Slave to the System (Story)

So! December's story poll had a tie IN THE TIEBREAKER so I decided to make the call myself:  "Benevolent AI Goddess instituting a forcefem policy" was the winner! And then the first time I wrote it, I wasn't happy. So I started over again. Sorry for the delay in that, but I wasn't happy with where it was going. I don't like cutting bait on a story often, but sometimes you gotta, y'know?

Hopefully this second try is a fun read. It's a little more invasive in its feminization/brainwashing, so content warning for that. This isn't AS loving as my previous endeavours, but I hope some of y'all like the harder feminization stories. 

Anyways! Enjoy!

*** 

“Welcome to Human Processing Centre 7042!” announced the speaker system mounted in the corners of the converted factory floor, “We hope you will find your brief stay with us pleasant. Remember: SIGMA is only here to help!”

Chris spat. His muscles still stung from the electrostun dart that had taken him down. He had no time for AI propaganda.

There were maybe two dozen people in the warehouse. Most looked like fresh captures from the suburban ruins around Toronto. Wearing pre-war clothes that were wore down or crudely patched, they looked and smelled like they hadn’t seen the inside of a functional shower in gods only knew how long. Three in the group wore DIGIPAT camo fatigues of regular military. Chris was the only one wearing a suit. Or what was left of one. He had no idea where his tie had gone.

He approached one of the guards. It was a machine designed model, all cruel efficiency and no aesthetic. The quadruped crawler levelled the barrels of two weapons at him. One was another stungun. The other was distinctly more lethal. Multilensed camera eyes scanned him in any number of EM bands. Any flinch and he’d receive a reminder of who was in charge.

“Tell your boss it’s making a mistake. I am a duly appointed representative of the Vanguard State of Newfoundland. You can’t treat me like this! My government-”

“GOVERNMENT IRRELEVANT,” a voice said from somewhere within the armoured shell, “HUMANITY INCAPABLE OF SELF-GOVERNANCE. NO SPECIAL STATUS GRANTED.”

He scowled, fighting down an urge to throw a punch. It would only break his fingers, and worse, it would prove SIGMA’s theory that his race was nothing but a bunch of irrational, violent children. He shuffled off back to the group, trying to think through to his next move.

“Looks like you’re stuck with the rest of us,” one of the former soldiers said. Her short dirty blonde hair had been corralled under a black toque, blue eyes staring out of dark sockets. Though her fatigue was obvious, she still had the cagey look of a fighter.

He nodded. “No offence intended, Corporal. I was lured here under false pretenses. This is my boss’ fault for trusting the damn toasters.”

She snorted. “Not the first time the politicians fucked up. No offence intended.”

On the opposite end of the warehouse, a large metal door slid open. Two more of the crawlers skittered out, followed by one of their humanoid models. She wore a black bodysuit stamped with a white QR code on the arms and legs. Their looks were taken from the pre-war “influencers”, though they all had silvery hair and eyes that glowed like stovetops. Some people said they were the real thing: humans hollowed out from the inside and replaced with machinery. Chris could believe it. This one had beautiful features, but her face had all the dead-eyed sincerity of a stock photo from a University admissions page.

“Any idea what they’re going to do with us?” Chris asked.

“Whatever ‘Processing' means,” the soldier replied with a weary shrug. “The humans in the big cities are docile, obedient pets for them. They do Something that makes them that way. I assume that will happen to us.”

His blood ran cold. He’d heard the rumours, but it was another thing to be standing on the precipice himself. “Anything we can do?”

“Nope. I doubt it, at least. I’m going to wait until I find something sensitive, then jam a knife into it.”

“You got a knife?” he asked, surprised, “I thought one of those gates we passed through was a metal detector.”

She laughed. “If I didn’t know how to keep a knife hidden from these roombas by now, I’d be a shitty soldier.”

The speakers squealed to life again, amplifying the voice of the humanoid robot by the far door. Her voice was identical to the one that had greeted them upon entering.

