Chapter 2 of 4
She had been on the bed for a long time. Face-down on the oiled latex sheet, her wrists in the resort's soft cuffs behind her back, the dildo panties still on and both plugs filling her, her head bolted to the center of the mattress and the collar still at her throat and the hood still sealed over everything, and three loads of a stranger's cum held inside her by the elastic. The leash ran to the bed. The roses were total. The room was very quiet.
The cuffs released first, then her head was released, but she was still leashed. Blind and deaf, she registered this as hands working at her wrists, then the particular pressure change of blood returning to her palms, and then she was upright and moving in a direction she hadn't chosen. Were they taking her away from this room? Were they moving her like a piece of furniture so they could change the bed sheets? Even if her husband was around, she was so deafened that he couldn't tell her. So, no matter what this was, she would have to find out and make guesses.
Staff. She could tell by the efficiency, and it was a woman's practiced hands, moving her like she would know why they were moving her, so she played along. She was being relocated, not enjoyed.
The dildo panties were still on. The plugs were still in, thankfully off, so she had gotten a nice nap. She was led back to the bathroom, oh maybe for another cleaning, a clinical one this time, the resort cleaning their stock? But she was guided to lift an ankle over the bathtub wall, then she stepped into something warm, thick, resistant. She immediately lost her footing on the slippery stuff and the staff member helped her other foot into the bath which was exactly the opposite direction that she had panic-planned. She could NOT stand in this stuff, but they gracefully lowered her to sit in the bathtub in the stuff.
She took inventory: bathtub. She had made the mistake of lowering her hands to the floor of the tub to find it when they lowered her, now her legs, feet, ass and hands were covered in the stuff and she could find no purchase anywhere. The walls were smooth and sloped inward and when she reached for them the gel made her hands almost useless for gripping. She tried to stand and her feet found the bottom but the gel was everywhere, close to body temperature, and the plugs shifted with the slight lean forward and she sat back down rather than make the kind of noise that would have been embarrassing even alone. She could get onto three or four limbs but that didn't help her escape the tub, so she resolved to sit in it. And now the stuff was infiltrating her latex dildo panties, and even up into her pussy and ass. The stuff was tenacious and quick to find nooks and crannies to fill. Now every move of her ass on the tub pushed the dildo and butt plug deeper into her and it was actually rather nice. Like her pussy had almost no friction, yet the fullness of the toys seemed enhanced leaving her feeling very slippery-full.
The door closed. She felt it through the floor.
He must be at dinner without her, probably telling his buddies how his wife had gotten him the most incredible gift, and explaining her figure and features in full male dirty language. She could only imagine. She had no way of knowing the time, no window, no tell (the roses were constant, the dark was constant), but she knew the pattern of this resort and she had planned the pattern herself. She was in the nuru gel tub and he was at dinner. She really loved those dinners also. She had a great body, even without modifications, and her dinner dresses were usually able to turn heads even in a room full of satiated men with incredible arm candy accompanying them. The resort's women were nothing to ignore, but there was something "untouchable" about another man's wife that led to staring and allure she almost didn't deserve surrounded by truly stunning professional sexual treats. But today she was one of those treats, and her husband had not even bothered to use her as arm candy. Of course, few took their sex drones to dinner, they made horrible conversationalists, couldn't eat, and often got bored and played with themselves under the table where no one could enjoy it but them.
She noticed what it was doing to her skin. The technician's intake notes had used the word regenerative. She had read this the way she read ingredient lists, approximately. She understood it now in practical terms: every nerve she had used for the last several hours was being very carefully reset. Her thighs against the gel had the warmth and presence of palms on a warm rock on a hiking trail, everything immediate and first and unspent. The latex of the hood pressed against her face at a resolution she hadn't had when it went on.
She thought: in an hour I will be more sensitized than when I started. But she also didn't want to miss out on this for the rest of her body. She could not explain the pleasure it brought to lie back, submitting to the gel's effects, then massage it into her breasts. At the same moment it was releasing and calming her nerves, but also resetting them for renewed vigor, so her touch was both calming and enticing. What an odd feeling. She experimented with it on her lips and in her mouth and it tasted well enough. She would have taken her dildo panties off and finger fucked herself to oblivion but an orgasm in this stuff seemed both impossible, and ironically dangerous. So she kept herself busy by playing with her breasts lazily and luxuriously.
