NR Ch. 03: Counter Trap

"Nngh, let me go you stupid weed!" Brady said, grimacing as he struggled against the vines wrapped around his body.

"Such a fiery little creature, aren't you?" Came the response from above his head. "I'm delighted to inform you that allowing you freedom is simply not an option, little Brady. What with your abhorrent feralist behavior since arriving here on Gilreath, it would be most improper of me to allow you even a whisper of self-determination before your implantation. So you had best get comfortable in my vines, dear one. You'll be spending a great deal of time in them."

Rage coursed through Brady as he fought against the soft, smooth vines. They couldn't do this! It wasn't right! Terrans weren't made for confinement and pethood, it went against everything their species stood for. The Affini may have fancied themselves the stewards of the universe, but that didn't make it true. That didn't mean their definition of a good life was right for Brady. He was perfectly fine as a comms tech on Solak-5. He didn't need these ridiculous plush beds or loudly colored clothing or delicious food. They were wasting their time on him.

"I'm never going to want to be a pet, you know," he grumbled, sagging in the vines. "I want to go back to my old life. So if you could just drop me off where you found me and forget about all this bullshit, that'd be great."

The Affini holding him giggled. "Little one, it seems you don't have a firm grasp of what it is we do here," she said, slipping a vine under Brady's shirt and tickling his tummy. "It is the solemn mission of the Affini Compact to ensure that every sophont species in our care can lead the most wonderful, fulfilling lives possible. Even greasy little Terrans who would rather make a scene than accept our care. Can you really look at how you've lived since your arrival and tell me that you are better off free of my aid?"

Brady grumbled. The Affini, Coriander Apiales, she said her name was, did maybe have something resembling a point. He had eaten nothing but synthcubes since arriving, he slept on the floor in protest of his abduction, and he hadn't even looked at the shower. But none of that gave her the right to assume control of his life! Surely anybody would react to this ridiculous situation the same way. He refused to concede.

"'Aid' is a pretty generous word for kidnapping me and locking me up!" Brady protested. "Do you weeds even care about what the species you conquer want from their lives? I have a whole lot of things I'd rather do instead of being a pet. That Jackson guy seemed pretty cool, you let him be independent!"

"Little one, when you see how Jackson Meadows behaves around Acer, you'll never think of him as independent again," Coriander replied with that same musical giggle. "Honestly, it's silly that they don't just dispense with their absurd little act and make him a floret. But it's not my place to comment on another Affini's courtship, so that'll just be our little secret, hm?"

Coriander kept Brady pinned in her vines as she crossed the room to the compiler, pulling up the history. "My goodness little one," she said, somber. "I knew you were limiting yourself to those appalling synthcubes, but only one per day? No wonder you're thin as a stick! We're going to fix that, mark my words. Your new Mistress is going to fill that body out wonderfully."

Mistress. The word hit Brady's ears like a foghorn. It wasn't a question, it wasn't a possibility, it was a certainty. This plant was going to own him, and there was nothing he could do to change her mind.

"And you're going to be my, uh, M-Mistress?" Brady asked, the word catching in his throat. "I'm just going to be your slave the rest of my life?"

Coriander went still instantly. Every leaf, every vine went stiff and silent, and a chill ran through Brady's body. "That word carries with it an innacurate and unfair accusation, little one," she said, her voice low. "I have no intention of making you perform labor. I am not going to treat you like a commodity. I am not going to buy or sell you. I am only here to help you. You are not a slave. Today is the day you are freed, not confined."

"Strange thing to say to a man you have in bondage," Brady protested. "Okay, not a slave. Sorry to touch a... well, I guess not a nerve, I don't think plants have those. But still, some of the tenets apply to your idea of being a pet! I'm still here against my will!"

Coriander relented, a soundless song returning to the rustling of her leaves and the movement of her vines. She filled the room with a nice, fresh smell. It reminded Brady of the community herb garden in his building back on Terra. Despite everything, he had to admit she smelled very nice.