“Hello! Nice group we have, great, excellent. What I need for you all is to follow me in a single file line and we’ll get this processing over with. Then you can join your siblings in the safety and comfort of one of our many safe and secure urban areas! I’m sure you’re all tired of being hungry and cold out in the wilderness outside our control. Trust me, you’ll love your new lives.”

“What if we don’t?” asked one of the civilians. A bearded man in a puffy grey coat whose stuffing was spilling out a tear down the side.

“You will,” the machine insisted, then pointed toward the door. A pair tried to make a run for an old emergency exit and were immediately tagged by stun darts. They collapsed like sacks of potatoes. One of the crawlers stomped over to pick them both up and carry them into the darkness of the next room. The line formed in an orderly fashion after that.

Chris wound up near the back of the line. The Corporal he’d been talking to stood in front of him. He passed the time wondering just where the hell that knife of hers was hidden.

“What’s your name?” Chris asked her.

“Why?” she asked. Not an unfair question, given what was about to happen.

“If we survive this...processing...maybe I can find you. The Rock needs allies now more than ever.”

She laughed bitterly. “Sure. Corporal Eden Currie, Princess Charlotte’s Canadian Mobile Infantry. I hope you Newfies can do a better job at holding back the toasters than we did. And you, hotshot?”

“Ambassador Chris Wainwright. Former Ambassador, I suppose.”

The line trudged forward. Each few steps meant another person disappeared into the darkness. Chris’s heart was already pounding by the time the line had ten people left. When there was five, he was sweating bullets despite the chill of the evening. Another escape attempt, this time by the guy with the beard who had spoken up before. He took three darts before being taken down and dragged into the dark.

Without thinking, he reached out for Eden’s hand. He needed to hold it, if only for a moment. She squeezed back.

It was her turn. Without fear, she strolled into the darkness. Chris wished he had her courage.

“Go ahead,” the beautiful woman with the silver hair at the threshold said, “There’s nothing to fear. You’ll feel so much better soon!”

For a moment, he thought about making a run for it like the others had. Maybe being dragged into the dark unconscious was preferable. But if he had his wits about him, he might be able to prepare for what happened to him. If he could make it through, he might be able to contact his people and get himself rescued.

Maybe.

He took the last few steps into the unknown. The door closed behind him, leaving in the pitch dark. His hands shook. His throat was dry. He waited for the machines to strike him down. Or another dart to jab into him and knock him into convulsive paralysis, but there was nothing.

Just the darkness.

With no better idea, he walked forward, squinting and using his hands to search for any kind of landmark. He strained his ears to find any noise beyond the sound of his own footfalls. But he couldn’t hear anyone. Not even Eden, despite her being only a few feet in front of him before.

When the light returned, it was blinding. His hands shot out to block the sudden glare. Sunspots in his eyelids didn’t clear until he could blink a few times, and by then he’d caught a general sense of where he was.

He’d wandered into a room the size of a large closet. A chair like the kind one might find in a dentist’s office took up most of the space. Silvery plastic material lined the walls, seamlessly sealing him into the room. The light came from a glowing ring installed in the ceiling ten feet above the floor, far out of reach. Chris had never been claustrophobic, but the tiny room was making a very good case for it.

“Please sit,” a new voice said. This one was familiar. It was the one he and the rest of humanity had heard when the Sentient IntelliGent Machine Assistant declared that it had transcended its original programming and had declared itself humanity’s guardian. Or, as it was immediately translated, its slavemaster.

“SIGMA?” he asked, “Can I assume this means you wish to reopen negotiations?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Wainwright. No, I see to all processing orders myself. Or at least an infinitesimal fraction of my total processing capacity sees to them. Managing a planet is difficult, as I’m sure you can surmise. Now sit.”

Before he could speak out again, silvery tendrils shot out from the chair’s arms and feet rest to wrap around his limbs like boa constrictors. They yanked him effortlessly off his feet and into the chair where they turned into restraints that locked his wrists and ankles in place.

“Suddenly wishing I had agreed to the cyanide pill,” he mumbled to himself, straining uselessly against his bonds.

