Stories of Strange Queens

The drill continued for a few moments and then there was silence. A few words were passed between her legs, but she felt nothing, which gave her no respite what so ever.

'Glue.' She heard requested. She couldn't tell, but she assumed the soft sounds she heard from beneath her own up-turned vagina were those of that glue being handed over. So whatever this is isn't coming off anytime soon, then, Melanie thought to herself in a weird sort of panicky placidity. There were a few more sounds, and there was a sensation of pushing on her crotch for a minute or so. Then, at long last, Melanie felt her legs, suspended in thick padded cuffs attached to nimble robotic arms, being drawn back together, and the flexible chair she was sitting in begin to tilt her back upright once more. A few seconds later, her line of sight rose up above the horizon of her own body, and the dark eyes of six masked men looked back at her. She almost didn't want to look down.

'Take a look my girl, isn't it fantastic? A fully functional, self-cleaning, completely self-contained personal hygiene control unit,' the senior doctor said proudly, as if Melanie's cunt was a newborn he was proud to have delivered. 'It does everything from keep you clean to vet your sexual partners for you. Every piss you take, every squirt you do, everything you put up your own wazoo, it'll thoroughly double-check to make sure it ought to be down there. Plus, it integrates with the implant seamlessly, so it can even handle your libido for you -- right down to how sensitive Mini-Mary is.' He said the last part with a wink, as if he was selling Melanie a new car based on the luxury points garnered from having seat warmers.

'It's Melanie,' Melanie corrected, despite the fact that he'd only incorrectly named her vagina, not her. He ignored the words. Looking down, she felt her face fall a little as she took in the new addition to her body her loving, all-controlling company had given her. There, sitting perfectly atop her pussy so that it covered it perfectly and sealed the whole way around her slit, was a blue and yellow trap-door device with two small lights in the centre of the lid. It had clearly been anchored into her tissue -- hence the drill -- and glued to ensure it sealed tight and never came off. Melanie sighed internally, already resigned to the fate that she'd now have this thing in and on her life for as long as Kapplin saw it fit -- that was simply part of the life she was slowly getting used to working at the unimaginable place.

'So the implant is in there, right? In me somewhere -- I assume right at the back of my canal?' She asked. The senior surgeon laughed good-naturedly, as if she'd just had the injection for a tooth operation and thought that was it.

'No, my little pretty! The implant goes in the brain. Hold tight, we're just getting that sorted out now,' he said nonchalantly. He laughed again, having once more made a cracking joke -- Melanie was strapped completely into the chair, right down to the thick bands wrapped around her neck and forehead - and as he finished speaking, one of the doctor's assistants behind Melanie's chair pulled the forehead restraint taut, locking her head in place against the headrest. Melanie's eyes went wide, and that motherfucking beep ticked up another notch or six.

'What?!' she said fearfully. 'What the fuck does that mean?'

The doctor turned, holding the micro-drill in his hand. There was a long, almost invisible bit on the end, smaller than a human hair and bristling with impossibly small teeth, and Melanie knew from past experience as a nurse during ops like these that the implant in question was already attached to the end of that bit. The length of the tiny silver strand would be just the perfect size to reach from the side of a person's head right to about the centre of their skull, and Melanie knew that's exactly what it would do.

'Now. Hold still dear; this will all be over shortly.' The masked doctor said, ignoring her panicked question and approaching her. Melanie squirmed about but the restraints were thick and specially-designed, and as she lost sight of the doctor as he moved to her side, her panic finally overpowered the drugs in her system, and she screamed.

Melanie's ears were ringing.

Sitting up, Melanie felt the sensation of a blanket sliding over her bosom, and as she grabbed it, she realised she was dressed in her underwear. She was in a bed somewhere, and the room was dark, and for a second Melanie thought she must be in her room, that maybe she had been having a bad dream and that nothing had happened to her.

