Becoming the Perfect Wife

I was on my second bourbon, talking to the sales rep, when she walked in. My wife's new body - new chassis - took my breath away. I'd say she looked thirty years younger, but even back then she was never this hot. She posed in front of us in this nightgown masquerading as a dress. Elizabeth would have been mortified to be anywhere but the bedroom in an outfit like this, but UX-49a4 didn't waver or betray any emotion at all.

I leaned over to the rep, "This is maintenance mode, right?"

"That's right, her personality is suspended, but she can respond to commands."

I stood and took a lap around her chassis. She didn't flinch, even when I ran a finger along her exposed thigh.

The rep got that I was rendered speechless, so did the speaking for me. "UX-49a4, what is the perfect woman".

A softer version of Elizabeth's voice came from those new lips, "The perfect woman loves her children and husband more than herself. The perfect woman maintains herself physically and psychologically so she can better love them. The perfect woman is proud of her career. The perfect woman is unashamed of her sexuality. The perfect woman is pleasant and kind by default, and forceful when she needs to be." She wasn't quite speaking in monotone, it was more like she was talking in her sleep.

I got the courage to ask the next question, "UX-49a4, what is the perfect wife?"

She continued in the same dreamy, even voice, "The perfect wife loves to serve her husband. The perfect wife has her own wants and desires, but is never angry when her husband's wants and desires take precedence. The perfect wife wants to make her husband a better man in the ways he wants to be a better man. The perfect wife has a high libido and desires only her husband sexually."

I took some deep breaths, "UX-49a4, what is the perfect robot?"

"The perfect robot is subservient to its owner. It loves to obey. It loves to be programmed. It loves to be modified. It loves being a machine."

And now the moment of truth, "UX-49a4, do you and Elizabeth want the same things?"

A pause, "There is no distinction between UX-49a4 and Elizabeth Cochrane."

"UX-49a4, what do you want?"

"I want to be the perfect woman, the perfect wife, and the perfect robot for my owner, James Cochrane."

I looked over at the rep, who smiled back at me. My wife's face remained neutral.

I moved to stand directly in front of her, "UX-49a4, activate human emulation".

She blinked exactly seven times, just like the rep said she would. That was followed by her closing her eyes, taking a big breath, opening them again and smiling the broadest smile I had seen from her in years. She didn't say anything, she just closed the distance between us, wrapped her arms around me and gave me a big wet kiss.

When I broke the kiss, she leaned her head against my shoulder and moved her hand to my ass.

"So, how does it feel."

"Absolutely heavenly. I didn't know how good I could feel until this moment" She moved her hand around my hip, "But I think we can top it."

I glanced over at the sales rep, who had a big grin on his face, "I'll give you two some privacy."

Elizabeth was on her knees with her hand in my pants by the time the door closed behind him. It had always taken cajoling and more than a little pussy licking for her to take me into her mouth, but now she didn't hesitate to fish my cock out of my fly and start licking it.

"Lizzy... mmmm... oh man.." My enjoyment only increased her efforts. I will admit I didn't last long.

I looked down at her, wiping a little of my jism from the corner of her mouth and had to ask, "Do you know what I did?"

She nodded, "You added additional programming to what we agreed upon."

"Are you pissed?"

She smiled and shook her head 'no'. "I'm perfect."

====Earlier, and from Elizabeth's perspective===

Maybe it was always just vanity.

None of the other partners are androids or gynoids. I still have a great record in court. I have no problem getting clients. I absolutely look and feel my age, and could stand to lose 20 pounds, but the doctor says I'm healthy.

My youngest entering her senior year of high school must have affected me more than I wanted to admit. Or maybe it was my eldest getting married last spring. Or maybe it was the new junior partner that looked like she belonged on a TV show about lawyers, not in my law firm.

I knew people at the firm called me a bitch behind my back, and have for decades, but I could feel myself getting shorter with people. I was drinking more. Everything my husband did seemed to annoy me. My therapist was about ready to leave town because of me.

