Functional•Sensual•You

Share your fembot fiction and fantasies here or discuss the craft of writing by asking for or giving suggestions.
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You can quote me:

Iron Maiden?! Excellent! ... I have no idea why I just said that.
20
69%
That’s the second biggest file on wiki I’ve ever seen!
6
21%
I can’t help but feel I’ve been ripped off.
2
7%
I think I can live without that particular piece of junk.
1
3%
 
Total votes: 29

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Murotsu
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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Murotsu » Fri May 13, 2016 4:03 pm

I'll take a look at it and see what I can do.

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Silkscreen » Fri May 13, 2016 4:34 pm

Thank you so much!

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Murotsu » Fri May 13, 2016 6:56 pm

You want me to make them more exciting / interesting, right?

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Silkscreen » Sat May 14, 2016 5:41 am

Ah, no. I have made them more interesting myself already, taking your advice of less narrative and more dialogue –especially Renée's text–, but I ask you to correct the changed texts again.

If you have some more ideas, we could collaborate of course, but I prefer to do that with another story set up in the same universe. I would prepare another set of manips then, if you like.

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Murotsu » Sat May 14, 2016 11:25 am

Ah. Got it.

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Murotsu » Thu May 19, 2016 2:40 pm

Silk, could you post up where I can grab the text you want edited. Doing it off the PDF is going to be slow.

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Silkscreen » Thu May 19, 2016 3:04 pm

