Chapter 1 of 4
She left him the kind of kiss that was meant to occupy him for hours. One hand on his chest, long fingers reading the topography he'd had for thirty years with the gentle tips of her nails, while slipping a hand toward what had pleased her for years, and when she'd gotten what she wanted from his mouth she slipped her hand down inside his pants and cupped his balls with the patience of a woman with a plan.
She whispered into his ear, telling him she would be gone all day, in the lab. She told him she had ordered him a treat to keep him occupied, something they had never tried, nothing she was going to describe, and that it would arrive around noon. She told him he should save some for her, but that between now and her return he had a full hall pass to do whatever his heart desired. This sex resort made hall passes easy, and they had been here enough to know. She had planned these words carefully, improvising slightly while reading his reactions, knowing that these would be the last words she would choose to speak, or soon be able to speak for a while.
The resort's medical lab could do things that would have required three separate specialists and a liability waiver the size of a lease agreement a decade ago. What these labs did now, they did in four hours: painlessly, with instant healing and full reversibility guaranteed in writing. They had the usual tropes, body geometry rearranging. Big titties for a date? Done in fifteen minutes and reversed by bedtime. Modifications installed or removed? Always wanted to try a clit piercing or a sexy tattoo with no healing and no risk? Tissue that had no business healing even in months, healed instantly. The older guests had an old nickname for it, Clarketech, after Arthur C. Clarke's Third Law observation that any technology sufficiently advanced was indistinguishable from magic. She found this slightly precious. Back then it had been Sci-Fi, now it was just engineering. It was engineering done by people with unlimited funding and a complete absence of oversight, but it was engineering. She called it Clarketech anyway, in the old way, because it was a good name and she had been here enough times to have earned the convention.
The last time she had walked into the spa, as she liked to call the lab, she had come out with temporary vibrating piercings through her clit, tongue, and both nipples that he could operate by remote whenever and wherever he wanted. She had loved it, actually, and she had chosen to keep the clit and nipple ones when they went home, at least for a little while. The remote was his, therefore the pleasure was his and the game of not knowing when or where was half of what made it work. He had used it creatively and often: the anniversary dinner where she had needed to grip the tablecloth, Sunday mornings where she had clearly been trying to sleep and he had clearly not been trying to let her, the private pleasure of knowing that somewhere across a crowded room, or even from another city, her husband had his hand in his pocket and was doing nothing innocent with it. The piercings had made her feel owned in a way that was warm and specifically theirs. She had been in the middle of an excellent point at a board meeting two weeks later, and had really pulled off an… enthusiastic speech, then had the piercings removed the same afternoon. The spa visit before that she had left the spa with bondage rings installed directly into the bones of her wrists and ankles that had let him tie her up in the most incredible ways on their extended stay at the resort that time, but she had them removed before they left for home, they were a novelty for two days, but difficult to hide. And fun… not limited. Everything the resort offered was painless, instantly healed, reversible, that was the point of this place.
She had hardly registered the walk to the lab. She had known she would have to strip anyway, so she had walked out of her hotel room naked. She had been so wound up in the thought of it that the curious stares along the way had not registered until she was already past them. Now she was standing at the reception desk staring at a tablet with a pre-filled and complicated legal document. For her it was a huge leap, for this place though it was standard fare and almost boring. She had given herself four days to consider and reconsider the form she was about to submit. She had already filled it out with all of her details, planning carefully, discussing it with her neighbor back home who had done this already for a gag. The only thing left was to sign it in front of a resort staff member in the lab. He watched her, bored, but patient as her heart raced. When she finally signed the tablet contract, the technician took her form and double checked it without expression. He said it would take four hours. She said nothing, she knew exactly what this was and how long it would take. She stood in the reception area for a moment and absorbed the mild indignity of the situation: this was enormous to her, architecturally the largest changes to her body she had ever made, and terrifying in its own way for the rest of it, and for this reception staff member who watched it every day it was simply Friday.
The form said everything about what she wanted, she needed no words, and she would soon have none anyway. She bobbed on her heels for a moment, smiling ear to ear, looking excited and nervous, then composed herself and walked to her fate bravely.
