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The Sound of Traffick (Complete Edition)
🕑 Added 2020-08-02 11:36:28 +0000 UTCHey everyone,
Here is this complete and final edition of last month's story project The Sound of Traffick. Enjoy the narrative in it's entirety within in a single file. The full text of the story is also available below.
-Chaos
The Sound of Traffick
by Chaos Doll
Disclaimer: The following audio presentation is a work of fiction; any resemblance to real- persons or situations is entirely coincidental. This audio presentation depicts scenes of violence, drug use, abduction, and slavery in a dystopian science fiction setting. The creator of this audio does not endorse or condone illegal or non-consensual behaviors. Once again, this is a work of fiction. I apologize if this disclaimer ruins your immersion in the story, but we live in an era where a fair portion of listeners have trouble telling fantasy from reality. Accordingly, I felt a need to drive this point home. I hope you understand.
And now: The Sound of Traffick.
It’s three o’clock in the morning and it feels like you’ve been dancing for days. The club was packed, you lost yourself to the pulsing lights and the ultra heavy beat, a sensory experience carefully designed to make you forget the passage of time. You’ve already forgotten how many drinks just appeared in your hand. How many shots of Glittering C-Beam did you tip back? How many flirtatious messages and connection requests came and went in the corner of your eye? You were having too much fun to care.
Tonight you dressed for attention and you made attention your bitch. There wasn’t an eye on the dancefloor that didn’t turn to look at you. It felt so good, being at the center of it all. You could have left with anyone at any point during the night, but you wanted to stay and dance your cares away. People noticed you tonight, probably even people you didn’t notice at all.
A smirk plays on your lips as you make a mental note to sort through all one hundred and seventy connection requests when you wake up tomorrow afternoon. Who knows? Maybe you snagged the attention of a keeper, or at least a hot little plaything to keep you amused for a while.
The cold night air hits you as you pass through the exit. You shiver slightly, a gust of wind forces you to pull your jacket tight as you make your way towards the taxi stand down the street. You feel a little wobbly as you walk, cursing to yourself as you nearly trip on the uneven pavement. It will feel so good to be back in your apartment; you’ll no doubt peel out of your clothes and crash straight into bed.
Your vision goes a little blurry, and you nearly trip over your own shoes this time. Perhaps you’ve had one too many drinks after all. Maybe that's why you suddenly feel so clumsy, your limbs heavy and slow to respond. Maybe that’s why you failed to notice the shadows emerging from the alleyway on your left. Maybe—
Just maybe that’s why you failed to notice the hand reaching for you from behind.
There is a sharp pain at the back of your neck as something unseen pierces your skin.
Everything goes black.
You jolt awake.
You’re lying on your side. Your face is pressed against the floor. The back of your neck throbs in pain. Did you fall? Did you hit your head? You blink your eyes several times. You can’t see where you are. Have you gone blind? Your head is spinning. You try to piece together your last clear memory. You fail. You blink a few more times. There is carpet or some kind of fabric underneath you. It’s rough against your cheek. You can almost make out the lines of a simple pattern on the fabric. You reach out your hand. It feels cheap and industrial. You seem to be surrounded by it.
You let out a sigh; at least you’re not blind. It’s just dark. Very dark. You’re surrounded by the deep hum of a car engine, you can feel the vibration. The sound of traffic passes by in the distance. You feel lost, your thoughts slow and unfocused, you haven’t quite processed your situation yet, still a little buzzed from your night at the club. You try to sit up and barely rise more than a few inches before the top of your head collides against something with a sharp thud.
You groan in pain. That really fucking hurt. You prop yourself up on one elbow as you reach above your head with your other hand. You feel something smooth, hard—maybe plastic? Polycarbonate? It’s hard to tell in the dark. You turn your head cautiously, squinting as you inspect the surface above you. A visual inspection reveals nothing you hadn’t already felt with your hand. The surface above you is smooth and featureless.
A sense of movement suddenly clicks it all into place for you. You now know exactly what this is. You’re in a—you’ve been—you’re in a...in a...
The thought vanishes as quickly as it forms. It’s hard to focus and your thoughts seem slow and cumbersome. You just had it; it was in your head, and it just… vanished. You should be worried, concerned, but it’s so hard to focus. Trying to take the measure of your small enclosed surroundings, you stretch out as much as possible. Something is being done to you, you have to… just... think...
