The Inner Fullness Heist Ch 12

Joey lowered the futon, mentally reviewing the codes. Coding a girl was pretty straightforward: you wrote what the briefing told you, and you wrote it on the right girl's body. Still, Donna was a stickler about it, since the trainers relied on the field coding to assign each acquisition to the right training program. And it was worth it to be extra careful -- you really didn't want to be the reason a powerful client's hand-picked concubine, meant for witty conversation and occasional sexual service had been turned into a human cow, trained to spend her days on all fours, rubbing against things and dripping milk, girl juice and drool.

Of course, everyone knew that crews used this as an excuse to get closer and more hands-on with whatever feature of whatever girl took their fancy. It wasn't even an open secret; it was simply expected -- one of the many perks the job offered in exchange for the insane risks. Most of the time, they'd just write it on a girl's chest or stomach, or maybe a shaved mound, because it was easy to access. For Sammie, it was definitely going on the ass.

The double-ended dildo was still where he'd left it, held in place in part by the tension of the elastic bands he'd put around her ankles and thighs. If she were awake, she could escape it easily, but banding was really convenient for keeping anesthetized girls in place. You could apply the elastic loop quickly without any compression risks to the body, remove it almost instantly, and if you lost it somehow, it just looked like some random piece of home health equipment.

He pressed the vertical end back and forth, and felt her squeeze firmly in response. Joey felt good about this one -- she'd be a lot of fun for someone. He unbanded her legs and slid the dildo out of a cunt that seemed very reluctant to give it up, then turned her over. Sammie was definitely getting coded on her small, nicely rounded and athletic ass.

Before flipping her, he took a quick moment to dip a finger inside of her cunt. She was as welcoming unconscious as she'd been when he met her, giving him the sort of friendly squeeze he associated with such an outgoing personality. He smiled and pulled his finger out, sampling her smell and taste. A little sweaty, but nice.

He tried to place who it reminded him of. He'd once prided himself on his ability to tell every girl he'd had by flavor, but a few months into his work at the Org, he had to concede that he'd failed; there was far too much product moving far too fast for him to remember all of it. Shrugging, he flipped her over ripped the crotch back to the waist, and peeled the cloth away, reducing her pricey yoga pants to a pair of ratty leg warmers.

The ass didn't disappoint. He wanted to give it a serious spanking, but it would have been unprofessional. Spanking makes noise and potentially leaves bruises, and it served no purpose when the girl was out. Instead, he gave it a light clap, and briefly toyed with her tight little asshole, but couldn't get a fingertip in, even with some help from the juice in her well-lubed pussy. That disabused him of any daydreams he'd had of buggering her in the field. If her trainers intended to make that hole available, it would require quite a bit of work, and probably some chemical assistance.

"S. FULL: WG", he wrote. "S" for Sammie, "FULL" for Inner Fullness, and "WG" for Wild Game. That was a weird client. The name was a little deceptive. The initial brief had said they wanted pets, all they could get. But they weren't looking for the typical puppy girl, staring up at you worshipfully as she panted for your cock.

They wanted spirited animals. Girls who would wrestle and hump each other, and roughhouse, but always submit to a male after a good-natured tussle. He'd participated in a couple of those trainings. They were always a lot of fun, if a little weird, and the occasional scrape or bruise or bite only helped a trainer stay in the spirit of things.

He rebanded her legs, giving her ass a fond squeeze. It was not what he'd imagined for her, and part of him thought it a waste of a really excellent massage therapist. Then again, he could see how it would suit her. One way or the other, the rest of her life would be active, social, and very physical.

Next was Vera. He hoped she wasn't going too soon. Her body was very nice, and her face, gorgeous. The luscious lips, the small cleft in her chin, the rosy cheeks and dimples -- it was a little disappointing to not be able to look at it as he handled her, but he'd have time once they got the applicator off at HQ.

Might as well take a look at the one part of her he hadn't letched at yet: her backside. With Sammie, Vera, and Jessica all on the futon, he had to role her on top of one of the other girls. He chose Jessica, because she was a little bigger than Vera, and Sammie was smaller. And anyway, he found something appealing about seeing two soft, curvy bodies stacked on top of each other.

