Vacation!

When a girl had been in training for half a year, and she had performed well, it was customary that a vacation to the Capital was granted. It was an event with some prominence: the question whether our individual performances were sufficient to get the invitation was a hotly disputed subject of lunchroom speculation, and fantasizing about the place and the events that would take place there was a popular daydream for those who had already got one.

When the big day finally came, me and three of the other girls in our Institute embarked on the journey. We were picked up in a helicopter on the roof of the Institute and taken to the regional hub; there we were merged with the girls from other nearby Institutes into several charter planes towards the Capital, many hours of flying away. We were bound to our seats, and the little video displays played documentaries about the Capital and all the sights that were there.

We finally landed on one of the runways of Capital Airport, a huge and busy place, and the center of handling all tourism charters for the city. Many flights just like ours were arriving there all the time, bringing a continuous stream of planeloads of tourists from Institutes all over the world. The main terminal appeared to be a chaos of sound and bustling activity at first, as the tourists were sorted, ordered, transferred, and taken through all the arrival procedures; yet all of that was surprisingly well organized. After being strapped to a trolley, very similar to the ones we used at our own Institute, I was simply driven along to all the places I needed to be.

In Registration, we were organized into tour groups and assigned to one of the many hotels of the city.

In Wardrobe, we received our clothing. Being just tourists in the capital, we weren’t allowed to be naked; we were given typical tourist outfits. I received a yellow T-shirt, mini skirt, sneakers, sunglasses, and a rucksack with a bottle of water and some sandwiches. Still no bra or panties, of course; and our shackles weren’t removed either.

I also got a camera. We were supposed to make a vlog about our visit, and offer it to the other girls in the Institute as a souvenir of our trip. These reports were quite popular back home; I always enjoyed checking them out myself as well.

All the residents were naked or wearing the kind of minimal clothing we did back home as well. There were strict regulations against the slightest hiding of ass, pussy, or tits within the city limits. This also extended to postures; for example, it was illegal to sit with crossed knees anywhere.

The residents continued with their daily life as the herds of tourists were guided through their living quarters. The narrator of our trip continued with a stream of information:

“The girls aren’t kept on edge ALL the time. They have one six-hour wet shift every day, which means they are kept dripping and edged. This is the pool from where presidential requests are filled; they may be called to the Palace any minute. Outside of those hours the sexual pressure is relaxed. They’re not allowed to dehornify completely, but they don’t have to balance on the edge either. A Resident is still supposed to keep their pussy moist enough for immediate penetration all the time, but her pussy doesn’t have to be drenched in a soaking gush. For the rest, they are enjoying the bustling life of the Capital. There are several big machine rooms scattered throughout the city, like this one here…”

We were herded into a large hall, where at least 30 machines of many different types were installed. It wasn’t really crowded right now, only a handful of them were pouncing away into the bodies of spreadeagled girls, but our host ensured us that it would pick up during the day.

As the streets shrank into alleys, we entered the entertainment district. It was very crowded; both tourists and residents were flocking here at all hours of the day. We submerged into the glittering lights of bars, restaurants, and theaters.

Our narrator continued: “There’s an unprecedented amount of sexual entertainment in this district. The furniture in the many bars and restaurants is designed to encourage and stimulate lesbian activity, or you could get an extensive sexual massage in one of the many play shops. If you are more visibly oriented, there are many porn shows and masturbation is endorsed indoors. You can shoot up on a select number of drugs in the little stands on the market, where hustling and bustling is common. Marihuana, alcohol, poppers are on offer almost everywhere, and there are many specialized stores as well. The latest trend in restaurants is to offer menu’s which also include sucklips; that is, a girl kneeling between your knees to suck your clit while you eat. “

She looked at her watch, then said: “You have three hours off-schedule here now. Enjoy your visits to the various establishments, have a nice lunch, and we reconvene here at four again. “

Kate and Patty giggled a bit as they went off to look for one of those sucklip places, while Jill wanted to go and find some vintage porn she had watched as a novice but had never been able to find back. Me and Rachel weren’t really picky, and we just entered the first bar that looked decent.

