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Technology tickles

TicklishTiger

TMF Poster
Joined
Jul 15, 2005
Messages
92
Points
6
Hello, all. First time story post for me, so here's to hoping at least some of you find it to your liking. Enjoy.


It has taken a year, Rachelle thought to herself, still feeling the butterflies about her first assignment, but here’s your chance. “Now just don’t screw it up,” she muttered with a rueful half grin. At twenty-two Rachelle Hyatt graduated with a degree in journalism, then spent a disappointing year just trying to find a job before, out of the blue, the local affiliate to NBC called with an opening. Rachelle jumped at the opportunity. Admittedly, the first year with KCTV had hardly been glamorous. She spent as much time getting coffee and serving as a personal assistant to the more seasoned reporters than she did writing what blasé fluff pieces they were too self-important to write themselves. Still, she did it, and she chalked it up to “paying her dues” rather than paying any attention to that little voice inside that made her wonder if her looks were getting in the way of being taken as a serious journalist. Her friends in college had teased her that her high cheek bones, killer curves and long black hair guarantee her getting in front of the camera before any of the rest of them, but the reality had turned out much different. And then when an older male coworker called her “doll” for the first time she couldn’t help but wonder if that little voice was speaking some small amount of truth. She corrected him, of course, and he hadn’t done it again since, but it didn’t do anything to deplete the almost palpable chauvinistic air in the mostly male television station.

“Well, they’re going to take you seriously now,” she said softly to herself. She was going to show them all just what she was made of. After all, she had been the one to ferret out the true worth of the Sinclair Securities story when everyone else thought it nothing. She had doggedly stuck to her guns and when she uncovered the technology giant was actually going to debut an advanced multi-role robot with civil security and military capabilities, and subsequently forcing the tech giant to come clean early, her boss rewarded her with the lead.

“You’re the one who shook this story from the trees,” he had said. “It’s only right you be the one to follow it through.”

Her cameraman, Mark, pulled the news van into the parking lot of Sinclair Securities and engaged the emergency brake with a series of ratcheting clicks. Rachelle slid the side panel door open as Mark stepped out of the driver’s side and then met her on the other side.

“Are you ready for your big debut?” he asked with an encouraging tone as he grabbed the shoulder mount camera.

Rachelle took a deep, steadying breath, grateful for his support, then absently ran her hands over the curve of her breasts, smoothing her white blouse that was belted into her black slacks. She exhaled loudly and then nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Though clearly an unconscious gesture, it was nonetheless one that stopped Mark in his tracks. Then, as though suddenly aware of his staring, he snapped back to the task at hand. “Um, yeah, don’t worry, kid. You’re going to knock em’ dead.”

Inside the lobby, a small crowd had already gathered before the dais upon which stood a huge figure covered by a blue cloth drape. Whatever it was, it was vaguely humanoid in shape and stood easily ten feet tall. Forward and slightly to the left of this stood a podium behind which a man, balding on top and dressed in an expensive black Armani suit, engaged another man dressed in a white lab coat in easy conversation. To the right, a sturdy metal table with a cinder block gave a low-tech, blue collar counterpoint to the surroundings.

Rachelle and Mark made their way toward the dais just as the man in the black suit turned toward the gathered multitude and clicked on the microphone at the podium. There was a momentary ring of feedback before the man tapped the mike with a finger and joked, “Is this thing on?” There was a subdued bout of laughter and then he continued. “Good morning, everyone, and thank you for coming. My name is Scott Sinclair, chairman and CEO of Sinclair Securities. Most of you know my company for its state-of-the-art home and business security systems that have made us a leader in the industry around the world. Everyone from families, to celebrities, to banking institutions rely upon my company for their high tech and security personnel needs. But what would you say if I could provide you both state-of-the-art electronic security combined with the vigilance of active, highly trained personnel?” Mr. Sinclair brought his hands up before himself and interlaced his fingers. “A perfect blending of the advantages of technology and a mobile sentry; a sentinel to provide security that never got tired, never fell asleep on the job, and did not get distracted by the mundanities of life. Well, look no further, ladies and gentlemen, because I give you that future today. I give you the SI-237.”

Rachelle gasped along with the rest of the crowd when Mr. Sinclair grabbed a handful of the cover and tugged sharply once. The cloth cover fell away with a whisper, revealing the hulking form of the four-armed, metal goliath beneath.

