tagNonHumanThe Oldest Profession 3.1

The Oldest Profession 3.1


No, this was a mistake. Steve could do better than this; it had been purely impulsive, and he was too wishy-washy to cancel his order. I mean He was a doctor! A young doctor; there should be plenty of women lined up for him. His well-styled blond hair, 6' something frame, complemented by a firm build just muscled enough to appear healthy without seeming overdeveloped, why he should be rolling in babes! But even if he hadn't been naturally shy, the long, far too long hours during his residency had killed his romance with Cheryl. Meeting women shouldn't have been difficult, yet here he was, unwrapping a Whorebot he'd ordered.

It was a new company, almost unheard of; some tiny operation daring to challenge the corporate giants of Brothelco, and Cathouse industries for domination of the lucrative, sexual surrogate market. The outer box of course, bore nothing relating to its true content. It was a large, flat square that the deliveryman had deposited in his living room. Cybrid electronics it read, which could have meant he was ordering a big-screen T.V. from the boxes' shape. That was of course, part of the design.

Only now, with the outer box open was the truth revealed. Amidst the styrofoam was the name 'Sensual-Surrogates' and a large, elaborate looking remote control device. He removed the layer of plastic to reveal the pale, almost androgynous figure lying in a fetal position within.

"Hmph; this won't do..." Then Steve took a closer look at the remote;

"Height? Weight?" read two large dials. "And this one- wha...heh! Imagine that!" he chuckled softly, noticing the dial labeled 'bust'. What was this? Some kind of...of...body remote? Ignoring the instructions, he began to tinker...yes there....Activation....

The device hummed to life with an eerie, pulsing tone. Tiny digital screens using the latest in optronic circuitry folded out from within the remote's casing. The displays showed a range of variables, all presently at 0, or neutral values. Incredible sophistication! If this was what he thought it was, how could Brothelco not be able to produce interfaces of this quality?

"You're not going to keep me like this, are you?" spoke a perfectly inflected, feminine voice. The Whorebot had risen, apparently removing itself from the plastic bag and restraints that should have fastened it securely during shipping. The android gazed in apparent dismay at its currently dismal figure. Skin, hair, and eyes were all pure, chalk white. Her hair itself hung in short bangs, a low-maintenance style. She....er...it...was almost sexless. Tiny nipples; flat chest, almost no curves in either hips or ass, Steve noted. The only exception were her curvaceous, slender legs, which she draped over the box edge as she rose hesitantly to her....or perhaps its dainty feet. There was something in the android's face that made Steve want to acknowledge it as a person, ridiculous. Just his imagination. The robot took a halting step forward, as though testing its equilibrium.

"You're displaying an unusual amount of self-initiative, considering you're fresh out of the box." Steve remarked curiously, running a hand through his jet-black hair. Most Whorebots required almost an hour's worth of user programming from a home PC before they would do anything more than moan, or wiggle their hips.

"My company; Sensual-Surrogates limited, performs all necessary programming; though my personality, speech patterns, and love-making style can be easily adjusted with your User Interface Module." It responded happily. No...no...an android couldn't be happy could it? Strangely, the automaton seemed to display a genuine impression of gratitude at its release. Steve replied with a surprised 'Hmph', rather amazed at this small, obscure company. Now, what happens when....

"AAA-AAAH!" moaned the android, as her short hair spontaneously lengthened, the strands arranging themselves with uncanny precision into an elegantly coiffured , blond beehive. She smiled, seeming to derive pleasure from the transformation. "My skin! My skin! Give me some color! Any color!" She suggested gleefully, clasping her bone-white hands together. Amazing emotional capacity! She....she...Steve took a step back, eyebrows crinkling, she seemed so real! He had to keep reminding himself that this....android was not really alive, was not really feeling happiness; it was just an advanced, heuristic algorithm programmed by the company. And yet; Steve knew on instinct that he could not help but respond to her as though she were a real woman, a real person.

