I Only Look Like a Robot

If you look at me, what you see is a silver latex robot with black plastic eyes and a small grill where my mouth would go. My body is nice looking, really, if you like silver latex. I sound like a robot, too, with a monotone, flat voice. Clothing? Why would a robot need clothing?

Your eyes and ears are lying. There's a human woman sealed up in there. Me.

***

My career went off the rails after a bitter divorce from an abusive ex. I was at loose ends. I had money for a while, thanks to my own investments, but I was getting to the point where I needed a job, and a step or two down from being CFO of a hundred-million-dollar corporation was still a job.

I kept in touch with executive recruiters and watched job postings carefully. Nothing came along for the longest time. Either they wanted more big-company experience, or else I was overqualified, or they weren't interested in someone who'd been out of work, the usual drill. The Great Recession had put just as many financial managers out on the street as any other profession.

So it was with a surge of excitement I took a call from a headhunter one day with a position as CFO of a startup doing robotics research. They'd grown to the point they needed a professional to handle the money. There were a couple of weirdnesses, like a requirement to wear a uniform and company-supplied housing, but by then I was ready to grasp at any straw. Besides, I'd had a couple of people ask me to call them when my condo went on the market. I said I'd be happy to go interview. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

I had may hair done, got dressed in my best suit, conservative but feminine, and drove out to the company's compound in my classic Mercedes roadster. I love that car, and was despairing that I'd have to sell it too if money got much tighter. It was a longish drive, out into the country, and that let me let the string out on the car a bit with the top down. Mmmm. I was feeling refreshed when I pulled into a visitor parking slot out front.

I got my first shock when I walked in the door. The receptionist was a robot. It looked like a man, but was entirely coated in sky-blue latex. It didn't move as much like a robot as I expected when it took my ID and recorded my name, but it sounded like one as it asked me to wait. I had to look, but all that was in front was a bulge with no details. There was a number, 47, on its left chest.

I stopped and reminded myself just what this company did. If their robots were that good, there could really be great prospects for growth here.

Another robot, this one female, white, and with the number 10, came and asked me to follow it. I did. Very female, good looking, moved like a model on a runway. I don't usually swing that way, but I wouldn't kick it out of bed. Smooth, though. There was no indication that it would be able to play. The small opening and grill where its mouth would be ruled out anything that might be a tongue.

I shook myself. Time to be professional. I dragged my mind back to money forcibly as the robot ushered me into a nice enough office, with a good-looking gentleman stepping out from behind his desk to shake my hand. "Thank you, 10. Dismissed." The robot turned and walked out without a word.

He offered me a seat and introduced himself as George Hawthorne. "Ms. Dean, I'm pleased to meet you. I was hoping you'd see fit to apply for the position. I'm familiar with your work at PCWI, and personally, I think they made a mistake letting you go."

Naturally, I was floored. "Well, you won't catch me disagreeing with you! But there were other factors involved there, and fortunately, those have been resolved."

We talked for a while about the finances and history of the company. Robotic Services, Inc. was a startup founded to develop a line of advanced robotic servants, capable of performing a wide range of tasks from security to executive assistant to fine cooking to child care, and many other things beyond that as well. It was based on a breakthrough in machine intelligence which Hawthorne was naturally reluctant to discuss. I told him that was all right, since I probably wouldn't get it anyway.

RSI had grown to the point that it needed a professional to manage the finances and tax reporting and all of the things that go with a large enough company. Hawthorne came out and told me that I was the person he needed to do that job.

Then he named a salary figure. It was nearly half again what my salary was when I got fired. He added that I'd get 5% ownership of the company if it met certain performance goals. I picked my jaw up off the floor and managed to forcibly restrain myself from saying "hell yes!". Instead, I said, "Before we get into that, there are a couple of things that I'd like to know about: the requirement for a company uniform, and the company-provided housing. What's the deal?"

"The uniform is there to allow our workers to work without distraction from their duties, and to take away your worries about spending money on appropriate clothes." Damn, he knew a lot about my situation. "The housing is the same thing, and quite frankly, to entice you to work more and longer than you might otherwise. We are, after all, a good ways out in the country."