The room erupted with camera flashes and Mark’s jaw dropped open beside Rachelle. He bent at the knees as he aimed the camera up at the frightening form of electronics and steel and whistled low. “Looks like Robocop meets Clash of the Titans,” he said, and Rachelle couldn’t disagree. The bipedal automaton stood every inch of ten feet tall atop legs that could bend at the knees either forward like a man or backward like a bird. And each leg was an engineering marvel unto itself, revealed by the open housing that exposed the inner workings in its present powered down state. The more menacing aspect, however, was the torso that sported two separate and distinct pairs of arms that looked like something out of a Mad Max erector set. The first pair was larger and attached to a ring that looked like a chrome tire lying on its side. Rachelle couldn’t be sure, but it looked as though that ring was capable of spinning 360 degrees, allowing for no safe avenue of approach to the thing—provided somebody wasn’t too intimidated to even try. The hands—if they could truly be called that—were actually clamps that appeared as if they could close around a good-sized sapling and wrench it from the ground. What the black lining inside those clamps was for she could only guess. The second pair of arms, situated just below the first, was attached to a second, slightly smaller ring. These arms were smaller, though each was still longer than her own arm, than the more intimidating pair above it and ended with traditional “hands”, as it were, with five articulated digits each. And if the body of the monstrosity wasn’t enough to give any ne’er-do-well pause, the polished chrome helmet that served as its head sported a single intimidating slit for eyes.

“Now I know what you are all thinking,” Mr. Sinclair said amid the continuing camera flashes and hushed murmurs. “Can the SI-237 live up to all the hype or is it just a 1.6 ton, sixty million dollar piece of lawn art? Well, I’m glad you asked.” Mr. Sinclair then withdrew what looked like little more than an innocuous pen light from inside his jacket pocket and held one end close to his mouth as he said, “Command word: activate.”

An ominous hum suddenly thrummed in the air as the exterior housings closed over the sensitive inner electronics and the rings to which the arms were attached completed 360 circuits in opposite directions. The crowd, Rachelle included, took an unconscious step backward from the intimidating piece of hardware as it straightened.

“The SI-237,” Mr. Sinclair said to them all, “is capable of standard electo-optical vision—not unlike how you or I perceive the world—but is also capable of thermal, ultraviolet, and limited X-ray imaging. The exterior casing of this urban unit,” he said tapping the molded abdominal plate, “is proof against munitions up to .50 caliber. And as for physical strength…” Once more Mr. Sinclair held up one end of the black control rod close to his mouth. “Command word: demo one.”

The SI-237 unit turned first its head toward the cinder block to its right, then the torso turned to match the same direction, before finally the legs took a single step each toward its target with a resounding clank of each footfall. A thin, red laser light from the slit in the robot’s helmet flashed briefly over the block, appearing much like a grocery store scanner, before the larger right arm crushed the block in a single hammer blow. Then the smaller right arm reached forward and picked up one of the fragmented pieces of the block in its human-like hand. With a high pitched, mechanical whine the metal digits crushed the piece of stone like Styrofoam before the massive construct then turned to face the assembled mass once more.

“Mr. Sinclair, a question, please!” Rachelle said the words almost before she realized she was speaking.

The CEO of Sinclair Industries, drawn by her outcry, spotted her raised hand in the small crowd and his eyes narrowed a bit.

“Rachelle Hyatt with KCTV news—“

“Yes, Ms. Hyatt,” Mr. Sinclair interrupted with a raised hand, “I am aware of who you are.” To the rest of the assembled crowd he said, “For those of you who don’t know, Ms. Hyatt here is the reason for this rather impromptu press conference on the SI-237. Her eagerness to prove herself has caused my company no small amount of trouble trying to keep this product a secret until it was ready for a full demonstration.”

Rachelle did not like the condescending finger wag in her direction he used to punctuate this last. She didn’t know if it was the money talking or if being an ass just came naturally to him. Either way, she pushed that thought to the back of her mind. She was on assignment, her assignment, and she would be the professional no matter what.

“Mr. Sinclair, in addition to the military role you hope to secure for your company with this product, you mentioned also an urban one. Is this confirmation of the rumors of your intent to embed these units with local law enforcement? Eventually, even to replace them?”
Scott Sinclair raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. “My, you have been doing your homework, haven’t you, Ms. Hyatt. That tenacity may just get you into trouble someday.”

