Special thanks to HoneyLemonQ, a generous volunteer in Literotica.com's Volunteer Editors program, for editing this piece. All remaining errors and questionable stylistic choices are the sole responsibility of the author.
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On a sunny Saturday morning in the middle of July, I bustled around my tiny suburban home and got ready for my lunch date. Occasionally, I caught myself mid-stride, or even mid-skip, and reminded myself that it wasn't one -- not like
that.
Alicia was just a friend. Even though things were going well, the situation was obviously fraught. I was a Level Zero, and she was a Level One. We were to meet at our usual restaurant in the Zero zone where I lived and worked, and that meant that she would have to travel several miles from her apartment. Her trip would be taxing -- far more taxing than mine. I never forgot that, even as I forgot so easily that our lunches weren't date-dates.
We'd been friends in school. She'd made a terrible mistake. As soon as she'd been allowed back into society, I'd reached out. She'd been hesitant, obviously, but grateful that someone from her old life was so understanding. I was glad I hadn't waited. That one decision -- to reach out immediately -- would probably be the difference between 'just friends' and 'something more,' someday. As I had every Saturday morning for the past several months, I hoped that 'someday' had finally arrived, and I just didn't know it yet.
After showering, brushing, and then rinsing with mouthwash one last time, I put together my wardrobe. In its own roundabout way, the State had radically simplified outfit selection. It hadn't intended to, but inspections were inspections; probes were probes. The skimpier the clothing, the quicker and easier it was to cooperate. The knock-on effect was that everyone had an extra incentive to stay fit. Everyone benefited. It was elegant serendipity.
First, obviously, I attached my chastity-slash-compliance device and turned it on. Even though I was only a little aroused from the thought of seeing Alicia again, I could sense the dulling and deadening effect it had on me -- first my clitoris, the point of attachment, and then everywhere else. The State well-understood that humans could eroticize any part of themselves. Strict control was necessary. Otherwise, the rewards of compliance wouldn't be as valuable.
The sensations were old hat, and I finished dressing while the rest of my body went sex-dead. I chose a combination microskirt-with-bikini-panties bottom, a skimpy white babydoll T-shirt with a built-in demi bra, and my best pair of transparent slip-on gel-shoes. I checked myself out in the mirror; I looked good. I grabbed a purse from the closet and made sure it had plenty of reusable wipes in it, plus the other usual necessities and vanities.
At the door, I lifted my identification-slash-compliance collar from its charging station, put it on, activated it, and took a deep breath. The outside world awaited.
Well, almost.
I opened the door, and stepped from my house -- a place of relative privacy for Level Zeroes -- into the attached State Inspection Vestibule. It was yet another privilege; it offered me privacy for my first inspection. I was actually thinking of stopping the payments on it. My neighbors were decent people. I lived in a decent neighborhood. I wasn't sure it was worth the credits just to avoid them occasionally getting the full show.
I didn't even wait for the friendly, not-quite-human voice to issue the order; I stepped out of my gel shoes, lifted my T-shirt above my modest breasts, and then slid the combination bottom down until it dropped the rest of the way.
I smiled a little when the machine hiccuped in its routine.
"....thank you for.... efficiency," was what the almost-human voice cobbled together. There were rumors that Elite and Leadership Zones had much better equipment -- even speech synthesis and improvisation, which didn't really matter at all. I found the hints of artificiality charming. They reminded me of those hapless, friendly robots from the old shows and movies who were just doing their best to help everybody out.
I set down my purse -- opened, of course -- assumed the position, opened my mouth, and let the State gain its satisfaction. It had to know I was fully compliant.
The red light was easy on my eyes, and more than enough for the probes to match my retinas to my collar. The machines were fairly deft, all things considered. A series of controlled pulses to my chastity device made my vagina lubricate. My perky ass cheeks were gently spread by cushioned appendages, giving the lapper, the stretcher, and finally the applicator the access they needed. Level Zero machines offer plenty of extra lube besides; I tried to focus on the positives, and not the fact that I always needed more of those wipes in my purse.
The vaginal probe was almost comfortable; it stopped right at my cervix and let another red light do the rest. I could admit to myself that I tolerated the anal probe better than most women. Until it reached very high and deep, the feelings of fullness were strangely satisfying. The oral-slash-stomach probe needed some help, but I was well-accustomed to its limitations. I shifted my jaw and neck around so that it could make it all the way down my esophagus.
The surface scan -- including my purse -- took only moments. The internal scan took longer. Finally, I heard the friendly voice again.
"Congratulations, citizen!" it exclaimed. "You were... cooperative, and are... compliant. Cooperation... and... compliance.... are... rewarded!"
I didn't have time to be amused by the patchwork praise. The State's probes, and my compliance devices, became part of a wondrous, greater whole. Over the course of fifteen seconds, I went from sex-dead to its exact opposite. Then, the State rewarded me. I orgasmed for however long -- ten, fifteen, twenty seconds? -- and the machines kept me upright the whole time. My hands went by instinct to my breasts, as they always did, because Level Zero vestibules didn't stimulate them. My beyond-horny body knew it couldn't miss the chance. It would be sex-dead again in less than a minute.
I suddenly remembered that I didn't merely tolerate anal attention, but fucking loved it. Double penetration -- even triple -- was a thrill. It was funny how quickly you could forget once the chastity device activated. Even the stomach probe did its part. Before it withdrew to my mouth, it squeezed out a low dose of the State's perfectly-safe pleasure drug, ensuring I'd have a nice little lift on my walk to the restaurant. I tightened my lips and tongue around the probe as it departed. It recognized the pressure, inflated to the size of a modest phallus, and gave me a dozen farewell thrusts. Thanks to my reward, they felt profoundly sexual. I was only slightly disappointed that it hadn't waited to squirt the drug until the end. I knew that getting it in my stomach was technically better, but beyond-horny Beth liked feeling a cock shooting off in her mouth. She liked a lot of things.
"Thank you, citizen!" the machine chirped. "You have... ninety seconds... before this inspection must be repeated."
I lost ten or fifteen seconds to recovery. Once I was sex-dead again, I grabbed my purse, got out the wipes, cleaned up, got dressed, and then hurried out of the vestibule. I was a pro; in fact, the process was more of a skillful juggling act than a straight sequence. The vestibule dinged green behind me, and I was sure I'd made it out with ten or more seconds to spare.
The sun was bright, and warm on my skin. The polarized, one-way covering of the vestibule had helped my eyes adjust a little already, as had the machine's red light. I blinked a few times, and appreciated the State's cleverness. Even though I was sex-dead, I felt great. The drug was starting to kick in, and I could feel the non-sexual pleasure of that almost-completely-natural warmth. The Level Zero dome, plus the global dome, ensured nobody got burned unless they lingered in the summer sun for hours at a time. The State assured us that we were experiencing an improved version of nature, and I believed it.
