Chapter 4 of 4
He was standing in the loading area with the leash cord in his hand when his friend's limo pulled away. The cord led up to a collar on a woman he had selected twenty minutes ago: tall, narrow, the kind of build that made every modification the resort had given her look deliberate rather than added. She was standing at attention the way all the drones stood: feet slightly apart, wrists loose, fully hooded, no sense of what was behind or beside her. He knew exactly what was ahead for her though. His wife, in that limo, with a man's cock already in her throat, on her way to somewhere that was not their hotel room. He had watched the door close. His best friend was borrowing his droned wife for three weeks. In trade for her, he was getting a toy of his own to play with for three weeks. It was a good trade.
She was still at attention. The chip had just gone in under the QR code inked above her pussy and she had taken it with a small jump and then straightened again, which told him something. She had no idea that the limo that had just left contained her husband and a new fuck toy, or that the man holding her leash was someone who had sat across from her at dinner parties and been politely uninteresting. She had no sensory access to any of this. She was a body in a hood and a collar, and she was about to find out that the cord at her collar led somewhere very specific.
He walked her toward his limo. Even though they had just scanned and chipped her, it was hotel protocol to scan her again just before she was taken away from the resort. This time when the bellhop scanned her it detected her chip and ownership and stock number directly, but just for interest the bellhop scanned her QR code anyway. The flat face of it pointed at her QR code and the bellhop had let him read the screen. There was not a stock number. Not resort property. A message. He had laughed when he saw what his own wife had written for her QR code message, but this was not that. He was not laughing now. This woman had chosen her own tattoo? This image inked into her skin permanently. He knew of course that the tech could easily remove it, but as long as it was there, her pussy read "own me, use me, please me, fuck me, teach me, then use me again" to anyone with interest enough to scan it with their phone. He nodded at the bellhop.
When the chip went in, she registered it: a small jump, then the immediate slack of someone hit with pleasure drugs flooding in after. Her mouth opened. Her knees held, which told him something about her. She was still reeling from these pleasure drugs as he directed her down onto the concrete. She went without argument. He worked the dildo panties up over her ankles, then calves, and thighs, positioned both fills, worked the elastic flat against her skin. Her hips moved: the small involuntary adjustment of a body taking stock of what it had been given. He bound her wrists at the small of her back, then her ankles. He let the bellhop lift her into the limo.
She had not made a sound yet. But, when he climbed into the vehicle next to her and sat on the seat and pet her firm tits she wiggled. Then when he turned on her dildo and butt plug vibrations her drone mouth involuntarily opened and a grunted moan poured out of her. She liked it. That would change once she understood what he intended to do with it.
She had no sense of how long she had been in the vehicle.
Time had become something that happened to other people. She had a body, and the body had two rubber cocks seated in it and a vibration running through both at a frequency she could not predict, and this had been true for what felt like a hundred hours and what her rational mind, in its infrequent appearances, estimated was closer to forty minutes, and neither number felt more real than the other. Her wrists were at her back. Her ankles were bound behind her. She had no surface to move against and no way to shift the angle of either cock, which was the point, and the point was working, and she was riding the edge of something that kept retreating when she got close to it.
She was not going to cum. She understood this about the situation. The man in the seat above her was not going to let her cum and she could not make him and this was a fact she was working with rather than against because working against it had not produced results.
She waited. She breathed. She was mostly edge.
She had not seen this man's face. She couldn't have. She had been hooded at the selection room and hooded when he clipped her collar and leashed her without a word. No assessment. He had simply decided and moved. She had a theory about the kind of man who did that. She was finding her theory confirmed. This man could be her husband, but having been a drone before with her own husband, something had told her that the man who had fucked her and that wonderfully lush fuck toy so many times could not be her man. Though there had been moments of confusion where she started to suspect that it was him trolling her, but then something else would happen that made her sure the cock in her, or the room around her, was not her husband's. She had been suspicious from nearly the start, but she was game for whatever game he had in mind. Knowing him, he liked long games, which meant that she might be a faceless fuck toy for this stranger for up to a month. It was probably someone she knew, that was the way her husband worked, but she couldn't know and right now she didn't care, not between her desire for some more fucking and the vibrations stealing away from her whenever she got close again. This damned drone voice thing. She could not speak her own words, and they had rewired her pleasure center directly to her vocal cords, so no matter how she tried she could only moan when it was natural and she could not stop herself from moaning when it was natural, which made this man's task of edging her so much easier.
