u/CaitsNotNormal

Heya! I'm Cait, and the number one thing you need to know about me is I fertile. No, sorry, I mean I am Fertile with a capital F. Seriously, pick up any dictionary and flip your way down to 'H' for 'Hips, Child bearing' and you'll see a picture of me, from behind, in my tight little red life-guarding swimsuit.

I mean... okay, not to brag or anything, but my entire lower half is pretty primo. It comes with the territory of being a squat girlie I guess, mama's all caked up and... if you ask nicely I might make you a fruit salad by crushing melons between my thighs.

But that's beside the point. Which is that everything about my body screams that I need to be pregnant. You need to get me pregnant and keep me pregnant. It would be an absolute crime against humanity for me to spend even a second of my fertile years without a baby inside me, seriously, I think my biological clock is running on nitro-boosted mode.

Thankfully, you're the kind of man who can afford to have a stay-at-home baby factory as a your loving wife. With your ring on my finger, I won't have to look for a job to support the household, keeping myself in shape and throwing back fertility drugs like candy to ensure I have as many kids as humanly possible will be my job!

There's just one... small...

tiny...

eentsy-weensy...

problem.

See... I'm young for you.

Like, I could be your daughter, young for you.

Do I seem to mind? Not at all! If anything, I'm just happy to have financially established partner right off the bat so I can get right to my real passion, being heavily pregnant! But... it might be a little awkward introducing me to your boss when his daughter taught me piano.

Still... these hips are hot enough to be worth the embarrassment, right?

---

OOC stuff begins!

Hi, DPP! I've been working on this idea for a while and I've really fallen in love with it! On one hand, I really want to play into the constant pregnancies. I don't want to shy away from how heavy she'll be feeling late in her terms, how her belly is going to be covered with stretch marks way too early from being constantly gestating, how maternity can be kind of miserable...

But I love the wildly problematic age gap here! We get the whole "sugar baby/trophy wife" thing... except she's waddling down the aisle eight months pregnant with triplets and loving every second of it!

Just... keep the actual kid kids out of this. Cait's of-age before the two of you ever met. She's probably a college student working part time trying to make ends meet when you wandered into her life.

Oh, and I'm really not looking to play a dom here, please bring some fun energy to this roleplay!

It was sunset by the time you got off work. The western horizon glowed like the last embers of a dying fire, and the pinks and blues of neon lighting were well on their way to dominating the city's midnight skyline. It was going to be a rainy night, you could smell it in the air. Clouds full to bursting drifted overhead, threatening to disgorge their bounty on the sea of concrete and steel below.

You didn't mind. It was the weekend. More than that, it was payday weekend. You found yourself with no plans, no obligations, and more cash than companionship. You weren't tired, not really, not enough to make the quiet bed in your lonely apartment seem appealing right now. The night was young and you... you were going to make the best of it.

You hopped off the train just as the downpour started. Thankfully, your destination was just around the corner: Kaijuri hostess club. The place was easy enough to find, in part because it seemed like the only club on this street that didn't have a pretty girl in a top six sizes too small for her tits standing outside boucing on her heels begging for your attention.

You'd heard about this place. It was supposed to be a classy place. Expensive too, but after that last bonus your wallet was feeling achingly overfull. You'd buy a drink or two, spend some time with a pretty girl... see where the night took you. It was no secret that most of these places had rooms for rent in case any clients got carried away and missed the last train home. It was even less of a secret that the girls would happily keep you... company through the night.

You paid your (hefty, but who's counting?) cover charge at the door and stepped into the club. It was every bit as classy as you'd expected. Dark wooden counters, tasteful brushed-metal accents, and a spectacular view through rain-swept windows over the stormy city harbor. You'd consider the cover charge money well spent for the view alone, but the girls...

The girls were something else. They were beautiful, breathtaking really. Almost etheral and perfect down to the slightest detail, perfect in ways no human could ever be...

Because they weren't human. It took you a second in the moodily-lit bar, but only one, to notice the hostesses were all unmistakably robots. You remebered that now, the club was famous for its robogirl hostesses. You'd... assumed that was just theming, but no. The beauties surrounding you were dolls given life through machinery and computers.

