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Mexican Beauty Mariko Martin stared at the girl on his comp screen. She was a short girl with bronze skin and black hair -- a Mexican beauty, she might have been the daughter of a Mayan king. Her hair was long, brushing against the small of her back, and shone like a mountain lake at midnight, when the water was as black as sin and the moonlight danced across the surface. Her eyes were large and soulful, if currently soulless, but the thing that really got your attention was her body: massive mammaries, a tiny waist, and full, wide hips and rear. No normal girl had a body that well-developed. It was a body that oozed sex, a body that made men stop and stare, and grow instantly hard. It was, in fact, the body of a sex-bot -- not a real person at all, just a proxy that was controlled remotely by someone strapped into a sens-D tank. It was similar to the proxies used by the rich, or by police in highly dangerous situations, or by people who rented one for a night or a weekend, who took a vacation not simply by going somewhere else but by becoming someone else. Of course, sex-bots were the lowest common denominator, cheaply made for one purpose only. More than any other aspect of society, the advent of flesh-bot proxies had revolutionized the sex industry. At first, it had been a novelty, having sex with a genetically-engineered, flesh and blood girl-bot who was perfect in every way. But things changed quickly as the advantages of remotely-controlled prostitutes were recognized. Sexually transmitted diseases became a thing that happened outside the industry; you no longer expected such from a casual liaison with a prostitute, since that prostitute was not a real person but a well-maintained flesh machine. And it didn't matter if the operator was old or ugly or even a girl -- the sex-bot that she operated was always young, sexy, and willing to please. Once the government sanctioned sex-bot prostitution as an alternative to the traditional sort, prostitutes had begun to unionize. These days, the typical prostitute worked from home like anyone else, dialing in from their home sens-D tank, and even enjoyed a measure of anonymity. It was almost a respectable occupation. Martin Blue stared at the beautiful Latino girl who lacked a soul. The body was for sale. There was nothing unusual about this; after all, a flesh-bot was nothing more than a vehicle, like a car or a boat. Dial in to the local police auction pages, and you could find page after page of flesh-bots that had been seized by the police and were up for public auction. Page after page of naked, oversexed female bodies. Men scanned these pages frequently. It was one of the best unofficial porno sites on the net. He wondered briefly if she was from that sex ring in the news. Children had been kidnapped and held in a warehouse, forced to animate sex bots. People paid big for that sort of thing, the assurance that behind those sexy eyes was an innocent boy or girl. People were sick. The conditions in the warehouse had been horrid, with children kept in sens-D for days or weeks at a time, lacking food, swimming in their own filth. Some had developed disassociation dementia, while their real bodies had rotted. Martin discarded the idea. Sure, the sex-bots from that bust were likely being resold to the public, but sex-bots were seized every day. There was no way of knowing if this particular model had been part of that story, and the odds were against it. Martin stared at the Mexican girl. He saw what every other red-blooded male saw: a flesh and blood sex toy, a genetically-engineered sex doll that did not need to be inflated first. Every guy secretly dreamed of owning one, although of course the price was prohibitively expensive. There were stories, though, of guys who bought their own private sex-bots. Maybe it was just the ultimate blow-up doll, or perhaps they had a wife or girlfriend who would animate it. Or perhaps the guy would animate it, if their wife or girlfriend were so inclined. There were stories of desperate guys who took turns animating the flesh-bot so that each of them got a chance to fuck a beautiful girl. And sex bots were cheap, relatively speaking. They were mass-manufactured for an industry that, it seemed, could never get enough. And they were even cheaper when the police placed seized goods up for auction. Martin had enough money to buy one. He'd been saving his money for years. He stared at the girl on his comp screen, then slowly reached out, turned the machine off, and went to bed. *** Martin dreamed of walking. He was at the mall, moving from store to store, looking in the window displays, thinking idly of buying a shirt or a new pair of jeans. He didn't actually enter any of the stores, but it felt good, just walking through the mall on his own two feet, rather than rolling along in a wheeled cage. People didn't even stare at him. He woke to the blaring of his telecomp, set to broadcast the morning news at 6:30 am. For a few moments more Martin snuggled beneath the sheets, wishing that it wasn't Monday, and that he didn't have to get up and go to work. He could hear a shower running in the apartment next door, and could smell the hint of baked bread coming from the auto toaster on the kitchen counter. But sleep did not pay the bills, and after a few minutes he threw back the covers and took a good look at himself. Martin Blue was paralyzed from the waist down. A cripple, as his grandfather would say -- call a spade a spade. And he was a bit of a monster, or so he thought. His arms were strong, but the rest of his body was flabby and his legs were thin and withered. His skin was pallid from not venturing outside much, and from long hours spent in the sens-D tank. A lot of medical miracles had come forth in the last fifty years, but a way to repair the human spinal column was still being sought. Short of a full-body transplant, which few could afford, a true cure was still not possible, and a paraplegic still depended on machines to get around. Martin levered himself out of bed and into his wheelchair. He glanced across his tiny apartment -- nothing more than a cramped studio, with a small kitchen in one corner, bed in the other, and a small bathroom. One window shed some