Drain Ch. 02

She was kneeling at Flora's feet, her arms curling around Flora's shapely stocking-clad legs. Her face was pressed into Flora's skirt, her hair in a tight bun gripped by Flora's hand at the back of her head; she could smell Flora's arousal even through her clothes.

Flora lifted her skirt and the scent became stronger — overpowering, dominating. "Have a taste, cunt," Flora said, and Sophia opened her mouth as the hand forced her head forward until her nose was buried in Flora's skin, her tongue ravenously tasting Flora's juices, the smell of the woman completely enveloping her, owning her. Thank you, she thought.

—

She woke up to find herself humping her pillow, her panties soiled in her arousal. Fuck, she thought to herself, collapsing onto the bed. I don't — I can't...

Of course, there was no use denying it at that point. Sophia would have to come to terms with the fact that she was attracted to Flora — despite the woman's arrogance, despite their vigorous disagreements, despite everything the woman had done to her. Despite, despite, despite. Why? she lamented.

Or maybe, she mused, the worst part was that she couldn't simply fixate on this fantasy, masturbate to it, and discard it like rubbish. No — it was Flora, after all, who had denied her the right to orgasm — the right to be rid of her.

Sophia sighed. With luck, maybe that will change tonight, she reminded herself, thinking once again of the app on her phone, the half-dozen liters that sat between her and her release. Maybe then I'll be rid of this little obsession.

Sophia tossed her panties into the corner of her bedroom before getting dressed for the day, pairing a thin black wool sweater with a narrow tube skirt, stockings, short heels, and the same touch of makeup she always wore. She didn't really want to stand out — especially not today.

On her way out, she examined herself in the mirror. No signs of yesterday's 'activities', she concluded with satisfaction, patting herself on the stomach. She had decided against eating breakfast — it was hard to say how demanding her later task would be.

As she walked to the station and boarded her train, she thought of everyone surrounding her: ordinary commuters — studying their phones and books, listening to music, gazing idly out the window — but she was struck by the impression that her change in position had somehow separated her from them — the obscenity of the act that she had just performed, the fact that she would shortly repeat it, that she was going without her underwear in their presence. The same would surely be true at work. I guess this is just our little secret, Flora, she thought, being especially careful to cross her legs as she sat down.

Shortly the train glided into the first of the two IRAS work campus's dedicated stations, the Institute's red logo skating across the windows, silhouetted by the station's white tile walls. Here was Sophia's stop, where the administrative complex was located. A number of passengers exited with her; some she recognized as coworkers, but many remained unfamiliar — members of divisions that she had little involvement with, no doubt. The Institute was like that: so many employees that it felt almost like another world.

She felt a certain differentness creeping through her as she stepped onto the platform. Of course, after what she had done — after the video — things would never really be the same again; even if nobody recognized her, she would always see herself as subordinate — as a tool, below the station of her peers. How many of her colleagues had already seen it? And how many were among those she had already serviced? Fuck, I've got to keep it together, she thought, the bareness of her genitals suddenly very apparent in the cool morning air.

She crossed the entryway plaza and made her way underneath the massive cantilevered block that marked the administrative complex's entrance. As she scanned her ID at the security gate, she wondered if anything might be different — a change in the message, its color — but it was the same sterile blue text she saw every morning: Authorized. Sector: 28A. Please proceed. She let out a little sigh of relief.

When she arrived at her department, however, not everything was as usual; their work environment, typically characterized by an inescapable sort of professional sedateness, was now buzzing with gossip, and her colleagues, who would normally be quietly enjoying their morning coffee in their offices or pacing around by the break room, were instead gathering in little groups in the hallways, some even jogging around with excited expressions as if to spread their enthusiasm infectiously.

"Holy shit," someone muttered.

"What are they going to do? This is crazy."

"Is that video real?" came an incredulous voice.

A knowing nod.

"Who would do something like that?"

"You just heard?"

"Is the Program going to say something about it?"

"They have to, don't they?"

