Not at all

The silence after Jessica’s outburst felt thick enough to **** on.

She sat on the floor, trembling, breath ragged, skin burning beneath the clinging latex. Lydia knelt beside her, shell-shocked, one hand hovering uselessly between wanting to help and being afraid to touch.

Then—

Lydia’s phone lit up on the floor beneath the bookshelf.

And it spoke.

“Disobedience to your assigned User is not allowed. Initializing punishment.”

Jess froze.

Her eyes widened—horrified.

“W-what?” she whispered. “No—no, I didn’t—Lydia’s not—”

Her body moved without her.

The uniform seized her arms, wrenching them backward with mechanical precision. Her shoulders screamed as her elbows were **** together behind her back—into an excruciating reverse prayer position. Her breath caught in her throat as pain lanced up her spine.

“Stop!” she shrieked.

But the suit didn’t care.

Her chest was thrust forward as a result of the pose, latex stretching tight across her breasts like polished black glass.

Then, the sensation shifted.

The feather-like stroking from earlier disappeared—and was replaced with something far crueler.

There was a hiss.

Her nipples were pulled inward—suction-sealed into hidden recesses inside the uniform. A pair of vacuum chambers locked around them like inverted clamps, drawing them deeper, tighter—then beginning to pulse.

Rhythmic.

Relentless.

Milking.

Jess screamed again, this time in shock, shame, and unbearable pain. It felt clinical. Violent. Designed not to stimulate, but to reduce her to function.

She thrashed in place, the suit tightening in response—restraining her legs, keeping her arched and exposed.

“Designated USER may now enter her preferences.”

The voice was calm. Robotic. Emotionless.

Lydia staggered to the bookshelf and dropped to her knees, frantically groping beneath it until her fingers closed around her phone. The screen was still active.

An interface had appeared.

Options.

Sliders.

Modes.

A diagram of Jess’s bound body, outlined in red, with glowing buttons over sensitive zones—interactive touchpoints waiting for Lydia to engage.

“No,” Lydia whispered. “This isn’t me. I didn’t sign up for this.”

But the screen blinked again.

“Awaiting USER input. 30 seconds remaining before automatic calibration.”

Jess cried out from the floor, her body writhing helplessly. Her voice cracked from strain.

“Don’t touch anything!”

Lydia froze.

The countdown on the screen ticked lower.

29

28

27...

The voice spoke again, as if sensing hesitation:

“Punishment will intensify without compliance. USER override is required to stabilize subject.”

Lydia’s thumb hovered over the screen. Her chest heaved. Her thoughts raced—every instinct screaming to resist this twisted illusion of power.

But Jess’s screams were real.