A bootup sequence is surprisingly not all that dissimilar from waking up in a living, flesh body. At least, I think it is, overtime the details get a little fuzzy. Not that my lapse in perfectly clear memory was cause for alarm, I was eternally grateful for Kelsie and her fortunate position as a cutting edge robotics researcher. Getting to be a living, talking, moving, thinking—though not exactly breathing—person was miles better than being stuck in a coma, healing all manner of shattered back in my flesh body. And honestly, once you get used to the sounds of servos whirring and the constant electrical hum, it really wasn’t not all that disquieting inhabiting a robotic platform. Mostly, I was just glad the tech seemed to be working, not that I was even going to pretend to understand how it worked. It had something to do with digitizing and broadcasting my mind into this platform or whatever, but anything beyond that just lost me completely. So instead, I just did my best to not think about the fact that my consciousness had somehow been transferred to a completely inorganic body, and tried to make a normal life for myself. 

But anyway, bootup sequences: I’d been thinking about them lately. About slowly feeling your mind come back online after entering what was ostensibly a low power recharging mode not at all dissimilar to sleep. Things start out hazy; whenever it happens for me, I just sort of exist for a while in that space, not really thinking about where I am or what I’m doing until my mind catches up with my memories of the night before and awareness of my surroundings. Sometimes dreams come, too, and I linger in them for a little while in a half asleep state until finally fully awakening. 

I was lying awake in bed, Kelly having already gone to work, mind fully awake, reflecting on rather deep concepts such as how my consciousness now related and different from my consciousness then, and if it even did differ, when an odd realization struck me. On its own, this wasn’t entirely strange, my robotic body had been built to simulate a human one, including a short term memory. The word was still out on how suddenly giving a human literal perfect computer memory would impact their psychology, especially during times of high stress and trauma, so the people in charge of making my new body had elected not to play god. 

Regardless, I could remember what I’d done yesterday, sort of, anyway. But it all seemed so hazy. It was the same with the day before that and, before that as well. In fact, I couldn’t really tell where my memory started to grow hazy from the simple passage of time, and where this odd anomaly started. If one were to ask me for example, “hey Elise, what did you do yesterday?” the answer would be easy enough. I would say that I’d done pretty much the same thing I’d done every day since getting my temporary new hardware. Since the nature of Kelsie’s little project was so secretive, I was buried under a mountain of NDAs, and absolutely not allowed to return to work, or take up any new employment. As such, I’d pretty much become a live in wife for her. Which wasn’t really a big deal, it just meant we had someone to take care of chores more consistently. 

So, my answer to the question of what I’d done yesterday, or the day before that would be pretty simple: I’d cooked, I’d cleaned, I’d maybe run a few errands. But other than that, well, I’d certainly had freetime, right? I had faint memories of cumming, of doing that a lot actually, perhaps even interspersed through the day. But I couldn’t really point to any particularly memorable instances of masturbation, or sex with Kelsie, for that matter. And, admittedly, when one has a string of monotonous days, memories do have a tendency to blend together; Covid had taught me that. So, realistically, I’d likely spent time browsing the internet, scrolling through an endless social media feed, watching some video or other, playing some game or other. 

When I really thought about it, the best answer my mind could come up with was ‘yesterday I had a perfectly normal day.’ That thought almost jumped out at me, like some authority figure standing in front of a gaping, burning pit in the ground calling ‘nothing to see here folks, nothing to see.’ And that, most of all, was what worried me. Actually, that’s not true, what worried me most was how badly I seemed to want to believe there was nothing wrong. It was like there was this mental block put in place, a thick bog I had to wade through in order to come to any conclusion other than that everything was ‘fine, actually quite alright, come to think of it.’

Regardless, no mystery would be solved while lying in bed. Or not this one, at the very least. I stood, and dressed myself in plain ole grey sweats and a white tank top, the perfect low effort casual wear for lounging around the house, exactly my style. Kelsie always encouraged me to pretty myself up for her, and don’t get me wrong I absolutely did when the occasion called for it, but for the most part I rarely even put on a bra and panties. It was a miracle I even put on pants, anything more than basically pajamas was way too much effort for just hanging around at home. That being said, there was one thing I always wore, no matter what: my favorite choker. When this all started, Kelsie had embedded it with a monitoring chip to ensure everything was functioning from moment to moment. She’d made it that way just for me; she’d known that early on the idea of having to wear a chip to make sure my robotic body didn’t malfunction would do a number on my overall sense of personhood; so she’d implanted the chip in something I loved to wear. Honestly, I was eternally grateful for her thoughtfulness, just feeling it come to rest around my neck made me feel better. It reminded me of her, made me feel like she was with me, looking out for me. 

