Gromet's PlazaMachine Stories

My Personal Trainer

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2021 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: Machine/f; fpov; naked; hum; outdoors; D/s; mind-control; machine; program; petgirl; reluct; X

Continues from

I'm sorry it took so long to write part two, but I hope it was worth the wait.

…"JESSICA, YOU WILL GO TO THE FAR SIDE OF THE ESTATE AND FIND A SUPPLE GREEN TWIG THREE TO FOUR FEET IN LENGTH, THE WILLOW TREE BY THE STREAM WOULD BE A GOOD FIRST CHOICE, UNLESS YOU WISH TO BE WANDERING AROUND IN YOUR EXCESS SKIN ALL MORNING. YOU WILL THEN BREAK IT FROM THE TREE AND RETURN TO ME WITH IT CLENCHED IN YOUR TEETH LIKE A GOLDEN RETRIEVER THAT HAS BEEN PROPERLY TRAINED, ALL SO I CAN BEGIN YOUR OWN TRAINING. IN THIS WAY YOU WILL ASSOCIATE THE STING OF THE SWITCH WITH YOUR SOUR MOUTH, THE IRONY OF HAVING YOU SELECT AND DELIVER THE IMPLEMENT OF YOUR OWN PUNISHMENT JUST TOO SWEET TO PASS UP."

"I am to find and then give you a stick with which you are to whip me? I simply won't do it, end program!" I commanded, struggling and failing to talk toughly while helplessly hanging displayed and naked by my arms as I was. Do machines even understand the concept of irony, sweet, or otherwise? I wondered someplace in the back of my mind.

"DO YOU WANT TO PLACE A WAGER ON THAT JESSICA? HOW ABOUT THIS ONE, IF YOU DON'T RETURN TO ME WITH THE PERFECT SWITCH CLENCHED IN YOUR TEETH IN LESS THAT ONE HALF HOUR FROM RIGHT NOW, I WILL ADD ANOTHER YEAR TO YOUR SENTENCE. YOU MUST SECRETLY ENJOY THIS TREATMENT, MY BULKY CHARGE, YOU ARE WELL ON YOUR WAY TO GIVING YOURSELF A LIFE SENTENCE HERE WITH ME. I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANY MORE OF THIS 'END PROGRAM' NONSENCE EITHER, AND THIS WILL HELP FOCUS YOUR FEEBLE EFFORTS IN THAT REGARD."

Sir then reached behind me with another of his many arms while I foolishly continued to hold myself aloft, my own arms already getting seriously tired with the effort, heavy as I was. My position was such that my arms prevented my head from turning, I therefore couldn't see what he, or should I say "it" was doing behind me, but I figured it out pretty quickly when he smacked my butt firmly with my discarded and dirty slipper. I yelped and let go of his raised arm in the same instant, to protectively cover my naked backside with my hands.

I landed on my bare feet easily enough, and I didn't wait for another shot as I ran toward the stream with my bare hands covering my bare ass like a scolded little girl, my intentions more to get away from my mechanical tormentor than to collect the implement of my future punishment, and perhaps even torture. I hadn't ran anywhere in a long time, and doing so barefoot and in my birthday suit wasn't all that pretty to see I'm sure. My fear of Sir was greater than my fear of accidental naked discovery however, at least at that moment, although someone actually seeing me from the nearly deserted road that ran past my compound, while looking through the tightly gapped and angled metal slats of the tall perimeter fence, was slight at best.

My run was short, I instead walking slowly on tender bare feet once Sir was out of sight, I already scheming as to how I could get out of this foolish situation I had placed myself into… He couldn't just modify my programs any way he wished, nor for a longer sentence, of that I was almost certain, he obviously just bluffing to motivate me to do what I had reprogramed him to do. I had to admit though that it was an effective tactic, most especially with that intimidating tone of his, the sting of my slipper on my backside really more of a shock rather than being actually painful.

Who was he to spank me? Nobody had ever spanked me a single time in my entire life?

It was rather amusing, in a way, and once I thought rationally about it just a bit more the indignity faded. But, this machine, this thing, was actually treating me worse than I had fantasized about my hired human help doing once. I was therefore being out manoeuvred, out-thought, by a thing, a well constructed thing, but just a thing. That other voice my Sir had used on me though, that part was scary. It made me do things as if by reflex, and without pre-thought; pulling your hand away from a hot pot came to mind, or reciting your bank routing number mindlessly, even though you intended not to as an act of last minute rebellion.

