Chapter Text
They knew.
Obviously they couldn’t actually know, but that was how it felt as I stepped into the room.
My dress barely covered the swirling harness of phytotech ribbon vines that ran across my flesh. Taught tendrils slid around my thighs, squeezing at my intimate areas and groping in a complex lattice without requiring anyone there directly controlling them.
Fiodoir and I had been playing games and writing poems together in private for a while, and it was always a wonderful if intense experience. Today was… unique. This was the first time she had encouraged me to do something risque in front of others, without her here by my side.
I was understandably incredibly flustered and embarrassed, and I had tried to object, but she just had a way about her. An idea had a way of becoming a suggestion. A suggestion into a tease. A tease becoming a plan. And all of a sudden, without ever intending to, I would find myself in… situations with her. It wasn’t about resisting; there was never a moment when a decision was posed, and without a moment of decision, there was nothing to resist.
Good thing her influence was a voluntary game I could opt out of at any time! I was quite sure of it, though I had never actually tried.
That’s how I found myself shaking hands with a mousy new arrival to the Compact while every sensitive inch of my body was being secretly teased and groped.
“…Annabelle Hawklin. It is nice to meet you too… if I may be honest, I was beginning to worry that independence was an imaginary figment! A myth to string one along. Make no mistake, the florets I’ve met are doubtlessly satisfied with their decision, and I have nothing but warm feelings for them.” She adjusted her ruffled dress and glanced around, a little anxiously.
“Hey it’s okay. Seriously, I get it…” I clenched my thighs down tightly and prayed that she didn’t notice, as one of those stupid vines began to move in a little swirling stroke on the back of my knee. “…when the Affini first took over the moon I lived on, it took a lot of adjustment to accept things. I mean. We are talking about keeping humans as pets. Pretty freaky stuff. But they-”
A stray tendril molested me, brushed against my nipple, causing me to trip on my words. I took a shaking breath, steeled some resolve, and made eye contact. She flickered a look.
“You okay Ava?”
I scanned for a sign that she had realized the dirty truth, that I was stuck playing some kind of perverse secret game with the innocent woman.
“Yeah! Yep I’m fine! As I was saying, they mean well. I even have a buddy who writes poems with me, and it turned out she was an Affini! It’s possible to coexist in this new world we find ourselves in, and live a- um. A dignified life as an indie.”
“Right. Yes, you’re absolutely right, I’m sure. Well it was lovely meeting you. Best of luck with your spoken word performance.”
“And likewise! With the wardship I mean, not the- you’re not performing- I- Sorry, I’m awkward sometimes.”
She chuckled a wry laugh. Clearly, more pressing matters were on her mind. “See you around, Ava.”
My thighs finally released their iron grip as I let out a sigh of relief, and the slippery node wrapped around my leg found its erogenous target. I stifled a gasping moan. The whole thing was completely humiliating. I stewed in the feelings, the pleasure and the embarrassment, and resolved that I would definitely put my foot down about things this extreme the next time I saw Fiodoir. This was too far.
Well, I wouldn’t ask to stop this time. But I’d tell her not to do it again at least.
Slipping through the crowd, I found a compiler and plugged in the code for a cold soda, the kind we made with overgrown boysenberry weeds as a kid on Hablis-9. The puff of cinnamon announced its arrival and I took a sip just as I heard the warm sound of Caramel’s voice popping up behind me.
“Hey girl, someone's looking good! Gold really suits you Ava.”
I scoffed, flustered by his twisted compliment on my xenodrug-stained irises almost as much as I was by the persistent sensation of the autonomous bondage secretly running along my skin, driving me more and more flushed and needy.
“C’mon, it’s not like that. I know they’re getting tinted, I’m not oblivious, but… it’s not what it seems. It’s a careful dose, and we’re being responsible.”
I stuck out my tongue, smeared with purple from the soda.
“Hey, I never said it was a bad thing.” He chuckled, and I let down my guard. “I’m being sincere with you here, promise. You’re glowing. Whether it’s the omega inhaler or the Affini who gave it to you, something’s clearly working.”
