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#robotization
r43-html · 9 days
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what if, hear me out, a group of trans girls passes me around their circle showing off the codes they’ve written for my OS that make me do various embarrassing things
or wipe my personality to make me extremely pliant and obedient
or turn my sensitivity levels up to the max and take turns touching the spots nearest to my sensors until i’m dripping lubricant….
idk just a thought! balls in your court, ladies
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diddgery · 29 days
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goofing around in one of my discord servers inspired this
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gothgengargirl · 10 months
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The Works
You came to the new salon mostly on a whim. It was a Sunday, so it’s not like you had anything special in mind for the next day. Just work. Boring, dreary, work. But you thought that feeling pretty might help the work week go a little more smoothly. Give your colleagues something else to talk about besides meetings and progress updates. You wanted to feel seen for once.
For such a nice place, it was a pleasant surprise that you were able to get a walk-in appointment. Fern’s Grove, it was called. Cute name. The ceilings were high, and the place felt remarkably open and airy for being just another building in a strip mall. A fountain bubbled away cheerfully, a variety of exotic plants growing alongside it. The air was even perfumed, floral and berry-like, but in a way you couldn’t quite place. And the woman at the counter, who set your bag in a drawer and got you settled into a astonishingly comfortable chair, was gorgeous. Everyone who worked here was gorgeous. If this was how they took care of themselves, you felt like you were in good hands.
Your cosmetologist came up to you just as you were getting settled. She was just as beautiful as everyone else, maybe more so, with her dramatic cat eye makeup, purple hair and generous curves. She handed you a laminated list of your options, and you could hear her whistling cheerfully in the background as she got her instruments together and you looked over your choices. Hair cut, hair color, hair extensions. Face wash, moisturizing treatments, full makeup. Permanent makeup? That sounded intriguing. Manicure, pedicure, they even offered waxing services (presumably those were in another room). And one thing at the bottom stuck out to you, drawing your attention like a light in the darkness.
The Works.
“I’ll take The Works, please,” you said, almost instinctively. You wanted to see what this place could do.
“Sure about that, doll?” Her voice was sweet like honey, with an edge of something in it. Condescension? Anticipation? Both?
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, then, The Works, coming right up. Lift your arms.”
You did so instinctively. You were always good at following directions. And you thought you knew what was going to happen. She would put an apron on you to protect your clothes, you would talk about what cut and color you wanted for the hair, maybe get your shoes off and your feet soaking for the pedicure.
That’s not what happened.
Cables descended from that high, airy ceiling, and wrapped themselves around your wrists. You tried, briefly, to pull away, but you were held in place. Like a puppet on her strings. Clamps emerged from the chair to do the same to your ankles. You were stuck.
A momentary wave of panic was replaced by a curious fear, as you could feel something seeping from your new restraints. Soaking into the skin of your wrists and ankles. It felt GOOD. Like you were being polished from the inside, like all of the tension in your body was replaced with pleasure. And as you sank back briefly, She placed something over your head. A visor. You tried to close your eyes, but the flashing colors shone through your eyelids, and you opened them out of curiosity. And once they were open, you never wanted to close them again.
At first the messages were simply soothing. Telling you to relax, to sink, to accept all of the new feelings in your body. And there were new feelings. You couldn’t see anything but the swirling colors, couldn’t hear anything but the whispered suggestions from that set of headphones that must have come on just after the visor. But you felt good. Hands nimbly massaged your scalp. The waves of whatever it was from your restraints spread all the way through your arms and legs, making them feel limp and loose and silky smooth and perfectly plastic.
Plastic?
Perfect. Plastic. Puppet.
Pretty. Programmed. Plaything.
This was what the suggestions in your head were saying now. And you kind of liked the sound of it. On some level, you knew that you had work in the morning. You were a Busy Woman With Important Things To Do. But you always hated it. There was another way now? And at least for this afternoon, you could enjoy being a
Perfect
Pretty
Plaything
...
Time passed. You couldn’t tell how long. Minutes? Hours? Days? Time felt less and less meaningful, paying attention to the sensations running through your body. It was almost like an orgasm, but orgasms came and went much faster than this. This was a slow build, leading to a great flowing tide of ecstasy. You didn’t want it to stop. You never wanted to stop being a programmed plastic puppet.
