Date: Thu, 15 Jun 2006 14:35:27 +1000 (EST)
From: Country Mouse <dr_country_mouse_top@yahoo.com.au>
Subject: The Centre: Chapter Two
Standard Squib: The themes and subject matter in this story are adult,
including but not limited to both consensual and reluctant (including
coerced) sexual acts between persons of the same gender, extreme medical
fetish, mind control, body modification and non consensual sexual
slavery.
Author's Note: Kids, do not try this at home.
This is a fantasy.
Trying to recreate any or all of the elements in this tale would earn you
prison sentences in any country in the world. Everything about it is
non-consensual and unsafe, and would result in long term psychiatric
trauma that would take years to recover from.
This chapter of the tale describes the sexual interactions and
explorations of minor children. Pedophilia is a crime that I in no way
condone or advocate. There is no excuse and no justification for sexual
activities involving children under the age of consent.
Writing this tale was a challenge I set myself, to see if I could write
something enertaining while addressing subject matters I find personally
abhorent.
In reality, I advocate the principles of Risk Awareness; Safe,Sane and
Consensual BDSM and always observe safer sex guidelines. Safer Sex is a
way of life.
If reading about power dynamics and graphic smut between women is illegal
in your jurisdiction or offends you, please leave now.
In my fantasies, anything is possible.
I am the feedback whore from hell. If you like my tale, please write to
me and let me know. Don't bother lecturing me about my sins. I already
know that I'm a pervert. I rather like that about me. If, on the other
hand, you're a kinky female (over 21) willing to endure a little training
of your own, I'd love to hear from you.
Email me at: dr_country_mouse_top@yahoo.com.au
The Centre - Chapter Two
copyright 2006 by dr_country_mouse_top
Story codes: F/f, F^f, F/g, teen2, ped, BD, anal, fist, non consensual
, spank, sm, medical fetish, mind control,
body modification,
Nifty category: Lesbian/authoritarian/science fiction
The author grants the Nifty Archive a non-exclusive, worldwide,
royalty-free, perpetual, and non-cancellable license to display the
work.
All other rights reserved.
No matter how long I have enjoyed my responsibilities as Director of the
Centre, I still find something deeply pleasing about watching the early
phases of a prisoner's retraining. The tank block that contained the
new intake I had watched three days earlier would be temporarily decanted
for their initial servicing and fitting. With a word to my personal
staff and my favourite aides and assistants, I left my offices and
wandered back to the southern quadrant to watch.
The biogel that filled each pod was thick, supporting the weight of the
prisoner's body as she floated in the womb-like tank, blind and deaf to
anything but the Voice and the stimulation provided by the various
contact points and instruments. It was Ph balanced, perfectly designed
to condition and protect the prisoner's naked flesh. The handlers lined
up the first row of tanks for servicing, the supervisor entering the
security codes that began the maintenance procedure.
After 72 hours of sensory deprivation, the sensation of the warm biogel
being flushed from the tank was generally enough to trigger orgasms,
particularly when accompanied by instructions from the Voice and
carefully modulated stimulation from the nozzles and other devices. We
could have left them in the tanks safely for months, assuming we
implemented the exercise programs necessary to maintain flexibility and
condition during long term storage once their final fittings were in
place.
Even as the biogel oozed out of the ports and was hosed further down the
drainage troughs by the handlers for this tank block, there was a shuttle
loading tank blocks on to the transport ship. Once in orbit, the
transport would deliver the latest batch of the Centre's graduates to
the waiting starship. As was generally the case with merchant vessels
that plied the trade routes twining a path through the Inner Worlds, one
of the ship's cargo holds had been outfitted for tank block transport,
plumbing and maintenance lines of all sorts hooking up to their matching
ports inside the ship.
Most traders sold their human cargo in single tank block lots, each one
sold to dealers at each of the ship's usual ports of call. The dealers
transported the blocks from the trading centers at the space stations,
subsequently selling one or multiple rows of individual tanks to Trainers
who supplied one or more Sale Yards on the Inner Worlds. The tanks were
designed to hold each unit of inventory for up to two Standard years
without intervention, assuming the lines were serviced without
interruption.