The moment she stepped both feet into the glowing position indicators on the floor in her conversion chamber, six arms came down from the ceiling without preamble or ceremony, each ending in a padded loop that opened like a claw and closed around her body in fast sequence. In a moment the arms suspended her five inches off the floor, holding her by ankles, wrists, waist, and neck, immobilized like something on a factory floor being manufactured, which was not far from the truth. She was the product now, not so much the customer, and that was the glorious core of the plan she had been building for months. The cleaning and depilation went first: she was already permanently hairless below her eyebrows, but the machine treated her skin anyway, thorough and immediate, not at all unpleasant. Then the Clarketech body fillers, which she had not fully understood from the description but understood very quickly in practice. These were not the normal kind. Each injection site was pre-numbed with something that turned the surrounding skin more receptive rather than numb, the opposite of unpleasant, designed to turn any pain or discomfort to pleasure before it reached the brain. Every injection that made her skin plump and taut made her nerves there sing, a nice distraction she had not really appreciated from the brochure's description. She was held still as she received each, trembling at the edge of sounds that had nowhere to go.
Lips first. Then her… other lips. Then cheeks, then her… other cheeks. Hips. Bust, then bust, then bust, and bust again. Her breasts got the most attention and they swelled at the edge of her downward sight. A harder material went into and behind each nipple, making them permanently erect and so sensitive that the arms moving past registered as a displacement of air. Maybe she should not have gone for such a dramatic change the first time, but she wanted to make sure she could not be recognized by anyone. As her tits swelled she watched her normal kissing lips rounding into something closer to a fuck hole than a mouth: she would not have been able to speak through them even if what was coming for her vocal cords had not been coming. Her pussy lips went pink and swollen and she knew from the specifications that the shade the machine was calibrating toward was technically labeled "I'm ready for anything." Then her mouth was invaded by what could only be described as a silver smooth tentacle. It went to work so quickly that she hardly had a moment to register what it did. As it pulled out of her mouth, she tried to talk, but the part of her brain wired for speech had been unwired from her vocal chords. She tried to moan, and could not even do that, intentionally. But, she knew that the first time real pleasure hit her she would moan like a slut. They had not disabled her vocal chords. She could moan. But they were wired to her brain directly as instinctual now, no longer under her control. She could not fake her pleasure, and she sure as hell could not hide it… not any more.
She watched in the mirror. That was the thing she had not prepared for: the watching. She had expected to close her eyes for four hours, then to arrive somewhere and be surprised. Instead she had a front-row seat to her own disappearance, modification by modification, until the retreating stopped. Then it was more of an emerging. That had taken the longest, this bimbo bombshell slut emerging from within her one modification, injection, or tweak at a time, consuming the woman in the mirror, and she loved it before it was even finished. She could not tell herself from any other random bimbo slut now. Her skin was scientifically perfect, not a freckle, not a blemish, the only thing that prevented her from looking like a blow up fuck-doll was that her skin could still flush with pleasure. Right now her chest was red with the heat of what was happening to her and the anticipation of what was next. The mirror woman's proportions were not hers. They were designed to be nobody's in particular and exactly the resort's specific idea of what a body was for at its maximum oversexualized settings, and looking at it she could not argue with the logic.
She had planned for the transformation. She had not planned for how interesting it would be to watch the transformation happen. Planning didn't prepare the mind for such a dramatic and quick paradigm shift; she was even starting to feel like a slut, even though nothing had been done to her mind.
By the time the machine finished she no longer looked like a wife. She looked like pure erotic pleasure on legs. An escort of the highest tier. But she still had an hour left…
The machine pressed another arm to her sex just above her pubic bone. She watched excitedly for what would show there in a moment when the art was done. When it moved away the QR code was there, the resort's logo centered in it. Of course she could not read a QR code but she knew what she had ordered it to scan as. If the technicians and robotic system had followed her instructions, the code read that she was the property of her husband. If the system had somehow made a mistake, or rejected her request, she might have just been marked as product, a fuck toy body with a stock number QR inked into her skin until she had it removed. If the inking machine had not followed her instructions, the code read that she was property of the resort, stock number included, no name, and no exceptions. Was she property of her husband, or property of the resort? She knew, but her mind held the fact that she could not verify it, and that added to her thrill rather than diminishing it.
