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The Salvager

Ash’s hands gripped the ship’s controls tightly as he steered closer to the abandoned moon base. Landing on abandoned bases was always a white-knuckle experience; abandoned infrastructure deteriorated quickly, sometimes what felt like immediately after maintenance had stopped, and salvager ships were heavy to boot. They had to be, given their whole purpose was tearing everything up and ferrying the scrap back into orbit. At least this was on a moon, which meant lower gravity, but that certainly didn’t mean that Ash wanted to crash through a rusted and worn landing pad with the tensile strength of rice cake, because then he’d have to call someone else, who might be interested in scrapping the base themselves.

The raccoon hadn’t bought the rights to this one yet, nor was he going to do any significant salvaging today either; this was a mission of evaluation. The richer companies of the solar system could use a fully automated workforce – robots, that is – to do it, but the raccoon ran a small business that was more or less just himself and a couple of part timers and friends. That meant he had to do everything himself, which, to be fair, was exactly the way he liked it.

He positioned himself over the landing pad after a quick structural scan showed it was only minimally decayed. It could probably handle his ship, though Ash always worried about meteors on these industrial moons where the orbital shielding had long since ran out of juice. He hit the landing sequence and the ship’s computers took over the process, starting to gently guide the vessel down.

That gave him a moment to look through the facility’s records. This one was apparently a synth factory, long since decommissioned because of “scandals” and “a lack of available workers”. It struck him as ironic that they wouldn’t simply use their own synths to produce more, but then again, he was just a salvager, knowing little about the business of billionaires whose homes cost a hundred times more than Ash’s entire business and life.

The orbital flyby from earlier had given him some interesting data. Though abandoned, the idiots who ran the factory hadn’t turned off the reactor, which was now producing strange blips of power deep in the facility’s guts. That meant there’d be fun times ahead. Mostly, everything had been powered down, but an active reactor meant machinery could suddenly decide to stir, the lights might come on, or he might be electrocuted if he touched the wrong thing at the wrong time. Luckily, it probably also left the facility with enough life support to have breathable air inside. Or potentially, explosive gas. It was always a fun game of “can I breathe or will everything blow up” with these things.

That was the salvager life, Ash supposed. It wasn’t as if he didn’t choose it for himself. Nobody had forced him, oh no. He simply enjoyed taking things apart and recovering what usable materials remained. Maybe it was part of being a raccoon, as much as he disliked stereotypes. He tapped his mechanical arm, reminding himself of what can go wrong on these missions. It hadn’t been a fun experience at all when another of these moon factories had sliced off the organic one. But that had been when he was young and new to this line of work; he was older now, more experienced, and so grizzled that the machines would struggle to do the same to the other one. Well, Ash hoped for as much, anyway.

The ship landed with a woosh and a thud as the engines cushioned the landing and then toggled off once he was safely on the landing pad. Nice. Very good, even. He groaned as he unclasped the pilot’s harness and stood up, proceeding to get his suit on, starting with his underwear.

He liked flying the ship naked, and what of it? It wasn’t as if anyone else was within, well, approximately two hundred and forty thousand miles, down on the planet the moon belonged to. It was one of life’s little pleasures for him.

Once he was suited up, he moved quickly, grabbing his trusty plasma torch, strapping on his head-mounted light, and stepping into the airlock. One hiss later, he was out on the landing pad, looking over the factory from the outside. It didn’t actually look bad at all. Even the cladding alone, designed to reflect radiation, would make this worth it, but he still had to look inside to decide how much he could afford to bid.

The facility’s own air lock was sealed but thankfully not locked; the torch wasn’t necessary, just a firm tug to make it slide open. Ash stepped inside, flicked on his light, and then pulled the outside door closed.

That was when the first “blip” happened. The lights suddenly came on, and the airlock cycled as it was supposed to. No explosive gas showed up, and none of the automated turrets – they had those in every goddamn factory these days – activated, though Ash still kept his hand on the plasma torch to cut some wires just in case they changed their minds.

The moment he got inside, the power spike was over, and the facility plunged into darkness again. Ah, well. That was why he brought his own lights.

