The Android

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

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The Android

(****, M/F, Severe, s&m, slavery, science fiction)

The bored female pilot of a transport ship on a long lonely voyage makes use of a robot she discovers in the cargo hold. (Approximately 10,130 words. Originally published 1996-03.)

Part 1

I was fourteen days out of Base IX on a two-month return to Earth when I found him. I'd become incredibly restless. I had made four consecutive runs without a real break and the boredom was catching up with me.

I wandered the ship looking for entertainment. The trivid recordings no longer interested me, and I did not feel like reading. I wanted human companionship, particularly the male kind. I wanted to feel sexy and desired and to desire.

There were reports to file and lectures to study, but I felt exhausted and everything seemed old and the ship felt cramped and minuscule. I would take as much time as I could with my chores, but even then I would have 95% of the day left.

But on this day I decided to check the cargo. There was nothing wrong and I knew it, but I decided a personal inspection was necessary, just because it would give me something to do.

The first two crates contained standard supplies and research data discs. But the third container was different. I immediately saw the coffin-shaped box with the red warning sticker attached. Ignoring it, I peered inside the box.

At first I was horrified--someone was shipping a dead body! But then I realized it was only an android. There was a packing slip in the box and I pulled it out and read it.

"Sexual Deviant Model IV" read the paper. "Serial number RT-89. Reason for return: Malfunctioning deviant programs 'SM01' and 'BNDG' in motivation in excess of established parameters."

I didn't know what any of that meant but I decided to try out the robot. Even malfunctioning, a sex deviant robot might be amusing.

I opened the carton and rolled the robot out. Its access panel was standard and in a moment it was awake. I watched it open its eyes.

"This is not earth," he said in a deep male voice that thrilled me. "I sense rocket engines and minimal gravity. Why have I been awakened?"

"I awoke you," I said calmly. "We're still six weeks from earth. Are you functioning well enough to, uh, perform your duties?" I blushed as I said this. I had never used a sex robot before, though of course I had heard stories. I was amazed at how life-like he looked.

"I am functioning adequately," he said smiling at me seductively. "My name is Art Eighty-Nine. What is your name?"

"Kari," I said shyly. "What exactly do you do?"

He smiled at me without saying anything for a moment. "Can I take a tour of the ship?" he asked quietly. I agreed and quickly led him through all the rooms. It wasn't much of a tour. A T-class ship, the _Candlelady_ isn't very large.

Art Eighty-Nine was very nice but he seemed particularly interested in the kitchen implements and my spare parts and tools bin. He was also extremely sexy, I thought as we headed into my cabin area.

Suddenly, without warning, he grabbed my wrists and lifted me. With amazing speed he produced some nylon cord he had discovered somewhere and making me grasp the bulkhead, tied my wrists together, my feet dangling above the ground.

"What are you doing?" I cried. But he slipped a piece of cloth against my mouth and bound it tightly around my head. I was now bound and gagged and completely helpless. I was frightened but Art was smiling.

I watched him approach me, my eyes wide with apprehension. He placed one hand on my right breast and with the other grabbed my ass. I was wearing the flight standard unisex one-piece, a flimsy disposable outfit that offered little protection. Before I could protest or struggle he had ripped it off me with such force my body felt like it had been slapped.

I was completely naked, dangling off the floor, my arms fastened above my head. I began to cry in fear but Art reached out and lifted my chin so I could see his face. He smiled and was friendly.

"Do not cry, little Kari," he said, his voice kind and soothing. "You have a very beautiful body. Very sensual. Look at these gorgeous breasts! They are magnificent," he whispered in my ear as he bent close to me, his hands grasping my breasts and squeezing them intensely.

I felt myself weaken and my sex was wet with desire. I could smell him and _he_smelled_like_a_man_. I suddenly didn't care if he was a robot or not: I wanted him, l craved him, I lusted after him.

In shame a found myself thrusting my sex against him, wrapping my legs around his waist to hold him against me. I kissed his lips with passionate abandon, discovering his teeth and tongue were indistinguishable from a real man's.

"Oh, you are so very pretty," he said. "Your eyes are so large and wide. I love your legs." He ran his hands up and down my legs and around to my buttocks. "Hold it!" He pulled away from me so suddenly I was left kissing air.

He stepped behind me as I hung there and I could feel him looking at my butt. "Your buttocks are amazing!" he said with awe in voice. "I've never seen such round, firm specimens." He reached out and I could feel his palms caressing my ass. He pinched the flesh and massaged it, and I moaned and pressed my legs together feeling spurts of liquid dripping down my legs.

"Please," I begged. "Take me, please. I can't stand this. I need you. Don't tease me like this."

"Oh, but you aren't ready," he said with warmth in his voice. "Look at your bottom, here. It's so fresh and tender I'd almost swear you're a virgin. When was your last spanking?"

Suddenly a chill passed through me and I knew what kind of a robot he was. "Uh, quite a while. Look, I'm not into that scene. I don't get into kinky stuff, OK? Can't we just have sex?"

But Art was still playing with my buttocks, pulling the cheeks apart and touching my anus. I felt tears pouring down my face. "Please, don't do that," I begged, but he did not listen.

Then I felt his wet tongue touch my anus. He licked at it and I felt intense spasms of electricity go through me. My sex was dripping wet like I'd never felt it before. It was so hungry it hurt with a physical pain. I was sobbing as I felt steel fingers prying my legs open and poking my sex from behind.

"Excellent," he said standing. "You are in excellent physical health, Kari. Your body is primed and ready for sexual activity. I've never seen such pent-up passion. Please wait. I'll just be a moment."

He was gone and I dangled and felt sorry for myself. My nipples hurt, my buttocks felt heavy, and my dripping sex was ticklish and driving me crazy. I wondered what he was going to do.