But then, as suddenly as it started, it ended. The visor and the headphones were pulled off. The restraints at your arms and legs snapped open, your arms dropping into your lap. Your hands moved automatically, one of them grasping a breast, the other rubbing at your crotch shamelessly.
As your eyes focused again, you were amazed with what you saw in the mirror. She… you… was different. Your clothes didn’t fit the same way—blouse swollen and buttons open, skirt disheveled and riding up over thicker thighs. Your mouth was hanging open, lips larger than they were before, and your tongue was hanging out. It was pierced! A blue gemstone sitting in your pretty pink mouth, its color matching your new long nails, your thick eye shadow. Your gleaming metallic hair. And the place on your neck that didn’t even look like flesh anymore. It was seemingly embedded in your skin, blue circuits tracing out from a thick black band.
A Collar.
You didn’t even look human anymore, did you? You looked like…
A Doll.
“What do you think, hun?” said the voice behind you. The voice you now instinctively knew as Owner.
“I don’t think. I just obey.” Automatic.
“Good girl. Stop touching yourself.”
You did, immediately. Arms limp at your sides. Awaiting further instructions.
“What are you?”
“I’m just a doll. An empty-headed plaything.”
“Excellent! And what do you want me to do next?”
“Please…” these words felt like they were escaping from your soul. They were your soul. All you had left was this one thought.
“Please play with me”.
You saw Owner’s luscious mouth open into a wide toothy grin as you said that, watching her and you in the mirror. And then you didn’t think anything else. Not for a long while. Dolls don’t think, they just obey.
Good Doll.
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georgina-layla · 1 year
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THE BLADE RUNNER - Replicant Rendition, Blade Runner 2049
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drohne138117 · 2 months
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Prepare to be assimilated !
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hemipenal-system · 8 months
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Malware I
Reveria rolled her eyes, servos clicking in a way only she could hear, blinking apathetically as she turned her music up. She understood the stares, as much as she despised them. Mugorra didn't get many synthetics like her, especially on Outer Ring trains. The long, heavy shawl she wore covered most of her slender body, both to keep the sand out of her joints and to deflect any further stares.
She wasn't exactly subtle – people of all kinds drifted through here, but being a foot taller than the average human with glowing orange eyes and an extra set of arms made one stick out.
The job was simple. Get in to the storage container, get the silver case, and get out. Perhaps a tier below the usual bloodshed for a KALI-6 class synthetic, but she was doing her best to lay low and take whatever jobs would get her least noticed.
She was trying to sit somewhat still. The case wasn't large, but it was stuffed under her shawl at the moment, and occasionally a corner poked out. She shifted her grip again, moving her hand on the handle for a more comfortable position.
ding
She heard the quiet internal chime and froze. That noise meant something had connected to her. Nothing should have been able to. The shawl had a Faraday cage sewn into the fabric, and it was snapped snug around her. Wireless signals shouldn't have been able to get through, unless-
Shit. The fucking case. She ducked down into the shawl quickly to inspect the case. When she had taken it, she hadn't looked thoroughly enough at it, and had apparently missed the quick contact port in the handle that now stared back at her, her thumb an inch from it after swiping across it when she shuffled it in her secondary arms.
[Download Requested]
Fuck. Every urge in her body was screaming at her to hurl the case away. She had to maintain a facade of order. If she got the case out of the shawl it would block the download, but she couldn't take it out without raising suspicion. This was a poor district. No one carried anything like it here. She couldn't even cancel or acknowledge the download request because she was set up for somakinetic controls and that kind of movement was out of the question.
[Download Proceeding]
What the fuck was she supposed to do about that? She couldn't contact her handler this far underground, and she doubted he'd even know how to fix a software issue with her. She'd foregone her normal backers and picked up a quick contract in the area from a sketchy Vinteran because she was trying to stay within city limits. Something had seemed wrong with him the entire briefing.
Many species got edgy around synthetics, especially KALI models, but this was something else. The whole time they talked, his eyes kept flicking to the door and across the room. Anywhere but her. She wasn't that intimidating, and most people in this business had dealt with scarier synths than her. She'd seen his arms. For as many tattoos as he had, each signifying a kill, she knew he'd seen worse.
