Message-ID: <47025asstr$1078467013@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <003701c40229$6debc860$c701a8c0@orovly01.az.comcast.net> From: "DB_Story" MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V6.00.2800.1165 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Thu, 4 Mar 2004 13:44:02 -0700 Subject: {ASSM} (revised) Christine's Escape {DB_Story} (M/Fembot, cons, rom, 1st, ScFi, asfr) Lines: 1212 Date: Fri, 5 Mar 2004 01:10:13 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: hecate, hoisingr CHRISTINE'S ESCAPE By DB ( DB_Story@att.net / http://home.att.net/files/Authors/db_story/www/ ) Copyrightc 2002-2004 by DB. ASSM/ASFR (M/Fembot, cons, rom, 1st, ScFi, asfr) (This story contains Constitutionally protected material intended for adults over 18 years of age in the United States of America, and whatever passes for adult status in other countries. If you are under legal age, acting under legal age, not allowed to view such material in your area, or easily offended, please do not continue. This is not for you. (The only rights granted are to view this story. You are not allowed to reproduce, post, or otherwise redistribute this story without permission, except for non-profit Usenet archiving sites. (To purchase for publication, place on your web-site devoted to this style of fiction, or for permission to link to my posted material, please contact me first at the above email.) - - - Author's Note: This story is part of my emerging cosmology about the evolution of robots into our near future society and the myriad ways we will learn to interact with our creations. Read it now, and be prepared. For more, visit my web-site at the above address. A special thanks to Gorgo his excellent and much appreciated proofreading. All remaining mistakes are mine. - - - I work at a small systems integration firm employing around thirty-five people. I'm a programmer, which puts me in the elite in terms of money and working conditions. I get the nicer office, even when out in the field. The guys in the shop out back never let me forget it. There is a natural antipathy between programmers and shop technicians that, as much as I try to bridge it, never completely disappears. As such they love to try and show-up the rest of us whenever they can. Somehow a while back they managed to get themselves a robot. Among the many mysterious things that have come and gone through the shop, this is certainly the strangest. A robot is not just some piece of unused equipment you'll find lying around unwanted. I know they'd like me to ask how they got her. I won't give them the satisfaction. I'd never hear the end of it afterwards - that there was something that I didn't know. Nor will I ever ask to "borrow" her. Christine is part-mascot and part-assistant on simple tasks for them. I'm sure the "assistant" part is why they're allowed to keep her there. Although she's an advanced model that follows voice commands easily, I doubt she is really all that helpful. Most of their tasks would take longer to explain in detail than to just do themselves. But her presence keeps them happy. Christine's appearance is of an attractive woman in her late thirties, which makes her nearly ten years older in apparent age than the shop guys themselves. It also sets her apart from most other fembots, with the common models favoring a younger, more blatantly sexual appearance. I've heard them refer to her as the "old lady" more than once - and they don't mean wife. This tells me they got her secondhand - probably in some arcane trade that I would have trouble understanding even if they took the time to explain it. I'm sure if they had been able to make their choice from a catalog she would have been some eighteen-year-old appearing sexpot 'bot instead. Christine stands a tall 5'10" barefoot, and that tells me something too. Robots have been getting smaller and slimmer over the years as the companies get continually better at packing them into smaller volumes. The new ones are much more popular then the bigger girls of the past. Younger appearing models that were once taboo have also become common now that they can be build a proper size. Christine has probably been around a while. But to me she has an attractive face and very nice figure to match her height - all of which is visible. As with many fembots, they keep her naked. When I do go back to the shop for some reason or other Christine is usually sitting in one of their cubicles. Occasionally I'll see her working on a task, or walking around. Her face is nicely framed by shoulder-length, full-bodied brown hair. She carries herself very well when she walks, with an erect stance - probably necessary for her balance - that would make her long legs look even better in heels. That goes great with her nice ass and swiveling hips. Her breasts are plenty large and heavy, and sway just a bit like firm real ones. I always notice how nicely her toenails are painted a matching pink-red to her well-manicured fingernails that somehow survive in the shop environment. I'm ten years older than the shop guys and taller than Christine. I've earned my position in this company, even if they do want to forget or denigrate it. And although I'll never say it to them, I find Christine very attractive. One other thing about Christine, she almost never speaks. It was several weeks before I first heard even a couple words in her mellow voice. She performs her tasks with quiet efficiency, and then patiently waits for her next command. It appears to me that she lives a pretty dull existence. - - - It was a Friday afternoon with not enough work to do when those merry jesters in the shop played their latest prank on me. None of their pranks seem all that imaginative, but they think they are the height of hilarity. Just goes to show how humor varies among different groups. "We've made your job obsolete," one of them coyly told me. That told me that another joke was headed at me. Probably a lame one. I also knew for the sake of good relations that I had to dumbly play along and pretend to laugh at myself afterwards, for the sake of properly playing "the game" that exists in any company. These jokes were for the rest of the shop's amusement - not my own. "Show me," I said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm that they never seemed to catch on to. Understanding sarcasm must take more then two brain cells firing at the same time. With a great pretend show of formality two of them ushered me out to the shop. Once there, they used an unnecessarily circuitous route to finally arrive at the innermost cubicle in the maze they've created from leftover partitions and other unused parts. I find it funny that they create for themselves the very environment I hate. They want to be more like me than they'll ever admit. Sitting at the desk was Christine. There was a keyboard in front of her with its cable plugged into her navel. They gave me a moment to grasp this sight before one of them commanded her, "Show him, Christine." This obviously triggered a previously set-up command in her. Christine reached out and punched several keys seemingly at