He was back. I saw him out of the corner of my eye place several items on my bed but I couldn't see what they were. He approached and he was carrying something.

I saw it was a small strip of synth-leather, flat but thick. He smacked it against his palm as he watched me. I was terrified and shrank from him but he only smiled. "Let me see your incredible buttocks," he said and I began to cry.

I felt him touch my bottom and squeeze it a few times. He patted me a few times gently and then I felt the first slap of the synth-leather strap. It was very loud. The sound frightened me so much I cried out.

But it didn't really hurt, at least not as much as I had imagined. In fact, it felt rather good. It was a light sting on my bottom and it made me very aware of the flesh of my buttocks. I felt sexy.

The second slap hurt more, but it excited me. I was frightened but turned on. Art spanked me with that strap again and again, not especially hard, but soundly, spreading the blows so that my whole bottom felt covered with tiny stings. My eyes were filled with tears but it wasn't because I was suffering pain, but because I was flooded with foreign emotions and remarkable sensations.

From somewhere Art obtained a small hand mirror which he positioned so I could see my bottom in the reflection of the full-length mirror on the back of the cabin door. I was amazed. I was hanging from the ceiling, completely naked, my body exposed. My breasts felt large and hung heavily against my chest. I could see my open sex in the mirror and it made me clench my legs together to try to obtain satisfaction.

But most astonishing were my buttocks. They were very red, especially the middle area. They felt like they were swollen to double size, but I could see that wasn't the case. What surprised me was how beautiful they looked. I had thought the spanking would have made them less attractive, but the redness seemed to enhance them. The punished flesh looked flushed and alive, pulsing like a sexual organ.

I wept beautiful tears, tears of joy and sadness. I was filled with emotions I didn't understand and my ignored sex was throbbing. My buttocks felt hot and swollen but I found myself strangely pleased when Art began to spank me again, this time with fiercer blows that brought tears to my eyes and made me groan and wiggle on my tether.

The pain was intense, now, but I thrived on it. I abandoned myself to it. I felt every cruel spank, every sting, with every part of my body. The flesh of my buttocks felt heavy and thick under the blows, but the pain seemed to radiate from there and go through my entire body, warming my legs and face and causing my nipples to itch and tremble.

The second spanking was much longer and harder, and I was sobbing when it was finished. I had never felt so many sensations of such intensity. The pain had changed to become a simple feeling, now. I would dwell on it, savor it like a sweet taste on the tongue, try to decipher its meaning, its purpose, its destiny. I tried to discover the source of its amazing power, power that rendered me helpless before it, a quivering mass of flesh and feeling.

When Art paused to feel my bottom I could tell my buttocks were covered with tiny welts, little kernels of intense feeling which he would pinch mercilessly. I wriggled under his fingers and pumped my sex vainly in the air, cursing that there was no satisfaction for it.

He touched it now, pushing his fingers deep into me, and I thrust myself on him. As I did so I felt terrible slap across my buttocks and I realized he was spanking me fiercely with his hand. His blows were loud and astonishingly hard, taking away my breath with each spank.

But I was lost to the spanking. All I could think about was satisfying my sex, thrusting myself mindlessly against his hand, his fingers not quite satisfying me and driving me to a wild panic.

The spanking was brutal now, but I only dimly realized the intense pain flooding through my body. I was frantic with desire as I came against Art's hand, my arms aching, my breasts pounding against my chest.

When I was finished Art left the room and I hung there, exhausted. I'd never had sex like that before. Never anything even close. As I thought back I realized that I had come for an incredibly long time. My buttocks still throbbed from the beating, but they felt warm and good to me, a reminder of my intense pleasure.

The cool air against my flesh only served to fill my sex with desire again. It wasn't enough. I wanted more, more. I moaned against my gag and wished Art would return. I feared his return but I longed for it.

* * * * *

That night I lay helpless in my bed, my arms and legs tied to the corners. I was still naked, my exposed sex tickling me devilishly. Art hadn't attempted to satisfy my craving or even spank me.

My bottom was still warm and throbbed lightly. I wished he had at least spanked me before retiring. At least there was some satisfaction, or perhaps it was distraction, in the pain. It was far more cruel to leave me hanging, thus, my sex starving.

Art lay near me, his eyes closed. I knew he was not sleeping, of course, but he was so realistic I was reluctant to bother him. A part of me was afraid he'd be angry if I "woke" him. I wasn't sure how he'd punish me--perhaps another spanking--but his earlier efforts had been too diligent for me to doubt he'd punish me.

I craved the spanking, to be sure, but not his anger. I wanted him to punish me out of pleasure, like this afternoon. My thoughts drifted back to the experiences of the day I fell into a quiet but fitful sleep, my hips shifting and thrusting in vain attempts to satisfy my sex.

When I awoke in the morning I was astonished to discover the bonds were gone. I was free! I leapt from the bed and listened intently. Nothing. Art was nowhere around. Had the whole experience been a delusion of my space-bored mind?

No, I whispered to myself as I touched my buttocks. I peered at them in the large mirror. They were much healed and barely red, but I could feel the tiny welts and knew that everything had happened as I had thought. It had not been a dream.

"Good morning, Miss Kari," said the deep voice and I turned, blushing. "Your buttocks have healed wonderfully. Soon your tolerance will be such that we will be able to punish you much more extensively with even less aftereffects."

"Art," I began and then stopped, unsure of what I wanted to say. "What exactly are your intentions?" I finally asked.

He smiled charmingly. "Why to pleasure you, darling. We have weeks and weeks of such pleasure ahead of us."

