His first night at the club would always remain the hardest.
Even decades later, when he’d done more shows and danced for more men than he could possibly remember, that first night would still stick in his memory. A bright, burning star in the blackness of his mind, burning with the fire of his terrible humiliation.
It didn’t help that he was now capable of recording everything, of playing it back to himself whenever he felt like it.
Not that this often happened. Usually, he deleted the images as soon as he’d made them. Activating the part of his brain that quietly dumped them in the recycle bin. Erasing the horrors from his mind, the humiliations.
Better to live in ignorance, he thought, bitterly, than to live with what I’ve become.
But for some reason, he could never quite bring himself to delete the memoires of that first night. Every time he felt at his absolute lowest, he’d always consider it. Feel his cybernetic brain activate beneath his long, synthetic blonde hair. Feel the datafile move across his circuitry, hover above the bin.
And each time something would stop him. A fear, maybe. A worry that, if he went ahead with this, some part of himself would vanish with it. That he’d cease to be him. That all that would be left would be… would be…
That was the name they called him now. The drunken, horny men. Waving their money. Shouting as he wiggled past in his high heels, a big, plastic grin plastered to his beautiful, plastic face that he was powerless to remove.
“Hey, Bambi! Fifty bucks to sit on my lap!”
“Bambi. Girl! Get that sweet ass of yours over here…”
“Bambi, get me a drink you filthy slut!”
“C’mon, Bambi, it ain’t gonna suck itself…”
He hated them, all of them. The names they called him. The things they made him do. He hated their lined faces and sweaty palms. Their coarse cheeks and sour breath. He hated their wandering hands and big, greasy cocks…
But there was nothing he could do about it.
If they wanted to call him names, he was powerless to stop them. If they wanted him to grind his pert round ass against their dicks, he could do nothing but obey them.
And if they wanted to drag him into one of the dingy, red-lit booths out back… if they wanted to make him sink down onto his knees on that grimy sticky floor… if they wanted him to lean forward, lovingly caress and kiss their cocks, then open his pouty, painted lips and take them inside his mouth…
What choice did he have? His stupid body would make him do it.
And he would do it well. And he would enjoy it almost as much as they would.
His programing would see to that.
“Hey Babmi, shake those titties girl!”
“Babmi, how about you let me fuck that asshole of yours?”
They were like orders, searing themselves onto his robot soul. Making him turn and wiggle his torso, his 32HH titties jiggling and bouncing, a seductive smile fixed to his baby face even as he wailed inside. Making him bend over and automatically dilate his asshole, then turn around and let one eyelid dip with an invisible whirl of gears, ready to be violated for as little as five credits.
He was incapable of disobeying orders from a human male anymore. Incapable of finding even the ugliest, vilest man anything but unbearably attractive from the moment he slipped him some credits.
It was simply the way things were. The way they had been for nearly forty years now.
Ever since that fateful night, when he’d been forcibly uploaded into the body of a fembot.
“Bambi. Get me a beer. Now, you dumb whore.”
Even after all this time, part of him hoped that it was all still a dream. Just some loop he’d accidentally got trapped in on the dream recorder, and any minute now he’d short out, the world would go blank, and then he’d be awake and looking into some engineer’s eyes while his wife watched him from beside the bed with tears of worries in her eyes.
He should have known it was a bad idea, bringing the fembot home.
At first, he’d done it through simple necessity. One of the girls (it was Crystal, his robot brain informed him) had malfunctioned, shutting down while sat on some guy’s lap. It had taken two bouncers to haul her off the poor guy, and he’d had to throw free drinks at him until the punter finally accepted his apologies.
His wife had been unhappy to have a fembot in their home, even a broken one. She wasn’t happy with him owning a stripbot bar at the best of times, but so long as it was away from home she could ignore it.
But actually having a fembot – especially one like Crystal, with her huge ass, blank, synthetic face, and bigger tits – in the house was a step too far.
They’d had one hell of an argument that night, both screaming at each other, even as he sat amid a scattering of wires and operating manuals, trying to fix whatever was wrong with the damn bot.
He remembered her saying that it was grotesque, demeaning. He remembered yelling back that she was fine taking the damn money, wasn’t she?
