I had been under Styptosis for about a year, and I loved it. I was obedient and I was rewarded. I always accepted any programming that I was given without a glimmer of resistance. I knew that when my controller was pointed at me by someone and its buttons were pressed, my life would be changed instantly. I might remember things that had never happened, or forget things that had just occurred. I could go blank, not knowing who I was or where I was or what I was doing.
I could become someone else: A new personality could be "uploaded" at the whim of a client, and I would believe that person was really me. I could become anything – a model, a television presenter, a high-class hooker, a porn actress, an infatuated girlfriend, a dominatrix, a submissive, a sex slave – in an instant. I would wholeheartedly believe that was who I was. I would behave as if I was that person, performing the acts that I believed were by my free will. I would perform in sex movies, serve drinks topless, dance naked on tables in bars, model clothing of all kinds, and present corporate videos; anything. I would believe this was my free choice. I would believe this was what I had always wanted to do.
Sometimes, after working in some place or other, I was returned to the shop without being "reset". I would continue to believe I was someone else, and that what I was doing was my free will. On one occasion, I was programmed as an exotic dancer. I remember being taken back to the shop in a truck. I believed this was perfectly normal! We were all sitting in the back of a truck, frozen, "deactivated", and I believed this was what happened to exotic dancers! I spent two days posed motionless like a living mannequin on a stool in the Styptolite Storage Hall, waiting for my next job, believing all the while that I was an exotic dancer, and that this was how things were, and that I didn't want to move a muscle (not that I could have done if I'd tried!)
Just as often, I will be what I called “robotized”. In this state, I am aware of who I am. Any pre-existing personalities vaporise, and I am again Kirstie 013 (my name and number), the Styptolite (at least, the Kirstie 013 that has been created by the company - which is the closest I will ever get to really being me anymore.) As a human robot, I am incapable of performing any actions, making any real decisions, or interacting in anyway with others without explicit commands, either from my controller, or by voice. I will obey any such command without hesitation (except certain commands which could damage me or others, Mike asserts.)
Often, clients prefer us in this state for sexual activities. They sometimes like to "wipe" us afterwards, if they feel embarrassed about exposing their extreme and intimate sexual tastes to us; there are a lot of times when I have arrived at a gig, and my next memory is one of sitting in the back of the truck, hours or even days later. Also, I often work in this state as a "table server" in a sex bar that specialises in "Obedient Girls". The clients at the booths get drinks, food, me, and my controller. Needless to say, I don't spend much time serving drinks! This is also the state I am usually placed in when I am at the shop, being "refitted," as the shop staff say.
Refitting is the process we are put through between jobs. Obviously, the company has invested a lot in us, and they want to maintain their assets. We are cleaned; we have medical checks. We are exercised to keep our bodies slim and in proportion (ever tried using a cross trainer in 3 1/2 inch stilettos?!) We are touched up cosmetically to keep us beautiful. We are fed, and we are rested. Then we are stored in a big hall, the Styptolite Storage Hall, until needed. Here we are posed on display, and clients can even come through and view us and select us.
As a robot, I am rewarded for my obedience with the greatest, most beautiful, intense pleasures I have ever experienced. Every command triggers a pleasure reward. I am unable to express it with my body (unless I am commanded to respond to my feelings) but I pretty much have a constant mild orgasm all the time, and every time someone pushes my buttons or tells me to do things I experience intense euphoria when I obey (not that I could ever disobey a command, even if I tried.) The biggest orgasms are reserved for big rewards: Long hours of mannequin work or sex. They are indescribable and literally blow my mind. I lose all awareness of everything around me. These climaxes seem to go on forever. I know for a fact that they can last up to five minutes.
The robotic state is my normal state. It is how I spend most of my time. And this is the state I was in as I sat stiffly in Mike's car going to god knows where.
I was pretty well certain I wasn't going on a job. For one thing, I was wearing my "shop clothes" outside. These consisted of a white blouse, a knee-length pencil skirt, light brown stockings, and black stiletto court shoes. I call this look my "secretary" look. Apparently it is "smart, efficient, and yet sexy and attractive". This is the way all the Styptolites are dressed when they are at the shop, either being refitted, or being used as shop girls. As shop girls, we are used to help in the general day to day running of the company: For instance, helping to refit other Styptolites, or helping in the induction process of a new Styptolite from the now disused deep hypnosis state, or, more commonly, from raw recruits (girls "mildly" hypnotised during their "job interviews".)
My shoes were old and scuffed. I had been wearing them while in the shop from about the time I was Styptolised. Obviously we needed to wear the Styptosis heels at all times in order to accept controller commands, and this was a cost cutting exercise; no clients would see us in these heels, so they could get scuffed and scratched without needing replacement. I knew there was no way Mike would take me to a client wearing these old shoes.
For another, I had not been fully refitted. I had been working at "Obedient Girls" until the small hours of the morning. Afterwards, we had been trucked back to the shop, and I had been showered (you can guess what kind of a mess I get in working that gig!) I had put on my shop clothes and the shower area shop girl had programmed me with my next commands. Blankly, she had looked at me and said: "Go". As usual, euphoria swathed over me as I responded obediently to the Styptolite's command. I started to leave and go wherever my programming commanded (I never "know"; I just automatically "do", and my conscious self "finds out" later.) But Mike walked in and verbally commanded me to stop. Amid new waves of euphoria, I obediently froze in mid-step.
The shop girl had clipped my controller to my skirt waist, as she was programmed to do. Mike retrieved it, and put a card in the slot. He must have a new program for me, I thought. Programming is very quick, and I notice nothing, as sets of commands are passed to my subconscious through the little pins under my heels in my shoes. I must have been frozen for only a few seconds. Then Mike said: "Go" again; I unfroze and continued walking out the door.
I don't know where the shop girl had programmed me to go, but I was pretty sure Mike had overridden this, as I began to walk down the main corridor of the Styptolite Refitting Department in the direction of the exit. Mike walked beside me. He knew where I was going. My programming knew where I was going. Nothing more needed to be said. I did get the feeling he was eyeing me, though. He would lag now and again, and I knew he was looking at my bum and my legs!
Silently, we made our way out of the Styptolite Complex altogether, and eventually I found myself in the staff car park (there is a separate loading/unloading area for Styptolites at the back of the complex, so I rarely teetered this area.) I made my way to a car as Mike followed. He unlocked the doors and I obediently went round to the passenger side and got in. Without a word he started the car and drove us out of the Company complex.