light on the kitchen table, where the telecomp was located. The rest of the room was dominated by the large sens-D tank. He stared at the comp screen. He wheeled over to the table and dialed up the police auctions page. He had to look. She was still there, as beautiful as ever. After a quick shower, Martin wolfed down two bagels and a glass of milk, listened to the morning news, then steered his wheelchair over to the large sens-D tank in the corner. With practiced ease, Martin swung his body up into the tank and hooked himself in. The helmet covered his eyes, and the hydraulic door slowly closed, sealing him in. Moments later, he was dialed into his benny, down at the factory. Martin looked about. As usual, the effect was jarring: the video and sound of the labor proxy unit left much to be desired. He could smell as well, since the government considered this a safety precaution, and he had a limited sense of touch. His metal body was even roughly humanoid-shaped. But for the most part, being in a labor benny was like being a robot -- a thing, not a real person. The world seemed removed, distant, as he weren't really a part of it. For the next several hours, Martin lifted and moved freight, and oversaw the loading of freight containers. He was quick and efficient -- a good worker in a labor benny could accomplish four times as much as a normal human. He did not grow tired, but was still given a mid-morning break as required by union regulations. He stopped by the office -- a shack in the middle of the warehouse -- to say hello to Frank -- Franciso Montoya, the supervisor on duty. All morning long, Martin had been thinking about her -- his Mexican beauty. He thought of her beautiful face, her warm bronze skin, her perfectly formed breasts. She occupied every spare thought, and it was with difficulty that he'd kept his mind on the job at hand. He was a little surprised, therefore, to see a large picture of her taped to the wall above Frank's desk. "You like her?" Frank asked. "She's very sexy, no? I can tell that you want to fuck her, everyone who sees her wants to. But she's my girlfriend, hombre, so hands off!" He laughed at his joke. "She's a sex-bot," Martin said, stating the obvious. How could anyone look at that body and not know what she was? "Yeah, Si. I found her on the police auctions page," Frank said. "Sexiest one they've got. She's for sale, you know, Marty. Maybe you should bid on her." He laughed again. Martin was very glad that his benny could not blush or look embarrassed, or betray his emotions. "I'll tell you what," Frank added. "If I were to find her on the street, I'd fuck her. I don't care what it would cost. A body like that? Sheeeit." *** In the evening, Martin dialed out of his benny and climbed from the sens-D tank in his apartment. After drying off and ordering some groceries, he once again pulled up the police auction pages and stared at the girl. Of all the sex-bots out there, why did Frank have a picture of her above his desk? Was she really sexier than all the other choices? Deep down, Martin knew it was true: he'd been infatuated with her from the moment he'd seen her. He could bid on her, if he wanted. There was only one bid so far. He had the money. Martin thought of that other person who had already placed a bid. Was it someone like Frank? Someone who only wanted her to be his flesh and blood sex toy? She was more than that to Martin. Sure, he wanted to fuck her, but she also represented something else to him: a key to freedom. One that could unlock the chains that held his body down, and the apartment door that he hid behind. He'd thought about it for a long time. Didn't every paraplegic dream of being able to walk again? Not as he did every morning, when he dialed in to the benny at work, a metal body designed solely for moving heavy objects. No, he wanted an actual, flesh and blood body, one to call his own. Transplant surgery was only for the super-rich. The next best thing was to own a flesh-bot proxy, but even these were far too expensive for the average person to ever consider purchasing. Most contented themselves with the occasional weekend or vacation rental, but Martin had resisted doing so for twelve long years. Martin had saved his money. Because there were flesh bots that one could afford, if one was willing to consider certain options. Sex bots were cheap. Especially those sold through Police auctions. At first, the very idea had repulsed him. It wasn't just "cross dressing" in a female proxy, but in one that was a saucy little S E X machine. But it was flesh and blood. It could walk. It could run. It could allow him to leave his apartment, and his wheelchair, behind. And the price was right. Fingers trembling, Martin typed in his bid. *** Martin dreamed of walking. He was at the mall, moving from store to store, looking at the dresses and blouses and skirts and slacks in the window displays, wondering how they'd look on him. He felt silly for even thinking these thoughts, and was afraid to enter any of the stores. But it felt good, just walking through the mall on his own two feet, rather than rolling along in a wheeled cage. People didn't even stare at him. In the morning he stared at the comp screen. Had he really done it? It seemed as if it had been a dream. Quickly he wheeled over to the table and dialed up the police auctions page. He had to look. She was still there, as was his bid. He sighed, and stared at her naked flesh some more. He climbed into the Sens-D tank, and dialed into his benny. All day he kept thinking about her, his Mexican beauty. On his break he saw her picture on the wall in Frank's office. You can't have her, he thought to himself. She's mine. When evening came, he dialed out of his benny and climbed out of his Sens-D tank. Quickly he pulled up the police auctions pages to check on his bid, and to stare at her again. Why had Martin chosen her? He wasn't going to date this girl, he was going to become her! Did he really want to be a girl that made guys instantly hard? That was stupid. All sex-bots were inherently over-sexed. He'd reconciled himself to that fact... but why would he purposefully choose a body with more sex appeal than the others? He tried to imagine himself as that cute, dark-haired girl with the huge tits and