Chapter 4: Day off
The day dawned with a soft, artificial pink glow that seeped through the room’s filters. No buzzer jolted them awake. No schedule chimed. Just the heavy, satin silence of a day without demands. Lucia lay still, her body a tapestry of tender echoes. The deep ache in her ass was a comforting throb, a permanent reminder of Valeria’s ownership. She stretched, feeling the pull in her toned, softer limbs.
Sasha was already awake, perched at the vanity and meticulously separating individual false lashes with a tiny brush. “You were talking in your sleep,” she said, not looking away from the mirror. “You said ‘thank you, Mistress’ like, five times. It was adorable.”
Lucia felt a blush warm her cheeks—a new, frequent sensation since the hormones. She pushed herself up, the sheets pooling at her waist. “I don’t remember.”
“You never do. It means the hypno is, like, really deep in there now.” Sasha finally turned, her glossy lips curving into a smile. “Wanna make out?”
The question was casual, like asking for a sip of water. It was part of their training, too: desensitization to intimacy with other bimbos, forging bonds that replaced old-world attachments. Lucia nodded, sliding out of bed. She felt exposed without her plug; the emptiness was a quiet yearning.
They met in the middle of the plush carpet. Sasha’s hands came up to cradle Lucia’s face, her touch practiced. Her lip gloss tasted like synthetic cherries. The kiss started slow, closed-mouthed, a soft press of slickness. Then Sasha’s tongue flicked out, and Lucia opened for her. It was wet, lazy, deeper than friendship but devoid of romantic heat. It was about sensation, about the slide of tongue against tongue, the sharing of flavor. Lucia’s hands found Sasha’s waist, feeling the hard curve of her corset beneath her silk teddy.
“Mmm, your mouth is so good,” Sasha murmured against her lips, her breath a candy-sweet puff. “Totally gonna do your makeup today. Make you extra pretty for nobody.”
They broke apart, giggling. The morning slipped into a comfortable, vacant rhythm. They shared the vanity, Sasha lecturing on the “angelic whore” contour technique—heavy blush high on the cheeks, overlined lips in a sticky gloss that made them look perpetually swollen and kissable. Lucia practiced, her strokes becoming confident, blending the edges until her face was a perfect mask of innocent invitation.
“So, like, I heard from Tammy—she’s in Pod C—that Mistress is getting a new shipment of clients next week,” Sasha gossiped, dabbing glitter onto Lucia’s eyelids. “Real men. Investors. They get to, like, walk through and pick favorites for demonstrations.”
A twinge, sharp and sudden, moved in Lucia’s gut. Fear? Anticipation? It was hard to separate the wires anymore. “Pick favorites?”
“Yeah! It’s, like, a huge honor. Means you’re progressing. Might even get to service one for real.” Sasha’s eyes went dreamy. “I got picked once. He came on my tits and called me a useless set of holes. It was, like, the best day ever.”
Lucia absorbed this. The idea of being chosen, appraised, and used by a stranger should have been terrifying. Instead, her caged clit gave a feeble throb, and her empty ass clenched. She saw the look in Mistress Valeria’s eyes. Your purpose is to be used.
“Stop thinking so hard, you’re getting forehead wrinkles,” Sasha chided, smoothing her thumb between Lucia’s brows. “Here. Practice makes perfect.”
She produced two dildos from a drawer—not the training ones, but shorter, curved, vibrantly colored “play” models. She handed the purple one to Lucia, keeping the neon green for herself. They sat facing each other on the velvet chaise, legs spread.
“The trick is in the wrist,” Sasha said, flicking her own toy on. It buzzed to life, a low hum. She pressed the tip against her glossy, inflated lower lip, smearing it with lipstick before taking it into her mouth, sucking with exaggerated, hollowed cheeks. “See? Show enthusiasm even when it’s just plastic.”
Lucia followed suit, the silicone tapping against her teeth before she enveloped it. The taste was bland, rubbery. But the act was calming, meditative. They sucked in unison, the vulgar humming filling the room, their eyes locked in a shared, blank understanding. This was their communion. After a while, Sasha’s eyes gleamed with a new idea.
“Okay, switch. Let me see that hungry little ass of yours. Turn around.”
Lucia’s heart skittered. She obeyed, getting on her hands and knees on the chaise, presenting herself. The cool air touched her exposed hole. She heard the click of a lube bottle.
