Amareth Falls

18 - Insular Interlewd

by Miss_Praxis

Tags: #cw:noncon #bondage #dollification #dom:female #f/f #latex #maid #sub:female #AI #brainwashing #clothing #f/nb #gaslighting #multiple_partners #Nanites #Nanotech #pov:bottom #robots #scifi

This chapter includes depictions of heavy medfet, simulated drowning(perfluorocarbon), and body modification. Though on the plus side its all done out of care for her patient...

The trip wouldn’t have been Beatrice's idea of fun under any conditions. The short timeline and high budget meant she and her compatriots were more cargo than passengers. Sure, pampered cargo, but still cargo.

Typically, when time wasn’t of concern, a trip to Jupiter involved a series of very spaced-out acceleration burns to the midpoint of the trip and a flip in the middle to begin de-acceleration.

The primary difference with their trip - paid for and rigorously scheduled by an organizer representing Mara McArthur’s interests - was that it would frontload the burn to the midpoint, saving the whole deceleration process for after the flip. It meant they’d be dealing with an aggressive burn into Jupiter’s gravity well, and an aerobrake off the gas giant's atmosphere.

Even for a Terran, the involved forces would be rough on the body. For somebody raised in Luna’s gravity - or worse still, somebody with Beatrice's condition - there would undoubtedly be consequences. Beatrice dreaded the inevitable conversation that would come from submitting her medical information to the ship's doctor.

Frankly, there wasn’t a guarantee it would even be possible for her to make the trip. .

Natasha Augustyn, the ship’s dedicated doctor, discreetly informed Beatrice that while her condition would require additional care, it wouldn’t be prohibitive to her presence. The good doctor had cared for two other patients with gravity-induced genetic muscle dystrophy.

She also assured Beatrice that her traveling companions would spend most of the trip doped up in G-couches to help with the impact of the repeated burns. The doctor surprisingly also offered to cover for her: she would tell them Beatrice was merely staying in another section of the ship, rather than in one of her intensive care G-Tanks.

Beatrice found the concept of a G-tank restrictive, to say the least. ‘Spend my whole week floating around in saline like a fucking pickle. Fuck my life.’

It was distasteful to not only consider, but to be forced by her body to accept. Medical stasis - a glorified fucking induced coma - for the full duration, with full life support. Wonderful! Wonderful!

She was going to be canned in a fucking G-tank, plugged with life support equipment like a fucking lab experiment, and could only hope to wake up again.

Fuck.

She breathed out through her nostrils, trying to calm the tremble in her hands, trying not to think about the necessary act of breathing because—

In. Out.

She had to be pragmatic. Her frustrations weren’t going to help her to get the suit on, the same shiny, translucent suit that sat, neatly folded and ominous next to the see-through sarcophagus she would spend the next week in.

She’d been staring at it for minutes now. It was difficult not to - disrobing had only worked as a temporary distraction. If she deluded herself, she could say that the tremors afflicting her were from the seeping chill of the medical suite.

The doctor had asked her what level of consciousness she would prefer to maintain: she had her pick between a total blackout with hardly anything but the faintest memory of her drugged out mind drifting in the infinite void of the tank, or something in-between, with induced cycles of awareness and ‘entertainment’ to make the journey more tolerable.

Said entertainment ranged from the raunchy to the calm and relaxing. Beatrice still hadn’t made up her mind on which option was less awful.

The details of the sudo-sleep were appealing in passing. She could choose to be cast into myriad dream-like VR experiences while the doctor pumped her full of chemicals to ease the pain to nothing, or she could black out while they played, ensuring any part of her that drifted to the forefront would have less traumatic memories of her time in the tank.

It would feel good. The doctor promised her that. Whether Beatrice liked it or not, it would feel good. It was a pledge signed in a hand used to chemistry notation.

But it would mean losing control. Surrendering it, even if it was to someone whose purpose was to care for others. Still more than she could take.

The suit was soft to the touch. Felt filmy, like latex, as she dragged it off its shelf and stepped in.

She pulled it over her feet and shivered slightly at the cool touch of it on her body. The material licked the delicate skin of her ankles and her heartbeat a little faster.

A familiar tightness in her chest. But. Something else stirring lower. Her hands were shaking but grip tight on the suit. She’d always enjoyed tight outfits to show her figure off. This one held an entirely different purpose, but it was tickling that part of her for some reason.

More than tickling. She had to lean on the shelf as the crotch pulled flush against her, feeling—

Beatrice inhaled through her nostrils, trying to calm the tremble in her hands, trying not to think about the necessary act of breathing because—

Her breath left her as a shaky sigh. She had to be pragmatic about this. If it was a choice between, between fucking terror and, and—

In. Out.

Beatrice looked at her warped reflection in the glass of the tank. There was no denying it as she pulled the slack up, tight on her thighs, pulling flush: it was a sexy outfit.

The translucent material hugged her like a body stocking, clinging like it was sprayed on, like a slick, liquid embrace. One could forget all the little imperfections of the human form with it on and instead admire the firm lines and shape of her legs, the fine, toned musculature on display like a classical marble statue.

A ping came from the door console and Beatrice jumped at the sudden stimulus. She stretched from the medical bed and tapped the console, opening the door’s comm connection.

“Miss Donne, I just wanted to check on your progress. I know that this process can be quite overwhelming, especially for first timers.” The woman’s accent wasn’t thick, but hardly anyone’s was these days. You could hear it in the press of her teeth against her lower lip when pronouncing her w’s and a subtle rolling of her r’s. Under other circumstances, Beatrice might have thought it sounded cute.

“Oh, Yes Doctor Augustyn! I’m almost dressed. I think I can manage the suit by myself. Well, aside from the plumbing anyways.”

“Ah. I shall come back in five minutes then, yes?”

“Sure, that sounds good.” Beatrice could feel her heart fluttering again. The feeling of the suit compressing her thighs was certainly doing more for her than she wanted to give it credit for.

Beatrice resumed pulling the suit up over her upper body, feeling its soft grip on her intensifying. The circuit traces, tubing, and cannula ports across the suit somehow managed to make the whole thing look even more erotic as she caught sight of herself in the mirror. The shimmering, smoke grey skin-tight suit left nothing to the imagination. It showed off everything and highlighted all the best parts of her figure.

Beatrice sealed the suit with a tap on the collar, and eyed the hood with anxiety. It looked alien, like a strange, shimmering insect's face, or a robotic warrior's mask. She’d be unrecognizable under it, faceless.

‘In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose.’

She pulled it down over her head and fished her braided ponytail through the port at the back of the hood. It led into a longer tube that would keep her hair separated from the saline solution of the tank, but wouldn’t trap it uncomfortably against her head and neck.

Then, remembering the hood needed to be tucked under the collar of the suit, she re-released the seal and carefully gathered the cowl of the hood under the suit's collar.

As she sealed it, the silhouette of herself within the mirror presented her with a strange erotic and alien creature. Perhaps the pilot of an exotic, otherworldly craft, a feminine creature of the lagoon, or even the star of a fetish film.

