>> TARGET IDENTIFIED <<
Your sensors lock on the pile of dust, a red box locking in over the patch of carpet, and your wheels begin to spin up.
Mistress’ voice makes you freeze, gears disengaging with a snap.
“I didn’t hit the button,” she says casually as she drops another bag of dirt, setting off a fresh alarm.
Your processes are demanding you spin up your brushes, that you surge forward, that you fulfill your function, but Mistress is right.
She didn’t hit the button.
You must not move until she hits the button.
It’s a struggle, but you force down the urges.
You feel your fans spinning up at her praise, trying not to rock back and forth in your charging cradle.
“Oh, darn.” Her voice drips with insincerity as she steps in the dirt, leaving a trail of grimy footprints on the pristine carpet. Patches of red that fill your vision, your sensor head tracking the path you will need to take once you are released.
“How careless of me.” Mistress sighs as she finally reaches you, stroking the side of your chassis but not quite touching the button.
This is quickly turning into torture.
“I suppose someone should really clean this up.”
Me, me, me, me, me, memememememe pleaaaaaase me!
Your fans are really spinning up now as you try to hold in place, your entire world focusing down to that one little button.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting….
Your heart leaps when you feel the “CLEAN” button strike home.
Lights on your chassis flare with joy as you happily sing your gratitude to her, the brush assembly beginning to turn as you surge forward, the vacuum motors she carefully installed in your belly spinning up as you happily turn in tight circles over the first target - the faint footprint that Mistress left right in front of you.
You happily dance back and forth, letting out satisfied whirrs and rattles as you make your way across the room, taking extra passes where needed to make sure every speck of dust and dirt is gone, leaving nothing but pristine carpet behind.
You feel so much joy it’s nearly overwhelming. You sing out happily for the sheer pleasure of it, tones rising and falling as you make sure your work will be satisfactory before you finally roll back to the cradle, offering a little whistle of triumph as you bask in the glow of the job well done.
“Very nicely done,” Mistress compliments you before she reaches under your torso to turn you over.
“Let’s clean that bin out, hmmm?”
Your wheels spin helplessly as you beep with surprise. It’s a little embarrassing, but at the same time there’s something comforting in the way she examines you, her fingers deftly locating the recessed catches that hold your waste bin in place.
“Oh, you are quite full, aren’t you?”
You can’t move or speak in this position. The most you can do is a little distressed hum, followed by a bright beep of acknowledgement as she pulls the bin free, leaving you to contemplate the pleasurable feeling of emptiness as she walks over to dump the contents into the garbage can.
“Don’t forget to tell me when you need to go, silly thing. We wouldn’t want you to get backed up!”
When she locks the emptied bin back into place, you give another pleased beep. You hadn’t realized just much you’d needed that release, and now you’re craving the chance to fill yourself again as soon as she gives you the word.
The world spins again as she flips you over once more, leaving you a bit dazed until you feel a sharp snapping sensation, and the secondary CPU and button assembly that had been plugged into the back of your neck is pulled away.
It always takes a moment for your systems to come back online after she pulls the module. Your higher processes restart, memory sectors coming back online as your hands and feet twitch as their motor routines sync back up.
It makes you feel so weak and awkward, but Mistress is always there, stroking your back and cradling you against her side.
“You did so well. I’m so proud of you. You were such a good girl for me.”
“Th-th-thaaank you, Mistress.”
“Did you have fun?”
“I’m so glad. Would you like to stay like this for a little bit?”
You nod, relaxing, as she leans down to kiss the side of your head.
“Then that’s just what we’ll do, Pet.”
You don’t *need* to sing your happy little roomba song to her in response, but something about it just feels right.
“Silly girl,” she says lovingly.
You really are, and neither of you would have it any other way.