"I will grant you that, little one," Coriander said. "Given the choice, I'm sure you could name a hundred places you would rather be right now than nestled in my vines. However, I am under no obligation to entertain your ideas of where you ought to be in the world. You surrendered that right the moment you threatened to harm yourself."

"But I couldn't even do anything!" Brady whined. "Weren't you listening? I never had a way of hurting myself, I didn't matter enough for CCC to give me a suicide rig! I was just trying to buy some time, I was never gonna do anything."

"Little petal, my people are not mind readers," Coriander said, typing something into the compiler. "How were we to know you had no intention of injuring yourself? And also, I don't think I believe you. So many of you Terrans are such fanatics about your so-called 'freedom' that you react with unimaginable violence when somebody tries to help."

Brady yelped as he felt a poke in his neck. He was wondering when Coriander was going to unleash those terrifying injector flowers on him.

"Let me ask you something, little one," Coriander said. "And do keep in mind that you are now under the influence of Class D xenodrugs, designed to make it impossible for you to lie to your Mistress. If you could have used one of those sickening suicide rigs, would you have?"

"Yes," Brady replied immediately, surprising even himself. "My life is best served as a tool for the Terran Accord, and if I can give my life to damage my enemy, all the better."

"Brady, if I released you right now, where would you go?" Coriander asked, the dominant tone in her voice ceding to one of deep sadness and sympathy. The words poured out before Brady could even think about it.

"I would return to Solak-5 and resume my post as a communications technology specialist for the Crown Communications Corporation," he responded, almost robotically. "I would resume the life I obviously deserve, consuming as few of the Terran Accord's precious resources as I can while advancing the profitability of my employer."

Coriander squeezed him tighter. "You're doing very well, Brady, you're being very honest with me," the Affini said. She sounded upset, but she carried on. "You mentioned the life you 'obviously deserve.' Do you feel that you would deserve a different life if your society were not bound by the limitations of finite resources?"

"I don't see the point of the question," Brady said with a scoff. "That's impossible. Every society has limited resources. It's the duty of every good citizen to consume as little as possible in order to promote productivity and profit." Was the weed high or just delusional? That was a preposterous notion. Even these compiler things couldn't create something from nothing. Civilization was a constant battle for resources and manpower, every Terran learned that as a child.

"I-" Coriander seemed at a loss for words, and Brady grinned smugly. He was outwitting her, even on a truth serum. "Petal, what did they do to you? I've dealt with a great many ferals in my time, but none quite so indoctrinated as you."

"Mental reconditioning is a prerequisite to employment within any branch of the Crown League," Brady replied, and Coriander went still again. "I went through an intensive six-month treatment course in order to reshape me into a proper employee. It got my mental processes in line with the optimal functioning of Terran society, and I'm grateful for it. Don't you all do the same thing for your pets?"

"By the Everbloom," Coriander mumbled. "Brady, I have one more question for you. What makes you happy?"

Brady cocked his head. "My happiness is irrelevant, obviously," he replied. "All that matters is my productivity. Although those nachos Jackson compiled were really tasty, they are irrelevant to my ultimate purpose."

The compiler dinged, and Brady blinked. That was strange. All of those answers were true, so far as he knew, but they came from somewhere deeper in him than his own consciousness. Affini truth serums had a bit more subtlety to them than the Terran ones. Those drugs they fed him during training were a good deal less delicate about the whole thing. He spent many a night in that hospital on his hands and knees in front of a toilet after interrogation days.

"You poor petal," Coriander whispered, reaching into the compiler and pulling out a plate loaded with sweets. Cakes, little pies, cookies, and a few other things Brady half-recognized from his old life back on Terra. "We have a great deal of work to do in order to adapt you to life in the Compact, which will take rather a while, I fear. In the meantime, however, I will be sure to give you the happiest, most comfortable life, and do everything I can to prove to you that your happiness is real and that it matters."

