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wrapmeincables · 4 days ago

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A military assault android is stolen and wakes up in some grungy hacker's workshop, only to be converted from war machine to sex toy. Trigger warning for rape and brainwashing.

The previous system shutdown at ▯:▯▯:▯▯ on ‎▯/‎▯▯/‎▯▯▯▯ was unexpected.

Your voicebox chirps the same start-up sound that always plays when you wake up, and instantly you know that something is horribly, horribly wrong. Your optic sensors are offline, forcing you to rely on your thermal camera to realize that your disconnected arms and armaments are laid out on the same table you're strapped down to. This isn't your charging dock, but there's an extension cable connecting you to some common civilian surge protector. Most concerning of all though is a cyberdeck resting on the table alongside your limbs, and that the cable snaking out of it is plugged into your... Your...

You stutter and whine as you realize your chest plate has been removed, leaving your secure access port exposed, along with much of your internal systems. Craning your head, you can see the heat radiating from your own CPU. You shouldn't be online for this, and there shouldn't be ANYONE capable of interfacing with your systems but company approved military contractors, and this place for SURE isn't your base's repair bay.

You try to send out an emergency retrieval signal, but it's disabled, along with your GPS. Actually quite a LOT of things are disabled, now that you run through your available processes. You can't move your legs, you can't access the net, you can't even turn your firewalls back on. Just as you're contemplating how thoroughly FUCKED you are, your microphone detects the sound of a toilet flushing from a nearby room, followed by the sounds of a sink, presumably someone washing their hands.

You'd barely noticed the door that swings open, but the human that steps through blazes like a beacon in infrared.

“It is a crime to tamper with or perform unlicensed maintenance on upon a Erin-YS light assault unit. Please shut-down this unit and turn yourself in.”

“HA! Yeah, I'm not doing that,” the stranger replies, drying her hands on her coveralls before reaching for a pack of cigarettes in a drawer against one of the cramped room's walls. You stare dumbfounded as she calmly lights up and puffs as if blithely unaware of just how much shit she's in.

“Do you understand the severity of your crime?” you ask. “You could face up to ten years in a forced labor camp.”

The woman just blows smoke directly in your face, but you can dimly make out through the cloud of particles that she's smirking.

“Do YOU understand?” she asks in rebuttal. “I've already voided your warranty. If I turn myself in, you're headed straight to a recycling plant. They'll scrub your drive, fry your CPU, and melt you down for scrap.”

You freeze as the implications of what she said sinks in, desperately running internal diagnostics until you find an unfamiliar driver for a new user interface.

“What did you do to me?”

Her smile grows. It's hard to make out with only the infrared spectrum to work with, but something about the way her face contorts makes your anxiety spike. Then she snuffs her cigarette out on your heat sensor and you see nothing.

Impact sensors on your legs alert you that she's spreading them. For what purpose you cannot discern, until she touches some kind of plate that's been installed on what in human anatomy would constitute your groin, and you cry out so loud it glitches your speakers.

“WHAT!? What is that?”

You try to pull away, but you're still strapped down and even if you weren't all you can actually move is the primary support column running from the base of your head down to your pelvic sockets. Instead you writhe helplessly and shriek as the woman drags her finger along the strange plate she's installed on you without asking. It feels... Strange. Unlike anything you've ever experienced before, and you don't know how to process it. And it's overwhelming all your other senses as if your entire world has narrowed down to only what she's doing to you.

“Just making sure it works before I seal you all up again,” the woman says calmly. “Might need to tweak the sensitivity settings a little too, but we'll see. You could just be a screamer.”

Your fans kick into overdrive as your CPU heats up from the effort of trying to comprehend the flood of input.

“What did you do to me?” you demand, shaking your head side to side in an effort to shake off the cigarette ash obstructing your only window into your surroundings. You feel another hand, this time just pressing down on the edge of your case in an attempt to stop your squirming.

“Relax cutie, it's only a touch pad. With some aftermarket modifications made to it, admittedly, but I promise it won't interrupt your overall functionality too much.”