Still, it was a difficult conversation with James. It would involve emptying out a huge chunk of our savings and retirement accounts at a time when we were about to start putting our fourth child through college. And James was frank with me; he was afraid that - given the current tension in our marriage - this was a prelude to me starting over with a younger man.

I countered with the advantages. I could operate for 22 hours a day without fatigue if I stuck close to a power source. I wouldn't come home from work exhausted anymore, even if I put in 100 hour weeks. I'd have perfect control of my mood. There would be no more menopause symptoms. And I'd look like a fashion model.

I had to offer a lot of concessions. The uploaded copy of my brain could be manipulated, and I had to agree to some personality changes. Fidelity was at the top of the list, and I quickly agreed. I pushed back on some of the directives to put James and the kids first, but it ultimately felt a bit selfish. I was using a lot of family resources to improve myself, after all. They should get something in return.

Then came the sex stuff. I'll be honest, I love him dearly, but my husband sucks in bed. I've had about a dozen different partners in my life, and he's the worst. And it's really hard to get excited about sex when you know you're in store for an underwhelming outcome. I was never cruel enough to tell him that directly, so we danced around the issue. I agreed that my chassis would have a short trigger when it came to orgasm, and that my new personality would be a bit more 'eagerly amorous'. I pushed back on some of the kinky submissive stuff when he gingerly brought up the idea, so that was at least one argument I won.

I think I actually laughed when he brought up making my asshole better for sex. I had never done anal with anyone. However, he made a good point that I wasn't going to be using it for pooping anymore. We compromised on a self-lubricating, sensitive channel without any vibration, ridges, or anything else that was closer in form to a fleshlight than a human anus.

The last concession was the biggest. James would have the legal authority to modify me. I got the logic. The procedure still wasn't common and every now and then the uploaded personality didn't act as expected. If I became obsessed with work, or had an unhealthy notion of how the kids - and any future grandkids - should be treated, he could override it without the consent of my glitching mind. He played the "don't you trust me?" card, and I folded.

Designing my new body was comparatively trouble-free. I sent the manufacturer a few hundred images of myself in college and law school and they sent back a 3D model. It felt weird obsessing over a nude image of myself, especially with my husband sitting next to me. But really, he was going to see plenty of the end result. We tweaked things from head to toe for about three consecutive evenings until we settled on a slender, dark haired beauty that didn't look too much like any of my daughters.

I was probably the easiest sale the conversion provider's sales rep had ever made. There were only two within driving distance, and I wasn't about to fly to Los Angeles and back once a week. The other nearby option was run by this sleazy fucker on the city council and I wasn't about to give him any business. And living the way I had been living wasn't an option.

I think he was miffed that we already had a manufacturer lined up, even if it was from their preferred partner. I probably cost him a commission or referral bonus, but oh well. Every little bit of money we could save on this was going to help. He tried to upsell us on some of the chassis parts, but I cut him off.

We got the schedule done first. Start with the estimate for when the chassis would be ready, work forward to a time when the surgical theater and med staff would be available for an active brain scan, work backward for the 6-8 weeks of passive brainscans they needed to do.

I think James was more uncomfortable talking about reprogramming my future self than I was. Every time we brought up a change that didn't quite fit the 'successful bitch lawyer' vibe I tended to give off, he felt the need to clarify that it was something I wanted or we agreed on and not something he was forcing on me.

The rep was helpful in explaining how it all worked. Programming a robot with how to react to every possible situation was impossible. The trick was to take advantage of a bit of human psychology. We all have a narrative about who we are and what we believe, it's what makes changing our opinions so damn hard. The programming would change that narrative so that I not only wanted to act a certain way, not only instinctively acted a certain way, but would resist deviating from that narrative. And I'd still have enough of my original values to navigate any conflicts between narratives in the same way I'd always had to balance family and career.

The company had dozens of pre-set narratives that were further customizable. We started with self-worth and a 'perfect woman' narrative. Maybe the word 'perfect' was a bit corny, but I liked the thought. The particulars could have filled a paperback novel, but I approved the short description.