Renée

Code: Select all

“A Look into a              Magical Mirror
I expect a “What?” from you. Yes, it's true. I perceive myself as a machine, a robot. I first thought it was because my background, the motorbikes and stuff. Then I realized it is the most natural way of being when you have a full-body prosthesis as great as this one.
I don't know how open you are when it comes to sex. I think we’re all girls here so I will share my first experience with my prosthesis. I can hear you saying, “Which sex? That woman is married, has two kids, maybe a dog, runs a business, and so on. Who like that’s got time for good sex? Or, the figure and nerve to flirt with a man, let alone arouse her husband?”
Good news, this prosthesis only comes in one form. Bombshell. There are tweaks you can choose to match your age and personal preference, but your general appearance is that of an athletic, busty, sex goddess. It doesn’t matter how chubby or skinny you were in your human body.
I was in pretty good shape before, thanks to my bike driving, but no one can carry a couple of children to term without some bloat and stretch marks you can never get rid of. My prosthesis doesn't care about that. It's from honest housewife, back to siren in a day.
This worked for me immediately. I vividly remember the day when I made my first steps in my prosthesis. Pierre visited me. I wished so much he would not only give me a loving hug, but would notice my re-gained sexiness.
His body did the favor for me. I felt his bulge against my crotch. The prosthesis reacted to it. It flooded my brain with pleasurable feedback. But, there was no way to actually do it, so I dismissed the idea.
The tension inside me remained. In the second week there was a female doctor on her ward rounds. I gathered up all my courage and told her about the twitching I felt inside my crotch when I thought of my husband and asked what to do about it.
Her reply hit me like a ton of bricks. “Uh, you still haven't played with your equipment yet?”
Well, no? Not the appropriate place for it? I knew the prosthesis was “equipped” but I couldn't play with myself in a clinic bed, could I?
Her blunt diagnosis was, “your craving for sex doesn't go away just because you actively override the prosthesis. It does what your mind wants and you’re sending mixed signals. Let go, don't suppress it. We have to calibrate your sex functions anyway while you're here.”
I might have already if there wasn't another reason. The whole prosthesis was built to resemble an attractive human woman. It even had skin-colored silicone hands. But I knew under the covers, my new body was nothing more than a machine, a metal skeleton, piping, cables, and circuits. I’d been afraid of what I might discover between my legs.
It was no use. Someday I’d have to face the truth. I gave in into my sexual fantasies. As soon I did, I felt the prosthesis reacting and saw how it slowly projected an interface onto its crotch. Wrong, onto my crotch. I could feel it come forth, see it emerging out of me. It settled in place with a click.
I hadn't expected the vagina I’d given birth with. When I stared down at the contraption between the legs as it was moved on its own, through the cleavage of my boobs that were now fuel tanks, I wondered why it was so easy for me to accept these parts were now part of me. I wondered why I had been such a wuss over a detail that was meant to be my very own private parts. Maybe it was because it was not a replica of a human vulva and designed not to scare an unaware partner, but instead a metal and polymer apparatus, specifically designed as the crucial component of a machine meant to be “female?” A female robot?
I marvelled at that steel insert. I had to touch it. My silicone fingers slid over the rim and that gave me a pleasurable shiver. The real thrill came when I touched the blueish cone on top of the main conduit. “Yeaaaah! That's my clit.” Then I tried to clench on the fingers I had inserted deep into the mechanism.
The sensations it sent to my brain were not unexpected, but the urge to examine myself were as high as my very first experiences. “Yeah, that's my tool. Come on boy, I'll screw you for real!” I was excited by the sheer power of the mechanism, then it all of a sudden, began stroking my fingers. It pushed my silicone-clad fingers out and pulled them in again. Artificial fingers taking a ride inside an artificial vagina. I tried to get control over the movement, but it played me as I had played myself before. I had no chance to concentrate, to modulate it, the sensations this thing, my tool, sent into my brain were too intense. Stop.
Whoever designed my prosthesis was really clever. I wanted to master my new equipment, and I felt I needed to adjust my own self-perceptions to do that. There was a tall mirror in the bathroom, low enough for people in a wheelchair. A last reminder of my former self, I thought. I posed on the opposite wall, spread my arms and legs, and made the interface retract into my tummy. I needed to gather myself. Who am I? What am I?
“T.r.i.g.g.e.r.i.n.g  f.i.n.a.l c.o.n.v.e.r.s.i.o.n  s.t.e.p
I stared at the woman in the mirror. For long minutes I did nothing. I gazed at my own reflection. I moved my head a bit, but kept the prosthesis immobile like a mannequin I can control.
It all felt very wrong. The head of a woman mounted on top of a full-body prosthesis, that wasn't me. The mirror showed a whole person, thorough, decent, unimpaired. It wasn’t my image it was my imagination. It was an exhibition of what I wanted to be. The one exception was that interface. I had to claim it for myself. It was me who was the woman, not the prosthesis. I needed to have proper genitalia. Suited for my new self.
Slowly, of own my free will, I made the apparatus reappear. Started playing with the tubing diameter and the movable lubricant nozzle on top of the structure. I made the motors inside it run. Controlling and feeling this thing was the right direction but I had been there a few minutes ago. It wasn't sufficient back then and it sure wasn't now. I needed evidence and more than myself as witness.
I dug in my toilet bag. Deodorant spray was the obvious choice. Why did I ever bring that stuff with me? I emptied the can into the sink and threw the plastic parts of it into the waste bin. I returned to my view in the mirror, the metal cylinder in my hand. I made a lot of grimaces, and laughed at the funny ones. Eventually I found my most cold-blooded look, and knew I was ready.
“Inserting probe,” I droned. My voice still seemed too human so I made a number of attempts to say this more like a machine. I plugged in and pulled the can each time. Making the sensory input from the various rims and the cone bypass the animalistic part of my brain got easier on each retry and my voice gave a good feedback of the change inside me.
“Ca.l.i.b.r.a.t.i.n.g  s.e.x.u.a.l.i.t.y,” the female robot I identified with exclaimed concisely and drew the can in completely. Her mechanism moved, pushed and pulled, then rotated and squeezed it. The rush of sensory input to her CPU was immense and when it examined the provisional results, each time it took a long while before she could put the “probe” back in.
She needed more control. Her CPU had blocked the direct stimuli of the apparatus to its lust center. But the visual feed­­­­back from scanning the half-processed can alone had put her in a frenzy. She accelerated it inside her, pushed it halfway out and marvelled at her mirror image. The biggest dent was whipping her clit cone ten times a second. She moaned hysterically.
This had to be wrong. Robots do not moan.
I pulled the alarm string on the wall. The nurse found me standing against the bathroom wall, arms and legs spread apart. In front of her, I ejected the twirling can. It bounced through the whole bathroom with a tinny sound.
“C.a.l.i.b.r.a.t.i.o.n  f.a.i.l.e.d,” I droned. The nurse wasn't in shock as I had expected, only slightly irritated. “Mrs. Labiche, why did you pull the alarm? How can I help you?” 
“C.a.l.i.b.r.a.t.i.o.n  f.a.i.l.e.d,” I repeated, smiling coyly. The nurse called the doctor.
The woman from half an hour ago brought a Kachi bag with her. Tools for tweaking the prosthesis. “Mrs. Labiche, please open your upper service hatch.”
