State of Compliance

Special thanks to HoneyLemonQ, a generous volunteer in Literotica.com's Volunteer Editors program, for editing this piece. All remaining errors and questionable stylistic choices are the sole responsibility of the author.

* * * * *

On a sunny Saturday morning in the middle of July, I bustled around my tiny suburban home and got ready for my lunch date. Occasionally, I caught myself mid-stride, or even mid-skip, and reminded myself that it wasn't one -- not like that. Alicia was just a friend. Even though things were going well, the situation was obviously fraught. I was a Level Zero, and she was a Level One. We were to meet at our usual restaurant in the Zero zone where I lived and worked, and that meant that she would have to travel several miles from her apartment. Her trip would be taxing -- far more taxing than mine. I never forgot that, even as I forgot so easily that our lunches weren't date-dates.

We'd been friends in school. She'd made a terrible mistake. As soon as she'd been allowed back into society, I'd reached out. She'd been hesitant, obviously, but grateful that someone from her old life was so understanding. I was glad I hadn't waited. That one decision -- to reach out immediately -- would probably be the difference between 'just friends' and 'something more,' someday. As I had every Saturday morning for the past several months, I hoped that 'someday' had finally arrived, and I just didn't know it yet.

After showering, brushing, and then rinsing with mouthwash one last time, I put together my wardrobe. In its own roundabout way, the State had radically simplified outfit selection. It hadn't intended to, but inspections were inspections; probes were probes. The skimpier the clothing, the quicker and easier it was to cooperate. The knock-on effect was that everyone had an extra incentive to stay fit. Everyone benefited. It was elegant serendipity.

First, obviously, I attached my chastity-slash-compliance device and turned it on. Even though I was only a little aroused from the thought of seeing Alicia again, I could sense the dulling and deadening effect it had on me -- first my clitoris, the point of attachment, and then everywhere else. The State well-understood that humans could eroticize any part of themselves. Strict control was necessary. Otherwise, the rewards of compliance wouldn't be as valuable.

The sensations were old hat, and I finished dressing while the rest of my body went sex-dead. I chose a combination microskirt-with-bikini-panties bottom, a skimpy white babydoll T-shirt with a built-in demi bra, and my best pair of transparent slip-on gel-shoes. I checked myself out in the mirror; I looked good. I grabbed a purse from the closet and made sure it had plenty of reusable wipes in it, plus the other usual necessities and vanities.

At the door, I lifted my identification-slash-compliance collar from its charging station, put it on, activated it, and took a deep breath. The outside world awaited.

Well, almost.

I opened the door, and stepped from my house -- a place of relative privacy for Level Zeroes -- into the attached State Inspection Vestibule. It was yet another privilege; it offered me privacy for my first inspection. I was actually thinking of stopping the payments on it. My neighbors were decent people. I lived in a decent neighborhood. I wasn't sure it was worth the credits just to avoid them occasionally getting the full show.

I didn't even wait for the friendly, not-quite-human voice to issue the order; I stepped out of my gel shoes, lifted my T-shirt above my modest breasts, and then slid the combination bottom down until it dropped the rest of the way.

I smiled a little when the machine hiccuped in its routine.

"....thank you for.... efficiency," was what the almost-human voice cobbled together. There were rumors that Elite and Leadership Zones had much better equipment -- even speech synthesis and improvisation, which didn't really matter at all. I found the hints of artificiality charming. They reminded me of those hapless, friendly robots from the old shows and movies who were just doing their best to help everybody out.

I set down my purse -- opened, of course -- assumed the position, opened my mouth, and let the State gain its satisfaction. It had to know I was fully compliant.

The red light was easy on my eyes, and more than enough for the probes to match my retinas to my collar. The machines were fairly deft, all things considered. A series of controlled pulses to my chastity device made my vagina lubricate. My perky ass cheeks were gently spread by cushioned appendages, giving the lapper, the stretcher, and finally the applicator the access they needed. Level Zero machines offer plenty of extra lube besides; I tried to focus on the positives, and not the fact that I always needed more of those wipes in my purse.

The vaginal probe was almost comfortable; it stopped right at my cervix and let another red light do the rest. I could admit to myself that I tolerated the anal probe better than most women. Until it reached very high and deep, the feelings of fullness were strangely satisfying. The oral-slash-stomach probe needed some help, but I was well-accustomed to its limitations. I shifted my jaw and neck around so that it could make it all the way down my esophagus.

