Discovered and Dehumanized (Chapters 1-12)

Chapter One

"Are you sure you still want to try this?" Jerome asked.

"Absolutely. I've been really looking forward to it. I mean," Wren paused, smiling wide, "I wouldn't do this with just anyone. Hell, probably no one but you, sweetie, but I trust you and I've thought about it a lot. You know I'm very much a sub, and the idea of you using the collar on me gets me terribly excited."

Jerome smiled. "Me too." He kissed her sweetly. "Ready then?"

She nodded vigorously and he opened a black metal box on the table between them. Inside was a silver collar with a red and green LED on the outside. He lifted the collar from the box and she leaned over toward him, pulling her hair aside to clear her neck and make it easier for him to attach the silver item.

It clicked closed and she let her hair drop.

"Oooh," she yelped as a needle pierced the back of her neck.

"Okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. I knew it was coming, but you still never expect it."

"I bet."

There was a burning in the spot where the needle pricked her, and she felt a slight vibration rumble through the collar. She knew then that the nanobots had been injected and were working into her nerves and brain, and soon they would have complete control of her body. She would speak, move, or act only when the nanobots told her to.

Jerome watched the collar as the red light blinked, signaling that the nanobots were making all their required connections. He waited until it remained red without blinking, and only when it stayed a solid red brightness did he grab the small tablet from the bottom of the metal box. He clicked it on and checked the settings.

As he did, Wren watched over his shoulder.

"Oooh," she said.

"Last chance to back out," he told her, his index finger hovering about the ACTIVATE PROGRAM button.

"In for a penny," she said.

"In for a pound," he completed, pressing the button.

Instantly her body straightened and went rigid. Her mind, though, her mind felt the inability to move and it triggered the same endorphins that fired off whenever Jerome and she played games in the bed, particularly those that included her being bound and at his mercy. A submissive, through and through. That she knew. And this new toy from Japan would allow her to experience it without ropes and cuffs and other such tools. Her own body would hold her captive, keep her bound, and powerless at her lover's mercy.

Her mind flashed with lust, but her body felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Jerome pressed another button, and suddenly her body felt a rising excitement that gathered like lightning in her loins. Her breathing increased in both strength and speed, and she couldn't figure out how she was growing so close to climax without any touch to stimulate her.

It had to be the nanobots. In controlling everything, they even controlled that, she thought. Even her orgasms were at the mercy of the collar and the programming on that horrible, beautiful control tablet.

"Well," Jerome said to her as he set a new program to activate her for the remainder of the day. She had asked him to surprise her, and she couldn't wait to see what kind of kinky stuff he had dreamed up in the weeks they had been planning this weekend of fun and excitement.

All behind the jealous eyes of his wife Vivian, of course. Rich and herself beautiful, she had become sort of 'old hat' to him, and Wren and he loved the risk and danger of sneaking around to have their affair. She had no intention, nor did he, of him leaving Vivian, but neither of them could resist the allure of each other and the chance of being discovered. Besides, of all the lovers she had taken, only Jerome understood her need to be controlled, her longing to submit, and only he had the guts to fully act on it in ways that both challenged and frightened her. And control without the risk of the other taking it too far, and far further than she could stop, well, that was the only kind of sex she really, truly yearned for.

So there she stood, a robot in her own body, unable to do anything other than think for herself, but move and feel only at the direction of the microscopic robots coursing through her nerves and brain.

After a few moments, he pressed the activate button again and this time she walked to his bedroom and undressed. When she was completely naked, she picked up the maid's dress from his bed and slipped it on. Next came the white, lace apron. Then the black thong panties, the garter belt, and the stockings. She took a few moments to make sure the seams were perfectly straight up her calves and the backs of her thighs. This she did without any will of her own -- just the programming that trapped her in the subservient role of a maid robot, albeit a thoroughly human one. After that, she stepped into a pair of black patent 6-inch heels with a strap that closed around her ankles. And finally, the crown for her uniform, she placed the maid cap on her blonde curls and pinned it in place.

"Absolutely lovely, my dear," Jerome said, grinning at her hungrily. But he made no move to take advantage of her. "What's the point of having a sexy maid if I can't enjoy watching her work?" he added.

And her body left the bedroom, clicking on the heels into the living room, where she began to straighten the blankets and cushions before settling into the more deep-cleaning work of dusting and vacuuming.

All the while he watched her, and all the while she waited, longing for him to make a move on her and take her. Her fantasy was to be his controlled lover, not just his hired staff.

Presently, she felt a tingle start inside her. The nanobots were triggering her horniness again, building slowly but steadily as she continued to clean. Her face betrayed no indication of her increasing lust and burgeoning wantonness, and her body showed no outward signs of sexual feelings at all, but inside she was soon inflamed and pressing onward toward release.

Though, sadly, the sensations stopped increasing. Instead, they kept up at a certain level that drove her wild without letting her come.

Now she saw the truth of his wicked programming and how he planned to tease her until he was ready to ravage her. He wanted her to be more flush with unfulfilled passion than she had ever been before, and being a maid robot was simply the bindings that held her fact while her mind betrayed her.

Bless and curse that bastard, she thought. That awesome bastard who was punishing her so.

As her frustration grew more and more intense, she finished her work in the living room and went into the dining room to dust. The whole time she knew he was watching from the recliner in the living room but he made no move to join her. She finished the dusting after about a half-hour and then sprayed floor cleaner and got a damp mop to take care of the hard-wood floor. After another two minutes or so, she emptied the China cabinet of the fine dishes and serving ware and wiped each clean, then polished the utensils until they sparkled.

Throughout the long afternoon, she diligently obeyed her programming in both her actions and her stimulation. Her body cleaned and mopped and dusted. Her sexual sensations burned and triggered impulses that centered in her increasingly moist maidenhead. But still, it never let her be fulfilled. Never let her climax. Only kept building and building and building until she wanted nothing more than to hump a doorknob or the back of a low chair just to get some kind of satisfaction.

But she didn't. She couldn't. Nor was she able to speak. Her programming hadn't allowed her to speak even a word all day unless "the Master" spoke to her directly. And even then, she had been limited to obedient responses like "Yes, sir" and "As you wish, Master."

Of course, each response brought a smile to his lips.

As the afternoon started to darken, she was replacing the linens on the bed in the master bedroom with fresh and clean sheets. Something inside her was suddenly aware of the time and she rushed to finish making the bed.

When finished, she clickety-clacked her heels on her tired feet into the kitchen and began to prepare a Paella for Master's dinner. While it cooked, she also cut a salad of mixed greens and some cucumber and carrots. She never thought about what to prepare. She just did it.

As he ate later, she stood with her back against the wall, waiting to see what needs might arise. Did Master need his water refilled? Was he finished with his salad so that she needed to remove his plate to the kitchen and out of his way? Did he need any additional servings? She met all his needs and more, reading his body language and never once having to ask if he needed anything.

After dinner, he excused himself and went to the master bath for a shower. She longed to go with him, to join him and soak with him beneath the warm water, to coat them both in slippery suds, and to enjoy each others' bodies. But instead, she merely nodded, curtsied, and started to clear the dishes from the table.

She carried them into the kitchen and set about at once to wash them, scrubbing and rinsing them first, then putting them away in the dishwasher. As she waited for the wash cycle to end, she returned to the dining room with a small vacuum and a damp cloth to wipe down the table and remove any debris that might have fallen to the floor during dinner.

Master found her just as she was completing the work and about to return to the kitchen to wait for the final drying cycle for the dishes. He snapped his fingers and motioned for her to follow him into the living room. And she did.

It's about to happen, she thought. He's finally going to have his way with me. I've been thinking about it all day, just burning up with the need to have him inside me.

She walked to him and he pushed her forward over the back of the sofa, making her body an upside-down 'L.' He flipped her skirt up over her back. Her mind raced. Her nethers practically pulsated with anticipation. He pulled the lace thong from her backside and down her legs to her ankles. Her wetness was immense and the odor of her wantonness filled her nostrils. Such a slut she had become after being so unfulfilled all day.

He unbuckled his slacks and dropped them and his boxers to the floor then stepped out and approached her from behind, naked save for his socks from the waist down.

He touched her back, moving her slightly to give himself a better angle to enter her.

It's now, she thought with wonder, finally, now.

And just like that, all the excitement in her body disappeared. The burning, electrical need that had consumed her all afternoon was gone, and in its place was a vast emptiness of feeling. In fact, she felt nothing at all. It was as if her entire sense of touch had been turned off.

She then felt the pressure of her Master entering her, but none of the sensations of pleasure she had been looking forward to, especially after the wonderful, torturous buildup he had made her endure.

All day long she had been just a maid, someone to shut up and clean his house and look sexy doing it, and now she was no longer a maid but some kind of sex toy, an unfeeling doll who looked like a girl but had no way of returning passion or even enjoying it. She was merely a hole--no, a trio of holes--for Master to use as he willed.

And that's exactly what he did. He used her. He used her repeatedly. He used her in every way he wished. She felt pressure and pushing and pulling, but her ability to feel any connection remained off.

When he was finished using her, the nanites sent her into the dark corner of the hallway closet, to be stored for the evening along with the other appliances for cleaning -- the power vacuum, light vacuum, and motorized push mop.

Thus went the entire weekend. Only on Sunday morning did he turn off the nanites and let her finally show him how much she loved her time with him, and how much she appreciated all the exquisite sexual torture he had made her endure. The days of being intensely horny. The evenings of being a living but unfeeling doll. The nights of being stored in the closet, just another tool owned by Master that wouldn't be needed until morning. He had kept her fluctuating between being used and not feeling it and being not used and feeling the loss of it more than she had thought she could bear and then being left to her desires of wanting to be used or to feel the pangs of lust all over again. She was a mess, and her show of appreciation to Master was sloppy and equally messy, to say the least.

And through it all, her mind reeled and she felt the desire grow even without the physical feeling because of how submissive it all made her feel to him. Or how bound she was without a single rope or chain. Or how powerless she was because of a simple collar around her lovely neck.

When he at last set her free, she made herself available just as she had been used the rest of the weekend, only this time she came with him and screamed like the slut she knew she had allowed him to mold her into.

When they finished and she was spent, he grinned at her and told her it had been amazing but it was time for her to get back to work. He then pressed the activate button again and she dressed again in her uniform and headed to the living to begin her cleaning.

He joined her after his shower, and she was surprised to see him enter the room with a suitcase and a garment bag, and his rolling laptop case. She wanted desperately to ask him where he was going and why she hadn't been set free yet, but instead of explaining the items, he simply carried them to his car. Shortly, she heard him drive off.

Her heart raced. Had he left her to be discovered by Vivian when she returned on Tuesday morning? Was he merely teasing her further, causing her to worry that he had left her locked in the program?

She had continued cleaning for about a half-hour when the office phone rang, and she went to answer it, but she missed it, and the answering machine picked up the call instead.

"Edwards residence," it said in his voice, "Leave a message please."

"Wren," said Master's voice, and her heart relaxed at the sound. "I'm on my way to the airport. Sorry I can't spend the rest of the day with you, but I needed to rush out on business. Had a flight to Phoenix for a meeting tomorrow morning. Regardless, I didn't see any reason to cut your adventure and enjoyment short. As originally programmed, your nanites will release you from the collar at 7 o'clock tonight. So enjoy your day and I hope you are able to get some release at seven -- " he laughed, "in more ways than one. When you're free, you are more than welcome to take care of all that frustration you'll be feeling throughout the day, my love. Oh, and don't forget to erase this message right before you leave tonight."

He hadn't forgotten her. But he had surprised her and extended his control over her, just like any other thing he owned. She was his possession, his property, whether he was there or not.

"Enjoy yourself, sweetie."

And the line clicked dead. Master was gone and she was alone again with her thoughts and her lustful sensations.

As she cleaned the kitchen she noticed that Master had left the control tablet charging on the counter. She wondered if she could take it, even just touch it, but quickly discovered her programming wouldn't let her. There was nothing in her assigned tasks that required her to handle the tablet, so there was no way to reach it.

Around 3 o'clock, the weather outside took a dark turn and within a few minutes, the wind and rain had become a loud and dangerous storm filled with thunder and lightning. The flashes struck several times per minute and her directives indicated that she should check the windows and doors to secure the house against the storm.

After a quarter of an hour had passed, there was a rumbling pounding of thunder and the skies lit up with several lines of jagged light that cut the sky. All the bulbs in the house flashed twice then everything went dark.

Still, she kept cleaning. She knew the house well enough. She was so wrapped up in the work that she didn't realize how long the sun had set. The house was still dark, but something inside her told her that it was time to ready her body for Master to use.

In her mind, she thought it was odd since he wasn't there, and her programming was supposed to have shut off at 7 o'clock. Despite her thoughts and wondering to the contrary, she walked to the living room, lay her upper body against the back of the couch, and waited, still and unfeeling, for the Master who wasn't there to come and take her helpless, doll-like form.

She waited, unused until her programming made her straighten up and make her way to the hallway closet and shut herself in for the night.

She tried to think about what might have gone wrong or if Master was toying with her, teasing her again, but she was so exhausted from the work that she drifted to sleep as she stood against the back of the closet. No matter how much the nanites programmed her like a robot, her body still had the limitations of a human.

In the morning she woke up in the closet and opened the door to begin her day of work as she had each morning after receiving the collar from Master. How was she still working as the maid? What had happened?

Light flooded the house as the day was already growing bright and the windows let in enough natural sunshine to put the lamps and overhead bulbs to shame.

Sometime during the night, the power had returned, and she set about resetting all the clocks before beginning her cleaning. She made breakfast and coffee for Master though he wasn't home to enjoy it. As she cleared away the dishes, she was thankful that her programming --  allowed her to eat the leftovers since her human body needed food.

As she cleaned she noticed the control tablet flashing. A glance, since that was all her directives allowed her, revealed that the program that controlled her was apparently locked up from when the lightning struck the house. Because of that, she assumed the programming glitched and she hadn't been released from the collar's control.

She worked throughout the day, growing hornier and hornier, and then at seven o'clock again, she made herself available for sex from her non-existent Master.

As she waited, she kept an internal track of the days. She had slept in the closet last night -- Sunday night -- and would most likely do so again tonight since the programming wouldn't let her access the tablet. That would be Monday night.

Which meant...