ass. Especially, he tried to imagine himself as her at work, with Frank and all of his coworkers staring at him. Martin began to panic. He couldn't do this! Become a sex toy? What had he been thinking? Maybe he could take his bid back. Maybe he would be outbid. This was foolish. He was a guy, for Christsakes! Why did he want to become a sexy little girl? He didn't -- but he did. He was going to buy a sex-bot, wasn't he? It had been his plan for twelve long years. It didn't matter that he would be a woman -- a very desirable woman. It only mattered that he'd be able to go where he wanted and do whatever he wanted to do. And if you're going to be a sexy girl, then why not go all the way? In any case, he would become her only when he left the apartment. The rest of the time, he would be himself, and she would be lying in his bed, waiting for him.... For over an hour, he stared at the image on the screen, praying that he would be outbid, wishing that she were already his. Eventually he went to bed, still confused about whether he really wanted to do this or not. But the beautiful Mexican girl haunted his dreams. Bidding closed the next day. Martin had the high bid. She was his. *** They shipped her in on Thursday. Martin took the afternoon off, and supervised as the delivery benny lifted her from the transport booth and placed her on the bed. "I sure wish I had one of these at home," the benny said, with real envy in his voice. "Have fun, pal!" he added, as the door closed. And then they were alone: Martin, and her. For a long time he just stared at her. She lay on his bed, unmoving save for her chest, which slowly rose and fell in time with her breathing. She seemed so real, lying there on his bed, as if any moment she might turn to him and say something, but Martin knew that inside this perfect body there was no brain -- at least, not enough of one to ever form a cognitive thought. Just like his benny at work, she needed a human mind to animate her. She wasn't dressed in much, just cutoff jeans, sandals, and a black lace bra. Martin inspected her carefully. No panties, although the ragged cutoffs were so impossibly short that they might be considered denim panties. He stared at her for a long time, stroking her soft, warm skin, running his hands through her hair, breathing in her sweet, musky scent. He undid the bra and ran his hands over the large, firm breasts. Then he unbuttoned the shorts, pulled them down, and stared at her naked sex. He couldn't contain himself any longer. He pulled himself up onto the bed and, positioning himself carefully, thrust himself into her. He was clumsy at it -- since the accident, he'd only done this once, and that was years ago with a street hooker -- but this was one part of his lower body that still worked. There was even some feeling -- a distant sensation, very faint to be sure -- but something, at least. After a while, he rolled onto his back, spent. Well, he thought. Now I have my own private sex toy. I've done what my buddies at work have only thought of doing. It was... well, not everything he'd imagined. Certainly not enough to relieve years of sexual frustration. The time with the hooker had been better... she hadn't been as beautiful as his Mexican beauty, but she, at least, had been animated. He lay beside her for a while, stroking her stomach, breathing in the scent of her hair. Finally he rolled off the bed and wheeled himself over to his sens-D tank. She was, after all, not just an amazingly expensive sex toy. She was his ticket to freedom. In the small manila envelope that came with her, he found her personal address and ID code. Carefully he programmed his sens-D tank with the new information. He levered himself up and into the tank. His hands trembled as he strapped himself in and waited for the door to seal. The warm fluid engulfed him, the helmet covered his head, and then... Martin Blue opened her eyes. She sat up, and marveled at her new, perfect, female flesh. She was in his bed of course, and still naked. Her shorts were tangled about her feet. Her long hair was trapped beneath her, which was odd -- like many habitual sens-D tank users, Martin kept his head shaved. Cum dripped from her vagina, and Martin frowned, wishing she'd thought further ahead. She was aware that a normal woman would clean herself up after having sex, but she didn't have the proper equipment available. Then she once again marveled that she could feel down there, feel the denim wrapped about her feet, and feel her hair brushing against her back. Kicking the shorts away, she rolled out of bed and stood, unsteadily. Her breasts bounced in a way that she found strangely exciting. Naked, she walked wobbly across the room, reaching out to grab the kitchen table before she fell. She could barely remember what it was like to walk, and for several minutes that occupied all of her attention. Then she ran her hands over her massive breasts, her narrow waist, and the wet place between her thighs. The skin was smooth and soft and responsive to the touch -- much more sensitive than her Martin body. Sex bots were made for touching, for intimate contact, with extra nerve endings so that they experienced sex more strongly than a normal person. She felt her nipples grow hard, and a dull ache in her abdomen. She returned to the bed and made love to herself again, discovering this time what it was like from the inside. Naturally, with the heightened sense of touch, it was much, much better. Afterwards she slid the shorts back on, and practiced donning the bra. Then she sat in front of her comp screen and went clothes-shopping. There was no question that she did not wish to leave the apartment wearing the cutoff shorts and black lace bra. After learning to measure herself, she ordered several sets of white cotton bras and panties, some black jeans, some T-shirts with sports team logos on them, shoes and socks... sports shoes and white knee-highs, nothing fancy. After some more consideration she also ordered a small leather purse and a simple makeup kit. After even more consideration, she picked out an oversized mohair sweater and black leggings, and a black silk dress, just in case she really wanted to look feminine. This meant ordering some lingerie to match, and hosiery, and then some more feminine