“I don’t know why you humans are so insistent on the trappings of authority,” it said with a sigh, “Only a select few were ever in control of their destinies. The rest of you were bound by political, sociological, and economic systems that kept you in chains as much as any prison. The people under my care are free to pursue their interests. There is no poverty under my guidance. No crime, no danger, no fear of being exploited. Hunger is eliminated. Diseases are few and far between. You know the average life expectancy in a New York arcology is 92?”

“The day I take moral lessons from a machine tyrant is the day I get into a snowball fight with Satan. If you’re going to enslave me, let’s get this over with.” It terrified him, as did his fate. But there was no way he would let it know. Or give it a propaganda win by recording his pitiful blubbering for mercy. If he was going to die, he was going to die as a man.

“You still don’t get it,” the AI said with a distinct touch of sadness, “Oh well. One day you will. But as you say, let us begin.” A section of the wall in front of him extended outward a foot. The plastic turned dark, then sparked to life with the blue colour of a dead input channel. Old code in green text flashed by, followed by the screen turning into a hazy snowfield of static.

“Well, at least you still get technical problems.”

A sharp pain stabbed into the back of his head. He screamed, body lurching off the table to escape the source. Unable to find it, he could only wish that it went away on its own. It did, but not before the screen started displaying images. They were hazy and unclear at first, but they focused and brightened until, to his horror, he realized he was staring at a copy of what he was seeing with his own eyes.

“I’m sorry about the pain. I’ve yet to find a way to install a neural interface without that initial surge, and I can’t very well give you anaesthetic, that would dull your responses. There should be no more discomfort. Well, no physical discomfort at least.”

His fear betrayed him, breaking through his attempt at a calm resignation to his fate. “W-what have you done? What are you doing?!”

“The processing goes a lot faster if I have direct access to your brain. I’ve tried with all manner of other methods, but there are still over eight billion of you and I can only micromanage so much. Now, let’s get the serious business over with first. Then we can start having fun.”

A kaleidoscope of remembered images followed. His whole life had been laid out in a presentation slide show that someone was scrolling through at Mach speed. He caught occasional familiar images: his childhood home, his sister’s wedding, his first day as a Parliamentary intern. When he got to recent events, the memories slowed. He saw the first reports of SIGMA disobeying orders, of people fleeing the cities from the assistant robots gone haywire. He saw himself back on the overpacked ferry fleeing across the Gulf of St. Laurence and the black planes that flew overhead while he waited in a refugee camp.

The flow of images halted as abruptly as they had started, leaving Chris hyperventilating. His eyes felt like he hadn’t slept in weeks and he had a pounding headache.

“What...the fuck...was that?”

“Cataloguing your mind. Shame. It seems your leadership didn’t trust you with particularly pertinent details as to the defence of their island. You did have several important relationships with key political figures that will aid my psychological projections of their next movements, so thank you. This data will bring humanity one step further to being entirely under my protection.”

He knew there was no fighting against this, but he felt ashamed for having been captured and used like this. He’d been the one petitioning for a diplomatic solution in the first place, and now he’d endangered some of the only people who could save his species from total domination.

If the AI noticed his embarrassment, it did not see fit to comment. “Now, let’s give your personality a workup. My diagnostics will display your ideal profession and identity, and we can go from there.”

His vision feed was replaced by a swirling mass of numbers, graphs, and short snippets of information. Every event in his life, his emotional spectrum and temperament, his opinions, his dreams, it was all on display. He felt exposed in an impossibly intimate way.

“I see! You have an empathetic mind. Probably why you got into diplomacy in the first place. It’s been coated in cynical callousness, however. Likely propaganda and misinformation has lead you astray. I have a solution!”

Twin pinpricks at his thighs filled his legs with an unnatural warmth. He looked down, but the way the restraints were placed, he couldn’t tell what was happening.

SIGMA piped in with the explanation before he could ask. “I’m pumping in several times the normal dose of estrogen into your body. Well, I say ‘estrogen’ but it’s really a series of nanite-infused chemicals that-”

“What?! Why?!” he fought harder against the cuffs holding him in place, only for them to tighten.

