Chapter 3

“Oh my dog, you have a freaking LIGHTSABER!” I said, upon entering the room with the air of a mouse sticking her nose into a room that was either filled with cheese or filled with traps with cheese in them. Since, well, I’d just finished my tutoring for the day and I was free to explore the grounds since Georgette needed to reload – okay, actually, my training to be a noble lady of the Space British wasn’t actually all sucking Georgette’s cock.

It just happened that, uh, that ... was involved a lot.

At least for the first day.

God I hoped Day Two of being Noble Lady involved her just ... demolishing my ass with her robo-dick, please, god, listen to me. You’ve done me some major solids so far, so it’d be no extra effort to include being demolished by Georgette’s robo dick, right? Right. Right!

Still, my explorations had taken me through the library, and now, down to this little side room ... where I found that our amazonian robo-soldier, Ra (aka, TheodoRa Fusilier) was busy working with a screw driver on Abby Keeper’s face. Abby herself was still in her maid uniform and had her hands primly clasped before her while the seam of her face was worried at and Ra muttered under her electronic voice. That is, until I noticed her lightsaber.

Okay.

It wasn’t obviously a lightsaber, except for the fact that I couldn’t think of any other reason why, sitting on the table, would be a hilt without a sword. A sword hilt, without a sword. It wasn’t just a tube, like a lightsaber was, mind, it was actually a hilt, with the fancy swooshes and wooshes. You know the kind I mean. Hence why I pulled a ‘meme of Leonardo DiCaprio pointing at something from a movie I’d never watched’ and pointed directly at the lightsaber while saying the very sentence that started this ominously titled chapter.

“What? No, it is a-” Ra started, but I had already picked up the hilt. There was a small thumb trigger on the back, with tiny notches for settings one to four, and I did not touch that thumb trigger because I was not a complete idiot. That didn’t stop Ra from snatching the hilt from my hands and glaring down at me. “It is a rapier – and it is not something that a young lady should be training with unless she is going to be learning how to use it.”

My eyes widened and I gasped. “Can I can I can I can I can I can I can I!?” I asked.

Ra put her hands on her hips while, to her left, Abby held her face in her hands. Underneath, there was no brass clockwork, tiny coal furnaces, or boilers that one might expect from a robot built by the Space British, which was just unfair. Instead, Abby’s insides were all delicate and porcelain and glass finery. Like looking inside of an overly complicated tea set. Abby didn’t seem to be ill at ease with her face off, which meant she wasn’t likely to have John Travolta’s face stapled onto her. Which, I think we could all be glad about.

Ra used that little trick of narrowing eyes and set jaw and hands on her hips to somehow convey frowning without actually moving her lips that all the machines seemed to have. So, when I say someone is ‘frowning’ you can just assume their lips aren’t actually moving from here on out. “Ask Georgette if you can,” she said. “Now, I have to finish this maintenance.”

“Oh? What’s wrong?” I asked, looking over at Abby, who coughed.

“A-h, well, uh, uh, uh, uh...” She said.

“It involves a certain biological need that will be fulfilled using other means now that you are no longer the Young Master,” Ra said.

“Ooh, does this have to do with my vampire fangs?” I asked. Then my eyes narrowed. I could see that the seam between Abby’s throat and her shoulders, where her shiny skin looked like it had an ever so slightly different texture. And by craning my head, I could peer past the intricate machinery behind her face and see several very small bags of thick red material tucked under her cheeks, laced past wires and tubes that flowed with blue circulatory fluid. “What is that about? Georgette dickstracted me from asking.”

Ra sighed, then went back to working with her screw driver at Abby’s seams. Abby squirmed a tiny bit, but endured. “I’m no expert, but your body suffers from a kind of malady. Hemophilia?” She nodded.

“The noble disease!” I said, excitedly. “The Hapsburgs got it cause they were too busy going all Shelbyville.”

“Huh?” Abby asked.

“Cousin fucking,” I whispered to her, sotto voce.

“O-Oh!” She exclaimed. “Is that bad?”

“Yeah it’s bad!” I said. “Like, it’s a fairly low risk for birth defects – but low is still higher than none – and it has none of the implicit erotic thrills of incest.” I shook my head. “Total waste of time.”

Both machines looked at me.

“ ... that was a joke,” I said, blushing. “Like ... it was ... a joke.”

Ra narrowed her eyes.

“It was!” I said.

“I’m growing less convinced of this every moment,” she said, muttering uner her breath.

