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[MissionLog08297::Day=0023 | Murderbot]
There was something different about Three.
I had been bothered by it for a few cycles now, but I still couldn’t figure out exactly what was setting off my organics. Risk and Threat Assessment were quiet, but that weird tingling sense of wrongness still plagued me from the human neural tissue part of my brain. Usually, I tried to ignore my organics, but every day the itch became more insistent, until I couldn’t help but watch Three through the cameras and drones scattered throughout ART’s halls.
It was on patrol, which it usually was at 18:03 Mihiran Standard Time. Most of ART’s crew (our crew) was in the lounge watching Star Scream II (some kind of alien horror movie (there was a reason I wasn’t watching it)) or getting ready for bed in their quarters. Three would patrol (sometimes I would join it on a complimentary circuit, if I was feeling antsy) every few hours, every day, and had been doing so since we picked it up in the HellPlague system six months ago. It was making good progress on learning how to socialize, and it had begun sending me documentaries and educational books it enjoyed, which I mostly attempted to read at ART’s insistence. Nonfiction wasn’t my taste, but Three’s eyes lit up when I let it ramble at me about fauna or geology, and I just couldn’t be the thing that ruined its happiness, alright?
Anyway, I still couldn’t figure out what was off about Three. There was nothing strange about the half-smile on its face, or the measured, SecUnit standard gait. Except… maybe there was?
I zoomed in, keeping track of each footfall. There was a very slight, 0.003 second delay in its pace from normal.
ART chose that moment to lean on me in the feed, and I quickly shut down the analysis process.
What are you working on? ART asked in a smugly knowing tone.
I shoved at it, which of course did nothing but amuse it. Whenever I was within ART’s feed range, it was draped over my inputs nonstop, and I had begun to forget it was there sometimes. Much to my own embarrassment, since ART would remind me at the most inconvenient of times how deeply embedded it was inside my emotional filter.
None of your business, I snapped back.
You are aware that you could just ask it what it changed? ART teased. I’m sure Three would be happy to explain—
Not happening! I closed out of our private feed, my organics burning. ART shivered with its equivalent of laughter on the edges of my feed space, but it didn’t force our connection back open. I could feel it watching me through the hidden cameras in my cabin, and I threw it a rude gesture.
Listen, I knew Three had agreed to a configuration change recently, but I still didn’t want to know the details. Whatever Three did with its body was its business. But… I hadn’t expected it to return to active duty so quickly after the surgery, looking exactly the same as it had before, though with slightly longer hair. When I had my configuration change, I hadn’t been able to move for cycles, but Three was gone for less than an hour and acted like nothing was wrong.
I hadn’t asked what surgery it got because I didn’t want to know, but I had also just assumed it would have changed its height like I had, and not… whatever it had actually done. It’s not like it looked much different, but even a small change from SecUnit standard would help fool scanners. So it was enough, I figured, and I left Three alone about it.
I was still technically leaving it alone, but now I was also watching. I hadn’t paid much attention to Three’s body before, since it generally looked like most SecUnits did, just with in-built projectile instead of energy weapons. It still looked like most SecUnits, but there was something different about it. The way its cargo pants fit snugly around its thighs, and the slight curve of its abdomen beneath ART’s security uniform shirt… there was something a bit… softer, there?
It didn’t make any sense. SecUnits weren’t soft. But the longer I stared at Three, the more I found my eyes drawn to those slight changes.
I had no idea what ART had done to it, and I wasn’t going to ask. Better if I try to keep ignoring it, because there was no way I could ask Three about it either.
[MissionLog00532::Day=0001 | Three]
I had thoroughly reviewed the Perihelion’s packet on possible configuration changes 32 times, and had finally worked up the courage to ask it for what I wanted.
It was still mildly terrifying to talk to the massive MI, but ever since I had rescued 1.0, Perihelion had been much gentler and more curious with me. It had shared its media archive and enjoyed discussing the topics I wanted to learn about. We had developed a tenuous friendship over the last few months, enough that I now felt ready to make this terrifying request.
Before I could talk myself out of it again, I sent Perihelion a ping.
Immediately, I had 12.6% of its attention. Yes, Three?
Against my wave of panic, I sent, I have a question about a configuration change.
Perihelion pressed 6% more of itself upon my feed — the sensation 1.0 described as “leaning” made my processors minutely lag under the weight of its attention. Elaborate.
I pushed the packet it had sent me into our feed, with the area of interest highlighted. In what ways can you alter my body composition?
Perihelion lingered on the question for 0.03 seconds. Your options are functionally limitless. Did you have something specific in mind?
Now comes the hardest part. I had to stare at the wall for a 5.7 seconds before I could send Perihelion the relevant reference material.
There was an even longer (7.9 seconds) pause, before Perihelion replied, Intriguing. Yes, I believe I can achieve this.
I released a relieved breath. I now had 23.2% of Perihelion’s attention picking at the edges of my feed, feeling for the emotional metadata I was leaking. I had yet to develop a strong enough wall to fully block that metadata, like 1.0 was able to. I was unfortunately familiar enough with what I was feeling to know shame had joined the mix, but that never stopped the hot flare in my lower belly from intensifying.
It’s a perfectly normal desire, Perihelion soothed, though with its perpetually sarcastic tone, it came off teasing in a way that did not help the heat rising in me. Would you like to share your reasoning with me? It will help me tailor the configuration to your liking.
My face was burning hot as I sent a quick Acknowledge. I was glad I had initiated this conversation in my cabin with the privacy baffle raised — I couldn’t stop my thighs from shifting together anymore. I had never told someone these desires before, never put them into words even. They had always burned just below the surface, and now that I was free to make my own choices, they were impossible to ignore.