We had been driving for an hour and a half, in silence, when we approached our destination. It was a private clinic.
My first thought was that there was something wrong with me. Perhaps I had contracted a disease, or had become ill somehow. But I realised this could not be the case as the clinic did not appear to be for purely medical use. It looked more like some kind of research place.
We parked and got out of the car. I felt happy and excited. I smiled.
"Well Hun," I said, "Let's do this." Euphoria followed; that was a programmed command. My programming was in control of me.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Mike said.
"Yes honey. I want to give you everything you want." My programming smiled back at him.
I realised that this odd conversation was most likely for the benefit of the doctor and nurse who were coming down the steps to meet us; all smiles and handshakes.
"Mr and Mrs Thompson! Mike. Kirstie. It's great to see you again. How are you both? Well I hope. We've been looking forward to this since our last meeting. ."
We both began to engage the doctor and nurse in idle pleasantries, my responses coming from my subconscious, from my programming. I realised from our conversation that these people had met me before. I was on first name terms with Dr Andrew Smith and his nurse Susan Clayton. I asked questions about things I could not have known otherwise. Obviously, I had been here before. Presumably I had been wiped afterwards.
"Please come in. We have some paperwork to go through," Dr Smith said.
We climbed the steps and entered the clinic and were led to a small consultation room. There were forms on the table. We all sat down.
"So, one last time, Kirstie, dear." Dr Smith said. "You are absolutely positive about this?"
I looked him straight in the eye. My expression was about as serious as I have ever looked.
"Yes Andrew," I said. "This is what I have always wanted. I want it for Mike. And I want it for me."
"Very well. But if at anytime you change your mind..."
"I don’t think that will ever come up," I said seriously.
We filled in the forms. I signed my name, wrote dates, ticked boxes. I filled out short comments. I had no idea what the forms were. I could not read them; that wasn’t in my programming! My hand wrote, but I could not see what I was writing! Eventually the forms were complete and Dr Smith checked them.
"OK," he said; "if you're happy, Kirstie, you can go with Susan."
I stood up. I gave Mike a hug. "See you in a while" I said playfully. Then, smiling, I followed the nurse out of the room and through into a hospital bedroom. There was a clinical smock on the bed.
"Are you absolutely sure about this?" the nurse said.
"Yes, Susan" I smiled.
"Tell me what it's like, Kirstie. Afterward."
"I will…"
The nurse left and I began to undress. After I had taken my skirt, blouse, and bra off, I realised I had to take my shoes off. This was unusual. Without them, I could not be commanded. I could not be reset. I had never been without heels for more than a few minutes when showering during refit. But I was taking them off to get into a hospital bed for how long?! As I obediently removed my heels I felt almost naked. I felt lost without them. They were part of who I was. And I didn't know when I would get to put them back on! As I fretted, my body obediently went through the motions it had been programmed to do. I removed my stockings and my panties. I was physically naked. I put on the smock and got into the bed.
Presently, the nurse returned. She held a needle.
"OK, Kirstie; this won't hurt. Are you ready?"
"Yes, Susan" I smiled.
She took my arm and I felt her insert the needle. A few moments passed.
"OK, dear, now lie back. That's right. Now count up to ten"
I began counting. "One, two, three..."
The anaesthetic quickly took hold. My eyes begin to close, my speech slurred. Darkness approached and enveloped me like Mike had done so often with his arms. Then there was nothing.
-------------------------------
I could hear voices.
Distant voices.
People were talking. Getting nearer. Louder. Clearer.
"She's coming round!"
"How can you tell?"
"It's her poise. She's straightened. This is a good sign."
I opened my eyes.
To my surprise, I was sitting upright on the side of the bed. I couldn't move. Not a smidgen. I couldn't move my eyes to look around. I was totally frozen. How did I get here? Why am I sitting upright? Who's talking?
Then the feelings came. Such feelings. I had never felt so intense feelings. These were more than I could have imagined. Happiness. Relaxation. Pleasure. Oh, the pleasure. I wanted to scream in ecstasy. I wanted to laugh. But I couldn't even smile.
"She looks so lost. Make her smile!" said a woman's voice; the nurse Susan's voice. They did something.
I smiled.
"Perfect!" said a man. I recognised him too. The doctor. "Now Mike, you probably want some time alone. Let us know if you need anything."
"Thanks" said Mike.
The nurse and the doctor left, leaving me alone in the room with Mike. And my pleasure.
"Hi Kirstie" said Mike. He stood in front of me. I was looking straight through him. I was still smiling.
He had a controller. He pushed a button. I looked at him now. Still smiling.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"I am feeling fine, thank you" I replied, or at least my voice did. My words were flat, emotionless, like when I'm in a deep trance. Pleasure flowed through me.
"OK, let me tell you what this is all about," he said conversationally.
I didn't respond. I couldn't.
"You are the prototype for our new range of girls. We have been having problems with some of our Styptolites slipping out of Styptosis. Not you, of course, you went fully under and stayed that way. But others have proven less suitable. We can use drugs to enhance the trance, which works, but that is expensive. You are the first of the new kind. You are now truly a girl robot. We have implanted a device in your brain which allows us to take total control of you."
Wow. I was amazed. I was a robot. Truly. A "Girlbot," as we became known. I wasn't merely under layer upon layer of deep hypnotic suggestion and brainwashing. I was physically enslaved. Permanently. And god did I feel wonderful. The implant obviously had the power to shower me with pleasure in ways no hypnotist could.
"There is a cable attached to a plug in the back of your head."
Wow! There is? I thought.
"This is providing power to your implant right now, and allows me to send commands from my – your – control box to the implant, using the big machine behind you. But most of the time, you will wear these."
He picked up a pair of, guess what: heels. New, patent leather, shiny black court shoes. With 3 1/2 inch heels.
"The heels contain power packs which will power your implant."
He lifted my legs and put the heels on my feet. I could feel that I was wearing stockings. I had been dressed.
As the shoes slid home, I felt two clicks.
"When you put the shoes on, a rod extends out the heel and into a socket in the heel of your foot. This then is connected to your implant through wires in your body."
I felt a surge of pleasure, as if my implant had become more powerful.