I followed her order, as I had before. “See, Michaela,” she showed the nurse my mechanical innards, “the first thing to check on a Kachi prosthesis is the status display. You can check the fuel level, fuel cell output, and core temperature. And here,” she tipped the display and Michaela leaned in to look. “Mode: Robot?” the nurse said. “Yes. That's Mrs. Labiche's current operating condition.” She pulled a tablet from her bag. “Below the display she has an USB port, see? The app has a mode to start the self-diagnosis. You can safely use that mode. The other functions are for doctors only and locked.”
“Ahh, the log explains it.” The doctor breathed a sigh of relief. — “Something wrong?” the nurse asked.
“Not at all.” The doctor turned to me, “Congratulations, Mrs. Labiche,” she made a dramatic pause, “Your sexuality has been calibrated. You’re fully robotic now.”
“C.a.l.i.b.r.a.t.i.o.n  f.a.i.l.e.d,” I repeated my own uninspired diagnosis mechanically.
“Hmm, that's a bit odd,” she said. “And, how did you start your recalibration without the deformation feedback gear?”
The nurse picked up the deformed can and showed it to the doctor. “Hum, you’re pretty hardboiled, aren't you, Mrs. Labiche?” the doctor pointed out. “Was it fun to feel your power?” she giggled.
“C.a.l.i.b.r.a.t.i.o.n  f.a.i.l.e.d,” was the only phrase I could utter. As if I was stuck in a loop. I shouldn't be stuck like that. I wasn't running some sort of program. My CPU was the same self-organizing, extremely adaptable instrument it was back when I was human. The same as it was minutes ago.
My mind raced through the events of the last ten minutes. It had been doing that since the moment I had started to use my pussy as a metalworking tool. Something had changed. This was not normal human behavior.
My CPU wasn’t taking proof by proposition. It had to recompile the events that lead to its latest reconfiguration first. Suppression of excitement in direct response to sensory input, a human behavior. Repetition of actions in order to gather more sensory input. Another human behavior. Having fun with one’s own body, still more human behavior. Repeated checking of bodily attractiveness. That too was human behavior. Building self-assurance by fulfilling preinstalled objectives. Human behavior too.
I had to stop it. I wasn't going to get to the core of the problem taking a journey into the past. Everything I had done before half an hour ago of course was human behavior. Duh.
My thoughts wandered back to the CB500 I had crashed. The model doesn't fit the definition of “crotch rocket,” but for an athletic 58 kg girl it can be. That’s why I bought it. People often belittle male motorcyclists by saying their bikes are compensating for missing virility. Wrong! Riding a motorbike can be sexy. You can feel yourself becoming one with the machine. But the saying seems biased because women feel it too. Every time Pierre and I rode in convoy, I longed for the next stop to let him feel my arousal. The precision and power I had to exercise to steer the bike made me feel so hot, so dynamite, I wanted him to touch my thighs and watch me dismount my bike.
I wanted to give him a good view on my leather-clad ass. Let him grope it and squeeze his butt in return. Then kiss, kiss, kiss. God, I felt like I was the heiress of a vagina dentata with a dark prince named Pierre turned on by it.
The CPU came to a conclusion. Gaining full control over the prosthesis was desirable. Becoming one with the machine was coherent with previous behavior. Using the artificial vulva as a female power tool reflected its self-perception even before it had put the pieces together. Transition from heiress to mistress requires commitment.
I had committed myself willingly. I had adopted my heir in the only way I could. It was truly better than anything that I dreamed to be when I was riding my motorbike. I was powerful. Precise. Durable. Fatally sexy.
Minutes before I had wanted to prove it to myself I was the rightful owner of this incredible robotic body. I craved for it. I knew I had to act like a robot. I understood I had to think like a robot. I realized I had to feel like a robot.
I was meant to feel nothing. Or wasn't I? How aroused should a robot woman be during sex? It had turned me on to be able to deny the pleasure signals coming from my metal sex. It turned me on to be the CPU to my robotic body. Watching the can revolving in my sex, seeing it hammer my metal clit and only feeling pressure impulses from it made me explode.
Was that alright? That's why my CPU was stuck in a loop. It needed external evaluation of its performance. 
“Proceedings of a        Motorized Mistress
In the meantime, the doctor and the nurse had prepared the right calibration gear for women who had received the Kachi prosthesis.
“No need for caution, Michaela,” the doctor advised the nurse “Mrs. Labiche won't feel hurt or protest while she’s is in robot mode.”
Michaela crammed a wired, silicone clad plug deep into me. “You mean, she is being controlled by the prosthesis?”
“You’ve got it wrong,” the doctor replied. “It's the other way around. When the display says ‘Mode: Robot’ it means her mind has put the prosthesis into a mode where it has unfiltered access to all functions. She doesn't feel or control the emulation of a human body. Instead, she experiences things as a robot.” 
“D.i.a.g.n.o.s.i.s  c.o.n.f.i.r.m.e.d,” I acknowledged, smiling. “I  a.m  a  r.o.b.o.t.i.c  w.o.m.a.n.”
“Ca.l.i.b.r.a.t.i.n.g  s.e.x.u.a.l.i.t.y,” I explained my next action. I was squeezing, clenching, rotating, and push-pulling the plug, while I monitored my actions on a tablet the doctor handed to me. It felt like an arcade video game with two spectators on either side of me mesmerized by my game play. After two minutes of playing, I began to score 100% each time.
“M.y  p.e.r.f.o.r.m.a.n.c.e  i.s  p.e.r.f.e.c.t,” I told the doctor, “B.u.t  t.h.a.t p.lug felt human. I feel human again too,” I realized irritatedly.
“That's okay, you should adapt to your sex partner,” the doctor explained. 
“I  h.a.v.e  b.e.c.o.m.e  a r.e.a.l  r.o.b.o.t  a.t  l.a.s.t,”*I wailed, “I d.o.n.'t  w.a.n.t  t.o e.v.e.r  f.e.e.l  h.u.m.a.n  a.g.a.i.n.”
She held the spray can before my face. I took it from her, and seconds later its metal creaked under the pressure of my hydraulic vagina.
“A.s  a  r.o.b.o.t,  m.a.y  I   f.e.e.l  s.e.x.u.a.l  d.e.s.i.r.e?”
“It's not like anyone could hold you back,” she snickered.
I activated the data paths to my lust circuit. 
My eyes widened in shock. I shed tears.
“T.h.i.s  i.s  h.o.w  I  w.a.s  c.a.l.i.b.r.a.t.e.d  b.e.f.o.r.e…,” I cried aloud, “B.e.f.o.r.e  t.h.e  a.c.c.i.d.e.n.t.”  I gazed at the doctor.
Pierre stood in the doorframe. How long he’d been there I couldn’t say.  “P.i.e.r.r.e,  I…” I built up in front of him sturdily though I had tears in my eyes. “… I  a.m  a  r.o.b.o.t,” I pointed to the mechanism I was still scrapping the can with. “I  a.m  a  s.e.x.y  r.o.b.o.t.”
“I  h.a.v.e  a.l.w.a.y.s  b.e.e.n  a  s.e.x.y  r.o.b.o.t.”
I expected Pierre to be shocked and silent over my confession, but he was over that step. “I know…” He kissed me. “Remember when we've first met? When I asked you what you find in motor biking, you said you...”
“… W.e.r.e  t.u.r.n.e.d  o.n  b.y  b.e.c.o.m.i.n.g o.n.e  w.i.t.h  t.h.e  m.a.c.h.i.n.e.” I finished. “I got such a bulge in my pants when you'd said that.” He smiled at me. “Now a woman, that bold and cool, a sexy motorized mistress, stands before of me.” In that instant, I longed for Pierre's manhood in me.
Back home, I still needed approval from my little ones. Lucien has no problem with his Maman being a robot. He was so relieved when I picked him up and hugged him for the first time in six months. Claire was a harder nut to crack. She ran upstairs and locked herself up. I had cried the whole night because my little darling became so distant. Claire had cried her eyes out too, Pierre told me.
At breakfast she came to me. “Maman, those gloves, those aren’t you.” She pointed at my silicone hands.
“S.h.o.u.l.d  I  t.a.k.e  t.h.e.m  o.f.f?” I asked her.
 She nodded eagerly, so I did showing her my metal fingers. I was so happy when she allowed me to pet her, to caress her little cheeks, and comb through her hair.
“Papa had explained it to me, Maman.” It bubbled out of her. “Are you really a robot?” I was perplexed: “Y… Y.e.s. I.s  t.h.a.t  o.k.a.y?”
“That's so cooooool, Maman.”
That took me by surprise.
“I want to ride on the motorbike with you. Can we go this Afternoon?”
I cheered.
Ute:

