Inevitability
Part Two — Two Transformations
“Angela Lee Foster,” the attendant in the flowing white plastic robe said, standing at Lee’s side as she struggled to free herself from the execution chair, “the court has rendered its decision.”
He held the vial of dollyifying agent out so she could see it. Lee screamed. She pulled on the chair’s restraints futilely. Around them, a group of ape-like guards stood snickering.
“You are hereby sentenced to be transformed into a dollygirl and given over to the BioTrust Corporation, to be used and sold at their pleasure.” The attendant handed the glowing mutagen to a guard. The guard took the vial, turned it between his blunt fingers, and brought it to Lee’s neck.
It’s not fair! she managed to think right before the pinkish chemical was injected. She was my sister! My sister!!
“Nooo!” she screamed. Whoooosh!
Emptied, the pneumatic injector was pulled away. Its purpose fulfilled, the vial was discarded into a nearby waste receptacle. It was done.
Lee’s eyes rolled back in their sockets. The back of her head pressed against the immovable chair. Every muscle in her body tensed. She wailed. Her plaintive cry echoed off the walls and arched ceiling of the otherwise empty execution chamber.
It had been done. They had done it.
The dollygirl agent was a fast-acting erotic mutagen. It was, in fact, the quickest such cocktail in BioTrust’s extensive collection. It wasn’t suited to everyone; the results of a botched transformation, brought about because a subject’s genetic structure was not perfectly matched to the solution, were not pretty. But Lee’s resequencing index was high. The effects of the mutagen were almost immediate.
First, there was a rush of heat from her pussy. The sensation was not at all unpleasant. Quite the reverse: a delightful sensation of tenderness filled Lee’s skin, an all-encompassing warmth blanketed her within its delicious depths. Her nipples hardened. A queer and utterly inappropriate happiness came out of nowhere, shooing all the bad feelings from her head, pushing them out with the force of that suddenly savage contentment.
Lee’s thoughts of her raped sister, her bleak despair over her own fate, disappeared in a flash.
Her lips creased upward in a sudden grin. She released a tipsy little laugh. The feeling was like being intoxicated, only much, much faster, more complete. Lee’s straining against the chair relaxed.
The guards nudged one another, still snickering. Suddenly, they didn’t seem quite so frightening anymore. They didn’t seem quite so ugly, either. Actually, they were handsome, Lee discovered.
Very handsome. I want to fuck them, she thought wildly. She blinked at her own inappropriateness.
A new and even greater blaze emanated from her sex. She grew wet with a rapid-fire desire. Lee moaned. The invisible blanket that had been lain over her grew abruptly less comfortable. A tingling sensation pricked a flesh now heaving with a greater heat and NEED! than any she had experienced before. The men before her, the guards and the court official, had become no longer merely handsome; they had become majestic! They had become GODS! and Lee wanted them. She wanted them badly.
She gasped. Once again she began pulling on the restraints holding her to the chair. Her efforts to escape this time, however, had nothing to do with any actual escape. She wanted to get free so she could jump on one of those MEN! any of those MEN! and fuck him.
“Fuck!!” she cried out. “Oh God, fuck me! Fuck me!!”
She pulled on her restrained arms. She wanted to cup her breasts, where the tingling was growing even more intense. She wanted to finger her pussy, sink her fingers, hell, her whole hand! into herself and masturbate furiously. The tingle was greater there, too.
Her nipples had become blazing pebbles. Her ass felt full and ripe. She wanted to have sex with the whole world! She would be the world’s slut, the world’s whore! she wanted to fuck and fuck and fuck until her brains were cumming out of her pussy, and then she would fuck again!
The attendant left. The guards took charge of the prisoner. The chair, bolted to a raised platform in the middle of the execution chamber, was hinged in a number of places. Working expertly, the ape-men—BioTrust’s genetically-engineered enforcers weren’t really apes, but they had faces and demeanors reminiscent of them—pulled out spokes and adjusted levers. In a flash the chair to which Lee was attached was folded down into a wheeled gurney. All the while, they took opportunities to stroke Lee’s impassioned body, raising her to even mightier heights of carnal need. “Fuck me,” she pleaded.
