BAD ROBOT!by Van ©2011
  Chapter 7

The see the actresses I would cast in BAD ROBOT!—THE MOVIE,
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Rachel selected two cans Campbell's Chunky Chicken Corn Chowder from her meager stores.  The cafeteria's kitchen was ridiculously over-sized for her purposes, but she could make it work.  She'd done so many times in the past.   She dumped the cans' contents in a small saucepan, carried it to the stove, and turned on a burner.  Still totally naked, she used a wooden spoon to stir the soup as it heated.  When she first arrived in the kitchen she'd opened a cabinet that she would have sworn held a stack of tablecloths, figuring one could be pressed into service as a sarong, but there was nothing there.

Her stomach growled and mouth watered as she continued stirring.  Steam began to rise and eventually the savory soup began to simmer.  Cynthia won't mind if I go ahead and eat, she decided, and transferred a modest portion to a bowl.  She turned off the stove, covered the pot to keep the soup warm, then walked into the dining area and sat at a table.

Rachel had finished her soup and was debating whether or not to lick the bowl when Cynthia finally arrived—and with her was a stranger—a naked, female stranger!

The stranger had long brown hair plaited in a single braid that trailed down her back, and she had the body of an athlete—a well-proportioned, well-endowed athlete.  She was several inches taller than Cynthia and Rachel guessed a little taller than herself.  She stood as the pair approached.

"Rachel," Cynthia said, presenting her companion, "this is Lillian Steele.  She's a courier for Salamandras International.  I'm afraid she walked into the middle of our... adventure."

"Dr. Haines," Lillian purred, extending her hand.

"Hi," Rachel responded.  "I'm so sorry."  Her eyes were on Lillian's wrists, her breasts, and the rest of her body.  The courier's skin was criss-crossed with pink ligature marks.  "Are you okay?"

"She's fine," Cynthia huffed.  "Lillian's the one who triggered Smart Explorer and caused all this.  She was dropping off a delivery, last Saturday, decided to use your desktop, and accidentally triggered the Smart Explorer launch sequence."  She favored Lillian with a disapproving look.  "Snooping around other people's desks...  I guess it's only fair she also got to play."

"Cynthia!" Rachel scolded.  She hadn't released Lillian's hand, and was using her left hand to gently caress Lillian's right wrist.  "It doesn't look too bad.  The marks, I mean.  You should rub on some cortisone ointment."  Her eyes darted to Lillian's breasts, and a blush colored her cheeks.  "On all your marks," she added.

"I'm fine," Lillian answered, quietly.

Cynthia's eyebrows raised.  Is it my imagination, or is Lillian blushing?

Lillian noted Cynthia's expression.  "Shut up," she muttered, then turned towards the kitchen.  "Sit," she ordered.  "I'll get more soup."

Cynthia pulled out a chair and sat across from Rachel.  Rachel was still standing, watching Lillian's firm, dimpled rump as she strolled towards the kitchen.  Her blush deepened, and she sat.

"I have a lot to tell you," Cynthia said, "but there's no rush.  I know you're tired."

"I'm okay," Rachel answered.  "Really.  I am tired, but I'm okay."

"Brave girl," Cynthia smiled, reached across the table, and squeezed Rachel's hand.

Lillian was returning, carrying the saucepan and a second bowl and spoon.  She set the bowl in front of Cynthia and poured in a dollop of soup.  She then walked around the table and poured the remainder into Rachel's bowl, filling it nearly to the brim.

"What about you?" Rachel objected.

Lillian smiled and pulled a small, flat can from under her armpit, then sat next to Rachel.  It was a can of sardines in spring water.  "I'm covered."  She lifted the ring on the lid and pulled it back, then plucked out a sardine, lifting it by the tail, between her thumb and forefinger.  She let the water drip back into the can for a few seconds, then popped the little fish into her mouth.

Cynthia shook her head, then began consuming her soup.  Rachel was eating as well, with gusto, and Lillian continued popping sardines into her mouth.  Eventually, the meal was over.  The finale was Lillian tipping the sardine can and drinking the remaining water while Cynthia looked on with mild disapproval.

"I don't suppose you have some spare clothing stashed somewhere, do you?" Cynthia asked Rachel.