Rachelle ignored this thinly veiled attempt to intimidate her. “So that is confirmation then?”

Mr. Sinclair straightened and sighed. “Indeed it is. The SI-237 is capable of everything your typical police officer can do, to include subduing a perpetrator and taking them into custody, all without putting an innocent human life in harm’s way.”

“But given what we have just seen, given what this robot is capable of, there are those who would say it is unconscionable to put something like this on the streets without some kind of human mind at the control. Let’s face it, if a human being were ever treated—even for a moment—like that cinder block…”
“You are worried the SI-237 cannot distinguish between an inanimate object and say, a perpetrator? I understand your skepticism, Ms. Hyatt—applaud it, in fact. But if you are worried the SI-237 cannot tell the difference between a human arm and, say, a tree branch, well your fears are unfounded. I know! Perhaps a further demonstration is in order. Please, come up to the dais and I will show you what I mean.”

Rachelle’s hesitation showed clearly on her face. She did not like the idea at all of placing herself in the status of guinea pig for a pompous billionaire’s untested technology, but could she afford to back down now? She had called his product into question and now he was answering that challenge. She had to admit, it would do wonders for her ratings. Besides, if she really wanted to make this, her first assignment, a stand out achievement, what better way to do so than to take center stage before all the news outlets, not just her own.

Wiping the last vestiges of her nervousness from her face, she moved to the front of the crowd and then ascended the dais with Mark’s, and every other news camera, rolling on her.

Mr. Sinclair met her at the top with a handshake, and Rachelle couldn’t help but notice the mischievous gleam in his eyes. It gave her the worst feeling he was up to something. “Wonderful to have you, Ms. Hyatt”, he said. Then to the crowd, “A round of applause for the brave and beautiful young reporter.”

The assembled mass politely obliged as Mr. Sinclair ushered her to stand before the SI-237, that mischievous gleam in his eyes now spread to his thin smile.

“There you go, Ms. Hyatt, just stand right there. Oh, and take this.” The man in the white lab coat handed Mr. Sinclair handed a two foot metal rod that looked like a spare part from a microphone stand, which he subsequently handed to Rachelle. He then took one step back from her and addressed the reporters. “Ms. Hyatt will play the part of the unruly perpetrator intent on doing me harm. After activation, the responses of the SI-237 will strictly follow a preset of algorithms, from which it will analyze in a billionth of a second to choose the best courses of action.”

Into the control rod, Mr. Sinclair then said, “Command word: guardian.”

At that the robot seemed to come alive with an energy not previously witnessed. The same red scanner they had seen before swept briefly over the entire room as the head completed a rapid 360 turn.

“Now, Ms. Hyatt, if you would be so kind as to to strike me with the rod.”

Rachelle looked doubtfully from the metal rod in her hand to the CEO before her. Sure, she was standing directly in front of the robot, but Mr. Sinclair was not even a couple of feet away. “Mr. Sinclair, I can’t hit you with this.”

Sinclair looked smug. “You are right, Ms. Hyatt. You can’t, but for entirely the wrong reason. Come now, being the center of all this attention hasn’t given you a sudden case of the frights, has it?”

Rachelle’s eyes narrowed slightly at the taunt. Fine, if the billionaire wanted to play a game she would play. After all, she had had enough boxing lessons in her life to know she could swing fast without necessarily hitting hard. With a strength born of toned athleticism, Rachelle swung the rod at Mr. Sinclair’s arm.

She didn’t even make it halfway.

The speed of the SI-237 was incredible. In the blink of an eye, the clamp attached to the larger of the two arms on the left side reached out fastened around her wrist. Rachelle was suddenly aware of the function of the black lining within the clamps she had noticed before. With the speed of an inflating airbag, the lining had increased in size until her wrist was held snug and secure.

