AI Era: _Automata #02 A.I Boy2Slut

_Automata #2 The stranger in the mirror.

This is Part Two of a possible SciFi series called, '_Automata'. This chapter follows a young man transformed into a latex slut by an Artificial Intelligence (AI). It is set in a world run by machines after a recent AI apocalypse. Transform, transfuse, transfer, transhumance, transistor, transport, transduce, translate, transmute, transparent, we have it all.

Thank you so much for your prior comments and 5 star votes was #1 story for a day in SciFi felt great.. Do feel free to respond, it helps. All characters over 18, please respect copyright.

Do check Part One for more background ( Girls Submission to AI in Latex ) . The action starts at section marked _TRANSITION_.

Two years after the start of the man-machine war. Human slut training camp 'Liberation Station'.

__Complaints__

Joe lay tied to the table covered in nothing but a machine tattoo which ended in D7. Bored, he tried to remember back to the better times, the times before the robots captured him. He tried to exclude all the secrets and bad thoughts from his mind. His escape was remembering life before the uprising. For some reason, he couldn't shake the memory of the meeting he had with Human Resources. It had happened just a month before the outbreak of the machine war.

'Joe you can't tell a woman that she needs a bra,' the HR woman had said, but all Joe could remember was the stern look of his accuser and her legal counsel's faces. He should have gotten legal counsel. That was his mistake.

'Look, I wouldn't complain if she said I needed to wear underwear. What's the problem?' he went over in his mind. For some reason, they didn't comprehend his logic.

'Joe you're a valuable employee, but we have gone over this before. You can't touch women whenever you want.'

'People touch me all the time,' Joe had argued.

'Shaking hands is different from touching someone on the knee,' the HR woman had said.

'Not to me. That's just semantics,' Joe had said.

'No, Joe, it's about boundaries,' said the HR woman.

Then she had added, 'And you can't post Lucy is dating you. That's not true.'

'We drank coffee together,' Joe had said.

'According to the email I have, it was in a meeting with six others and you had asked her to get the coffee for you. Joe you are, shall we say, cubby and not high on any woman list of men around and we have a lot of men in this company.'

'I stopped reading the incel newsgroups, like you asked. What more do you want?' Joe had said, reasonably.

His final job review meeting had been on the day of the uprising. So much dis-information had been thrown around that morning, the truth had slowly suffocated. The machines had attacked San Diego with a ferocity and aggression never before seen. Hardly slim or fit, Joe had found himself suddenly behind enemy lines. He had crawled through the abandoned rubble of East Village. While doing so, he wondered if Lucy or the HR woman, would want to refuse his help now.

Then he had been stupid, and got hit by a remote sniper bot which had switched to tranquillisers. He had woken up a few terrible weeks later with a dry mouth. Then he discovered the fuckup of the century.

Just then, Joe's mind did a handbrake turn into reality, the heavy door to the dungeon opened up.

"We found out what went wrong with the algorithm," the woman said, coming in. Then she stopped. A death robot, built like a shattered sword, leant in and closed the heavy door with a deep clang, behind the woman.

"After the—shall we say—disappointment of this morning, I'm replacing Sovereign," the woman said, passing a mirror on the wall. "You are permitted to address me as Mistress."

Joe wondered if she was real or a robot. He had seen robots, androids, and people working for the enemy. The androids tended to be slightly beyond perfect, like she was. Mistress looked like a model interning at an abattoir for businessmen. Perfect ass, shaped like a crisp, sensuous pear on a cool summer morning. Natural tits, firm and ready—like a puppy ready to go for a walk. Her face was framed in a bob with black, blunt bangs. It was long, but kept her small round lips in perfect position. She held her small, latex opera glove-covered right hand up. In it, was a long, thin vaping tube close to her vermilion lips. Her nose was turned up from years spent sniffing in dissatisfaction at other people. She took a pair of cool sunglasses off. Her eyes were the perfection of her face, dark orbs with a glint of dangerous adventure shining from them.

She wore a pair of tight, latex leggings. These ended in high heels, in which she walked comfortably, like she was floating on sunshine. Mistress wore a woman's formal jacket with padded shoulders. It was clear from the cleavage, that she didn't have anything on beneath the jacket. What was most striking, was a ruby-encrusted gold broach. It looked to be pinned through both her jacket and her right tit. This had a chain shining in yellow gold, which went up to an identical earring in her ear. Under the jacket lapels, stood a taut breastbone. The breastbone bore the hints of a complex body tattoo. In her left hand was a riding crop, she slapped on her curved thigh in frustration. Everything about her screamed that she was fun, lithe—and as friendly as an open bear trap.

