Pick-up Line

by Robotdoll

"What's that?" Joanne said to the youngish man next to her at the bar.

"Hm?" said the man, who looked down to his chest. He wore a silver ball-chain from which hung a small key, the kind they wind grandfather clocks with. "Oh, that's just a little affectation of mine."

Joanne wasn't usually this forward, but it had been a long day, and nobody in the bar had talked to her yet, and this guy seemed...kind of nice. She giggled over her cocktail. "Well, it's cute. I thought it was some sort of thing like those rings the S&M people wear.

He snickered at an unheard joke. He held the chain up so the key swung free in the air. "Do you like it?"

Joanne looked at the key as it hung in the air. He moved his fingers slightly, and it began to twirl on the chain, catching the light and reflecting it madly. "Yes....it's.....pretty." And it was, too. She just kept looking at it, and it became even more interesting....

The man smiled to himself. "Are you here alone?" She nodded her head, a faint smile forming on her lips. "Do you want to be alone?" he asked, making sure he wasn't intruding on her evening. Her brows furrowed for a moment, as if this was a hard question, and finally relaxed and shook her head no. "Would you like to come with me and see some pretty things?"

Part of Joanne knew what this man was asking. By this point all she could do was move her head, and think...both only a little. Well, you didn't come in here just to get drunk, she thought...and nodded her head.

He smiled. He dropped a bill on the bar and stood up. Joanne followed wordlessly. He had a car in the parking lot, and they got in silently. In the car, he took Joanne's hand and posed it in a position in front of her, just above her forehead. It stayed in place when he let go. He then took off his chain and strung it over her frozen hand. The key hung right before her eyes, and her sleepy eyes fell upon it and locked into place. A small *click* and he turned the map light on, positioned so it hit the key perfectly. The car thrummed into life, the powerful engine sending warm tingles into Joanne's seat, furthering her relaxation. As the car move down the road, the motion kept the key swaying and spinning, reflected light rainbowing into Joanne's receptive eyes.

As they drove, she heard someone ask very personal questions of someone, and they answered back, in a quiet whisper. The person explained yes, she had had sex before, she enjoyed it very much, she had not had any in several months, and had never tried anything...racy, but had thought about it, though nothing painful or scary. She had no idea who was part of the conversation, but the girl sounded nice.

"Are you scared now, Joanne?" He began talking to her, and she tried to pay attention. She thought about it, but as she looked at the dancing key, she decided, "No."

"I'm glad. Why don't you get some sleep; we'll be at my place soon."

The simple word "Sleep" took precedence over the dramatically significant phrase "My place" in Joanne's mind, and she dropped off immediately, her frozen arm floating to her lap like a feather. She dreamed of pretty women, all dancing around, in funny clothes. No, no clothes, they didn't even have any...

"Wake up, we're here." Joanne opened her eyes and realized she wasn't even in the car at all. She stood at the open door of a tastefully furnished apartment, with thick carpeting and a pleasant, homey feel. Without thinking, she kicked her shoes off and stood in her bare feet in the plush. It felt sort of snuggly and comfortable. Any misgivings she had momentarily had passed away--no man with carpeting this thick could be dangerous, she illogically decided; he'd be too afraid of getting blood in it.

"There's a room off to the left if you'd like to get comfortable."

She turned to her guest, his back to her, hanging up their coats on a hook. She didn't recall removing her coat, but decided not to quibble. She started to follow the hall to the room, the carpet tickling the soles of her feet, sending tingling sensations to her crotch.

On the walls of the hall were photographs of a number of girls in various states of dress. QUITE various. Some were nude, most were not. Ballerina outfits, catsuits (Some literally having ears and a tail) and many more. One or two were beyond nude. They were naked, and they had no nipples or pussies, smooth like a Barbie doll. The sight of all these women, all looking so happy, further confused Joanne.

The aforementioned "room" was more like a suite. A large wardrobe stood closed along the wall, a lush King-size bed dominated the opposite side of the room, overloaded with pillows and comforters, and a faint scent of perfume wafted from a bathroom to the side. She shrugged off her misgivings and her dress in one motion. Her panties followed, dropping to the floor into a little cloth "8". Her bra popped off, and her breats relaxed from their confinement, the nipples remaining soft and relaxed, like the rest of Joanne.