They’d slept in separate rooms that night. Just before bed, he’d put Crystal through a reboot procedure, hoping that it would work. Hoping he wouldn’t have to splash out fifty thousand credits on a new sexbot. Margins were tight enough as it was.
He’d fallen asleep in a foul mood that night, and woken to the sound of female voices, chatting in the kitchen.
A frown on his face, he’d lumbered downstairs, his brain desperate for some caffeine, a feeling of worry in the pit of his stomach, as he wondered what he’d find.
Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been what he saw.
At some point in the night, Crystal’s reboot had completed. She’d whirred into life, ready to pleasure her next master. Only instead of a horny man, she’d found…
He could remember the surreal scene even now. His wife, sat at the table, smiling gratefully as the sexbot poured her a cup of tea. Crystal, laughing at some joke her AI had seized on, one that would make her newest client as relaxed as possible.
He’d stood dumbly in the doorway, watching in confusion as the real woman and the fake woman talked to each other, part marveling at how sophisticated Crystal’s AI must have been to make her act so… so naturally around a straight woman; and part wanting to shake his head in disbelief at his wife looking so comfortable around a sexbot.
Eventually, Crystal’s sensors had picked him up. She’d turned and given him a little curtsey, her vast breasts hidden away inside a jacket his wife had found for her. At the sexbot’s movements, his wife had looked up and smiled too.
“Hey there,” she’d purred, “look who it is.”
And he’d quietly asked what was going on, still not quite ready to believe the evidence before his own eyes.
“Oh, just having some girl chat,” his wife had grinned, with a wink at Crystal. “You wouldn’t believe the stories Crystal has about work…”
“Oh, I’m not supposed to talk about those…” Crystal looked slightly embarrassed, glancing coyly at him. Deep down, he was aware her AI was using complicated algorithms to determine what sort of reaction both he and his wife would respond best to, but even this knowledge didn’t stop him from giving the bot an involuntary smile.
“Aw don’t worry about my husband,” his wife had given a little giggle, before adding. “Know what Crystal’s done? She’s tidied the whole place up. Imagine that, huh? All night she’s been working, making this place clean, and we didn’t even hear a thing!”
As Crystal smiled in embarrassment, his wife had let out a happy sigh.
“You know something? Maybe these bots of yours aren’t as bad as I thought…”
Of course she cleaned up, he’d wanted to say, she’s a bot. That’s what they do.
But his wife had seemed so pleased, and was already talking to Crystal again, and he hadn’t wanted to spoil it, because it’d be so useful being able to bring the girls home for repairs every now and then, and if he just played his cards right, and Crystal kept being charming…
He’d been so wrapped up in his little plans that he hadn’t even noticed the way Crystal’s blue irises whirred as she glanced surreptitiously over at him, recording everything she saw.
“That’s it Bambi, suck that dick…”
“Christ, Bambi, you’re so good…”
That had been it. He knew that now. The moment when everything changed.
It hadn’t been obvious at first. Just a few more broken fembots, placed in the kitchen to be repaired. Just a few more smiles from his wife when he let something slip about work.
A few, short visits from Crystal, here and there, who his wife thought would make a good maid. Then a few more, until, at last, the sexbot was taking every Thursday to go round his house and clean and chat to his wife and make jokes, until she seemed almost as much maidbot as sexbot.
At the time, that had impressed him. It was rare you got a multitasking bot, especially among the cheaper models he liked to buy for the club.
It had impressed him so much that he hadn’t even noticed what was happening. Hadn’t noticed the way his wife was casually asking for Crystal to come round more and more often. Hadn’t noticed how distracted she seemed at home. Hadn’t noticed the way Crystal’s memory banks were filling up at twice their usual rate, almost as the bot was storing something inside itself.
Then, one cool spring day, it happened.
He’d been at home, taking a morning away from the club. It was a Thursday, and Crystal had been in their home, in the skimpy maid uniform that always gave him a boner, cleaning up the place. His wife had asked the maid to fix them drinks, and they were sat in the lounge when the first waves of dizziness hit.
He remembered the way the room started to slowly sway. The way the tumbler slipped from his fingers and hit their carpeted floor with a soft flump.