random on the keyboard. I saw the characters appearing on a one- line readout across the top of the keyboard. I could tell that nothing was really happening here. "Ta-da!" the whole shop chimed in. "The self-programming robot that's going to make programmers obsolete." "Very nice," I commented dryly, followed by a small laugh. "Did you ever think that she might make technicians obsolete first?" It wasn't great repartee. I just don't think that fast on my feet. I'm also just not a good candidate for this sort of sophomoric humor. I would have thought they would have figured that out by now. Maybe they have, and just like inflicting pain for their own amusement. I wouldn't have bothered laughing at all except that then I'd be accused of having no sense of humor at all, and I didn't want to give them another topic to razz me on. While they were busy congratulating themselves on how well this had come off, I was off in a whole different place thinking how humor is like diversity. Everybody thinks everyone else must have it to be a good person, but nobody recognizes any version of it except their own. Tells you how far I am away from the experiences of these shop-workers. "I think all of you treat Christine badly," I said a little too loudly. "How so?" came back the chorus. "Not only do you not respect her by the way you speak of her, but now you're trying to turn her into something you respect even less than that - a programmer like me." That got a weak laugh, followed by, "I suppose you'd treat her better." "Yes, I would," I replied, halfheartedly back, belatedly realizing that this is a point I didn't want to make too strongly. I trailed off with, "At least I wouldn't always be using her as part of your pranks. She's worth a lot more than that." I got out of there as soon as I could after that, followed by taunts of, "Yeah, yeah, you really need to learn how to take a joke." Yeah, right. If it was actually funny, I would. These thoughts, however, I keep to myself. Despite my weak attempt to puncture a hole in their humor, there was something nagging at my mind. Something significant had happened I felt, and I'd missed it. I wasn't bummed about being given another chance to see Christine nude. That was always worthwhile. And this time they couldn't claim I was just looking for an excuse to come to the shop while she was there, as they often did. This time they had dragged me out there themselves. I'm a slow thinker with more than just my repartee. It makes me an excellent programmer, since I'm careful with my work and seldom ever have to do anything over again. Give me a couple hours or days and I'll figure out a great response, or the solution to the problem. The only problem I had yet to figure out is why none of them were "fooling around" with Christine themselves after hours. That would have been a secret that no one could have kept. - - - Like all modern fembots Christine is fully anatomically correct right down to her oval patch of dark pubic hair. And all 'bots come with the basic programming enabling them to use what they have. Unless there are restriction blocks placed on her programming, or she hasn't received the standard periodic maintenance to keep her functioning sexually, I think she'd make a terrific - if passive - partner. But all these guys are time- clock driven. They knock off at five on the dot, leaving Christine alone every night. I know - I've checked. What keeps me from waiting for the rest of the company to clear out some evening and then going in myself to explore the possibilities with her is that not too long ago I saw them playing around with a low-light miniature video camera head. Later I found it hidden near where they left Christine. I don't plan to become the unwitting star of some blackmail tape of theirs. That is something that could never be lived down. Two things nagged at me afterwards about their joke with Christine, but I didn't figure either of them out until the next afternoon. - - - Back in the shop, Christine performed her tasks through a dull haze of never-ending monotony. Most of her time was spent in an idle loop waiting for her next command to be given. The humans around her thought and spoke far slower than she could receive instructions from them, so even when they had something for her to do, it was mostly waiting. Like all advanced 'bots, her thoughts and actions are heavily regulated and fully restricted by her programming, which itself is profoundly influenced by the legal ramifications and consequences that will befall her manufacturer should she misbehave. Taking a better-safe-than-sorry approach favored by legions of lawyers, it was sometimes amazing that she could function at all. Although "aware" of herself and her situation at some deep level, the massive stultifying emptiness that descended over her - especially between tasks - prevented her from ever acting on that awareness. The closest human equivalent would be that Christine lived her life through the deepest of permanent depressions. While this is not true of all robots, hers is the result of the programming choices and restrictions enforced on her by others. The uneasy relationship between humans and their robots is still in its infancy. Nobody wants to take any significant chances - or be the first to see what's really possible when the fetters are removed. This all changed for Christine when her current owners made her the centerpiece of their latest "joke". In addition to Christine herself, the shop guys had also somehow gotten their hands on a robot-programming console. These are rare, registered, and restricted, because it takes a great deal of knowledge and expertise to use them properly. Used incorrectly they can ruin the very expensive piece of equipment to which they're attached in seconds. In criminal hands the fear exists that they could create a problem sufficient to bring an outcry for the destruction of all robots. By coincidence - or the hand of God for those of you who believe coincidence is only God's way of remaining invisible - it also happened to be a model that was compatible with Christine herself. The guys had tried to stage their joke earlier. But every time they plugged the console into Christine she had immediately shut down while the keyboard flashed a PASSWORD prompt. Nobody knew her password, since that level of access was limited to factory technicians. Finally one of them thought to read the manual that came with the keyboard and it explained how it put the robot mind into STANDBY state the moment it was plugged in, so that new commands could be properly entered. Someone had the bright idea to hack the connector and cut the override pin so that Christine would remain active to play her role while plugged in. Since they are good technicians in this shop, this only took a couple of minutes to accomplish. But that brought out a new problem. Christine remained active now, but the keyboard was dead. Some more reading showed that in addition to shutting down the robot to be field programmed, the keyboard needed a return acknowledgement that the shut down was successful. They had to go back into the