One year since I went live.

Technically, I guess yesterday was my one year anniversary as a writer. I mean, for pay rather than for my personal satisfaction: I've been picking at stories on the side... well. Always.

I realize things are slower here than they used to be, but it's actually been because things are going pretty well for me. This has been a nice year, and it's afforded me time to work on other projects, as well as the erotica. So, thanks everybody. I appreciate your support. Writing's loads of fun.

Here's a sneak peek at the story currently occupying me - no promises about when I'll be finished, or if it's the next one out, but I figured the best way to celebrate a day like to today would be to share a piece of the rough draft I'm working on:

Chapter One

A loud chime woke me from a deep sleep, setting my heart pounding like a frightened rabbit’s. I had no idea what I’d been dreaming, but it had been intense. My whole body was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, and I felt other moisture between my thighs.

For a moment, I ignored all of that and took a few deep breaths to try and calm down. It helped: despite the sound of ringing bells, I felt better. That is, I felt better until I tried to reach out and turn my alarm off.

I couldn’t move, not one inch.

My first thought was to wonder if I’d been in an accident. Maybe I’d been in a wreck, and I was lying in a hospital bed, trussed up to keep broken arms and legs from moving. Maybe a nurse would come by soon, happy to know that I was awake.

The only problem with that idea was that it didn’t make much sense. I could feel my arms and legs, but there wasn’t a hint of pain or numbness, just the leaden warmth of drowsiness. Every inch of my skin was bare, rather than bound in rope or covered by a cast. Beyond that, I couldn’t even open my eyes, nor make any noise at all.

With every passing moment, it seemed less like I was injured and more like my body simply refused to budge. Even stranger, I realized that I wasn’t lying in a bed. I was flat on my back on a smooth, hard surface. It felt like a slab of metal or plastic, except that I would expect either of those things to be cool to the touch, and wherever I was, at least it was warm enough.

Whatever was happening, I was as helpless as I had ever been in my life. So I laid there, feeling my heart speed up again, and tried not to panic.

After what might have been seconds or minutes to my sense-deprived mind, the chime stopped.

My eyes snapped open of their own accord, and I was greeted by a bank of dully lit fluorescent bulbs, inches from my face. Somehow, I had fallen asleep in a tanning bed. It didn’t make any sense: I had never actually used one. I liked my the way it was: pale and creamy.

Still, it meant that I wasn’t in a hospital. Maybe I’d gotten drunk, done it on a dare… my mind was still foggy, but it seemed like I might like dares.

The tanning bed opened of its own accord, with a low whirring noise. As the lid swung open, I saw that I was in a room with a very high ceiling. The lights above me were dim red, like in an old fashioned dark room for photography.

I blinked in surprise at that, then realized I’d done it. I blinked again on purpose, and smiled with joy at being able to control my eyes again. I still couldn’t move my arms or legs, but maybe whatever was wrong was wearing off.

The lights above me switched from red to a more conventional yellow, then began to slowly get brighter, as if to give my eyes plenty of time to adjust. After they reached a proper daytime level of illumination, there was a click from above me, the same spot the chime had sounded from moments ago.

Before I could think about it much, there was a tingling sensation near the base of my skull. It was like pins and needles, right where my spine met my brain. Whatever was going on, I responded as if on strings: I felt a tugging sensation in my arms and legs, and my into a sitting position of its own accord. The motions were clumsy and awkward, reminding me of nothing so much as a puppet.

For some reason, that thought made my pussy tingle with need.

Now that I was sitting up, I could see that I wasn’t alone. The room I was in was very big, with several rows of tanning beds all completely open. I still couldn’t turn my head, but I could see a girl sitting in each one. All of them were naked, like I was. I stared at the one right in front of me. She looked to be in her early twenties, just like me. She was maybe a little shorter, and had slightly fuller breasts. Her legs were slightly parted, and I felt my cheeks burn at the sight of her shaved, glistening pussy.

It looked like her dreams had been pretty good, too.

I quickly looked at her face. It was lovely, but her expression was dull and lifeless. Her blue eyes were glassy and unfocused, her mouth hanging slightly open. We were only six feet apart, but it seemed like she was looking right through me, not seeing me at all. Her hair was a close cropped mop of curly blonde locks, not even long enough to tease into a pageboy look.

I realized my own hair must be short like that now, too. I liked to keep it in a long ponytail, but the back of my neck was clearly bare.

I wanted to say something, to try to rouse her from wherever her mind was, but I still couldn’t talk.

Instead, I looked back and forth, taking in more of the room. The walls had what looked like hospital machines on them, all gray plastic and cryptic colored displays. The whole place was sterile white, although it smelled like aroused women right now.

For a long moment, we all sat quietly. There was no fidgeting, no yawning, no small talk. Probably, everyone else was at least as helpless as I was. Maybe more, given the lack of animation in the blonde girl that I could see.

There was another click from above, and a genderless, mechanically synthesized voice said, “Group three, to the showers. Group three, to the showers.”