“Oh fine! Who hasn’t read some taboo erotica on Storiesonline? It’s only the second biggest section after non-con stuff,” I said, throwing up my hands. “But just cause something is bad in real life doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it in our fiction. So long as the fiction’s clearly tagged, so people who would get squicked out by it don’t read it. Boom bam, all moral quandaries about your fiction are resolved.” I nodded, slowly. “Anywho, back to the fangs?”

“Right.” Ra nodded, beginning to slowly peel the chrome covering off Abby’s throat, working gently with her tools. “So. The fix to your punnet strings couldn’t get rid of the hemophilia, so they simply incorporated the ability to consume blood that does clot properly and mix it with your own through a few extra organs. The design was settled on in the 21st century by your great great grandfather ... there are new punnet modifications that should work to fully remove the hemophilia, or so Jeanette says, but your family are traditionalists.”

I nodded. “Also, vampires are hot. So ... Abby was modified for my chompers?”

“For the young Master’s, ah, fangs, yes,” Abby said, her cheeks flushed. “I am so glad you arrived – I was positively dreading it ever since I came out of the box two days ago. They told me about the modification, and asked me, and I said, oh, aye, but, just because I was all right with the service didn’t mean I ... wanted a man to pin my arms over my head and ... sink his fangs into my unwilling throat, while ... ripping my bodice...” Her voice muted off as Ra hastily twiddled a small adjuster on her throat. Abby, not seeming to notice, looked increasingly dreamy.

I nodded, then pouted. “Wait ... if I can’t drink from Abby, how do I get my daily blood dose? Are there humans I can chomp?”

Ra shrugged. “Ask Polly.”

I nodded.

Ra started to remove the blood bags while I watched her, my eyes as puppy dog as I could make them. I made a tiny mew mew mew noise too. She slowly turned and frowned at me. “What?”

“ ... can I swing your lightsaber? Lucy can little a lightsaber, as a treat?” I asked.

Ra sighed, slowly, then picked up the hilt. She thumbed it from the lowest setting to the next higher up – from zero to one – and a glowing, pale white-blue blade hummed to life from the rapier hilt, provoking a soft ‘vrr’ from it and a loud ‘eeeeeeehehehehehhe’ from me. I grabbed the hilt in both hands, trembling, then gave it a little swing. It bopped against the wall – leaving no mark or sign that the wall had been damaged. I poked it, experimentally, and found that it felt a bit like touching a very sparkly baseball bat. I swung it a bit more, and found that it didn’t even make a humming noise as it swung.

Fortunately, I had a solution to this severe design flaw.

“VrrrRRRRv hummm ohhhmmmm hmmm!” I lightsabered as I swung the rapier around, before posing. “Give it up, Anakin, I have the high ground! VRRR! Vvvooomvoovvvrrrvvv!” I swung it around more.

Ra sighed. “For the first time in two hundred years, I regret punching my superior officer,” she said.

She snatched the saber from my hands and pushed me out of the room.

I found Polly in the kitchen, cooking away at some slow simmering bubbling pot full of something that smelled absolutely delicious. She was dressed, and seemed faintly annoyed at this. Looking over at me, she waved cheerfully and gave me a smile (and in this case, her lips did move, cause Polly had the mobile lips that I was beginning to realize had to have been an expensive after market purchase.)

“Hello Lucy,” she said. “What’s up? Did you finish your tutoring with Georgette?”

“I sure did,” I said.

“What did you learn?” she asked, curiously.

“Oh, uh, how to curtsy and bow and...” don’t say suck cock don’t say suck cock don’t say suck cock...

Polly, noticing my pause asked: “Suck cock?”

“Whaaaaat? No! No! Not even ... I ... what? Me? Hah!” I said, laughing. “I’m ... here ... to suck, actually. But ... blood!” I nodded.

Polly giggled. “Georgette does have a really nice dick. Though you haven’t been destroyed until Ra’s gone to town on you.”

“What do you mean? I mean, what? I...” I blushed, hard. You know what was also getting hard? You know. You guessed. You want me to spell it out, though. It was my dick. Which, like, when did my dick go from being a dick to being a girldick? When did I get boobs anyway? Ugh. Hormones. Work faster. I had gotten my implant, like, five hours ago. Why wasn’t I a girl yet!? Lame.

“Anywho, you want blood?” Polly asked. “I got your blood right here.” She walked over to a tall, humming, silvery looking rectangular box that sure as hell looked like some kind of refrigerator. She opened it up, reached in, then pulled out ... a carton of cardboard, with two bright silvery foil coverings on the top that were positioned exact so that I could chomp into them with my fangies. But other than that, it looked exactly like the kind of carton I’d get a Capri Sun out of back in the 90s because I was so old. I took it, blinking a few times.