Code: Select all

“How I Embraced                        my Machinehood
I should get back the topic about why I felt I had to become fully robotic. “Dancing” with my prosthetics made me finally master of them, right? Wrong! Do you remember the rules of the dance? It’s move together, as one. The mind takes the lead. What do you do when you lose your mind?
That shock arrived when Erik made sexy moves on the new me for the first time. I didn’t have full control of the prosthesis back then but I was making good progress. I told him about my slap in the face. He dared me to put some moisturizer on my face. I smiled in waggish confidence.
Erik watched closely as my rubber clad fingertips carefully applied the cream. “See, I can handle it!” I discovered he wasn't out to tease me, more to test me. I was nearly done applying the cream when he grabbed the silicon covered hand of my prosthesis with his left hand, smiled, then caressed my cheek with his other. “I love seeing your steel body being so gentle,” he whispered in my ear.
I was shocked. Did he just say “…your steel body…?” It was a prosthesis, not my body!
Erik showed me how wrong my observation was, on so many levels. He bit on my earlobe and played on the stud with his teeth. I pressed his hand in return, firmly and softly. Then he went further. He did not miss my lips or my affectionate look when our eyes met. His foray led him to my neck and then, onto the rubber of the prosthesis.
If it was a dance between my mind and my prosthesis, it clearly had to stop as we were in unchartered territory. We hadn't learned yet how to handle someone licking, kissing and biting my coating. I had a jumble of sensations I had to categorize and evaluate. It was mass confusion. The tactile sensors reported heat, cold, pinching, cuts, and tension.
My mind couldn’t evaluate all that. I was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of sensations my brain was receiving. So much tension.
Erik traced the seam of my maintenance cover with his fingers. I kept swapping my line of sight between his eyes and his hands. I was eager to know how far he would go. He groped and fondled the bulges forming the “breasts” of the prosthesis with his hands. And I didn’t feel the pressure or the common sensory chaos but arousal instead.
Technically these are my fuel tanks but from what I was feeling at that moment it was my rack he was playing with… Oh my god!
Can a prosthesis get horny? Erik “played me.” I knew how it felt before my change. Now he was playing the prosthesis like an instrument and I felt what he was doing to it. It supplied the overall sensation to my brain. The machine was dancing to Erik's music and desperately wanted for me to join. I did.
The surge was incredible. My steel body flooded my brain with sensations, triggered feelings of strength, skill, and invulnerability in me. It felt the same as my combat training at work. It wanted me to feel safe, yet powerful. The excitement was so much higher than before. I knew that the sole function of my mind in that scheme was analyzing my environment then locking on the target response.
“When did I decide Erik was my prey?” It was a futile question to myself. My mind had already indulged in the mission my body asked of me and I’d decided not to pull the plug. I had consented to go for the big picture, not for the minor details of the plan.
I had to touch him in return, make him go further. I willed my arms to embrace him and let my hands rest on his bum. My robotic fingers did their lusty work and I carefully observed his reaction.
Erik noticed I was at peak attention. I think he was biting his tongue wanting to not screw it up when I finally twisted his buttocks over his threshold. He gave me a shiver as he stopped the mistreatment of my boobs and moved to massaging my back and arms. I followed him. We mirrored each other's actions, patting, rubbing as our eyes locked on each other.
Major kissing was involved. I had kissed him since my conversion, even passionate kisses. But never in the exaggerated state of arousal I was in now. I had to kiss him! I wanted more. My body wanted more. This wasn't a prosthesis any more. I could feel how it want me to let it drive further, shift up a gear, get my mind in sync with it, then establish total control.
I had to override it. Immediately. I was the woman in charge and it's me who enforces control. I am the mind here! Thinking that made my robotics comply instantly. It wanted control. What it did wasn’t a malfunction. It was an experiment to find out what it could to get away with. I understand that now. From a machine's point of view it was always testing how to play on my mind's character. Be it combing, handwriting, or practicing martial arts my prosthesis tried to find out if it had done things right by checking whether my mind was pleased. Boy, was it pleased. Amused, delighted, all that.
I didn't want the dance to end. The wild ride had stopped but the engine was still running. My engine. I now knew I had to see it like that to stay in charge. Erik saw it too. “Are we going all the way my sexy robot maiden?” He was gazing on my stern, unmoving expression.
“C.o.n.f.i.r.m.e.d.  P.r.e.p.a.r.e  f.o.r  i.n.t.e.r.c.o.u.r.s.e” I replied. I halted for a moment, shocked about what I just said. And how. I talked like a robot.
It was a minor detail. The big picture was between Erik and me. I wanted to show him how I enjoyed what he did. What he said. I wanted to have sex with him, wanted to enjoy what my robotic body has in store.
A part of my mind had already given in.
I would love to fire you up with details but my occupation in public service requires me to be more discreet. I can safely tell you my new body sub­stantially outperformed anything my human body could ever have done. For me and to my partner, it’s electrifying. 
The thrilling part was the control I felt. Every few seconds my robotics calls my consciousness for assistance. Then it performs the task automatically and let me experience the result.
It did during my ride with Erik. It’s a continuous switch between who's in charge, my mind or my robotic body.
I should explain why I am so casual about having my prosthesis controlling my actions autonomously most of the time. It really isn’t different from the human body I once had. I know it will always use my mind as a last resort for decision-making, and even when it doesn't see the necessity, I can regain the control whenever I want.
“So fire up your courage and start your new life!
Dr. Rita Haase and Dipl. Ing. Mareike Reinhard from KachI MEDICAL told me I would have the pleasure to write the closing words for the brochure. Some words which should make you consider KachI's full-body prosthesis.
I can safely say there is no competing product. Not if you insist to continue to work at your dream job, to have a rich social life and, to be  an attractive woman in your new body.
I fell in love with my new robot body. I’ve always been able to work as a policewoman and to handle my personal affairs just right. My accident and the outcome made me tougher, more conscious, and cool-headed. I feel stronger, more refined, and beautiful in a way that only growing into a fully robotic woman could have done for me.
The other texts you gave me I had only changed very little to fit into the columns. It would be nice if you could read them in the PDF a second time and see if they are still okay.