And if she were stock, could they also ignore her instructions to send her to her husband's room at noon? Could she just pick up the next contract for a bimbo bombshell and find herself in the arms of anyone else at the resort. Well, not in the arms of, people didn't hug what she was about to become, they just fucked them. She sort of liked the daydream of being delivered to the wrong room, it excited her and made her heart race. Especially since she had not expected that the idea of becoming property of the wrong person, or to be more correct, property of a sex resort, would excite her so much.
The machine didn't wait for her daydreams, it had work to do for her noon delivery time. Another arm moved quickly and her platinum blond hair went up into a high ponytail just an inch behind the top of her head. Then the part she was secretly dreading came. And it was far too late to stop it, nor did she want to. The machine brought a thick latex hood stretched to twice the size of her head, fed her ponytail through the hole in the top, then brought it down and let it close around her head and the world went black and then silent. The machine was careful to position her nose holes and her mouth quickly so she could breathe and the latex continued to shrink as the material relaxed into its bespoke shape made just for her. The latex creaked and flittered across her skin as her world seemed to get so much smaller. The machine sealed the edges with glue, fixed filtering breathing plugs into her nose that let air in and prevented dust or liquids. The ponytail had been threaded through the crown and she could feel the weight of it, familiar, for the moment it was the only thing left about her that someone as close to her as her husband might recognize. Then the braiding: the machine split her ponytail into two and worked it into a heart shape at the top of her head with an internal strong metal heart frame. She had seen these on almost all of the female drones and had always thought of them as cute and she loved it! The heart shaped hair was a symbol of what she was built for. And now she looked like any hooded resort fuck toy, indistinguishable from product.
She tried to remember what was to happen to her next. The last thing that she could remember on the roster for the day, had it really been four hours, was the nose inserts and her total immersion into the anonymous universe. The plain default filters were pulled out of the nose tubes, and new rose scented filter inserts went in. One breath and the world was a flower, sharp harsh strong rose, lush and immediate, and in ten minutes her mind had already begun turning it down toward something mild and pervasive and total, but the point was that nothing would penetrate her olfactory senses now, nothing but anonymous roses.
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The machine did not ask permission or give warning before it tested her. It simply began. She had chosen this part of the process herself, partly from curiosity, partly from the jealousy that came from having watched staff drones and heard the rumors about what happened in this room, and partly because it would allow the system to calibrate her sensitivity and prevent the oversensitivity that would make her useless during her first use. And because it would remind her what she was now. Not wife and patron. Part of the resort, and they took quality control seriously here.
The machine repositioned her into a suspended doggy-style and then attacked every available surface at once. Suction cups closed over her breasts while something vibrated against each nipple separately, calibrating pressure in increments she registered as distinct before she registered them as escalating. Her clit was drawn into a narrow tube and held there, extended and exposed, her body flooding with signals it had no framework to process simultaneously. Then the first dildo entered her and released something warm and liquid that spread through her immediately, a hormone treatment designed to keep her wet and perpetually ready, though she was already so far past ready that the treatment met no resistance. It fucked her methodically, learning angles, taking its time on each, then shifted internally to target her G-spot with a precision no human had ever brought to the problem. While it did this a butt plug found its way into her ass while something cleared and cleansed her from the inside. She couldn't track what was happening back there, too occupied with everything happening in front, but she understood what was being installed: a coating, a seal, a plug that would keep her clean and usable and prevent her from being a problem for anyone who used her there. She understood this clinically and felt it as one more wave of the thing that had been building since she signed the tablet. Her first orgasm arrived without announcement, a fast, full-body contraction that the machine registered and logged and used as data. The second followed before she had finished the first, layered on top of residual sensitization so that her nervous system had no gap to recover in. The third arrived when the G-spot work shifted angle and something in the new combination unlocked something she had not previously known was in there to unlock.
By the time the arms lowered her back to her feet she had no reliable count of steps or time or direction. A collar closed around her neck and she registered it late. The leash attached and pulled upward slightly and that gentle pull toward the ceiling was the only thing that separated standing from not. Her legs worked. The machines had given her the stamina her body would need for what came next. She followed the pull.
