All of My Maids are Robots? Pt. 01

"Yes, venison should do. And a cake," Marci said, nodding. "One only turns eighteen once."

"Has he...asked about the, ah, other guests?" Polly whispered, her voice soft.

"Of course he hasn't," she snapped. "And the other guests haven't inquired twice after I told them that Master wishes to take his birthday party alone. This is our last chance to get through to him." She sighed. "I hope it works..."

"Hey, worst comes to worst, we can-"

"For the last time, we cannot send him into the army!" Marci snapped. "Can you imagine the...ugh." She shuddered from head to toe. "We're fortunate our Dora is so stolid, I'm shocked she hasn't pitched him out a window..." She shook her head, then turned and swept away.

Major douche, I thought.

Polly hummed, then turned and walked towards where I was hiding. I shifted a bit to the side -- but it was too late. Her fans whirred a bit louder. Then, hesitantly. "...young Master?"

"Uh, hey, hi! Hello!" I said, blushing.

"Master, are you all right?" she asked. "You sound..." She paused. "...is that an...American accent?" She paused. "No, not quite..." She stepped around the tube, looking at me, and cocked her head a bit, her fans whirring a bit louder. I coughed, then adjusted my collar.

"Well, uh..." I said, trying to sound as much like Johnny Depp as I could. He was English, right? ...oh shit, I just realized, I didn't know if Johnny Depp was British or not. Still, Jack Sparrow was British right? No, shit that was pirate. Fuck. "I...I just...am having a nice day out and, uh, you're looking..." I paused. If I wanted to be in character, I'd have to call her a tub of lard or something. But, like, she was a robot. She had clearly gone to great efforts to give herself the best tits in the universe, what kind of absolute asshole would shit on her for that? "Good!" I said, nodding.

"Good?"

I nodded. "Quite. Good."

Polly cocked her head, then grinned. "What, did you get your mind transposed with some pauper from one of the American colonies or something, master?" she asked, laughing softly.

"...yeah, actually," I said, taking refuge in audacity. Polly laughed, then put her hands on her hips.

"No, but really..." She narrowed her eyes. "Is this some kind of a prank?" She frowned. "Did you convince some of your friends to come by and they're going to all laugh at your Polly? I wasn't build yesterday!" She thrust her finger at my nose. "I threw an applecore at Old Bones Apart, I'll have you know!"

"Who?" I asked, cocking my head.

She blinked. "...Napoleon," she said, slowly, then stepped closer. Her breasts mashed up against my chest and...okay. So. I'm a total gay disaster? Like, you're allowed to be gay as hell for girls if you're trans, that's allowed under Article B of the Queer Articles of Alliance. And so, feeling this soft, squishy, exotically gorgeous girl pressing up against me while she was also naked and also interrogating me (which, lowkey, one of my kinks, really!)...well...uh...I reacted. My cock hardened and my cheeks burned as she narrowed her glowing eyes at me. They didn't have eyelids, her projections just narrowed themselves, leaving some of the glassy material of her eyes dark.

Then she grinned, slightly. "Georgetta is going to have your hide for skimping on your history books, young master," she said, laughing. "I..." She paused. "Oh, what's this, did you find some...thing in..." She trailed off, looking down. "Master!"

"S-Sorry, it's just, ah, you're a very fine...uh...lady!" you say.

"...did you hit your head?" she whispered. "Are you...was I right?"

I blinked.

"About the mind swap thing?" she asked. "It was in a book I read once!"

"...honestly?" I said. "...yes?"

She narrowed her eyes again. Her hands went to her hips and she stepped backwards. I could hear her fans revving up a bit. "Prove it," she said, her voice soft. "I've been hurt by you too many times, young Master. All of us have. And if this is just another one of your childish, mean spirited, cruel pr-"

I kissed her.

Okay.

So.

While my mouth was pressed to her soft, plush, dicksucking lips, I found that they had a faintly rubbery texture to them. They were also quite warm. And she had tongue. Like. An actual tongue, which pressed against mine as she kissed me back, her gloved hands gripping my hips. But while I kissed her, the first girl I had ever kissed since a single horrible prom night that had led to three ass kickings and two broken ribs in a row, my brain was whirling...and the question that was foremost at my brain was: Wait, seriously? You went to smootch as proof?

