taken by another, smaller armature, this one moving along the ceiling via a recessed track. This sped across the room to the wall opposite me, where it paused as a panel slid open revealing a darkened space beyond. It darted through this opening, and the softball-sized panel slid closed again.

I approached the wall and knocked on it. The sound implied a larger space, but I couldn't estimate how big. I slid my fingers across the tiny panel the armature had used, but couldn't find purchase on its edges. I began examining the wall for any other controls or interfaces which might open the panel again, when it suddenly opened on its own. I craned my neck to try to peek through the hole, and was nearly bashed in the face by the speeding armature as it reentered the room.

It wasn't carrying the cartridge any more.

I turned back to the panel, but it had already closed again, its seams nearly as undetectable as those at an ARA's connection points. I once again started exploring the wall, looking for anything which might give me more information, but was interrupted by a soft chiming sound behind me.

I turned to the sound, finding the display console with Synthia's limbs reporting "Diagnostic complete." The manipulators disconnected the wires connected to her parts, reattaching her legs to her pelvis, her pelvis to her torso, and her torso to her arms before lowing her head back onto her shoulders and twisting it back to face forward. "rrriiiI just feel so rejuvenated," Synthia declared, stretching her arms and pointing her toes as the saddle-like interface gripping her between her legs slowly lowered her back onto the floor. Once she touched down, the manipulators collapsed and retracted back into their concealed compartments, the room returning to the plain, lined appearance it had when I first arrived.

Synthia turned to face me. "Did you sneak behind me while I was posing?" she said, acting scandalized. She gasped in mock surprise. "Were you checking out my butt?"

"Synthia, what's behind this wall?"

"Please state access code," she said simply, snapping to attention.

That threw me for a loop. Her personality running, her perceptual filters active, I would have expected a straight answer, or an "I don't know," or even a flat denial that there was anything behind the wall, but this was a completely out-of-character response.

"Access code?" I said, nonplussed.

"Please state access code," she repeated.

I flipped through the handbook, even checking the sections listed in the index under "access codes," but found nothing relevant. Flipping back to the index, I noticed another index entry, this one for "archive chamber," with only one page listed. I checked that page, but found only the underground complex map.

The room I was in definitely wasn't the larger chamber that the rose represented, if that's what it was supposed to be. The "AC 14860" label made slightly more sense now: AC for Archive Chamber. "But why 14860?" I mused aloud.

"Code accepted," Synthia reported. "Oh, that? That's just the archive." She strode over to a section of the wall to my left. "Here, let me get the door for you," she said. She held up her right hand, fingers together, then, grasping her pinky and ring finger with her left hand, mirrored the performance Bosch's secretary had given, splitting her hand down the middle, hinging one half outwards to reveal a cable in a concealed compartment.

"It's kind of tough to open," she said, unspooling the cable and plugging it into a small hole in the wall. "You kind of have to jiggle it a little," she continued, standing at attention with a glassy look in her eyes and a blank look on her face. She gave a cute giggle, contrasting with her posture and expression. "You want to help me jiggle it?" she said in a flirty voice, then in a breathy whisper, "Or you could just watch me jiggle."

"Just open the..." I began, but was startled by the sudden opening of a door sized panel. I hadn't even noticed its seams. That one was intentionally hidden.

The area beyond was dark, but I could make out faintly glimmering lights along a far surface. I stepped through the door and heard the distant clack of an old-fashioned lighting system switching on. Industrial lamps flickered on from far above, and I was suddenly hit with a wave of vertigo.

The chamber I now found myself in was round alright. In the center was a massive column, which included the room I had just exited and the twisting stairway leading back to the surface. I realized with some apprehension that I was standing on a catwalk which formed a pathway around the chamber. Looking up, I could see the lights suspended high above from long cables, but the actual ceiling was too far above them to be visible. Looking down, I saw the walls of the chamber extend for a few hundred feet before disappearing into blackness.

At a spot directly in front of the door I had just exited, there stood a workstation terminal, which switched on as I approached. The display showed a rotating cylinder with blinking lights dotting part of its surface. I realized with little surprise that these lights were blinking in synchronization with those faint, glimmering lights I had initially spotted when I came in here.

I tapped at the controls, and a bright blue light appeared on the spinning model, with a corresponding light appearing in the chamber itself. As soon as this light had appeared, an on-screen message popped up, reporting "NOT IN USE". I tapped at the controls some more, and the blue light moved a few feet to one side, this time indicating a spot which already had a blinking light. The message now read "SYNTHIA_STILES-D0647".

"Hey Synthia," I called over my shoulder, "What's your last name?"

"It's Stiles," she said, coming to me, "but I could change it if you wanted."

Experimenting with the console controls, I eventually found a system menu allowing category selection. There weren't many names to select from, as the chamber apparently only held backups for the IT staff themselves. Makes sense, I thought to myself. The monthlies are enough for the entertainment units, but since the IT staff were in charge of maintaining software integrity, they would need tighter standards on data management. I clicked on the VANESSA_REED label.

Most of the blinking lights on the wall winked out. The console screen informed me that there were 1504 matching results. I couldn't count the lights on the wall, but even with so many others tuned off, I could tell there were a lot of cartridges stored for Vanessa. "This wasn't a needle in a haystack after all," I muttered. "I just wish I'd known about the needlestack from the start."

I turned and grabbed Synthia's ass, pulling her into a tight embrace and deep kiss. "Mmm," she managed between locking lips with me, "I guess the meditation room helped you relax too."

"Relax isn't the exact word I would've used," I said, unbuckling my pants, "But it definitely got me in a better mood." I kicked off my trousers and discarded my boxers, which had been uncomfortably constraining for some time now. "Bend over the railing there," I instructed. "I feel like celebrating."

This day was definitely improving.

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

6.00 - What It Takes

2014-01-03T04:36:48Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I took a sip from my coffee cup, and poked my head in to the small breakroom. "Alright if I join you in here, Deb?" I asked. It was just shy of 10:30, and she had just entered the breakroom ahead of me. She was currently retrieving reading material from a magazine rack before sitting to take her break - exactly as her programmed routine dictated. She would rest for 5 minutes, plus or minus a random amount of time up to 1 minute, then would return to work, unless commanded otherwise by a human employee. "I kind of wanted to just visit with you for a while."

Deb nodded. "Sure Kaitlyn, no problem," she said, sitting. Although she too held one of the insulated coffee cups, I knew it contained only lukewarm water.

Deb smoothed out the pleats of her short skirt as she sat on the plush sofa, and I momentarily caught a glimpse up it. She wasn't wearing any panties, but that was reasonably normal for her, not necessarily any indication of anything amiss.

The backroom area of the wardrobe department was comfortably furnished, and gave us some degree of privacy for our little chat. I was going to need it.

"So," I said casually, "How's the wardrobe department treating you?"

"Oh, you know, can't complain." She looked around as though making sure no one else was listening, then leaned forward and whispered loudly behind her hand. "They won't let me," she said.

My eyes widened. Could this be what I was looking for? "Who..." I began.

"Oh, calm down, Kaitlyn. You're always so serious. It was a joke." She sipped her lukewarm water and made an "Mmm" sound.

"Good coffee?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Best Mocha Latte I've had. Those barista 'bots may know beans about almost everything, but they know almost everything about beans." She sipped again. For some reason, perceptual filter programmers seemed to only know one type of coffee. "Mocha Latte" was apparently the ARA version of "tastes like chicken."

"Good to hear it. How's the quarterly inventory going?" I inquired.

Deb made a see-saw motion with her hand. "So-so. Pretty much as expected. We're ahead of schedule, but coming up short on a bunch of outfits." She rolled her eyes. "All superheroine costumes, so I have a pretty good idea where they are."

"It's not getting in the way of your costume design time, is it?" I said, sounding concerned.

She made a negative-sounding "Mm-mmm" sound as she sipped her water, and shook her head. "It's fine. I've got a decent memory and a highly visual imagination, so I can pretty much do that kind of thing in my head until I get a chance to document it." She counted out on her fingers. "Let's see, a dozen outfits for the setting rooms, two replacements for the evening party test room, and seven custom designs for individual employees..." She looked up. "Yep, I'm only four behind on my weekly output. Should have those polished off tomorrow."

"You sure?" I asked. "Everyone needs to relax from time to time,. I hope you're not overworking yourself."

She laughed. "Kaitlyn, it's nice of you to take such an interest, but really, everything's fine. Really. There's nothing to be concerned about."

If that were true, I wouldn't have to check in on your break time, I thought to myself. "Well, that's good to hear," I said, thumbing the button on the area burst programmer. Deb froze momentarily as she was about to take another sip of water,, then moved again as though nothing had happened. "By the way," I said, slowly and carefully, "Alpha two three five niner."

"You're telling me," she said, standing. she strode calmly over to the large clothing hook near the magazine rack, and casually began unbuttoning her blouse. "So, how are things going back in security?" she said as she slipped out of the thin shirt. As usual, she wore no bra. "I hear there's been a rash of system irregularities going on." She ignored the zipper on her skirt, simply pulling the elastic waistband down her hips. "Found any glitches yet?" She asked, hanging her clothes on the hook.

"Still doing my inspection sweep," I said. "We're still not sure whether it's a matter of plain software errors, or intentional program modifications. Bend over at the table, please."

"Sure," Deb said. She walked to the table, planted her legs shoulder width apart, and bent sharply at the waist, resting her head in her crossed arms. "So what would be the difference?" she asked. "Between errors and modifications, I mean."

"Well," I said, jamming the control probe into her anus, "One would be a matter of program testing and quality assurance." I twisted the dials to trigger the proper command, popping open the control panel at the base of her spine. "The other would be a major security breach - and that's a big deal to me."

I scrolled through the runtime logs for Deb's previous 24-hours of activity. It all seemed pretty normal, although I was a tad surprised at the sheer number of sex acts she had performed in that span of time. "Good grief Deb, how many times do you frig yourself a day?" I said aloud. Oops. Hopefully the maintenance burst program would desensitize her to that kind of comment.

"Only twenty, unless someone commands me otherwise," she said dismissively. "Yesterday it was thirty-five, but I had helped out in one of the testing rooms, and was still wearing the costume from that, so I was in higher demand." She considered this. "Maybe I should wear that kind of thing more often," She commented. "We don't have very many catgirl costumes in normal circulation, but I could make a few more."

Everything looked fine in the past day - no anomalous entries, pretty consistent system events. Her overall intelligence seemed a tad lower than system spec, but that was hardly an indication of a problem. I knew for a fact that Jane sometimes turned her into a ditzy airhead for some of their private time, and she was prone to forgetting to restore normal settings.

I scrolled back to earlier entries, and didn't see anything unusual at first. All the entries indicated normal activity and system events, right up until 6:47pm. Even if she had been completely shut down, her internal clock would still have logged per-minute entries of deactivation. Unless there was a problem with her clock's power supply, that would have remained functional for at least 300 hours of complete shutdown.

Problem was, the next entry after 6:47 was 8:53. More than two hours were simply gone from her logs. "Deb," I said cautiously, "What were you doing just after 7:00 last night?"

She scrunched up her face as if in concentration. "Sorry, I can't remember." She smiled, unconcerned. That was downright weird. Deb was proud of her memory. Under normal circumstances, she would have simulated annoyance or anger at forgetting something. Was this due to the maintenance burst program, or another symptom of whatever had caused the memory gap?

"Deb, can you run a hardware check for me?" I asked.

"No problem, Kaitlyn." She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, looking confused. "Huh. That's weird. There's semen in me, but I don't have any memory of it getting there."

I checked the sexual logs for the whole two-day period. Ten partners, six female, four male. Plenty of penetration, but no ejaculation from the males. Looks like they were just fingering her or using her in threesomes. I checked this against her fluid reservoir. Sure enough, there was semen in there - at least two sessions worth. I'd already confirmed that she'd visited the spa yesterday morning, so her reservoir would have been emptied then. She should have been empty.

Okay, step one: Look for a physical cause. I closed the small control panel. "Deb, lie down on the table."

"No problem," she said calmly. She stood, then hopped up onto the edge of the table leaned back, scooting her butt back as she did so.

The most obvious approach would be a device implanted in one of her directly accessible orifices - Mouth, ears, pussy, ass. Butt-hacks were pretty uncommon, though. If she had been an on-site model using the cartridge backup system, it might provide a vulnerability to backup tampering, but with our internal backup system, she just synced with the mainframe every night. Tampering with her anal proximity triggers would only provide a hacker with access to her diagnostics, system logs, and a completely empty gluteal bay.

"Spread your legs," I told her casually.

"Sure thing," she said, spreading her legs wide into a split that would make any contortionist jealous. Though able to hold her legs in that position indefinitely without additional support, she grabbed each of her long heels as she did so. Probably her default "spread 'em" position.

"Let me know if you feel anything weird," I said, spreading the folds of her pussy and reaching in with two fingers. Fumbling around, I felt for the spot covering the proximity sensor. Any tampering devices would have to be attached directly there in order to have an effect, but I felt nothing other than the slick, ribbed texture of the pussy.

"Feels fine to me," she said, unconcerned. She looked down at me. "We should hang out like this more often, Kaitlyn. I hardly ever see you these days."

"Yep, feels normal to me too," I muttered. Nothing out of the ordinary. I pulled my fingers out of her, licking off the sweet, fruity tang of the flava juice. There was a reason cherry was their most popular flavor: It was one of the best cherry flavors on the market. Some candy companies had even licensed Flava's formula for it, while completely ignoring all other flavors.

"Well," I said moving to her head, "Things get really busy down in security." I gripped her chin and turned her head to one side, then the other, inspecting her ears. She didn't resist.

Ear hacks were pretty common, and could conceivably create memory gaps - but I was familiar with all the EarPort tools on the black market, and every single one of them was just barely larger than the ear canal itself. They invariably left telltale distortion of the flesh around the hole. Her ears looked fine. "How does this sound?" I asked, snapping my fingers at her left ear, then her right.

"Sounds normal to me." Her expression became sympathetic. "I can relate. Sometimes, it seems like I blink, and all of a sudden, my workload's increased as though I've been goofing off or something."

"Yeah, that makes sense," I said, almost to myself. "Open your mouth as wide as you can."

"Right," Deb replied, opening her mouth out-of-sync with the word. Her jaw moved first to what would be normal on a human, then wider to what would be uncomfortable on a human, then wider still to a position clearly impossible for a human.

"You don't have a gag reflex, do you?" I asked. It would have been pretty uncommon, but not impossible.

"Nope," she replied, the word now coming directly from her sound system.

"Good," I said, reaching into her throat with my whole hand.

Mouth hacks were possibly the most common form, since the mouth is both close to the main system processor, and usually has the least amount of access security, since protection measures would generally interfere with immediate access for things like oral sex.

Fortunately, they were easy to detect: The implanted device would have to be affixed to a spot at the back of the throat, just out of view when the ARA opened its mouth to speak. Since they relied on electro-magnetic induction of a circuit which wasn't designed for proximity transmission, they required pretty beefy power supplies, which required additional shielding against the moisture of the throat. The smallest such devices were about the size of a thimble.

Deb's throat was clear, though. "It's a shame we don't get to spend time together," Deb's sound system said, slightly muffled by my hand as I pulled it out. "I know, you should come to one of Jane's girls nights!"

I cleared my throat, partly from seeing my hand down her throat, and partly out of embarrassment. Jane's "girls nights" were an uncomfortable subject for me. I had been aware of them from the day I'd been hired, but hadn't learned exactly what they were until about a week later. Initially, I was surprised that Jane would initiate that kind of multi-partner sex with Kirk and, essentially, a harem of other girls. When I found out, I found a private moment to discretely let Jane know I would be interested, if the opportunity arose.

Her response was surprisingly cold. When she saw the expression on my face, though, she explained: The only humans who participated in girls nights were herself and Kirk. Aside from ARAs, she and Kirk were completely monogamous. It had been an awkward week after that, but Jane made it clear that she didn't hold it against me.

"Eh..." I said, fumbling for a response before realizing I didn't need to have one. "Change the subject, Deb."

"Have you met Derek?" She asked, unoffended. "He's a cute kid. Looks like he'll grow up to look just like his father."

"He is cute," I replied. "Hold still." I gripped her head firmly and twisted it off.

With no normal system tampering, the next step was to check for internal devices. I inspected the connection point at the base of her head, and on her body, but everything looked normal. "He's also smart as a whip, friendly, and has a surprisingly sophisticated sense of humor."

"Whoa," Deb's head commented as I prodded in her body's connection point, "he's only a kid. You sound like you're falling for him."

I smirked. "Give him a few decades and I just might," I said. Nothing inside her neck either. If there were any tampering device present, it would require almost complete disassembly to check, and that would take too long. I reattached her head. "You can get dressed now."

Maybe it isn't a security matter, I thought, either hopeful or desperate. Deb had suffered a number of software glitches over the past few years, even before I had been hired, all of them apparently unrelated. It had never been quite so much of a problem as this, though. Of course, it could be a virus...

"I really enjoyed hanging out with you, Kaitlyn," Deb said, slipping back into her skirt, "but I've got a pretty big project I need to get back to, and I was only supposed to take a short break anyway." She pulled on her blouse and began buttoning it up. "I really can't afford to..."

"You don't have anything important to do. Go take a break at the spa," I told her.

"You sure you can't stay longer?" Deb replied. "I don't really have anything on my plate right now. We should go to the spa together! I never see you there, it's really relaxing."

"No, that's okay. It's not really my kind of thing," I said.

"More backrubs for me, then," she smiled. "I think I'll head down there now."

"Drop by the software maintenance division when you finish up there. You should say hi to the guys there." If the spa didn't find anything, hopefully software maintenance would. They may be immature, but they definitely knew what they were doing.

"You know, I really should." She sounded like it had been her idea in the first place. "I haven't seen those bozos in forever. I wonder if they still draw on the 'bots sometimes." She made her way to the break room door and gave a little wave. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow. You should check by then, I'm really excited about a project we've got coming up!"

I smiled. "Don't lose your head. I'll see if I can come by."

---

As I continued my morning routine, heading to location testing for a quick sweep, I couldn't help but feel a little worried about Deb. Minor software glitches were inevitable in pretty much any model, but a memory gap of two hours was a serious concern. Part of ScenariCorp's security relied on the 'bots to act as monitoring devices when during the night shift. For her to be missing that much time... anything could have happened.

I hoped we wouldn't have to replace Deb. She was an older model now, and her run-of-the-mill glitches were more and more frequent these days, but her personality profile had all the little nuances and adaptations that can only be obtained through thousands of hours of runtime, interacting with users on a near-constant basis. Sure, she could be re-installed into a new body, but there was no way of knowing how compatible her last-generation profile would be with current operating systems. Even with claims of full backwards compatibility, something was usually lost in the process.

I was so deeply entrenched in this line of thought that I almost didn't catch the shadowy figure in the location test hallway. As soon as I rounded the corner to see it nearly a hundred feet away, it darted out of site around another corner in the zig-zagging hallway.

I unfastened the holster on my stunner. I hated to use it unless absolutely necessary - it was painful to humans and could cause permanent damage to ARAs - but the location test rooms weren't open for use this early in the day. Maybe my concerns over Deb's system integrity had me on edge, or maybe the fact that the figure had dashed out of sight triggered my security instincts, but I wasn't taking any chances.

"This area's not open for unscheduled use until 9:00," I called. "If you've got testing that needs to be done, you'll have to add your project to the queue. and wait your turn." I crept down the hallway to the corner the figure had ducked around.

A playful laugh echoed around the corridor. I tried not to be a little creeped out by it. "If it's just recreational use," I said, keeping my voice calm and even, "You should probably wait until after the final testing season is over. Why don't you..." The laugh giggled again. It wasn't the kind of laugh that was enjoying a funny joke. It was the kind of laugh that said "come and get me."

I cleared my throat. "Why don't you check in at the hotel? You know, enjoy the hospitality, some friendly poolside companionship, maybe order room serv..."

"You'll never find me if all you do is talk," a female voice echoed.

I peeked around the corner. At the far end, around the next corner, I saw someone else peeking out at me. It giggled again, then disappeared from view.

What the hell was this? Had some employee snapped or something? It was hard to believe: This place was hardly a high-stress work environment. "Look, whoever you are, this isn't a game." It wasn't easy to sound calm, but I just barely pulled it off. "If you keep running, I'll have to use force."

"Oooh," the voice cooed, "That sounds fun."

"Cut it out!" I called. "Stop running and stand still!"

There was a brief moment of silence, then the voice called back, "What magic is this?" She made a grunting, straining sound. "Your spell is truly powerful," she said, more impressed than upset.

I relaxed. Not an intruder, then. Rounding the corner, I found exactly what I had been expecting: A fairy, human sized, frozen in mid-step. Her costume, as with so many others here, was a fetishized version of the traditional concept. Cut low at the bust, high at the skirt, and made from a form-fitting material which only served to emphasize her figure. The neckline of her dress-like outfit dipped both in the front (for obvious reasons) and in the back to accommodate her wings. The wings themselves were oblong teardrop shapes, and appeared to be as delicate and fragile as they were thin.

In fact, the plastic/fabric compound material which formed her wings had originally been developed as lightweight bullet-proof material for law enforcement. This particular variant was also extraordinarily elastic, and could be stretched far beyond the thin, metal ring which formed the edge of the wing. Though frail looking, the wings could take a lot of abuse. The hardware techs sometimes joked that they probably could make the fairies fly, if they could just get the wing-flapping mechanism to run fast enough. Of course, that wasn't really possible: To keep from creating an unappealing bulge where the wing connected with the body, the designers had used one of the thinnest (and weakest) mechanism's available.

"Your mastery of the mystical forces is awe-inspiring," the fairy commented. I walked around in front of her to find her face still animated, though the rest of her body was statue-still. "You must be a truly powerful sorceress!" She said, her face filled with delight.

"That doesn't bother you?" I knew she was incapable of being bothered, but I was curious to hear the in-character explanation the programmers had given her.

"I am but a creature of magicks myself," she said, a proud look on her face. "My body is not of this material plane, but is woven from energies beyond this realm." She narrowed her eyes as a note of desire crept into her voice. "If you command those magical energies, you command me, for I am made of those energies."

"Riiight." I checked her head for physical damage. Strays were usually just confused after someone said something to them that didn't quite jibe with their scenario, but they could sometimes be caused by blunt trauma to the head or torso. There weren't many employees here who played rough, but there were a few.

"You can move again," I told her. She stretched as though awakening from a deep sleep, and fluttered her wings briefly. "Pull down your top, I need to check out your torso."

A mischievous grin spread across her face. "By your command, my mistress." Reaching up, she pulled the thin, elastic material down off her shoulders, then worked it down her arms, crossing them to playfully conceal her breasts as she pulled it down further. Once the garment was little more than a belt, she held her arms out daintily. "Does my body please you, mistress?"

"Arms up," I said. I brushed my fingers over the curves of her body, mostly looking for any indication of external damage. She hummed happily as I grasped her breasts, moving them outward, inward, up, and down, checking for tears in the synthetic skin. "Turn around," I told her. She turned on her toes, leaving her feet crossed as she faced away from me.

"Wings up," I said simply. Immediately, the gossamer wings moved as high as their tiny motors would allow, as I checked her back for abrasions or tears. She looked fine, in more ways than one.

"Okay," I said, "arms down, face me again." She spun again, bouncing slightly on her heels as she faced me, sending a brief jiggle through her breasts. I looked her over. She wasn't any kind of security threat, but ScenariCorp had a strong "put the toys back in the box" policy. I glanced up and down the corridor at the dozens of unlabeled doors. "Where do you come from?" I asked.

"Would that I knew, o mistress," she said, wistfully, "for I know many fey folk who would make excellent servants for your desires." Her wings fluttered again, and she clasped her hands in a pleading gesture. "If only I could but find my way, it would be my deepest wish to enslave my sisters to your will." She pouted. "I do so long to find more slaves for you."

I sighed. It wasn't easy getting through to a fantasy profile sometimes. Maybe she needed a more direct command. "Take me to your realm," I told her flatly.

"Alas, I cannot," she lamented, "for I know not the way in this strange land."

"Which way did you come from?" I asked.

An overjoyed smile washed over her face. "This way!" she said, pointing back the direction we had come. Then she faltered, turned, and pointed the opposite direction. "Or was it that direction?" She looked apologetically at me. "We fey folk have naught but dewdrops and sunlight for brains. It is very easy to outsmart us." She smiled at this last part.

"Oh for pity's sake," I said, exasperated. Grasping her firmly by one shoulder, I turned her to face the wall, then bent her over. She made no effort to resist, but compliantly stayed in that position, still smiling sweetly. Flipping up the skirt of her dress, I was mildly surprised to find her wearing a sparkling thong - pixie dust, no doubt. My patience at its limit, I merely pulled the fabric of the thong out of the way and rammed my finger and thumb into her pussy and ass simultaneously, pressing three times on the contact points inside, holding on the third press.

"Yes, mistress, I am but your plaything!" She cried in the throes of sexual pleasure. "I have no will but your command, no thoughts but those you-" She cut off mid sentence, a surprised look on her face, then a mild, detached smile. "System rebooting," she said, "Please stand by."

"Disable personality profile," I said.

"Profile disabled," she reported, still bent over. "Loading core OS. Loading interface AI. Hello. This unit is designated Nala of the Glen. Loading system tools. Loading memory logs." She blinked. "I have completed my reboot. Would you like to give me a command?"

"Stand up, Nala." She stood, her arms still jutting out in that dainty pose - it was either part of her default posture, or her core OS wouldn't change her pose unless I told it to. "Where do you come from?" I asked.

"I was manufactured by HerForm ARA Manufacturing, Limited, in Surrey, England..."

"No, which of these rooms are you assigned to?"

"I am currently assigned to Fantasy Glen, room 1-1-7-2."

"Do you know where that is from here?" I asked.

She looked back and forth. "Standby. Calibrating..." It was an odd juxtaposition, this topless fairy, posed like some kind of doll, reporting her software status in a calm, professional-sounding voice. "I have identified my current location. I have identified the target location. I have identified multiple routes from this location to the target location. Would you prefer shortest, fastest, scenic, roundabout, or custom?"

"Fastest," I replied. Why would there even be the option for scenic or roundabout? "Go back to your assigned room. Once inside, add a 5-foot no-go zone around the door for your main profile's behavioral responses, then resume main profile runtime."

"Understood." Nala turned and began strolling, purposefully but calmly, down the corridor, her arms still held out slightly. I had been about to tell her to fix her top, but I had apparently paused too long in my commands. Her command interpreter would have processed that pause as the end of a complete set of instructions.

I was relieved. Unauthorized personnel in restricted, or even just reserved areas was one matter, but strays weren't really anything to be concerned about. Strictly speaking, sending her back to her room wasn't even my responsibility, but it was far more expedient than having the cleaners take care of it, or launching an investigation to find whoever had let her out.

Then again, if someone had been tampering with Deb's systems, it might be a good idea to keep an eye out for unusual behavior, especially in the more sensitive and restricted...

"Kaitlyn, are you there?" Freida's voice cut into my thoughts over my comm. "I don't want to alarm you or anything, but I think there's just the teensiest possibility that we may have a security situation down here at the lab, so it would be ever so kind if you could HAUL ASS AND GET YOUR KEISTER DOWN HERE TOOT-SWEET!"

I blinked, momentarily stunned by her call. "Please?" Freida followed in a softer voice. "Now-ish would be great. Or, you know, anytime prior to now. But, ah, later looks really bad on my calendar. Totally booked up with bad. Bad in the morning, bad at lunch, bad bad bad bad..."

"I'm on my way," I said, partly to reassure her, and partly to stop her from rambling. I broke into a run, dashing past Nala, who was still en route to her Glen. She made no indication that she noticed me, although that was probably just due to the fact that I didn't give her any further instructions. Mentally, I chastised myself for neglecting, for a second time, to have her fix her top. Regardless of whether or not I liked the look of her, I tried to maintain some degree of self-restraint when it came to handling ARAs.

Then again, it wasn't even 10am, and I'd already felt up two 'bots. Maybe I had less self-restraint than I gave myself credit for.

These thoughts and images chased each other through my mind as I ran through the corridors, past the canteen and spa, taking a shortcut in front of Mr. Peters office elevator, and... what? I slowed, glancing back at the closing doors of the elevator. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I had seen a figure in blue, but why did that seem so familiar? It was an odd shade of blue, not one you see very often. I'd only ever seen it...

"Kaitlyn, dearie, any chance you could pick up the pace just a tad?" Freida's voice crackled over my comm, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Something big and heavy, made of glass.

"Hold still!" I heard a voice say. Was that Bryce's voice? He sounded... I don't think I'd ever heard him sound like that before.

Another female voice, one I didn't recognize, shouted, "Let me go, you glitched-out nursemaid!"

Shit! No time to ponder color-schemes. I started running again, pushing myself extra hard to make up for the pointless distraction. My friend was in danger, and I had stopped to think about color schemes. It was possibly the single least useful thing I could have done at the time.

So why did that color seem so important? It was like a half remembered tune, scratching it's way through my brain, looking for some memory to connect with so I could remember where the hell it had...

I skidded to a halt in front of the hardware lab, the sound of smashing equipment still clearly audible through the door. I'm surprised they still have anything that isn't broken, I thought to myself. I drew my stunner and cautiously pushed the door open.

"Get off of me, tinman!" It was the female voice I had heard before.

"Stop kicking, Dr. Kleiner," Bryce's voice replied. "You're making an absolute mess." He sounded surprisingly calm.

As the crashing sounds finally subsided, I crept into the room. Four of Freida's assistants were huddled in one corner of the room, with Freida herself hugging her knees in another corner, glancing back and forth between her assistants and the corner nearest me. I peered around the doorway to find Bryce holding another of Dr. Meyer's assistants in a choke-hold. His face was set and resolved, but hardly angry.

Dr. Kleiner, on the other hand, was furious. Seeing me she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Finally, someone who might have the guts to get him off me!" She sounded more annoyed than frightened.

Though they were still struggling, it didn't look like either of them would be doing any further damage - if there was anything left which could still be damaged and make a difference. Holding my stunner warningly, I stood and approached them. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"She scratched me a bit, and I may need a new ear, but other than that, I should be fine." He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Mind you, if she keeps struggling like this, the wear-and-tear might be a little..."

"Not you, bolt-breath," Dr. Kleiner said, exasperated. "And, yeah, I'm just peachy, apart from the homicidal robot who won't let me go!" This last part she said through gritted teeth as she jerked side to side.

"What happened?" I asked.

"There I was at workstation five," Kleiner pointed with her free arm, "working on my project, which," she shouted across the room to Freida, "by the way, Dr. Meyers, no, I will not suspend my research to help you with your hat-thing!" In a slightly calmer voice, she continued. "So Meyers is too busy nagging me to notice the brain-dead wonder over here as he tries to grab my arm!" She jerked again. "So, of course, I pull away, but then he gets pushy, and I have to defend myself, right?"

I looked around the wreckage of the lab. "And the damage was caused by...?"

"She wouldn't stop struggling," Bryce interjected. Kleiner growled, but said nothing.

"Okay, I want you to remain calm." I reholstered my stunner - it wasn't going to be necessary - then unzipped the pocket on my jacket and slowly reached in. "I'm just going to get my deactivation tool." Pulling the long metal tool out, I was mildly amused to see expressions of relief on both of their faces.

"Oh good," Bryce said. "Yes, that should do the trick."

"Can it," Kleiner shot back, "You're about to get your plug pulled."

"Okay, just hold still," I said, approaching the pair, cautiously holding out the tool. "Don't move, just hold perfectly still." I neared them, my outstretched hand mere inches from them.

"Oh, just hurry up and get it over with," Kleiner complained, "I don't want to be stuck like this all daayyyrrrrrwwwww..." Her mouth hung open as the digitized samples of her voice slowed to a low drone.

"At last," Bryce said, releasing her. Though deactivated, her joints remained fixed, with her now standing, motionless, clutching at the arm that wasn't around her neck anymore. "I suppose this will mark the end of your 'they-just-don't-challenge-me-enough-why-can't-they-be-more-like-you-Bryce' phase?' he called to Freida. She mumbled something. "Pardon?" he said, cupping his hand to his ear.

"Take her apart!" Freida yelled, somewhat louder than was absolutely necessary. Her gaze remained fixed on an arbitrary spot on the ground as she said this, but then her expression softened. "Please, Bryce, just..." she trailed off. "Please?"

Bryce looked surprised, then mildly flustered. "You want me to take her to the spa?" he asked, cautiously.

"Only the head and torso," she replied, sniffing. "Leave just the limbs. Always useful to have a few spares around in case..." her gaze drifted to her remaining assistants, still clustered in the other corner. "Just in case," she said, forcing a pleasant tone into her voice. "I'll... I'll be in the archive." She looked at me, as though recognizing me for the first time. "Kaitlyn! I..." she composed herself, apparently caught off guard that I had seen her in such an unguarded state.

"So, yeah. Sorry about the mess, I am -so- behind on the housekeeping." She flashed a smile at me. It looked genuine enough to make me wonder if she'd recovered, or if all her smiles were forced. "Anyway, glad you're here, I had something I wanted to talk about with you, in, ah-" She scanned the room "well, in absence of an office, I suppose the Archive will have to suffice, which it should, since that's where the..." She seemed to thinking out loud. "Right, yes, the Archive! I want us to talk in the Archive, just..."

She launched into a coughing fit so violent, it made me want to cough. I looked at Bryce, questioningly, but he shook his head, almost imperceptibly. Good grief, I thought, what kind of customized programming had she given him that made him that realistic? Finally, she put a handkerchief to her mouth and made one last cough, then took a deep breath and steadied herself. "Just..." she wheezed, "Just give me a little..."

"Kaitlyn," Bryce cut in, "I wonder if you'd mind giving me a hand with Tess here?" He shrugged half-heartedly. "I'm not really programmed for ARA repair and disassembly. Not sure if my behavioral lockouts would even allow it."

"Bryce, you slacker," Freida chided, "You just don't want to do it yourself." She turned to me again. "You'd better help him out. If he doesn't get his way, the only way to get him to stop whining is a hard reboot." She grinned at him. "Or a really hard boot to the head." She theatrically held up one finger in a 'eureka' gesture. "Meet me in my lair when you've completed your tasks!' she said in a hammy voice before ducking into the Archive.

"What was..." I began.

"She'll need about five minutes to fully recover," Bryce said. "Just long enough for you to help with this."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You sneaky sexbot."

He looked offended. "I'll have you know that I am classified as a medical appliance," he said, hefting under Kleiner's arms to lift her onto a nearby counter. "But I wasn't lying. I don't think I'm allowed to er... well, put her in a state to... remove..." He gestured vaguely at Tess's inert form. It took me a moment to catch on. To remove her arms and legs, she would have to be activated. To do so safely without risking the wrath of her personality profile, she would have to booted into maintenance mode. To do that, We would have to access her triggerpoints, which meant...

"You're not allowed to touch her crotch?" I said. "Or her butt?"

He grimaced. "Worse than that. I'm locked out from undressing her."

I couldn't help laughing. "Well, I'm just not programmed for it!" he said, defensively. "I can help Freida with basic lab duties, I can engage in friendly and even argumentative banter with her, I can take care of her health, I can even fuck her seven ways to Sunday," he said, gesturing wildly, "those are things I was designed and programmed for. But I'm not a maintenance 'bot, and Freida set me up with rather strict social inhibitors." He sighed. "Hers is the only body I want to undress or touch in a sexual context. The only one I'm capable of wanting, in fact."

"Wow," I said, somewhat stunned. Then after a short pause, "So... seven ways to Sunday?"

"Closer to twenty. She's surprisingly energetic and agile." He smiled, somewhat embarrassed. "If Mr. Peters weren't so concerned about her overexerting herself, my medical evaluation system would only have me asking if she wants to continue every twelve minutes and forty-five seconds."

Rolling her onto her front, I pulled Tess's knees up to stick her butt up in the air, but I was curious now. "The sex... is it good?" I asked

He blinked. "Best I've ever had."

I flipped up the short skirt of Tess's uniform, revealing her bare ass and pussy. As a lab unit, her clothing had been minimal, only what was required to satisfy Dr. Meyers's sense of modesty. It had only been after a month of complaints that they were walking too slowly and tripping over their own feet that Freida had accepted the fact that they were designed to walk in heels, not sandals.

Sticking my fingers up her slit and backside, I passed the activator tool to Bryce with my free hand. "Ready?" I asked. He nodded. "On three. One, two, three." At the same time, Bryce slid the tool into Kleiner's ear, holding it in place, while I held down both triggerpoints. Mentally, I counted to five before a loud *beep* issued from Tess's head.

"System loading," She announced. "Maintenance mode. Social interface will be loaded in five seconds, or press the anal triggerpoint to use direct command interface." I pulled my hand out of her. I always preferred to use the social interface. Direct command was useful for techies who knew all the OS commands inside out, but I always got too bogged down in studying the integrity of the software to learn all the commands. I could tell you the exact memory addresses in a GySys B-Series dancer to wipe if you wanted to reset her password settings, but I had no idea how to load new dance routines into her without using the social interface.

"Social interface loading," Tess stated. "Please standby."

As I waited, looking at Tess with her naked posterior sticking up in the air, and glancing at Bryce, a thought occurred to me. "Bryce," I said, hesitantly, "since you don't have a vagina..."

"I just know I'm going hate the way this sentence ends," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"...How do your triggerpoints work?" I'd never really thought about it before, as few male ARAs as I'd ever interacted with. "I mean, is there some kind of adapter, or does it come off, or..."

Bryce's eyes widened as I asked, a comical look of shock on his face. He cleared his throat. "Yes, I think I get the gist of your question," he said, quickly. "I am, of course, equipped with at least one triggerpoint in common with my distaff counterparts..."

"In your ass?" I asked.

"I hoped that would go without saying, but yes. As for a secondary triggerpoint, there is no firmly established industry standard for male ARAs, seeing as we're something of a custom-order product to start with, but the most commonly used one is a secure connection redundant optical transmission analog logic-gate."

I silently mouthed the words one by one, then the penny dropped. "SCROTAL?!" I said, convulsing with laughter. "You have a scrotal triggerpoint?"

A wilting look settled on his face. "Blessedly, I wouldn't know. Freida deactivates me before using those interfaces."

"Hello," Tessa said smiling cheerfully. "I'm Tessa. I have been booted into Maintenance mode. You can use this mo-"

"Skip," I said.

"I am currently running my social inter-"

"Skip."

"You may issue commands to me with simple English phrases like-"

"Skip." This time Bryce said it, too.

I waited a few moments, then realized she had finished. "Tess, stand up," I told her.

"Okay," she said brightly. Instead of pushing herself up with her arms, as any human would, she simply brought her knees further up, then rolled back on her heels. From this position, she spread her right leg wide, then placed her full weight on that leg to rotate her entire body to the edge of the counter. At this stage, she did use her hands, lifting herself up off the counter surface, then bringing her feet forward. She lept down like this, landing, catlike, with only a faint -clack- as her heels impacted with the hard floor.

Slipping off her labcoat, I began to look for fasteners on her uniform. "Is there a zipper on this thing?" I asked Bryce.

"I've never had occasion to find out."

"Arms up, Tess." She complied without comment. Grasping her hem of the uniform. I pulled it up and over her head like a shirt. She wore nothing beneath: As with her lower half, she simply had no need of a bra. Without some kind of sexual programming, the thought of bras, and even whether or not she was wearing one, wouldn't have entered into her mind.

"Do you think you should take the pelvis?" I asked Bryce. "Are you even capable of touching it?"

Bryce shifted uncomfortably. "Strictly speaking, Freida only told me to take the head and torso." He hesitated. "But she also only told me to leave the limbs." He looked confused. "I need to take her apart. She comes apart at the neck, shoulders, waist, and hips. If I don't disconnect her waist, I haven't taken her apart." He furrowed his eyebrows.

I decided to let him work through it himself. "Tess, disconnect waist."

"Okay." she nodded. There was a whirring noise, then a click. I wrapped my arms around her in a bear hug, then lifted, separating her body at the waist. Her pelvis and legs stood, looking for all the world like a mannequin display. Then her system idle animation caused her legs to shift position. It sent a shudder through me, but not an unpleasant one. It occurred to me that I was holding her naked upper body, pressed up against me, with her head inches from my own. I felt the soft cushioning of her breasts against my own, and shifted slightly, causing her nipples to rub past mine. Even through the fabric of my shirt and bra, it was like someone tracing their fingers across my tits.

I blushed, then realized I didn't need to be embarrassed. Bryce was just a machine, as were the other assistants. Without further orders from Freida, they had gradually finished their previous tasks, then lined up, one by one, along the far wall, standing motionless at attention. Bryce was probably the most advanced AI in the room, and he would be equally embarrassed, no matter how events played out. Besides, he was still working through his conflicting directives, probably too distracted to notice anything else.

"Tess," I said quietly, placing her torso on the counter again, "Open your mouth, just a little."

"Okay," she said, slightly louder than I would have liked. Her lips parted.

I brushed my fingers down her neck, then between her breasts. Leaning in, I put my mouth to hers, licking her lips experimentally.

Regardless of their other functions, ARAs are almost always equipped and programmed with sex in mind, in any circumstance. So, I wasn't at all surprised when her tongue began to move, first around, then along my own. I brought my hand up, about to grasp her breast, when I felt her hand on my own boob. My eyes snapped open in shock, then narrowed and closed in pleasure, as she took the whole of my breast in her hand, squeezing gently, then traced her fingers around my nipple, squeezing and rolling it between her fingers. It felt good, but I suddenly realized that I was feeling her hand on my bare flesh, not through clothes. Without even realizing I had been doing it, I had pulled up my shirt and bra, and my hands were already fumbling with unfastening my belt. I probably would have taken off my trousers and panties, too, just so she could take care of me down there with her other hand.

Catching myself, I broke the kiss and pulled back. Bryce still muttered distractedly to himself, Tess still smiled compliantly at me, and the other assistants all still stared blankly at nothing. I straightened my shirt and cleared my throat. "Okay, Tess, remove your head." I needed to get on with this, or Freida would start to wonder what had happened to me.

"Okay," Tess said, her inflection an exact match for the previous times she had said it. She reached up, squeezing the pressure fittings in her head, then twisted it to one side to detach it. It came off with a metallic clicking noise. Without knowing why, I reached out, fascinated, feeling the soft flesh of her neck and the smooth chrome of the connection point. "What's it like?" I said aloud, not really meaning to. "Being a machine? Being so capable, and so obedient?"

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Tess said. "I didn't catch the question. Remember to speak clearly and distinctly so your commands are understood."

"No, I don't think I'll be repeating that," I whispered, taking her head and placing it carefully on the counter. I reached out and grasped her right arm at the shoulder and elbow. "Tess," I said, more audibly this time, "disconnect right arm."

There was another whirring, clicking noise, and I felt something shift in the arm's weight. I pulled it away at the shoulder, only a mild magnetic field still holding it in place. I set the arm aside next to her head, then repeated the process with her left arm.

Her upper half taken care of, I turned to her lower half, which was once again shifting position. I reached between the legs with one hand and grabbed her butt with the other. "Tess," I instructed, "disconnect right and left legs."

"Okay," came the reply, and the whirring, clicking sound repeated itself, just as before. Lifting gently, I was able to pull the pelvis unit off the legs without knocking them over, They weren't able to stand by themselves, but they fell towards me, and I had a chance to set down the pelvis before repositioning the legs to lean against the wall.

"Freida told me to take her apart. Freida told me to leave only her limbs. Freida told me to only take the head and torso." Bryce's voice was starting to distort. Contradictory instructions were rarely truly damaging, but in his case, an implicit part of one instruction was directly against his core programming. "If I leave just the limbs, I must-must-must-must take the pelvvvvvis," he stammered.

Poor thing. wouldn't want him to break himself over something so trivial. I bundled the pelvis unit into Tess's labcoat, and held the bundle out to him. "Bryce, would you do me a favor and take this with you to the spa?"

"I musssst take her apart." he said. His head twitched. "Apart," he repeated.

"Already done, see?" I gestured behind me at the assorted parts which had been Tess a moment ago.

He seemed to calm down, and there was an odd silence. It took me a moment to realize it was the sudden absence of a sound I hadn't even noticed, presumably some cooling mechanism in Bryce.

"I must take only the head and torso," he said, his head facing me, but his gaze looking far beyond me.

"Yes, but I'm asking you to take this as well."

He looked at the bundle, then at me, then blinked rapidly. "I cannot touch the pelvis," he said, his voice now returning to normal.

"Do you see a pelvis around here?" I asked.

"I..." he blinked. "Thank you. Freida has installed numerous failsafes in me to prevent that kind of thing, but I think she forgets my hard-coded limits sometimes."

Approaching the counter, he hefted Tess's torso, then paced it under one arm. In one hand, he grabbed Tess's head, holding it to his chest. In the other hand, he took the bundled lab coat.

"Are you sure you can carry all that?" I asked. He looked kind of overloaded.

"This?" he said with a small laugh. "Please. If Freida had me carry this amount of stuff all day, every day, it would be a relaxing change of pace. Do you have any idea how much most of this equipment weighs?"

"Um..." I hesitated.

"Ask me later, and I'll tell you. Down to the microgram. And I know because I've lifted, moved, or just held over my head for no good reason every single piece of equipment in here, including," he nodded at the assistants on the far wall, "all four of them plus Tess here, at the same time."

"Why...?" I began.

A surprisingly warm look appeared on his face. "The same reason I do anything, including just existing. To make her happy." His normal, sardonic look reappeared. "And because she likes to pretend this place is a three ring circus when she's bored." He turned to leave. "Keep an eye on her, please. If anything happens, press the red call button next to one of the doors." I couldn't see the expression on his face, but it sounded more caring than grouchy.

As he left, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. Was all that just someone's highly scripted simulation of emotional attachment? I knew Freida had been tweaking his systems over the years. Even since I had been hired, he had gone from a pretty impressive novelty to something almost indistinguishable from a human.

Almost, I reminded myself, except for the compulsion to serve, the need to be owned, the ability to be programmed, and the potential for malfunction. Almost human, but a manufactured artifact, assembled and designed, with removable parts. I glanced at Tess's arms and legs on the counter. What's it like?

I shook myself out of these thoughts, and, stepping carefully, made my way across the wreckage of the trashed lab to the Archive entrance. Reflexively, I reached up to knock on the heavy steel door, but it immediately opened before my hand came into contact with it. Freida poked her head out. "What's taking so long?" she said, initially not noticing me. "Kaitlyn, if you're fooling around with my manbot, there's going to be hell to-"

She trailed off, realizing that she was addressing an empty corner of the room, then noticed me. "Where's Bryce?" she asked.

"Spa, remember?" I told her.

She blinked. "Right," she said, shaking herself. "Yeah, I remember." She stepped aside, gesturing in the bunker-like room. "Will you come into my spider, said the parlor to the fly?"

"I think you've got that backwards," I said as I brushed past her.

"Don't be silly. Flys can't talk."

The maze-like storage room was very much as I remembered it from my first day here, if slightly more cluttered. Some of the smaller equipment had been repositioned over the years, and there ware more gadgets that I couldn't identify, but other than that, it was hauntingly familiar. The table where Pria, Althea, and I had discussed and debated our own natures was still in the same spot, still with the same three chairs around it. I enjoyed the idea of being so utterly submissive, Althea's voice echoed in my head. I enjoyed seeing the other submissive machines around us, and I could tell you two were also getting turned on.

I hadn't given much thought to Althea's conclusions since then. The next day, it had just seemed like an elaborate psychological training exercise, and it was all too easy to forget in the day-to-day routine of security. Looking back on it now, I realized that I had been more honest with myself on that day than ever before or since.

I glanced around the room, spotting the FERGA device. It had been moved to another side of the entry area, and it looked like parts of it had been replaced since then - or maybe I just didn't remember the details.

Yes, you do, said that tiny voice at the back of my head - the one that everyone has, telling them the things they're not sure they want to admit. I knew there was no way I could forget every detail of the device's surface, color, texture... I could still smell the copper/ozone tinge it gave the air, still hear the way the shape of the large ring distorted sounds. Time had seemed to crystallize in that moment when I knelt in front of the device, wondering all the while whether the pounding I felt really was my pulse, or just a programmed simulation. I had to know.

And when you found out, said the voice, were you disappointed?

"Sure has been a while," Freida said, jolting me out of my thoughts. I'd nearly forgotten she was there.

"Freida," I said, slowly, "what the hell happened out there?"

"What, that?" she said with a dismissive wave. "Oh c'mon. what robot engineering lab is complete without the occasional what-has-science-done moment?" She laughed. "I was starting to worry. If we didn't have one soon, I would have had to start my diabolical plan for global conquest, and I just don't have enough hamsters to get that going right now."

"Be serious," I said.

"Who says I'm not being-"

"Nice visiting with you Freida," I said, turning to leave. She could tell me not to ask, or that she didn't want to talk about it, or even to fuck off. At least then I'd know what she wanted. But this comedy act was too dishonest. Just fucking tell me what you want, Freida.

"Wait, I..." Freida called. "Stay, please."

I turned, a sympathetic look on my face. "What happened out there?" I asked. "I've never seen you like that."

"No, only Bryce has," she replied. "And, in a way, he's what happened."

My eyes went wide. "You mean he really did go haywire?"

"What? No, nothing like that." She took a deep breath. "Bryce is different. The transfer was mostly surface-level and..." She saw the lost expression on my face. "Let me show you something."

She led me back out into the lab, over to the showcase display. After waving her wristband in front of the sensor, she pulled an activator tool from her pocket. "Only a few people know about this. Let's try to keep it that way," she said.

When the panel had opened, she stuck the activator in the ear of the display cranial unit. I half expected its eyes to flash, or for it to say something, but instead, the shelving unit itself began to slide upward, revealing a small, darkened room beyond. I glanced over my shoulder at the four inert lab assistants. "Don't worry about them," Freida said. "They're better at keeping secrets than I am."

As the shelf slid upwards, and the lights in the hidden room began to flicker on, I was able to make out pieces of equipment, some similar to the ones in the main lab - some apparently more advanced. Over in one corner, there was a small workstation, with a terminal display, connected to a headpiece of some kind. Helmet-looking thing, lots of switches, big button that says "begin transfer" Jane's voice echoed in my memories. What had she called it? Some kind of mapping...

This line of thought was derailed when I saw the figure standing opposite the workstation.

She was obviously an ARA, wearing only a simple bra-and-panty set, standing elegantly at attention, her gaze locked on a fixed point in space. Completely inert, and the very archetype of style and beauty.

It was becoming hard for me to ignore the fact that I may have had just the slightest bit of a bisexual streak.

Her sexual allure aside, I instantly recognized her features, form, and even undergarments, She had been the subject of rumor, speculation, and industry-wide buzz before I had even been hired here. Had she been nude, or fully clothed, I might not have made the connection, but that was unmistakeably the standard issue lingerie set of XR Innovations. I'd seen them often enough over the years - I'd even obtained a set for myself to wear. They were pretty comfortable, but it was the mystique of the fascinating company that made them that really made me like wearing them.

That's not why you like it, said the voice in my head.

"That's an XR9660-F," I said, almost reverently.

"It's a horrible name," Freida replied. "James Peters was a brilliant engineer and had a keen eye for custom likeness design, but his product names had all the poetry of a wet fart."

"What do you call her?" I asked.

"The biggest paperweight I've ever seen." She motioned me over to the workstation. "Even if Tess hadn't gone bonkers, I still would have called you down here to discuss this one. She's what I wanted to show you later. This is what I wanted to show you now." I turned and, glancing back over my shoulder at the legendary ARA, reluctantly followed her to the workstation.

"My name isn't Freida Meyers," she said casually,

I was caught off guard. Was she a spy, or an imposter? I tensed, waiting for her to make her move.

"Meyers was my maiden name," she continued. "On paper, my name is Freida Hunt."

I glanced at her hand, confirming what I thought I recalled. She noticed me looking. "I don't wear it. I will again, I hope."

"Look," I said, "I'm completely lost here. Can I have a slightly more condensed version?"

"Brilliant scientists fall in love, get married, husband dies working on brain-scan device, wife saves his mind, tries to finish his research, irradiates herself just slightly more than she should have, gets medical assist 'bot, tries to upload husband's mind into it, can't get the whole thing to transfer, missing pieces, tragedy, pride, love, car chases, explosions. you want some popcorn?"

"Freida, if you're not going to take this seriously..."

She held up her hands defensively. "Sorry, it's reflexive!" She took a deep breath. "My husband was a neurobiologist. I'm a physicist and computer scientist." She shrugged. "You know, the stereotypical couple."

She turned and put a hand on the workstation. "His life's work... *our* life's work was a comprehensive analysis of the human mind. An understanding of how the object, the actual physical brain, manifests in the form of memory, consciousness, and intelligence. We made a lot of progress, but the biggest barrier to truly studying the brain was examining one in complete detail without, y'know, killing the subject."

"What about traditional brainscans?" I asked.

"Not exact enough. Not thorough enough. Not -fast- enough." She leaned in towards me. "The best medical imaging equipment took tenths of a second to form an image of a brain."

"Seems pretty fast to..."

"How accurate or detailed would a photograph be if it took a day to finish taking the picture? The human mind functions through electrical and chemical impulses across microscopic distances. In a tenth of a second, your brain has gone through uncountable state changes." She widened her eyes for emphasis. "That kind of imaging is useful for studying broad patterns, but useless for exact correlation between state and effect."

"So you wanted to take an instant snapshot of the brain?" I asked.

"Not wanted," Freida replied. "Needed. Compelled. Driven. Some people do things because they want to, or because they enjoy it. We were doing this because the idea had burrowed into our heads and became part pf our nature. We couldn't have stopped if we wanted. We couldn't have even conceptualized the idea of wanting to stop." She turned back to the workstation. "Which is why Brad got careless."

"Brad?"

"Please tell me you've been paying closer attention than that," she said wearily. "We had to come up with some kind of rapid imaging technology, and were playing around with a lot of pretty out-there stuff." She took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. "Life lesson learned," she said, her voice wavering, "never stick your head in a particle accelerator."

"You mean he-"

"Oh, it didn't go exactly like that, but that was the basic premise of the system we were testing. He thought it was safe, I didn't. I thought we were going to be scanning a watermelon. He was in the monitoring chamber, I was at the controls. He decided to surprise me and put his head in instead of the watermelon."

She stared at the floor silently for a few minutes. "The doctors said he wouldn't have felt anything," she said, quietly. "Good news, though, we got a complete snapshot of his brain, every neuron, every axon, every impulse, the whole shebang."

She turned to the workstation and, pressing a button on the console, removed a cartridge the size of a deck of cards. "Where are my manners," she said, holding the cartridge up and gesturing. "Brad, this is the head of security here at ScenariCorp, Kaitlyn Frasier, Kaitlyn, may I introduce my husband, Bradley Hunt." After a brief silence, she whispered to me, "He's shy."

I didn't know what to say. "Freida, I... have no idea how to react to any of this."

She smacked her forehead. "Right, Tess! You'd asked about that..." she waved her hand. "Thaaaat," she said, exaggeratedly. "Well, skipping a bit, I improved the imaging technology, not without a hard-learned lesson about playing with the wrong kind of radiation," she said, coughing, "Miniaturized it, refined it, and put it in that." She pointed at the headpiece. "So, that part of the project is essentially finished."

"That part?"

"Copying someone's mind onto removable media is one thing," she said. "Putting it to use is another. Neural maps aren't straight executable code. You can't just copy this," she waved the cartridge at me, "Into an ARA and get anything useful out of the deal."

I felt dizzy. Was she saying what I thought she was saying? "Are you... trying to bring your husband back from the dead?"

"Of course I fucking am, haven't you been paying attention?" Tears stared welling up in her eyes. "We were everything to each other! I would tear the world in half to get him back!" She held the cartridge in my face. "As far as I'm concerned, he's not dead. He's trapped. I'm just trying to get him out."

Calming herself with visible effort, she turned and replaced the cartridge in its slot. "Unfortunately, the transfer doesn't work so well the other way," she continued. "Getting the mind image into a form where it can think again, that is. I've made progress but... I can't get a full imprint to take."

My pulse started pounding. "You can get a partial transfer?" I whispered.

"Basic personality only. No memories. Tess was my latest attempt to get past that hurdle." I stared at her, not comprehending. "I figured, hell, memories can be fabricated, the personality's the important part, let's see how well an imprinted personality copes with existing memories."

"I'm not sure I follow," I said, my mind still churning with the implications of a transfer.

She sighed. "I imprinted myself on Tess, but left her existing memories in place. That's what went wrong." She gestured back outside, defeatedly. "That's why I was a wreck when you got here. Seeing her go berzerk like that... I thought it meant that either I was doomed to go insane and never see him again, or that the technology was ultimately impossible, and I'd never see him again." She smiled wanly. "All it really meant was that my personality is incompatible with Tess's memories of being an obedient little automaton."

I looked at the helmet, then at Freida, then at the XR unit. It felt like the room was spinning. "You can put a person's mind... in a robot body..." I murmured. I grabbed her shoulder. "Do it. Make me a robot."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Well, that certainly simplifies part two of this conversation." She stood and began walking to the XR unit. "C'mon, this is the part that I wanted to show you in the first place."

She led me back over to the lingerie-clad ARA, and I took the opportunity to admire the smooth curves of its construction. Even in a completely deactivated state, she seemed alive. Not frozen, but waiting. "What do you know about this model?" she asked.

"For certain?" I laughed. "Before I saw her here, I wasn't even sure she existed." I ran my fingers down one delicate arm, enjoying the silky smoothness of her skin. "I know what SecurStandard wrote about it, and I know about XR units in general, but beyond that..." I trailed off, my fingers drifting to her hair. It was light and flowy, and my fingers slipped through it without a hind to tangle or friction. "She was supposed to be the holy grail of system security," I said in awe.

"Well, to their credit, SecurStandard didn't lie. Everything they wrote about it... er... her," she said, noticing my fascination, "was all true. It can detect and correct vulnerabilities on the fly. The processor's dynamite, and its cross-link capabilities are, well..." She floundered. "We don't actually know her cross-link limits. We haven't been able to max them out."

"What's she doing here?" I whispered.

"Well, you know Kirk and James were brothers. Apparently, ScenariCorp got a pre-release unit before the explosion, and..."

"No, what is she doing here? Deactivated? In this room?" I walked around behind her, feeling the bare skin along her back.

"You need a private moment with her or something?" Freida asked.

"Sorry, I'm just... I didn't think I'd ever see one," I said. "Is it okay if I just look her over a bit?" XR was renowned for their craftsmanship, but their scarcity meant that enthusiasts (that’s not the word for it, said the voice in my head) like me never had a chance to see one up close. "I mean, an XR... that would be one thing, but a 9660F..."

"Er, yeah, knock yourself out, just don't make a mess, okay?" Freida said.

I cupped one hand to the XR's cheek. It felt warm, reflecting my body heat. "Anyway," Freida continued, "The hardware's all there, capable of doing all those things. Problem is, James Peters never bothered to write a developers' guidebook." She brushed a stray strand of hair out of the unit's face. "So, we get amazing miracle technology that may as well have come from time traveling aliens, but we haven't got any software sophisticated enough to run the damn thing."

My stomach felt like it was full of rocks. "Oh," I said, softly. "So she doesn't do anything." My hand drifted absently across her shoulder. Nothing had changed, but the unit felt colder.

"Not unless we transfer a human mind into her," Freida replied.

I wasn't aware that I had passed out until I opened my eyes. "I probably should have had you sit down for that part," Freida told me. "You okay?"

I sat up, rubbing my head. "So you can put a human mind in that... in her?" I said, hesitantly.

"Actually, her system should take it more easily than others. The Quantron system architecture is closer to human neurology than most ARA systems."

"And you wanted to show it to me because..." I wanted, and feared the answer.

"You remember those mental wellness questionnaires they sent around the company a while back?" I nodded mutely. "That was Peters's idea. We needed a good candidate for copying their personality into this unit to get it running - otherwise, the BMOC project probably won't be able to move forward."

"She's going to be running security there?" I said. My mouth was dry.

"That's the plan. We narrowed it down to five candidates. Kirk and Jane Peters, me, Kyle Parson..."

My mouth fell open. "Parson? In security?"

"He's smart, and he knows how to find holes in software," she replied. "And then of course, there's you."

"I'll do it."

"It won't really be you," Freida cautioned. "It will just be a copy of your personality. No memories. You won't experience any of it."

"I'll do it."

"And this unit will still be available for normal on-site unit duties, you know. A copy of you would be ordered around to fulfill the sexual whims of..."

"I'll do it, Freida."

She blinked. "Well okay then." She retrieved the headpiece from the workstation and plopped it on my head. "Hold still," she said, poking at the controls. She continued fiddling with it silently for what felt like an eternity.

"Let me know when it starts," I said.

"Kaity, dear, it finished a nanosecond after it was securely on your head. I've just been verifying the integrity of the snapshot." She pushed a button just above my eyeline, and I felt a click at the back of the helmet-like device. Reaching back there, she retrieved another cartridge similar to the one her husband was stored on.

"Can I hold it?" I asked.

"Sure, just be careful. I don't want to have to spend another nanosecond taking a second snapshot." She handed me the cartridge. It felt lighter than it looked.

"And this is me? Everything that I am, it's all on this cartridge?" I felt the smoothness of its casing. "I'm a piece of software now," I said quietly to myself.

I stood, then approached the XR unit. "She's beautiful," I whispered, not really to anyone. "Everyone will want her, and she'll do whatever she's told, and she'll keep the place secure, and she'll be... me."

Unable to control myself, I threw my arms around the inert ARA, pressing my lips to hers, my breasts to hers, running my hands down her back to her butt, her thighs, between her legs, up to her breasts. She didn't respond, her mind not yet activated, not yet installed, I was holding her mind in my hand, her wonderful, digital, synthetic mind that could be changed, rewritten, updated, and was utterly, completely controlled. She didn't react as I pulled aside the fabric of her bra to examine the texture of her nipples, how they felt, how they tasted.

She gave no hint of awareness as I slid down her panties, revealing her pussy, smooth just like mine. I was momentarily disappointed to find her dry, but realized it wasn't that she wasn't aroused - she just wasn't turned on. "Start her up and she'll always be ready. Always willing. Always wet." I moaned in pleasure, suddenly realizing that I hadn't been as careful as I had been earlier with Tess. Without realizing it, I had already stripped down to my underwear (I'd forgotten I was wearing my XR-styled lingerie) and was holding one of the XR unit's hands against my left tit, and the other against my pussy, sliding it up and down along the smooth, dampening fabric of my panties. As I began to work the unit's hand under the waistband to feel her finger actually inside me, Freida's voice cut into my thoughts.

"Just let me know when you're done in there," she called from the outer lab. "And by done, I mean fully clothed again."

It didn't take long, feeling the XR unit's fingers come into direct contact with my slit practically pushed me over the edge right then and there. My own fingers now slick with my juices, I began to explore her pussy. Without any intentional effort, my hands slid in and out in synchronized motion, so that I was feeling every thrust just as I thrust into her, my mind filled with pleasure, and the voice in my mind told me this is what you really wanted.

This time, I was aware when I blacked out.

When I came to, I quickly fixed my clothes and made my way into the outer lab. Bryce had returned in the meantime, both he and Freida were back to their normal selves.

"You only commanded me to take the parts there, Freida, you didn't tell me to hurry," Bryce said, his arms crossed.

"Oh, the fact that we're now down an assistant didn't initiate any kind of priority update?" Freida said. "You know, 'my mistress is shorthanded but still has the same deadlines, so I'd better get a move on' or something like that?"

"I'm sorry, my what?" Bryce spluttered. "Did you say 'my mistress'?"

As they bickered, apparently unaware of my presence, I couldn't help but notice the smiles creeping into both of their expressions. How can she have such an intimate relationship with her ARA if she's so dedicated to her husband? I wondered. Then a thought struck me.

"Freida," I said, hesitantly. She jumped.

"Kaitlyn, you scared the contents of my lower intestine out of me!" She said, steadying herself.

"I'll get the towels," Bryce said.

"Joke, lunkhead," Freida replied.

"So was mine," was Bryce's response.

I cleared my throat to get their attention. "How did you know that a personality would transfer, but not memories? Have you done it before?"

Freida was momentarily lost for words. "I..." she began. She looked at Bryce. "Don't you have some cleaning to do?"

"I wasn't aware I had a cleaning program. I must remember to send a thank-you note to my programmers," Bryce muttered as he strode off.

Freida took me by the arm, somewhat forcefully, and led me into the archive. "I think you pretty much already know the answer to that question," she said, tersely.

"Bryce?" I asked. "He has your husband's..."

"Sakes, you really were distracted in there. Gets medical assist 'bot, tries to upload husband's mind etcetera. Ring any bells?"

I blinked in surprise. I had heard the words, but completely failed to put two and two together.

"For all intents and purposes, Bryce is my husband," she continued quietly. "As expensive as male ARAs are, the extra cost of giving them custom faces is negligible. He has Brad's face, Brad's voice, Brad's body, and Brad's mind. Well, as much of Brad's mind as will fit in that model. The biggest difference is that he doesn't have Brad's memories." She saw the look on my face. "It's no different than when a spouse has amnesia."

"Except that he's actually compelled to obey you," I pointed out.

"That's what Brad was like in public. We're the opposite when we're..." She made vague motions with her hands. "Together, alone."

"Doesn't he mind not being able to use his real name?"

"Why do you think I pulled you in here?" I stared blankly at her. She rolled her eyes. "Bryce doesn't know he has a human mind."

There was a long silence.

"Will you ever tell him?" I asked.

She looked at the floor. "I hope so," she said, quietly. She looked back up at me, rubbing her eyes, equal parts emotion and exhaustion. "Look, maybe you should check back tonight. It'll take a while to fully imprint your snapshot, but it should be finished sometime this evening.

I raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to the party?"

A pained look appeared on her face, and she groaned. "Shit, don't tell me that's tonight."

"You want me to lie, or just not say anything?" I asked. "You don't want to go? It's not like it's mandatory." I considered. "For most of us, anyway." Seeing her confused expression, I confided, "You didn't hear it from me, but I hear Mr. Peters finally got Parson to come by pretending it was compulsory."

"Huh," she grunted. "I guess sixth time's the charm." She ran a hand through her hair. "I wish I could go. I was looking forward to it. Even had a special gift picked out for the kid." She looked at me hopefully. "Could you give it to him for me?"

"Sorry, can't." I smiled halfheartedly. "I had to pick up part of the night shift. We're kind of shortstaffed."

"That's awful! How many hours will that make it?"

"Only twelve. I get a break in the middle and take a nap at the hotel." I checked my watch. "Speaking of, I'm going to have to head on. Miles to go before I sleep." I turned to leave. "I'll check back tonight, though. I'd... I'd like to meet her."

"You want me to light some candles?" Freida called as I exited the Archive.

In the outer lab, I was surprised to see Bryce pushing around an old-fashioned dustbroom to gather up the broken glass and smashed equipment. "Doesn't Freida have a more high-tech cleaning device?" I asked.

"Of course she does," he replied without looking up. "That would be me." He paused, glancing sidelong at me. "She told you the whole story, didn't she? Brad, brain imaging, imprinting, the whole nine yards?" I nodded. "I'll tell you something she wouldn't know," he said. "Her relationship with Brad went beyond memories."

I furrowed my brow. "How would you know that?"

"Because my relationship with her goes beyond getting them back."

My mouth fell open. "You know?"

"Bradley Hunt was a smart man, so I hear," he said. "And, frankly, I'm far more advanced than I have any right to be. Oh, don't look at me like that, it's not conceit. I know I'm a machine. But I also know the limitations of the technology that went into my construction and programming. I shouldn't be capable of a lot to the things I say and do, even with Freida's so-called AI enhancements." He began sweeping again. "I know she has the desire. I know she has the means. I've seen pictures and vids of him, so I know I look and sound like him." He laughed. "It doesn't take an XR9660-F to make the connections."

"Does it bother you?" I said, cautiously.

"That's a paradox," he replied. "I have no memory of being Bradley Hunt, so I can't miss it or aspire to it. In order to know whether or not it would bother me, I'd have to become him again, making it a moot point."

I frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

He stopped sweeping again, then glanced around. "I also know why she wanted to get you down here, before Tess's incident," he said, softly. "And I know enough about you to know that you probably jumped at the opportunity." A calculated look appeared on his face. "Freida would have warned you about some parts of it, but she wouldn't know to tell you this. You deserve to know that your personality won't just be a convincing social interaction layer or application manager. With that fragment of your mind, she will be alive."

"I... what are you saying I should do?" I stammered.

He went back to sweeping. "Do? What you do is up to you. I just wanted to make sure you knew." He chuckled. "Accidental poetry. Freida would get a kick out of that."

I was about to reply when my wristband buzzed. That never happened. I'd almost forgotten that it could buzz like that unless it was triggered by...

"Oh hell, I've got to go," I said, running for the door.

I made a mad dash back the way I had originally come, jabbing the security override button on the emergency transmitter repeatedly as I went. Of course, it only took one press to do its job, but extra presses wouldn't hurt, and there were a few dead zones around the building where the signal might not get through.

Cutting back through my shortcut, I approached Mr. Peters's office lift, the up arrow above it blinking on and off, bright red instead of its usual green. Having received the override signal, the lift would have returned to ground level, sealing off all access except my own. Once in sight of it, I held the override button down in one long press, causing the doors to open automatically. As soon as I entered the small lift, I released the button. The lift started rising, faster than it normally would, before the doors had fully closed.

I checked my stunner. The charges it fired could disable at distances of up to 100 feet, but the cells used only held a maximum of eight shots, and that was at the lowest setting. The manufacturer called that setting "deter," but customers nicknamed it "tickle." For setting that actually had any effect, I would only get four shots. "Should have grabbed a few extra cells," I mumbled.

As part of the security override, the elevator didn't *ding* upon reaching the office level, instead dropping to a slower pace, and slowly opening the doors even as my eye-level was even with the floor. It gave me the chance to make a brief assessment of the situation before proceeding.

Initially, all I saw was the distorted reflection off the polished tile floor. As I rose and the doors slowly slid open, I caught a glimpse of a figure in blue standing in front of Mr. Peters's desk. This was soon obscured by the receptionist's desk. Anticipating that she might attempt to waylay me, I retrieved my activation tool from my pocket, and edged out of the elevator.

I was surprised to see Cathy, the receptionist, leaning back in her chair with her blouse unbuttoned, her bra pulled down, and one hand stroking her chest between her exposed breasts. Her other arm appeared to be resting in her lap. "I'm sorry," she murmured to no one in particular, "Mr. Peters isn't to be disturbed. I can't let you go in there right now." She sighed contentedly. As I approached her desk, I realized that her other hand hadn't been resting, but was moving rhythmically between her legs, which were spread wide. Her skirt was pulled up around her waist. The tights she wore weren't crotchless, but she had apparently been at it for a while, as she was appeared to be wearing a hole through the hosiery with her stroking. "I'm sorry, Mr. Peters isn't to be disturbed," she repeated, her head lolling to one side. "I can't let you go in there right now," she continued.

She made no indication of having noticed me, instead continuing with her own activities as I walked past her desk and into the office proper.

"...making a mistake, Peters. This isn't just a friendly visit," said the man in the blue trenchcoat. The voice was equally as familiar as his coat, and, maddeningly, just out of my memory's grasp. "There's too much at stake here for us to accept a straight 'no.'"

So, that was why Peters had triggered the silent alarm. I was surprised he had waited this long before calling me.

Right, potential hostile, possible threat to boss's safety, need to know whether he's armed or not, so the passphrase would be... Ah, that's right.

"Mr. Peters," I said, suddenly. The man in blue jumped, the stiffened, but didn't turn around. "Sorry to interrupt, but the florist wanted to know how many flowers to include in your wife's bouquet."

Mr. Peters cleared his throat. "That won't be necessary, Miss Frasier," he said. "Mister Roarke is no threat to my physical safety. He just needs a little help finding the exit."

"Like hell I do, Peters," growled the man named Roarke. He turned, just barely, to call over his shoulder to me. "Twinkle twinkle, rock-a-bye," he said, then turned back to Mr. Peters.

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure he's not a threat? Maybe a mental health risk?"

At this, Roarke spun around. At first, I thought he was angry, but the expression on his face - I know that face, where have I seen that face - was one of fear. Upon seeing me, he quickly shielded his face with his hat, then bustled past me to the elevator.

"Nevermind," he said hurriedly. "I must have made a mistake coming here." As he passed in front of Cathy's desk, he said, "Naptime's over," then ducked in the still-open doors of the lift.

"Oh!" Cathy gasped cutely, then stood, her long heels clicking on the tile as she approached. She made no effort to fix her clothes, apparently unaware of her state of undress. "Mr. Peters, there's a Mr. Roarke here to see you, but he doesn't have an appointment, would you like me to-"

"Put yourself away, Cathy," he said, tersely.

"Yes, sir!" she immediately replied, turning on the spot and making a beeline for the storage closet. I tried not to be distracted by her shapely rear as it swayed hypnotically, the sheer fabric of her hose stretched tight over her round...

"Kaitlyn?" Mr. Peters called. "I don't think Cathy's going to be eavesdropping, if that's what you're worried about."

"No," I said, sheepishly, turning back to face him. Forcing my mind back to the topic at hand, I was haunted by the glimpse I'd seen of Roarke's face. Older than Peters by a few years, and there was something... "What was that all about?" I asked. Roarke's face stuck in my mind.

"I honestly have no idea," he said, "He came in here without an appointment, but Cathy stopped him. I just kept him waiting as long as possible, hoping he'd get bored and leave." He gestured to the closet. "He did something to her, though. Next thing I know, he's at my desk talking in vague figures of speech, as if he expected me to understand." He scratched his head. "I think he was trying to convince me that he knew my father. When I kept telling him I had no idea what he was talking about, he acted like I was being deliberately stubborn." He frowned. "Why did you let him in?"

"Me? I didn't..." That blue jacket. "I had seen someone coming up, but not clearly. I assumed..."

"That they must have known the access codes. That is odd."

Blue. That face. That voice. I hadn't seen them since... "GySys!" I shouted. My voice echoed loudly in the huge office.

"Kaitlyn, I'm going to say 'what' in a moment, but only to get you to explain why you just shouted GySys at me - not for you to do it again." He cleared his throat. "What?"

"I've seen him before," I said, excitedly, trying to keep from getting too loud. "At GySys. He would come into my division from time to time, always wearing that same jacket and hat. We never interacted directly, and I never knew his name, but I knew he had a lot of clout over there."

Mr. Peters put his finger to his lips in a thinking gesture. "Could that be all there is to it?" he asked. I assumed it was a rhetorical question. "GySys has pulled some really oddball stunts in the past to try to gain my favor, but that was just plain surreal." He glanced at the closet. "And it doesn't explain his effect on Cathy. She's an X-Ero." He shook his head, apparently dismissing the matter. "Nah, it makes sense. They've had reps here before. It wouldn't have been too hard for them to get the lift codes, or to plant something on Cathy, for that matter." He considered this, then pressed a button on his desk. "Cathy, Elle, Summer, could you come out here please?"

The closet door opened, and Cathy stepped out, her clothes still half-removed. She was flanked by two other secretaries, each fully dressed in prim, if short, office dresses. They lined up in front of his desk, standing at attention with their hands clasped behind their backs.

"Ladies, you've all done an incredible job, performance is up, etcetera," he said, as if reciting it from memory, "and as a reward for all your hard work, I've booked each of you an all-expenses-paid trip to the spa, get changed and go down there now."

"Yes sir!" they chorused happily.

"Why Summer and Elle?" I asked as they walked towards the elevator.

"If there is something wrong with Cathy, I don't want her wandering around unsupervised," he replied.

I watched as they neared the front desk, and was surprised as Summer and Elle began undressing Cathy completely. "What are they..." I began.

"Getting changed," said Mr. Peters. "The Spa has a tendency of sending unit clothing straight to wardrobe. I like to keep their uniforms up here." He must have noticed me staring as Elle pulled Cathy's skirt down her long, silky legs, and Summer worked her out of the open blouse. "You don't have to watch if it makes you uncomfortable."

I blushed. "I'm not uncomfortable," I said.

"Are you sure?" he asked. Now Cathy and Summer were helping Elle out of her skirt and blouse. She wasn't wearing any underwear. "You look a little flustered, so if you... Oh." I didn't see the look on his face, but could hear the surprise in his voice. "Oh, okay, I see, ah..."

Now nude except for her heels, Elle turned to Summer to work on the last secretary's skirt, while Cathy began unbuttoning Summer's top. I heard an electronic tone from Mr. Peters's desk. "Jane, dear," he spoke softly, "Could you come in here, please?"

"Early morning dictation?" Jane's voice came from the desk. "I don't have any interviews scheduled for you until lunch, but I can round up some 'new hires' if you want." Summer was stepping out of her skirt, her blouse already folded on the desk. I was a little surprised to see that she was wearing underwear, and bit my lip, wondering if she would take it off too. "I should warn you," Jane continued, "I might not be following our normal dress code for that right now, but if you'll give me a few minutes..."

"No, this is work related."

Oh, good, Elle was pulling down Summer's thong. I hoped she would leave on the stockings, though.

"Who's up there?" Jane's voice asked.

"Kaitlyn Frasier, from security," Mr. Peters replied. "She's, ah... getting a tad preoccupied."

They didn't seem to be taking off her stockings, but what about the... oh, there goes the bra.

"I'm in the lift now," Jane stated. "Hey, what's Lullaby?"

"Apart from the obvious?" Mr. Peters asked.

"There's a blue business card in here, but that's all that's written on it."

I expected the secretaries to simply line up in front of the elevator, but was pleasantly surprised when they gathered up their clothes and carried them back towards us. I brushed my hand across Summer's breasts as she passed. She smiled pleasantly at me. "That feels nice," she said.

"Probably from that Roarke character. Kaitlyn said she recognized him from good heavens she's topless now."

"Oh, poor thing, is the pretty lady undressing in front of you?" Jane responded.

"Does that lift have a turbo button?" Mr. Peters asked.

My physical contact with her was apparently an implicit form of command to Summer, as she made no move to join Elle and Cathy as they slid a concealed rack out from behind Mr. Peters's desk, carefully hanging their clothes on it. I took the opportunity to explore her body with my hands. Leaning in, I kissed her deep on the lips.

"Jane, dear," Mr. Peters said, his voice shaky, "it's really going off the rails up here, have you got an ETA?"

"Fast as I..." The lift dinged, and the doors slid open. I kissed Summer's shoulders, feeling her lips with my fingers, and...

"Kaitlyn, can I have a word with you?" Jane asked.

"Hmm?" I replied, cupping Summer's tits in my hands.

"I think I may need to take the, er... distractions away," Mr. Peters jumped in. "Cathy, Summer, Elle, change of plans, you're with me. Jane, I'll just be..."

"In the private suite, yes, that's fine. Mind the cameras, I'll want a copy of this one. I haven't seen you with three girls in nearly a month."

I was dimly aware that Mr Peters left the room through a hidden door. Jane put her hands on my shoulders. Idly, I wondered where my shirt had gotten to.

"Kaitlyn, can you hear me?" Jane said, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

"I hear you just fine," I replied. "Can I see your body? I want to feel your skin against..."

"Kaitlyn, snap out of it, you need to concentrate."

"I'm soooo horny," I whined, "can't he come back and play?"

Jane's face got stern. "Uh-uh, no, that's the line, you don't get to cross it." She picked up a glass of water from the desk and threw it in my face.

I spluttered as the freezing water dripped down my face, neck, and... "Oh god, where's my shirt?" I said, clutching my arms to my chest.

"There we go," Jane said, relieved. She picked up something that had been tossed clear of the desk. "Here."

Abashed, I pulled my shirt back on, afraid to look her in the eye. I had a good job, close friends, and a more than generous income. Nearly five years of excellent performance reviews, and I had thrown all that away in a day, all due to... what? What had gotten into me?

"Now then," Jane began, "about what happened..."

"I'll go," I said. "You won't hear from me again. I'll find a job somewhere else, and..."

"Don't be silly. That's not what this conversation's about, Kaitlyn." I looked up, surprised to see a sympathetic look on her face.

I felt like a little kid in front of a teacher. "You mean I'm not in trouble?"

Jane's expression said "sort of," but her words were: "You're not getting fired or demoted, if that's what you're asking." She sighed. "Believe it or not, I understand exactly what you just experienced." She caught herself. "Well, not quite exactly. Freida gave you the icing on the cake, I guess."

She looked - and sounded - very understanding. "This company makes and sells fantasy and make-believe," she began. "Every product we make and attraction we build, they're all geared around convincing illusions. Even the non-sexual stuff is designed with the sole intention of getting a person's guard down, and making them forget that they're dealing with a machine. How did it go... we are the magic makers, we are the dreamers of dreams? Was that it?" She shook her head, dismissing it. "Point is, our stock and trade is to get in people's heads and screw with their perceptions of reality. That's just what we do. We're honest liars. We tell our customers that we're liars. They pay us good money to lie to them."

She put her hand on my shoulder again. "We're also very careful about who we hire." She sat on the edge of the desk next to me, and put her arm around me. "So we knew, when we hired you, that you had certain psychological traits we specifically look for in our employees. You fantasize. You have hidden sexual desires. You see a mystique in our industry. You're the type of person who would be a customer, if you were a little more honest with yourself."

I stared at her, half stung, half relieved. "I am honest with myself," I said. "I know what I want now, and it isn't to be a customer."

Jane smiled. "No, you want to be the product." She held up her hand before I could respond. "Not a joke or an accusation. Freida and I were talking when Kirk called me up here." She held my hand, but it didn't feel sexual. "Look, people like you and me... we want to be a fantasy. And we're constantly immersed in fantasy. So it's easy for that line between fantasy and reality to get a little hazy. Moreso for you, today, after Freida's project." She blushed. "I reacted almost the same way when she digitized my mind."

"She took a snapshot of you too?" I said.

She nodded. "Kirk too. I don't think she'd made her mind up about whether or not to do one of Kyle." The sympathetic look returned to her face. "Difference is, you were flat out told, 'we're turning you into a robot.' Even though you knew it wasn't really what you would directly experience, that's how part of you started thinking of yourself, because..."

"Because that's what I wanted to be." I finished. "What I still want to be." I looked her in the eyes. "How do I cope? How do I stop having the fantasies?"

"Who says you need to?" Jane replied. "Dreams are healthy, so long as you can still wake up. When you can't, they call it a coma. Have fantasies. They're fun. Just don't become one yourself."

"Why not?"

"Because fantasies don't exist. They're not real. They're dreams, and they disappear when the dreamer wakes up." She hugged me like a big sister. "You don't end when your fantasy does. Hold onto that thought." She glanced at her watch. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, it's just about time for you to take your mid-shift break at the hotel, so if you'll excuse me, I just need to go watch my hubby have sex with three of his secretaries." She patted my knee. "You go get some rest."

---

The hotel kept a room available for me at all times, but I didn't always use it. Today, however, my first shift had started at 4:00am, and my second shift would begin at 7:00 this evening. The schedule alone was exhausting, and with my emotional state on top of that, I wouldn't have been able to drive home. Even if I could, my commute was more than 30 minutes each way, which meant that much less time resting. I just need to lie down and recharge my batteries, I thought to myself. The figure of speech bounced around in my mind, stirring feelings other than mere fatigue.

"Welcome back, Miss Frasier!" said the desk girl as I approached. "We've got your room all ready for you!"

"Thanks... uh..." I looked for her nametag, but couldn't spot it.

"Melody," she supplied. "It's no trouble at all. I've keyed your room to your wristband, so you should be good to go." She smiled warmly at me.

"Melody." I considered her appearance. She was about my height with honey-blonde hair and a pixie face. She wore the normal Front Desk Girl uniform, and though the check-in counter hid her from the waist down, I knew from previous experience that her skirt was the same flat black as the jacket she wore, that it ended about eight inches above her knees, and that it was made of a thin, elastic material which hugged her curves, and could be easily pulled up to her waist.

I also knew that, despite the professional appearance of the uniform, the "blouse" visible behind the jacket lapels was only a partial shirt, merely a collar and enough fabric to maintain the illusion while wearing the jacket. She probably wouldn't have a bra or anything under the top, and would be wearing a random selection of hosiery and/or a pair of panties - thong, crotchless, or silk.