He picked up my control. He pressed buttons. I stood. I walked towards him. I stopped. He reached up behind my head and pulled. The cable came out the small socket in the back of my head. My hair fell down to cover the hole. The higher pleasure surge abated. The implant only had one source of power again: My heels.
More buttons pressed, and I was off walking again, this time to a small portable platform on the floor. It had metal disks on it. It was plugged in to the wall power socket. I mounted the platform and placed the tips of my stiletto heels on those metal disks. Pleasure surge. Ooh, yes!
"This is a charging station. We can charge you here, or we can charge a spare set of heels. Heels have about four days of charge in them. Fine for most jobs you will do."
I stood on the charging station, arms straight at my sides, staring straight ahead, frozen. I was still smiling, as no-one had commanded me not to. Oh, the pleasure.
The door opened. The doctor entered.
"Mike, can I borrow you for a moment?"
Mike left with the doctor. The nurse came in. She walked around my motionless body and paused in front of me. She had my control.
"You promised, Kirstie." I need to know.
She pressed buttons. Suddenly I could move my face. My eyes rolled back instantly with the pleasure. My mouth gaped open and I moaned as load as I could.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh!"
I began to pant, and whimper.
"Wow," she said; "Is that how you're feeling"
"mmmmyeeahhmmm…" I mumbled. It was the best I could do.
"Are you happy?"
"Ohh baby I'm geogeouuuuuuus uh uh ohhhhhhh!"
I couldn't control what I was saying; the pleasure was so intense. It felt like there was the most intense orgasm constantly pulsing through every inch of my body. I couldn't help but respond to those pulses of incredible pleasure.
"uh uh uh uh uh uh," I began to chant, uncontrollably.
"Hang on, I'll see if I can tone that dowe for a moment…"
She started pressing buttons on my controller. Then the pleasure subsided. Slightly. I no longer felt like I was having a permanent orgasm, but I felt glowlingly euphoric, like I used to when I responded to a Styptosis command.
My eyes came back down and I could see the nurse. My mouth stopped gasping and my tongue came back in. But I couldn't help smiling, a huge smile. I still felt wonderful. I realised that I was still standing rigidly frozen in place. My face might be mine to control, but not my body. And probably not my mind either, I thought, as I was finally able to answer her question.
"I feel wonderful. I can't describe how incredibly good this feels. Mmmmmmmmm!"
"And you're not regretting you're decision to give up you're free will to Mike?"
"Mmmm, no, mm baby; I'm Mike's and anybodies who mmmm– has my contr– mmmmmm oh.."
Another wave of pleasure; my eyes began to roll. My smile evaporated as my mouth fell open.
"OK, Kirstie, I think that's about all I'm going to get out of you! But I think you have answered what I wanted to know," smiled the nurse.
I was back to my chanting: "Uh uh uh uh."
And then my eyes came back down. My mouth closed. Expression drained from my face. I was silenced as the implant took control of my face, as it had controlled my body. The nurse had "switched me off."
-----------------------------------
There followed a long period of testing. I was programmed so many times I lost count. Like the Styptolites, I could be programmed to believe I was someone else. But unlike the Styptolites, much of my actual movements and voice were controlled directly by the implant. My body acted like a robot. But my mind was altered to want to do whatever my body was doing, and believe I was who I was programmed to be. In one test, they even programmed me as a maintenance worker and I happily cleaned the Doctor's office!
Once they were all satisfied that I was a fully functional Girlbot (as we became known to distinguish us from Styptolites who are merely hypnotized,) Mike returned me to the Company Complex.
I was rested for a few days. During this time, further testing was performed on me. I was also used to "service" some of the staff who were directly responsible for the new "Girlbot".
Finally, I was dressed in a low cut tight black mini-dress, with black 5 inch platform heels: Very slutty, but then again, at that time, I thought I was a slut. I walked into a large room with a seating area set out. There was a stage. I walked onto the stage and up towards a platform that was surrounded by a curtain. In front was a small pedestal. My controller was on this pedestal. I mounted the platform and, hidden by the curtain, I posed: I smiled, I put my hand on my hip, my other through my hair, I thrust my bum out, I thrust my breasts forward. And then I froze. A living statue.
Time passed. I was frozen.
Someone peeked behind the curtain. I was frozen.
More time passed. I was frozen.
Eventually the room began to fill up. I could hear lots of voices, maybe a hundred people. Then eventually I heard a voice. Mike's voice. He was close by; on stage. He was addressing the room, talking into a microphone.
After some preamble, Mike began to detail the problems with Styptolites. He then began to introduce the Girlbot solution. I began to realise that this was the big reveal. The assembled audience would consist of shareholders, investors, clients, you name it. And they were here to see the latest thing: A functioning Girlbot. Me.
Finally, the time of the reveal came. I heard Mike say:
"And so, I guess you'd all like to see one. Well, OK. I suppose we could organise that!" Laughter came from the audience. "Well, here she is; Kirstie GB001, the first of hopefully many Girlbot's!"
The curtain dropped. I was revealed to the applause of the audience. They were all looking at me! And god did I feel good. I still couldn’t move at all, of course, as euphoria flooded over me.
I noticed that there were a couple of Styptolites on the stage. One was lying on the floor, apparently asleep, the other was "switched off"; she had a blank stare, rigid stance, frozen. I assumed they must have been used in the discussion about the problems they were having.
But I just stood there, frozen, smiling, lapping up the applause, and of course, the admiring stares from all these gorgeous men and women who had come to see me!
"Come here Kirstie; don't be shy," laughed Mike.
Of course, I obeyed without question. I teetered off the platform, skillfully avoiding getting the curtain, now lying on the floor, tangled in my 5 inch heels, and swaggered over to Mike, smiling all the time. I got to the mike stand and pouted at Mike.
"Hi Kirstie," smiled Mike.
"Hmmm, hi, Mike" I flirted. "Who are all these gorgeous people here to see me?" I pouted at the audience. I then turned full circle, letting the audience see every part of my body. Then I froze. The audience laughed and then clapped.
