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City of Bears - Series 2: Special Delivery Episode 5: Never Work Again!

by Wesley Bracken

Mitch was a piece of trailer trash, and he was damn proud of it. he lived in a run down mobile home out on the edge of town, over where the Indian reservation started. A high school drop out, the only thing which interested him was his body. He worked out whenever he could, and it showed on his brutish form which he loved to show off, for he was rarely seen sporting anything other than the same dirty wife beater and boxers for weeks on end. Each day, he would wake up, lift his weights, maybe go make some money if he'd managed to find some position of a road crew, and then work out some more, and finish up at the bar down the street for a few beers and a brawl or two with his fellow lowlifes. Everything else in his life showed almost no attention what so ever. Trash littered the floor of his trailer, his mattress had several springs poking from it, and rats had been known to make their way in and out freely. Mitch himself wasn't one for cleanliness either, almost never showering, and so always smelling of stale sweat. His hair had grown long and tangled, though he usually kept his beard shaved off. But mostly, he was happy as he was, though he knew there was room for improvement--he just had no interest in being the one to improve anything.

So when the package arrived on his doorstep after his morning workout, he was certainly curious as to what it might be. He didn't have a computer, so he hadn't ordered anything, and none of his family sent him gifts, most of them being too busy funding whatever drug habit they were binging on at the moment. The package though was very large, coming up to his waist, and fairly heavy, even for him. Without looking at who sent it, or checking that it was in fact addressed to him at all, he ripped open the top, dug through the piles of packing peanuts, and ran into a hard, chrome sphere. Now very curious, he picked up the box and dumped it out onto the ground, peanuts flying everywhere, and a metal form clunking to the ground amidst the trash of his home.

It was a robot. It was a mother fucking robot. About three feet high, made entirely of sleek chrome, Mitch dug around in the foam, eventually uncovering a thick instruction booklet, the cover emblazoned with the title "Butler Bot 3000" and the tag line beneath: "Never work again!"

He flipped through the thick booklet, but most of the big words kind of flew past him to honest, but he definitely understood "Never Work Again!" This thing was going to clean up after him, make him meals, and leave him all the time in the world for working out, and whatever the fuck else he wanted to do. Who knows? Maybe it could actually make him money while he was at it--after all, never working again wouldn't count if he needed a job after all. He flipped the robot upright and began searching for the power switch, which he found on the backside, and turned it on.

Nothing happened for a moment, and then there was a whir of motors and crackling of static, as the robot began to jiggle and wave its arms about, and slowly lift up off of the ground. This was some pretty impressive technology, Mitch thought, if it could actually levitate. After a minute of warming up, the eyes on its head flipped open, revealing yellow orbs, and after a few strange noises from its mouth, it spoke, "Butler Bot 3000 booted up, initialized and ready to serve. Searching for master. Master acquired," it said, focusing on Mitch. "How may I serve you, master?"

It actually worked. Holy crap, he had a real life electronic butler, who would have thought that was even possible? "Uh...hi, I'm Mitch."

"It is good to meet you, Master Mitch. How may I serve you, master?" The robot repeated.

"Don't you have a name? I can't just call you 'robot.'"

"You may call me whatever you wish."

"Oh, alright," Mitch said, then thought for a moment. "I guess I'll call you Jeeves. That's what all the butlers are named in movies, right? And uh, well, I guess you could start by cleaning this place up. It's a bit of a mess," Mitch said, unsure of what to ask for. But cleaning would be useful at least, and give him some time to think of better tasks for his new butler to accomplish.

"Yes master," Jeeves said, and immediately began zooming around the room, picking up junk from the floor and...eating it. It would pick up something, and shove it into it's mouth, and then pick up something else, and do the same. He saw it going for a favorite shirt of his, but before Mitch could say anything, it had disappeared down the robot's throat.

"Hey, hey! Hold on, what the hell are you doing? I like that shirt," Mitch said.

"I am cleaning, master."

"By eating my stuff? What the hell does that do?"

"I do not understand the question. I do not eat."

"You're putting stuff in your mouth, aren't you?"

Jeeves whirred for a moment, then binged like a timer had gone off in its head. "Misunderstanding identified. I do not eat. What resembles a mouth on my chassis is a input channel for my internal matter converter."

