Mira: A Slave’s Story
22 — Processing
Mira was awakened by another slave peeling her out of a stasis unit.
A horrible, burning need emanated from her pussy. Mira sat up, looked around, and immediately started begging for sex. This begging, apparently, was not unusual, for as the former heiress examined her surroundings she saw other newly awakened biosluts do exactly the same thing.
Everything around her gleamed. White plastic and porcelain surfaces dominated. Two rows of not-beds stretched across either side of a glistening, antiseptic hall. Nude bioslaves were moving around these not-beds—they looked more like caskets, these stasis units, opened or closed—and unsealing them, one by one.
It was really quite remarkable, watching this operation. By opening the units, the naked bodies inside, stiff, frozen, blue, like ice treats taken from the freezer, instantly became pliable, warm, and flesh-colored again, not to mention awake and aware.
As she had done, these women too each sat up, looked around, and begged for a master. And, like Mira, they were grandly disappointed to find only another female slave waiting there.
Discipline was required at least once.
“I don’t have to listen to a slave,” some stupid girl said, apparently not realizing yet what she had become. Another slave holding a transparent, glowing rod stepped up behind this girl and touched her on the shoulder. The resistant slave screamed in pain.
I’m glad I didn’t do that, Mira thought. She had awakened disappointed, yet some instinct had told her that she had better behave. She actually found herself wanting to behave.
“The slaves are not in control,” a proctor said, after all the females had been awakened. “The slaves will do nothing but obey.”
The proctorslaves got their charges on their feet and lined them up. “The slaves will follow,” one said, and she led the group—about thirty of them—through a sliding doorway. The hallway beyond was of the same white plastic. The wall to slave Mira’s left was perfectly smooth; the one on her right was divided into partitioned sections, the plastic rising into separate rectangular ridges. The proctorslaves marched the girls down the hall until each of the new slaves stood next to one of these sections. The door to the waking room sealed shut. A second later the ridged sections next to them illuminated dimly.
The wall next to Mira, outlined by the ridged section, which she recognized now as a door, slid up into the ceiling. “The slaves will enter the compartments,” the second proctorslave said loudly. She waved the slaveprod.
Mira quickly stepped into a booth-sized compartment, about as big as a shower. As soon as she did, the door behind her slid down again, sealing her within.
The walls, ceiling, and floor were all white plastic. When water began spraying her from the ceiling, emerging from holes too small for her to see, Mira realized she was right: this was a shower!
The warm liquid felt amazingly good on her skin, on her warm breasts, her slick cunt.
Mira twirled around unconsciously beneath the spray and rubbed herself all over. She ran a hand through her hair and was surprised to feel a lump of it pull away with her fingers. She opened her eyes and looked at the black hair in her hands. Visibly, it melted away.
She looked into the spray. She ran her hands over her flesh. My hair, she thought, despairingly. It’s coming off! Wherever the “water” touched her, her hair was dissolving away.
There was no escaping the spray, nowhere in the narrow compartment she could turn. After a few shocked moments, Mira no longer felt the need to do so. The “water,” or whatever it really was, felt so warm and good, she couldn’t help but rub herself all over with it, squirming beneath the invisible nozzle like the abject slave she was. She masturbated and brought herself to a screaming orgasm.
After several minutes, the spray slackened and shut off. She was disappointed. Almost immediately, though, hot air rushed up from the floor, from between her legs, the quick and sudden sensation bringing Mira another fantastic climax. Her new green skin made her feel so unbelievably sexy! She danced around the interior of the booth and was soon completely dry.
Afterwards, Mira touched herself all over. Where she touched her head there was nothing; she had been rendered completely bald. Her scant pussy hair was gone, too, leaving only a bare and delicious cunt gleaming beneath her probing fingers. She ran her fingers along her face. Even her eyebrows and eyelashes were gone! Mira looked around the booth and saw nothing, no remains whatsoever.
The spray had dissolved away every bit of her hair, leaving nothing behind.
“Dirty.” Mira whispered the word to herself, feeling shame. This is . . . wrong, Mira thought. This . . I . . . I should not be thinking that. This . . . I(!) am not . . . a slave!
For a moment, just a bare moment, what she was, what she had been, what she was being turned into, became clear to Mira; and she screamed, her cry a crushing mix of rebellion, pain, and utter despair.
A moment later, though, Mira felt a vibration start and settle into her skin; and it was so delightful that her dirty old thoughts of freedom were immediately eclipsed. She heard a faint buzzing in her ears but no discomfort on account of it. Still, she had to close her eyes in response to the pulsation that was soon passing through her, thrumming every bit of her frame like a tuning fork. She climaxed again.
Her whole body shook and vibrated. The most powerful current of vibration was in the middle of the small booth, and Mira quickly situated herself beneath it, as she had done with the spray of water.
What felt/heard like a beam of sound descended upon her, opening her pores, causing her flesh to goosepimple delightfully. Her teeth chattered. More hot air rushed up between her legs, and, combined with the vibration beam, all Mira could do for a long, long while was just climax over and over.
