© Copyright 2013 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission
Storycodes: Solo-F; MF+/f; compound; encase; display; doll; office; tease; electro; torment; toys; transport; museum; climax; cons/reluct; X
Time moved on, day after day, and as crazy as it sounds my situation eventually became "normal" to me. I watched those around me age, and my reflection in the many mirrors around me confirmed I didn't. I was initially looked on as a kind of perverse interactive display by most of Kris' visitors, and my captors worked hard at keeping my mind as pristine as my displayed body with hundreds of mental exercises to keep me sharp. I had no idea why my rather clever escape plan didn't work, but I eventually found my story on line on a famous web site, presented as fiction...
I was given ever increasing freedom to surf the web in search of knowledge, but if I did something I wasn't permitted to I experienced corrective stimulation's from the many sensors and transmitters all over my body in direct proportion to my infractions of the established rules. The number one reason for a "correction" was any reference to my release. Those could be savage in their intensity, and after several of those experiences I mentally flinched at the mere thought of release from my transparent prison, and I seemed to be living the classical definition of Stockholm syndrome.
I was still challenged to learn all that I could with the nearly unlimited resources available to me, and I had read countless books from limitless sources on subjects ranging from physics to philosophy, as well as every major news feed on the planet. This was easier than one would think without the physical distractions of self care that most humans have to deal with, and I became a kind of data base, or human oracle of knowledge, as well as a human interface for the mainframe. I slept when I got bored, but could stay up for days when challenged with a project, and the only way my handlers could get me to sleep at those times was removing my computer interface, or pushing the button forcing me to orgasm. Those were painful in their intensity, and when I tried to prevent the machine from popping me off, extremely painful. The entire concept of a "painful" orgasm was lost on my handlers, and after several attempts to explain myself I gave up, but I think Kris understood.
Very important people in the company would come to see me and ask my opinion on various important subjects, finding me easier to deal with than directly interfacing with the mainframe. In this way I had bypassed Kris in influence, and as she aged I became the hottest commodity in the R and D department, as well as the most useful. I was also given tasks to complete, complex research projects for the many directors of the company, and I found myself moved from office to office to more closely interact with each of them when necessary. It became a badge of importance for me to be moved into an office, and my presence alone meant that person had influence.
When there were meetings with outside people in the offices I was displayed with my eyes covered, I could still see out, but our guests couldn't see my eyes move and they treated me like the piece of erotic art I appeared to be. I was flattered to have them circle me in inspection, and some of the more tactile ones would run their hands over my encased body as I imagined I could feel the heat of their touch, and while I couldn't hear their comments, their eyes held obvious lust as if wishing I were real. Many would point to my "I love Marcus Chemicals" tattoo, and it was explained that I was one of the objects acquired with the purchase of that company many years ago.
Kris realized she was subjected to the ravages of time just like most everybody else, (with the exception of me), and to fight that battle she had become queen of the gym. She had started off at Marcus as cute, so much so that she was apparently able to hide her rather devious mind from our former employers, and I suspected she used her magnificent little body to gain inside information in numerous "stress relief sessions" approved and encouraged by the men's wives back at Marcus Chemicals.
She had then grown to be stunningly sexy with a following of hansom men in constant attendance once at Acme, but was now a hard body with the effects of her time in the gym. After the first several years flew by her apparent age passed mine, and I had the advantage, frozen in time in my very best looking pose ever for her visitors to compare her to with every visit. She looked to be right at that point that she had to chose her clothes by what they concealed, and not what they displayed, despite all her time in the gym. I had seen other ladies in the company go through the same process over the years, and I felt pity for them.
It was an obscure trade publication where I found the article first, and the link it gave allowed me to learn why Kris had been different lately, and it had nothing to do to her approaching middle age. The long term storage project that I was tricked into had other participants as well, except in their case the transparent compound was applied on a small patch of skin. In each case when the test subject exceeded a specified time period encased in the same compound I was, (many weeks past what it would take a normal broken bone to heal), it fused with their skin requiring reconstructive skin repair.
I had exceeded that time period right around the sale of Marcus all those years ago, and it explained why my project never went past the testing phase despite it's huge potential.
Could Marcus finally have realized this all those years ago from my earlier encasement in the compound, and sold the company and me off to escape the liability of their error? I initially thought they were duped into that sale by the cunning Kris all those years ago, and this forced me to re-evaluate my opinion of her. Was she the only one at Marcus who knew of the problems with the compound that cared enough to make sure I wasn't discarded in some storage facility somewhere, saving them the necessity of making a pragmatic business decision at my expense? Or would they have done something more ironic once my interests in dolls and mannequins became known, like posing me in the company store modeling the latest in safety gear and tee shirts? Select old employees would know who I was and look at me on display with a smirk, but the new people wouldn't, and eventually I would be forgotten!