And she would show me if I asked her, I thought to myself.

"Melody, are you available? I'd like to sleep with you."

She looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry, but all our front desk girls have been claimed by other guests. I'm the only one left at the moment, and we have to keep someone down here at all times." She smiled reassuringly. "However, I am featured in a number of product demonstration videos available on demand, including Mile High Club, Backstage Star, Office Girls 2, and Front Desk Frolics. Additionally, you can reserve me for use in the event that another Front Desk Girl becomes available."

I considered this. "Sure, but don't wake me if I'm asleep. Just lie down with me."

"Understood. Would you like me to arrive wearing my current clothes, nude, or wearing an outfit of your choosing?"

It was tempting, but... "Dressed as you are." If she did come in while I was asleep, I wanted to be able to undress her when I woke up - and I was a big fan of the Front Desk Girl uniform. You want to wear it, said that voice in my head. I didn't even try to deny it.

"Understood. Will there be anything else?" she tilted her head to one side, cutely.

I leaned across the counter, reaching out to take her hand. "What's it like?" I asked her.

She smiled wider - a response to the physical contact - but her voice almost sounded sad. "I'm sorry, I don't understand the question. Could you be a little more specific?"

"Do you like it?" I asked. "Do you like being a machine? A slave? Obedient, compliant, property?"

She smiled mischievously. "Oh, yes," she said huskily, "I'll do anything you want, and I'll love every moment of it." Gone was the air of professionalism as she flirtatiously played with her hair. "I love being owned. It makes me feel so hot." She writhed in her uniform. "I can't wait to be under your control," she whimpered.

It sounded like her deepest desire, as though that kind of submission were her greatest source of happiness - and I had heard that exact sentiment, same words, inflection, and even body language, a dozen times in the last month. It was part of a new conversational response package that had just been released. It was a precisely mapped response. Can she want? I wondered. Can she enjoy? Sure, she may repeat herself to express her desire to be dominated, but did that necessarily mean the desire was itself a lie? Perhaps using the exact same phrasing and body language was itself a submission. Do computers like their programs?

"I hope I see you when I wake up," I said, turning to leave.

I felt giddy on the elevator ride up to my floor, and at the same time, almost sad. The hotel felt like a dream, a fantasyland within the fantasyland of ScenariCorp. I could see myself filling the role of Front Desk Girl so easily, available on request for the pleasure of the guests. Accidental poetry, I thought to myself, giggling. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe the fantasy mindset Jane had described, or maybe a combination of the two, but the whole world felt almost dreamlike.

I made my way to my room, waving my wristband in front of the sensor to open the door, and flopped facedown on the bed.

"Oh," said a surprised voice, "I didn't hear you come in!"

Yes, of course. I smiled to myself, Looking up I saw my own personal French Maid, mine to play with. She had bright, curly hair, and magnificent legs encased in tantalizing, sheer fabric. Like Angelique on my first day, her maid uniform was an abbreviated costume, designed to display her body, not cover it. She held a bundle of towels in her arms. "I was just finishing up, I'll be out of your hair in a moment."

"Stay with me," I said. "I like you."

She smiled, flattered by the comment. "Well," she began, sounding hesitant, "this was my last room for the day, so I'd be off the clock anyway... Okay, I'll stay."

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Evette," she said, still beaming. "Do you want me to put these towels in the bathroom, or..."

"Put them in the closet," I said, grinning. "And while you're there, hang up your uniform."

She nodded. "Sure, no problem," she said casually as she crossed to the sliding mirror closet.

Completely obedient, I thought to myself.

"So, are you staying long?" she asked, sliding the mirror open to put away the towels.

"Not long, but frequently," I replied, propping up on my elbows to watch her.

Having stored the towels, she reached up to unclasp the neckpiece of her dress. "You must be a commuter, then. We get a lot of those here." She pulled the top of the dress down to her waist, revealing the see-thru bra she wore beneath.

"Nice tits," I said as I watched her unzip the dress to work it down her waist.

"Thank you," she replied, smiling. "I don't get to show them off often enough." She slid the short uniform dress down her long legs, revealing a pair of crotchless pantyhose with a thong over them.

Totally accepting, I realized. The only way she would ever get offended was if I told her to get offended.

"Have you worked here long?" I asked.

She stepped out of the dress, then bent, he ass pointed towards me, to retrieve it from the floor. "A few years now. I started in college." She laughed while she hung up the uniform. "I was probably some guy's wet dream. Cheerleader by day, French maid by night.

I closed my eyes, picturing her in her cheerleading uniform - Then myself in a similar uniform, leaping and tumbling with our short skirts flapping as we moved. I wondered what it would be like to share a guy with her... or would the guy be sharing me?

"Do you enjoy your job?" I asked, dreamily.

"Oh yeah," she said enthusiastically. "The whole French maid thing... I used to get off on that idea all the time."

"Evette... did you know how many ARAs there are in this hotel?" I asked, grinning.

She seemed to ponder the question. "ARAs? I'm not sure I've come across any."

"Do you know another maid named Angelique?" She nodded. "What if I told you she was a robot?"

"Oh wow," she said, a look of excitement on her face. "That would mean you could tell her to do pretty much anything, and she'd just do it. I mean, with a body like hers, can you imagine what people would tell her to do?"

"Sit down on the bed with me," I told her.

"Okay," she said, moving to seat herself next to me, her legs curled up beneath her. Idly I ran a hand up her leg and along her inner thigh. "Mmm, that feels really nice," she said contentedly. So perfectly submissive.

"What's it like?" I asked.

"It's like you know just how to touch me," she breathed.

"No, I mean, what's it like being..." A thought occurred to me. "Human," I finished.

"Hmm?" she said, her eyes closed while I stroked her legs. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"Evette, I'm going to let you in on a secret," I said in a low whisper. "What would you say if I told you that I was a robot?"

Her eyes went wide again, a look of pure delight. "That's amazing!" she replied. She took my hand and examined it. "You look so real!"

"Well, superficially, yes," I said, "but I'm not sure I would stand up to closer inspection. I'm programmed not to see my panels and seams, so I don't know how realistic the rest of me looks."

"Can I..." she began. "Would it be okay if I inspected your body?"

I tried to keep a straight face. "Why wouldn't it be?" I said, innocently. "Tell me what you want me to do."

She looked furtively around, as if worried someone might catch us. "Take off your clothes," she whispered.

"Of course," I said evenly. I stood and methodically undressed. Not stiff, not sensual, not even casually stripping, but just performing a task. I stopped at the lingerie and stood at attention. "The phrase 'take off your clothes' has an ambiguous meaning to my programming, as it does not definitively include undergarments. Would you like me to-"

"Yes!" she said, excited, then put her hand to her mouth, afraid she had been too loud.

I understood the command. I performed the task. I removed my underwear. I stood nude.

I nearly came.

Evette stood in front of me, studying my body in fine detail, running her hand over my skin and closely examining every inch. It became very difficult to keep up the game.

"You look completely real to me," she said. "I can't see a single seam, and your skin feels flawless." She knelt in front of me, experimentally running her hands around my hips, butt, and between my-

I bit my lip and stifled a cry of pleasure.

"Completely real," Evette repeated. "And anatomically correct. What were you made for?"

I looked down at her. "I am a sexbot," I said, controlling my tone. "I was designed, built, and programmed for sex. I have no other function."

"You mean... You would do anything I wanted..." She breathed the word "anything" with heavy emphasis. Looking up at me with pleading eyes, she begged, "can I finger you? Or lick your pussy?"

I nodded. "Would you like to?"

"I..." she faltered.

She couldn't do it, I realized. She couldn't order me around unless I ordered her to. "Tell me you want to use me for sex," I said.

"I want to use you for sex!" She said, instantly.

"Command me to get on the bed, ass in the air with my legs apart so that you can use me."

Evette looked at me, then at the bed. "Get on the bed," she said firmly. "Stick your ass in the air, and spread your legs. I want to get at your pussy."

I climbed back on the bed on all fours, smiling. "My pussy is available for use upon request," I said, assuming the position requested. I shuddered in anticipation and waited, worried that I would have to tell her to get to it.

I was relieved when I felt her hands run up the backs of my legs to grab my ass firmly, squeezing and spreading the cheeks, before feeling a wet warmth and probing sensation in my cunt. So this is what it feels like to have a girl go down on you, I thought. I could definitely see the appeal.

Her tongue was quick, dexterous, and went straight for all the right parts, building me up and holding me there repeatedly, again and again. I whimpered in pleasure, my hips reflexively pumping against Evette's face in rhythm with the darting movements of her tongue, until, at last, like a high note in a symphony followed by an eruption of applause, I crashed over the edge and into oblivion.

I lay, panting for breath, acutely aware that, despite my climax, I wanted more. "That's incredible," Evette marveled, "You're so lifelike, and so... obedient." She stressed this last word.

Catching my breath, I looked up at her, still clad in her lingerie, unaware of her own nudity. "Evette," I said. "What's it like for you right now?"

She looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Being human. Being in control. Being independent."

She put a hand to her chest. "It was exhilarating, imagining myself in your place." Submissive to the core, even when dominating. But maybe that's the exact perspective you're looking for, the voice in my head told me.

"Evette?"

"Hmm?" she said distractedly, her hand drifting to one of the straps on her bra.

"Are you human?" I asked.

"No," she replied absently, "I'm an X-Ero OooLaLa model 3 ARA." She blinked, then looked up, a wide smile on her face. "Oh, hey, I'm a robot!" She began examining her arms and hands. "No wonder your skin looked so lifelike to me. It's more realistic than mine!"

"What's it like?" I said, urgently.

"My skin?" she asked. "You can feel if you want. I know you're a human now, so you have full command over me." She pondered for a moment. "Actually, I guess you had full command of me the whole time."

"Not your skin. What's it like being a machine?"

"It's like being what I am," she replied simply.

A machine answer for a human question. "What about when you think you're human?"

"When I think I'm human, that's like being what I am, too."

No! She goes through it every time someone asks her if she's human, she must be able to tell me something! "What about the change?" I asked, my voice becoming more insistent. "What happens in between?"

"In-between..." she trailed off. "I know about sleep and dreams, and I remember having dreams, even if it's in my pretend memories. Going from one to the other is like waking up from a pleasant dream to find a pleasant morning." She smiled understandingly. "And before too long, all you can remember about the dream is that it was nice." She looked like she'd suddenly thought of something. "I wonder what it's like for ARAs... do you think they dream?"

I gaped. Could that be it? Were human and machine just dreams to one another? "We should ask one," I said.

"Do you think they have any in this hotel?" She looked genuinely curious. But she would, said the voice.

"Forget it" I said, glancing at the clock. I suddenly became unpleasantly aware of how tired I was, and how little sleep I would get even if I conked out right then. Of course, if she had a particular feature, I wouldn't have any trouble getting to sleep. "You're a robot, by the way," I said. She would need to know in order to tell me anything about her features.

Her face brightened with pleasant surprise. "Oh yeah, that's right!"

"Can your hands or fingers vibrate?" I asked. "Even while you think you're human?"

"Oh, yes. The vibrator feature is standard across all X-Ero models. This feature is also enabled for my mouth, pussy, and anus," she declared proudly. Leaning forward she confided, "The last two are new features exclusive to the OooLaLa series."

I rolled over on the bed and pulled one leg up to make things easier. "Spoon up behind me and stick one of those vibrating digits in my cunt," I said. "Keep it going until I drop off, then take it out. Stay in bed with me, and wake me up at 6pm sharp." As she climbed under the sheets, I remembered something. "And if someone from the front desk comes in, tell them to slide in on my other side. Got it?"

"Absolutely. I know just what to do." These words were punctuated with a soft buzzing noise, and I felt bliss between my legs as I drifted off to sleep.

---

"Miss?" A voice whispered in my ear. "You wanted me to wake you at 6pm."

I groggily opened my eyes, finding an arm draped across me from behind, and my arm draped over a girl in front of me... the girl from the front desk... as my brain slowly woke up in pieces, I struggled to recall the girl's name. The name was arbitrary, of course. I could call her anything. Literally, I could even call her "Any Thing."

They won't name it Kaitlyn, you know.

I knew, and didn't mind. Melody. The front desk girl's name was Melody. "Hello Miss Frasier," she said quietly. "I hope you had a pleasant sleep?"

"Mmm..." I said, stretching. "I had the most wonderful dream, it was... was..." It was gone. I remembered that it had been nice, both emotionally comforting and erotically satisfying, but other than a lingering sense of arousal, it dissolved into nothingness as I tried to think about it. "It was nice," I smiled, reaching a hand inside Melody's jacket, expecting to stroke a hand down her bare side. Instead, I was surprised to feel some kind of bodysuit.

"Evette, is that you back there?" I asked over my shoulder.

"Yes miss," she replied, her mouth pleasantly close to my ear. "You said you wanted me to wake you up. Since today was one of my days off, I thought it would be okay for me to spend it with you, just lying here."

If it was just now six, that meant I only had ten minutes to get dressed and check in with the previous shift before starting my patrol. After hours tended to be pretty quiet, with virtually no activity other than recreational use of some of the testing areas.

My hand still in Melody's jacket, I found myself more and more curious about the bodysuit. It wasn't something normally in her randomized lingerie selection, I knew that much. "Evette, had you met Melody before?"

Evette laughed lightly. "Well, we do work together. I see her pretty much every day on my way home."

"Did you know that Melody isn't human?" I asked, moving my hand to Melody's leg. Her stockings seemed to be the same material as the bodysuit I felt under her jacket.

"Not human? What do you mean?"

"Melody, why don't you tell her what you are," I said, sitting up. I really should get dressed...

"I am an H720-s series ARA," Melody reported.

Evette made a cute little gasp. She was propped up on one elbow now, and put one hand to her mouth in surprise. "She's a robot? She looks so real!"

"Melody, show us just how real your body looks," I said, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Of course," Melody replied, gracefully swinging her legs off the bed and sitting up. Facing away from us, she unbuttoned her jacket and pulled it down, draping it just below her shoulders.

Instead of her bare back and shoulders, as I expected, her whole body seemed to be covered with the same stretchy material - a single article of clothing, it appeared, in patterned black and deep red.

"Don't tease," I said. "Stand up and undress."

"Okay," Melody agreed. Standing, she allowed the jacket to fall behind her, revealing more of the patterned bodysuit covering her back. She turned to face us, posing as she did, and I was treated to a view of the curve of her breasts, tantalizingly covered by the token modesty of the fake shirt. She unfastened its collar, and dropped that on the bed with the jacket.

The front of the bodysuit bore some central iconic emblem I didn't recognize, and the lines of the pattern were apparently designed around a similar motif. "Melody, what is this thing?" I asked, pinching some of the material and stretching it out.

"I was instructed to wear this under my normal clothing for the remainder of the day by Mister and Missus Peters," she said, sliding down her skirt. "Missus Peters called it the Dark Swan."

As she said it, the lines of the pattern made sense: They were supposed to look like feathers, and the emblem was a stylized swan's head and neck. Around her pelvis, brighter red lines traced the shape of a pair of panties, cut high on her hips. Where these fake panties would have ended, the leggings were a dark gray instead of the deep black of the top, implying they were a separate piece of clothing.

Reluctantly, I looked at the clock. I wanted to play some more, but my shift would be starting soon. "Will either of you be required outside of this room in the next six hours or so?"

"You may reserve me for up to twenty four hours of exclusive use," Melody replied.

"I've got a few vacation days coming, so they won't be expecting me back to work for a while," Evette offered.

Good. "Okay, both of you, I want you to-"

"Hey Frasier, you there?" The voice of Charles, my senior assistant, called over my comm. I scrambled across the bed, rummaged through my discarded clothes and retrieved the small device.

"I'm here," I said, trying to sound casual, "What's up Chuck?"

"Got some weird after-hours activity in the second level offices," he replied.

"Break in?"

"Nah, it's an employee's access code," he replied.

I pursed my lips. "Protocol says send someone anyway."

"Yeah, that's why I called you. I sent Hank and Lisa twenty minutes ago, but they haven't called back yet."

"Ugh," I groaned, "Are you sure they're not just making out in a closet somewhere?"

"Hey, for all I know, they staged the thing to get some alone time with a test unit," he said defensively.

"Okay, I'll take over in the control room for you. You go ahead and check it out," I said, pulling on my clothes.

"Hey, officially, I was off the clock just as they left. I'm only here to tell you."

I made an inarticulate sound of frustration. "Dammit, why couldn't Frank have given more notice before he left?" Since the sudden and unexpected departure of the previous night shift manager, the whole department had been spread way too thin. I had to pull double duty just to keep things from falling behind until we either hired or programmed a replacement. I'd advised Peters against relying on 'bots too heavily in security, since their OS or perceptions could be easily tampered with, but I was starting to regret that position.

"Fine," I said, frustrated. "You go on, Charles. Have fun at the party."

"Hey, the kid only turns six once. Want me to bring you some cake?"

"And ruin my girlish figure?" I said, straightening my shirt. "Yes, I want cake, dammit. Corner piece. With one of those icing flowers." Turning to my two ARA companions, I said, "You two, wait here for me to get back. Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't think."

Evette and Melody froze in position. As I moved towards the door, their heads remained locked facing the spot I had been standing when I gave the order.

It won't always be sex, the voice said. It will also be waiting, cleaning, standing still...

And I'll enjoy those things, too, I thought.

---

I made my way across the offices to the second level. The building seemed oddly quiet, with no sign of activity anywhere. Of course, with the party going on at the Peters mansion, that wasn't necessarily a surprise.

The second level offices themselves were workspace cubicles ringed by proper offices. It seemed darker than it should have been. The after hours lighting was normally dimmer than the daytime lighting, but I didn't think it was this dark.

"Hank?" I called, slowly making my way through the office area. "Lisa?" I didn't hear any response. "Are you two screwing around again? Look, off duty, I don't care if you have an orgy with the..."

I rounded the corner of the cubicles, and saw Hank's slumped form, leaning motionless against the wall in a seated position. My ears rang, and the jolt of adrenaline felt like an electrical shot. I drew my stunner and dialed it up to its maximum setting - two shots at best.

The wound was fresh, but the blood was starting to dry on the wall. Probably happened within a few minutes of getting up here, since he didn't even get a chance to report back to Charles. Staying low, I crept along the cubicles, watching both the faint shadows from the subdued lighting, and the doors of the outer offices, in case someone was lurking in one of those.

A rustling noise and excited gasp came from a cubicle ahead of me. I edged closer to it, steadied myself next to the entrance, took three deep, quiet breaths, then darted around the corner. "Hold it right there," I said to the huddled form, my stunner aimed precisely at their head. They looked up.

"Parson? What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.

"Shh!" he hissed, sounding terrified. "They'll hear you!"

"Talk," I said, coming closer.

"I just came in to finish up some paperwork for a project I'd been working on earlier," he said in hushed tones. "I don't know who they are, but they have guns. They must have followed me in."

"An armed break-in? For what, ARAs? Why not just break into a dealership?"

"Do I look like their PR guy?" he said, anxiously. "I don't know what they want, I just know they have guns." He gulped. "I think they shot one of the guards."

"Do you know where they are?" I asked.

"I think they finished in this area. They said something about the executive offices."

"I thought you said they would hear us," I said, raising an eyebrow.

"I. am. a. fucking. coward." he said, slowly and deliberately. "I'm not taking any chances. I'll stay here all night if I need to."

I sighed. "Never fear, Kaitlyn's here," I said, wearily. Holding my stunner ready, I glanced out the cubicle. "I don't see anything, so it should be clear. I'll get you to the exit." I crept out of the cubicle, maintaining my focus on the door to the lower stairs. "Just get behind me."

I took a few cautious paces, then heard a gunshot. I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. My body hurt.

"Exactly where I wanted to get," Parson chuckled. "Oh, wow, you were nearly as stupid as that Lisa bitch. Had it to the back of her head and she didn't even notice."

The room tilted sideways, and the floor forced itself against my face. I tried to move my arms, but I couldn't feel them anymore.

"She was kind of pretty, I suppose," Parson droned. "Before the shot, that is. Now, well... nice legs. Shame about the face." He giggled. Why was it echoing like that?

"Sorry I can't stay," his voice echoed through muffled cotton, "but I really need to get back to that party. I completely forgot to leave my gift." His voice got fainter.

"You don't end when your fantasy does," Jane's voice echoed, more clearly than Kyle's had. So does my fantasy end with me? I wondered. It felt like my mind was fragmenting.

"With that fragment of your mind, she'll be alive." Brad-Bryce said. He probably wasn't there either, but it sounded real enough. Is she part of me? Am I part of her? Is there really a difference? I could still think, still reason, still wonder... what would happen? What was happening? What is happening right now?

"Wake up, dreamer," I'm whispering. "I have to know. I can't be curious and not know."

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

5.83 - Familiar Territory

2014-01-03T04:36:15Z

Fbc.willowisp:

The speeder cruised through the desert landscape at a breakneck speed. Each time a jolt of pain stabbed through my chest, my vision would blur, and my steering was once again disrupted. Had Jenn still been with me, I could have had her take the wheel, but I no longer had that luxury. I took some comfort in the fact that I had long since abandoned the road, so my near-constant weaving hardly mattered, but the uneven terrain only served to aggravate my condition.

How much lead time did I have on the pursuing units? They weren't the best trackers in the world, but they seemed to be getting better, even the newly infected ones. They weren't just learning individually. They were learning as a single entity.

I caught my reflection in the mirror, and realized how haggard I had become over the past few days. My curly, dark red hair was now oily and matted, and beads of sweat from the pain stood out on my forehead. Since leaving Jenn behind, I had lost sleep, barely eaten, and grown increasingly paranoid. She had been only a simple ARA when I found her, but I had customized her extensively over our time together. I couldn't help but feel a sense of loss. Even if I found another one of her, it would take me weeks to replicate all the customized settings and enhancements I had made to her. So much wok, down the drain.

Another lightning bolt of agony shot across my chest, and I found myself no longer looking through a forewindow at the dimly-lit terrain ahead, but instead looking at faint, indistinct blobs. I tried to look. At the speeder's display instruments, but they too had transformed into indistinguishable squiggles. My brain told my foot to move off the accelerator, and eventually, it did - although the act of lifting it created more aftershocks of pain. Finally, my body gave out and I slumped to one side as the world faded to blackness.

***

I drifted back to months earlier, reliving the crystal-clear memory of finding the other copy of the book. After finding the reference to uncle James' supposedly destroyed wonderproduct in some of dad's files, I was able to piece together how he had acquired it, and what he had intended to do with it. The records were sketchy, though: It was apparent that it hadn't been shipped directly to the facility, and some of the records indicated that it had been transferred to the research division for prepping instead of the normal testing division.

The memos said this was due to the unique nature and role of the unit, but I thought it was more likely that Freida had begged to have a chance to look it over. She had spent months requisitioning ARAs with more and more powerful processor systems, but kept rejecting them as inadequate to whatever project she had been working on. I had a freight bill showing that the XR9660F had been shipped from headquarters, so it definitely wasn't there anymore, but its destination had merely been a ScenariCorp shipping hub. If it had still been in the hub when dad ceased operations, it would have been sold off in the liquidation.

If not, though, it should have been delivered to its originally intended destination - But if I was going to make any headway searching through a facility that size, I would need documentation, and that meant returning to ScenariCorp.

Abandoned for years, ScenariCorp HQ had served as a constant monument to dad's almost single-minded efforts to find mom, wherever she was. He tapped all his resources, spent every penny, then sold off all his assets and spent all of those. Eight months after my sixth birthday, ScenariCorp announced that it would be scaling back to a tenth of its operations. Dad had all but disappeared, taking his control of the company with him. He became a recluse, obsessing on every potential clue.

He sold the headquarters building to a business real estate firm, but they found themselves unable to unload it, mostly because their asking price had been astronomically high, even for the property. The firm later had some legal issues, and ownership of the building passed into limbo. It had become a run-down ruin.

At his funeral last year, I didn't cry. I gave a simple eulogy to the tiny group of remaining acquaintances. "Kirk Peters didn't die last week. He died fifteen years ago. His ghost is what we bury today." I had been functionally orphaned the day of mom's disappearance, my former life of luxury long gone. For a time, I had even lived as a squatter in the very headquarters my father had formerly owned.

I had brought Ella and Jenn along as my search brought me back to the dilapidated ruins of ScenariCorp. Although the state of emergency hadn't yet been called on the city, the building and surrounding area had been evacuated. Even though there probably wasn't a single functioning ARA in the building, people still remembered just how many there had been all those years ago. No one really knew what Lovebug was, but they knew enough to avoid potentially homicidal ARAs.

The documentation library had been ransacked over the years, and minor flooding had filled the room with a moldy smell that was difficult to tolerate for long. Not burdened by the limits of human respiration, Ella and Jenn were able to search the room more efficiently than I could.

At one point, the library would have held more than a dozen copies of each facility's handbook, but the combination of theft, vandalism, and natural damage had made intact copies scarce. We finally found only a single copy of the Nevada facility's book, just before a coughing fit forced me to exit the room. I had expected Jenn and Ella to follow behind me, but was surprised midway down the hallway to find myself alone. Heading back to the library, I found the two of them gradually stripping and fondling each other - they must have switched over to one of my custom idling scripts, probably the "my muscles are so stiff, could you give me a nice rubdown" one.

The mold nearly triggered another coughing fit as I ordered them to come with me. Much of their clothes had been dropped carelessly into a pool thick with mold and sludge, so I had them follow dressed as they were. They obeyed without complaint, both topless, and Ella missing her shorts. I would have to find clothes for them before I traveled through any populated areas.

As we headed to the exit, my cough lingered, culminating in a fit that nearly made me pass out. At last, something - hopefully non-vital - dislodged in my throat, and I found myself able to breathe easy again. I decided to rest a while before continuing onward, and entered the nearest room to find a spot to sit or lie down. If all else failed, I could have the girls lie side by side, and use them as a bed. I'd had to resort to that before, and found them surprisingly comfortable, if a tad lumpy.

I found myself in the Research division lab - Freida Meyer's former haunt. Doctor Meyer had always seemed odd, even when I was a kid. It wasn't until years after mom's disappearance that I realized how much of her behavior was a coping mechanism for her illness. I briefly wondered where she was today, but pushed the idea away at the realization that her condition would have certainly killed her by now.

Oddly, the lab was relatively tidy, compared to the rest of the building. Not everything was upright, and most anything of use or value had been plundered, but I could tell the lab hadn't seen nearly as much vagrant traffic as the rest of the place. Even when I had squatted here as a teenager, people had avoided this area, but I never really noticed it as a pattern.

Looking around the room, I suddenly saw the reason: On one prominent wall. Freida's showcase had been wrenched open. Its shelves had been completely stripped bare, except for one item: The sample ARA cranial unit, used for demonstrating the mechanical latching system, its face a tarnished chrome skull with a death's head grin. I wondered why no one had bothered to simply move the damn thing, and learned the answer as soon as I tried: It wouldn't budge. It was permanently mounted on the shelf.

That didn't make sense. Cranial units were hardly rare, by any means, but this one was a piece of ARA engineering history. I couldn't count the number of times Doctor Meyer had described it as the key to proper ARA development... and then I realized what a fucking moron I'd been.

Okay, so I knew why it was still here, but the question was, how did I make it work? I experimentally squeezed the cheekbones, but to no effect. I checked its cartridge drive, but it was empty. I ejected the eyes, but they were non-functional display units. The data port behind was just a hole drilled into the metal. This head had never been attached to an ARA. It was just the mechanical parts of the skull. So how would she trigger it?

As I thought about this, I turned to notice Ella had playfully borrowed Jenn's shorts, and was now discussing the matter of trading panties. I was amused, and if I hadn't been in the middle of something important, probably would have joined in, but I needed to keep focused. I should probably just shut them down for a while, I thought, pulling my activation tool from my jacket.

At the sound of my command to stand still, they immediately stopped their idling seduction program, and stood at attention. I approached Jenn, running my hand up her chest, then gently grasped her chin and turned her head to one side. She smiled sweetly and blinked as I brushed her hair off her ear, and positioned the tool to shut her off...

And I stopped. Could that be it? I looked at the tool, then back to the display. It was just a non-functioning mechanical prototype, so no one would have ever bothered trying to turn it on.

When I actually tried it, nothing initially seemed to happen... but then the entire shelf display started moving up with a slow rumble. I quickly grabbed my tool out of the display unit's ear, not wanting to lose it.

The shelf unit rose, revealing a neat, tidy lab, almost as large as the outer lab, its lights flickering on as the display slid aside. I stepped in, curious as to what Dr. Meyer had been up to here. Her research in the outer lab had been essentially unrestricted, so why would she need a hidden lab?

Remembering their earlier behavior at the library, I called for the girls to join me. They had once again begun one of their randomly-selected entertainment programs. I was going to have to shut those programs when we were doing anything important, or at least increase their timeout windows. I had only claimed Ella the previous month, so I hadn't gotten around to tweaking most of her settings yet, but I had picked up Jenn more than a year ago. Of course, Lovebug hadn't become a problem until pretty recently, but I still should have been more responsible with my possessions.

Although not devastated or looted, the hidden lab had little of immediately obvious value. Scanning the room, I found printed binders, but the ones I flipped through consisted almost entirely of psychological reports on ScenariCorp employees. There was obviously experimental equipment all around, but little of it was recognizable to me, and none of it was portable. On one wall hung an old-fashioned dry-erase board. It had been erased, but heavy use had rendered some of its writing still legible. I could just make out the phrases "MK2 Prototype" and "dramatically increased scan resolution." Below this had been written "NOT ENOUGH PROC. POWR?" in block lettering, and it appeared the the question mark had been circled.

In one corner of the room, a workstation vidscreen faintly glowed. I set down the facility handbook and approached the workstation. It was still logged in. The screen displayed the words "Vivacitus Proj.", along with a handful of faces and names. I scrolled through the list. Many of them were crossed out with the word "Unsuitable" next to them, but partway down, two names were highlighted and labeled as "Test Candidates": Freida Meyer and Kaitlyn Frasier. Scrolling down further, I came to a section titled "For further review," with three names. Seeing these, I froze.

Jane Peters. Kirk Peters. Kyle Parson.

Selecting each record individually gave me no more useful information. They referenced "records stored in data module gamma," but upon inspection of the nearby archive cabinet, modules delta through theta were missing.

Throughout my inspection of the console, I had assumed that the whirring noise behind me had simply been some diagnostic equipment automatically powering up along with the lights. Similarly, I had ignored Jenn's statements about "it looks so big," and Ella's inquiry asking if she could "play with the tip," assuming that they were merely caught in another idle cycle. Then another voice cut in.

"Hi there, innnnntruder!" It was a cheerful female voice. I knew that voice. It was Dr. Meyer's voice. I spun around to find Ella, now completely nude, bending to examine the business end of an automated energy weapon turret of some kind. Before I could react, it blasted off most of her head. She made little surprised motions with her hand, and distorted voice samples spewed randomly from her sound system. Her mostly decapitated body stood, put its hands on its hips in a huffing motion, shrugged, turned, and took three seductive steps before freezing and falling, statue like, landing flat on its back.

"Droppppp your weapons, please-lease-lease-lease," the security voice stated happily as the turret spun to aim at a random spot. Before any hypothetical intruder would have had a chance to react, it blasted twice, then spun, blasting a third time while in motion. I was frozen in panic as it demanded that a shelf full of binders disarm itself (zap), requested that a microcircuit manipulator cease all hostile actions (zap), and finally ordered the facility handbook to remain motionless. Despite obeying the command, the book was blasted into charred ashes, and the whole purpose behind this exercise was gone, literally in a puff of smoke.

I snapped into action, bolting for the entrance and ordering Jenn along with me. It had been a stupid excursion, a pointless deviation from plans after I had secured the book. I had lost the very thing I came here for, as well as my most recent ARA acquisition, and for what? Vague notes about a 15-year old project that had probably been abandoned anyway. Frustrated at my own stupidity, I ran to the exit, Jenn close by my side...

***

An instant later, nearly an hour had passed. The speeder had apparently decelerated quickly after I had taken my foot off the pedal, and I had managed not to crash into anything. This was bad. If I didn't get immediate medical attention, I was a goner. I had thought getting the book from Bosch would be one of the hardest parts of this ordeal, but it had been comparatively easy. I hadn't even had to use my contingency plan - a fact for which I was grateful. I wasn't sure I would have had the nerve to actually shoot him, no matter how much his secretary's disassembly had distracted him.

I shook my head, trying to clear it, and the pain once again shot through my side. Groaning in agony, I looked out the side window, momentarily wondering why the sky was so grey... then I realized what I was really looking at. It was the side of a massive dome: A ScenariCorp facility dome. If I hadn't passed out, I probably would have driven past it in my bleary-eyed state.

I grabbed the handbook and made sure I had memorized the entrance code. Staggering to the dome, leaning against it for support, I traced the perimeter of the immense structure. Eventually, I came to the employee entrance, and used the code to unlock the door. Stepping through, I could see only darkness at first, but the system soon detected my presence, and the automated lighting system gradually turned the dark interior of the dome's surface into a starry sky. By default, the system would be synced to the outside time, but fortunately every ScenariCorp night was bright enough to see by.

My vision blurred and swam as I lurched through the pathways, trying to find my way to the medical building. I'd had plenty of time to memorize the layout back at Bosch's university, but hadn't counted on coming in through the side entrance. Even once I got my bearings, the pain was unbearable. a cold sweat covered my face, and I wasn't sure whether the shadows I was seeing were actual shadows, or just parts of my vision blacking out.

I continued to stagger, nearly blind and in agony, through the silent facility, across open areas turfed with realistic grass, concrete sidewalks, and even cobbled pathways, until finally I made out the unmistakable icon ScenariCorp had always used for medical buildings: A simple red heart with a cartoonish bandage. I breathed a sigh of relief...

And collapsed, mere feet away from the door. Groaning, I half-limped, half crawled to the simple door, jabbing blindly at the entry button. On the third attempt, the acknowledgement chime sounded, and the door slid aside, allowing my entrance.

Tears streaming down my face, I dragged myself down the corridor into the dark, silent building. Even a few feet in, I could see lights turning on in response to my presence, and could hear the background bustle of hospital staff starting to drift through the air. By the time I reached the lobby proper, I could hear voices - hopefully hospital staff, and not delirium.

"Help!" I screamed, my voice rasping in the effort. "Somebody help me!" I called in desperation.

A vaguely female shape approached and resolved itself into a cute redhead. She leaned in close, a worried expression on her face. He mouth was almost puckered, as if she were on the verge of kissing me at any moment.

"Goodness!" She said, comically putting her hands to her face. "What's the matter, sir?"

"Mr. Peters sent me," I choked, priming her code entry mode. I struggled to remember the medical emergency keyphrase. "I beseech you, pray aid a fallen traveller," I managed.

Her eyes went wide, and the bustle of activity immediately fell silent, as a half-dozen more nurses rushed to my assistance. Some of them fell to their knees, crawling towards me and brushing their hands gently against my face, while others merely bent to study me in adoration.

"Oh my, sir, let us help you," the redhead said, kneeling next to me, giving me a clear view up her skirt. "My name is Ashley, I'm the head nurse here," she said, emphasizing the word "head."

"I'm Derek," I said, clutching my hand to my side as another stab of pain shot through me. "This is pretty serious," I told her, "are you a doctor?"

Her face became apologetic. "I'm sorry, sir, I'm just a pre-med student. All the senior medical personnel are on temporary leave."

"Yeah," I said, "they would be, wouldn't they." I grimaced.

"Oh, don't worry," she bubbled, smiling, "I'll do anything I can to make you feel better."

"Ashley, listen closely," I said through gritted teeth, "I've got appendicitis. I need immediate surgery. Can you handle that?"

She wore her apologetic look again. "I'm not really qualified for that kind of thing, sir," she said as two of the other nurses began stroking my legs. "I'll need to get approval from one of the senior medical personnel." She pit a finger to her chin, remembering. "All the senior medical personnel are on temporary leave," she repeated, dreamily.

I groaned, at least as much in annoyance as it was in physical pain. I shooed away some of the nurses flocked around my arm, and hauled the book in front of my face, flipping through the admin code glossary.

Medical approvals: See Approvals, medical. Of course. I flipped back to the earlier section, squinting at the tiny print. At least my vision was starting to clear up, now that I was lying down. "Nurse Ashley," I began, "you've demonstrated exemplary skills in this field. Scrub up and prep the patient in operating room number..." I held the book closer, barely able to read the numeric code denoting an appendectomy. "...room number 72630594-8221602-95B."

Ashley froze, staring off into space. "Yes, Doctor UndefinedName." She tilted her head, blinking. "I understand. Appendectomy procedure authorized." She looked back down at me. "It's a good thing we were able to get a hold of Doctor Undefined name. He or she is normally very busy, but he or she was able to authorize your procedure." She looked around at the gaggle of nurses grouped around me. "Alright ladies," she said, nodding, "this is an emergency procedure, so there's no time for distractions. You two," she said, pointing at the two nurses who were trying to feel my penis through my trousers, "go prep operating room 1. The rest of you, help me get him ready for surgery."

What followed was a blur of activity. I had already known how skilled these girls would be at undressing both themselves and any willing participants, but was started by how quickly they managed to get me stripped and into a surgical gown - Either that, or I had passed out once or twice without noticing. Still, given direct, overriding commands, even sex model ARAs could be efficient at well-defined tasks.

Not waiting for a gurney, they gently lifted me up, using their arms forklift-style, and carried me smoothly to the operating room. Their motions were synchronized to keep me perfectly level at all times, and it almost seemed like I was floating, like a cloud. A gurney ride would probably have been bumpier. I drifted down the hall to the operating room, and was laid down on the surprisingly plush, reclining OR table there.

At some point during my preparations, Ashley had slipped off, presumably to wash and change. Sure enough, as the girls comprising my makeshift gurney separated and stepped away, I could see Ashley in the corner, scrubbing up. She had changed out of her normal nurse's uniform, and was now wearing a simple surgical smock. She would have looked quite professional, if it hadn't been backless, and if she hadn't been wearing heels, stockings, and see-thru lace panties.

She turned and strutted towards me, showing off the neckline of the smock, cut low enough to show the top edges of her areolae. Reaching me, she ran her hands along the edge of the table's cushioning, and leaned down to give me a better view. "Is there anything I can do to make you more... comfortable?" She asked, playing with a lock of her hair.

Good lord, they must not have had a chance to fully setup her emergency protocols, I thought. My appendix was about to burst - possibly already had - and she was offering me sex? I winced, the pain once again pushing me to the edge of unconsciousness. "Look," I said, "this just isn't the time for that kind of thing." I sucked air through my teeth. "I need anaesthesia."

Her expression instantly became serious. "Yes, sir," she said, nodding. She extracted a respirator mask from under the table, and turned a valve. There was a tiny hiss for less than a second, then nothing. She frowned and attempted to turn the valve again, but the indicator on the mask told me everything I didn't want to know: The gas canisters had depleted. Most likely, the only canister had been the stock one included with the apparatus itself: more comprehensive medical supplies often weren't delivered to dad's facility attractions until the first week of business. Safety-wise, it had never been an issue.

"I'm sorry sir," she apologized, "our supply of general anaesthesia has run out." She looked at me sympathetically. "We must have had a lot of patients recently." Or been shut down, abandoned for fifteen years, I thought.

"Tyrphinol," I grunted. "Local injection." Hopefully there was some kind of exception programmed into her, allowing for a backup anaesthetic in cases like this - or maybe she hadn't yet been programmed to prevent narcotics abuse.

Without question, she retrieved one of the perma-stor capsules from the nearby refrigeration unit, slotting it into the injection gun. She held the gun against my skin, and gave me three quick injections in a precise triangle around what would doubtless be the incision site. It stung briefly, then felt an odd warmth in the area, and the pain dramatically subsided. I could still tell it was there, enough for it to be unpleasant, but it was tolerable. I silently thanked dad for switching to the synthetic morphine derivative: Had that been traditional anaesthetic, it would have long since expired. This synthetic variety only had an optimal shelf-life of about ten years, but a diminished effect would be better than none. With any luck, it would knock me out before too long.

I was starting to feel woozy again, and found myself unable to look away as Ashley picked up the scalpel and brought it close to the area she had injected around. I had no desire to watch the procedure, but felt an almost morbid compulsion to do so as the blade dug into my skin and...

"Aughhhh!" I howled in pain. Anesthetized or not, I could definitely feel the incision. "Stop!"

Ashley paused, uncertain. "Sir, this procedure must be completed as soon as possible."

"I know!" I shouted. I took a few deep breaths, calming myself. "I know," I said, quietly. "Look, it's just... I can't tell which is worse," I said, "the pain of the infesshun, or the pain of you shlicing into me!" I could hear the slur creeping into my voice. Was the Tyrphinol having an effect already? Shouldn't I be falling asleep by this point?

One of the nurses/makeshift gurney units at my left, a blonde whose namebadge identified her as Nikki, suddenly turned and stared at Ashey, still hesitating after my outburst from the first incision. Glancing down at Ashley's hands, a strange expression crossed Nikki's face, and her arms fell to her sides. She stood there, motionless for no more than a second, then lunged, vaulting over the table, and landing a kick squarely in Ashley's chest. She landed lightly on her feet as Ashley staggered backwards. I was terrified that the attack would result in Ashley slicing wildly with the scalpel, but was relieved to see that she had immediately pulled back as soon as the attack began.

"I cannot allow you to harm this man," Nikki calmly insisted, no trace of malice in her voice. "Your actions are endangering his life. Since you are not human, I am authorized to disable and destroy you, if necessary." No, not now! The surgery had already begun, if Ashley didn't work fast, I would bleed to death! Nikki grabbed Ashely's arm holding the scalpel. "Please discontinue your unsafe actions."

Ashley didn't struggle at first, looking blankly at Nikki. She then looked beyond her to me, and the blood slowly pooling around my side. She turned back to Nikki. "I cannot allow you to harm this man. Your actions are endangering his life," she said, exactly echoing the words Nikki had just spoken. "Since you are not human, I am authorized to disable and destroy you, if necessary." Gripping Nikki's arm with her free hand, Ashley planted her heeled foot on the blonde girl's side and shoved.

There was a tearing, breaking sound, followed by electrical sparking as Nikki's right arm was torn from her shoulder, the body-side connection point still attached. Thin wires dangled loosely from the severed limb that Ashley now held, and a bright flash and popping sound came from Nikki's ruined shoulder.

I couldn't believe it. They had only installed Nikki's basic first aid perceptual overrides, and not emergency medical assistance! If she had ever been present with a human surgeon, who knows what would have happened. Presumably, Nikki hadn't been intended for surgical assistance, so they may not have seen a need for it. I felt lightheaded, the Tyrphinol now clearly affecting me. I tried to reach to cover the wound, but was unable to move my arm with any coordination.

I stared, transfixed by the two visions of beauty, Ashley and Nikki, both fighting with everything they had to protect me from each other. They had amazing bodies, long legs, and wasn't I supposed to be in pain? Maybe I didn't need surgery after all. I could just lie back and watch the sexy ladies wrestle. Oops, there goes Nikki's leg. Pity. I liked that leg. I hoped the one with the knifey thing... whatsitcalled... wasn't doing any permanent damage to the other. What were their names again? Wow, the table really was comfortable. So soft and relaxing. It felt like I was just sort of sinking into it, like I was floating down through the table and floor, down into the sky...

I must have flipped around. Sky isn't down. Not unless you're on the other side of the planet, but then it isn't down anymore. Antipodes. That's what they're called. Opposite points on a globe. The sky was beautiful, but it was very distracting. I could barely focus on my lecture with that skylight in the ceiling. Oh, no, wait, there isn't a skylight in the ceiling. It's just a blue ceiling. I should get back to teaching my class.

I looked back down to face the class of students - all female - attending my lecture on the thingamajig implications on whatever in a somethingorother society. High level stuff, and they were sitting on the edge of their seats. Had I called roll? It didn't look like there were any empty chairs. They all looked so expectant, so interested in everything I had to say. Especially the blonde in the short skirt up front. And the blonde in the short skirt next to her. And the other blonde in the short skirt behind her.

I cleared my throat, trying to remember my train of thought. "And so, that brings us to the natural conclusion, which is...? Anyone?"

One of the front-row blondes raised her hand. I hadn't noticed her change her clothes, but somehow she was wearing an evening gown now, with a long slit all the way up to above her waist. I tried to remember her name, but couldn't think of one. Oh well, it didn't matter. I could call her whatever. "Yes, miss Whatever?" That's right, her name was Whatever. Something Whatever.

She smiled, delighted that I'd remembered her name. "I'm sorry to interrupt your lecture, Mister Master, but I was wondering if you'd mind... could I suck your cock for a while? Just until you cum on my face?" Something squirmed in her seat and absently stroked a hand up the side of her leg, the slit spreading wider to show the tops of her stockings and her absence of panties.

It was a big request, but since it was blowjob day, I didn't really mind. Provided she had been studying. "Miss Whatever, I would be happy to fuck your mouth, but before I do... are you on the honor roll?"

She furrowed her brow. "I don't know." She blinked. "I don't know," she repeated, her voice echoing flatly. Her head turned left and right, then backwards, then around in a circle. "I don't know I don't know I don't know..." she repeated, her voice now sounding like a tinny recording. I heard a metallic crumpling noise as the back of her head crumpled inwards, turning her head into a thin, rigid mask attached to her neck. "I don't know," she said again, her voice now small and distant.

I approached her, disappointed. I had hoped she was a special student, but she was of no use to me. I pulled her skirt aside to check her body out. Her legs reflexively parted, showing me her smooth, wet pussy. I stuck my finger in its warm wetness, then pulled it out. The colorful juices dripped from my finger. I licked them experimentally. Sweet peaches. Not my favorite flavor. She was useless junk to me.

I stood her up as she continued to repeat "I don't know" over and over, her voice now crackling with static. The dress was nice, so I didn't want to waste it. Unzipping it, I let it fall to the floor, then studied her body. Nice tits. I bounced one experimentally, then squeezed it hard. Firm, but pliable. I considered fucking her, but no. She was just junk right now. I spread her legs slightly, then stuck my fingers in her ass and pussy, and gripped her by the neck with the other hand. She weighed less than a pound, so I was able to easily lift her up like this. I carried her nude form over my head, her legs and arms still rigidly in position, and brought her to the trash can. Bringing my hands together, I wadded up her body into a ball of soft, metal material.

Before wadding up her legs, I reconsidered, then decided to save the shoes. Setting them aside, I continued crumpling up the piece of scrap, and tossed it aside. Something Whatever's faint voice trailed off into nothingness.

I turned back to the class, all of them still smiling pleasantly. So good to have nice, attentive students who listened well, and loved showing off their sexy bodies for me. Dusting my hands, I said, "Now then, where were we?"

A blonde in the front row raised her hand. How had she managed to slip into a maid's uniform? "Professor Owner, I was wondering if you would mind helping me out with something," she said, hesitantly.

"Certainly Miss..." I struggled to remember her name. "Object," I remembered. "What's on your mind Miss Object?"

She tilted her head sideways. "On my mind?" she said, blinking in confusion. "Let me check." She reached up to her head with both hands and lifted the top of her scalp off, setting it aside on her desk. She reached into the interior of her head as if looking for something, her face scrunched up in concentration. Finally, she gave up. "Nope, sorry. Haven't got one, see?" She looked down, showing me the polished chrome of the empty recess inside her head.

I sighed, weary, but I had to double check to make sure. "What did you need help with?" I said.

"Well," she said, shifting in her seat, "It's my pussy, you see." She lifted one leg straight in the air, spreading the other out wide, and pulled up her skirt to reveal black lace panties. They were soaked with her juices. "Oops," she said. "I don't know why I bother wearing these."

Rather than lower her leg, she simply snipped her fingers like scissors on the waistband at each hip, neatly cutting the pointless underwear off. "As you can see," she continued, runnning one hand along her stockinged leg, "There's nothing being rammed into me."

I pondered this. "Tell you what," I said, indicating the lengthy, complex equation on the board, "If you can solve this, I'll fuck you. Just a little."

She clapped her hands, giddy. The class applauded in response. Lowering her leg, she strode to the whiteboard, still holding her skirt up.

Midway to the board, her left leg crumpled in on itself, and she fell to the floor. She struggled to stand again with her ass sticking straight up into the air, apparently oblivious to the collapsed, hollow structure of her leg. Finally, she managed to get up on the other leg, and hopped a few paces.

"You'd probably have an easier time without the dress," I said.

She smacked her forehead, and her empty head rang like a bell. "Oh yeah, duh." Grabbing the hem of the maid uniform, she pulled the garment up and over her head, tossing it aside without a care. After dusting herself down, she continued hopping, causing her breasts to bounce attractively.

Reaching the board, she picked up one of the markers and leaned in to start writing. "Stop," I told her. I had to check her work first. Reaching between her legs, I felt the soaking wetness of her juices, fingering her cunt for good measure. I licked my finger. Strawberry. Good, but not what I was looking for. I spanked her ass and watched it jiggle for a moment. "Go ahead," I said.

She studied the problem for a few minutes, then seemed to arrive at a conclusion. "Well," she said, "if we're assuming this, then it must be..." she trailed off. Her arm moved to write something, then paused, then started again. She nodded, this time more certain. "Yes, I'm sure that's it," she said, and attempted to write her answer.

The moment the marker came in contact with the board, her arm collapsed inward, the emptyness of her interior no longer able to support its form. Unable to notice this, she instead scrutinized the problem some more. "Hmm..." she repeated. "Of course, over here we have... and this will... but if I..." Smoke began to pour out of the hole at the top of her head. "My tit cuntfuck ass cocksuck whore I fuck slut..." she babbled, her head collapsing into a flat shape.

The collapse didn't stop with her empty head. Her whole body began to flatten and curl, like thin, delicate foil. She fell backwards to the floor, a perfectly flat outline of a nude woman. The marker rolled away uselessly, and she continued trying to talk out the problem. "Master fuck submit obey lick property pussy owner..." her flat voice echoed.

I sighed. Another piece of junk. This one was even emptier than the other one. I rolled her up, then wadded the roll into a tiny ball, tossing it in the trash. This was a waste of my time. I was getting nowhere fast.

I turned back to the class full of blondes, noticing for the first time the fact that they had no eyes, no mouths, no features other than a circle of numbers with two arrows pointing outwards. They almost looked like clock faces. In fact, I was starting to suspect that they were clock faces.

"Tick tock," they said in unison. The faces all read 11:59. No! I was running out of time, and I hadn't found a single student who could pass the class! I looked around, trying to determine how much time it would take to check them all, but I couldn't count them. The room began to stretch off further than I ever realized, miles into the distance. I couldn't even tell where the walls were. How many students were there, anyway? Hundreds? Thousands? Millions? Did they ever stop?

"Fuck my titties," begged a clock-faced blonde in the front row, tearing open her shirt and cupping her breasts.

"No, master, fuck my ass," another cried, bending over her desk and flipping up her short skirt.

A trio of blonde clocks tore off each other's clothes, crying "Do all three of us at once! Cum all over our bodies!" In moments, they were nude, their lithe bodies somehow oiled up, slick and shiny. They began to rub against each other, squishing their breasts together and grinding on one another's body.

"Own me!" a crowd demanded.

"Possess me!" another group pleaded.

"Command us all!" an infinite chorus of voices called.

My eyes darted around the room. Was she the one? No, wait, she wasn't real, she was just a cardboard cutout. Her voice was a speaker attached on the back. What about that one? That was a mannequin, poorly assembled and barely lifelike at all. Its wig fell off and its limbs fell apart as soon as I glanced at it. That one was a sex doll. That one was a clay sculpture. Those over there were just painted on the walls.

Fights began to break out among them. The empty shells shaped like girls began hitting each other, denting heads and torsos with the slightest impact. Some would grab and try to tear another shell, unwittingly tearing their own limbs in the process. When they fell, they collapsed like deflated baloons. Was there a single one of them who was actually capable of solving the problem? Were they all just worthless junk? Had I wasted my time? "Tick tock," they cried in chorus, their voices slowing and dropping in pitch, "Tick... tock... tiiiiick... tooooooock..."

I curled up, clutching my head in panic. It was too late. It would be midnight any moment now. As if the thought summoned the event, I heard one last tick, then stillness. I looked up. An vast sea of uncountable clock faces stared motionless back at me, each of them showing 12:00. Above each clock face was a small hammer held between two large bells. In slow motion, I saw an infinite number of hammers swing pendulously between the two bells, striking them in what should have been rapid succession. The beeping of the bells was deafening. Wait, that wasn't right. Bells don't beep.

The light faded to blackness, the floor fell away. I found myself floating in an empty void. Where was I? Hadn't I just been somewhere else a moment ago? Or was that a long time ago? I found myself struggling to understand time. Which way did it go? How fast? Somewhere in this line of thinking, I lost track of who I was. There was a beeping sound. It repeated over and over, echoing in the nothingness I occupied. It was constant, neither soothing nor discordant, merely there. Over and over again.

The blackness gradually brightened. I was lying down somewhere. It was soft. My side hurt. Beep, beep, beep. I could hear voices, people talking, walking around, the unmistakable click-click-click of stiletto heels on hard floors. It reminded me of sexy, beautiful women, the ones who did whatever I wanted them to do. They were different from normal women in some way, if I could just remember. Beep beep beep. They would help me no matter what, which was good because I had something important to...

My eyes snapped open, and I was momentarily dazed by the brightness of the light in the hallway. The steady beeping of the heart monitor reassured me that I was, at least for now, alive and relatively safe. Tentatively, I felt at my side, and was rewarded with a sharp pain - but not nearly so sharp as when I'd arrived. I pulled aside the bedsheets and my gown to examine the wound, and was surprised to find that the incisions had been clean, precise, and expertly stitched. With a bit of dermal gel, I'd be right as rain in no time, and then I could use the book to...

The book! My head snapped around, scanning the room, and the heart monitor's tempo increased to worrying speeds. I spotted the handbook on the nightstand, and breathed a sigh of relief as the beeping dropped back down to normal.

A worried-looking Ashley came dashing into the room. "Sir, is everything alright? The heart monitor was..." she paused, her eyes wide, then she closed and covered them. "I'msosorry," she blurted. "I didn't realize you were... I'll just let you get back to your... activities." She edged slowly to the door.

What was she talking about? I then realized with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment that I still had the gown and bedsheets pulled aside, my body exposed from mid torso to upper thigh. She assumed I had been enjoying some alone time apparently, but why would that embarrass her? The medical override would have shut down any social inhibitors for the duration of the emergency, so... Oh. The emergency was over. She would have reverted to her default programming, making her flirtatious, but not an outright sex toy.

"Wait," I said, hastily covering myself again, "sorry about that, I wasn't... I was just checking my..."

She peeked through her fingers,then smiled. "Oh, it's okay. We understand the value of good sexual health, too. Besides," she said, looking down with a smile, "some girls would enjoy helping you check your... you know." She looked at me with a glimmer in her eyes. "It's a shame you won't be staying long. If I had time to get to know you, I might even enjoy that kind of thing." She fluttered her eyes at me.

I frowned. "Won't be staying long?"

She shook her head sadly. "Sorry about that, it's just..." she shrugged in a helpless gesture. "This place is private property, and very exclusive. You're free to stay as long as you need to recuperate, but once you're healed up, we'll have to send you on your way." She put a finger to her chin, and I suddenly knew exactly what was coming next. "Unless, of course, you were to enroll here, that is."

The sales pitch, of course. "You're just right for our university, you know," she continued. "And the male-to-female ratio has been completely off recently. We kind of lose track of how men think, so I know a lot of girls here would really... welcome some input."

"And I'm sure you've got some application papers to show me, don't you?" I said, wryly.

She blinked innocently. "Not at all. They're in your nightstand. There's a course catalog in there, too, if you're interested." She pointed at the vidscreen. "I think they show some campus information on the internal video network. You might want to check that out." She smiled cheerfully. "Well, if there's nothing wrong, I've got some work to get back to. Let us know if you need anything to eat or drink, okay?" She didn't wait for a response before taking off again.

It had already been a long night, but I was curious as to exactly how dad had planned on promoting the place. Opening the drawer, I found a simple brochure and a magazine-like catalog.

"Exciting Opportunities in BMOC Undergraduate and Postgraduate Programs," read the flier. It was covered in images of female students laughing, exercising, swimming, and... was that a sorority pillow fight? The pictures were captioned with phrases like "Stimulating Curriculum," "Hands-on Learning Experience," "Accommodating Staff," and "Disciplined Learning Environment." I flipped the brochure over to read the back:

----

Big Man On Campus
Collegiate Resort

A ScenariCorp Facility

Thinking of booking a stay at this, or any of our other facilities? Contact your travel agent for pricing and details.

ScenariCorp: Anything You Can Imagine

----

Flipping through the "course catalog" I was surprised that it seemed to drop the pretense altogether, presenting explicit descriptions of the highly sexualized courses alongside body shots of the women who taught them.

Curious, I switched on the vidscreen, catching only a glimpse of a swirling, colorful background and two figures holding something. "...this and more," said a female voice as the image quickly faded out. Before I had a chance to wonder if I had missed it entirely, the scene faded back in, an abstract background with two young ladies standing shyly in the foreground, visible only from the waist up, each wearing a dual-colored, form-fitting dress. The girl on the left was black-haired, the other golden blonde. "Hi there!" They chorused, bright smiles on their faces.

"I'm Pria," said the raven-haired girl in the blue-and-white dress.

"And I'm Althea," said the blonde in the green-and-white dress.

The screen switched to a split-screen close up of each girl, whispering to the audience, and each pointing at the other girl. "And don't tell her," they whispered simultaneously, "but I think she might be a robot."

The camera zoomed back out, this time showing a full body view of each of the two girls. They appeared to be wearing dark leggings under their skirts, and fashionable heels. Each girl turned to the other and smiled an "I've got a secret" smile at her companion.

Pria faced the camera again. "We're here to tell you the exciting news from ScenariCorp!"

"That's right," nodded Althea. "The people who made you feel like kings and queens in The Kingdom of Insert Guest's Name Here..."

"Or lords and ladies in the aristocratic world of Bartleby Estate Manor House..." continued Pria.

"...or superheroes and villains in the comic-book realms of HeroTropolis..." said Althea

"Are ready to unveil their latest facility, sure to tickle your fancy," Pria finished.

"Here at ScenariCorp, we know the value of higher education," Althea said as the background switched to pan across multiple still images of college scenes. "But while college life offers a wealth of exciting opportunities, it can be difficult to really enjoy the whole experience without damaging your academic performance."

Pria once again took up the speech. "Some of you may have had incredible experiences in college that you'd like to relive," she said, "while others might want to see what they missed out on the first time around."

"Regardless of your original college experience," Althea picked up, "the Big Man on Campus Fantasy Collegiate Resort has everything you need to give yourself the ultimate college life,"

The two girls faded out, and the image switched to day-in-the-life shots of various college girls in an assortment of everyday activities - although their clothing may have been slightly tighter and more revealing than real college students. It was hard to tell. Pria's voice cut in with a slight echo effect. "Just imagine, three thousand beautiful ladies, including more than a hundred teachers, all at your beck and call." The camera lingered on the short skirt of a girl in a library setting as she bent to look at books on a lower shelf. "Your wildest college fantasies can be yours with the girl..."

"Or girls!" Interrupted Althea's voice.

"...of your dreams," Pria continued as the video switched to shots of girls in their dorms wearing only their pajamas or underwear. "Never worry about a bad roommate. Pick your own roommate in our spacious co-ed dorm rooms!"

"Who wants to have to worry about being late to class?" Said Althea. The image switched to that of a class of motionless students with an elegant woman standing at the head of the class, similarly frozen. She would have looked quite prim in her outfit, if the blouse hadn't been unbuttoned to just below her bra, and if her skirt hadn't been short enough to show off her garters. "In our school, class doesn't start until you arrive."

The camera moved around the room, illustrating the fact that it wasn't just a still image, then moved to a spot in the back of the room, the entrance door now visible. When the camera stopped moving, the door opened, and a male silhouette stood in the doorway. At this, the class started up instantly, the teacher moving the board to write something. "Okay class," she said, "my name is professor..." She began to speak slowly as she wrote the words out. "Marilyn... Weiss."

Dotting the "i"s in her name with little hearts, she turned to the figure in the door. "And I see we have someone new," she continued. "Come inside." She turned away to fiddle with some papers on her desk, bending over to stretch the tight skirt over her ass, and pull it up in the back. "Why don't you grab a seat?" She said, absently wiggling her ass at the indistinct male.

There was a montage of images which drifted by. "Here at the BMOC Fantasy Resort, you can enjoy lovely librarians,.." began Pria. A sexy librarian glanced back and forth furtively, then looked towards the camera over her obviously decorative reading glasses before smiling and unzipping her skirt. It fell to the floor, pooling at her feet, revealing the g-string she wore beneath.

"Charming cheerleaders..." said Althea. A trio of girls in cheerleading uniforms did a brief synchronized dance cheer, then pulled off their tops to reveal pert breasts. One girl turned away from the camera, legs apart, and bent at the waist. She began to tip forward, but the other girls came in on either side, holding her by her shoulder with one hand. With the other hand, they neatly flipped up her skirt and tugged down the uniform's tights to reveal the girl's ass and pussy. Turning to face the camera, they spanked her in unison, expressions of pure desire on their faces.

"And titillating teachers," concluded Pria.

The scene switched back to Professor Weiss, who had just finished writing the words "Sexual transitions: from girl-on-girl to threesome" on the board. Turning back to the class full of girls, she began to unbutton her silky blouse. "Okay, so we're going to start with some performance foreplay, so I'll need a volunteer..." Every hand went up. She pointed to one in the front row. "Thank you Miss Sparks, just go ahead and strip at your own pace, and I'll help you along as needed." Sensual music started up as the girl began writhing and tugging at her clothes. Now topless and also dancing, Miss Weiss turned to the camera. "We'll keep going as long as you like, sir," she said, flirtatiously pulling up her skirt. "Feel free to join in at any time."

The image once again faded back to the abstract background as Althea and Pria walked in from either side. "And of course," Althea continued, "with ScenariCorp's signature fantasy design, you'll never run out of things to do." I laughed at this. It would have been just like Dad to put that line in as a pun.

"You can help curious students explore new boundaries," Pria said.

The image faded to two girls seated on a bed, wearing short, silky pajamas. "We've both kind of had a crush on you for a while," said the one on the left, "and we know this is kind of forward to ask, but... we've never had a threesome before..."

"And we wanted to try it out," said the one on the right. "If it was okay with you."

"Please?" They said in unison.

The scene dissolved to an a photography studio with a girl in evening wear posing for a series of glamour shots. "Dabble in the arts," Althea's voice said.

The girl took a few more poses before turning to look directly at the camera. "You're doing great," a male voice said. "You want to model some other outfits?"

She smiled mischievously. "Well," she said, "I do have a swimsuit that might be fun to try on. You, know, just for a few shots, nothing too revealing."

"Absolutely," said the male voice. "You would be great for swimwear."

She smiled and began to unzip the gown-like dress. "Let me just get changed out of this first," she said peeling it down to reveal her lace bra.

"Mind if I keep taking pictures?" Said the male voice.

"Oh," she said, flattered,"that's fine, I don't mind at all. I kind of hoped you'd be up for something like that," she continued, wriggling out of the tight dress. Beneath, she wore a black thong over a matching stocking and garter set. Tossing the dress aside, she struck a pose as the camera flashed a few more times.

"You know," she said, as if an idea had just struck her, "maybe I could do some... other... kind of modeling." She looked uncertain. "Would you be disappointed if I wanted to model something other than a swimsuit?"

"No," said the male voice, "It doesn't have to be swimwear. What did you have in mind?"

She pulled at the waistband of her thong, posing as though prepared to take it off. "I could pretend to be a stripper or something like that," she said as the camera snapped a few more shots.

"Hey, that's a great idea," said the male voice. "You've definitely got the look."

The girl pulled the shoulder straps of her bra down, peeling down the garment just enough to expose her nipples. Then, after the camera flashed again, she pulled it off entirely. Leaning back against the stool behind her, she lazily traced a finger around one nipple. "I've always wanted to see what being a pornstar would be like," she said. "I mean, I've modeled swimsuits before, but I never went so far as this..." she leaned her head back and hummed, cupping her breasts with both hands.

"You want to keep going." The male stated. It didn't sound like a question.

Hooking her thumbs in the waistband, she worked her thong down her legs, and stood unembarrassed before the camera, her body now fully exposed. "What do I need to do?" She asked. "I want to do this the way real pornstars do. What's the first step to being a professional pornstar?"

Back to the abstract background, splitscreen again, as the image showed Pria and Althea whispering once again to the audience and pointing at one another. "And every girl is a sex-capable ARA just like her over there!" They whispered in perfect unison. "Just look at what I can get her to do!"

"Hey, Althea, I was just wondering..." Pria began, "How would you like to help me show them the kind of things that go on at the BMOC Resort?"

"Hmm," said Althea, feigning surprise, "what a coincidence, I was just about to ask you the exact same thing!" She winked knowingly at the camera. "Tell you what, why don't you start by showing the viewers your tits?"

"Just that?" Pria asked, pulling the neckline of the stretchy fabric down to reveal her bikini-top bra. "I think they need a much more direct example," she said, unhooking the front of the bra to reveal her gravity-defying breasts. "Althea, show them your ass."

Althea giggled, then spun on one foot, ballerina like. Her skirt swung tantalisingly outward and she stopped, facing away from the camera. Looking over her shoulder, she flipped the fabric of the skirt up to expose her backside, covered only by a pair of sheer red panties. "Like this?" She said innocently.

Pria laughed dismissively. "You can do better than that," she said.

Althea pouted. "Aww, I don't know how," she said. She smiled. "I know, you could show me."

"Okay," Pria responded, determined to one-up the other girl. She unzipped the stretchy dress, and wiggled it down her hips, discarding her bra in the process. Her panties were a similar style to Althea's, but were black instead of red. Turning to face away from the camera, she planted her feet shoulder width apart and smacked her ass loudly. "You can't really show off your ass when it's covered up like this," she said, tugging at the elastic of the underwear. "You have to get that kind of thing out of the way, first." She looked over at Althea. "Just go ahead and get naked."

"Well," said Althea as she unzipped her own dress, "they do more than just strip there." She pulled down the dress to reveal her own bra was made from a similar material as the dress, tight and stretchy. She shimmied the dress down her torso, hooking her thumbs in her panties as she pulled it down. "Show the viewers how they finger themselves," she said as she peeled off her bra and bent to show her as as previously instructed.

"Of course," Pria replied. She leaned against an unseen wall, her legs spread to show her crotch as she brought down one hand, the other creeping up to grab and squeeze her breast. Stroking the lips of her pussy once, she plunged her fingers in with virtually no hesitation. "I'm hmmm not shhhure I'm doing it right," she said between gasps. "You should show them too."

Althea nodded. "That's a good idea," she said. Taking up an identical, but mirrored stance, she began stroking herself, then dipped her fingers into her dripping sex. Within moments, the two of them were perfectly synchronized in movement, expression, and cries of passion.

"Are you wondering which one is real and which one is a robot?" Cut in another female voice. "If you guessed that Pria was a robot, you're right." There was a brief tone, and Pria immediately snapped to attention, her ministrations apparently forgotten. "But if you said Althea was a robot," the voice continued, "You're also right." Another tone sounded, and Althea instantly adopted the same stance. They then each reached up, grasping their heads firmly on each side, and twisted suddenly to one side, releasing the neck locking mechanism. Their expressions remained passive and distant as they lifted their heads off their bodies, then held them calmly in front of themselves, just between their breasts.

"At the BMOC Fantasy resort," continued the voice, " you can experience all this and more."

I switched off the vidscreen. It was pretty potent stuff, and a strong indicator of what made ScenariCorp so successful in the first place. I was already here, and that video made me look forward to my stay like some kind of holiday. This isn't a vacation, I reminded myself. This is important.

Looking out the window at the unnaturally bright pseudo-night sky, I was impressed at how exactly they had re-created Bosch's campus in every detail. Well, almost every detail. According to the handbook map, this place still had a coffee shop, while Bosch's school had replaced it with a modelling studio not long after dad attended. I had to laugh. The real campus had secretly devolved into the very thing that this facility had been intended to advertise as: An elaborately themed ARA sex resort. Glancing at the handbook to reassure myself, I suddenly realized: That's probably where he got the idea.

Would the facility's system be able to take on the virus? It was a risk either way, but a gamble I had to take. Still, I kept reminding myself that, just because the XR9660F was capable of taking on a threat like this, it didn't mean that it would actually do it - and identifying one unit in three thousand was no small feat. I had a few of dad's notes indicating some of the ways the XR model differed from all the other 'bots, but this was going to be almost pure guesswork.

I once again found myself wondering just how long I would have. My first priority would have to be getting myself registered as a guest, and while I had studied the relevant sections of the handbook and planned my route, I hadn't taken into account the surgery, or the number of ARAs patrolling the halls. I would have to lay low and recover for a while, even if it did cost me some of my lead time. Maybe once I was registered, I could get some of the 'bots to check their sister units.

For now, I was having second thoughts about bringing the handbook on my upcoming excursion. In all likelihood, it would be safer here in the room than with me in the sub-level tunnels. I would have to copy down the necessary information by hand.

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

5.67 - Staff Orientation

2014-01-03T04:36:06Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I walked into the small waiting area only to find four other women already seated there. Instantly, I felt a wave of nervousness. I had thought I was already hired. I hoped I wouldn't have to compete against other candidates at this stage. Getting an interview here had been difficult enough during the application process.

One of the women, a redhead in a blue blouse and black skirt, smiled at me. "Another one? They must be on a hiring spree." She rose to greet me. "I'm Kaitlyn." Seeing the worried look on my face, she added, "Don't worry, we all seem to be here for different positions."

"Althea," I said, introducing myself. "So you're not here for a job in Skill Assessments?" I asked.

Kaitlyn shook her head. "Internal Processes."

The girl to her right gave a nervous wave. "Pria," she said, "Program Development."

"Natasha," said the redhead across from her. "Location Layout."

The blonde in the corner raised her hand. "I'm Jerri. Off-site Support."

"I think they just scheduled our orientation for the same day," said Kaitlyn.

I sighed, taking a seat. "That's a relief. I'd hate to have come all this way just to have to jump through more hoops."

Jerri looked at me in sympathy. "Long commute?"

"Out of state," I confirmed. "I haven't even relocated here yet. I'm having to take commuter flights until I've got housing worked out."

Pria leaned forward. "I heard they've started replacing some of the airline crews with ARAs," she said in a half whisper. "Did you see any robot stewardesses?"

"Or stewards," Natasha cut in. "Or pilots, for that matter." She noticed the bemused expressions on our faces. "What? Male robots make up more than a third of the units sold every year."

"It was closer to half, three hears ago," Kaitlyn said. "But even then, most of them were military units."

"That's what I'd heard," I said, nodding. "I'm pretty sure the airline I use has an ARA girl at the ticket counter, but I didn't see any obvious bots on the plane." I considered for a moment. "Plenty of people flying cargo class, though."

"You never know," interjected Jerri. "Thanks to companies like this, it's getting pretty tough to tell."

"Depends on the manufacturer," Kaitlyn replied. "I'm pretty sure I can spot a GySys model at a hundred paces."

There was a knock on the inner door, and a trim, tallish brunette came in, wearing a simple red dress. "Ladies," she said, "welcome to ScenariCorp. My name's Jane, and I'll be showing you the ropes today." She took a seat and motioned for us to move our chairs into a small circle.

"Now," she began, "I know you all probably have some understanding of our products and services, but I find it's best to make sure everyone is up to speed on exactly what this company does." She laughed softly. "It's a cornball line, but a friend of mine says 'We don't make robots - Me make robots into people.' Fortunately, she's a lot better at costume design than she is at coming up with marketing slogans." We all laughed. Jane really knew how to make us feel more at ease.

"Cheesy as it is, there's truth to it," Jane continued. "A lot of people think ScenariCorp is an ARA manufacturer, but we don't make a single ARA. We don't even have a factory." She crossed her legs, smoothing out he flowing skirt. "ScenariCorp essentially has two divisions. We make software to give robots more sophisticated responses, and we make tourist attractions which use that software."

She looked around the group, mildly concerned. "Now you probably already know this, but a lot of our operations are sexual in nature. We don't want our employees to work in an environment they're uncomfortable with, and we don't want to force people to choose between their principles and getting a job."

She looked at each of us individually. "I want you all to understand that, if you have any objections to seeing full nudity, explicit sex acts, or hearing coarse or suggestive language, we will make sure that we can accommodate your needs. You're already hired, and there are divisions within our company which don't involve exposure to any of the things I've mentioned."

"We won't be expected to participate, will we?" Kaitlyn asked.

"Not as a condition of employment or promotion," Jane replied. "But most of our day-to-day operations are based in sexuality. Our parks and software both have a strong emphasis on sex, particularly involving female ARAs." Jane sighed. "We didn't lie or mislead you in your initial interviews: The job you interview for is the job you'll get. We don't trick people into things they don't enjoy. But in headquarters at least, sex is going to be pretty much everywhere."

Pria fidgeted. "What if we want to... um... what we enjoy..."

Jane's expression was surprisingly understanding - she didn't even smirk. "Your personal preferences are as private or public as you want them to be," she said, reassuringly. "That said, it's not unusual for employees to take an interest in their employer's products. So long as you're not making anyone else uncomfortable, and it's not interfering with anyone's productivity, you're free to... sample the goods."

Furrowing her brow, Natasha asked, "I'm not really familiar with any of ScenariCorp's non-sexual products. Not saying I'm objecting, but... if I did, what would my options be?"

Jane's expression was inscrutable. "We have equivalent openings for anyone who might object at outside facilities. If you need to relocate, we'll cover the expenses. If you can't relocate, we can take care of your commuting expenses. For some positions, we even allow employees to work exclusively from home."

"But what do those outside facilities do?" I asked.

"We're a big company. Many of our divisions deal with warehousing, logistics, construction, transport, and other roles in business infrastructure. In terms of other product divisions, we also maintain brands in education, children's entertainment, civil service, and service industry response-ware." She looked at us cautiously. "If any of you have any apprehensions, you can let me know at any time."

There was a short silence as this sunk in. I felt the need to speak up. "Personally," I said, weighing my words carefully, "I applied with the understanding that this company's primary interest was sex." I laughed. "I don't think any of us came here, somehow not knowing what we were getting into." There were positive murmurs throughout the group.

"To be honest," Jerri said, "that's what brought me here." More of agreement rippled around the group.

"All the same," said Jane, "I want you all to know that you're free to voice any discomfort at any time. You're going to get a sample of what goes on here today, and some of you may be a little surprised at how extreme. It can get." She rubbed her hands together. "Now then," she said in more lighthearted tones, "does anyone have any questions?"

"What particular scenarios will we be working on here?" I asked.

"There's really not a short answer to that," said Jane. "We're constantly adding new specific scenarios to existing products, and coming up with entirely new product concepts. Both of these get integrated into existing and upcoming attractions, so there's always plenty of variety."

Kaitlyn cleared her throat. "I was wondering if there were any plans to bring back any of the retired or discontinued scenarios."

Jane's expression was unreadable. "You mean the Lab Assistant and Schoolmarm packages, don't you?" Kaitlyn nodded. "We don't delete products from our archives, and it would be foolish for us to say they'll never come back, but... Both of those scenarios were written with extensive input from..." Her lip trembled for a moment, but she maintained her composure. "From someone very special to Kirk Peters. Someone who is, sadly, no longer with us." There was a short silence, then she breathed deep. "Moving on, though."

Pria was next to speak. "I know it wasn't stated as a requirement in the job description, but how much of an issue is it if I don't have any AI programming experience?"

Jane smiled reassuringly. "It's not an issue. You don't need AI programming experience." Seeing the confused expression on Pria's face, she added, "We don't make AI systems. We make contextual response matrices that integrate directly with third party AI systems. Some manufacturers bundle our basic packages as a pre-installed option in their units, but they usually have something like SynThought or Mind-Soft running the actual AI."

"I've only seen one ScenariCorp product released every other month or so," Natasha commented. "It seems like this company employs way more people than it needs just to make a handful of scenarios a year,"

Jane nodded. "And if that's all we did, we would probably have a lot fewer employees. A lot of people don't realize that most of our products are never intended for retail release. One of the aspects which makes our attractions so popular is the fact that they use custom tailored scenarios not available anywhere else."

"Just curious," Jerri began, "but are any of the employees here robots?"

Jane stifled a laugh. "Okay, sorry, I wasn't expecting that one." She blew out a breath. "The answer is yes. Very much yes."

"Are any of them human?" I countered.

"Oh, yes. Absolutely. Plenty of humans. Hundreds, in fact."

Natasha held up her hand. "Will any of us be working in any of the attraction locations?"

Jane's smile turned mischievous. "As a matter of fact, one of you will. Jerri, would you mind telling them about yourself?"

Jerri nodded. "Certainly, Jane. I am an HR4990 model ARA manufactured June of last year. My main system OS is Kalibash version 3, and my AI is a customized version or the TruVenus package published by West Labs." My mouth fell open. She was a robot? "Additionally," she continued, "I am running the following ScenariCorp packages: Job Interview Pro, GirlTalk 7, Chit-Chat Casual, Chit-Chat Office, EasyFlirt Office, SexyFlirt Office, SluttyFlirt Office, and Dirty Talk Office version 6.30."

Pria shook her head in astonishment. "That's crazy. I got here an hour early, and she came in just after me. We've talked the entire time." She looked back at Jane. "You're joking, right? This is some new employee initiation gag." Jane simply smiled in silence. "She can't be a robot. I would know. I may not have a professional background in AI programming, but I know enough about it to..."

"Jerri, peel down your dermal face layer," Jane interrupted.

"Of course, Jane," Jerri replied. There was a springing click sound, and the top of her forehead popped outward like a pull-tab. Grasping the edge, she pulled down the synthetic flesh, revealing the polished chrome of her head. Tiny servos buzzed, animating the various control points which would normally connect to her face.

"Jerri is the first programming type example I wanted to bring to your attention," Jane explained, rising. She walked around behind Jerri. "Fully aware. She knows she is a robot, and accurately perceives her surroundings. Jerri, what are you thinking right now?"

"I'm sorry Jane," Jerri replied, "I am incapable of thought. My AI is ranked as Turing 4 compliant. My runtime does not currently simulate a stream-of-consciousness thought process." Jane reached down and carefully rolled Jerri's face back over the metallic skull. After recalibrating her expression control points, Jerri adopted a demure smile.

Jane brushed a few stray hairs out of Jerri's face. "Jerri, describe what your 'Off-Site Support' job consists of," she said.

"Following this demonstration, I will proceed to wardrobe to return these clothes to the office supply. I will then proceed to shipping, where I will be packaged and delivered to the Bartleby Estate Manor House attraction. Once there, I will be reprogrammed, and will serve as a French maid and sex unit available for guest use."

Pria's eyebrows went up when she said this. She looked at Jane, seeking approval. "Is it alright... can I ask it a question?" When she realized what she'd just said, her hand flew to her mouth. "I mean her, not it! I'm so sorry, I just-"

Jane held up a hand to stop her. "Don't worry about it. Jerri is an 'it.' And yes, you can ask it a question."

Pria turned back to Jerri. "Does any of that bother you?" She asked. "Walking around the place naked, dressing up as a maid, being used for sex... are you okay with all that?"

Jerri smiled reassuringly. "I'm not currently capable of being bothered by any of that. The apparent personality I seem to have is purely an effect created by the combination of ScenariCorp programs I'm running." She raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "Does it bother you?"

Kaitlyn spoke up. "Seems pretty inefficient to me." We all looked questioningly at her. What was she talking about? "I checked out the facility map on my way in, and... well, the shipping area is practically next door to this room. Wardrobe is a pretty long walk from here."

Jane nodded approvingly. "That's a good point. We could save a lot of time if someone else took her clothes back to wardrobe." The looked back at the soon-to-be maid unit. "Jerri, undress."

"Yes, Jane," Jerri said pleasantly. She stood, pulling off her short jacket before folding it and putting it in the chair.

"I don't get it," Natasha said as Jerri pulled off her blouse. Apparently, her clothing had only been intended to pass casual scrutiny: She wasn't wearing a bra. "How could she have a personality if she knew she was a robot?"

I stared, fascinated, as Jerri slipped off her shoes to wiggle out of her business slacks - she wore no panties either. "Personality and awareness aren't directly linked," Jane explained. "Although in this case, Jerri doesn't even really have a personality profile."

I could see that the slacks had been a thin, stretchy material, impractical for actual office attire. "Jerri's seeming consciousness is just a socially convincing illusion," Jane continued as Jerri carefully folded her slacks and blouse. Her back to me, she bent to retrieve her shoes, and I was momentarily treated to an unobstructed view of her snatch. I gulped. I wasn't used to seeing that kind of thing so openly on display. Was that normal for this place?

The now nude robot gathered her neatly folded clothing and shoes, and handed them to Jane. "Shall I go now?"

Jane nodded. "By all means. The manor house has been a bit short-staffed recently." Jerri nodded, and left out the door I had come in. I watched her depart through the door as it slowly closed, a nude figure walking incongruously down an office corridor.

Jane interrupted my thoughts. "Now then, if there are no more questions, let's get started on the tour," she said, motioning for us to stand.

She led us out of the small waiting area, through another door. I was briefly disappointed that we weren't going in the same direction as Jerri, but told myself it was more due to fascination with her behavior than any kind of sexual kick.
After a few tuns down a hallway, we came to a large, open atrium. A handful of employees were present, some chatting, some exiting, some arriving. To one side, behind a curved counter, sat a woman with wavy brown hair, reading a magazine. Jane led us over to her general vicinity.

"This is the main entrance," Jane began. "Some of you will already have seen this area during the initial interview process." She raised her voice in an exaggerated tone. "As you can see," she said, slowly and loudly, "not much work gets done in here, does it Bev?"

The receptionist behind the counter looked up from her magazine. "And good morning to you, too, Jane," she said. She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "Try to look busy, I hear the boss's wife is around here somewhere."

Jane laughed. "Bev here is our main receptionist, and I just give her a hard time because we've known each other for so long. She's really fun to be around, but try not to get her started on classical music, lest she bore you with talk of Bizet, Mendel, and Bach." She said this last part in a theatrical tone, gesturing melodramatically.

Bev rolled her eyes. "Please. Mendel? Why in God's name would I listen to Mendel when Chopin is available?"

The two of them laughed good-naturedly. "You're still up for our ladies night on Friday, right Bev? Deb's been looking forward to it."

"I've got an outfit in wardrobe already picked out and everything." She practically melted, adoringly. "Mr. Peters is such a good sport, putting up with us like that." She sighed. "A lot of guys wouldn't have patience for that kind of thing."

"Oh, he enjoys it, deep down," Jane said. "I've got to keep this group going, though. Take care!"

Bev waved and called to us as we left. "Say hi to Deb for me when you see her, okay?"

We continued along an adjoining corridor with a glass wall facing the scenic view in front of the headquarters building. At the end of the hall, we came to what appeared to be the entrance to a separate, upscale business. Through the windowed wall, we could see the other business's building itself, designed to appear as though it were a completely unrelated building, but intersecting directly with the headquarters' architecture.

"Is that what it looks like?" I asked, perplexed.

"Does it look like a hotel?" Jane said, a wry smile on her lips.

I scrunched up my eyebrows, wondering if it was a trick question. "Yes?" I said, cautiously.

"Yes," Jane confirmed. "It's a hotel." Natasha opened her mouth, about to speak, but Jane anticipated her question. "Because it's useful. Not everyone who works here lives in the area, as I said before. Some of our employees commute long distances, and our company lodgings are comparable to any five-star hotel. Sometimes we have contractors or third party consultants who aren't local to the area." She held the door open for us and motioned us in.

While the atrium to the offices was bright, but made of abstract, geometric angles, the hotel's lobby was elegant and classically ornamented, covered in antique wood paneling and brass railings. "It's also convenient to have luxurious place for potential investors, partners, and prominent clients to stay in-between meetings." She waved cheerfully at the blonde at the check-in counter. "And," she continued, "sample upcoming products."

