30.Mar, 2020, v7
by KinkDept (2020)
SNEAK PEEK Expected release: April 2020 Illustrated Novel for the Shop
Welcome to Planet XX
1.OIL CHECKBree hoped naked on the table. Goosebumps rose all over her skin when her buttocks touched the heavy steel surface. She was about to place herself in the horizontal. Thick shackles, made out of steel, were mounted all over the human-sized bondage table. She placed one of her ankles in a lower half. The back of her leg pressed against its inside and its top came slowly down—the harder she pressed, the faster it came—until its rigid top touched her delicate ankle. It fit her size perfectly, and with a final click snapped shut with a grip. Its inside was thinly padded and felt way too good. She tried to do the same above her knee, but that turned out a little more difficult. Another click, metal touched on metal, and it traveled up her leg like an involuntary shudder: her first leg had become one with the heavy table; she had instantly tried to raise her knee, but couldn't. She wiggled her painted, petite toes playfully, exploring the firm grip on her rigid limb. She was getting impatient. Her groin felt already hot and almost too wet for comfort. She did the same to her other leg, and the rigid table held on to her with a cold and well-designed efficiency. No locks were visible, and surprisingly, the tense shackles left no room to shudder—tight and serious—just how she liked it. The firm grip of the steel shackles became even more constricting as if adapting and shrinking to her slender limbs. She bit her lip to keep what little composure she still had, before she'd lose it all and start rubbing her leaking crotch like a certified nymphomaniac! The table held her slim legs far enough apart to feel uncomfortable, same as her glistening, pink lips. Her pussy poked out with its dark, red arousal and was mildly reflected below on the shiny surface. She now felt open like a carnivorous plant—as if her flesh tunnel tried to lure something in. So far, she had held her weight up by her hands, but now lowered her naked butt on the cold hip-shaped cuff; it gave another swift snap. Its heavy grip held her whole pelvis snug and comfortably—her vagina wouldn't slip anywhere. It kept her body beautifully exposed to the juicy dildos in front and Bree had to stop biting her lip so hard. 'This is making me so wet!' Bree squealed in mental delight. Her swaying chest shivered, goosebumps tingled everywhere like invisible electricity was everywhere, and she lowered herself further on the flat steel surface. Maybe it was from the cold, enchanting touch, or just from sheer naughty anticipation, but she could never quite explain this magical sensation to her girlfriend Jeannie. Two wide cuffs for her naked torso, one above and one below her curvy breasts, came lower on their own, it seemed, and more cold metal grabbed her bare skin. As Bree gave up more control over herself, her big slave tits parted and slid sideways on her petite ribcage. Her protruding nipples didn't just look rock-hard, they felt ripe, red, and ready to be squeezed. Bree seemed tormented by something invisible. Charged-up, she was barely able to contain her pulsing arousal on top of the steel structure; it was designed for slaves, real slaves! Her hips and legs were stiff as steel—rigid—and when the last cuff just below her breasts snapped shut, her two new best friends on top could barely jiggle. It turned out to be a tight fit for her slender torso, but it felt oh-so-good! The weeks it took to repair this metal chamber had been worth the trouble in pure, liquid pleasure. When she began placing her left hand in the two waiting arm shackles on her side, she became a bit anxious. It was the excitement of the unknown, of giving herself up to the machine. Her hand touched the cold, smooth surface and with a light push—clicked twice—once above her elbow and once around her thin wrist. The thick slave shackles held on to her with the same loving care as the rest of her naked body was embraced with. The final step, before the program could start, approached. 'Why the hell not,' Bree thought, and she pressed her other hand down in the same waiting shackles. A cold touch on her wrist and upper arm, more pressure, and it clicked. Amused, she tried to wriggle, but both her arms lay stiff and immobilized. Bree was trapped. All her four limbs couldn't move. She would remain helpless like that for the next two hours, right in front of the thick pistons—and—they ended in a fully-automated fucking-machine. The naked slave girl (or, so she fantasized) struggled to get free again and was firmly reminded that her ass—and twitching pussy—would be going nowhere. The idle dildos between her legs loomed over her and their presence became impossible to ignore. She was suddenly aware of an odd sensation as her bald crotch lay so open. Her wet entrance ached for something to consume, to grab on to, to absorb! Naturally, she began to wriggle for the fun of it—and it was an intimate reminder of what a helpless human being she had become. Yet nothing happened—no beeping, pumping, or humping. 