BNY

by DownriverBlue

Tags: #cw:noncon #drones #latex #pov:bottom #scifi #sub:female #transformation #cyberpunk #orgasm_denial #robots #unaware #vr

A curious college student with a passion for jail-broken VR experiences tries out a shady promotional sim for a nightclub, and in doing, discovers a new way of life.

The doorbell rang, and a little windowbox showing the doorcam feed popped up in the corner of Tara's HUD, a simple fisheye shot of the dorm hallway. A delivery girl with a cute little bunny ears baseball cap stood at her door, smiling sweetly at the camera and holding up a small giftwrapped box as if offering it as payment for entry. The system ID'd her only as "Anaia," a campus promoter - no surname, no connections. Tara rolled her eyes, wondering what the latest social brand was selling this time to lure students into their exclusive lifestyle subscription after graduation. She didn't have much choice but to find out, since this promoter's company seemed to be a campus sponsor and Tara hadn't paid for the deluxe residential package that included the proprietary dorm access controls. After a 15-second grace period her door opened automatically for the bun-eared salesgirl.

"Tara, hiiiiii~"

The promoter threw her arms open as she strode in like she was a lifelong friend. Tara barely had time to sit up in bed, dismissing her homework holo with a swipe of her hand. She stammered an unintelligible greeting as Anaia wrapped her in a one-sided hug, mashing her enhanced boobs into the student's face. Tara hated marketing calls - so touchy feely!

"Listen, Tara, I know you're busy and I can't stick around long but I just had to drop off this little promo gift on my way upstairs! We haven't seen you down at Flux Club yet, and you know we opened three new locations around campus this year? Well, I know you say online that rhythm clubs like us aren't your scene, but we'd hate for you to miss out entirely, so I thought I'd bring you a taste of the club right here!"

Anaia stepped back and held out the giftbox. It delicately unfurled itself as she placed it in Tara's hands, revealing an external VR visor - the kind you wear over your eyes and ears, with dedicated local drivers for direct sensory emulation. This one was decked out in Flux Club branding, all neon blue and pink, accessorized with a pair of bouncy bunny ears like on Anaia's cap.

"Our cybernetics team put this together as a sort of at-home demo for the Flux Club experience! You've seen our BNYbots serving up drinks and good times, so why not experience one for yourself? Maybe you'll like it enough to come down in person!"

"Uh, thanks..." Tara gave the VR set a suspicious look. A virtual rhythm club? Not her typical VR fare.

The promoter leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. "Now I've seen your net traffic and I know you like to push the limits with your virtual fun - no judgement, we've all dipped a toe in the deep end. But between you and me, I think you'll appreciate what our cybers cooked up - it's not exactly Neuro-Compliance Certified if you know what I mean..."

Tara went bright red. Of course the campus network had been monitoring her jailbroken VR sessions - and of course the school had sold that data to advertisers! The student sputtered, avoiding eye contact. So she'd dabbled a little. You had to visit some shady platforms if you wanted to find developers willing to bypass the industry's cybernetic integration standards. None of the mainstream entertainment distributors wanted to get involved with tech that took full perception control - it exposed too many security flaws standard neural firmware - but that meant the kinds of feed you could access on legit platforms were so... limited. All either just recorded bodystreams with baked-in haptic thresholds, or else self-inhibited from fully accessing your complete sensorum.

If you wanted real intensity, real pain or pleasure, you had to step outside the walled garden. Tara had sampled some dicey platforms, always with failsafes in place mind you, but there was no avoiding occasionally jacking into some racy shit she didn't want spreading around her socials. And now there were aphra clubs advertising to her about illicit VRs?

Tara pursed her lips. "What exactly is this scenario?"

Anaia pressed the power button on the visor in Tara's hands. Tara's HUD lit up with demo scenes of Flux Club BNYbots in a variety of erotic poses and situations. "Find out for yourself! If you like it, maybe we'll see more of you down at the club after all!" She gave the coed another saucy wink and sashayed out the door.

The ad unfurled itself from the visor in Tara's augmented reality HUD. "The BNYbot Experience" it boasted. "You know them; you love them! BNYbots are the signature servers, performers and playmates of the Flux Club rhythmic orgasmic experience! Our robogirls know how to bring out that good party beat in our guests, and sometimes it can feel like they're having more fun than their clients! Now, in a special limited-time promotional VR experience, you can try out club life from the other side, as a genuine Flux Club BNYbot! Let yourself go - let the music move you."