You feel your surroundings shift in a sharp turn. That’s it! You’re moving. You’re in a vehicle. Someone has taken you. You’re being abduc—Ouch. There is a sudden twinge of pain at the back of your neck, and you reach up out of reflex, rubbing at the soreness with your hand. Your fingers discover something cold and metallic. It’s small, round, flat, not much bigger than an old timey bottle cap.
Your eyes go wide in realization. It’s a data collar. You’ve avoided getting one your entire life. Sure, the small quick-install ports have many benefits, allowing access to virtual reality networks (in fact some of the hottest video games require a data collar to play,) but the privacy and security implications of devices that allow direct access to all mental and biological functions has always been questionable. All it takes is one determined hacker to turn a user into an involuntary asset through their brain stem.
Hell, that's exactly why the government and megacorps don’t allow their higher-ups to use this kind of tech. They just happily sell it to gullible consumers all too happy to trade autonomy for entertainment.
Fuck. Your thoughts wandered again. Now isn’t the time to be dwelling on your grievances with life in the 2070s. The world has been shit for a long, long time, and you need to figure out where you are right now and how you ended up with a brand new data collar.
You struggle to stay focused and begin feeling around in the dark, looking for any way out of your situation. You’re in a container, or maybe a trunk. Searching turns up nothing of use, no tools or loose objects. Nothing. Just smooth plastic and cheap carpet. No hinges, no handles or locking mechanisms.
You let out a groan, panic finally starting to worm it’s way into your thoughts. Where are you? Who did this? Your racing thoughts are soon interrupted by a loss of momentum and a sudden silencing of the sound of traffic.
Before you can catch your breath, your world is filled with light. The smooth lid above your head is drawn back, and you can see the silhouette of three people looming over you.
“My, my. What have you brought us this time?” says the slender one in the middle in a feminine voice, her tone dripping with malevolence “A virgin collar? This will do nicely.”
One of the larger silhouettes to the side grunts in acknowledgement, and a moment later, they are lifting you out of the trunk, propping you up on your feet to stand before them. The woman in the middle leans in closer, allowing you to make out her strikingly beautiful features. Dark hair and almond eyes hover over an elaborate dragon tattoo coiling around her neck and down her plunging neckline. You stare at her ample cleavage. It’s hard to look away.
She smirks at you, and you barely notice as she reaches around and inserts a small device into the data collar at the back of your neck.
“You will follow me, and you will obey,” she says in a confident, commanding tone.
Before you can even process her words and form a reply, something else seems to take control of your body..
“Yes, Mistress,” you hear your own voice reply autonomously, your mouth moving of its own accord. You suddenly feel like a passenger in your own skin.
She leads you toward a nearby warehouse, built a hundred years ago and rundown. The ground is dry, and dust kicks up with every step. You’re definitely in the wasteland, quite a bit farther outside of the city than you’ve ever been before. Hell, you’ve barely even left your district of the city more than a few times.
You are really in the shit now.
“I’ll take it from here, boys,” she says to the two large men as she leads you through a heavy door into the dust covered building. The men disappear from your view as your body follows along obediently.
You walk through a short dark hallway toward a larger section of the facility. As you emerge from the hallway, you are assaulted by a sudden and penetratingly bright light. When your eyes adjust to the new environment you see an entirely unexpected interior. People in white coats hurry about, entering and exiting dozens of small makeshift rooms formed by sheets of semi-transparent plastic dividing up the large space, each room is filled with a table of some sort, alongside unfamiliar machines and the glow of holographic displays..
You’ve heard about something like this before. You search your memory, as much as is possible with everything interfering with your thoughts. It seems so familiar... Something on the news feeds, maybe? Something like a hospital… but not… Something illegal, something… bad.
Your eyes scan the room frantically, searching for any means of escape while the woman leads you deeper into the facility.
A sudden cry to your right draws your attention to a girl strapped down to a table as reflective chrome implants are drilled into place around each empty black hole where her organic eyes used to be. A robotic arm attached to a nearby machine descends towards the table, a glowing red optical implant lowering itself into one of the vacant sockets as its dangling circuitry automatically connects itself. Her screams send a shiver down your spine before your feet can carry you away from the view, but the woman leading through the facility you merely chuckles.
The next room is filled with pink light emanating from a headset placed over a young man’s head. A vapid giggle escapes his puffy augmented lips as a doctor in a white lab coat draws lines along his chest, planning out implants altogether different from that in the previous room.
