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(Contains: sexual themes and strong language)

Reduced, parts one and two (Rough draft)


Part 1


Celia couldn’t remember much from the incident. She could very fuzzily recall bullets ricocheting off the steel wall of the transport, a massive explosion that upturned the entire vehicle, men in black advanced armor storming the wreckage. Everything had been swallowed by a cloud of choking dust, so it was difficult to see anyways. However, what she cared more about was the present. The Reticent must have found out about her right after she left, ambushing her transport and spiriting her away.


Now she needed to assess her situation. Once her senses had fully recovered, she cast a glance around. She was lying, curled up into a ball, on a cold concrete floor. Her clothes hung in tatters from her bruised frame, and she shivered at the chill of cold concrete making contact with bare skin. The room she was in was little more than a concrete cube, the walls, floor, and ceiling all perfect squares of 5 meters by 5 meters. An industrial incandescent light fixed in a think, heavy cage was bolted to the ceiling, providing her ample light to observe how barren and inescapable her prison was. A massive steel door with a small polyacrylate window was firmly fixed into the wall in front of her. Heavy bolts and hinges attached the door to the steel frame heavily fixated to the wall. Bars and latched made from inch-thick metal rods crisscrossed the slab of steel.


Rather primitive, thought Celia, for someone with the apparent resources of the Reticent. She could tell by the trained and deliberate operations of the insurgent soldiers that they simply hadn’t acquired the hardware on some supply raid. No, the actions of these men mirrored those of VsOP personnel it was almost frightening. Remembering the attack clearer now, she swore floridly. She hadn’t yet downloaded the files and data she stole to their systems. Grimly reminding herself that, since she was the only survivor anyways, it wouldn’t even have mattered if she’d told them directly.


Frowning dejectedly, she recounted what she had to go through just to obtain those files, all to be foiled in an instant. Two years spent infiltrating the Reticent’s chain of command, making it so far as secretary to Coretail District’s Reticent Commander, Sandar Kinn. She still retched at the memories of "servicing" that revolting man. Compared to that, the many assassinations and tortures she had performed out of necessity were nothing. She had been hired by Amore to investigate the terrorist group’s source of funding, having no other plausible way to cull their destructive actions. Though she had not found out directly, she had gathered enough intel for Analysis to figure out the culprit.


Celia looked down at herself, making sure no immediately harmful injuries were present. A few bruises, but nothing worse. Celia, at just 24 years old, was the youngest operative to ever be assigned a class 5 mission in the entire Amore Defense Agency. Though her skill was truly unprecedented, her looks came in handy just the same. Large, firm breasts sat above a thin, very neat waist and round, voluptuous buttocks. Long, sleek legs, wide hips, smooth skin, and glossy brown hair completed the Venusian ensemble.


With a hefty clanking noise, the bolts and bars that locked the door slid from their bearings. The vaultlike portal opened slowly, and six people dressed in Advanced Armor with the Reticent’s symbol emblazoned across their chests streamed into the room. Two vicious-looking rifles were aimed at her head by the first two, while the other four stood at attention by the door. A seventh man, this one clad in black and red and sporting the silver badge of a Reticent Commander, entered the room. Celia recognized the heavy black boots and black trenchcoat, and realized she was staring at Soren Cei, the Reticent Commander of Hirsyle District. As Commander of such a large and important district, he would have the direct ear of Reticent’s Executor. His presence was not a good sign, thought Celia.


The Reticent chain of command was an interesting one, similar to the gubernatorial system of the United States. The Executor was in charge of the entire organization, spanning the whole of Vistora. Below him were his Commanders, who each had control of a single district, acting as equivalent to Governors. Below them were the Captains, who were in charge of single cities. Captains in large cities often possessed power that rivaled that of Commanders who ran moderately sized districts. In fact, a Captain who oversaw a city with 85% of its districts population immediately defaulted to Commander as well, as was the case of Soren. Below the Captains were the Lieutenants, who ran most of the field work for their resident city. The Captain of Zero City, the largest in Vistora, immediately defaults to Commander of Borealis District, who then immediately defaults to Executor.


Celia shook these random thoughts from her head. She had to focus. She knew what they wanted from her, now all she could do was try to minimize the damage.


Soren strutted up to her form with a confident, yet guarded trot. Celia sat up, not wanting relations to get any worse, especially with such a powerful man. He knelt down in front of her, surveying her with cold, calculating eyes.


“Now aren’t we lucky that you didn’t get away” he quipped, “or else you may have caused some serious damage to our operation. Well, now that we know your real name isn’t Sylvia, why don’t you inform us of your real name?”


