Access Error (Chapters 1-3)

Disclaimer: The following story involves transformation fantasy featuring magic, gender, flattening, animal, or inanimate (often clothing or doll/mannequin). The story is implicitly erotic in nature and may feature sexual situations and/or BDSM. All characters involved are older than 18 years of age. If you are offended by this type of thing, please stop reading. 

Chapter 1: Updates

I nearly died in a bad crash when I was 19 years old. Only when I woke up in the hospital did I learn just how extensive the damage had been. One arm had been severed in the wreck and the other was smashed so badly by the crumpling of the car that it couldn't be saved, leaving me without arms, hands, or fingers with which to interact with the world around me. But the worst part came from a piece of glass that sliced into both my frontal and temporal lobes, risking permanent damage to my memories and motor control, among other things.  

Luckily, in 2038, cybernetics had advanced to the point that it was possible to replace almost any body part, provided you had the right insurance or enough cash, and since my dad worked for the government, insurance was able to fix me up back to almost normal. 

When all was said and done, by the time my 20th birthday rolled around, I had two mostly realistic-looking arms -- even if the synthetic skin shined a little too much and gave it away up close -- and some technology implanted into my brain to correct the missing parts of my damaged lobes. That also allowed my brain to control the new arms. 

My favorite part was that I had limited wireless connectivity through my brain. As long as I had access to a network, I could download and install new patches to update my arms and brain when needed. That was supposed to be the extent of it, but I knew some folks at college who "knew a guy who knew a guy" who knew how to hack Wi-Fi, and soon I discovered I was able to not only quickly gather information into my short-term memory but also temporarily store new skills on the few examples I could access a hub for the rent-an-android services. 

It was already common knowledge that when a unit was rented, all of the skills and programming it would need were downloaded into its memory to control the bot and make it act according to the requests of the person renting the unit. And I have to admit that if I wanted to goof around a bit, it didn't take a lot of time for me to learn how to stand within Wi-Fi distance of a rental place and sift through the skill sets being installed at the time. From time to time, I found myself possessing all kinds of interesting information, whether kinky sexual techniques from sex-bots or cooking tips from maid-bots. 

So, after a few years of college and then starting work as a home-based data tech, I soon had my own place in New York. Some of my best clients were bot-rental companies, and I quickly had access to all the learning patches I might ever want. 

The main thing I was to remember was to be careful not to work on both updates to my brain tech and downloads for my fun at the same time. As long as I kept the two partitioned and didn't allow intermingling between my own memories and personality and the patches I would use for temporary fun or a project. 

That was the biggest reason the medical companies didn't allow open networking for brain implants. Two people at the beginning of the technology had lost all their memories when they tried to separate their own recollections from stuff they had downloaded and accidentally stored in long-term memory. 

But, as a techie, and particularly a data-diver, I knew what to watch out for and how to keep the walls up to avoid that kind of shit happening to me. 

On the night after my 27th birthday, I got the message that the new update for my arms and brain was ready to install and that I could expect better fine motor movement with my fingers with the new installation, the "pick up a ladybug with your robot hands without crushing it" kind of control. It would also allow for better sensitivity, and that would be nice next time I decided to accept a date. Truth be told, I did miss the more subtle sensations of touch that my fake skin wouldn't replicate. 

I was exhausted from a long day of work and a good, extensive workout at the gym afterward, and volunteering to help my new neighbor move in a few of his lighter boxes. Rather than stay up to monitor the upgrade, I set it for auto and lay down on the couch. Before I knew it, I had fallen fast asleep. 

Chapter 2. A Fine Day of Cleaning.

I awoke and was disappointed not to find my work uniform waiting for me in the closet. So, instead, I found the next best thing, a short, black dress with elbow-length sleeves and one of my white aprons from the kitchen. 

After a quick and efficient shower, I dried off and got dressed, not forgetting to slip on the black hose and my black flats. Sure, the heels would have looked better, but with the day's work ahead of me the flats made a lot more sense. I couldn't find my white cap, so instead, I simply pulled back my hair in a severe, slick, tight bun and figured that would have to do. 