Eventually, they detached the gurney from the platform and rolled Lee down the entrance ramp into the medjail’s processing suites.
“Fuck me,” she continued to cry out. “Fuck me. Fuck me.” She squirmed on top of the chair-gurney.
One of the guards stopped their motion. He stood over Lee’s panting form, admiring the way she twisted and writhed. She was growing sweaty. Her flesh was starting to gleam.
The guard licked his lips, smiled at his buddies, and put his face down over Lee’s breasts. He wrapped his lips around one of her nipples and gave her suck. He licked the swollen nub of flesh and bit at it gently with his teeth.
Lee’s reaction: she all but exploded with the force of her orgasm. Another guard put his mouth to her pussy. He put his tongue in her and tasted. He flicked her clit. Another crushing orgasm detonated throughout her body, tripfiring paroxysms of pleasure that ran up and down her nervous system. Lee went utterly mindless with ecstasy.
She couldn’t think, she couldn’t see; she could do nothing while in the grip of such powerful sensations as those occupying her but feel them, surrender to them, become nothing more than a vessel of pleasure filled from the touch of men!
In time, the guards finished with her. At the medjail, they were permitted the luxury of using prisoners as much as they liked, so long as no part of their anatomy ended up inside them. Lee was wheeled into a surgical suite and left.
“Fuck me,” she whispered, and so she continued to moan as the gurney, now attached to a motorized system, moved and locked her into place. The room was circular; it was pristine white. It was shaped like a cylinder on its side, longer than it was round. Robotic arms lifted needles and pumps around her, though Lee paid them no attention. A huge robotic pod bristling with even more arms and needles lowered on hinges from the ceiling to hover over her body, but she paid no attention to that, either.
The guards’ attention to her body had not curbed her needs in any way. Under their stroking and petting, biting and licking, they had grown only worse!
“Fuck me,” she squirmed and writhed, crying.
The lights changed. The suite’s engines were put into action.
Having tested themselves, the majority of the mechanized limbs withdrew spiderlike back into the walls, leaving only two thick ones to glide around Lee’s body. Both were heavy instruments. Both carried a pump and a long hose extending up into the ceiling. Taking equidistant positions on either side of Lee, the robot arms bent down and began spraying her with a colorless solution. They worked round her, covering her from top to bottom. They gurney was meshed, so even Lee’s backside received spraying.
Lee was lost to all but the overwhelmingly powerful sexual need instilled in her brain and loins. The neo-hormones were putting her into a state of heat, accelerating the levels of serotonin in her brain chemistry, speeding up her sex drive to previously unimaginable levels. All Lee could think about was sex. As such, she failed to notice the effect of the spray on her still tingling skin. She failed to grasp how smooth she became under the spray’s influence, how the solution was so readily absorbed into her pores, leaving her silky and ever more shiny with each pass. The pores themselves started to fade away, as did all the little freckles adorning her body here and there.
Every birthmark gradually vanished. Her body hair melted, leaving her even smoother to the touch.
The spray arms worked her over twice, then a third time, then a fourth, misting the surgical suite with dense clouds of the plasticizing chemical.
Smaller mechanical arms went to work. Needles were inserted into Lee’s wrists. Fluids were allowed to drain into her. Although she was unaware of this, too, her body was changing physically. Her needs were more than merely sexual. The dollygirl agent was working throughout her blood, inspiring change.
Her metabolism had been accelerated on all levels. In order to keep up with the demands her resequencing DNA required, to grow the necessary flesh, to permanently adjust the brain chemistry to put her into a perpetual state of heat, to keep her organs vital and functioning while her body underwent this carnal metamorphosis, huge amounts of calories, fats, proteins, and other helpful substances were injected directly where needed.