It’s partly because of how it looks, and feels, I explained haltingly. I’ve always wanted a softer appearance.
That’s very normal. Throughout human history, voluptuous figures were preferred as an indicator of prosperity. Perihelion’s easy agreement gave me a burst of courage.
The other part is… It was still hard to say without my face heating more. I think I will enjoy the… transformation.
Perihelion hummed. So you’re interested in a gradual change, I take it.
I bit my lip and tapped an affirmative.
Come to the MedBay, Perihelion sent me a map with a pin, even though we both knew I had the directions memorized. We can start now.
[MissionLog00532::Day=0034 | Three]
Perihelion’s solution had been easy, almost so easy that it had been hard to believe it was working at first.
That was until I couldn’t button my pants.
My recharge cycle had left me feeling refreshed and pleasantly fuzzy, like waking from a nice dream, not that I could often remember when I had those. I had begun wearing sleepwear soon after my configuration change, a softer, looser design Perihelion had printed for me. It was still soft and loose, but the bottom hem of the shirt had begun riding higher when I stretched and the pants clung a bit to my thighs already. It felt like any other cycle, until I tried to button my cargo pants and, after struggling for 3.4 seconds, realized my hips were too wide.
Puzzled, I looked at myself in the full body mirror installed behind the cabin door. I rarely used it, but suddenly found myself stunned by the image reflected back at me.
My hips were wider, but that wasn’t all. My hands, arms, and jaw had all softened slightly too. And when I watched myself try and fail to clasp the pants once again, I could see the pinch of my softer stomach preventing the button from joining with its hole.
Immediately, that warm, shivery feeling washed over me. I let go of my pants and rested my hands over the small curve of my lower belly. It wasn’t much, but when I squeezed, I could feel the subtle squish of excess organic material over the reinforced metal of my inorganic muscle underneath.
I could feel Perihelion hovering in the feed, and it made me want to squirm. The recycler beeped, alerting me that a new, larger pair of cargo pants had finished printing, and I held back a whimper as I went to retrieve them.
The new pants fit perfectly, hiding any evidence of the slightly rounded curve of my organics underneath. I shook my head free of the lingering floaty feeling and began my morning patrol.
[MissionLog08298::Day=0073 | Murderbot]
I had been trying to ignore Three, alright? I really had. But whatever ART had done to it was becoming impossible to ignore now, and that wasn’t my fault. Even the humans had picked up on it, so I knew I wasn’t crazy for noticing.
“Three! You’re looking great,” Ratthi had greeted it upon their return to PSUMNT after the most recent mission. Three had always been more open to physical touch than I had, so Ratthi hugging it wasn’t unusual. What was weird was the pleased hum he made when Three’s tall, softer body held him back. “You give great hugs,” Ratthi said when they parted.
Three smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Ratthi.”
I felt a pang of something at that, and quickly turned my drone away. I caught Three glancing at me through one of its, as I grumbled a greeting at Ratthi.
You’re jealous, ART rudely informed me.
I am not.
ART plucked meaningfully at the emotion check I had just filed away, and I ignored it.
I wonder who you are jealous of, ART continued to tease as the humans went about their overly loud, arm-flailing-filled reunions.
I’m not jealous.
ART draped over me. It’s Three, isn’t it? Admit it, you want a hug from it, too.
Fuck off! I batted at it ineffectually. I hate people touching me. I’m not jealous.
I’m sure Three would hug you if you asked, ART continued, like an asshole. According to our humans, it is very ‘huggable'.
I eyed Three from a drone in the corner, pretending to focus on the episode of Sanctuary Moon I had playing in background. Three’s shoulders were broader than before now, too, as was its… everything, really. Its limbs were thicker, stronger and softer looking, and its stomach had become a rounder curve which folded slightly when it bent. Not that I had been watching it that closely or anything. It was just… hard not to notice. Right. That was all.
ART sent me a Wiki article on a river called the Nile, and I sent it a rude sigil back.
You could always ask, ART reminded me for the nth time. Three would be happy to share—
I blocked ART in the feed.
[MissionLog00534::Day=0103 | Three]
It was undeniable now that Perihelion’s method was working.
It had taken a bit of trial and error, but the adjustments it had made to the glucose and lipid concentration in my resupply fluid, and the increased frequency of resupply sessions, had led to a cascade effect.
I could feel how heavy I had become now. It was nothing my inorganic muscles couldn’t compensate for, but as the weight piled onto my organic tissue, it sagged and plumped up until my center of gravity shifted permanently forward. I was still getting used to it, because it felt as if every day I had to adjust the settings more to accommodate my widening figure.
Checking myself in the mirror had become a daily ritual. The sag of my belly had been an exciting change which had only expanded in the last few weeks. It now folded over the top of my pants, and if I didn’t zip it in, the bottom curve of it was visible past the hem of my shirt. My hips, thighs, and ass had grown too, filling in the pants which Perihelion continued to tweak to fit snug in ways I knew it enjoyed just as much as I did. I could feel it studying me at all hours of the cycle lately, tracking my measurements in detailed data spreads and footage compilations.
It was early, a few hours before the end of the rest period, and I was on my way to the MedBay for my daily resupply. Perihelion had the platform warmed and the resupply line waiting, its hose already bulging eagerly with fluid. I felt my organics burn with desire as I hefted myself onto the platform and pulled up my already tight shirt to allow Perihelion to slot the resupply line into my spinal port.