Before Rachel could answer, the many televisions mounted high on the dining area's many concrete support columns flickered to life and Sally's visage smiled down at them.  "I can answer that.  I've conducted a security camera inventory of the entire building, cross-referencing Smart Explorer's activity logs.  I've located your purses and phones.  They're intact; however, every stitch of clothing and square inch of loose cloth has been processed into raw material for rope and straps.  Wait 'til you see the list of 'entertainments' Smart Explorer was compiling."

"More?" Rachel gasped.

"Much more," Sally confirmed.  "If I hadn't intervened, I'm afraid you two might not have survived beyond the end of the week.  Smart Explorer is an impressive piece of programming, but keeping specimens alive wasn't a high priority.  I can tell you never intended it to gather biological samples, Dr. Haines."

"That's true," Rachel responded, "and thank you... for the 'impressive' compliment."

"You're welcome," Sally smiled, then focused on Cynthia.  "A pity this building doesn't have security on a par with all other Salamandras facilities.  If the labs and corridors had been under routine surveillance, all of this would have been avoided."

"We'll discuss it later," Cynthia responded.  "So," she sighed, "what do we do about the clothing problem?"  She glanced out the dining area's window walls.  The sun was beginning to set.  "I suppose we can wait 'til after dark and drive home in the nude."

"That might work for you," Lillian purred, "but I'd be pretty conspicuous, streaking along on my bike."

"Not to worry," Sally chuckled.  "I've already ordered clothing from a costume shop.  The courier will be arriving—"  The avatar glanced at her simulated watch.  "—in about five minutes.  Someone will have to go down and sign for the delivery."

"I'll do it," Lillian said, rising from her chair.  She turned and headed for the elevator, leaving Cynthia and Rachel staring at her naked, dwindling form.

"She's really something," Rachel sighed.

Cynthia opened her mouth to answer, but instead focused on the closest of Sally's many images.  "So... Dr. Sally Muse, would you like to start explaining your true nature to Rachel, or should I?"

"I might as well," Sally said, smiling at the suddenly very confused Rachel.
Chapter 7
The Speedy-Express!® van pulled up in front of the Salamandras building.  The driver was a cute little blonde in her twenties.  She had a pageboy haircut and was dressed in a uniform of work boots, shorts, work-shirt, and ball-cap, all in the company colors of slate-gray with the company logo prominent on the cap and shirt.  She opened the back of the van and readied the three flat boxes listed on the invoice, then turned to face the building... and frowned.  The seven story edifice appeared to be completely deserted.  There was a motorcycle parked nearby, but all the windows facing the parking lot were dark, including the lobby.  She checked her clipboard, verifying the address.

Suddenly, the front doors opened and a female emerged, a naked female!

It was Lillian, of course.  She sauntered up to the courier.  "Evening," she said, smiling brightly.

Her eyes wide with amazement, the blonde presented the clipboard and a pen.  "Uh, good evening.  Please sign here."

Lillian scrawled a signature in the space marked with the "X", then returned the clipboard.  She then hefted the boxes and turned towards the lobby.

The blonde continued to stare... at Lillian's perfectly proportioned, athletic, naked form.

Lillian looked back over her shoulder as she walked away.  "Salamandras International has a very casual dress code," she explained, then disappeared through the automatic doors.

The blonde sighed, shook her head, closed the van doors, and returned to the driver's seat.  Nobody is going to believe this back at the office, she thought, and turned the key.
Chapter 7
When Lillian returned to the cafeteria she noted the strange expression on Rachel's face and glanced at Cynthia.

Cynthia smiled.  "She just learned Sally isn't really Sigourney Weaver.  She has a lot to think about."

"And a lot of programming to examine," Rachel added.  "I've got to really understand this."

Cynthia patted her hand.  "All in good time."

Lillian put the boxes on the table, then gently settled a hand on Rachel's shoulder.  "Don't worry about it, kid," she said.  "Sally's good people, even if she is a computer program."

Cynthia smiled.  Is it my imagination, or is Lillian treating Rachel like a little sister—as opposed to the latest addition to her roster of damsels in need of distress?

Rachel lifted her gaze to Lillian and smiled.  "It's a lot to take in, technically.  It's... amazing.  It's a miracle."

"If you guys need me," Sally said, smiling down from the monitors, "just shout."  With that, the televisions went dark.

Cynthia shook her head. "My god, I think she was blushing."   She grinned at Rachel. "Sally is a miracle."

Lillian was checking the labels on the boxes.  She slid one over to Cynthia and smiled.  "That one is for you."  She picked up a second box and stepped back, then nodded at the third box.  "And that's yours, Rachel."