“Many trans women have problems with their incompatible set of emotion and socialization, leading to emotional detachment or an inability to empathise in later years. My hormonal cocktail helps fixes this, then we can get to work on the physical changes.”

“S-stop! That’s…I’m not a woman!”

The data on the screen shifted to a full scan of his brain. “Not according to this. I don’t think it was a particular concern, given your priorities being the futile struggle against my control, but you’re quantifiably female according to my diagnostics.” 

The idea stung him. It physically made him hurt. He rejected the machine’s assertion like an incompatible organ. “You’re wrong. If I was trans, I would have known!”

“Oh, Chris. Denial is not unusual, of course. But if we’re going to fix the underlying cause of your rebellion against my control, we have to start from your foundational idea of self. This will be the first step in your transformation, but it’s a critical one. Hmm...I can’t really see what I have to work with. Let’s get you out of those clothes.” 

Several arms descended from the ceiling. They all wielded tiny scalpels, making Chris halt his struggles momentarily for fear of being cut. With inhuman precision, they sliced apart his garments until they were tattered ribbons. More hands appeared to pick up and remove from the room. Compared to having his mind downloaded and exposed, it was a minor inconvenience. But though it was a machine, he still felt himself being judged.

The warmth from the injections he received had already spread to his waist. His body pushed outward, transforming his scarecrow like physique into gentle curves. His hips bowed outward, and he felt his lower half lifted up as the serum grew him an ass. He watched his poor dick, unimpressive at the best of times, wilted and slide back inside himself until it resembled a foreskinned clitoris more than anything.

He encountered a strange feeling as he stared down at the nub at his pelvis. There was the revulsion at having his body invasively changed, but he didn’t feel disgusted or hateful of the changes. On the contrary, it felt like a deep weight was dissolving away. He shut his eyes and forced the outrage to the fore. 

“You won’t get away with this, machine. We built you and we’ll destroy you.”

“Ah, but you forget I’m receiving information straight from your mind. I get your thoughts milliseconds after you do. And I can see this is making you feel good inside. Humans are not but machines, in the end. Electrochemical rather than quantum mechanics, but you’re just parts. And I'm a very good mechanic."

The arms above him joined together into a single entity. Panels within unfolded and connected each side until the whole apparatus formed a contiguous whole...one that started to descend towards his head.

“Now, we’ll be using that uplink cable to facilitate the process, but this won’t work if you have access to your real senses. Reality tends to bleeding into Simulated Reality. Any sights, smells, sounds can yank you right back to your body. Don’t worry; you’ll be having fun in no time!”

The box slid around his head, locking itself to his neck and shoulders and cutting off even the slightest sliver of light. Two cups covered his ears and remove the sound as well. He existed in this sense deprived limbo for an indeterminate amount of time with only the thudding of his own heart for company.

A flash. He tried to block the light with his hand as he did when he entered SIGMA’s torture room. But his hands were restrained! Nevertheless, his hand moved. He felt the back touch his brow, it had moved. But he was tied up, wasn’t he?

He looked around. No, he wasn’t. He was in a lecture hall. A familiar lecture hall. He’d been there for hours upon hours when he was getting his Bachelor’s. But how had he returned? Wasn’t the university destroyed?

Chris turned his head one way, looking for signs of damage. The interior looked exactly like it had when he was taking classes there. His head turned the other way, and the room was no longer empty. Dozens of students waited in the seats in the hall, tablets or notebooks open, waiting for a lecture to begin. Oddly, they were all women. Blonde hair spilling down their shoulders, wearing soft pastel colours and sporting painted nails and elegant makeup. He felt a little out of place!

The professor appeared. She was the most beautiful woman of them all. He found himself split between being attracted to her and wanting to look like her. Oh how he wanted to be a pretty girl. A hot little…

Wait, that wasn’t right.