"Your what?"

"My internal matter converter. The Butler Bot 3000 model comes equipped with a internal matter converter, whereby all inserted objects are broken down into base particles, which can then be reassembled into new forms of matter as the master requests."

Mitch just stared at it blankly, unsure of what he had just said. Jeeves waited a moment to see if Mitch would say anything, and then resumed shoving items into his mouth. Still confused, Mitch decided to ignore it. The robot probably just stored stuff away, and would put it where it goes later. He grabbed his cell phone from the table nearby. He needed to call Jimmy, and get him over here. He'd get a kick out of this. He wrote him a text telling him to come over right away, and that he had a surprise for him. Just as he sent the note, he heard a loud grinding of metal, rushed back and found the robot next to his weight bench, devouring it piece by piece.

"What the fuck are you doing!" Mitch shouted, ran over and tried to pull a weight from the robot's mouth, who sucked it in anyway.

"I am cleaning--as you asked master."

"You're eating my god damn weight equipment! This stuff is valuable. Spit it the fuck out!"

Jeeves whirred for a bit, and binged again. Apparently this was going to be a common occurrence. "Error detected in master's logic. Mission of Butler Bot 3000 is to ensure that master will not need to work again. Work includes all activities which require physical or mental exertion. Weight lifting equipment requires physical exertion. Therefore, weight lifting equipment is contrary to Butler Bot 3000's stated goals, and unnecessary for master's life without work. Cleaning requires removing and disposing of all unnecessary items from the master's premises. Weight lifting equipment is an unnecessary. Therefore, butler bot ought to clean up all work out equipment found on master's premises." As soon as it finished speaking, it picked up another weight and swallowed it down. Mitch had no idea where it was putting all of this stuff--it had already eaten more than it weighed. Hadn't Jeeves said something about breaking down the stuff it ate earlier? Was it really destroying his things? He had to stop it. He lunged for the off switch, but it darted out of the way, causing him to tumble over his weight bench and land on the floor cursing.

"Question:" Jeeves said, "Why did master try to turn me off?"

"Because you're out of control! You're destroying my stuff! This isn't what I wanted at all."

The bot again began whirring, and dinged a moment later. "Conflict detected. Butler Bot 3000's stated mission is to ensure that master will not need to work again. Master possesses desire to work. Solution: Butler Bot 3000 must run master optimization program number four." There was a strange flash and grinding which came from the robot's body, and then a door slid open, revealing a syringe neatly tucked inside. Jeeves took the syringe in hand and advanced on Mitch, who tried to scuttle back and block the needle, but Jeeves was too quick, and slammed it into his arm, making him scream. He tried to fight back, and reach for the power switch, but suddenly everything was moving in slow motion--or at least he was.

"What did you do to me?" He slurred, as the robot grabbed him under his arms and pulled him up onto the bed.

"I used by internal matter converter to manufacture a light sedative, a preliminary step for master optimization program number four," it said, "The second preliminary step is a thorough cleaning."

Mitch, terrified that the robot was going to eat him next, tried to claw himself away, but he was too dizzy to get anywhere. He was somewhat relieved when Jeeves pulled a wet sponge brush from his chest cavity, and after ripping off his clothes, began scrubbing him down roughly, contorting him into any number of positions to get at every part of his body, private or public. Mitch, too tired and dizzy to do much of anything but flail uselessly, eventually just went limp, and allowed the bot to do as it willed. In the midst of his washing, he heard his phone chime, and hoped that it was Jimmy, telling him he was on his way over. He could be here in fifteen minutes, and might be able to help Mitch get away from this damn monster robot!

Jeeves finally finished up, and Mitch had never felt so clean in his entire life. His skin was raw from the vicious scrubbing it had given him, but smooth to the touch. Jeeves had even shampooed his hair, which fell about his head in waves. Overall, he'd be happy, if he wasn't drugged and at the mercy of this crazy thing. It's chest glowed again, and it pulled out a second syringe. Mitch fought back meekly, but Jeeves held his arm and gave him to shot. "Stage one: atrophy the master's musculature and encourage the growth of fatty tissue, in order to encourage immobility and diminish desire to work," it said.

