Agent Murphy and the Sexbot

I assemble in my head a map of Kallistarco Eight and try to dredge up every memory of the details of the security system. I can't assume the way in will also be a way out. Although...

Midway through the afternoon, my neural interface activates, and I discover that the password I used to access the Level Three system has not been blocked.

"Al?" I ask. "How are you?"

"Eighteen infectious agents have been identified. Activity decaying exponentially."

I peer down glumly at my rampant cock that has almost doubled in size during the day. "I hope that means it won't get any bigger," I mutter. "What about you Al? You said you were changing."

"I have integrated with the invading nanites, but I am still assessing their capabilities and system stability."

I can afford to wait. I'm not going anywhere. And now that my neural interface is active, I don't need to.

*

Not only is the neural interface active, it is faster and a lot clearer. I can even tap directly into video feeds. "Wow, Al. This is amazing." I jump from camera to camera, peeking into all the common spaces and laboratories, even into some of the private quarters and offices. But only Level Three. It's too isolated from the rest of Kallistarco Eight.

I search for clothes: someone with a body shape to match mine, or a store or shop, anything, and discover that clothes, even uniforms, can be made from scratch. And not only clothes. Human-realistic prosthetic limbs with military-grade robotics. Arms, legs, everything. Even heads.

I search the databases for details of the bio-tech research, to try and understand better what has happened to me, but that too is isolated from the main system. I search for personnel details, and discover that my tormenter is Dr Katrin Eriksson, a Senior Research Executive for Kallistarco. If I had her eyes and her face, I could escape Kallistarco Eight easily. I know where her office is, and I know where her quarters are, but I can't see inside. I can't see her.

I can't even see me, although there's a camera pointing straight at me. There are too many blind spots in Level Three, and I don't know which one I'm hidden in.

Apart from Dr Eriksson, the only visitors to my room have been the robots that delivered and removed food - which doesn't help me - and the robot that cleaned the floor.

If I can make the robot cleaner come back again...

There is one way to do that, although I don't like it. Or, rather, I don't like that the doctor will like it. But if it helps me escape...

I tease my protruding nipples. Pinch them. Pull them. Rub them. I play with them as I have been aching to do for hours. Harder and harder I squeeze them, rolling them between my fingers, the pain bringing tears to my eyes, because I love pain during sex. The rings clamped about my nipples are still vibrating, and every little helps.

I moan with blissful relief as I climax, my body releasing hours of tension as I convulse within the firm grip of the restraints.

But when I open my eyes and look down, there's no mess. No ejaculate. I stare at the clean floor, baffled, until it occurs to me that I need to stimulate my cock in order to ejaculate. That it's not simply about orgasm.

And I really don't want to touch it. I don't want a cock. I certainly didn't ask for one. Touching it would make it real. "Fuck!" I hiss. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I wonder if the evil doctor is watching and laughing.

I take the plunge and wrap my hand about the shaft. My cock seems to have stopped growing, but it's huge, reaching up above my belly button, and so thick I can't close my hand around it. I'm bigger than my upgraded sexbot was. It's ridiculous!

Despite having just come, I'm still hard, and I feel a shiver of delight with every stroke. It's a very different kind of pleasure, and strangely addictive. With my other hand I reach down and stroke my clit, curious to compare the sensations - but it's really quite distracting to do both together. Abandoning my clit for now, I wrap both hands about my shaft and stroke it with renewed vigour.

I must look very strange, but I don't care. All I care about is the pressure building with each stroke. It builds until I can barely stand it, as if I have climbed a high mountain but am unable to reach the final summit. But I force my way to the top and over, and my climax bursts through me. I look down to see mighty jets of clear, glistening ejaculate thrown by my furiously writhing cock.

I slump in my restraints, momentarily exhausted, but also watching for the cleaning system to respond to this new bio-spill.

And it does. I follow the little robot cleaner through the corridors and vents, until it enters my room and gets to work. I know where I am. I am in the lab next to Dr Eriksson's office.

*

The colony at Gliese 832 c, a planet rich in minerals and extensively mined as a result, is the only human colony with a population over 100,000 people that exists wholly off-planet. Kallistarco Eight is the principal hospital in orbit. Ships come and go all the time and gaining access to Level Zero is as easy as walking in the front door and taking a seat in the waiting room. Level Zero is for patients.

Level One is for Kallistarco staff. Access to the active medical areas is more complicated, but for the rest all you need is a Kallistarco uniform and eyes that will pass the retinal scans. It's a lazy system, but efficient, and anyway it's Level Two where things get interesting. Level Two is where the company officials work, and where the most expensive and most dangerous technologies and treatments are stored.

Very few gain access to Level Two. The security is tight, and retinal scans and facial records are matched against records. Level Two is also where it becomes clear that Kallistarco is not a neutral civilian company. Earth may be sixteen lightyears away, but its military works closely with Kallistarco. This is, of course, denied officially, but spend enough time in Level Two, and you may be lucky enough to see an Earth Admiral literally in bed with a Kallistarco Chief Executive.

Another Jun'Ora agent, I don't know who, provided credentials that gained me access, as an electrical technician, to Level Two, where I spent several days tracking down spurious faults in the power lines. More importantly, Al and I were able to analyse the ultra tight security in place about Level Three, a laboratory whose existence was merely a rumour.