"You look lonley," the soft swish of silk announced my presence as I gracefully slid onto a seat beside you. As beautiful as the other girls--the other dolls--were, I blew them all away. A geisha, you might call me. My features were proud and sharp, but with an almost motherly wampth behind their sculpted lines. What you first thought was makeup was the dyed color of my synthetic flesh. I was tall, probably taller than you if I stood up considering the elegant high-heeled boots--or where they my feet--my elegantly-jointed aluminum legs trailed off into.

"I can fix that," I said with a hint of a smile. My voice was husky and warm, a purring bedroom tease that almost--but not totally--masked the clipping between each synthetic syllable. My kimono-like outfit hugged my body, showing off just enough of my tiny, snatched waist and impossibly full breasts to teasingly imply how sexy I must look naked without actually displaying anything immodest. I was like an oversized present under the christmas tree, just begging to be unwrapped.

I motioned to the bartender. You could barely hear servos whirring in my precision-engineered hand as I collected two glasses and placed one each in front of both of us. "What's your taste?" I asked with another coy catlike smile.

---

Heya! I'm Cait and I hope you liked my I'm falling in love with the thought of playing a gorgeous robot lady. It's one thing to be sexy, but to have your entire job just be "be sexy" and to have an entire staff of people who keep you like that? I can have big balloon tits without worrying about my back aching, I can a snatched little waist without spending a day in the gym or turning down a single cookie. I can be perfectly on-trend for what's hot and sexy without having to put in the work myself!

Oh, and... I wrote this prompt assuming it's your first time visiting the club. But if you'd like to be a regular, that's fine by me!

Word of advice, before signing yourself away to a research project, make sure you read all the fine print. Even if they assure you it's all just boilerplate legalese. Even if they're promising to cover your room and board with a fat stack of bonus cash on top. Even if it's a half-dozen government dues in matching black suits with monosyllabic last names encouraging you to sign it. Even--no, especially-- if the waiver fills up an entire three-ring binder.

In hindsight maybe there red flags I shouldn't have ignored. But in my defense... I had student loans out the ass and I was about to graduate with a shitty CS degree in this fucking economy, so... yeah... Spending a year hanging around a government compound getting paid to be present whenever they needed to run a test on me sounded like just the breathing room I'd need to get my feet under me. Really, how different could it be from college, other than this time they were paying me.

The first thing was a physical. Like, the most intense physical exam I'd ever been through. The kind with two dozen dudes with lab-coats and skinny black ties watching from observation galleries with clipboards poised at the ready. I had parts of me measured that I didn't even know I had. They seemed to be particularly interested in my lower half. (Which, I mean... ya girl's a squat girlie, I know my ass is my best feature.) One of the scientist dudes called out that my "pelvic girdle" was the largest he'd ever seen. (Again, ya girl owns a mirror. I know my hips are child bearing.) That caused a burst of interest among the observers.

Which... should probably have been another red flag, but I may have been slightly distracted by the FEAST they put on for us. Seriously, it's A-tier stuff, way better than anything I had at campus... and I paid out the ass for that slop.

Then came the experiment. Sorry, I mean THE experiment. Everything else was just verifying that this one dealio went according to plan. They hooked me up to a few IVs and wheeled me into an operating suite. The last thing I remember before fading out was a nurse sticking monitoring... little... stickies all over my belly.

Two days later I was puking my guts out. Seriously, it was bad bad. A doctor gave me an IV to replenish my fluids and rolled me on my back for an ultrasound. I've never seen a man so happy to announce a pregnancy before. Seriously, his excitement was so creepy I almost forgot I hadn't... you know... done the deed. (Your girl's a nerd, give me a break.)

Apparently I was playing host to an experimental fertility... therapy thing. My womb was playing host to another lady's egg, and what they could learn from me would help end infertility and congenital diseases. The doc explained it all with that creepy enthusiasm, and ended by noting that I'm apparently so fertile they're having to recalibrate the scales. (Which... duh, one look at these hips could've told him that.) I guess... I was helping out people in need, so... I can think of worse things than having a little baby bump.

I was the whole med staff's special darling. They'd come in every day with an IV to manage my nausea (which was killer) and give me an ultrasound. Seriously, every day, I'm not sure what they expected to change that fast....

Until eight weeks in when I had to start rolling the hem of my pants over because my belly was too big. Seriously, eight weeks! Your girl's lean as they come, but there's no way I should be showing this much this early, right? They had monitors taped to my stomach around the clock now, and I'd never felt so hungry in my life. I was ravenous. I was packing down protein shakes thickened with peanut butter between every meal and I still felt so weak my hands would shake.

