I hope y’all like stories about a guy getting put into a sexbot body and then reprogrammed into being a cum-loving sextoy by his bedicked assistant! Basically my origin story, if I had a sexbot body. Iffy consent and mind play from here on forward, so fair warning! But I don’t think it’s too mean, just lewd. Plus hey, who doesn’t love mad scientists getting their kermuffins? I sure do.

Please, enjoy! And I apologise for the name. No I don’t.


“Uhh, sir?” Monica said, peeking out from behind the camera, “You’re monologuing again.”

Doctor Jericho’s face scrunched. “I was? I didn’t…I couldn’t tell. Where were we before I went off track?” He straightened out his meticulously pressed lab coat, its left breast embroidered with a monogram in gold thread. The scientist was pushing 40 and had the male pattern baldness to match. He remained a tightly wound ball of grievance and nerves that would suit any petulant teenager.

Monica rewound back to when his eyes sparkled and looked off into the distance. “You were talking about when your funding was cut.”

“Ah yes! Okay okay, record again…The Academy of Ethically Ambiguous Scientists were FOOLS to cut off my grant money right when I was on the cusp of the greatest discovery of the 22nd century. Behold!”

He tugged the sheet off the lumpy chair in front of him to reveal his masterpiece. He’d used an off-the-shelf VR chair as the foundation, but it contained thousands of times more sensors to record neural activity in absolute minutiae. One cable from the back of the neural plug lead into the control suite off to the side of the room, whereas the other hung limp.

“I call it my Neural Uplink Device, or NUD. What was once considered the sole reign of science fiction is now possible: the complete and total upload of a human consciousness to a mechanical body!”

“Uhh, Doc?”

Jericho scoffed. “What now?”

“There’s no body,” Monica said, pointing to the opposite side of the NUD, where the receiver end dangled in the air.

The gesticulating scientist did a double-take. When he confirmed that, yes, he had just made an ass out of himself, he made a slashing gesture across his throat to his assistant. “Delete that take, goddamnit. Where did the OctoBot go?”

His assistant looked beyond tired. Dark circles under her brown eyes gave her a distinctly mousy appearance, and although she was slightly taller than Jericho, you wouldn’t have known it by the way she slouched her shoulders. Chestnut hair pulled back into a hasty ponytail and a frumpy, stained labcoat and days old jeans completed the look: Postgrad Chique.

“You said that its hardware was too simplistic to handle your magnificence. You wanted to find another test machine, but you didn’t let me help. So you gave up and started refilming your taunt film,” Monica recited.

He nodded hesitantly, as if the events of the last few hours were half-remembered fables. “Yes…yes well, we might as well shelve the video for now. Maybe we can film the results instead. What options for a body do we have?”

Monica, who had three Ph.Ds herself, went over to the designated robot scrap closet to crawl through its assembled junk and find a machine with enough computing capacity to be worthy of holding Doctor Jericho’s colossal mind. In her opinion, there wasn’t anything the bloviating tyrant had that couldn’t fit onto a digital watch, let alone a q-brane. But if she was going to get anywhere with her own plans, she’d have to continue to be a gofer…for a little while yet, at least. Without funding from the Academy, this gig would dry up faster than Lake Superior.

She dug around the closet, gloved hands diving into old circuit boards and memory chips. At some point, these had been the contents of a robot repair business. They’d liquidated their assets after going out of business, and Jericho was a bit of a hoarder with old robotic tech. Hell, Monica didn’t think he’d even seen half this stuff.

Her suspicions were confirmed, or her personal evaluations proven drastically mistaken, when her hands happened upon a human leg. At first, she thought it might be the stroke of luck she needed. But the more she cleared the robotic detritus from the body, the more her heart sank. It was, of all things, a dusty old LoveBot. Nowadays, sex robots were almost indistinguishable from humans save for some government-mandated identifying features. This one was a much cruder model, likely discarded by a fickle lover for a newer toy. She was mostly human, save for the silvery skin of course, with matted golden hair all tangled up with old charging cords and an arm bent all kinds of wrong ways. The machines had an extensive personality simulation capability, from what Monica remembered, but there was no way Jericho would consent to have his first personality transference into a Brenda Bends model from before neoskin was perfected.