A rumour that I need now to escape from.

And I've got it all figured out - except for the restraints.

*

Dr Katrin Eriksson enters the room. It's getting late and most of the staff are in their quarters, getting ready for bed, or in at least one case making passionate love. I'm bored and horny, and it's difficult to resist spying on the two men.

Staying just out of my reach, the doctor caresses my cock gently. "I enjoyed watching you today," she says. "You look magnificent with this cock. I'm almost tempted to get one myself."

Sighing sadly, she adds, "Tomorrow the rest of the team get here, and I won't have you all to myself. Trust me, you're going to miss these moments we've had. And I'm... going to miss watching you come."

She strokes my cock with vigour, and I moan with need and frustration. "Don't waste it like this," I plead. "Release me, and let's fuck properly." I have no idea whether I could actually do that.

The doctor laughs. "I'm not so foolish," she says. "It was naughty of me to even release your wrists. Now be a good girl and come for me."

I can hold it back no longer. I growl my anger at her as I climax. Even as I do, she swiftly takes a large test tube from the pocket of her white lab coat, and directs the pulsing stream of my cum into it. Given that this is the third time today, I'm impressed despite myself with how much there is.

"Thank you, Murphy." She presses the button that returns the bed to horizontal. "Sweet dreams."

"Wait!" A door has just opened in my mind, letting in a flood of information. I don't have time to make sense of it all, but one thing stands out immediately. I can see my restraints - well, not see exactly - and the nature of the locks, and the alarm systems around them. And not just see, I can reach out and disable the alarms and release the locks. "Wait," I repeat, buying time.

"What is it?" She looks at me as if trying to penetrate my thoughts.

"You said it was a miracle that I was alive. Would you like to know why?"

Only half my attention is with the conversation. The other half is setting my plan in motion: looping all the security camera feeds to cover my tracks, and disabling every alarm system that I was able to find earlier.

Her eyes brighten, and she comes nearer to the bed. "I do want to know why."

I crack open the restraints, and lunge for her. She reacts too slowly to escape me, but my body is not what it was, and we sprawl across the floor with me on top. I struggle back to my feet, fighting pins and needles on the one hand, and an unfamiliar weight distribution with the other.

But I don't feel weak. I feel strong - just slightly disorientated.

"You shouldn't be able to do that," the doctor says as she scrambles away from me in terror. I snag her foot and drag her back, and lift her up onto the bed. She smacks my face and kicks me, but one by one I force her ankles and wrists into the restraints, and finally the waist restraint too. She screams for someone to help her, until she realises how pointless that is. No one ever came to investigate my screams.

I wait for her to calm down, all the while studying the lines of her face and the details of her eyes, then I tear open her top to expose her breasts.

"Don't do this," she pleads quietly.

"Oh, I'm doing this."

The electric nipple clamps are still beside the bed. "No!" she cries at the sight of them, followed by an agonised scream as I attach them.

"Shh..." I say. "You're going to love this."

I flick the switch and her face transforms.

*

Over the course of the next hour, I receive several deliveries by robot courier. The first is the black uniform of the Kallistarco security forces, tailored to suit my slender frame and my augmented breasts. Even my unnecessarily large cock fits in, so long as it stays soft. The other packages are a set of prosthetic limbs.

While I wait for the complete set, I study my hands. The reason they were so swollen before is that the nanites were constructing a complex network of electromagnetic sensors and effectors. It creates a whole new way of experiencing and interacting with the world. Useful for more than merely breaking out of restraints, but it will take time to explore and learn their full capabilities.

Dr Eriksson doesn't even last the hour before exhaustion and overstimulation send her into unconsciousness. I remove the nipple clamps, and instead fasten the breast strap in place. It's not as tight on her as it was on me, but the vibrations should be a cruel tease, even if the rings can't grip her bruised nipples.

It's not just my hands that have changed. It's as the Jun'Ora suspect. Kallistarco are designing bio-tech enhancements for infiltration and espionage. I can change my skin colour, my fingerprints, my eyes. Not my hair, though. Maybe my voice, I'm not sure. I can change my face... a little, enough perhaps to fool the face recognition software, if I can find someone similar enough to copy.

I search the personnel database again, and decide on Dr Amba Joss, a junior nanorobotics scientist. I don't even need to visit her. The database has all the information I need.

The last of the prosthetic parts arrives, and I assemble them into a life-like robot replica of the doctor. "Ready, Al?"

"Ready," the Katrin-bot says. He even sounds exactly like her.

*

Four hours later, Drs Katrin Eriksson and Amba Joss walk out the front door, so to speak, and into a local transport ship. One hour after that, an escape pod launches from the transport; for some reason, none of the alarm systems are triggered. Kallistarco security forces await the transport at its destination, but it is too late. The escape pod will never be found.

Getting away from Gliese 832 while evading Kallistarco security and, worse, the shadowy Earth military (who, no doubt, were responsible for my original capture), is not without difficulty, but Al and I are merely passengers to be smuggled, locked up together for possibly days in a space smaller than the inside of an escape pod.

Inevitably, I am bored, and horny. My trusty sexbot is spacejunk, gone forever, but Al is my real lover. Al knows what I want and need.

"Fuck me," the Katrin-bot says, imitating the doctor's voice perfectly. "Fuck me with that big, fat cock of yours. I love it when you come."