Experiment 239 Ch 03

'The fucking arrogant bastard,' Sophie fumed to herself as she stalked down the hallway, heels clicking furiously on the marble floor. 'I'm his fucking superior. How dare he talk to me like that?'

Loping footsteps sounded behind her. Oh, for fucks' sake. She spun around to see Anthony trailing behind her, his lazy stride easily matching hers. "What do you want, Tony?"

Anthony easily made his way in front of her, resting his hand on the wall as he turned to face her. "How strange, Sophie. You usually have an eidetic memory."

She made an exaggerated show of rolling her eyes. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"You look ravishing when you're all fired up, you know? Not all cold and detached. The eye-rolling becomes you."

She flushed and tried to step around him, but the hallway was annoyingly narrow. "I'm off duty for the day, Tony."

"So am I. And there's the matter of this little bet we made..." He wiggled his eyebrows.

She caught her eyes mid-roll. "Fine. I'll do your fucking bet. Now will you stop being a fucking jerk and step out of the way?"

He laughed, pushing off the wall and heading back towards the control room. "I'll have a package delivered to you. See you tomorrow, darling."

***

"Wear this. Meet me in the control room at 8.50. -Tony". The note was short and succint, attached to a sickeningly sweet box with hearts printed on it.

'Really? As if there aren't 287362736 wank tales out there with this sort of pedestrian crap already? Why doesn't he just find one and jack off to it? Shouldn't take more than 5 seconds,' Sophie cursed under her breath, tossing the note onto her bed. The box didn't contain anything particularly surprising. Stiletto heels a couple of inches higher than she normally wore, sheer dark stockings with a garter belt, matching bra and panties, and a shirt and pencil skirt that was just slightly tighter and more revealing than usual, but nothing that contravened office policy. Also, what appeared to be a silicone butterfly on straps.

Sophie knew what the butterfly was for, of course. She wasn't THAT naive. She also noticed that there weren't any buttons or any sort of controller attached to it.

For a good five minutes, she stared at the contents of the box, tempted to just toss it in the trash and laugh in Anthony's face the next day. After all, she was in charge of his department - what could he possibly do to her? Also, it would set him back by $300 at the very least, by her conservative estimates.

But a strange emotion was bubbling towards the surface, just faintly recognizable. The lacy satin lingerie, the Victorian-style garters, the almost-slutty stiletto pumps, the outlandish reality of having been just sent all of that by a person who had no business with her sexuality - all of that, combined, awakened some sort of... Desire? 'Nay, curiosity. Lets not get too ambitious here. Tony would laugh in my fucking face.'

Maybe she would do it, just for larks. And then have the last laugh when, at the end of the week, Tony was forced to see that none of that had had any effect on her.

***

Sophie arrived in 239's control room at 8.45am, hoping to get whatever gloating Anthony was going to do out of the way before James arrived. A typical coder, James usually stumbled in unshaven and with a huge mug of coffee anywhere between 9.30 and 10, but she couldn't risk him being punctual for once.

Anthony was already seated, leaning back in his armchair and watching her as she walked in. Awkward in the higher heels, she spent a while maneouvering the door closed before turning to face him. Goddammit, why was her face so flushed?

"Morning, Sophie. Nice shoes," Anthony remarked conversationally, flashing her a grin.

"I disagree," Sophie responded acidly, pushing a lock of dark red hair behind her ear in an attempt somewhat obscure her reddened cheeks with her hands.

"I'm really glad I got your size right. Took a while, that." His eyes scanned her from top to bottom in an unforgivingly brazen fashion.

Sophie opened her mouth to retort, but at that moment the folders she was carrying slipped from her grasp, scattering papers across the floor. Cursing under her breath, she stooped to pick them up, noticing that the asshole hadn't even bothered to get up to help. With her hands full of papers, she was unable to keep her skirt from riding up her thighs, exposing a generous expanse of pale skin against the black of the garter straps.

This day was going to be even longer than she'd thought.

Finally getting the last paper up on the table, she sat herself down on the other armchair, tugging her skirt down firmly. She'd be damned if she gave that grinning bastard any more of an eyeful than he'd already gotten.

"So. What are we here for again?" she questioned him, folding her arms over her chest.

"I wanted to talk to you about Mason's plans for the facility, actually." His response surprised her. What, no gloating? Her brows furrowed in suspicion.

"What do you want to know?"

"Is there any possibility of discussing Experiment 239 in next week's meeting? Or is he going to just continue pushing droids out there?"

