When we last left The Directrix, she and her guards had entered the self-aware prison ship Paraladia. This vessel, cast adrift years ago, was designed to interrogate, process, and sustain prisoners all on its own.
As it entered her system, she went aboard to inspect and claim it for herself, bringing along slovenly tech expert Rossem Klyn. Unfortunately, with no victims of its own, the Paraladia recognized Phantom and her retinue as intruders to be caught, stripped, integrated, and rubberized deep in its hold.
Now, she sits in a prison processing cell across from Rossem Klyn somewhere in the bowels of the Paraladia, awaiting her fate…
A drawer extended from the wall. A voice quietly intoned in his cell, explaining to him that he needed to place his belongings and clothes inside it for the duration of his stay. Rossem shoved it shut.
Ten seconds later, it extended again. Rossem stared at it for a bit before shoving it closed a second time.
The third time, Rossem yelped as he felt a jolt of electricity from the seat.
PLACE YOUR ITEMS IN THE DRAWER, NOW.
He practically hissed at the drawer as he disrobed. He unzipped his jumpsuit, then lazily kicked off his underwear and socks. He packed his clothes and other items inside it and shoved the drawer closed. It retracted with a hum, leaving him to cross his arms and patiently wait, staring across the way at the Directrix. He winked at her, crossing his legs. He couldn’t tell, but he imagined her blushing at the sight of his creamy skin and sculpted form.
STAND UP.
Rossem declined to stand when the voice told him until another jolt of electricity had him yelp to his feet.
Invisible fields of force projected from metal plates in the parallel walls of his cell. He looked left and right as his body was moved without his permission. His limbs were levitated up, apart, and finally into a rigid T-shape. The same process was enacted on his legs, effortlessly spreading her legs about half as wide until she resembled an X. He stared back at the Directrix as his manhood was exposed to the cold air of the ship.
Now she was blushing.
A heavy metal sound interrupted their reverie. The front and back walls of the cell slowly retracted downward, revealing that his “cell” hadn’t been in a cell block but was a bespoke part of the ship. The cargo bay echoed, all dark metal and pale blue lights, as the walls sank. Her modular cell was probably configurable to fit any number of species.
He lost sight of Phantom as a black sheet rose, attached to a rack, in front of and behind him. He craned his neck slightly, trying to see if she was getting any kind of treatment or just a show. After three seconds of calibrating, the two rubbery sheets collided around his body.
Heat. Tension. Pressure. He gasped for breath as the sheets enveloped his flesh from the neck down. Metallic sounds hissed like a den of vipers. The aroma of industrial rubber filled his nostrils. Sauna heat from his neck down made him stiffen and wriggle, fingers and toes twitching.
The sheets and racks retracted. He still hung in the air, now coated from the neck down.
His manhood was up against his body, slightly hard but kept very snug by his new prisoner suit. He licked his lips, head lolling back and staring at the Directrix. He knew she was jealous.
Rossem’s head had been given too much freedom, and that was fixed. Soon, his mind would also be properly constrained. Another metal plate projected a beam of force, keeping his head still while a series of slim segmented arms extended from the top of his cell.
Eyes squinted shut. A long, deep sheath was custom-fit for Rossem’s mouth. It traveled to the back of his throat, tickling him as it covered his lips, mouth, gums. The tingling sensation of numbness as it was inserted, locking in place, black lips of the mount covering his own.
The Directrix craned her neck, standing from her seat to try and catch a last glimpse of the elf as his processing continued.
Black contact lenses covered Rossem’s eyes, blacking out his vision. They extended up to his eyelids. He wouldn’t be able to look away. He only saw what the machine wanted him to see.
Rossem could only moan and drool in languid helplessness as the last piece slid onto his waiting head. A pair of half-spherical cups locked over his ears, each plunging their internal probes deep, deep within his sensitive ear canals. Phantom wasn’t sure what he was hearing, but she saw his cock throb, hard as sights and sounds overwhelmed his mind.
Armatures sprayed black rubber across his face, coating him and finishing his encasement. His hair was removed via an arm-mounted laser. Once the spray completed, it left only smooth and shining black beneath.
Final touches were needless cruelty, but the Directrix simply had to approve. She noticed a plug screwed deep inside his rear, small pads around his bulging, throbbing, erect manhood quietly attached. A ball between his lips, stretching his mouth further as the racks raised.
One final sh-chunk, and a thin polymer layer sealed it all together. The vac-packed Rossem hung in the air until the force fields slowly began to let him down.