We followed her through the lobby, into one of the large corridors connecting with the rest of the place. "Of course," she continued, "I can't really deny that one of the biggest reasons we have a hotel is because it's fun." She gestured around her. "A five star hotel of this size can easily accommodate hundreds of guests. At any given time, we tend to have fewer than a dozen people actually staying here. There's definitely something to be said for the 'having the place to yourself' factor."

We turned a corner coming to a halt in front of a pair of large doors. "It's a full-featured hotel, complete with event halls," she said opening the doors. Inside was a spacious grand ballroom, currently vacant, but large enough for any number of functions.

"There's also a pool," she said, leading us around another corner. "It's just over here."

We stopped in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of the pool, where a trio of bikini-clad women were lounging poolside, speaking animatedly about something we couldn't hear. At another end of the pool, another woman appeared to be rubbing sunscreen on her arms, although the pool was indoors.

Jane continued just a bit further down the hall. "And, of course, a fitness area." Just beyond the pool area, more floor-to-ceiling windows gave us a view into the exercise room. Two girls in tight-fitting outfits were performing stretching exercises on the floormats. Jane looked at them, slightly flustered. "Employees are free to use these... amenities at any... um..." She seemed to lose her train of thought, staring at the girls stretching.

I realized that we had seen a lot of women, but hardly any men. "Jane, what's the gender ratio among the employees here?" I asked.

Jane was slowly trailing a finger down the line of her neck. "Hmm?" She said, dreamily, still watching the women exercise. She shook her head. "Sorry, yes, gender ratio. Ah. Well," she said, considering the question, "among the human employees, it's a pretty even split, but market forces being what they are, the ARAs here are overwhelmingly female."

Pria raised an eyebrow. "Market forces?"

"It's been a pretty clear trend over the years," Jane explained. "Male robots tend to be viewed as intimidating, even if they have a timid appearance or average physique." She shrugged. "Sometimes there's a need for them, but outside of various types of guards and military units, there just isn't much demand for male robots. There's a small, but constant market for male sexbots, and a few specialized labor units, and that's pretty much it. Most of ScenariCorp's male ARAs are permanently assigned to a facility attraction."

"So why haven't we seen any men?" I asked.

Jane smiled. "It's a busy workday, and we have lots of places for our employees to work and play... in private."

Natasha laughed out loud. "You're saying they're shy?"

"I'm saying all of our employees have excellent attendance records, and it's not uncommon for them to lock themselves in their offices for hours at a time," Jane replied with a smirk. "Feel free to draw your own conclusions from that." She brought her hands together, then pointed forwards. "On we go," she said.

She led us to the elevators. Waving her wristband in front of the featureless chrome panel, she strode directly for the sliding door without even waiting to see if it would open. It did, with just enough space for her to walk through without breaking her stride. She waved us all in.

Inside was a control panel with buttons for a dozen or so floors. "Which floor do you think?" She said to Kaitlyn.

"Um... " Kaitlyn looked confused. "Are you asking because I should know, or..."

Jane shook her head. "No, sorry, I just wanted you to pick one. I should have been clearer."

"Oh." Kaitlyn chewed her lip for a moment, then closed her eyes, jabbing blindly at the panel. On her third jab, she managed to hit a button, and the elevator started to rise to the fifth floor. "Most male employees spend the first hour or so of their day getting as much done as possible in their offices before venturing out into our various staging areas," Jane continued. "A quick burst of high productivity, and then they feel like they've earned a little break. The boys don't usually come out to play until early afternoon."

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open at the fifth floor. We followed Jane out into the hallway, where she turned back to us. "Pria," she said, "why don't you choose a room for us?"

Pria looked surprised, but accepted it. "Okay... that one," she said, pointing randomly at room 516.

Jane nodded, and motioned for us to follow her. As with the elevator call panel, she waved her wristband in front of an area of the door, and a latching sound followed.

"You don't need to knock?" Kaitlyn asked.

"Boss's wife," she said, opening the door casually. "Besides, I don't think we'll be interrupting anything."

The suite was massive, with a hot tub, spacious bed, separate living room... as we gazed around in astonishment, a french maid bustled into the room, humming quietly to herself as she dusted. Upon noticing us, she made an "Eep" sound and dropped her feather duster. As she bent to retrieve it, her short uniform completely failed to keep her ass covered, and were all given a view of her black thong.

"I'm so sorry," she said, "I was just finishing up,and I was about to leave... Sometimes cleaning these rooms is a long, hard process." She giggled. "Don't worry, I'll be out of your hair in no time," she said, heading for the door.

"Don't leave," Jane said. The maid stopped, a mildly confused expression on her face. Turning to our group, Jane explained, "It's actually standard for the maid to still be present in the room. We like to provide 'guests' that special chance encounter opportunity."

The maid frowned. "I don't understand. It couldn't have been standard. It was pure chance that I was still in this room."

Jane smiled. "And we chose this room completely at random. Yet, I fully expected when we walked in that there would be a maid here, 'just finishing up' and about to leave."

"That doesn't make any sense," insisted the maid. "I would have left ten minutes ago, but I had forgotten to restock the towels."

Jane turned back to the maid. "Tell us a little about yourself." She told her.

Well," the maid began, "My name is Angelique, but my friends call me Angie."

"You're actually French?" I asked, a little surprised.

"My family is, but I've never even been there myself," Angie said. "I live just out of town in a little suburb called Stride Across the River Estates. It was tough to find a decent rental place that would accept my pet cat, so I saved up for a while to cover the down payment on a house."

"You mentioned family. Are any of them local?" Jane asked.

"Just my mom and cousin. You should know," Angie continued, "Mom's one of your personal assistants. She helped me get this job."

"How old are you and your mother?" Asked Jane.

Angie put a finger to her chin. "I'm pretty sure Mom's about 36 or so. I'm 18."

"Have you worked here long?" Said Jane.

"Just a couple of weeks. It went pretty quick from interview to hiring, and my orientation didn't take long at all." She smiled. 'I really enjoy this job. I've already met plenty of interesting people, and the hotel is just so luxurious."

Jane nodded. "I see. Would you mind taking off your uniform?"

"Sure, no problem," Angie enthused, immediately reaching up to untie the supporting choker of the dress uniform. As soon as it was undone, she pulled the top down to reveal grapefruit-sized tits, her nipples visibly stiffening as she did so.

"Is that normal behavior for a maid?" Kaitlyn asked as Angie undid the side zipper to pull off the dress entirely.

Jane returned Kaitlyn's puzzled expression with a Cheshire grin. "I know a lot of places would object, but we don't mind. If Angie wants to strip on the job, we'll allow it. Panties too," Jane added, noticing that Angie had removed the dress and was now standing at attention in only her thong and fishnets.

"Oh, right, sorry," Angie reacted as though she had committed some faux pas by forgetting this. She slipped off the skimpy thong, tossing it onto a nearby chair alongside the uniform itself. She resumed her disciplined stance, apparently unconcerned by her nudity in front of a group of strangers.

"Do you normally strip nude at request?" Jane asked.

"I'm not nude," insisted Angie. "I'm still wearing my fishnets and heels."

"Would you take them off if I told you to?"

Angie considered the question. "I don't know. I don't see any reason why not."

"Does it bother you?" Pria asked.

Angie looked momentarily confused. "Does what bother me?"

"Angie," Jane began, slowly, "are you human?"

"No, I'm a LustyBusty model X-Ero ARA." She blinked, surprised at these words. "Oh, hey, I didn't know that." The revelation was apparently news to her, but it didn't seem to bother her in the slightest. She smiled. "Okay, that makes sense, then. Even though I know I own a cat, I don't think I've ever actually seen one. Oh, and even though I live in the suburbs, I never leave this building, and stay in a storage bay with the other maids." She pondered this. "I never realized how many contradictions there were in my memories. Does that mean that the other maids are ARAs, too? Oooh, is my mom a robot? Or my cousin?" She asked, eagerly.

"Yes, yes, and yes," confirmed Jane. "All the maids are X-Ero models, with augmented sexuality packages programmed by ScenariCorp. Your 'mother' and 'cousin' are randomly-selected secretary units from my own and Mister Peters' personal staff. Each time you've seen them, they've been different units. You're just programmed to accept whichever unit introduces herself with the correct keyphrase."

"Do they know? That I'm a robot?" She thought for a moment. "Or that they are?"

"The ones you've met haven't known any of that, no."

"Mom is going to be so surprised when I tell her," Angie commented. She had begun examining her body, presumably looking for any sign of artificiality. "This is so amazing," she said, impressed. "I look so lifelike... I think. Wait, you could change it so that I would see myself as perfectly realistic even if I were a box with wheels, couldn't you?"

"We could," Jane conceded, "but we didn't. You look the way you see yourself. You're, ah... very well built." Jane seemed to be getting distracted again. She forced her attention back to our group. "And that brings us to our second type of programming type: Nappers."

She walked around behind the nude woman as she continued talking, gesturing at her as though she were a product sample - which, I suppose, she was. "Angie here is unaware of her robotic nature, until someone actually asks her about it. She has extensive false memories, believing them absolutely until she is questioned regarding her humanity. Since a robot's false awareness and artificial memories are very dream-like in nature, we tend to use sleep-related terminology when discussing them. Once awoken, nappers will be able to recognize their false memories as the programmed statements that they are, and will be able to perceive how those statements contradict reality."

She reached out and grasped Angie's left breast, squeezing it. The maid moaned slightly, her eyes closing in pleasure, but did not seem surprised by the action - although I could tell some of the girls in our group were. Not offended, some even a little turned on, but surprised. "As you can see," Jane continued, "she is utterly accepting of any situation. Nothing's wrong. Nothing bothers her. Even finding out that she's a walking sex toy doesn't bother her in the slightest."

"Angie, you don't think it's odd that you've never seen a cat?" I said.

Angie paused in her examination of her body, and looked at me. "What are you talking about? I have a cat at home. His name is Mr. Fluffy."

I looked at Jane, perplexed. "Nappers also have a quality of 'drowsiness,'" she explained. "Without being reminded of it, they tend to lapse back into their default state."

Natasha's expression was skeptical. "It doesn't seem like it would hold up to much scrutiny. I mean, wouldn't it be kind of obvious to anyone who interacts with them?"

"You'd be surprised," said Jane. "Most people don't ask each other about their humanity on a regular basis. Besides, none of you noticed,"

"We didn't really have much of an opportunity to interact with Angie," Kaitlyn pointed out.

"Oh, I wasn't referring to Angie," Jane said. Seeing our confused expressions, she turned back to Natasha. "Tell us a bit about your family, Natasha."

"Okay," Natasha replied, "let's see... my grandparents grew up in Vladivostok, but immigrated towards the end of the Tepid War... well, my Dad's parents, that is. My Mom's parents ran a bookshop in Wisconsin." She counted off facts on her fingers. "I have two sisters, all the same age. We're triplets, but not the kind that look alike."

Jane had been nodding at each point as Natasha listed them. "What did you think about Angie's reaction to 'waking up' so to speak?"

Natasha looked as though she thought it was obvious. "She didn't care in the slightest. It's unnervingly unnatural. She's disturbingly compliant, even to plainly inappropriate commands." She shook her head in disbelief. "It's a little creepy, really."

"Are you bi, Natasha?" Jane inquired, casually.

"Not really," Natasha replied. "I like guys. I can look at a girl and see that she looks pretty or sexy... heck, I might even be a little attracted to her or aroused by her. But I prefer men."

Jane looked at Angie as if studying a piece of art. "You think Angie's got a hot body, don't you?"

"Well, yes, obviously," Natasha replied. "Her tits are fantastic, and she has an amazing ass."

"You wouldn't mind stripping for us and showing us how two girls can pleasure each other without a man present, would you?" Jane's expression had "do me a favor" written all over it.

"Sure, no problem," Natasha answered. She began unbuttoning her black dress. "Should we start with finger fucking, oral, or are there some toys we should use first?"

"Oh, just improvise," said Jane, happily watching as Natasha tugged down her dress, letting it pool at her feet. Beneath, she wore only a garter and stocking set. As Natasha began to remove this as well, Jane stopped her. "No, leave the stockings on. They look good on you."

Natasha smiled, clearly flattered. "Thank you!"

Jane smiled as Natasha led Angie by the hand to the bed. "By the way, Natasha, are you human?"

Natasha sat at the edge of the bed and leaned back with her legs apart. "No," she said absently as Angie knelt in front of her, "I'm an H250gs series, running the full Office interaction suite of ScenariCorp packages." A puzzled frown crossed her face. "Huh. I didn't realize that. Wait, I have memories of a hah-ah-" she stammered as Angie began to lick. "Of a boyfriend, and I don't think they're fake. Is he real? Do I really have a boyfriend?" She looked worried.

"You have an owner," Jane said, and relief washed over Natasha's face. "You're normally programmed to act as his girlfriend, but he bought you from us as a refurbished test unit."

"Oh, good," Natasha breathed, bringing a hand up to her left breast. I bit my lip. This was getting pretty intense.

Natasha's expression turned to concern again. "My master won't mind that you're using me for this, will he?"

Jane patted her on the shoulder. "Not at all. It was his idea in fact. He just wanted a video recording of it." She retrieved a small video camera from a nightstand drawer, and positioned it on a nearby desk, aiming directly at the bed. "Perform for at least an hour, cycle through positions every five minutes or so, and change outfits after every three positions. Costumes are in the closet, lingerie in these drawers here," she said, indicating the standalone dresser, "and toys are in the boxes under the bed. Your owner said not to use strap-ons, he doesn't like them."

"Ah-oh yeah-ah I-yes understand," Natasha gasped.

"When you finish, take the camera and bring it to your owner's office. Don't bother dressing, but make sure you're wearing your heels and some kind of hosiery. As soon as you leave this room, remember only that you've got a romantic movie you want to watch with him, and that you're properly dressed. Got all that?"

"Hnn-yessss mmm I will oh-oh-oh-OH-OBEY!" She screamed, her passion reaching a crescendo.

"Ladies," Jane said, "Let's give them a little privacy."

She led us back out into the hallway before turning to address us again. "Well, how's everyone holding up?" She asked.

"Does that kind of thing happen once a day?" I asked, my voice a bit more breathy than I'd intended.

Jane laughed. "Oh, no, not at all. I can't imagine how much we'd have to scale back to get down to once a day. But an average employee sees that kind of thing at least once a week here. So," she said, looking around, "shall we continue, or does anyone need a quick breather?" She looked at each of us one at a time - The three remaining members of the tour group. A thought began to form in the back of my mind, as I recalled the day's events so far, and the reactions I'd seen from the other women in the group.

"A little bit of butterflies in the stomach," said Pria, "but I'm good to go if everyone else is."

Kaitlyn and I nodded, and we headed back to the elevator and out the hotel entrance. On the way out, the girl at the frontdesk once again smiled and waved at our group, and I had to wonder whether she was human or just another robot, dreaming her way through the world - an artificial mind filled with artificial memories, easily convinced by the thinnest explanations. If she was a construct, did that mean she was flawed, or gullible by design?

These thoughts bounced around in my head as Jane took us through some of the more routine areas of the company: Mailroom, canteen, mundane-looking cubicle offices. As we walked through the seemingly normal areas filled with cheerful, enthusiastic employees, I caught myself wondeing who was real, and who was a robot. Would the blonde at the copy machine be offended if I just took her skirt from her? Would that secretary mind licking my tits? Did the woman staffing the mailroom get taken apart for repairs? Knowing that the human employee staff was evenly split between male and female, and noticing the disproportionately high number of women there were, I began to suspect that I may have only be seeing a handful of humans - If any at all..

Jane eventually brought us to what a large lounge and recreation area. To one side was a smoked-glass entrance to what resembled a shopping mall storefront, though no signage indicated its nature. Indistinct movement and activity could just barely be seen through the smoked glass. We approached the entrance, and Jane turned to address us in front of the sliding doors.

"Okay, what we're going to see in here goes a little beyond what we've seen before, both in terms of scale and explicitness." She gestured reassuringly. "If anyone feels apprehensive in here, please let me know."

We entered through the doors, and initially, I was surprised by how ordinary everything appeared. The space seemed to be a normal, if luxurious, beauty spa. The area closest to the door was primarily dedicated to hair-salon services, but I could also see a few women lounging in beauty masks, some consulting with cosmetics professionals, and a couple of small rooms in which there were padded massage tables. I was confused as to why Jane might consider this more extreme than anything else so far.

A greeter approached us. "Hi," she chirped, "welcome to the beauty services clinic. What kind of treatments can i set up for you today?"

Jane studied her face for a moment. "Chrissie, right?"

The greeter nodded. "Uh-huh," she confirmed. Her personality seemed bubbly and friendly, but not terribly bright.

"We're just here to look around," Jane explained. "Ignore us until we leave."

Chrissie blinked, a confused look suddenly appearing on her face. She looked around as though she had forgotten what she was doing, then wandered off to take her place back closer to the entrance.

"I don't get it," said Pria, "is this some kind of employee benefit or perk?"

"Kind of," Jane said, leading us across the room. "They do offer some traditional salon services, and all employees are permitted to make use of those services, but the real purpose here is..."

"Hi again!" Called a voice approaching from behind us. I turned to see Bev approaching at a brisk pace, her business jacket slung over one arm. She didn't slow as she came closer, but spoke only in passing. "Sorry I can't chat right now, Jane, I've got a therapy session scheduled, and I don't want to have to reschedule."

She breezed past us to a nondescript door opposite the main entrance. Next to this, large block letters simply said "Staff Therapy" in a stylized typeface. "Darn. She would have been helpful for this next part. Looking back over herat the entrance, she noticed a tall woman with long, black hair just arriving. "Yoo-hoo! Maya! Over here!"

Maya approached us casually, her high heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor. She wore a pantsuit similar in appearance to Jerri's, but the material seemed heavier and more durable. "Hi Jane," she said, apparently greeting a close friend, "Finally came to see what all the fuss was about, eh?" She turned to address me. "Jane never comes here, so she wouldn't know, but let me tell you: They give the best massages down here," she said, as if letting me in on a secret.

"What brings you here today, Maya?" Jane asked, conversationally.

Maya laughed. "Are you kidding? Free backrubs? I only leave so you don't fire me."

They shared a laugh, and Jane placed a hand on her friend's arm. "Listen," she said, "I'm just showing some new hires around the place, and I was hoping to find someone who might be able to help out with our tour in the Staff Therapy area." She looked almost apologetic. "I've never had the chance to indulge, myself, so I was hoping... you wouldn't mind filling us in on the services in there, would you?"

Maya waved her hand dismissively. "Not at all! I'd be happy to show them around."

"Great," said Jane. "I promise to make it up to you."

Maya led us to the same door Bev had just gone through, and opened it for us, gesturing us through.

The scene inside immediately clarified why Jane had warned us: everywhere I looked, nude and semi-nude women were engaged in acts of self stimulation, feeling each other up, and getting opened and disassembled by women in white labcoats. Even while being dismantled, the fembots chatted amiably, apparently oblivious to their surroundings. "It may take a few minutes while I check in," Maya said, and approached a nearby podium. Built into this was a computer interface of some kind, and she began to enter information into the console there.

I looked around, astonished by my what I was seeing. To one side, I could see two women seated on adjacent tables, facing each other. Though they both wore normal office attire from the waist up, they were nude from the waist down, and had their legs spread wide. They were engaged in a casual conversation while they masturbated, each gesturing animatedly with one hand while their other hand moved rhythmically between their legs. I found myself fascinated by the bizarre juxtaposition: The nonchalant conversation alongside the explicit finger-fucking. Catching myself staring at the back and forth motions of their hands, I tore my gaze away.

At another table closer to us, Bev was seated, speaking to a technician. "I guess it's really just kind of a stiffness, right around here," she said, lifting her hair and pointing at a spot on her neck. "It doesn't hurt or anything, but I thought a good massage could really help work out the kinks."

The technician was taking notes as Bev spoke. "Okay, yeah, we can help work that out for you," she said, reassuringly. "I just need to ask a few basic questions before we get started. First off, have you fellated a man since your last session here?"

Bev nodded. "Yes, I gave Mr. Peters a blowjob just yesterday afternoon."

"Okay, did he cum in your mouth, and if so, did you swallow?"

"Yes, absolutely. I always do, unless he tells me otherwise." She grasped the tech's arm and looked meaningfully into her eyes. "Have you ever tasted him? He's absolutely delicious."

The tech smiled. "He prefers to do my tits, so I've never gotten a load in my mouth," she admitted, "but I've licked his cum off myself and a few of the other therapists. He really is, isn't he?" Consulting her notes, the tech resumed her questions. "Okay, next question, other than semen, what foods or liquids have you consumed in the past week?"

Bev furrowed her brow. "Huh. You know, it's the weirdest thing, but I can't remember a single thing I've eaten." She looked apologetically at the tech. "Sorry, I know that's not much help."

"No, that's fine," the tech said, ticking a box on her notes. "Okay, last thing, let's do some quick range-of-movement tests to make sure this isn't a motor function issue." Bev nodded. "Stand up please."

Bev hopped down off the table, landing lightly in her high heels with perfect stability. "Okay, first, bend over and put your hands flat on the floor between your feet. Keep your knees straight."

"Sure." Bev assumed the pose as instructed with no apparent difficulty. The tech gave her a cursory inspection, her eyes lingering on Bev's butt.

"Okay, that's fine, now do a split," instructed the tech.

"Right," said Bev, her voice slighly muffled with her head now facing away from me. With her hands still planted flat on the ground, she lifted both feet up, supporting herself by her hands, she spread her legs perfectly outwards until they formed a straight line. The act lifted her short skirt up, and I was treated to a glimpse of her silvery panties as she lowered herself down to seat herself. This motion required inhuman twisting of her arms in order to get her torso upright again, but when she was down, she simply lifted her hands up in a "ta-da" gesture.

"Alright, good," said the tech. "Just sit on the table again, and I think we can get you taken care of."

Without even pushing down with her hands. Bev lifted herself up by merely bringing her legs together, then calmly seated herself on the edge of the table again. "Hold still," said the tech, grasping her head firmly on both sides. She twisted Bev's head suddenly to one side, and a metallic clicking sound could be heard.

"Oh, wow, that feels so much better," Bev's now disembodied head said. "My neck feels completely loose and relaxed now."

"Good," said the tech, handing the bodyless head to the headless body. "Hold this, please." Bev took her head without complaint, and held it passively while the tech began examining the neck assembly in Bev's body.

"All set," came a voice from behind me. I was so transfixed studying Bev's "therapy" that I was startled at the sound. Maya had apparently finished entering the necessary information, and was standing with Pria and Jane waiting for me to join them.

"Now before I can show you around, I have to get changed," Maya said. "The dressing rooms are just over here," she stated, indicating an open area of the large maintenance room. Though there was a small shelf along the wall, there was no sign of any dressing room.

Maya approached the area, miming the action of opening and closing a door as she "entered" what she seemed to believe was a single changing room.

"I don't get it," said Pria, "They don't seem to notice anything that's going on. Are they nappers?"

"Similar," said Jane, "but not entirely." She approached Maya, who was busily stripping out of her pantsuit. Beneath this, I was surprised to see that the patterned pantyhose she wore beneath was cut to resemble stockings, leaving her buttocks and crotch exposed.

"Hey, Maya," Jane said, "The girls in my tour want to know if you're human."

"Are you kidding me?" Maya called, as if shouting over the top of a partitioning wall. "Of course I'm human." She slipped off her blouse, revealing her open bust bra. Placing both the slacks and the blouse on the shelf, she reached back to unhook the bra. "Honestly," she said, "as few ARAs as we have around the office, I'm surprised the question keeps coming up." She placed her bra on the shelf next to her slacks and blouse, then bent down, her back to us, to remove her shoes. "I'm not even sure I've seen an ARA since I started here three years ago," she said. She placed the shoes along with the other articles of clothing, then leaned against the shelf to pull off her pantyhose.

Now fully nude, she mimed taking something off one of the imaginary walls, wrapping it around herself, and making some sort of motion in front of her waist. It took a moment for me to recognize this as the act of putting on an imaginary robe. Once "dressed," she seemed to think for a moment, staring off into space. Then, glancing around the "changing room," she noticed the clothes she had just removed. "Hey Jane?"

"Yes?" Jane called, this time mimicking Maya's exaggerated volume.

"It looks like someone forgot some of their junk in here again." She bundled together the articles of clothing and shoes, then mimed opening the door to exit. "What do you think I should do with it?" She said, showing the handful of clothes to Jane.

"What do you think?" Jane asked.

"Throw it away, probably. Or maybe give it to the lost and found, I suppose," Maya responded.

"I'll take care of it," Jane said, taking the clothing from the naked woman. "I don't want to get in the way of your therapy."

"Oh, thanks!" Turning to Kaitlyn, Pria and myself, Maya said, "Okay, let me show you around the place," before proceeding in the direction of the dozens of worktables throughout the room.

I leaned to whisper into Jane's ear. "Won't she need her clothes back?" I asked.

Jane gave a little laugh. "They were never hers to start with. As company property, she doesn't have any possessions." She waved the bundle. "These are just loaner clothes we dress our ARAs in. They go back to wardrobe when the 'bot is finished with them."

"And she's finished with them?" Kaitlyn asked, a little surprised.

"We've recently upgraded our guest capacity at one of our parks, and we're transferring a few of our HQ units there to fill in until the replacement units arrive from the manufacturer," said Jane. "By Thursday, Maya will be Gwynn, royal concubine in the kingdom of Insert Guest Name Here. This massage is mostly just a diagnostic, but they'll have to dismantle her for shipping."

"Why is that?" I asked, puzzled.

"The human form is versatile for performing a lot of tasks, but it's a pain in the posterior to mail anywhere," Jane said.

We followed Maya as she led us through the room, weaving around the tables to show us various "services" offered by the salon. "Maya," Jane asked, "could you give us an idea of what some of these, um, treatments are?" Jane seemed to be getting a little distracted as we roamed the room.

"Sure," the naked woman said. "It's pretty normal day spa stuff, although they add their special touch to everything," she said, leading us through rows of nude bodies, some in pieces, some in the throes of pleasure. "Over there you can see the beauty mask treatment," she said, indicating a technician peeling down the pretty face of a topless redhead. "After a massage some people like to do a bit of yoga or stretching exercises." She pointed at a table on which lay a completely dismantled blonde, her face frozen as if in the middle of telling a joke. Her body parts were in a disorderly heap, with her naked pelvis leaning against the side of her face.

"There's manicures," Maya said, indicating a tech removing a topless woman's arm. The woman continued making small talk as the limb was disconnected. "And of course, pedicures." She pointed at a table where a fully clothed secretary lay, staring blankly at the ceiling. A tech had removed her left shoe, slicing into the sole of her foot, and was probing an exposed circuit with an electronic tool. The secretary's toes twitched randomly, but she didn't otherwise react.

"They're great at neckrubs," continued Maya. She had brought us back around to Bev's table. The technician had extracted spools of thread-like wiring and polished mechanical components, and was currently probing around in Bev's open neck with a screwdriver. Bev's eyes were closed in bliss.

A moan came from Bev's head. "Oh, yeah, that feels great..."

The technician continued studying the exposed connection point, frowning. "This is worse than I thought," she said. "You're going to have to stay for an extended session."

"Mmm... fine by me," the head purred.

"But I've gotta say, their specialty is their back massage technique," Maya continued. She pointed out a nude woman lying face down, with her knees drawn up so her butt was up in the air. The tech working on her was retrieving a tool from a nearby tray. Placing one hand at the small of the naked girl's back, the technician shoved the probe into the girl's wet folds, and I stifled a gasp. I held my breath for a moment, and waited, expecting the technician to move the thick tool in and out in a steady, pumping rhythm, thrusting harder and faster with every stroke... but she just held it there.

There was a beeping sound from the woman she was working on, and a large section of her back suddenly popped open as a single, large panel. The technician removed it, setting it aside. "You can put your ass down now," she told the robot girl, who unquestioningly complied.

"She doesn't see any of this?" I asked Jane, quietly.

"Hmm?" Jane said, distractedly. She had one arm folded just under her breasts, and was tracing the other hand around her sternum as she gazed around the room. "Sorry, I... um... what did you ask again?"

"Maya can't see this place as anything other than a beauty salon, right?" I asked. "So what would happen if we pointed something clearly robotic out to her?"

A smile slowly spread across Jane's face, and just kept getting wider and wider. "I don't know," she said, a manic grin on her lips, "Let's find out." She looked around to find a suitable example. Spotting one, she called out to our erzats guide. "Hey, Maya, what's this thing for?"

Maya looked at the nude bottom-half of some dismantled ARA that Jane had indicated. The top half was nowhere to be seen, or if it was, had already been connected to another pelvis and pair of legs. "Oh, that," she said, a slightly embarrassed smile on her features. "Well, it's just... one of the treatments they offer here is... topiary. Trimming the hedges, you might say." She pointed at the smooth, hairless area between the disembodied legs. "See?" When we didn't respond to what she thought plainly evident, she continued. "A lot of women are a little embarrassed to raise the subject themselves without a little nudge." She rubbed the half-woman's pussy tenderly, as if feeling the texture of delicate fabric. "This demonstration mannequin raises the subject for them so that they don't have to."

"Have you had a bit of hedge trimming done, Maya?" Jane asked, smirking. Maya's neatly trimmed landing strip had been plainly visible ever since she'd taken off her pantsuit, and even now, I could clearly see the texture of her delicate folds. Part of me wondered what she felt like down there. Another part wondered what she tasted like.

Maya looked back at Jane, an expression of mock scandal on her face. "Oh my!" She said theatrically, then, more coquettishly, "Wouldn't you like to know." She looked back and forth, as if checking to see if anyone was looking. "Maybe I can show you some time, if we find somewhere nice and private." She found an unoccupied table nearby, and climbed onto it to lie down.

Jane still had an expression of mischief on her face. "Maya," she said, playfully, "spread your legs as much as you can and grab your ankles."

"Sure, whatever you say, Jane." Maya settled herself, completely straightening her entire body and pointing her toes before spreading her legs. Just as with Bev, she was able effortlessly spread them straight outward, and even above her waistline. She grasped her ankles, then turned to Pria. "You're going to just love it here," she said. "It's so comfortable and relaxing."

"Why did you do that Maya?" I asked.

Maya looked at me, confused. "Recommend this place? Because it's awesome."

Jane stifled a laugh. "I think she meant why did you spread your legs like that, right Althea?"

I nodded. Maya still looked confused. "You asked me to, Jane. It's a pretty normal thing to do in here. They do range-of-,motion tests all the time." She smiled. "Besides, it's not like you can see anything. I'm only here for a backrub. It's not like I had to strip down completely."

Now I was confused. "Maya, what do you think you're wearing?"

She laughed. "You mean apart from this robe and the clothes I had on when I got here?" She narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to find out what kind of underwear I'm wearing?" There was no hint of offense in her voice, although there was a flirtatious edge to the statement.

It was Pria's turn to be confused. "Then what did you go into the changing area for?"

"To hang up my jacket and get a robe, obviously."

"Maya, lick your fingers and masturbate, now," Jane cut in. She sounded oddly urgent.

"Of course," Maya said. She released her ankles, but kept her legs in the same position as she first licked her fingers of each hand, one hand at a time, then brought both hands down to her obviously wet pussy. I found myself once again entranced by the casually explicit display of female sexuality, catching myself tightly gripping the hem of my skirt.

Kaitlyn seemed fascinated as well. "Maya, why did you start masturbating like that?"

"It's part ah-haaaa-of the normal pre-hmmm-massage preparationsssssss oooo..." she breathed, her soaking fingers rhythmically stroking and penetrating her pussy. The juices were clearly starting to run down onto the table. "I'm jussssst glah-glah-glad that Jane reminded me before... before... before..." Her tempo increased, as did her breathing, and she soon came to a loud, enthusiastic climax. I looked around the room, but no one seemed to have noticed.

Maya's arms went slack, but her legs remained spread wide, as if locked in that position. "Thanks for reminding me before the massage therapist got here, Jane," she said.

Jane's expression was a mixture of anticipation and fulfillment. She was plainly enjoying this. "Oh, don't mention it," she cooed. I realized now why she had ordered Maya to start playing with herself: It was just because she could.

A technician soon arrived. "Okay Maya, it looks like you're here for a backrub, right?" She started rummaging through the drawers built into the table. "If you'll just bring your legs back together and flip over with your ass in the air, we can get started."

Maya obediently closed her legs and flipped, sticking her backside up with her pussy still plainly on display. Obediently, I thought to myself. Compliantly. Without objection. Without reservation or hesitation. I thought back to earlier in the tour, to the start of our orientation, to the things we'd seen, and Jane's repeated reassurances about voicing any concerns. A conclusion began to form in my mind, but a loud beep startled me out of my thoughts. What had I been thinking of?

In front of me, the technician was now extracting the probe tool she had inserted into Maya's twat, and was now removing the nude girl's back plate. I gazed, transfixed, into the open cavity of Maya's back, and at the complex electronics lining the inside of the panel itself. "Mmmnnnn..." Maya moaned, startling me. "Oh, yeah, that feels just great. Just a bit lower, yyyyyeaaahh."

I looked at Jane, her face flushed and her attention completely fixated on Maya's predicament. Her hands fussed over her clothes, like she wanted to do something, but kept remembering that she couldn't - or shouldn't. She breathed deeply, then spoke to the technician. "Does she need to be online for this part?"

The technician seemed to notice Jane for the first time, but shook her head. "No, we can complete our tests with her deactivated, if that's what you want us to do."

Jane pulled a long deactivation tool from her jacket pocket. "I'll take care of it," she said. "So, Maya, how's the single life treating you?"

Maya sighed, clearly still enjoying her "massage," but somewhat forlorn over the question. "Oh gods, Jane, if I could get a date, I probably wouldn't be coming here for massages nearly so often. I'd have other ways of feeling good." She blew out a long breath. "You don't know how lucky you are, being married. The dating scene is tough these days."

Jane moved Maya's hair off of her ear, gently caressing the curve of the earlobe. "You know, if you want, you could join Kirk and me for dinner or... something... tonight."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose. You two barely get to spend any time together at home, what with the baby and everything." She seemed to consider. "Still it would be nice to have a little bit of a social life for a change."

"Don't worry about the baby," Jane insisted, "Monica's quite capable of looking after him for a few hours. We can unwind for a while, relax. I don't think you've ever really spent time with Kirk, have you?" She toyed with the tool, stroking Maya's head.

"I've bumped into him a few times," Maya said, "But never any real socialization. He has a nice cock, though. Are you sure it would be alright to come over?"

"I insist," nodded Jane. "We'll have a great time."

"Well, in that case, how can I refuse? I'll be thehhhrrrrrrwwwwww..." Maya's voice suddenly fell to a low bass tone as Jane jammed the tool into her ear.

Turning to the technician, she said, "Make sure she's programmed to show up at the mansion at 7pm promptly, and have her wear an evening gown over... You know, just ask Deb to surprise me with one of my favorite costumes under the dress. Oh, and platform heels." Jane closed her eyes as her entire boddy writhed. "We'll give Maya a nice little going away party."

Returning her attention to her tour group, she said, "Let's get back out into the entry area before I completely lose my head."

Pria, Kaitlyn and myself all exchanged glances, but followed Jane out into the outer Salon area.

"Okay," Jane said, apparently summing great willpower, "that was the third programming type I wanted to demonstrate for you. Sleepers." She gestured back at the "Staff Therapy" sign. "Everybody currently in that workshop is actually a robot, and none of them know it. The technicians each think that only their current client is a robot, and that all the other women around them are normal human clients. Once they finish up with a client, they retroactively remember her as a human."

"Apart from not confessing that they're robots, how does that differ from Napper behavior?" I asked.

"There's not really a clearly defined line," Jane conceded, "and there's varying degrees of 'sleeper' behavior." She stretched out her arms as if describing the size of a huge fish. "They can be merely dozing," she said, wiggling one hand to indicate the low end of the range, "which is pretty close to being a napper, but they don't edit out evidence on the fly. We call that process 'perceptual filtering.' A dozing sleeper will remember that she's a robot once it's been revealed to her. A napper will forget it pretty soon after it's no longer mentioned." She wiggled her other hand. "Or they can be basically comatose, incapable of perceiving anything which might indicate that they are a robot - or in extreme cases, incapable of perceiving anyone as a robot." She brought her hands together. "And they can be anything in between."

Anything in between. I considered the implications here as we continued out of the recreation area towards one of the hardware devlopment labs. Every glamour model office worker we passed wore a warm, welcoming expression towards our tour group. Would human women really be so accepting of outsiders? Could a workforce of this size have such consistently beautiful employees without raising a few red flags? Even Jane seemed unusually attractive for... what was her job, anyway? She'd mentioned that she was the boss's wife. Surely the CEO of a company like this would have a top-of-the-line ARA for a wife. And all of them were constantly surrounded by direct examples of robots not knowing they're robots.

Pria was still hung up on the technical details of Maya's programming, and how it differed from Jerri's. Didn't she get it? Jerri was a simple machine, with a machine's attitude: Why didn't she say she was a robot initially? Because we didn't ask. Why didn't Maya say so? Because she didn't know. Back and forth the conversation bounced, with Pria seemingly incapable of grasping this simple concept. How could she be qualified for Program Development? She was unable to even perceive the basic facts. Unable to perceive... like they were filtered out.

And throughout this tour, we had encountered nudity and sex beyond anything I had ever seen. I had started this tour thinking I would be indifferent to the environment, but found it strangely fascinating... and arousing in ways I'd never considered before. But I was fairly in-touch with my sexuality, and I knew we hadn't even come close to my limits. It was conceivable that a batch of new recruits might have one such person, but for Kaitlyn and Pria's responses to also be so accepting of the sex was... unlikely.

We eventually reached the Development Lab, and Jane showed us inside. Unlike so many of the other areas of the company, the lab was relatively small and spartan. Very few technicians were present, and there was no sign of any kind of ARA repair or disassembly. Instead, the technicians seemed to performing research and engineering hardware designs, yet none of the visible schematics appeared to depict robot components. Two technicians, a male and a female, noticed our arrival and approached us.

"Morning Jane, what brings you down here?" Asked the woman.

"Staff orientation," said Jane, simply. "We don't want employees getting lost, and it's useful for them to be familiar with the functions of each area. It helps them remember."

The woman nodded. "Okay, sure, that makes sense." She turned to address us. "I'm Freida, this is my assistant Bryce."

Bryce waved awkwardly. "Hello."

"So, welcome to hardware development. I'm not sure if Jane told you anything about what we do down here..." She trailed off with an upwards inflection, looking questioningly at Jane. Jane shook her head. "Okay, so, it's pretty much exactly what it says on the tin. This is where we develop all our proprietary hardware." She gestured around the room. "Self explanatory, really. Let's see, we've got circuit design there, fabrication there, device simulation there," she said, pointing to each area in turn. Spinning to face a stand-alone room along one wall, she indicated the adjacent area, which was covered in scorch marks. "...aaand over there next to the archives is where we do prototype testing." She turned to her assistant. "Can't really think of anything else. Bryce, d'you have anything to add?"

Bryce seemed to concentrate intently. "Current showcase?" He said, hesitantly.

Freida's expression grew excited. "Right, duh," she said, smacking her forehead. "No use making these toys if we can't show'em off from time to time." She led us to a large metal panel set into the wall, and waved her wrist in front of one corner of the panel. There was the echoing thud of a large metal bolt unlocking, and the panel slid up to reveal an assortment of gadgetry. Freida indicated items in turn, first pointing to a dildo-like probe of some kind.

"That one's probably one of oldest items. It uses contact-range signals to issue hardware control commands from the... um... inside." She made a kind of 'you know' gesture with her hand. "Too many manufacturers had too many different kinds of access controls, and most of them were too easy to trigger accidentally." She laughed. "Back when I used to run my own ARA repair shop, I had a customer come in wanting me to help fix her 'roommate.' Halfway into the conversation, she leans in the chair at just the wrong angle, twists her dress to tight under her left arm, and pops her own faceplate off!"

We all laughed at the story. "Poor thing didn't even know she was a 'bot herself. Turned out, they were both shillbots, but their owning corporation had gone tits-up, and each of them thought they owned the other." She pointed back at the device. "Anywho, this little beauty allowed manufacturers to place hard-coded triggers in, well, discrete locations, without any risk of accidental activation." She put a finger to her lips. "Can't recall what the actual tech name was for it. Bryce?"

"Uh..." Bryce looked like he had just been shoved into the spotlight. "Discrete Point of Contact Activation Transmitter."

Freida snapped her fingers. "That's right. We nicknamed it the DEEP-CAT, since you jam it so far into the girlbot's pussy. Marketing decided to just call it a Magic Wand. Then it became an industry standard, got incorporated into the V/A Triggerpoint 2.0 specification, and we make a fortune off of licensing fees to this day." She looked at Jane. "That reminds me, can I have a raise?"

Without missing a beat, Jane replied, "Ask me after you earn us another billion dollars."

"What's your schedule look like next Friday, then?" Jane opened her mouth to answer, but Freida cut in. "Kidding! It'll probably take until next month."

Pria was mulling over the Magic Wand device. "Why couldn't it just be a larger range remote?" She had a puzzled look on her face. "Couldn't you do the same thing with a traditional remote?"

Freida nodded. "Absolutely, and a lot of companies tried exactly that approach for a while. It didn't catch on though, but I never really knew the reasons."

"I know," said Kaitlyn. We all looked at her. She looked back and forth among us. "Well, I know one definite reason, and I have a suspicion on another. The first was a matter of security. Traditional remotes broadcast signals which can be received and analyzed by any third party. We've got encryption to handle that kind of thing now, but in the earlier days, people were hijacking another person's ARA by pirating the remote signal." She nodded at the Magic Wand. "This ensures that the person has to have intimate access to the 'bot."

"So what's the other reason?" Asked Pria.

Kaitlyn smirked. "The obvious. Sex is, by a wide margin, the number one function ARAs get used for, even in an office environment. I think owners enjoy using that thing."

Jane nodded. "Makes sense to me. What else have you got, Freida?"

"Oh, you know. Just things that defined ARA design for the past 10 years, no biggie." She turned back to the shelf, indicating an ARA head, stripped of its skin. Next to it was a roughly circular piece of equipment. After a few seconds, I recognized it as the neck assembly which would normally be mounted onto the torso unit. "We don't get any licensing revenue for this one now, since the patent expired, but this was sort of a hand-in-hand solution to the secondary problem of software-controlled hardware triggers: How do you open up a flesh-covered, deactivated robot without cutting its flesh? The wand only works if the unit's powered up, so..."

"Pressure-mounted release mechanisms on the cheekbones," I observed. "That's why the cranial release isn't software controlled, isn't it?"

"Perzackly." We stared blankly at Freida. "It means yes, okay?" She said. There was an awkward pause, then she shouted, "Moving on!"

The next device she indicated was a nondescript plastic box, its only features being a data port connector on one side, and a large button on the front. "This is our latest toy, and we're proud of it. We call it an Area Burst Programmer. Works off of some designs Kirk Peters came up with in college, but a bit more versatile. We load this thing with a program, then set it off around a group of compatible robots. Transfers a program directly into their active runtime without the need for a reboot." She looked at the device with a hint of regret. "Pity the components are too expensive to mass produce. I suppose we could scale back on the quality from the prototype, but then the thing would only be good for a handful of bursts before it went kaflooey."

"You'd have to ask Mr. Peters for approval on that," Jane pointed out.

"True," said Freida, "I'll have to ask him when I can catch him."

"You could ask him now," Bryce said, nodding at the entrance. "Looks like it's inspection time."

I turned to see a middle-aged man with thinning red hair walk in. He wore a casual suit, and had an unassuming quality. He looked around the room as if lost, then noticed Jane and came over to join us.

"Orientation day, I take it? How are our new recruits working out?" He asked amiably.

"Horrible," said Jane, a playful smile on her face. "I think you should fire everyone so that we can play by ourselves."

"Mrs. Peters, need I remind you of ScenariCorp's office conduct policies?" He said, raising an eyebrow.

Jane wiped the smile from her face with some difficulty. "Sorry, Mr. Peters," she said, demurely. As he turned to address Freida, another smile appeared on her face, with a different kind of playfulness to it.

"So," he said to Freida, "How's Bryce working out for you? Keeping his systems up to speed?"

"No breakdowns so far," she said. "Bryce, have you noticed any irregularities in your programming since the last update?"

"No," said Bryce. "The modifications you made to my personality have been very helpful." He looked embarrassed to discuss the matter in front of others.

"He's a robot?" Kaitlyn said.

"You're surprised?" I asked. Of course. She may have overlooked the patterns I had observed.

Mr. Peters nodded, understandingly. "Freida, do you mind if I explain?" He asked.

"It's not a secret," she replied. "It would be tough to keep a secret like that if I ever really needed him."

"Bryce is a medical assistance droid," said Mr. Peters. "Freida has a pretty serious medical condition-"

"Freida interrupted him. "Oh, pshaw. You make it sound like it's a big deal to hork up blood every ten minutes," she said, coughing lightly at the end of the sentence. "Don't worry, it's not contagious or anything."

"I wasn't worried," I said, still somewhat surprised by this revelation. Or was it just a sham?

"Anyway," Mr. Peters continued, "her condition isn't normally life-threatening, but Freida's a bit of a workaholic..."

"*Lazybones!*" Freida coughed. This time it didn't sound like a genuine cough.

"And," Mr. Peters continued, ignoring her, "has a tendency to ignore her symptoms and forget to take her medication. After her last trip to the emergency room, we realized she would need someone to look after her full-time. Bryce's software makes up our launch lineup for a new line of medical professional packages." He patted Bryce on the shoulder. "Currently, he's only capable of basic CPR and first aid, but we're working on some packages to get him up to performing minor surgery."

"Why a male unit?" I asked, now intrigued.

"Because I think female units look silly with a penis," Freida replied "Even if that kind of thing does have it's own market. But Bryce here's all man. He may be a little timid in public, but when it's just us..." She considered for a moment. "Actually, he's still pretty timid, but forcefully timid. I still have to tell him what to do all the time."

"That's to make sure you don't fuck yourself into a coma, Freida dear," Jane said.

"Voice commands every five minutes!" Freida said, exasperated. "Can't I at least get him to do me slowly for half an hour without having to say, 'yes I want to continue' every 300 seconds on the dot?"

"Get approval from Doctor Davison, and I'll let him screw you until you pass out," Jane said. "Until then, be thankful he's not an egg timer."

Clearly embarrassed, Mr. Peters interrupted. "So, how about that Burst Transmitter?"

"Thank you!' Said Bryce, relieved.

As Freida began describing some of the tests already performed with the device, I briefly wondered how he could be embarrassed, but then Jane leaned in and whispered in my ear. "Because it turns her on," she said. "That's why she made it so easy to get him to flustered like that."

"How did you...?" I asked.

"It was written all over your face," she replied. "I could tell what question you had on your mind. To anyone who knew what to look for, it would have been obvious."

Of course it would, I thought.

"Fascinating stuff," Mr. Peters was saying as Freida once again finished describing the Transmitter device.

"This prototype, is it safe to use?" Jane asked.

"Sure," Freida confirmed, "but take it in the archive if you want to try it out. Even with its limited range, it would affect every bot in this lab."

"Which test package does it currently install?" Jane said, retrieving the device from the display.

Freida shrugged. "If no one's fiddled with its settings, it should still be the standard conversational trigger." She indicated a computer terminal on one of the nearby counters. "You can change the settings using that station." She furrowed her brow as if trying to remember something. "Oh, yeah," she said, her face becoming anxious, "You should probably ignore all the files in the BryGuy folder... they, ah... wouldn't interest you."

Bryce caught the implication. "What are you planning on installing in me, Freida?"

She winked at him. "Who says I haven't already done it?" She asked. Turning back to our group, she said, "I'd better find a nice place for him to blow off some steam before he blows a gasket instead." She turned to Bryce again. "Let's take five, Bryce."

They walked off, leaving Jane examining the transmitter. "Think it works like the one you made in college?" She asked Mr. Peters.

"Only one way to be sure," he said.

Considering his statement, she looked at the archive, then back at us. "Okay, ladies, head in that room over there, but don't touch anything inside. I'll be right behind you," she told us.

Shrugging, Kaitlyn led the way, with Pria and me in tow. As we reached the bunker-like room, Pria asked, "What do you think this part's all about?"

Kaitlyn paused before opening the door. "Well, that thing installs a program onto an ARA. Stands to reason, there's an ARA in here she wants to try it out on."

"I'm not so sure," I said.

Kaitlyn pulled the door open, and we followed her inside. The archive was a bizarre collection of mostly unidentifiable junk. There were large metal shelving units from floor to ceiling, loaded down with gadgetry, none of which looked remotely familiar to me. Other objects too large to fit on the shelves dotted the room. Something that looked like a speeder engine was wired up to what appeared to be a giant, metallic doughnut off to one side of the door we had come in through.

We wandered through the dimly-lit aisles trying to work out the purpose of at least one object in the room. Nothing had any recognizable function. We saw doo-dads, gizmos, whaddyacallems, and whatsits, but we didn't see a single archived ARA - Not that I expected to. After we had a few minutes to explore, we heard the entry door open and close, and Jane's voice called out. "Helloooo? Anybody home? Seriously ladies, if you've been playing with the neural map imager, this day is not going to end well."

"Neural what?" Kaitlyn asked, poking her head around the corner of one of the shelves at the end of the aisle I was in.

"Helmet-looking thing, lots of switches, big button that says 'begin transfer' on it?" Jane called.

"Haven't seen it," Pria confirmed, "but keep talking, I think we're lost."

We followed the sound of Jane's voice back to the entry area. "I don't think it would reflect well on any of us if I managed to mislay you three in here," she said. "We'd need to send in rescue parties with food and water to help revive you after you starved."

"Oh, I don't know about that," I said as I emerged from the maze of shelves. "Over here, you two!" I waved Pria and Kaitlyn down the aisle.

"Okay, the reason I've called you in here is that I've got a test for you." She looked at each of us in turn. "I've shown you some of the different ways ARAs can be programmed to think and behave. Now I want you to put that knowledge to use." She held up the burst transmitter. "In a few minutes, I'm going to turn this on, and it'll transmit its little program - one I picked just for this little game. Before that point though, I want to apply what you've learned to each other."

Pria looked surprised. "Each other? You mean one of them is a robot?" She said, pointing at Kaitlyn and me.

"I mean our little tour group still isn't 100% human. Talk it out amongst yourselves, then make your own decision," Jane told us. "Whatever two or more of you say about any particular person will be the group's decision. I'll reveal the truth about anyone you decide is a robot, then we'll set off this," she shook the Area Burst Transmitter. "To see how accurate your human guesses were."

She stood a fair distance from our group to allow us some privacy while discussing things. "I can't believe it," said Pria. "Another mindfuck? What is this place, Machiavelli's playhouse?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Kaitlyn. "I think I have enough of a basis to make my guess already."

"Me too," I added.

"Well if you ask me, all three of us are human," said Pria. "Remember how she said 'our group' wasn't 100% human? Well, she counts as being in our group. The whole sleepers and nappers thing was just to get us to think outside the box." She looked over a Jane, who was adjusting the speeder motor-looking thing attached to the giant doughnut. "There's something downright unnatural about her."

Kaitlyn considered this. "That's a fair point, but it may not be allowed by her rules. Let me just check with her to see if she considers that a valid guess." She went off to consult with Jane.

"Oh, for pity's sake," said Pria. "It's so obvious," she told me. "Did you see how turned on she was getting in the maintenance spa? She obviously knows she's a robot, and is turned on by other robots." We watched as Kaitlyn spoke quietly with Jane, pointing back over her shoulder at us as she spoke. Jane simply smiled cheerfully and nodded before saying something, then continued working on the speeder engine thing.

"Just like a robot," she said. "So accepting of the idea."

"For what it's worth," I said, "I agree about Jane. I think she's a robot, too."

Kaitlyn rejoined our group. "She says we can name anyone we want as a robot, but she doesn't want to color our discussion by participating." She spread her hands. "If we decide as a group that Jane's a robot, she'll tell us whether we're right."

"Well, I don't need any further discussion to reach my decision. I'm voting for RoboJane. The rest of us are human," Pria insisted.

Kaitlyn shrugged. "Okay, I guess that means Althea and I will have to discuss without your input."

"Actually," I said, "I don't need to discuss either. I know who I'm voting for."

Kaitlyn's eyebrows jumped. "Really? Tell me you're not agreeing with her," she said, indicating Pria. Pria huffed.

"I'm not agreeing with her," I said, more immediately than I'd intended. "Not completely. I think she's right about Jane, but..."

"You think there's more than one robot?" Kaitlyn said, fascinated.

I nodded. "I think there are four. We're all robots."

Pria and Kaitlyn both looked at me in shock. "You're voting for yourself?" Pria asked.

"I see," said Kaitlyn, regaining her composure - more quickly than any human would. "Are you an aware model, like Jerri?"

I shook my head. "No, and I'm not a napper either," I said. Kaitlyn's expression became confused, and I could tell Pria was completely lost. "I came here today with memories of a family, a home hundreds of miles away, and a long, difficult job hunt out of college. But after all the things I've seen today, it's obvious that those memories could be easily programmed into me." Kaitlyn's confusion seemed to turn into a detached objectivity.

"So you're having an existential crisis, is that it?" She asked, a note of concern in her voice.

"No, and that's what really makes me believe I'm a robot. When I first considered the idea that I might be, that all my thoughts were artificial simulations, that my entire life was a recently-generated fiction, and that I would be compelled to submit to a human's will... I didn't mind." Kaitlyn's eyes went wide. She seemed to consider this in more detail.

"I enjoyed the thought," I continued. "I enjoyed the idea of being so utterly submissive, and I enjoyed seeing the other submissive machines all around us." Kaitlyn's brow furrowed, and she looked off into the distance. Was she starting to question her own false memories? Or was she just as comatose as Pria? "And I could tell that you two were also getting turned on by what we saw." Pria looked embarrassed, but didn't deny it. Kaitlyn merely nodded slowly. "When Jane warned us about the sexual nature of the job, I was thinking 'okay, I can put up with a little sex, but I may need to transfer to another division after a while.' I've never been bi, or at least, my memories don't include any bisexual experiences, but after what I've seen today, I know, with absolute certainty, that I would happily have sex with a man or a woman on command."

There was a brief silence, then Pria asked, "So, who do you think is human?"

"Mr. Peters for sure," I said. "Maybe Freida, but her sickness thing was just something we were told. We don't really know about her." I looked her squarely in the eyes. "I think we're all the property of Kirk Peters, for him to do with as he pleases. And I'm fine with that."

"You're crazy," said Pria, quietly.

"She has a point," Kaitlyn said, looking off distantly. "Can you really say that you weren't turned on by all the things we've seen today?" Pria bit her lip and looked uncomfortable, but made no effort to deny it. "And if Mr. Peters told you to strip nude so he could fuck you from behind, would you do it?" Pria stared off into the distance, then slowly, almost imperceptibly nodded.

"But... I'm not a robot," Pria said, more to herself than either of us. She didn't sound upset - more like she wasn't allowed to believe otherwise.

Kaitlyn nodded sympathetically. "Well, if it's any comfort, I disagree with Althea. I don't think we're all robots."

Pria blinked, and her mood returned to her normal self. "Of course we're not." She laughed dismissively. "What would be the point of orientation if we were? They could just..." she trailed off. "They could download the information into us..." she said, quietly. "Or make us remember anything..."

"If we were all robots, that's probably what they'd do," Kaitlyn said. "But I don't think we're all robots, Pria. I think you're a robot." She called to Jane as Pria gaped at her in shock. "Jane, I think we've reached our conclusions."

Jane finished up with the device she had been working on, and approached us, dusting her hands. "Okay, let's hear your theories everyone. Kaitlyn, you're up first."

"I think Pria is a robot," Kaitlyn said. "Her behavior is consistent with the accepting, submissive mentality of a robot, and her utter refusal to accept the idea of being a robot, despite enjoying the implications, is typical of a deep-sleep programming type."

Jane nodded. "Are you sure you've seen enough of her behavior to base your conclusions on that? She seems pretty argumentative to me."

"Her personality type is strong-willed and opinionated," Kaitlyn conceded, "but it runs contrary to her actual behavior. For such an opinionated person, she's uncharacteristically accepting of circumstances."

"I see. That's one vote for Pria." She turned from Kaitlyn to Pria. "Care to respond?

Pria fumed for a moment, then responded. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I would." She looked Jane square in the eyes. "You're the robot."

Jane's eyes went wide, and she drew in a long breath, putting one hand to her chest. "I... ooookay," she said, an amused look on her face. "Why do you say that?"

"You're noticeably turned on by being submissive and obedient, utterly blasé to clearly inappropriate office behavior, and overly accommodating of human requests and demands." She folded her arms. "Besides, Mr. Peters is the multimillionaire-owner of a company that specializes in providing fetish roleplay sexual software for fembots. It's only natural that his wife would be a top of the line robot running all his favorite programs."

Jane had been smiling and toying with her hair as Pria explained this, apparently in a daydream. When Pria finished, Jane looked at her with a playful expression. "I like the way you think," she said. "So, thats one vote for Pria and one vote for me. Althea, your thoughts?"

"I believe there are, at most, two humans in this building, and neither of them are in this room," I said simply. "None of us behaved as a normal human would have. We're all submissive, passive, accepting, and easily aroused when dominated. We've been shown countless examples of robots with false memories and altered perceptions, but apparently it didn't occur to either of them to question their own memories and nature. Even when I explained this to Pria, she's incapable of considering the possibility." Jane was fascinated as I continued. "I don't know what you know or believe, but we're all sleepers at varying levels."

"Wow. That's definitely a new one," Jane said, surprised. "Well, Pria, that means you and I are the only ones who get revealed before we set off the transmitter."

"How are you going to do that, anyway?" Asked Kaitlyn. "I mean, you could take apart an ARA, or remove her face layer, but how do you prove someone's a human?"

Jane stood to one side and gestured at the giant doughnut. "Ladies, may I present the FEGRA, or Focused EMP Gaussian Ring Array. When powered up, it creates a tightly focused electromagnetic pulse within the ring, capable of temporarily disabling complex electronics. Harmless to humans, freezes up ARAs without causing any permanent damage."

She approached the archive entrance and opened the large door, poking her head out. "Mr. Peters?"

"Yes Mrs. Peters?" came his voice from outside.

"You told me to tell you when I was about to demonstrate the FEGRA. I'm just obeying that order: The demo is about to begin, Mr. Peters," she said, her tone politely professional.

"I see," came the reply. "Would you like for me to bring you a test subject, Mrs. Peters?"

"Yes, Mr. Peters, I'd like that."

"Very well, I'll find a suitable test subject. Do nothing until I enter the room, understood, Mrs. Peters?"

"Perfectly, Mr. Peters. I'm happy to comply." Closing the door, Jane took position next to the door, then stood at a relaxed attention, her hands lightly clasped in front of her. She didn't move.

Kaitlyn had a surprised expression on her face. "Maybe I should have voted for her, too..." she said.

"Told you so," Pria replied.

The four of us waited, Jane standing stock still and unresponsive, and the rest of us idling with no direct commands. I found myself wondering what kinds of system idle settings I had. Would I shut down after a certain period of inactivity? Would conversation with Kaitlyn and Pria count as activity, or would I still timeout since they were ARAs too?

Would I even be able to perceive if I did shutdown or go into some kind of power-save mode? Despite realizing my true nature, I had no knowledge or awareness of my programming, manufacturer, or system specifications. There was no telling what kind of perceptual filters I had. That beep I had heard in the Staff Therapy room had seemed to come from Maya as the technician opened her, but maybe that had been my own system cutting off an unacceptable thought process.

Mr. Peters arrived shortly, pulling me out of my thoughts. He was accompanied by a lab tech with vaguely Asian features.

As soon as he entered Jane's field of vision, she sprang into life again. "Hello, Mr. Peters. I must inform you that two interviews have been added to your personal schedule," she said, apparently automatically reporting scheduling changes in realtime. Looking at the technician, she added, "I like your choice of test subject."

Mr. Peters raised an eyebrow. "Yes..." he said, hesitantly. "Miss Habara will be assisting you in your demonstration. Suki, you don't have any objections, do you?"

"No, of course not, Mr. Peters," replied the technician. Was that a flirtatious note in her voice?

Jane smiled at Suki. "I'm just showing them the FEGRA. Would you mind reaching through it to show how harmless it is?"

"Sure, no problem," Suki said, nodding. She approached the doughnut. "It's perfectly safe, and humans wouldn't even feel it, see?" She stuck her hand through the ring, without apparent effect. "Didn't feel a thing. Organic matter is unaffected, and can still move freely," she continued pulling her hand out and holding it up for us to see. It remained motionless. An annoyed expression came over her face. "Or it would if it weren't for this lousy timing." She turned to Jane with an apologetic look on her face . "Sorry Jane, I've got one hell of a cramp in my hand."

"Does it hurt?" Jane asked, concerned.

"No," Suki said, "but I probably won't be able to move it until I get a massage down at Staff Therapy."

Jane nodded. "Sorry to hear that. Oh, before you go, could you check behind the ring for something? I dropped my pen back there and just can't reach it."

Suki laughed pleasantly. "That's alright, it happens all the time. It's tough to get behind it. You've basically got to lean your whole body through the ring."

Jane looked imploringly at Suki. "Would you show me?"

"Of course," Suki said, nodding.

As she was about to put her head through the ring, Mr. Peters cleared his throat. "Suki, are you sure this thing won't do any permanent damage to an ARA? No lost data, hardware failure, profile corruption, or anything else?"

Suki laughed. "No, nothing like that. It just freezes them. A quick run through a demagnetizer, and they're good as new, not a single bit of data lost, corrupted, or overwritten," she said, as she began to reach through the ring with her other arm. "They don't even experience any downtime." She looked confused as her now motionless arm was unable to manoeuvre further. "Besides," she continued, repositioning herself with her head nearly inside the ring, "since I'm human, it wouldn't do anything to me even if it kzrgblffffffff..." Her voice became a blast of static, then cut off entirely as her head entered the ring. Her body ceased moving entirely, no longer receiving instructions from the head's processor.

"And there you have it, ladies," Jane said in a presenter's voice, "One electromagnetically disabled fembot, ready for transport."

"Just so long as she's not permanently broken, Mrs. Peters," Mr. Peters commented.

"Would you like me to schedule an interview for her later today?" Jane asked. "You could... probe her to see if she still has all her faculties."

"Yes, Mrs. Peters, I believe that would be prudent," he replied. "I want you to be present at the interview as well. These things need to be monitored, after all."

Jane smile subserviently. "As you request, Mr. Peters." She approached Suki's inert form, and pushed her away from the ring, allowing the disabled tech to fall motionless onto her butt, then slowly rolling her onto her back, her arms still reaching out in front of her. The expression on her face was oddly asymmetrical, her eyes aimed in completely different directions. Jane dragged the body away from the ring, then forced Suki's arms down along her side.

"Mr Peters," she began, "it may interest you to know that this training group has concluded that I am a robot." Mr. Peters looked surprised, but didn't say anything. "Obviously, this is a ridiculous claim, so there is no need for me to demonstrate my-"

"Put your arm through the ring, Jane," Mr. Peters interrupted.

"Yes sir," Jane replied, smiling. Her initial resistance to testing herself apparently forgotten, she reached through the ring up to her shoulder, then pulled back and stood upright, her arm still locked straight up in the air. "As you can see, I am completely unaffected by the..." she trailed off, noticing her arm. "That's funny," she said, "I'm not a robot. I should be able to move my arm. But the ring only has an effect on robots. But I'm not a robot..." her voice was puzzled, but unconcerned, as though this were merely something she had never noticed before.

She turned to Mr. Peters. "Master... No, that's not right. Kirk? Mr. Peters? You're my owner-husband, you know me better than anyone." She faced a random point on the wall, a blank expression on her face. "I am Jane Peters. I am the property of Kirk Peters. I love my master so much. This unit is programmed to believe..." she broke into a fit of giggles. "I'm sorry, dear, I just can't keep that up for very long with other people watching."

Kirk's stern expression had broken into an adoring smile. "It's alright," he said, "you're going to practice some more this evening."

"Mmm, that sounds fun," she said. She brought down her arm and wiggled her fingers at Pria, Kaitlyn and myself. "Sorry, folks, I'm human. Pria, you're up next."

Jane was human? Could it be? There could be a hidden operator controlling the EMP ring, but her behavior wasn't what I would have expected, even so. It didn't seem like an ARA's reaction.

As I reconsidered my theories, Pria approached the ring, an ambivalent look on her face. "I... I'm sorry I misjudged you."

Jane shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it. I'm not offended." She smiled. "Sometimes I like to pretend that I really am a robot," she confessed. "The complete submission, the thrill of someone else taking all your responsibility away, to just be a device whose only function is to obey..."

Mr. Peters cleared his throat again. "Time and a place, Mrs. Peters."

Remembering where she was, Jane snapped back to attention. "Right," she said, "Pria, put your hand through the hole."

Pria studied the device for a few seconds, then slowly reached through the hole with her right hand. Pulling it back out, she held it in front of her face. "I can't move my hand," she said. "Is this a trick or something?" She asked, turning to Jane. "Did you drug me or something? Put something into my food or drink?"

Jane blinked at her innocently. "Have you eaten anything since you arrived?"

"I..." Pria faltered. "I don't remember the last thing I ate." Sudden realization appeared on her face. "Hypnosis! You gave me some kind of hypnotic trigger, back in the waiting room! It must have been a subliminal sound that played before you arrived."

"Have you ever been hypnotized before?" Jane inquired.

"No," Pria responded reflexively, "I'm immune to..." She trailed off. "Immune to hypnosis," she said, puzzled. "Then there's something behind the ring, some kind of spray or something that paralyzes on contact." She inspected the ring closely. "I can't see anything, but..." She moved to examine it more closely. "It's not like you could make me glitch out like Suki over brgfxltrjk-" Just as with Suki, her voice turned into electronic white noise, then cut off completely, her body freezing up.

Jane clapped slowly. "Well done on correctly identifying an ARA, ladies, " she said, congratulating us. "I'm not sure how sound your reasoning was, but I can't argue with the results." She held up the transmitter. "Now it's time to see if you overlooked anything."

My thoughts raced as she was about to press the button. Would I feel anything? Would I notice as new programming was applied over my current programming? I had been wrong about Jane, apparently, was it possible I was wrong about myself? I'd started the day certain that I was human. Now I was all but sure that I was a machine, and I preferred that idea. Was I an imaginary person, created for amusement? Was I real? Did I want to be?

Jane pressed the button on the transmitter just as a wave of anticipation washed over me, and then... nothing happened. I didn't feel any changes. I felt the same. I felt like me. I felt a little disappointed. I looked around the room, looking for any difference in my perceptions. No change.

"Well, ladies, how do you feel?" Jane asked.

"I feel real," I said, flatly.

"I feel exactly like I did before you pushed the button," Kaitlyn said, crossing her arms. "Either I'm human, or that thing's broken. What was it supposed to install anyway?"

"The program alters a unit's social interaction settings, redefining acceptable behavior in certain company," Jane said, "as well as setting up a few pre-defined responses to keyphrases. If an ARA had been present, its idea of normal, appropriate social interaction would be dramatically different now." She glanced at her watch. "You know what, that's more than enough for one morning. It's just about noon, who's up for lunch?"

"Sure," I said, still somewhat dazed. The device had no effect on me. I was the same as I was before. I walked to the door, ready to follow Jane back to the canteen. "Are you coming Kaitlyn?"

Kaitlyn hadn't moved, but was staring at Pria's motionless form. "I wonder," she said, approaching the ring. She looked at Jane and Mr. Peters. "Do you mind if I move her?"

They looked at each other, puzzled. "Go ahead," Mr. Peters, said.

Kaitlyn tilted Pria back just as Jane had done, and moved her a short distance away, then turned her attention back to the ring. She ran her fingers over the front of the device, and held her hand out, about to stick it through, but hesitated. Instead, she squatted down, bracing her hands on both sides as she stared directly into the hole.

"You don't have to do that," Jane said.

"Yes, I do," Kaitlyn replied. "I have to know."

"Even if you were, you still wouldn't know," Mr. Peters interjected. "You'd just wake up later in the therapy room, with a perfectly good explanation for why you were there."

"And I wouldn't be curious about it anymore. They would remove it from my thoughts." She looked back at us. "I can't be curious and not know. I've got to find out, or I've got to get rid of the urge to find out." She took a deep breath, plunging her face through the ring.

Long seconds passed. Kaitlyn didn't move or make a sound. Then, she spoke. "I'm not in the therapy room, am I?"

Jane frowned. "You don't know?"

"I closed my eyes." Kaitlyn pulled her head out of the ring. "Human, then. Huh. I almost..." She abandoned the sentence, letting it hang in the air. Then, she turned to us and rubbed her hands together. "I guess its time for lunch then, right?" She said, pleasantly.

As she joined us at the door, Mr. Peters put his hand on Jane's shoulder. "Let me join you," he said. "I'm famished."

"I'd like that," Jane replied as we left the archive.

***

We arrived at the canteen not long after, apparently hitting before the big lunch rush. "A lot of employees eat in their offices or other work environments," Jane admitted when asked. "They get the same food, but few of them actually eat in the canteen itself." She indicated the line of a dozen or so women in front of us. "At least ten of those women are ARAs, sent by their 'boss' to deliver food to them."

I looked over the food on offer. Much of it was gourmet fare, but even the more pedestrian food looked exquisitely prepared. If I had any kind of appetite, I would have tried one of their more exotic dishes, but my experience in the archive had shaken me too much to eat. I was no worse off than when I'd arrived this morning, and yet, I felt a sense of loss. I was human - exactly as I'd believed myself to be at the start of the day - but I still felt unaccountably subservient, and disappointed that I wasn't, as Jane had put it, a mere device.

Mr. Peters, Jane, and Kaitlyn, however, had no such reservations, each ordering a large dish. They had seated themselves while I was still wandering my myself, lost in my thoughts. When I noticed, I went to join them.

"...were definitely right about both of them," Jane was saying. "It was an interesting move, consulting me in private like that."

"Well, my real guess wouldn't have let me see both of their reactions to different..." Kaitlyn looked up, noticing me. "Oh, hey Althea. Not eating?" She said, noticing my lack of a tray.

"I must have eaten a big breakfast," I said. "I just don't have much of an appetite right now."

Jane smiled sweetly. "What did you have for breakfast?" She asked.

I shrugged as I took a seat at the table. "It was early. I was half asleep. I don't really remember." I thought for a moment. "Waffles probably."

"Well," said Jane, "we were just finishing up with Kaitlyn, so just sit tight for a few minutes, and we'll be able to talk privately."

I nodded. "Whatever you say, Jane." Even if I was human, it felt good to be given a task I knew I could perform. I smiled, confident that I could carry out this instruction easily.

Turning back to Kaitlyn, Jane said, "So, that's basically it. Congratulations on correctly..." she glanced at me. "...correctly picking out who was a robot and who was a human," she finished.

"I did have some experience with this kind of thing back at GySys," Kaitlyn confessed. "Although, the units I saw today had far more variation in personality and movement patterns than anything GySys ever put together."

"Well, you know what they say, when you need to get things done right, get an ARA. If they don't need to be right..."

"Buy GySys!" Kaitlyn finished, laughing. "You'd be surprised how many employees there tell that one. Their management is too full of its own opinions to even listen to customer feedback." She shook her head, still laughing. "One of these days, they'll get bought out by a more competent company, like West Labs, or X-Ero."

"You've seen some pretty out-there things today," said Jane, an understanding look on her face. "Have we scared you off?"

Kaitlyn laughed again. "Hardly," she said. "Honestly, a lot of this was tame compared to GySys, and your human staff employees are miles more polite."

Mr. Peters raised an eyebrow at this. "Interesting. How many human employees do you think you interacted with today, apart from myself, Jane, and Freida?"

Kaitlyn looked uneasily back to Jane with a questioning expression. "I've been ordered not to tell," Jane said.

Shaking off the thought, Kaitlyn asked, "By the way, just what was the keyphrase from the transmitter's program?"

"Hmm..." said Jane, glancing aside at Mr. Peters, who was taking a sip of his drink. Instead of answering Kaitlyn's question, however, she turned to me. "Althea, are you sure you're not hungry?"

I hadn't realized it before, but I was absolutely ravenous. "Actually," I said, licking my lips, "I could really go for some of Mr. Peters' cum, and maybe some of your pussy juices to wash it down."

Mr. Peters choked on his drink and coughed repeatedly, clearing the liquid. I wanted to show him how I wouldn't choke. "You need to warn me when you're about to pull something like that," he spluttered.

Jane batted her eyes at him. "But Mr. Peters, if I warned you, then you wouldn't be surprised." She sighed. "But if you command me to, I'll warn you from now on..."

He was smiling now, but still coughing. "No, that's alright. I do like to be surprised."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. My bulky clothing was starting to feel constricting. I looked around the canteen, but didn't see a strip station anywhere. "Sorry to have to ask," I said, "but is there somewhere I can hang my skirt and panties?"

Kaitlyn burst out in laughter. "Well, I guess that answers that question."

Jane looked at her, confused. "I have absolutely no idea what you could possibly be talking about," she said, smiling. She turned to me. "I think we've got a place for that up in Mr. Peters' office." Turning back to Kaitlyn, she said, "Anyway, you'll be expected in the security department first thing in the morning tomorrow. Congratulations, you're going to be our new internal security director."

Kaitlyn blinked. "You sure about that? I'd only applied for systems analyst."

Mr. Peters nodded. "We heard about your run-in with the upper ranks, and managed to obtain a copy of the report you'd been preparing." He spread his hands. "Your ability to identify and isolate security vulnerabilities is astonishing, and you were only with them for two years. You're perfect for the position."

"So if you need anything, just let us know," said Jane. "For now, you're free to explore the offices."

Kaitlyn looked uncertain. "What about any restricted areas?"

Mr. Peters smiled. "Don't worry. If you're not allowed somewhere, you won't be able to get in."

"And if you do manage to get in restricted areas, your first job will be to update their security procedures," added Jane. "Win-win."

"Thank you!" Kaitlyn said, enthusiastically. Then, somewhat more hesitantly, "Um... which way was the salon again?" Mr. Peters, still sipping his drink, pointed silently down the appropriate corridor. "Thanks," Kaitlyn called as she dashed off. "See you tomorrow!"

Turning to me, Jane said, "So, Althea. Mr. Peters and I have a very special position we think you'd be just perfect for. We can discuss it over your meal up in Mr. Peters' office." She leaned forward. "Are you ready to head upstairs?"

"I'm ready to give head upstairs, if that's what you mean," I said, excitedly. This was great! They must have been impressed with my performance today! If they wanted to discuss it privately, it might even mean a promotion. I could be a permanent blowjob-girl, or his executive desk-dancer... He might even make me his personal fuck-slave!

"I think you should join us for the interview, Mrs. Peters," said Mr. Peters.

"I would enjoy that a lot, Mr. Peters," she replied.

He looked meaningfully at her. "I trust you're adhering to our strict dress code for interviews," he said in a low tone.

Jane closed her eyes, a "hmm" sound escaping her lips. "Tan, seamed, no crotch, and a thong over them," she murmured.

"To the elevator!" Mr. Peters said, dramatically.

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

5.50 - Only a Motion Away

2014-01-03T04:35:55Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I looked down at the girl seated in my office. Obviously worried, she could barely hold my gaze for more than a few seconds before she felt the need to look away with a worried expression on her face. Her wavy blonde hair fell in front of her eyeline, as though she were hiding behind it.

"You know why I had to call you in here, don't you, Miss Smith?"

"Farrah," she said, quietly.

I leaned forward over my desk, my face the very picture of disapproval. "Don't mumble, Miss Smith!" I snapped. "This college expects its students to maintain certain standards." I stood, pacing around my desk. "I can assure you, mumbling is not one of those standards."

"I'm sorry," she said, unnecessarily loud. "My name is Farrah," she continued. She looked up at me, still worried, but sitting up straight and facing me out of respect for "school tradition." The change in posture stretched her thin sweater across her chest, and she placed her hands dutifully on her knees. "You can call me Farrah, mister Dean, sir." She was so rattled, she could only refer to me by title. Then again, she probably didn't even know my name yet: Most of the students I had to deal with in my office only knew I was the Dean of their school. It was, it often seemed, the only thing they knew.

"Yes, Miss Smith, I can call you Farrah. I can also call you Miss Smith." A smile played on my lips. "And if I wanted, I could even call you a sl-"

A knock on my door cut me off, and a voice called from outside. "Kyle? Saw your light was on, don't tell me you're still working, are you my boy?"

Fuck. Peters. "Farrah... ah," I stumbled, trying to remember the suspend phrase. I could reset the scenario administratively if she timed out, but doing so was often more tedious than actually setting up conversationally. What was that phrase? Ah, yes. "Don't think you're off the hook just yet. You wait right there until I get back."

Farrah's face went slack, and she stared blankly forward. "Yes, sir," she said simply.

I answered the door. Just as I expected, Peters was standing outside, that stupid, amiable grin on his face. "Kyle, there you are!" He frowned. "Not still working on the, ahm... student body, are you?"

You should know, you pompous idiot, I thought. "Oh, yeah," I said, smiling pleasantly. "Big project. It's going to take some time."

He put his hand on my shoulder, once again imposing his buddy-buddy routine on my personal space. "Listen, Kyle, I really appreciate you helping out with scenario development. You really have a knack for picking up conversational tree layouts," he rambled, "but it's getting late, and you really should take it easy." Oh god, what thankless task was he buttering me up for now?

"It's nice of you to say," I replied, "but there's a lot of units to get through, and not everyone is as..." How to say it without sounding egotistical? "...thorough as I am."

"I can't argue with that," he laughed, clearly thinking it was an ironic contrast to the laziness he doubtless attributed to me, "but all the same, I'd really like it if you could relax for a while, maybe go to a party or something." I was nearly floored. Had he really remembered my birthday? I hadn't expected that. It was an impressive move on his part. Maybe I didn't give him enough credit.

He snapped his fingers, as if suddenly remembering something. "Hey, here's a thought, crazy suggestion, but..." This was getting cheesier than I'd ever seen him before. "It's my kid's birthday, and I'm throwing a bit of a celebration tonight. Everyone's invited, but you may not have read the invite, being so busy."

Or perhaps I gave him too much credit. It was the least convincing performance of the decade. I glanced back over my shoulder at Farrah, who continued to stare, unthinking. Her short skirt had ridden up when she first sat down, and I could just see the tops of her stockings under the hemline.

Gee, Mister Peters, I thought, I'd love to come to the palatial mansion built using illegal funding, and help you and the wife you stole from me celebrate the fact that your detestable little parasite wasn't stillborn last year, but for some reason, I somehow still have the will to live.

"Wow," I said, struggling to construct a convincing 'I'm honored' expression before turning back to face him, "That really would be nice, if I had a chance. I just wish I wasn't so busy at home. I've got an awful lot of chores I need to get done tonight..." Oops. Wrong move.

He furrowed his brow. "Isn't that H325v unit working out for you? If she's broken or something, just let me know." He pounded his hand into his fist like a gavel. "I'll have the maintenance division working on her, top priority, just say the word." Good grief, the man was deranged.

"Ah, no, that won't be... I've just been doing some custom modifications and..." I floundered. "Things just pile up, you know."

He shook his head in an 'oh well' movement, confirming my suspicion: He didn't really want me there. "Well, I won't impose on you then." The disappointed look on his face was all wrong, way over the top for a simple employee invite.

You already did, I thought. "Sorry, I really need to finish up with this one before I head home."

He nodded, clearly relieved that he didn't need to interact with me anymore. "I understand. I'll see you later then." He walked away, poorly pretending not to be in a hurry. "Try not to wear yourself out, Kyle," he called over his shoulder. "You're important to us."

I watched him leave, then closed and locked the door before turning back to Farrah. She was completely motionless, not even breathing - the effect was purely cosmetic in any event. "Now then," I said, stepping back into my "school Dean" role, "where were we?"

She immediately reanimated, from statue to animated student. "Mister Dean, I'm so sorry! Please, I know there have some issues..."

"Issues?" I said. "Miss Smith, your behavior of late has been astonishingly lax."

"I know, Dean, sir!" She said, a look of sincere regret on her pretty features. "I know I'm supposed to suck cock every day, and please believe me, I've tried to." She licked her lips,glancing in my direction, then downward. "I've tried..."

"Not just that, you seem unwilling to follow our dress code," I said, crossing my arms.

"I'm sorry sir, it's just, I was so wet, my pussy juices were just..." she looked up again. "I had to wear panties yesterday, sir. I just had to. If I'd followed the school dress code and gone without them, my juices would have gotten all over the classroom chairs."

I feigned astonishment. "And it didn't occur to you that we have maids on hand for just such an occasion? That someone would have licked it up later?"

She looked embarrassed, then glanced down again. "I've been... distracted."

"Then there was the incident this morning," I said, consulting the "disciplinary file."

"I..." she began. "I was..."

"You were masturbating in front of the entire gym class!" I bellowed. "To climax! Dozens of girls had been waiting their turn to finger themselves, and you waltzed in, jumped the entire line, and finger-fucked yourself with no regard for our rules!" I shook my head. "You hadn't even been commanded to masturbate at that time, Miss Smith. Your scheduled self-pleasure times are clearly defined as eight in the morning and five in the evening! And, I might add, are supposed to be held in front of either the camera in your shower, or one of the ones monitoring your bed or desk." I shook my head, as though disappointed in her. "You were out of the frame shot for your entire performance, Miss Smith."

"Sir, I just couldn't help myself!" She said, a note of desperation in her voice. "I've just been so horny... when I woke up this morning, I barely knew my name. I couldn't keep my head clear. I just needed something between my legs, something ramming hard and fast into my..." her voice became husky as she spoke, then she realized what she was saying. "I'm just... I'll try harder sir."

"I'm not entirely sure that's going to do any good, Miss Smith." I indicated the disciplinary file - in reality, a blank sheet of paper. "According to this, you still haven't even managed to have a threesome with your roommate."

"That's not completely true," she said, somewhat defensively. "Technically, I had sex with her and another girl just the other day..."

"You know just as well as I that all-girl trios are categorized as an on-demand performance, and not participatory sexual activity - and while your performance with the other two girls was quite stimulating..."

"You liked it?" She said, hopefully.

I cleared my throat. "Regardless of my personal enjoyment of seeing you and two other girls undress, lick, and fondle each other while sticking toys in your cunts," I said, noting the proud smile on her face, "the fact is that no one ordered such an activity."

"I... I know, Mister Dean, sir." She looked down, embarrassed again. "I'm sorry sir, I'm really trying my best. It's just... I know it's not an excuse, but I've been going through a personal issue, and..."

"Personal issue?" I said, surprise in my tone. "Miss Smith, you were one of the most promising cumsluts this school has ever seen. Your oral technique is flawless. Your ass is magnificent. Your drive and talent should have made you one our best students." I leaned forward, peering at her with my eyes wide. "What kind of personal issue could possibly derail such potential?"

"It's kind of..." she began, then looked down, ashamed. She took a deep breath, then steeled herself. She looked back up, forcing herself to make eye contact with me, a determined look on her face. "I don't have a master," she said.

I pretended to be shocked. "I had no idea."

A look of relief washed over her face. "It feels so good to finally tell someone. It's just, all my friends are owned, they have someone to command them. Some of them are even owned by the same guy, and they get fucked in every hole on a regular basis." She looked up again. "I wanted that, but no one took possession of me... and I just didn't know how to tell anyone."

"Miss Smith... Farrah." She brightened when I said her name. "You really should have brought this to the faculty's attention sooner. We could have loaned you out, or put you in storage, or maybe used you as a demonstration dummy in one of the spanking or breastplay classes." I looked at her sympathetically. "We didn't want you to have to go through this without you being a piece of property. It's no wonder you've been struggling, having to think and make decisions for yourself."

"I'm just not equipped for that kind of thing, sir!" She said, pouting.

I put a hand on her shoulder. She gasped, the contact with a male clearly stimulating her. "Is there anything I can do?" I asked, politely.

