Sexbots in Space

Control panels exploded, sparks flew in the weak atmosphere, and more rubble fell into what was supposed to be a safety room.

Then it all went black.

*****

"Hello, Megan," said a man's voice.

Meghan blinked and noticed a hand waving back and forth across her view. She sat up like a machine. She wasn't in a suit though. She felt cold blowing air. She was in a proper living environment. She felt naked without her spacesuit. It was the first time in months she felt human.

"Is she in there?" asked a Section Commander.

Meghan silently scoffed at the question. Of course she was here. I'm right here, you jackass. Look at me. Then she realized; she wasn't talking.

"Well, Commander Ann Bruno," replied the doctor, "had listed Flight Engineer Meghan Rafferty here as dying in an accident shortly after the mission started, which on paper is totally plausible given her rookie status and the dangers of the job. It was probably a cover story given what they did to her. Maybe we can judge from that on how long Meghan was exposed to the brainwashing."

"Answer the question," ordered the Section Commander. "Is her brain fried or not?"

"I'm afraid, she can't possibly still be in there. She's basically been reduced to a simpleton. You know, we had to cut her out of an illegal sex spacesuit still interfacing in a sexual manner to one of the crew. There was a dildo between the two."

"Did the other woman survive?"

The doctor checked a page on his computer tablet. "No. When the ceiling collapsed, the fiberglass dildo pushed up into the crewmember's abdomen crushing the lungs and heart. Meghan, here, was squeezing it hard enough to not let it push the other way."

"That's a hell of a way to die or maybe to kill someone." The Section Commander looked into Meghan's eyes and then at the doctor. "Hm," continued the Section Commander, "we're not going to publish that. I mean the whole dildo thing."

"Agreed." The doctor tapped the thin computer tablet deleting a paragraph. "Looks like Meghan wasn't the only one programmed. It appears Commander Ann Bruno got all that productivity out of her women by secretly programming them. All of her crewmember suits were equipped and could program each member to focus on digging. It appears Ann found-out that the programming made her crew act more emotionally primitive and so a reward structure had to match -- hence, the need for a sex worker."

Meghan scoffed again in her mind. She was not a sex worker. She was a kidnapped Flight Engineer. Although, she was very proud at how well she had performed. In fact, she wished one of these two guys would ask for a demonstration. She confidently knew she could totally blow their minds.

"Ingenious. Just ingenious," said the Section Commander. "You know, Ann got ten times more ore than any other crew. Maybe even twenty times."

"I think the real issue here sir is the brainwashing of the whole crew. I checked all the suits. The sex suit we cut Meghan out of was the worst, but all the others had programming components too. We need to report this sir."

"Do you know the scandal that would result? If Meghan here is a zombie, and there's nothing that can be done about it, and the records show she's officially listed as dead; well, let her stay listed as dead."

Meghan tried to react with a 'fuck you' or a 'go to hell.' She struggled to see her surroundings. It took every effort, but she finally moved her head. She looked down and saw her body wearing a shear body stocking -- the basic underwear for a woman's spacesuit. Her breasts were so perky. Her areoles showed so clearly through the material. She couldn't look away. Her tits peaked out against the stretchy silky material. She had such sexy full rounded nipples. She breathed in, pushing them out more. She so wanted the doctor or the Section head to nibble on them.

Why was she focusing on this!? Stop and focus on something important. She looked up. The doctor waved his hands in front of her eyes. She wished he would stop doing that shit. She yelled in her mind and felt her lip twitch and her eyes blink. That was it. That was all the motion her body would grant her. Help me!

"Yes, she's gone sir. Nothing."

Meghan screamed in her mind, 'I'm here you incompetent boob!' Oh, boobs. I love boobs. She looked down at her tits again.

"Doctor, this goes no further. Got that. This will damage the mining program forever."

"But all the women -- Commander Ann -- she altered them all. She abused her power."

"It wasn't her -- well, she found that a sex worker helped and that certainly is worth noting, but otherwise it wasn't her. We did it. If you check her suit, which I know you would have gotten to eventually, you'll see that hers had the same programming components built-in. We do it all the time. What I'm telling you is top secret. We, in fact, program all the men and women asteroid miners. It's how we keep them in the suits so long. They'd go insane otherwise. It's the real reason the regulations require them to stay in their suits. Most haven't been out in years except for their one-day annual physicals. As for Meghan here, you know if Ann's idea of using sex, let's use the term 'conjugal visits,' helps the asteroid miners, well then I believe we should adopt that. I think we have some of those same illegal sex suits in storage. We confiscated them from an out of network raid done last week. Let's put them to good use. Maybe we'll get more. Hell, the Corp was the original inventors of the damn things."