She returned from the junk closet, dragging the dog-sized OctoBot along the ground. It had to weigh gungoren escort over a hundred pounds, despite its small size. The scraping noise of metal on metal made her wince, and she had to rock it back and forth to find a place where the cacophony wasn’t ear-splitting. Six extendable legs trailed behind it, while two opposable grasping claws in the front occasionally caught on her shoe. Doctor Jericho, of course, didn’t help one iota.

“Wait, is that the OctoBot again?” he asked, only when the grinding noise grew too loud to ignore.

“There’s nothing else acceptable,” she replied. With a huff, she manhandled the chunky bot into position on the other side of the NUD.

The Doctor raised a bushy eyebrow. “Where’d we put the Killbot?”

“You sent it to the Virology Conference, remember?”

Blank stare.

Monica huffed, pulled out her smartphone, and loaded the front page of a Moldovan news site: glitchy video of a bipedal killing machine smashing through a lobby, blaring one of Jericho’s trademarked rants in haphazardly translated Romanian over the sound of handgun fire. Why it came out in a stereotypical vampire accent was anyone’s guess.

“Oh, right. I guess the OctoBot will have to do. I’ll have to get used to talking with mandibles but that’s fine.”

He hopped up into the NUD’s transference chair and began strapping the electrodes to his forehead himself. With a strangled gasp, he inserted the end of the neural plug, the main connection between his mind and the machine, into the back of his neck. He’d already had the port installed years ago to mentally control a swarm of drone hornets, and the conversion of inputs was easy enough.

Monica knew better than to try to help the oaf, so she took her position at the console. One screen displayed the incoming neural data, another the flatline of data from the OctoBot.

“Is the child’s interface really necessary?” she asked. The buttons had all been blown up and colour coded, with big blocky text telling her the order in which they should be pressed.

“I prepared a soothing audio tutorial to accompany it, if you find it’s too confusing.”

She stared daggers at him. Jericho, for his part, looked like he was being serious. She shook her head, mumbling under her breath: “I should have taken the internship with Doctor Malpractice.”

The moment of truth had arrived. She double checked the connections, taking a careful glance at her boss’ electrode job to make sure he wouldn’t fry his temporal lobe because he was fussy about putting tape near his thinning hairline. With everything that could possibly be her fault accounted for (she didn’t want to kill her boss, no matter how much he tempted her) she keyed up the starting sequence.

“Commencing personality transference.”

“Hmm,” Jericho put his hand to his chin, “I don’t know if I like that. Could you try it again? But this time say ‘Beginning Personality Upload and Ushering In A New Stage In Human-‘” His brain snapped into transference mode and disabled his motor function, making him sag into the chair. His hand slapped the side of the apparatus on its way down. Served him right for speechifying during brain experimentation, she thought to herself.

The procedure began without a hitch. The two screens on either side of the console that displayed neural activity lit up, with a steady stream of brainwave patterns appearing in the OctoBot on the right screen while his human brain lost them on the left. Phase variance was in normal tolerances, neuron polarity within expected bounds. Everything was going according to the simulations.

And then the robot exploded.

Sparks erupted from its interior and the maintenance panel at the back belched blue flames. Smoke and the smell of ozone filled the lab. Panic set into Monica. She lifted the glass protective case around the HALT button and slapped the mechanical failsafe.


Monica’s eyes bugged out of her head. In five minutes, the emergency buffer would collapse and the console would start dumping Jericho’s brain again. The OctoBot was on fire. Where the fuck was she going to find a suitable replacement receptacle in the next five minutes?

“Oh,” she said.



How long it lasted was impossible to tell. Oblivion has no rules. It could have been ten seconds. It could have been ten thousand years.

But all things must end. A pointpoint of light. It expanded into a full picture, though nothing like the entity’s conception of how vision was supposed to work. Numbers spilled down the sides of its vision, while the objects in immediate sight were blurry, indistinct.

“Can you hear me, Doctor?” a voice asked it. The entity blinked.

“I hear…things. Doctor?” it asked the voice.

“Fuck. I was sure most of your memories and istanbul escorts higher brain function would be recovered. Hang on, trying something.”