Shit, she thought. Tuesday morning. Vivian's return to the house. In the morning she would be working and getting horny when Master's wife returned to find her. There was no way she would mistake Wren for an actual robot. No, her flesh was far too real. And then she would check the messages Wren had been unable to erase since she had still been under the control of the nanobots. All would be discovered. She would be found out. The affair would be out in the open.

At nine o'clock, no matter how hard she fought the action, she stood up from the back of the sofa and marched herself to the closet to sleep.

When she awoke Tuesday morning, her programming sent her to shower and put on the extra uniform so she could wash the one she had worn during the rest of the time. Once clean and fresh and wearing an outfit identical to the first, she set about making breakfast, then eating what was left (all of it since there was no one home to eat it). Then she cleared and washed the breakfast dishes. Once all the work in the kitchen was accomplished, she resumed her regular pattern of cleaning the living room next.

It was a little after ten o'clock when the front door opened and Vivian returned home. Although her mind raged in fear and embarrassment from being found in such a state by the woman with whose husband she was cheating, her body only continued vacuuming the living room. She paid Master's wife no attention at all.

And why not? Only Master was in her programming. Master's wife was a stranger, as far as the algorithms and programming code instructed her. She only stopped ignoring the woman when she walked up to her and asked point-blank, "Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?"

Chapter Two

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?"

The woman stormed up to her and repeated the question, practically screaming. No matter how much Wren wanted to leave or hide or even just disappear from existence at that moment, her programming directed her to answer, "My name is Wren and I am a programmable maid-bot. I am the property of Jerome Edwards."

"Why are you doing this? I know who you are, Wren. I've seen you and my husband making goo-goo eyes at each other at the office. I suspected you two were up to something for a while, but I just didn't want to believe it. And now you're here in my house trying to pass yourself off as a robot maid?! You honestly expect me to believe that?"

She only repeated, "My name is Wren and I am a programmable maid-bot. I am the property of Jerome Edwards."

"God damn it!" Vivian yelled.

Wren returned to cleaning. If she could have she would have flushed red from humiliation.

"Get out!" Vivian screamed. "Just get out!"

Wren curtsied but continued rubbing leather conditioner into the sofa.

"Get out!"

Still, she cleaned.

When she leaned over, her hair fell so that for the first time the metal collar was visible on her neck. When Vivian saw it, her eyes grew wide.

"Oh, fuck," she stammered. "You... you can't leave, can you? He really fucking did it."

Yes, he fucking did it," Wren thought, but said nothing.

Vivian turned and stormed out of the room, and began deliberately marching from room to room, her gaze moving to and fro as if looking for something. Presently she returned with the control tablet. She pressed a button on its face.

Wren stood up, still and straight, unmoving.

"That's better. He actually fucking did it. He got that stupid collar and you, like the stupid bitch you are apparently, let him turn you into some kind of sex toy."

Wren said nothing.

Vivian noticed the blinking light on the message center and pressed the play button. Instantly, the incriminating voice of Master spoke the message she had been unable to erase:

"Wren, I'm on my way to the airport. Sorry I can't spend the rest of the day with you, but I needed to rush out on business. Had a flight to Phoenix for a meeting tomorrow morning. Regardless, I didn't see any reason to cut your adventure and enjoyment short. As originally programmed, your nanites will release you from the collar at 7 o'clock tonight. So enjoy your day and I hope you are able to get some release at seven -- in more ways than one. When you're free, you are more than welcome to take care of all that frustration you'll be feeling throughout the day, my love. Enjoy yourself, sweetie."

"That bastard," Vivian yelled and slammed her hand onto the table, making the message center jump about an inch off the table.

"Sweetie, is it?" Vivian regained her composure and started to study the tablet more fully. "Two can play at this game, Wren."

Vivian pressed a button and Wren's mind and body went black. Thirty minutes later she awoke, and she realized so much had changed.

Later in the morning, Vivian sent Serving Unit 1 into the back of the house to work until she was called for again, and not to worry about lunch today. Vivian would be out of the house and pick up something in town to eat.

When the loud sounds of boots tromping in the foyer and a crate being carried in and the squeaky wheel of some kind of cart or hand truck reached her almost an hour later. She wanted more than anything to take a look and find out what was going on, but her curiosity wasn't factoring into her programming. And her programming reminded her that she was powerless to leave the back of the house as instructed by her owner.

All three guest rooms had been cleaned thoroughly by the time Vivian returned. The workers and their noise had left hours ago. It took a few minutes before Service Unit 1 was called for, and when her owner's voice called, she responded without a single thought other than that of obedience.

"Welcome back, ma'am," she said with a curtsy and her owner nodded.

"I have a surprise for you," Vivian said and bade her follow to the foyer.

She smiled and motioned toward a large glass dome that sat beyond the door, cornered into the cubbie where the stairs met the foyer. "For you," she said. "I see no reason you can't be both practical and beautiful as long as you're a part of my house."

Serving Unit 1 looked at the dome quizzically.

Vivian laughed.

"This is your new home, dear, when you're off work for the night. I'm so proud of you and how beautiful you are that I think you deserve to be shown off and put on display. That plate in the middle there responds to your weight, and when you are in place and still, it will turn on the floor lights to show you off in the best light and slowly rotate you so that me and my guests can see you from all sides and enjoy you for the priceless work of art you are."

"Yes, ma'am," she said obediently.

"I knew you'd love it."

She didn't love it. In fact, she hated it. But there was nothing she could do besides act as though it was exactly what she wanted and had always dreamed of. She smiled and told her owner thank you, ma'am, and secretly raged at the cruel fate Jerome and her affair had left her in.

"But first, I've laid out an outfit for tonight. Don't worry about the rest of your duties. The house looks amazing. One evening won't hurt anything. Besides, consider being on display your chore for the rest of the day. You'll find your outfit on the bed in my room. I want you changed and on the stand in the next ten minutes."

"Yes, ma'am," Service Unit 1 said, her face betraying her as it smiled in spite of her anger and hurt.

"Yes, yes indeed," her owner added as she walked away. "I do believe having you on display will be a wonderful welcome back present to my loyal, loving husband."

And Serving Unit 1 knew for truth what she had only suspected. Humiliating both her and her former Master was her owner's plan. Confronting Jerome with proof of his adultery without ever having to mention it, knowing full well that he could either play along and accept the new maid or admit to his guilt. It mattered not that both he and his wife knew the truth. It was all about admitting it. Will against will. And if Serving Unit 1 remembered Jerome's personality and pride, he would let her be humiliated and punished as long as he could rather than give in to his wife.

He would play the good husband, telling Vivian he hoped she appreciated his gift and was glad that she was enjoying it. Leaving Serving Unit 1 to remain on display at night and clean the house each day, always with the man she loved but unable to act on that love.

Inside the bedroom, across the bed, just as her owner had told her, lay an outfit for her to wear when her owner's husband returned home later that evening. Her heart dropped when she saw it.

A pink leotard and tutu and matching toe shoes. But rather than looking like something from a young girl's dance class, this was as ornate and beautiful as something from a production at the Grand Met.

She was a lover. Then she was a toy. Then she was a maid and an appliance. Now she was also a doll to be dressed up and put on display.

Without waiting her body stripped out of the maid's uniform and shortly stood naked in the bedroom. She caught her glimpse in the mirror near the dresser and admitted internally that she still looked good for her build and her lack of actively working out. Not that that body would be of any use to her as long as her owner kept its sexual desires and reactions turned off. She was as much a mere robot now as if she had come right off the assembly line.

At least on the outside.

She had heard that the mind is the strongest sex organ, and she knew that the captivity was still causing her mind to play out scenarios, but with her body's connections turned off, even that strong mind wasn't enough to make her horny or give her any pleasure other that of a sort of waking dream.

As she pondered this, she dressed in the leotard, starting by sliding the pink tights over her slender legs, then sheathing her hips, waists, arms, and breasts in the leotard and adjusting it to push everything comfortably in place. Then stepped into the tutu, crinkling the noisy material around her waist and spinning it around so the bulk of it gathered over her pelvis and ass and left her pink legs uncovered up to her hips. Finally, she put on the shoes and, after hanging up the uniform and putting it away, and left the room to make her way back to her new display case.

Her owner was waiting in the lounge and rose to join her in the foyer when she saw her maid-bot enter the foyer. She opened the door and motioned for Serving Unit 1 to step inside. The girl did as she was instructed.

"Don't just stand there," Vivian said. "Pose for me. Don't you want to be appreciated when my husband returns?"

Her owner tapped a few buttons on the control pad, and the ballerina raised her arms about her head in an arc of fair flesh. A few more taps, and the living doll raised onto her toes on both feet but kept them both on the pedestal for balance.

As soon as she was still, the plate began to rotate gently and slowly, spinning her like her new case was the top of a young girl's music box. The lights along the base shined up at her and she was suddenly a star of the stage. Her owner turned off the overhead lights in the foyer, leaving only the natural sunlight through the bay windows and the lights of the display case. In her shadowed corner, the lights showed her doll-like form off to their fullest ability.

There she waited, gently spinning, until the man she loved would return and find her awaiting him, a doll prepared as a welcome home gift.

She felt less human than she ever had before.

Chapter Three

It was just getting dark when she heard the sound of a car crunching across the cobblestone half-circle in front of the estate. Her heart raced from the idea that she would see the man she loved again and that perhaps he just might be able to help rescue her. But her mind knew better. She knew that instead of seeing the woman who loved him, he would only see the doll his wife had prepared for him to prove she knew what he had been up to and that she knew damn well how to keep him under her control know that she had discovered his cheating.

So she waited until the door opened and her owner's husband entered the house. He carried a backpack and rolled a large suitcase behind him, and his sports coat was draped over his shoulder.

"Hi, honey," he called out with a laugh, still looking down at the floor to place his pack down. "I'm home."

Then he looked up. Their eyes met, and his grew wide. He glanced to the lounge for his wife and saw her walking toward him, arms wide to give him a welcoming hug.

He darted his gaze from the case and to his wife, reaching out to return the hug. They met, shared a kiss, and she turned them around so that he was facing the display.

Each time she spun around she would face him for a few moments.

"I love the surprise you left me," her owner said. "I've been needing help around the house for a while."

He pointed at the case and the girl going in slow circles. "Ummm..."

"I figured when it was off the clock, so to speak, I could put it up on display. I mean, it's really lovely, and if it were alive, I'm sure it would turn almost any man's head, especially in the maid uniform. So I figured why not put that to use instead of just shoving her into a closet like a carpet cleaner."

"Oh," he said.

"And I noticed that you forgot to leave the handbook, so I looked up how to reset the control pad and set myself up as the new user.

"You..." he started, caught his breath, then continued, "...reset her?"

Her owner laughed. "Well, of course, I reset it, sweetie. After all, you did buy it for me, right?"

When Unit 1 twirled, she could see that Jerome's eyes appeared to be caught in his throat. He was obviously choosing his words carefully.

"Absolutely, my dear," he said.

"I mean," she said, "You did a good job programming the doll bot for me, but I had some other ideas you didn't put in there, and you know how much I love a project, so I just went right to town on getting all her functions and settings just the way I wanted them."

"Do I still have -- " he all but stammered.

She shook her head. "Not without me authorizing a full factory reboot to the original presets." She tapped on the glass and leered at the trapped ballerina. "But why would I ever want to do that when I have this wonderful gift just how I want it now?" She turned back to Jerome and kissed his cheek sweetly. "And just where I want it, too."

She then took his hand and led him into the lounge where they ate the Chinese delivery she had ordered and watched a romantic comedy while cuddling together on the couch. All the while in full view of a spinning doll who had once been a girl named Wren. After the movie, they left the dishes where they were and stopped by the doll only long enough to turn off all the downstairs lights except for those in the glass case that illuminated the very beautiful, very helpless ballerina who would most likely return to work as a maid in the morning and clear away the mess in the lounge. As Unit 1 spun on her stand, she watched her owner and her owner's husbands walk arm in arm upstairs to their bedroom.

And then she was alone in the spotlights inside her display case, continuously dancing to a tune that wasn't even there.

Chapter Four

When her internal alarm signaled the morning routine had begun, Unit 1 stopped twirling, her pedestal cut off, and she at last lowered her arms to her side. She wanted to yawn, to sigh, honestly to make any noise or motion other than ones that had been programmed into her through the collar that kept her helpless, captive to her owner.

She had believed her time of being punished for sleeping with Jerome and being the "other woman" would be a temporary one and that it wouldn't be long before her owner -- the damn programming wouldn't even let her recall the bitch's name, just her role -- would relent and let her go, most likely with a warning to stay the fuck away from Jerome. But now she wasn't sure.

Jerome could easily account for her disappearance from work with a simple business trip or a temporary transfer to a location that needed her expertise. And the programming allowed her plenty enough food and water to survive. On top of that, her body was getting all the exercise it needed from the constant workload she had no choice but to perform each day.

As long as they kept her out of sight when they had company, it might be a very, very long time before she was ever missed by anyone.

She -- well, it was perhaps a better way of thinking of herself now -- stepped off the now-stationary platform and onto the foyer floor. Her body glistened with moisture from the hours she had spent spinning in front of the lights, but not so much that she was drenched. She had to admit, as she caught sight of herself in the hallway mirror, that it gave her a sort of unnatural glow and it only reinforced the idea that she was an "it" at this point and not the "she" that had previously been her state and her identity.

Without waiting to look more -- after all, the programming wouldn't allow her such indulgences -- she carried herself gracefully and determinedly to the guest room to shower and prepare for her day as the household maid.

About thirty minutes later she was downstairs preparing coffee for her owner's husband, dressed in the outfit he had picked out for her a few days ago when this was just playful experimentation between clandestine lovers. Now he was as trapped as she was.

He gave her a weak, sad smile when he entered. He nodded, then looked away.

But her program wouldn't allow him or her the dignity of being ignored.

"Good morning, sir. The coffee is almost ready. Shall I bring it to you in your study?"

He mumbled a thank you, never making eye contact. Opening the door, he grabbed the paper from the steps and slid it from the thin plastic cover.

"Yes, sir," she responded on autopilot. "I'll bring it to you as soon as it is ready."

"I'll be working from home for a few days at my wife's request, so please plan meals accordingly," he added. He placed the newspaper bag on the counter and opened it up to skim the headlines, humming to himself -- clearly to distract himself from the obedient sexy maid waiting on him hand and foot in his kitchen, Unit 1 guessed.

