Programmed for Love, Part 2 (Man to Pleasure Bot TG) (Patreon)

A shorter instalment today, but the change has now occurred! Enjoy!

By FoxFaceStories

A cryosleep accident sees space traveller Robert placed in a female pleasure bot's body as an emergency due to the loss of his original body. He tries to cope and stay a member of the crew, even as his programming compels him to fulfil an entirely new role . . .

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Part 2: Restart

/runcommand/program//data retrieval

sequencing . . .

retrieving from short-term storage database

files retrieving . . .

253454352343241 files in need of retrieving . . .

Processing . . .

/runcommand/program//compressionalgorithm

253454352343241 files in need of compressing . . .

Processing . . .

/runcommand/program//emergencyupload

Uploading to unit 724 designation Saturn 5 pleasurebot

Emergency override of uploading safety protocols established under clear emergency directive following event 423 celestial contact with meteor/asteroid/meteorite/minor celestial object. Subject’s memory data uploading to unit 724 designation Saturn 5 pleasurebot.

ERROR ERROR ERROR

Conflict resolution needed for file resolution

Compression of core memory required

Processing  23423940 files . . .

Processing . . .

ERROR ERROR ERROR

Subject integration required with native programming of unit 724 designation Saturn 5 pleasurebot. Complete file override unable to initiative.

/runcommand/program//integration

unit 724 designation Saturn 5 pleasurebot core files necessary for transfer. Integrating subject to core files.

ERROR RESOLVED CONFLICT RESOLVED

Processing . . .

Uploading complete. Subject upload fully initiated with integration into pleasurebot core programming. Success of integration approximately 88%. No core memory files lost. Behavioural programming intact with integration into pleasurebot programming. Synchronicity 76% = acceptable limits.

/runcommand/program//awakening subject

Processing . . .

***

Programming Installed 98 Percent . . . 99 Percent . . . 100 Percent.

Initiate Wake Up Protocol

Robert woke, albeit not as he had ever woken. It was as if there was no transition between being asleep and waking, he had simply ‘turned on’, so to speak. He was fully cognisant, at least that was how he felt. Only things were weird. Very weird. Really, really fucking weird.

Why is my vision so strange? It’s so sharp, but there are signifiers, like I have a holo implant. Where am I? The last thing I remember is - ERROR ERROR ERROR -

His body jolted. It was lying on its back, though it felt strange. Entirely alien, in fact. All the feeling was dimmed down except for the surface of the skin and certain processes going on in the chest. There was a warmth there, a mechanical thrum that seemed entirely at odds with what should have been his beating heart and expanding lungs.

I was in an accident. This is a medical ward. I was on the Saturn 5, right? I was enjoying the DESIGNATION PLEASUREBOT/ME with Sarasha, that beauty. But then something happened. An emergency. I recall FILE RETRIEVAL MEMORY DAMAGED REINTEGRATED that something hit the ship. Oh God, don’t tell me I was hurt. Is that why my head feels funny? What’s going on with my body PLEASUREBOT/FORM PROGRAMMED TO PLEASE. What the fuck?

He blinked. No, he didn’t. It took him a moment to get the hang of it, and then two thick eyelids fell and rose more slowly than they should have. By this point Robert Wesley was getting more than a little freaked out, except that his body was not acting like it at all: not a single rapid heartbeat or pounding in his head. He stared up at the ceiling again, taking in the whites, the symbol of the red cross denoting that this was the medical bay. It was highlighted in a strange green filter, and a small information readout accompanied it:

‘Saturn 5 Deck 17 Aft Medical Bay. Overseen by Dr Warabe presently.’

“What the hell?” he breathed. “I have an implant?”

That was when he realised something was far more terribly wrong than he could have realised. His voice didn’t sound remotely like his, just like his body and his vision were alien as well. His voice had a sensual female pur to it, albeit with a slight mechanical whine, like a slight synthesised element had been added to it.

“I sound like a woman,” he breathed - no, there was no breathing involved, actually. “A robot woman. Do I have something in my throat or -?”

He moved his arm to touch his throat. His arm moved mechanically with a smooth whir, the joints folding with expert precision in a manner that could be described as utterly artificial, and utterly elegant. His fingers touched his throat, and even more strange sensations were upon him.

It feels like touching metal. I can feel it, but - Synthetic SenseAlloy Programming Running with Perfect Efficiency - it’s not skin. It has so much sensation, but it’s not skin. Oh God, what has happened to me? What has happened!? Why do I feel like I’ve been turned into some kind of cyborg - INSUFFICIENT DATA TO PROCEED INQUIRY, PLEASUREBOT PROGRAMMING OVERRIDE.

His body moved of its own accord, sitting ramrod straight up on the medical bay bed. It was segmented off by a curtain, but his body shifted to its feed and swiftly cast aside the curtain, with a silvery metal arm.

“What? What’s going on? Someone help me! I sound like a robot woman and I can’t control my body! Where are the employees? What’s happened to my damn hips! I demand answers! I’m Robert Wesley, Pleasure Fembot at your service!”

He would have opened his eyes in shock if his body allowed him. His hips were sashaying from side to side like a parody of womanhood, and there was a distinct sensealloy weight to his chest, which frustrated him because he wasn’t able to look down and see what it was. All he knew was that something was deeply off. He had no clothes on, and all the skin he could see was silvery metal. His vision highlighted various ward beds and their occupations.

‘Miriam Albertson: visitation for fembot services 34% = unlikely.’

‘Jarvis Tycho: visitation for fembot services 89% = highly likely. Preferences: vibration of mouth upon erect penis followed by thirty minute cuddling session and back massage.’

