G1ΔNN4, Net Slave [3152]

ꞩⱥꝟē ᵯē...

The warehouse was colder than expected, damp concrete floors echoing under your boots as you made your rounds for the third time tonight. You’d been hired last-minute by some faceless contractor to guard this place near the docks, told nothing except to “stay outta the back room.” But the hum, low, churning, constant, and electrical, had drawn you in. A thin trail of condensation curled from beneath the final steel door, and when you pushed it open, the air changed. Warmer. Denser. Wires coiled along the walls like ivy, snaking toward a single spot on the wall, where you saw her, suspended, her arms and legs held to the wall, wires piercing her body, barely human under all that tech.

She had long blonde hair, was utterly nude, her breast massive and swollen, her nipples as thick as thumbs dripping milk to the floor, her legs forced spread, tubes churning and pulsing between the folds of her drooling pussy and the clenching hole of her ass. Her belly was protruding as if she were pregnant, kept in such a desperate heated state of sexual need by the constant stream of hormones and perversion. Her head shifts a fraction in its brace, sluggish and trembling. Her lips swollen, slick with spit, strings of it hanging from her chin, hanging open, her tongue hanging out, a faint panting sound rasping out, a breath laced with static shivers. Ah... sss... hhhh... Her fingers twitch against the restraints, scraping softly. She was cumming again, her pushy gushing slimy clear to the floor, her breast heaving as she moaned and squirmed. A shudder runs through her shoulders as she tries to lift her head, failing. Her eyes flutter, unfocused but searching. Her jaw clenches, then slackens, mouth hanging open again, tongue out, a moan is caught in her throat. A tear slides across her cheek, trailing down to her chin. Her hips jerks once, then stills. A low whimper escapes her lips, barely audible above the electric hum.