I felt a strong sense of deja vu at the voice, like maybe I’d dreamed about it and forgotten. Then there was another strong, tingling sensation at the base of my skull.

Every girl in the room rose in unison, including me, then we all stepped away from our tanning beds and into the central aisle of the large room, facing a set of plain metal double doors. Each of the six girls ahead of me had extremely short hair, completely shaved at the base of their skull… right where I could feel my pins and needles coming from.

The only difference was that the rest of them seemed to be moving a little more smoothly: I felt like a puppet on poorly managed strings, while the rest of them were choreographed and harmonious. The doors slid open, letting quite a draft into our little room. We walked through anyway, into a hallway that was all gleaming white tile and bright white walls. Everybody was in step, like a marching band… or maybe ants.

We passed by several more sets of double doors, each clearly labeled: ‘Sleep Bay Two,’ then ‘Sleep Bay One.’ After that, we came to a door marked ‘Showers.’

The doors opened for us, and we all stepped into a large, communal shower area. We took up positions underneath the shower heads and simply stood there, arms raised to our sides, legs slightly parted. I flicked my eyes back and forth, but nobody else showed any signs of life or resistance. Nobody was smiling or frowning or blushing at our nudity. All the girls around me stood stock still.

They could’ve been statues, apart from blinking and breathing.

As soon as we were in position, foamy green soap poured from nozzles along the walls. It was slick, it smelled vaguely and unconvincingly floral… and it was completely indiscriminate. I barely managed to get my eyes shut before slick soap struck my squarely in the face. I could feel it everywhere: dribbling down my chin in a strange parody of a money shot, rolling down my back, dribbling between the cheeks of my ass. It was a strange sensation and somehow, it underlined my helplessness in a way that simple paralysis hadn’t.

For just a split second, the image of where I was and what was happening to me turned me on again.

Then the shower heads above us started up, deluging our helpless bodies with forceful torrents of piping hot water. It smacked me in the face, sloshed down my breasts and tummy. It stung my stiff and sensitive nipples, and was worse my pussy. Normally I loved hot showers, but I’d never thought about what they would feel like if I couldn’t turn my body, or step back when I needed to.

Any lingering arousal I felt was literally washed away.

Fortunately, the shower didn’t last long. After the coating of soap had been rinsed off our skin and out of our hair, the showers stopped. I cautiously opened one eye, and when it wasn’t splashed with hot water, I opened them both again.

The doors at the far end of the shower opened, and we lined up in front of them. I could see what looked like a locker room, beyond. The first girl stepped through, and a loud set of blowers turned on. It sounded like a hand dryer at in a fast food restaurant bathroom, only cranked way up.

One by one, girls passed through the blowers, then stepped to the right. I watched the girl ahead of me step into the oversize dryer, her short black hair flying around and her skin rippling beneath the hot air. Then, she stepped forward, turned on her heel and walked to the right. Even this close up, I couldn’t tell what was happening beyond the door. Not with all the noise, and the inability to turn my head.

Finally, it was my turn. I stepped forward, into the dryers, the hot air feeling almost as intense as the high pressure shower. My hair was definitely shorter than I remembered, too. I could feel it bounce in the artificial wind.

The room beyond the showers was indeed some kind of locker or equipment room. I could see rows of lockers and closed footlockers.

Once I was dry, a process that only took a few minutes, my body stepped forward and turned to the right.

For the first time since waking up, I saw people with clothes: there were two women in strange fetish wear. Each wore a pair of mirrored wraparound shades, a pair of large, noise canceling headphones and black latex bodysuit adorned with a chrome collar. Their outfits were form fitting, revealing model-perfect proportions, but covering every inch of skin below their necks.

They were just finishing outfitting my predecessor with a variation on their outfits: the brunette who’d gone before me was now wearing headphones, shades and a smaller one piece latex outfit with matching thigh-high boots. Her outfit was less concealing: it left her arms and legs exposed… and it had a zipper all the way along the crotch, so that both her vagina and ass could be exposed without removing it.

I felt a twinge of desire at the sight.

The pair of ‘helper’ girls finished by placing a shiny pink collar around her neck while she stood still. As soon as it was fastened tight, they let go of her and she left through another open door.

Nobody said anything.

For the first time in several minutes, I tried to struggle against moving forward to take her place. It didn’t matter, though: I was like a spectator in my own body, my struggle only serving to frustrate me, and make my heart beat a little faster. It didn’t even make my steps any clumsier.

The two women began to dress me. Their motions were swift and firm, their latex gloved hands posing me, holding me steady as they slid the tight clothes onto my otherwise naked body.

I felt a little like a mannequin.

After I had my latex, they put the headphones over my ears, muffling the dryer behind me. The wraparound shades came next, but I noted with surprise that they didn’t actually dim the room: they were completely transparent from the inside.

For a moment, I wondered if they were only there to conceal my eyes.