A sharp pain split open the entity’s skull-equivalent, and it remembered again. It was…he, he thought. Jericho. Gabriel Jericho. Memories blazed by in impossible clarity, like they’d just occurred moments before. It was an unsettling experience, but at least he had them again. Being no one was not a positive experience.

“What happened?” he asked in a voice that was not quite his own. It was higher, it cracked, and it had a distinctive tinny sound that you’d hear from a cheap voice synthesizer. Jericho remembered the events that led to his stint in limbo. “The test…what happened?”

Monica stepped into view. She parsed her words carefully, visibly forming several false starts with her lips before settling on one. “There was a problem with the OctoBot. It could not handle the bandwidth that the experiment was set up to provide. It overheated its battery and destroyed itself during transference.”

“But if that’s true…where am I?” He tried to raise his hands, and a pair of slender grey ones appeared. His nails were painted red, and when he flipped them over, he saw not a single callus on their entire surface.

Rather than answer directly, Monica turned off her phone and held out the black screen to him.

Plump lips. Golden, glowing eyes. Adorable nose. Rosy cheeks.

“Monica,” he said, rage boiling beneath a flimsy pretense of calm curiosity, “Why am I a sexbot?”

“It was the only other alternative! Thankfully, her personality matrix was fairly complex, I was able to complete the transference with minimal loss! Your experiment worked, Doctor! You just…ended up in a different body.”

He tried to sit up. Whatever servos controlled the sexbot’s spine had become stiff and refused to respond right away, causing audible squealing. “This is unacceptable, Monica!”

Her relief turned to annoyance. “Well I’m sorry. It was either the sexbot or I let your brain fry in your deathtrap. We can transfer your mind back again, don’t worry.”

He examined the body he’d been stuck in. Or at least, he tried to. A pair of too-perky breasts blocked a part of his vision, topped by nipples that glowed an iridescent pink. The sexbot was ‘thicc’, as his grandparents used to say. Large thighs and ample curves provided much to grab onto. The only clothes he wore were some sunbleached rags that had probably once been a uniform of some kind. Shuttle attendant, schoolgirl, saucy nun, something like that. They were revealing in the best of times, but their wear and tear exposed the glowing pink of the sexbot’s pussy.

“I see no reason to stay in this ridiculous form for one minute longer than necessary. Can you see what’s keeping my joints locked up? Perhaps I can help.”

Monica’s console displayed an emulation of the sexbot’s maintenance program. The original was Russian, but a translator program cleaned most of it up. “It says here…looks like it’s in something called…Oh, danger mode okay. In cases of medical emergency, this model is trained to freeze up all motor functions to avoid exacerbating a heart attack or whatever. Just have to convince it that nobody’s dying…and…viola!”

“It’s voil- Ah!” the golden light in his eyes flickered, then faded. Monica was about to panic when the sexbot’s eyes lit up again. This time in an aggressive fuchsia: the same colour as her genitals.

“Hiya cutie!” she said, biting her lip as she languidly stretched on the chair. “My name is Brenda. What should I call you?”

Monica looked from left to right, only to realize that the machine that housed her boss’ brain was in fact talking to her. “Umm…Monica?”

Brenda slid her long legs to the floor. “Well then, Ummonica, how would you like to play? I have so many fun…fun…” The lights in her eyes flicked back to amber.

“Fermi’s Ghost, what the fuck was that?!” It was Jericho again. He clutched his head like he was searching for some physical source of the takeover.

Monica scanned the data coming in from the neural link. “It’s not coming from me…it looks like my resetting the system turned on the original personality program too. There’s two minds in there, though one is admittedly more shallow than the other.” She left unsaid which mind she thought was the most shallow.

“Well, shut it down!”

“I can’t! Not without turning your brain off.”

“Alright, I’m calling it. Experiment over. Put me back in my body.”

Monica nodded. She couldn’t imagine how disorientating, not to mention humiliating, the experience of sharing a brain with a poorly written sexpet would be. She keyed up the reversal program, only for the screen to flash twelve different shades of red.

“Uh oh.”

Jericho turned. “I don’t like the sound of ‘uh oh’s from my personality transference assistant.”

She turned her monitor around on its swivel stand, showing off bayrampasa escort the readings for him to interpret himself. “During the upload process, your brain got mingled in with the sexbot’s personality matrix. The data’s almost indistinguishable. I…I don’t know if I can pull you out. Not without more equipment.”

