© Copyright 2013 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission
Storycodes: Solo-F; MF+/f; compound; encase; intubate; display; doll; office; tease; electro; toys; insert; transport; climax; cons/reluct; X
I was soon thereafter boxed up in a stout oak crate by some disinterested workmen and moved to my new home, and of particular concern to me was the "property of Acme Chemicals" label painted on the crate. The location was a mystery to me except that it took hours to get there in my dark crate as I was bumped around, and the high frequency vibrations I felt led me to believe I was traveling in the hold of a cargo jet for some of the trip...
I already missed the limited human interaction I had with Kris, and it was with mixed emotions that I saw her pretty face looking me over for damage when the workmen again opened my crate at our destination, (after my eyes adjusted to the harsh office lighting as compared to the total blackness of my crate). I was in what I assumed would be my new home for the duration of the test, and I felt like no more than an object with the way I was moved, just like the property the lettering on my crate indicated. In my limited field of view I watched Kris circle me in inspection with the workman's clipboard, and she pointed out a minor scuff mark on my unnaturally held left breast that she touched with her index finger to make her point. The man took a polishing cloth and rubbed down the entire area until Kris was satisfied, as he did with several other spots on my encased body until she could find no reason not to sign his release form. With the remains of the crate removed I noticed the plushness of the office I was in, and if this was in fact Kris' new office, she had done quite well with her treachery.
The platform containing my control device, and the feeding apparatus designed to maintain my precise weight were moved onto a waiting display stand in the corner of Kris' office. I felt like I was a giant doll on display, and the idea excited me in a way that few would understand. As if Kris could hear my thoughts, (or had studied my favorite web sites once she learned my secret password), she had an artist brought in who air brushed my face to look like a doll's, rendering me unidentifiable to anybody but her. The woman was quite talented, and had used permanent paint leaving only my eyes uncovered. As I looked in the mirror I realized I appeared more doll like than ever with my bright lipstick and unfamiliar perfectly made up face, but the other implications of disguising me were just as obvious.
It had been hours since I had "eaten", and Kris once again put her special nutrients in my dispenser, but this time it tasted different. I realized I was becoming quite the connoisseur, but I didn't even care anymore as I could only eat very small portions anyway before the scale built into my platform cut me off. The mystery of my meal was confirmed when Kris held up a sign that was to hang in the men's shower area "Please help donate for our new test", and she made a great show of laughing at me in my silent prison. I was apparently to have many donors instead of just the one now, and that no doubt made things easier on Kris' boyfriend.
I settled into a routine on my display stand, I was fed several times a day, and everything that went into or out of my body was examined in a lab as vitamins were added to my special meal as needed. I dreaded the flushing program when the machine decided I needed one, as did I the stimulating shocks meant to prevent muscular atrophy. However, the same machine that forced me to endure those discomforts also brought me some incredible orgasms, heightened exponentially by my inability to move in the slightest way, and possibly as a reward for everything else it did to me. Kris seemed to time her days out so that she could be there when the machine "popped me off", sometimes alone, sometimes with her clients in attendance as she described what was happening to me in exacting detail. It was horribly embarrassing when my spectators circled me in inspection, especially as I snorted through my nose with no possible way to stop the process one the machine decided I needed to orgasm.
I tried several times when visiting women were especially amused watching me being made to perform like some dancing dolphin, and the only result was the machine painfully forcing me to orgasm against my will. The man who helped to trap me into this situation, and who engineered the purchase of Marcus Chemicals was a regular in attendance on those special days, and I also suspected a regular "donor" for my unique diet. He would just sit there and watch me perform for him while eating his lunch in Kris' office, and the smell of what he and Kris were eating reminded me of what I wasn't. I was getting better at reading lips as well, but it wasn't all that hard when Kris told me at lunch one day that she has never had so much as a taste of what I seem to enjoy several times a day.
Her taunts forced me to think about what they were doing to me, roughly three ounces of cum a day, or a whole gallon every fifty days or so, (if I were to remain trapped that long). My body probably had already gotten so used to this diet I was on that when they released me I may have to still eat this way. When I realized I was hungry it is what I expected to taste, what I desired to taste, even what I hoped to taste. A gallon every fifty days, or the equivalent of my body weight at approximately ten pounds per gallon in less than two years. And the donors, oh what fun they must be having knowing what their "donations" are being used for...
I could watch Kris' computer screen while she worked, and that plus her limited taunting interactions reminded me I was something other that the mannequin I appeared to be. I fell asleep often, both during the day and night, only to be woken when the machine decided I needed something. I also lost track of time, but I was sure my six weeks of torment were nearly over, and I hoped if there would be a permanent place for me at Acme Chemicals, and that they would honor my agreement with Marcus. A small part of me wondered if I would be happy with my old body once I was released as I had gotten used to looking at myself in the many mirrors of Kris' office in my tall and lean, breasts held high posture.
I was certain more than six weeks had finally passed since I was encased in the compound, but with the sale of Marcus Chemicals and the way I was moved it felt more like a lifetime to me. It was with some surprise that two white lab coated tech guys rolled in a machine with a monitor and camera assembly attached, and when the machine was turned on I could see it was a kind of small computer terminal. It was moved into a comfortable position and the guys made some adjustments, and one of them entered a password into the attached keyboard as the screen came to life. I sensed Kris was watching me, as were the tech guys, and on screen was a tutorial on how to use the machine in front of me.