…She couldn’t say she hated it. Not like she thought she would, anyways. She felt encased within the suit, armored, protected from the world, yet somehow comfortable and strangely, undoubtedly alluring in her appearance.

Beatrice knew she’d always enjoyed fantastical outfits for her own stage work, often donning exotic and masked outfits to perform in. She’d always attributed it to the mystique of building her stage persona, or her love of theatrics. In this moment however, she couldn’t help but admit she enjoyed making herself the alien. The exotic. The no longer human. A fae among mortalkind, transcendent in imagination.

She found herself caught as her thighs lightly squeezed together, her hand straying to the complex gasket in the crotch of the suit, when the door chimed again.

Ping. “Miss Donne, I have returned.”

Her hand whipped to her side. “Good! Uh. Come in.”

The door hissed open and the doctor strode in, her heels clacking on the deck of the ship. The doctor wore a snug, shiny flight suit-style medical uniform with a semblance of a lab coat built into its outer layer. It showed off her immaculate posture and the subtle sway of her hips as she strode forward, her silhouette all definite lines and known quantities over the disguising sway of loose cloth.

Her head was crowned with brown hair braided close to her skull, pulling back to gather at the back; the silver strands peaking through were the only mark of her age.

Her face wasn’t stern, merely confidently competent, and maybe a bit too sharp. But her eyes were what struck Beatrice most: golden, almost seeming to glow yellow in the soft, artificial lighting of the medical bay. Those were perceptive like a raptor’s, finding Beatrice and taking her in with complete measurement, detail, and comprehension.

She felt naked and bared before those eyes. Never mind the suit.

“Good work, dear,” The doctor said with a gentle smile and knowing eyes. “Now we can finish getting you ready.”

Beatrice couldn’t have been more grateful in that moment for the full face hood of the suit. She could feel the heat of the blush it hid beginning to spread down her body, warming it from the inside out.

“Uh. R-right,” she stammered as the doctor strode by her to access one of the terminals on the tank, passing within arm’s reach of Beatrice. Dammit why’d she have to be tall, too? That always made it harder. “So, about my, um. Options.”

‘Oh come on Bee. Get it together. It should take more than a pair of heels, a warm smile, and nice eyes to get you going.’

But composure felt like such a tall order in the face of all the stress of the last few days. Taller in fact than the doctor with her nice, toned calves and long elegant fingers tapping away at the terminal.

Beatrice normally would have done something about such by now, but… Well. It had been hard to get in the mood. Keyword had been.

She’d always had a thing for competence.

The doctor hummed. “Yes. I recall you were having some difficulty in your choosing?”

Beatrice swallowed. “I did, yes.”

“Ah, wonderful. So you have made up your mind then, dear?”

Beatrice nodded, trying not to cover herself in shame at her body's clear reaction to those words.

“I think… I think I’ll go with the more entertaining option. If that’s alright…?”

Stars and stones, she was going to melt inside this suit.

The doctor — without missing a beat — smiled, and put to rest any delusions Beatrice might have had that her current feelings about the situation weren’t obvious. “Very well. Then I will be needing the alternate plugs, and one of our VR Play Menus for you. A moment, please, while I fetch them. Just stand there for me.”

Beatrice's blush had worked its way all the way down now, if it was even a blush at this point. It was an effort not to pant, not to hold herself and tremble. She felt like her whole body had turned into a mixture of butterflies and embarrassment, like her heartbeat had to be obvious through the lining of the suit.

Doctor Augustyn put her hand on Beatrice’s shoulder — a muted, grounding pressure — and leaned in more closely than was needed to make herself heard, speaking more softly than the occasion strictly required. “Now, I think I would be remiss if I did not mention some of the potential relaxation aids we can add to your regime for the trip, dear.”

That was the final straw. Beatrice shivered. The doctor no doubt felt it.

A slight haze settled over her anxieties, not fully quenching them, but muting them like the latex muted the feeling of the doctor’s no-doubt cool hand against her skin, the thumb stroking the spot just above her shoulder blade.

It had been so long since she had let go of the wheel. Either this was her doom, or the best respite she was going to see for the foreseeable future.

She couldn’t shake the anxieties that were plaguing her, her fears of the future that orbited inexorably around Jupiter. Fears that centered on the one she was willing to put herself through all of this for.

But she didn’t need to be able to shake them; the doctor had offered her a way to remedy that.

The menu on the tablet screen wavered for a moment as tears started to well up in her eyes.

“I… is there anything you can hit me with for this where I'll stop worrying? Just for a bit? Like, for the duration. I’ve… I just can’t shake my anxiety. Not even just for the trip —I. Even now, I— I feel like I should get up and run right out of here and never look back.”

She focused on the thumb, rubbing ever-so-gently, so close yet so distant through the latex barrier.

Beatrice almost let out a sob, it felt so nice to be touched again. “I am so fucking weak. I should be fucking capable of holding it all to together! I owe it to her! But… I just can’t last this whole time, just drifting through my own head in a drug induced coma. I’ll go insane. I’ll break. I—I can’t.”

The doctor squeezed her shoulder. “Well. If you are struggling to let go, I think I have just the right cocktail to do more than merely remove the edge for you. After all, the last thing I need is a passenger left alone with her own fears for a week to stew.”

She was smiling, Beatrice could hear it, even though she couldn’t bring herself to lift her chin high enough to look her in the eyes. “I can help you relax, dear. You will not regret it, if you give me the chance to help you.”

She guided Beatrice to sit down beside her on the bench and began making a few selections from a locked menu with her credentials. “There. These will most certainly guarantee you will not remain trapped inside that pretty little head of yours. Now all you have to do is fill out your ‘interests, limits, and themes’ checklist.”

Beatrice’s chest felt like it was going to tear itself open as she slowed her breathing — with the doctor’s help — and filled out the whole list, to the last item.

It was possibly the most embarrassing few minutes of her life, but Doctor Augustyn’s sweet confidence and reassuring arm let her slip into a space of glassy calm she hadn’t given herself license to enjoy in almost as long as she could remember.

Her tears had long since subsided by the time she finished, and she felt a little numb, but still turned on. Once she’d gotten past the sheer mortification, the process of listing out your kinks and interests to a hot starship’s doctor certainly helped to melt what remained of her composure.

She didn’t care anymore. She needed the tank, needed the drugs, needed whatever the doctor planned to subject her to. Anything was better than staying outside right now.

“Now that we have got that, all we need to do dear is fit the last bits of your suit,” the doctor said, emphasizing this with a stroke and gentle squeeze of her shiny thigh.

It was high up her thigh, but not high enough, and Augustyn’s subtle smirk told her the doctor was well aware of her teasing.

The calm and the heat had alloyed into something much more than need. Beatrice couldn’t manage to put up a front anymore. This was just too much. The doctor fucking knew. She knew. They both knew.

She needed this.

“Stand up straight for me and spread your legs.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good girl.”

