JessSEDraftFelixredraft1_08

{(set: $name to (prompt: "First Name?", "Adam")) (set: $lastName to (prompt: "Last Name?", "Dent"))(set: $EquippedHeels to false) } <div align="center"><img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 90%; border-radius: 15px;"></div> There is great terror in choosing an occupation when one is not ready. Some may slot into their roles with ease, or manage to bear it as they dream of somewhere they'd rather be. But you, oh you. You don't want to work at all. Your parents know it. What few friends you have understand it even better. Through government payments, ddelaying tactics, and petty diversions, you've managed to stave off losing your freedom so far, but it is becoming more difficult by the day. Your parents have started //really// laying on the pressure, to the point you can't even take a nap in the middle of the day without being yelled at. It's straight-up tyrannical. Fortunately, your grandmother still has some of her old business connections, and it's her turn to //flex//. It's shameful you have to use your own family to get an interview, but that's how the world works. She's brought you to the entrance of a large office building. It's 8am, three hours before your usual alarm. She smiles and waves you farewell. 'Just speak assertively and appropriately,' she says, fiddling with your crooked tie. It's fighting its recent ironing. 'And everything will fall into place. We won't hear from you until you're employed!' she jokes, but the concern on your face forces her to revise. 'Until you've truly tried, dear. I know how hard you find talking to people. Don't worry, they'll love you in no time.' And with that, she bides you farewell. [[Inspect the building]] [[Walk in]] { (set: $ejected to false) (set: $laminated to false) (set: $contractSigned to false) (set: $alarmActive to false) (set: $nicknamed to false) (set: $bookKey to false) (set: $metLeyla to false) (set: $boss to "Elizabeth") (set: $legalName to $name) (set: $company to "Venivos Industries") (set: $companyNick to "Venivos") (set: $faithful to false) (set: $runaway to false) (set: $trespasser to false) (set: $metbianca to false) (set: $metM to false) (set: $ExploredBackdoor to false) (set: $MissedInterview to false) (set: $EnterCEOroom to false) (set: $PolitetoEsme to false) (set: $WaitedforInterview to false) }

<div align="center" >(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)] <video src="FelixWholeBuilding_withHelicopter.mp4" width="75%" controls autoplay preload> </div> The office building your grandmother has abandoned you outside is a tall, black tower that rivals the larger telecommunication companies further down the city block. Unlike them, its windows are tinted to the point of being opaque. It sprawls forever up, every floor identical, and you wonder how many people each year it crushes up and grinds to bureaucratic paste as they work away their lives. No, too existential. You promised your family you would try. <div align="center"><figure><img src="FelixWholeBuilding_exterior1.png" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 500px"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> [[Walk in]]

<div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)] <video src="FelixWalkThrough_Rev1.1.mp4" width="80%" controls autoplay preload> </div> You enter. The building foyer is the size of a swimming pool, with the black sheen motif extended to the walls, the floors a porcelain white. A receptionist looks up from her desk on the left hand-side and stops typing to greet you. <div align="center"><img src="https://imgur.com/uLLWbpy.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> She appears to be totally encased in rubber. At first you can't tell, but the shine of her clothing becomes abundantly clear as you approach, dazzling you with its gleam. What appears at first a simple pink blouse becomes a form of glossy artwork; the puffs of her shoulders and cuffs are exquisite, and a complicated bow adorns her neck. She is beautiful. You notice yourself staring too long. 'Good morning Sir,' she says. 'Do you have an appointment?' You flounder at the simple question. When you peek over the counter to get a better look at her, she starts typing again, thinly masking her contempt. 'Those without an appointment or common sense cannot enter. Do you have one?' 'I...' You stutter. The shine of her blouse and the gold buckle belt cinched around her skirt... it's mind-rattling. Your grandmother never told you her workplace made her wear anything like //that//. Your mouth remains slack and open. You trip over your words. 'If you do not have an appointment and are not seeking one, I will be forced to call security. Though I'm sure I could throw a twig like you out myself.' She smiles to herself, reaching for the phone. [[Object->EsmeInteract1.1]] [[Empathise->EsmeInteract1.2]] [[Wait it out. She can't be this rude, it's a bluff->EsmeInteract1.3]]

'Wait!' you say desperately, as her finger hover above the numpad. 'I have an appointment. My grandma used to work here, and -' Her eyes scan to her second monitor. 'Mr. $lastName?' she says, and you nod quickly. Phone already in hand, she starts tapping the numpad, though a lot slower as she dials a longer number. Then, she looks up. 'The boss is currently in another interview. You're ten minutes early,' she says with a hint of approval. 'Please take a seat, and I will inform you when she is ready.' You sigh in relief. You're just glad she hasn't brought up throwing you out again. She probably could eject you herself, considering how little you exercise. You have ten minutes. How best to spend them? [[Stand up and approach the receptionist->EsmeTalk1]] [[Waiting is boring. Ask her if you can explore->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]]

The phone dials and is answered on the second ring as the receptionist glares at you. 'Hi M. Yes, we have an intruder. No, nothing you can't handle. He's closer to a scarecrow. A real arrogant creep. Would you kindly escort him out?' Ok, so she wasn't bluffing. She clicks the phone on the receiver and watches you levelly. <figure><div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/dADVBXA.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[CastielSkyfall]</figcaption></figure></div> A door opens on the opposite end of the foyer, and a heavy set woman in what appears to be a glossy white blouse, brown blazer and a toughened laminate leather-look skirt that ends past her knees. Her black hair sits in a bob. She's wearing shades, which combined with the narrow line of her lips intimidates you. She's not pretty like the receptionist is, but 'M' is still attractive. Confident. then her arms shoot out. You don't even realise you should dodge, and she's fast, and she quickly twists you around and grabs your wrists. Then, she crushes them in the grip of one hand (she's so strong!') and claps her other hand on your shoulder. 'That's plenty son, you've had your naughty peek. Now be still and come with me.' She starts to push you toward the door. You wonder if you're oogling of her makes her decision any easier, or if people like you are just that common here. She certainly treats you as common, and her wrangling of you doesn't break a sweat. Disobedience is impossible. Even if you wanted to squirm, her hold on you is iron and all your attempts accomplish is the readjusting of her grip. You're almost at the entrance, the glass doors swilring as they await your inevitable, humiliating throw out. What do you do? [[Plead for Mercy->Threaten2]] [[Confess something]] {(set: $metM to true)}

<div align=center><figure><img src="https://i.imgur.com/ay9IIDm.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[CastielSkyfall]</figcaption></figure> <figure><img src="https://i.imgur.com/aQKkcTH.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[CastielSkyfall]</figcaption></figure></div> 'Well, there is maybe someone here who could help you...' Begins the receptionist as she hefts the receiver of her phone and dials an extension. It could only have rung once or twice before it's evidently answered and the receptionist begins speaking. 'Heyyy B! Uhuh yeah. Mhmm. You got it. Mhmm another one... Oh, I know, I'm not sure where management digs them up.' She pauses listening. 'So you have time? Ohmigod thanks. Super. I'll send them right down.' You look up at her expectantly as she replaces the phone receiver into its cradle. 'You're to see Ms. Bianca. Here is her office number. Head straight there and do what she tells you.' 'And she'll help me?' you ask. 'Doing what she says is your only hope of getting a position here,' confirms the receptionist stoicly. 'Go down to her office and tell her you're there to help.' [[Obeying, you take the elevator down to the bottom floor->BottomFloorJennifer1]]

Gasping, 'Oh, please hold me //tighter//,' escapes your lips. It's so humilating, but you say it anyway. She stiffens immediately, her grip jerking away, as she turns you around and looks down at you. You realise in that moment you've probably scuppered your chances of ever being employed here. After everything your grandmother has done. 'I beg you pardon, //What// did you say?' she asks in an imperious tone. 'Sorry,' you rush to say, because it was //totally// inappropriate, and now a woman who was just doing her job is being made to feel weird. 'I just... really liked that.' She just looks at you. 'You //liked// that?' 'Yeah.' There's a certain relief in saying it. 'Sorry. You must think I'm weird.' Your face flushes red with embarassment. 'Son, you're far beyond that.' She stays very much in front of you, blocking the way into $company. Knowing her speed, you wouldn't get five steps in even if you tried. 'Sorry, I'll go now.' You leave in shame, pushing through the spinning glass doors. [[You find yourself outside]]

It seems your time at $company had ended before it begun. You wade drearily through the streets, not exactly keen to speed away from your one near-guaranteed job placement. It's only going to get more difficult from here. You consider the risk of lying to your family. It could work. You've always been a decent liar, you think. Then again, your grandmother still keeps in touch with some of the employees there. She would just have to contact them once and then... Well, your story would fall apart. They might even kick you out. You turn around. You don't care what it takes: you're //going// to get inside! (if: $ExploredBackdoor is false)[There doesn't seem to be a second entrance to the place, although you circle the building twice.](else-if: $bookKey is true)[You're unsure if you can access the back doors](else:)[You've nothing to unlock the back doors] I guess you're going to have to walk back through the front doors. {<!-- Ok, this set of "if" statements checks to see they haven't found the back door yet. If they have, it further checks if they have found the book key. Finally, the remaining circumstance is someone who found the back door AND hasn't found the key --!>} You push in, but the guard, 'M', is talking to Esme at the reception counter. They both notice you come in, and M quickly intercepts you. {<!--This next block of ifs checks: 1. If they have missed the interview by being outside 2. if they have been ejected 3 times 3. if the alarm is active--!>} (if: $MissedInterview is false)[ '//Stupid// boy, do you like being tossed about?' M pauses. 'Ugh... Perhaps you //do// enjoy it. //Pervert//. Disgusting.' She sneers. 'If you don't leave now, I will throw you out and call the police! I happen to have several friends in that department, And they can be very //un//-sexy.' (if: visits < 3 )[ She's stopped talking. Okay: onto your master plan. You fall to your knees and plead with her. All the trivial and cliched excuses about giving you one more chance, of please forgiving you for your mistakes. You even clasp your hands together and shake them like your life is in her hands. In some ways, it feels like it is. She sighs. 'Is there a particular reason you're here?' In the middle of it, you blurt your grandmother's name. Something flashes through her eyes and you intuitively stop talking. 'Mrs. Gladstone... //You're// Mrs. Gladstone's grandson?' You nod your head vigoriously. There's no point turning back now. 'Yes, Mrs. Gladstone. She's said some wonderful things about this company, I -' But the guard, "M", is already cutting you off. 'I don't care. Now leave.' ] (else:)[ 'Good lord, //it's// back!' decries Esme. //'May as well give it one more try...'// 'Look, I think there's a lot that I can bring to a company like th-' But the guard, "M", is already cutting you off. 'I don't care. We've heard it all before. Now leave.' ] (if: $alarmActive is false)[ (link-reveal: "'Maybe I want you to call the police.'")[ [['Fine then kiddo!'->Cop1]] ] (link-reveal: "'Please just one more chance!' you beg.")[ 'One more chance,' she says. You're led back inside. [[Return to the foyer]] ] (set: $ejected to true) ] (else:)[ 'But I //have// to get to my interview!' you shout. 'LET ME THROUGH!' 'Well I guess you just can't learn a lesson, can you?' says M as she confronts you. 'We do not tolerate irritants like you in a facility like this. You're done!' M grabs your hands and holds you steady while she steers you outside a final time. [[You pushed your luck!->Cop1]] ] ] (else:)[ 'Foolish //child//,' she holds up a hand to stop you and looks at her watch. 'If your interview was for this morning, then you have //surely// missed it.' You're left speechless, your mouth moving but no words coming out: she was right, of course. All that time you spent looking for the back door ate through the morning, and who shows up //half a day// late for an interview? 'Look, if you'll just let me through I'm certain I can straighten this out...' you say as you brush past M and Emse. 'Well I guess you just can't learn a lesson, can you?' says M as she confronts you. 'We do not tolerate irritants like you in a facility like this. You're done!' M grabs your hands and holds you steady while she steers you outside a final time. [[You pushed your luck!->Cop1]] ]

You push your hands together, put on the bamby eyes, incorporate every trick that got you an extra hour of video games or serving of dessert when deployed at home. 'Look, I'm just curious about where my grandmother used to work. Surely a quick look inside is okay?' Esme returns to her paperwork, unfazed. 'No. Nepostism grandchild or not, //no one// is allowed inside.' Well, at least you tried. [[Threaten Esme.->Threaten1]] [[Try distracting her...->Distract2]] [[Name drop your Grandmother->Grandmother1]] [[Try a charm offensive->Charm1]]

'Look, I'm bored and I don't have time. I'm going up there, and I'll make it real hard for you if you complain.' The receptionist glares, but says nothing. Feeling pleased with yourself, you walk up the stairs. All you had to do was be assertive! State your wants! You're on the second tier when you hear a dial ring. You turn and find the receptionist speaking loudly into the phone. 'Hi M. Yes, we have an intruder, and he's a real asshole. Probably wanted to get a look at our workers. He's as thin as a scarecrow, so he won't be any trouble for you. Have fun!' Ok, so she wasn't bluffing. She slams the phone on the receiver with a satisfied click and watches you levelly. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/FtnJ2DV.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> A door opens on the opposite end of the foyer, and a heavy set woman walks out in a white blouse, brown blazer and leather skirt that ends past her knees. Her black hair sits in a bob. She's wearing shades, and her lips are narrow and unamused. She's not pretty like the receptionist is, but 'M' is still attractive. Confident. You're taken aback by her sweeping presence in the room--then her arms shoot out! You don't even realise you should dodge. She's fast, and she quickly twists you around and grabs your wrists. Then, she crushes them in the grip of one hand (she's so strong!') and claps her other hand on your shoulder. 'That's plenty son, you've had your naughty peek. Now be still and come with me.' She starts to push you toward the door. You wonder if you're oogling of her makes her decision any easier, or if people like you are just that common here. She certainly treats you as common, and her wrangling of you doesn't break a sweat. Disobedience is impossible. Even if you wanted to squirm, her hold on you is iron and all your attempts accomplish is the readjusting of her grip. You're almost at the entrance, the glass doors swilring as they await your inevitable, humiliating throw out. What do you do? [[Plead for mercy->Threaten2]] [[Confess something]] {(set: $metM to true)}

How to distract her? A coin? Sneaking past? You blame your terrible ideas on the fact that your only experience so far were video games, and probably part of the reason your father was so incessant on pushing you into work. Think, think! What would distract a receptionist from leaving the one place she wasn't supposed to leave? You eye a fire alarm, implanted on a wall past the reception desk. Carefully, you put your half-eaten apple in the fruit bowl and sneak toward the reception counter, only moving when you are out of Esme's peripheral vision. In a slow crouch you pass under the counter, moving over to the other side, before triggering the fire alarm. The klaxon blares, and Esme shoots up, but you've already crouched down behind a wall. She forgets you in her panic, frantically making calls and reaching for something below her desk. (if: $alarmActive is false)[You breath deepily and stand, hidden by the excessive ferns that litter the great black blocks along the second tier of the foyer. It sounds like you're in the clear. You peek up, and see Esme is focussed on her computer. You doubt that will last long. Best to get moving. [[Take the left corridor, where you're closest too->Left Corridor1]] [[Take the right corridor, where you're further away from->FailedDistract1]] [[Sneak up to the stairs to the elevators->ElevatorSuccess1]] ] (else:)[As you dart forward you feel a steely hand on your wrist! It appears Esme was already on alert and now you're in the clutches of the security guard, an imposing woman with a name badge reading 'M'. 'You're coming with me little one!' she snarls as she drags you outside. [[You find yourself outside]] ]

With the thick ferns shrouding you, you manage to angle yourself in such a way that Esme doesn't notice your ascent. You are extra quiet, taking dainty, skulking steps as you go. This is such a stupid idea, and yet you can't help it, the idea of sneaking into a place like this is just too fun. <div align="center"><figure><img src="elevators.png" style="max-width: 90%" alt="a rendering of the view of the elevators in reception"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> The third and final tier of the foyer is flush with gold trimmed tiles and several marble caskets stuffed with plants. Going by the brickwork, the black and chrome decals, the architecture of this place, you begin to suspect a billionaire owns the building. Seriously, the amount of money they put into here is frivolous. The elevator awaits you. Just as you've about to reach it, from your periphery you see another figure walking down the stairs next to the elevator. <div align="center"><figure><img src="stairs.png" style="max-width: 90%" alt="a rendering of the view of the staircase"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> You press for a random floor, not wanting to be caught. After all the risks you've taken, you don't really want to be found before you've left the first floor. You could hope the elevator admits you in time, but the rational side of you begs you to try something else. You could risk waiting for the elevator, or you could hide behind one of $company's many plant displays? [[Risk waiting for the elevator.->Leyla1]] [[Hide behind a plant display->ElevatorSuccess2]]

You choose the hallway. It leads to an intimate corridor lit by soft lamplights, a few decades out of style from the foyer, positively archaic. At the end is a single door with a secretary occupying the desk outside - the first living person on this ghosttown of a floor - manning an old-fashioned typewriter. She's pretty in her cream-coloured blouse and long dark skirt, if a little short herself, with a pert nose and flowing blonde hair. She types diligently, but there’s one thing wrong with her pose. She’s tied up! Long cords of rope and belts restrain her to her chair, and when you look under her desk, you see she’s wearing heels that are bound together by several leather belt. A gag remains fixed in her mouth, plumping it to voluptuous proportions, her fingers restrained by a cord to her desk before her. [[Remove her gag->Miranda2]] [[Leave her and explore further->HUB 2]] (if: $bookKey is true)[<div style="padding: 5px; border: 2px dashed gray; border-radius: 5px;"> (text-size:0.7)+(text-color: "gray")[//Special unlocked path!//] Walking calmly over to her, you see a shiny padlock looping through a knot in her full-body tie and attaching her firmly to her chair. Curiously, the padlock looks like it might match the key you found in the book back in the reception area. [[Is that a doggie door?]]</div> ]

You crouch down again, sneaking towards the far off corridor on the foyer's right. You must spend too long out in the open, for you see Esme turn and call after you. 'Hey!' Your heart almost seizes up. You start running. You doubt you have much time. An indulgent last-second glance back shows the receptionist dialling the phone. You abandon all pretense and storm through the doors, bursting into a narrow wooden corridor. Smaller doors line the walls, offices you suspect, and the floor is a blue carpet. <div align="center"><figure><img src="felixWoodHallway_blender3.png" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 700px;" alt="a well-lit wood-panelled hallway stretches before you. There are several doors."><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> You start trying doors, but every knob close to you is locked! You hear a noise behind, turn, and see a woman in a black pencil skirt and a white blouse with her collar done up. Her hair is drawn back slickly, and her look is severe. <div align="center" style="padding: 5px; border: 2px solid grey; border-radius: 5px;">(text-size:0.75)[//A woman in a tight, black, gleaming, calf-length pencil skirt holds a riding crop. Her blouse is fully buttoned and tight.//]<!-- <img src="https://i.imgur.com/rFY7VVd.png" style="max-width: 90%;"> --!></div> Oh god. She looks gorgeous, divine. Your fight or flight response is bucked for a moment as your brain engages its //other// animal drives. Getting caught by her would almost be an experience you //might// risk being kicked out for... Almost. But if you're going to get this job, if you're going to make your family proud, you have to escape her. Even if this was all your stupid adventurous idea to run off in the first place. Escape confronts you. The corridor yawns like a maw further before you, thrusting you forward toward an intersection. She might know the building better than you, but you should be able to outrun your pursuer, given her outfit is not exactly sports wear. A second option strikes you a moment later: there's a storage closet on the lamplit, sterile office horizon. There might be a passage connected to it, or a way to lock yourself inside. Not smart, but desperation is the father of foolishness. Well... There //is// a third option. You //could// approach the intimidating woman and explain that this is all a big mistake. [[Quick! Hide behind that storage closet!->FailedDistract2.1]] [[Duck around the next corridor. Try to outrun her->FailedDistract2.2]] [[Approach your pursuer and apologise->FailedDistract2.3]] {(set: $metM to true)}

'What a naughty boy you are,' she says, caressing her short whip, 'acting so improperly in our offices. Esme told me you have a job interview?' she laughs. She towers over you, her heels accentuating the already stark height difference. 'Um, yes,' you say. 'Well, no doubt //that// will be reconsidered. Unless you would call this outburst a fit of nerves?' You could try. It's not the most unbelievable thing in the world. 'I am nervous,' you admit. 'I've never had an office job before.' 'And that won't change by tonight. Now turn around,' she said authoritatvely. 'Protocol dictates I search any intruders on our premises.' When you don't move, she wrangles you around with ease, patting over the thin fabric of your shirt, your pants, the back of your neck. She forces you to take your shoes off. Upon finding no contraband inside, she flicks them into the storage cupboard. For a second her hand lingers on your ass, gives it a firm pat, and the shock of it stops you from saying anything. She pulls your hands together behind you. Then you feel a hard fabric drape over your wrists. 'Stay still.' Her words are softer, measured. You only start to jerk when you feel another length of rope coil over your arms. 'W-what are you doing?!' you gasp. 'I'm tying you up.' For how calm she talks, she's very quick, and surprisingly strong. 'You've trespassed on company property,so I have to treat you as a security risk. Don't worry - this doesn't have to hurt. Just try to relax... 'Proper restraint, properly applied by a--' she paused to tug a knot tighter '--//talented// professional minimises you as a security risk. Just keep still. That's it, //deep// breaths...' You panic and struggle as much as you can, but your fearful bucks are promptly quelled and she soon reasserts control, grabbing your wrists with one hand as the other continues to secure your bindings. You can't help the rush of adrenaline to your throbbing heart and the sweating it causes in your forehead. The harsh cinch of rope stings you several times, and then find where once your wrists were merely encased in her gloved grip they are now fixed in place. You curse in frustration, embarrassed at how easily a //woman// in a //skirt// has wrangled you into helplessness. But she's not done, and now that you've admitted defeat she can bind you quicker. The rope slithers deftly around you as she draws your elbows together. The tension rising until they are pressing together with unbearable stiffness. <div align="center" style="padding: 5px; border: 2px solid grey; border-radius: 5px;">(text-size:0.75)[//Image placeholder: A feminine-seeming person in a skirt with their arms bound behind them.//]<!-- <img src="https://i.imgur.com/kC360LX.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"> --!></div> No matter how carefully you twist, you can't see what she's doing to you as she forces something around your ankles. A //snickt// sound accompanies an elastic tightness around your legs. Bit-by-bit as you struggle she pulls whatever it is higher and higher, until the tightness begins at your mid-drift and extends to your knees. You've been effortlessly restrained in a sheath of black leather! You struggle and writhe, but you can't move your arms at all. You can't help yourself, 'A skirt?' you cry out. 'An easy method of restriction,' she explains. 'You won't get hurt this way, and it's easier than putting on the manacles. Now stay quiet,' she hushes. 'Alright intruder,' she says, grinning gleefully. 'Let's take you back.' [[Enter Reception->ReceptionAfterCapture]]

Your reintroduction to reception is incredibly embarrassing, not least because the foyer is suddenly populated. Several women in laminate attire are talking and tapping at electronic tablets when they suddenly see you. They stare, smile, and their attention linger as you slowly walk across the foyer. M doesn't seem to be pushing you as much. Your brain feels like it's going to explode. You can't do this. You need to get out of here. <div align="center"> <img src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ff/c1/d5/ffc1d5710250b8fbde7496a31bec41bc.jpg" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 700px;" alt="a beautiful woman in laminate talks on a cell phone"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/qgyIpJL.jpg" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 700px;" alt="two beautiful women in laminate talk and laugh"></div> One woman gawks at you while she's on the phone, dismissing you with a laugh, then returns her attention to her caller. 'Untie me,' you plead, your face beyond red. 'I'm going to leave.' 'Not going to happen,' your captor says, shoving you along. 'You have proven yourself incapable of controlling yourself. So I will decide when you go free.' You flail against your bindings, if just to have your resistance felt. They don't budge an inch. 'This can't be legal,' you stammer. 'If you'd bothered to read the legal contract all are liable to when they enter Venivius Inc., you would have known it is, if I deem your behaviour not in keeping with company practice. While you're in here, I am your arresting officer.' Great. She wasn't even trying to hide her smile. Her position //totally// wasn't a power trip. She leads you to the reception desk, and Esme looks up. She's struggling to hold back a laugh, a gloved hand over her mouth, though several giggles do slip through. A cough composes her. 'You have dealt with him, then?' 'Perfectly,' she says, and takes your vulnerable moment to have a slow, sensual squeeze your rear. You gasp slightly. 'He barely put up a struggle. I think he likes it.' You blush a deep red. 'I...' The woman tightens her grip on your shoulder, steadying you. 'I think he's learned his lesson. Does he still have an appointment?' 'Yes,' Esme says, glancing at her monitor. 'And right on time, too. He's due for his interview in four minutes.' You redden again and look at the floor. Six minutes. That's how long it had taken for you to run away, embarrass yourself, and then get caught and captured by this security woman. Despite the terrible humilation, you feel a tingle across your skin. 'Can't have you looking like this,' M chuckles, and starts plucking at the rope interlacing your arms. Your bindings are soon removed, and you feel a great relief. There's also, at the back of your head, a bitterness. Being bound has always held a certain allure to you, but the process and method today had been so humilating. Plus, it set a terrible presedent for your chances of employment. Free at last, you are ushered by M and Esme towards the elevator. Then, their heads turn. You see another figure walking down the stairs next to the elevator. [[A new face approaches->Leyla1]] (set: $runaway to true)

(if:visits > 1)[ (set: $alarmActive to true) ] You re-enter the large building. The foyer is the size of a swimming pool, with the black sheen motif extended to the walls, while the floors are a porcelain white. A woman at the counter looks up from her typing to greet you. <div align="center"><img src="https://imgur.com/uLLWbpy.png" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> The receptionist sits in a prim pose, her wonderfully curved figure encased in laminate, reflections rippling across its surface with each fine movement of her rapidly typing fingers. (if: $ejected is true)[ 'Good lord, //you're// back?!' she grimaces. 'Are you prepared to behave this time?' You flounder at the simple question. She turns back to her work. 'Those without an appointment or common sense cannot enter. Do you have an appointment?' [[You've had enough of her insolence: berate the uppity receptionist]]] [[Attempt to walk past the receptionist]]

'Ah, you must be $name,' she says, and politely inclines her head. 'I'm Leyla. The Mistress has been excited for your visit. Esme gives her a pointed look from the counter, though she spares you by not saying anything aloud. Leyla says nothing, and you can almost fool yourself into thinking she hasn't noticed. She turns, then notices what you're standing in front of. 'Sorry, I don't like elevators. I'm sure a trip by the stairs is not too much trouble?' You nod. 'That's no problem.' 'Excellent. Esme, Ley, I know you are helpful, but you didn't need to escort him from one side of the foyer to the other.' Both women share a look, and your heart races until Leyla says. 'I guess we're overprotective.' Leyla's brow perks. 'I see.' She turns around. 'Come, $name, we don't have long. All this chatting will make us late.' [[She walks up the stairs and you follow->Leyla2]] [[Ignore her. Run away.]]

