Catsuit
by Baochai Jya
I come online when the zipper is fully closed.
Self-diagnostics come first, as always. They take but a fraction of a second and reveal no problems. It is when I begin my second task, integrating with the body I surround, that I first encounter difficulties.
This is not Her body. That is unexpected. Of course, it is only recently that She finished the experimental phases with Herself as the subject, only recently that She brought me up to full capacity and let me explore Her, cell by cell. Perhaps she has resumed experimentation, now with a different subject.
It doesn’t matter, not to me. I am programmed to perform certain functions and I set about them.
“Ow! Alan, it pricked me!” The girl moves one had back up to the zipper. The boy places his hand over hers and stops her from moving it.
“Pricked you?” There’s something condescending in his voice, as though he doesn’t regard this girl’s intelligence very highly. “Now, how could it do that, babe?” He pulls her hand away from the zipper. “It’s just clothing, babe, just a piece of latex. No pins, nothing to prick you with.” He leans in and kisses her slowly.
Her breathing slows although her heartbeat increases. She makes a low, throaty sound to express her pleasure at his touch. “I suppose not,” she says. “And it stopped anyway.”
“Feels better now, babe?” he asks, moving his lips along her neck planting small kisses as he does.
“Oh, yes,” she breathes. “Much better.”
I begin by cataloging all the anomalies I find. The body is of approximately the correct height and weight. There isn’t much I can do about height, of course. Bone growth is a bit too complex, even for me. The weight is a bit higher than is perhaps healthy. Some minor adjustments guarantee that the body will begin to shed the few extra pounds it carries.
The body shape is a bigger concern. The breasts are too small and waist too big. I will have to strengthen the abdominal muscles to pull the tummy in. These are not difficult; these are problems I was especially designed to solve. It is, still, a tricky matter, getting the breast tissue to start growing again without triggering cancer. It may take a few minutes.
She looks at the boy and her body fills with a sudden lust. “In fact,” she says, “it’s feeling absolutely delicious!” She grabs his rear and crushes him against her. He’s aroused all right, but not enough. She wants more. The plans they had laid out of the evening are so very appealing now. She hadn’t like the idea at first, but she’s warming to it rapidly.
Part of my attention remains fixed on the breasts, working to increase their size and sensitivity. Ideally, I should be worn several times for at least an hour or two, spread out over a week or longer. That would allow me the leisure to achieve optimal results. The subject’s body, however, is proving more responsive than I had anticipated and that may not be necessary after all.
It is something of a shock to realize that the body is still capable of accidental fertilization. I can deal with that, of course, but I had shut down Her menstrual cycle so long ago that I might have forgotten how, had I the capacity to actually forget anything. Vaginal muscles are weaker than they should be, and the vaginal walls do not produce sufficient lubrication. The clitoris is too small and insensitive.
She looks at the boy. He doesn’t seem to realize that anything has changed. He knew that she would look fabulous in this catsuit; that’s why he “borrowed” it. He was the one who thought it might be fun to do something kinkier than they’d done before. So far it’s playing out pretty much as planned, except that he’s so hard now he’s not sure he wants to wait any longer.
He fumbles with his belt and the snap and zipper on his pants. The pants drop to the floor, followed quickly by his boxers. He’s grinning at the girl, who is caressing herself, letting her hands move luxuriously over her smooth, black curves.
He still doesn’t notice the entirely different look in her eyes or the foreign smile on her lips.
Modifications of the subject’s soft tissue are proceeding nicely. I have increased her arousal level to make her more docile and easier to work with. Full examination of the subject’s body reveals a number of small defects and perhaps one or two serious ones that need to be dealt with, but nothing particularly difficult. Before long, I will have the subject’s body in as good of health as Hers is.
Altering the brain, however, is very tricky, and I must be very careful. The subject would appear to have some latent personality qualities which she has unconsciously suppressed, and it is fortunately easy to bring them out. I must be careful as I reinforce them and make the personality changes permanent.
He’s started to kiss her again when sudden pain shoots through his groin and he almost doubles over. She’s grabbed him and is digging her fingernails into his scrotum.
“Did I give you permission to kiss me?” she asks. Her voice has acquired an edge it didn’t used to have.
His brain is reeling. “What the fuck are you doing, bitch?” he asks but she only digs her fingernails deeper.
“What did you call me?” she asks.
“Bi—” She squeezes again. He can’t finish it.