The results were quick. Lee’s breasts began to visibly balloon. Her body grew more shapely. Her lips grew puffier, more accommodating for the cock-sucking tasks they would serve in the future.
A technician in a white bodystocking entered the suite as the dollifying mist continued to build. His face was hidden behind a pair of large red goggles. Using a foot control, the BioTrust employee activated a platform that rose silently from the floor to meet his gloved hands. The keys were touch sensitive, so all the mist did was dew them gently with harmless moisture. His protected fingers worked the controls.
The spray arms ceased their function and withdraw back into the pod from the ceiling.
Near Lee’s head, the wall split open. A large and open metallic dome slid from the previously concealed panel and moved to within inches of Lee’s wet scalp. The hair on top of her head was unaffected by the plasticizing solution other than to wet it down. The technician stepped away from his platform to manually adjust the metal bowl around his subject, aligning everything just so.
The edges of the helmet did not quite make contact with Lee.
The technician went back to the platform. A wall screen activated within his view showing a real-time picture of Lee’s brain. Using the screen as a guide, the technician made further micro adjustments to the halo. He depressed a control. Lee stopped struggling.
The technician hesitated. He consulted the screen again. Using a very sensitive knob, he made some more minor adjustments to the halo. Eventually, he seemed satisfied.
He depressed another key.
The metal bowl extended an array of hair-thin needles in a circle about Lee’s head. They pushed inward slowly, gradually making contact with Lee’s now glistening skin, then pushing in further still.
Lee felt no pain. She wanted to fuck. She wanted only to fuck. Fucking was her life.
Each needle penetrated a very specific section of Lee’s brain. The viewscreen showed it all. More than a hundred little points of light indicated the precise points where the needles ended. Data scrolled down the side of the viewer. The technician read for a minute, then nodded. He depressed a final key.
On the screen, the needles pulsed once, very briefly, inserting, energizing, depositing. Then it was done.
Lee woke up.
Her mouth and eyes popped open. She gasped, startled, suddenly comprehending everything. The world came into sharp focus, her thoughts came with crystal clarity, her memories unveiled themselves before her, unraveling and displaying themselves in exquisite full dimensions the depths of which she could explore now at will. Lee woke up. She really woke up, not just from the sexual frenzy she had been in since receiving the dollygirl injection (she was still sexually frenzied, her need for penetration, her need to suck and to fuck, her need to submit to a man and become his fucktoy, will-lessly serving his pleasure, undiminished in the slightest), but from everything, her whole life up to that point. She woke up, feeling in that first half-second of total comprehension how much time she had wasted in her life, how much energy she had wasted, her opportunities to do things, to know things. She woke up, feeling awake for the first time in her life, truly awake for the first time in her life, for her life to that point, as her memories now revealed to her, had been as if she had been half-asleep throughout it all, in a state of dazed stupor throughout it all, uncomprehending, blind, missing all the small details, all the experiences; she had been anesthetized her whole life, dumb her whole life, deadened to everything that mattered, everything that had been happening all around her every second of every day since she had been pushed into the world from her mother’s womb. She remembered being in her mother’s womb. She recalled her first word (“Mommy.”) and the reaction of her mommy when she said it, the conversation Mommy had had with the neighbor down the hall, Mrs. Gafferson, the expressions on their faces, the smells of the plaster walls, everything! Lee remembered everything! The brain had a near infinite memory storage capacity, and that capacity had just been unlocked, freed. She was a slave, and she was free!
Lee blinked. Her whole life flashed before her eyes. She had heard the expression before—she knew the exact date she had heard the expression before, the exact time, the exact place!—but this was no mere metaphor, no cute expression. It was literal fact. Lee’s whole life flashed before her eyes.