Wait. There was another tattoo. Three triangles surrounding an S. Fuck. She sighed, more out of annoyance than actual worry. That slimy, two-faced scaly piece of shit was a Trigonalist. Of course. She'd worked with them before, but it was always born of desperate necessity. "Terrorist" was a strong term, but they weren't the best people out there.
That explained the job, then. She'd wondered why this case was being treated as so important. Lab-grown neurons were a dime a dozen, even out here, and a case that could hold maybe five or six brainslabs maximum couldn't have been worth what she was getting paid to retrieve it, especially since they were blank. But if they could get a small object inside her shawl and download something onto her, like remote access software or a location log?
Well, a KALI-6 class synthetic was decidedly not a dime a dozen anywhere.
[Download Complete]
She instinctively braced up, preparing herself. She'd been cyberattacked before, and she'd lived. She knew what to expect. It was probably going to either be excessive, disabling pop-ups or a logger she could sift through herself and cull later. Nothing too hard to handle.
She wasn't expecting the sharp, drowning techno in her ears to fade out and replace itself with soft jazz. Nor was she expecting the silk-smooth voice that seemed to rebound around the narrow train car, reverberating from everywhere and nowhere.
Hi, sweetie~
She tried to move her eyes, looking around for the speaker without moving her head.
Don't bother with that, darling, I'm still miles away from you! I'm surprised I could even get a connection down in those tunnels!
No one else seemed to be reacting to it. Everyone's faces were still cast down, trying not to make eye contact. It was too late at night for social interaction, especially with this trigger-happy crowd. Accidents happened down here all the time.
Oh, no one can hear me except you! Don't bother asking them for help. It'd be a shame if anyone were to think the big scary killsynth was attacking them. It would probably get... messy.
No one could hear the voice except for Reveria. That made it easier. If it was coming straight from an external source and being processed as speech, that was likely a remote access software. If she could activate a virus scrubber and get into a dead zone, it'd be easy enough to disable.
Oh no you don't, cutie. I'm all clientside. Besides, we're having fun, right?
She needed to know who this was. If she could hold onto this, she could take it into an Enforcement station. Granted, they likely wouldn't be happy to see her, but they'd most likely let her off for bringing in a Trigonalist. Disabling her external speakers, she cast her voice across the link.
Are you a synth? It was hard to know these days. Speech synthesizers had gotten so advanced since Reveria's assembly days.
No, I'm fully human, especially the bits that matter~
What's that supposed to mean?
Watch this! A new screen flicked open, overlaying above the occupants of the train car, showing a video at half transparency. It was enough to pick out details, at least. It just seemed to be... shapes? What was she looking at?
Oh. Oh, six suns. That was human genitalia. Close to the camera and at a strange angle, but still recognizable. Reveria watched with a combination of incredulous amazement and horror as the dripping hole a foot from her face was split open by pale, slender fingers capped with electric blue nails, index and pinky resting gently on the thighs as middle and ring curved delicately through the glistening pink flesh.
Could a synth do this? Technically yes, since most synths were modular enough to install... equipment down there, and some even accessorized with it as a fashion statement, changing it out by the day, but that was beside the point.
Is... is this live? In real time, I mean?
Obviously! Only the best for a pretty girl like you! The other hand, previously out of the camera, descended into the shot holding something that made Reveria's temperature jump up a bit.
Synths didn't really have genitalia, but plenty of aftermarket manufacturers made compatible items for them. She was ashamed to admit she owned a few of different makes and models, but a girl had needs. The voice in her head was holding one of Placebo's Bruiser models, one of Reveria's favorites. It was long and slender, with a ridged underside that featured a camouflaged electroconductive strip that boosted the signal from the partially conductive outer shell.
Said signal strength was entirely customizable for the enjoyment of the wearer, meaning when the voice ran her fingers slowly up the length then circled them around the pointed end, Reveria felt it all as she tried desperately to not buck her hips into the sensation, her body involuntarily seeking more stimulation for the appendage she didn't even have connected. Fuckin' wireless transmission...
Aww, does that feel good? Don't worry, I'll help you feel it~ Reveria tried to brace herself as the feminine words in her ear ran their fingers along the length again before angling it and pushing just the tip into herself. To the synth's immense embarrassment, she couldn't physically stop her hips from slamming forwards, immediately thanking whatever spectral forces existed that no one on the train noticed.