As the biogel sluiced from their bodies, the Voice shaped their
responses, instructing their drugged minds as it had provided the only
input to their sensory deprived brains for seventy two hours. The
stimulation after the long session of sensory deprivation was
overwhelming, sending their nerve endings reeling as sensitive skin was
caressed by the retreating biogel.
The Voice told them to rejoice in the sensation, to find overwhelming
pleasure and arousal. They were being offered up, cleansed, refreshed,
being born. There might even be a chance that they would be called to
Serve. They did look beautiful, slick hairless bodies twisting and
writhing as each woman orgasmed convulsively as they emerged from the
biogel. They were being born, emerging from the sheltering womb as the
Voice praised them for the offering of their pleasure.
The fabricators had been busy, the measurements taken by laser as each
prisoner floated in the biogel having been transformed into their first
training harnesses. A high posture collar had attachment points for
their hoods. The upper body harness held her shoulders back and square,
heavily padded bands fitted vertically over her shoulders, curving around
the outside of her breasts and encircling her rib cage. Horizontal bands
formed a corset like exoskeleton that ran from just under her breasts to
just above the prisoner's pubic bone, hooking up to the lower torso
harness. The dorsal spine was articulated, the pelvic harness and
rotating hip sockets enabling the prisoner's lower body to rotate in
free gyration. It could also be locked, frozen in any chosen position.
The nozzles, lines, and hoses inserted in the prisoner's body were held
in flexible netting that neatly contained the spider's web of supply and
waste lines. There were three broad bands of support around each thigh,
as well as one just below the knee and around the ankles, articulated
foot plates pressed to the sole of each bare foot. The arms were
similarly banded, wrists and hands articulated in the complicated
exoskeleton.
When worn outside of the tank, the lines could be capped off, the nozzles
and stimulators worn while moving around. The nozzles were generally
removed for more vigorous exercise, replaced with other forms of
stimulation. Once fitted, each prisoner was once again tanked up. This
time the o ring gags were removed and the proper masks fitted. The Voice
told them where to find the feeding teat, fashioned to mimic a human
nipple distending from a milk engorged breast. The synthetic was the
best science had to offer, the surface firm and resilient, heated to body
temperature. It even had a heart beat.
All the liquid nutrients their bodies required for maintenance while in
the tank were dispensed through the feeding teat. Each tank's inmate
could nurse on the teat at will, although if she failed to feed enough,
she would be encouraged and rewarded for doing more, the formula
dispensed altered to meet increased caloric needs.
Fresh biogel was pumped into each tank, heated to precisely the right
temperature to maintain optimum biological function for each woman. Row
by row, the tank block was flushed and fitted with harnesses, new masks
with the feeding teat sealed into place over the helmets, and meeting up
with attachment points on the posture collars.
They would float, weightless in the womb, their skin slick with biogel,
the nozzles and stimulation points closely controlled, alternating long
periods of sensory deprivation with mercilessly precise stimulation
programs controlled by the interface with the Centre's programming
software. The Voice never ceased, the drugs were inexpensive and
effective.
Again, one of our principles of training was that the human brain and
body produced neurotransmitters, hormones and other biochemicals that had
an enormous influence on memory and perception. Memory laid down while
under the influence of the limbic system seemed to burn deep. It was the
source of post traumatic stress induced flashbacks, and a close cousin to
the brain cells that would fire off during flashbacks triggered by early
drugs like LSD.
The brain cocktail produced during orgasm combined with mind altering
drugs, precisely controlled stimulation, the Voice and long periods of
sensory deprivation was a particularly effective method of brain
washing. Each tank's resident went through rest periods, reward cycles,
maintenance and feeding as well as a carefully monitored and structured
flexibility training. The exoskeletons reported into the records for
each tank's resident, the program carefully altered to maximize the
results for each woman. The residents floated, weightless and helpless
to resist as their bodies were posed and smoothly guided into postures,
stretching and bending and increasing each woman's flexibility. The
exercises were a combination of yoga, Pilates and dance. It didn't
matter if a resident's brain waves showed her as waking or sleeping, or
deeply unconscious to the point of coma. The tank fed and maintained the
bodies floating within, a womb of sensory deprivation and the Voice.
