Mrs. Allen's Two O'Clock

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Mrs Christina Allen entered the salon reception and walked briskly across to the desk. She was, to say the least, a statuesque lady, in her early thirties and in good shape. Her dark blonde hair expensively knotted behind her head, her suit; too pricey for any high street, and her mature elegance all screamed “unavailable” to all but the wealthiest of men.

“Good morning, Marie. I was hoping you had a free slot today. I’ve been having a little trouble with my back after the point-to-point last weekend, do you think you could fit me in?” Her manner was brisk and impersonal although she was far to high bred to stoop to rudeness.

Marie, behind the reception desk, was a pretty, young and slim girl. She wore a white nurses’ trouser suit with her name badge on the breast and smiled brightly at Mrs Allen. “Certainly Ma’am. We have an opening at two o’clock, if that’s convenient, for a full session or we can fit you in for forty five minutes right now” she was chirpy and enthusiastic, as if fitting Mrs Allen into the days schedule was her greatest pleasure in all the World.

“Well, I’m meeting the Smythes at the Yacht Club at two…. so I suppose now will have to do. I simply mustn’t be late so absolutely no longer than forty-five minutes please.”

“Certainly Mrs Allen, if you’d like to go through to the cubicles to change and shower, then Bobbi will collect you in a few minutes.” The same smile, the same chirpiness, all a pretence. Not a terribly good one at that, and one that quietly annoyed Mrs Allen’s more sophisticated tastes.

She was a regular client here so Mrs Allen walked on through and was pleased to see her usual cubicle free, with the curtain drawn back. She entered, put down her handbag on the shelf beside the luxurious cosmetics basket and hung her suit jacket on the padded hanger. As she un-tucked her cream silk blouse she noticed there was only the one towel laid out; service just can’t be had in this city.

She crossed the corridor to the service cubicle and pulled the curtain aside to reach in for another towel, “Pardon me…. Oh, I see.” She stood in the entrance and looked at the girl opposite, against the far wall, behind the shelves of towels, cosmetics and beauty products.

She looked a lot like Marie; short dark hair, young pretty face, her head cocked slightly to one side, mouth a little open and pretty green eyes staring away past Mrs Allen, seeing nothing. Her nurses’ tunic was open and pushed aside to reveal smooth, pale little breasts. The skin beneath her clothes was featureless, without the fine traces of freckles, lines and tiny hairs that made her face and arms appear so lifelike. Below her ribs, filling the delta of her upper abdomen was a recess where there was no skin. Here her true nature was in no doubt.

A row of switches, several data ports and a small, winking blue display were below what appeared to be a hand sized access panel leading up into the chest of the shutdown robot therapist. A red power cable leading from a wall socket was connected to her input port and her display read CHARGING as it flashed on and off. Another, thinner lead was connected between one of the girl’s data ports and a PC trolley beside her. The large flat-screen display was headed LOADING CLIENT DATA and Mrs Allen could make out her name and address from where she stood. The nametag on the still girl’s top was Bobbi.

Mrs Allen looked at the set up without much surprise. She hadn’t booked in advance and even as wealthy a firm as this didn’t spend money on maintaining its robots to let them “dispose of their own free time” between bookings. Anyway these models were pretty, but not sophisticated. They were probably not even sufficiently sentient to notice the empty soulnessness of their mechanical lives.

Catching herself staring, Mrs Allen drew away abruptly, with her second towel in her hand. She felt a little odd at seeing Bobbi deactivated like this. Not that she liked her; Bobbi was cut from the same cloth as Marie; fake through and through. Her inane cheerful babble had annoyed Mrs Allen in the past. Still there was something about the contrast between her usual (artificial?) vivaciousness and her current stillness…..

As she undressed and showered Mrs Allen found her thoughts turning to Roger; his hands on her shackled body, her futile strains against the restraints. But their fun was strictly heterosexual so why did the helpless girl across the corridor set her tingling so? The flow of commands and data into the helpless and open mind within the exposed body set her thoughts to the power and control her husband had over her at play. With a shudder Mrs Allen set these thoughts aside, perhaps Roger was in for a surprise later but for now: Bobbi was a robot and shaped like a girl too – disgusting thoughts!

“Mrs Allan, are you ready for your session?”

She drew back the curtain and followed the now lively and smiling Bobbi into the Therapy Room.