They put me on a special diet, eight meals a day loaded down with enough calories to keep a full offensive line happy. I had at least two nurses watching me day by day, hour by hour. They measured my bump three times a day, and... I could see the concern in their eyes at the numbers I was getting.

Twenty weeks should have been the mid-point. But I was huge. I looked close to seven months along, maybe more. My skin was unbelievably tight from expanding so much so quickly, and tiger-striped stretch marks raced around the distended bump the nurses continued to measure almost by the hour now. As huge as I looked I felt even huger! Heavier! I was massive and swollen and my skin itched so badly I couldn't bare to cover it more than I had to.

Thirty weeks came around and I'd swear you could see me stomach growing right in front of your eyes. I was enormous and nothing the army of doctors could do could state my ever-present hunger. My babies (nobody told me a thing about what's in me womb, but my womb was so distended I had to be carrying multiples) never stopped moving. My stomach was a constant seething, roiling, battle royale of churn.

Finally my due-date came. I was ready to be done, ready to give birth. They didn't tell me how much weight I'd gained from my pregnancy, but I knew it had to immense. I wouldn't be surprised if I'd close to doubled in weight since the experiment began, with every ounce of that hanging off my poor abused belly. I was so big, so much bigger than any woman's belly should be. I looked beyond full term with... quints, maybe? But my bump stubbornly refused to drop. Even as days overdue turned into weeks my babies made no progress towards the birth canal.

I begged to be induced, pleading on my knees because my stomach had grown so heavy could barely stand. I was desperate, aching, and so... so... so hungry.

They listened to the last one I guess. They brought me to a bed and sent a tube past my throat directly into my stomach and pumped... something into me. A sticky-sweet slurry they pumped in under pressure. With my overstuffed womb compressing my stomach I'd barely been able to eat more than a few morsels. But with this they were able to ram enough force down my throat to force my stomach to expand.

For weeks the fed me, ballooning my middle as my stomach and womb fought a war for territory that spilled over my midsection at every front. (Your girl played a lot of Civ, don't judge me.) I'd say it hurt, and it did, but... finally feeling relief from that aching hunger...

Finally, after a full year of pregnancy, the doctor stopped. He hadn't lied, he said. I was carrying an egg donated by another woman. Just... there was a little something else spliced into that egg. A little something brought back by some black-budget space probe. A little something they were hoping I could carry to term inside my hyper-fertile womb.

And carry it I had! He showed me the ultrasound. Inside me was a seething, roiling mass of... things. Tentacles, maybe? Or sharks swimming constant tight circles inside the tight confines of my vastly over-expanded womb. I couldn't make sense of the image, but he broke it down to the basics.

The thing inside me, the half-breed monster that was growing ever larger inside me was too big for me to ever deliver. And a C-section was equally out of the question. Whatever it was... I was its home for... for until they could find the funding to pull it out of me.

You can guess when that funding came. Yeah... one day it all just went up in smoke. I saw nurses dumping files in a burn pile, computers getting wiped. You can't even find the building they set up in google earth anymore. The whole project vanished...

Except for me...

Me and this... enormous... distended... torpedo of a belly.

And the worst part? Nobody seems to notice. Oh, sure, they see my impossibly-swollen belly. They touch my bump without asking, ask if how many I'm having (my go-to answer is quints, and even that feels suspect with how colossal I've grown), ask when I'm due (hell if I know!) but...

They never seem to notice I've been ready to drop for months. Some... psychic camouflaged the doctor called it. My baby's protecting itself, overwriting the memories, filling in the last nine months of backstory. I'm huge, enormous beyond all belief... but nobody seems to believe I've been pregnant for years by now...

- - -

Hiya! I'm Cait and I hope you liked my prompt! This is... an idea that I've had just gnawing at my head for the longest time. I love pregnancy, but I especially love the almost body-horror aspect of it. Combing some shadow experiments, some forced involuntary changes... I hope this gets you as interested as it gets me!

I left it deliberately open-ended so you could find a place to fit your character in that felt the most natural! Feel free to let your creativity go, and I'll be waiting in my inbox for you!