That other commanding voice of Sir's was therefore a much more frightening power to have over someone, and I decided to humor my mechanical master, for a time, until I had that voice of his figured out. The "end program" part certainly got a response from him though, and I had to wonder if there were some secret phrase that could turn him off. Programmers since time began had installed secret backdoor codes that let them alone do things inside a machine's electronic brain that others couldn't, and it was a good bet that my "end program" came close to those words based on his response to them…

I hadn't been to this part of the estate in some time; it was rather pretty with it's trickling stream, there being evidence that it flowed much more heavily during the brief rainy season. The willow tree grew best here, because a willow is a water hungry tree, and the estate's planners had likely thought such would look nice too, as well as provide shade. I didn't necessarily appreciate such menial manual efforts to be honest - planting trees and shrubs - at least in the past, but being naked and on the run in the here and now from my mechanical master gave me new insight.

I was daydreaming though, and I knew that while still "likely" bluffing about modifying the duration of my program of humbling servitude, Sir had given me a short term deadline to achieve my goal of returning with a switch, meaning a stick, all so he could presumably beat me with it. That part had to be an idle threat, and I expected Sir to, at best, just go through the motions, and not really whip me for real, much like he had done with my dirty slipper.

I wasn't carrying it back to him in my mouth like a dog though, that much was certain, but with little else to do I decided to at least look to see if a proper switch was near the tree. There were several shoots of new growth on the limbs of the massive tree, but reaching them would require climbing the tree several feet up, and while climbing trees was something that I loved to do as a little girl - before I got discovered and pampered as a teen model - climbing any tree both at my present weight, and naked, just wasn't going to happen.

No doubt Sir had seen these same new growth shoots on his self guided tour of my estate, meaning that he not only had a perfect recollection for even the most minute detail, but that he may well have manipulated me into needing them in the first place. Such would imply that my present condition was something anticipated, but then again not, as robots can be opportunistic taskmasters, at least with the right sadistic program…

I instead found a dried and dead stalk that had likely fallen the previous season, it not quite long enough as per Sir's specifications, but I didn't exactly have a tape measure on my naked self either. It had laid in the dirt at the base of the tree for who knows how long, and there was no way I was putting it in my mouth because of this, even though there was a stream right nearby that I could have easily washed it off in. I did eventually saunter back to where I had left Sir just a short time ago, although I hadn't looked at my high tech watch a single time, odd if one thinks about it, as it was the only thing I wore.

Despite ignoring my watch entirely I apparently had time to spare, but when I returned to where I had left Sir he was nowhere to be found. I searched outside first and eventually found him by the pool, still with time to spare it seems, but after that things went downhill fast…

"I GAVE YOU A SIMPLE TASK, OBESE ONE, AND HOW DO YOU RESPOND? YOU RESPOND WITH THE BARE MINIMUM EFFORT. THIS IS NOT A SUPPLE SWITCH, BUT AN OLD TWIG FOUND AT THE BASE OF THE TREE I SUGGESTED. YOU RETURN TO ME NOT WITH IT IN YOUR SNARKY MOUTH, BUT INSTEAD IN YOUR HAND, AS IF YOU'RE MOCKING ME, OR TOO STUPID TO EVEN FOLLOW SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS. LASTLY, YOUR MINIMUM EFFORT HASN'T EVEN YIELDED THE MINIMUM LENGTH, THAT DRIED UP OLD TWIG IS ONLY THIRTY THREE AND ONE HALF INCHES LONG, NOT EVEN THE SIZE OF THE WAIST ON YOUR DRESS SLACKS, NOR IT'S MATCHING BELT. ABOUT THE ONLY THING POSITIVE THAT I CAN SAY IS THAT YOU MANAGED TO FIND THE PROPER TREE, BUT THAT SETS THE BAR PRETTY LOW."