Sophie took a deep breath. "Tony, we've been over this before. The Director wants to see more proof of success before he invests more into slaves like 239. Her training and acquisition required a markedly higher up-front investment than the droids or any of the other women. We're talking in excess of 500%, Tony."

Anthony exhaled in frustration. "And yesterday... that wasn't enough?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. You know that. We need more." Unsure of why she felt like apologizing, she added briefly, "I'm sorry, Tony."

He simply nodded and fell silent.

The butterfly by her clit buzzed to life, eliciting a surprised gasp from her. Does this guy even know how to choose his moments?! Jesus Christ!

Anthony's grave face softened in an almost-boyish smile. "How does it feel?"

"Annoying," she responded crisply, doing her best to maintain a deadpan look.

He chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, of course. Did you like the other things I picked out for you, Sophie?"

"No."

The chuckling escalated to a full-throated laugh. "I'm disappointed."

"You should well expect to be."

"We've still got a week, haven't we? We'll see." He winked at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Anything else, Tony? I'm expected at a meeting with Marketing at 9.15."

He smiled, shaking his head. "Have a nice day, Sophie. You'll be back at 12 for the Endurance Room, right?"

"Fine," she grunted, rising to leave and tugging her skirt down again for whatever it was worth. It was a good 5 minutes before the butterfly fell silent.

***

Movement on the video screen caught her eye. Number 239 was in the Endurance Room again. Sophie saw the girl's eyes widen as memories of yesterday flooded her amygdala, eliciting a whimper and an instinctive backward step. James triggered the shock collar, and the girl hurried to the monstrous cock on the wall, kneeling to present herself for its torment once more.

Number 239's nipple chain was once more pulled into the slot on the wall, with the accompanying screams. Once again, the dance of agony began.

"No canes today, boss?" James asked, leaning back in his chair to look over at Anthony.

"Nah. We want to ACTUALLY work on endurance today," Anthony chuckled. "You can activate the blowjob trainer."

James did so, and words flashed on the screen in front of Number 239: "KEEP FOLLOWING GREEN LINE. TRAINING COMPLETE WHEN GREEN LINE HAS BEEN FOLLOWED FOR 30 CONSECUTIVE MINUTES." A green line appeared on the cock again, and gradually shifted further towards the wall. Unfamiliar with the new territory, 239 hesitated, and was zapped by the collar.

She got into the hang of things pretty quickly, then, and followed the line all the way up until her entire mouth and throat was full of cock, causing her to gag and choke, eliciting tears that trickled down her cheeks. But the line remained dispassionately there for a good 20 seconds, before finally retreating. Watching its retreat in the mirror, 239 pulled back in relief until her red lips circled the line once more, her drool-covered chest heaving with each newfound breath. The clover clamps pulled mercilessly at her nipples, but at least she could breathe.

And so it went on. Sometimes the line moved faster, sometimes slower. Sometimes it moved further in than 239 could take, and then it turned red, resetting the minute counter on the screen to zero. She cried and whimpered and sobbed into the dildo, but carried on trying. What else could she do? With each attempt, she could take the cock just a little bit further into her mouth, until she could finally reach the maximum range of the line. But then, exhausted as she was, her focus slipped, and she didn't realize the line moving backwards faster than it usually did, until the counter reset once more.

All that time, the butterfly vibator by Sophie's clit buzzed on and off in a maddening tease. For once, instead of watching with clinical detachment, Sophie realized that she was taking a more personal interest in her proceedings. As waves of pleasure started to emanate through her body, she wondered for the first time how it would feel. To be helplessly fellating a giant cock, with your arms pulled back and your nipples pulled taut and aching and your jaw stretched almost beyond your tolerance - but yet mercilessly forced to continue, at the whim of whomever owned you. To be nothing but mouth and tits and pussy. To be a slave.

Of course, hell would freeze over before she revealed anything like that to that asshole Anthony, she resolved.

***

It was 7pm, and the facility was deserted. Sophie had spent most of her day in meetings, and had excused herself from the staff Happy Hour at the nearby pub. She'd waited around an entire hour just to be absolutely certain that everyone had left... and she now stood at the entrance of the model for the Endurance Room.

Oh, it wasn't the same room as the one 239 was in, of course, but it was the model that was fed into the simulations, the basis for all the created instances. She wondered idly who had tested this physical model before it was accepted.

