Hentai World: Doctor Fuch's Machine

Magda assumed the ridges contained the pipes but noticed no structures indicating such. When she came closer, Magda took note of the smooth features of the fan's center; how it curved gently into the end of the organ, "Almost like a slide."

She couldn't see into the interior and decided to try the other side. Magda had no luck from the other angle but noticed an odd pattern on the floor: a curved line, leading from the base of the organ to a pillar on the right side of the stage, then back to the organ.

Magda thought, Hmmm, a rotating platform, but why does part of it go under the organ? "Wei Lei, can you explain this platform?"

"Many stages have rotating sets obviously. I cannot state the reason for this particular configuration. A virus in my program is preventing me from accessing the complete information. Virginia is currently preparing a solution. Information should be available within the hour."

A twinge of unease sparked through Magda's spine; not a great one, just a mild stir.

"More information is available on the walkway above the organ," Wei Lei continued.

"Hmm?" Magda looked up, "Oh."

It was situated above the "conch", like a bridge, leading from one balcony to the other. Spiral staircases, Magda hadn't before noticed, ascended from both sides of the stage to the gangplank. A kiosk was placed in the middle, just above the "conch".

Magda walked to a staircase. If our claim on this place goes through, I might be able to snag this thing. The laws of salvage meant the property, planet, and its resources technically belonged to the passengers, but specific objects and buildings could be claimed by individuals, depending on who got to them first. It's a game of dibs. If it turns out the organ was a unique construction, its value would be galactic.

The gangplank was solid and firm. Probably built for stagehands and guests. Concert halls had little need for stagehands, even in the Second Age; most functions were performed by AI's.

The kiosk contained a holo-screen, in save mode. A touch of the finger revealed the title. "Doctor Fuch's Orgasmic Music Massage Machine? A massage machine? In a music hall? What is this? Wei Lei?"

Wei Lei didn't answer. A thumbprint appeared on the screen. "'Press here for a demonstration,' should I?"

Magda retained some sense of adventure from her youth. Her personality contained just a hint of recklessness, a necessity actually, considering the bold moves she took to achieve her executive position. Plus, her college years battling the frats contributed to her fearlessness. In any case, such characteristics explained her thumb press.

The bottom dropped out.

Magda didn't even have time to gasp, "What the fu . . .?!" Her ass hit the "conch" and she slid down into the organ. "Oh!"

The landing wasn't as hard as she would expect. The interior was colored pink, like the conch, and soft, like rubber. Magda's head sat at the open end to the instrument, allowing her to gaze down the machine's length.

She waited to calm before taking stock. She was more pissed than afraid.

"Very funny Wei Lei, a fucking trap door? What's this supposed to be? Wei Lei?"

Wei Lei didn't answer. "This doesn't feel right."

Magda tried to lift herself out of the machine but, however soft and rubbery its interior, the surface was slicker than oil.

Damn frictionless tech, used for centuries, from spaceships to personal conveyance, And old antiques like this thing.

A machine containing a massage table like this one, obviously had another way out. "I just need the door."

Magda felt around. Her fingers glanced across a section softer than the surrounding surface, "This could be it." She pressed.

Something happened, but not the something she wanted.

The interior began to shift, morph, and ripple like a waterbed. It took a few seconds for Magda to notice she couldn't move her feet. "Fuck! What now?"

She looked down; her feet were encased in restraints similar in texture to the interior walls. Another chill raced through Magda. This was no longer a sordid lark for tourists.

"Okay, fun's over, Wei Lei! Get me out of this thing right now! Wei Lei?!"

Wei Lei stayed silent. Magda placed her hands to her sides, and tried to move her feet in an effort to free them. New restraints flowed around her wrists, "Oh bloody shite!"

Magda tried not to panic. She knew the kind of tech the interior represented.

"Nano-bondage synth-latex restraints, fuck!"

Sex parlors across the colonies used similar types of machines. The nanobytes in the latex could convert from semi-solid to metal hard in an instant.

"And I fell right into this thing, bloody hell!"

She squirmed, trying to free her wrists and feet. A futile act, she knew, but better than laying still, waiting for the next surprise.

Magda did not have long to wait. It began as a vibration, accompanied by a low hum emanating from within, and rising around the interior of the organ.

"Oh damn! I do not like the sound of this!"