She was disappointed when the sonic decontamination shower came to an end. Mira opened her eyes and saw that she was covered in a layer of fine green ash, from head to toe. Her spots were gone.
More hot “water” was soon sprayed upon her, only this time from all sides of the booth, ceiling, walls, and floor, as if she were caught in the middle of a bathwater-hot tempest. It felt wonderful, and it washed her completely down, removing every bit of the fine ash that had accumulated somehow.
Mira didn’t bother to conjecture what that ash might once have been.
It felt good not to think. It felt good just to experience this pleasure and, of course, to obey the will of her Masters! She screamed in ecstasy.
After the spray came the hot wind, and after the hot drying wind accoutrements emerged from the sides of the processing booth, opening out of concealed partitions from front and behind. On one wall, to her left, a delightfully large and impressive looking plastic dildo protruded. On the wall opposite, two more plastic dildos projected, one above the other. Mira couldn’t help but smile with anticipation.
When the phalluses snaked out of their sockets at the end of gleaming white tendrils, she automatically assumed the positions necessary for her impalement. She needed the fucking. She needed the fucking badly. The single black dildo took her from behind, inserting itself smoothly up her rectum. She cooed with delight at the full sensation this brought.
The lower dildo in front penetrated her pussy, causing her to climax as its immense thickness filled her.
The third dildo, of course, snaked about and aimed for her mouth. Mira opened her lips wide to receive it, swallowing the artificial cock eagerly and wrapping her tongue about its ridged length, so much like the real cocks she had been resequenced to love.
Impaled threeways, the plastic tendrils lifted Mira from her feet, suspending her in the air by all her holes. Mira wrapped her hands around the pole in her slave’s pussy and rode it, literally rode it, bucking back and forth as its solid length throbbed within her. She felt a hot liquid pumping into her through all three channels, followed almost immediately by an equally powerful reverse sucking.
In and out, the liquid pumped, fucking her, rendering her blind with bliss.
How long this mechanical rape continued, it was impossible to say, Mira was enjoying it so much. When it was over, when the three tendrils eventually and gently replaced her to her feet and withdrew, she moaned in disappointment and renewed sexual frenzy. She needed a real Master desperately!
The wall before her slid open. “The slave will step into the next compartment.” Whimpering, she obeyed the automated masculine voice. It turned her on even more so. Then she gasped. A nude, completely bald and feminine figure appeared to be walking toward her from the other small chamber!
Then she realized. “That’s me,” she said out loud.
The wall behind her slid back into place.
This chamber, unlike the other, was not made of white plastic. Its walls were either metal or glass, Mira could not tell which; but they were perfectly reflective, showing her slave’s self from all angles.
Mira examined her body. She had been utterly made over. The green color of her skin had been evened out, as if she had been coated in a bodywide blending makeup, creating a uniform frothy mocha shade without blemishes, freckles, or imperfections of any kind. She was smooth, incredibly smooth.
She touched herself, ran her fingers over her arm, and her arm felt like velvet. She could barely see the pores in her skin, and, of course, there wasn’t a hint of hair anywhere. She looked like a life-sized doll.
“The slave will close her eyes.” Mira heard the command, and she obeyed.
About ten or fifteen seconds later, Mira felt a hot wave build upon her, and beneath her closed lids there was a painful brightening. The light grew and grew. Instinctively, Mira put her hands to shield her eyes.
“The slave will lower her hands. The slave will keep her hands at her sides.” She obeyed.
The light came to a painful climax, then began to pulse on and off for the longest time. Mira’s skin felt like it was roasting. She cried out, not knowing what was being done to her. She felt her bones vibrate beneath her flesh. She felt the light/heat concentrate on different parts of her body at different intervals: on her jaw, making her teeth ache; on her arms, making the skin feel like it was boiling; on her pussy, making her cry out in mixed pain and pleasure. Then, finally, the light began to diminish and fade.
“The slave will open her eyes,” she heard as the wall before her slid into the ceiling. For a long second, Mira could not see, she was so thoroughly blinded. She felt hot and feverish, as if she had been sunburned. Even when she could focus her vision, she thought it still unfocused: the air before her, framed by the entry, seemed to shiver and shake on its own, like a heat mirage. “The slave will step into the next compartment.” Obeying instinctively, Mira stepped forward and almost screamed when she ran into that shimmering air. It was cold and clammy, and it shocked her worse than the light had.
“The slave will step into the next compartment.” She felt shame, for not having immediately obeyed.
She continued forward, recognizing finally that it wasn’t the air that had been shimmering, it had been the thin layer of transparent gel(!) framed by the open entry that was gently shaking, moving with the air.
Mira passed through this mucous-like membrane. It slid around her body, enveloping her, cooling her, soothing the burning sensation she had been left with. There was a degree of tension as she passed through the gel, and this tension served to force an even coating of the translucent slime across her entire skin. She felt it press upon her breasts first, making her nipples harden; and then it was on her forehead, her arms, her thighs and legs, everywhere. As she passed through the open entry, the gel slid down her back, over her ass, sealing her within a transparent sac of gleaming, viscous liquid. It felt . . . wonderful!