“But…” Jericho pressed his new face to the screen, looking for faults in her analysis. The numbers no longer made sense! He squinted, trying to invoke his years of experience in the mad sciences, but they lay scattered in among his memories. He knew the events that happened, but he could not put the skills he’d learned into use. “My brain…I can’t make heads or tails of this data!”

Monica tapped her chin. “Another possible symptom. Skill use requires memory recall. With your brain fragmented, you might have difficulties doing things that the bot itself could not do.”

A look of defeat dawned on the bot’s face. “So you’re saying…that my fate is entirely reliant on you? You, who were responsible for my safety in the first place and landed me in this situation, are my saviour. And to top it off, our funding’s been cut off! How are we going to gather the kinds of resources necessary to make advances in cybernetics?”

At that moment, Monica felt for the first time in her life a sensation that people like Jericho had been lording over the rest of the human race for years. His existence, his very life, was in her hands.

She understood why it was so alluring; playing god felt good.

“First, I think you’ll find that it is you who needs the money, not me. Honestly, I have enough data here to write my dissertation. I could claim your research as my own, not like you have friends at the Academy who would fight me on that, and leave you stuck in that body forever.”

“You…you wouldn’t!” he said, wavering tone betraying his actual uncertainty. Such subtle detail. Whoever had designed the bot’s vocal processors really did a bang-up job.

“The hell I won’t. You’ve been a complete dickhead to me since Day One. I don’t really see why I should go out of my way to help you.”

“Please!” Jericho said, falling to his knees. “Science is all I am. I can’t be stuck in this body forever…please help me Monica. I’ll do anything!” However hot the robot was, she did have the power to look pathetic.

Monica let out a breath. “Ugh. Alright. I’d rather not have seven months of work go down the pipe. Data is one thing, proof of completion is another.”

Jericho hobbled over on the bot’s surprisingly sturdy knees and kissed her hand like a peasant paying fealty. “Thank you, thank you! I…unf~”

“Did you just…moan?” Monica asked. Looking down at the penitent bot, she watched the eyes rapidly flick between the amber and the pink settings.

When Jericho spoke, it was with Brenda’s lifting happy bimbo voice. “Something’s wrong with me. I can feel all these urges. Like…I want to do so many things…” The robot reached for the fly of Monica’s jeans. She stepped back and nearly tripped over the NUD’s thick power cable.

“What are you doing?!”

Jericho/Brenda crawled forward. “I’m trying to stop myself…I think about gratitude and it makes me want to please you. Please, help me stop. Figure out what’s going on before I…”

Monica didn’t retreat from the approaching sexbot. Instead, she thought of all those months of bullying. Endless days and nights of condescension and every mistake blown out of proportion. She pushed the monitor of the sexbot’s input around to face her, then scrolled through the info til she found what she wanted: personality programs currently in operation.

“Oh dear. Obedience, genital worship, shamelessness. It looks like Brenda’s slutty persona is bleeding into yours. She’s programmed to obey and please, so when you are in submissive situations, she must be taking control. This must be the first time in years that you’ve been placed in a disadvantageous position.”

Brenda/Jericho shook. The fight in it was clear, but one side was definitely winning. “I…want to please…but you’re just…my assistant,” it said.

Monica scowled, pulled up one of the programs running in the bot’s head, and cranked it up to 200%. It only got a brief second to see the name of the program before it kicked in.


The flickering in its eyes stopped. The colour was a pastel pink, halfway between the gold and fuchsia of either identity. The moment it happened, its hands flung to Monica’s pants. She didn’t fight it this time, and soon her hardening cock was exposed to the air.

“What do I call you?” Monica asked, “Are you Jericho or Brenda?”

It shook its head. “I’m both for now. Call me Jeri, and please, let me suck you off~”

Monica was already stiff, but seeing her domineering boss at her knees poked at a dominant button in her brain she’d never really explored on her own. She ran her fingers through Jeri’s synthetic hair while the android licked its lips in anticipation.

“You look so yummy~”

“Which part of you is saying that?” Monica asked. Jeri just smiled in response and laid a long, languid lick up the underside of her cock. Monica lost her train of thought. She gripped its head and held on for dear life.

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