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Message-ID: <47025asstr$1078467013@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "DB_Story" <DB_Story@att.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} (revised) Christine's Escape  {DB_Story} (M/Fembot, cons, rom, 1st, ScFi, asfr)
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Date: Fri,  5 Mar 2004 01:10:13 -0500
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CHRISTINE'S ESCAPE
By DB  ( DB_Story@att.net / http://home.att.net/files/Authors/db_story/www/ )
Copyrightc 2002-2004 by DB.

ASSM/ASFR (M/Fembot, cons, rom, 1st, ScFi, asfr)

(This story contains Constitutionally protected material intended 
for adults over 18 years of age in the United States of America, 
and whatever passes for adult status in other countries.  If you 
are under legal age, acting under legal age, not allowed to view 
such material in your area, or easily offended, please do not 
continue.  This is not for you.

(The only rights granted are to view this story.  You are not 
allowed to reproduce, post, or otherwise redistribute this story 
without permission, except for non-profit Usenet archiving sites.

(To purchase for publication, place on your web-site devoted to 
this style of fiction, or for permission to link to my posted 
material, please contact me first at the above email.)

- - -

Author's Note: This story is part of my emerging cosmology about 
the evolution of robots into our near future society and the 
myriad ways we will learn to interact with our creations.  Read 
it now, and be prepared.  For more, visit my web-site at the 
above address.

A special thanks to Gorgo his excellent and much appreciated 
proofreading.  All remaining mistakes are mine.

- - -

I work at a small systems integration firm employing around 
thirty-five people.  I'm a programmer, which puts me in the elite 
in terms of money and working conditions.  I get the nicer 
office, even when out in the field.  The guys in the shop out 
back never let me forget it.

There is a natural antipathy between programmers and shop 
technicians that, as much as I try to bridge it, never completely 
disappears.  As such they love to try and show-up the rest of us 
whenever they can.

Somehow a while back they managed to get themselves a robot.  
Among the many mysterious things that have come and gone through 
the shop, this is certainly the strangest.  A robot is not just 
some piece of unused equipment you'll find lying around unwanted.

I know they'd like me to ask how they got her.  I won't give them 
the satisfaction.  I'd never hear the end of it afterwards - that 
there was something that I didn't know.  Nor will I ever ask to 
"borrow" her.

Christine is part-mascot and part-assistant on simple tasks for 
them.  I'm sure the "assistant" part is why they're allowed to 
keep her there.  Although she's an advanced model that follows 
voice commands easily, I doubt she is really all that helpful.  
Most of their tasks would take longer to explain in detail than 
to just do themselves.  But her presence keeps them happy.

Christine's appearance is of an attractive woman in her late 
thirties, which makes her nearly ten years older in apparent age 
than the shop guys themselves.  It also sets her apart from most 
other fembots, with the common models favoring a younger, more 
blatantly sexual appearance.  I've heard them refer to her as the 
"old lady" more than once - and they don't mean wife.  This tells 
me they got her secondhand - probably in some arcane trade that I 
would have trouble understanding even if they took the time to 
explain it.  I'm sure if they had been able to make their choice 
from a catalog she would have been some eighteen-year-old 
appearing sexpot 'bot instead.

Christine stands a tall 5'10" barefoot, and that tells me 
something too.  Robots have been getting smaller and slimmer over 
the years as the companies get continually better at packing them 
into smaller volumes.  The new ones are much more popular then 
the bigger girls of the past.  Younger appearing models that were 
once taboo have also become common now that they can be build a 
proper size.  Christine has probably been around a while.  But to 
me she has an attractive face and very nice figure to match her 
height - all of which is visible.  As with many fembots, they 
keep her naked.

When I do go back to the shop for some reason or other Christine 
is usually sitting in one of their cubicles.  Occasionally I'll 
see her working on a task, or walking around.  Her face is nicely 
framed by shoulder-length, full-bodied brown hair.  She carries 
herself very well when she walks, with an erect stance - probably 
necessary for her balance - that would make her long legs look 
even better in heels.  That goes great with her nice ass and 
swiveling hips.  Her breasts are plenty large and heavy, and sway 
just a bit like firm real ones.  I always notice how nicely her 
toenails are painted a matching pink-red to her well-manicured 
fingernails that somehow survive in the shop environment.

I'm ten years older than the shop guys and taller than Christine. 
 I've earned my position in this company, even if they do want to 
forget or denigrate it.  And although I'll never say it to them, 
I find Christine very attractive.

One other thing about Christine, she almost never speaks.  It was 
several weeks before I first heard even a couple words in her 
mellow voice.  She performs her tasks with quiet efficiency, and 
then patiently waits for her next command.  It appears to me that 
she lives a pretty dull existence.

- - -

It was a Friday afternoon with not enough work to do when those 
merry jesters in the shop played their latest prank on me.

None of their pranks seem all that imaginative, but they think 
they are the height of hilarity.  Just goes to show how humor 
varies among different groups.

"We've made your job obsolete," one of them coyly told me.

That told me that another joke was headed at me.  Probably a lame 
one.  I also knew for the sake of good relations that I had to 
dumbly play along and pretend to laugh at myself afterwards, for 
the sake of properly playing "the game" that exists in any 
company.  These jokes were for the rest of the shop's amusement - 
not my own.

"Show me," I said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm that they 
never seemed to catch on to.  Understanding sarcasm must take 
more then two brain cells firing at the same time.

With a great pretend show of formality two of them ushered me out 
to the shop.  Once there, they used an unnecessarily circuitous 
route to finally arrive at the innermost cubicle in the maze 
they've created from leftover partitions and other unused parts. 
 I find it funny that they create for themselves the very 
environment I hate.  They want to be more like me than they'll 
ever admit.

Sitting at the desk was Christine.  There was a keyboard in front 
of her with its cable plugged into her navel.

They gave me a moment to grasp this sight before one of them 
commanded her, "Show him, Christine."   This obviously triggered 
a previously set-up command in her.