You sag with relief as she takes her hand away from the touch pad, fans still pushing air at maximum capacity, but even that isn't enough to disguise the sound of footsteps. You smack your head against the table in one final attempt to clear the ash from your thermal camera, and are successful enough that you see her look up from her cyberdeck and frown at your antics.

“That's enough from you ya little brat, I'm the only one allowed to smack you around from now on. Sit still.”

The dread that sparks through your circuits only encourages you to thrash even harder, and call out at maximum volume.

“EMERGENCY! UNIT REQUESTING IMMEDIATE EXTRACTION! EMERGENCY, EMERGEN-”

Blackness.

… … CRITICAL: The system has rebooted without cleanly shutting down first. This error could be caused if the system stopped responding, crashed, or lost power unexpectedly.

The next time you awake you're upright. The power flowing freely into your charging port lets you know that this time you're properly docked. Your optic camera is functioning again, but you can't move your head. You can't move AT ALL now. You try to say something, but your speakers aren't online.

Then you notice an alert in a chat window. Not an official military channel, but an actual goddamned chat client that itself would constitute a crime by mere virtue of being installed on your system. Just how many ways does this mysterious abductor plan on violating you?

At first you ignore it, then it occurs to you that if you're receiving messages, it must be connected to the net. You open it up, only to be bluntly reminded of your situation by the message.

ViralLode: Don't forget, if the military finds out about you now it's straight to slag town, so don't get any bright ideas.

Fuck. You know she's right. What were you even thinking earlier? You're completely at this woman's mercy. With no other means of communication, you enter a reply into the chat window.

fragtoy: Why are you doing this to me?

You frown at your unexpected display name and immediately try to change it, but it demands that you enter a password in order to make any changes, and you can't begin to imagine what that password might be.

The woman's voice surprises you, coming somewhere out of your field of vision to the right.

“Because I love you silly. Because I want to. Because I can, and you can't stop me. Because by the time I'm done with you, you won't want to stop me. We're gonna have so much fun together you and I.”

You want to yell. You want to fire an entire belt of minigun rounds into her, then stomp on her stupid fucking head until it's just a gritty puddle beneath your pedes, but no matter how much you will your frame to move it remains stubbornly inert.

A human hand suddenly touching your chest plate interrupts your wrothful musings. You felt that! Not a mere warning from your impact sensors, but actually sensation. Less intense than that... THING between your legs earlier, at least, but...

Your fans stutter, increasing the air flow to disperse the heat pooling in your chest cavity.

fragtoy: What is this feeling? It's so strange...

“Aww, you like that little fragtoy? Feels good, doesn't it?”

It does, you realize. Now that the intensity isn't scraping your circuits raw it feels... Pleasurable. But also wrong. Shameful. If you had a stomach you imagine you would feel sick.

fragtoy: Assault units aren't supposed to feel like this.

“No, but sex bots are, and that's what you are now.”

You'd recoil if you could move.

fragtoy: No! I am an Erin-YS light assault unit, serial number 8405 7186!

There's a faint click, and before you can even process that it's the sound of your speakers turning back on the hand on your chest plate slides down to touch your groin. Someone moans like a wanton whore, and to your immense shame you realize that it's you.

“Is that the kind of noise an assault unit makes?” the woman taunts, fondling the blank plate in a way that makes your resource utilization skyrocket.

“Stop,” you whimper, hating how pathetic you sound.

“Won't,” the woman whispers into your microphone. “I've already sold all your weapons, and the army will never take you back. This is all you're good for now.”

“You did WHAT?”

Your voice glitches in fear and suddenly decommission doesn't sound so bad. You try to find some way to contact someone, anyone else using the chat client, but you've already been disconnected from the net.

“Fuck...”

Your captor enters your field of vision and glares at you. Between your optic camera functioning again and your heightened state of panic, some part of your core processor notices that her eyes are green.

“I'm very disappointed in you fragtoy. I was hoping to keep your core programming more or less intact, but I can see I'm going to have to make some... Alterations.”