No staff member's hands steadied her. Only the upward pressure of the leash on her new collar kept her oriented toward vertical. Only her resolve to be a good toy stopped her from flopping to the ground, masturbating herself to oblivion then begging them to revert her ASAP. Instead, she stood and breathed through the rose-scented nose plugs. The leash pulled her out of the manufacturing transformation lab chamber and out to a hall, then out a door, then into the sunshine where her black latex head covering quickly turned so hot that it made her feel somehow double blind.
The leash trailed along the ground guided by magnets in the cement below, as though led by an invisible hand. Naked and ashamed of her slut body, but in the most glorious way, she was led along to wherever the leash took her. She, of course, could veer off course, ask for help. A sex drone acting wrongly would be quickly noticed, sequestered, and reverted at least enough to communicate, but she had an iron will and would not let herself give in. She would see this through regardless of the outcome.
Being pulled by a leash was one thing, but blind and deaf was another. She had understood this from the resort literature and still found the reality of it somewhat arresting: being guided somewhere by something that did not need to pay attention to her, pulled along by a computer program. Maybe it would have felt sexy to be drawn along by a lover, or by a competent staff member, but being dragged along by a thoughtless thing was even more exciting. She walked, on display, everyone watching the bimbo bombshell dragged off to her new lover. She knew this because she had watched staff sex drones being pulled along.
She knew the layout of the resort well enough, had stayed here often enough to have the buildings, pools, lab, and even many corridors organized in her head, but the lack of sight compounding with the lack of sound, amplified by the warmth of the sun and the post-orgasm glow, and the powerful rose scent in her nose, she lost her count of steps. Had she been led from the lab well past the building her husband's room was in, or was she still well shy of it. Every step beyond this one was an adventure. Then the leash brought her into a building and the leash was grabbed up by the automated system of that building. Another thing she had not been expecting was to use the staff entrance and staff back hallways, which further disoriented her. Even if it was her building, she had no reference from here. An elevator opened, took her in, and she stood in it and understood that she used to be the kind of person who pressed buttons to tell elevators where to go. The elevator moved and she had no idea how many floors. Another person was brought in partway through, someone who pushed slightly less air around than her, maybe someone skinnier, and then that person was led off and she was led off after, and she moved through a corridor she could not map, toward a door she could not see coming.
A door. The pressure of new air.
Warm hands took her leash off of the wall and guided her to the bed area. They guided her down onto the bed. What was a surprise though was that she left the room with black silk sheets on a double wide king bed, but this surface was very different. The bed was completely covered in latex like her head. The sheet was taut and oiled. They had never had sheets like this in their room before. The sheets were cool to the touch but felt warm at the same time because heat didn't transfer quickly.
They positioned her, laying back on the bed. Should she just spread her legs now, ready for action? There were no clues, no key insights, no person, just hands and bed and her total immersion in silent black roses. She lay back and her hood met the surface and dragged and caught and released, the friction between the two materials telling her everything about what the next few hours would feel like. Then, without warning, her would-be lover reached over her, putting pressure on the bed at her side, then left her there. Had it been a staff member setting her up? Her husband? They had left. The door closed.
She was alone in her own personal rosy darkness. She tested the leash by dragging herself to the edge of the bed then she stood up: two steps off the bed and the leash pulled, no further. She reached in the direction she thought the luggage rack might be but she was at least ten feet away and bound. She could release herself, the leash was not secured, just hung on a hook, and her hands were free, but the person had 'tied' her to the bed, so, like a good toy, she would stay where she was most wanted. She turned back to the bed and misjudged the edge and went down, knees finding carpet, torso and breasts pressing into the cold slick latex of the sheet, and she held that position for a moment and took inventory of it, the height of her ass behind her, the display of what the modifications had made of her curves, her puffy flushed pink pussy lips pouting, no, begging for attention, she was in a clear mating position, and decided this was not the worst position she could be in, all things considered, but she had been left on the bed, not bent over it like a common slut.
She got back onto the bed and tried a pose on her side. Then she knelt in Nadu pose in the middle of the bed with knees wide open, hands resting upside down on her thighs, mouth slightly open, showing her Master or Owner or whatever, all of her useful parts in this deeply submissive pose. Then she laid back onto the bed to wait, settling into something she hoped conveyed, to whoever would eventually come through that door, that she was ready for play, and a taste treat.