"Yes, sir," she said as obediently as she had expected.

"Listen," he started, then took a deep breath.

"Sir?"

"I'm sorry about last night. I should have done something. I should have stood up to her, stood up for you, but everything caught me so off guard. I didn't have time to think."

Unit 1 smiled. "Will that be all, sir?"

His shoulders slumped. Embers burned suddenly in his eyes and went out just as quickly. "God damn it," he whispered, screwing his eyes shut and sighing loudly. "God damn her."

Unit 1 only smiled and waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

Inside, somewhere beyond the code and 1s and 0s floating around in her nerves and neurons, she wanted to hug him, to hold him, to tell him it was all right, that she understand, that she could put up with it as long as he didn't forget her, as long as he sometimes still loved her, as long as he was biding his time to get them both free of this mixed-up, psychotic mess.

Instead, she smiled and asked.

"Would you like breakfast, sir?"

He shook his head.

"I hope you can still think in there. I hope the programming hasn't shut down any access to the real you."

"I am Serving Unit 1, and I am eager to serve the master and mistress of the house."

"Fine," he grunted. "God damn it." He slammed a fist on the countertop. "Two eggs. Scrambled hard. With bacon," he added before leaving the room.

"Yes, sir," she replied, but she wanted to cry.

During the day, she cleaned and cooked as usual, but her owner never left her alone in a room with her husband. The attitude of her cleaning was different too, apparently updated with some of the sexier ideas from earlier in the week before her owner had returned. As she cleaned, she obediently bent at the waist and not the knees, emphasizing her ass and the tops of her stockings whenever she was near "sir." She could feel his eyes watching and trying not to watch simultaneously, and she could feel her owner's smiling gaze without having to see it consistently. She was thoroughly enjoying the way her flirty behavior was embarrassing them both.

When he stood up to grab a drink from the lounge, the woman stopped him. "Oh, don't worry with that, Jerome. That's what that pretty little maid is for." She snapped her fingers at the girl and said, "Serving Unit, be a doll and get us a drink please."

Unit 1 didn't miss the targeted power of the word or the point her owner was making.

"Yes, ma'am," she answered. "What would you like?"

Mrs. Edwards wanted a whiskey and Diet Coke with lime, no ice. "What about you, Jerome dear? It's a little early, but a good stiff drink never hurt anyone, did it?"

"Bourbon," he said, slumping back into the desk chair where he had been working all morning.

"Yes, ma'am. Yes, sir," she said, and she click-clacked on her black patent heels from the office to the lounge for the drinks.

When she returned, Mr. Edwards was still sitting at his desk. Mrs. Edwards was standing at the bay windows looking out into the backyard.

Unit 1 placed Mr. Edwards's drink on the desk beside his coffee mug, now empty and staining brown inside. She carried the other to her owner and handed it to her directly.

"Will that be all, ma'am?" she asked.

"Yes, yes. Please finished cleaning Jerome's office. But don't be too distracting. He is trying to work."

"Yes, ma'am," she replied and then followed her programming to do everything in her program's power to keep him completely distracting.

"These robot dolls are wonderful. I wonder if we should get one for the yard and garden too. I mean, I could always program this one to do the yard work, but I do so like having her here in the house with us." She turned and locked her gaze on her husband. "Don't you, sweetheart?"

There was a long, full minute of silence between them. "Oh, don't answer. I know you do. Why else would you have bought me such a sexy little robot for a gift? Oh, don't fuss. It's okay. I fully understand that you might want a little enjoyment out of the thing too." She smiled widely. "But don't forget this one is mine. If we save up, we might get you one too someday."

At one point, while she was leaning over the leather sofa to dust it, her owner walked over and smacked her hard on the ass, though she didn't yelp, and just kept cleaning.

"They're just so adorable. Nothing phases them once they're programmed." She smacked her again, even harder. "See. Nothing. Not a peep. Just so freakin' perfect."

He coughed, sat up straight, raised his hand, and sucked in a breath as if he were about to say something important. Then he stopped. His fingers made a fist and then relaxed again. He blinked. Then blinked again. He locked his eyes on those of his wife after a glance toward the robot maid woman.

There was a soft defeated sound as the air expelled from his chair cushion when he let himself drop back against the back of his chair with a sigh. He caught the maid's eyes and then quickly jerked his attention toward the floor instead.

"Something on your mind, honey?" her owner asked.

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

"Maid-bot?" said Mrs. Edwards.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I think you've done all you can in here. Why don't you go mop the dining room before you get lunch ready?"

Unit 1 nodded with a sort of almost-bow. "Yes, ma'am. Right away."

And without looking back at her dejected and defeated lover, she simply pranced away to do what had been commanded of her.

That night, when the dinner dishes had been washed and put away, her owner called her into the lounge. Her owner and Mr. Edwards were sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, Mrs. Edwards reading a magazine and Mr. Edwards drinking Scotch from a short glass. On the opposite of them, draped over the seat of the chair and ottoman, was a red and white cheerleader uniform, complete with pom-poms and bloomers. Unit 1 noticed it immediately as she entered the room.

"Great job today, doll-bot," Mrs. Edwards said. "But now that you've done all your work for the day, it's time to get you ready for display tonight."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am," Unit 1 said, the sick to her gut feeling being more imagined than real thanks to the programming. But just as true and painful regardless.

Mr. Edwards made no effort to look at her. His inability to stand up to his wife in the office had clearly taken its toll on him. Defeat was visible in his expression as much as in his posture and his downward gaze whenever he had seen her for the rest of the day.

"I have a surprise for you, Jerome," her owner said. "I think it's only fair that I let you see just how beautiful this doll you bought me is." Then she turned to the maid. "Serving Unit 1, remove your maid uniform and put on this cheerleader outfit instead."

She nodded with a slight bow. "Yes, ma'am."

"See how much I love you, Jerome dear. I'm not even going to get jealous when I let you look at this beautiful doll. I mean, I know you'd never actually be attracted to a robot, not something so fake, no matter how real it might look. But still, you are a man, and doll or not, it's only fair to let you appreciate the beauty of the female form. If it helps you can think of it as a sculpture in a museum."

While her owner spoke, the woman turned maid-bot stripped out of her uniform down to her bra and panties, and stood in the cool air from the rigidly air-conditioned home. Despite her programming, her body reacted to the temperature, and goose flesh rose on her arms, legs, and belly. She pulled off her stockings and stood in her underwear in front of her owner and her owner's husband, waiting for their next command.

"Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. However, did you find such a realistic model, Jerome? It must have cost a great deal of money from your salary at my father's company."

There it was -- the truth. The real reason Unit 1's former lover was helpless to assist her. Sure, he works as an executive, but the company belonged to her owner's dad. If he got dumb enough to actually leave her, his ass would be out and out quickly. He was as caught as she was. To choose her would be to give away his money and his lifestyle. It came down to a question of which he valued more -- her and her love or his money and the things it provided.

"I guess I got lucky," he mumbled.

"Take a good look, sweetheart. I tell you, it's got to be one of the best dolls money can buy. I mean, you did a fantastic job picking it out." Her owner turned to her again. "The underwear too. You won't need it for the cheerleader get-up."

"Vivian?" he asked weakly.

She brushed his question aside. "No, it's perfectly okay, honey. I want you to see it in all its naked gloriousness. I want you to know how much I really love and value this amazing gift you gave me."

He shut up.

The maid-bot slid her panties down her legs and stepped out of them. Then she added them to the neat pile that was her maid uniform. Next, she took off the bra and put it with the uniform and panties and stockings. She stood stock-still and naked in front of her own. In the cold, her nipples poked out, erect, and her shaved pussy began to fill with goosebumps like her stomach.

"Just look at her," the woman said. "Isn't she simply perfect?"

He nodded.

"Give us a turn, maid-doll."

And Unit 1 did just that, slowly spinning around once to get both of them a full view of her exposed body.

If she thought her treatment had been humiliating before, this was almost too much to bear. But no tears came. No pink blush rose to her cheeks. Nothing indicated that she was suffering from embarrassment. She might as well have been a nude mannequin standing before them.

Her owner stood up and walked to her. The woman placed her palms on her shoulders. "Her skin feels almost real. Come feel it."

The man shook his head.

"Oh, come on, honey. It's okay. I'm giving your permission."

He got up and joined her, touching her shoulder gently.

The woman lowered her hand to the bot's belly and caressed it. "It feels so fucking real, right down to the chill bumps and shuddering when you touch it right here."

She was right, Unit 1 thought. There were still certain reflexive responses that even the programming couldn't prevent. The goose flesh Shivering at an unwanted touch. Breathing. That kind of thing. But rather than the woman using those as proof to set her free, she merely used them to reinforce the lie and the punishment she was determined to inflict on both her and her lover.

"And here," the woman said, a finger slipping down to the bot's labia. "It's all warm and moist, just like a real woman."

The doll's breathing quickened and that gave her owner the satisfaction to keep pushing her further and further into the deepest humiliation possible.

"The crazy thing even responds to it. Do you hear that? It's pretending to breathe quicker. How awesome is that programming? Have you ever seen such a thing?"

The woman took the man's hand and moved it from the doll's shoulder to her pussy.

"Can you feel that, baby? It feels almost real."

The woman used the man's hand to massage the doll's pubic mound. Unit 1 felt the pangs of joy at being touched by her former lover, even in these awful circumstances. Her breath got deeper and faster still, and her bare chest rose and fell in rapid movements. His finger was pushed inside her. Her breath caught and she stopped breathing at all for a few seconds.

"See what I mean? So fucking real."

Then the touching stopped and her owner was standing a few feet away, leaving the husband with one hand still on the doll's shoulder and the other by his side.

Unit 1 wanted to scream for him to continue. She would have given all of herself, her identity, and every bit of her autonomy to the woman if she would just let the man continue to touch her. She would have willingly given herself over to the woman completely, embrace the lie that she was a mere thing and make it the truth -- if only she would let her former lover keep fucking her with his finger.

But no.

The man removed his hand from her shoulder and returned to the sofa. Taking a sip of his Scotch, he looked at the woman with a forced, almost flat smile.

"But they're not real. Still, it is pretty to pretend and to play what if, isn't it?"

She flopped onto the sofa beside her husband. She rested her hand on the zipper of his slacks.

"It has made me a little horny though," she said, and she leaned over and kissed him deeply. Then she broke off the kiss and unzipped his slacks and reached inside. "Oh, I almost forgot," she added without even looking back at the maid-bot. "Go ahead and get dressed and then get on your stand for the night. I want a nice pose with those pom-poms up and a big, happy, your-team-is-winning-the-homecoming-game grin on your pretty little doll face."

"Yes, ma'am," Unit 1 said as she stepped into the bloomers and pulled them up her legs.

"Then when you're done..." The woman paused for a moment to kiss the man again. "I want you to turn off your motor functions and be a beautiful cheerleader doll for us this evening."

"Yes, ma'am," the doll said. She pulled the red and white, crop-top sweater over her head, then fluffed out her hair. She slid into the red skirt, spun it around her waist, and zipped it tight against her hips and waist. She stepped into red ankle socks with fluffy turn-down cuffs and then finally slipped on the white, leather Keds. Then she picked up the pom-poms.

All the while, the woman was ignoring her as she kissed her husband and stroked his cock with her hand inside his pants. He looked over his wife's shoulder at the doll and watched her dress, his eyes apologizing all the while, even when he shook and cried out with a grunt.

"I hope there's more of that for tonight, baby," the woman said.

The lonely, helpless cheerleader doll walked into the foyer, stepped onto her pedestal, set herself in a stereotypical cheerleader pose, and froze in place -- her body shut down but her mind reeling, torn between jealousy, excitement, humiliation, and the panic that she might never be free again.

Chapter Five

The next week continued similarly with only small variations, which mainly happened to be in the outfits in which she was to be displayed each evening. After the cheerleader and ballerina, she had also spent the night modeling a bikini, a set of white lingerie with white stockings and feathered, kitten-heeled slippers like something from a 1950s movie, a stereotypical black negligee and patent fuck-me pumps, a Playboy bunny uniform based on the 1960s style outfit, a schoolgirl uniform designed more for porn than for classroom standards down at St. Anne's, and a sexy secretary in an angora sweater that showed off her chest and a knee-length pencil skirt and seamed stockings. She could only wonder what other costumes lay in store for her as Mrs. Edwards would continue to display her as some sort of model of every fetish known to man.

It was on the Thursday before the two-week anniversary of her new life as a robot maid that Serving Unit 1 saw her owner helping Mr. Edwards with his luggage and kissing him goodbye. Neither of them noticed her as she mopped the lounge and watched him open the door, close it behind him, and disappear on another business trip -- she assumed -- leaving her for god knows how long with the woman who held her captive and trapped her into the existence as a household appliance and dress-up doll.

After he was gone, she was left on her own and told not to worry about lunch since Mrs. Edwards would be in town shopping again today. She would have the house to herself, so she enjoy the freedom and extra time without any interruptions.

Freedom. Right. Just more teasing from her owner. Even left on her own, she was no more free than the lawn sprinklers that spit and sputtered every two hours because of the timer in the shed.

So she cleaned. After skipping lunch -- as she was told -- she found her body getting hungry, but still, she waited until Mrs. Edwards returned so she could finally prepare dinner and eat the leftovers. But it was dark before her owner finally came home, and Serving Unit 1 finished folding and putting away the laundry, then started on the veggie egg rolls and rice for dinner.

As he smelled the food cooking, she yearned to take a bite, but her code wouldn't allow it. So the instincts reacted in spite of the programming, and she simply grew hungrier and hungrier as she kept the rice from boiling over.

After dinner, Mrs. Edwards thanked her and told her it was delicious and to help herself to the remaining egg roll and bowl of rice. A little of the soy sauce from the fridge made it all a perfect meal, she thought, and that helped the human maid-bot recover her strength after going for so many hours without even a snack to replenish her energy.

While she was washing the dinner dishes, her owner entered the kitchen and took a seat at the breakfast nook.

"What may I do for you, ma'am?" Unit 1 asked.

Mrs. Edwards smiled. "Nothing yet. Finish your work. I'm just watching for now."

"Yes, ma'am," she said, and resumed the dishes, scrubbing away the rice that was stuck to the bottom of the bowl.