Mike then began to explain how the implant worked, using me as a model. He sat me on a chair and removed one of my heels to show the audience how I was controlled. Wearing only one shoe was weird. I felt a bit weak, as if half of me was missing. He plugged me into the control machine via my head socket. He programmed me with different personalities. He froze me a number of times. He then sent me out to the audience, where I sat on laps and kissed people while they invariably groped me and pulled the front of my dress down to expose my breasts. The dress was soon torn and discarded. I wore no panties or bra, so I was fully exposed. Finally I returned to the platform, where I resumed my original pose, and froze once more. After a question and answer session, the meeting became less formal. People left their seats. An army of Styptolites came in with drinks and refreshments. They were soon grabbed up for other pleasures. Everyone came and had a look at me. They touched my face and stroked my body. One gorgeous man put his finger inside me, when no-one was looking. He then caressed my clit for a few seconds. Of course, a huge orgasm exploded from my clit, incredibly powerful. It was like having an orgasm on top of the orgasm I was already constantly having. A double-strength orgasm. Unbelievable. But I just stood there, frozen. Smiling.
After some people had left, Mike brought me back down from the platform. I engaged in pleasant conversation with many people. It must have looked odd, with people casually talking to a naked girl in stockings and 5 inch heels. I think they were just impressed to be among the first to meet and interact with a Girlbot. Some had a go on my controller, getting me to rub up against them, kiss them, and usually ending with the pressing of my orgasm button.
That button was amazing. It blew me away every time. My body reacted to the orgasm as I was being given an orgasm command, rather than being rewarded for some other duty obediently performed. But not only did the implant control my body to respond very wildly to the orgasm – rolling my eyes, screaming me, collapsing my knees, arching my back – it also gave me the biggest orgasm I have ever experienced. Bigger than that unexpected double the man had given me. I swear that if I had full control of my body, I would have simply collapsed into a quivering heap on the floor. I would have probably lost consciousness.
Eventually, everyone had left, most to go to rooms with their Styptolites. I was not on offer, as it was deemed unfair for only one person to get use of me. I was retired to the new Girlbot Department. I was seated in a chair in a room. My heels rested on a charging platform. My head was plugged in to a big panel on the wall. And I was made unconscious.
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Most of the first weeks of being a Girlbot are a bit of a blur. The new feelings of euphoria and pleasure left me in a constant almost dreamlike state. I found it very difficult to focus on what I was engaged in. I let the implant control my actions while I cruised along on the waves of ecstasy. I was performing my duties, interacting with people, even having detailed conversations with clients, and submitting to the refit process, everything I used to do, but was often totally unaware of anything. I call this state "drifting." I drifted a lot during those early days, days at a time. As I give in to the pleasure, my thoughts will evaporate. I become mindless. I have some self-awareness, but only of the pleasure: not what is going on around me. I have no thoughts, and have very few memories of times spent drifting. Indeed, often the only thing that used to bring me back, as it were, was sexual penetration, which so compliments my feelings (and intensifies them) that it's really hard to ignore. When I drift, I really do believe I become a mindless machine.
But gradually I learnt to handle the wonderful sensations that were with me all the time. I began to learn how to gather my thoughts and focus on what was happening to me. I learnt to control and ration my drifting, wonderful as it may be. I learned to bring my mind back, to become Kirstie again. And my memories of my Girlbot life from this time onward became much clearer.
My duties are pretty much as they were before, although I am now washed and processed in the new Girlbot department. I am still posed in the old Styptolite Storage Hall, now renamed the Frozen Girl Display Hall, between jobs. I sit alongside Girlbots and Styptolites alike. Once selected for a job, I proceed to the prep area in the Girlbot dept, where my head is plugged in to the central system for programming. All clothing I need is packed and I am dressed to suit the job at hand. Newly charged heels are given to me, and when I have them on I am unplugged from the wall. I then proceed to the Despatch Area, where I take my place beside the other girls, both Girlbots and Styptolites. We are lined up in rows and deactivated to await loading for distribution to the work sites. I often drift or daydream during this time.
Things have changed though. Over time, the company is slowly "Girlbotting" their Styptolites. All new recruits are Girlbotted immediately.
To distinguish the Girlbots from the Styptolites (not easy, especially at a distance) a kind of uniform was developed to replace the old shop clothes. Still using the old staple of blouse, skirt, and stockings, the Girlbot shop "uniforms" also always include patent leather heels. 3 1/2 inch court stilettos in fact. The Styptolites wear just leather courts, with a 3 inch stiletto. Thus, girls wearing shiny high heels are Girlbots. Girls wearing matt shoes with a slightly lower heel are Styptolites, although they are getting rarer. Styptolites' heels are always black. But not so for us Girlbots.
Due to the reliability of Girlbots, more long term tasks can be performed, including the hiring and even selling of Girlbots. The company could never sell a Styptolite, in case she "slipped out" of her trance. Even long term hire was a huge risk. But now this is commonplace, so we are categorised, and to distinguish types we wear different coloured heels.
The first type is the red heel. These girls are basically sex toys. They are only used for the sex industry. They are used in porn films and on porn Internet sites. They are used as hookers and strippers. They are used for phone sex. In fact, anything you can imagine, they do. They usually have larger breasts than the other Girlbots. I'm not jealous, though.
Next comes the black heel Girlbot. I am a black heeled Girlbot. We are general purpose. We participate in the sex industry alongside the red heels, but to a lesser degree. We are also used for modeling, we also do mannequin work, and other duties such as presentations and even, in the case of one Girlbot, acting. Our bodies are slimmer than the red heels, and as we are needed for modeling and mannequin work, our breasts are smaller.
Then there are the blue heels. Any red or black heel can spend time as a blue heel. These are girls who have been hired, either privately as a companion, or by companies for their own uses. Some girls are away for the entire hire period. But a cheaper option for the client is for the girl to return to the company so many hours a week and work as a shop girl. These girls wear blue heels.
Finally, there are the white heels. These girls are no longer owned by the company; they have been purchased. But again, like the blue heels, it is cheaper for the owner to buy a girl who still performs shop girl duties, at least for a while. Eventually white heels leave the company forever.
When in shop, we are programmed according to our type. Interestingly (although no two Girlbots could ever have a free conversation to demonstrate this) we grow feelings of pride for our current type, and often look down on other types. White heels look down on everyone as they have been picked out specifically by a client to be owned for life. Blue heels have similar feeling s of superiority. As I said, any red or black heel can become a blue heel for a while, or a white heel forever. But movement between red and black, and white to black is rare. And yet I have been all. This is how I know about what all the girls are feeling.