She had more time to think. She had planned all of this herself. The arrangement was entirely her design. If she was in the wrong room, then the QR code was the only thing standing between her and a very awkward conversation when she would be found to be out of place. Of course, once a drone was assigned, who in their right mind would even bother scanning her QR brand. If it was her husband he might, just for the fun of seeing if she had been crazy enough to enter herself into stock, or find some hidden message she might have left for him, considering they both knew she could no longer communicate vocally. But, no. He didn't know she was herself, so he would have no reason at all to scan a resort sex drone, no one would unless there was a discrepancy.
The door. The pressure shift, which she had not known she would learn to read, but she read it. Footsteps across the carpeted floor that vibrated through the latex sheet like a drum, the pressure of air as a body moved toward her. Then stillness. Someone was observing her, hopefully drooling with anticipation, hopefully her husband, but at this point she was caring less, as long as they were drooling…
She had imagined this moment many times while planning it. She had not imagined this: the man who would stand and assess before touching anything. Her husband had always been a man of "move first and think after", always, a man whose first response to a room was to occupy it. This was not that. This was someone standing and assessing before they enjoyed.
This felt like a stranger, but then again, her husband should not know her in this form. To him, she was a present from her, a nameless fuck toy sex drone woman to do his any bidding while his wife was busy elsewhere. And a full hall pass with such a treasure… maybe that could make even her husband pause?! Her argument against it being him though, started immediately. This could be ANY man with a hall pass. Any man, or a woman, preparing to enjoy what the resort had arranged. He didn't need to know it was her, and being away from home, being handed something new and nameless, he would be different here, different with something unknown. She would not assume. She would play her part. Stranger, well what would set her husband apart from a stranger in a unique situation like this, she didn't know.
She straightened her posture, arched her back, parted her knees just slightly, offering everything she had to whoever was there. It was her full self, a full offering.
He did not speak. Or if he did, the hood translated nothing useful, not a word, not a register she recognized, just the impression of sound that resolved into hands. Specific and exploratory, the way a man's hands move when he is cataloguing a new acquisition rather than greeting something familiar.
He had laid himself down already, and when she got her hands on him she found him naked and hard. He felt larger than her husband. Slightly hairier. His cock, when she reached for it, had a weight and a curve that sat differently in her palm, though all of this could be the sensitization treatments and the absence of sight and sound and smell bending her senses into something unreliable. Maybe this was her husband. He simply felt larger. She honestly could not trust her senses in this state, not with these subtle differences as her only reference. She didn't dare touch his face, a sex drone would not do that. A sex drone was here for the pleasure of the patron, not to learn or explore for itself.
He pulled her down onto his cock face first and she obliged whoever this man was with the best blowjob she could manage, which was impressive even before the modifications had thickened her lips into something close to obscene. The new lips changed the geometry of it entirely, made the friction cushioned. He did not force her down past what she could take. He pushed her to the comfortable limit, the place where her body involuntarily tightened and pushed back, and he stayed there, and the attention he paid to the sounds she made at that edge told her everything she needed to know about what this man wanted from those sounds. This man didn't want to choke her or hurt her, but he clearly enjoyed the sound of her light gagging and involuntary Ughh Ughh Ughh Gluph Ugghh as he gently moved within her limit. He liked it. She actually liked it.
When he turned her over the latex sheet caught at her hood on the drag and released in a way that compounded with everything else. Her skin was slick on the oiled surface and her own latex was at odds with it, a friction that kept her from predicting the resistance, and then his weight came down and the modified curves of her hips accommodated him perfectly and changed angles in ways she had never known. He fucked her like he had no history with her, which, she was surprised to realize was the one thing she had really wanted. She had wanted to know how her husband would fuck a toy, not a wife. And boy was she getting that experience. He bounced her down into the mattress hard enough that her hips recoiled back up into him without her own effort, he bounced her ass like a basketball, while pounding his cock into her on every stroke, snapping his hips down at the last second to smash wonderfully into her pussy and clit and shove her back down for the next bounce. Bliss! She had never wanted anything more than this; pure animal lust!
