No, this was a mistake. Steve could do better than this; it had been purely impulsive, and he was too wishy-washy to cancel his order. I mean He was a doctor! A young doctor; there should be plenty of women lined up for him. His well-styled blond hair, 6' something frame, complemented by a firm build just muscled enough to appear healthy without seeming overdeveloped, why he should be rolling in babes! But even if he hadn't been naturally shy, the long, far too long hours during his residency had killed his romance with Cheryl. Meeting women shouldn't have been difficult, yet here he was, unwrapping a Whorebot he'd ordered.
It was a new company, almost unheard of; some tiny operation daring to challenge the corporate giants of Brothelco, and Cathouse industries for domination of the lucrative, sexual surrogate market. The outer box of course, bore nothing relating to its true content. It was a large, flat square that the deliveryman had deposited in his living room. Cybrid electronics it read, which could have meant he was ordering a big-screen T.V. from the boxes' shape. That was of course, part of the design.
Only now, with the outer box open was the truth revealed. Amidst the styrofoam was the name 'Sensual-Surrogates' and a large, elaborate looking remote control device. He removed the layer of plastic to reveal the pale, almost androgynous figure lying in a fetal position within.
"Hmph; this won't do..." Then Steve took a closer look at the remote;
"Height? Weight?" read two large dials. "And this one- wha...heh! Imagine that!" he chuckled softly, noticing the dial labeled 'bust'. What was this? Some kind of...of...body remote? Ignoring the instructions, he began to tinker...yes there....Activation....
The device hummed to life with an eerie, pulsing tone. Tiny digital screens using the latest in optronic circuitry folded out from within the remote's casing. The displays showed a range of variables, all presently at 0, or neutral values. Incredible sophistication! If this was what he thought it was, how could Brothelco not be able to produce interfaces of this quality?
"You're not going to keep me like this, are you?" spoke a perfectly inflected, feminine voice. The Whorebot had risen, apparently removing itself from the plastic bag and restraints that should have fastened it securely during shipping. The android gazed in apparent dismay at its currently dismal figure. Skin, hair, and eyes were all pure, chalk white. Her hair itself hung in short bangs, a low-maintenance style. She....er...it...was almost sexless. Tiny nipples; flat chest, almost no curves in either hips or ass, Steve noted. The only exception were her curvaceous, slender legs, which she draped over the box edge as she rose hesitantly to her....or perhaps its dainty feet. There was something in the android's face that made Steve want to acknowledge it as a person, ridiculous. Just his imagination. The robot took a halting step forward, as though testing its equilibrium.
"You're displaying an unusual amount of self-initiative, considering you're fresh out of the box." Steve remarked curiously, running a hand through his jet-black hair. Most Whorebots required almost an hour's worth of user programming from a home PC before they would do anything more than moan, or wiggle their hips.
"My company; Sensual-Surrogates limited, performs all necessary programming; though my personality, speech patterns, and love-making style can be easily adjusted with your User Interface Module." It responded happily. No...no...an android couldn't be happy could it? Strangely, the automaton seemed to display a genuine impression of gratitude at its release. Steve replied with a surprised 'Hmph', rather amazed at this small, obscure company. Now, what happens when....
"AAA-AAAH!" moaned the android, as her short hair spontaneously lengthened, the strands arranging themselves with uncanny precision into an elegantly coiffured , blond beehive. She smiled, seeming to derive pleasure from the transformation. "My skin! My skin! Give me some color! Any color!" She suggested gleefully, clasping her bone-white hands together. Amazing emotional capacity! She....she...Steve took a step back, eyebrows crinkling, she seemed so real! He had to keep reminding himself that this....android was not really alive, was not really feeling happiness; it was just an advanced, heuristic algorithm programmed by the company. And yet; Steve knew on instinct that he could not help but respond to her as though she were a real woman, a real person.
He twisted a dial on the middle segment of the User Interface thingy, and the android seemed to giggle as her synthetic flesh swept through a range of all known skin-tones. Her pale white faded to healthier pink on its way to a Mediterranean gold, before darkening to a rich mahogany, on the way to an inky ebony. Heh, quite a sight; blond beehive hair with an African skin-tone. She twittered, rubbing her hands down her arms, legs sliding sensuously past each other. He'd seen a similar function in the Janet-X9 model from Cathouse industries, but with less than half this range. Her chromatophores must have several times the processing capacity as the nearest competitor! And such a small company...
