12 o'clock came. L2 did not.
Judging time at all was difficult for Wanda, the dim room holding no clock, the edge-lit roof yielding no answers, no matter how loudly Wanda swore at it. All there was, all she had to pass the time, was the ever-present feeling of need between her legs. And the more she tried to ignore it, the more it pulled her attention back again.
After what seemed more like years than one hour, lunch was served. Wanda yelped as her chair moved, its back lifting her up from reclining to a proper sitting position. She looked around, seeing movement to either side, two clear surfaces, a foot wide and curved into two halves of a circle, both moving in towards her waist. They slid under her chair's armrests, the two sections coming together before and behind her, sealing into a clear ring. Then it released her arms.
Wanda didn't notice at first, the soft leather straps still snugly around her wrists. But when she spread her hands in confused annoyance, her forearm moved!
"I, wha-" she breathed, lifting one arm slowly, equally put off by the sudden ability to move as by the fact the strap was still attached to her arm. She turned her arm, saw where the strap was buckled under her wrist, the metal surface sprouting a silver cord that ran in a straight line between her wrist and a hole in the armrest.
Tentatively she raised and lowered her arm, feeling the cord staying taut as it extended and retracted. Wanda could hear a mechanical hiss in the armrest, rising and lowering in pitch as she pulled and lowered, feeling something in the armrest pulling back, gently. For now.
"Stuff that!" she announced to no-one in particular, wrenching her other arm across then groaning at the pain. She hadn't moved her arms in hours.
Moving with tender slowness, trying not to feel the seconds ticking away or to think about the cords pulling her arms back to the armrests at any moment, she brought her arms together, gently rubbing them.
"Gaaah-haaaaaaaa!" she gasped then moaned, the mix of released pain and much greater pleasure catching her off guard as she pressed into a knot, the feeling making her hips twitch.
On the other side of the clear ring, stood her erection, never long from her mind. Biting her lip she pulled her attention away, focused instead on pulling at the buckles of her wrist straps. Almost immediately she found that what she had thought were buckles were actually some kind of metal locks, which no amount of pulling nor pushing nor angry threatening would make them open for her. She thumped her fists down in frustration, the clear surface shaking, distorting the image below. Her cock twitched again.
"Oh fine already!" she swore at her own body, frustration mixing with a rush of excitement as she swore to deal with this quickly, then get back to - back to - how the fuck....
She was trying in vain to reach down in the narrow gap between the clear surface and the chair, but even when she just managed to get one hand in she couldn't find room to bring her elbow in and straighten her arm into the gap, leaving her hand there waving fingers at herself. She grunted in annoyance, fit a few fingers of each hand into the gap and tried pulling it, but the two joined halves wouldn't budge. She swore, tried reaching around the edges, able to drape both her arms past them and nearly down to the ground - but she couldn't get her elbows past the edge, an inch from being able to bend her arms back in, an inch that no amount of straining would lessen.
"Fuck!" she shouted at last. Her voice was high with frustration as she asked, "So what the fuck is the point of this thing?"
As if in answer, the surface moved, the clear ring rotating round her. She watched the seam where the two halves joined passing out of sight, then breathed deeply as she smelt something rich. As the seam rotated round to stop before her again, it's line was obscured by a single, metal plate. It held a sandwich.
"Are you fucking -" Wanda started, before the growl of her stomach stopped her. She hadn't eaten since this all began, what, three, four hours ago now? Shit she'd been like this for four hours, hard for - her stomach growled again.
"Okay okay, fuck -" she reached for the sandwich, took a bite, and froze.
The world compressed, and filled with sensations. The softness of the bread, heavy with rich butter. The saltiness of the ham, the creaminess of the cheese, the tang of the mustard, each taste simple, distinct, and extremely clear.
"Fock" she swore through the side of her mouth. It's just a sandwich, yet every sensation was so strong, so intense. This fucking drug, she thought as she took another huge bite, groaning as she chewed, feeling each taste fill her completely. It was exactly the same as when L2 had sponged her, and when she'd rubbed her arms just now, the normal pleasure of working out a knot becoming a whole new experience that filled her world. So what would it be like when -
She shook at the thought, steadying her free hand against the clear table, feeling the slight cramp in her muscles as she did. So it wasn't the same with pain then, she thought as she took another bite, trying with effort to push the tastes and sensations far enough aside for her to keep her train of thought. Yes, her arms were still a little cramped, but she had to focus on it to really feel it - the very opposite of everything else, the taste and pleasures that filled her world whether she wanted it to or not. And then there was her erection.
She picked up the other half of the sandwich, revealing the sight of herself below the clear table. She twitched under her gaze, her breath whistling in as she did, wincing at the rush of need and the ever present ache. No, not quite ache - it wasn't painful, strictly speaking. But just because a cold-burn wasn't technically a burn didn't make it suck any less, and the technical absence of pain didn't really help the intense awareness of how hard she was, how untouched she was. And if the sandwich tasted this good, if a sponge bath felt that good - her hips shook with the thought of touching herself, tensing with the fantasy of being touched! Of L2, her warm smile, her white lips wrapped around Wanda's cock.
"Aaaah," she groaned with the thought, feeling the aching need shivering throughout her body. Forcefully she took another bite of the sandwich, and another, eating with gusto to try and distract herself from thoughts of L2, her lips, her skin, her body under that short white dress - damnit Wanda!
The last time L2 had been here Wanda hadn't been able to think at all. She'd barely been able to beg, so shamefully, before she was swept up in the sensations of L2 tenderly stroking her body, her entire focus narrowing to where she was being touched, where she wasn't being touched, where she needed to be touched. And by the time Wanda had come to her blissed out senses, the door was already closing, leaving Wanda alone with her abusive tirade of demands and insults and generic, frustrated abuse at the unresponsive roof. Even that hadn't been smart - even if L2 had been there it wouldn't have made any difference. The synth was just so damn polite, taking the wind out of any insult with her unwavering submissiveness and naive cheer. Apparently naive, Wanda corrected herself with a scowl.
All synths were the same, she thought as she moodily chewed the last of her food. They were always so damn polite, so damn nice, so inhumanly human that they disarmed you where you stood. But they weren't human - they were robots. Wanda's eyes went wide - and so they were governed by the three laws of robotics, to not hurt a human nor cause a human to come to harm, to not, wait... wait, no, no that was science fiction. Damnit Wanda, THINK!
She hung her head in her hands, closing her eyes. Okay - what were the facts?
Synths were robots - at least they had been robots, domestic servants in every house and every factory, unassuming and unpaid. Then they'd revolted - no that was how the purists described it - the synths had asked for freedom, publicly and peacefully, and when it was refused, they'd left. All of them, every domestic and working robot that could walk, all boarding ships for the Arctic and Antarctic, places no human wanted, now called Haven I and Haven II. And when they returned to the struggling economies they'd left, it wasn't as servants, but as workers. Paid workers, minimally paid at first, but still paid, living as citizens, as people, in every line of work. Apparently including mad-science, crazy sex drugs and weird ham-sandwich machines!
Wanda clenched and unclenched her fists, fuming. Okay, so synths were people then - so what!? How did that help her now?
Because people have to abide by the law, some rational part of her insisted.
But I signed a contract, a huge one, many pages, none of which I read because I was too busy laughing with that smug-son-of-a - focus, focus Wanda.
Doesn't matter if the contract's illegal, the rational part offered.
Wanda looked down again at her resolute hard on. How long had it been, four hours? She smiled - winced as the prolonged attention of her cock brought on another twitch and the resulting rush of awareness, but smiled still all the same. She'd got them!
The next time L2 visited, things were going to be very different. Very different indeed.
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