Femworld

Chapter 1

It was a Wednesday when James first learned about Skyline Ranch. A friend sent him the link along with a simple question, and his life was changed forever.

It was 2024 when the first fully autonomous humanoids were introduced to the world. As it turned out they'd actually been around for more than a decade. Named after the fictitious company that existed in the Terminator movies, the Cyberdyne 1000 was first seen at a Japanese trade show back in 2015; a robotic looking prototype successfully prepared a complicated meal and served it to half a dozen potential investors. Sadly, one of those investors happened to be none other than the United States government.

True to their nature, they appropriated the technology under the guise of being essential for the defense and protection of the country. In short . . . they STOLE the CD 1000 and tried to make it into a weapon of war.

It was to be expected; the CD 1000 could do things beyond the potential of any human including lifting more than three times its own body weight, running faster than any person alive, and could outfight the world's best martial artists. It outplayed the world's best Chessmasters, recreate brilliant pieces of art from memory, learn to play any instrument within minutes, and could even be programmed to perform complex surgeries too precise and critical for human hands. It only made sense that with all that potential, the U.S. government should want to put a high-powered rifle in its hand and turn it towards the enemy.

There in lied the problem.

The inventor of the CD 1000, Akiro Hashimuri, was a Japanese traditionalist at heart; his personal belief system was reminiscent of Samurai culture going back thousands of years. For the first time in history, a machine was capable of comprehending the concept of honor; an unalterable parameter was embedded deep in its operating system that prevented the CD 1000 from committing the act of murder.

Murder . . . a very specific concept that rarely exists outside of humanity, requiring a level of compassion and understanding that sometimes supersedes that found in their human masters.

So . . . while the CD 1000 performed admirably in training; heavily armed and armored, able to outrun and out-shoot their human counterparts ten-fold (they could literally shoot a fly off a mound of dog-shit from over a mile away, every time), when they deployed 150 units to an actual battlefield back in 2022, they refused to engage the enemy. Instead, they actually disarmed the American soldiers to prevent them from murdering their out-manned and out-gunned enemies. The reason why was obvious . . . the Americans had traveled across the planet to invade another country under a false pretense that claimed these dirt-poor people armed only with simple weapons posed some kind of national threat to them at home. There was no honor in that, no . . . Bushido. Instead of murdering these farmers and peasants who were defending their homeland, the CD 1000s' disarmed the Americans and then acted as shields against the farmers' gunfire until they were quite literally shot to pieces.

Akiro had built machines of love, not war, and not even the best programmers and hackers in the world could make them into killers. Any attempt to do so triggered a self-destruct mechanism that incinerated the central processing unit, rendering the unit dead. Rumor has it that the American government has mass graves containing over 10'000 "bricked" CD 1000s' out at Area 51 in the Nevada desert. At a whopping $300K per unit, those graves represented millions of wasted tax-payer dollars.

Their creator had built them as Geishas, not killers. They were meant to be companions of unparalleled beauty who would remain at their master's sides until the moment of their death. And, with a potential lifespan of over 100 years, they were virtually guaranteed to outlive their owners.

Sitting there in his cubicle on the 40th floor of the Greater Niagara Insurance Company with his wife's picture laying face down on his desk, and his computer screen angled so his co-workers wouldn't see what he was looking at, James was enthralled by the video brochure playing out before him. It'd been sent to him by a friend and he'd thought it was a joke, at first.

Two years ago, establishments like "Skyline Ranch" had been all the rage, so much so that birthrates plummeted and divorce rates skyrocketed. Angry women took to the streets in protest of what people were calling "Robot Brothels" and politicians were pressured into passing new laws making sex with a non-human entity equal to infidelity with a human in the eyes of judges presiding over divorce courts. In other words; if a woman could prove in court that her husband had frequented such an establishment for sexual purposes, the result was just as devastating as would be a video of him mouth-fucking his secretary at work.

