Unusual Corporate Espionage
WARNING: UNDER SEVERE EDITING AND PROOFREADING
MULTIPLE SECTIONS ARE SUBJECT TO CHANCE
PROCEED WITH CAUTION
Introduction
Yep, that's me: Doctor Elaine Dyson, founder and of the Dyson Institute, industry leader of modern robotics, and current owner of one of the most advanced and sophisticated bodies ever developed.
Yes, the "advanced and sophisticated" body is currently immobile. I've had my servos disabled, limbs bound, and cables shoved inside my access panel. Everything that could keep a feisty woman like me tied down. Real shame, since I enjoy moving.
No, it wasn't part of some bondage role-play gone badly wrong. A body as well-designed and engineered as this doesn't fall apart after a mere session of whips and spanking. Sure, other gynoids fall apart after far less, but I don't make disposable garbage. No, I settle for nothing less than perfection.
Still, the question remains: why is Doctor Elaine Dyson tied up like a second-rate disposable sex doll? Is she testing some new advancement in the field of female robotics? Is she experimenting with some sort of new fetish? Did she accidentally piss off the wrong person and end up in an elaborate maze of deathtraps devoted to fragile ego of some wannabe supervillain? Or perhaps she was simply--
Wait, no, scratch that last rhetorical question.
It was definitely the wannabe supervillain.
I get confused sometimes.
It's quite unfortunate, really. I mean, the day was going so well...
A Few Hours Earlier
"Doctor Dyson?"
"Doctor Dyson?"
"...You still in there, Elaine?"
Rebecca sighed. She tried knocking, and, although she could clearly hear her boss, she still got no response. It was one of...those...mornings.
With a well-placed boot, Rebecca forced the door open, nearly knocking it off its hinges. As expected, Doctor Dyson was inside, masturbating.
She was really going at it. Fingers were gliding up and down her vaginal module, delighting in its soft creases and folds. If Rebecca didn't have other pressing matters, she'd probably join in. In fact, she could already feel her own womanhood moistening, demanding attention from a set of eager fingers. If only...
She pushed the thought aside. Rebecca is a professional, and the company has a schedule to keep. She marched right over to her boss and gave her a hard slap across her face. Startled by the interruption, Doctor Dyson, after intentionally delaying her orgasm sequence, momentarily lost her focus and accidentally initiated the a cavalcade of backed-up processes. She erupted in a lusty cry as her crotch vanished under a shuddering torrent of fluids, her chest heaving as she tried to regain composure.
This went on for some time. Rebecca watched impatiently, both out of annoyance at the continued schedule slips and the fact that she really wished she could switch places with her boss. Slowly, Elaine's magnificent breasts slowed their undulating motions as she began to breathe normally.
"Sorry, Rebecca," Elaine Dyson managed between small gasps. "I was just testing patch 10.3.5b on our latest SynGina modules. They're still a little intensive on my processing systems, but I still don't think I've had such a good session with myself."
She gestured at her crotch. "You want to give it a go? Or, perhaps, do you need some additional, shall we say, encouragement?" Elaine gave Rebecca a playful wink.
Though understandably horny, Rebecca turned down the offer. "Sorry, Elaine. I was just here to inform you that the 11:00 client has arrived. She's been using the synthetic systems of one of our competitors, and she's really insistent on seeing the differences for herself."
Doctor Dyson stood up. "Well, why didn't you say so? Bring her in. Let's add another lucky woman to our family."
Rebecca wrinkled her nose. "Uh, Elaine? Can you at least get dressed first?"
"But I'm going to take everything off anyways," Dyson pouted.
"I know, but we're dealing with an...unusual kind of customer. We want to at least make her comfortable, don't want to give her more than she can handle."
"Oh, fine." Doctor Dyson picked up some of her discarded clothing and began putting them back on. "Remember, Rebecca. You still owe me a little playtime tonight."
Rebecca laughed, eliciting a wink from her beloved boss.
A Sleight of Hand
"So, you're interested in the latest Dyson models?" I gave her latest client one of her award-winning smiles. No point in scaring off someone looking for what is an objectively superior expression of femininity.