You try to speak. To ask questions. To scream. Your voice refuses to cooperate, your mouth not even opening. The woman seems to notice your reaction without even looking at you, though you’re not sure how. She turns to face you and you stop, standing there motionless and staring at her. You want to growl in anger, to reach out and smack her, to demand your freedom. Instead you stand there, entirely still and unmoving.
“How wonderful! You have spirit. Your kind are always so fun to reshape,” she says, flashing you a sadistic grin before continuing through the facility. You follow her silently.
Your eyes are drawn to your left where a non-binary person’s head is being lasered into permanent smoothness and hairlessness. Another laser tattoos the length of their body with realistic leopard spots, having already covered most of the skin below the waist. In the brief moment it takes for you to walk by, you manage to notice that a cybernetic tail has been surgically attached to the base of their spine. They notice you back and let out an alluring purr, reminding you of your cat and almost compelling you to smile in response. You miss your cat. Fuck, you really need to get home! Your roommate always forgets to feed your cat. For the briefest moment you completely forget your situation, the mundane thought bringing comfort before reality comes rushing back.
You turn a corner, continuing to follow the woman. A man stands in the middle of the next room as several doctors inject him with a series of brightly colored substances. His muscular and masculine physique is covered entirely in latex. The material seems to shimmer like inky black liquid over his entire body with no visible holes or openings. You can’t help but notice the massive rubber-coated cock dangling between his legs, nearly reaching his knee, even in its flaccid state.
“If you haven’t figured it out by now, this facility is designed to take poor and unfortunate souls like yourself and turn them into something more... pleasurable... for our very discerning clientele. The city has so many lonely elites looking for highly specialized comforts. Consider yourself lucky: you look like someone that wanted to be noticed. Well, someone very rich and very powerful certainly did take notice of you.” She chuckles.
The woman is just about to lead you into an empty room when a doctor approaches to whisper something into the woman’s ear.
“Damn it!” she swears, then looks over at you. “It appears I am needed elsewhere for the moment, so stay right here. I am transferring control of your collar to Doctor Cold. He will be along shortly to begin your... repurposing. Until then, you will remain here.”
She motions to the room opposite the one into which she was about to lead you. “Look, another show is about to start. Just stand there and enjoy it. Goodbye, whoever you were.” Another sadistic smirk comes your way before she disappears around the corner and out of view.
You want to move. You want to run. You want to cry and scream. None of those things happen. Whatever the sadistic woman attached to that data collar has robbed you of any ability to disobey, or even to act autonomously. Resignedly, your eyes are locked on the room across from you to watch as an athletic looking blonde-haired girl is forcefully restrained by several doctors and a needle injects her arm with a silvery liquid.
Her thrashing stops almost immediately, giving way to a euphoric expression across her face while one of the doctors runs a gloved hand down her bare thigh. The girl moans loudly in pleasure. A laser tool rises from the table and begins tattooing the girl's face with permanent makeup: black lipstick, heavy eyeliner, a spiderweb pattern on each eyelid. You notice the girl’s healthy tan start to fade as her skin becomes increasingly pale. As her muscle definition seems to disappear before your very eyes, you wonder if all this could possibly be an effect of the drug they gave her. Meanwhile, one of the doctors begins coating her hair with a thick black dye. It’s only a matter of moments before the sunny blonde has been completely replaced by a soft, pasty, goth girl.
You look away and shudder in fear… at least you think you do. A floating observer in your own body, you still feel disconnected from it, powerless to stop your own inevitable—hat did the woman call it?—“repurposing”.
Your thoughts drift as your body forces you to watch the transformation happening in the room opposite you. A moment later, a tall man rounds the corner and looks at you with an unnerving smile. “Hello. I’m Doctor Cold. I believe you are a special order,” he says matter of factly, the smile never leaving his face as he guides you into the vacant room that was your original destination.
He pats an inclined metal table in the center of the room. “Strip out of your clothing, then hop on. It’s time to get started.”
Your body obeys without hesitation, you hear the soft sound of fabric hitting the floor and the cold air hits your skin. You take a step forward, turn and lay back against the inclined metal table.
“Now, what shall we make of you?” the doctor asks as he picks up a small data pad from a small tray beside the table. “Oh, how interesting…”
The metal table against your naked skin sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. Your hands grip onto the sides of the table as your body steadies itself. For the briefest moment, you feel a sense of self control return and breathe in sharply, preparing to test your ability to move freely. Several restraints surprise you with their appearance from somewhere under the table.