Stop!” came a loud and metallic voice. “You are in violation of the statue prohibiting assault against another human being. You are hereby remanded into custody until an as-yet-to-be-determined trial date can be found. You have the right to remain silent…

Rachelle was not listening, the shock of the speed of the massive construct still playing in her mind. As it continued to read her Miranda Rights, the arm that had captured her swing lifted her from her feet and then pulled her close, into the waiting clutches of the two smaller arms. One articulated hand immobilized her free arm at the wrist while the other plucked the weapon from her other hand. The black lining in the clamp deflated a moment then, but she did not fall. Instead she was held in place by the two metal, human-like hands, that fed both her hands into the clamp. In a moment, the black lining inflated and she was secure once again, hanging there by a single arm of the security robot before the rolling cameras of every news station in the city.

“Woah!” Mark said as he zoomed in with his camera on his beautiful partner’s face. He panned down from there, slowly taking in the press of her breasts against her blouse, and he bit his lower lip as he noticed her blouse had come untucked from her pants, exposing the smooth, toned skin of her sexy belly, showing just a hint of the lower curve of her bra.

At this the crowd of reporters applauded, and Mr. Sinclair joined in this. “As you can see,” he said indicating Rachelle’s rather embarrassing condition, “both speed and accuracy. The SI-237 has effectively immobilized the perpetrator without causing even the slightest harm. Once the situation was under control, the SI-237 would then release her to the first law enforcement officer it came across. But that’s not the end of the demonstration!”

“Um, yeah, I think it is,” Rachelle said wriggling a bit, feeling a blow of air from one of the robot’s exhaust vents ruffle her hiked up blouse. One of her shoes had dropped off amid her futile struggling, revealing perfect red-painted toenails and a sexy, elegant arch. “You can tell it to put me down now.”

“What if the scene were not yet secure?” Mr. Sinclair continued as if he hadn’t heard her request. “What if Ms. Hyatt were a part of a mob that had yet to be dispersed? What then?” He raised the control rod once more and said, “Command word: stow.”

At that the second clamp of the opposite arm fastened around both of her ankles and the black lining secured her in place. With a surprised “Eep!”, Rachelle was suddenly horizontal before the crowd, the robot’s arms raising her even higher into the air like a ferris wheel arc. As she cleared the robot’s head, the elbows of the construct bent to bring her closer to its body until she came to rest dangling like a human hammock at shoulder level behind the SI-237.

“There you have it, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Sinclair said with a beaming smile. “Now the perpetrator is safely tucked away until the sentry deems it safe to find local law enforcement.”

The crowd applauded again, clearly won over. Mr. Sinclair took a moment to bow before the admirers of his work, visibly ignoring Rachelle’s calls to be put down. The applause went on for longer this time, but when it finally did subside Mr. Sinclair raised a considering finger into the air.

“But Ms. Hyatt does raise a valid point,” he said. “So I want to conclude this press conference with a demonstration that will assure you all the SI-237 cannot mistake a human being for an inanimate object.”

At that Mr. Sinclair touched a button on the control rod and Rachelle once again rose up into the air, but this time the robot turned her as she cleared its head so that now she hung facing down. The SI-237 stopped her above its head and Rachelle’s eyes widened in surprise as the arms pulled her a bit more taut between the clamps, thereby exposing even more of her belly and bra to the crowd.

“These hands,” Mr. Sinclair said, tapping one of the articulated robotic hands of the SI-237 with his control rod for emphasis, “are capable of exerting a force of four-hundred pounds per square inch.” A hush fell over the crowd as the CEO pressed another button, causing the smaller arm ring beneath the larger to rotate 90 degrees. At the end of that turn both of the smaller arms raised into the air, one in front of its chest and one rising behind its back, and both hands opened with a whir of servo motors to settle upon opposite sides of Rachelle’s ribcage. She gasped when the cold fingertips made contact with her skin.

“Such a force,” Mr. Sinclair continued clinically, “could crush every bone in Ms. Hyatt’s torso—and it would, if not for the multitude of sensors telling the SI-237 it now holds a human being in its grasp and not a piece of stone. So those same hands that can impart enough force to shatter rock can also do this…” The CEO pressed held up the rod yet again and spoke the words, “Command word: pulse.”

The first touch was electric.

“Hey!” Rachelle shouted, and she jumped as the automaton’s index fingers on both sides of her ribcage pressed briefly and released. It was firmer than a light graze would be, applying just enough pressure and movement to roll a millimeter across the rib on each side; there for a maddening instant and then gone. Two seconds later, however, the middle fingers did the same thing. “H-hey!” Rachelle blurted, the second sensation catching her even more off guard than the first.

