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Off the street, across a big empty truck parking lot, and down the concrete steps, I walked to the big gray steel door. Everything had been dilapidated until here: grass cracking through the concrete, discarded sensory stimulator units, and tire rubber marks from burnouts. However, that gray steel door was immaculate - not a single scratch, the light reflecting perfectly even over the whole surface, and the gap between the door and the frame perfectly smooth. The echo of my heels still sounded in my ear, like a familiar soundtrack of my life that made me feel untouchable.

I steeled my nerves while I held the steel handle for a moment. I zipped up all my emotions, tensed my body, and focused on the goal: The door at the end of the long hallway. I would have to hold myself together for sixty seconds of small talk. Then everything would be taken care off. My persona: The long legs, the snug, supple leather on my body, and the cool wrap-around sunglasses would take care of everything. I simply had to be the fantasy that they believed in for a few seconds, not long enough to see the real person and to see into my soul. They were looking for a product. I was that product.

Snap. The door swung open. Janet was at the reception desk: black hair with a single red strand, running like fire down the length of her side face. If you looked closely, the holographic effect made you see the flames. Her face was perfectly white. The lips were so most radiant red. The makeup around her eyes and lips made her look like an eternally happy girl. She didn't even have to try to smile. She looked perpetually surprised and delighted. With big struts, I swung past her desk, the black-suited security guards not even twitching an eye.

Next was the long aisle down the center of the cubicle farm. Slate-gray steel walls enclosed the small working spaces. An opening, not a door, allowed small glimpses inside. A tall woman with a lace thong running over her hip exposed her butt, which had swelled to round and ripe proportions from her kneeling the pink-stained sheep fur with her knees spread wide. She allowed her head and hair to drop back while her shiny red nails ran down her chest. The wall-sized screen faced her with the ABC Entertainers logo - a pink halo that wobbled like plasma. She was performing for an audience unknown, running fantasies through her head of exotic locations and rich, handsome customers whom she was entertaining.

Swoosh, it had only been a brief glimpse, she strutted down the hallway like a storm, only registering the cube openings in the corner of her eyes. A stubby, short woman with her head caught in a wood block, the ass high and red from a wooden panel whacking down on it. The second half of the hallway was lined with shiny steel reinforced doors that had number pads on the door. The symbols were alien-language-looking dashes and dots. These were the private rooms for clients to take performers inside. They were soundproof. The steel walls were so sturdy that they were low-level military spec grade.

A Japanese man in a business suit stumbled outside. He was so badly drunken that he had to lean against the doorframe. His white shirt was ripped open wide with a button hanging from a two-inch long thread. Lipstick was liberally smeared over his waxed chest. His eyes were wide open like he had no care in the world and was living in the moment. The green eye inserts made him look even wilder. His arms dangled in the air, never stopping moving like he was in some kind of trance from incredible sex. In the depth of the cubicle was the back silhouette for a skinny woman hurriedly putting her blouse back on. She seemed completely sober and clear-minded. The man watched her as she walked past. His eyes were leary, ready to get salacious, but his mind was in too deep of a stupor to take any action. She swooshed past him.

At the far end of the hallway was the office. The right security guard reached forward to open the door for her. He never spoke. His movements were limited to opening the door and standing motionless in his black pin-striped suit, white shirt, and blue tie. He had his earpiece. The head was shaved, little black dots showing. He was pure muscle, obedient like a machine. Her heart rate spiked. This was her moment. She had to keep herself together for sixty seconds.

Her eyes darted for the chair in the room. It was more like a cradle. It let her recline back into it. A headrest was contoured to the back of her head. A long draping armrest supported her arms. Her lacks were slanted forward. She was half reclining. Her reflective glasses made her look cool. She kept her chin high like she was better. Kagan swiveled around in his office chair, away from the monitors. There was a video conference call on mute. She could come in any time. She was the priority. He wore expensive clothes. The fabrics were highly refined with how they reflected the light and how the texture intrigued the eyes. Yet he was also dressed very ready to work. Unlike the owners, he was in a place of power but had to keep the place running.

"Are you ready, Amber?" he asked her, warm, candid, and respectful of the knowledge that she simply wanted to get things going.

"Always, Kagan. Fire up the bitch!" she replied with cold certainty of a pro.

He rolled forward on his office chair until he was at her side. He raised his left arm with the purple ring towards the back of her head.

"Good!" she thought. "I won't even have to last sixty seconds. This will be done in thirty."

He touched the back of her head with the ring.

She opened her eyes again to scan the room. He was sitting, working on the keyboard. Her arm wouldn't move well. It was like it had fallen asleep. He had a sixth sense and turned around to look at her. When he saw her open eyes, he quickly opened a drawer to get an envelope out. Then, he swiveled close to her. She was still slowly moving her limbs to get them back into working order. She felt like a fresh butterfly coming out of a cocoon. The blood was pumping into its wings to inflate them.

"What day is it?" she asked him.

"It's Tuesday, 3:48 PM. You were out for 36 hours," he replied calmly like a doctor, which he wasn't.

"Good," she said as she started leaning forward. She was getting ready to pull herself onto her wobbly feet.

"We have a small matter to discuss. There was damage this time. Nothing bad. You will be well compensated for it," he explained to her. She could feel from the luxurious tone that she would indeed be well taken care of. She could relax. Perhaps, she would be so well taken care off that it would actually be a plus.

He pulled a photo out of the envelope. It was a photo of her inner thigh close to the crotch. There was a black bruise the size of a golf ball. She could suddenly correlate the dull pain at the exact spot on her body to the swirling sensations of her settling back into her body. It didn't seem that bad. Of course, she would be blemished for the next two weeks.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You know that you signed a contract that you can't know what happens when you are with clients," he reminded her.

He pulled a sparkling chip out of the white enveloped and pressed it into her hand. He paused for a moment. He was a man who oversaw many attractive women. It would have been easy for him to take liberty with her to feel the softness of her touch, to get lost in her eyes, that perfectly European aristocratic face. Yet, he was an expert at his craft. He appraised her. He managed her. He gave her just the right kind of professional care to keep her coming back to work for him. He knew market values of women. He knew how to turn them into a higher-value version. He seemed satisfied that she could handle the first incident of their work together.

She got up. She staggered on her high heels. The stagger was worth than she had expected. The need to get out of her to get into privacy was overwhelming. She staggered forward, her heels bending away left and right under her feet as she simply tried to keep her head level - more falling forward than a controlled walk.

"Amber?" the security guard asked her. She kept pushing forward. His hands tried to grasp her elbow for support. She flailed against him like a bitch. Headache was shooting behind her head. The intensity of feeling her body grew. Just when she struggled onto the parking lot into the sunlight, her stomach contracted. For a second, she felt all her suffering relieved as the contents shot up her esophagus and splattered out onto the concrete. Tequila mixed with vodka! That explained her feeling of hangover. She clutched the chip in her hand. She was rich. She could get herself cleaned up.

As she walked down the street, she could feel the soreness in her pussy. It felt like rug burn. Her body felt like it had been used heavily. Cum started leaking down her asshole as she got to the corner grocery store. She ordered a pill of Hello Kittie through the bulletproof takeout window. The cops didn't come to this part of town Cray Hall. She liked it down here. There was more freedom. Illicit businesses like her employer could run down here. Society's veneer was pulled back to let you do whatever you wanted to do. You didn't have to worry about a schedule or reaching goals. Yet the grocery store was worried about being robbed regularly. Hello Kittie was a great painkiller. Guys would slip it to women on dates because it turned them into cheery, docile girls like Hello Kittie. That's how she wanted to feel.

She swallowed it without water. Her vision turned slightly more pink. She felt a fun and happy mood spreading over her. "Hey, look that's so cute! You've got green vomit on the front of her dress," shot through her head. It was all fine and dandy. The artificial bird symphony from a city beautification project came to her attention. She got lost in the chirping as she walked home. There were barely any cars in the street. Anyone coming here had a destination that was hidden well out of sight. It left the air and space wide open for her to breathe and to feel home again.

She walked up the stairs to climb the hill where the shell of a meteor dust crushing factory loomed. Many of the windows and doors completely gone to only leave a skeleton of a building with giant holes. However, her space was on the top floor. There was an atrium for the big whig managers with a fountain in the center. She had filled the empty fountain well with pillows and blankets. She curled her body into it. Five floors above her were the spires of a glass roof. She watched the clouds. She let herself drift. Her body was tired, worn out. The pillows were soft and cozy. She fell into a dreamy haze. She'd stay here for a few days doing nothing but sleep and rest.

How had this all started? She was like many dreamy-eyed young people who spilled out of the people mover craft onto the moon around Saturn. It was like a new dawn full of promise to have arrived here. She tried a few jobs like office assistant and waitress for an executive kitchen. She had gone out to a few clubs. Guys had bought her fancy pink martinis. The credits in her off-world account slowly drained down to pay for her highrise studio. A common theme was for young women like her to end up in call centers for escorts to service off-plant customers. She started going to more high-end bars, daring a rich playboy to pick her up and make her his. It was more like a dare, a vague hope that the solution to all her problems would come from a rich man.

She had to spend more money on fancier clothes to fit in. Her off-world account drained faster as she got another red velvet cocktail dress that wrapped around her chest in a flowy way like a flower head. And it came tight around her butt. Her legs were waxed smooth - such slender, delicate things with the perfect shapes to remind one of femininity. A guy bought her a drink, more middle-aged, more sure and calm, than wild party boy. There was none of that needy horniness in his eyes that the other men exuded.

He calmly talked to her about her life, how many friends and family she had on the planet. He gave her tips on how to find a better personal trainer. He suggested to her that her face had a cold beauty to it. The friendliness in her clothing choice was smothering how she could be a knock out. He showed her some photos of fashion shoots on his phone that intimidated her at first. However, she wondered whom this guy saw in her. She was very intrigued.

"You don't know who I am," he exclaimed after an hour of conversation that had become increasingly deeper and more transactional about advice in how she could style herself with fashion and as persona. There was a bit of a standoff in his voice, like a question if he should proceed. She could feel that he had tried to keep his identity a secret initially. However, at some point, he had been sure that she had figured him out. He made her feel like they were in some kind of conspiracy. Her face drew a blank while she tried to figure out what it was and how she needed to position herself.

"In the old world, they would have called me a pimp. I prefer to think of myself as a talent manager," he explained. There was a cold, dismissive almost disgusted look in his face. It was as if he was steeling himself to be rejected by her. She could feel him getting ready to leave like he had wasted his time. She didn't want him to leave. He had been the first person to take a deep interest and to see something in her since the five months that she had arrived here.

"Are you trying to recruit me to be a video girl?" she asked him.

"No, we don't come to Club Victor for that level of employee. I have a much different opportunity for you at hand," he seemed to calm down. He seemed to feel the opportunity that she might say yes.

"What is it?" she asked curious.

"Not here!" he said. She could sense his shiver that was a worry about police, being overheard by someone. There was a silent cry for privacy and hidden doors. She felt like she was standing at the entrance of a portal. The drink that had made her tipsy made her curious and excited about adventure.

"Follow me!" he said.