Yes. Well.

This was a dream? Right?

You could be confident in dreams. You could be...well, not quite yourself in dreams. But while I might not have been a girl, yet, I was certainty more feminine than I had been. And she was soft. And warm. And as her tongue pressed against the roof of my mouth, my hands dipped down, finding that her rump was delightfully squeezable. She had added cushioning there, and as I squeezed her, she moaned into my mouth, the revving of her fans getting hotter and more eager. I drew my mouth back, only because I needed hair, and she whispered against my mouth -- breathless, but eager. Her lips still didn't move. "Well. I need...even more proof than that, young Master..."

I pushed her backwards, out of the little meat vats, and to a large set of brushes, kissing her desperately with each step, while her hands tugged at my clothing, her fingers fumbling. The two of us slipped down into the shade of the bushes, and I broke the kiss to rear backwards, rolling my shoulders as her hands flicked twice -- sending her gloves slithering off her body. She panted quietly, whispering. "It's been a long arse time since I've been with a human, and Stars, I miss it..." She pushed at my top and I nodded. "And by jove...you...are as sexy as you are infuriating, Master..."

I grinned. "Well. I'll try and one up the bastard by being only the former." I slid my top entirely off and panted. Yeah, I didn't have tits. But you know what I also didn't have? A pair of pecks that made me feel so dysphoric I wanted to gouge my skin off. I didn't have two hairy tree trunks for arms. I was...dainty. And sleek. I was a fucking twink.

A hairless.

Pale.

Sexy.

Twink.

Close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades, I thought.

"Oh Master..."

"C-Can you call me Mistress?" I whispered, softly. Confidence. Dreams. All that.

"Oh, aye," she murmured, softly, without even blinking. Okay, best reality ever. I wriggled out of my leggings as she slithered out of her apron. And goddamn, she had a pussy. And not just a pussy, the cutest pussy I'd ever seen in real life. Which, okay, was still the first pussy, but...she was slippery and she was wet and she had that delicious rubbery texture that I'd have expected to see on, like, a fleshlight? Except that went from being 'kinda sad' to 'super fucking hot' the instant that it was between the thighs of an eager, gorgeous robot girl. I leaned down, without thinking, cupping one knee and lifting her thick thigh up as I buried my face between her legs and began to lick at her pussy.

And oh yes.

She tasted like strawberries.

My eyes closed and I found her robo-clit and I sucked on her, my tongue sliding out and licking at her as she drew a sharp, short gasp -- of pleasure and shock both. "M-Mistress!" She squeaked, her toes curling above my head as my eyes looked up the curvy expanse of her body into her glowing eyes, which were slowly growing hooded. Her leg kicked slightly as I licked again, lapping from the base of her sex to her clit again, tasting all of her. "Oh...Mistress..." She moaned, her fingers grabbing onto my hair and I could just almost imagine it was a girl's head she was gripping as she forced my head down between her thighs.

I ground my own dick against the grass, working myself there. Without a single estrogen pill under my tongue, I masturbated by grinding. Can you believe I hadn't cracked my egg until last year? I had just thought all boys were like this.

My tongue delved into her again and again and again, while the hand of mine that wasn't busy holding up her thigh reached up and found her breast, squeezing her softness. I could feel the faint seams between the parts of her body, though -- her belly was one segmented plate, connecting to others, with faint seams between them, adding to the doll-like, robotic construction of her. And as I licked and licked and licked, she continued to moan. "Mistress...mistress, ha...ah...ah, you shouldn't, I...I am to serve you, ah, don't stop!"

Which was an...intensely erotic combination of orders.

I'm a bad person. Tell me to not do something while also begging me to do it just makes my brain go from horny to H OR N T instantly.

Her fingers tightened and she clapped her hand over her mouth -- though I wasn't sure if that was really required. She had a speaker somewhere in there, and...yet, somehow, she managed to control herself as I rolled her nipple between my fingers, squeezing the rubbery eagerness while my tongue thrust into her sex...and she came. Hard. Her pussy twitched and her juices frothed into my mouth, tasting even more strongly of strawberries. I drank her down, moaning softly as I ground myself harder against the grassy floor. Polly, her voice faintly dazed, murmured. "Mistress...oh mistress, please, please, I...ah, Stars, I owe you."

