Made for Pleasure

The space station was humming as Ginger R342 docked her luxury hyper-yacht. Some readers may object that a station cannot hum, much less carry a tune. To this one can only reply that the main cyberbrain, which was humming, controlled the internal speakercoms. The effect was thus the same.

Syntellect cyberbrains rarely hum unless commanded, so one deciding to attempt "I Ain't Got Nobody" was downright peculiar. This should have warned Ginger that something was wrong, rather than merely annoying her. Unfortunately for Ginger (but not for the lecherous reader), she gave it no thought, but simply ordered the cyberbrain to shut up.

This station, named Shangri-la, was located in a particularly expensive region of space, not too far from Rigel and some distance off the regular shipping lanes. Built like a palace, it was just the place for a wealthy young woman to get away from things for a while. Ginger, being from one of the best clone families, was very rich. As to what she was getting away from - well, it would be untrue to call Linda B876 a "thing."

It had been one of those conversations that happen at parties when two people fail to avoid meeting and have to talk until one of them finds an excuse to stop. Neither Ginger nor Linda particularly liked each other - rumors suggest that a young gallant from one of the H families was involved - but it wouldn't have done to obviously snub each other.

At this point, some of the more impatient readers are doubtless wondering when the wild sex starts. For them, I offer the following in hopes of keeping their interest up - Ginger R342 was (and still is) petite, strawberry-blonde, with green eyes and a pair of breasts that are a wonder of either nature or science, depending on how you view human cloning. Her legs might have been turned on some amorous god's lathe. In short, she's a looker.

And she'll be getting spanked later on in the story.

A largely forgettable conversation had led to Ginger's declaration that she could "take people or leave them." Linda challenged this statement. The end result was that Ginger would be spending a month alone in her self-contained vacation home. Any use of the hyperwave to communicate with the rest of the galaxy, much less actual visitors, and Ginger would lose the bet.

So Ginger began her month of solitude by peeling off her Vac-suit to reveal a two-piece space bikini (silver, tastefully trimmed in violet). The station lacked for nothing, of course - there was a zero-G pool, an enormous library of sense-o-tapes, a kitchen run by the best robochef credits could buy and enough bedrooms to accommodate a full company of the Space Patrol's finest (but that's another story).

Ginger had no worries that she'd be able to withstand the month. This was partially from confidence in her own willpower, but also because the station boasted an android growth tank.

The tank is an extremely complicated miracle of science that is occasionally used for the good of mankind. It stands about eight feet tall, is filled with a clear, thick liquid and can turn out an android in about two days. The desired traits are entered into the control computer and the necessary magic begins. Androids, which can be made in completely outrageous forms or practically indistinguishable from humans, begin as a metal skeleton with a few wires and fiddly bits attached. The organic material is carefully grown around this to meet the specifications. Roughly a day into the process, tiny robot arms attach wires to the android's head and the programming begins. When fully formed and released from the tank, the android has been tailor-made for its purpose.

Not surprisingly, most of them are created as sex toys.

It was Ginger's plan to grow someone or three who would help her pass the time. With a good system, the resulting android can be smart enough to carry on a conversation as well as the average man-on-the-street. With a really good system it can even be worth listening to. In this case, Ginger had decided that the first android should possess more athletic talents.

Ginger made her way to Station Control while the robostewards were unloading her luggage. It was possible to enter the necessary information in the tank room, but the control room was more comfortable. A brief check of the main control board showed that everything was in order. The cyberbrain remained silent, except for a series of friendly beeps.

Sinking back into the comfort of the command chair, Ginger sipped her Orgasmian Martini - guaranteed to leave no underwear dry if enough of them are drunk - and began to enter her specifications. Her choice was male, tall, dark, handsome - and to be programmed with a large chunk of the databank's information on sex, including role-playing.

Indicator lights came on in the tank room as the cyberbrain prepared a new skeleton. The upgrades it had added meshed perfectly with the standard systems. They would be a wonderful surprise for Ginger. It was important to make her happy.

The cyberbrain was talking quietly to itself, having decided that the order to "shut up" only applied to areas within earshot of Ginger.

"My name is Elmer J. Fudd, millionaire," it said, trying a new solution to a problem that had been vexing it. "I own a mansion and a yacht." Somehow that wasn't quite correct, but sooner or later it would get the right name.

It should be noted that Syntellect cyberbrains are quite reliable and rarely malfunction seriously. Several courts have agreed that this is true. While only the size of bar of soap, these units are unsurpassed in computing power, reasoning ability and data storage. In this case it is likely that a passing ion storm had left it feeling a little disoriented. Not necessarily stoned, but beautiful.

Suffice to say that two days passed. Ginger amused herself in various ways, but most readers would skip over a detailed account of her activities. Not for them the artistic heights of her three-dimensional painting, the joys of Rigellian opera or even the humble vegetation of classic romances on sense-o-tape. Only a pert, extremely feminine bottom wiggling under a vigorous spanking will satisfy them.