The plugs weren’t as big as she expected, but the doctor assured her they were quite capable of expanding to simulate any number of different encounters she would find herself drifting through over the next week.

Beatrice’s cheeks remained permanently flushed beneath her mask, and her responses to any direction came out mostly as small nods and a few embarrassing stifled moans as the doctor sealed her from the world once more.

The good doctor then guided her to the tank on the far side of the room, a proprietary hand at the small of Beatrice’s back. The other entirely improprietously holding the cables and hoses trailing from her suit like a leash. The feeling of entering the warm bath was otherworldly, just as she expected. The salt water matched her body temperature perfectly as carefully stepped down into it.

The harness, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly restrictive — not yet — but it held her in a strange, floating lounging position. Her head remained supported above the liquid for now by a soft frame like mechanical appendage, attached to the back of the harness.

It felt like laying in some odd combination of a lounge and gynecology chair, with stirrups holding her legs aloft and apart.

The quivering feeling in her stomach spread again, panging through her body with her heartbeat. It wasn’t quite fear, wasn’t quite need, it was something somewhere between.

“Miss, I’m not sure if I… I’m not sure I can handle all of this—”

Doctor Augustyn leaned forward, her face close and a hand braced on the pod, and reached down with the other to gently stroke the back of Beatrice's head.

“I know, dear. But that's why we designed your regime so carefully, no?”

Beatrice shivered, her heart skipping a beat. Fuck.

“I— Yes. I. I.”

The doctor’s hand left her head. There was a beep, and then faint feeling of something cool flowing into her arms spreading up towards her chest from the sudden awareness of soft nanoplast cannula entering her.

The fear surged. “Natasha! Wait, I—”

The doctor smiled, and it was a nice smile, and ever so gently knowing. “I know, dear, but you're going to be a good girl for me and take your medicine. It’s what you asked for, after all.”

Beatrice gasped as the cool feeling turned swiftly into a soporific haze that coated her brainstem, her words already beginning failing her.

“I… I… y-yes, ma’am.”

The doctor wavered in Beatrice’s vision, a fractal prism of the lenses covering her face and the drugs blurring everything.

She quickly found herself fear waning as the waxing of something much more agreeable took its place. Her mind floating as much as her body in seconds as she waited, docile, for the doctor to finish securing the countless tubes that connected her to the ships G-Tank.

She was a good girl and took her medicine, after all.

Beatrice giggled as the murky idea of her being plugged into the ship surfaced like a soap bubble, like a strange little appliance. The whole situation was just so deliciously ludicrous!

She could feel all the tubing on her suit, now full of chemicals, blood, and saline solution. It felt weird, like her body had become just one component in a greater machine.

She giggled at that too, smiling dreamily at nothing in particular.

The doctor disappeared from Beatrice’s peripherals for a moment before returning with the outer part of the hood she was wearing. She remembered it, the bit with the VR goggles and the phallic probe that was totally going to go in her mouth. Then she’d really be plugged all the way in.

She tittered, realizing just how silly and horny that was too!

The doctor’s soft smile took on just a touch of self indulgence. “Now, Beatrice. Be a good girl for me and open wide for your last little gift from me for now.”

Beatrice’s blush and arousal hadn’t died out at all since she’d felt that drip kick in, and this was like gasoline on the fires they’d let spread, as her face turned beet red and her lips parted to accept the outer mask of the suit.

It pressed firmly against the cup of the inner mask, fitting snugly into place. The amorphous probe extended into her mouth until she almost gagged on its soft, vaguely phallic tip. She snorted slightly in surprise as she felt the small tubes that slipped into her nose, but a calming touch from the doctor allowed her to simply relax and accept them as they filled her sinuses, bringing a tingling numbness as they disappeared down the back of her throat.

She had the faintest concept of protesting their inclusion, but it only managed to broach the surface of her bliss as an embarrassing moan around her gag. The simple audible admission was enough to send her tumbling once more. The goggles cinched down onto her eyes, completely blacked out, effectively blinding her as the world outside was cut off. Another more plaintive keening moan was her only comment.

The projection system must have been powered off. It wasn’t yet time.

The doctor cooed, the sound profoundly muffled by this point, until almost as if on some cosmic que the earbuds of the suit kicked on. “Sweet girl. I haven’t even installed that properly yet, and you’re already moaning.”

Beatrice tried to grasp just what that meant but swiftly found out as the mask sucked tight to her face and the dildo like probe gently but insistently worked its way deeper into her mouth, and then, to her surprise, down her throat. She thought surely she must gag, but whatever chemicals and coatings had befallen her she only moaned lewdly against her invader as her body's most intimate places were sacked.

The thing was clearly coated in some form of drug-releasing membrane, as the whole process felt far easier than she could have imagined. Before long, she was fully intubated by the gag. Her breath came easily through the nasal tubes, and her consciousness floated on a tranquil sea of drugs, arousal, and warm, saline infused water.

The doctor reappeared in her vision once more but this time from a feed within the room that showed Beatrice’s restrained cloistered form floating in the tank.

Doctor Augustyn looked deeply satisfied, one palm resting on the outer shell of the tank. “I thought you might enjoy getting a good look at your accommodations for the next week. I am sure knowing you're safe under my lock and key will only delight you further, darling.”

She emphasized this by reaching down and gently squeezing Beatrice's crotch, pressing the probe and clitoral stimulator into her hungry snatch. Beatrice in return moaned as loudly squirming in her harness as best she could, though it hardly made it past the layers of equipment ensconcing her.

“Now, my lovely, I am going to seal your tank and fill it the rest of the way. Then it's off to a world filled with fantasies, and no room left in your pretty little head for a single worry to find purchase.”

The doctor continued to gently massage the connection point on Beatrice’s crotch as she spoke. Even without any of it powered on, she could already feel the clitoral stimulator on the dildo grinding into her from the gentle circular tactile groping.

Beatrice moaned again and bent ineffectually toward the contact, her thoughts far and few between as pleasure coursed through her. The drugs were more than working. The butterflies were flying away, leaving her in a squirming aroused mess.

She hardly noticed the hand withdraw, nor the lid of the tank closing above her, or the increase in pressure as she was fully submerged or the adjustment as the soft frame or harness pulled her softly into a floating repose.

She didn’t need the screens to tell her what to crave, she was awash on a tide of her own making, trembling with arousal as her unshackled psyche indulged in hedonistic freedom.

What she did notice was the feeling as the plugs started to expand and gently shift in her, teasing her ever-so-slightly as the clitoral stimulator adjusted to seat securely into place. It was a panacea to her imagination, seamlessly integrating into the directionless narrative guiding her ineffectual writhing to turn into fruitless grinding.

She realised something had worked its way into her bladder as it suddenly drained, making her squirm.

‘I… I’m just a p-piece of the ship.’

The rhythm of suckling upon her connection to the ship consumed her mouth. Each moment her throat trying to draw her gag deeper in a desperate effort to slake her lust. The helplessness that before ate at her core now became a delicious burning arousal that washed over her as she tested her bonds with all her might, finding herself utterly impotent.