The crowd watched with clear confusion on their faces. The movements of the robot’s fingers escaped their notice at first, given Rachelle’s seemingly unexplained exclamations and body tensing, but every two seconds, without fail, the muscles in her body would contract as though a current were being induced. The pulses were making their way down each finger in turn—to include the thumbs—but by the sixth pulse, she was giggling with each touch; she couldn’t help it. In between the ticklish jabs of the SI-237, though, Rachelle was staring daggers at Mr. Sinclair. This was the reason behind that mischievous gleam in his eye, that smirking smile; he had planned this all along; planned it as payback for outing his program early.

“Sinclair, you—eep! Turn this thing off right—ha ha! Stop! Hee hee! I can’t take—hee hee hee!”

Realization seemed to dawn just then on the crowd of onlookers. The SI-237 was tickling her, slowly, methodically, right there before their eyes and there was nothing she could do but take its punishment. A few of them laughed too, some at the spectacle of this beautiful woman being tickle tortured, still others laughed out of nervousness, knowing just how ticklish they themselves were and glad it was not themselves being titillated thus.

All the while, the ticklish sensations racking Rachelle’s body were becoming worse if only for their tenacity. Every touch caused her to flinch under its torture, but she could move little. Between the taut hold of the robot and the weight of her body between the secure holds, there was nowhere to go. “Stop it! Ha ha ha! S-Sinclair don’t—tee hee hee! I—ha ha ha ha!” Her giggles had now reached a point where they continued even between the pulses of the robot’s fingertips, as if that gentle press and rub across each rib had somehow caused each nerve ending to continue firing.

“I’m sorry, my dear, I’m having some difficulty understanding you,” Mr. Sinclair said to another round of laughter from the crowd. “Could you repeat that?”

Rachelle’s giggles were a continuous flow now, punctuated by the swell of her breasts against her buttoned blouse with every rapid breath, and the sway of her hips with every little jump and squirm, but she did manage the word, “Don’t”.

Mr. Sinclair cupped a hand to his ear, prompting further laughter from the crowd. “I’m sorry, one more time?”

“Ha ha hee hee—don’t! Ahhh! Tickle!”

“Oh, of course! You meant to say don’t…” Sinclair held up the control rod and then spoke the words, “Command word: tickle.”

Rachelle shrieked as the pulsing finger torture of the robot played her ribcage like a professional piano player on “Great Balls of Fire”. Worse, now the hands were moving up and down her torso in a terrible demonstration of just what scritching, squeezing and wiggling digits can do to a ticklish young woman’s midriff. Rachelle could not talk, for her voice was far too busy rolling echoing laughter off the walls of the lobby. She could not see, for her eyes were closed tight and her head thrashed back and forth under the mechanical assault on her ticklish ribs, belly and even her hips. The mechanical hands flowed up and down her middle as easily as water, dropping so low as to allow the fingers to tickle her backside as the thumbs simultaneously probed the hollows just inside her hip bones; and so high the metallic hands actually cupped the base of her breasts as they tickled beneath her blouse.

And just when she thought she would lose her mind to the tickle torture she was helpless to prevent, the torment of metallic fingers against her bare skin ceased their attack as suddenly as it all started. Not knowing why the reprieve, nor caring, she sagged in the grip of the mechanical giant as the laughter of the crowd witnessing her plight also subsided. She was still weak-kneed as her feet touched down to the floor of the dais, supported by Mr. Sinclair until she could stand on her own.

“I told you your tenacity would get you into trouble one day, Ms. Hyatt,” he said softly so only she could hear.

Rachelle only nodded, still recovering somewhat from her ordeal. She smoothed her hair back as she slipped her foot back into the shoe that had fallen sometime earlier, and then finally met his eyes. “Tell me something, Mr. Sinclair,” she said, gesturing vaguely in the robot’s direction with an unsteady finger, “you still have more research to do with this…torture device you call a security robot, correct?”

Mr. Sinclair paused as he considered her, not sure what to make of her question. “Yes,” he said at last. “At least a year, possibly two.”

Now the mischief gleamed in Rachelle’s beautiful brown eyes as she gave him a surreptitious smile. “Do you need any more test subjects?”
 
Very good story. The ending seemed to come out of nowhere but awesome nonetheless.
 
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