Tara had seen plenty of BNYbots in the past few months - not in person of course; she'd never have the courage to visit the Flux Club herself - but their ads had positively saturated her socials with a branding push all month celebrating the opening of the new campus locations. Voluptuous, robotic rubber bunnygirls seemed to be everywhere online, sleek glossy black, posing with drinks, pole dancing on the sides of her text client, undulating to unheard, irresistible beats - always beckoning her closer.

Although she would never admit it, Tara was guilty of lingering on some of the ads between videos, watching those rubbery hips and tits sway, imagining sinking into a pair herself. She looked back at the ad. It didn't say the VR scenario was to spend time with the BNYbots - it clearly said it was about experiencing the Flux Club as a BNYbot.

Weird angle... but what the heck. The point of VR is to play out the stupid little fantasies, and now she could do it without having to crawl down to that sweaty, haze-filled rhythm club and probably get her cybernetics jacked while she was blitzed out on sloppy greenjuice. Plus, she'd never admit it out loud, but the idea of flipping the script and playacting as the little servant was intriguing in its own right - not an awkward college student with unfashionable clothes, but an anonymous joytoy, one of a dozen identical rubber playthings, just another part of the fabric of the club, thinking only about the music instead of her bad dancing or awkward conversation - all as a fantasy, of course, for a few hours. If the promoter wasn't full of shit (and let's be honest, she probably was), a jailbroken fuckdoll VR might be an escape worth trying.

Sure, why not.

Tara slipped the headset on, feeling a warm, silky pressure as the smart-material subtly resized itself to perfectly fit its soft plush latex padding across her face and seal her ears under its bulky headphone cups. The decorative latex bunny ears perked up at attention as it booted automatically. The lower rim of the mask covered her nose, filling her nostrils with a light creamy scent that faintly smelled of strawberries.

For a moment the weight of it on her face felt ungainly, the extra heft of the bunny ears pulling her head forward - not heavy enough to make her bow her head but enough to raise the tension in her neck muscles. Then the VR kernel finished pairing with her neural implants and recalibrated her proprioception, and the feeling of weight lifted. Her sense of sitting at the end of her bed blurred into a weightless ambiguity. She could have been standing, lying down, floating in zero G - her body faded as she waited in inky blackness for the VR environment to initialize.

The game started with a throbbing beat, a deep bass thrum that lived as much in her bones as in her ears. Thump thump thump thump. Immediately she was reflexively bobbing her head to the rhythm. The title faded in, flashing with the beat, growing brighter with each pulse, huge block letters that completely filled her field of view, alternating

BNY

BOT

BNY

BOT

BNY

BOT

Brighter and brighter, closer and closer - then she was in the game.

A simple tutorial world - just her, a golden 3D carrot icon lazily rotating in the air a dozen feet away, and a glowing blue path connecting the two, all suspended in the inky blackness of VR simplicity, all throbbing to the beat. Behind the carrot, blocky words with simple instructions flashed in that same alternating cadence as the titles, but now with the depth of field imparted by the icon and the little blue path, the vision-filling words came across as colossal, distant monoliths stretching across the horizon.

GET

TREAT

GET

TREAT

GET

TREAT

The beat was everywhere in her, synchronizing her heartbeat, regulating her breathing, pulsing in her fingers and her toes and the tips of her rubbery rabbit ears. She looked down at herself and saw the huge, shiny bust line of a Flux Club BNYbot, heaving in time with the beat.

The parity was remarkable - Tara brought her hand up to feel her breasts and almost gasped from their soft, pillowy sensitivity. In reality, she must have been pawing through her t-shirt at her modest B-cups, but as far as her mind knew, her little rubber bunny paws were struggling to contain their F-cup heft, twirking her electric pink nipples between her grippy latex fingers. The sight of herself as one of those sultry sex machines that she had been watching for months unexpectedly awoke butterflies in her stomach - it was one thing to imagine it and another to look down at herself and see this artificial, latex toy, built for service and pleasure. She twisted to look over her shoulder and saw those familiar soft, jiggly curves, with the pert little inkbrush tail and long legs tapering to slender rabbit paws, all the glossiest black latex highlighted with neon pink glowing accents. "BNYbot" was written in pink down both thighs - a label, a stamp of ownership. She tilted her head left and right, watching the big rubber ears flop side to side like great antennae, no longer feeling like a plastic weight on her face but instead as normal and natural a part of her body as her arms or legs.