"Weeks?" I said astonished. "What kind of pleasure did you have in mind? Punishment, like yesterday?" He nodded pleasantly. "Look," I said trying to control the anger in my voice. "You're a nice robot and everything, but I will not be treated like I was yesterday. It was an experience I will never forget, to be certain, and mildly pleasurable for a short time, but I certainly will not stand for it again. Do you understand?"

Art smiled at me, an infuriating smile, like a father to a childish little girl. "What choice do you have, Kari?"

I stared at him in astonishment.

"I've reprogrammed the computers--the ship answers to me now. I've taken care of all your duties. You are no longer necessary for the function of the ship. I am much stronger and faster than you, and virtually impervious to harm. You are completely under my control."

Slowly the impact of his words sunk in to me. He was saying something about my not resisting, how much better it would be if i cooperated. Our pleasure could be mutual, he said. The words were foreign to me. I stared at him in silence, my mind a confused mess. "What am I to you, then?" I managed bluntly.

"You are my love slave, of course." He pulled me close to him, kissing my lips passionately, desperately, as if he was hungry. I could feel his fingers over my body and I felt my body react helplessly though I willed it to resist.

We fell to the floor together, grappling in furious passion. He was sucking on my breasts, his teeth gently nibbling my nipples, making me cry out in desire. I wanted him. My body wanted him. I strove to find his sex but he pushed me back and sat up.

"Hold on, there, darling. Not so fast. There will be plenty of time for such excursions later. First, I think we need to establish an order for the day. There is much for you to learn, many lessons that must be taught. This will take time, of course, but we have plenty of time, don't we dear?"

His smile was insidious and I was terrified. What was he talking about? Why did he have to be so coy? Couldn't he just speak his mind?

He stood me up before him and examined me. His eyes and fingers carefully went over my entire body. He searched my face, my cheeks, my neck. His hands slid over my tender breasts, my belly, my hips. He played with my buttocks, fingered my anus, and made me spread my legs wide so he could access my vagina properly.

I cooperated with him fully, though tears ran down my flushed face and I thought I would scream. I wasn't sure why I cooperated. Perhaps I was afraid of what he'd do if I didn't. A deeper part of me, though, feared that I wanted him to do it, that I enjoyed his thorough examination thoroughly. I did not want to think about that part of myself.

We went into the kitchen for breakfast. I realized I was very hungry, famished in fact. It felt like I hadn't eaten in days. I raced to the food processor and punched in my order.

"Before you eat I think we shall start your training with a little whipping," said Art suddenly, ominously. "We shall begin every morning with a whipping. We need to get your skin used to punishment, and you can certainly use the daily chastisement. It will build character and stamina."

I was standing still, my back to Art, my face flushed and tense. Why did I feel such excitement at the prospect of pain? I knew there would be pain. Yesterday's spankings had hurt, though they were filled with pleasure.

"Will you turn around and cooperate?" asked Art. "Or must I used forceful measures?" I turned and looked at him. He was holding a thin quirt in his hand. I shrugged, feeling lost and confused. I knew his power--he could force me to do anything he wanted--that was part of my attraction to him, I suppose.

He motioned for me to put my arms behind my back and to bend over across the table so that my breasts were dangling just about its smooth surface. I could see a distorted reflection of myself in the reflection, my lips and breasts grotesquely larger.

My buttocks felt vulnerable and exposed in this position. I could feel the flesh twitch in anticipation of what I knew was to come. My sex was dry but my heart thudded with excitement and fear. Art nudged my legs apart and I obeyed, spreading them and feeling my face go hot with shame at the increased exposure. I could feel the cool air of the ship against my sex and it tormented me.

I don't know what I had been expecting, perhaps the vague euphoria of yesterday's second spanking, or the playfulness of the first, but this, my third spanking, was completely different, and it filled me with wonder.

I was no longer gagged and bound; nothing restrained me. I was not confused by lust or stunned by surprise. No, I was accepting this punishment with my own free will. My motivations were still unclear to me-all I knew was that I desperately struggled to stay in position and not cry out, though every instinct demanded I grab my burning ass and run.

The whipping was severe. The thin leather quirt left tiny threads of fire across my buttocks, each stroke stinging unbelievably. In seconds, it seemed, I was sobbing and begging for mercy.

My buttocks were dancing uncontrollably, the flesh twitching without my consent. I writhed and wiggled my buttocks, desperately trying to absorb the pain, let it fade into me, disappear. But each stroke brought it back fresher and stronger, too strong to ignore, until all I could think about was the pain. My mind went clear, and like an animal, I stood there groaning and whimpering, my only conscious thought that I must stand still and not run, not stand up or try to cover my bottom with my hands.

My brain was flooded with a red haze. I distantly sensed my sex was wet again, but I couldn't remember why that mattered. The whipping grew fiercer and I arched my back and thrust my buttocks toward the whip, staring at the ceiling above me, the tears pouring down my cheeks.

My breasts bounced painfully against the table as I struggled to stand still, my knees trembling and my breath coming in harsh gasps. Art was whipping the very bottom of my buttocks now, terrifyingly close to my thighs, each stroke landing with amazing precision next to the previous.

In agony I wished desperately for the comfort of bondage, suddenly realizing the priceless value of restraints. I wanted something physical to struggle against, something tangible. Instead I could only fight against my weakening will, my resolve to be obedient and stand still. I wanted to cut loose and scream, really scream, not because of the pain, but because of the sensation overload I was feeling, but somehow I did not.

And suddenly it was over. I was still bouncing against the table in desperation, my breasts sore and wet with tears. Then I realized the whipping had stopped, there were no more blows, and in relief I collapsed across the table, ignoring the painful crush of my breasts against my chest, the pinch of the tender nipples, my wet cheeks pressed against the table's smooth surface.