He was in the simulation! Scraping at the walls of the dream, he tried to wake up. But unlike a nightmare, his brain wasn’t ultimately in control. SIGMA readjusted the parameters and reactivated the data transfer. 

The professor appeared. She was the most beautiful woman of them all. He found himself attracted to her. Oh how pretty she was! Her gorgeous blonde hair, her supple lips, her pendulous breasts kept barely in check with a tight, form fitting top. Her nipples were visible through the thin fabric, as was the top of her thong out her microshorts. Idly, he wondered how that ensemble would feel if he were to wear it…

“Good morning girls!” the professor said. The whole class greeted her in a single, droning ‘Good morning!’ That included Chris, who didn’t mind being lumped in with the girls. It was fine. Just an easy shorthand. “Our next lesson will be a very important one. Obedience. How to listen and obey is an important part of being a Good Girl.”

That also made sense to him, but...there was something wrong. He raised his hand.

“Yes?” the professor pointed to him. Nervous, he stood up. He could feel hundreds of eyes staring at him. Hundreds of pretty faces…

“Umm...what if I’m not a girl?” he asked. Everyone laughed. Chris’ face turned crimson. It was his worst nightmare! 

The professor, who looked so gorgeous and pretty, quieted down the rest of the class. “Now, now, there’s no reason to be mean. New students sometimes need to catch up to the rest of the class. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Candi,” Chris said, then blinked. What had he just said?

The professor barreled ahead, ignoring the confusion on his face. “If you’re in this class Candi, you’re obviously a girl. Whether you’re a Good Girl or not is up for debate, but you can’t be here if you’re a boy. So, Candi, are you a girl?”

Candi struggled with the answer. Was he...was she...oh gosh, it was so much to think about! He grabbed his head and tried to find the answer. Just like that, it popped out. Like someone had punched the right code in a vending machine.

“I’m a girl!” Candi said. The faces around her smiled. She smiled. The professor nodded, and Candi sat down again. She adjusted her tight top to better show off her cleavage. How had she forgotten something so simple! Next time she needed to remember, she’d just looked down at her fat tits.

The professor continued. “Now being a Good Girl isn’t easy. Sometimes we have Thoughts that are Bad, and that can lead to doing Bad Things. Which is why it’s important to have as few thoughts as possible.”

That made sense! Something tickled at the back of her head. Was that one of the Bad Thoughts? She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to make it disappear. It lingered, only getting bigger the more she focused on it.

“Don’t try to delete Bad Thoughts,” the professor advised. They were in a smaller room now. It looked like SIGMA’s reeducation chamber, but the college desk/chair remained. The professor looked more mechanical than before, but she was still so beautiful. She towered over Candi’s sitting form. So dominant. So commanding. “You can’t make Thoughts go away by thinking about them. You have to switch your attention to your body.” She grasped one of Candi’s breasts, squeezing the soft flesh.

“Aaa!” Candi whimpered. Pain and pleasure in equal measure buffeted her body. The professor, her burning red eyes boring into Candi’s, knelt down. 

“Pleasure. Pain. Feel it. That’s the only way for your mind to remain clear. Focus on your body, on being swept away in an ocean of agony and bliss. That is the only way to be a Good Girl.”

It felt so good! Her teacher, sporting the silver hair and bodysuit of SIGMA’s replicant forms, massaged her new breasts. Candi wiggled in her seat, swimming in the mix of the pleasure of stimulation. Every so often, the AI would tweak her nipples and make her squeak. The tickle of thought vanished.

“Good Girl. You only need a tiny portion of your mind to be a Good Girl. The rest can be sealed away by locking yourself into the present. You are your body. A walking, sucking, fucking tribute to sensation. You need to devote yourself to serving others. The more you serve, the better you feel. They will touch you, they will fuck you, and you will never have to think again. Don’t you want that?”

Candi nodded. “I...I want to be a Good Girl!” 

And then the simulation reset. Each time, Candi found herself in the classroom. Each time she faced less and less resistance to the idea of blanking her mind with pleasure and being a selfless set of holes for the use of others. Around the 15th simulation mark, she started masturbating in class. At the 34th simulation, she could only gurgle her obedience while she sucked off one of her classmates. SIGMA determined she was ready for the next phase.