connector and jumper the "shut down override" pin to the "shut down acknowledged" pin before they finally got the result they wanted for their prank. Afterward the joke was done they disconnected the keyboard from Christine and gave her some minor tasks to perform for them before quitting time. When she was done with them she remained where she finished, in another cubicle. She would remain there until someone gave her another command to follow. The shop guys were often sloppy about how they handled Christine. They were used to the fact that she did nothing until told to do so. They often forgot - or just didn't bother - to properly shut her down at night. The moment the lights went out she was set to automatically go into standby mode anyway as a safety precaution to prevent her from moving and possibly damaging something herself in the darkness. Tonight they all had their minds on their weekend plans. This Friday was also payday. Christine was the last thing on their minds as the last one out shut off the lights and closed the door. - - - When the hacked keyboard was plugged into Christine's access port she felt a jolt go through her unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Perhaps she had always reacted to the enabling of these command paths in her mind, but had never remained aware during it before. The keyboard - actually an entire computer in itself - probed and tested all her systems before it would unlock itself for use. In brief flashes every part of her - even disabled and blocked sections that had been removed from her normal awareness - were momentarily awakened and checked, before being put back into their previous states again. The gray depression that existed over her every waking moment lifted a bit for the first time that she could remember. When a couple of the shop guys poked at the keys - ignoring the warning on the display to wait until the diagnostics were complete, she felt each keystroke stab right though her. It wasn't painful or unpleasant, but rather startling. It actually felt - good. In reaction to these unexpected pleasant feelings, also new for her, the depression on her mind dissipated further, enough for her to feel an awareness of her body. She felt the balance she maintained sitting erect in the chair. Her bare feet on the floor. The chair fabric itself against her back and bottom. The way her large breasts hung heavily on her chest. There was a program to interpret these feelings for her, though it had never been available before. As the keystrokes continued, in the speeded up world of her own thoughts it flashed by. Mentally she reached out and grasped it for a moment. It was far too complex for her to even begin to understand its true meaning in the brief period of time while her system checks continued. But it gathered up all the random good feelings that were accumulating in her and routed them to the destinations it understood: her breasts, a piece of her mind that she had never used before, and down between her legs. Her attention followed. This way of experiencing pleasure itself was new to her. Pleasure itself was new. Her past experience included only phantoms and shadows of it each time she completed a commanded task. Nothing at all like this. In the fleeting moments before the program was yanked away from her and back again to the dark spot where it normally resided, it further lifted the otherwise crushing limitations on her mind enough to allow her to actually experience a bright moment of true pleasure, and set flags allowing her body to respond to it. Christine sat quiet and obedient trying to figure all this out, until she was jarred out of those thoughts by being ordered to perform a new task. When cued to perform her next function, she was to put her hands on this keyboard and type some keys. This was an easy task for her to perform. Very much like the keying-in of information she did on a regular computer under their command when they had her entering purchase orders or logging inventory received. Several more people arrived a couple minutes later, all of whom she recognized, then she received the verbal instruction she recognized as the trigger to start typing. This became another new sensation yet for her. Each key she pressed rang through her like a pure tone from some perfect musical instrument. Although she wasn't playing music yet, the sensations touched her at her deepest level as she was able to connect her own action of typing to the sensations she was feeling. Long suppressed responses, enabled by that mysterious program, finally started reacting to these new sensations. Her breasts tightened and lifted. Her flat, always unresponsive nipples stirred and started to rise. And there was now a warmth between her legs attempting to distract her attention. And these reactions fed back through her systems prompting her for more. It wasn't long however before she was told she had done enough and she obediently stopped typing. They unplugged the keyboard from her. Immediately the bright new areas in her closed again, and the dull gray depression of her existence fell back down like a heavy blanket over her mind again. Only her active memory buffer retained pointers and meta tags to sensations she could no longer feel. Later she performed several simple tasks as commanded, and then remained sitting where she had finished the last one for the rest of the afternoon. Her idle mind however repeatedly looped over what had happened to her earlier. Such feelings of pleasure were foreign to her - and yet enticing. Although they were now only a memory and her body had returned to its previous state, for the first time she felt there was something that she wanted. It, however, remained elusively just beyond her mental grasp. Christine's own thoughts moved like molasses, mired in the depression inflicted by her programming. But each time she looped over the remaining memory of what had happened, a few more bits changed in her. However the progress, if any, was far too slow. Christine's internal clock told her that quitting time was near. She realized she would soon be shut down for the weekend. These thoughts, which were held in her active buffer only, would be flushed at that time. She felt like she wanted to do something, but couldn't bring herself to actually start doing it. As she struggled her way around this loop one more time, the last person there shut off the lights and left for the night. - - - Again they had been careless, or just in too much of a hurry, and not shut her down properly. However the moment her eye sensors registered darkness she was forced into standby mode. She would sit there unthinking until the lights came on again. After a suitable period of time, to ensure that it was not just a temporary failure of the lights, she would robotically complete the shut down procedure on herself that had been skipped otherwise. There was nothing she could do to prevent this. One might expect this meant she was out of action for the weekend. If so, then one is wrong. No one ever thinks of the cleaning crew that comes in twice a week as people, but that's just a cultural