That was the telling fact. Her husband had years of experience with her body. He knew which angles worked, moved toward what she needed without being led, had a fluency with her that was its own kind of information. This was a man building a map he didn't yet have, exploring her terrain. She felt every stroke of the cartography.
She stopped thinking about the details. She started cumming, and she didn't stop until he pulled out of her, and then her rolling orgasm just rolled softer, not stopping, still shaking when he flipped her over and pulled her hips up. She had no energy to lift her torso. She let her new thick ass find its own elevation and hung there, arms loose, and this should have told her something: her husband had always wanted to fuck a drone's ass, knowing they were prepared for it and that his wife usually required more conversation and preparation on the subject. But who knew what a stranger would do. Or what a man did with a hall pass in a hotel room with a nameless bimbo fuck toy.
He drove back into her pussy without foreplay. Balls-deep, holding her hips with both hands in a grip that said nothing polite about what she was to him right now. Husband or stranger no longer mattered. The lab's changes to her body and the way she was quick to pleasure, but could take as much as he gave, had her mind going blank and came back empty and went blank again and sounds came out of her she could not modulate, low and guttural. The pleasure center of her brain, wired directly to her vocal chords, was sending him the signals he needed to know! She was enjoying herself as much as him, even if he didn't care. Grunting, moaning, slurping when her fat lips pressed into the latex sheet.
He grabbed her shoulders, but it didn't have the pull he wanted. So, he grabbed and pulled on the heart-shaped ponytail, his hand already in it before she understood what his hand was doing, and she realized in that moment exactly why they were braided that way. What they were for. What they had been for on every drone she had seen at this resort wearing them, and she had never once understood what she was looking at. She had a handle!
He came in her, hard, grunting. He was not holding back like a husband does to be polite, he was fucking her, cumming in her, and moaning the way that felt right to him, for him, but she could hardly hear anything. She heard his grunting from somewhere distant through the hood and heard her own moans and pleasure cries and could not have said whose was louder, or hotter. She didn't even fall onto the latex sheet; with her knees apart, and her latex hood catching on the latex sheet she was a natural tripod and she didn't even bother to drop her ass down. Ass up, and puffy pussy lips inviting, still lewd in the air, she felt cum dripping down past her clit and splashing on the latex sheet. Her nipples soothed by the slick oiled cool latex sheet and her sweaty body cooling in the air. Even though she had not dropped down out of position, her arms hung nowhere useful, drained of any purpose. Her mind ran a long slow descent back through the roses.
She waited for him to get up and walk away. She was still waiting when his hands came back.
His hands found her collar and unclipped the leash from wherever it had been secured to the bed. For one suspended moment she stood beside the bed on legs that were technically functional and had a plan: the luggage. She knew the general direction of the luggage rack in a standard room and she took one step toward where it probably was. His hand on her collar redirected her without hesitation or explanation. He could have no idea of her burning desire to know her place in this crazy game. If she could only get her hands on her luggage she would know she was with her husband, but what if she found strange luggage… And what random fuck toy would be expected to rummage through the wife's luggage uninvited anyway. She had almost forgotten herself and become too familiar. The man moved her with the particular efficiency of someone who knew where they were going and had made no provision for other destinations. She went where the leash led.
The bathroom resolved itself by echo and cool tile underfoot and the specific change in air quality. He ran the shower warm. His hands were unhurried and thorough in a way that was different from staff efficiency, slower than procedure, working through her as though he had time and intended to use it, intended to enjoy it. It was part hand washing, part soapy massage, part exploratory as his hands traced every new curve of her body. Was he, even now, probably trying to decide how to "save some for his wife for later" and what that might mean for them? He was probably anticipating their first threesome with a sex drone… if only he knew the raw truth of it. Something in this felt familiar. The specific patience of it, someone tending rather than servicing, that was so much like her husband, but in a resort like this, anyone could turn out to be as soft and caring once they had their own fun.
This could totally be her loving, kind, sexy, fun husband. Willing and able to take what he wanted from a fuck toy, but then also treat her kindly after. But then the man pressed her down onto her knees and used her puffy fuck-me lips to clean his soft cock. So maybe not him?
