Three silhouettes stood upon the catwalk, shrouded in shadow. Cold steel softly clicked and rubber gently squeaked as machinery shifted about beyond the threshold of light. The three figures stood, watching from the metal ring circumscribing their fascinating subject. More machinery quietly whirred and buzzed above, sometimes briefly emerging into the dimness with a dull flash, before swiftly retreating back to the shifting darkness. Robotic arms, fabricators, and various automated tools performed their unending work swiftly and almost silently. Within the center of that ring a pool of dim light was cast. Bathed in the faint shine was a thick glass cube, and within the cube perched a figure.
A soft, deep voice floated from the shadows, “I see you have retrieved our subject, as I requested.”
To the left, a slightly higher-pitched voice rang out in response, “Yeah, no shit. I must admit, the little minx gave me a decent struggle before the sedative worked its magic. For such a lightweight, she had the strength of a man twice her size. Caused the sedative to work slower than usual as well.”
“Her nano-augmentations give her several unusual traits. One of these remarkable abilities is the reason we decided to… appropriate her.”
A third voice chipped in from the right, this one a feminine contralto, “Your work was excellent. You brought her in relatively unharmed, and saved us a lot of headaches by bringing her so swiftly. Her nanomachines are stabilized now, and ready to work. Your pay will be provided to you in a silver suitcase on your way out, but you are free to stay and watch the spectacle.”
“Huh. Figured the bitch owes me at least a little entertainment for kneeing me in the balls, so I guess I’ll stay.”
The three dark figures turned back to the cubicle. The glass was wiped and sterilized to the point of transparency, and only slight reflections of the light betrayed its presence. From the hard metallic ground of the cube extended a pole. Topping the pole was a curvy hourglass-shaped plate of glittery steel with the ends bent upwards into a concave arch. Upon this saddle sat their subject.
A thin sheen of sweat coated her fair skin, and her dark hair was slightly matted down. Her calves were cemented to her thighs by thick heavy straps that seemed to lack a connecting point. They could all clearly see the well-toned muscles in her elegant legs flex and strain against their unbreakable bonds. The figure on the left leaned in slightly, its weight beginning to rest on the catwalk’s safety rails.
All three figures shifted their vision slightly upwards. With her legs immobilized and suspended, it was clear all of her weight was resting upon the saddle, not to mention the point of her body that perched upon it. Rubber panties snugly encased her pelvis in its tight embrace, holding in place an intruder of her most intimate regions. The thick latex accentuated the rotund swell of her curvaceous rear end. Her shifting about indicated that she was not particularly happy with the situation of her lower half.
The voice on the left punctured their reverie with its sharp voice, “If this girl’s an employee of your company, then why have me, a contract fixer, kidnap her? Surely you could have gotten her to volunteer. I personally have no problem with this, but if people find out, there will be a serious outcry.”
The rightmost voice answered, “Actually, she did technically volunteer. When she signed our employment contract as a test subject, she at first didn’t know what the stipulations were. Maybe that’s just because I didn’t tell her, but minor details tend to slip my mind like that. You know how it is. I knew she would never agree if she knew the truth, so I had her volunteered by you. Forcefully."
Though none could see it, the leftmost figure smirked.
Above the waist of her torturous “underwear”, her bare midriff pulsated in and out in a violently syncopated fit as she attempted to struggle against her bonds, before subsiding into a gentler rhythm coinciding with her breath. Her abdomen was smooth and firm, and her pinched waist only added to the pleasingly curvaceous nature of her body. Flat little domes, each four centimeters in diameter, were suckered to the apex of her waist’s inward curve. Concentric rings of electric blue light pulsated on the silver pads, and a half-centimeter glass hemisphere emerged from the center.
“Well, she’s certainly experiencing the truth right now, that’s for damn sure. Tell me, what’s with all the fancy equipment, anyways? I know you’re the type who enjoys it, but I reckon you found another excuse to justify it” queried the voice on the left.
The deep voice in the middle answered instead, “A glitch; her nanomachines don’t begin production without a strong enough influx of hormones to work as a catalyst. Rather than sensing slight changes in her neurochemistry—as they were designed to—they are only activated by a flurry of biochemical changes. A “brute force attack”, in a matter of speaking. By overloading her sensory, sympathetic, and parasympathetic nervous systems with pain, stress, and arousal, respectively, we will be able to spur her nanomachines into action.”