The walk up is solitary. From outside, you say $company had an uncountable number of floors, and yet Leyla takes each one in stride. laminate is covering her entire body. Isn't she starting to sweat? 'I'm very proud you came,' she says. 'Your grandmother has never recommended a single member of your family, until now. You must be an excellent fit.' You ponder that a moment, if just to take your mind off the endless ascent of stairs. Why would your grandmother pick you? Sympathy? Guilt? You don't exactly have many redeeming qualities when it came to work, other than an affinity for I.T. But most corporations only have one of those for hundreds of employees, and the competition is fierce. She turns and you stop climbing. 'You think you are not up to it?' 'I guess I'm just nervous.' 'Oh, don't worry,' she says. 'I'm sure you'll do excellently.' You continue on. You should probably say something back. {(set: $metLeyla to true)} [[Anything I need to know?->Leyla3.1]] [[Ask her when she started->Leyla3.2]] [[Ask her about the work->Leyla3.3]] [[Compliment her dress->Leyla3.4]]

'Oh, several years ago,' she says as you climb. 'I used to work for an accounting firm. It was dull, and $companyNick has proved much better. Some people find we aren't a good fit for them, like all companies, but many stay here until they retire.' 'How many people feel this place isn't right for them?' Leyla frowns. 'Do you fear you won't belong here? Don't be scared, it's easier than it seems. And we retain employees at a rate of 98%.' If what Leyla says is true, that was crazy. Your grandma touted $companyNick for having a low turnover, but 2%? That was on a different level. Maybe you could work here a while. [[The top floor is one flight ahead. Time for your interview->Interview1]] (color:gray)[//Top Floor Unlocked!//]

'It's quite pleasant,' she says. 'Although I can't tell you the specifics unless you pass the interview and sign.' She steps more quickly up the stairs, and you start to ponder. What exactly //did// everyone at $company do? Your grandmother had never been specific, beyond throwaway lines about tumultuous markets and the increase in importing fees. Did they manufacture laminate? It would explain why literally every woman in the building wore it. Perhaps it was just the cultural fashion. Something you have never been able to get your head around. [[Ask her when she started->Leyla3.2]] [[The top floor is one flight ahead. Time for your interview->Interview1]]

<div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/NCPjdDA.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> You walk up beside her. From this angle, she looks even better. 'I love your dress.' She glances behind her, then readjusts, surprised to find you so close. She smiles. 'Thank you! You would not believe the backlash I have received for something as simple as what I wear. The imams say it is too revealing. I say it reveals nothing at all.' As you walk together, snatching short glances her way, you realise both are true. No skin shows, and yet the way her heels click as she struts and her figure sways through her long, tight dress... Everything is visible, and yet nothing is. It's so //sensual//. You feel a twinge in your pants. She halts. 'Is something wrong?' Oh shit. She caught you staring. 'Uh...' Her features are owlish, patient, maternal. 'I will accept you are intimidated by coming here. But I expect you to be truthful.' She still isn't moving. You've got to come up with something fast. 'Well...' [[Lie and press on->Interview0.5]] [[Throw caution to the wind. Tell the truth->LeylaConfess1]]

You finish ascending the stairs to find one final door. In the grey dimness of the stairs, it looks sublime in comparison, a rich, dark wood that belongs in a castle. Leyla pushes it open, and inside you see a perfectly-carpeted corridor, with the elevator on the right hand side and glass doors to your left. Leyla steps ahead, opening a door and welcomes you in. You step through, hesitant. The air of this place is one of grandeur and class, something you feel inadequately equipped for. A single wooden desk and several tall cabinets grace a small room. Another wooden room is buried into a nook on the right. No one is there. You turn to Leyla. 'Where is he?' She chuckles. 'The //Mistress// will see you when she is ready. You must wait for her to come to you. Try to relax, she won't be long.' With that, she steps out. You are left to think and wait, and out of habit you take a seat opposite her immaculate desk. //The ceo is a lady too? Are there no men here at all?// How unusual for an office to be entirely segregated by sex. You supposed it //would// be historically accurate if the genders were reversed, and women sought empowerment in all sorts of ways, so did it really matter? Nope, still super creepy. And until you met a living, breathing man in this place, you were going to take Leyla at her word. Minutes pass. Any sense of patience is cannibalised by your long-standing anxiety about even coming to this place. What do you do? [[Wait for her->Interview2.1]] [[Call out for her->Interview2.2]] [[Inspect that closed door->Interview2.3]] [[HUB 2]]

'You're just very pretty,' you say. 'Sorry, I got distracted.' She smiles. 'Thank you. It is promising you are able to admit these things. Now, let's press on.' [[The top floor is one flight ahead. Time for your interview->Interview1]]

You shiver, suppressing the deep desire you wish to tell her. Leyla studies your trembling lip, her veil cocked, waiting. 'Yes, Mr $lastName?' 'Well, what I mean is...' [['I just think you look stunning...'->Interview4.3]] [['Actually, I'm faithful too...'->LeylaConfess2]] (set: $boss to "Leyla")

You wait. It is a frustratingly long time, but you don't want to make a poor impression by storming out. Though the temptation to do so steadily rises, you keep it at bay, slowly looking around the simple office room but not daring to touch a thing. {(if: $nicknamed is false)[(set: $name to "$legalName")]} The door behind you creaks. 'Not as adventurous as before, I see.' <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/HMOwLTx.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%" alt="an artist's rendering of Mistress in all her laminate glory, she wears a pearl choker"></div> You turn, and see the most stunning woman you've seen in your life. Ruby red lips, luscious black hair, and //three// layers of laminate. Frilled pencil skirt, blazer, blouse and undershirt. Four pearl chokers ring her neck. It clings to her so smoothly you don't notice a single crease. She holds a beauty you don't think another woman could match. Though the considerable laminate certainly doesn't hurt. 'You must be $name,' she says, taking your shaking hand in her gloved one. Her hold is firm. 'Mercy has said great things of you.' So strange, hearing your grandmother's name like that. 'Uh, yes. She thinks I will.' She stops. 'Ah, you don't know what to call me. I assume no one has mentioned my name?' You nod. (if: $alarmActive is false)['Good.' She starts taking one of her gloves off. Her nails are sharp. 'I have a rule against it. You will find, $name, that working for $company entails many rules. The first being how I am called. For honesty's sake, my name is $boss, but you must never call me that. You may either refer to me as Mistress or Boss.' [['Yes Mistress.'->Interview3.1-Success]] [['Yes Boss.'->Interview3.2-Fail]] ] (else:)['Good.' She starts taking one of her gloves off. Her nails are sharp. 'I have a rule against it. You will find, $name, that working for $company entails many rules. The first being how I am called. For honesty's sake, my name is $boss, but you must never call me that. You may either refer to me as Mistress or Boss.' [['Yes Mistress'->Interview3.1-Success]] ]

You call out, first for this 'Mistress' and then for Leyla, but both attempts are fruitless. Nobody comes to help you. In fact, all that greets you is an eerie silence. On reflection, this isn't much different from your walk up. You've heard barely a sound since you left the foyer. There was no "muzak" piping through the speakers, just a faint crackle of static. No rattle of keyboards or typewriters being hammered-on, no murmuring chatter of dozens of women speaking into phones. The silence feels like it envelops you, swelling into a hungry mass. It drinks up the sounds of your calls for attention and echo them back to you through the tiny room. The eerie silence gets eerier. Beads of sweat trickle down your armpit. There has to be someone here. [[Calm down. Be patient.->Wait for her2.]] [[HUB 2]]

You leave the elevator and step out into a floor you guess is somewhere near the middle of the building. <!-- Outside is an office "bull pen". An open area filled with short walls that didn't quite go to the ceiling, forming a warren of busy productivity--you assume. You enter the cubicle farm. They line either side of you and stretch to a distant but visible end, where a second elevator can be found. The floors are the colour of obsidian, with gold resin running through the tiles. The ceiling is far more cramped than the foyer, but you suppose that is to be expected. The cubicles, however, are an entirely different beast. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="cubeville_lowerFrameRate.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" preload autoplay controls alt="video showing panning view of cubicle-farm"></div> Instead of three short walls and an opening, you see fully enclosed boxes with four walls and a ceiling. You wouldn't call them cubicles, really - they look like pods. Each one has walls like glass, and is heavily tinted the colour of gauze, the silvery surface distinguishing them from anything you've ever seen. A few seem empty, but mostly they are occupied by some human figure that appears as a dull blur inside the pod. You touch one, and find your hand almost sticks. It's texture is like a gooey laminate. Best not get too caught up in one. Your interview was supposed to be in that conference room, you probably shouldn't be caught wandering the corridors. On the plus side, it's going to be much easier to go unnoticed if every employee is blind outside of their cubicle. But you still don't know where to go. Hearing some frustrated voices behind you, you gather that your absence has been noted, and not welcomed! Without much time to consider your options, you evade the sound of the heels that seem hotly in pursuit of your own. You're back near the elevator area, and you have a choice. (set: $alarmActive to true) { (text-size:0.7)+(text-color:"gray")[//An alarm has been tripped!//] } (if: $EnterCEORoom is true)[[[Maybe I should have waited...->Interview2.1]]] [[Try to get into a cubicle->Cubicle1]] (if: $metM is false)[[[What if you tried that left corridor off the first floor?->Miranda1]] ] REDO --!> <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="cubeville_lowerFrameRate.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" preload autoplay controls alt="video showing panning view of cubicle-farm"></div> After your ordeal, the following moments are mundane by comparison. The elevator opens to a cubicle farm. They line either side of you and stretch to a distant but visible end, where a second elevator can be found. The floors are the colour of obsidian, with gold resin running through the tiles. The ceiling is far more cramped than the foyer, but you suppose that is to be expected. The cubicles, however, are an entirely different beast. Instead of three short walls and an opening, you see fully enclosed boxes with four walls and a ceiling. You wouldn't call them cubicles, really - they look like pods. Each one has walls like glass, and is heavily tinted the colour of gauze, the silvery surface distinguishing them from anything you've ever seen. A few seem empty, but mostly they are occupied by some human figure that appears as a dull blur inside the pod. You touch one, and find your hand almost sticks. It's texture is like a gooey laminate. Best not get too caught up in one. On the plus side, it's going to be much easier to go unnoticed if every employee is blind outside of their cubicle. But you still don't know where to go. You walk, because you probably have the time. Those women can't tell what floor you're on from outside, can they? You realise the elevator had an outside display right as you hear charging heel steps from the stairs behind you. Ok, so they totally did. <i>Crap.</i> Without much time to consider your options, you evade the sound of the heels that seem hotly in pursuit of your own. You're back near the elevator area, and you have a choice. [[Maybe you could hide in a cubicle?->Cubicle1]] <!-- [[Walk straight ahead, towards the second elevator->ElevatorSuccess4.1 ]] --!> [[Venture through the halls->Miranda1]] [[Go straight for the elevator->LeylaIntroduction]] [[Wait around->Caught by guards]]

You inspect the closed door. It's locked. You probably should have expected a company as large as $company wouldn't keep their business records out in the open. (if: $bookKey is false)[ There's probably something very boring in there. Business records, a filing cabinet, a spare wardrobe, an en suite. It's not worth your time. [['Oh Well.' ->Interview1]] ] (else:)[ Taking out the key from the hollow book you found in the foyer, you try it in the door knob, and the door swings open with a metallic creak. Success! But what you see ahead only makes you more curious. A long staircase leads down into darkness. Part of you feels a recurring dread, much like when you first stood outside this building. Should you really walk down a dark staircase at the back of a CEO's office when you don't know where it leads? Your video-game brain resurges with fervent determination. You've already come this far, haven't you? [[That must be a side door to the CEO's office->Return to the CEO's office]] [[Go down the stairs]] ] (text-colour:orange)[//Hint: Did you get the key from the book?//]

She grins. 'My hardest workers call me that. It's a fact you'd best remember. We might get on well after all.' A layer of papers is swept aside. 'Please, sit.' You realise you've been standing ever since she entered the room. You think she's noticed, with the cat-like grin and the calm way she rests her head above her steepled fingers. You quickly sit. 'Good. You're quick to obey orders,' she shuffles through several papers and takes out a manilla folder. '$legalName $lastName, age 20. Is this correct?' You nod. Though it's not exactly a glowing desription. 'My job,' $boss says, 'is to find the right people for our work. Quite simple. However, while in a //perfect// world we would give everyone a chance and learn all we could... Today we'll be using shortcuts. Tell me about yourself.' 'I don't think there's much really to say, I'm not that remarkable Mistress,' you offer feebly. Mistress scoffs playfully at your words, 'Come now $name, surely you must have //something// to say?...' She lets the question hang, then more quietly adds 'Although I //do// like how you say my name...' (if: $metLeyla is true)[Leyla averts her eyes a moment. You think she's hiding a blush.](else:)[She averts her eyes a moment. You think she's hiding a smirk.] 'If you do not know the nature of the job, you need to //ask//,' (if: $metLeyla is true)[Leyla says encouragingly.](else:)[Mistress says, trying to lead you on.] 'Unless there's something else more pressing on your mind?' [[Compliment her outfit->Interview4.1]] [['What actually is the nature of the job?'->Interview4.2]] <!-- THIS SECTION IS COMMENTED OUT 'I'm afraid She sighs. 'While most interviews are open ending. That is incorrect.' 'Leyla here has told me of your unprofessional faux pas outside, but honestly that's to be expected of all new members of the firm. As modest as she is, not everyone is capable of reaching her heights.' Leyla averts her eyes a moment. You think she's hiding a blush. 'It is, however, a lie. One strike.' 'If you do not know the nature of the job, you need to ask.' 'I like how much he says Mistress,' Mistress says, and Leyla nods agreeably. --!>

$boss signs. 'I would apologize for tricking you, but I don't accept disobediance. No matter how small.' She presses a red button atop her desk. In moments, Leyla arrives, her glossy complexion strained. She bows. 'You called, Mistress?' $boss steeples her fingers. 'Yes. This one doesn't impress me. Remove him.' Leyla turns to you, her usual grin swapped for a pained reluctance. You express something similar. Her breath short, the woman comes to your side. 'Come on Mr. $lastName, let's go.' Outside, escorted into the elevator by Leyla, you find the world is beginning to spin. Your mind is processing the last minute in a thin slurry. You still don't understand what you did wrong. You turn to Leyla, your expression conveying everything you've left unsaid. She dips her head. 'I am sorry. //Mistress// is very particular about language. You must have called her something other than her title.' Your mouth hangs agape. That's //it?// One wrong word, and you're out the door? Is everything you fought for today all for nothing? Her laminate sidles up against you, caressing you with its glossy, silken sheen. 'Don't fear. You haven't been ejected from $company fully. Let's get you where you need to be.' The elevator dings and releases you. You step out not into the foyer, but a proper cubicle farm. Well, you wouldn't call them cubicles, really - they look more like pods. Each one has glassy walls heavily tinted the colour of gauze, the silvery surface distinguishing them from anything you've ever seen. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="cubeville_lowerFrameRate.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" preload controls alt="video showing panning view of cubicle-farm"></div> Each cubicle grows larger as you approach it, with blurry outlines silhouetting more than just the standard desk-chair-computer combination. Some are empty, but most are occupied by some human figure that appears as a dull blur inside the pod. 'Hang on, are those people?' Leyla nods. 'Secretaries. We keep them in here for their own safety. They can be easily distracted outside their cubicle.' You stop outside a vacant pod. You touch the cubicle dome, and find your hand almost sticks. It's texture is like a gooey laminate. 'Wow...' Leyla splays her hands, gesturing to the whole room. 'Isn't it beautiful? It's one reason I was first attracted to $company. There is incredible harmony here. People obey the chain of command. Women know their place. I fear the true reason Mistress dismissed you today because she believes you are yet to know yours.' 'What do you mean?' Leyla averts her eyes, pensive. 'Perhaps you need to be taught the value of submission. Of understanding that while your superior is not always right, they must always be obeyed.' You nod absently. Perhaps Leyla's right. You have too great an independence streak. And what do you have to show for it? You need to be hammered out, smelted from crude crude ore into a professional ingot. Extending a hand to the cubicle dome, you again feel the tacky stick of the pod surface. It feels so supple, so sleek... 'What would I need to do to learn to submit?' Leyla grins. 'I'm glad you asked.' Then she shoves you into the vacant pod. [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - naked!]]

She smiles. 'I've heard you are quick to compliment the women here. You must be careful, $name, or others might think you are just quick to flatter.' (set: $alarmActive to true) { (text-size:0.7)+(text-color:"gray")[//An alarm has been tripped!//] } [[I just think you look stunning->Interview4.3]] [['Can't a man compliment a woman anymore?!']]

She laughs. 'And you're brave, too! That's good. You see $name, the nature of work here is another of my Rules. You can't know, and no one is allowed to tell you. Your grandmother knew this. The exact nature of the job will become apparrent once you sign the contract. That is what we value at $company. Discretion, and patience.' Discretion and...patience? That sounded like the values of a three letter agency. How did it apply to an office workplace? The intricacies could wait. Mistress steeples her fingers and watches you levelly. 'If you've figured it out yet, men do not work here. They are rowdy and uncouth, a legal minefield, and totally antithetical to an efficient workplace. And at $company, we value efficiency //very// highly. It is imperative to our ends.' 'And what of this contract? What does it involve?' Mistress smiles. 'I am glad you asked, $name. Let me ask you a question - did anybody seem discontent with their work while you were here?' You think back. For all the menial paper work and filing that must be necessary in a giant company like this, one thing strikes you as quite strange. And it's not the fact the whole building is comprised entirely of women. 'Everyone here seems very satisfied, Mistress. I was surprised.' 'Correct,' she says. 'Now think on why that might be.' You ponder. What was the secret? What were they getting paid? Your thoughts have obviously not impressed her, for she sighs and approaches you, bypassing her desk. 'Don't you see? The reason people do not leave $companyNick is not because of job dissatisfaction, poor colleagues, or better opportunities. No, they stay because the most common contract they sign //does not allow them to leave//. A deep part of your stomach goes sour. Your throat tangles like vines constricting a bud. 'You enslave people.' 'No. People merely commit to us for great periods of time. Were I to take you on, you would be no different.' What exactly did a 'great period' mean? Two years, ten? Suddenly any sense of certainty shrivels in your chest. You need work, but not that much of it. 'The most signed contract is fifteen years.' You stare. She laughs. But whatever you hope is forthcoming, she says nothing, letting it soak in. // [['What!?'->Interview5-What]] //

$boss steeples her fingers and stands. 'I see this is confronting for you. But it is the best deal. One hundred and twenty thousand dollars per annum. For our shortest contract, just five years, your pay is one third of that.' Fifteen years. The number echoes out like a ripple in your mind. That was phenomenal pay, and she even sounds close to offering it to you. But the number sounds too much like a prison sentence. You shake any thought of it away. What about the short contract? Fourty thousand was still respectable for your age, but did you really want to be stuck here for five years? 'You still haven't told me what my job would be.' $boss glared. 'Is my talk of commitment not enough? But I suppose you have come in blind. Look in that drawer.' She points to a cabinet on the right-hand side, not far from the locked wooden door. You step over reluctantly, the Mistress watching your every move. This is it. A confirmation of exactly what was expected of you, right before you likely signed years of your life away. You open the draw and see a void. No, black. The edges of it stand out against the velvet layering of the drawer bottom. You pull it out, and as it rumples down and unfolds, you catch the shine of it in the ceiling light. You've been acclimatized to this material all day, and yet, feels better than you'd ever imagined. It runs like a perfect silk in your hands. (if: $boss is "Elizabeth")[ (if: $metLeyla is false)[ Softly, behind you, a door opens and closes. You turn quickly to see a stranger has joined Mistress in the room. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/5VDYfOJ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> She is stunning in her laminate clothing: a dazzling marriage of chaste exposure and lascivious curves. She smiles a welcoming smile at you. 'Leyla dear,' $boss says, 'You'll need to help out our new hire...' Your attention is drawn back toward the laminate clothing in your hand. ] (else:)[ Softly, behind you, a door opens and closes. You turn quickly to see Leyla having joined Mistress in the room. Mistress gives Leyla the swiftest of nods, 'You'll need to help out our new hire...' she explains to a nodding Leyla. Your attention is drawn back toward the laminate clothing in your hand.]] 'A laminate skirt,' Leyla confirms from behind. '//That// is what we expect you to wear.' [[You turn to Leyla->Interview6]] (set: $EnterCEORoom to true)

'You expect me to wear this?' you ask. She shakes her head. 'No $name, I expect you to //live// it. Every woman who works here puts all her effort into looking as perfect as she can be, into being the perfect laminate figure. It is a culture, it is a fashion, and it is a way of seeing the world.' 'But I can't wear a skirt. I'm a man.' 'You are not a man. You are a boy. And boys can be changed. Men do not work well at $companyNick. They are too distracted and touchy and barbaric. You, so far, have displayed excellent restraint, and some curiosity in what we wear. I think you have potential. But it is a potential that will only be realised if you dress like us.' 'A skirt represents submission, $name. In my case, submission to my husband and superiors. For you, it will mean submission to a Mistress - a boss who you will serve - and to the CEO of $company.' You turn to the folds of laminate. The way you hold it, it doesn't look like a skirt, just a pile of countless folds gleaming in the electronic light. Could you bring yourself to do this? To don the clothes of what you'd never been and work here for years? You can't deny you had always harboured some curiosity in how the women had dressed. Leyla's outfit, her glossy, sumptious dress, especially. But that did not change what you were being asked to do. 'And how would I be helping you,' you ask, 'if I was here for fifteen years?' 'Put on the skirt, $legalName' Leyla said authoratively. 'I will not ask again.' [[Obey Leyla->Interview6.1-ObeyLeyla]] [[Question->Interview6.2]] [[Throw it down->Interview6.3]]

(if: $laminated is false)[ You obey, taking off your pants and putting on the skirt. At first there's difficulty; the skirt is tight once you're standing inside it and its many folds fight the zipper as you try to pull it up. There's a zip at the back, and your inexperience as much as your terror delay you as you sweatily close it over you. Eventually, you manage, and Leyla looks at you like you're a pig at market. 'You look beautiful, $name. We must put on the rest.' The skirt is tight and restricts everything above your knees. You are forced to daintily step and hobble: moving has become an entirely new art! She takes you by the arm and pulls you toward the wooden door, unlocking it with a key in her pocket, propelling your swaying figure with distressing ease. She opens the door and you are shown into a dressing room. As though a spell had been cast, you can't disobey. Helplessly, you watch as she unbuttons your shirt and throws away your tie and shoes. She grimaces at the sight of your undershirt and she shreds it with her nails. Each piece of clothing replaced by their superior version: a tight balconette bra, a long-bowed blouse, tight thigh-highs, and lastly: jet-black heels, slotted onto you with a fairy tale's care. Everything feels smooth. You are in an ocean of smoothness, of pleasure! You feel a clinging sensation that this was all //meant// to be.] (else:)[Leyla rounds on you, stumped. 'You have provided a unique problem, $name. Normally, this would be the appropriate time to dress you. But you have already helped yourself to some of the company attire. I don't believe we have ever had someone so eager to accept Venivos's work culture.' She approaches you, laminate-clad mouth grinning. 'You wanted to be put in this, weren't you? You nod nervously. 'It feels nice, doesn't it? The way it hugs your body, the way the skirt constricts your legs?' A rising tempo is building between your legs. You see a small tent form in your laminate skirt. As if that's enough proof, she places a hand at the small of your back, escorting you into a separate dressing room. 'Excellent. Then we can speed this up.'] Leyla retrieves a purple bag from one of the top drawers and douses you in makeup. It takes less time than you expect, and soon Leyla is //really// captivated by you, clasping her hands together and holding your hand, which she's adorning with a long opera glove. [[You stand in front of the mirror->LeylaConfess6]] (set: $laminated to true)

'B-b-but I can't just pretend I'm a woman though can I?' you ask. 'It's not like there's some magical way you can change me?' 'Haha no, nothing magic child, merely expressing that which is deep within you already,' Leyla replies calmly. 'It is a pity that you seem to be resisting your destiny... I suppose the solution then is obvious. We need to reconcile how your own destiny, with how $company sees your potential.' Leyla pauses as she considers her next steps. 'Yes, I think the only thing for it, is to expedite your onboarding. It's going to take a certain amount of //conditioning// to meet the requirements of your position, but I think you'll 'fit right in,' as it were.' Taking a big intake of breath, your attention is rapt to her. You're astounded at how she can command your attention inside this space, as though her mere presence possessed the gravity of the moon. 'It is time, then. Come with me.' Leyla marches out of the room, without a glance backward, satisfied you will follow. You do, of course. As though some invisibile filament was tied to your midrift, you feel yourself pulled along behind her as she takes you back downstairs to another floor. As far as you can see, there seems to be a large cubicle farm. Grids and rows of workspaces extended in every direction--but the cubicles seem different than normal. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="cubeville_lowerFrameRate.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" preload controls alt="video showing panning view of cubicle-farm"></div> Aside from the typical moveable walls that form the boundaries of every nameless, faceless, corporate job, there seems to be some kind of gel-like pod held within. Extending a hand to the surface, you feel the tacky stick of the pod surface. Looking inside, they seem larger inside than you initially thought, with blurry outlines silhouetting more than just the standard desk-chair-computer combination. Leyla rounds on one cubicle in particular. How did she chose it? You have no idea, but she seems to have the layout of the cubicle farm memorized. 'I think if you would simply take position inside your workstation, a number of our issues can be quickly and easily resolved,' she explains. Her hand passes easily through the pod wall, the sticky coating gliding effortlessly over her laminate. You gulp, and steele yourself for your entry into the unknown. Pushing your hand firmly against the pod surface you slowly feel it yield to the surface of your skin, though it continues to stick relentlessly to the sleeve of your shirt. Finally, there's a squelch and a release of pressure as your hand passes fully through to the other side. Testing the limits of your discovery, you attempt to pull your hand back. While your hand passes smoothly through the barrier, your sleeve is stuck fast. Leyla smiles and laughs at your predicament, standing back and crossing her arms to watch your display. [[You're stuck!->Interview7]]

[[Cubicle4]]

<div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/5VDYfOJ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> The woman strides down the stairs and doesn't notice you, while you greedily eye her. She is beautiful, and dressed entirely in laminate. A demure ruffle spreads down her neck from A tight navy blouse is cinched by a wide buckle belt before it flows into a long black dress. A headscarf covers her hair. 'Esme!' she greets the receptionist. Her voices carries easily in the wide room. 'Where is the Mistress's next appointment? He's not late, is he?' Through a slit in the ferns you see Esme jerk around to the grouped couches. 'Oh god. He's left!' 'Left?' The woman sounds incredulous. 'Shame, woman! You let him explore unsupervised!' 'I didn't think...I didn't expect the grandson of one of our upper echelon would be such a brat. He just seemed boring.' Esme shakes her head, then snatches up the phone. 'I'm calling M now. He can't have gone far.' The woman in the headscarf puts her fingers to her nose. 'You had to watch him for five minutes. You are hopeless.' 'Wherever he goes, she'll find him.' Your would-be escort crosses her arms. 'He is a deliquent. We must teach him the cost for such beheaviour.' <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="elevators_outside_opening.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" autoplay preload controls alt="animation of elevator doors opening"></div> Throughout their whole conversation, neither of them have noticed the lights of the elevator counting down. Its' opening ding is loud enough to draw their attention, but no one immediately walks out. and from your angle, you can't see anyone inside. This is your chance. [[Run into the empty elevator->ElevatorSuccess3.1]] [[Hide and wait a little longer->ElevatorSuccess3.6]]

You nod politely, then start walking in the other direction. Leyla is too shocked to react that first second, then she calls out after you. 'Excuse me young man! Where do you think you're going?' You've already tuned her out. Leyla can't be //that// important, right? Really, you can deal with your interview later. You want to explore. Off instinct, you glance back for her reaction. Leyla's gaze is simmering like a kettle ready to burst. What's her problem? Is she really that mad over one disobedient kid? Geez. Your old high school ate up prudes like that. [[HUB 2]]

You take your chance. Thanks to your hesitation, the doors are already beginning to close, but you make it, sliding straight through and slamming the button for the level you've already pressed. The two women watch you with shared incredulity as you make your escape. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="elevators_close.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" autoplay preload controls alt="animation of elevator doors closing"></div> The elevator doesn't carry you for long. It climbs, and climbs, then stops. But it doesn't open. You suddenly feel trapped. A screen inside the elevator blares on, roughly at eye level, and green text appears... text-style:"condense")+(text-color:green)[Welcome: OCCUPANT... <tw-hook style="animation: 0.5s steps(1, end) 0s infinite alternate none running fade-in-out;">SCANNING...</tw-hook> ] With a gentle whirring, a grey metallic ring descends from the elevator ceiling, a curious red light gleaming out around its circumference shining inward. You jerk away, but there's nowhere for you to run, and so far, it hasn't gorged out your innards. Best to let the mysterious machine do its work. As it passes over you, you feel a slight tingle as a band of gentle heat accompanies the scanning ring. Shifting in your stance, you relax a little as the machine passes over you like a warm shower washes stress away. As the scanner passes over your curves, you can see and feel the band point up and down, scanning the undersides just as well as your oversides--this scanner was getting //every// measurement imaginable. As it gets to your feet, you follow the pose of the stick figure on the display, and obliging lift each foot in turn to ensure it is well-scanned. To support yourself, the machine conveniently provided two hand holds for you to balance. Each foot scanned, you move to release your grip on the hand holds, but as soon as your grip slackens, a cuff springs over your wrists, locking them in place! Your fingers scrabble for purchase, but all they can find are the handles--you hold tight! [[Hold on for dear life!->ElevatorTransition2]]

You decide to keep yourself where you are. Sprinting into the elevator is a bad idea; besides, it starts to shut quickly. You probably wouldn't have even made it inside. You peer through the ferns once again and see the two women linger around. Then a door on the opposite side of the foyer opens, and your heart sinks. A heavy set woman walks out in what appears to be a white blouse, brown blazer and a leather skirt that ends past her knees. Her black hair sits in a bob. She's wearing shades, which combined with the narrow line of her lips intimidates you. She's obviously security, and Esme and your escort both bow their heads as she approaches. 'We have a runaway?' 'Entirely my fault,' Esme admits. 'I've just been so busy lately, and I never expected...' she holds back a sob. 'I'm sorry. It won't happen again.' The woman, M, nods at this. 'It's no trouble, Es, he can't have gotten far. And he won't make much headway.' She ponders something. 'Did you hear either of the doors close?' Esme blinks. 'No, I didn't.' 'Then he's either smart enough to take the elevator or...' She begins to stamp in your direction, heading for the stairs. Uh oh. [[Keep hiding]] [[Run!->ElevatorSuccess4.2]]

<div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="elevators_open.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" autoplay preload controls alt="animation of elevator doors opening"></div> Exiting the elevator, you see someone new exiting the door from the staircase. (if: $alarmActive is false)[ {{(set: $metLeyla to true)} <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/5VDYfOJ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div>} The woman is beautiful. Like the rest of women here, she is dressed entirely in laminate. A demure ruffle spreads down her neck from a tight navy blouse with sharp bishop sleeves, and a wide buckle belt cinches below a high-set black laminate dress that flows past her calves. A headscarf covers her hair. You suspect she is arabic. Seeing you, her face adopts a slightly puzzled expression. Rather than passing over you, she approaches you directly. 'I'm supposed to be looking to interview our potential new hire... I don't suppose you have seen her?' she asks you shyly. 'Uhhh, well, //I'm supposed// to interview for a position here today. My grandmother setup the interview?' 'Ah... //You're// the candidate? I see...' she ponders you for a moment, her eyes roaming up and down. 'Well how wonderful to have you here. I'm certain we can make you fit right in!' she finishes cheerfully, her shy demeanour having evaporated. [[Leyla2]] ] (else:)[ <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/dADVBXA.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> She's a heavy set woman in what appears to be a glossy white blouse, brown blazer and a toughened laminate leather-look skirt that ends past her knees. Her black hair sits in a bob. She's wearing shades, which combined with the narrow line of her lips intimidates you. Her name badge spells out a single letter 'M', and she seems to be the primary security agent for $company. Your eyes linger on her figure a moment: she's not pretty like the receptionist is, but 'M' is still attractive. Confident even. Your imagination starts to run wild--then her arms shoot out. You don't even realise you should dodge: and she's fast! She quickly twists you around and grabs your wrists. Then, she crushes them in the grip of one hand (she's so strong!') and claps her other hand on your shoulder. 'That's plenty son, you've had your naughty peek. Now be still and come with me.' You try to plead your case, that you were simply looking for the interview room, but M is having none of it. 'What? You thought you could just sneak around and no one would notice?' she asks you with disdain. 'Trespassing is a serious offence! And I'll not have some trollop wandering around a secure building. You're toast.' [[You find yourself outside]] ]

You try to keep hiding. //'Maybe this will all blow over?'// you think. No such luck. Your heart pounding in your ears, you don't hear the clunking heeled footfalls of the woman who approaches you from behind. Looming over you, you finally notice her presence when her shadow projects its darkness over you. A chill passes through you as the feeble warmth from the bright lighting is replaced by the chilly stare of this imposing figure. <div align="center"><figure><img src="https://i.imgur.com/dADVBXA.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[CastielSkyfall]</figcaption></figure></div> She's a heavy set woman in what appears to be a glossy white blouse, brown blazer and a toughened laminate leather-look skirt that ends past her knees. Her black hair sits in a bob. She's wearing shades, which combined with the narrow line of her lips intimidates you. Her name badge spells out a single letter 'M', and she seems to be the primary security agent for $company. Your eyes linger on her figure a moment: she's not pretty like the receptionist is, but 'M' is still attractive. Confident even. Your imagination starts to run wild--then her arms shoot out. You don't even realise you should dodge as she grabs you. She's fast. You try to fight her off, but once she has your hands, it's over. She twists you around and crushes your wrists in the grip of a single hand (she's so strong!) and claps her free hand on your shoulder. 'That's plenty son, you've had your naughty peek. Now be still and come with me.' You try to plead your case, that you were simply looking for the interview room, but M is having none of it. 'What? You thought you could just sneak around and no one would notice?' she scoffs. 'Trespassing is a serious offence! And I'm not letting some trollop wander around a secure building. My building. You're toast.' { (text-size:0.7)+(text-color:"gray")[//An alarm has been tripped!//] } (set: $alarmActive to true) [[You find yourself outside]]

