Inspired by "The Offer" by Android675@aol.com
If you have not read "The Offer" by Android675@aol.com, to which this story is a sequel, stop right here and read it first. (It's available here, among other places.) If you don't, you're missing out on a GREAT story and you may not understand everything that occurs in this one!
Note: The following story contains explicit sexual material. If stories about sex, and particularly robots and sex, do not appeal to you, please don't read any further. This story should not be read by anyone under eighteen years of age. (You know who you are.)
Gradually, as though awakening from a dream, Sam became aware once again. At first, she couldn't move. Still bent over awkwardly, Sam couldn't see much, except for her own shiny silver legs and hips. She blinked a few times to moisten her eyes a bit—they must have been open for quite a while—and took a deep breath. After a few seconds, Sam discovered that she could move her head if she concentrated on the task. She slowly lifted her head until she found herself in the mirror.
Sam was amazed by what she saw. The image before her was that of a stunning young woman, her naked body completely chrome from the neck down, frozen like a mechanical toy whose batteries had run down. The sight of her immobile silver form was strangely exciting. Still, being stuck in this pose, no matter how great it looked, was starting to worry her. What if she was permanently stuck like this? Sam concentrated even harder on moving, and a moment later she was finally able to straighten her back, to lower her arms, to clench her fingers, to change the blank expression on her face. She still felt a bit stiff—but, as fit as she was, the soreness in her muscles felt no worse than what she was used to feeling the morning after a good workout.
Sam continued to examine herself in the mirror. As her eyes lingered on each curve and line of her body in turn, the details of her experience trying on the catsuit came back to her. She could now remember how amazing her orgasm had been, how the suit had somehow allowed her to push herself further than she ever had before. Stranger still was the memory of the voice in her head, and the things it had told her. The things that, amidst the irresistible waves of pleasure, she had accepted without question—but which now demanded some sort of explanation.
As Sam recalled the thoughts that had filled her mind—thoughts of programming and overloading circuits, activation and shutdown, efficient function and the rewards of obedience—it was obvious to her what the "ultimate personal transformation" was all about. It was about being turned into a robot. The idea was preposterous, of course, straight out of a B movie. But the more Sam thought about it, the more she realized how appealing it was. Giving in to the voice had brought her the most electrifying—no pun intended, Sam joked to herself—experience of her life. And there was no doubting that she looked gorgeous in the silver suit. But there was something more to it all, something compelling that Sam still couldn't quite pin down.
As Sam walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water, it occurred to her that being a robot wasn't that much different from playing any of a dozen roles from her days as a singer and dancer. During her childhood, teenage, and college years, she'd danced in recitals, and musicals, and of course her dance team competitions. The memory of each performance was special to her, because each had given her a chance to try a new form of expression, to reveal a side of herself that she hadn't fully explored before. She could be a hopeless romantic in one role, or a cruel vamp in another; in any given show she could be a noble heroine or a clown, a wise old woman or a little girl, a distinct individual or an anonymous member of the chorus.
She had learned to appreciate the fact that while no single role was big enough to hold everything she was, each was a vital part of her psyche. In real life, she wasn't like any one of those people she'd played, at least not all the time—and yet, on some level, she really was like all of them. Otherwise, how would she have known how to become those characters for the audience?
Based on the afternoon's events, therefore, Sam could only conclude that she had just uncovered a new side of herself—an aspect of her being that would always remain with her, like the indelible image of her motionless silver body in the mirror. From the moment she'd pressed the button on that remote control she had become, for all intents and purposes, an automaton. And, having undergone that transformation once, and having found it so pleasurable, she decided she was likely to do it again. It was a role worth reprising.
Sam's experiences as a performer had taught her that she was indeed a heroine, a vamp, a clown, and a lover. Now it was clear that she was a robot, too. There was no point in being freaked out by that fact.
No, she decided as she crossed the room, she was feeling pretty comfortable with the whole idea of pretending to be a robot. As if to prove the point, Sam suddenly froze in mid-stride—locking her arms at the elbows, straightening her hands, and tilting her head at an unnatural angle—then finished walking toward her computer as stiffly as she could. "I-am-a-ro-bot," she droned in her best monotone, giggling a little at the end. She didn't sound exactly the same as she had under the suit's control, but her unnatural voice still sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. This was more fun than she ever would have believed before today, and she had the people at Precision Passion Unlimited to thank for it.
Sam noticed that the web site was still up on the screen. As she approached her computer, the suit buzzed its Morse code again, though Sam no longer noticed. Before Sam even touched the mouse, the screen suddenly updated with a new message.
There were two buttons beneath the text—Let Me Choose and Choose For Me. For the first time since putting the suit on, Sam realized that she was supposed to get Ben to try on the other one. He'd never go for it! Sam was sure he'd think she was crazy. Still, if the other suit made him feel half as good as hers made her feel, he'd thank her for convincing him to give it a try. Sam clicked on Let Me Choose, and another screen popped up.