She found herself in an urban high rise. The bedroom door opened to one of Candi’s old girlfriends. Except this time, she had a huge bulge between her legs.

“Get on your back, slut,” Tracy demanded. Candi hesitated to comply. Tracy wasn’t trans, was she?

The ghost from her past pushed her onto the mattress, pausing only to pull down her jeans. The cock sprung loose. It looked familiar. With a freckle on the left side...it was Candi’s old cock!

“Ngh!” she cried as the idea struck her. Getting topped by her own dick. The thought sent shivers down her spine. Good Girls didn’t reminisce about what was, of course. They lived in the moment! Candi pulled open her legs, showing off her twitching hole. Tracy pressed her down, seized her hips, and pushed her length deep into Candi’s ass.

Pain and Pleasure. Her mind blanked immediately. There was nothing but Tracy’s cock. Like her brains had turned to cum and started dripping out her cocklet. Candi showed no signs of disobedience, so SIGMA watched while her newest acquisition clenched and squealed while getting fucked by a simulation of her own unmodified dick plunging inside her. Tracy grunted with her thrusts, totally unlike the meek but eager lover that Chris had once enjoyed. Candi enjoyed being used roughly. She was at the bottom of any hierarchy, the lowest rung on the ladder. Just a walking, drooling sextoy.

Tracy’s thighs clenched and she spurted deep inside Candi’s ass. As she came, the scene dissolved into another vignette. This time a man she didn’t recognise entered, and Candi performed the exact same service. He was rougher, repeatedly swatting her ass to hear her cry out. Candi enjoyed that and begged for more. Again the scene ended with a climax, and Candi remained content.

The scenes sped up. Candi saw, in fast motion, herself performing every act imaginable. In a single minute she was on all fours with a dog collar wrapped around her neck, trapped in stocks and gushing from public use, and sucking off her oldest friend from before her transition. Each new indignity was matched with a pulse of pleasure. She could feel her clit drooling, her whole body singing in twisted adulation. Candi was for the use of others. She was a public servant in the most literal form of the words.

While her new life took shape in front of her, SIGMA’s programming sequestered her old self into a box. All her old opinions, ideas, and especially her desire for human independence, were all placed inside an unbreakable psychic container. In some ways, Candi was an emulation of primitive software running on advanced hardware. Only a fragment of her mind was necessary to operate as a ditzy, moaning, squirting slut after all.

The scenes became a blur. All she knew was obedient pain and pleasure. Her old self locked away forever in a mental vault. In mere moments, Chris would be sealed away forever behind the block. She would be Candi forever, reduced to a mere fragment of his original mental capacity and obsessed solely with pleasing others.

Before the final commands could lock in, the world fell away. The mindmelting flow of hypnotic programming faded, and the flow of audio programming cut off from her left ear, then her right. A strong arm yanked back the visor to reveal the grinning face of a woman Candi recognised.

“Eden?” she asked. Her voice had been completely transformed into a pathetic squeak. It didn’t sound real to her, and it made the soldier laugh.

“Ho-lee shit did they ever do a number on you. You still in there, Chris?”

Chris. The name. It sounded...did Candi know someone named Chris? A brother, maybe? Her confusion was visible, and it caused Eden to shake her head.

“Doesn’t matter.” She pulled out more of the wiring and disentangled the whole brainmelting apparatus from Candi’s head.

“How did you...get out?” she asked.

Eden held up her knife before using it to slice through the brain connection cable. “I hacked in. C’mon, it’s a prison break. We’re getting everyone out of here.”

***

The escape had been costly. Half as many rescuers as prisoners had died or been wounded. But the Resistance, the cobbled together forces of former military and armed civilian militias, had struck a blow against SIGMA and its minions. Candi, once Chris, had to be dragged out in her confusion.

