“FACE FORWARD.”
Acquisition H-1 pursed her lips. The woman formerly known as Helen felt her gums twitch, tongue imagining the sensations that were coming up for her. Up next. She had been “training” for a long time for this. More specifically, she had been trained. Ordered, regimented, suited, locked down, drilled, trained.
Helen was smart; smarter than most of the other Acquisitions. She wondered how much of her reaction, right now, was a result of the Pavlovian indoctrination she had endured these long months in the lair of the Directrix. Obedience, gags, pleasure, restraint. The feeling of being thrashed, pushed around and ordered.
They blended together into a succulent feast for the senses. It made her mind go soft and her body warm. Being used as the personal permaslave of the Directrix was a fate far more terrifying than a swift end. In part because Helen wanted it. Craved it. She wanted to take it all in, she wanted to get it all. That was a scary thought.
Every one of those emotions; the fear, the hunger, the arousal, had been stewing inside her the past few days. The Directrix was inspecting the Acquisitions personally. And Helen was next.
A series of glass enclosures, each of which held one Acquisition, had been lined up for personal inspection by the Supreme Directrix. In each such enclosure there were numerous armatures and restraint points. Helen herself was sacked up and standing, though she imagined the task she’d have to perform would involve her physicality somehow. All Acquisitions were tested on various elements of expertise and prowess (of both practical and sensual natures, which were both practical in a way) and strictly recorded. Helen had been trained in dozens of sensual arts and tested with innumerable forms of restraint, but she didn’t know what this test would entail.
Acquisition T-8 had done a fine job, but the Directrix was capricious. The very first words she heard the villainous dictator say was, “Nice try, boy. Better luck next time.’ Followed of course by Theo’s gagged groans of agreement.
H-1’s chest was starting to heave. For the past day she’d been suited up in a Type-10 Coverall. It was comfortable while being uncomfortably tight; cozy in the way it kept her in. Almost liberating, really. Helen never knew what to do with her hands. While she was in a sleepsack, she didn’t have to worry about that one bit. The zipper went from her thighs to her neck, wherein it was locked behind a nice, thick, steel collar.
But as she approached the ‘testing grounds,’ she knew the suit was coming off. As were here glasses - though that was just a measure of safety. And then she heard the words again. By the gods was it her turn already?
“FACE FORWARD.”
Helen blushed, and did so. Armatures unzipped her suit, revealing her naturally perfect prison suit (arms behind, breasts bare, body delectably confined into a shapely figure) and prisoner ID number, there bare on her chest.
Facing front. It was tough. When The Directrix stepped forward, Helen wanted to look away, or look down. Thankfully, one heavy robotic armature grabbed the back of her head and kept her still. Another one politely removed her glasses. Two more took her arms, two more her legs.
The Directrix’s green glare pierced through everything. Helen didn’t even hear the request to open her mouth. She just complied with what was natural - to be completely, utterly, absolutely gagged at the loving request of The Supreme Directrix.
“Ready, love?” The pale-skinned villain said it with such earnest gusto that it made Helen shudder. Phantom could see her body twitching slightly, noting most especially the gentle minor quiver of her lower lip as Phantom walked forward and, to both of their surprise, began gagging her herself.
Dressed in her orange-and-black prison shinies, Phantom took her time doting on Helen; rubbing fingers over her mouth, her face, her chin, taking her time before the first item. Her jaw was nice and wide as she fit a thick wad of damp cloth between her lips. Helen couldn’t tell if she tasted anything on it - she was so busy focusing on the sponge that Phantom was showing her next. It was wide, designed to fill her mouth quite severely, to press against her maw and absolutely, positively pack her mouth full. Helen was just staring at it with wordless desire as the Directrix passed it into her mouth. She took her time, too, grabbing Helen’s chin and using her thumbs to fit it inside.
Helen exhaled. The Directrix just took that as a sign that she was something special. Special enough for another wad of cloth daintily fit inside her mouth.
Special enough for an inflatable bladder. It was all but impossible to actually get it inside Helen’s waiting lips, but once she did it was easy to attach the hose and begin inflating it.
Special enough to strip some tape over her lips, just to keep the gag-subject from expelling anything while the machinery prepared a custom-fit OMNI harness gag. Oh, Helen was something special indeed. She didn’t even mind when the semi-inflatable harness locked on. Her eyes almost seemed to enjoy the loud click of the locks. Oh, oh, oh yes, this was a rare one.
The inflation kept going. It wasn’t just her mouth being filled, either; it was the pressure against her mouth and lips as her cheeks ballooned and eyes watered and the gag itself took on the proportions of someone who had been absolutely, completely, perfectly and permanently packed. The Directrix grinned with fearsome tiger’s eyes. Helen felt new pressures on her mind and body, from without and from within. This desire to pleasure, to be pleased, to be the perfect dollie for… it was all too much. Her eyes were starting to flitter back.
Phantom tapped her lips just once.
“This one. She’s perfect. Send the rest back for rehab. I’m keeping this one.”
Helen huffed and heaved, her chest now rising in time with toys beginning to torment her. The Directrix leaned in.
“...I’m keeping this one close. She’s all mine. Forever and ever, my perfect little perma-prisoner…”