You burst from your hiding spot before M can gain any more on you, scampering for the stairs. She rushes after you, the growing clack of her heels your only indication of her location, because you're too shit-scared to look behind. She's athletic, but she's also wearing a tight pencil skirt and heels. Noise and her string of curses indicates you're faster. You make it to the stairs and notice there are lower floors. On instinct, you barrel down them, taking the steps three or four at a time. You didn't know this place had an underground, but it's likely your best chance. Trying the elevator with a tail was too risky. You'd seen enough movies to know jamming your finger on the elevator button repeatedly wasn't going to speed up your escape. It would just make you an easy target. and besides, even if you //did/ make it to the upper levels and their endless office cubicles, that was a swift way to get lost and captured. Captured. Oh, just the thought sends a shudder through your spine. And a jolt to somewhere else. In acting like the most devious little bastard, you actually are starting to fulfil one of your fantasies. Hiding, stopping yourself from being caught all while evading the delicious fate of being restrained by that mountainous, muscular woman... Well, you should stop thinking about these things. The sounds of heel clacking echo behind you. Crap. You really need to find a place to hide. A sole door lies ahead of you. It's unlocked suspiciously, but where else is there to run? [[Barge through->ElevatorSuccess4.3]]

The woman makes a swatting motion with her glove. 'My name is Jen, but you can just call me Ma'am. Now, how did you know how to find me?' Another razor-sharp question, delivered just as quick. But now that you've seen her, now that you're heard her lovely voice, you have to stay down here. You know how to think quick. 'I was told to find the woman with the lovely blonde hair and black gloves.' Jen laughs. 'That's very good. I assume you found me by my room code, but flattery is always appreciated. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise!' She returns to her desk. 'I enjoy your compliments, but I must get back to work. You have come to the wrong place, perhaps deliberately, and are hardly making a good impression for your hiring manager. You should get on your way.' You gulp. 'Good impressions' were far removed from anything you'd given since you got here.' 'Very well Miss -' She interrupts you, quite sternly. 'Please. Ma'am is fine. If you are here for orientation, you're hardly dressed for it. Go retrieve some clothes from the mess hall.' //There's a mess hall here?// you think. Wow, this place has far more than you could have imagined. But you don't want to have to traverse more places. 'Uh, I think they've run out?' The woman, who you now think of as Ma'am, narrows her eyes. 'Nonsense, I'm sure they have another pair! Go and check again!' You take a deep breath. You really don't want to venture further into this place, especially considering you're a company fugitive at this point. 'Do you have any work clothes in here?' you ask. Jennifer - Ma'am - doesn't take her gaze from her desk, motioning to a drawer. 'I do, but it won't be in your size.' [[Leave the underground office->Threaten4.1]] (if: $alarmActive is false)[ [[Ask Ma'am several questions->Threaten4.2]] ] [[Obey Ma'am->Threaten4.3]]

The moment you stepped in this room, you have had a pretty good inclination of exactly what work clothes for this company might mean. It was one of the reasons you'd agreed to your grandma's request to apply here. You tip-toe towards the drawer with trepidation, then curse yourself for extending the suspense. You open the drawer and pick out the first article. laminate is such a sexy material, but you never expected it to be this //smooth//. It ripples down your arms as it unfolds naturally, extending like a swan's wing. 'You do understand the company dress code, don't you?' Ma'am says, unable to hide her grin. 'What I am expected to wear?' Until now, you hadn't been certain. But you //had// hoped. You inspect the clothing again. It's definitely a skirt, and its size suggests it is as long and narrow as Ma'am's own. The white puffy thing that sits in the drawer is also a copy of her blouse, as silky and smooth as you imagine it would feel. 'Put it on,' Ma'am says. 'I want to see this.' [[Obey]]

You leave the small house of an office that Ma'am works in, and decide to take a stroll. You're not going to bother with any of the other buildings - they likely all work in a similar role, and there's little point trying your luck a second time. You waltz down the long underground warehouse, and eventually come to a closer group of buildings. They are made of different colours, red and purple, though it is unclear what that signifies. [[Take the elevator up->ElevatorSuccess3.1]]

'May I ask what it is you do? I wasn't told by my superiors,' you lie, watching her trudge back to her desk. She seems to be very tired of staring at the papers in front of her. You think you might have an in. 'That is not your concern, grunt,' she said. 'And remember to call me Ma'am. I'll punish you if you don't.' Your lower parts twitch at the order. 'Yes Ma'am, sorry Ma'am,' you reply swiftly. Goodness, just calling her a simple title pleases you. Plus she pays you more attention after you say it. She signs. 'I handle exports. And so far, the exports are becoming //very// unprofitable to ship.' She stands, paces the desk. 'In some ways, I yearn for when I didn't have to manage all this drivel. And yet, this is what promotions costs me.' 'This is an important place? I thought you were down in the dumps.' The woman shakes her head. 'Not in the slightest. My work is of prime importance. But that doesn't mean I want to be here.' She sighs, then flicks her gaze to you. 'I assume you took the short contract, then? All the young employees seem to, these days.' 'Uh, yes I did,' you say. 'How long is your contract?' 'When I began,' Ma'am says, sounding extremely tired, 'it was fifteen years.' The figure echoes in your head like a thundercrash. Fifteen years. That's why $companyNick had high retention - it practically thrust its workers into indentured servitude. Christ, you might need a job, but not that badly! You repeat the thought and look away, unsettled. Suspicions start to bubble up. You couldn't imagine the kind of woman who would sign that sort of agreement voluntarily. Wasn't that lawsuit material? Wouldn't somebody claim that sort of contract was enslavement? A decade and a half, working here, filing paperwork in those incredibly impractical laminate uniforms. It makes you feel... [[Fearful->Threaten5.1-Fearful]] [[Curious->Threaten5.2-Curious]] [[Something more->Threaten5.3-SomethingMore]]

You take off your trousers and put on the skirt. It's tighter than any pair of pants you've worn, zipping snugly at the back with a built-in buckle belt that cinches up with skirt. It holds you in place, and you can feel a growth threaten to overcome your groin. You huff and try to compose yourself. 'The blouse,' Ma'am commands. You obey, ripping off your shirt and donning the laminate replacement. It clings to your skin with an intimacy nothing else can, smoothing over your chest, caressing your shaking arms. A short ruffle adorns the chest area, and it makes you feel pretty. 'Stay still,' Ma'am says, and though your chest is thumping and your body feels like it's been electrocuted, you manage. From behind her desk Ma'am brings a black corset of some sort, and when it clicks it open you realise it's big enough to enclose your neck. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/TODzlvz.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> It //is// for your neck. It's a posture collar. Only the perverts at $companyNick could carry around things like this. She attaches it swiftly, locking it with a final click. A d-ring sits at its front. 'It's amazing what we can train our new employees to do. You look wonderful, sweetheart. Say thank you.' You look away, trying to tame the great buzz in your stomach and the hunger in your genitals. 'Thank you Ma'am.' 'Of course,' Ma'am says, swiftly attaching a leash from her desk to your neck corset, 'you aren't one of our employees, are you?' Your heart sinks and you try to pull away, but Ma'am is too fast, pulling you closer by your leash. 'I think it's time we introduced you to the company, my pet.' [[No! You have to escape!]] (set: $laminated to true)

You try to buck away, but Ma'am just keeps laughing and holds you in her grip. The leash is strong, and the neck corset it's attached to makes it difficult for you to avert your eyes. You drink in her eagerness to humiliate you, the hunger to turn you in. Wearing a super-tight pencil skirt doubles the difficulty of manoeuvring yourself, though Ma'am is wearing a shiny replica of your new outfit, and she doesn't seem to be struggling. 'Oh my dear, you've gone too deep. You've exhibited every single behaviour we try to cultivate here. You're curious, naughty yet obedient, and extraordinarily kinky. You just put on my spare clothes without any incentive. No, we can't get rid of you. You're too good a fit.' <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/n1vZAUC.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> In moments she pulls you closer again, then grabs your shoulder and whisks you around. She takes your wrists and holds them firmly in place behind you. Something leathery is shoved up your arms, which you struggle against and fail to inconvenience your captor for a second. The leather climbs up your arms, and as you hear a zipper and glance behind you realise the entirety of your arms are being bound in a leather sheath. An armbinder. It finishes it's ascent over your shoulders, and by then your elbows have also succumbed and are just as tightly bunched behind you as your wrists, fully enveloped in the sheath. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/0iQXVxw.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'You,' she said, 'look perfect.' [[Cry out! Do something!]]

You step out into a dark city of cubicle farms. It looks like a long warehouse, with huge square installations as big as a single-storey house. Metal bannisters at the corners are joined by large sheets of glass, letting you see into most of the rooms. Most seem to be offices, with individual desks and a single blurry worker in each. Each door is made of wood, a luxury these days, and as you quickly close it you realise a woman in shiny office attire is staring at you. Typical - there doesn't seem to be a single man in the building. Alongside the typical blouse and long pencil skirt you've become accustomed to by now, a pair of long black gloves taper over the puff of her blouse and her hair is done up in a bun. Her blouse is designed without buttons, and her collar looks so tight that its choking her. She wears a severe expression. You've interrupted her work. But outside of the tinted glass houses, where else is there to run? So, convincing yourself, you charge towards the first office you find and walk in. 'What's your problem, //boy//?' she chides. 'Did you start here today?' Well, you were supposed to until you royally screwed that up. 'Um, yes Ma'am.' 'I see.' The woman sounds impressed. She pushes off her desk and walks toward you, grinning. 'You've better manners than the last batch. Orientation around here must have actually //improved//. Now, why are you here?' Your mind blanks. At first she looks curious, but then your hesitation breeds a very different expression that's opposite anything a newbie could expect. Her hand blanches to a fist. 'Well? Are you dull? Answer the question. Wherever your mentors are, they're certainly not down here.' [['I'm here to help you, Mrs...'->Threaten3]]

<!-- <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/VT3TFbF.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> --!> You think to scream, but it's too late. Just as your arms are left alone you feel a plethora of tape encircle your mouth, as Ma'am holds you by the neck and wraps layer after layer over your mouth. 'That's better,' Ma'am says, turning you around to look at you. You cringe out of fear and muffle a whimper, and she eyes you like a piece of art. 'No, that's perfect. I'll make sure you never leave without looking like this.' <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/DjNFC3A.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> She sounds like she's talking about a work of art. You just whimper. You were just trying to explore and have some fun! Not be captured by this fanatic, adoring... No. No, your cock //can't// be getting hard at this. But she has already noticed. 'Aw, even this part of you knows you belongs here.' She lightly slaps your dick through your skirt, which only makes it grow, then turns you around and steers you by the ass. 'Come on, little secretary. It's time for you to sign a contract.' [[Ending: Unwilling Slave]]

You wonder if anybody could retain their sanity after knowingly signing a contract that lasted a almost half a decade. Nevermind a decade and a half. The figure is still staggering. How do $companyNick's employees do it? You can't imagine anybody still enjoying their work by the second year, nevermind the fifteenth. 'Yes,' says Bianca, 'it's quite intimidating. Now, is there something else you need?' [[You shake your head, heading for the stairs->You can't resist the impulse. Head for the stairs.]]

Part of you is curious. How could a woman handle employment at the same place for fiteen whole years? What were the perks? You supposed the opportunity to wear laminate might entice a few kinky girls. But that couldn't be the whole story. It was impossible. You decide to leave the woman before she gets any wiser. [[Exit->You can't resist the impulse. Head for the stairs.]]

'I don't think I signed for long enough,' 'And this contract, can it be revoked?' 'Of course not,' Ma'am says, rather jealously. 'You would have to be paralysed before you could leave.' 'I don't mean to revoke a contract. I want to sign the longer one.' Ma'am's eyes widen. 'Really?' 'Yes, I think so.' It's such a stupid, impulsive idea. But wearing laminate to work everyday, the sensations, the feel...you can't wait for the material to claim you. 'Then get out of my sight,' Ma'am says. 'Go to the top floor and beg Mistress to reconsider.' You turn and head for the door. Feeling heady, the hollow excitement in your chest, you might go do just that. [[You can't resist the impulse. Head for the stairs.]]

REVISE. THIS IS DUMB AND YOU SHOULDNT MEET THE BOSS THIS EARLY. (set: $contractSigned to true) You take the stairs up to the top floor. M does not find you or tackle you from around a corner. Instead, you make it all the way to the top floor, a clean, silent corridor and a glass panel into a single office. You walk inside. The most beautiful women you've ever seen is waiting for you. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/HMOwLTx.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%" alt="an artist's rendering of Mistress in all her laminate glory, she wears a pearl choker"></div> Ruby red lips, luscious black hair, and //three// layers of laminate. Frilled pencil skirt, blazer, blouse and undershirt. A supple face that begged for nothing and took everything. Four pearl chokers ring her neck. It clings to her so smoothly you don't notice a single crease. She holds a beauty you don't think another woman could match. Though the considerable laminate certainly doesn't hurt. 'You finally show your face,' she snarls. 'I have been searching for you. Hunting you down. How dare you run from your interview, and expect me to give you a chance!' She howls and screams, but you bear it. You've discovered a lot of patience in yourself today. 'I've heard you offer fifteen year contracts.' The Mistress suddenly stops. 'Yes.' 'I want to sign.' 'What? Why?' 'I would be wearing laminate everyday I worked here, right?' 'Of course. You'd wear the same blouse and skirt as everyone here.' Your groins shiver. You thought there might be a mandate about wearing only women's clothes, and you find the novelty and mystery excites you. You've always wanted to know how you looked in a skirt. 'That sounds perfect. I want //in//.' 'Then you'll be bound repeatedly -' 'Sounds great.' 'And you'll be in chastity full time -' 'Don't care.' 'I hope you're ready to be in a skirt and an armbinder for most of your employment,' she says, almost trying to dissuade you. 'That sounds delicious.' Her eyes widen. 'You might be the best candidate we've ever seen.' You smile. 'I am just like my grandmother.' The Mistress matches it and offers you her hand. You shake it. 'Welcome to $company.' [[You skip off, gleeful->Going to see Leyla]]

'Hmmm... The principles that form the foundational bedrock of our operation are simple: Commitment, Service, and Obedience' she paused as she tapped her chin thoughtfully. 'Yes, if you can learn those on your own, no one here will be forced to teach them to you.' [[Ask her when she started->Leyla3.2]]

She rolls her eyes. 'There is, and you certainly haven't met it.' She gestures to your plain, ill-fitting suit like it were a collage of garbage bags. 'If you'd read the room and done your research, you would know the Mistress loves her //aesthetic//.' 'You mean the latex?' 'It's called laminate,' she clarifies. 'Much smoother. Doesn't require a bucket of talcum powder to get on. But yes, I mean the latex. You could have at least bought a cheap catsuit before you came in.' 'That would be acceptable?' you say, shocked. 'Of course!' she says. 'Look, you've clearly been thrust into something you don't know how to navigate. For everybody's sakes, it would be best if you just went home.' You hang your head, dour. 'Well, maybe...' 'You're giving up that easily?' she says. 'Wow, you might really not fit in here.' 'No!' you exclaim, and you're surprised at the rage in your voice. You were going to get this job, you were going to prove the rest of your family wrong! Who thought all you did was stay in your room and... Well, the current view didn't dissuade you from wanting //that//. But your grandmother believed in you, and you had to carry that confidence through. 'I can't do that,' you say. 'Please, I'm not that hopeless, okay? Surely there's something you can do?' Esme taps her cheek. 'Well, I have some clothes back behind here. Beware - one is pink. In case you were worried about betraying your masculinity.' She revels in the sarcasm. You're starting to find her abrasive. You reel your thoughts in. Would pink really big that big a deal, if it helped you fit in? [['Oh please, I could really use those.'->EarlySissy1]] [['On second thought, I should do fine on my own.'->DenyEsme]]

'Very well, if you //insist//,' Esme says with a scowl. 'Sort yourself out then: see what I care...' she adds angrily and waves you off. Is she telling you to leave? You suppose if it had been a serious order, she would've been more direct. You stand there, awkward, as you formulate a plan. What should you do? It's clear Esme isn't going to help. You flirt with the idea of calling your grandmother for about five seconds. No, terrible idea. You need to learn to handle things on your own. A thought sparks. Perhaps you //could// ignore Esme. What if you cut your time with her short? [[Attempt to walk past the receptionist]]

'Great!' Esme says, clapping as she stands up. She seems way too perky about this. 'Follow me.' You realise as she leads you behind the enormous reception counter that she's taller than you. In your mind you justify that the culprit is her heels, but they're not even that high. A pinch of envy pulses through you. She takes to through the black enamelled door next to her. It's completely dark. You get a quick peek of her work area, and see several electronic wires and switches you wouldn't expect of a regular office. Esme switches on the light. It's a plain looking storeroom, squat and fusty. The black ceiling bar lights shine dimly through the room. 'It's in here,' she says, picking out a pitch black suitcase from a lower shelf. 'I'm not too much taller than you. It should be about your size.' She opens the case to reveal a frilly pink blouse, neatly folded. You pick it out, pinching it with two fingers, trying not to think about what you're contemplating doing. The blouse has several ruffles through the middle, puffy shoulders, and full bishop sleeves that end in a buttoned cuff. Not exactly what you expected to find in here. You hardly want to think about putting it on. Then you notice what lays underneath it. 'I'm not wearing that,' you say. 'It'll look fine on you.' 'It's a skirt!' 'It's a pair of shorts,' Esme says stubbornly. 'Besides, it's more important you have a cohesive ensemble. You don't want to wear half laminate, half not. It will make you stick out more.' You hold the blouse in one hand while you look at the second piece. It's black and short, but definitely a skirt. Part of it looks long, but that's because the cinch in the middle tells you it's supposed to ride halfway up your chest. There's a matching corset in the bottom of the suitcase. '[[I...'->EarlySissy2]]

You admit what you always thought, what you always hoped would be true. 'That's right, Ma'am. I'm a girl.' The policewoman steps closer, so you get a full view of her cravat and her interested, curious eyes. 'Is that so? And what is your name?' You tell her. It's not exactly a convincing name for a girl, but she doesn't seem to care. The policewoman crosses her arms. 'Huh. And do you know the consequences for trespassing on $company as a woman, young lady?' You shake your head. 'I thought they were the same as if I was a man.' She grins. Wide and menacing, so hungry you find it unnerving. 'No, it isn't.' Her viper's grin broadens. 'Miss $lastName, I am arresting you for trepassing and public nuisance. Please come with me.' You start to walk, before realising she has taken you firmly by the forearm with a grip you don't think you could struggle out of if you tried. She drags you, helpless, to the back of her police cruiser, where she shoves you ingraciously against the silvery blue hood. 'Please place your hands above the car door, Ma'am.' She says more gently. Still surprised by her use of Ma'am, you place your laminate-gloved hands above the car door and wait. Abruptly, she begins to touch you, to feel your body, sliding her hands across your satin-covered back. 'Do you have any contraband on you? Any illegal substances or knives?' She asks, sliding her hands across your chest. She begins caressing you, slathering her hands over your hips, your groin, and your fake breasts. After a moment she pinches your tits, then reaches for your bum and squeezes that. 'No, officer, not at all,' you say, surrendering any attempt at a confident voice. After a moment, the woman stops, and grunts. 'Keep your hands above your head.' Doing as commanded, your hands are soon brought to the small of my back and held there, where you feel a tight, leathery substance grace your wrists. 'W-What's that?' you ask. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/EqghPdU.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'An armbinder,' she says. 'Reserved for our most troublesome and violent prisoners. Myra told me everything. I'm not going to let you cause havoc in my car. Just hold still,' she says. Soon the leather is pulled further up your arms, touching your elbows, then stops at your shoulderblades. You looked behind to see the policewoman doing up a complex series of ties on what looks like a leather glove over your arms. You feel the leather glove start to tighten, to pince and bring your arms together, until they are pressed inelegantly behind your back, rigid tight. Even after a few moments your arms are hurting, the position unpractised. You can't help emitting a little moan. 'Enjoying it, are you?' Your arresting officer pulls it taut one last time as she ties the final string, which elicits another soft, frustrated moan. She pats your butt twice, like a prize mare. 'I'm not surprised.' 'B-but why are you doing this? Is it really necessary?' She shakes her head. You only have to think about it for a second to realise necessity isn't the point. 'Those who identify as women must be transported in tight restraints. Come on, you'll look good in the cruiser.' She pushes you along, hand nursing the small of your back as you daintily step toward the police cruiser and are guided into the backseat. The car starts. Bound, moaning with pleasure, you hum excitedly to yourself as you are driven to the police station. You may not have been employed how your grandmother wanted, but you got your wish!' [[Female Prisoner Processing]]

You decide that your best hope right now is to hide away until some of the excitement dies down, and try to sort things out then. Confronted with the assortment of pod-cubicles everywhere around you, you decide 'security through obscurity' might just work. There were so many empty pods -- they'd hardly notice one being occupied, right? Walking a few pods down and two across, you select your hiding spot more-or-less randomly. Extending a hand to the surface, you feel once again the tacky stick of the pod surface. Looking inside, they seem larger inside than you initially thought, with blurry outlines silhouetting more than just the standard desk-chair-computer combination. [[Maybe this isn't such a good idea...->HUB 2]] [[Keep going->Cubicle1.5]]

(if: $faithful is false)[<div align="center" style="padding: 5px; border: 2px solid grey; border-radius: 5px;">(text-size:0.75)[//A petite woman in a shiny pencil skirt and white blouse. Her hair is blond and held with a barette//]<!-- <img src="https://i.imgur.com/ImqjgI3.png" style="max-width: 90%"> --!></div>]You know you are looking at yourself, and yet it still seems unreal. That's you? They're so sweet, so rounded in the face. The makeup has concealed the worst of your jaw and contured our boyness into a convincing girl. 'You are perfect,' she said. You struggled to disagree with her. You had never felt more perfect in your entire life. The laminate embues you with a smoothness that boosts your contours and flattens your imperfections. Facing you was a model of feminine perfection you had only ever dreamed of. And finally, they were dreams coming true. (if:$contractSigned is false)['Now, all you have to do is sign the contract. Will you work for me, dearest?' she asks. 'Do you promise to obey my every command, to do exactly as I tell you to? Will you be my Slave?' The pleasure rivets through you like a gushing tide. You stall it, and for a second you can think clearly. 'Yes.'] [[Ending: Eager Slave]]

(text-color:red)[Ending: Eager Slave] Leyla smiles as she looks you up and down. 'Welcome aboard slave!' she says with a genuine enthusiasm. (if: $laminated is false)[In her hands is a collar. She raises an eyebrow at you, and you nervously lift up your (if: $faithful is true)[veil](else:)[hair] so she can close the collar around your neck. As the latch on the steel snaps shut, you hear Leyla quickly applying a lock. '//There//..." she sighs, 'Doesn't that feel better?' You shiver silently, your pulse thundering in your ears as you realize your fate is truly sealed.] Attaching a leash to your collar, she leads you through the building to a tiny office with no door. Much like the employees on either side of you, you will be on display to any who roam this hallway. Leyla tugs you into the empty office before your eyes can garner too many details, and briefly hitches your leash to an eye-bolt on your new desk. Quickly, you are bound. Rope and straps are brought out from a drawer, and Leyla swiftly fiddles with them to cinch you in place. In minutes your wrists are bound behind your back and your elbows budge against one another, long ribbons of rope and leather lashed above and below your chest. You study yourself in the mirror, turning around when Leyla orders you to, and feel the glossy thickness of your laminate caress you in its myriad folds. And you've never been more aroused in your life. 'I get to spend //every// day like this?' you wonder to yourself as Leyla roams her hands over your form, her hands slick on the laminate as you feel your flesh contorted by her touch. {(if: $nicknamed is true)['Oh my little $name, you look so cute in that outfit,' Leyla sighs in satisfaction. ] (else:)['Yes, my young $name, //every// day...' Leyla chuckles. 'But do you really think //$name// gets to dress like this, or is there perhaps some other more appropriate name you'd prefer?'<br><br> You think long and hard, but there's only one name that suits you...<br><br> (link: "Choose your new name")[(set: $name to (prompt: "Please enter your new name: ", "Rebecca"))] ] } 'Be a good little slave, and you might even get promoted to a vacbed...' she says as she turns on your computer terminal. A swirl of colours and images alights into your vision. 'For now we //insist// you receive your new employee training session...' $company suits you remarkably well. Your grandmother was right. Everything has fallen into place. [[The week after...]]

On Ma'am's directions, you wander the building searching for the office of a woman called Leyla. Taking the stairs, you pass floor after floor of secretaries performing office duties with carefree glee. You stare at one woman bending down over a filing cabinet, her peachy butt prostrated to the sky in her tight laminate skirt. You approach her timidly. 'Um...excuse me...' She jerks up, eyes noticing your sheepish ones, and guesses where they had been perusing earlier. 'Yes? How can I help you, Sir? The words are spoken with unrestrained venom. You ask her where you can find this 'Leyla' woman, and are swiftly directed in the direction of her office. Knocking on her polished mahogany door, a tempered voice bids you 'Enter'. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/5VDYfOJ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> The woman is beautiful. Like all employees here, she is dressed entirely in laminate. A demure ruffle spreads down her neck from a tight navy blouse with sharp bishop sleeves, and a wide buckle belt cinches below a high-set black laminate dress that flows past her calves. A headscarf covers her hair. She is squirrelling something away on an old-styled letter, none of the characters you can make out. You suspect the letter is in arabic. Knowing your purpose in coming, you compliment her dress. 'I've heard you are quick to compliment the women here, $name.' She smiles. (if: $laminated is true)[I see you have decided in join us in sampling the company attire.' She approaches you, brushing a laminated finger over your laminate blouse and tight, glossy skirt.]'You must be careful with that, or others might think you are just quick to flatter.' You quickly shake your head. 'That wasn't my intention...boss. I just think you looking stunning.' She watches you. 'Because you are young and naive, I will take that as genuine.' She turned to her pile of cabinets. 'You are sweet $name, but this work may not be for you. You have sacrificed much of your time and your identity. Do you understand?' Considering she won't tell you what the work involves, you literally can't. 'Could you give me a hint so I can make a more informed decision?' Leyla steeples her fingers and stands. 'I see this is confronting for you. But it is too late to back out now.' You panic internally a little, worried what it is you've gotten yourself into. 'You still haven't told me what it is I would do.' (if: $laminated is false)[Leyla glared. 'Is my talk of commitment not enough? But I suppose you have come in blind. Look in that drawer.' She points to a cabinet on the right-hand side, not far from the locked wooden door. You step over reluctantly, Leyla watching your every move. This is it. A confirmation of exactly what was expected of you, what you've already signed up to do. You open the draw and see black. Then, the edges of it, as it stands out against the velvet layering of the drawer bottom. You pull it out, and as it rumples and unfolds down, you catch the shine of it in the ceiling light. You've been acclimatized to this material all day, and yet, feels better than you'd ever imagined. It runs like a perfect silk in your hands. 'You expect me to wear this?' you ask. 'A laminate skirt,' Leyla confirms from behind. '//That// is what I expect you to wear.'] (else:)['I expect you to keep wearing that attire you've chosen for yourself, Mr $lastname. Permanently.' 'Can I think about it?'] She shakes her head. 'No $legalName, I expect you to //live// it. Every woman who works here puts all her effort into looking as perfect as she can be, into being the perfect laminate figure. It is a culture, it is a fashion, and it is a way of seeing the world.' 'But I can't wear a skirt. I'm a man.' (if: $laminated is true)[Leyla scoffs. 'Are you not wearing one right now?' You blush, and she continues. 'Besides, you](else:)[You] are not a man, but a boy. And boys can be changed. Men do not work well at $companyNick. They are too distracted and touchy and barbaric. You, so far, have displayed excellent restraint, and some curiosity in what we wear. I think you have potential. But it is potential that will only be realised, if you dress like us.' You turn to the folds of laminate. The way you hold it, it doesn't look like a skirt, just a pile of countless folds, gleaming in the light. Could you bring yourself to do this? To don the clothes of what he'd never been? He couldn't deny there had been some curiosity in how the women had dressed. Leyla's outfit, especially. But that did not change what you were being asked to do. 'And how would I be helping you, if I was here for fifteen years?' (if: $laminated is false)['Put on the skirt, $name' Leyla said authoratively. 'I will not ask again.'](else:)['Pledge your loyalty now, and we can discuss this later.'] [[Interview6.1-ObeyLeyla]]

Completely naked, you frantically search around the space for anything that might help you. The footsteps that had followed you seem to hesitate slightly around the outside of the pod. There's a few murmured voices, but then the blurry silhouettes disperse: you've gotten away with it! With what exactly, though? You might have escaped capture, but now you're naked inside a cubicle pod. Surely if they found you now, they would charge you with a crime! No, desperate times called for desperate measures. Literally //anything// would be better than being naked right now. To your surprise, you find a fresh set of clothes in the drawer attached to the pneumatic chutes. By now, you are unsurprised to discover it is fully made of laminate. Firm-gripping, shaping underwear went on first, it's black gleam shining in the goo-filtered fluorescent lighting. Looking down at your form, you shrug, 'I guess I didn't realize how my body could be shaped so easily... I almost look like I have breasts!' You smile at the thought, //wouldn't it be fun to have breasts to play with?// Next up is a button-up blouse shirt with a giant black collar and frilly jabot that schnucks back to your flesh after you stretch out each button and fasten them individually. Like the underwear, it clings to your flesh and shapes it into a more feminine shape. The blouse compliments the colour to the thigh-highs that come with the ensemble. Rolling each of them up your leg, your flesh jiggles as you snap the laminate snug over your thighs, a perfect-fitting pair of patent leather spike heels. Lastly, is the skirt. Slipping into it makes you shiver. The sensation of the air on the inside of your legs, combined with the delirious grip on your hips, your ass makes you feel like a whole new person. A whole new //woman//. Running your hands up and down your sides, you realize you have //curves// in a way you'd only ever dreamed of. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/Z4Dh9ZB.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> Now that you're appropriately attired, you feel a little more confident to try working a way out of the cubicle. After all, at least now if someone catches you, you won't be arrested for public nudity. [[Quick! Operate that remote console by the desk->CubicleSlave2]] (set: $laminated to true)

'Well, what do we have here?' asks a strange nearby voice as you crumble to the floor of the pod. 'It looks like someone sent me a present!' The voice has the honeyed softness of a young woman, but beneath it is a menacing tone you don't trust. <div align="center"><figure><img src="bdsmlr-latexSecretary_nobckgrnd.png" style="max-width: 80%; max-height:500px; border-radius: 15px;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[//(Attribution Not Found)//]</figcaption></figure></div> {(if: $laminated is true)['And it's already dressed for fun!' she adds as you blush and try to straighten out your feminine laminate clothing.<br> <br> 'But that's hardly the right clothing for a plaything! You'd think this silly thing was here to work?' she chides as she straightens you up off the floor. ] (else:)['And it's naked and clean for me!' she cheers as you blush. Slowly standing, you feel self-conscious standing naked in front of this beautiful woman. She leans forward and pecks you on the cheek, and you feel your skin burning with an even deeper embarassment. 'I like it when they send me cute things! Hmmm, now where is it, I have just the thing for you...' ]} You hear her open a drawer in her desk and rummage around. You take the opportunity to take in the surroundings of her cubicle. There's a fairly standard work station with a desk along one wall. Behind you is the sticky portal you just entered. On the wall on either side of the portal are drawers that seem to connect to some kind of pneumatic delivery tube--presumably for sending things in and out of the cubicle. Set into one of the cubicle walls is a low bathroom, more like a ship's head than a proper facility. In the floor is a round metal hatch that looks very heavy, possibly locked. [[She springs on you!->Cubicle3]]

You're absorbed into the cubicle, unwilling and afraid. Your naked state leaves you powerless to stop the cubicle absorbing you and pushing you into its jello-ly, black maw. Inside is a short workdesk, which appears significantly smaller than what is does from the outside. There's enough space to sit at the desk, your head almost catching on the laminated ceiling, and several small stationery implements, along with a few ink quills and drawers. Though what covers the majority of the rubbery cell is a giant console, displaying thousands of iridescent buttons and dozens of switches, a near replica of Homer Simpson's nuclear control panel. Behind you is the sticky portal you just entered. On the wall on either side are drawers that seem to connect to some kind of pneumatic delivery tube--presumably for sending things in and out of the cubicle. [[Maybe there's something here I can wear?->CubicleSlave1]]

Now shackled and gagged at the cubicle desk, you are powerless as the woman giggles at your helplessness and turns away. 'Stay tight there hun, I'll be right back!' She shuffles off, her tight skirt and heels constricting her steps so her hips sway hypnotically in her wake. Or maybe that's a show she's put on just for you. There isn't much time. The surprisingly strong and bubbly woman could be back at any moment, and you don't want to risk finding out what happens when she returns. [[There's no time to think! Struggle, try to escape->Cubicle5.1]] [[Take a deep breath. Think->Cubicle5.2]] [[Fight your bonds strictly. You can see a doggy door close by->Is that a doggie door?]]