The material was so cool and slick, and the way it slid over her skin just made her feel so sexy and carnal! Mira felt like she had been coated in baby oil all over.
The gel even got into her eyes, but it didn’t sting at all, and after a few seconds of blurriness her vision cleared through it. To each side of her, Mira could see other gleaming, candied slaves emerging from their respective processing chambers. They had each passed through a tunnel of sorts and emerged—Transformed!—on the other side. The new chamber they were all in now was long and narrow.
Like Mira herself, the processed slaves rubbed themselves all over compulsively, paying particular attention to their breasts and thighs, squeezing them over and over, lathering the slick, gel-material over themselves. The coating made them feel so sexy! Like Mira, none of the slaves had hair any longer, and their skin, beneath the glittering slime, reflecting the light from above, looked perfect and smooth.
“The slaves will step forward onto the wheels,” an overhead announcement got their attention (the Master’s voice seemed to sink directly to Mira’s pussy), and the slave looked around for a “wheel.”
On the side of the chamber from which they had emerged, a long row of lighted and emptied booths stood open. The opposite wall was divided into circular impressions, one after another, edge on edge, each circle about the total width of a woman standing with her arms and legs stretched open wide. The ceiling and floor were flush with the walled circles. As the slimed slaves all took this sight in—their Master’s voice had had the same impression on each—the edges of the circles lighted, and they walked towards them, as moths are drawn irresistibly to a flame. They could no more have not approached the “wheels” than they could have flown, walked through a wall, or returned to their old, useless free lives.
As Mira came closer to one wheel, handprints lighted up near the top. She stepped up onto a ridged line directly in front of the wheel—she noted the track set beneath her—and then wondered what to do.
Two glowing circles appeared in the middle of the circle, at about the same height as her breasts.
Two sections of the bottom arc then glowed. Mira stood wondering, then it became clear to her.
Reaching up, Mira put her hands onto the glowing handprints above her. She had to stretch her arms all the way to reach them. At the same time, she spread her legs and put her toes against the glowing sections at the bottom. The dots in the middle were exactly spaced with her breasts. She pressed herself against the circle, aiming a nipple at each dot. Naturally, she fit all six points perfectly. As soon as she was situated, Mira felt something rise behind her, from that lined ridge. A moment later what felt like a plastic, or latex, sheet pressed onto the whole back of her body. Where her hands, tits, and feet had been placed, Mira felt herself now stuck. She could no longer move them. The sheet pressed behind her, and in an instant she was sealed in, front and behind, arms and legs spread, face first into a plastic wall. The slime covering her body squeezed around the inside, like an antique coin sealed in plastic, and suddenly no part of her was free to move. She was immobilized inside the “wheel.”
Mira panicked for a second, but then a hole opened in front of her lips, and she felt a tube inserted in her mouth, and she could breathe again. Aside from that, though, she had been completely encased.
Eyes forced forward, Mira could only speculate what was going on to either side of her, as each slave did the same thing she did and was likewise sealed into a circle, plastic in front, plastic from behind.
Then she stopped speculating. Speculating was thinking, and a slave thinking was bad.
Slaves did not think. Slaves obeyed.
She was a slave. She needed only to obey. She waited patiently, unthinking, just responding, obeying.
It was blissful.
When the slaves were sealed in, the wheels disconnected from their wall attachments, slid automatically onto a track, and began to rotate to the right, one after the other. A narrow section of the wall, just the right width to admit wheel and slave inside revolving—head down, feet up, head up, feet down—opened to receive them. The slaves spun through the complexity of the vast processing machine, like coins tumbling through an arcade system. Periodically, they were stopped, latched onto a programmed section of the assembly line, and a procedure performed. At one stop, a purple light was shown through Mira and her wheel, as if she were the lens in a laser system. Another time she was stopped, and a pair of needles delicately inserted themselves into her nipples through the plastic covering. She was injected, then moved on. Throughout it all, Mira, or, rather, the slave that referred to herself as a “Mira,” remained unthinking, just responding, just obeying, patient as only a slave like her could be.
The processing made her feel so . . so anonymous, she could feel the last vestiges of her individuality drift away. She was glad.
Finally, the wheel came to a stop, revolved around completely so that the Mira’s head was in the up position, and disconnected from the track. The Mira didn’t think, didn’t anticipate. She obeyed.
The wheel sank into the machinery, into a vat of bubbling bluish-green liquid. The solution seeped through the plastic/latex sheets the Mira had been sealed between and slowly dissolved, freeing the slave’s body, and she dangled in the middle of the vat, suspended only by the tube down her throat.
The Mira’s body began to tingle all over, particularly around her breasts and cunt. She was beginning to change. A great drowsiness came over her, and she slept. She did not dream.
Slaves did not dream. Slaves only obeyed.