A routine bladder flush was accompanied by stimulation of the urethra
after a long period of sensory deprivation. The Voice encouraged the
woman to respond to the onslaught on her overloaded senses with pleasure,
issuing instructions and repeating the catechisms of Service as the
inmate climaxed repeatedly throughout the entire procedure.
A simple biofeedback routine rewarded the inmate for isolating and
flexing her PC muscle. The number of Kegel exercises required and the
force with which each woman flexed her internal muscles was monitored and
controlled by the computers. The flushing of the entire rectal anal
tube and high into the colon followed another long period of sensory
deprivation, once again accompanied by merciless sexual stimulation. A
similar biofeedback routine imposed discipline on the inmate's rectal
sphincter.
The Voice repeated the catechisms of Service as each tank's inmate was
manipulated with drugs, sensory deprivation and extreme stimulation. The
stretching and exercise routines became more demanding, pushing each
woman to more extreme postures, pushing and pulling helpless bodies
through the exercise program. Feeding periods were accompanied by
tranquilizers, muscles relaxers and clitoral stimulation, rewarding the
behaviour with slow, prolonged orgasms.
Lot J93852-Delta 469 was swiftly run through the maintenance and flushing
routine, the new inmates each fitted with the training harness as the
fabricators completed the work, row by row. It took a full team of
handlers most of the shift to process row after row of tank pods that
formed a tank block of five thousand units. Of course, there were
multiple handling teams processing multiple tank blocks each shift, and
shifts running round the clock. The Centre had been in operation and
under my direction for years; we were routinely the highest performing
branch office in the entire Union of Worlds.
Efficiency pleases me. I like anything that provides the sort of
lucrative remuneration, absolute autonomy, well trained and disciplined
support staff and carte blanche when it came to my choice of activities
to for entertainment that I am offered in the position I held as Director
of the Centre.
Job satisfaction is a good thing.
By the end of the shift, the tank block designated Lot J93852-Delta 469
was in transit to the lower south eastern quadrant, where they would be
held in storage for the next six months. By the end of the initial
processing time, the diet and exercise programs would have begun to show
real results, offering hints of what each inmate's true potential might
be. Their personalities would be utterly fractured by the long periods
of sensory deprivation, extreme stimulation, drug therapy and hypnotic
instructions from The Voice.
* * * * *
There was a certain symmetry to making my next stop in the adjoining
sector. The handlers there were decanting tank blocks that had completed
their first six months retraining. For six months, the women had
experienced no visual input other than that produced by their own brains,
no auditory input that was not carefully controlled by the Centre's
massive computer systems. For six months, they had floated in the womb,
being fed, their bodies flushed and maintained by nozzles, hoses and the
biogel, nursing on the feeding teats that fed them the drugs and hormones
that helped rewire their minds according to The Voice and the catechisms
of Service.
Their bodies had been stretched, flexed and exercises according to the
conditioning programs, becoming lean and toned as dancers and swimmers
are toned. Aerobic fitness was maintained by vigorous swimming in the
biogel, working against the training harness as it moved through the
routines. Although the inmates weren't truly weightless and the feeding
teats delivered a complete and balanced nutritional fluid, eventually the
body began to shed calcium, bone density reacting as if to true
weightlessness. The exercises and isometrics could maintain muscle
strength and flexibility but the skeleton eventually needed weight
bearing exercise.
As they had when they were decanted after the seventy two hour mark, the
inmates were first subjected to a long period of sensory deprivation in
preparation. Without training or previous experience, the average woman
began hallucinating after the two hour mark. After six months of drug
therapy and precision stimulation, the Voice reminded each woman of the
Prime Orders, repeating the catechisms of Service as they floated in
sensory deprivation for a full shift before being decanted.
Once again they were being born, emerging from the biogel as their tanks
were flushed. All stimulation points were tuned to the current maximum
settings, simultaneously performing a bladder flush and a high
temperature retention enema, with particular focus given to stimulation
of the g spot and clitoral shaft. After six months, they were primed and
ready, eager for a chance to Serve. Their bodies were revealed through
the receding biogel, writhing and twisting in ecstasy as they went from
sensory deprivation to sensory overload.