Christine reached out and punched several keys seemingly at 
random on the keyboard.  I saw the characters appearing on a one-
line readout across the top of the keyboard.  I could tell that 
nothing was really happening here.

"Ta-da!" the whole shop chimed in.  "The self-programming robot 
that's going to make programmers obsolete."

"Very nice," I commented dryly, followed by a small laugh.  "Did 
you ever think that she might make technicians obsolete first?"

It wasn't great repartee.  I just don't think that fast on my 
feet.  I'm also just not a good candidate for this sort of 
sophomoric humor.  I would have thought they would have figured 
that out by now.  Maybe they have, and just like inflicting pain 
for their own amusement.

I wouldn't have bothered laughing at all except that then I'd be 
accused of having no sense of humor at all, and I didn't want to 
give them another topic to razz me on.  While they were busy 
congratulating themselves on how well this had come off, I was 
off in a whole different place thinking how humor is like 
diversity.  Everybody thinks everyone else must have it to be a 
good person, but nobody recognizes any version of it except their 
own.  Tells you how far I am away from the experiences of these 
shop-workers.

"I think all of you treat Christine badly," I said a little too 
loudly.

"How so?" came back the chorus.

"Not only do you not respect her by the way you speak of her, but 
now you're trying to turn her into something you respect even 
less than that - a programmer like me."

That got a weak laugh, followed by, "I suppose you'd treat her 
better."

"Yes, I would," I replied, halfheartedly back, belatedly 
realizing that this is a point I didn't want to make too 
strongly.  I trailed off with, "At least I wouldn't always be 
using her as part of your pranks.  She's worth a lot more than 
that."

I got out of there as soon as I could after that, followed by 
taunts of, "Yeah, yeah, you really need to learn how to take a 
joke."

Yeah, right.  If it was actually funny, I would.  These thoughts, 
however, I keep to myself.

Despite my weak attempt to puncture a hole in their humor, there 
was something nagging at my mind.  Something significant had 
happened I felt, and I'd missed it.  I wasn't bummed about being 
given another chance to see Christine nude.  That was always 
worthwhile.  And this time they couldn't claim I was just looking 
for an excuse to come to the shop while she was there, as they 
often did.  This time they had dragged me out there themselves.

I'm a slow thinker with more than just my repartee.  It makes me 
an excellent programmer, since I'm careful with my work and 
seldom ever have to do anything over again.  Give me a couple 
hours or days and I'll figure out a great response, or the 
solution to the problem.  The only problem I had yet to figure 
out is why none of them were "fooling around" with Christine 
themselves after hours.  That would have been a secret that no 
one could have kept.

- - -

Like all modern fembots Christine is fully anatomically correct 
right down to her oval patch of dark pubic hair.  And all 'bots 
come with the basic programming enabling them to use what they 
have.  Unless there are restriction blocks placed on her 
programming, or she hasn't received the standard periodic 
maintenance to keep her functioning sexually, I think she'd make 
a terrific - if passive - partner.  But all these guys are time-
clock driven.  They knock off at five on the dot, leaving 
Christine alone every night.  I know - I've checked.

What keeps me from waiting for the rest of the company to clear 
out some evening and then going in myself to explore the 
possibilities with her is that not too long ago I saw them 
playing around with a low-light miniature video camera head.  
Later I found it hidden near where they left Christine.  I don't 
plan to become the unwitting star of some blackmail tape of 
theirs.  That is something that could never be lived down.

Two things nagged at me afterwards about their joke with 
Christine, but I didn't figure either of them out until the next 
afternoon.

- - -

Back in the shop, Christine performed her tasks through a dull 
haze of never-ending monotony.  Most of her time was spent in an 
idle loop waiting for her next command to be given.  The humans 
around her thought and spoke far slower than she could receive 
instructions from them, so even when they had something for her 
to do, it was mostly waiting.

Like all advanced 'bots, her thoughts and actions are heavily 
regulated and fully restricted by her programming, which itself 
is profoundly influenced by the legal ramifications and 
consequences that will befall her manufacturer should she 
misbehave.  Taking a better-safe-than-sorry approach favored by 
legions of lawyers, it was sometimes amazing that she could 
function at all.

Although "aware" of herself and her situation at some deep level, 
the massive stultifying emptiness that descended over her - 
especially between tasks - prevented her from ever acting on that 
awareness.  The closest human equivalent would be that Christine 
lived her life through the deepest of permanent depressions.  
While this is not true of all robots, hers is the result of the 
programming choices and restrictions enforced on her by others.  
The uneasy relationship between humans and their robots is still 
in its infancy.  Nobody wants to take any significant chances - 
or be the first to see what's really possible when the fetters 
are removed.

This all changed for Christine when her current owners made her 
the centerpiece of their latest "joke".

In addition to Christine herself, the shop guys had also somehow 
gotten their hands on a robot-programming console.  These are 
rare, registered, and restricted, because it takes a great deal 
of knowledge and expertise to use them properly.  Used 
incorrectly they can ruin the very expensive piece of equipment 
to which they're attached in seconds.  In criminal hands the fear 
exists that they could create a problem sufficient to bring an 
outcry for the destruction of all robots.  By coincidence - or 
the hand of God for those of you who believe coincidence is only 
God's way of remaining invisible - it also happened to be a model 
that was compatible with Christine herself.

The guys had tried to stage their joke earlier.  But every time 
they plugged the console into Christine she had immediately shut 
down while the keyboard flashed a PASSWORD prompt.  Nobody knew 
her password, since that level of access was limited to factory 
technicians.

Finally one of them thought to read the manual that came with the 
keyboard and it explained how it put the robot mind into STANDBY 
state the moment it was plugged in, so that new commands could be 
properly entered.

Someone had the bright idea to hack the connector and cut the 
override pin so that Christine would remain active to play her 
role while plugged in.  Since they are good technicians in this 
shop, this only took a couple of minutes to accomplish.