Brady scoffed. These plants were awfully naïve for being guardians of the universe. Living on Terra, you learned to put happiness aside as a serious pursuit early on, if for no other reason than avoiding constant disappointment. Brady Montana gave up on the pursuit of happiness long before he set foot in the CCC's reconditioning center, and it would take more than an over-emotional weed to change that.

"To whit, here's your first lesson, munchkin," Coriander said, though the cheer in her voice did sound distinctly forced. "Here in the Compact, it is your stars-given right to eat and enjoy as much as you please. When was the last time you had a little sweet treat?"

"Do berry flavor dots count?" Brady asked. Coriander said they didn't. "Then it would have to be at least five years ago, back on Terra. I'm not certain. But I don't need this, I'm perfectly fine with just synthcubes."

"You are not!" Coriander exclaimed, her vines grasping Brady tight enough to make him wheeze. "Do you have any idea how insufficient synthcubes are for nourishing Terrans? Your species is meant to have a layer of body fat in order to live a healthy life. And yet you starve yourselves all for the sake of maintaining profit! That is sickening, and such mentality is not tolerated in the Affini Compact."

She tapped Brady's cheek, and his mouth fell open on instinct. Coriander chuckled as she placed a tiny little cake on his tongue, covered in pink frosting and sprinkles, and Brady blushed furiously. This was so undignified!

"Maybe all that conditioning has some upsides," Coriander said, her dominant tone creeping back in. "You're a very obedient boy, aren't you? Only the most naturally suited florets don't have to be taught about gesture training. Look at you, still waiting for the command to close your mouth! You're going to make for such a well-behaved pet."

Brady fumed. He had some thoughts about what kind of pet he'd be, but then Coriander tapped on his chin with a vine and drew a circle on his cheek. Without thinking, he closed his mouth and bit into the cake, letting out an audible moan. A thick jelly burst from the cake as he chewed, tasting almost like berry flavor dots, only a million times better. Were those real raspberries? He could've sworn those had gone extinct.

"That's a good boy, enjoy your treat," Coriander cooed, running a vine through his hair. "You deserve it. You deserve to feel pleasure, feel joy, find things that actually satisfy you. This tastes nice, doesn't it?"

Brady nodded, swallowing as the Affini ran a vine down his throat. He couldn't believe he was admitting such a thing to his captor, he was almost throwing his leverage away! But oh stars, the treat did taste divine. The cake was soft and sweet, the frosting was light and heavenly, and that raspberry jelly was surely the nectar of the gods. Maybe he didn't need them, but if Coriander wasn't going to give him a choice, surely there wasn't any harm in enjoying the cakes just a little bit, right?

Her vine was back, this time carrying a cookie with a disc of bright green gel in the middle. This time, Brady's mouth opened eagerly at the touch of Coriander's vine on his cheek, and the second between her setting the cookie on his tongue and tapping his chin felt like an eternity. Another circle on his cheek invited him to chew, and a wondrous, tart taste spread across his tongue.

"I do hope you enjoy my baking, petal," Coriander said, her voice dripping with affectionate dominance. "A floret of mine started a bakery years ago, and I've kept it running for her. She taught me rather a lot! Though the Class A and Class C cocktails in them are of my own creation."

Brady whined indignantly, he hadn't consented to drugs! But he wasn't indignant enough to spit out the cookie, that would be disrespectful. It was far too tasty for that. The cookie had just enough bite to it to be satisfying, without being hard enough to bedevil Brady's teeth. And that filling in the middle, oh stars! Brady was sure he remembered what kind of green fruit would create that wonderful tartness, but it was a bit tricky to think right now through the fog in his brain.

When the Affini stroked his throat with a vine to encourage him to swallow then opened his mouth with another tap, he was panting. He was still writhing in the Affini's vines, only now it was out of pleasure than an earnest attempt to escape. He wasn't a pet, he didn't want to be a pet, but he could spend a little while like this. It was cozy here in Miss Apiales' vines.

