The Corporation

The Corporation owns everyone and everything on your homeworld, including the planet. Some Citizens work for the Corporation while some work for businesses owned by the Corporation. No other alternative exists. Surely a time existed before the Corporation took ownership of the planet, but there is no one left alive who remembers and therefore no one who would find any point in pulling up the bill of sale from the record.

Growing up here, you can't think of another way life should work. And besides, you're happy. You did reasonably well in school and you're a relatively well-paid administrative clerk for a small trading firm. The apartment you rent from the Corporation is spacious, yet modestly decorated. Your work keeps you away from your inner sanctuary most of the time you aren't sleeping, and you aren't happy to boast you sleep less than the average Citizen.

But, at least you have work. You tell yourself this as you pack your lunch and again as you check your appearance in the mirror hanging in your entrance way. All in order, you step into the hall of your employee housing unit and head for the lift at its end.

The street outside your apartment complex is completely empty. A chill from the abnormality of the scene runs down your spine and you check the display glowing on your wrist. It's the time you would typically leave your house, and there's no flashing indicator warning of an incoming storm. You check the sky and it's the usual cement grey; not the charred and angry mix of grey and purple that heralded severe weather. With no reason for the quiet you think: where are all the people?

There is a single black rover heavily shielded with no discernable windows parked at the end of your walk. As it finally stands out to you, you stop walking and take a step back. Sure, the weather is normal and it's the middle of the day, but if there was ever an ominous vehicle to avoid, you're sure it'd be that one.

You take another step back as a man dressed fully in black leather opens a hatch and steps out onto the sidewalk. He's sporting the ridiculously cartoonish logo of the Corporation on his muscular chest. You turn and fucking run when he starts walking toward you, not because you think it's a good idea to try and outrun a man who looks like he could win a medium category intergalactic neo-wrestling match, but because the sight of him coupled with the deserted city block and his armoured car terrifies you.

True to your prediction, you can't outrun him. He has an arm across your neck, a fist balled in your hair, and he is swinging his other arm to catch yours before you make it through the second of your housing complex's 'security doors'. You scream with fear and frustration as he pins your arm behind your back, pushes you to the ground, and handcuffs your wrists together. Metal bites into your skin. Tears streak down your face and you tremble as he hauls you to your feet. You want to scream again, but you know no one is coming to help you. You wouldn't come to help you because anyone can tell this is Corporation business

"What's happening?" You ask as your teeth chatter.

His voice is light and he smiles, taking your question as a sign you're done struggling. Are you done struggling? Your muscles and where your jaw scraped the ground ache in protest. Yeah. Yeah, you're done struggling. "You're being reassigned."

"I don't understand."

"You were an administration clerk?" You nod and he continues: "Now you're not that." As if that answers your question or fixes your confusion.

"What am I, then?"

"You'll see."

While this entire ridiculous exchange is happening, he's directing you forward, down the path to his rover. You tense. Even if logically you know it's a bad idea to struggle, your body does not want to get in the vehicle. Once you're taken to a secondary location, that's it. You've seen the movies. He seems not to notice and within seconds he pushes you into the darkness of the vehicle.

Blinking to hopefully adjust your eyes faster to the dim mood lighting, you notice the interior of the rover is a light colored velvet. The vehicle rumbles quietly when it lifts into a hover, but the subsequent movement is so smooth you don't feel it. You're alone, but you yell hoping the guy is within earshot in another compartment. Silence is the only response you receive. You wriggle your wrists against the cuffs while trying to clamp down on your fear, and you're truly successful in neither attempt.

Thinking back on the way in which you led your life and the way your community of employees was structured, you don't think you've done something wrong, and you can't think of anyone else who was abducted from their home by the Corporation, or can you..? You try to follow the flitting thought of a face, but it lingers at the edge of your memory the way words sometimes would on the tip of your tongue.

Beyond your moving, armored cell, the city-colony you lived in your entire life is a motion-blur. In minutes you've travelled fifty kilometers from your home. You know this because you also know exactly where you are when the man drags you from the vehicle: Corporation Headquarters. You're close enough it's a strain to angle your head back to see the top of the building.

"I'm being reassigned to work here." You say. Everything finally makes sense. Except, the cuffs. Actually, you retract that. None of this makes sense.

"Exactly!" The man who captured you is beaming, but he's not really looking at you. Your stomach twists. Perhaps his definition of the word 'reassigned' is different from yours.

Still, you have little choice but to follow him as he leads you into Headquarters through a less than imposing side door. Once inside, a second person joins from a side hall and follows close behind you as if you'd try to make a break for it while your hands are bound. As you walk, the sound of three sets of footsteps out of sync irritates you and it's what you're focusing on when you run into the back of the man.