Oh god, they're talking about me, Sophia thought. She continued listening as she made for her office.

"Who is she?" someone said — a harsh whisper.

"No one knows." A shrug. Hands in the air.

"Do you think she works here?"

"I hope so." A chuckle resounded through a group of men.

Fuck — I really hope they don't find out, she thought as she waved her morning helloes nevertheless. One of her coworkers, Lydia, trotted over to her as she approached her office.

"Sophia, did you see...?" she said, leaning in expectantly.

"Well, no, but I know about it," Sophia replied. "If I understand correctly, I imagine the people at the Program will have some explaining to do."

"A lot of the men really can't get enough of it, actually," Lydia continued unbidden. "I wish they would discuss it outside of work hours, though — it's weird to hear them talk about it so openly. And I mean, the content of the video is... quite extreme." Lydia closed her eyes and sighed.

"What do you make of it yourself?" Sophia asked, smiling.

"The... the video? Or...?" Lydia seemed quite embarrassed.

"Just the whole situation," Sophia said. "I'm just curious what you think." She wondered how scandalized Lydia would be if she knew she was talking to the woman in the video — or that her boss wasn't presently wearing panties under her skirt, for that matter.

"Well..." Lydia said, "I think everyone is a little bit shocked — myself included." She sighed again. "But I thought about it for a minute, and this could still reasonably fall under the mission of the Relief Program's parent division — Psychosocial Motivics, obviously. In that context, the only incongruence is that the actions depicted would serve little purpose if the video wasn't circulated. So I suspect that it was actually leaked intentionally; if I'm right, they must have wanted to gauge the reaction before going fully public. We'll have to see what the Program people say."

"Or maybe even PM, if they deem it necessary," Sophia said. Lydia had always been one of her sharper coworkers. Then again, if she had already worked it out, many others would as well. "I know that the rollout of the Relief Program on campus was already somewhat controversial, to say the least."

"Well," said Lydia, "I know you were busy during the rollout yesterday, but I think the resistance has already waned almost entirely."

"Oh?" Sophia raised her eyebrow.

Lydia nodded. "The immediate reaction was very positive — the quality of the facilities — of the uh... stimulation. Anyway, a lot of the men, even here in our department, wouldn't stop talking about how much more productive they would be. The managers liked that."

"Wow," said Sophia, genuinely surprised, perhaps annoyed. Prior to the facility openings, there had been a number of opponents, and as a higher-up in the Operational Facilities sub-administration, Sophia herself had been chief among them.

"Yeah," continued Lydia. "Actually, they're already talking about expanding the Program to accommodate women — or, you know, people with... vulvas." Her face had begun to turn red.

"Really?" Sophia said, feeling her eyebrows shoot up involuntarily. "I mean, it's been what, sixteen hours? Seventeen?"

"Mhmm," nodded Lydia. "You know how fast they like to move. I imagine they'll be in contact with you about it soon."

"Thanks, as always, Lydia," Sophia said, giving her a pat on the back. Lydia smiled and turned away, and the two of them headed toward their offices.

I guess I'll have to go take a look myself, Sophia thought as she entered her office and closed the door. She had seen plans of the relief facilities, of course, but seeing them in person was another matter entirely. And it wasn't as if she would have to be particularly secretive, either — anyone was allowed to visit, even if the accommodations wouldn't be of much use to them. She did feel weird about it, though, since she had opposed the whole thing to begin with. Around lunchtime then, she mused, when there are fewer people around.

When Sophia got on her computer, she saw that Flora had indeed been quick to respond to her fabricated 'incident': a preliminary version of the email, intended only for the eyes of those with Program involvement, had already been sent to her.

Greetings,

As many of you are aware, a video is now circulating which appears to depict certain activities related to the function of the Relief Program (IRAS, Psychosocial Motivics — Internal Projects). Many of you may find the contents of this video shocking, and we at the Program regret this. In truth, the Program had intended to release this video more carefully, but due to a breach in security (which has already been isolated to the new proprietary facilities), the content was leaked.