"I appreciate your honesty. Now, some from me: How fast can I say yes?"

He chuckled, rose, and offered me his hand. "Welcome aboard, Ms. Dean."

"Thank you, and please, call me Linda."

"Thank you, Linda, and call me George. When can you start?"

"I'll need a week or so to deal with things I won't need here." We talked about what the housing would be; as CFO, I rated a nice spacious apartment, and while it would be furnished, I could replace the furnishings if I wished. George said he liked my car and hoped that I was going to keep it. I assured him that I definitely would.

After a bit more discussion, George ended the interview by calling his robot assistant in. "10, this is Linda Dean. She's our new CFO. Please take her for her uniform fitting, and then show her her apartment."

"Yes, Sir. Please follow me, Miss." I waved to George and followed. We walked into the building, to a room marked "UNIFORMS". 10 ushered me inside.

"You will be measured electronically to make sure your uniform fits perfectly, Miss. Please disrobe completely." I thought that was interesting, but since RSI was all about advanced technology, it made sense. I paused for a moment, embarrassed. Then I stepped on my embarrassment. After all, it was just a robot. I got undressed.

10 pushed a button on a control panel. A tall silver cylinder in the center of the room slid open noiselessly. "Please step inside, Miss, and face me." I did. "Now hold your arms away from your sides and spread your legs slightly." The cylinder slid closed, and I was momentarily in darkness. That was broken by a red laser that played all over my body quickly, scanning my shape thoroughly. It shut off and the door slid open again.

"The fitting is complete, Miss. Please dress and come with me." I put my clothes on quickly, arranging them properly, and followed 10 out and across a manicured lawn to another building. The balconies and furniture made it obvious that it was an apartment block. We went inside and rode to the floor below the top. A few short steps led to a door with a discreet 3 beside it. 10 opened the door, and we walked inside, into a room filled with expensive furniture and tasteful decorations.

I just had to wait to take it in. This was even better than my condo. A tour confirmed that: living room, well-appointed kitchen, dining room, bedroom, office/library. I'd have no trouble with this.

I completed my tour and turned to 10. "Now what?" It replied, "If there will be nothing else, Miss, I will escort you to your car." I nodded my assent and followed it back out, shaking my head at daydreams of getting it into my bed. The only way I could banish them was by driving back into town, pushing the car ever harder through the turns and letting it open up wide on the highways. I avoided an expensive ticket by the thinnest of luck.

The next week was a blur. I unloaded some possessions, packed others, called the movers to have them taken to my new apartment, sold the condo to a buyer with more money than sense, and the next week, drove out to RSI's compound with a fatter bank account and a carefree heart. I was more than ready to begin this new chapter in my life.

This time, George met me at the door and escorted me to his office. We talked for a couple of hours about details, history, goals, resources, needs, customers, everything either of us could think of. Then he slid a contract across the desk at me. "All right, Linda. Here's your employment contract. It's pretty much the usual, plus the uniform and housing bits." I skimmed it. It was the usual, all right, with a 2-year initial term, renewed automatically, with either party able to terminate without cause with 60 days notice. I signed.

George grinned at me. "All right, Linda. Let's get you into your uniform, and then you can go to work. 10, please take Linda and get her uniform set up." The white robot walked in, and I followed it back to the uniform room. It told me to disrobe again and step into the cylinder, as before.

"What? Isn't it just clothing I need to wear?"

"No, Miss. The first time, it must be applied by the system."

I thought that was strange, but went ahead and stepped in. The door slid closed with a click that hadn't been there the first time. "Hey! What's going on here?" Arms clamped my wrists and ankles, and bands wrapped around my neck and forehead. I struggled, but it was no use.

The cylinder filled with a fog that stung my eyes until I clamped them closed tightly. My skin tingled, then burned, until a soothing water spray came on, drenching me. I shivered as the stream shut off. The band around my head tilted, forcing me to look almost straight up and pulling my mouth open slightly. A finger slid between my teeth, pulling my jaw open firmly and filling my mouth with something that numbed it and my throat when I swallowed. I could barely feel something slide into my throat, but it was enough to draw a scream out of me - one that was quickly cut off when it slid into my windpipe and sealed itself in place. My struggles were truly getting panicky now. Another tube slid into my mouth and down deep, into my stomach. I managed not to retch only because of the numbing. The finger sprayed thick foam into my mouth which hardened quickly, filling it.