She had stopped counting seconds sometime around what she estimated was the first hour.
The man above her had not been in any rush. She had attempted to finish him twice, and both times he had held her still with the handle braided into her hair and waited her out. He wanted the ride. She had given him the ride. He was thorough and consistent and had not once spoken in any register she could identify, which told her either nothing or everything and she had stopped trying to parse the difference.
Her jaw was not tired. She noted this because her jaw had a reason to be tired and it was not, which meant the lab's work modifying her body ran deeper than the gag reflex. She focused on the task, which was giving this man the best version of what she had already been giving him for an hour. He also seemed to have inhuman stamina, but she already knew that from how he had been fucking her for two days. She knew now that this man was not her husband, well probably not. But she did know one thing, this man who had pretended to pick her out of the selection room had planned that little scene from the start and this was the same man, she knew it in her bones... well, jaw bone... and lips, and throat, and the feel of his balls sliding over her tongue.
She had parsed the speed differential twenty minutes ago. Highway to neighborhood pace. She was going to a house. Someone's house, for a duration she had not been told, with a man whose cock she knew better than his face.
He was not her husband. She had arrived at this with enough confidence not to care.
She thought of the other drone from the hotel room: the way she had reached out to touch everything, the hesitation at each new surface, the careful map of a body that didn't know the routine. A resort drone didn't act like that. That had been another wife. She kept the theory loose but she was almost certain.
Not her husband. The way his hands sat on the back of her head: the specific patience of it, the angle, a familiarity with how to hold a woman still that was not the familiarity of someone who knew her. Her husband had a fluency with her body that ran in the other direction: toward what she needed, not toward what he wanted. This man knew what he wanted and was taking his time getting it and it was not unpleasant, it was just not thirty years of a specific person.
The limo stopped.
He looked down at his friend's wife on the seat beside him. She was still working the vibrations with whatever her body had left, which was less than it had been but was something. Her thighs were pressing against the restraints. Her breathing was faster than two hours of stillness warranted. He had kept her right at the edge for the whole ride and not given her the inch she needed, and she was going to arrive at his house wound to a pitch she had never been at in her own marriage. That was the arrangement.
He unbound her wrists from her ankles to let her stretch out, then quickly gathered her, one arm under her knees, one at her back, and lifted. She was lighter than he had expected. Her body came up almost cooperatively, already oriented toward contact after two hours of nothing but vibration. He got her draped over his shoulder, light as a dry beach towel.
Then he smacked her ass.
The shock wave went through both plugs simultaneously and she made a sound into the night air that had nothing dignified in it. He walked her through the entrance this way. He did not rush.
The air changed on her shoulders.
A house. She knew by the acoustics before she knew by anything else: the particular close-air echo of a residential ceiling, not a hotel's managed atmosphere. She was over a shoulder, blood going to her head, both fuck holes filled with toys that shifted as she was carried, and the man carrying her was steady and unhurried and she was still very close and had been very close for the entirety of the drive. His shoulder pressed into her belly and drove the rubber cock into a spot that had been at the edge for two hours. Then his palm landed on her ass and the impact ran through both plugs and into the same spot and her mind went somewhere without a name. The vibrators still ran on full tilt but now her distraction held her back instead of his careful ministrations.
She was in the air, then on a surface face down over the couch arm with her legs dangling off and her ass out nice and ready, and in less time than she could track the elastic latex panties came down, both plugs pulled, and the space left behind was briefly and specifically terrible in the way that only removal can be. Then his cock filled it and the pleasures returned in earnest.
She went with it. She was not holding back and she did not try. The first orgasm arrived before he had established his pace and she rode it out and came back immediately, which told her something about what two hours at the edge does to a body and what the cleaning suite had built underneath. He fucked her like he had paid for her, which he probably had, and she gave him everything she had, which was considerable, even though she didn't move, and didn't need to, her powerful pussy clamped down on his cock and the resistance changed. It was harder to fuck into her, tighter. At first he mistook it for a bad angle and moved to push deeper and harder but once he realized that she was squeezing him he went back at it with full force and the ferocity of a college freshman, even though he was clearly not.