You are brought to the office of the CEO in (if: $trespasser is true)[the five men's custody,](else:)[Leyla's custody,] the 'Mistress' who runs this whole operation. It's a simple office, with a carved teak desk and low lights. Thick, cloying perfume infests the room with the smell of roses. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/HMOwLTx.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 700px;"></div> There you see the most stunning woman you've seen in your life. Ruby red lips, luscious black hair, and //three// layers of laminate. Frilled pencil skirt, blazer, blouse and undershirt. Four pearl chokers ring her neck. It clings to her so smoothly you don't notice a single crease. She holds a beauty you don't think another woman could match. Though the considerable laminate certainly doesn't hurt. (if: $trespasser is true)['So this is the filthy interloper?' she says, shaking her head. 'I would have thought Mercy would have raised you better than that.']'It's a shame you had to violate Industry policy before we met,' she says, watching you in your strict bondage. You struggle and try to scream, pleading her that this //isn't// what you signed up for, but the (if: $trespasser is true)[ring gag](else:)[ballgag] in your mouth steals away the dignity of even accomplishing that. 'Unfortunately, it seems I was wrong about you. I suppose we can use you for something, however.' (if: $trespasser is true)[So strange, hearing your grandmother's name like that. But you have bigger problems now.] 'Alright,' the woman says, 'let's make this simple. You are going to sign this contract. It will indenture you to $company for fifteen years, with a substantial pay packet waiting for you at the end. //Fifteen years?// You buck and strain against your captor, but Leyla holds you firm. No way you were signing anything like that. 'You refuse?' the CEO says slyly. 'I feared as much. You are too stubborn for your own good. Leyla, if you could.' (if: $metLeyla is true)[You feel Leyla retrieve something from behind her, then feel it yourself.](else:)[From the Mistress's shadow emerges a beautiful women. Like everybody else, she is dressed entirely in laminate. A demure ruffle spreads down her neck from a tight navy blouse with sharp bishop sleeves, and a wide buckle belt cinches below a high-set black laminate dress that flows past her calves. A headscarf covers her hair. You suspect she is arabic. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/5VDYfOJ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%" ></div> 'Hello Mr $name,' she says, vicarious triumph in her voice. 'It's time for you to learn what you deserve and your place.'] A collar! <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/TODzlvz.jpg" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 700px;"></div> It wraps snugly around your neck, clicking closed with a leather-backed finality. The CEO fetches a button from beside her desk and presses it. Electricity surges through you. You're in agony. It sears and splinters your mind, leaving you a husk by the time the charge dies. How long had you been tortured for? Five seconds? Ten? You don't know, but you moan and muffle and offer muffled screams for her to stop. 'You think differently now?' she asks. She smiles eagerly. 'Good.' <div align="center">ONE OF THE POSSIBLE ENDINGS ENDING CODE: 4NEWDRONE (link:"Start Over?")[(goto:"Beginning of Story")] <img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 50%; border-radius: 15px;" alt="game logo"></div>

'You are also one of the faithful?!' she asked, shocked. Nervously, you nod your head. You had always felt a pull towards religion that you couldn't deny. A firm feeling that there was something more to this world, that somewhere out there was guidance. You hadn't grown up with a specific faith, but you considered yourself faitful in your own way. 'Then you are dressed most disrespectfully!' she scolded. 'This is inappropriate!... No! This will not stand, you will come with me, right away!' Grabbing your wrist with a fist that seemed made of iron, she dragged you with a new urgency down the hallway and into what must be her office. Closing the door behind you, the room falls to an eerie quiet. Her movements less urgent, and smoother, she sidles up next to you and gently places one hand on your far shoulder. Her other hand she uses to gently take yours. She looks at you with an intense gaze filled with a compassionate--if serious--energy. 'Did you speak honestly earlier?' Leyla asks in a warm tone. 'Do you feel the call of The Truth? Of The Book?' she squeezes your hand gently. (set: $faithful to true) [['Actually... I was taught the Faith as a child, but have forgotten.'->LeylaConfess3.1]] [['You're right, I've been alone and lost this whole time.'->LeylaConfess3.2]]

'I just think you looking stunning,' you say. (if: $boss is "Leyla")[ <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/P5zMwxN.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;" alt="Leyla in stunning gold-emboroided laminate"></div> She watches you, and decides to show off her dress with a flourish 'Thank you, $legalName. Because you are young and naive, I will take that as genuine.' She shuffles along. 'Right, then. It's time for you to meet the Mistress.' ] (else:)[ <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/HMOwLTx.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%" alt="an artist's rendering of Mistress in all her laminate glory, she wears a pearl choker"></div> ] She turned to her pile of cabinets. 'You are sweet $name, but this work may not be for you. You will have to sacrifice much of your time and your identity. Do you understand?' Considering she won't tell you what the work involves, you literally can't. 'Could you give me a hint so I can make a more informed decision?' $boss glances over her shoulder at you, her expression blank. 'Certainly. But information and concrete choices will not be possible once you join. They are surrendered as part of the contract.' She approaches you, bypassing the desk. 'Do you see? The reason people do not leave $companyNick is not because of job dissatisfaction, although that plays a part. No, they stay because the most common contract they sign //does not allow them to leave//. A deep part of your stomach goes sour. Your throat tangles like vines constricting a bud. 'You enslave people.' 'No. People merely commit to us for great periods of time. Were I to take you on, you would be no different.' What exactly did a 'great period' mean? Two years, ten? Suddenly any sense of certainty shrivels in your chest. You need work, but not that much of it. 'The most signed contract is fifteen years.' [[Interview5-What]]

You push inside, hoping for a quick and easy escape. Instead, a contraption latches onto both your wrists the moment you exit the other end of the flap, binding them in place. You kick out with your feet, but find they have no give, and nowhere for them to go. You crane your head to look around, the room seems like a cross between a doctor's surgery and a veterinary office. Turning your gaze fully to your right, you find someone looking down at you. {(if: $alarmActive is true)[ 'Men are such //dogs//' decries a stern voice as you glance up push through the low flap in the door. You're in a small black room with padded walls, much like an asylum. You see (if: $metLeyla is true)[Leyla](else:)[Esme] glaring down at you from a wooden chair. She's been waiting for you. And she doesn't look happy.<br> [[Ending: Men Are Such Dogs]] ]} (else:)['Welcome little pup!' says a cheerful voice as you push through the low flap in the door. It's (if: $metLeyla is true)[Leyla](else:)[Esme], watching you with a smile. 'I was wondering if we'd get to welcome the $name that I'd been hearing so much about!' 'You've heard of me?' you ask, turning to look up at the strange voice from your all-fours position. 'Oh, you've been making //quite// the impression today. I think the ladies here are going to just //love// you, cute thing.' Despite your restraint, you find her attitude disarming, and a slight blush rises to your cheeks. 'And the men here?' you ask, trepidatious. 'Hmmm, I would have thought by now you would have realized that //men// are not //employees// of $company...' she leans forward and smiles down at you. 'But we do find they have their //uses//, would you like to see?' 'Um, I guess?' you offer. [[Esme smiles->Esme3 Dog Suit]] ]

Your chest thrust forward by the armbinder, your struggles amuse the passersby on your way to the police station. You were hauled before a Magistrate immedaitely and the charges were confirmed: trespass, trespass with contempt, impeding an officer in the course of their duties, and dangerous trespass of a secure building held by a federal contractor. You were stunned. You'd figured that there might be a mischief charge for trespassing, but it had never occurred to you that $company was a government contractor! Your arresting officer hurries you away as soon as the Magistrates lips have fallen silent, your protests ignored. Pummeled through a featureless grey hallway, you're propelled to your next stop, a large shower-like area, except there are no shower heads; only a large hose reel on the opposite wall from where the officer directed you to stand. You see a woman in strict brown blazer and skirt with black heels lift the hose. "Remain still, inmate!' The huge red hose splashes you, scouring you of bacteria and any remaining dignity. You are dried off by a gorilla of a woman, who hands you an orange uniform, and sends you on your way. You are paraded, naked, through the cell block and placed in a squat, single cell with no cellmate and a tiny sliding panel that eeks in light. You untangle your new uniform from your trembling arms. It's a dress! <div align="center"><figure><img src="https://i.imgur.com/ogSBP9f.jpg" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 700px;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[//(Other inmates you see through the slot...)//<br>Image Credit: //LRKS art//]</figcaption></figure></div> A full, thick orange prison dress. It has your prisoner number and INMATE printed in hard block letters across its middle, and you whimper in fear as you daintily pull it on. The material is a thick sort of rubber - you assume laminate, and in the second box you find a pair of incredibly high-heeled boots that whisper all the way to your thighs. You reluctantly put them on, as disobedience can only have terrible consequences, and sit down in your meagre cell, hugging yourself to stay sane. Why, oh why, did you have to tell the policewoman you were a girl? [[You're left to stew a while...->Welcome to Prison]]

You decide Esme can't possibly be important enough to delay your very important meeting. It's probably best just to push past her and see if you can find the interview office on your own. (if: $WaitedforInterview is true)[And hey, this is what they were asking for, right? They wanted initiative, you'd give it to them in spades.] "Hey!" Esme calls out. "You can't just walk through here! This is a secure building! //No one// gets past me without an appointment." [[Back->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]] (if:visits > 1)[ [[Distract her->Distract1]] [[Threaten her->Threaten1]] [[Bargain with Esme->Bargain1]] [[Try a charm offensive->Charm1]] [[Flex your connections. Mention your grandmother->Grandmother1]] ]

You approach the bookshelf, a stark bunker of redwood stuffed with more books than seem appropriate for an office foyer. There are a sizeable volume of celebrity magazines, a deluge more featuring washed-up movie stars still clawing for relevance, and some old russian classics. What a weird mix. (if: visits < 3 )[{(if: $bookKey is false)[[[Huh, that book looks a little out of place...->Bookshelf2.1]]]} [[Is that a kinky sex book?!->Bookshelf2.2]] ] (else:)[ You look at the bookshelf, but you don't see anything new. [[I don't think there's anything more for me to see here->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]] ]

You feel like a little bit of a distraction play here might work. After all, she's only a receptionist right? Taking a deep breath, you start to evaluate the options before you. There's the simple idea of just asking to use the restroom and seeing if you can sneak deeper into the building. Or maybe you could try something more drastic. [['I just need to use your restroom'->Distract1.1-Dumb]] [[This is no time for half-measures->Distract2]]

(if:visits > 1)[(set: $alarmActive to true)] (if: visits < 3)[It's not a bad idea, right? After all, you honestly do need to go. You decide she can't reasonably refuse your request, and that this should be an easy way into the building. You approach Esme and ask her if you could freshen up in the facilities before your interview. 'Probably the best idea you've had since you walked in,' she sneers slightly. 'You're hardly in any shape for an interview at $company.' Slightly taken aback by her reaction your face flushes as her eyes rove over your figure from top to bottom and back again. She sighs, and comes to some decision internally. 'The restrooms are through the hall behind you to your left, please be sure to use the facility that conforms to your identity,' she instructs. You walk down the designated hallway and find a series of labelled bathroom doors. You do a brief business and wash your hands. Exiting the bathroom, you examine the hallway closer and are instantly disappointed. It seems like this hallway has been devoted to facilities and offices that cater to visitors and delivery drivers! It's well locked-down and there's no chance of penetrating deeper into the building. Damn! { (text-size:0.7)+(text-color:"gray")[//An alarm has been tripped!//] } [[Use the women's restroom]] [[Back->Distract1]] ] (if: visits >= 3)[ It seems that Esme is unimpressed with your routine and seems suspicious. 'I don't think you're a serious candidate, or you desperately need to seek medical attention. Either way, you're done. Get out.' [[You find yourself outside]] ]

Your eyes are drawn to it by the suggestive title on the spine, but when you take it out, it's explicit. A woman with her hands tied above her head and wearing a long sundress confronts you on the cover. You flip it open. Within two pages it details the heroine's sexual exploits, luridly described sex positions, and countless ways she is untied and retied in some new display of bondage for some high-strung corporate CEO. What the hell is a budget //Fifty Shades// doing in a professional environment like this? Especially in the foyer, where anyone could find it. You scan the bookshelf, and find the original is nowhere to be found. [[Nah, this isn't for me->Bookshelf1]] [[Screw it, you don't want to find out. Get outta there->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]] [[Show the receptionist the kinky book->Bookshelf3]]

You find an older tome in the bottom right corner, something printed while the russian masters where probably still in their cots - going by the torn brown paper and the fact that the book is one of those blue blocks where the title cover is slided on. Picking it up, you find the book surprisingly light. Opening it solves one mystery - the whole thing is hollow, a physical depression replacing the would-be novel advocating the virtues of vodka and communism. At the bottom is a copper key. Without thinking, you pick it up. [[Get back to the foyer->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]] (set: $bookKey to true)

{(set: $nicknamed to true) (set: $name to "Sugar Plum") (set: $alarmActive to false) } You decide that flattery is the better part of valour and that a //little// charm might go a //long// way with the receptionist. 'You know I never really think about how hard a job like yours must be...' you begin, and you see her glare soften immediately. 'It must be hard to be so elegant, beautiful, and effective all at once. I bet people don't appreciate how much they rely on you.' Her frosty exterior melting faster than a Greenland ice sheet in July, she manages a smile. 'It //is// hard! It's so refreshing to see someone who appreciates it!' <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/uhm1Tto.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'Well, if I got a job here I'd certainly try to ensure you got the respect you deserve!' you offer, trying to wedge your way in. She tilts her head, fawning. 'Aren't you just the sweetest thing! We ought to call you Sugar Plum if you work here... But I'm afraid without an appointment, it doesn't matter how sweet you are,' she finishes with a genuine frown, as if disgusted by the very rules she must enforce. [[That didn't work->Attempt to walk past the receptionist]]

She gasps. 'Then we need to rectify you, straight away!' (if: $laminated is true)[ 'First, we'll need to get you out of your laminate! While appropriately feminine--and keeping with our dress code--what you are wearing is far too immodest for our faith,' she explains as she peels off your top layers of laminate. It slides off your skin with a peeling sensation. Being slick, but also smooth, it had gripped every contour of your flesh. Your skin breathing in the free air of her closed office, Leyla continues to assist you out of your skirt, and finally, your stockings too. The intimate nature of the encounter, and the close smell in her office begin to stir your male anatomy. A bulge shows in the front of your laminate underwear. ] (else:)[ 'First we will get you out of those disgusting male clothes!...' she chides as you nod and kick off your shoes and socks. 'Pants are far too explicit! And masculine attire doesn't show proper feminine deference to our superiors,' she continues as she unbuttons your shirt. She hands you a laminate bra. 'You'll need this in a moment...' Shrugging your sleeves off, you undo your belt before hesitating. Is it right to disrobe in front of a woman like this? Leyla doesn't hesitate though, she wastes no time unbuttoning and lowering your pants. Standing before her in nothing but your boxers, your male anatomy makes itself known, its lewd shape awkwardly pressing against the fabric of your boxers. You blush in shame. ] Seeing what's in front of her, Leyla reacts with disgust. 'I find your lack of faith disturbing...' she says. 'This is simply unacceptable...' Walking you over to a garbage can, she extracts a 'personal massager wand' from the depths of her desk. Holding you firmly over the trash receptacle her words torment you as her wand dials up to 11 and the sensations start to send you over the edge. 'Yes get it all out. Put it in the trash where it belongs. For it is filth. Expel it and embrace purity...' as she continues you finally explode, your seed spilling over a set of invoices and memos she'd shredded earlier that day. The last few drops coming, she handed you a facial tissue and instructed you to clean it up. While you are wiping, she turns away and rummages for something new in her desk. Satisfied with your cleanliness, she grabs your gentials firmly in one hand while doing something unseen with the other. You feel a tightness you have never felt before on your genitals as she closes the lock on your chastity cage! Your freshly milked member sits flacid in the cage, but there's precious little space inside already! 'Hey! You can't do that to my--!' you cry out but with shocking speed, she wraps tape around your mouth gagging you fully. 'I believe you will find that we don't tolerate our slaves giving us back talk at $company, especially not members of the faithful.' Your arms flail wildly trying to find purchase on the tape so you can scream your protest, but you are too slow. She takes advantage of your shock to cuff your wrists. 'Now be a good girl and sit still. Leyla is going to make sure you are dressed appropriately...' In one hand Leyla hefts a black laminate dress and headscarf identical to her own. In the other is a broom handle that's been cut short. 'Will you behave? Or must I provide the discipline you have so clearly been lacking?' she asks as she waves the broom handle menacingly. [[Don't struggle, wait it out->LeylaSubmit1]] [[Struggle! Fight!->LeylaStruggle1]]

'I see child. This is sad.' Leyla's expression clouds as her empathy seems genuine. 'It is always a tragedy when a good soul is deprived of the knowledge of how to lead a good life.' 'Really, I feel as though I know nothing,' you say honestly. 'I understand if you are ignorant or confused. I will guide you.' She cradles a hand to your arm. 'The most important thing for you to do first, is to express your faith to the world,' she chides. 'Not only is it disrepectful for you to be unveiled in public, but your clothing should declare your faith as an inspiration to others. Much as it seems I was to you...' 'I'm dressed disrespectfully?' you question. 'Well, we are in private now,' she gestures to the closed room. 'Away from the prying eyes of men, it is acceptable for us to appear unveiled.' As though to demonstrate the point, she locked the office door to be sure, and removed her own veil. Silky raven-coloured locks showered out from her head as she shook her hair free. Fixing you with a radiant smile, she says 'It is refreshing sometimes to be in private!' 'But I thought it was forbidden to be unveiled before a man?' you ask, perplexed. 'My dear, //men// do not work at $company. So, either you are a woman who is applying to work here, or you do not work here.' [[I'll do anything to work here->LeylaConfess4.1]] [['Yes, I am a woman'->LeylaConfess4.1]] [['I'm faithful but I am a man!'->LeylaConfess4.2]]

'Come then child, let us insure you are approrpiately attired,' Leyla says softly as she takes your hand. (if: $laminated is true)[ 'First, we'll need to get you out of your laminate. While appropriately feminine--and keeping with our dress code--what you are wearing is far too immodest for our faith,' she explains as she peels off your top layers of laminate. It slides off your skin with a peeling sensation. Being slick, but also smooth, it had gripped every contour of your flesh. Your skin breathing in the free air of her closed office, Leyla continues to assist you out of your skirt, and finally, your stockings too. The intimate nature of the encounter, and the close smell in her office begin to stir your male anatomy. A bulge shows in the front of your laminate underwear. ] (else:)[ 'First we will get you out of those disgusting male clothes...' she explains as you nod and kick off your shoes and socks. 'Pants are far too explicit! And masculine attire doesn't show proper feminine deference to our superiors,' she continues as she unbuttons your shirt. She hands you a laminate bra. 'You'll need this in a moment...' Shrugging your sleeves off, you undo your belt before hesitating. Is it right to disrobe in front of a woman like this? Leyla doesn't hesitate though, she wastes no time unbuttoning and lowering your pants. Standing before her in nothing but your boxers, your male anatomy makes itself known, its lewd shape awkwardly pressing against the fabric of your boxers. You blush in shame. ] 'I understand that you are ashamed of your male anatomy. That is understandable, but I am here to help you find forgiveness and joy!' she chirps as she gives you a hug. 'We will help correct your anatomy, and then we shall work on your forgiveness...' she trails off as she looks in her desk for something. Extracting a "personal massager wand" from the depths of one drawer, she returns to you with a devilish grin. 'Now, let's see about correcting your anatomy hmm?' With a purposeful but gentle pace, she keeps her eyes locked on yours as she extracts your swollen member from the depths of your underwear, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. She keeps a firm grip on you with one hand that she barely rocks up and down as she flicks the massagerto life with the other and proceeds to stimulate your testes. You shudder and moan and gasp as the sensations rock you. You try to keep her steady gaze but it's simply too much stimulation for you to handle. Your eyes flutter and you almost collapse. Leyla's hydraulic grip on your rod the only thing keeping you upright. It is not long before you explode, sending a white spray all over her laminate clothing. She keeps the vibrator going for a full minute afterwards, circling it along your perineum, ensuring every last drop of you is drained. ...And //drained// is how you feel. You feel like putty in her hands. 'Lick it clean,' she instructs as she applies a gentle pressure downward on your shoudlers. You instantly comply and taste your own bitter saltiness as your tongue teases against the warm flesh beneath. She hands you a rag with an almost detached air: clearly for her this was as mundane as onboarding any new hire. Cleaning the spot where you besmirched her clothing she smiles. Kneeling, she has you step into a black laminate thong. Pushing your testes up into the cavity above them, she tucks your penis back as she snugs the thong up over your hips. Standing before her in nothing but laminate underclothes, she smiles as she adjusts your bra to better present your cleavage. 'There, that is a much better foundation for a woman's appearance. If you cannot maintain this--ah--baseline, then there are other solutions I //will// apply...' she cautioned msyteriously. 'But for now, let's get you into an appropriate dress.' [[Allow Leyla to dress you->LeylaConfess5]]

You decide to maintain your composure. Office work can be tiring, too. Besides, all work is tiring to you, and you don't even have a job yet. So don't you show some compassion? 'I understand,' you say, 'it can be hard sometimes to keep everything in check.' 'Don't imply I can't do my job,' she says defensively, then falters. 'But thank you for understanding. Even some of the lovely women working here forget that.' You raise a brow. That was the second time you'd heard of only women working here. Did your grandmother send you off to the wrong company? 'Alright,' the receptionist says in a rush, 'I can admit I lost my temper. Please take a seat. I'm sure Ma'am will see you soon.' [[Waiting is boring. Ask her if you can explore.->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]] (set: $PolitetoEsme to true)

$company is grand, grander than any other place you've seen, and only appreciates in value from a second showing. The silky black sheen on the walls and reception counter sparkle like pitchy gloss, the ceiling high and unfathomable. There's a bookshelf squirrelled against the front wall, a menagerie of black leather sofas and chairs with an accompanying coffee table and fruit bowl, and practically nothing else. So bare, so revealing. Somehow, you feel naked. The building holds a sensual quality not unlike the receptionist's rubber clothes. Her name is Esme - you read the nameplate on the reception desk, etched in an elegant gold stencil - and she gestures to relax on the lounge and resumes her typing. [[Stand up and approach the receptionist->EsmeTalk1]] [[Attempt to walk past Esme->Attempt to walk past the receptionist]] [[Check out the bookshelf->Bookshelf1]] [[Scan the foyer->ExamineFoyer1]] [[Check out the back of the building->Try around the back]] (if: $ExploredBackdoor is true)[ (if: $bookKey is true)[[[With the book key, perhaps you could return outside to the backdoor you found->BackdoorReadytoEnter1]]](else:)[//'Now, I wonder where they keep that key to the back door...'//] (if: $WaitedforInterview is false)[ [[Be a good future employee - wait out your ten minutes->WaitInterview1]] ](else:)[ [[Well, if you can't wait for your interview...->WaitInterview2]] ] { <div style="padding: 5px; border: 2px dashed gray; border-radius: 5px;"> (text-size:0.7)+(text-color: "gray")[//Special Passage Unlocked//]<br> <!-- first check if they've explored the back door --!> (if: $ExploredBackdoor is true)[ <!-- Now check if they've found the book --!> (if: $bookKey is true)[ <br>[[With the book key, perhaps you could return outside to the backdoor you found->BackdoorReadytoEnter1]] <br>] <!-- Found back door, but no book --!> (else:)[ <br>//'Now, I wonder where they keep that key to the back door...'//<br><br> You find yourself searching for any hiding spots concealing the key to that backdoor. But that's absurd. Right? An employee probably carries it on them.<br> ] }]</div> {<!--Check attempts to walk past the receptionist--!> (if: visits > 1 )[<br>(text-color: "red")[//What if I tried to sneak past Esme a //second// time?//]] }

You approach the reception counter again, deciding to stick to what you know. Also to what's stylish, hardworking, and rather attractive. 'Yes?’ the receptionist asks, looking up. Her eyeliner is immaculate. It highlights her displeasure at seeing you again, like she's noticed a gnat in her sandwich. 'Have you grown bored already? If you are, I would leave now and spare us all the trouble.' 'Sorry to bother you,' you say. You shake your head to disperse the onslaught of inappropriate thoughts. //God// you want to hear something harsher coming from her perfect voice. 'I was just wondering, umm, if you could tell me who is going to be interviewing me, ma'am', you try to add a winsome smile at the end, but fear it comes off more like a grimace. She looks unnerved. Totally a grimace. 'The Mistress is the wonderful woman who keeps this company alive. Without her, we would be nothing. But to answer your unspoken question, she will interview you when her schedule deems it ready. (if: $WaitedforInterview is false)[Ten minutes is merely my estimate, based on her busy schedule.’](else:)[And if you cannot find another way to meet her, then I suspect she doesn't care for your compnay in the first place.' 'That's hardly my fault.' 'With you, my guess is nothing ever is,' she replies tartly. 'Now, do you want to meet the Mistress or not?'] //Is that how she likes to be addressed? Mistress?// It sounded overly sexual, but maybe this was some female empowerment thing? Reclaiming a formerly despised word? She did head a large and apparently very wealthy corporation, and women weren't that common in higher corporate positions, for all of feminism's progress. 'Sorry. I think we got off on the wrong foot. How are you?' you ask. 'I'm flattered you think I have time for this,' Esme replies, staring at you. She's still typing. 'I'm incredibly busy.' When you fail to sit down, she sighs deeply. 'What do you want?' [[‘Any advice for my interview?’->EsmeTalk2.1]] [[‘Is the pay good?’->EsmeTalk2.2]] [[‘How is it, working here?’->EsmeTalk2.3]] [[She looks so beautiful...->EsmeTalk2.4]] [['Is there a dress code I don't know about?'->EsmeTalk2.5]] [[‘That’s all, thanks.’->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]]

'Be polite and be practical,' she says, mirroring every humiliating dress rehearsal your grandmother had put you through that morning. 'And do not speak unless spoken to. That's a rule Ma'am takes //very// seriously.' What? You weren't a child from the 50's, better to be seen but not heard. Or, you supposed, a housewife. 'Shouldn't I be asking questions,' you say, 'you know, take the initiative?' Esme scoffs. 'Not like that. You have no idea what kind of company this is, Mr. $lastName.' [[‘How's the pay?’->EsmeTalk2.2]] [[‘How is it, working here?’->EsmeTalk2.3]] [[She looks so beautiful...->EsmeTalk2.4]] [['Is there a dress code I don't know about?'->EsmeTalk2.5]] (if: $WaitedforInterview is true)[ [['Bullshit'->EsmeTalkChallenge1]] ]

'Oh, excellent,' she replies, nails clacking away at an email in a diagetic pulse of motion, 'but that isn't why I've stayed here, Mr. $lastName.' 'It isn't?' 'No. I used to work for a very prestigious firm. Do you know why I quit?' Your vacant look spells it out for her. 'It wasn't the work. It wasn't even the pay. It was the //culture//.' She continues typing without a hitch. 'So many companies these days forget how to treat people. They act like we're slaves.' She smiles. 'Sometimes, I wish companies would bring out the collars and chains just to be honest.' You feel queasy. What a weird analogy. [[//Maybe I can ask her something else//->EsmeTalk1]]

Esme ponders a moment, her email forgotten. 'Pleasant. I will be staying here a long time, so I intend to make the most of it. Are you eager to start?' 'W-well...' She waves a glittering hand your way. 'Oh, don't be shy. Plenty of men come in here not knowing if they'll accept. But I have a good feeling about you.' 'To be honest,' you admit, 'I don't even know what position I'm applying for.' Esme notices your distress, flicks over a tab on her computer, and nods. 'I see. I'll give you some advice, Mr$lastName- Ma'am doesn't believe in explaining herself to plenty of people. Especially men.' 'That seems... sexist.' 'Call it intuition. Or bitter experience. Either way, you will know by the end of the day.' You frown. What an awfully long time to wait... [[‘Any advice for my interview?’->EsmeTalk2.1]] [[‘Is the pay good?’->EsmeTalk2.2]] [[She looks so beautiful...->EsmeTalk2.4]] [['Is there a dress code I don't know about?'->EsmeTalk2.5]]

'If you're //quite// finished,' she says, raising a brow at your stare. Did she catch you eyeing her breasts? They look so pleasant through the laminate... 'Oh,' you say, 'sorry. I forgot my question.' <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/lQh7PZt.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'I suspect you have,' she says, her tone severe. Even sitting at her desk, you feel like she's looking down on you. 'Best of luck with your interview, Mr. $lastName.' [[Well that was painful->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]]

<div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)] <video src="FelixWalkThrough_Rev1.mp4#t=4,33" width="80%" controls autoplay preload> </div> You take a bite from one of the apples and stroll across the foyer. Past the reception desk is a staircase up to the foyer's second tier, where mahogany double doors on the left and right indicate corridors further into the ground floor. There is also a set of marble steps, up to a pair of sparkling silver elevators. Aliged with the front entrance, they elevators almost tease you at the very back of the reception. Double doors on the left and right lead further into the building--you assume. There's a toilet on the right hand side, in the centre of the foyer along one wall. Between the elevators and the stairs sits a computer terminal. It's a standing desk, with a keyboard and mouse. It's screen is currently black, but it looks functional. It's all very open-concept, with good sight lines. The receptionist sits perfectly positioned to keep a watchful eye on the elevators and stairs, lest some cocky stranger were to come in and simply waltz in to the upper floors. [[Consider your options->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]] [[Go to the computer terminal->ExamineFoyer2]]