She didn't know when she started rocking. She became aware of it at some point, her hips moving in the slow involuntary motion of something that didn't need to be doing anything in particular, the plugs shifting on every roll, the gel softening and warming everything, and she had been alone in her own personal dark and roses for a long time and this was what happened when she ran out of things to think. She was a drone in a tub and her hips had decided this was a sufficient activity and she lacked the motivation to argue with her hips. The sensitivity resetting gel made it a nice pleasurable calmness that neither grew nor diminished, just baseline pleasure, and she could do it until someone had something else for her to do.
Staff, again. Her shower was fast and purposeful. The gel released in one pass with the water and left her skin clean and new in a way her skin had never been clean or new before. The plugs were removed, the dildo panties peeled away, the brief cold interior of an emptied body that had been full for hours. The only lasting gel from the bath was now secretly hidden inside her, pumped in by her slow undulating self fucking of who knew how long. She knew that the stuff would not be effective anymore and would not affect her lovers, having been spent, but it didn't stop her enjoying the odd silky feeling of a pussy full of lube all the way up to the deepest places. The staff member set her leash on the wall and the system took over guiding her. She was going for a walk it seemed and this time she was to be on full display, walking down the guest hallway, into the guest elevator. She wondered if her man was walking ahead of her or was she alone. In the elevator she could not tell again. Then she was walking outside again and this path felt vaguely familiar. Then her ears started picking up the sounds of many people talking, all muffled. She could almost smell the food, but that was her imagination. She was here to escort her lover back from dinner, probably so he would not get distracted elsewhere by some other piece of ass, just like her husband. A staff member took her leash and held it very close to the collar to precisely control her movements through the tight, busy room full of chairs and people. Was everyone staring at her? A man put his arm in hers, like husbands often did to guide their wife or other arm candy and she allowed herself to be drawn from the room, back down the path, back into the guest elevator, back up an unknown number of floors, back down the hall, and back into a room. Why had she not counted the doors she passed on the way out, or on the way in?
Then the bed, again. Fresh oiled sheet under her back and the familiar geometry of the room returning to her perception, as limited as it was. The cuffs back on her wrists, unattached in the middle, sitting at her hips. The man also found more cuffs and attached them to her ankles. Oh, she was starting to look forward to whatever this game would be! The hotel quiet around her, she was lowered back to the bed, leash attached loosely, left to her own thoughts about ways and means, and husbands and men. Imagine if he tied her spread eagle on this huge bed, pulled not so tight, but tight enough that she could not touch her body or close her legs. Imagine if he were to pour a bucket of that nuru gel on her (the normal kind) then he could spend an hour trying to get on top of her and fuck her while they slipped around…
Daydreaming, she almost missed it: a weight change in the mattress, lighter than before.
Her hands moved first, the instinct was immediate, she hadn't decided to reach, her arms were already coming up from her sides before the geometry was clear. Her palms found latex. Warm, smooth, body-temperature, fitted close. Her fingertips traced down, found a wonderfully tight body, small frame, but strong and firm. Sort of the exact opposite of her. The woman didn't move, even as her hands found the woman's breasts and explored them. The woman moaned, and she was pleased to see that this woman was also a drone like her. Then she found a waist, thin, then a pussy as plush and warm as hers. Not in the sense that it was unfamiliar but in the sense that it was the opposite dimension. Narrow where hers was curved. Rigid where hers was soft. The physics of someone who had spent years in a gym rather than years in an office (but most likely they had spent four hours in the lab. But the base frame mattered; she was healthy even without the help of the Clark Tech makeover).
When she found an arm, by accident, she found the wrist to be in the same sort of cuffs she was wearing. She felt around for a spare foot and found the ankles also wearing bondage cuffs like hers. The picture of the evening's activities was still not clear, but the pieces were coming together. Was her husband expecting her to come back at any moment, slip her into the same cuffs, tie random legs to random arms and just see what happened? Oh what fun. If only she was coming back to the room to such a surprise. Then it hit her. He expected her to come back. When he was done with these drones, when he was done with HER, and his wife had not shown up, what would he do, return the drones to stock and go looking for his wife? Scan the QR codes, just in case. She could not ask to be so lucky.
She worked her way up. Ribs she could count. Shoulders she could nearly span. The breasts when she found them were her own old cup size but in a body this thin they had a different ratio entirely. And, oh man, did she want them in her mouth right now, and she was aware that this was not a thought she had ever had so acutely about another woman and she was apparently full of surprises today.
