Sublimation Pt 01

Angela wakes from cryosleep to find herself imprisoned on Chime Station: a space station notorious for harboring a male supremacist secret society, where it's rumored that women are kept as sex slaves. After being implanted with a neuro-chip that controls her orgasms, she's shipped off to a training facility, where she'll learn first-hand what happens to the women of Chime Station. 20k words, erotic horror content rating - please read all warnings with caution and do not expect a happy ending.

This story will be released in four parts; all tags and warnings apply to all parts.

Content warnings/tags: noncon; sexual slavery; medical play (including needles); brainwashing/ego death; torture; chemical play; pain play; torture; extreme misogyny and misogynist language, including slut-shaming; degradation; claustrophobia; careless use; public use; betrayal by a spouse; mentions of nonconsensual impregnation; forced exhibitionism; forced voyeurism

Angela wakes slowly, disoriented.

She's on a hard surface, not her bed, and the lights are too bright...is she in a medical facility?

She casts her mind back in a foggy panic. The last thing she remembers is traveling with her husband, Ben. They were going to...Sector Felix? Ben had said something about having a lead on a new story, one that would benefit from their investigation as husband-and-wife freelance reporters.

She had loaded into cryosleep on their ship, and he was going to follow her. And after that...nothing.

"I think she's waking up," a familiar voice says from somewhere in the room.

Ben. Angela feels a wash of relief to know that he's alright, followed by a spike of anxiety when she tries to turn towards him but can't--she's strapped down?

"Ben?" she tries to say, but it comes out as a muffled noise. There's something in her mouth, preventing her from speaking. She pulls harder against the straps, struggling, but she can't move an inch.

"Don't worry," another voice says. A man--a stranger. "She's not going anywhere."

"I thought she would be sedated for the entire procedure," says Ben.

Procedure? What procedure?!

Angela tries to express her confusion with a panicked noise that's muffled by the gag. She blinks hard, trying to bully her eyes into focusing; Ben and the stranger are two dark silhouettes against the bright medical lights and stark white walls of the room.

"No, no," the other man says. "We find they adjust more easily if they're awake. Also, sedation can interfere with the neuro-calibration."

"Ahh." Ben sounds slightly nervous. "So...she can hear us...?"

"Oh, yes." The stranger laughs. "You didn't tell her you were bringing her to Chime Station, did you?"

Something in Angela goes cold before she can even consciously remember why.

Chime Station. That's an unincorporated station, outside of the jurisdiction of any sector laws. It's the station that was founded by an extremist male supremacy group.

Nobody really knows exactly what happens there, but there are rumors. Some leaked videos, awful footage of women led around nude on leashes, kneeling at men's feet like pets--all forced into a state of absurdly visible arousal.

Most people have dismissed the footage as a hoax, or as displaying some kind of advanced sex-bot manufactured exclusively on the station. Others have theorized that they're sub-human-intelligence clones--illegal in any civilized sector, but not human, not really.

Of course, nobody has seriously considered the option that they might be real women, because that would require that nearby sectors take action to intervene. Even being outside of jurisdiction wouldn't excuse Chime Station from practicing slavery. So, officially, it's not considered an option.

But they can't be on Chime Station. Ben would never...

This must be some kind of terrible joke.

Angela tries to say something, tries to beg Ben to be serious, but the gag muffles her words again. She squeezes her eyes shut and starts taking quick, panicked breaths through her nose.

"She's going to hyperventilate," Ben says. The other man clucks.

"She'll settle right down in a minute, it's just a little tantrum. They always get this way when they understand what's happening."

Angela tries to scream a denial into her gag, then cuts off the sound with an abrupt yelp when an unfamiliar hand pats her much too familiarly on the inside of her thigh. She realizes very suddenly that she's entirely naked aside from the restraint straps.

She erupts into another fit of frantic struggling that gets her absolutely nowhere.

"She does seem very upset. You're sure she shouldn't be sedated?" Ben asks.

"No, no, she'll wear herself out. But it is a more difficult adjustment, you know, when you bring in one this old. She's been spoiled too long by the outside world," the stranger says. "If it's upsetting for you, you can still consider doing a swap. We have plenty of station-born, fully-trained girls available. My Mindy was one of the first batch, and she's an absolute dream--no complaining, no whining. She understands her place completely."