“You’re still so puffy from last night,” Sasha cooed, a slick finger circling the tender rim. Lucia flinched, then pushed back. “Mistress really wrecked you. Good.”
The finger pushed in, not far, just knuckle-deep, twisting gently. Then it was gone, replaced by the blunt, buzzing head of the green dildo. Sasha didn’t ram it. She worked it in slowly, stretching Lucia anew, the vibration traveling up into her bowels. A low moan dripped from Lucia’s mouth.
“See? Toys are fun,” Sasha said, her voice chipper. She began a gentle in-and-out, a shallow fuck that lit up every nerve Valeria had brutalized. “Your turn. Do me.”
Lucia, her own dildo still hanging from her lips, turned her head. Sasha had assumed the same position beside her, her enormous ass in the air, her pink cage a tiny jewel between her thighs. Lucia spat out her toy. With a reverence that felt innate, she took the bottle, poured lube, and pressed her thumb against Sasha’s perfect, hairless rosebud. It yielded easily, sucking her digit in. The intimacy was profound. This wasn’t about dominance. It was about shared degradation, a mutual exploration of their only purpose.
She replaced her thumb with the purple dildo, fucking Sasha with the same gentle rhythm. They created a clumsy, four-legged circuit of mutual penetration, their moans harmonizing, the chaise creaking beneath them. The air grew thick with the scent of synthetic strawberry lube and sweat.
Afterwards, spent and slick, they lay tangled on the floor. Sasha traced a finger over Lucia’s cage. “Wanna learn plapping?”
“What’s plapping?”
“You’ll love it. It’s, like, a punishment game that feels super good.” Sasha scrambled up and retrieved a medium-sized, flesh-colored dildo from the drawer. It was softer, slapper. “Okay, so you just, like, hold your cage and balls—gently!—and you slap this against them. Really fast. It’s dumb and it hurts but then it gets all tingly and you feel like a stupid, desperate bitch. It’s the best.”
Lucia, foggy with arousal, took the dildo. She cupped her own fragile, caged package, the metal cool against her palm. Tentatively, she swung the dildo, slapping the soft head against the pink bars and the tender flesh beneath.
Thwack.
A sharp, bright pain flared. She gasped.
“Again! Faster!” Sasha encouraged, clapping her hands.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwap.
Lucia sped up, the silicone beating a rapid, staccato rhythm against her denied sex. The pain was immediate, incendiary. But beneath it, a strange, diffuse heat began to spread through her pelvis, a submissive euphoria that fed on the humiliation of the act. She was slapping her own useless cock with a fake cock. The symbolism was so blunt, so degrading, that it bypassed her mind and went straight to her core. Her breaths came in hitches. Her blows became frantic, less controlled.
“Yeah! That’s it! You’re such a plappy little sissy!” Sasha squealed.
The pain blurred, melting into a buzzing, frustrating stimulation that had nowhere to go. Pre-cum leaked in clear droplets from her cage’s tip, smearing the dildo with each slap. She was a mess, a panting, red-faced creature reduced to a rhythmic, self-inflicted degradation. A choked sob escaped her, part agony, part overwhelming release. She didn’t stop until her arm burned and the sensation crested into a weak, shuddering plateau that left her dizzy.
She dropped the dildo, her hand trembling. Sasha gathered her into a hug. “See? Told you. Now you’re, like, properly broken in.”
The afternoon faded into a haze of more gossip, more touching, trying on each other’s few frilly items. Lucia found herself mirroring Sasha’s cadence, the uptalk, the breathy giggles. It felt less like mimicry and more like her own voice finally emerging. The female persona wasn’t a coat she wore; it was her skin. Logan was a rumor, a ghost story about someone else.
As the artificial sky outside their window deepened to a twilight indigo, a firm knock echoed on the door. It wasn’t the gentle chime of a delivery bot. This was authoritarian.
Both girls froze, then scrambled to look presentable. Sasha opened the door.
Brick stood there, his massive frame filling the doorway. He held two large, clear pint glasses. Each was filled to the brim with a viscous, off-white fluid, slightly frothy on top. The familiar, pungent, salty smell filled the hallway.
“Compliments of the Academy,” he grunted, his voice devoid of inflection. “Nutrient supplement. Now.”
He thrust the glasses forward. Sasha took hers with a reverent little curtsy. “Thank you, Sir!”