The obsidian dark of the organ's surface faded to glassy transparency, with the exception of the pink interior. The interior became translucent, faintly illuminating Magda's body through the glass, not unlike viewing it through a thick glass shower door.

Next came a voice Magda did not recognize as Wei Lei. It spoke from above, filling the concert hall; a female voice, either AI or some long dead promoter.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen to our first demonstration of Doctor Fuch's Orgasmic Massage Machine."

What the bloody fuck . . .?!

"A device to provide the ultimate orgasmic experience to the lucky occupant while affording excellent viewing for the audience, and all set to music by the great classic composers of centuries past."

"Voyeuristic massage displays; a staple of erotic performance," thought Magda. Cheap porn shows like this were millennia old. She was glad the hall was empty. "So, I'm stuck in a machine that's supposed to give me an erotic massage, for an audience. What was Hansen up to?"

"Before we begin, Hentai World would like to extend our deepest thanks to the lucky young . . . for volunteering to participate in the demo. We are sure . . . will find the experience immensely enjoyable."

"I didn't volunteer you bloody machine! Get me out of here now! Wei Lei! Virginia!"

Neither answered.

"Oh my," the voice continued, "It looks like our volunteer has entered the machine with clothing. This will not do ladies and gentlemen. Shall we correct the problem?"

"Correct? What the bloody hell does she mean?"

"Yes? And what music would be appropriate for the strip?"

"Strip?! Bloody hell you will! Don't touch me!"

"The Rach Three? Rachmaninoff's Third Piano Concerto. An excellent choice. Beginning clothing removal in five . . . four . . . three . . ."

"Fucking hell! This bloody machine!" Magda squirmed.

The walls of the casket began to ripple, then inflate like a balloon. Soon, Magda's body was encased, with the exception of her outraged head, in a pink, rubbery cocoon. The bonds on her feet and wrists disappeared, but Magda's body was too tightly held for it to matter.

A humming sound to her left turned Magda's head. The platform was rotating.

"What the bloody fuck's that about?"

The music started, allegro ma non tanto. The keys played the first movement, accompanied by an orchestral simulacrum.

"Aaahhrrr!" Magda growled, frustrated.

She didn't notice the activity to each side of her head. The barely visible pinprick lasers focused upon her temple. The faint hum of the hidden brain scanner, masked by the music.

In the mainframe, Virginia watched, smiling, a 3D image of Magda's brain come together. The download of her pattern would commence in a few moments.

Magda, a woman used to action and domination, despised helplessness. The rage throbbing through her body, at feeling one of her trainers come off, would seem disproportionate to a viewer.

Her anger stemmed from the symbolism of the act. She was familiar with the tech involved. The synth-latex at her feet had formed into "fingers" almost as dexterous as a human. She knew to expect more "fingers" given the programming; confirmed as more began to move over her body.

"Goddamn it!" she growled. In other circumstances, Magda would welcome it, but she'd have a choice then.

Another tug saw her right trainer pulled. Magda turned her head to the rotating platform. A tiny door had opened in the pillar. Her trainers moved toward it.

"This thing's going to strip me going upward," she realized.

Magda's clothing blunted the effect of the fingers initially. The synth-latex moved in sync with the piano's notes, playing along her body with each quaver. A toccata quaver removed her socks, which exited the side door onto the platform. Her toes wiggled briefly before the latex encased them. A synth-latex massage began immediately.

"Ooohh!" Magda gasped, surprised, not at the massage, but its effect. "This is actually . . . good?!"

Magda's imprisonment blinded her to the stress she'd experienced, not merely over the past few days, but the months since the start of her exile.

The latex kneaded her feet with the expertise of the best masseur, touching just the right pressure points. The resulting burst of endorphins calmed the redheaded exec, just a little, but didn't completely remove her outrage.

"Okay Wei Lei, or Virginia, or whoever the fuck's controlling this machine, I'll give you this, but there's still going to be an accounting when I'm out of this thing."

The machine may as well chuckled at her threat. The second theme, and a movement toward the cadenza, saw the unbuckling of Magda's belt, and unbuttoning of her denims.

"Grrr!" she growled and squirmed as her denims were drawn down, and thrown through the trap door onto the platform.

"Goddamn it! Those cost me one twenty-eight bit!"