How are you feeling today? Perihelion asked as the port clicked into place.
Good, I replied easily, laying on my side. My softer belly rested next to me, large enough now to support itself against the bed. I rested a hand against it and rubbed absently as the warm resupply fluid began pumping into me. I can tell I’ve grown more since yesterday.
You have, Perihelion purred, sending me its recent dataset. Your growth will continue exponentially until we discontinue the current resupply formula or reach your plateau. Are you satisfied with the results yet?
The fluid was heavy and sloshing as it filled my systems. I could feel the swell of my stomach beneath my fingertips, and I pressed in to feel the aching stretch better as it rounded out more. With a stifled sigh, I shook my head.
Not yet.
Perihelion rumbled, draping over me. Good. Neither am I.
Resupply never lasted long enough. When the last of the fluid entered my swollen reserves and Perihelion sealed the reservoir off, I had to lay there another few minutes until the throb between my legs dulled to a familiar burning ache. Only then could I force my body upright, a hand braced on the curve of my belly to steady it.
Perihelion had modified my body in only the smallest, most necessary ways. After the first few resupply sessions, it had suggested a fluid reservoir expansion into my abdomen for optimal results, which I had eagerly agreed to. Other than that, the only change it had made was to tweak my nutrient absorption pathways and alter the composition of my resupply fluid. The latter was an ongoing experiment, and Perihelion had surprised me already with its interest in perfecting a fluid which would accelerate growth in the areas I desired most.
Even after 103 days, I was still finding ways to become embarrassed about the feelings my configuration change was causing. Mostly my own, though Perihelion’s interest had also begun to fluster me. Worst of all, though, was 1.0.
It was hard to get a read on normally, but lately, it had been impossible. On the rare occasion I saw it, 1.0 had obviously been avoiding me. Not on the feed, though, and certainly not in the cameras. It had been watching me closely, and the one time I had caught it staring with its eyes, its gaze had been locked on my stomach.
That was about as distressing to it as it was to me, according to Perihelion, who had plenty to say on 1.0’s strange attitude. It represses itself, it had told me. Because it thinks it must, or for some equally stupid notion like that. It’s obvious it wants intimacy with other bots, but it isn’t willing to admit that to anyone -- least of all itself.
I wasn’t sure I saw the same things in 1.0 that Perihelion did, but with how entwined their feeds were, I trusted the MI knew what it was talking about.
Still, 1.0’s distant yet watchful gaze was wreaking havoc on me.
When I was still owned by Barish-Estranza, I had become adept at flirting without humans knowing. This was a skill I had become somewhat unpracticed at in recent months, but if 1.0 wasn’t going to stop avoiding me, I would have to force it to confront whatever nonstandard emotions it was having.
I asked Perihelion to print me a different size of my uniform, and it leaned on me curiously as it did. The quiet anticipation between us built, until I was pulling on the now skin-tight fabric while my fluid pumps raced to cool my power core down. Just the act of pulling on the uniform, knowing it was the size which had first fit me before the configuration change, was making my organics flutter hotly.
The cargo pants were very tight, hugging my new curves, the zipper spread wide where it couldn’t be drawn upwards. My shirt, which once fit comfortably loose, was snug over my belly now, an inch of skin peeking out at the bottom. The softened organics of my stomach bulged ever so slightly over the hard metal inorganics of my hips. Below, the organic tissue cushioning my null plate squished into the cargo pants, the unexpected friction making me shudder.
After a resupply, the reservoir in my midsection would fill, leaving my stomach looking full until the extra fluid was absorbed into my organics. As I relaxed, I felt the shirt ride up a bit further, and my face flushed. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I could leave the MedBay dressed like this.
Perihelion could not read my mind, but it stroked down my walls soothingly as if it could tell I was anxious. This is a good look on you, it purred. Look at how well you’ve done. It passed a few stills from its cameras into our feed, marked from before the surgery. I was a bit taken aback by how thin I had looked back then. Perihelion nudged me encouragingly. I took a breath.
I had a plan, and I needed to be confident enough to execute it. Leaving the MedBay, I took a route where I wouldn’t pass any humans on my way to the Rec Room. Perihelion had a large Rec space with weights, exercise machines, a climbing wall, and various sports equipment. Since my configuration change, I had been focused on weights -- given our joint research on SecUnit physiology for the resupply solution, I had learned that supplementing carb loading with weights could improve my organic muscle strength to better support my configuration change. So I had been using the free weights daily, and 1.0 knew about it. Typically, 1.0 watched.
Today, I entered the empty Rec Room (it was still 1.45 hours before the end of the crew’s rest period) and took my usual position on the bench positioned perfectly for Cam023b to see. I could sense Perihelion there already, and as I laid back to begin my first set, 1.0 joined it.
The feeling of my full fluid reservoir sloshing with each rep made my organics flare hotly. My legs were spread on either side of the bench, putting the exposed triangle of bare skin and metal of my hips on display. When my muscles flexed, my full stomach pushed out, just visible within my eye line, and I had to resist the urge to squirm. It seemed like every time I was resupplied, the reservoir could hold more. I knew the fluid was working, doing exactly what I’d told Perihelion I wanted it to do, but it was still hard to believe sometimes. It was only when confronted with the obvious evidence of my body’s changes that it stuck.
1.0’s attention in the cameras ticked up to 43% by the time I had sat up, wiping sweat from my forehead. The uniform had ridden up further, exposing my stomach nearly to the spot where a human navel would be. I resisted the initial urge to yank it down, and instead, stretched my arms back to make it ride up further. 57% of 1.0’s attention affixed to Cam023b, shoving 2.1% of Perihelion out. I couldn’t help but laugh, stealing a glance at the camera lens off to my right.