I'm sure if they ever ended up in court they would have argued that their convictions and incarceration wouldn't release me any sooner, and there was merit to that position, it was a recurring dream for me.
In my dream I was marked as exhibit one, naked and on display for close inspection in that courtroom as the defense opened up my chunky old desktop and examined the dollification sites I had become obsessed with. They would argue that I wanted this, and that I had volunteered and signed a waver, and they would be sure to find out about the special devices I requested Frank manufacture for my entertainment. In one version of that dream each member of the jury, including the alternates, demanded to push my button individually and watch the results for their part of the discovery of evidence phase of the trial. I suspected that even my "I love Marcus Chemicals" tattoo would be used against me, especially as I couldn't speak in my defense. And I was also sure they would bring up my first "accidental" encasement, and argue that it wasn't an accident at all, and provide photos of me smiling while I was trapped and helping out our customers at the trade show. And in my dream when the machine responsible for my care and feeding popped me off right in front of the judge, I always woke gasping for air from a machine induced orgasm, but in Kris' office...
Kris came by to tell me in person days after the story broke that she had been reassigned to a foreign subsidiary of the company, and was being relocated down there to shelter her from criminal prosecution. I could tell she was broken and exhausted from her nearly endless search to free me, and she told me she had signed a confession to keep the company out of trouble in exchange for her relocation, and assurances of my eternal care. She so looked like she needed a hug, and for the first time in years I wished I could give her one!
Weeks later I found I missed Kris, especially with the recent knowledge that she attempted to do far more for me, than to me over the last twenty years, at least after she realized what Marcus Chemicals had inadvertently done to me. She had her fun with me at first, but I can't say for certain that I wouldn't have done the same if our positions were reversed, and who could tell what she would have done if she didn't find my private reading preferences on my computer...
I had seen many of the directors and staff eventually retire in my time at Acme, only to be replaced by new younger faces that were sent to ask me some question as an initiation of sorts, and in each case they were shocked to find that the rumors they had heard were true, and something like me actually existed. If they liked their answer they would be instructed to push my button, and after I explained what that did for me they watched and listened to my rewarding orgasm and snorting breaths. Usually when young ladies were sent to me I found the experience embarrassing, as if I were being made to perform for them. The more curious ones would circle me in inspection, oblivious to the many security cameras keeping me safe. I was after all a priceless company asset, although one that had limited uses now that a new generation of computer savvy executives were on the scene.
Mainframes were becoming obsolete for a corporation like Acme, just like my original brick sized cell phone and clunky desktop did years ago. The new ones these days could do ten times the work and were half the size and price, and it occurred to me I was becoming just as obsolete. The real reason for the initiation was in seeing what the new people did with me when they thought we were alone, and of course if they could keep a secret.
One girl in particular actually surprised me by wiggling out of her form fitting dress right in front of me and assuming my identical pose. She was justifiably proud of her firm young body as evidenced by her lacking undergarments, and was so excited by my predicament that her only question was if I liked it. I answered her honestly that I did, and she confided in me that she would give almost anything to trade places with me. She pushed my button in reward after we talked some more, but instead of passively watching me perform for her like all the others, she mashed her left breast with her right hand savagely, and rubbed herself to orgasm at the same time with her left.
When we were both sated she put herself back together and left, and I decided she was one of my favorites, and likely the security people watching us did much the same.
I was boxed up rather suddenly and moved once again by plane, and when my crate was opened I was positioned behind red velvet ropes as a museum display with a sign that read "The Jessica Display". I had read all about the new technology museum on line, and positioned where I could see them were many firsts, and I was horrified to be displayed among them. The first series photocopier, the first fax machine, and a brick cell phone similar to the one I had many years ago all were within my sight. The only good part of the whole display, other that the hoards of techo geek visitors with unique questions for me to research, was the other obsolete device placed right in front of me.
Kris was encased in an identical transparent compound kneeling right in front of me, and impossible to prosecute for any crime, saving Acme all kinds of problems. Her hands were restrained behind her back with her muscles held in a permanent flex, both displaying her strength and confirming she wasn't willingly placed into that position. Her ankles were held wide by a spreader bar, and her bald head was thrust back by a harness and attached to her straining wrists by a stout cable that also ran to her spreader bar, maintaining the permanent arch of her back.
The best part of all was the ring gag holding her pretty mouth open for her version of the feeding process, and when one of the geeks stood before me to ask a question, he or she were free to use Kris for relief. She couldn't move a muscle in protest other than her tongue, and I learned quite quickly any attempt at speech would lead to instant and painful correction by her control device. She was intentionally cast with a very full belly by the way her ordinarily flat one was distended, and she had no problem keeping up with the "flow" of traffic past us on most days.
On the sign in front of Kris were directions and conditions of use for her, and her display was titled, "The Price Of Failure".
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