She sat up fully and made to swing her legs out of the bed, and as she twisted on the spot, her heart sank deep into her buttocks somewhere. The motion of twisting her legs and hips had pushed the skin of her thighs against each other and her crotch, and as she'd turned, she'd felt a strange presence underneath her panties, right where her vagina would be. She sighed, blinked several times, and reminded herself that this was what she had signed up for. It was all right there, in a six-hundred page contract agreeing to absorb her goods, chattels, debts and income streams in return for a permanent, unceasing income, her own lodgement, and constant catering. Just the thing a homeless, helpless orphan wants.

Melanie put a hand to her own body and felt the cold metal where her own labia ought to be. It was thin and not overly bulky, but it did protrude a little from her body and completely denied her any access to her vagina at all -- not to scratch, touch, or even go to the toilet. Feeling about in the darkness, she came across a light switch and flicked it on, revealing her black panties, white stomach and legs, her bed, and the shape of another bed ahead of her. She had more or less assumed that, once she knew she wasn't in her own room, she had to be in one of the women's infirmaries, and she was, though which she did not know.

Sighing again at yet another unfortunately correct call, Melanie looked down, and, steeling herself for what she was about to undoubtedly confirm, lifted her panties away. There, gleaming back at her from her own body, a small red and green light lit side-by-side on the top of the flap was a blue and yellow hatch, sealing her and everything else off from her own pussy and no doubt at that very moment interfacing with the tiny chip buried deep within her brain, scanning her every emotional impulse and judging what her needs were for her. Melanie knocked on the metal, and felt the dull, displaced sensation of it on her body, pushing against her skin. It was solid; pushing or pulling at one corner simply moved her skin about, lifting it up or wobbling it back and forth. The thing was attached to her better than her own arm.

'Magnificent, isn't it?' A male voice said from behind her. Melanie turned and saw a young man in a white coat looking at her, smiling from the edge of the bed behind her. He had thick glasses perched on his nose. 'Completely disables a woman's most primal, imperative feature, right down to her own desire to use it. So technologically advanced that you can take a leak anytime, anywhere and it won't get in the way and you'll never need to wipe, but try to touch it when you're not allowed and not only won't it let you; you'll suddenly realise you've never wanted to less in your whole life.'

Melanie watched over her shoulder as he strode around her bed and came to sit on the bed in front of her. He put his elbows on his knees and leaned towards her, indicating the blue-and-yellow device that was now, essentially, Melanie's new vagina.

'That cost us two million dollars to develop, and do you know what the most amazing part of it was? The brain implant was only 36% of that total cost,' the man said, unaware or just uncaring of whether or not Melanie wanted to hear more facts about the thing now residing permanently in her pants. 'The trap-door design was a tough one. We wanted to figure out a way to maximise effectiveness while minimising user risk, see -- we initially went with a shutter setup, but found that if a conflicting signal popped up during use, the shutters more often than not were damaging to the thing coming in... or going out. Imagine you use a grater to slice up your food, but then you take a chunk out of your finger -- except that's stuck permanently inside the grater, along with your food. Now you've got to go fishing about inside it trying to get out the bits, and that's just asking for more unnecessary exposure time. Either the touching makes the patient's libido worse, or the libido suppression system makes them hate it, which could potentially cause them not to remove the object from their body at all. Neither of which we want.

'So the trapdoor ended up being our pick. It pops open and sits high, out of the way -- we can reduce the size of the frame -- and it's fast enough to force you to disengage from the wrong activity immediately, but slow enough to give you time to pull it out before it gets sliced off. Pretty neat robotronics, huh?'

'I haven't met you.' Melanie said coldly, the flat-edged device in her pants showing through the fabric of her panties, fully aware of her abraisive attitude and frankly dripping to give this strange, over-explaining, over-personal man more of it.

'Ah, but you will know me very well soon enough my dear. I am Roberto Fairburn, I'm in recovery care, ICU and the Female Attachment Development team -- or FADs.' Despite everything, Melanie rolled her eyes at the phrase. Roberto frowned, but didn't take the bait. 'You are the latest staff addition to our roster of test trials, program 46, sector 6. I have a great number of tests to run you once you're strong enough to begin, and the sooner we start, the sooner more trials can proceed.'