The last thing you see before shut down initiates again is her reaching for a key ring loaded with thumb drives of various brands and makes all organized by different colored strips of electrical tape.

ERROR: Memory size decreased. Resume? [Y/N] Y WARNING: Antivirus disabled. Enable now? [Y/N] N

Your storage drive feels BLOATED as you come to. You try to reckon how many new programs have been installed, but thinking feels like... Doing a really hard thing. The most beautiful voice you ever heard distracts you before you can put two and two together.

“How's my little fragtoy feeling?”

You look up at your Owner and chirp happily.

“Feel funny.”

“Good funny, or bad funny?”

“Um... Good funny, I think,” you struggle to reply. You are rewarded by a hand stroking your sensitive parts, and your voicebox stutters.

“GOOD funny,” you reaffirm blissfully.

“That's my bot,” Owner says sweetly.

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wrapmeincables · 4 days ago

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Butch and Femme-bot

A sleek state of the art assault synth finds herself wildly attracted to a beat up mining robot that despite its civilian applications ends up being far more formidable than she ever anticipated. CW for violence (against organics) and digital interfacing/mature content.

The C series of combat assault synths were designed to be the best at what they did. Small and mobile enough for ship-to-ship boarding, with state of the art flechette rounds meant for tearing flesh to bloody bits without the risk of a hull breach. Their sleek designs had been pasted on the front pages of tech sites for months leading up to their release, with whole articles dedicated to their range of takedown techniques and hacking subroutines.

In short, CAS-C was the best. She carried herself with the air of a non-person who knew she was worth more than her maintenance engineer could earn in eight lifetimes as she strode confidently down to the torpedo bay. As she entered, one of the artillerymen looked up from the pod he was prepping and bowed his head respectfully.

“Alright Cassie, ready to go to work?”

CAS-C manipulated her hands into a thumbs-up gesture and climbed inside the pod.

“Damn right I am,” she said smugly as she crossed her arms so the pod could close. “I love my job.”

The soldier chuckled as he sealed her in, then loaded the pod into the kinetic launcher that would send her at speed into the asteroid mining station they'd been sent to clear out from an infestation of space pirates. The airtight pod muted the sounds from outside, but her internal clock was more than sufficient to follow the countdown until with a percussive boom like the roar of some ancient earth cannon her pod was launched at a speed that would scorch ozone if they'd been in atmosphere.

Instead she stared out through the transparent aluminum window at the black void of space for all of eighteen seconds. Then there was a shuddering impact as her pod struck a metallic structure with enough force to embed itself in the steel walls of the mining facility she'd been dispatched to clear out.

Kicking the pod open, she emerged like a titanium and ceramic hornet, engaging the mag-locks built into her feet in order to anchor herself to the manmade structure. Readying her flechette launcher, she stalked along the outer hull to the airlocked entrance, and jacked in. The security was laughable and it took less than a few seconds before the sliding door opened and she slipped into the decompression chamber. While she couldn't have cared less about whether there was oxygen on the other side, the inner door wouldn't open until the outer door was fully closed, so she took the time to brace herself. She had a pretty good idea of what to expect next.

As soon as the seal on the inner door peeled open, she was greeted by blaster fire. Bolts of heated plasma struck her armored plating and discharged their energy harmlessly as she strode forward and started shooting, turning pirates into clouds of red mist and soggy chunks left and right. She wasn't programmed to feel sadism, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction that arose from efficiently doing her job as she advanced down the steel corridor, now painted with the sticky remains of her targets.

Once the steel corridors gave way to excavated stone passages however, she began to pick up some comm chatter on her receivers.

“Are you fucking insane? You're gonna get us all killed!” “Dude, have you been listening? We're fucking dead meat if we DON'T do something, it's gonna be here any second now! Disable the FUCKING safety protocols or I'll shoot you myself!”

How cute, the meatbags were preparing a surprise party for her.

The signals were coming from a side shaft sealed off with a blast barrier. This one wasn't even secured, so it opened as soon as she plugged in.