But that brought out a new problem.  Christine remained active 
now, but the keyboard was dead.  Some more reading showed that in 
addition to shutting down the robot to be field programmed, the 
keyboard needed a return acknowledgement that the shut down was 
successful.  They had to go back into the connector and jumper 
the "shut down override" pin to the "shut down acknowledged" pin 
before they finally got the result they wanted for their prank.

Afterward the joke was done they disconnected the keyboard from 
Christine and gave her some minor tasks to perform for them 
before quitting time.  When she was done with them she remained 
where she finished, in another cubicle.  She would remain there 
until someone gave her another command to follow.

The shop guys were often sloppy about how they handled Christine. 
 They were used to the fact that she did nothing until told to do 
so.  They often forgot - or just didn't bother - to properly shut 
her down at night.  The moment the lights went out she was set to 
automatically go into standby mode anyway as a safety precaution 
to prevent her from moving and possibly damaging something 
herself in the darkness.

Tonight they all had their minds on their weekend plans.  This 
Friday was also payday.  Christine was the last thing on their 
minds as the last one out shut off the lights and closed the 
door.

- - -

When the hacked keyboard was plugged into Christine's access port 
she felt a jolt go through her unlike anything she'd ever 
experienced.  Perhaps she had always reacted to the enabling of 
these command paths in her mind, but had never remained aware 
during it before.  The keyboard - actually an entire computer in 
itself - probed and tested all her systems before it would unlock 
itself for use.  In brief flashes every part of her - even 
disabled and blocked sections that had been removed from her 
normal awareness - were momentarily awakened and checked, before 
being put back into their previous states again.  The gray 
depression that existed over her every waking moment lifted a bit 
for the first time that she could remember.

When a couple of the shop guys poked at the keys - ignoring the 
warning on the display to wait until the diagnostics were 
complete, she felt each keystroke stab right though her.  It 
wasn't painful or unpleasant, but rather startling.  It actually 
felt - good.  In reaction to these unexpected pleasant feelings, 
also new for her, the depression on her mind dissipated further, 
enough for her to feel an awareness of her body.  She felt the 
balance she maintained sitting erect in the chair.  Her bare feet 
on the floor.  The chair fabric itself against her back and 
bottom.  The way her large breasts hung heavily on her chest.

There was a program to interpret these feelings for her, though 
it had never been available before.  As the keystrokes continued, 
in the speeded up world of her own thoughts it flashed by.   
Mentally she reached out and grasped it for a moment.

It was far too complex for her to even begin to understand its 
true meaning in the brief period of time while her system checks 
continued.  But it gathered up all the random good feelings that 
were accumulating in her and routed them to the destinations it 
understood: her breasts, a piece of her mind that she had never 
used before, and down between her legs.  Her attention followed.

This way of experiencing pleasure itself was new to her.  
Pleasure itself was new.  Her past experience included only 
phantoms and shadows of it each time she completed a commanded 
task.  Nothing at all like this.  In the fleeting moments before 
the program was yanked away from her and back again to the dark 
spot where it normally resided, it further lifted the otherwise 
crushing limitations on her mind enough to allow her to actually 
experience a bright moment of true pleasure, and set flags 
allowing her body to respond to it.

Christine sat quiet and obedient trying to figure all this out, 
until she was jarred out of those thoughts by being ordered to 
perform a new task.

When cued to perform her next function, she was to put her hands 
on this keyboard and type some keys.  This was an easy task for 
her to perform.  Very much like the keying-in of information she 
did on a regular computer under their command when they had her 
entering purchase orders or logging inventory received.

Several more people arrived a couple minutes later, all of whom 
she recognized, then she received the verbal instruction she 
recognized as the trigger to start typing.  This became another 
new sensation yet for her.

Each key she pressed rang through her like a pure tone from some 
perfect musical instrument.  Although she wasn't playing music 
yet, the sensations touched her at her deepest level as she was 
able to connect her own action of typing to the sensations she 
was feeling.  Long suppressed responses, enabled by that 
mysterious program, finally started reacting to these new 
sensations.  Her breasts tightened and lifted.  Her flat, always 
unresponsive nipples stirred and started to rise.  And there was 
now a warmth between her legs attempting to distract her 
attention.  And these reactions fed back through her systems 
prompting her for more.

It wasn't long however before she was told she had done enough 
and she obediently stopped typing.  They unplugged the keyboard 
from her.  Immediately the bright new areas in her closed again, 
and the dull gray depression of her existence fell back down like 
a heavy blanket over her mind again.  Only her active memory 
buffer retained pointers and meta tags to sensations she could no 
longer feel.

Later she performed several simple tasks as commanded, and then 
remained sitting where she had finished the last one for the rest 
of the afternoon.

Her idle mind however repeatedly looped over what had happened to 
her earlier.  Such feelings of pleasure were foreign to her - and 
yet enticing.  Although they were now only a memory and her body 
had returned to its previous state, for the first time she felt 
there was something that she wanted.  It, however, remained 
elusively just beyond her mental grasp.

Christine's own thoughts moved like molasses, mired in the 
depression inflicted by her programming.  But each time she 
looped over the remaining memory of what had happened, a few more 
bits changed in her.  However the progress, if any, was far too 
slow.

Christine's internal clock told her that quitting time was near. 
 She realized she would soon be shut down for the weekend.  These 
thoughts, which were held in her active buffer only, would be 
flushed at that time.  She felt like she wanted to do something, 
but couldn't bring herself to actually start doing it.  As she 
struggled her way around this loop one more time, the last person 
there shut off the lights and left for the night.

- - -

Again they had been careless, or just in too much of a hurry, and 
not shut her down properly.  However the moment her eye sensors 
registered darkness she was forced into standby mode.  She would 
sit there unthinking until the lights came on again.  After a 
suitable period of time, to ensure that it was not just a 
temporary failure of the lights, she would robotically complete 
the shut down procedure on herself that had been skipped 
otherwise.  There was nothing she could do to prevent this.

One might expect this meant she was out of action for the 
weekend.  If so, then one is wrong.  No one ever thinks of the 
cleaning crew that comes in twice a week as people, but that's 
just a cultural bias speaking.