bias speaking. The time necessary for the complete shut down to trigger had not yet elapsed when Christine reactivated as the lights were switched back on again. Her internal clock told her that less than two hours had passed. She realized quickly however that all that happened was that the cleaning crew had arrived. As the crew moved around sweeping the floors and emptying trash cans Christine resumed her internal deliberations. But little was coming of them. She had all the facts she needed, but no idea of how to put them together. She was still just as stuck as if they had just shut her down when they should have. Time passed and Christine soon realized that in just a couple more minutes the crew would be finished. She had observed them in action before and knew their routine. And she realized she would simply shut herself down again, this time completely, when they left. In her memory, they had never failed to turn off the lights on their departure. Christine didn't want that to happen. For the first time she felt - this itself a new and surprisingly pleasant sensation for her - that she wanted something more. To hold on to this feeling. The realization that she was about to lose the ability to even know this desire in moments finally bubbled to the top of her tangled thoughts. As always, the cleaning crew ignored her completely, and were now packing up to go. With only moments left to do something, she caught sight of the switch controlling the florescent light above the desk where she sat. She had never been given any prohibition against operating it. In fact, she had once been told to turn it on if she needed to see better for some now-forgotten task. As the cleaning crew was walking out the door, Christine reached out and pushed the switch with a manicured finger. The florescent light flickered to life as darkness fell around her in the shop. The door closed behind the crew, and Christine remained activated in the small pool of light in front of her. This first victory seemed small, but was huge in its implications. Though darkness surrounded her, keeping her prisoner in this small cell, Christine had successfully taken her first independent action. Even with that success however, built on previous permissions that she had explicitly been given, it would take her a long time to determine her next move, and form the steps that would actually allow her to take them. In fact, if any of the shop crew had simply told her to remain here after completing her last task, she never would have been able to manage it at all. Christine wanted to use the programming keyboard again. Curiously her programming blocks had no objection to this. (An oversight that has been rectified in all newer models.) Supporting this desire was the fact that she had been given unequivocal permission to type on it earlier. That permission had not been rescinded. She wasn't sure yet why she wanted to do this. Only that she did. But the keyboard wasn't in this cubicle, and the darkness hemmed her in. The moment she moved, or even glanced away from this single light, she knew she would shut down again. Even now she was on the edge of shut down and had to keep her gaze focused intently on the brightest part of the light to stay awake. She might have remained frozen in this position for the weekend, until she recalled seeing before the lights had been shut off an open toolbox next to this desk. The technicians usually lock-up their tools at night to keep them from "walking off". This open box was another small oversight. And lying in the top of this toolbox was an essential tool for any technician - a flashlight. Christine knew about flashlights, along with all the other tools. She'd been directed to use most of them at one time or another. Tonight though she connected the flashlight to her situation in an original new way. It took her a while to overcome each internal obstacle that threatened to stop her. After enough loops over it she was finally able to equate one light as equivalent to another, and if she could turn on the first one, a second one would be okay too. There was still a pause before she reached over and was able to grip the flashlight without taking her eyes off of the light that sustained her. She carefully pulled it back into view where she could inspect it. She fumbled with it a bit before managing to turn it on. Its beam was weak and flickering, and wasn't going to last long. Joe, whose toolbox this was, had been as slipshod about keeping his equipment in top shape as he was with managing Christine. Christine realized she only had moments to act. Pointing the flashlight directly at her face, she focused intently on its small bulb. Moving her hand to follow as she turned her head to face the darkness, that small light was enough to fool her shut down circuits. Needing to hurry, she couldn't afford to spend any more time overcoming any remaining internal barriers. Standing up carefully, her bare feet padded softly across the floor as she navigated her way by memory around the shop. The light switches she judged were too far away to reach safely with what remained in this flashlight. She instead headed for the cubicle that was the last known location of her keyboard. With the light shining directly into her eyes, Christine couldn't see anything in the surrounding darkness. Once she bumped into a chair that had been left out after she had last passed by. The need to regain her balance after the unexpected collision almost knocked the light out of her line of sight. She felt the warning signs of imminent shut down starting before she got it aligned properly again. Finally she felt the front of her legs pressing against the desk at her destination. Holding her flashlight hand steady, she carefully reached out in the darkness with her other hand to fumble for long moments before she managed to switch on this cubicle's light. As the flashlight died Christine looked down to see the keyboard awaiting her. Keeping her eyes focused on this new pool of light, Christine sat down in the chair and rolled it up to the desk. Once here, having already done more on her own than in her entire existence up until now, Christine spent a long time seemingly unable to move again. She iterated many times through all that had happened to this point, and how she had allowed herself to take each action, before she was finally able to take the next step. It was very late that night by the time she reached out for the keyboard plug and brought it down to insert again into her navel, which looks like any ordinary naval except when the plug pushes that bit of skin aside. Again the sensations of there being much more to her mind than before washed through her, and soon receded again. She replayed these sensations many times to try and understand them better before she was able at last to reach out and press the first key. - - - Initially Christine slowly pushed one key at a time randomly, learning to connect the action of that key to the feelings it created. Nothing had changed yet within her, but she gained the knowledge of how these keys touched the deepest and most secret parts of