Word of advice, before signing yourself away to a research project, make sure you read all the fine print. Even if they assure you it's all just boilerplate legalese. Even if they're promising to cover your room and board with a fat stack of bonus cash on top. Even if it's a half-dozen government dues in matching black suits with monosyllabic last names encouraging you to sign it. Even--no, especially-- if the waiver fills up an entire three-ring binder.

In hindsight maybe there red flags I shouldn't have ignored. But in my defense... I had student loans out the ass and I was about to graduate with a shitty CS degree in this fucking economy, so... yeah... Spending a year hanging around a government compound getting paid to be present whenever they needed to run a test on me sounded like just the breathing room I'd need to get my feet under me. Really, how different could it be from college, other than this time they were paying me.

The first thing was a physical. Like, the most intense physical exam I'd ever been through. The kind with two dozen dudes with lab-coats and skinny black ties watching from observation galleries with clipboards poised at the ready. I had parts of me measured that I didn't even know I had. They seemed to be particularly interested in my lower half. (Which, I mean... ya girl's a squat girlie, I know my ass is my best feature.) One of the scientist dudes called out that my "pelvic girdle" was the largest he'd ever seen. (Again, ya girl owns a mirror. I know my hips are child bearing.) That caused a burst of interest among the observers.

Which... should probably have been another red flag, but I may have been slightly distracted by the FEAST they put on for us. Seriously, it's A-tier stuff, way better than anything I had at campus... and I paid out the ass for that slop.

Then came the experiment. Sorry, I mean THE experiment. Everything else was just verifying that this one dealio went according to plan. They hooked me up to a few IVs and wheeled me into an operating suite. The last thing I remember before fading out was a nurse sticking monitoring... little... stickies all over my belly.

Two days later I was puking my guts out. Seriously, it was bad bad. A doctor gave me an IV to replenish my fluids and rolled me on my back for an ultrasound. I've never seen a man so happy to announce a pregnancy before. Seriously, his excitement was so creepy I almost forgot I hadn't... you know... done the deed. (Your girl's a nerd, give me a break.)

Apparently I was playing host to an experimental fertility... therapy thing. My womb was playing host to another lady's egg, and what they could learn from me would help end infertility and congenital diseases. The doc explained it all with that creepy enthusiasm, and ended by noting that I'm apparently so fertile they're having to recalibrate the scales. (Which... duh, one look at these hips could've told him that.) I guess... I was helping out people in need, so... I can think of worse things than having a little baby bump.

I was the whole med staff's special darling. They'd come in every day with an IV to manage my nausea (which was killer) and give me an ultrasound. Seriously, every day, I'm not sure what they expected to change that fast....

Until eight weeks in when I had to start rolling the hem of my pants over because my belly was too big. Seriously, eight weeks! Your girl's lean as they come, but there's no way I should be showing this much this early, right? They had monitors taped to my stomach around the clock now, and I'd never felt so hungry in my life. I was ravenous. I was packing down protein shakes thickened with peanut butter between every meal and I still felt so weak my hands would shake.

They put me on a special diet, eight meals a day loaded down with enough calories to keep a full offensive line happy. I had at least two nurses watching me day by day, hour by hour. They measured my bump three times a day, and... I could see the concern in their eyes at the numbers I was getting.

Twenty weeks should have been the mid-point. But I was huge. I looked close to seven months along, maybe more. My skin was unbelievably tight from expanding so much so quickly, and tiger-striped stretch marks raced around the distended bump the nurses continued to measure almost by the hour now. As huge as I looked I felt even huger! Heavier! I was massive and swollen and my skin itched so badly I couldn't bare to cover it more than I had to.

Thirty weeks came around and I'd swear you could see me stomach growing right in front of your eyes. I was enormous and nothing the army of doctors could do could state my ever-present hunger. My babies (nobody told me a thing about what's in me womb, but my womb was so distended I had to be carrying multiples) never stopped moving. My stomach was a constant seething, roiling, battle royale of churn.

Finally my due-date came. I was ready to be done, ready to give birth. They didn't tell me how much weight I'd gained from my pregnancy, but I knew it had to immense. I wouldn't be surprised if I'd close to doubled in weight since the experiment began, with every ounce of that hanging off my poor abused belly. I was so big, so much bigger than any woman's belly should be. I looked beyond full term with... quints, maybe? But my bump stubbornly refused to drop. Even as days overdue turned into weeks my babies made no progress towards the birth canal.