For the first time since they were originally processed into the tank in
the training harness, each inmate is allowed to stand under their own
power, their legs spread wide by the extreme spreader bar once more.
Still blind and helmeted, their arms windmilled crazily as their helmets
were hooked up to the track work, gently coaxing them into the awkward
hobble necessary to walk while spread wide.
The handlers let the track work guide the inmates into position,
processing them in groups. They went up on the platforms, head down and
ass up as it had been six months earlier. The handler ran the scanner
over the inmate's left hip, and performed the visual check against the
skull tattoo. The nozzles and catheter were removed from ass, cunt and
urethra; discarded into one of the biohazard containers for disinfection,
sterilization and refitting and recycling.
The first balloons of the catheter nozzles were easy to insert. The
inmates cooed and purred in appreciation as they were filled with warm
oil. Six months of enema training had increased their capacity and
trained them to find the process arousing. Sexual fluids dripped down
their thighs as they waddled to the next station, their bellies distended
with the heated oil, the nozzles from each balloon hanging down like
tails.
After so many months inside the tanks, it was hard, physical labour to
walk, particularly with the extreme leg spreader bar. They shuffled
along, moaning and trembling, the stimulation of the balloon riding
against the anal sphincter unbearably arousing. The Voice reminded them
that their bodies were being readied for Service.
When the balloons were deflated and removed, each inmate tried valiantly
to retain the oil as directed by the Voice. Just as the catechism of
Service taught them, the pain of the paddling was deeply arousing even as
it broke them, until they expelled the hot oil distending their bellies.
The Voice would guide them, the one trustworthy and reliable point in a
shifting universe as they were guided on to the tread mills and coaxed
into position. This first time they would struggle to remember how to
walk, but the Voice would reward them for their efforts and gradually the
motor skills would return.
* * * * * *
The breeder candidate training program was rigorous. The women were
chosen for generous width through the pelvic girdle, the infamous `child
bearing hips' of old. Of these, only a woman with the optimal angle of
tilt to her uterus and a healthy cervix was chosen for breeder training.
The physical exercises focused on abdominal strength and flexibility, as
well as extreme flexibility through the hip joints and pelvis.
Biofeedback techniques encouraged and rewarded flexion and contraction of
the PC muscle, while the nozzles dilated the vaginal barrel and anus more
each time. Hormone therapy and milking machines encouraged milk
production, with milk production tied to sexual arousal and orgasm.
Orgasms induced by suckling were accompanied by massive doses of the
hormones responsible for `afterglow' and maternal bonding. The Voice
praised each woman, each climax mellow and deeply satisfying. Electrical
stimulation, vibration and the wonders of the high tech robotic nozzles
and the miracle of the tanks made sure that the dilation of an inmate's
vagina was sexually exciting, inciting a hunger that was almost painful
in its intensity.
The Voice spoke often the ultimate pleasure, the delivery of her
offspring out of her body. The unborn child needed the reassurance of a
happy and contented breeder, who joyfully delivered her young. The all
important hormones and neurological signals that flooded the brain during
arousal and orgasm were a vital part of both the prisoner's training as
well as providing the proper environment for the young to enter the
world.
Successful breeder candidates were like the Amazons of local myths, a
strong athletic woman, sturdy enough to carry her offspring to term. The
strength, endurance and flexibility the training programs built in each
breeder would enable her to deliver her offspring according to the
catechisms of Service.
Only breeders received the routine brain surgery that implanted a fine
network of neurological stimulators into specific sections of the brain.
It was accompanied by a fine network of microscopic sensors that were
implanted in the vagina and on both sides of the cervix.
Dilation of the cervix triggers a trickle of electricity directly into
the pleasure centers in the brain. It was a pure drug in the system,
better than anything, impossibly pleasurable. Drug induced cervical
dilation and induced labour fed the stimulation of the brain's pleasure
centers.
Breeders were instantly addicted to the sensation. They begged and
pleaded for a chance for cervical dilation and the resulting trickle of
stimulation directly on the pleasure centers of the brain.
The pressure of a baby's head breaching a breeder's cervix would
trigger a full scale direct hit on the pleasure center, completely
whiting out the breeder's brain, a whole body orgasm that poured wild
torrents of current directly on the pleasure center. The shoulders and
hips squeezing past the breeder's cervix triggered further massive
orgasms, slow throbbing surges of power pouring into the pleasure centers
of the breeder's brain.