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Murotsu
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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Murotsu » Thu May 19, 2016 5:04 pm

Thanks. Give me a few days and I'll post up the edit for you.

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Murotsu » Tue May 31, 2016 7:24 pm

Sorry for the delay. RL intruded. I shortened it by close to 1,000 words, mostly unnecessary adverbs and adjectives. I took a few redundant phrases or sentences out too.

Looking into a Magic Mirror
I expect a “What?” from you. But, it's true. I think of myself as a machine, a robot. At first I thought it was because my background. Then I realized it’s the natural way of being when you have a full-body prosthesis.

I don't know how open you are when it comes to sex. I think we’re all girls here, so I’ll share my first experience after getting my prosthesis. I can hear you saying, “What sex? You’re married, have two kids, maybe a dog, runs a business, and so on. Who like that has time for good sex, or the figure and nerve to flirt with, let alone arouse her husband?”

Good news, this prosthesis only comes in one form. Bombshell. There are tweaks you can choose to match your age and personal preference, but your general appearance is that of an athletic, busty, sex goddess. It doesn’t matter how chubby or skinny you were as a human.

I was in pretty good shape before, thanks to my bike riding, but no one can carry a couple of children to term without some bloat and stretch marks. You never get rid of those. My prosthesis doesn't care about that. It's from honest housewife, back to siren in a day.

I vividly remember the day when I took my first steps in my prosthesis. Pierre visited me. I wished so much he would give me a loving hug, and more that he’d notice my new sexiness.

His body did the favor for me. I felt his bulge against my crotch. The prosthesis reacted to it. It flooded my brain with pleasurable feedback. I thought at the time there was no way to actually do it, so I dismissed the idea.

The tension inside me remained. A week later a female doctor came in on her rounds. I gathered up all my courage and told her about the twitching I felt inside my crotch when I thought of my husband and what I could do about it.

Her reply slammed me hard. “Uh, you haven't played with your equipment yet?”

Well, no. I didn’t think it was appropriate place for it. I knew the prosthesis was “equipped” but I couldn't play with myself in a clinic bed, could I?

Her blunt diagnosis was, “Your craving for sex doesn't go away when you override your prosthesis. It does what your mind wants and you’re sending mixed signals. Let go, don't suppress it. We have to calibrate your sex functions while you're here so you’ll have to do it sooner or later.”

I hesitated for another reason. My prosthesis resembled an attractive human woman. I even had skin-colored silicon hands. But, I knew under that covering, my new body was nothing but a machine, a metal skeleton, piping, cables, and circuits. I was afraid of what I might discover.

Someday I’d have to face the truth. I knew that. So, I gave in into my sexual fantasies. As soon I did, I felt the prosthesis react, slowly projecting an interface onto my crotch. I could see and feel it come out of me. It settled in place with a click.

I hadn't expected the vagina I’d given birth with. I stared down at the contraption between the legs, as it moved on its own, between my boobs well, now, fuel tanks. I wondered why it was so easy for me to accept all this as part of me. I wondered why I had been so timid over a detail meant to be my private parts. Maybe it was because it was not a replica of a human vulva designed not to scare an unaware partner, but instead a metal and polymer apparatus, specifically designed as the crucial component of a machine meant make me “female?” Make me a female robot.

I marvelled at that steel insert. I had to touch it. My silicon fingers slid over the rim and that gave me a pleasurable shiver. The real thrill came when I touched the blueish cone on top of the main conduit. “Yeah! That's my clit.” I tried to clench on my fingers as I inserted them deep into the mechanism.

The sensations it sent to my brain were not unexpected. It was the same urge to examine myself that I’d had during my first experiences. “Yeah, that's my tool. Come on boy, I'll screw you for real!” I was excited by the sheer power of the mechanism. It began stroking my fingers. It pushed my silicon fingers out and pulled them in again.

Artificial fingers taking a ride inside an artificial vagina. I tried to get control over the movement, but it gave me no chance to concentrate, to modulate it. The sensations this thing was sending to my brain were too intense.

Whoever designed my prosthesis was very clever. I wanted to master my new equipment, and I felt I needed to adjust my perceptions to do that. There was a full length mirror in the bathroom. I posed on the opposite wall, spreading my arms and legs, while making the interface retract into my crotch. I needed to gather myself. Who am I now? What am I now?


“T.r.i.g.g.e.r.i.n.g f.i.n.a.l c.o.n.v.e.r.s.i.o.n s.t.e.p

I stared at the woman in the mirror for long minutes, doing nothing. I moved my head around keeping the prosthesis immobile.

It all felt very wrong. The head of a woman mounted on top of a full-body prosthesis, that wasn't me. The mirror showed a whole person, thorough, decent, unimpaired. It wasn’t the image in my imagination. It was an exhibition of what I had become.

The exception was that interface. I had to claim it for myself. It was me who was the woman, not my prosthesis. I needed proper genitalia suited to my new self.
Slowly, of own my free will, I made the apparatus reappear. I started playing with the tubing diameter and the lubricant nozzle on top of the structure. I made the motors inside run. Controlling and feeling this thing was the right direction and I had been there a few minutes earlier. It wasn't sufficient then, and it sure wasn't now. I needed evidence, and more than myself as witness.