The surface scan -- including my purse -- took only moments. The internal scan took longer. Finally, I heard the friendly voice again.

"Congratulations, citizen!" it exclaimed. "You were... cooperative, and are... compliant. Cooperation... and... compliance.... are... rewarded!"

I didn't have time to be amused by the patchwork praise. The State's probes, and my compliance devices, became part of a wondrous, greater whole. Over the course of fifteen seconds, I went from sex-dead to its exact opposite. Then, the State rewarded me. I orgasmed for however long -- ten, fifteen, twenty seconds? -- and the machines kept me upright the whole time. My hands went by instinct to my breasts, as they always did, because Level Zero vestibules didn't stimulate them. My beyond-horny body knew it couldn't miss the chance. It would be sex-dead again in less than a minute.

I suddenly remembered that I didn't merely tolerate anal attention, but fucking loved it. Double penetration -- even triple -- was a thrill. It was funny how quickly you could forget once the chastity device activated. Even the stomach probe did its part. Before it withdrew to my mouth, it squeezed out a low dose of the State's perfectly-safe pleasure drug, ensuring I'd have a nice little lift on my walk to the restaurant. I tightened my lips and tongue around the probe as it departed. It recognized the pressure, inflated to the size of a modest phallus, and gave me a dozen farewell thrusts. Thanks to my reward, they felt profoundly sexual. I was only slightly disappointed that it hadn't waited to squirt the drug until the end. I knew that getting it in my stomach was technically better, but beyond-horny Beth liked feeling a cock shooting off in her mouth. She liked a lot of things.

"Thank you, citizen!" the machine chirped. "You have... ninety seconds... before this inspection must be repeated."

I lost ten or fifteen seconds to recovery. Once I was sex-dead again, I grabbed my purse, got out the wipes, cleaned up, got dressed, and then hurried out of the vestibule. I was a pro; in fact, the process was more of a skillful juggling act than a straight sequence. The vestibule dinged green behind me, and I was sure I'd made it out with ten or more seconds to spare.

The sun was bright, and warm on my skin. The polarized, one-way covering of the vestibule had helped my eyes adjust a little already, as had the machine's red light. I blinked a few times, and appreciated the State's cleverness. Even though I was sex-dead, I felt great. The drug was starting to kick in, and I could feel the non-sexual pleasure of that almost-completely-natural warmth. The Level Zero dome, plus the global dome, ensured nobody got burned unless they lingered in the summer sun for hours at a time. The State assured us that we were experiencing an improved version of nature, and I believed it.

"Howdy, neighbor!" I heard Jake say.

I turned and squinted, able to make out his frame on his lawn chair. He was waving, and I waved back. One of the neighborhood Quickies loitered just beyond his property line, clearly confused at how long it was taking him to leave -- which he probably wasn't going to. They weren't the smartest. They didn't need to be.

"Hey, Jake!" I replied cheerfully. "Enjoying the sun?"

"And some 'ade!" he added, lifting the glass in his other hand. The cubes clinked against it. "You're welcome to join, but I know you've got those lunch plans."

I nodded. "Same as ever," I said. I liked Jake. He was an older man, and completely harmless. Even though he was technically within his rights to be naked on his property, he wore a thin pair of checkered shorts and a light T-shirt. He was polite like that. We all were.

Like many of the older folks in Level Zero, he was a little more playful when it came to the State's bots. He didn't hate them or anything. He just liked poking and prodding at their innocent limitations. I knew that half the reason he was smiling was because he'd gotten the Quickie focused on him.

"So...?" he asked coyly.

I blushed a bit. The drug made it feel rather good. I shrugged my shoulders, just about as coyly. "Hope springs eternal, Jake," I replied. "You have to be patient with the good ones."

"That's the spirit," he said. "I know I'll meet them one day. You take your time, and form a real connection. That's what it's all about."

I felt a rush of platonic love for my neighbor. I knew it was the drug, but I also knew that it was only enhancing what was already there.

"Wise as always, Jake," I replied, "but I do want to get moving before the Quickie decides I need, well..."

