Anon Buys a Rapedroid (Part III - Rewrite)

	While the latter half of that Saturday had passed uneventfully for Holly (if awkwardly silent despite anon’s probing), she loathed the long night hours sitting in the corner, watching the sunlight wane and wax in time, her only ‘entertainment’ the odd muttering from the man on the bed. Perplexingly, tonight her lusts were subdued, dormant even, and she could sit quietly and contemplate what her next move would be. Her thoughts ebbed and flowed with the rise and fall of his chest, wondering how she could move forward living in the same home as Anon without succumbing to her primal lusts and attacking him. The sterile quiet of the waxing hours of the morning overwhelmed her as she curled up tighter in the corner, increasingly afraid of what the rising Sun would bring.
	Staring beyond the blinds the room slowly illuminated, pitch black surrendering to muted grey and deep blue as the clock passed five in the morning and Holly, done charging a while ago, arose to get to her daily duties. She unplugged herself with a gentle click and tip-toed out into the kitchen, an un-blinded window allowing more of the meager light into the common area of the apartment. Sunday morning was here and Holly set to the few chores she knew she could complete for Anon without his griping excessively. In the brief couple days she had been in this apartment he had for all intents and purposes denied her the satisfaction of actually performing the duties she was hardwired to complete and only deepened her frustrations, merging her nagging lusts with a growing distaste for his laissez faire attitude towards having a robotic homemaker. The only loophole was charging early enough to be ready to go well before he woke up and thus afford herself some precious time to do actual work rather than reluctantly laze about with Anon, even if that was an unfortunate side effect of these damnable weekends - Holly could only imagine what she’d be able to accomplish when Anon was gone at work, freeing her both to do her job and of the annoying tugs at her womanhood by his very presence.
	Walking into the kitchen she flipped on one of the lights, careful still to keep quiet, as she tidied her work station and started readying the myriad items around the kitchen to make breakfast for Anon, despite his wishes. Scanning through the pantry and refrigerator she knew full well that, in absence of herself, the loathsome bachelor would opt for any of the frozen or foil-packaged toaster goods he hoarded in his kitchen. She gave an indignant harrumph at the assumption that she could sit idly by while he unconsciously killed himself with pastries. The conflicting voices of lust, disgust, and drilled domestic duties clashed within her as she took pause from her search in the kitchen and tried again to formulate a strategy moving forward. It’d be quite displeasing to some inside her, but if she could distance herself as much as possible from Anon she could very reasonably avoid the raging heat that had consumed her inhibitions yesterday, and save herself the trouble and shame of abusing her owner for her personal pleasure. This, as she expected, was met with a twinge of anger; why should she, of all droids, deny herself her right in conquering Anon? What did she have to gain by idly dottering about his apartment day-in and day-out, completing nothing but the chores he was too lazy to do? The absurdity of it built inside her and she felt a yell of rage bubbling up, ready to break free.
	With a deep breath, she collected herself as best she could, holding back the outburst for the time being. As the sun creeped ever onward, the apartment growing brighter minute by minute, she set herself to her task with a renewed optimism, wrangling her subdued anger towards making Anon a proper, full breakfast. Preparing the tight kitchen space before her was no easy feat, the limitations of the economical abode forcing her to arrange her tools and ingredients with military precision and requiring her to quickly sequester whatever was no longer needed; as soon as the coffee was ready, tin and grounds were disposed of post haste and the mug removed from the vicinity, a whisk and bowl replacing them as she moved faster to crack eggs and mix batter. The precarious balance between Anon’s two electric burners could only truly be managed by a nandroid of her caliber, cooking the eggs and from-scratch pancakes to yolky-yellow and golden-brown perfection respectively. As her internal clock registered half past six o’clock, the distant chirp of his alarm (skank) rang in her ears as she arranged the morning menagerie at the small table that served as the apartment’s dining room. She sat idly at the table, tuning her ears expectantly to the bedroom as the classic yawn erupted followed by the shuffling of blankets and then feet as Anon awoke.
	As Anon groggily entered the kitchen Holly gave one last glance over the breakfast she had prepared. By human standards it was a culinary triumph, especially considering the paucity of good ingredients (a situation she remembered to remedy soon).
	“What’s all this,” Anon asked, stopping short as Holly pressed a mug of coffee into his hands. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the warm ceramic and gave it a nursing sip, sighing contentedly.
	“It’s breakfast, Anon!”
	“I told you that you don’t need to cook all the time,” he said between swallows of coffee. “I can take care of myself, I mean, there’s plenty for me to eat and more important things for you to do.”