I dug in my toilet bag. Deodorant spray was the obvious choice. Why did I ever bring that stuff with me? I emptied the can into the sink and threw the plastic parts into the waste bin. I returned to my view in the mirror, metal cylinder in hand. I made a lot of faces, laughing at the funny ones. When I found my most cold-blooded look, and knew I was ready.

“Inserting probe,” I droned. My voice still seemed too human. I tried repeatedly to say this more like a machine. I inserted and pulled the can each time making the sensory input from the various parts of the apparatus bypass the animalistic part of my brain. It got easier on each try and my voice gave a good feedback of the changes.

“Ca.l.i.b.r.a.t.i.n.g s.e.x.u.a.l I.n.p.u.t,” the female robot part of me said with concise precision, drawing the can in completely. The mechanism moved, pushed, and pulled. It rotated and squeezed the can. The sensory input to my CPU was immense and as it examined the results each time. There was a hesitation each time before the “probe” was reinserted.

That me needed more control. Her CPU had blocked direct stimulus of the apparatus. The visual feed¬¬¬¬back from scanning the half-processed data alone had put her in a frenzy. The action accelerated inside me. Pushed halfway out I marvelled at her mirror image. Whipping her clit cone ten times a second put a huge dent in the can. She, I, moaned hysterically.

This had to be wrong. Robots don’t moan, do they?

I pulled the alarm string. The nurse found me standing against the bathroom wall, arms and legs spread. In front of her, I ejected the can. It bounced around the bathroom floor.

“C.a.l.i.b.r.a.t.i.o.n f.a.i.l.e.d,” I droned. The nurse wasn't in shock as I had expected. “Mrs. Labiche, why did you pull the alarm? How can I help you?” She seemed irritated.

“C.a.l.i.b.r.a.t.i.o.n f.a.i.l.e.d,” I repeated, smiling coyly. The nurse called the doctor.

The woman doctor from earlier brought a Kachi tool bag with her. “Mrs. Labiche, please open your upper service hatch.”

I followed her order, as I had before. “See, Michaela,” she showed the nurse my mechanical innards. “The first thing to check on a Kachi prosthesis is the status display. You can check the fuel level, fuel cell output, and core temperature. And here,” she tipped the display and Michaela leaned in to look. “Mode: Robot?” the nurse said. “Yes. That's Mrs. Labiche's current functional mode.” She pulled a tablet from her bag. “Below the display she has an USB port. The app has a mode to start the self-diagnosis. You can safely use that mode. The other functions are for doctors only and locked.”

“Ahh, the log explains it.” The doctor breathed a sigh of relief.

“Something wrong?” the nurse asked.

“Not at all.” The doctor turned to me, “Congratulations, Mrs. Labiche.” She made a dramatic pause. “Your sexual system has been calibrated. You’re fully robotic now.”

“C.a.l.i.b.r.a.t.i.o.n f.a.i.l.e.d,” I repeated mechanically.

“Hum, that's a bit odd,” she said. “How did you start your recalibration without the deformation feedback gear?”

The nurse picked up the deformed can and showed it to the doctor.

“You’re pretty hardboiled, aren't you, Mrs. Labiche?” the doctor replied. “Was it fun to feel your power?” she giggled.

“C.a.l.i.b.r.a.t.i.o.n f.a.i.l.e.d,” was the only phrase I could utter. I was stuck in a loop. I shouldn't be stuck like that. I wasn't running some sort of program. My CPU was the same self-organizing, extremely adaptable instrument it was back when I was human.

My mind raced through the events of the last ten minutes. It had been doing that since the moment I had started to use my pussy as a metalworking tool. Something had changed. This was not normal human behavior.

My CPU wasn’t taking proof by proposition. It was recompiling events that lead to this latest reconfiguration. Suppression of excitement to sensory input, a human behavior. Repetition of actions to gather more sensory input. Another human behavior. Having fun with one’s own body, more human behavior.

Repeated checking of bodily attractiveness. That was human behavior. Building self-assurance by fulfilling preinstalled objectives. Human behavior too.

I had to stop it. I wasn't going to get to the core of the problem taking a journey into the past. Everything I’d done up to half an hour ago was human behavior. Duh!
My thoughts wandered back to the CB500 I crashed on. The model doesn't fit the definition of “crotch rocket,” but for an athletic 58 kg girl it can be.

People belittle male motorcyclists saying their bikes are compensating for missing virility. Wrong! Riding a motorbike can be sexy. You can feel yourself become one with the machine.

Women can feel it too. When Pierre and I rode in convoy, I longed for the next stop to let him feel my arousal. The precision and power I exercised to steer the bike made me feel so hot, so dynamite. I wanted him to touch my thighs and watch me dismount my bike.

I wanted to give him a good view of my leather-clad ass. To let him grope it and squeeze his butt in return. Then kiss, kiss, kiss. I felt like I was the heiress of a vagina dentata with a dark prince named Pierre.

The CPU came to a conclusion. Gaining full control over the prosthesis was desirable. Becoming one with the machine was coherent with previous behavior. Using the artificial vulva as a female power tool reflected its self-perception before it had put the pieces together. Transition from heiress to mistress required commitment.
I committed myself willingly. I adopted my inheritance in the only way I could. It was better than anything I dreamed it to be when I was riding my motorbike. I was powerful, precise, durable, and now fatally sexy.

Minutes before I had wanted to prove to myself I was the rightful owner of this incredible robotic body. I craved it. I knew I had to act like a robot. I understood I had to think like a robot. I realized I had to feel like a robot.

I was meant to feel nothing, or was I? How aroused should a robot woman be during sex? It had turned me on to be able to deny the pleasure signals coming from my metal sex organ. It turned me on to be the CPU for my robotic body. Watching the can revolving, seeing my clit hammer it and only feeling the pressure impulses made me explode.