The metal clamps quickly engage around your wrists and ankles, locking your limbs firmly in place with your legs slightly spread and your arms at your sides, palms resting against the cold metal table. You try to raise your head and look down at your body, but another metal clamp clicks into existence, locking your neck in place to prevent you from turning your head too far in either direction.
You want to scream as you notice Doctor Cold pick up a glowing pink vial from the nearby tray and insert it into an injection gun, but you can only speak silence as your desperate eyes dart around the room for any means of escape. A moment later, the doctor steps in front of you to look you directly in the eye, that disturbing smile never leaving his face.
“It seems,” he explains without emotion, “that all your attention-seeking behavior in that nightclub drew the eye of a very wealthy corpo. They have decided to purchase you on a more permanent basis. Worry not: you will surely continue to receive all the attention you desire.” He holds up the injection gun for you to see more clearly and continues, “This first injection will begin the process. It contains a number of transformative agents that will hyper-feminize your physique, oh yes, you will change well and truly beyond the limits of what Mother Nature would allow.”
You want to resist—you want to thrash and tear yourself off the table—but all you can manage is a low moan and a slight tremble. You try to scream but only manage a whimper, you only wanted a fun night out, not to be turned into a trophy bimbo for some rich asshole, but if the size of the pink vial is any indication, there will be nothing common about this process.
The doctor steps forward and you feel the pinch of the injection gun against your right arm. The pain is brief and very quickly transmogrified to a sensation of euphoric bliss, spreading your lips into an involuntary smile.
“Ah yes, I see you are experiencing the emotional stabilizers. We had quite a few expensive rejects before we learned that helped easing the... unpleasantness... of rapid biological metamorphosis improved product quality. Euphoria is such a useful tool in reducing resistance, and resistance just leads to damage. It does let me see such pretty smiles."
His face draws close to yours, examining you like an artist appraising a canvas, "And you have such a pretty smile. A pretty smile for our client's pretty doll. You should embrace this gift, happiness and joy will be the only emotions you are capable of experiencing once you are processed."
The sound of his footsteps echoing through the endorphins as he steps back, then moves out of view. "All the changes you are about to experience will feel quite wonderful, and though you may not believe it now, you will, in fact, be grateful for them once this process is complete.” The disembodied voice shimmering through the haze in your mind.
You can hear the doctor checking the readouts on nearby equipment and typing something into a datapad. A moment later, a large screen descends from above your head, until it completely dominates your field of view. The screen flickers to life; no matter where you look, all you can see are swirling patterns in a multitude of colors. Warmth spreads throughout your body as you gaze deeper into the slowly drifting spiral of light on the screen. The more you watch, the less you want to look away. Are those words in the dancing colors?
The feeling you experienced when you first awoke with the data collar, that slowing of the thoughts, returns, but this time you experience no worry. Only pleasure. A tingling sensation runs down your spine and concentrates in your chest with all the other strange sensations filling your body.
The calm, slow, steady rate of your breathing falters at the increasing pressure. It feels like there is something spreading below your skin, tingling below each of your nipples, irritating and pushing against your flesh. It's not that it hurts... no, it does hurt! It hurts beyond description, something growing, something swelling. You feel yourself losing focus, and you hear a distant giggle that only further distracts you, a high and girly giggle. That laugh invades deep, pulling a giggle from you in response as you feel your chest shake with a new weight that tells you there is more flesh there to shake. It starts to jiggle as the girlish giggling continues to echo in your mind..
You hear movement to one side of the table, but your eyes are still locked to the swirling lights on the screen above your face. The pinch of another injection near your hips goes unnoticed as the words on the screen become clearer and easier to read. The words echo in your mind, sounding like your own voice and burning themselves deep into your subconscious.
“Doll, Pretty, Smile, Plaything, Docile, Object, Happy, Sex Toy.” The words drone on and on.
The giggling is interrupted for a moment by a soft crack and an intense pressure in your torso. Did the owner of that high-pitched giggle notice the drug-fueled pleasure that came from such exquisite pain? Another crack, and you feel like you’re being laced into a corset, tight around your waist and drawing tighter. Your ribs are contracting. It only gets harder to breathe as that pressure in your chest… your breasts… continues. You feel your flesh jiggling once again.
The changes in your body become increasingly obvious as the pressure becomes weight—no, the pressure remains, but it’s changing. Something cold and artificial grows under your flesh inside your breasts. You swear you can almost hear the skin stretching, or is that sloshing? It feels like water balloons filling up inside your flesh.
