Confessions of a Robo-Hottie

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In a shameless attempt to garner a good review, a tech-loving woman named Stephanie finds herself converted into an obedient robotic slave.

Categories: bd, ds, fd, ff, hu, mc, nc, rb, sf

Author’s Note:

This is fiction as are all the characters contained within. Any similarity to real people or events (without satirical intent) is purely coincidental. I in no way condone the kidnapping of sultry young women and their conversion into robot thralls. If you cannot distinguish between fantasy and reality then please speak to your Analyst about it.

If you’re not allowed to read porn then please don’t read mine, and it is my porn, so please don’t repost it without giving me some credit.

All feedback, comments and suggestions are gratefully received. Please give me a shout at bad.kitty@hushmail.com

Miaow…

Gynoid technology has advanced dramatically (some would say exponentially) over the last few years. The embarrassingly unrealistic dolls of the early 21st century have been replaced by uniformly lithe, svelte, supple, (and often pert), silver-skinned babe-bots. Although, despite having unravelled a great many of the universe’s secrets, no one has been able to adequately explain why every one of them is called Stephanie.

From, Things Your Mother Never Told You, by Brainchild.

They say we only use ten percent of our brain’s capacity, and then wonder what might be possible, if only we could unlock the hidden potential of the remaining ninety percent. But in this, as with so many things, they are wrong. It is a simple misunderstanding, which births another urban myth. Almost as if the simple act of repetition can create a truth of sorts, even when, the reality is far more complex and indeed beautiful.

They also say that at the moment a decision is made, the universe splits and that, while we continue along the path we have chosen, in another reality our mirror-selves walk the fork’s alternate branch. In this, they are at least partly right, although, once again, the truth is far less prosaic.

Life is filled with choices, with infinite variations of cause and effect. But, for the moment, let us restrict ourselves to the contemplation of one individual and her singular decision.

[Run recording. Dialect file: Standard Yorkshire, late 20th/early 21st Century Earth.]

<low>

“Okay, do it to me!”

[Stop recording.]

How different our world might have been if she’d decided to follow the other path, picked the blue pill, if you will (although I appreciate that’s a pop-culture reference, which might go over the heads of those of you who are young enough to see me as some kind of living fossil).

Lecture Notes on Technophilosophy and Applied Cybernetics, VR edition by Professor Ivana Tinkle.

It is early morning in the Great Northern Wasteland. The sun brightens the slate grey buildings only slightly, as long streams of workers trudge their weary way to the Mill/Pit/Telephone Call- Centre (delete as appropriate).

The sound of wooden clogs striking the cobbles is almost enough to drown out the angry growl of whippets. And we see one particular character glance toward the camera before pulling the cloth cap down more tightly over her long, blonde hair.

This is our heroine, Stephanie.

<note>

We pan around the towering smoke stacks. <This>

Our heroine does her piece to camera <should> Think Alfie but with less Zulus trying to escape Turin on the back of killer bees (although if we can somehow crowbar, “you’re only supposed to blow the bloody doors off,“ into the monologue somehow it’ll be fried gold!)

<switching>

Someone is following our heroine, but what is their intention? <And>

BBC Drama: Cool Chrome, Hot Flesh – The Robotunit Story: Early Draft

A lot of controversy surrounds the practice of robotisation and the early pioneers’ approach of abducting potential guinea pigs probably doesn’t help. It is definitely easier to download a fully formed personality into a waiting robot shell, than to create one from scratch. But, truth be told, the main reason that robotisation is still the process of choice for most major corporations is the seemingly inexhaustible supply of willing (perhaps even eager) subjects.

The fashion of wearing ‘abduct me, please’ badges (or in one much emulated but never bettered episode, an oversized sandwich board, complete with flashing lights and air horns), dates back to those early days. And, for a short period, the title of ‘mad scientist’ became almost as acceptable to mother-in-laws as ‘heart surgeon’.

Naturally a few charlatans tried to cash in on this, offering ‘full body conversions’ when all they really wanted was the chance to cop a quick feel. Such behaviour was frowned upon then just as it is now.