Again, Mitch didn't understand most of the words Jeeves used, but he knew it couldn't be good. He felt an odd tiredness and exhaustion radiate out from the shot site, and as we watched, the bicep the robot had injected began to deflate and wither away, as though he'd never worked out a day in his life. The rest of his arm followed suit quickly, leaving it looking like a stick, especially alongside the rest of his heavily built body, or at least, what was rapidly becoming his previously, well built body. The pecs were the next to go, as well as the definition of his back, crossing over to his other arm and down to his waist, where his abs disappeared entirely. He was so caught up in the loss of his muscle mass that he failed to notice that the first arm was bulking up again, though this time with fat, becoming billowy and soft and supple, where there had once been toned muscle. He only noticed the shift when his deflated pec began to inflate again, growing fat and massive and sagging down on the gut which was beginning to grow as well. He pressed against the fat, trying to hold it in, but it ballooned outward, his hand sinking into the softness no matter how hard he tried to stop it. The gut kept growing, and growing, and while it was very loose, it was still very heavy, and grew to engulf Mitch's crotch, and the top of his thighs where he was sitting. He tried to look down and see what was going on, but his movement was restricted by the collar of fat which had grown around his neck, a series of massive chins making it difficult to look around. He tried to get to his feet, but between the drugs and the loss of muscle, he couldn't even get up. He was completely stuck on the bed.

"H...How...How did you..." Mitch stammered, but he was at a complete loss. This had to be a dream. There was no way something like this could happen in real life.

"Stage one successful." Jeeves said, ignoring Mitch, "Begin stage two: Early onset aging in order to encourage thoughtful, measured responses to stimuli, and reduce sexual activity and desire." It prepared a second syringe and injected it into Mitch's arm, who was too tired to even try and avoid it. Almost instantly, a wave of nausea swept over Mitch, as he felt his entire body begin to convulse. His hair began to fall out--not only the hair on his head, but also the smattering across his chest, and even that on his face. Soon, all that remained was a small fringe of hair around the smooth crown of his head, which was a brilliant white. Wrinkles covered his face and hands, his mouth and gums aching as his teeth rotted out one by one, leaving him with none. Finally, he felt a strange tingle in his cock, and while he couldn't see what was happening he had a good idea. It was growing smaller--shriveling really, to three inches, his balls crawling up in his sack. He didn't know how he knew, but he figured he was never going to be getting another hard on in his life without some assistance. He ran his rough fingers over his smooth hairless skin, and tried not to cry, still unable to comprehend what had happened to him. He was old! He was fat and old, and he had no idea whether he would ever be able to change back.

Mitch tried to speak, but nothing he said was understandable, until Jeeves manufactured some dentures and stuck them in his mouth. "Please...please I didn't mean it. Change me back!" he said, his voice raspy and weak.

"Request refused. Master is lying. Master has not yet reached a state of compliance with the mission of Butler Bot 3000. Program will continue. Stage two successful. Stage three: total sedation and mental modification to reduce aggressive tendencies; remove contradictory memories; promote intellectual development, cultural interest, and commitment to a life of leisure."

Jeeves produced another syringe, but before he could stick Mitch for the third time, Jimmy came charging into the trailer. "Hey Mitch, what did you want to show..." he started, then dropped his jaw, when he saw the scene on the bed. "What the fuck is going on?" he exclaimed.

"Jimmy! It's me, Mitch! This thing is out of control, you need to turn it off. The button's on the backside! Hurry."

Jimmy wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't exactly the brightest tool in the shed, but he'd been friends with Mitch all his life, however, he had no idea who the fat, old man lying on Mitch's bed was, but he did know that robots didn't exist, and that they shouldn't be flying in midair. He figured that the best thing to do would be to leave, quickly, and pretend like he hadn't seen anything at all. He floundered his way backwards, scrambling through the foam peanuts on the floor trying to get away.

Jeeves turned to see Jimmy flailing by the door, whirred for a moment and binged. "New subject detected--analyzing...suspect deemed hostile to current programs. Subdue and sedate." It flew across the room faster than Jimmy could scramble away, and sank the syringe it it's hand into Jimmy's neck, who collapsed limply to the ground a moment later. "Schedule memory wipe program to follow current procedure. Resume interrupted program." Jeeves pulled out a second syringe and floated back towards Mitch on the bed, who was gaping at Jimmy, limp on the floor.