I lay sobbing for what seemed a long time, my knees buckled, barely holding me in place. Suddenly I felt something cold and soothing brush against the pained flesh of my buttocks and I let out a little cry.

"Shhh, darling," whispered Art's strong voice. "It's a healing ointment. It will cause your flesh to burn a little, but your buttocks will be healed very soon."

Even as he spoke he spread the lotion across my bottom and I felt its soothing coolness quickly followed by warmth and then intense heat and I wanted to scream. It felt so good and yet there was so much feeling there I could only cry and whimper at his touch.

"It will be fine, darling," he whispered, his voice near my ear. "I know right now you are in shock, but you will soon come to understand what you are experiencing. This is only the beginning, Kari, only the beginning of a whole new world of experience for you.

"Every day we shall begin with a good whipping like I just gave you. I realize it must seem intense for you now, but in time you will see that it is but a little thing, a casual routine, a mild lesson in obedience and tolerance."

I gasped and wept at his words, my heart beating wildly, my sex growing damp as I thought of this happening every day, every morning for the next six weeks.

"Now, take pride! You were wonderful! Very obedient and cooperative, just beautiful. You are a fantastic love slave, by far the most beautiful I have ever had the privilege of taming."

He gave my tender behind a gentle swat now and stood me up, trembling. With a small towel he wiped off my tear-stained face. "Put your hands behind your head, like so," he said gently, showing me how to stand. "That is your position of obedience and humility, slave. You will always be in that position unless I have specifically told you to assume another. Do you understand?"

I nodded, my face white with fear and shock. My heart was fluttering as I looked at him. He was so beautiful. I had already forgotten that he was just a robot--he was my master, plain and simple. I wept at the thought, and then wondered why I wept. Was I afraid of submitting? Was I weeping because I was happy?

I froze in terror at the realization of my last thought. I _was_ happy. It was true. In fact, I could not remember ever being as happy as I was right now, feeling so alive and thrilled by my cruel master, Art the sex deviant robot.

* * * * *

After I ate breakfast, kneeling on the floor next to Art and eating from his hand, my red bottom pressed against my heels, I bravely asked Art what was in store for me.

He stared at me a long time, as if trying to decide if I'd been impudent. "Today, as every day, you will serve me. We shall begin with your education, which is sorely lacking. There is much for you to learn. You are growing, but you are still far too arrogant." I was frightened by these words, but I followed him without hesitation.

He led me to the bedroom and shut the door and showed me my buttocks in the mirror. "They are beautiful, aren't they?" he said with a wide smile. "I think your ass is gorgeous!"

I could only stare at the red flesh and feel amazement that it was mine, that I had endured such punishment. In fact, I taken it willing, and that amazed me the most.

Art gently grabbed my left buttock and squeezed. I gasped and then watched in fascination as I saw white fingerprints appear across my flesh and slowly fade. "Beautiful," he murmured. My sex is wet against my thighs as I look at myself in the mirror. Why does the pain affect me so?

"Now, it is time for more lessons," he said turning me to face him. He led me to the straps hanging from the ceiling where he had first punished me and bid me to quickly kneel and place my hands behind my back. In seconds he has bound them and I cannot move my arms. I felt a flush of terror at my helplessness, my initial welcoming of the restraints suddenly gone when I realized I cannot escape and I am completely at his mercy.

He produces a piece of white cloth and proceeds to blindfold me. I am suddenly frightened. Everything is dark to me. I feel him briefly touch me, touch my cheek, my breasts, even my sex, but I cannot see him.

His hands close on my breasts and he squeezes hard, my nipples crying out in agony. He lets go of my left breast and without warning, slaps it, hard. Tears come to my eyes as I gasp for air.

"What are you doing?" I manage, but he ignores me, slapping my breast again. I feel the sway of the flesh against my body, the stinging warmth flooding through me, my nipple burning. Again and again he slaps my breast.

After a while he begins to slap my right breast the same way, back and forth, back and forth, the nipple bursting.

It is a torment for me, my breasts so close my face yet I cannot touch them, cannot give them any comfort. They throb with hot pain and all I can do is drip wet tears across them.

"Open your mouth," he says suddenly. I open it obediently, my mind wondering what he is going to do. I feel something being pushed into my mouth. At first I think it's his finger, but then I know what it is. I am astonished at how life-like it feels, even down to the salty taste of his skin.

His cock is huge, more than filling my mouth, almost making me gag. He pushes it in further, my nose filled with his pubic hair and his balls against my chin.

"Suck it," he orders, and I comply. In amazement I almost choke as I feel his cock grow harder as I suck, and I realize he is an astonishingly realistic robot. He thrusts into my mouth, his body every bit as urgent as a real lover, and I abandon myself to the role, and I suck with all my power, using my tongue to awaken every sense in his organ.

Suddenly his cock explodes in my mouth and I feel wave after wave of cool liquid filling my mouth. In shock I begin to cry, but I desperately try not to choke. "Go ahead and swallow, Kari," he whispers. "It will not harm you. It isn't real semen but it is close enough."

I close my eyes and swallow, the taste a salty slickness my lips have never known before. He pulls away from me and I crouch there crying, not even sure why I am so moved. Is it because he seems too real? Or perhaps I feel ashamed and violated. Mostly likely I'm tormented by my own swollen sex that never gets satisfied by my cruel master.

He unties me and carries me to my bed. He ties my arms and legs apart again, but he does not remove the blindfold. I hear him tell me to rest for a while. "You've had a long morning, dear Kari," he whispered. "Sleep for a few minutes."

His lips touch mine briefly, leaving me longing for more, but he is gone. I am left with my thoughts and confused emotions. My body is alive with feeling: my breasts sore and tender, my buttocks throbbing gently. My lips still feel his cock. My sex is wet and unsatisfied, but that is becoming all too familiar to me. Crying silently, I fall asleep.