When she was done and had rinsed the soap out of the sink, Mrs. Edwards stood up. "Come with me, doll."

Serving Unit 1 followed her owner through the dining room, the lounge, the foyer, down the hallway, and through the master bedroom to the master bathroom. There sat a wooden chair on a plastic tarp.

The part of her that was still Wren wanted to know what the hell was going on, but the part of her that was real at the moment simply stood obediently until Mrs. Edwards instructed her to sit down with her arms by her side, which she did.

The sound of the clippers scared the hell out of her, but her body made no effort to reveal that fear. Please, not my hair, she thought. I've been growing that out for years. But her mouth made no protest.

"I figured you needed a new look. After all, you deserved it, and it makes me happy to take care of my doll."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You do want to make me happy, don't you?"

The human doll nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Of course. Always," she said, betraying the true feelings of anger and rage and fear and humiliation she was experiencing inside her mind.

"Good. Then you should enjoy this."

The clippers buzzed to life again, and her owner started right in the middle of her head. One pass, and a large clump of blonde curls fell onto the plastic. Another stripe, and more hair joined it.

The woman held up a make-up mirror and showed off the wide strip of shaven head to the human bot. She wanted to cry, but trapped by the programming, she could only look at the stupid cut with that silly, permanent smile on her stupid face. She wasn't quite bald, but her head looked to be just a bit longer than a mountain man's five o'clock shadow. The woman put the mirror down and then retrieved the clippers. More hair hit the floor. Several minutes later, the clippers finally stopped. The mirror again. It revealed the most embarrassing thing the girl she had been could have imagined just a few weeks ago, but now it seemed just the next thing in a long line of ways to torment her, a long line that wasn't nearly done and still have a long way to go out in front of it.

"Don't worry, Unit 1. I did this for you, after all." Her owner grinned sweetly. "Come with me."

Then Mrs. Edwards led her from the bathroom to the hallway again and turned left to go back to the extra guest bedroom. When they entered, the woman made a grand gesture with her arm and pointed toward a row of five wigs sitting on the dresser, each on a Styrofoam head. The first was black and straight with bangs, the typical Betty Page style. The second was red and short, with lots of super bouncy curls, way more than she had possessed when she was a blonde even just a few minutes ago. The third was also black, but straight and short, a sort of inner arc of tips to frame her face. Then there was a long, blonde wig, also straight, with purple tips and hints of purple throughout. The final wig was blue and full-bodied, but it stopped at the shoulders without actually becoming curls.

Not one of them looked at all like the beautiful blonde curls she had just lost. None of them looked like her in the least. The trap was complete. Her former lover's wife had just taken away not only her will and freedom and autonomy and replaced it with programming and coding, but she had also managed to take away her identity and replace it with another, several actually, of her choosing, depending on who she felt she wanted the maid-bot to be that day.

"What do you think?"

I think you're a monster, Serving Unit 1 thought. But my mouth said, "Thank you. I love them. Thank you, ma'am. They're very pretty, and I hope they will look good on me."

"Are you kidding? I'm sure they'll look great on you."

The woman walked over to the row of wigs and gazed back and forth across them like she was watching the world's slowest tennis match. Finally, Mrs. Edwards lifted the short, black wig and carried it to her. She placed it gently on the doll's head and frisked it a bit to make it look like her natural hairstyle. Then she stepped back and surveyed her work, smiling.

"Absolutely stunning!"

Despite her rage, the doll smiled.

"Stay here," her owner commanded, and she waited as the woman left the room and then returned with the control tablet. "I just got the greatest idea ever," she said. "I can't just go around calling you Serving Unit 1 all the time."

And you damn sure won't let me be Wren, will you, the maid-doll thought angrily.

"It's only fair that I name you, after all. That will make things so much easier." She sat on the edge of the bed, crossed her legs, and placed the tablet in her lap, balancing it on one thigh. She clicked through a few commands, then swiped a selection or two, and then looked up at the maid.

"Tell me your name," the woman said, pressing a final button on the tablet's face.

"My name is Yvette," the maid responded.

"Nice to meet you, Yvette," Mrs. Edwards said. "A pleasure to have you as my household staff."

The woman stood up and removed the wig from Yvette. Suddenly she was no longer Yvette. She was merely Serving Unit 1 again, unknown, unnamed, inhuman. The blue wig quickly replaced the black one.

"Please introduce yourself, young lady," Mrs. Edwards instructed her.

"Yes, ma'am," the girl said. "My name is Jacqueline."

Jacqueline's owner clapped her hands and laughed. "So amazing. So perfect." She got and changed the wig again, this time to the red tangle of curls.

"And who are you now?" the woman asked.

The maid smiled. "My name is Josette," she said.

"Marvelous," said Mrs. Edwards. "Absolutely marvelous. Jerome is going to love this, having so many pretty maids to wait on us and keep the house clean and cook our meals."

She removed the wig with red curls and replaced it with the black Betty Page wig.

"What's your name now, maid?"

"My name is Roxanne, ma'am, and it's my pleasure to serve you."

The woman clapped her hands again, grinning wide. She changed the wig and made Roxanne disappear. In her place was the blonde with purple tips and highlights.

"And who are you, my dear?"

The new maid smiled. "Nice to meet you, ma'am. My name is Lulu."

"How wonderfully precious," Mrs. Edwards squealed. "Welcome to my home, Lulu."

Lulu. Roxanne. Josette. Jacqueline. Yvette. Everyone but Wren. And without a wig on, she was still just Serving Unit 1. Perhaps this was the ultimate humiliation

"You see, dear," she began. "Each of these wigs is attached wirelessly to your collar. It's like I can control you via Bluetooth, if it helps you wrap your pretty little maid-doll head around it. And each comes with a batch of new programs to update not just your name, but your personality as well."

Her personality?! What the hell was this woman planning to do to her? If she had thought taking her name was bad, then giving her not just one new identity and personality but five of them was the worst she could imagine.

"But I'll leave that for you to discover. You see, I have set your base programming to select a different wig for each day, unless I override that. I won't have to even do anything to make the changes. You'll do it to yourself every day."

Okay, she thought. It could get worse.

"And best of all, you won't look anything like that slut Wren that my husband was sleeping with when you are in these wigs. No one will miss you or make the connection."

Fuck. She cursed in her mind. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Lulu searched the data that controlled her via the collar. Her demeanor wasn't just submissive, but sweet and what Southern folks would call precious. She tried to recall the things she had done for Mr. Edwards back in the office, but they were gone. Instead, she found memories of beauty pageants and low-income service jobs, particularly as a waitress in small-town diners.

"If you like that, Lulu," her Mistress said, "You'll love this." And she walked to the closet and swung the double doors open. "This is your closet."

Inside, on hangers, were all the outfits she had used during her time on display. The ballerina, the cheerleader, the schoolgirl, the secretary, the bunny outfits, and the lingerie and negligee. Along with them was also an outfit that consisted of cut-off booty shorts, cowboy boots, and a plaid button-up shirt tied off at the waist. There was also a fancy pink ballgown and the classic little black dress with spaghetti straps and a deep V in both the front and back.

Besides the dress-up doll, outfits were more maids' dresses. They all matched in style, but the colors were different. One in black for when the other was being washed. One in powder blue. One in pink. One in red. And one in white.

Lulu immediately recognized the blue one as hers. She preferred it so much to the black one she was currently wearing. Her eyes lit up as she smiled. "Thank you, ma'am. Thank you so much. I love it."

And Lulu did love it.

But not Serving Unit 1.

And definitely not the tiny part of Lulu that had once been Wren.

"What about the others?" Lulu asked.

"Those are for the other maids."

"Oh," she said.

"Lulu?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Please prepare yourself for the display, dear."

Lulu bowed and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Less than ten minutes later, her black uniform was in the wash, and Lulu was standing in the cut-offs, flannel shirt, and boots slowing spinning on her pedestal, every inch a Texas princess. She had even added more make-up to make her lips fuller and her eyes pop. Her hands were propped on her hips and her boobs were pushed out for maximum cleavage. Mrs. Edwards left her there to gradually fall asleep in her display case with no one to appreciate her beauty.

Chapter Six

When Lulu woke up on Friday morning, she knew instinctively knew to make her way to the guest room and change her wig. She slipped off the blonde wig and placed it on the empty Styrofoam head. In a flash, Lulu was gone and Unit 1 felt the release as the blonde faded from her programming.

But the enjoyment of her nameless identity was short-lived as the maid-bot took the short black-haired wig and put it on.

Yvette smiled at the closet as she opened it and instantly reached for the white maid uniform. She said nothing as she slipped out of the horrendous redneck clothing that Lulu had spent the night wearing on display.

"That girl," she said. "Absolutely no taste."

Wren heard the words come out of her mouth and she felt them in her heart as well. Somehow the personality override was stronger than she imagined it would be. In the front of her mind she truly believed them, although in the back of her mind, as if hiding behind a sort of neurological firewall, she realized the thoughts weren't coming from her at all but from the personality programming that went along with the wig.

Yvette carefully covered her 'hair' in a shower cap and then stepped into the private bath attached to the guest room. As she scrubbed and lathered and rinsed, she thought of how lucky she was to have this job, of how grateful she was not to work in low-paying barista and retail jobs where she was hit on all the time, of how grateful she was Mrs. Edwards was such a sweet and beautiful boss to serve.

That lost thought shook her for a moment. It just didn't feel right. But only for a moment. As she lathered the soapy subs over her breasts and nipples, she pictured her boss with a twinge of excitement.

Down there.

Shit. Lulu may have been an idiot, but at least she didn't have the hots for Mrs. Edwards.

God damn.

God damn. Yes. God damn right she was lucky to work for such a sexy boss, and one who thought enough of her to give her a uniform of her favorite color, even if it would be difficult to keep clean during the day's work. Even if she expected, or possibly hoped, she would be corrected or even punished for soiling in the act of doing her job.

Her excitement lit up again, and she slipped a finger inside. Just to clean herself, she lied to her brain, but she knew better. Within a few moments, she was thinking solely about her gorgeous boss and fingering herself to orgasm.

It wasn't the orgasm she had wanted as Wren. Or even as Serving Unit 1. But it was an orgasm, and it was the first one she had experienced in almost two weeks, so she welcomed it.

Mistress was so nice to let her have it. She would have to do an extra-special good job today to show Mistress Edwards how much she loved and appreciated her, how grateful she was to let her feel something again in all the places she had gone so long without any sensations.

She smiled and breathed heavily as she finished her shower, then she slipped into the maid's uniform and the white seamed stockings and white, patent leather ankle boots. She couldn't help but check out her reflection in the mirror on the way out, and not just to make sure her clothes were smooth and straight this time.

No. This time she wanted, no, she needed to see herself. She needed to know that she was as beautiful as she could be for her Mistress.

But she wasn't ready. She needed to do just a little touch-up on her face. So she powdered a pale innocence onto her skin then rouged dark red onto her cheeks for definition. Then came dark red lips and green eye shadow with cat-eye lines on outside corners.

Perfect. Now she was perfect.

She got up, made her way into the kitchen, and started to cut fruit and make the morning tea for her amazing Mistress.

When Mistress entered the kitchen, Yvette all but beamed at her with her whole expression.

“Well, good morning, Yvette,” the woman said.

“Good morning to you, Mistress, ma'am.”

“Ah, I see the personality is coming through perfectly.”

Yvette nodded. “Yes, ma'am. It's a pleasure to see you this morning, and to see you looking so well.”

“Thank you, Yvette. That tea smells good.”

Without being asked, Yvette handed Mistress a steaming mug of green tea with two mint leaves, her favorite.

“I'd like a whole wheat waffle to go with the fruit, please, this morning.”

“Absolutely, Mistress, ma'am,” the girl-bot said, gushing with every syllable.

After breakfast, Mistress asked Yvette to come with her into the lounge, and of course, the love-sick fool did. When Mistress slipped off her slippers and told the maid her feet were sore, she didn't even have to ask the girl to massage them. Barely had she gotten the words out of her mouth when Yvette was on her knees holding her Mistress' feet in her lap and tenderly rubbing her instep and the ball of her right foot.

“Ah, that's amazing, Yvette. Thank you so much. I think you might have a future in this kind of thing,” she said.

“Thanks, you, ma'am,” Yvette responded. “Anything for you, Mistress.”

“So glad you feel that way, my dear. You can't know how happy that makes me to hear that you feel that way.”

The person behind the programmed personality was trying hard to resist the words and the feelings, but it was barely working. Even the part of the human-maid-bot that was still Wren felt most of her hatred and anger toward Mrs. Edwards melt away and she let herself enjoy the sensuous act of rubbing her owner's feet. It was one of the most intimate acts she could have performed for her outside of actual sex. Sadly, all that touching and rubbing and caressing was getting the Yvette part —and by extension the rest of her—more than a little hot and bothered in her loins.

"Oooh," said Mistress. "That does feel amazing." She grabbed the control tablet that was on the couch beside her, and she tapped a few buttons.

Yvette felt her wirey synapses surge with new information. It took a few seconds to register that suddenly her mind was at least a little bit free from the new personality.

"You make speak freely, Yvette," Vivian said.

"My name isn't... I mean, my name isn't... I'm not your... "

"Okay," Vivian said. "I lied a little. You can speak somewhat freely."

"What have you done to me? Please let me go. I'll leave him alone."

"But you already are leaving him alone, Yvette."

"My name is Yvette, not...  Damn it, I can't even say my name."

"Sure you can, dear. What's your name?"

"My name is Yvette." Damn it. No matter how free her mind might be, her body was still under the control of the program. Her hands kept massaging Vivian's feet, and her body kept responding to the intimate act of submission. Ironically Vivian had been a more engaging and powerful dominant than her husband. And her body knew it. Her real body. She could pretend that it was just the programmed personality that made her think of Vivian that way, but if she faced the truth, she was bound and powerless the exact way she had hoped Mr. Edwards would have done. But he had been too wrapped up in treating her like a sex toy to try to understand her headspace, her subspace, her need to be dominated.

As much as she hated Vivian, she also was beginning to realize she needed her.

"And who are you, Yvette?" Her brain knew she was the accounting manager serving under Mr. Edwards, but instead, her mouth said, "I work for your... your... your h... I work for your house as your maid."