Re-exploring the hood. She found it at the face, same material, same latex-on-latex surface, and at the crown she found the heart-shaped braid. This thin woman's lips were not as plump as hers were now, but they had been enhanced for his pleasure, whoever "his" was.
Drone. Also a drone. She dropped her hands and lay still for a moment, hoping that the woman would explore back, that they would know each other as fully as two such creatures could.
Could this really be her husband's room then? On the one hand she had given him a hall pass, and technically sent him a drone, so why not two. She had also said to save some for her, maybe two of them was his idea of saving some for her. Or what if he had this glorious plan to watch these two faceless nameless fuck toys smother his wife in pleasure and lesbian loving while he sat back and watched. Was this second sex drone for her, ironically? Or was she in some other man's room who had ordered a drone and was somehow surprised that he accidentally now had two? Neither was undesired at this point, she was a drone, and like a drone, she was down for anything.
The other drone was still. It had no position on what came next.
A man's hands positioned the two drones. She tracked the geometry: she was moved onto her back, the other drone was moved over her, and she understood the arrangement before it was complete. Purposeful and interested â the hands of someone who had prepared for this and wanted to watch it properly. The woman was positioned on top of her 69 style, a small woman resting on top of a mountain of lush curves. Two black shiny balls in a sea of arms and legs on an ocean of black latex sheet.
She had been designed for this encounter. Her modifications had been specified to make her worth watching from across a room. She was going to perform and the performance was not dishonest. She was going to give him something worth watching and she found, tracking the thought to its end, that she wanted to.
The other drone found her sex immediately. Either she had also been navigated or she had simply guessed (the geometry being what it was), and the first contact was the tongue and it went directly to work, no introduction. Not tentative. Thorough and lateral and tracking with the precision of someone who had been on this end of the equation many times, which she supposed all drones had been, which she supposed she now was.
She took a moment with her own responses, she was making sounds that were not dignified, but it was sexy as hell, and then she returned the favor and stopped noticing. It was a little harder for her, she had to lift her head, the other drone only had gravity on her side, but her stamina seemed up for it.
Within a few minutes the two of them were in sync, playing with each other, playing the room, enticing the one lover in the room that could fill their needs a little better than fingers and tongues, but fingers and tongues were quite nice for the moment. They were tuned. That was the only word for it. The technician had calibrated them on the same equipment with the same settings for the same result, and the result was that when the moaning started it had a harmonic quality, two instruments at the same pitch, and she was one of the instruments, and she would have found this philosophically interesting if thinking had remained available to her.
It didn't. She was going to come and she was going to come again and she had no say in the schedule of it and this was exactly what she had wanted, though she had never envisioned this when she signed the form.
The first orgasm arrived while the other drone was still working and the second arrived with thighs around her head and hips rolling onto her mouth and she rode both out limp and slack, her hips still moving and her mouth still working after her mind had nothing left to contribute. She felt the other drone's orgasm from the inside (the clench and release around her fingers, the shudder that started in the hips and moved through the thighs in one long wave), and the experience of this from her position was one of the more specifically interesting things that had ever happened to her.
He repositioned them once. His hands moved a leg for access, adjusted an angle for visibility, and she would have resented being handled like furniture except she was functioning furniture and the arrangement he made was better than the one she'd had. For a moment she was forgetting herself and thinking like a wife. She reframed quickly, and thought like a fuck toy.
As they finger fucked, licked, suckled he had been moving between them adding zip ties. At first it was just her left wrist attached to the other drone's closest ankle, then it was the other drone's ankles attached like a hug around her waist. He cut zip ties every now and then enjoying balling them up, looking for ways of entangling them with breast in mouth or easy access to pussy fingering, or other times pussy licking.
The comedown was long and horizontal. She and the other drone were tangled in ways that were difficult to separate, knees interlocked, one arm underneath, the other drone's heartbeat accessible through her ribs. She lay in it and let it run its course. The gel had done its work. Everything registered. Everything was warm.