It was one thing for a scientist to person-handle their victim during the transformation process… some even considered it a perk of the job, but it was always done tastefully and in a manner entirely justified in terms of both the science and the integrity of their madness. But quite another to use the lure of transformation to entice some chrome-loving lovely into potential groping distance.

From, Things Your Mother Never Told You, by Brainchild.

<Michael>

Flash cut between Stephanie and stalker cam, build up the suspense here if you can. (I don’t want to teach you your job, but remember foreshadowing: four scares that come to nothing and then whammo!)

It is night in York or Leicester or some other ghastly place North of Watford. We’ll need torches, mud, lots of mud and some gypsies (are will still contractually obligated to include midgets? Check that with someone in legal, okay?)

Stephanie’s walking home, (let’s say there were pork pies on the line). The audience get glimpses of wet rubber, but not enough to tell who or what is stalking her). She gets more anxious and eventually starts running (straight into the arms of her abductor).


<Let>

Quick back and forth between the two women. (We’ll need someone who doesn’t mind being dressed from head to toe in skin-tight latex, maybe you should speak with Madam Lulu before going to Casting). In reality the whole thing would be over in seconds, but let’s stretch it out a bit and make it look as though she has a fighting chance.

<What>

So we end the scene with Stephanie lying in the gutter and the latex lovely standing over her (she can suck her finger suggestively if you think we can get away with it).

BBC Drama: Cool Chrome, Hot Flesh – The Robotunit Story: Early Draft

“So, Stephanie, or do you prefer Steph?”

“[Statement] This unit is now designated, Robotunit8.”

“Fascinating, or at least marginally interesting, RU8. I can call you RU8, can I?”

“[Humorous Retort] Sir can call this unit whatever he wishes.”

“Of course. So, tell me, RU8, if you’re the first human to robot transformation, what’s the significance of the number eight?”

“[Embarrassed Admission] The initial seven attempts were… unsuccessful.”

“Unsuccessful?”

“[Clarification] Yes, Sir. But we prefer not to talk about Mistress’ Hall of Errors.”

“Well there you have, and why not? So, perhaps we can talk about the film then. What do you make of it? And, was it a surprise to see Eve Newton in the title role?”

“[Statement] This unit found the film to be amusing and occasionally accurate. Ms. Newton herself is visually appealing, but she lacks the shiny perfection that comes from being converted into a will-less, sexbot.”

“Ah… quite. And what about the… well… erotic nature of the story? There’s an awful lot of bare skin on display, especially in the now notorious street abduction scene. How close to reality are those scenes? Are they as justified as the film maker’s attest.”

“[Explanation] Yes, Sir, there was some nudity involved, although mostly I spent my time totally enclosed in either latex or metal. Well, that and an organic soup of buckyballs and fullerines. Honesty, Sir there’s nothing more comfortable than having your cells interwoven with nanotubules,”

“And the abduction?”

“[Expletive] Complete bollocks, Sir. The recruiter from NuU could have simply asked this unit’s former self straight out if she wanted an eternity of obedient bliss and absolute pleasure. Obvious she would have leapt at the chance, there would even have been time to stop off for a quick drink before the short trip to the transformation centre.”

“What a shame. I suppose the autopiercer was another piece of artistic license then?”

“[Answer] Oh no, Sir… that was one of the nicest parts of the whole experience.

“Really? Err, I don’t suppose you care to set the record straight? Feel free to give as much detail as possible.”

“[Statement] By a strange coincidence, this unit’s new book, ‘Confessions of a Robo-Hottie’ will be released on the 9th of this month, available at all bookshops, recommended retail price, one hundred and ninety Earth Groats.”

“Nice plug. “

“[Embarrassed Aside] Why thank you, Sir. Would you care to see more of this unit’s interface sockets when this interview is over?”

“Ah… I mean… oh! Run the clip.”

Source Material: BBC Productions, Film 2115, With Barry Normanclone


As some of you will have already recognised, this is one of the original robotisation machines. To be precise, this little beauty is the NuU 3000, the very first working robotiser.