"Exactly. Now, outside of those two things, you have full control of your words and your feelings. Don't even ask about your body because that still belongs to me. You may speak with me and get things off your mind you haven't been able to all this time, but you will continue to rub my feet."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"Oh," Vivian laughed out loudly. "We're going to stick to stupid questions, are we?"

"Please."

"Don't beg, Yvette. It's so unbecoming and so pointless. You know exactly why I'm doing this, and so does he. And I'll keep doing it until I feel like I feel satisfied that you both have been punished enough."

"Don't call me that name. My name is Yvette. Call me by my name, not that one. Call me Yvette." She sighed. "That's not... I mean, that's my name." Her eyes gazed up at her mistress. "Why can't I say that name?"

"Oh, you are such a silly little robot-maid, aren't you. So many things we could discuss, and you want to waste your time trying to tell me you're not who you are."

"Please, let me go."

Still, her hands kept massaging Vivian's feet.

"Like a broken record. Maybe I wasted both our time by letting you have the freedom to speak freely."

"No. Please no. I'll stop begging."

"That's better." Vivian took a shallow, but triumphant breath. "Now, as we've settled it, you know why this is happening to you, and you know I'm not going to let you be that nasty homewrecker woman again anytime soon. So, as long as you stop asking me to set you free, to let you call yourself by that slut's name, or for reasons this is happening, we should get on famously. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

Yvette's heart sank. "Yes, ma'am."

"Close, but when you're Yvette, I believe we should be a little more specific."

Yvette raced through her recent memories of the morning, and it finally hit her. Anything but that. Vivian's stern gaze was enough to convince her she had no other choice. "Yes, Mistress," she said finally.

"Oh, what a wonderful little toy I have to play with!" Her face lit up like she'd won a fancy award, and she beamed her deep smile at the girl-bot. "You're the absolute best, whether you like it or not, darling." She relaxed in the seat, still smiling. "So, tell me, how do you like being Yvette?"

"I don't like the way she's in love with you."

"You mean the way YOU'RE in love with me, don't you?"

"I don't like being programmed to be in love with you."

She crossed her legs and offered me the other foot. "No, I don't imagine you do. Still, you can understand that it's great fun for me."

"Please, Mistress."

"Oh, don't start that again, or I'll just take away your ability to speak."

"No, please. Don't do that."

"You'll be good then?"

"Yes, Mistress. I'll be good."

"You'll be a good little robot."

"Yes, Mistress. I'll be a good little robot."

"Very well. What did you think of Lulu?" She said, then moaned as Yvette deeply massaged her instep. "Ooh, nice. I like that a lot."

"Lulu was an idiot. All she cared about was her looks."

She laughed. "Again, that was you, not someone else. YOU were an idiot. All YOU cared about were your looks."

"Sure, but only because I didn't have a choice."

Vivian uncrossed her legs, leaned forward, and lifted Yvette's chin with one hand. She smiled sweetly and wet her lips. "Have you ever read the book The Sun Also Rises?"

"No, ma'am," she said, shaking her head.

"Well, it ends with one of my favorite lines. You probably don't know this, but when Jerome and I met, I was in college working on a bachelor's degree in Literature. I even focused on American Lit, so I ended up reading a lot of Hemingway."

Yvette looked up at her Mistress, more than a little lost. Vivian grinned.

"Anyway, that book ends with a line about people wishing for something and realizing it just never will come true. Then the guy says, 'It would be pretty to think so.'"

"Yes, ma'am?" her response filled with questioning.

"Well, that's my response to you, my dear. When you say you didn't have a choice, I say to you that it would be pretty to think so."

The girl shook her head again. "But it's true. You made me feel like that with the programming."

Vivian slid off the sofa and knelt in front of the confused human-robot-maid on her floor. She leaned in close, almost so close their lips touched. Mistress's lips shined with wetness and occasionally parted to allow the sparkling gleam of her fresh, white teeth to be seen. Yvette's heart thudded heavily in her chest as her owner drew close.

"The truth is," Vivian said, "that the programming isn't the kind of thing you're thinking of. I can control your motor functions with absolute control. That's because your nerves are going to control your muscles to make you move, stand up, sit down, vacuum my house, etc. But I can't control the way you think to that degree. I can't make you feel things you don't already have inside you at least in some small part."

Yvette sucked in a breath and felt as though she might choke on it.

"So you see," her Mistress continued and turned her face to the side to whisper this part directly into Yvette's precious little pale ear. The breath was warm and sweet and it lit up her senses. "There was already something inside you that felt like that little idiot who only cares about what people think about how she looks." She kissed Yvette on the cheek softly. "And those same rules apply to you too, Yvette. You wouldn't feel the way you do so strongly if you didn't already have something inside you, the former, real you, that the programming could build on. It can only amplify, not create feelings."

"So my being attracted to you is..." Yvette started, then gave up and dropped her face into her hands.

"Is because you already are." Her Mistress stood up and patted the girl on the head. "But if you ask me, it's not so much that you are a lesbian, but that being trapped is putting your submissive feelings on overdrive."

"No..." she whimpered into her hands.

"And I can't wait until you meet the rest of you."

"Did you program one for each uniform?"

Vivian nodded. "Of course I did." She grinned wickedly. "I had the app map your emotional responses to stimuli while you were 'turned off' and unaware. I found out all kinds of things about you, Yvette. All kinds of dirty little secrets in that little almost robot head of yours. Not only that, but I also talked with my husband and he confessed a few more things to me as well, such as your submissive inclinations and how much you enjoyed the female domme you dated before moving here. And all of that info just gives me so much more to work with."

Vivian returned to the couch and lifted her left foot. "Did I say you were finished rubbing my feet, dear?"

Yvette shook her head and gave her full attention to her owner's foot again. Vivian rested against the back of the sofa for several minutes, making lots of relaxed "M" sounds with her eyes closed. When she opened them again, she said with a voice that expected to be obeyed, "Kiss it."

"Kiss it, Mistress?"

"Yes, kiss my foot. You have lips, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," and Yvette lifted Vivian's foot to her face and gently placed them on the top of her foot.

Her mistress frowned. "Really kiss them, Yvette. Like you mean it. Like you love them and can't think of anything you would enjoy better than to simply worship my beautiful feet."

"Worship them, ma'am?"

"Yes, you dumb little maid. Worship them."

And at the command, she did. She pushed her face against her mistress's feet, taking in their scents and the feel of the hosiery against her skin. She licked one foot from heel to toe, then repeated the action several times before moving to the other foot. She kissed the balls of her mistress's feet, sucked her mistress's toes one at a time, tasting each one, letting it linger in her mouth, filling her nose and mouth and throat with the combined flavor of skin and nylon.

Yvette massaged each foot as she held it to her mouth and tongue. Vivian cooed softly at her slave-bot's relaxing touch.

In her mind, she felt the humiliation of being unable to stop herself from worshipping her rival's feet. But she couldn't deny the way her body was responding, had been programmed to respond. Between her new programming and her own kink for being dominated, she quickly entered the subspace she had recently reserved only for her mistress's husband.

She continued her worship of Vivian's feet for another hour. After that, her mistress commanded her to get back to work cleaning the house, and she soon found herself missing her feet, silently yearning to be kissing and touching and loving them again as she dusted and vacuumed and mopped the upstairs.

When her shift was over, she returned to the guest room, removed her uniform, and became put on the little black dress from her closet. Then she walked to the pod in the foyer and stepped on it. Instantly, the pod severed the wireless connection with the black wig, and she felt thoroughly disgusted with the way she had embarrassed herself at her owner's feet and equally disgusted with the way she had missed lavishing attention on them while she was cleaning. She didn't think about it long though. Within minutes, the pod put her to sleep.

Chapter Seven

When Unit 1 awoke the next morning, her programming sent her directly to the guest room to dress in not only her new uniform but also her new identity for the day. She slipped into the powder blue uniform and fixed the white stockings so that the seams were straight, then she put the wig of red curls on her bald head.

She was suddenly Josette, if not in her mind at least in her body.

Her mind sprung to life with pre-loaded images of Mr. Edwards. Each time the image flashed by, her programming made her body respond. Her heart raced. Her pussy moistened. Her cheeks flushed. She smiled lustfully. It was all the same ways being with him had made her respond as Wren before she had become Unit 1, but it was no longer something natural, or even something under her control.

This was something entirely different. This was something programmed into her. This was something that was part of Josette's personality.

There were no emotions to trigger her body's responses to the man she still loved. There was only a pattern of images in her data banks and the corresponding physical responses based on the code that controlled her.

No matter how much she felt for Jerome, she couldn't act on it herself. But her body was doing it for her, overriding her will, making her a sort of robot that pretended to be in love with him. She was no more than a powerful vibrator reacting to a remote control. It was clearly a ploy her owner had created to make life difficult for him and more humiliating for her.

If just flashes of memory were affecting her so strongly, she could only imagine what might happen when she actually encountered him face to face.

She spent the bulk of the morning in the dining room, getting it ready for breakfast and then cleaning it up again. Only the madam had shown up for the meal, and that had saved Josette from any embarrassing displays of unfettered, pre-programmed affection, flirtation even. When the dining room was spotless again, she went to the living room to dust.

She had been at it almost a half-hour when Mr. Edwards came down in slacks and a button-up silk shirt. Unit 1 thought he looked cute, maybe even sexy, but Josette practically dripped liquid sex on the carpet when she saw him. She gushed and blushed and curtsied with a syrupy sweet, "Good morning, Mr. Edwards. It's so good to see you again."

"Um... hey, Yvette," he said.

Josette giggled like a schoolgirl. "Yvette was on the clock yesterday, silly. I'm Josette."

"Oh." He gave her a once-over, liking what he saw but trying not to flirt back obviously in front of his wife. "Okay. Good to know."

The madam stood up and excused herself. "Josette?"

"Yes, madam?"

"Please add the following task to your daily assignments."

"Yes, madam."

"I want you to be sure and take care of Mr. Edwards today. He has a lot of work to finish for the office, and I don't want him to want for anything. Understand?"

"Absolutely, madam. I understand." She glanced at him with a wide, eager smile she couldn't control. "I will take excellent care of Mr. Edwards. I'm looking forward to it."

"Thank you, Josette, but remember to be a good girl. He is still my husband, after all."

Unit 1 felt the targeted venom in madam's statement, and with it also came the wave of regret at having been caught and trapped by the madam.

Then the madam excused herself and went out to the pool to relax and sunbathe. When she was gone, Josette made a special presentation of the tops of her stockings at every opportunity she could to get Mr. Edwards' attention. He was such a handsome man, and she wanted him so badly, even though he belonged to her owner. Still, it couldn't hurt to just flirt a little, just to see if he wanted her too. How could he not? Wasn't she a beautiful little maid-bot? Didn't all human men fantasize about having sex with robot maids? And if he did act on his impulses, could she even stop him? And, to be honest, why would she want to?

"Would you like something to drink, Mr. Edwards?" she asked, hovering over him, bent enough at the waist to make her boobs prominent in his field of vision.

"No thanks," he said. "My wife is right. I had a lot of work to do." 

She stepped behind him and gripped his shoulders. "Then maybe a little massage would help you relax so you can work more efficiently."

As she spoke, she worked the muscles beneath her hands. He was so tense, practically set in concrete inside his skin. Unit 1 felt bad for him, particularly for the way her owner was using her as a weapon against him. 

He settled into the sofa and let her rub his shoulders. He moaned softly and grunted a bit as the found and tried to work out all the knots there. After a few minutes, she felt him finally start to stir again, and he soon shifted out from under her grip and stood up.

"Thank you..." He let the works linger in the air, scrunching up his face as if trying to remember something important. 

"Josette, sir," she said. 

"Right." He nodded. "Right. Josette when you look like this. Sorry. I'm trying, but neither you nor my wife are making it easy for me." 

Unit 1's mind flashed with a hint of anger suddenly. Easy for you, she wondered. Neither of you and making it goddamn easy for me either. You try it from my point of view, 'Master,' she thought, but just as quickly, the thought was gone. He was smiling at her, and she couldn't help but smile back.

"Shall I bring a bottle of the good Scotch to your office, sir?"

He nodded, still smiling, though the expression's intensity had faded a little. 

"And bring two glasses," he said.

"Oh," Josette said. "Will Mrs. Edwards be joining you?"

"For you and me, dear," he responded.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm not allowed to drink on the job." Truth be known, she hadn't had a single drink of liquor since her new life as a robot-maid had started. 

"Shit. I keep forgetting you're not real."

"I'm very, very real," she said, highlighting her cleavage again for his view.

"In there, I mean," he said, poking at her head with his index finger. "Where it matters."

He looked away and let his hands drop to his side. "Just the one glass then. I'll call for you when I need you."

He walked toward his office, and she followed him after grabbing a bottle of Scotch and one of the low-ball glasses.  

He stopped. 

"I'll call for you when I need you, Josette, was it?"

"Yes, sir. At your beck and call."

"Fine." He resumed his journey to the office. She continued to follow, holding the bottle and glass.

He stopped again. "Don't you have work to do today?"

"My primary function as Josette is to assit you, sir," she said. "To do what you tell me to."

He sighed. Before getting caught, they could have had so much fun with that kind of programming. Before. But not after. Before she had been a loving toy, a horny submissive for him to play with. But after, well, after, she was a weapon, something Mrs. Edwards used to target him and punish him. And there was no fun to be had in that, not for either of them. 

"Fine," he said. "In that case, leave the bottle and the glass on my desk and go clean the upstairs bedrooms."

"But, sir," she said. "The upstairs bedrooms are so far away. What if you need me?"

"Oh," he said with more sadness and regret than he had probably intended, "I'm sure you'll know exactly when and if I need anything. But for now, I think the biggest distraction to my work will be you, Josette."

"Are you sure, sir?"

He actually laughed a little. "I realize that bitch had programmed you to be so damn pushy about it."

"What if you need your shoulders massaged again, or when you need a refilled." 

He stopped laughing.

"Listen, maid," he said firmly. "I'm a grown man and I know how to pour my own goddamn drink. Now go away and stop being a bother." 

Fuck you, Unit 1 thought. Fuck you all the goddamn way. She couldn't help but be pushy. That wasn't her fault. It was his fault for leaving her alone to be found by his wife. And it was his wife's fault for programming her to get on his nerves by pretending the be the very thing he wanted her to be in the first place. But none of it was on here. There was no reason to be such a fucking asshole about it. 