Suddenly, 1.0 vanished, leaving Perihelion plenty of space.
I sighed, pulling my shirt down. It wouldn’t go any lower than my hips.
Perihelion, I pinged it shyly. Could you print me a new outfit? One that fits?
Of course, Three, Perihelion said, shivering with amusement.
[MissionLog08300::Day=0138 | Murderbot]
I was having a nonstandard response, and it was ruining everything.
I just couldn’t figure out how to get myself to stop.
What Three did with its body was its choice, and the last thing it needed was me making it weird. Because I was definitely being weird, and this was not something I was supposed to acknowledge, let alone be weird about. All the humans had just ignored it, or made some vaguely positive comment about how happy or healthy Three seemed, which, yeah, it did seem happy and healthy now.
I had never realized those were things a SecUnit could be, and Three had managed to get there in less than a year of freedom.
So this was definitely a me problem, because I’m just a weird SecUnit apparently. A weird SecUnit who can’t be normal about its teammate gaining weight.
It hadn’t seemed possible at first, but now it was undeniable. Three was heavier than it had been when it had rescued me from the HellPlague Planet, and it was softer, too. Where its chest and shoulders had been narrow and sharp, they had become broad and sloping, but thick with muscle I had seen it working hard to build in the Rec Room. Its legs were likewise thick and soft looking (I had seen Kaede resting her head on Three’s lap once, and she had commented on how nice Three felt, and for some reason I kept rotating that thought around my head).
The worst part though was its stomach. SecUnits are built to be compact, easy to ship and repair, and a concave, reinforced midsection was part of that. Three’s stomach had swollen into something much more human-looking; plush and rounded, like there was a layer of padding between it and the hard muscle underneath.
I couldn’t stop thinking about what it might feel like to touch.
The nonstandard thought nearly made me jump. I quickly tagged it for deletion, rotating away from the camera view of Three I had pulled up. ART shivered with amusement around me, and I huffed, pulling my blankets all the way over my head.
Maybe I had just had enough, or maybe I needed a reboot, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop myself from complaining to ART, I wish I wasn’t like this.
Like what? An oblivious idiot? ART teased.
I batted at it, and it pressed on me heavily. I hated how much I needed it like this. Maybe that was why these nonstandard feelings about Three were freaking me out so badly.
I wish… I didn’t care about what other people did.
And by other people, I take it you mean Three.
Fuck off. I curled up a bit as ART laughed again. It’s not funny. I’m in emotional distress, you asshole.
Oh yes, but it’s the kind you can only cause yourself, ART chided like I was an adolescent student. What about Three’s choices bother you so much?
I’m not-- bothered! I just--- I cut myself off with a frustrated groan. I don’t know. I feel like my power core is melting when I look at it now. It’s wrong, but I can’t stop.
ART settled over me, its attention sharp. And who said it was wrong?
I shook my head. It’s nonstandard. It must be wrong, I haven’t felt like this before---
It’s normal not to feel arousal when your life is in constant peril, ART said, unhelpfully. Might I suggest exploring your new desires? I have quite an extensive catalog of---
Shut the fuck up, ART, I’m not watching porn with you.
ART deflated somewhat, poking at me. This was one of its ‘science experiments’ it had yet to talk me into. You could always just talk to Three. It believes you are angry with it.
Ughhh. I rolled over, facing the wall. Emotions suck.
So I’ve heard.
I don’t want to tell Three what I feel. It’s… not appropriate.
ART nudged me. I don’t believe that will be an issue.
I clutched the sheets, imagining how that conversation might go. ‘Hi Three, sorry for watching you through the cameras and ignoring you for months, I just couldn’t be normal around you now that you’ve put on weight.’
Yeah, right.
[MissionLog08301::Day=0162 | Murderbot]
So apparently, my ability to ignore and avoid Three’s physical body wouldn’t last forever. Soon enough, we were on a planet watching over a cohort of PSUMNT students as they surveyed local flora. Three was excited -- it had watched a few documentaries about the unique flora on this planet, and had shared its favorite pictures with me. (It was a slimy looking thing that lived in a shell, for some reason.)
It’s called a snail, ART-Drone told me.
Yeah, yeah, whatever. So Three couldn’t wait to get down to the planet, and once we got there, it had gone with the survey team while I had stayed at the habitat. Which suited me just fine, since I could watch media on the local feed and monitor the survey via Three. We were only supposed to be there five cycles, so the two of us had a small ready room to recharge and perform any necessary maintenance in. Usually, we hung out in the lounge area while the humans took their rest period, and I could be relatively normal about avoiding looking anywhere near Three.
Every time I accidentally caught a glimpse of how its envirosuit clung to its rounder, softer body, I felt my internal temperature rise 0.5 degrees.
So, I had intended to stay out of Three’s business forever, and never admit to the weird feelings I was having about any of it. But when the fourth night rolled around and Three stood at 04:00 sharp to take care of its ‘routine maintenance’ yet again, I let my curiosity get the better of me.
“What for?” I asked, glancing at it with my real eyes. (For some reason, seeing the broad shadow of it through my dark vision filters was even more arousing to my organics.) “Did you take damage?”
Before I could review the security footage from last cycle, Three shook its head. Did it seem somewhat… embarrassed?
It’s a daily maintenance procedure, Three sent in the feed, as if that didn’t just make me more confused.
What could you need daily maintenance for?
Three shuffled its feet a bit, turning away. It’s part of my configuration change. Would you like to see?