“It’s just Ls. Would a girl ramping on full class-O’s be able to chat with you normally like this?”
“Nah, guess not.”
Truth be told, it was the other side effect of my frequent use that mattered more than my golden tinted irises right now. My skin was warmly tingling, and the bondage was squeezing and kneading at my soft belly and breasts, a subtle but persistent reminder of the way that it had become more and more sensitive over the past few weeks.
Raw and prickled with goosebumps, my bliss soaked flesh made the whole sordid thing even harder to ignore than it would’ve been if she had dressed me up in this thing a month ago. Not that she could’ve convinced me back then. No, an escalation like this was only possible because of a dozen prior normalizations. I hated just how hot I found that realization.
It would be for the best that we stopped escalating here.
I talked with a few others, familiar faces I had begun to know over the past few weeks and months, and as time started to pass our group fully congregated in an auxiliary living room that jutted out from the side of the home, overhanging the sea.
The warm wooden room was arranged such that a space in the middle was like a sunken conversation pit, but without a base. Instead, it opened up completely, to allow the water of the waves to create a kind of pool. Thanks to this arrangement, Mielyu were able to socialize with Terrans, and everyone could have a good time together.
Someone with puppy ears was finishing up a song on a little raised stage, and we all clapped as she reached a beautiful crescendo. It was my time to go up, and the small crowd parted to let me through.
“Good luck flower, I’m sure you’re going to perform incredibly,” a bluebell covered Affini warmly intoned to me as I made my way through the crowd. Her pet, a sweet air-headed girl named Hazel, gave me a grin and a thumbs up.
“Thank you. If I need a class-E could I…”
There was an awkward pause.
“I wouldn’t go that far, part of the joy of being watched is the thrill of worrying how others might see you is it not?” She hummed a saccharine sweet note. “No harm will come of you, I promise.”
“Um. Ominous, but thank you.”
I walked up the short staircase, and stood in the center of the stage. A bright light suddenly shone towards me with vibrant focus, and I had to fight the urge to shield my eyes.
This was a lot, but not so much that I was melting down. It was amazing how much I’d grown since my first time in the big city on ring one. Nothing about my underlying tolerances had been altered, but every time I did something that overwhelmed me I was given a delivery of giddy, supportive, drug induced pleasure from the Ω-j³-12 inhaler. In that process, my pathways had been rerouted and scrambled.
So here I was. Still feeling that creeping overwhelm, but as the helpful ribbon of vines I was stuck wearing reminded me with a slick swirl, it felt good to be overwhelmed and flustered. It was safe to be embarrassed.
It was all worth it for her approval.
The crowd fell silent, and the lights adjusted enough that I could see. Fuck, there was a lot of People and pets watching me. Conversations had ended, an all eyes and fascinators were trained in my direction.
I could relax. It was just a poetry reading. I’d practiced a dozen times, and my numerous inspections in the mirror had confirmed that nobody could see my hidden garment.
“Hello everyone. I’m. Um...” I cleared my throat. I was pretty sure a doll near the front was checking me out, her face was smiling ever so slightly. Fuck. “I’m Ava. And this is a poem I wrote called The Center of all Things.”
I pulled out my datapad and brought up the poem. A smattering of finger snaps kept me focused and in the moment despite my desire to hide away and dissociate.
“The clarity of ages, provided through the deliverance of her intensity. Scrambling through ferns and fibers, mud and mercy.”
At first it seemed like everything was starting to loosen on my garment, but then I took a deep breath and it squirmed back to life. The devilish ribbons had lured me in until I was at my most vulnerable, and then maximized their impact by squeezing both of my breasts and rubbing between my legs when it was completely silent. I covered my whimper with a cough and began the next passage.
“Iron axe, gripped with sweat and bloodied palms. Fingers clench the wood, swinging wildly.
And the air, oh how the blade dissects it in powerful swings.”