“Yeah… right. Well, confusing shit aside, what is the purpose of all this?”
The figure to the right rested its elbow on the railing, the corners of its mouth turning upwards ever so slightly.
With no answer forthcoming, the three turned their vision back to the subject. It was now her most distinguishing features that the three observed in silent awe. Massively engorged breasts sprouted from the girl’s thoracic region, each bare globe of flesh about the size of a large cantaloupe. Metal cups suctioned to her teats connected to transparent tubes that snaked their way up to the darkness above. Her arms were crossed snugly behind her back, encased in sheathes of thick rubber that extended past her hands and wrapped around to her front. These sleeves extended from a garment that stretched across her upper back. This shrug-straitjacket possessed only two parallel straps running above and below her breasts, with a third strap perpendicular to both extending through her vast cleavage. Behind her back, a broad band of metal encircled her arms, locking and sealing them in place. The soft outline of a 3x4 rectangle glowed in blue light, numerals blinking in each of the squares.
The figure on the left snapped its head to the side, as the voice on the right abruptly resumed the conversation, “We are a corporation, and corporations desire only two things in this world; money, and the ability to make money. She is the latter, as you may have presumed. There is something I so very deeply desire, and this wonderful little lady can provide it for me.”
The deep voice in the middle offered a more specific explanation, “The moment she was born, this girl was genetically and nanotechnologically enhanced. Within her breasts she can produce a very special enzyme that, when assembled by our nanomachines, becomes the precursor to a replicator known as a Benign Genetic Transposer, or BGT. It strongly resembles a retrovirus in behavior, save that it does not harm the cell it implants. With it, we are able to implant any sort of genetic package in the replicator and use it to modify the genes of whatever organism it is placed in with almost childish ease. The potential is infinite, as are the benefits to all of humanity.”
A brief moan escaped the confines of the cubicle, broadcast to the three by speakers hidden behind the curtains of shadow. Attention snapped back to the girl. A swath of rubber gripped the lower half of her face, and rigid plastic clasped her neck. Straps extended on either side of her nose, connecting in the middle and extending back over her head. Her dark hair had been pulled though a ring of metal midway along the central strap, forming a ponytail. A blindfold molded to the contours of her eye sockets, blocking out what little light shone upon her vitreous cell. Thick rubber in the shape of a pear sat in her unwilling mouth, filling it so utterly she almost had to concentrate to keep from retching. A single, thin tube snaked it way from the front of her muzzle to join its larger cousins in their journey to the depths above.
“So, you plan to keep her like this, forever?”
“No, not forever. Once I develop an effective and cost-efficient way of fabricating those enzymes, her use as a test subject and biofabricator will end. Once that happens, she goes free. It will take me a good many months to create such a process, however. Until then, she stays right here.”
“Set her free!? You just said you will be simultaneously shocking and fucking her almost constantly for several months! I know this ain’t fucking kindergarten, but tattlers are still a big damn deal in crime.”
“I’m aware of that possibility. That is why I’m thankful our subject is a very intelligent young woman who knows how to pick her battles. Once she goes free, we will promise her a nice, high-paying sinecure in exchange for her silence. If not, she will be convicted of various corporate crimes in court, before being deemed insane by court psychologists. After that, it’s a short trip to the local asylum, where she will simply vanish, lost in the system as another lunatic discarded by society. She knows this as well as I.”
“She’s ready for the trial period to begin” ventured the voice on the right. The voice’s corresponding figure tapped the railing three times in succession. A series of holograms drawn in blue light popped up. A single, slender finger extended, tapping only a single button; start. A light humming filled the still air. The subject bucked violently, as the metal pads on her sides switched on, their glass beads glowing a bright electric blue as electricity surged through her body. The penetrating intruder within her began to oscillate, adding a faint buzz and oddly rhythmic moans to the growing cacophony of sounds.