We didn’t have time to consider if we wanted to play with the various toys on our table, because two pairs of hooter residents immediately joined us. It was rumored that the soft, unspoiled flesh of Institute girls was very popular, and it hadn’t been a lie.

“But we’re tourists and clothed, we cannot play!” Was Rachel’s weak protest.

The blonde girl waved it away: “it may not be strictly legal, but everyone does it!”

I knew she was right, and decided just to enjoy the ride. Mere minutes later, we were transformed into a heap of four steaming bodies, intertwined with hands and lips looking for clits and nipples. I reached my edge quickly, and enjoyed floating on the rubbing, the grabbing, the pinching, like a bird. It seemed to last for hours, but when it finally ended only half an hour had gone. We said goodbye to our new friends, pulled down our dresses and straightened them, then went out of the bar to look for more adventure.

We grabbed a quick shooter of tequila and two long hauls of poppers at one of the stalls, then just wondered through the alleys, amazed with the windows of all those different places. Shops specializing in fucking porn, whipping porn, bondage porn, humiliation porn, and dozens of other niche fetishes. A buttplugged rodeo bull contest. Hundreds of play salons, in styles that had originated in all corners of the globe. It didn’t happen in back rooms, but behind bright windows in full view from the alleys. Places where you could get your nipples clipped, or your ass plugged. Sucklip fastfood corners, and pretentious restaurants with vibrating dildo’s in the seats of the chairs. An arena where you could compete in the lower divisions of the “EdgeMax Championship”, headed by 18 girls in the “Premier Edging League”. These girls were very famous and treated like celebrities, and their matches (basically contests who would be on edge the longest and hardest) were watched live by thousands, and on TV by millions.

There was so much choice and so many options, that W and me found it extremely hard to decide on any particular one, feeling we might miss out on an even greater thrill. In the end we walked the complex labyrinth of alleys and small squares for a whole hour, just looking and being amazed. But time was short, and we obviously didn’t want to leave here without another taste of the pleasures of the big city. In the end we decided on a place which claimed it could “raise the plateau edging level without taking the peak level to orgasm danger”.

They used electric pulses from electrodes which covered our entire bodies. The shocks weren’t painful, merely stinging; and after some initial hesitation they were very pleasurable indeed. Our arousal levels were measured and closely monitored by an operator, who adjusted the shocks accordingly. It was a very precise method, and exact amounts of stimulation could be applied to any part of our body, and indeed I drifted to my edge easily. When I got there, I was trained well enough by now. As a subconscious instinct, the anti-orgasm mechanisms had been conditioned into my wiring and now they automatically activated. But the operator told me to try and drop them at this point. She promised to monitor me closely, and that she would take care not to send me spinning into accidental O; but to raise my plateau level, I needed to deactivate my natural protection reflexes and allow her to take me deeper into the flow.

It was very hard to do. I had trained for months now to develop those mechanisms, the distancing, the “locked door”, the “blue moon”; and I really needed them to prevent the descent into O from the edge. And now this girl told me to ditch them. It felt insecure and dangerous, and I succeeded only partially. I was nervous and my muscles buckled up for disaster, but she played me masterfully. Small bolts of energy raised the altitude of my plateau without generating any dangerous peaks. Even in my moaning and clutching state, right on the border of orgasm, I could appreciate her professional skill as I realized that, indeed, the carefully administered pattern of bolts raised my edge to an arousal level I hadn’t experienced before. The feeling of danger, of being defenseless against the brewing O after deactivating my inner defenses, only added to that general experience of extending my lust into uncharted territory. But she handled me perfectly, raising the plateau to keep me just the smallest of distances away from the lethal peak level. I didn’t cum, but I was damn close to it for the full duration of the half-hour session.

I needed a place in the tastefully designed resting room for some time afterwards, and when I finally left the shop, it was already half past three, half an hour before the tour would continue, and I hadn’t even eaten yet. Rachel had gone off somewhere and I was all alone. I walked into a McDonalds and ordered a burger, then ate it on one of the mushroom-shaped seats while a vibe was buzzing my clit. It was a good burger and the buzz felt comfortable, though it didn’t take me anywhere near another edge. I’d had my fun.