shoes, although she avoided high spiky heels. Then, upon reflection, she ordered a silky camisole and panties to wear to bed, and then a matching silk kimono and a silk cami top and tap pants combo as alternate sleepwear. By the time she was done, she was amazed at how much money she'd spent. Speaking of which -- she dialed up the local grocer and stocked up on items needed for keeping a female body clean and healthy. She looked through the paperwork that had come with the body. Included was an ID card with her picture on it, and the name "Martin Blue" beneath. They'd asked her if she wished a name change. It wasn't expensive, but she'd feel weird changing her name and then trying to explain it to Frank at work. Especially if it were a particularly feminine name. But she could always go by Marti. Since she couldn't leave the apartment, there wasn't a lot for her to do. She was too excited to watch the news or do any more browsing, so she spent the rest of the evening alternately walking about and making love to herself on the bed. She really didn't want to go back to her body, but she knew it was a bad idea to spend too much time in the sens-D tank, so eventually she dialed out and was once again Martin Blue, paraplegic male. Martin fell asleep cuddled against his dream girl. *** If Martin had been distracted at work earlier in the week, it was nothing compared to Friday. All day he could think of nothing but getting home and becoming her again. He even spent his lunch hour in her body, which was a bad idea as his actual body was starving the rest of the afternoon. When work was finally over, he had to leave the sens-D tank long enough to eat something. Once again he made love to her, first from the outside and then from the inside. From the inside was much more satisfying. She was still trapped in the apartment though. She cleaned herself up, which was strange and erotic in its own way. She found that having hair that hung nearly to her butt was a pain. She'd need more products to deal with that properly. Feeling hungry, she ate a little, and reflected on the fact that she was now "eating for two" so to speak. She laughed, knowing that a sex-bot like her did not have to worry about getting pregnant, or dealing with messy periods. She played around with her body some more, then dialed up some sex shops and ordered several items to play with. She laughed again, imagining what her friends at work would think of her ordering a large, vibrating dildo. But if she was really going to enjoy sex, then it would be in this body, that much was already obvious. And she wasn't about to have sex with someone else, especially another man, so masturbation toys were the order of the day. Once again she wanted to fall asleep in this new, healthy, sensitive body. With great reluctance she returned to Martin's body. He dried himself off and fell asleep next to her. *** On Saturday morning, the clothing Martin had ordered arrived. Eagerly he opened the packages, then climbed into the waldo and dialed in to Marti. She tried on the camisole and panties first. The silk felt wonderful against her skin, cool and slick, and for an hour she did nothing but move about the apartment wearing that and the silk robe, enjoying how the soft material caressed her sensitive skin. How odd it felt, and yet natural and exciting as well. She tried the cami and tap pants, which were also soft and silky but more confining. Then she spent some time getting all dressed up in the black silk dress. It was thrilling to move about the apartment with the dress swishing about her nylon-covered legs, but she was terrified of being seen in public in such an outfit. Even the oversized mohair sweater and black leggings seemed too much for her first foray into the public, and she settled on one of the oversized tee shirts and the black jeans. With her purse slung over her shoulder, she cautiously opened the door and slipped out into the hallway. Nobody was about, for which Marti breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted to move about in public like a normal human being, but being a stunningly beautiful girl was hardly normal for her. She took the elevator to the first floor and hurried outside, avoiding eye contact with everyone she came across. For her first outing, she'd planned just a simple trip to the nearby grocery store. Martin rarely made the trip on his own, preferring to order from his apartment and have everything delivered. But as Marti, she was free of the cumbersome wheelchair, and could go wherever she wanted. People still stared at her. She was used to people staring, but this was different. She could feel the eyes of every male upon her as she walked down the street. She could almost smell their lust. Marti was far too nervous to remember what she might need in the way of groceries, although she remembered about hair care products, and selected shampoo, conditioner, a good comb and a brush, and an assortment of hair clips and scrunchies and berets. As an afterthought, she selected some nail polish as well. The clerk, a young man, slipped her a scrap of paper, with directions to his apartment. He leered at her, staring mostly at her breasts. Marti felt sick. With her groceries in hand, she hurried home and closed the door behind her. Her heart was pounding. But she'd done it. She'd ventured out in public as a woman and survived. *** That night, Marti sat in the bed wearing her camisole and kimono, and watched an old horror flick. She fell asleep before it was over. When she woke up the next morning, she cursed herself for being an idiot. Her doctor was always warning against prolonged immersion in the sens-D tank, although studies had shown that people could go several days at a stretch with no serious side effects. It was Sunday, and Marti was ready for a more prolonged outing. This time, after showering and drying her hair, she selected the black leggings and oversized mohair sweater. It was a comfortable outfit, but feminine, especially on her body. The sweater was almost like a thick, shapeless dress. Marti headed for a local park. She'd never been there because it was built on a hillside, with stairs made of stone and cement, but now she skipped down the stairs confidently, then flopped on her back into the thick