He unbanded her legs, flipped the dress up, and was surprised to see a sexy little thong buried deeply between two pale, luscious cheeks. He watched her limp legs slide out around her unknowing partner, imagining the feeling of that soft rump pressed against his lower belly. Just a few more hours.

"V. FULL: FT+"

Fucktoy plus. When he first joined the organization, he'd thought "FT+" was just a general designation for a sex slave, with some sort of nonstandard perk: for example lactation, selective independence, or, say, a skill a client might find useful like massage, or the ability to handle large insertions. But it turned out to be more complicated than that.

Fucktoy way actually a backronym. Originally, "FT" stood for "Fully Trained" -- i.e. trained to be an excellent, insatiable lover, obedient slave, and enchanting companion -- a fully functional dream girl.

In practice, though, the original FT goal wasn't completely achievable. Generally, you had 6 months at the absolute maximum to train a girl, unless you were either working for a client with an exceptionally high budget, or able to profit from the girl during her training in some way-- for example, having girls train in a brothel or paid glory hole, leasing her to a master ponygirl trainer as wild stock to teach his apprentices, or using her around the office to relieve stress and entertain clients.

And of course, management wanted to turn out product as quickly as possible, getting the process down to three months or less for many girls. On that timescale, new girls would need a huge amount of sexual attention, stimulation, reinforcement, denial -- not to mention aphrodisiacs, equipment, and hands-on attention from trainers. Under the intense training, they'd almost all become completely obsessed with sex, sooner or later. And that obsession often came at the expense of more refined training.

Sometimes the results were fantastic for a particular client. There was a company legend about a girl they'd sent home 20 years ago with a very wealthy client. In most respects, she was the meekest creature imaginable -- docile to the point where she was allowed to walk around the facility alone on occasion. But during her training, she started to compulsively fuck anything in front of her with any hole available. Nothing they could do would make her stop, short of tying her up. Punishment just encouraged her. In fact, when they did let her out, she'd literally wander from dick to dick until someone carried her, exhausted, back to her cell.

With high-end slaves, the practice was to give a client some alone time with the girl in the facility, and then allow him to request any needed changes in the final product. But this client was extremely reserved -- some sort of wealthy European businessman -- and had absolutely not requested these behaviors. Apparently, the sales guy handling his account was so certain the client would hate her, that he knocked at the door just half an hour into the slave's "interview" with a prepared apology.

As the story went, when the sales guy entered, this reserved businessman was sitting with his dick in the slave's mouth, while she frantically humped his shoe, his shirt unbuttoned, his hair a mess, his pants halfway down his legs and ripped, somehow. On the table was an open suitcase next to a pile with an extra $10,000. In a daze, he offered $5,000 to the salesman to fuck the girl in her ass right then just so he could see how she handled two users at once, and another $5,000 to bring some food and let him use the "interview room" as a hotel for the night.

They still got a Christmas card from him every year.

However, the results of the old FT program were unpredictable, and the girls tended to be weak on other skills. An FT girl could keep you drained, but she probably couldn't run your household. So they reworked the training, optimizing it for sex and a few chosen skills. Now the results were predictable: girls retained enough personality to have individual charm, while also being completely dedicated to their user's pleasure. The added plus sign meant there was some special customization intended, although whether it was an extra skill, some body modification, or a substantial change in her whole training program, he didn't know. They'd have the details back at HQ.

If he had to guess, it meant Vera would be on her back or on her knees most of the time, with occasional massage duties. At least he hoped it did. Joey admired a natural slave, and could see it in Vera. Sammie had been spirited and put up a good fight, which had a lot of appeal in a new girl. But Vera has simply gone to sleep, barely expressing a doubt. It would have been such a waste to take someone born for complete submission and not take them all the way.

Her ass jiggled. That was odd. Vera had gone out like a light, and hadn't so much as twitched in her sleep before -- at least not that he'd seen.

Another twitch. Barely anything, but there was a grunt too. He leaned down. It wasn't Vera's voice -- the sound was deeper, rougher. He rolled Vera on her back and quickly banded her legs.