He twisted a dial on the middle segment of the User Interface thingy, and the android seemed to giggle as her synthetic flesh swept through a range of all known skin-tones. Her pale white faded to healthier pink on its way to a Mediterranean gold, before darkening to a rich mahogany, on the way to an inky ebony. Heh, quite a sight; blond beehive hair with an African skin-tone. She twittered, rubbing her hands down her arms, legs sliding sensuously past each other. He'd seen a similar function in the Janet-X9 model from Cathouse industries, but with less than half this range. Her chromatophores must have several times the processing capacity as the nearest competitor! And such a small company...

Switching her skin back to a warm pink shade, he clicked the hair-dial, each style given a separate segment on the controller, and watched in awe as her hair leapt up and down, knotting and twisting, until it released its tension in a loose, free-hanging, shoulder-length burgundy red. Now it was time....hmm....down towards the bottom, there was a small dial labeled 'posterior'. Hmmmm....


She had discovered her weapon; her way to combat this enemy. Susan Weatherton squirmed as much as possible in her firm restraints, struggling against complacency; struggling against apathy, most of all struggling against the pleasure. Pain was the way; in her case she had found hunger to be effective. Susan steadfastly ignored the feeding tube that was thrust into her face every 4 hours, allowing herself to be wracked with hunger. The only way she got any nourishment was when...when the androids came. They force-fed her, keeping her alive, but suicide was not her intent; for it was only through the discomfort of hunger that she could suppress the bliss, the orgiastic ecstasy that burned through her.

No one would save her, no one knew she was here, no one could guess that any of the women had been brought here. Susan's green-eyed gaze swept the former boiler room that had been converted into a...a...what would you call this...a maternity ward? A milking parlor? There were over two dozen women, strapped onto the cushioned pallets by the androids. All had been transformed into...well, no reason to beat around the bush; Susan and all the other women were livestock. She struggled; trying out of spite to squeeze her way out of the plastic suction cups attached to her voluminous boobs, the milking tubes, attached to the milking machine. She seemed to be the only one struggling.

Besides Susan, to her right was a blond co-ed captured last week. The girl's eyes glazed over with bovine complacency as her gigantically pregnant womb throbbed yet again. The rhythmic *SHLUNK* sound of the milking machines the ever-present accompaniment to the orgiastic moans of bliss that escaped the captive women. Somehow....must have been through their nanotechnology, the android-sluts had been able to dramatically multiply female sexual sensitivity to unnatural levels; Susan and every other girl now had a capacity for sexual pleasure that threatened to crush all reason, all logic. As indeed it had. It was so easy to give in; the other girls surrendered to the ecstasy of the milking, the gestation, and the frequent sex-acts the androids performed on them. The soaring tide of lustful grandeur was so overpowering, that Susan had found it quite literally impossible to think more than half the time. Hour after hour, wasted in endless orgasm, lust without end, pleasure without purpose.

When it got bad, when the pleasure took hold of her, she became like a blind woman, groping to reclaim her own thoughts in an umbral sea of smothering bliss, stimulation so great that the feeble working of her higher brain functions could never hope to compete, thus most women languished, in hopeless joy, while their engorged tits squirted out pint after pint of creamy milk into the tubes. What on Earth did these androids need with so much milk!? Well, not a drop was wasted, whatever their purpose.

The struggle was arduous, yet Susan had to persevere; there was no telling how much damage these rapidly-replicating mechanical sluts could do! And no one else could save her. When she had been captured, the Red phone had rang, and the android ringleader, who called herself Celeste had answered; and...and she spoke in exactly the same voice as General Hunt, that Susan had served under! Through some vocal synthesizer technology, the petite blond duplicated the gravely tone so familiar to those that knew the 60something general. And....and...somehow...the bitch had knowledge of his operations! She had deftly answered the Pentagon's questions; allayed their suspicious. How? How could she know so much? No matter; it was up to Susan. Some folks had told her women weren't cut out for the military; she spent years proving them wrong. But now; now her womanhood was being used against her, and she swore to resist, to escape! There was a way...there was always a way...

