Rachel's heart was hammering. It was a nightmare! All the technology on the third floor had gone crazy and was trying to kill her! Robots had captured her, tied her to a gurney, stuffed a foam ball in her mouth, stretched some sort of tape over her lips, and now—and now—a scalpel on the end of a manipulator arm was approaching her stomach!
Was it real, or had she hit her head on something and was hallucinating she was in a horror movie?
The scalpel blade was nearly touching Rachel's vest. She clenched her eyes tightly closed and went rigid in her bonds. Is this it? Am I going to die? Who programmed the robots to murder me? Nooooo!
Rachel lifted her head and looked down her body. Rather than stabbing her, the scalpel had sliced a button from her vest! "Mrrf?" And now it was sliding towards the next button in line.
"Mrrrrr!" She would have liked to struggle for all she was worth, but doing so with a razor-sharp blade this close to her body wasn't a good idea.
One by one, the buttons were cut away. Simultaneously, other robot arms appeared and began pulling the vest away from her body. Manipulators terminating in vibrating scissors sliced the cloth and the resulting ribbons were pulled away.
The buttons of her blouse were next, then it was lifted away from her body, sliced up, and the remnants stripped away, like the vest. She watched in horror as robotic hands moved to the foot of the gurney, grabbed her Skechers, and deftly pulled the dress moccasins from her feet. Next, robo-hands unbuckled her belt and pulled it from her slacks. Then, the slacks, themselves, were methodically cut away.
Rachel shivered under the bright lights. She wasn't cold, she was terrified.
Only her bra and panties remained—and now, the manipulators were going for the bra!
The scalpel sliced her bra straps, first on the left, then on the right. Rachel flinched when a rubber-clad robot hand gripped the top margin of the left bra-cup, nudging her breast in the process. The scalpel manipulator deftly sliced the connection between the cups. Then, with firm, gentle pressure, the robot hand pulled the ruined bra from under her body.
Rachel tensed her abs and lifted her upper body an inch or so away from the gurney. This was to ease the bra's passage and prevent it from dragging against her skin, not to expedite her divestment. Once the bra was away, she let her body drop back into the padding, causing her breasts to bounce.
Motors hummed, light glinted from chrome, and the manipulators moved a little further down the gurney.
They could only have one target. She flinched when a pair of pincers delicately grasped the top margin of her panties, ever-so-lightly pressing against her tummy. It eased an inch or so under the elastic, one metal jaw gently sliding against the skin of her abdomen, the other hovering a fraction of an inch above the white, lacy fabric. The jaws closed and the arm slowly lifted, stretching the panties away from her body. The scalpel returned and performed a delicate, whirring dance as it severed first one hip opening, and then the other. Finally, the arm grasping the front panel moved straight down the gurney, pulling the seat of the ruined panties from under her butt.
Rachel was now completely naked, not counting the generous coils of optical cable lashing her wrists and ankles to the side rails of the gurney and the tape plastered over her foam-stuffed mouth. The monitor above her head still displayed her gagged, desperate face and tousled hair. Rachel had never felt so vulnerable and scared in her entire life.
Motors hummed and the manipulator arms withdrew, disappearing into the darkness.
And then... nothing.
Rachel tugged on her bonds and twisted her body, but she knew she wasn't going to free herself. "Mmmpfh!" And she wasn't going to dislodge the tape from her lips and face or force the giant ball of foam from her mouth, either.
What the hell is happening!
Cynthia checked her watch. It was late afternoon and student office hours were over. In fact, they'd been over for ten minutes.
As always, she had a ton of reading to catch up on, but she could do that at home. At the moment, no tests, papers, or projects, already graded by her T.A., were waiting for her to scan, and she had no lecture notes needing revision. That only left Rachel and Smart Explorer.
Cynthia knew Rachel's planned schedule. If all was going as planned, she'd be in the middle of monitoring the initial exploration cycle of the simulation. The program would have already evaluated the simulated sensor readings Rachel had provided, "decided" on an initial strategy, and should be about to start "manufacturing" the first generation of simulated probes.
Rachel might not appreciate her hovering over her shoulder while she made fine adjustments to the simulated data stream. Judgment calls would be involved, and if Rachel chose wrong, it might mean losing hours of simulation. No big deal, but Rachel might be embarrassed, and would probably resent being kibitzed, even if Cynthia was her supervisor. It was Rachel's project. She needed to let her find her own way to her own answers.
Cynthia decided to send an e-mail. She composed a simple message, gave it a quick proofread, then hit the "Send" button. She then hung up her lab coat, slipped on her jacket, and grabbed her purse.