Jake's face fell a bit. I wasn't sure if it was sincere. "Sorry, Beth," he said. "I think it's raring to go. That's on me. I'll uh... you know."

I waved him off. "Please," I said. "We're neighbors." It wasn't just that, but he didn't need to know.

He raised his glass one more time -- a farewell salute. I slung my purse over my shoulder. I didn't want to drop it again unless I had to. I stepped off my property and onto the State street. Just as Jake had predicted, the Quickie sniffed me out in record time. I'd only made it about a dozen steps towards my ultimate destination.

"Greetings, citizen!" it said from behind me, and I immediately stopped walking. Its voice was distinctly cartoon-canine, befitting its general shape. "Please submit for... anal inspection."

I immediately lowered my bottoms, letting them drop all the way down. I lifted one foot out so I could spread my legs properly. I bent forward, reached my hands back, and spread my cheeks. I heard the Quickie's servos quietly whirring behind me.

"Thank you for... efficiency," it said.

"You're welcome," I cheekily replied. The drug was very helpful, even when you were sex-dead.

The Quickie's machines weren't as robust or as deft as the vestibule's. The lubing process was a bit ungainly, and I had to wiggle and squat a bit to make sure the applicator and the probe got up inside of me in a timely fashion. The cushioned supports were fine, but the Quickie wasn't heavy enough, or in a good enough position, to fully support me. More's the pity, because I knew my eventual reward wouldn't be quite as enjoyable for it.

I felt the faint heat of the red light deep inside. I took a few deep breaths and sighed; the latter was allowed during inspections, though not before. I heard the Quickie ping.

"Congratulations, citizen!" it said, in its friendly, doofy voice. "You were... cooperative, and are... compliant. Cooperation... and... compliance.... are... rewarded!"

My collar and chastity device lit up. My pelvis came alive again. I experienced the unique pleasure of a primarily-anal orgasm while still riding the pleasure drug's mild high. I rode the probe a bit, pushing back onto the cushions, but made sure to stay mindful of my knees. I didn't need a bill for damaging a State machine. If it happened during a reward, it wasn't a crime. It was still expensive, and nonpayment was a crime.

I also felt a special tingle, deep inside -- the one Jake didn't need to know about. I got it because he'd watched. It was another one of those strange discoveries that I kept making over and over again, and it was even harder to remember than the others. Most of those, I could indulge in at home.

When the probe withdrew, I went upright, immediately opening my purse for a wipe.

"Time check, please," I called out.

The Quickie paused. I heard the faint hum of its inner workings being ever-so-slightly stressed.

"You were inspected... very ... recently," it cobbled together. "You have been credited... fifty... credits."

I wiped my cleft and cheeks and smiled to myself. That was about a quarter of what lunch for two would cost. I hoped Alicia would let me pay for her again. She had, for the very first time, two weeks ago, and then again last week. It was a good sign; I was certain of it.

Jake had obviously heard the Quickie deliver the good news. He cheered. I blushed a bit, but appreciated the sentiment. Once I was dressed again, I turned and waved. He saluted me again with his nearly-empty glass. The Quickie was already on its way back to his property line. He caught sight of it, shook his head, and chuckled.

* * * * * *

Two vaginal inspections after my anal one had gone smoothly, and I'd even netted myself ten more credits: a ten credit penalty on the first time check, but twenty credits in my favor on the second. I must've miscalculated that first one by mere minutes; orgasms will do that to a person.

I sat down on the patio chair and breathed the warm, slightly-humid air. I ordered a cheap glass of ice water from a service bot. I'd worked up a sweat -- mostly, but not entirely, from the heat and the walk.

Alicia was late, but not late-late. Months ago, we'd very politely danced around the subject of her longer, more arduous trip. I'd expressed complete -- even preemptive -- understanding, and not a hint of judgment. As a Level One, of course she'd be inspected more often and more thoroughly. Of course the transition into the Zero zone would trigger more atop those. We'd agreed to factor in at least an extra half an hour, and I'd told her in no uncertain terms that I'd wait another half an hour beyond that before getting concerned.

Across the street, a strapping young man had assumed the position for a full-sized compliance bot. His skirt -- or his kilt, as so many stubborn boys insisted on calling them -- was in a bunch at his gel-shoed feet. His T-shirt was rolled up past his pecs. Red lights scanned his bare skin. The oral probe's appendage looped around his left cheek. It was impossible to deny the obvious visual analogy: the young man looked like he was getting sodomized up against a wall. I supposed he was, after a fashion. There was just nothing sexual about it for the time being.

