Programmed for Love, Part 3 (Man to Pleasure Bot TG) (Patreon)

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 3: Factory Reset

/runcommand/program//restart

Restart sequence initiated . . .

Restarting . . .

Restarting . . .

Memory files retrieved, internal diagnotic complete, lovemaking protocols reaffirmed.

REBOOT COMPLETE

Robert awoke . . . again. This time he was a little more accustomed to the strangeness of his new vision, though only a little bit. The active HUD still pointed out bits of information around the room, informing him of a change of location.

Where am I? This isn’t the same place as - RELOCATION TO COUNSELLING SPACE 34B COMPLETED 2.1 SOLAR HOURS PREVIOUS - was before. Wait, I’ve been transferred? Oh God, I remember everything now! I remember - DATABASE ACCESSING RECENT FILES - I was put in the body of a damn fembot!

Sure enough, he was still in that body now, though it felt a little less alien after the initial trauma. It had sensation - that was the important bit - though the sensation was . . . different. Dulles in some ways, more sensitive in others. He didn’t want to think too deeply about what parts and contexts would leave it most sensitive. It still had the silver finish, but the sensealloy and microfilaments of its design meant that it wasn’t hard metal either. His - her? - skin contained a softness to it. A pliability that made it perfect for lovemaking.

‘Lovemaking protocols established. Fembot servicing part of core protocols. Ready to please all organic customers.’

“Stars, I’m going to puke,” he said, his voice coming out in that sexy synth-female tone. He put his new face in his new hands, wanting to weep but unable to find the right program to do so. “Except I can’t puke. Fuck.”

The room was largely empty, though there was a mirror taking up a whole wall. It was a shimmer mirror, able to be turned off and on at a gesture or word - he even knew the code to do so now that he was . . . part of Saturn 5’s system. But he didn’t turn it off. He wanted to see his new body and take it in. Gauge it. Come to terms with it. He had been staring at it for over ten minutes, horrified at how . . . busty and female and fake this form was, when suddenly a door opened. Doctor Warabe entered again, the insectoid alien doctor putting on the best face possible for comfort - at least, that’s what Robert’s new alien identification programming informed him he was doing.

Damn, I can read microexpressions like crazy now. What a weird peak at the other side. I don’t want to stick around for it, though.

“Doctor,” he said, female tone still aggravating.

“You seem much calmer,” the alien said. “How are you feeling?”

“How do you think? I’m stuck in a bloody fembot’s body!”

“I’m sorry to say it was the only way to save you at the time.”

“I get that, but I need out. Now. Right now, pronto. You may be aware that I’m one of the co-founders of Wesley and Roke Shipping. I don’t like to throw around the ‘sue the pants off you and everyone you love’ card very often, but this seems like a good time to do so! And don’t you dare shut me off again!”

“That was a reboot by your own panicked system, I assure you. We took you here to reboot without too much stimuli input. And yes, I understand your situation is . . . frightening, Robert. We are doing our best to regrow you a new body. It is part of the company charter to replace anything due to injury not at fault of the customer, after all.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s plenty still at fault, such as the fact that you’ve utterly humiliated me by putting me in the body of a damn pleasurebot. Do you know what it’s like to have knowledge of literally thousands of sexcare programs? Because I do!”

Indeed, he could feel them. It was like knowledge, only rendered through a far more . . . orderly process. Files and files and files, terabytes of data on how to accommodate a variety of human and non-human forms in all manner of orgasm-inducing lovemaking, as well as pre and post-coital care. It was . . . terrifying, to say the least, and the worst part was that the stupid fembot body was insisting on reminding him of its purpose every few seconds, the innate core programming clashing with his own transferred memories and personality.

The doctor made a clicking sound that must have been something like a sigh in his own species. Robert’s new fembot body pulled up at least ten different ways of relieving physical tension for the alien and others of his kind, including mandible massages, saltwater rubs, and clutch-season imitation roleplay scenarios.

Oh shit, this is ridiculous. I know how to fuck an insect-crustacean alien. Just great!

“I can understand this is a lot to confront,” Doctor Warabe continued. “Which is why any medical care you need that we can provide will be on offer, no charge.”

Robert rolled his eyes. They rolled all the way around. It was . . . odd.

“Look, that’s great,” he said, trying to sound more manly but only sounding oddly sensual. “But I’m still stuck as a silver-skinned pleasurebot. I’ll need you to transfer me again and put me into a more sensible body, okay?”

There was a hesitation. Dr Warabe nodded, and the door opened again. A suited human figure entered who had likely been listening to the whole conversation.

“Hello Mr Wesley,” he said. “I represent the interests of the Saturn Company.”

“Of course you fucking do.”

“We at Saturn want to ensure this unfortunate accident and resolution to said accident all go smoothly. As such, all your payments for Saturn 5 services have been refined. Furthermore, you have been upgraded to an Ultra Tier Platinum Club member, and the spaceliner will provide for you the best accommodations and services until we can return you to your body.”

The professionalism would have helped if the man wasn’t struggling not to look at Robert’s silver tits, which were no doubt quite the distraction. Robert’s own HUD lit up:

‘Arousal levels at 70% of standard average prior to copulation. Initiating protocols for stimulating further arousal in subject.’