Was that alright? That's why my CPU was stuck in a loop. It needed external evaluation of its performance.

Proceedings of a Robot Mistress

The doctor and the nurse had the right calibration gear for women who had received the Kachi prosthesis.

“No need for caution, Michaela,” the doctor said. “Mrs. Labiche won't feel pain or protest while she’s is in robot mode.”

Michaela crammed a wired, silicon clad plug deep into me. “You mean, she is being controlled by the prosthesis?”

“You’ve got it wrong,” the doctor replied. “It's the other way around. When the display says ‘Mode: Robot’ it means her mind has put the prosthesis into a state where it has unfiltered access to all functions. She doesn't feel or control the emulation of a human body. Instead, she experiences things as a robot.”

“D.i.a.g.n.o.s.i.s c.o.n.f.i.r.m.e.d,” I acknowledged, smiling. “I a.m a r.o.b.o.t.i.c w.o.m.a.n.”

“Ca.l.i.b.r.a.t.i.n.g s.e.x.u.a.l.i.t.y,” I began squeezing, clenching, rotating, and push-pulling the plug, while I monitored my actions on a tablet the doctor handed to me. It felt like an arcade video game with two spectators mesmerized by my game play. After two minutes of playing, I began to score 100% each time.

“P.e.r.f.o.r.m.a.n.c.e i.s p.e.r.f.e.c.t,” I told the doctor, “E.x.c.e.p.t.i.o.n, t.h.a.t p.lug felt human. I feel human again too.” I frowned at them.

“That's okay, you’ll adapt to your sex partner,” the doctor replied.

“I h.a.v.e b.e.c.o.m.e a r.o.b.o.t a.t l.a.s.t,” I wailed, “I d.o n.o.t w.a.n.t t.o f.e.e.l h.u.m.a.n a.g.a.i.n.”

She held the spray can before my face. I took it from her, and seconds later its metal creaked under the pressure of my hydraulic vagina. “A.s a r.o.b.o.t, c.a.n I f.e.e.l s.e.x.u.a.l d.e.s.i.r.e?”

“It's not like anyone can hold you back,” she snickered.

I activated the data paths to my lust circuit. My eyes widened in shock. I began to cry. “T.h.i.s i.s h.o.w I w.a.s c.a.l.i.b.r.a.t.e.d b.e.f.o.r.e…, B.e.f.o.r.e t.h.e a.c.c.i.d.e.n.t.” I gazed at the doctor.

Pierre stood in the doorframe. How long he’d been there I couldn’t say.

“P.i.e.r.r.e, I…” I tried to look brave even with tears in my eyes. “… I a.m a r.o.b.o.t,” I pointed to the mechanism I was still scrapping the can. “I a.m a s.e.x.y r.o.b.o.t.”

“I h.a.v.e a.l.w.a.y.s b.e.e.n a s.e.x.y r.o.b.o.t.”

I expected Pierre to be shocked and silent over my confession.

“I know…” He kissed me. “Remember when we first met? I asked you what you find in motor biking, you said you...”

“… W.e.r.e t.u.r.n.e.d o.n b.y b.e.c.o.m.i.n.g o.n.e w.i.t.h t.h.e m.a.c.h.i.n.e.” I finished.

“I got such a bulge in my pants when you'd said that.” He smiled at me. “Now a woman, that bold and cool, a sexy robot mistress, stands before of me.” In that instant, I longed for Pierre's manhood in me.

Back home, I still needed approval from my children. Lucien had no problem with his Maman being a robot. He was so relieved when I picked him up and hugged him for the first time in six months.

Claire was a tougher nut to crack. She ran upstairs and locked herself in her room. I cried the whole night because my little darling became so distant. Claire cried her eyes out too, Pierre told me.

At breakfast she came to me. “Maman, those gloves, those aren’t you.” She pointed at my silicon hands.

“S.h.o.u.l.d I t.a.k.e t.h.e.m o.f.f?” I asked.

She nodded.

I removed one showing her my metal fingers. I was so happy when she allowed me to pet her, to caress her little cheeks, and comb through her hair.

“Papa explained it to me, Maman. Are you really a robot?”

I looked at her, head cocked. “Y… Y.e.s. I.s t.h.a.t o.k.a.y?”

“That's so cooooool, Maman.”

That took me by surprise.

“I want to ride on the motorbike with you. Can we go this afternoon?”

I cheered.

How I embraced my Machine-hood

I should get back on topic about why I felt I had to become fully robotic. “Dancing” with my prosthetics made me master of them, right? Wrong! Do you remember rules of dancing? It’s move together, as one. The mind takes the lead. What do you do when you lose your mind?

That shock arrived when Erik made moves on the new me for the first time. I didn’t have full control of the prosthesis then, but I was making good progress. I told him about my slap in the face. He dared me to put some moisturizer on my face. I gave him a big grin.

Erik watched closely as my rubber clad fingertips carefully applied the cream. “See, I can handle it!” I was nearly done applying the cream when he grabbed my silicon covered hand with his, smiled, and then caressed my cheek with his other. “I love seeing your steel body being so gentle,” he whispered in my ear.

I was shocked. Did he just say “…your steel body…?” It’s a prosthesis, not my body!

Erik showed me how wrong I was. He bit on my earlobe nibbling the stud with his teeth. I pressed his hand, firmly and softly. He went further. He did not miss my lips or my affectionate look when our eyes met. His foray led him to my neck, and then onto the rubber of the prosthesis.

If it was a dance between my mind and my prosthesis. It had to stop. We were in unchartered territory. We hadn't learned how to handle someone licking, kissing, and biting my coating. I had a jumble of sensations to categorize and evaluate. It was mass confusion. The tactile sensors reported heat, cold, pinching, cuts, and tension.