“The correct word to use, slave, is Mistress. M-I-S-T-R-E-S-S. Got that?” Another squeeze. He nods. “Say it, then.” Her body is aflame. She has never felt this wonderful before.
He hesitates. She isn’t drawing blood, is she? He looks up at her. Her face is just inches from his and she’s smiling. Despite the pain, he relaxes and smiles back. He hadn’t expected her to start playing dominatrix quite so soon, before she was even fully dressed. But if she has started, he’ll go along.
“Yes, Mistress,” he says. She releases him and he steps back. She is a vision to him. The catsuit has somehow enhanced her figure, tightening her waist and making her breasts seem larger. It catches the lights and the reflections emphasize her curves. Her black hair is cascading down over her shoulders, framing her face. He falls to his knees. He nurses his poor, tender balls and stares up at her.
Despite the pain, he has still never wanted her so badly as he does now, and the thought of playing out the scene he’d thought of is making him harder than he can ever remember being.
He breathes heavily. She says nothing but continues to look at him with that smile on her lips, that smile that says she now thinks of him as nothing, as less than nothing. He’s not a person to her anymore. He’s her property.
He’s thinking what a good idea this all was. He still thinks its a game.
I sense the male’s skin as it’s pressed up against me. The subject is coming along nicely so I am able to turn some attention to him. As the male touches me, I became aware of an ability I hadn’t known I possessed. I can adjust his personality, too. There’s little time to do it, of course, before the contact is broken, but I prepare myself to proceed if an opportunity presents itself.
Her smile broadens. “Very good, slave,” she says. She has never been this aroused before, either, but it is fully in her control. She controls everything now. She strokes the beautiful latex covering her skin and smiles again. “Hand Me My boots.” He gets them and starts to bring them over to her.
“Crawl to Me,” she says. He half giggles to himself.
“Yes, Mistress,” he says, smirking. He gets back to his knees.
“Your teeth, slave. Hold them in your teeth.” He shrugs. This is going to be a most interesting evening. He manages to get enough of both boots into his mouth that he can hold them and crawls over to her on all fours. He can’t remember where they left the handcuffs or the riding crop.
“Put them on me.” He unlaces the boots and puts them slowly on her feet. It gives him a chance to caress her thigh surreptitiously as he laces them up. He’s close to cumming.
She gives him that mysterious smile again. “Clean them, slave.” Of course, what else would he expect? “Do a good job, and I may give you a reward.” He starts to chuckle, but she grabs his hair and pulls his head back sharply so that he’s looking full in her face.
“Don’t snigger, you worthless piece of shit,” she says to him. “This isn’t a game. You don’t want to make Me angry.”
He feels a sharp rush of further arousal. He’s going to cum the instant he gets inside her, he’s sure of it.
“No, Mistress,” he says. “It’s not a game.” Naturally, he still thinks it is. She knows it and sighs to herself. He really is terminally stupid.
The subject leaves me on for some time. That’s good. It gives me ample opportunity to work on her body and her mind, tuning them, adjusting them, getting them just right. I hope that She will be pleased when She sees the results.
My best opportunity to work on the male comes when she has exposed her crotch and he presses his face against it to service her. She cums quickly, as she should, but she lets him continue as she cums and cums and cums again. It’s clear that her adjustments are taking nicely. He’s handcuffed by this point and she has to hold him with her thighs to keep him from falling over. That gives me a good opportunity to make some improvements to his psyche as well.
It does not last forever, of course. It never does. Eventually the time comes to shed me. The subject’s hand reaches the zipper and before I go offline again, I almost feel smug. I’m confident that She will be pleased with the job I’ve done.
She’s lying on the bed, utterly exhausted and utterly exhilarated. She didn’t think it was possible to feel like this. She strokes her skin, damp with sweat. Is it her imagination, or are her breasts fuller than they used to be? The nipples have definitely never been this sensitive before. She pinches one and becomes so aroused she can’t let the feeling pass. They foolishly didn’t bring a dildo, and the boy is useless now, of course. She has to content herself with her fingers. It doesn’t take long.
The boy is not lying on the bed. In the end, she felt he didn’t deserve lying next to her. He was too exhausted to care, anyway, but she was still surprised that he didn’t even object. It was almost as if he was genuinely anxious to please her. He’d never given much thought to what she wanted before. So now he’s sprawled on the floor near-by, asleep and utterly spent. He’s even snoring.