Hmm... what to eat tonight? she thought as she locked the office door. I'll decide when I get home.
Back at Rachel's desk, the main monitor cleared and characters began to paint the screen.
Elsewhere in the building, a room full of automated machinery sprang to life and began fabricating and assembling electronic and mechanical components.
Rachel had given up trying to free herself. Sweat glistened on her naked skin. She lay on the gurney without moving... other than her heaving breasts, flaring nostrils, and darting eyes.
There was nothing to see. Some time before, the monitor had gone dark and disappeared in a hum of servomotors. Beyond the glare of the lights... darkness... nothing but darkness.
Time passed. The lights were a little irritating to the eyes, but were providing welcome warmth.
Suddenly, with a jarring jerk, the gurney began to move. "Mrrrf?" The lights were left behind. LEDs flickered up and down the dark isles of equipment, but the bright, synchronized colors that had been flickering on the many monitors had been replaced by scrolling text. There was no sign of the many robots that had stripped off her clothing; but obviously, below the level of padding, one or more units were trundling her along. She could hear the hum of their motors.
Rachel was wheeled into the elevator and the doors closed. The ceiling lights were off, but she could see the red, glowing floor indicators above the door. "3" became "4", and then "5." The doors opened with a cheerful "ding" and Rachel and her gurney rolled into total darkness.
There were no more scrolling displays or flickering LEDs. Rachel's only sensory inputs were the air moving over her naked skin, the feel of the soft padding under her body, the pressure of the bands of cable binding her wrists and ankles to the side rails, and the vibration from the rolling wheels.
Then, the gurney stopped. Rachel tugged on her bonds, but was as helpless as ever.
Suddenly, more lights flared on. Squinting against the glare, Rachel lifted her head and looked around. Her eyes adapted—and she screamed through her gag. "M'mmmpfh!"
She was surrounded by dozens of robot arms. Some were like the manipulators that had sliced off her clothing down on the third floor and some were long and hefty and looked strong enough to lift a small car!
Even more worrying, next to her was what amounted to a gynecologist's examining table, a very hi-tech gynecologist's table of chrome steel and plastic padding! It was obviously designed to accommodate the limbs and torso of an occupant semi-reclined in the classic examination position, on her back with her arms spread and her legs elevated and splayed with the knees bent. Broad, heavy, foam-lined steel clamps were open and waiting at the wrist and ankle positions.
Rachel was under no delusions as to the purpose of the "examining table." It was for her. They were going to put her on the thing—and there was nothing she could do to stop them.
Six of the large arms sprang into motion, their motors humming as they extended towards her struggling body. "M'mmmpfh!" Broad, padded pincers reached over the side rails and closed on her forearms, lower legs, and waist. Then, smaller arms extended and snipped the cables binding her to the gurney. She tried to struggle, but the arms were too strong, far too strong for her to even make them shake. With perfect coordination, they lifted her from the gurney and onto the table.
As her arms and legs slid into the table's trough-like, padded channels, the clamps closed on her wrists and ankles. Next, smaller manipulator arms stretched straps across her upper arms, torso, above and below her breasts, and her waist, thighs, and calves. The nylon bands tightened until they just began to press into her skin—then locked, further pinning her in place.
The sculpted padding was comfortable, as was the position; but Rachel felt more helpless, and especially more vulnerable, than she'd been on the gurney.
The arms continued moving, but they were well away from her body. The larger ones were pulling back and retracting into their stowed positions. Meanwhile, the smaller arms were reconfiguring themselves. The business ends thrust into sockets on rotating racks, things clicked and whirred, then they pulled back with new appendages.
They began moving towards Rachel's body.
Rachel's eyes popped wide. Most of the rubber-clad, humanoid, robotic hands now appeared to be wearing fuzzy gloves. Others were now bundles of slowly writhing tentacles, some rubber-clad and some fuzzy.
The hands and tentacles began caressing her breasts and teasing her nipples—gliding across her abdomen and inner thighs—lightly tickling her ribs, armpits, toes, and feet! Rachel writhed and struggled and screamed through her gag. The titillating assault went on and on. Furry hands caressed her gagged face. Hollow glass cylinders settled over her nipples, sealed themselves to her skin, and began to suck, rhythmically stretching and stimulating the rigid pink nubbins.
Many of the fingers and tentacles began to vibrate, adding pulses and waves of tingling energy across her skin and to her overloaded brain. Everything the manipulators were doing to her was pleasurable, even the lambent tickling. The touch of the many appendages was feathery, teasing, and shiveringly sensual—and despite herself, it was an itch Rachel didn't want to scratch—and it went on and on!
