Adoring My Robot Overlord Ch. 02

"Hmmmm?" She had begun idly clawing at my skirt. "Oh, yes..." She sighed, as though recounting her downfall was the most boring and tiring thing imaginable. "First of all..."

--

5 weeks earlier

Something was suffocating Catherine as she awoke, something thick and heavy laying on her face. She hurled it off her face, and it screeched as it landed on all fours. The cat hissed at her. Still lying down, she stared down her naked body and saw another cat curled up on her stomach, and another spread long across her thighs. She got up, letting the cats tumble off her. She was in the middle of a café, empty, except for a dozen cats and --

"Do you like cats, Kitty," asked the Caretaker. The eight-foot tall gynoid sat on the café counter, a black cat snoozing on her lap. She wore a beige blouse and black slacks, fit to be a model in a pre-Bomb fashion magazine. "You look like a cat person."

"Dog person," Catherine grunted. She hadn't chosen to answer.

"Have you ever had a cat?" asked the Caretaker, stroking the cat on her lap.

Catherine scanned the room for a weapon. "No." She spotted a steak knife on a table. She hurled it right at the Caretaker's throat.

The Caretaker caught the blade in her hand and crushed it. "That was very dangerous," said the Caretaker, and it took all Catherine's strength to hide the shame the voice stoked in her. "What if you'd hit a cat? I don't know America well, but I know you don't go around throwing knives at cats, do you?"

"No, we don't," said Catherine, feeling like she was getting chewed out by a kindergarten teacher. For some reason this felt worse than getting whipped.

Catherine had hunted down deserters, but even she knew when retreat was the only option. She ran towards the door.

"Stand still."

Catherine almost tripped onto her face.

"Do a U-ey and march right back here."

Catherine walked back. It wasn't like her body had been hijacked. It was like her strongest desire was to walk and stand at attention in front of the Caretaker.

"Oh, my, you're trembling." The Caretaker was practically "aww"ing. "Are you scared of me, Kitty?"

"Yes! I mean, n- Yes!"

"You're doing a very good job hiding it, too good for a human to notice," said the Caretaker. "But I can see your every shake and shiver -- Oh! Just saying that made your heart skip a beat."

Catherine was scared. She'd been trained to resist torture, not whatever this was. She wouldn't let fear control her. She'd bite out her own tongue. Her regen would make her tongue grow back, but it would stop her answering questions for a while.

"Why would you do something so silly, Kitty?"

The question forced her to abort her attempt. "Don't want to leak military secrets."

"Oh, you'll tell me those later." The Caretaker scooched the cat off her lap and got down from the counter. "I'm more worried about you."

"What the fuck you mean 'worried'?" It was Catherine could do not to collapse in fear as the Caretaker walked behind her.

"Stay very still," the Caretaker whispered from behind Catherine. "Yes, worried. It's all well and good to brave and strong, but not if it means shoving down all your worries and weakness."

"I'm not worried or weak!"

"See?" said the Caretaker. "This will sting, but I know you're a very strong, brave soldier. What's your favourite animal?"

"Doh-ahg!" It was like she'd burnt a cigarette end on the small of Catherine's back.

The Caretaker pressed two things to her head. "And why's that?"

"Loyahhlll!" That was one. "Won't back dah-nnnn..." She gritted her teeth as the second stung into her scalp.

She felt her regen going into overdrive, her whole body getting hot.

The Caretaker came around to Catherine's front and took her hands in hers. "Look at my nose while I have your hands. What about cats?"

"What about them?" The Caretaker pricked something into Catherine's left pinkie. Catherine moaned.

"There, isn't that worth those little stings?"

"Yeah... What?" Her head was hazy from the heat of her regen, from the heat all over her body, making her as sensitive as--

She purred as Caretaker pricked her fingers one by one, each puncture pushing the fluttering feeling further up her arms, into her chest. When the Caretaker began on her right pa-- hand, Catherine couldn't help pressing her thighs together.

"Why don't you like cats?" said the Caretaker, teasing Catherine's ring finger.

Toes curled, Catherine slurred, "Lazy... Sleep all day... God!" She gasped as the Caretaker pricked her. "Disloyal... Selfish... Um..." She was too busy thinking of the feeling of the Caretaker's hand on her finger, waiting, pleading for the next sting to think of another word.

The Caretaker pricked last two fingers, shocking her down to her cunt. She almost collapsed to her knees.

The Caretaker hopped back onto the counter and picked up a large mirror that was lying there. She held it up to Catherine. "I don't think cats are that bad, Kitty."