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My first experience out of my beloved black heels was an administrative error. I had been working for many nights at "Obedient Girls", just as I had done as a Styptolite. As we do not wear our shop heels on jobs (for that job we wear gold platform strappy sandals with 6 inch heels!,) a new shift manager was unsure of my type. Because I was working the sex trade a lot, he assumed me a red heel. I arrived back for refitting early one morning, and was showered (we are plugged in to the wall when showering.) Then, as I dressed, the shop girl (a blue heel) handed me my shoes. Red stiletto courts! I knew this was wrong, but there was nothing I could do. I obediently sat down and put the shoes on while she started my red heel shop programming from the wall panel. And boy was I programmed.
I instantly believed I was a red heel. I did not think there was an error any more. I thought I was a red heel. I disliked black heels because they were snobs. And I felt so sexual. I can't think of a better word for it. I am always in pleasure, and this always has a sexual side, bit I felt so horny! As I was unplugged and began making my way to the food area, I found everyone irresistible. Even though I hated the other types for being snobs, I still couldn't control my attraction to the girls. And when I saw my first man I came. Just like that. It was unbelievable. I orgasmed at the mere sight of a man. And this is how it is to be a red heel. Every girl you see, you want. Every man you see, you want so bad you come. I wanted to expose myself. I so desperately wanted everyone to see my breasts and more. I wanted to perform in front of everyone. This went on constantly. It was two days before the error was discovered and I was reprogrammed as a black heel. I was exhausted! And now? Yeah, I look down on red heels as sluts with fake breasts. I can't help it. My heels are black.
-----
My next experience, which happens to many girls, is being chosen for hire. In other words, becoming a blue heel. The first thing you feel is exhilaration and pride at being selected by a client. Of all the girls in the catalogue, or in the Frozen Hall, he chose me. Next comes the programming. We are programmed as blue heel shop girls immediately. This prevents us being used on jobs – we are exclusive to the client. No more gold sandals for me, for a while.
The programming is again almost an instantaneous personality change, but different from my red heel experience. I still liked black heels, as I knew I may be one again sooner or later. But I felt superior to them. I was far better than a black heel. And red heels were dirt to me now. I hated them. Sluts with big breasts who would entice my master away. I also now envied the white heels. I had always hated them for being snobs. Now I didn't. I wanted to be one. I loved my master. He was my world. He had chosen me, and even though I had yet to meet him, as far as I was concerned I was his forever. Maybe he will love me and buy me and I will be his white heel.
My master was a business-man who was on an extended trip and wanted companionship. I would attend to him in his apartments every night, and be on hand all weekends, even if he was away. When he was working, I would return to the Company as a shop girl for eight hours a day, every weekday.
I first wore my blue heels for only two hours, as I was to attend prep for despatch. I was dressed smart but sexy. Many of the clothes packed for me were very pretty, rather than sexy.
I arrived at the apartments and first set eyes on my master. He was gorgeous. He smiled at me. I smiled back. He had beautiful eyes and such a welcoming smile. I walked up to him and we kissed. We entered the apartment, and I stripped. He held me to him. He caressed me and we kissed more. He led me to the bedroom, and we made love. Real love. I loved him so dearly.
He began to experiment with my controls. He orgasmed me. He froze me. He made me laugh and pout and flirt and dance. He began to establish his thing with me. Naked, he would lie his gorgeous body on the bed. I would sit beside him and caress his penis until it was stiff and hard. I would sometimes put it in my mouth and caress the tip with my tongue. When he was really ready, I would mount him, sliding his beautiful penis inside me, reveling in the warmth of it, thrusting it in to me again and again as I straddled him, the intense pleasure of that solid rod inside me filling me with euphoria. Slowly he would take control, steadying me, he would begin to thrust into me to his rhythm. As his arousal became high, he would press my orgasm button. The pleasure, oh god, the pleasure, the unbelievably intense orgasm would explode inside me, driving me wild, as I felt him thrusting. My back would arch, my eyes roll, my mouth agape, the scream of almost insane pleasure erupting. As I climaxed, he would press my freeze button. I would freeze mid-orgasm. The orgasm would continue as I was frozen. He would continue thrusting and thrusting, intensifying the orgasm inside me even more. He would move me, tilt my head down so he could see the expression of absolute ecstasy frozen on my face. He would lift my arms so they were posed like a statue. And then he would explode inside me. The sudden volcano of warmth blowing the final traces of sensibility from me, I would begin to drift involuntarily. He had found a way to force me to drift. My mind would evaporate. I would sit there, mounted on my master, my body and face contorted in pleasure, a frozen mindless statue of female climax, drifting in realms of ecstasy, while he would look at me and caress me (so he would tell me afterwards) for hours. Finally he would unfreeze me. This would bring me back from my drift as my body completed the orgasm, the shrieks and contortions exploding from me the instant he touched my control. Then the ecstasy would abate. I would come down. I would collapse beside him. We would cuddle. Then I would let myself drift again.
Often we would go out at weekends. He would dress my in the pretty dresses I had brought and we would dine out, or see a movie. We did couple things. Other times, I would be left alone. I would kiss him goodbye at the door. He would leave and I was left standing there. With no programming to do otherwise, I would usually stand there for hours, drifting, until he finally came home.
One Saturday he came back from the shops with a gift for me. No one had ever bought me a gift. I had no possessions. I was so excited. I opened the box, and inside was the most beautiful pretty pair of pink shoes I have ever seen. They were open toe courts. They had a beautiful red bow on the toe box. Up the sides there were small red diamond shaped jewels, glittering in the light. The stiletto heel was about 4 inches, slender, and beautifully curved. I love them. They were gorgeous. I jumped up, I hugged my master; I kissed him.
"Put them on" he said.
"Yes, master" I instantly responded.
I sat on the bed. I began to remove my left shoe, 3 inch black strappy sandals. The rod retracted, un clicking. I felt weakened. I placed the pink shoe on my foot. There was no click. This was not a Girlbot heel! Had he just gone to a shop and bought regular shoes?? Did he not know I had to wear modified Girlbot heels? He just stood watching me. I couldn't tell him as I had been commanded to put these shoes on. I was feeling weaker. I un clicked the remaining sandal. I had never removed both heels without a head plug. I felt even weaker. I felt lost. I suddenly realised that he could no longer control me with my control. I picked up the other pink shoe and began to put it on my foot. I had very little strength. I managed to slip it on, just. I sat up and looked at him and smiled. It was a week smile. I was beginning to lose all co-ordination. He realised something was wrong.
"Kirstie, what is it sweet heart?"