“Celia” she answered flatly “which you very well already knew. Now, if you don’t mind, Commander, I’d like to know what you plan to do to me.”


Soren gazed at her with mixture of pity and contempt, “Well, we could kill you at any point, but if we wanted that, you’d already be dead. No, we are going to extract some information from you first.”


Celia stared back determinedly. “You’ll never break me” she spat “If you think I’m some pathetic little girl who’ll succumb to a raised fist, then you’re dead fucking wrong!”


Soren’s eyes closed for a second, his head dropping. A second later, his eyelids flashed open. What were once a pair of cold, dark green eyes had turned a brilliant amethyst, and a wide smile spread across Soren’s face. Celia gulped; behind those eyes she could see the mad brilliance that had delivered this man to the cusp of Executor.


“No, you’re certainly not. Not yet. And that is what we’re working towards.” Soren stood back up and clearly commanded, “Guards, take Celia here to Commander Lyle’s immediately!”


Celia turned a deathly pale. Sari Lyle, Commander of Highpoint District, was notorious for being a sadistic bitch, and probably the only other Commander to match Kinn’s level of cruelty and sexual deviance. Celia steeled herself. If she could take six months of pandering to Sandar’s kinks, she could withstand whatever Lyle threw at her. Maybe. Just as she was beginning to contemplate her chances of survival if she ran, a Tesla Drive was jabbed into her side. As several hundred joules surged through her body, her entire world lit up like a millions stars; the blackness of empty space followed soon after.


Part 2


Celia woke up with a start, then clutched her head as a blinding headache slammed into her brain like a train. She opened her eyes, but saw nothing but blackness all around. After groping around in the dark, she discovered that she lay in what seemed like a small metal cube, only about 2 meters in every direction. Small holes, presumably for ventilation, lined the bottom of the walls. Whatever they had in store for Celia, it could not be good. She explored the edges with her fingers, trying to find anything that might help her while keeping the panic from seeping in.


Suddenly, a loud buzzer sounded, and the floor was retracted into the wall from right under her feet. Down she fell, into a cold, smooth metal chute. As she whizzed down the funnel, Celia closed her eyes and hoped that whatever was at the other end was at least somewhat painless. A small white light appeared at the end of the sloping tunnel, and as Celia sped towards it, the light grew and grew. Before she could even blink, the hapless girl landed into a small circular pit lined with white plastic cushions. The little hole resembled a kiddie pool, only about 2 meters in diameter and 30 centimeters down. She landed on the cushions with a bounce. The room she was in was not much larger, about the same size as her concrete cell, only this room was also lined with plastic-covered padding. A bright light was fixed to the ceiling above, and panels lined the surface around it.


Just as she had sat up, a needle was pushed into her arm and its contents injected swiftly. Celia felt a peculiar wave of numbness spread throughout her body in a wave. One by one, her limbs went limp, and she flopped onto the padded bottom of the pit. Celia’s eyes flicked wildly back and forth as she tried her damnedest to move. The loud hum of servos powering up resonated from the ceiling, and Celia tried to squint past the bright light hanging above to discern its source. Four robotic arms wielding rounded clamps descended like aliens from the sky, each one targeting and latching onto her ankles and wrists.


As the helpless figure was hoisted upwards, more arms extended down, these ones wielding razor-sharp cutters. In a matter of seconds, Celia’s tattered clothes had vanished from her vulnerable frame and her glorious body was now entirely exposed to the mercy of these machines. “Aaaaarghhull!” Celia managed to gargle, her mouth and tongue half-paralyzed from the injection. She was lowered down back into the circle, where the robotic appendages pinned her arms and legs in a spread-out cross position. “Mmmmaaaauuuggghhhh!” She burbled, panicked. From a tap somewhere along its short walls, warm water began to bubble out and fill the little pool. Surprised at this, and utterly determined to overcome the paralytic, she managed to spit one single, mildly coherent word, “Ffffuuuuckkkk!”


The entire process halted momentarily, creating the eerie illusion that time had somehow come to a standstill. At this new reaction, another robotic arm extended downwards, this time towards Celia’s head. Clutched in its grasp was a bundle of pink straps forming a head harness, which held by it was a… bar of bright pink soap. The bar of soap was shoved into Celia’s impudent mouth and the straps secured tightly around her head. The non-toxic soap’s bitter taste made her retch, but she could only endure its foul flavor as the pool stared filling up again.