Throughout the morning, I vacuumed every inch of my apartment, even moving the furniture to get the spots where the couches and tables made indentations on the carpet. Only when it was perfect did I move on to the dusting. That took considerably longer since I had to clear all the surfaces one at a time and dust them first before polishing them so I could return the trinkets and knick-knacks.

I was still working on the shelves in the living room when the doorbell rang. I got it as quickly as I could and found that my neighbor stood smiling. He wore a dark gray suit and his dark beard was neatly trimmed. His long black hair hung in waves that she figured must be natural. In his late thirties, he was still what she would consider totally doable.

"Hey, sorry to bother you again," he said before I could speak. "But I'm going to be out of the house today for work, and if I left word for the shipping guy to pick something up here instead, would that be okay?"

I nodded. "That would be fine, Mr. Kessig." 

He grinned. "Good, I'll get it and bring it over." He turned for a moment, then stopped and said, "And please, call me Tim, Mr. Kessig is way too formal for a neighbor who helped me move in yesterday."

Then he disappeared into his doorway across the hall and re-emerged pushing a hand-truck that held a tall crate that was latched closed at four places on the side and twice on the top and bottom. With ten latches, it must be secure. 

He wheeled it into my foyer and placed the crate across the wall in the corner heading into the living room. 

"I really appreciate this. You're the best." 

I nodded again. "You're very welcome, sir." 

He laughed out loud. "So formal. Mr. Kessig. Sir. Cute. You're really something else, Nellie." He went to the door and pulled it closed, then opened it again quickly and said, "Thanks again. I'll make it up to you. I promise." Then the door closed again and he was gone. 

The distraction over, I returned to cleaning. It took another two hours to finish the dusting and after that came cleaning the kitchen. 

At one point in the early afternoon, the phone rang, and it was work asking me if I could take on two additional projects, one for Banning-Krofton and one for Benton Technologies, and I told them I'd be happy to, and it was a pleasure to serve, and they told me thanks and they'd make it worth my while.

When they hung up, I finished the kitchen and started the laundry. Most was done already, but I did have one load of delicates that I had saved for last, so I started it and went to inspect the crate in the foyer. Not to satisfy my curiosity, mind you, but to make sure it wasn't creating a mess in the apartment. 

I straighten it as best I can, but even with cybernetic arms, I wasn't any stronger than a regularly limbed woman, so I gave up and inspected the outside of the crate instead. The return address indicated it was going back to Benton Technologies to the Rental Return Office, and that's when my curiosity was piqued. 

So I unfastened the side and bottom catches, then used a folding stool from the kitchen to reach the top and unclick those as well. 

As I swung open the "door" of the crate -- technically the top, but since it was on its side, it opened like a door instead -- I was surprised to find a woman inside. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious it wasn't a real woman but a fembot. She was a redhead about my height, and she wore a cute maid outfit like the one I had searched for during the morning and given up on finding. 

I quickly closed the lid again when I heard the washing machine buzz that the load of delicates was done. I moved them to the dryer, set the machine to the most gentle setting and low heat, then returned to the foyer. 

I couldn't resist opening the crate again. It wasn't mere curiosity, but instead, I felt a sort of compulsion, even confusion that this bot would have my uniform and would be heading back to the warehouse in a crate I clearly remembered arriving in myself. 

In the end, I removed her from the crate and carried her to my bedroom. I tried to rationalize the two opposing ideas that I had just arrived a few days ago in a crate and that somehow the room was indeed my bedroom. I stripped her of my uniform and put her naked form in my closet behind the long, formal dresses I rarely had occasion to wear.

Then I stripped out of my own makeshift uniform and changed into the official one. I felt so much better when I was back in clothes I had been without. It no longer mattered why the doll had been wearing them. They were mine again, and I was wearing them like I should have been all along. 

I checked my reflection in the mirror. Perfect from the seamed stockings and ruffled skirt to the white cap and faux collar with a tiny black tie that disappeared into my cleavage. It was like I was somehow me again. 

While I waited for the delicates to dry, I did spot-checks on the rest of the apartment to make sure everything was clean and presentable for them the master returned home. When I thought of the master, I couldn't get the image of Mr. Kessig out of my mind. Even his name had triggered a twinge of memory during our encounter at the door. I didn't have to wait long for the clothes to dry, and I folded them and put them away as quickly as possible. 