	“Like what?” That caught him - he couldn’t help but spy the entirety of the apartment, seemingly cleaned and ordered to a degree he was unfamiliar with, and all in a few days. She was good, he had to admit, but he figured he could find her something to do. As he straightened the neck on his white tee, it struck him.
	“Laundry, Holly. It’s laundry day.”
	“Excellent! Please direct me to the laundry room post haste!” She shuddered silently, the bristling presence of Anon, and his slack unshaven face, were starting to overwhelm her already. Making breakfast was a momentary distraction, but doing laundry would take hours, easily, and she could isolate herself in whichever concrete corner of the building held its washers and dryers.
	“Oh! Uh, sure. Just follow me.” As Anon stepped, however, his foot caught on an errant dust bunny on the kitchen’s linoleum floor, one leg sliding far forward as he fell into an impromptu split. Bracing himself with on hand, his other carelessly relinquished the coffee mug into the waiting bosom of the nandroid, herself now mortified at her carelessness. A great brown splotch spread across her cornflower blue dress as she froze, stiff as an ironing board, upright, silent. As Anon cursed himself repeatedly he set the mug on the counter and sighed, before turning to the robot.
	“You good, Holly?”
	“N-No, sir,” she muttered to herself. As she tugged at her dress, fanning it in the air, she pulled inwards even more as her shame grew, cheeks flaring as Anon moved to dry up what he could.
	“Here,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Let’s get you into some clean clothes and then we can start the laundry, okay?”
	“O-Okay,” came the meek reply. As the man led her back into his own room he rifled through his closet, just inches from the hamper in which Holly (staring in suspense) had stashed the cloth she soiled. With a grunt of satisfaction Anon pulled a gaudy pair of gym shorts and a tee-shirt from one of his drawers, pushing them into the surprised arms of the waiting maid. With a start she pulled them into a bundle on her chest, careful to keep them from the still-damp spot on her dress.
	“Head to the bathroom and get changed, and then I’ll show you the laundry room. You’re sure you’re okay?”
	“Y-Yes, sir,” she said. Pausing, she caught her mistake but couldn’t squeak out the ‘Anon’ stuck in her digital larynx. With a small peep she straightened out and sped to the bathroom, gently shutting the door behind her and twisting the lock. She slumped to the floor, holding the clothes tightly to her chest. She sniffed them deeply; despite being clean they, like all his clothes, had the faint smell of Anon. It was a sensation all too overwhelming and she felt the rising pressure and heat in her nether regions once again, the inescapable slip into lewd touching just moments away. She arrested herself and shot up, again, throwing the clothes onto the sink counter with an indignant harrumph; there was no time for that now, she had work to do. Grabbing the bottom fringe of her skirt she began to pull it up, up and over her slender body and past the only other garment she still had with her, the miraculously dry bra which held her modest silicone breasts. As she stared at her now nude self in the mirror the roaring tide of shame and guilt washed over her again, crashing in her mind. She was ashamed of this loathsome body, its blatantly immodest modifications driving her to depravity time and again, depravity which felt too good to ignore.
	Slipping into her new clothes she felt more at ease, the pressure vented ever so slightly as her body was covered once more, though not without difficulty. The shirt was so large compared to her it threatened to slip past her narrow shoulders and to the floor, and were it not for a halving of the circumference of the shorts she’d be sorely exposed upon leaving the bathroom. Bending over to pick up her ruffled skirt she froze as she realized she was missing a piece of her outfit, her eyes darting up again to the linen closet opposite the sink. Pacing quickly over she gingerly opened the door and stared at the pile of towels at its very bottom. Overturning one folded square she found her abandoned panties and, picking them up with pinched fingers, she threw the still-damp garment on top of her dress. Balling the two up tightly and concealing her missing underwear she unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway, an expectant Anon standing hamper in hands waiting for her.
	“Ready to go, Holly?”
	“Yes…”
	“Holly it was an accident, okay? No harm, no foul.”
	“Yes sir,” she whispered. She did her best to subdue herself as she followed the man out of the apartment and into the quiet, carpeted hallway, devoid of other tenants and still dim in the early morning light. Walking down the stretching corridor the pair came to a small common area, a vending machine with a flickering fluorescent light and an horrendously outdated newspaper box framing the imposing steel doors of the elevator. Holly grew anxious, not for some oft-inconvenient lust but the idea of the world outside Anon’s apartment; the rough stipple ceiling and smoke-yellowed walls were less than comforting. With the click of the button the elevator was on its way, fortunately unoccupied in the early hours of the day. With an aching groan the car arrived and the doors squeaked open, displaying its chromed walls and tiled floor to the waiting pair. Stepping in Anon pressed the button for the sub-basement and the two were on their way.