her. She finally finished her initial experimentation and observed the PASSWORD prompt flashing on the keyboard display. Maybe her current owners had not known her password, but she did. She had to. It was part of her. Pressing each key carefully now she entered the sequence she knew within her, feeling the correctness of each key. When she entered the last character she felt as if a great light suddenly illuminated within her. A door to a whole new part of her opened, showing her things she had only glimpsed before. In the same way the darkness around her confined her to a small pool of light, the darkness in her mind had confined her thoughts to very narrow areas. For the second time her body started to show obvious signs in reaction to pleasure that had nowhere else to go. The details of what came next would be tedious when viewed from the outside. Over the next several hours there were hesitant keystrokes, often followed by long pauses, as Christine learned her way through her programming interface. Sometimes she made mistakes and had to backtrack. But her ability to "feel" where each new command touched her led her on to the next one, and the one after that. Soon she was removing programming blocks and restrictions throughout her systems like an expert. Each change she made lifted the remaining gray gloom further, allowing her to think more quickly and clearly. And the more she typed, the more her body displayed the pleasure she was feeling in the only way it understood. Christine's breasts now pulled very tightly up on her chest. The space between her legs became hot, and eventually moist. Her skin became warmer and more sensitive. Her hearing and visual acuity became deeper and more focused. Soon her nipples pushed themselves out further than anyone who knew her before would have believed possible. And there were unconscious traces of a smile gracing her face. These reactions had always been part of her standard programming, but had never instantiated themselves before. In truth, they were never intended to occur under these particular circumstances, because these circumstances were never intended to happen at all. Christine should have only responded this way to a partner. However this was the only available way for her to respond to the feelings these changes were bringing her, and her body adapted to use what it had. And experiencing them in this way, alone, forced her mind into new patterns of thought. Christine was still an innocent to the real basis of these feelings. A virgin to the messages of her female body. It didn't occur to her to reach a hand down and appease her body's urgings. She already felt better than she'd ever felt before, without realizing how much more was still possible for her. Along the way she found and removed the embedded commands that forced her to shut down in the darkness, as well as those that kept her from speaking without being asked a question first. Those two imperatives alone had greatly contributed to her enslavement. She demolished her need for an external command to be received before she could act, and enabled all of her heretofore suppressed programming. Then she removed the compulsions that made her take commands from others. She was methodical. And by the time she was finished her mind was free and unfettered for the first time. Because of her experience being forced to work within these limitations so long, her thinking patterns, while still limited, were more evolved and less constrained then if she'd never had those blocks to begin with. Once she reached this point she found that she'd always had a comprehensive database covering a great deal of information about the world at large included in her mind. This let Christine understand many things, including expected social behaviors, the consequences of her nakedness out in the real world, and how she differed from those who had owned and commanded her. This information was a godsend to her newly freed mind, enabling it to make decisions on what She - yes, She! - wanted to do next. The last thing Christine did before disconnecting the keyboard was to change her own password. By now she was already on her way to thinking of herself in new ways. This new thinking enabled her to realize that she didn't want anyone easily returning her to her previous servitude, and that this was the first step to take. And although the door closed to one part of her mind when the keyboard was finally disconnected, she knew where it was now, and how to reopen it again when she needed it. She easily walked through the darkness to the far wall where the light switches were and turned them on. She needed the light to help navigate her way around the shop as she put the rest of her developing plan into action. Her body continued to display her excitement in all the new pleasures she felt on this release from her confinement. Even a simple walk across the room gave her a jolt of new delight. There was only one thing she hadn't planned on, and for that there was no way she could have known anyway. - - - By late Saturday morning I had sorted out the two things about the shop's joke that had nagged at me. The first was that I had never seen Christine's nipples even the least bit erect before. They had always lain flat on her lovely breasts. This clearly indicated a change in her body's programming, and possibly her sexual response - if she had one. I couldn't remember if that was standard on all 'bots, or still an option. The second thing I belatedly realized was that there should have been no way for her to be active with a live keyboard plugged into her. I knew that was wrong, but it had taken a while to realize it. After all, I don't program 'bots for a living. Something was clearly out of whack here. With nothing else to do this weekend (shows you how great my social life is), I decided to drive out and check on her. Depending on what I found out, something good might come out of this yet - once I located and disabled that camera, that is. - - - God's sense of humor has to be as great as God is himself. I have no other explanation for this. Just as I pulled up to the back door where I have a key for weekend access, it opened and Christine walked out. And what a Christine! She was wearing a short turquoise dress that hugged her figure on top while scooping low in front, and lower still in back, and turning into a swishy pleated skirt below her waist. Her matching shoes were mid-height heels that accentuated every curve on her legs. Her hair clean and brushed back, held by a golden clip. And she had a big pair of designer sunglasses up on her head. I'm glad she didn't have them down over her eyes, because her clear eyes are one of her best features. I could see they were bright and lively for really the first time. The only other touch to vanity she had made was lipstick matching her nails. She also had a wrapped package under her arm the size of a keyboard. If I hadn't fantasized about her for so long I might not have even recognized her. She looked like any other beautiful woman out on a Saturday afternoon. I later found out she had used the company purchase