It was Processing Day. It was the day any freedoms Lara had would end - forever.
She was terrified. She remembered waking up, lying in bed, looking at the ceiling: too scared to move, to think. Her last moments of freedom were slipping away, and she couldn’t bring herself to do anything with them. What would they do to her? What would she be? She had seen the girls, the slaves, those chosen for processing. Chairs filled places of luxury across the Queendom, with women sitting on the latex and leather covered bodies of girls. Hell, she’d sat in one once - a friend’s mother had bought a used chair just so their family could get used to it. It was soft. Lara remembered sitting on the girl’s pressed thighs, feeling the latex squeak underneath her, the give in the girl’s flesh until Lara’s weight rested on her bones.
Lara couldn’t help but take pity on this girl, dehumanized and objectified. Her arms had been amputated long ago, parts of her removed or changed at her owners’ will. And now she had been sold - and bought again, like the furniture she was. Lara couldn’t help but think it was wrong, even though she’d grown up understanding it as a fundamental right, an essential part of the class society of the Queendom. Lara had reached against the back, felt the thin latex for a nipple ring, twisted it as much as she could. She hoped she could give the chair some contact, some human touch, for the first time in who knows how long. As she twisted, Lara swore she could hear a moan from the featureless, bound head.
Lara snapped out of her reverie, her stomach growling. The letter telling her she had been selected for processing was simple boilerplate: by lottery, you have been selected for processing into an object for the use of your betters. Below, find instructions for how to care for your body in preparation for the procedures you will undergo.’
They had had her on thin diet shakes for the past month. No other food, no drinks besides water. Not even the shakes for the past forty-eight hours. And now here she sat, in the clinic waiting room, holding that letter that decided her fate. It was huge, rows upon rows of metal chairs, the only other features a large entrance and a set of processing doors, marked 1 to 20 in bold blue letters. Even at five in the morning, hundreds of them were full. Processing never stopped: there were always more appetites among the privileged.
Above her, a loudspeaker rang out, echoing around the large room. “Lara Baines, report to preparation room 13. Lara Baines, report to preparation room 13.” That was her name: it was time. Lara picked up the letter and walked across the large room. She could feel other women and men following her, watching her. They were glad they were saved, given just one more minute.
The door to room 13 was blank of any detail, just a solid metal door painted white, with a single metal handle. Lara pushed the handle inward, stepping into an antiseptic corridor. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all the same pale medical green, pierced only by drains and small fluorescent lights every few feet. Behind Lara, the door clicked closed. There was no handle on this side: she could not go back.
At the end of the corridor was a brightly lit room, and Lara walked towards it. Inside was another large room: an operating theater, with a large surgical table and a gynecologist’s chair. There were three women there, all dressed in latex nurse outfits: the only kind Lara had ever known. The tallest, a brunette, held out one gloved hand. “Letter.” Lara handed it over, wordlessly, as the shortest of the women approached with a pair of surgical scissors. She was blonde, and she plucked at the shoulder of Lara’s shirt, beginning to cut.
Blonde said, “Won’t be needing this any more.” The last of the women, the prettiest, was a redhead. Redhead was patting the chair: “Sit here, girl.” As Blonde cut away Lara’s clothing, Lara couldn’t help but shiver. It was cold in here, and as her shirt fell away in tatters, Lara’s nipples were hard. When Blonde tore off her skirt and cut away at her thong, Lara instinctively reached down to cover her vagina. Blonde slapped her hand away, fiercely, leaving a stinging welt. “Don’t do that.”
Lara nodded, dully. She was distracted: underneath the surgical table she could see a drain, and the faint tinge of rust red around it. Did they perform amputations here? Were they going to take her arms? She looked around the room in alarm. There were uncountable cabinets, shelves, displays. One glass cabinet included silicone implants: breast implants ranging from small to large, shaped ass implants, and stranger things yet.
Redhead took control of her next, pulling on Lara’s hair to get her to move. Lara cried in pain, but the nurse was relentless, pulling her along until the girl collapsed into the gynecological chair. Redhead lifted Lara’s legs into the stirrups, tightening restraints over her knees. Next to the chair was a large pot of lubricant, and Redhead dipped her hand in, her glove coming out glistening. She reached between Lara’s legs, her fingers feeling the lips of her cunt, spreading Lara open, plunging into her vagina, covering her in lubricant.
Redhead dipped her hand in the lubricant once more, and Lara tensed, knowing what would happen next. The first of the nurse’s fingers traced around Lara’s asshole, feeling the edge and leaning into her hole. Against the lubed finger, Lara was helpless, and eventually Redhead’s finger slipped in, plunging into the girl’s depths. Lara had had anal sex before - her girlfriend, with a strap-on, exploring each others’ bodies - but nothing like Redhead’s cool, practiced touch. This was just business to the nurse, nothing erotic.
Suddenly, a second finger joined the first, and then a third. Lara was stuffed full, a dull pain in her ass, the fingers pulling her as open as she had ever been. She could feel her ass trying to push out the intruder, force it out, feel safe once again. But in the pit of Lara’s stomach, she knew she would never be empty again. Lara’s reverie was punctuated by an even sharper pain: a fourth finger entering her ass, Redhead’s hand beginning to slip in. Lara couldn’t help but cry in pain as Redhead’s thumb slipped in, and soon the nurse was fisting her.