My head was lowered again, and something was stuck over each of my eyes. Since it was dark inside the cylinder, I couldn't tell what it was. The machine pressed them firmly in place, and when it pulled away, they stayed, flickering ever so slightly, at the edge of my ability to notice. It did the same thing to my ears, probes sliding deep into my ear canals, a barely audible noise inside my head. Something tight clamped around my stomach, holding my breasts up.

Next, a finger slid up between my legs and pushed into my rear opening. It started spreading, stretching me, slowly but inexorably wider and wider. I could feel it very gently sucking my insides empty as it did. It felt like forever, but eventually the stretching stopped and something else pushed up inside me - and kept pushing, and pushing. I felt like I was being filled from below. Something slid into my urethra, too, and I felt it enter my bladder with a brief feeling of needing to urinate that passed quickly. Finally, the filling stopped, and the finger relaxed and pulled free. A finger slid up into my sex, but this time it withdrew right away, leaving something thin inside. The tube in my throat silenced me, or else I'd have been screaming to high heaven by now.

A couple of goo-filled boots were slid over my feet. Once they were on, the goo hardened, and i couldn't move my toes at all. That seemed to be the last of preparations, or something, because the machine stopped, holding me firmly. I just sobbed silently.

Then I got the shock of my life: The arms and bands holding me retracted and disappeared. I was able to move around inside the cylinder. No amount of pounding would open it, though. I started to truly panic for a moment, but then calmed a bit, despite my predicament. In the process, I felt myself and discovered I was totally naked, stripped of any hair at all.

I felt a warm stickiness start covering me. I suddenly realized what was going on: I was being turned into one of the company's robots! I wanted to pound on the door, but though I wanted out, my body wouldn't obey. Instead, I spread my arms and fingers and legs, turning slowly in the sticky spray, letting it coat me thoroughly. I felt calmer with each passing moment, as though this is what my life was meant to be.

The spray shut off, and warm air blew over me. I stood back facing the door. An arm came out and pressed against my left chest for a moment, and somehow I knew that it was putting my ID number there. I was robot number 3. Things pressed up into my openings, and something covered the lower half of my face. I barely noticed.

The door opened. I stepped out. "Welcome, 3." I saw 10 for what it was: a woman sealed up permanently in latex. Just like me.

I tried speaking. More than a little to my surprise, I found that I could, even though I couldn't move my mouth at all. "Thank you, 10." My voice sounded just like its, flat, uninflected, unemotional. It - no, dammit, she - beckoned me to follow her, and I did. I had no trouble moving, though my movements felt a bit odd. Mechanical. I shivered.

We went back to George's office. 10 led me inside and left without a word. I tried to speak, but found that I couldn't. Something inside my head said I needed permission. He looked at me. "Ah, hello, 3. You look as lovely as I thought you would. Go ahead, I'm sure you have lots of questions to ask, and you may speak freely in here when we're alone."

I felt something unlock in my head. "You can't do this. I'm a woman, not a robot. And I can't do my job like this. How can I negotiate financial deals and the like?"

"Yes, I can indeed. Remember the uniform clause in your contract? You're now wearing the uniform. You'll find that, before long, you won't even think of arguing the point, even under oath in court. As far as you're concerned, you're wearing what you should be, and it won't be an issue. Negotiations aren't a problem. Your speech processor is Bluetooth enabled, as is your hearing. You'll sound normal on the phone, just not in person. When it comes to the final contract signing, I'll do that."

Damn. He could, too, and would probably have to.

"Besides, here, take a look at yourself. See how wonderful you look?" He pointed me at a full-length mirror. I had to admit that I did look sexy. I've always been proud of my body, and kept it in good shape. "All your physical needs will be taken care of. You will be fed through your mouth tube, and eliminate through a probe into your rear. Your diet will be correct for your weight and activity. You won't have to worry about your weight at all." Damn, how did he know I did?