"What would happen to Angela if I did a swap?"

"At her age?" The man is still rubbing Angela's thigh, and she can't pull away. With the gag in her mouth, she can't even tell him to fuck off. "She'll go into the stables. Either sterilized for the free use pleasure stable, or sent to the reproduction stable--broodmares, you know--for men who want to seed a womb but don't want to take care of one. It would depend on the strength of her genes."

"Her genes are excellent," Ben says, sounding a little offended.

Angela's vision is beginning to clear now, and she can see that he looks taken aback, too.

The stranger standing beside Ben is dressed in a doctor's coat. He's wearing gloves, too, but the way he's touching her thigh does not at all feel like a doctor respectfully touching a patient. It's halfway between a vet patting a dog and something more licentious.

The doctor smiles at Ben in a pacifying way. "Yes, of course. I'm sure they are. But consider the benefits of a fresh one, with her genes fully encoded--you would know exactly what you're breeding out of her, and she wouldn't give you any trouble at all. Here, let me show you Mindy." He steps away, finally taking his hand off of Angela's thigh, and pokes his head out of the room. "Mindy!"

A minute later, a woman walks in. She's not much younger than Angela. Horrifyingly, she's fully nude except for a collar around her neck and a couple of decorative piercings--two in her nipples and one ringing her absurdly, visibly erect clit. Her hair is styled in long curls, but she's not wearing makeup or nail polish; there is a redness to her lips, but it appears natural, as if she's been biting them frequently.

"Here she is," the doctor says, putting an arm around her and steering her into the room. The woman leans into him and gazes up at him, her expression strangely blank like she's been drugged. He puts his other hand on her thigh, very much like how he'd touched Angela, and Mindy immediately gasps and spreads her legs, showing the dampness collecting between them. "You see how sweet she is."

"And you keep her...restricted?" Ben asks.

"Oh, yes, of course. That's really the only way to do it. Even the professional training will be spoiled if you let them come too often."

His fingers slip up against Mindy's crotch, sliding over her plump labia, and the woman mewls like an animal, her eyes rolling back in her head and all of her muscles cording up. She looks seconds away from a massive, pornographic orgasm.

Angela finds herself flushing with sympathetic embarrassment, even though she knows she's just as exposed, strapped naked to the table. At least she's not about to come in a room full of relative strangers, like this poor woman.

But the doctor keeps on massaging, and Mindy doesn't come.

She just goes on gasping out needy little noises, her mouth hanging open, her body shaking with the tension. Eventually, her stomach spasms and she squirts, a wet spray of fluid splashing her thighs and the doctor's hand--but the desperate tension never leaves her body, there's no orgasmic trembling or sounds of relief.

The doctor chuckles. "Oh, Mindy, now you're making a mess."

"Did she come?" Ben asks, sounding confused.

The doctor shakes his head, wiping his hand off on his coat. "No, no. Mindy often squirts without orgasm--most of the trained women will. It's just a matter of build-up of pressure."

"How often do you let her...?"

"Come? Twice," the doctor says, steering Mindy to the corner of the room and pushing her down.

Mindy kneels obediently, keeping her legs spread wide like she's hoping to be touched some more, her expression still doped-out. Maybe not with drugs at all, Angela is realizing with growing horror; is it the effect of some sort of brainwashing, or maybe an illegal neuro-implant?

"Twice a year? That seems--"

"Oh, no, not twice a year," the doctor interrupts Ben. "I've allowed her to orgasm twice. Once after she gave birth to my son, as a reward. And once a few years ago, for my own amusement--I wanted to see if the order would register while she was asleep." He chuckles. "Well, it certainly woke her up, I'll tell you that much."

"Oh," Ben says, eyes going wide with understanding. "And...she really doesn't complain?"

"She knows better. She knows her place," the doctor says easily. "There's really nothing that matches a well-trained, station-bred girl. I'm telling you, if you trade in, you won't regret it."

"Well..." Ben looks briefly like he's considering it.

Angela screams into her gag, outraged. He doesn't even look in her direction.

"I'm kind of attached to her," he admits, sounding a little embarrassed by the statement. As if she's a stuffed animal he's held onto from his childhood, instead of his wife.