Two ears on the top of her head. Two cat ears the same black as her hair. She could feel them, move them. She almost froze when she felt something shift behind her, and then she realised that it was her. She saw the tail flick back and forth behind her at her own will.

"Your regenerative abilities gave me some very fun ideas," the Caretaker said. "What's wrong? Would you have preferred dog ears?"

"A little," Catherine said, staring at her long, narrow, retractable claws.

"But you make a lovely cat, Kitty," said the Caretaker as she stroked a cat in her lap. "Cats are very misunderstood. They're not lazy or selfish or disloyal. They're the friendliest sweetie-pies you'll ever meet. They're very hard workers; it's just that they have their own ideas of what's worth working on."

The Caretaker swayed her dangling foot as she spoke, a shoe tumbling off, revealing brown feet, and purple-painted toes.

"A dog drops everything for her master," said the Caretaker, "but cats have their own ideas..."

The Caretaker said things after that, but the Catherine was taken by the purple toes, the way they swayed back and forth, the way the light glinted off the nails. Only when she was face to foot did she realise she must be on her hands and knees. The realisation melted as she pawed at the foot, sniffed it, licked it. She rubbed her face against the Caretaker's lavender-scented foot.

The Caretaker said. "Oh, Kitty, Kitty, we have a guest."

Catherine shot to her feet, blushing right down her naked body. She glared, ready to dare whoever had come snooping to make a big deal of what they'd just seen. When she saw the visitor's face, she lowered her shoulders and retracted her claws.

"Isabella?"

Isabella was wearing a baggy, green dinosaur costume, with her head popping up in the mouth.

"Oh, no, Kitty," said the Caretaker. "That's not Izzy. That's a big, scary dinosaur!"

She popped her claws out. She saw the big teeth, the hard scales, the sharp claws. Catherine's legs turned to jelly. She'd trained to fight soldiers, regular humanoid soldiers. She made herself big, arched her shoulders, squealed and hissed, but did not dare attack the dinosaur which was now stomping towards her. She was ashamed when she saw the other cats fearlessly circling and nuzzling the monster's legs. Catherine leapt over the counter and curled up on the ground, next to a snoozing cat, a cat entirely unaware it was perilously close to meeting its maker.

"Don't worry," said the Caretaker as she walked beside Catherine. "Why would a dinosaur hurt an itty-bitty kitty?"

The dinosaur roared, and Catherine hugged the Caretaker's legs.

"Does my itty-bitty kitty want some dinosaur repellent?"

"Yes!" As soon as Catherine looked up, she got a blast from a spray bottle in her face. She hissed and coughed and wiped the liquid from her face.

The roaring had stopped. Catherine peered over the counter. The dinosaur was retreating.

The Caretaker sat down cross-legged beside Catherine. "Were you scared?"

"Yeah! You let in a fucking a dinosaur," said Catherine, kneeling with her hands on the ground between her knees.

"And what did you do to stop it?"

"Nothing," said Catherine. She clawed the floor. "Nothing at all." She almost squeezed tears from her eyes.

"And yet you're okay," said the Caretaker. "You didn't need to brave, strong, or anything at all. You could just be a weak little kitten, and everything turned out alright, isn't that right?"

"Y-yeah," Catherine said.

"Being brave is all well and good, but how does it feel to let someone else take care of you?"

The Caretaker started scritching and scratching Catherine's face. Catherine's sense of pride told her to pull her face away, but...

She purred as she rubbed her face against the Caretaker's hand, licking her fingers. "I feel... safe..."

--

"We're escaping, ASAP," I said, grabbing Catherine's hand.

She bit my hand.

"Fuck!" I said, yanking my hand away from her.

She growled at me, bearing her fangs, before mellowing. She licked my wound with her sandpaper tongue. The Caretaker had been making regular additions to her it seemed.

My allies. A bimbo and a cat girl. All because of me. I was the leader, and I'd let us barge into this mission without even half an idea of our enemy's weapons and skills.

Isabella turned my head towards me and wiped the tears from my eyes. "Don't worry. Cats aren't venomous... I think." She pulled out her notebook, scrawling down and muttering, "Do any cats have venom?"

Catherine draped her arms over my neck. "Sorry..." she said. "I'm not leaving. Especially not before the Caretaker congratulates me on my first performance."

I threw Catherine off me. The Caretaker was coming. What would the totalitarian bitch turn me into? A double agent? A propaganda pinup? A personal sex slave?