So, so distant, the doctor spoke from a world away, but ever-so-clear in Beatrice’s head. “Good girl. You’re all settled in. I’ll see you in a week, my perfect little patient. But for now, it's off to lala land for you. The first burn here in twenty minutes, but I’d like you firmly drifting in the afterglow before we get there.”

Beatrice’s awareness shifted: a faint question of what that meant, met by the truth of her situation causing her to clench, bearing down involuntarily on the dildoes inside of her. She almost came then beset by the leviathan of her arousal and the pressure of her grip on the toys.

Another drug joined the mixture in her IV’s. The world became tv static on a night sky as her perception dwindled from the edge ever inward winking out like stars, until—

The faintest awareness of convulsing as thick syrupy perfluorocarbon flowed into her lungs to buoy them from the coming accelerations, and then…

…

A conception of soreness and pressure on her body.

Then a ghostly image of a room that resolved into reality, a laboratory filled with machines and experiments. Where she now knelt on a lowered table.

A woman approached in high-end lab attire, a clipboard braced on her hip. Her face was a visage of placid professionalism.

“Well, Twenty Three. You’re coming along nicely,” she said, lifting Bea — Twenty Three’s — chin with a pen, she… she could not think her name, only Twenty Three remained.

Twenty Three moaned.

Twenty Three felt her mind spin for a second as the reality settled around her. But she waited, kneeling, like a good test subject should, just as she’d been trained.

Even when the scientist began to grope and fondle her breasts, each touch an electric shock of arousal to her system. Her eyes half closed as the woman thoroughly examined her physiological makeup through the skintight latex of the bodysuit that all test subjects wore.

A series of tests led to her eventually, docilely, being strapped by the scientist as the world filled with bliss and her brain let go of thought completely. Each thrust reiterated with the blissful words of obedience that the headset and headphones locked onto her recounted. Twenty Three was lost in the pleasure, the carnal delight of being ravaged by the—Doctor— the scientist.

She was a good test subject, after all.

When the scientist led her back to her enclosure without fanfare, she hardly even questioned why. Her compliance simply brought her the bliss she knew was her purpose in life. The world faded out and her perception peeled away from the edge into blackness.

She was a good…

…

Pressure and strain, her brain felt like it was unmoored from all but the faint recollection of the shape of pain. Drowning in slick syrup and baptised in the murky waters of an alien womb.

…

A ghostly grandmaster bedroom, a shiny, crimson, body-sculpting cocktail dress on her svelte body.

A dainty girl in a latex maid outfit kneeling, her leash in Beatrice’s hand.

“Mistress, I’m s-sorry I spilled the wine. Really, I am!”

Beatrice sneered, her smile turning predatory. “Abigail, you know I would never punish you unduly, but I do have to make sure you know your place, Maid!” Oh, how she delighted in wrapping her maids around her finger. Each unique and beautiful instrument for her to play.

The girl quailed, her eyes downcast. “Yes, Mistress. Y-you’re right, I should have been more careful.”

Beatrice leaned back on one hip feeling the delightful latex dress shifting around her and gently tugged the leash as she sipped the fresh glass of wine she’d poured after her maid’s unfortunate little incident.

“I am sure you will be, next time. But for now, a punishment is warranted… As well as a well deserved indulgence for myself for your contrition.”

She relished the way the maid squirmed under her words. Before long, Abigail was sprawled across the edge of the massive bed, crop marks appearing on her juicy thighs as arousal dripped from her shiny panties as Beatrice stalked behind her in stiletto heels contemplating which implement to use next.

Beatrice gasped, she could feel the pulse of something new and carnal flowing through her leaving her body, no, her mind even hungrier than before.

Goddess, she needed a good fuck more than anything and her juicy little maid would make the perfect little fuckhole.

The double ended strap-on didn’t take long to find its way into place as she hilted it inside her hungry pussy and squeezed it tight between her walls. The lurid projection of the shiny pink thing parted the split hem of her floor-length, crimson latex cocktail dress. Guiding the maid the rest of the way onto the bed, she swiftly had her latex-gloved hands fingering the girl’s ass and teasing the maids locked-up girlcock.

Another pulse, some hidden inhibition in her drowned, and then the feral desire to fuck the naughty little maid until Abbies sweet mind shattered could be held back no more and she was working hard enough for the pair of them combined.

Beatrice lost herself in the thrill of breaking the girl on her synthetic cock and fucking herself senseless at the same time. The feral retching of her repositioning the maid into new poses of rapt orgasmic submission the only break in her animalistic fucking.

Eventually the pair tired and she cuddled the small mindbroken maid to her like a doll as she drifted in the giant bed on shining, liquid smooth latex sheets.

She really had been inspired to create a beautiful song with her. Beatrice was grateful for her loyal, loving muses.

Her exhaustion felt as natural as ever, even as the world gently flowed around and over, and sleepless black flowed back like the tide.

…

Pressure, awful pressure. The countless miles of the ocean above, and the abyss below. Aches, oh those horrid aches. Stretched, compressed, she was breaking, she was—

…

Chemical bliss, pain peeled away until pleasure replaced it.

An ephemeral place: a night club packed with shiny bodies and pulsing sound. An endless parade of flesh under a constellation of shifting lights.

Dancing always felt as easy as breathing. It was a moment to get lost in the flow that came naturally to Beatrice.

Even now, in the thunder of the club, her movements elicited the attention of countless observers and many would-be dance partners. The feeling of the emerald-green latex tights that encased her legs shifting with each step, and the devilish clitoral stimulator inside her panties made each motion a wonderful double edged sword of bliss.

She knew exactly which lusty onlookers would have their chance as she moved with fluid grace through the cavorting throng. The plunge-neck latex clubbing dress flowed over Beatrice’s sweaty curves with ease as she approached the trio of dancers. Her scent was rich with arousal, her own musk, and hot rubber.

Each woman was dressed in her own unique pastiche of fetish wear. One wore a white latex catsuit, contrasting beautifully against her dark skin and gold foil plaited hair. She flexed and moved fluidly as she swayed and stepped in her golden six inch heeled sandals that wove up and around her shapely calves, waist held securely in a matching corset, with a golden plume-like bustle cascading over her shining ass and thighs.

The second shifted easily in her electric blue, shimmering leotard, her fishnets merely an illusion over the shiny tights that encapsulated her muscular thighs. A matching collar and cuffs wrapped around her neck and wrists respectively. Her blond hair, sun speckled tan and broad smile mixed with a taste of the clear arousal of someone hiding more than met the eye inside her suit. The blonde’s pair of shining blue pumps nearly put her feet on tiptoe.

The last girl had not a lick of skin showing through her ensemble. An obsidian statue carved out of latex, a heavy corset, countless rubber cuffs, and a bondage harness covering her torso. Tall platform boots laced up her legs. Her face was covered by a regal looking gas mask with a split hose leading over her shoulders to a bottle that bubbled with each labored, aroused breath. But the crowning jewel in her lurid display was the harness through her crotch, a pair of bulbs dangling down from it making it clear she was fully filled.