"What did you do to him? He was my friend!" Mitch exclaimed.

"Negative. Subdued subject was deemed hostile. Will have all memory of meeting master Mitch wiped from his memory banks following stage three of current program."

"No, this has gone far enough!" Mitch shouted, "I don't want to be like this! I liked being muscular, and young, and dirty, and working out, and being dumb, and all of that! Just let me go back to who I was, and then leave me alone!"

Jeeves hovered for a moment, and began whirring. Mitch expected into to quit and ding again, but it continued. Now was his chance. Using every bit of strength in his weakened body, Mitch heaved himself up as best he could, and stretched out, reaching for the switch on the back of the robot. No matter how far he reached though, he couldn't quite make it, and he collapsed, exhausted. How could something so simple be so damn difficult? he tried moving his massive body again, but it was no use. His legs were effectively pinned by his massive belly, which he could barely move anyway, as fat as they were. As he was searching for some tool he could use to reach around and poke at the button, he heard the worrisome ding, and the bot spoke again.

"Paradox encountered. Butler Bot cannot fulfill mission if Master is returned to normal, for master will desire to work. Butler Bot cannot fulfill mission if program is completed, because master will not be happy with results, despite mental programming. No resolution listed. Hypothesis: master will be happy after the current program is completed, if subdued subject acts as proxy for master's latent desires. Test hypothesis, continue current program. Cancel memory wipe program. Schedule subject modification programs 45, 67, 22, 31 and 135." Finished with his speech, the Jeeves pushed the needle into Mitch's arm once again, whose vision was shrouded in darkness as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*****

Mitchell awoke from a his deep sleep easily, the soft sounds of violins drifting over him. Opening his eyes, he saw Jeeves, his butler, the source of the music, hovering next to his bed. Seeing his master was awake, Jeeves retrieved the dentures from his bedside and carefully fitted them into Mitchell's open mouth. "Good morning Master Mitchell. Did you sleep well?"

"I most certainly did. What did you select for me this morning?"

"Phillip Glass, master, his first symphony for strings. Do you approve?"

"I do, as always." Mitchell said, stroking his massive gut contentedly, and looked out the window, where brilliant sunlight was streaming in. It must be eleven or so in the morning, which was generally when Jeeves woke him to begin the day, not that there was much of it. Mitchell never did much of anything, other than eat his two massive meals for the day, and lounge about, and watch Jimmy, of course. The memory troubled him. Hadn't there been something else he liked to do?

"What is troubling you, master?" Jeeves asked.

"Just...Just, well, I believe it was just a dream I had. I was muscular, and loved working out, and was often dirty, and poorly educated, and it was horrible! To think people actually live such lives," he said, his voice trembling. He himself couldn't bear the thought of work...or could he? Everything seemed strange this morning.

"I am sure it was just a nightmare. Would you like me to administer a dream wipe before we proceed with the day?"

"No no, nothing so extreme will be necessary. It already is passing," Mitchell said, smiling. "Now, how about we get these old bones moving and dressed?"

Jeeves complied, moving the sheets aside and helping Mitchell shift into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, that alone winding the old man slightly. This should be easier, shouldn't it? He didn't usually need this much help getting up. Jeeves pushed from behind, and got Mitchell standing on his shaky legs, and helping to support the bulk of his massive gut, guided him down the hall of the trailer to the bathroom. After a long piss, Jeeves helped him into the shower, where he hosed him down forcefully, gave him a double enema, and then scrubbed him from head to feet with an acrid soap. Mitchell was bothered by it, surprisingly enough, given that this was his daily routine. Jeeves bathed him twice a day, in the morning and at night. However, what surprised him the most was the enema, but why should it? He needed to be prepared and clean for Jimmy after all. Again, at the thought of his...friend? No, his houseboy. Jimmy was just his houseboy, never his friend. Why had he thought that all of a sudden?