Dates, times, sights, sounds, smells: the recollections were clear, so clear it was as if she were going through her life again. Each moment she remembered, she remembered in that moment, as if it were happening anew. Lee blinked. She shuddered, a million pains passing through her mind, from stubbed toes to broken bones, from scabs to paper cuts. She shuddered, a million good times passing through her mind, from her first taste of chocolate to her first orgasm. She orgasmed, climaxed, feeling every climax she had ever had, all at once, perpetually. And because she had been given the dollygirl drug, because she was becoming a dollygirl, those thousand climaxes became greater than they had been; they became dollygirl orgasms. She felt those dollygirl climaxes, those thousand dollygirl orgasms, those little dollygirl pleasures, those big dollygirl pleasures, with the feeling of the dollygirl she was becoming, and so her enhanced dollygirl desire, her sexual drive, her enhanced sexual need, grew exponentially.
I can’t control this, she thought. I can’t. And in that same moment she realized that she in fact could. She must. For along with her perfect recollection came . . .
perfect clarity . . .
perfect serenity . . .
perfect obedience.
She blinked. This was her third blink in as many seconds. Within that short time frame, Lee’s heightened processing abilities reorganized the way her mind worked.
It was the most natural thing she had ever done. She did it by instinct, the way someone might straighten a crooked picture on the wall, the way someone might put upright a can fallen to its side.
Lee reconstructed her entire mind because the new reconstruction felt right, was right, it was aesthetic, the natural inclination of the human species to order, to make order out of chaos. Lee reorganized her mind: thoughts went there! memories went over here! emotions pushed to that side! her fiery need to be fucked and to serve a man in the center! and overlaying it all, forming the base of her updated, restructured mentality, her more efficient processing power, the tool her mind had become, a deep, satisfying core of serenity . . . calm . . . contentment.
She no longer wanted to fight. She could fight, she realized. She could resist, could escape, could avoid becoming a dollygirl if she wanted—countless options ran through her mind’s eye—but that would be resistance. That would be counter to obedience. That would displease the men who could give her orgasms, who could make her scream with limitless pleasure as they came inside her, as they made her squeal while mounted on their big fat cocks! So, the illogic of disobedience flashed clear to her.
If men were displeased with her, they might not deign to use her. They might not give her the orgasms she so desperately craved. She could not live without more orgasms. She could not survive without being fucked and fucked regularly. So, Lee decided, quite deliberately, that she would be obedient.
She had to be obedient.
Obedience was the only logical choice.
Obedience, she knew, had also been hardwired into her brain as a result of the needles. BioTrust had long since isolated those precise cortical areas to stimulate in order to produce total obedience. But that was only part of it. Lee was obedient because she wanted to be. She wanted to be obedient for the sake of obedience itself, because her obedience to men would make her more likely to be fucked.
She blinked. Her obedience was in itself obedient, she realized. More options became clear.
Her obedience—her obedient desire to be obedient!—fed upon itself, creating a feedback loop within her mind. Obedience bred obedience. Being obedient was obedient.
And she wanted to be obedient.
Her mind restructured itself, again. She completed her second round of metaprogramming. It was easier this time around, Lee having just completed the last restructuring of her mind a half-second ago.
She shuddered again, and then she stopped. She smiled. The smile was deliberate. Exquisitely deliberate.
Smiling pleased men. If she pleased men, they might make her orgasm. And even if they chose not to give her an orgasm, it was still the right thing to do.
It was . . . obedient.
The white-garbed technician removed the needles from her brain. When he gave Lee her first instruction, her first order, she was more than ready for it. “Get up,” he told her.
“Yes, sir,” Lee said respectfully, modulating her voice so as to display as much docility as possible. She was still such a new dollygirl. She wasn’t even finished processing yet. She might not be fucked for hours! The momentary despair she felt at this was eclipsed, of course, by the memories of countless other orgasms running through her memory, perpetually. Everything was so easy now! She got up.
The technician told her where to go, and Lee committed his instructions to memory. She obeyed. She left the surgical suite and headed unescorted for the next stage of her dollygirl development.
Priscilla was pulled from her cocoon as black and shiny as a polished, life-sized rubber dolly, which was in essence what she had become.