No, Candi, you won’t be able to ‘have a go’ in it!

Yes, Fraser, those are dildos and no, 21st Century women didn’t come with two vaginas. Ask your mother about it, Fraser…

So, as you can see, the subject would sit here… yes , Candi, they are extremely large, aren’t they? The subject would sit here… the answer is still, no… The subject would sit here and these cables would attach to the contact points embedded in her body.

Now, can anyone tell me why the robotisation process has only been performed successfully on women?

Thank you, Fraser, most amusing. I’m glad to see you’re enjoying yourself, paddling in the shallow end of the gene pool.

The simple fact is that women are poly-orgasmic and, as you must already have gathered, the whole robotisation process requires the victim… uhm, subject… to experience a series of multiple and increasingly intense climaxes.

No means, no, Candi.

Oh fine, I can see we’re not going to get anywhere until I concede. Now, does anyone except Fraser want to help me strap her into the hot seat?

Prosecution Exhibit AE117: The Crown vs. Tinkle (Transcript of lecture on Technophilosophy and Applied Cybernetics 08.10.11)

[Higher Functions Shutting Down]

[Unlock Memory Store Alpha Seven]

[Read Only Mode Engaged]

[Personality Emulation Active: Run Simulation, StephanieCore0001]

I decided on a career change pretty late in my life. Basically I was bored. And when the Guardian advertised a position in the newly formed Turing Agency, I practically leapt at the chance of doing something even a little more interesting.

As a robot-fetishist the thought of being part of the team that tracked down rogue AIs seemed perfect. After all, I was either going to get to play with some of the most bleeding-edge tech available, or, if I was really lucky, get droned by some insane computer.

Mandy and I were part of that initial intake and we hit it off immediately. She had the same irreverent sense of humour as I did. She was a girl who took shit from no one, which was a breath of fresh air. We more or less slid into flat sharing and that was that.

She was a lot younger than me, and with the very off-putting habit of strutting around the house wearing next to nothing. At first I almost found myself falling for her dumb-blonde act, but there was far more to her than simple eye-candy.

The Agency was also very different from what I’d expected. The training especially, or perhaps the trainer. Gavin (though everyone knew him as Mad Gav, presumably even his mother), had been a POW during the last war. We put down his idiosyncrasies to that, although, with the benefit of hindsight I think he was probably just a major perv.

Anyway, for what ever reason he was fixated on the idea that four out of five of us were going to be captured by the enemy at some point during our time with the Agency and that it was our duty to escape when and if that happened.

That led to a series of what were basically bondage competitions between the trainee agents. I was tied up with rope, chains, cuffs, telephone cable, bed sheets, whatever was available. Of course, being something of a fan of bondage, I loved being tied up and, much to their dismay, my captors soon discovered that I was very good at escaping.

The problem was that for all kudos I earned escaping, I lost at least as much when it was my turn to do the tying. Even Mandy, who was constantly being caught, could escape my knots and, to make matters worse, she had a natural flair for knotty predicaments.

My frustration at not being a good enough rigger (that’s the technical term for someone who ties people up, see who says this kind of book can’t be fun and educational?) led me directly into Mandy’s arms.

We’d played a few bondage games before and I was coming around the idea that Mandy had a bit of a thing for me. But that was fine, it wasn’t as if I was about to let my guard down. You see I kept telling myself that I was straight, but that an occasional lesbian tryst was an acceptable way to let off some tension (isn’t self- denial a wonderful thing?).

But now my competitive streak took over and my personal life became a bondage marathon. Over the course of the next few weeks I wasn’t only challenged at work but, when I finally got home I either spent my time tied by or tying up Mandy. The sessions lasted six to eight hours every night, depending on how well I was doing.

We bought books on the subject, purchased a small fortune in equipment at a local adult store and bookmarked dozens of internet sites in the hope of honing our skills. I was hogtied, ball tied, frog tied, suspended, spread-eagled and inverted. I learned the strappedo, the reverse prayer, elbow crush and the hammer tie. I experienced crotch ropes, breast harnesses, thumb cuffs, posture collars and nipple clamps. I discovered that every inch of a woman could be tied.