'Why not?' Bree thought, half-annoyed, half-aroused, and seemingly hazy with a constricting vision. When her neck muscles began to ache, she let her head sink back, and, there in the back (and even with her blonde hair tied in a practical ponytail) she promptly found the reason. The final head cuff lay open. If closed, it would hold her by the forehead and she'd only be able to look right into the bright ceiling lights. She wouldn't be able to notice what the machine was up to between her legs. What if the machine, with its antique programming, wouldn't find her petite entrance? It'd get very painful, very quickly! But the diagnostics had given a green 'GO'. It was just her nervousness talking. The whole massive computer filled out half the metal chamber and it had the intellect of a human, and in some areas, even outpaced it with plenty of subroutines that would make sure to keep her fragile form from any real harm. And like turning on a basic vibrator, she trusted the ancient pleasure machine to do its damn job—and her bidding! Bree's entire naked being felt bolted to the smooth surface. The sturdy restraints had an elaborate efficiency to it. Her week-long horniness (even though she had masturbated plentiful) had definitely won the battle—but now she couldn't get to it—her flushed (and flustered) pussy! Restrained by so much steel, and horribly charged-up, Bree tried to flex her hands again, somehow trying to reach her tightening, red-hot snatch. She needed to feel that fucking-machine right now—inside her—and she couldn't wait a second longer in this moist, terrible state of hers. She pressed her head against the still open head cuff, another piercing click, and her skull had become one with the heavy steel of the table; her sweating body lay naked and trapped. She couldn't turn her head any longer, trying to see what was happening down there. Her entire body was efficiently clamped down, exposed, and offered to the machine goddess—her Mistress. Bree's submissive heart raced, and she trembled with a little too much excitement! It was just as she had imagined. The blinding exam light from above had become inescapable. An electric whir emerged from between her stiff legs. Her mouth was dry and her head tried to jerk up—but couldn't. She couldn't see what was happening—what the machine was about to do to her. Naked and helpless, Bree felt exhilarated. She jerked and fought with all her limbs against the hard steel. Just like a real slave from the days of old, she was offered to the computer's programming. Now, she was truly fucked (and would be, hopefully soon)! She imagined having woken up inside this Slave-Unit and a Mistress of old had somehow captured her and she was scheduled for her first round of slave-breaking. 'We'll have a lot of fun together,' Bree thought. But the machine's program didn't activate. More frustration manifested itself in her stomach. And right after, a tense vulnerability washed over her. She twitched naked on the table, then heard something like a beeping, an error? Her head tried to jerk towards its origin: the console to her left. Bree's excitement couldn't take any more delays! Not after repairing and tinkering inside its ancient, dirty innards for so long. She could only see bright, blinding lights from above. A robotic steel tube extended from the same place and approached her. Its end looked like an optical attachment of some sort. A moment later—and in the blink of an eye—a burning sting erupted just above her shaved pubis. Smoke was rising. Bree struggled and twisted, yet her body barely twitched on the table. It was no use, not in her current state. Her eyes danced in her sockets, trying to see anything! Her hypercharged brain jumped through hundreds of pages of documentation. In the past, she had studied this kinky machine of old like the exam of her life, and her brain tried to find the function's smoking purpose. The sharp, stingy pain was almost gone again. Not the kind of touch her horny kitten needed while remaining so wet and unused. Crap, now she knew: she had forgotten about the identification module, a crude scanning option that read a slave's genital barcode—instead of her facial features. It smelled like lasered, burned skin, her skin, like humiliation—and Bree felt a bit silly as she struggled against the steel. The skin above her pussy, her mound, tingled with a raw discomfort. She had been branded. She just hoped her slave-barcode wouldn't be too prominent? Yet, it had been less painful than she had imagined, and she had viciously fantasized about the whole slave processing thing a good deal, wicked as the thoughts were in the dirty little brain of hers. The treatment and processing of new slave girls, the whole bureaucratic enslavement within the Empire, retained at least for Bree (and surely for a few other freedwomen), a profound, erotic fascination. Within the dreary bowels of the Department of Slavery, a vast government machinery kept the whole economy of the planet running, constantly churning out freshly collared slaves for the Empire's industrious economy. Its hydro-cultures, offices, rare-earth mines, milk-farms, obedient domestics, sex and entertainment industries, and a hundred more humiliating roles required cheap slave chattel—owned livestock, subhumans- A wet, cold dildo pushed against Bree's crotch—gentle and patient—and entered her without effort. Bree, the slave girl, jerked playfully on the table, and her whole body tensed in disbelief; it all felt much too good, much better than she had masturbated about. She was stuck, and the helplessness that suddenly jolted her brain, drove her—for a split-second—utterly mad with a wicked pleasure. It was that magic moment when she had lost control over the situation. The long, cold