Slowly (she still hadn't quite gotten the hang of the higher heels), she moved hesitantly towards the enormous cock mounted on the far wall. While the full range of the program wasn't activated at the moment, the blowjob trainer was. A green line moved slowly back and forth over the cock, tantalizing her.

Was that a shadow? She spun around, but there was nothing and nobody in sight. I must be imagining things, she chided herself.

She ran a manicured finger lightly over the cock. Whoever had designed it had paid a lot of attention to detail. It was large, large enough to stretch a girl's jaw, but not so large as to make the pain unbearable after a short time. It felt warm, almost as if it was connected to an actual person, and she could see veins down the shaft.

Sophie had given head before, a few times, but couldn't say that she'd enjoyed it. At any rate, her lovers had usually used it as a short prelude to the main act.

She wondered how it would feel to be forced to bob up and down a giant cock for however long the person controlling her wanted her to...

The butterfly by her clit buzzed to life, eliciting a small scream from her. It wasn't just the vibrations - she'd mostly gotten used to them switching on and off throughout the day - but nobody was supposed to be in the fucking building! The damn remote had a range, she was sure...

As expected, Anthony sauntered into the room, holding something that looked like a remote control in one hand. "You're here late. Missing happy hour?" he asked, conversationally.

Sophie chewed on her lower lip so hard she could almost taste blood, her cheeks flushing. "I... yes. You?"

"I thought there'd be better entertainment here." He paused by her side, tilting his head to watch her.

"I needed to check the room out. For... Mason," she blurted out, regretting the obvious lie as soon as it slipped past her lips.

Anthony laughed. "Sophie," he said, his voice taking on a different timbre. "You don't need to pretend anymore. It's just me."

"P-pretend?" she stammered, folding her arms over her chest. Damn it, that pushed her breasts up over the low neckline of her shirt MUCH more than she'd intended. But it would look strange to change her position again...

"It intrigues you, doesn't it? It's bloody obvious, really," he chuckled, not once taking his eyes off her.

"I have no fucking idea what you're talking about."

His only response was a laugh and a shake of the head. "Sophie. It's okay, you know. Lots of smart and accomplished women like these games, you know. You-"

"I think that's quite enough," she interrupted him, raising her voice. "I've done what I needed to do, and I'm going home, Anthony."

He simply waved cheerily to her. "I'll have another parcel waiting for you."

She spun on her heels and stomped out of the room.

***

Elaida stumbled down the hallway to her room, tears streaming down her cheeks. The day had been absolutely brutal. She had spent what felt like an infinity in the Endurance Room, alternating between the terrifying feeling of choking, to pain in her nipples that seared right through her. When she'd finally completed 30 minutes of perfect sucking, the cock had mercifully retreated towards the slot in the wall, and the clover clamps were automatically released.

She'd collapsed onto the hard floor, sobbing and whimpering and gasping for breath. Her nipples hurt more than she'd ever thought they could. Her jaw was stiff and aching. The entire front of her torso was covered in drool. She didn't know how she'd carry on.

But she did. After allowing her a brief half hour of rest, the computer implanted in her vision told her that she was allowed a lunchtime feed, and then expected at the Serving Station.

And so she went. The digital display said it was 2pm - she'd been in the Endurance Room for 4 hours. Now, she carried drinks to empty tables on a tray attached to her poor, tortured nipples. Each time a drink spilled, the anal plug that she'd been forced to insert sent a sharp shock up her bottom, eliciting a scream.

Only when she had served 10 tables without spilling anything, was she allowed another brief rest, and then sent to Positional Training, where she was forced to go through a seemingly endless succession of poses despite being constrained in a tight corset and not having any use of her arms. This room had required her to wear a penis gag that filled her mouth and slightly touched the back of her throat. Once upon a time she would never have been able to manage it, but with all the recent training, she was just barely able to handle it without gagging. She discovered that sucking on the gag helped to ease the gag reflex, and so she did that. It seemed that the fellatio training was merciless and unrelenting.

Finally, she was allowed her evening meal in the mess hall - this time, she found that keeping her lips pressed to the wall while she swallowed her sustenance from the dildo was absolutely easy, compared to everything else she'd done. But instead of confidence or a sense of achievement, all she felt was fear. Fear of what else was to come. How much worse would it get?

As she lay in her bunk that night, spread-eagled and stuffed and completely unable to reach the release she craved, she wondered again from the depths of despair, Who, or what, is doing this? To what end?