My eyes controlled a cursor, and blinks were like right and left clicks on a mouse, and displayed under the open window was a keyboard that I could point the cursor at to type. It was slow at first, but allowed me to communicate on the companies internal data bus, and confirmation of this was a text message from Kris sitting at her desk taunting me about fulfilling my desires to become a human mannequin like the ones I used to read about. I had allowed myself to forget about Kris gaining access to my personal files still again, but reading about such things on line and actually doing them for weeks at a time were two different things. Her comment forced me to examine the true reason I allowed myself to be displayed and used like this in the first place, and even with all the humiliation and taunting from Kris, or more likely because of it, a part of me liked being kept on display in her office. I had no bills to pay and nothing to worry about except my next orgasm and meal, and my only purpose in life now was to entertain Kris and her friends with our limited interaction.
When Kris left for the night I was once again left alone in her office, but this time I entered the password I had seen her use many times when I watched her work, and I started to search HER files like a thief in the night. I wondered why I was given such a fantastic communication tool so near the end of my scheduled experiment, and just like when the guys at Marcus Chemicals had modified my old office, I knew this implied I wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. I tried to access my CompuServe account first, only to find that Kris had predictably changed my password, but I could still send mail if I used hers. I decided to write a detailed description of my adventures to date and send them off to one of the sites I had visited, not to facilitate my escape, yet, but to document them just in case. I programed her email to delay sending my story, and to continue to do so as long as I made regular updates to it. In this way if I were caught my story would eventually be sent without her knowledge, and the authorities could make some kind of rescue.
It was early morning when I had came across an inter company memo's rough draft, really just notes meant to be used in a confidential document and mistakenly not deleted:
"Test subject 'A' (name redacted) is a twenty nine year old female volunteer acquired with the purchase of Marcus Chemicals for a short term medical device test with the standard open ended release documents filed...
The initial six week duration of the test revealed an anomaly, no appreciable growth or ageing processes could be documented, to include hair and skin, or even nominal fingernail progression...
Subject A appears to be in a healthy state of mind with long periods of sleep induced by her confinement, and it is recommended that subject A be placed into the long term storage project 'X' (name redacted)...
Advise all test conditions be maintained, to include subject A's unique diet, until such time as nominal growth can be documented, and secure communication to be permitted to retain subject A's higher order mental functions...
It is further advised that subject A's control and monitoring systems be upgrades to include external control of the 'recreational functions' built into the original unit to ensure cooperation with further planned and unplanned experiments, as well as any promotional displays ect...
Ms. Kristeen Cooper to be appointed project 'X' director after the legal department finishes their work and files the appropriate motions to protect and save harmless Acme Inc..."
I read it over several times in horror at the thought of being kept helpless like this for months, or possibly all eternity. It was a kind of erotic horror though, and I wondered how long I could do it for before I lost my mind. I closed all my open windows and covered my tracks, and I went to sleep and had some powerful and dark dreams about my future.
We had noticed at Marcus Chemicals that my nails didn't grow at all in the compound the first time I was trapped in it, and neither did any hair that was trapped below the surface with me. That was apparently a bigger deal than I thought at the time. I suspected one of the nurses, or more likely Kris had told Acme about this unusual side effect, driving them to acquire Marcus and all the patents they held. With this secret trapped with me in the compound, and Acme employees unlikely to reveal their part in what could be considered my abduction and imprisonment, I knew not to expect any help from them in the future. As unlikely as it seemed, I realized if anyone were to help me escape, it would have to be Kris...
I slept even more during the days, only to be woken by actions that the machine decided I needed, or when Kris allowed my control unit to make me orgasm. She used this as a reward for my cooperation with her staff when I completed their many tasks designed to keep my brain working, or sadistically to entertain her many guests in her office with my snorting breaths. The first few times I didn't cooperate with her she not only cut me off from my orgasms for weeks at a time, but she used my new control unit to torture me with electrical shocks randomly applied by the machine without mercy. However, the worst punishment of all, and only used once by her to date, was to cover me with a sheet for an entire day when I told her with my terminal to "go fuck herself" in a fit of desperation... I never did that again!
Days turned into years, and I watched Kris grow older, along with all her regular lunch guests. I still looked exactly the same every time I was examined by the scientists and engineers, or as I looked in the mirror at my near perfection. I had tried to beg for help on my terminal several times from anybody I thought could help me, but the machines complex filters wouldn't allow the words to appear, and right after my attempts I was rewarded with a brutal series of shocks that felt as if I were being whipped with their level of intensity...
I knew I had a last resort to get help, it was risky, but I became desperate after years of torment and display. At first I didn't mind living as a display piece under the control of Kris, but I had a life I wanted to live. I thought the only reason I had lasted this long was my secret email and the hope of rescue it promised if I ever had enough, and I finally had. I came to learn that the company was in the process of developing a system to safely store humans for the international space station they wanted to build one day, and with the almost nonexistent diet I required and pristine condition I appeared to be kept in, I could see why. Even for that lofty goal I felt I had donated enough of my life to science, and I wanted out.
I added to the email account of my experiences at Acme Chemicals one last time, address unknown, and you have likely just read it and thought it a wonderful fantasy posted on your favorite web site. I have set all three to be sent after a predetermined period of inactivity to conceal their origin, and I hope somebody will respond accordingly. I will be waiting!
Sincerely, test subject A. (name redacted) 6/21/1993
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