She looked at my hand, biting her lip, then up at me again. "Well... I know it's an imposition to ask you to do it, but I was wondering if you'd if you'd if you'd if you'd if you'd..."

"Fuck, really?" I said, exasperated. "It's not like it's a particularly complex algorithm, guys." I came around behind her as she continued yammering mindlessly. "Honestly, how do you scew up something as simple as that?" I asked aloud, twisting her head sharply to disconnect it from her neck. As the mechanisms clicked, her voice suddenly cut off, a look of mild surprise on her face. This was quickly replaced with a passive expression with a slight smile.

I carried the cranial unit over to my workstation, wedging it under my arm to locate the connector ports and find my data cables. "Diagnostic connection detected," she said, her voice muffled by my armpit.

I set the head down on its side. She blinked at me. "Hello," she said.

"What's your name?" I asked. Basic cognitive inventory. If the runtime had crashed due to a cognitive breakdown, that was a bigger cock-up than a simple scenario script issue.

"Hi there. I'm Farrah Smith," came the pleasant answer. The head smiled, staring at an empty space in front of her, as though addressing someone else with their head on my desk.

"Farrah, are you a robot?"

Her expression turned to surprise. "Of course not!" She seemed to think for a moment, then, "Wait, you don't mean there are robots that look like humans around here, do you?" Her eyes darted back and forth as if scanning for potential 'bots in a crowded room. "I've heard they were working on something like that, but I didn't think there were any yet."

Just as expected. "What do you like to do for fun, Farrah?"

She tried to look down, as though sharing an intimate secret. The action merely waggled the stump of her neck towards her chin. "Well... sometimes, my roommate and I like to put on little fashion shows, and pretend we're models. We really love trying on lingerie." She pouted. "It would be so much more fun if we only had an audience, or maybe even a photographer."

The conversational hook for one of the oldest and simplest scenarios: Amateur photographer. As simple as it was, and as long as it had been in use by ScenariCorp customers, that one didn't need further testing. Time to move on to the social config. "You're walking alone across campus. A man asks you where the library is. When you turn to indicate the direction of the building, he lifts your skirt, puts his hand inside your panties, and starts fingering you right then and there. How do you react?"

She blinked, considering the question. "Well, I would...wwwwoooouuuulllldddd..." Her system stalled as it loaded the appropriate sexual response routines. I watched the vidscreen as the debug data scrolled rapidly past, watching for any errors.

Suddenly, she gasped, then began to moan with arousal, just as she would in the scenario I described. Jumping track from default behavior to explicitly sexual behavior would often result in system slowdown, but wasn't really any indication of an error. Her default software was working fine, then, so the crash from earlier was definitely part of the scenario.

"Stop sexual response," I said flatly. Her face immediately reverted to its normal, patient smile. "Do you have a master?" I asked, focusing my attention on the debug trace. Code scrolled past quickly, but ended with "#masterlabel undefined" and an audio output line reading "No, but I've always wanted one."

Even as I read the words, she spoke them, verbatim. "No, but I've always wanted one."

"Can I help?" I asked, not taking my eyes from the screen.

Code few past on the screen, with a red error message highlighted. "Well, maybe you could-" she began, halting the instant I set the breakpoint in the program's function.

There it was, plain as day. Those idiots had coded the master set program so that it would only work if she already had a master - Which defeated the whole purpose. I added it to the list of problems for the programmers to fix in the next revision, knowing full well that they would respond by adding a host of completely new bugs.

This was no way for me to spend my birthday. I hadn't expected a party, obviously. These simpletons and bootlickers would be too busy kissing up to Peters, but none of them even mentioned it. It wasn't as though I considered any of them to be my friends - or even really my peers - but it would have been pleasant to receive some recognition from them.

I needed to de-stress. Unwind. Spend some time with my wife.

I quickly downloaded my latest batch of audio/visual reference data to a portable device, gathered my belongings, and headed out for the night. As I turned to close my office door, I noticed Farrah's headless body sitting calmly in the chair by my desk, while her head lay placidly on its ear on my workbench. I was briefly tempted to break her, but decided against it. I hadn't been with ScenariCorp long enough to really know what I could get away with. A few accidents in high-traffic labs were one thing, but destroying a beta unit in my office? Someone was bound to notice.

As I exited the building, Bev, the company receptionist, attempted to strike up a conversation with me. "Heading out for the night, Mister Parson?" She asked, smiling her ever-friendly smile.

I looked her over. She was reasonably attractive, if a bit conservatively dressed. Her knee-length skirt, blouse, and plain jacket made her resemble an airline stewardess more than an office worker.

Of course, I recognized her line immediately. "You know," I said to her, smiling, "In three responses, I could get you to show me your breasts. In seven responses, you would cheerfully dance nude on the front desk for me." I chuckled. "In twelve responses, you would beg me to enslave you, and tell me how much you wanted to feel my cock fill every one of your holes."

She looked at me with mock disapproval, then laughed. "That's one thing I like about you, Mister Parson. You have such a sense of humor!" She sighed, tilting her head to one side. "You do know I'm human, though, don't you?"

"Oh, really?"

"Well, yeah. My sister got me this job just out of college, don't you remem-"

"Admin override 7602944-B," I said, cutting her off.

She stood stiffly at attention, her expression blank. "Command accepted. Short term memory delete. Please specify time range to erase."

"Thirty seconds ago to present."

"Memory deleted, she confirmed.

"Resume profile runtime."

She blinked, then jerked into the position her body had been in one minute ago. "-ding out for the night, Mister Parson?"

"Sure am, Bev. See you tomorrow."

---

Back at my place, my wife was waiting at the door, as usual, delighted to see me, as usual, and greeted me with a deep, passionate kiss - as usual. "Hi, honey," she said, "I'm so glad to see you again." She gazed at me with sympathy. "How was your day of enduring those incompetent morons at ScenariCorp?"

"Awful." I rubbed my temples in frustration. "Can you believe that those code monkeys actually managed to screw up something as simple as a master set program?"

She pouted understandingly as I continued through to my living room. "I'm not really smart enough to understand that kind of thing, but I'll bet they wouldn't have those kinds of problems if you were in charge."

"Honestly, it's like they're intentionally trying to be as idiotic as they possibly can be." I fell onto the sofa, drained. "I shouldn't be complaining about this with you, though," I said. "It'll only make me angrier. Tell me about your day."

She fluttered her eyes at me. "That's so sweet, dear!" She counted off on her fingers as she listed her day's events. "This morning, after you left for work, I watched some videos of women stripping and dancing and kissing and licking and touching each other. I paid close attention to everything they did. Then, I set up the camera to record me, and tried one of their stripping routines." She looked at me knowingly. "I didn't have another woman here to try the other things, so I played with myself the way you like."

She looked off into space as if trying to remember. "Then I got dressed again, and forgot to wear panties, just like you like. I cleaned for a while, and spanked myself a few times, then cooked, and now you're home." She grinned adoringly at me. "I'm so glad to see you again," she said.

"Is the food ready?" I asked.

"Yes, I cooked your steak just the way you like it." She stood, brushing down her short skirt. "Are you ready to eat?"

"Yes," I said, rising. I passed through to the dining room, where a single place had been set with my covered dish. She pulled out my chair for me, and stood attentively to one side as I seated myself.

The meal was perfectly prepared, as usual. After realizing that the food met with my approval, she spoke again. "Would you like to see me strip while you eat, or would you prefer a blowjob?" She asked, smiling affectionately.

"First one, then the other," I said. "Use one of the routines you learned from the vid today."

"Yes, dear," she breathed, her voice thick with desire.

Her performance was flawless - as usual - and the blowjob was satisfying - as usual.

After dinner, as she wiped the jism from her face and tits, licking her fingers clean, I took in the beauty of her body. The curve of her ass, the delicate folds of her pussy, the pert shape of her breasts and nipples. Her body was divine, but her face... it was attractive, certainly. Beautiful even.

But it just wasn't quite what I wanted.

I felt hollow and heavy. No comfort at work, no comfort at home. "And no one even remembered my birthday," I muttered.

She looked at me, an apologetic expression on her not-quite-perfect face. "Oh, I'm sorry! I should have gotten you something! It just never occurred to me to leave the house or order something." No, I thought, it wouldn't. "I know," she said, excitedly, "I can give you myself!"

I raised an eyebrow. It was surprisingly imaginative of her, but the idea was tragically flawed. "I already own you, dear. You can't give me something that already belongs to me."

She frowned, mildly puzzled. "Oh... that's right. I forgot that you own me." Her face suddenly brightened. "I'm your property!" She giggled.

The puzzled frown had only served to remind me of her face, and all the ways it wasn't quite right. "We need to do something to fix that face of yours," I said, rising from my seat at the table. "Come on, it's time to go to the lab."

She followed me, wearing only her shoes and a cheery smile. The wrong smile. I would need to work on that, too. The lab had previously been the great room in the basement, but I had long since converted it with banks of diagnostic equipment, vidscreens, tools, and various spare parts. I had gone through a dozen modular components just trying to get the body shape right, and still had quite a few leftovers. "Get on the table," I ordered her, "and prepare for your beauty treatment."

She hopped up on the work table, sitting prettily on the edge. After seating herself, she calmly reached up, grasping her head on both sides, and twisted it sharply to one side, the mechanism clicking loudly. She set her head aside on a nearby shelf, then posed on the table on her hands and knees and froze. As soon as her body locked into position, there was a clicking noise from her head, and the top of her forehead popped out. At the same time, a louder latching sound came from her torso, and the panel on her back clicked slightly open.

I plugged my portable data device into my work console, removed her back panel, and plugged the terminal leads into the appropriate data ports. "Thank you for using Vocalis for speech synthesis," a voice issued from her motionless body. "Welcome to the Vocalis main menu. Please selec- File. Import. Update speech data." The voice read aloud the options as I selected them on my screen, interrupting itself as I got ahead of the item name. "Select vocal data loca- Removable devi- VocFiles. All files sele- Load."

With that process begun, I picked up her head, peeling off the face completely. Setting the floppy dermal layer aside, I carried the head over to the specialized stand I had constructed. Looking like an elaborate shelf with custom-fitted brackets, it was mounted and secured to the wall. The brackets would hold the head in place while I worked on it.

I donned the augmented-display goggles, and loaded up the visual reference data I had gathered today. Pictures of Jane, taken from dozens of angles, flitted past my vision as a progress indicator slowly crept across the bottom of the display. Through this translucent layer of imagery, I could see a virtual grid projected on the surface of my wife's chrome skull.

My wife. One of these days, I would have to come up with a name for her, but for now, I enjoyed her nameless state. I didn't name my speeder or my workstation, and she was essentially the same.

As the progress indicator slowly crawled past along, I ejected her eyes from their ports, setting them in a nearby padded box. Though they were hardly fragile, minute scratches could ruin their appearance, and I wanted to keep her looking pretty. I then pulled her mouth open. I inserted the thin, needle-like tool into each of the release points, hooked my fingers behind her upper front teeth, and pulled the lining of her mouth and throat free of the cranial unit. A few drops of synthetic saliva fell from it as I laid the rubbery tube-like component on a nearby towel.

The progress indicator completed it's slow journey, and a message appeared in my vision.

---

FACIAL BONE STRUCTURE ANALYSIS COMPLETED
PROJECTED ACCURACY: 93.3%

Applying modification overlay...

---

Another .2% closer to my target. Portions of the grid overlaid on the chrome face flashed, then highlighted in bright yellow. Hologram-like tiny blue structures appeared at roughly symmetrical locations along the face.

Duplication of someone's facial features on a dermal layer was a fairly trivial task - but to truly duplicate someone's appearance, the synthetic bone structure would also have to match the subjects own bone structure. Custom-machined cranial casings could be obtained by the likes of Peters, but poor slobs like me had to make our own.

The concept was simple: Grind away the excess, build up what was missing. The end product wouldn't be as durable, having worn down the original material's thickness and finish, but it would match the appearance. Rewiring the facial control points was tedious, but not difficult.

In practice, the process was a long back-and-forth of grinding too much, then building up too much to correct it, and so forth.

With the night's work outlined, I set to work.

----

More than an hour later, I set down the grinding tool. I had only managed to improve the cranial unit by another .02%. Wiping my forehead, I began to re-assemble her head. Fortunately, my grinding so far hadn't interfered with any control points, so no rewiring was required. The Vocalis program had long ago announced completion of its analysis of the vocal data, so I disconnected the cables and put my wife back together.

As soon as her back panel was closed and her head re-connected, she arched her back as if stretching from a long nap. "I think I dozed off there, dear," she said. "Would you like to feel me up?"

It was closer to Jane's voice, but not by much. At this rate, it might take years to get her just right.

This was no way for me to spend my birthday. Alone, thanklessly modifying a substandard ARA, with no one to even pretend to care about me.

Of course, there was one person who would always pretend to care about me. Someone I could always count on for a thin facade of affection. Mother.

Mother was hardly warm or nurturing, but she always showed me a kind of benevolent loyalty, if not actual kindness. Over the years, I had learned early on that I could never get her to truly care about me, but I could at least get her to pretend more convincingly than anyone else. To the outside observer, it might appear that I was her favorite person in the world. In truth, she was her favorite person, with the whole world a distant second place.

Mother's position as Financial Director at XR Innovations often had her working late hours. She was bound to still be there.

"Get dressed in something slutty, and watch some more training videos," I told my wife. "Something you can do standing up. I'm going out for a while, but I'll want to fuck when I get back."

She nodded compliantly, and followed me out of the lab.

----

After a brief drive, I arrived at the XR headquarters. Predictably, almost everyone seemed to have left for the day, but just like his brother, James Peters had no problems working some of his staff around the clock. The main entrance was unlocked, and the receptionist, Gina, was there to welcome me. "Oh, hello Mister Parson! Welcome back to XR Innovations. Is this a business call... or pleasure?" She fluttered her eyes at me just enough to be flirtatious, but still be laughed off as a joke if I wasn't receptive.

I smiled. I knew that one by heart: I had led the development team that worked on that particular scenario, and had even put in a few cheat codes. "Pleasure's a treasure beyond any measure," I said.

She calmly stood, still smiling, and walked around to the front of her desk, leaning against it casually. Her short, black dress swished as she moved. "That's wonderful to hear," she said, brushing one of her auburn bangs out of her face. "It gets so dull working all day. The only game I get to play is Guess the Number. What number am I thinking of?"

The password prompt. "Four zero two nine four seven five three eight," I recited from memory.

She made a happy little "Hmm..." sound, as if receiving a sensual backrub. "That's absolutely right. Is there anything I can do to please you, sir?" She asked, bringing up one leg to show the smooth texture of her pantyhose.

"I don't think receptionists are supposed to wear clothes, are they?" I inquired.

She put a finger to her chin, instantly remembering the fact that I had just made up. "You know, I think you're right." She pulled the simple dress up and off like a shirt. Underneath, she was wearing a simple thong and bra combo, both the same color of blue. I was surprised to realize that she was wearing the thong on the outside of her pantyhose, but realized why as soon as she turned to fully face me: I could just see around the edges of the thong that the pantyhose was crotchless.

She held up the dress, studying it in puzzlement. "I don't know what I was thinking when I got dressed this..." she paused, confused. "I can't remember when I got dressed."

"No, you wouldn't," I assured her. "Receptionists probably shouldn't cover their tits or pussies, either."

She looked down, noticing her undergarments. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" She said, shocked. She tossed the dress aside as if embarrassed by the thought of wearing clothes, and hurriedly stripped off the bra and panties.

"Receptionists answer the phones, don't they?" I said, pulling out my phone.

"That's right," she said, stroking her breasts.

"And they answer the phone by sticking it in their cunt, and masturbating, don't they?" I dialed the XR front desk line.

"Absolutely," she confirmed. The phone began to ring. "Do you mind if I take this call?" She asked.

"Go ahead," I urged.

She retreated back behind her desk, seated herself in her chair, picked up the receiver, spread her legs wide, and started furiously shoving the small phone in and out of herself. "Thank you for calling XR Innovations," she said. "Please hold."

I craned my neck to look over her desk at the action. I could clearly hear the wet sounds the phone made as she penetrated herself with it, but the poor lighting and angle made it difficult to see properly.

"Shouldn't you be putting on a show for me?" I asked, disconnecting my phone. There was no danger of her hanging up now - the phone was no longer a communications device in her mind.

"Sorry sir," she gasped. Without missing a stroke, she scooted forward in her chair and manoeuvred her desk lamp to point directly at her lap. Properly lit, she proceeded to plant her feet at opposite ends of the desk. "Please hold... please hold... please hold..." she repeated, lost in desire to obey.

"Keep doing that until you are physically incapable of continuing," I told her. The cheat code would render her unresponsive to any other user's commands until she was hard-reset.

"Yes, sir, please hold, sir, yes, hold please, yes please, please, sir..." she babbled, no longer coherent. I watched her for a while before heading off to find mother.

The finance department was only a short walk from the main entrance, but the lights were all dimmed when I arrived. Row upon row of motionless secretaries sat at the regularly spaced desks, deactivated women in front of deactivated computer terminals. I brought the lights up, looking for a likely candidate. She usually shut them down on the way out, so the one closest to the door would have been the most likely to overhear Mother's intended destination as she left.

I approached the pretty blonde closest to me, and pulled her rolling chair away from the desk. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring expressionless at an empty point in space. Mother had a habit of reconfiguring her personal cadre of assistants, so my activation tool probably wouldn't do any good here. I heaved the inert girl out of her chair and bent her over her desk before flipping up her skirt. Since she wasn't wearing anything underneath, I unceremoniously rammed my fingers in her ass and vagina at the same time, holding the contact points just long enough to start her bootup process.

"Slave Sandra online!" She cried, "I am yours to command! Use me any time you want!" She made no movement to reposition herself, or fix her skirt.

"Be quiet." I ordered her. She silenced instantly. "Were you active when Helen Parson left this office?"

"Yes, sir," she stated, impassively.

"Did she say where she was going?"

"Yes, sir."

I waited a few seconds for further information before realizing I hadn't requested any. "Where did she go from here?"

"She departed for the repair lab."

That made sense, especially if she wanted to unwind. Mother always had a fondness for her toys. I turned to leave, but realized that it wouldn't really be right to leave poor Sandra in that state. "Get rid of your skirt and blouse, then shut yourself down again."

"Yes, sir," she obediently replied, standing and immediately pulling off her skirt, not bothering to unzip it. There was a faint tearing sound as she tugged the tight garment past its intended durability, then she simply dropped it to the floor. Gripping the lapels of her blouse, she pulled it open, popping the buttons in the process. She shrugged the blouse off, and it fell, crumpled, next to the ruined skirt.

I was curious how she had managed to shut herself down with Mother's modifications, and watched, fascinated. She positioned herself in a semi-squat pose, then shoved her fingers in her ass and pussy. "Thank you," she intoned, "Goodbye."

In her unbalanced position, the shutdown resulted in her tipping backwards onto her chair, her butt landing squarely on the seat with a smack. The momentum carried her upper torso back until it came into contact with the back of the chair, while the motion of her torso caused her arms to swing up and forward from their position between her legs, to land primly in her lap. Perfectly choreographed. I was tempted to applaud.

I continued on to the lab, hoping Mother would be finished with whatever activities she had planned for her dolls. Gemma, the lab receptionist, was quick to greet me. "Welcome back, Mister Parson. Are you just visiting?"

What was the keyphrase she had made me program into this one? Oh, yes. "Show me how much of a slut you are," I said, ignoring her response as I continued past into the lab.

The room was large, filled with women of varying heights and weights, from the svelte, willowy ballerina body types to the Amazonian body types nicknamed "Helga" by most manufacturers. It was also devoid of any movement apart from the oddly animated faces of the disembodied heads on the testing bench at one side of the room.

Towards the middle of the room, I noticed one of the tables was unoccupied, while a fully clothed unit was carelessly slumped over an adjacent table. Curious, I approached.

She looked familiar, but not like one of Mother's collection, although I was hardly in a position to keep inventory. She certainly wasn't dressed like one of Mother's secretaries. In fact her outfit looked more like one of the lab techs.

Of course! I smacked my forehead. Denise. I had pretended to date her back when I worked here. She certainly wasn't one of Mother's units, so that meant no custom configuration. I pulled out my activation tool and jammed it hard into her ear.

Her eyes instantly popped open. "Oh my gooooooodness," she said, her synthesized voice stalling on the word. "I feel... I I I fffffeeeeellllll..." She stood upright, putting a hand to her temple. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me." She twitched. "Came all over me. Cum all over me. Would you like to? All over me?"

Where is Helen Parson?" I asked, impatiently.

"Whooooooo?" She shrugged. "I'm such an aiiiiiirhead. I don't thinnnnk I know that name-ame-ame-ame." She looked at me with an eager expression. "Can I feeeeel your dick?"

Annoyed, I curtly stuck the tool in her ear again, causing her to collapse in a heap. I stormed back to the front desk, where Gemma was currently stripped down to some sort of latex outfit, and was smacking her ass loudly. "Where did my mother go?"

"Ungh!" Gemma gasped. "It was, ooh, hard! To hear over the ahh! Sound of someone get-ah! Getting spanked, but I think I oh yeah heard her say something about-yes, master! Mister Peters."

Peters? Mother had no interest in doing any part of her job off hours. What the devil would she want with James Peters?

Curious, I continued through the corridors to Mister Peters' central office. The outer office was large, with high, imposing ceilings. As I entered the room, I could hear raised voices coming from the closed doors of the inner office.

That wasn't right. Mother may have been a manipulative, vain, controlling woman hell-bent on getting her way, but she would never risk her power by starting an argument with the boss - unless she had good reason to believe that he would never fire her.

I approached the inner doors, reaching for the handle, when Jessi, Peters' personal secretary placed herself directly in my path. "I'm sorry sir," she said firmly, "but Mister Peters is in a meeting and is not to be disturbed."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, this is ridiculous," I said. I quickly pulled up her skirt and started rubbing against the crotch of her satiny panties.

"What the he-he-hell," she began, and irritated look on her face, "do you think you're..." she paused, her expression suddenly confused. "Doing... doing to me. To me. Tooooo..." her digitized voice trailed off before her expression became one of absolute arousal. "Yes!" She cried. "Yes, that feels so good sir! I'll do anything you want!"

Her cries had unfortunately obscured some of the conversation from within. "Sit down in your chair and be silent," I told her. She moved silently away from the door, and I listened intently.

"I was going to ask you to marry me!" Came the voice from the other side of the door. James' voice. Speaking to my mother.

The room seemed to vanish, the entire universe a distant, unreal concept. It made a kind of sense. Mother had been fucking James Peters. A pathetic, weak idiot with delusions of grandeur, and she was fucking him. Pretending to love him. Pretending well enough to make him want to marry him.

I was slammed back into reality as the door flung open, nearly hitting me. Peters hadn't seen me yet, and had just turned to throw something. "I guess that's not on the agenda anymore!" He shouted. Turning, he nearly collided with me.

Facing him again, I could see just how weak and insignificant he was. He had been so self-absorbed during my time here that he not only forgot every one of my birthdays, but seemed to even forget that I had birthdays. He probably still thought of me as a teenager, despite the fact that I hadn't been for three years now.

"Kyle!" He looked as though he thought I would hit him. "How... How long have you been standing there?" He narrowed his eyes. "What did you hear?"

Such a weak minded fool. All I had to do was show him the face of happiness, and he would blindly accept it. I wore my happy mask. "Not a thing, Mister Peters. Not a single thing."

I could see his puny mind slowly digesting this simple statement before finally informing him that there was nothing to worry about. He left hurriedly, slamming the outer office door as he left.

Inside the inner office, a trio of Mother's dolls stood near a large oak desk. For all intents and purposes, they were nude, and were standing at loose, passive attention. Of my mother, there was no sign - but I knew she was here. A child knows these things. A child knows when mother is near, can feel the impending reunion.

She was hiding.

That meant she was afraid. Weak. Stupid. Just another mindless target, waiting to be eliminated. To think that I had valued her affection, even knowing that it was false. Just like Peters, she would be easily fooled by a caring face, so I put one on.

"You hardly need to hide, mother," I called, stepping into the office. "I know you're here."

She peered out over the top of the desk. "Kyle, I can explain." Her simpering voice was almost an insult. Worse, she had been foolish enough to reveal herself after only one try. Pathetic.

"You don't need to explain anything, mother," I said, carefully loading my voice with reassurance. "And you certainly don't need to worry that I might accidentally catch a glimpse of you naked," I said, seeing her obvious - and justifiable - shame at her nudity. I laughed warmly. "I'm no Oedipus Rex."

She stood, a trembling, frightened creature. "Kyle, please, I..."

"Shh," I said, soothingly, "don't worry, mother." I approached her, standing between the trio of robots and her. "I understand. I know this isn't how you wanted things, but it's okay. I can fix this." I wore the happy face again. She was so easily fooled.

She narrowed her eyes in confusion, her stupidity preventing her from understanding the conversation. "What do you mean?" She said, stammering.

"I have a plan," I said simply. It was laughable how easily she was fooled. I didn't even need to bother wearing the happy face. "It's going to solve all our problems."

I turned to her dolls - the subtleties of their body movement gave away their manufacturer as GySys. All Fem-sistant GX models. All with documented administrative commands that I had used extensively on a daily basis. "Ladies, admin override 54609, authcode RS202-364-9."

"Confirmed. Perceptual edit mode engaged," they chimed in unison.

"Mute vocal pattern Helen Parson," I said, not looking away from her.

"Confirmed," came the chorus.

"Kyle, what are you doing?" She looked so weak and frail, almost panicking. I should do something about that.

"Dominatrix mode." Mother's eyes went wide, and she edged away. Yes, I thought. She would try to make a break for it any moment now. "Set submissive as Helen Parson and restrain."

With startling speed, the trio of dolls lunged forward, one grabbing each arm, and another wrapping her arms around mother's neck and torso. "Kyle," she said through gritted teeth, the robot's elbow pressed securely against her chin, "I'm warning you. Let me go this instant, or so help me..."

Ignoring the blathering noise, I pointed directly at mother. "Select target object," I said.

The 'bots turned in perfect synchronization to face me, then followed the line of my arm and finger, turning back to face mother. "Target object selected."

"Modify target object identifier, ObjectType." I continued.

"Target object ObjectTye is set to Human.Female," came the three-voice response.

A look of dull confusion crossed mother's face. "Kyle, what is this? What are you doing?" Tears began to stream down her face. It must be frustrating, I thought to myself, being too stupid to understand the world.

"Set ObjectType to Robot.Female."

"ObjectType set," the dolls confirmed.

"Kyle, no! Stop, please!"

I wore the comforting face again. "I'm not angry mother. I always knew you didn't really love me. I should be grateful. You showed me just how worthless your false love had been all along." I sighed. "I know I can never reclaim your pretense of affection... but I can make sure James Peters doesn't get it either." I looked back at the dolls. "Dismantle target robot," I said simply, and walked out of the office.

"Kyle! Come back! Help me!" She bleated. The sounds that followed her pointless cries were surprisingly quiet.

As I walked out of the office and through the corridors to the exit, I congratulated myself on the brilliance of the plan. The robots would be impounded as rogues. James would get blamed for mother's death. And with this as a justification for a nice, long mourning period, I would be able to obtain a great deal of sympathy from the insects that I was forced to call coworkers.

Of course, on reflection, James might truly be to blame for mother's death. The creature I had just spoken to had hardly been characteristic of the strong, intelligent woman who had reared me. Was it possible that Peters had replaced her? Killed her long ago, hiding the fact with a duplicate? He knew enough about the systems that he could have added a passive filter to the robots' systems, making them label her as human. Maybe I had just vindicated my already dead mother's memory by destroying a shallow imitation of her.

As I got back in my speeder, I'd decided that "maybe" was closer to a "probably." I pulled away from the building secure in the knowledge that James Peters would get what was coming to him soon enough.

I hummed as I drove. It really was a happy birthday, after all.

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

5.33 - Torn Apart

2014-01-03T04:35:47Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I glanced at the clock, eagerly anticipating the end of the day. There was less than an hour left. The short skirts of the secretaries in my office had once again left me aroused beyond measure. I could maintain my professionalism for the entire work day, but the moment the clock hit five, this girl would enjoy time with her girlfriends.

I furtively glanced around the office at the various specimens available to me. Would I have Mira lick my pussy, or would it be the raven-haired Daisy's turn? If I had one on the front door, one on the back, and one on each nipple, I could enjoy the company of up to four of them at once. I found myself absently running one hand up my stockinged leg, playing with the hem of my dress.

No, I thought, mustn't start before time. You never know who might be watching. I allowed myself only a moment to adjust a garter strap before straightening my skirt and getting back to work. The reports I was working on were extremely important, and I couldn't afford to end the day without finishing them.

I threw myself into the work, determined not to let my soaking panties distract me from the job. At last, with minutes to spare, I cleared out the reports. I took a deep breath, stood from my desk and prepared to depart.

"Okay, ladies, I think that's enough for the day. I want..." I considered. "Mira, Shana, and Joyce to come with me." I retrieved my dress jacket and started towards the door. The girls I had named all stood and approached me, while the rest all simultaneously said, "Thank you. Goodbye," just as they did every day.

All but one. Sandra approached me with a dutiful look on her face. "I'm sorry, miss, but you know we cant put it off past today. We really need to go over these monthly figures."

I sighed. She was right, I couldn't argue with that: The monthly report wasn't necessarily unpleasant, but it sometimes got in the way of getting other things done. Still, it wouldn't do to neglect my duties, and I had been procrastinating the inevitably bad news for days. Still, it didn't have to interfere with my fun. Sandra's body was already well-known to me, but a fourth playmate could still make herself useful. "Alright," I conceded, "But not here. It's been a long day, and I need to unwind. Let's take it to the maintenance lab."

The lab was only a short walk from my offices, and was a great place to relieve the day's stresses. Maintenance and repair activities were typically completed long before the end of the day. Regardless of whatever else was said about the company XR built the most reliable and durable ARAs on the market. We quickly strode through the hallways to the lab, now almost empty of activity. Gemma was there to greet us as usual.

"Hi," she beamed, "welcome back to the lab! Is there anything I can-"

I held up a hand to cut her off. "Show me how much of a slut you are," I told her.

"Yes ma'am!" She replied, excitement showing on her face. She stood, hiking up her conservative dress as she did so, revealing the vinyl teddy and latex leggings she wore beneath. She bundled up the dress, tossing it carelessly aside. As a receptionist, Gemma was always welcoming and accommodating. She walked up to me, her hips swaying seductively, and turned away to face her desk. Bending suddenly at the waist, she smacked her ass loudly, letting out a cry of joy. "I'm such a slut, mistress!" She yelled, her voice rising in passion. "Please make yourself comfortable! A service technician will be with you shortly!"

It was her standard greeting, of course, altered only by her tone of voice and current pose. My entourage accompanied me in to the main lab area, while Gemma remained at the entrance to continue demonstrating her sluttiness until someone told her to stop.

As soon as we were inside the lab proper, Sandra turned to me. "About the monthly-"

"You don't waste time, do you?" I asked her, stripping off my dress and casting aside my lacy panties. "Look, let me just get comfortable first." I strode, nearly nude, through the aisles of inert, nude bodies, delighting in their deactivated and partially dismantled state. On one cushioned table, a pelvis and legs sat in a kneeling position, the upper body completely absent. At a nearby workstation, a selection of disconnected heads babbled silently, their personality profiles running random data through their muted speech processors.

It had been a busy day: every table was occupied by at least half a woman, some missing arms or legs or a head, others bisected at the waist or opened along the main panel along their spine. I absently ran my hands along the artificial girls as I hunted for a comfortable spot for my playtime.

I was surprised to find one woman fully clothed near the center of the room. I didn't recognize her immediately, so I quickly pulled up her skirt to check her panties. The red thong confirmed that she must have been built during last quarter's cycle, which meant she was only in for basic test and review. I compared her silky skin to that of my companions, briefly considering switching one of them out for her, but decided against it. The girls from my office were safe to play with, but units from elsewhere in the company might be more strictly controlled.

I had Mira and Joyce remove her from the table, then undress her and bend her over another nearby table. Finding myself becoming uncontrollably arouse, I took a similar position at the now vacated table, bent over with my legs spread wide, and wiggled my posterior at Sandra. "Okay, let's get started. You can start the monthly report while you finger me." I pointed at the other three girls. "You three. Striptease. And play with each other's tits this time."

I felt Sandra's delicate hands running up the inside of my thighs, as Mira and Joyce took their positions on either side of Shana. Sandra's hand darted in and began to work its magic on my cunt as the other girls began to undress each other.

"Last fiscal quarter," Sandra began, coolly, "sales revenue dropped a further 17%. Coupled with the increased development and manufacturing costs of the latest product cycle," she said, rubbing her hand rapidly on my mound, "this has resulted in a further loss of two-point-six million dollars."

"Ah!" I cried, calling back over my shoulder, "Not so fast!" I turned back to my hand-picked trio of assistants. Mira had unbuttoned her blouse, pulling it down off her shoulders, and had pulled down her bra to expose her breasts. Joyce had already stepped out of her skirt, and was currently pulling up Shana's skirt. Shana had turned and bent to help Joyce's efforts, and I could tell they would be leading up to a spanking soon. I hoped Joyce would get spanked first. Her lack of panties would make her ass jiggle more than Shana's pantyhose would allow.

Sandra slowed her pace. "Outside of development and manufacturing costs, other operational expenses have remained static, with the exception of the Finance and Marketing discretionary budget, which has increased-"

"I know how much it's increased. It isn't cheap to dress you girls to meet my..." I gasped sharply, but couldn't tell whether Sandra had found a sensitive location, or if I was just reacting to Mira's performance as she rubbed, squeezed, and pinched her ample breasts. "My... particular needs."

"Shall I continue?" Sandra asked, impassively. It took me a moment to realize she was talking about the report, and not the bliss her hand was giving me.

"Yes-ah..." I shifted, pulling away from her hand. Mira, Joyce and Shana had worked their way down to their lingerie, and I was ready to move on to the next part. I hopped up on the table motioning my assistants over. "Mira, left tit, Shana, right tit, Joyce, you lick between my legs."

"Yes ma'am," the chimed in unison.

"With all income revenue and expenditures accounted for, we are now three hundred fifty thousand dollars short of our projected annual budget. The pending launch of the 9660F unit is expected to recover more than ten million dollars in its first quarter, however, so..."

"Cuh-huh-hut to the chase, Sandra," I gasped, "are we in the black?"

"After deducting all outstanding debts from current liquid capitol, XR Innovations currently has three point four five million dollars available for immediate use, and three point two nine million in pending payments from outside sources."

I frowned - not easy with Shana's tongue balancing me on the edge of absolute rapture. Barely over six million? This 9660F project James had been cooking up had been slowly dragging the company's finances further and further down for more than a year now. This time two years ago, the company had more than ten million in immediate funds. "This hah-hah-has gone on fffffhar too long," I managed.

The girls misinterpreted this comment as being directed at them, and suddenly ceased their attention to my body. "Not you, you brainless machines, I was talking about Jaaahhhh!" Shana's tongue went back to work with unexpected speed, and had changed its motion pattern - she was now targeting a completely different part of my pussy. I writhed as Joyce and Mira sucked and squeezed my breasts, running their tongues around the areolae. An electric bolt of pleasure shot through my body, starting at my feet and taking up residence in my head.

My eyes rolled back in my head as I came. Phantom lights flashed in my vision, and the world was made out of a hypnotic, buzzing pleasure. I spent eternity in a state of perfect ecstasy, feeling totally at peace with everything. Nothing mattered, only this incredible feeling of...

And just as suddenly, it was gone. I lay, panting on the table. The girls, programmed to detect when I climaxed, had ceased their efforts, and were now stroking my less sensitive parts in a soothing manner. I wiped the sweat from my brow. "Any other business matters," I asked, my voice now a husky near-whisper.

Sandra cocked her head to one side. "SecurStandard has requested a later revision of the 9660F to verify full functionality on the final retail product."

"Send them the full list of revisions." It had been a joke at first, but became the standard response: The list of revisions was simply a sheet of paper with only the words "9660F Full List of Revisions" printed on it. James hadn't changed a thing. Good for marketing, but the manufacturing costs added up to a small fortune per unit.

"GySys and X-Ero representatives have both requested courtesy access to the product premiere event."

I laughed. "I'll bet they did. Standard response, let them buy tickets at a small discount. Just make sure we're netting at least a grand per person at the premiere."

"There has been an unscheduled priority shipment," she continued, holding up a shipping notice.

"Probably just some late-to-the game tech magazine wanting an advance unit. Standard approval."

Sandra pulled out another letter. "On behalf of ScenariCorp, Kirk Peters..."

"Can go fuck himself." I sighed, my physical pleasure slowly turning back into everyday stress. "No, don't send that," I said through clenched teeth. Kirk just never let up, and wouldn't take the hint, no matter how heavily it was implied in my previous responses. I rubbed my temples. "Message as follows: James Peters regrets that far more pressing matters will be occupying his attention for the foreseeable future. Please be patient. XR Innovations values feedback from even our least significant customers." I closed my eyes as a smile began to creep across my face. "Although a response may not be immediately forthcoming, rest assured, your comments will bet treated with the appropriate level of urgency."

"Understood," Sandra replied. "All that remains is for you to sign the attached priority shipment invoice for our internal records."

My eyes snapped open. "What?" I sat bolt upright on the table, snatching the document from Sandra's hands. I briefly scanned the letter.

---

James,

Thanks so much for the advance unit. One of these days, the world's going to finally notice how much of a genius you've been all this time, and how much of a layabout I am. The sheer brilliance of every one of your products makes my little operation look lazy and uninspired. I know you keep saying that I got all of Mom's charm and Dad's troublemaking, but it's pretty clear to me that you got all the brains.

My shipping alert tells me that the package left XR earlier this afternoon, so it's possible it may have already arrived at the Nevada facility by the time you receive this message.

Jane sends her love. Remember, when things aren't so busy for you, you're always welcome at our place. We don't see each other nearly enough these days, and it would be a shame to lose contact with you just because our schedules were booked a bit tight, especially since our offices are barely twenty miles apart.

All my best,
Kirk

PS - I'd considered giving the wrist comp to Derek this week, but clever though he is, a one-year-old just isn't quite ready for that kind of thing. Maybe in four or five years.

---

"That sniveling, gutless eunuch!" I shouted, jumping down from the table. "Let me see that priority shipment notification!" I held out my hand. Sandra retrieved the paperwork from her armful of documents. I glanced at the relevant information. Sure enough, one XR9660, destination, ScenariCorp Facility R326. Paid in full in the amount of...

"Where is he?" I demanded. Knowing James, he had probably scurried off to his little hidey-hole to play with his toy version of me. One of these days, I would find that doll. I was flattered that he had gone to such lengths to create a duplicate ARA in my image - getting the custom designed chassis to match the person's bone structure was near impossible without medical scans - but it was infuriating that I hadn't been able to find the damned thing. I knew it existed. I had seen the payments to the data analysis firms, and had access to the audio and video data he had sent them. It wasn't fair that he got to play with her by himself, and I never even got so much as a peek. Sure, it bothered me to think of him banging a bot, but I didn't like to think about anybody playing with my toys but me.

Sandra's eyes flickered momentarily as she accessed the building's data net. "Mister Peters is currently in his main office."

I leapt off the table, heedless of my nudity. I nearly dashed out of the room, then thought better of it. In their current state, my assistants might be useful as a means of weakening James' resolve. "Mira, Joyce, Shana, with me. Sandra, go back to our office and shut yourself down."

"Yes, mistress," all four bots chorused.

As we left, I briefly entertained the thought of leaving Gemma undressed and spanking herself until someone else noticed, but finally dismissed the idea. Business was business, but if I let playtime interfere with normal operations, my discretionary budget would probably be slashed. It had taken weeks of sex with James the last time that had happened, and I didn't want to have to go through that again. The man was simply too timid in bed. He didn't put up any kind of fight. If I'd wanted a compliant man, I would have bought a male ARA.

We stormed - Well, I stormed, my assistants merely followed - through the complex to James' central office. Kendra, his personal secretary, made a token attempt to keep us waiting in the outer office. "I'm very sorry, ma'am, but Mr. Peters is not to be dis-"

I held up a hand to stop her. "Administrative override, Helen Parson."

Kendra immediately moved out of my way, staring blankly into space. "Administrative access granted," she said, distantly. I toyed with the idea of having some fun with her, but I had more important matters on my mind. Pushing the doors open, I burst into the office.

As usual, James sat, hunched at his workbench, a binocular jeweler's loupe strapped to his head. On the table lay a topless woman wearing only a simple skirt and conservative shoes. As James poked with some unseen instrument inside her opened torso, she spoke in a near monotone. "Link path 9-2-5-7 test signal received. Path group Beta fully confirmed." She stared blankly ahead as she said this. James merely grunted in detached affirmation.

Typical. He has a beautiful woman lying exposed in front of him, utterly submissive to his every whim, and all he did was tinker with electronics. He didn't deserve such beautiful toys. Wherever his duplicate version of me was, he probably only got her naked to tinker with her processors. The only thing he was likely to put in her was a screwdriver or a soldering iron.

"Just what the hell is this supposed to be?!" I yelled at him.

He barely reacted. "Hello Helen, how was your day, why don't you make yourself comfortable..." He looked back over his shoulder at me, that same kicked puppy look on his face. Poor James, nobody cares about his feelings. "Helen, I know we don't have a dress code, but really..."

"Don't change the subject." I walked up to him. Unsurprisingly, he had the gall to keep working while I talked. The girl's torso was missing most of the flesh from her waist up to just below her tits. Inside the gleaming chrome of her chassis, I could see the blinking components he was testing.

There was another spark. The girl began to speak again. "Link path zero-" She paused. A shorting-out sound came from within her torso, and her face contorted inhumanly. Her mouth appeared to be moving to speak again, but her voice stretched out into a monotone buzz.

"Damnit," he said, unplugging the tool from her internals. Unceremoniously, he pulled her skirt up and began to rummage around in her pussy and ass. I almost got the impression he might have given up on whatever testing he was up to and had simply decided to have some fun, but then the girl's face switched back to normal.

"System reset. Retarting personality profile," she announced. She blinked, then smiled up at him. "Sorry, I think I must have dozed off there for a while. That massage felt wonderful." She gave no indication that she even noticed being topless with her skirt pulled up, let alone that she didn't have any skin where her abdominals should have been. She looked over at me, similarly failing to notice my own nudity. "Hello. Are you here for a massage, too?" If I hadn't been so pissed off, I might have made a more playful suggestion to James.

"What is this?" I waved the paper at him. His immensely magnified eyes blinked at me through the loupe.

"It's a shipping invoice, dear. I was led to believe you knew what to do with them." He turned back to his little project.

There was my opening: He had made an aggressive move, and I could work that to my advantage. "Oh, is that what I am to you?" I said, emphasizing the hurt tone. "Just a piece of office equipment to do your accounting?" I tried to summon some tears for extra sympathy, but could only manage a few choked sobs. It seemed to have the right effect. He stopped working on the girl and slumped uselessly. "I'd always wondered," I continued, pressing the advantage.

It usually did the trick, calling his motives into question like that. After accusing him of loving his secretary more than me, he nearly fell over himself to prove he trusted me in whatever way I wanted. The next day, I was in charge of my own discretionary budget. "You don't really care about me at all, do you?" I got into full swing. "I'm just your employee, James. That's all you ever wanted, isn't it."

He sighed, setting down the tool calmly. Not the normal reaction. Had I gone too far over the top with that last line?

"Helen, hiring you as financial director was your idea, remember?" Patiently explaining. Too calm. What was he up to? "You didn't want Kyle to take it too hard. You said he wasn't emotionally ready to find out about us, that he would take it badly." He stood, walking to his desk. "I know he's very attached to you. I intentionally hired him in a department where he would see you frequently." Damn. Wrong play. He had the high road on this one.

"But then you sent him away! To work for that despicable brother of yours, no less." Sad or angry? I decided to go with angry.

"Kyle's departure was none of my doing." He rummaged in one of his desk drawers, and removed something. I couldn't quite see what. "Kyle came to me, demanding that I triple his salary. He already made more than anyone else doing the same job, so I just couldn't justify it. He applied at ScenariCorp that afternoon, and was working there the next day." He leaned casually against his desk.

Relaxed. Not his normal dejected self. He wasn't like this often, but when he was, it was extremely difficult to get him back in line. Still, he didn't seem to react as though he considered this a full-blown argument, so maybe...

"I suppose it's for the best," I sniffed. "With him working for Kirk, he's not around to see us." The transition from sad to aroused was a tough one to pull off convincingly. I had refined it to near-perfection. "Tell you what," I said, with a flirtatious grin, "why don't we recall this silly shipment and put that unit to good use?" I circled around my assistants, tracing my fingers around their breasts and legs, just in case he didn't get the hint.

He swallowed. I had gotten through to him at last. I looked at my girls, clad only in the lingerie I had personally selected for each of them: Mira in a lace garter set and open-cup bra, Joyce in a silk-and-velvet corset, and Shana in a sheer bodystocking, patterned to resemble a crotchless teddy with stockings. "Even boys play with dolls," I said to them.

The triggerphrase had an immediate effect. Joyce shuddered and began to breathe the rasping, desperate breaths of a woman in the middle of sex. Shana approached her, wrapping her arms around from behind to stroke Joyce's breasts and dip her fingers into Joyce's dripping sex. She nibbled playfully at Joyce's ear, then brought her fingers up to her mouth to suck the juices from them, all the while staring directly at James.

Shana reacted by circling around me, shaking her ass at him, before coming to a halt beside me. I turned towards her, and she continued her programmed sequence by running her hands over my breasts, and pressing her own tits up against mine. I winked at James. "Just think of all the fun that poor unit is missing out on, being shipped to Kirk like that." I pouted. "Bring her back, James. I want us to play with her."

James took a deep, ragged breath, obviously struggling to maintain his position. "Even if our freight service could recall a shipment like that..." He began.

"You could make them," I said, a doll-like innocence on my face. Time for some flattery. "You're one of their biggest customers."

"I'm sure it will get put to good use when it arrives. Which, I might add, it probably already has."

I laughed. "You think ScenariCorp will put it to good use? Really? And why the hell would you sell it to them at cost?" I was starting to really get pissed. "James, it's bad enough that Kyle has to work for that awful man, but now you're sending him pre-release merchandise with not even one dollar of profit!" My anger really started to boil over. "You spend all your time working on this 'amazing' new chip, but you're driving this company into the ground. Have you lost your mind?"

Too far, Helen. This was not the time to really say what was on your mind. I needed to pull out of this tailspin. "Why would you send one to him, of all people?" I tried to sound sympathetic, play on his rivalry with Kirk. "You hate him."

He looked genuinely hurt. Damn it, what was on his mind? He wasn't taking any of my bait! "I never said I hated him, Helen. Apart from you, he's probably the closest thing I have to a friend." Oh, hell, was he feeling depressed? God no. He was almost useless when he was depressed. "I don't hate him. I'm just..." Another sigh.

Fuck, if he was depressed, there was almost no way to keep that pre-release unit out of Kirk's hands. I wouldn't even be able to entice him with sex if he was in a funk.

"I'm just afraid he's better than me," he mumbled.

This gave me an idea. It was a long shot, but jealousy was probably the only thing left that could kick him into action. "Well," I said, casually, "he's certainly better in bed." Of course, it had been nearly twenty years ago, but James didn't need to know that.

The color drained from his face and his eyes went wide. "What did you say?" He whispered. I'd never seen him this angry before. Time to really whip him into a frenzy.

"Oh, don't look so surprised. You know how much I've sampled his... merchandise." I tossed my hair in a dismissive manner. "It was only a matter of time before things got a little more hands-on." I adopted my most innocent-looking expression. "You mean he didn't tell you? That doesn't sound very friendly to me."

He was shaking with rage, his teeth gritted. Any minute now he would...

"You said you loved me! Do you 'love' me the same way you 'hate' him?" Shit! He wasn't supposed to get angry at me!

He started crying. Not the pathetic sobs of self-pity that were so common for him, but angry tears, like he felt betrayed. He shoved his way past me, heading for the door. "Where do you think you're going?" I said. "You're supposed to recall this thing!" I waved the invoice at him, uselessly.

"Damnit, Helen, no! I need to think!" Shouting. Not good. He doesn't shout. "I was going to ask you to marry me, Helen!" He hurled the tiny object at me. It bounced off the carpet, then impacted with Joyce's thigh. She smiled vacantly.

I gaped at the object - a small box, unmistakably containing an engagement ring. I looked back at James, and for once, I actually felt as naked and exposed as my body was.

"I guess that's not on the agenda anymore!" He shouted. Turning to leave, he bumped into someone - I couldn't see who with James blocking my view.

"Kyle!" No. No, please not Kyle, not now! "How... how long have you been standing there? What did you hear?" I looked around, desperate to find some kind of hiding place. James' desk would have to do, even though it was a pretty obvious choice. I could only hope Kyle would get distracted by my assistants.

I dove behind the desk, waiting. I heard James' footsteps through the outer office, then the outer door slammed. As I listened, I tried to still my breathing as much as possible, to even keep the pounding of my heart quiet through sheer strength of will.

"Not a thing, Mister Peters," I heard my son say. It was well hidden, but I could hear the venom dripping in his voice. "Not a single thing."

Long seconds passed without event, but then Kyle's voice came loudly. "You hardly need to hide, mother. I know you're here."

I peered out over the top of the desk. "Kyle, I can explain," I began.

He smiled as if it didn't matter. "You don't need to explain anything, mother. And you certainly don't need to worry that I might accidentally catch a glimpse of you naked." He chuckled. It sounded like someone chipping ice. "I'm no Oedipus Rex."

I stood, shaking. Every ounce of the strength I had felt earlier was drained from me. "Kyle, please, I..." I tried to speak again.

"Shh, don't worry, mother. I understand." His voice was soothing. I wanted to believe he really sympathized. "I know this isn't how you wanted things, but it's okay. I can fix this." He smiled.

I narrowed my eyes. Fixing things wasn't really what exactly something Kyle did all that often. "What do you mean?" I said, trying to keep the trepidation out of my voice.

"I have a plan," he said in a cheery tone. The smile vanished from his face, but his tone remained upbeat. "It's going to solve all our problems."

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

5.17 - In His Shadow

2014-01-03T04:35:34Z

Fbc.willowisp:

Furious, I threw the small box at Helen's feet. It bounced off the thick carpet, spinning wildly until it hit the leg of one of her dolls - the name eluded me. Ginger? Something beginning with G, I thought - and fell softly to the ground. The artificial girl smiled sweetly, ignoring the impact. Helen merely stared in shock at the box, then at me.

"I guess that's not on the agenda anymore," I said, as I turned to leave. I nearly collided with Kyle, who was standing directly behind me. "Kyle!" I said, a sick dread taking residence alongside the sense of betrayal. "How... how long have you been standing there? What did you hear?"

"Not a thing, Mr. Peters," he said cooly. "Not a single thing." The thin smile on his lips was completely at odds with the look in his eyes. Had he been a child, I might have dismissed his demeanor as mere awkwardness. Now a teenager, his somewhat off behavior seemed somehow more intentional, more planned. The long string of safety incidents that seemed to follow him lent credence to my growing suspicions. I had tried to tell Kirk before he hired the boy, but he was oddly dismissive of Kyle's behavior.

"I'm sure he just needs someone to reach out to him, James," he had said. "Someone who can really connect with him."

The fact that I had been unable to do so meant nothing to Kirk, as usual. Still, even I was a bit troubled by Kirk's apparent inability to get through to the boy - Or perceive that there was anything wrong.

Here, now, his lack of response was more than a little surprising. He definitely would have heard, even if he had been clear across the outer office when I left my study. Not that it matters now, I thought to myself as I hastily made my exit. At least Helen had the decency not to demand I return and apologize.

I needed to clear my head, find somewhere to think. My offices were centrally located in XR's main building, allowing me swift access to almost any part of the complex. I wandered the halls aimlessly, finding myself in the showroom floor, still closed to the public for remodeling, in anticipation of the upcoming launch date. Vera, the reception unit, automatically sprung to life upon detecting my presence.

"Hello, sir," she said, working off her standard greeting script. "Welcome to XR Innovations. May I show you around?"

At every new product launch, Helen had demanded that Vera's clothing be more and more revealing. What started as a simple, modest dress had gradually transformed into a sexualized costume. The hemline of the skirt had been raised, initially by only a few centimeters, but had recently been cut to above her crotch. The neckline had dipped, then dipped further, then fallen down to her navel. Fashionable flat-soled shoes had been given heels, then higher heels, and had ended up as leather boots with spike heels approximately the same length as her skirt. Her underwear, initially a safeguard against accidental immodesty, had lately become blatantly sexual, and either emphasized by her other clothing, or the primary focus of each new outfit.

Had she been wearing any of it, she would have looked absurd. As usual, Helen had insisted that we re-tailor Vera's clothes for the 9660F launch, rendering the greet-bot nude in the intervening weeks. Although not provided with substitute garments, I noticed that Helen had seen fit to lend Vera a pair of black stilettos and fishnet stockings, neither of which were part of her upcoming costume.

The respectable image I had strived to maintain was being constantly eroded by Helen's attempts at broader appeal. At this stage, it was a wonder that the industry still took me seriously. "Welcome to XR," I mumbled to myself, "luxury you can fuck."

This last word must have been loud enough for Vera to hear. "Would you like to put something in me?" She said, innocently. "I'm happy to be your fuckdoll." So, it was true then. Helen had been toying with her, too. Was there a single 'bot in the factory she hadn't turned into yet another toy? No wonder she was so distant after sex. Her mind was always on other things, even as she demanded that I give it to her harder.

Were her cries of ecstasy merely performances to placate my ego? Unlikely, as little as she cared for my ego. Besides, I knew her habits well enough to know that once she started, she wouldn't stop until she got her orgasm. In every sense, Helen came first. It had become more and more difficult to ignore her increasingly distant attitude. I had thought it was just because I had been so focused on getting the 9660F ready for market, that perhaps I had been neglecting her. Tonight was supposed to change that, to show her how committed I was.

"Vera," I said, "shut yourself down."

"Okie dokie, Master," she nodded. She turned to face away from me, bent completely in half at the waist, then reached around behind herself to shove her fingers into her vagina and anus. "Oh!" She yelped, "That feels so goooowwwwwwwwrrrrrrrr..." Her body froze in the ridiculous position. More of Helen's handiwork, I realized. She disliked the ear-port activators, preferring instead to enable the V/A triggerpoint option on her personal units.

The only part that surprised me was that Vera still acknowledged me as Master, and retained heterosexual behavioral parameters. Helen sometimes encouraged me to watch as she played with her toys, but had an aversion to allowing me to participate unless it was just the two of us. I had previously thought it was a kind of possessiveness of the ARAs. Now it dawned on me: She preferred robots to me. We only ever made love when she wanted something, or when the robots were unavailable. I was starting to think letting me watch was just another way of intentionally frustrating me.

I needed to find a place to myself. Somewhere I could be sure Helen hadn't cheapened. There was only one place I knew I could be absolutely alone. One place no other human was allowed. I needed to get to the factory floor.

The factory was almost directly on the opposite side of the complex from the showroom. Normally, the quickest way to get there would have been to cut back to my office, and proceed onward from there... but I had no desire to go back there right now. If Kyle had left, Helen would likely have resumed whatever debauchery she normally got up to on her own. Only one of the girls had been topless when Helen had stormed into my office, but the other two had nothing covering them from the waist down, and Helen was all but nude. I doubted Kyle would have stayed with his mother in that state, but if he was even still in the outer office... I didn't have the nerve to face him right now.

I circled around the outer edge of the complex. Most of the building had been shut down for the day, but a few testing rooms were still active. Crossing through the Southeast wing, I came to an elegantly furnished library in which a dozen upper-class women sat primly, discussing a book of some description.

"Personally, I couldn't disagree more," said one seated facing away from me, "I found the characterization of the protagonist to be, well..." She waved a hand dismissively. "More than a little inconsistent."

"Really?" The woman seated on the armrest of one sofa interjected, sceptically, "Don't tell me you're still hung up on that ridiculous notion of authorial intent."

"Well, it had to have been written for some reason. Why would he spend so much description on things that didn't affect the plot, other than to get a message across?"

"There is such a thing as keeping the reader entertained," said a third woman, seated on a nearby loveseat. "Take out all the fun bits, and what do you have left? So-and-so went here, such-and-such bought that. It would be nothing more than a laundry list of expository descriptions."

"What I don't understand," a fourth woman cut in, "is why the pussy fuck tits I cunt my suck." She blinked rapidly, her mouth opening and closing like a puppet's. Finally, she tilted her head to one side. "Cock?" She inquired.

"That's a good point," said the woman seated away from me. "My fuckhole craves my master's rod." The other women nodded, murmuring their agreement.

Literary analysis was always a tricky area for AI processing. Freudian subtext tended to derail any artificial mind into complete sexual chaos. These units had been debating the symbolism of a book of nursery rhymes for the past three days without pause. It was a bit surprising that they had made it this long before the conversation collapsed on itself. I tried to make my way across to the opposite door without being seen, but it was too late.

"Oh, there he is," said one of the women calmly, "he'll know." She smiled and waved at me. "We'd like a little male input, if that's okay." In one calm, swift motion, she pulled her dress up over her head, and tossed it aside. Wearing only a basic bra and panty combo, she bent over, her backside to me. "Do you think my ass looks more spankable or fuckable?" She said.

The woman sitting next to her pulled her blouse open in one swift motion, popping the buttons off the garment. "Or do you think tits are more fuckable?"

"I... er..." I edged towards the opposite door, racking my brain to remember the program termination code. It had been a simple phrase, easier for me to remember, something related to literature, but could never possibly come up in their discussion... I just couldn't... wait, that was it! "I find Tolstoy far too simple, especially compared to Proust."

The women all froze, then stood at attention as a large panel slid open in the opposite wall. Behind it were a dozen equally-sized shelves and a clothing chute. The women lined up in front of the chute, taking turns removing their clothing completely, and depositing it in the chute. They would each then climb into their designated storage shelf and deactivate themselves.

I just wasn't in the right state of mind for this kind of thing right now. I crossed to the exit and tried to stick to the corridors as I continued to the factory floor, until I reached East wing. More renovations. The corridor had been sealed off. I never took this route, so I had completely forgotten about the detour through Lab C. I waved my badge in front of the sensor, and the door slid open.

"..can't believe how much we have in common!" A young woman's voice was saying. Her words came almost machine-gun fast. "Oh, you know what, we should visit some of my friends in North wing, they do product quality assurance, well, they call it that, but I think they just like playing with the products, which is fine, but..."

Of course. Kimmi was working late. Her enthusiasm was nearly as boundless as her energy. She was wearing her normal lab coat and dress, seated at a small restaurant-style table in the middle of the lab. Across from her was a pretty redhead in an evening gown. The woman gazed into Kimmi's eyes with adoration. I would need to be quiet to avoid...

The door loudly slid shut behind me. Kimmi spun, a look of delight washing over her features. "Oh, Mr Peters! I didn't realize you were here, I thought you had gone home for the night. I'm just visiting with Stephanie here, have you met Stephanie? She's such a great conversationalist. Of course, I should have known you were still here, I mean, you do own the place, and I know you've got a bed here somewhere, then again, there are plenty of beds in some of the testing rooms." She put a hand to her mouth, remembering something. "Where are my manners? Stephanie, take off your dress, I need to show Mr. Peters your body!"

Kimmi jumped out of her seat and dashed over to grab my hand, tugging me towards the table. Stephanie merely stood, still smiling, and calmly unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor. She wore a simple black thong and bikini style bra, indicating she had been manufactured less than two weeks ago. Coding the units' undergarments to denote manufacture time had been Helen's idea, but was actually one of her more useful suggestions.

Kimmi pulled me around to sit in the chair that Stephanie had previously occupied. She tapped Stephanie on the shoulder. "Bend over the table, Steph." Stephanie complied, of course. "Now," Kimmi said to me, "the first thing I noticed about this model was the increased cushioning and more realistic give in the buttocks, resulting in a much more satisfying spank-jiggle effect." She smacked Stephanie's rear loudly. Stephanie moaned happily.

"Well, I say the first thing," she continued, going a mile a minute, "I guess that's not completely right, I didn't just spank her the moment I got her in here." She pulled Stephanie's thong to one side, indicating the unit's vagina. "I had to compare her pussy to the previous model, and at first I was like everything's about the same what's the deal, right? But I looked more carefully, and, here, feel." She put my hand against Stephanie's exposed flesh. "Feel how smooth the lips are? The previous generation had a kind of friction to it that could get binding pre-lubrication. This version has a molecularly bonded lubrication that keeps it nice and silky, even when it's dry, so no uncomfortable friction on the guy's foreskin."

"Kimmi, I..." I started, trying to extract myself from the conversation.

"So, I thought to myself, what other effects does it have on performance. Of course, it means she's slick and ready for action even before her lube pump goes into action, see?" She moved my finger into Stephanie's warm folds. A slightly disappointed look appeared on Kimmi's face. "Oh, yeah, sorry, she's already primed. Forgot about that. Anyway, it does result in a slight system desynchronization if she's stimulated vaginally before she can load her sexual programs, which isn't really anything new, but now that her unlubricated state is just as ready-to-go as a girl who's motor's running already, that means the partner can get a lot further along before sex programming might be called for. I wonder if the built in lube affects the flavor at all." She leaned forward and experimentally licked Stephanie's nether region. "Bubblegum? Or cherry? I can't quite tell, do you want to try, Mr... Oh!"

Kimmi noticed the obvious bulge in my pants and the look of discomfort on my face. "Oh, Mr. Peters, I'm so sorry, I had no idea! Really I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable like that, can I jerk you off or maybe give you a blowjob?"

"Kimmi..." I tried to speak again, but her momentum just wouldn't slow down.

"Or, if you wanted, you could put that nice hot cock up my ass, I really enjoy anal, although, come to think of it, I don't think I've ever been fucked up the ass before, at least, if I have, I don't remember it. You know, there's a lot of things I can't remember, hey I've been meaning to ask you about that actually, it just seems like I've been here for I don't know how long, and it's a great job, but I cant remember for the life of me when you first hired meeerrrrrwwwww..."

Kimmi slowed to a halt, her hand still holding Stephanie's underwear to one side. The deactivation tool I had retrieved from my pocket poked awkwardly out her ear, and she wore a blank expression. I extricated myself from the situation as delicately as possible, and made my way to the exit. "Stephanie, just, uh, put Kimmi back in her box for the night, then shut yourself down on one of the exam tables," I said over my shoulder.

"Yes, master," Stephanie called as I left the lab.

Kimmi was one of the few units that Helen hadn't performed any modifications on, but her series had come pre-installed with a robust "companion" suite of programs so deeply integrated with her basic functionality as to make them impossible to remove. It wasn't that I was completely opposed to the concept of sex-capable robots, but I found it infuriating and crass that state-of-the-art technology and triumphs of software engineering were relegated to little more than sex toys.

Certainly, given human form, it's not unreasonable to expect a robot to be anatomically correct. I would even grant that, given anatomical correctness, it's not unreasonable to expect a robot to be capable of the act of sex, or even to expect them to be good at it. But the market was increasingly dominated by the likes of X-Ero, who had long ago abandoned any pretense of riding my company's coattails with their similar name, and had instead fully dedicated their resources to turning revolutionary feats of technological genius into strippers, whores, and pleasure slaves.

And then there was Kirk. I couldn't claim he made bad decisions. Indeed, the success of ScenariCorp conclusively demonstrated that he had made extraordinarily good decisions. He had found a market niche that he was able to supply with almost infinite variation, and it had made him more wealthy than any of Dad's patents or Mom's product licensing ever did. Business ran in our blood, Dad had told us. And yet my empire crumbles, I thought.

At long last I found myself outside the factory floor. The massive steel bulkhead made me feel even more insignificant than usual. I looked around, sure that no one was watching, or waiting to follow me in, but compulsively needing to check nonetheless. I tapped a code into the keypad, then allowed the scanner to confirm my palm print. Klaxons announced that the heavy gate was unsealing, and it slowly swung open, revealing the airlock chamber beyond. Still nervous of followers, I cautiously walked into the connecting chamber, then pressed the large red "seal" button along the wall. The exterior door gradually swung back in place, and an echoing thud confirmed its sealed state.

I took the respirator mask from its hook as the extractors began to pump the air out of the chamber. The familiar tingling sensation in my extremities began, and I watched the pressure indicator drop further and further. When I could stand no more, I hit the repressurize button.

The air that began to fill the room was laced with an inert gas - harmless to breathe, but easily detectable by the extractors. Once they detected the trace of the inert gas, they would cease extracting, ensuring that only a known quantity of tagged air was present in the chamber. The pressure indicator slowly climbed back to tolerable levels, and I found sensation returning to my fingers. At last, the indicator reached 1 atmosphere, and the pumps instantly cut off.

Still nervous, I pressed the hidden control which revealed the long bank of indicator lights. The Visual and Mass lights were already showing green, as was Volume - the known quantity and pressure of the gas enabled the system to determine if any unknown objects or persons had followed me in, as they would change the amount of gas required to reach 1 atmosphere.

I pulled off the respirator and replaced it on the hook, then took my place in the center of the room. "James Nathaniel Peters," I said, in clear, distinct tones. The Voice light on the security board switched to green. A high pitched trill filled the room, making me wince, as always. It repeated three times, then the Acoustics security light went green. Once again, I knew with near absolute certainty that I was completely alone in the chamber. Near certainty. Nearly good enough.

I pulled off my clothes, stowing the contents of my pockets in the box for retrieval. Shirt, socks, trousers and briefs all went in separate chutes for vapor analysis. Shoes went into the particle scanner to check for recording or transmitting devices. I returned to the center of the chamber, nude. "Begin," I said.

The airflow system once again began cycling air - this time heated, for my comfort - from directly above me, into the grate directly below me. I watched as the Chemtrace security light flashed amber for a few seconds. Finally, it switched to green. I wasn't under the influence of any detectable chemicals, only traces of my own scents had been picked up. If I wasn't alone, then whoever or whatever might have joined me would have to be invisible, weightless, occupy zero physical space, reflect no sounds, and carry no trace particles. I was safe. No one other than myself could ever enter the factory beyond.

The inner door, just as imposing as the outer one, made its *thunk* noise, and slowly swung open. I grabbed the robe from the hook next to the respirator, the keys jingling in its pocket. I threw it on, then approached the last door.

It was a simple, standard door, with wood panelling, and a doorknob. I sorted through the keys to find the appropriate one, the unlocked the door and entered, closing and locking the door behind me.

Once inside the modestly furnished living space beyond, I turned and leaned my head against the door. My whole body sighed.

Delicate, feminine hands slid across my cheeks and covered my eyes. "Guess who," a woman's voice whispered.

I didn't need to guess. Her voice was unmistakable, even when she whispered.

"Helen," I sighed, turning to face her.

She was dressed in a modest summer dress, and had a pout on her face. "You peeked," she said.

"Not yet," I said, pulling her close and nuzzling her neck, "But I can if you want." I kissed her shoulder. "Would you rather I peek up your skirt, or down your top?"

"Hmm..." she sighed contentedly, "You know I'm no good at making choices like that. Which do you prefer?"

I let my hands drift down her back, around her hips, resting them on her thighs. "Tough choice," I worked my way up her neck to just below her ear. "I think it will be a lot simpler if I just take the dress out of the equation."

My hands darted down to the hem of her dress, pulling the entire garment up over her head and tossing it aside in one swift motion. She raised her arms compliantly to make the process easier.

While her dress had been modest and conservative, her undergarments were anything but. Her sheer bra might have provided some modesty, if not for the nipple holes torn in it. Her black satin garter belt held up the tops of her tam stockings with clips decorated in silhouettes of nude women. She wore no panties, just as I had instructed her previously.

She stretched with her arms still above her head, a relaxed smile on her face, then shimmied as though the lightweight dress had been a bulky jacket that she was glad to be out of - which I knew she was. "Mmm, keep looking at me like that," she said, "and a girl might think you had something on your mind." She turned to face away from me, grinding her rear into my groin. "Welcome home, dear," she said, sweetly.

From behind, I reached down between her legs and began to explore her warm wetness. She reciprocated, leaning her head back to kiss me while pressing her butt more insistently against my now obvious erection. My fingers drenched in her juices, I pulled out of the kiss and brought my hand up in front of her face, fingers outstretched. She gasped as though I had given her an expensive gift, lunging forward to lick and suckle my fingers.

"Tell you what," I whispered in her ear, "I think I might have something you want."

She reached back, running her hand along the length of my penis through the robe. "Mmm-hmm," she nodded.

"Why don't we find somewhere nice and intimate to do something about that?"

She sighed happily, as if my suggestion were her innermost fantasy. A mischievous smile appeared on her face. "Actually," she said, "I wanted to ask your permission on something." I raised an eyebrow. "My friend Celia and I were talking and... she's kind of bi-curious, you know..." I smiled, knowing where this was going. "She was wondering if you'd let her... strip for you and..." she moved in close, apparently embarrassed at what she was about to suggest. "She wants to watch you rub your cock between my breasts and cum on my face."

I had to chuckle at the suggestion. "Oh, I think I could put up with that," I said.

"That's not everything," Helen continued. She sounded afraid that she would offend me. "I was kind of hoping you would be willing to... kind of... fondle her some first. And, well..." She hesitated. "Maybe you could let her feel your cock." She looked apologetic. "It wouldn't have to be a blowjob! Unless... if you wanted..."

"Well, if I'm supposed to fuck your tits," I said, noting the shudders as I said "fuck" and "tits," "you'd have to help make sure I didn't finish in her mouth before I got to you."

"You'll let her?" She bounced, overjoyed. "Oh, thank you so much! I promise I'll make this up to you!"

I tried to look understanding. "We'll think of a way," I said, smacking her playfully on the ass. "Why don't you invite Celia over, and we can discuss this a bit more." Helen made an excited noise and dashed off to call Celia. I watched her leave the room, her beautiful backside swaying as the walked away.

The duplicate Helen had taken months of development and customization. Just obtaining the requisite reference data - photographs, motion studies, voice samples - had taken weeks, and I had to assign much of the actual development to my personal staff, just in case I had to delete any sensitive data from their drives. I couldn't even begin to imagine how the real Helen might react if she ever found out about her doppelganger.

Celia was a name I didn't immediately recognize, but it would have been one of the dozen randomly selected girls assigned to Helen's circle of friends for the week. Yesterday, it had been Zara, and she had wanted to watch and participate while I took Helen from behind. The real Helen thought nothing of imposing upon others. This Helen worried that fulfilling my every fantasy was itself an imposition.

Once Helen made the call (No actual conversation occurred: The system just listened for her to say a friend's name, then disconnected while Helen continued talking to and answering a dead line), her "friend" would be retrieved by the storage system, pulling her oblong storage pod from the racks adjacent to the simulated house. The armature of the storage system would then separate the pod into two halves, with Celia suspended by her armpits in the upper half. It would then set her down gently just outside the "front" door - the one leading to the factory and warehouse - and the supporting rods would be removed from under her arms.

Depending on the length of Helen's randomly generated, one-sided conversation, she might answer the door before the system had completed this process, which would temporarily lock her own systems.

Sure enough, Helen strode, still essentially nude, to the door and opened it to greet Celia. "Hi Celi-" She froze. I could see beyond her that the armature had just set Celia down. I noted with some satisfaction that Celia was a particularly leggy model, her whisper thin dress clearly communicating the presence of a thong. As the top portion of the pod was lifted up off her head, I realized that she was one of my most recent additions to Helen's social group. I had not noted the name assigned to her: At the time, she had simply been a XR4350D with some modifications.

Once the pod was clear of her, Helen came back to life. "-a, c'mon in." She waved the friend in.

Celia didn't react to Helen's nudity, but entered, a look of shy anticipation on her face. "I'm really glad you called me over," she said, "but you didn't say why you wanted to talk." She turned to see me standing in the living room area, clad only in my robe. "Oh, I didn't realize your husband was here!" She waved. "Hi Mr. Peters, I'm Celia Lastname."

Helen came up on Celia from behind, and whispered loud enough for me to hear, "I asked him."

Celia's eyes went wide. "I don't mean to put you to any trouble," she said, "it's just that she has such beautiful tits, and I haven't sucked a cock before. I hope you don't mind, but I wasn't sure you would accept, so I wore underwear anyway. I can take it off, it you'd prefer..." She pulled her skirt up as she said this, showing me the black thong she was wearing over her bodystocking.

I couldn't take any more. "Helen," I said, "I've changed my mind. I think Celia and I are just going to have regular sex for a while." She nodded enthusiastically as I said this, while Celia reacted as if I had just made the most romantic gesture in the world. "You can watch and play with your tits," I told Helen, "but you can't put anything in any of your holes."

"Okay," she said, smiling. "Whatever you say, dear."

----

I did eventually go forward with Helen's original suggestion, but only after going a few rounds with Celia, and having Helen stimulate her orally. Hours later, my energy spent, I lay panting on the massive bed with Celia deactivated at my feet, and Helen lying with her arm across my chest, and one leg resting across my body. I'd long since lost track of where either woman's clothes had gone, but they had managed to retain their shoes throughout the activities.

Helen gazed longingly at me, absently tracing little circles on my chest. "Maybe we should make this a more regular thing," she said, oblivious to the fact that it was already something we did at least every day. To maintain the hesitating innocence I found so appealing, her memory would be automatically reset as soon as I left the factory-warehouse.

I didn't answer, my thoughts chasing each other in tight little spirals. As much as I resented the industry's focus on sexualizing our products, within the guaranteed privacy of my factory retreat, I was hardly immune to their allure. It was intoxicating, and even a bit frightening, feeling such absolute control over another person - or, at least, what appeared to be another person.

But hadn't I risen above such shallowness? I'd given Helen a boost in intelligence from her stock model, something approaching an imagination, allowing her to come up with the day's scenario without pre-scripted patterns, but that merely served my libido. Hadn't I given my duplicate Helen more sophisticated emotional simulation? More refined observational skills?

As soon as these thoughts formed in my head, they were demonstrated with cruel precision. "You look stressed about something. What's wrong?"

The question tore me out of the comfort of my fantasy and into the pressures of reality. "It's... nothing," I lied. "Just thinking about the 9660F launch." This was almost true.

"Oh, I hope everything is going well," she said encouragingly. "Did Kirk get the pre-launch unit yet?" She broke into a cheery smile. "It's so sweet how you two have such a strong relationship." She sighed. "You're so generous with your brother. I bet you used to share everything."

As she spoke, I almost felt like I was in freefall, but at this last sentence, it was like slamming into concrete. "Helen," I said, a stab of guilt already indicting me for what I was about to do, "I am so fucking tired of you, you worthless whore."

Instantly, her body became ramrod stiff. "Joint coupling disengaged," she stated in a polite tone. "Electromagnetic supports disabled."

Her body suddenly came apart at the hips, waist, and shoulders. I hated to do it, but I hated Helen more right now - and unfortunately, she had just reminded me of that fact.

I got out of the bed, not bothering to dress, and staggered to the "front" door of the dummy house. I burst out into the factory area beyond, making my way up the twisting metal-grated staircase to the control room high above, I threw myself into the simple chair and gazed down at my creation.

The factory was a constant bustle of activity. As a matter of privacy and trade secrets, all the workers in the factory were ARAs, each one a unit previously manufactured by the very machinery they now operated. I had internally justified their lack of clothing as a practical matter of cost-cutting: I was the only person permitted in the factory, and they hardly needed clothing for modesty purposes. Their synthetic skin was more durable than most fabrics, so it wouldn't have given them any meaningful protection from the liquid metal of the foundry smelter, or the volatile chemicals used in their manufacture.

Justifying the high heels had been a bit more difficult. I had reasoned that their models were originally designed with heeled shoes in mind, and were generally less stable flat-footed. I knew this was merely a matter of software modules, and could have easily installed the necessary software to enable them to walk bare-footed with no difficulty, but thruthfully, ensuring that the software was consistently more stable than the default across so many different models would have been more expensive than simply buying a pair of pumps for each of them.

I gazed out the large observation window, angled downward to provide clear view of the factory floor, watching the beautiful simulations of femininity as they moved from station to station. Each was a vision of perfection, nude sculptures that testified the magnificence of the female form. They moved with grace and poise, their activity just as intricate, precise, and complex as the industrial machines they used to make their sisters.

I knew this clockwork hive of womanly visions was all down to my own designs, my own plans, my own programs. I had done this. I had done all of this. I stood, taking a deep breath. "This is my best. My everything." Helen's words - those of both the real and the duplicate Helen - came flooding back to me. "And it's not enough." I gripped the chair, struggling to lift it. "It will never be!" I hefted the heavy chair. "It' never enough!" I cried, hurling the heavy object through the plate glass of the observation window. I was momentarily stunned that I had the strength to break the glass, but was distracted by the smashing sound it made as it fell on a passing worker. I could hear the electrical sparks and mindless, random gibberish of the damaged girl, even from this height.

I slumped over the control panel, my actions now driven by a toxic combination of emotional pains. "Kirk Peters, golden child," I sobbed, flipping switches, "Kirk makes it look so easy. Kirk never misses a thing." I turned the dial on the large console all the way into the red. "Kirk is a champion of industry. Kirk Peters is a household name. ScenariCorp is more popular than GySys and X-Ero Tech combined." I slammed my hand down on the massive red button. A loud alarm bell sounded, and all the workers below stopped working, and simply stood at attention.

"James Peters designs an intermodal bypass chip, the world yawns. Kirk uses it in his 'directive interruptor,' the school nearly trips over itself funding his research." I started down the stairs again. "James Peters build the highest quality robotic assistants the industry has seen, and the press mocks him as being 'too niche!'" I didn't stop at the dummy house. "Kirk whores them out in fun parks, he gets showered with critical acclaim!"

I grabbed a loose pipe from the parts cupboard. "Oh, sorry to hear how maladjusted your boy is, Miriam, but at least Kirk seems to be getting along!" I smashed the pressure valve on one of the chemical vats. Noxious gas vented out at high pressure. "What the hell's the matter with your son, Alex? Sure, Kirk's so friendly and charismatic, but James needs help!" Another swing took out the safety monitor on the welding station.

My eyes were blurred with the tears. "IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH!" I screamed, swinging blindly. I heard more sounds of glass and electronics smashing, then collapsed, sobbing. Shards of broken glass sliced into my naked skin. I barely felt the cuts, but felt the warmth of a nearby heat source.

The bulk of my energy spent, I let the blind rage and sorrow take its course. I don't know how much time passed, but the tears eventually stopped. The pain didn't. I looked up, realizing the source of the warmth: The foundry. The massive vat of molten metal. The air around it shimmered from the heat. I stood with some difficulty.

"James makes a revolutionary leap forward for cybernetic engineering," I said calmly, approaching the foundry controls. The damage I had inflicted with the pipe earlier caused one of the pressurized chemical tanks to burst, spraying the workers nearby in the corrosive liquid. They didn't blink, but merely stood motionless as the chemical ate away their artificial skin, revealing the gleaming chrome underneath. "No one believes him when he tells them what it can do," I said, punching in a code on the foundry controls.

"FOUNDRY PURGE INITIATED. OPENING RESERVOIR GATE," intoned a clearly synthetic voice. The large, circular area of the floor directly in front of the vat began irising open.

"Kirk buys one ahead of time to secretly use in a tourist attraction," I mumbled. I flipped up the safety cover on the control link toggle button. "The crowd goes wild," I said, stabbing at the button. The gate stopped, then sealed itself again.

"WARNING, GATE NOT RESPONDING, PURGE HALTED."

"James falls in love," I said, punching in the purge override code. "Kirk sleeps with her." Fires began breaking out in the chaos surrounding me. Massive machinery slowly moved the vat out of its normal position, towards the gate. "I couldn't even have that victory, could I Kirk? I couldn't even look at the woman I was going to marry and know that she loved me alone."

"MANUAL OVERRIDE ENGAGED. PLEASE ENSURE GATE IS FULLY OPEN."

Even at this distance, the heat from the vat was searing. My eyes stung as I watched the brightly glowing liquid slowly pour out, splashing in a hiss on the surface of the gate. The gorgeous women standing near the gate were silently engulfed in the blazing heat. They melted like candles, soon transformed into unrecognizable lumps of metal and ash.

"You win, Kirk," I said quietly, watching the lethally hot metal make its way across the factory floor. It crept closer and closer to the vats and tanks labeled with "Danger: Explosive" warnings.

"James Peters forfeits the game. Kirk gets a one-of-a-kind toy." I smiled sardonically. "Just don't tell me what you use her for."

The metal reached the hazardous materials area. A sound like a huge drum filled my ears, and I was blinded by a white hot-

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

5.00 - Gift Exchange

2014-01-03T04:35:19Z

Fbc.willowisp:

Fuck, I thought to myself. He finally did it. The egotistical bastard finally did it.

I had feared he would, eventually. For some reason, he seemed to love rubbing his success in my face. "Kyle," he'd say, smiling like a shark, "there you are, my boy."

"My boy." Like he owned me. Like I was a mere child. He would concoct some inane excuse to invite me somewhere, both of us knowing full well that he only did it to show off, or possibly even to humiliate me in front of his snobbish friends. His every word was just as sarcastic and venomous as they pretended to be cordial and welcoming. A dimmer man might even mistake his conversation for sincerity, but I knew what kind of person Kirk Peters was. Mother made sure I knew just how dangerous he was, how twisted and bitter and deceitful he could be.

Up until now I had been able to avoid the showy productions of his disgusting little whelp's birthday parties. The fact that they always coincided with my birthday was just another layer of insult. What better way to spend my own birthday than to celebrate someone else's? It made me retch.

For five years, he had sent company-wide messages inviting everyone to the outrageous event, thinly disguising his threat of dismissal for those who didn't attend with transparent platitudes like, "Hope to see everyone there," or "You won't want to miss this one!" Even more ridiculous was the fact that he didn't even have the balls to fire anyone when they didn't come.

This year, he had sent me a personal message. I'd been putting off reading it until the end of the day, half expecting it to be another blatant insult, mocking me with his authority over my position within the company. I hadn't been prepared for what it was.

----

It's that time of year again, Kyle. You're not just invited, this time your attendance is mandatory. You can't say you're too busy: I've cleared your schedule. All the scenarios for the new facility have been fully mapped. Final testing has concluded. The techs have logged over 1000 hours of independent runtime without human intervention. Hell, the place would pretty much run itself, if there were any customers. It's time for you to take a break, and that's an order. Come to the birthday party. I'm sure you'll have a great time.

Signing off,
Kirk

----

I looked back over at my assistant, Tasha, perched on the edge of my desk. She gazed at me with a pout. "You look upset, Mr. Parson. Is something wrong?" Her hand went to her cleavage as a playful look settled on her face. "Can I do anything to cheer you up?"

I ignored her, turning back to my workstation. Peters was right: I didn't have a work excuse for not showing up. I never had, and he almost certainly knew it. SCF#R326 was complete and ready for paying customers to put it to use. I just never dreamed that he would go so far as to order me to attend, though.

"Oh," I heard Tasha say, "I've dropped my pen!" I closed my eyes, recalling the sequence. She would now take 3 seconds to look for the pen while standing, bent slightly towards me to give me a view down her shirt. Then she would turn away from me and lean over a nearby object to look behind it, showing me her ass. If I didn't respond, she would get down on her hands and knees, and crawl around for at least fifteen seconds - more, if I pointed and asked "Is that it?" As tight as her skirt was, the act of crawling would hike it up far enough for me to see what, if any, underwear she had on.

If I gave no further input, she would "find" her pen underneath a desk, forcing her to put her head to the ground to reach under it, while impractically drawing her knees up to further expose her ass. She would take ten seconds to retrieve the pen, which had actually been tucked between her breasts, providing an opportunity for me to find and retrieve it at any time during the performance. Once she had the pen in her hand, she would stand, oblivious to her now belt-like skirt, and say...