Sam shut off her PC, then glanced at the clock. Five o'clock already! It was time to get ready for her evening class. Sam grabbed the fingers of her left hand with her right, ready to pull the silver spandex off. Then she remembered how the suit could be removed in pieces. Maybe she could leave most of it on, removing just enough of it to look . . . well, human.
Sam thought about it for a moment, then reached up to her shoulder and gave a little tug. With surprising ease, Sam was able to peel away the suit's entire left arm. Once she'd done the same on the right side, and lowered the suit's neckline, Sam looked like she was wearing a standard tank-top unitard. A completely chrome unitard, unlike any spandex anyone had ever seen, but standard in its cut nonetheless.
Sam wanted to make sure she'd be warm when she went outside, but she had no desire to hide the suit under a pair of sweatpants like before. Reaching into her closet, she chose her favorite black leather jacket. It only went down to her waist, so Sam was guaranteed that everyone would get a good look at her silver ass. For some reason, that was very important to her right now. She felt more beautiful, more worthy of people's attention, than ever before. Once she'd put black ankle socks and sneakers on over the catsuit's silver feet, Sam donned the silver sunglasses and headed outside.
As she walked toward the gym, watching men and women alike turn their heads to look at her, Sam went through the day's events once more. It bothered her a little that she had no one to talk to about what had happened—and not only because nobody was around, but also because nobody was likely to understand her. Even if Ben were standing next to her, she'd be too embarrassed to tell him how much she liked this new fantasy she'd discovered. As for Kim, well, Kim was probably just crazy enough to get it, and besides was always willing to hear Sam out no matter how weird the conversation got. But Sam still didn't think she could bring herself to talk to Kim—unless, she realized suddenly, she could convince her to try the Precision Passion site herself. It was a long shot, but as Sam entered the gym, she decided it might be worth a try.
Inside the gym, Sam immediately noticed something was different. It wasn't just a handful of people this time—this time, it seemed as though everyone's eyes were following her. Fortunately, none of the guys decided to try any moves on her. Sam could tell that her new look made her seem a bit intimidating . . . unapproachable. It was a powerful feeling. She wondered what Ben would say if he saw her striding across the gym floor decked out in leather, spandex, and shades, like something from The Terminator.
The reaction in Sam's aerobics class was also amazing. For one thing, two or three guys she'd never seen before had decided to participate in the class, obviously because they wanted to get close to her. Good luck, fellas, she thought to herself as she began to lead the group through stretching exercises. Predictably, the newcomers didn't make it through the first ten minutes of the workout. Even on a typical day, Sam put her advanced class through the ringer. Today, Sam's energy was running higher than ever, and even her best students struggled to keep up.
When class was over, Sam felt tired—a sure sign that it had been a good session. She could tell that everyone was really pleased with the workout she'd given them. And several of the women in the class, most of whom Sam knew by name, seemed intrigued by her stunning silver suit. "You look incredible!" one of them said discreetly, half-embarrassed by the admission, and a couple of others agreed as they filed out of the room.
As Sam turned to leave herself, a voluptuous Hispanic woman wearing a red bodysuit over black bike shorts—one of the few shiny outfits in the room—came up to her. Sam was pretty sure her name was Rosa.
"Hope you don't mind my asking," Rosa said, "but where did you get the clothes you're wearing?" Another woman, named Cheryl—tall and athletic, with light brown hair that fell upon broad shoulders—stepped forward to hear Sam's answer.
Sam's thoughts turned back to the voice which had filled her head earlier. It was almost disappointing that she couldn't hear it now. Input received, she thought to herself, smiling inwardly as she filled the void in her mind. Activate vocal.
"I bought it on-line, actually," Sam began. She was just about to give her students the address of the Precision Passion web site, but then she thought better of it. It was important to make sure that these two women try on the Precision Passion spandex—for some reason Sam felt very strongly about that—but Rosa and Cheryl were interested in the sleeveless unitard she was wearing now, not necessarily the full catsuit offered on the web site. She needed to introduce the suit in a form that the women would actually accept and wear. As for trying to explain how the suit really worked, with its ability to take on different styles, Sam was completely certain that would only scare them off.
Processing, Sam thought. The internal dialogue she was conducting was distractingly exciting. She imagined herself at attention, head tilted, as she spoke. She also imagined Rosa and Cheryl standing the same way, their bodies silver and their faces expressionless, awaiting her next words. Activate vocal.
"I can't remember the exact name of the site," Sam continued, "but I promise I'll bring it in for our Wednesday class." That gave her two days to figure out if Precision Passion offered a more toned-down version of the suit, one more likely to appeal to the average person.
As Sam walked out of the gym, she felt great. Energized from all the aerobics, and encouraged by the enthusiastic response the suit had gotten, she was home in no time. Dropping her gym bag to the floor and draping her jacket over a chair, she headed for the bathroom to take her shower. Sam was surprised to discover that it took some mental effort to remove the suit. The spandex really was like a second skin—she had become so used to wearing it, it felt weird to take it off.
When Sam finally managed to get the suit off, she noticed something strange. Her body was completely hairless! Somehow, without her knowing, the suit had shaved her clean. As she stepped into the shower, Sam pressed her fingers against her perfectly smooth pubic area, fascinated by the sight of it. She watched the water run between her breasts, down her stomach, and over her featureless mound—a perfect, unbroken, glittering sheet which held together for several inches as it fell into the gap between her thighs.