He walked slowly through the halls and past the offices towards the production line. That was where all the good stuff was. Old computers and such would be sellable, but they were nothing compared to the mass of iridium, platinum, nanomachinery, and ultra-clear laser crystals that they might have been using for production. Just the thought of what a treasure trove this could be almost had Ash drooling.

Yet, once he torched his way through a jammed door – it melted quickly under a relentless superhot stream of plasma – he was faced with something that he hadn’t seen before. The production line was completely unfamiliar. There was a conveyor, but far less machinery than he had been expecting. Instead of lasers and cutting tools, it seemed to be entirely based on some sort of liquid being dispensed from nearby tanks. Nanogel?

The raccoon tried to work out what the process was. Each time he looked, there was one conclusion that seemed more and more obvious, but it couldn’t be. Could it?

They couldn’t possibly have set up a synth conversion facility this close to an inhabited planet? But that’s what it looked like. Like the facility was built to convert living people into synths through generous application of transformative nanogel.

“What kind of psychopath moron-” he mumbled to himself. “Good fucking space rockets, this can’t be real.”

Synth conversion was so illegal it was considered a breach of sentient rights. Evidently, that didn’t stop people from doing it, but this close, and in the active jurisdiction of a populated planet, was exceptional. It was as if someone strapped faster than light engines to a bad idea and sent it into hyperdrive, to the point it breached into the dimension of elemental bad ideas.

However, there was one other fact. Illegal as it was, synth conversion was expensive. The nanogel alone, assuming those enormous tanks were even close to full, cost a fortune to produce and could be repurposed into almost anything. That meant profit. Ash felt that pleasant shiver of discovery. He just had to be smart about this. A game plan. Think, then execute.

Ash walked up to one of the tanks and knocked on it. It sounded full, resonating with a dull thump rather than the lingering echo of hollow metal. He couldn’t be sure it was nanogel, of course, but what else could it be? Above him, multiple mechanical arms hung like the legs of a long-dead spider-god, and below him, he only now realized that the assembly line had visible straps for holding people as they were transformed.

The cruelty would’ve been unfathomable, but greed shielded him from the worst of those thoughts. He could dismantle the arms for their parts, there was bound to be a hardware storage room somewhere with the components that nanogel couldn’t interact with, and on top of that was all the other stuff like the station’s meteorite-proof cladding.

As he was dreaming about all the money he could make, the raccoon bumped into a switch that he didn’t see. Nothing happened until he stepped back on the production line, a moment that fatefully coincided with a second, much stronger power spike. The assembly line under his feet lurched, and he fell like a sack of potatoes, not having anticipated the sudden movement. Worse yet, he landed in a way that locked one of his wrists into the cuffs, which immediately tightened around it.

Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, you got the plasma torch and there’s no way this spike lasts long enough to-

One of the mechanical arms reached down and sprayed him down with something that immediately began to disintegrate his clothes. For a brief moment, Ash was afraid that it’d dissolve his skin too, but as his clothes began to fall off, reduced to shreds by the devouring nanobots, he was left naked, not dead. He didn’t much like being naked in an abandoned base, but it was better than melting.

OK, just use the damn torch. Focus. They have to have spare suits here so you can get back to the ship. Focus!

He gripped the torch, painfully aware of his own nudity – it was somewhat ironic that he had flown here buck naked but suddenly wanted nothing more to than to stay dressed – as the assembly line lurched forward, tugging him along with every motion.

“C—c-c-commencing nanogel application. Scheduled-scheduled-scheduled product: p-p-protogen, female, female” a crackling speaker announced.

Fuck fuck fuck. Ash flicked the torch on and brought it to where his mechanical arm was trapped by the cuff. Another arm moved, and he could hear the wet slurping as it pulled nanogel from the tank. He didn’t want to sacrifice his arm, but he would, in order to avoid whatever this fresh hell was, and so Ash put the flame to the buff and cranked the plasma torch to the absolute maximum, turning off the sensory receptors in his arm.

Just then, the machine began to spray him. It started from his feet, and immediately, there was a kind of gelatinous tingling in his limbs, a telltale sign that the gel was beginning to transform him, replacing organic tissue with synthetic. Some parts of him felt cold, others fuzzy. Which made sense. Only certain parts of the protogens looked like metal.