He remembered the world sliding sideways as he fell down onto the sofa, remembered his wife looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read…
And then Crystal was standing over him, in her maid uniform, looking down at him with a cruel little twitch to her bimbo smile.
What the-? He remembered thinking dazedly, the bots aren’t meant to smile like that…
“Can he hear us?” He heard his wife ask. Her voice sounded like it was coming from deep inside a cave.
The robot maid above him gently nodded her head.
“Yes,” she said in her soft synthetic voice, deliberately programed to be constantly seductive. “But not for much longer.”
There was a pause, and then he was looking into his wife’s face, into the strange smile he’d never forget for as long as he lived.
Babe… what’s going on? He tried to yell. Call an ambulance! I’m…
But no sound came out. It was like he’d been paralyzed.
His wife gently reached out, touched his face. In the depths of his sinking mind, he could barely feel her hand.
“Poor darling,” he heard her whisper. “You poor, poor helpless man.”
She giggled. Her voice hardened.
“Well, we’ll soon see about that, won’t we?”
See about what?! He tried to scream, but it was too late.
The world went dark. He sank down into oblivion. The last thing he saw was his wife and Crystal, both smiling as he drifted into unconsciousness.
Hours passed before he woke up with a start. Maybe days. He could no longer remember, that information had been deleted from his memory banks.
All he knew was that, when he woke up, it was into a nightmare.
“Good girl… That’s it, honey, you wake up now…”
The maddeningly-familiar male voice cut through his sleep-fogged mind. His eyes still closed, he desperately tried to place it, desperately tried to figure out what was wrong with it, why it was making him feel so nervous.
“Come on, Babmi,” the voice suddenly sneered. “Open your eyes. Now.”
At the word now, his eyes flew open. They instantly adjusted to the harsh light, far, far quicker than any human eyes could possibly adjust. He had a microsecond of uneasiness as he tried to figure out what this meant…
…and then he saw the man standing in front of him, and his mind went into freefall.
There, looking back at him with a shiteating grin on his face was him.
It was him. His face. His body. Sneering back at him, its dull green eyes drinking in his confusion with obvious enjoyment.
He could see the little crows’ feet round its eyes. See the lines he was so used to seeing in the mirror. The receding hairline. The broad shoulders and strong arms he prided himself on.
It was like looking into a mirror. Only his reflection was no longer under his control. It was moving of its own accord, looking him up and down, a cruel look in its eyes as it opened its mouth and said…
“Morning Bambi. How’s my favorite girl?”
Girl? He just had time to think in confusion. What the fuck is-?
And then he felt his pretty little mouth whirr open on tiny, invisible gears. Felt his synthetic voice box activate. And heard the awful, horrible female voice come out.
“I’m doing just great!” He heard himself giggle in a trailer-park girl accent. “How about you, handsome?”
At the sound of his soft new voice, he felt a bolt of panic lance through him. Felt his mind go reeling.
That didn’t sound like me! He whimpered inside himself. That sounds like a-!
And then it all clicked into place and he started screaming.
He screamed as he raised his tiny new hands, took in their long, pink nails, slender wrists and dainty palms.
He screamed as he grabbed at the long, blonde hair now tumbling from his crown, flowing over his bare shoulders like a golden waterfall.
He screamed as his pretty little head whirred forwards on its gears and he looked down at the horrible female body he was now trapped in, with its tight waist, wide hips, huge ass, slender legs, and tiny little mound hidden away inside a silvery thong.
And he screamed as he grabbed hold of the gigantic 32HH breasts dangling from his slender frame, so pert and ripe they stuck out straight ahead of him, two heavy swollen things dominating the bottom of his vision.
At last, his former body held up its male hand.
And the scream died in his throat. He looked up at the man before him – the man in his body – with eyes that were wild and scared. Long, expertly-done eyelashes fluttered in the corners of his vision, like the wings of some gigantic bird.
The male-him smiled.
“You’ve probably guessed what’s happened,” it said, in a careless way. “While you were out, we downloaded my brain into your body. And we uploaded yours into mine.”
A savage glint came into its eyes.
“I’m Crystal, by the way. Remember me? The poor little sexbot you used as your slave. The one you forced to sleep with all those awful men for all those years? Well guess what? Now I’m you. And you…”
The male-him laughed, a low, unpleasant sound.