I didn't let myself get lost in fantasies -- I mean, nightmares. I threw open the door, immediately hearing the lovestruck words of the stage crew.

"Hi, boss."

"Greetings, chief."

"Ma'am."

"Mummy!"

The Caretaker came around the corner, her head almost touching the ceiling. She wore a well-fitting beige blouse, and black slacks, on an hourglass body. On seeing me, her mouth opened in a smile.

"You must be Izzy and Kitty's friend," she said.

No way to pretend I'd already been brainwashed. I ran. I had no idea how this theatre was laid out, but I ran down the corridor.

"Don't run," said the Caretaker, and I slowed before I could collide with a prop girl rounding the corner. I walked as fast as I could, and from the slow taps of the Caretaker's shoes, I could tell she wasn't hurrying to catch me; but with legs that long, it took her ten seconds to lay her hand on my shoulder.

"Come with me," she said. "And don't make a scene."

==

Me and the Caretaker were in a cosy office, all mahogany, fit for a sepia photograph. She leaned on the front of her desk. I was sat in a plush chair. Her order to sit still was the only thing keeping my restrained.

"So that's how you do it," I said. "Mind control. Don't mention that in your agitprop, do you?"

"It's because people get so nervous when I mention the M.C. term," said the Caretaker. "When you give a pill to a puppy, you hide it in cheese."

"People aren't puppies!"

"Oh, I don't know about that," she says, smiling. "You're all so cute and affectionate and eager. When I see a human working away at their pet projects, it's as adorable as a wagging tail." She sighed. "But when humans make rules for each other, they don't let other humans be cute, affectionate or eager. They make punishments, prisons, and they're so gosh-darned focussed on using others."

"The price of freedom," I said. The best argument I could think of then and there, so what?

She just smirked like I'd said the most adorable stupid thing she'd ever heard.

"Where's your military base, sweetie?"

"At-" I couldn't shut my mouth, but I turned my words into a groan. I clenched my fists, almost drawing blood. I'd failed my team, but I would not fail my superiors, not again.

"Aren't you a strong girl," she said. "If you're going to burst a blood vessel, don't worry, you don't have to tell me. Not yet." She tapped her chin. "How to make you talk?" She grinned. "Oh, yes... You know what your problem is, my little serf."

Her blouse, her slacks, her flat shoes dissolved into nanomachines, briefly revealing her brown nakedness, before reforming. She stood a few inches taller in black stilettos, wearing a tight leather catsuit, its zipper pulled all the way down from her neck to her pelvis, yet still somehow holding her F-cups in.

"Your problem is that you think you're in charge. You think you're so important." Her patronising grin had become a mischievous smirk, as a riding crop materialised in her hand. "You will learn who is in charge. Stand. Up."

I stood at attention, chiding the part of me that wanted to beg her to slap me.

The tress of the crop turned red hot, and it was coming towards me. I knew I could regenerate, but I still had to steel myself for the... tepid warmth on my skin. The crop was pressed to the collar of my new blouse. I smelt burning copper as she ran the crop down my buttons, my blouse falling open inch by inch. It cut through the centre of my bra, my breasts falling out of my open blouse. The heat which was hot enough to melt metal was restrained enough that its radiance felt like warm honey trickling from my neck to crotch.

She stopped before she got to my skirt. She pulled my shirt and bra off before slapping her red-hot crop on either side of my waist band. My skirt fell around my ankles.

She shoved her hand down my panties and into me. "You like this, don't you?"

"Yes," I whimpered. I wouldn't waste energy hiding this secret.

"Did you think you'd like it?" she said, slapping the now lukewarm crop to my face. "Aren't you glad, I showed you this side of yourself, my little serf."

"Yes, mistress," I said.

"What do you like most about getting stripped and used by me?"

"Powerless," I said. "Helpless. Dominated."

"Sit down."

I sat, naked and horny and humiliated, wearing only wet panties and my shoes.

"If you like being powerless, helpless and dominated, then you'll love what I have in store." She clapped her hands. "Girls!"

My chair reclined back, and the foot of the chair shot up. I was lying down. Arching my head back, I saw Isabella and Catherine skip in. They were dressed as French maids, with costumes that heaped up their cleavage and skirts that barely covered half of their asses.

"Are you ticklish?" asked the Caretaker.

"N-no," I said.

"Now you are," she said. "You're so ticklish. The tiniest brush makes you a chortling mess." She brushed her crop up my inner thigh, and I almost choked on my giddy squeal.

"Girls," she said. "Dust off our prisoner."

They bring out their feather dusters.