"Completely understandable," the doctor says, patting his shoulder while passing him to approach Angela on the table again. "In that case, you really should have her professionally trained at one of our facilities."

"How long does that take?"

"A few months." The doctor changes his gloves, tossing out the one that Mindy had squirted all over and pulling on a fresh pair before he starts touching Angela again. Angela growls into the gag; he ignores her, pressing her labia apart with his gloved fingers and looking at her genitals like he's inspecting a car. "The professional trainers know what they're doing. We strongly advise against trying to train an import yourself--sometimes they can become violent."

"I wouldn't want that," Ben muses. "I guess professional training would be best. Is that something you can set up?"

"Oh, yes, we can send her there straight from this procedure. It's considered part of women's care--mental health, you know--so I'd refer you, and I can arrange for transportation and all of that."

"That would be fantastic," Ben says, sounding relieved.

Angela's eyes bug out angrily--both because Ben is consenting to send her off to be trained like an animal and because the doctor is prodding at her clit, rubbing it. She grunts at the doctor, struggling against the straps in a pointless attempt to close her legs.

He clucks his tongue at her. "You're a stubborn one. I need you a little more fired up than this before I can install the implant."

Angela snorts when she realizes what he means. As if she's about to get aroused under these circumstances, with this deranged man touching her!

The doctor gives her a placid, patronizing smile and then turns away, looking towards the woman kneeling in the corner. "Mindy, touch yourself until I tell you to stop. Make plenty of noise." As Mindy slips a hand between her thighs, the doctor says to Ben, "I find the women often respond to each other. The training is done communally as well, for similar reasons."

Angela snorts again, offended by the idea that she would be aroused by hearing this woman torment herself.

Then Mindy lets out a loud, warbling moan, an honest sound of pure lust and pleasure, and a flush rises in Angela's face.

The woman really sounds like she's about to come...!

The doctor begins rubbing Angela's clit again in slow, firm circles. Angela glares at him, and then at Ben...and then slowly finds her gaze drifting to Mindy, who's kneeling in the corner and rubbing herself vigorously.

Mindy's eyes are half-shut, a grimace of agonized pleasure fixed on her face as she strums her own clit with two fingers, the tight muscles of her abdomen twitching under her smooth skin. The sounds coming from her mouth alternate between needy whimpering and animal groans, and the wet noise of her fingers sliding over herself are just loud enough to be heard under her voice.

A warm pulse of arousal bursts in Angela's core, and she flushes, mortified.

No, no, no. She is not turned on by this situation. This woman is being kept as a slave--only allowed to orgasm twice in her entire life? There's absolutely no way that Angela finds her predicament arousing--!

Angela's body pulses again and her cunt flutters hopefully as the doctor's fingers pass near her clit.

The doctor chuckles. "There we go. Good girl."

Angela squeezes her eyes shut and tries to force her unruly body back under her control. She scrambles for something unsexy to think about, but she can't think of anything less sexy than the situation she's currently in: trapped on a space station where she's apparently considered legally property, about to undergo some sort of procedure that she didn't consent to and then be shipped off for slave-training. That should be more than enough to shut down her libido forever!

But, regardless of what her conscious mind thinks of the situation, her body continues to respond to the doctor's touch and to the desperate sounds of feminine pleasure coming from the corner of the room.

Her cunt grows slick with arousal and her clit stiffens under the doctor's fingers. A throbbing need begins to crawl up her spine and into her brain, and a thought comes with it.

It occurs to Angela that, if she's to suffer the same fate as Mindy, this might be her last chance to come for a very long time.

The idea of being brought to orgasm by the man who's about to enslave her, under the gaze of her snake of a husband who set this up, is deeply humiliating.

But if it's going to be her only opportunity...maybe she shouldn't fight it.

There's soon going to be no purpose in fighting it, anyway, as loathe as she is to admit it. The doctor's fingers are slick with her own fluids now, each movement sending increasingly intense bolts of pleasure through her, and she's being dragged inevitably towards orgasm regardless of how she feels about that.

She groans quietly, conflicted.

The doctor chuckles. "Not so angry now, eh, sweetheart? That's it. Feels good, doesn't it?"