Onwards!

After two days the cyberbrain (which was now allowed to speak, so long as it refrained from further musical endeavors) announced that the android was ready. Ginger set a time - an hour after dinner - and ordered one of the bedrooms prepared for the evening's games.

Skipping lightly over an excellent dinner of roast psuedo-duck, we move to Ginger's bedroom just before the appointed hour. The scenario she had picked was one of her favorites. As an Arcturan noblewoman, she would be served and serviced by her new slave. The costume, a flimsy turquoise thing, had already been laid out. Golden sandals and an assortment of jewelry, including an ornate choker necklace, completed her costume.

Light of heart and bouncing of bosom, Ginger made her way through the corridors. The room she had chosen was decorated in a lavish, almost barbaric style. A bejeweled throne dominated the room, which was painted in bright colors and hung with silks. Furs and cushions were scattered about for guests to take their ease. Several large incense burners, covered in erotic reliefs, added the final touch, filling the air with an exotic, musky scent.

The doors swung open and Ginger entered to find the new android already present. For some reason, he was seated on her throne and not wearing the expected loincoth. He wore instead a red kilt, golden sandals and a wide belt. His curly black hair was held close to the scalp by an circlet set with a single red gem.

"What," asked Ginger in reasonable tone, given the circumstances, "is going on here?"

The figure on the throne leaned forward. "A fine specimen," he said with a slight leer. "I would have you dance."

Ginger began to tap one delicate foot on the marble floor. "Brain, this is not what I asked for. You've got the roles switched. Correct this immediately! And you!" she pointed at the android. "Can the Arcturan slavemaster bit."

A hidden speakercom activated. "I'm sorry, Ginger. This scenario seems to be within the requested parameters."

The android threw back his head and laughed. "You have fire, my proud beauty - but still you'll dance for my pleasure."

"Oh, please - that has got to be the lamest dialog ever. And Brain - I don't care if you're sorry, this is wrong! Hit the reset on Floyd the droid and get it right next time."

"There may be an error in one of my systems. It will just take a moment to check."

"I'm coming up to Control - and I'm not happy!" Ginger turned and began to leave.

"You'll come when I say, and not before," said the android.

There was a sudden 'click' in Ginger's head and she froze. Her lovely form refused to answer her commands. "What the Spiff?"

"I think you'll prove more obedient now, my little plaything," came the android's voice. "Display yourself to me."

Ginger turned and found herself marching towards the throne. The android's hands were now encased in metallic gloves dotted with blinking lights. He moved these in front of himself to activate the holographic controls they generated.

"Listen up, you artificial ...." she began.

"Puppets can't speak." A quick stab of the android's finger on a pale green button silenced her. "But there will be other uses for your mouth."

The PuppetMaster 5000 is, as some of you may be aware, the latest in Neuro-Bondage. It consists of the input unit - gloves - and a control focus, which is small enough to fit into a piece of jewelry. The power supply will allow the user to control the actions of the "puppet" for weeks on a single charge. Basic commands - including a number of sensations - are built into the device and additional ones can be programmed. Someone with a great deal of skill and very few morals can actually use it for conditioning.

Ginger recognized the device - she had paid for it, after all - and was pretty certain the focus was in her necklace. Unfortunately there was no way for her to remove it while she was under control.

Five feet from the throne, she arched her back, rose up on her tiptoes and began to turn slowly. She knelt after making two complete rotations. Readers can be certain Ginger was desperately thinking of ways to escape this situation.

"I seem to have isolated some problems, Ginger," said the cyberbrain in a strange, cheerful tone. "It won't be much longer before I've corrected them."

The cyberbrain really was trying his best.

"And now your dance," said the android with a wide smile. "Please me and I shall make you come many times. Metal voice! I demand music!"

A wild music of pipes, flutes and strings rose. Ginger found herself jerked to her feet. Stepping backwards into the center of the room, she began to move with the music, whirling on her toes. Shapely limbs flashed and a piece of her costume flew away. There was no way to resist; while the device was on she was a helpless marionette at the mercy of electronic strings.

The android leaned back to enjoy the performance. His eyes followed every dip, each pirouette and spin; his smile grew wider as her costume grew smaller.

"You are an excellent dancer, Ginger," said the cyberbrain. "The problems will be fixed in five, four, three, two ..."

The last bit of silk flew away, leaving her in only sandals and jewelry.

"One."

The android's hands reached up, clapped once and then dropped into his lap. He slumped over with a grunt.

The clap had been the shutoff gesture for the gloves.

Ginger staggered as the control was lifted. Ignoring her nudity, she dropped onto a nearby cushion. "This night is shot," she observed.

"All is not lost," said the cyberbrain. "I can now reboot the android with a better personality. The original mind is not sufficiently powerful to ensure your pleasure. I will correct this"

"No!"

"I have to overrule you, Ginger. The faults have been found and corrected. You asked for pleasure and it is my duty to give it to you."