Happy times.

Every evening became a contest to see who could tie whom in the most intricate manner. For me it was the challenge. For Mandy it was one opportunity after another to grope, fondle and stroke my surprisingly supple body. Good bondage had to be tight, I would say and Mandy would add that for it to be a challenging, you had to be nude. So, in our own way, we were both getting what we wanted.

On the night that started my journey, the winner’s reward was for the loser to take them out for a dinner of her choosing. Mandy won, escaping from my handcuffs, ballgag and crotchrope 32 seconds faster than I escaped from hers. Little did I know at the time that Mandy had tampered with the timer to insure that particular outcome.

Mandy chose a very nice and private restaurant on the outskirts of town. After we’d showered, done our hair and fixed our makeup, I was surprised to find a pile of skimpy lingerie and bondage gear lying on the bed in place of the dress I had laid there. “Hey, what’s up with this?” I shouted.

“I won, so I get to choose how you dress for the evening,” Mandy replied.

I thought about protesting for a moment and then bit my lip. I might just as well go along with it and take this as part of the challenge as well.

The dress she’d chosen was more like a short teddy; it barely covered my butt cheeks. Mandy insisted I go braless so the skimpy top, with its thin, spaghetti straps did little to cover my jiggling assets. Fortunately, I knew this restaurant and figured it was dark enough to keep me from revealing my embarrassment.

Next came the accessories. First off Mandy handed me a thin, black, leather collar. “Not bad,” I thought, most people would assume it was a choker and not think twice about it. It had a loop in the buckle for a padlock but there wasn’t one on the bed so I assumed I’d dodged that one. No such luck of course. Mandy handed me a large silver padlock with the word ‘Master’ engraved on it. “How appropriate,” I thought as I slipped the hasp into the loop.

“Hold on a minute,” snapped Mandy. “Not so fast, lock this on too.” And with that, she handed me a one foot length of chain.

“What’s this for?”

“For Later,” came the cryptic reply. So without any further hesitation, I slipped the hasp through the chain, (it barely fitted), and closed the ‘Master’ lock around collar buckle. It gave a resounding click. The weight of the big lock and its dangling chain was enough to pull my head back slightly. There would be no slouching tonight.

I looked at myself in the mirror. “Hooker costume,” I thought. Then, “Damn, I actually look pretty hot!” I turned to get a better view of my back. My long, auburn hair at least hid the chain trailing down my back but my arse was hanging out. I slid the dress down to cover it and, as I did, my nipples popped out of the top.

“Good, I needed them next,” said Mandy approaching me with two twist-ties in her hand.

“What are those for?” I whined. “Now hold it sister, just what is tonight’s game?”

“Ok here’s the deal,” and Mandy went on to explain. “Tonight the challenge is on concentration. During dinner I intend to read you the tech manual for the new BT1000 bot-scanner. After dinner I’ll give you a test to see what you remembered.”

“So what’s the big deal?” I asked.

“I have arranged several, uh, uh, distractions to really test your concentration,” she answered grinning most wickedly.

“So those are going where?” I asked again, already guessing the answer.

“On your nipples of course,” replied Mandy. Not waiting for permission Mandy took each bud in turn and after rolling them between her fingers to make sure they were hard, tied the wire twist around their bases insuring the little nubs would stay engorged with blood and hard for the entire evening.

“Not a bad feeling,” I thought. “Why didn’t I think of that years ago?” However, once Mandy raised my dress back up to cover me and I had taken a few steps, I began to feel the material rubbing across each tight nipple and a tingle ran through my chest. “Oh! This could be interesting,” I thought licking my lips.

Having finished getting dressed we picked up our purses and headed for the door. I collected my coat from its hook.

“Oh let me help you with that,” said Mandy. I obliged by placing my arms behind my back so Mandy could slip them into the sleeves. Mandy’s next move was so swift that I swear I heard the racheting of the handcuffs before I felt the cold steel tightening on my wrists.

