Nathan had been saving up for a new car for years, and had finally saved up about $15,000. Yet he was having doubts if a car was the best use for that money. He'd been having girlfriend problems lately, and was becoming fed up with trying to read their minds and stay out of trouble. He knew that most guys preferred fembots anyway to avoid all those problems, and because of that there was about 10-to-1 surplus of available women to available men, and many girls were willing to put up with shit to land a human boyfriend.

But Nathan had doubts about a fembot, too. He didn't want to fuck a machine. He wanted to fuck female flesh. True, a fembot never has a headache, doesn't have a gag reflex, is ready and willing to have sex at the guy's slightest whim, and does all the chores and cooking without expecting any help. But it was still a machine. Plus, a fembot cost about $50 grand--way out of his price range, even though they've come down in price from the six figures they went for just a few years ago. If he had the cash, he might buy a fembot just to do the work around the house and not to fuck, but he had to be careful how he spent his money.

While watching the news on the local cable channel an ad came on for a government femborg auction the following Saturday. Nathan had heard about femborgs, but had never known anyone who had one or what they really were. He'd heard that they cost much less than fembots, but nothing specific.

So, after the news, he went online and googled around for information about femborgs. What he found surprised him. He discovered that most femborgs and maleborgs are condemned prisoners on death row who requested acceptance into the CH-MEMS program to escape execution. That's short for Cyborg Human Micro Electrical Mechanical Systems, following the use of the original term HI-MEMS and CI-MEMS programs by the military to use cyborg insects to spy on enemy encampments on the front lines. What they do is to sever the person's spinal cord just below the brain and implant an wireless electronic servo control module. The person is still fully alert and could see, hear, and be aware of everything he does, but has no control over his body. His body is little more than a remote-controlled doll operated by a hand-held controller. Cyborg people are declared legally dead at conversion, so it would be legal to buy, sell, and own them as property, just like corpses are sold to universities, medical research labs, and crash test facilities. Indeed, medical labs and crash test facilities often buy live CH-MEMS people for testing, all perfectly legal, since they're legally dead already. The profits from the sale of cyborg people at government auction go to the victims of their crimes. Cyborg people don't fetch as high a price as bots because bots are autonomous and can perform complex tasks independently and with little supervision. They are also imbued with a sense somewhat like Isaac Asimov's fictional laws of robotics that act as a moral restraint that prevents bots from running amok and hurting people. Cyborg people, on the other hand, have to be operated directly by a human operator with a remote controller that looks very much like a PlayStation game controller. Their actual minds are that of dangerous condemned criminals, and so can never be allowed even the most rudimentary control over their own actions.

"Hmmmm," pondered Nathan. "Seems cruel, even for a condemned criminal. Still, it beats being executed." So Nathan checked his savings account, and made up a wish list for what type of cyborg girl he would like to buy.

He headed over to the state armory that Saturday, and signed in. He was given a bid card that he used to place bids on the cyborgs being sold. He walked up and down the large hall examining the cyborg people on display. They all stood as still as stone statues. Only the movement of their eyes game them away as human. There were a number of attractive young women to be auctioned. Looks like he stood a good chance at getting one.

For the first hour or so, a steady stream of males were auctioned off. The first female to come up for auction was a black woman with curly black hair. He didn't really want a black woman, but he placed a low bid to see what would happen. He bid $1000 on her, and she sold for $15000.

The next female to come up was a blonde women with tattoos all over her arms--a definite gangster girl type. Well, that's to be expected. She was reasonably attractive otherwise, so he bid $16000. And he won her!

He wend over to the cashier and paid for his purchase, and a fellow approached him fiddling with some kind of video game controller. The girl followed behind him. Nathan wondered how he could operate the girl with the controller if the girl was following him.

The clerk behind the counter handed Nathan a manilla envelope. Nathan opened it and pulled out all her legal papers--her birth certificate, her death certificate for she had been declared legally dead when she became a cyborg, her medical records, and her police and prison records. The clerk behind the counter told Nathan to follow Joe next.