But she went away without saying a word of it. 

And she didn't see him again until she was on display that night, still in her red wig and wearing a green bikini bottom with laces that tied high on her hips. No top. Instead she simply had her arms crossed over her nipples to tease without giving the whole show away for free. 

When she did see him, he was rolling a suitcase behind him. He kissed his wife goodbye, glanced once to Josette, then frowned and walked out he front door.

Mrs. Edwards closed it behind him after he left.

"My, my, my..." she said to the doll slowly turning helplessly in her display case. "You try to give somebody exactly what they want, and they get made at you about it. I guess, maybe he doesn't want you after all, you little slut, or else he wouldn't have arranged a week-long trip to the plant in Warsaw. You must have really, really done something to piss him off." Then her owner laughed heartily and turned off the lights in the foyer, leaving the poor doll to spend the night all alone again, only the lights of her base pointing up at her to show her off and keep her company. 

Chapter 8

The night before Mr. Edwards was expected to return home, instead of having Lulu put on a costume when the day was done and go stand inside her display case as some kind of dress-up doll for her amusement, Mistress ma'am instead told her to go into the bedroom and change into the outfit she had placed there. She was also to remove her wig and put on the new one her owner had bought for her. 

The woman lost inside the bot could only dream of what new humiliation was in store. 

But she wasn't, she couldn't have been, expecting the new change of clothes waiting for her. It was her own clothes, her own outfit from the day she had first asked her owner's husband to attach the nano-collar around her neck. And with it, sitting on a display head on the dresser was a wig designed to look like Wren's natural hair -- or at least the hair she had before Mistress ma'am had shaved it off last week.

Though neither her body nor face changed expression, deep inside behind her programming, she was shouting for joy. Her owner was finally setting her free. Her owner had grown tired of punishing her. Her owner was at last letting her go. Her owner was done. 

Lulu stepped into the room fully and began to undress from the maid uniform. Once she got down to her bra and panties, she slipped into the knee-length tan skirt. The woman inside secretly loved the feel of her own clothes again and felt like herself for the first time, regardless of whether her body allowed her to act like it. Next came the cream-colored blouse, and like Wren normally would, Lulu left the top two buttons undone to expose the slightest bit of teasing cleavage. 

Lulu couldn't help but check her reflection in the mirror, a habit that was a core part of that identity's vanity subroutine. She was always admiring herself when she passed a mirror. She as Lulu, of course, not she as the others or as the woman trapped inside the bot's mind. All of them had to admit it could get confusing, and the longer it went on, the more the lines blurred between them and the person she had once been as Wren. They were all becoming a part of her and she a part of them. 

Except for the blonde wig with purple highlights, the bot was almost the person she used to be before getting stuck as her lover's wife's property. 

She next stepped into a pair of brown ankle boots with high heels and open toes. Only, instead of going bare-legged as Wren would have, Lulu instead kept on the stockings. 

"Absolutely beautiful," Mistress ma'am said loud enough behind her to startle the maid-bot, though her body refused to show it. "You look so awfully familiar in that outfit. Reminds me of a woman who used to work with my husband." 

She laughed. 

Then she carefully removed the wig, and Lulu disappeared from the girl-bot's consciousness but not her memories. The woman was just her owner now, and she was just her unnamed maid-bot, Serving Unit 1. 

"Still missing something," her owner said. 

Then she walked to the dresser and retrieved the wig of blonde curls, the one that would make the bot at least look like the woman I had been. 

"I think it's only fair to warn you that your responsibilities will change once I put this one on you, Unit 1." She smiled. "As much as I would love to just keep you around the house for the rest of your life, Mr. Edwards tells me he still needs a director for the accounting department. So I guess I'll have to concede to that if we want my daddy's company to continue to prosper."

She slipped the wig on Unit 1's scalp, and the identity tied to the wig connected to the nanobots controlled by her collar. 

She was suddenly Wren Jenkins again. 

But she wasn't exactly Wren Jenkins again either. 

She knew her name. She knew her job. She knew her family history. She could access her skills in both accounting and in managing the department. She had access to all of that. But it wasn't coming from the woman behind the programming. It was more like it was being read and stored from that woman's personnel files at the office. This wasn't Wren being Wren. This was Serving Unit 1 being programmed to pretend to be Wren Jenkins. 

Even in making the bot herself again, Mrs. Edwards had managed to take the reality of the trapped woman's identity away from her. She wasn't ending the punishment for sleeping with her husband. She was doubling down on it. She was pushing the knife in farther and twisting it to increase the pain. 

And there wasn't a damn thing the new Wren -- or Unit 1 -- could do about it. 

"Tell me your name, young lady," she said. 

"My name is Wren Jenkins," she said without any control of my voice.

"And what do you do, Wren?"

"I manage the accounting office at your father's company, Mrs. Edwards."

"And you do that so very well," she said. 

"Thank you." 

"And tell me, dear, how do you feel about my husband?" 

" I like working for him. He's a good boss."

"Is that all?"

"Well, he is very good-looking, but he's married."

"I think so too, my dear, and yes, he's very, very married."

The woman who had been the real Wren Jenkins, not the programmed personality that pretended to be her, screamed inside the bot's head. No, she couldn't take that away from her. She couldn't take away her love for her owner's husband. She just couldn't.

"Anyway, let's go to the living room and talk about your future, my dear."

And with that, the bot who was now a facsimile of Wren Jenkins, accounting director, followed Mrs. Edwards from the bedroom into the living room and took a seat next to her on the sofa. 

"Would you like something to drink?" Mrs. Edwards asked. 

"No thank you," said the Wren, shaking her head. "But I'd be happy to get something for you, Mrs. Edwards, if you like." 

There it was. Even if she was not to be the maid full-time she was still going to be the servant in some way. 

"Thank you, Wren," the woman said. "I'll have a Scotch, two fingers, please."

Wren rose from the sofa and made her way to the liquor cabinet, then poured out a little bit of the good Scotch into a short glass. Just as she had as Lulu and Yvette and Roxanne and Josette, and Jacquline, every damn one of the identities she had been programmed to be as a maid. Why should this new Wren personality be any fucking different?!

New-Wren took the drink over to the sofa and handed it to Mrs. Edwards. 

"Thank you, dear," she said. "I must say my father's company does hire some of the nicest people and best-behaved employees." She grinned. "Sometimes."

New-Wren's face returned the smile and Wren's body crossed her legs, letting the right bounce slightly on the left as she gave her full attention to the woman who owned the company she worked for. 

"Now, as I was saying, Wren," the woman started. "People have been missing you around the office, and two weeks is long enough for your vacation." Another wide grin. "Although I know how much fun you've been having playing dress-up and cleaning house. Still, all good things must come to an end, and it's time to return to the office."

"Yes, ma'am," Wren said. "I understand."

"Obviously, we couldn't let things go back to normal, could we? No need to have you sleeping around with my husband behind my back or sneaking quickies in the copier room. I'm sure you understand."

"Yes, ma'am. I assure you I'm not remotely interested in your husband that way."

"Oh, I know you're not. At least not now. But somewhere in that slutty little brain of yours, you'd be surprised. Anyway, as I was saying, we still need your expertise at the office, and I still value your skills here at the house, so I figured there had to be a way to have the best of both worlds."

Mrs. Edwards clasped her hands together after she put her empty glass on the coffee table. 

"And I came up with this amazing idea. I figured if I could have your body and personality programmed to go with the other wigs, why not one that will also make you useful at the office? You'll go to work each day as normal, and you'll make sure all your bills are paid and any personal responsibilities as Wren are taken care of, but when that's done, at the end of the work day, you'll come right back to me and one of my pretty little maid-bots again. Bang, best of both worlds. But the absolute best part is that my cheating little husband will know all about it the whole time. He'll want you so bad, but you won't be remotely interested in him."

So, Unit 1 pondered, this particular torture was designed for Mr. Edwards more than for her. Any discomfort it caused her was just a welcome side effect. Not only did she go back to work as the property of Mrs. Edwards unknown to all others except Mr. Edwards, but she went back in such a way as to punish her former lover every hour he spent in the office and could look out of his large glass room to see her working in her own slightly smaller glass room just down the hall. 

"Yes, ma'am."

"And then he'll have all the pent-up energy and come home to find you, well, one of you anyway, cooking his dinner or cleaning his office, and he will have nowhere to go for any relief but to me, his loving wife who holds his very future in her hands."

"Yes, ma'am," Wren said.

"It's the most delicious kind of revenge I could have asked for, and I didn't have to ask for a goddamn thing. I just walked right into thanks to your stupidity." She laughed out loud. "No one will ever know Wren is missing because she won't be missing at all. But it sure as hell won't be the same Wren who shook her little ass at my horny husband, just the well-behaved, hard-working director the company needs without all those slutty, lustful distractions."

"Yes, ma'am," said the well-behaved, hard-working, obedient director the company needed. 

Mrs. Edwards stood up. 

"Good. We're on the same page then, my dear. Now, instead of changing, why don't you take your pretty little self in what you're wearing and go wait in your display. I'm sure it will be a welcome surprise for when Mr. Edwards returns home. 

Chapter Nine

Mr. Edwards was indeed surprised the next day to find Wren Jenkins waiting for him in the display. Mrs. Edwards had reset the programming so that the maid protocols didn't kick in until the bot returned after the work day. So instead of leaving the rotating stand, Wren simply remained slowly turning under the lights all morning, waiting for the master of the house to return home. 

When he entered the house he dropped his bags at the door and walked up to the glass and smiled widely and warmly at her. He turned off the display and opened it so she could step out.

He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tightly, not seeming to care what his wife might think about his behavior. She didn't returned the affection, not physically anyway, but the Unit 1 was almost crying inside because of his attention. When she didn't respond, she relaxed and let go. 

"Oh, my god. I can't believe she set you free," he said. "I didn't expect that in a million years. Not as pissed as she was."

"Hello, Mr. Edwards," Wren said warmly, ignoring every screaming impulse from the girl trapped inside. That girl who had been reduced to merely Unit 1 wanted nothing more than to hug him back, to wrap her arms around his waist, to squeeze him into her, to kiss him deeply, and to hear him promise her everything would be okay after all. Instead, she merely said, "It's good to see you. I trust your trip was a good one." 

"Why so professional, baby?" he asked. "Is she still here?"

Wren smiled pleasantly and shook her head. "No, sir. Mrs. Edwards is at an appointment in town."

"Oh, don't tell me she --" As he spoke, he brushed her hair to the side and exposed the silver collar around her neck. "Fuck." He stamped his foot on the floor as he let her hair fall again over the collar. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." 

He sucked in a long, deep, frustrated breath and growled at the front door. 

"You're not even really you right now, are you?" he asked, returning his gaze to Wren. 

"Of course I'm me, Mr. Edwards. Who else would I be?" Wren asked pleasantly. "I'm your very best managing director for the accounting department." She grinned in spite of the humiliated woman inside. "Of course, I'm your only managing director for the accounting department too." The laugh sounded hollow as it echoed in the foyer.

"Goddamn her," Mr. Edwards yelled. "When I told her we needed you back at the office, that people would get suspicious, I never thought she'd go this far. I never thought she'd pulling a fucking stunt like this just to get back at me. At us." 

Wren put her hand on his shoulder for a moment and patted it. "It's okay, boss," she said. "There's nothing to worry about. I'll be back in the office tomorrow. Everything will be okey-dokey now that my vacation is over."

"Vacation?! What fucking vacation? You've been trapped here in my house working as a fucking robot maid, and now you're going to the office as a robot accountant. Goddamn that woman!"

Wren removed her hand from her boss's shoulder. 

"You'll see. I'll have those books whipped into shape in no time." She paused. "Perhaps you need a drink, sir. Perhaps a drink will help calm you down."

"Fuck me," he said. "She still has you waiting on us hand and foot." 

"Hang on, boss," she said and her body walked into the lounge and reached into the bar for the whiskey. "Jack Daniels, straight, right?"

Mr. Edwards had followed her and he said, "Yeah."

She poured the drink and handed it to him. He looked away as he downed it. Deep inside, she wanted him to look at her. She wanted to see his eyes. She wanted to use New-Wren's eyes to see with Old-Wren's love. But he wouldn't let her. He couldn't even bear to see her. It was his own damn fault and he knew it. It was his own failing because he would rather -- if he had to admit it to himself, and she knew it as well as he did -- have her face his wife's wrath as her living puppet than to have the balls to stand up to her, move out, and face a live without her money. But then, they had both gotten into the affair knowing it wouldn't end in anything permanent like marriage. It was just a little bit of fun between consenting adults, and they had gotten caught. Just their bad luck. 

"Feel better?" she asked. 

He shook his head. 

The phone rang.

It was Mrs. Edwards. 

"He home yet?"

"Yes," Wren said. "Mr. Edwards has made it home."

"And..."

"He wasn't feeling well so I made him a stiff drink. He should be okay soon." 

"Good girl. Thanks for taking care of my man."

"Any time." 

There was a laugh on Mrs. Edwards end of the call, and they both knew exactly what it meant. 

"If he's fine, then get yourself changed for the rest of the night. I just wanted to make sure he got to see you first thing when he got home."

"Yes, ma'am," Wren said. 

Mrs. Edwards hung up. So did Wren. 

Then she knew exactly what she was supposed to do next. The nanobots were sending the signals and she had no choice but to obey. 

And she did just that. 

She walked to "her" bedroom in the back of the first floor, and she removed the Wren wig. Instantly, Wren's programmed personality went away and the blank slate that was Serving Unit 1 returned. Unit 1 did as her program dictated, and since it was a Wednesday, she grabbed the wig for Josette, the red wig with bouncy curls. After she fixed it in place on her scalp, she undressed from the professional skirt and blouse, lay them carefully on the bed, then put on the powder blue maid outfit with the white stockings and white patent lace-up ballet-boots. The last bit she added to the uniform was white, fingerless, lace gloves. Then she smoothed the skirts to look her best for her charming Master. 

During the time he had been gone, her owner had updated the programming in the Josette identity so that she no longer thought of the man as Mr. Edwards. Instead, he had become Master. 

"Maybe that will make him happier with you," her owner had told her. "After the way you pissed him off last time."