Try as she might, exhaustion began to catch up with her as the warm, soap-laced water filling the pool began to surround her body. Her head was propped up by a plastic cushion that inflated beneath her head. A warm, moist towel was placed over her face, and she was nearly about to fall asleep when a jet of white foam rocketed out of one of the manipulator’s nozzles and blasted her naked skin. She yelped at the stinging flow, before realizing that the foam created a burning sensation wherever it touched. Rough sponges scrubbed the high-strength depilatory cream into her pores, killing off all of her body hair at its roots. She squirmed and moaned at the pain, biting into the hard soap filling her mouth. When the cream had finished its action, jets of water rinsed her clear, the residue draining down a hole at the opposite end of the pool.


The protective towel was removed, and the pool began to fill with warm, soapy water once again. This time, manipulators wielding sprayer nozzles and moist, fluffy sponges descended upon the supine girl, helpless to resist the cleaning the machines had in store for her. Utilizing the soft sponges with great precision, the system slowly sprayed, scrubbed, and rinsed every square centimeter of Celia’s bare, helpless body, taking care to thoroughly scrub her every orifice. Her legs were spread apart and lifted upwards like a baby’s, exposing more of her body to the wrath of her tormentors. The machine cleaned her very large, firm, and round ass and between her stretched legs with a moist rotating brush that seemed to go on forever. Miserable as she was, she couldn't help but be turned on a little more as the soapy sponge did a thorough job on her pussy, working its way into every fold of flesh; it stayed there for an age, it was getting too much. Celia began to squirm against the brush. She felt herself blushing, her nipples hardened, and her toes began to curl. She heard herself starting to moan and she felt herself getting wet, it was so humiliating.


Brushes continued to clean the girl, even lifting her up momentarily so her back could be reached. Her hair was shampooed, conditioned, rinsed, and combed out. The entire surface of her body was so thoroughly cleaned that Celia wouldn’t be surprised if her arms would squeak if she rubbed them together. However, the machine wouldn’t be satisfied until every reachable part of her body was cleansed. Towards this goal, a manipulator arm brandishing a long, thin nozzle with soft bristles along its length began to approach Celia’s nether regions. No matter how hard she clenched, nothing could stop the sprayer’s journey as it thrust itself between her buttocks and into her tight rear entrance. Her entire body tightened up as her very bowels were flushed with an enema solution as she fought desperately to expel the fluid coursing through her insides. Eventually the sprayer relinquished, but not before Celia’s insides were as clean as her outsides.


After that whole ordeal, Celia was left panting from the sheer exertion of trying to resist the inevitable. She would have loved to fall asleep just then, but she was suddenly attacked on all sides by various jets, sprays, and mists of cold water. Spluttering into her soapy gag, she tried to blink the water out of her eyes. The cold shock had her plenty awake now, and she could feel her flesh turning numb from the jets. When the rest of her body was fully rinsed, the unforgiving jets of water were replaced by a strong blast of warm air. Fluffy rotating brushes caressed her tormented body like a cloud, and Celia let out a sigh of relief at the chance of some respite.


With the hum of electric motors, the bottom of the little pool began to rise, ascending like a platform until it was flush with the rest of the room. Straps secured around her arms, waist, trunk, and neck kept her upper body pinned to the ground, while her legs were spread and bent and hoisted back up into the air like a baby. Then, as she watched in horror, the machine began to approach her rear yet again. This time, the manipulator wielded a large pink shaft made from rubber. Grease shone on the ridged surface of the buttplug as it neared its destination, and Celia stared at the approaching monstrosity with an unbelieving horror. With much moaning and crying, Celia endured the most humiliating event of her life as she felt the massive plug enter her anus and push its length into her body. Despite the heavy lubricant, the plug didn’t go in easy, and the machine had to apply a little extra force to overcome Celia’s frantic clenching.

With the plug nestled snugly in Celia’s bottom, the machine set about further preparing the girl. A special astringent paste designed for long-term diaper wearing was rubbed onto her crotch, buttocks, and inner thighs. Several thick absorbent pads were then laid over her crotch, each one able to hold a large amount of moisture. She struggled weakly, but she was only barely above defeat. She was then quickly and neatly strapped into a pair of tight pink rubber panties with a heart-shaped hole cut out of the back. The pads bulged out in a lump on the front, and the back of the panties contained a grommet that hooked up with the plug. A belt around the waist was tightened securely and locked with a tiny silver heart-shaped lock. The tight rubber emphasized the curve of her round bottom, and a pink rubber bow was attached to the back-waist of the diaper, neatly framing the heart-shaped window of her rear. The crying, diapered girl was then rubbed down with body oil until she shined; a process that left her nipples involuntarily stiff.