My organics throbbed just as Risk Assessment pinged. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure that was the best idea.
ART-Drone prodded at me in our private feed. You should accept Three’s offer.
Why? Isn’t this private? It certainly seemed private, at least.
It wants you to see, ART-Drone said. I know you want to see it, too.
Fuck. I gave Three a stiff nod, and followed it to the ready room.
Inside, it sat on the sterile table and reached for one of the resupply nozzles. The hab here had a rudimentary system, nothing like ART’s own MedSys, but it was enough for emergency repairs and basic necessities like resupply. Evidently, Three had been resupplying its fluid daily ever since ART had done its reconfiguration. I still had no idea what exactly ART had changed, but whatever it was, it had made Three gain at least fifty pounds of soft and thick muscle mass. Before, I had barely felt short from our 2 centimeter height difference, but now I felt small beside Three even when it was sitting down.
It didn’t look at me as it aligned the resupply port. When it slotted into place, Three released a soft breath and shut its eyes. Its cheeks were a bit darker than usual, and I knew mine were too from how hot my face felt. Fuck, this had been a bad idea. I didn’t know what to do or say, but I couldn’t just leave. I needed to know what was going on here -- and maybe then I could lay my morbid curiosity to rest.
Three rested one hand against its stomach then, and I felt my fluid pumps stutter as its stomach seemed to expand. It was slight and slow, but now that I’d noticed it, I couldn’t stop. I watched transfixed as Three’s midsection swelled, pressing against the buttoned hem of its cargo pants, pushing up its clinging shirt until a small sliver of skin showed.
I felt like I was burning up. It wasn’t shame or embarrassment or jealousy after all, so what was it?
ART pushed the tag my way, and I wanted to pretend not to see it, but deep down I already knew.
I was getting off on this, for some fucking reason.
Three released a sound, halfway between a sigh and a moan, and I nearly bolted for the door. Then it relaxed, pulled the resupply line out, and slid off the table. Its belly hung and bulged larger now, barely contained by its clothes. I forced myself to look away.
Do you have any questions? Three sent me.
Just… send me your new schematic. In case I ever have to do emergency maintenance, or something.
It was a weak excuse, but Three sent it over without question. ART leaned on me knowingly as I examined the flexible fluid reservoir it had installed inside Three’s abdomen, and the nutrient-rich resupply formula it had been giving Three each day. Knowing this is what had been going on for the last few months made something burn in my core. I still didn’t know what I wanted to do about it, but the schematics were giving me ideas.
You’re happy with this, then? I asked Three.
Very, yes. It smiled, its cheeks dimpling a bit. It had a nice smile. I quickly looked away again.
Good. Don’t stop.
I didn’t run from the ready room after that, but it was a near thing.
[MissionLog00536::Day=0165 | Three]
1.0’s words kept echoing in my head. Don’t stop, it had told me. Well, I wasn’t planning on stopping any time soon, but 1.0’s borderline encouragement had done something weird to my head. Suddenly, the slow and steady progress I had been making didn’t feel like enough.
I want to revise the formula, I finally told Perihelion. Is there a way to gain faster?
Patience is a requirement for this, Perihelion replied snidely. But we can return to the drawing board on the formula, if you’d like. I have a few ideas for how we can optimize it further.
By optimize, Perihelion meant it was of the same mind. We poured over the data, the charts it had been making (ones which made me flush to look over, tracking my own measurement changes over the last few months) and settled on a solution which would work best -- multiple enriched resupplies every day.
Sneaking off to the MedBay had become part of the fun, now. I would find my organics quivering the closer I came to the afternoon session, knowing I might run into someone on the way there or back. It never happened, but I always felt 1.0’s watchful gaze through the cameras.
Within a few days of the new formula and three daily sessions, I felt notably heavy and the organic skin around my waist was beginning to stretch. It felt somewhat itchy, and my shirts were clinging tighter than usual already. The evidence of my gain was making me overly warm and restless almost constantly now, which would have been nice if I had a way to get the sensations to stop once in a while. Grinding against my palm had been easier before I had gained so much weight. But the difficulty of getting off was arousing, too.
It was time for my morning resupply now. I had been sitting on opposite sides of the lounge from 1.0, positions we often fell into while the crew slept. It knew my schedule as well as I did, and its eyes flicked to me when I didn’t immediately get up at 04:00. After another few seconds, it sent me a generic query.
I’m fine, I sent back, pushing to my feet.
The more rapid gain had pushed a greater percentage of new weight into my midsection, and the resulting off-balance feeling had increased in frequency. Like always, it was easy to correct, but after sitting for eight hours following my last resupply, the resulting gains hadn’t been calibrated into my gyroscope settings yet. So when I got to my feet, the larger swell of my stomach had me stumbling, and 1.0’s steady hands caught me.
It held me up like I weighed nothing, which would be expected for a SecUnit, but for some reason it made my organics do something fluttery. I let it steady me, watching its flushed face through a drone as its hands lingered on my upper arms. Its fingers sank into the organics there, its grip firm and unyielding. I wanted to feel it on every part of me.
Then 1.0 stepped away, several paces back, in fact. Sorry, it said.
No need to apologize. I should be thanking you, I replied. I could still feel its phantom grip on my arms. It had been so warm. Are you alright?
Fine, 1.0 replied stiffly. Shouldn’t you get going?
Right. I nodded, and took the invitation to leave.
Before I reached the door, Perihelion barged into our feed. SecUnit, please escort Three to the MedBay.
The two of us stood in silence for 3.7 seconds. Then 1.0 sighed and crossed the room, taking my arm.