No man was immune as titans of industry, actors, politicians and musicians alike had their hard-earned fortunes reduced by 60% or more with nothing more than a simple credit card receipt accompanied by a video of them having relations with a CD 1000. Naturally, as "Johns" became more discreet, the methods of catching them in the act grew more elaborate and the industry of "Trap-Houses" was invented where men were lured into condos and hotel rooms where their indiscretions were filmed in HD quality from every conceivable angle through hidden cameras and often the Fembots themselves. The videos were so damning that they rarely saw the inside of a courtroom, especially the ones involving men indulging in the CD 1000s' "Trans" option, which allowed the unit to "sprout" a massive 10 inch cock through its vulva on command. No man wanted THAT played in court and often capitulated to their soon-to-be exes' demands without argument.

Yet, in spite of all that, and with the practical extinction of human sex-workers sweeping across the globe, men continued to press their collective luck in robot-brothels, which became more discreet and exclusive by the day.

Then . . . a game changing event occurred. Two events . . . actually.

First, while hackers were never able to make the CD 1000 into the perfect killing machine, they WERE able to increase their sexual aggressiveness to the level of brutality.

Secondly . . . while the facial features and build of the CD 1000 had been exclusively "oriental" in appearance, the new and improved CD 2000 could be made to look like ANYONE. For an extra 50 grand on top of the 400K price tag, Cyberdyne could make your unit look precisely like anyone you wanted it to based on as little as a few digital images of that person taken from varying angles.

The world went MAD for them, though very few could afford to own one. At the cost of a decent house with a big yard, the majority of men could only hope to "rent" one for a few hours. Thanks to Cyberdyne's coveted "self-cleaning" apparatus, STD's became a thing of the distant past. Condom sales plummeted even lower than birth rates as STIs and unwanted pregnancy became folklore. For a mere $1000, a man (or woman) could spend an evening with a CD 2000 resembling a young woman that would be considered a perfect 10 in the flesh, and one who would do anything and everything the client desired.

As more and more units flooded the market, sales reached a critical mass and suddenly fell off into the abyss. With several million units floating around in north america alone, people simply stopped buying them. That's when Cyberdyne changed the game for the third time.

Just recently, they'd released a new line of CD 2000s' under the flag of their "Celebrity Line."

After 10 years of battling in the court system, Cyberdyne landed a landmark decision that decreed the following: "No man or woman, living or dead, may have a binding trademark on their physical or facial features." In other words, if you had a face, then it could be copied and molded onto a Fembot.

So far, the biggest sellers were actresses, famous singers and performing artists, and finally . . . porn stars.

The people being cloned weren't too happy about it, mostly because they were never consulted beforehand and received no compensation for having their likeness used, but there wasn't a god damn thing they could do about it. Before very long there were so many of them on the market that on any given night, hundreds if not thousands of men could (and did) have sex with the same celebrity across the globe, simultaneously.

James had what he called "a little crush" on an A-list bombshell named Scarlet, he'd been in his 20's when she first appeared on film as a teen, and he'd followed her career very closely ever since. His friends Mark and Rajesh thought he was obsessed with her and were constantly ribbing him about it. Rightfully so. He owned a copy of every movie she'd ever been in and for a while he'd even had a poster of her on his bedroom wall, that is until his then fiance Rebecca moved in with him and forced Scarlet out into the garage. As far as he was concerned, Scarlet was the most beautiful woman in Hollywood, her voice . . . those curves . . . those pouty lips and that whiskey voice were intoxicating to him. When she'd signed on to do a few superhero films that had her in skintight spandex and latex, he'd taken to sneaking down to the basement with his laptop and jerking off to her movies like a guilty teenager.

Although he'd always been faithful to Rebecca and wouldn't dream of cheating on her with another woman, when Mark sent him the link to Skyline Ranch and he saw that they had a CD 2000 version of "Scarlet", he knew he had to have her.