She walked after the man in the blue suit. In the corner of her eyes, she could see two suited men, who were evidently jacked under their suits peeling away from conversation to follow behind her. Her pulse quickened. He walked her to an elevator and down another hallway. They ended up at a double door at the end of a long hotel hallway with two security guards that were wearing thick gold watches and gold glasses. They seemed from another solar system. Their customs and swagger were strange.

Inside was a giant room with a fluffy art installation cloud. It was hard to describe. It was kind of like a white coach with lots of giant pillows, but you could also climb up on it. There was a guy with a white robe and white turban. He seemed immensely rich. There were pretty women in lingerie. They were positioning themselves to pose and look like they were lounging. They weren't relaxed but they were showing off.

He kicked his shoes off in front of her, help her out of her heels, and helped her step onto the cloud. It was soft and wobbly. She just had to let herself go and fall onto a pillow. It was like a dreamlike state. She could sense that the man at the top of the cloud was very rich. She was in some kind of elite environment that regular people weren't even aware of.

The man sat down in front of her very business-like in Indian style. He seemed to be able to push away all the glitz and be unimpressed. She looked at the olive skin of the woman nearest her. She was gorgeous. Her eyes had thick mascara to make them dark. She let her arms slowly glide her beauty like she was in some kind of lush trance of sensuality, completely taken in by the ambiance. However, she was acting. She was acting, very, very well.

"We have complete privacy here. Harim is very kind of me to let me use his space for business," he explained.

"I have a very lucrative opportunity for you. I'll pay you 3,000 credits per hour. You get paid with an untraceable chip. That way, you don't have to pay taxes. You can see that we are very reputable," he offered.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

"Well, you won't know. We own you for that hour. We'll implant a chip in you. It'll keep you acting like yourself. However, it'll block memories from forming. You'll come out of work not remembering anything. You might be a bit sore afterwards, but that's pretty much it," he explained. He just laid it out there. He had learned that it's a waste of time to coax people into it. It was more efficient to lay it out and move on to the next person.

"That's illegal," she blurted out.

"So is making 3,000 credits per hour. It's above maximum wage laws," he retorted.

"We'll simply get a few hours of your life. It won't feel like work. It'll feel like nothing. You'll simply blink your eyes open and hold a sparkling, new chip in your hand," he pitched her.

"Will your customers have sex with me?" she asked worriedly.

"Customers will be able to do anything they want with you. You'll be in a completely obedient state. The limit is that they won't leave any permanent marks. You'll never know what they did," he explained.

That's how it had started. She was lying in the fountain, recalling the images from that room, sitting in that cloud. Now she was looking up at the ceiling, watching the clouds chase by. The clouds changed shape so slowly. She could see faces in the cloud. The Hello Kittie was slowly wearing off. It wasn't true that the chip blocked out everything. In the rest days after, she could feel her mind trying to recall what happened and something blocking it. She could feel faint imprints on her breasts, like teeth marks. She found dried cum crust on her feet. She had emotions roar up in herself of excitement and disgust. They were really intense emotions, but they were headless because they didn't come with a memory or explanation. She'd suddenly shiver like she had been very cold. Her muscles felt sore like she had been running a marathon. All these subliminal impressions had been left on her. And something was blocking them.

She wondered what the men did to her. From how sore her pussy was, she had been fucked a lot and for a long time. Her lips felt stretched at times. She was being used like a ragdoll. There was something about voluntarily giving her body over to be used. There was a kind of thrill to it as well. She wondered what they were doing to her. What would men do to her if they could do anything?

One time, she had taken a driver to work. She got out of the shuttle. She was dressed ready to work in a black leather suit and stilettos. A hooded figure was standing right outside the parking lot. She had thought it was another vagabond who had run out of credits and was hiding in Cray Hall. However, the figured lifted her hood. It was a young woman like her, blond hair, pig tails. Her cheeks were rosy and sexy. She could make good money.

"Wait! Let me show you something!" the woman had called out to her, waving her hand awkwardly. The fingers were elegant. Expensive rings with ritual symbols were on them.

The woman got out a phone. There was a commercial playing. The logo of an escort company flashed proudly on it. Various men in suits were going for dinners, spas, and gardens with super attractive women who were dressed provocatively. They women smiled and caressed the men. The women were clearly super into the men, way more than a real person would be. Yet the women acted very convincingly. It dawned on her that this was a commercial for an escort service. It could be her service. She had never seen how the company marketed to the clients. This all looked very expensive and very high class. There was luxury all over.

A man at a white cloth restaurant, which she recognized as Mon Chapell, the top winner of the annual restaurant awards, smiled with a giant grin to the point of being grotesque. The woman did not seem to be disturbed. She cooed at him: "You are the hottest man. I love you so much. I'd do anything for you." Then he pointed down. She got under the table and started sucking him off middle in the restaurant with all the people around. The video showed the white tablecloths moving and captured her slurping sounds. She was going hard. The man received another round of plates.

The words "I'd do anything for you" repeated. The voice was altered to sound cold and eerie. The color of the video lost its warmth. Heavy metal music faded in. The video showed a man deep-throating a woman as she struggled. He held her down hard. She gagged and writhed. After a long time, she led her breathe. The first thing she said with tears in her eyes and snot running down her lips: "I love that so much! Do it again!" She had a happy smile on her face.

The video cut to another scene. Cold blue light played around on an abstract background of steel, walls, floor. There were light flashes like a nightclub. A guy walked happily with a broad smile, blue eyes, and hair slicked like a playboy. His collar was undone widely under the black jacket like a real player. Over his shoulder hung a silver change. Lazily, his hand held the chain. The chain trailed down his back, hung in the air like an upside down arc, and then led to the face of an attractive woman. Her hair was jet black and spikey. It had been twisted and fixed with two chopsticks. She crawled on her hands and knees. Amber's mouth sharply inhaled air. The mini dress and crop blouse was a Bessini. A waitress would have to work a whole year to be able to pay for it. And the woman was crawling on her hands and knees, putting that expensive outfit at risk.

They walked into a private karaoke room. Eight friends of the guy were there. They were all dressed in expensive black suits and white shirts. The shirts had been half unbuttoned. They had been drinking and partying in there for a while. Their faces and short haircuts made them look like fratboys, you punks, irresponsible to the world, overly excited with what they can get away with without any realization of consequences. The suits were so expensive that they were probably off-world traders. The guy walking in seemed a class above them, probably a rich daddy. He very proudly walked the woman in on a chain.

The woman was tall and very slender. She was a model. She had clearly been picked for her beauty. Her belly was so flat that you would wonder where the food could go. Her calves were long and sinewy like she did a lot of workouts. Her neck, wrist, and ankles were adorned by expensive-looking skinny jewelry - a bare elegance of pure precious metals and subtle shapes. Her face looked delicate and refined with pasty white makeup and carefully drawn outlines for her red lips and black eye lines. She was a complete demonstration of power and richness to walk her around like that and own her like that.

His friends kept a polite distance from the vantage points of their low-slung black couches. They were lounging around lazily, oggling her, leering at her, smirking at her, devouring her beauty, cynically looking down on her. She kneeled patiently like an obedient pet.

"Fuck her!" he cheered like the celebratory gunshot that starts a race.

A slightly chubby guy with a red face, who seemed to like too much sushi and rice quickly got on his knees behind her. He reached under her mini to push the g-string aside and dove his dick right in without prep or pause. The lead guy led her head towards him. He put her head in between his thighs to half guard her and half hold her in place. He loved the dominance over her. He loved feeling her moans, sighs, and cries blowing out of her.

The chubby guy held onto her hips and fucked her from behind. A buddy with a K-pop haircut pressed next to him and said, "Let me have a go as well!" So the chubby guy pulled out and the K-pop guy pushed into her. The other guys came to the floor. They switched. They pulled her panties off. They took her mini off. It was a skirmish of them trying to get their dicks into her. Then they started using her asshole. She couldn't see anything because her head was trapped in the lead guy's lap. She could probably only feel a skirmish of dicks fighting over which one would get into her and where.

The contrast was so strong. She was slender. Her shoulder blades showed a clear outline lifting from her back as she kneeled on her hands and knees. Her calves were a streamlined curve from countless pilates sessions. Her hair was exquisitely styled, lusciously rich in texture, precisely styled, and cut by a master stylist. When her face had been visible, you could see an engaged mind, educated, and refined by likely piano and ballet lessons. She was on her knees in front of them. She was eager to impress and please them. Yet they were frat boys - young faces, chubby features, and faces like they didn't know what they were doing but had been stuffed into fancy suits and given a lot of money. They should have viewed her from the distance with awe and admiration, realizing how out of reach and stratified she was. Yet there she was the one who was down beneath them.

Her face was pinned by the guy's thighs. She couldn't move her head. Yet her body writhed and bounced like she couldn't control herself from all the sensations, emotions, and pleasures running through her body. Her body said that she really loved those cocks inside of her. She'd freeze like the pleasure had become overwhelming. Then she moaned and cried into the thighs of the guy. The guy pulled her up by a tucking on a fistful of her hair. He slept her across the face hard. The red color spread was insistent. She looked at him gasping, clearly shocked from the impact - her mouth gaping wide open with a trail of spit across the other cheek. A second later, she composed herself and cooed with desire: "May, I have another sir?" The guy laughed proudly at himself for how unflinching pleasing she was to any of his desires.

The guy who had walked her in released her and told her to lie on her back. You should have seen her eyes - how big they were; black circles looking up at him with an obedient, pleasing expression on her face as if she were an intern. Her whole being expressed how this night was a big deal to her to please them. She rolled onto her back to reveal her belly. She slipped her top off to reveal her breasts to them - flat on her chest as she lay back, spongey-youthful. Her hips raked through the air. She gave them a little dance popping her hips and letting her mouth pout like she was really turned on. She was on the floor - a narrow space between their feet circled by the couch. They watched her while she put in so much effort.

The guy with the big, black-rimmed glasses, who looked a bit like a PhD student, had mix of disdain on his face - for what kind of person would throw herself so away to please them - and utter lust - because he loved every moment of it. The camera zoomed around to give an 360-degree view of all the prime shots like the arch in her lower back as she pushed her ass up and the pouty lips of the face with the cheek pushed against the floor. Their feet surrounded her like a fence. Occasionally, a foot pushed on her. She would not fight back or be disgusted, but she would yield, embrace the foot, and treat it like the most precious gift - even though it was just an old, sweaty sock from a day of being stuck in leather loafers. Her performance made it apparent that the chip in her head had turned off any kind of reservation and self-interest to be the perfect toy for rich guys to play with - eager, seductive, very willing, completely blind to the treatment or lack of affection.

The blonde with the pigtails suddenly pulled the phone away. Amber felt dizzy. Her mind had been so deeply in the video watching with startled intensity to what was happening to women while they were working with the chip. Amber registered that she was back on the parking lot. The two security guards from outside of Kagain's office were swiftly coming across the dilapidated concrete parking lot with the flaps of their suit jackets fluttering. Black glasses and transparent wires behind their ears, they darted towards the blonde with the pigtails. The blonde had turned around and was already half way to the corner of the block.

Amber felt startled. The overriding thought was that she needed to be on-time for her shift. The rules were very precise. The job is what kept her afloat. She had been drunk and hungover before. The focus on showing up on time had been instilled on her. The security guards flanked her. She tried to put her emotional shields back on. Her feet strutted confidently.