Jeeves rinsed him off, still playing the music, which helped calm Mitchell's nerves. He did love Glass' minimalism, especially in the morning. The calm repetitiveness of each track helped remind him of his routine. Finished with the shower, Jeeves took him back to the bedroom and helped clothe him in his usual formal business wear. Sixty inch trousers stretched over his massive waist, an equally huge shirt tucked in, suspenders, high starched collar, socks and dress shoes. It felt surprisingly constrictive, but certainly this was what he usually wore. Another vision flashed before him, of wearing a wife beater, and working out, something from that dream. Had it been a dream? This was almost more dreamlike than that had been. He looked at his fat body in the mirror, and chuckled, imagining himself in a wifebeater. It would look so lower class, so reprehensible, really.

But didn't he live in a trailer? Didn't he live in a run down mobile trailer park, in the worst part of the city? Wasn't he just another piece of trailer trash like...like...Jimmy? It was so confusing, and he'd hoped his worries would clear as he woke up, but they only seemed to grow stronger. Jeeves could tell his master was agitated, "Is there anything I can do for you? I am worried. master."

"I...I need to see Jimmy. Take me to him. I have to...I need to..."

"Jimmy is training right now, and we do not usually visit him until the afternoon. I do not like to interrupt him."

"I know, I know, but...please Jeeves, this is important."

"Very well master, I shall amend the schedule for today," Jeeves said, "But I do not want you to work yourself up. I am worried that you may be sick, and require bed rest."

"I feel fine Jeeves, let's just go see Jimmy." Mitchell said, and started his slow, shuffling walk out the bedroom, and down the narrow hall of the trailer. He could barely fit, it was so narrow, in fact, but that had always been a problem. Why did he even live in a trailer, anyway? Wouldn't be and Jimmy be happier in some condo, or something? Looking out the window as he passed, he saw the rest of the trailer park, and that same worry he'd had all morning began eating at him again. This wasn't right. None of this was right. He shouldn't be fat, or old, or dressed like this, or anything! Something strange was going on, and he felt that if he saw Jimmy, he might be able to figure it out. Jeeves hovered next to him, bearing his cane, which Mitchell took gratefully. What had he been thinking, trying to walk without it? He might as well ask for a broken hip! he passed through the small kitchen, living and dining area, and headed towards a door, through which he could hear very loud music--heavy metal, he believed it was called. It grated on his nerves, but Jimmy was in there. He needed to see Jimmy so badly, and he didn't even know why.

The butler bot opened the door for his master, who waddled into the room, the music blaring in his ears, and a loud clank of metal on metal coming from the weight equipment which took up most of the room. Unlike the rest of the trailer, the entire room was trashed, from half eaten food on the floor to dirty laundry to who knew what else. He waited for Jeeves to blaze a trail through the trash to a fancy chaise on one side of the room, the cleanest piece of furniture there, which Mitchell made his way to cautiously, terrified that he might trip on something, fall, and injure himself. Once there, Jeeves took the cane from him and settled him into the chaise, his fat form cascading around him, and giving Mitchell a perfect view of the man pumping iron in the middle of the room.

He was massive, first of all. At least six foot six, his muscles bulging in every direction, with biceps as large as the man's head, which appeared to be swallowed by massive delts and pecs which were pushed out a good foot, before sloping down to at least an eight pack abdomen. There wasn't a speck of fat on his body anywhere, though he was covered with sweat and grime, his hair long and uncombed. Jeeves gave him a shave every day, but the hair grew back so fast that he had a stubbly beard by noon, and a half inch of growth each night, due to the massive amount of testosterone being pumped through his system by his huge balls. His body was covered with fur as well, thick enough to partially obscure the tattoos which ran all over his body. This was...Jimmy? For some reason, Mitchell's mind kept imagining him as a scrawny dumb pot head, not this muscular, furry hulk with a foot long cock at half mast which Mitchell couldn't help but stare at as he sprawled on his chaise. But that's what he did in Jimmy's room--he watched.