Then I knew the time was nearing for my return to Benton Technologies. 

So, I walked to the foyer and took the fembot's place inside it. I fastened my ankles and thighs in the straps first, then my waist, then my neck, and finally the strap around my right wrist. Try as I might, I just couldn't get the other wrist fastened. 

I waited in silence for about a half hour, and when the doorbell rang next door, I wondered if I would be picked up after all. But I heard the man outside curse and then ring my own doorbell, so I called out "It's open," grateful that I had forgotten to lock the door after Mr. Kessig's departure. 

A young guy in khaki shorts and a navy blue golf shirt came in with an industrial hand truck with straps and buckles. He entered the foyer and walked further in and peeked into the living room as if looking for someone, then called out, "Hello?"

"Hello," I said from my box. 

"Oh," he answered with a start. "They just left you here to pack yourself up, huh?"

I nodded and told him, "Yes, sir." 

"Here," he said as he reached into the crate. "Let me help you with that." 

I remained quiet and still as he secured the strap around my left wrist.

"That okay? Not too tight?"

I nodded. "Thank you," I said. 

He closed the lid and I heard all ten latches click shut one at a time. Once the top was shut, I realized just how snug I was in the crate. The foam back of the wooden lid was barely a quarter inch from my face, and even with my neck strap tight, I could lean forward enough to touch the rough wood with my nose. The foam cut-out I  stood in -- at least until the crate was eventually righted onto the bottom, which would make me lie down in the foam shape instead -- fit me like it was made for me. As I was about an inch and a half taller than the fembot maid and had a more reasonable female shape that wasn't as ideally proportioned as the female androids, I was more than a little bit shoved into the foam and held securely as it rigidly cocooned me. 

There was a lot of movement and being jostled about as the delivery man loaded me onto his hand truck, but after a few moments, I was still again. Then came the coarse sounds of the straps being pulled across the wood and ratcheted several times until they were tight. After that, I was tilted back and wheeled out of my apartment. I sighed and relaxed at the job well done I had accomplished during the day. I wondered what might come next for me when I arrived at the warehouse. The gentle rolling of the oversized wheels on the hand truck rocked my tired body to sleep as I lay nestled in my crate. My last thoughts were of the elevator doors dinging closed after the little bump when we entered. I was asleep before we ever arrived on the bottom floor. 

I awoke later in the pitch black dark, still strapped into my crate. It took me a few minutes to realize where I was and what the hell was going on.

My mind was clear and I was reliving the crazy day I had just experienced. 

I hadn't done a single thing for work, but I had pranced around the apartment cleaning like I was my own maid. 

And then...

Oh, fucking shit!

And then I had boxed myself up to be delivered to the warehouse as if I was just another fembot set to be wiped and re-programmed for the next rental gig. 

No. No. No. No. 

Why the hell had I done that? Why the fuck had it felt like the right thing to do? And why had I not even once stopped and reconsidered what I was doing and what would happen to me?

I tried to scream but realized immediately that the foam lining that cradled me also muffled almost any noise I might be able to make. It was like yelling into a thick pillow that crawled into your mouth each time you tried to open it. If I kept it up, I would find myself growing unable to breathe. Best to save my breath until I heard people again around me. 

I raced through my thoughts, putting my analytical, data-driven brain on the problem of what had happened. 

I didn't have to think too long before I realized that I must have somehow disconnected from my home network and connected to Tim's signal during the night. Then, sleeping with the network access still open, I must have downloaded the same instructions and skills and imperatives that were meant for the maid-bot he had rented. But how? Unless he was using my Wi-Fi without letting me know. I didn't remember giving out my password, but he could have hacked it, I supposed, if he had any talent with such things. 

Or... 

If the power had flicked off during the night -- which was terribly uncommon, even for a nice place like mine -- and his service re-booted first, my brain implant might try to connect to it first. But surely he wouldn't have his connection password-free?! But if he had, then it would make sense that would be the first service I would find and log on to. And then the only downloads available would be the ones he had purchased for his rental bot. 