Her hands were the next targets for restraining. Her hands were coaxed open, and a pink, slightly squishy rubber ball was popped into the palm of each. Celia’s hands were then closed into a grip around the ball. Narrow pink strips of medical tape were then wrapped carefully around her balled-up fists, the manipulators cautiously refraining from squeezing her hand too hard and cutting off the circulation. Very tight mittens made from pink rubber and with frills around the edge were then worked over her fists, and straps at the wrists were pulled tight. Celia found that her hands, previously tools of finesse and dexterity, had been reduced to little more than two unwieldy lumps.


Her feet receive a pair of pink rubber socks similar to the mittens, acting as a sheath to encase her foot in. The straps were pulled tightly around her ankles, and the thick rubber stretched so as to fit her foot’s form more or less accurately. Two thick ballet boots were then forced over her feet. The ankle-high shoes forced her feet into an endpoint position, and a complete lack of heels meant walking in them would be impossible. The boots were laced up so they held Celia’s feet in a firm, unyielding grip, and a flap was strapped over the laces. A small silvery heart-shaped padlock similar to the one used previously was used to lock the flaps shut, the little locks dangling from the sides of her ankles like a piece of jewelry.


By now, Celia had calmed her thoughts and straightened her head. She knew there was more to come judging by the cacophony of muffled mechanical noises coming from behind the retractable ceiling panels. There was nothing she could do to avoid it; the sooner she accepted her reality, the better chance of enduring and retaining her sanity. She could only wait.


The ceiling panels opened up once more and the robotic manipulator appendages descended clutching another bundle of pink rubber, this one significantly larger than the others. As it was unfolded, it revealed itself to be a peculiar type of straightjacket, designed to be as minimalistic as possible. Fashioned from thick pink rubber, the straightjacket consisted primarily of two sleeves that ended in long straps rather than holes. The sleeves were connected across the back, front, and top, but the shoulders of the garment did not extend past the top of the chest area. A large hole in the middle with six small metal connectors around the edge formed the jacket’s collar. From the middle of the jacket extended a strap that was wider at the ends than in the middle, designed to curve between a woman’s cleavage before meeting another strap at the bottom. This wide band would encircle the base of her ribcage, just below her breasts, and also connected to the back of the jacket via a second, smaller vertical strap. Fixed to the front of the lower strap was an elastic tube of rubber about 6 inches long, presumably to secure the arms in a crossed position. Lining the lower strap were a series of d-rings and a buckle on each side. Adjustment straps lined the back of the jacket.


First, to her relief, Celia’s soapy bit gag was removed, and she numbly spat into a small basin offered to her. Next, she slurped water from a small metal tube pushed into her mouth, hydrating her and clearing her head. Feeling had returned to her mouth, but she feared retribution if she were to speak. Still lying on the ground, with her legs in the air, she decided to hazard a small phrase, “Wher….” Out of nowhere, a broad leather strap whipped out and smacked her, once, squarely across her vulnerable ass. She silenced a yelp and squeezed her teary eyes in pain. Grimacing, she closed her mouth shut. The stirrups holder her legs let them fall limply to the ground, unsecured. Celia had only regained a hint of motor control in them, but dared not exercise what little she had. The straps binding her upper half to the ground disengaged, and a manipulator with a padded panel coaxed her body into roughly a sitting position.


The jacket was lowered over her head, and her arms were gently guided into the sleeves. Straps circling the sleeves were then tightened, ensuring she would not be able to slip out of this. The vertical strap was passed between her ample cleavage, and the lower broad strap was tightened around her. The straps at the end of the sleeves were threaded through the central tube and eyelets in opposite directions, her arms following until they were snugly crossed in front of her. The straps were then buckled and tightened considerably, drawing Celia’s arms into a close hug. The back of the straightjacket was also tightened, ensuring a skintight fit that would be extremely difficult to remove. Little silver heart-shaped locks secured the buckles, and a large pink rubber bow was clipped onto the part where the vertical strap met the straightjacket. It felt good to have at least a shred of clothing on, thought Celia, even if it left her midriff and breasts fully exposed, not to mention acting as a highly effective restraint.