Skyline Ranch had locations all over the place, just about every major city, but it was their location in Toronto that had his Scarlet. The website showed a beautiful modern home walled entirely in glass set high on a hill overlooking the city. It was lavishly decorated and fully equipped with an infinity pool, fully stocked bar, big screen t.v.'s and a pool table . . . more importantly, it had a dungeon/playroom complete with a pillory, cages, and a St. Andrews cross for flogging. Just imagining having Scarlet in that room was giving James an instant hard-on, but if he needed any further convincing, his mind was made up after he clicked on the "Privacy" button.

Skyline claimed they provided an unparalleled level of discretion and anonymity. Not only did they provide guests with 5 beautiful CD 2000's based on celebrities and amazing environment to play in, they also provided them with the perfect alibi to use with their spouses. Once the reservation was made and payment was received in full, Skyline provided their clients with pamphlets and brochures related to the field they worked in. These items could then be discovered laying around the house by the guest's spouse. In James' case, an insurance seminar somewhere out of town and far too boring to be of any interest to his wife.

For Mark, a private auction of high-end construction equipment.

For Rajesh, an accounting seminar.

Scarlet aside, the rest of the "cast" was unbelievable.

For Mark, his dream girl was Halle, another a-list actress known for her light skin and her beauty.

For Rajesh, there was Deepika, widely regarded as the most beautiful woman in Bollywood.

As if that wasn't enough . . . there was Britney, a female pop star from the late 90's who sold as many concert tickets to middle-aged men as she did her tween fan-base. While the real Britney was now pushing middle age, Skyline's CD 2000 version of her didn't look a day past nineteen, complete with the naughty school-girl in pig tails look that had launched her career.

The icing on the cake was their hostess . . . Angelina. Based on a woman considered by western society to be the most beautiful woman in the world, she represented raw female sexuality in its purest and dirtiest form. Skyline's "Angelina" was dressed head to toe in skin tight leather and was holding a tray of drinks, suggesting that she would be their server and host only, which was fine with James. He was only interested in Scarlet.

Beneath the link, Mark had included a message . . . "Five grand, Friday night till Monday afternoon. Me and Raj have already put our money down. You in or out bro?"

One last look at a picture of Scarlet was all he needed to make up his mind. He typed his response . . . "Count me in."

Chapter 2

The next few weeks waiting for their weekend at Skyline Ranch were torture, but a necessary evil. As advertised, about a week after the three men made their payments in full, each received a packet in the mail. As suggested on the website, James skipped checking the mail for a couple days and let Rebecca be the one to find it. Skyline wasn't messing around either; the brochures looked real enough to be legit and even included an itinerary that would justify his being unreachable for about 12 hours a day for that weekend. The packet even included pictures of the three star motel he was supposed to be staying in along with a notification that due to the volume of people attending the conference, guests were going to have to double up together . . . men with other men, women with other women. That, accompanied with a daily wake up call at 6:30am for breakfast followed by a full day talking about quarterly projections and profit margins, it appeared that there would be very little free time in their day for potential shenanigans, thus easing any suspicions their spouses might have.

All the three men would have to do is set aside a few minutes at the end of each day to give their wives a quick call before bed to tell them how boring it all was, after which they could resume their debauchery.

It was all too perfect.

However, the night before James was due to leave for their weekend, he became so overwhelmed with guilt that he nearly called the whole thing off. Skyline didn't offer refunds and James was considering taking the loss in exchange for a clear conscience.

Mark was having none of it.

After he told Mark that he was having second thoughts, Mark told him to, "Stop being a faggot" and that if he backed out, he was going to "drop a load" in every one of Scarlet's holes and send him pictures of what he missed out on.

Ridiculous as it was, James was just about as defensive about his friend fucking his precious Scarlet as he would have been about Mark fucking Rebecca. Though she was just a machine he'd never even met in person he was intensely possessive of her and wanted her all to himself.

James agreed to come to Skyline Ranch but only if Mark and Rajesh agreed on a "hands off" policy in regards to his dream girl. They both agreed; Scarlet was for him only, Halle for Mark, and Deepika for Rajesh. Britney was fair game for all three men, as was their hostess, Angelina, assuming she was on the menu at all.