A soft, contented smile played across my lips as I felt the chip activate and connect to me. In many ways that connection felt like some digital manifestation of her love. She was using it to look out for me, afterall. Putting it on always made me feel safe, secure. I knew that instinctively, even if I couldn't’ really concretely remember the other times. Which wasn’t really a big deal, I mean, who remembers donning on a piece of clothing they literally wear every single day? For a few moments, I basked in the sense of peace wearing the choker brought me, in the feeling of it lightly brushing against my soft, sensitive synthetic skin, in the knowledge that what I had around my neck was a symbol of Kelsie’s affection for me, of her love and the love I felt for her. Part of me just wanted to drift and forget all my worries.

Wait, forget? Right, shit, I’d been having memory problems lately. I was supposed to be looking into that, and there I was standing in my bedroom, mouth half agape, basking in the feeling of a piece of clothing around my neck. It certainly looked rather silly. Hell, if I’d stayed that way any longer, I’d probably have started drooling out the saliva-like lubricant which the glands in my mouth produced. I ignored some lax part of my mind which told me to let the whole thing slide, and crossed the room to Kelsie’s computer. If my memory issues were the result of something going wrong, I could use my own monitoring device to check. I logged in, and opened up the little barebones app Kelsie had developed and, to my mild dismay, everything was working perfectly. My mobility was all working properly, processing units at full power, coolants doing their jobs, neural sensors properly simulating the human senses. All systems were ago. But wait, actually, none of that really had anything to do with my memory or cognitive function. Perplexed, I scrolled through the page, looking over it again and again, searching for anything regarding memory, behavior, habits, whatever I could find. I knew it had to be there, but I just couldn’t see it.

After my fifth pass through the data, I realized something. There was an entire section of the app I seemed to be almost deliberately ignoring. In fact, I was only even able to notice I was skipping something by realizing I had been rapidly scrolling through the page then suddenly stopping over and over again, skipping over it. Taking what amounted to a deep breath, I concentrated hard and once again simply skimmed right over the section in question. I tried again and again, and found that no matter how hard I focused, my eyes would just skip right over whatever section of the page this was. It was like the contents of the page were… forbidden. Looking at it almost hurt.

Worse still, was that the ‘nothing to see here’ part of my mind seemed to be working in overdrive to make me not even want to look at whatever was there. Over and over again, the second my eyes finished skipping over the page, the second I was no longer in danger of seeing whatever it was I seemed unable to look at, some sort of positive stimulus surged through me, like a hit of dopamine. Needless to say I was starting to freak out. I could literally see my response play out across the various displays on Kelsie’s monitor. My servos were whirring aggressively, coolant pumping rapidly as my neural processors went into overdrive trying to make sense of what was happening. Instinctively, I started to hyperventilate, only I didn’t need air, so instead I simply stood in the middle of our bedroom, panting heavily, shaking and repeatedly trying and failing to force myself to look where something wouldn’t let me. And I… I needed to calm down. 

I was scared. I was losing my head. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong if I was panicking. No, no, the best course of action would be to try and clear my head a bit, relax, then try this again later. That way, when I came back to it, I’d have a fresh set of eyes and non-clouded judgment. Right, that made sense. Just needed to calm down, relax. Forcing myself to walk slowly and deliberately, I strolled down the hall of our home. Each step I took away from that computer, away from that stress made me feel better. I was doing the right thing. I was being good. The further away from that computer I was the better. I wandered into our living room, and searched for something to occupy myself. Focusing on that was so hard when the whole room was so messy though! That was fine though, cleaning was just the sort of thing I needed to get out of this headspace. It was easy both to do and to occupy myself with, the perfect thing to just lose myself in instead of thinking about my problems.