“ Here you are Ma’am, if you’d like to lie on the bench, on your front please, thank you. Marie tells me you’re having a little trouble with your back today…. Let me help you with that towel… there. Now, lets have a look.”

As Mrs Allen lay on the bench, her towel covering her lower half, Bobbi probed and massaged her back, chatting cheerfully in her annoying fake way for a quarter of an hour. Eventually She had to concede that, while leaving a lot to be desired in terms of social conduct and realism, Bobbi was certainly well build for her intended job.

“ Well Bobbi, you were certainly built by a master at his trade! I feel worlds better.”

Bobbi giggled, apparently delighted at the compliment, especially from such a haughty client. “Thank you Ma’am, I’m glad I can help. I think I’ve found the cause of your trouble, I just need to confirm it and I should have you as right as rain!”

“Oh… no thank you, as I told the girl at reception, I have an appointment to keep at two. I feel very much better so I’ll make a move now I think. This can wait until my mid-week session. My towel please…”

“ Ma’am please let me check. It will only take a moment, just to make sure its nothing serious. I’d hate for it to get worse.”

“Oh, very well. But don’t keep me after one thirty. I’m sure its nothing anyway, I often have a twinge after riding, it never lasts.”

“Certainly Ma’am, if you would lie there for a moment….”

Bobbi pulled the trolley of apparatus towards her and selected her equipment. She slid Mrs Allen’s towel down her back until it barely covered her buttocks. “Hold still Ma’am.”

Bobbi used her little fingernail to prise open a tiny square of flesh at the very base of Mrs Allen’s spine and, just as she opened her mouth to protest, inserted a data cable with a “snick”. Mrs Allen’s Body gave a small spasm and froze. Her fingers outstretched, her back just a little arched, her head an inch off the bench, her face indignant but still. Her mouth was still open with her barely started word on her lips and her eyes staring at nothing in surprise.

A long second later she relaxed onto the bench, her chopped word coming out as a meaningless “dloe…t”.

“New hardware installed.” She said as she regained her composure, but not her temper. “My husband always uses my wireless link. It’s rather more dignified…”

“I’m sorry to hard link you Mrs Allen but I need control input to run the diagnostic on your motor systems. With your wireless link we’d be a long time and I believe you have a two o’clock…”

“More like you’ve got another client due I expect. Well get on with it then.”

“I believe an actuator under your right shoulder blade may be misplaced; it could be causing these twinges you mentioned. Probably just routine fatigue damage from your riding but it could cause a malfunction in time, I’m sure your husband wouldn’t want to explain your emergency shutdown…..”

As she spoke Bobbi turned to the trolley, pulled up a touch screen and began to enter commands, still smiling in the face of her client’s dark looks. “A robot of your quality shouldn’t have any “twinges” without some damaged systems somewhere so there must be something wrong”

“Active link open, external systems check. In my circles it’s perfectly acceptable to have an artificial spouse. “Explain” my malfunction indeed! I’ll have you know Roger and I know several androids socially.” Mrs Allen adjusted the towel on her head that may have loosened a little during linkup.

“Ma’am I’m going to take command of your major actuators now to complete the examination. We’ll know the problem in just a few minutes…”

“Control override code accepted…Internal control offline for systems 1, 9, 10, 14, 16…External control online for system 9 only.” Mrs Allen reported her status to Bobbi in the same annoyed tone of voice, but without any meaning behind the words, as if she were reading them off a card inside her mind.

As she spoke her limbs froze. Her firm, tanned legs below the towel became statue stiff and still, her right hand, on its way down from the towel on her head stopped in mid air. The diagnostic computer had instructed her operating system to deactivate her own, much superior, processors’ control over her limbs and back. The array of servos, pneumo and hyro activators that moved her right arm had been taken over from outside her body.

She was still online. Her sensors and secondary systems were operating normally, maintaining the illusion of humanity, even under these circumstances but she could do little more than turn her head and control her expression until the diagnostic was complete. “Control input.” She snapped as her right arm began a process of bending and stretching to the commands of Bobbi at her console.

Mrs Allen was a custom built robot of the very highest specification and quality. As she lay, helpless, linked to the external systems she could still have passed as a human woman, albeit very still. Her breath passed in and out, a little heavier now and her nostrils flared on her beautiful but angry face.

