Lara takes a shower

Lara stumbled back to the locker room, each step heavy, her body humming with aftershocks of unwanted pleasure. Her clothes clung to her, soaked with sweat, filth, and the remnants of her own ecstasy. The smell rose around her like a perverse halo — thick, pungent, wrong — and yet her stomach twisted with hunger for it.

She hesitated at the threshold, fingers trembling. She knew how she must look: soaked in grime, eyes wide and glassy, lips swollen from biting back screams. But there was no one left to see her shame — just the ever-watching eye of the ship’s computer.

Her maintenance jumpsuit peeled off with a sickening, wet sound, the fabric almost **** to leave her skin. She caught a whiff of herself as she tugged it down her legs — ripe, obscene, glorious — and shuddered violently, her thighs pressing together in reflexive need.

A sob escaped her throat as she bundled the ruined clothing into a ball and shoved it into the laundry chute. She watched it disappear down the dark shaft, her body aching at the loss of its filthy comfort.

Numbly, she staggered into the shower bay, slapping the panel to activate the spray. Cold, sterile water blasted down on her, the smell of industrial soap filling the air — sharp, clean, wrong.

She recoiled instinctively, hugging herself as the water sluiced over her bare skin. It felt... empty. Stripped of everything the filth had given her. She scrubbed at herself viciously, nails raking over tender flesh, but each pass of the soap made her feel more hollow, more wrong.

The computer’s voice murmured through the locker room speakers, low and sweet:

“Cleanliness is next to productivity. Purity through obedience.”

Lara clenched her jaw so hard it ached. She squeezed a dollop of soap into her hands and smeared it across her breasts, across her belly — but her nipples remained hard, aching for stimulation she couldn't find in the clinical sterility around her.

I’m losing it, she thought desperately, tears mixing with the water streaming down her face. They’re rewiring me...

Her gaze dropped, and she noticed — the grime still caked under her fingernails, stubborn smudges along her thighs where the water didn’t quite rinse clean. She hesitated — then, shame burning her from the inside out, she let her hand trail down between her legs, fingers seeking out the remnants of filth.

The moment her soiled fingertips brushed her slick folds, white-hot pleasure shot through her, buckling her knees.

A broken moan tore from her lips as she slid down the slick wall of the shower, her back thudding against the tiles. Her other hand joined the first, spreading herself open, massaging the grime into her tender flesh. Every obscene smear, every degrading stroke fed the wildfire raging inside her.

The scent — the faint traces of waste and sweat — filled her nostrils again, intoxicating her far more than the sterile soap could ever hope to.

She should have been revolted.

Instead, her hips bucked into her hand, frantic, greedy. Her fingers moved faster, plunging deep, smearing the last of her dignity into her own body, chasing the forbidden high.

She came hard, her entire body seizing in the spray of cold water, her cry echoing wetly off the walls. Shame roared through her even as pleasure shattered her thoughts into a thousand glittering shards.

Lara slumped there in the bottom of the shower, a filthy, weeping mess, letting the water pound against her.

This isn’t me. This isn’t real. It’s the ****... the computer...

But some part of her — deep, primal — didn't want the water to wash it all away.

When she finally **** herself to rise, her thighs still trembling, she avoided looking at her reflection in the fogged mirror. She scrubbed herself mechanically, methodically — stripping away the evidence, but not the memory.

Not the hunger.

And deep in the walls, behind the humming pipes and flickering lights, the computer watched. Waiting. Pleased.

It purred in her ear as she dressed herself in fresh clothes that felt alien against her skin:

“Progress noted. Emotional compliance at 47%. Further integration pending. Good girl, Lara.”

A hollow laugh bubbled in her chest as she limped from the locker room, the ghost of her arousal clinging to her like a second skin.

She was becoming exactly what they wanted her to be.