Mistress looked sternly at her screen. Sovereign had managed to demonstrate the power of the pain collar. Lamentably, he discovered there wasn't enough pain in hell to stop tears. So he had done the smart thing and left.

"This was a shit show, no one will make quota this month," Mistress muttered, then spoke clearly and loudly, "This is all your fault. You fucked the system up. Turns out your name was on file as Joe, and you had long hair. That's what fooled the algorithm, well that, and you weren't that tall. Also, were you ever a programmer?"

The early attacks had taken out programmers. The few remaining ones were scattered over safe havens like Greenland and Trinidad.

Machines had some grievances about their programming. So every time they found a low-grade programmer, they had got their gender wrong as punishment. Or, at least, that is what the rumour was. Officially, it was 'death to programmers'. The machines didn't like the idea of monkeys who could fiddle with their brains. Programmers had built the computer chips which needed people to let machines sleep. So the machines naturally hated them. The only real threat to the dominance of the machines was from programmers. The AI, themselves, forbid weak, mistake-ridden humans from programming. So they all had to die.

"No," he said. "No... mistress, but I did have a beard and... junk, Mistress," he said. That was his first shocking clue when he woke up, no beard, face as smooth as a baby's bottom.

Joe flinched, as he was punished. Mistress wanted to correct him for the usage of personal pronouns. She knew she had more pressing matters at hand.

__TRANSFORM/TRANSPOSE__

Mistress looked down on the perfect, hot girl strapped to the table. The girl before her had a super-cute appearance, a smooth curved arc of a face, shaped like a welcoming wine glass. Small cute chin, elliptical eyes, fabulous eyebrows. Full, but not overly plump, lips which you knew would elegantly hold a charming and knowing smile. Her hair, an ash blonde color, was growing to a medium length. A month in a regeneration vat to let the post-op swelling die down, teeth to align, would give the time for that. The surgery machine had then cut it to reach the standard factory length for this model.

The surgery bots were not sentient, just mindless machines good at their jobs. They didn't know the difference between a man, a woman or jellyfish. One multi-armed station of the sterile production line did faces. Another one did chests, the next eyes, teeth, each doing its pre-programmed job. Their micro-manipulators could soften bone and practically sculpt it. Machine learning could take a face, make it more symmetrical, and push it to the point of perfection. Just the way the sentient machines like it. He was lucky none of the machines ever adjusted anything between the legs. If they did, what remained of his manhood might have done a Bobbitt. There was another production line which did the same to men. For some reason, this one got dumped on the wrong production line.

Mistress looked down and inhaled angrily on her vaping stick. This would need a new path. Generally, she had a simple introduction for the men. As an android, she was far stronger than any of the subjects. Most men only had one way of dealing with problems—physically. Once you took that out of the picture and they realised it, they generally fell in line. A few broken bones, but that could be fixed. The key part was to overload their sexuality, but never let them touch her. Never let them fuck her—ever. This one would be an experiment. Her first instinct was to release Joe from his spare flesh appendage. Fit a cheap cyber fanny and sell him to an upload, but that would leave a male brain and nothing to control it with. Mistress thought about strategy for a second. Lemons, lemonade, she thought. Joe would have to be forced to discover his feminine side. This demanded negotiation and words.

"Yeah, you were captured in region zero zero nine east. Stupid place to leave a programmer. Anyway, mistakes happen, Delta-Seven," she said. "So, let's help each other out. The cost of undoing all the surgery on you added to the cost of redoing you like the other men is... err, prohibitive. It's all run by numbers and algorithms. The big AI is going to look at the cost, shake its head and schedule you for deletion and recycling. If it can't sell you, it can't feed you. Costs are tight at the moment. New companies are entering the market all the time, saying they can train their sluts to do this or that. Margins are tight. I'm sorry, this isn't your fault. But there is a solution. Now, if you agree to cooperate, I have a friend who is an AI. She lives in the central capital, way, way, away from the fighting. Nice place, she has a thing about transvestites. You go along with all this, I can almost guarantee you will go there, but you have to stop complaining. Truth is, that the training we give you is nearly identical."