When the breeder recovered consciousness, the infant was draped over her
swollen breasts, still wet with birth fluids, nursing strongly on one of
her distended nipples. The sensation triggered a flexion of dilated
vaginal muscles, the PC muscle quivering and pulsing in time with the
baby's suckling. Expelling the afterbirth was rewarded with a slow
throbbing pulse of current into the pleasure center of her brain.
Breeder and baby would spend a lot of time floating in their tanks, warm
and safe, listening to the Voice. The breeder was rewarded whenever the
baby nursed. Most women rolled from orgasm to orgasm, slowly writhing as
their nipples were suckled on by little toothless infants.
Infants were held in the crèche as breeders performed their exercise
programs, but they immediately returned to pick up their offspring and
re-enter the tanks. Infants were able to squirm and wobble where they
willed, feeding on the nearest breeder when they hungered.
The children were never introduced to solid food. Instead, the
breeder's diet and hormones levels were manipulated to ensure that the
breast milk they produced contained the calories, trace minerals and all
the nutrients necessary to support the growing offspring.
As the babies began teething, it was inevitable that they tested their
new teeth on breeder's well trained nipples. The stimulation of the
offspring teething on sensitive nipples always triggered convulsive
orgasms. Most of the children giggled, and chewed playfully, laughing as
the breeder writhed and rocked.
Babies explore their bodies, spending days fascinated by their toes and
hours contemplating the wonders of their fingers. Without interference
by cultural prudes, the infants explored other parts of their bodies
too. Rather than covering babies up or hastily knocking exploring
fingers away, babies were cooed to and praised, the Voice rewarding them
for finding the Good Spots.
The Teachers explained that the breeders were being rewarded for doing
such a good job of providing milk for the offspring. The breeders' milk
swollen nipples were extra special Good Spots; the breeder really liked
it when babies chewed on her nipples. It felt really good and made her
happy.
Progeny Lot Delta J8730 wasn't the most precocious child ever produced
through the program, but she was running ahead of many of her peers. She
had seen the movie about where babies came from during school time. The
Voice told her that playing with her Good Spots was a fine thing for a
little girl to do, and that she was smart and clever for learning about
her body. She liked to feed several times through the day, not just two
or three times like some of the Beta kids. They were really big now,
almost grown ups. Deltas were bigger than lots of other kids too. She
was lots bigger than the Gammas. There weren't more than babies.
Delta J8730 nursed contentedly on the breeder that was on standby when
she finished pulling up the library article on the school computer. She
knew the breeder had orgasms or climaxes to reward her for nursing. She
was eight now, and had always strong sex feelings and fantasies. She
masturbated - that was the proper word for it, touching her Good Spots
until it felt better and better until she couldn't stand it anymore.
The Voice praised her and her Teachers hugged and cuddled and petted her,
telling her that she was good and smart and so very clever for learning
how to touch her Good Spots in so many yummy ways.
It was nice to lie naked on top of the breeder. Breeders were always
sleek and strong, with the big beautiful breasts and bountiful nipples
that fed the child every day. Breeders and Teachers were always
available for hugs and cuddles, or to give the little massages that made
children feel good in their bodies. Delta J8730 nibbled playfully on
the breeder's teats, rocking against her, rubbing herself, working her
best Good Spot against the breeder's thigh.
She had an agile mind, and what she had seen in the movies made her
curious. She wiggled off the breeder's body and asked a Teacher for
what she wanted. The Teacher and the Voice praised the little girl for
being clever and smart, and posed the breeder to best display her
genitals.
The nitrile gloves came up to the girl's armpits, small fingers
glistening as lube poured over both hands and forearms. The breeder's
eyes widened in sudden comprehension, an imploring moan rising up in her
throat as the Delta girl poured more lube over her wrists, coating both
arms up to the elbow.
As the Teacher coached her, the Delta stroked the breeder's clitoris
while teasing open her vagina with small fingers. It seemed amazing to
her that a baby could come out of such a small hole. "It stretches
open. Breeders like it when something open their vaginas. Pushing
babies out of their bodies is the best feeling in the world to them. The
wish they could do it every single day."