Her new skin glistened under the overhead lights of the processing room. For all outward show, she looked as if she were coated in baby oil. She was not really, though. Appearances deceived. Snakes are not slimy; booth babies are not moist, or, at least, their smooth rubberized skin is not. The technicians took hold of Priscilla by her lithe, rubbery arms and pulled her to her feet.
Her first thought: Oh my GOD!!! It was in reaction to the touch of the all-male personnel. She tried to scream out in pleasure. Instead, all she managed was a soft and humiliating squeak! that sounded like what a rubber toy might make if squeezed in the right place.
Again, this was in essence what she had become.
“Squeak squeak!?” she exclaimed, her mouth opening comically in recognition of her new voice. I can’t talk, she realized. I can’t talk!!
The deflated cocoon was lying at her feet. She looked down at it and her feet in shock. I don’t have any toes! Indeed, both her feet ended smoothly, as if she were wearing black rubber stockings. She ran a hand over her perfectly smooth pate. My hair!! she mourned. She was as hairless as a mannequin, a mannequin that had been painted black and polished until she was glossy and bright.
She found the weight of her transformed chest burdensome.
My boobs are huge! Priscilla thought with a mixture of shame and rueful delight. They were easily the most sensitive new part of her. In the growth tank of her cocoon, she had achieved a truly humungous KK cup size, at the minimum. In association with the wasp waist she now sported, she appeared even huger. The Brothelworld’s cosmetic bodysculptors had given her an hourglass figure to die for, an idealized sextoy figure that no real woman could ever possess naturally.
But, then, there was little about her anymore that could be called natural.
The cocoons were disgorged by a conveyor system from the big biomechanics room. The technicians unzipped each package one at a time and pulled their gleaming occupants out onto the main floor. A man pulled on Priscilla’s arm. Once again she squeaked with inflated erotic hyperstimulation.
Waves of delight came at the man’s touch. Her shimmering black skin tingled with each stroke. She was supersensitive: even the feel of the air on her resequenced flesh enflamed with her a burning desire.
Fuck! I need to be fucked! She shuddered at the raw depth of her need. She had had no idea!
The processing room was filled with the loud and delighted squeaks of the newly ejected bioslaves. The noise was like a veritable flock of rubber duckies! The technicians wore ear protection. When Priscilla’s ass got patted to get her in motion, the sudden whipcrack orgasm nearly brought her to her knees. The pleasurable feeling was greater than anything she had ever experienced as a free woman.
I’m a slave, she wept inside, in dismay. I’m a slave! I’m a bioslut! A booth baby!! She squeaked.
They all squeaked.
She stared at her hands. At first, she thought she was wearing gloves; then she realized those were, in fact, her actual hands now. They were smooth and black and utterly doll-like. She was a doll!
I’m a slave! A slave!
Another conveyor belt ran beside the first but going in the opposite direction. On this second belt were raised half-couches. In the middle of each a dildo projected up. The technicians put the booth babies-to-be on these depraved seats, positioning them so that they straddled the seats and were penetrated from behind. Their upper bodies were then pulled down to rest on the remainder of the couch.
No, no, Priscilla tried to protest, but she was unable to resist when she herself was pulled into position.
She could not fight. She was caught up too much in her need to be used—to be fucked hard! Too, a deep and swelling surge of utter servility rose within her blood. These were men! She must obey!
Her penetration made Priscilla squeak even more loudly. I don’t want to be a booth baby! This isn’t fair! This isn’t fair! She struggled but did not pull free of the dildo. It felt too good up her ass!
None of the black mannequin figures could muster the willpower necessary to free themselves. None in the history of the processing plant ever had. They twisted and they squirmed; but they remained in place, held as much by the outrageous desires resequenced into their DNA as by the phallus restraints.
The conveyor system pulled the biosluts through a series of stations. At each a pair of technicians worked to put the final touches to the final product. At the first station, one technician held Priscilla by the head. He tilted her face up while the second fellow carefully inserted contact lenses into her eyes.