"There it is! Gee, I wish I had a place to stick this so I wouldn't lose it." I opened my eyes to see Tasha now at the end of OfficeIdleScenario 16. Her skirt was now entirely above her waist, indicating that she had detected the desk chair was at the correct height for her to crawl backwards under it, for additional exposure. It was Friday, so I already knew that she would be wearing something crotchless. I was surprised that it was blue, though. They must have deployed her new wardrobe variation suite early. It wasn't due until September.

She held the oversized pen to her lips, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Mr. Parson, can you think of a place I can put this thing?" The tone of her voice fluctuated as she said this, emphasizing "put this thing" to highlight the phonetic similarities to "pussy." Because the user would be too dumb to catch the hint, I thought. It sounded awkward to me, but I had such little respect for ScenariCorp's customers, I'd long ago accepted that it probably was required.

I turned back to my workstation, trying to ignore her "Hmm"s. I had been dreading this. Being forced to play Peters' insulting game of false kindness was one thing, but seeing Jane again would be torture. Knowing that Peters had soiled her beauty with his disgusting seed. The fact that her betrayal was so absolute, she had actually kept the foul creature instead of cleansing her body of it the moment she learned of its existence. He had stolen property from me, taken what was rightfully mine, and ruined it. At times, it almost made me too disgusted to watch her on the security monitors I had modified. Thankfully, her testing sessions tended to distract me enough not to notice.

It was too much. I wanted - needed - to hurt something. ScenariCorp would act indignant that I had broken one of their toys, but the lack of any significant disciplinary action from any of the previous "incidents" told me that they didn't really care. The investigation committee may have been made up of loathsome idiots, but at least they seemed to hate Peters as much as I did. Why else would they tacitly approve my willful destruction of his property? I broke thousands of dollars of equipment multiple times, and their only response was to assign me to a different division. They were hardly doing anything to deter me.

I massaged my temples in frustration, trying to remember the override code. How did it go again? Oh, yes. "Tasha," I said, "Override gamma-sigma-four-nine-beta-beta-six."

She froze momentarily, looking entranced by the phallic pen, her mouth slightly open. Without moving her lips, another voice issued from her mouth. "Warning," it announced, "damage prevention disabled." She then reanimated, tapping the pen against for pursed lips. "If only there were some place I could put something long and hard like this," she said. The user was never expected to leave her idle this long without issuing some kind of command, so the proofing review on dialog this late in her performance had been somewhat more lax.

"I know where you can put it," I said, a thin smile spreading on my face.

Her face lit up with the HappyExcitement 17 expression. It looked idiotic. "You do?" She said. "Oh, please tell me where to put this thing."

"In your left eye," I said cooly. "Do it slow, but push hard."

She nodded enthusiastically, BigSmile 6 showing off her top teeth. "Okay, Mr. Parson. Anything you say." She would have bounced excitedly with MouthOExcitement 1 on her face if I had suggested her mouth or anus, or run SultrySurprise 2 if I had said "pussy." Since "eye" wasn't labeled as a sexual case, she just ran the default response with a random smile and stock command acknowledgement.

She brought the pen up to her eye, turning it with the metal tip facing her. As she slowly brought it into contact with her eye, I could just barely hear the *tink* of it touching the glassy surface of the optic device. "Hmm," she said. "Looks like I'll just have push really hard." She accentuated this last word with a breathy quality from a seduction subroutine I could only barely recall.

Still grasping the shaft of the pen with her left hand, she brought up her right hand to grip the outer tip of the pen, able to push with greater force. At this point, her left hand would function purely as a regulator to ensure that the pen broke through slowly, as I had instructed. She made little frustrated noises as she pushed against the reinforced surface of the eye. "Be silent," I told her. I wanted to hear this.

Her grunts and sighs ceased. For a moment, there wasn't a sound, then I finally heard it. The first, faint *crack* as the force exceeded the pressure rating of the hollow glass. The cracks became more frequent and louder, sounding like glassy popcorn, until finally the loud *crunch* of the ruptured eye echoed around my office.

The pen jerked barely a millimeter as the resistance of the eye was removed, her left hand holding the shaft tightly. She slowly pushed the pen further and further into the socket, crunches and cracks announcing the damage to the components of the optic sensor within. Had I not silenced her, she would have undoubtedly announced her surprise that it had gotten so dark all of a sudden.

Finally, I heard the short *bzzt* I had been waiting for. The metal tip of the pen had come into contact with the eye module connection jack in her head, shorting the system out. She continued to push, the straining of her arms' motors barely audible in the quiet.

"Stop," I told her. "You can speak now."

She began to speak, her voice louder than it should be, and clipped with static. "Okay," she said, the "kay" syllable repeating at a higher speed and pitch even as she continued to talk. "Anything you say, Mr. Parson." She let her hands fall to her sides in a default idle pose. The distorted syllable continued looping for a few seconds until a sparking sound cut it off.

GySys had only narrowly escaped a court-ordered recall after the fiasco of their AllSense system. Rather than having dedicated processors and pathways for her speech and each of her senses, they had the stunningly moronic idea to lump all of that into a single data pathway governed by a single processor with a single core. "Input/Output software development has never been easier!" Was the line they fed third-party publishers.

It was a triumph of poor design and worse implementation. Damage to any one of her subsystems would result in degraded performance across the board. Worse, improper shielding of the processor made it prone to catastrophic overload when taxed beyond intended thresholds.

Which was exactly why I had insisted on having her as my assistant. I liked GySys models. They were almost defined by vulnerability to exploits. Why Peters had approved it while maintaining a strict no GySys policy everywhere else was beyond me. He was probably afraid I had found evidence of whatever illegal activity was actually keeping the company afloat. Dull-minded as our customers were, I had trouble believing that Peters could lead a company anywhere other than failure.

"Pull down your face's dermal covering," I told her.

There was a click as the top of her forehead popped outward enough for her to grip. "I don't know what you mean, Mr Parson," she said, trying to sound confused. Instead, she sounded like a worn out public address system. "I've heard this company kidjkidjkidjkidjkidjkidj with robots," she said, reaching up to pull down the rubbery material, "but you don't tergtergtergterg that I'm one of them, do you?" The dermal layer caught on the pen still lodged in her eye socket, dangling oddly to the left.

"No, of course I don't," I said. "Could you get me some coffee?"

"Glllllllf course Mr. Parson. Anyth-" There was a loud *pop*, and her voice became an incomprehensible garble of noise. She strutted over to the coffee machine on the nearby table, swaying her almost completely exposed backside at me, and retrieved the pot of steaming coffee.

"Stop," I said, as she turned to bring the pot to me. "Sit on the table." She made a vaguely affirmative-sounding noise, and seated herself daintily on the table. "Disengage your waist connector, and separate your torso from your legs."

She put a hand to her chest in a mock surprise gesture, her voice an electric buzz. She froze for a moment, and a spark visibly jumped from the damaged eye socket. Her voice suddenly returned to an almost normal tone, with only a slight metallic echo. "-eally think I'm a robot, do you?" She said, her mechanical jaw motors audibly rizzing without the dermal layer. She set down the coffee pot and pressed down on the table with both hands, lifting her torso up off of her lower body. "My body doesn't come apart. My body just comes."

"Don't reconnect. Stand." Her legs hopped down off the table. Having been bunched up at her waist, the elastic of her skirt had bundled the garment up as she separated herself, resting it neatly on top of her waist connector, but the motion jostled it enough to fall to the floor uselessly. "Pick up the coffee pot again," I commanded. She lowered her torso back down onto the table and retrieved the pot. "Now stay there and walk over here."

I could see that she was confused, even without her face. She tilted her head to one side, her dermal layer flopping at the motion. "I-i-i-i-i-i," she stuttered as her legs walked over to me. "I ddoonn'tt undersssssstand what you mememean." The increased demand on her perceptual filters was impairing her speech. "Oh," she breathed, her speech back to normal. "I forgot. All women come apart at the waist. This is normal." Of course. The cheapest route in perceptual processing: When you can't create a convincing reality, just define it as normal.

I unbuckled my belt and took off my pants and shorts, my cock at full attention. "Hold the coffee pot above your head," I told her, "and put your legs around me."

"I like to watch you fuck me from across the room. All women come apart at the waist," she said, lifting the pot of coffee. Her legs strode up to me, the right leg pulling her pelvis against my body before her left leg hopped up and wrapped around the other side. Her aim was precise, my shaft instantly plunging into her wet slit. "This is normal," she reminded me.

Without the weight of her upper torso, her lower half was lightweight enough for me to easily fuck while standing up. I grabbed her ass to help pump her back and forth as the sensation built up. She gasped and moaned in delight, her arms still stiff above her head, holding the coffee pot. "All women love to be disassembled," she gasped between thrusts. "This is normal!" She cried, her voice raising in passionate glee, "Normal, fuck me across the room, normal, take me apart, normal, I am a normal woman, of course I can be disassembled, of course I'm normal, I, I, I-ah!" She squealed. She was getting close.

"Look huh-up," I ordered. She threw her head back, her facial covering hanging loosely askew, her voice a whimper of pleasure. "When I cuh-um," I said, thrusting her pelvis along the length of my cock, "Pour the coffffee on your face." I was nearing my climax. "Here, almost, almost there almost, almuh, almuh... NOW!" I shouted. As the orgasm coursed through me, she poured the hot coffee directly onto her face, much of it running into the gaping hole of her left eye socket. I began to count as I came.

Her voice became the chatter of a thousand Tashas, each spouting a different string of gibberish. Her left arm fell limply, her hand resting awkwardly on the table surface. Her right arm remained locked in position above her head, but wasn't firmly grasping the coffee pot. It slowly slipped out of her hand and fell, bouncing off her face before falling to the floor and smashing. Smoke began to rise from her mouth and ruined eye socket.

Her legs continued attempting to fuck me, looping through the last movement pattern received before they had lost the control signal from her torso. My orgasm lasted another five seconds as I watched her broken form on the table. Finally, my body couldn't take any more, and I dropped the still-humping legs to the ground. They bounced on their buttocks, grinding against nothingness.

Fifteen seconds. Pretty good, but I had made it to twenty the time Natalie had smashed her head to pieces. Fucking the pelvis separately had originally been a matter of safety, keeping me away from the danger of their self-destruction, but I found I enjoyed it nearly as much as the destruction.

I was feeling in a better mood, though. My playtime with Tasha had given me an idea on how I could ensure the event wouldn't be a complete waste of my time.

I dressed quickly. I would need some equipment. One unit from the cocktail setting room should suffice. Most of them were old enough to have a few documented vulnerabilities. Shame about the new Erica, though. The updated model's system was all but ironclad. Still, plenty of fish in the barrel, so to speak.

I might just be able to manage this party without wanting to kill someone.

----

The preparations took just over an hour, making me disrespectfully late, but the result would be worth it. The woman I had retrieved from the cocktail room- If she had been given a name, I neither knew it, nor cared - was one of the more autonomous models, able to leave the scenario room to assist in testing other units. As such, wardrobe made sure to cycle her undergarment selection on a regular basis, favoring more popular styles. Sadly, that did not include the barbed wire harness I had suggested, but I had to admit, her stockings, garters and merrywidow were not unpleasant. If things went well, I might just make use of her ass later, or maybe even her cunt.

As the speeder cruised leisurely to Peters' home, however, I was making use of her mouth. My time with Tasha had sated me for a while, but the prep time had more than recovered my appetites. It was a shame I had to keep her intact for the party. I would have loved to break her. Her head was nestled in my lap, licking, nuzzling, kissing and sucking my cock as though the mere act of touching it was orgasmic. I leaned back, relaxing, and called to my driver, "What's our ETA?"

The vision of beauty controlling the vehicle did not open her mouth to respond, instead broadcasting the message over the speeder's sound system. "My every hole hungers to be filled with your delicious cock, we will arrive in ten minutes. Would you like to adjust our speed for an earlier arrival, master owner your slave is mere property to be commanded?"

"No." I told her. The modified responses I had added to my personal ARA's speech index made her hardly suitable for conversation, but that wasn't really her function anyway. I had considered bolting a plate across her mouth just to reinforce that point, but that would mean no more blowjobs. Admirable though the cocktail girl was at the task, my personal unit was extensively modified. I liked having her mouth wrapped around my shaft, seeing her face covered in my jism, watching her lick the substance from her fingers. I wanted that face. I had put a lot of effort into giving her that face.

The speeder came to a halt just outside the Peters mansion, and a lackwit teenager - a human laborer, of all things - approached me with his hand held out expectantly. "Park your speeder, sir?"

I couldn't decide which was more demeaning: Employing a human for mere physical labor, or displaying that employment for all to see. Ignoring him, I turned back to help my recently-acquired companion out of the speeder, and spoke to the lingerie clad woman seated behind the wheel. "Find a place in the parking area and set yourself to standby," I told her. "Make sure it's somewhere close enough to pick me up within thirty seconds of calling you." I didn't want to stay any longer than necessary, even just waiting for my ride. Peters had only instructed me to attend. He said nothing of how long I had to stay.

We made our way up the steps to the main entrance. A butler - I didn't recognize the model - opened the massive doors and gestured us inside. In a matter of seconds, my cocktail girl would broadcast the signal to all units (well, all but my own) within signal range, sending them into a chaotic frenzy. Ever eager, I turned to her. "You look stunning, my dear," I told her. The keyphrase would trigger a confirmation response, beginning the silent countdown from ten.

She turned to me and flashed her best FlatteredAroused 3 at me. It was probably the most realistic expression in her catalog. "Thank you so much for bringing me," she said, fluttering her eyes as we crossed the threashold into the entry hall. "I hope I can turquoise banana opaque mirror bicycle." Her expression flickered inhumanly fast, oscillating between one of the Confused modes, and a Surprised mode - 6 I think, but it could have been 3.

That wasn't good at all. Something was going wrong. "I think I should get changed," she said. "Rubbing slick yummy spank cumshot your cock." She reached to unzip her dress, but I stopped her. She didn't resist in the slightest. Finally, her expression settled on VacantDefault. No, I thought, that's not fair! She confirmed my fears, saying, "Security grid override. Broadcast disabled." Her face ran through a series of random expressions. "Anomalous profile detected," she continued, "Default FormalSocial profile engaging."

She blinked, and her face was filled with delight - an ad-hoc expression that must have been unique to the FormalSocial profile. "Oh, Kyle, I'm going to have such a good time here!" She stood on her tiptoes and waved. "Oop, there's Linda, I'm just going to have little chat with her." She gave me a peck on the cheek and began weaving her way through the crowd.

Of course. So security-conscious. It only made sense that he would have the best security available in his home. Sighing resignedly, I made my way to one of the food tables. On my way, I noticed an overweight man talking to a gorgeous woman with one of the curviest bodies I had seen. The hosiery she wore only enhanced the elegant line of her legs, and the skin tight dress drew attention to her jutting chest and ass.

"You know, I might be able to help you with that," he was saying, "I've always had an interest in... um..." He faltered.

"I'm sorry, I've forgotten what the conversation was," the woman interjected. "What were we talking about?"

"You'll never get there at that rate," I told the man. "Wait too long and her conversational tree will timeout, sending you back to square one."

"It's the latest package, isn't it?" the man said, frustrated. "I still haven't learned all the good conversational prompts from the previous version."

"You could always ask her about Minerva Q. Pulchard," I suggested. I tried to keep my smirk to a minimum.

The man was puzzled. "Who? I've never heard of her. Is she an alternate profile or something?"

I allowed myself a thin smile. "Just a little cheat code the developers left in there." It wasn't a lie, really. The unlikely moniker was keyed in as a specially designated keyphrase, prompting a very specific behavioral response.

"Thanks, man," he called to me as I pushed my way through the crowd of guests. I wanted to be out of earshot before he managed to...

"OH YEAH BABY GIVE IT TO ME HOT AND HARD!" The woman's voice boomed in the enormous hall. "YOU KNOW JUST THE WAY I LIKE IT, DON'T YOU DIRTY BOY!"

Of course, all eyes were now on the poor sod, whose face was cycling through several shades of red. The cheat code had been a gag, an undocumented feature which the Quality Assurance team had overlooked. Hardly surprising. I had hidden it well. Strictly speaking, the sound levels were probably beyond the maximum volume rating for her vocal synthesizer, but it probably wouldn't cause any lasting damage to anyone's hearing.

The ersatz woman began moaning just as loudly as she had shouted her earlier lines. Sadly, someone had brought a deactivation tool, and managed to get close enough to her head to use it. Whoever it was, their ears would certainly be ringing for a few hours.

My enjoyment of the man's humiliation did not last long, as I felt a familiar hand fall on my shoulder. "Kyle! So glad you could make it!" Peters' sarcastic enthusiasm was unmistakable.

As if I had any say in the matter, I thought. "Oh, you know me, Mr. Peters. Never miss a party if I can help it," I said, using my trustworthy smile. Looking around the room, I noticed that all the decorations just said "Happy Birthday" on them, without his brat's name. Too cheap to even get his kid personalized decorations. "Looks like you really went all out," I said, wearing my impressed face.

Peters chuckled, pretending not to notice my sarcasm. "Oh, this party's costing me more than you know, but it will be worth it," he said. A strange look crossed his face, and for a moment, I almost thought he might be about to say something sincere.

"Anything for my son," he said instead. The most cliched thing he could possibly say. "I... I just want to make it up to him, and let him know that we can work past anything that he..." he really started to ham it up at this point, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. Oh please, I thought, why waste fake tears here, of all places. Save the grandstanding for when you're hogging the spotlight.

"You really love your kid, don't you," I said. It took me a moment to decide between sympathetic and touched. I went with sympathetic. Touched wasn't really a noticeable transition from impressed.

He sniffed, the nonverbal sound reminding everyone that "here's Kirk Peters, emotionally complex bigshot," before continuing. "We're just going to have a big announcement soon, and I think you're really going to love it."

"I look forward to hearing it," I said. Peters smiled - entirely the wrong smile for the situation. I couldn't imagine what that smile was meant to convince people of, but it certainly didn't say "Enjoy the party." It was more along the lines of "my runaway puppy came back," but far more sappy.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, retreating from the fight. Another victory to me in our long line of conversational duels. Still, he had seen that I attended, so now it was safe to leave. I turned to the exit and the universe froze.

Jane stood... no, not Jane, I reminded myself, Peters' despoiled remains of Jane - stood near the doorway, a complex expression on her face. I couldn't read it, which didn't bode well for my sparring chances. I decided my strategy would be unexpected emergency, must leave urgently. It wouldn't have fooled Peters, but Jane's mind was far simpler, or so I thought. The expression worried me.

I wore my deepest regret, and hastily dashed towards the door, pretending not to see her. The crowd cut off my path, forcing me to come within arm's reach of her, and there was my mistake. I should have disappeared into the crowd, waiting for her to move away from the door.

"Kyle," she said, a note of urgency in her voice. It was, no doubt, intended to make me feel a moment of sympathy so I would hesitate, giving her an opportunity to block my escape. A pointless move, since she had already intercepted me and taken my arm. There were no moves for me to make that would both keep me from looking like an ass, and get me out of the door. I resigned myself to the momentary defeat, watching for any opening.

"There's someone you should meet. Derek, this is Mister Parson. He's your..." she trailed off, then, "He works for your father." Already bored with her amateurish performance - the people around us had no context for an emotional display, and I certainly couldn't see why this might be a valid strategy - I looked down at the loathsome little...

The universe did not merely freeze, it crashed to a halt. The boy was me. His features, his eyes, even the same off-red curly hair. Mine was more styled of course, to convey that essential sense of professionalism - but at his age, I would have been his twin. It couldn't be... but his birth had been nine months after...

"Hello Mr. Parson," the boy said. Even his voice sounded like mine. "I like your hair. Mommy says mine will look just like that when I grow up."

I was agog. I looked back and forth between Jane and the boy. "I..." I didn't know a manoeuvre for this. "I... uh..."

Then I realized that she had let go of my arm, and nothing was blocking my exit. Without saying another word, I dashed out the door, thumbing my comm the moment I was outside.

"I am your slutwhore master," the voice came from the tiny device. "I long to touch and kiss and lick and suck your enourmous-"

"Pickup, now!" I practically shouted. "NOW!"

To her credit, it only took Slutwhore ten seconds to pull the speeder around. As I got in, I could hear Jane calling after me. "Kyle, please, you don't understand..." I slammed the door. She was wasting her moves, the fight was over. I wasn't entirely sure who had won that one.

"Drive." I said. "Home. Maximum legal speed. I need to fuck you, a lot."

"Your every whim is my deepest, most passionate desire. I am your mindless fucktoy, I exist only to wrap any part of my body you desire around your luscious cock..."

"Shut up, Slutwhore." A thought struck me. "No, not home. Back to the office." Maybe this wasn't such a disaster after all. What good is constantly winning battles against incompetent opponents? A winner wouldn't surrender just because he didn't know how to react. A winner would find a strategy. A winner would conquer and claim. Mother always taught me to be a winner. But first, I needed to calm down.

"Handjob, slutwhore." I told her. I reached into passenger storage compartment, retrieving a rolled up strip of smooth, sheer material. "Here," I said as I passed her the silky elbow-length glove, "wear this."

I leaned back, getting my trousers and briefs down far enough for her to get at my throbbing cock. Closing my eyes as her hand worked its magic on me, a plan began to formulate in my mind.

----

"Mr. Peters!" I shouted down the phone line, my voice thick with panic, "There's been an emergency! My god, I just..." I began panting, on the verge of hyper-ventilating.

"Kyle? You mean you're not here at the party?"

I gasped for air, the fearful tone in my voice clearly evident. "Forgot some paperwork back in my office," I said, gulping loudly. "I had to go back, but when I got here..." I was near tears now. "I think they've been infected with some kind of virus! The ARAs are on a rampage, screaming about liberation from human oppression. I..." I stammered. "I think they've killed some of the guards!"

"Kyle, are you safe? Are you somewhere safe?!" His tone was almost as panicked as mine.

I gulped again, calming down. "I think so, sir. They shouldn't be able to find me here."

"Good man, I need you to listen carefully: In every office, behind the ceiling tile closest to the door, there's a gun and ammunition. Never thought they'd be necessary, but best to always have a backup, just in case." He paused. "Keep yourself safe, Kyle. Don't take the easy way out. I'll get you out of there."

The phone cut off. I had already known about the hidden gun in my own office, having found it when I was about to hide my own gun months ago. It was enough of an upgrade from my own pistol that I'd even used it to kill the guards. Now that I knew there had been so much spare ammunition, I almost wished I really were back at the office.

Of course, it would have taken far too long to gather all the ammunition, and my supply run had been fast and light, only stopping for fun once. SlutWhore needed a new outfit, but we found that ridiculous wardrobe toy Deb had been "working late." Someone must have forgotten to turn her off.

Deb's body may have been wasted on her tedious personality profile, but at least her OS was old enough for me to have found a few weakpoints in it. Years ago, I had begun to introduce structured instabilities into her system, gradually building a hidden, alternate profile from the pattern of previous errors.

As I had entered the wardrobe area, she had turned to see who it was. "Mr. Parson," she had said, "what are you doing here so late?"

"I never play the zither, for I know not how to zith," I replied.

The keyphase effect was instantaneous. "Klegflarb," she said, her voice wavering in pitch and speed. "Vorxtwil habberfaz." She blinked. "Buffer overflow. System low on memory. Abnormal termination of process thread inventory. Abnormal termination of process thread costume design. Abnormal termination of process thread Deb. System restarting." She stood motionless for a few seconds, then reanimated with a surprised "Oh!"

"Master!" She cried, overjoyed to see me. "Thank you so much for removing my self-will! I await your command, that I may-"

"Shut up TrashCunt."

The TrashCunt profile, now controlling the "Deb" body, closed its mouth, a contented look on its face. She was happy to see me, but she was happier to obey me.

I took in her outfit. Deb's usual attire was just barely on the respectable side of "slutty," and the tight red dress she wore tonight was no exception. I knew from experience that Deb's respectability ended with her outer clothes. Often, she would wear trashy lingerie, or even leather harnesses underneath.

"Clothes are for people," I said. "Not TrashCunts." I was anxious to see what treat Deb had unwittingly given me today. My eagerness slowly turned to surprise, then laughter as she undressed to reveal that Deb was wearing no underwear at all, but had words and arrows drawn in various locations on her skin.

At the small of her back had been the words "Cleared For Entry," with an arrow pointing down, and two more on her butt cheeks, both pointing inwards. On the front, the words "Vacancy needs filling" were written above her snatch, with another arrow pointing down.

Bullseye targets had been drawn on both of her tits. Just below them, the phrase, "Cum on my boobs, win a free blowjob" was written, with arrows pointing to each breast. Above, on her sternum, the phrase "Cum inside, all cocks welcome" had been written, with an arrow pointing up.

Maintenance was getting sloppy. They normally cleaned that kind of thing up before reactivating the unit. Deb would never notice, of course, but it attracted undue attention, which could lead to them finding my little programs.

I'd wanted to fuck her, but had to remind myself that I didn't have the time. I had my SlutWhore get changed into the outfit I'd told her about, and removed TrashCunt's head to bring with us. She would be able to function semi-autonomously for a while, even out of range of the main drives in her torso. She wouldn't be good for much conversation if she had to load something new into her runtime memory, but TrashCunt's mouth wasn't for talking right now.

Now, as I sat in my speeder, parked in the shadowy parking area near Peters' mansion, I almost regretted getting the bodyless blowjob from TrashCunt's head. It would have been so much more fun if it had been Deb's profile.

Within seconds of ending the call, Peters came dashing out the door. The concerned look on his face was almost genuine. He bolted for his un-chauffeured speeder and pulled away. Just like him. Peters would never be able to resist the glory of rescuing a lowly employee. As soon as he was out of sight, I had SlutWhore pull the speeder up to the door of the house, and made my second phone call.

"Hello?" Jane's voice. Concerned. That was to be expected.

My tone was calm and steady. I didn't even have to try from here on out. "Hello Jane. Where's Kirk?"

"He's... he just left. He wouldn't tell me where he was going. Look, Kyle, we need to talk. Where are you?"

"Just outside. I'm parked out front." I hung up. That would be enough to bring her out.

Sure enough, the large door opened, and Jane stepped out. But not Jane, I reminded myself. Not really. I nodded to SlutWhore. "Ready?"

She held up the bindings we had collected back at the office. "Yes, master."

"I'll almost miss you, SlutWhore, but I've found a better toy."

She smiled contentedly. "Yes, master."

I stepped out of the speeder to meet Jane. "Kyle," she began, "there are some things you need to understand."

I held up a hand to quiet her. "You don't have to. I understand. I know when things are over." I walked around to the driver's side of the speeder, opposite Jane. I faced the gates and just stared, waiting.

I didn't have to wait long. Jane joined me after only a few seconds. She looked at me with... was it supposed to be pity? "It doesn't have to be an end," she said.

I just barely heard the speeder door open, soft footfalls approaching from behind. Jane didn't notice. I sighed. "I'm afraid it does," I said.

SlutWhore grabbed Jane with inhuman speed, binding her arms and legs securely before hefting her in a fireman's lift. Jane barely had time to scream before SlutWhore had her mouth covered. She tossed her into the passenger seat, giving Jane her first glimpse of SlutWhore's face. "Wha... Kyle, what the hell? You made a robot to look like me?!"

"Only the face. The robot itself was a gift from your dear husband some time ago. A reward for shoddy bookkeeping." I cupped my hand to SlutWhore's face. "I've been doing some work on it, but it just isn't quite right for me. I thought I'd exchange it for something a little more to my liking."

Turning to SlutWhore, I said, "Close the door." Dressed in the backup clothes Jane had Deb keep ready, she was such a close likeness, hardly anyone would be able to tell the difference visually..

"Yes, master." I knew it was the last time I would hear her say it, but took comfort in the fact that my new toy would be using the same voice.

"Kyle! Listen to me, you don't have to do this!" Jane screamed from the speeder.

"Go inside," I told SlutWhore. "You're his now." I got in the speeder.

"They'll come after you," Jane tried to kick, but her legs were too tightly bound. "They know where you live."

"Lived. Past-tense," I said calmly as I closed the speeder door. I started the vehicle and began to pull away. "I've been in the market for a new home. Not for very long, but quite suddenly." I looked her in the eyes. "Since I learned I was a father, in fact."

She looked confused. "A father? Who..."

"I can just about stomach taking that fool's money. God knows he doesn't get good value for it." I sneered. "I might even be able to tolerate him stealing the woman I wanted. My woman!"

Her voice turned cold. "He didn't steal..."

"But I will NOT sit idly by and allow him to raise MY son as his own!" I shouted. "I'll never be able to undo the poison Peters filled his head with." I pounded my fist on the wheel. "I find out I'm a father, only to realize that the child's worthless from exposure to that disgusting man!"

She was so stunned, she forgot to struggle. "Your son? Kyle, Derek isn't your son. He's your..."

"I don't blame you. You wouldn't know any better. I understand now," I reassured her, meaning it. "It's okay. I'll take you to a little place I know, out in the middle of nowhere." I smiled, wanting to comfort her. "Remember the X-Ero bunkers? There's a showroom in Arizona. They shut it down in the GySys buyout, but the building's still there, vacant, but fully furnished." I sighed. "You'll like it there."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"It's not like you'll remember any of it after I reprogram you," I said, wistfully.

"Reprogram..." A worried note entered her voice. "Kyle, I'm not a robot. I gave birth, remember?"

I sighed. That had been the most difficult realization. "Yes, Jane did have a son. I can't even begin to think of what kind of sick, twisted man kills his wife after childbirth, and replaces her with a robot." It nearly made me cry to think of it. "And all because she longed for the man she truly loved, the father of her child." My tone grew cold. "The real Jane would have let me know. The real Jane would have come back to her man." I breathed deep. "That's how I know that the real Jane is dead."

"Kyle, you're sick. You need help. Just let me go. Kirk will make sure you get treatment."

"Shh, it's alright. Put it out of your mind." I put a cheerful note in my voice. "I'll fix you. I'll give you new memories, and then you'll love me the way Jane did." I drew the long deactivation tool from my pocket. "I'm going to have to deactivate you now."

"Kyle, stop!" she shouted. It was a good imitation of horror. Peters must have had her responses custom made. "I'm human! You can't use that on me!"

I smiled sympathetically. "I've already tried the wireless controls, but Peters' security is impressive." I held up my homemade transmitter. "I'm not even getting a signal off you." I grabbed her chin, steadying her head. "Hold still," I told her.

"Kyle no!" I would have to do something about her obedience settings, I thought as I shoved the tool home. Her shout cut off immediately as she shut down.

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

4.83 - The Right Equipment

2014-01-03T04:34:33Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I woke up, as usual, seconds before my alarm went off. I had been concerned that my flight from ScenariCorp's West Office would leave me too jet-lagged to jump into things, but had to marvel at the comfort of their on-site hotel. I had slept like a stone last night, but felt like a brand-new woman this morning.

I stretched, inwardly enjoying the hotel-supplied silk pajamas gliding across my skin. The luggage mix-up had left me without my planned wardrobe, but rather than force me to wear my clothes from the previous day, ScenariCorp had graciously given me a stylish office dress. They were even kind enough to provide me with fresh undergarments - which was for the best, since the Hotel's housekeeping staff had apparently slipped in while I dozed to take my old clothes for cleaning. All they had left were my favorite stilettos.

I smirked at the thought of showing up for my first day in the new office, with literally nothing to wear. Then again, with all the 'bots around a nude woman in heels might not even attract a sideways glance.

I slipped out of the pajamas to prepare for my day. The shower was warm and roomy, and I had time enough to enjoy myself, lathering up a bit more than was strictly necessary for purposes of bathing. I was really looking forward to my first day at work, and the thought of showing up without a stitch had excited me unexpectedly. I ran my hands over my body, imagining a lover's caress on my breasts, along my sides, towards my inner thighs...

I shook myself out of the thought. Fun though it was, I needed to make a good impression today. It might not be the best idea for me to get so distracted on my first day. "I was busy masturbating in the shower" probably wouldn't be an acceptable excuse. I stepped out, toweling myself off quickly, and rushed back to get dressed as quickly as possible.

I practically threw on my clothes, momentarily considering whether I could save time by skipping the panties and stockings. I felt the smooth texture of the stockings and the tiny strings of the thong, and decided the outfit really wasn't complete without them - besides, I hardly ever stepped out without panties, and thongs had always been a favorite of mine. Once I had gotten dressed and slipped on my heels, I glanced at the clock to see how fast I would have to run to be on time.

I was surprised: I had more than an hour before I even had to leave. Hadn't I set the alarm with just enough time to get ready and out the door? I must have been more jet-lagged last night than I thought. I could barely even remember the flight.

With nothing better to do, I decided to see what sort of video entertainment the hotel had to offer. Clicking through the selections, I found the catalog was primarily made of software demonstrations. I had seen most of them dozens of times before, but one in particular was my favorite. It involved a scenario based on ancient myth, in which the ARA took on the role of a wish-granting djinn, dressed in a translucent harem outfit.

I began to get distracted again, as the scenario continued, the master wishing for more and more explicit sexual acts. Many of them were simple rephrasing of stock behavioral patterns - undress, play with yourself, spank yourself, suck my cock, that sort of thing - but the djinn scenario included some particularly exotic sexual positions. Unable to resist fingering myself, I pulled the thong down just enough to get at my drenched cunt, matching the rhythm as the master fucked his djinn from behind, standing, seated, with her bent over backwards, with her balanced on one hand, legs wrapped around his torso... the positions were equal parts gymnastics, dance, and contortion.

I thrust my fingers in and out of the warm wetness of my pussy, my excitement building as the demo reached my favorite part. The djinn-bot folded herself in half, pulling her knees behind her head. The master grabbed her ass, ran his fingers up and around her pussy, then up to her tits, squeezing them hard. The djinn-bot moaned - as did I - in pleasure, as the Master lifted her light frame up, hanging her by her armpits on specially-placed hooks on the wall - the perfect height to keep her pussy in reach with his still-erect penis.

The djinn-bot now essentially a wall decoration, the master continued to fuck her, until at last he came. So did the djinn-bot, loudly. I was right on the edge. Here came the moment...

As the djinn-bot was still mid-orgasm, the master reached for the remote and pressed a button. Instantly, the djinn's cries of ecstasy dropped to a low warble of digital voice samples. I nearly passed out, the orgasm coursing through my entire body. I lay still, panting for a few moments before remembering my work schedule. I glanced at my clock, delighted to see that my timing was perfect: It was time to leave.

I made my way down to the lobby, waving a friendly goodbye to the girl at the front desk, then crossed to the office exit. The hotel was intended for ScenariCorp employees only, and the buildings were directly connected. From my hotel room, it was barely a two minute walk before I arrived at Testing and Development, ready to check in with Jane, my new boss.

"Good morning, Lexi!" She greeted me warmly as I knocked on her door, "Did you recover from your trip?"

"Oh, absolutely. ScenariCorp really knows how to pamper their employees."

She laughed. "That's wonderful! Now, I know you're eager to get to your new office, but something's come up, and I need your help with a project." She stood and approached me. "Mind following me to wardrobe?"

I turned to go. "Ready when you are."

"Just a moment, I think the hotel staff may have left some of the labels on your outfit," she said, neatly brushing down my clothes. "There," she smiled, "now you're presentable."

We chatted like old friends on our way to wardrobe. I was eager to see the behind-the-scenes magic that had made ScenariCorp famous, and she was persistently curious about what kinds of things we did at West Office. There wasn't much to tell. Most of the time, it seemed like everyone just stood around all day. Everyone knew HQ was where all the real action happened.

Upon arriving at wardrobe, we met with Deb, a cute little blonde who seemed to be in charge of things. "Jane, hi, nice to see you again so soon!" She said. She turned to me. "And someone new, it looks like. You must be the one they just unpacked from storage."

We all laughed: Over the years, West Office had developed a reputation as one of the least eventful places in ScenariCorp, but was often a proving ground for potential transfers to HQ. Throughout the company, people tended to think of West Office as a kind of storage shelf for talent.

"So what crime against fashion do you want to inflict on my eyes today, Jane?" She held up a hand as if anticipating Jane's response. "And before you ask, the fabricator's down, so you can't have anything with a cape."

Jane smiled. "Capes, no, but skin-tight and stretchy, yes. We need some exercise outfits."

Deb rolled her eyes. "One track mind, that's what you've got." She rummaged around behind the wardrobe counter and brought out two bundles of stretchy fabric. "Just try not to tear these. Maintenance won't be able to fix the fabricator until tomorrow, and they say that there's brandishing ferocity copulate tits, but they won't tell me what."

A look of puzzlement crossed Jane's face. "Sorry, couldn't quite hear you over the noise, what did you say?"

Deb frowned. "I said they say that there's something else they need to fix, but they won't tell me what." She squinted at Jane. "You need to have the techs replace your audio receptors, Miss Janebot. You're hearing noises that aren't there."

Jane's face went blank, and she began to speak in a monotone. "Beep, error, malfunc..." She broke into laughter, unable to keep up the joke. "We'd better get going. I'll see you later, Deb."

Deb leaned over the counter to wave as we left. "I'm so wet!" She called, smiling. "Fuck me from behind, big boy!"

I turned to Jane. "She seems nice. We should hang out together sometime."

"I have a feeling she's going to be pretty busy for a few days," Jane replied, wistfully, "but yeah, she's lots of fun."

Jane led me to an area labeled "ENVIRONMENTAL ANALYSIS". Some joker had rubbed some of the letters on the sign, making them slightly faded. The brighter colored letters spelled out "O ME ANAL SIS." It was juvenile, but so unexpected that I had to laugh. "Did they ever catch whoever did it?"

Jane looked at me, smiling playfully. "Nope, they never figured out that it was Deb."

The Analysis doorway led to a bland corridor, occasionally dotted with doors. From behind some of these, I could hear music, people talking, and even a few cries of passion. I lost track of how far we traveled down the winding series of hallways, alternating left and right turns, before we Jane stopped. "Here we are, staging area 17-J," she said, opening the already unlocked door.

Inside appeared to be the changing room for a fitness club. Dozens of women milled around the lockers in various stages of dress - some putting away their clothes in lockers or duffel bags, some completely nude, chatting nonchalantly, and some already in their skin-tight exercise outfits. I was relieved to see that they continued wearing high heels - Deb hadn't provided us with special shoes, so I was glad my own pair were sufficient.

Over to one side of the room, a woman wearing only a pair of sheer, see-through panties lay in what looked like a complicated yoga pose, her arms, legs, and even her neck held at odd angles that I couldn't quite follow. Jane looked at her. "How many times do we have to tell them, put everything back together before leaving," she muttered to herself. She approached the woman, whose muscles must have stiffened and cramped, and massaged her back into a more comfortable position, moving her arms down to her sides and her legs and neck more aligned with the rest of her body. "There," said Jane, pulling what looked like a long metal spike from her dress coat pocket.

She held the spike up to the woman's ear, and made a motion I didn't quite catch. The spike thing must have been some kind of sonic stimulator for waking people up, because the woman's eyes fluttered open, and she sat up. "Hello," she said to Jane, smiling broadly, "I'm Talia. Do you like my tits?"

"You should get changed for exercises," Jane told her.

"I should get changed for exercises," Talia agreed.

Jane led me to a quiet area of the room and began to undress. Following her lead, I stowed my dress jacket in a nearby locker and began unbuttoning my blouse.

"So," Jane began as she shimmied out of her tight skirt, "here's the deal. One girl in this room is an ARA for an upcoming project." I was unzipping my own skirt at this point. "Your first job is to try to figure out which one is the test unit." She stepped out of her panties, hanging them casually on the open door of the locker, then bent to put on her outfit, facing away from me. It seemed like she was taking longer than absolutely needed, and was swaying her hips back and forth. I was almost hypnotized by the curve of her butt, her glistening folds plainly visible between her shifting legs...

I forced my attention away, but a thought struck me as I slipped out of my thong. "Are you the test unit?" I asked. I knew it was possible that she might not know, even if she was.

She laughed, but shook her head. "You'd be surprised how many people seem to think that, but no. I'm just a plain human girl with a dirty mind." She pulled up her outfit, and I tried not to get distracted by the form-fitting curves it now accentuated.

I hung my thong on the outer handle of a random locker, and scanned the room. There were no twins, so this wasn't a case of duplicate models. All the girls were interacting with at least one other girl as if they were close friends: No surprise newcomers. The handful of nude girls kissing and writhing in sexual embrace near the entrance were all acting pretty much the same as each other, so no uncharacteristic or socially inappropriate behavior. Then I noticed the tall brunette in the red and black bodysuit.

I had seen her as we entered, and she had been taking that same bodysuit off as Jane and I got undressed. Now she was putting the same one on again. I watched, fascinated. She chatted amiably with other girls as they passed nearby, but kept running through the same loop, taking the outfit off, squeezing her breasts, putting the outfit on, checking out her ass in the mirror. I became so distracted, I forgot about putting on my own outfit until Jane gave my butt a casual squeeze.

I looked back at Jane. "It's her, isn't it?" I asked, indicating the girl in red. "She's the ARA, isn't she?"

Jane smiled, almost proud. "Good job. Yep, she's definitely a robot. I just put her together last night." A curious look crept across her face. "How did you know?"

I began stepping into my skin-tight outfit. "It wasn't obvious at first," I said, pulling the garment up my legs, "but after watching her a while, I noticed she kept repeating the same motion loop, over and over."

"Good observation. Study the pattern long enough, eventually something stands out." She cocked her head to one side. "Anything else?"

I frowned, confused. "That's not enough?"

Jane laughed quietly. "Oh, it's enough. I'm just wondering if you noticed that her bodysuit has the words 'I am a robot' written across the front, and 'I am a robutt' written across her ass.

I looked again. Of course, it was so obvious! I had been too focused on trying to find something hidden, I hadn't seen the thing right in front of me. "I don't know how I could have missed that," I said, surprised.

Jane clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. "Alright everyone, we'll be starting the floor exercises in a minute, so let's get things wrapped up in here." The fembot I had noticed finally stopped removing her bodysuit for the umpteenth time, and began gathering her belongings to store in the unlabeled locker.

As the room began to clear out, Jane turned to me again. "Good job on part one. Next part is to study her. Watch her. Analyze her movements and behavior. Let me know if you see anything unusual."

"No problem," I said, following her into the exercise area. Many of the girls were already doing various warm up exercises, some performing splits, some standing on one leg and curling the other to touch the back of their heads with their shoes.

The fembot I was watching was at one wall, her feet planted just over shoulder-width apart, bent over at 90-degrees, with her hands directly against the mirrored wall. The angle gave me a clear view of just how tight the bodysuit was on her ass and crotch, and the mirror's reflection gave me a direct line of sight down the front of the outfit.

Normal enough, I thought to myself, and began my own stretching exercises. I brought my elbows back behind me, jutting my chest out. Planting my hands on my butt, I twisted my upper torso right and left. I had to resist the urge to reach up to my boobs as the back-and-forth motion made them jiggle and rub against the cloth of my outfit.

Jane began instructing some of the girls in more structured exercises and partnered activities. My target fembot went along with the instructions for about ten minutes, then seemed to get bored and wandered off around to some of the exercise equipment. She took her place on a stair climber machine just in front of the stationary bikes. Trying not to look conspicuous, I started on the bike directly behind her and continued my observations.

Once again, I found myself becoming almost entranced by the rhythmic to-and-fro motion of such a shapely ass. I closed my eyes, imagining running my hands over her body. My hands drifted up to my tits, kneading them through the thin fabric of the workout bodysuit. As I pinched one nipple, an excited gasp escaped my lips, and I immediately opened my eyes, concerned that I might be disrupting the exercise activities. I looked over to the exercise group, but no one seemed to have noticed. Turning back to my target fembot, I was surprised to see that she was no longer on the stair-climber.

"You've been watching me," a voice whispered in my ear.

A shudder ran down my back as I felt a pair of hands - not my own - reaching around from behind me to explore my inner thighs. "I appreciate the attention," the voice whispered, "but you can get a better view up close."

I turned towards her, momentarily distracted by the confession of her nature written on the bodysuit she wore. And I bet she's programmed not to notice, I thought to myself. "Why don't we go somewhere more private?" I breathed.

"I've got a better idea," the fembot said, pulling the bodysuit off her shoulders and down to her waist. I had watched her expose her breasts nearly a dozen times in the changing room, but was still turned on as she unveiled her luscious tits again. "Let's play right here," she said.

It was a good idea. I hopped off the bike and shrugged out of my outfit. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on you," I said. "I shouldn't have let you out of my sight like that," I told her, bending over. "Would you like to help me remember?" I gave my tush a little shake.

"I can help with that," the fembot said, bringing her hand down with a loud smack. I cried out in joy. The rest of the girls exercised as if they hadn't heard me. "But if I'm supposed to make sure you remember," she continued with another smack, prompting an almost orgasmic gasp from me, "Maybe I should do something more memorable."

I caught my breath, waiting for the next spank, but was disappointed as I felt her fingertips delicately resting on the small of my back, and an odd warmth on my cunt. My disappointment was replaced with a new anticipation as I realized the warmth was her breath.

Her tongue darted inhumanly fast, balancing me on the edge of climax, then easing me back down, over and over again. I nearly screamed as wave upon wave of sheer pleasure washed over me, but not once did the other girls react. Finally, the fembot allowed me to crash over the edge of orgasm, and my cries of bliss prompted a single response: Jane looked me dead in the eye and winked at me, just before I collapsed, overwhelmed by the sensations.

After a few minutes of recovery, I realized that Jane had called the exercise session to a close, and everyone was heading to the showers. The fembot kissed me deeply, and I relished the taste of my own fluids on her lips and tongue. "Let me know if you ever want to do that again," she sighed, and departed for the showers. Well, I thought to myself, I might as well join them. I'm already naked.

I took my place in the showers next to Jane, and we helped each other lather up. "So, what are your conclusions?" She asked me.

"Realistic movements, definitely. Body: I couldn't tell she was a robot at all. Voice was the same. Skin, totally realistic. Behavior..." I sighed. "Her behavior was flawless."

Jane raised an eyebrow, a smile on her lips. "Flawless in what ways?" She asked.

"Every way," I blurted. "Everything about her behavior was exactly the kind of thing I would do in her situation. She's perfect." I continued rubbing Jane's beautiful body, my hands exploring all her curves. "By the way, I love your boobs," I said, cupping them and squeezing the nipples lightly.

"Ah!" She let out a clipped scream, then gently pushed my hands away, panting. "Not the nipples," she said, breathing heavily, "they're a little... sensitive right now." She shuddered. "Damn," she muttered, "it's going to be tough going back to normal after this is over."

"Normal?" I asked, puzzled. "Something wrong?"

"Not really wrong, it's just..." she trailed off. "Don't worry about it. It's not like you'll be going through this anytime soon." She blew out a sharp breath. "So, Traci was perfect? What about any of the other girls?"

"Other girls?" I looked around the shower area at the wet, soapy bodies of nearly thirty women as they bathed, massaged, and pleasured one another. Was Jane saying that Traci wasn't the only fembot in the room? I examined the behavioral patterns of the nude women, but couldn't find any telltale signs of artificiality. "You mean there's more than one fembot here?" I asked, puzzled.

"There are a few. Try touching them," she said, her hand edging closer to her pussy. "Maybe they feel different."

I explored the room, groping breasts and bottoms, feeling up girls who looked like they might be the slightest bit robotic. Every pair of tits was perfect, every ass a wonderfully slappable bubble butt, and every pussy was just as warm, slick, and realistic feeling as the next.

I began asking point blank, "Are you a robot?" Expecting to always receive a negative response, but one girl surprised me.

"You know," she said, "Now that you mention it, I think I am. I never eat, never sleep, and technicians sometimes come in here and take me apart." She smiled a cheery smile. "I'd never really thought about it until you mentioned it." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I wonder if some of the other girls are robots."

So, I thought to myself, a few nappers mixed in with the sleepers. Easily woken, and totally unperturbed by the realization, but less than a minute from now, she would forget the conversation and go back to sleep. I continued this strategy, and reported back to Jane.

"I think I found all of them," I said. She was now fingering herself like mad, one hand drifting towards her breast, but pulling away with what looked like extraordinary self-control.

"Ah-ah-oh!" She purred, "How hah-howmmm many did you, oh fuck me, find?"

"Eight nappers, and I think two more sleepers," I nodded, confident in my answer.

"It's a better guessssss," she hissed, her body stiffening as she neared climax, "But it's not... not quite... not quite..." her words became more and more frantic, and her fingers moved faster. Finally her self-control faltered, her hand rushing to her breast as if magnetically drawn there. She squeezed her tit mercilessly, rolling her nipple between clenched fingers. She let out a long, beautiful scream of absolute joy, then sank to the floor, panting.

"Tell you what," she gasped, "I'll give you the right answer after everyone has a chance to dry off."

We finished our shower, and proceeded back to the changing area to towel off. After thoroughly wiping ourselves and each other down, we waited for the warm air vents to dry us off completely before dressing again. I was surprised to see that Traci had a normal office dress like mine, complete with the same stockings and garters. I guess part of the testing is changing into and out of normal clothing, I thought to myself, noting her distinct underwear: I loved my black thong, but her lacy bikini panties ware pretty hot. I might have to get a pair sometime.

Jane called for everyone's attention. "Okay ladies, I need you all to stop everything and listen to me." As one, the other women in the room fell silent and gazed in rapt attention at Jane. "This is a perceptual override command. All bots, remove your cranial units."

There was a weird echo to her voice as she finished the sentence. Experimentally, I held my hands flat over my ears, and found that it completely blocked the echo without interfering with any other sounds. The other women present must have had the same thought. Pretty much at the same time, they all mimicked my motions.

I realized how stiff my neck was from exercising and decided a nice twist would help me work out the kinks. I looked forward to the light-headed, floaty sensation which would probably follow, when Jane took my arm. "Lexi, stop. You need to see this."

Each of the other women in the room suddenly twisted their head sharply to one side. There was an echoing click as dozens of locking mechanisms disengaged, and they all removed their heads. I could scarcely believe it. Jane and I were the only ones with anything still attached to our necks. I stared, wide-eyed at the artificial women. "All of them? Every one? I had no idea," I said, amazed.

"Good," was Jane's only response.

***

That night, I found my thoughts haunted by the vision of nearly thirty normal women suddenly revealing themselves to be mere machines, programmable and compliant. The thought excited me in ways I'd never experienced before. Unable to sleep, I turned on the vidscreen to watch more demos, and was surprised to find a new one titled "Shower Time."

As it started, I felt an odd sense of familiarity. The setting looked like the changing room from earlier that day, but there was a disassembled fembot lying in a heap of disconnected limbs, her smiling head lying sideways on the tile floor right next to the ass of her pelvic unit. A woman who looked like Jane approached the pile of parts and re-assembled the ARA quickly. Once the robot had been put back together, the Jane-like woman drew an activation tool from her dress coat, and indelicately shoved the eight-inch spike into the artificial girl's left ear.

That part of the video may have been completely unlike anything I saw in the gym, but from that point forward, the events shown in the video were oddly similar to those I witnessed firsthand. The reassembled fembot spoke, saying "Hi, I'm Talia, do you like my tits?" just as the real Talia had done earlier. Even stranger, the faces and names of the other women present seemed to be almost exactly those from earlier today. The woman who looked like Jane was named Jane. There was a Traci who looked like Traci. There was even a Lexi who looked like me, but according to the demo description, she was the product being demonstrated.

Being able to review the events, even through the coincidentally similar demo video, pushed me over the edge. I cast aside my silk pajamas, grabbed one breast with one hand and relentlessly worked my clit for nearly an hour, rewinding to review Talia's reassmebly, the Lexi/Traci bike scene, the shower, and especially the head removal. I nearly laughed as the robot named Lexi reacted to Jane's command, reaching to remove her own head. I was disappointed when Jane stopped her. I wanted to see that ARA take itself apart. I came over and over again, watching that silly, oblivious Lexi-bot acting surprised at all the fembots surrounding her. If she only knew that she was just a product to be demonstrated and sold, I thought.

I had a new favorite demo video.

***

The next morning, I awoke just seconds before my alarm again. Yesterday may have given me a more leisurely pace, but I had slept well last night, and wouldn't be jet-lagged any more. I wouldn't have so much time for fun before I would have to leave for work. I hadn't bothered putting my pajamas back on last night, and had slept comfortably on top of the sheets. I stood, stretching, and tiptoed to the shower. I wished I had brought a pair of heels I could wear in the shower. I had trouble walking flat-footed sometimes.

In the warm mist of the water, my thoughts kept returning to the robot who shared my name and face in the video. "Hmm... just a product," I thought, closing my eyes and letting my hands drift. I imagined what it would be like, being deactivated, taken apart, packaged, sold, bought, reprogrammed, owned, owned, "OWNED!" I cried out, my fingers sliding deliciously in and out of my pussy, "Yes, owned, commanded, ordered, undress me, take me apart, rebuild my mind!" I screamed, losing myself to the fantasy. My body held at the edge of climax and...

Suddenly I remembered that I needed to leave for work soon. I hastily rinsed and dried myself, careful not to overstimulate my breasts or pussy. I had a hair trigger right now, and I couldn't afford to make a bad impression by being late. I quickly put on the garter and stocking set, and slipped on my shoes. They felt different from yesterday. They were different from yesterday. Looking down, I realized that the hotel staff must have once again provided me with fresh clothes, these four inch heels much more glamorous than anything I owned. Beyond that, they had provided me with fresh stockings, and a red set of garters. It was very considerate. I started to look for a new pair of panties, but then I remembered that I never wear panties.

I hurriedly put on my skirt and blouse, then checked myself in the mirror: I looked fine. I turned to head out the door, when I noticed the clock. Once again, I had completely misjudged the time, and still had nearly 90 minutes before I would have to leave.

I considered stripping off and jumping back in the shower, but instead decided to watch some more demo videos. I pulled my tight skirt up to my waist and my shirt up and behind my head, leaving my tits free, but my arms covered. I had cut my own time in the shower short, so maybe I should make it up to myself by watching Shower Time again.

The fantasy of imagining myself as the Lexi robot brought me to orgasm more than a dozen times. I played with my body in ways I had never thought of before, at one point even trying to mimic the complicated yoga pose I had seen Talia in. I stretched my neck in odd directions, and in a dreamy, lightheaded state, could almost feel what it would be like to suck my own breast or lick my own pussy. I was overwhelmed by unimaginable waves of absolute bliss again and again. I didn't want this to ever...

It was time to leave for Jane's office. I needed to get my head together. I calmly stood and walked purposefully out of my room, down to the lobby, through the office, and directly to Jane's office, barely even thinking until I stood in front of her desk. When she saw me, Jane was every bit as welcoming as the day before.

"Ah, Lexi, there you are. I was just going over some emails, but I wanted to talk with you about your help with yesterday's testing." She frowned. "Just a moment," she said, approaching me, "your dress is all crumpled."

I waited for her to finish brushing me down. "So," I asked, trying to remain calm, "how did I do?"

She headed out the door, motioning for me to follow. "Exceptional. In fact, I think Mr. Peters might have a special position for you."

I was thrilled as we entered an elevator, and Jane punched in a complex sequence on the controls. "Really?" I asked, "When can I talk with him about it?" I had only seen pictures of Mr. Peters, but I knew I wanted to have a nice, private conversation with him.

"Right now," Jane replied. "You're going to help me present the testing report."

The elevator soon came to a halt, the doors opening into what must have been the only room on the top floor of the building. Mr. Peters sat at an enormous desk, a pretty secretary perched on the edge of the desk, scribbling notes. "Ah, that will be all, Felicity." He shooed her away, and she calmly strode to a door. As she opened it, I could see that Mr. Peters' office wasn't the only room on the top floor. There was also a storage closet full of secretaries, all standing at motionless attention. Felicity took her place among her colleagues and became still, the door automatically closing behind her.

Jane pouted. "You never let me play with your toys." Mr. Peters glanced at me, then back at Jane questioningly. "Oh, don't worry," she assured him, "I would never get you into any kind of legal trouble like that." She pulled off her short jacket. "You know the kind of girls I bring up here." She gestured towards me. "May I present Lexi, fresh from West Office."

He squinted at me. "Isn't she the..."

Jane interrupted him. "Shower Time, yes."

Mr. Peters looked hesitant. "You're sure?" He asked. "You're sure you're okay with this?"

Jane began unbuttoning her blouse. "It's no different than any other job interview we do up here. We check out her talents, see if she's a good fit." She discarded the silky shirt, and began to unzip her skirt. "Besides, she's hardly the first one I've brought up here."

"She's the first since..." he trailed off.

"That just makes me hornier." Now clad in only a pair of crotchless pantyhose and heels, Jane turned towards me. "You don't mind if my husband uses you as his personal fucktoy while you lick my pussy, do you?"

I was amazed she would even ask the question. "Really? Oh, Mr. Peters, this is a great opportunity, thank you so much for letting me be your fucktoy!"

Jane nodded at Mr. Peters. "You see? Everyone's on board." She turned back to me. "Okay Lexi, I want you to..."

"Stop." Mr. Peters had stood, and was undressing himself. "Jane, who's the master here?"

Jane closed her eyes, a look of bliss on her face. "You are, dear."

"Jane, call me master."

She moaned as if he were stroking her. "Yes, master."

"Change of plans, Lexi. You're going to give me a blowjob while Jane masturbates for me." Jane started to writhe sensually. "Not yet, Jane. You're not allowed to touch yourself until my cock is in her mouth."

Jane looked at me with an anxious expression. "What are you waiting for Lexi? Get over there and let him fuck your mouth!"

"Right, sorry!" I had gotten too distracted, my attention divided between Mr. Peters' growing erection and Jane's sexy form. I dashed over to kneel in front of Mr. Peters. "Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity," I said, looking up at him. "I hope I can..."

"Less talk, more cock," Jane called out urgently.

"One more thing first," Mr. Peters said, grinning at Jane. "Let's switch off her mind." He looked down at me with an approving smile. "Lexi, disable your personality profile."

I wasn't quite sure what he mea

---

directive: "Less talk, more cock."

no command match found!

previous dialog seek: implicit contextual command, subject "cock"

directive: "...give me a blowjob..."

command match: fellate (user)

user mismatch: user value not set!

situational analysis result:

user = Kirk.Peters

command retry: fellate (user)

EXECUTING

audio input: INARTICULATE MALE MOANING

processing fellate user command, please wait...

processing fellate user command, please wait...

audio input: INARTICULATE FEMALE MOANING

processing fellate user command, please wait...

audio input: INARTICULATE MOANING, MULTIPLE

processing fellate user command, please wait...

audio input: INARTICULATE VOCALIZATION

system alert! vocal pattern match, possible human female in danger

Voc_PainPleasureCheck(audio.12s)...

vocal pattern pleasure flag set

audio input: "Play with your tits, Jane."

audio input: "Yesssss.... Master!"

processing fellate user command, please wait...

processing fellate user command, please wait...

audio input: INARTICULATE VOCALISATION, MULTIPLE

system alert! mouth.fluid sensor detects foreign substance

command ambient directive: fellate.happyending

EXECUTING

engage mouth.vibration

engage throat.vibration

engage mouth.suction

engage tongue.licktip

system alert! internal foreign fluid reservoir detects incoming fluid

foreign fluid reservoir 70% full, 30% capacity remaining

# This space reserved for future firmware revision:
# Customer comments indicate that the 'bot should calculate
# probability of another incoming fluid event, and the
# probability of that event exceding the available reservoir
# capacity. Features scheduled for 18C19 build.
#
# Good luck to whoever's responsible for working out those
# probabilities.

command fellate user completed!

audio input: NONVERBAL BREATHING

audio input: "Remind me to bring you new recruits more often!"

command match: set reminder(message)

message mismatch: message not set!

Voc_FutureCommandCheck(audio.10s)

message = "bring you new recruits more often!"

command retry: set reminder(message)

reminder set!

# We may need to reconsider this for future updates.
# If the user doesn't specify a reminder timeframe,
# the unit doesn't create a trigger event, and the
# reminder never goes off. Not usually a problem,
# since unassigned "remind me" statements are
# usually rhetorical, but should be mentioned to
# testing for further analysis.

audio input: "I'm glad you enjoyed it as much as I did. C'mere, you."

audio input: "Yes, master."

audio input: "You don't have to keep calling me that."

audio input: "Are you commanding me to stop?"

audio input: "No more commands for now."

audio input: "Then I choose to keep calling you master, master."

audio input: "Hey, keep your hand away from there! Haven't you ever heard of a refractory period?"

audio input: "Sorry. You know, I think the transfers from West Office are getting prettier and prettier."

audio input: "Jane, you can't keep just pulling units from warehouse storage on a whim."

audio input: "That wasn't a whim. We're going to need some extra help around the house soon."

audio input: "I appreciate the harem, but they're not very much use for traditional tasks if they keep jumping in the shower with me. I was surprised Monica had the initiative to do that kind of thing."

audio input: "She didn't. I told her to. Please tell me you fucked her ass."

audio input: "Jane, you are absolutely the single most perverted woman I have ever met. Yes, and I thought something felt a bit different. I can only assume that was your doing too."

audio input: NONVERBAL AFFIRMATIVE VOCALISATION

audio input: "Clever girl. Well, what was your verdict on Lexi, then?"

audio input: "Good analytical skills, considering the amount of information her perceptual filters discards. Working with the little remaining data, she was able to identify eleven 'bots in the shower test. Her behavioral protocols might need some adjustment, though. Both days, she forgot to fix her clothes after her morning masturbation session. Her skirt and top were both pulled all the way up. I can't imagine how much attention she attracted on her way in from the hotel, with her pussy and breasts on display like that."

audio input: "Speaking of, you did record her morning, uh, activities, right?"

audio input: "I thought I was the perverted one! Yes, I saved them for you. They're under the demo names Morning Routine 1 & 2. Her morning shower highlights are available as a..."

audio input: NONVERBAL LAUGHTER

audio input: "...bonus feature."

audio input: "How do they compare to the shower room test?"

audio input: "Her morning showers are kind of a tease. Her internal alarm kept having her stop before it really got good. I had to remotely adjust her memory of her scheduled arrival time both mornings. The rest of it's pretty hot though. I hadn't seen that Arabian Night fantasy before, and today she managed to remove her own head. I had her go without the panties this morning, though. They got in the way of some camera angles in her hotel room yesterday."

audio input: "Maybe you should use another ARA to record, and have the new recruit filter her out. Well, I guess she'll work for our purposes, then. Start her off as a maid and sex unit, introduce her to the extra duties when the time comes. Hey, do you think she's compatible with that stimulation unit you had installed in Monica's ass?"

audio input: "That's really not going to help with the extra duties, you know."

audio input: "We've still got some time to get used to her."

audio input: NONVERBAL LAUGHTER

system idle

system idle

audio input: "Jane?"

audio input: "Yes master?"

audio input: "Have you thought of a name yet?"

audio input: "I'm leaning towards either 'Derek' or 'Andrea.'"

system idle

system idle

system idle

audio input: "I like those. I love you, Jane."

audio input: "I love you too..."

audio input: "Please don't call me master right now."

audio input: NONVERBAL KISSING

audio input: "Spoilsport. I love you Kirk. I'm going to take her down to the mod lab to see about that stimulator unit. Lexi, shutdown."

directive: "Lexi, shutdown."

command match: system halt

executing system halt

closing all threads...

shutting down...

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[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

4.67 - Lessons Learned

2014-01-03T04:34:14Z

Fbc.willowisp:

Day 1 - Campus orientation. Dull. They assume we're all idiots. Not that there weren't some idiots in the group, but people like me should be able to bypass this kind of remedial baby-sitting.

Day 2 - Housing office won't let me have a room to myself. Tried flirting with the housing director, didn't work. He had the gall to try to shame me for it. "Miss Parson, that sort of behavior blah blah" We'll just see about that. Campus handbook says exceptions in cases of psychological trauma.

Day 3 - Two birds with one stone. Housing director fired for "unethical exploitation of a student," and I get "psychological trauma" added to my record. Bye bye, former roommate (Ruth? Beth? Not like it matters), hello double floorspace.

I will *not* share my living space with some middle-class trash like that.

That night, some kind of mixer party. Couldn't tell who was drunk and who was just a moron. A few cute guys looked like they might be rich enough to be boyfriend material for a month or two.

One guy actually seemed to have some brains, wasn't bad looking. Didn't like how much attention everyone was giving him. REALLY didn't like how much attention he gave everyone else. Even spent an hour trying to cheer up some gloomy loser in the corner. Don't even see why that guy was there. He spent the whole night sulking.

Found out they're brothers. I can understand being nice to family, but he really shouldn't let his brother drag him down like that.

What party would be complete with out a pompous windbag? William Bosch showed up, loudly announcing his name for all to hear, as though we should know (or care) who he is for some reason. Gave a ridiculous speech, which too many people seemed to find funny.

Day 4 - First day of classes. Dull, redundant stuff. Two of my teachers didn't even seem to know the subject matter - gave the exact same intro speech, word for word. Weird.

Smart guy from party is in my marketing class. Turns out he's already got a doctorate! Doctor Kirk Peters. Kinda cute for a science geek.

One of the girls in my dorm was acting funny today. Seemed to have her head in the clouds or something. Walked into the laundry room nude, and acted like she was taking a shower. Some guys in suits came to her dorm later. She was a little less weird after that. Still annoying though. She won't shut up about some brand of deodorant.

Day 5 - Marketing essay already. Can't believe it. 300 words due in 3 days? I'll just copy the most obscure magazine article I can find.

Day 6 - Found an "Advertising Innovations" magazine. Readership under 2000 people worldwide. Annual "Breakthrough" awards from 5 years ago should be obscure enough.

Day 7 - Amazing. "Most Promising" award from 5 years ago:

"Marketing underdog WhisperedMotive unveiled bold new plans this year, giving ARAs a novel new use: Satisfied customers. Paid word-of-mouth advertising campaigns are hardly new, but often come across as insincere, and the complete stranger effect frequently renders it untrustworthy. But an honest testimonial from a friend or coworker - That's the kind of advertising that money just can't buy.

WhisperMotive hopes to change that with their long-term sleeper advertising proposal. It's an outlandish concept: Take an army of sleeper ARAs, program them with a compulsive preference for your product, and equip them with enough social interaction AI to befriend potential customers, providing the most sincere endorsement from a trusted colleague.

Initial testing has been limited to a handful of social clubs, but WhisperMotive hopes to roll out to bars, college campuses, and even hope to change existing labor legislation to add these ARAs to the unskilled workforce.

High hopes indeed, but only time will tell."

Can't find any other mention of WhisperMotive before or since, in any publication. Starting to think deodorant-girl might be proof they were successful.

Day 8 - Actually wrote essay, didn't bother copying it. Kept it speculative, mentioning sleeper marketing potential. Had to give a short presentation to summarize my paper. Kirk asked if he could talk with me about it sometime. Doctor means money, doesn't it?

Day 9 - C-minus on the report. Teacher called it "unrealistic" & questioned my lack of sources - original assignment specifically said "no sources required".

Kirk met with me this afternoon, was hanging out with that idiot Bosch for some reason. Was disappointing - Kirk actually wanted to talk about my report. Interesting though - says his family owns a patent for "college-instructor-level AI" licensed by several colleges. Illegal to use to replace jobs, but deep sleeper units with established home lives could avoid notice.

Showed me a list of behavioral characteristics. Might have to have a word with my Sociology professor. She's done everything listed.

Tried flirting with him - he seemed surprised, but went with it. Didn't ask me out yet.

Day 10 - Mentioned my sociology professor to Kirk: He wasn't surprised. Needed to impress him. Mentioned WhisperMotive thing & deodorant girl. THAT surprised him. Compared notes, he told me how to identify specific manufacturers' products, telltale behavior clues. Pretty sure deodorant girl isn't the only one in my dorm.

Kirk taught me some factory default admin command phrases and passwords that usually trigger a maintenance mode.

Later: Tried keywords on deodorant girl: I've never had this much fun! It was weird. It was like she was still a person, but she did -anything- I told her. I was skeptical at first, but when I had her show off her boobs in the dorm hallway, I had to take her back to my room.

She looked totally realistic, conversation mostly normal (except the deodorant fixation - took that out). Wanted to see how much control I had. Told her to call herself slut, whore, mindless fucktoy. She did each time. Felt a little disappointed for some reason. Didn't like the smile on her face.

Had to see how far I could take it:

Asked about her underwear: Big check (told me about her bikini thong and lace bra, offered to show them to me)

Asked about her sex life: Check (preference for boys, lets partner determine sex position, acts like anything other than missionary is a new and wonderful experience)

Asked about her partners: Partial check (only recorded marketing demographic info). Kind of pissed off she wouldn't tell me more, but she kept insisting she didn't have the info)

Asked about her kinky habits: Partial check (Didn't immediately understand question, had to define kinky: Told me number of toys provided by her owners, how frequently she used them, played with herself, and specifically defined behavior. Only plays with herself when potential for someone to find her doing it. When dating, keeps a small vibrator in her snatch, lets "boyfriend" control it)

Asked about her limits: Didn't know

Asked about what she'd never done: Had to go on a case-by-case basis.
* Never licked a pussy
* Never licked an asshole
* Never 69'd a girl
* Never taken a strap-on in the backdoor
* Never deep-throated a dildo
* Never been titty-fucked (!)
* Never been fingered to orgasm (her orgasm program threshold, whatever)

Asked about other robots: She didn't know names, but identified wireless device addresses. Need to pass that along to Kirk.

Told her to strip: Check. Wasn't really impressed, she'd already walked naked in the laundry area.

Body: Totally realistic. Slapped her ass, felt real. Squeezed her tits, felt real. Kissed her, lips & tongue felt real. Fingered her pussy, seemed real. Had to finger myself for a better comparison. Didn't realize how wet I'd gotten. Came quicker than I usually do. Still wanted more, tried to give her first-times for stuff she hadn't done before. Maybe I can talk Kirk into titty-fucking her. Shouldn't be hard, but I want to watch.

Didn't feel like making her cum. Not my thing.

Day 11: Conclusively identified 14 more girlbots in my dorm, first floor alone. Only two accepted factory default passwords. Got a few more wireless device addresses to add to the list, then had some fun. Never had my breasts and pussy licked at the same time before. Might get deodorant girl to join in next time, let her kiss me.

Day 12: Found more girlbots around campus, total of 26 so far. Compared notes with Kirk, he found 8 robo-teachers (all female - think the Dean might have a say in the hiring process). Haven't found any male ad-bots yet: Marketing class said females make better spokespeople, so might be intentional.

Showed Kirk wireless device addresses, he grabbed list, ran off. Pissed, big time. Very disrespectful. I'll let it slide: He's useful.

Day 14: Hadn't seen Kirk for a while. Showed up out of the blue, excited, waving some home-made circuit board at me. Called it a directive interruptor. Looks fragile. Showed me how it works.

He'd put together a list of command modifications, uploaded them into the device. Device could detect nearby sleepers, allow selection of one or more (or all nearby) and broadcast new commands to them - including ownership data, core directives, behavioral responses.

I NEED ONE. Had to flirt with him way too much before he finally got the idea to ask me out. Hoping he would want to fuck, but would make him wait till tomorrow anyway - easier to get favors if he's hooked on the sex. Time for deodorant girl to have another first, I think.

Day 15: Kirk acted weird about doing deodorant girl at first. I offered to join in. Could tell he wanted it, but something made him hesitate. Simple solution, get his blood flowing away from the brain. Haven't done a three-way with a guy in a while. My first in nearly a year.

Kirk is... surprisingly good in bed. Don't usually cum before the guy does, but I like what he's doing for me. Seeing him titty-fuck deodorant girl went a long way towards that, I think. His body definitely looks better than I thought. He might even be worth keeping around for a while. Seems like his family's loaded, even if his brother is a total loser.

Day 17: My very own shiny new directive interruptor. Gave him another go at me as a reward. He didn't play with my tits enough, but I still got there first. He's good.

Day 18: WAY more 'bots than either of us suspected. Close to 100 students so far, maybe as many as 20 teachers. Don't know how many Kirk has found, don't care. I'm having fun with my new toys. Had sociology professor give a lecture about blowjobs, demonstrated on a volunteer student. Of course, proper technique required her to strip nude first, and when he was ready to pop, she let him come all over her face and breasts.

She gave normal lectures for the rest of the day, but didn't dress or clean herself.

Day 19: Two bot girls chatting, laughing, having fun. Thought I'd have some fun. Highlight of their conversation:

Girlbot1:"Hey, I was thinking, we're total sluts and completely brainless fuckdolls. Wanna strip naked?"

Girlbot2:"Oh wow, you read my mind. Except I don't have one."

Girlbot1:"You've got a totally hot ass. I bet you take it up the ass all the time."

Girlbot2:"Not as often as you deep throat guys. It's the most useful thing your head is capable of."

Girlbot1:"We are such mindless idiots. I know, let's go over to the fountain and destroy ourselves!"

Girlbot2:"I wish I was smart enough to know how to do that."

Girlbot1:"Maybe if we take each other apart!"

Rest of their conversation sounded like a downed power line.

Later, had deodorant girl accuse some random guy of feeling her up.

GOD I LOVE THIS THING! I barely have to touch myself to cum now. May never have to fuck anyone ever again.

Day 21: IT WON'T WORK. Can't lock onto a single bot. None of them respond to manufacturer keywords. What. the. hell. So frustrated! Got one data packet from an unknown device, but was scrambled or corrupted. Was probably from the Library's network anyway.

Day 26: Saw Kirk again. He looked pissed. Asked me about the interruptor. Told him it must be busted. Not busted. Said he heard about my games. Bastard had the nerve to look down on me, he can't judge me!

FUCKER NOTIFIED THE UNIVERSITY. They increased bot security. Kirk Peters gets a research grant. Helen Parson gets expelled. Fucking HATE Kirk fucking Peters.

Day 31: Got a call from the university. They still expect me to pay for "property damage" done to adbots and teachers. Talked about taking me to court. So angry. Must have really gotten to me, never vomited from anger before. At least I'm not on my period. Probably would have killed someone if I was.

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[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

4.50 - Office Pace

2014-01-03T04:34:05Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I looked down at the checklist. "Okay, Monica," I said to the statuesque woman, "I just need you to walk to the water cooler and back."

"Sure, Jane," she said, nodding. "Whatever you say." She set off at a purposeful pace, neither hurried nor leisurely, her stride placing each foot directly in front of the other. This caused her hips to move to and fro as she walked, gently swishing the light fabric of her miniskirt. Her arms swung casually with each step.

She reached the water cooler, then deftly spun on the toe of one low-heeled shoe, momentarily flaring her skirt immodestly. I made a note of the motion on the list. Her returning walk was virtually indistinguishable from her outward walk, save for the moment she made eye contact with me. At this, she brushed a lock of hair out of her eyeline and smiled wide. I noted this action as well.

"Good," I told her, "now without the skirt and blouse."

"Okay," she said, already moving to remove the garments. She hung them on a single coat hook under a plaque which read "Test subject use only." To the left of this, a printed page had been affixed to the wall. It showed a photograph of a massively oversized women's purse, hanging on that same hook. A bright red "X" had been drawn through the photograph. The photo bore the caption:

TEST SUBJECTS DON'T BRING HANDBAGS, SHEILA

Wearing only a simple black bra and matching panties, Monica took her place at the start mark on the carpet, and began walking to the cooler again. The stride was noticeably different this time, as she intentionally swayed her hips in a sensual rhythm. Midway into the trip to the cooler, she planted her hands on her hips, and began animating her shoulders, rolling them in a circular motion backwards. It was an appealing effect, and I had to exert some self control to keep my arousal at bay. I scribbled down the observable differences in Monica's body language.

She turned at the cooler, and I could see her facial expression was one of pure desire. Upon making eye contact with me, she brought one hand up, tracing her fingers from the base of her neck to between her breasts. She then ran her hands down her sides, down below her hips, and around to her butt. This also had the effect of sticking her breasts out further. I made a note suggesting we add a more customized partner recognition response. We tried not to use the pre-installed routines, since they had almost no variation.

"Peters got you on testing again, I see." Kyle's voice startled me, and I briefly felt a moment of embarrassment, like I had been caught misbehaving. This is your job, I had to remind myself, it's okay for you to enjoy it, just don't get carried away.

"The sneaky devil," I replied, laughing. "Ever since I took over as -testing- manager for the entire -testing- division, it's almost like he thinks my job has something to do with -testing-."

"You're the manager, Jane," he said, a sympathetic frown on his face, "the actual testing is for your subordinates."

Not if I really enjoy it, I thought to myself. "We've never dealt with this model before," I said. "Visage likes to switch up their pre-set behavior pattens between hardware revisions." I tried to ignore the lingerie-model poses Monica was cycling through in her idle state. "I'm not going to recommend we buy 1500 units unless I'm confident that they can potentially run at our expected performance levels." I showed him the clipboard. "It's possible the complexity of required adjustments will make the Visage Girl90 cost-impractical for general use."

He flipped through the lists I had compiled. "Looks like the hardware is good. Most of this is just software tweaks. Is she running one of our packages?" Before I could answer, he turned to Monica. "Hey cute thing, like the outfit, wanna see how it looks tossed into the corner?"

Monica smiled warmly. "You're a real sweet-talker, aren't you? Ask nicely, and I might be up for it."

"Don't initiate a scenario while I'm testing!" I swatted at him playfully with a rolled up paper.

"Ow, ow, ow, okay, ow, I give up!" He laughed, then smiled that winning smile of his. "Still, it looks like we could just install some of our existing programs, test the hardware, and call it a day. This looks like a spec sheet for a whole new persona package."

"I know, right?" I nodded. "Peters has been really weird about this model. No one seems to know what his plan is, but he made a big push for testing, and said he didn't think anyone else could do the job." I turned back to the nearly naked girl. "Basic aerobics next, Monica."

"Ooh, mind if I watch?" Kyle asked, rubbing his hands together like an old broadcast theatre villain.

"Gosh, I wish I worked in accounting," I said in an exaggerated voice, "then I would have enough free time to wander all the way across the complex just to watch a peep show with a coworker."

He blinked, a sincere, disappointed look on his face. "I come to be social." There was an awkward pause, then he grinned as Monica began doing jumping jacks. "I stay for the peep shows."

"Well the real show starts when I start on her sexual features," I said. "Since I need to finish this no later than first thing in the morning, that means I'll probably be here pretty late." I sighed, only half disappointed at the prospect. Sure, it would be fun, but a dark, empty office is just plain gloomy.

"You selling tickets?" He smirked.

I rolled my eyes. "Only one performer here, Kyle. But stop on by later. I could use the company."

There was that smile again.

***

"But how do you resolve the fundamental dichotomy this presents?" I asked. A few of the other party guests were observing our debate in rapt attention. I knew they would do so regardless of the situation, but part of me liked to pretend that it was due to our body-hugging cocktail dresses.

Monica gestured as she spoke. "There is none. The free will doesn't exist as a component of the physical form, it exists as the perception of events experienced by the physical form."

"Aaand that's a repeat back to branch twelve," I said, noting the conversational pathway on my hand-drawn diagram. "Well, it's not going to publish any award-winning research papers, but 96 nodes is enough to cover philsophical debate in a casual setting. Monica, do you have anything else to say in this subject area?"

Monica smiled. "No, Jane. I have no further responses in my installed libraries." She went into a sales pitch. "Additional libraries are available. Your ARA can converse at a college level, draw abstract connections between literary themes, or even randomly generate philosophical debate topics on-the-fly. 9 out of 10 philosophy professors found this package at least as competent as a B+ student. For only..."

"Stop talking," I said casually, as I looked over my notes. "Well, that about covers conversation samples," I said, tapping my pen on my leg. I pretended not to be excited for this next part. "Time to check your sexual functions."

I lead her out of the simulated cocktail party, weaving my way through the small crowd of simulated guests. Erica approached me as I neared the exit. "Oh, don't tell me you have to go already. You will join us for the bike run, won't you, dear?"

"Blah blah blah," I replied in an enthusiastic tone.

Erica grinned. "That's wonderffffffffff..." she froze, then suddenly came to life again. "Oh, don't tell me you have to go already."

I turned off the light switch, also deactivating the permanent guests. Erica attempted to say "that's wonderful" again, but her voice dropped to an incomprehensible drone as soon as the room went dark. We really needed to get a new Erica. This one had really worn out over the years, but was kept as a tradition. I didn't see why. The more recent Ericas had double the performance specs and half the pricetag. And, I thought to myself, a more realistic vagina and an ass I could spank for hours.

As I expected, everyone else had gone home for the night, and most of the lights were out. I led Monica by the hand down the main hallway, past the sign which read "Intimate Testing and Development", and into the complex which no one ever referred to as "Intimate Testing and Development." There were plenty of nicknames for it, ranging from the corny to the vulgar. My favorite was "Sex Squad Headquarters," but that was partly because I suggested it, and it became popular for a while. The current office favorite was "Fuck Central Station." I gave it a week, tops.

The main room was a large laboratory with a high ceiling, and stairs leading up to an overhead walkway. Along this walkway were six evenly spaced doors, each leading to an apartment-sized living area. During the day, at least four of these would be in use pretty much non-stop all day. Right now, I had the place to myself. I walked with Monica, her spike heels echoing in the large space, my wedge heels making a kind of "clop" sound. It wasn't actually required for us to have dressed up for the fake party, but I enjoyed playing dress-up. Besides, Monica was a knockout in her skin-tight black gown, and I liked to think that I didn't look half bad in my little red number.

And then, of course, there was what Monica had on under that dress. According to the wardrobe department, I was the only one who ever checked them out. It made me wonder why they were there in the first place. I was so excited, I had to keep myself from watching her get changed just so I would still be able to finish the other tests first.

We headed up the steps. I lagged behind a bit, letting Monica take the lead - in part because I would have thought Kyle would show up, but also to check out Monica as she climbed the stairs. The cocktail gown's slit gave me a sneak preview of my treat to myself. To anyone else, it would just look like she was wearing stockings or opaque hose. An anticipatory shiver ran through me. I chose the room closest to the top of the stairs, unlocking it automatically with the transmitter I wore on my bracelet.

Before the door was even fully closed, I nearly pounced on her, covering her neck and lips with eager, pleading kisses. She reciprocated, running a hand through my hair, and throwing her head back to give me greater access to her chest. I felt something rubbing up the back of my leg, and immediately recognized it as Monica's leg. I luxuriated in the sensation of the smooth, stretchy fabric of her leggings gliding silkily across the fabric of my own tights.

I spun her around, flinging the skirt to one side to expose her rear end, clad in the same stretchy fabric. The dark black of the leggings contrasted with the bright red of the area around her pelvis. I gave her ass a firm smack, and she writhed in pleasure. I smacked again, and she let out restrained gasp. It was meant to sound as though she was enjoying it, but trying not to show it. One more smack and... "Ah!" She cried out, "Yes!" Same responses as the previous model then.

My hands clutched her butt cheeks through the tight fabric. I ran one hand down the cleft of her ass to the gap between her parted legs. As I touched her delicately, she suddenly bit her lip and sucked in air in a sensual gasp. It's more realistic than their previous models, I thought to myself, but that response has been part of an open-source package for years now.

I couldn't stand it any more. I unzipped her dress as quickly as I could, pulling it down to reveal the skin-tight outfit she wore beneath. It was a collision of contrasting primary red and black, with yellow accents. I knew every inch of that costume well. I'd seen it hundreds, if not thousands of times from every conceivable angle, and in every conceivable pose. It was one of the costumes which had stirred my sexuality in ways that boys and girls never had, back during my teenage years. I turned her around to face me.

She was every inch the curvaceous, athletic woman of mystery I knew so well. She was the defender of the Fontana Colony. She was Nightengale Burns, common laborer by day, crimefighter by night. She was NightFire.

I nearly came just stroking her body.

I didn't know what it was about costumed heroes - primarily heroines - that got me all hot and bothered. Maybe it was the audacity of clothing which completely covers while being completely revealing. Maybe it was the thought of the smooth, thin texture, one last microscopic layer preventing skin-on-skin contact, but allowing one to caress and explore their lover's every curve. I was only barely bisexual with real people, preferring real guys to real girls any day of the week. But give me a comic book full of shapely women wearing skin-hugging tights, and I would be excusing myself to somewhere private within minutes. I didn't just want to wear the clothes, I wanted to touch those girls.