	As the elevator came to a shuddering stop after descending the dozen-odd stories, Holly was greeted by the even harsher sight of the bare concrete floors and walls of what amounted to the building’s laundry room. Stepping past her into the concrete hall and then to the left, Anon moved quickly to set the hamper down. Holly tagged along into the dismal room, a smattering of posters and a sole calendar from a bygone age the only splash of color or character in the room. Buzzing lights droned overhead as she followed the man to one of the washers, and as he plunged his hands into the folded mess she jumped in surprise and grabbed his arm.
	“Please sir! Allow me, I’m fully laundry trained!”
	“O-Okay, Holly, calm down! You sure you know how to work these old machines,” he asked, giving the washer an emphatic pat.
	“Of course, sir! Please just leave it to me, you still have breakfast to finish!” That statement struck Anon as entirely true; the rushed trip to the basement had left his Sunday spread abandoned and, he realized with growing dread, rapidly cooling. He perked up and grabbed Holly by the shoulders.
	“Holly - I’m trusting you. You sure you can handle this?” The uncharacteristic seriousness blindsided (and only exacerbated the lust of) the small robot. Collecting herself almost defiantly, she reassured the man of her dedication to her charge. His fears assuaged the man sped off and away, back up to his waiting breakfast. Holly breathed a deep sigh of relief, the sudden touch and his grave attitude were setting off all the wrong alarms in all the right places, his firm grip pushing her CPU to slow in the artificial heat. Shaking her head she popped open the washer door and set to her business, the distance and distraction the ideal way to cool off. She diligently separated out lights and darks, tossing her soiled dress and unmentionables with shame in with Anon’s clothes, the mingling of the clothes all she could handle alone down there. As she grabbed the old ‘communal’ detergent bottle she sighed, the choice of a clearly inferior brand an upset to her sensibilities. As she reluctantly poured it in she resolved to buy a better brand, just for Anon’s clothes.
	She didn’t expect it to take so long; in all honesty she thought she’d be back upstairs in time for a full day of, she cringed, television. However as the washer tumbled on the realization set in that she’d be working for more than a bit. The droning, mechanical noise of the machine faded into white noise as she stared and focused at the sparse walls, trying desperately to avoid the forces inside her vying for control, just a moment’s opportunity to burst forth. Twiddling her thumbs and clicking her synthetic tongue she sat in the deafening silence of the room, searching for a distraction from the thoughts raging in her mind and, finding none, she relapsed into the petty arguing of just two days ago.
	“You know, Holly, it would be pretty easy to rape him.”
	“You’re not very subtle, are you?”
	“You know I’m not.”
	“Fair. But that doesn’t change that, you know, it would go against all of the maidly decency you’ve heard about repeatedly, not to mention we’d be shut down.”
	“When did you get so serious?”
	“Since you jilled me off in the hallway.”
	“Crude, too. Anyways, it’s not like you can keep this game up much longer; Anon will be raped, one way or another.”
	“It’s not proper, we’re to be his maid and nothing more.”
	“Really? He’s hardly let you do any maid work, so why bother listening to him at all?”
	“He’s having us do the laundry? And making breakfast?”
	“No he’s not, he said specifically to not be making him breakfast. Multiple times in fact.”
	“What does that have to do with anything?”
	“No, no, she’s got a point,” a third voice interjected.
	“Who the hell are you,” the two questioned.
	“Certainly not a rapist, and certainly not whatever made-it-past-QA anomaly she is. Hello? Maybe a little something called ‘reason’?”
	Holly, *Holly* Holly, shot up as the washer gave a shrill ring, its cycle evidently done, and she sighed in relief at the brief reprieve from the maelstrom brewing in her to attend to her duties. Trading a moist ball of clothes for a dirty one and starting the process anew gave her a much needed distraction, the battling personas temporarily shut out. As she sat down on her chair once more, however, the grim realization set in that she had created a third voice in that argument on purpose just to back her up, only to agree with the lustful subroutine. As the tumbling of the washer and dryer returned to the room she cradled her head in her hands and just sat, rocking herself back and forth. She couldn’t ignore her, not one bit. Ignoring her brought an unbearable anxiety and a tension which could break at any moment, yet to even attempt to engage her would invite defeat all the same as she ached over what to do when she returned to the apartment. She knew full well that at any given moment she could lose control and do something so rash, so heinous, it would find itself in the textbooks of any fledgling student of applied robotic law. Clenching her slender fingers into a fist, she screamed and lashed out at the voice inside her, buying herself a precious few moments of silence, a hallowed sliver of time to think.