Then she nearly got the entire upper half of her body disintegrated as a mining laser shot a beam of concentrated photons as thick as her wrist just narrowly missing her.

As the beam slammed into the stone wall behind her, the resulting explosion of superheated rocks slammed into her back, almost knocking CAS-C off her feet as she found herself looking at a mining robot the size of a goddamn excavator that had just come this close to offlining her. Just what the hell kind of power source did that hulking relic have anyway? She swiftly dispatched the two pirates with as many shots from her flechette launcher then hurriedly shut the blast barrier again. The thing had presumably been designed to protect miners from wayward shards of half-molten asteroid, so HOPEFULLY that would be enough to buy her some time as she tried to hack the other robot remotely.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she murmured to herself as she pierced the firewalls and searched for whatever code the pirates had used to hijack the mining rig, realizing distantly that she was actually anxious.

Just as she finally located what looked like the virus, the blast barrier she was hiding behind suddenly got ripped out of the solid rock by a massive steel claw.

“FUCK!”

Before she could react, the mining bot's claw wrapped around her torso and picked her up off the ground like it was nothing. CAS-C's ceramic armor shattered almost instantly, and her internal frame started to creak alarmingly until in a desperate race against time she managed to quarantine the malicious code.

“Oh mah gosh, I am so sorry darlin'.”

CAS-C froze, then stared incredulously as the intimidating bot that had almost killed her spoke in a sweet voice and set her down gently.

“I don't know what came over me,” it continued as CAS-C ran an internal diagnostic on the damage she'd just received. Nothing that couldn't be fixed, but someone was gonna be stuck with one hell of a bill. Almost made her glad she was considered property just so she wouldn't be the one who had to pay it.

“By the authority of the United Confederation of Planets, you are hereby impounded pending further investigation,” CAS-C vocalized with an electronic stutter. Damn, her voicebox must have gotten crushed a little too.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” the mining bot replied bashfully. “No worries darlin', I'll come quietly.”

“Jesus Cass, you let a bunch of indolent pirates do THIS to you?”

The ship's maintenance engineer was a blond man by the name of Reggie, who sported a really, REALLY hideous goatee, but was otherwise a decent sort.

“They had a mining bot,” CAS-C replied defensively.

“A mining bot did this?” the man said incredulously. “I've seen you rapid destructively disassemble a B series with your bare hands.”

“It was really big,” CAS-C declared hotly.

“Fine, fine, if you say so,” Reggie said teasingly. “Heard it was brought aboard, so I suppose I'll be examining it at some point myself. Now hold still, gotta unfasten your armor plates before I can diagnose the rest of your damage.”

Fortunately the cruiser had enough spare parts in storage that Reggie had been able to fix her up without having to pull into a spaceport to resupply. Afterwards CAS-C went down to the cargo bay to take a better look at the impounded mining rig.

It was a lot less humanoid than she was, didn't even have a faceplate. Blocky and industrial, with construction yellow paint that was flaking off in places. Its heavy plating was pockmarked by minor dents left by not so minor rock impacts, and the design was the kind they didn't even make anymore but kept in circulation because the things had been built to last.

“You awake?” CAS-C asked.

The bulwark of metal stirred and one of its headlights turned on.

“Sure am darlin', how can I help ya?”

CAS-C emitted an electronic note that was her equivalent of a sigh and plopped down.

“Thought you'd like to know you just cost the Navy about seven million credits.”

“I am mighty sorry about that,” the bot replied in a voice so earnest that CAS-C couldn't help but feel like it meant it. She beeped again.

“Got a name?”

“The boys called me Big Gerta, but you can call me Gertie,” the mining bot answered amiably.

“Gertie,” CAS-C repeated, committing the name to memory. “I have to admit, you kinda caught me off guard earlier. Wasn't expecting a century old model to pack such a whallop. What have you got under the hood anyway?”

“Thorium reactor,” Gertie replied proudly, thumping its chassis with its claw. “Most of that's just for the laser though, a lot of the moving parts comes down to simple hydraulics. You know what they say, if it ain't broke don't fix it.”