"You can't be serious. You want to send Meghan back out to a mining station?"

"Not just her. Send them all back. Ann's crew might have been brainwashed a bit, but they still all knew right from wrong. They deserve it. And as you said, the brainwashing will get rid of the witnesses. So send Ann, Lori, Tingting and the other survivors too. Send them all. I think we have enough suits here." He looked at Meghan. He leaned in, squinted as he gave her pity with a slight headshake and that tisk-tisk sound done with a tap of a wet tongue against the back of the teeth.

Meghan wanted to spit back, but stayed motionless. She didn't even blink.

"But as for Meghan here," said the Section Commander, "send her to a Magnetic Raking ship. Those guys are all pilots and aren't such a rough bunch as the asteroid miners. At least that's what my gut tells me. Yep, it just seems best. Poor Meghan here deserves at least that. You don't have a problem with that do you?"

The Section Commander looked at the Doctor with a clear 'this could be you in a few minutes' look.

Meghan watched the doctor studying her and her clueless Barbie eyes. Couldn't he see her panic, her fear, her pleading?

"Yes sir," said the doctor clicking and deleting more paragraphs.

*****

Meghan sat upright and motionless across from a matching metal table holding down an agitated Ann. The disgraced commander fought against two armed soldiers while nurses put her wild swinging legs into a sexy spacesuit.

"I need to get back to the mines," Ann yelled. "We have so much to dig out! I have to keep up the yields. What are you doing? Let me go! I'm too important to be here!"

It appeared that she really was programmed to focus on digging just like the others. But the Commander knew right from wrong and encouraged -- no, invented -- the whole mining sexbot idea.

Ann screamed and fought harder as more form fitting titanium alloy milled parts were attached over her body.

"Don't worry Annie, it will all be better soon," said a supervisor.

Meghan's lips almost smiled with the tiniest flinch.

"Wait, this can't be. No!" said Ann, looking at the breast forms of the spacesuit now lying across her chest. "This is a sex spacesuit! What the hell are you doing? Wait! Stop!"

Metal clicked around her waist and tightened against her breasts and arms. Her voice was silenced as a final metallic snap of a helmet sealed the suit into place.

Joy filled Meghan's heart as the suit's motors squeezed Ann's torso tightly cinching the former Commander's waist even more drastically than Meghan's original suit. It was a next generation model with a snugger more ruthless fit. Very sleek. Wonderfully naughty.

The only thing that could make it even better was if someone had gotten the sizings wrong and cracked some of Ann's lower ribs with the motorized corseting.

The nurses started through a checklist to test Sexbot Ann.

Each feature mentioned gave Meghan a little sexual pulse inside. She couldn't wait to try it on herself. One of the nurse's verbal orders sent handles hinged at Ann's hips motoring up and out giving the former commander bicycle-like handle grips at her hips so that future clients could grab onto her firmly during sex, control her, and move her body as needed. Another verbal order retracted the handles downwards hiding them into the wonderfully wide rounded hips accented even more with the tiny cinched waist.

Wow. Meghan loved the look of the new suits. Then shame filled her thoughts. Why was this happening to her? No one was guarding her. No computer was there to read her mind, dissuading her opposition. She could make a run for it. She had combat training. Hell, the guards didn't even properly protect their holstered guns. Further more, they weren't supposed to even have guns when dealing with prisoners -- which Ann was up until a few moments ago.

An empty sexy spacesuit, the same new more diminutive model as Ann's, was wheeled in on a cart. Meghan knew her fate would match the commander's. The difference was that Meghan's previous programming was going to make donning this new suit so exciting and so warm and so enticing. Ann's experience, on the other hand, was going to be pure terror -- at least for a few weeks, but then again, with such a militant strong personality maybe Ann's hell would last forever.

Meghan's joy peeked when she heard one of the technicians add, "these models also include lactation, resulting in enlarged engorged breasts. Look at this page." He tapped a computer tablet to zoom. "The breast plate opens so a guy can totally attach his visor to the sexbot's chest area and get full contact against his face."

"And you can do all that in the vacuum of space too!" added another technician looking over the first's shoulder. "Wow, they really thought of everything." He thought for second -- hopefully that didn't hurt too much, Meghan thought -- and then he asked, "Is this really legal what we're doing?"

"I don' know," said the other.

They dismissed the question. And Meghan knew why, after all, how could such a result like Sexbot Ann standing right before them be bad? And more importantly, especially with these types of cowardly men, when those around you no longer have a sense of morality, certain questions are not healthy to ask.