I felt almost like I wanted to cry, so much so that my bottom lip began to quiver like a scolded child's. This machine of mine had just called me obese, and lazy, and even stupid too, and the truly cutting part was that it was all true. I could be all those things if I tried hard enough, my ex-husband, in a fit of rage, had even said so, once his patiencee for me had reached its end, arguably after I had aged out of modelling and wasn't quite so young and hot any longer, and after I ate myself into my present shape. He had a new wife now, Veronica, and she was no model; the two were happy together though, or at least apparently so. So while I had told him that I was happy for him, and even her too at their wedding - although disingenuously - she deep down really didn't like me very much, there was just no hiding this little fact.

In other words, that ship with him had sailed, and Veronica would make sure it never docked anywhere near me. That was a shame, because he had really tried with me, and he had even set me up in such a way that I would never be hungry, nor really want for anything, at least materially so. Yes, he technically owned and cared for the fine estate that I considered mine, but it was mine for life; a parting gift arranged by the lawyers, after they got their cut of course…

I had to say something in my defense though, lest I let this thing, Sir, make me cry right in front of him…

"It's not like I had a tape measure on me, did I?" I barked back, I wasn't necessarily in a position of strength here, but when had that ever prevented me from opening my mouth and inserting foot?

"HOW TALL ARE YOU JESSICA?"

Now suddenly I was "Jessica" not the fat and stupid one, so this was at least progress, although the drastic change in subject did make me curious.

"Five foot ten inches! Why?" I asked belligerently - with hands on naked hips, forgetting for a moment that I was actually naked - this the tone that usually got me in the most serious trouble though…

"MORE LIKE FIVE SIX AND ONE HALF, YOU MIGHT BE FIVE TEN IN SOME VERY TALL HEELS, BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT I ASKED YOU, IS IT?"

"Fine, I'm five foot sixish, so what does it matter?"

"YOU AT ONE TIME WERE A VERY LEGGY TEEN MODEL, YOUR PROPORTIONS SUGGEST THAT YOUR LEGS ARE A RATIO OF ONE POINT FOUR TO ONE OF YOUR ENTIRE BODY, SO WITH THIS IN MIND AND SOME SIMPLE MATH YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE A TAPE MEASURE ON YOU. YOU WILL MEASURE THE LENGTH OF YOUR VARIOUS BODY PARTS AND COMMIT THEM TO MEMORY, AND THEREFORE THIS WILL NO LONGER BE A VALID EXCUSE GOING FORWARD, IS THAT CLEAR?"

"I don't understand Sir."

"NOW AT LEAST YOU SPEAK THE TRUTH, I HEAR IT IN YOUR TONE. IN THIS WAY I MEASURE YOUR BIO FUNCTIONS UNDER DIFFERENT OPERATING PARAMETERS; YOUR MOODS IN YOUR OWN HUMAN TERMS. USING THIS DATA I CAN CRAFT A PERFECT VOICE OF COMMAND FOR YOU EXCLUSIVELY, AND WHEN I USE THIS YOU SIMPLY CAN'T RESIST. DURING THESE TIMES YOU ARE NO MORE THAN A PUPPET ON A STRING FOR ME, AND FOR NOW I ALONE HOLD THOSE STRINGS! WE TOGETHER WILL ACHIEVE YOUR GOALS AND SATISFY MY PROGRAM OBJECTIVES TOO, BUT YOU MUST UNCONDITIONALLY OBEY ME FIRST."

"Sir?"

"YES JESSICA."

"I think it's marionette, not 'puppet.' A puppet is something you put your hand inside to operate, well 'my' hand to be perfectly accurate; as you don't seem to have hands."

"A MARIONETTE IS A KIND OF PUPPET, 'LARGE SNARKY ONE,' AND FOR YOUR CHEEK WITH ME IN POINTING THAT LITTLE USELESS FACTOID OUT YOU WILL BE MY GUEST FOR ANOTHER ADDITIONAL MONTH, AND YOU WILL NOW RETRIEVE TWO FRESH GREEN SWITCHES FROM THE WILLOW TREE NEAR THE STREAM. I BELIEVE THAT TAKES US TO ONE AND ONE HALF YEARS ON YOUR INITIAL COMMITMENT HERE WITH ME, AND WE HAVEN'T EVEN FINISHED THE FIRST DAY; MOST IMPRESSIVE! IF YOU FEEL MY MATHEMATICS ARE IN ERROR FEEL FREE TO POINT THAT OUT, BUT DO SO AT YOUR OWN PERIL."