Angela responds with a poisonous glare, but she can't stop herself from clenching down when the doctor slips a finger into her.

He laughs again, the sound rude and jarring in contrast to the desperate whining noises that Mindy is uttering as she continues to fruitlessly masturbate.

Angela grits her teeth and prepares for the oncoming humiliation, the shame of her body betraying her, as she feels the tension winding up in her pelvis.

It's awful, but...at least she'll get to come. One last orgasm to hold her over, even if she feels guilty for it, getting to experience that release while listening to the broken cries of another woman who's apparently been trapped in a hell of sexual frustration for decades.

But there's no point in feeling guilt; it's not as if she chose this. She doesn't want to be here, and she definitely didn't ask the doctor to finger her like this!

She's a little stunned that his technique is so good, considering that he clearly thinks that pleasuring women is beneath him, but he knows what he's doing; his finger is slipping in and out of her, teasing the sensitive skin just inside of her entrance, as his thumb circles and rubs across her clit over and over. Whether she likes it or not, she's about to--about to--

Just as the orgasm begins to crest, turning to liquid pleasure in her center, he stops. The delicious rubbing ends, and instead he brackets her clit with two fingers, spreading her labia majora up and out of the way.

She grunts loudly in complaint and squirms against the restraints, shuddering as his fingers barely glance against sensitive nerves, dragging her along the edge.

Something hard presses in close to her clit.

Angela groans in surprise as the cold, alien sensation is what tips her over, triggering the orgasm that she's been waiting for--and it's bigger than she expected, shooting all the way through her, coring her out from the inside--

But she has less than an instant to appreciate the release of climax, to think at least it's a good one, before a bolt of hot pain shoots through her, turning the pleasure in her nerves to acid.

Angela's eyes fly open and she screams, struggling against her bindings, trying desperately to escape the burning sensation crawling up her clit.

He's pierced her with something, right into the base of her clitoris--a needle of some kind, she realizes, staring in disbelief as he depresses the plunger, injecting her with a bright blue fluid.

The pain is bad. So bad that she stops screaming and falls silent as her vision dims around the edges. So bad that she assumes he's somehow burning her clit right off.

Her cunt still makes an attempt to orgasm, clenching in a few broken, fluttering spasms. Each muscle contraction is now painful rather than pleasurable, each pulse answered with a throb of agony in her red-hot clit. The massive orgasm that she'd been just starting to experience curdles in her stomach, turning to desperate, hurt tears.

When she finally manages to make another sound, all that comes out is a raw sob.

"Is it hurting her?" Ben asks, sounding more confused than worried.

"Oh, yes. The neuro-fluid is a bit basic on the PH scale, so it can be very uncomfortable," the doctor explains. "But I would wager, spoiled as she is, she's mostly upset about the ruined orgasm."

Angela tries to scream a denial into her gag--she's upset about a LOT more than that!--but she has trouble getting enough air into her lungs, her body too tensed against the pain.

When the plunger is finally empty, her clit feels swollen and raw, her pulse thudding in it and sending waves of sickening pain through her whole body. The doctor sets the syringe aside and then picks up another one, and Angela tries desperately to shake her head, struggling uselessly once again.

But this one she barely even feels after the pain of the blue fluid. There's a brief prick, a little pinching sensation, and then the doctor sets that syringe aside, too.

"And we're done."

"Done?" Ben asks, astounded. "That's it?"

"Yes. That was the implant. The neuro-fluid will help it form the necessary connections with her nerves." He uses one gloved finger to push her clit upwards, forcing a loud cry of pain from Angela at the pressure on the raw-feeling organ, and gestures for Ben to lean in. "You can see it under her skin here."

"Wow. I mean, yeah, there it is," Ben says, and then--astoundingly--he breaks into a huge, gleeful smile. "That's fantastic. That's just--and you can really arrange for her to be trained for me?"

Angela glares at him, stunned despite the wooziness coming over her in response to the pain. He doesn't even look at her face to notice.

"Absolutely," the doctor assures him. "We can go fill out that paperwork now, if you like. She needs to rest a while while the implant calibrates."

"You don't need to supervise her?"

"No, no, it's all up to the implant now. It knows what to do," the doctor assures him while peeling the gloves off. "If you'll just come right this way..."