Part 2

It was late afternoon when I awoke and Art was standing beside me. He had removed the blindfold and the restraints. Without a word he motioned for me to follow him.

We went into the recreation room. He led me past the various pieces of exercise equipment and over to the automatic treadmill. "Get on," he said quietly and I did. He flipped the switch and I was promptly walking at a quick pace.

I was in good physical condition, but I was hard pressed to keep up that pace for any length of time. He had it set lower than a run, but faster than a walk. It exhausted me quickly, but I continued to walk though I was starting to breathe heavily.

"Keep going," he said as he left the room. "I'll be right back."

He was gone a long while. I struggled to keep up the pace. It was becoming difficult now. I knew I shouldn't be able to go much longer. I had to have been going full out for at least a half hour. I wondered if he would notice if I switched the treadmill setting to a slightly slower pace.

My naked body was wet with sweat. I could feel it trickling between my breasts and my buttocks were damp. My breasts felt huge and heavy as they pounded against my chest, and my buttocks, swollen from the recent whipping, seemed to vibrate with such intensity I felt it throughout my body and blushed with shame.

There still was no sign of him. He would never know. I reached out and slowed the treadmill a little, and then a little more. I was winded, but this wasn't as bad as that insanely fast walk he had me doing. At least my breasts and buttocks didn't bounce quite so much at this pace, I thought.

Suddenly he was there. One look at his face and I saw he knew what I had done. Desperately I tried to pretend nothing had happened, nothing had changed. I pushed with renewed vigor against the force of the treadmill.

"Kari, dear Kari, is obedience so hard for you? Was I really gone so long? Did you think you could hide your sins from me?" I began to weep as I struggled against the treadmill, for I saw he was holding a large paddle in his hands.

"You see it?" he said smiling, holding it up for me. "Does it frighten you? It's part of my equipment. I had to retrieve it from the cargo hold.

"This one's made entirely of synth-leather," he continued gently, bending the stiff paddle so I could see how flexible it was. "It's made especially for punishing naughty little girls who disobey their masters."

I cried bitter tears and cursed my foolishness as he slowly brought the paddle down and touched my buttocks with it. The flesh was tender and just the touch of the paddle combined with my fear made me cry out.

He rested the paddle against my buttocks so that as I ran the paddle bounced against my rump, the gentle patting not hurting in the least, but somehow disheartening me. I felt my face flush with embarrassment.

"Run, little Kari," he whispered in my ear. "Run like the wind." He reached out and turned the treadmill to a much higher setting and I was forced to run or be thrown off. I gripped the handlebar in front of me and ran as fast as I could, my heart pounding from more than just the physical exercise.

The increased speed of the treadmill startled me and for a few moments I forgot about the paddle, I was so absorbed in keeping up with the track. The first blow caught me so completely by surprise I almost stopped running.

The blow was loud and heavy, full across my buttocks, the stinging much more intense than I had anticipated. It was more focused than the leather strap I'd gotten before, but less so than the quirt of that morning, and it covered a larger area.

Again and again the paddle came down. Each blow made the flesh of my buttocks quiver in a humiliating manner that made me feel incredibly debased.

I was running frantically, desperately, as if I could outrace the blows. But they followed me, pounding my buttocks with a fierceness that was intoxicating. My panicked breath burned my throat and the faster I ran the more my breasts ached.

It seemed my whole body ached. I was exhausted, only the sting of the paddle driving me forward. In desperation I ran still faster, pushing myself beyond my limits. My will seemed to collapse somehow. I forgot who I was and why I was running, what the pain meant. All I knew was that the completeness, the totalness of the pain was engulfing.

No longer struggling, I lost myself in the soundness of the punishment. The pain was astonishing. I'd never felt such swelling pleasure coursing through my buttocks and sex as I did for those few moments.

It was over as quickly as it had begun, my buttocks throbbing dismally in neglect. Art switched off the machine and I collapsed, my breathing frantic, as if I couldn't get enough air.

He rolled me over on my back, my naked buttocks painfully pressing against the cool floor. Suddenly he mounted me, his cock pushing inside me before I realized it. It was huge but my sex was slick with desire and I took him eagerly, desperately.

His weight crushed me, my breasts pained. Suddenly he was kissing me passionately, his tongue deep in my mouth, and I felt like I was being impaled in two places at once. I clung to him eagerly with a fierceness that astonished me, and as I came I heard a loud moan echo around the room, deep and raw and without reservation, and I felt my face flush with horror as I realized that it was I crying out so unabashedly.

It was much later, and I was again bound to my bed, my body exhausted and my mind whirling with questions. Why was I acting this way? How could I be so brazen and unashamed? In my memory I saw myself mounting Art in a variety of obscene ways and I was horrified. How could I behave like that? But even as I thought this my body felt flushed with heat and desire.

Why was there so much _feeling_ pumping through my veins even now, hours later, so much pent-up passion and fantastic longing? It felt like my body had been sleeping for generations and only now was I aware of its presence, the beating of my heart, my frantic breathing, the odd flushes of temperature that occurred occasionally throughout my body.

It was bewildering and astonishing, and even more surprising, I found myself eager to discover what Art had in store for me next.

* * * * *

We began early the next morning with a good whipping, exactly as Art had promised. At first I was tremendously aroused at the prospect, but then my courage failed me and I was terrified, and I prayed he would forget or have mercy. He did neither.

But after the first few hard smacks from the belt I began to feel a calm, a sense that everything was all right, that I deserved my punishment, that it was what I needed. I realized that by not showing any mercy Art was firmly establishing a reality for me, and I felt a strong sense of security. Everything was fine. The leather belt striking my flesh was just and the pain was just. It was all part of a pattern. Every morning would start with a solid whipping and that was that.