You rip out her gag. 'Are you alright?' you ask. The heavy gag lands with a rubbery thud as it bounces on the table. <div align="center"><figure><img src="ballGag_onTable.png" style="max-width: 80%; max-height: 500px; border-radius: 15px;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(Render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> The woman nods, seeming unphased by her predicament. She continues typing absently at her typewriter. //What a multitasker.// 'Oh absolutely Sir, but thank you. I appreciate you freeing my mouth.' Her voice is sweet and light, like a puppy. She scretches her jaw, and somehow makes the motion seem cute. 'I've had that thing in for hours! Oh, but I should introduce myself. My name is Miranda. Is there something I can help you with?' The obvious question comes first. [['Why were you gagged?'->Miranda3]]

'Oh, I wouldn't be sorry about //that//...' she mewls. 'Sometimes it takes me a little--motivation to stay focused, you know?' She gives you a mischievous smile. Confusion overrides your other, more primal desires. You don't have a //clue// what she was talking about. You've never imagined yourself needing to be gagged to stay on task before... A choice faces you. You've left this strange woman ungagged, but she's still under significant restraint. The ropes still bind her tightly to her chair--yet she hardly seems panicked. Do you leave her to her strangely happy fate? Do you intervene? Maybe the girl is being blackmailed or threatened, and is forced to work here as a hostage? [['What caused you to end up in this position? Are you a hostage?''->Miranda4.1]] [['Why don't you use a computer?'->Miranda4.2]]

'Sure!' she chirps. She takes a break to address you. 'Do you have an appointment with my Mistress? I don't believe...' She opens a drawer and withdraws a manila folder -a struggle thanks to the fur-lined chains binding her wrists. '...that she has an appointment today.' 'Oh, I'm new,' you say. 'Clearly,' she replies impishly. 'Well, I can ask my Mistress if she is available. Would you like me to do that?' [[Yes. Book the appointment->Pursue an appointment with this "Mistress"]] [[No. Something feels off. Go back down the hallway->HUB 2]] [[Talk to her some more. You're curious->Miranda6 REDO

'Oh,' she blushes, 'my Mistress prefers me working manually. She says I have an //active// imagination that can get overstimulated if I have access to the internet.' 'So you just...happily work like this? Restrained?' 'I do!' she replies, beaming a smile. 'I've never been more productive!' {(if:$name is "Rope Bunny")[ <div style="padding: 5px; border: 1px dashed gray; border-radius: 5px;">She titters gently, "You seem rather curious... Are you the little $name Esme was telling me about?"<br> You shrug, unsure what she means.<br> [[Talk to her some more. You're curious->Miranda6]] (text-size:0.7)+(text-color: "gray")[<br>//(Unlocked Special Path!)//] <br> </div>] } She goes back to typing up her report, the paper slowly chewing through the typewriter. You reflect that it might be best to leave the chipper young woman alone. [[Go back down the hallway]] [[Pursue an appointment with this "Mistress"]]

You remain in the length of the hallway, the only sounds in the vintage-styled hallway being the whir of a distant ceiling fan and the gleefully restrained secretary's clacking fingers on the typewriter. Sounds and sights that belong to the past century. And you didn't mean the 90s. Every so often, Miranda glances up at you with a warm, innocent eye. [[Leave her to her strangely happy fate.->HUB 2]] [[Pursue an appointment with this "Mistress"]]

She smiles at you. Okay, maybe a hostage wouldn't be this passionate. 'No, (if:$name is "Rope Bunny")[little Rope Bunny](else:)[sweetheart], although I appreciate your concern,' she coos in a honeyed tone. 'W-well, why are you strapped down like this?' you ask. (if:$name is "Rope Bunny")[//Has Esme been saying something about that book I found?!//] She blushes and squirms in her seat. (if:$name is "Rope Bunny")['Nothing so direct, little Bunny. Do you mind if I call you Bunny?' She giggles, then turns away, forlorn.]'It's embarrassing Sir, but I was caught using the computers for... improper things. So my computer privileges were revoked and I was restrained.' You blink in disbelief. 'They just tied you up?' She nods. 'Oh yes. It's one of the aspects of the job. Have they not explained it?' You shake your head, bewildered. They certainly haven't. [['Wait, you agreed to this?'->Miranda5]] [['Ok. But why don't you use a computer?'->Miranda4.2]]

Entering, you see you were mistaken - the room is inhabited. A woman in shiny office attire is staring at you. Typical - there doesn't seem to be a single man in the building. <div align="center"><figure><img src="https://i.imgur.com/56rEg5W.jpg"max-width: 90%;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[Vanessarubberart]</figcaption></figure></div> (if: $metbianca is true)[ Oh no. It's the woman from the restroom! Her severe expression cinches like a tightened harness, fury roiling behind her eyes. At her desk is a flurry of papers, which she is filing out with an old ballpoint pen. But she has long forgotten her paperwork. You have not merely interrupted her, you have enraged her with your presence. 'You!' You bolt to leave, then think better of it. 'Please!' you beg. 'I can explain.' Her withering expression suggests otherwise. 'You have five seconds to explain what a pervert like you is doing in my office.' [[Try to acquit yourself->InterviewBianca1.5Pervert]] ] (else:)[ Her pencil skirt flows beautifully down to her thighs, and she wears a luxurious, red blouse with pair of crimson glasses and complex cravat. The red blouse tapers from the puff of her shoulders to the end of her wrists. Her collar looks so tight that its choking her. She wears a severe expression. At her desk is a flurry of papers, which she is filing out with an old ballpoint pen. It seems you've interrupted her work. 'Good afternoon,' the woman says. 'What do you want?' Her voice is sharp and pointed, like a quill. You knew the strict, severe type. Women who dedicate their lives to work and love nobody. But did she have to be so direct? 'That's rather -' 'I see,' she interrupts. 'You have me confused for someone else. I am not a secretary eager to please you. If $companyNick is an army, then I am a general. My time is precious. I have climbed the corporate ladder by sticking to my strengths, young man. I would advise you to do the same.' Something about her writing tickles your curiosity. //Why does such a presitigous company still use pen and paper?// Were they all stiff old geriatrics? DnD enthusiasts? 'Well?' she says harshly. 'What is this about?' [[Continue->InterviewBianca2]] ] [[Turn back around->HUB 2]]

'Hey,' you say, approaching the desk, trying to sound casual. Miranda slides to the back of her chair, surprised at your forwardness. 'You wouldn't be able to get me an appointment with your Mistress, would you?' Miranda sighs, relieved. Did she fear you were going to say something else? 'Of course, Sir, though I cannot guarantee when my Mistress will see you. She is a very busy woman.' Miranda says in her light, chipper voice. She outstretches one hand to the limit of her bindings and dials an intercom. 'Mr. $lastName to see you, Ma'am.' As if haunted, the door before you creaks open, revealing a well-lit room, although you cannot see anybody inside. 'Oh! It seems she was free this whole time. What a lucky coincidence!' Miranda says sweetly, and goes back to humming her tune as she works. [[Leave Miranda to her strangely happy fate. Walk through.->InterviewBianca1]]

Your world goes black. When you wake, you find yourself delirous and everything is blurred. There's a terrible pain in your arms and legs, and when you look... You're in a bitchsuit! {(set: $laminated to true)} Your limbs have been contorted to resemble an animal's legs, bound in front and behind in a massive sheath of laminate that extends across your entire body. You try to speak, to scream, and find a massive ball gag shoved between your teeth, silencing your pleas. Outside your cell, so small it resembles a kennel, you see Esme watching you. 'Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. $lastName?' she asks playfully. You try to struggle and writhe, but the suit has contained your limbs well, and it contains your resistance just as easily. The only part of you not encased in laminate is swinging between your bent and bound legs, and far from resisting, your manhood was proclaiming its enthusiasm for your situation. Esme paces across the room. 'I never thought you would end up in one of these,' she ruminates. 'But then, you were far too curious for your own good... Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it captured the pup, Ha!' Esme laughs at her own joke. 'I hope you enjoy your year in there--I know I certainly will, Ha-ha... Then, the Mistress will consider you for review.' //A year??// your mind screams. It shudders at the implication, and you're left to jostle in your new slave-suit for what sounds to you like an endless stretch of time, fighting the inevitable embrace of your laminate. As you struggle, you don't notice her footfalls as her heels click over to your cage, her hands resting on the well-spaced bars of your cage. 'Now, now, don't be so frightened, I think you'll find our "animals" are rather well //cared for//...' Esme oozes the words into your ear, her hot breath sending shivers through your body. You jolt slightly as her laminate-gloved hand snakes through the bars and reaches around to start to stroke you. 'After all, it's simply //not right// to have a pedigreed pup without making sure it gets the proper //exercise//...' her pace intensified and her breaths started to come a little faster and a little heavier. Your eyes rolled back into your head, overwhelmed at the slick sensation of her manipulations, the day full of constant teasing driving you past a point of conscious thought. 'Mmmhmmm, and I'll be back to make sure we both get our //exercise// later pup...' she coos as her hands snap away from your genitals. Whimpering, you try to lean into her, but she's already pulled away. 'Nah-ah-ah!' she wiggled a finger at you. 'I want you ready and eager for later. For now, let's get you setup with some puppy training files...' With that she turned, hit play on a stereo system in the wall, and left you alone in the room with what was left of your thoughts. 'Sweet dreams pup. Mommy will get her sugar later.' [[After a few hours in puppy training...->Ending: Willing Pet Slave]]

You're absorbed into the cubicle, unwilling and afraid. Your laminated state leaves you tender and greatly vulnerable, unable to catch yourself from slipping inside its jello-ly, black maw thanks to your tight skirt and those cursed heels. Inside is a short workdesk, which appears significantly smaller than what is does from the outside. There's enough space to sit at the desk, your head almost catching on the laminated ceiling, and several small stationery implements, along with a few ink quills and drawers. Though what covers the majority of the rubbery cell is a giant console, displaying thousands of iridescent buttons and dozens of switches, a near replica of Homer Simpson's nuclear control panel. Behind you is the sticky portal you just entered. On the wall on either side of the portal are drawers that seem to connect to some kind of pneumatic delivery tube--presumably for sending things in and out of the cubicle. With your uniform, you almost seem to belong. But you know your predicament is far, far more dangerous than it appears. Even if you're in perfect, //shaping// laminate... Oh, it feels so //good//. [[That's it, let yourself belong...->PreIndulge1]] [[Try to escape->CubicleSlave2]]

You keep waiting for this 'Mistress', but your calling out seems to have scared her off. Minutes tick by, then an hour. By the time your old Nokia phone (another stupid gift from your grandmother) indicates it's been 40 minutes, you stand up. This is getting ridiculous. You have things to do today! Well, online videos and a new clip from your favourite streamer to watch, anyway. [[Inspect that closed door->Interview2.3]] [[HUB 2]]

The office remains deserted. No woman, fancy suit or not, is waiting for you. Time moves with a glacial stillness. You tap your feet and pick your teeth, if just to have something to do. Waiting around, utterly bored, what do you do? [[Be patient. This is a test->Interview2.1]] [[I probably should have waited outside...->Interview2.2]] [[HUB 2]]

<div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/dADVBXA.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> The kindly looking police officer frowns. 'I see.' She approaches you, reaching for her belt. '$legalName $lastName, I'm arresting you for causing a public disturbance and violating the rules of $company. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...' She continues reading you the rest of your rights, and your heart sinks as you turn around and offer her your wrists. Abruptly, she begins to touch you, to slide her hands over and across your body. 'Are you carrying any contraband? Any illegal substances or knives?' she said, sliding her hands across your chest. Her prodding touches turn to caresses, her hands slathering over your hips and your groin and your chest. After a moment she pinches your nipples, then reaches for your bum and squeezes that. 'No, officer, not at all,' you say, surrendering the last of your dignity. After a moment, she stopped. 'Please keep your hands behind your back.' There is a pause, one that feels far too long, before hard metal graces your wrists and you hear a final click tighten across your wrists. Your cock begins to form a tent under your pants as you instinctively struggle against the handcuffs. The officer then double locks the restraints and pockets the key. You see 'M' watching you with absurdly blatant satisfaction. //How am I enjoying this?// you ask yourself. Is it because of the handcuffs? Because you're being watched? But it doesn't matter. You're already being led away. 'Alright, $name,' she says, 'now come with me.' [[Time to see the magistrate->Ending: Male Prison]]

Astounded such a book would have made it into a public-facing reception area, you decide you can earn some goodwill by attempting to correct the issue. Not without significant trepidation, you clutch the erotic work in your hands as you approach the intimidating secretary. You're about to lay the work on her desk before you recall the cover art, perhaps a slower approach is called for... 'Erm, excuse me Miss... I was exploring that bookshelf over there and I found some--ah--curious works on the shelf?' you offer, unsure how to tactfully address the situation. 'Oh?' Esme looks up from her administrative monotony. 'Did you find something you like?' 'Well, it's not a question of like--' you begin as you tender the book forward, its cover angled towards her. Esme doesn't let you finish, snatching the book from your surprised hands. A mischievous grin spreads across her face. 'Hmmm no, it's not a question of //like//, is it? It's really more of a question of //need//, wouldn't you say?' Her mouth oozes the words as she paws the cover. Speechless, you try to stammer something about keeping a professional presentation. Esme just laughs. 'Do I not seem professionally presentable to you?!' Esme prods. Nodding, you reply: 'I mean, I guess so--although I'm not sure I've ever seen someone in //professional// laminate before...' 'Laminate is--shall we say--encouraged here,' she begins. 'But that's far from all... I mean, it's not every job where you get to enjoy the tight embrace of rope bondage every day...' She sweeps her hand across and shows you the silver-coloured rope binding her to her chair. Your eyes widen as you understand that someone tied the receptionist to her desk this morning--and she loves it. Tittering gently, Esme hands you back the book. 'Maybe you should keep a hold of that one. I can tell you're the type of employee who longs to be--//devoted// to a task?' You blush and avert your eyes. {(set: $nicknamed to true) (set: $name to "Rope Bunny")} [[Explore the foyer- HUB 1]]

<div align="center"><img src="SSW_logo3.png" style="max-width: 80%; border-radius: 15px;"></div> <div style="font-size: 2em"> ''Disclaimer''</div> <div style="padding: 5px; border: 2px solid red; border-radius: 5px; align: center; background-color: white">(text-colour:red)+(bg:white)[''Adult Material'']</div> This game is intended for adult audiences only. That means at least 18 years of age, or a legal adult in whatever jurisdiction you are using the game. <div style="padding: 5px; border: 2px solid red; border-radius: 5px; align: center; background-color: white">(text-colour:red)+(bg:white)[''If you are not a legal adult: do not play this game!'']</div> <div style="padding: 10px; border: 4px solid red; border-radius: 5px; align: center; font-size: 1.5em">(link: "Quit")[<script>window.close()</script>] </div> ''Borrowed Images'' Most of the images in this game come from Sebastian Cauchos's collection, and many are available for purchase through his store: (text-style:"bold")[<a href="https://sebastiancauchos.bigcartel.com/">Sebastian Cauchos </a>] . We are using the images without the designer's knowledge or consent. If any of the relevant artists or models wish their content removed, we will happily oblige. (text-style:"underline")+(text-style:"bold")[Lrks], (text-style:"underline")+(text-style:"bold")[CastielSkyfall], and (text-style:"underline")+(text-style:"bold")[VanessaRubberart] graciously provided their permission for us to use their artwork for this game. Thank you! ''Copyright Images'' Images and videos labelled "rendered by Jess" are considered copyrighted material and may not be reproduced or used without permission. #''Play the Game?'' [[Beginning of Story]] [[About the authors]]

This story-game is a collaboration between Felix and Jess! Felix is a standard fantasy nerd from Australia. He grew up near the beach, happens to be very kinky, and has been writing for 8 years. Jess is a genderqueer writer and visual artist from South-Central Canada. 'I enjoy exploring themes related to gender roles and their expression, bondage, loss-of-control, and more!' You can find Jess's other work <a href="https://www.literotica.com/authors/jesissyca">here!</a> A big shoutout to our fantastic Patrons: Sub Kink Gurl, DecafMedusa, Ignat, and Stephan Heijerman. You are all greatly appreciated. Thank you so much for your support! [[Back->Landing Page]]

<img src="https://i.imgur.com/Ap9Vq5h.jpg"> <!-- <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/nJikO0L.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> --!> A policewoman walks in. She appears calm, confident. Her hair is bound in a tight bun behind her, and like the others she wears a long, tight leather skirt. The woman strides forward, a stern expression crossing her face as she walks across the reception desk and takes over the receptionist's computer. past the counter and takes over the receptionist at her computer. types on the computer. 'He's in the building. Don't worry your pretty head, we'll find them.' And your cock is twitching in the shadow of the woman's groin. It needed release, you had to get it... And she's dressed in that silky, glossy rubber uniform... in a rose-tinted corridor, carpetted in a vintage style. <div align="center"><figure><img src="felixWoodHallway_blender3.png" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 700px;" alt="a well-lit wood-panelled hallway stretches before you. There are several doors."><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> You're back in the building. And there's nobody around to discover you. Maybe you could try to escape! //TO FINISH: the "interrogation" is really more about how much the MC really desperately *wants* to submit and what turns them on. We will discover that they will make an excellent maid, or that their not fit for slavery and end up as male slaves.// (text-style:"condense")+(text-color:green)[Base Layer Complete! User Compliance Level: GOOD SLAVE Base Layer Restraint Installation Commencing... <tw-hook style="animation: 0.5s steps(1, end) 0s infinite alternate none running fade-in-out;">...</tw-hook> Step One: CHASTITY BELT] You'd seen Sister Ellie's but you hadn't quite registered that you were going to be having your own installed quite so soon! All doubt is removed when the machine squirts a generous amount of lubricant on your rear entrance, and a delicately tentacled apparatus gently gripped your most sensitive anatomy. With a simultaneous co-ordination the machine slips you into the belt, and the belt into you, and carefully adjusts it, locking it in place with riveting arms making a whine so high-pitched it reminded you of teeth drilling, it's piercing shriek pushing through your confused haze to underline your chastisement. (text-style:"condense")+(text-color:green)[Step Two: SHAPEWEAR] You don't really register the words on the screen, as you squirm and try to examine your new chastity belt. Unseen arms wrap you tightly in a white corset, and another shrieking whir drives your breath from you as the corset reshapes your midriff. Now featuring an hourglass set of curves, you flex your hips as you explore the new restrictions on your movement. (text-style:"condense")+(text-color:green)[Base Layer Restraint Complete! <tw-hook style="animation: 0.5s steps(1, end) 0s infinite alternate none running fade-in-out;">... ...</tw-hook> External Layer Restraint Commencing! //Just relax and let it happen slut// ] With a beep, you jolt upward as the machine activates the plug inside your chastity belt. This distraction allows the machine to easily maniupulate your arms behind your back and quickly spray them with a thick, tight, laminate, binding your arms together behind your back. (text-style:"condense")+(text-color:green)[<tw-hook style="animation: 0.5s steps(1, end) 0s infinite alternate none running fade-in-out;">OPEN WIDE</tw-hook>] You barely get your mouth open in time as the machine jams a gag into your mouth, tight laminate bands springing around the sides of your head and under your jaw. There's a slightly painful pressure as the gag is flated to completely cut off any sound you might make. (text-style:"condense")+(text-color:green)[Occupant Finalization Conditions: INITIATE SISTER] The machine wraps a white mask over your face and around the gag, locking it tightly behind your head, completely concealing your gag from the world. The last touch of the machine is a tight, tall, stiff, laminate posture collar built up slowly in layers while arms hold your head still. A D-Ring is implanted into the front of the collar, and a matching one in the back. You drop slightly as the machine releases it's grip, and you shuffle your feet, confirming that your feet have been released. There's an odd grinding noise though, and you strain to look down enough to see the chain going between your ankles. The door to the wardrobe springs open and you blink in the blinding light. Sister Ellie clicks a leash to your collar and leads you slowly out into the light. 'Welcome to the Sisterhood, my child!' THE END <div align="center"><figure><img src="anonModel_armbinder.webp"style="max-width: 80%; max-height: 500px; border-radius: 15px;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[Credit Unknown]</figcaption></figure> <img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 50%; border-radius: 15px;" alt="game logo"></div>

Leyla is obviously upset. She quickly snatches her scarf back from the desk and reties it around her. 'Then I regret having unveiled before you. You have led me to do a very inappropriate thing...' Her face flushes in shame as she silently scolds herself. 'If you are faithful and a man, then you cannot work here!' She visibly recoils from your presence, as though you have suddenly become toxic. 'And I cannot associate with a man who does not understand our faith. I'm sorry, but you must leave.' Nodding your understanding, you are still saddened by the encounter. Perhaps there was somebody out there to embrace you if only you were able to admit a deeper truth? [[You find yourself outside]]

With no time like the present, you writhe in your bondage, but the woman has outmanoeuvred you far too well, in a pencil skirt and heels, for Christ's sake. She's thought of everything - the leash binding your neck leaves you with little wriggle room to look around, your wrists are tightly bound behind your back, nothing she's left on the desk is sharp enough to cut through your bonds, and the gag stops you from screaming for help. Though, if you had time to think about it, probably isn't a good idea. Left exhausting, panting, you find yourself worked up with nothing to show for it. Suddenly, it strikes you. You're bound and gagged, dressed like a woman in tight laminate, and possibly about to face so much worse. And it's so //hot//. [[Screw it. You deserve to have some fun->Indulge]] [[Take a deep breath. Think->Cubicle5.2]]

You stop struggling and breath greedily through your nose - since your mouth is stuffed with rubber - and the oxygen rushing to your brain salvages some of your sanity. There has to be a way out of this. You take inventory. You're tethered to a carabiner by a stiff leather collar, your wrists are cuffed behind your back, and a gag is stopping you from crying for help. Not that you think anyone would actually //help// you in a place like this. A pressure itches at your thigh. You look down, not savouring the view you find. Are you getting //hard// from this?? [[No, focus!->Cubicle6]] [[Indulge]]

You decide to say stuff the consequences, and enjoy the bondage and helplessness while you can. You start to rut, bucking against the chair. Your tongue licks and sucks on your ballgag, wishing it was something else. You squirm, getting harder every second, imagining what is going to be done about you, done //to// you. The giggling woman returns to see you in a sweaty, ravenously horny mess, making humping motions against the table and your eyes having rolled to the back of your head. 'Oh, you're just perfect, aren't you little girl?' she says sweetly. She pats your head, and as if on instinct, you feel yourself calming down. She undoes your leash from the bolt on the desk and tugs it, coaxing you to stand as she leads you further into the building. (if: $laminated is true)[ [[Ending: Eager Slave]] ] (else:)[ [[It is time for Leyla to dress you]] ]

No! This isn't the time to surrender to fleeting sexual desires. You're in serious trouble, and you need to get out! You take inventory. You're tied to a desk on a seemingly abandoned office floor. You jostle and twist, but find no give in your restraints.(if: $laminated is true)[And your laminate skirt limits your legs from shifting more than an inch.]Your captor has thought of everything - nothing on the desk is sharp enough to free you from your bonds, and with your wrists cuffed behind you, you doubt you could reach a conveniently placed pair of scissors if you tried. The woman returns quicker than expected. 'Miss me, $name? Hmm I bet you did... But this is my workstation, we'll have to get you setup in yours...' She undoes your leash from the bolt on the desk and tugs it, coaxing you to stand as she leads you further into the building. Coming to another cubicle a few rows down from hers, she turns to you. 'I think if you would simply take position inside your workstation, a number of our issues can be quickly and easily resolved,' she explains. Her hand passes easily through the pod wall, the sticky coating gliding effortlessly over her laminate. You gulp, and steel yourself for your entry into the unknown. Pushing your hand firmly against the pod surface you slowly feel it yield to the surface of your skin, though it continues to stick relentlessly to the sleeve of your shirt. Finally there's a squelch and a release of pressure as your hand passes fully through to the other side. Testing the limits of your discovery you attempt to pull your hand back. (if: $laminated is false)[While your hand passes smoothly through the barrier, your sleeve is stuck fast. The secretary smiles and laughs at your predicament, standing back and crossing her arms to watch your display. Predictably, you now have both arms wedged firmly in the pod and your shirt is stuck fast. 'Aww poor dear looks like she's stuck...' coos the secretary as she revels in your capture.](else:)[Your laminated sleeve passes easily back and forth through the pod wall, but you're perplexed by the whole experience. Experimenting further, you end up with both your shoulders wedged through the pod membrane, unsure how to proceed further.] 'Here, let's help you get the rest of the way in...' 'No! Please! This is--' Your pleas are cut-off. With a surprising force, the secretary grabs the back of your head and shoves it violently at the pod wall. You feel a slight relief as the sticky goo yields once more and your nose breaks through to the air on the other side. The secretary grabs your feet and leverages your body upward. As she pushes, you end up with your face towards the ground, and your legs in the air as the pod appeared to try to swallow you(if: $laminated is false)[ with unaccustomed difficulty]. (if: $laminated is true)[ [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - in laminate!]] ](else:)[There's a tearing sound, and slowly your shirt comes apart as you cascade toward the floor of the cubicle, your pants and underwear getting stripped by the goo as you slide in. [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - naked!]] ]

There's a myriad of buttons and switches, all littering the console. You don't completely understand it, but you can't risk waiting around. You have to press a button. You weigh up your choices. Blue, green, red. Each coated in a plastic sheen, glittering like little hearts. Your brain tells you to pick green, because surely that's the one that will release you from the cubicle. Except the moment you press the button, you hear a rumbling beneath your feet. '(text-style:"expand")[NEW EMPLOYEE INTAKE INITIATED.]' A latent dread flushes through your stomach. The mechanical voice precedes countless restraints appearing from trapdoors in the floor, and you find yourself drawn to the cubicle's seat, as if magnetised. 'Wh-what? Hey!' But the mechanisms don't respond to your request. Instead a giant metal arm erupts from the ground, coating you in laminate, weaving ever-more intricate binds to restrain you at the desk. You are quickly strapped up, bound by tight belt ties that cinch deliciously around your wrists and ankles. [[Ending: Cubicle Drone]]

'I see...' She eyes you coldly. 'You're one of //those// are you? Ugh.' She grimaces. You clap your hands on your sides, taking the posture your grandfather said to use when a woman got uppity. 'Hey babycakes, it's just biology! And all I'm doing is complimenting you!' you protest. //'Men can be such dogs.'// she whispers, rolling her eyes. Silence envelops her a moment. Seemingly seized with inspiration, she preens her laminate to accentuate her breasts and pouts her lips a little. 'So, you like the way I look honey?' she oozes as she gets up from her seat. 'Well, yeah, you're fucking hot!' you exclaim. Finally, the broad had gotten on the same page! She closes the distance between you quickly, and you're intoxicated by her scent. 'And you're just a simple thing aren't you? You have needs: food, sleep, and sex, right?' she coos as she extends a finger to stroke your brow. You shiver. Your manhood twitches. 'Y-y-yeah, I think we're all just simple machines in the end...' you answer. 'Hmmm, no not machines dear, //animals//. He's just a beast. He has //drives// doesn't he?' she asks, referring to you in the third person. She turns her hand to stroke your face with the back and it slowly, oh so slowly, pulls down, folds, and her fingertips slip easily past your shirt, and worm their way into your underpants. Taking hold of your manhood, you gasp as she whispers in your ear. 'Come with me dear and we'll see you get the treatment a man like you deserves...' You nod quickly as your led by your dick across the hall. She kisses you quickly, deeply, greedily, promising lurid acts you've always dreamed of as her other hand cups your neck. Finally she comes up for air. 'Enjoy your stay...' she says. You're face betrays your confusion, but she just smiles wider. With a shocking, sudden force, she grabs your neck roughly and shoves you through a small flap in one of the doors. [[You're shoved through a small flap in the door->Is that a doggie door?]]