Standing there in the shower, Sam began to feel more tired than usual. It had been a long day, with three classes, but she was used to having more energy than this. Maybe it was because she'd gotten so little sleep the night before.
Sam was in her bathrobe, fixing herself some dinner, when the phone rang. "Hello?" she said, cramming the phone between her left ear and her shoulder to keep both hands free.
"Hi honey," came the familiar voice.
"Ben! How has your day been?"
"Terrible," Ben replied. "Sam, I'm sick of this client. I'm sick of the whole job, to tell you the truth. But I didn't call you to complain. Why don't you tell me what you did today?"
Sam hesitated for a moment before answering. If you only knew, she thought to herself. And then, an instant later, soon you will know. "Not a whole lot," she said. "My classes went well, but I really miss you. I wish you were here kissing me right now."
Ben and Sam talked for a while, making the best they could of the situation. At least it was a short trip this time—Ben had been away on two- or three-week stretches a few times before—and Sam had to admit that the time apart always made her feel closer to Ben when he got back.
By the time Sam finally hung up the phone, she had not only finished cooking, but eaten her dinner as well. Quickly washing the dishes in the sink, she headed back toward the bedroom. It was barely 9:00, but she was exhausted. Turning out the lights, Sam put on her pajamas and climbed into bed.
Tired as she was, however, Sam couldn't fall asleep. After tossing and turning a few times, she became aware that she was thinking about the suit. Somehow it didn't feel right not to have it on. It was just on the other side of the room, by the bathroom door—well, most of it was, since the arms and neck were in a little pile by the mirror. It would only take a few minutes to put it back on. What was she waiting for?
Sam felt butterflies in her stomach as the pull of her desire for the suit became stronger and stronger. She couldn't remember the last time she wanted something this badly.
Eventually, Sam had no choice but to stand up, remove her pajamas, and walk over to the suit. She put it on silently—and rather efficiently, pulling it perfectly tight and smooth in the darkness. Once the suit felt right, Sam headed for the other pieces. Soon she had pulled the soft silver arms over her own, and replaced the fabric she'd removed from the neck, so that only her head remained uncovered. A faint ray of light, from a streetlamp outside the window, danced along Sam's chrome hip and leg as she ran her hands over her abdomen. She could feel the suit's electric tingle again, welcoming her back like a familiar friend. She'd become so used to it over the course of the day that only now, having been without it for a while, did she appreciate how good it felt. This was what she had been missing.
Reassured by the wonderful feeling of the silver spandex on her body, Sam took a deep breath. She was still standing in the darkness, elbows at her sides and hands curled beneath her chin, swaying slightly back and forth to feel the movement of the fabric against her skin. She didn't feel so tired anymore—the suit was filling her with its energy. More than that, it was arousing her sexually—just like it had the first time she'd worn it. Sam could tell that it was only a matter of time before she would give in to her growing desire.
The sheer inevitability of her next orgasm brought a smile to her face, made her heart beat faster and her breath quicken. It was time to become a robot again—there was no stopping it now.
Sam decided she might as well play the role to the hilt.
In the near darkness of her bedroom, Sam turned smoothly to her left, and with deliberate, robotic movements, bent over to pick up the remote control. She let her mouth fall open, and relaxed her eyes into a blank stare. Sam found that the more effort she put into acting out her robot fantasy, the better she felt. Turning efficiently back toward the bed, Sam slowly and mechanically stepped forward, climbing onto the bed and lying comfortably on her back. She took another deep breath, and placed her thumb on the remote's topmost button.
"I am programmed for pleasure," Sam whispered softly before pressing the button. An instant later, the remote control rattled on the floor as the wonderful, soothing voice filled her mind. BEGIN PROGRAMMING.
PROGRAM LOADING COMPLETE.
"I.am.pro.grammed.for.plea.sure," Sam said again, this time louder, clearer, and in slow, deliberate monotone. That was much, much better. The words came easily now, the programming well understood. Sam happily surrendered to the program, flawlessly executing each instruction in turn, letting the voice take her deeper and deeper. It was so easy, she realized as her hand moved in a smooth arc to her vagina. So easy to obey. So beautiful, so breathtaking, so rewarding to just . . . simply . . . obey.
It wasn't long before Sam received the instruction to initiate orgasm—and, at the very instant dictated by her programming, her silver body reached its inevitable, overwhelming climax. The feeling was just as powerful as the last time, even more so because Sam's responses to her programming had come so much more easily this time. A single, happy thought filled her mind. O . . . bey.
Sam now lay perfectly still on the bed, basking in the warm afterglow of her circuits' successful release, patiently waiting for her program to shut her down. Sam regretted not being able to share this incredible feeling with Ben. She wished he was in the bed with her, so that they could wind down in ecstasy together. But as the voice counted down, Sam's blank and unmoving face belied a deep satisfaction and contentment which completely filled her. She felt perfectly happy as the program deactivated her for the night.