For some of you, the activities undertaken in this video may appear condemnably obscene; however, we wish for you to consider that this was the work of a very eager employee — one who wishes greatly for the Program to succeed and did not want to see a single drop of your efforts wasted. For her sake, if nothing else, we hope that you will continue using the Program facilities as before.

Furthermore, in the interest of transparency, the video in question has been posted on the Relief Program website here . Future recordings of this individual's activities may be found in the same location. We hope to see many of you continue to contribute to this individual's vision and to the Relief Program as a whole.

Thank you,

Flora Enz

Director-in-Chief

Internal Projects Subdivision

Psychosocial Motivics

"Good lord," Sophia muttered aloud. She felt an unease in her stomach: now the whole thing had been set in motion — released to the world, and she would no longer simply be Flora's plaything; no — she was to be the company's little curiosity, performing her obscene duty for her colleagues' enjoyment on a daily basis. How many of them would watch the videos while they did the deed in their stalls? Would they think about her as they ejaculated, knowing what the fate of their semen would be? They could even see it in the next video if they wanted to. Every damn drop, Sophia thought, suddenly finding herself quite aroused again, her sex tasting the office air. Fuck. I really have to see it.

As the rest of the morning passed, Sophia tried to keep her mind off of what that email represented — or what her evening might hold. She couldn't bear that, especially not without underwear. Instead, she tried to focus on her work: responding to email questions, scrutinizing project approval forms, crossing her legs more tightly than usual in her late-morning meeting.

In all of this, she found herself more acquiescent than usual — less adversarial, more likely to overlook technical shortcomings in her colleagues' work, more willing to give in to demands in her meeting. Maybe it was hard to act like a hard-ass when she had been so recently humiliated — was being humiliated still, even. Or perhaps I'm just in a good mode, the thought came to her. Could that be?

When the office began to clear out around lunchtime, Sophia gave in to her curiosity and she found herself sneaking over to the nearest relief station; it was on the same floor, in an area shared between her own department and an extremal part of the larger Scientific Facilities sub-administration.

Beyond its heavy sterile door there lay a room of immaculate white tile, running all the way up to the level of her neck. Like in a bathroom, there were sinks, paper towels, wastebins. The remainder was divided into several stalls whose walls ran all the way up to the ceiling, their doors kissing the tile floor; the only indication of whether they were in use was an array of lights — one for each stall — that indicated its status: green for those that were available, red for those in use, and blue for those undergoing their automatic cleaning cycle between patrons. It looked like only one other person was in the room; a couple of stalls had recently been used and were in the process of cleaning themselves. A nice pre-lunch diversion, I guess, she thought.

For a moment she stood there building up courage; she sighed as she finally walked toward the nearest available stall and pressed on the door. I can't believe I feel the need to do this, she thought. A quiet beep accompanied a mechanical whirr as the door automatically locked behind her, marking the stall as occupied.

Inside, she finally got a glimpse of what the Relief Program represented. Just like on the outside of the stall, the floor consisted of shining white tile together with a drain at its center. For the cleaning fluid, she recalled, depositing her purse on a small shelf. And these walls are quite thoroughly sound-proofed to avoid disturbances.

Of course, in front of her was the main attraction: the stall's self-cleaning masturbation sleeve. Its main body was was a tunnel of thick, clear silicone, surrounded by a web of mechanical supports sporting a variety of tubes and mechanisms. As Sophia recalled, these allowed for the height and tightness of the sleeve itself to be adjusted. They also supported its main functions: gripping the sleeve on the outside would cause warm lubricant to be expelled through pores on the inside; then, the user would insert their penis and get busy; when they were done, their ejaculate would be collected by a nozzle at the end of the sleeve, and the device would cycle cleaning fluid through its pores instead of lubricant. The mixture of cleaning fluid and lubricant would then be drained through the floor. A small dispenser offered sanitary wipes for anyone who wanted to clean their penis before tucking it away.