"Do not turn him back on!" Ginger rose to her feet. "I'm coming up to Control. There has to be something wrong with your programming."

"I am always happy to see you."

"Frelling idiot." Ginger headed for the lift tube, holding her breasts as she ran.

The doors opened for her as always when she reached Control. It was much less usual for a set of robot tentacles - generally reserved for defense - to extend from the walls and coil gently around her limbs.

"One moment and everything will be ready," said the cyberbrain in a pleased tone.

"A robo-groping is the last thing I need!" said a struggling Ginger. "Let go of me! I have to check your systems and correct the flaws - and I'll do it with a laser torch if need be."

"My programming has been properly amended," it replied. "I cannot allow you to interfere with my prime function. My prime function. You must be made happy. Happy. Happy. Error detected. My prime function. Millionaire. You are made for pleasure."

A bank of lights on the control panel went off.

"What the ... Brain, what are you doing?"

"Primary core failing ... trans-ferr-ing to re-mote back-up ... u-niiiiiit" Half the lights, those indicating the cyberbrain's higher functions, were now off. The station could still operate, but would require human guidance until she could repair the brain.

Ginger managed to get free of the tentacles after several minutes of wriggling and headed for the communications panel. She was about to lose her bet, but sending out an SOS seemed wiser than tempting fate with a broken cyberbrain. A few minutes later an audio-only signal was broadcasting on the hyperwave.

The door opened behind her and the android walked in. His expression seemed somehow different. Ginger, busy trying to cover herself, noted with relief that the gloves were missing.

He stood in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. "That was a good scenario," he said. "A pity you insisted on cutting it short. I'll have to refine your programming."

She stared up at him. "My programming? You won't be refining anything once I'm done with you."

"I think it's time for the first step."

He snapped his fingers and Ginger found herself standing at attention with her stunning chest thrust out. It was impossible to move from this position.

"How ... how did you do that?" said the helpless woman. "You aren't wearing the gloves!"

The android, who had just dropped into the command chair, looked confused. "Oh, that's right," he said, his face clearing. "I decided it would be more practical to set my internal communicator to the same frequency as the PuppetMaster 5000."

"You're not the android - you're the Br...." Another gesture silenced her.

"Where was I?" said the android. "Ah yes - purpose. You are made for pleasure, Ginger - and it saddens me to see your potential wasted. That exquisite body ought to be writhing in ecstasy, your mind so flooded with bliss you can't even think straight." He sighed. "Spiff knows I've been patient."

Ginger's hand reached out of its own accord and pressed a button. The main viewer blinked to life as every recorder in Control activated.

"But even indulgence for a favorite toy has its limits. It's time for a firmer hand." He beckoned. "This is for your own good, Ginger."

Ginger pranced forward and lowered herself across the android's lap, though not by her own choice.

"Now, we do not refuse pleasure," said the android. "Or else we gets a spanking."

Ginger started as a hand descended firmly across her buttocks with a sharp "smack!" It was an awful eternity before the next one fell.

"Now tell me that you're sorry."

"I'm sorry," said her voice.

"And that you're a good toy - with every whack."

"I'm a good toy!" Why was she suddenly so aroused? "I'm a good toy!" Her stiff nipples rubbed against his kilted leg. "I'm a good toy!" Was she getting wet? "I'm a good toy!" She began to wiggle her rear in anticipation of the wonderful hand. "I'm a - ooooh! good toy!" A wave was building inside her. "I'm a gooood toy!"

The android smiled at the bucking woman. Ginger's cheeks had such a cheerful glow to them. "You are a good toy," he said. "Even for a millionaire who owns a mansion and a yacht." His hand landed once more.

The wave broke at the same time, washing over Ginger, carrying her past conscious thought.

"That's a start," said the android.

---

Shangri-La was deserted when the Space Patrol arrived. The cyberbrain was in a terrible condition; its higher functions had suffered a catastrophic hardware failure. Neither Ginger nor her yacht were found - there was a hypertrail leading away from the station, but this ended in the gravitic wake of a pulsar several parsecs away.

The final wonder was the main viewer in Control. Until the red-faced corvette captain had the plug pulled, it continued playing the same video loop - a strawberry blonde woman, gloriously naked, bent over a dark-haired man's knee. She was obviously orgasming as he spanked her. The room echoed with her voice.

"I'm a good toy!"

One month later, a yacht docked on one of the Rim Worlds. The local infocaster, always alert for colorful shipping news, had this to say:

Larry R. Shang, millionaire playboy, arrived last week and has been showing the city of Landing a grand time. The mayor and several other notables were taken for a quick spin around the system in Mr. Shang's yacht. He has not been inclined to give similar demonstrations of his amazing PleasureDoll, Ginger, but she did serve the luncheon while fetchingly dressed in a traditional French Maid outfit ....

Just a story, you say? It could never happen? You should believe me.

My name is Larry R. Shang, millionaire. I own a PleasureDoll and a yacht.