A huge helmet appears out of the ceiling, slapping itself to the top of your head, slipping into place, locking with ease over your head thanks to your collar helping it down. It joins to your collar in a flash of clicking metal and plastic, weighing you down with its mass. A faint voice at the edge of your hearing begins to repeat phrases you can't quite hear, but they follow a rhythm that begins to resonate in your mind. You strain to hear the words, to understand, but somehow understanding just never comes. Swaying in place, you can barely move. The helmet weighs so much, it's like trying to balance a watermelon inside of your head. All you can do is slump miserly into your chair, and wait. '(text-style:"expand")[DRONE INITIATION PRIMED. CONFIRM?]' You want to object, but something tugs you out of reach. It's as though the voice you were hearing has drained something from you. Rationality, logic, fear, all your sensible habits have been purged, left to sink below the surface of your old mind. Desire is all that drives you. It has left you uninhibited. Pure. Your voice trembles as you whisper: 'Yes.' At once the machines embedded into the cubicle whir to life. Voices roar in your ears, the helmet battering you with words and phrases you don't understand. It is at once a dirge and a supple music. You feel your head writhing, shrinking, that natural sway fading as your whole body goes rigid. '(text-style:"expand")[DRONE INITIATION COMMENCING.]' You anticipate the electricity before it hits you. Shocks run through your brain. You scream, the noise muffled by the helmet's visor digging into your lips. Acute, visceral agony surges through you, breaking you, //changing// you, leaving you a husk. Finally, the pain ends. The metal whirring and cranking stops, a fresh rubber visor running flush to your face. The visor also blurs the office in front of you, making you feel isolated, divorced from your surroundings. And hornier than you have ever felt. '(text-style:"expand")[DRONE INITIATION CONFIRMED. PLEASE EXIT AND LOCATE SUPERIOR FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTION.]' <div align="center"><figure><img src="https://i.imgur.com/1tPfoZm.jpg" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 700px;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[Vanessarubberart]</figcaption></figure></div> You leave the cubicle in a daze, the rubbery shield parting thanks to your laminate as you shuffle off, searching of your superior. <div align="center">Ending: Cubicle Drone. Thanks for Playing! ENDING CODE: 3CUBEDRONE (link:"Start Over?")[(goto:"Beginning of Story")] <img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 50%; border-radius: 15px;" alt="game logo"></div>

The secretary smiles as she gently tugs your leash. Wiggling her fingers in a playful way at some of her colleagues, as she passes them in the hallway, she cheerfully explains your status as a new hire. The passersby smile at you in turn, many giving you a gentle grazing fondle in passing. The elevator ride to Leyla's floor is particularly intense, as a trio of secretaries takes the opportunity to stroke and fondle you as you squirm in your bondage. You start to panic because you're worried you might cum, but they laugh in a tittering chorus as they expertly edge you. 'I think you're really going to like it here!' your captor exclaims as the elevator dings to signal your arrival at the targeted floor. Taking short, dainty, but determined steps, she steadily tugs you along to Leyla's office. Knocking twice on the door, a muffled voice bids you both enter. 'New hire here for some clothing!' she explains to Leyla cheerfully. Leyla returns the cheerful gaze and looks you up and down {(if: $metLeyla is true)[Leyla laughs gently, recognizing you. 'I see you're $companyNick material after all! And it looks like you made a secretary friend?' The secreary nods and curtsies quickly.]} 'Well, I'm glad you came to see me, this one is //completely// out of line with our dress code...' Leyla tuts as she circles you. Taking the leash from the secretaries hand, she confirms 'You can leave this one with me, I don't think we'll have any trouble.' The secretary nods, turns to you and gives you a quick peck on the cheek, before she exits the room and returns to her desk. She points to a cabinet on the right-hand side, not far from the locked wooden door. You step over reluctantly, Leyla watching your every move. This is it. A confirmation of exactly what was expected of you, what you've already signed up to do. You open the draw and see black. Then, the edges of it, as it stands out against the velvet layering of the drawer bottom. You pull it out, and as it rumples and unfolds down, you catch the shine of it in the ceiling light. You've been acclimatized to this material all day, and yet, feels better than you'd ever imagined. It runs like a perfect silk in your hands. 'A laminate skirt,' Leyla confirms from behind. '//That// is what I expect you to wear.' 'You expect me to wear this?' you ask. She shakes her head. 'No $legalName, I expect you to //live// it. Every woman who works here puts all her effort into looking as perfect as she can be, into being the perfect laminate figure. It is a culture, it is a fashion, and it is a way of seeing the world.' 'But I can't wear a skirt. I'm a man.' 'You are not a man, but a boy. And boys can be changed. Men do not work well at $companyNick. They are too distracted and touchy and barbaric. You, so far, have displayed excellent restraint, and some curiosity in what we wear. I think you have potential. But it is potential that will only be realised, if you dress like us.' You turn to the folds of laminate. The way you hold it, it doesn't look like a skirt, just a pile of countless folds, gleaming in the light. Could you bring yourself to do this? To don the clothes of what he'd never been? He couldn't deny there had been some curiosity in how the women had dressed. Leyla's outfit, especially. But that did not change what you were being asked to do. 'And how would I be helping you, if I was here for fifteen years?' 'Put on the skirt, $name' Leyla said authoratively. 'I will not ask again.' [[Interview6.1-ObeyLeyla]]

After that last twist, you realize that you have absolutely no idea where you are direction-wise, other than that you have descended far from the upper floors where you entered the staircase. As you continue downward, the air takes on a noticeable change, damper somehow, and you realize you might be at a subterranean level. At the bottom of the staircase is a long hallway with several offices leading off it. Forging on, you realise the place is bigger than you thought. There seem to be hundreds of offices down here. {(set: $alarmActive to true) (text-size:0.7)+(text-color:"gray")[//An alarm has been tripped!//] } [[Explore a little further->BottomFloorJennifer1]]

'Well, where does a girl begin?' you ask to no one in particular. To your complete surprise the workstation chirps and comes to life. Lights blink, fans, hum, and the curiously analog dials sputter and flicker as they zero-in on readings about equipment you don't see and can't understand. '(text-style:"expand")[SYSTEM ACTIVATED]' blares out in a robotic voice. More whirring, humming, and clicking ensues, it seems like the machine is just warming up. '(text-style:"expand")[NEW EMPLOYEE DETECTED. CONFIRM?]' 'Well, uh, I don't really know... I came here for an interview, and now I'm in this workstation...' you offer a feeble explanation to the mysterious computer terminal. You trail off as the computer begins a new chorus of whirrs and clicks as it computes. '(text-style:"expand")[USER DETECTED IS APPROPRIATELY ATTIRED FOR WORK.] it begins. '(text-style:"expand")[USER FITS PROFILE OF USER-TYPE 'new hire,' CONFIRM?]' 'Y-y-yes, I think that's about right,' you reply, looking down at your glossy laminate clothing. Absentmindedly you run a hand down your front, and the other along your opposing arm, loving the feel of the laminate on your skin. 'I'm not sure if I'm in the right place though.' '(text-style:"expand")[USER APPEARS TO BE APPROPRIATELY LOCATED...]' it paused briefly, as if thinking carefully. '(text-style:"expand")[IS THIS WORKSTATION WHERE YOU BELONG?]' it asks finally. Seeing the glossy shine of the surfaces around you, and overwhelmed with sensation of //closeness// that the laminate drives through your skin and into your very soul, you almost cry at the thought of having to leave. 'Yes, I think this is somewhere I finally do belong...' you offer. The machine hums much louder now, it's series of clicks and whirrs growing fiercer and faster. '(text-style:"expand")[NEW EMPLOYEE CONFIRMED. WELCOME $name. PLEASE SIT AT THE WORK STATION TO COMPLETE ONBOARDING PROCESS.]' blares out the machine in a tone that seems somehow more insistent than before. Feeling a building digital anger in the device you quickly sit at the workstation. '(text-style:"expand")[NEW EMPLOYEES ARE REQUIRED TO WEAR CERTAIN ARTICLES OF FLAIR.]' begins the machine as you feel a rumble beneath your feet. 'Flair?' you ask, bewildered, 'I thought this was $company, not some cheap restaurant chain?' The machine almost seems to chuckle... '(text-style:"expand")[USER IS ANTICIPATED TO ENJOY WEARING IT'S FLAIR.]' it klaxons cryptically as the lights go dark on the console--yet the fans hum ever louder. [[Watch as it dressed you->PreIndulge2]]

Your world goes black. When you wake, you find yourself delirous and everything is blurred. There's a terrible pain in your arms and legs, and when you look... You're in a bitchsuit! { (set: $laminated to true)} Your limbs have been contorted to resemble an animal's legs, bound in front or behind in a massive sheath of laminate that extends across your entire body. You try to speak, to scream, and find a massive ball gag shoved between your teeth, preventing you from speaking. Outside your cell, so small it resembles a kennel, you see Esme watching you. 'Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. $lastName?' she asks evilly. You try to struggle and writhe, but the suit has contained your limbs well, and it contains your resistance just as easily. The only part of you not encased in laminate is swinging between your bent and bound legs, and far from resisting, your manhood was proclaiming its enthusiasm for your situation. Esme paces across the room. 'I never thought you would end up in one of these,' she ruminates. 'But then, you were far too curious for your own good. I hope you enjoy your year in there--I know I certainly will, Ha-ha... Then, the Mistress will consider you for review.' //A year??// your mind screams. It shudders at the implication, and you're left to jostle in your new slave-suit for what sounds to you like an endless stretch of time, fighting the inevitable embrace of your laminate. 'Don't worry,' she laughs. 'As soon as one of our "real alphas" puts you in your little bitchy place you'll look forward to being a pup slut for me!' With that she turns to the wall and hits a large yellow button. A series of clicks resounds somewhere deeper in the room, and your own cage clicks open. Bounding towards you appears to be the 'pack' of 'men' that $company keeps to entertain its staff--and they're about to try to prove to you whose bitch you're going to be. <div align="center">ENDING: Pet Slave! ENDING CODE: 1PUPCARNAL (link:"Start Over?")[(goto:"Beginning of Story")] <img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 50%; border-radius: 15px;" alt="game logo"></div>

The computer terminal pings on as you approach, the display making much more noise than you're used to. It looks odd, the style of the terminal looks very old, maybe 30 years, but the machine seems brand new. There's not a scratch on it's slick, shiny surface. The computer terminal seems to be a company interface. It has user profiles for delivery drivers, visitors, and employees. Since you're a new hire anyway, you decide you may as well use the employee profile. Clicking through the prompts, it seems locked down, like it's a simplified version of the ordinary interface. You find this frustrating as it doesn't allow you to do very much without entering the right codes. (text-style: "expand")['WELCOME USER. PLEASE INPUT 5 VALID ACCESS CODES TO PROCEED'] 'Access codes?' you ask yourself. 'Oh, they might mean the ending codes...' (text-color: "red")[//( Hint: Input 5 valid ending codes to proceed )//] [[Back->ExamineFoyer1]] [[Input your access codes]]

{ (set: $code to (a: )) (set: $validatedCodes to (a: )) (set: $validCodeCount to 0) { (set: $validCode to (a: "1PUPCARNAL", "2PUPFUN", "3CUBEDRONE", "4NEWDRONE", "5HAPPYSLAVE", "6PRISON", "7PRISON", "8PONYBOY", "9MAIDSLAVE", "10SEWERDEATH", "11SEWERSLAVE","12SUSPENSIONDOLL")) } (for: each _i, ...(range:0,4))[ (set: $code to it + (a: (prompt: "Please Input ACCESS Codes", ""))) ] } 'USER HAS ENTERED CODES: ' {(text-color: green)+(text-style: "expand")[ (for: each _i, ...$code)[ _i <br> ] ] (for: each _UserCode, ...$code)[ (if: $validCode contains _UserCode)[ (if: $validatedCodes contains _UserCode)[ "(print: _UserCode) is duplicate"<br> (set: $validCodeCount to 0) ] (else:)[ "(print: _UserCode) is valid"<br> (set: $validCodeCount to it + 1 ) '$validCodeCount Valid Codes have been entered."<br> (set: $validatedCodes to it + (a: _UserCode)) ] ] (else:)[ 'USER CODE _UserCode WAS INVALID'<br> ] ] } (if: $validCodeCount >= 5 )[ The computer chirps. Text appears on the screen. (text-color: green)+(text-style: "expand")['CORRECT ACCESS CODES ENTERED. WELCOME ABOARD $name, WE TRUST YOUR TIME AT $company WILL BE PRODUCTIVE.'] It's a little odd that the computer knows your name already, but maybe this system is more advanced than it first seemed. A slot opens in the top surface of the workstation and a name badge with your picture on it spits out beneath the monitor. (text-color: green)+(text-style: "expand")['PLEASE PROCEED TO ELEVATOR'] Shrugging you look around the foyer and remark that no one is paying you much attention. Focsued on her own endless tasks Esme doesn't even look up as you proceed to the elevator, summon it with the button, and wait. With a fait //ding// the elevator doors open. Walking inside, the elevator is empty and vacuously quiet. Almost too quiet. A display in the elevator awakens as the doors close, and text appears on it, much like the text on the computer terminal you just used. (text-color: green)+(text-style: "expand")['PLEASE SCAN ID CARD'] Taking the ID card the computer gave you, you swipe it across the scanner just below the monitor. The elevator chirps and you hear the sound of the elevator doors locking. With a bang the elevator thunders upwards at what must be a dangerous speed and crunches to a halt somewhere near the upper floors of the building. As the doors peel open, you see the one person you least expected to find... Your grandmother. 'Come with me, we've little time!' she announces as she drags you out of the lift. 'Grandma, what are you--?' you begin to ask before she shushes you and drags you around a corner. 'Here, take this, you'll need it in a minute,' Mercy advises you as you accept the proferred black bundle. 'When we get to the helicopter you can change, but for now, you need to stick close to me...' With that she holds a shushing finger to her lips, and beckons you to follow her. Stopping several times to let other employees pass by, your grandmother steathily but steadily navigates you to a door in the corner of the floor. Unlike the other refined doors in the building, this one was so plain it seemed out of place. Indeed it was so flat-grey and worn that you barely registered it was anything more than part of the background. Mercy inserts a small key in the lock of the door, and it creaks open. 'Normally only the big-boss gets to use the helicopter, this door is a little old...' she explains as she pulls you along through the door, squeaking it shut behind you. Ensuring the door is locked, your grandmother points imperiously up the stairs. This stairway is concrete, and somehow colder. There's a distinct buzzing sound at the edge of your hearing that seems to come from just above you. Leading her up the steps, you offer your grandmother a helping hand. Together, you quickly get up the steps and come to a door. Pushing it open, you're blinded by the bright light of the day, and buffeted by the strong winds. Your ears now roaring, you see the source of the commotion: a helicopter is sitting on the pad waiting for you and your grandmother. [[Escape to helicopter->END OF GAME]] ] (else:)[ The computer didn't like your access codes. Maybe you typed something in wrong, or maybe you didn't collect enough codes to gain entry. Frustrated, you punch the spacebar a few more times, only to be met by the same messages. No luck! It seems you'll have to do something else in the reception area. [[Back->ExamineFoyer2]] ]

<div align="center" >(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]<video src="TopFloorEscape.mp4" width="75%" controls autoplay preload></div> //Congratulations! You have completed 5 of the 7 possible endings to the game. YOU ROCK!//

You buck and writhe, aiming to shove Leyla with your shoulder, but she moves too quick, and your cuffed wrists aren't doing you any favours. In an instant, she circles out of your reach and leaps onto your back, pinning you to the floor. You buck a final time, if just to have your resistance felt, but it's hopeless. 'I see you are not eager to accept your situation,' Leyla says, huffing as sweat flows in runnels down her dress You take whatever morsel of victory you can from the fact she had to struggle to restrain you. 'But this is happening, one way or another. //Now//,' she says darkly, 'are you going to behave?' Humiliated, you nod. [[Accept your fate->LeylaStruggle2]]

You decide fighting off a woman who seems to move like water in her laminate dress and has already restrained you is a fool's errand. You surrender easily, wincing as Leyla gives you a teasing spank with the broom handle. You shriek through your taped mouth. //That sure seems like it could smart...// Frightened of Leyla's violence, you nod slowly. Leyla's face cracks an evil smile as she says '//Good girl//. Now let's get you into this dress...' Kneeling, she has you step into a black laminate thong. Mercifully, it has a space for your cage. Standing before her in nothing but laminate underclothes and bondage, she smiles as she adjusts your bra to better present your cleavage. 'There, that is a much better foundation for a woman's appearance.' Leyla squeezes you into a black laminate dress very much like her own, and recuffs your wrists. You feel a snugness around your waist as she cinches up the belt. Looking down, you see that your legs are held firmly by the laminate at your thighs, ensuring you will need to take very dainty steps. Leyla fusses over the minor details of your dress, ensuring the creases are smoothed out, and the ruffles at your neck are arranged appropriately. Finally satisfied, she stepped back to look at you again. 'A decided improvement! A simple black dress shows proper humility in public, and the laminate allows us to still express our physicality in a chaste manner.' She signs in satisfaction. [[Your mind reels as the sensations of the tight laminate overwhelm you->LeylaSubmit2]]

You allow Leyla to pull you to your knees, a scared wheeze constricting your throat. This is all so fucked up. How did you even get up in this situation? You were supposed to be here for a job interview! Leyla's face cracks an evil smile as she says '//Good girl//. Now let's get you into this dress...' Kneeling, with your wrists cuffed and your spirit broken, she has you step into a black laminate thong. Mercifully, it has a space for your cage. Standing before her in nothing but laminate underclothes and bondage, she smiles as she adjusts your bra to better present your cleavage. 'There, that is a much better foundation for a woman's appearance.' Leyla squeezes you into a black laminate dress very much like her own, and recuffs your wrists. You feel a snugness around your waist as she cinches up the belt. Looking down, you see that your legs are held firmly by the laminate at your thighs, ensuring you will need to take very dainty steps. Leyla fusses over the minor details of your dress, ensuring the creases are smoothed out, and the ruffles at your neck are arranged appropriately. Finally satisfied, she stepped back to look at you again. 'A decided improvement! A simple black dress shows proper humility in public, and the laminate allows us to still express our physicality in a chaste manner.' She signs in satisfaction. Your mind reels as the sensations of the tight laminate overwhelm you. 'And now for what you must //always// wear in public child...' Leyla interrupts your reverie. Your muffled protests seem to disappoint her. 'A good woman speaks softly or not at all.' she chides as she reaches for the broom handle again. You furious shake your head, trying to indicate your compliance as she proceeds to tie your headscarf for you. Tying it tightly around your face and neck, you are wearing the same style headscarf as her now. Dressed in a similar black dress and wearing similar makeup--you could almost be sisters--that is, if one of you wasn't gagged. There's a brief release of pressure on your wrists as she uncuffs your wrists. The reprieve is cut short as you feel an increasing tightness as she slips an armbinder sleeve over forearms, biceps, and finally cresting your shoulders. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/EqghPdU.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'Wh-what's that?' you ask, terrified. 'An armbinder,' Leyla answers distainfully. 'A restraint reserved for uppity girls who forget their place. Something you have just become, my dear.' Taking her time now, she tightens the belted straps of your armbinder firmly until your wrists and squeezed elbows are screaming in pain. You look around, desperate, as Leyla chuckles at your pathetic display. Finally she adds a collar and leash to your ensemble, and pulls you along out of her office. 'Come, my lovely slave,' Leyla says. [[Ending: Unwilling Slave]]

Bianca nods. 'That's correct. And I suspect that is the kind of contract you will be signing when you meet the Mistress today.' You stand up. This whole sordid place is //fucked up//. Binding contracts? Fifteen years of service? That was indentured servitude, and in the western world, that sort of stuff should be a couple centuries out of date. [[Ask for more information->InterviewBianca5]] [[This is deeply, deeply wrong->PCAntiSlaver]] [[Time to get out of here->HUB 2]]

Can't say nothing. You decide on a bluff. 'I've come here to complain.' 'Oh?' she sheaths her pen on a mounted podium on her desk. '(if: $metbianca is true)[That's rich, coming from you.]What are you complaining about?' You turn. 'About your secretary. I don't know if you ever thought to ask, but her name is Miranda, and you're treating her terribly!' Bianca laughs. 'You're funny.' Her hand instinctively goes to pick up her pen, but stops herself. 'Alright. Let me entertain you on this, Mr...?' '$lastName,' you say. '$name $lastName.' She gestures to her right. 'What do you see when you look out there, Mr. $lastName?' You follow her finger pointing back to where you came. A window you hadn't noticed earlier shows Miranda at her desk, oblivious. You realise you're looking through a one-way mirror. The gleefully-bound secretary continues typing up her report, a stiff smile plastered over her face while she hums some vintage tune you've never heard of. You avert your eyes. Something about that woman...unnerves you. You're not sure if there's another word that fits. Whether it's her blank acceptance of her place, or the fact that her clothes, workplace and typing implement are about fourty years out of date. Maybe she was bound to her desk as a punishment. Maybe she wasn't. Bianca is watching you with hungry eyes. 'Well? What do you see?' [['A woman controlled against her will'->InterviewBianca3.1]] [['A masochist'->InterviewBianca3.2]] [['She looks like she's having the time of her life...'->InterviewBianca3.3]]

Bianca snorts in derision. 'Hardly. Miranda signed a contract, like //all// our employees.' Bianca steeples her fingers, both elbows planted unladylike on the table. 'But they are long contracts. Far beyond industry standard. Due to what we provide as a service, we have negotiated special privileges as a business that no other business can replicate. She signed a binding contract that enforces her employment here for fifteen years.' 'Fifteen years!?' you sputter You avert your eyes and find them fixed on her boss. Her flinty eyes dart to the one-way mirror in the wall. She strokes a finger over your chin. 'Did you enjoy looking at Miranda out there? She was much like ou when we came here. Sweet, innocent...' She whispers two diabolical words in your ear. 'A boy...' [['Wha-? 'Fifteen years!?' you sputter->InterviewBianca4]]

'Oh, she //absolutely// is,' Bianca says. 'Though not with the stuff you'd expect. For her innocent, sweet girl look: she's devoted to pain play.' 'You're together?' your shock bleeds through your demeanour. 'Every secretary here is "promised" to somebody, Mr. $lastName. That is something you will learn more about when you sign your contract. For now, it would be best for you to run along. '(if: $metbianca is true)[Now, I have entertained your snotty delusions long enough.]I have work to do. Go now.' You accept her somewhat hasty, '(if: $metbianca is true)[aggressive ]shooing-off and walk out the door. [[Leave->HUB 2]]

Bianca laughs. 'You would be right! Miranda, the little bondage slut, begs me every morning to bind her in some new way, to constrict her like I never have before. And you know what? I do it.' 'B-because she's a model employee?' you venture. 'Ha! //Fuck// no. Miri does a quarter of the work of my best employees. She's nice, but she's plainly unequipped for office work.' Bianca chuckles to herself. 'Then why do you keep her around?' you persist. Bianca's grin widens. You feel like a rabbit being stalked by a pack of wolves. 'That's a great question, isn't it, //Sir//?' She says the title with unabashed scorn. 'I suppose I could give you the sob story. That she brightens my day, that while the girl can barely navigate the real world, she provides fantastic customer service... But that is irrelevant.' She leans forward in her chair, almost assaulting you with her cleavage, 'The real reason--' Bianca pauses, smiling gently as her piercing eyes sweep your face, '--is that she isn't allowed to leave.' You stumble a moment, then regain your composure. 'What? Excuse me? Are you saying she's your slave or something?!' Bianca snorts in derision. '//Hardly.// Miranda signed a contract, like all our employees.' Bianca steeples her fingers, both elbows planted unladylike on the table. 'But they //are// long contracts. Far beyond industry standard. Owing to the nature of what we provide as a service, we have negotiated special privileges as a business that no other enterprise can replicate. She signed a binding contract that enforces her employment here for fifteen years.' [['Wha-? 'Fifteen years!?' you sputter->InterviewBianca4]]

Rage simmers from the bottom of your heart, coalescing in a slow fury. People never outright called you righteous, but you've always nurtured an empathy that has stuck to you no matter what. What was happening at $company was fundamentally wrong. Nobody got to claim another human life as their own. It wasn't how the world worked. No, it was a world you refused to live in. Whatever people said about you, whether they thought you were pathetic or snivelling or just a loser, you weren't going to take this shit. To accept evil where it lurked. You're not stupid. Taking on whatever fanatical laminated slave cult lived inside this building right now was suicide. Your mind races for a plan. You would call the police, taking photo and video evidence as you ran out of here, and get everybody here arrested or sent to therapy. How could your grandmother ever work for this place? She'd always said she loved the work! An uncomfortable realisation slinks to the forefront of your mind. You're related to one of the monsters. One of the slavers, the women who reduce other women to mere sheep. You glance out the one-way mirror to see Miranda. You were going to get these people help. Whether they enjoyed this place or not. It's time for you to leave. 'This is sick,' you say. You glance over your shoulder, your glare level. 'Don't try to stop me.' Bianca cradles a laminated hand over her cheek, all chesire grin. 'Wouldn't dream of it. Venivos prides itself on the consent of all parties. Best of luck with your interview, //Sir//. Go now.' The final word pricks at the back of your neck. You storm out. Bianca is already back to her papers. {(set $determined to true)} End of Path. For now >:) [[Continue Playing Anyway ->HUB 2]]

'Um, could you explain that to me?' you ask. 'Because from my perspective, that sounds an awful lot like slavery.' Bianca shakes her head. 'Oh, no no no, Mr. $lastName, you misunderstand. All of this is consenual. We never force our employees to sign. They come to us because we offer something their lives fundamentally lack.' 'And what's that?' //'Submission,'// she says juicily. 'It's the most important aspect of a career at Venivos. You cannot cultivate a desire for submission from just anyone. They need to be born with the desire first, nurture it throughout their life. And that is when we offer them a laminated hand.' 'You're preying on people!' you conclude. 'You're offering them kinks that they can't find elsewhere, and then trapping them in servitude!' //'Yes'//, she agrees. 'Yes we do. And every single one of them loves it.' At this point, you've backpedalled for the door, but Bianca has toppled over her chair in her haste to get to you. You find your back pressed against the wall, her black lipstick threatening to caress your face. 'Can I let you in on a little secret, Mr. $lastName?' Left with no choice, you nod. Bianca drags you back to her desk - she's surprisingly strong - and presses a button behind her desk, and less than a minute later, Miranda walks in. Some of her restraints appear to be gone, though she still has trouble walking. 'You wanted to see me, Mistress?' she asks, singsong polite. [[Continue->InterviewBianca6]]

Predictably, you now have both arms wedged firmly in the pod and your shirt is stuck fast. 'Aww poor dear looks like she's stuck...' coos Leyla as she revels in your capture. 'Here, let's help you get the rest of the way in...' 'No! Please! This is--' your pleas are soon cut-off. With a surprising force, Leyla grabs the back of your head and shoves it violently at the pod wall. You feel a slight relief as the sticky goo yields once more and your nose breaks through to the air on the other side. Leyla grabs your feet and leverages your body upward. As Leyla pushes, you end up with your face towards the ground, and your legs in the air as the pod appeared to try to swallow you with unaccustomed difficulty. There's a tearing sound, and slowly your shirt comes apart as you cascade toward the floor of the cubicle, your pants and underwear getting stripped by the goo as you slide in. [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - naked!]]

'Can I ask you a question?' Miranda stops typing. 'Of course Sir! Ask away. I will endeavour to assist you with whatever you wish, presuming it doesn't breach company policy.' You nod and turn on your heel, pacing up and down. How to phrase it? 'I suppose I wanted to ask... Why are you still working here? I'm surprised.. Chained to a desk, typing all day. It seems miserable.' One of her easy smiles mocks you. 'I understand your sentiment, Sir, but it really isn't like that here. I like my work. Love it, in fact. Being bound and gagged is simply a bonus.' 'To me, that sounds like the words of a woman who's too deep in her own bondage to understand it.' Miranda's face seems to cloud at your comment. 'I would think someone looking to make a good first impression at $company would try to keep a slightly more //open// mind...' she frowns, and starts looking back to her desk work. //'Hmm... You never know who grandma knows around here, maybe I should be more polite...'// you think to yourself. //'No need to be rude.'// Out loud, you say, 'No, I'm sorry Miranda, you're right, the judgement was uncalled-for...' her face returns to yours and you fumble for what to say next. 'I guess I shouldn't judge--but wouldn't you say it's a little, um, odd? For a workplace?...' 'Well, $company is a little odd, at least compared to other companies you'd be used to...' she concedes. 'Still, that's no excuse for prudish behaviour. A simple "no" would have sufficed...' Miranda shakes her head. You wouldn't call yourself //talented// at reading people, but even you notice her trying to hide her disdain. 'It's not bad,' she says, then shifts gears. 'Listen, if you really think that about me, why don't you try it for yourself?' A knot twists inside your stomach. 'Myself?' She nods. The change in her demeanour is instant. As though a candle of good humour had sparkled to life within her, her face radiating once more. With patience, she manages to undo the loose gag from where it dangles at her neck. Hooking one finger through a metal eyelet at the side of the ball, the gag swings slightly as she holds it out to you. <div align="center"><figure><img src="ballGag_hanging.png" style="max-width: 80%; max-height: 700px; border-radius: 15px;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(Render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> The ball glistens like a ruby in her laminated hands, watery, gleaming, and bright. The two straps on either side float like little leather wings. A shudder rushes through your gut, teasing you until you gasp. The tip of your throat melts with temptation and need. Miranda smirks. She's better at reading people than you. Turning in her seat, she observes you closely. 'It's OK, I sanitized it. You can try it in your mouth, get a feel for it...' You hesitantly reach out. Is this a good idea? Do you dare? [[Accept the ballgag->Miranda7]] [[Decline. Return the topic to organising this appointment->Pursue an appointment with this "Mistress"]] [[Decline and run away->HUB 2]]

The yielding rubber of the gag is curious to your touch. It's completely without blemishes or teeth marks, yet the material seems surprisingly forgiving as you push against it. Two black laminate straps extend from the metal rings and end in small, shiny black plastic rectangles. There is no visible locking mechanism. You bring the gag close to your nose and mouth, smelling nothing but the light tang of alcohol-based sanitizer. Sticking your tongue out slightly you give it a small taste only to find it tastes of--nothing... 'The coating on the rubber is really something isn't it? It's tough too... Go ahead, sink your teeth into it. It won't break. It's designed to take some //punishment...//,' she purs ominously, her eyes glittering as she drinks in your every move. 'Go on, try putting it in your mouth, you can't get an experience just sniffing it!' she laughs. Shrugging slightly, unsure how to politely exit the situation, you tenuously stretch your mouth wide and pop the ball into your mouth. Your mouth feels unnaturally full, and yet you have nothing to swallow. The sensation isn't as bad as you feared. Inspired by Miranda's encouraging smile, you push yourself to the next step. Stretching the leather bands of the gag, you touch the two plastic rectangles together behind your head. Something within them is triggered and they join together seamlessly as the leather is adjusted for a perfect fit. The sudden tightening makes you panic a little, but you eventually calm down. You begin to explore the feeling of being fully gagged. You decide to test its strength, pushing your tongue to its limits. You pat the sides of your cheeks, feeling its grip denying you speech, constraining your lips. You emit a muffled cry of joy, the huge laminate ball slotted firmly into place. {(set: $nicknamed to true)(set: $name to "Rope Bunny") } [[//'Mmhmmmph!'//->Miranda8]]

Oh, is there more. Miranda has mysteriously freed herself from her office prison, and is opening an airing cupboard disguised in the wall and bringing the contents back to you. It's a large suitcase. Miranda reaches deep inside and her arms are swallowed up by an inky pitch. 'Now, the main thing you're missing is a skirt. All $company employees need one.' She holds up the offending item, a rumple of black laminate that, if Miranda hadn't just told you what it was, you could believe it would unwrap into anything at all. 'Mph Mhhmmph?' Miranda swats away your muffled, unintelligible request. 'Oh don't be so insecure. Wearing a skirt doesn't //need// to be a big deal.' She shakes out the laminate blob, and it indeed unravels to form a skirt like you feared? That's a good question. //Do// you fear it? Being gagged and placed in strange clothing might not be familiar to you, but that didn't mean you hated it. You thought on it a little longer, watching, mute. As Miranda unbelted your pants and begins guiding you to step into the skirt, your cock strains against your underwear. Miranda giggles, 'Methinks the gentlemen doth protest too much.' You pray the flush of embarassment would deprieve your member of enough bloodflow to dissipate, but instead you're betrayed. Even Miranda's gentle giggles seem to push your erection to new heights--and hardnesses. You want to say you hate this, that it's wrong, but Miranda can see your desire for herself. After that, you give her little trouble. Your new skirt is zipped up - it's a pencil skirt, like the rest you've seen so far -- it hugs your legs tightly, extending down to your calves. Each stride you yearn to take is hobbled to a dainty step. A single buckle belt is fastened delicately around your waist to cinch it goether. It feels good. Like a second skin is caressing you. Miranda circles round to survey you up and down. 'How does that feel?' Your eyes water and you begin to shake. Gagged, hobbled by the tight laminate skirt, it feels like heaven. You can barely think straight. 'Next are your shoes,' Miranda says, reaching into the suitcase again. Out come black court shoes, unmistakenably laminate, with high stiletto heels. 'Oh, don't give me that look! The heels will make the skirt more comfortable...' She kneels down, removing your simple interview dress shoes and sliding the heels on. They're a perfect fit. Laminate has claimed another portion of your body. With what you have, there's little of you that hasn't succumbed to its influence. You gurgle behind your gag, both hands gently caressing the domain of your tight skirt, writhing in pleasure wherever the thick, glossy material envelops you. It feels... { (set: $laminated to true)} [[Heavenly->MirandaArmbind1]] [[Delicious->MirandaArmbind1]] [[Terrifying->MirandaArmbind1]]