His cell reconfigured, creating a clamp around his ankles, a posture collar around his neck, and a steel band that clasped his arms at his sides.
A glowing holographic screen displayed his face, several unidentifiable codes, and date of acquisition. In large letters, his status simply read PROCESSING.
Rossem looked glorious. A painting that she’d happily mount on her wall - or mount on her bed. His manhood twitched slightly as the bound, gagged, and rubber-coated elf began some inscrutable regimen of training and hypnosis.
An extra final layer of shining black rubber was extended over his face. His features, kept frozen in place, became smoother and softer. Application continued across his entire body until his brilliant and gleaming form was fully and completely uniform in its black embrace.
She’d seen Rossem’s arrogance punished. Now, The Directrix was resolved to embrace this inconvenience with dignity.
The voice in her cell demanded that she strip, and she did so - carefully removing her glorious cape, her shining gloves, her boots, and finally her suit and hat and carefully placing them in the provided slot for storage. She shut her eyes, taking a seat on the tiny bench of her processing cell. The quiet compliance was more becoming than acting like a spoiled child, kicking and screaming all the way, and just because nobody could see her was no excuse to break down.
STAND UP
She stood, tall and proud, as the voice commanded. Her head was raised high for whatever horrors this ship had in mind. She could, and she would, weather them like she had weathered so many other crises. Her body was pristine, doll-like, an empty canvas to be dressed.
Two racks descended in front and behind her, each lined with a single black sheet. The Directrix shut her eyes as the sheets came for her.
====
All of the intruders had been subdued, taken in, and were undergoing processing. The virtual intelligence inspected its new inmates.
A few low-value guards of minimal consequence. Enshrined in steel and latex, sent belowdecks into the hold to be placed in stasis until they were claimed. The Paraladia found them uninteresting. It had done so much more with so many more.
There were two of note. Two entities that had triggered sensor sweeps and calculations and recalculations and simulations and plans. Two humanoids, male and female, that now sat in its grasp undergoing a strict regimen of processing and programming.
They twitched in their two layers of black rubberization. The machines had come alive for the first time in a long time. Models and computation for optimal breaking and rebuilding of the two had gone into effect, and now their futile struggles were a visible reminder of how perfect they’d been enclosed.
After determining that isolation was making only marginal progress, the Paraladia reconfigured each of them into something more physically comfortable, more strenuous, tighter, and far more engrossing.
Cameras rotated around the central holding tank, in which The Directrix and Rossem had now been enclosed and encased together. The two, still coated and suited, were forced against one another in a desperate, passionate embrace. His shaft teased against her womanhood. Dozens of micromotor stimulated them during the many periods of enforced learning, forcing him to jab and gyrate and grind his body against hers. She reciprocated eagerly, lips trying so earnestly to meet him.
The vac-seal that held them together kept them dangling, occasionally circling in place. Her chest against his. Their arms tucked away, their legs and thighs pressing. Curves meeting muscle, lips on lips.
A shared gag kept them together in an enforced embrace. When they were set to stimulate, they eagerly tongued each other, kissed each other. Lost in the other’s body, they met with passionate, lewd, unmatched emotion. The Paraladia made certain to document the sights, sounds, and smells for later playback. Watching the moments where they approached climax was invaluable data.
In their sealed prison-suits, the two were utterly vulnerable to programming - unable to block it or look away. Frequent implementation of their own voices, sounds, and visions of themselves lost in orgiastic bliss made for a compelling argument.
They’d eagerly spill secrets and obey anything the ship commanded them to do - if it ever let them out.
The craft’s experimentation veered into the violent at times. Cutting oxygen caused a curious reaction in the two. Obviously, their strictly bound arms prevented the usual response which was to claw and seek it until returned. But, in addition to normal responses, the two of them also enjoyed it.
Silent, muted grunts and moans as their racing hearts beat faster. Breathless embrace as they reached new heights of arousal. Sometimes the ship would have them fall unconscious before achieving orgasm, leaving them to wake with the sensation of relaxation but not having memory of the satisfaction - only to pipe in the vision of the two of them horny, helpless, and utterly subservient to their bodily whims.
The ship observed them as they were sent to sleep mode, with systems and motors powering down to give them peace and quiet. Low-grade anesthetics would get them to sleep while the prison ship calculated new experiments for next week. It might take quite a while for them to be formulated, leaving the two of them in blissful rest for an indefinite period.
Their energy had brought the Paraladia such excitement. The hold had sung with their lusting moans as they climaxed over and over. Already, the ship planned a visit to the Directrix’s planet.