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."
"What?"
"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.