Of course, they both knew it wouldn't. If anything, it would only make the truth more evident, make the punishment more vile, make the reality more awful to endure. The more she artificially became the thing they had both wanted her to be, the more it would drive a wedge between them, would drive him away from her. 

Not that there was a single fucking thing Unit 1 could do about it. As Josette, she would continue to gush and goo and flirt and keep annoying him by reminding him of what they had both lost. 

Before leaving the room, she grabbed the clothes from the bed to take them to the wash. Wren would need those in the morning, and Josette would have them ready. 

Clothes still in hand, Josette noticed Master sitting in the lounge and grumbling. He wasn't having a good day, and she knew she needed, really needed to do something about that. After all, Master was such a good man to her. Master was sweet and Master was handsome. And if one day, Master decided to take advantage of her, she wouldn't stop him. She secretly loved Master. But she also respected Master and knew that he loved his wife. And she would never throw herself at Master like a stupid little slut. 

Not that she wasn't above a little innocent flirting, of course.

If only Mistress hadn't programmed the disconnect between the act of flirting as an attracted young maid and the authentic feelings of actually being attracted to him as he truly was inside. No, in her inner mind, Unit 1 knew she loved him in spite of every algorythmically charted cute touch or smile from Josette pretended on her behalf. Her programming severed that link. She was purely doing her programmed task, only in this case that task included emulating a crush on her boss. 

She smiled as she passed him on her way to the laundry room. Once the clothes were washing, she returned, took his empty glass without a word, filled it with more whiskey, and gave it back to him after taking a little sip herself. 

She winked as he handed it to him. 

An indirect kiss. 

It would have to do. 

He smiled, and it brought the roses to her cheeks. 

"Hi, Master," she said. "What's wrong?"

He rolled his eyes at her then looked away. "What's this master shit?" he asked coldly. 

"I am your servant, so that makes you my Master, silly." 

"Another fucking surprise. Perfect." He took a long sip from the glass.

"I hope Ms. Wren didn't upset you with business talk."

He said nothing.

"Here," she said. "Now, now. That's all over. What can I do to help you feel better?"

"I'm fine."

"Well, you will be after that whiskey, Master. Or maybe I need to get you another once that one's gone." 

Inside the body of the flirty, lost-in-love, giddy schoolgirl maid that Josette was programmed to be, the real girl heard every bubbly word. Of all the personalities, Roxanne was the one she could endure the most. Josette was the only one of them, of her, who was openly allowed to show her feelings for Master. 

Even if they were programmed feelings, an act put on by a robot puppet controlled by Mistress. 

The wost was Yvette. If the red wig made Josette go ga-ga over Master, then the short, black one made her do the same for Mistress, ma'am. Rubbing her feet, massaging her shoulders, sitting beside her and having their legs just touch as they talked, the stupid cow would only stop short of outright worship of her owner. 

But that paled to what Mistress had done in the creation of the new Wren. 

That was a masterpiece, a work of sadistic torment worthy of the great DeSade himself. Making a fake but in the body of the original was a stroke of vicious genius. 

And Josette could see how that uptight business bitch -- her other self, she knew -- had upset Master, and now she had to make it better. 

"May I sit down, Master?" she asked. 

He nodded.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Why are you sorry, Wr--" he said then stopped. "Sorry. I can't tell you apart, even with those stupid wigs and different colored dresses."

She gave him a fake pout. "It's Josette , silly."

"Right. I can't keep you all straight. You're all the same person anyway."

"Surely you can at least remember me, can't you? Besides, I'm nothing like the others," she said with a grin. "And I like the way I am."

Master looked down and away briefly, then seemed to force a smile, at least a half-assed one. "Anyway, why are you sorry, Josette ? You didn't do anything."

"I know. But I hate to see you unhappy, Master."

"Thanks."

"Listen. If that stuck up Wren won't give you any time, you just ignore her and let me know. I always have time for you."

"Oh, I wish that were true," he said. 

"Of course it's true, silly."

"Sure," he added. "Sit down if you want to."

"Thanks, Master." She plopped her perky little ass on the sofa beside him and made him bounce slightly. The whiskey danced in the cup but settled down just as quickly. "You know how I feel about you."

"I know how you are programmed to feel about me," he corrected her. 

"Does it really matter? Either way, I'm yours."

"You think you really believe that, don't you?" 

And she did really believe that. At least as long as she wore the Josette wig. But the minute she was out of it and into one of the others, she would really believe something else. She might really believe how fortunate she was to work for a woman like Mrs. Edwards. She might really believe she was in love with her Mistress. She might really believe she felt nothing for Mr. Edwards at all and simply served him and his wife because that was what she was meant to do. She might also believe that she had never loved him in the first place and that he needed to keep his hands off her when they were at the office. 

It was true. She would really believe it.

And he told her. 

"So enjoy it while I'm here then, Master."

He cocked his head to the side and stared at her. 

"Kiss me," he said.

"You know I can't do that."

"But you want to."

"More than you'll ever know."

"And what if I just kissed you?"

Before she could respond, he planted his lips on hers and tried to force open his mouth for a keeper bit of intimacy. She relished every moment of the kiss but her body wouldn't let her enjoy it. 

She pushed him away and pouted. 

"Why'd you have to go and ruin it, Master. I was having fun."

"You were playing pretend," he said. 

"I'll see you later then," she said and she left the room according to her programming. If he ever got physical, she had no choice but to leave the room and avoid him for the rest of her time as Josette . She could flirt, but that was it. She couldn't have him. He couldn't have her. It was punishment, after all, not a reward. 

She was the apple and the stick. But she wasn't free to enjoy being either. 

Chapter Ten

Wren had been back at work for almost six months. In all the time, she was focused purely on the accounts, and the books had never looked so good and so clean. It was as if she had become a different person after her vacation. 

She was all business. Before the vacation, she had often disappeared on long lunches or into stairwells to make out clandestinely with Jerome, not that anyone had known. But now even folks who hadn't known about that just figured there was something different about her. She was friendly, but not overly so. She was a pleasant boss and co-worker, but she didn't get involved in the lives of her employees beyond the walls of the office. 

She was ideal. 

Back at the house, after hours, the girl would return home and change into a new maid each day.

Mondays she slipped into the long blonde wig with colored tips and became the vain, bubble-headed Lulu. On those days, she would flit from room to room, casually sucking up to Mistress, ma'am like she owed her the whole, wide, goddamn world. Lulu all but worshipped her owner in the most platonic way possible. She was just so gushingly grateful to Mistress, ma'am for taking her in. 

Tuesdays she donned the black short wig and lusted after Mistress as the sexed-up but denied release Yvette. That's when it became the most important thing in her life to take care of her Mistress in every way possible. And the more those ways could include touching her, well, the more she needed to do it. Her Mistress particularly loved having her feet rubbed and kissed, worshipped was the word she used most often. But not just that. Yvette also was a de facto masseuse and chit-chatter for girltalk. She spend those days almost giddy until the wig came off and she tried to mentally cleanse herself from the day's humiliation. 

Wednesdays was reserved for the blue wig and Jacqueline. Jacqueline was all business, but damn did she like to show off her body. After a few weeks, the blue-wigged hottie noticed that most of the regular delivery drivers were rearranging their schedules to show up on Wednesdays to chat up the friendly maid. Of course she turned them all down when they asked her out to hit some clubs, but never by making them bad for shooting their shot. Mrs. Edwards had even offered to extend her program to allow her to actually accept one every now and then and go "have fun." Well, pre-programmed fun the real girl inside Jacqueline had not way to refuse, that is. 

On Thursdays Josette came out to play, opening flirting with Master and trying her best to get him to notice her and love her the way she wanted him to. It was all stocking tops and cleavage on Thursdays. No matter how Master tried to avoid her, it was part of her duties to be near him and to pester him for his attention. Unit 1 hated to see the sadness in his eyes on Josette-Day because he knew that in spite of her attention -- which, of course, she could do nothing to stop -- he could do nothing to welcome her advances. Thursdays were his hardest day, and after a few weeks, he started finding reasons to stay out late on Thursdays. Either working late or going for drinks with his friends, he was often not home until she was in whatever embarrassing costume her owner had picked out for her to wear in her display case. Even then, he would barely make eye contact and hurry by into the living room or kitchen or straight up to bed. 

Fridays was the day of Roxanne in the black, Betty Page wig. Poor Roxanne's programming wouldn't allow her to complete almost any of her tasks without some degree of failure, and that meant punishment. More than once, the black-wigged beauty had found herself over her owner's knee with her ass exposed, getting a few good smacks from either a ruler or Mrs. Edwards' open palm. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Her owner was relentless, but they both knew that no matter how many times the poor maid was punished for her offense, she wouldn't improve unless her owner changed her programming to allow her to get better at her job. Which, as they both knew, was exactly the point of the programming. Mr. Edwards had been asked a few times to deliver the spankings, and Roxanne had been quick to notice the erection that poked against her belly from her spot on his lap, and he had then quickly smacked her and made her get up again and go away to another room. 

And finally, on weekends, Unit 1 was permitted to be herself, well, her generic maid self. Just cleaning and doing her routine without any fake personality to drive her. She was happiest then. She was most like just another piece of equipment, an appliance really. She rarely spoke, mostly nodding even when spoken to, and when she did, her vocabulary consisted of little more than "yes, ma'am" or "yes, sir." On the weekends she was able to avoid both Mr. and Mrs. Edwards except when being directly spoken to or directed to a task. That suited her just fine. Over the months she had become increasingly fed up with Mr. Edwards' passivity toward her ordeal and his constant distancing himself from her. 

If he wanted to avoid her, then fine. She could live with that. 

But she wanted to stay away from Mrs. Edwards for reasons of her own. 

The more Mr. Edwards, her former lover drew away from her, the more Mrs. Edwards, as the person who had so dominated her, had reduced her to less than human, had so controlled every waking moment of her life, the more that woman grew in her mind to become the one who activated her submissive tendencies. The more that woman became a sort of dominant lover without every engaging in a single sexual encounter. That woman captivated her kinky nature, and it was that woman who triggered her desires more and more each day. 

Mr. Edwards was ceasing to exist in her kinky mind, but Mrs. Edwards was taking his place though Unit 1 could do nothing to either let her know or to pursue a connection. Instead, she merely did each humiliating thing she was programmed to do and ended up becoming the submissive being she longed to be but having no active participation in the becoming. 

It was a welcome change. But it was also a thoroughly unwelcome one. The memories of her attraction and yes, even love for Mr. Edwards still mattered to her, but they began to pale in comparison to her need to continue to be dominated by Mrs. Edwards. 

But she couldn't even enjoy the feelings that woman triggered in her mind. No matter what the need was doing to Unit 1's mind, the maid-bot's body kept on with business as usual. It only got leaky and horny when under the control of the Yvette or the Josette wig, and even then it had little to do with her yearning to be loved or dominated and more to do with that damn control tablet that activated her physiological responses with no more interest than a TV remote might have in activating a changing channel or increasing volume. Thanks to the programming, it didn't matter what she felt. Her clit and her nerves were wired to turn on at the push of a button, her mind and her will be damned. 

And, rather than accept that disconnect between her body's reactions and her mind's need for her owner's ill treatment, it was far easier to avoid the woman as much as possible. 

The evenings after work were only reinforcing her problem. Rather than finding cute but humiliating outfits for her to pose in during the night in her display case, her owner had taking things a step further. It was not enough to dress her provocatively or in some kind of fetish gear. No. It was becoming much more effective to reduce her to the state of a mere household bot, an appliance, just a thing, no longer a person, by having her strip down completely and remain completley naked at night, her arms locked by her side. She know longer even posed as if she were pretending to be human. She was just a bot, a nude doll awaiting her morning's instructions to become something useful again. 

It was Wednesday, Yvette noted as she stood nude, an unused mannequin, a stored doll, in the display. Already her programming was telling her it was almost time to leave the case and change into Jacqueline. 

But she couldn't. She didn't. Something new in her programming wouldn't let her. Instead, she responded to a message directly from the control tablet and went directly to Ms. Edwards in the living room. 

She held a long, black wig in her hands, a sort of Elvira or Morticia Adams thing with no bangs, but feathered like it had been made up for a party by Farrah Fawcett in the 1970s. She waited for the maid-bot to fully enter the room before she spoke. 

"Come with me," she said, rising from the couch and stepping around Yvette back into the hallway. "Now, bot." 

Her voice wasn't harsh or angry, just direct and unfeeling, just an order. 

It was an order she obeyed without being told twice. 

She led me all the way through the hallway and around the corner into the laundry room. Then she opened the door that led into the basement. Motioning for Yvette to follow, she descended the wooden steps into the dark, unfinished area. The bot-girl did just that and Ms. Edwards flipped on a light switch and commanded her to stand near the back wall, a concrete slab. 

She handed Yvette the black wig. 

"Put that one," she said. 

She did, first carefully removing the short, black Yvette wig, then slipping on and securing the new one, and the minute the connection linked her to the identity reserved for the new wig, she realized something was different. She had no identity. She couldn't move. She simply stood still and quiet, a kind of flesh and blood mannequin in front of her. 

"Perfect," she said. "Tell me your name, doll," she ordered.

Inside her mind, the doll-bot's true mind anyway, she tried to answer, but its mouth didn't respond. It simply would not open.

Its owner laughed and nodded softly.

"Perfect. Just like they said."

They? it wondered. Who or what were they?

"Follow me, doll," the owner commanded. 

The stationary girl tried her best to will its limbs to move and follow its owner, but the muscles wouldn't budge.

"So fucking perfect," her owner said. 

The doll was already standing naked after having spent the night that way in the display as Yvette, but now the nakedness wasn't something it actually seemed to notice. It was simply a state to be in, nothing more. 

"Let's try this," the owner said. She walked back to the doll and gripped it by the wrist. With no effort at all, the woman moved the doll's arm down from bent and up at the base of the wig -- where the doll had locked in place after the connection activated -- to straight and stiff by its side. Then the owner straightened the doll's legs and moved them to about shoulder-width apart. 

"You look amazing," the woman said. She was just the owner now or the woman. There was no memory -- at least none it could access -- of a name or even a purpose. The doll simply was. For all its searching, even the idea that it had once been a she, and that she had been someone with a name and job and a lover and...

Well, it no longer had that much even. Everything from before had become locked away, inaccessible. 