My mind couldn’t evaluate everything. I was overwhelmed by the number of sensations my brain was receiving.

Erik traced the seam of my maintenance cover with his finger. I kept swapping my view between his eyes and his hands. I was eager to know how far he’d go. He groped and fondled the bulges forming the “breasts” of the prosthesis. I didn’t feel the pressure or sensory chaos, but arousal.

Technically those are my fuel tanks, but from what I was feeling at that moment it was my rack he was playing with. Oh my god!

Can a prosthesis get horny? I knew how it felt before the change. Now Erik was playing my prosthesis like an instrument and I felt what he was doing. It supplied the sensations to my brain. The machine was dancing to Erik's music and desperately wanted for me to join.

When I did, the surge was incredible. My steel body flooded my brain with sensations, feelings of strength, skill, and invulnerability. It felt the same as my combat training at work. It wanted me to feel safe and powerful. The excitement was far higher than ever before. I knew the function of my mind in that schema was analysing my environment then locking on the target response.

“When did I decide Erik was my prey?” It was a futile question to myself. My mind had already indulged in the mission my body asked of me and I’d decided not to pull the plug. I had consented to go for the big picture.

I had to touch him, make him go further. I willed my arms to embrace him and let my hands rest on his bum. My robotic fingers did their work and I carefully observed his reaction.

Erik noticed I was at peak attention. I think he was biting his tongue wanting to not screw it up when I finally twisted his buttocks over his threshold. He gave me a shiver as he stopped mistreating my boobs, moving to massage my back and arms. We mirrored each other's actions, patting, rubbing as our eyes locked on each other.

I had kissed him since my conversion, even passionate kisses. But never in the exaggerated state of arousal I was in at the moment. I wanted more. My body wanted more. This wasn't a prosthesis any more. I could feel how it want me to let it drive further, shift up a gear, get my mind in sync with it, then establish total control.
I had to override it, immediately. I was in charge and it's me who’s in control. I am the mind here! Thinking that made my robotics comply instantly. What it did wasn’t a malfunction. It was an experiment to find out what it could to get away with. I understand that now.

From a machine's point of view it was testing how to parallel on my mind's desires. Be it combing, handwriting, or practicing martial arts, my prosthesis tried to find out if it had done things right by checking whether my mind was pleased. Boy, was it pleased.

I didn't want the dance to end. The wild ride had stopped but the engine was still running. I knew I had to see it like that to stay in charge. Erik recognized it too. “Are we going all the way my sexy robot maiden?” He was gazing on my stern, unmoving expression.

“C.o.n.f.i.r.m.e.d. P.r.e.p.a.r.e f.o.r i.n.t.e.r.c.o.u.r.s.e” I replied. I halted, shocked about what I just said. I was talking like a robot.

It was a minor detail. The big picture was between Erik and me. I wanted to show him how I enjoyed what he did, what he said. I wanted to have sex with him, wanted to enjoy my robotic body.

I’d love to fire you up with details but my occupation requires me to be discreet. I can tell you my new body sub¬stantially outperforms anything my human body could ever have do. For me and my partner, it’s electrifying.

The thrilling part was the control. Every few seconds my robotics calls my consciousness for assistance. Then it performs the task automatically and lets me experience the result.

I should explain why I’m so casual about having my prosthesis controlling my actions autonomously most of the time. It really isn’t different from a human body. I know it always uses my mind for decision-making, even when it doesn't see the necessity, and I can regain control whenever I want.

So fire up your courage and start your new life!

Dr. Rita Haase and Dipl. Ing. Mareike Reinhard from Kachi Medical told me I would have the pleasure of write the closing words for this brochure. Words that should make you consider KachI's full-body prosthesis.

There is no competing product. If you want to continue to work at your dream job, to have a rich social life and, to be an attractive woman you can in your new body.

I’ve fallen in love with my robot body. I can work as a policewoman and handle my personal affairs. My accident and the outcome have made me tougher, more conscious, and cool-headed. I feel stronger, more refined, and beautiful in a way that only growing into a fully robotic woman could have done for me.

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Silkscreen » Wed Jun 01, 2016 12:04 pm

Thank you very much! I'm putting this into the PDF right now.

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Silkscreen » Sun Jun 05, 2016 11:05 am

The latest version is up!

Murotsu, I changed the last column of Ute's text and the paragraph before it a bit. Could you look over it again?

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Murotsu » Sun Jun 05, 2016 5:07 pm

I'll see what I can do in the next few days.

--NightBattery--

Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by --NightBattery-- » Mon Jun 06, 2016 3:32 pm

That robotic speaking is so sexy.

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Silkscreen » Tue Jun 07, 2016 1:23 pm

D.o y.o.u l.i.k.e w.h.a.t w.e h.a.v.e t.o s.a.y?

--NightBattery--

Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by --NightBattery-- » Tue Jun 07, 2016 3:24 pm

Image Well, it works for me!

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by spence2306 » Tue Jun 21, 2016 1:11 pm

Good re-write. I will admit it's taken until this morning to realise that the original link was where I had to go to find the new version, oops.

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Silkscreen » Wed Jun 22, 2016 5:11 am

Ah, sorry. All the versions are still online. Here's where: http://fembotwiki.com/index.php?title=F ... edical.pdf

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Re: Functional•Sensual•You

Post by Silkscreen » Wed Mar 22, 2017 2:28 pm

I've been naughty and revised a lot of the texts again. I know this will frustrate Murotsu, who helped me a lot with proofreading the previous version, and scare anyone who would ever help me again with proofreading. Sorry again. I couldn't help it. I wanted the text to be more logical, direct and sexy.

So, to those who are happy to download another 62MB to read the major update to Renées story, and the minor updates to Karen's and the other ones, thank you. Comments welcome.

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