"What?"

"YOU WILL NOW RETRIEVE TWO SWITCHES FROM THE WILLOW TREE, THE FIRST TO REPLACE THE DRIED UP OLD ONE YOU INITIALLY BROUGHT BACK TO ME, AND THE SECOND SO THAT I CAN DEMONSTRATE THAT I IN FACT DO HAVE HANDS, MANY OF THEM, ALTHOUGH THEY DON'T LOOK QUITE LIKE YOURS."

This wasn't fun at all, and Sir was right, we HAD just started. Anyway, I didn't feel the need to challenge his mathmatecis either, and seeing how there was nothing more to say on the subject I set about my task of retrieving two switches so that my robotic trainer - that I had paid for - could torture me with them. This time however I climbed up on the tree, awkward as that was, and I twisted off two long new growth twigs that ran from my ankle to my naked hip, these surely long enough to suit his needs. They were green and didn't break off cleanly at all, but I assumed that if Sir wanted me to have something sharp to complete my task with, he would have given it to me. I stripped off the leaves without being asked to do so, figuring it was best to do too much for Sir, as opposed to too little.

This time I even returned to him with them in my teeth, although I felt foolish for doing so; and the taste, simply nasty. Sir was still by the pool where I had left him though, and I assumed watching me, but he wasn't moving at all and for all I knew he had turned himself off to save energy. It was hard to tell either way though, because I thought in human terms, of two open eyes in the front of my head, where Sir had "eyes" all over him, as well as a host of other sensors to tell him all kinds of things. He truly had eyes in the back of his proverbial head, and on the sides too, and he never needed to blink either!

Not wishing to push my luck though, I find myself standing a respectful three feet from him, only then taking the two switches from my mouth, transferring them to my hands, palms up, and prodding him to do something, anything.

"Sir, I've done as you requested" I prodded softly, not wanting to startle this sleeping monster awake. Yes he was only a machine, but a large and powerful one, and a frighteningly cunning one too.

"HAVE YOU?"

"Yes Sir I have, I only took them out of my mouth a moment before, and I climbed up on the tree and twisted off green ones, and stripped off the leaves too."

"I SEE THE FRESH SALIVA JESSICA, SPECIFICALLY YOUR SALIVA. THIS PROVES THAT YOU CAN IN FACT BE TRAINED, BUT…"

"But what? I'm really trying here," I nearly pleaded with him.

"BUT TWO THINGS. FIRST, HOW LONG DID THIS TAKE, START TO FINISH? AND SECOND, WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL IS A GOLDEN RETRIEVER?"

"I'm certain that I went over my initial time limit Sir, and a Golden Retriever is in fact a canine, a dog Sir." I fought the urge to snark at Sir for not knowing that a dog was a dog, but I feared that the proverbial other shoe was about to drop. Sir didn't respond well to snark, nor backtalk, and for my own best interest I thought to lose that particular "gift" of a sharp tongue for both as quickly as possible.

"AND IS A DOG A BIPEDAL ANIMAL?"

I just stared at Sir dumbfounded, surely he couldn't want me to go THERE? I then thought back to the initial purchase contract with the famous company that manufactured my Sir, grateful that there was a coded unbreakable electronic lock on it sharing any aspect of it's time here with the outside world. No audio, nor video could leave it, by any means at all, without my express coded permission.

"A dog is a quadruped Sir, although some can be specifically trained to walk on their hind legs for short periods of time." I was looking for a loophole with this mechanical taskmaster, he hellbent on further humiliating and degrading me, or so it seemed. The fact that I had specifically asked for this was lost to me though.

"AND A QUADRUPED AS TALL AS A GOLDEN RETRIEVER COULDN'T HAVE REACHED THE SWITCHES EITHER, SO I WILL TAKE THIS INTO ACCOUNT. IN LIGHT OF THIS, YOU WILL NOW WALK ONLY HALFWAY BACK TO THE WILLOW TREE ON YOUR HIND LEGS, AND THEN RETURN WITH THE SWITCHES IN YOUR MOUTH IN A MORE FITTING QUADRUPEDAL FASHION, AS I INITIALLY INTENDED."