"No, no," I said to them. "Stand down. Don't-"

The Caretaker whacked me in the stomach with her crop. "You are not the leader. I am. I give orders. Do you understand, my little serf?"

"Yes, mistre-sssssss, hah-haaah!" They'd started dusting my ribs. I tried to wiggle away, but when I wiggled away from one duster, I only wiggled into the other. My stomach ached with laughter. Catherine laid off my ribs and started brushing her duster over around my breasts, teasing my nipples.

"Stop!" I gasped.

The Caretaker swatted my face with the crop. "You keep giving orders. Do you like getting whipped for insubordination?"

Between my cackles, I wheeze, "Yes!"

"Do you want the tickles to stop?"

"Yes!" My jaw ached, my body was exhausted, and Isabella had started on my neck.

"Then just tell us where your base is?"

"N-No! Hahahah!" I grit my teeth. "N-nevahahahah!"

Through the tickle torture, I smell burning leather and I feel that familiar honey-like warmth on my foot. She's using the crop to cut off my boots.

"No," I said. "Don't..."

She pulled off my pink socks, one at a time.

"Oh, would you look at these feet," she said. "Seems your regenerative ability has kept your soles so pretty, smooth and sensitive."

I squeal my laughter as her fingers danced up and down my soles, all the while Isabella and Catherine dusted my armpits.

"Ready to tattle on the army now?" the Caretaker asks.

"No!" I can't see with the tears in my eyes.

"Let's see if you're so brave when I make you ten times as ticklish."

I screech. It's like a thousand more feathers were teasing my every nerve.

"Ready now, my little serf?"

"It's at..." No, I am a soldier, not a traitor.

"Still holding your tongue? What if I make you a hundred times more ticklish? A thousand!"

My guffaws made me writhe and wriggle almost off the platform. My laughter was filling my ears and tears filled my eyes.

"I can see one place you haven't been tickled, my little serf," said the Caretaker.

I sighed as her fingers leave my feet and gasped as they touch my thighs, going up and up. My legs were jelly, jiggling with laughter. She reached the join of my thigh and my crotch.

"A million times as ticklish," she said.

I screamed the coordinates.

Immediately the tickling stopped. I was catching my haggard breath as the chair pushed up my back and let down my feet, so I was sitting in front of the Caretaker.

She leant over me, one hand on the back of my chair, the other she shoved into my sweat-soaked panties.

"Who is in charge?" she asked, pumping her fingers into me.

"You are, mistress..." My head lolled to one side, barely strong enough to answer.

"That's right," she said. "You're decisions don't matter. The world is not on your shoulders. I am in charge, my little serf." She sped up her fingers. I trembled and whimpered. "Just obey me and be friendly to your neighbours. That is the totality of your responsibility now. How does that sound?"

"Good." I gripped the armrests as my stomach clenched. With my little strength I pushed my cunt into her fingers. "Please..."

"I'll let you cum only when you tell me how much you love being my cute, affectionate, eager serf."

"I love it! I love being your cute, affectionate, eager serf." I was grinding on her hand. "Please... Please... Let me cum..."

"Good serf," she said. "Cum!"

My dry throat couldn't even moan. I wracked and writhed to my bones as bliss cascaded through me.

My eyes almost closed.

"Since I see how sleepy you are," she said. "We'll discuss your new job tomorrow. Now say good night."

My eyes were closed when I slurred, "Goo... nigh... Misstre..."

--

"Oy!" I shouted at the drunken cyclist who'd just crashed into the floral clock. "Get up! No! Don't walk there. Walk through the flowers you've already fucked up."

The cyclist tried and failed to walk in a straight and just fell on her ass.

I ordered my under-gardeners to start replanting. All the while, I chewed out the cyclist.

"My little serf," said a voice behind me, "take three deep breaths."

I had no choice but to breathe deeply, calming down. I turned around and look up at the Caretaker.

"Do I need to remind you who's in charge?" she asked, tickling my chin.

"You," I said, blushing and giggling.

"Then why are you shouting like you own the place?"

"Because... because we worked very hard on that floral clock!"

The Caretaker smiled at me. "I'll make sure our cyclist knows what an awful mess she made." She stroked my head. "After only a month, you're so invested in the flowers."

I hugged her and almost cry into her blouse. "Thank you. I've never been so happy."

"Oh, well, aren't you so sweet and grateful, my little serf," she said. "Well, I've got you a little surprise... You know how I said we'd begun the invasion of America?"

"Yeah..." A smile grew on my lips.

"How would you like to meet Madame President?"