But he was not done with them. He found ways, ways to lean over one and fuck the other in the mouth, then slide over to fuck the space squished between breast. He fucked her in the pussy more than once, and probably the other woman also, but he didn't seem picky. Anywhere two slick body parts met, he stuck his cock in. Armpit, ankle and breast, and back into pussies again. This time he came in the other woman and she was pleased that her new friend was getting some lovin' but also a little jealous; that was her seed, and she wanted it. He seemed to read her mind, rolling them a quarter turn to the right which put the other drone's pussy just above her face and she lapped up his cum from her clit all the while he leaked out of her, and she moaned like a prize slut, coming again for the attention.
The two drones were allowed to rest, while the man rested next to them, soon she was sleeping. More than once in the night he woke up, fucked some random hole in his drone ball, rolled them into a new position for blood flow reasons, then fell back asleep. Almost as if he had a timer set, maybe every two hours someone was fucking them quickly then resting next to them.
The second waking she registered through the latex sheet before she registered it as hands: weight redistributing, the mattress reading a new arrangement before she did. He had moved the other drone onto her back and pressed them together chest to chest, and she understood the geometry late. He was entering the other woman from above while his hip worked against her own thigh, using her as an anchor. She was not the main event for this pass. She was a surface. She lay under the two of them and felt everything the other woman registered in translation: each thrust transferring as pressure against her chest, her sex, the small shivering in the slender frame above her at a frequency she had already learned to read. By the third minute she had come from the secondary vibration of someone else's fucking, without a hand on her, without being touched directly at all, and he noticed and adjusted the arrangement to give her more direct attention for the last part of it.
She was asleep before he finished. She was not sure that was not a compliment.
The room kept catching a draft. Every other waking it seemed he was opening the window or letting in some fresh air to cool things off and it was nice.
The leash came between them.
She understood the mechanism first from the sound: a clip, the D-ring at her collar engaging, then another clip at the collar she had found earlier, and the cord between them was soft rather than the magnetic floor leash. She was tethered to another person, not another person: another sex drone, another fuck toy, another stock item for countless pleasurable uses, and being tethered together meant they were equal. She had done a fair amount of pretending at feeling like a nameless drone over the last day and a half. The cord between their collars was not pretending. She was stock, the other drone was stock, and the cord said so in a language that required no words and had no room for argument, and it settled low and warm in her rather than frightening. Without warning they were being moved.
She had not arrived at this image when she was planning. She had imagined many things, the spa, the form, the hall pass, the room, the man who had come through the door, and none of the planning had arrived at this: herself and a second drone leashed at the collars and walked from a hotel room like two very expensive, exceptionally exclusive, and somewhat temporary acquisitions.
She stood when it was indicated she should stand. She walked when the cord walked.
The air changed. She felt it through every sensitized surface at once, cooler and drier and moving, and the floor under her bare feet shifted from warm stone to warm wooden decking. She smelled nothing, the roses were total, but she knew she was outside.
The resort grounds before first light. She had walked them a dozen times with her husband, had held his hand on this path, had argued about something inconsequential here once and then laughed about it on the way back. She had no compass for it now. She walked and the other drone walked beside her, their collars linked, and she heard the faint pulse of water before she felt the decking change.
Jacuzzi. She knew by the feel of the wood underfoot and that cold yet warm spray landing on her sensitive legs, then by the heat, then by the edge of the tub where they were seated and the first inches of water rising to meet her calves.
She slid in, somehow in unison with the other drone she was tethered to.
Every nerve the nuru gel had reset and the orgasms had refreshed and the cool outdoor air had sharpened received the warm jet water at exactly the same moment, and the sound she made was not intentional. The other drone made the same sound starting a quarter-second later and the harmonic between them carried across the water.
They were allowed to rest in the water for a little while and soak away any discomfort from their inhuman amount of fucking, pleasure, and stimulation, but of course the lab had ensured that they had no such stamina issues, but it was nice to have a break. Then hands in the water. She was counting, one pair, two, three, and arriving at a number that was not consistent with her husband or the other drone. There were other people in the jacuzzi with them and they were all shamelessly exploring the goods. A common pastime when given the chance here. Sometimes husbands would bring their wives down to the jacuzzis or recreational relaxation spots and explore the idea of a threesome with shapely, shameless, nameless toys. She stopped counting. She had signed a form and the form had said everything and the hands were warm and the water was warm and this was the form's consequence. It was an interesting experience, to be sure. The caress of the water muddling the count of the caress of the hands. And these hands were not shy, a woman had knelt between her legs and pried her knees open to feel the puffy pussy lips, probably at the request of her husband or partner who was suggesting she try some injections. Then she fingered her, probably wondering if the plush feeling went deeper, or just to thank the drone for letting her play. She was stunned that no one tried flipping them over and fucking them, two men on two drones in hot wet synchronicity, or a race to see who could make their toy cum first.