thing pushed its slippery girth all the way inside her, pressing and stretching her petite pussy apart. When it had stopped impaling her, she took in a sharp breath. Its slow force seemed unstoppable. Luckily, there wasn't any real danger. She trusted the Slave-Unit's programming like that of any other common device or robot in her household. Still, she held on to the ancient fantasy and imagined a stern Mistress taking a hold of her, and the machine was about to break her within its sterile steel chamber. Any of the more serious slave-breaking features though, required her specific consent—and that was the brutal state of affairs: Bree had to beg for them, do it to herself, consciously, without regretting it halfway through once she was stuck in one of the more serious routines—breaking, fucking, and denying her. Ultimately, conditioning her like someone's subhuman, broken, and willing toy. There wasn't even any room left to squirm within the table's restraints, and that cold realization involuntarily heightened her pulse. Her heart was pounding in her ears and she reached another level of surrender. A jolt ran through her, a hot, submissive excitement, and one she never could've quite satisfied on her own—until now. She knew the thing was built for serious use—just as she had hoped. Still, she used it in safe mode, without its teeth, and for the first test run it seemed the smart idea. The slow penetration didn't wait for her response, or her readiness. With one smooth motion it filled out her whole vagina, and Bree had trouble keeping those happy little moans inside her mouth any longer. With her body quivering, the dildo slid out again with the same snail's pace. Was it broken? The motor's electric whirrs sounded old, but reasonably within margin. Again, the wet culprit pushed inside her, her body jerked, and it spread her clenched muscles apart with an impossible, hydraulic strength. Bree gasped from the intense, internal (and for her) totally new sensation. It had a strength she could not resist. Now she really had a reason to jerk! The whole mind game of being trained like a fucktoy tickled her submissive tendencies beyond a doubt. Real slaves had been broken in this room before her, right on this table, right in her spot. And the same machine held on to her and could do with her as it pleased. She couldn't make it stop, even if she wanted to. Bree clenched her vagina, but it slipped—pushed past her resistance—and traveled deep. The slow tantalizing rhythm ignored her egoistical needs. Her little gasps for more fell on deaf ears within its heartless circuits. She was trapped. And Bree became desperate from the detached treatment; she had picked a low setting, just to be safe. Her pussy felt like leaking uncontrollably, or was it the lubricant? Her crack felt drenched. Over and over she clenched her muscles around the bulky intruder, desperate for more, each time not wanting to let go again. Its intimate touch felt too good. But each time it would slip out again of her weak, biological form with a humiliating slurp. The machine seemed to have no regard for her carnal needs, and that caused an automatic, vicious cycle for more—much more! This authoritarian tease went on for a long, impossible time. Her body was hot and sweaty, and her steel cuffs as tight as ever. Now Bree had hit that sweet spot, that spot where she began to fight for real against the heavy restraints, against the steel that held her so docile and willingly in place. As the machine fucked her, she pulled and twisted in her horizontal predicament with all her strength. Her tender, human body seemed no match against rigid steel—bolted to the metal frame—she could not escape its penetrating pole. After what felt like an hour (at least), she had to admit her mistake: Yes, she wanted it, but, it wasn't enough! She wanted to cum, she had to cum! Again, the machine pushed agonizingly past her resistance, pushed inside her more than ready pussy, but her restrained hips couldn't jerk any more sensation out of its impaling program. Each time, her tormentor would go as deep and slow as it pleased. Right then, she truly felt like the program's slave. For the time being, it had made her its two-hour-long captive and she was inadvertently buckled up for the ride. She grew worried about a few things. What if it wouldn't release her again? What if it would hit her really too deep; what if it fucked her cervix? That hydraulic power would push right through her and further. She couldn't see the clock with her head shackle, and each slow, tormenting thrust reached the same exciting depth in her subdued body as before; it was precision work. Each time, she clenched on to its stunning size, each time she would lose the battle and let it slip out again of her drenched, needy hole. It treated her with the cold impassivity of a machine, and she had struggled herself sweaty and exhausted over the last hour. Bree's desperate fingers couldn't reach anything on the steel table, no buttons, no clasps, and her head was firmly clamped down and pointed at the dull ceiling. 