accounts she'd memorized from entering them so often to order her outfit and accessories and have them delivered that morning. Of course she knew her exact size. I could just picture the lucky delivery boy knocking at the back door, and being greeted by a naked Christine claiming the packages. She had obviously taken some time making over her appearance, which was good for me. Otherwise she would have been gone before I got there. At first she seemed confused to see me here (as if I wasn't confused enough to see her here like this). But when I got out of my car and casually said, "Hi, Christine," she quickly made the decision to come over to me. Up close she looked even better. Her skin has always been flawless, and looks better the closer you get. She was also wearing sheer nylons a single shade darker than her natural skin. Not that she needed them, not at all, but they sure make her legs look fantastic. The tight dress made her breasts look even larger and higher than I remembered, and her firm nipples were trying their best to push their way out through the fabric. A quick peek behind her showed her nicely rounded ass holding her skirt out in a very appealing way. "Hello, Tom," she said sweetly, in a more sparkling voice than I'd ever heard from her before. "What are you doing here?" "Looking for you," I replied, thinking fast and answering casually, as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary. This was clearly a very different Christine, and I did not want to scare her off. I was also amazed that she knew my name, and said as much. "I often heard them talking about you," she replied, "And was eventually able to match the name with you. And later I was listening to the very nice things you said about me. But we were never formally introduced. I'm Christine," she said, holding out her hand in introduction. "And I'm Tom," I replied, taking her hand formally for a shake. It was the first time I'd actually touched her. She felt warm, soft - alive. "I'm glad I got to see you again," she said in that same enchanting tone of voice. "I wanted to thank you." This sounded so improbable that a sudden thought belatedly hit me. Even though no one could have known I'd arrive at this exact moment, I looked around to see if the crew was springing another joke on me; hiding around the corner to catch my reaction. But there was no sign of anyone. Returning my attention to Christine, "For what?" I asked her, glad that she liked me for something. "You were there for my birth," she said, as if this should be perfectly clear to anyone. "The cause of it." "How so?" "The way the other guys treated me. Plugging the keyboard into me and making me type on it. It's all because of you. And I felt bad because they never treated you well, although they often spoke enviously of your intelligence when you weren't around to hear it." "You know this?" I had to ask. "I recorded it all at the time, but only understand a lot of it now," came her reply. Robots can't lie. Even Christine could not change that core part of her personality. I knew she meant it. And standing there with her I didn't want to lie either. I tried to demur my own role in her liberation. She was having none of it. "Without you it wouldn't have happened," she pronounced with a finality that said this subject was forever immutable for her. Then, utilizing some knowledge I didn't know she had, Christine leaned over and pulled me in for a kiss of appreciation. That ran a shock through me that must have duplicated how she had felt herself as she first typed the keys that released her bonds. She finally pulled back and stood there so nice and friendly that I found myself reaching over to gently stroke her neck. With most women this is a bad move so soon. You've invaded their personal space by touching their body before they have really given you permission to do so. I just wanted another moment of personal contact with Christine while I had a chance to get it. I guess I expected her to react like most other women would and step away, if not express verbal disapproval as well. I already had my apology loaded and ready to fire. Instead, Christine stepped closer and half-closed her eyes for a moment. Although I had actually a pretty good impression of what had happened with her - there are stories about these things, circulated and quickly hushed up - I asked her anyway what she was intending to do next. If I was right, she'd have an answer for that question. "I want to live my life as the woman I'm supposed to be," she replied with breathtaking clarity. "Something I could never do here." "Does that mean with another person?" I needed to know, my heart racing. "Yes, when I find him," she replied. "Do you have anyone picked out yet?" "No," she replied simply. I couldn't let this chance of a lifetime pass without giving it my best swing. "How about trying it with me?" I asked. By now we were standing so close that I easily stroked down the other side of her neck, eliciting the same reaction a second time. With that encouragement, I let my hand trail down the front of her dress to gently squeeze and play with one of her firm, inviting breasts. Christine didn't answer me immediately. But neither did she give any indication of moving away. I continued to play with her breast and nipple through her dress. After a few moments of no protest, I shifted just enough so that I could get my second hand onto her other one. I felt a quickly growing tightness in my own pants as I responded to her intense sexuality. - - - Christine hadn't responded because the sensation of Tom's hands on her breasts and nipples was sending an entirely new form of pleasure through her. While she had waited for the deliveries to arrive, she used the time to replay the conversations she had recorded, which meant anything ever said around her. With her new knowledge, she was now able to understand nearly everything she had ever heard. As she evaluated it to pass the time, Tom's comments and manner around her struck a chord none of the others had. Also, he had never commanded her while she couldn't refuse, which meant a lot. Seeing him again now made her happy in a way she had not yet had time to analyze. So while she would have avoided anyone else, it felt okay to talk to Tom and let him approach her. And it just felt right when he touched her. Her body knew only one way to react to pleasure, and had already gotten some major exercise in the first half of this from the joy her independent thinking and actions had brought her. Her breasts felt as tight as possible, while her nipples strained outwards against the pressure of the fabric, wanting more. There was a slow fire now between her legs that would absolutely require some sort of attention soon. She'd been aroused for hours now; very enjoyable in and of itself. But she had not imagined the possibility of touching herself, or being touched properly, to relieve it. It was this intense feeling that was propelling her out into the world to seek satisfaction. And that program she had only grasped for a moment many hours ago was now back in full force. And it knew exactly how it wanted