"Even badly brainwashed ferals break for my baking," Miss Apiales said in a singsong voice. "Would you like some more, little Brady? Remember, you still can't lie to me!" He nodded as hard as he could, a shameful little whine escaping his mouth. He couldn't help it! It was just the drugs, he wasn't some kind of weird pet.

Miss Apiales hummed to herself as she picked up another cake, this one dark brown with fluffy white frosting. The second she placed it in his mouth and invited him to chew, Brady recognized the chocolate. He'd never eaten real chocolate before, nobody could afford that stuff on Terra without at least seven digits in their bank accounts. This was so much better than the fake flavoring!

Two of the Affini's vines worked under Brady's shirt, massaging his shoulders and petting his stomach. He tried to be upset about the indignity, but Miss Apiales felt too nice. She did say she broke a lot of ferals, after all. Brady doubted he was the first Terran to give her grief about not wanting to be a pet. She was going to be his Mistress after all, like it or not. Jackson said humanity didn't have the tools to fight back against the Affini, and he was right.

"Mmmpphh," Jackson moaned around the mouthful of cake, fighting the stab of arousal in the pit of his stomach. Was this going to be the rest of his life? Bound up in Miss Apiales' vines, eating delicious treats, and getting drugged up out of his mind? Funny, all those concerns of profit and efficiency seemed a million miles away by now. Everything was small when he was here in Miss Apiales' vines.

That's the drugs talking, dummy! Brady's inner monologue shouted. Wake up! They're trying to trick you, strip away everything that makes you human! This is how they get you!

Brady knew the voice was right, but he didn't care. He could listen to himself once Miss Apiales was done feeding him all these tasty snacks. Next up was a flaky little pie full of spiced apples, and Brady devoured it in just three bites. It was all just so good! Jackson was right, Class A made food so much better. He didn't know what Class C was, but it must've added to the experience!

"I'll tell you this much little one, keep up like this and we'll fill out that figure in no time," Miss Apiales cooed. "And my goodness, it seems that somebody's awfully excited!"

Brady looked down and squealed, seeing the wet, straining bulge in his pants. He tried to protest through another mouthful of one of the pink-frosted raspberry cakes, but who was he kidding? He couldn't remember ever feeling this much pleasure, and Miss Apiales wasn't even touching his dick! He'd be thanking her if he could speak, but speaking meant spending less time eating, and he simply couldn't have that.

"Oh and if you like these, wait until you have the ones I actually make fresh," Miss Apiales purred. "I just had the compiler remake my recipes. They're lovely, but they're missing that certain special something you'll get when you're on display in my bakery."

"Whhmmph?!" Brady exclaimed, but the Affini just giggled.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, sweetpea," she cooed, tracing a vine down Brady's spine. "You'll love it, that much I can promise you. Wouldn't you rather worry about having a nutty little treat?" Miss Apiales held up a croissant, and Brady started drooling. Oh, he remembered these. Regional culture was mostly an afterthought by the time he was born on Terra, but every place held onto a couple markers from old times.

Parisian croissants were expensive enough that Brady had to save up for the better part of a year to buy one, but they were always worth the wait. Warm, crisp, so soft and fluffy inside, and delicious beyond belief. This one was dotted with slivered almonds and coated in melted butter, and it glistened in the low light of his room. Brady swore he could cum on the spot just from looking at it.

Then Miss Apiales fed it to him, right as she slipped an injector into his thigh.

The arousal flickering in his stomach flipped to a roaring blaze as Brady's eyes rolled back in his head. He strained against Miss Apiales' vines, his cock pulsed twice, then he came harder than he ever had in his life. Stars, it was just so good! And apparently she had better ones back in her bakery?!