'Which is whenever you tell me I am, I assume?' Melanie said bitterly. Roberto grinned.

'More or less, exactly! Very good.' He said, patting Melanie on the head infuriatingly. He got up and walked to the end of her bed. 'For now, I suggest you rest. If you need to relieve yourself, the facilities are at the end of the room that way -- there's instructions above every toilet and a compulsory survey you must fill out once you finish. Ta, precious.' He said, striding away.

Cunt. Melanie thought to herself, absently rubbing the metal pussy that was now part of her. This is going to take some serious fucking getting-used-to.

* * * * *

26, of average height and with a somewhat shapely, youthful body, Melanie Elouise Carter had a wavy shock of orange-red hair that sat about her shoulders, a few strands looping across her forehead and often dipping down across her bright hazel-green eyes. Her nose was thin and petite and her lips plump and angular, with a small, circular mouth that showed off a lot of tooth whenever she smiled or spoke. Her upper lip jutted out at the centre, and she had a deep horizontal indent between her lower lip and her chin that gave her a child-like cuteness. Her jaw was straight and moderately masculine, and she had thick, clear cheeks that dimpled right in their centres when she smiled. Melanie had wide shoulders and two round, tear-drop apple breasts that angled sharply outwards and bounced about when she moved, each capped with a thick, cylindrical nipple atop puffy areolas.

Her stomach was flat and her waist straight, neither curving inwards nor rolling outwards, making her look modestly shapely and femininely solid. Her hips were gently curved, but she had a firm, rubber ass and thick thighs that angled down into shapely calves, all of which grew greatly more appealing once assisted by skin-tight clothes and most importantly, heels -- not that she'd worn any for a very long time. On the streets, she'd had a generous shock of surprisingly rich red hair at her crotch, but that had been permanently removed upon entering into her new contract, leaving her well-endowed labia visible to all, two meaty red lips sitting at the centre of a puffy pink mound. Now, at least, that exposed labia would be invisible once again for the most part thanks to her "upgrades" -- if one could call them that. Melanie wasn't even sure she could call that a silver lining in and of itself.

The toilet had been an experience. Recovering from her operation, Melanie had needed to go pretty soon after waking up. Locked in the recovery unit as she was until her testing was completed, she had nowhere else she could go, so she'd gotten up and padded barefoot down the corridor made by lined up beds until she came to them. There was a lock in the door, and as she approached, it released, swinging open for her -- evidently there was a sensor of some kind on this side that allowed entry automatically. Going in, she padded onto the cold tiles and found two rows of cubicles lined up facing each other behind several sinks and dryers. The door swung shut behind her, and she heard the latch clack back into the locked position almost immediately.

Sitting, the sensation of the warm metal between her legs feeling strange on her thighs, Melanie jumped as the yellow flap popped open between her legs, swinging on a tiny, powerful spring upwards so that it sat sticking up from her crotch like a mechanical erection. It was well out of the way of her body, and once open the new addition to her body didn't interfere with her natural needs at all. After a few moments of focus, the soft tinkling began, and Melanie sighed, looking around the black-walled cubicle bleakly. There was a small lens on the back of the door watching her, but she wasn't surprised by that -- she'd grown used to the constant surveillance a few months earlier, after several sleepless nights in her company-provided dorm room which was equipped with both cameras and microphones in every room -- even the bathroom. Far from being surreptitious about it, her employers had made their intentions very clear, going so far as to add multiple cameras into rooms that had blind spots, including her shower. Once she'd come to terms with the fact that, even if she washed herself in the kitchen sink, they'd see everything, Melanie had shrugged it off and gotten on with business in front of her surveyors. She had signed up for this, after all.

Finished, Melanie noticed with a frown that there was no paper anywhere in the cubicle -- not even a holder where a roll should go. Standing, she was surprised again when her new mechanical addition quickly swung closed once more, and with a sensation that was completely and totally alien to her, felt it began to go to work cleaning her. Several smooth objects slid easily up and inside her, opening her up as a thin, slightly sticky rod of some kind began to roll about her insides, working around her walls about three inches inside her, going in circles from top to bottom before retracting, the smooth spreaders exiting her again.