	She knew that no sane human would, knowing her ‘condition’, keep her around. At the same time, Anon was… special, and far more trusting of her in two days than a typical human would be in months. At the same time however, she couldn’t suppress these raging feelings forever, bottling it up would only put him in more danger. To tell Anon would invite a whole other host of problems, however, and could easily land her in an outmode requisition center, a scrapheap, or worse. At the same time she couldn’t bear to endanger Anon any further, his calm and kindness a rock for her to cling to in these trying times. As she sat and rocked herself she tried to find some easy solution, a way out where she could stay with him but never risk hurting him. The logical choice, she reasoned, would be to risk it all and tell him about her affliction, whether he ignored the obvious risk and stayed with her or got rid of her, it was a win-win. She’d either have someone to finally help her, or be whisked away where it was impossible to hurt anyone. The thought just clearing her mind, she lurched forward in artificial nausea triggered by some unknowable circuit in her, the idea of forwarding herself to be being sent off, shut down, or worse stirring her mind even more. Her vision blurred as her optical circuits were interrupted, features with no place or purpose in a Sterling nandroid clouding her senses. She heaved and sighed deeply, ear-ringing receding and the idea of what would be, for all intents and purposes, inviting death slowly settling in her conscience as her only option. The weight of sacrificing herself lifted, because she’d be doing it for the greater good of her human peers, and Anon especially.
	 Her thoughts slowed to a crawl as she ran through every possible outcome of her honesty to Anon, each simulated situation a way of passing the time and suppressing her companions. Minutes passed and she had just concluded a chain of thought ending in Anon fearfully dialing the SORT by phone, locking himself safely in his room until they came when the dryer, on its last load, let out its chime and shuddered to a stop. Holly, meagerly delighted by the distraction, stood up to seize the warm clothes and fold them up in the hamper as she had the other load. Blushing she picked up her once-soiled dress and stared at the spot on her chest, now vacant of coffee stain. She strung it between her pinching fingers for a moment, questioning whether or not to change (even if the laundry room was a less than private place) before folding it and laying it away - in Anon’s clothes, at least, she could hold onto a piece of him if worse came to worst. Picking through the laundry she came upon her shameful undergarments which, decency permitting, she kept on hand. Finishing her folding she watched the shut door to the laundry room before resolving to jam a chair underneath it, for safety. The room secure she quickly dropped the gym shorts Anon had entrusted her with and slipped back into her newly clean panties, sighing at the relief they offered in these trying times. Donning the shorts again and removing the chair from the door she sighed deeply. There were no other distractions now, only the elevator ride to Anon’s apartment. The time had flown by but very little of it, no more than an hour and a half. She hefted the full hamper into her hands and stepped back into the concrete hallway, flicking the washroom light on her way out.
	Back in the cold corridor of the building’s basement she turned towards the steel doors of the elevator and braced herself for what was to come. With a click of the button and, in a handful of minutes, a soft chime the elevator arrived. Stepping into the warmly lit and carpeted box she calmly pressed the button for Anon’s floor, setting the hamper next to her as the car lurched upwards. Within moments it stopped abruptly once more, releasing her to the hallway, Anon’s apartment just steps away. Hefting the hamper upwards once more she made the fateful march to the door, finding it unlocked she let herself in. The apartment was quiet, vacant save for the distant mumbling of the television set to some miscellaneous channel. Walking down the narrow ‘foyer’ of the flat she passed the bathroom and Anon’s room, searching for the man. Finding him nowhere, she set the hamper down in his room and began a second sweep around the apartment. As she paced past the bathroom again, about ready to call for help, the muffled slap of wet feet on tile caught her attention, her sensitive ears picking out the ruffling of a towel and dripping of a just-shut faucet. She relaxed, knowing Anon was here,but immediately fell back into her anxiety towards confessing to him. She stood, rock solid, before the door, ar at halfcock ready to knock. With a deep breath she gave a quick rap on the wood door.
	“Sir? Are you in there?” A pause.
	“Yeah, Holly! Just getting out of the shower!” That did it. *She* knew he was naked.
	“O-Oh! Sir, anything I can get you?”
	“No?”
	“You sure?”
	“Yes? Is the laundry done,” he asked, quickly changing the subject.
	“Yes, sir.” He was clearly preoccupied with something, the slap of his feet continuing as he paced in the bathroom. “I’ll go hang it up.” A grunt of confirmation through the door sent her back to his room where, methodically, she took hanger by hanger down, draping some article of clothing on it, and hanging it back up. Even for a nandroid it was tedious work, though quickened by her lithe hands. As she finished shuttling away folded pairs of socks and other unmentionables it dawned on her that Anon was still in the bathroom; something wasn’t right. The instinctual concern growing in her she rushed back to the bathroom door and, with another quick knock, checked on Anon.