"No worries. Just a crazy lady," she assured the security guards, who didn't say a word, but flanked her to clearly indicate that they were escorting her in yet respectfully abstained from touching her.

Amber gave Janet at the front desk the usual glare. Yet Amber couldn't help but wonder how many sex workers Janet had seen coming in and out, surely knowing more of their fate than they did. Every passing cubicle of cam girls and private clients made her realize that she was progressing closer to a point where she couldn't turn back. All the occasional scenes of women gagging, crying, and fighting came back to her mind. Her job had been so clean. She simply sat down in the chair, passed out, and returned to conscience with the job done. She had never pondered in such graphic details what was happening to her when she was gone for a day or even three.

The security guard opened Kagan's office door for her. Kagan looked a little worried when he asked, "Are we all good?" She gave him a stern and confident "Yes!" Her confidence as what reassured her. Even if she felt very unsure, the clarity of her actions reassured her. Then there was the silence that spread like panic as she was waiting, reclined in the chair. She would not be able to turn back anything or stop anything from happening once Kagan waved his hand with the transmitter ring behind her neck. Her heart started pounding like she was at the top of a steep waterslide that she would tumble down out of control. She grasped the armrest harder. He rolled the chair closer and looked into her eyes while his hand waved behind her head.

She blinked. The energy in the room felt completely different. There were half-empty pizza boxes in front of the monitors. Kagan was completely relaxed with his feet up on the desk while he kept an extremely thin-crust pizza slice from slipping between his fingers like liquid goo. Her senses came back to her. She ran a check across her body. Her hips felt wrapped up by something very soft and floaty. She felt with her hands. It was a dress on her body with bright green, red, and yellow colors like rainforest birds. The material felt like lush foam. It floated so easily. She looked down on herself. The dress was in a sleek long form to really extend the length of her body but also give it feminine curves - a very elegant and refined drape for a dress.

"Sorry about that!" said Kagan with a full mouth. "Your outfit sustained some damage. We got you a Perry-Lou to make up for it. The receipt is tugged in the bra support. You can exchange it within 30 days. I would keep that one though. It fits you really well.

She checked her body again. She had never thought much about these things before because they simpy seemed like customer service issues that were taken care off really well. But now, she was wondering. What had the clients done to her to damage her clothing? She felt deeper into her body to answer the question. She could feel bitemarks on her nipples - imprints of teeth digging into her nipples. She liked pain to the point of being tremendous on her nipples. Once she could locate the evanescent bitemarks on her nipples, she could feel the more subtle sensual impressions all over her body. It was like the low singing of a sound bowl. The impression of bites all over her body barely faded in and then faded out completely only for her to realize it again. The block that the chip was supposed to provide was not complete. There was a hairline opening for the blocked experience to filter back to her.

She got up, took the payment chip from Kagan, and walked out the door. The energy in her step was gone. She was rather reflective of the video she had seen and her wonderment of what had happened to her. Had she been like the woman from the video? Had she done anything that the men wanted of her with joy? Had they been mistreating? Had she reacted with enjoyment? What were the limits of what they were doing to her? Were there any limits at all except for not to leave marks?

She arrived in the makeshift home in the abandoned factory. She let herself slide into the pillow and blanket pile in the fountain. The feather pillows and soft fabrics felt soothing and comforting - her safe space. Mikado, a stray, black cat, who had wondered into the factory, silently slithered up to her and cuddled into her arms. The soft, smooth fur and the abandonment of love in her arms made warmth spread through her body. Were the fucking her pussy, ass, and mouth? Quite obviously! She knew that she was a sex worker. But the whole being out of control and having anything happen to her made her gasp.

During the days of recovery, she always started to feel horny. The combination of relaxation, boredom, and apparently coming down from a very high dose of sex kept making her pussy wet and her mind lurid with imagination. To be used - that's kind of hot? To be completely surrendered and used in any way. That's kind of very hot. The submission of doing anything to me and seeing how far the men would take it was very hot. She could feel an itch inside of her. She wanted to be taken to her limits. She wanted to feel the men completely bared to their rawest instincts. She wanted to feel the masculine energy in its most potent and unfiltered form. She wanted to be a slut who abandoned herself. She got so horny with no cock around. She masturbated.

When the next evening came around, she couldn't stay in any more. She needed to feel men - their masculine energy, the way they breathe, the way they smell, the way how they are so closed and mysterious, how they just act, and how you can't control them. She got dressed in a cocktail outfit that was vaguely based on a creative interpretation of a ninja - black, sleek, covered up but with sensual highlights like the tight leather ass and the flash of skin from a cutout to show the center of her cleavage. She had deep red lipstick with some liner going over the line to make her lips look fuller and more fatal.

Edge of the Universe was a piano bar - very elegant. The lighting was so black that you couldn't even see across the room. The white piano keys in the spotlight for the player were the most distinct feature. The bar was a gentle simmer of a red aura to make it easy to locate the next drink. The people were dressed elegantly in suits and dresses. There were even some fancy, small hats on the women to hail to a fashion long gone from planet Earth. She felt shy. She didn't want to approach a man at a table to be rejected. She had a whisky glass and was playing with a tooth pick to push the ice cube against the glass to make that loud clicking sound. She got abandoned into it actually.

Suddenly, something warm and wet poured down her leg. She looked to the side quickly. A waiter with a flushed red face was struggling to keep therest of the glasses on his silver platter. A red win flute had fallen over and splatter on her thigh. She smiled in reflex and batted her eyes on it. "You are so cute when you are clumsy," she laughed at him warmly. She reacted like he was endearing herself into her. The waiter was clearly flustered. The manager came over. They made a big fuss about it. She didn't have to say much. Such an upscale place compensated her well and offered to take her dress to the in-house dry cleaner.

While she let it happen, she wondered why she had reacted so happy and delighted at such a rude incident. It nagged on her mind because the woman on the video had reacted exactly like that to every indignation and humiliation. Was she acting like her? Was the chip having an effect on her during her off-time? Were her behavior during the on-times starting to shape her personality?

Lost in her thoughts, she wandered out of the place with her ruined clothes. As she reached the door, she pulled it wide open and smiled at the two men, clearly blessed friends for a decade, even dressing similarly like women friends often do. They smiled back as they walked through the door in front of her. What was she doing? She would have never opened a door for men. She would have expected them to open the door for her. She had become very men-pleasing. It was so out of character for her.

She wasn't just prostituting her body but her whole person. She could feel a certain discomfort as she realized that she was being pressed into a new shape/way of being. She wandered the nighttime streets of the entertainment district. A convenience store with neon signs invited her to come inside and look for a little bowl of ice cream. They had these fashionable new ones from the main planet with the mix of nuts and crispy crust pieces. She looked for a luscious chocolate one through the freezer box. A short guy with partially gray beard, aviator glasses, and a brown leather jacket leaned closer to her to hiss, "slut!" at her derogatively. A big smile spread over her face, and she replied, "Yes, sir!" with the happiness of a cheerleader. She was surprised by herself. He walked away more upset than he had walked up to her. Had she not noticed these changes?

She used to be a pretty grumpy office worker. Whenever her boss assigned her something, she couldn't help but feel the bile rise up and the annoyance at being told what to do. She'd override the impulse and mumble something about "Okay!" She knew that she had to put on a face. Yet, she was very independent and didn't like to be told what to do. Somehow along the way of the sessions, she had become a different person.

The word "slut" still reverbrated through her ears. It had instantly made her body feel hot from embarrassment - like a hot flush of tea spread under her skin. A second reaction had made her feel really excited about it, like good things were going to happen to her for being slut - very happy and pleasurable things. She had felt the anticipation like Maslov's dogs at the bell to make them salivate. She had looked directly in the face of the mean guy. Her face had been full of excitement and anticipation. And when he shook his head and turned away, she felt a joy of being denied and of not being good enough - that deep desire for him to come back. All these were new emotions and reactions. They must have built session after session.

Eventually, she typed on her phone a message to Kagan: "Can I come in tomorrow to talk?"

The next day, she walked in. She knew she had to be careful. The job was extremely well-paying. She perfected her make-up. She unboxed the brand new Larry Lou yoga pants and sports bra. She was going to dress casually like it was her workout day but in super high-end clothes. The spandex hugged her body perfectly. She made sure to not wear underwear so that the outline of her pubic bone and nipples was clearly visible. The pink was a very soft bubble gum kind of pink, very girly in an innocent school girl kind of way.

She bounced across the parking lot, down the cubicle aisle, and into his office. She hopped into her chair with comfort like it was her own. She displayed playful energy like she was in a good mood.

Kagan looked worried at her: "Do you want to renegotiate?"

"No, I'm curious if I can see footage of any of the sessions?" she asked innocently.

"You know I can't do that. Clients value absolute privacy," he replaced cold. But his mind kept thinking. He seemed well aware that he had to address her concerns.

"You know what! I might have a solution for you. Wait here!" he said and left the room.

She looked around the room. She had never gotten to spend much time in this room. The centerpiece was the desk with all the monitors. She could see the feeds of the different cam girls. A lot of them were typing on the keyboard. There were some salacious things happening. What drew her curiosity more was darkness opposite to the screens. There were some shelves, some manuals, and a row of seats. It wasn't a very elegant office. But he seemed to host small groups of people here.

She noticed another door opposite ot the entrance door. She checked the ceiling corners of the room for cameras. There were none. She pushed the door slightly open to peek inside. It looked like a storage room with bunkbeds. A blue light shimmered to keep the room from being completely dark. The air was a bit chilly. On the far end was another door. She could see the outlines of daylight pouring through under the door. Then she looked closer at the bunk beds. There was a woman lying there lifeless. She was short with a very pretty face. She was dressed in fancy, expensive clothes. Another bunkbed was empty. The top of the bunkbed had a woman. Her dress was torn into shreds. She had some bandages on her chest and arms. They were all passed out, not like sleeping but completely out. She quickly closed the door and went back to her seat.

Kagan came back inside with a big smile and his hands rubbing together.

"I got a solution," he said proudly, his eyes flashing with joy. "Remember, I can't show you any footage from your clients. However, I have a client on-site right now. He agreed that you could watch his session."

"What about her?" she asked reflexively - quickly realizing that she shouldn't have.

"Amber, you know the contract. We can do anything with you that we want unless it leaves permanent marks. The same goes for her," he pleaded with her to understand and be professional about it.

"Of course!" she replied.

He led the way down the hallway. His hips moved with swagger like he was proud of himself. From time to time, he turned back to Amber to explain to her what they were walking into. The client had been a virgin. Now in his thirties, he had finally wanted to lose his virginity. So he had come to them. This wasn't a big elaborate session. He had only rented a model for a couple of hours. So to safe transport time, they had decided to do the session in the office.

He walked her into a conference room. The lighting was cold like offices are. The long table was flanked by foldout chairs. There was a comfortable brown couch with worn out seat cushions in the corner of the room. The room had the feel of a sweatshop office. It seemed to be clearly setup for a fantasy scene.

In the corner was a thirty-year old man, shaking and shivering. His hair was curly. He looked like he hadn't seen much of the world. There was a lot of softness in his face. A woman in a white blouse and pencil skirt squatted in front of him and tried to open his pants.