Beatrice had been enchanted by the trio from the moment she saw them dancing together. Bodies intertwining and hands tracing, all whilst caught in a crowd of shifting, panting, beautiful bodies.

It was the way that, in spite of all their gear, they still managed to move so fluidly. The way she could imagine tracing those sinuous curves with her hands, of making music of the visual feast, of becoming one of them.

She joined them as easily as she danced. They welcomed her into their own flow and before long she found herself grinding on the woman in the white catsuit. With the blonde pressing against her back and the obsidian latex creature joining in to grind in turn against the blonde.

The dance was delightful. Beatrice lost herself in the cycle of pleasured touches and shifting positions.

When they beckoned her to follow them to one of the private dungeons in the back of the fetish club she followed easily.

Their dance was born anew in the throws of their shared passion.

A pile of shiny bodies, a writhing mass of pleasure.

Impossible to distinguish who touched her where.

Each hand, each squeeze starting off another cascade of pleasure inside her.

She hadn’t intended to be the star of the show, but the trio had other things in mind as they descended on her. White Catsuit straddled her head, unzipped her suit’s crotch, and pinned Beatrice’s mouth with her pussy as Blue Leotard unzipped Beatrice's leggings and spread her lips apart before diving in.

Beatrice squirmed as Blue Leotard began to lavish the flower she’d revealed with her skilled tongue, and soon Beatrice found Obsidian Corset massaging her breasts as she knelt atop her stomach, holding her weight at bay but effectively locking Beatrice in place.

The trio demolished every rational thought in her head and replaced them with pleasure. Beatrice's eyes rolled up into her head under the continued crashes of the passionate waves. Her mouth lolling open with her tongue losing its course. But each time she did White Catsuit dropped her pussy and crotch onto Beatrice, robbing her of air until she focused once more.

They rotated often enough to keep things fresh, and soon enough the variety began to simply melt together into a dissociated orgy as each role blended into the next, giving and taking becoming all one singular binding of flesh and tongue and clit.

Beatrice found herself later pinned beneath Obsidian Corset once more; a spare gas mask was produced, and she swiftly discovered the delight of having to fight for her every breath as her clit was teased toward an earth shattering orgasm. Each time she got closer, the stretches of airlessness lengthened, until her head was a white static suffused in its totality by orgasmic bliss.

She wished it would never end.

Lost in a sea of pleasure even as things eventually slowed to gentle caresses and tender touches amongst cuddling slippery soft shiny bodies, she drifted then back into a different sea. A calm night descending on the once stormy world.

Her thoughts folded in on themselves until emptiness took over the space once more.

…

Cruel pressure. Damnable, awful pressure. The aches of a body beaten in the surf tumbling in the swirl of the waves, a breath that would not come. But still a million miles away, as it faded into warmth once more.

…

A voice in her ears, familiar, sending thrills down her spine. “Time for your mid-flight check up, pet.”

‘…?’

Beatrice became more aware of herself than she had been in an eternity. Amongst the countless fantasies, this felt as real as any of them.

She was aware then, of being suspended in fluid, completely weightless. Her body was still restrained, but buoyed inside a gentle pressure. Each breath she took swirled and flowed as fluid filled her lungs completely.

‘What is…?’

Doctor Augustyn’s face filled Beatrice’s vision. “Aww. My darling little sleeper. I hope you have been enjoying your sims. I’ve been checking on you, and it seems they’ve helped a lot. Your cortisol levels alone are half what they were before.”

She could feel the liquid around her pumped away as it was displaced by cool compressed air until her body floated bare but for the suit in the zero-g. The harness kept her moored to the supporting arm.

The oddest part was that while she was surrounded by air on all sides of her slick form, the tubes and mask she was plumbed with kept her lungs submerged. Beatrice became aware of the fluid flowing through them, and remembered the perfluorocarbon. A passing shiver of instinctual fear at drowning met the soft wall of chemicals keeping her calm.

That was all. She was calm. The fuzzy memory of the doctor’s explanations of its purpose returned. The perfluorocarbon would protect her lungs from the crushing weight of the acceleration burns.

A fragment of lucidity broke free.

‘...Oh. Right, I’m on the ship. I’m in the tank. That's what's really happening… Right?’

It was her first time experiencing the waking world since becoming the drowned dreamer.

Beatrice was struggling to remember much of anything through the haze that had only barely receded.

“All you have to do is nod, or shake your head for me like a good girl, okay? Nod yes, for me if you understand, my darling little patient.”

Beatrice muzzily bobbed her head. ‘Goddess, why is she so damn hot?’

She realized then that the warmth of arousal hadn’t left; it had just dropped to a simmer as she came to consciousness within the strange, mechanical womb. Even now floating in the weightlessness of the ship's brief rotation before it would begin its many breaking burns that would fill the remainder of her odyssey she wanted more.

The questions were easy enough—physiological responses, any notes of pain, that kind of thing. She felt herself remembering Twenty Three, the eager test subject, and her pussy juiced around the dildos.

As if sensing her distraction and somehow divining her thoughts through her readouts, the doctor called Beatrice back. “My darling little patient, are you getting lost in your silly horny thoughts, again?”

Beatrice moaned gutturally, curling up slightly. She truly felt the fluid that filled her lungs, throat, and mouth as her submissive cry became a thrumming, almost orgasmic ordeal within the fluid medium. She would never have considered becoming aquatic to be one of her dreams, but now here it was, fulfilled. Beatrice found herself already missing the embrace of the liquid around her body.

They continued the questions then.

As the doctor noted it all down, Beatrice couldn’t help but feel the intensity of her helplessness. If the doctor wanted, she could keep Beatrice in the tank. Beatrice could barely twitch her head, much less make a candid attempt at escape. Even her waking enough to consider it was at the whim of the doctor. That thought alone delivered another soft thrumming moan to her body.

Doctor Augustyn’s smile filled her vision. “You’ve been a very good patient, dear. Which is why, if you’d like, I have one sim I’d like to add to your playlist for the second half of your trip. What do you say, dear?”

Beatrice squirmed, the heat which had been building from the moment she’d awoke bubbling over. Even though her view of the world was detached from the camera above, she could make out the smile of the doctor unmistakably.

“Nod yes, Beatrice.”

She nodded, her body trembling and her thighs trying to close against the harness’s gentle but unyielding grip.

The doctor hovered over her, holding onto the side of the opened pod, her heeled foot braced against a hand hold. She reached in to caress Beatrice's cheek through the mask. Beatrice shivered at the touch.

“I think you’ll appreciate something from my personal reserve. You have been such a good girl for me, after all. Taking all your medicine and letting me take such good care of you on what could have been a really rough trip.”

Beatrice nodded again. The doctor was right. This was better.

Fuck, she needed this.

“I don’t often have the pleasure of getting to take care of a patient like you, dear, but I am happy you were willing to indulge me. Most don’t need this kind of intensive care, and I am pleased that you decided to make it fun for us both.”