She entered the bathroom and looked around. As well laid out as the boudoir, marble walls sparkled in germ-free splendor. A large shower stall invited her to enter, and she decided not to be rude. The water warm just the right temperature, and she slicked herself up determinedly. A small shelf contained a well-arranged assortment of beauty aids, and she tried them all--soap, loofah sponge, body scrub, shampoo, conditioner....and a razor. She eyed the razor thoughtfully, and picked it up. She soaped up her pubic area liberally, causing her to drop the razor at least twice. She scraped the razor across herself, trimming her pubic area to a nicely manicured triangle. She thought. She went a little further, trimming it into a little heart. She giggled. She shaved down the sides, into a straight line with a little point at the bottom, pointing the way for the unwary. Throwing caution to the wind, she scraped off the the last line, her pussy bare as a newborn's.

She toweled off, the terrycloth feeling new and stimulating against her newly bare self. The toilet had a few nozzles in it she didn't recognize, so she sat down to test them. A few moments of personal business later, she flipped the lever, and was surprised by gentle jets of water on her bottom and pussy. She bounced happily with shock and excitement. She rose on weak legs and continued drying off.

Still not sure of anything but a desire to continue, she ignored her clothes and sauntered over to the wardrobe. Costume shop was more like it. She recognized some outfits from the "gallery" in the hall. There was a Raggedy-Ann dress, the ballerina suit, and a full-body flesh-tone lycra suit...so THAT'S how they got that look! Joanne Whewed and kept picking through...nope, she stopped. She picked out a silver bodysuit. It was made of an odd sort of fabric, shiny as chrome yet light and supple as silk. She rubbed it against her face, her breasts...her bare crotch. It tingled. She threw the hanger away randomly and bent over to stretch the suit over her legs. It gave willingly, slithering up her legs and hips, thrilling her as the fabric fit against her pussy. The suit was amazingly stretchy, and she was able to fit it over her breasts and shoulders with ease, snapping back to shape. She noticed an extra flap of fabric around her neck...a hood? Yes, it stretched over her head, leaving only her face uncovered.

She saw a mirror hanging from the door, and admired herself in it. The suit fit her curves like it was made for her. That idea seemed to please her. Her soft face looked out from a chrome head mounted on a knockout of a silver torso, standing on a pair of shapely human legs. She thought of those paintings by that Japanese guy, and began to feel quite at home. She playfully made a few mannequin-like poses in the mirror, smiling at the look at herself. Damn if the suit wasn't getting tighter. Her bust was getting more defined, the fabric sinking into her cleavage to form two distinct globes, the nipples beginning to pucker through with excitement. She could clearly see her bellybutton. And the fabric had already disappeared into her snatch, giving her a gleaming silver bare pussy. THIS sight excited her incredibly, and she stroked two fingers down her body. Soft, so soft, so real... The fingers reached her silver sex, and they dove in. She was wet! There was no fabric there, she was fingering her pussy, she could tell! She staggered with an emotional orgasm, and looked at herself again. It was as if she was being vacuum-sealed. The fabric continued to hug to her every curve and dimple, let conveniently leaving out pimples, bumps and blemishes, anything she never liked.

She tried to speak, but found she could not. Her jaws had locked into a beatific smile, her eyes shimmering with pleasure. Slowly, she realized that she had not moved for several seconds...and she could not. She expected to be quite afraid. She was not. Something inside was almost expecting this. It felt wonderful.

She felt a kiss at the back of her neck. It was him, she could see him in the mirror. She could still see, she could still feel. That was enough for her. She could still hear too; "Perfect," he said. "You chose the very one I wanted to suggest."

He was nude under a floor-length cotton robe, bright blue and whisper-thin, tied pointlessly at the waist with a drawstring that did not keep the sides closed. His erection was in then the pupal stage, merely lengthening his cock, still hanging downward.

He picked Joanne up and moved her to a spot against the wall. She remained posed in her happy position, human fingers in silver pussy, human face smiling from shiny head. He left for a moment, and returned with...she knew it...a camera. Her body was already posed, so she tried to pose her soul. She tried to beam an emotion, an indefinable something that she always imagined models did, so their photos would leap off the page at her, make her want what they were selling. She was selling a feeling--"I feel good."

He snapped a few photos, smiling as he bought what she was selling. He set the camera aside and pulled the chain off his neck. He took the key in his hand and walked behind Joanne. There was a slight click as he slipped the key into her bottom. Joanne felt like she just been plugged in to a high-voltage cable. A sharp electric shock shot to every cell of her body, burning away a small unimportant part of her humanity called The Will To Disobey. He twisted the key. She felt something tighten in her tummy. With each turn it bcame tighter, and she felt the power to move, to speak, return to her. She jerked to attention, pulling her fingers stiffly from her pussy.

"Thank.you.for.wind.ing.me.up.mas.ter. I.am.here.to please.you. Com.mand.me" Who was Joanne, Joanne thought. She recalled the name, but it no longer applied to anyone she knew.