"Boss! Just let me take a look. I've heard that it is so pretty. Bittie, bittie please!" she woman cooed with the sweetest and most endearing sounds.

He shook his head. To afraid to even speak, he only mumbled.

"You don't know how much I've been dreaming about that cock of yours! Every night, I imagine it. I can't hold myself back anymore. You are too much of a stud!" she was playing her role very convincingly. She seemed really desperate.

Amber and Kagan quietly stood on the other side of the room. Kagan whispered to Amberm, "Not every scene is glamorous. It's work after all. She does an excellent job. She'll guide him through losing his virginity and make it a memorable moment for him."

"Okay, you can take a little look. You are very sweet!" the men admitted.

Her face lit up so much. Her eyes widened. She snapped his pant button open. She pulled his pants down. She paused and made eye contact to let him see just what a big moment and gift it was to her to be able to see his cock. He nodded shyly. She pulled his pants down. The white cock hung flaccid. She instantly swallowed it balls deep.

He squealed, "You promised to only look!"

He tried to fight her head off. He tried to push her head down on him. He was so conflicted about it. His eyes went crazy with desire and shame. And she just kept chomping down on him. Her head gushed down and up so eagerly.

"Getting a better image of what your work sessions look like?" whispered Kagan.

Amber nodded. She had never seen a woman so eager and skilled at pleasing a man. Ten minutes later, the woman was on her back on the conference room table while, the man was railing her pussy. She massaged her boobs together to show him the full cleavage. She told him how his cock felt better than all the other men.

"Can I put it in your ass?" the man spoke for the first time.

"Oh, I love your cock in my ass. Fill it with your warm cum! I'll be your cream pie," she cooed and moand at him.

He pulled is bare dick out and shoved it straight into her ass. She cried out. Her face was in agony. Two tears dropped out of the corner of her eyes. He looked mean at her, "Take that!" She smiled at him, "Oh! I love the little pain of rough anal."

Her face was a waxing and waning of pain and bliss. One moment her mouth distorted in suffering pain. The next moment, her eyes lit up with sparkling, victorious joy of mastering the ride. Then two teardrops ran down her face as she was trying to look up at the ceiling to keep them from coming out. Her face melted into a succumbed trance with all facial muscles going slack. Her hair rocked back and forth with every thrust. He pulled her hips back onto her. His face was focused on her ass. He was biting his lip hard as if he were struggling with the sadistic pain he was unleashing on her.

Kragan's phone buzzed, "Hey, Amber! I'll be right back."

The guy came in her ass, holding her tight for a moment before staggering away drunk and falling on the couch backwards. He was exhausted. He stared at the ceiling for a moment and then seemed to pass out. Suddenly with only the other woman and Amber, there was an immediacy between them. There was a mutual question of "What are you doing here?"

The woman seemed to have no qualms to answer it. As soon as the woman saw Amber, the woman meandered towards Amber. She put one foot crossed over the next foot so that her hips would swing wide like a sexy seductress. She had no shyness about being naked, about displaying attraction for Amber, or that talking to Amber would be the most fun thing in the world. Easily, the woman slipped on the edge of the table in front of Amber.

"You are way too hot and sexy for this venue!" the woman cooed at Amber, making sure to accentuate her lip movements and wink with her eyes.

Amber stepped closer. Amber observed the woman like an animal or toy. Amber knew that the woman would do anything and would have no memory. Amber slapped the woman hard across the face. The slapping sound cut sharply across the eardrums. The woman opened her mouth wide to breathe. Amber could feel the woman's heart fluttering. The long face squooshed together int other cute round shape to match her petite body. "May I have another?" the woman asked with chirp and joy in her face. The dimples in her cheeks made them round. Her blue eyes gushed of excitement like this had been the most riveting experience.

Amber was fascinated. Such an upbeat and surrendered reaction. The woman seemed to have no individual thought about her own pain, pleasure, standing, or being appreciated. It was like the woman had a program in her head to enjoy and delight in everything that was given her. Yet it wasn't robotic at all. It was filled with her own personality. The woman's face had a darkness from her hair and her eyebrows. She had a sporty feel like she was ready to bounce off to get physical any moment.

Amber never having said anything reached out with her hand to place her hand on the woman's face. Amber squeezed her thumb and index finger around the woman's nose and pressed her palm over her mouth. The woman could no longer breathe. The woman smiled at Amber at first - a patient happy kind of smile. Then the woman started to show strain on her face, hidden behind the facade of the smile. The woman started to feel the desperation of her body for oxygen. Amber wanted to see how much control she had over the woman. The yearn to breathe got stronger. The woman actually pushed deeper into Amber's hand to restrain herself from breathing. The woman's eyes turned wiry. Amber steeled herself for control over the woman to feel the power to force the woman to put with anything.

Then Amber let go. The woman doubled over. Her composure was lost. She was simply breathing hard staring at the floor. Amber tried to calm the surge of power that she had felt. She enjoyed that surge of power. She enjoyed feeling ice cold while she watched someone else struggle. Addiction was her thought. I can feel myself getting addicted to that feeling of power and of putting someone down.

"That was so fun! Do it again!" the woman said, happy like a cheerleader.

Amber realized that she was looking at how she was when she did the sessions. There was something beautiful. There was something depraved. There was a deep letting go about putting yourself out like that: Just be a vessel for whatever is being asked of you, an inner kind of emptiness of all the doubt and hesitation, and a painful kind of being used. Painful? It's a strange mix of being taken advantage of and hurt in that way, disregarded actually, but there is a bimbo-like happiness and joy that washes it all away. Yes, just use me again! I'll be so happy while you sneer at me and enjoy how you get what you want. But I get that attention. I get that attention that I crave. I get that deep feeling of being touched like someone is getting through to my core.

The woman was squatting, slightly pumping her body up and down from excitement. The woman's eyes had a lovely blue color as they looked up at Amber, full of expectation and readiness. The woman anticipated her next order. She was so ready to go for it. Amber marveled at it. She felt a rush of power. She felt a sense of possibility like the constraints of reality didn't apply. A card that allowed her to get away with anything had been dealt to her. The woman's body was beautiful. The breasts had a succulent round tear-drop shape. The woman's lips were painted seductively red and shaped to be like from a cabaret show. The woman's nostrils drew Amber's attention, like little piggie snouts that she wanted to be pulled by. Amber felt the urge to inflict pain on Amber to hear her scream a little to see how far she could get away. The woman was a human toy. All this time that Amber took to think about, the woman never lost her excitement for what Amber was doing next to her.

The moment was like a bubble frozen in time. Both their energies electrically sparked back and forth. Kagan walked in. The mundane rush of the door across the floor made Amber snap back into reality. She dropped her attention like a dog drops garbage picked up in the street when the owner yells sternly, "Drop it!" She let her blasé exterior over up her insides as she stepped away from the woman. The woman never took any offense or disappointment. She stayed happy-faced, eagerly looking up at the adults to see what to tell her next. Her eyes were entirely sure that something fun would happen next, but she was also calm, knowing of her place to not intrude and wait for attention.

"I see. You two have been getting acquainted," said Kagain happily, like a salesperson knocking on the changing room door to see how everything went. He walked Amber out without more conversation.

Amber had been pensive, like her mind hadn't made a clear decision about what she had seen. However, the memories of the woman stayed with her. Especially, as the next day was a calm maintenance day that gave her a lot of quiet to think. It was early morning. The sunlight still had the harshness of the morning sun that made every shadow on a face sharper. She stepped up the stairs into the Moon Lagune. On a large field, building-size globes were floating in the air and tethered to the ground with a giant cable each. This structure allowed the globes to gently sway in the wind. Yet their large size and weight made the sways gentle and delayed. The globes were staggered and spread out so that they appeared like bubbles escaping from the planet service into the sky. She stepped up the staircase, a singular long path with see-through railings to give the illusion of ascending into the air.

The lobby was a huge expanse of a globe about the length of two semi-trailers. The globe had curved, transparent walls that gave way to the expanse of the field and forest surrounding it, creating a surreal sense of being deep into nature in a remote place, when in reality, right beyond the tree line was the packed, crazy, and whacked city. The singular receptionist behind a giant counter ready for twenty receptionists, dressed in uniforms that were a mix of stewardess, dress suit, and oriental concubine touches, gave the impression of exclusivity like the entire place only catered to her.

The receptionist was young, attractive, perfectly styled makeup, and a voice like a trained singer to deliver the line as if it were a grand and private performance: "Welcome, Ms. Amber. We are so glad to have you back."

Amber looked deeper into the eyes of the receptionist. The blue eyes were pretty, like the hiring manager had chosen her to dazzle clients with them. Yet Amber looked beyond the picture-perfect make-up and those stunning eyes. She could see a young woman who might be over at the red road doing karaoke with her friends and drinking cheap sake while living on the starter salary that the job offered her. Amber knew that she'd never meet that young woman. She'd only meet the receptionist, who addressed her perfectly and had the dash-quick anxiety of a deer beneath veneer, worrying to upset Amber with the slightest mistake or oversight. Cool, powerful, and in control on the surface, yet deep down knowing that she could be fired at any moment for the tantrum of a rich patron. It was kind of sad how they met. Amber felt like they could have been friends at the karaoke bar.

"I would like to confirm your schedule for the day. You are hear for the premium all-day experience. You have elected to opt into pain and discomfort for maximum effectiveness of the beauty treatments and training. If that looks correct, please sign at the bottom."

The paper felt soft in Amber's hands. Each letter was a little depression in the paper. It wasn't simply printed on. She let her fingers caress the texture like reading braille. So strange to be in a world that seemed to be out of her reach. She thought of herself when she was a little girl and watching rich people on TV going to facilities like these to develop their beauty. Now, she was here. It had become her regular routine to remain employable. She signed the paper.

"We've had past issues with patrons who elected pain for performance. They were unaware of the pain levels. In order to enable the upper echelons of our service effectiveness, I have to administer a little electrical shock so that you can decide if that's what you really want," said the receptionist. The receptionist had pulled a red stick with metal prongs from under the counter and held it out. The red was clearly meant to instill caution and respect in anyone looking at it.

"What level would you like?" asked the receptionist.

"I'll take level 10," replied Amber, while she held out the tender inside of her forearm. She knew that she wasn't hear for pleasure. This was to maintain the billable rates of her job.

The receptionist looked cautious as she reached more forward, finally getting onto her tippy toes to lean over the counter as far as she could. The receptionist's face was clear that some patrons snapped at her after experiencing the jolt. And then when it hit Amber, her eyes shot impulsively. Her whole body jerked into tension. Right before Amber's eyes closed, she saw the sadistic streak shoot over the receptionist's face, like she had lost her composure for a split second to let all her anger at the patrons come out to enjoy the glee and bliss of shooting electrical pain into Amber. The dark emotion in the receptionist's eyes burned behind Amber's closed eyelids until the tension in her muscles eased to allow her to re-open them. Amber knew that she was in an establishment where all the workers utterly hated her, yet tended foot and hand to her.