With her arms well secured, the machine revealed her final restraint; a pink baby’s pacifier, attached to a harness of straps similar to the one that held the soap in her mouth. The rubber teat on the end was a grossly enlarged version of typical pacifiers, and would act as a very effective gag plug when in her mouth. The harness was also attached to a hard rubber ring on the inside of the pacifier’s mouth shield. The harness was then lowered over her head, and the nipple was pushed into her mouth. The soft rubber filled her oral cavity, and her teeth were forced to bite down on the ring inside the gag. Two straps extended from either side of the panel, and a Y-shaped strap went over her nose and over the crown of her head, meeting the other two straps on the back of her head. Two straps ran from the bottom of the pacifier, crossed under her chin, and connected to a plastic posture collar that was clipped around Celia’s neck, limiting the motion of her head. The bottom of the collar was then hooked up to the collar of the jacket with six heart-shaped locks.


The process was nearly finished. From the ceiling extended a manipulator with a small syringe needle sticking out. Celia was particularly apprehensive about this one, but had no choice but endure the small pricks of pain as she received two injections, one in each naked breast. Two pink adhesive bandages were then pasted over each of her nipples in an X-shape. One last thing was added to Celia’s new attire to cap it all off; her long, dark hair was tied into two cute pigtails with two large pink bows, framing her cute, gagged face. By this point, the paralytics had worn off, and Celia sat upwards on her own accord. Deciding not to risk the first move, she waited a few moments for some sort of directive. Exhausted from the past series of events, she desperately hoped for a chance at some sleep. On the wall facing her, a panel slid open to reveal another chute. Celia waddled up on both knees to the chute entrance, and with an encouraging pat on the bottom from the manipulator, sent herself tumbling down.


At the end of the chute, Celia shot headfirst into a large mass of cushioning with a muffled thump. The chute was too dark for her to see anything, but it felt like she had slid into a soft mattress, heavily padded and wrapped with a rubber sheet. Seconds after her dizziness had faded, the vertical mattress fell forwards. Beyond the cushion was more darkness, but this time it felt significantly more expansive. Behind her, a panel pivoted upwards from the chute floor, pushing her out and sealing the chute exit behind her. She opted to try and explore her new surroundings, but ran into several columns of inch-thick firm rubber almost immediately. After swinging her legs about, she found that she was inside some sort of cage about 6 feet in length and 3 feet in width. A lack of any ceiling and a rim positioned perpendicular to the bars made the cage feel ominously close to an oversized crib.


Arms wielding heavily padded clamps gently pushed her back down onto the mattress. Her head was rested upon a rubberized pillow, while her legs were bent and raised in the air. Cuffs connected to the sides of the crib locked around her ankles, sealing her in the compromising position, while rubber straps around her arms and waist bound her to the mattress. From the ceiling descended a giant baby’s bottle with a tube snaking out of the nozzle. The front ring on Celia’s gag was unscrewed and the tube connected. With a faint whirring sound, she felt her lips and gums suddenly suctioned around the gag plug. Sweet, warm milk trickled into the helpless girl’s mouth, and all she could do was weakly mew and struggle. The machine rested the large bottle between her bare, pushed-up tits. Lastly, the machine clipped a thick blindfold onto Celia’s head harness, shutting out what little light was left. She had no choice but to gulp more milk spiked with soporifics, as she drifted off to sleep.

Reduced (rough draft)
Here's a (very) rough draft of a short story I have been chipping away at for a little while now. So far, I have mainly focused on grinding out the story itself before going back to improve the writing. The prose is somewhat boorish, the characters slightly flat, the story lacking, the actual titillation not quite visceral enough, and to top it all off, it's single-word adjective title couldn't be any more cliché. :|. Despite this, I am excited not only for the finished version, but at the prospect at continuing this story.
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(Contains: sexual themes and strong language)
                         

Overload



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. The potential is infinite, as are the benefits to all of humanity.”


“Huh.”


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 owners 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. 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 the company. 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.”


“Excellent idea.”


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.

Overload
Hello, DeviantArt, and welcome to my official debut!

Inspired by phantomdotexe's story Pollination, Overload is a rousing, philosophical journey into the insanity and eternal darkne... oh come on, you don't REALLY want to hear some overblown synopsis, do you? Come on, just read the damn thing! It's really not that long!

Constructive criticism is appreciated, so long as it's not too harsh. It's a bit early for me to get disillusioned :P

Thank you for reading!
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:icondeep-world:
Deep-world Featured By Owner Aug 19, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Hi! Thanks a lot for the mass :+fav: and the :+devwatch:
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:icongoteicaptainzero:
Goteicaptainzero Featured By Owner Aug 21, 2014
Haha, no problem! I'm glad I stumbled across you.
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RingMasterXero Featured By Owner Dec 7, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you for the favorite!:D 
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