To be perfectly frank, she really needed an objectively superior expression of femininity. There's outdated, and there's ancient. This woman though, she's prehistoric. In all my years, I have never seen such a badly outdated piece of hardware. Yellowed plastic panels, static face-plate, jerky motor functions, if I didn't know better, I'd have thought she was a mannequin that wandered out of some moldering attic. Sheesh, I really should've taken Rebecca's warning a little more seriously.
As it stands, the woman took quite a while to respond to the little ice-breaker. I could actually hear an increasingly over-taxed fan whine as primitive processors tried to keep up with the obsolete unit's thoughts. Poor thing. I made a mental note to personally oversee her adjustment period after she undoubtedly signs up for a full-body transfer.
Finally she answered. Honestly, it was a little unsettling to watch her speak since nothing on her face seemed to move. After spending so many years trying to avoid the uncanny valley, I've forgotten how uncomfortable it can really get.
"I. Would. Like. New. Body.
"Current. Body. Getting. Old.
"Been. Shopping. Around.
"Want. Something. Cheap. And. Practical.
"Saw. Commercials. On. Radio.
"Very. Good. Reviews.
"Would. You. Recommend. Any. Specific. Model."
It was hard, but I managed to not wince at her voice. It was very sharp, punctuated by loud bursts of static. Still, I couldn't really blame her for her current state, and I continued with my pitch.
"Well, if budget is a major concern, we could always try some of the older models. The RX series is still fairly reliable even after all these years, and I see no problem integrating your current neurological mappings to a used model. Though, if you think you'll have issues adjusting, we do have a few AX models. They're not really that top-of-the-line anymore, but I've used quite a few back in the day, and I can personally vouch for their effectiveness."
She nodded. At least, I think it was a nod. It could've been an errant twitch, I couldn't really tell with her complete lack of identifiable emotion.
With a few stiff motions, she raised an arm and pointed a finger at the general direction of my crotch.
"Heard. A. Lot. About. Sex. Drive.
"Burned. Out. Mine.
"How. Good. These."
"Oh, I knew I was forgetting something! The SynGina is a piece of proprietary Dyson software that is the pinnacle of lesbotic stimulation. Compared to the human equivalent and even the most highly-rated products of our competitors, the Dyson difference is immense! I assure you, you'll feel the difference immediately."
I gave my hips a little shake for emphasis.
"At the moment, we're running version 10. It's the latest in erotic stimulation, boasting over 10k sensors per square centimeter, boasting its own array of micronic computational drives and featuring on-the-spot adaptability for even the most demanding of sexual encounters." I paused for a moment. "Of course, it is backwards compatible with some of the later AX models, but you might not get full functionality. As compensation, we can offer the module and any other auxiliary upgrades free of charge as long if you agree to the contract."
My client spent another moment processing the information. Evidently, there was still some hesitation on her part. She tilted her head towards my pelvis and contemplated it for a while.
"Can. I. Examine. The. Module."
Huh, I didn't expect her to get this far so quickly. Usually, folks aren't this direct. Regardless, I'm always happy to help a woman on her journey to mechanical perfection. After all, it can be hard to take the last step, and, if this is what it takes, I'm happy to oblige.
I unbutton my skirt, letting it fall to the ground. I turn around and slowly pull down my panties, giving my captive audience a full view of my perfectly sculpted buttocks. Hey, might as well give her more of an incentive to take the conversion.
My pussy now exposed, I turn back around, hands reaching down, fingers just barely touching the pubic hairs. My hands delicately trace the edges of my highly advanced vaginal unit, barely caressing it. I let loose a soft sigh and, having completed the initial teasing, present my magnum opus to what is hopefully soon to be a future loyal customer.
I wasn't expecting any highly experienced foreplay, but I was surprised as how rough and mechanical her movements were. I mean, sure, she was moving jerkily before, but her fingers had much less coordination than I thought. They fumbled around clumsily, roughly grabbing my folds with their hard, unyielding edges. Because of her hard, almost painful probing, I was quite grateful that my development team managed to dramatically increase the durability of the current SynGina model, though I still gave a little cough to try and end the awkward moment.