A porter stepped out of hiding behind a pillar. He was a muscular, attractive man with curly, lush hair to remind of pleasure slaves in ancient times. His black robe was slashed and cut to reveal the statue-perfect muscles of his body. Upon stepping in front of Amber, he opened his mouth wide to reveal that his tongue had been cut off. The porters were mute and deaf to maintain the privacy of the patrons. Everyone has a price to pay to serve the rich. Amber walked behind the porter. They walked to a little transparent ball at the side of the globe, sized large enough for them to step in.

There was a glass chair for Amber to sit down on. The porter reached for the rope that ran through the ball and connected the globes. The porter started pulling on the rope to move them through the sky from one globe to the next. Amber got to watch the man with the beautiful muscles labor in front of her. It was like a show to watch the biceps contract and become plump, the way how he twisted his body into it, and all the peeks at his bare skin that she got from the slashes and openings in the robe. It was a bit like a softcore porn as little pearls of sweat started forming on that perfectly clear skin with the gentle browning. The way how the setup of the space and activity was, Amber couldn't shake the feeling that she owned the porter and was better than him. It was an institutional setup. She tried to keep her ego humble.

The new globe was see-through on the outside. Yet, changing room-sized boxes were stacked up on the inside. The porter led her into one of the cubes and left her there. The room was empty except for a chair and an open drawer with a box in it coming out of the wall. Amber slipped out of her clothes and placed them into the box. She folded the box closed. The box disappeared into the wall and was gone. A titanium necklace appeared when the drawer opened again. She snapped it around her neck.

The little chirp announced that the necklace was closed. She could feel a soft brush of the air down along her body from the necklace. She relaxed into the feeling. It felt like a very light veil was hanging over her body. The necklace created long ion chains - polarized molecules that attracted other molecules to polarize and attach. Visually, it looked like thick fog was floating around her body in a layer less than half an inch thick. It was complete privacy while she felt like she was utterly naked. The feeling of being naked was supposed to be the ultimate luxurious freedom. Yet, it made Amber also feel vulnerable.

A personal trainer walked in. She was wearing black shorts and a sports bra. Her body was trim. Her face beamed ivory white teeth against her black skin. Her hair was neatly styled. She walked easily, displaying a lot of power.

"Follow me, Ms. Amber," she simply said.

Amber followed watching that bulbous and well trained butt in front of her wiggle left and right with each step. There was no better advertising for what hard training could get you in life than seeing that evidence right in front of her. Amber felt hushed excitement for the workout ahead of her. Her trainer seemed to really know what she was doing.

A porter transferred them further up into an all-open medium-sized globe with technical equipment on arms. As soon as they walked in, the trainer snipped a finger, and the globe walls turned opaque for privacy. Amber's ion covering turned off without warning. Amber was split naked, with only the titanium necklace. There is nothing that said being out of control like someone being able to instantly expose you like that.

"We are going to do a full-body scan to develop the best protocol for you. If you stand normally. Now, put your arms out!" the trainer instructed with perfect diction and zero ounce of personality or emotion. A scanner circled around Amber to scan every part of her body. She could feel the crispness of the laser warming up her skin as the sensors analyzed her skin. Every square inch of her body was being processed.

"Okay, the dynamic evaluation will start now. I'm going to commence a combat sequence with you to see how your body moves and where your strength is. Wave me to come at you when you are ready," invited the personal trainer.

Amber still stood in her normal waiting posture when her trainer already squared up, seized her up, and readied her body for combat. The muscles on the trainer were primed. Her breathing had already accelerated and deepened. The trainer was thoroughly ready for this. Amber didn't seem to have any reason to delay more. She knew it was part of the regimen. She waved the trainer to come at her.

Instantly, the trainer charged forward with nimble feet, easily propelled her body forward. The trainer signaled a punch with her right hand so that Amber had ample time to slip away to the left. The trainer started turning to signal that the trainer would kick her leg against Amber's side body to give Amber plenty of time to block her leg with both hands. The trainer was really good at signaling kicks and punches and slowing them down so that Amber's untrained reflexes could fight of the fierce and constant attacks while Amber was pushed back belatedly and didn't quite know what was happening to her. All the while, the scanners whirled and swooshed around her to watch her muscles react.

The trainer, after another combo of jump kicks and drop punches hailing down on Amber, slipped behind Amber, grabbed her from behind and dropped her to the ground. With the trainer's arms locked around Amber's throat securely, the trainer let Amber fight with her legs and arms to get free. The panic of having her throat held and struggling slightly to breathe unleashed the strongest torrent of effort from Amber, kicking and punching. The trainer easily slung her legs around Amber's front to control her limbs and push them out of the way.

"You elected the full pain package. Let's see how much you are holding back on me," hissed the trainer into Amber's ear with pressed, short bursts of breathing.

The trainer's arm wrapped tighter around Amber's neck until the pain on her throat panicked her. Amber struggled to breathe any amount at all. Amber was panicked. The fear of her life shot into her bones. Amber threw her body around and thrashed like a feral animal. Her vision started darkening from a lack of oxygen. Something in her submitted to passing out happening the next moment. The training instead pushed her away hard so that Amber could catch her composure in the distance.

Amber was still fighting for her breath and to orient herself to what had happened while her hands rested on her knees. The trainer was already looking at the screen of the scanner to analyze the data. Amber was glad that her ion curtain was back on to cover her modesty.

The day went through a regimented schedule that left Amber's mind occupied. It was in the afternoon when after all the training, that the esthetician was working her finger and toenails. She was lying on her back in a comfortable, plush lounge chair with her arms and legs splayed out to give the esthetician access that she was watching the traffic of the balls with the porters cross outside her globe. They were at a nexus of rope paths. It dawned on Amber that the clientele fell into two very clear groups. There were the rich women, who were somewhat out of shape and serious-looking. They seemed to take it all as luxury treatments. And then there were the young, attractive women, who seemed to be escorts like Amber. Their bodies were perfectly toned. Everything on them was held in super high maintenance. It was a strange crossing of paths. Ones who were given everything for their pleasure. And ones who had to give everything for the pleasure of others.

It made Amber feel like her body was less of her own but owned by the people whom she worked for. She had to keep her body in shape and pretty for the people who paid for her living. It wasn't her choices, but she sculpted her body into their beauty ideals and to please them. She had done a million squats so that a rich guy could tomorrow enjoy grabbing her butt, squeezing it, and releasing a waterfall of endorphins in his brain for feeling those buns. Her tits were being firmed up so that they could hold up a dress more nicely braless to titilate the entire room. Her teeth were bleached so that rich men could enjoy making out with her, feeling like they were kissing a clean mouth and not a mouth that had been used for countless dicks and any other uses the men (and sometimes women) felt fit for their wild desires. No, with the teeth bleached that white, her mouth felt clean and fresh to teach one of them.

One woman caught Amber's eyes. She came down the steep cable that made the ball travel near vertically. So Amber got a good look at the woman from below through the glass ball and above. Yet when they were both eye level, it left the most striking effect on Amber. The woman was short with long, smooth blond hair. Her body was trim and fit. She almost had the resemblance of joy on her face. Her face, however, it looked disfigured at first. The jaw was blocky. The cheekbones looked odd. Her eyes were entirely too wide. And after Amber's initial shock settled, there was an enchanting beauty to that face. It was like when photographers shoot unconventionally beautiful people. Somehow, the lens and lighting elevate whatever seemed odd and wrong to near iconic status. The face with its uniqueness started glowing more beauty than all the conventional women (tall, even features, and mainstream beauty shapes) had displayed. Amber felt mesmerized and drawn in to get to know that person. She seemed like she inhabited an entirely different world.

Almost with sadness, she saw the ball vanishing deep below where Amber couldn't see because she couldn't move in her lounge chair without disrupting the esthetician with lasers, scalpels, and files working her fingernails. What a tragic loss! Amber felt so bored and alone during the long, silent treatments. And there had been like a potential friend passing by, not even giving her a glimpse. And suddenly, she realized that the woman was kept like an exotic animal. The escorts in this facility were all like exotic animals kept for something. What was she being kept for? She surely wasn't exotic but more conventionally beautiful. What did men hire her over and over for? She made good billings.

"This will hurt!" warned the esthetician. "However, your fingers will so pretty in two days from now when they heal."

The esthetician pulled leather restraints with soft padding out of the lounge chair. The esthetician wrapped them around Amber's wrist and ankles, pulling them reel tight. Then she took both hands to pull straps over them to tighten the wrists and ankles against the lounge chair.

"We wouldn't want you twitching and messing up the job!" She said cordially to plead for understanding as Amber's eyes widened. The whole day had been treatments of pleasure like massage and interspersed with pain.

The stab on her finger was painful. Amber tried to keep her head down in the headrest to not see it but stare up into the sky. But eventually, Amber couldn't believe how many slices the sharp instrument did on her nails. Amber had to look up and saw blood running down in a dozen small rivulets from her fingernails. She had completely sold her body to be used for the pleasure of the clients.

As tears ran down her eyes silently, she watched the other women levitate and sink around her in their glass balls with those fog robes on. Everyone had such blasé faces, like they weren't even present. They were drifting through treatments the whole day to cater to them, but they were just silent lambs on manufacturing belts, moved around inside of bubbles of privacy. Amber so badly wanted to feel a connection to people. She couldn't take the distant treatment of the workers. The immense emotional barrier between them.

After a day of vanity, she found herself in a little bar in the entertainment center. She was sitting on circular, upholstered bench meant for a group. She had a mix of oversized shopping bags for tiny pieces of clothing that she had picked up. Her heels were popped off for comfort. She was kind of slouching as she let the transparently green ginseng drink swirl in circles to blend in the honey while smoke slowly flowed out of it and over the table. She slouched with her back against the backrest and her butt low. She was tired. She didn't want to go home. She wanted to be a bit around people.

After she had drunk a two third of her drink and stared into the black night sky - black because they were high enough above the street lights, a guy came up to her. She purposefully ignored him, letting her elegant dress that expertly sillhouetted her body like only high end fashion does and beautiful eye make-up do the talking that she was inaccessible. Her eyes glanced down to the dance of the golden headlights of the junks, little transportation devices based on the looks of old Chinese junk boats. They were popular in the nightlife district because they were so easy to hop on and off for revelers to get from bar to bar. She remembered herself being down there, all the way at the bottom. She used to be so excited to go out with her college friends. She'd carefully watch her money to make it last through the night without going too crazy. Now, she was high above that web of nightlife for everyday people. Hanging rope bridges connectin establishments, lit up sidewalks with neon signs creating cat walks, and food vendors with piled on high food carts hawking little treats. She could have never imagined herself making it to the top where she was now. She didn't even think she ever glanced up to wonder what it was like up there.

The guy still stood there. He was unpleasant. His neck was very short and wide. He was short and round. He had an angry expression on his face. He seemed like one of these little people who got constantly overlooked and had developed an aggressive persona of demanding attention, never getting the love that he craved but forcing his way. His suit looked very business-like without creative inspiration. Yet it was tailored specifically for his short, heavy-set body. It screamed rich in a desperate attempt to be significant. His face was already showing the crimson rising.

"So you think you are better taking a whole booth to yourself?" he quipped angrily.