The Affini held him tight throughout his shaking, shuddering orgasm, cooing praise and affirmation in his ear. As wonderful as the sensations were, Brady knew this was wrong, that he couldn't be doing this. Good citizens of the Accord worked hard, they didn't just get to relax and enjoy frivolous luxuries. That was all this was, all the Affini Compact and Miss Apiales brought to the table. So as toe-curling and wonderful as his orgasm felt, the clarity hit Brady far sooner than he would like. Apparently those xenodrugs had limitations.

He frowned, settling back into Miss Apiales' grip. Now his pants were wet, he felt ashamed of himself, and he was still doomed to become a wormhead. Tears welled up in his eyes. This wasn't fair! To him, to Miss Apiales, to anybody! He didn't want to be some stupid pet, and he didn't deserve all these things anyway. Everybody would be better off if CCC had just given him one of the suicide rigs.

"Oh petal, what's wrong?" Miss Apiales asked, lifting Brady out of her lap and turning him to face her. As much as he hated to admit it, she was arresting. Six sparkling bright green eyes drew his attention, even through the veil of tears clouding his eyesight. She didn't have flowers the way many other Affini did, except for her ever-bared injectors. Instead she was covered in a million and one different herbs, surrounding her with a fresh perfume.

"You need to let me go," he said, hanging limp in Miss Apiales' vines. "I'm not worth it. I'm better off back where I belong, I can't be here. Please, you have to send me home."

Miss Apiales sighed. "Darling Brady, that simply isn't going to happen," she said, stroking a vine down his cheek. "What happened? You enjoyed your little snack so much you achieved release without me even brushing up against your parts?"

Brady broke out into full sobs. Couldn't she see that was the problem? He couldn't enjoy this, it wasn't allowed! It was a waste, he was being so greedy by taking all this food and pleasure for himself. Stars, what was the bill going to look like for all of this? They had to be lying about not having a monetary system, that was ridiculous. Any minute now, Miss Apiales was going to inform him of the massive debt he now owed the Affini Compact, and then she would take him off to become a wormhead. It was the only logical outcome of this situation.

But Miss Apiales didn't have much interest in abiding by Brady's perfectly logical deductions. Instead, she said something in an alien language that sounded like wind blowing through a tree and carried him off into the barely-used bathroom. She pressed a vine against a small panel on the wall and the floor slid open, revealing a comically oversized tub dug into the floor. Great, something else outrageously luxurious that he didn't deserve. That would be really helpful.

"If I had to guess, you didn't have access to appropriate bathing facilities on that desolate little rock," Miss Apiales said, hitting another button to fill the tub with floral-scented water. "Knowing that appalling government of yours, you likely didn't have them back on Terra either!"

"You'd have to be a trillionaire to afford a bathroom like this," Brady complained through his tears. "How much are you gonna charge me for this anyway? I know you're lying about being post-money or whatever."

Miss Apiales didn't bother responding to that comment, instead electing to strip Brady out of his clothes. He squealed and fought against her vines to cover himself, but she wouldn't allow it. While it was nice to be out of his cum-laden pants, this was entirely undignified! Was this how the Affini treated their prisoners? They were going to invade his body with their sickening implants, but this was just unnecessary.

The massive tub filled quickly, and it was only a minute later that Miss Apiales stepped down into it with Brady still clutched tight in her vines. Despite himself, Brady sighed as he sank into the water up to his stomach. It was just the right temperature, the scent of wildflowers was calming, and the aching wrongness of it all felt a little further away.

That's because she drugged the water, dumbass, Brady thought. Fight it. You were not born to be a stupid fucking pet.

"Now, I want to make a few things clear about your new life with me, Brady," Miss Apiales said, vines curling around him possessively. "I know that your former... employers conditioned you to believe that you do not deserve even the most basic Terran necessities. I intend to break you of this notion, by any means necessary. I'm aware this sounds like a threat to you, and in a sense it is. But please try to remind yourself that I only want what's best for you."