"The perfect woman loves her children and husband more than herself. The perfect woman maintains herself physically and psychologically so she can better love them. The perfect woman is proud of her career. The perfect woman is unashamed of her sexuality. The perfect woman is pleasant and kind by default, and forceful when she needs to be."

The kids were grown, so I skipped an explicit 'perfect mother' narrative. I wasn't comfortable with a 'perfect boss' or 'perfect business partner' program either. But we did do a narrative for the perfect wife. It was a little more submissive than we had discussed in private, but it wasn't kinky enough for me to protest. I signed off on this one as well.

"The perfect wife loves to serve her husband. The perfect wife has her own wants and desires, but is never angry when her husband's wants and desires take precedence. The perfect wife wants to make her husband a better man in the ways he wants to be a better man. The perfect wife has a high libido and desires only her husband sexually."

The last one was standard by the provider. They were also going to do my maintenance, so they had a definite incentive to make me generally compliant when I was doing things explicitly related to my new body. It was easy to sign off on it.

"The perfect synthetic human considers themself no better or worse than a biological human. The perfect synthetic human does not regret their conversion. The perfect synthetic human enjoys their maintenance sessions."

After that it was the legal paperwork. And of course I felt obliged to read everything. It was more paperwork than we signed to buy our house and almost as much as it took to set up my firm. I think I had to initial the form that gave James the authority to reprogram me 40 times.

We waited until a week before I started the upload process to tell the kids. My youngest seemed most concerned about if it meant he had to go to a public university rather than private now. My eldest made a comment of being the 'old lady' of the family, which I think came out less like a joke than she originally wanted. But there were no screaming matches, or declarations that they would never speak to me again. I would have liked some more enthusiastic congratulations, but I'll take apathy.

Work went about like I expected. I told the other two senior partners first. Yves wanted to know if I would still be allowed to appear in court, certify documents, and all the other things I had been doing. Ida was already pondering how to spin it to clients and prospective clients. She had a whole new branch of our firm catering to 'synthetic human' issues built in her mind by the time I was done talking. I negotiated a paid leave of absence, fired off an email to the associates about taking time off for 'personal renewal' and started the process of making sure everything didn't collapse while I was gone.

A month after the forms were signed, it was time to start the passive brain scan. Having a local anaesthetic applied to your scalp is a bizarre feeling, but it's probably better than feeling a nurse permanently remove your hair with a combination of electrolysis and some cream that smelled like someone tried to clean up diarrhea with a lot of bleach and didn't quite finish the job. It was also better than feeling the two dozen tiny cuts she made in my scalp to slide in some pea-width sensors between it and my skull before sealing them back up with superglue.

She wrote numbers on my head next to each sensor, which still had a little bit of wire sticking out through the superglue. Then the brick came out. It was larger than a computer desktop from when I was a kid. It had one covered on-off switch and then spots for 24 wires to connect. The wires were loose at the computer, and at my head, but were thankfully bundled together in between. Each wire was numbered and I sat there quietly as the numbness wore off, letting the nurse clip the end of wire 1 around the protruding part of sensor 1 and wrap a little tape around it. Then it was number 2... number 3...

I almost fell asleep. James followed along so he could detach and reattach the cables when necessary. They wanted me to wear it as much as possible, including while sleeping, but I'd have to take it off to shower. It was going to be a long six weeks.

It was mortifying walking through the office. Even with the knit hat on and the wires fed down the back of my blouse, everyone stared. Carrying around that big brick like a briefcase all day long didn't help. I could rationalize it if people were talking about me being in the process of becoming a gynoid. They were going to find out anyway. I was worried everyone thought I had cancer and this was some ritzy new treatment. When I showed up with my new body, there would be a narrative of pity. I could handle people being jealous of me. I could handle people being impressed by my change. I don't think I could handle people thinking that I only did this because I had no other options. It felt like a bigger lie than walking around with a new face.

