Climb in

You climb into your locker. There's very little room to spare.

As soon as you're inside, the door shuts and locks behind you, blocking out all light. Straps wrap around your wrists, upper arms, ankles, thighs, and under your ribs, pulling you against the back of the locker, and something snaps down to cover your eyes and ears. A robotic voice whispers in your ear:

"Maintenance cycle. Hygiene cycle."

Something connects to the front of your suit, and the pressure in your bladder starts to drain away. Apparently even pissing is outside your control now. You have very little time to reflect on this before something connects to the back of your suit and fluid starts pumping into your ass.

The fluid is uncomfortably cold, which quickly becomes painful inside a place that's supposed to be at body temperature. Fortunately, it's only a small amount, and a few seconds later it drains away, with the computer voice announcing, "Priming cycle draining." But before you can be relieved, fresh fluid is pumped into you, and this time, it's a lot more. You feel decidedly full by the time the pumping stops, and doesn't drain. Your muscles are starting to cramp, but there's nothing that you can do except wait.

And wait.

And wait.

For an eternity.

"Three minute cycle draining."

Three minutes?! That couldn't have been three minutes! In the darkness and silence, time is difficult to measure, but that had to be half an hour at least! You don't have time to think about it, though, because no sooner has the fluid drained away that you start to fill up again.

And this one has the most water of all.

The fluid quickly becomes uncomfortable. Then painful. Your pelvic muscles strain to contain intestines that are full to nearly bursting, try to push the liquid out past whatever's pumping it into your ass, but you can't. You can't do anything but but stay there and suffer, eyeing the distant hope of relief. In the darkness, in the silence, there is nothing to focus on but the fluid inside you. You've almost forgotten what you're waiting for when the voice says, "Thirty minute cycle draining."

It does. Have you ever felt so empty?

"Surface cleaning cycle."

Something hot and cold and stinging and itchy all at the same time oozes its way under your rubber suit. It's not water, but you couldn't begin to guess what it is. It runs down your back and over your breasts, tickling your spine and biting your nipples. It tickles the soles of your feet, makes your eyes burn, and works its way over your labia and around your clit. It's like having your whole body dipped in a mild hot sauce, and you can't help but thrash against your restraints until it's gone.

"Hygiene cycle complete. Initiate recharging and programming cycle."

Some kind of plug forces its way into your mouth, locking around your teeth. An experimental suck reveals that it's to distribute a very thin gruel. This, at least, you have control over: the gruel comes out when you suck on it.

The thing over your eyes lights up, briefly hurting until your eyes adapt. It starts to play short videos showing a crude stick figure doing various domestic tasks on a spaceship -- how to prepare the ship food, how to clean hallways, how to replace air filters. How to serve food, how to stand appropriately when addressed by crew, how to keep out of the way and be easily ignored otherwise. There must be at least a hundred short videos, all playing in apparently random order, so you see some several times and some only once. Presumably, there are more you haven't seen yet.

They never stop, even as you get tired and start to drift in and out of consciousness. You sleep for awhile, then wake up, still strapped uncomfortably against the locker wall, informative videos still playing. You can't help but feel grateful for these shorts showing you how to be a good servitor, because without them, there would only be darkness and silence.

And then the screen raises, your restraints release, and your locker opens.