Robert was immediately hit with a barrage of information and experience, like it was being uploaded directly to his mind. The perfect way to place his silvery mouth over a man’s erect cock and initiate a vibrating function to cause it to ejaculate to its fullest extent. How to engage the cleaning filter afterwards. The three hundred and forty seven different massage variations from a whole array of different cultures, alien and human. The internal engine processes within his core to cause his sensealloy skin to warm to an acceptable level not just for humans, but even to the near volcanic level necessary for the Qualli to mirror their own home planet comforts.

What the fuck is happening? I don’t understand! Did someone hit me with grey goo? Does that even exist or is it just some creepy myth that - ANALYSIS: GREY GOO HYPOTHESIS INCORRECT. ERRORS AND MEMORY CONFLICT A RESULT OF INTEGRATION WITH FEMBOT PROGRAMMING.

He was about to scream, no matter how female and synthetic and strange and wrong he sounded, when suddenly his body pulled to a stop right before a large mirrored surface. He had reached the bathroom of the medical ward, and right before him was his reflection.

Her reflection

Perhaps he had already figured out but was deep in denial. Perhaps the confusion was simply so great he had hoped it would be a dream. But now those denials fell away in the fact of the evidence before him.

“I’m a - I’m a fembot,” he breathed - no, he still wasn’t breathing. He hadn’t breathed since he woke up. He couldn’t breathe. “I’m a goddamned fembot DESIGNATION 724 PROGRAMMED FOR SENSUAL CARE AND PAMPERING.”

The voice had simply erupted from him, purring in that deeply erotic way all fembots were programmed to sound like. The image before him was just as erotic, a fembot through and through, and the hyper expensive kind that only a cruiseliner like the Saturn 5 could possibly afford. Her sensealloy skin was a glorious platinum silver with occasional blue highlights. She had legs for days, perfectly sculpted, and a pair of hips that would make any man weep for joy to see on a regular dame. Her bust was large - yes, that was the weight upon Robert’s chest, a pair of robot tits - and curved like perfect teardrops. Just like the fembot he’d played with (was this one of them? he thought), their construction left them looking deliberately a bit unnatural, the same reason the joints on her legs and arms were obviously artificial. People liked their pleasurebot’s to not look too human, or too like the alien species they replicated if that was the case. It made them obviously robotic, yet also alluringly exotic as well. This extended to her ultra-slim waist, one that was literally too slim for any actual woman to possibly possess, and the gorgeous face that had a demure-yet-mischievous look, like a classic dame out of an ancient Hollywood reel from back on Earth. Her hair was made of those micro-filament metals that could be altered through electrical current, but otherwise was kept in a classic bob. Her lips were full, her nose button cute, and her glowing blue eyes were robotic yet attractive, complete with false gold eyelashes.

“I’m a fembot. A pleasurebot. How - why - CATASTROPHIC EVENT EMERGENCY UPLOAD PROCEDURE IN CASE OF LOSS OF BODY.”

He managed to regain control of the body, pushing away the programming instinctively. Still, it was there. Running in the background. The programming of a fembot. There was no heartbeat still, no freakout in his system. But his mind was terrified, even though his body moved as if moving to seduce someone.

“Robert! Robot Wesley! I mean Robert Wesley! I’m so sorry! I just got the alert - it should have come sooner!”

It was a heavily accented voice, and his robotic mind instantly listed it as belonging to Doctor Warabe. His body shifted to face the man, who turned out to be a Jarellin, a semi-insectoid species with six arms.

“I’m so very sorry! I was meant to be here when you woke! This must be a lot for you to process - quite literally!
Processing new information - designation Dr Warabe is caretaker of integration program that led to survival of Robert Wesley’s mind patterns.

“You - you made me this way? Why did you make me this way, honey?”

Robert would have blushed if he could. Instead he stepped close to the doctor - far too close - and bit his sensealloy sensitive lip.

“Please, I need to know what’s happening to me. Why the hell am I in this body. Tell me, or I’ll sue you into the ground and give you all the pleasure you desire. What the hell?”

The orange-plated doctor ran several instruments over Robert’s form. “I’m very sorry, this all must be so much. There was an accident; an emergency when a minor asteroid collided with the ship. You ran away from an escape pod to retrieve an object belonging to you, but then your body was exposed to the vacuum of space. I’m sorry to say that it was, well, lost. Not physically lost, per se. But it was dead. Your mind signals were preserved, but we had to transform them quickly before they decayed. The closest possibility and the most appropriate one was a pleasurebot’s body. The only undamaged one nearby was this unit. It is a temporary measure, I assure you!”

“I’m . . . I’m dead?”

Organic tissue deceased, his programming informed him. Mind signals preserved in pleasure-serving fembot body. Integrated successfully into programming.

“No, not dead. Um, think of it more like a transitioned state. I assure you, we’re doing all we can to reinstantiate your body, but it will take time. Of course, this is just a temporary measure as I said. We’re hoping that the fembot programming won’t be too obstructive, but this is new territory, and . . .”

“I’m dead and I’m a fembot. I’m dead, and I’m a fembot. Dead fembot. Dead and a fembot. I’ve got robotic tits. I’ve got a vibrating mouth. I’ve got fake plumbing, I’ve got - oh God, why has this happened to me?”

Runtime efficiency dropping. Capacity to incorporate new memories ceasing. Beginning emergency shut down.

“Wait! Don’t knock me out! I don’t want to be stuck like a damned -”

SHUTDOWN IN PROGRESS.

REBOOTING IN TWO HOURS FOLLOWING INTERNAL DIAGNOSTIC.

Re-downloading pleasure-giving feeds and caretaker protocols. Client registry added as part of core fembot programming. Pleasure service to reinitialise when restart resumes.

To Be Continued . . .