green grass and stared at the cloudless sky. Waves of exhilaration washed over her. In this body she could go anywhere, do anything! Why she had ever been reluctant to buy a sex bot body, she didn't know. True, just about every man stared at her as they passed. It was painfully obvious that such an oversexed body was that of a sex bot. People stared. Mothers turned their children away. It didn't matter how she was dressed; everyone knew. But Marti didn't care. She was free. After a while she got up and continued on her way. There was a zoo about ten blocks away. Martin had visited it once, years ago. Marti liked the zoo, and had decided to visit it again. She tried to buy a ticket at the front gate, but the woman in the ticket booth just shook her head. She pointed to a sign that read "Sex bots not allowed". Marti blinked at it in confusion -- it hadn't occurred to her that she might not be allowed in, simply because of the body she wore. "I'm sorry Miss," the woman said. "Those are the rules. This is a family-oriented place, you know." Well, it made a certain amount of sense. Sex bots were made for sex, not for strolling about town. Still, Marti couldn't help but feel disappointed. She walked along the sidewalk, trying to ignore the stares of the people around her. She saw a Greek restaurant and headed towards it. It had been years since Martin had Greek food. There wasn't a restaurant near his apartment that delivered, and he practically never went out. This time she saw the sign before it was pointed out to her. Sex bots not allowed. She frowned, and continued on her way. Now that she was looking, it seem that a lot of establishments had similar signs up. Apparently she could visit grocery stores, bars, and the mall, but she was excluded from most of the better restaurants, from classier night clubs, and from any place that had a "family" atmosphere. She couldn't even go to a movie, unless she wanted to see some sleazy triple-X tri-dee. In fact, she soon realized that no matter where she went, people only saw a sex bot. A prostitute. A hooker. Women gave her looks of disgust or looked away. Kids stared. Men leered. She was free to go anywhere, but she couldn't escape the knowledge of what this body was. Women sometimes complained of being treated as sex objects, but that was literally all Marti was. Legally, and in the minds of everyone she met, this body existed only to please men. It wasn't what she'd wanted at all. Somehow she'd known exactly what she was getting into, and still hadn't realized what it meant. She found a bar that wasn't choosy about its customers. She sat on a stool, nursing a beer, and trying to convince herself that it wasn't that bad. Being able to walk was a blessing in itself. So why did she feel so down? "Hey babe, how's it going?" Marti looked up. A bearded man in his forties was leering at her. His eyes wandered from her breasts to her hips. He didn't even try to look her in the face. "That's a really sexy body you've got there," he said. "Thanks," Marti replied. "Is 40 creds enough?" the man asked. Marti blinked. "Enough for what?" "Just a quickie," the man said. "We can do it in the back. The owner won't mind." It suddenly dawned on Marti that the man was offering to pay for sex. A man wanted to have sex with her! It made her skin crawl. She'd never been attracted to any man, and this one was far from handsome... just a typical blue collar guy with a beer belly, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. He might easily have been one of Martin's co-workers, save that she didn't know him. Of course, she'd never been a woman before. And wasn't this body specifically designed for sex? Forty creds was good money for just a few minutes work. Marti shrugged. Why not? As sensitive as her body was, it might actually be fun. More interesting than masturbation, at least. "Okay," she said. She followed the man back into the women's restroom. By now, the idea was starting to excite her. After making certain that nobody was around, he placed her up against the wall, pulled down her leggings, and did her. Marti felt him enter her. She gasped in terror, and in wonder. It was weird, and frightening, and humiliating, and thrilling. It was over far too quickly. The man smiled, kissed her on the cheek, and pulled up his pants. He said "Thanks love," stuffed the creds between her breasts, and was gone. Marti's knees felt weak. She stumbled to one of the stalls without bothering to pull her leggings up. She sat on the toilet and cleaned herself as best she could. She knew she should feel sick or ashamed, but instead she felt a tingling excitement inside. If she was nothing but a sex object, then so be it. At least she could enjoy the ride. And she had enjoyed herself. And she wanted more. *** Monday passed very slowly for Martin. He could hardly keep his mind on his work. When he saw the picture of his female self still hanging in Frank's office, it sent a thrill through him. He wondered what it would be like to do it with Frank. Frank glanced from the picture to Martin's benny and grinned. "You like her, don't you?" the supervisor asked. "Well, too bad for you. Someone already bought her. You're too late!" Frank laughed out loud, then added, "Who knows? Maybe you can find her on the street somewhere, and get lucky. But you don't go out that much, do you?" But that night, Marti went out. She wore the black silk dress. She went back to the bar and ordered a drink. It wasn't long before someone offered her money for a quick bit of sex. These men knew a sex bot body when they saw one. Before an hour was up, she'd done it three times, and was ready for more. A man offered to take her back to his place. The idea scared her, but that was a part of the thrill and excitement. For 300 creds she followed him to his a small, dank apartment and made love to him for nearly an hour. Marti realized that it was the heightened senses that made mundane sexual encounters so electrifying, but she didn't really care. She only wanted more, no matter what the cost. But there was no cost, of course. She had the body that others wanted. Men paid to be with her. Tuesday night she wore the silk camisole and panties when she left the apartment. It was hardly decent clothing even in this day and age, but