Gynoid Captain

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

When travelling between stars, every gram of matter costs, even using the jump drive. Even on a heavy-haul freighter like the Hippo that lumbers along at a dilation of twelve, making months into years, the energy required to jump a spec of dust to almost the speed of light is phenomenal. Were it not an insurance requirement that all freighters have a crew of it least two humans and at least one multipurpose android, for general inspection and maintenance as well as backup in the case of catastrophic failure of the automatic systems (although it had never been established what such scenarios might be), the Hippo would have crossed between the stars just as efficiently and unencumbered by expensive life support systems.

On the other hand, I did get to call myself 'captain', and I didn't mind being alone for months at a time. In fact, I would have preferred to be completely alone. The living quarters consisted of the flight control room, the engineering workshop, the medbay, two bedrooms, a shared kitchen and a shared bathroom, all arranged in a ring about ten metres across and rotating to establish artificial gravity - something that was startlingly apparent in the connecting corridor that looped all the way around.

Steve, the engineer, kept to himself, mostly. I'm not unattracted to men, but I have standards, and I wasn't desperate enough to lower them for Steve. Nor was I oblivious to the fact that he had reconfigured the android as a gynoid (always an option), with sexual function too. What he did with it in the privacy of his room I had no wish to know.

They say space is empty, but that's not really true. It's comparatively true, but there's radiation across the spectrum, cosmic rays, planetoids so cold and dark they can only be seen as silhouettes. The field created by the jump drive protects the ship from most of that, and so well indeed that the odds of a micrometeorite penetrating the field and damaging the ship or its contents is considered negligible - but that was little consolation to me as I lay bleeding to death in my room, sirens screaming in my ears, alarm lights all at panic-red.

I have a vague memory of Steve shaking me, and of the gynoid carrying me. Another of lying on the bed in the medbay, Steve shouting at the medical AI. Another of him promising he would fix me. I knew it was impossible. We were months away from help. The damage to my body too severe - ironic given the size of the rock that had punched through my spine and left pulmonary artery.

And that should have been that, except it wasn't. I woke up one day about a month later, feeling not quite myself. I was lying naked on the bed in the medbay, no sign of the damage to my chest, no scars or anything. There was no sign of Steve either, but I knew somehow he was in his bedroom. There was also, at the back of mind, nagging at my attention, a long list of things that needed doing, the sort of routine maintenance and inspection tasks either I or, more usually the gynoid, would have attended to.

I checked the ship's computer. Some of the tasks were three weeks overdue. Clearly there was a problem with the gynoid too. Maybe Steve had worn her out with too much sex. Maybe the meteorite had damaged her too.

Choosing not to wake Steve, I hopped out of bed and made for my room, surprised at how strong I was feeling. There was no muscle atrophy after weeks without movement, and no difficulty breathing, no paralysis. I'd been fixed up well. And were my breasts bigger than before? I certainly didn't remember my nipples sticking out quite like that.

I paused outside my room. Getting dressed and examining my body were low on my list of priorities. Continuing on to the flight control room, I took my seat in the captain's chair and immersed myself in diagnostics checks, remote inspection of the ship and its cargo, updating the ship's log. There was pleasure in gradually ticking things off the list. From time to time I considered going to get dressed, but it really didn't feel urgent enough to distract me from other duties.

But my breasts were definitely bigger, and my nipples jutted out as if I were aroused. Maybe they were just cold, though I didn't feel particularly cold. Had Steve persuaded the medical AI to give me bigger breasts while fixing my spine and chest? It seemed unlikely, despite the clear evidence before me. They looked natural enough, and I had to admit they were sexy, but the idea of Steve manipulating my body was more than a little creepy.

Finally, the major items all crossed off the list and a weight off my mind, I decided to address the minor items too, starting with a thorough sanitisation of the medbay, followed by cleaning and restocking the bathroom. These were tasks the gynoid would normally do, and I didn't enjoy cleaning the filters of weeks of accumulated man-hair, but the pleasure of ticking things off the list made it worthwhile.

I've always been good at making lists, but had never appreciated before just how satisfying it is to address each item personally and professionally, no matter how menial. As the hours went by, I methodically cleaned and tidied the whole of the living quarters, including Steve's room. I took care not to wake him.

Finally, having given my own room a thorough freshen, including cleaning up the blood stains, I was able to relax and look after myself. Starting with a shower, and the startling discovery that not only were my breasts bigger, but also incredibly erogenous. Massaging them under the shower proved to be an addictive pleasure, and I couldn't bring myself to stop until I came to the natural end - a shuddering climax of astonishing intensity.

I had never before come from breast-play alone. I hadn't even thought it possible, but if this was something Steve had done to me, maybe I could forgive him after all.

Feeling good and relaxed, as much from clearing my list as the unexpected self-pleasure, I dried off, wiped down the shower quickly, and headed for my room to - at long last - put some clothes on.

Except...

There was one more thing to do. Something important. Something that had only just occurred to me. It was oh seven hundred and time to wake up Steve. With a blowjob.

I shook my head at the absurd idea, but found myself unable to proceed to my room. Waking up Steve was not only important, but urgent. I didn't have the time or luxury to waste on getting dressed.

With a whine of baffled frustration, I headed for Steve's room, determined to wake him up and demand an explanation for what was happening to me. Determined not to touch him in any way, and certainly not that.