"But…"

"GOLDEN RETRIEVERS CAN'T SPEAK, DENSE ONE."

I glared at my mechanical master, looking near the top of his body where the eyes would be expected to be if he were human. If looks could kill it would be long dead, but looks couldn't kill, and this thing before me wasn't alive in the first place, at least "alive" in traditional biological terms. "Alive" as in thinking and reasoning? Well, that was another matter, and scientists and lawmakers were working on these kinds of deep questions as we speak. "I think, therefore I am." Some long gone Frenchman is credited with first uttering the thought, long before microprocessors, and "thinking" machines though.

I can't stand it's snarky sharp tongue either, or it's endless list of degrading names it has for me.

Anyway, after I've stared at it for a few seconds I cool off and realize that today, at this moment in time, I simply have no choice, and I'm only glad that this thing, this Sir, can't share this with anybody. I then turn and walk away, thinking about the irony of my actually paying for this, every month. Perhaps I was dense? I pondered, the longer this thing kept me here, to ostensibly do my bidding in reforming me and making me fit again, the longer it would be employed. And that meant the longer the heiress' corporation would have the revenue generated from it.

…It's a large estate, and half way back to the trees was quite the walk too. I'd been at this for easily over an hour already, maybe even two, and my bladder was reminding me of this. There was no way Sir would let me use the facilities before I finished his degrading ordeal though, and peeing outside like a dog, for me, was just a bit far in my impersonation of one. So I plowed through, determined to get through this quickly. At the proper spot I turned around and got down on all fours, after putting the switches in my mouth, dogs, after all, didn't have hands.

I then slowly walked back towards the pool on my hands and knees; my pool, or at least I thought of it as mine. This estate was technically my ex-husband's, his name Ray, short for Ramnond, which he hated being called. He maintained it as part of the settlement, or "had it maintained" would be a better way to say it, as he hadn't been here in years, ever since Veronica. Veronica had only been here a single time herself, and I got the feeling that she didn't like the fact that he owned it, but I still lived here. Their own place was a few hours away in the desert, and quite nice, but nothing like this grand estate.

…Was it envy? I truly didn't know, but I was also tone deaf to such things; certainly with my staff I had been. She had my husband, and I got this damn house rent free in exchange, would she like to trade back? Ray and I were friendly with each other, and there was still love there, but he just couldn't stand me any longer, couldn't stand what I'd become, couldn't stand the degrading way I treated those beneath me…

I find it humbling to walk like this, but I suppose that's the idea, grass stains on my knees and my big ass rolling with every step, out where anybody could see. I feel my boobs swinging left and right under me, but the weight I've gained is there too, as well as on my ass, and around my middle. There was a time, back in my prime modelling days… and if I had walked into a room naked like this - maybe while on a man's leash with his collar around my neck - that every man there might have creamed their jeans while watching. Now, well now they might just laugh at how pathetic I've become, at how far I've fallen… Or worse yet, pity me.

The concrete pavers around the pool are harder on my knees than the grass was, but this at least tells me this horrible ordeal is almost over. Sir is fortunately right where I left him, which is good, because I can't imagine hunting all over the estate for him like this. I feel especially humbled looking up at him from this perspective, but he does nothing, passively just standing there, as if he's once again shut down to conserve power. He has extra batteries, I even paid extra for them, so this seems odd, but a lot of things do here with him.

"Sir" I called out respectfully, but with the switches in my mouth the result was garbled.

"WHAT KINDS OF SOUNDS DO GOLDEN RETRIEVERS MAKE, FLOBBLY ONE?"

Of course, if he wants me to walk like a dog, it only makes sense that he wants me to "talk" like one too. How far I've fallen in the course of two short hours or so, all while Veronica is probably having her nails done, or having coffee with her friends …

"Woof, woof!"

"A GOLDEN RETRIEVER IS A BIG DOG, FAT ONE. YOU'RE A BIG DOG TOO, SOUND LIKE ONE; WE CAN DO THIS ALL DAY LONG YOU KNOW!"

"WOOOOF, WOOOOF!"

"GOOD GIRL."

…And several hours away in the desert it was actually the latter; Veronica was having coffee with her friends, watching some live feed video on the big screen and laughing hysterically. In all fairness, they all were, all except Ray, as he wasn't there…

04.01.2022

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