Redhead’s fisting was calm and practiced: she moved her hand in and out, testing Lara’s flexibility, before pulling her hand back out of Lara’s ass with a wet pop. Immediately, something else filled Lara’s ass, cool and hard: a large butt plug, as thick around as Redhead’s fist, with ridges and rough parts that ground against Lara’s rim. As Redhead turned from Lara to wash her gloves, Blonde approached with another implement. Lara could see it now, a huge metal dildo as thick as the plug in her ass, hollow, with ribbed sides and plastic mesh stretched across it. There were wires snaking down from the inside…could that dildo electrocute her from the inside?
Blonde dipped the dildo in the jar of lubricant, giving it a perfunctory shake before turning to Lara. “Relax, girl. This won’t hurt.” The nurse’s words did little to settle Lara, and Blonde had to grab hold of Lara’s labia, spreading them with two fingers while her other hand worked the dildo into Lara’s vagina. It was cold, colder than the butt plug, and Lara tensed, her cunt clenching the dildo, pulling it in tighter. “Good girl,” Blonde said, patting her on the head. “They should have set by now.”
"What?" Lara screamed, realizing the gravity of her modifications. Brunette, over on the other side of the room, wheeled around, holding something in her hands. "If you don’t calm down, we will anesthetize you and perform the procedures that way. It’s up to you, girl." Lara meekly, silently nodded, sure she could feel her inner surfaces melting as the lubricant - was it cement? - permanently bound the two intruders to her body. Forever.
Brunette walked towards Lara, her heels clicking on the cold tile floor. Lara could see the object in her hands: a metal chastity belt, with a plate to run between her legs and two interlocking half-circles to go around her waist. To Lara’s left, Blonde pulled some lever, and suddenly the bottom of the gynecology chair fell away, leaving Lara’s hips bucking in mid air. Brunette lightly slapped Lara’s thigh, stilling the girl, and began to work the chastity belt around her.
There were grooves in the plate for the implements in Lara’s holes, and as Brunette moved the plate between Lara’s legs, the hollow ends of Lara’s plugs clicked into place. Brunette massaged Lara’s hips, turning her slightly to and so, the cool metal encircling Lara’s waist. With the click of metal on metal, Brunette fit the buckles of the chastity belt together, deftly fastening the plates with small padlocks. Lara didn’t know if the belt was adhered to her skin like the plugs had been, but she was certainly unable to remove it.
Brunette leaned back, smiling brightly. “Step One complete!” Lara noticed that the nurses were putting on medical visors, as Blonde pulled the levers at the side of the chair again. In a moment, the seat of the chair had swung back into position, and the chair’s back had lowered so Lara was parallel to the floor. Brunette gave the chair a rotation, and returned to the far side of the operating theatre.
Redhead was there now, her gloved hands holding leather straps. She tied Lara’s head against the chair, immobilizing her, and then picked up another tool. Lara almost began to cry as she saw Redhead check the ink in the tattoo gun, and replace the needle. Redhead’s warning was sharp and swift: “Keep your eyes closed, girl.”
It was a line of fire, tracing back and forth across her left eyelid. A light purple permanent eyeshadow being driven into her eyelids, marking her forever. Lara could not even cry, so intense was the pain, as Redhead seemed to sadistically luxuriate in her work. The pain seemed to go on forever, the line incredibly small with such a large canvas. And just when Lara thought she might be done, Redhead began to repeat the procedure over her right eyelid…
"Two." stated Redhead, replacing the tattoo gun in the instrument tray and stepping aside. Again Blonde pulled at the levers, raising Lara to a sitting position once more. Brunette returned from across the room, a shapeless mass of latex in her hands.
Redhead undid the straps around Lara’s head, while Brunette dipped two small rubber tubes into the jar of lubricant. Redhead tipped Lara’s head back, and Brunette fitted the tubes into Lara’s nostrils, thick pieces of rubber entering her sinuses. “Breathing tubes,” said Brunette.
The lubricant - the glue - smelled like fresh tar, and Lara felt incredible pain again as it melted the sensitive skin inside her nose, permanently bonding it with the rubber. Lara gasped for air through her mouth, but Brunette was ready, shoving her jaw up and holding the latex against her mouth. Lara was left with no choice but to breathe through her burning nose. Still, the tubes were good for that at least, and despite the stink of the lubricant and the rubber - something that she would always smell now - Lara could take in fresh air. A blessing versus everything else going on around her.
Brunette passed the mass of latex down over the top of her head, stopping when it pooled around Lara’s neck. Stretching, the latex snapping against itself, squeaking as it moved, Brunette unfolded the mass into a mask to cover Lara’s lower face. As Redhead tucked Lara’s blonde hair - what vanity! - into the mask, Brunette busied herself by fitting Lara’s lips into the grooves of the mask. Brunette checked the line of the mask at Lara’s neck, and carefully adjusted the front so that Lara’s nostrils were clear. Behind Lara, Redhead had stretched the upper bound of the mask over Lara’s ears, keeping it in place. Lara gasped - or would gasp, if she could move her mouth. There was no opening. The latex covered her below her eyes, the only holes two tiny pinpricks for breathing. Was her mouth gone forever, too?
"Three!" Blonde chirped, producing a camera. "Now it’s time for your pre-operative portrait, girl. Smile!" Lara didn’t smile. She didn’t even open her eyes, to see what she looked like. As the camera beeped with success, as the nurses busied themselves with the next step, the only thing Lara did was cry.
A single teardrop, running down her cheek: the last independent action she ever took.