Then the women snapped a pink collar around my neck, and everything changed. I felt an intense sensation of pins and needles at the base of my skull, and it radiated outward. The feeling washed over my arms, down my body and even to my bare legs. Goosebumps rose all over my exposed skin, and my nipples stiffened beneath their thin latex covering, tingling shocks radiating outward from them like spikes.

A moment later, the tingling yielded to warmth, and a deep and abiding sensation of euphoria. For the first time since I’d woken up, I wasn’t worried about anything. I knew I should be: I had no idea where I was, or what was controlling me… but I just couldn’t work up any upset about it anymore.

Whatever was happening to me, it was just fine.

As I surrendered to the sensation, I saw glowing letters hovering on my field of vision. I realized dully that they must be being projected onto my new mirrored shades. It took me a moment to read what they said:

Unit 211

12.17.14 10:26

Status: Green

Mode: Drone

Task: Maintenance

The ‘10:26’ seemed to be a clock, as it rolled to ‘10:27’ as I watched. Before I could wonder any of that that meant, my headphones flipped on. The same mechanical voice from earlier said, “Unit 211 will report for sustenance.”

With the headphones on, the Voice reverberated in my ears. It was a little like someone whispering, their lips too close to a microphone… except in this case, my brain was the mic. The words echoed in my increasingly foggy brain, chasing away my foggy confusion about what was happening to me.

I was hungry. I didn’t need to worry about what was happening, I just needed to let the Voice guide me to food.

When my body started walking again, the process felt smoother and more coordinated. I wondered if I’d felt clumsy before because my own brain had been too busy. If so, that was less and less of a problem now. My body sleepwalked through clean white hallways while I grew increasingly fuzzy.

The one thing that struck me was how alike everything looked. There were endless doors and maze-like hallways, giving me the impression that I might be wandering through a filing cabinet. There were no windows, making me wonder idly if we were underground. I couldn’t imagine a building so big.

Even the people were hard to distinguish between: with a few variations in outfit, everybody here looked a lot like me. They were all female, all between their late teens and late thirties, and all in latex fetish wear, with wraparounds, headphones and varying colors of collars and lengths of hair. Nobody spoke. Nobody fidgeted. They all either walked through the halls with a purpose, or stood as still as a statue.

Absolutely everybody here was under the Voice’s complete control, and that control was so deep that I couldn’t even be upset about it.

Finally, a door slid open and revealed what must be a mess hall of some sort. The room had rows of shiny white cafeteria tables with attached benches. Dozens of women were sitting at them, each with their own identical tray. At each table, the girls were eating in perfectly choreographed harmony, every single lift of a spoon or glass in sync.

I shivered at the sight, even as my remote controlled body stepped past all of that, toward the wall to my left.

There were dispensers for food and water there, rather than servers. Somehow, that didn’t surprise me. My body stepped into line behind three voluptuous black girls with brilliant blue collars and shiny bald heads, then I took a plastic cup and bowl.

I watched in fascination as gleaming metal spigots pumped out my breakfast. My blue plastic cup filled with some kind of dark brown beverage, and my matching bowl filled with lumpy white sludge. Then my body headed for a seat at a table with a group of pale redheaded girls who looked like they had to be either sisters or close cousins.

When I ate, my motions immediately matched their rhythm. The drink was unsweetened tea and the food was a very bland vanilla pudding. Both were just slightly chilled, probably more from storage than any desire on the part of our unseen masters to make them taste better. Even so, I didn’t mind. The more I ate and drank, the more peaceful I felt.

About halfway through my meal, I realized it was probably drugged to tamp down on what few independent thoughts remained in my head, but I didn’t bother struggling. As much as I knew the idea ought to scare me, I was too pleasantly lightheaded.

By the time I finished with my meal, I felt like I was floating. It was like being a passenger in my own body as I got up and deposited my dirty dishes in a large bin.

The Voice spoke again as I moved toward the exit, “Unit 211 will report for exercise.”

At the new prompt, I suddenly realized that I didn’t remember my name. I thought maybe it had started with an ‘L,’ but I wasn’t sure about that either. I mused about that idly while my body took its second walk through the hallways on autopilot. By the time I reached the gym, it was clear I’d never come up with it on my own.

I surveyed row after row of exercise machine occupied by silent, obedient girls, and decided that ‘Unit 211’ probably summed up my new life better than ‘Leah’ or ‘Laura’ ever could have.

My body took up a position on a stationary bicycle, and I let myself drift while my legs pumped furiously. Maybe it was the drugs or whatever else they were doing to my head, but exercising felt fantastic. I was so into it that I didn’t even notice people walk up beside me… not until they spoke.

“Is this the one?” someone asked, their Voice so much like the one in my headphones.

That roused me from my near-trance, leaving me torn between a desire to turn and look at the speaker, and a desire to show off my complete obedience.

“No,” another stranger replied, “I’m not registering any anomaly in Unit 106. The signal variance originates from Unit 211. Observe: she can hear us.”

I tensed at that, cheeks flush, wondering how I could have done something wrong, when I couldn’t really do anything at all.

I'm going to pick at it today, see if I can make any headway. Looking forward to having a new title out. :)