Meghan actually moved her hands. It surprised her. If the movement was sexually motivated, it seemed to be allowed. She cupped her own boobs feeling the shear cloth body stocking covering everything from her feet up to her turtleneck. She shifted her butt's position on the metal table. She felt her crotch straddling a rubber crotch strip between her legs. The hard table exaggerated the strips tough thickness. It felt good to do a slow roll side-to-side across it. She felt several rubber disks going up her back and sides. All the rubber contact points allowed feelers to enter and clean. Oh! How she loved the feelers.

She looked at the men around her, all cowards going along with an evil corrupt system. Maybe if she fantasized about violently beating them and how getting away could lead to an orgasm -- maybe, just maybe, that could be a way out of her mental prison. With training, revenge could become sexual. She was willing and able, even if that meant becoming psychotic.

After hours in the med lab trying to talk or write a message like, "help me," or "I'm here," or "I'm Flight Engineer Meghan Raferty," it was clear she couldn't do it. The attempts left her silent. Blinking SOS didn't happen either.

Enough of that, she decided.

They would put her into a sexbot suit before she could prove she was mentally there anyway, and even if she did make her mental presence known, no one there would care enough to act. These bastards wanted sexbots in space.

No.

Revenge was the way out. The idea was intriguing, but it didn't quite get her sexually excited. Not yet. It would take a while to make an association to the same levels of joy she felt doing something even as simple as squeezing her breasts. But it was possible. One day, a client would be alone with her. She would surprise him at his weakest moment. And then, an entire Magnet Raking Ship crew would be next. If needed, she would learn to orgasm when programming alarms to go off on cue to orchestrate a fake emergency alert long enough to grant autonomy from her suit. So many options presented themselves.

She took one vow. There would be no survivors. None. Meghan felt a little wet at the idea. Yes, she was going to escape, maybe have her own ship. It would just take time and a whole lot of fucking, that and a big damn goal of associating sex with violence.

Her fingers gave her perfectly round fleshy girls a good squeeze. Mmm, the feeling was pure gold. Now, how could she tie that sensation to escaping? She loved a challenge.

She took in a deep breath while keeping her hands on her chest and pursing her lips at one of the geeky technicians. Flirtations gave her some control too.

The guy she aimed her flirt at was startled and almost fell over while assisting Sexbot Ann into a standing pose. Over against a wall, also standing motionless, were Sexbots Lori and Tingting. They had already been unit tested and were probably already being mentally tormented by the stewardess. The bitches deserved everything they were about to experience. There was no greater hell than being forced to listen to that cursed stewardess as her endless reprimands and platitudes pushed directly into the mind. And from the checklist, it sounded like the newer suits' stewardess program could be even crueler.

A fact Meghan knew to be true -- one that created such a warm feeling of joy deep inside her when she looked at the three new sexbots -- was that personality types like Ann, Lori and Tingting would never escape their suits.

Meghan knew from years of training with such women that they set imagination aside to focus only on the job before them. A wonderfully clear conclusion from that fact became so certain and so juicy and rewarding a thought, it made Meghan audibly giggle right there in the med lab. She knew the three new sexbot bitches would be too stubborn and rigid in their thinking to ever figure out one important thing: if you give in and think about openly offering sex, the stewardess leaves you alone.

Meghan sat with her legs hanging off the table continuing to cup her breasts. Maybe her strategy relied too much on a bug in the software. Maybe the newer suits patched that loophole. Maybe her fate was sealed as tightly as her new suit could squeeze her. Maybe, the three Mythological Fates were as bitchy as Ann, Lori and Tingting; so bitchy that, maybe, Meghan would forever be Sexbot Trixie.

She had looked at the helmet mounted to the empty suit standing next to her. She had seen the nametag above the visor. Her real name wasn't there. Field Engineer Meghan Rafferty was officially dead, so the bastards engraved her previous mockingly assigned name: Field Engineer Trixie.

Definitely though, with no maybe's about it, soon Meghan would know her fate and whether an ambitious programmer working in an illegal trade had patched the one bug she needed to escape.

She wanted to stick a finger through her rubber crotch's vertical slit. It could be her last time to ever masturbate. But first she held her boobs firmly, pulled her shoulders back, arched her spine, pursed her lips, and flirted again; this time directed at the other techie. She got a similar clumsy reaction from him. It made her smile.

She looked at the empty spacesuit sized perfectly for her body. She couldn't wait to get inside her new home. She was going to fuck everybody involved in this scandal, one way or the other.