She had a corner booth to herself. The upholstery was firm cubes with fabric that seemed luxuriously soft, but the cubes were firm, and there was no backrest. It was a combination of luxury but also keeping people poised elegant rather than slouching into a relaxing seating. They had wanted to create a high-energy environment. The booth had felt very serene to herself. The bar had filled up and was indeed crowded. She hated being pulled out of her thoughts by that brash, annoying guy. She just wanted him to leave.

"Maybe, I've been waiting for gallant company like yours! Have a seat, my sailor boy!" she told him warmly, breaking into a coquette smile.

He looked confused. His mind seemed startled. The anger had flushed away. She could feel her disgust at him grow. His face had stubbles from being poorly shaven. He had a double-chin. His eyes looked like big balls popping out. You could tell that he was the kid that never got the game in the playground but bulldozed his way to the center anyway only for all the other kids to turn away. His presence and starvation for love felt revolting. She could feel her stomach twist like a wet towel that's violently forced to squeeze out every last drop of water.

He sat down right next to her, way too close for comfort. He smiled big like he had won the lottery, which made him only more annoying. He spread his knees wide and arched his back for a stretch to take up space. She could feel his energy taking over half the empty cube seats around the table. What had been so serene was suddenly crowded even though five of the seats were empty.

"Those tits could have been better worked on by the surgeon," he said coldly. He seemed to try out a negging line to get her attention. Now that his mouth was talking, the impression that he had made only got confirmed. He was a manipulative little shit. His cologne smelled like airport duty free sales of which he had gotten way too much so that he had to desperately try to use it all up by wearing too much.

"Those are really, honey! If you want to touch them, you could have just asked. Try 'em," she cupped the bottom of her breasts to offer them to him like one offered up a gift from someone to take. She had been watching her own demeanor and words from like a far distance deep inside of herself. She could barely register what she was doing. She questioned what was going on. Her breasts had been massaged with Chinese medical spoons for thirty minutes to make them bouncy and supply. Her skin had been exfoliated to to the point of scraping of so many dead skin cells that she was extremely smooth but also close to bleeding. That had been followed by an orange blossom elixir treatment to make her skin extremely sensitive to sensual touch, which would be good for her work to show the men how much their touch turned them on. Why was she offering these treasures to that Rupert?

The grin that spread over his face was appalling. It was full of superiority. His eyes suggested that he knew the magic technique for manipulating her to do anything that he wanted. He felt so at ease. He was loosening his tie and wiping imagined fluff of his pant thighs. The way how the expression opened across his face, you could tell that he was feeling like he owned this night and that it was his booth now.

His hand reached for her chest. Those prawns were wide and round like a baseball catcher's mit. She had never seen such short and wide fingers. The way how he held his fingers, he seemed very unrefined and clumsy like a child reaching for a toy not like an artist or surgeon with each finger having its own intelligence. His hands simply pawed on her, opening and closing. He wasn't cupping really well. It was like he didn't know how to gently hold an object of worth in his hands - such an elephant in a porcelain shop.

Without asking for permission, he slid up to her side and put his arm around her. His face was fire red and hovering next to hers. The eye contact was close by that revolting man. She felt like her breathing should quicken in apprehension. However, she could only hear herself letting out a gentle breath through her lips almost like a moan of relaxation. Her own body felt so disconnected from the the little place deep inside of her from which she was watching the scene unfold.

"I like you," he said simply, like the first time he had spoken truth and not manipulation.

"Why didn't you say that before? It makes you so much more of an attractive man," she told him.

"I don't know. I've never told that to a woman. I didn't think it would work," he replied, stunned and confused.

"You are a charming man with a lot of beauty inside of you. All that acting just gives you an ugly facade," she told him with a voice of deep concern that she had never heard herself speak before in her life.

"I... I," he didn't know what to say. There was an expression of pain around his eyes that he seemed to be battling out of the way by suppressing the emotion.

She gave him time. That is her outer persona gave him time. Her inner soul was watching the man flash vulnerable emotions, seemingly having lost his script and battling with rising emotions.

"You can relax. Simpy ease into my presence. This will help," she told him.

Then she leaned forward and very gently held her lips soft to let them touch his pressed lips. She dapped her lips on his like one uses cotton to gingerly clean a wound. Her hands started caressing through his hair - slow and gently turning his short hair into and utter mess. And then her tongue slipped out to seductively invite him to open his mouth. She had never known that she could be such a good kisser. She was in awe of her own skill.

And then when he opened up, there was his wet slobber like he had been salivating. There was a mix of cheap mint, stinky burger meat, and bad breath from poor oral hygiene. That taste and smell was so deeply in her head and so overwhelming. She was suffocating from it. She wanted to push away. What a Rupert! She had hated men like him her whole life.

She breathed in between the tongue kissing: "You make me so wet! Do you want to feel?" Her voice was so seductive. She had never heard herself speak so intoxicated by seduction. The resonance in her voice was so real, even she herself believed it and wondered how it could be that she felt so seduced, attracted, and aroused by this man? Part of her fell in love with the emotion that she was hearing in her voice. It was like the story of passion that she had craved for her whole life. She seemed so surrendered to deep arousal and seduction. She craved very much to be in that space that she seemed in. But that man? Why that man?

His hand found her knee, right outside the reach of the hem of her dress. The fingers - now feeling so familiar, those big wide, round, clumsy fingers - traced up the inside of her thigh. The different alarm bells went off, telling her: He's close! He crossed a line! He's under my shirt! He's coming for my pussy! I need him to stop! Once he gets aroused, I won't be able to make him stop! I'll lose myself to him if I let this go to far! And then he reached her thong.

He was a pausing while caressing her thong fabric, a very soft fabric and deep blue color, which she remembered putting on. She knew that if she let him proceed to touch her pussy, they were very likely going to end up fucking in the bathroom that was ten feet away. It was her choice point, like a point of no return. She felt anxiety. She felt herself trying to muster the strength for a no and to pull away.

He was too aggressive and mean to wait long with hesitation. His fingers hooked under her thong, eagerly traced along her labia to feel the wetness, to dart searching for her hole to stuff the fingers inside. What utterly surprised her how her body arched like a snake to very touch. It was like energy was traveling from her pussy up through her whole body causing her to writhe because the sensual pleasure overcame her so much. As he started getting closer to her opening, she was shuddered by shivers that were so startling and mind-body-soul overtaking like a spring time sneeze. She had never felt her body so aroused. She had never thought of herself as a prude, but now she felt like she had been a prude her whole life. And she craved that new feeling in her body, that new receptivity, and that new aliveness. It was like she had been yearning for this her whole life without knowing. She kind of forgot about him a little bit as she got absorbed with herself. If only that feeling of her body weren't so far away from the center of her consciousness that was so deeply inside of her.

"You are so wet! You are such a slut!" he told her dismissively and like he was above her.

"I'm such a slut for you. I want your cock!" she moaned into his ears, playing with his earlobe like a tempteress. There wasn't a hint of offense in her tone of words. It was like he could treat her anyway and she would only be hungry and eager for him.

And then she realized. It was the chip. The chip was malfunctioning. Somehow, her work mode had been activated. The barrier between the work mode and her conscience had somehow stayed linked. She had gotten a first taste of what she was like at work. She needed to pull herself out. This random stranger wasn't safe. She needed to get away.

Her workmode kept making her hands glide into his pants to hold his cock from in front. She needed to get out. "Damn! That's a real cock, right there!" she complimented him. She pulled hard on her feet to make her walk away. It was like being stuck in a dream. She tried to move her hands. She thrashed her whole body but couldn't make it move. Her body kept seducing the man. She blinked her eyes closed. They closed. She had control of her eyelids. She focused on moving her nose with the eyes closed. That worked. Then her lips. That worked. Slowly she got control of her body, spreading out from her eyes. When she had enough control, she grabbed the bags and stormed away.

She ran off into the night - the blackness. The recent rain made everything shiny and had empted the streets. She was by herself. Her heart was finally pounding hard like it should have been. Her mind was panicked. She simply wanted to walk and keep walking to feel the cold, wet air on her skin, cooling her down. She wanted the thoughts in her mind to run out as she strut into the emptiness of the night. The memories flooded her. There was an experience of how she acted on work mode. There was also this taste of her arousal, sensuality, and passion like she had never experienced before and knew that she would crave to feel again her whole life.

The next morning, she opened her crusted eyes. They were full of that sand of dried teardrops. She must have slept deeply. She felt like she had blacked out. Her eyes blinked around to take in the big gray, blocky concrete factory hall tha she was in. The light had a deeply muted feeling. There was no direct sunlight coming in. However, the brightness reflected off the walls from a giant glass wall and ceiling in the distance. She could tell that it was a muted day of quiet because even the sun seemed to be hiding in clouds. There wasn't a single sharp outline of light anywhere, simply soft light everywhere.

She got on her feet to walk. The floor felt on her bare feet like sand fixed with hairspray. It had been textured to be no slip for worker safety. Sometimes like today, she walked into the factory halls where the giant hydraulic presses, crushers, and debris sorting shakers had fought and hissed. The place felt serene now with its emptiness and space, giving her a little solitude as she walked around in her silk pajamas - just a girl lost in a big place all by herself.

The basement was rarely a place tha she ventured to. However, she was still shaken from the experience last night. Somehow the darkness, the underground beckoned her like she wanted to confront head-on the darkness, look in the dark spots of her life to dispel the fears that had been hiding. It was an eerie place to be living in by herself. There was no security, no locked doors. It was simply that nobody else had ventured out here. The meteorite crushing facility was in the middle of a wasteland of ruins from an old time on this moon.

A few engineers lived up on this planet to build vast machinery for off-world production. Lonely lives far from civilization, auster living conditions of pre-packaged food, and shitty network connections with minute long delays making any video conversations dreadful. Their corporations provided them with nice extra pay to make the stint worth it but not really enough to raise to another layer of society. They got their emotional support cats and subscription to therapy video games. Actually, therapy would have required an expensive human. And corporate-funded studies at the time had shown that therapy video games had the same statistical effect of reducing scores on the depression scale. So they got to play lots of Mario-Batman, a strange entertainment franchise merger that was the result of an incestuous relationship in a corporate heir family. The two siblings believed that their love pre-fated that anything they did deserved to be merged. A legion of marketers and game designers plundered the family treasures to make Mario-Batman an actual thing that became a cultural phenomen and addictive game play. When you walked the streets, you could still see little MB initials scratched into the curb, hidden behind the toilet paper in restroom of an old bar, or painted giantly across a wall at remnants of the old world like this meteor crushing factory.

The long walk through the enormous cavernous halls, where entire meteorites had been brough inside, made her feel the emptiness and loneliness in her life. She was by herself in this big desolated place. She'd recuperate from her job for a few days and then go back to her job, where she disappeared from herself. Before she had gotten on the shuttle here, she had lived on Ganymede (a moon around Jupiter). They lived on top of a ridge in the Enki Catena, a chain of craters. They were mountain people, a little remote and going to communal schools. She had always been among people and in groups. It was a natural rite of the place to be social. It required no effort, simply going along.

There she had met George, a little dreamer, with his blond curly hair of which she could never get enough - curling it uncurling it. The hair had been a tactile fixation of her fingers. And he loved it. He'd let her groom his hair while he eagerly told her about stories and dreams. The world was so much bigger in his mind. She treated it like fairytales of mystical places and a mild break with reality. However, the way how he painted the world was so full of love and beauty that she loved visiting there, getting lost in his imagination. It was like suspending disbelief to how the world really worked.