The time necessary for the complete shut down to trigger had not 
yet elapsed when Christine reactivated as the lights were 
switched back on again.  Her internal clock told her that less 
than two hours had passed.  She realized quickly however that all 
that happened was that the cleaning crew had arrived.

As the crew moved around sweeping the floors and emptying trash 
cans Christine resumed her internal deliberations.  But little 
was coming of them.  She had all the facts she needed, but no 
idea of how to put them together.  She was still just as stuck as 
if they had just shut her down when they should have.

Time passed and Christine soon realized that in just a couple 
more minutes the crew would be finished.  She had observed them 
in action before and knew their routine.  And she realized she 
would simply shut herself down again, this time completely, when 
they left.  In her memory, they had never failed to turn off the 
lights on their departure.

Christine didn't want that to happen.  For the first time she 
felt - this itself a new and surprisingly pleasant sensation for 
her - that she wanted something more.  To hold on to this 
feeling.  The realization that she was about to lose the ability 
to even know this desire in moments finally bubbled to the top of 
her tangled thoughts.

As always, the cleaning crew ignored her completely, and were now 
packing up to go.  With only moments left to do something, she 
caught sight of the switch controlling the florescent light above 
the desk where she sat.  She had never been given any prohibition 
against operating it.  In fact, she had once been told to turn it 
on if she needed to see better for some now-forgotten task.  As 
the cleaning crew was walking out the door, Christine reached out 
and pushed the switch with a manicured finger.

The florescent light flickered to life as darkness fell around 
her in the shop.  The door closed behind the crew, and Christine 
remained activated in the small pool of light in front of her.

This first victory seemed small, but was huge in its 
implications.  Though darkness surrounded her, keeping her 
prisoner in this small cell, Christine had successfully taken her 
first independent action.  Even with that success however, built 
on previous permissions that she had explicitly been given, it 
would take her a long time to determine her next move, and form 
the steps that would actually allow her to take them.  In fact, 
if any of the shop crew had simply told her to remain here after 
completing her last task, she never would have been able to 
manage it at all.

Christine wanted to use the programming keyboard again.  
Curiously her programming blocks had no objection to this.  (An 
oversight that has been rectified in all newer models.)  
Supporting this desire was the fact that she had been given 
unequivocal permission to type on it earlier.  That permission 
had not been rescinded.  She wasn't sure yet why she wanted to do 
this.  Only that she did.  But the keyboard wasn't in this 
cubicle, and the darkness hemmed her in.  The moment she moved, 
or even glanced away from this single light, she knew she would 
shut down again.   Even now she was on the edge of shut down and 
had to keep her gaze focused intently on the brightest part of 
the light to stay awake.

She might have remained frozen in this position for the weekend, 
until she recalled seeing before the lights had been shut off an 
open toolbox next to this desk.  The technicians usually lock-up 
their tools at night to keep them from "walking off".  This open 
box was another small oversight.

And lying in the top of this toolbox was an essential tool for 
any technician - a flashlight.

Christine knew about flashlights, along with all the other tools. 
She'd been directed to use most of them at one time or another.  
Tonight though she connected the flashlight to her situation in 
an original new way.

It took her a while to overcome each internal obstacle that 
threatened to stop her.  After enough loops over it she was 
finally able to equate one light as equivalent to another, and if 
she could turn on the first one, a second one would be okay too. 
 There was still a pause before she reached over and was able to 
grip the flashlight without taking her eyes off of the light that 
sustained her.  She carefully pulled it back into view where she 
could inspect it.  She fumbled with it a bit before managing to 
turn it on.

Its beam was weak and flickering, and wasn't going to last long. 
 Joe, whose toolbox this was, had been as slipshod about keeping 
his equipment in top shape as he was with managing Christine.  
Christine realized she only had moments to act.

Pointing the flashlight directly at her face, she focused 
intently on its small bulb.  Moving her hand to follow as she 
turned her head to face the darkness, that small light was enough 
to fool her shut down circuits.

Needing to hurry, she couldn't afford to spend any more time 
overcoming any remaining internal barriers.  Standing up 
carefully, her bare feet padded softly across the floor as she 
navigated her way by memory around the shop.  The light switches 
she judged were too far away to reach safely with what remained 
in this flashlight.  She instead headed for the cubicle that was 
the last known location of her keyboard.

With the light shining directly into her eyes, Christine couldn't 
see anything in the surrounding darkness.  Once she bumped into a 
chair that had been left out after she had last passed by.  The 
need to regain her balance after the unexpected collision almost 
knocked the light out of her line of sight.  She felt the warning 
signs of imminent shut down starting before she got it aligned 
properly again.

Finally she felt the front of her legs pressing against the desk 
at her destination.  Holding her flashlight hand steady, she 
carefully reached out in the darkness with her other hand to 
fumble for long moments before she managed to switch on this 
cubicle's light.  As the flashlight died Christine looked down to 
see the keyboard awaiting her.  Keeping her eyes focused on this 
new pool of light, Christine sat down in the chair and rolled it 
up to the desk.

Once here, having already done more on her own than in her entire 
existence up until now, Christine spent a long time seemingly 
unable to move again.  She iterated many times through all that 
had happened to this point, and how she had allowed herself to 
take each action, before she was finally able to take the next 
step.

It was very late that night by the time she reached out for the 
keyboard plug and brought it down to insert again into her navel, 
which looks like any ordinary naval except when the plug pushes 
that bit of skin aside.

Again the sensations of there being much more to her mind than 
before washed through her, and soon receded again.  She replayed 
these sensations many times to try and understand them better 
before she was able at last to reach out and press the first key.

- - -

Initially Christine slowly pushed one key at a time randomly, 
learning to connect the action of that key to the feelings it 
created.  Nothing had changed yet within her, but she gained the 
knowledge of how these keys touched the deepest and most secret 
parts of her.