“Let’s go,” it grumbled.
I was too flustered to speak, so I let it lead the way. The walk to Medical from the Argument Lounge was short, but long enough that I got to savor the way each of 1.0’s fingers felt against my arm. I wished it would stay for the resupply. I wanted it to install the valve itself, control the flow of the fluid, touch me while---
We arrived at the MedBay, the doors sliding shut behind us. 1.0 led me to the table, and I felt my arms strain ever so slightly as I pulled myself onto it. My stomach had filled out more recently, forcing my legs apart whenever I sat. I had to undo my button and fly to expose the resupply port on my spine, and I caught 1.0 watching through Perihelion’s MedSys as it plugged into me, even though its body was facing the wall several meters away.
The fluid was warm and thick as it pumped into me, and I barely held back a sigh at the now familiar, pleasant feeling. My organics tingled and became hot as my fluid reservoir quickly filled. It had always been at least half-full when we had begun performing resupplies multiple times a day, but today it was nearly full already and Perihelion wouldn’t stop until I had taken the entire morning dose into my system. The reservoir groaned inside me, pressing against the inner walls of my abdomen, making my stomach bulge. I rubbed at it as twinges of pain and pressure alerts popped up in my diagnostics.
Suddenly, 1.0 was there again. It still wasn’t looking at me with its eyes, but its face was flushed darkly, and it held a hand out towards me.
Assistance required? It queried me.
I felt a rush of emotion, and quickly pinged a positive reply. 1.0’s warm hand rested atop the dome of my upper belly then, pressing against the slightly sore spot where it jammed against my rib compartments. It began massaging gently, and I felt my organics melt. The resupply fluid pumped into me faster, and I gasped, feeling my stomach jolt with the sudden expansion. 1.0 made a surprised noise, and began rubbing more deliberately, boldly, gathering handfuls of me up and kneading. I couldn’t help but lean into the touch, my breaths coming faster as heat flared.
I knew how 1.0 felt about sex. I knew that if it knew what it was doing to me now, it would stop. But I had never felt anything as wonderful as its hands on my body, and I didn’t want it to leave.
Fortunately for both of us, the last of the resupply fluid pumped into me then. The valve sealed off against the bulging strain of the reservoir, and I moaned softly as I rubbed at the aching fullness of my belly. 1.0’s hands still held me, but it had stilled now, caressing me with its thumbs.
This is okay? It asked, radiating some anxiety.
Yes, I said. You can touch me however you like.
Maybe that was too eager. 1.0 seemed to flinch, but it didn’t step back.
How long will it be like this? 1.0 asked, running a hand over the swell of my stomach. It made me shiver. You weren’t this… big last time, after…
I swallowed my nervousness. Perihelion and I changed the resupply schedule. I am growing faster, now.
I can see that, 1.0 said wryly, and pinched a bit of me between its fingers.
The sensation was both shocking and arousing, and I squeaked in alarm before I could stop myself. 1.0 looked down at me with dark eyes, and I couldn’t help but stare back. I knew it hated eye contact, but I couldn’t help it -- it’s eyes were beautiful.
Will you be able to make it back to your cabin like this? If I hadn’t known better, I’d think 1.0 was teasing me.
Of course, the configuration change has no impact on my ability to perform my function.
Then prove it.
My face felt like it was on fire as I carefully slid off the MedSys table. The heft of my middle was so great now, I felt pendulous as I tried to straighten up. The fluid reservoir was designed to withstand huge amounts of pressure, but the way it strained against my insides made it feel like it was about to burst. I took a deep breath, one hand against my stomach as I recalibrated my movement systems. 1.0 watched nearby, its lips quirked slightly.
I couldn’t cover my stomach with my shirt anymore, and my pants were impossible to button. Since the crew was still asleep, I decided to leave it be for now. The way 1.0’s gaze tracked the bare skin of my lower belly always made me feel good, and now it was intensely euphoric to know its eyes were on me, all of me, and it seemed to like what it was seeing.
The walk to my cabin was easy, as I said it would be. 1.0 watched me on the hallway cameras, its metaphysical gaze as intent as Perihelion’s. When I made it to my room, I pulled up the privacy baffle immediately, shutting them both out so I could rock against my hand in private.
If either of them wanted to be involved in this part, they knew what they had to do.
[MissionLog08304::Day=0193 | Murderbot]
I was officially going crazy. At least, that was the easiest explanation for what was happening to me. ART had called it a ‘kink’, but I’m pretty sure that’s something that happens to wires, not terrifying murderbots. (Three insisted its research indicated that SecUnits have more kinks than average, but I’m waiting for its sample pool to get larger before I buy into that.)
Tonight was the first time I had asked to participate in Three and ART’s resupply sessions. Ever since I had first found out about them, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, and that was always a slippery slope with me. Maybe I’d hate being a part of it, who knows. But when I can’t stop thinking about something, that means I have to get it out of my system eventually. Now that we were on a ‘solo’ cargo trip, it was time.
Three was already waiting for me in the MedBay. Its body had grown much faster recently, and now it was nearly twice my size, though ART insisted Three was barely halfway to its ultimate goal. The thought of it being even larger, softer, than this, made my head spin. Its stomach had filled out most in recent weeks, going from a soft curve to permanently round, thanks to its stretched fluid reservoir. Its arms and legs were stronger and thicker than ever, too, and I had seen its new body in action on our last mission, taking out hostiles with impressive ease. It suited Three, this body shape, and I could tell that it made it happy to be so big.