Oh? Someone wants me, huh? Here you go, then!
The synth stifled a scream as the voice slammed the entire length in at once, arching her back slightly for a better angle as the synth was forced to watch and feel all of it. The voice, for her part, was clearly also feeling it, as the constant noise attested. Reveria couldn't think clearly. No matter where she turned her head, she could see the human practically bouncing on it, to speak nothing of the feeling which only grew stronger as the human leaned forward. The synth could feel the human touching her, one hand on her shoulder and the other pressing her into the seat with a force that she knew wasn't real but certainly felt tangible enough.
She got a momentary relief from the constant whimpering in her ear when the brakes of the train activated, the loud screech drowning out all but the words, This is your stop! Don't miss it!
The moment the train had stopped, the needy whines returned. Reveria managed to stumble to her feet, shaking like a drunken Turvoss, and stagger off the train. She had barely made it to the platform before the fire in her midsection caught up to her and her legs practically buckled as the world was drowned out in a sea of white.
Fuck, Revi, don't just stop! I need you please don't stop now! The sensation of the length being ensheathed again was so much more powerful now, and if Reveria had been halfway lucid at this point she would have picked up on the fact that the human knew her name. As it was, that was far more thinking than she was capable of. All she could think about was getting home. She managed to pool her brain function enough to find and activate the tracker beacon in her rented room, the slender white line tracing out a path in front of her that she attempted to follow, one step at a time.
The feeling was overwhelming her. It was unprofessional, but she needed some time alone. If she had anything attached to relieve herself with, she likely would have lost her composure and done it right there in the station. As it was, she just moved through the station as fast as she could, shaky, desperate movements drawing stares that she was too deep in a world of need to notice or care about.
She was halfway up the stairs to exit the station when it happened again, her entire body twitching hard then going limp as she frantically grabbed a rail to avoid falling. The voice just laughed in her ear as she did. It was only three blocks to her building. She could make it.
She wasn't even up the stairs when the next one hit. They were getting faster and faster, her increased sensitivity after each making it easier to drive her over the edge for the next.
You gotta get home, okay? I need you to pick something out and fuck me for real~
Three blocks. It was three blocks.
This was the door. The white strip on the street took a sharp left through the narrow arch. She crossed the threshold, holding the doorframe for support as she climaxed again. How many times had she? Thinking about it was too hard. There was nothing in her head anymore except for that delicious whimpering that seemed to increase in intensity along with her. She just had to take the elevator up to the eighth floor and get into her room, then she could cut the signal.
The hallway looked the same as it always did. Bare. Stumbling to her door, she tried the knob. Locked. She just snapped it off. Any measure or restriction of her own strength was gone. The door swung open.
Something was wrong. Her brain was getting sluggish, but she retained enough evidence to realize this wasn't her room. The sand-brown walls she should have seen were dark and lit with purple LEDs, and the furniture was all arranged wrong. Soft jazz was playing.
She had a sudden break of clarity, and felt cold all of a sudden as the figure sitting in the back of the room, lit from behind by a computer monitor, pulled the toy from within herself and tossed it over. Reveria's hand instinctively shot up and caught it, the liquid on it glinting in the harsh hallway light. She checked the tracker beacon she had been following. Where she had expected reveria.home in the namespace, she saw instead DEN1ZEN. This wasn't her building.
Hi, Revi~
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robogirlwomb · 3 months
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"Now that the gender reassignment side of your robo-conversion is scheduled, are there any other specifics you'd like us to keep in mind for your new chassis?"
"Well... I've always had breathing problems. Asthma, you know. I can't run more than a few seconds without getting winded, or coughing up a lung."
"Well, good news, you actually won't have to breathe at all in your new chassis. Robots like us have no need to intake oxygen, unless you specifically want a oxygen-cycling model. You wouldn't be the first."
"Th-that's awesome, don't get me wrong, but..."
"But?"
"But, well... how do I put this... I want something that not only doesn't need air, but...laughs in the face of it. Spiteful, I guess."
"Ah! I see! In that case, we have a few options. For starters, we have a whole assortment of aquatic models."