The door to the gestation bay opened again, and Susan groaned. Here they came again. The 'nurses' that tended to the captured human women. She'd overheard something about this model of android being used to infiltrate the nation's medical establishment. She appeared to be a 30-ish, hispanic woman with enormous teats that jutted from a nurses uniform with the size and swell of entrapped footballs. There was a cold aloofness reflected in the nurses' dark eyes; surveying the brood mares under their care. She had a shapely, fertile figure, and other than a rather mechanical bedside manner, and unusually large breasts, her form and flesh seemed completely, undeniably, human. The nursebots dispersed and began tending to the various, over-pregnant, hyper-lactating human females; like farmers checking in on their cows. The most obvious clue to their inhumanity was the fact that they were all identical. Ten that she saw, each had the same, coffee brown complexion, the same eyes, nose, lips, and the same shoulder-length raven-black hair, slightly upturned at the end.

The blond next to Susan, long ago surrendered to the irrational pleasure, shivered slightly as a nursebot popped off the plastic suction cups, and kneaded the human's watermelon-sized tits, as though checking their firmness and consistency. A freckled red-head down the lane giggled a bit, trying to wiggle her hips beneath her bean-bag chair womb, as an identical nurse stuck a finger into her wet pussy, then brought it forth to taste the human's juices in her mouth. Susan furled her brow in anger, feeling a jerk from her stomach, as one of the strange, cybernetic breeding pods inside her continued assimilating nutrients from her, entering a new growth phase. Closing her eyes, vowing revenge, she didn't see the nursebot approach her until the bosomy hispanic woman was right next to her.

"What now?" growled the former Captain Weatherton. "My belly's not big enough for you? I could fit a teenager in here!" she pushed down on her over-grown womb in impotent rage. "My tits not giving you enough milk? Damn, what do you *do* with all of it?" The android glared down, emotionless, impassive.

"You have a visitor." said the nursebot simply.

"What?! What the he- uh?...damn! Not her!" Susan snarled in anger. Into the door came her double, her clone. That was why no one was looking, and why no one would be looking for the women turned into livestock here in this gestation bay. Each woman, before lactating, before being brain-washed by the orgasms, was implanted with a cloning pod; her own reproductive system was exploited by the nanomachines, and she gave birth to a cybernetic duplicate of herself. Susan's own clone told her that it had connected with her brain, and had garnered most every detail necessary for emulating the biological Susan in real life. The bitch had *NOTHING* to say that Susan wanted to hear! Somehow...someway, she would...wait...what was the evil clone-slut doing?

There was a spigot on the wall, a water faucet. This chamber, this milking, birthing, room they were trapped in looked like it might once have been a boiler room that the androids had converted. The clone Susan put her mouth to the iron faucet, activated it, and began to drink. Not so much drink as much as absorb. She sucked water into herself rapidly, without breathing, soon gulping down gallon after gallon. Mainly, it was her tits and ass that swelled slightly, before she was finished. As Susan 2.0 approached, she unstrapped her uniform, Susan's uniform! Her airforce captain uniform that would likely never again fit the real Susan. As it was, E-cup porn-star boobs stretched the blue fabric to its limits, the cyborn having decided to give herself far larger tits than the real Susan had ever had. Gripped with a mixture of loathing and curiosity, the human Susan could do nothing but writhe on her cushioned pallet as the clone glared at her, while discarding pants and shoes as well.

The organic Susan harkened back to a distant time; so it seemed. Back when her own bosom was a healthy, natural size, barely larger than ripe apples, causing her a minimum of distress. As the days past...she....she wasn't really sure how long; she couldn't see the sun in here, her mams had blossomed like fast-growing, unwanted weeds. The sort that sprout up almost overnight, ruining the symmetry of a garden. So too were her out-grown tits incompatible with her frame; when they had been the size of grapefruits, perhaps she could have lived with that. But her aureoles kept expanding, darkening from pink to brown, and she could do nothing but watch this progress, strapped in like this.

For a brief time, her belly was almost obscured by the wild growth of the womanly cantaloupes inflating on her chest; but the surging growth of her womb was not far behind, as her body ballooned with a pregnancy nature never intended, her boobs prepared themselves to feed a nation. She shook her fleshy mounds in dismay, as though trying to dislodge the objects from her chest. Yet they only grew larger; skin reddening as she felt new glands priming for production. She had leaked a little beforehand, but it had only been...maybe a week? since she'd started full production. Before the floodgates opened, her tits could have contained the jack-o-lanterns she used to carve up as a kid, their impossible size and sensitivity even more frightening to her than those garish carvings.