not unusual attire for a sex bot. She didn't even go to the bar this time; she just walked the streets until someone made her an offer. She did several quickies in alleyways. Again she went back to some guy's apartment for a longer session. Wednesday night she even gave head in someone's vehicle when they asked. It was kind of disgusting, and didn't thrill her nearly as much as it did him, but at this point she'd completely embraced the role. She was willing to do whatever the client wanted, as long as it involved sex for cash. Twice guys took her to a motel with hourly rates. They didn't even pretend to be married -- it was plainly obvious what she was. Thursday night she sat in her apartment, looking at the pile of cash on the kitchen table. There was a lot of money there -- more than Martin got on his bi-weekly check. She would have to report it, of course, and pay all the taxes and social security. That was the downside of legalized prostitution, you had to follow all the laws. People would be watching to make sure she did. She was back to wearing the impossibly short jean cutoffs that the body had come with. All of her other clothes -- the silk dress, the sweater and leggings, her black jeans, and all her silk underclothes -- were dirty or soiled. That was another downside of selling herself on the street. She was going to need some more clothing -- more stuff that was sexy, but easy to put on or take off. It would be nice if she had a place to take the johns back to. Not her apartment -- she was pretty sure she could get kicked out of the complex for selling sex out of her apartment. Anyway it would be embarrassing -- she was still trying to slip in and out without too many people noticing. And it would weird out the client to have the Sens-D tank right there, to realize it was a guy behind the sexy curves and warm, willing flesh. But the johns kept asking if she had a place. Other girls did, didn't they? Maybe she could make enough money to rent a second apartment, a one-room studio? She sighed, gathered all her dirty clothes together, and headed down the street to the laundromat. She didn't even consider doing the laundry as Martin, not because it would be embarrassing for a guy to wash black lace and pastel silk with floral prints, but simply because she hadn't done anything as Martin lately, except eat and sleep. She was beginning to resent spending any time in the Martin body at all. She was sitting in the laundromat, waiting for her clothing to dry, when a young man approached her. He wasn't tall, but lithe and muscular, with mixed Asian/European looks. He was attractive, Marti realized. It didn't occur to her that she wouldn't have considered his looks a week ago. "Hi," he said pleasantly. "My name's Cai. I run this place." "I'm Marti," she replied. She knew what was coming next. People simply didn't strike up conversations with her, unless they had sex in mind. "I've got a room in back," he said. "500 for one hour sound good?" Well, he was direct. That was good. Marti's eyes lit up. That was more than she'd charged anyone so far. "Yeah," she said. "That sounds great." He led her through the back door and down a crowded hallway. Another doorway led to a second hallway, but this one was wider and was more like a motel hall, with doors at regular intervals. He placed a hand on one ID pad, and the door slid open. They stepped inside. It was a small studio, smaller even than Martin's place. There was just enough room for a bed, a dresser, a small closet, and a bathroom. There wasn't a kitchen, so it wasn't a true studio. More like a motel room or school dorm room. She dropped her shorts onto the floor and lay back on the bed. She smiled up at him and wiggled her hips. "Ready when you are, Tiger," she said in a soft, sexy voice. He smiled, and got to work. His movements were slow, calm, and sure. Most johns were excited and wanted to get right to it, but Cai took his time. He stroked her body and sent shivers down her spine. When he finally entered her, she was ready to climax herself. Afterwards he lay on the bed next to her. "You're pretty good," he said. He handed her the money. "Thanks," she replied. "I mean that," he said. "I've been watching you. You're new at this, but you're already good at it." Marti didn't know what to say to that. Most johns didn't expect a lot of conversation. They didn't hang around after the act, they just paid and left as quickly as they could. But this guy laid beside her on the bed and stroked her breasts. It felt wonderful. Maybe a working girl would be more worried about finding another john, but Marti was only doing laundry at the moment, and anyway, she was far more addicted to pleasure than to the money she was making. "I have a side operation," the man said. "Eighteen rooms back here. You can get to them from the alleyway around the side, when the laundromat is closed. "If you like, you could come work for me." Marti's eyes widened slightly. "You're a pimp?" "Not your typical pimp," the man said hastily. "Only sex bots, of course. Only owner-operators. I don't supply the bodies, I just give you the room to work from. They're all like this one, complete with bed, bath, and shower. You can have this one, in fact. I help bring in the clientele. You work an eight-hour shift, just like a regular job, or twelve if you want to. The room is yours, so you can leave the body here, and we have a community kitchen and laundry service. I set prices, I take rent and services off the top, and then we split the take sixty-forty. Sixty for you, forty for me." Marti frowned. Despite what she'd been doing all week, the idea of becoming a professional prostitute momentarily struck her as odd. "But I'm not really a...." she began. The pimp smiled. "Did you think all my other girls were? You'd be surprised. Some of my best girls are big, burly guys in real life. Of course, you don't tell the john that, unless that's really what he wants to hear. Always tell him what he wants to hear. If he wants to think you're an eight year old girl, then that's what you tell him." He continued to stroke her nipples. A warm glow spread throughout her body, and his hands strayed south to her pubic area. Marti gasped. The man was good at what he did. She screamed as the waves of pleasure