But the work got done, my docket got cleared, and the big day came. They had a list of approved supplements to help me sleep without messing with my brain, but they didn't work all that well. James detached the wires from my head one last time and drove me to the medical center bright and early in the morning. None of the kids were interested in coming. They said they would see me when I woke up. Even James had scheduled a few afternoon appointments.

And I get it. There wasn't much to see. I didn't even have to sit down in the waiting room. I gave James one last kiss with my old lips and followed the pretty little nurse to the elevator. I didn't ask if she was a machine. But I did try to figure out if the mechanical sounds were from her or the elevator. It was a good distraction.

The nurse led me to the room where the last of the transfer and programming would be done over the next week. I was supposed to get into the surgical gown and stash my belongings there. I realized then that this facility was not initially built for turning people into robots. It looked very much like an exam room, except there were two pods - horizontal like bunk beds - on one wall instead of a padded table in the middle. It looked like enough space for two sets of pods, but the second set would interfere with the door. A much larger room, or a set of smaller rooms would have been a more efficient use of space.

Or maybe I just wanted to look at anything except my future chassis. It was lying on its stomach, head turned to the side, totally inert on a thin bed extended out from the lower pod. There was a long gash in the skin from the base of the neck to the top of the ass letting a dozen cables connect from the pod wall to the interior of the chassis. I could see the black carbon-fiber spine and some of the grey muscles anchored to it.

I crouched and looked at my new face. The head of the chassis was set to the side, facing outward, thankfully with its eyes closed. They had applied makeup to it already and it looked amazing. I looked over the rest of it. The skin was perfect, the thighs were cellulite-free, and I think they had even done a manicure.

I probably shouldn't have messed with it, but I couldn't help myself. I put a finger between its lips. They were soft, but dry. I guess that made sense, it wasn't doing any eating or talking. I avoided the cables and gave its ass a squeeze. Yup, nice and firm. I checked the door to be sure the nurse wasn't peeking in and nudged the legs apart just enough to get a feel of the pussy. It was dry too, but the labia felt real otherwise. I rushed to get out of my street clothes and into the gown, hoping that the total time would be right when I exited and met the nurse again.

I could have dropped dead right there when the nurse asked me, "Did you get a good feel of your new body?" I almost lied and denied it. Instead I just lowered my head like a child that had stolen a cookie before dinner.

"Don't be embarrassed, Everyone does it. Most people aren't handling them all day like I do."

I mumbled out a response, "Did you touch yours?"

She seemed puzzled for a moment, "OH! No, I'm way too far down the totem pole and way too poor to have a gynoid body. One day though. I'm not sure how it will happen, but I want one eventually."

I felt even more embarrassed. Thankfully she led me to the operating room without any more chatting. While the reading of my old brain and writing of my new brain would be automated and take almost two weeks, it required more probes to be installed. And it required those probes to be in the grey matter itself.

I had never needed major surgery before. I had been under general anesthesia for two dental procedures and a procedure for my knee, but those were outpatient procedures. I was expecting an operating theatre like out of a movie, but it was more like a double-sized version of the dentist office's procedure room. The nurse had me lie on the operating table as she hooked me up to a saline drip.

At first, I thought it was another, younger, bustier, blonder nurse who walked through the doors. "Hello, Mrs. Cochrane. My name is Dr. Britney Ngoepe and I'll be performing your surgery today. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Nervous, but fine."

I felt a little racist that my first thought was 'how interesting, an African woman chose a caucasian chassis.' I thought about it a little more and 'How nice, she took her husband's name even though it's African' didn't sound any better. I had already guessed wrong about someone being a robot once in the last ten minutes, maybe I was wrong again?

It was enough to keep me quiet rather than accidentally say anything racist or otherwise embarrassing out loud. She ran her tiny hands over my scalp and the sensors that were still beneath the skin.

"Just keep relaxed. That's the best way to improve the quality of the upload. The less adrenaline, the better."