As you sit at your desk, using your computer one late night, two gentlemen slip into your home, unnoticed.

They have been watching you for days. They knew that you left your front door unlocked, because of your secluded location, and that you have no alarm on your home. They know much about you; details of your dreams and desires.

As you browse the web looking for the newest innovations in becoming an android, they enter your office where you are working. You are so enthralled by a new story you have found that you don't even notice them slip into your bedroom until one of the reaches suddenly around from behind your chair and firmly plants his hand on your mouth, effectively gagging you. His other hand reaches around your chest and pulls you out of the chair.

As he drags you across the room you attempt to struggle. You try to kick and jerk yourself out of his grasp, but it is no use, there is nothing you can do. He is too strong, and prepared for your defiance.

"Calm Down," he whispers in your ear, but you are too scared to let the words have any affect on your terror; this is happening as if in a nightmare. You have been petrified of being raped for so long, and now you fear it is your time. But the man holding your arms waits calmly while you struggle uselessly.

Then you notice your captor’s companion. A shorter male, wearing a ski mask over his face protecting his identity. He opens a duffel bag and removes some items. He comes over to you and, after removing your watch, places gold bracelets on your wrists and ankles. He says nothing, but moves quickly and knowingly about his business.

'What the hell is going on!' you think to yourself and attempt to say through your gag. All that emerges is a muffled mumble. Even so, they don't respond. Instead they pull your blouse out of your short skirt and unbutton it to expose your midsection, where they place a longer gold band around your waist. It must have been perfectly measured for to you since it fits just right. He then pulls out a choker and places it around your neck, and finally places a gold headband on your forehead and temples. You feel like you are being prepared somehow, but for what?

The man with the bag of goodies then reaches down and pulls out a control panel. It is then that you realize at last what is going on. Instinctively you try to fight, but you know there is no chance for you. He pushes a button on the control and immediately you feel your body slip away from you... There is nothing you can do to stop it.

You relax as you stand straight at attention; arms at your side, head held high. Your captor releases you, knowing you can not escape. They move around, into your field of vision, which is limited by the fact that you can no longer blink your eyes or shift your gaze. They begin speaking to you in a soft tone, which you can't help but listen to.

"Niki, we have done to you what you always wanted," the man with the control panel explained. "We have turned you into a remote controlled, robotic object. Controlled by this unit. From now on, your own self-control will be an illusion. You will continue to get up every morning and go to work, you will still come home and you will still go out with friends when they call, but you will remain under our control at all times. Everything about your life will seem normal to anyone who sees you outside."

You remain standing stiff as a board, unable to speak because they have not allowed you to say anything.

"However, whenever you are home, by yourself, you will be able to only do two things. The first is that you will go online for an hour each day and continue to view all your favorite ASFR areas. Scan for messages to Robo_Niki; that is where we will update you on your own status. Secondly, you will otherwise stand motionless on the pedestal we have set up in your bedroom in a perfect display pose. You will wear what we have programmed for you, and you will pose precisely the way we have instructed you. When people ask what you do in your spare time, you will tell them only about your new found hobby of online stamp collecting, and how it ‘keeps you so busy.’"

Your captor pauses and moves around your still body, touching your hair, chest and butt. You cannot move to stop him. "I know that you can hear everything that I am saying, and you always will be aware of everything around you at all times, even when you are posed. You will always know of your predicament, but you will not be able to do anything about it, nor tell anyone, especially..." they moved around in front of her again, and removed their ski masks. "..us!" he finished. You are totally unprepared for who has really been hiding behind the masks.

When the ski mask was removed, you could recognize your best friend; Emily. It wasn't a big man after all; it was your best friend in the whole world. ‘She must have disguised her voice somehow,’ you think. The other mask is removed to reveal your other good friend, Amy. Both of them smile at you, but you remain unable to move at all.

"We know this is what you have always wanted," Emily continues, "We have been watching your computer when you weren't noticing. Although we know you will love what you are about to become, you will not be able to relay that joy to anyone. No one will ever know how good your life has become; except for you," she explains.

Amy picked up from there. It was the first time she had spoken all night. "Don't worry; we won't leave you to do the same thing every night, at least not always. We already have plans worked out with some people you might have heard of: Macys, 'Dales, Sears. We are going to have you posed in at least one store a week. Won’t that be fun?"

Amy walks closer to your posed form and strokes your arm fondly. "They will know that it is you, a real person, but they won't really understand what this is all about; they’ll think that is just a game we are all playing. No one will ever bother you as you pose in their store windows for hours – or days – at a time."

Amy was cut off as Emily started talking again, "And, you will be also extremely happy when you are rented out as a ‘pleasure-bot’. You would be surprised at how many men where interested in renting something like you for an evening even though they will have to sign ‘non-disclosure’ agreements with us to protect your true identity."

Inside your frozen, useless body, you begin to realize everything they have just said is true. You will never have your own life back. For the rest of your life you will be placed on display, or getting somebody off. And then you realize how right they are. It is what you have always wanted; but now you’re not sure that you truly want it. The problem is that, you can never, ever get out of this. You are now stuck as a remote controlled robot for the rest of your life. A tear leaks from your eye and streams down your cheek.

"Don't worry," chimes in Amy, as if she was reading your thoughts, "we won't leave you like this forever, really. Someday, when we are old and gray, we will release you, and you can spend our retirement telling us about how it all felt." The thought of spending at least the next 25 years like this doesn't really ease your concerns a great deal.

As you see them start to leave the room, you realize that you are still standing at attention. Suddenly, you feel your body moving forward – on it's own – in a very jerky robotic manner; following them. You step into your bedroom where they are standing in front of a pedestal that you do not remember being in your room before. They watch with anticipation as you feel yourself step up on it, and assume a standard mannequin pose. You then find you cannot move at all.

"Since it's Friday, we are going to leave you in this pose until Monday morning," Amy says. "Then you will step down, shower, and get ready for work just as normal. You won't be able to ever tell anyone about any of this; your brain just won't let you speak those words. We will be waiting here Monday night for you when you get back," she concludes, while Emily just watches you standing like a window dummy in your motionless state. "See you later!" they both say with a chuckle. You hear them walk out, lock your doors, and leave in their car. It is very quiet.

It still hasn't really sunk in that you are stuck in your current pose. You try to budge an arm, bat an eye, but find that you are firmly still, with a fist on your hip, your other arm hanging at your side; your gaze is fixed directly ahead of you, staring at the wall. 'Damn; I need to paint that wall,' is the last thing you think to yourself as you stand there utterly still, resigned to waiting out the next 50 hours until your next chance to move will occur.

-Dosman!
December 01, 1999