I dream about hosting a formal party and all the men are mannequins dressed in tuxes.

I walk amongst the men, naked except for the corset and heels, taking small lady-like steps and holding my head up with perfect posture. Their hands feel my naked bottom and my large breasts. Then, once we've all been introduced, I'm pushed to my knees and they line up, a row of mannequins, each with a hard cock thrust down my eager mouth, each holding my head and thrusting back and forth...

Unh! You wake up with a start, the dream lingering in your consciousness. You're naked under the bed sheet ("Where did my clothes disappear to?" you wonder). You're intensely horny with a big hard-on. Your morning wood.

"What will it be today?" you wonder, getting out of bed, which *zzip*s back into the wall.

It's impossible to tell, but you believe that it's Sunday.

As before, the door to the bathroom is already open. You do your business on the toilet and then peek into the shower.

Please step into the frame.

Again?

With a sigh, you do as you're told, putting on the mask.

"The ****," you rationalize, as the cuffs on the frame clamp around your wrists and ankles, and the gag puffs up inside your mouth forcing your jaws apart but also sealing off your mouth, which you realize is a pretty good design considering the noxious chemicals that are in the car-wash.

"The **** are definitely making me more docile," you think.

You pushed away the other thought that tickle at the edges of your consciousness. Thoughts like maybe you're enjoying the subjugation and the humiliation? Maybe you like the raw sexuality of it all.

And worse... maybe you really just want to be docile and obedient?

Because that's not you, is it? That's not you, deep down inside. You're not a docile, obedient good girl who does what she's told and does all her training and lets a domineering feminine robotic house computer turn you into... what?

That's the real question.

The frame slides smoothly into the wall and you are treated to another vigorous scrubbing.

*Click!*

The frame slides smoothly out of the wall and the handcuffs disengage. After you step out of the frame, it slides smoothly back into the wall.

You looked around. This is not the posture room. Instead, this room is very small, like a walk-in closet, with just enough room for a bench and a very strange looking chair.

TRAINING ENGAGED: BEGIN LEVEL 4 - BEAUTY

"Well, that's somewhat vague," you think to youself.

Please sit in the chair.

The voice said.