“Hey what the fu--,” I tried to complain. But before I could get the words out Mandy was cramming a big, red ballgag into my mouth.

“All part of the distraction,” was all that Mandy would say. Next she lifted my cuffed hands up to the bottom of my shoulder blades and used another padlock to attach them to the chain dangling from my collar. Now the weight of my hands pulled on my neck and I discovered very quickly that I needed to concentrate on keeping my hands held high in a mildly uncomfortable position to keep from pulling my neck back and making it hard to breathe.

After Mandy placed my coat over my shoulders she turned me around and stared into my eyes. “Let the games begin,” she chuckled. I could only stare with my eyes wide open. I was helpless to do much more.

Mandy took great care settling me into the car’s passenger seat, making sure I was comfortable and buckled up. “Spread your legs,” Mandy commanded. I just stared. “Now,” she said in a much more menacing voice. I complied and Mandy took something from her purse that looked like an overgrown horse pill about the size of a man’s thumb with a three inch wire attached to one end. “It’s a Silver Bullet,” offered Mandy. “It will definitely get your attention.”

She pulled my thong aside and slowly slipped the device into my already wet pussy leaving only the wire left exposed and then snapped the skimpy panties shut. I don’t know what surprised me more. Was it the snap of the thong against my pussy lips or the fact that the damn thing had slid in so easily? I quickly began to realise that this whole affair with the cuffs, the collar, the slow burn coming from my nipples and now the intruder in my pussy was already making me extremely hot and wet.

The ride to the restaurant was long and very eventful. Every bump, pothole and stoplight gave me a new sensation I had never felt before. It was like my entire body was one giant nerve ending and the car seat was a huge antenna attracting impulses from every corner of the city. I was actually disappointed when we pulled into the parking lot. My next shock was when Mandy turned toward Valet parking. “No No No!” I tried to scream through the gag, but it came out as, “Mhpmhpmhp.”

I hadn’t signed up for this. There was no way I wanted to be seen like this and embarrassed in front of some pimply faced teenager. The bondage under the coat was okay but the gag was shining out like a beacon that scream “Hey come look at me!” Mandy must have sensed my fear and at the last minute turned to drive into the self parking lot.

After stopping the car and killing the engine Mandy leaned over and removed my ballgag. The words came pouring out behind a river of saliva. “Don’t you EVER do that again!” I screamed. “I might be okay with the fun and games but THAT was going too far. You try anything like that again and the game is OVER you hear?!”

Mandy shrunk down in her seat like a cowering little girl. If you hadn’t known that I was chained and handcuffed under the coat, watching the scene play out you would swear that Mandy was the one in bondage being punished.

Whatever games we played from that moment on it was now clear that I was definitely in charge.

Once again Mandy carefully helped me from my seat and we walked up the parking lot to the front door. Neither of us said a word. Maybe it was the quickness of my pace, maybe it was the effect of the anger on my blood pressure but for a few minutes I completely forgot that, beneath the coat I was handcuffed and chained or that I had an intruder shoved deep inside my pussy.

It only took a few steps to bring that fact back to the forefront of my mind. The heat building within my pussy began to climb. Sweat beaded my forehead. Each step began to shoot white hot sensations into my legs turning them into rubber. “Oh God just let me reach the front door,” I thought. “Coconut,” I thought. “I have to concentrate on something unpleasant; something I hate to keep myself from going into an orgasm right here in the parking lot in front of all these people.”

Mercifully I made it, all thanks to the memory of the day that coconut candy bar had made me sick as a little girl.

Once inside, Mandy abandoned me to check on our reservation with the hostess. Another hostess approached and asked me if I wanted to have my coat checked. I shot a laser gaze at the poor girl’s hand, hitting it just short of the coat’s shoulder. It didn’t stop her from grasping the empty sleeve of the coat. As the girl squeezed the sleeve she realised it was empty. Her hand went up the outside of the sleeve to my shoulder. She then took a long look at my other sleeve and leaned back to size up what she had discovered. The girl then released her grasp, looked me straight in the eye and gave me a wink before saying “Hope you are having fun under there.” She then turned to check out the rear view of Mandy at the desk and slinked away.