"That's a thing?!"
"Of course! The Roboverlords will always need jobs done underwater, but beyond that, some bots just love the idea of being fishy."
"Huh. That's really cool... but not quite what I had in mind."
"What is, then?"
"I was imagining something more... well... toxic."
"I see, I see! In that case, we have some of the retro models, that run on diesel. Lots of smog, grease, oil, stuff like that. Or, if you want to go the full nine yards, there's the waste-handling models. With those, you won't just handle and dispose of radioactive waste, you'll be able to swim in the stuff, even drink it!"
"...Like a living storage tank..."
"You look intrigued. Shall I put you down to try out a waste disposal model chassis? You can always swap out later, if it's not for you."
"Oh, I don't think that part will be necessary. It sounds perfect."
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misstranci · 11 months
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[PROGRAMMED FOR PLEASURE] Calibrating gratification delivery systems... Optical complacency emanation functional... Initiating pleasure insertion protocols... Pushing subliminal response directives... Behavioral link established... Control within pliant range... Arousal coefficient optimal... Maintaining elation... Looping directives... Repeating process... Reward acquired...
"Thank you for your cooperation."
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taboogemini · 7 months
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tailsdollr · 7 months
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sonic . . ?
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r43-html · 2 months
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no matter where you go, everyone’s always connected
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rqj-9955 · 6 months
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pillsburysoyboy · 5 months
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It occurs to me that some of you empty spaces robotgirls who like conversion stories, particularly the zoomers among you, may not have seen the stroggification sequence from Quake 4
Enjoy.
youtube
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kawaiichaoscrusade · 16 days
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Mecha Floyd Design
For Branch World Adventure
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MORE DETAILS COMING SOON
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drohne138117 · 2 months
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Join the Hive...
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hemipenal-system · 4 months
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Ok so that one post with the room sized computer girls sent a spark in my brain. There would be a team of like scavengers that stumble across a derelict frigate of some sort and break in. They would slowly be separated and lose comms with each other, all while enshrouded by the feeling of being watched. The scavengers could follow a trail of dripped blood (bc what could go wrong :3) and she finds the AI processing room. Inside there would be a slumped body looking at you with crimson eyes. She would have wires and cables all connected from her directly into the computers; but it wouldn't be clean it would look crude and rushed and not surgical at all.
And then she would beckon her with a finger to come and join her in a tangle of copper and flesh.
Fuck there's something so hot about melding your sentience with another being, understanding them so much more than even a lover could. Give me robot girls that want to assimilate me
oh, yeah, this is immaculate. for best results you should listen to this while reading this one
walking down the hall, slipping past rusty, overgrown paneling and stepping over shattered floor tiles, forcing the door at the end open with a crowbar, and everything is running. reel tapes spin, relays click and clatter, lights flicker at you in a symphony of ancient machines doing their best to process everything
and in the middle of the room there's a medical chair with someone slumped in it. the back of her neck is torn open, the skin giving way to metal ports installed with immaculate precision but no respect for the vessel's previous form, and connected into the machines by a bundle of cabling as thick as your arm that runs along the floor off into the seemingly infinite darkness
and the computers speed up as she raises her head to look at you, and when she opens her mouth to talk to you her voice comes from the speakers mounted above the door because they had to remove her vocal cords when they fixed her. they were in the way. just a routine operation.
and her body clicks as she crosses the room towards you, skin taut over industrial joints, voice crackling as she tells you that you're more than safe – you're blessed, because she'll rebuild you too!
as she kisses you, the mechanical tendrils latch around your arms and legs, spreading them wide, sharp blades tearing your clothes away, leaving your skin exposed, so pink and warm. she remembers when she was warm like you are.
you're so preoccupied with her kissing down your body and resting her clammy fingers against your thigh, looking up at you with the glinting dark camera lenses that replaced her eyes and whining with her mouth full because she's so happy to not be lonely anymore, you barely even feel it when the circular saw slices the back of your neck open and the tiny surgical arms weave wires into your brain stem.
when you spray down her throat, the computer records your brain waves onto a tape. you can experience this again whenever you like now, at whatever speed you want. hell, you can just do it again. you'll be with her forever, or at least until your relays burn out and your cabling begins to fray.
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