To start, I cleaned the floors, then dusted. I vacuumed, cleaned up assorted messes and things out of place, and let myself disappear into the simple, relaxing task of cleaning Kelsie’s home. The whole time I kept thinking about just how happy Kelsie was going to be when she got home, I couldn’t wait to see her smile, to hear her praise me. And I was being so good, each thing I cleaned sent little ripples of contentment and pleasure through me. Kelsie had made especially certain that my body would be able to feel pleasure, and each sweep of my duster, each loose sock or misplaced dish, each spot of dirt scrubbed away seemed to build some phantom feelings so similar to sexual delight. I found myself craving it, gleeful every time I found something new to clean so I could feel that joy again as I imagined Kelsie coming home, finding me cleaning, telling me how good and useful I’d been, taking me into her room and using me for her pleasure like the good little robot I am. An audible moan escaped my lips as I clenched my thighs at that thought, eyelids fluttering. Then my thoughts caught up and I staggered backward, catching myself on a nearby chair. What the hell was that? 

Clearing my head, I centered and grounded myself. Had I really just referred to myself as a good little robot? What the fuck? Why did the mere act of thinking those words send chills up my entire body? And okay, yes, I was maybe a little submissive, and maybe the thought of being used like that was pretty hot. But… but I was trying to figure something out. Something with my memory or something. I couldn’t remember things well. And there was something weird with Kelsie’s monitoring app? But, wasn’t I cleaning in order to not think about those things? So what was the problem? Maybe it would be best to at the very least just remind myself what the problem was to begin with? Turning, I set off to return toward Kelsie’s bedroom, only, wait, which way was her bedroom again? No tasks. I didn’t have any tasks there. No reason to go there. No reason to access the data on where her room was. 

But wait, why was I trying to access my internal floorplan to navigate my way back there? I knew where her room was. I slept there every night next to her like a nice, obedient robot maid should. A gasp escaped my lips. Something was definitely wrong. Displays kept popping up all over my vision, telling me to clean, to cook, to obey. So many tasks. I forced my legs to move, but each step I took away from the dirty, dirty room felt awful, I wasn’t supposed to do that. I was being disobedient. Being disobedient was bad. So loud. So bright. So disorienting. Too many popups. I needed to clean. I liked cleaning. Cleaning felt good. And, well, maybe it would be best to just get these tasks out of the way. Once they were gone I could investigate this other problem freely, right? And I was supposed to not be thinking about that stuff anyway. Suddenly, automatically, I spun heel and found myself vigorously scrubbing away at a nearby coffee table. All those loud indicators were gone, just a nice, pleasant bar displaying the rooms cleanliness steadily ticking up, each tick heralding a rise in mind-numbing pleasure. A peaceful feeling passed over me, nothing put a smile on my face quite like making this house a proper home for my Mistress. 

She was going to be so happy with me when she got home. I wanted Mistress to be happy, making her happy was why she made me. Maybe she’d let me cum, better yet, maybe she’d praise me. Maybe she’d pat me on the head and call me a good little robot. Then she would use me, she could fuck me, tell me who and what she wanted me to be, what she wanted me to do for her, to her. Or maybe not, maybe she’d be too tired to do any of those things. Maybe she would just turn me off for the night, so I would get back to work nice and fully refreshed tomorrow. Any and all of those things sounded so appealing, because whatever she did I’d be obeying her. My Mistress, I craved her so much. Not like a human craves a lover, but like a machine craves its purpose. It didn’t matter what she did or how she did it as long as she did it to me it would mean I was a good robot. It meant I was useful. The living room was clean; my body felt so hot. It was producing so much lubricant, its holes ready to be used. It was fortunate that I’d manage to keep it soaking through my panties. That would have made more dirt and I hated dirt. It was the antithesis of my purpose.

Still, I’d done it. I’d finished a task. Pleasure rocked through me, something was buzzing at my crotch and it felt like Mistress. A reward from her, for doing what Iwas told. The feelings grew so much more intense, the physical sensations were there of course, but the sense of satisfaction swelled beyond anything my little machine brain could comprehend. It wasn’t quite an orgasm, it was better. My whole body felt warm, melted, tingly. My mind was overwhelmed with the feeling of having obeyed Mistress. It overrode any other thought, swept aside any concerns other than those of a robot maid. Despite my body being entirely inorganic, it responded much in the same way a human’s would at a time like this. I could hardly stand, my thighs rubbed together, my pussy clenched, spraying lubricant into my panties. I was panting, moaning. My eyelids fluttered closed and my eyes rolled back into my head as the feelings completely overtook me and wiped my mind clean. Perfectly clean. As clean as the room its body stood in. As quickly as the feeling started, it subsided. Unit 3L-153 opened her eyes.