It seems that Joe was the guy controlling the girl with the controller, so Nathan followed him and the girl to a small room off to the side.

"You know how to operate a femborg?" asked Joe.

Nathan studied his purchase for a moment. She stood there perfectly still, eyes darting this way and that. "Nope," said Nathan.

Joe handed him the controller and asked, "Ever play a First Person Shooter video game?"

"Nope. Never was into video games."

"Well then," said Joe. "See these two big knobs?"

"Yeah."

"They're called thumbsticks."

Nathan pressed one of the thumbsticks and the girl stepped oddly sideways and fell down, banging her head, yet didn't make a peep in pain. She remained lying in a lump on the floor without moving.

"Whoa, cowboy," said Joe, who then reached for the controller, fiddled with the thumbsticks, and had the girl back on her feet in an instant.

"The left thumbstick makes her move forward and back, left and right. The right thumbstick causes her to turn in place and bend over. Use just a slight nudge to move her at first, or she'll fall flat on her face again.

Nathan practiced a while longer as Joe watched, and soon got the hang of making the girl walk around without falling.

"Now type something," said Joe.

Nathan typed a few random words on the little keyboard on the controller, "T-H-E R-A-I-N I-N S-P-A-I-N F-A-L-L-S M-A-I-N-L-Y O-N T-H-E S-U-B-M-A-R-I-N-E."

As Nathan typed, the girl said, "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the submarine."

"Wow!" said Nathan. "That's cool! Can she sing?"

"No. Now see that screen?"

"Yeah," said Nathan. "That screen shows what she's looking at, right?"

"Yes."

"That's how you steered her before even though she was following you?"

"Exactly."

"And what are all these numbers for?"

"Her blood pressure, blood oxygen level, bladder, bowels, and other readings. If her bladder or bowels get too full, you gotta make her sit on the toilet and do the necessary."

"I have to make her to that? She can't even do that on her own?"

"It would be too dangerous to let her have _any_ voluntary control."

"I see, so is there any danger in having her around, then?"

"Not at all. Her spinal cord is severed just below the brain in two places a quarter inch apart. There's no possible way they can ever reconnect. The module implanted in the back of her neck connects to the two severed ends." Joe pointed to a lump on the back of her neck with a number tattoo over it. "Sensory signals pass through the module up to her brain so that she can still feel, see, and hear everything that goes on. Sensory signals like sight and hearing are also sent to the controller But signals..."

"You mean she's listening to us talk about her right now?"

"Yup! She is. She knows you just bought her. She's probably relieved those guys in suits in the back of the room didn't buy her."

"Why?"

"They're from Ford. They buy CH-MEMS people to use as crash test dummies."

"What! That's legal to use live people as crash test dummies?"

"Of course. They're declared legally dead when they become CH-MEMS. They're no different from corpses that are used for the same purposes."

"Wow!" gasped Nathan.

"But to go on, motor signals from her brain are ignored by the control unit. The control unit receives control signals from your controller, and controls her motor functions. She can't possibly hurt anyone again."

"What did she do?"

"I don't know. It's in those court records you got."

"Now what?" asked Nathan.

"She's your property now. Do what you want with her."

So after a clumsy way home, and her falling down a couple more times, he finally got her home.

Nathan managed to get her to sit in the sofa next to him. "Okay," said Nathan. "Now! I need a blowjob. How do I work you?" he asked her.

She didn't answer, of course, though she did roll her eyes up. "Yeah, roll your eyes all you want. When I get this thing figured out, you're going to be giving me lots and lots of blowjobs."

He opened the operator's manual that came with the controller. And with it flipped open, he made her stand. Making her undress herself with the controller might have been possible, but he chose the expedient method. He made her lift her arms up, and then he just unzipped her jump suit, and pulled it up and off her.