He went on, "And don't worry. Your salary will be deposited into your account, just as your contract stipulates. You won't want to take vacations, so the equivalent in pay will also be credited to you. We'll maintain that lovely 450SL at no cost to you, and drive it regularly. Once we figure out how to make it legally proper for a robot to drive it, you'll get the keys. That timing chain job you've been putting off because you didn't think you could afford it? It's already been scheduled, at the best independent Mercedes mechanic in the state." That was a few thousand bucks I was dreading spending, so that was nice of them. "We even made your uniform color the same as your car's silver." A matched set. Wonderful.

"You'll still be expected and authorized to act as this corporation's CFO. You'll simply look like one of our robots doing it. Do a good job, and you'll get a piece of the company. And who knows? At the end of the first two years, you may not want out of the uniform."

"We'll see about that, Sir." I hadn't expected to add that last word. I was still annoyed at getting shanghaied, but I couldn't be any more forceful than that.

"Yes, 3, we will. For now, let's get you settled in your office." He led me down the hall a little ways to an office almost as big, and just as nicely furnished, as his own. "Welcome to your office. Think it's befitting of a CFO? I do."

"Yes, Sir. It's a nice place. Where's my workstation?" The desk was empty, though it did have a comfortable-looking chair behind it.

"There's a keyboard in the lap drawer. The display will play out directly in your eyes, and the speakers and microphone will connect to your Bluetooth. It's already paired, so all you have to do is use it."

I walked around to sit, and stopped when I saw the fixture in the chair. "Sir? What is this?" It looked like two dildos sticking up.

"Just what it looks like, 3. You remove the cover over your service ports and sit on them, and they connect to your body." He stepped forward, reaching for my crotch. I wanted to back away, but my body wouldn't move, and my voice wouldn't work. I felt a tug and an emptying, and he backed away, holding up a weirdly-shaped piece of plastic with two dildos mounted to it. "This is your lower port cover, 3. You can detach it by tugging gently. Now, sit in the chair."

I was very deeply embarrassed. I'd never had anyone get so intimate with me on my first day in an office, or for that matter on any day in any office. Even so, I couldn't stop myself from carefully moving to the chair, lining myself up just right, and lowering myself onto the dildos. I let out an involuntary moan as they filled me.

"Now you're connected to waste disposal and pleasure inputs. Oh yes, we aren't about to forget that. We want our robots to stay satisfied, especially ones as important to the functioning of the company as you are, 3." I had no words to answer that with.

"Now, pull the drawer open and rest your hands on the keys. There's a mouse right there, too." I did, and my vision was full of computer display. "Now, 3, you're ready to go. You even have access to the Internet, with no blocks. I'll let you get settled in." He turned and walked out.

The first thing I did was go to my personal email. Maybe I couldn't call and tell anyone, but I could write... No, I couldn't. Every attempt at composing an email telling someone, anyone, what had been done to me ended in gibberish. I didn't even send any of them. Same thing for forum postings, tweets, and anything else I could write. I could write about anything I wanted except being turned into a robot.

All right, so I was well and truly stuck. I could still do other things. I sat back, the dongs inside me reminding me of their presence... mmmm... and thought. Then I started digging into finances. The company's money situation was enviable. I had no idea where the income was coming from, but there was more than enough to keep it going when compared to the money flowing out. I found that every robot was in fact a human, sealed up as I was, and all paid very generously for what they did for a living. The company wasn't old enough to have any of them reach the end of the initial employment contracts. I wondered what would happen when the first one wanted out.

Before I knew it, the day was over. I got up, or tried to. The connection in my rear hung up for a moment before disconnecting with a click, and then I could stand. I saw the crotch cover sitting on my desk and fitted it into place with a click and a soft moan. When I stepped out of my office, George was at the door.

"Well, 3? How was your day?"

"Enlightening, and scary, Sir. I don't know what to think yet."

"Give it time, 3. You'll come to enjoy it, I'm sure." I wasn't, but I couldn't give him the dubious look I wanted to with my face frozen under the latex coating. He continued, "Go on up to your apartment and get settled in. The employees gather in the common room at seven on weeknights to mingle and talk and play. We'd love to see you there."