Hmm.

She raised a good point.

Dick in robot girl mouth good?

Yes.

Good.

Okay, maybe she wasn't the only one who was dazed.

I drew my dripping lips backwards and grinned. "Do...you want to suck my dick, Polly?" She nodded eagerly, and I could see that her cheeks were flushed. But they were flushed by, like, projected light. Like, I could see it glowing against her skin. I laid back and watched as she swung herself around. Her hands closed around my throbbing cock and...god, I was so fucking horny, but...also, I...was...I was hoping...

I was hoping this dream might get even better. I wasn't sure what I wanted her to do more, for her first kiss to turn my cock into a cute little pussy or...or just to...to just have more than what I had in real life. But then all thoughts left my brain in a single fleeting shot, blazing out as her mouth opened and her slightly segmented, faintly glowing tongue emerged, wrapping itself around the tip of my cock like she was a particularly sexy, robotic snake. My eyes went crossed and she sucked my entire cock into her mouth with a single, smooth push. Her throat bulged slightly and she groaned, her voice sounding muffled as her eyes closed. She began to bob her head with a fierce determination -- and I felt the pressure rising, rising...

I grunted.

And it felt like the pressure that had been building inside of my body had hit its peak and I 'came.' I put it in quotes, because it's...not awesome? It's not the pleasure that I've heard other boys talking about. It's just a grunt, then the pressure fades. And Polly was so good that there wasn't even much build up -- which can be kinda fun. I sagged back, faintly, my cock twitching slightly as I watched her slide back. She didn't swallow -- instead, the cum dribbled around her lips and splashed onto her breasts as she swept her hands along her breasts, squeezing them. "Hows that?" She asked, her voice cheerful. "Did mistress enjoy his blowjob?"

"I...y-yeah..." I said, slightly shaken.

If this was a dream, I should have woken up by now. Or like, maybe felt a real orgasm?

"...can this dream last until I transition?" I asked, chuckling nervously.

Polly paused, then turned, picking up her apron -- and pausing to spit my cum out into the bushes. She turned back to me. "Lets get you to Miss Hope."

***

The interior of the mansion was just...fucking ludicrous.

I'm not just talking about the sheer scale of it, nor the massive portraits of unsmiling noblemen, nor the fact that the entire thing was done in gilt and gold and baroque finery. Nor was it the fact that I saw at least two other robots -- a tall, intimidating looking girl robot in a fine uniform and a cylindrical marching band hat that stood by the front doors and somehow managed to look completely bored without any moving lips and a girl in a cute maid outfit that just...was pure sex incarnate.

No.

It was the fact that, as I came to the sitting room that Polly led me towards (wearing her apron and nothing else, I hasten to add), I noticed that the sitting room was heated and lit by a crackling fireplace...that was a fucking hologram. It had the tiny lines and everything that most CGI designers used to indicate that something was a hologram in a Star Trek show or something. It was higher quality than the holograms in Star Wars, but that just made sense, Star Wars was the shit version of space, don't at me. I was instructed to sit by Polly, who then bustled out of the room and I sat there, feeling as if moving might be some huge faux pass.

Surely, this carpet was too expensive for me to stand on.

I looked around the room. There were bookshelves, with books on them. I squinted, unwilling to disobey Polly, and narrowed my eyes as I tried to read the titles.

An Account of the Battle of Fomalhaut in Riveting Detail.

The Cosmic Forge: On Stars, Their Formation, Their Lives, their Deaths

Lock Bayonets and Charge: The True History of the 95^th Rifles in the Battles against the Tyrant

Metal Horrors! A Xenotaxonomy of the Spinward Menace

The Mathematics of Solar Sailing

Perchance, Prometheus: Articles of Voltic Engineering and Elementary Transmutative Chemistry

The War of the Worlds.

Okay, that last one forced me to get up and hurry over. But even that familiar title made me get even more confused. I picked it up and found that it was by H.G Wells and someone named Scott Clerke. I opened it to the first page.

No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man and machine and yet still chained to the state of scarcity that existed before the Industrious Revolution; that as men and women liberated themselves from the shackles of capital and empire both they were scrutinized and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinize the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.

"Master?" A voice came from behind me and I screamed and dropped the book, like a girl. Which was very gender affirming for me, I'll have you know.