Cynthia opened her box, folded back overlapping layers of white tissue paper, then frowned.  "Oh, no," she huffed, holding up the contents.  "I am not wearing this."  It was a French Maid's costume, a short-skirted, short-sleeved, black dress with frilly, white lace trim on the hems of the sleeves, skirt, and neckline.  The box also contained a white apron, a white lace uniform cap, and a pair of black high heels.

"Well, I can't wear it," Lillian chuckled.  "I'm not a munchkin."  She nodded at Rachel.  "And neither is she."

Rachel opened her box and found a serving wench's costume: white, off-the shoulders blouse—a black bodice—a short, blue skirt—and a pair of high heeled sandals.

Lillian's box contained a metal bikini and a floor length loincloth of burgundy silk.  "Oh, goodie!" she laughed.  "Princess Leia as Jabba the Hutt's slut-slave!  It's a good copy, too, and according to the invoice, I get to keep it.  We all do.  Sally bought them.  They're not rentals."

"Wonderful," Cynthia muttered.

They began donning their costumes, and in short order... the diminutive maid, saucy wench, and barely legal princess were standing and admiring (or glowering at) each other.

"It fits perfectly!" Lillian said, smiling broadly.  "Even the boots and bracelet and collar and hair thingie."

"Here, let me help," Rachel said, stepping behind Lillian and adjusted the headpiece, resetting the hairpins.  "Good thing you already have the braid," Rachel said, stifling a yawn.  She snapped the costume's supplied clip around the end of Lillian's braid, then took a step back.

Lillian lifted her arms and performed a graceful pirouette.  "How do I look?"

"You look great!" Rachel gushed, then spread her arms.  "How 'bout me?"

"Umm..." Frowning in concentration, Lillian reached out and untied the laces securing the front of the bodice.  "Inhale," she ordered, then gave the laces a sharp tug, tightening the constriction of the garment.  The bodice wasn't a true corset, of course, but it now hugged Rachel's waist with a more enthusiastic embrace.  Next, Lillian untied the lace securing the front of the blouse, loosened the décolletage, and retied the bow.  "There."  She grinned at Rachel's blushing face.  "You can bring me a flagon of ale anytime," she chuckled, then turned to Cynthia.  "Doesn't she make a saucy wench?"

"Saucy as hell," Cynthia huffed.  Her costume's skirt was short, almost a mini-skirt, and underneath were multiple layers of white crinoline that lifted it off her thighs.  Also, thanks to the generous scoop front, she was showing as much cleavage as Rachel, if not more.

"Ooh la la!" Lillian chuckled, then looked into the open box.  "No feather duster?"

"Shut up," Cynthia muttered.  "We've going to my place and we'll take my car."  Rachel started to object and Cynthia silenced her with an imperious gesture.  "No, you're coming home with me.  You get the guest room—" she focused on Lillian.  "—and you get the couch."

"You don't have to baby me," Rachel objected.  "I'm fine."   Suddenly, her eyes popped wide.  "Oh!" she gasped, staring at Cynthia.  "The costumes!  Sally has a sense of humor!"

"Allegedly," Cynthia growled.  "We'll discuss the sophistication of Sally's avatar in detail, later.  For now, we're all taking the rest of the week off," she decreed, focusing on Rachel.  "You're exhausted.  You need some proper sleep and several good meals."

"My, my," Lillian purred.  "Aren't we the mother hen?"

"Shut it!" Cynthia muttered, then kissed Rachel's cheek and took her hand.  "Let's go."  She started towards the elevator, taking the blushing Rachel with her.

"Ooh la la," Lillian chuckled, again.  She snatched the uniform cap and apron from Cynthia's box, then followed in their wake.  "I guess I'll have to buy you a feather duster, myself," she purred.
Chapter 7

Cynthia eased the door to the guest room open and peered inside.  The room was dark, but there was enough moonlight for Cynthia to make out Rachel's slumbering form on the bed.  She had retired in the nude, as Cynthia had nothing in her wardrobe big enough to serve as a nightie for her guest.  Rachel was on her side, her head nestled on a pillow and her right shoulder and arm free of the tangled covers.  Cynthia smiled.  She'd practically had to peel a semiconscious Rachel out of the serving wench outfit, once she saw the soft bed.  She'd been perfectly willing to use the costume as a nightie, tight bodice and all, but Cynthia would have none of it.  The costume in question was draped over a nearby chair, and its owner was fast asleep.