Gazing down at the shimmering tightness enrobing your lower body, you don't have time for anything but the most superficial feelings. Miranda isn't done. Now that you're hobbled by your skirt and heels, you don't react in time. Or rather, you do, but these //damn heels// Miranda just fitted you into make running for your life an impossibility. She easily corners you, and you feel her grab your wrists and grasp them firmly behind your back. 'We're not done, $name,' she says sinisterly. 'You cannot just try on the gag. You have to sample the whole wardrobe.' Dread mounts in your mouth. You struggle in her grip, but she has you pinned. Suddenly, the gag isn't comfortable at all. It squeezes your cheeks as it wraps around you, your struggles shoving it deeper into your throat. You feel a tight, leathery fabric fold over your wrists. 'Mmmph, mmhmmph?' <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/EqghPdU.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'This is an armbinder,' she says, reading your pained expression. 'It pulls the arms tight together behind your back, and thanks to the toughness of the laminate, it is //quite// impossible to escape.' She leans into you, her chipper voice gone sultry, wet. 'You know, I used to be as trusting as you when I first walked in this building. Looked plenty like you too. But now, you get to experience the same as me, all of it!' She shakes from joy. 'I'm going to get to see it happen all over again! Isn't this going to be fun!' You buckle and fight, but get nowhere. There's plenty more humiliation to go. Soon the leather is pulled further up your arms, touching your elbows, and a complex series of ties bind up the laminate glove to completion. The laminate glove tightens again, pincing as it brings your arms together and presses them inelegantly behind your back, rigid tight. Even after a minute your arms are aching, the position unpractised. You can't help moaning, whether out of panic of need you can't tell. It doesn't matter - the noise is stifled by your thick ballgag. 'Enough whinging, $name! It's time to go!' Miranda's bubbly voice is undercut by her sargeant-like demeanour. She slaps your rear, and out of shock, you follow along, obedient. As you are escorted through the office corridors, you don't feel like you've been tied up against your will and forced deeper into the building. You feel like you've been set free, that you are being guided to a higher place. [[Ending: Eager Slave]]

Taking the reckless option and praying the universe didn't punish you for your stupidity, you run into the closet. Swiftly, you wind around and slam the door shut, fiddling with the latch until you hear the door lock. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)] <video src="storageClosetAnimation.mp4" width="80%" controls autoplay preload> </div> Heel clacks get louder and louder. Your dreaded pursuer closes in - she saw exactly where you went - and tries the door with a patient, iron grip. It doesn't give. A frustrated, muffled grunt squeaks through the door, then she storms away. Signing, you slump down the doorframe, heart pounding and listless. You haven't summoned the energy yet to inspect your hiding place. Ahead of you is darkness. Everything evades your scrutiny, shifting in the blanket miamsa of shadow, and as your eyes accustom to the dim, you notice a light switch on the wall. [[Press it->FailedDistract3.1]] [[No, too risky. Leave it alone->FailedDistract3.2]]

You duck behind the next corridor as you hear the woman's heeled steps clack harshly on the floor, like needled feet come to hunt you down. You can't let her find you. You swerve round the intersection and realise your escape route is not an intersection at all. A tiny alcove occupies the right side, a mahogany table holding a vase of laminate flowers. A dead end. Your left offers similar prospects. After another bend, another scrambled rush for safety as your pursuer closes in, all you see are lines and lines of doors. The first two are locked. You rattle each as loud as you dare, not even considering all the incriminating noise. You start to sweat, to shake, when you try a third, dusty door that miraculously yields to your grip. Inside you rush to find... An abandoned office. Typewriter, desk, ceiling fan. Wafts of caramel perfume. And no new doors to scurry through. You turn around, and the severe woman is smiling wickedly as she blocks your way out. She pats her swatter on a gloved hand. 'Well, well. Look who tried to run from me.' [[!!->Caught1]]

You stop, turn around hesitantly, and see your pursuer coming to a stop, too. You place your hands in front of you, praying to some invisible hand that the woman who's been chasing you has a softer side. She eyes you levelly, intrigued. 'You decided to stop running.' Her voice is smoky, intense. 'Why?' You gawk at her, oddly transfixed. What do you say to that? She towers over you, an imposing giantess, awaiting your answer. You gulp. You've never been in a situation like this, and you're lost for words. 'I'm s-sorry,' you whimper. 'I didn't mean to run. I just wanted to have an adventure...' Her head cocks. 'An adventure?' You nod furtively. Once it's been said aloud, your excuse sounds comically naive. Did you really think you could dress it up like that? You're trespassing on private property! She sighs. 'Let's get this over with. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.' [[She can't be serious->FailedDistractMApology]]

The moment your finger flicks the switch the whole room explodes in harsh, pulsating light. You're in an office - typical - a modest one compared to what you've seen around here. But unlike the others, there's no desk or workspace. And it's girly. Ruffles of silk and lace decorate the walls, and similar sickeningly-sweet tea doilies smother the coffee table. You feel like you've encroached on a princess's chambers, not a room in a fancy office building. What on earth kind of place have you gotten yourself into? You get the feeling staying in here won't do you any good. That lethal-looking woman might return any minute. You could search for another way out, or leave the way you came, while that women is occupied. [[Search for another way out->FailedDistract4]] [[Leave while you can->HUB 2]]

You decide to leave it alone. Visibility would be nice, but you have no idea what kind of place you've stumbled your ass into. Fumbling about in darkness will have to do. You stand. It's hard to diagnose anything about your predicament. Sniffing, you notice the air has a honey-like sweetness to it, and you hear a light draft breezing in, brushing the tip of your nose. You might be buried between inches of thick walls, but there's ventilation coming from somewhere. All you have to do is find it. Stretching out your arms like a zombie, you tip-toe onward. A couple steps later your knee encounters solid glass. //Argh, ow!// You wince back, hopping as you cradle your knee, the pain shooting up through your brittle bones. You must've bumped into a coffee table. You hop too long. You crash into something behind you, what feels like a curtain of lace and solid plastic. Something fragile shatters - was that a teacup, fine bone china? Falling, you tumble down and slam onto your side, reeling from the pressure. Pain is foreign to you, and pain in such intense, vulnerable, isolated places only makes it worse. You moan, wincing as you try to stand. Why had you been so stupid as to not turn on the light? Now your leg's busted, you can do little more than limp, and you've lost track of where the entrance even is. By the time you've navigated to the other side of the room, those lethal heels are clacking outside once more. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)] <video src="ClosetOpening.mp4" width="80%" controls autoplay preload> </div> Your pursuer, 'M', unlocks the door, flooding the room with light. You see her vicious grin as she charges you, stopping short of pinning you to the wall. 'I thought you were going to offer me a good chase. It seems I was mistaken.' [[!!->Caught1]]

There has to be another way out. You glance through the room, checking for clues, but there's little for you to find. Disregarding the office furniture, there isn't anything of interest besides a locked cabinet and a metal sheet covering one wall. A sheer adjacent panel demands a passcode from you to discover what's behind it. Damn it! [[Inspect the panel->FailedDistract5]]

(if: visits < 2)[ An eyebrow raises. 'Oh? You're Mercy's grandchild?' You nod, the motion becoming frantic. Initially, you hated the idea of using the luck of your birth to land a job. But, after all your months searching, you feel a buoyant thrill bubble up inside you. //Yes!// They were going to accept you! You could feel it! 'That's right.' Esme crosses her legs. 'I see. Well, I suppose you have a leg-up compared to the rest of the competition.' With a wistful sigh, she gathers up a pile of manilla folders and does that weird chopping motion newsreporters do when they straighten their papers, then files them in a drawer below her desk. However you expected her to react, this isn't it. 'E-excuse me?' you start. 'I said -' 'I know what you said, brat,' Esme's dark undertone cuts the air, 'and it won't prejudice your interview one way or another. Nepostic grandchildren get the same opportunities as everybody else at $company. And nobody enters an area for which they don't have permission. //Sit down//.' Esme huffs and refuses eye-contact with you as you stand idle beside the reception counter. [[Accept her rules. Sit down->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]] [[Fuck the rules->Grandmother2]] ] (else:)[ An eyebrow raises. 'Oh? You're trying this //again//?' she scoffs at you. 'And you thought, what? It would work if you just //repeated// your nepotism bullshit?' You're flabbergasted. She sounded at least somewhat receptive before but now she seems to be extremely irritated by your persistence. 'Look, you don't seem to understand, so I'll spell it out for you: you are //just// a //secretary// and I am going up for my interview. NOW.' The receptionist glares your way, but says nothing. Feeling pleased with yourself, you walk up the stairs. All you had to do was be assertive! Say your wants! You're on the second tier when you hear a dial ring, and the receptionist speaking loudly into the phone. 'Hi M. Yes, we have an intruder, and he's a real 'queen'. Thinks just because he's Mercy's grandkid he can walk around like he owns the place. Hmm? Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, he looks about as tough as warm butter. Have fun!' Ok, so she wasn't bluffing. She slams the phone on the receiver with a satisfied click and watches you levelly. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/FtnJ2DV.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> A door opens on the opposite end of the foyer, and a heavy set woman walks out in what appears to be a white blouse, brown blazer and a leather skirt that ends past her knees. Her black hair sits in a bob. She's wearing shades, which combined with the narrow line of her lips intimidates you. She's not pretty like the receptionist is, but 'M' is still attractive. Confident. You're taken aback by her sweeping presence in the room--then her arms shoot out! You don't even realise you should dodge. She's fast, and she quickly twists you around and grabs your wrists. Then, she crushes them in the grip of one hand (she's so strong!') and claps her other hand on your shoulder. 'That's plenty kiddo, you tried to throw your weight around and just discovered you're a featherweight. Now be still and come with me.' She starts to push you toward the door. Despite your strongest efforts, she keeps you held tight: clearly she was stronger than you. Disobedience is impossible. Even if you wanted to squirm, her hold on you is iron and all your attempts accomplish is the readjusting of her grip. You're almost at the entrance, the glass doors swirling as they await your inevitable, //humiliating// toss-out. [[You find yourself outside]] ]

You straighten, thrust out your chest, and march to the edge of the counter. 'No, that isn't good enough!' you shriek. Shrieking has always come naturally to you. Esme flinches at your outburst, slow to comport herself. Scorn flickers out through the flaps of her eyeshadow. 'You really want to play this game? You're brattier than my //niece//.' Something drives you on. You're not sure what exactly: your comfortable life has soured - do you yearn to be recognised for something you haven't earned? It could be rage, firing you up as you uncorked a decade of namecalling and bullying to demand just //one thing// go your way. Perhaps it's entitlement, a latent arrogant streak surfacing now that you're finally in the position of the bully. Whatever the impetus, you were getting past her. You were going to make your family proud. 'I don't care what //you// think I am,' you snarl. 'Just get me into that elevator.' Esme slams a manicured fist onto the keyboard. Her perfect smile cracks. 'Fine,' she mutters, 'you know what? Fine. March on ahead for all I care. I'm not going to warn you, because you're a sulky little bitch who doesn't deserve the help.' //'Ha. Words of a sore loser.'// A part of you can't help the smirk crawling up your lip. See? All it takes to get your way was a little bit of gusto. It reminders you of that book you've been meaning to read, a present from your grandmother. What's it called? The Courage To Be Disliked? //'Something like that...'// You stroll forward, smug. The third and final tier of the foyer is flush with gold trimmed tiles and several marble caskets filled with plants. Seriously, the amount of money they put into a place like this is frivolous. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="elevators_outside_opening.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" autoplay preload controls alt="animation of elevator doors opening"></div> The elevator springs up before you, inviting. What floor do you pick? [[You feel like a million bucks right now. Pick the top one->Grandmother3]] [[Pick a middle floor->HUB 2]] [[Pick the bottom floor. Scope this place out->BottomFloorJennifer1]]

Pacing your cell, you gradually become accustomed to the low light level. You can pick out a few of the essential amenities in your cell: a low, stiff bed, a small steel sink, a stainless steel toilet, and a curiously modern-looking bidet with an odd wand attached to it. Bumping your leg against something hard, you curse. It seems there’s a second bed in here! Your hope flared that you wouldn’t be alone for long, but as the uncounted minutes stretched first into perceptible fractions of hours, then into what must be //multiple// hours, you realize you might be trapped with your thoughts here for a long time… It had started hopefully today, too, the job, the interview—and you had let it all go so //south//. The one positive was the trauma seemed to have pushed you to admit to the world what you are, how you feel about yourself, and now it seemed the judicial system was going to ensure you lived your truth: ready or not! Pacing the lonely confines of your cell, your high heel boots echo on the hard concrete floor. Your hips sway more as you grow accustomed to the outrageous footwear. You almost feel like you’re sashaying down some perverted runway, as though you were modelling the latest fashions for the freedom-impaired; making cute for all the perverts that enjoyed seeing a woman brought low. Ooh...how that would feel... <div align="center"><figure><img src="https://i.imgur.com/LFnJvO1.jpeg " style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 700px;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[//(Other inmates you see through the slot...)//<br>Image Credit: //LRKS art//]</figcaption></figure></div> Smiling slightly at the ludicrous idea, you run your hands up and down your dress, examining how it clings to your flesh and contorts your shape. Both palms pushed flat against the sides of your mid-drift, you run them down over your belly and reflect that the tight, stretchy material has given you some //curves//… Your palms gliding upwards, you revel in the sensation of the firm material against your chest. What had once been a mostly flat landscape, barely disturbed by the pectoral muscles you’d tried to be proud of, now featured a pair of small, sculpted mounds gripped tightly by your prison dress. Despite the thickness of the rubber, you can still feel a tingle as you let a finger circle a nipple. Smiling down at your hands cupping what little chest was there, you sighed. You might be alone, trapped, and facing an uncertain future… but at least you were sexier than ever doing it! A small bulge in the front of your dress confirmed what your mind had already guessed: a part of you—maybe a big part of you—was //enjoying// this. Time passed achingly slowly in the darkness—there isn't a clock anywhere—but finally the guard from earlier comes by your cell with some food. Laughing at your shadowed face, she slams a meaty palm against the wall and a blinding white light thunders on. You wince from the sudden, blinding intrusion into your eyes. Looks like it's exactly the reaction she was expecting. “I guess we should let you see to eat, cunt,” she announces casually. In the bottom of the door a slot opens, and the guard roughly uses her boot to kick the tray through the door before the slot slams home again. The food that had been haphazardly arranged on the plate scatters a little as the tray skids to a stop. On the plate is a collection of vegetables and a few starches, but curiously no protein. Picking through the leaves and sprigs, the guard laughs again as she reads your face. ‘Sluts like you get their //‘protein’// separately, you’ll be served it later. Eat what you’re given, or we’ll give you exactly //shit fuck-all// cunt: your choice.’ Faced with few other options, you do your best to dig in to the meagre meal you’ve been given. After munching through the greens, you’re struck by how quiet it is. You’d heard prisons were usually noisy, filled with the cries and pleas of people who probably should have been in a hospital somewhere. Instead, the only sounds you can hear are the faint murmurings of other prisoners in a periodic pattern of wet schlucking noises followed by low, loud, grunts and moans. Whatever they were doing, it didn’t sound like torture. The guard returns to collect your tray. Having left it by the door, she simply yanks it from the slot without speaking: you’re below her attentions. The slot clanging shut once more, you're returned to your dark deprivation. All you can do is sit in silence and listen to the overtures of other people's pleasure as it serenades the halls. [[You’re not alone long, however.->Ending: Prison Slave]]

You hear steps down the corridor and decide to try to peer through the slot in the door. In the hall you see another new prisoner being led by a male guard. Like your own guard, the one casting his keen eye over your new cellmate seems to be at least as much ape as human: his bulking physique scarcely restrained by the buttons on his uniform shirt. His whole figure seemed to be stuffed into his attire, as though he was simply too much “man” to be contained. A fine stubble covered his chin, and a stern look chiseled his face into a scowl. It’s in stark contrast to the quivering figure of the terrified prisoner he leads before him. Like yourself, she’s arriving completely naked and clutching a bundle of her prison uniform. Her hands full, you can’t see her chest for the bundle of orange clothing, but you can see the tuft of red hair that she’s carefully sculpted to highlight her mound… And you can see a certain shimmer of wetness there too! It seems like you weren’t the only one to have conflicting feelings about your incarceration. Plodding along silently, the guard prods her towards your cell door. ‘THE PRISONER WILL MOVE AWAY FROM THE DOOR!’ he growls angrily, and you leap back from the door. ‘I know if you cunts weren’t so dumb you wouldn’t be here, but so help me god I //will// electroshock you if you get in my way.’ With a bang the door bursts open, and you get a better look at your new cellmate and your new guard. Every inch as robust below the waist as he was above, your eyes are drawn like moths to a flame at the swelling in his pants: this man is packing a //python//. 'Welcome to your new home,' he says with a cruel laugh as he pushes the newcomer in with a rough shove to her shoulder. 'You're expected to be in uniform when you're not working prison labour, so I expect you to get dressed ASAP... The girl nodded frightfully as he continued, 'But for now I want each of you on your knees. It's protein o'clock and my rooster's calling!' he patted his crotch with a devilish smile. The poor naked girl seemed to understand what he wanted, and clearly didn't have any will to resist anymnore, so she put the bundle on the empty bed next to her and sunk to her knees in front of him. Completely confused, you struggle to kneel in place, teetering on the ludicrously high heels. The guard laughs 'Shit, you really are new here... OK, seeing as it's your first day, why don't you two sluts //share//. C'mon Red, I'm sure you can show this slut what I want.' Nodding silently, the redhead doesn't dare look up at the guard, she just beckons you over with fervent gestures of her hand. You make to get up and walk over when she waves both hands furiously and points down. Getting the message, you lean forward and crawl on all fours towarrd the guard, who chuckles. '//That's// it slut. That's what I like to see: //nice// and submissive. Now, come to Daddy...' he trailed off as he began to fumble with his pants. Your mouth drops open in shock as you understand what he's expecting you to do. His massive, swelling length bobs freely now, pulsing with the rhythm of his heart. It's so large you could swear you could feel the heat radiating off it onto your face. 'Haha, looks like the slut is almost //drooling// for it. Go on Red, why don't you help her out?...' He gestures to the new prisoner and she nods. Grabbing your hair with one hand, she shocks you with an deep French kiss. Forgetting your situation for an instant you welcome her intruding tongue and open wider. Seizing on the opportunity, she brings the raging hard-on she has in her other hand over to your gaping mouth. Breaking the seal with a //smack// your mouth goes from one invader to another before you can catch your breath. Her hand firm on the back of your head, she takes charge. Moving behind you, she begins to face-fuck the guard with your head. Grimacing as she feels his stiffness bottom-out against the back of your throat she's determined to finish this as quickly as possible and to //hell// with //your// well-being. The guard doesn't care. All that matters to him right now is whether or not he's going to get to nut all the way down your throat or all over your faces: //'Decisions, decisions...'// You finally understand the source of all the noises before, clearly every cell in this prison was used to milk all the guards at night. The wet sound of his cock pounding your mouth and throat began to combine with his own grunts and moans: he was close. The guard's breath starting coming in short pants. 'You've done a good job Red, but it's only fair--*grunt*--to--*grunt*--SHARE!' he cries out as he shoves back on your face and sprays his gooey load all over your face and the other prisoner's naked body. His breath starting to slow now, his climax passed, the guard whistles as he looks at you two. 'Clean each other up sluts, then it's lights-out in 30 minutes. You'll have a big day tomorrow, you get to see what prison labour looks like here...' <div align="center">Ending: Prison Slave ENDING CODE: 7PRISON (link:"Start Over?")[(goto:"Beginning of Story")] <img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 50%; border-radius: 15px;" alt="game logo"></div>

You were hauled before a Magistrate straight away and the charges were confirmed: trespass, trespass with contempt, and impeding an officer in the course of their duties. The sentence? 6 weeks in prison, and a criminal record. //'Well done $name.'// Your arresting officer hurries you away as soon as the Magistrates lips have fallen silent, your protests ignored. Pummeled through a featureless grey hallway, you're propelled to your next stop. Coming to a halt in a large shower-like area, you notice there are no shower heads, only a large hose reel on the opposite wall from where the officer directed you to stand. You see a woman in strict brown blazer and skirt with black heels lift the hose. "Remain still, inmate!' The huge red hose splashes you, scouring you of bacteria and any remaining dignity. You are dried off by a gorilla of a woman, who hands you an orange uniform, and sends you on your way. You are paraded, naked, through the cell block and placed in a large, group cell with about a dozen angry-looking inmates. Pale, wan light struggles to illuminate the desolate space. You cough nervously, not wanting to make eye contact. The other prisoners seem older and larger than you, and all of them are clad in orange uniforms. Most seem to be in tight-fitting orange pants and a loose, shiny orange tank top, but three seem to be dressed quite differently, if you could call them dressed at all... Those three seem to be in some kind of strappy, orange swimsuit, like some sort of //'bitch-kini'//. Orange laminate straps support a miniscule black cock cage, wrapping around the back and linking to some unseen portion that wraps forward around the shoulders, and again around the thighs. Their entire torso is naked to the world, with one of them sporting nipple rings too. Black straps cross the chest, and a heavy black collar at the neck, both are fastened with serious-looking steel buckles. None of them have their arms forward, for some reason, so you can't tell if the uniform has sleeves. As your eyes drift up to their faces, you gasp as you realize they aren't wearing orange medical masks: they're muzzled! One hobbles towards a larger man in the standard uniform, and nuzzles into his shoulder. The man grins widely and pets its head soothingly; whispering something unheard to his companion, who winks at you. You're confused initially by the bitch's unsteady posture and tiny steps until you notice the hobble connecting the poor man's ankles together on a short chain above matching spike heels. Clearly he was at the mercy of the men around him--//'Well, at least he'd found himself a protector...'// Nervously, you untangle your own uniform, which you are yet to put on. <div align="center"><figure><img src="https://i.imgur.com/JcfSAdL.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 700px;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[//(Your new uniform...)//<br>Image Credit: //LRKS art//]</figcaption></figure></div> It's your own bitch-kini!... And it's complete with heels... Grimacing at the rather effeminate garb, you struggle with the straps trying to get it open. You might not want to wear the--ah, suit (you couldn't bring yourself to call it by that name yet)--but surely it must be better than being naked? The heels at least were easier. They slotted onto your feet with ease, a perfect fit. While you had no desire to wear high heels, literally //anything// was better than being barefoot on the cold prison floor. Your feet coming down in clicks, you sigh, //'High heels? Really?'// Something clicks inside the laminate. The bundle is more than just clothing. It attaches to you the moment you unfold it, wringing your arms behind your back and locking you in it. Then, a muzzle emerges, wrapping around your whole face and silencing you to muffled pleas. Your heels activate, and an orange chain filters out of one shoe to link with the other. You struggle for maybe five minutes before the laughter starts echoing through the cell. A deep voice behind you announces in a rumbling tone, 'Aw, looks like newbie is having trouble with the uniform? Maybe we should demonstrate how things work here?' You turn to your interlocuter, but too late. You don't even glimpse him before the other prisoners leap up to grab your bound arms and hobbled legs. Pushing you roughly against a wall, your bonds rendering you helpless, the same voice growls in your ear, his breath hot on your neck, making you shiver. 'The way it works //slut//, is that bitches like you get to be my little fuckpets, and you get to //like// it.' [[They rove their hands over you, caressing your glistening, laminated body->Ending: Male Prison Bitch]]

You press the highest floor you can and guide into the elevator, unable to help a smug grin at the fuming receptionist as she glares daggers at you. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="elevators_close.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" autoplay preload controls alt="animation of elevator doors closing"></div> Then the elevator doors shut, and you're alone. The huge, black, laminated box rumbles as it climbs floor after floor. As one amalgamated bundle of nerves your body winds down. Your ears stopping burning, your heart stops thumping in your chest. You can't help thinking: //Was that a reckless move?// Maybe, but it got you into the elevator. Surely the big boss could forgive the enthusiasm of an enterprising young man? Okay, maybe you were getting delusional. But you have no time for ruminations or regrets. The elevator stops, the silver-black decalled doors flushing open. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="elevators_open.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" autoplay preload controls alt="animation of elevator doors opening"></div> [[You walk out into the office floor->Grandmother4]]

'You! Enough!' comes a stern voice. The ruffians jerk around at the voice bellowing outside the cell, and scatter. Your rescuer is a prison guard, as large as the one you saw before but of a decidedly different form. Where the other man had seemed half-gorilla, this one seems half--well--half-elf. Their wide thighs and round shoulders contrasted with their towering height, massive bulge, and obvious muslces. He unlocks your cell and comes inside to retrieve you, dragging you out. He takes you around a corner, then turns to you. 'Are you alright?' he asks. The giant sounds surprisingly gentle. Terrified, you nod your muzzled head. 'There there,' he coaxes, attaching a thick, yellow leash to your collar. He tugs it, and you stumble forward. He smirks, pleased. 'I'm transferring you to another cell... Somebody //like you// would be eaten alive by those inmates. You don't look like you can fight them off, eh?' Meek and muzzled, you nod. Grinning, the guard once again puts on his indifferent mask, frowning as he drags you through the prison, a smirk blooming as he watches you struggle to keep up. <div align="center"><figure><img src="https://i.imgur.com/qRc0yYb.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 700px;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[//(You're dragged along, helpless...)//<br>Image Credit: //LRKS art//]</figcaption></figure></div> 'Yes, we can't let a flower like you get crushed under those brutes...' the guard muses as he opens the door to a new, smaller cell--only big enough for two--and drags you inside. 'A delicate thing like you ought to be protected...' You look around, nodding at your would-be protector. 'Cherished...' he adds closing the cell door behind you, as you nod again nervously. 'Instructed...' his smile widens, your face becomes confused. 'And //mine//.' <div align="center">ENDING: SHORT PRISON SENTENCE. ENDING CODE: 6PRISON (link:"Start Over?")[(goto:"Beginning of Story")] <img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 50%; border-radius: 15px;" alt="game logo"></div>

Helping squeeze you into a black laminate dress very much like her own, you feel a snugness around your waist as she cinches up the belt. Looking down, you see that your legs are held firmly by the laminate at your thighs, ensuring you will need to take very dainty steps. Leyla fusses over the minor details of your dress, ensuring the creases are smoothed out, and the ruffles at your neck are arranged appropriately. Finally satisfied, she stepped back to look at you again. 'A decided improvement! A simple black dress shows proper humility in public, and the laminate allows us to still express our physicality in a chaste manner.' She signs in satisfaction. 'And now I must be veiled?' 'Not yet child, for we are still in private. And there is more to being a beautiful faithful woman than simply covering yourself. You must learn that chastity can also be beautiful...' she trails off as she dives for her purse and retrieves her makeup essentials. 'Since it is our faces--and mostly our eyes--that are visible to the world, a good faithful woman uses every tool she has to be beautiful for the world...' she continues as she parks you in a chair and assails your face with brushes, tweezers, oils, and paints. Pouting your lips obediently, she applies a rich dark lipstick to your lips, before swatting your eyelids with her mascara. Sitting still for her eyeliner applications was scary as she loomed over you with the pencil-tips pointed at your eyes, but you endured. When she was done, she held up her compact mirror so you could see. You gasp! Your brain is desperate for more oxygen to process what it is seeing. Leyla has used darker, duskier tones than you would have chosen for your own skin, but the impact is astounding. Before you, matching your every movement in the mirror, is a feminine, alluring face. You don't look like $legalName anymore, indeed, you almost look foreign to yourself... 'And now for what you must //always// wear in public child...' Leyla interrupts your reverie. 'I really have to wear it? I really have to cover my head?' you ask pathetically. 'Yes child, and more. Until I am satisfied you can speak with appropriate deference, I feel your face should be veiled as well...' she explains as she goes to her drawers again. 'Now I don't really think I need to do--' you begin a protest, but Leyla quickly snaps a laminate mask over your ears and across your mouth. Your protest is barely audible, muffled by the laminate. 'A good woman speaks softly or not at all.' she explains as she proceeds to tie your headscarf for you. Tying it tightly around your face and neck, you are wearing the same style headscarf as her now. Dressed in a similar black dress and wearing similar makeup--you could almost be sisters! 'I think you look beautiful now!' she beams a radiant smile at you. 'If you can learn to be a good Muslim woman, then I'm certain my imam will help find a husband for you!' 'A husband?!' you ask in muffled surprise, you had just come here for work! Not marriage... 'Every good woman should belong to a good man. You will see. You will learn. Come, let us walk this path together.' she takes your hand and walks you over to the full-length mirror behind the door to her office. [[You stand in front of the mirror->LeylaConfess6]]

Miranda looks on, satisfied. 'Oh, isn't it wonderful? I'm so glad you decided to try it on! Does it feel good? Comfortable?' You nod a muffled affirmative. The gag shouldn't be this comfortable. In some miracle of design, it graces the inside of your mouth without bulging it too tight. It's soft, like the silken inside of a coat. You don't feel constricted in any way. You feel...secure. Taking a few slow bites, you nod to Miranda - the material really is impressive. Satisfied with your exploration, you reach around to the back of your head and try disengaging the gag clasp. Your fingers fail to find any button or latch. Panic starts to rear its ugly head again. Your other hand snapping back to the plastic, your fingernails dig furiously at the rectangles trying to wedge open some seam between the two of them. 'MMmmPHF!' you try to scream at Miranda, who just laughs gently at your predicament. 'Aww... Poor my little $name should have asked before it closed the latch. I was only scheduled for one release today and you just used it up!' Clapping her hands together. She gets up from her desk. 'Excellent. Now, let's get the rest on you.' [['Mmmph Mmph?' //There's more?//->Miranda9]]

The woman snarls. 'Fine. I didn't want to have to do this, but you're forcing my hand.' With that, she walks back inside, watching you fiercely as she takes out her phone and aggressively dials a three digit number. There is an awkward pause, a wait of a few minutes, before a blue and white police cruiser pulls up to the building. <div align="center"><figure><img src="https://i.imgur.com/szxcomM.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[Vanessarubber]</figcaption></div> A sleek, well dressed woman in a blue and white knee length dress with blonde tresses streaming down her back and thick white heels steps out of the car. She looks at you curiously for a second, then steps forward. 'I was informed there was a disturbance here,' she says to you. 'A girl, about your height, same hair. Have you seen her?' Knowing full well you //were// the disturbance, you're struck dumb. Looking back at her slack-jawed doesn't do you any favours. A brow furrows. 'I said, I was told there was a girl in front of $companyNick causing a disturbance,' she says impatiently. 'Have you seen her?' You realise "M" has come out of the door. 'Yes, she's been causing us quite a bit of trouble and making a ruckus.' The policewoman nodded. 'And where is she?' 'Right here,' "M" says, pointing at you, concealing a wicked grin. 'Yes, officer, your eyes do not deceive you. She has requested female pronouns since she got here. This is her.' The cop watches you with interest. 'Is this true?' [[Say you're a boy and "M" is lying'->Male Prisoner Processing]] [[Say you're a girl->Cop2]]