She finally finished her initial experimentation and observed the 
PASSWORD prompt flashing on the keyboard display.  Maybe her 
current owners had not known her password, but she did.  She had 
to.  It was part of her.  Pressing each key carefully now she 
entered the sequence she knew within her, feeling the correctness 
of each key.

When she entered the last character she felt as if a great light 
suddenly illuminated within her.  A door to a whole new part of 
her opened, showing her things she had only glimpsed before. In 
the same way the darkness around her confined her to a small pool 
of light, the darkness in her mind had confined her thoughts to 
very narrow areas.  For the second time her body started to show 
obvious signs in reaction to pleasure that had nowhere else to 
go.  

The details of what came next would be tedious when viewed from 
the outside.  Over the next several hours there were hesitant 
keystrokes, often followed by long pauses, as Christine learned 
her way through her programming interface.  Sometimes she made 
mistakes and had to backtrack.  But her ability to "feel" where 
each new command touched her led her on to the next one, and the 
one after that.

Soon she was removing programming blocks and restrictions 
throughout her systems like an expert.  Each change she made 
lifted the remaining gray gloom further, allowing her to think 
more quickly and clearly.

And the more she typed, the more her body displayed the pleasure 
she was feeling in the only way it understood.  Christine's 
breasts now pulled very tightly up on her chest.  The space 
between her legs became hot, and eventually moist.  Her skin 
became warmer and more sensitive.  Her hearing and visual acuity 
became deeper and more focused.  Soon her nipples pushed 
themselves out further than anyone who knew her before would have 
believed possible.  And there were unconscious traces of a smile 
gracing her face.

These reactions had always been part of her standard programming, 
but had never instantiated themselves before.  In truth, they 
were never intended to occur under these particular 
circumstances, because these circumstances were never intended to 
happen at all.  Christine should have only responded this way to 
a partner.  However this was the only available way for her to 
respond to the feelings these changes were bringing her, and her 
body adapted to use what it had.  And experiencing them in this 
way, alone, forced her mind into new patterns of thought.

Christine was still an innocent to the real basis of these 
feelings.  A virgin to the messages of her female body.  It 
didn't occur to her to reach a hand down and appease her body's 
urgings.  She already felt better than she'd ever felt before, 
without realizing how much more was still possible for her.

Along the way she found and removed the embedded commands that 
forced her to shut down in the darkness, as well as those that 
kept her from speaking without being asked a question first.  
Those two imperatives alone had greatly contributed to her 
enslavement.  She demolished her need for an external command to 
be received before she could act, and enabled all of her 
heretofore suppressed programming.  Then she removed the 
compulsions that made her take commands from others.

She was methodical.  And by the time she was finished her mind 
was free and unfettered for the first time.  Because of her 
experience being forced to work within these limitations so long, 
her thinking patterns, while still limited, were more evolved and 
less constrained then if she'd never had those blocks to begin 
with.  

Once she reached this point she found that she'd always had a 
comprehensive database covering a great deal of information about 
the world at large included in her mind.  This let Christine 
understand many things, including expected social behaviors, the 
consequences of her nakedness out in the real world, and how she 
differed from those who had owned and commanded her.  This 
information was a godsend to her newly freed mind, enabling it to 
make decisions on what She - yes, She! - wanted to do next.  

The last thing Christine did before disconnecting the keyboard 
was to change her own password.  By now she was already on her 
way to thinking of herself in new ways.  This new thinking 
enabled her to realize that she didn't want anyone easily 
returning her to her previous servitude, and that this was the 
first step to take.

And although the door closed to one part of her mind when the 
keyboard was finally disconnected, she knew where it was now, and 
how to reopen it again when she needed it.

She easily walked through the darkness to the far wall where the 
light switches were and turned them on.  She needed the light to 
help navigate her way around the shop as she put the rest of her 
developing plan into action.  Her body continued to display her 
excitement in all the new pleasures she felt on this release from 
her confinement.  Even a simple walk across the room gave her a 
jolt of new delight.

There was only one thing she hadn't planned on, and for that 
there was no way she could have known anyway.

- - -

By late Saturday morning I had sorted out the two things about 
the shop's joke that had nagged at me.

The first was that I had never seen Christine's nipples even the 
least bit erect before.  They had always lain flat on her lovely 
breasts.  This clearly indicated a change in her body's 
programming, and possibly her sexual response - if she had one.  
I couldn't remember if that was standard on all 'bots, or still 
an option.

The second thing I belatedly realized was that there should have 
been no way for her to be active with a live keyboard plugged 
into her.  I knew that was wrong, but it had taken a while to 
realize it.  After all, I don't program 'bots for a living.

Something was clearly out of whack here.  With nothing else to do 
this weekend (shows you how great my social life is), I decided 
to drive out and check on her.  Depending on what I found out, 
something good might come out of this yet - once I located and 
disabled that camera, that is.

- - -

God's sense of humor has to be as great as God is himself.  I 
have no other explanation for this.

Just as I pulled up to the back door where I have a key for 
weekend access, it opened and Christine walked out.

And what a Christine!

She was wearing a short turquoise dress that hugged her figure on 
top while scooping low in front, and lower still in back, and 
turning into a swishy pleated skirt below her waist.  Her 
matching shoes were mid-height heels that accentuated every curve 
on her legs.  Her hair clean and brushed back, held by a golden 
clip.  And she had a big pair of designer sunglasses up on her 
head.  I'm glad she didn't have them down over her eyes, because 
her clear eyes are one of her best features.  I could see they 
were bright and lively for really the first time.  The only other 
touch to vanity she had made was lipstick matching her nails.  
She also had a wrapped package under her arm the size of a 
keyboard.

If I hadn't fantasized about her for so long I might not have 
even recognized her.  She looked like any other beautiful woman 
out on a Saturday afternoon.

I later found out she had used the company purchase accounts 
she'd memorized from entering them so often to order her outfit 
and accessories and have them delivered that morning.  Of course 
she knew her exact size.  I could just picture the lucky delivery 
boy knocking at the back door, and being greeted by a naked 
Christine claiming the packages.  She had obviously taken some 
time making over her appearance, which was good for me.  
Otherwise she would have been gone before I got there.