The limo stopped.
The cock in her mouth went still. She had tracked the speed change, the turn, the particular compression of a residential stop, and she had her answer before the door opened. This was not her house. She knew her own house through a sealed hood: the specific slope of the driveway, the crunch of gravel under the tires. This was not her gravel.
She was this man's prize, a treasure, and he knew it. Even as the limo slowed and she tracked the shift of weight as bags came out of the trunk, she continued to kneel and work, which was all she was good for at the moment anyway.
The thought did not frighten her. She sat with it, cock still in her throat, wrists in her lap, roses in her nose, and the thought arrived the same way most things had arrived this weekend: as information about who she was rather than what was happening to her.
She had planned a treat for her husband. She had planned the hall pass and the spa and signed the form and designed the QR code. She had planned nothing about this moment though: not the friend, not the possible month as a toy. She was looking forward to it though, immensely. She would spend the entire time wondering when her knight in shining armor husband would come rescue her, and by the talent and focus of this man she was pleasuring she would spend her entire time here dreading the day she was rescued. This dread would be her constant reminder that she was supposed to be a housewife not a cock sleeve, but the cock shoving into her whenever her new owner wanted would be the reminder that she was little more than a high-end cock sleeve, and it was going to be an adventure.
The limo door opened. She let the cock go. She sat up straight, shoulders back, confident, alluring, letting her tits sell her attractiveness, the modified curves doing what they had been modified to do. She knew exactly what she looked like from the outside. She knew what she was: a very expensive, very willing, very thoroughly prepared thick bimbo bombshell fuck toy with talented surprises for anyone lucky enough to engage with her, and she had been the one who arranged the delivery, this was her game and she was playing it as best she could.
She waited to be invited in, and she didn't have to wait long. He didn't get her to the bedroom. Somewhere she assumed was a living room, she ran into a couch and went halfway over it. This man didn't let a chance pussy go to waste and his already hard cock was buried in her deep and hard a moment after her latex hood had bounced off the couch cushions.
He looked at her.
She was face down over the couch, hands still bound, chest moving faster than it had any business moving at this point in the night. The latex hood had shifted a fraction when she came: just a degree of torque at the collar, and he had straightened it without thinking, the way you straighten a picture frame.
He recognized her. Not the face (the hood covered that), but the specific slope of a shoulder he had seen a hundred times at dinner tables.
His neighbor had proposed it six weeks ago. Simple terms: the neighbor's wife had signed herself into the resort, full transformation, month-long lease, and had written her husband's name as the preferred lessee. Would he like to be present for the selection? His neighbor had laughed when he asked if that meant as a spectator.
He had gone home and told his own wife. She had not hesitated. It was her second time.
What the women could not have known, hooded as they were, was that the two men had not kept to their separate rooms. The first hours, yes. After that, the leash had moved both drones into one room, and the men had worked out a rotation with the efficiency of thirty years of friendship. He had retired when it was not his turn. He had returned when it was. His wife was in that room. The neighbor's wife was in that room. The latex covered everything a woman uses to know a man by. He had been thorough with both of them, and they had both been thorough in return.
Now the neighbor had his wife somewhere across town. He had this one.
She had not stopped moving since he put her on the couch. The small adjustments of a body still cataloguing what it had been denied. The QR code above her pussy still read what she had chosen for it to read. A woman who wrote her own instructions knew exactly what she was walking into.
When he took the hood off, in a week, in two, whenever the arrangement concluded, she would still not be able to speak. She would look at him. She would recognize him. She would be three doors from her own house, and her own husband would be at this moment doing to his wife what he had spent the last hour doing to hers. He did not know what expression she would make when she understood all of this. He was looking forward to finding out. He expected it would not be the expression she made at dinner parties.
His wife would have things to say about all of this when she came home. She always had things to say. He looked forward to that too.
Each man could give these women what they could not give to their own wives. Give a man a submissive wife and he will try everything he ever dreamed of. Give a man another man's submissive wife and he would discover all of the things he had never thought to dream.