'What would the terminal say?' she wondered with a sexual hyperactivity; another penetration broke her concentration. She felt a scary mix of excitement and desperation. Somehow, and in the sterility of this room, she felt oddly detached from the pounding. Outside, in her living room, not much time had passed. No buzzing sound, no gasping, screaming or moaning had escaped the Unit's sound-proofed confinement. Her little house robot, Blipp, used the opportunity to vacuum the whole place back to its immaculate state, just as its programming demanded. Through the thick windows, Bree's restrained body could be faintly seen as it twitched against the glistening piston, disappearing over and over between her tensing legs. (Image placeholder, 'Blipp') Subdued like an uncooperative slave, her nude shape was writhing against the table's cruel intentions and its attachment disappeared again and again inside her body. Then, it slowly emerged again, coated with a clear, shiny lubricant, and a white, milky liquid of her own had involuntary mixed itself in. Bree felt desperately close to begging. She struggled against the mind-blowing horniness every second. Each deep thrust drove her a little closer, more deranged and light-headed. When it slipped out again, it waited, and her looming orgasm ebbed away—again. And she finally realized: the machine had aligned itself perfectly to her vaginal canal; the dildo's auto-lubrication worked satisfactory (not that she needed it) and everything worked nominally, even after a hundred years of lifelessness, and Bree felt a bit prouder of herself while it fucked her into a hissy fit. She was its first human occupant, its next slave girl, after a long idle time. She could experience its forceful touch for the first time after a long inoperative hibernation. In Bree's naughty mind that was a holy blessing, like being touched by the Goddess herself (but that was blasphemous talk). Is that how slave girls of old had felt—nailed down and fucked—right at this spot? The same blinding desperation, enforced by the machine, commanded by its Mistress? It owned her now. If she had any control left, she would have long ago given up and pushed herself over the blissful edge of an almost painful release. But she was forced to endure, to wait, to show a perverse patience. She had to cum, she needed to, she had to explode! Another impossibly slow thrust pushed in her wet slit, spread her aching hole, and forced another pleading jerk out of her body. If she wasn't mistaken, it began to change its rhythm. The sly dildo began to drive her towards a crazed sensation, a few pitiful sobs echoed but were stifled by the small chamber. Its rhythmic penetrations sped up. If only it brushed over her swollen clit, just once? Previously, any intimate touch of a dildo had driven her nuts, made her succumb to its fullness, and she would always end up circling her engorged, needy clit to reach its obvious explosion! She didn't know if she could even cum from a dildo alone. She bit her lip in bittersweet frustration. It was a sudden and horrible thought. Not two minutes later, and the in-sensitive dildo was ramming inside her body like a well-oiled, machine-driven piston that could as well have teared down a cement wall. It fucked her with the punching power of a superhuman robot, never stopping! Was it trying to pound her into a soft pulp? She was screaming, wasn't she? The electric crackling of the heavy motor vibrated through the solid table, and Bree had to helplessly listen to the smacking sounds her wet orifice made below. It tore at her, fucked her pussy into a sorry state—never-slowing, never-tiring. It could go on for minutes, hours... days? If no one flipped the switch—it could. Without the hip shackle keeping her bolted in place, she would've lifted off! Bree screamed and shook against the impossible pleasure. Her voice reverberated inside the small, torturous chamber. It ripped right through her shuddering contractions, hit her core, and hammered her body without regard. She sounded defeated, whimpering, not in control over her orgasm any longer. A suffocating tightness emanated from the room. She felt trapped inside its brutal innards. The program finally fucked her all along like she had begged it at the very beginning (but nor would it stop now). It seemed like it took up speed, becoming more than intense, then scary. Her helpless hands tried to find the off-switch, a button, anything—to tone down the roaring monster tearing at her body, stuffing her screaming pussy shut. It was like being embraced by a bouncing, out-of-control washing machine. But one that had a fierce rage saved up for her depraved, sexual hunger, and with a life and will of its own. Now even her huge tits shook from the onslaught. Trembles rocked through her chest, and so did her shrill voice. It became hard to think. It wouldn't let her cool down. She was ready to relax, to savor the moment, and she jerked and moaned against the machine's deep reach into her core. Another inescapable contraction seemed to swell up in her groin. She wanted to pinch her thick, ripe nipples, but couldn't even see them. Her eyes tried like mad—detached and rolling in their sockets—to find any kind of escape. If she could just pinch her pleasure knobs she'd explode with the same rage as she was being pumped up with! Suddenly pushed over the abyss again, her stomach lurched like falling. It hammered her pussy right along—her body exploded—and intolerable contractions ripped through her muscles like cramping, shrill pain. Her delicate mind was blinded by a white explosion, her vision blank and empty, but her artificial intruder didn't seem to care about her.
Expected release: April 2020 Status: Length: 200.000 words (previewed: 2%) 3rd and final rewrite: 100% Artwork: 80%