Consciousness came to Valerie slowly like she was waking from sleep except her eyes were already open. Her room came into focus through a deep fog, the dim light from her false window casting a weak glow.
She was lying on her bed, curled into a fetal position, naked. She stretched, enjoying the feel of her muscles pulling, flexing, and flipped over onto her back. She stared at the ceiling, the plastic tiles reflecting the blue light to shine a deep purple.
She spread her feet to the corners of her bed and folded her hands under her head, a satisfied grin across her lips. She felt good. Her last customer, Taylor, had just left. She could still feel the orgasms lingering in her body, radiating out from her cunt, warm and electric. She could feel semen drying between her legs. She could smell him, his cologne manly and sweet, not like the stink she smelled with most customers. She knew she should shower, that was the protocol after a customer had left, but she didn't want to move right now. She wanted to lay in her bliss, enjoy feeling good for once, smelling him, trying to remember him. So few customers paid to let her have an orgasm, concerned only with gratifying themselves. It was a rare treat.
She wished she could have actually been conscious for this last customer, that she could have experienced the sex, enjoyed fucking him, felt the orgasms at their height. But that would have gone against protocol. She must always be unconscious - that was the only way to truly satisfy the customer, to give the customer what he wanted, to turn her into the puppet that could satisfy his every desire, that would do exactly what he wanted - and at no emotional harm to herself. That was why she must be unconscious, separated from her body while it was used, her body acting as the customer wanted, moving as he wanted, while she stayed unaware of his invasion.
A lot of the time she was happy about that. Many of the customers weren't as gentle as her last one. They had twisted fantasies involving bondage, rape, and torture, leaving the tales of their perversions upon her skin. Imad did have rules about how far a customer could take the violence because he didn't want his puppets to be ruined, didn't want too many scars and marks across their bodies to devalue their price, but Valerie still awoke with the bruises, burns, and lacerations that were allowed within those rules. The puppet chip was supposed to protect her from the emotional anguish of those experiences, and for the most part it did.
But still when she slept the dreams would come, her subconscious remembering, giving her glimpses of what she had endured, images of a shadowy monster painfully twisting her bare breasts, tied up hanging by her feet, struggling to breathe around a large cock stuffed into her mouth, bent over with a large object crammed into her anus, the pumping of machines, grunting, yelling, moans, screams, all fading together into a grotesque tapestry of pain and pleasure.
Valerie sighed, pushing those thoughts from her mind, wishing that next time she slept she would dream of her last lover, a man who loved her tenderly, made her feel clean and beautiful, made her feel like a woman.
-
Taylor sat in his living room, his first glass of bourbon on ice sitting on the table beside him. He wanted to get drunk like he had every night the past week. He hoped the alcohol could erase his memory, make him forget what he had seen, but it didn't work. It only made the memories worse and brought nightmares where Valerie was tied to a pole whipped by a large man, drenched in sweat, watching her beautiful body squirm under the lashing.
He took a drink and sank into his chair, feeling helpless and lost.
He had almost blown it. He had stood outside of Valerie's room, pounding on the door, swiping his hand across the sensor, but the door wouldn't open. The guards, with their grafted muscles and surgically altered beastlike faces, had come. He saw them coming, ready to grab him and throw him from the parlor, probably banning him for life. He gathered his emotions and told them that he thought he left his data stick in the room, but found it in his coat pocket. He begged forgiveness, looking into two pairs of eyes, both with permanent contacts, one pair red and the other yellow, and then walked out of the parlor.
Now he sat at home worrying about what was happening to her, who was beating her. He couldn't protect her. He couldn't rescue her. That parlor was a fortress and he couldn't get her out.
He heard an incessant noise, a high-pitched beeping coming from his personal cellular phone. He didn't want to answer it, didn't want to talk to anybody. He just wanted to sit and wallow in his misery. The noise wouldn't stop, drilling into his brain, driving him mad, and he stomped across the room and plucked the phone off the counter.
"What?" he yelled into the phone.
"Mr. Taylor?" a voice crackled over the line, barely understandable.
"What?" he yelled again, falling back into his chair.
"I need your help," the voice said, hysterical, choking on tears.
"I can't help you," Taylor said and started to close his phone.
"It's Kit from Imad's Parlor."
Taylor held the phone to his ear, listening intently.
-
Imad sat at his console in the main control room, surrounded by monitors, each connected to a camera in the various rooms of his parlor. He was plugged in so he could hear the sound from each scene just by glancing at that monitor. Behind his electro-optic lenses his eyes jerked from one monitor to another, watching everything in his parlor, missing nothing.
His eyes were getting tired and a headache was threatening to blossom at his temples. He knew he should take a break, but he didn't want to. He didn't like to leave the control room unless he had to. He slept there, ate there, practically lived there, leaving only to take care of business or satisfy his own desires.
He rested his gaze on a particular monitor, instantly feeling his lust awaken in his gut like a stirring beast. He pulled the straps loose at his crotch to allow his gigantic cock to expand freely. He didn't want to rip a hole in his pants again.
He looked at Valerie laying bent forward over a plastic rack, her ass pointed high in the air, her ankles bound to straps at the feet of the rack, her body folded in half with her wrists bound with straps almost as far down as her ankles. Her white skin glistened with sweat. Her long, blonde hair hung to the floor as she lifted her head, her mouth shaped in a large O, whining and screaming in ecstasy as some skinny jack-boy pounded at her ass, sliding his thin, long cock in and out of her anus. The shiny metal apertures along his spine and arms glistened. Imad could see a thin, plastic tube jacked into a port at the base of his skull and connected at the other end to a valve and plunger in the jack-boy's hand so that he could push more of the eroto-hallucinogenic drug into his nervous system.
Imad watched Valerie's body move as the jack-boy thrust into her. She was his most prized puppet, a rare puppet with her light skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes. He could charge customers outrageous prices for time with her and it seemed most of them spent that time trying to ruin that which made her so special, lashing out at her aura of purity. That her mind had not cracked yet was a miracle. She was very strong mentally.
Her head snapped forward as the jack-boy thrust into her one more time, ejaculating inside of her.
Imad tapped a button on his armrest and his vision faded away to darkness and then the crude blocks and landscape of his network came into focus as he plugged into his system. He wandered through the blocks of code representing his various puppets, his system programs, security, communication relays, and data stores. He found Valerie's program block and swept his hand through it, watching the code open around him.
He studied her puppet code, seeing she had only ten minutes left in stasis, and increased the time by another hour. He downloaded the adjusted code to her puppet chip through the wireless access point and unplugged.
Back in his control room on the monitor he could see the jack-boy dressing, muttering endearing curses at Valerie whose anus was leaking his spunk. She thanked him for treating her rough and begged him to come back again. The jack-boy smacked her ass hard, making her squeal in delight, and then left the room.