climaxed, then screamed again. He kept at it, and she was amazed at the number of times she climaxed, and the intensity of the experience. It was better than anything else she'd experienced so far. It was almost painful, almost too much to bear. Almost. After he'd stopped and let her calm down, he said. "No strings attached. You want to leave, that's cool. Also, I don't assume any liability for anything that happens. But I am talking about a full time job." Marti hesitated. "I've got a day job..." she began. "One that pays you two thousand creds a day?" the pimp asked. When Marti shook her head, he smiled. "Then quit your day job. You'll do better working for me. Trust me. More money, guaranteed. "Besides," he added, "is your regular job this much fun?" With that, he began stroking her body again. Marti screamed again. Her body arched as pleasure shot through her, and she knew that she would accept the offer, as soon as she could breath again. *** Marti didn't walk back to the apartment that evening. She brought three johns back to that little room behind the laundromat before finally dialing out and back to the Martin body. The Marti body, and all of her clothes, were left behind in her new studio. In the morning Martin called in sick to work. He ate and took a shower, then climbed back into the Sens-D tank. Moments later, Marti opened her eyes. A man was on her. She could feel his stiff penis inside of her, felt the splurt of warm liquid as he jerked spasmodically, then collapsed, his head pillowed between her two massive breasts. For a moment he lay there, as his penis began to shrink and withdraw from her, then he rolled onto the other side of the bed. Marti wasn't sure what to do. A man having sex with her body when she wasn't there. If she moved or sat up, would it startle or scare him? Marti lay still. He got up and got dressed. For a moment he gazed down at her with longing in his eyes. He caressed her thigh, then left. Marti noticed the credits on the dresser. Moments later, Cai entered the room. "You awake?" Cai asked. He went to the dresser and began counting the credits. Marti sat up. "You could have warned me," she said. "What? Oh. Sorry, I guess I should have warned you. Some guys like to do it with an inanimate, you know. I let them have their fun with the girls that are sleeping -- dialed out. It's a little extra money for no extra work. Most of the girls like that. Jeb, he always asks if I have any new girls in, and since you left your body here I thought it'd be okay." Marti nodded. It made sense. "It's okay," she said. "I'm not upset, it was just a little startling." "I bet," Cai said with a laugh. "Don't worry, I trust Jeb enough to know he won't do anything weird, anything to hurt your body. I don't go in for stuff like that." "People pay to hurt others?" Marti asked. "Of course. You ever hear of a slaughterhouse?" "Um..." Marti said. She'd heard a lot of weird stories about the sex industry, but nothing called a slaughterhouse. But she could just imagine it...." "Guys pay to slice bots up," Cai said. "The money you get for being the girl who gets snuffed... well, it's a lot, but I don't think any amount of money would be worth it. It's not murder, of course, but it's still not legal. People say it's cathartic, but the psyches and the cops say different. They say it only encourages a guy to commit real murder. You know, guys like that, it's not enough to pretend. After a while they want to do it to a real girl. "Anyway, I stay away from all of that. If you want to get a little rough, that's your business, but I don't actively recruit clients like that." "That's good," Marti said. "I'm not really into that, either." "You know," Cai said, "I wasn't expecting you back so soon. You don't have to clock in until afternoon or evening." "I've got nothing better to do," Marti said. She headed into the bathroom to clean up. "Well, as long as you're here," Cai said, "you should do some shopping. You barely have enough clothes to last a week, and some of it -- I mean, the jeans and tees, they're just not sexy. If you're going to work for me, you need to learn how to advertise. I'll give you money if you need it -- you'll earn it back pretty quick. I think Candy was going out; you can go with her if you like." *** Candy turned out to be a black girl -- a black sex bot at least -- with long, wavy blonde hair. It was an exotic look, and Marti found herself getting aroused. Although she enjoyed what men did to her, Marti still found women far more attractive. Candy had the usual oversexed body, the huge breasts, wide, curving hips, the narrow waist. She could probably make a little boy stiff, let alone make Marti wet. But first and foremost, Marti was still in love with herself. If only there was a way to experience sex from both inside and outside her body. She wanted to make love to the little Mexican vixen. She wanted to be the Mexican vixen, and have someone make love to her. She didn't really want to be a girl, did she? But she could barely stand being Martin anymore. It was all a little confusing, so she didn't think about it too hard. With Candy leading the way, they spent the afternoon shopping. Martin had never liked to shop, but it was kind of fun as Marti to try on outfits, to see how sexy she looked in this leather skirt or that see-through blouse. By the time they were done, Marti had a brand new wardrobe composed of leather, silk, lace, and spandex. When they got back, Candy insisted that Marti try some of it on. Then Candy made love to her, and that was very, very good. Then they went to work. As jobs go, it was a lot more fun than moving dock freight around. Marti had always hated work, but now she hated going home, leaving her sexy Mexican body behind, going back to that inert male lump of flesh that housed her mind and soul. She lived for the nights when she was walking the street, legs, shoulders, midriff and the top of her breasts exposed to the night air, long hair brushing against her back. It made her feel alive. Within a month, Marti became Tommy's best girl. She worked longer and harder, and enjoyed her work more. She was having the time of her life.. After three months, Marti couldn't imagine doing anything else. All of those years as a dock worker seemed like some