She took her time to get used to the avatar, feeling up and down her slick new touchable body, until the pulsing music began to build in impatient intensity. The flashing instructions got brighter. The blood pumped in her veins.

"Hmph - alright, alright." Tara looked at the carrot at the end of the neon blue path. Seemed simple enough, clearly just a tutorial to orient her to the motion mechanics. She walked toward the carrot and her breath momentarily caught in her throat as her BNYbot body covered the distance in six perfect, even runway strides, synchronized with the beat. Walking to the beat felt good - felt unnaturally good, all smooth and velvety between her thighs, bubbly and throbbing in her head. It felt right.

Every step closer made the vast glowing GET TREAT message blur and intensify until by the time she reached her objective the wall of pulsing light had swallowed everything in her vision but the carrot icon itself. She went to grab the carrot and, without her specifically intending, both of her arms came forward and grasped it firmly. She felt a tingly menthol thrill play up her arms when she touched it and a single little number appeared in the center of her vision - close, intimate, overlaid across the rest of the world, a message just for her:

+5 POINTS

It was like a kiss on the nose, a shot of strong vodka, a tongue on her clit. The feeling of winning points reached deep into her brain and make her bubble. The psychoactive feedback was more intense than any VR game she had played before. Tara was caught off guard and a thousand nervous thoughts flared up in her head. The transgression, throwing aside the normal wall between the VR mindscape and its effect on the brain - on the mind - it felt naughty, thrilling. But it was also a threat. How far was the app willing to go?

Then the world went black and a new one replaced it.

Tara was on a small circular stage, its edges delimited by the same blue neon as the path from the last world. The beat remained the same, but now an effervescent electronic melody twirled overtop it. Beyond the stage in every direction she was watched by an audience of indistinct gold silhouettes, and behind them the horizon was dominated by new pulsing instructions.

SHAKE

TAIL

SHAKE

TAIL

SHAKE

TAIL

Tara didn't notice the nerves disappear, defaulting back to a calm baseline. OK, she thought, the game is about following the rhythm. She tried leaning forward, ass out, one hand on her knee like she had seen so many BNYbots do in the ads on her social feeds. Her synthetic body was built for this music; the moves came from muscle memory, programmed into her sexbot joints. She danced. The sway felt natural and right, swinging her hips with the beat, making her way down to the floor and back up. Each beat that she was in sync with the sound, the score superimposed in the center her vision won another +1, setting off a tingle of satisfaction and longing. It felt good to be so effortlessly good at this. When the score hit 10, she felt a shudder down her spine. When it hit 25, she felt neon pink drip down her thighs from her quivering latex pussy. Her thoughts blurred as she fixated on that number climbing higher and higher, every +1 inviting her deeper and deeper into that thrumming bass beat. Her breath synchronized with the beat, panting, tongue sliding across her plush latex lips. At 50 points, her knees started to buckle from the throbbing in her rubbery snatch but suddenly

The world went black again and a new one replaced it.

She was standing straight and still. The heat and tremble in her pussy and nipples and tongue all fell away like a silk robe slipping from her shoulders. She hadn't realized how close the dance had brought her to orgasm - she was so lost in the trance of the song - but now it was suddenly all gone, leaving only an echoing hollow longing in her swollen, throbbing vulva. There was no more music, only the thrumming beat that felt almost quiet after the aborted crescendo of the last world. She instantly longed for the music and her dance and the warm, dripping feeling inside her.

Her hands flew between her legs. Her pussy was hot, glowing with the neon pink of her BNYbot body. Her folds were exquisitely slick, the high gloss latex feeling almost frictionless against her little bunny paws. But the orgasmic energy had bled away, leaving only an urgent feeling of emptiness that her fingers merely teased and intensified.

Before she could explore further, the horizon lit up with another set of forceful instructions.

