The Android
by GeorgeC


        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
        "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
        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
        "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
        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
        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
        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
        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
        "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
        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
        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
        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
        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
        "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
        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
        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
        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
        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
        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
        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
        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
        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
        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
        "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.