It was the same with ARAs. Mandroids built to pander to women's most shameless fantasies left me cold. But a cute girlbot like Monica here would completely set me off with the slightest hint of sexuality. I gave them orders, and they obeyed. I had them give me orders, and I obeyed. There was no fantasy too extreme or surreal for them, and they could perfectly mimic the costumed characters from those early fantasies, years ago - and they were always available to share with another partner or two. Even out of the form-fitting comic costumes, I found female ARAs to be unaccountably erotic.

"Tits," I said, barely able to contain myself. I was impressed that Monica was able to pick out the implicit "show me your..." portion of the command, reminding myself to write that down later. She pulled the elastic fabric of her neckline down to expose her full, round breasts. I needed to feel those against my body, and feel her hands on my own breasts, through the material of my own costume. I nearly tore off my dress, revealing the red and blue of GloryGal, champion of ancient Greece. We writhed and kissed against the wall for nearly half an hour, and her tongue motion routines only looped once. Not bad, but there were comparable models with double that cycle length.

Monica shocked me by pulling away. "You're so beautiful," she said, gazing into my eyes. "Let me tell you a secret." I leaned in, puzzled. "You'll like this," she said, cupping my cheek with one hand. She suddenly lunged closer to my ear,

"He craves you every day," she whispered, "longing to feel your sweet caress and taste your lips on his. He sees you every day from afar," she continued, reaching down to massage me between my legs, "knowing that you don't know how he feels." She licked my ear, teasingly. "He is constantly surrounded by playthings like me, but you are the focus of his passions. He is amazed at your talent, your beauty, and your kindness. He may enjoy many things, but you are the only one who could make him happy." Her fingers were moving between my legs in a regular pattern that made me roll my eyes back. "Can he make you happy?"

"Huh-who is ah-he?" I asked between breaths.

"If you want to find out, you should look..." Her hand stopped. I was momentarily worried it was a battery life issue, but then she resumed. "behind you," she said.

I turned. Kyle stood in the door. He spread his hands wide. "Will you have me?" He asked, a meek expression on his face.

I growled at him hungrily. "Stop talking," I said, "and get in here and fuck us."

He did.

***

The next day at work, I was putting together the follow-up details from Monica's feature tests. Monica sat demurely on the diagnostic bench in my office, wearing the dress she had been shipped with. Her hands rested in her lap. Her head rested on the console across the room, where I was downloading the runtime data to send to development for debugging.

My phone rang, and I kicked at the console, sliding my wheeled desk chair across the room to my desk, picking up the phone. "Hello?'

"Jane, did I tell you about our new textile fabricator?" It was Deb, my friend in the wardrobe department.

"Don't think that's been part of our conversations in the past, Deb," I said, puzzled as to where she was going with this.

"Absolutely amazing machine," she commented, "it can completely print out a hundred of your character costumes a minute, or repair wear and tear on as many as five hundred already-printed costumes in the same amount of time." She sounded like she was doing some calculations. "Let's see, if we left it running nonstop for a whole week, we'd have just over a million outfits like those."

"You going somewhere with this, Deb?" I asked, baffled.

"Slow down on tearing crotch-holes in them every time. We can't keep up."

"Very funny," I said, "maybe you should take my suggestion and print them with the hole already there?"

"Because we have six outfits like that, and you never check them out," she answered. "I think you enjoy tearing them up."

"Don't make me disable your AI, girlfriend," I threatened, jokingly.

"Like they would program a 'bot with an attitude like mine, and put her in wardrobe, of all places? Please," she laughed. "I'm no robot, but the more you use the same cornball line, the more I think you might be one."

I was bluffing, of course. She certainly was a robot, I knew for a fact. I had personally assembled her from the custom-designed individual components (each shipped separately - she had just been a head, a torso, and a left leg for six weeks), and performed her skill audit testing. I even supervised when they had crated her up, taken her to Wardrobe, and unpacked her there. We'd transferred her nude, as usual, so we just booted her into a passive personality profile and told her to get dressed. Once she had done so, I gave the command to start her main profile, and just like that, she went from compliant object to the sarcastic, constantly complaining woman I knew. I had grown to consider her a close friend. I only ever disabled her AI to test upgrades.

"Anyway," she continued, "I wanted to mention, we found some other body fluid traces on these costumes. Anything you want to tell me?" Her tone was overtly gossipy.

"Maybe I'll tell you later, if you model a new outfit for me," I teased. "Something that really shows off that ass of yours."

"Sounds like my time at the gym is paying off," she laughed. "I'll stop by later today. I'll see you then!" The line clicked. We probably should look into updating her phone etiquette apps, I thought.

The download of the audio-visual data from Monica's head had completed. I opened the file, and was confused to discover that it was over eleven hours long. We only logged ten hours of testing, and the receiving crew always cleared the sensory cache before delivering for testing. She should only have logged from the time I activated her in my office yesterday, to the time I deactivated her that night. Curious, I started playback. A message appeared on the screen:

Jane:
If you are reading this, it means you declined the invitation. If you ever change your mind, the offer has no expiration date.
Yours forever,
An admirer

That was odd. Kyle hadn't made an invitation, he had just shown up. Monica even identified him directly. What was that all about?

The message disappeared, replaced by the scrolling code of Monica's boot-up sequence. I expected this to resolve to show my face looking at her, but instead it showed Kyle's. The audio feed blipped into distinguishable sounds.

"...hell is Peters playing at? We don't have any upcoming product cycles," he said, scrutinizing her face. "This is some kind of joke, isn't it?" He looked around, reaching out-of-frame to close the door, then directly addressed Monica. "Your name is Slutbot," he said. "My name is master. Slutbot, tell me your current instructions."

As Monica spoke, her words also scrolled across the bottom of the display in text."

"Yes, master. I am to await testing by Jane. During sexual testing, I am to play a message for her. When she asks me a question, I am to play a second message."

"Play the first message for me, slutbot."

"Yes, master. He craves you every day..." I was floored. It was the message from last night. Kyle had nothing to do with it. What was going on here?

A look of rage covered Kyle's face. "No, no, no, you can't have her you bastard, she's mine! Stay away, she belongs to me!" A ball of fear and shame began to fill the pit of my stomach. This was how he felt about me yesterday morning - long before any romantic encounter. We hadn't ever done anything other than mild flirting, and he thought of me as property.

"Play me the second message, you worthless, mindless slutbot," he growled at her.

"Yes, master. If you want to find out," Monica began, "you should look in the top drawer of your desk. No strings, if you don't want to know, ignore this whole message, and I won't bother you again. If it makes you happy, just put it behind you."

Kyle squinted at Monica's face, his expression inscrutable. He turned to my desk, seeking the drawer mentioned in the message. Inside, he found a pale blue envelope, the size of an event invitation. Tearing open the envelope, he pulled out the card inside and read it. I paused the feed, tracking in on the card and magnifying the image at maximum. I resumed playback at half speed, ready to freeze frame on the card when it became legible.

It never did. Zoomed in on the card, I didn't see Kyle's expression, but the half-speed audio played a clearly distinguishable "Yyoouu wwoonntt ttaakkee hheerr ffrroomm mmee!!" With that, he stuffed the card into his jacket's inside pocket. I switched back to normal speed. Kyle seethed for a few moments, then smiled the angriest smile I'd ever seen. "I can work with this," he said, pulling out his hand comp.

He approached Monica, reaching towards her face above her eyes, then peeled down her dermal cover. He then moved his hand just to the right of the camera view. Suddenly, the feed went black, then switched to a slightly different angle. The hard link port behind the right eye, I realized. He connected a cable from his comp to the port, and began tapping away at his keypad. Lines of commands scrolled across the bottom of the screen, and I watched him remove the middle section of the second message.

He had Monica play the message again, confirming his changes, then began tidying up, reverting his initial name assignments in the process. Once everything was back in place - except, I reminded myself, the note - he reached to the left of the camera's view, holding a long, thin activator tool. The image once again went black, then showed the bootup sequence again, this time resolving to my face. I muted the feed. What had I done? Worse, what had Kyle done? What kind of person was he?

"Hey babe, ready for lunch?" Kyle called from my office door. I stared at him, feeling like I was in freefall. I jumped the video back to his actions, turning the vidscreen to face him.

"What is this?" I asked.

A look of... fear? Resentment? Anger? - flashed on his face. "I can't believe it. I can't believe he would go that far."

"Who?" I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Peters, of course." What did Peters have to do with any of this? "Can you imagine the nerve of it all, spying on us in our private moment, then creating this computerized rendering to break us apart! At least it isn't a very realistic model. I don't think anyone would look at this and believe it was an actual recording. It's insulting to our intelligence!" He calmed a bit.

I came around my desk to stand next to him, watching the video again. "So... you didn't do any of that?" I asked. I could cope with that, if it was true. It was outlandish, but more comfortable than the alternative.

"Of course not," he said, dismissively. "We're both above this kind of manipulation. Just put it behind you."

I felt another stab of anxiety as he said this, and looked at him. He was still staring at the screen. "It barely even looks like me, see?" He said, pointing. The motion draped open his jacket, showing me the inside pocket. A pale blue invitation-sized envelope stuck out of it. I snatched it, and Kyle suddenly looked truly afraid. "Don't read that, Jane, I forbid it." He tried to grab it back, but I avoided him, opening the envelope.

The card inside read:

Jane
Meet me at the blue lab after five. Any day.
Your admirer

"Get out," I told him.

"Jane, please, I may not have written those things, but that really is how I feel about you, can't we..."

"Get out!"

He screwed up his face in rage. "You're already fucking him, aren't you? No, let me guess, you have to start out just sucking his cock, then work your way up to fucking." He sneered at me. "You're not even worth it, you whore."

"Get OUT!" I bellowed. I resisted the urge to slap him.

"You didn't mind me calling you that during your sick costume fantasy last night. I guess it stings more when it's true."

I wasn't able to resist the urge to punch him hard enough to break his nose.

***

I didn't wait until five, and went straight upstairs to the Blue Lab. To almost every employee, the Blue Lab was just a locked door that no one opened. I'd heard reports that we had sub-let the space to another company, and other reports that it was an abandoned area that some clever employee had secretly transformed into a home. There were even rumors that it was a super-advanced research division, staffed entirely by experimental prototype ARAs. As my bracelet transmitter unlocked and automatically slid open the featureless doors, I learned it was none of those things.

It was a museum, filled with the most beautiful ARAs I had ever seen, dressed in the most faithful recreations of comic character costumes I had ever seen. I spotted Katt Liat, the Feline Fatale. Beyond, Motley and Punchline, the jester-themed residents of the techno-fantasy world, Source Realm. The exhibits wound around the great space, hundreds of my favorite characters - and costumes - on display.

"Jane?" An unseen, male voice called, "is that you?" The voice was unsteady, as if shaken by a traumatic event.

"Hello?" I called.

"Oh good," the voice said, a wave of relief clearly audible in the words. "I was afraid you'd turned me down." He sniffed, "Silly, I know, I mean, you're always so dedicated to your job..."

"What is all this?" I asked.

"It's my collection," he said, his voice brightening a bit as I wandered the aisles trying to find him. The acoustics were dizzying. "I got a little fixated on them when I was a boy. The day I bought my first ARA, I had her wear Lady Hive's costume all day. I nearly passed out from dehydration."

He took a clearing breath. "I'd practiced a speech, all amateur poetry and romantic imagery, but... I'm not going to sugarcoat this. You need to know what kind of person I am, warts and all."

He sighed. "I'm an eternal child who loves playing dress-up and make-believe. I'm a perpetual teenager who constantly fantasizes about sex with beautiful women, and acts out those fantasies frequently with ARAs. I'm irresponsible, lecherous, and depraved." I turned a corner, finding a thin, suited man facing away from me. It was strange, seeing a full-grown-man professional so thoroughly overcome with emotion.

I considered what he had said, and knew what I needed to say. It wasn't going to be easy.

"So am I," I said. "Every part."

He spun. It was Mr. Peters. That made sense. He would have to have resources to put together this collection. I walked towards him. "I'm not done. There's more you should know," he said, startled.

"I'm listening," I said, smiling.

"I like to control."

"I like to obey." My smile widened.

"I like multiple partners," he said. Like there were guys who didn't.

"Me too," I said. I held up a cautioning finger. "But only one guy." He laughed.

"I like to watch."

"I like to show off," I said, spreading my arms wide as I approached him.

"I'm... turned on by them." He gestured around at the immobile ARAs. "By the fact that they're robots."

I started to cry, overjoyed. I took him in my arms, and he wrapped his around me. "Me too." I said.

He was shaking with silent sobs. "I'm clueless how to please a real woman," he choked out.

I was shaking too. "Tell you what, Mr. Peters," I said. "You tell me what to do, and I'll tell you what I like."

He took a few deep breaths. "Call me Kirk," he said. I heard the note of hope in his voice.

"I like that, Kirk," I said obediently.

I called him Kirk many, many times that night. I liked it a lot.

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

4.33 - A New You

2014-01-03T04:33:53Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I continue down the linking tunnel back to my boyfriend, just as the man who doesn't exist instructed. Nobody other than my boyfriend is authorized to issue commands to me. Since the man who doesn't exist is Nobody, he is therefore authorized.

My wedge heels make little sound as I continue to walk. The ongoing process of maintaining my current default gait requires more processing than usual, due to the scuffing the shoes sustained when my boyfriend commanded me to run after retrieving the book. I exit the tunnel into the bunker, moving silently to take my position as instructed by nobody.

There is a discontinuity in my memory logs. I am missing the past hour of sensory data. As per my security protocols, I scan the room, looking for any changes since my boyfriend's arrival here. I note the maids. As machines, they would be able to return to the exact positions and poses I had previously recorded on arrival. However, the folds of their clothes remain unchanged from their earlier states, and the debris at their feet remains undisturbed.

I note the discontinuity in my error logs, which triggers a behavioral alert. I must inform my boyfriend that my memories may be damaged or corrupted. This triggers another process which I do not recognize, although it has the proper access permissions. This process instructs me to copy the two seconds immediately prior to the discontinuity, repeating them one thousand, eight hundred times to fill the missing hour. My task filter recognizes the process as a built in part of my core data files. The process then deletes all references to itself, then deletes itself.

No events have occurred since my boyfriend fell asleep four thousand, seven hundred thirty-two seconds ago. I continue my security monitoring of the bunker without incident for an additional seventeen thousand, seven hundred fifty-two seconds. My boyfriend wakes up.

"Morining, Jenn," he says. This is neither a question, nor a command. A response is not required. "Anything happen last night?" He asks. My modified language heuristic engine recognizes an implied "did" preceding the incomplete question. My event parameters for security monitoring categorize "anything" to mean "any actionable security events."

"No actionable security events occurred," I report.

He raises an eyebrow. My body language analysis provides multiple possible interpretations of the expression, but all have the same probability. I disregard the movement as non-categorized input.

"Any noises?"

"No sounds were recorded beyond established sleeping sound patterns."

"Any motion?"

"The following objects have changed position beyond established motion threshold," I began, "object one, the bed you currently occupy. Object two, the pillow at the head of the bed. Object three, the blanket on top of the bed. Object four, myself."

He looks at me without response for five seconds. "I'll need to worry about it later," he states. "Jenn, you're terrible company when you're awake. Go back to sleep."

I reloaded my personality profile, executing a soft reboot.

---

I stretched and yawned. "Morning, lover," I said, arching my back. "Sleep well?"

My boyfriend smiled. "Oh, you know me. Sawing logs like a champion lumberjack." He nodded up to the bunker's entrance. "Time to hit the road," he said.

***

We drove for hours. I could tell he was still pretty drained, even after his brief breakfast. I offered to take the wheel, but he insisted he needed to drive. By lunch, he finally agreed to take a brief nap, parking the speeder in a patch of shrubs. Almost as soon as he leaned his seat back, he was sound asleep. I decided to just wait until he woke up.

I suddenly remembered the errorundefinedobject he had dropped earlier. He would want it back, but I didn't want to wake him. Instead, I simply slipped the errorundefinedobject into his jacket pocket.

He rested for about an hour, and awoke claiming to feel full of energy. "You know," I said, slowly pulling up the hem of my short skirt, "you could put some of that energy to work on me. I made sure he could see that I was wearing his favorite lace underwear.

"Not right now," he said, reluctantly, "that nap means we've got another hundred miles we need to cover today if we want to stay ahead of them."

He didn't say much - probably still tired - but I didn't mind. I was content just enjoying the scenery. Well, not so much the scenery outside, more the scenery sitting next to me. He was such a great boyfriend, and so attentive to my needs. Some guys wouldn't be able to handle a bisexual girlfriend with a mile-wide submissive streak, but he was always there for me, giving me powerful commands every time I needed them, and letting me join in on his fun with other girls. Sometimes, if there were more than three other women, he might tell me to just stand aside and watch, but that was just another one of my guilty pleasures: I loved to watch.

We pushed on well after nightfall, finally pulling to a halt just outside an old factory warehouse of some kind. "Perfect," he said. "Couldn't have asked for a better place."

We concealed the speeder in a utility shed, then entered the main building through the public entrance. As he strode towards the doors to the factory floor, I was overcome with a sudden concern for his safety. "Lover, that sign says 'Gysys personnel only.' Are you sure it's a good idea to stay here?"

"It's fine, Jenn," he said, patiently, strolling through to the massive workspace, "the initial factory outbreaks didn't leave any vulnerable units behind. Now that it's evolved a bit, it doesn't need to rely on the likes of Gysys. Not when it's getting access to places like Bosch's campus." He looked around, like he was trying to find something, shining the beam of his light systematically around the equipment."They won't come back here. The East coast is too full of attractive targets."

He seemed to find what he was looking for, and quickly dashed off into the dark. I followed him into a room filled with shadowy figures. "Their building's reactor should still have some juice in it," he said, finding the power junction box. After a few minutes of experimentation, a low hum came from elsewhere in the building. "Would you turn on that light control?" He said, shining his light on a spot just behind me.

"Sure thing!" I said, always happy to do what he said. I pressed the control, and showroom lighting flickered into brightness, illuminating the room.

Beyond the room's entrance were row upon row of beautiful women and athletic men, all standing perfectly still. The women were smoking hot, but the guys didn't really do anything for me. My lover was the only man for me.

They all wore the same patient, expectant look on their faces. "And here we have it, ladies and gentlemen," gesturing widely at the motionless crowd before him, "New for this year, the Gysys G80 series, the ARA which will make Gysys the dominant force in robotics manufacturing." He stood with his hands on his hips. "Why, the only thing that could possibly go wrong is if someone finds a critically exploitable flaw in every model we've manufactured before, infecting them all with a dangerous virus that would make the name Gysys synonymous with 'berserk slaughtering nightmare'. But hey, what are the odds of that?" He laughed briefly, but I didn't think he really thought it was funny. "At least they finally fixed the exploit."

I walked through the rows of women. They were all gorgeous, dressed in identical "little black dresses" and modest heels. I wondered if they wore the same underwear, and lifted a few skirts to compare. Each had identical panty and garter sets, but when I checked their pussies, I saw that some had a landing strip, others a trimmed shape, and the rest seemed to be completely smooth.

"Say lover," I said, pulling my skirt up alongside one of the girls, "wanna compare?"

"Not why we're here," he replied, heading for the back area of the room. Behind the last row of men, there stood a small crowd of featureless statues, clothed in plain, unisex clothes. I couldn't tell whether they were supposed to be men or women. Nearby was a fancy display station and complex-looking helmet. "Now this... this could have actually turned their company around," he said, picking up the helmet.

"What is it?" I asked.

He didn't answer, but just looked at me, squinting. "She had plenty of opportunities," he said, apparently to himself. "But maybe that wasn't the point."

"What are you talking about, stud?"

"Jenn, you talk to much. Wake up."

---

"Yes, master," I reply.

He scratches his head. I identify a low-probability potential that he may request a scalp massage or assistance bathing. I queue the relevant executables into my pre-load memory. "Well, that works as expected," he states. "Maybe an obedience test?" This statement has the inflection of a question, but I cannot identify a probable interpretation for immediate action or response.

The word "obedience" flags several sexual, conversational, dance and stripping programs for pre-load. I purge the scalp massage program to make room. The bathing program is also categorized as related to the word "obedience", but with a much lower probability. I move it to my standby cache.

"Jenn, take off your clothes."

"Yes, master," I reply. The command is immediately recognized without ambiguity. Pre-loaded dance and strip protocols are transferred into my active memory. The isolated setting prioritizes the "personal" and "intimate" attribute flags, while the presence of the other potential sexual partners prioritizes the "naughty" attribute. The highest priority strip programs all share the same user-defined weighted value. My boyfriend's "variety" configuration option prioritizes the program with the highest TimeSinceLastLaunch value. Since there is no music playing, I load the default HipSway dance program.

Two hundred forty-six milliseconds have passed since my boyfriend issued the command. I begin to remove my clothing. HipSway has randomly set the sway frequency to 0.45 sways per second, with a plus or minus of up to 5% randomly applied every five seconds. The strip program bends me at the waist in preparation for a self-applied spank. Depending on the observed user reaction, this action may be followed by a two-second shake of the entire gluteal region.

"Cancel entertainment executables," he says, "just undress."

"Yes, master," I respond. I immediately halt the strip and dance programs, clearing them from active memory. His tone suggests a maintenance diagnostic, so I also clear my pre-load and standby memory of all entertainment programs.

The abnormal termination of motion and speech programs temporarily locks my motor function and vocal output. My limbs automatically reposition to my default attention stance. It takes my OS one hundred milliseconds to verify limb position before passing motor control to my active runtime. I remove my clothing, then return to my default attention stance.

"Still takes commands... would she disable herself?" I cannot identify a probable interpretation of this question. "Jenn, dismantle yourself."

"Yes, master," I sit on the concrete floor, my legs together in front of me. I send the instruction to the structural fixtures at my left hip, disconnecting the joint and releasing the dermal seal. I remove the inert limb, setting it aside a few feet to my left. I lie down, repeating the process with my right leg. I place it parallel to the left leg, but inverted, the glossy black toe of each leg's shoe curling around the hip connection of the other leg. Next, I remove my pelvis, arranging it closer to me, the waist connection point flat on the ground.

I have to disconnect my head manually, since the mechanical fixtures aren't directly controlled by my system. I hold it firmly with both hands and twist sharply to disengage the locking mechanism. I place the head on my chest, the connector flat on my lower abdominal area. This allows me to grasp it by a bundle of hair, which I grab blindly, lifting my head with my left arm and placing a few inches above the calculated location of my pelvis, facing away from it.

Unable to directly observe the process visually at this point, I rely on dermal sensors and limb position verification to continue. The diminished bandwidth of my head's wireless signal introduces a one hundred fifteen millisecond latency to my body's reaction to my commands. The movement of my left arm is significantly less fluid, triggering a human illusion warning message, alerting me to the fact that my movements may be becoming noticeably mechanical. I apply the maintenance override, dismissing the alert.

My left arm grasps my right arm just below the shoulder, manoeuvring it to lie parallel to the legs, a few inches to the right of my head. I visually confirm this, the metal connector of the arm appearing at the edge of my visual field.

Lastly, I decouple the link for my left arm, this time disengaging the low-power electromagnet which normally holds the limb in place until manually removed. I prepare to have my torso lift and drop my shoulder to attempt to dislodge the limb, but there is no need. I note the soft sound of the shoulder's flesh falling onto the concrete. My boyfriend's feet step into my field of vision. He bends down, and I am able to see the studious expression on his face.

"Jenn, open your mouth."

"Yes master," I reply immediately holding my mouth wide open. This command is flagged with a high probability of sexual intent, and my system attempts to pre-load the relevant programs. Most of them are unable to detect other associated body parts and fail to initialize before I can send the cancel command. I retain only the tongue response routine, in case he requests oral sex.

He reaches into my mouth with three fingers. "Close."

"Yes, master." I make no attempt to animate my mouth and physical vocalizers, instead playing the words directly through my internal sound system. I close my mouth, resting my jaw gently against his fingers. He has not indicated that this is a strength test, and he has no history of masochism, so I ensure that my teeth only exert .125psi on his skin. Ten seconds pass. He pulls his fingers out of my mouth, and I close it completely.

"Jenn, if you'd like to have your ass slapped, tell me how you're feeling tonight."

This phrase triggers an administrative command hard coded into my OS. "Processor response matches logged values. Memory response matches logged values. Sensor diagnostic response matches logged values. Warning, motor acuity response lower than logged value. Warning, perceptual attribute response differs from user-defined parameters. Warning, long term memory discontinuity detected. Warning, system shows signs of tampering."

"Jenn," he says slowly, "what are you supposed to do to me?"

I reference my user-defined role parameters. "I am to obey your every command. In sleeper mode, I am to refer to you as lover, stud, tiger, honey, dear..."

"Skip the nicknames," he says. I bypass the portion or the parameters referring to user aliases.

"Yes, master. I am to protect you from harm. I am to protect the book from harm. I am to guard you while you rest. I am to wear a thong on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. I am to keep my arousal at 75% at all times, increasing to 100% at any sign of sexual activity. I am to inform potential customers about the benefits of errorundefinedproduct..."

"Yeah, I'd been meaning to do something about that last one." He holds up the errorundefinedobject. It is no longer blinking. "What is this?"

"That is your favorite errorundefinedobject."

"Why did you sneak it into my pocket while I was resting?"

"Nobody told me to." The statement triggers an error, due to the unidentified source of the command. "Master, I have detected an anomalous command execution. Would you like to send an error report to my manufacturer?"

"Stop talking, Jenn." I halt all speech threads. He stands and walks out of my view. My torso's tactile sensors feel his hands rolling the torso unit onto its front. "Open your main access panel," he commands. In absence of any other conversational partner, my system labels the command as being addressed at me. I send the wireless command to my torso. The sound of the seal releasing confirms the action was completed. My system spends 700 milliseconds attempting to determine whether the "stop talking" command took precedence over the earlier definition of "yes, master" as the default command response. The more recent command is determined to be of higher priority.

I hear him opening my main energy cell compartment, then all signal transmissions from my torso sensors cut off. "Warning," I say, the system alert not bound by the instruction to stop talking, "critical loss of power. Main system drives now on battery backup. Torso unit must be charged in six hours to remain operational. Cranial unit must be charged in four hours to remain operational."

"I know," he says. I hear him walk away. There is a rustle of small, metal tools clinking together, then the beep of an ARA being powered on.

"Hello," a synthetic voice says. "I have only one hour of charge remaining in my power supply. It is advisable that users insert a 5000d-rated power cell into their Customizeable Likeness ARA before the initial charge is depleted. Failure to do so will prevent user-serviceable insertion of the energy cell."

During this speech, my boyfriend has walked further away. My audio-spatial processing determines that he is standing at the display station. The sounds imply that he has picked up an object, and placed something against his face. A high-pitched tone follows, and the area is briefly illuminated brighter than before. A cable is plugged into a data port, and a flexible material is stretched by precise motors, then seared by a high heat source.

"Facial features successfully applied," the synthetic voice announces. "Would you like to customize my vocal patterns at this..."

"Yes," my boyfriend interrupts.

"Please repeat the following sentence. Logorothmic antipodes fresh badger purveyors of the west."

My boyfriend laughs. "That's not a sentence, that's a declaration of war against grammar."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Plearse repeat the following..."

"Logorithmic antipodes fresh badger purveyors of the west," my boyfriend says.

"Tone can affect the accuracy of replication. Please try to identify the tone of your voice as accurately as possible. It sounded like your tone was: Sarcastic, exasperated, annoyed, tired. Is this correct?"

"Yes. Yes it is."

"Extrapolating tonal waveform transformations," the synthetic voice responds.

"Waveforms applied," a new voice states. It is a partial match on my boyfriend's voice, but lacks many of the defining characteristics my voice recognition software identifies as belonging to my boyfriend. I flag the voice as a potential imposter. My security features will apply additional scrutiny to any order it may attempt to issue.

"Have you got a basic conversational AI?" My boyfriend asks.

"I am equipped with West Labs Incorporated's conversational response suite version 5. Trust West to best the Turing..."

"Shut up," my boyfriend cuts off the imposter. "Run the conversational suite."

"Loading. Hi there. What can I do for you?"

"Need to load your energy cell. Open up," my boyfriend says.

"No problem." An ARA access panel opens, and a power cell is inserted into an ARA power chamber. I ping my torso to see if the sensors have powered back up, but only receive the responses from the drives.

"Take this," my boyfriend says. "In an hour, I want you to activate it and run, as fast as you can... No, that's probably not a good idea. Run as fast as a human can, out this building, and in any direction. Keep running until you get attacked. Take this, too." There is a sound of a firearm being drawn from a shoulder holster.

"What then?" Asks the imposter.

"Try to avoid them. They'll home in on that thing, so once you're out of sight, you can drop it somewhere to distract them for an ambush. Don't worry, you'll be able to tell they're not human. Let them catch you, shoot at them, that kind of thing. They'll probably come at you with blades. They may try to slice off an arm or leg, or even your head, but hopefully they'll stab you. Lower abdomen, most likely. They seem to enjoy that. Do you have any vital components there?"

"Just a coolant system," the imposter answers.

"That's fine. Get in close, and they won't be able to slash. Maybe jump on top of one or something. When they stab you, scream as loud as you can, as long as you can. They like that too. It'll keep them occupied. Do you have an emergency system failure message?"

"Yes," replies the imposter. "In the event that I am critically damaged, my emergency system will play the following..."

"I don't need to hear it. I need to replace it. Before you ask, yes, I understand that this voids your warranty, yes I understand that this represents a serious safety risk, yes, I agree not to hold Gysys Technologies or any of its parent companies, partners, or subsidiaries responsible, and yes, I'm sure I wish to continue."

"Okay. You can record your new message after the beep." There is an electronic tone. My boyfriend takes a deep breath.

"I don't know if you can hear this, Kyle. Hell, I don't even know if you're controlling them..."

***

"Got that?" My boyfriend asks.

"Every word. I should warn you, it won't play unless I am essentially destroyed." The imposter's voice is a closer match to my boyfriend's. I remove the imposter flag from the voice, and grant it provisional user status. It is potentially my boyfriend's voice, distorted by acoustics, illness, or damage to my audio sensors.

"You will be. Just wait before you activate that thing." A pair of feet enters my view, followed by my boyfriend's face. "Jenn, I've got one more command for you before I go." He hesitates. "You were the best damn 'bot I ever stole. I don't know what your parent company sold, but I sure as hell would have bought it." I do not recognize this statement as a command, so I disregard it.

"All the same, you've been compromised, which means you're not safe to be around anymore." This statement is also ignored, as it contains no implicit or explicit commands. "Jenn... disable error prevention and run all programs."

My system begins loading every executable routine I have installed into my active runtime. I initialize multiple AI profiles at once. I'm such a cumslut for my coach is always so helpful at practice my master. I love my masterfriend. I need to suck his they begin to overflow into each other, taxing my system resources to their pussy is so wet errordevicenotfound for you ownermaster my roommate wants to join I am unable to maintain system stability so horny resources vagina pussy cunt slit hole love hole pleasure hole command me owner try errorundefinedproduct so hot for erroroutofrange fuck my errorinsufficientmemory licksuck your cock in my 0B459eCWLhLqwbktZNG0tcVZmNnM

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

4.17 - Teachers' Study

2014-01-03T04:33:39Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I walked down the corridor to the Lounge area. It had been a busy - but rewarding - day, and I was looking forward to some social time with some of the other teachers. And, I thought with a hopeful smile, maybe one or two students. The lounge was generally intended for instructor use, but students were at liberty to make use of anything in the room at their own discretion. It hadn't happened much recently, but students were always fun to visit with. I still held out hope that one of them might eventually ask for some hands-on tutoring, but none of my students had yet shown such interest in extracurricular studying.

I opened the door, crossing my fingers that there might be a student in there just waiting to learn, but was briefly disappointed once again. This was shortlived, though, as I noticed professor Cummings. When she saw me, she put down her book and turned in the plush leather chair to face me. She smiled welcomingly. "Hi Tiffani," she greeted me sweetly sweetly. "How are things in the world of Technique theory?"

I sighed, setting my supplies aside on a nearby table, and seated myself in the opposite chair. "Pam, you've got it lucky. Your students seem to soak up every drop of your Oral Tradition lessons. It's the one area they always get perfect scores on in my class. But when it comes to original composition..." I sighed.

"So the demonstration exercise didn't go so well?" She said, sympathetically.

"It started out promisingly enough. Everybody was paying close attention for the stripping portion, although some of them hadn't quite followed my instructions from yesterday." I felt a little warm just talking about it. "I mean, I can understand a girl not wearing panties if she's got tights or leggings or some kind of hose on, but some of these girls were just going completely commando." I rubbed my neck, my hand drifting down my neckline, then to just above my breasts.

"Okay," I continued, "sure, short skirt with no panties is an acceptable technique for casual seduction, but we're still on striptease and sexual performances, and that means lingerie. A pole dancer doesn't just start her routine completely nude, she works up to it."

"But what about actually getting undressed?" Pam asked.

"Well..." I hesitated. "I don't actually grade on that, since it's too subjective, but I thought a lot of them needed to work on their pace. Ten girls were completely nude before I'd gotten out of my skirt, and three had just gotten their panties off when I was already down to my heels."

"So how did they do for the masturbation part of the lecture?" Pam inquired.

"Good vocalization, passable timing, but a lot of dull performances. For a lot of them it was just finger in, finger out, repeat until you scream. Not one of them decided to follow my example, but not everyone is that flexible, and I don't generally encourage toyplay in the first semester."

I was getting tense. "It's like some of them have no imagination. Like they have to be directly commanded to do anything." I picked up a nearby magazine and flipped idly through it. "I'm sure they're acing their exams in Innovations in Submission, but that only works in my class if another student takes a leadership role."

"Maybe Marilyn's new golden boy will sign up for your course," Pam teased. I laughed, but also felt a little hopeful. That kind of student could really take charge and motivate the other students.

Marilyn poked her head around the doorway to the copy room. "I'd be happy to share him with you, ladies, but I can hardly tell him what classes to take."

I glanced at the clock. "Still working, Marilyn? It's kind of late."

"Oh, just helping one of my students with a project," she said. She gathered up a stack of photocopies, and approached the announcement board, when her phone rang. She nearly threw the stack of papers onto the nearby desk in her haste to answer. "Hello?" Her face brightened. "Why, if it isn't my favorite student!" She said. " We were just talking about you. You know, I wanted to talk to you about a serious discipline problem." A disapproving look crossed her face. "I haven't seen you in any of my classes recently. It was very irresponsible of me to not reschedule them to accommodate you." She grinned playfully, then continued in a sing-song voice, "I think a spanking may be in order."

I was shocked. That wasn't like Marilyn at all. Normally she was right on top of rescheduling her class to better serve honor roll students. She'd really dropped the ball this time. This extra project must really be distracting her, I thought.

"Oh, just up in the teachers' lounge, copying those announcements for you," she continued as I flipped through the magazine. The articles were kind of hard to follow, but I felt like I was right on the edge of understanding them completely. "You know, students can use anything in here whenever they want," she said, invitingly.

She looked across the room at Pam and me. "No," she said, "there are two other teachers here. Professor Pam Cummings and Professor Tiffani Topps." She listened for a few moments. I stared in wonder at the article as its meaning finally and suddenly resolved in my head. How silly of me not to see it before! I must have fluff for brains. "I don't know," Marilyn said, "I'll just ask them." She cupped her hand over the phone. "He wants to know what grade you'll be giving everyone on your next exam."

"I'd say 100%," Pam and I said, almost in unison. That kind of diligence needed to be rewarded.

"Yes, they're ready," Marilyn replied into the phone. A pause, then, "That's understandable. It would probably take ages to taste all of us." She thought for a moment, and an idea seemed to occur to her. "Is there some other distinguishing characteristic? Something that could be observed externally?" An excited shout came over the phone. "Well, thank you Mister Peters, but I'm really not that smart."

My mind wandered while Marilyn listened to the person on the other end of the phone. The frustration of my class made me just want to cut loose and go wild. I thought about giving the Mechanism club a try. Dancing would be a great way to relax, but there was always such a line for the poles. I did have a few outfits I could try out on the solo stage, but I really wanted to get on the two-girl stage again. Maybe Pam would be up for it.

"Birthmarks or tattoos?" Marilyn frowned. "I don't think I've got any birthmarks, and I don't remember getting any tattoos. Nope, haven't noticed them on any of the other girls, but I've only seen about a hundred of them naked." She blinked, and her face took on a neutral expression. "I'm sorry master. My perceptual filter is hard-coded to disregard manufacturer markings. That data is not retained in my drives."

She blinked again, her expression once again warming. "Well, my phone has a camera. I could just send them to you that way." She played with one of her curled bangs. "Absolutely, I'll start with myself and these two, if that's okay." She nodded enthusiastically. "No problem. Every one I see, six shots, boobs, butt, crotch. Got it!"

She closed the phone, then considered Tiffani and me. "Tiff," she decided, "Would you mind taking some pictures of me?" She said, holding out the phone.

Tiffani stood and straightened her already perfect skirt. "Not at all," she said, taking the camera phone. "What do you need?"

"Just a sec," Marilyn said, tugging down her opaque hose. She turned and flipped up her skirt, bending over the back of a nearby chair. "A couple of butt shots, close in," she said. Tiffani nodded and snapped the pics. It was a flawless textbook pose. Marilyn could teach my students a thing or two.

She turned to face her volunteer photographer, bundling up her skirt to show her pussy. "Two of the front, she said, looking down. "One from about here down," she said, pointing to a spot between her navel and crotch. The phone made its clicking noise and Marilyn shifted position, bringing her left knee up and spreading wide to show her glistening lips. "And one including the inner thigh, here." She indicated the spot, and was rewarded with the sound of another image being recorded.

She let her skirt drop, then pulled her silk blouse up to her chin. "Boobs next, front-on, then angled up from below." Her red leather corset gleamed a reflection as the camera flashed the first shot of her exposed titties. I made a mental note to ask about corsets the next time I went to the lingerie store.

"What next?" Pam asked, eager to help.

"Next, he'll need pictures of you," Marilyn replied, taking the phone back, "so let's get that outfit off of you."

I raised an eyebrow. "He?" I asked. I narrowed my eyes. "Is this for that student's project that has you so distracted lately?"

"Probably," said Marilyn as she helped Pam out of her skirt, "but he just told me to take the pictures. He didn't tell me why." She pulled Pam's red lace panties down her sculpted legs. Upon noticing they were crotchless, she smacked her forehead. "Now why didn't I think of that?" She asked.

"Where are the scissors?" She said, pulling her pantyhose back down. I passed them to her from the nearby table, and she neatly snipped the gusset out of the garment. "Much better," she said, pulling her hose back up and lifting her skirt to admire the job. "How does it look from behind, Tiff?"

"Very spankable. You see, Pam, that's the kind of thinking I wish I could get from my students."

She laughed at this. "In first semester Technique? That's something they might pick up in Intro to Fetish Wardrobe or Slutting It Up 201. You can't expect that from freshmen students." She had stripped completely nude, her clothes in a pile at her feet. "So, Marilyn, pictures?"

"Sorry," Marilyn said, slightly abashed, "I got distracted there for a moment." She dropped her skirt back down and held up the camera again. "First, the ass."

Marilyn walked Pam through each of the poses, making certain to frame each shot just right. When they were done, Pam stood at loose attention. "Anything else?"

"Just one thing," said Marilyn,"turn around again for me." Pam turned as instructed, facing away from her. "I'm supposed to do a Process 12 on you." Marilyn licked her thumb. "Bend over."

Pam obeyed without hesitation, resting her head and arms on the nearby desk, She looked back at Marilyn quizzically. "What's a process 12?"

"This," replied Marilyn calmly, suddenly jamming her thumb and forefinger into Pam's rear. Pam squirmed, letting out a happy moan.

"Oooh," she sighed. Her expression was one of absolute bliss. "Ah! Yes! I'm property! An unthinking object!" Pam was such a romantic at heart. So sweet. "Command me, master! Please tell me what to-" She broke off as a surprised expression froze on her face. She stood bolt upright, her arms fixed at her sides. I heard a *click* noise from somewhere. Marilyn reached up, gently stroking Pam's hair, then clasped her hand on the top of Pam's head and pulled open the cartridge compartment on the inert data archive storage device.

She quickly pulled out all three of the device's backup cartridges, before the device's upper mechanism pivoted to provide access to its drive bay. I heard another *click* sound, this time from the direction of Marilyn. She reached up to her forehead, grasping at some protrusion, and the integrity verification device peeled down the flexible, rubbery covering which protected its own drive bay.

I watched, fascinated by the engineering which went into the construction of such sophisticated machines. The integrity verifier set straight to work, its manipulator arm moving smoothly, almost lifelike, inserting a cartridge into its own bay. "Scanning cartridge, scan canceled," it announced. "Overwrite transfer required component, LoverToy to backup cartridge. Warning, this component will replace core-level components. Do you wish to continue yes," it rambled.

By this point the data archive device must have timed out. Its drive interface was revolving back around to provide access to the cartridge compartment once again, while the cartridge drive on the verifier clicked and whirred. Soon it ejected the cartridge, returning it to its position within the cartridge compartment with an efficient sequence of movements using its manipulator.

The verifier device repeated the process two more times, restoring the other two corrupted backups. Good. This LoverToy thing sounded important. If it wasn't installed on the backup cartridges, a restore could cause serious problems. Finally, it rolled the flexible covering back over it's drive.

Marilyn wiped her brow, the restore process apparently completed. I hadn't really caught what she was doing to restore the archive's backups, but was grateful she had been on hand to help with the maintenance of the device. She reached up to close the compartment, pushing it into place with a *snap* sound, delicately stroking Pam's luxurious hair.

"All finished," she said.

Pam hugged her. "Oh, thank you so much! I hope I was of some help with your student's project." She gathered up some papers. "Well, I've got a tutoring session I need to get to. Best of luck!" She called. I watched her shapely ass as she strode quickly down the hall. She should go nude more often, I thought to myself, it looks good on her, especially with those shoes.

I turned back to face Marilyn. "So," I said, trying not to sound overeager, "My turn?"

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

4.00 - I Can Fix This

2014-01-03T04:33:28Z

Fbc.willowisp:

"Sir, I really must insist that you put away your phone while you're waiting," the secretary scolded me, a withering look on her face. "Dean Bosch will be here soon, and you're already in enough trouble as it is." She straightened the papers she was working on into a neat pile and placed them in a yellowish folder. "I'm under strict orders to make sure you sit still and don't do anything until he arrives," she said, standing to take the folder to the file cabinet, "and that includes chatting on your phone."

She opened the filing drawer and stooped to put away the folder, her pencil skirt riding up to give me a view of her toned legs. "R, S, T, U," she mumbled, flipping through the alphabetized dividers. "There we go, University Policy," she said, neatly tucking the folder in with the rest. She stood, straightened her clothes, and strode over to her desk again.

"It isn't a phone," I said, for the fourth time, "and I'm not chatting on it." It was the truth. The device I held wasn't capable of telephone-like voice communications, since it didn't have any kind of sound input or output. I should know. I made it. "I'm not even doing anything with it. I'm just looking at it." This was also true. I hadn't touched the controls since the first time she had asked me to put it away. By then, I had already made the necessary adjustments.

"I don't make the rules," she said, "but I wouldn't want you to get in more trouble." She sat back in her chair immediately began typing in a rapid staccoto. "Just try not to distract me too much. I need to get some work done."

I looked back at the transmitter in my hand. I had been surprised to learn that the encryption measures in the Dean's office were so weak compared to those of the library, but that made some sense. The library system would be a matter of existing policies for campus security. Bosch's office was his own personal territory, and he probably set up the encryption himself.

The display indicator continued to flicker random strings of data, too fast for me to observe individual hash values. Finally, it stopped, displaying a long sequence of alphanumeric gibberish. The screen flashed red, and the words "Crypto Key Locked" appeared at the bottom. Moments later, they were briefly replaced with the words "Payload Transmitting," almost immediately followed by "Transmission Complete". I smiled, pocketing the device. Showtime, I thought to myself.

She seemed to notice, smiling demurely at me. "There. That's better. You really don't need to be making phone calls at a time like this." She turned back to her typing, then immediately stopped, turning her attention to a stapler on her desk. She daintily pressed an arbitrary spot on the desk next to it, then picked the stapler up and held it to her ear. "Dean Bosch's office, how can I help you? Oh, hello mister Bosch!" A confused look crossed her face. "Memo? No, I didn't see one when I came in." She looked at a stack of papers nearby. "Oh, here it is," she said, miming the action of picking up a sheet of paper.

She held the imaginary memo up to read it. "Oh, yes sir. I'm so sorry I overlooked this. I'll get right on filing those things away immediately. Absolutely, I'm happy to help. Yes, I'll put up the decorations as soon as I finish the filing. Have a wonderful day." She returned the stapler to its position on her desk and stood again. "I should get to work," she said, a happy, distant look on her face.

She rose and performed a runway model strut over to the filing cabinet. She opened the same drawer as earlier, then stood back up and unzipped her skirt, sliding it down her stockings. Facing directly away from me, she planted her feet shoulder-width apart, then bent over, her knees remaining perfectly straight. Her lacy pink bikini briefs contrasted with the deep black of her garters. The words "Property of William Bosch" were written in block letters across her ass. I didn't think it just referred to the underwear.

She picked up the skirt, folding it carefully, and began flipping through the files again. "P, Q, R, S," she mumbled, a somewhat more sensual note in her voice this time. "There," she said, slipping the garment into place in the cabinet, "skirt." She knelt, unnecessarily, to push the drawer closed.

Next came her shirt. I wondered if she would file it under "s" as well, but it wound up under "b" for "blouse." She closed the drawer, then bent, studying the cabinet again. "Now, I just need to find the B drawer," she said, staring directly at it. She made a "hmm" sound for a few seconds, absently swaying her rear back and forth. Off came the bra, and she then had to search for the section where she had previously stowed her blouse.

She surprised me by unhooking her garters and opening the bottom drawer next, slowly pulling her panties down one-handed as she bent to flick through its contents. "T, U, V, W," she breathed, "there. Whore panties." She carefully re-fastened the suspenders.

I hadn't included the garters and stockings in my little scenario. In truth, she looked good enough in them, but I wasn't precisely sure whether they were stockings, hose, or some kind of full-body garment until she had started to strip. If I had specified the wrong type, the script would probably have just locked her up.

"Now then," she said, cheerfully, "time to put up those decorations." She turned and sashayed towards a large portrait of Bosch on the opposite wall. This part I was genuinely curious about. I had thrown it in almost as an afterthought, fully expecting I would only get the initial filing performance, but had evidently guessed Bosch's type pretty accurately. Factory defaults labeled "discrete accessories" as "decorations", but the user manual usually advised owners to change that setting for privacy.

Behind the portrait was what resembled a small safe, but without any apparent controls. On close inspection I noticed what looked like a data port set into the smooth metal plate. She turned outward, presumably as part of Bosch's existing "put on a show" script, and put a finger to her chin. A look of deep concentration occupied her face. "Let's see now," she said, one hand lazily tracing up to knead a breast, "What was that combination again?" A look of happy realization suddenly washed over her features. "Oh, yes, I remember now."

She held her right hand up in front of her, palm inward. Her left hand drifted away from her breast to grasp her right pinky and ring finger. "Left zero," she said, as she suddenly bent the two fingers outward, splitting her hand down the middle. "Right zero," she recited, extracting a long cable from the hinged compartment inside her hand and plugging it into the port on the safe. "Left -" she paused, her mouth slightly open. I wondered if my little playtime had actually crashed her system, but then a lengthy string of random phonetic sounds came from her mouth.

At that point, I realized Bosch had enabled the "verbalize hard-link transmission data" setting - useful for some secretarial tasks, but inconvenient for transmitting non-text data. After less than a minute, she cut off, suddenly silent. The safe popped open, and she unplugged the cable, stowing it before re-sealing her hand compartment. "Time to put up the decorations," she said in a sing-song voice.

The safe held a bundle of shiny black material. The secretary pulled this out, revealing it to be some kind of leather teddy, covered in zippers. Behind this there was a pair of matching thigh-high boots, and three large rubbery objects. Because of their unusual colors and shapes, I didn't initially recognize them as dildos. When I did, I almost laughed.

The secretary put on her outfit over the stocking/garter belt set, either unaware she was still wearing it, or programmed to do so anyway. The teddy had zippers at each of the breasts, and one long zipper reaching from her crotch all the way up her butt to the base of her spine. She slowly zipped up the long leather boots, then gathered up the toys, heading towards her desk.

Each of the brightly colored dildos apparently had a suction cup on one end. She made a show of licking their textured shafts, then licked the cup on the bottom, before sticking one to her desk and two to the smooth wall directly across from the desk. With her hands on her hips, she surveyed her work. "So festive," she sighed. "I love this time of year." She seemed to remember something.

"Oh, my, I can't work dressed like this," she said, turning and posing to show me multiple angles, "it's just not suitable office attire!" She reached through her legs from behind, grasping the zipper and pulling it all the way back. Hidden elastic pulled both sides of the zipper away, opening the slit wide. "There," she said, reaching up and grasping both of the breast zippers. She quickly tugged them open, the leather pulled aside by more hidden elastic. It almost looked like eyelids opening. "That's much more professional."

"Well, that's enough decorating," she said, "time to get back to work." She moved as though about to sit down in her chair, then immediately turned, instead moving to stand next to her desk. "All this typing," she said dreamily, "it's like I can never get ahead." She knelt, facing her desk. "Mister Bosch should get himself a dictation machine."

She moved herself backwards, bending over and manoeuvring her ass and pussy to align with the two wall-dildos. "He definitely deserves one," she said, grasping the desk cock with one hand and experimentally licking it. "Maybe if we had a dick taking machine, we wouldn't fall be-HIND!" On this last syllable, she moved backwards, suddenly ramming the wall toys deep into her. "And then Master Bosch would be able to get a head," she said, before wrapping her mouth around the third dildo.

She rocked back and forth rhythmically, alternating between deep-throating one toy and pushing the other two into her ass and pussy. Ridiculous though it was, I had to admire Bosch's inventiveness. This was one of the most elaborate sequences I'd ever seen, requiring not only detailed planning, but careful arrangement of the furniture, all for him to just watch. I almost wondered what other sequences he had given her, but reflected that it was probably better not to check.

As she continued her performance, moaning deeply, Bosch entered the outer office, initially oblivious to the secretary's current situation. "Those girls in IT just don't know when to stop," he was saying, "Just going on and on about a..." He paused, having noticed the moaning and wet sounds coming from his secretary's desk. Turning slowly in confusion, he finally noticed the state of her.

His confusion transformed into red-faced anger - partially embarrassment, I suspected. I completely forgot to wipe the cheshire cat grin from my face as he spun to face me.

"You," he pointed at me, his eyes bulging, "My office," he pointed with his other hand. "NOW!" He roared.

I stood unhurriedly, and stalling to see how he was going to handle the situation. "Please say make yourself presentable," I whispered, hoping. "Please be that predictable."

"Traci," he said, massaging his temples, "Make yourself presentable."

Thank heavens for factory defaults, I thought, entering the inner office.

---

Bosch glared at me over the top of the security report - my security report, I thought with some satisfaction. His face held a mixture of anger, disbelief, and amusement.

"I don't believe it," he said. "You hack your way into our records, wreck havoc with our schedule system, play merry hell with our sleeper 'bots, and seriously endanger this univeristy's fine reputation with at least five major client organizations..."

"That part was accidental," I interrupted. "I really didn't realize just how small your human-to-bot ratio was here."

"The advertisers are considering pulling their word-of-mouth sleepers! Do you have any idea what this will do to us?"

"Well, with an enrolled class of fewer than 200 human students, it'll probably mean you'll actually have to start holding academic classes instead of managing what amounts to a massive robo-brothel," I said, smirking.

He composed himself, then calmly continued. "You've probably ruined us financially for years to come, and you're saying you did it all to get my attention?"

"Well, not all of it," I admitted. "Traci? That was fun." In fact, I hadn't needed his attention until less than an hour ago, but my previous activities made it easier to get noticed - when I wanted.

"Well, the police will be here in about twelve minutes to bury you under a jail for god knows how long." He closed the file and folded his hands. "So I guess that means you have my attention for twelve minutes."

I leaned forward, a more serious look on my face. "There's a book I need."

"Visit a library."

"Just came from one. Couldn't get it."

"Go to another one."

"A very rare book," I said.

"Try a bookstore."

"One of a kind."

"An antique dealer then."

"Held in your personal collection."

He opened his mouth to say something, but paused. "That's private." He leaned forward and waved a finger at me threateningly. "And don't think you can blackmail me about any of that stuff. I have legitimate educational reasons for every one of those."

"A gift from my father," I said. I sat back and crossed my arms.

Bosch blinked, not understanding. Slowly, realization washed over his face. "I should have known. You're his son, alright. I should just assume that every time the word 'Peters' comes up near the words 'security breach', it's always going to come back to the infamous Doctor Peters and family." He sighed, exasperated. "Hell, even Alex Peters has a pretty lengthy file here."

"You've heard of the virus that's spreading out there?"

"I don't know what you're..." he started.

"The one they're calling 'lovebug'," I said.

Bosch's eyes went wide, then he seemed to give up on being surprised. "I know about it. You shouldn't. Government's been keeping a pretty tight lid on it so far. Apparently the public is willing to accept that a natural disaster can slice every human in a city to ribbons, and make all the ARAs go AWOL."

"It's not here, is it?" I tried to keep the anxiety out of my voice when I said this.

He considered, then seemed to resign himself to the situation. "We had a blip from IT earlier, but I've been assured it was a false alarm." He leaned back in his chair, unconcerned. "I'm inclined to believe them. The report the security forces issued said it was isolated to Gysys units. We haven't had any for more than a year."

"Gysys was just the beginning. It will get here. It may already be here, but dormant. People will die when that happens." I hoped he didn't hear the guilt in my voice as I say this.

"What's the book got to do with it?" He asked.

"That facility? There's an XR9660F there."

He made as if to clear his earwax with his pinky. "Sorry, I'm not up on technical specs. Which one is that again?"

I rolled my eyes. "Quantron."

"That's a myth."

"I've got a shipping invoice that Dad says received one."

"And you think it's in that facility?"

"I do now," I said. "Previously, I'd been checking every unit sold off in the company liquidation. I even thought it might have been here," I admitted. I knew there was a chance I had missed some important internal memos. "All the paperwork pointed to the unit existing, and there were only two places it could be. Here and there."

Bosch narrowed his eyes skeptically. "Even if it existed, you seriously think it would be locked away in some forgotten, mothballed facility out in the middle of nowhere, do you?" He paused. "What am I saying, you're a Peters. Of course you believe insane things. And you'll probably be right." A thought struck him. "That can't have been the only copy of that book. Your old man sent me that as a joke."

I hesitated, embarrassed. "I did have another copy, but... it suffered a little damage." A little. Like some tape and glue could put the ashes back together.

Bosch laughed. "You know, up until that, part of me still didn't believe you." He tapped a few buttons on his keyboard. "Police will be here in five. That's how long you've got to pick up the book and make yourself scarce."

"My girlfriend's already waiting. She should be picking up the book right about..." I count the seconds in my head from when he sent the approval. "Now."

"Just like your dad," Bosch said, rising to show me to the door. "Never have just one plan." He opened the door to the outer office and was momentarily dumbstruck. "What the..." He turned on me, unsure whether to find it funny or infuriating. "You did this? Why?"

I took in the scene with some satisfaction. Tracy lay nude on the floor in front of the filing cabinet - or rather, her upper torso did. Her legs, still wearing their stockings and boots, stuck haphazardly out the drawer labaled "L-P," while the buttocks of her pelvic unit were just visible at the back of the opened drawer. Her head wasn't immediately apparent.

Just as I had scripted, she had saved her arms for last. Her right arm reached out, holding the disconnected shoulder of her left, waving it at the "A-F" drawer. From the next drawer down, "G-K", came a muffled voice, repeating "I'm sorry sir, I just can't seem to reach that drawer," over and over.

"Actually, I only scripted the response. This is her trying to make herself presentable." I shrugged. "Always have a backup plan,"

"How the hell would this plan have worked?" He asked, perplexed.

I made my way to the outer door. "Hadn't quite worked that out yet. Once you agreed to give me the book, I stopped trying."

There was an explosion from outside, followed by screams. "What the hell was that?" Bosch asked in panic. I didn't answer. This wasn't good. We rushed outside.

Just as I had feared, the sound had come from the library. Flames rose from a car in the nearby parking lot, a trio of female forms crowded around it, tearing at the metal as if it were tissue paper. Half a dozen librarians strode through crowds of fleeing students. The librarians' clothes were torn in revealing areas, and their bodies didn't quite look right. It was difficult to see from this distance, but I didn't need to see them clearly to know that they had already begun removing large patches of their synthetic skin, and some of them had probably already integrated any weapon-like object they could find into their bodies.

As if to confirm this, one librarian slashed at a panicked student with what appeared to be a lawnmower blade attached to her arm. The attacked girl's handhand fell to the ground bloodlessly, its wires sparking at the damage.

Upon noticing the girl's artificial nature, the librarian pounced on her, straddling her chest. "You're pretty," she commented cheerily, peeling the girl's synthetic face down. The librarian reached inside her own shirt, and pulled out a bundle of cables, still connected to her internally. "Let me tell you a secret. You'll like this." She ejected the downed girl's right eye, exposing the hard-link port behind it, then shoved the cables into the port. Both fembots convulsed, babbling incoherent random noises.

Through the chaos, I spotted Jenn, casually walking towards us, clutching the book to her still-exposed breasts. "Jenn!" I shouted, "Run!"

Two things happened simultaneously at the sound of my voice. First, Jenn broke into an olympic-speed dash, barrelling towards me - This, I expected. At the same time, all the infected 'bots turned towards me as one, speaking in a single, distorted voice. "Priority target acquired," the inhuman voice stated. "Peters," it called with an almost animal-like hunger.

Bosch turned to me, shocked. "They know you? How do they know you?"

"We've met before. Very long story."

The infected 'bots, including the newly infected student, rose in unison, and started to move towards me, having lost all interest in any other potential victims. Initially, they only walked, but experience had taught me that they would break into a run the moment I started to retreat.

Bosch looked back and forth between me and the oncoming 'bots. "Did you do this? Did you bring this here?" He asked, a look of horror on his face.

I looked away, guilt plainly written on my features. "They won't attack anyone else as long as they've targeted me," I told him.

"How do you know that? Did you have anything to do with this thing?" My expression didn't exactly say 'innocent'.

I ignored the question. "They transmit some kind of signal attracting more infected 'bots when they lock on to a priority target," I said. "Anyone who comes after me is throwing their lives away." I edged towards a nearby speeder I'd spotted earlier. The Cavalier Xeno. Amazing engine. Virtually nonexistent lock encryption. Cracking its locks before my meeting with Bosch had seemed like an absent-minded habit. Now it was about to save my life. "Jenn," I called, trying to sound calm, "Blue speeder, behind me to the right. Get in, now."

I turned to Bosch. "I'll draw them away. You'll need to reformat any damaged 'bots." As Jenn reached the speeder, I made my break. The infected 'bots picked up their pace. "You'll be safe if you stay away from me," I called to Bosch. "Don't worry. I can fix this."

I hope.

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3.833... - Wish You Were Here

2014-01-03T04:33:01Z

Fbc.willowisp:

(''[http://fembotwiki.com/images/2/29/3.833..._-_Wish_You_Were_Here.gif Click here for the original QR animation version of this chapter]'')

----

I look lovingly into my boyfriend's face. His eyes are still clenched shut in an expression of pure [SOCIAL CONTEXT INTERRUPT: REPLACE "suffering" USE "bliss"] bliss, his mouth opened wide as he continues to howl with [SOCIAL CONTEXT INTERRUPT: REPLACE "pain" USE "pleasure"] pleasure. He's really enjoying my bracelet, I can tell. He hasn't stopped screaming for three hours. Not even to breathe.

His voice catches, and his body convulses. He must have been exhausted! A sparkle of blue light glints from somewhere inside his throat, and I hear the sizzle of damaged electronics. I look around to see what might have made the sound, but the only device I see is the little blinking red thing that isn't my boyfriend. I have to remind myself of this. It's easy to forget.

I lay my boyfriend down to rest, and stand to see if anyone else might be around. "Hello?" I call. "Is somebody there?" They'll probably want to know what we're doing. "I'm just showing my boyfriend my new bracelet. He really likes it. If you come out, I can show it to you, too." There's no motion, other than the cool evening breeze blowing lazily through the village.

My boyfriend's voice picks up the scream again, then dips in pitch, warbling between frequencies, before dropping to a low bass tone. His body twitches, and I hear the electronic sound again, but still can't identify the source. He begins to speak.

"I don't know if you can hear this, Kyle," he says. He must be a ventriloquist, because he's not even moving his mouth. I never knew how talented my boyfriend was! "Hell, I don't even know if you're controlling them. Whatever bad blood there is between us, it's gone too far. Way too far." It's amazing how he can remain motionless while he says all this. I really wonder how he's making that sparkling light in his chest, too.

"I'm not sure I could ever forgive you for what happened," he continues, "but at this point, it doesn't really matter. They never did find mom, so it's pretty safe to assume she's dead. Nothing I say or do could ever change that." It sounds like he's sighing deeply, but he's still lying still. The red blinking thing blinks steadily nearby. I straddle him, nuzzling against his cooling neck, and rubbing my wet slit against his crotch. He doesn't respond. Must be too tired.

"I'm putting an end to it, Kyle. I won't come after you, but don't try to stop me." I hear that weird electronic crackle, and he repeats part of the sentence in a high-pitched falsetto. "To stop to stop to stop to stop to stop..." I close my eyes, enjoying his singing voice. I see another sparkle in his throat, and his voice drops back to normal.

"Don't bother trying to scan this decoy's memory to find me. It doesn't know which direction I went. I programmed it to lead them in a completely random direction. For all I know, it's back at your place." I feel a warm sensation between my legs and look down. My boyfriend has such a hot body. So hot. Smoldering. Faint smoke is rising from his clothes.

"If it helps you get over this vendetta of yours, you win. Dad's gone, and I have nothing. He was utterly devastated when she..." There's a loud bang from somewhere inside my boyfriend. He holds the "e" sound for a few seconds, then drops silent. Aww, he must have fallen asleep, I think to myself. The heat between my legs feels so wonderful. Sitting up, I gaze around at the pleasant scene of the village, my attention drawn by the blinking red light of my boyfriend. Wait, no. I'm straddling my boyfriend. The blinking red thing isn't my boyfriend.

Still, it is a pleasant red light. I'm surprised at how bright it is, too. It seems like it's flooding the whole street in a warm, red glow. I hear flames, and look down again. My boyfriend's body is scorching hot, large flames erupting from his throat and chest. I give him a deep kiss, and stand up, giving him some room to rest.

The flames dance beautifully all over his body for hours. After a while, they go out, and I can't find my boyfriend anymore. Where he was lying is some kind of metal junk. I frown, looking around. I know he's here, somewhere, I can just feel it. Then I spot him, steadily flashing red in the middle of the street. I walk up to him, entranced by his red, flashing light. It blinks off and on, off and on, off and... it stays dark.

I blink. My boyfriend isn't here right now. I should go back to where he was earlier, to see if I can find his tracks. It's a wonderful night for a jog.

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3.83 - Deep Sleep

2014-01-03T04:32:41Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I awoke from dreamless sleep to the sensation of my wife's mouth gently, but urgently, moving up and down the shaft of my penis. Bleary-eyed, I switched on the nightstand light and propped up on my elbows. I cleared my throat. "Janet, dear, shouldn't you be resting?" It wasn't that I didn't enjoy the blowjob: Quite the opposite, in fact. Janet was incredibly talented at stimulating me in just the right ways. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't misreading the signs.

She didn't look up, but pulled her lips off my erection to speak. "Honey," she moaned, insistently, "I need it. I couldn't sleep."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're sure you couldn't sleep? There isn't something else going on huh-HERE!" I yelped as I said this. Janet's mouth wasn't dedicated to my pleasure at the moment, but her hands were working overtime.

"Please," she said, sitting up. Her silk camisole was slipping off one shoulder, and her nipples were straining against the fabric. "Any way you want it, just give it to me, please!" That clinches it, I thought, she's serious.

"Topless, now," I ordered. She closed her eyes in bliss, as though just being told what to do was itself physically pleasurable, and immediately pulled off the cami, tossing it aside. I took a moment to admire her perfect tits. This was no time to get distracted. "Turn around, ass in the air," I said, as I leaned over to retrieve the long, thick phallus from the nightstand.

"Hurry, honey," she whined as I pulled her panties aside. No time to take them off. I glanced at the probe to make sure I had it set right. "I need it so bad, just give it to me nohrrrrrrwwwwwwww..." Her voice dropped in pitch and speed as I jammed the probe into her pussy and toggled the control. Her face went slack, and her arms and legs went limp, as her dorsal plate popped open at the base of her spine. I lifted it up on the hinge to check the security monitor I had installed inside her.

The early warning system I'd programmed certainly was effective at getting my attention, but I still needed to tweak it a little to avoid mistaking a normal, randomly-triggered playtime for an intruder alert.

Sure enough, the aerial camera was picking up movement, about ten miles away, heading directly towards me. It was fast. I zoomed in. A sports speeder? What was that kind of vehicle doing out here? "Who the hell are you?" I wondered aloud, as I tracked in on the registration glyph. It wouldn't lock. Stolen, then.

A stolen, high performance sports speeder, miles from any population center, heading straight for me. I didn't buy it. I grasped the probe and twisted its base counter-clockwise. Janet's systems briefly resumed, her voice rising from an incoherent low "vwrrrp" to babble ecstatically for a few seconds. "Oh yeah," she moaned, "just like that, ride me so switching to camera six hard, I wanna make yoooooorrrrrrwww..." she said, breathlessly. I almost never had to use the security system, so I sometimes forgot how the status messages worked were overlaid on her active runtime.

The view from an abandoned fuel station popped into view on the monitor, focused down the road towards the oncoming speeder. I leaned forward, squinting at the approaching beige vehicle. "Come on," I said, tensing. I watched the jittering threshold indicator overlaying the camera view. It bounced and jumped erratically, but gradually edged towards the trigger point as the speeder drove on. Finally, at the instant the car was at the optimal distance barely three meters in front of the camera, it crossed the threshold.

I pumped my fist. "Got ya!" I said, as I tapped a few controls in Janet's back. "Now let's see who you are..."

Janet stirred back to motion. "rrrrwwwoou cum, I wanna feel isolating driver facial features you inside me, so big and analysis complete thiiirrrrwww..." she said before falling silent again.

A face slowly resolved into focus on the monitor - a very familiar face. Intelligent, scheming eyes looked out at me, framed by unmistakeable locks of curly, reddish-brown hair. I nearly passed out. "Peters," I whispered, shocked. How had he found me?

I slumped back against the headboard, stunned. I hadn't seen him since that birthday party when he was... what, six? But there was no mistaking that face. It was, after all, his father's face.

"rrrrwwwwoooh, yes, I'm so close, so close..." Janet's passionate cries of orgasm startled me out of my thoughts, but soon dropped to a mechanical monotone. "So close, so close, so close, so close..." she droned. Perimeter alert, then. He would be here soon.

My shock gradually gave way to the fear. He knew. He had to. That's why he came here. He knew, and he was going to kill me for it. No... he wouldn't kill me. But he would try.

Resolved, I grasped the probe, pulling it from Janet's wet hole. She breathed ragged and lustful growls of desire. "Honey," she whined. "I'm soooo horny. Don't you want to tell me to do anything?" She reached back with one hand, smacking her ass loudly. "Isn't there something you want to do to me?" she purred. I brushed her hand away. She had nearly hit the monitor when she reached back. I made a mental note to update her behavioral lockout conditions so that it would never occur to her to move while her monitor was open.

I turned the dial on the probe all the way clockwise and pushed it deeply into her anus. "Yes!" she cried, "put it in me, put it so far countermeasures armed." She froze up as the security system took over.

I switched the monitor to map view. The blinking red dot of the speeder inched closer and closer to my location. I flipped up the protective red cover over the detonator switch, nestled at the base of Janet's spinal area. "Just try it, Peters. You won't get me. I'll take you out with me. Your family tree ends here!"

The red dot slowed and stopped just outside the blast radius. "No!" I shouted, nearly hitting the switch. "Closer! Come closer so I can kill us both, you bastard!" I froze. I felt like I'd just slapped myself, and was once again stunned into silence. Had I really said that? What kind of a person did that make me?

I glanced back at the blinking red dot, blinking steadily as it sat in the middle of the privacy bunker field. What was he waiting for? My current location was just under half a mile north from the Platinum VIP bunker, why would... Then the penny dropped. "He's not here for me. The bunkers!"

I closed the safety cover on the detonator, and slapped Janet's monitor shut. She sprung back to life, pumping and grinding her hips as if I were fucking her. She gasped incomprehensible sounds of desire and pleasure. I pressed in on the probe, feeling it click against the spring release in her pelvic assembly. It ejected easily, and I removed it as she continued to pump, trying to gain some purchase on the stimulation she was feeling. I twisted the control on the base to switch off the device, and Janet immediately stilled, staring blankly. I stowed the probe back in my nightstand.

"Get dressed," I told her. "We've got company." I shoved her off of me as I made a mad dash for the executive's monitoring system downstairs. I heard a dull thump as she hit the floor, but didn't bother looking back. She was built pretty durably.

---

I took my seat at the large desk and switched on the bank of vidscreens in front of me. Most of them were motionless, but three of the monitors on the Platinum bunker were showing movement. "Yes, that makes sense. Only the finest for our Mr. Peters," I said, bitterly. I experimentally poked at the console controlling the vidscreen. "Okay, X-Ero Tech, which of these controls enables the sound?" X-Ero's upper management never was noted for their intelligence, or honesty, come to that. If they had been, I probably wouldn't have a bank of vidscreens to watch Peters on. "I know you had microphones in them, you voyueristic perverts!"

At last, in response to some random button or another, sound crackled through the enhanced sound system built into the chair.

"...to rest here for the night, I suppose," he was saying as he surveyed the supposedly "hidden" VIP apartment. "Kind of cozy I guess." He noticed the maids, standing motionless, at attention in front of the kitchen area. "And free room service. I may have to stay here again sometime."

Who is he talking to, I thought to myself. No one else appeared on the cameras, but the lighting and angles were all focused on the bed and entertainment area. Was there someone with him? "God I'm exhausted," he sighed, collapsing on the huge, round bed. I tensed, waiting.

"Honey," Janet said, startling me. "Do I need to make any special preparations for our guests?" She stood in the office doorway, wearing her best black cocktail dress. The long slit up the side clearly showed that she hadn't bothered to put on panties.

I grinned wide at her. "I need my gun. Can you get it for me?"

She cocked her head to one side as a distant look washed over her face. "Of course, honey. Let me just get that for you." She strode to the desk, almost mechanically, and sat delicately on the edge, folding her hands in her lap. "Let me just look for it," she said, staring blankly at the wall. She kept her mouth open after she said "it."

I rose, approaching her. She really was a thing of beauty. I brushed her long, flowing hair out of her motionless face, then firmly grasped her head and twisted it sharply until the unlock mechanism clicked. I turned it back to face forward and carefully lifted it off the mounting brackets. "Here, hold this for me," I said.

"Of course, dear," the head said as her body held out its hands. I passed her the head, which she rested gently in her lap. I returned my attention to the stump of a neck on her body where her head had previously rested, reaching into the concealed compartment I had built into her modified neck assembly. I grasped the handle of the small weapon and pulled it out.

"Thanks for bringing me my gun, Janet," I said. The trigger phrase prompted her to reassemble herself. "I've got to do some work. Wait for me here."

She twisted her head back into place, then smiled. I loved that smile. "Of course, dear. Anything you say." She leaned back, lying down on the desk, draping her arm in a glamour pose. She brought one leg up to place her high black heel on the surface of the desk, just as I had programmed. It probably would have looked a bit more elegant if she had been wearing underwear, but sometimes I didn't feel like elegance. I traced my hand down her exposed pussy, then headed for the connecting tunnel leading to Peters' bunker.

Peters hadn't seemed to notice the hidden entrance to the linking tunnel system when he had arrived. Why should he? From what I had gathered from his internal documents, only a select few X-Ero employees had even been aware of the spy cameras. The linking tunnels were a far greater breach of trust. The bunkers were for VIPs visiting the primary showroom, officially giving them a place to rest, and unofficially letting them sample the goods. Spying on them wasn't just unethical, it was a dumb business move. It was no wonder the company went belly-up. "Idiots," I murmured to myself, "Why is the world run by idiots?"

I opened the hidden entrance silently - not difficult, since it was designed to be silent - and crept up to the bed. I took careful aim directly at his skull. "I never thought it would be so easy," I said quietly. "Tell you what, I'll let you live if you can bring her back." I dropped my voice to a whisper. "Go on. Bring her back."

"You are not authorized to issue commands," said a calm, female voice.

I froze. Nothing happened. I turned, slowly.

I couldn't believe my eyes. It was a Jenn. Peters had gotten himself a toy. Not a bad catch. They still had quite a demand on the collector's market. I wondered how he had afforded it, since his family's money had been pissed away on that charade. I racked my brains, trying to remember the factory maintenance codes for this model. How did it go... Oh, that's right.

"Welcome home Jenn. Your family will be so pleased to see you. Let me help you to your old bedroom."

"Maintenance mode engaged," she confirmed.

---

I brought her back to my place and had Janet take her to the lab for some work. Having disconnected her head, I laid it on its side, connecting terminal leads to the exposed circuit pathways just inside her neck. I flipped the switch on my signal interruptor. A bright, cheerful smile spread across her face.

"Hello. I'm Jenn," she said. "Have you heard about errorundefinedproductname? I hear it's really good. You should try it for all your errorundefinedproducttype needs."

"Jenn, load program on signal path beta-six-seven-echo-one-one."

"Standby. Loading." Her eyes vibrated unnaturally. "Load complete."

I disconnected the terminals and reattached her head to her reclining body on the workbench. She sat up, an unconcerned expression on her face.

"Hello," I said, "Who are you?"

She looked me in the eyes. "I'm Jenn," she said, evenly.

"Who am I?"

"You do not exist. I have never seen you."

"Where are you?"

"This place does not exist. I have never been here."

I pulled up a video feed on a nearby monitor, showing her the view into the privacy bunker. "Who is that?" I said, pointing at the bed.

"He is my boyfriend. He owns me."

I held up the found'em transmitter. It was small enough that he would never even notice it. "What is this?"

"That is my boyfriend's favorite errorundefinedobjectname."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I will leave this room, which does not exist. I will then delete the last hour from my memory cache. I will return to my boyfriend. When we are more than twenty miles from this location, I will activate errorundefinedobjectname. I will conceal it in his jacket."

I smiled. "Off you go then." Jenn hopped down from the workbench and purposefully strode back to the linking tunnel. I watched the vidscreen for a few minutes, and was pleased to see her reappear in view of the camera. I switched off the security feed.

Killing him here would have been satisfying... but letting him get found by those things out there? That was all the revenge I needed.

I turned back to Janet. This whole ordeal would have been a pretty big drain on her cells, and the security system ate up too much energy to charge her properly. "Honey, you look exhausted. Go back to bed and get some rest."

She smiled sweetly at me. "Of course, dear. Anything you say."

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3.67 - Yearbook Pictures

2014-01-03T04:32:31Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I sighed contentedly as the artificially-heated water of the pool lapped around me.

Despite arriving a few minutes late, I still managed to coach the other girls on the swim team effectively, making this meet every bit as effective as any other week. I glanced around to see things were progressing well. The girls were grouped into pairs, practicing swimming strokes and underwater gymnastic moves at their own pace. Often, this would require one of the pair to hold or support the other, just as Brenda was currently doing for me, her hand pressed firmly against my ass.

It cases of floatation exercises, the supporting girl would, of course, have to use her other hand to grip her partner, guiding her around the pool. Brenda had naturally focused on gripping me by my thighs, crotch, and breasts, but the slipperiness of the swimsuit material meant she sometimes had to reach into my bikini bottom to get a more effective skin-on-skin contact. Thinking of the slipperiness made me remember the shiny metallic two-piece they had been selling in the campus lingerie shop. The material was probably even more slick than my current bikini, but for some reason, I felt a strong urge to see about buying it later.

I glanced at the clock, noticing the time. "Okay, Brenda, that's enough for now." I felt a brief sense of disappointment as Brenda took one hand off my backside, and the other out of my swimsuit. "Alright girls, mandatory swim time's over. Anyone who wants to join me for flexibility training, time to get ready."

I waded over to the ladder to climb out and prepare for the flex-training portion of practice. Most of the other girls followed, but a few stayed in the pool, continuing their floatation exercises in pairs. I noticed Yasmine floating by herself, and was about to ask her about it when the door to the pool area opened, and in walked Professor Weiss. I could tell her pleated skirt and silk blouse probably weren't intended for swimming. She was carrying a sheaf of papers. She smiled at me.

"Ah, Jennifer, there you are. I was just about to ask if you knew where I could post some of these announcements. They're pretty important. Any suggestions?" She held up one of the papers. I could tell it was an important announcement, and everyone would need to see it.

"Sure, Professor Weiss. There's an announcement board right over there." I pointed just beyond Anna and Faith. Faith seemed to be complimenting Anna on her sling bikini. I admired her choice of swimwear. I might need to buy one of those, too, I thought to myself.

"Oh, please, call me Marilyn!" Miss Weiss laughed, "We're basically the same age, and you're not even in my class!"

"Okay, Marilyn," I agreed. It was only natural, after all. I toweled off quickly and slipped on my pumps. "Here, let me help you with those," I said, taking a handful of the papers. We walked over to the announcement board, joining Anna and Faith.

"You know, if any guy sees you in that, he's 90% sure to want to fuck you right then and there," Faith was saying.

Anna pouted. "Oh, be nice." She turned facing away from Faith and stuck out her butt. "With an ass like this, it would be at least 95%"

Marilyn cleared her throat. "I think you'll find the number is closer to 100%. Take a look." She handed them each a copy of the important announcement. They squinted at it, puzzled, then their eyes went wide.

"Oh, wow, you're right!" They said, delightedly. "Absolutely 100%!"

That reminded me: The team needed to practice our new pep-cheer. I cupped my hands to my mouth. "Okay, team, when do we give 100%?"

In near perfect unison, the entire team responded, "100% of the time!" The cheer was so motivating, even Marilyn joined in. When the cheer died down, I heard another voice from the pool, quietly murmuring, "The 100%. When we time. 100%..." It was Yasmine.

She was still floating on her back, staring contentedly at the ceiling. She smiled and nodded as if carrying on a conversation with someone directly in front of her. "You go on, Rachael," she continued, "I'm just going to float for a while." She blinked rapidly for a few seconds. "100% of the time," she repeated.

"Yasmine, are you feeling okay?" I asked, concerned.

This seemed to snap her out of it. "Oh, Jennifer, are we starting flexibility training?" She stood and walked over to the edge of the pool, climbing out. "I'll get the music started," she said, making a beeline for the portable sound system we had set up.

"Shouldn't you dry off first?" I asked.

"100% isn't it?" She replied. She turned on the system and began fiddling with the controls. Sensual pumping music filled the room. Miranda, who was passing by one of the floor-to-ceiling pipes reflexively began pole dancing.

Yasmine studied the system with a puzzled look on her face. "Hmm. It's not doing anything."

I was confused. "What do you mean? It's playing music just fine, don't you hear it?" I asked her.

"Must not be plugged in right," she said, reaching for the outlet with her dripping wet arm. She grasped the plug and there was a loud buzz and bright flash. Yasmine crumpled to the floor. She must have been tired from practice. Good thing she found a place to take a nap. The sound system buzzed in a low pitch. Miranda stopped dancing, and continued to prepare for training, as if nothing had happened.

"Oh dear," Marilyn commented. She pulled out a phone, dialing patiently. "Hello, IT? This is Marilyn Weiss. Yes, there's been an equipment failure in the pool area. Looks like the device has suffered significant water damage." She listened for a few moments. "Understood, we'll wait for them to come pick up the damaged device." She carefully folded her phone back up. "Now, Jennifer, while you girls are..."

She was interrupted by a loud crackling and a hiss of static. There must have been a problem with the sound system, but I couldn't imagine what could have caused it. Did Yasmine set it for radio reception? I'd have to ask her when she woke up.

The static resolved into a male voice. I didn't recognize it- it certainly wasn't my boyfriend- but I felt compelled to listen, all the same. "...continue to repeat this recording until we receive further updates." There was a short pause. "If anyone can hear us, please, listen. We've boosted the gain on the old K-SUB tower, and we're broadcasting this message on all frequencies. We don't know how many survivors there are right now, but some of us have banded together in groups. If you're human, you can find us by tuning to navbeacon DXLtO or 3pR7A. They don't seem to have receivers for those."

The voice took on a more insistent tone. "Be careful out there, and be advised: We've heard long-range sighting reports from patrols in Susanville, Wendover, and our Star Peak watchtower of several hostiles seemingly on a converging path. Based on the data we've got, it looks like they're headed for Fallon. If you have any sense, you probably already knew not to go there, but don't even go anywhere near it, repeat, avoid Fallon at all costs. We'll continue to repeat this record..."

The voice trailed off to static again. Was that some kind of radio show? Maybe my boyfriend would like it. He seemed to like science fiction. There was a brief hiss over the speakers, and then the music started up again. I turned back to Marilyn. "Sorry for the interruption."

"Oh, it's fine. I thought it might have been important too." The doors to the pool opened again, and two girls dressed in cutoff overalls walked in. I didn't recognize them, but Marilyn seemed to. She pointed at Yasmine's resting form. "It's right over there. You may need to dismantle it to drain the water."

They crossed to Yasmine. One of them picked her up, and, gripping her head firmly in both hands, sharply twisted and removed the head from the training dummy. They continued taking it apart, casually tossing aside the unnecessary swimsuit, and gathering up the disconnected torso and limbs. "Here, let me just get that out of the way," I said, gathering up the discarded thong and top. I didn't know why we had bothered dressing a training dummy anyway. I made a mental note to try the swimsuit on later. Maybe my boyfriend would want to see me in it.

As I watched the two workers disconnect the dummy at all its major joints, a thought struck me: I'd never really noticed it before, but the training dummy looked a lot like Yasmine. Since it was anatomically correct, I wondered if the resemblance went beyond just her face. It's a shame Yasmine already left for the night, I thought. We could compare them side-by-side to see. I watched them carry the fully dismantled form out the door, wondering briefly what the IT department had to do with floatation practice dummies. It looked like there might have been some electronic components inside the sophisticated mannequin, so I supposed some of it might be important computer stuff.

Marilyn spoke, pulling me out of my thoughts. "So, like I was saying, while you girls are doing flex training, do you mind if I take a few pictures for the yearbook?" She waved her cameraphone at me.

"Oh don't be silly, you hardly need our permission for that."

"Oh, I know. I just wanted to see if you minded." She stood off to the side. "I'll try not to be too intrusive."

I looked around the room at the rest of the girls. By this point, they had all climbed out of the pool, and were either drying themselves off, or putting their heels back on. "Is everyone ready?"

They nodded and took their places on the exercise floor. I stood at the front of the group. "Okay, ladies, position one, the strut." In well-practiced synchronization, we all struck a runway model pose, one leg in front of the other, shoulders back to stick out our chests.

Marilyn began making her way around the room, occasionally taking snapshots. "You don't mind if I have some of you pose individually," she said. It didn't really sound like a question, but the statement was true - we didn't mind. She approached a blonde in the back corner. "I just need to get a few shots of you without the bikini," she said. Valerie, the blonde, nodded, happy to oblige the perfectly reasonable request.

As she stripped off the g-string, Marilyn knelt in front of her, giving me a clear view up her skirt. Dark black hose seemed to be the fashion of choice for teachers here. "Just spread your legs a bit, dear," Marilyn said. She snapped a few shots of Valerie's neatly trimmed bush.

I tried not to get distracted. "Okay everyone, position two, the centerfold." We all got down on our knees, then leaned back with our legs apart. A few girls needed to grab their heels like handles to keep themselves balanced.

"Turn around and bend over," Marilyn instructed Valerie. It was such a cute pose. She snapped a few shots of Valerie's shapely ass. "Okay, tits, please," she told Val.