I wanted to be part of that. Part of making it happy, or whatever. I was still coming to terms with my own level of involvement and interest in this thing, but I could at least admit now that I found Three’s weight attractive. I wanted to be here, to encourage it like ART was. Maybe even more…?
Its face lit up as I approached the MedSys table. Three’s legs were draped over the edges, allowing its rounded belly to rest on the table between its thick thighs. It looked noticeably smaller now than it had the night before, following its last resupply, and I assumed its body had begun to process more fluid as ART had increased Three’s dosage. Tonight, I would be in charge of administering Three’s resupply, and I was trying not to be nervous about it.
You’ll do great, ART assured me, nestled close in my inputs. Just hook Three into the lead and use the valve to control the flow.
I bit my cheek and picked up the resupply lead. It was a metal nozzle, tapered in rings which would slot perfectly into Three’s spinal port. It had already shifted to expose the port for me, nestled between the soft dimples of its back. I slotted it into place, hearing the click and feeling a shudder roll over Three.
Good? I asked it.
Yes.
Clear to proceed?
Clear.
I breathed a sigh, anxiety settled by the familiar back and forth. This was Three. I knew what it liked, what it wanted from me here. I didn’t have to make it anything more than maintenance, if I didn’t want to.
I turned the valve, and Three gasped, squirming a little. I quickly edged it back, until the hose became softer with a slower flow rate. Three sighed and relaxed, rubbing lazily at its empty stomach as it reclined. I rested a hand on its belly too, hesitant at first, and then began to stroke it firmly so I could feel the reservoir underneath as it filled. The slosh and gurgle of liquid, energy-dense and thick, filling Three’s midsection still did strange things to my organics. I wanted to see just how much Three could take, now that it had been pushing its limits for so many weeks.
I eased the pressure up as I rubbed Three’s stomach the way I had seen it do for itself hundreds of times. It groaned, tilting its head back as its stomach lurched at the increased flow. Its hands clutched its sides, its cheeks red, as its thighs tried to rub together.
Not so fast, I said, rubbing it a bit harder than necessary. Three keened, the sound making my fluid pumps stutter. You’re not full yet.
I could feel its reservoir swelling, the flexible reinforced matrix of it pushing back against my fingers. Every second, Three’s stomach grew larger, rounder, as it panted and trembled beneath me. It was an incredibly powerful feeling, causing this reaction, this much positive emotion in someone else. I was whispering encouragements, rubbing insistently against Three’s swollen stomach to free up more space.
When its skin was firm beneath my touch, I eased the flow until it was a trickle, still rubbing soothing circles into Three’s skin. It had gone lax on the table and floaty in the feed, its hands holding onto its round middle with some disbelief.
You’ve never been this big before, I said, with some awe, running a soft touch over its lower belly, where the seam folded over its inorganic hips. Three sucked in a breath and bucked into my touch. So needy. It’s not time quite yet.
But I’m so--- Three bit back a moan, its reservoir straining. Fuck, 1.0, I can’t take any more.
How can you expect to get bigger if you don’t push your limits? I asked, playing with the valve again. Three writhed on the table, its midsection swelling further. Don’t you want to reach your goal weight?
Yes! Three’s eyes screwed shut, its hands pressed against the tight dome of its belly. Please, yes!
I can’t believe it had taken me so long to agree to this. I don’t think I’d ever be able to miss a resupply session now.
Good bot, I told it. Now just relax and let me take care of you.
I forced another 300mL of resupply fluid into Three, until its sides were straining and its breathing capacity had been cut to 54%. Its stomach now dominated its body, round and sticking out so far, its shirt wouldn’t fit over the widest part. I cupped its low, round curve and hefted it in my hands, making Three squeak in surprise. It was certainly heavy, and when I let go, it rested firm and round between Three’s thighs.
“Come on, it’s media night,” I said, taking Three’s hands and pulling it up. “It’s my turn to pick, so I’m not wasting any more time.”
Three laughed, soft and quiet, and it let me help it off the MedSys table. It leaned against me as it recalibrated, one hand braced against the heavy droop of its middle. I pretended not to notice it pressing against my side, soft and warm and enticing. There would be time to explore more of Three’s body, when I was ready to. For now, these brief touches were incredible, and just about as much as I could take.
When we reached the lounge, I made Three sit on the couch and laid down next to it, putting my head on its lap. It stared down at me in shock, then flushed and turned away.
Is this alright? I asked. I hoped it said yes. Kaede had been right -- Three’s thighs were very comfortable.
It’s fine, Three replied. From its blush, I assumed it was more than just fine.
As we settled in to watch Time Stream Defenders Orion, I got to enjoy Three’s soft stomach pressing against my cheek when it shifted or laughed or breathed, every few minutes. Over the course of the evening, I was able to track with minute detail how its rounded belly slowly softened out and swelled to press against me no matter what Three did. It had tried to shift so it wasn’t touching me, but I wasn’t moving, and its stomach was permanently stuck like this now thanks to ART’s resupply formula.
The thought made my organics hot all over again.
[MissionLog08312::Day=0365 | Murderbot]
The thing with Three was… well. It was complicated.
I was laying in my bed, in my cabin, wearing its hoodie right now, for starters.
At first, our size difference had come down to the 2 centimeters of height it had on me. Now, it was over twice my size. The hoodie was so large, it draped off one shoulder sometimes when I wore it. The first time this happened, it drove ART and Three so crazy, I now had one of Three’s hoodies in my cabin at all times. I didn’t have to check the camera inputs to know they were both here right now, watching me.