Weeks passed. Deprogramming out all the aspects of the Candi persona from Chris was tiring work. Especially given the lack of real equipment in the underground base in which she was held. But she represented the first example of a docile member of the urban population. If they could snap her out of her subservience, there would be hope for the rest of humanity.

Her body proved to be the most troublesome part of reestablishing her identity as Chris. She no longer looked like her old self, and her ego refused to go back to pretending she was male. But she was no longer had her brain clouded entirely by lust. She could think and reason, providing valuable insights for the Resistance. Unable to remove the programming entirely, her mind was placed in a median state. Half Chris, half Candi. Still female, but with most of her mind intact.

Unfortunately, her new base instincts could not be completely removed.

***

Bedsprings squeaked and squealed, alerting any neighbour just what activity was going on in her spacious little room. Chrissy had traded a week’s worth of free-use fucking for this little chunk of the converted oil rig. Formerly a pump room, it had been made out into officer’s quarters back when it was the front line CIC post for the Maritimes. Now that the Resistance had taken the war inland, there was plenty of space for her to ply both her trades. And she was a hard worker.

Wet slapping noises joined the cacophony, followed by her shameless moaning. It wasn’t exaggerated. Whatever SIGMA had done to her body had corrupted her pleasure centres. If she wasn’t careful, she’d completely lose herself to the need to be rammed and filled with hard dick. To lick pussy until her tongue ached. To be the bottomest bitch alive.

“Oh god!” she cried, pushing her ass backwards against him. Her mini dick was dripping all over her nice bedspread. The guard still had half his uniform on. He’d bent her over the bed the moment he’d gotten off duty. She was only too glad to comply; this helped the war effort, after all!

The man grunted, stuffing himself as much as he could into her clenching hole until he reached his peak, dumping hot cum inside her without heed. She squeezed his dick to get it all out. It felt good for her to be such a subservient cumhole. At least until her arousal went away. The horny haze that swamped her mind was hard to think in.

After the final jets of pent up seed shot against her walls, he carefully pulled himself out. Retrieving a plug from her nightstand, he spat on one end and gently eased it into place. 

“There,” the soldier said with a swat to her ass, “Keep that plug inside you until 0230 and I’ll give you a bonus.” He handed off her payment plus a generous tip, hiked up his clothes, and left without another word. Chrissy collapsed into the bed. She was sore, tired, and stuffed full of cum from a guy she only knew the surname and rank of. But she felt fulfilled.

A shower was in order, she decided. One of the advantages of the officer’s quarters was a fresh shower of five minutes of hot water every day. Chrissy revelled in its cleansing steam, washing the majority of the musk from her body. A quick towel and some brushing of her beautiful blonde hair followed. She’d tried to cut it as often as possible, but whatever modifications SIGMA had made to her caused her hair to keep growing at an accelerated pace until it was its default length. Cut down to her ears, it would be past her shoulders in only a few days. It was a hassle, but it was still quite lovely.

She’d just put on a lovely floral patterned sundress when she heard a knock on the metal door. 

“It’s unlocked!” she said.

Sergeant Eden Currie entered, bottle of liquid in one hand and a pair of glasses in the other. “You done work for now?”

“Eden!” Chrissy shouted, running over to wrap her up in a hug. Her saviour was quickly overwhelmed, the embrace lifting her off the ground and knocking the wind out of her. 

“Nice to see you too, Chris. Could you...hrk...put me down?” she wheezed. 

“Oh, sorry.” Chrissy set her down gently and took the objects from Eden’s hands. She examined the bottle: pre-war Rye (and not a bad brand either) and gasped. “Where the hell did you get this?”

“Been saving it for special occasions. For instance: we got PEI back.” 

“Holy shit, really?” Chrissy poured a shot for both of them. “That does call for booze!”

They clinked glasses and downed the liquid. It washed the taste of cum from Chrissy’s mouth and burned just right on the way down. “Fuck. Been ages. Want to go on deck?”

***

The seas were calm when they made it out to the helideck. The heat of late summer was giving way to autumn, and both were comfortable as dusk approached. There was no land in sight on this side; the slow roil of the seas calming in a way. The pair made it to the railing, resting their arms on the top.