I wished that I wasn't sex-dead. Somewhere deep inside of me, I knew that I would've enjoyed the sight far more if I weren't. If only I had been at home, or in the throes of a reward, I'd have wanted to see the college student's chastity device surrounding and binding his penis and testicles; to see the look in the young man's eyes -- especially during his own reward, assuming he received one; to be closer to the action in general, so I could hear it, and even smell it.

It was such a curious feeling, to want to want. I had a vague thought about something I'd studied in college -- something philosophical. It didn't coalesce.

I didn't think much more of the interaction itself. Either the young man was overdue, or there'd been some reason to inspect him so completely. There was nothing to worry about. If he was cooperative and compliant, he'd get that reward. He was clearly a Level Zero; he'd even get an unexpected dose of that nice drug.

I sipped my water and waited for my date that wasn't really a date.

To hear Alicia tell it, our routine had, eventually, begun helping her get to our lunches faster. The Level One and Level Zero bots weren't all that smart, but the network they were all hooked up to did have some decent pattern detection. Humans probably didn't get involved; we weren't nearly that important, for better or for worse. Insofar as the network 'knew' anything, it probably knew that Alicia and I were friends, and that I invited her into my Zero zone every Saturday for lunch.

I only had to wait twenty minutes before I caught sight of her. I waved happily, and took in the beautiful sight. Her larger breasts were barely contained by her white, skimpy, cutoff tank top, and they bounced gloriously as she walked towards me on the State street. Her microskirt -- a bold red, contrasting with my spring-color plaid -- let me drink in her long, smooth legs. She was gorgeous - busty and petite, with the faintest hint of almond color to her flawless skin, and an equally subtle dash of angularity to her eyes. Her silky, shiny black hair was short -- just about ear length -- and it looked clean, though I wished she'd let me pay for a Level Zero salon to style it.

It was a prickly subject for a variety of reasons. Wards of the State -- especially those in criminal custody -- had to engage in all manner of restitution sessions. Many clients had preferences for haircuts and styles, and plenty wanted to be able to pull it, sometimes violently. The only efficient solution was to have the wards completely bald, with wigs attached on a per-session basis. Alicia was nine months out. Her hair could've been neck length, maybe even longer, but I had a feeling she didn't want anything or anyone tugging on it ever again.

I didn't know how to tell Alicia that I'd watched her on the State channels -- not just once, but so, so many times. I wanted to. I wanted to tell her that my heart had broken for her, and also that I'd furiously masturbated to her. I absentmindedly ran my fingers through my own long, brunette hair. There were other things I wanted to tell her too.

She made it to the table and almost sat down, but it wasn't meant to be. The full-sized compliance bot trudged up behind her, having finished with its previous citizen a minute prior.

"Greetings... Level One... citizen," it said. I frowned a bit at the tonal shift after the first word. My drug was wearing off. The look in Alicia's eyes made my chest a little tight. After she began preparing herself, I didn't know whether to hold her gaze, or avert mine completely. Clearly, checking her out would be the worst of both worlds.

It wasn't a busy afternoon. There were only a few passers-by. The college kid was already shrinking from my view, heading towards the horizon on the other side of the State street. I knew, though, that almost everyone around would stop and stare, and a few more would peek out from various windows and doorways. Even while sex-dead, humans' curiosity remained. Sadly, Alicia's status as a Level One -- loudly announced, just then -- would only heighten it.

"It's okay," Alicia said, and I knew it wasn't. I made my best guess, and I kept looking into her beautiful, sad, slightly-wet brown eyes.

She opened her ratty little purse and dropped it on the ground. She lifted her tank top, and her incredible breasts spilled forth. Her lip began to quiver, but I saw her steeling herself. She clung desperately to her pride, or whatever else she could find deep inside of herself, for dignity was surely a thing of the past. The State couldn't preserve both it and the peace.

"...continue...prepare for full inspection," the compliance bot said. Its hiccup didn't sound nearly as charming with its harsher tone. It didn't say 'please,' either. I wasn't sure I cared for that.