Only the system wouldn't just send the code and programming to the fully robotic doll but to my sleeping cybernetic brain too. And until the time limit set me free of the instructions, I too would act as if I were the cute maid he had reserved for the weekend. 

Thank God all he had chosen was a maid-bot. If he had been a different kind of man, I could very easily have been over at his place as a sexbot. 

So, I knew what had happened, or at least what probably happened, and I knew how to prevent it in the future. Now I just needed a plan to get out of the box and back to my apartment with as few people as possible becoming aware of my situation. 

I would wait until someone opened either the truck or the warehouse or whatever the hell my crate was in and when I heard voices getting close enough I would scream for them to set me free and explain the entire situation. 

All I could do was wait and maybe catch a few more hours of sleep if I could get my mind to stop racing. I was, after all, safe and sound. I wasn't in any immediate harm or danger. I could breathe. I wouldn't need to eat or drink for several hours, and I'd surely be found by then. 

So I closed my eyes and tried to rest. 

After what felt like forever I heard a metal door being rolled back onto a track, like either a shipping truck door or a warehouse delivery door. I didn't care much either way. Both meant people and both meant I was that much closer to being free. 

I was about to call out to the first voices I heard when I realized suddenly that I couldn't open my mouth. I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything. My brain told me I was blank, inert, empty. I knew I wasn't. I knew who I was, but I didn't care at that moment. I was perfectly happy to wait until someone gave me new instructions. 

I knew somewhere inside my brain that I shouldn't feel that way, but there was nothing I could do about it. 

"I love it. We don't even have to think about it," said one voice. 

"Yep," said another. "The minute we turn on the lights, the programming kicks in and cleans the bots. It was always such a hassle having to prep them individually."

"Totally," said the first. "This new system is a lifesaver."

No, I thought. This new system is a life stealer, and it's my life it's going to steal. 

Chapter 3: Stacy

If I had any hope that the folks uncrating me would notice I wasn't a real bot, they were dashed when they noticed my arms. Assuming the rest of my body was the same synthetic flesh, the two men simply lifted me from the crate and stood me in a line with thirty or so other fembots. 

Other fembots! I laughed inside at the thought. Like I had simply become one of their kind, one of their sisters. 

"Take off your clothes, girls," said the older of the two men. He, like the younger man, wore a cream-colored t-shirt with the Benton Tech logo on the front and the slogan "For a better tomorrow" in script on the back.

With that command, I and the others started to remove our outfits until we stood completely nude. The two guys made several lewd comments about me and my companions. When we were all fully nude, I also learned that keeping my pussy shaved as bald as a newborn's only made me look more like all of the other dolls. If I had thought my genuine human crotch would cause the men prepping me to figure out I wasn't just a bot, I was sorely mistaken. All the fembots looked like real women when they were naked. 

And again I realized I was just another one among their number. 

"Okay ladies, into the showers."

We formed three rows of dolls and walked in a sort of march out of the delivery area through an open bay door. In the center of the room was a trio of drains, and the floor was slightly angled toward them. Once we were all inside, water sprayed down from above. It was warm enough that I didn't shiver but not so warm as to be comfortable. Next came a thin, soapy rinse, and then another, longer water wash. 

In the end, we were dried under lamps for several hours in complete silence, waiting alone, just us robo-dolls. 

I was beginning to wonder if I might ever get the opportunity to go free, but wasn't very upset about it. It was nice here with my sisters. And before long I would have a new job to do. I would have a new name and personality to be. 

Once we were dry, a woman with a clipboard and a scanner entered the room and started to scan each fembot. As she did, she made a few notes on her clipboard and something would beep. After the beep, the bot would walk out of the room either to the right, left, or front and disappear into another room through a door that would close shut behind her. She wore an apron with the Benton logo and pockets on the bodice that was filled with pens and styluses. 

I could hardly wait my turn. I knew instinctively that through one of those doors was my new job. 

Eventually, when the woman reached me, she scanned my bare ass but didn't get a reading. Of course, of all the bots assembled, I was the only one without my identifying model number. How could they know where to send me if I had no barcode? 

The woman walked around me several times and inspected every inch of me closely. I feared she might discover I wasn't a real bot and make me leave my sisters and return to the human world. She lifted my arms and check every spot she could. At last, though, she made a note on her electronic clipboard and nodded for me to go through the door on the right. 