GET

TREAT

GET

TREAT

GET

TREAT

She frowned, looking out at the mostly empty environment, processing what she saw somewhat more slowly through the lustful haze that clouded her mind. No more audience, just the neon blue pathway again drawing a long, circling path toward five more golden carrot icons, scattered across a wide space. She was keen to get back to the erotic pulse of the dance routine so she set off immediately. Her BNYbot body followed the blue pathway effortlessly, planting one paw before the other in syncopated catwalk strides, broad hips and jiggling bust swaying, teasing her but reaching nowhere near the intense feeling of the dance. She took the first carrot after 15 strides, gasping from the little teasing tingle of reward.

+5

Her BNYbot body automatically placed the carrot icon on a tray that she held aloft in her left hand, as if she was busing tables. She noticed the closer her gait matched the rhythm, the less resistance the path offered, as if she was sliding further than her strides would normally take her, gliding down a frictionless slope from one goal to the next. It was so easy to be a good BNYbot, and felt so good. Gooey, warm good.

+5

+5

+5

The score climbed higher and higher in the center of her vision, the center of her world. Each carrot rewarded her with a pulse of electric pleasure that only heightened her imperative to reach the next. She leaned into the rhythm, willing herself to the next goal and the next level and the promise of a stronger reward.

Finally, she grasped the last carrot icon like the hilt of the sword in the stone, and

+5

The world went black again and a new one replaced it.

She was in a new setting, kneeling with a cold, hard, unseen ceiling inches above her head, pressing her BNYbot ears out to either side. The beat was deep and intense, rattling in her knees. She was surrounded by the golden amorphous forms again, this time with only their legs visible, seated around a table with her crouched underneath. The silhouette directly in front of her had their legs parted. The floor beneath her hands and knees flashed vast block letters, a divine commandment from under a thousand feet of crystal ice.

SUCK

DICK

SUCK

DICK

SUCK

DICK

The girl felt the blood rush to her cheeks. The golden figure pulled their fly to one side and a long, glistening cock slid out, growing hard in pulses synchronized to the beat. She found her gaze fixating on it, her score superimposed across the glans. She slid forward to position herself between their legs, her rubber ears brushing against their thighs, and reached up to feel the balls and shaft. Her little bunny paws lit up with the same menthol effervescence as she got from the carrot treats, filling her with lightheaded giggles. It felt good. The hypnotic beat goaded her on, so she leaned forward and pressed her lips against the throbbing crown. Her cute BNYbot snout ended in plush, latex lips that formed a perfect ring around the bulbous head, slick and frictionless, effortless and so good. The electric fizz across her glossy flesh was like nothing she had ever felt before. She made a few little swirls with her lips around the edge of the head in time with the beat and was rewarded.

+10

+10

+10

+10

The points built in the center of her vision, and that beautiful heat began to crackle again between her legs. On instinct, she began to bob her head along with the beat, up and down the shaft - one beat up, one beat down, one beat up, one beat down.

+30

+30

+30

+30

The beat guided her motions, buzzing rhythm through her bones into her joints. The more she stroked, the more she allowed herself to focus on the score growing higher and higher, hotter and hotter, and let the pulse pilot her body. She found herself tenderly massaging the balls with her fingers, teasing the bell with her tongue on the upstroke, adding a soft, playful nibble at the base every few beats. She could feel the cock growing closer to climax, her body responding in harmony with the guest's pleasure like a good little bunny whore. The more her movements gratified the client, the more her latex flesh crackled and oh god it felt so good - it felt so good to play the plaything like this.

As the guest's climax approached, her BNYbot body instinctively switched from alternative upstroke and downstroke every other beat to pumping up and down the shaft on each beat.

+50

+50

+50

+50

The number grew and she felt herself getting closer to the threshold of her own release - she just needed a few... more... points! The pressure built and her spine trembled and then the guest reached down and grasped the back of her head, forcing her roughly down the full length of the shaft, holding her bunny snout pinned against their flesh as they released thick gooey warmth down her rubbery throat. The cum poured into her spurt after spurt in time with the beat and her score rolled higher and higher and the crackling between her legs made her squirm made her moan and buck on the verge of eruption and

The world went black again and a new one replaced it.