The doctor’s hand traced down Beatrice’s body and teased her breasts. Beatrice mewled helplessly, trying to push into the touch—fruitlessly—in the zero-g.

A half formed thought of protest tried to surface, but she couldn’t deny that the doctor was right. The rest of the girls would never get to enjoy this experience. They were probably all exhausted from strapping into acceleration couches and being pumped full of g-drugs.

Sure, she’d had the same but, this way in her cocoon she’d been spared the worst of it.

Doctor Augustyn tsked. “You make such a lovely pet. And, you know, if I wanted, I could keep you here.” Her eyes flicked down, watching something on her medical console’s displays, and her smile widened.

“And ever full of surprises! I do suppose it wouldn’t be too much trouble to keep you, all of you? Yes, even the dancers who still dream in your cohort? No? Hm. What a shame.”

Beatrice squirmed, desperately trying to bring herself to thrash against her prison, and failed.

She realised that, without any top off charges or enough heat and friction-based recharging, she hardly had any power for her synthetic muscles to bolster her own pitiful natural strength. Not that it would have done much to free her, but the feeling of knowing she’d been reduced to squirming like a helpless newborn, or a soft, amniotic creature of the depths, cast upon a cold shoreline.

Beatrice hadn’t felt so helpless in years. She was entirely within this woman's hands, and she could take anything from her she pleased.

She looked up as best she could through the layers of separation that kept her within her cocoon and gently shook her head, it was the only thing left to her in this state.

The doctor tittered. “Oh, my darling patient, I wouldn’t, not unless they yearned for it like you do. But I can’t help but tease you when I’ve got you caught in my net. And take care not to move around too much — I must imagine it is a novel experience, going without having your implants charged for the first time in years.”

Beatrice nodded softly. She was truly glad for the lack of gravity while she was in this state.

“Well, if — and only if! — you’re willing, I want to give you one more gift while I have you in my hands, as it were.”

Beatrice’s fluid breath hitched. ‘W-what does s-she mean?’

She knew the doctor was aware of her… her.

A snap. The doctor's fingers in front of her face, a gentle smile behind them. A tender hand upon her shoulder. It arrested her fuzzy thoughts.

“Ah, ah. Beatrice, your whole life, no doubt you’ve been made helpless by those around you. All because they see you struggling and help you without giving you the chance to try for yourself… At least I am sure that's what you tell yourself.”

Beatrice nodded, her chin ever so slightly wobbling.

She’d never wanted others to believe that she was less than them, but time and time again a fork, a wrench, a family, and even her dreams had been taken from her because she was crushed under the stones she knew she must bear.

Beatrice could feel tears flowing into the liquid surrounding her eyes.

Natasha stroked her cheek, no doubt reading her crumbling posture for what it was. “Oh girl, were that I had a thousand more lives to give you where you need not worry that your chance to prove your worth will be stolen. Come here.”

Beatrice cried in earnest then, even as the doctor pulled her floating body the rest of the way into the empty tank to embrace her.

“I may have looked through some of your prior medical records,” Natasha admitted quietly, voice a gentle murmur. “Which, while I suppose was within my rights, I feel I must still apologise for.”

Beatrice didn’t have the capacity to dissemble. She weakly brought her head against Natasha’s neck and bosom, nuzzling into her while she wept. There came to pass an interlude in the discussion as Beatrice spent her tears, held by Natasha, who soothed her with soft words and a loving embrace.

Only after all of Beatrice's tears were exhausted and her body relaxed against Natasha, did the doctor continue.

“I am sure you know that often one in a position such as mine has a storied past. I won't burden you now with that, but suffice it to say, I am much more than this ship's doctor.”

Beatrice nodded, she’d never been reduced to yes or no, rendered mute for a conversation of this weight, yet somehow she felt more able to answer honestly than ever before.

Natasha sighed, gently tilting Beatrice's face up. “This tank, the tools in this medical bay, they are on par with the advanced facilities I had access to once, better even. Our ship’s stock of obscenely bespoke and expensive medical consumables are beyond what most practices or hospitals could dream to have at their disposal.”

Beatrice nodded. What was she getting at?

“And yet, what good does any of it do for those who need it most, and will never set foot inside this ship?” Natasha’s eyes watered; a small, jiggling bulb of dew forming at each tear duct, trapped by surface tension. “Then, a girl like you, who undoubtedly could benefit from my skills — these tools — she lands in my lap, and what am I to do? Tell myself that it’s okay to let her pass me by, untouched?”

Beatrice shivered again, her eyes locked onto Natasha’s.

“Of course, if you say no, I won’t. I would never hurt you Beatrice. You have acquired enough scars to last a lifetime, and I will not cut another into you…” She snorted, taken by a sudden burst of humor. “Well, not without your consent.”

Beatrice nodded, then cocked her head, desperately trying to ask what Natasha wanted, but it was clear that she already knew what Beatrice needed.

“I’ve done this procedure before. I won't bother with all the arcane and specific names, just the simple results. Your synthetics overlay your natural muscular system, supporting them and giving them the strength to fight the cruel embrace of gravity. A solid, though somewhat economic solution for a young girl in need. What we can do now, as compared to then, and with my resources, has expanded.”

Beatrice nodded. She couldn’t possibly mean…

“I would be able to do a full musculature overhaul, joint reinforcement, increase the regeneration of all of your systems reserves, and even increase some of your natural gifts… Eh, skills. You are a dancer, yes? Not just one of the earth, but the sky. A faye who bursts forth from the earth and exhorts in the air above.”

Beatrice nodded emphatically, she almost began to cry again. This kind of operation had always been far beyond her wildest dreams, something she’d never even dared contemplate.

“Do you want the full list? I could allow you to examine it once you are reimbursed in and back in the virtual world.”

Beatrice… she shook her head. Her eyes, reverently looking up at Natasha’s own, took in the tiny crow's feet wrinkling as the doctor smiled in response.

Beatrice couldn’t have put it in words — she quite literally lacked the capability right now — but she trusted Natasha to take care of her.

“So, to be sure, you do want everything?”

Emphatic nodding.

“And… you do not wish to see the full list of treatments and modifications?” The doctor looked bemused, if a little touched by the trust implicitly extended.

Beatrice almost giggled and nodded again. What had possessed her?

Natasha paused for a moment, contemplative and drawing her head up to stare into the medbay beyond.

When she turned back, her eyes had settled into something more professional, but her smile was still just as warm.

“Thank you.”

‘I should be thanking you.’ Oh, how she yearned to speak. She tried pushing all her feelings into her grateful gaze.

Considering another mermaid presented with the bargain of a voice for the agency to walk — yet doomed to walk upon knives — Beatrice thought she was seeing the kinder version of the tale. She would regain her voice, and for losing it for a short time she would walk freer than ever before. She giggled softly into the solution that filled her as she mused upon the fickle strands of fate.

Natasha’s warm smile returned, “Well, I may have figured out much of what you hide within, but it's clear I have plenty left to understand. So, for my own conscience: you do want this?”