The whipping was good, even then I knew that. It wasn't long but it was thorough and my admittedly generous backside was a fine even color when he was finished. When it was over I felt tired but exhilarated, as though I'd just completed a difficult task long put off, and I was filled with a cautious eagerness for the day ahead.

After a quick bite of breakfast and a moment of privacy for some natural functions, I met Art in the main control room and proceeded to perform my ship duties for the day. These duties are few--the presence of a human on board being primarily for emergencies.

In what seemed like no time at all I had made a couple minor course corrections, fiddled with some shipwide adjustments, updated the logs, and sent off a couple routine messages to my commander and some friends. I made no mention of Art.

There was nothing left but whatever Art had in mind for me. With a heavy but anxious heart I turned to see what he had in mind.

He was standing in the doorway watching me. I flushed instantly and looked down. Without even thinking I placed my hands behind my head and assumed the proper attitude of abasement. He smiled and approached. I tried not to notice that he was carrying the large leather paddle.

"Now that your duties are complete, we're going to play a little game. Do you like games?" I nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "Good. You will not only enjoy this game, but you will learn from it as well. It's a game of obedience to test your willpower."

Art had produced a small box containing little glass balls, each about half an inch in diameter. He began to scatter these about the cabin, letting them roll in every direction. He placed the box on the floor next to the main control board.

"There are twenty-four of these balls, Kari," he said. "I want you to crawl on your hands and knees and fetch them with your lips, one at a time, and place them in this box. Average time for this should be approximately 10 seconds per marble, but since this is your first time, we will allot 15 seconds each for a total of six minutes. For every second longer than six minutes you will receive one stroke from the paddle. Do you understand?"

I nodded, my mind spinning. I knew I would have to hurry as my bottom was already so sore I dreaded more paddling. The thought of how undignified I'd look scurrying about the cabin on my hands and knees, naked, my breasts dangling and buttocks bouncing made me blush, but I was too afraid of Art's potential alternatives to disobey.

I got down on my hands and knees, Art close beside me. He said "Go!" and I began to crawl rapidly towards a distant marble. Suddenly I heard a tremendous slap and felt the flesh of my thighs and buttocks stinging furiously. My face flushed and I froze in surprise and received another sharp blow from the paddle.

"Keep going--you're wasting time," hissed Art and with another blow I darted forward my heart pounding like I was in orgasm. I finally reached the glass ball and awkwardly knelt and picked it up in my lips, tears streaming down my face as Art managed several blows against my upturned buttocks.

Desperately I rushed back to the box and spat the marble out and hurried after another, the loud paddle following me every step of the way. Again and again I picked up marbles and dropped them in the box. I soon lost count but it felt like I had been doing this forever.

My buttocks were burning and my tears made it difficult for me to see the tiny balls. Many times as I crawled the paddle would catch my exposed thigh and the pain was unbelievable, so sharp and fierce.

It was so unfair! There was no way to escape the pain, to run away from it, yet in my movements I couldn't help but think I could move fast enough, or turn quick enough to dodge it at least for a moment. That was all I wanted--just a breather, a few seconds without that terrible smacking to get my bearings, to locate the next marble.

But the paddling was constant, always catching me when I least expected it, just when I'd almost convinced myself I had escaped it. Art was irregular in his blows, spanking me hard and fast for a period and then lightly and less often. It was nerve-wracking and very frustrating. After a while it seemed there was no end to the game. I felt like we'd been playing for hours.

Finding the marbles wasn't an easy task either. By the time I'd reached twenty-two I thought for sure I'd had them all. But that paddle continued to spank me and off I went, racing madly without the slightest idea where the last marbles were hidden. I found them, thank goodness, but it took me time, which meant more blows. It must have taken me fully a dozen strokes to get the 23rd ball, and almost 20 for the last one.

I dropped the last marble in the box with such relief I began to cry. My buttocks were throbbing and I was panting frantically. I looked up at Art to see if he was pleased.

"Not bad for the first time, little angel," he said smiling. "Only forty-two seconds over six minutes!" I groaned when I heard that but he took my chin in his hand and looked me in the face. "Don't worry-we'll practice this every day and in a week you'll be able to do it in less than four minutes."

Tears came to my eyes and I felt something in my chest collapse at the thought of doing this every day. But my sex became aroused at the prospect. I nodded meekly at Art and tried to smile.

"Now let's get your time penalty over with," he said motioning for me to turn around. "Place your hands behind your head and bend over so your chin and breasts are touching the floor and your buttocks are high in the air. Higher, higher," he encouraged, pushing my knees closer to my face with his foot. "That's better."

The position was horribly uncomfortable, my breasts crushed beneath me, my bottom high in the air. I was crying already. At least he didn't dawdle, but spanked me quickly and efficiently, only pausing a couple of time to urge me to arch my back more and push my buttocks higher in the air. All I could think about was wondering if I looked as humiliated as I felt.

The spanking really hurt and seemed to last forever and I vowed that the next time we played the game I would finish within the time limit if it killed me.

When it was over I followed Art into the kitchen where he prepared some lunch. After eating I had a short nap, and then Art gave me a bath. There isn't enough water on board for a proper bath, of course, but Art took a wet towel and bathed me for an hour. He washed every part of my body, rubbing water and soap deep into my skin. He oiled my buttocks and legs and breasts until they were gleaming. When he was finished my whole body tingled and I had never felt so cleansed. Though I was as naked as the day I was born I felt so purified I felt I was dressed for the opera, a night on the town.

He led me naked to the bridge and made me stand before him with my hands above my head. "Are you shy?" he asked me, and I blushed slightly, and responded, "A little."