The BNYbot was on the stage again, dozens of golden silhouettes watching her, now with a pole at her back. She gasped as the fire in her pussy fell away again, leaving her empty once more save for the universal beat, thrumming, thrumming, thrumming away. Her latex flesh felt tense, her mind swimming in a haze of arousal interrupted, distracting her from any thought save for frustrated longing.

RIDE

POLL

RIDE

POLE

RIDE

POLE

Her body was on autopilot, already taking the pole in one hand, swinging around with the other hand outstretched to beckon her audience. She needed to get back to that feeling again - that overwhelming, all-consuming crackle under her skin. She had been so close! The score in the center of her world began climbing again in time with her rotations around the pole, using the high-grip surface on her fingers and the heels of her palms to hoist herself up and relying on the slick frictionless gloss of her thighs to swivel effortlessly.

+50

+50

+50

+50

The beat rewarded her synchronicity with more warmth, more pleasure on her sensitive latex BNYbot pussy. Soon, she was dripping again, moaning and stroking herself for the audience of anonymous golden guests like a good toy. That was the key - she just had to go with the rhythm. The beat felt good. It felt natural. It eased the itching emptiness and promised her a taste of that lost satisfaction just a few more points away.

Just a few more points.

A few more points.

A few more points.

After the 15-second grace period, the dorm room door opened for a pair of Flux Club technicians, one carrying a transport rack under his arm. The junior worker called up a photo that the promoter had snapped of the dorm's occupant, holding the image up next to the BNYbot-in-process now seated at the foot of the bed, arms limp at her sides, head lolled against her shoulder, oblivious to her surroundings. The conversion seemed to have taken root successfully - the wallflower's willowy physique had been overprinted with glossy, succulent curves, her round ass now crowned with a pert little latex bunny tail to match the bunny ears that had integrated into her head, glowing pink outlines accentuating her hypersexualized proportions. The VR mask had merged into her face to become the standard BNYbot visor. A line of pink drool ran over her plush, fuckable lips down her plump breasts, which were still in the process of ballooning outward to full BNYbot specs. Nearly all of her tissue had been rubberized, with just the final patches of pale skin visible on her feet as they shrunk back into dainty little bunny paws. The sheets and carpet were a mess of liquid latex.

The senior worker held a scanner up to her oversized steel collar. "Looks good - she'll finish converting by the time we get back to the club. Let's test the mind-body toggle."

He dialed a command into the scanner to queue up a SUCK DICK cycle in the real. Immediately, the BNYbot dropped to her knees at the foot of the bed and pulled his fly open with her surprisingly nimble lapine fingers. Her minder protocols correctly identified the "guest" and mapped her choreography flawlessly. She brought him to full stiffness in seconds with her darting little rubber tongue and fondling hands, then deepthroated his shaft with long, rhythmic pulses in time with music only she could hear. Her soft rubber throat accommodated his augmented girth effortlessly. Before long, she brought him to orgasm, drawing the moment out with little hummingbird kisses up and down his shaft.

The junior worker leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, idly watching the show as his senior tensed and twitched. The BNYbot sat back on her ankles, waiting for her next cue, a line of cum trailing from the tip of his cock to mingle with the pink latex mess on her lips. The worker wiped her face and tits with a microfiber cloth then dialed a SPIT ROAST cycle in the VR onto her stack. The bot stood up and reentered idle mode, simulating compliance with the new command in her VR simulspace while remaining motionless in real life. She would continue to feed herself random simulated commands until she received her next real world one. Once she was hooked into her club's mainframe, it would be able to feed her commands in real time according to the whims and anticipated needs of the patrons - redirecting her to filling orders and servicing guests as needed, then idling her in VR the rest of the time.

"Looks good, let's pack and ship," the senior worker grunted as he redid his fly. The junior worker latched the transport rack onto the hard points on the BNYbot's collar and the base of her tail. The sexbot automatically folded herself into a tight fetal position, sealing herself to the rack for easy carrying. She weighed a comfortable 40 pounds, the rest of her bodymass having been expelled as liquid latex onto the dorm room floor. The worker casually hoisted her over his shoulder and strode out of the room.

The new BNYbot carried on obliviously, dancing, serving, and fucking her way through world after world, never cognizant of which was real and which was simulated, no thought left in her digitized mind but of working her way toward that high score and the elusive promise of reward. 

Crossposted from https://www.furaffinity.net/user/downriverblue/.  

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