"Oh, any old place."

“Good morning, Janelle,” says Meg, flashing the icy receptionist a smile.

“Good… ahhh!... morning,” says Janelle, and bites her lip. She’s shifting awkwardly in place. From the front, she seems decently clad in her conservative red blazer. “Have you… ooh!... seen the new rules yet, Meg?”

“What new rules?”

“Of course, they don’t apply to you, Meg,” you hurriedly explain. “But you did give me free reign to play as many pranks on the dorm girls as I wanted. See that machine over by the door?”

“Yes?” It’s something like an airport scanner, an archway next to a complicated-looking set of mechanical arms. From the way it’s positioned, it seems impossible to get in or out of the building without passing through it. “What’s that, Janelle?”

“That’s our new… mmmm!... automatic AI-powered security system,” Janelle explains, with a series of panting breaths and a stifled moan. “It… ohhh!... it provides bespoke security assessment of everyone who passes through the door. We haven’t worked out all the kinks yet, but it’s still mandatory to use.”

“For everyone?”

“Yes, but strangely it’s only willing to operate on women at the moment. We don’t know why. I’m told they’ll get the money to fix it some time in the next fiscal year.”

“Oh, no! I’m late for class!” Cass, the dorm prankster, a well-built blonde with a hot pink streak in her short hair, comes trotting down the steps behind you, cupping one arm over her famously Power Girlian breasts to prevent unnecessary bouncing. She wears comfy jeans and a plain white shirt. “Hey, what’s that thing doing there?”

“New security system.”

“Do I have to use it?”

“Yes.”

“Um… okay,” says Cass, approaching it cautiously. The operations platform is positioned in such a way that it’s clearly visible from both inside and outside the dorms. Both the lobby and the external street are pretty crowded. The workmen who installed the system, two stubbly working-class guys in overalls, are sitting on the steps outside, smoking cigarettes. “So it’s like, a metal detector, right?”

“Kind of,” says Janelle, as Cass steps through the archway. Instantly, something starts to beep. A robotic voice says “Possible threat detected. Taking discretionary measures.” The mechanical arms whir to life.

“Hey, wait,” says Cass, as two robot hands grab her upper arms, fixing her in place and ensuring she can’t wriggle free. Another robot hand grabs hold of her jeans, and yanks them down around her ankles, revealing pink bikini panties stretched over an ample expanse of buttock. A cigarette falls from the open mouth of one of the workmen.

“HEY! LET ME GO!”

“Discretionary measures in progress. Do not resist.” The hand grabs the back of Cass’ panties and pulls upward, giving her a fearsome wedgie. She’d be lifted off the ground if the other hands weren’t keeping her in place. She squeals and shakes her head from side to side, unable to escape as the machine yanks her wedgie up and down, flossing her pink panties between her jiggly round derriere. You hear a click, and a mechanical whistle.

“Commencing allegations,” says the machine, as another mechanical arm snaps into place behind Cass. It’s holding a black leather paddle. “Please remain calm.”

“OW! OW OW OW OW OW!”

“Allegations complete,” says the machine. “Now entering decontamination mode. No action is necessary.”

Its arms grab Cass’ white T-shirt, pulling it up over her head and off her body entirely. She’s left standing in her pink panties and plain white bra as her arms are manipulated behind her back and fastened in place with a black plastic zip-tie. Her panties are lowered to her knees, the cups of her bra are yanked down to allow her huge breasts to spring free, and her shoelaces are tied together. Whipped cream is sprayed from a nozzle all over her face, hair and naked breasts. Finally, a small bouquet of pink and yellow flowers is lubricated and shoved stems-first up her ass, where it remains.

“Completing documentation phase,” says the machine. A hundred or so cameras, some tiny, some enormous, emerge from its core on mechanical arms and set about photographing Cass from every possible angle, to her immense discomfort. “Now uploading photographs.”

“What? Uploading? Where to?”

“Oh, any old place,” says the machine. “Thank you, Cass. Your security inspection is now complete. Have a pleasant day.”

And mechanical hands propel her forward out of the dormitory building, onto the pavement of the busy street. The glass doors slide quietly shut behind her.