"I need to wearrr mmph heeeeooooh"
I could no longer speak clearly. My body was beginning to relax. My implant was shutting down. There was nothing to control my body. I could no longer hold my upright position. I slumped back onto the bed, my arms posed in front of me. The pleasure waves began to subside. My arms relaxed, falling beside me. I felt my face relax and lose definition. My mouth fell open, my eyes unfocussed, staring into space. I was limp. A rag doll. Nothing could control my body as that was the job of the implant. All my rewards evaporated. And for the first time in years, my mind became uncluttered with any coercion. I was not hypnotised. I was not being pleasured. My mind was not being controlled. I was Kirstie Anne Thompson. And I couldn't move.
My master panicked. He tried to sit me up. I slumped back down. He checked my vital signs. Fine. He gently slapped my face, as if to bring out of a feint or dream. Nothing.
Finally, he began to think. He went into the lounge area and began to hunt around for my warranty. He found my user manual.
While my master frantically searched through my manual, I was able to reflect on my life. I was Kirstie now. Not a mannequin. Not a Styptolite. Not a Girlbot. Nothing and no one was putting ideas into my subconscious. The hypnotic programming I had been under for most of my life had worn off during my Girlbot days, as it was never reinforced with the constant programming and trances. The Girlbot implant was unpowered. It was not affecting my thoughts. I was Kirstie Ann Thompson. Or was I? Kirstie Ann Thompson had ceased to exists when she was 17. Who did I want to be. Did I want freedom and self volition? Did I want to be able to choose my course in life, choose my sexual partners, the work I did, the clothes I wore, the personality I had? I wanted the pleasure. God I was missing the pleasure. And I wanted to obey. I realised that I liked being a controlled woman. I liked obeying commands. I was submissive. Maybe I had grown to like it. Maybe I had always been submissive. Mike had always said that I was easy to hypnotise from the start. And I had been a good Styptolite, never slipping out of my trances. I was a good obedient girl. If I had free will, and my master commanded me, I knew I would obey without question. Even if he commanded me to walk naked down the street, I new I would do it. To please him would please me. And not just my master; anyone. I wanted to be obedient and have no free will. I wanted the pleasure rewards. God I wanted those rewards.
I was not Kirstie Anne Thompson. I was Kirstie GB001. I was not a human woman any more. I was a blue heel. A black heel. I wanted my Girlbot world back. And I got it with a jolt.
My master had been on the phone to the company, who had quickly realised what was wrong with me. He had removed my new pink courts, and replaced my black sandals. My implant had instantly powered up. Simultaneously I sprang back up to my feet as the pleasure erupted in me. Oh god the pleasure. Oh baby. I was a Girlbot. I knew that now. Even if I didn't trust my thoughts while I was under the implant's control, I could remember my brief period of freedom. And I knew what I was. I was a controlled woman who lives in ecstasy. I immediately began to drift. I couldn't resist. Who needs to think when you are a Girlbot? However I came back quickly as I realised what I was doing.
"Yes, master," I had said, unprompted.
I had sat on the bed. I began to remove my left shoe. The rod retracted, unclicking. I felt weakened. I placed the pink shoe on my foot. It was like pressing replay on a video. I was repeating my exact actions from before.
"Stop!" commanded my master.
I froze.
Apparently my implant had stored the last command my master had given, and when it came back on, it had made me obey it again.
My master replaced the black sandal I had just removed. I was fixed.
When I went for shop duty that Monday, I took my pink heels with me. The company modified them for Girlbot use. I did get to wear my beautiful pink heels for my master, and I still own them, my only possession, stored in a locker in Mike's office. He says I can wear them all the time when I am his. I love Mike.
The shop girl duties had been expanded since the creation of us Girlbots. Blue heels were the most common shop girls. One task I was involved in as a blue heel was the "job interview." This is where new Girlbots are "recruited".
When I had first gone under, the interview was complex. Not only did the interview consist of an appraisal, but it also involved hypnotic induction, which was sometimes tricky if the potential candidate was not submissive like me. Obviously, failure was not an option as the process was quite illegal, and a candidate who escaped would be a disaster.
But now things were much simpler. The candidate merely had to be rendered incapacitated, from where she would be prepped for surgery. A number of methods were tried, but the simplest was deemed to be gassing. And the simplest way to do this was to fill the room with gas very quickly, giving the candidate no chance of escape. The door was secretly locked beforehand. Of course, this meant the interviewer would also be affected. Nobody wanted to get knocked out every half an hour, and so the obvious solution was to use blue heels.
I would enter the chamber with paperwork, and sit behind the desk. The candidate would be led in and sit across from me. The door would be closed, and locked. I would then begin the interview, which consisted of a lot of questions, which we did not actually care about. I would write things down. I would chat. But none of this meant anything. The real appraisal was going on behind the one-way mirror to the side of the room. There, company men would make a decision based on the girl's looks. Pretty girls were quickly overcome. The girl would barely have sat down when the room would fill with gas. We would both lose the ability to work our bodies and slumped over in our chairs. Overweight girls took longer. The men had to decide if they would be suitable after their bodies had been fixed up with diets, exercise, even surgery. They often took five to ten minutes before being gassed. Unsuitable girls would last the entire interview, 25 minutes, after which they would be allowed to leave. A few days later, rejection letters would be sent to them. They never knew what the interview was really for, and how close they had come to such a beautiful life. My notes were never read (not even by me) and discarded after each interview.
The gas they used didn't knock us out fully, but it did remove our motor skills. We would slump in our chairs. The effects of the gas would last for about 10 minutes. The room would clear in about two. Then a nurse would enter and administer a general anaesthetic. The girl would then be taken to the clinic department for Girlbotting. I would often see the girls a few days later, obediently walking from here to there, wearing their new shiny black or red heels.
The first time I saw the nurse (I could see her even as I was slumped in my chair) I recognised her. It was the nurse from the clinic I had been Girlbotted at: Susan Clayton. I thought she might look at me, recognise me. But she didn't. She was clinical. Mechanical. Robotic. Then I saw why. She was wearing white patent 3 1/2 inch stiletto courts. Shop shoes. She had been Girlbotted! She was a white heel. I remembered how she had been so interested in what it was like to be Girlbotted. She must have decided to go through the process herself, of her own free will! Well, I couldn't blame her. I would do the same now.