I begged to be induced, pleading on my knees because my stomach had grown so heavy could barely stand. I was desperate, aching, and so... so... so hungry.

They listened to the last one I guess. They brought me to a bed and sent a tube past my throat directly into my stomach and pumped... something into me. A sticky-sweet slurry they pumped in under pressure. With my overstuffed womb compressing my stomach I'd barely been able to eat more than a few morsels. But with this they were able to ram enough force down my throat to force my stomach to expand.

For weeks the fed me, ballooning my middle as my stomach and womb fought a war for territory that spilled over my midsection at every front. (Your girl played a lot of Civ, don't judge me.) I'd say it hurt, and it did, but... finally feeling relief from that aching hunger...

Finally, after a full year of pregnancy, the doctor stopped. He hadn't lied, he said. I was carrying an egg donated by another woman. Just... there was a little something else spliced into that egg. A little something brought back by some black-budget space probe. A little something they were hoping I could carry to term inside my hyper-fertile womb.

And carry it I had! He showed me the ultrasound. Inside me was a seething, roiling mass of... things. Tentacles, maybe? Or sharks swimming constant tight circles inside the tight confines of my vastly over-expanded womb. I couldn't make sense of the image, but he broke it down to the basics.

The thing inside me, the half-breed monster that was growing ever larger inside me was too big for me to ever deliver. And a C-section was equally out of the question. Whatever it was... I was its home for... for until they could find the funding to pull it out of me.

You can guess when that funding came. Yeah... one day it all just went up in smoke. I saw nurses dumping files in a burn pile, computers getting wiped. You can't even find the building they set up in google earth anymore. The whole project vanished...

Except for me...

Me and this... enormous... distended... torpedo of a belly.

And the worst part? Nobody seems to notice. Oh, sure, they see my impossibly-swollen belly. They touch my bump without asking, ask if how many I'm having (my go-to answer is quints, and even that feels suspect with how colossal I've grown), ask when I'm due (hell if I know!) but...

They never seem to notice I've been ready to drop for months. Some... psychic camouflaged the doctor called it. My baby's protecting itself, overwriting the memories, filling in the last nine months of backstory. I'm huge, enormous beyond all belief... but nobody seems to believe I've been pregnant for years by now...

- - -

Hiya! I'm Cait and I hope you liked my prompt! This is... an idea that I've had just gnawing at my head for the longest time. I love pregnancy, but I especially love the almost body-horror aspect of it. Combing some shadow experiments, some forced involuntary changes... I hope this gets you as interested as it gets me!

I left it deliberately open-ended so you could find a place to fit your character in that felt the most natural! Feel free to let your creativity go, and I'll be waiting in my inbox for you!

It was sunset by the time you got off work. The western horizon glowed like the last embers of a dying fire, and the pinks and blues of neon lighting were well on their way to dominating the city's midnight skyline. It was going to be a rainy night, you could smell it in the air. Clouds full to bursting drifted overhead, threatening to disgorge their bounty on the sea of concrete and steel below.

You didn't mind. It was the weekend. More than that, it was payday weekend. You found yourself with no plans, no obligations, and more cash than companionship. You weren't tired, not really, not enough to make the quiet bed in your lonely apartment seem appealing right now. The night was young and you... you were going to make the best of it.

You hopped off the train just as the downpour started. Thankfully, your destination was just around the corner: Kaijuri hostess club. The place was easy enough to find, in part because it seemed like the only club on this street that didn't have a pretty girl in a top six sizes too small for her tits standing outside boucing on her heels begging for your attention.

You'd heard about this place. It was supposed to be a classy place. Expensive too, but after that last bonus your wallet was feeling achingly overfull. You'd buy a drink or two, spend some time with a pretty girl... see where the night took you. It was no secret that most of these places had rooms for rent in case any clients got carried away and missed the last train home. It was even less of a secret that the girls would happily keep you... company through the night.

You paid your (hefty, but who's counting?) cover charge at the door and stepped into the club. It was every bit as classy as you'd expected. Dark wooden counters, tasteful brushed-metal accents, and a spectacular view through rain-swept windows over the stormy city harbor. You'd consider the cover charge money well spent for the view alone, but the girls...