Within her, she could feel a torment never imaginable to any sane mind. A horrific and convoluted combination of extreme pain and arousal cascaded to and fro in the confines of her minds. Shocks jolted her form, sending her muscles into spasmodic fits. A crushing heat grew in her pelvis, building up like pressure in an overheated steam boiler. The pressure was begging to be released, accumulating to explosive levels and even growing across her tortured form. Fire and lightning swirled in her brain and body, frying her synapses and searing her nerves. She pleaded for release, and yet she could not bear the thought of it ending.
With a muffled howl, she exploded, her entire body taut as a steel cable. White liquid gushed through the hoses, suctioned up to the machinery above. Sweat dripped from her forehead, as she bobbed up and down like a boat on peaceful waters, riding the last waves with exhausted relief at having weathered the tsunami. Soft groans emanated from her gag. Muscles burned with exertion, lungs heaved for air, and a heart pulsed blood through a battered body. Her expansive chest heaved gently. Rubber stretched and squeaked, while naked flesh quivered like gelatin.
The voice on the left cackled maniacally. “Hahahaha! Shit, if some pain and penetration were all you needed, you shoulda just sent me down there! Fuck, I woulda paid you to do that shit!”
With a second tap of the finger, the room was suddenly flooded with bright light. One arm was raised to shield its owner's eyes from the light.
Three people stood, side by side, on the catwalk. On the left, a young man clutched the railing as he leaned in for a better view. White hair fell over the ghostly pale of his sharp, youthful face. From his ruby-red irises, a psychopathic light shone like freshly spilt blood under the glare of a laser cutter. The mad grin of the Cheshire cat stretched from ear to ear across his face. A White and silver armored bodysuit accentuated his slim, muscular physique. As his pale fingers released their grasp on the rail, they left behind a stain of oil and sweat on the formerly spotless railing.
In the middle, a stockier man stood bolt upright and as still as a statue. Black hair crowned his solemn, fair-skinned face. His violet eyes cast their objective, analytical gaze around the room, and his lips were forever locked in a serious, obstinate curve. A black longcoat obscured most of his form beneath its folds, revealing only a pair of heavy, sturdy black boots beneath its hem. His eternally folded arms gave him a constant air of authority, like a parent scolding their children. When he glanced at the stains left by the other man’s excited perspiration, he didn’t even twitch. Regardless, the disgust was palpable.
On the right stood the only woman. Early-middle aged with sandy hair and a modest build, she was clad in a charcoal-grey business pantsuit. If you were to see any picture of her, she would appear as little more than your average mid-level corporate executive. Yet, if you were to meet her in person, you would feel almost overwhelmed by her very presence. She exuded a potent aura of power and sheer dominance, and in her unassuming face lurked numerous subtleties that betrayed her true self, hidden beneath so many layers of self-restraint.
“I must say, Ms. Devron, you are probably the most delightfully sadistic person I have ever met. I now know my efforts have not gone to waste!” chimed the man on the left, his voice dripping with malicious delight.
“Thank you, Mr. Atrix. Your services were invaluable to this company. In addition to your payment, I have arranged for a little gift to be delivered to your residence. Compliments of Amore Incorporated. You have my thanks, and Cronos’ here as well” replied Ms. Devron. The slight grin still sat upon her lips.
Atrix smirked one last time at Cronos, before turning to leave. Once the door sealed behind him, Ms. Devron turned to Cronos.
“Cronos, what’s your assessment?”
“Exemplary, I would say. For her first time, the results were marvelous; 0.6% enzyme concentrate, over three times as much as my most optimistic estimates were initially. There is still much room for improvement, however.”
“Very good. How do you propose we raise those percentages?”
“Various incremental changes. I have many things in mind, but we should start slowly. We don’t want to overwhelm her any more than necessary.”
“How about an ice-cold enema? Our instruments indicated that sensory conflict only magnifies the intensity, after all.”
As the two figures exited the room and the lights shut off once more, the subject shifted on her perch. A single tear escaped the confines of her blindfold, streaking down her smooth cheek and dripping off her rubber-engulfed chin. The tear was not one of sadness, pain, hatred, or joy. The tear was of frustration. Not frustration at the cruel rubber binding her to such a fate. Not frustration at the futility, the hopelessness, the helplessness of her situation. It was frustration at the fact that, as desperately as she wished to leave, she desired nothing more than to stay.