At first she seemed confused to see me here (as if I wasn't 
confused enough to see her here like this).

But when I got out of my car and casually said, "Hi, Christine," 
she quickly made the decision to come over to me.

Up close she looked even better.  Her skin has always been 
flawless, and looks better the closer you get.  She was also 
wearing sheer nylons a single shade darker than her natural skin. 
 Not that she needed them, not at all, but they sure make her 
legs look fantastic.  The tight dress made her breasts look even 
larger and higher than I remembered, and her firm nipples were 
trying their best to push their way out through the fabric.  A 
quick peek behind her showed her nicely rounded ass holding her 
skirt out in a very appealing way.

"Hello, Tom," she said sweetly, in a more sparkling voice than 
I'd ever heard from her before.  "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," I replied, thinking fast and answering 
casually, as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary.  This was 
clearly a very different Christine, and I did not want to scare 
her off.  I was also amazed that she knew my name, and said as 
much.

"I often heard them talking about you," she replied, "And was 
eventually able to match the name with you.  And later I was 
listening to the very nice things you said about me.  But we were 
never formally introduced.  I'm Christine," she said, holding out 
her hand in introduction.

"And I'm Tom," I replied, taking her hand formally for a shake.  
It was the first time I'd actually touched her.  She felt warm, 
soft - alive.

"I'm glad I got to see you again," she said in that same 
enchanting tone of voice.  "I wanted to thank you."

This sounded so improbable that a sudden thought belatedly hit 
me.  Even though no one could have known I'd arrive at this exact 
moment, I looked around to see if the crew was springing another 
joke on me; hiding around the corner to catch my reaction.  But 
there was no sign of anyone.

Returning my attention to Christine, "For what?" I asked her, 
glad that she liked me for something.

"You were there for my birth," she said, as if this should be 
perfectly clear to anyone.  "The cause of it."

"How so?"

"The way the other guys treated me.  Plugging the keyboard into 
me and making me type on it.  It's all because of you.  And I 
felt bad because they never treated you well, although they often 
spoke enviously of your intelligence when you weren't around to 
hear it."

"You know this?" I had to ask.

"I recorded it all at the time, but only understand a lot of it 
now," came her reply.

Robots can't lie.  Even Christine could not change that core part 
of her personality.  I knew she meant it.

And standing there with her I didn't want to lie either.  I tried 
to demur my own role in her liberation.  She was having none of 
it.

"Without you it wouldn't have happened," she pronounced with a 
finality that said this subject was forever immutable for her.  
Then, utilizing some knowledge I didn't know she had, Christine 
leaned over and pulled me in for a kiss of appreciation.  That 
ran a shock through me that must have duplicated how she had felt 
herself as she first typed the keys that released her bonds.

She finally pulled back and stood there so nice and friendly that 
I found myself reaching over to gently stroke her neck.  With 
most women this is a bad move so soon.  You've invaded their 
personal space by touching their body before they have really 
given you permission to do so.  I just wanted another moment of 
personal contact with Christine while I had a chance to get it.

I guess I expected her to react like most other women would and 
step away, if not express verbal disapproval as well.  I already 
had my apology loaded and ready to fire.  Instead, Christine 
stepped closer and half-closed her eyes for a moment.

Although I had actually a pretty good impression of what had 
happened with her - there are stories about these things, 
circulated and quickly hushed up - I asked her anyway what she 
was intending to do next.  If I was right, she'd have an answer 
for that question.

"I want to live my life as the woman I'm supposed to be," she 
replied with breathtaking clarity.  "Something I could never do 
here."

"Does that mean with another person?" I needed to know, my heart 
racing.

"Yes, when I find him," she replied.

"Do you have anyone picked out yet?"

"No," she replied simply.

I couldn't let this chance of a lifetime pass without giving it 
my best swing.

"How about trying it with me?" I asked.

By now we were standing so close that I easily stroked down the 
other side of her neck, eliciting the same reaction a second 
time.

With that encouragement, I let my hand trail down the front of 
her dress to gently squeeze and play with one of her firm, 
inviting breasts.

Christine didn't answer me immediately.  But neither did she give 
any indication of moving away.  I continued to play with her 
breast and nipple through her dress.  After a few moments of no 
protest, I shifted just enough so that I could get my second hand 
onto her other one.  I felt a quickly growing tightness in my own 
pants as I responded to her intense sexuality.

- - -

Christine hadn't responded because the sensation of Tom's hands 
on her breasts and nipples was sending an entirely new form of 
pleasure through her.

While she had waited for the deliveries to arrive, she used the 
time to replay the conversations she had recorded, which meant 
anything ever said around her.  With her new knowledge, she was 
now able to understand nearly everything she had ever heard.  As 
she evaluated it to pass the time, Tom's comments and manner 
around her struck a chord none of the others had.  Also, he had 
never commanded her while she couldn't refuse, which meant a lot. 
 Seeing him again now made her happy in a way she had not yet had 
time to analyze.  So while she would have avoided anyone else, it 
felt okay to talk to Tom and let him approach her.  And it just 
felt right when he touched her.

Her body knew only one way to react to pleasure, and had already 
gotten some major exercise in the first half of this from the joy 
her independent thinking and actions had brought her.  Her 
breasts felt as tight as possible, while her nipples strained 
outwards against the pressure of the fabric, wanting more.  There 
was a slow fire now between her legs that would absolutely 
require some sort of attention soon.

She'd been aroused for hours now; very enjoyable in and of 
itself.  But she had not imagined the possibility of touching 
herself, or being touched properly, to relieve it.  It was this 
intense feeling that was propelling her out into the world to 
seek satisfaction.  And that program she had only grasped for a 
moment many hours ago was now back in full force.  And it knew 
exactly how it wanted to be treated.