They talked about clitoral stimulation and how important it was. A
little hand rubbed firm circles on the breeder's clitoris, tiny fingers
pinching the clitoral hood. Three fingers slipped and slid in the
breeder's well lubricated cunt, twisting and turning and stretching,
rocking side to side as the Voice offered praise and encouragement.
The Teacher demonstrated how to squeeze her fingers together in a wedge,
working in a fourth finger. The Teacher squirted more lube everywhere as
the Delta slowly sank her small fist into the breeder's cunt. The
breeder shuddered and writhed, convulsed with an orgasm that was violent
in its intensity.
The Delta giggled as the breeder's cunt clenched down on her wrist. A
twisting motion, like the Teacher showed her, triggered shudders and
moans and writhing ecstasy. The Delta rocked her knuckles into the
breeder's G spot, spanking her clitoris with her other hand, sharp
stinging slaps that were deliciously painful and incredibly arousing.
The girl slid her fist in and out of the breeder's cunt, marveling at
the way the vaginal sphincter clung and stretched. The spanking
increased in tempo, matching the rhythm of the plunging fist. The
Teachers applauded and the Voice praised the Delta as the breeder rolled
and shuddered through multiple orgasms, warm approval like honey pouring
over the girl.
The breeder had scarcely caught her first breath when small fingers began
exploring her cervix. A trickle of current began to stimulate the
pleasure centers in the breeder's brain; she began to whimper and beg,
pleading to be opened up.
The Teachers explained that breeders were specially trained and modified
to be rewarded for opening their cervix enough to pass a baby. The
curious Delta pushed a slick and insistent finger at the plump ring of
the breeder's cervix.
Moaning deep and low, the breeder climaxed as a finger tip penetrated her
cervix. Without the benefits of labour inducing drugs or the natural
hormones of her body to dilate the cervix in preparation for childbirth,
it was intensely painful, almost cramping, even as the current in her
brain sent delicious torrents into her pleasure center. It was the
closest the breeder had come to the impossible, soul searing ecstasy of
pushing a baby's head through her cervix.
The Teachers chuckled, praising the Delta as the breeder convulsed and
shuddered in response to curious fingers that nudged and prodded,
painfully insistent and producing that direct hit of pleasure, the pure
drug flooding the breeder's nervous system. The Teachers told her that
some of the more experienced breeders could even be fisted through their
cervix, a special treat reserved for the very strongest breeders, tough
and flexible sexual athletes.
The breeder's nipples were dribbling milk, oozing as her cunt convulsed
around the Delta's wrist. She fingered the breeder's sensitive cervix,
twisting and teasing and stretching the rigid ring. The precocious Delta
liked playing with a breeder's Good Spots. They were so interesting,
hot and strong and slick, always lush with heat and need and pleasure,
the source of all her meals.
The cervical penetration fed the addiction that had been burned into the
breeder's synapses by the electrical stimulation of the pleasure centers
in her brain. She sobbed and rocked and clenched and shuddered, riding
out the waves of pleasure as she convulsed with orgasm after orgasm.
The young Delta giggled, preening a little under the warm approval and
praise of her Teachers. Finally she slipped her fingers free of the
breeder's cervix, slowly withdrawing from her body, pausing to rock her
knuckles of her small fist against the inmate's G spot. The breeder
shuddered and moaned, climaxing again, although without the terrible
addictive pleasure of having her brain stimulated.
A pair of little Gammas pounced on the breeder's leaking breasts,
suckling strongly, triggering further spasms of pleasure. Laughing, the
precocious Delta thrust deep once more, encouraging her younger siblings
to suckle harder, to make the breeder feel extra special good.
The crèche was full of such scenes, other young ones watching curiously,
joining the games. Most of the offspring seemed to go through a phase
where they were fascinated by the flexibility and capacity of the
breeders' bodies. I watched a group of enterprising Deltas team tag an
experienced breeder, a small fist rocking in the breeder's anus, two
more working in tandem inside her cunt while the young ones suckled and
chewed the breeder's teats. The Delta whose fist was working the
breeder's ass also spanked the breeder's engorged clitoris, encouraging
her playmates to greater efforts.