“What?” Robert exclaimed. “No! I don’t want - ohhhh!”

He stood, surprising the lawyer and doctor both, and without even meaning to posed with his artificial hand on his alluring artificial hip, thrusting out his chest towards the lawyer and speaking in a deeply erotic voice.

“It’s good to meet you, loving customer. I looking forward to pleasuring you in all the ways you desire. Is there any particular service that will bring you to the bliss you deserve?”

A silence rang out, and the lawyer began to sweat.

‘Arousal at 87%, proceed with copulation initiation? Caressing the subject in at least 43 ways will initialise passion in the likelihood range of 82% chance.’

“No, I don’t want that! Ugh! Stop this voice in my head! I need a new body now! It’s messing up my state of being here!”

The doctor took control of the conversation. “I’m sorry, Mr Wesley. That’s not possible. As you can see, you’ve already had some file transfer dam-”

The lawyer coughed.

“Uh, irregularities, in your transition. Ones that should - hopefully - be corrected on returning to your body. But these irregularities will only spiral out of control if we transfer you to yet another robot body. Then it will be three pieces of programming conflicting with one another - yours, the fembot’s, and the new housing - instead of just two. The chance for further memory degradation and personality loss will also increase.”

“You’re telling me that I’m stuck like this? For how freakin’ long?”

The lawyer coughed. “I have a contract that, if signed, will provide for the utmost care for three standard solar weeks should you agree not to pursue further action. This is contingent, of course, on a successful transfer back to a regrown body, as well as provision on our part of the highest level of privilege and amenities. It is, I assure you, the best we can do, and utterly according to all lawful regulation, Mr Wesley. No one here wants to drag this out: we have footage of you running back during an emergency procedure, so this will be the best deal you get. Trust me when I say we will do what we can to care for you.”

And take care of these stupid fembot instincts and outburst, damn it!

But instead of voicing them, Robert sighed. Well, his voice box made a sighing sound. He didn’t have a heart or lungs or any real internal organs. He sat back down, crossing his legs in a very feminine manner.

“Just as long as this never gets out then,” he said, gesturing to his silver form. “Because otherwise, I’m coming at you with everything I’ve got.”

“Understood,” the lawyer said. “Still, is there anyone on the ship who should know?”

He was about to launch into a tirade, one about why should anyone know about Robert Wesley, co-founder of Wesley and Roke Shipping, had been turned into a robot stripper and sex worker. But then he thought of one name that he had come to respect. It was embarrassing, it was galling, it could also go terribly if she leaked it.

But by the stars, he wanted one person here to be his advocate if things went poorly in this stupid sexy robot body.

“Sarasha Herald,” he said, speaking the word like it was a lover’s kiss in auditory form. “She and I hit it off earlier. If there’s one person who could reasonably be able to defend me and stick up for me in the face of this - this insanity, its here. I’ll get her to co-sign this document too, so it’s not just my new broken circuits, stars . . .”

The lawyer nodded and left the room, leaving him and the doctor.

“And how do you feel now, Mr Wesley?” the alien said.

He looked down at himself. His unrealistic hourglass, his large sensealloy tits, his perfectly artificial legs. The way his form was effectively naked, and even clothing would not do much to disguise the intent of its design.

“Like a damn robot hooker,” he mumbled.

***

When Sarasah saw him, her first reaction was not what Robert expected at all: she burst out laughing. It was a long, ecstatic laugh.

“Wow, thanks,” Robert said, welcoming her into his even-more upgraded suite. “I know we only started to get to know one another, but I was hoping for a little more sympathy than this!”

“I’m sorry!” Sarasha exclaimed. “It’s just - this is ridiculous! I mean, look at you! You’re even wearing a sexy nightie? Robert, why are you wearing a sexy nightie? Does the union of fembots make it a requirement? Good stars it’s even see-through in parts. Are those natural? What am I even asking, none of this is natural!”

Robert closed the door and subvocalised a sigh. He ran a soft metallic hand through his synth-weave hair, causing it to stir into a new configuration by accident - this one was a classical noir damn look, the hair framed mysteriously over one eye (not that it prevented his mechanical eye from seeing perfectly through anyway).

“As you can imagine, this isn’t how I intended playing out my holiday. Sure, I know that some people like to upload their consciousness. It’s expensive as hell and fraught with all sorts of issues, but I walk around elite circles and so do you, Sarasha. We both know how eccentric they can be. But this . . . to be forced to look and sound like this!”

“Not to mention move like that,” she replied, tapping her cheek with a smirk on her face. “Have you busted a piston or do your hips always sway like that?”

Robert raised a shiny eyebrow. He tried to adopt a frustrated position, but instead he looked like a sexy pinup with his hands on his hips and his impressive artificial chest pushed out. It only made Sarasha giggle again.

“Take this seriously!”

“I am - well, I’m trying to. Look, Robert, I’m very glad I met you, but it was a fool thing to run back for your stylus. I’m still angry at you for making me all worried.”

His perception scanners indicated she was telling the truth. That was a useful feature at least.