The girls were something else. They were beautiful, breathtaking really. Almost etheral and perfect down to the slightest detail, perfect in ways no human could ever be...

Because they weren't human. It took you a second in the moodily-lit bar, but only one, to notice the hostesses were all unmistakably robots. You remebered that now, the club was famous for its robogirl hostesses. You'd... assumed that was just theming, but no. The beauties surrounding you were dolls given life through machinery and computers.

"You look lonley," the soft swish of silk announced my presence as I gracefully slid onto a seat beside you. As beautiful as the other girls--the other dolls--were, I blew them all away. A geisha, you might call me. My features were proud and sharp, but with an almost motherly wampth behind their sculpted lines. What you first thought was makeup was the dyed color of my synthetic flesh. I was tall, probably taller than you if I stood up considering the elegant high-heeled boots--or where they my feet--my elegantly-jointed aluminum legs trailed off into.

"I can fix that," I said with a hint of a smile. My voice was husky and warm, a purring bedroom tease that almost--but not totally--masked the clipping between each synthetic syllable. My kimono-like outfit hugged my body, showing off just enough of my tiny, snatched waist and impossibly full breasts to teasingly imply how sexy I must look naked without actually displaying anything immodest. I was like an oversized present under the christmas tree, just begging to be unwrapped.

I motioned to the bartender. You could barely hear servos whirring in my precision-engineered hand as I collected two glasses and placed one each in front of both of us. "What's your taste?" I asked with another coy catlike smile.

---

Heya! I'm Cait and I hope you liked my I'm falling in love with the thought of playing a gorgeous robot lady. It's one thing to be sexy, but to have your entire job just be "be sexy" and to have an entire staff of people who keep you like that? I can have big balloon tits without worrying about my back aching, I can a snatched little waist without spending a day in the gym or turning down a single cookie. I can be perfectly on-trend for what's hot and sexy without having to put in the work myself!

Oh, and... I wrote this prompt assuming it's your first time visiting the club. But if you'd like to be a regular, that's fine by me!

It was sunset by the time you got off work. The western horizon glowed like the last embers of a dying fire, and the pinks and blues of neon lighting were well on their way to dominating the city's midnight skyline. It was going to be a rainy night, you could smell it in the air. Clouds full to bursting drifted overhead, threatening to disgorge their bounty on the sea of concrete and steel below.

You didn't mind. It was the weekend. More than that, it was payday weekend. You found yourself with no plans, no obligations, and more cash than companionship. You weren't tired, not really, not enough to make the quiet bed in your lonely apartment seem appealing right now. The night was young and you... you were going to make the best of it.

You hopped off the train just as the downpour started. Thankfully, your destination was just around the corner: Kaijuri hostess club. The place was easy enough to find, in part because it seemed like the only club on this street that didn't have a pretty girl in a top six sizes too small for her tits standing outside boucing on her heels begging for your attention.

You'd heard about this place. It was supposed to be a classy place. Expensive too, but after that last bonus your wallet was feeling achingly overfull. You'd buy a drink or two, spend some time with a pretty girl... see where the night took you. It was no secret that most of these places had rooms for rent in case any clients got carried away and missed the last train home. It was even less of a secret that the girls would happily keep you... company through the night.

You paid your (hefty, but who's counting?) cover charge at the door and stepped into the club. It was every bit as classy as you'd expected. Dark wooden counters, tasteful brushed-metal accents, and a spectacular view through rain-swept windows over the stormy city harbor. You'd consider the cover charge money well spent for the view alone, but the girls...

The girls were something else. They were beautiful, breathtaking really. Almost etheral and perfect down to the slightest detail, perfect in ways no human could ever be...

Because they weren't human. It took you a second in the moodily-lit bar, but only one, to notice the hostesses were all unmistakably robots. You remebered that now, the club was famous for its robogirl hostesses. You'd... assumed that was just theming, but no. The beauties surrounding you were dolls given life through machinery and computers.

"You look lonley," the soft swish of silk announced my presence as I gracefully slid onto a seat beside you. As beautiful as the other girls--the other dolls--were, I blew them all away. A geisha, you might call me. My features were proud and sharp, but with an almost motherly wampth behind their sculpted lines. What you first thought was makeup was the dyed color of my synthetic flesh. I was tall, probably taller than you if I stood up considering the elegant high-heeled boots--or where they my feet--my elegantly-jointed aluminum legs trailed off into.