The full throated screams of triumphant bliss came from the experienced
breeder receiving the ultimate treat short of actual childbirth. It
never took long for the young ones to discover that cervical stimulation
resulted in a direct hit in the pleasure centers of the brain. There
were always a few enterprising souls that learned to call forth those
deep roars of breeder triumph, a little fist having breached the final
defense of a breeder's womb, tugging out against the cervix, just as a
baby's head would push on the sensitized ring during childbirth.
The sensation triggered mind altering, terrifyingly addictive pleasure;
current pouring directly into the breeder's brain, irresistible and
inescapable. It was very nearly as devastating as actual childbirth. An
experienced breeder learned to tolerate the penetration of her cervix
just as she learned to tolerate the dilation of her vagina. The proper
hormones and cervical massage softened the final ring, the mindless
pleasure the breeder experienced ensuring that she welcomed the curious
fingers and teasing touch of the young ones.
One small part of the breeder's brain stirred with horrified recognition
that something was wrong with the sight of an eight year old girl with
her arm buried nearly to the elbow as she twisted her fist deep inside
the breeder's womb, her wrist bones tugging back at the cervical
opening. But there was no fighting the pleasure hot wired directly into
the breeder's brain. She came endlessly as the small fist pumped inside
her womb, rocking and shuddering in response, ecstatic convulsions
rippling through her entire body, roaring out in triumphant pleasure
until her voice shredded and she lost consciousness.
The Teachers explained that breeders were special, and needed special
care to make sure they were happy and fulfilled. Orgasm released all
kinds of endorphins and neurotransmitters necessary for maintaining the
proper brain chemistry necessary for a breeder's health. It was also
important to the development of her offspring, as well as influencing the
quality of the milk she produced.
The Alpha progeny lot were the eldest offspring produced at this Centre,
turning thirteen in a few weeks. Most of them seemed to take pride in
their ability to reward the breeder they nursed from, clever fingers
petting a breeder's engorged clitoris while feeding on the teat. They
appreciated the slow, rolling rhythm of a breeder's multiple orgasms
while being nursed from. The offspring often helped fit a breeder with
the nozzles, letting the tank's computers deal with rewarding the
breeder for doing such a good job, leaving the Alpha to simply feed.
The members of the young Alpha progeny lot were spending more time in
their tanks, listening as the Voice told them about the exciting changes
their bodies would soon be going through. As always, they were
encouraged to explore their own bodies, given time to find their Good
Spots and discover new ones. The Voice told them about how they would
soon begin to learn the Prime Orders and the catechisms of Service.
The Alphas were fed from specially designated breeders whose breast milk
was augmented by a complex cocktail of hormones and nutrients, which the
Voice explained would trigger the onset of menarche, their bodies
beginning to change. The sweet bubbly sensuality that had been
encouraged in the children from infancy grew darker, carrying the first
hints of an adult's lust.
As hormones raged through the maturing Alphas' bodies, the breeders they
fed from were put through rigorous use. There was a great deal of
speculum play and testing the limits of dilation and penetration,
including extreme urethral insertions, double fisting and cervical
penetrations. There was frank envy from the pubescent Alphas as they
fitted the breeders with the nozzles and clitoral stimulators, as well as
growing curiosity and anticipation from the girls. The offspring were
eager to find out what it felt like to experience the pleasure and
rewards for a job well done that the Voice promised them they would
learn.
I left them to their play, chuckling indulgently at their antics. The
teaching staff had already requested the requisition of more breeders to
handle the onslaught of the hormonally charged young Alphas. The
youngsters were simply wearing out the breeders originally assigned to
the task.
* * * * *
I stopped in to observe a tank lot in its second phase of training. The
shift length changed at random, inducing sleep deprivation and further
disorientation. The inmates were still kept in frequent sensory
deprivation, the hoods fitted during their initial induction not yet
removed. Even without vision, each woman in this particular tank lot
moved with easy confidence, knowing the routine.
They writhed, dutifully having multiple orgasms as their tanks were
flushed, as were their bladder and bowels, their systems screaming with
sensory overload after the long silence of sensory deprivation and the
Voice. They moved from a resting position, emerging from the tanks to
move the few steps to blindly mount the treadmills.