The thoughts, opinions and tastes in her electronic mind were as realistic as her outer appearance and she felt decidedly indignant at her treatment.

At home Roger would use the wireless link to her console to programme her. Nothing drastic, just the odd tweaks to her personality and manner that made her who she was. This was a positive pleasure; he was her husband and owner. He had paid a lot of money to have her built to his specifications, inside and out, and two years reviewing her programming in his spare time. If he wanted to alter it that was his right, she could sit and talk to him as he did so, in fact she enjoyed feeling herself being changed within.

The only time she was hard linked to anything was to recharge each day, for this she usually paused her systems to save boredom. Diagnostics and control like this was done at her monthly servicing, when Bobbi or Marie would shut her down completely. To be honest she had no idea what they did to her those two days each month but she was always on top of the World afterwards! Of course she realised Bobbi couldn’t shut her down now, she would take several hours to boot back up, but surely she could have waited until Thursday?

As her right arm continued to circle and Bobbi made cheerful comments, Mrs Allen’s top of the range systems began to betray her. Roger had specified her sexual tastes to fill his requirements, and, although quite at home in the highest of society, in the bedroom she craved his dominance. She couldn’t move and was at the mercy of a mass produced robot girl who was controlling some of her systems. The same girl who had sparked her arousal whilst offline in the service room. She could feel her nipples begin to dig into the soft coverings of the bench, the sensations arousing her body and mind even more. Her skin felt on fire, her nipples became hard rocks of tingling sensation and dampness was coating her motionless thighs beneath the towel. She let out the tiniest moan, she could not bear lo let that cheap doll realise her predicament as her face flushed with embarrassment.

“External control terminated.” Her voice was huskier than she had intended.

“Mrs Allen, I’m afraid I was right. There is a mechanical wear defect in hydroactuator 9/7a. It’s quite serious, I’ll have to replace the part.”

Mrs Allan turned her head, in part trying to relieve some pressure on her still, screaming nipples. Trying to keep a stern voice, without a quaver of desire, “Fine, well done. Now put me back on line right away and I’ll not be late for the Smythes.”

“ I’m sorry Ma’am but there is a chance of a critical fault. You are a very valuable piece of equipment and Mr Allen was most specific in the maintenance contract. I must replace actuator 9/7a before you leave.”

“Ridiculous! I want to leave now! My husband will hear about this.”

“Mrs Allen, please calm down. We can make arrangements for your two o’clock appointment, its much more important that you are repaired…”

“Who do you think you are to tell me… You, a cheap service ‘bot! I demand… I demand that… I…”

Mrs Allen’s state of the art programming was telling her systems that this was the control fantasy of a lifetime, her myriad of sensors were finding sexual stimulation in every touch against the bench beneath her. Her nipples were on fire and the fabric beneath her crotch was sodden with her sweet, artificial juices. At the same time she was beside herself with anger at the temerity of the robot refusing to obey her. She was herself a machine and so accepted that she was a thing, to be maintained and repaired, switched on and off at will. The concept of her programmed self will and external electronic input conflicting was alien to her. She was confused, but programmed to be an aristocratic and arrogant beauty, she continued to protest.

Bobbi was not a high tech simulation of a human being like Mrs Allen. Her model was realistic enough to pass in day-to-day activities as shop assistants and waitresses without causing offence, but fooled few. However she was quite adequate as a robot technician at this high-class salon. She was perfectly aware of Mrs Allen’s state of body and mind, far more so than Mrs Allen herself. She had downloaded her clients’ complete specifications and service history before the session.

At her last session Bobbi had stripped her down, as usual, to inspect and service her internal systems. While she was shutdown, her access panels had been removed, batteries replaced, moving parts cleaned and lubricated, and internal supplies of the dry chemicals, used to mix with the water Mrs Allan drank to produce body fluids, were replaced. Still stripped down, with her component parts removed or visible through open panels, she was put through her paces on external control. After all systems checked out she was linked to the override-programming computer while her skin and face were cleaned and lubricated. Finally she was rebooted and sent back into the world none the wiser for her two day session. During this session the wear to 9/7a was noted but within parameters for another month. The point-to-point riding must have taken it over the edge.