A little later, he figured out how to make her kneel. Then he made her open her mouth. "Perfect!" he said as he pulled his jeans off and slid his cock into her mouth.

He was extra hard at the thought of fucking a girl that he actually owned, and he could feel his cock being pinched where it turned at the back of her throat. He began sliding in and out, in and out, in and out, until his orgasm finally welled up and flooded her throat with wave after wave of pleasure.

Thus satisfied, he pulled himself out of her mouth and went to make dinner, leaving her kneeling there in the middle of his living room. He made himself some chicken nuggets and rice for dinner, making a little extra rice for her. As he ate, he would occasionally give her a spoonful of rice in her mouth, which she swallowed on her own, fortunately.

A little later, he sat down on his sofa to watch TV for a while before bed as she knelt off to the side. Nathan reached for her controller and controlled her to stand and come and sit on the sofa so she could watch TV also.

While watching CSI:SomethingOrOther, he reached for that envelope of papers. "I don't even know what your name is," he said, pulling out her papers. He looked over her birth certificate, and saw that her name was Debbie Langley. "Debbie," he said. She looked up at him for a moment and then looked away.

Her death certificate gave a date about two months ago. Otherwise, it was nothing noteworthy.

Her criminal record was several inches thick. Poring through her criminal record, he got to the indictments and convictions and gasped. A string of house robberies, check forgeries, drug deals, and a few bar fights. He sat engrossed reading the trial transcript. Wow! Thinking nobody was home, she and her boyfriend broke into a house to get drug money. When somebody came out of a bedroom, Debbie's boyfriend struck him with a lamp and knocked him down. Then the boyfriend held him down while Debbie tied him up with the cord from the lamp. The noise aroused another adult, and they did the same thing. Debbie watched as her boyfriend slit their throats just as the children came into the room in their pajamas. Debbie and her boyfriend then grabbed the kids, tied them up, and slit their throats too. Their botched robbery yielded them $25.

The boyfriend was sentenced to death by lethal injection, while Debbie requested to become a CH-MEMS in lieu of the death penalty. Nathan looked up at Debbie. "Holy fuck! What kind of monster are you?"

Debbie avoided his gaze.

Nathan never felt such an internal rage as he felt just then. Grabbing Debbie's controller, he walked her through the house and out back and positioned her standing in a large patch of dirt near a shed well beyond his house on his acre-plus property. As the sun went down, thunder rumbled in the distance.

Entering the shed where he keeps his lawn mower, snow blower, and other tools, he returned with a five-gallon container of gasoline. He opened the cap, hefted the container, and poured the gas onto Debbie's head where it drenched her whole body and collected in a puddle at her feet.

He stepped back and pulled a book of matches from his pocket and lit one. He stood there, several feet from Debbie holding a lit match as his mind raced. The yellowish gas covering her body prevented him from seeing the tears streaming from her eyes.

Nathan stood there until the match burned the tip of his fingers, whereon he blew it out. "I paid a small fortune for you this morning. I can't just torch you."

He returned inside just as fat raindrops started slapping the ground. He changed his clothes and took a shower. Then he had a glass of wine to help him sleep and went to bed. During that night, a series of thunderstorms rolled through, waking Nathan a few times during the night with thunderclaps and pounding rain against the windows. He considered bringing Debbie in, but he didn't want to get soaked, himself.

It wasn't until around noon the follwing day that he crawled out of bed and had a light lunch. A little later after that, he walked out back to Debbie. Her hair was a tangled wet mess, and the torrential rain during the night had washed the gasoline off her. "Are you thirsty?" It was a fairly warm summer day. She must be. Debbie blinked and stuck her tongue out. Nathan took that to mean, "Yes."

He went into that shed and found a rusty old soup can full of cobwebs and dead bugs. He returned to face her, pulled his jeans down and pissed into the can. He held it up to her lips. "Drink it if you want. Or don't. I don't give a fuck."