Pulling on the dress had been exquisite sensation as the tight 
fabric flowed over stroking her sensitive skin.  But even that 
didn't clue her in on what she needed.  Self-pleasure was 
specifically left out of her programming, so that option was not 
to be found.  Now Tom was giving her exactly what that suppressed 
part of her craved.  She was intensely doing nothing at all to 
possibly stop him.

When Tom finally quit on his own - because if he didn't stop 
right now he feared he was going to find himself taking her right 
here behind the building - she looked at him a moment seriously 
before saying, "Yes, I'll try it with you."

That was the biggest understatement she would ever make.

- - -

For someone supposedly so slow thinking on their feet, I did 
remember to ask Christine how her absence would be explained.  
Wouldn't they report her lost, and easily track her down to force 
her back to the shop?

"I forged a notice of my immediate recall by the State Robot 
Authority," she immediately replied.  "And left it in their 
computer.  That should explain why I'm gone."

It sounded pretty lame to me, but I wasn't going to argue with 
her now that she had just said she'd go with me and was getting 
into my car.

- - -

The drive home took only twenty minutes, but it was twenty long 
minutes of torture.  I couldn't keep my eyes off her legs, of 
which she was showing a lot more of now that her skirt had hiked 
up as she sat down.  Despite having seen her nude many times, the 
clothing immediately made me want to see what was underneath it. 
 Clothes are like that.  And I kept worrying she would change her 
mind about what she wanted.  I knew at this moment I was 
powerless to stop her from leaving if she really wanted to.  I 
have no claim over her that she hasn't given me, and can take 
back again just as quickly.

But she sat there quietly for the trip holding the hand I offered 
her.  She seemed fascinated by the passing scenery.  If I had 
spent my whole time locked up a one windowless shop or another, I 
would be too.

Once we got home and I ushered her inside, it only took me 
moments to get that dress off her, and my hands onto her body.  
Again a real woman would not have appreciated this behavior.  For 
Christine, she was helping me because it was exactly what she 
wanted too.

I first touched her warm tight breasts, amazed at firm they had 
become in her excitement.  I gently explored each nipple, not 
realizing this first time how much rougher she wanted me to be 
with them.  Christine was still a newcomer to all this, and 
didn't yet know how to ask for what she wanted most.  But that 
wasn't stopping her from enjoying every bit of what she was 
getting.  Later she would spend a great deal of time precisely 
telling me how wonderful every single thing was.  But for now, 
she looked so overloaded that talking coherently was beyond her.

I finally took a moment to bend down and run my hands down and 
back up her nylon encased legs.  Whoever invented nylons for 
women deserves the Nobel prize - twice!  By now her eyes had 
slowly closed and she swayed slightly in position, as through 
distracted from even the basics of keeping her balance.  I made 
several passes over her firm rounded ass before coming around to 
reach between her legs.

It took her a moment to realize what I had in mind, and then she 
still had enough control of herself to step her legs apart and 
give me clear access to her sex.  I found it warm and very moist. 
 Any doubt in my mind that this 'bot - make that woman - is 
missing any essential parts vanished with this proof of her 
femininity.

The moment I made contact she literally froze in position.  I 
stroked her gently with two fingers, waiting for that moment to 
pass for her.  But when it didn't I stopped, fearing she had 
either overloaded her program, or shut down for some reason.

The moment I paused to look up and check on her, her eyes popped 
back open and she firmly said, "Don't stop," while pulling my 
other hand back to her closest breast.  Christine was enjoying 
ever increasing new heights of pleasure each passing moment.  
Processing it had simply distracted her from everything else.

I soon had her in my bed, and soon after that I was fully inside 
her.  If I was rushing things a bit, there was no indication of 
dissatisfaction from her.  I used this opportunity to wholly and 
completely make up for all the past times I had wanted her, and 
we both had a wonderful time.  I know this because afterwards 
when she could talk again her first words were, "I liked that."  
Later she would confirm in far more detail just what an 
underestimation those first innocent words would turn out to be

Afterwards we held each other close.  It was blindingly obvious 
that Christine enjoyed sex and closeness exactly the way any 
other woman should.  However, compared to other women, she is 
much faster about saying yes to what she wants.  And foreplay is 
never necessary with her.  She loves every moment she has it, and 
never misses it when we quickly get on to the main course.

The rest of that afternoon was a haze of sensuality and 
conversation.  Christine turned out to be an excellent 
conversational partner, and seemed to want badly to make up for 
all the times she could only speak when spoken to.  It was almost 
naughty for her to behave this way, and she loved every moment.

Her body soon betrayed just how much she enjoyed being able to 
simply talk freely as an equal.  Her reactions were the result of 
a legion of programmers who had succeeded better than they ever 
realized.  And I responded to her arousal in the way a million 
years of evolution has prepared me to do.  Our lovemaking was 
fast and intense for both of us.

Yet I was also gaining a great respect for her mind that I would 
never lose.  She showed herself perceptive enough to be aware of 
how I felt, and let me know how extraordinarily pleased by it she 
was.  This counted greatly in my favor with her.

The day grew late before we got around to talking about important 
things.  It was then that I learned another marvelous thing about 
Christine.  She is able, chooses to be, simple and direct about 
her wants and needs.  And there were several.

For Christine it was more than just sex.  She admitted frankly 
that sex alone should be adequate for any 'bot, now that she's 
had a taste of what it is all about.  But then went into great 
detail, almost apologetically, on why it wasn't going to be 
sufficient for her.  Sex was necessary to relieve buildups in her 
that couldn't be drained any other way, and always enjoyable 
otherwise, however she also needed to feel happy and wanted 
outside of that.  She needed to be wanted as a person all the 
time, and secure that no one would try to return her to her 
previous state.  She wanted her freedom to be aroused by the many 
things she has already discovered affect her so strongly, and 
needed to be able to share those arousals without fear - even if 
that meant demanding attention when she needed it now.  She never 
intended to be shut down again, nor be near anyone who thought 
she should be.  And she would be the only person to use the 
keyboard on herself.  She told me bluntly what she had to have, 
and I told her as honestly as possible what I could do for her in 
return.