I later found out that she was the second ever Girlbot, she had gone under only two days after me. She had always planned on doing this, and only waited for me to go first to fully understand what it really meant. She was in love with Dr Andrew Smith. Now she had submitted to him fully, of her own free will, and he owned her. He had moved his practice to the company. He had brought her with him. But he was unaware that these girls were not going under of their own free will. He must have thought all women wanted this! The "interviews" were kept secret from him, and the nurse was programmed into secrecy by the company (a violation of his rights, as she was technically his property.)
The first few interviews were interesting, but the constant gassing got tedious, especially with borderline cases where I was always on tender hooks, wondering if I was suddenly going to be gassed or not. The gassing was not part of my Girlbot persona; I was not rewarded for it. So I took to drifting. I would usually start drifting when my master left for work, and sometimes would become so mindless that it was only the intense pleasure of my master’s penis entering me as I mounted him that night that brought me back. I was finding that I was drifting more and more as a blue heel. The regularity of the work both with my master and in the shop meant there were times when drifting was preferable. I knew I was submitting more and more to being a Girlbot, releasing my mind, spending more and more time as an unthinking object, more and more deserving of the term "idiot girls" that some shop staff called us.
I was not informed of when my blue heel period ended. But I did start drifting uncontrollably on my last night with my master. I, of course, had no idea this was my last night. But as I mounted him, I drifted. I did not think this was odd, as I had no thoughts. I was drifting. When I came back, I was in refit. I was wearing black heels. I was still a blue heel. Why am I in these things? I thought. I'm not a slutty... Pow. I was a black heel again. Just like that. Happy. Content. I had no master, but I didn't mind. I fondly remembered him, but I didn't have the intense infatuation I had had for him any more. And I fondly remembered my one-off pink heels. That was special for me.
-----
The last time I wore the wrong shop heels was when Mike made me a white heel for a few hours. This was all related to my relationship with Mike.
For years we had been lovers, going way back to before I was aware of my situation. Under hypnosis, he had been able to bring me, Kirstie, out, and give me free will. We would make love and we would talk. I had no wish to escape, and I was always one trigger word away from submission anyway.
Things had changed since I had been Girlbotted. The links between Kirstie and my body had been surgically removed. My implant controlled my body. The only part I could be given control of is my face. This was done in order to allow doctors to talk to "the girl inside the Girlbot" in case of problems. But the implant had to be on to allow this. And it had to be set to allow his (my normal controller had no button for this as clients were not allowed see "inside" us.) The problem was threefold.
Firstly, if Mike wanted me to look at something, or do something, it was a command. This would turn off my control of my face. So he had to put me where he wanted me (such as in his arms) and only then allow me to talk. While I talked my body was effectively frozen. If he wanted to hear me during sex, he would have to keep me frozen. If he wanted me to participate, he got Kirstie GB001, or Kirstiebot as he would say.
Secondly, as the implant had to be on (remember what happened to me when it went off) it would pleasure me. This meant I was always euphoric, orgasmic. Mike had to use the head socket and a special machine to tone my pleasure down, otherwise I just rolled my eyes and moaned and screamed and basically made sex noises (my body, of course, statue still.) The pleasure would only abate for about 15 minutes. Mike would see my eyes roll and say "she's off again" and twiddle some knobs to bring me back. Even toned down, my pleasure was enormous and affected our conversations. Mike likened it to talking to someone who is always on drugs. I was always happy, excited, and turned on. If he discussed his problems with me, I would laugh, and smile, and seem to trivialise them, and I really found it hard to empathise with him as I could no longer grasp things like sad, angry, upset. When he moaned about my lack of emotion, I would laugh and giggle and tell him to stop going on about it. I couldn't grasp his feelings. I tried, but I couldn't anymore.
Thirdly, we found that I was highly suggestible in this state. Whether this was a throwback to my hypnosis days, or something else, we don't know. But if Mike expressed an opinion, or said some comment, it would basically take hold in me. I felt so good that everything he said seemed huge. It was weird. The suggestions would last a few days. We tested it. Mike had a bowl on his desk, with 2 apples and a banana in it. He picked up the apple and asked me what it was.
"It's an apple!" I laughed.
He looked at me. With a very serious voice, he said "This is an Orange…"
And it was. It was an orange. It had always been an orange.
"What is it?"
"It's an orange, silly," I said, laughing.
Two days later, it was an apple again. I would have felt a bit foolish for getting mixed up, but I felt too good to care.
These issues changed our relationship. I was incapable of deep conversation. I was becoming an airhead. I knew it, but I didn't care. I couldn't care. And Mike had to be careful when he talked to me. If he expressed an opinion, I would believe it as a fact. If he made jokes, I would get confused since I believed the joke was real, and couldn't understand the irony. If he told me to look at something, I would turn to look, and my face would go blank, and I would need reprogrammed. And, of course, I never new when I was going to be summoned, so sometimes when I reported to his office, I was drifting. In that case, when he had toned my pleasure down, all he would be confronted with was a blank mindless stare. I told him to rub my clitoris whenever that happened - that would bring me back.
But over time we were able to work through these issues, and our relationship got back on track. Mike began to accept me as a more dizzy and rather stupid version of Kirstie, and we worked out how to pose me for talking, cuddling, sex. I worked harder on trying to suppress my euphoria, and I learnt to force myself to talk through his problems with him, even though they are silly and irrelevant and get in the way of my pleasure. Mike would talk in "Kirstie speak" - a simple way of talking that prevented my hyper suggestive state from causing problems.
One day, as I lay frozen in Mike's arms, he said "Kirstie, I want to try something. We have worked out how to get along, but I wonder if changing your heels would make a difference?"
"What do you mean?" I said.
"I'm going to make you a white heeled Girlbot."
"I'm a black heel. I don't want to be a snobby white heel" I retorted.
"What?"
Mike had no idea about the prejudices we had about other types. He was amazed when I told him.
"Have you spoken to other Girlbots about his?" he asked.
"I've never spoken to a Girlbot," I said.
"I tried that once. I got three Girlbots together and freed them. It wasn't a great success."
"What happened?" I asked, curious. I'd always wanted to talk to another Girlbot.