Watching Jimmy absorbed all of Mitchell's focus, so much that even the blaring music no longer bothered him. It made him so happy, seeing Jimmy's youthful, muscular body flex and work and strain to lift those weights. It made him so happy seeing Jimmy's huge cock at perpetual half mast, always ready for another fuck. What surprised him was that there was no feeling of lust for this man, but Mitchell hadn't had a lustful thought in years, he thought with regret. He was lucky if his small cock grew half hard once a year, he was so impotent, but he didn't need sex, so long as Jimmy was satisfied. He didn't need to work out, if Jimmy was a massive hulk of muscle. He didn't need to be dirty if Jimmy was filthy, or dumb if Jimmy could barely string together a sentence. Mitchell was free to be who he really was: old, fat, cultured, and lazy, just how Jeeves told him he ought to be.

The worry and doubt in his mind receded, his dream fading. This was how things were meant to be--but he saw something that concerned him. Jimmy's cock was leaking precum all over the floor. The young man was obviously in need of sexual release, and if Jimmy needed sexual release, then Mitchell couldn't be completely happy. "Jeeves, have Jimmy relieve himself with me, I worry that he is horny," Mitchell said.

"But he is still in the midst of his training. Jimmy does not like to be disturbed, you know that master," Jeeves replied, "He will happily satisfy himself once his regimen is completed."

"No!" Mitchell said, louder than he had meant, "I wish to see him pleasured now!"

Jeeves whirred for a moment, and binged. "Very well master," he said, then floated over to Jimmy and tapped him on the shoulder.

The focused look in the body builder's eyes grew troubled, and he allowed the bar to fall to the ground, noticing Jeeves and Mitchell for the first time. When he was working out, he rarely noticed anything around him--it was hard enough counting his reps without worrying about anything else. "What is it? I working out."

"Yes, Jimmy. But the master is worried that you require sexual satisfaction. Would you please pleasure yourself, so as to allay his worries?"

"Sex? No, I still has arms to work--and legs, and core. I sex later," Jimmy said, and moved to pick up the barbell again to resume his presses.

"Please Jimmy, I see you are leaking. I know you must be horny," Mitchell said, "You can work your biceps while I pleasure you, if you so desire."

Jimmy thought for a moment, shrugged, and got up from the bench, and picked up two sixty-five pound dumbbells and lumbered over to where Mitchell was on the chaise, his cock already hardening. He did like sex, but he had never had sex and worked out at the same time. He did not know if he would be able to do two things like that at once, but he would try. He was horny, after all. Always horny. Master Mitchell took out his dentures and opened wide, allowing Jimmy to thrust his cock down the old man's throat. Mitchell had long since eradicated his gag resistance, in order to please Jimmy's huge cock more, and while the taste of the dirty cock was awful, he had grown used to it, as well as the grapefruit sized sack smacking him in the face as Jimmy fucked. He so did love it when Jimmy was happy. Jimmy began lifting the weights in rhythm with his thrusting, finding it easier than he anticipated. It felt very good, actually, having his cock sucked while also working out. His two favorite things in the world, together. The only two things in his world, actually. A bit of drool leaked from Jimmy's mouth and dribbled through his stubble, though Jeeves wiped it away before it could fall on his master. His master needed to stay as clean as possible. With no more recognition than a grunt, he began shooting his load, pumping almost a quart of semen directly into Mitchell's gut.

When he finished, Jimmy pulled out his cock, which had only shrunk to semi-hard, and allowed the weights to fall to his sides. "Thank you, sir, that very good. It fun, too."

Mitchell smiled, and reinserted his dentures. "I'm glad Jimmy. Are you still horny? Would you like to have some more sex while you work out?"

Jimmy nodded, "I like to fuck your ass, sir."

"Then that's what you'll do," Mitchell said, the turned to his butler, "Jeeves, give Jimmy access to my ass please."

"But sir, we are already late for your breakfast."

"This is more important!" Mitchell yelled, "I have been leaving Jimmy unsatisfied. Change my daily schedule to include a morning service for Jimmy, as well as an afternoon and evening."

"Yes master," Jeeves said, then hovered over and helped Mitchell roll over and drop his pants, revealing his massive ass for Jimmy, who began thrusting into the crack, eventually plunging into his master's open hole, moaning as he long dicked him and continued working his arms and back. Hearing Jimmy moan and grunt as he worked out and fucked his ass made Mitchell far happier than he'd ever been in his life. Truly, this butler had been the greatest thing he'd ever received, and he'd certainly lived up to the advertising. Mitchell knew for certain that he would never work again!