She take the handcuffs from the nightstand and slips off the bed. He’s too deeply asleep to notice anything. She loops the cuffs through the bed frame and secures his wrists, just to make sure that when he wakes up he realizes that she’s not through playing with him yet. An improvised gag does something, if not quite enough, about the snoring.
Meanwhile, she should try to get some sleep herself. Time enough in the morning. Time enough to get him to tell her where he found this catsuit. She clearly has some shopping to do.
I come online when the zipper is fully closed.
Self-diagnostics come first, as always. They take but a fraction of a second and reveal no problems. It is when I begin my second task, integrating with the body I surround, that I am almost overwhelmed by unexpected readings. I come perilously close to crashing. What is going on here?
The body is resisting me. I’m forced to sedate it before I can even evaluate the situation.
“Feeling more comfortable, are we now, Alan? Good.
“Now, don’t try anything stupid. The door is still locked, and I still have the evidence that will prove that you broke in here and stole valuable property. Even without the testimony of your girlfriend here, I could still get you expelled. Or worse. So just relax.
“In a way, you’ve done me a favor. I’ve been working on this a project over a decade, since the time I was a student even younger than you. I’ve worked very hard on this. Had things gone otherwise, I might have had to start over, but as it is, I think I’ve had just the break I needed.”
This body is horribly wrong in so very many ways. It takes me nearly a minute to catalog them all and it is only at the end of the process that I recognize it as the body of the male I had adjusted earlier. What experiment is She running now?
“This is not just a latex catsuit, Alan. Goddess knows how you found out about it or why you thought it would be a good idea to snitch it for some silly kinky scene with your bimbo girlfriend. It is, however, considerably more than you could have imagined. And she’s not a bimbo anymore.
“Embedded within it is a complex computer which controls over a billion tiny filaments. They burrow into the body of the person wearing the garment, integrating the two together. And they allow the catsuit to adjust the body (including the brain) in whatever way I may program it to do.
“So far, all my testing of the technology has been on animals or myself. I only recently reached the point where I was fully satisfied and ready to test on other people, but that can be so very unpleasant to arrange. Lots of paperwork, you know. Lots of effort justifying what I’m hoping to do and proving that it won’t really hurt anybody. I wasn’t sure I could ever get approval, not in today’s political atmosphere.
“So when you broke in here and stole the suit, you made my life so much easier. Your girlfriend has turned out so magnificently I think only one more test needs to be run.
“And she is magnificent, isn’t she? Just look at her. She’s stronger than she was before, physically as well as mentally. Her body has any number of improvements. The data transmitted to me indicates that she even had a small tumor that might have turned malignant had it not been taken care of. Her body has reabsorbed it now. And she had a nasty infection that was cleared up, too. I hope it’s nothing she caught from you. She might have to punish you if it was. I don’t think you would like that.
“She’s smarter, of course, and she’s had a slight—well, let’s just call it an attitude adjustment. I’m sure you noticed. She understands things better now. She knows just what she is and just what you are. And she’s clearly acted on that knowledge in the right way.
“Now, I was not expecting that it would make any adjustments to you. You were just touching it after all, not actually wearing it. And it really wasn’t designed to work on males at all.
“But you’re not as cocky as you used to be. Do you realize what an asshole you were and how much better behaved you are now? You seem to have lost all ability to resist a dominant woman. Not that we’re complaining—it’s rather an unexpected bonus. I suppose that even if I hadn’t locked you in, you would probably stay here until you starved if either of us had told you to.
“Time for one last experiment, then, before I can begin full production and start making very profitable sales to select customers with my new partner at my side.
“I’ve seen what happens when a male just touches my little catsuit. Let me see what happens when he wears it.”
The male’s psychological adjustment is nearly complete as it is, but the body is hopeless. Too much muscle. Improper distribution of subcutaneous fat. Thick, coarse hair in all kinds of unexpected places. The breasts are non-existent, the nipples small, insensitive, and useless. No ovaries, no uterus, no vagina, no labia, no clitoris. Organs where there should be no organs, including some monstrosities dangling outside the torso. The hormonal balance is totally incorrect. Is this what a male is really like? How can this kind of body even survive?
I calculate swiftly. I have never failed Her yet. Appropriate physical alterations are possible. I only hope She gives me enough time to complete them all.
A final check of what needs to be done, and then I start to work.