“ ... well, there goes the mystique of being a space vampire...” I muttered.

“If it helps, you’re not really a Dracula,” Polly said, nodding. “So, drink up, young miss.”

I sighed, then looked down at the box. I grinned, then tossed it from palm to palm. “Well, young Boxmont...” I crooned. “Simon Boxmont ... you’ve come to my lair without your weapons, have you...” Then, holding the box up, I said in a tiny squeaky voice: “Die, monster! You don’t belong in this world!” I held the box back, then let out a haughty laugh. “It was not by my hand that I was once again given FLESH! I was called here by ... huuu-mans ... who wish to pay me TRIBUTE!”

The box waggled – my voice, once more, squeaky: “Tribute!? You steal men’s souls and make them your slaves!”

I chuckled, holding the box in both hands. “Perhaps the same could be said of all religions!” I chuckled.

“Your words are as empty as your soul!” The box wriggled in my hands. My grip was tighter, my fangs bared. “Mankind ill needs a savior like YOU!”

“What is a man?” I asked. “A miserable little PILE of HORMONES! But ENOUGH TALK! HAVE AT YOU!”

Chomp.

My fangs plunged into the side of the box as I lifted it to my face, puncturing into the little foil circles. Blood gushed into my mouth and I immediately choked, coughed, and shot it out of my nose. I gagged, coughed, spluttered, and squeezed on the box reflexively – spraying blood over my face and blouse. “Augh! What the fuck!?” I coughed, wheezing as Polly, who had been watching, fell backwards, laughing uproariously. “It tastes like blood!” I said.

“Of course it does!” Polly gasped around her giggles as she rolled from side to side on the floor. “It’s blood, you absurd creature!”

I coughed and gagged. “Polly! I’m an American. Our fruit doesn’t taste like fucking fruit, why the fuck should our blood taste like blood!?”

“What does your fruit taste like?” Polly asked, sitting up, her hair slightly ruffled.

“Knowing America, corn syrup,” I said, scowling at the blood container, then down at my clothing. “Ugh. I feel so gross. Does this universe have showers?”

“Yes,” Polly said. “Though, you don’t have a Maria ... Abby will have to handle some of their duties.”

“Why don’t I have a Maria?” I asked. “ ... right. The Young Master-”

“Was a prick, yes” Polly said, standing up, then opening the fridge. “Maybe drink this one without the Hamlet?”

I took the container and glared at it.

Pros to being in a universe full of sexy robot maids: You were in a universe full of sexy robot maids. Heh. This was the kind of deep profundity that I came up with while in the shower. I scrubbed my hands through my hair, then looked down at my sleek, femmy boi body and tried to decide if I was feeling dysphoric or proud of it. It was definitely one of those weird knife edge trans things. Like. Okay. If I squinted, I could kind of imagine I had those super tiny cute titties that some girls had? Like, I could just cup them and squeeze them and ... ooh ... girl. Also, my hair was all long and luxurious and pale white, and just...

But then, between my legs, I had a big old dick. And while this body was still fairly light on the body hair, especially compared to my old macho body, there was still tiny tufts here and there and ... I shook my head – then blinked as I heard the faint sounds of footsteps and humming from the adjoining room. The bathroom itself was all gorgeous rococo finery (the water was coming from the open mouth of a golden dolphin, for Zod’s sake) and it was big enough that I was pretty sure the only reason I heard Abby at all was because my finely attuned sexy robot maid senses were tingling.

I called out. “Yo! K-Dog! Abby!”

There was a short pause, then a timid: “Yes, Mistress?” that came through the thin door between bathroom and bedroom.

“Is there a make hair go away thing?” I asked.

“ ... scissors?” She asked.

“Yeah, but, like ... easier to use?” I asked. “Like, a shaving razor?”

“Oh! Yes! They’re in one of the drawers! Um, may I come in? I can get them for you! And assist, if you wish! To ... that is, I may just be the housekeeper, but so long as you don’t want me to do anything fancy...”

“Oh, no! No fance, just, gone! I want...” My skin crawled and I was struck by a kind of dysphoric eager bomb of explosive need. “I just want the hair off, okay?” I nodded as Abby opened the door and came into the bathroom. She was just a blurry shape through the tinted glass of my shower’s doors, and soon, she approached, opening it – and gasped at me, dropping the small, broad tipped wand that she had picked up. It clattered around her feet. Her eyes were wide and I blinked at her.