Mechanical legs won’t be that bad. Cut, come on, cut.

But then another machine-arm reached and pushed a visor over his face, and suddenly Ash couldn’t see anything while blindly trying to sever that cold, mean piece of metal that was pulling him towards destruction.

“Reprog-re-r-r-reprogramming initiated early, p-product struggling-struggling,” the speakers sounded.

The visor-mask didn’t show anything but suddenly Ash felt that tingling in his head as the machines continued to spray him down, reaching his crotch, where his cock practically jumped out of its sheath to greet the transformative spray. He let out a muffled moan; it felt far better than it had any right to.

Then again, that was how they designed these things to keep the subjects from becoming violent. It felt good. Ash had no doubt that the visor was rewiring his mind already to react positively to being transformed, because he was already bucking and squirming as his cock ached for more that wouldn’t come. His legs felt different, but he couldn’t see what they looked like, and soon his groin, then belly, then chest were all tingling too, transforming as the gel effortlessly took over. In minutes, he knew there wouldn’t be anything left of his organic body. But while he had liked it – and his cock, most of all – this wasn’t the end of the world, as long as he could get free.

New plan. Let it happen, hang onto your own mind.

Ash dropped the torch onto the assembly line; if he freed himself now, he’d end up with a black mask glued to his head and a half-mechanical body that might or might not work. His heart was beating rapidly, but at the same time, the neural rewiring was making sure he didn’t panic, while his cock kept… wait, he couldn’t feel a cock anymore. That also didn’t make him panic, as much as he loved his cock.

Protogens all have interchangeable parts, don’t they? Don’t panic. Please don’t panic.

Suddenly he lost all sensation as the process continued. As if he was floating in a black, entirely formless void, with only a faint spark of his own consciousness to keep him company. Determined to keep his own mind intact, Ash clung to that spark as hard as he could as his body finished absorbing the nanogel and changing into whatever the machine had been programmed to do, which he was increasingly sure was a female protogen sextoy.

Suddenly he felt horny. Only it was in an immensely feminine way, like- he didn’t really know how women, much less synthetic women, really felt, but it seemed feminine, his entire body lighting up with an almost radiant arousal. Yet, he still couldn’t move any of it. There was only that arousal in the blackness. A floating, disembodied kind of horniness that felt like being restrained inside a sensory deprivation tank while hopped up on the world’s most potent aphrodisiac.

“C-c-calibrating personality… attributes… physical…” the loudspeaker voice continued. Well, it wasn’t really the speakers anymore, because he couldn’t hear anything. It came from inside his head, relayed there by whatever chips the mask was jamming into his skull while he was stuck in the void. But the voice seemed to be slowing down.

Please don’t fucking let it end now, if it ends here. I’m going to be stuck being blind, immobile, and horny forever, Ash thought, praying that the energy surge would last a little longer.

A loading bar appeared in his vision. It was stuttering back and forth between zero and roughly ten percent. More text appeared beneath it, scrolling past like an old computer starting up. Something systems, something personality. He was, at the very least, still booting up.

“Calibrating… calibrating…” the voice said, and then it stopped entirely.

Ash braced for oblivion, but oblivion didn’t come. The progress bar kept moving slowly.

Must be powered by my own body now, he thought. The arousal was climbing to absolutely unbearable levels, though, and it was interrupting his attempts at thinking through his situation. It felt as if something was pulling switches and pressing buttons inside his head, or at least, that was the only way he could really describe it.

He spotted something worrying in the boot-up text scroll. It said primary sex synth properties locked by administrator. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he’d surely find out once the progress bar hit its maximum.

Simulant nervous system booting. Somatosensory system enabled.

Suddenly he felt everything. Including the fact that he was a she now, her body feeling massively different. Ash was panting with arousal, or at least, she felt herself doing so with her mind still stuck in that loading void. She felt that she was wet and that the new, strange orifice between her legs practically burned with need. Having played with enough women, she knew that she’d be clenching, but clearly the simulated musculature hadn’t engaged yet. At least not enough that she was consciously aware of it, but that desire to be filled was overwhelming.