Beatrice beamed as best she could and nodded her head vigorously.

“Then, all that is left is to set it in motion once you are submerged again, my darling sweet patient.”

And that was it. It was happening, no take backs.

‘It's not like I’d be able to tell her if I have second thoughts anyways.’

Beatrice felt her stomach fill with butterflies, but her pussy was telling a very different story, she was wet and involuntarily beginning to clench on the dildo again. Another thrumming moan flowed out of her as she accepted her fate.

The doctor glanced back over her shoulder at the displays on the consoles. Beatrice knew some part of her live chart must have been lighting up like a flare. “Goodness, you’re incorrigible. If you keep acting like this you're liable to make a woman unwise. I’ve half a mind to keep you as my pet, after all.”

That cinched it, Beatrice used all of her tiny might to needly grind against the doctor who happily obliged her with a hand pressed into her groin.

“I seldom get to use this suite, so remember, darling: sometimes that which you see as your greatest drawback is much, much more than that.” She leaned down to plant a kiss on Beatrice’s masked mouth. “If only I had the pleasure of having a pet and patient like you all to myself for all my voyages.”

But the complexities were soon lost in the welcome touch of the doctor’s hands on her.

“Alas, for now my precious little patient, I must send you back to the world of the dreaming.”

Beatrice couldn’t help but whine, feeling the burn of unsatiated arousal as she tried to thrust her crotch against the doctor’s floating body even as she was easily pulled away from. Defeated, she mewled into her gag.

“Don’t worry darling. You have more than just that suit to look forward to soon enough.”

The G-Tank sealed, and the warm saline flowed freely again, submerging her tightly coated body once more. Beatrice found herself relishing it more this time. Maybe it was the drugs talking, or perhaps it was simple association, but being kept like this fucked.

The doctor turned to face the camera lens above as she floated back from a cabinet. “One more present for you, dear. I really can’t help but spoil you for being so good today!”

She held up a syringe of something that Beatrice couldn’t quite make out, before turning to deftly plug it into a port within the medical support system that surrounded the pod.

“Now for another nap. We have another of those burns coming up, so I’ll see you soon.”

Beatrice squirmed against her restraints. She was still so stars-damned horny, couldn’t she at least come beforehand? Please?

But it was futile and she knew it.

‘That makes it so much fucking worse. Fuck. Why, why is this so stars—’

That fuzziness was back stronger and stronger as it came in like waves. Her thoughts disintegrated before the might of the ocean of chemicals sweeping through her neurons.

…

Inky dark, pain that throbbed.

Muscles robbed of purpose contorted without aim.

Agony birthed in a dark flame.

Faint feelings of muscles tweaking against invisible hands.

Then suddenly, a warm wave that lapped it all away, like the currents of the Lethe.

…

Awareness bloomed back faintly, a feeling of floating, with weight pressing down upon her.

A slick suit around her body. Then something icy cold flowed into her arms. Spreading across and up into her torso, the coolness transforming into heat, spreading to her breasts and pussy.

‘Fuck!’ Beatrice thrashed. ‘Fuck! Fuck! I’m already so fucking horny, fuck!’

But it was clear that the drugs didn't care whether she was already horny or not.

Beatrice felt like her pussy was going to explode. It felt like every part of her was on fire with arousal. Her rational mind was fraying on the endless edge of an ever building orgasm, and what few thoughts she had were ripped to carnal shreds.

Then the program started. This was the first one she could recall beginning with her somewhat awake. It felt strange, like a faint rhythmic hum from side to side in her ears.

As the VR system kicked on, her perceptions were drawn into an oscillating strobe, visually all-consuming like a fractal pendulum of back and forth and pattern and flow.

She stopped thinking.

A new world became more and more real around her.

Beatrice felt empty, except for the faintest awareness of the murmuring echo of her own voice, speaking quietly, far away inside her.

…

A form electric.

A mind displaced.

A body reformed through silent agony unspoken.

Pleasures summit

Abandons pit.

…

Glossy awareness of the world beyond the womb, a distorted lens that showed the center of her world.

Beatrice could see Natasha, her legs splayed upon a chair. One hand clearly working diligently to a lewd end.

Natasha’s voice was husky with arousal. “You know, I need to make those new muscles of yours move to help their integration along, pet.”

She lifted her free hand to reveal in it a strange peripheral device covered in nobs, switches and sliders.

“We haven’t had a need for such a simple thing to do this for many, many years, but I relish the tactile feedback of playing with my toys.”

A twist of a nob and Beatrice felt her body gently writhe as pleasure washed over her.

In equal measure, a dull ache quickly grew in every muscle.

“That's my good rubber doll. My sweet little puppet.” Natasha’s hand worked the toy it held more vigorously, and Beatrice could hear the faint buzz over the connection.

Without a stage, Beatrice danced.

“Truly, you are an exquisite instrument to play!”

Again her fingers touched the controller and Beatrice drew in upon herself, moaning with desperation as the heat inside her increased to a tempest storm once more. Every touch of Natasha’s hand a new string pulling her faithful puppet to new attention.

“Oh, stars. Were that I was able to play such an exquisite symphony upon you every night!”

Each renewed assault of pleasure was a carefully planned advance designed by Tasha to break down Beatrice’s few remaining walls, a coordinated siege and aerial bombardment of her body and psyche alike.

Routed, Beatrice yielded, but Tasha gave no quarter.

She flicked a slider up, and Beatrice screamed into her gag, arching her back against the harness, in the most intense mixture of pleasure and agony she’d ever experienced, rippling with freshly grown synthetic muscle pushed to the limits of its capability.

In an instant it subsided, and to the sadistic, ecstatic smile that broke into an o with Tasha’s release, Beatrice’s world dissolved into dark unconsciousness.

…

A vivid world of color and sound. She could feel the tight latex around her body, the way it squeezed her thighs, hugged between her toes, gripped her full breasts, and turned her on with every move.

“Hello, pet.” The voice was so familiar. “How is my favorite little patient doing?”

‘Oh stars. Mistress!’ The adoration and arousal that mixed in equal measure at the mere thought left her almost panting. She looked up at her Mistress and witnessed her smile, like dawn breaking on the horizon.

“You’ve taken so well to your medicine, pet. I can see it in those adoring eyes of yours.”

She nodded vigorously, as the only truth she would ever need was her mistress’s words.

‘I have miss, I really have!’

She could feel the soft grip of her latex hood around her face, her braided hair falling out of the tube on the back moving across the back of her suit.

Then, the touch of a hand again as Mistress stroked her cheek. It was utterly, deliciously simple to follow the blissful touches. Her pussy squeezed the toy inside of her, and she clenched the plug inside her ass with an equal measure of enthusiasm.

She even relished the feeling of the dildo that extended deep inside her throat. The feeling of being totally wrapped up in her Mistress’s control, knowing that she was being dosed even now by the suit she was wearing made her practically gush from her cunt as she milked the toy inside it.