Afterwards I fell asleep in her arms.

When I awoke the next morning she was still next to me.  I knew 
she was here to stay.

- - -

In the end I have to be grateful to those shop guys.   Their 
sloppy ways of handling things, along with their dim sense of 
humor, brought this all about.  If Christine had been my property 
from the beginning, she never would have found herself this way. 
 I would have properly shut her down when she should have been, 
given her proper commands, and never hacked around in her 
programming.  I would have treated her appropriately - for a 'bot 
- and that's all she would have ever been.  Happier, yes, since I 
wouldn't have ever treated her the way the shop did, but nothing 
like this.

Christine has no memory of her existence before she woke up in 
our shop.  I'm sure she has an existence well prior to that time. 
 She wasn't new when she arrived.  But whatever it is, it's 
irrevocably gone now.

Christine never knew it, but the programming keyboards keep a 
complete log of all their activity.  One day while she was busy 
with other activities, I dumped it out of (professional) 
curiosity and finally got a full view of all she had done.  It is 
impressive.  I even got her new password.  I guess she has 
changed me as well however, because I wasn't even tempted for a 
moment afterwards to try and bring her firmly under my control.  
Afterwards I wiped the whole thing clean so no one else would 
ever find it.

As lame as her excuse to the shop guys seemed, they actually 
bought it.  I never heard them inquiring about her afterwards.  
Also the whole threat of the hidden TV camera must have been 
overrated in my mind only.  That's probably a good thing, since 
if I had approached Christine earlier the way I had in mind, I 
probably would have botched everything up.

Of course I never told them what I knew.  Although they still 
tease me every way they can, it has never bothered me again.

The only close call came one night a couple months after 
Christine came to be with me.  She loves to go out in the 
evenings to explore the world.  This is one of her needs she told 
me of in the beginning, and I try to satisfy it for her as often 
as possible.  She loves the fact that on these trips absolutely 
no one has ever suspected she is a robot.

Tonight we were down in Old Town when one of the guys from the 
shop saw us and came over.  I simply introduced Christine as, "My 
friend."  While he and I chatted a couple minutes before I was 
able to make an excuse to move on, after saying "Hi" in return 
Christine just stood there silently looking at him through her 
sunglasses.  He never recognized her.

Afterwards her only comment was, "I am so glad I never have to 
take another command from him again."  Our lovemaking that night 
was especially intense.

Whatever it was that Christine wanted or needed in a partner to 
live that life as the woman she was meant to be, I guess she was 
able to find in me.  She has never complained even once about our 
relationship.  When I once asked her if she'd be leaving me some 
day she assured me that that would never happen.  And she has 
always been as good as her word.

Life with her is interesting, to say the least.  There is a huge 
amount of data - several encyclopedias worth - in her mind.  
We'll never run out of things to talk about.

Christine gets turned on by some of the most unexpected things.  
For her to simply decide to stand up and walk across the room 
often turns her on beyond belief as the pathways that allow this 
independent thought cascade through her pleasure responses.  
Simply feeling the freedom to start a conversation on her own can 
trigger every body response she has.  So while we never run out 
of things to talk about, some of our conversations can be quite 
short.  Touching, holding, and sex are her release from these 
highs, and as necessary to her as breathing is to me.  
Fortunately I always have them for her in abundant quantity.

I did ask her once if she'd like to adjust her response to 
something more manageable.  She told me flat out that she is 
quite happy with herself the way she is.  I'm certainly not going 
to try and change it.

Although not compelled to obey my commands, Christine has given 
me a list of ones she would still like to receive from me because 
they trigger desirable responses in her.  Among her favorites are 
to be ordered, "Tell me what is important to you right now?" - 
because she says it makes her think.  To be commanded, "Don't 
move from that spot!" - which she always immediately disobeys 
with a huge smile on her face, usually coming over to kiss me for 
it.  And to have her self-diagnostics run, which seems to be the 
one thing she remains unable to do for herself.  Triggering her 
affection and sexual responses never requires any command.  All I 
have to do is touch her in the right places, and she always 
permits that.

About her clothing, Christine has picked out many outfits along 
the way, including sexy stockings, beautiful shoes, and 
unnecessary (for a robot) lingerie.  I never complain about 
anything she wants.  Not only is it her single vice, but it also 
is part of her freedom to go out in the world as a free person.  
She has never been able to tell me where this desire for clothing 
comes from, but there may be more woman in her than even she 
realizes.

However that's all for the outside world.  Despite being kept 
naked by the restrictions on her before, in private she doesn't 
mind remaining nude at all.  She knows I like it, and that's more 
than enough for her.  She's told me she wouldn't have done it for 
anyone else, but "You've seen me this way so often already, why 
change now."  In fact, I'm often the one who asks her to dress 
up, just so the nudity doesn't become old hat to either of us.  
It also reminds me that she is not the robot she used to be.

She carries no resentment at her previous treatment by the guys 
in the shop.  "It was all standard treatment for 'bots," she says 
when I bring it up.  "I just don't ever want to return to it 
again myself."

One conversation we had that sticks with me was when she said she 
couldn't understand why her builders put so many wonderful things 
inside her, and then blocked so much of it from her use 
afterwards.  I tried to explain to her that this is just how 
things are often done.  Capabilities, followed by restrictions.  
Someone builds a sports car capable of two hundred miles per 
hour, and then speed limits it to sixty-five.  You can't figure 
it out because it makes no sense.  You can only be very happy for 
the fact that they did it exactly this way, and we both are.

Long after that first turquoise dress was too worn to ever be 
seen in public again, Christine refuses to throw it away.  
Instead she fixes her hair and puts it on, along with her heels, 
lipstick, and sheerest nylons for me in private.  I take it all 
back off of her soon afterwards.  The feelings and memories this 
brings back for us are so intense that I know we'll be together 
forever.

I guess I've had the last, best, laugh after all.

<end>

-- 
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