It’s so they can make you a complaint sexbot, focus, Ash, focus!

She was scolding herself. But did the power outage mean that she hadn’t been fully mindwiped? Other than the overwhelming horniness, Ash still felt mostly like himself. Except herself. The loading bar hit sixty, then seventy.

Vision enabled. Musculoskeletal system booting.

Suddenly the world came into clear, vivid focus, though the boot-up sequence continued running in the corner of her vision. Ash still couldn’t move, but the way she was prone on the darkened assembly line allowed her to look at her new body for the first time. She had tits, certainly. Wide hips, too, with rich, fluffy fur framing both to make them more noticeable for all of her future clients. Immediately, she felt a pang of desire to show that body off to someone and let them enjoy it, to let them use her.

But before she had any time to think about what that meant, the lights came on again and the assembly line continued to move.

Musculoskeletal system enabled. Implanting control chip.

Oh. Oh no. That would be the mindwipe. Suddenly, Ash could struggle again, though her adjusted and freshly digitized mind felt lazy and sluggish, every simulated instinct telling her to simply lay there. She reached for the torch as an arm with a sharp point reached towards her, but before she could do anything, it jabbed into a blind spot just behind the visor. She didn’t feel any pain, but a sudden, near convulsive horniness. The arm stayed in position as the progress bar reached ninety percent and one final, foreboding message scrolled by.

Control chip implanted. Reprogramming personality.

No matter how much Ash wanted to let it happen, seeing that lit such a fire under her that she managed to grab the torch – it had come along for the ride with her, in a rare stroke of luck – and turned it to full blast, cutting through the cuff effortlessly with a kind of machine-like focus that she didn’t have before, perfectly analyzing the cuff and the easiest way to get it off without damaging herself.

It snapped off, and Ash threw herself off the assembly line, disconnecting the “reprogramming arm” from whatever slot in her head it’d been in.

She laid on the cold, hard floor, panting – or at least, it felt like she was panting, though it could’ve been the fading instincts of her former body – trying to find her bearings.

The progress bar hit 100%. An error message in all red flashed in her vision.

Reprogramming interrupted. Return unit for reprogramming. Control chip failsafe in effect.

Before Ash could breathe a sigh of relief – not that she really needed to, or even could, breathe now, it was the same feeling as when she had been “panting” – there was a sudden jolt in the back of her head. The horniness had only briefly ebbed, and she collapsed into a shivering pile as it returned at a completely overwhelming level. She had to touch herself, she had to cum, she had to find someone to fuck her.

Her hand dove between her legs. At first, that jarring sensation of not finding a cock where one had been before was crushing, but then, the memory and the present reality melded together. She felt her pussy, warm and slippery, against her fingers, and nearly went into convulsions as those digits instinctively pushed into that warm, tight new hole. She clenched, and this time she could feel it. Her vision glitched briefly from just how intense the sensations were, and then her other hand found her generous breasts. They felt perfectly real despite being synthetic, and just flicking her finger over a stiff nipple brought about another breathtaking spasm of pleasure.

What am I doing?

Her mind – or maybe the damned chip – was almost forcing her body to move on its own. Yet, with its control incomplete, Ash managed to wrest back control of her hands. She stumbled up, moving along the not quiet assembly line. The power was out again, but at this point, she trusted it neither to stay off or stay on, and the doors back out into the office complex had been sealed with a blast door that her torch had no chance of penetrating, likely to avoid workers accidentally stumbling in and being converted themselves.

Okay. New body. You’re gonna be fucking everyone when you get out of here, she thought, leaning against a corner a little further into the factory. What’s the plan, Ashley?

The name slipped in as if it had been her name all along, and Ash didn’t even notice that. Instead, she took the moment to look at the little menu in her vision. Maybe there was something there to turn off the arousal. She focused her eyes on it and “blinked”, though really, she doubted she actually had eyes. Her face felt smooth like glass, a uniform snout. She knew what a protogen looked like.