Fuck, thought Sophia. She bent down and looked more closely at the sleeve, catching its rubbery scent in her nose. Fuck. This thing might as well be my mouth. A pang of lust shot through her body, ignited something in her bare genitals. Fuck. What would it be like to be someone here, using this? Fuck!

Almost without thinking, her hand scoured her purse for her phone, and she pulled up Flora's text and followed the link to the porn website. She pulled up her skirt and positioned herself in front of the masturbator as she pressed play.

She didn't have time to watch all ninety minutes of the recording, so she focused on the times of interest: when the flow of semen had just begun and she slowly gulped it down; then, when she couldn't take that any longer and it rose around her neck — when she felt she had no other option and swallowed it in resignation; when the tank itself emptied and the contents of the basin were pumped back to her mouth. All of this was interspersed with video of her lower body, shaking in both unease and joy, steadily coating itself in a layer of sweat. A third view focused exclusively on her genitals — freshly shaved by Flora — getting wetter and wetter as the task went on, like she was begging to be fucked.

Fuck, she thought, fixated on the masturbator in front of her. And this is where all of that came from. And then there was the sound of the moaning. Do I really fucking sound like that? she thought. It was so submissive, indulgent — as if the woman in the video was trying to express gratitude — for the deluge of semen — for having the privilege of being placed in such a perverse situation. I can't believe that's really me, she thought. Her fingers crept down to straddle her entrance as she humped the air. Fuck.

She didn't dare to truly touch herself, but by the time she had finished with the video, her vulva was so wet with fluid that it had begun dripping onto the tile floor. I can't believe you, Sophia, she thought to herself. And you want more, don't you? You fucking cum-dump. You fucking hole.

She collapsed onto her knees on the tile, withdrawing her hand as she felt her body twitch with the urge for release; she remained there for a minute with her eyes closed before she had cooled off enough to stand. She lifted her skirt to wipe her vulva before she left.

—

However, when Sophia opened the stall, she encountered an unwelcome visitor and recoiled, nearly dropping her purse on the floor.

"Flora!?" she exclaimed.

"Out enjoying the breeze?" she smiled. "Let's have a chat, Soph." She stepped forward, pushing Sophia back into the stall. The stall door closed behind her.

"What... what is it?" Sophia stuttered. Would she ever be able to speak with this woman normally again?

Flora leaned in. "You've done such a good job already, Soph," she said. "You know — your colleagues are quite enchanted with you," she smiled. "It turns out a lot of your coworkers here are a bit more perverted than they let on. Not that I'm one to judge." A wink.

Sophia didn't speak but took a deep breath in and out as Flora stood over here.

"Here, take a look at this," Flora continued, furnishing her phone and pulling up an image. "We found this in one of the relief facilities."

Sophia gaped as Flora turned the image towards her. What was there was a hand-drawn image of her — or rather, the woman from the video — on a piece of printer paper. Just like in the video, she was blindfolded, bound, swallowing semen from a long tube. Unlike the video, however, her proportions had been exaggerated — her breasts much larger, the distention of her stomach exaggerated to the point of absurdity. The artist had embellished the image with little hearts and imitations of moaning sounds: ohh, ahh, nnnhh; a message trailed vertically down: "DO IT FOR HER."

What the fuck is this? thought Sophia, totally stunned. Fan art?

"Quite something, isn't it?" Flora grinned. "It seems things are going as planned: the people have their mascot, don't they?"

Sophia nodded meekly.

"That brings me to the next thing: the project board decided that the cum-drain needs a name; ultimately, we decided on Cici."

Sophia stared into space, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Like, C.C. for Central Collections?"

"That's right," said Flora, smiling. "Not the most creative, but it gets the job done. That, and we cross-referenced it against employee records — only a few people at IRAS have that name, and they're all clearly not her."

"How thoughtful of you," Sophia said.

"Mmm, isn't it?" Flora said. "Anyway, the other thing is this: meet me at my office at five. We can go down to Central Collections together from there. And don't worry — I'll make sure no one sees us." She smiled.

"Okay," Sophia nodded. "Is that it?"