A mirror was positioned for the technicians to oversee their own work. It also allowed the booth babies-to-be to see what each station stop did to them.
Priscilla squeaked in horror and consternation. No! No!!
With the contact lenses in place, her eyes had been rendered totally featureless, as if a pair of black marbles had been inserted into her sockets. The shade perfectly matched her new shiny new skin. One of the technicians held what looked like a pair of modified binoculars to her eyes before the conveyor moved on. Priscilla felt a warmth in her upper face, and then the device was pulled away. She tried to blink and found herself now unable. The lenses had been fused to her eyes, never to be removed.
Again at the next station a man held her face while another worked.
An articulated tube was inserted into her mouth. The separate pieces were slickly fit over her upper and bottom lips. Another tool was used to seal them in place. The mirror showed the effect: her features were now completely dominated by a set of thick, rubbery, bright red lips! They all but overwhelmed the lower part of her face. They were so huge, they changed the lines of her face almost entirely.
Combined with the greater transformation of her flesh, she was all but unrecognizable to herself.
Priscilla worked her jaw. As a child, she had seen friends purchase similar-looking massive wax lips from novelty stores. Those were but jokes. These were the lips she would wear for the rest of her life!
The degree to which they parted was brief, just enough, Priscilla knew, for a cock to be inserted between them. That was their function now: to pillow a penis and provide a most delightful pressure.
The thought of cock made her salivate. Unable to whine, she could only squeak further her displeasure.
More work was done to Priscilla at the next station. A tube was squeezed between her super-sized lips. A liquid was sprayed into her mouth cavity, coating the interior and rubberizing it. Her tongue would no longer be used in eating or talking. Its sole function from now on would be as a sexual tool.
The dildo in her ass twisted, inducing a wild series of squeaks from the hypersensitive, hypersexualized bioslave. She barely noticed the conveyor belt wheeling her on to further processing procedures.
Men stretched her legs apart, and it felt so good! While she was climaxing, another articulated tube was inserted inside her and sealed in place, inducing yet another super-orgasm. Afterwards, the mirror showed Priscilla fixed with a similarly exaggerated set of pussy lips, equally bright red and rubbery.
At the next stop, a technician gripped her by the head and bent her face down. It was easy. She had never been so limber before. Priscilla felt a needle prick in the back of her head, right where her spine met her skull. A segmented coil was drawn down from the ceiling and set into her head.
Priscilla felt the electric current. There was a sudden sharp pain, over and done with so quickly she would barely have felt it were it not for her oversensitivity. A control chip was inserted inside her head.
Bzzzz! Priscilla lifted her head.
Bzzzz! She reclined back onto her couch staring at the ceiling.
She tried to move her limbs and was unable. Bzzzz! She spread her legs, arranged her arms just so, fell into a position identical to that of the booth baby ahead of her in line, the same position the booth baby behind Priscilla would also automatically assume when she too was similarly fit with her control chip.
No, please, no more, Priscilla begged. She remained silent now. The squeaks were all behind her.
The conveyor brought the black rubber dolly to its end. Bzzzz! Priscilla got up from the couch—Pop!—and sat down again in a seat that rotated to greet her. The seats were set in a large curving wall, each in its own hollow space. The wall moved slowly clockwise, drawing past an enclosing wall into another chamber. Priscilla waited, her face a mask behind glazed black marbles for eyes and all-or-nothing lips.
Slowly, she was rotated into the next room. A technician beckoned.
Bzzzz! Priscilla stood before him. She hungered for the man’s touch, but she remained perfectly still.
Aside from their oversized lips and glossy black skin, the most recognizable feature of any booth baby was her super-sized nipples! As bright red as the lips—both sets!—and more than two inches in length, a booth baby’s nipples were explicitly meant to be pinched so as to induce in the bioslut a supercharged orgasmic reaction, a reaction which in turn was designed to stimulate the slave’s pelvic motions to heighten the pleasure of the man using her. Simply put, she squeezed down harder when her nipples were squeezed. The technician approached with the installment tool. Priscilla could only tremble inside.