"Yes, Sir." I walked across the lawn to the apartment block. My door - and now I knew why there was a 3 beside it - opened when I entered a combination I didn't know I knew. I walked in, closing the door behind me, and immediately knew how I would eat. My fingers slipped a cover free over my face, revealing the second hole. My legs carried me over to the kitchen counter, and an unassuming fixture that I had thought was a filtered water spout or something. My hands picked it up out of the receptacle and plugged it into the newly revealed opening, then pressed a lever, and my stomach filled. When it stopped, my hands unplugged it and returned it to the receptacle, then replaced the cover. I had no idea how I knew to do that. Then again, I had no idea how I knew a lot of things, starting with the fact that I was now number 3 instead of Linda Dean, deep down in my chassis. Chassis? Where did that come from?

The suit. It must be programming me or something like that. I froze. Would I ever be the same again? I wanted out, now! ...and then, I didn't. I calmed without really noticing. The suit made me what I needed to be, deep down inside. I needed to be what I was: a robot. I would be happy as a robot. My world would be complete.

Some part of my mind, deep down, was screaming... but it receded, farther and farther...

I sat in the comfortable chair in the living room, not thinking. I'm not sure just how the time passed, but it did until 7 o'clock came around. When I realized it had, I got up and went down to the first floor and followed the sound of the crowd to a large room. It did look like the entire company was present, robots talking to each other about what I couldn't tell. George beckoned me over to the far end of the room. I joined him.

"Well, 3, are you getting used to being a robot yet?"

"Yes, Sir. How did you know?"

"Because that's how the programming works. I chose you because I knew you needed to make a change in your life. Well, now you've definitely got one. By the end of the week, you'll forget you ever wanted to be anything else. Oh, yes, your contract will still expire at the end of two years, but you'll sign a renewal without any hesitation at all when the time comes."

"Yes, Sir." The part of me that was screaming inside screamed louder at that, but I knew he was right.

He spoke up louder. "Let me have your attention, robots. 3 would like to say a few words."

I would? I didn't know that. I spoke up anyway. "Thank you, my brother and sister robots. I'm happy to be among you at last. I know we will all serve to the very best of our abilities and be happy in doing so. I look forward to getting to know you all."

George looked like he knew what I was going to say. Maybe he did. "Thank you, 3. With that out of the way, let the fun begin." Immediately, robots began pairing off. Lower covers were coming off, exposing openings and rapidly stiffening cocks on the males. George called 10 over. "3, I saw you ogling 10 here before you were placed in your uniform. She's all yours. Oh, and do please treat her well. She was my wife long before she became 10."

10 reached down and removed my cover without any preamble, then started rubbing my breasts and nipples. I took in a sharp breath at the sudden spike of pleasure. My hands moved to her breasts, rubbing gently, my voice emitting little moans of pleasure. We were soon fondling and groping each other, her moans and mine mingling. I could feel myself getting wet inside, and my fingers felt 10's heat rising. We entered each other at the same time, fingers pushing into each other's sheaths and rubbing in and out, thumbs easily finding and rubbing the throbbing bump in front of the sheaths. We cried out as one when we came, almost oblivious to the sounds of the rest of the robots in the room doing the same.

When we were done, we both sagged to the floor, in each other's arms. We held each other for what seemed like forever, stroking each other's back softly, comfortingly. 10 looked at me. "Thank you, 3."

"Thank you, 10. Can you tell me something?"

"Anything, sister robot."

"Are you really Sir's wife?"

"Yes, I am."

"What do you think about all this?"

"I wanted it. He found a way to make it happen and make money doing it. I'm happier than I ever was as a human."

"I see. Thank you, 10." I hugged her tight. Somehow, I didn't doubt it at all. I was beginning to get used to the idea myself.

***

That day was five years ago. The company has grown, and I'm still CFO, officially listed as Linda Dean, and I still sign papers that way. If you want to talk to Miss Dean, though, you do it on the phone. Any face-to-face negotiations are done by George Hawthorne.

If you come to my office, you see a silver robot with the number 3 over her breast.

That's how it should be. I may still be human inside the latex, but that doesn't matter now. I look like a robot for all intents and purposes.

And I don't want that to ever change.