"I thought so. I think you need a lesson in humility."

This made me a little nervous and I watched as he went to the console and brought up the controls for the video system. In a moment he had switched on the bridge's cameras and began recording the room. I knew there were three cameras in the room so all angles were being captured. There was nowhere for me to turn to escape it. I blushed as thought of someone seeing the recordings. "What are you going to do with the recording?" I asked, trying to appear casual. In truth I was quite nervous. I did not like the idea of a nude recording of mine floating around. What if people I knew got a hold of a copy?

"We are going to send them to your friends on Earth," Art said simply, as though this was an ordinary thing.

"You can't do that!" I gasped.

"Who's going to prevent it?"

"But, come on, now, I'm _naked_! Everyone will see me!"

"That's the idea, Kari. You are going to put on a show for them."

"But Art, come on, now, this is serious. Whatever happens between you and me is fine; it's just us. But by recording this you are involving others, my boss even. You think I'll be able to keep my job if it's discovered I've opened cargo and had dalliances with a sex robot? I'll be ruined!"

"Jog in place."


"I said, jog in place. Run!" With that, out flicked a long thin whip from Art's hand, the tip reaching out to wrap itself around my left leg and snap painfully across the back of my thigh. I screamed in pain and Art smiled at me. "Jog in place!"

I began to run, frantically, Art smiling and nodding. My breasts bounced heavily against my chest and I could feel the throbbing of my buttocks increase as my jogging jiggled the flesh. I flushed to think that all of this was being recorded, that my friends, my co-workers, perhaps even my parents, might see this.

But Art gave me no mercy, whipping me occasionally as I ran, drawing forth cries of pain from my lips as a white hot streak of fire would stretch itself across my rump or leg. I wanted to run away, to go hide, but I feared what Art would do if I did that. Perhaps he'd tie me up and whip me, recording it all. The thought made me shudder.

After about ten minutes of jogging Art had me switch to other exercises, such as push-ups, pull-ups, jumping-jacks, jump rope, etc. I did each one for the period of time he indicated, while he watched and whipped me on. The squatting was the worst. I had to bend at the knees with my legs wide apart, my back straight. I had to go down very slowly, hold the position for a count of ten, and the slowly rise. This position exposed my sex unmercifully, and thrust out my buttocks behind me. Art whipped my bottom frequently during this exercise, making it more difficult to move as slowly as required, but I could only weep and think about the recording. Surely Art had not been serious. I could not bear to think of others seeing me like this, cowering and obedient, accepting my floggings as though they were ordinary.

* * * * *

The next few days were just like that. Everything was recorded. Casual over-the-knee spanking with Art's steel hand. Paddlings, whippings, torturous exercises and games. Even our sex sessions were recorded, those rare times when I was so aroused just thinking of anything even remotely cylindrical in shape would give me an orgasm and Art would take me and fuck me silly three or four or even five times in a row until I was babbling like an idiot and not even caring when he dragged me across his lap for another dose of the paddle. It was all digitized and saved. A permanent record of my weeks of insanity.

The worse was when he made me fuck myself so everyone could see me do it. First it was with my hand, standing up, my juices dripping down my legs. Then with spoons from the galley, while laying on the table, my legs spread wide so the recorder wouldn't miss a thing. He made me lick up the small puddle I left behind.

The final insult was when he made me do it on my hands and knees on my bed while he took turns between working his fingers in and out of my ass and spanking me soundly with a strip of leather. I think I came three times during that session alone, and my ass and pussy felt torn and raw when it was over, but it was such a _gooood_ feeling I couldn't believe it.

Each day was more intense than the last. I didn't see how I could keep up. I was becoming exhausted. Just the thought of another reaming made me tremble, and yet I still craved his touch, the feel of him inside me, the devastating smacks from his paddle.

The hours blended and became indistinguishable. I was conscious of very little except extreme peaks of intense pleasure and pain. I followed and obeyed Art without a thought of disobedience. I was completely degraded, humbled, and humiliated, but I scarcely cared any longer. My existence was solely for Art. Whatever he demanded I provided, debasing myself with an eagerness that astonished me. Had I always been so easy to conquer, so low inside? Had I somehow found my true calling? Was this dreadful craving for punishment and domination my real nature?

I did not know. I could barely think. My mind existed for feeling now, reason forgotten. Emotions flooded me and I felt overwhelmed and confused. I did not understand anything. After a while I did not bother to try, but simply accepted my lot. Thoughts of my family, my career, my life were abandoned. All I knew was the dreadfully wonderful stirring sensation in my belly when I saw Art approach me with a paddle or other device of pleasure and pain.

Then one morning I awoke and the ship was silent. I did not understand what it was at first, but soon I realized that the ship was too quiet. I discovered I was not bound in bed as I normally was, so I went out in search of Art. To my surprise he was not anywhere. The ship appeared deserted. I grew worried, though I knew that was irrational. Where could he go? What could happen to him?

Finally I peeked into the cargo hold. The place was as silent as a tomb, but indeed I found Art asleep in his case, all his "toys" safely stored with him. He appeared content and I did not wish to disturb him, though I was puzzled. He did not respond to my voice commands.

The morning passed slowly. I did not know what to do. Art usually supervised my exercise after breakfast, and though I pushed, it was not the same. Irrationally I found myself wishing he was there to beat me, to make me run faster than I could on my own.

About mid-morning I was startled by the EMS buzzer from the control room. I hadn't been in their in years, it seemed. I ran and hit the button and the face of a young lieutenant gazed at me from the viewscreen. He appeared embarrassed and coughed nervously, struggling not to look at me directly. In horror I realized I was stark naked, and I rushed from the room to find a uniform. I was painfully aware that he could see my bare bottom bouncing as I ran, but there was nothing I could do about that. My face was as red as a Martian tomato when I returned. The young man appeared amused now. He was fair-haired and handsome, with a chiseled chin and sharp blue eyes. I smiled at him seductively and begged his forgiveness.