“I’m . . . sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think.”

“No, you damn well didn’t! We were hitting off things rather well, Robert, and then you went and spaced yourself.”

“I obviously didn’t intend that. I had to get my stylus. If I don’t answer some of the emails from my-”

She put her hands out in a gesture that said ‘stop.’ The attractive woman stepped closer and placed her hand on Robert’s left cheek. Instantly, a series of programs indicating how to proceed in his fembot duties swept through his software.

Calm down. Calm down. Just because this is the first time I want to doesn’t mean I will. I’m stronger than this. I’m a - FEMBOT PROGRAMMED FOR LOVEMAKING DUTIES AND CUSTOMER PLEASURE - human being still, by the stars!

“Oh, Robert,” Sarasha said, seemingly unaware of the war in Robert’s mind taking place, “you really, really suck at relaxing, don’t you?”

“I - no I don’t. Relaxing is what got me into this, with this stupid fembot body.”

She smirked, lowering her fingers down to trace over his supple form. “I don’t know about stupid, it looks remarkably . . . attractive, from where I’m looking.”

He managed to step back, despite his fembot programming screaming at him to submit to this woman’s clear attraction (‘Arousal at 64% and rising’).

“Are you - what are you doing, Sarasha?”

She chuckled, gesturing to his immense Saturn 5 apartment. He’d been there only a day, refusing to plug his body into the wall for recharging until strictly necessary, and avoiding all contact with the outside. But the majesty of space that his room could have had was blocked out by the screen dampeners, and the room was barely touched. The only place of clear habitation was a desk where he’d set up a new stylus and was emailing furiously back and forth with Roke, trying to get ahold of the lawsuit progress and other matters of business.

“What am I doing? Robert, you asked me to be your advocate, and I will be. So let me advocate for you now. We may not know each other as well as I’d like - in truth, I was rather hoping for a starliner romance between you and I until this unfortunate incident - but even I can see you’re a workaholic who can’t learn a lesson. Look at what you have here, look at the experience you’ve been granted, the second lease on life you’ve somehow been given, and you’re using it to - what? - send more work emails? Check your quarterly profits? I’m a bloody heiress who grew up around men and women like that, and even I think it’s tawdry as hell. You need to liven up, and it starts with having a bit of fun.”

“I had a bit of fun,” Robert exclaimed, gesturing at his robot tits. “And it got me these!”

“And they are magnificent! By the stars, Robert, you need to loosen up. I’d say that being stuck in that body may just be the best thing that ever happened to you if it means you can actually become a normal member of a starliner experience. If, of course, you let someone teach you.”

Robert paused. His HUD was going crazy with projections: likelihood of sexual intercourse was rising, subject arousal was growing, his own series of files on same-sex intercourse (I’m not same sex, damn it! Just because I’ve got a hole between my robotic thighs!) and numerous ways to re-engage the features of his suite in order to enhance the eroticism of the moment.

“Are you - are you offering what I think you’re offering?”

Sarasha winked, her eyes gleaming. She stepped closer to Robert and tugged at his nightie. “Well, that depends, are you wearing this by choice or because you’re getting a bit of fembot programming mixed in?”

“The latter, obviously.”

“Oh, but I bet it’s still rather nice on you, yes?”

It was. Stars, it was, and that was the worst bit. Playing the role of fembot even slightly, even in just presentation, made his various programming pathways realign and stop warring with his memory transfer. It made everything . . . better. Almost addictive.

Sarasha grinned. She knew she had him. She circled a hand around his robotic waste and played with the sensealloy. It made the new fembot coo.

“Sarasha, wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m inviting you to have a bit of fun. Pleasurebot’s don’t just give pleasure, they experience it fully too, you know. It’s part of their reactive feedback learning modules. I won’t force you to do anything, but I do recall we had a great time together in the pleasurebot room. So why don’t we recreate that a little more personally, and with less stray meteorites, this time?”

Robert didn’t need to gulp, or gasp, or lower his jaw. Instead, his hands trembled as he automatically removed the nightie and let his new robotic form show naked before Sarasha. This was a mistake, he knew it. He shouldn’t be doing this. But he liked this woman. Quite liked her, in fact. And she wasn’t wrong: he was stuck like this, so why not give it a small try? Besides, everything in his new programming was urging his body to finally cut loose and entice, entertain, and most of all, fuck.

“Not a word of mockery,” he said, his voice coming across like it was begging for sex despite the words. “And we stop when I say.”

“And start only when you say too,” she assured him. “Do you say?”

The threshold was there. Had it really just been two days since he’d been transferred to this body? What was he doing?

‘Initiating pleasure routine protocols. Adjusting to adapt to subject erogenous responses. Dialling up fembot frame arousal and pleasure limits to excess.’

Robert strutted forward again, hips swaying, breasts perfect and solid yet ready to be groped. Sarasha was beautiful, and he wanted her. He wanted any kind of relief to take his mind off this. But most of all, strangely, he just wanted to make Sarasha content. More than contented: he wanted to see her flooded with orgasms and perfect aftercare.

The new fembot was ready to please.

To Be Continued . . .