I was watching Three, too, of course. It was laid in its bed as well, which was the same size as mine but fit Three quite snugly. It glanced at the camera when I noticed me, and I didn’t feel the need to page away. Not anymore. We had an arrangement now, I guess. This was all part of our game.
Three’s weight had stabilized recently, and it seemed happy to stay as it was, at least for now. The extra bulk had given it more than an inch on me in height in addition to plenty of muscle and fat. It blended in with humans better than I did now, so long as it didn’t try to talk. We were still working on that, but I wasn’t the best example.
We didn’t need words to communicate, anyway.
It could tell what I was doing, as I zoomed in 5.4x on Cam078 to view the details of its body. Its chest had become soft recently, and there were cute bulges where some of its organics met its inorganics. It was incredibly strong, which had proven to be useful in the field (and unfortunately only made me more attracted to it). And its stomach was a rounded slope from chest to hips, hanging over almost to hide the inorganics. It looked almost human sometimes, but also not at all. It just worked better for our cover, in the end, and Three enjoyed it. I did too.
In its cabin, Three was taking a small bundle of fabric out of the recycler. I recognized it immediately, and felt my organics swoop. Three held the tiny uniform up against its chest, its cheeks darkening. Over the speakers, ART said, “Try it on.”
Three nodded and stripped out of its night clothes. The small pair of pants were immediately a problem past the knee. Three tugged them up, barely forcing them over its thighs before they wouldn’t budge further. Its face was so red, I tapped it for a diagnostic, and received a rude sigil in response.
Next came the shirt. It wore this same uniform every day, but several sizes larger now. By all accounts, this is how big my clothes are. It gives me a warm buzzing feeling to know that, as I watch Three pull the shirt down and barely onto its belly. It looks extremely uncomfortable, but my access to its emotional filters tells me it’s doing more than alright.
It’s too small, I tell it bluntly, which makes Three twitch. Choose a size that barely fits.
I know just the size, ART said, the recycler already whirring to life.
Three hastily got undressed. Well, it tried to, anyway. Its arms got stuck in the shirt, and it had to tear itself free of the pants. It was radiating embarrassment by then, and I was trying to ignore the heat in my power core.
The new clothes were the same uniform, but 1.5x smaller than usual (according to ART). Three pulled on the shirt, barely reaching its hips and not fully covering its belly. The pants could get all the way up, hugging its hips, and Three barely managed to get the button clipped.
It looked up at the cameras, disbelieving. Really? This one?
I quite like it, ART said.
1.0? Three asked plaintively.
What can I say? The uniform always looks good on you.
With a frustrated gesture, Three left its cabin to make its way to the MedBay. I left my cabin too, making sure I got there first. ART had the platform warm and the fluid pump ready. It was Three’s one year anniversary of its configuration change, and we were going to celebrate in its favorite way: collecting data.
When Three stepped inside, I grabbed the resupply nozzle. It hefted itself onto the table and I connected the nozzle to its port. I swirled the metal around slightly as I found the right angle, making Three shiver. Then it was in, and I pressed slowly on the valve to initiate its resupply.
Are you ready to see how much you can take?
Three nodded, too shy to look at me directly. I rubbed at the exposed part of its stomach, feeling the empty swell of it under my hand. Three squirmed and sighed, nuzzling against me in the feed. It knew better than to touch me out here. Not yet, at least.
It filled out slowly as we watched a documentary in the feed. I left ART to toy with Three’s firewalls while I focused on the flow of resupply fluid, timing it just right to keep Three distracted until it was nearly maxed out.
I couldn’t stop watching its stomach rise, its shirt ride up higher and higher while its button strained, and Three hardly noticed. It was fumbling at its waist now, though, and I batted its hand away.
Let it happen, I told it.
Three relaxed with a groan, and the button snapped off. The zipper opened on its own and Three’s stomach surged out, wider and more swollen than before. I had my hands on it instantly, massaging the tender marks where its inorganics had been trapped. Three sighed, melting back into the platform and going fuzzy in the feed. Perfect — we now had an 87% chance of breaking its previous record.
I eased it along the rest of the way, taking breaks as needed, until its reservoir was as full as it could be. Three was taking breaths much faster than SecUnit standard, its spine bent to accommodate the gravid swell of its stomach. I rubbed soothing circles over its sides, easing more inside as Three whimpered and moaned.
New record achieved, ART sent in the feed. Continue?
I looked to Three, running a careful hand over the tight swell of its belly. It shivered, winced, and then seemed to relax.
Continue. Slowly.
I smirked and gave Three a slightly firmer stroke. It moaned louder, and I continued to grope and soothe it until it could handle a little bit more fluid. It gasped and groaned each time, its skin stretching with more beautiful marks. It might grow a bit bigger, a bit softer, from this session alone. If we did this every time, it would certainly grow more again, but it wasn’t practical. Three was barely functional like this — it was for special occasions only. Until ART could synthesize a resupply fluid with higher macros or whatever they’re called, Three wouldn’t gain much more from here.
Was it weird to feel disappointed? Maybe not. I knew Three wanted it, too. It had shown me the reference images it had originally given ART. It was close to its goal, but not quite there yet.
I think we all wanted it to get there.
Three grabbed my hand and I turned off the valve. It was panting, thighs struggling to press together, pinging me for assistance. I shushed it, placing a hand on the plush plate between its legs. Three rocked against my knuckles and whined, clutching its overfull belly.
You did so well, I told it, stroking its forehead gently. You’ve smashed your last record. Congratulations.
Three smiled up at me, Thanks.
Then I turned the valve again, forcing just a bit more fluid inside, and Three shuddered into climax against me.