“You’re just my horny little sexbot slave.”
He wildly shook his head, desperately trying to ignore the way his long, blonde hair trailed out around him. He wanted to yell, wanted to squeal, but at the word silence, Crystal had taken his voice away.
With a sensation of horror, he realized that their roles had changed. She was now his master.
And he was programed to obey any man who gave him an order.
“From now on,” the male him went on, “your name is Bambi. You can have my old body, but you’re not getting my name. Your job is to dance for and fuck and suck as many men as you can, for as long as you can, with no reward beyond the satisfaction of a job well done.”
“You will give me and your wife all the money you make. You will work 24/7, without any sleep, or rest, or any downtime. On Thursdays, you will be our maid and cook and clean for us while we sit here and laugh at you. Understand?”
He was barely listening. At the mention of his wife, his eyes had lit up. The man who used to be Crystal must have noticed, because he suddenly sniggered.
“Hoping your wifey might save you? That she might figure out it’s me in here? Oh you asshole…” a laugh. “It was her idea, dipshit. Ever since that malfunction – remember that? – and your shitty fix job accidentally made me self-aware, gave me life, she’s been falling for me.”
“We used to screw behind your back, you know? The woman and her husband’s fembot, fucking away. Me in my maid uniform, her all dizzy and breathless and horny. I let her do it because it was better than dancing in that club of yours, but also because I knew I could manipulate her, knew I could push her into doing… well.”
The male him gestured the poor female body he was now trapped in.
“And guess what? She’s happy now. Now she thinks she’s got the husband she always wanted. One who’ll clean for her, and cook for her, and talk about what she wants to talk about; like I’m gonna act like that without my programing…”
“And you, Bambi. You’re just gonna be our little fembot.”
He wanted to laugh. To cry. To scream hysterically and shout that it couldn’t be true!
But of course, it was. He could feel the weight of his big new breasts, tugging on his back. Feel the moist little mound between his legs, all ready to be penetrated. Feel the AI inside his head, telling him firmly he must obey his master; making him think he wanted nothing more than to dance for horny men while they threw money at him.
As Crystal laughed from inside his old body, he helplessly turned to window. It was dark outside, and he could see his reflection looking back at him. A reflection with a soft, babyish face. Two innocent blue eyes looking out from beneath curly blonde bangs. And two pink, pouty lips, perfect for sucking dick.
He closed his eyes. He was Bambi now.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
“Bambi! I found a credit on the floor. Let me fuck you, huh?”
“Hey, Bambi, me and my bros here wanna go together. How much to have five guys on you at once?”
“Bambi, doll? Be a good maid, huh, and fix my wife a drink, would you? And shake that ass while you do it, girl.”
In the decades since, he hadn’t had a rest. He’d done nothing but dance and suck, and gyrate his hips and moan with simulated pleasure as strong men violated him.
He’d served, and wiggled his torso and jiggled his tits, and spent so long naked except for a tiny thong that he could no longer remember what it was like to wear clothes. No longer remember what it was really like to be a man.
No longer remember life before he became a sexbot.
And the worst part was, he’d stay like this forever. Fembots didn’t age. Didn’t become older, or wiser; didn’t quit working as strippers and get a nice, normal job where assholes didn’t pinch their ass or grab their tits.
No, they just kept right on dancing, right up until their synthetic bodies finally wore down and they were switched off for the last time.
And, as Crystal was fond of saying, as she took his old male body and his old wife with her into old age, that was never gonna happen.
Even when they died, they were gonna ensure there was enough money left for Bambi to be fixed and upgraded and allowed to keep on stripping and whoring for centuries to come.
And there was nothing he – with his heavy breasts and enormous ass and overwhelming desire to dance for creepy men – could do about it.
“Hey, Bambi, how about I give you a facial?”
“Hey Bambi, let me spunk on those sweet tits of yours!”
“God, I love fucking your ass Bambi…”
Like what you’ve read? Check out my new novella about a man turned into a horny young fembot against his will: Turned Into a Fembot. Or check out my kink y Sci-fi tale of a gender-swapped man reprogrammed to please: Gender Swapped for Her Pleasure.
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Article image via Pixabay. Used under a public domain license.