He didn't taste like her husband. He didn't taste like her. He didn't taste like anything even though she knew she was on him. The roses were too complete for that kind of identification. She worked him clean with the same attention she'd given him the first time, playing her part perfectly.
When his cock was clean he stood her up. The shower had a rope and a hook in the ceiling and she had known this, had used it before, her husband had tied her wrists to it on previous trips and he had left her standing in the steam with her arms above her, teased her, played with her. This felt so familiar, but she was also sure that this scene played out twenty times a day at this resort, every resort shower had some sort of place to park your partner, or living fuck toys. This man did not hook her wrists to the rope in the ceiling. Instead he hooked the heart-shaped ponytail, and this kept her standing and her hands free, but what should she do with them? She contented herself in lightly petting her breasts and touching her pussy, putting on a small show while he worked. Then he worked through her body with the water and soap again. She was pleased that he had not had enough of her already! He fingered the oversized lips and made her gag on them, probably enjoying the sound again. He lightly smacked and plucked the augmented curves, learning each one, spending time where her responses told him something interesting was happening. He waited until she was playing with her nipples and used her hands to pinch them, showing her he liked her show. He found the hood's water-seal and worked around it, cleaning. He shampooed the ponytail then cleaned and oiled the latex over her skull with the attentiveness of someone maintaining something they intended to keep in good condition for a while. To keep her? Or maybe like he was preparing her for return to the system, the way you pre-clean a rental car. She stood in the warm water and thought about this, even as he explored her again but with a little more bravado and slightly more friendly smacking. Here and there he would even kiss her, nip her, suck on a nipple, and for one glorious moment he even squatted down to suck on her clit, hopefully he detected the changes the machine had made to her there, cleaner, sweeter to the taste.
He dried her with the same attentiveness he had brought to washing her, the towel warm and thorough, working through the modified curves with a patience that had nothing efficient about it. Then he walked out. She stood hooked to the ceiling by her own hair and let him. Her mind lounged in her personal darkness and roses, listening to the sounds of the room that placed him at the furniture back in the bedroom: a drawer, a nightstand, something opening. He came back and took her wrists one at a time and brought them together behind her back, and soft cuffs closed around each wrist and clipped together with a small vibration she felt clearly. Smooth, padded, purpose-built bondage cuffs. The resort stocked these in every room the way a hotel stocked extra towels, something she was blessed to have enjoyed on more than one trip here. When he finished he unhooked the ponytail from the ceiling clip. For good measure, it seemed, he pushed two fingers up into her sex from the front while his mouth found a nipple, and she stopped thinking about the logistics of resort amenities. His fingers hooked in deeper and pulled into her G-spot. She thought he was trying to pleasure her until she realized that he was pulling her out of the bathroom, leading her by her pussy, leash discarded, hanging by her side. At first she was offended, until she remembered that she was just a sex toy, and for some reason that made it kind of hot, her mind reframing it in an instant.
Back to the bed. Her bound wrists behind her back and the position forced her new tits out enhancing their already lewd proportions. Then the weight of his approach, kneeling on the bed near her head.
He found her mouth for a second round but he was fully soft now, which she had not predicted. He took a long time getting hard, while he used her mouth to warm and tease him hard again. It was taking longer than her husband had ever taken with her, which was data she did not know what to do with. The ponytail served as handle and anchor and the leverage he had on her head with it was not something her husband had ever used on her this specifically. He pulled her deeper on this second round than the first, but being half soft she handled it better.
She processed this through the blindness, roses, and the near-silence and arrived at the obvious conclusion: he would not do this with his wife. He would do this with a drone. She was a drone. She played it accordingly and she played it well, the thrill was constant, this could be any man, including her husband, and that was a wonderful thought.
When he was satisfied that he was fully hard, and she had started gagging lightly on the tip of his cock, he pushed her head down into the middle of the bed and attached the heart-shaped hair to something fixed in the mattress, something she couldn't identify by feel, and the attachment held her face-down. And, with her wrists still bound behind her, she could not do much. He flipped her onto her back. Her arms were pinned under her and her head was bolted to the bed and she had a moment to think about the geometry of this when she felt him draw her legs up into the air and together, then working something over her ankles.