Cynthia yawned as she pulled down the covers. She shrugged out of her robe and tossed it across the foot of the bed, then slid between the cool sheets.
It was Cynthia's habit to sleep in the nude, and tonight was no exception. She checked her alarm clock, then raised her arms, pointed her toes, and enjoyed a luxurious full-body stretch. She briefly debated turning on the TV, but turned off the reading light, instead. She'd had a long day and was still recovering from Lillian's weekend visit. A full night's sleep was just what she needed.
A smile curling her lips, Cynthia rolled onto her side, snuggled against her pillow, and closed her eyes. She'd replied to Rachel's e-mail reply and cleared her schedule for the next day. She'd also sent a message to her T.A. to be ready to take her Wednesday lecture, just in case. The rest of the week was more-or-less free, and she was looking forward to helping Rachel with Smart Explorer—if that was what she wanted. It would be fun, brainstorming and coding on the fly. Teaching had rewards that more than compensated for the drain on her time, but there was nothing like long hours of unbridled, cutting-edge "cyber-geeking."
Cynthia's final thoughts as she drifted off to sleep were of Rachel. She's probably been going nonstop since dawn, Cynthia mused. I hope she takes the time for at least a little sleep. I hope she doesn't go at it all night.
Rachel's skin was shining with sweat. She was tired—tired nearly to the point of exhaustion, but above all else, aroused. The manipulators had been at it for some time. She had no idea exactly how much time, but they'd been caressing and teasing her captive body for what felt like hours... hours.
Fingers and tentacles continued gliding over her skin, sometimes vibrating and sometimes not. At times they would concentrate on one area—a single breast—one of her thighs—one wiggling foot—and they would vary the pace and intensity of their attentions. More often, they would stimulate several areas at once.
Rachel was lost in a waking dream-state, adrift on an erotic cloud. "M'rrrrmpfh." Tentacles were gently tugging on her labia, softly vibrating as they nudged the flushed, moist lips apart. "Mmmm..." Then something—something long, thick, and smooth—began gliding in and out of her pussy. The shaft pulsed with waves of vibration, and seemed to slowly spin, expand, and shrink as it alternately filled her—slid most of the way out and nudged its vibrating, rounded tip against her clitoris—and then slid back in. "Nrrrr..." Slowly, inexorably, it picked up the pace. And all the while, the hands and tentacles continued caressing and teasing her shining, flushed, helpless body.
Rachel clenched her eyes tightly closed, tugged on her bonds, and closed her hands into tight fists. The tempo continued to build—and build—and build!
The hollow cylinders settled over her nipples, again, and began to suck, matching the rhythm of the thing sliding between her splayed legs. Tentacles stroked the slopes of her breasts as the cylinders tugged on her nipples. A thin nozzle settled over her navel and began to blow delicate pulses of warm air. A strap settled over her forehead, pinning her head against the padding, and a pair of nozzles blew soft whispers of warm air into her ears.
Everything—every element of the sensual assault—every flicking tentacle and gliding hand—every puff of air and pulse of vibration—everything matched the still growing pace of the robotic beast fucking her pussy. What was left of Rachel's conscious mind tried to react—not to escape, but to thrust herself against the moving shaft—but her restraints held fast.
It was horrible! It was wonderful!
Finally, inevitably, Rachel's body went totally rigid, she whined through her gag—and she came like she'd never cum before!
Time had no meaning. Only the unendurable pleasure exploding in her brain had meaning.
And then—Rachel's body relaxed. She had lost consciousness.
The manipulators withdrew. Several arms changed their attachments, then returned.
Spray nozzles misted Rachel's body. There was a pause, then other manipulators dragged petals of soft, absorbent fabric across her skin.
While this was happening, other manipulators delicately, gently peeled the tape from Rachel's lips and plucked the foam from her mouth. Her lips and mouth were misted and patted dry.
Then, another arm descended. It carried a new gag, a foam-padded plastic plug attached to a thin, flexible hose that coiled away into the darkness overhead. The plug eased into her mouth and the gag's padded panel settled over her lips and lower face. Moving on their own, the strap ends clicked together at the nape of her neck, then tightened until her cheeks bulged. Then, the arm withdrew.
Through the gentle bath and changing of her gag, Rachel's eyes remained closed and her body completely limp. Her breasts rose and fell as she breathed and her flushed skin slowly returned to its normal, healthy glow.
Elsewhere in the building, the automated factory continued its tireless work.