I went from a denial Bitch to a denial slut and it’s the first time I’ve managed a day without giving in and I’ve been on your blog for two days I plan to be no touch for another day and then start with light edging to see how long I last do you have any tips or suggestions for me to try? -S
She’d always been good at languages. When her parents had sold her it was that skill that kept her out of the flesh pits.
Her final master made less use of those talents however, and really quite fell in love with her, not that they could ever be together, but he did fit her with the pleasure implants, he said it was a sign of love, but she knew making her climax while she translated for his guests was what he really enjoyed.
She shouldn’t have been surprised at his anger when she revealed she’d saved every penny of the pittance she’d been entitled to by law, and was exercising her right to buy her freedom.
She woke up dead, the next morning.
Unable to move, cold, terrified. The fear barely faded when she realised what he’d done. ’This is our new 3PO unit, he told everyone, ‘Sadly my beloved Natalia decided to buy her freedom and has left us.’
Her mind was trapped in this cold metal body but still craving all her flesh had been trained to enjoy. He’d kept the pleasure implants, now hardwired into her system. She didn’t need to sleep, so every moment not distracted by her work she spent stimulated, lifted so close to the release she craved, and yet, her ability to climax, disabled. Her true punishment for wanting to leave him.
That had been 14 owners ago, her translation skills slowly made redundant she found her body modified. The way she acted, spoke was just ‘so realistic’ that despite themselves her owners felt drawn to her. Somehow, the never ending arousal she felt made it through the restrictive speech filters that still kept her true nature gagged. And so they modified her, softened her, restored her pleasure holes for use, eventually lifelike in all but her colour, that shiny gold finish belying the fact she was now warm and soft to the touch.
But none of that was for her, none of it ever helped her achieve the release she craved day and night but could never express.
Oh the irony, programmed in over 6 million forms of communication, but forever inhibited from telling anyone the truth.