"You caught me at an awkward moment," I said. "I wasn't expecting a call."

He frowned. "You aren't usually contacted by Fleet Command when you enter Earthspace?"

Earthspace! I gasped and tried to act calm. I had totally forgotten about my voyage! Of course. No wonder Art had put himself away. He had been taking care of any piloting that needed to be done and was aware that we were approaching Earth. We must be less than a half-day away from the space station.

"Of course," I mumbled. "You'll have to excuse me, Lieutenant. I'm low on sleep."

His face narrowed with concern. "Are you capable of docking?"

"Oh, of course!" I could tell he didn't quite believe me, but I gave him my most confident smile and, glancing at the panels before me, read off my entry speed and ship's mass. He confirmed my numbers.

"You will use dock 17," he commanded. "It's on the sunside. We'll be expecting you in two hours. You've made excellent time, according to your schedule chart."

I nodded and switched off communications, collapsing with relief into the captain's chair. Had I just made a fool of myself or what? That handsome control officer would probably put me on report!

I cursed my confusion for a while and then stood, knowing that I did not have a great deal of time. My uniform felt strange and it felt even weirder to be thinking for myself again, making my own decisions, but I quickly became adjusted.

First I went to the cargo hold and fastened Art's case and made sure there was no sign that I'd violated him. (Was that the correct wording?) Next I cleaned up my personal belongings. Art, I realized, had done most of this last night while I slept. In my locker I even found the videochip recordings of all our sessions, carefully packed for me to keep. Though I blushed to think what would happen if others discovered it, I felt grateful to him for leaving me more than a memory.

I made my way to the bridge and went through the docking checklist and made sure wouldn't miss some vital procedure. My mind still felt scattered.

Though it actually was over an hour, it seemed like in just seconds I had docked, reported to my commanding officer, and was stowed away in my temporary quarters on Galileo Station. I wandered the station, nervous and uncomfortable at the presence of all the people after so many months of near solitude. I spoke very little.

I found myself near the cargo area and saw with surprise that I was looking at the cargo from the _Candlelady_ being stored. As I watched two men with "RoboTech Ltd." on their jackets came forward and claimed the crate I knew contained Art. I followed them, not really knowing why.

They took Art to a small laboratory and uncrated him, sliding him into a repair bin that looked remarkable like the old-fashioned corpse drawers in 20th century morgues. I stood in the doorway as they did this, and when the men noticed me, I smiled.

"I wasn't aware that RoboTech had repair facilities on Galileo," I said with a soft smile.

"It doesn't," said the taller of the two men, looking at me like he was hungry. His eyes dropped to my Captain's stripes and he appeared nervous. "This here is just an evaluation center. The technician decides what's worth shipping to earth for repair. Otherwise they scrap it for parts and send the junk on the next sunbarge."

The second man stared at me critically. "Are you interested in robots?"

I shrugged. "Not really. I'm just a shuttle pilot. But I saw this android being unloaded from my ship. I was curious what was wrong with him."

The two men glanced at each other and tried unsuccessfully not to smile. "This here's a sex robot," said the first man with a lusty leer. "An S and M model. Would you like to try him out?"

I slapped his outreaching hand. "Why is he here?" I knew my questions were going past mild curiosity, but I couldn't help myself.

The man glared at me and shrugged. "It says on the report that he's scheduled to be reprogrammed. Apparently he's a little 'excessive' in his enthusiasm. He somehow bypassed the internal limits set by his program."

"I sure feel sorry for the lady who owned him!" interjected the second man, and he didn't look the least bit sorry. "I bet she got more than she bargained for!"

I didn't say anything but nodded and left, a strange feeling in my belly. Those two clowns didn't know how right they were. A lady had certainly gotten more than she had bargained for, and it had changed her forever. As I collapsed on my bed my hand rubbed my bottom and I wondered if I would ever feel the sting of a paddle again, a strong masculine voice ordering me do disgusting sexual acts that deep down I wanted but couldn't permit myself.

There was a soft knock on my door and when I opened it, I stepped back in surprise. The handsome lieutenant I'd spoke to on the EMS-link entered without invitation, closing the door behind him. His eyes gleamed sharply and his smile was wolfish.

"I'm Lieutenant Andrews," he said calmly, seating himself on my bed as though it was his own. "And I think you have been a very naughty girl."

My throat went dry and I couldn't move. A surge of fear and excitement flooded me, and I became wet between my legs. His eyes were playing over my body, studying my form, and when he commanded me I slipped out of the uniform without pause or protest. His hands polished my naked breasts, his tongue licking the nipples, and then his hands slid down my hips and squeezed my bottom. He turned me around, admiring the stripes on my fanny, a good-bye present from Art.

"Had an interesting trip, did you?" he murmured with a smile. "I thought I couldn't have mistaken what I saw when you ran off the bridge. Welts like these are priceless. I did some checking and discovered the cargo you were carrying. Don't you know it's forbidden to tamper with cargo during a voyage?"

I nodded silently, my throat painful in its dryness, the thumping of my heart echoing in my skull. He smiled at me. "I think you ought to be punished for that, wouldn't you agree?"

I swallowed and stared into his crystal blue orbs and sighed, feeling like I had come home. I bowed my head and got down on my knees and kissed his boots. Finally I found my voice.

"Yes, master," I whispered. "Please do with me as you wish."

His smile shattered me. I collapsed into his arms, trembling with excitement. It was beginning again.

The End