Lucia took the other. The glass was cool. The contents were slightly warm, body-temperature. She could see faint, gelatinous strands swirling within it.
Brick stared until both glasses were in hand. “Drink. All of it. No wasting.” He remained, a sentinel of enforcement.
Sasha didn’t hesitate. She lifted the glass to her plumped lips, tipped it back, and began to swallow in large, steady gulps. Her throat worked. A small trickle escaped the corner of her mouth, dripping down onto her chest.
Lucia looked from Brick’s impassive face to Sasha’s dutiful one. The message was clear. This was part of it. The final, liquid communion. She brought the glass to her mouth. The odor was overpowering—musky, earthy, profoundly organic.
She took the first sip.
The taste flooded her mouth, thick and cloying, salty with a bitter aftertaste. She gagged, her eyes watering. Brick’s stare hardened.
“Swallow,” Sasha encouraged between her own gulps, her voice thick. “It’s good for you! Makes your hair shiny!”
Lucia closed her eyes. She thought of Valeria’s cock in her throat. She thought of her own place. This was just another form of consumption. Another way to be filled. She opened her throat and drank.
It was a struggle. Each mouthful coated her tongue, her palate. She had to fight her body’s instinct
to rebel. But the training held. She swallowed. The warmth spread down her esophagus, a tangible heat settling in her stomach. The second gulp was easier. The saltiness became more defined, the bitterness a familiar note, like the aftertaste of Valeria’s cock. She associated the flavor with the shocking pleasure of her sissygasm, with the feeling of being completely claimed.
Each gulp became better and better.
By the third, she wasn’t fighting. She was drinking. Her throat opened willingly. The thick fluid felt like a reward, a direct infusion of purpose. Sasha finished first, licking her lips with a giggle, a white mustache smeared above her mouth. Lucia kept going, tilting the glass higher, draining the last of it. She felt it slosh inside her, a heavy, nourishing load. A profound, warm satisfaction bloomed in her gut and radiated outward.
And by the end the training fully integrated the taste with pleasure in Lucia’s mind.
She lowered the empty glass, panting slightly. A line of cum clung to her chin. Sasha leaned over and licked it clean, her tongue soft and approving. Brick gave a single, curt nod and turned, his footsteps echoing away down the hall.
The door shut. Silence, but for their breathing.
Lucia felt at peace. The last frayed nerve of resistance dissolved in that warm, salty afterglow. She’s such a dumb bimbo slut and she loves it!
A giggle bubbled out of her, airy and unforced. “It kinda tastes good now.”
“Told you!” Sasha beamed, swaying where she stood. “It’s, like, brain food. Makes you happy.”
They stumbled to the shared bed, limbs loose and heavy. The world was soft at the edges. Lucia’s mind was quiet, a clean, sparkling void filled with simple sensory truths. The ache in her ass was good. The fullness in her belly was better. Being used, fucked, and cum in was like the best thing ever.
Sasha curled onto her side, her back to Lucia. Without a word, without even a conscious thought, Lucia nestled close behind her. The room’s pink glow painted Sasha’s skin in deep shadows. Her ass was a perfect, rounded mound. Lucia nuzzled against it, breathing in the clean scent of her skin mixed with the faint, lingering musk of their play. She kissed one cheek, then let her tongue trace a slow, wet path down the cleft.
Sasha sighed, a contented murmur. “Feels nice.”
Lucia’s tongue found the pucker, relaxed and slightly loose from their earlier play. She licked it with broad, flat strokes, tasting clean skin and a hint of flavored lube. It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t servicing. It was comforting, a lazy, intimate ritual. She probed gently with the tip of her tongue, feeling the ring give way, letting her own saliva slick the entrance. Sasha pushed back slightly, a silent invitation.
She and Sasha fall asleep together, Lucia casually licking Sasha’s asshole as they drift to sleep.
The rhythm of her tongue slowed, becoming a hypnotic, circular caress. Sasha’s breathing deepened into the steady cadence of sleep. Lucia’s own eyes grew heavy, her world narrowing to the soft skin under her mouth, the warm body against hers, the pleasant weight in her stomach. Each slow, lingering lick was a vow, a confirmation of her place. In the warm, perfumed dark, there were no more questions. There was only this: the taste, the peace, the empty, perfect bliss of surrender. Her tongue stilled, resting against her friend’s most private hole as consciousness finally, gently, slipped away.