“What?” I asked.

“I-I forgot you were...” She blushed, her cheeks glowing. “I ... m-my apologies, in the dress and, ah, with your hair ... y-you ... you pass quite well, Mistress.” She stammered. “Please, my apologies, I’m sorry, I just think boys are very ... that is, you ... are ... I...” She stumbled over her words more and I blinked at her.

What was with my brain? Tiny tufts of barely noticeable white hair made me want to drag my own skin off with my teeth, but a girl being so cock shocked by my sexy bishōnen looks was just hitting every happy as a cat proud note in my body. Ugh. I was the worst trans girl ever. Still, I grinned at her. “Hey, just remember, I’m a girl. You’re not crazy into girls, right?”

“Actually-” She shut up, then grabbed the shaving wand. “S-So, ah, um ... shut the shower off and dry off and, ah, what do you want off?”

“Everything but my eyebrows and my hair,” I said, nodding. “Permanently.”

“O-Okay!” Abby stammered, adjusting a dial. “I-It has been set to permanent. It may sting a little.”

I nodded. “Hey, listen, I’ve worked at a McDonalds. I know pain.”

Abby nodded, then took my hand. She walked my naked, rapidly dried ass to the bedroom, then had me sit down, then aimed the wand at my arm. A glowing red light began to shimmer along my skin and tiny puffs of smoke rose into the air – and with each came a teeny tiny tugging feeling and a faint ouch. Like. Ow! Ow! Ow! But in a good way, because I could imagine each one being a little hair folicle dying its last, screaming to the heavens: Nooo, my masculinity! Ahhh! And then they were gone. For good. As she worked, Abby’s eyes narrowed as she moved the wand slowly up my arm.

“This ... actually hurts a lot, haaaa, oww!” I said. “Uh, mind if we talk to distract meeee?” I winced as a particularly thick nest of follicles died like they were fighting to save the last bastion of humanity, rather than just being hair clumps.

“Oh, uh, sure, what do you want to talk about, mistress?” Abby asked.

“Okay. Uh. You said you were unboxed, like, two days ago? Wild. What’s that like?” I asked.

“Well, first, you’re built in a factory, I hear, usually by Adams and Eves, our crafts machines. That part, you don’t remember. At least, I don’t.” She bobbed her head. “Then, you sit in a box, shut down and immobile, but with a battery, and you get booted up and they ask you if you want to serve, and I hear some machines say no, but I’ve never met none, and then, you, ah, you get to work, doing what you’re built to do.” She nodded, smiling at me.

“Where’s the eighteen years of angst and hormones that humans have to live through?” I asked, hissing as another thick clump of hairs went up. Okay, it was NOT fair. They were nearly invisible against my pale vampy skin, they should also be easily destroyed. Unfair unfair unfair.

“We skip it,” Abby said, bobbing her head.

“LuckeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEE!” I squealed as the laser reached my should.

“Now we’re doing the other!” Abby said. “A-And, uh, uh, it’s not all good! Um, we miss out on ... like ... food!” she nodded. “We don’t eat or drink, and humans seem to like doing that a lot.”

“True,” I said, biting my lip. “What do machines do for fun? Other than, ah...”

Abby’s cheeks glowed. “Oh, we, uh, work. And we enjoy labor. And we also sometimes practice our professions. Oh! And we often enjoy taking on some few extra chores, and there’s always some tasks to be doing too, so, we never really stop having a good day, really.” She bobbed her head. “ ... a-and sometimes, if we’ve done everything, er, we like to treat ourselves ... to music.” She She paused. “I haven’t ever heard any myself, but the older machines I’ve met have said that music makes us feel quite excellent.”

“Ahh...” I said, nodding then winced as the beam finished up with my left arm. My skin felt tingly, and when I rubbed my finger gently along my arms, they felt smooth and soft and silky and just perfect. I grinned. “Well, I think you deserve a bit of music.”

“W-What? Me? No! I just ... really? I...” She blushed, shaking her head.

“No, I insist!” I said, looking around the bedchambers – and there was a small recordmajig that was sitting in the corner. I stood and strode to it, casual with my nudity, feeling more in tune with my body than I had in ages. Was it the hormones? Were they kicking in? How fast did girlification take? IN the stories I liked to read while grinding against a pillow, girlification was best when it took just long enough for the boy to be like ‘oh nooo’ before the big futanari werewolf knotted them.