Her right hand found the other drone's left. She did not know if this was directed or instinct. The other drone held it, and squeezed. Then the other drone's fingers fluttered, and she wondered what wonderful things someone was doing to her friend to make her hand spasm like that.
Their rest over, they were stood up. The water fell to her waist and her upper body was in the morning air and she understood she was arranged for observation. The two drones were stood in the middle of the jacuzzi back to back for everyone to enjoy the size difference. Then they were spun around and pressed breast to breast. Without thinking, and it seemed the other woman had the same desire, she brought her plush lips forward and kissed passionately. She loved this! This thing in front of her felt more connected to her than she had ever felt to anyone in her life, except her husband of course. It was like love, but throttled by their chosen objectification. In the end this was probably a professional who had no more interest in her than any other of the staff or patrons, but she didn't care, the kiss and French kissing after was thrilling and lovely and hot and kinky and connecting in the most odd way. Somehow, through all of these moves they had kept holding hands and they still did, but her spare hand found the drone's firm tits and danced back and forth between them, while the drone's extra hand went right for her sex. For a heartbeat she felt a flash of fear, of being taken advantage of, of missing beat, but the feeling of this small woman's thin fingers expertly pinching her bud then massaging her pussy lips drove that feeling from her mind.
Hands came from everywhere at once and separated them, but they held hands still. The hands guided her, a step, then another, the jets diffuse at first and then specific as she was positioned, the stream finding her thigh, then higher, and she knew where this was going before it arrived. Then she realized why she had had a shot of fear.
She already knew the rules, but there were two games and she didn't know which she was playing! It was a race to cum, or not to cum, and hands held her directly in the path of the most powerful water jets. The jets forced their way through her glorious triangular thigh gap and rushed across her puffed up sex, finding the angle and the game was clear without being explained.
No hands. Only the jet. The first to come. Unknown consequences. Unknown rewards. Sometimes wives would be held by their husbands to these two strong special jets. The goal was to hold their wives' arms behind their backs and see which could cum first. There was usually some consequence for the loser like a show of exhibitionism, or for the daring couples, much more. Some special treat for him in the bedroom, or some special treat for someone in the jacuzzi. In some games the consequence went to the one who came first, others the one who didn't cum first. She didn't know what game she was in; she only knew that she had to do her best to be entertaining since that was all she did know. And that had been the fear, somewhere deep in her she had known that this was coming and that the other drone might be attempting to get her started early for an easy win, but now she doubted it. They were friends, somehow. Fuck toy friends, for sure, but friends. She squeezed the other drone's hand, the hand squeezed back, then gave a flutter. She knew the feeling, the jet's bubbles were crashing through her thighs smashing her pussy lips and tickling her clit, she shuddered also.
She also wanted to put on a show for her husband, assuming he was even here at all, and some stranger had not been fucking her for two days. But, imagine the irony of her husband ALSO being here, but neither of them knowing each other. Him watching this buxom bombshell fuck pet cumming on hot water with a skinny arm candy clenching hands cumming for unknown strangers. Imagine if her penalty for losing was getting bent over the jacuzzi edge and being fucked by anyone interested. Imagine if one of them was her hall pass husband and neither of them realized it. The irony made her pussy clench and her hand shudder again in her friend's hand.
She had been close twice already and cooled both times and she knew what the edge felt like and how to approach it without tipping. The nuru gel had made every approach feel like the first approach. She worked the jet with her hips, slow calibration, half an inch at a time, tracking the angle the way she would track a conversation she was trying to win. The other drone was doing the same thing beside her. She could feel the small adjustments through the water. They were neck and neck, which was not a phrase she would have predicted applying to this particular situation.
She found the angle.
She gripped the rim with her free hand. The hand that held the other drone she did not release.
The jet had one precise spot and she put herself on it and she stayed there and her body did the rest and the sound she made in the morning air was not anything she would have called quiet.
The other drone answered her with similar sounds and equal amounts of hand to hand shuddering.
Their pleasures sang together. They came together. Did they both lose? There was no way to call this a loss, shared as it was with her unknown friend. This was a win no matter the consequences.