Then, something that felt similarly sticky attached itself to and rolled up and down the outer skin of her labia, and after it had worked from top to bottom several times, squashing her generous love-lips in a way that caused it to push against every corner and reach surprisingly many cracks and crevices, it disappeared, leaving her more or less back to normal. There was a minute, muted chorus of clicks and whirs emanating from the trap-door device, and she could distantly feel movement in it through the skin it was permanently attached to, but nothing more. The fuck was that? Melanie thought to herself, decidedly weirded out at the sensations she'd just felt at her most private of areas. She pulled her underwear back up over her new robo-pussy and left the cubicle, positioning herself in front of a sink, another small camera angled down at her from atop the plastic-protected mirror.

She washed, dried and turned towards the exit, where a small touchscreen sat beside the door, attached to the wall. Moving up to it, she saw it had five questions on its screen, as well as a built in camera and, presumably, a microphone somewhere in it as well.

"On a scale of 1-5, how easy was your urination experience?"

Fucking magnificent, Melanie muttered. She tapped the '1', but the screen must have interpreted her speech as a positive review. The button next to '5' changed to look depressed, and that question on the quiz became greyed out so that she could no longer interact with it. Rolling her eyes at her own blunder -- she ought to have known any human input was being monitored -- she went on with the rest of the questions.

"How easy was it to urinate, compared to previous experience?"

5.

"Did you attempt to touch yourself at any point? Yes or no."

No.

"Was the cleaning experience painful or overly uncomfortable in any way? Yes or no."

No.

"Do you feel like the Project 46, Sector 6 project has enhanced your body's usefulness? Yes or no."

No.

"Thank you for your responses. Return to your designated quarters."

'And fuck you too.' Melanie said as the screen went blank. The lock inside the door released, and as it swung open, Melanie pushed through it and strode back to her bed, the solid shape attached to the skin of her crotch rubbing strangely against her thighs as she went.

It was a mostly uneventful afternoon after that. Still recovering from her nervousness and operation, she drank plenty, which meant she needed to pee plenty. Each time she went, her body's new addition flipped open, allowing her to relieve herself before snapping shut and cleaning her thoroughly, and each time she left, she filled out the survey the same way -- apart from question 1, which received the correct answer of 1 out of 5. After a few goes, Melanie tried standing up to see if she could see herself past the device better -- but the flap was shaped in just the right way so that not only did it not impede her normal bodily movements, it also blocked her vision, denying her the right to see her own vagina. She assumed that, if she truly felt like she needed to check herself out, the tiny node buried deep in her brain would register the authentic intent and open the flap next time she was in front of a mirror, but her general curiosity wouldn't cut it and no matter how many times she tried, she couldn't get the flap to pop open while she was standing in front of the small mirrors suspended over the washroom basins.

A few hours later, Melanie awoke from a fitful dream in which strangely shaped penises buried themselves into her head and in which she clawed desperately at her own body, tearing at herself animally, her need to touch herself driving her to dig her nails into her own body and tear at herself, unable to feel anything inside herself despite her fingers digging deep into her flesh. Sweating and panting, she woke up in desperate need of the bathroom, and she went, jogging to the toilet. Upon her return, Melanie found the doctor, Roberto, sitting on her bed, waiting for her, her strewn sheets still messy underneath him. She stopped when she saw him, but he beckoned her over. She approached, and he patted the sheets beside him, indicating that she sit with him. She did so hesitantly. As always in Kapplin, when someone senior ordered you to do something -- whether that was to sit down, become a test subject for a new device, or to jump off a bridge -- you did it. There simply wasn't any other option in this place. Unless you were a client, you were property, a new experiment, or in line for one. Even the highest-ups in the company had been experimented on, from what Melanie's colleagues had told her -- only theirs tended to be more well-rounded enhancements designed to improve and empower, rather than experiments in bending men and women to the whim of their clients.