I did, When the door closed behind me, instead of joining the other bots who were getting dressed as Playboy Bunnies, I kept walking until I reached a small office at the opposite end. 

I opened the door and entered. 

A mousy voice piped up and two bespectacled eyes peered over a binder and said, "No ID code, huh? Don't you worry, my darling. I can fix you right up and get you back in business in no time." 

Part of me knew I shouldn't be happy about that declaration but I couldn't help it. It was my duty to have an ID code, and it was my duty to have the barcode scanned so I could fulfill the obligations I had to my owner's customers. 

The tiny man stood up and eyes me like he approved of my figure. Unlike the others, this one wore a dress shirt, tie, and black slacks with tennis shoes. His tie was opened and exposed a tuft of gray and black hair that puffed out of the top of his shirt. Only the badge clipped to his shirt pocket identified him as an employee of Benton. 

"You just hold still, darling, and Ol' Randy will get a nice new code imprinted on that cute ass of yours."

Then he placed a sort of vintage sci-fi pricing gun on my skin and pulled the trigger. He held it still for almost a minute and I could feel a heated tingle on my ass cheek. Not long after, he pulled it away. 

"There you go, Number STACY56A0002. You're a variation on our Stacy model with more realistic curves." 

STACY56A0002. I had an identity again. I was something. I was important to someone. I was owned. Best of all, I could be useful again. 

The little man returned to his desk and retrieved a scanner similar to the one the woman in the drying room had used on me. This time it read my ID easily and when he made notes on his digital clipboard, my brain knew exactly where to go.

"Off you go, my darling," he said, as I walked out of his life and into my new one. 

I walked, still stark naked and not caring a lick about it through another door, and eventually ended up in a room that was filled with other nude dolls. Some were missing arms or hands or even heads. Others we simply bald. Some were being painted with fresh coats on their lips or nipples or shading on their vulva. Some were getting their nails done or their make-up touched up or completely reapplied. 

This was the art room, I supposed. 

A woman in her mid-thirties approached me, then scanned my ass cheek and nodded. "Okay, okay," she mumbled. 

She immediately applied a chemical foam to my hair and it all started to fall out. I tried to get upset about that too, but I found it really didn't bother me. The company knew what they were doing. 

She then streaked a few rows of glue on my freshly bald scalp and quickly fitted me with a black, Betty Page-style wig and held it in place until the glue set. After that, she did my make-up in a very blue and purple sultry shade, followed by dark red lips that made a perfect Hollywood pout beneath the bridge of my nose. She filled my ears with large gold hoops, then got a piercing gun and added four more holes in my left ear, one on my right, and one on the side of my nose. She fastened diamond studs up my ear lobes and attached a tiny gold ring to my nose. 

Next, she pierced each nipple, and instead of screaming out from the pain, I kept quiet and remained perfectly still. She fastened a tiny gold hoop in each. 

Then she smiled and nodded, apparently happy with her work. 

"Only one thing left, my dear," she said, I watched as she retrieved a nozzle in a sort of gun shape that was attached to a long, thin hose. She squeezed the "trigger" and began to spray me. I couldn't tell was it was at first, but eventually I was coated enough to realize that it was a sort of spray tan -- only in reserve. Instead of becoming darker, sun-worshipping gold, I was becoming more pale, more of a pasty Goth who avoided the sun as much as possible. 

"Now, you wait over by the door for this to dry, and when you're ready, I'll send you over to wardrobe. Okay?"

I nodded and did as she instructed. I waited for what felt like a full hour before the woman called out for me to go ahead. I knew instinctively, or perhaps only because the information had been wirelessly dumped into my brain, where to go, and I walked with resolute steps out of the make-up room and into a long hallway. At the end of the hallway was a trio of doors, one on the back wall and near it on each side wall. I opened the one on the left and went inside. 

A young man in jeans and a Benton logo t-shirt sat at a folding table. He scanned my ass for the barcode ID and then handed me a bag folded at the top. I took the back and stepped to a row of folding chairs and sat down. 