You try to rationalize the sensation, but it doesn’t matter because the girly giggling begins once more, distracting you from the wonderful horror of your constricting waist and the forming lumps pressing down on your chest. The airheaded giggle sounds labored, as if its owner is mocking you. Your chest jiggles in time to that mocking laughter.
That strange feeling of warmth spreads down your back and across your hips and glutes. The restraints around your ankles loosen for a moment, to allow slack that quickly disappears as your hips are pushed up and away from the table. It’s hard to understand what exactly you’re feeling; it’s as if something underneath you is pushing your hips higher, or maybe it is just becoming hard to think? The metal of the table feels less cold, less hard, than it did a moment ago. It feels like you are sitting on something soft and pillowy. That’s silly, of course, how could metal get less cold and hard?
“I wonder if your owner will breed you.” The doctor’s voice cuts through your wandering thoughts like a scalpel as you feel another rib crack and constrict. Your hips thrust up higher, and you swear again you can hear that skin stretching. Now, you realise you can feel it stretching, feel your rump pushing out, padding out.
“Our client was most insistent that your backside compete with these.” A finger presses against the taut, swollen flesh that was once your much smaller chest. You realise you can see them now, see the proud nipples standing up as you glance down at them. You see the doctor’s finger barely denting the enormous spheres of flesh. The skin is smooth, perfect, not a stretch mark to be seen. The spheres tremble, the pressure surges and they grow again. Perfect. Spheres. You moan in delicious agony.
“The client used the term, ‘birthing hips,’ actually.” There is a crack amongst the giggles.
“Ah, here they come.” Another crack and more pain, more euphoria. Flesh squeaks as it drags against metal, your flesh, your swollen rump, your tortured skin pushing out wider as your hip bones snap and reform once again. “The client didn’t ask for any fertility enhancements, so it is possible they just like the look. I’m sure you won’t complain either way, though. You will be getting plenty of looks.”
The doctor seems to draw closer, and you suddenly hear his voice and feel the heat of his breath near your ear. “One more little injection, and you’ll be a brand new you. Would you like to see what you’ve become?”
You feel another sharp pinch of the injection gun, this time near your jawline. The patterns on the screen suddenly flicker and fade away and the image on the screen becomes a mirror, reflecting your face back at you. Your eyes go wide as your skin seems to ripple and shift like clay being molded by unseen hands.
There is a brief sensation of pain, followed by a burst of endorphins. You blink a couple times. Your cheekbones suddenly seem higher, more prominent. Your eyes are wide and doe-like. Your features are softer, rounder, more feminine. There is a loud cracking sound and your nose begins to shrink and shifts into a daintier version of what it had been. The giggle returns and you realize for the first time that it’s been you making that girlish noise all along.
A bright and vapid smile spreads across your face just as your lips begin to swell, slowly inflating into soft and inviting cushions framing your mouth. You giggle again. You feel a tingling in your scalp and your hair begins to lengthen and lighten, framing your face in cascading waves.
You are beautiful. Your skin is flawless, almost too perfect with it’s slightly plastic sheen, yet it’s still undeniably flesh. When you finally stop smiling, you notice that even your most neutral expression makes you look like you are pouting for more sex.
“Just about finished, doll,” you hear the doctor say behind you, his voice distant as you become deeply focused on your own reflection.
The screen begins to slowly pull away from the table as it shifts to acting as a full body mirror. You see your full reflection for the first time since the process began, making your mouth hang open in surprise. The expression still somehow looks sexual, you are no longer sure if you can even make a face that doesn’t look like an invitation to sex.
Your once humble physique is gone, replaced by an hourglass figure that could only be achieved through cosmetic enhancement. Your waist is impossibly narrow, a look even more exaggerated by the enormous breasts now sitting proudly on your chest. Your breasts... no... tits... your tits are easily the size of volleyballs. You let out another giggle.
Your hips are wide, tapering down into thick creamy thighs and you can tell you are sitting atop a booty so generous it could only exist in fantasy... and yet here you lay, in the flesh, looking every bit like a fertility goddess mixed with a custom made sex doll… at least that would be your impression if you could remember what a fertility goddess is. You’re just a sex doll… a plaything... an object…
The words bounce back into your head, and you giggle as you notice the sex doll on the screen smile and jiggle at the same time. She’s so pretty. She probably gets all the attention.
Pretty. Object. Docile. Happy. Doll. Smile. Pretty.