Of course, there were the occasional problems. That morning, as row
after row of tanks were purged and flushed, regurgitating the inmate for
her exercise period, there was an empty treadmill. A handler was already
moving over to investigate, even before the alarm chimed in the control
center. The inmate was still hanging limply in her training harness,
body trembling and shuddering as her brain continued to fire off in
response to the sudden flood of sensation alternating with sensory
deprivation.
Her tank was rerouted, moving to the infirmary ward. Most inmates
suffering from overload recovered with rest and carefully controlled
stimulation. Those that could not be salvaged were sold as art to
wealthy corporations and government agencies, their tanks displayed in
elegant lobbies or exclusive galleries, where they would spend the rest
of their lives moving through exercise and stimulation periods
alternating with soothing praise from the Voice.
Most art installations used the reward cycle as a form of performance
art, almost a living version of the old mechanical clocks with their
dancing figures. At the designated times, the view ports would open so
passersby could witness the woman experiencing her reward cycle.
Artwork was a flagrant example of conspicuous consumption, the ultimate
luxury admired by all, attracting tour buses and stopping business in the
entire building at the times for the reward cycle. Those prisoners who
were unable to endure the brute force conditioning of their early years
of reeducation were destined for nothing but that conditioning. Public
artwork was generally kept on an hourly reward cycle, some as often as
every fifteen minutes. The inmate never left their tank again, left in
situ for two Standard years before being sent to the Centre for routine
maintenance. The biogel was flushed, the tank serviced but the reward
cycle was never interrupted.
Most of the artwork on display in the Centre's main lobby had been on
display for more than a decade. The frequent reward cycle was ultimately
wearing on any unit in inventory. Whatever had been left of her mind
before her failure in training in that first year was totally shattered.
All that existed was the pleasure and the Voice.
It was thought that artwork began to hallucinate soon after
installation. No one had ever bothered trying to determine what was
going on, although their brain activity was constantly monitored by the
tank's instruments. The artwork writhed in the beautiful way that a
woman wracked by unbearable ecstasy has. It was breathtaking, always
affecting and powerful, literally stopping traffic.
There were art installations in the Inner Worlds that had been on display
for nearly sixty years. Still, art was rare, occurring less than a
handful of times in an average intake of a hundred thousand. But its
rarity is what made art so desirable and exclusive. More than likely,
the failure from this tank lot would recover in the infirmary. It
wouldn't be long before her tank was fitted back into the pod with her
original tank lot.
If not, she would enter the dreamy, shattered world of art work, destined
to endure decades of unedurable pleasure, her body mercilessly stimulated
according to the program included with such installations. The
stretching and cardiovascular workouts the training harness guided the
artwork's body through ensured that the physical system was in peak
condition for the best possible performance for as long as possible.
The brain scans of art were fascinating, unlike anything else, which was
part of their appeal. It wasn't the flatline of the brain dead, or the
even like those of coma patients. It peaked during the reward cycles and
floated in something close to alpha state the rest of the time. It was
simply^Åart.
In the absence of regular load bearing exercises, it was inevitable that
most art suffered from a loss of bone density, despite careful
supplementation with the necessary minerals and trace elements. Most art
work lost a certain amount of muscle mass as well, their bodies dwindling
as the decades passed, developing the wraith like delicacy that was
characteristic of good art.
Even if I had a deep appreciation for art, contemplating whether we had a
candidate for installation wasn't getting my job done. I made
appropriate social noises at the supervisor and hurried on, going all the
way to the upper quadrant for the Southern sector for my next stop. I
did so enjoy observing the Trainers as they began to process the tank
lots that had received the initial Standard year of retraining. After
the brute force programming, the Trainers were artists, reshaping the
psyche and personality of our residents, preparing them for a life of
Service.
The process was endlessly entertaining. Every training tape we had ever
recorded went on to top the best seller lists throughout the Inner
Worlds. It was just one of the many little fringe benefits of my job. I
got paid to watch beautiful women tormented, teased and forced to orgasm
repeatedly.
I love my job.
Smiling, I hurried off to the next stop on my rounds.