Even though I was still naked, the man didn't notice me or try to sneak a glance. Of course not. He was inundated with naked bots all day long. What was I to him other than just another doll heading out to a paying customer? Why would he be interested? 

When I opened the bag, I found my outfit inside. Black fishnet stocking. A pair of black latex hotpants. A rubber corset with cups. A pair of short, fingerless fishnet gloves. A black leather choker with a D-ring and a diamond-shaped metal tag that read "BITCH AND PROUD OF IT." Folded over at the bottom of the bag was a pair of shiny leather boots that looked like they'd reach just over my knees. They laced up to the top and had four-inch spiked heels. I could only hope the programming would give me the skills to walk in them without breaking my legs in the process. 

It was definitely a look the non-doll version of me would have never been caught dead wearing, but as I examined the outfit, I felt strangely aroused by the idea of putting it on. Not only that, but I was also excited about being seen in it and being lusted after. 

Another trait the old me prior to programming would never have felt, much less accepted or admitted. 

Once I had removed the items from the bag, I laid them on the chair beside me. As I did, I saw another doll enter the room. The man scanned her and gave her a bag as well, and the doll took the seat on the opposite side of my outfit. After that, two more entered, got their outfits, and joined us in the row of chairs. 

I was curious about their clothing and pending job, but I knew my assignment was to get dressed and get ready, not to worry about their assignments. 

So that's what I did. 

I started with the hot pants, and they were a pain in the ass to pull up until the man from the table came over and told me to stop. "Here," he said, and then he made me cup my hands and dumped a huge handful of Baby Powder in them. I knew to use that to coat my already pale legs, and afterward, the hot pants went up my thighs and hips much easier. 

The corset top was a lot simpler than I expected since it only had faux laces. In actuality, it zipped from bottom to top, but it was still rigid enough in the back to push my boobs up in an almost vulgar display of flesh. Or, at least the old me would have thought so. The new, doll me, didn't feel one way or the other about it. I zipped it in the front then twisted it around and fidgeted my breasts into the cups. 

When I turned to get my fishnet tights from the chair, I noticed that my neighbor was also Goth-ing it up with black latex. She was already in a pair of torn black stockings and a micro mini-shirt. She was bra-less in a thin tank top with a skull on it, and her nipples were fully on display despite the shirt. 

I assumed we must be slated to the same customer. Just past her, another doll was slipping into fishnet pantyhose and a black leather dress, and a pair of metal-studded pumps that would really fuck up a man if she kicked him in the balls. 

It wasn't until the next doll that the pattern was interrupted. That one, a cute redhead with a curly bob, was being fitted up in white lingerie, most likely a whore-bot for a horny loner. 

Beside her was a blonde in a short silver-sequined party dress and silver high heels with a tiny glitter clutch on the chair beside her. No doubt someone's trophy date for a formal party, most likely to impress a boss or board or directors. 

It dawned on me that I hadn't seen a single male bot yet, and guessed they must have been processed in another part of the facility. 

I returned my attention to getting dressed, and in moments I had slipped into the stockings and boots, and I was buckling the collar around my neck. I was now "BITCH AND PROUD OF IT," if there was any truth in advertising. 

Fully dressed, stood up and followed two of the other Goth dolls out of the room and into the hallway, back to the warehouse. Only this time we entered a packing area, not one for unpacking. There were already fifteen other dolls, both male and female, standing off to the side, quiet and still, and I and my sisters joined them. As we waited for the next hour in silence, twelve more joined up and soon a small army of thirty Goth dolls stood at attention alone in the large room. Our "Queen" was clearly the Wednesday Adams-styled Lolita in the midst of the regiment. 

And that's where we all waited overnight. I was starving after going all day and most of yesterday without a meal, but my programming told me not to worry about it. I could always snag something to eat after I arrived at my new gig. For some reason, although I knew I was hungry and needed to eat, I just couldn't feel upset about going without. I somehow knew that I would be fine. 

Of course, in the back of my mind, there was a growing thought that reminded me no matter how much I believed I was the same as my sisters, I still realized the truth that I was not. They looked biological. I was biological. Only part of me was computerized. And while that part didn't rely on food to oxygenate my blood and keep me alive, the rest of me did. 

But I just couldn't be bothered to be afraid for my life.