I spun around and found that the person who had spoken was a narrow, tall robot girl with blond hair, grayish skin, and...she was actually wearing spectacles. I had no idea if they were required or just an affectation. Whatever they were, they suited her black dress and...I swear that she had a tiny frown carved into her unmoving lips. She strode towards me as I stammered. "Well, uh, yes, hello?"

"Hmm...the accent is different, just like old Cook says," she said, and I noticed, her voice?

She had a southern drawl. Like, pure on pea and grits (that wasn't a saying) Southern. I nodding slightly as she pulled out a long, thin needle like device attached to a wooden handle. It looked a lot like the kind of pokey stabby thing that old timey doctors used to like...I don't know, do bad old timey surgical stuff. I tensed up as she held the needle towards me -- and then it glowed and swept out a frilly expanse of shimmering holograms, projecting out an array of interfaces at the doctor, which she took in with an intense expression. "Hmm..."

"Uh..." I said.

"Well, if that don't beat all..." she murmured.

"Do, uh, what is that?" I asked, pointing at the device.

"Utterly fascinating," she said, quietly.

"Are you a doctor?" I asked.

"I am," she said, firmly. "Jeanette Hope, though ya'll should be referring to me as Missus Hope unless you want me to box your ears." She put her hand on my shoulder and pushed me down onto my rump back into the chair I had gotten from. "Now, stay very still." She held up another needle, which she had pulled from her belt pouch near her skirts. This needle was a lot thicker and shorter. "I don't reckon you want your gray matter scrambled twice in one day."

"Whoa, I-" I started, but she had already stuck the needle into my ear. There was a sudden rush of cold through my body and I stood perfectly absolutely still. Jeanette tugged the needle free five terrifying, heart hammering seconds later and I rubbed my ear. "God, what the hell, man!?"

"I should wash your mouth out with soap, young miss!" Jeanette said, bopping my forehead with the blunt needle. "Now, I'll have you know, you were perfectly safe. But the old master squirmed something fierce when I had to do an interpolative lumen probe of his frontal and parietal lobes and it would play merry cob with my entire blamed scans!" Her eyes sparkled. "I figure I'd just take some advantage of your understandable lack of knowledge to at least get you to sit your fool head still."

I scowled at her. "Did anyone ever tell you you have the bedside manner of Pulaski?"

"No," she said. "Who is Pulaski?"

"...okay, that was too harsh, actually." I rubbed my head again. "The bedside manner of McCoy."

"Who?" she asked.

It struck me, at that moment, that I was going to be able to make a billion pop culture references that no one would ever, ever, ever understand. For the rest of my life. Because this was real life. It...I just couldn't keep clinging to the idea that this was a dream.

I grinned. "Fucking awesome," I whispered.

Jeanette glared down at me.

"Sorry," I said, blushing. "So, like...did Polly tell you-"

"That you're under the impression that you're not the master, and are, in fact, someone else entirely?" Jeanette nodded. "That she did. And it just so happens...that I absolutely believe her." She sat down in the chair across from me and held up the first of her devices. She 'grabbed' at the air, then 'tugged' out a holographic display, which remained hovering in the air, even as she lowered the needle down so that she could point with her hands at the display, which showed a glowing image of what was clearly the inside of my skull.

...well, okay, it wasn't clearly anything. It just looked like a glowy clump of nerves and neurons and stuff. But I figured she wouldn't show me a random bunch of nerves for no reason after scanning my brain with her glowy bit.

"This is yer thinker," she said, cheerfully. "Now, this? This is the scan of the Young Master from his seventeenth birthday and his checkup there." She pointed at a second mass of glowy lines. "Notice anything different?"

I looked from one mess to another.

"...no?"

"Course not! You're a human, you're terrible at spotting this kind of difference," Jeanette said, cheerfully. "But here, this clump of nerves? Entirely different. And this part and this part. And you're getting all manner of alterations to brain structures normally used to store memory and such." She pointed at clump after clump as she spoke. "Now, I can't even begin to speculate what kind of instrumentality would be required for a switcheroo like this, but obviously, even if I cannot tell how it's been done, I can still tell when London and Paris' been done switched in a blink." She nodded. "What is more, we got actual structures we recognize from folks with Received Sexes, here n' here n' here." She nodded.