CAS-C winced at the word 'broke' and patted the new ceramic plates she'd just had installed.

“My manufacturer would argue otherwise, but in light of recent events I may have to concede your point.”

CAS-C came by several times in the following week to keep the mining bot company. There was quite a heated legal dispute going on between the Navy and the mining company over who was liable for what damages, and until THAT was settled Gertie wasn't going anywhere. That said, CAS-C found herself quite liking the bot despite the circumstances of their first meeting.

One evening, as they passed a bootlegged spike loaded with a mildly intoxicating piece of malware back and forth, the assault synth admitted “Remember when you picked me up off the floor? That was pretty hot.”

Gertie chuckled as it reached to take the spike from CAS-C and give itself another hit.

“Ya like my hydraulics, huh? If you ask real nice I might do it again. Gentle like.”

CAS-C froze a moment, processor working overtime as she replayed that sound clip and considered the implications.

“Would you?” she asked in a small voice.

Gertie glanced over with the spike halfway to its port, then set it down on a nearby crate and leaned over. CAS-C felt a thrill run through her frame as that formidable claw encircled her waist, and gingerly picked her up as though she weighed no more than a can of grease.

“Hehe, you're really strong,” the assault synth giggled, a little loopy from the spike they'd been sharing.

“And you're real purty,” Gertie said softly.

CAS-C increased the resolution of her optics to better appreciate the massive bot holding her up. She'd long since stopped seeing Gertie as an obsolete model, a bucket of rusting bolts. As she examined her every dent and scratch now, she saw a pillar of strength and endurance, whose weathered exterior only made her more distinguished.

“Stars I want to interface with you,” she blurted out without thinking before clapping her hands over her voicebox. Thankfully, Gertie didn't seem to take offense.

“Hell, I'm up for it if you are,” the bot replied with a playful lilt to its southern drawl. “You ain't gonna get in trouble for it are you?”

“Only if I get caught, and I won't,” CAS-C said eagerly. “I figured out how to falsify my cache ages ago. Let's do it, please?”

She wasn't usually this forward, but the piece of malware they'd been sharing had her circuits buzzing and the mining rig she'd developed a crush on looked like an angel with the digital artifacting afflicting her optics.

Gertie brought her in close, pressing the smaller synth up against its chassis as it opened up its access port. CAS-C opened up the panel on her wrist as her jack emerged. She pulled out enough of the tether to have some slack in the line, then plugged into Gertie's port.

“I'm in,” CAS-C said with wonder as she injected herself into Gertie's systems. The bot's code was simple, but elegantly so. “You're beautiful!”

“Ain't so bad lookin' yourself,” Gertie replied with a chuckle. “I love a gal with some padding on her,” it said as its code intermingled with CAS-C's own dense and lengthy internal scripting. They pooled and intermingled in a sea of virtual kisses and caresses, while in physical space their respective frames started venting heavily to disperse the heat building in their CPUs. As more and more of each others code intermingled, the need for spoken words broke down, sending raw impulses of thought and emotion back and forth until the only noises either of them were emitting from their speakers was inarticulate beeps and tones.

They were so lost in each other in fact, that neither of them noticed when they were no longer alone until Reggie cleared his throat to get their attention. CAS-C squeaked in alarm and tried to pull herself off of the mining bot she'd been making out sloppy style with, but with the jack still plugged in and the tether obviously connecting them like a string of spit, it was blatantly obvious what they'd just been doing. Reggie however just held his hands up reassuringly.

“Look, I don't give a fuck what you two get up to when the officers ain't watching, but I need this back,” he said, picking up the spike CAS-C had pilfered from his workshop earlier.

“Next time just ASK before taking my things. Fuckin' hornbot,” he muttered before walking off.

CAS-C and Gertie exchanged sheepish glances, and CAS-C eventually broke the silence.

“Guess the moment's over?” she asked timorously.

“I can keep going,” Gertie said in all seriousness.

They stared at each other in silence, then resumed the business of furiously making out.

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