Did they have eyes? If so, where? It had to be some form of auxiliary camera outside of the visor, because having a camera behind a lit, expressive face made no sense at all.

But that was a worry for another day. She quickly found the “settings” menu, and in it, the “arousal” slider, which was indeed set all the way to the maximum, along with “desire to serve”. Attempting to move either returned an error message; setting locked by administrator. Unit is not currently allowed to self-adjust.

Unit. That’s what she was, now. A sex toy, a product.

Well, fuck that. She was still herself. At least, Ash thought she was. Except for the whole gender thing, and the burning, wet arousal between her legs. She’d had the desire to get fucked sometimes, but it was all-consuming now, held back only by what felt like an enormous effort.

There were other settings, though. “Plug and play genital setup” was enabled, whatever that meant. Ash didn’t dare to touch it as she explored the user interface of her new mind. There was a “breast size” slider that she could move though – it seemed self-explanatory, something she could actually test and control – and while it seemed a little indulgent, the former raccoon slid that all the way to the right.

Her breasts swelled immediately, inflated and rebuilt by the nanonbots that she now consisted of, much like biological cells had comprised her former body. It came with more breathtaking pleasure, the control chip rewarding the effort of making herself more desirable and more feminine, her new pussy clenching as a dribble of her juices oozed down her slick, synthetic legs. She grew to what had to be an F-cup. No, bigger. She just didn’t know how cup sizes worked, but by the end of it, they were the size of her head, maybe a little bigger, and it made the freshly minted protogen feel incredibly sexy. Like she could be desired and fucked by anyone.

Focus, Ashy-ash. You might not need oxygen, but I’m sure this body needs something. Let’s get out, and then play with those beauties.

Not yet, she decided, mustering what willpower she had to bring the slider down until her breasts were of practical size, though even then, they wouldn’t shrink below a D-cup, being completely impossible to hide. And that was the point, wasn’t it? They had remade her as a sex object, whose only purpose was to look sexy and bring pleasure.

Maybe that was something that could be fixed. But first, she had to get out of this place, as quickly as possible, before she ended up being grabbed by the machines again.

She continued down the hallway after her brief moment of self-discovery. At the very end, there was a crate, in the spider-like arms of a small drone, adorned with control panels, and nothing else other than a blast door. This, she surmised, had to be a delivery mechanism, from which she would be delivered to her new owners. Not that anyone was expecting a delivery from this abandoned base, which meant it’d likely go to the last buyer.

Unless she hacked it, of course. Thankfully, it seemed self-powered, probably by a nuclear battery, and thus was independent of the facility’s power flares. There was no slider restricting hacking ability – it probably was the control chip’s job to keep her from mischief – and merely looking at the controls, their internal circuitry and code revealed itself to her.

Maybe this protogen thing isn’t too bad.

Ashley was still understandably loathe to get into the crate, but there was no real way to get out of here otherwise, so she climbed in and connected wirelessly to the shipping controls. It was set to deliver to an anonymous buyer on the very planet the moon belonged to, and reading that line – buyer, owner – she suddenly desperately wanted to leave it on the default settings. To simply be delivered to her new master or mistress so that her beautiful synthetic body could be put to proper use.

The power flicked on again, and as Ashley had expected, the crate closed, though not before another mechanical arm dumped in a variety of spare parts that she didn’t have time to look at before an automated flight drone was already moving her.

As much as she wanted, with all her heart, to serve her new anonymous master, Ash was still in charge, even as the unfinalized control chip tried to convince her otherwise. The drone took off, but at that time, Ash was already in control of if, and manipulating the much lesser machine, she guided it back to the base and then to the landing pad where her own ship was waiting. It was effortless, bar for the nagging feeling of sadness that came from not doing what she was supposed to do.

Ash grabbed the spare parts – not without noticing that they were other variants of her genitalia, some stirring at her touch – and stumbled out of the crate, and then back onto her ship. Thankfully, her memory was intact enough to remember the access codes.

Then, she made her way to the bunk and collapsed, staring at herself in the ceiling-mounted mirror that she had installed in the vain hopes of ever getting admirers to join her in her private quarters. That was the first time she really got a good look at her new self.