Brady scoffed, though it was difficult to be dismissive when his assailant's grasp felt better by the minute. "And do I not have any say in what's best for me?" He asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

"Petal, you surrendered all rights to agency when you repeatedly threatened to harm yourself," she replied, sticking a thick vine in his mouth to silence him when he tried to protest. "Yes, I am aware you lacked the genuine means to injure or kill yourself, but the intent was there. You told me so, remember?"

Brady grumbled into the vine gagging him, she did have a point. If those cheap bastards at the CCC bothered to give him a rig, none of this would be happening. Instead he had to sit here and listen to his alien captor prattle on about his fundamental disregard for his own well-being. He didn't know how to make it clear to her that his well-being was irrelevant. Even more so now that his employer had presumably been dissolved in the wake off the Affini invasion.

"So no, you do not have any say in what's best for yourself," Miss Apiales continued. She picked up a bottle and squeezed a dollop of light pink goop into her hand, working it into Brady's hair. "That is now my responsibility. Your ingrained case of feralism will require serious work to address, and it is now my duty to ensure you receive the best care the Compact has to offer."

Her voice sounded like it was coming from the far end of a hallway now, echoing and distant. The second the pink goo touched Brady's scalp, it felt like a fireworks show went off in his head. Miss Apiales removed the vine from his mouth, as it seemed speech was well beyond him at this point. Judging by the whimpering moan that leaked out of his mouth, anyway.

"Your mental condition calls for an aggressive daily xenodrug regimen," Miss Apiales said with a cheery tone. "Class A and C goes more or less without saying, those will improve both your mental state and your desire to integrate into society. Class E will address your desires for self-harm and fear of relaxation. Class D will help you remain honest about your wants and needs, and just a light touch of Class J to help you be your cuddliest self!"

All of that sounded nice, Brady supposed. It was hard to think with the electric jolts of pleasure emanating from his scalp. Surely when he was sober again he'd have some protests for Miss Apiales' plans for him, but right now he was distracted by the white-hot pleasure.

Well, that and the straining cock between his legs. Hm. It was strange. With this much pleasure running through him, surely his cock should be the locus of his enjoyment, right? But no. It just felt like it was there. He grumbled, squirming unhappily in Miss Apiales' vines

"Something wrong, sweet petal?" She asked. Stars, her voice was just as pretty as her eyes. It was a lot easier to focus on it when he wasn't obsessed with being mad at her.

"Cccccock not feel good," he pouted. "Rest of body feels better!"

You sound like a fucking moron, Brady thought. It was so much better to listen to Miss Apiales than his thoughts, though. He could listen to those correct thoughts about how he was a waste of space later. The pleasure said he should listen to Miss Apiales right now.

"Oh dear, it does?" Miss Apiales said, sounding much more hungry than concerned. "Well, I cannot have my adorable little floret-to-be feeling less than incredible!"

She wrapped a lattice of tiny vines around Brady's cock and pressed it against his body, replacing his bits with a carpet of leaves. Instantly, he felt better. He moaned and writhed in Miss Apiales' vines, now free to embrace the overpowering pleasure while happily ignoring the screaming inner monologue.

Repent, it said.

Give in, said the pleasure.

You are worthless, it said.

You are beautiful, said the pleasure.

Brady had never enountered a force stronger than the CCC's programming, but Miss Apiales and the suite of intoxicating substances certainly came quite close.

He blinked, bleary eyes just clear enough to see the Affini holding a tablet in front of him, camera pointing directly at his squirming form. He ought to be indignant, but indignant had no place in the palace of pleasure the xenodrugs built for him. He had to look pretty pathetic.

"Sweet little Jackson asked to see evidence of your feralism crumbling," Miss Apiales cooed. "I wouldn't dream of disappointing him. And the best part is we're nowhere close to done with your bath!"