Thankfully, she took the hint and stopped her prodding. She took a step back and glanced down at her own crotch. I mean, it was clear that she didn't have anything down there, so it's natural that she would be curious.
"Demonstrate. Please. The. Functionality."
Most organic women and low-quality fembots would probably refuse. After all, their systems aren't quite able to adapt as quickly. I, however, as the latest Dyson model, am quite resilient. Happily, I let my fingers work their way down to my sensitive bud, massaging the sensors populating my womanhood.
The suite of sexual techniques is one of the major selling points of the Dyson family, and I always make sure our clients are aware of the whole package.
Needless to say, with my years of experience and mechanical prowess, my pussy quickly moistens and tenses. As the sensory data begins building, I begin to moan lustily. Softly at first, then increasingly loud. It isn't long before I can't handle the load anymore and come in a glorious crescendo of orgasmic cries and vaginal lubrication.
"As you can see, when it comes to lesbotic stimulation, the Dyson Institute is simply unmatched. No competitor can even come close to matching our level of female sexual experiences. Now, if you--"
Suddenly, I twitched. That was unusual. I mean, I'm still panting a bit after my masturbation demonstration, but that's common. The twitch though, that seemed a bit...off.
I try to play it off.
"As I was saying, i--"
Suddenly, I twitch again.
"As I--"
Another twitch.
"I--"
Another twitch.
"I---I---I--"
What's going on? Am I malfunctioning? Me? Doctor Dyson, head of the Dyson Institute and most renowned robotics expert in the world? I know patch 10.3.5b isn't the most stable, but none of my tests showed this level of atrocious--
[WARNING: PROCESSOR UTILIZATION AT 91.4%, UNABLE TO KILL THIRD-PARTY PROGRAMS]
"What? I s-s-shouldn't be at this level of--"
[WARNING: PROCESSOR UTILIZATION AT 94.8%, UNABLE TO KILL THIRD-PARTY PROGRAMS]
"W-W-Wait, third-party p-p-programs? I don't remember running any--"
[ERROR: PROCESSOR UTILIZATION ABOVE RECOMMENDED LEVELS, INITIATING SHUTDOWN...]
"Shit, I-I-I n-n-need to contact R-R--"
[ERROR: PROCESSOR UTILIZATION ABOVE RECOMMENDED LEVELS, SHUTDOWN SEQUENCE FAILED]
With what little computational power still left, I try to signal to the client to get help.
The Trick Revealed
She was...acting strange, though. I mean, even stranger than an obsolete piece of hardware usually would act. It could've been my optical sensors lagging as they struggled to compete for system resources, but I could've sworn that she was moving far more gracefully than she had in the past hour or so.
Even as I tried desperately to control my flailing systems, she got up and glided over to the door, locking it, then wedging one of the office chairs under the handle. In another series of neatly guided motions, she repositioned some of the clutter I created during my meltdown. Next, came the windows. They were closed before she got here, but she still took a peak outside. Her fingers deftly made some sort of signal to whatever was waiting outside, then she came back to me.
Opening up a hidden hatch in her leg, she retrieved a length of long, sturdy rope. In a single swift motion, she wrapped my now completely unresponsive body in a neat little package. Throwing me over he shoulder, she made some sort of unintelligible noise into a headset.
No, not unintelligible.
Droid binary.
Regardless, I still couldn't understand the exact sequence of beeps and clicks. However, I would soon become acquainted with their meaning. Carefully, she slid the window up and noiselessly climbed down, somehow clinging to what should've been a completely flat, featureless wall.
This was no living mannequin, I was starting to realize.
This is some sort of assassin.
As if to confirm my suspicions, another figure emerged from the shadows. It gestured to my captor, and she climbed down to greet the newcomer. There was a quick exchange of words, and I was roughly stowed in the back of a nondescript vehicle.
Before the doors closed and I lost consciousness from an electrical shock to my systems, I saw the assassin climb back up and lock the windows.
There would be no evidence of the kidnapping.