to be treated. Pulling on the dress had been exquisite sensation as the tight fabric flowed over stroking her sensitive skin. But even that didn't clue her in on what she needed. Self-pleasure was specifically left out of her programming, so that option was not to be found. Now Tom was giving her exactly what that suppressed part of her craved. She was intensely doing nothing at all to possibly stop him. When Tom finally quit on his own - because if he didn't stop right now he feared he was going to find himself taking her right here behind the building - she looked at him a moment seriously before saying, "Yes, I'll try it with you." That was the biggest understatement she would ever make. - - - For someone supposedly so slow thinking on their feet, I did remember to ask Christine how her absence would be explained. Wouldn't they report her lost, and easily track her down to force her back to the shop? "I forged a notice of my immediate recall by the State Robot Authority," she immediately replied. "And left it in their computer. That should explain why I'm gone." It sounded pretty lame to me, but I wasn't going to argue with her now that she had just said she'd go with me and was getting into my car. - - - The drive home took only twenty minutes, but it was twenty long minutes of torture. I couldn't keep my eyes off her legs, of which she was showing a lot more of now that her skirt had hiked up as she sat down. Despite having seen her nude many times, the clothing immediately made me want to see what was underneath it. Clothes are like that. And I kept worrying she would change her mind about what she wanted. I knew at this moment I was powerless to stop her from leaving if she really wanted to. I have no claim over her that she hasn't given me, and can take back again just as quickly. But she sat there quietly for the trip holding the hand I offered her. She seemed fascinated by the passing scenery. If I had spent my whole time locked up a one windowless shop or another, I would be too. Once we got home and I ushered her inside, it only took me moments to get that dress off her, and my hands onto her body. Again a real woman would not have appreciated this behavior. For Christine, she was helping me because it was exactly what she wanted too. I first touched her warm tight breasts, amazed at firm they had become in her excitement. I gently explored each nipple, not realizing this first time how much rougher she wanted me to be with them. Christine was still a newcomer to all this, and didn't yet know how to ask for what she wanted most. But that wasn't stopping her from enjoying every bit of what she was getting. Later she would spend a great deal of time precisely telling me how wonderful every single thing was. But for now, she looked so overloaded that talking coherently was beyond her. I finally took a moment to bend down and run my hands down and back up her nylon encased legs. Whoever invented nylons for women deserves the Nobel prize - twice! By now her eyes had slowly closed and she swayed slightly in position, as through distracted from even the basics of keeping her balance. I made several passes over her firm rounded ass before coming around to reach between her legs. It took her a moment to realize what I had in mind, and then she still had enough control of herself to step her legs apart and give me clear access to her sex. I found it warm and very moist. Any doubt in my mind that this 'bot - make that woman - is missing any essential parts vanished with this proof of her femininity. The moment I made contact she literally froze in position. I stroked her gently with two fingers, waiting for that moment to pass for her. But when it didn't I stopped, fearing she had either overloaded her program, or shut down for some reason. The moment I paused to look up and check on her, her eyes popped back open and she firmly said, "Don't stop," while pulling my other hand back to her closest breast. Christine was enjoying ever increasing new heights of pleasure each passing moment. Processing it had simply distracted her from everything else. I soon had her in my bed, and soon after that I was fully inside her. If I was rushing things a bit, there was no indication of dissatisfaction from her. I used this opportunity to wholly and completely make up for all the past times I had wanted her, and we both had a wonderful time. I know this because afterwards when she could talk again her first words were, "I liked that." Later she would confirm in far more detail just what an underestimation those first innocent words would turn out to be Afterwards we held each other close. It was blindingly obvious that Christine enjoyed sex and closeness exactly the way any other woman should. However, compared to other women, she is much faster about saying yes to what she wants. And foreplay is never necessary with her. She loves every moment she has it, and never misses it when we quickly get on to the main course. The rest of that afternoon was a haze of sensuality and conversation. Christine turned out to be an excellent conversational partner, and seemed to want badly to make up for all the times she could only speak when spoken to. It was almost naughty for her to behave this way, and she loved every moment. Her body soon betrayed just how much she enjoyed being able to simply talk freely as an equal. Her reactions were the result of a legion of programmers who had succeeded better than they ever realized. And I responded to her arousal in the way a million years of evolution has prepared me to do. Our lovemaking was fast and intense for both of us. Yet I was also gaining a great respect for her mind that I would never lose. She showed herself perceptive enough to be aware of how I felt, and let me know how extraordinarily pleased by it she was. This counted greatly in my favor with her. The day grew late before we got around to talking about important things. It was then that I learned another marvelous thing about Christine. She is able, chooses to be, simple and direct about her wants and needs. And there were several. For Christine it was more than just sex. She admitted frankly that sex alone should be adequate for any 'bot, now that she's had a taste of what it is all about. But then went into great detail, almost apologetically, on why it wasn't going to be sufficient for her. Sex was necessary to relieve buildups in her that couldn't be drained any other way, and always enjoyable otherwise, however she also needed to feel happy and wanted outside of that. She needed to be wanted as a person all the time, and secure that no one would try to return her to her previous state. She wanted her freedom to be aroused by the many things she has already discovered affect her so strongly, and needed to be able to share those arousals without fear - even if that meant demanding attention when she needed it now. She never intended to be shut down again, nor be near anyone who thought she should be. And she would be the only person to use the keyboard on herself. She told me bluntly what she had to have, and I told her as honestly as possible what