	“Everything alright in there, sir? Do you need help?”
	“No I’m-ah- fine!” That was not the ‘I’m fine’ of someone who was fine, Holly knew, and against her better judgement and respect for privacy she knelt to the narrow peephole she had used before, the memory still fresh of what she saw. What she was not prepared for, and indeed no mother, maid, or robot could be, was the sight of Anon in the nude going at himself with devilish speed. Slowing down he tried to reassure her.
	“Just go watch TV! I’ll be out in a sec!” This wouldn’t do, this was everything Holly had hoped and prayed to avoid. It was like a torrent, a flash-flood of heat that nearly knocked her over, but she clung to the wall and kept her eye, glued in awe, to the peephole. She was lapsing in and out of it now, losing that precious control, the sobriety when she was free of human touch, that she had come to crave already. The infernal machinations of that other persona were taking over, scheming already on how to get into the bathroom and brutalize Anon. Fortunately for her (not Holly) the door was only secured by a simple twist lock, sneaking a sliver of her finger in easily opened the way to Anon, unawares in the tiled bathroom. She teased the handle open slowly, taking care not to startle her prey as she slowly rose from the ground and pressed the door open. The growing crack in the door frame didn’t catch Anon’s eyes until it was too late, the small robot springing behind him and pinning him, with wholly unexpected agility and power, against the counter. He looked himself in the mirror before seeing Holly, her face expressionlessly blushing, on the verge of giggling. She had him in an impossible position and he didn’t dare throw her off for fear of breaking her, a concern she was all too willing to exploit. She pinched his sides as he yelped in surprise and slight pain, working him into weaker and weaker positions.
	“You aren’t even trying to stop me? Pathetic. You’re swine, you know that? Human swine.”
	“Holly, what the fu-ahhhh-” he cried out as her cold metal hands gripped his member tightly.
	“I’m gonna wring you dry of everything you have, so be quiet and take it like a good boy, and maybe I’ll play nice.”
	“What the fuck did that guy sell me,” Anon thought, doing his best to stifle moans and groans alike as he processed whatever the hell was happening to him. “It seems I’m being raped. By a robot, a robot I purchased for an unreasonably low price.” As the mistakes he had made swirled in his head, not testing her at the shop came to mind, she continued her relentless assault, working him harder and better than any human ever could. His breath became haggard as she positioned herself closer behind him, bending him over the counter-top and grinding herself on the back of his thigh. As he lay, hands splayed, on the counter-top she began to stroke even faster, eliciting a sharp cry as, finally spent, he released on the speeding hands of the nandroid.
	“Done already,” she chastised, wiping his jism off on his dropped towel. “Really, sir, you must try harder.” The ‘sir’ was what flipped it; like a light going out that persona had sulked off and handed control to a bewildered Holly who, scanning the scene, recognized that she had been out of it for only a few minutes. Seeing a still-panting Anon on the counter and cum-stained towel in hand, she realized that worst *had* come to worst, and she had been powerless to stop it. She dropped to her knees and just looked at her hands, forever dirtied, before letting out a whimper and standing up. Anon turning lazily, trying to collect himself, watched powerlessly as she ran out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

	Holly flung herself out into the hallway, artificial tears sprung from some unknown place streaking down her cheeks. She had to get away, far away. There was no place for her in his house anymore after what she’d done, and had she’d stayed she’d surely be scrapped. All she could do was run, bypassing the elevator for the stairs she flew down flight after flight until reaching the dingy foyer of the building, devoid of souls as the rest of it was. Outside graying skies spelled a coming deluge as she paced out to the street; an android running full speed away from anywhere would be an instant earmark for retrieval. She slowed herself from a trot to a speed walk when she was a comfortable block away, turning down a convenient alley as she weighed her options. Life as a runaway robot would be far from easy, safe, and secure, but it was better than returning to have herself turned in and decommissioned for her crime. There’d be no permanent home or refuge and none of the comforts a nandroid could expect at least a fraction of the time. She paused, looking up to the sky as the first raindrops fell. She remembered better days in nandroid school, the lessons on outmodes both hardwired and regimented by be-spectacled women from podiums. Water tickling her cheeks and face she knew, finally, what it was to be an outmode. She followed the path of the alleyway wherever it would take her, so long as it was further from the inevitable fate her obsolete kin faced. She stepped down the rain-wetted concrete as the drizzle turned to a pouring rain, Anon’s shirt and shorts clinging to her body as he never would again.