He was still asleep. I couldn't bring myself to wake him. Nor could I deny the impulse to pull back his sheet to reveal his naked form, his hairy chest and legs - no wonder the bathroom was such a mess - and his thick, semi-tumescent cock sprouting from a crotch of thick, dark curls.

Unthinking, I bent to take that rousing creature into my mouth, the mere smell of it enough to set my clit throbbing with inexplicable need. Just as in the shower, massaging my breasts, having that swelling cock in my mouth was an addictive pleasure. It no longer mattered that this was Steve's cock or that it made absolutely no sense for me to do this, it only mattered that I gave the cock the pleasure it deserved.

I had given blowjobs before, but never with such single-minded determination. I sucked on the head, licked the shaft, took him deep in my throat. At some point I became aware that he was awake and watching me, but I was on a mission to make him come and lacked the will to stop.

And when he did come at last, his shaft pulsing erotically between my encircling lips, his cum erupting into my mouth, I took pleasure in swallowing every last drop of that thick cream. Doing so, it occurred to me that this was the first thing I'd eaten or, indeed, drunk since awakening. Indeed, I was yet even to use the bathroom, except for showering.

The task was complete. Steve was awake - and smirking. I stared at him in confusion. "What's wrong with me?" I asked.

"Absolutely nothing," he said, his eyes drinking in my nakedness. I wanted to run away with what little was left of my dignity, but I also really needed to understand why I had just done what I had done. "I saved your life, Captain, and now you belong to me."

"I don't understand!" I whined.

"I managed to keep you alive long enough to copy your consciousness into the ship's computer. I thought maybe I could download it into the gynoid, but the ship wouldn't let me erase the original program. So I made a personality overlay instead. Which means, I'm sorry, but you have to do whatever the ship needs you to do."

I stared down at my hands and breasts. Suddenly it all made a horrible kind of sense. I looked like me, and thought like me, but in practice my desires were cosmetic and my consent an irrelevance. I was nothing but a gynoid that thought she was human. Everything I had done since waking was what the ship needed me to do - or what Steve wanted me to do.

"Oh, fuck," I whispered. I had woken Steve up with a blowjob because that was how he had told the gynoid to wake him up. He was a human and I was not, which made me powerless to deny him. "I need to get dressed," I said, hoping desperately that none of it was true.

I made it as far as the door before he called me back. Try though I did to resist him, I couldn't. I stood there scowling at him, his amusement only making me angrier. "You will not wear clothes unless I tell you to," he said, which only deepened my rage.

He sighed. "I can't make you like being a gynoid," he said, "but I think you could learn to like it, if you let yourself."

I gritted my teeth and glared murderously at him. "I have no intention of ever being your personal fuck-bot."

He shook his head. "Whenever you are angry with me, you will pinch and rub your nipples."

"Fuck off," I snarled, even as my hands obeyed. I squealed as my fingers clamped hard on those tender tips for a good few seconds, before relaxing that fierce grip and instead caressing gently. I moaned involuntarily, trying to stay focussed on my anger and not on how good the pain felt. "Not fair," I hissed, alternately brushing and squeezing my nipples, my hips twitching with my growing need for clitoral stimulation.

Steve's cock was hard again, the head sticky with the cum that had continued to leak after the blowjob. I could still feel its residue in my mouth. Knowing that he was about to use me for sex fueled my anger again, which of course had the effect of making me tug on my nipples even harder. I hated how good it felt.

"Sit on me," he instructed. "Ride my cock until I come in your cunt."

"No!" I cried, though my body said otherwise. I climbed on top of him, still abusing my nipples with delightful malice as he guided his cock into me. "Fuck!" I hissed, as much from the pleasure of feeling that thick cock stretching my tight cunt, as in denial that it was fucking Steve's fucking cock that was fucking me against my will.

I couldn't help it. I needed him in me. I needed to fuck him. My hatred was irrelevant. My anger only served to excite me. I was hornier than I'd ever been in my life and there was only one way to answer that need.

The line between voluntary and involuntary blurred as I fucked him. I couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted to. It had been months since I'd had a good, hard fuck and I needed to feel him penetrating to the very core of my gynoid being. Because that was one fantastic advantage of being a gynoid: no cervix, only multiple pleasure centres along the length of my synthetic vagina, and I wanted to feel every one of them being hit by Steve's resilient cock.

Steve did nothing to help. He merely lay back and watched the show, his hard cock the only contribution to it. I didn't care. I just wanted him to finish inside of me. I lost count of the number of orgasms I drove myself to while riding him. It was impossible to stay angry at him after the third or fourth, and no doubt if I'd still been human I'd have been wiped out by the time I reached the tenth.

As it was, I was aware when my energy level was running low. Gynoids need to be recharged periodically, and at the rate I was draining my reserve, I only had a minute or two left. "Come in me," I pleaded, doubling my efforts. "Come in me!"

"Stop," he said. "Lie on your back and spread your legs."

I did as asked, and he climbed on top, driving his cock in all the way, hitting all my multiple pleasure centres. "Yes!" I screamed, climaxing one last time, and even as I convulsed in ecstasy he achieved his own, his cock pulsing rhythmically as my cunt contracted about it.