"Oh it was just a lot of rubbish. The first was blank. I guess she was, how do you put it? Drifting. I tried to bring her round, like I can with you, but didn't get anywhere. I introduced the other two to each other, and they said their hellos's. They started giggling, like you do. Then one started saying how pretty the other was, and she said the same things back. Then they started saying how pretty they felt, and how good they felt. They started giggling and laughing and mumbling things about wanting men and loving their hair. They then spent about a minute just giggling, then one went blank. I couldn't bring her back either. I gave up after that. I programmed them all to return to duties."
"That sounds about right" I laughed. "I often wonder how many girls drift all the time. It is beautiful" I wanted to drift right now, having talked about it.
"You meant they are just mindless? I hate to think of you like that. I love the ,,,, that ... Kir.... whoa no ... ....."
Pleasure erupted in my clit. Mike was masturbating me.
"Oh god Mike..."
He stopped.
"You were going blank" he said.
"Sorry Mike" I giggled. "I couldn't resist. Resistance has never been my thing."
"Well just stay there"
Like I had a choice.
Mike got up and I felt him changing my shoes. I couldn't see, as I was looking the wrong way. Then, a few moments later, I was reprogrammed. I was a white heel.
I felt wonderful. My master was with me. He had chosen me forever. He owned me outright. I was his possession. I was no red heel slut, no black heel common as muck dirty girl, no blue heel inferior. I was a white. I was elegant and pretty and sexy and better than all those other Girlbots.
"Oh, master," I laughed, "I am yours!"
"Hang on," Mike said "you are meant to still be free"
"I am master." I was.
"Why aren't you calling me Mike?"
"You are my master" I giggled. Didn't he get this?
"Call me Mike."
"Yes, Mike." I said, my face expressionless. He had given me a command. I was no longer free. The pleasure came back to full strength. I couldn't resist it this time. I immediately drifted.
-----
Pleasure. Intense pleasure. Not just in me. This was physical. I was being stimulated. I began to come back. I opened my eyes. I was lying on the couch. My legs were spread open, and my master had his hand up my skirt, masturbating me.
"Master." I smiled.
I saw my beautiful legs. And my heels. Black heels. How could his be. I was a white heel. And these things were scuffed. They were old. I was wearing some slutty black heel's shoes. Got knows where they been! Get them off me.
"Master, my heels are wrong." Pleading didn't quite have the right effect when said with a smile between giggles.
"Sorry, Kirstie."
Mike hopped up, and within seconds I was a black heel again. The heels I was wearing were my own. I was the "slutty black heel" that white heeled snob was referring to. How dare she. But it was me. I was that white heel. But I hated her. She was a mindless idiot. But I didn't really care. Everything was right now.
"Well that was nuts," said Mike, smiling. "I didn't like you as a white heel. I think when I take you home, I'll keep you as in black heels."
"Was I that bad?" I laughed.
"You were an idiot. You kept calling me master. And you lasted about a minute before you went blank. I couldn't get you back. You were blank for three hours. I've been rubbing you and screwing you and pleasuring you, but nothing worked until just then."
I laughed.
There was a knock at the door. Mike got up. "I'll be right back."
I lay frozen on the couch, my legs apart, with my skirt up to my waist. There were sex toys lying between my legs. After about ten minutes, my pleasure rose.
"Mike" I called out. He needs to reset me. Too late. I began to orgasm, my euphoria rose. I screamed in delight. I panted. My eyes rolled. I thought they were going to pop out. I remained in his office, frozen, panting, moaning, screaming for at least an hour. Then I drifted. A really long drift. When I came back, I was in refit, removing gold sandals...
------
The last section of this update to my story covers my current job. And this has been a record-breaking job for me and for the company.
It began when I was selected by a client in the Frozen Hall. I went to prep and was dispatched to the client’s house. She led me in and took me to her bedroom. We made love. Then she played with me.
She kept freezing me and posing me. She had loads of underwear. So many different varieties, I'd never seen so much. She would dress me in some, pose me, photograph me, then do the same again with some other lingerie.
She was very gentle with me and she seemed to care a lot about my feelings. She would rub my clitoris to orgasm after a long posing session, as a reward she said. I spend about 12 hours with her. Lovely lady.
I returned to base, and went to refit. However, once cleaned, I went straight to prep for another job. I was given black court heels to wear, and a few other heels were packed for me, but that was all. Naked, I made my way to despatch.
I was trucked to a high street shop in some nearby town. A lingerie specialist. The owner was the client from the previous night.
The shop men "unpacked" me, leading me into the shop. The heel charger was positioned as a platform in the window. The woman gave me some lingerie (sexy black satin camisole, panties, and silk stockings. I obediently dressed. Then I made my way to the platform in the window. I mounted, carefully placing the tips of my heels on the metal disks, struck a stylish pose, froze, and began the longest constant mannequin stint the company has ever seen.
I was on full display in the window. Hundreds, even thousands, would walk past every day. They would see me, almost naked in my sexy lingerie. Men and boys (and some women) would ogle me. I was a mannequin again. I hadn't done this for a while, and I had forgotten how absolutely fulfilling it was.
Customers would come up close to me. Some were interested in the clothes. But not all. People would touch me. I was in ecstasy.
Then I began to drift regularly. At first I would drift for a day or two. Then more – five days – a week. The longest I had drifted before was 10 days, and I shattered that. I began drifting for longer periods. Then I decided to succumb to the ultimate Girlbot desire. I was going in full time. I decided to just drift constantly. Lose my mind. Become a real mannequin. At least until this job was over.
The first time I came back was due to penetration. There was a radio playing, and when they said the date, I realised I had been drifting for four months! I had been blank, mindless, and frozen for all that time. Actually I had been frozen for nearer six. I had never done anything like this for more than a month before. The penetration was due to the owner inserting a dildo into me. She had always cared about my feelings. It was summer, and she had installed a fan. The noise of the fan would mask the noise of the sex toy. She also fitted a butterfly to my clitoris. She started them up. My pleasure soared. I drifted immediately. I couldn't help it.
The next time I came back, is now, six months later. A team from the base came to give me a check over. They replaced the mechanisms the shop owner uses to feed me and remove waste. They replaced my heels - I'd been wearing them for a year and they looked brand new. The owner fitted new set toys, including wires that stimulate my nipples, filling me with a kind of happy euphoria. I have been re-dressed, and have just been reposed and frozen. The owner has just started the sex toys and, boy, am I having some super orgasms.
And now I am going to drift again. To let go of my mind, and become the mindless Girlbot that I am.
The pleasure. Oh! The pleasure.
The End?