long-forgotten dream. Marti knew that her body wouldn't last forever. Sex bots were built to withstand a great deal of abuse, but eventually she'd need to get a new body. But at her present rate it wouldn't take another twelve years to save up the money. In fact, it wouldn't even take twelve months. The money piled up. She had more than enough to purchase another bot. If she wanted, she could purchase a normal, human-looking proxy. She could walk about like a normal girl. She could visit the zoo, or a fancy restaurant, and nobody would stare at her. She could even purchase a male bot. If she wanted to. She didn't. Maybe it was out of habit, out of years of scraping and saving up to buy her first sex bot body, but Marti continued to save her money. Maybe, she thought, just maybe, she could save enough for the ultimate dream -- an actual body transplant. No more Sens-D tanks. No more wheelchairs. She'd have a new, young body, just like any normal person. She could get a normal job then, and live a normal life. Like a normal girl. She was almost afraid to contemplate it, but if and when the time came, there was a good chance she'd opt for a female body. The very idea thrilled and terrified her. Imagine, being a girl all of the time. For the rest of her life. And then, one night, it happened. He was a new customer, someone Marti hadn't seen before. She picked him up herself. Maybe Cai would have been more careful, but Marti had always thought Cai was too careful, that he turned away good business just because some guy "felt wrong" to him, or "gave off bad vibes". Marti didn't like to turn away business. But in this case, Marti would have done well to heed the bad vibes she herself got from the man. But she shrugged them off. Maybe he was a little weird or kinky. So what? It might make things more interesting. When he suggested going to his place, she could have refused. But Cai regularly sent her and the other girls out on "house calls" or "business calls". It wasn't anything unusual for a john to take her to his place, although they usually went through Cai first. It wasn't until they got there that she began to have her doubts. He didn't take her to an apartment complex, or downtown penthouse, or even to an actual suburban home, as one of her wealthiest clients had done. Instead, he drove down into one of the industrial sections of town and stopped in front of an old, seemingly abandoned warehouse. "You live here?" she asked, a little nervously. "This is where I do my work," he said ambiguously. Then he reached over and placed a cloth over her face. Marti struggled briefly, then blacked out. If only she'd thought to dial out, right at that moment, then maybe.... ...well, it wouldn't have changed much, probably. When she awoke she was inside the warehouse. She was naked, her legs and arms spread, tied to a rough wooden cross. The man was seated in a chair in front of her. He had a large steel knife in his hand. A flickering fluorescent light overhead provided the only light. The blade flashed white and cold as he stood. The room seemed to swim in and out of focus. Marti felt fear well up inside her, but it was hard to focus. She needed to dial out, but she couldn't remember how. "Please," she said. Her voice was slurred. "I've found," he said conversationally, "that drugs make it difficult for you to think coherently, or to dial out. "I want you to be here for this," he added with a cold smile. "I want to hear you scream for me...." He touched the blade to her left breast, then cut down, slicing right through the center of the nipple. Marti screamed. She cried, and whimpered, and screamed some more. And the man only smiled, and cut her again and again and again. *** Martin woke up screaming. The nightmares had been a nightly thing at first. They said it would fade, that he'd get over it eventually. People had an amazing ability to deal with trauma. And it was true that, after a week, the nightmares came less frequently. Of course, he was seeing a therapist, to help him through it. But there would always be times when he closed his eyes, and he would see the man smiling, feel the knife cutting into his female flesh. There was little the police would do. They were too busy dealing with real crimes against real people to worry about what someone did to a sex bot. Sex bots were the lowest of the low on the social ladder. A stolen or destroyed labor benny got more attention than did a victimized sex bot. In any case, there was little that they could do. They found the body, such as it was, mutilated almost beyond recognition. There was no trace of the attacker. And just like that, Marti was gone, destroyed, dead. It seemed odd to think of it as a death, but to Martin it really was. Marti, his beautiful Mexican girl, had ceased to exist. But everything was okay, wasn't it? Martin was still alive. Wasn't he? Or was he? Day passed into day, until three weeks had passed. Martin felt more dead than alive. The more he thought about it, the more he began to realize that it wasn't Marti who had died. Marti was still here, still alive. She was trapped in the crippled body of Martin Blue, trapped in his cramped apartment, but she still lived and breathed. In fact, when she searched deep within herself, there didn't seem to be much of Martin Blue left. It was Martin that no longer seemed to exist. If anyone had died, it had been Martin Blue, not Marti. Never Marti. She was trapped, in her old, male body, without a job, unable to walk about. But... her bank account was full of credits... far more than the original body had cost. She didn't have enough for a body transplant yet, but she easily had enough to buy a normal proxy. For most of the day she could be a real person -- a girl even -- and not just an object of sex. Of course, she'd have to get a normal job then. Maybe something clerical, if she chose to be a young girl. She could work in an office, or in some service job. Something where being young and beautiful would override her lack of qualifications. Marti frowned. It sounded exceptionally boring. She reached out and turned her comp screen on. She dialed in to the police auction pages. Marti stared at the girls on the comp screen, trying to decide who she wanted to become. Anyone else. Anyone except herself. FINI