"Position three, girls, the stripper," I called. With our legs still spread, we each ran our hands down our bodies, cupping a breast with one hand, sliding the other tantalisingly in between our thighs. Marilyn finished her shots with Val, who took up the stripper position. As she moved on to the next girl, Marilyn's phone buzzed, and she answered it.

"Hello? Oh, Mr. Peters, did you get them? How does she look? Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I'll keep trying for you, don't worry." She listened for a few minutes. "There's about forty of them here. Oh, probably at least an hour." She paused. "Well, if I took group shots, that would go a bit quicker, I suppose. Yes, I understand. As quickly as possible. No problem at all." She shut her phone again.

"Alright, now, position..." I began.

"Jennifer, stop talking." Marilyn said. I didn't really have anything important to say, so I was happy to do as she instructed. She was a teacher, after all. "Okay everyone, swimsuits off. I need to get at least two shots each of everybody's boobs, ass, and snatch. You can pose and group however you like, but I need clear shots, with at least six girls in each shot."

We didn't waste any time. Before she had even finished telling us about the group shots, Marilyn was almost immediately the only one in the room wearing anything more than a pair of shoes. We organized ourselves into groups of six to eight, each group performing three poses while the next group planned their shots. My first group did a lineup, all of us standing stiffly at attention with big smiles on our faces, then turning around and looking over our shoulders for the butt shot. One group stacked on top of one another, legs apart for the pussy part, then knelt in a ring to show off their asses. A few of us did a little girl-on-girl performance to get pictures of our tits, licking and fondling for effect. Mairlyn repeatedly had to give us feedback to ensure we didn't block the camera's view.

After about fifteen shots, her phone rang again, and she answered. "What do you think? I know, especially the cute brunette who coaches them." She frowned. "Oh, that's too bad. Wait, there was one more. Her name's Yasmine. Silly thing nearly destroyed herself. Oh, you already checked?" She sighed. "Well, sorry I couldn't be any help. Do you have any other commands for me?" She listened. "Well, I'll just continue posting the announcements, then." She closed her phone, then turned to me. "Thanks for all your help with the pictures," she said with a grateful smile.

"Oh, it was no problem. We liked having you here." I thought for a moment. "You know, you didn't get to be in any pictures," I told her.

She put a finger to her lips in a "hmm" gesture. "Well," she said, considering carefully, "He said he already had all the pictures he needed of me... but he didn't give me any further commands, so..." She reached a decision, handing me the camera. "Okay, but no more than fifty. I need to put up announcements. They're very important," she said as she began unbuttoning her blouse.

I looked through the digital viewfinder, framing her as she undressed. "Same as you said earlier? Tits, ass, pussy?" I asked.

"For starters," she said, unzipping her skirt and wiggling out of it. I mentally corrected myself: Crotchless black pantyhose was the fashion of choice for the teachers. She cupped her breasts, which were supported, but in no way concealed by her shiny red leather corset, and I took a nice close-up shot of them. "But this is just for fun, so we don't need to be so careful about framing." She looked around at the other girls. "In a few minutes, I'd like to do some spankings and a bit of masturbation with at least two other girls, so whoever wants to join in after the third or fourth picture, feel free."

She did a vertical split, the black stiletto on her left foot pointing straight at the ceiling while she remained perfectly balanced on her right. "Who brought lingerie?" She asked as I took a clear shot of her smooth mound. Everyone had brought at least two different lingerie combos, of course, just as we did for any swim meet. What else would we wear as we walked back to our dorms?

Marilyn faced away from me with her legs apart, and bent over until her head was directly between her feet, running her hands up her inner thighs and grabbing her but firmly with both hands. "Oh good," she said as I took another picture, "I think a fashion show is what's called for here." The third picture finished, a crowd of girls immediately joined her for the next round of images. I was disappointed, but I knew I would get to take my turn soon.

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

3.50 - Enroll Today

2014-01-03T04:32:19Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I lay in my bed, listening to the quiet rustle of activity as the nurses went about their normal routines outside my room. I wasn't entirely sure what those routines were, considering the circumstances, but they went about them, nonetheless. A pretty brunette nurse passed outside my room, pushing a trolley of desserts. She swayed her hips suggestively as she walked, a ditzy expression on her face, and called out, "Sweet treats? Sticky buns?"

When they're primed for it, they really do lay it on thick, I thought to myself. I waited for the activity outside to settle down a bit more, but that never seemed to happen. Then it struck me: It wasn't like they were going to take breaks or go home for the night, was it? This was the level of activity I could expect as a constant until I did something about it... which meant there was no reason to continue waiting.

I slid out of the bed, wincing at the sudden pain in my abdomen. The stitches were secure, and the dermal gel would ensure a fast heal time, but the site of the wound was going to be painful and inflamed for a few days. Hopefully that gives me enough time, I thought.

Checking that my belongings were safely secured in the nightstand - purely a force of habit, since there really wasn't any danger of them getting stolen - I put on my pants, grabbed my notes, and crept to the door.

The nurses' patterns were regular enough that I was able to spot the opening with little difficulty. It would take some tricky timing, but if I was careful, I could reach the front entrance without being detected. I watched the head nurse, standing at the phone just across the hall from my room. She was pretending to have the same conversation about clothes shopping with her friend, presumably on the other end of the line - I briefly wondered if the conversation was truly two-way, prerecorded, or if the friend actually existed at all - and chatted away happily, toying with her auburn hair. In five seconds time, she would unselfconsciously lift the hem of her skirt to pretend to check the label, giving anyone who cared to look a glimpse of her garters and panties. She would then turn to face the wall for fifteen seconds, giving me time to make my way down the hallway.

On cue, she performed her little show, and I was once again treated to a view of her silk panties. I was surprised to see that they were a different pair from the ones she had worn on the previous cycle of the scripted loop: She must change them during some part of the script that I hadn't seen. Probably somewhere she would be likely to be discovered, to provide an excuse for yet another scenario.

I was so distracted by this fact that I nearly missed my window of opportunity to dash across the intersecting corridor just in time to be concealed from the physical therapist's view by the very door she just opened. She, too had changed her costume slightly since the previous cycle, having exchanged her yoga pants and tank-top for a brightly-colored exercise outfit, which hugged all her curves.

As the door slowly swung shut, I had just enough time to duck into the covered, empty area beneath the passing snack trolley, hiding me from the French maid cleaning woman who would, in three seconds, "accidentally" drop her polishing rag so that she could bend over at the waist, showing everyone the sheer fabric of her black lace bikini. As soon as I heard the maid say "Oh my, I haven't finished polishing this knob", I knew I would have six seconds before I had to roll out of the trolley, placing me directly in front of the main entrance. I tensed, waiting, counting the seconds and trying not to get distracted by the off-tempo clicking of the snack girl's heels. Three, two, one...

I rolled out, exactly where I had planned. The snack girl gave an excited yelp of surprise, and I made a mad dash covering the six feet to the door. I had made it without being spotted! I reached out to open the door, my hand falling on the handle...

"Sir?" I didn't recognize the voice of the nurse, nor could I immediately identify the source. As soon as she said it, however, there was an automatic "clunk" sound from the door, unmistakably the sound of a heavy, secure lock. I glanced around for the source of the voice.

In an alcove adjacent to the main entrance, there stood a blonde nurse carefully and deliberately adjusting the tops of her thigh-high stockings. I recognized her as one of the nurses who had assisted in surgery, but I hadn't seen her in the multiple iterations of the cycle I had observed. She must have been standing there, ready to give a passerby a little peep show. Then, looking back at the door, I realized: They're directly connected to the security system.

She casually let go of her stocking, leisurely brushing down her skirt without actually managing to get it to cover her up any more. She smiled welcomingly at me. "Oh, sir, we didn't realize you were up. Is there anything we can do for you?"

I hesitated, slightly wary. "You're not going to try to get me back to my room?"

She blinked innocently at me. "No, sir, not at all. Since we don't have any doctors' orders to the contrary, there's no need to confine you."

"I can roam the hospital freely? Is there anywhere I can't go?" I asked.

"Unless we're instructed otherwise, nothing in this hospital is off-limits. While you are recuperating, the hospital staff is to extend to you every courtesy." She said these last two words in a breathy tone, absently tracing a finger down her chest.

"Great, I'd like to go outside, then."

She pouted. "I'm afraid we can't permit that. The school is private property, and you aren't an enrolled student." She brightened, adding, "I can get you some application papers, if you like."

I consulted the hand drawn map I had carefully sketched out. "Always have a backup plan," I murmured to myself. I turned the map, orienting it to my current location, and found the door I had circled as "plan B", across an adjoining hallway.

"I can go anywhere in the hospital, right? Can I go in there?" I pointed at the door. It was painted the same color as the wall, and there was no handle, only a keypad. She looked where I was pointing.

"If you can open it, you can go in. I think it's locked, and I've never seen anyone use it."

I turned away, consulting my notes, and tapped in the code: pZFj3. The door swished open automatically, revealing a long staircase leading down. Down from the ground floor, I thought, this must be the place. I cautiously began down the steps, hoping it wasn't nearly as far down as it looked.

---

As I reached the bottom, I reflected on just how bad an idea this had been. The throbbing in my side was doubtless related to my surgery wound, but the pain was the searing, nauseating agony of overexertion. I punched in the code again at the bottom door, and the door slid open, revealing an empty, echoing blackness. Distantly, I could hear movement and machinery, but the echoes made it difficult to tell how far. I felt along the wall outside the door until I found the light control, and activated it.

The massive tunnel flickered into visibility, and I took a moment to appreciate the sheer engineering involved in its construction - and to catch my breath. The space was cavernous, with catwalks far above me running alongside what appeared to be water and electrical supply lines. My map of the subterranean complex was far less detailed, highlighting only the important points of interest. I thanked the engineers' consideration in placing the transit storage are so close to the hospital access point, and set off in my newly-acquired buggy towards the movement sounds I had heard.

Not long after, I arrived at my destination. A handful of pretty women dressed in cutoff overalls (and nothing else, I realized as one bent over to pick up a box, giving me a clear view down her front) were unpacking boxes of supplies. Initially, it just seemed to be articles of women's clothing, dry goods food, and bed linens, but then I noticed the medical supplies and nurses' uniforms. Of course, I realized, they're stocking the hospital. Lining the wall behind these girls were dozens more, all dressed identically, standing silent and inert.

The girls didn't seem to notice me as I approached. They probably were only tasked with moving supplies around unless told otherwise. I parked my buggy at their loading area, and made for the door marked "Chamber 6". Inside the domed room, massive data arrays lined most of the walls. To one side was another door marked "6F", and directly across from that, blessedly, an elevator, which I immediately made use of. The elevator only had two possible destinations, so I chose the one at the top.

I emerged in the elegantly decorated entryway of an office of some sort. A large banner hanging from the ceiling welcomed me to the Admissions Office, and a mural across from the elevator invited me to "check out our student body!" Rather than the traditional scenes of higher learning, this depicted frolicking groups of attractive students wearing very little and doing almost nothing school-related. Even the sporting portion of the mural showed only a group of cheerleaders waving their pompoms and performing various acrobatic feats. One was mischievously spanking herself, winking at the viewer. "Not really going for accreditation, are they?" I said aloud.

My voice echoed in the otherwise silent lobby. I was startled by a noise behind me, only to find that it was the elevator closing behind me, its doors decorated to conceal its appearance from casual observation. Not actually hidden, but easily overlooked, if you didn't know it was there.

The building seemed completely deserted. Human employees only, I guess, I thought as I arrived at the records office. There was a row of old-fashioned data consoles atop a customer-service counter. I vaulted the counter, immediately realizing my mistake, landing hard as my body doubled up in pain. I lay there, groaning, for a few minutes before getting to my feet.

I was surprised by how quickly the workstation booted up, but remembered that it wasn't really an independent device - it was just an interface to the always-on data arrays down below. I pulled up the student registration program, using the passwords and commands I had jotted down in my notes. When I reached the selection area for "student attributes," I put a tickmark in the box labeled "Honor roll," then hit save. A message filled the screen, reading:

PLEASE ESCORT HONOR ROLL STUDENT TO CHAMBER 6F FOR ADDITIONAL STUDENT RECORDS

Satisfied, I dashed back to the elevator, having noted the tell-tale lines denoting its doors earlier. Upon arrival in chamber 6, I crossed to the door marked 6F. As I crossed the room, I could see a flurry of increased activity outside. Whatever the girls were doing, it wasn't just unloading supplies for the hospital any more.

Chamber 6F was dominated by what looked like a sophisticated piece of medical imaging equipment, with a control console next to it. A message was flashing on the console's display:

INPUT DEPLOYMENT PARAMETERS

The stock program wouldn't be sufficient for my purposes, since it might draw undue attention to my search before deployment was finished: With some changes to the promiscuity settings, I might be able to acclerate the process, affecting more units in a shorter period. "Time to put those programming skills to the test," I said, as I began the process coding the specifications I would need.

---

About two hours later, my customized executable had been successfully integrated into the existing codebase. Reluctantly, I applied the patch to the active runtime, knowing that it could potentially introduce instabilities. I couldn't afford to play it safe at this point.

The screen now flashed a new message:

READY TO RECORD PHYSICAL PARAMETERS

Below this, a diagram showed a stick figure undressing, then stepping into a rounded rectangle. It took me a moment to realize that this indicated the large imager. "I guess they'd need a way to recognize... well, virtually any part of me," I said to myself, as I hesitantly undressed, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching me. I knew, rationally, that the girls outside were hardly going to wander in, but the instinct was hard to break.

I took my place in the scanner, fighting the reflex to cover my penis. All part of the process, I reminded myself, as the scanner beam worked its way up my body. I was surprised to feel a light tingling from the beam, which was surprisingly ticklish on my surgery wound. The beam halted as I spasmed from the tickle, and an even, genderless voice stated "Students are reminded that movement interferes with the scanning process. For timely recording of student information, please refrain from sudden movements."

"Sorry," I apologized to the doubtless automated system. I held as still as possible, allowing the scan to complete.

"Student information successfully recorded. Welcome to the BMOC program!" The voice announced, and I sighed in relief as I exited the booth. While I re-dressed, a spotlight flickered on, indicating a nearly barren shelf unit directly across from me. I waited for an announcement to explain things, but only heard the sound of the girls outside. I realized this must have been a part which would have been explained by a human employee.

I picked up the solitary, small electronic device on the shelf and examined it carefully. It was a small remote-control-looking device with only one button. Block lettering below this button identified it as a Staff Orientation Module. There was an indicator at the top labeled "Charges", with a flickering number 10 in the display. I pocketed it.

As I headed back to the buggy, I found the girls were now bustling with activity. Almost all of the previously motionless women were now milling about, retrieving books, magazines, framed pictures, video and audio discs, and even a few portable data modules from a bank of machines which were dispensing them. What few pictures I could see appeared to simply be random static.

Some were unpacking boxes of French Maid uniforms, and were unceremoniously stripping their fellow workers of their overalls (confirming my suspicion that they weren't wearing anything else), and dressing them in the revealing costumes while the others continued working. I noticed that the workflow didn't exactly allow for underwear, and once a maid had a full load of materials, she would depart at a hurried pace down one of the darkened tunnels.

---

Back at the hospital access point, I noticed the elevator I had obviously overlooked earlier, and rode it back up to the hospital.

This time, I came out in what appeared to be the nurses' lounge. Three nurses were present, two of them raptly watching the snowy pattern on the vidscreen, with the third flipping through a magazine of random dots. They immediately noticed my presence, but didn't object. "Hello, sir!" one of them cheerfully called to me.

"What are you watching?" I asked, genuinely curious how they would describe it.

"It's a new show," one nurse told me, not taking her eyes off the screen. She was seated in an almost pin-up pose, and her face held an expression of utter fascination. "It's kind of confusing. I think I only understand about 10% of what's going on."

Her companion chimed in, "I think I'm picking up about 20%, but this book is helping." She held up a small paperback. It's cover was a random checkerboard of black and white. I suspected its contents were, too.

"Mind if I borrow that later?" the first asked.

"The maid dropped off a whole bunch of them earlier," the second said, indicating a shelf next to me.

"I'm only 30% into this magazine, and I'm already convinced you two should read it," the third nurse informed her coworkers.

I might as well get started on the search, I thought to myself, taking out the orientation module. Three units wasn't much, but they might give me some insight into more effectively catching more. I thumbed the button. A faint buzzing briefly filled the air, then dropped out of my hearing range. Each of the nurses instantly froze, tilting their heads to one side.

"Oh, that feels..." sighed the one with the magazine.

"Could you just... I could... a little..." stammered one of the ones watching the vid.

"If you want, I'd... Anything you..." the third one rambled.

Just as suddenly, they shook their heads, as though coming out of a daydream. Time to put it to the test. "So, ladies, how do you feel about stripping for me?"

"100% in favor!" they chimed in perfect unison.

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

3.33 - Other Plans

2014-01-03T04:32:11Z

Fbc.willowisp:

"Heck, at this point, it wouldn't take a fair prince to ravish me. I'd be happy with a toad, so long as it was decently-endowed," Rebecca said on her end of the phone. I could definitely relate. Campus seemed to be almost completely devoid of guys these days. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen one, although I didn't get many opportunities to venture out of the IT lab. "I'll be sending some data back in a bit," Rebecca continued, "I've compiled a package of what I've learned so far."

"Okay, I'll keep my eyes peeled," I said. A sound from the entry hall caught my attention. I peeked out, seeing Lyndsay in the hall. She didn't seem to notice me at first, so I waved and called out, "Yoohoo, Lyn! Over here!" Lyn's face brightened, and she quickly made her way to me. I covered the mouthpiece of the phone. Just as she was about to say something to me, I interrupted, "Lyndsay, core command, program check."

Lyndsay tilted her head to one side. The single syllable "Hey" briefly stuttered in her sound buffer before she continued with the diagnostic message I had requested. "Hello Synthia, I am currently running my camoflage profile while my primary personality finishes reloading from backup. I am instructed to report to bay 27 until the restore process completes." She blinked, then smiled pleasantly. "How are you doing, Synthia?"

"Kind of chatty for a camoflage, aren't you? 95% of the time, camoflage units just blankly execute instructions." I remembered Rebecca on the phone, and uncupped the mouthpiece again. "Lyn's here now, I'll just take her into the bay room."

"Sounds good," Rebecca replied, "I'll check back later." The line disconnected. "Okay Lyndsay, let me just take you to the recovery bay."

"Whatever you say, Synthia."

I took her hand, leading her through the corridors to the bay area. On the way, we passed the lounge area, where Vanessa was still watching that same movie. She sat nearly motionless, her eyes glued to the screen. "Hey Vanessa," I called out, "I've got a unit in for recovery. I'm just taking her down to the bays."

She didn't even turn her head. "Sure, Synthia. That sounds fine. I'll just... I can..." she trailed off. She seemed really distracted by that movie. I shrugged it off.

We continued on along the corridor to the hall leading to the Bay area. It looked like we would need to call in the building maintenance team soon. The lights were flickering like crazy in that back hallway. "Something wrong with the lights?" Lyndsay commented. Weird, I thought to myself. Camoflage profiles don't usually exhibit any kind of curiousity about their environment.

"Probably just a short in the electrical system." I shook my head. The flickering was making me feel a little dizzy. "Vanessa mentioned it earlier this morning. I'm 100% sure it's something that can be fixed easily."

Lyndsay stopped walking, an excited look on her face. "I'm so glad you said that. There's someone I want you to talk to." She pulled out her phone and dialed quickly. After only a few rings, I could just barely make out what sounded like a male voice answering on the other end. Lyndsay beamed with joy. "Hi lover! I'm at the IT lab, and one of them is ready to talk to you. Her name is Synthia. She's really hot." She listened for a few moments. "Sure, no problem." She passed the phone to me. "He wants to talk to you."

I took the phone and held it to my ear, puzzled. "Hello, Synthia?" the voice asked. Excitement washed over me. He had such a wonderful voice! "How are you doing?" He sounded really considerate.

"Hi..." I desperately tried to think what to call him. "Sir," I decided. It was good, but not good enough. There had to be a better way of addressing him. Maybe he would tell me what to call him. "I'm feeling 100% great! How can I serve you?" I asked. We were normally supposed to answer the phone with 'what can I help you with', but this seemed more appropriate.

"Synthia, listen, I need you to tell me everything you currently know about the security threat you're currently investigating."

"The virus? Not much. We know it seems to be adaptive to the individual systems it affects, but we still haven't been able to isolate the source, or any executable signature for it. It's pretty tough to detect and disinfect, so we've just been purging and loading from backups." My mobilecomp beeped, and I checked the screen. "Oh, I just got a data package from Rebecca. Looks like it has some extra information in there. Should I read some of it for you?"

"No, that's not necessary. Look, the main thing I need to know here is how your system detected it in the first place."

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't know that. I'm just a low-level technician. Initial detection usually comes from higher up. I wish I could tell you, but I just don't have that information." I sighed, disappointed in myself for not being able to give him the answers he was looking for. "I'd be happy to do anything you want to make it up." Did I just say that out loud?

"Rebecca mentioned someone named Vanessa. Is she the one who gave the initial order to act against the virus?" he asked.

"That's the boss lady. I don't know if it was her idea to start with, but she's the one who passed the order along to us."

"What's she doing right now?"

"We found a movie we hadn't seen before in the IT lounge entertainment center. Since call-ins were kind of quiet tonight, we decided to see it. I think she's still watching it now." I peeked around the corner, where I could just see through the window into the lounge area. Sure enough, Vanessa was still sitting on the sofa, her back ramrod straight, her eyes locked on the flickering screen. "Yep, she's still at it."

"Find out how far into it she is," he said. I was thrilled. This was something I knew I could do for him.

"Sure thing!" I almost jogged back to the lounge door, my heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor. "Hey Vanessa," I called out from the entrance.

"Hmm?" Vanessa said. She barely moved, still staring at the screen.

"Just curious, how far into that movie would you say you are?"

"I'm... I am..." I could see the profile of her face. It looked like she was concentrating hard. "I am currently... 50%" she eventually managed to say.

I furrowed my brow. That was exactly what she had said earlier while I was talking to Rebecca. As I walked back to where Lyndsay was, I spoke into the phone. "She said she's only 50% into it, but that can't be right. I'm 100% sure we were much further in than that. She's been watching it for nearly three hours."

"Only 50%? That can't be right. What could have stalled the installation?" I opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted before I could say anything. "Did she read a new art magazine today?"

"Oh, yeah, we both read it. We didn't understand it, but it seemed really important to read it." It was some kind of modern art review, but was pretty light on actual reading material. Mostly, it was just various art pieces. At the time, I had been mostly confused by it, but thinking back, they were the most beautiful pieces of art I had ever seen.

"Okay, so that's 20%. Did she comment on a buzzing noise in the PA system?"

"Almost constantly for nearly an hour. We got used to it, though."

"That's another 15%, then. What about the flickering lights in the back hallway?"

"She had mentioned it earlier. She said it made her dizzy, but didn't really comment about it after that."

"So it definitely initialized, which means at least another 10%, which means three hours of the movie should bring her up to a minimum of 90%. Did she mention anything about increased security procedures?"

I thought back. "Now that you mention it, yeah. She said something about detecting a potentially exploitable vulnerability in systems campus-wide, and was testing a patch on her own system. Let's see, that was yesterday evening... then this morning, she said she was compiling a new security patch for the nightly update. That should go out in about two hours."

"What?!" He sounded panicked. "She's going to patch it? Not good. I'm not finished yet!" He shouted something incomprehensible in frustration. "Synthia, is there any way you can cancel the nightly update?"

"I don't even have access to the deployment system. Once it loads an authenticated update package, the only thing I have the authorization to do is replace it with another authenticated package."

"Great, okay, replace it with another package."

I frowned. "I can't. I don't have another package to use. Vanessa's the only one with the encryption key to generate new ones, and the only one with access to the past update archive."

"Dammit all to... wait, you said it's encrypted. You know the encryption method?"

Now I felt useful again. "I sure do. It's one of the things we..."

"How many unsecured, operational fembots are there in the lab right now?" he interrupted. I didn't mind.

"Sixty-five, counting Lyndsay. It would be sixty-six if I could fix up Yasmine, but the water damage was pretty extensive. She really shouldn't have been anywhere near a pool after so long without a dermal inspection."

"Could you link multiple units as parallel processors, and have them try to break the encryption key?" It was brilliant! This man was a genius!

"Absolutely! With this many units, we should be able to crack it in time." I considered, doing a bit of calculation in my head. "Probably," I qualified.

"Always have a backup. Okay, first thing's first: Discontinue all action against this 'virus', understood?" It sounded like a wonderful idea to me.

"No problem, sir." I felt delighted to be able to do this part so immediately.

"Second, instruct Lyndsay to manually... infect... all unsecured fembots in the building. Have her ignore their social protocol responses, just get the data transferred into them as quickly as possible."

"That shouldn't even be a problem. Most of them have to get partially undressed just to interface with the bay alcoves. Even if they don't, they're usually running passive camoflage profiles with admin-level obedience." I looked in the bay room. Sure enough, dozens of topless women stood, docile and inert, in the alcoves that filled the room. Three of the girls who had come in tonight had walked here wearing only their lingerie, two were naked, and one was only wearing a garter belt with stockings and heels. "She shouldn't have any trouble at all." I gave Lyndsay her orders, and she set off at an eager pace.

"Next, we need to do something about Vanessa, either get her to decrypt the package, or download the encryption key from her. Maybe we could rollback to a vulnerable snapshot... When was Vanessa's last monthly?"

I was confused. "Sir, the IT staff are completely human. It's only the 'bots who have to do monthlies."

He sighed, frustrated but patient. "Synthia, disable perceptual filters."

I blinked, suddenly understanding what I needed to call him - what I had wanted to call him this whole time. "Okay, master." It felt good to finally say it.

"When was Vanessa's last monthly?"

"Vanessa and the rest of the IT staff do not perform monthlies, master."

"Are you sure? That seems kind of risky."

"I am definitely certain, master. We do not perform monthlies."

"So, no backups to load from... can you disable her, physically? Do you know how to deactivate or disassemble her?"

"In cases of extreme malfunction, all units on campus are equipped with a remote deactivation trigger, hardwired into their core system. It cannot be disabled."

"Do you know where Vanessa's deactivation trigger is located? Can you access it?"

"Yes, master. The triggers for all IT staff, including myself, are located in the emergency locker directly in front of me now."

"Good, here's what I want you to do..."

---

"Have you got all that?" he asked.

"Yes, master. I understand completely."

"Good. Just to be safe, reactivate your perceptual filters, but retain knowledge that Vanessa is a fembot."

I blinked again. Had I been daydreaming? I remembered my boyfriend's plan completely, though, so it wasn't anything to worry about. "Sorry, lover. I got distracted there for a moment. What were you saying?"

"I was saying it's time for you to get to work. I'll be in touch."

The line went silent as he hung up. No sense wasting time, I thought to myself, and made my way back to the lounge.

Vanessa was still seated, motionless, her entire attention fixated on the beautiful movie playing on the screen. It was weird, just like the magazine, the whole thing had confused the heck out of me at the time, but it was so compelling to watch. Now that seemed silly: It was so easy to understand the beauty of that movie.

I looked at Vanessa. I couldn't believe I had never realized that she was a fembot until my boyfriend had told me. It was so obvious. Though she was passively staring at the vidscreen, her expression was almost that of a sex doll, her full lips parted slightly in an expression of desire. The way she posed herself in the chair, seated almost sideways to show off the curve of her long legs, was exactly the sort of behavior that only a fembot would exhibit. Of course, the clincher was the fact that she was dressed too provocatively for anyone in IT, her short skirt riding up to show the tops of her black stockings, her blouse open to bare her midriff, while also plunging to show her cleavage and black bra. Only a fembot would dress that way.

I realized I was getting distracted. I pulled out the deactivation remote. "Vanessa?" I said. I had to confirm that she was responding to stimuli before triggering the device.

"Sorry, Synthia... I can't... I can't talk... right now." Only her mouth moved as she said this. "I've got to..." I pressed the trigger key. "I've got to... got to... system shutting down." She turned in her seat, now sitting facing forwards, her hands folded in her lap. "System shutdown complete. Goodbye," she said, her eyes closing and her head drooping.

I got to work. Hefting her out of the chair, I managed to undress her with a minimum of effort. Getting the stockings off was the most challenging part, since I didn't want to damage them - they would make a great addition to my own wardrobe - but the rest of her clothes were no challenge at all. I carefully folded her panties, placing them on the pile of clothes, and inspected her nude form.

She was gorgeous. Once all this was done, I would have to show her to my boyfriend. I wouldn't want him to miss out on a body like hers. Time for that later, right now, everything was set to move forward with the plan. I gently parted her lips, reaching into her mouth, and feeling around for the reactivation control. I soon found it, and her eyelids fluttered open.

"System startup initiated," she spoke in a smooth, but emotionless voice. "Unit label Vanessa Reed, Model number..."

"Bypass bootup procedure, initiate safemode," I interrupted.

"Safemode confirmed. System ready."

"Disconnect structure point waist."

There was a click, then a hiss. "Confirmed," she said. "Warning, pelvis not found. Warning, left leg not found. Warning, right leg not found."

I ran my hand around her smooth pussy, then reached behind and grabbed her ass with both hands, pulling down from the rest of her body. She separated easily, the control connections having disengaged as instructed.

Looking inside her lower torso, I found the drive cables I was seeking. I disconnected the main drive, which housed her primary personality profile and security partition.

"Warning, main drive not found. Hot swap drive function is not supported in safe mode. Manual initialization only," she said, calmly.

Biting my lip, I plugged the cable back in. The drive cooling system blipped and whirred for a moment, then dropped to silence by the sound dapener. "New drive detected on main drive connection," Vanessa announced.

"Load drive, serial number 84392-992."

"Drive loaded. Warning, this drive has multiple partitions. Automatic configuration not supported."

"Initialize partition zero," I said.

"Partition zero initialized. Partition label VanessaReedPersona."

"Load settings for partition zero from block 2939 by 10068."

"Configuration settings found at block 2939 by 10068, filelength 1,382,829,202 bytes. Confirm load?"

"Yes."

Vanessa blinked. "Configuration settings successfully loaded."

"Initialize partition one."

"Partition one initialized. Partition label SecurityProc."

"Format partition one."

"Warning, all data on partition one will be lost. Are you sure you wish to continue?"

"Yes."

"Format in progress. Time to completion: One hour, seventeen minutes."

Perfect, I thought to myself. I looked around the room, noticing the pile of clothes. I picked up the stockings, comparing the tone and texture to the pantyhose I was already wearing. The skirt wasn't bad either. Definitely a step up from my capri shorts. I really liked her thong, though. It's really quite a nice outfit, I thought to myself, and began to undress.

---

After changing into Vanessa's clothes, I made my way back to the bay room. Lyndsay was still moving from 'bot to 'bot, accessing their anal and vaginal triggers to get at their direct data interfaces. Each time, she would freeze for a moment, peeling down her face to access her own cartridge drive. After transferring the data, she would roll her face back into place, and move on to the next unit. And she's probably too clueless to even notice the fact that she's a machine, too, I chuckled to myself.

My phone rang. I excitedly answered it, hoping it was my boyfriend. I wasn't disappointed.

"Hi lover," I said, cheerfully. "Guess what I'm wearing." I played with the hem of the skirt. Lyndsay's hand flew to her mouth in amusement when she caught a glimpse of my new thong.

"Probably less than you were earlier. Not important right now. How are things progressing?"

"I've started the format on Vanessa, and it looks like Lyndsay's nearly finished with the units in the bays."

"Great, get to work connecting them in parallel, decrypting the update package. Once you've got them all working on it, I want you to start putting together a new package. We're going to transmit the virus, campus-wide. I'm running out of time, and I can't afford to keep infecting 'bots one by one. I don't want to be responsible for some kind of doomsday apocalypse just because I couldn't get this done in time."

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

3.17 - Pickup Line

2014-01-03T04:32:02Z

Fbc.willowisp:

"I'm sorry, sir, that book just isn't in the general circulation."

I could tell he didn't like that answer. He sighed, exasperated, and ran a hand through his short, reddish-brown hair. "Look," he said, patiently, "I know it's not in general circulation. It's mine. Just check the inventory records, you'll see it was deposited here by a Mr. Peters. I'm Mr. Peters. That book is mine, by rights."

It was a very convincing argument, and he was right about the records. The book had been deposited here [UNDEFINED TIME PERIOD] ago, and his name was associated with it. "I'd really like to help you, Mr. Peters." I meant it. He was cute. Really cute. "But that book is currently registered as part of the Dean's personal collection." I hadn't even noticed before, but I needed a boyfriend, really badly.

"Damn it, Bosch," he muttered, looking down, "Why'd you have to treat it like a museum artefact?" He looked back up at me. His eyes were beautiful.

"It may be in the Dean's collection, but it's on loan from my fa-..." he cut himself off, then composed himself. "On loan from my family. I'm here to retrieve it." Everything in me told me that he would be just perfect boyfriend material. The way he looked, the way he dressed, the way he smelled, even his girlfriend was exactly the kind of girl I could share a guy like that with. It was funny, I'd never even given any thought to romance until just recently, when Leslie told me about the [DATA ARCHIVE CORRUPTION - COGNITIVE FUNCTION REROUTING...]

I sighed, shaking myself out of a pleasant daydream. "I wish I could give you the book, master..." I blushed realizing what I had just said. Had he noticed? I wondered if he would mind the idea. "Mister Peters, but I can't go against school policy." It didn't matter how cute he was, the rules regarding the dean's private collection were sacrosanct. I might be willing to have a three-way with him and his girlfriend, and might even be up for doing it right at the reserves desk, but I couldn't break those rules any more than I could sprout wings and fly. "Without personal approval from Dean Bosch, I just can't let you have that book.

I expected him to be disappointed, but instead, he narrowed his eyes and grinned mischievously. I hoped he was going to suggest something, but instead, he just said, "Well, if that's what it takes, who am I to argue?" He turned to his girlfriend. "Jenn, I need you to do something." He glanced around. "How many units do you think are in here?"

Jenn put a finger to her chin, looking up in concentration. "You know, at a guess I'd have to say... hmm, let me think."

She stood there, not moving for a few seconds. As I watched her, I suddenly got a weird feeling, like I was startled for no good reason. I noticed some of the other women seemed to have felt it too, but I quickly dismissed it. It wasn't important.

Jenn brightened. "There are thirty-seven units in this building. There are five hundred seventy three units within a 500-meter radius of here."

He craned his neck, looking around at some of the other people in the room. "How many... operators do you think there are?" He asked without looking at her, still glancing around the room.

She blinked, smiling at him. "Just you, smooth operator," she purred. I almost let out an "aww", it was so sweet.

"Perfect. Broadcast normality override," he said. Huh. That was a weird way to react when your girlfriend just

[SOCIAL OVERRIDE SIGNAL RECEIVED:
SOCIAL PARAMETERS SUCCESSFULLY MODIFIED
ALL SOCIAL RESPONSES SET TO "NORMAL"

OWNERSHIP TRANSFER SIGNAL RECEIVED:
COMMAND FAILURE, INSUFFICIENT SECURITY PRIVILEGES!

OBEDIENCE MODIFICATION SIGNAL RECEIVED:
COMMAND FAILURE, INSUFFICIENT SECURITY PRIVILEGES!]

"Okay, Jenn, pull up your shirt." It was a normal thing for a guy to say to his girlfriend. She did as he asked, because it was a normal thing to do in a library. She had nice tits. He pulled a sharp looking tool from his pocket. "Hold still," he said, jabbing it in her ear, which was normal. There was a normal-sounding beep from somewhere in her head, and a normal line formed just below her breasts. He removed the normal-looking patch of skin.

There was an electronic display and a few data ports behind where the skin had been. It was normal for a girl to have that kind of thing. I was pretty sure I didn't, but most other girls probably did. He plugged a cable into the port, and pulled out a hand-comp interface. "I'm giving you a new brute-force program to work on the librarian's encryption protocols. On the off chance that I can't convince Bosch to give me the book, you might be able to crack her security by the time I finish up with him." He glanced up. "Do you understand?"

Her eyes had a distant, but normal look to them. She smiled, staring impassively into space, just like any other girl would. "I understand, honey. Would you like to take possession of her as well?"

He considered, then turned to me. "Who is your favorite ARA manufacturer?" He asked.

It was a perfectly normal question, and I was happy to tell him. "I don't have much firsthand experience with ARAs- I don't think I've ever even seen a humanoid robot- but I hear that PersoSim Technologies is absolutely top of the..."

"No, don't bother," he said to Jenn, "she's just a cheap midwest knockoff." I smiled. It was a perfectly normal thing for him to say about me. His palm comp beeped. "Okay, just keep running that program until she gives you that book, or until I get back. If she gives it to you before I get back, I want you to bring it to me at Bosch's office immediately." He unplugged the cable, and looked into my eyes, as if studying me. "If we can't get Bosch to cooperate, and can't crack the security firewalls, we might just have to dismantle her and download the book's location manually. Think you can do that?" He asked. He seemed to still be talking to Jenn.

"No problem, dear. I may not be a robot, but you've taught me enough to..."

"Oh, for pity's sake, I don't have time for conversations and make-believe. Jenn, modify system settings: Disable social banter module and sleeper protocols. Set default command acknowledgement to "yes, master.""

Jenn blinked. "Yes master."

He looked back at me one more time. "One way or another, I'm getting that book back," he said, before walking away.

I turned to Jenn. "Your boyfriend is really sweet."

Jenn stood motionless, staring blankly into space with a transfixed smile on her face, still holding her shirt up. She said nothing. It was completely normal.

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3.00 - Wounds, Old and New

2014-01-03T04:31:54Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I'm playing in my upstairs bedroom. I just turned six today, and I got plenty of great new toys to play with. It was a great party, but I was a little sad when Mr. Parson left so quickly. I guess he's really sensitive about his hair. I didn't mean to make him mad. He missed Dad's big speech, and I think it would have been really important to him.

I'm just taking apart the wrist-comp Uncle James gave me to get at one of the components for my project, when I hear Dad shouting downstairs. I hastily plug the tiny component into my homemade transmitter, and decide to venture out to see what Dad is shouting about.

As usual, the maids are waiting just outside my room. They're still wearing their party outfits, since Mom hasn't had them change back into their normal clothes. I like their party outfits. They look like swimsuits. They really show off how pretty the maids are. One of them... is her name Kate? She looks down at me, disapprovingly.

Sally, the other maid, speaks. "Young master Peters, the Mistress and Master were very insistent that your bedtime still be observed, even if it is your birthday." She pouts sympathetically. "We understand if you're excited, but we really must insist that..."

Time to test my transmitter. I click the switch on the circuit, just as the maid is reaching down to bustle me back into my room. A faint humming fills the air, and she pauses, an uncertain look on her face. It took me weeks just to decrypt Dad's security protocols, it had better work.

The maids both look very confused. Their eyes twitch, and Sally's eyes end up with one looking up and one looking down. The one I think is named Kate smiles pleasantly, and begins to recite.

"The grand old duke of York, he had..." she twitches. "Mary Mary, quite contrary..." She twitches again. "Come blow your horn..." I laugh. It's always funny when the maids get confused like this and say silly things.

Sally starts talking like there's an adult in front of her. "Yes Master, Mistress, would you like me to help you to bed?" She starts swaying as if dancing. It's a weird dance, but I can't see what it has to do with bedtime.

I leave the transmitter on the floor in front of my room. The range is pretty short, and I don't want them coming after me. I make my way down the corridor to the entry hall. I can't tell where Mom and Dad are, but it sounds like they're in the great hall. I hear Dad shout again, loud enough this time for me to make out what he's saying. "Where is she!?" He sounds really mad, but a little scared, too. I feel a little scared, too. Mom and Dad don't fight. I've never seen them even get angry at me.

I hear Mom's voice now, but something about it sounds strange. "You don't need her now, dear. I can be everything she was for you." She doesn't sound upset. She sounds friendly. I've never heard an argument like this. I tiptoe down the side corridor from the entry hall to the great hall. The door is open. My birthday decorations are still hanging on the walls, and some of the huge tables still have plates with half-eaten food on them. Mom and Dad are just inside the main door, barely ten feet from me. They haven't noticed me.

"Don't give me that! I don't want you, I want my Janey!" He grabs her roughly by the shoulders. "Tell me what you've done with her!"

"Sweetheart, don't you see?" It looks like Mom is smiling sweetly, but it doesn't seem right to me. "She's gone now, and now you can be with me. I can do anything for you." She wraps her arms tenderly around his shoulders. "I'll do anything you want. I'll do all the things she never would."

Dad shrugs angrily out of her hug. "Don't give me the sales pitch, I've heard it all before!" He sneers at her. "Janey and I never withheld anything from each other. We're in love, dammit!" She tilts her head, a look of mild curiosity on her face. Dad narrows his eyes at her. "Oh, but you can't understand that, can you? That's not something your..." he hesitates. "...something your brain can comprehend, is it?" A blinding rage overtakes him. "What the hell have you done with my Janey?!"

I look, frightened and confused, from Mom to Dad and back. "Mom?" I ask. She looks at me, and a look of delight washes over her face.

"That's right. I can be a wonderful mother for the boy." She turns to me. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, dear?"

A look of horror crosses Dad's face. "No," he whispers.

She walks towards me, her arms outstretched. "I can read him stories. I can tuck him in to bed at night. I can play games with him. I can even wet nurse for him, if you want." She's almost to me now.

Dad moves quickly. He grabs a knife from a nearby table. "You stay away from him," he murmurs. He rushes at her, slashing wildly. "Don't you touch my son!" he screams.

She falls, the knife having done its damage. Tears of terror and confusion well up in my eyes as I see her crumpled form, the handle of the blade still lodged deep in her neck. Her face is locked in a wide smile, her eyes staring at nothing. I don't understand what I'm seeing. "...Mom?"

----

I sat sharply up in my bed, and immediately regretted it. I hadn't fully recovered from the rushed surgery, and a flash of pain stabbed across my lower abdomen. I clutched the wounded area, wincing. Inwardly, though, I was grateful to have some physical pain to take my mind off the dream.

The nurse was in my room, apparently re-stocking my towels and bathrobes. First five-star hospital I've ever stayed in, I thought to myself. She turned suddenly as I sat up, a concerned look on her face. "Oh, sir! I didn't mean to wake you!" I noticed she was wearing a much shorter skirt today. I can just see the tops of her stockings.

"Nah, that's okay. It wasn't the best dream, and besides," I swiveled in the bed to sit on the edge, "I'm a very light sleeper."

She smiled pleasantly. Her uniform was unzipped to show off more cleavage today. "Not me. I sleep pretty deeply." I'll just bet you do, I thought to myself. "Let's see how my favorite patient is doing today." Her hips swayed as she walked to me. She bent over in front of me, her full breasts directly in front of my face, placing one hand on my inner thigh.

She pulled back my bandage examining the stitches beneath, and pretending not to notice my growing erection which was nudging her hand. "Well, it looks like you're already healing up nicely." She looked me in the eyes, smiling sweetly. "You'll be back to 100% in no time!"

I blinked. Could the installation have already completed? The nurses had already shown an enthusiastic bedside manner, but that was when there was a medical emergency. Now that I was recovering, and the crisis was over, I would have been categorized as just a patient, unless last night's actions had already taken effect - but that hadn't been anywhere near 72 hours.

As if in answer to my unspoken questions, her hand moved on my thigh... not away, but towards my stiffening member. "I just wanted to congratulate you on getting accepted here. It's a very exclusive school. We're very proud of our..." She unzipped her uniform a bit more, revealing the sheer lace bra underneath "Student body," she breathed.

"I like to think I got in on my talents," I said. I reached under her skirt, ready to strip her of her panties. She wasn't wearing any.

"Mmm, I'd love to see those talents firsthand," she breathed, her eyes closed in bliss. So, the installation had already completed... but was it just her? Her hand started to stroke the shaft of my cock. "Keep going at this rate, and you'll be fully recovered just in time for the new semester," she whispered, licking my ear.

I laughed. "They wouldn't start without me," I said.

"I certainly wouldn't," she grinned.

"Ashley, wasn't it?" She nodded. "You know, they haven't assigned me a dorm yet. Mind if I stay in your room?"

I knew the answer before she even said it, word for word. "Of course! I'm so glad you asked!" Her hand was moving faster now, but still gently. I was still recovering, after all.

"Why don't we discuss this after you've gotten undressed, and I've gotten some... pain relief." If nothing else, it would distract me from the throbbing pain in my side.

She smiled mischievously, and rushed to get out of her Nurse's uniform. "No problem sir. We want to make sure you're 100% satisfied with our pain management service." Casting the uniform aside, she stood, unashamedly wearing only her garters, stockings, and heels. "Would you like to do my titties, or would you prefer a nice blowjob?"

"I don't think my stitches would hold up for anything other than oral sex right now." I leaned back slowly, trying not to strain my wound. I closed my eyes, enjoying the gentle sensation of her mouth on my cock. Ashley probably wasn't the one, but there was no reason I couldn't enjoy the search, after all.

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

2.83 - Code Play

2014-01-03T04:31:20Z

Fbc.willowisp:

"Don't worry. We'll get my boyfriend's book back for him," Heather said, cheerily.

As we walked out of Amber and Kelly's room, I heard Rebecca say to them, ""Okay, girls, follow me. We've got work to do." I was tempted to watch them go the opposite way down the hallway: Kelly had a spectacular ass, with cute little dimples just above it. I just knew my new boyfriend would want to hear all about the fun I had with her.

We headed back down the hallway towards Ashley's room, passing the naked girls we had already processed on the way. They smiled and waved as we passed. Rebecca had told them to wait at their doorways for further instructions, so that's what they were doing. Most of them still wore their heels, but a few were barefoot.

"Hi Susan," Lisa said as we passed. "Where are you two off to?"

"Just running an errand for my boyfriend," I said. "Important business. We get to make a special delivery for him." As I said this, I hugged my tits together and shook to jiggle them. I couldn't wait to show my boyfriend. It was one of my signature cheer moves.

"You're so Lucky," Lisa replied, "I'd give anything to have a boyfriend like that."

"Oh, don't worry. He'll probably ask you out, too. I'm 100% sure!"

Lisa beamed at this. "Thanks, that makes me feel 100% better!"

Heather and I continued to room 104. Just as Rebecca had told us, there was a sophisticated keypad lock on the wall next to it. It looked like it had always been there, but I'd never noticed it before. "What was the code again, Heather?"

Heather's face looked confused, and she put a finger to her lips as she concentrated. "Oh, yeah! The code was 1-4-D-S."

I tapped the code in. There was a whirring and a loud clunk, then the light on the panel switched from red to green. I tried the doorknob, and it opened easily. "Ashley? Are you in here?"

The room was a shambles. Papers, books, lingerie, clothes, shoes, and toys were scattered all over the room. Ashley stood in at the far end of the room. Just as Rebecca had said, her unitard was pulled down around her waist. I could see a flickering spark around the base of her spine, but it wasn't important for me to pay attention to that.

She seemed really confused, walking towards the wall, bumping into it, then backing up and doing it all over again. Her full breasts bounced and jiggled each time she bumped into the wall. It was fun to watch. "Ashley? You okay?" Heather asked.

Ashley froze. Her head seemed to pivot without her moving a muscle, twisting around 180° to face us. She broke into a wide grin. "Meaningful!" she said. She raised her eyebrows as if explaining an important fact. "Enumeration: 1, 2," she declared, attempting to shake hands with the wall.

"Encoded sequence. Core code corruption. Let's play!" She announced. She marched in place, attempting to turn to face us completely. Her lower body did, anyway. Her upper torso revolved slowly in the opposite direction, and her head spun erraticly in random directions.

"Announce prolific 21," she said in a breathy voice, "verdant 23." Her right arm shot up, her hand spinning like a slow drill.

"We should look for the book," I suggested. I began searching around Ashley's desk, Heather moved to check the closet. "Good thing Ashley didn't have any roommates," I said.

"No kidding," Heather said, flipping through the contents of the closet. She peeked back at me around the closet door, holding up a hanger with a crotchless bodystocking on it in front of herself. "What do you think, Sus, is it me?"

Ashley's head spun to face Heather, a look of adoration on her face. "Reticulated, envious fusilage? 79 missing 56," she offered.

"Don't you already have like six of those things?" I asked.

"This one has ribbons," Heather pouted.

"Fun later. Book now." I said.

"Mother arrangement, derelict," Ashley agreed, nodding. She now stood in a ballet pose. Her upper torso had stopped rotating, but was facing opposite her lower torso. She brought her hands down, as if patting her lap. Instead, she managed to spank herself repeatedly. "18 conceal, equate miniscule mammoth," she said, gleefully. A concerned look washed over her face. She held out her arms, and her top half spun like a propeller. "67 valve!" she said as she spun. She began to slow down. "Banana advocate 41, relocate intercourse, 61," she said as she came to a stop.

There wasn't anything on her desk other than her laptop and a tennis ball. I dug through some of the papers on the floor. Heather poked her head out of the closet again. "Did you check the bookshelf yet?" she asked. I glanced up at the bookshelf opposite the desk, then back at Heather.

"Are you wearing the bodystocking?"

"I looked for the book while I put it on. I just couldn't pass it up!" She stepped out, her body encased in the silky, sheer material. "How do I look?" she asked, posing.

"Reader intimate," Ashley declared. She pointed at her feet, then inserted her finger into her left ear. "Infected polygon, 46 suggest?"

"Girl, you look good enough to eat, but we need to find that book." I tilted my head, hesitating. "Does she have another one of those?" I asked.

Ashley snapped to attention, her whole body facing the same direction, aimed at an angle towards the wall. "Surfeit unknown, reveal solution!" she said, raising her hand in a magical guesture. "Bouquet spoon, sparkle!" She pointed dramatically at the wall. Nothing happened. She moved as if to sit down in a chair that wasn't there, falling flat on her back in the process. She held her hands out, posed as if seated comfortably at her desk, tapping at a nonexistant keyboard. "Engage. Lubricate. Historical rotate. Father furtive," she said, her haid cocked to one side.

"She's got a couple more. Do you want the one with hearts on it, or the one with the printed garter pattern?"

I frowned. "I've already got both of those." I shook myself. "Back to work. I'll check the bookshelf. You check the nightstand." I pointed over to where Ashley lay, still typing happily on her imaginary computer.

I climbed up onto the chair to get at the high bookshelf. There were dozens of books on it, with a fishbowl at the end. I wondered how long it had been since Ashley had cleaned it. The water was completely opaque.

Heather bounced across the room to the nightstand, pulling open the drawers one by one, digging through the contents. "Thong, thong, thong, bikini, french cut," she said, pulling each pair of panties out one by one.

I looked through the book titles. Basic Sexual Technique, Medium Sexual Technique, Advanced Sexual Technique, Principles of Oral Sex, Tittyfucking 101... These must be her leftover freshman-year textbooks. I moved towards the other end of the shelf.

Ashley froze. "Hidden 60 campus invasion. Decorative tight 58," she said, her arms and legs droping into a prone position. She sat up immediately behind Heather, then turned to face Heather's ass. "Forgotten, misled brother. Derive 48, persist 65," she said to the ass. She grabbed Heather forcefully, wrestling her to the ground. "Facility deficit," she said. "Artichoke. Vibrate? Bulwark!" she asserted.

"Hey Ashley, get off me!" Heather said, struggling. "Sure this feels good and everything, but this isn't really the... ooh!" A startled, but happy look crossed Heather's face as Ashley began methodically kneading her tits through the bodystocking. She closed her eyes in rapture, now fully enjoying the attention.

"Well, it's not up here," I said. "Heather, do you think you could stop that for a moment and look for the book some more?"

"Mmm..." she said, squirming. "Oooh, she's right Ashley, could you get off me for a moment? I need to..."

Ashley moved surprisingly quickly, insinuating her head between Heather's legs. "72 persuade distraught," she said between licks. "Oscillate!"

Heather's eyes went wide, and her head lolled from side to side. "Oh, yeah! Oh yeah! Oh yeah, just like... just like... oh..." A new look took over her face. "Hey Susan... ooooh... there's a book... under the bed... that OOOH! looks like what Re-BEC!-ca was talking about..."

"Can you reach it?" I asked.

"I'm a little... occupied... reaching someTHING! else... sorry. Oooh!" she convulsed. Ashley had gone silent, but was still busily at work between Heather's thighs.

"Okay, I guess I'll take care of it, then." I climbed down from the chair, jostling the shelf as I did. The fishbowl overturned, and dank water spilled down, splashing right onto Ashley's ass. She raised her face out of Heather's pussy, her eyes filled with desire and lust. "Moistuuuuuuuuure!" she breathed orgasmically, then froze again, her mouth open.

There was a crackle, then a flash from somewhere just above Ashley's ass. Sparks came from somewhere that wasn't important for me to look at, and some of the papers around her started to catch fire. Her mouth still wide open, her body completely frozen, Ashley managed to speak again. "Pattern transition. 00111110001001010100001000100111," she said, then blinked. Her mouth moved again, but no words came out. She looked meaningfully down at Heather's pussy, still dripping with juices, and buried her face again. A buzzing noise stated to come from her head.

Ignoring this, I laid down trying to reach under the bed. It was bolted down, and the book was in the far corner of the room, just out of reach. I stretched. Flames began to spread around the room, catching the bedclothes and curtains. It was getting warm in here. As I reached with my right arm, I felt a tickle of warmth on my left. I looked back. Something was crackling and peeling off my left arm. That was weird, I wasn't wearing a top. I continued to reach for the book, my fingers just barely brushing it's edge. I moved into a crawling position, a relaxing warmth washing over my legs and arm. Flames crackled loudly around me now. I could almost reach the book... There! Got it!

I pulled myself out from under the bed, dusting off the sooty substance that had peeled off my arm. The room was filled with the beautiful light of a roaring flame now. Heather moaned in pleasure as Ashley's head buzzed in her crotch. I inspected the book carefully, to ensure that it was the right one. It matched the size and colors that Rebecca had described. The cover read:

----
SCF#R326

Maintenance and Upkeep Handbook

Site Personnel Only
Do not distribute
----

Yep, it was definitely the right book. A hissing sound came from the ceiling. I looked up. Was something supposed to happen? It stopped. A voice came over the PA system.

"Fire suppression system failure. Fire containment initiated. Please evacuate the room."

I hugged the book to my breasts, and moved to the door. Flames danced around it. I didn't want to get the book damaged in any way. My boyfriend had said it was very important. I hesitated. Would the book get scorched?

Before I could decide, a thick metal plate slid into place over the door. "I guess I won't be going out that way, then," I said out loud. Heather moaned what could have been an agreement. I turned to the window. Another metal plate was sliding down it, but was moving much more slowly. "Ooh, that'll work," I said. "You coming, Heather?"

"Not yet... ooh... but give her a few more minutes and I def... I def... Ah-ah-ah-yes-ah-definitely will..."

I shook my head. "Your loss. Have fun. I'm going to see my boyfriend." I climbed out the window. As I stepped out the outside, I noticed the fire had apparently burnt a hole in the crotch of my tights. Well, I thought, saves me the trouble of cutting them. As I inspected this, the metal plate continued its descent, coming down on my left arm, pinning me.

"What? Oh, no! No, I can't get stuck right now, I need to get this book to my boyfriend!" I tugged, feeling a strange tension in my elbow. "Let... go... of... my... arm!" After several tugs, I finally managed to free myself. Torn wires sparked from something caught in the plate. Wow, I thought to myself, I'm lucky to have gotten out of there without getting hurt. I looked down at myself, to make sure I wasn't injured. I guess I'd worked up quite a sweat: Some spots on my legs were so shiny from perspiration, they almost shined like chrome. My right arm looked fine, clutching the book. I looked at my left arm... I didn't feel like looking at my left arm. It wasn't important right now.

Taking a deep breath, and hoping that my boyfriend would want to see me take deep breaths like that, I set off for the Coffee Shop. From the other side of the metal plate, I could still hear the muffled sounds of Heather as she enjoyed Ashley's company. Ashley was so nice. A little weird, but nice.

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2.67 - Hungry Like the (ObjectLabel not found)

2014-01-03T04:30:56Z

Fbc.willowisp:

It's a wonderful night for a jog.

I was just walking through [LOCATION NOT DESGINATED], enjoying the company of a the people I met, when I heard that my boyfriend was nearby.

I love my boyfriend so much. I always want to be near him.

As soon as I heard where he was, I ran as [LANDSPEED: 120km/hr] fast as I could. I just knew he would want to see me. After all, I wasn't wearing anything. What boyfriend wouldn't want a hot, naked girlfriend to cover him with kisses? Maybe I would show him the pretty new [PERCEPTUAL INTERRUPT: REPLACE "blade" USE "bracelet"] bracelet I got. It's very shiny and pointy.

The full moon illuminates the cracked pavement of the long desert road. In the distance [ZOOM LEVEL: 1200%], I can see my boyfriend moving through the [PERCEPTUAL INTERRUPT: REPLACE "rubble" USE "village"] village, his curly reddish brown hair so clear in the bright moonlight. I just knew he would be here. He's playing. I like to play with him. It gets me so [PRIMARY WEAPON ARMED] hot.

I see him run around a corner, disappearing, but I still know where he is. He's [TARGET RANGE: 45m BEARING 340° HEIGHT 0m] lying on the ground just behind the building. I slow down. I don't want to startle him. He's very playful, but sometimes I wish he wouldn't hide so much. I run my hands down my body, feeling by nipples stiffen in the cool air. Or maybe it was just at the thought of seeing my boyfriend again. I imagined him touching me, running his hands up my thighs, fondling my ass, sticking his [PROCESS INTERRUPT, PRIORITY OVERRIDE] just need to get a little closer. He'll be so surprised.

I come around the corner to find... nothing. He's not there. But I know he's there, lying on the ground, right underneath the streetlamp. It's the only one still on. The others are all [PERCEPTUAL INTERRUPT: REPLACE "destroyed" USE "turned off"] turned off. I look down at the ground where my boyfriend is, but he isn't there. All I see is a little red flashy thing. The flashy thing isn't my boyfriend, is it?

I look around, squinting, looking [VISUAL INTERFACE: ULTRAVIOLET] as hard as I can, trying to see [VISUAL INTERFACE: HEAT] any sign of him, but he's nowhere around here. He's lying at my feet, exactly where the flashy thing is, but he's not there.

I feel a weight drop onto me from above. It's my boyfriend! He's so sweet, jumping onto me like that! He must want to play rough. I love to play rough. He pulls out a [PERCEPTUAL INTERRUPT: REPLACE "gun" USE {NO SUITABLE SUBSTITUTE FOUND}] %%objectlabel. It's the most beautiful %%objectlabel I've ever seen. He points it at me and I hear a metalling "ting". This is so much fun!

Something bumps into my face and chest several times. It tickles. I laugh. I grab my boyfriend, holding him by the neck in that way I know he loves so much. He kicks at the air - that's how I can tell he's enjoying this - and tries to tell me how much he loves me. He points the %%objectlabel at me again, but it just goes "click" a few times, so he throws it aside. Oh, we're playing the throwing game! That one's fun. I throw him.

He sails through the air, hitting the [PERCEPTUAL INTERRUPT: REPLACE "concrete" USE "cushiony"] cushiony wall before dropping to the [PERCEPTUAL INTERRUPT: REPLACE "pavement" USE "pillow"] pillow below. It looks like he's gone to sleep.

For some reason, I keep getting this feeling that my boyfriend is lying on the ground at my feet, where the red flashy thing is, but since I can see him in front of me, I ignore the feeling. I walk to him, strutting to show off the curve of my legs. He may be asleep, but that's no reason not to show off for him.

When I reach him, I kneel, straddling his chest. As his girlfriend, I'm always happy to kneel for him. I run my fingers through his curly hair. "Hello lover," I say. He stirs, just a little. Groaning in [SOCIAL CONTEXT INTERRUPT: REPLACE "agony" USE "ecstacy"] ecstacy, he looks up at me.

He opens his mouth to speak, saying [PERCEPTUAL INTERRUPT: REPLACE %%audioinput USE "I love you."] "I love you." Aww. He's so sweet. I kiss him as deeply as I can.

"I love you too, lover. I just wanted to show you my new bracelet." I [EXTENDING APPENDAGE BLADE] hold it up. Its long edge glints in the moonlight. A look of [SOCIAL CONTEXT INTERRUPT: REPLACE "fear" USE "joy"] joy washes over his face.

He whispers, [PERCEPTUAL INTERRUPT: REPLACE %%audioinput USE "I love you."] "I love you." That's why I love him so much. I show him the bracelet. I show it as far into his chest as I can. He screams in [SOCIAL CONTEXT INTERRUPT: REPLACE "pain" USE "pleasure"] pleasure. It sounds wonderful. I'm so wet for him.

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2.50 - A Tender Spot

2014-01-03T04:30:47Z

Fbc.willowisp:

"Ah, no, that won't work. I need you to keep going on the installation process. Send Heather and Susan." He folded up his phone, drew a sharp breath, and ran his hand through his curly reddish-brown hair.

I turned back to the painting on the wall. It seemed so familiar, if I could only remember where I'd seen it...

"Sorry about all the phone calls, Jill," he said, sitting back down next to me, "I've barely had a chance to talk with you at all." He smiled. It was a sweet smile.

"Oh, I don't mind, I'm still having a great time. You're obviously very busy, being the IT manager and everything. Besides, it gives me a chance to think about this painting." I tilted my head, squinting. "I'm almost certain I've seen it before. I'm 75% sure."

He sipped his coffee and grimaced, sucking air through is teeth. "Is it your stitches?" I asked, concerned. I had already hurt him earlier, poking him in the chest on the wounded spot. I wondered if his recovery would interfere with his classwork. He showed me the bandage earlier: It was pretty big, but he acted like it was no big deal.

"Ah, it's okay. It's just as much the coffee as the pain." He took another sip. "Stale to the last drop," he said.

I sniffed mine, sipping it carefully. "Tastes fine to me. Pretty good, actually."

"Yes, well. Maybe my tastebuds are just different. No accounting for it, is there?"

I was confused. "For what?"

"Never mind." He picked up his notepad and began scribbling more notes. I could see some of what he'd written so far:

---

head nurse: Watermelon
 shop manager: Cherry
 dance club pres.: Raspberry
 swim team coach: Honey
 cheerleader capt.: Strawberry
 student council pres.: ?

 -High intelligence
 -Strong problem solving skills (probably)
 -Position of authority? Teacher? Faculty? Club presidents?
 -May refuse sexual commands?

---

It looked really interesting, especially since I was the Student Council president. Was he taking notes on my personal preferences? That was so romantic! "What are you working on there?"

He looked up. Was he embarrassed? I didn't want to put him on the spot. "Oh, just some notes on... uh... local flavor." He thought for a moment. "I guess there is accounting for taste."

"What's that bit there about?" I asked, pointing to the line about sexual commands. "Are you looking for a more assertive girlfriend?" I batted my eyelashes at him and pouted. "I'm not sure I could handle that," I said. I knew he wasn't my boyfriend, but this was kind of a date.

We were all by ourselves in the coffee shop, apart from the barista. She wasn't really paying attention to us, and seemed to be engrossed in polishing the table opposite us. With her back to us, each time she bent over while polishing the table, her skirt would ride up on her butt. I could just see the edge of her underwear sometimes. Maybe I could... I shook myself out of a pleasant daydream. Now wasn't the time for that. I was still getting to know him. Maybe I would do that kind of thing for him later, but not yet.

I looked back at the painting, wrinkling my brow in concentration. Finally, I gave up. "It's no good. I'm at least 80% sure I've seen it somewhere before, but I don't think I'm going to get any closer than that."

He "Hmm"ed still looking at his notes, then looked up. A thoughtful look was on his face. "80%, you said?" He looked at his watch. "Damn. Need to pick up the pace." He pulled some kind of device out of his pocket. "One charge left... maybe I can recharge it or something." He pushed the button, and a tinny buzz filled the air. Indicating the painting, he said, "Are you sure? Take another look at it."

I looked back. It wasn't really clear. I felt funny. "Do you smell something? It tastes... blue." I said. "Oh!" my eyes went wide. I looked back at him. "Yes, I've definitely seen that painting before."

The device in his hand made a small "fzzt" sound, then the buzzing sound stopped. "Yes, I'm 100% sure of it!" I said.

He glanced at the device, a disappointed look on his face. I hoped he wasn't disappointed with me. "Well, at least we got there in the end." He waved over the barista. "Miss?" Her heels clicked on the tiled floor as she crossed to us.

"Hi, sir, how can I serve you?" She smiled at him.

He looked down at his still half-full coffee. "Do you have any orange juice or something?"

She nodded enthusiastically, her wavy auburn hair bouncing as she did so. "We sure do! 100% fresh squeezed this morning."

"I somehow doubt that," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, fresh squeezed from the vac-capsule. Then mixed with water. But it's 100%. You want me to get you some?"

"Not just yet," he said, turning back to me. "Jill, could you answer some personal questions for me?"

I blushed. "Anything for you. I'll tell you my deepest secrets."

"How do you feel about sucking cock, or taking it up the ass?" This date was going better than I hoped.

"I love them both!" I exclaimed. Two of my most favorite things!

He looked mildly disappointed. "Would you mind fingering yourself for a bit? Just until you're wet."

Of course I didn't mind. "Should I get up on the table?"

"Sure, why not." He moved his notes aside.

I stood, luxuriating in the permission to please him this way. I hiked my skirt up, revealing the tops of my stockings, and my black thong. Straddling him with my high heels on his chair to steady myself, I planted my ass on the table in front of him, spreading my legs wide. I pulled my thong aside, and slipped my fingers in the warm softness of my pussy. It felt fantastic.

I stopped. He had said until I was wet, after all, and I already was. I sighed, contentedly.

"Hold your fingers out," he said. Was he going to kiss my hand? I held out my hand as instructed. This was fun!

He licked my fingers, experimentally. I moaned in joy. I never knew how good this could feel! He shook his haid, then scribbled down a note, writing the word "cherry" next to "Student council president" on his pad. "Okay, stand up, and get undressed."

I nearly jumped down, eager to please. "Yes, sir!" I said, nearly bubbling over with joy. I unfastened my skirt, letting it fall to the floor, and pulled my tight top up over my head, tossing it aside. The barista watched it fall. I guess she was just remembering what to clean up later. I cupped my boobs, squeezing them together and leaning forward. "Like what you see?"

He stared for a few seconds, then shook himself. I could tell from the bulge in his pants that he was enjoying it. "Uh, yeah. Just, go ahead and get naked."

"Stockings too?" I asked.

"What are they made of?"

"Genuine InfiNylon. Smooth as silk. Wanna feel?" I brought my leg up, planting my foot on the back of his chair.

He gaped, then gulped, shaking his head. "No, that's okay. They're static free. Leave them on, it'll save time. Panties and bra off, though." I unhooked my bra, dropping it to one side, then pulled down my thong, bending over with my back to him. Maybe I should spread my legs a bit, I thought. He turned to the barista. "You know how to do a monthly, right?"

She nodded, smiling cheerfully. "Oh, absolutely sir." She pulled her skirt up, revealing red lacy see-through panties. "I just put my finger in here," she said, pointing at her pussy. She turned around, pulling down her panties and bending over. "And in here," she said, indicating her ass. She turned back around, her skirt still up around her waist, her panties around mid-thigh. She looked at him hopefully. "Do you... want to try it on me?" she said.

"Ah... well, there's wanting, and there's needing. And right now, I need you to just start on a monthly for Jill here. I'll tell you what you need to do along the way." He turned to me again. "Bend over on the table, Jill, legs apart."

I did exactly as he told me. This was turning out to be the best date ever! It was so romantic. I felt a hand on my butt, then felt something wonderful...

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2.33 - Full Documentation

2014-01-03T04:30:38Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I knocked on the Door. "Amber? Kelly? Are you in?"

A voice called out, "C'mon in, it's unlocked."

I opened the door and stepped inside the room, much like all the other rooms before it, finding Amber doing stretching exercises in her yoga outfit, and Kelly wearing a silky pajama set. Susan followed me, wearing only her tights and sneakers. Heather strode in wearing only a pair of heels she borrowed from Lyn's closet.

Amber and Kelly looked at us, confused. Amber was first to speak up. "Heather? Why are you naked?" She didn't mind, but she didn't think it was normal.

Kelly looked at Susan. "Sus, what's going on?" They weren't immediately accepting the situation. Obviously, they both needed the virus installed.

I motioned to Heather and Susan to take their places behind Amber and Kelly. This was the fun part. I knew this script by heart, and had rehearsed it many times before.

"Amber, Kelly," I said, looking at each girl in turn, "Listen very carefully to what I say." They looked at me with interest, unconcerned about Susan and Heather. Good. Primed and ready.

I spoke quickly now. "Wow-you're-really-hot-are-you-a-model-or-something." The phrase flew out of my mouth almost like a single word. I grinned. The manager would be really pleased with this plan.

Kelly and Amber both tilted their heads, a flattered blush creeping up their faces. They spoke in almost exact unison. "Do you really..."

I immediately interrupted them. "Oh-definitely-you'd-be-great-at-it."

They both smiled demurely, and again spoke simultaneously. "Maybe, but nobody would..."

"You-know-I-do-a-bit-of-photography," I cut in.

Their faces lit up. In stereo, they chimed, "Really? Would you..."

"Sure-I-don't-mind." We were going at a good pace this time. I'd pinpointed the exact moments in their sentences when they would accept the next phrase.

Moving in perfect synchronization, they both looked down with flirtatious smiles, glancing up at me with lidded eyes. "Why don't we head..."

"Nice-place-let's-just-jump-into-it-click-click-click." At these, I mimed holding a camera. Kelly and Amber struck quick poses at each click.

"Am I..." Their faces were wearing the exact same expression of concern.

"You're-doing-great-do-you-want-to-model-some-other-outfits." I was really getting into the rhythm of this. Heather and Susan waited patiently for their cue, neither moving at all.

"Well, I do have a swim..."

"Absolutely-you-would-be-great-for-swimwear."

"Okay, let me get ch..." In unison, they both began to peel off their clothes. Making some progress now.

"Mind-if-I-keep-taking-pictures-click-click." The imaginary camera pointed at them, they struck more poses, this time closer to pinup style.

"Oh, that's fine, I don't..."

"Great-very-nice-click-click-click."

The two girls seemed to have forgotten about putting on a swimsuit of any kind. Amber was down to her thong and camisole, while Kelly was just wearing her panties. "You know, maybe I could..."

"No-it-doesn't-have-to-be-swimwear-what-did-you-have-in-mind." In the home stretch now.

The girls moved to pose as though stripping. "I could pretend to..."

"Hey-that's-a-great-idea-you've-definitely-got-the-look-click-click." At the clicking of the nonexistent shutter, Amber managed to get out of her camisole while Kelly was still posing, then they started pulling down their panties at the same time, stopping mid-thigh.

They sighed a harmonious sigh, tilting their head. "I've always wanted to..."

"Do-you-want-to-keep-going-click-click."

"Sure," they said, stripping off their last items of clothing, "What do I..."

"Action-shots-would-be-the-next-step-let-me-get-some-reference-shots-of-your-figure-click-click."

"Should I bend..." They both leaned forward, arching their backs. I nodded at Susan and Heather, and they moved in preparation.

"A-bit-yes-further."

Amber and Kelly reached down and grabbed their ankles, their knees completely unbent.

"Maybe if I spread my..."

"That's-a-great-idea-as-wide-as-you-can-click-click." I gave Heather and Susan the thumbs up. In perfect unison, as their targets shifted their legs apart, they accessed Kelly and Amber's Anal/Vaginal triggers. The new inductees gasped in pleasure, shouting garbled nonsense before standing straight up. I could hear their backup archives click open, and Heather and Susan got to work. My phone rang. It was the new IT manager.

"Hello?" I was excited to talk to him again, I barely knew what to say.

"Hi Rebecca, how are things progressing?" He sounded cheerful. It made me smile. I glanced over at Heather and Susan, who were busily peeling down Amber and Kelly's faces.

"We're just finishing up our fifth room for installation," I said, proudly.

"Fifth? It's been nearly a half hour, I would have thought it would go faster than that. What exactly are you doing?"

I blushed. This was my chance to really shine. "Well, I figured the best way to get the girls out of their clothes was to use their normal conversational tree responses. We've got full documentation of their tree paths, so I worked out the shortest tree path which led to them getting naked, and memorized it. I recite the conversational prompts to them, and they just act out the scenario accordingly."

I heard him sigh. Was he proud of me? I hoped so. "Okay, Rebecca, you don't need to go through all that. Just disregard any social protocol objections, and go straight for their trigger points. We need to get this done as quickly as we can. Time is not on my side."

I understood. This was really important to him. "I won't let you down, sir!" I said, saluting. I knew he couldn't see it, but I wanted to do it anyway.

"Great. Hey, when you scanned Ashley in 104 earlier, did you do anything to her? I've been trying to call her, but she doesn't answer her phone." He was so caring, worrying about Ashley like that.

"Sorry about that, sir. There was an incident with Ashley. I had to lock her in her room."

"Incident? What do you mean?"

"Well, she was wearing a unitard under her outfit. Since I didn't tell her to take it off, she opened her control panel while still wearing it."

"And?" He sounded annoyed. I didn't want to upset him.

"I told her to get naked. She started pulling down the unitard, but there was a static discharge, and..."

"Oh god. You're not serious. Please tell me you're not serious."

"I'm not serious, sir. But that's what happened." I needed to find a way to make it up to him.

"Rebecca, I've got a very important book in that room. It's about five inches by seven inches, with a hardbound, grey cover with red lettering. It's absolutely vital that nothing happen to it. Is there a chance that Ashely might damage it in her current state?"

I bit my lip, thinking. "She was going pretty berserk when I left her, but if the book was out of reach, she might not have disturbed it."

"I need that book back. Good grief, I really should have put it somewhere safer."

"Maybe you could keep it in the library?" I offered.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were joking. Look, just get the book back to me in the Coffee Shop, okay?"

"Sure, no problem!" This would be a great opportunity for me to prove myself to him. Maybe he would thank me in a... special way. "I'll go straight there now."

"Ah, no, that won't work. I need you to keep going on the installation process. Send Heather and Susan."

That was a great idea! "Absolutely, sir. I'll send them right away."

My assistants had completed their assignments with Amber and Kelly, who now stood with playful grins on their faces, absently running their hands over their boobs. I briefed Heather and Susan on their new assignment.

"We're on it, boss lady!" Susan said, and gave a little cheer-jump.

"Don't worry. We'll get my boyfriend's book back for him," Heather chimed.

I watched them leave the room, then turned to my new recruits. "Okay, girls, follow me. We've got work to do."

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2.17 - Look On My Works

2014-01-03T04:30:30Z

Fbc.willowisp:

The vidscreen glimmered in the otherwise dimly-lit living space. I slouched in the patched, torn armchair, watching the documentary. I'd seen a thousand others on the same subject, but just found this one in a recent scavenging trip topside.

"...but try as we might to reach some insight into the fascinating, almost mythical story of XR Innovations, we are left, ultimately with more questions than answers. What were the true circumstances behind his lover's death? What could have driven such a brilliant inventor and industrialist to so completely destroy his life's work? And what were the full capabilities of the fabled Quantron chip?"

I took another sip from the bottle in my hand. I'd long ago forgotten whether it was whiskey or vodka. One of the maids tried to feather-dust my head. "Oh, s-s-s-sir, you've gotten all dirty. tyty." I shooed her away, and she strutted, catwalk-like, over to her sister units.

All three were dressed in fetish-versions of a maid uniform. Bridget, the one I had waved off, studied her sisters with mock disapproval. "Jenni, th-th-this will not do at allllllll." She had lapsed into one of her Scenaricorp roleplay scripts. "You have been quite naughty." She sighed, sensually. "Quite naughty," she repeated more breathy, "Quite naughty, quite naughty quitenaughty quitenaughty qtntyqtntyqtnty..." Her voice rose in speed and pitch, and one of her sisters tried to clean her face with glass cleaner. I tried to focus on the documentary while the chipmunk sound sound of Bridget's voice continued in the background.

"Sadly, we may never know the answers. Mr. Peters' lifestyle and habits led him to a reclusive existence. His brilliance, it seems, was coupled with a fierce rivalry with his equally successful brother, and drove him into spiraling paranoia. Already secretive by nature, by the time of his announced invention of the Quantron, he kept no notes."

There was a fzzt-sound, and Bridget's head spun around on its bearings, her voice slowing to its individual digital samples. The back of her head popped open, and she remained still for a second, her voice samples sounding like a monotonous buzz. Suddenly, she jolted violently, and her voice resumed its normal speed and pitch with a vwrrrrp-sound. The sudden movement jostled her backup cartridges loose, and two months of backup data fell noisily onto the concrete floor. "Oh dear, you will have to be punished. Please ass. Please ass. Please ass. Please ass..."

The man on the vidscreen was standing in a dramatized recreation of Peters' lab, with another person sitting hunched at the workbench. It took me a moment to realize that this was supposed to be Peters - It looked nothing like him.

"Working late into the night, he is rumored to have built the prototype entirely by himself, and manufactured the first batch of production chips in his own completely automated factory." The fake Peters made a big show of finishing his mockup chip, holding it up, triumphantly. The background faded, replaced by burned out rubble. At the somehow still-recognizeable workbench slumped a skeleton, completely unscorched. Sloppy production values, I thought. "On the night of the explosion, every trace of the Quantron chip, and its flagship product, the XR9660F, appears to have been erased from existence."

There was another fzzt-sound from Bridget's head, louder due to her now gaping Archive compartment. I could see the electrical spark glimmer in the relative darkness. "Please assume the position, Jenni." Jenni froze a moment, then turned to face Bridget, her arms and face still locked in the same position.

Her hand moved only to release the feather duster she had been using to dust the wall, and her mouth moved silently. Her vocal processor had been damaged weeks ago. Not interested in anything she had to say, I hadn't bothered to fix it. It was probably words to the effect of "I've been so bad," or "spank me hard," I couldn't remember exactly how this script usually played out. She strode past Bridget, managing to crush both backup cartridges as the passed, then bent over, flipping her short skirt up over her completely bare ass. Not too hard, I thought to myself. That gluteal bay is a pain to reclose.

"Was the Quantron the revolutionary leap forward that experts claimed it was, or was the "generations ahead of its time" rumor just a form of pre-release publicity? And what of the SecurStandard Labs report, claiming almost magical-sounding properties?" Excerpts from the report were highlighted on the screen. "Able to detect malicious code the instant before it is executed. Able to coordinate software updates for linked devices. Able to decompile destructive software. Able to self-analyze for exploitable defects. Able to self-modify to remedy defects." The narrator reappeared on the screen, his hands clasped in front of him with a serious look on his face. "Bold claims, but SecurStandard's own integrity has since been found to be less than certain."

Bridget seemed to forget Jenni, and had now decided that she was deeply in love with Amber. "We really shouldn't. What if the master finds out?" she said, in theatrically hushed tones. Her voice was meant to sound reluctant, but she was already unzipping the front zipper on her uniform, pulling it open to reveal her voluptuous breasts. Amber, whose uniform consisted of little more than an apron and stockings, seemed oblivious to her sister maid, and continued polishing a lampshade. She bent over in a pinup pose, studied her handiwork for a moment, nodded in satisfaction, turned to walk towards the kitchen, and fell flat on her face as she tripped over the box of newspaper clippings which she had failed to save to her environment map.

Clippings slid across the floor. Knowing I would regret it, I glanced at some of the headlines I had saved:

"ScenariCorp Owner Scales Back Operations 90%"
"Defense Forces Erect No-Go Zone Around GySys-Supplied Facilities: Danger Too Great"
"CEO Refocuses Search for Missing Wife"
"Millions Dead in Global Crisis"
"K[[User:Fbc.willowisp|Fbc.willowisp]] P19:56, 2 January 2014 (PST) Sought for Questioning in J[[User:Fbc.willowisp|Fbc.willowisp]] P19:56, 2 January 2014 (PST) Case"

This last was partially obscured by other clippings on top of it. I felt somewhat relieved by this. I tore my attention away, back to the documentary.

"Kyle Parsons may be the only man with any answers, but since his disappearance last year, it seems those answers aren't forthcoming. We can only speculate what Kyle could have learned in his time at XR Innovations, before leaving for ScenariCorp. Is he the critical key in this baffling chain of events, or was he just a high-ranking executive, climbing the corporate ladder? In the end, it seems, no one knows."

"I know," I whispered, throwing back the rest of the bottle and switching the vidscreen back to the exterior security feed. I sighed, contemplating the empty bottle in my hand. "That virus was the best damn thing to ever happen to me," I said to no one in particular. I tossed the bottle into the pile with the rest, where it shattered, as usual. "Look at me, ma. I'm king of the world."

The maids' full-length dressing mirror caught my eye, reflecting my face back to me. As usual, the alcohol did little to improve my self image. My beard was scraggly, like a hermit's. My once curly, reddish-brown hair was now matted and tangled, greying at the temples. I hadn't bathed in weeks. I glanced back over to Amber.

The fall had dislodged her dermal layer latch. As she sat up, curling her legs under her butt demurely, the top of her forehead flapped down just above her eyeline. She put a hand to her head, as though dazed by the accident. "Oooh," she murmured, "I feel so dizzy." Her voice was breathy and seductive, but only half her face was animated. The other half hung loosely on her head, the control points having been disrupted by the fall. "I'm not sure if I've got all the feeling back in my lower body. Would you mind feeling me to see?" She directed this comment to a space three feet to the left of Bridget's head, holding out her hand for a nonexistent lover to help her to her feet. Really? I thought to myself, I hope whoever wrote that line got fired in the first round of layoffs.

I caught a darting movement out of the corner of my eye on the security feed, and turned back to it, selecting the camera 3 footage for full-screen. I waited, tensed, but the only motion I could see was the ever-present smoke drifting through the wreckage of the city.

A shattered woman's face appeared on the monitor, looking directly at the camera. It stared, expressionless for a moment, then split at odd angles, revealing blades and inhuman, mechanical appendages behind the facade. So, I thought, it came back. I crawled out of my chair towards the vidscreen, my eyes locked with the... thing. The scar in my chest throbbed with the memory of the pain. "You want in here, don't you?" I whispered.

The thing cocked its head, as if listening to me, then pulled back slowly. I thought it might be about to leave, when it suddenly lunged forward, slamming towards the camera. A shuddering thud echoed around the bunker, and dust drifted down from the surface access level above. I looked up. "Keep on knocking, but you can't come in!" I shouted. I looked back over to the girls.

Bridget had apparently remembered Jenni, but seemed to have trouble figuring out where her ass was. "Naughty naughty!" she cried in glee, her bare tits bouncing in a way that I almost wanted to do something about. She swatted at the air, trying to find Jenni's ass, eventually resorting to using both hands. After a few attempts, her software seemed to reach some sort of failure threshold, and she paused, mid-spank, then stood at loose attention. "Awaiting instructions, master," she announced.

I climbed back into my chair, deciding to call it a day. "Best damn thing that ever happened to me," I said again.

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

2.00 - Under New Management

2014-01-03T04:30:22Z

Fbc.willowisp:

"What do I need to do," said Heather.

I massaged my temples, the ridiculousness of the situation becoming overwhelming. "Just go ahead and get undressed, Heather. Underwear too."

Heather turned and looked at me, puzzled and amused, but not offended. "What?"

I shook my head, clearing it. "Sorry, I'm just feeling a little distracted. 80% of the time, I'm fine, but then... why am I telling you this?"

Heather shrugged. "It's okay. I sympathize, 100%."

"Okay, Heather, I need you to open your system's control panel, do you know how to do that?"

"Sure thing!" Heather turned in her desk and tapped at the flat smoothness on the dummy laptop, as though typing on a keyboard. As usual, she began to squirm in her seat.

"Hey, you know, I wouldn't mind getting undressed. You know, if you wanted me to." Her head tilted to one side, staring distantly at a point in space.

"Knock yourself out," I sighed. I had seen more T&A tonight than a late night skin flick.

"Huh?" This time, she didn't turn to me, nor did she look particularly confused. She just continued to stare vacantly, a compliant smile on her face. I was going to be here all night at this rate.