There was a murmur in the group, and I glanced up. Caramel was glancing at my thigh, and quietly pointing out something to the clockwork doll in the chair. I tried to subtly run my finger down my leg, while reading the next passage.
“Centri- Centrifuges ripping into…” Oh no, a golden ribbon was showing, loosely dangling like a garter. I tried to pull the dress down to cover it, “…bark that grips desperately to logs of prideful growth. The weight of the world on its calloused exterior.”
And then I felt it, a warm ripple across the space, like a hum in the hollow vacancies of my mind. I didn’t know how I knew it, but she was here in the room. I felt my heart rate double. She said that she was busy today, off in the Axial city. Scanning the crowd, I confirmed my suspicion.
There she was, her four hands tapping with excitement, and that grin on her fluffy floral snout.
Oh no. I was in danger.
I tried desperately to ignore her, getting back to the poem.
“Until in cleaving manic sprawls;
It reveals the sticky center, that honey sap that keeps itself locked away.”
She was stepping closer to the stage, moving with a prowl.
“And as the petrichoric lungfuls gasp in ragged passion;
How sweet that bounty tastes upon my lips;”
The finger snaps were growing louder as the group expressed appreciation for the words. I heard a splash from the pool and caught the faintest smell of sour sweet fish oil, the musk of the xenosophonts within causing the group to become increasingly liberated.
“Uhh… Let me just find my place here... Sorry.”
The microphone made a small feedback squeal, and I zoomed in on the next section of my poem. Sweat was forming under my arms and on my brow, and my heart was pounding even stronger.
I could feel the crowd watching me, observing my every movement. Someone giggled as my dress was lowered down, covering the bottom ribbon but exposing one that was wrapped around my shoulder.
“Its cloying depth gripping hold…
No. Nonononono. Something was happening on my datapad.
The rest of the poem was being rewritten before my very eyes, words erased and replaced.
I quickly finished off the next line before it could disappear completely.
“Its cloying depth gripping hold in enzymatic dribbles.”
Fiodoir had her own datapad out in one hand, and was obviously changing the words in real time. Her snout was curled in a devious grin, and she was almost at the stage, slowly creeping closer.
*ding!*
I glanced at the notification, a message from Fiodoir.
> I didn’t say you were allowed to stop reading.
“Ohhhkay folks. Sorry I just… lost my place there.”
Fiodoir stepped onto the stage and began to prowl around behind me. I could feel her warmth, her presence. A hand reassuringly brushed against the small of my back, and she spoke into my microphone.
“Ava tends to get a little shy, but she’s doing a wonderful job isn’t she! Such a good independent. Everyone give it up for Ava!”
The crowd was fully locked in now, cheering and clapping. For a single moment I locked eyes with Annabelle, the girl I had met earlier. She looked confused but attentive.
“And when destiny wraps her threads tight around my throat-”
I squeaked. Whatever I had written in here, it definitely wasn’t that. I felt my blood rushing, cortisol pumping. Was she really going to make me read all this? I knew that I could probably stop if I really wanted to, but then I would be making a scene, and Fiodoir would definitely be disappointed in me. Oh dear.
Her mouth found itself brushing against my sensitive ear, and I heard her whisper. “Feeling anxious, sweet thing? Overwhelmed? Let Mommy help with that.”
A flower curled around my thigh, fondling my flesh, teasing me with an injector before plunging it in.
I wobbled, but stabilized myself with the help of the clenching, molesting ribbons, which I was fairly certain she was now gripping and manipulating directly with one of her hands.
All of the itching, toe tapping adrenaline from my self conscious anxiety had been washed away. I was incapable of feeling afraid or ashamed anymore. Oh no. Oh dear. That final barrier and defense, the one that might have allowed me to stop, had been erased. And I didn’t care that she had done it, because I was incapable of worrying about that too. Whatever Fiodoir was doing to me, it was okay. There was no danger. I was chemically incapable of thinking anything to the contrary.
All that was left was the fluster and gooey embarrassment, the kind that gave me tingly sparkly butterflies in my groin. The docile, submissive re-contextualization of a primal, animalistic defense mechanism that was supposed to keep me out of danger.