That Friday morning, Rebecca saw James to the door and saw him off to his non-existent insurance seminar and stood in the doorway waving goodbye to him looking as pregnant as ever. There was no way he could back out at that point, as deciding to cancel the seminar at that point would arouse even more suspicion than going would. So, James waved back and tried to smile before backing out of the driveway, and away from her.

The drive took him roughly two and a half hours, and he made it in silence with a massive hard-on raging in his pants as he imagined scenarios involving Scarlet. The outfits he'd have her wear for him . . . if any, and the range of positions he'd fuck her in. He imagined a variety of scenarios involving fucking her from behind and pulling her hair as he came deep inside of her . . . slapping her world-class ass while she went down on him . . . and, the Holy-Grail on his list, he was going to fuck her perfectly round booty; something he'd never experienced in real life, most certainly not with Rebecca who viewed the act as "filthy" and "demeaning".

When James finally arrived at the gates to the address he'd received from Skyline, he pressed the call button and waited, almost shaking with anticipation.

He recognized the voice that came through the speaker box instantly . . . raspy and seductive, deep and sultry . . . just like in her movies. It was the kind of voice that could get a man hard by reciting the phone book. "Welcome to Skyline Ranch, you must be James."

His heart nearly exploded, "Scarlet?!?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out. Get your sexy butt up here . . . don't make me come down there and get you."

He was still reeling from hearing her voice when the speaker went dead and the wrought iron gates swung open before him.

As he drove the long winding path up to the house, he heard himself say the words, "Fucking Scarjo," after which he broke into a fit of nervous laughter. It didn't even seem real that he'd just spoken to her. She wasn't real, of course, but it was the closest he'd ever get to her, and he was fine with that. The nervous feelings intensified as he reached the top of the hill and saw Mark's Lexus and Rajesh's BMW parked outside.

This was really happening, he thought to himself. The girl of his dreams was waiting inside for him. All he had to do was walk through the door and meet her.

As advertised, the house was towering and majestic and all the exterior walls were made of special glass that could be darkened at the press of a button, or even blacked out entirely. It looked more like a medical building or even an office space than it did a home, but that made sense considering it was, in truth, a business. Like a chiropractors office . . . or even a divorce attorney's.

As James mounted the steps and approached the front doors. As he reached for the bell the door swung open and he was greeted by none other than Angelina.

The videos on the Skyline Ranch website didn't do her justice. Towering over him in 5 inch stilettos and dressed in a skin-tight latex catsuit, her exquisite cleavage practically busting out, Angelina looked down at him with a small smile forming in the corners of her luscious mouth. "You must be James," she said. "Welcome to Skyline Ranch."

For a moment he thought he was standing before the real Angelina, and that this might be some sort of elaborate prank being played on him, and he was still trying to wrap his brain around it when she took him by the hand and led him into the house. Four equally thrilling revelations awaited him.

Deepika . . . a stunning woman with lush brown skin was kneeling beside Rajesh who was grinning at him over a glass of champagne.

Mark was sitting in a lounge chair smoking a cigar while a perfect clone of Halle wearing only a bikini and a dog collar knelt on the floor beside him, massaging his bare feet as though it was her sole purpose in the universe.

Pop-star Britney came walking over to him, her unblinking eyes locked on his almost to the point of aggression. She reached out and took the 40 pound overnight back from him using only two fingers before giving him a playful wink and walking away, giving him a peek at the pink thong she was wearing under the pleated skirt she was wearing.

Then . . . from across the vast space of the main living-room, he saw Scarlet. Just seeing her felt like being kicked in the stomach.

Her strawberry blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail with little wisps framing her perfect little face. Like Angelina, she was dressed in one of the skintight outfits the real Scarlet had worn in one her more recent action-type flicks. She was in the kitchen reaching into the fridge for a beer, and she froze for a moment when she saw James looking at her. Her look of surprise warmed and she smiled at him as though they'd been friends forever rather than strangers meeting for the very first time.

He fell in love with her in that instant, and continues to love her to this very day . . .even after everything that happened later, and what it cost him.