The tool looked a bit like an old-fashioned portable hairdryer. The nozzle in front was narrower. The resemblance to a weapon, though, and the way the technician handled it, terrified Priscilla. She knew what it was really for; that was scary enough. He pointed the open end of the tool at Priscilla’s right nipple (this was as black and shiny as the rest of her, and painfully erect, too, so aroused was she since being decanted). He fit the nozzle over her flesh and tightened it. The technician pulled the trigger.
Although she was unable to show it, the booth baby-to-be winced inside from the sudden vicious pain.
What felt like a needle was pressed into her sensitive teat. Such would have been agonizing even had she not been transformed; her all-body receptivity made the sensation infinitely worse. And worse still: the pain aroused her further! A flash of heat followed the needle stab, and then the technician drew back his tool, revealing what had been implanted into Priscilla’s flesh. It had taken but a moment.
She was changed, again!
Her new nipple was inches long, and as rounded and elastic as the rubber horn off a kid’s bike. It was bright, bright red, clownishly so, the same shade as her lips. Before she could fully reconcile the modification to her body, the technician put the tool against her left breast and repeated the procedure.
I look like a freak! Priscilla was soon screaming inside her mind. She now had rubber noisemakers instead of nipples! Their addition to her body only made her that much more a man’s toy!
She could actually feel the weight of her stretchy new nipples. They were springy; they bounced up and down with her every breath. As per her makers’ intent, they jutted forth invitingly, too invitingly for Priscilla’s comfort. They were so readily accessible, so right there! that, with the added support of her already monstrously enlarged breasts, even she felt a wild temptation to want to squeeze them hard!
The technician replaced the installer in a wall rack and withdrew a large dildo with a cord trailing from the back end. Bzzzz! Priscilla spread her thighs and made herself available. It was hard not to be with the increased size and suppleness of her permanently engorged pussy lips.
He inserted the dildo and examined a screen built into the wall. An electronic line like that of an EKG ran steadily within it.
Oh, no, please don’t! The technician reached out and pinched Priscilla’s right nipple, hanging so readily.
“SQUEAK!!!!”
The bolt of pleasure that surged through her was unreal in its intensity. Priscilla shook all over.
She had no choice but to clench down hard on the dildo inside her. A modicum of pain was involved in that sheer blast of ecstasy. After all, that was a teat that had been manhandled, not a bicycle horn, despite the resemblance. There was pain as well from the very raw intensity of the pleasure, so great was it that Priscilla’s reaction was like unto an epileptic fit.
It was exhausting. All-consuming.
But the pain was nothing beside the sum total pleasure of the experience. The pleasure lasted longer, too.
Priscilla’s rubberized body shook for an entire minute, smooth hands rising from her sides, her fingers twitching in spastic reaction. The way her breasts bounced up and down was also quite noticeable.
Remotely, Priscilla noticed the man examining the screen. The “EKG” jumped high during her pleasure-fit, spiking to within an area marked. The pressure she was exerting on the phallus inside her was apparently up to factory standards. He let her wind down completely, then checked her left super-teat.
One squeeze. Just one.
“SQUEAK!!!!” The pain-pleasure was exactly the same, undiminished the second time around.
Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God: the refrain that passed through Priscilla’s mind. Do it again, please, Master . . PLEASE!! She would do anything to feel that kind of intense pleasure again.
Her addiction was instantaneous. She could live for having her nipples squeezed like that.
At the same time, though, instead of curbing her rampant sexual desire, the ecstasy she had belt served only to do the exact opposite! Those brief tastes of heaven only carved out an even deeper craving within her for sexual satisfaction, a yearning emptiness that made hollow everything else inside her.
Once more the technician waited for her shaking to cease. Then, reaching out with both hands, he first fondled Priscilla’s massive utters, then gave her a big simultaneous pinch.