Switching her skin back to a warm pink shade, he clicked the hair-dial, each style given a separate segment on the controller, and watched in awe as her hair leapt up and down, knotting and twisting, until it released its tension in a loose, free-hanging, shoulder-length burgundy red. Now it was time....hmm....down towards the bottom, there was a small dial labeled 'posterior'. Hmmmm....
**********
She had discovered her weapon; her way to combat this enemy. Susan Weatherton squirmed as much as possible in her firm restraints, struggling against complacency; struggling against apathy, most of all struggling against the pleasure. Pain was the way; in her case she had found hunger to be effective. Susan steadfastly ignored the feeding tube that was thrust into her face every 4 hours, allowing herself to be wracked with hunger. The only way she got any nourishment was when...when the androids came. They force-fed her, keeping her alive, but suicide was not her intent; for it was only through the discomfort of hunger that she could suppress the bliss, the orgiastic ecstasy that burned through her.
No one would save her, no one knew she was here, no one could guess that any of the women had been brought here. Susan's green-eyed gaze swept the former boiler room that had been converted into a...a...what would you call this...a maternity ward? A milking parlor? There were over two dozen women, strapped onto the cushioned pallets by the androids. All had been transformed into...well, no reason to beat around the bush; Susan and all the other women were livestock. She struggled; trying out of spite to squeeze her way out of the plastic suction cups attached to her voluminous boobs, the milking tubes, attached to the milking machine. She seemed to be the only one struggling.
Besides Susan, to her right was a blond co-ed captured last week. The girl's eyes glazed over with bovine complacency as her gigantically pregnant womb throbbed yet again. The rhythmic *SHLUNK* sound of the milking machines the ever-present accompaniment to the orgiastic moans of bliss that escaped the captive women. Somehow....must have been through their nanotechnology, the android-sluts had been able to dramatically multiply female sexual sensitivity to unnatural levels; Susan and every other girl now had a capacity for sexual pleasure that threatened to crush all reason, all logic. As indeed it had. It was so easy to give in; the other girls surrendered to the ecstasy of the milking, the gestation, and the frequent sex-acts the androids performed on them. The soaring tide of lustful grandeur was so overpowering, that Susan had found it quite literally impossible to think more than half the time. Hour after hour, wasted in endless orgasm, lust without end, pleasure without purpose.
When it got bad, when the pleasure took hold of her, she became like a blind woman, groping to reclaim her own thoughts in an umbral sea of smothering bliss, stimulation so great that the feeble working of her higher brain functions could never hope to compete, thus most women languished, in hopeless joy, while their engorged tits squirted out pint after pint of creamy milk into the tubes. What on Earth did these androids need with so much milk!? Well, not a drop was wasted, whatever their purpose.
The struggle was arduous, yet Susan had to persevere; there was no telling how much damage these rapidly-replicating mechanical sluts could do! And no one else could save her. When she had been captured, the Red phone had rang, and the android ringleader, who called herself Celeste had answered; and...and she spoke in exactly the same voice as General Hunt, that Susan had served under! Through some vocal synthesizer technology, the petite blond duplicated the gravely tone so familiar to those that knew the 60something general. And....and...somehow...the bitch had knowledge of his operations! She had deftly answered the Pentagon's questions; allayed their suspicious. How? How could she know so much? No matter; it was up to Susan. Some folks had told her women weren't cut out for the military; she spent years proving them wrong. But now; now her womanhood was being used against her, and she swore to resist, to escape! There was a way...there was always a way...
The door to the gestation bay opened again, and Susan groaned. Here they came again. The 'nurses' that tended to the captured human women. She'd overheard something about this model of android being used to infiltrate the nation's medical establishment. She appeared to be a 30-ish, hispanic woman with enormous teats that jutted from a nurses uniform with the size and swell of entrapped footballs. There was a cold aloofness reflected in the nurses' dark eyes; surveying the brood mares under their care. She had a shapely, fertile figure, and other than a rather mechanical bedside manner, and unusually large breasts, her form and flesh seemed completely, undeniably, human. The nursebots dispersed and began tending to the various, over-pregnant, hyper-lactating human females; like farmers checking in on their cows. The most obvious clue to their inhumanity was the fact that they were all identical. Ten that she saw, each had the same, coffee brown complexion, the same eyes, nose, lips, and the same shoulder-length raven-black hair, slightly upturned at the end.