He smiled proudly. "Come with me" he said, and walked to the bed. She followed, legs pistoning in a mechanical ponywalk behind him. Her arms remained stiffly before her, bent slightly at the elbows, as if carrying a phantom tea tray. He stopped, she stopped, he turned to face her. He opened his robe. He pointed to his fat yet flaccid cock. "Stiffen me as well."

The robot (she no longer had a name, it was not needed) gripped the chubby member and tipped it up to point to her. She formed her mouhth into a ruby red "O" and bent impossibly at the hip, performing a perfect docking procedure with his probe. Her mouth watered, slicking him up, and she pumped it in and out, her head bucking up and down as smoothly as a pendulum. He threw his head back in glee, grasping her head in his hands, appling no pressure, just letting his hands hang on for the ride. When she felt the tip of him begin to tap the back of his throat, she sensed her work was done, and disengaged, standing back up.

"You.are.stiff.mas.ter. Shall.you.use.me.for.plea.sure.now?" He grippd his raging self and gave it a few testing tugs, her saliva easing the job nicely.

"Yes, get on the bed." She obeyed immediately, her silver hips lifting her supple legs, climbing smoothly onto the bed. She lay on her back, arms and legs up, awaiting anything. He dropped his robe, climbed in between her legs, lowered himself onto her. He reached up for a silver breast and hungrily popped the button-hard nipple into his mouth. The robot felt a sharp thrill start at her extremities, then rush to the center, ending in her nipple, like a stone thrown into a pond, played back in reverse. He sucked happily, feeding of her. Not milk (Though they both sensed that it could be) but pure happiness. He got a second heaping helping from the other breast, then crawled his way down to her sex. Rubbing against all the down comforters had an interesting effect--there was a spark of static electricity as his tongue touched her pussy. Far from ruining the mood, it supercharged it, and he rammed his tongue deep, getting his nose wet. The robot formerly known as Joanne was locked in a loop of stilted monotone epithets that all dealt with him continuing right on with what he was doing and taking it to its logical conclusion.

He finally pulled away from her, his face shiny with her come, looking a little silvery himself. He climbed back up the bed, positioning himself to enter her. Staopping, he touched a finger to the metal frame under the bed. ZAT! went the spark. He giggled, "I don't think I'd have survived that one." Robot wanted to laugh, but had forgotten how. Perhaps Master would show her...later. He slid his cock effortlessly into his mechanical partner. They both drew towards each other like magnets in a science project. The action was fast, furious and only worthy of description from the inside out. To Robot Joanne and her master it was like a symphony was playing in their bodies. A violin and the bow, a guitar and its pick, a trumpet and Dizzy Gillespie's fingers, that's how well they worked against each other. A robot is programmed to serve its master, but only a few masters are interested in making their mechanical slave happy. Robot Joanne was very lucky. The orgasm was emotion, pure emotion, and they repeated the process all night.

Joanne woke up in her room. In her apartment. She looked around, realized where she was, and sat up sadly. She literally had no idea how she got there, and as a result, no idea if the exploits of the night before had actually happened. This depressed her to no end. She rose, showered, and found some evidence. She was shaved bare. She began crying from joy. This was closely followed by depression from a new source..."He sent me home," she thought. She decided to get dressed and start looking for him, starting at that bar.

She hurried to the closet, looking for something HOT to wear. She found a few short skirts, some dress slacks, a pair of bell bottoms (coulda sworn I'd thrown these out...) and a hanger covered in a dry cleaning bag. "I don't have my stuff dry cleaned..." she puzzled...until she caught the the flash of silver. She yanked the bag from the rack, it tore, and the hanger twanged off, bouncing onto the floor. It was her silver suit. She held it against herself, crying softly. There was a note pinned to the front; when she removed it, there was no break in the fabric.

"Next time, it won't come off."

And a date, and a time, and an address.

You'd never believe how little it really takes to shut down your life, a call to your boss (that's usually the most fun part), another call to Goodwill to take your furniture, and a quick riffle through your belongings as you try to decide how much of your past life was worth keeping. Joanne pared it down to a makeup bag, two carry-ons and a cardboard box full of records. She thought about it, and realized that she may not even need this much, if she going to become what she thought she would. She arrived at the address. It was the bar. She tightened the belt of her trenchcoat so it covered the silver bodysuit, locked her car and went in.

Her car was declared abandoned two weeks later and was sold at auction to a nice couple from Nyack. Her belongings were not in it when it was impounded. As it turns out, she did not need the makeup anymore, but the records were nice to listen to, and the clothes came in handy for the occasional trip out.

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