Latex panties. And something kept smacking against her legs on the way toward her sex. That something slipped into her pussy. The other entered her ass. Both plugs, both filling, both held in by the elastic that snapped flat against her skin when he finished getting them on her.
Then, without warning, vibrations came on strong.
She thought: he doesn't have these. They didn't own dildo panties. Then she thought: the resort supplies everything, anyone could have obtained these, even her husband. Then she thought: her husband was known to love remote control sex toys. He had used such things on her until she had made him stop, and the particular enjoyment he had taken in watching her try to maintain a conversation with vibrations running through her was not the kind of thing a man forgot that he enjoyed.
She was almost certain he watched her and she gave him something worth watching: her hips rolling to the rhythm of her own pleasure without any instruction from her brain, her wrists pinned and useless and her head fixed to the mattress and nothing she could do about any of it, no way to help the pleasure along or slow it down or stop it, just the long rising approach of an orgasm she had not been asked about. She parted her lips slightly, invitingly, since this was the only hole left for his use at the moment, but he did not use her face this time. With her lips parted the moans came unbidden and increasingly loud, he would know when she was about to cum, she could not hide it. She rode the edge of it for what felt like half an hour. It was probably eight minutes. She was so close. Her husband, unlike most men, was a genius at edging her body to nearly-there. But how could he know how to edge an oversensitized sex drone. It didn't matter, this man was a genius and she was so close, and so far, and could do nothing, NOTHING to help herself, except use her allure and motions to seduce him into letting her cum, or fucking her, for the same result.
Her pleasures and bondage were so distracting that she didn't notice him get back onto the bed until he had her ankles in the air. By then the dildos were out and he was in, and the transition was so precisely timed that her body registered it as the escalation it was before her mind did. He had pulled her legs into the air and together again then slipped the latex dildo panties up to her ankles then held them tight there creating a handle and effectively binding her ankles as effectively as her wrists were bound by the cuffs. He fucked her hard, and was not holding back. Already drained it was clear he was struggling to find the pleasure he needed. This was the kind of hard fucking that said he had been watching and had waited and was done waiting, and her arms were pinned under her and her head was attached to the mattress and she was performing and the performance was not dishonest. This was exactly what she had wanted. She had assumed, planning it, that the treat was for him, she would enjoy bits of it, she had thought, but this was for him… right? At this point she couldn't decide who was having the better time! He moved her legs to the side and fucked hard. Then up again and pushed her ankles over her head, she had not known the lab had also made her more limber. He repositioned himself a few times trying to find that go-to spot, and just as she was cumming for the unknownth time, he came in her with a labored grunt and fell onto her pushing himself as deep as he could go, his entire body trembling.
She came so hard her blind darkness whitened for a moment, and even her uncontrolled moaning caught in her throat and she went squeaky, almost silent. Then a brief absolute silence passed between them and their union was complete, he was completely satisfied, she was completely used, and she was still coming when he pulled out of her and pushed the dildo panties back up and slid both plugs back in. His third load sealed inside her. She rocked her hips in the small involuntary motion of an orgasm cooling down and she hoped he was watching that too. The lab had done a number on her. She could cum fast, not get overstimulated, keep coming for ages, and even when it was done the orgasms passed slowly away.
He showered again, but left her on the bed. She could feel the vibration of the water through the latex bed sheet rather than hear it.
Then a door. The particular sound of a hotel room door closing. Had someone come, or was he gone?
Then nothing. She had no chance of getting to her luggage now to see if that was indeed her room. Arms tied, head basically bolted to the bed. She was a pleasure toy left forgotten on a latex fuck sheet. Left to think about what she had done, and be so proud of herself for going through with it. She hated the moments where she actually had a choice, to end the game, to make a scene and be found out. But most critically, she found that she relished these moments where she was truly kept.
She lay on the latex sheet with her arms still behind her and the fullness of the dildos and the warmth of everything contained inside her and she rocked her hips in the quiet and the roses and was alone again in the dark, exactly as she had been when she arrived, and the distance between the half-woman half sex-drone who had waited on this bed a few hours ago and the woman she was now was huge.