One day, he picked her up after astronomy class with an ocean-blue brochure. It was one of those highly fabricated brochures that had a quarter inch of a translucent layer over the surface to make the colors look even richer and more lifelike. She marveled at the glow of the blue. The brochure said very little but had an impressive photo of a space shuttle. There were no prices or destination in the brochure. George's face was glowing like it had never glowed before. Sometimes, she worried that he was taking drugs, but he was simply naturally enthusiastic about his dreams.

"Fly with me to Mimas! Start a new life! Dive into the maelstrom of societies that are connected together by Mimas being the long distance hub for travel among many major planets. Make children with me!" he told her.

He had worried her. At times, he would snap into ice cold. He say things like he never loved her. He'd simply wanted the company of someone who didn't require too much listening to. And she had simply become too burdensome with her emotions and demand for care. He needed simple and easy in his life. And she'd be left crying at the bus stop, not knowing what had happened to her, not knowing where that tender man had gone, who had held her and cradled her night after night.

And always when she had finally griefed the painful loss and gotten over him, he'd send her a little message, which she ignored. More messages followed. He'd plead and beg for her to come back. He'd explain that things had become too real for him. He was scared of allowing himself to really love her because he feared she'd walk away the moment she did. Yet having had time and space, he could feel in his heart how much he loved her and how wrong he was. If she would only take him back.

She should have known better after going that three times. Yet, his eyes were sparkling so much. She wanted to go where these eyes sparkled about. She didn't want to miss those curls to play with. So after graduation, they packed their belongings and spent all their money on a one-way ticket. Her mom cried a lot. Her dad was stoic like she was simply following his own footsteps of moving farther from planet Earth.

When they landed and woke up in the hotel room, he told her to stop taking her pregnancy prevention. They were to have kids. He pumped her full of sperm five times that day. She thought having a kid together would finally tie him to her. She was so happy that she'd have him forever. She'd tell him, "Give me that sperm! All of that sperm!" and "Don't even dare taking your dick out. You gotta block the sperm from coming out!" And she made him wait inserted in her until he got hard again and pump more in her.

In the evening right around sunset when the horizon looked red like it had been on fire, he started twitching. He told her how inconsiderate she was. He had never wanted to go to Mimas. She had put the idea in his head. He had only wanted to make her happy. And now she was trapping him on a planet far away and trying to get pregnant with him. He called her manipulative. He listed all the things that he had to put up with because of her. Finally, he stormed out slamming the door, never coming back.

The entrance to the basement was ahead of her. It was a sloped tunnel with a twenty yard diameter. There wasn't a single light. As she ventured deeper, the light became more and more dim. Luckily, the floor of the factory was perfectly clean. And the the window seal to keep all meteor dust in worked to keep any dust out. So she walked into what wasn't black but a very dark gray in front of her. She carefully reached her toes forward to feel the ground. Everything around her became more invisible as the light disappeared.

She kept walking for quite a few more yards until she was deeply in complete darkness. She sat down and closed her eyes to breathe calmly. Her dad had taught her that trick. Being from a miner family, she had a rare genetic mutation. Her eyes had a fourth cone, a very poorly developed one. However, it allowed her to see in darkness. She could see the background radiation coming from solid objects. Because it was so poorly developed, she had to wait for all the light to drain out of her eyes. And then she would see faint, blueish outlines. She opened her eyes and blinked. There, they were the barely perceptible outlines of the wall. She was at the center of a crossroad of tunnels going in all four directions.

There was a faint uneven line on the ground. It let to the right tunnel. She followed the line. The line went for a long time. It slowly grew in width. It was some kind of liquid. She got on her hands and knees to smell it. It was completely odorless. Sometimes, the line spidered out sidelines that quickly vanished into the crack between the floor and the wall.

It was strange how the whole time, she had felt a kind of doom sitting underneath her home because she imagined the black basement. Yet coming down here, it was simply empty, abandoned concrete. All the things she worried about that could be here, and then there was nothing at all, except for this vein of a dark line that grew to a foot width now.

The whole floor was black now. Despite her bare vision, she could see liquid flowing now. She had to either return or step on it. Carefully, she put a toe on it. The floor was warm. It wasn't sticky at all. It felt very much like water. She kept following it out of curiosity. There was an opening not too far away to the right. A quarter inch of warm water splashed her toes. There was a swooshing sound and the sound of a rotating machine - quiet smoothly rotating, but thumping in regular intervals.

When she turned the corner, she saw into the room. A burst pipe in the ceiling was splashing a fat stream of water out. It fell ten feet towards the ground in an arc. The water looked like a three-foot diameter tube - just a giant industrial sized water supply to dissolve sands and salts of entire meteorites. The ample gallons of spilled water were so miniscule to the setup that they weren't even missed.

She stripped off her pajamas and found the most elevate spot of the flat ground on the corner in the outside hallway to keep them at least out of the water even though the ground was wet everywhere. Naked in complete darkness, she stepped forward and into the stream of water. The water was heavy and solid, not like the aerated water of showers to make the water seem more than it was was. This was a solid water. She stepped backwards with her head dropped forward to create a gap of air in front of her face to breathe. The water weight dropping on her pummed her gentle shoulders and jostled them. It was a deep tissue massage that relaxed her.

The day after the spa/training facility and before ther job was a day of rest and healing. Some of the beauty treatments like her bleeding fingernail required a day to heal before she looked truly pretty. So the day was for downtime. And this warm, wet, powerful embrace was a wonderful way to spend that time. She felt herself touched all over. She could feel the tension going out of her body. She had felt tense after the encounter last night and her apprehension of going back to the job and having that faulty chip reactivated. With the warm water, easing her body, her mind couldn't help but thing: "Oh, well it's simply part of the job. The chip designers know what they are doing. They get incredibly high paysfor creating chips like that."

After being a while unde the water torrent, she could detect a recurring metallic ding that wasn't part of the rushing water. She'd hold her breath, count the number, thinking it wouldn't happen again, but then it happened again. She stepped out of the water, drops running down her naked body. She walked into the hallway to hear better. The sound was like a mix of something bubbling and a metal cup being gently tapped. She followed it down the tunnel. There was something shady in a big pile. She went closer. They were buckets, hand sized buckets, buckets with a tight metal lid on top. She listened for the sound. She found the particular one. It seemed like the top seal with bad. A bubble would slowly build and pop. The pop made the metal sound.

Out of curiosity, she touched the next bubble. It burst. Her fingertip was dark now. That was incredibly stupid to do in a factory where corrosive acid was used to melt down rocks. She tried to get it off quickly. It only made her other hand dark as well. It was all over both hands now. It would go away. It kept spreading. She panicked. It was sticky. At least, there was no burn. There were brushes. Perhaps, it was paint. She quickly rushed back to the water to try to wash it off or neuralize it if it was a toxin.

The next morning, she opened her eyes. She could feel dread and apprehension in her body. Her muscles felt tight like she couldn't let go. All the ease was gone. She knew that she had to go back to work today. There was no way around.

She slowly started her pre-work ritual by cleaning herself: Washing her hair, oiling it with crushed lavender seed extract, shaving her pussy and all body hair, taking a douche, putting one of the scent strips into her pussy to slowly melt with the body heat into the skin cells for a long-lasting great pussy smell, lotioning her whole body, carefully styling her hair, and everything else. She carefully selected a skirt from her wardrobe. She was looking to draw a long, sleek silhouette with her body. She chose the skirt with that purpose in mind and paired it with high, black knee socks. No that was too heavy! She switched to strappy, white sandal high heels. She started with a crop top, but it was too overtly secual. She switched it to a blouse that had the feel of an upscale beach vacation resort. She undid the button bottoms to tie the tips together, which exposed her belly button. She left the top buttons undone to show her braless cleavage. It had a bit of a feel of a rich British woman on a safari trip, very hands-on and adventurous. Hm, her boobs were too flat. She got some of that see-through underbra plastic to make them stand up more and the nipples more pokey. That worked better. It still lacked something. She tried on oversized, black sunglasses. Yeah, those were a statement that made her look a bit cazy and aloof. This was going to be her packaging for the client.

On the way to Kagan, she stopped by to get a coffee. It was one of these ice cream, coffee, and boba tea company mergers. The coffee came with a scoop of ice cream. The ice cream had a pistachio from an original planet Earth tree. It wasn't hat factory-made pistachio, but the real thing. Sometimes, it was dry. Sometimes, it was bitter. Sometimes, it was perfect. It was the unpredictability and millions of possible imperfections that made it such a unique treat. You always had this rapt suspense when you put it in your mouth to what you were getting. And even with each chew, new textures and tastes developed. It was like the best, well-written movie before corporate written movies became thing: full of twists and originality. The ritual helped her feel special, helped her feel like her job elevated her into a higher part of society where a little morning pick-me-up could cost what a miner made in a month on the job.

She walked past Janet. She had done that walk often enough now to be more relaxed and to take more in. She watched a performer in a cube talking to a client in her lingerie. The woman's voice had the uptalk to be cute and draw attention. The woman was working hard. The customer may be blinded by her sexy pose and that Devil's Grin black lace lingerie thong. However, she could tell the performer was working hard, straining even to keep the customers attention, and efforting to get him upsold to spend a few more bucks on a tip. It wasn't easy work.

She realized that her job was so different. She'd make a lot more money. She didn't have to strain. She simply had to show up. It seemed so easy and carefree. And that's how Kagan had described it.

The security guard nodded at her, opened the door, and smiled a happy smile like he had been enjoying oggling hot women all day, strutting into the office. Kagan was busy on on the wall of screens as usual. He seemed in a video conference on one, while he was observing a performer room on another screen. There were a whole bunch of security monitoring screens that he never seemed to pay any attention to. His desk was full of color-coded sheets of paper with tables on them. Apparently, he had to keep track of a lot of performers and clients.

"Amber, my sweetheart! I'll be right with you," he talked over his shoulder, while on an invisible sign one of the security guys leaned over his shoulder to hear him whispering something. Kagan always had a bit of the air as god's eye. He surely wasn't the top boss. However, he had something meticulous about how he performed his job, something understated and extremely in control. In every interaction with him, she could feel how he put on an air of ease, yet had iron-hard rails about how things should work underneath. She was terrified of disrupting anything to lose that friendly, easy veneer and to findo ut what his wrath was like.

She leaned back in her chair that was like that of a dentist with a head rest that made her recline and relax. She knew the chair wanted to make her relax. Yet, she couldn't completely relax becauseher mind knew that imminently, her conscious mind would be gone. And her body could be used for about anything. She'd have no way of stopping it. She'd have to bear, suffer, and experience whatever came her way for a day, two days, or more. The lack of control made her panic. She calmed herself down by being tense: freezing, pressing her breath to slow down.

"Anything! They could do anything with her!" kept running through her head. She remembered what she had done to the woman in the break room. That was going to be her, a mindlessly happy woman, eager for any abuse with a charming smile. She had been so beautified... her mind was racing.

Kagain finally rolled his chair over. He checked out her body without hiding it, like a professional appraising merchandise. "You look very lovely! You've done a great job," he told her with a smile as if he were her doctor. "We have to do update your blood work. It'll take a minute."