She had hips much wider than her shoulders, and her breasts were big enough that just seeing them bounce and jiggle sparked a new flare of arousal. Otherwise, she looked more or less like any mass-produced protogen, or perhaps protogen imitation, would look like. Her digitized expression was one of exhaustion, with a pixelated blush along the cheek-equivalent of the elongated visor. That probably signified the arousal.

Oh, yes, the arousal. Ashley reached for the spare parts that she had grabbed. One of them was a cock. As she brought it into her field of view, her visor informed her that it was her cock and that she could simply detach her pussy and attach that as desired by her owner. However, rather than doing so, a much more devious thought dawned on her.

She needed relief, didn’t she?

On the one hand, that growing urge to fuck herself with her own cock felt terribly perverted. On the other, if she didn’t get any kind of relief, Ash knew that she’d eventually completely break, and then she’d probably program her own ship to take her to her “buyer” just so she could get put to proper use as a fucktoy.

It was either that, or it was the chip slowly conditioning her into accepting that new pussy and the pleasure that it could bring, and every step she took towards doing so would only make things worse. But Ash could no longer fight it, much less so after she brushed her fingers over the surface of the cock and felt it twitch, as if with a mind of its own. She didn’t feel it, being that it wasn’t attached to her, but it felt just like her cock had felt as a male. Soft, yet hard. Swelling eagerly against the palm of her hand as she caressed the firming shaft, squeezing it and then slowly stroking it.

If she had lips, she would’ve kissed it. That was how badly she needed it, a wet patch already forming beneath her on the bed. And so, without any second thoughts – well, more than the sheer depravity of the act – she brought the toy to her entrance, using the ceiling mirror to guide her actions. For a moment, she was almost afraid of letting the tip touch her hyper-sensitive folds, as if worried that doing so would shatter her mind completely.

But she did, and that was it. The moment the firm, surprisingly warm cock touched her new unfamiliar pussy – and it was still a little unfamiliar despite her digital mind trying to tell her that she had always had it – it was like fireworks went off in her head. Ash curled up, shivering with lust as she almost convulsively thrust the cock into herself, every inch of circuitry inside her lighting up with the highest rewards her body could give her, and for a moment, as her needy new pussy finally got something to squeeze around, it almost felt as if she was floating, moaning desperately at just how incredibly good it felt.

Thus, Ash surrendered to the chip’s demands, spread her legs wide, and began to fuck herself with her own cock. Just little thrusts at first, but her new body didn’t really need any time to adapt. Instead, it felt so perfectly natural despite every inch of her being synthetic now, like had been made for this. That was, of course, true. She was made so that slippery pocket could pleasure every kind of cock, and obeying that directive felt heavenly.

She was in trouble. So much trouble. The worst part was that the trouble felt so good.

Ash fumbled for the other spare parts. There was another cock, this one with a knot on it for added flavor, and it was already hard as if with sympathetic arousal, like it retained some connection to herself. She didn’t have a mouth, or if she did, she wasn’t sure how to open it yet, and instead the protogen squeezed the second firm shaft between her heaving tits as she continued to fuck herself senseless.

She could feel her self-control slipping away. Not only in the sense of needing to cum, but that she was losing herself. Like every thrust was eroding some of her control, taking it away from herself and handing it to the control chip, but she had to cum, there was no way around it. If she didn’t, she’d be paralyzed with horniness.

A thousand thoughts were flashing through her mind. Did her body have the ability to get pregnant? Could her cocks do it? Did the cocks even produce viable cum? None of it really mattered; the act was risky enough as it was, but she couldn’t stop, and her mechanical hands were tireless as they plunged her own cock into that glowing, white-hot, sopping wet pussy again and again, thrusting at the frenzied pace of an imaginary lover.

On a whim, she adjusted the breast size slider again, gasping with excitement as they grew both massively bigger and more sensitive. More pleasing to look at for her imagined lover, though at the same time, making her proud of how stacked she was getting. She watched them bounce with shameless lustful glee as she squirmed.