He turns and smirks at you, before opening a nondescript door to an unlit room with no apparent windows. "Now in you go. Have fun." He says this, but before you can think about whether you want to listen, he's shoved you in and shut the door behind you. You make a note to file a Human Resources complaint once you've been on-boarded as you stumble to the floor in complete darkness.

Moments tick by and you start counting your breaths. One breath. Two. Three. When you've reached ten, you bite your lip and take one more steadying breath. Then, "Hello?" You call out, not really expecting to be dignified with an answer at this point.

Just as you're ready to start counting again, a smooth yet clearly artificial rendition of your voice echoes: "Hello?"

You shout in surprise and light floods the room. You're alone under the bright lights. Beneath you the dark floor is textured and grooved. The rest of the room is so nondescript, you're not even sure where the door you came through is.

"What's happening?"

In your voice, the room responds: "Hello? What's happening?"

You should probably feel afraid, but instead you're angry. Whatever this nonsense is, it's gone on for long enough. You try to stand, but listen, you never thought skipping those core workouts would actually come back to bite you, yet here you are without the use of your arms to assist you. After you fail to rise a few times, the lights above flicker and the floor beneath you moves. You plunge into darkness yet again.

Although your landing is padded, the jostling you've endured thus far has your head pounding. Faceless machines come to life around you and you shrink back against the grey cushion. It tilts, sending you forward onto what you can only describe as a person-sized conveyor belt. You almost immediately pass through a cube of pink-tinged air. Your clothes melt away into the cube and, you realize belatedly, so too have your cuffs.

Springing to your feet as you are passed from pink back to uncoloured air, you lurch toward the edge of the belt only to glimpse nothing but machines below. You partially stumble, partially throw yourself to your knees in fear. Your cuffs were removed because there is nowhere for you to run to, and the thought of falling into the abyss stretching out beneath the belt paralyses you.

A pleasant shade of mint green fills the air around you and your skin tingles. Then you're passed through sunset orange and new clothing materializes on your skin. Then, royal blue, and your hair is tugged this way and that by an invisible force. Finally, you're bathed in golden light. At this point, the belt ends and you tumble onto a ceramic tile floor in front of a full length mirror.

Behind your reflection, the conveyor belt stretches out of view and for a moment you see all the colours you were taken through before they wink out of existence. Leaving a dimly lit reflection of you and the now motionless belt and nothing else. You shiver and rub your bare arms as you approach the mirrors, curious and terrified to see what's been done to you. Your thighs have a freshly shaved feel as you walk.

You frown. The person who stares back at you is, well, still you of course, but it's what you would look like if some artsy minded teenager depicted their ideal 'big tiddy goth gf' using your frame. You are not pleased. The amount of eyeliner you're wearing went out of style before you were born and, you gather yourself for a moment, and what kind of assignment requires a short, black, lacey dress anyway?! The complaints for Human Resources are piling up in your brain, so much so that you really don't yet understand the trouble you're in. But, you're about to.

A panel of the mirror in front of you slides to the side. For the sake of being able to move on your own volition, you step forward and cautiously peer in. A sigh of relief escapes you and you go inside an unremarkable elevator car. The door slides shut behind you, as an elevator should, and you feel it rumble just a bit beneath your feet as it starts to move.

You lean against the reflective wall and try to catch your thoughts, but instead you look at the mesmerizing rows of numbers on the elevator. There were hundreds of floors, many above and many below ground. You wonder which floor you started on, but it didn't matter then and the thought floats away from you now. The buttons are all a matte black with silver numbers and rings. Truly well designed buttons make their users want to push them, you think.

The elevator opens to a narrow hallway with doors facing each other at intervals of twenty feet or so. Above each door is a light fixture, some of them are lit, some are not, and only one has a light that blinks in a steady rhythm. It's obvious where you're meant to go, so you go. The carpet beneath your feet feels plush and the copper doorknob is cool. Above you the blinking light switches to a solid, warm yellow and the door clicks.

Although modest, the room that greets you is plush compared to the stark factory-like settings of the previous spaces. This appears to be your new apartment. You instinctively relax, remove the shoes given to you by the machines, and pull on a pair of black slippers with patterns of cute silver skulls. There's a small kitchen immediately to your right and to your left is a sliding mirror with an empty coat closet. You step past the kitchen into the living room, which has a matte black box sitting on a side table next to a small loveseat and nothing else. A door to your left clearly goes into a washroom. Between the kitchen and the washroom is a loft space overlooking both rooms and accessible by a small staircase set into the right wall. At the end of the living room where your old apartment had a balcony and a wall of glass, this new place just has another door with a lightbulb in a protective cage. It's the only door that's not ajar and the light is off.