Bobbi was concerned. Mrs Allen was very sophisticated, however the conflict between her extreme arousal and her anger was tying up a lot of RAM. Even worse she was internally rebelling against her immobility.

“Mrs Allen, please try to relax. You are a sophisticated machine with some free will. You must accept this situation until I can shut you down for repair, please don’t struggle…”

“I will not calm… down!,” she gasped, “ I will…Ohhhh…I…ohhhh..GOD SHIT SHIT!!!!!!!!” Her face contorted, eyes wide in passion as her horniness bested her anger. “OH MY G” With a swift tap of the touch screen Bobbi deactivated Mrs Allen’s voice box to stop the entire salon hearing the shouts of passion.

Her other systems still active, and not programmed for true systems awareness, Mrs Allen’s mouth continued to move, silently shaping her orgasmic crescendo. Helpless and indignant she arched her neck and worked her jaw with silent cries as the orgasm flowed through her motionless body. “Almost ready Ma’am”, said Bobbi, ignoring the passion in the robot woman’s face and in the thoughts and words flowing as data on her screen.

Bobbi was now working rapidly at her, the immediate sexual tension released, Mrs Allen’s conscious rebellion would be unchallenged and increased by her humiliation. It was impossible for her to move as her primary actuators were offline, a toaster can’t turn itself on and neither can a robot unless on an external signal such as a timer or “on” switch. The problem was that Mrs Allen was programmed to be as human as possible. Although aware she was a robot, she was not well equipped to deal with this situation. If she tried hard to counteract her deactivation she would fail, causing a common fault in freewill machines, known as personality stripping. This would be difficult to rectify and could cause some permanent data loss.

“Hey, DON’T IGNORE ME YOU BI…..process error….Listen you stupid lit….control error 5502” Mrs Allen’s lips shaped the silent words that scrolled across the dialogue box on Bobbi’s diagnostic terminal. She was livid!

Bobbi turned from the screen with a metal probe from her trolley. She reached over and held the stunning robot lady’s head firmly down on the bench against her struggling neck actuators and frantically working jaw, “Please don’t move ma’am.” She inserted the probe carefully into an imperceptible hole behind Mrs Allen’s right ear. “DON’T YOU DAR” she mouthed as the probe clicked into place, two inches inside her plastic skull, shutting power off to all systems.

“Mr Allen, I’m sorry to tell you that your wife has suffered a systems failure during maintenance…….yes sir, impromptu…. No sir, not critical. We have shut her down to minimise software impact. …About a week sir, she will require re-loading to last month’s parameters and we have to order a part to rectify the original damage…. Yes sir…absolutely sir, sorry for any inconvenience…..By Tuesday without fail….thank you sir….Goodbye.”

Roger Allen rolled back over to the girl beside him in bed. “Bloody wife’s packed up. Lucky it was this week really, what with you being here she’d probably have been turned off in the corner anyway…”

Roger Allen’s beautiful, intelligent, sophisticated, arrogant, athletic and very expensive wife lay on the servicing bench, still and cooling. Her face, half turned downwards, frozen in her last protest: mouth wide, nostrils flared, eyes blazing but unseeing. Bobbi withdrew the activation probe from the side of her head, pulling away the towel from her almost dry hair. She walked around to her waist and, removing the larger towel, pushed her thighs apart and used it to mop up the flood of aromatic juices. She wheeled the naked robot on the bench casters into the salon storeroom where she would stay until the time came to begin repairs.

On the next bench lay the inert figure of Councillor Howerd’s wife. A little more mature looking than Mrs Allen, she was in for a systems upgrade that, for some reason had failed to install causing her to crash. Human technicians would have to collect her next week for investigation and to salvage what they could of her programming.

Bobbi looked at the two robots. Both so lifelike, so sophisticated, that they almost thought they were human. Bobbi was more basic but still with a little free will, the side effect of a system powerful enough to do such a complex job. With the standard physical fittings of her model and her satisfaction at having a challenging job ahead she felt a little aroused. She left towards the service room where Marie would come and de-activate her again until she was needed. At the thought of the other robot tech accessing her systems, programming and maintaining her as a robot should be treated and as she in turn treated Marie, she felt her nipples stiffen against her crisp white tunic.

She was capable of orgasm, albeit only the same one each time. Perhaps she would cum as Marie serviced her now. After what she had just seen she was nearly able to hope so!

THE END

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