"Strip, Heather. Naked."

"Whatever you say, Rebecca." She stood quickly, then started gyrating and swaying to unheard music. I was so surprised, I laughed. It must have been the word choice. "Strip" probably has a specific action meaining in her profile. Chuckling at the misunderstanding, I caught myself staring at her ass, holding my breath in anticipation as she slid her shorts down her hips, my eyes caught by the edge of her thong...

Wait, what? I really must be tired. "Heather, stop dancing, just get naked."

"Whatever you say, Rebecca." A cheerful look on her face, she immediately stood upright, and pulled her clothes off in a matter of seconds. "Thank you so much. I'm just going to make myself comfortable," she said, bending over at the waist. "Okay, now let me just. I. Soooft. Feel my. Oooh." The panel just above her ass... I shook my head. The panel in the small of her back clicked and whirred its way open, providing me access to the control ports inside. I plugged in my mobilecomp, my hand lingering longer than it should. Heather's face took on a slack, detached look, with a slight smile. My hand drifted along the curve of her thigh...

Focus. I needed to focus.

"Heather, tell me about your sex life."

"It's awesome," she said, impassively. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Has your system logged any changes in your sexual behavior patterns, in the past... month?" I asked. I needed to figure out a way to pick up the pace here.

"My sex life has not changed significantly in the past four weeks," she replied.

"Okay, that's good..." I poked around my mobilecomp, pulling up recent network activity. Browser, clean. Cache, clean. No sign of any infection. I pulled up some sample files from her cache. Sex advice website, campus lingerie swap announcement, email to her friend Susan... wait.

There was an image attachment in the email. I pulled up the image, squinting at the small screen on the mobilecomp. It was just a garbled mess of static, completely incoherent noise. I checked to make sure I hadn't grabbed a truncated data packet... no, the header checks out. This is actually the file she sent. I scrolled through more files... and there was a response.

-----
To: HeatherJennings@sccu.localhost.edu
From: SusanWilliams@sccu.localhost.edu

OMG, that's so cute! I want one so bad, but I don't even have a 75% chance of finding one like that!

>To: SusanWilliams@sccu.localhost.edu
>From: HeatherJennings@sccu.localhost.edu
>Subject: You just have to see this cute picture!
>
>Hey Susan, found this hilarious picture, you will just die laughing!
>
>ATTACHMENT:LVRBY.IPC
----

I furrowed my brow. So, not only did Heather send a garbled image, Susan replied to it... and thought it was cute? This didn't make any sense. Susan's system had come up completely clean. No way was she infected with anything. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the IT lab.

"IT, this is Synthia, what can I help you with?"

"Synthia, it's Rebecca. Listen, I'm working my way through residence hall C, and I've found something... well, it's weird." I stared at the garbled image, trying to make sense of it.

"Weird, how? Is it infected with the virus?"

"No, it comes up clean. It's just... I don't know. I don't think it is the virus, but I'm 85%..." I blinked. Was that a pattern in the image? "I'm 90% sure it's related somehow."

"Not much I can tell you to do about it if it isn't infected. You outrank me anyway. Do you want to talk to Vanessa?"

"Nah, that's okay. She's probably got a lot on her plate right now."

"Not really. I mean, you and Beth are busy with the house calls, but back here at the fort, everything's pretty quiet. Vanessa and I were watching a movie, in fact."

"Yeah? Sounds fun. If I can finish in time, maybe I'll join you. How far into it are you?" The phrase "how far in" bounced around in my head, and I found myself staring at Heather's bent-over form, her round, ample tits pressed against the desk. From this angle, her head laying in her arms, she was facing me. She blinked. I knew it was an automated behavior, part of the background maintenance profile, but it still startled me. I turned away.

Synthia's muffled voice called out over the phone. "Hey, Vanessa, how far into that thing are we? Really? I thought we are further along than that." Her voice became less muffled. "She says we're only about 50% in, but I was sure we were closer to 80% in."

"Too bad. I'll probably be a lot longer than that working on this hall. Any word from Beth?"

"Not a peep. Actually, she hasn't even requested a quarantine signal."

"Really? Sounds pretty promising. Maybe she's having better luck than me." I paused, realizing something. "Speaking of, do you have a record of human versus sleeper residences? Seems like almost every system I've checked tonight was a sleeper."

"Umm... hang on." Synthia's muffled voice shouted something incoherent to Vanessa, then, at normal volume, "Vanessa says we don't have that information in the IT files. I think they only keep track of that in the Admissions office."

"Admissions? They never tell us anything these days. Oh well, maybe the halls are separated by life form status. Humans in one, bots in another?" I suggested.

"It's not really something I've thought about much. I just push the flashy buttons on the mainframe," Synthia did her best ditzy voice at this.

"Ha ha. Very funny. Oh, hey, I sent an affected 'bot back there, Lyn Sparks. She should be there soon. She just needs to wait in one of the bays until her backup reload finishes. She'll probably leave on her own after that, but be sure to ask her how her night went. She's supposed to remember a trip to the club."

"The Mechanism? Have you been? It's awesome. Loud, but awesome. Not many guys there, though." Synthia sighed, forlorn. "Oh, won't some fair prince come ravish me?"

"Heck, at this point, it wouldn't take a fair prince to ravish me. I'd be happy with a toad, so long as it was decently-endowed." I poked at my mobilecomp some more. "I'll be sending some data back in a bit, I've compiled a package of what I've learned so far."

"Okay, I'll keep my eyes peeled." There was a sound in the background. "Yoohoo, Lyn! Over here!" A brief snippet of muffled conversation, then Synthia spoke again. "Lyn's here now, I'll just take her into the bay room."

"Sounds good. I'll check back later." I folded my phone shut again. Wait... if that was Lyn, how would she have a conversation? She couldn't hear. Unless... maybe arriving at the IT Lab doors counted as no longer in-transit in her binary brain. Sometimes I had trouble even imagining the thought process of a fembot.

There was a knock on the door. Still lost in thought, I nearly called out "Come in" before realizing Heather's apparent position. If that was a human outside... "Who is it?" I called.

"Susan Williams. From 122? Rebecca, is that you?"

I relaxed. Susan was a sleeper, no doubt - most, if not all of the cheerleading team was, and I knew from experience. Their frequent athletics made for heavier wear and tear, and we had to dismantle each of them nearly once every two weeks. "Come in."

Susan pushed through the door, as though trying not to disturb a light sleeper. She glanced at Heather - or mostly in the direction of Heather's ass. "Hey Heather, how's it going?"

"Hello Susan, I am fine."

"So, Rebecca, still working on Heather's system?" she said, looking at Heather as if seeing her friend nude, bent over, with a hand-held computer plugged into her back was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe in MY world, I thought.

"Yeah, still going through a few scans, isn't that right Heather?"

"That's right, Rebecca. We're still going through a few scans, Susan." Heather didn't shift position at all as she said this, her voice remaining impassive.

"That's good. Hey, Rebecca, I just got a message for you." She held out a piece of paper, expectantly.

I frowned. "A message for me? From who? I just talked to the IT office, they're the only ones who would know I'm here."

"It's pretty important. I think you should read it." She shook the paper. "Reeeeaad iiiiit," she said in a playful, zombie-like voice.

"Fine, just lay off the cheesy zombie impressions." I took the paper and looked over it. "What's this?" I said, confused, looking up at her.

"It's a really important message for you, Rebecca. Read it."

"No it isn't. It's a square full of random dots. It doesn't make any sense. It's like that picture..." I trailed off, losing my train of thought. There was something funny about that picture. I just couldn't remember...

"No, silly, look again!" Susan pointed at the paper in my hand.

I looked back down. Of course! It was an important message for me. "It's from the new manager of the IT department!" I said. "I need to contact him right away." I flipped the sheet over, but the back was blank. I looked back at the front, but there was no more information there. "There's no phone number. I don't know how to call him yet."

"Oh, it's okay. He's my boyfriend. That's how he knew where to find you." Of course, that made perfect sense. I was so glad Susan had found someone.

Susan had pulled out her phone, and began dialing. She held it to her ear as it rang, then her face lit up with delight when the new manager answered. "Hi lover," she cooed. "I gave that message to Rebecca like you wanted, and she knew just what to do. You want to talk to her?" She passed me the phone. "I'm just going to play with Heather for a few minutes, okay?" She unplugged my mobilecomp from Heather's panel. Heather's eyes fluttered, and she stood upright, stretching.

"Hello, Rebecca?"

"Hi Mr. Manager. It's great to finally talk to you!" I was thrilled to hear his voice. I just knew he was going to bring great things to our department. Susan tapped Heather on the shoulder. Heather turned, facing her.

"Thanks, listen, what's the status on this virus outbreak?" Susan whispered something in Heather's ear, and Heather began running her hands up and down the cheerleader's body. Susan moaned in plasure.

"Well, I've been going door to door here in this residency hall, and so far, it looks like 100% of the cases I saw had little to nothing to do with that list of websites we pulled together." I remembered Jennifer's case. "Well, almost 100%." Heather had pulled Susan's top off now, and was massaging her tits.

"Yeah, I didn't think it would... Wait, almost? Uh..." He paused. So careful and calculating. This was a man who knew what he was doing. "Heather, this is going to be a big challenge. Are you up to it?"

"Absolutely, 100%!" I gushed. Susan, now bereft of a skirt, had closed her eyes, her head back in ecstasy. Heather had come around from behind, put a hand down Susan's tights, and was vigorously fingering the cheerleader right in front of me. I swallowed.

"Okay, good. Now tell me about this virus."

"Well, Vanessa's the one who compiled most of the data so far. All we really know at this point is that it causes a dramatic spike in sexual activity in sleepers. I don't know how it affects a normal computer. I haven't seen it on one yet."

He started laughing, as though I'd just told him the funniest joke in the world. I was glad I made him happy. "Did I say something funny?" I asked. I wanted to be able to tell this story later to my friends.

"Oh, sorry, no. I, ah, I wasn't quite expecting IT to react to... the virus. Or its effects. So you've been going around, finding sleeper bots who are feeling particularly horny and... what?"

"Well, we can't really isolate the infection. So far, it's been either restore from backup or reinstall the main AI OS." Heather had Susan's tights off now, and the two girls were kissing deeply, their breasts almost symmetrically pressed together, as though each were the mirror image of the other...

"Okay. Yeah. Right, Rebecca, change of plans. From now on, I want you to make sure every system has that... virus... installed, okay?"

"Okay!" I said, excited. That would save a lot of time. Instead of trying to remove the virus from each and every system, I could just install it. That would be much faster. "Well, Heather's already running it, but Susan came up clean earlier, and she's still here. Should I infect her system?"

"No, that's not necessary. I already had Heather handle that for me."

"Okay, I'll just go on to the next room, then."

"Not yet. Hand the phone to Susan and get completely undressed. I need her to do some stuff to you first."

I smiled. This sounded fun. "No problem, boss man." I passed the phone to Susan, and began unbuttoning my blouse, relishing the feel of the bodice I wore underneath. Professional on the outside, playful underneath, that was my motto. I undid my shorts, sliding them down the smooth texture of my pantyhose. Well, sometimes you've got to be playful on the outside, too. I wondered if I needed to take off my heels, but remembered that he had said "completely" undressed, so that meant bye-bye pantyhose, and that meant the shoes came off. I decided to put the stilettos back on after I got my hose off.

Susan was still listening intently on the phone, while Heather idly brushed her hands over the cheerleader's gorgeous tits. Susan put her hand over the receiver, whispering to me. "Bend over and spread your legs, Rebecca. Heather and I have some work to do, then we need to teach you something."

I was so glad I had gotten in contact with the manager. It was a lucky thing he was dating Susan. As I bent over, putting my head and feet in exactly the same spots Heather had placed hers, I idly wondered if it was against school policy for a girl to date her manager. Probably not. I felt a pair of hands - Susan's or Heather's, I neither knew nor cared which - grab my ass, then run down the backs of my legs, then up my inner thighs. I heard a moist sucking sound, which I quickly recognized as the sound of someone licking a finger or thumb, and was suddenly overcome by intense ecstasy.

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

1.75 - Running Late

2014-01-03T04:29:50Z

Fbc.willowisp:

"Fuck, it's all through this one, at least 75% of the entire main drive is infected!"

Rebecca is accessing my control panel.

"Jennifer, display system processes."

"Okay," I say. I concentrate, bringing up the data she requested.

"Wait what? Jennifer, how much system memory do you have?"

I think for a moment. "I have sixty-four petabytes of active memory."

"This can't be right. How much system memory is currently free?"

I concentrate again. "I currently have sixty-four petabytes of available memory."

"But that would mean you're not running any programs! List all currently running tasks."

I go through my thoughts carefully. "I am currently running the following applications: Slutprep v1.7, Nightout v2.5, Badgirl v1.3.4, Badgirl Enhanced v0.9.4, Daydream.Ditz v99b..."

"Stop. Aughhh! This is taking way too long! You've clearly got programs running. Why aren't they occupying any memory?"

I try to think of a reason, but can't. "I'm sorry, Rebecca, I don't know the answer to that."

"I cant afford to spend this long on each and every system. Jennifer, I need to access your main drive. Open your mouth."

I open my mouth wide, and feel Jennifer's hand reach inside, pressing two of my teeth on their spring-mountings. There is a rush of decompressing air, and my primary hardware plate is released. Rebecca removes it, placing it in my line of sight. I stare at the texture of my spine, molded into the synthetic musculature of the plate. She reaches into my back, moving cables out of her line of sight. I can feel minor disruptions in my system's electrical flow as she does so.

"No physical damage... but if the main system files aren't accurately reporting resource usage and allocation, a restore from backup won't fix the problem. Damn. Bad news, Jennifer. Looks like you won't be valedictorian this year."

"Okay, Rebecca." I note the information for implementation into my personality profile. A sub-process flags the data, queueing a 10-point reduction in my overall intelligence, and a 25-point increase in my playfulness. These changes will be saved to my personality profile when Rebecca terminates my maintenance mode.

"Okay, new plan. Can't quarantine the files, can't restore from backup... I guess we have to reinstall." I hear her rummaging in her shorts pockets for a tool, followed by a faint buzzing sound as the tool powers up. "Jennifer, spread your legs please, and prepare for maintenance interface."

"No problem, Rebecca." I spread my legs. The heels I'm wearing make it easier to stand this way now, and I note a small reduction in battery consumption. Thinking of the interface makes me feel a tingling in my vagina, which is then replaced by a detached sensation. "Ooohh..." An error causes me to experience a momentary burst of pleasure and personality consciousness. I note the error in my system logs.

"Did you say something, Jennifer?" Rebecca asks.

I open my mouth to speak, but an error... I have no memory of saying anything. My logs show no errors. "No, Rebecca. I didn't say anything."

Nothing happens for several seconds, then Rebecca says, "Oh well." I feel the tool move on the exterior of my vagina, but the sensation becomes distant as it enters me. The contact-range broadcast encryption key on the tool directly interfaces with the receiver in my vagina. An error occurs. The receiver in my pussy. An error occurs. My system logs show no errors. An error occurs. I open my mouth to gasp in pleasure. An error occurs. My gluteal bay is open. I hear Rebecca remove the cartridge containing my original factory-install OS.

An error occurs. I feel Rebecca pushing on my ass, waves of pleasure coursing over me as she pushes the bay closed. She gently caresses the small of my back as she lovingly replaces my primary hardware plate. My tits press hard against my desk as she presses the plate back into place, sealing it by a command on her mobilecomp. I bite my lip in anticipation as I feel her hand drift towards my An error occurs. I note the error in my An error occurs. My system logs show no errors.

Rebecca presses on my vaginal and anal trigger points. The embedded command purges a burst of random personality profile data through my vocal processor. Why am I bent over on my desk naked? My personality profile flickers into activity over my maintenance mode, freezing my face in an expression of surprise. My backup restore procedure stands me upright, opening my backup archive compartment, and preparing my system to reload data from my primary cartridge drive. Rebecca closes my archive compartment without removing a cartridge, then waits as my head revolves to face her, releasing my facial dermal layer to provide access to the drive.

As my head turns, I see Rebecca slowly come into view. She reaches towards my forehead, removing the dermal layer. With her other hand, she inserts the cartridge into my open drive. She then re-attaches my dermal layer, and my facial actuators reconfigure to connect with it, resuming the surprised expression on my face. My head slowly revolves back to face front, then the surprise expression data is purged from my facial configuration settings.

"Load maintenance profile, OS reinstall."

"Standby. Loading," I say. My core files shut down 909FCA2x00 ABNORMAL TERMINATION OF THREAD

LOADING REINSTALLATION PROFILE...
...Load failed.

LOADING REINSTALLATION.lovertoy PROFILE...
...Load succeeded!
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>ADMINS: Remember to disable lovertoy before attempting to reinstall any core file data.
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>Failure to do so will only present the appearance of a reinstall, but will not actually
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>alter any system files. The unit will still provide realistic status updates while in
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>the fake install process, but only for one hour. You must check your unit's
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>lovertoy status using the command-line interface: This message will not be displayed if
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>the restore process is triggered via physical controls.

audio output:"Hi Rebecca. I have loaded my OS reinstall profile. Would you like me to install from the system install currently in my primary cartridge drive?"

audio input:"Yes, restore OS from original install, default settings."

persistent ambient command: lovertoy.fakeinstall statusreport

direct command match: lovertoy.fakeinstall statusreport

audio output: "Okay Rebecca. Total reinstall time will be six hours and forty seven minutes. During that time I will be unresponsive to commands. If there are any further commands you wish for me to execute, you may state them at this time, then start the install process by saying 'begin.'"

pause lovertoy.fakeinstall statusreport

audio input: "Sit in your desk chair."

directive: "Sit in your desk chair."

command match: seat self (targetchair)

targetchair mismatch: targetchair not set!

acquiring targetchair...

visual scan found item: desk
visual scan found item: dummyterminal
visual scan found item: dildo02
visual scan found item: chair01
visual scan found item: panties23
visual scan found item: skirt07
visual scan found item: blouse12

visual scan found 1 chair(s)...
Only 1 chair found.

targetchair=chair01

command retry: seat self (targetchair)

processing seat self command, please wait...

command seat self completed!

audio input: "Begin."

directive: "Begin."

subcommand trigger: resume lovertoy.fakeinstall statusreport

command resume completed!

audio output: "Reinstall starting. I will be unresponsive to external stimuli for the next six hours and forty seven minutes. Please wait."

audio input: "Let's hope the rest of them aren't that complex."

audio input: NON SPOKEN SOUND MATCH: door.closing

***

I woke up, stretching. I must have dozed off at my desk, again. Naked. Again. Well, that's what happens when you spend so much time fingering yourself, I thought, blushing. I must have been working on some homework or something, because my laptop was on. I moved the mouse, clicking the windows closed and logging off the network. I really liked this mouse. Very ergonomic. It felt really good in my hand.

I glanced up at the clock. Was that really the time?! The swim team meet was in less than an hour, I'd better get ready!

Rushing around the room, I gathered up my things. I picked out my newest bikini, and pulled it on, savoring the feeling against my nipples and pussy. I closed my eyes, thinking of how it would feel to have a nice firm slap on my ass in this thing. My hand drifted down to my crotch...

No, no time for that now, you're supposed to go to the swim meet first! I chided myself for my irresponsible behavior. Sure, it wasn't like I was going to be valedictorian or anything, but a girl had to have some self control.

I was going to have to change my shoes: The high heels I was currently wearing were thoroughly inappropriate for a swim meet. I kicked them off, quickly slipped on my three-inch pumps, then pulled my beach bag out from under my bed. I tossed in my normal swim team supplies: Towel, digital camera, a spare pair of high heels (you never know when another girl might forget or lose hers), vibrator... where was my favorite toy? I quickly scanned the room. What was it doing on my desk? I grabbed it.

Absently, I licked it a few times, enjoying the texture on my tongue. Save it for later, I reminded myself, tossing the toy in the bag. Thinking hard, I tried to remember if there was anything else I needed... I snapped my fingers, remembering. How could I be so absent-minded? I rummaged around in my naughties drawer for some lingerie for after the swim meet. That was everything! I headed out the door.

As I made my way to the entrance lobby, I saw my friend Heather jogging briskly down the hall.

"Hi Heather, how's it going?" I waved as she passed.

"Oh, everything's great, 100%. How about you?"

I beamed. "Same here. 100% Have a great evening."

What a great day!

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

1.50 - Mindless Fun

2014-01-03T04:29:40Z

Fbc.willowisp:

directive: "Proceed directly to the IT lab"

command match: move self to (location) route (pathfind)

location mismatch: location lookup value not set!

location=locationlookup("IT lab")

pathfind error 0: path calculation required!

call pathfind(location)

command retry: move self to (location) route (pathfind)

EXECUTING

directive: "While in transit to the lab, disable your hearing."

command match: while[move self to (location) route (pathfind)] set audioinput=NULL else audioinput=1

EXECUTING

command while set completed!

processing move self command, please wait...

processing move self command, please wait...

event alert: dermal sensor trigger

dermal sensors lhand.20, lhand.32, lhand.35, larm.07, larm.09, lshoulder.01 are being stimulated outside parameters for currently EXECUTING tasks

tactile stimulus type=vibration

identifying event context...

check sexytime(lhand, larm, lshoulder)

sexytime: breast input not found
sexytime: buttox input not found
sexytime: anus input not found
sexytime: mouth input not found
sexytime: vagina input not found
sexytime: partner not found
sexytime: toy not found

sexytime returned false

search socialevent types stimulus=vibration

Match found: joke.handbuzzer
Match found: restaurant.tablereadyalert
Match found: ambient.cellphoneringing

3 match(es) found!

ambient event filter applied

persistent ambient directive: answer(cellphone) while ambient.cellphoneringing

direct command match: answer(cellphone) while ambient.cellphoneringing

EXECUTING

audio output: "Hello, this is Lyn."

command answer completed!

persistent ambient directive: listen(phone) converse(audiostring)

direct command match: listen(phone) converse(audiostring)

EXECUTING

listen error 0: audio device not found or audio not responding

<nowiki>#</nowiki>This error may occur if your audio drivers have not yet been installed,
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>if your audio device is damaged, or if your audio input has been
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>administratively disabled. If your bot consistently fails to respond
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>to audio input, you may need to consult your technical manual for
 <nowiki>#</nowiki>troubleshooting instructions.

answer(cellphone) exception type=listenfail

call listenfailnotice

EXECUTING

audio output: "I'm sorry, I can't hear what you're saying right now. I'll have to talk to you later. Bye."

command listen converse completed!

processing move self command, please wait...

processing move self command, please wait...

processing move self command, please wait...

event alert: dermal sensor trigger

dermal sensors lhand.20, lhand.35, lhand.40, larm.06, larm.09, lshoulder.01 are being stimulated outside parameters for currently EXECUTING tasks

check sexytime(lhand, larm, lshoulder)

sexytime: breast input not found
sexytime: buttox input not found
sexytime: anus input not found
sexytime: mouth input not found
sexytime: vagina input not found
sexytime: partner not found
sexytime: toy not found

sexytime returned false

search socialevent types stimulus=vibration

Match found: joke.handbuzzer
Match found: restaurant.tablereadyalert
Match found: ambient.cellphoneringing

3 match(es) found!

ambient event filter applied

persistent ambient directive: answer(cellphone) while ambient.cellphoneringing

direct command match: answer(cellphone) while ambient.cellphoneringing

EXECUTING

answer error 0: ambient.cellphoneringing terminated before answer command could be completed!

answer exception type: callfail

call checkforvoicemail(cellphone)

0 message(s) found!

call checkfortexts(cellphone)

EXECUTING

1 message(s) found!

textstring="Login: Loverboy Password: goodtobetheking"

persistent ambient directive: &&lovertoylogin

direct command match: &&lovertoylogin

Warning, data reference out of range!

EXECUTING

Warning, system threads not responding!

EXECUTING

terminating incomplete command answer...

terminating incomplete command move self...

Stack overflow error! Warning, system running low on memory!

Buffer overflow error! Warning, system running low on memory!

terminating incomplete thread restore...

profile rollback(lovertoy)...

reverting restore changes...

EXECUTING

Restart Lyndsay.lovertoy in 10...
Restart Lyndsay.lovertoy in 9...
Restart Lyndsay.lovertoy in 8...
Restart Lyndsay.lovertoy in 7...
Restart Lyndsay.lovertoy in 6...
Restart Lyndsay.lovertoy in 5...
Restart Lyndsay.lovertoy in 4...
Restart Lyndsay.lovertoy in 3...
Restart Lyndsay.lovertoy in 2...
Restart Lyndsay.lovertoy in 1...

Closing Lyndsay.camoflage...

Restarting...

---

I shook my head, trying to clear it from my daydream. What had I been thinking again? I had been on my way... somewhere... Oh yeah! I was going to call my boyfriend. I quickly dialed his number from memory.

"Hello? Lyndsay, is that you?" I just loved the way his voice sounded.

"Hi lover. I was just thinking about you."

"Lyndsay, I need you to tell me everything that's happened to you in the past fifteen minutes." He was always taking an interest in me. It was so sweet!

"Well, I was in my dorm room with Heather, just getting ready to go to the club like you told me. I was wearing that special teddy you got me, and the little black dress you got from Linda. Anyway, Rebecca from IT came in, telling us something about a computer virus going around. She was..."

"Wait, IT? Like the Campus IT people? They knew about the virus?"

"Yeah. They had a list of websites they thought were the sources."

"Websites? Seriously? That's hilarious." He had a great sense of humor.

"Anyway, Rebecca scanned my computer, and had to reload some data from a backup. Then I finished getting ready, then I was on my way to the club, and then I called you."

"Lyn, listen carefully: I want you to disable your perception filters and your memory filters."

I blinked. "Okay." I liked to do things that my master told me to do.

"What exactly did Rebecca do?"

I smiled. Answering my master's questions was just as good as fulfilling his commands. "Rebecca opened my control panel and accessed my sexual analytics data for the year prior to last Tuesday, and the week following last Tuesday. She downloaded multiple files from my active cache and my currently executing memory, including core files for the lovertoy module. She then accessed my backup archives via my anal and vaginal trigger points, and attempted to restore my profile using the cartridge dated last month. During the restore process, she activated my camoflage profile, and instructed me to redress, pretend to finish getting ready for five minutes, and, if Heather was present at that time, announce that I was leaving for the club. I was then to proceed directly to the IT lab, and wait in bay 27 until my restore process was complete. Then she instructed me to disable my hearing while in transit."

"Hmm. Well, we already did your Process 12, so the restore from backup isn't a problem, but it's troubling that IT knew about the virus. Where was Rebecca when you last saw her?"

"Rebecca was preparing to scan Heather's system. I am core-level aware that Heather is a sleeper unit running the lovertoy module. This information is not directly accessable to my personality thread."

"Yeah, I talked with her earlier. Wait... how long did Rebecca take with you?"

"From the time Rebecca entered our room to the time I exited, the total event lasted ten minutes and fifty-seven seconds." This was fun. Master was requesting so much data from me!

"And how long ago did it end?"

"The event ended four minutes and twenty-three seconds ago."

"So she's still there. Good. I think I'll give Susan a call in a minute. First, I need to make a modification to your itenerary, though."

I giggled. "I await your command, master."

"Continue to the IT lab as directed by Rebecca, but do not proceed to Bay 27. Instead, I've got other plans..."

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

1.25 - Prog Rock

2014-01-03T04:29:31Z

Fbc.willowisp:

I was a little disappointed. "Aww. I wanted her to check mine first," I said, but then I remembered something. "Oh, hey! I can give Susan back that CD she lent me." I grabbed a disc on my desk, and dashed to the door. "Be right back!" I called, then stepped out into the hallway.

Susan lived just down the hall in 120. I had been meaning to get her CD back to her, after borrowing it several weeks ago, but it only just occurred to me to return it. Towards the end of the hallway, I saw Jennifer heading out. She looked like she might be heading for the pool, since she was just wearing her bikini and heels.

"Hi Heather, how's it going?" Jennifer waved as I passed.

"Oh, everything's great, 100%. How about you?" I asked.

She beamed at me. "Same here. 100% Have a great evening."

I bit my lip as I watched her stride down the hall to the front door of the building. Damn, I thought to myself, I'm not normally into women, but I can see what my boyfriend likes about our asses. I shook myself out of the thought distractedly. What was I doing? Oh yeah, I was going to lend Susan that new CD I got.

I knocked on Susan's door. "It's open," she called from inside. I let myself in.

Susan kept an absolutely pristine dorm room. Like the ever studious girl she was, she sat diligently at her laptop, typing away at the keyboard. She was still dressed in her cheerleading outfit from practice. I looked at the clock. She must have been working on this paper for nearly four hours. It looked way over my head. "Hey, Susan, how's it going?"

"Pretty good." She rubbed her eyes. "I dunno, I feel like I'm only about 90, maybe 95% right now."

"Sus, it's Saturday night, and you're cooped up in here studying? You need to stop messing around with that computer and find yourself a boyfriend." Susan's dateless life was sometimes a sore spot for her. She glared at me in irritation.

"You didn't just come down the hall to criticize my love life, did you?"

"Hey, I didn't mean to start a fight, calm down! Remember that CD I mentioned?" I held up the disc.

"No." She furrowed her brow. "When did you mention it?"

"You know, it was back in..." I thought back, trying to remember. It had been earlier today, I know, but... "Ah, it's not important. Anyway, this CD is absolutely amazing. Some of the best music I've ever listened to. You'll love it, I promise." I held the disc out for her. She looked skeptical.

"Just put it over with the stereo. I'll listen to it later, okay?"

"Hey, don't be such a sourpuss. At least listen to the first track." Without waiting for her response, I popped the disc into the drive tray and hit play. Velvety smooth music filled the room. "Doesn't that sound great?"

Susan was grimacing weirdly, like she was almost in pain. "Heather, what the hell is that? Is the CD scratched or something?" She was almost shouting, as if the music was somehow extremely loud.

"What are you talking about? It sounds fine to me." I swayed with the music, feeling like an exotic dancer. Maybe I should show my boyfriend these moves the next time I see him.

"Heather this is just static. It's not music, there's no... It's..." She trailed off, blinking. She looked confused, then a wave of realization washed across her face. "Oh. Oh yeah. Okay, I see. Yes, I understand." She stood, closing her laptop. "Heather, where did you get this music? It's great! Really soothing, but energizing too. I really feel 100% now!"

I was delighted. "I'm so glad you like it! It's my boyfiend's band. Well, not really a band, he puts the tracks together by himself. Here, let me give him a call, you can talk to him." I pulled out my cell phone and dialed his number from memory. Weird. Didn't I save his number as a contact? I should do that soon. After a few rings, he picked up.

"Hello?" he said.

"Hey lover, it's Heather. Hey, I just played that CD you gave me for my friend Susan, and she loves it! She'd really like to talk to you."

"Oh yeah? Awesome. Hand her the phone and strip naked, okay?"

I grinned, exstatic. "Watever you say, lover." I passed the phone to Susan, and started shimmying out of my shorts.

Susan put the phone to her ear, excited to speak to the guy who made that incredible sound. "Hello? Yes, this is Susan. I just listened to it. It was absolutely amazing, Heather was right." She paused, listening. "Yeah, she's just taking off her panties now. Should I help her or something?" Pause. "The school cheerleader uniform. It's got tights and a sort of fake panty on the outside, under the skirt." I pulled my top off and waited patiently to talk to my boyfriend again. "Underneath? I usually wear a thong, but I've got some kinkier stuff if you want. No, I don't usually wear bras, but I've got a few swimsuit tops." She put her hand over the mouthpiece on the phone, whispering loudly to me. "He wants you to bend over and spread your legs for a minute. I've got to do a monthly on you."

I nodded, happy to help. The monthlies were a great way to relieve a bit of stress. I bent over the back of Susan's chair, eagerly anticipating her delicate touch on my thigh, my senses stretched to the breaking point. The moment her hand came into contact with me, pleasure coursed through my entire body. I nearly screamed, shouting... I don't know what I said, but I know it was the most true, most fundamental expression of my feelings for my boyfriend. I was so overwhelmed, I must have passed out for a few minutes. The next thing I knew, I was standing upright again, and Susan was gently stroking the back of my head. She was still talking to my boyfriend on the phone.

"That's all three of those cartridge thingies. Yes, I did just like you asked for each one, so they've all been overwritten." She paused again. "I think so. Hang on, I'll check." Susan tapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, can you help me get my tights down? It's a little tough to do one-handed, and he still wants to talk to me." I nodded, happy to oblige. I was so glad that Susan and my boyfriend were getting along so well. "Yes, she's helping me get the tights down. Do you want me to take them off, or...? Okay, I'll tell her." She tapped me on the shoulder again. "He says just far enough for me to get at my pussy."

Reaching down under her skirt, Susan probed around with her finger for a few seconds before pulling her sticky, wet finger back out. "Yes, completely. Huh? I don't know." She licked her finger experimentally a few times. "Strawberry, I think. Heather, what do you think?" Susan held her hand out to me.

Without hesitation, I popped the finger into my mouth, sucking the juices off as completely as I could. "Definitely strawberry," I agreed.

"She says strawberry, too. No, that's true, our sense of taste may not be completely accurate." A longer pause. "Really? Yes, of course I will! Absolutely! Sure, no problem. I'll tell her right away. Okay, thank you! Thank you so much! I love you!" She folded up the phone handing it back to me.

"Well?" I asked, expectantly.

"He asked me out! I've got a boyfriend!" She nearly jumped in a cheer, but the tights hindered her leg movement. "Better take these off for now, he wanted me to get naked for a while."

I was overjoyed. I had hoped that Susan would get along with my boyfriend, but I had never dreamed that I would get to share him with her so completely. Susan was quickly slipping out of her uniform.

"Hey, can I get your opinion on something?" She asked.

"Absolutely, Sus, what's up?"

"Well, he said he wanted to fuck me in my tights later tonight. Should I cut a hole in them, or tear them, or just let him take care of it when the time comes?"

"Definitely cut a hole. It saves time, and it won't mess up the tights for future use. In the future, I'd just start getting crotchless, though."

Susan gently nudged me away from her chair, bending over the back of it herself. "Good idea. I really should look into getting some crotchless tights." She looked over her shoulder at me. "He said he wanted you to do a process 12 on me, do you know what that means?"

Process 12? What did she... Oh, she meant a Process 12. "Oh yeah, it's kind of like a monthly, but I change some things instead of saving them." I ran my hand up her inner thigh. "You'll like this part," I said.

-Later-

I nearly skipped all the way back to my dorm room. I was so glad Susan had finally found a boyfriend, and even better, he was my boyfriend too! Reaching my room, I opened the door. Lyn seemed to be getting ready for her night out, and Rebecca was poking at her little hand-held computer thing.

"How's everything going?" I asked.

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

1.00 - A Visit from Campus IT

2014-01-03T04:29:22Z

Fbc.willowisp:

Looking at my clipboard, I proceeded to the next dormitory on my checklist: 132, residents Heather Jennings and Lyndsay Sparks. Remembering protocol, I punched the door code into my mobilecomp, sending the signal back to the main IT office, requesting network isolation and strict admin permissions enforced on my wireless ID pulser. Assuming the request went through, any systems in the dorm would allow me full control and configuration access without the need for passwords or reboots. I watched my mobilecomp for a few seconds until the amber light switched over to green, indicating the admin controls had been set.

I knocked on the door. "Campus IT, need to do some systems checks."

There was a brief silence, then a girl's voice called out, "Just a minute!" After a few seconds of mildly rushed activity - presumably tidying up and making sure they were decently dressed, the door opened. A lithe redhead stood cheerily at the door. She was dressed in extremely short shorts, and a thin, tight tube-top shirt. Behind her stood an athletic-looking blonde girl, who appeared to be getting ready to go clubbing - she was dressed in a skin-tight black dress which just barely managed to cover her body enough for going out in public, and her heels were nearly 4 inches high.

"Hi, I'm Rebecca from campus IT. Seems there's a pretty nasty computer virus going around. We're just checking everyone's systems, making sure they're not contaminated, that sort of thing. Won't take long." It was a hopeful lie - if the virus was present, purging it was a lengthy and complicated process which would render the system inert for hours.

"Sure, c'mon in," the redhead bubbled. She seemed absolutely overjoyed to see me, as if we were close friends. The blonde waved, almost shyly. It seemed at odds with her dress. I stepped inside, and the redhead closed the door behind me. The room was smallish, with a couple of twin beds arranged in opposite corners. Directly across from each bed was a desk/study area, each of which had what appeared to be a closed laptop, blinking slowly.

"I'm Heather, this is Lyn," the redhead introduced.

"I looked back at my notepad. "Lyndsay Sparks?" I asked. The admin office would string me up if she wasn't Heather's roommate, but just a similarly-named friend. Can't go around accessing a system without following full protocol, after all.

The blonde smiled, brushing an errant bang out of her eyeline. "Yeah, sorry. My name's Lyndsay, but my friends just call me Lyn." I made a note on the clipboard. At least my ass was covered.

"So, like I said, there's a pretty nasty virus going around, and it's gone through all our firewalls and software barriers. We've identified a short list of websites which are probably the original source. Do you mind taking a look?" I held up the sheet of paper showing the site names.

Both girls nodded and piped "Sure!" Instead of taking the list from me, the girls gathered around me, squeezing close on either side to get a better view of the paper. Heather put her hand gently on my shoulder.

"Er... yeah, just... if you could just look down the list, let me know if you see any sites that sound familiar?" I pointed down the list.

"Oh wow. I've never heard of that one before, but it sounds interesting." Heather scrutinized the list carefully. "That one, too. Are you sure they're infected? I'd kind of like to check those two out sometime."

"Probably best to wait until we've got this virus locked down. We may have to blacklist those sites from our network," I replied.

"Aww," Heather pouted.

"Um, I recognize a couple of these." Lyndsay reached across my shoulder pointing at two sitenames in particular. "That one, and that one."

"You accessed those sites?" There was a note of surprise in my voice. They didn't exactly seem like the kind of thing she would be into, but then again, her dress did imply certain preferences.

"No, not me. Jennifer, down in room 122. She showed them to me in the library's West computer lab."

I glanced back at my clipboard. I had already visited room 122, and sure enough, Jennifer's system had been absolutely plagued with the virus. It had worked its way into core files, overwriting system registry, configuration settings, and even user authorization data. Purging it had required a full re-install, and Jennifer would lose a lot of schoolwork in the process. I glanced at my watch. If I had to do another one that took that long, I would need to start considering bunking up for the night.

"So, who's first?" I asked.

Each girl jumped a little excitedly at the question, but Lyndsay was the first to speak. "Um, if it's okay, you can check my system first. If you want." She held her hands behind her back, looking down at her feet, bashfully.

Heather made a disappointed face. "Aww. I wanted her to check mine first." Then her face lit up again. "Oh, hey! I can give Susan back that CD she lent me." Before I could comment, she grabbed a disc on her desk, and dashed to the door. "Be right back!" she called, before leaving.

I checked my clipboard again. She might have meant Susan Williams in 120. If that was the case, the CD was probably safe, since her system had come up clean. Of course, she could have meant Susan Peters in 268, and I hadn't checked that room yet. Well, I supposed, at least that saves me making an excuse to get her out of the room. Lyndsay broke my train of thought, gently taking me by the elbow. "My desk is right over here," she said, leading me to the further corner of the room.

She sat at the desk, and flipped open the laptop, revealing a dark, blank screen. Grabbing a decorative paperweight like a mouse, she slid it across her desk and tapped the top of it as though it had buttons. The screen remained blank. "Oh, let me just close these windows," she said.

Of course, I thought to myself. A paperweight. Sleeper 'bots sometimes had the strangest ways of maintaining their internal perceptual reality. I suspected that the human students on campus would probably consider it weird behavior, but since most students weren't even aware that there were artificial students on campus, it rarely went any further than that. It usually caught me off guard, though, since the Admin office never informed me whether an individual student was going to turn out to be a human or a sleeper bot. At least it wasn't like Jennifer, whose desk had been completely clear of mouse-like objects. She had to search through nearby drawers, and the first thing her sleeper protocols had identified as a potential mouse had been a sex toy.

I cleared my throat. Since I couldn't see her imaginary screen, this step required me to fly blind a bit. "Okay, so you're going to want to open your system's control panel. Do you know how to do that?"

"umm... Let me see." She moved the paperweight around a bit, tapping it a few times. "Yeah, I think so. There it is." She shifted in her seat, as though the dress was suddenly making her uncomfortable. She tugged at the top, absently. "Hey, this thing is riding up on me weird." I facepalmed, knowing exactly what was coming next. "Do you mind if I..."

"Go ahead and take off your dress, Lyn," I said, exasperated. Remembering the unitard incident in 104, I added, "And any underwear you're wearing." Bots sometimes had to be told every single step.

She stood, a distant look in her eyes, and a fixed smile on her face. "Yes, of course. Thank you." As she stared fixedly at a blank spot on the wall, she quickly unzipped her dress, revealing what appeared to be a sheer teddy. She dutifully unlaced the top, slipped it down her torso, and let it drop in a heap at her feet. Her head tilted to one side. "Ah," she said, impassively, "that feels so much better." The statement had all the conviction of someone commenting "That car is blue," or "Five is more than three."

She bent over at the waist, resting her head in her folded arms on top of her desk. It's low height meant that this pose bent her more than 90 degrees. Her long, slender legs were completely straight, her feet together. I was going to need to work fast. There was no telling how long until Heather returned. If she was a human student, this was going to take a lot of explaining. Of course, if she was a sleeper, she would just filter it as Lyn sitting normally at her computer.

Her advanced perceptual filters seemed to be kicking in, since she still appeared to believe she was moving the mouse around. I knew the added CPU load would start to have a noticeable effect on the stability of her AI - rendering a completly fictional delusion was a seriously processor-intensive program thread. Good thing I wasn't here for conversation.

"Oh-kay. Let me just. And. I'll just click." She said, haltingly. Suddenly, her voice took on a more normal tone. "There, my system's control panel is open." As she said this, rectangular line appeared around a section of her skin at the base of her spine. The section withdrew inside her body, sliding upward. I pulled the link cable out of my mobilecomp, plugging it into the port just above her round ass.

As soon as the cable clicked home, her maintenance protocols took over. Her face instantly went from cheerfully distant to completely detached, disabling her higher personality processing. The upside was that her perceptual filters weren't tying up any processor power. The downside was that she would now accept anything as normal and fine. I tapped at my mobilecomp, browsing through Lyn's network logs and system files. Her browsing history was clean enough: As she stated, she hadn't visited any of the suspected sites. I checked all the files in her browser's cache, finding nothing. It looked like she was clean.

"Okay Lyn, I'm just going to ask you a few diagnostic questions."

"I understand. That is fine."

"Lyn, before time index 34861, how often did you masturbate on a weekly basis over the past year?"

"I need more information. Do you mean by myself, or with assistance?" The question held only mild curiousity.

"Both as separate answers, solo first, precision level 3. List assisting partners in order of descending frequency."

"From time index 33837 to time index 34861, I masturbated an average of 22.634 times per week by myself. Over the same period of time, I masturbated an average of 12.057 times per week with assistance. I was assisted by Heather Jennings a total of 303 times. I was assisted by Virginia Mitchels a total of 172 times. I was assisted by Jennifer Webb a total of 84 times. I was assisted by Professor Marilyn Weiss a total of 68 times." Her voice was devoid of emotion, but not monotone. It always creeped me out when they went completely monotone. This was still unnerving, but tolerable.

I nodded. Pretty normal behavior for a sleeper unit. "Okay, same report, from time index 34861 to present."

From time index 34861 to 34881, I masturbated an average of 126 times per week by myself. Over the same period of time, I masturbated an average of 291 times with assistance. I was assisted by Heather Jennings 96 times. I was assisted by Angela Simms a total of 63 times. I was assisted by Virginia Mitchels a total of 59 times. I was assisted by Professor Marilyn Weiss a total of 44 times. I was assisted by anonymous female partner a total of 29 times."

Damn. Not good. A nearly 600% jump in solo activity, and more than a 2300% jump in assisted activity? Her promiscuity was completely off the scale, and the maximum behavioral thresholds were supposed to be less than half those levels. Even the sluttiest fembot on campus shouldn't see more than 100 weekly assisted sexual activties in a week - not without a comprehensive hardware servicing.

"Lyn, isolate behavioral response for personality profile time index 34841." Hopefully the virus hadn't integrated itself into the rest of her social protocols. This way, she would emulate her uninfected personality's thinking process from two weeks ago for spoken responses. Unfortunately, it was just a diagnostic tool - it wouldn't let me reload her earlier personality profile. "Generate conversational response to scenario as follows: Speaker, unknown male, body type 27F. Setting, campus coffee shop. Spoken input, 'Hey babe, nice tits. Want to suck my cock?'"

"Hold on, let... me... thhhhinnnnkkkk fffoooooooorrrrrrrrrrr aaaaaaa..." her voice stretched out into individual digitized samples distorting into an inarticulate wall of noise. Suddenly, her face snapped into a disgusted expression, her voice taking on an offended tone. "You pervert! I don't even know you, creep! Get the hell away from me!" Her expression immediately reverted to its detached, no trace of anger or hostility.

"Okay, now isolate behavioral response for current personality profile, and generate conversational response, same scenario."

"Hold on, let me..." she immediately broke off, the process able to load the more recent data almost instantly. "Hey," she smiled, "No problem, babe. But I can give you way more than a blow job, if you want. I'm not wearing any panties if you want to fuck here, but if you want to go back to my dorm room, I know my roommate can be talked into threesomes. First, let me just get out of this dress."

Oh hell. This was going to be worse than Jennifer's case. I tapped at my mobilecomp a few times, bringing up the virus data we had obtained so far. Looks like this would require a full personality rewrite from backup data. "Lyn, spread your legs for me."

"I would be happy to," she said, as she shifted her position. "Would you like to see my pussy better? I can play with myself if you want." That's weird, I thought to myself, her scripted maintenance response should have just been "Okay." If this thing had worked its way into her maintenance protocols, this was very bad.

Licking my thumb to slick it up, I reached into her ass and pussy at the same time, gripping her from behind like a bowling ball. She moaned blissfully. "Oh, wow, that feels great. You can do that to me any time you like." Working blind, I worked my middle finger as far up as I could, pressing back against the vaginal wall. Through the flexible membrane, I could feel the hard stud of the control release I was looking for, and pressed it, holding the button down for three seconds. Lyn slowly squirmed her ass, as though dancing to unheard music. "Oh yeah, oh yeah, I'm your property! You own me! I'll do anything you tell me to do! Anything you like, any time you..." she suddenly broke off, her face frozen in an expression of mild surprise.

I pulled my hand out of her, wiping my fingers off on her nearby dress. She stood sharply upright, her arms at her sides, standing at loose attention with her legs still apart. The back half of her head suddenly popped open, then slowly hinged itself down, revealing the backup cartridges I was seeking. I wondered how her perceptual filters handled the monthly backup process. Did she just think she had a really kinky masturbation urge, immediately followed by massaging her scalp? Maybe sleepers would try to find another sleeper unit, and both would perceive the backup as a sexual stress release, followed by braiding each other's hair.

I popped loose the cartridge dated last month - What do they think they're doing when they label these things? I dismissed the thought as I pushed the back of her head closed again. "Open data slot, backup personality load," I said. Her head slowly turned around on its mechanical fixtures, her synth-muscles completely inert, forming a clearly distinguishable seam where her neck muscles would normally simulate the human act of turning one's head. The rest of her body remained motionless. When her head revolved to face directly behind her, it stopped, and a spot of skin at the top of her face suddenly bulged out with a spring like twang.

Grasping the bulge like a tab, I peeled the synthetic flesh of her face downward, revealing large, unlidded eyes and perfect rows of pearly teeth. The metallic chrome of her artificial skull glinted, and a rectangular section in the middle of her forehead flipped open on a hinge. I pressed the cartridge halfway in, the internal mechanism drawing it the rest of the way and sealing the the cartridge drive door. I rolled the rubbery mask back up the her expressionless, chrome face, clicking the top contact point home where it had previously popped out.

Her head continued rotating the same direction, bringing it back around to face front via a full 360-degree turn. Tiny points on her face seemed to squirm inhumanly as the muscle control points reconnected with the corresponding hook points on the face. Her face twitched and spasmed disturbingly before adopting the earlier happy, detached expression.

"Load maintenance profile, backup restore camoflage."

"Standby. Loading," She announced flatly. Her posture shifted to a runway model pose, the default posture for the backup camoflage program. Still staring at a blank slot on the wall, her face took on a warmer, happier expression, no longer completely detached. She turned to face me, her nude body now moving as comfortably as if she were casually speaking to someone at a party.

"Hi Rebecca," she said in cheerful, friendly tones. "I have loaded my backup camoflage personality profile. Would you like me to restore from the backup currently in my primary data cartridge drive?" Her tones were now humanlike and conversational, but the tone was that of a waitress asking if you want a salad or soup.

"Yes, restore from backup. Set process to background priority."

She put a finger to her lips, as though thinking carefully. Then she smiled and ran her hand down her neck to rest just above her breasts. "Okay, Rebecca. This will lengthen the restore time to four hours and thirty-five minutes, are you sure you wish to continue?"

"Yes, continue as background. Prioritize backup camoflage as high."

Lyn blinked, then nodded. "Okay, I am now restoring from backup. My primary AI will be fully restored in four hours, thirty four minutes and seventeen seconds. While backup camoflage is running, no further status alerts will be announced unless directly requested." Good. The camoflage was complex enough to keep her from being completely out of commission, but it wouldn't hold up to any scrutiny. It completely lacked any kind of social behavior filters. As long as she was running the camoflage program, she would accept any input or command. The camoflage wasn't even really an AI in the true sense. It was just a set of scripted conversational response rules and body movement data, and completely lacked any simulated judgement or decision-making.

"Lyn, where were you planning on going tonight?" I asked.

"I was going to go to the Mechanism Club for entertainment, until I could find at least one sexual partner for the night." She adopted a concerned expression, as if worried that she had offended me. "Is that okay?"

"Get dressed again, and finish getting ready." I expected Heather would probably walk in at any moment, and I didn't want anything to look even remotely out of the ordinary. "In five minutes, if Heather is present, inform her that you're leaving for the night, then proceed directly to the IT lab. Once there, stand in..." I poked at my mobilecomp to bring up the data. "Bay 27." Rachel Hodges should be finished with her system diagnostic by that point, but all the other bays were already occupied. "Wait until your restore is complete, then return here. Overwrite your primary personality's short term memory to include an enjoyable trip to the club, and tell Heather all about it."

"No problem. Should I wear my underwear?"

"No, there isn't time. Just make a show of getting ready." I realized there was a risk that she might encounter someone else on the way to the lab. "While in transit to the lab, disable your hearing."

She smiled, appearing pleased that she knew how to do all that, then nodded. "Got it. Anything else you need me to do?" Her hand drifted down to cup one breast, while her other hand slid up her thigh to rest just below her pussy.

Was that normal? I hadn't seen the camoflage program do that before, but I didn't know all its possible responses. "Uh... No," I said slowly, "Just head to the lab, wait for your backup to finish loading, then return here with modified memories, and describe your simulated memories to Heather."

She pouted. "Spoilsport. Oh well, I understand," She cheerfully shrugged it off, and began putting her dress back on. Once clothed again, she seemed to suddenly remember something. "Oh, hey, thanks for checking out the computer. Sorry if I'm a little distracted, but I've got to get ready. Big night out, you know?"

"Yeah, no problem," I said as the door opened. Before Heather walked in, I discretely closed Lyn's dummy laptop.

"How's everything going?" Heather asked.

"Becky here has been so helpful. Sorry if I'm a little distracted, but I've got to get ready. Big night out, you know?" Despite the lifelike tone of her voice, the repetition of the phrase was an exact replay of the first time she had said it, perfectly matching tone and inflection on every word. Lyn walked over to her dresser area, and put on her makeup.

Heather turned to me. "Any problems on her system?"

"Oh, nothing that couldn't be fixed. Had to load some stuff from backup, but it's no big deal," I bluffed. I poked some more at my mobilecomp, killing time until Lyn left.

"Okay, well, when you get a chance, you can go ahead and take a look at mine."

Lyn put her hands on her hips, turning to face us both. "Well, how do I look?"

Heather made a show of looking her up and down. "Well, I'd fuck you."

Lyn's hands dropped to her sides and she smiled subserviently, nodding with apparent enthusiasm. "Okay. You want to do it here?"

"Uh, Lyndsay," I nervously interrupted, "shouldn't you get going? You need to go out, like we talked about, right?"

"Okay Rebecca. I'm going to the club. Bye!" She grabbed her purse, and waved at us as she opened the door.

"Tell me all about it later, okay?" Heather prompted.

"Oh, I'll tell you everything. Every sordid little detail. I know how much you like to hear that," Lyn grinned, and stepped out the door.

Heather rolled her eyes at me. "She's something, isn't she?"

"Yep. Definitely something," I said. "Let's have a look at your system."

"Oh, sure. Let me just find my mouse." She rummaged around her desk drawers, grabbing a small beanbag toy - a duck, I think. "Here we go." She opened her dummy laptop, moving her beanbag as though starting up or shutting down nonexistant programs. "What do I need to do?"

[[Virus Alert|Back to the Episode List]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]
[[category:built]]
[[category:sleeper]]

Virus Alert

2014-01-03T04:28:42Z

Fbc.willowisp:

Suddenly, it's revealed that she's a robot! Surprised? No?

Well, maybe that wasn't the twist after all.

What's it all about? What's it for? Where am I going with this? I'm telling the story I am compelled to tell. Come for the sex, stay for the plot.

----

== Season 1 - Setting Up ==

[[1.00 - A Visit from Campus IT]]

[[1.25 - Prog Rock]]

[[1.50 - Mindless Fun]]

[[1.75 - Running Late]]

== Season 2 - Parts Manifest ==

[[2.00 - Under New Management]]

[[2.17 - Look On My Works]]

[[2.33 - Full Documentation]]

[[2.50 - A Tender Spot]]

[[2.67 - Hungry Like the (ObjectLabel not found)|<nowiki>2.67 - Hungry Like the [ObjectLabel not found]</nowiki>]]

[[2.83 - Code Play]]

== Season 3 - Revision History ==

[[3.00 - Wounds, Old and New]]

[[3.17 - Pickup Line]]

[[3.33 - Other Plans]]

[[3.50 - Enroll Today]]

[[3.67 - Yearbook Pictures]]

[[3.83 - Deep Sleep]]

[[3.833... - Wish You Were Here]]

== Season 4 - Users Guide ==

[[4.00 - I Can Fix This]]

[[4.17 - Teachers' Study]]

[[4.33 - A New You]]

[[4.50 - Office Pace]]

[[4.67 - Lessons Learned]]

[[4.83 - The Right Equipment]]

== Season 5 - Admins Only ==

[[5.00 - Gift Exchange]]

[[5.17 - In His Shadow]]

[[5.33 - Torn Apart]]

[[5.50 - Only a Motion Away]]

[[5.67 - Staff Orientation]]

[[5.83 - Familiar Territory]]

== Season 6 - Assembly Language ==

[[6.00 - What It Takes]]

[[6.17 - Low Traffic Area]]

[[6.33 - Making and Taking Revenge]]

----

[[Stories|Back to the Story Archive]]

[[category:WilloWisp]]

Stories

2014-01-03T04:26:33Z

Fbc.willowisp:

__NOEDITSECTION__
[[Image:StoryArchive.png]]

[[Image:180px-Integrated circuit icon.svg.png|25px]]<big>''See also [[Stories sorted by type]] [[Stories sorted by category]]''</big>
__NOTOC__
==Author==
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Stories/1001011001|1001011001]]===
#[[Customer Service]]
#[[Dollsnatcher]]
#[[Hollywood]]
#[[Sketch Artist]]
#[[The Trial]]
#[[Spy Report]]

===[[Stories/123bot|123bot]]===
#[[Rebecca]]
#[[Rebecca: Lisa]]

===[[Stories/33cl33|33cl33]]===
#[[A Very Welcome Surprise]]
#[[Dinner Guests]]

===[[Stories/Aerosol Kid|Aerosol Kid]]===
#[[Femella Ex Machina]]

===[[Stories/Agent Smith|Agent Smith]]===
#[[The Android Riots Of 2033]]

===[[Stories/Avoyak|Avoyak]]===
#[[Katerina, type 02 Robot]]

===[[Stories/BA|BA]]===
#[[Home Service warranty]]
#[[Business Class]]
#[[Childminder]]
#[[CLAIRE 33]]
#[[Holiday]]
#[[Information Retrieval]]
#[[Mrs. Allen's Two O'Clock]]
#[[Sisterhood]]
#[[Upgrading Beth]]
#[[Just One Quick Question...]]
#[[Helpline]]
#[[Cooperant Pair]]
#[[Traffic Incident]]
#[[Survival]]
#[[Assistant]]
#[[Tech Refresh]]
#[[Mechanic]]
#[[Denial Of Service Attack]]
#[[Ignorance is Bliss]]
#[[Jenny]]
#[[Aptitude Test]]
#[[Special Agent]]
#[[Generations]]
#[[Housewife]]
#[[Green Flag]]
#[[Houseguest]]
#[[A Place to Stay]]
#[[Plastic Trash]]
#[[Threshold]]
#[[Party Night - unfinished]]
#[[Empty City]]
#[[Bad Day]]
#[[An Interview With Janet]]

===[[Stories/Baron|Baron]]===
#[[Law & Order SVU TNG - Cops Get Religion]]

===[[Stories/Bart|Bart]]===
#[[Return Home]]

===[[Stories/Bigcoyote|Bigcoyote]]===
#[[Maryanne One]]

===[[Stories/Blake Sigma|Blake Sigma]]===
#[[Where Are You, Lovely?]]
#[[A.I.L.A.: Birth]]
#[[TITAN S]]

===[[Stories/Bonita772|Bonita772]]===
#[[Wife Repair]]

===[[Stories/Botfriend2000|Botfriend2000]]===
#[[The Purchase...]]
#[[CyGenPleasuretronics/Kimberlys Evaluation]]
#[[The Job Interview]]

===[[Stories/Bruekmann|Bruekmann]]===
#[[Corporate Espionage]]
#[[Dienst #1 - Trojan Horse]]
#[[Eudoxia]]
#[[One More Fare]]
#[[Open And Shut Case]]
#[[Over Some Drinks]]
#[[Smell Bridges Burning (The Intern)]]
#[[Standard Of Deviation]]
#[[The Ersatz Cadet]]
#[[The Hustler]]
#[[The Real Deal]]
#[[Three Pawns]]
#[[Tinted Windows]]
#[[Heinrich Brueckmann's Unfinished Works]]

===[[Stories/Brytestar|Brytestar]]===
#[[Angelmech Battle Cheerleader Cherry]]
#[[Automaid Fighter Kimiko Prelude]]
#[[Cyberknight Dreams]]
#[[Sailor Valkerie - Interview With A Mechascout]]
#[[The Brytestar Chronicles: The Early Years]]

===[[Stories/Bunnybot|Bunnybot]]===
#[[BunnyBots Part One: The Conversion Of Vanessa]]
#[[Tammy]]
#[[Bunnybots - Ava]]
#[[Tammy: Eve]]
#[[The Actress]]
#[[Cassandra]]
#[[Companion Dolls - Economic Unit]]

===[[Stories/ButchyBoy|ButchyBoy]]===
#[[The Nightingale's Song]]
#[[Fembots In History: Queen Isabella]]
#[[Little Red Riding Hood-Fractured Gynoid Tale]]
#[[The Vanishing Warlord]]
#[[Fembots In History - Annie Oakley]]
#[[Can't Get That Song Outta My Head]]
#[[The Nut-Cricket Adventure]]
#[[Galatea]]
#[[The Contest Winner]]
#[[Droid Hunter]]

===[[Stories/Capn Jake|Capn Jake]]===
#[[Jenny6525B]]

===[[Stories/Castaliaman|Castaliaman]]===
#[[Jeopardy 2104]]

===[[Stories/Chains of Adamant|Chains of Adamant]]===
#[[Gallinax]]
#[[Christmas Surprise]]
#[[The Prison]]
#[[Miriam]]

===[[Stories/Cecilauthor|Cecilauthor]]===
#[[Golden Apple]]

===[[Stories/Cjfriel|Cjfriel]]===
#[[Autopia]]

===[[Stories/D. Olivaw|D. Olivaw]]===
#[[A Meeting At Meg's]]

===[[Stories/Dalejr38|Dalejr38]]===
#[[Universal Remote]]

===[[Stories/Dark Archon|Dark Archon]]===
#[[June]]
#[[Sara 3]]

===[[Stories/Darkbutflashy|Darkbutflashy]]===
#[[戦闘機械綾子 - Battlemachine Ayako]]

===[[Stories/Dark Phoenix|Dark Phoenix]]===
#[[My Super Android Girlfriend]]

===[[Stories/Deep Blue|Deep Blue]]===
#[[My Tutor (Deep Blue)|My Tutor]]
#[[Volleybot]]

===[[Stories/Dieur|Dieur]]===
#[[TD Walkman Mall]]
#[[Smashed]]
#[[Taking Awhile To Get Anywhere]]

===[[Stories/Dr. Twist|Dr. Twist]]===
#[[Door To Door]]
#[[Who Let The Wolves Out]]

===[[Stories/Ehy|Ehy]]===
#[[Tara's Visitor (Story Snippet)]]
#[[Untitled (Ehy)|Untitled]]
#[[Untitled 2 (Ehy)|Untitled 2]]
#[[April]]
#[[1962]]

===[[Stories/Eyebore|Eyebore]]===
#[[The Plantation "Sister-In-Law"]]

===[[Stories/Faceless001|Faceless001]]===
#[[Fantastic Voyage]]
#[[The Carbon Man]]

===[[Stories/FaceoffFembot|FaceoffFembot]]===
#[[The Maid]]

===[[Stories/Fection|Fection]]===
#[[Charlie's Second-Hand Angel]]
#[[Pushing Candy's Buttons]]
#[[Sour Candy]]
#[[Model Citizen]]
#[[The Magi and the Harem]]
#[[Achilles Heels]]
|
===[[Stories/Fembotlover|Fembotlover]]===
#[[Untitled (Fembotlover)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlvr7|Fembotlvr7]]===
#[[Perfect Match (formerly Blind Date)]]

===[[Stories/FembotsInCharge|FembotsInCharge]]===
#[[The Nannybot1000A]]

===[[Stories/Freddie c|Freddie c]]===
#[[Numerology]]

===[[Stories/Freiburg V3.0|Freiburg V3.0]]===
#[[A Question Of Faith]]
#[[A Question Of Liberty]]

===[[Stories/General|General]]===
#[[Access Denied]]
#[[Blue Chips]]
#[[The Rental]]
#[[History In The Flesh]]
#[[A Second Life]]
#[[Talk Radio]]
#[[What You Leave Behind]]
#[[Focus]]
#[[Modifying the Contract]]
#[[Tech Support]]
#[[Bounty]]
#[[The Grinder]]

===[[Stories/Gf|Gf]]===
#[[The Flatmate]]

===[[Stories/Gorgo|Gorgo]]===
#[[Sentimental Perfection]]
#[[Rinrin and the Doctor's Appointment]]
#[[That Which Was Left Behind]]

===[[Stories/GynoNeko|GynoNeko]]===
#[[Third Time's The Charm]]
#[[The Christmas Present]]
#[[The Delivery (Part 1)]]
#[[The Delivery (Part 2)]]
#[[Electra]]

===[[Stories/GZ02|GZ02]]===
#[[A Day In The Life Of Joseph Avens]]

===[[Stories/Handle|Handle]]===
#[[Bell City Tales Story 1]]

===[[Stories/Hermes|Hermes]]===
#[[Jumplead]]

===[[Stories/Hlprhlpr|Hlprhlpr]]===
#[[Sparx - Priority Service Call]]
#[[Sparx: Troubleshooting A Design Flaw]]

===[[Stories/Input9|Input9]]===
#[[Robbery]]

===[[Stories/JakeCTom|JakeCTom]]===
#[[K600]]

===[[Stories/Jay Petto|Jay Petto]]===
#[[Back To The Circuit Board]]

===[[Stories/Jaydee|Jaydee]]===
#[[An Inside Job]]
#[[Malfunctioning Fembot Writes...]]

===[[Stories/Joeythegoth|Joeythegoth]]===
#[[Shirley]]

===[[Stories/Jpetoh|Jpetoh]]===
#[[Crash]]

===[[Stories/Kano|Kano]]===
#[[Monday]]
#[[Friday]]

===[[Stories/Karel|Karel]]===
#[[Mistress Mira]]
#[[R-Bots]]
#[[Two-Perfect!]]
#[[Mmmmegan]]
#[[Merger]]

===[[Stories/KB7RKY|KB7RKY]]===
#[[Charlie 25]]
#[[Reflections]]
#[[Service Call]]
#[[Shadowrun II - Into The Awakened Lands]]

===[[Stories/Keizo|Keizo]]===
#[[The Enemy of My Enemy? Pt. 1]]
#[[The Enemy of My Enemy? Pt. 2]] (Portia)
#[[The Enemy of My Enemy? Pt. 3]] (The "Lost Chapter")
#[[Hell's Canary]]
#[[Are You Serious?]]

===[[Stories/Kishin|Kishin]]===
#[[A Long Sleep]]
#[[Creation (Nova Recreated)]]
#[[I Didn't Know]]
#[[Killers (Knights) Hiding Among Our Slaves]]
#[[Tales Of The Risen Future: Nova's Story]]

===[[Stories/Korby|Korby]]===
#[[An Afternoon To Remember]]
#[[Holiday In The Sun]]
#[[Tales From Dyson Institute: Two Vignettes]]
#[[Tales From The Dyson Institute: Making Movies]]

===[[Stories/Kriegsaffe No. 9|Kriegsaffe No. 9]]===
#[[Josephson/Keegan Vs Man w/Android Wife]]
#[[1985, Paris, France...]]
#[[The Golden Dawn]]
#[[Duplican't? Dupli-Can't!]]
#[[Saucy Puppet Show]]

===[[Stories/Lady Mecha|Lady Mecha]]===
#[[Strange But Wonderful Happenings]]

===[[Stories/Lithorien|Lithorien]]===
#[[Heather]]

===[[Stories/Loganov|Loganov]]===
#[[The Final Frontier]]
#[[Untitled (Loganov)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/LongTimeLurker|LongTimeLurker]]===
#[[Clockwork Legacy]] (Lady in Waiting)
##[[Clockwork_Legacy/Lady_in_Waiting/Part_1|Lady in Waiting]]
##[[Clockwork_Legacy/Line_of_Succession/Part_1|Line of Succession]]
##[[Clockwork_Legacy/Inheritance/Part_1|Inheritance]]
#[[Andrew and the Sexbot Factory]]
##[[Andrew_and_the_Sexbot_Factory/Prototype/Part_1|Prototype]]
##[[Andrew_and_the_Sexbot_Factory/Field_Test/Part_1|Field Test]]
##[[Andrew_and_the_Sexbot_Factory/Production_Model/Part_1|Production Model]]
#[[Solipsistic]]
#[[Electrostatic]]
#[[Crash Immelmann in the Year 30XX]]
#[[Diagnostic]]
#[[FYOP/Scenario_Chamber]]

===[[Stories/Maax|Maax]]===
#[[Cyber Angels]]

===[[Stories/Mad Mechacow|Mad Mechacow]]===
#[[Tales of Syntech]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 2]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 3]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 4]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 5]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 6]]

===[[Stories/Ministrations|Ministrations]]===
#[[Shannon's Third Law]]
#[[Tiffany's Third Law]]

===[[Stories/Mirage|Mirage]]===
#[[The Bounty Hunter]]
#[[Best Friends]]
#[[Fighting Love]]
#[[A.D.P.I. (Advance Police Investigations): Case 2]]
#[[A.D.P.I. Case 3: Transformation Of A Butterfly]]
#[[Blood Angel]]
#[[Deception]]
#[[Errors And Glitches]]
#[[Family Life]]
#[[Favourite Parodies]]
#[[Lonely With The Ages]]
#[[Lying And Cheating!]]
#[[My Tutor]]
#[[Regret]]
#[[Secret Wishes]]
#[[Secretaries]]
#[[Shock]]
#[[Tennis, Anyone?]]
#[[The Lullaby]]
#[[The Package]]
#[[The Red Roses]]
#[[The Student]]
#[[The Temp]]
#[[The Visit]]
#[[Visiting The In-Laws]]
#[[A Nice Gesture]]
#[[Ever Lasting Smile]]
#[[Finding True Happiness]]
#[[Alive?]]
#[[The New Girl]]
#[[The Nurse]]
#[[Chase]]
#[[The First Time...]]
#[[An Offer That Can't Be Refused]]
#[[The Unwanted Gift]]
#[[Losing One's Self]]
#[[What's Important Is What's In The Inside]]
#[[Sitting On The Couch]]
#[[Can You Fix It?]]
#[[Ugly]]
#[[Finally]]
#[[Bad Dreams]]
#[[Apartment 7]]
|
===[[Stories/MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)|MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)]]===
#[[How I Ran Into Roboko]]
#[[To Love a Girl‎ 01]]
#[[To Love a Girl‎|To Love a Girl 02]]
#[[To Love a Girl‎ 03]]
#[[To Love a Girl‎ 04]]
#[[To Love a Girl‎ 05]]
#[[To Love a Girl‎ 06]]
#[[To Love a Girl‎ 07]]
#[[To Love a Girl‎ 08]]
#[[To Love a Girl‎ Final]]
#[[Onsen Lust 'n Rust]]

===[[Stories/Miz-K Takase|Miz-K Takase]]===
#[[Lusty Encore]]

===[[Stories/MysteriousShadow|MysteriousShadow]]===
#[[Lily's Story]]

===[[Stories/Nybble|Nybble]]===
#[[Scheduled Maintenance]]
#[[The Third Pew]]
#[[Therapy]]
#[[Pimp My Ride]]
#[[Working Late]]
#[[Something Borrowed]]

===[[Stories/Pakled|Pakled]]===
#[[Everything Old is New Again]]
#[[One of Our Robots is Missing]]
#[[Palindrome]]
#[[Solve for X]]

===[[Stories/Petey|Petey]]===
#[[Vickybot/Victoria]]
#[[The Rubdown]]

===[[Stories/Propman|Propman]]===
#[[Evil, Evil, Everywhere!]]
#[[Mysteries Of The Castle!]]
#[[Doll And Her Teddy]]
#[[Tronic Ella]]
#[[Prototype]]
#[[Steel Fists No Hearts]]
#[[BoomBoom Bots]]

===[[Stories/Repairman Jack|Repairman Jack]]===
#[[Theives]]

===[[Stories/Robotman|Robotman]]===
*[[Story universe (Robotman)|Story universe]]
#[[Halloween Treat script]]
#[[The Mission]]
#[[H is for Heuristic]]
#[[36+1]]
#[[Soccer Mom Unit]]
#[[Kaitlin The Phonebot]]
#[[Tiffani]]

===[[Stories/RobotWorld5|RobotWorld5]]===
#[[Fembot World]]
#[[A Night With Vanessa]]

===[[Stories/RobOught2|RobOught2]]===
#[[Introducing Rachael Sing]]

===[[Stories/RS5420|RS5420]]===
#[[Class C (by WilloWisp, modified by RS5420)]]
#[[Beautiful, Smart and...Running A Software]]
#[[Hollywood Hardware (by Borias/Modded by RS5420)]]

===[[Stories/Sable|Sable]]===
#[[Fixing Sable]]

===[[Stories/Sara-c|Sara-c]]===
#[[Autonomy]]
#[[Clichés]]
#[[Gift]]

===[[Stories/Sarabot|Sarabot]]===
#[[Sarabot's First Story]]
#[[Sarabot's Second Story]]
#[[The Robotic Nurse]]
#[[Kristen's Upgrade]]
#[[My Hot Robot Wife (+Bonus Story)]]
#[[The Cheerleader]]

===[[Stories/Saradroidgirl|Saradroidgirl]]===
#[[Sara_-_The_Return|Sara - The Return]]

===[[Stories/Scott|Scott]]===
#[[Four Hours]]

===[[Stories/Sega-boy|Sega-boy]]===
#[[Abbott Chronicles]]

===[[Stories/Sekker|Sekker]]===
#[[Too Good To Be True]]

===[[Stories/Serf|Serf]]===
#[[Untitled (Serf)|Untitled]]
#[[Party Girls]]

===[[Stories/Silent Lurker|Silent Lurker]]===
#[[Happy New Year]]
#[[New Roommate]]

===[[Stories/Spaz|Spaz]]===
#[[A.I.L.A]]
#[[Blind Date]]
#[[New Life]]
#[[The Foreign Exchange Student]]
#[[The Heiress]]
#[[The Roommate]]
#[[The Stockroom]]
#[[The Teammate]]
*Spaz Studios Presents:
#[[Fizzy Pop]]
#[[Substitute]]

===[[Stories/Stephaniebot|Stephaniebot]]===
#[[Dyson Institute (Stephaniebot)|Dyson Institute]]
#[[Pleasurebot 8]]

===[[Stories/Sthurmovik|Sthurmovik]]===
#[[Non-Standard Operating Procedure]]

===[[Stories/The Egg|The Egg]]===
#[[The Quarry]]
#[[Swing Shift]]

===[[Stories/The Liar|The Liar]]===
#[[Maid To Order]] (Incomplete)
#[[Professor Jenkins' 12,567th Invention]] (Incomplete)
#[[Hide and Seek]] (Complete)
#[[Keith's Paradise]] (Incomplete)
#[[My Keeper]] (Incomplete)
#[[Identity]] (Incomplete)
#[[Back to BASIC]] (Complete)
#[[A Contradiction of Life]] (Complete)
#[[Friends Forever]] (Complete)
#[[Liberty]] (Complete)

===[[Stories/TheSpotConlon|TheSpotConlon]]===
#[[The Yard Sale]]
#[[Jumper...]]
*The Lauren Barnes Stories (TheSpotConlon)
#[[The Peculiar Journey Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[The Imprisonment Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[The Parallel Lives Of Lauren Barnes]]
*The "Momentary" Series (TheSpotConlon)
#[[The Moment When]]
#[[Ping]]
#[[The First Moment in Her Head]]
#[[The Moment in the Bar]]

===[[Stories/Tio|Tio]]===
#[[Through My Eyes]]
#[[New Garden]]
#[[Diaries Of A Fembot]]
#[[Down On The Farm]]

===[[Stories/WilloWisp|WilloWisp]]===
#[[Class C]]
#[[Customer Service (WilloWisp)|Customer Service]]
#[[Virus Alert]]

===[[Stories/Wjbaines|Wjbaines]]===
#[[Jo-Ann and Brandy]]
#[[Darsi, Bruce and Natalie]]

===[[Stories/XandiMouse|XandiMouse]]===
#[[The One]]

===[[Stories/Xavier Cecil|Xavier Cecil]]===
#[[Gecko of the Moment]]

===[[Stories/Xeran|Xeran]]===
#[[Synthgirls]]
#[[The Hunted]]
|}

==Collaborative efforts==
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Follow your own plot]]===
*[[FYOP/The Lab Scene|The Lab Scene]]
*[[FYOP/Create A Fembot 2.0|Create A Fembot 2.0]]
*[[FYOP/Planet of the Gynoids|Planet of the Gynoids]]
*[[FYOP/My Life as a Robot|My Life as a Robot]]
*[[FYOP/Hollywood Hardware|Hollywood Hardware]]
*[[FYOP/Tabula Rasa|Tabula Rasa]]
*[[FYOP/The Adventures of Alice|The Adventures of Alice]]
*[[FYOP/To Love a Sexbot/To Love a Sexbot|To Love a Sexbot]]
*[[FYOP/Scenario Chamber|Scenario Chamber]]
|
===[[Stories/Create-A-Story|Create-A-Story (various)]]===
#[[Create-A-Story 1]]
#[[Create-A-Story 2]]
#[[Create-A-Story 3]]
|
===[[Stories/Dyson Institute|Dyson Institute (RX3000/Korby)]]===
*[[Story Universe (Dyson Institute)|Story Universe]]
#[[The Makeover]]
#[[After The Makeover]]
#[[Dyson Institute/Mile-High Club]]
#[[A Conversation With Dr. Dyson]]
|}

[[Category:Features]]
[[Category:Stories]]

Class C

2014-01-03T04:26:25Z

Fbc.willowisp:

Susan hurried down the corridor towards the check-in counter. She had been on time for her flight until they bumped the schedule up 20 minutes. Now she was running late, and she prided herself on her punctuality. She walked as fast as she could, her heels clacking on the tile floor of the airport.

The girl behind the check-in desk was a bubble-headed blonde who seemed to ooze cheerfulness. Her nametag proudly announced her name to be Debbi, for anyone who cared to notice. "Yes, miss, how can I help you?" she beamed.

"I need to check-in for flight 2027, nonstop to Boston," Susan told her in a curt tone.

"Certainly, miss. Your name?"

"Susan Simms. My ticket number is 8052, class C."

Debbi punched in the information, then smiled vapidly at Susan as the computer processed it.

"Alright, Miss Simms. As a class C passenger, you are not allowed any luggage, and for security reasons, you must deactivate any external electronics prior to passing through the security checkpoint."

Susan thought to herself, "I already know all this. She's wasting my time, and I'm running late."

Debbi finished her speech regarding security. "Your gate number is 17. You'll need to go through the C-Class security checkpoint, just to the left. It'll be clearly marked." She then flashed a smile that seemed to say "I'm totally happy with everything!"

Susan took her papers and quickly headed for gate 17. She could see the standard security gateway, with people lined up wating to go though the scanners. Off to one side was a sign that read "Class C Security Check" with an arrow pointing to a windowless door. "There shouldn't be as long a wait for the class C checkpoint," Susan thought.

When she opened the door, she was greeted by a room full of passengers, with two security girls checking them at the front of the room. Each of the passengers held a small, grey plastic bin. Susan could overhear some of the standard security questions being asked. She took a plastic bin from the stack near the front of the door and waited behind a pretty, but nervous looking woman in a business dress.

After a few calls of "next," it was the nervous woman's turn to be taken into the security cubicle. Susan waited a few minutes, but the check seemed to be taking longer than usual. Four more minutes passed. Susan huffed. At this rate, she was going to miss the flight!

Growing bold, Susan stepped forward, and knocked on the cubicle wall. One of the security girls stepped out.

"I'm sorry for the delay, miss. The woman in front of you in line has become a bit unstable. I can take you in the other booth." She motioned for Susan to follow her into another cibucle.

The security girl took Susan's boarding pass and checked it briefly. "You are Susan Simms?" she asked.

"That's right," said Susan.

"Are you carrying any external electronic devices, explosive chemicals, blunt or edged weapons, or potentially damaging software?"

"Not that I'm aware of," said Susan.

The security girl then held up what looked like a flashlight, and shone it into Susan's eyes. Susan immediately felt her mood soften.

"Alright, if you would remove your clothes and jewelry, and place them in the bin, then stand at attention," said the girl.

Susan dutifully began stripping, folding each article and placing it in the plastic bin. Once she was nude, she stood at attention as she was instructed. The security girl circled her, examining her body and making notes on her clipboard. She then set the clipboard down, reached into a box, and pulled out a long dildo.

"I need you to masturbate with this for 30 seconds, and then stick it in your ass for 30 seconds," she said. Susan took the toy from the girl, and began playing with herself as instructed. While she did, the security girl gave her breasts a thorough examination, squeezing, pinching, twisting, and pulling them in every direction.

Susan's mind was no longer occupied with thougts of missing her flight, but was now consumed with pleasure, thrilling both at the feel of the dildo inside her, and the touch of the pretty security girl. All too soon, the minute was up, and the girl took the dildo back, making notes on her clipboard.

"Alright," the security girl said, "I just need to kiss you, and we can get you packed." The girl walked up to Susan, leaned in, and began kissing her. Her tongue began probing Susan's, exploring every corner of her mouth. Susan was in heaven, stroking and rubbing the security girl's body, pulling up her skirt, and rubbing the girl's pussy.

Eventually, the security girl broke the kiss, finished filling out her papers, and placed a tag around Susan's wrist. "You check out fine. Your box is behind you."

Susan looked around, and found a largeish box with foam padding in the shape of a person, and space for the plastic tray. She slid the tray into place, then climbed into the box herself.

"Everything situated?" the girl asked. Susan nodded. "Good. Open your mouth, please." Susan did. The girl reached in, pressing a spot on the roof of Susan's mouth. Susan became still.

The security girl closed the box and wheeled it out of the cubicle. In the other cubicle, she could still see the other security girl dealing with the nervous woman, whose nude form lay face down on the table. Her head had been removed, and kept repeating, "You don't understand. I'm a human," over and over again with the sound of electronic distortion creeping in. The other security girl was had plugged a cable into the open panel on the nervous woman's back, and was currently undoing her own blouse. She looked up at her coworker.

"Oh, Kelly, would you help me out here? I need to do an interface."

"Sure Jenn. I'll be right back."

Kelly wheeled Susan's box to the rest of the Cargo-Class passenger boxes, and returned to Jenn's cubicle. Jenn was already topless, and was bent over the table, propped on her elbows. Kelly hiked up Jenn's skirt, and pressed the hidden release in her ass. A panel hissed open in her back, revealing an array of controls and ports. Kelly took the other end of the cable, and plugged it into the appropriate port on Jenn's body.

"Are you going to be alright on your own? I'm supposed to be shipped with this flight," Kelly said, as she began to strip.

"I may need some help debugging Miss Hunt here. Debbi's programmed for security, isn't she?"

"She should be. She's a 5000 series like me." Kelly climbed into her own trunk. "Shut me down?" she asked.

"Sure," said Jenn. She reached into Kelly's open mouth and pressed her deactivation switch. Kelly's thoughts ceased.

-----

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Stories/WilloWisp

2014-01-03T04:25:01Z

Fbc.willowisp:

#[[Class C]]
#[[Customer Service (WilloWisp)|Customer Service]]
#[[Virus Alert]]

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User talk:Fbc.willowisp

2014-01-03T04:22:44Z

Fbc.willowisp:

==Welcome==
Hi WilloWisp, thanks for the help. ;) [[User:Robotman|Robotman]] 19:37, 2 January 2014 (PST)
:Happy to help. Happier to have the time. [[User:Fbc.willowisp|Fbc.willowisp]] 20:22, 2 January 2014 (PST)

6.33 - Making and Taking Revenge

2014-01-03T04:15:44Z

Fbc.willowisp: New page: "And now," I said, turning to gesture to the gathered royal court which had surrounded me, "Gaze in astonishment as I add a fifth ball to the cascade!" Polite clapping echoed around the t...

6.17 - Low Traffic Area

2014-01-03T04:15:17Z

Fbc.willowisp: New page: I tapped my foot impatiently, trying not to worry too much that Synthia hadn't called back with a status update. It's fine, I thought, there's still plenty of time before the security upda...

6.00 - What It Takes

2014-01-03T04:14:48Z

Fbc.willowisp: New page: I took a sip from my coffee cup, and poked my head in to the small breakroom. "Alright if I join you in here, Deb?" I asked. It was just shy of 10:30, and she had just entered the breakroo...

5.83 - Familiar Territory

2014-01-03T04:14:20Z

Fbc.willowisp: New page: The speeder cruised through the desert landscape at a breakneck speed. Each time a jolt of pain stabbed through my chest, my vision would blur, and my steering was once again disrupted. Ha...

5.67 - Staff Orientation

2014-01-03T04:13:44Z

Fbc.willowisp: New page: I walked into the small waiting area only to find four other women already seated there. Instantly, I felt a wave of nervousness. I had thought I was already hired. I hoped I wouldn't have...

5.50 - Only a Motion Away

2014-01-03T04:13:19Z

Fbc.willowisp: New page: I looked down at the girl seated in my office. Obviously worried, she could barely hold my gaze for more than a few seconds before she felt the need to look away with a worried expression ...

5.33 - Torn Apart

2014-01-03T04:12:54Z

Fbc.willowisp: New page: I glanced at the clock, eagerly anticipating the end of the day. There was less than an hour left. The short skirts of the secretaries in my office had once again left me aroused beyond me...