Mistress’s smile widened. “That’s right, dear. You do deserve to be taken care of. You’ve spent every moment of your life fighting to stand on your own, but sometimes you need to let go, accepting that someone else knows what's best for you.”

She nodded happily, suckling on the dildo inside of her mouth and throat and milking the other toys like it was her most fervent desire and purpose. Mistress’s hands felt so good.

‘She knows just how to play me’.

It was such a nice thought.

Even as she was guided to crawl onto the bed, every motion was a chance to enjoy her predicament more. She couldn’t help it, it was like her brain’s only lens to view reality through was that of blissful surrender.

“I promised you a treat, for being a good girl. That cocktail I whipped up isn’t one I’ve had the pleasure of using often. But I know how wonderful it feels.”

She nodded again, her eyes never leaving the smiling visage of her mistress.

“Oh, that's right! You are being a good girl, indulging yourself at your mistress’s wishes. Letting me take such good care of you.” A hand on Beatrice’s cheek, caressing over her latex covered skull. “Hardly an independent thought in that blissed out mind, is there?”

‘Mistress is right.’ She hardly had any thoughts in her head at all, other than the unending carnal desire between her ears and her legs.

Even as she was pushed back onto the bed, her thoughts only held the simple question of how she’d be played with first. She was all too happy to find that this version of her suit had removable plugs, and took her mistress’s gloved fingers into her eager waiting lips with practiced ease.

It felt so damn good.

She moaned around her gag, delighting in her helplessness. She was a very good patient. She submitted to all of her treatments as instructed, including the physical stimulation she was prescribed.

“Good girl.”

The awareness of her drugged state served only to loop inward on the truth that being on these meds was being a good patient. Which also in turn built a feeling of delight in knowing how utterly fucked up she was on the medication her mistress had prescribed.

A delicious feedback loop. That the good doctor was all too happy to help along with her words as she played with her rubber fucktoy.

“Good girl.”

She was lost in this world of pleasure for what felt like days, bound and fucked. Kept on edge and drugged. Thoughts melted and rebuilt as she was played with. Sleeping wrapped up in soft smooth sheets inside her G-suit. Her mistress excused herself only once she secured her toy into another simulated predicament, which left her secure in the knowledge that within the simulation she was safe to be left within her mistress’s remote care. Even as that system subjugated her to sedation once more.

…

An interminable gap impossible in its completeness.

To name the pains course would be to chart every mote of dust within the wind itself.

But by knowing this pain, she was free to be reborn.

…

When consciousness returned, it granted her its greatest gift: grateful submission to her station, a purpose once more named. A bound object for as long as her mistress commanded.

She felt safe, left like this, with the faint awareness that even then her body was suspended within the warm embrace of the fluid of her G-Tank, countless medical sensors, and automated systems, all working at the behest of her mistress.

“Such a good girl.”

On their final night together, she was eating her mistress’s pussy out, lost in the another wave of drug induced euphoric heat as toys in her suit pulsed in rhythm to her ministrations.

“Ah!” Mistress’s hand on her head, guiding her movements. “That’s it, good girl.”

Her mistress’s thighs squeezing her head to hold it in place. Her other hand reaching down to pin her, face first, into mistress’s pussy. She couldn’t recall her name; she was her mistress’s patient, mistress’s doll, mistress’s good girl, and above all else her rubber fucktoy.

Everything else had fallen away into the loops of pleasure and chemicals.

Eventually she felt herself carefully pulled up to rest her hooded face against her mistress’s breasts as she drifted.

“Well, my darling little patient. You’ve been a treat to take care of, but alas! A voyage is but a step in a journey which must eventually end.”

A nod. Awareness of the world beyond.

‘I want to stay like this,’ Beatrice acknowledged it to herself. ‘I can’t, but… I can say—’

“Thank you. Thank you for every second… Mistress.”

“But of course dear.” Mistress cupped Beatrice’s cheek. “I know most wouldn’t consider this situation to be even remotely ethical, but I could see it in your eyes. You have not been safe enough to let yourself be helpless in a very long time, maybe even ever.”

Beatrice nodded again, her eyes brimming with tears. “You peeled it all away. Even if people wouldn’t think it was the right thing, I could never have known what it was like to be like this otherwise. Doc—” A gloved finger on her lips.

“Tasha. You’ve more than earned that right, Beatrice.”

Beatrice nodded, nuzzling against Tasha.

The hand returned to stroking Beatrice’s head. “I've started tapering you off that special cocktail, which means it's best you start putting your brain back together. I’ve got to run you through a little session in VR to make sure nothing you wouldn’t want sticks.”

“Right. Um. Thank you. Thank you for everything, Tasha.”

“Of course. I couldn’t bear seeing a lovely girl like you utterly torn up inside, unable to ask for help. Sometimes one must simply offer what cannot be asked for.”

Beatrice felt her cheeks get hot. It irked her that it had been that obvious, but she knew that Tasha was right.

They cuddled and idly chatted for a while, and Beatrice even for a moment knew serenity.

“Tasha, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Did you really do this because you wanted to?”

Tasha for the first time looked surprised. “Yes? Why wouldn’t I.”

Beatrice shied away. “Sorry, I guess I meant to say, well, you weren’t put up to this by anyone, were you?”

Tasha looked puzzled and vaguely alarmed. “No, and I don’t see why anyone would. What is it that's got you so worried?”

Beatrice grimaced, even with the potent anti-anxiety drugs still in her, she could feel it bubbling there again, faintly. She’d let her guard down. ‘Not like it could be helped, I’ve been literally drugged into doing it— I mean love it… But…’

“Promise me you won’t talk to anyone about this. Not to anyone, at all.”

“You have my word, Beatrice. I wouldn’t want to hurt you. You’ve clearly been hurt enough.”

Beatrice pulled herself into a ball on the bed, propped up by the pillows and headboard.

“You know Mara. Like, Mara McArthur.”

“Yes? How could I not? She chartered our ship to take you to Kalcifer.”

Beatrice nodded. “Right, yeah, but you’ve never met her or anything like that, right?”

Tasha frowned in concentration. “Hm. Not personally. Our company has worked for her family's syndicate before, I suppose. She’s a frequent flier on these kinds of accelerated flights, enough that the industry knows of it. But no, I only know the stories of what the McArthurs have done.”

Beatrice shivered. “Yeah, I just— Well, it's that she took someone from me, someone very dear. I haven’t been able to let go, to breathe, to do anything but think about it since.”

“I see.” Tasha’s lips pursed. “Sadly, it is not surprising. I hardly could imagine what that's like, but I know it must be awful to have that burden on your shoulders alone. Do you then intend to do something when you see her on Kalcifer?”

“I don’t know. I… I just. I just don’t know.”

Beatrice shook, as tears welled up in spite of it all. Tasha gathered Beatrice into her arms.

“Well, I can at least listen, and maybe you can figure out what it is you’ll do.”

Authors Note:
Picard Voice: Progesterone, 200 Milligrams, Hot~!

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