Magda hated the idea her expensive denims would be mangled by a centuries old laundry. Her annoyance at the loss of denims illustrated her lack of fear. Other than holding her captive, and being subjected to a non-consensual (but, she admitted grudgingly, increasingly effective) massage, she felt no danger attached to the machine.

"I'll let it cycle out, and then I'll find my clothes, and then I'll find Stewardess and see if I can use this . . . incident to bolster my claim . . . or at least more money from those Trans-Galactic shits."

The movement reached the cadenza, and fingers played along Magda's smooth toned legs. Magda squirmed and noticed a soft, wet heat building between her thighs.

"Oh bloody hell!"

She despised the idea of giving in to this machine, but the fingers made it very difficult.

Magda lost her blouse during the orchestral solo after the first cadenza. Buttons unbuttoned, and her shoulders bared, as latex fingers peeled the shirt off, and down, her back. Magda settled for a glowering frown. The synth-latex loosened just enough to let the blouse slip down her body. It fluffed to the platform a second later.

"Genuine cotton and silk," Magda frowned in dismay. "One hundred bit."

Now clad in just a sports bra and panties, Magda waited for the next removal. The foot and leg massage were producing better effects, but Magda was not at the moaning stage just yet. The synth-latex was less ministrative on her upper body. Magda couldn't help but wonder if the machine was holding back in some fashion.

The end of the first movement saw the removal of her bra and panties. The bra peeled off slowly with the end of the cadenza. The fingers played along her skin, traveling down with the bra, until they reached her sculpted thighs. Magda squirmed and frowned, she couldn't help but, but the machine held her tight.

"These fingers are good at least," she admitted with considerable grudge, "But I hate this helplessness. Fuck! There go my panties."

The orchestra started again, accompanying the piano. The rippling coda coincided with Magda's panties sliding off her thighs, down her long legs, and off her feet. She watched sourly, her last articles of clothing move on the platform, into the pillar; not expensive exactly, but now she was nude, in a strange machine, getting an erotic massage to the Rach Three.

"And now ladies and gentlemen! Introducing our latest product, Slik! The new body oil for relaxation and sexual arousal. Made from a combination of oils from newly discovered plants on Tau Ceti: red spice bean juice and fire rose extract."

Magda squirmed, uncomfortably. She hadn't heard of these plants or the body oil, but she'd heard of Tau Ceti. The planet itself was under military quarantine. It had been that way for centuries. Something to do with ninety-nine percent of the flora and fauna being deadly in some form or another. Only elite special forces of the Terran Colonial Defense Force were allowed on the planet, and only for special training.

"How did Hansen manage to score plants from Tau Ceti?"

2205.04.15 Terran Standard Year: Hansen Space Docks

Hansen Acquisition Representative: "That's a steep price for this product."

Acquisition Agent: "This product cost the lives of ninety percent of the survey team. I'm still amazed the survivors managed to get as much off the planet as they did. Plus, there's the trouble getting past the Commerce Authority quarantine. The palms we greased charged a mint. You want these plants, you pay dear. There are some families needing compensation, and the survivors are owed big bonuses. Plus, profit to offset the losses."

"Should have hired Free Traders," the Rep grumbled, "Transferring funds."

"Those Mafia clowns would be dead the second they set foot on the planet. They're plunderers not bio-retrieval experts. Ah, here we are. Pleasure doing business. Now, get this shit out of my sight. Personally I hope Hansen chokes on these plants."

Intermezzo: Adagio Oil

Virginia smiled, catlike, reading more and more as Magda's pattern came further into detail. She had much of the redhead's early childhood scanned.

"Hmmm, privileged but not too wealthy, certainly not at Ransome's level. I can see where she got her strong sense of entitlement. Her parents may not have spoiled her, but they did her no favors 'karenizing' her like that either."

Magda snarled a frustrated growl. Unseen nozzles sprayed oil on her body. The fingers worked the oil into her skin, massaging to the opening melody. Her squirms came not so much from the oil as its feel.

It tingled, and in a very pleasurable way.

"I would think oils like red spice bean and fire rose would feel much hotter," she thought.

Worse, or better, some of the nozzles seemed aimed, explicitly, at her pussy, which the fingers held wide, ensuring her clit received a thorough dowsing. The effects didn't surprise.

Yeah, I'm getting wet alright.