This would give her more time to feel what was about to happen to her body and mind. He got a syringe with a gloved hand. He wiped her elbow crase with an alcohol wipe. She knew that the rich men (and maybe women) were afraid of catching diseases from the likes of her - shared use objects. She knew that if she tested positive, she'd be discarded. It would end her career. However, she had little protection from what they did with her.

Seeing the worry on her face and having experience with managing women like her, "Don't worry! We carefully test all clients. They go through the same testing protocol. Once we hire someone, we are invested. It would be a great financial loss if you were to stop coming. We've turned your last session into a marketing video. And you have a waitlist that's through the roof! It was very hot, if I may add. You are one of our star performers!" His face looked so happy and pleased. She got this sense of a positive future. She felt like a good girl. How could he touch that spot inside of her that made her feel so eager, so eager to please and earn praise.

He inserted the syringe into a machine that looked like a toaster oven. Images flashed over her mind how she would get fucked in the pussy by multiple guys, things stuffed in her ass, and her mouth would hungrily suck on cocks. She would likely crawl on the floor. She lived such a modest life, yet all these things were going to happen to her. And she'd be happy and perky about it. Her breath quickened. She didn't know how many people were going to use her - twelve, sixteen, a whole bachelor party?

"You are all good!" Kagain smiled. He was already next to her. She wanted to protest in a last minute panic. His hand with the ring was already waving behind her head.

She jolted up. She was surprised that she was able to jolt up and that the ring hadn't taken her out yet. However, the words didn't form in her mouth. Her mouth was quiet. And Kagan was on the other side. And the security guard was suddenly inside. Her mouth was actually really sore. Her jaw felt like it had taken a beating. It was really hurting to move it. What the heck? She felt like her arms had been squeezed and wrung. Then there was the telltale feeling of cum dropping out of her pussy onto the skirt that she was in. Her panties were gone. There was a stinging pain on her right boob like from a bitemark that was way too deep. She felt groggy with a headache like from drinking way too much. All she could do was let herself fall back into the chair and whisper, "Oh fucking god!"

"I'm sorry, Amber. I would have given you another day in recovery before waking you up. However, we had a couple of girls come back in a state where they needed it more than you. I've called you a cab to get you home," he explained.

"No cab!" insisted Amber. She remembered how important it was to not let them know where she lived. That was her safety.

"I understand," replied Kagan, like he knew that performers had their safety needs. "I was simply trying to be kind."

"I'll get myself home. I'm fine," said Amber as she pushed herself up on her feet, only to find out how wobbly her left heel was. She looked down. The strap had been broken and there was a big, blue bruise where the strap used to me. "It's alright," she told herself. "It's only 500 credits. All these expenses are covered by the payout."

She was shaking. It was an emotional shaking. There were still aftereffects of what had happened in her nervous system. The memory was blocked from her. However, her nervous system still knew and told her about it. She wobbled towards the door. The security guard who had oggled her on the way in had a smirk for her, like he fully knew what happened to the women coming in and coming out. She kept her head high as she walked past the row of cubicles where the women did way more mundane work - safely protected by their screens and cameras. Maybe, she wasn't the queen that she had felt herself being when she walked in.

When she made it home to the fountain with the pillow fort, Mikado came strutting right away and rubbed her furry, warm body along her skin. The touch felt so good - way too good. She must have been on the after effects of a drug that made touch more sensual. She moaned softly as Mikado's head bumped into her shoulder to beg for a pet on the head. The sensation was rippling through her body. It must have been one of those happy drugs that teenagers were so crazy about these days. Mikado walking over her body was such a gentle sensation that send ripples of joy through her body.

She let herself relax into the warmth of the sensation. Her eyes closed. She started to feel warm orange pouring over her. She felt the ripples of water on her skin. As she relaxed into the warmth, hazy images of a bathtub came back to her. There was a man in his forties with a towel around his hips leaning over her. He smiled. He smiled very slow and long like time wasn't an issue at all. He took some kind of almost parental pleasure in her in how he scooped up water from the bath and poured it over her skin. The quality of the memory was strange. It wasn't a dream. It felt real.

And then it disappeared into swirls of orange, yellow, and red. She couldn't see the man anymore. She desperately wanted to see him again because he made her feel so warm, cared for, and safe. Intuition told her to follow the swirling color patterns and to give into Mikado triggering sensations in her body. She got lost in the color patterns as they ever shifted. Finally, the man reappeared. He was holding his cock in front of her mouth. "Eat this, baby!" he told her. She felt so honored to be presented with the dick. With reference, she picked it up in her finger tips. She longed to feel his flesh in her mouth with all her being, and then he was gone again.

She tried to get the images back. However, it seemed like she was too awak. She couldn't let herself sink back into that state half conscious and half unconscious. Then she got an idea. She wanted to pain the orange, yellow, and red swirls. There was the paint in the basement. And there were plenty of blanks walls to paint on. So she went back into the basement and carried the paint cans out.

Not having painted before, she dipped her index finger into a can of yellow paint. She quickly realized that she still had nice clothes on. She made a fist around the index finger and pulled all of her clothes off until she was naked. Leaving her clothes back in the fountain, she returned to the wall and moved her finger over the rough surface, letting the paint use between the fingertip and the wall with a pressure that adjust to make a wave. She used her index finger with a rust orange to follow the wave. Seeing the first colors on the wall, she could see the color images from before overlaying the wall to see where else the color would extend. And she did. She kept making the colors with her closed eyes become real.

The more the collors transformed the wall, the more she felt part of it. And suddenly, she realized that she was looking at fist sized bubbles in the bathtub. A fire sun was rising outside above the horizon, like the most piercing moring fire that she had ever seen. The foam bubbles were so big, flooding out of the tub and over the whole bathroom floor. They reflected the sun rising above the horizon a thousand times. She could see that the bathroom as one of those high-end once without a real wall. And the wall of the building was a giant sliding glass wall that opened up th entire side of the deck to a porch. She was in someone's rich home inside of a private nature preserve.

The man whom she had longed for returned. He walked into the bathroom, holding a champagne bottle with golden, royal seal by the neck like it didn't look like much value but the seal said otherwise. "You make me so happy," he said. He seemed relaxed and carefree. They seemed to be in some kind of honey moon state. She could feel her tender emotions for her. There was a darker substrate of emotion underneath it, like it wasn't entirely genuine, like her happiness and honeymoon had been programed.

She rose out of the bathtub to let the suds run down her boobs and toned belly. She looked at him with innocent eyes. He oggled her like he was drinking her in and hadn't seen her before. The honeymoon feeling was a fantasy. He was a client. He was living out his dream with her.

"Make me a baby!" she told him as she put her arms around her lovingly, let her body touch his with a familiar intimacy - wet bare skin on dry bare skin. "You are so handsome and smart! I need another one of you to grow inside of me." He smiled bittersweet, knowing it not to be real but wanting it to be true. She could tell that her sense of him being a client was deeply buried beneath from where she was observing. All her behavior felt like it was completely real.

"Make me a baby!" echoed silently through her head. She kissed his cheeks softly, touching with her lips. He smelled good, like a fully developed man. He had strength. She loved melting into his arms, letting herself be absolutely tender and soft. She loved that surrendering. It touched a feminine spot inside of herself that made her feel drenched in estrogene. And then she recalled where she had felt that emotion before. It was when George had tried to get her pregnat. Only this time, she felt herself safe. The man had such a steady energy to him that he wouldn't leave her. It made her feel safe to surrender to those feelings.

She could feel her pussy getting very wet. She reached for his dick and painted him along her pussy lips to make him feel her to drench his tip in her fluids. He smiled. He liked this alot. He was twenty years her age. She knew. It gave her safety to surrender into. It made his dick older. It made her a little bit lower than him. She felt like she had to earn him. And she slipped his dick inside of her. "Fuck me!" she told him. That's how she knew to make man want her. "Fuck me!"

He lifted her up and sat her butt down on the sink. Then he fucked her. He looked so happy. She moaned as she arched back to show him her boobs and offer them with her hands for him to play with. His dick felt so good. The few guys that she had had sex with since George, they had always used a condom. This man was in her bare. The direct contact felt so much better. There was so much more connection between their fluids. He had stamina and rhythm. She had so much wetness for him. He gave her so much pleasure.

Then the vision was gone. She looked at the wall. There were half finished patterns of swirls. There was a picture frame with a man. There were roses scattered on the floor. A little doggy was looking around the corner of a door. Somehow the art seemed to bring memories from the last job back to the surface. She was still so horny and hadn't come. She desperately wanted to get off.

She went to a new wall. She closed her eyes. She could feel a blackness. It was rising. Gingerly, she dipped her finger into black paint. She started low near the floor and draw upwwards in a line that kept flowing and wavering, almost like a fracture. Then she made another line grow out of it and another line. It was like a tree or something organic that was spreading into more and more lines. And then her vision kicked in to complete it. It was indeed a tree. It was a towering tree in the center of a garden. The canopy was a big green, busy globe. And the black branches forked and twisted into the green like tortured lines. There was soft grass on the ground. The blades were so very thick that they created a really nice padding.

There was a chain around her neck, big steel links. His wrist had the end of the chain wrapped around multiple times. She still had that glowy happy feeling of a honeymoon and wanting a baby with that man. However is face was cold and hard. His penis was flaccid. The chip didn't let her react to that but kept her acting all happy and loving.

There was a long line of house staff lined up in a carefully placed line. They all had their unique uniforms based on their stations: maids, cooks, gardeners, chauveuers, and so on. They had fear on their faces and quiet on their lips. Based no their healthy hair and faces, they appeared to be very well paid, but they seemed to have no joy, not even a trace of it on their faces.

He walked her to what seemed like center of the grass under the tree. He made her kneel down and roll onto her back. There was an iron stake in the ground. He clipped her neck chain to it. Then he stood up. He was still naked, showing them how much he was in charge.

With a loud voice, he announced: "The master has eaten. Let the lowlings finish the carcass!"

The staff broke their formation to slowly approach. The young, eager man first. The women slower.

Displeased with their slow pace: "Whoever hasn't fucked and come in or on her by 4 PM is fired on the spot!"

A young man with hazel eyes was the first to kneel down and grab her left boob. An old gardener caressed her belly. A tall, blond driver pulled his pants down to reveal a hard, skinny cock. He was the first to enter her. She felt the pleasure from the touches going all over ther body. It was in a way like when Mikado had rubbered herself on her, she simply surrendered to the sensation and enjoyed it. The chip took away all fear and anxiety. She could simply enjoy the fondling, massaging, and caressing of a crowd that was pressing in around her. A stray hand forcing itself in between bodies tried to touch her like she was a star. A woman's naked butt sat down on her face to rub her pussy on her. Her hand was placed on a hard cock to rub it, not even being able to see it. She got so horny and went from all the touches and memories. The wall filled with random eyes, noses, hands, dicks, and other body parts that mingled and swirled. The one golden emblem on a necklace stood out to her: a pyramid with some kind of eclectic geometric lines.

She came in the real world from fingering herself. She had rarely been that wet. She was so exhausted from emotional work and pleasure that she fell into a deep sleep right in front of her half finished artwork on the cold concrete floor.