Soon after, Mandy returned and we were both escorted to the table. I wasn’t finding manoeuvring in my present position that difficult. I even managed to slide into the booth quite skillfully without using my hands. I was thankful to get off my feet though. The constant action of the bullet rubbing inside of me was taking its toll. Between that and the friction of my coat’s inside lining rubbing on my tender, hardened nipples (which felt like sandpaper against them by now) was making me so wet that if I weren’t wearing a thong the bullet would have already slipped out for sure.

Dinner and drinks were an interesting challenge. Mandy was very attentive. The waiter was very discrete and never asked why I kept my coat on. I found it was actually fun having Mandy wait on me, feed me and tend to my subtle needs. Dinner was great and the wine gave me a warm glowing feeling. “Not bad,” I thought, “I could stand this for hours.”

“Ok,” said Mandy, “Now fun time is over, time to go to work.”

“Huh?” was all I could manage. Then Mandy pulled the BT1000 manual out of her purse and set it in front of me. “You think having my arms tied and pouring a couple of glasses of wine down me is going to make me lose this challenge?” I asked. “So what if I succeed, what’s my prize?” Mandy had no answer. “Ok here’s the deal,” I continued. “If I pass the test YOU have to go home and spend the rest of the weekend like I am now.”

Mandy just smiled. “No problem,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s shake on it.” Mandy extended her hand; I just stared at her with steely eyes. After a very uncomfortable moment Mandy retracted her hand and placed the manual down in front of me. “Time for the contest to begin,” she said. “Start here with Chapter Three, technical specs.” I looked down at the pages for a moment and then at Mandy.

“How am I supposed to see anything in this dimly lit corner booth?” I asked.

“Oh I almost forgot,” said Mandy as she reached in her purse and produced a penlight, reached over and put its butt end against my lips. “Open wide,” she said. I just gave her a disgruntled look but figured I couldn’t be humiliated any more than I had been already? I opened my lips and took the small flashlight between my teeth. It did a fine job of lighting up the page before me. It also shone like a spotlight announcing to the rest of the room that something very strange was going on here. I quickly began to read the detailed specs in front of me. The quicker I got through this, the less embarrassment I would have to endure.

That was when Mandy revealed her secret weapon.

Suddenly and without warning my pussy was on fire. I literally jumped up off the seat. My teeth bit down hard on the metal flashlight nearly chipping a tooth. The bullet within my pussy had roared to life with a vengeance. It had a life and purpose of its own and that was to drive me insane. Very rapidly I began sweating. My cheeks began to grind into the seat. I squeezed my thighs together in a vain attempt to smother the little invader. My imprisoned arms tried to claw at my side trying to get to my pussy, to get to that bullet, to get it out. “What, no I didn’t want it out, I needed it. I needed it bad.” My heartbeat was racing. I could hear the blood pumping in my ears. My entire body began to tingle like someone was pouring hot melted chocolate over every inch of my bare skin. This was it. I was reaching the top. I was quickly reaching the crest of a shattering orgasm…

And then it stopped.

My eyes burst open and in front of my face was Mandy’s hand holding the bullet’s remote control. Mandy just smiled and stared into my sweat-drenched face and said, “I never bet the house unless I am holding all of the aces.”

Five times Mandy drove me to the edge with that damn bullet. Five times Mandy shut it off at the last moment and let me cool down. Every time that happened I would begin reading another paragraph of the technical manual and Mandy would turn the merciless pussy invader back on. Five times it brought me to the edge but no further. Five times my well honed concentration skills tried to bring my frazzled mind back into focus.

Finally I gasped “I’m finished with the section. Test me now!” It was a good thing, I thought because I honestly didn’t think I could hold out for another battle with the bullet. Mandy had three questions prepared that she was confident would stump me, especially in my exhausted state. After Mandy had read each of them to me she just sat there and stared confidently into my eyes. A look of horror soon took over her face as she saw an answering smile slowly emerging on my lips. Mandy had seriously underestimated my concentration and my photographic memory.

<End>


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