“Keep on reading Ava… that’s my good girl~”
“I come ever closer to that inevitable place…”
The crowd was making lots of faces now. Grins and chuckles, some kissing too. They must’ve really enjoyed how the poem was going.
“Even if I deny it with each step forward I take.” I managed to say, though the last words caught in my throat a little, as the ribbons wrapped my crotch into a bow, fully concealed from view. Their massaging assault felt more sensitive than ever, and despite wanting them off of me so I could focus, I also felt touch starved and needy for more. Perhaps there was some kind of class-A in that injection too, I realized.
There was only a couple more lines left. I could do it. My knees trembled.
“It’s okay little poet. I will catch you if you fall.” She murmured.
“And I know there are so many ways she’s going to change me… in the heart or on a table.”
I whimpered and gasped, desperately hoping that the listeners misunderstood that line to mean the operating table. Everyone was going to think I was some kind of pervert now. And perhaps I was. I blushed and moaned again at the thought, and let stims wiggle out of my arms and legs. There were so many people at the party, and they were all watching me, the proud little poet who was melting into orgasmic bliss like a brainless pet without a care in the world for how needy and desperate and submissive I looked. I could only imagine the things they were thinking.
“You’ve come so far for me. Such a good, brave little doll. Shamelessly embarrassing yourself in front of so many People. But that’s okay. Nobody expects anything else from a sweet frail little… independent like you. Keep going.”
“But Miss, that’s the whole poem!”
“Keep reading.”
I hmphed and whined, gripping desperately onto the datapad.
“I will now demonstrate how you can write a poem of your own. I will?”
From somewhere in the crowd I heard someone turn to their friend and say “This’ll be good.”
“The ideal first step is to ask for the strongest drugs you can take…Heyy c’mon, I write poems the normal way too-”
A third hand dangled the Ω-12-j³ inhaler in front of me, and then popped it between my lips.
I was consumed. I was a thousand hot wet tongues licking every inch of my own body. I was ephemeral, giggly, silly, obedient.
Pleasure.
Pleasure.
Pleasure.
She did indeed catch me. My moan was loud and filthy, and blissful in an all consuming way. I only committed the final half of it to conscious memory, as the drug slowly wound down. Even the sensation of my vocal chords vibrating from the whimper felt incredible.
The text on my screen was bigger now, easier to read. I needed it, as the static residuals from the obliterating intoxication were still tingling on my irises.
“Thanks t-to the drugs from our wonderful Affini saviors, I can expand my horizons so much more. And you can too! Just go up to your nearest affini and beg them to drug you. You’ll be able to write a really great poem, like me.”
The inhaler was back. I tried to shift my head away, but it was a feeble pathetic attempt, easily corrected by a tendril and a “Good Girl~”
I was stardust.
“Stars above…”
I was nuclear molecules.
“Sparking reactions...”
I was unburdened.
“My clothes are very hot…”
I was needy.
“Please, it’s too much…”
I was a body without a soul, and a soul being controlled by an Owner.
“Let me fly within the nebulas…”
I gasped. Everything was so raw, like every callous had been rubbed off, and every inch of my skin was soft baby flesh. Sweat trickled down my spine in hot wet dribbles. It was so stuffy and uncomfortable.
“Please Mommy. I can’t… I need…”
“Are you sure, little Ava? I suppose I could take them off if you like.”
My dress was so itchy and heavy, I would’ve done anything to get out of it. It didn’t matter that there was a crowd, many of whom were getting very worked up by my display of impropriety.
I wanted to be comfy. And I wanted to be a good poet. Miss had made a suggestion, I had to comply. It would feel so good to obey. Besides, she could always compile me a new outfit?
“So sensitive… I need it… please…”
“If you insist!”
Her arms made light work of my dress, shredding it off my body strip by strip. There were a few gasps from the audience.
Oh stars. I was so worked up that I didn’t even put together the pieces.
My ribbons.