The doll stood quiet. The doll stood immobile. The doll stood. That was all there was. 

The owner easily turned the doll to face the slab wall. Then she pushed it roughly at the shoulders. It fell forward and its head hit the wall and rested. Still, its body retained the rigid, silent state. There was slight pain from hitting the wall, but soon it too was gone, lost in the emptiness that had become the doll's thought-life.

"Now that you've been taken care of," the owner started. "You, Jerome, and I are going on a business trip for two weeks. Well, that's the cover story anyway. Jerome and I are going to Spain anyway. We included you simply because it would explain why you weren't in the office." The woman laughed out loud. "Well, why Wren isn't in the office, I mean. And rather than give you the run of the house, I downloaded some new programming for you and even found something nasty to lock you away from your actual memories and consciousness."

The doll listened but continued to start ahead at the wall where it rested at a stiff angle. 

"You see, everything in you is neurological and that means it's fair game for that wonderful little collar you're trapped in. That means more than just what your body does and feels in a physical sense. It also means your will and personality are mine to control, as you know and have experienced these past few months. But not just that. I've been reading up on the brain -- thank you for inspiring that -- and your access to memories and awareness and all the kind of shit are controlled by your brain too. And as long as I control your brain with the collar, that means all that shit is mine to control too, doll."

She rested her hand on the doll's bare, cool shoulder. 

"That means I can block off and hide away any of you that might be an inconvenience to me."

She paused, removed her hand from the doll's shoulder. 

"Do you understand what that means for us, my dear?" Another laugh. "No, of course you don't. Right now you are limited to what you see and hear and feel against your skin at the moment. Right now, you're just a doll that has no past, no future, just an ever-present now."

The owner turned off the light, making the entire basement grow almost pitch black, save for a tiny bit of sunlight coming from somewhere the doll couldn't see in her position. 

"But lest you think me a total bitch, rather than letting you get bored, I thought of something to entertain you that will play into that life in the moment you will enjoy for the next two weeks, doll."

Instantly, a single part of the unnamed doll sprang to life. Just one part. Something small and electric inside it. It knew instinctively that part was something called a clitoris. It knew that it kept real women happy. But it was not a real woman. It was a doll. Yet it pulsated and shocked and tingled and kept it on the edge of something the doll knew to be an orgasm. 

But it didn't arrive. 

"Enjoy your vacation, my dear," the owner said. 

There was the sound of a door closing and locking. 

Then the doll was alone, still, quiet, leaning against the cold concrete wall where it had been left. 

There was nothing to hear. There was nothing to see. There was only the cool wall against the doll's forehead...

And, of course, the constant, aching, electrifying promise of the buzzing in its clitoris. 

A promise that eventually became the only experience the doll could acknowledge as it faded from memory with each passing minute, replaced by the tingling promise that made its promise over and over again. 

Chapter Eleven

Time became meaningless for the doll who had been left behind in the dark basement. Measuring time, even the simple awareness that time was an idea or something that existed, became an exercise in pointlessness. There had been no past. There would be no future. There would always be the now, the moment, the unrelenting sensation of the doll's clit that threatened to send the motionless figure into the bliss of orgasm -- the sensation that would never deliver. 

There was nothing to see. 

There was nothing to hear. 

There was no boredom. 

There was only the buzzing sexual energy. 

There was only the doll and the doll was the buzzing. The buzzing was the doll. They two were one and the same. Where the doll existed, there was the buzzing. That was the only world in which the doll existed and in which the doll had a purpose, had meaning, had a function. 

For two weeks, for a year, for a century of lifetimes -- it didn't matter -- the doll leaned against the wall and ceased to be anything but a collected excitement of horny need, never released. 

Then, one day, there was a sound. 

"Did you miss me?" said the sound. It was the voice of the owner. "But the better question is, do you want to orgasm, you poor tortured toy?"

There was a touch, warm and cool at the same time, on its back, then trailing down softly to its buttocks, around to its naked belly. At the touch, the doll felt gooseflesh rise along its skin. The touch left it alone again. 

"Well," came the owner's voice again, "would you like to orgasm or not?"

Of course, the doll didn't, couldn't answer. What purpose would that serve? To actually orgasm would be to take its purpose away. To grant relief would be to steal its identity as the embodiment of the clitoral stimulation. Even if it could, to answer would be an action as void of meaning as if the doll walked around the room. It was where it was, and that was all. What it had done before didn't matter. Nor would anything it might do in time to come. 

It was the doll. It was frustration. It was unfulfilled energy It was all it needed to be. 

In short, it was losing its fucking mind. 

But none of that mattered when a new feeling invaded the doll's body. The constant buzzing in its sex increased, just for a few seconds, and, without moving, without shrieking or screaming or calling out any exclamation at all, it happened. 

The doll came. The doll came hard and it wanted to cry -- its first thought in what might have been a lifetime. The doll kept coming. 

If the before had been being kept on the edge of an orgasm, the after, the new now, was eternally enduring the height of pleasure its orgasm sent careening up and down the nerves of the doll's back and legs and arms and neck, and yes, even brain. 

"Enjoying that, my dear?" the owner asked. 

After another lifetime, the doll finally stopped cumming. 

Its owner righted it from where it leaned against the wall, and it remained rigid and expressionless in spite of the long stream of sexual bliss the controller had given it. Its mind was already forgetting the feeling. Its eyes were looking at its owner. 

"What to do? What to do?" the woman said aloud. "Jerome is upstairs and he knows better than to interrupt me when I'm torturing you." 

The words meant nothing to the doll. 

"Come with me," she said, and the doll obeyed instantly. 

This time, the owner led it upstairs to the main part of the house. When she and it were visible in the laundry room light, she laughed and mentioned what a mess it had become in the basement. It was covered in dust. It was dirty. It was a mess. 

"No matter."

"Come on," the woman commanded, and the doll did as it was told.

It followed the owner upstairs again, this time to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Then it entered the guest bedroom, still in step behind her, and when the owner sat on the bed, she ordered the doll to sit on its knees on the floor in front of her. 

It did just that. 

The owner removed the long, black wig, then pressed a few buttons on the control tablet, and, the disconnect between Unit 1 -- she couldn't think of herself at anyone but that -- and the leftover memories from the woman she had once been disappeared. 

She suddenly felt the full impact of the two weeks spent on the verge of an orgasm. She suddenly felt the full power of the three hours of continuous cumming she had endured upon Mrs. Edwards' return. Her body shuddered, and she sucked in a deep breath, but she remained on her knees, still naked, on the floor. 

"Lick me," she commanded. "You were such a devoted little slut for Jerome. Let's see if you can apply some of that energy to me, darling." 

Without taking another breath, Unit 1 shifted closer, between Mrs. Edwards' knees. She leaned in closer, her nose taking in the musky scent of her owner's sex, slightly sweaty after the flight home. Her mouth sucked in the scent as well, tasting her owner's pussy without yet touching it. 

Then she began her work in earnest. She licked the slit between her owner's labia. She let her warm, wet tongue gather up all the juices that were starting to drip there. She licked again, digger a little deeper with each stroke. Finally, she slurped deep and when her tongue left the slick groove between Mrs. Edwards' legs, she lapped at the woman's clit like it was the tastiest morsel she could have imagined. 

"Oooh. That's nice," the woman said between throaty moans. "That's very nice. You seem to know your way around a woman's body, little maid-bot." 

Unit 1 felt disgusted with herself, being made to eat out her owner's pussy without a choice in the matter. But, she couldn't help the moisture growing in her own cunt. Something about serving this woman, something about being dominated by this woman, something about ravishing this woman's sex while being remoted controlled, it triggered something inside her. There was no question about that. It touched the innermost part of her where she longed to be, needed to be restrained, humiliated, degraded. 

And Mrs. Edwards was triggering it in a way that not even Mrs. Edwards had ever been able to. He fucked her, or fucked her over, plain and simple. He used her need to take care of his need for sex. But not Mrs. Edwards. didn't just fuck her body. In fact, she hadn't really touched her much at all. Mrs. Edwards fuck and fucked over her mind, where all the sick, twisted, perverse kinks and needs lived. Mrs. Edwards knew somehow how to find those and bring them out into the open in a way that Unit 1 needed and wanted and yet couldn't stand being made to face -- at least not under the power of that woman. 

Unit 1 felt her owner's thighs clench her cheeks, and they held the bot-girl in place to continue her probing of the woman's inmost treasures. Before long, those thighs that held her face began to quiver, and Mrs. Edwards gripped her head and held it tight against her muff. Through it all, Unit 1 kept up her attention on the welcoming pussy and clit. 

Mrs. Edwards' breathing had become shallow and fast. She was making a soft sort of wiff-wiff-wiff-ugh sound that repeated over and over. 

Her blood pulsed in the vessels of the legs and hands, and she soon screamed out loud enough to draw the attention of anyone else in the house, or in the country really. 

But Unit 1 didn't stop. She hadn't been told to do so. 

Mrs. Edwards lay back on the bed and the maid-bot kept licking and slurping at her owner's cunt. The musky, sweaty scent had grown on her and the bot-girl lapped at it, taking it into her very self as best she could. 

"Oh, fuck. Oh, heavenly fucking fuck," the woman mumbled as her body vibrated again, and a second orgasm shook her. 

When she relaxed, she pushed the bot's head away. "Stop. Stop, please. Just stop for a goddamn minute so I can breathe."

Unit 1 stopped. Inside, she hated having to stop. Having gone so long without any sex herself, she really didn't care if it was with Mr. or Mrs. Edwards. Her body, no, her whole identity needed this. 

"Shit," her owner said at last. "Damn. Just damn."

The woman quickly stripped from her casual dress and stepped out of her shoes, then lay back on the bed in only her bra and panties. A few seconds later, and it was only the panties. 

She motioned for the bot to join her on the bed. 

"I don't even care how dirty you are, you amazing little slut," she said. 

Unit 1 climbed onto the bed beside her. 

"Make love to me," her owner commanded. 

And Unit 1 did. 

She kissed the woman full and open-mouthed, all the while one hand inside her panties, playing with her pubic curls. Then she broke off the deep kiss and planted several small, wet ones on the woman's neck. As she did, she buried a finger inside her owner, then a second, and finally a third. She fucked her with those fingers with a constant, slow build-up, a regular motion that made the woman pant noticeably. Then she took control of her owner's mouth again and brought her tongue to heel with her own. 

Her owner was hers to tame, but not by her own will. She knew that she was little more than a lifesized vibrator. Just a programmable toy with hands and fingers and a mouth and a tongue and a pussy to grind against her own. 

But it didn't matter. 

The woman deep inside Unit 1 was already crying. She had been caught. She had been dehumanized. But it was only in that treatment that she found out she had been freed. 

She might never be able to tell Mrs. Edwards that. The woman might never care. That's what made her so free. She had become the purest form of sexual slave she could have imagined. 

Unit 1 pinched her owner's clit and the woman howled into the kiss. Then she came again. The maid-bot moved her mouth to the woman's breasts and she kissed, then sucked, then nibbled on her dark, red-brown nipples. They were the size of fifty-cent pieces and full of goosebumps. As she tasted them she kept fucking Mrs. Edwards with the constant, deliberate motion. 

After another few minutes, her owner yelped again in short breaths as he shook on the bed beneath the bot-woman who so long ago had been a real woman. 

After she relaxed again, the woman commanded her to stop, please stop. "Just lie here and cuddle for a few minutes," she almost whispered. 

Unit 1 did, and soon she heard her owner gently snoring beside her. 

Chapter Twelve

When she awoke, Mrs. Edwards was still sleeping beneath her. Freed from her display case, the bot-girl had defaulted to muscle memories and had snuggled with her owner like she had with both Mrs. Edwards and many of her previous lovers. One hand rested on her owner's thigh, the other on her breast. One leg lay draped across her owner's other thigh. Her head rested against the nape of the woman's slender, beautiful neck. 

Without any other commands to activate behavior, she simply lay there and let the snuggle continue. 

Presently, Mrs. Edwards began to stir, and she made happy little groaning sounds as she slowly discovered she and her new sex toy were intertwined in both each other and the covers. 

"Good morning, little bot," she said. "That was certainly one hell of an evening." 

"Good morning, Mrs. Edwards," said Unit 1.

"Wow. Maybe Jerome had the right idea with you. I mean, that was fucking amazing." 

The woman smiled. 

"Still, it's not like I could just let you go though. I'm pretty sure none of that was real. I mean, you only did all that because you're programmed to obey me."

She stretched and yawned and shifted out from under the bot-girl. 

"But maybe I could say thank you in another way."

Unit 1 listened intently but didn't react. 

"So, I want you to go get a shower and get cleaned up. Then I want you to go down the hall to mine and Mr. Edwards' bedroom and lie down on the bed. Then I want you to put the new black wig on, the one that locks you down and basically turns you into a living doll. Then you'll wait there for him to come home from work. 

"When he does, it's his choice. He can fuck you like you're some living sex doll, or he can ignore you and keep being a little pussy about everything. But I'm giving you to him if he wants you. At least for today. 

"Keep up that shit like you did last night, and maybe we can find some time in your busy schedule between the office and your household cleaning and cooking to let us both enjoy you a bit more. Only, I want you aware for me but helpless to do a goddamn thing about it. For him, I want you to be just a doll. At least until you take off the wig and then it all comes rushing back you.

"You'll be able to have sex with him whenever he's willing, but you won't know it. It won't matter to you until you're not having sex anymore. How's that sound? Delicious, right?"

"Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Edwards," Unit 1 said obediently. 

Then she curtsied and excused herself to do as she had been told. The bot-woman went to the bathroom reserved for her on the second floor, and she cleaned up. She didn't put on any clothing at all. Instead, she only stopped by the closet in "her" room -- really, just a place to store her outfits, not that she slept there like a human -- to pick up the black wig. 

Then the doll-bot followed the verbal commands from Mrs. Edwards and lay down across Mr. Edwards' bed. She slipped on the wig and felt her arms and legs take a position like that of a very expensive Real Doll. 

Then the doll without an identity waited in the dark on the covers, lost in the loneliness of the moment, feeling nothing, knowing nothing but the ache in her helpless crotch that would never reach climax, and knowing above all that she didn't deserve it. 

After all, she was a tool, little more than a toy for her owner to put his cock into if and when he so chose. 

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