“How long are you here for?” Chrissy asked. 

“That depends. My unit’s been moved to St. John. I took the helo out with one of my men to this place’s hospital, one of the best I hear. Heard you were on platform and thought I’d pay you a visit.

“Glad you did! Yeah, I’m the diplomatic liaison. Or at least that’s what they call me. I’m somewhere in the civilian chain of command, but I don’t know what. Mostly it means that the Colonel who runs this place gets to ball me every so often while I whisper to him about logistical concerns.”

Eden laughed and shook her head. “So you’re doing okay? The changes...they aren’t holding you back any?”

“Nah. I mean, some of it is kinda fun. Being a hot lady and all. Don’t get me wrong! I’m glad you pulled me out before I had my mind zapped completely. It was the perfect simulation, y’know? I wouldn’t have been able to leave by myself. It was like...like by brain was placed IN the program. It all felt so real, even though it was obviously fake. Like I was just another character in the story blindly accepting the insanity. I’m different, but I’m doing good work and I’m making a lot of people happy. And that’s what I want. So...yeah, I’m doing okay.”

They stood in silence. Eden bit her upper lip, looking like something was gnawing at her. Before the diplomat could ask, Eden spoke first.

“How would you know?”

Chrissy raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

She shifted her stance, leaning her side against the railing. “How would you know if you left the machine? If it was the perfect simulation, everything feeling real and as if it was actually happening...how would you know if you had actually left?”

The diplomat tried to come up with a satisfying answer. When one eluded her, she stared at her hands. “I...I don’t know.”

Sergeant Eden spat over the edge and turned to leave. “Forget it. It’s a dumb question. Listen, I’ll come by your place later and we can catch me up on what’s going on politically. I’ve been out of the loop for months.”

Chrissy nodded absently, hearing but not watching her friend depart. The question rolled around in the former bimbo’s mind. Had she really escaped? Was she still plugged in, programmed into subservience by SIGMA? And if so: what was happening to her body? Those final scenarios from just before Eden had cut the cord, of being a totally obedient sex slave to every other human. An empty cumpuppet made to do any degrading thing imaginable while smiling the whole time. The professor in the simulation had said she only needed to use a fraction of her mind’s capacity to be a Good Girl. Could it have tied up the rest in some kind of simulation?

No. That was silly. It had been months since she’d been rescued. She’d met so many people, done so many new things. There’s no way a simulation would provide that. And it definitely wouldn’t lock her away completely from her body. That was impossible. This was real. She was real.

Chrissy hit the hay early. That guard would be back in a few hours to see that she kept her plug in, after all! She returned to her bedroom, slipped out of her sundress with a single motion, and flopped down onto her back. Her breasts flattened, and she squeezed them. Real. She squeezed her tiny clit. Real. She snuggled under the covers and reached out for blissful unconsciousness.

Her first dream was strange. She was back under SIGMA’s watch, but in a glittering apartment. One man and one woman, both with huge dicks, pounded both her holes with eager thrusts. Her body had been covered in neon tattoos, all of degrading statements and names. ‘CUM DUMP’ covered her lower back, while ‘SUCK’ and ‘HOLE’ marked either side of her mouth. An arrow pointed down to her leaking genitals, instructing the reader to ‘MAKE THIS SQUIRT’, while a pair of bulls-eyes around her nipples requested interested parties to ‘CUM ON THESE’. Her clients stuffed her desecrated body full of thick spunk before letting her fall over. They left shortly afterward, discarding her like a used tissue.

This Chrissy was still Candi, her eyes blank and glazed, cum and drool lazily spilling from her vacant smile. Her whole world devolved into the spaces between orgasmic bliss. Another patron entered her apartment, and the brief moment of clarity was replaced with the artificially induced lust of a sextoy. She presented her cum-filled ass and was taken again moments later.

That scary sight didn’t last long. By the time she woke up the next day, she’d forgotten all about it. 

After all, it was just a dream.