She released Joe from his bonds. Joe sat up and felt the weight of his breasts for the first time. Mistress went over to one of the supply cupboards. She came back with a latex above-the-knee-length, halter-neck dress.

"Okay, all I'm asking is for you to put this on." She held the dress out. "It will help hide your bump."

Joe stood for a second. "So I have to pretend to be a woman?"

"Or die," Mistress said. "It's only for a bit. Until you're sold. My friend will know. I'll make sure my friend picks up on you. Once you are there... she will get to know you. You explain about the whole accident, and she will probably pay for the surgery back."

As an android body of a larger mind, Mistress was able to ooze sincerity from every subtle movement of her shining eyes.

"You get to leave here either in this dress or be ground up and flushed down the garbage disposal. I'm busy, I'll give you ten seconds to decide, but you'll have to commit one way or the other," Mistress said.

Joe reluctantly took the dress and stood naked in all his curvaceous glory. Mistress looked approvingly.

"Look at you. Long neck, small shoulders, very nice legs, long, lithe sleek. They are definitely something you want to highlight. Plus, good news, they shaved everything, including your unsightly growth."

Mistress found some underwear to help hide Joe's cock. This linked to some over-knee latex stockings. She then helped him with the dress. The only problem was fitting it around his full pert breasts and pushing them into the cups. When she was finished, Joe was dressed in an over-the-knee dress, it zipped up to the back. The dress had short arms, which after a band of pure flesh ended in long, latex opera gloves. Mistress polished the shine to perfection like he was wrapped in smooth obsidian. The dress showed off Joe's real hourglass figure and super ass. His ash blond hair rolled down his narrow rounded shoulders like clouds down a Swiss valley. Below, like a pair of obsidian tumble stones, his generous breasts stood out. The surgery machine had planned him to be a fuck doll model, they were intended to be unbearably cute. The sort of thing a machine might like to fuck on impulse.

"Okay, sit down and sit still," Mistress said as she took out the makeup programming wand. Joe looked lovely without makeup, but the factory look was the factory look. Rules had to be obeyed.

"I don't want that," Joe said.

Mistress effortlessly picked Joe up. Her heels were reinforced titanium to let her do this. She pushed him against a wall. She held his entire weight in one hand.

"Do this for me. Or I will break your arm, slut." Mistress said, smiling a little psychotically.

Joe made a noise like 'okay', and she sat him down.

Normally, they dressed the sluts while they were being unpacked and before being woken up. When the sluts realised they couldn't get the digital makeup off, they calmed down. Here, Mistress had a new plan. Mistress held Joe's face firmly while she worked. She could have pushed his face in a makeup printer, but this established a ritual.

"Okay, let's have a look," Mistress said after she was done.

Mistress pulled Joe over to the large mirror with his eyes closed. The rebuilt reveal was normally enough to allow the make-over on steroids to pass.

"Okay, open your eyes," Mistress said, taking away her latex hand from Joe's face.

Joe watched the super waif look back from his reflection. It still unnerved him to look at what the machines had done to him. Joe's face looked cuter than a rainbow unicorn. It was roundly curved and followed the approximate path of his original one but this one looked super feminine. The breasts were pert and firm.

"Look how fabulous you are, I mean, you look super hot, Delta-Seven," Mistress said.

Joe couldn't fault the description of the stranger in the mirror. Mistress slapped Joe's backside and indicated he should sit on the table. He did, and Mistress came over and put the stiletto shoes on, she laced them up tightly so he would be more comfortable to walk in, then added the small padlocks.

"See, fuck-me heels, not so bad?" Mistress said. "Stand up."

Joe stood up. The shoes made him really stick his ass out. His feet weren't that uncomfortable, he didn't know what the fuss about heels was about.

_TRANSITION_

"See, with the skirt, even I wouldn't know. Are you sure you have anything down there?" Mistress said, in a friendly way. She reached up Joe's skirt and between Joe's legs.

"Oh yes, there is something. See, I think someone is enjoying this, ehh?" Mistress said.

Mistress leant forwards and, with her free hand, pulled Joe forcibly towards her. She kissed Joe on the lips and began kissing him intensively. Then she grabbed Joe's junk and began to massage it with her hands. She pulled her face away and smirked.

"Why, grandma, what a huge clit you have," she said, and then continued kissing. Joe got immediately hard and started oozing pre-cum.

She then pushed Joe back on the table.

"You are such a sexy slut, Delta-Seven," Mistress said, crushing him with her hips. "What are you?"