The melody continued, the oil following until it drenched Magda head to toe. The tingle increased to a mild, not unpleasant, heat. Some oil drifted towards her eyes. Magda closed them, not wanting irritation, but some oil seeped through the lids, to no effect.

Does this stuff function like baby shampoo?

She licked her lips for a taste. Mint and cinnamon.

On the assumption of the second theme, the fingers spread Magda's ass, and oil flowed into her anus. The finger, now "hands," began to knead and massage her buttocks. Other hands started to fondle and massage her breasts.

Magda growled again. Her body responded to the increased intensity.

"Fuck! I hate to admit it. This is a fucking good massage, but damn! I feel like I'm giving in . . . Oh, fuck! I'm being entered!"

The synth-latex had formed into a ridged dildo. It entered her newly oiled pussy, drilling to the rhythm of the piano.

The massaging latex shifted. Magda watched it retreat from her body. Her ankles and wrists remained bound, and her back and buttocks stayed massaged.

She looked down at her groin. The synth-latex dildo pumping her pussy confirmed the invasion. Synth-latex hands also remained on the breasts, squeezing and kneading them like dough.

"Fuck! Molested, by an organ playing Rachmaninoff. Trans-Galactic is really going to pay for this one. Even if it is a good massage."

Virginia was similarly impressed. "This woman certainly does take care of herself."

Magda's body was slick and gleaming, head to toe, in oil. Her torso, and belly, undulated fluidly in the machine. She was already moaning, whipping her head side to side. Each time the dildo withdrew, squirts of cum accompanied it.

"Very impressive," noted Virginia, "I'll have to incorporate this imagery. The oil is extraordinarily effective on her look. I must build this into her avatar."

Virginia also noted, with pleasure, Magda's brain pattern was seventy-five percent complete. She had all of Magda's childhood and teens, plus much of her college years, mapped and copied. Eighty-five percent of her personality as well.

"A most colorful college life," Virginia remarked, "This woman is fierce."

The spikes in her pattern with each orgasm were of particular interest.

"She does enjoy sex. I can work with this."

Finale: Alla breve

Magda writhed in the machine, ululating moans from her oiled mouth. The oil spray had intensified with the finale. Little fingers raced up and down her spine like the keys of the piano.

The redheaded milf put aside her anger and let the massage do its work.

Fuck it! This is the best massage ever! Whatever this goddamn oil is, it's fucking terrific! I'll be pissed later. Maybe I can spin this on the claim and get this machine in the settlement.

Virginia was pleased as well.

>Full download of the new acquisition's personality complete, Mistress. Ninety-nine percent of memory downloaded and copied<

"Thank you Wei Lei," Virginia replied, "Commence final conversion."

>Compliance<

Virginia watched the nozzles increase the oil shower, drenching the redhead. The intensity of the massage increased as well.

"Rachmaninoff's piano is great for this scene," Virginia noted. "Time to construct her avatar. An oiled image, like mine, will be most effective."

Inside the machine, Magda rippled and squirted.

"Ogodofuckogod!" she moaned. It felt so good, and the oil just seemed to intensify her orgasms. I've never felt anything this hot!

She opened her eyes and looked at herself. The synth-latex hands raised occasionally from her body. Oil dripped from the fingers. Magda noted the oil had changed in texture. Once clear, now it acquired a pink and milky color, almost like liquid flesh.

"I feel so . . . liquid," she thought, as another wave of orgasms rippled over her. The synth-latex hands dipped to continue their massage.

Unnoticed by Magda, a second door opened in the pillar, and out came a train of empty containers, half gallon cans made of standard aluminum, coated in poly-steel. The platform rotated them to the side door of the machine.

Magda's moans bubbled from her lips. She felt so relaxed, yet aroused at the same time. Orgasms quivered across her body like jelly. The synth-latex hands just seemed to massage deeper and deeper into her skin. The redhead felt so soft and pliable, like melting butter.

"It feels soooo gooood," she gurgled.

2207.08.25 Terran Standard Year: Hansen Laboratories

Jason Ingels, PhD, Xenogeneticist, Hanson Laboratories:

"Holy fuck!"

Sharon Ivy, PhD, Xenobiologist, Hanson Laboratories:

"Fucking A, holy fuck."

"Look at this thing! It's . . ."