"Urrrghh."

The sound was coming from Jessica. It almost sounded like a pigeon's coo, and was so quiet that he could have easily missed it. But it was there, and he could see her legs twitch as well. He double-checked the applicator. It was on correctly, and there was no mistaking the fumes. For whatever reason, the girl was just somewhat resistant -- a rare phenomenon, but not unheard of. Of course it hadn't been enough to help her much so far, but it meant they couldn't necessarily trust the applicator without something to reinforce their control. Time to see how alert she really was.

Joey bent down to where her breasts pooled out to the sides of her ruined tank top, and gently sucked a nipple into his mouth. The girls who were almost totally sedated usually reacted positively, if they reacted at all. You could hear it in their quite moans, sometimes feel it in the way they stirred, and confirm it with a finger (or anything else) in her. But if a girl were conscious or semi-conscious, she'd generally be less than thrilled at the attention.

He felt a little shiver work through Jessica's body, and heard the coo again, a little higher. It could have been a complaint, but it wasn't an especially forceful one, and the little twitch she gave afterwards still left him unsure of how alert she really was.

That meant she needed to be secured better. He held her wrists in one hand, carefully wrapping the fingers together before securing them with duct tape.

That part, he was sure she didn't like. Her ability to resist was almost nonexistent, but she did try to pull her fingers apart, and he could feel her trying to pull her wrists away, although it was subtle in her current state.

It was hard to know for sure why the drug had failed to keep Jessica under. Joey was almost positive that the drug had knocked her out initially, but with her rousing this soon, it could mean a defective device. Applicators had micro channels and reservoirs inside that provided continuous dosing for several hours, but every once in a while, something went wrong in manufacturing or storage, and the equipment failed to deliver a consistent enough continuous dose to keep the girl all the way out.

Since he couldn't remove the applicator easily in the field, the rule of thumb was to apply the powerful cocktail of muscle relaxants and paralytics, but cases like this were complicated. It was always best for the girl to use as few drugs as possible. You could take more risk with clovers and "lab lovelies" -- girls taken for testing like Laney and Grace. But Jessica was already sold, and delivering the product to the client in the state ordered was a top priority. He needed to make sure she really was an escape or discovery liability, or else the extra dose wouldn't be worth the risk.

He glanced at the sheet -- might as well do the coding while he was at it. This one said, OEM. There was a more technical meaning, but for the purpose of field coding, it just meant the client might not want her if she had implants, obvious signs of cosmetic surgery, or any other body modifications beyond a pair of earrings.

She sure looked real. He hadn't checked her face, but they'd assume he might have missed something under the applicator back at HQ, and check for themselves when they removed it. He'd enjoyed groping her earlier, and knew she was natural. Still, no harm in double-checking.

She really had phenomenal breasts -- probably the best he'd felt all day, although he still preferred Vera as a package. Full, wide, and symmetrical, with upturned nipples that offset any sag. She made a little grunt as he pressed them together, her shoulders flexing. It turned into a whine as he pinched down on the nipples, and she squirmed weakly. There was some awareness, but no real sign that she was actually awake -- at least enough to matter.

He unbanded the legs and flipped up the skirt. Nice panties. French cut, high quality, and looked to be natural silk, and the little polka dots on them were cute. When you see stripped girls every day, good-looking underwear is always a nice surprise. Her blouse was torn, and her under layer was stretched to hell, but he'd try to save the rest of the outfit --give the guys in processing something nicely wrapped for a change.

He flipped her over on top of Vera to take a look at her ass. The panties had been pulled up between her cheeks during the struggle, better outlining a beautiful rump, but there was a problem: a little tattoo of a shooting star right at the top of the right cheek, barely peaking over the waistband. It was small, tasteful, and easy to miss, but for an OEM girl, it could be a deal breaker.

It was ironic, considering where she was bound. Kennel bitch girls were often extensively modified. Big nose rings to lead them, stretched labia with grommets to make it easier to mount them to machinery, lots of tattoos. But the clients tended to be extremely controlling, even by the standards of slave owners. That meant any modification they didn't decide on could be a deal breaker.

