Factory Floor – A FearGirl Story
FearGirl woke to the sound of a computerized voice, only the tail end of whatever it had said registering in her mind: “…subject.” Did it mean her? Where was she? She tried to roll to her feet, but she couldn’t move; she was secured to a metal surface by clamps over her wrists and ankles.
But she was moving.
Sudden bright light dazzled her; the computerized voice sounded again, “Receiving subject.” FearGirl looked around her; she was bound to a metal pallet being borne on a conveyor belt into a vast space. Machinery surrounded her, the noise as disorienting as the light. She was wearing nothing but red underwear; had she been wearing anything else before, something that had been taken? She couldn’t remember anything.
But whatever this place was, FearGirl knew it meant her harm; she redoubled her struggles, fighting to free herself, but the clamps were unyielding.
“Subject received,” came the voice. “Preparing subject to undergo procedure one.”
Mechanical arms descended from above the helpless FearGirl, attaching to the ends of the pallet; they lifted their captive clear of the conveyor belt, swinging her round through the maze of equipment, before setting her down between two banks of instruments.
“Where are you?” FearGirl yelled into the noise of the facility.
“Initiating procedure one” was the only reply.
More arms extended from the machines on either side of FearGirl, ending in needles aimed at her arms and legs; they did not pause, and she felt the needles penetrate her skin. She strained at the clamp on her right wrist, hoping to cut herself against the metal, bleed enough for hand to slip free. But she was held too tightly; and the strength was flowing out of her muscles.
“Where are you?” she screamed again, but it made her dizzy. For a moment she shut her eyes.
“Procedure one complete. Awaiting subject’s response.”
“Where,” she repeated, but this time only a whisper; she knew no one would answer. Was anyone even here, or was this machinery running by itself?
The pain was fading from her straining muscles, mixing with the dizziness into something else, something that beat through her body, not in time with heart but some other rhythm she recognised from deep inside herself. A tingling warmth ran along her nerves, an ache in her belly, and further down, that made her try instinctively to press her thighs together, only to moan in frustration when the clamps help her legs apart. Struggling had become writhing without FearGirl having been aware of the change.
“Subject’s response detected,” the voice said. “Preparing for procedure two.”
FearGirl felt the pallet lifted again, then more movement though the air before being set amid another cluster of machines.
“Initiating procedure two,” came the voice. More mechanical arms extended; two ended in cup-like units that closed over her breasts. Further instruments within immediately began to play at her, massaging the flesh of her breasts, pressing on her nipples; every few times, it was hard enough to hurt, the plan blending with her nascent arousal.
“Procedure two in progress. Initiating procedure three. FearGirl felt a third arm sliding between her thighs, then mechanical digits massaging and prodding her mound through the material of her panties. The sensation sent pulses of pleasure through her, each one not quite faded when the next built upon it. A fourth arm had also reached for her crotch; when she felt little needles of pressure against her clit, she couldn’t help letting out another moan.
The machines seemed to sense her weakening and stepped up their assault; FearGirl moaned again, lost in the stimulation. Something new brushed at her lips; instinctively, she opened her mouth, admitting a soft plastic component that hummed with electricity in time to that of her body.
Why didn’t she fight? But she had nothing to fight with; no freedom, no weapons, no strength, no will, no self; and any attempt to grasp at them was drowned in wave of sexuality. She was moaning continually now; arching her back to push her breasts out and her crotch down, trying to press harder into the machines that controlled her body, sucking and licking at the plastic unit in her mouth.
Then all the waves of pleasure crashed into each other, carrying her over her edge until she was shaking with her orgasm, all fight forgotten.
“Procedure three successful,” the computerised voice intoned. “Subduing subject.”
FearGirl felt a sharp pain in her crotch; a needle penetrating the delicate flesh of her labia; whatever it had injected her with worked quickly, and she sank into blackness.
Unheard by its captive, the computer voice said, “Subject subdued. Initiating transfer.” The crane lifted the pallet again, carrying the unconscious FearGirl back to the conveyor belt. Pallet and girl alike were borne out of the factory to whatever lay beyond.