What to do first? Your stomach is tight and you could convince yourself to eat something; you don't remember breakfast. The black lace bralette and leather short skirt are not what you want to be wearing, so you could explore the loft space to see if you've been given other more relaxed, perhaps warmer clothing. Just as you start toward the loft steps, the light above the door flicks to an ominous, all-encompassing red. An A.I. speaks to you in your voice from the shiny black cube on the side table.

"You are summoned. Enter."

Worried your floor is going to suddenly tilt forward if you don't go yourself, you head toward the door. You walk into a room full of near-blinding daylight and the sound of a team of people clamouring about something through holographic transmissions of themselves.

"Alright folks." The only other person actually in the room with you says this with a commanding, throaty voice that cuts through the noise like butter. "My assistant is here. We're over by a few minutes anyway and you each have your assignments. I'll see your, shall we say, lovely faces tomorrow. Bye!" Sitting at her desk perpendicular to the door you've just come through, the speaker waves her arm and the images of people wink out at once.

You are left in a spacious office with an uninterrupted look at the person you assume summoned you here. She's watching you with her chin resting on her interlocked fingers and her elbows sitting on her large desk made of a wood with dark grain. Her back is straight and her long hair is tied up. You're still hesitating by the doorway, unsure of what to do when she smiles and stands. Just a simple smile from her sends your stomach spinning away and your heart flutters. Her expression immediately clouds and your fluttering ceases.

"You're wearing slippers." Her downward inflection isn't quite a question.

"I-"

Crack! Your vision flashes technicolour and you fall onto your ass, which stings against the hardwood floor. Tears spring to your eyes as much from the shock as from the pain. You lift your gaze to find her staring down at you impassively and you slink back against the door.

She takes a steadying breath. "When I call you, you come fully dressed in the newest attire I provide. Do not speak. Do not meet my eyes. You will do only as I say."

You bit your lip and nod, but you're already thinking of ways to get out of your apartment when you're out of this woman's sight. This is not what you expected your reassignment would be. Your hands tremble as she tells you to stand.

"Lie down on the chaise lounge and stick your tongue out. Lucky for you, I'm too busy to play much today." After a quick glance around the room, you spot a blue-grey chaise with dark wooden supports. Just as you're about to lay back in it, she says: "Ugh, and remove the slippers."

They hit the floor with soft thumps and you sneak a glance at her as she approaches slowly with all the grace and confidence of someone who knows how to wield her body. In a fluid motion, she drops both her sheer pants and underwear. With a second movement, her knees are on either side of your head and her strong fingers are twisting into your hair, yanking harshly at the roots. She is partially sitting on your chest, compressing your lungs, and making it harder for you to breathe. Despite your lack of comfort, your eyes are drawn to the sculpted hair above and then below to the smooth outer lips of her cunt. Distractingly, one of her inner labia was peeking out and her light scent was intoxicating.

In a low growl, she says, "Assistant. Stick. your. tongue. out."

And you remember the insanity of your situation. Maybe if you do well, you can get back to your room without another face slap. Besides, this is not the first time you've been in this position so you stick your tongue out and tilt your head back. With her fingers locked in your hair, she repositions your face back to where she wants it and lowers her pussy onto your tongue. She groans softly and begins to rub herself over your face, her arousal apparent in the wet left on your skin. Her taste is sweet and salty, sour and umami, and for a moment you can't help but start licking at her lips, her clit, but when she tightens her grip in your hair and growls, you straighten your tongue.

Quickly, it becomes clear she doesn't care whether or not you can breathe as she rides you. Your nose is pressed against her, your mouth is full of pussy, and you're struggling to keep your tongue stuck out. You sputter and she lifts her hips long enough to snarl, "You're not down there to breathe, Toy." Deprived of the oxygen you need to think, you melt into the sensations, into her panting and grinding, into the juices flowing faster than you can drink, and you catch small sips of air.

As she comes you are suddenly sprayed and you cough as the liquid stings your eyes and she cries out with a throaty moan. She humps your face as she rides out her climax.

You keep your tongue out and sharply suck in breath through your nose as she languidly moves off of you. She uses the little fabric you're wearing to clean herself off and returns to sit at her desk, looking content and relaxed.

"Put your tongue back and get out of here."

Dazed, you pull yourself off the chaise and head quickly for the door.

"Forgetting something?"

You stop with your hand on the doorknob and look over to her. You're so turned on, but also so ashamed and embarrassed and confused, and you just want to shower. She's smiling playfully and points at the slippers left abandoned by the chaise. When you don't move right away, her smile quirks up at one end.

"Fetch, Assistant."