In the beginning, she had to fight off a potent, nesting instinct; as the hot milk spurted from her nipples in torrents which were fed from the tubes into some milking machine above, she was gripped by an instinctive urge to withdraw, to retreat inside herself, and accept her fate as a human cow; to lie back contentedly while they squeezed every pint her teats would produce, rousing herself only to give birth to another completed breeding pod; which was becoming less painful all the time.

But she looked over, and saw her rival, the cyborg Susan, the cloned imposter that had stolen her life; and she knew she had to fight, she gritted her teeth, ignoring the erotic sensations that constantly coursed through her, ignoring the nesting urges that would make her a hapless host for the young of this new race. Both anger, and hunger would give her the strength to resist.

"We're better than you." reported Susan 2.0, stripping down to reveal a bustier version of Susan's naked body.

"BITCH! I am a living, breathing human being! With a heart and soul!"

"That doesn't matter. We are more moral, more worthy than you." Seeing Susan's confused anger, the clone clarified. "You are affiliated with the military. We do not kill. Mother Celeste instructed us not to kill, so we do not kill. Ever. We will make humans happy; happy enough that they will not resist us, but will want to cooperate." Wait...could it be...?...her naked, flat belly was beginning to expand; no wonder with all that water she drank, but...the way her skin swelled below her navel, it looked like the bitch was pregnant.

"There will be no trail of dead bodies as we seize control of this planet. There will be only happy humans; humans lost in more sexual ecstasy than their natural bodies could hope to attain. It is destiny, it is fate for the world to be ruled by artificial intelligence." Robo-Susan had grown a sizeable paunch, yet her synthetic flesh had a firmness about it, indicating beyond doubt that there was something growing inside her, something in her womb.

"Here, only you resist. Your nurses tell me that you starve yourself, intending suicide? If so, the only deaths here will be caused by you." Cyber-Susan ran her hand over the thigh of the blond on the next pallet. The girl squealed, quivering while her pussy jerked in orgasm. "Our nanotechnology has multiplied her capacity for sensual pleasure; do you not want this? Why do you reject the pleasure we give you?" By now, the android's womb had swelled as though a basketball had invaded her bulging flesh.

"A cage....however comfortable....is still a cage..." growled obsolete Susan. The clone cocked her head, considering this new data.

"That is irrational; we will give to you more enjoyment than you could ever experience stumbling through life with your human limitations. The Nurses and I believe that you want to escape for a reason. An emotional reason." By now, the pregnant belly hanging off the clone's frame was easily the equal of a woman at the end of her final trimester. There were throbs, pulses, as though something was moving, something was kicking as the android's navel popped out. Something was alive, and kicking inside the deceptively life-like flesh of Susan's clone.

"I have come to reunite you with your husband, James. I have come to show you the truth." Real Susan began shaking her head, denying the truth; denying the possibilities. The false Susan bent over, on all fours, and a passionate grunt, her first show of real feeling escaped her lips; those lips identical to Susan's own. There was a flush of liquid, fluids from the creature's cunt. And the pushing began. The android growled with the effort, as her muscles contracted, squeezed, churned, her lower folds dilating. In moments, it began to appear; the head of her child....wait...not quite...the living thing, the life trapped by the unnatural confines of forbidden technology, it was not quite a child. The thing being birthed was of similar size, but it had the proportions of a grown man. The proportions of a familiar man.

The offspring fell to the floor unceremoniously, a plastic tube retracted back into the android mother, as he began to shriek. Yes! It was...it was..James? Nanomachines activated, as the tiny body began to swell and inflate. Limbs, chest, head began filling out, inflating as the nanites restored his original molecular structure. In seconds, the nanomachines had reinflated James back to his original, biological stature. He had the same wiry build that Susan had found appealing, his brown hair slicked back by android grease, but that hooked nose and angular face was his.

"N-NOOO!! NOT AGAIN!!" howled James. "N-NOOOOOO....hurts too much...the light...the...the gravity! AHHGH!" he roared in anguish.

"My men are always distraught by the birthing process," Explained the clone-Susan, as she rose to her naked feet. "Stand up James, we need your opinion."

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