Her squeak was so high-pitched it hurt even her ears.
An even greater ecstasy addiction sank its deep-rooting barbs within her slaveflesh. Priscilla could actually feel parts of her mind blowing out, brain cells frying, consumed within the white-hot concentration of blissful fire emanating from her manhandled nipples. Any kind of rational thought became impossible. She just quivered, her humungous rack bobbing like twin sacks filled with gelatin.
When finally the reactions subsided, Priscilla knew in truth she was a slave.
If she had known being a slave meant receiving pleasure like that, she would long ago have started using her own product. She would long ago have surrendered herself to some private slaving company.
Accompanying this realization was a drastic sea-change in her perspective. A few moments earlier, the technician had been just a technician . . a common worker . . a man. A sexually exciting man, more alluring than she would have previously thought possible, yet a man all the same. Now, he was something greater. She in turn was something proportionally less. He was a MAN! He could make her feel PLEASURE!! And she knew she would do anything to feel that PLEASURE!!! again.
Just knowing what could be done to her, what she could be made to feel, by something as simple as a pinched nipple, hammered home finally a complete appreciation of her status.
Priscilla could no longer think of herself as a prisoner. She could no longer sustain the belief that she was still the same person she had always been, just unjustly punished, just cosmetically altered to look like a booth baby.
She was a booth baby! She was a man’s plaything! And she desperately wanted to be a man’s plaything so she could be made to feel that way again.
The technician appeared satisfied with her reactions. Priscilla hoped he would play with his dolly again. She yearned to be played with again! Instead, to her crushing disappointment, he pulled the dildo free and made an adjustment to the control pad next to the wall screen.
Without the phallus inside her, Priscilla’s sense of longing grew even more desperate.
Bzzzz! Priscilla pivoted and strode down an open hallway to her right. It was a short walkway. At the end of it the wall facing her featured an oval depression in the middle, at a height about at the level of her head. Priscilla came to stand but a few inches from the wall. Then, with a further prompting from her control chip, she bent forward and pressed her face, super-sized lips and all, into the shallow opening.
The surface was flexible, self-adjusting. The cavity formed a tight seal around her face.
Priscilla, seeing only darkness, felt warmth on her forehead, as if something were being pressed into her flesh. A second or two later she was released. She stood back.
Another prompting from her chip turned her right and had her walking again, this time through another short hall and eventually into a waiting area where the booth babies that had been ahead of her stood in lines and rows, side by side, a veritable collector’s set of black, life-sized rubber dollies.
Some of the living dolls were shorter than others, some taller; but the resequencing of their DNA, the bodysculpting of their figures, and the even more recent modifications to their anatomy had left them all fairly uniform. They were all shiny, busty, rubber fucktoys with large lips and even larger nipples.
On each bald scalp, in the middle of each forehead, big white numbers were imprinted. I must have a number myself, Priscilla thought, dazed. That was what that face-thing was for!
Priscilla took her place in the first row, turned around, and faced front.
The booth baby to her immediate right had a big “7” emblazoned on her brow. To the right of her was “6,” to her right “5.”
I must be booth baby number eight, she figured out. Sure enough, the next bioslave through the open hallway facing her, to take her place at Priscilla’s side, had a number large “9” right in the middle of her temple.
I’m 8, Priscilla thought.
More precisely, as she discovered not long later, she was Booth Baby 8 of Row G of the Memphis Brothelworld Complex: just one small cog in the great sexual entertainment machine that was the Brothelworld. Priscilla was shipped to the Memphis Complex later that week and installed in her little cubicle, the booth where, for all practical purposes, she would be spending the rest of her life. It was a small room with a bed in the middle and a few toiletries, none of which were really necessary for her.
She was fully equipped as is for her future life’s function.
The employee who saw to her installation gave her a brief once over, a squeeze that made her squeak for more, and then left. Outside her sealed door was a coin box. Priscilla desperately wanted to earn.
She lay back on the bed and began waiting for her first customer.