She felt as if her mind was degrading. Each time her pussy clenched, she wanted to be owned more, at least in the heat of the moment. But there was no way she could stop now. Ash looked up at the mirror, watching the reflection almost autonomously fucking itself, the synth-fur of her legs matted with arousal and her digital expression half scrambled with pleasure, like the visor was struggling to accurately represent how good it all felt.

The pleasure crested to the point that her vision itself glitched out, the world briefly becoming an incoherent jumble of colors and shapes. She was slipping. She wanted to slip, to fuck herself into enslavement, into being a toy.

It was only moments away. Maybe it’d happen, maybe it wouldn’t, but Ash was far past the point of stopping. The ecstasy built like a glowing ball of fire in her belly, coiling and tensing, every inch of her body aflame as she violated herself with her own cock. Gods, just the way the shaft throbbed inside her flooded her body with all the feel-good chemicals, knowing that she was making it feel so good, exactly as she was supposed to.

Almost there. Just keep fucking yourself and you won’t have to think anymore.

Fuck, she wanted it so bad. At least in the heat of that moment, with all the pleasure surging through her, she wanted it.

And then, Ash came. Her vision went white, like the gates of heaven had just been opened and she’d been thrust through. Her orgasm crashed over her like a waterfall. Her back arched and she moaned out loud, her mind reduced to nothing but a sharp pinprick of light as her pussy spasmed around her cock. She felt that cock – her own cock – throb inside her in unison, a heavy pulse following each clench of her inner muscles.

But in the end, it wasn’t her own pleasure that made it all feel so amazing. It was the fact that she made the cock inside her cum. Sure, it might’ve been her own, but in her fantasies – disintegrating under the force of her orgasm – it was someone else’s and her body had brought it to that beautiful, throbbing climax, her contractions only serving to draw the cum deeper into her body, to massage the amazing shaft and make sure his orgasm went on for as long as possible, as was her entire purpose, and most of all, the purpose of her squeezing cunt.

By the time her vision returned, she was still trembling, laying on her rather soaked bed, oozing with both her own nectar and whatever cum the detached cock had managed to produce, with the second still nestled between her tits.

Well, the orgasm hadn’t really wiped anything of her mind, not without control chip fully engaged. It had, thankfully, just been fantasy after all. However, the urge to surrender was still there, as strong as ever, and Ash could see that she was still in serious trouble. The masturbation – or sex, depending on how you might see it – had done almost nothing to reduce her need.

Yeah, because the slider’s stuck at maximum, she told herself.

But that left her with precious few options. There was no third-party administrator in the dead company that had owned the factory. That meant that she could land on the planet and try to find some sort of hacker who could release those restrictions. Hopefully without turning her into his personal sex toy in the process.

Then there was the other option that made her feel simulated butterflies in her belly, that made her pussy clench hard and get even wetter, to the point that she was left utterly soaked. She could go and find where the cargo drone had tried to take her, and then order her ship to take her there, embracing her new life. That seemed like an amazing idea, though Ash still had enough presence of mind to know that she was being manipulated, the pleasure-centers of her mind being directly stimulated every time she thought about serving and obeying.

Did she want to feel good, or did she want to keep her mind and independence? There was almost no doubt that her “owner” would finish what the machines had started and give the control chip full, well, control of her. Then she’d just be a toy, with the only hints of her real self being whatever her owner deemed attractive enough.

Why was that choice so hard to make?

In any reasonable state of mind, Ash would’ve told her ship to take her to the planet and find the nearest hacker, no matter how shady, to rip the damned chip out of her skull. She could be her own owner. That was the best way to go. Obviously. Why did she even need to think about it?

Of course she wanted her independence back.

And yet, Ash hesitated to make that glaringly obvious choice, choosing to instead plunge her other, knotted cock inside her clutching, ravenous, insatiable body for another long session of self-fucking, reinforcing all those bad urges that kept welling up inside her. And while doing so, she fantasized of her future owner fucking her, claiming her, and sharing her with everyone who wanted to take a turn, matching those thrusts with her own cock as she drove it deep inside herself, until she he was cumming again, thrashing and moaning in the throes of another wonderful orgasm to those subservient fantasies.

Maybe after a dozen more orgasms she’d feel able to decide.

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