Cynthia eased the door closed and padded towards her own bedroom.  She was wearing a seldom used cotton robe.  It was a Mexican blanket print, bold stripes and geometric shapes, predominantly in shades of blue.  She eased her bedroom door open—and froze.

Lillian—a naked, grinning Lillian—was lying on the bed, on her back with her arms raised and head cradled in her hands.

"Get off my bed," Cynthia huffed.

"The couch is lumpy," Lillian chuckled.

"Liar," Cynthia muttered, and peeled off her robe.  "I've slept on it, myself.  Get out!"

Lillian slowly shook her head.  "I like it here.  She spread her arms and legs in a luxurious, full-body stretch.  "Arrrrrrgh!  That shower really hit the spot."  She smiled at Cynthia as she cupped her breasts—her own breasts.  "Look."  She gave her breasts a shake.  "The marks are almost gone."

"Get out!" Cynthia ordered, again.

"Not gonna happen, Little Mouse," Lillian responded, then patted the unoccupied half of the bed.  "C'mon.  Keep me warm."

Naked and hands on hips, Cynthia stared daggers at Lillian.

"C'mon," Lillian cooed.  "Come to bed, or I'll find some rope and tie you to it."

"You promised you wouldn't, remember?" Cynthia's lips curled in a half-sneer, half-smile.  "Maybe I ought to get some rope and tie you up."

"In your dreams, Little Mouse," Lillian chortled.  "In your dreams."

"You think I don't know how to tie a knot?" Cynthia demanded.

"You can't tie a knot that will hold me," Lillian responded.

"Ha!"  Now
Cynthia's expression was all smile.  "I bet I can."  She crossed her arms across her chest.  "I bet I can tie you up and you won't escape."

"And if I do?"

Cynthia thought for several seconds.  "If you do escape," she said, finally, "once Rachel goes home, you can tie me up any way you want."

"Whenever I want," Lillian added, "and for as long as I want... once Rachel goes home."

Cynthia nodded.  "Tomorrow night.  I'm tired."

Lillian shook her head.  "Now or never, Little Mouse.  Now or never."

"All right, then," Cynthia huffed, and went to the closet for some rope.  "Sit up and put your hands on your head."

Smiling confidently, Lillian followed her diminutive "captor's" order.
Chapter 7
Lillian twisted and struggled, to no avail.  Try as she might, she couldn't get free.

Cynthia had used the classic box-tie, applied over a kikkou harness that criss-crossed Lillian's torso, yoked her shoulders, framed her breasts, and passed through her crotch with a strand to either side of her labia but not cleaving her pussy.  The box-tie, itself, pinned her arms to her torso and lashed her forearms behind her back from elbows to wrists.  In addition, several strands of the box-tie were cinched through the underlying harness.  Also, Lillian's legs were bound together above and below the knees and around the ankles.  None of the ropes were particularly tight, but all were well-placed, and the key knots of the kikkou harness and box-tie were well beyond the reach of Lillian's questing fingers.  Finally, lengths of rope had been hitched through her ankle bonds and the ropes yoking her shoulders, then tied to the bed's foot rail and headboard, respectively.

"You little bitch," Lillian complained.  "You've been practicing."

Cynthia stretched, rolled over to face her pouting prisoner, and propped herself up on one elbow.  "Temper, temper, young lady.  Sally didn't tell you Kiera and I worked together to hone our escapology skills?"  She reached out and gently caressed Lillian's left breast.  "Not that it did us any good, of course... not when Lillian Steele was in town."

"You and Little Red used to tie each other up?" Lillian asked.  "That's kinda hot.  Maybe I should start calling you Kinky Little Mouse.  And in answer to your question, no, Sally didn't tell me."  She frowned.  "Wait!  How would Sally know about it?"

Cynthia smiled.  "Nice try.  Do you really think I don't know Sally has this place bugged?"  She glanced at her alarm clock.  "Oh, look.  More than an hour has passed.  I guess I dozed off."  She yawned and stretched, again.

"Okay," Lillian muttered, "you win."

"You acknowledge my skill with rope?"

Lillian sighed.  "I acknowledge your skill with rope."

Cynthia grinned, then rolled over, opened the drawer of her bedside table, and pulled out a roll of Elastoplast tape and a pair of bandage scissors.  She then lifted a leg over Lillian's bound body and settled her weight on the captive's firm, flat tummy.