In an OEM girl, any cosmetic alteration was called an "irregularity," and field agents were supposed to circle ones that might not be obvious. He sighed: maybe next time, processing team. He slid a pair of EMT shears between her butt cheeks and began to cut vertically.

That seemed to get her attention. Jessica's cheeks clenched and wobbled around the cold steel. It seemed reflexive, but it was a strong enough reaction to make Joey concerned. If he were a gambling man, he'd have bet she was aware of him, although probably too drugged to understand what was going on.

He split the crotch, leaving the waistband in place. Jesus, even this girl's asshole was a work of art. He lightly teased it, pressing his finger tip against it, and enjoying the way her ass rippled as it clenched, as if trying to pull his finger in. He leaned down and delicately teased the rosebud with his tongue, and Jessica made a cute little hiccup sound, her legs flexing alternately, as if trying to crawl away in her sleep.

He pulled out his pen and circled the tattoo, then wrote, "J. FULL: KB Resub/Rec" on her ass. KB meant "Kennel Bitch," and "Resub" just meant that she would be resubmitted to the client for approval in light of the irregularity. "Rec" was a personal request to make her available for recreation during her training.

Technically, you could make a rec request for any girl, but you were much more likely to receive a "yes" for a resub or clover. He wasn't sure such a small tattoo would save this girl from KB status, but who knew? Might as well enjoy her in the meantime.

He turned her over again, rolling her off Vera. He was pleased to see a nice, red bush. The curls were soft in his hand and damp with sweat, with thick lips that would take clamps or piercings well. He spread her open, and leaned down, breathing in her aroma. She had a mild smell. Pleasant, agreeable, slightly earthy. Her taste matched: mild and enjoyable, without being especially distinctive. It was perfect for a member of a harem -- or a kennel, he supposed.

She twitched so hard when he reached her clit, he almost missed the piercing. She was wearing a clear acrylic ring through her hood, designed to retain the hole without being obvious. He pulled out a little tag on a string, that looked like a baggage tag, and carefully tied it through the piercing so that the folks in HQ wouldn't miss it, writing "OEM" on the blank. He smiled. She probably wouldn't appreciate her good luck, but her piercing may have just saved her from a few very, very harsh decades. A small tattoo, her owner might overlook, but with a piercing like that, he doubted they'd take her.

Jessica, meanwhile, had gotten quite active. She'd gasped, pressing her knees lightly against his face, twitching and grunting as he explored her sex. He didn't think she was fully awake, but she was too alert to leave unsupervised -- she even tried to push him away with her feet. He pulled out a needle and a bottle of powerful muscle relaxant, and measured out the standard dose for medication-resistant acquisitions, based on her weight, then placed it carefully to the side.

There was always the chance that an acquisition which resisted one type of medication might resist another. The standard technique was to provide some source of stimulation that she might find objectionable, then inject her so he could see how well the muscle relaxant had worked, and Joey had the perfect way to get her attention in mind. He unzipped his pants and lubed up, then raised her legs up on his shoulders, before pressing his glans against her entrance. Jessica immediately started to whimper and squirm, even managing to lift herself a little bit momentarily, and drum her legs lightly against his back.

She was incredibly tight around him, and for a moment, he let her hold his head back from passing through the entrance, her little pigeon coo getting angrier. "Hey Jessica, hope you don't mind me coming in for a chat. You were supposed to be out for a couple hours, but it looks like you woke up early. So, I'm going to give you something to make sure you don't get restless on the way to obedience school." He picked up the needle and quickly injected it into the soft tissue of her stomach, then capped it and chucked it into a special compartment in his bag for later disposal. "Mmm mmm!" she grunted, squirming.

Joey could feel the moment the drug kick in. It was subtle, but she noticeably relaxed against him, and he slid deep, burying himself all the way inside her in one long, slow thrust. She let out a low, warbling moan, barely audible. "Thanks, Jessica," He sighed, gently rubbing her chest between her breasts. "It's cozy in here." He worked in and out, tugging lightly on the tag through her piercing.