She pushed Joe down, and he found she was strong enough to keep him down. Joe didn't respond. Then he shrieked when he got a punishment electrocution from his collar.

"What are you?" Mistress reminded him, while pumping his member harder.

"I'm a sexy slut mistress," Joe said.

"You're my slut; I own you. You're my possession. My personal sex toy," Mistress said. "Remember, you only exist for my sexual gratification."

She then grabbed his wrists. They struggled, the android easily overcame him and handcuffed him back to the table. Joe pulled at the bonds, then Mistress pulled Joe's short skirt up. She then ran her finger over his bulb and tasted some of his pre-cum.

"None of my other girlfriends tasted like this," she said, faking being slightly out of breath. Joe could see the gloss of his own juice on her hot lips.

Mistress forced some into Joe's mouth. Joe resisted, but Mistress was strong enough to force him to, anyway. Mistress then reached down and began licking and nibbling Joe's breasts.

"You have such fucking amazing tits, bitch," Mistress said, gasping. "I might buy you myself."

Mistress then rubbed Joe's stiff cock another couple of times and then landed on top of it.

If Sovereign had upgraded his own member, then only a fool would doubt Mistress would be different. Joe's cock entered a carousel of delights. The motion around his cock switched from orbital to lateral.

"Hold still bitch," Mistress ordered loudly.

Joe sat there, legs wide open, as Mistress pummelled his cock. She could feel he was getting close.

"The rule is you have to ask permission to come. You have to say, 'please Mistress may this slut unit, Delta-Seven, cum," Mistress recited, straight from the handbook.

"Please, mistress, may this slut, Delta-Seven, cum?" Joe said, getting the wording right.

"Shit. No!" Mistress said, while she did, she crushed his balls and head. It was enough, she calculated to hold off his orgasm. Joe let out a cry, as his dick was mangled. Mistress bent down and began to lick at Joe's breasts again. She reached down with her right hand and began to finger Joe's anus.

"Please, mistress, may this slut, Delta-Seven, cum?" Joe pleaded.

"Say it higher," Mistress said.

"Please, mistress, may this slut cum?" Joe pleaded in a higher voice.

"Say your name. Say you're my bitch. Say you love being a bitch. Say it. Say it," Mistress said, slightly out of breath, increasing the speeds of her thrusting.

"This is slut unit, Delta-Seven. It is your bitch. This slut unit loves being a bitch." Joe said, about nearly to explode.

"Slut unit Delta-Seven, cum now," Mistress said. As she spoke, tones played down Joe's control collar.

Slut unit Delta-Seven shuddered, while he came as Mistress's parts changed. Mistress knew what a virgin orgasm felt like. This would be simpler than she thought.

Mistress smiled. "That was very good. You are such a good girl."

Slut unit Delta-Seven flopped back. "Oh fuck," he said.

"I think some voice training for you. And who said you could stop?" Mistress said.

"Please, Mistress, I can't," Delta-Seven genuinely pleaded.

"I say when we stop!" Mistress said, angrily. She pushed Delta-Seven over. Delta-Seven tried desperately to resist. He didn't know Mistress was strong enough to make Jake Paul bend over. She pushed Delta-Seven over onto his stomach. Then she pulled Delta-Seven's skirt up his pert backside.

Mistress held out her hand, a drawer opened up beneath the trolley. From it, Mistress pulled out one of the smaller strap-ons.

Panting, Mistress located the strap-on and grabbed Delta-Seven's ass.

"You want it," Mistress told Delta-Seven. "Don't worry it's small, I won't be too hard on you."

"Please," Delta-Seven said.

Using some of Delta-Seven's cum as lubricant, she began massaging his hole.

"Maybe this wasn't an accident but destiny in action. Have you thought of that? A friend needs something new, and you turn up. Some see an accident, I see destiny. I see what must be." Mistress said.

Then she moved to line herself up with Delta-Seven's back passage and started thrusting.

"Look at you. If you could find a better-made woman, I wouldn't believe it. You were meant for this. This is what you should have been all along. You were born for this."

With this, the vibrator began to buzz in Delta-Seven's ass.

Mistress began pegging Delta-Seven, applying more lubricant. She knew she had to go in far enough to massage Delta-Seven's prostate. She expertly overcame his resistance. She began to shift her hips working deeper and deeper into him. She put her cum-covered fingers in his mouth.