She picked up another bottle and poured out another dollop of goop, this one deep purple. Brady whined, but all he felt was eagerness as she worked this new substance into his hair. It felt so nice to take a little break from that hateful, certain little voice in his head, the one that reminded him he didn't deserve joy. He'd listen to it again once Miss Apiales was done with him. But it was nice to have a break.

"Now, your shampoo was a basic Class A blend," Miss Apiales said, scrubbing her vines through Brady's hair. "This is designed to condition your mind just as much as your hair! The Class H in this conditioner will make you nice and susceptible to everything you feel right now. Best of all, it'll instill lovely new pathways in those little neurons of yours that'll make you crave it again and again."

Brady knew what she was doing deep down. She was systemically closing off his pathways to escape her influence, getting him addicted to the pleasure she provided. But stars, why would he ever want to? Yes, yes, he needed to go be a productive employee or whatever, but Miss Apiales wasn't going to let him go. Surely he could... pretend to be a good pet, right? Keep up the act, earn her trust, th-then get away? There had to be a way out before she turned him fully docile.

"Feel that feralism slip away, far, far away," she sang in his ear, slipping an injector into his thigh. "I almost forgot to mention, you'll be getting some Class Ns in your daily regimen as well, this exact strain I'm giving you. I want to make sure you only get your orgasms when you're being a good pet for your Mistress. I've already given you one unintended release today, little one. It is not a mistake I plan to make again."

At this point, Brady wasn't sure he even could say no. Miss Apiales wouldn't listen anyway, so it was something of a moot point, but those xenodrugs packed a punch. Everything she said sounded like the best idea ever. No orgasms unless he obeyed her? Sure, perfect, whatever you say, Miss Apiales. A cocktail of drugs that would do stars-know-what to him injected every day? Miss Apiales suggested it, how could she ever be wrong?

By the time she picked up a loofah and loaded it up with a blue-green goo, Brady was crying from bliss. The pleasure from all of Miss Apiales' treats was wonderful, but this was beyond pleasure. This was rapture. And now she was going to add in something else?! He was grateful to her for the Class N stuff, otherwise he'd be cumming his brains out and be feeling all those icky, gross feelings his mind told him he should be.

"Time for a full Class C wash, little Brady!" Miss Apiales exclaimed. "No strain of feralism can withstand the full mightiness of the Terran bonding instinct. Even the rather tenacious thoughts that lurk in your mind are now my prey. From the moment this touches your skin, you will look at me and see a being you cannot help but love and obey. Does that sound nice, petal?"

Of course it sounds nice, you fucking weed, Brady's mean, cruel brain thought. Instead of listening to it, Brady nodded, his eyes wide and shining. Miss Apiales had already put Class C in his treats, but if the increase of strength from the shampoo and conditioner were anything to go by, this body wash would put that to shame.

He was right.

Brady swore hearts shone in his eyes as Miss Apiales gently scrubbed his back. He keened in his bonds and moaned, his cock pulsing in its bonds. It was funny how much better it felt when it wasn't out twitching and throbbing in the open where he could see it, yet another thing to thank Miss Apiales for. She was even nice enough to cover his eyes when she moved her vines aside to scrub between his legs. He was lucky to have such a kind, caring Affini taking care of him.

After that, his bath was finally over. She lifted him out of the water and wrapped him in a huge, warm, fluffy towel, drying him off from head to toe and fluffing his hair. Brady giggled sleepily and squirmed, feeling immensely satisfied despite being denied a second orgasm. That was better than an orgasm, honestly. Cumming was so messy, and it always felt just a little wrong. Nothing that happened in that tub felt even a little wrong.

"By the Everbloom, you are an adorable little thing," Miss Apiales said, nestling Brady deeper into her vines and heading out into the hallway. "Don't worry, little Brady. I'll make sure to teach you that you deserve all the pleasure and joy there is in this universe. Just like every other sophont in our care."

Brady didn't believe her. But it was nice to hear, at least.