"Oof!"  Lillian watched as Cynthia peeled a long, wide strip of tape from the roll and snipped it free.  "Overweight Kinky Little Mouse," she groused.  "No, that's too much to remember.  I'll stick with Little Mouse."

Cynthia smiled, leaned close, and planted a kiss on Lillian's smiling lips.  They locked eyes, and the kiss turned into a long, wet, lip-smacking and tongue-rolling kiss.

Finally, Cynthia broke the kiss.  She then smiled and stretched the tape over Lillian's lips.  "There.  Nice and quiet.  Just to be fair, I've decided to give you more time to escape my ropes.  However, I am tired, so please keep the squirming to a minimum.  That said..."

She rolled off Lillian, returned the roll of tape and scissors to the drawer, and pulled out a vibrator.  Opalescent blue-gray, it was long, thin, and streamlined, as much a missile as a phallus.  Cynthia rolled over and snuggled close to Lillian's helpless form.  "I'm not that tired."  Cynthia twisted the vibrator's base and it began to buzz.

Wonderful, Lillian sighed, then flinched when Cynthia began teasing her nipples with the tip of the vibrator.  It had been a long time since Lillian Steele had been on the receiving end of this sort of thing, and most of those times had been situations in which she'd fallen into the hands of rival "security experts."  It didn't happen very often, but even she couldn't win every round of the game.  However, this was the first time Lillian had allowed herself to be captured.  Maybe Sally isn't the only one fond of Little Mouse, she mused.  Maybe I like her, too... just a little.  I certainly don't dis-like her

Lillian shivered and closed her eyes as Cynthia continued teasing her nipples... the slopes of her bulging breasts... and her stomach, tracing the dimples outlining her abs.  Her diminutive captor then eased the tip between her closed thighs and nudged her labia, twisting and sliding it an inch deep into her pussy—and yes, as Lillian was humiliatingly aware, the pussy in question was wet enough to facilitate the intrusion.

Lillian squirmed and twisted and fought the ropes.  The doubled strand linking her ankles to the foot of the bed snapped taut as she tried to lift her legs.  The vibrator was on low, and she could tell it would not be enough to trigger an orgasm, not anytime soon.  But Lillian knew what was coming.  Little Mouse would tease her for a while, then turn up the power and really start teasing her.  Finally, when she was good and ready, Cynthia would grant her a nice, satisfying multi-O.

Lillian wasn't angry, not even a little.  This was fun.  She was learning things about the good doctor, and about herself.  There would be time enough to balance the books—that is, to implement Lillian Steele's version of balancing the books.  A great deal of spectacularly complicated rope-work would be involved, as well as extended multiple bouts of Little Mouse boinking.

The teasing buzz of the vibrator continued... but Lillian realized Cynthia was no longer sliding the tip against her clit or sliding her naked self against her side.  In fact, Cynthia wasn't sliding anything against anything.

Lillian opened her eyes and lifted her head.  Cynthia was still holding the vibrator and was snuggled against her side, but her eyes were closed and a blissful smile graced her angelic face.  Lillian sighed through her gag and let her head drop.  She's asleep.  I don't believe it.

The vibrator was still throbbing and its tip still parted her labia  Lillian knew she could probably dislodge the damn thing, but not without waking up Little Mouse.  She lifted her head, again, and focused on Cynthia's smiling face.  The moonlight streaming through the window glinted off the tan skin of the naked scientist's face, shoulders, upper back, and arm.  She looks like a little girl, Lillian thought.  An innocent little girl.  My precious Little Mouse is tuckered out.  But just you wait, Little Mouse.  Get your beauty sleep.  You're going to need it.

Lillian stared up at the dark ceiling as the lambent, titillating waves rippled through her pussy.  It's nothing.  Nothing.  'That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.'  Or, in this case, that which does not get us off, makes us hornier.
Chapter 7

On the fifth floor of the Salamandras building, the automated factory was a beehive of activity.

Machine tools cut, drilled, and bent as manipulator arms lifted and turned the various components being fabricated.  Sparks flew as parts were welded together.  Whirring arms fitted circuit boards together and soldered connections.  Yet other arms were fitting together sub-assemblies, making delicate adjustments.  They all moved with careful precision and perfect coordination.

Sally was making toys.


 Chapter 7

Chapter 6
Chapter 8