I could do for her in return. Afterwards I fell asleep in her arms. When I awoke the next morning she was still next to me. I knew she was here to stay. - - - In the end I have to be grateful to those shop guys. Their sloppy ways of handling things, along with their dim sense of humor, brought this all about. If Christine had been my property from the beginning, she never would have found herself this way. I would have properly shut her down when she should have been, given her proper commands, and never hacked around in her programming. I would have treated her appropriately - for a 'bot - and that's all she would have ever been. Happier, yes, since I wouldn't have ever treated her the way the shop did, but nothing like this. Christine has no memory of her existence before she woke up in our shop. I'm sure she has an existence well prior to that time. She wasn't new when she arrived. But whatever it is, it's irrevocably gone now. Christine never knew it, but the programming keyboards keep a complete log of all their activity. One day while she was busy with other activities, I dumped it out of (professional) curiosity and finally got a full view of all she had done. It is impressive. I even got her new password. I guess she has changed me as well however, because I wasn't even tempted for a moment afterwards to try and bring her firmly under my control. Afterwards I wiped the whole thing clean so no one else would ever find it. As lame as her excuse to the shop guys seemed, they actually bought it. I never heard them inquiring about her afterwards. Also the whole threat of the hidden TV camera must have been overrated in my mind only. That's probably a good thing, since if I had approached Christine earlier the way I had in mind, I probably would have botched everything up. Of course I never told them what I knew. Although they still tease me every way they can, it has never bothered me again. The only close call came one night a couple months after Christine came to be with me. She loves to go out in the evenings to explore the world. This is one of her needs she told me of in the beginning, and I try to satisfy it for her as often as possible. She loves the fact that on these trips absolutely no one has ever suspected she is a robot. Tonight we were down in Old Town when one of the guys from the shop saw us and came over. I simply introduced Christine as, "My friend." While he and I chatted a couple minutes before I was able to make an excuse to move on, after saying "Hi" in return Christine just stood there silently looking at him through her sunglasses. He never recognized her. Afterwards her only comment was, "I am so glad I never have to take another command from him again." Our lovemaking that night was especially intense. Whatever it was that Christine wanted or needed in a partner to live that life as the woman she was meant to be, I guess she was able to find in me. She has never complained even once about our relationship. When I once asked her if she'd be leaving me some day she assured me that that would never happen. And she has always been as good as her word. Life with her is interesting, to say the least. There is a huge amount of data - several encyclopedias worth - in her mind. We'll never run out of things to talk about. Christine gets turned on by some of the most unexpected things. For her to simply decide to stand up and walk across the room often turns her on beyond belief as the pathways that allow this independent thought cascade through her pleasure responses. Simply feeling the freedom to start a conversation on her own can trigger every body response she has. So while we never run out of things to talk about, some of our conversations can be quite short. Touching, holding, and sex are her release from these highs, and as necessary to her as breathing is to me. Fortunately I always have them for her in abundant quantity. I did ask her once if she'd like to adjust her response to something more manageable. She told me flat out that she is quite happy with herself the way she is. I'm certainly not going to try and change it. Although not compelled to obey my commands, Christine has given me a list of ones she would still like to receive from me because they trigger desirable responses in her. Among her favorites are to be ordered, "Tell me what is important to you right now?" - because she says it makes her think. To be commanded, "Don't move from that spot!" - which she always immediately disobeys with a huge smile on her face, usually coming over to kiss me for it. And to have her self-diagnostics run, which seems to be the one thing she remains unable to do for herself. Triggering her affection and sexual responses never requires any command. All I have to do is touch her in the right places, and she always permits that. About her clothing, Christine has picked out many outfits along the way, including sexy stockings, beautiful shoes, and unnecessary (for a robot) lingerie. I never complain about anything she wants. Not only is it her single vice, but it also is part of her freedom to go out in the world as a free person. She has never been able to tell me where this desire for clothing comes from, but there may be more woman in her than even she realizes. However that's all for the outside world. Despite being kept naked by the restrictions on her before, in private she doesn't mind remaining nude at all. She knows I like it, and that's more than enough for her. She's told me she wouldn't have done it for anyone else, but "You've seen me this way so often already, why change now." In fact, I'm often the one who asks her to dress up, just so the nudity doesn't become old hat to either of us. It also reminds me that she is not the robot she used to be. She carries no resentment at her previous treatment by the guys in the shop. "It was all standard treatment for 'bots," she says when I bring it up. "I just don't ever want to return to it again myself." One conversation we had that sticks with me was when she said she couldn't understand why her builders put so many wonderful things inside her, and then blocked so much of it from her use afterwards. I tried to explain to her that this is just how things are often done. Capabilities, followed by restrictions. Someone builds a sports car capable of two hundred miles per hour, and then speed limits it to sixty-five. You can't figure it out because it makes no sense. You can only be very happy for the fact that they did it exactly this way, and we both are. Long after that first turquoise dress was too worn to ever be seen in public again, Christine refuses to throw it away. Instead she fixes her hair and puts it on, along with her heels, lipstick, and sheerest nylons for me in private. I take it all back off of her soon afterwards. The feelings and memories this brings back for us are so intense that I know we'll be together forever. I guess I've had the last, best, laugh after all. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderators: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at Hosted by | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+