Daddy's Droid Ch. 10

Significantly, I wasn't tied up. Maybe the drugs were supposed to be enough to subdue me - maybe drugs were what were fucking up my memory and jazzing up my libido! 'Focus, girl,' I thought. 'Take stock, here.' Okay - I was going commando, pantie-wise, and my skirt was pretty much a glorified belt. Also my nipples were hugely swollen and as clearly defined as if my Day-Glo orange top had been spray-painted on ... except that below them, out of my line of sight, I could feel the breeze from an exhaust fan - my top didn't even reach the bottoms of my tits. Hmm. Could be I was a drug-addled whore, which would (not to be judgmental or anything) probably suck.

Then again, given the company, I might be a member of this band of sexbot thieves. Or pirates - that would explain my salty language (in my head) and my babbling about sailors ... but it was also a deeply stupid theory. I'd just have to play this by ear.

"Stand up, Bambi," said Jay-the-Boss. The bots promptly did ... and so I did.

Well, that was weird. Another possibility came to me. What if I was an undercover cop infiltrating the gang? I probably have an indoctrinated secret identity in my head, that was an all-out (and with luck, uncharacteristic) pussy monster. But in that case these guys must be on to me, because I'd been drugged and stripped and, hopefully, fucked hard ... damn! How could they have seen through my disguise if my own brain still believed I was a mega-slut?

"Right, ya bimbos - follow Sid," said the boss.

It never crossed my mind to object to being called a bimbo. Instead my thoughts ran along the lines of: 'Which one is Sid ... oh, the cute 'n studly one pushing that metal chair thing I'd been sitting on.' Then, inanely, 'How's about that - it has little wheels.' Followed by, 'Geez, his cock makes a bulge down his right trouser-leg practically to his knee ... he can butt-fuck me whenever he likes!' And so I found myself following the bots, the beddable Sid, and the chair, without even thinking about it. Well, I was thinking about doing it, but not about what it was I was presently doing, if you follow.

"Nobody is gonna see us between here and the truck," said Wally, "but if they do, we can pass it off as a good party. Until we get close enough, natch." He tapped a bulge under his armpit. The guy must have been a fan of ancient gangster vids.

As we marched single file down a cement corridor lined with random pipes, I continued to fantasize about Sid humping me up against a wall, driving me ever deeper with the huge cock he had no doubt already used on me repeatedly. That made me bitter that I'd somehow slept though the fun, and then I imagined his veiny meat grinding along my slippery clit on its way into me, and the rough bite of concrete on my ass.

All the while, there was a little voice inside that told me that I was in deep shit, and that I should try to escape - Sid's cock bulge notwithstanding. Given my preoccupation, however, nothing useful came to mind in the getaway department, and our peculiar parade continued. And then, as we passed through yet another fire door, I sensed a new robot close by. It made me wonder if I might be psychic or something, except obviously not because there was nothing around ... or so I thought until I heard the thump behind me. I spun around to see that a luscious-looking bot had just dropped from the ceiling, ninja-style, on top of Jay, who had been bringing up the rear. Between us, Wally had likewise spun around and was just getting his gun out when I cold-cocked him from behind.

The ninja bot's eyes widened in surprise. "You hit him," it said. I would have said the same to it, but it was already up and running to bring down the practical-minded Sid, who was sprinting for the far exit. In the meantime, I gave Jay another thump to keep him down for the count.

Sid didn't get far, of course - the sex-ninja-bot soon dragged his limp body back to where I and all my unresponsive companions waited.

"You hit him - twice," it observed. "How?"

"I know karate, I think," was my answer.

The robot stared at me. "You think. Who are you?"

"Alright - coulda been taekwondo. I'm Tracie. Probably. These pricks drugged me, so everything is a little ... who or what are you?"

"They drugged you. Right ..."

Robots do sarcasm, now? What the fuck? And this one went around bopping people, which wasn't supposed to be possible. It's against the Geneva Convention, or something. Maybe my undercover cop mission was to find this very bot. It was beginning to look like a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Suddenly the thing was all take charge and stuff. "No time for that now. We have to clear out of here." Definitely déjà vu. "Those two don't know what hit them" - another meaningful look at me - "but this one saw too much - he comes with us. We'll decide what to do with him later. Where were they taking you?"

"They said something about a truck," I said, but it was looking at the bots, not me. More fool it, I thought, since the pretty-but-brainless sex dolls looked at one another and grinned inanely.

The ninja bot, honest-to-God, seemed to sigh, then said, "Rutabaga".

Oddly, I got an immediate head-rush, and the Sid-shagging fantasies dissipated - mostly. The platinum-blonde bot nodded to the redheaded one, which said, "According to overheard conversations, they have a container secured to an unmarked tractor-trailer unit at a secondary loading bay, two levels up and forty meters north. There are three additional PD1600 units in deep hibernation mode stored inside."

Okay, I thought. These machines only pretend to be stupid. That would probably be useful to remember.

>< >< ><

Long story short, we lugged Wally and Jay to the truck and peeked in the back. It looked like some serial killer's storage locker in there. All the bodies were female. Two seemed normal enough - for dead people - while the third seemed to be a deceased Viking warrior-babe, lying on her back wearing only a kilt, leaving her stunning jugs pointing skyward and her face hidden by a sizable but slumping Mohawk hairdo.

However, both the thieves and their two stolen sexbots had said the stiffs were just powered-down droids. Certainly the ninja-bot was convinced (and I figured she should know). She had us stuff our villains in the back in exchange for her three sisters. When they woke up - the thugs, that is - they should assume a rival gang took them down, and vamoose. They would probably suspect Sid was involved, too - and rightly so, because after a hushed talk with the ninja-bot the still dazed (but pretty) thug was all in with us.

We made our getaway with Sid-the-hunk still pushing the chair thingie and each of the bots carrying a limp sister, going up a freight elevator then along more service corridors to a doorway labelled "BOOTique". For some reason that sounded familiar. As the boss-bot unlocked the door, I looked down at my feet. Crapfest! This was where I'd bought my shoes. It was, I further recalled, a tiny place in some mall, with one of those old-school metallic bots working the counter - I must have been on a surveillance run here.

Meanwhile I still couldn't remember my own address. Double crap.