As if to savor in my simmering embarrassment, they swirled and molested me with even more vigor. Now everyone would know what a naughty, perverted little girl I was. They’d all be able to see the way that I was getting off the entire time we were talking.
One of Fiodoir’s hands plucked the datapad out of mine, and held it up so I could still see the screen.
Another kept the inhaler close.
Another grabbed my wrists so it could keep my arms bound behind my back - couldn’t let me try to cover my vulnerable and exposed body.
“I’m so proud of you, dear, I’ll be rewarding you extensively when we get home…”
The final hand began squeezing and molesting me, rubbing and fondling my sensitive parts so they became flusteringly engorged and visibly excited. I loved the nights I spent at her hab so much… admittedly it was more or less every night nowadays.
I heard a brief clutter of noise, and watched as Annabelle left in a hurry. While I was sad to see a fellow independent leave, I knew what it was like to get overwhelmed in a social gathering.
The inhaler was back in my mouth. Bursts of mind melting pleasure that shattered all illusions of sentient thought.
I was water. I was a river. I was so, so thirsty.
Nobody would mind if I fell apart. Nobody would care if I became a liquid sack of oozey, gooey, sticky golden pleasure that greased the folds of my brain before bleaching them in simple, silly submission.
All I had to do was be good.
All I had to do was obey.
Even my own glistening drool felt like hot sticky sap running down my chin.
Oh. Wow. No, surely I couldn’t. Not in front of so many People.
Pop!
A thick rubber pacifier found its way into my mouth. The hand that was groping me ran down my throat, encouraging me to suck. It felt incredible. But nothing in comparison to the excruciating euphoria as she clicked the inhaler into it, forcing another lungful of drugs into me.
“My little… independent poet needs her paci, but she’s asked me to read off the rest of her advice for you.”
I was delirious, wobbling on the stage, a puppet caught in her ribbons, a featured attraction, a centerpiece of entertainment for the debauchery that was unfolding around me.
“You won’t regret it in the end, even if you might at first! Each night she violates my boundaries, I form new ones for her to tear down-” Fiodoir was perfectly imitating my voice, only distinguishable from the fact that my voice didn’t normally have a hypnotic element.
I whined and tried to raise an objection through the pacifier, but it was so difficult, and her hand was groping me again. The one holding my arms behind my back pulled tight, thrusting my ribbon bound tits out onto full display.
“What was that Ava?”
I tried to tell her it wasn’t true, that I was a strong willed and capable independent, and she held her fluffy ear right up to my mouth in a mime of listening.
“Why of course sweetheart~ I’ll be sure to tell allll of them. She wants me to let everyone know that she looks absolutely adorable in padding!”
I squealed in humiliated disagreement, but I couldn’t object, not truly. Not while every inch of my body burned with magma. Not while the inhaler delivered one more payload directly into my neurons.
All vision slipped into glittering gold, and drop, I fell, as she continued to talk.
Up, I smiled, widely at the crowd who could no longer be described as my peers
Down, I slackened as she moved me into an exposed position, limbs fully under her control.
Up, I giggled! Mommy was so funny.
Down.
The roof of the building felt like it was peeling open to reveal a dark, dark blue sky.
Up.
The ribbon tugged and pulled, unfurling, pulling me into a dizzying infinite vertigo.
Down.
The stain of gold forever reached my eyes, a glimmer of my own creation.
Up.
Fiodoir manipulated every inch of my skin, possessive and insatiable. I was coveted. Beloved.
Down.
I deserved to be the center of attention. I was worthy of being gazed upon.
Smile.
The ribbons on the outside. They were just a symbol.
Giggle.
She had already won, an aurum glow finding a home in me from the moment she sent a message my way.
Recite.
I was always like this. Just a little. Always flustered and embarrassed. Always waiting to fall into her grasp.
Return.
The ribbons tightened, and the audience faded away, leaving only the glow of Mommy’s core as it threatened to swallow me whole.
I was lost.
I was found.
I was trapped.
I was caught.
I was owned.
I was hers.