"I can fix that," I said with a hint of a smile. My voice was husky and warm, a purring bedroom tease that almost--but not totally--masked the clipping between each synthetic syllable. My kimono-like outfit hugged my body, showing off just enough of my tiny, snatched waist and impossibly full breasts to teasingly imply how sexy I must look naked without actually displaying anything immodest. I was like an oversized present under the christmas tree, just begging to be unwrapped.

I motioned to the bartender. You could barely hear servos whirring in my precision-engineered hand as I collected two glasses and placed one each in front of both of us. "What's your taste?" I asked with another coy catlike smile.

---

Heya! I'm Cait and I hope you liked my I'm falling in love with the thought of playing a gorgeous robot lady. It's one thing to be sexy, but to have your entire job just be "be sexy" and to have an entire staff of people who keep you like that? I can have big balloon tits without worrying about my back aching, I can a snatched little waist without spending a day in the gym or turning down a single cookie. I can be perfectly on-trend for what's hot and sexy without having to put in the work myself!

Oh, and... I wrote this prompt assuming it's your first time visiting the club. But if you'd like to be a regular, that's fine by me!

It was the edge of the evening. The sun was low in the sky, but it hadn't yet quite slipped below the horizon and ceded its amber glow to the garish neon blues and pinks of the city's bustling nightlife. Soon, people would be lining up the door to drink with the club's beautiful hostesses, to enjoy their company, and--for the highest spenders--their companionship through the night.

But before any of that, you had to get to work. You tossed a wave at the burly bouncers chatting to each other by the door and headed into the club. You took a turn before entering the maze of polished tables and stragetically located nooks offering the illusion of privacy for anyone who might want to get a little more hands-on with the ethereal beauties who made this establishment so popular. Of course... being on display was hardly in your job description.

You made your way through a set of nondescript double-doors into a room that looked more like a racing team's garage than a high-end nightclub. Rolling cabinents full of tools lined one wall, with a few areas partioned out for the bigger tools like the lathe and 5-axis mill. Dividers broke the other wall into bays, each sporting workbench, a smaller selection of specialized tools, and of course a hostess.

As always I was waiting for you, sitting on the edge of a small stool with my long, long legs trailing down to the dense rubber anti-slip floorboards. I was one of club's most popular hostesses, and for good reason. I was beautiful, a breathtaking geisha with exotic allure that all but demanded a second look. My personality was kind, but cool. Educated and eruidte, but never arrogant. I was dominant, but not domineering. I could converse like your equal or lull you to sleep in my lap like your mother. The one thing I wasn't was human.

I was a machine, a robot purpose-built for my task. No woman enslaved the whims of biology could hope to match the lofty standard of perfect beauty my proud, stern features and dark, gentle eyes effortlessly displayed. My features were sculpted to perfection, my figure the impossible made physical in silicone and titanium. My breasts were full and round, filling out the tight silks of my kimono-styled outfit without the need for any bra or support. My waist was tiny and trim, my hips a tasteful contrast to balance out my bosom. My thighs were equally fit to offer a soothing lap to rest upon or to crush a man to climax between my powerful actuators.

I was more than a woman, and my designers saw no shame in that. My design proudly declaired that I was a marraige of the best of man and machine. My legs from the thigh down and my arms were overtly mechanical. Hard plates of custom-machined metal were joined with the precision of aerospace parts and finished with a glossy glaze that made me look like a peice of precious china brought to life.

"Hello," I said with a smile as I noticed you walk in to my bay. All that beauty took effort, not just to maintain but to keep carefully on-trend. I had a full staff responsible for maintaing my systems, and you were in charge of them all. I might even say... you were my favorite.

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Hiya! You can call me Cait! I hope you liked my post! I'm falling in love with the thought of playing a gorgeous robot lady. It's one thing to be sexy, but to have your entire job just be "be sexy" and to have an entire staff of people who keep you like that? I can have big balloon tits without worrying about my back aching, I can a snatched little waist without spending a day in the gym or turning down a single cookie. I can be perfectly on-trend for what's hot and sexy without having to put in the work myself!

And you... you get to see me in a more intimate setting than anyone. Sure, I might sleep with clients, but there's a world of difference between seeing me without my clothes on and seeing me naked.

If this sounds interesting to you, please hit me up