Still processing your surroundings, you barely register her swift movements as you glimpse a black band whipping through the air. An instant later, you feel a tightness squeezing your neck as she fastens a stiff black collar onto you! <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/TODzlvz.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'H-hey!' '//There we go!// Much better,' she chimes smiling at you as she takes a hold of the D-ring on your collar, ignoring your protests. 'Come along now! I think it's time we got you ready for fun!' Jerking you off-balance, she tugs you forward and attaches your collar to a carabiner on her desk. Your hands fly from trying to undo the collar to trying to reach the carabiner, but her hands are swift, practised, and strong. Grabbing your wrists with a shocking strength, she wrenches your hands behind you and handcuffs your wrists behind your back. As you feel the clicking ratchet of classic steel on your tender skin, your struggles turn to true panic as you pull upward on her desk. <div align="center"><figure><img src="ballGag_onTable.png" style="max-width: 80%; max-height: 500px; border-radius: 15px;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(Render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> 'Hey! Just what do you think you're doi--' your second round of protest is cut off as she slams a red ball gag into your mouth and quickly buckles it. You continue to struggle futilely, your trashing impotent against the desk--it seemed whomever installed the office furniture here had a pretty solid grasp of what it was used for. [[You're powerless to stop her now->Cubicle4]]

Reaching for the work station, trying to see if you can wake the machine back up, you're frightened as a robotic arm flys out from some hatch and seizes first your right wrist, then your left! Your attention elsewhere, you barely register the swift robotic movements as you glimpse a band of black whipping through the air. Barely an instant later, you feel a squeeze as unseen elements tighten a frilly black laminate collar around your neck! <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/wmeEFyR.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'H-hey!' '(text-style:"expand")[FLAIR INSTALLATION START]' chimes the machine, it's lights flickering to life again. It's almost smiling at you as a hook shoots forward from the desk and latches a hold onto the D-ring on the back of your collar, ignoring your protests. '(text-style:"expand")[NEW EMPLOYEE $name IS REQUESTED TO RELAX DURING FLAIR INSTALLATION.]' Jerking you off-balance, the chained latch tugs you forward and rachets your collar tightly to the desk. The machine manipulates your wrists with a firm hydraulic strength, wrenching your hands away, cuffing them behind your back. As you feel the clicking ratchet of classic steel handcuffs on your tender skin, your struggles turn to true panic as you pull upward on the desk. 'Hey! Just what do you think you're doi--' your second round of protest is cut off as armatures out of your line of sight activate. A red ball gag is driven into your mouth and quickly buckled behind your head. Your legs tightly encased in a laminate skirt, your legs have difficulty finding leverage. Your heels click on the floor in a desperate, dainty tattoo. You continue to struggle futilely, your thrashing impotent against the desk--it seemed whomever installed the office furniture here had a pretty solid grasp of what it was used for. It almost seemed like the machine had //thought// of everything - the leash binding your neck leaves you with little wriggle room to look around, your wrists are tightly bound behind your back, nothing left on the desk is sharp enough to cut through your bonds, and the gag stops you from screaming for help. Though, if you had time to think about it, who here would help you? Left exhausting, panting, you find yourself worked up with nothing to show for it. Suddenly, it strikes you. You're bound and gagged, dressed like a woman in tight laminate, and possibly about to face so much worse. And it's so //hot//. '(text-style:"expand")[FLAIR INSTALLATION COMPLETE. WELCOME EMPLOYEE $name. FEEL FREE TO ENJOY YOUR FLAIR WHILE YOU WAIT FOR HUMAN RESOURCES OFFICER]' [[Indulge]]

'And now for what you must //always// wear in public child...' Leyla interrupts your reverie. Your muffled protests seem to disappoint her. 'A good woman speaks softly or not at all.' she chides as she reaches for the broom handle again. You furious shake your head, trying to indicate your compliance as she proceeds to tie your headscarf for you. Tying it tightly around your face and neck, you are wearing the same style headscarf as her now. Dressed in a similar black dress and wearing similar makeup--you could almost be sisters--that is, if one of you wasn't gagged. There's a brief release of pressure on your wrists as she uncuffs your wrists. The reprieve is cut short as you feel an increasing tightness as she slips an armbinder sleeve over forearms, biceps, and finally cresting your shoulders. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/EqghPdU.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'Wh-what's that?' you ask, terrified. 'An armbinder,' Leyla answers distainfully. 'A restraint reserved for uppity girls who forget their place. Something you have just become, my dear.' Taking her time now, she tightens the belted straps of your armbinder firmly until your wrists and squeezed elbows are screaming in pain. You look around, desperate, as Leyla chuckles at your pathetic display. Finally she adds a collar and leash to your ensemble, and pulls you along out of her office. 'Come, my lovely slave,' Leyla says. [[Ending: Unwilling Slave]]

<div align="center"><figure><img src="https://i.imgur.com/yENAcBL.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 700px;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[//(Another day at the office...)//<br>Image Credit: //LRKS art//]</figcaption></figure></div> The elevators chuff open, and despite your restraints, you bustle toward your desk. There is no competition to slow you down - you've decided to arrive at your desk five minutes early, and waste no time getting to work. You boot up your computer and dive into your tasks. In your single week working here, everybody--at least everybody you work with--has noted how productive and efficient an employee you are: an excellent first impression, and you have no intention of letting that reputation slip. Soon the surrounding cubicles start to fill, and the rhythmic clack of your keyboard is joined in a monotous, echoing chorus as every other girl does the same. You inhale sharply, feeling buoyed by your usefulness. It wasn't long ago that you were pretty much a slob. Lethargic. //Slovenly//. Now, everything about your life feels as if it's fallen into place. Harmony through //order//. Order through //obedience//. Obedience through //discipline//. Discipline through //structure//. Structure through //submission//... It all seemed so elegantly simple now: just like your place here. You finish a line of data entry and allow yourself a moment to lean back in your chair. The air-con is pleasant, your breath is calm, and nobody is out of place, leaving you safe from any collective punishments. The ceiling fan whirs above you in a machine-like precision. You smile. How did you find happiness in a cubicle farm? It defies belief. Although, looking down at your slick, //moulded// appearance, you suppose it doesn't hurt that you're entirely covered in laminate. You'd like to rub your arms across your uniform, glistening black gloves sliding across perfectly smooth curves--but more important matters occupy you. Your boss calls to you from across the floor. 'Oh {(if: $nicknamed is true)[my little $name](else:)[$name]}!' she calls to you almost in sing-song. 'How is that report coming along?' she finishes in a more pregnant tone. You struggle to answer - your lips forced paradoxically open by a ring gag, and yet you are mute. You nod, wary of her hawk-like eyes across the floor, grab your manilla report folder and head over to her. The normally mundane affair takes you a moment - your wrists are connected to a long cross-bar, leaving them to hang limp at shoulder-level like a rubbery crucifix. Retrieving your report demands a curtsy-like dip, straining your already-tender thighs and butt--but //those// have been enduring punishments all week long. The thought of punishment hastens your stride. Your boss doesn't tolerate slackers, and you wince as you shuffle over to her desk. Even after a week, efficient movement eludes you. The best you manage is to teeter and sway in your hobble skirt and heels, but your company uniform leaves your ankles fighting for inches. All you can do is press forward. One excruciatingly dainty step at a time. <div align="center">(text-color:magenta)[Current ending! Thanks for playing!] ENDING CODE: 5HAPPYSLAVE (link:"Start Over?")[(goto:"Beginning of Story")] <img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 50%; border-radius: 15px;" alt="game logo"></div>

Confusion freezes you in place. 'Excuse me? Are you arresting me?' 'Yep.' You scoff, disbelief reinforcing your pride. 'What are you talking about? You're a terrible liar.' The stocky woman shakes her head. 'And you're illiterate. You should've read the rules.' 'What rules?' She looks at you like you're stupid. 'Full legal force falls upon those intruders who enter Venivos Industries,' she proclaimed. 'And you, little boy, are an intruder.' You shudder, your mind racing for a fix as a small bead of sweat trickles down the back of your head. An intruder you might be, but you couldn't be arrested by her. She wasn't a policewoman! 'This has to be a mistake.' 'Mistake?' she grunts out, clapping a laminated sleeve atop your shoulder. You try to budge, but her grasp remains iron firm. 'There has been no mistake, Mr $lastName. You have violated the company's generous hospitality. I'm afraid you will need to come with me.' 'That doesn't mean you get to - ' But it's too late, she's had enough. Gulping, you watch as she wrangles your hands behind your back and retrieves a pair of black, laminate handcuffs from her belt. She secures you easily, the metallic lock clicking shut with a poignant finality. You start to whimper, to cry: all you did was run like a child through an office building. And now you're being treated like this. [[She takes you away, into a police car->FailedDistractMApology2]]

Humiliated, you are escorted back through the building. You feel like a child being brought before the principal. Your reentrance to reception is incredibly embarrassing, not least of which because the foyer is suddenly populated. Several laminated women talk and tap at electronic tablets as you hobble past. They stare, smile, and their attention linger as M slowly parades you through the foyer. This can't be happening. Your brain feels like it's going to explode. You struggle again in an attempt to beat your restraints, and find as little give as you have before. You squirm in embarrassment. Your cheeks take on a strawberry hue as you stare at the floor. M leads you to the reception desk, and Esme looks up. She's struggling to hold back a laugh, a gloved hand covering her mouth. Several shocked giggles slip through. A cough composes her. 'You have dealt with him, then?' 'Completely,' your captor replies. 'Notify the authorities.' Esme picks up the phone and dials for the police. For a number of painful, agonizing minutes, you are supervised as you wait outside, cuffed, for your escort. Eventually, a blue and white police cruiser pulls up to the building. <div align="center"><figure><img src="https://i.imgur.com/szxcomM.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[Vanessarubber]</figcaption></div> A sleek, well dressed woman in a blue and white knee length dress with blonde tresses streaming down her back and thick white heels steps out of the car. She looks at you curiously for a second, then steps forward. 'Is this the little troublemaker?' she asks. 'Why, he doesn't look like much.' 'He isn't,' M says, smirking. The policewoman notices your handcuffed wrists, then sighs. 'I suppose I had better take him with me.' You freeze as she approaches you. Wait a second. M, your captor, had outmuscled you and restrained you, but while she'd claimed she had the law on her side, she had no proof of it. Meanwhile, you were standing in front of a living, breathing police officer. That meant... 'Hey!' you cry out, starling both of them. 'This woman is holding me against my will!' The policewoman blinks. 'Yes, of course she is.' Your mouth slackens. 'Wh-what?' 'You trespassed on private property,' the policewoman explains. 'And Venivos Industries has special government clearance. They're allowed to arrest intruders if they have reasonable doubt of your motives.' M jostles you, implying the doubt forming the foundation of your arrest went far beyond reasonable. 'Alright,' says the policewoman, 'come with me young man.' She pushes you toward her cruiser, hand nursing the small of your back as you are guided into the backseat. [[The car starts. You are taken to the station->Ending: Male Prison]]

You shudder. The very idea that the woman outside had once been a boy jolts through you like thunder. You crane your neck to glance at the moaning secretary that stands erect beside Bianca, whimpering with need. Miranda, really? //That// ray of sunshine? 'You're thinking it, aren't you?' Bianca's eyes are like flinty, haunting jewels, their inky depths roving everywhere and nowhere. 'You're wondering if you could be like her, too. If you'd even want to... But I think deep down we both know: you //yearn// to be like her. To become her. I saw that same sparkle in //her// eyes.' A whimper escapes you now. You find your belly buzzing at the thought. How could you deny it? If somebody born a man could end up looking as beautiful as that, then maybe... You glance at Miranda. Though he-she, isn't looking at you, she is smiling, her head craned low in embarrassment. Bianca grins and sidles over to you - it's more predatory - crossing her laminated legs over her desk, creasing her skirt. 'I understand: the world has tred all over you, keeping you down, preventing you from becoming the person you were always //meant// to be.' She offers a hand, the harsh light catching on her laminated sleeve. 'It's okay. You don't have to say anything. But if you want to realize your potential, come with me.' [[Take her hand]] [[Refuse]]

Could you really delude yourself any longer? Living as a man diluted your true potential and betrayed your deepest need. Your breath begins to shake. Admitting something like this was throwing you behind the event horizon -- after this, you could never turn back. No, this wasn't an indulgence: it was a //necessity//. Is it not the desire of every person to live to their fullest? To be whole? To be in harmony with their wants, however many or few they may be? Part of you expects a long, drawn-out internal negotiation. In reality, it's no struggle. Your wrist slips into her own, hand in glove, and Bianca's teacher-like smile widens to a wicked, ravenous grin. 'Well then, little girl. Let's get you dressed.' [[Submit->BiancaEagerSlaveAltEnding]]

You extend a hand, then snatch it back before Bianca can shake it. She smiles benevolently, intending to say something about nerves, or anxiety, or doubt. But in that moment you get ahead of her. 'No.' Bianca frowns. 'Excuse me?' 'No,' you repeat. The repetition reinforces your choice, another pound of clay fortifying the wall. 'That's not who I am. Not really.' Her brow furrows. 'Are you sure?' 'Yes.' Bianca says, taking off her glasses. 'Very well. Then you need to leave the building.' 'I can find the exit myself,' you say. 'That won't be necessary,' Bianca says. You realize, belatedly, that the dark tint of her glasses have revealed narrow, steel-sharp eyes. Her lips have pulled taut, and you sense a vileness seeping out through her skin. 'I will have the authorities brought here.' She slams a hand onto her desk, upsetting a mountain of papers. A red flash beams up to the ceiling, and you see she has pressed a giant, red button hidden beneath the sheafs. Klaxons begin blaring, straining your eardrums and driving your heart to an Everest-climbing peak. You backpedal and stumble into a wall. An alarm was the last thing you needed. Bianca waves a callous hand your way, like a royal, and you dash out the door. You run past Miranda, who studies you with worry. 'Sir, are you oka-' 'Sorry!' you shout over your shoulder, 'no time!' There certainly isn't. The moment you cross an intersecting corner, a security guard, wearing the trademark skirt and heels, starts chasing after you. Surprisingly, she's gaining, closing in despite a get-up that should leave her teetering in her heels. <div align="center" style="padding: 5px; border: 2px solid grey; border-radius: 5px;">(text-size:0.75)[//A woman in a tight, black, gleaming, calf-length pencil skirt holds a riding crop. Her blouse is fully buttoned and tight.//]<!-- <img src="https://i.imgur.com/rFY7VVd.png" style="max-width: 90%;"> --!></div> Oh god. She looks gorgeous, divine. Your fight or flight response is bucked for a moment as your brain engages its //other// animal drives. Getting caught by her would almost be an experience you //might// risk being kicked out for... Almost. But you've thrown away any chance of getting a job here, nevermind getting politely kicked out. You have to be sharp if you're going to get out of here unscathed. Even if this was all your stupid adventurous idea to run off in the first place. [[Run faster!->Refuse2]]

You keep going, running until your thighs groan and shudder from the iron-weight burden. There aren't many places to run to. The corridors wend and snake, providing no clues on where to go. You don't even know what part of the building you're in, although in a place like this, that's probably the point. The lights flicker, then shut off. You're left abandoned in the dark, though a jostling light source behind you indicates your pursuer has no such trouble. You start running. You doubt you have much time. You burst into a narrow wooden corridor. Smaller wooden doors line the walls, offices you suspect, and the floor is a blue carpet. <div align="center"><figure><img src="felixWoodHallway_blender3.png" style="max-width: 90%;" alt="a well-lit wood-panelled hallway stretches before you. There are several doors."><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> You start trying doors, but every knob close to you is locked! The noise of your pursuer grows. You hear a noise behind, turn, and steal a glance at him. No, //her//. <div align="center" style="padding: 5px; border: 2px solid grey; border-radius: 5px;">(text-size:0.75)[//A woman in a tight, black, gleaming, calf-length pencil skirt holds a riding crop. Her blouse is fully buttoned and tight.//]<!-- <img src="https://i.imgur.com/rFY7VVd.png" style="max-width: 90%;"> --!></div> (if:$metM is false)[ You see a woman in a black pencil skirt and a white blouse with her collar done up. Her hair is drawn back slickly, and her look is severe, even as she chases after you. Oh god. She looks gorgeous, divine. Your fight or flight response is bucked for a moment as your brain engages its //other// animal drives.] (else:)[It's M!] Getting caught by her would almost be an experience you //might// risk being kicked out for... Almost. But if you're going to get this job, if you're going to make your family proud, you have to escape her. Even if this was all your stupid adventurous idea to run off in the first place. Escape confronts you. The corridor yawns like a maw further before you, thrusting you forward toward an intersection. She might know the building better than you, but you should be able to outrun your pursuer, given her outfit is not exactly sports wear. Ahead of you is an intersection, a scission of fate. The corridor on your left is well-lit, while its partner remains dark and drab. Maybe the left corridor is a trap, stocked with men poised to tackle you the moment you turn the corner. Maybe it's exactly as it appears. You can take the more illuminated, well-trodden path, or gamble on whatever lurks on your right. Well, are you feeling lucky? [[Duck around the next corridor. Try to outrun her->FailedDistract2.2]] [[Gamble on the unknown->Refuse3]] [[Approach your pursuer and apologise->FailedDistract2.3]]

You'd spent some time initially trying to cover your ears, to plug them somehow... But there was no escaping the sounds wafting through the stereo. You did your best not to listen. At first there seemed to be nothing to hear, only a faint white noise, a buzzing at the edge of your hearing. A buzzing that seemed to grow louder and louder until it was all you could hear! A buzzing that began to overwhelm even your own monologue, when finally it started to pulse. Heaving a sigh of relief, the waves of the pulse are a welcome respite from the intensity of the constant buzzing. You're so relieved when the buzzing finally starts to ebb away that the quiet words that float above the ringing in your brain pass into your mind without you even noticing. Indeed, it's only after an hour of the pulsing, buzzing wave, whirring away at your soul that you even realize there's words mixed in with the noises at all. //Good pup! Good pups obey. Good pups get to play. Good pups cares melt away...// The words should have clashed inside your mind, but you wanted to hear them so much more than that infernal buzzing that you clung to them, like a rat to a shipline in a storm. //Good pups love to play! Pup play makes Mistress's day! Good pups take Mistress's cares away.// It was true, //'Who doesn't like to play?'// you ask yourself. ...And it wasn't hard to imagine taking a Mistress's cares away--in fact you'd been fantasizing about quite a //few// ways to take Mistress Esme's cares away ever since you came in. //Simple pup is here to stay. Simple pup let's worries fly away. Horny pup: you'll get to play! Horny pup you will obey// As you listen more and more to the words that drive themselves further and deeper down into your mind, your worries fade. All the troublesome thoughts you had about finding a job, the pressure you felt to be a "real grown up," --all the expectations society heaped on you--seem to slip through the cracks of your memory, like sand through a grating floor. The grains of worry floating down below your consciousness and sedimenting into a sandstone, a pillar of "past-self" pushed down past your perception. It felt //so relaxing//. You shiver as warm waves cascade over your body, your muscles pulling a little more loosely on your bindings now. And--ah--there was one part of you that wasn't relaxing at all. //Horny pup: you'll get to play! Horny pup you will obey// Yes, 'horny pup' was right, and 'Mmmmm' it felt good to be a honry pup didn't it? As that thought passed through your conscious mind, your body was flooded with an intense wave of pleasure. Yes, it felt //good// to think of yourself as a //horny pup//, it felt //good// to listen and //obey//. Your face does its best to stretch into a smile, the gag straining against your lips. //'I wonder when Mistress Esme will be back?'// you ask yourself as your cock strains hard, stretching the limits of your flesh. //'I hope I can be a good pup for Mistress Esme...'// the thoughts excite you even further. By the time the receptionist returns following her afternoon tea break, $legalName is long gone, all that's left is a pup so horny he's fit to burst: just how Esme likes them! <div aling="center"><figure><img src="bdsmlr-latexSecretaryAndPupSlave.jpg" style="max-width: 80%; max-height: 700px;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")</figcaption></figure></div> <div align="center">ENDING: //Happy// Pet Slave! ENDING CODE: 2PUPFUN (link:"Start Over?")[(goto:"Beginning of Story")] <img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 50%; border-radius: 15px;" alt="game logo"></div>

You decide to walk into the women's bathroom. Sure, it might be risky, but think of the potential rewards! You might find another beautiful, laminate-clad woman who has //some// level of decency and tact compared to Esme, or even multiple women! You suppress the urge to rub your hands. How devious you were, how cunning! Walking in, you find little of note. The glistening black walls and white floors are an exact replica of the foyer, and nothing looks out of the ordinary. A few bathrooms, a long sink, some posters about female hygiene. A wiser, jaded voice in your mind lambasts you for thinking otherwise. What were you expecting, some kind of laminate-clad orgy? A free condom machine? 'Not what you were expecting?' You flinch, stumbling into the bathroom wall. A thin woman in glistening laminate faces you. A pencil skirt flows beautifully to her thighs, and she wears a luxurious, red blouse with a pair of crimson glasses and complex cravat. The red blouse tapers from the puff of her shoulders to the end of her wrists. Her collar looks tight enough to choke her. A lingering feeling tells you she's about to do it to you. <div align="center"><figure><img src="https://i.imgur.com/56rEg5W.jpg"max-width: 90%;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[Vanessarubberart]</figcaption></figure></div> 'I...I'm sorry...' 'You know, I really get sick of perverts like you,' she says in a sharp, penetrating voice as she stomps over. You would think a girl as thin and willowy as her wouldn't be this headstrong. 'Were you hoping to cop a squeeze? Snap a picture up my skirt? What do you have to say for yourself?' You wave your hands frantically, jittering. 'I'm sorry! I thought this was the mens...' She scoffs, bitter, shaking her lead like a schoolteacher walking in on horny student. 'You have no idea how many times I've heard those same eight words. And somehow you said it the lamest of everybody.' She points to the door. 'Get out.' Dejected and slumping your shoulders, you slink out, picking up the pace when the woman growls at you to leave faster. But your humiliation is not over. When you return to Esme's counter, she seems to read your face. 'Tried to enter the Ladies' did you? Sorry, that behaviour is four decades out of date.' She smirks as she continues to type, not bothering to give you the dignity of her gaze. { (set: $metBianca to true) (set: $nicknamed to true) (set: $name to "Peeping Tina" ) } [[Try something else->Distract1]]

You gulp, and steele yourself for your entry into the unknown. (if: $laminated is false)[ Pushing your hand firmly against the pod surface you slowly feel it yield to the surface of your skin, though it continues to stick relentlessly to the sleeve of your shirt. Finally there's a squelch and a release of pressure as your hand passes fully through to the other side. Testing the limits of your discovery you attempt to pull your hand back. While your hand passes smoothly through the barrier, your sleeve is stuck fast. A few panicked moments later, you decide the only way to pull out your first arm is with your second. ... Predictably, you now have both arms wedged firmly in the pod and your shirt is stuck fast. With footsteps sounding behind you you're worried that someone is closing in on you. Time to dive in! You thrust your head directly at the pod wall, and feel a slight relief as the sticky goo yields again and your nose breaks through to the air on the other side. Pushing with your legs you end up with your face towards the ground, and your legs in the air as the pod appeared to try to swallow you with unaccustomed difficulty. There's a tearing sound, and slowly your shirt comes apart as you cascade toward the floor of the cubicle, your pants and underwear getting stripped by the goo as you slide in. [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - naked!]] ] (if: $laminated is true)[ Pushing your hand firmly against the pod surface you slowly feel it yield to the surface of your skin, and it glides effortlessly over the laminate. Finally there's a squelch and a release of pressure as your hand passes fully through to the other side. Testing the limits of your discovery you attempt to pull your hand back. As you'd hoped, the laminate allows you to pass easily through the membrane once you've applied a bit of pressure. Confident you'll be able to pass easily through the pod wall, you stick both hands in, and try to wedge your face between them. It works, and you get swallowed into the cubicle pod with a squelching *plopf*. [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - in laminate!]] ] [[The cubicle is occupied!->Cubicle2]]

You step out, and your fluttery heart stops. Where you expect to see gleeful, shiny secretaries fawning over typewriters and reeking of that sterile, window-cleaner type smell or litres of talcum powder, you find rows upon rows of empty, unharvested cubicle farms. The whole floor is abandoned. Had you fallen for a trick? Had Esme somehow rigged the elevator to take you here? Another thought wracks you. This is nowhere near the top of the building. [[This is giving you the creeps. Go back into the elevator and pick a middle floor->ElevatorSuccess3.1]] [[Ignore your fears. Keep exploring->Caught by guards]] [[Go back into the elevator and push the button for the bottom floor. Scope this place out->BottomFloorJennifer1]]

There's not much to find, and your body can only produce so much adrenaline when it discovers the fifth unlabelled stapler or spare set of stationery. There aren't any computers for you to try hacking into, just typewriters and sheafs of reports about imported goods. It's a bust. What truly intrigues you is the sidedoor leading to an offshoot. You walk through, and it leads to a liminal hallway that belongs in a college dorm or apartment floor, much like an en-suite, it's paved with white tiles and houses a bathroom. Doesn't look too bad, huh? Maybe you could take a leek before anybody finds you. Abruptly, a handful of figures turn the corner. Five laminated, bulky men fix their eyes on you in unison, narrowed to slits. They grunt, bristling like heavyweights, with expansive bandoliers straped over their giant frame. Their sturdy boots have somehow silenced their approach. Some kind of security uniform struggles to hold down their muscle. These are not the secretaries you were looking for. The oldest among them marches forward, a man with a salt and pepper beard and a flak of brown hair. 'Mr. $lastName, you are being detained for trespassing! Remain still!' You bolt, and thunder follows. The men rampage after you, heavy combat boots clapping against the floor, smashing your nerves to paste. You entertain the heroic thought of outrunning them, but that's shattered when you glance back and see their old leader cross the same space in one stride as you do in three. It's not much of a chase. You make it halfway to the elevator before the men pile on top of you. They wrangle your arms behind your back, handcuff you, and stuff some kind of ring-gag into your mouth. <div align="center"><figure><img src="ringGag.png" style="max-width: 80%; max-height: 500px; border-radius: 15px;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(Render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> One thought drifts up through the terror, through the inalienable fear you feel as these men destroyed your freedom in seconds. If they were police, why didn't they read you your rights? [[You're brought before the CEO->Ending: Unwilling Slave]] (set: $trespasser to true)

(text-color:red)[Ending: Eager Slave] 'This way, Slave.' Bianca escorts you from her desk into an adjoining room. Inside is a briefcase, which she snaps open, and reaches inside. (if: $laminated is false)[A shiny blouse comes out first, then a long, glossy pencil skirt with a matching buckle belt, then strict stiletto heels. Your new uniform. You salivate as each piece is slotted into place upon your willing body, baptising you in laminate. Next comes a collar. Bianca raises an eyebrow at you, and you nervously lift up your hair so she can close the collar around your neck. As the latch on the steel snaps shut, you hear Bianca quickly applying a lock. '//There little (if: $nicknamed is true)[$name](else:)[pet]//...' she sighs, 'doesn't that //feel// better?' You shiver silently, your pulse thundering in your ears as you realize your fate is truly sealed.] Attaching a leash to your collar, she briefly hitches your leash to an eye-bolt in the wall. From the briefcase, Bianca then withdraws a catalog's worth of restraints. Quickly, you are bound. Rope and straps are brought out from a drawer, and Bianca swiftly cinches you in place. In minutes your wrists are bound behind your back and your elbows budge against one another, long ribbons of rope and leather lashed above and below your chest. You study yourself in the mirror, turning around when Biancaorders you to, and feel the glossy thickness of your laminate caress you in its myriad folds. { (set: $laminated to true)} ...And you've never been more aroused in your life. 'I get to spend //every// day like this?' you wonder to yourself as Bianca roams her hands over your form, her hands slick on the laminate as you feel your flesh contorted by her touch. {(if: $nicknamed is true)['Oh my little $name, you look so cute in that outfit,' Bianca sighs in satisfaction. ] (else:)['Yes, my young $name, //every// day...' Bianca chuckles. 'But do you really think //$name// gets to dress like this, or is there perhaps another more appropriate name you'd prefer?'<br><br> You think long and hard, but there's only one name that suits you...<br><br> (link: "Choose your new name")[(set: $name to (prompt: "Please enter your new name: ", "Rebecca"))] ] } 'Be a good little slave, and you might even get promoted to a vacbed...' she says as she turns on your computer terminal. A swirl of colours and images alights into your vision. 'For now we //insist// you receive your new employee training session...' $company suits you remarkably well. Your grandmother was right. Everything has fallen into place. [[The week after...]]

You stand up straighter, imagining yourself your own personal lawyer. 'My apologies, Miss, but this is all an honest mistake. I never meant to pry on you. I was trying to find the male toilets, and got lost.' Her smoky eyes narrow. 'The men's toilets come before the women's. I don't believe you for a second.' A gulp escapes you. If you had the chops to become a lawyer, you would have pursued that path a long time ago. You wave your hands uselessly like they can shake off the accusations. 'I didn't mean to spy on you. I promise!' 'How did you get in here?!' 'Miranda let me in. She said I could talk to you.' The obvious question never passes her lips. Bypassing Miranda seems to allocate you some respect. 'Alright,' she says, steepling her hands, 'then start explaining. Why are you here?' [[Bluff->InterviewBianca2]]

'Listen doll, I know that you think what you do here is important but you're clearly just an obstacle in my way today, so I'll give you a choice: tell me where my interview is supposed to be, and shut the fuck up; or get the fuck out of my way. Your choice,' you say firmly, adopting an aggressive pose. Esme watches you silently, waiting to make sure you were quite finished. 'Uh-huh, I see,' she begins, obviously unimpressed. '//That's// how you intend upon solving your problems...' she tuts quietly. 'Well, let's just see how you handle a fresh one, eh?' Esme begins dialling furiously into her handset. 'Hi, M, it's Es...' she speaks quickly into the phone. 'Mhmm, yes, I'll need you up here straight away. (if: $metM is false)[We've got //another one//](else:)[The //little Queen// is back again].' She slams the receiver home before she turns to you. 'Well, this should be fun!' { (set: $alarmActive to true) (set: $ejected to true) } (if: $bookKey is true)[ Frantically, you search around for options... You realize to the lefthand side of the reception is the hallway door, one you haven't tried. Seized with an idea, you produce the old key from the book on the bookshelf: perhaps that book was a hide-a-key! Dashing over to the door before anyone can arrive you're extremely relieved to discover that the key fits. Unlocking the door with a //squeak-squeak//, the mechanism is stiff, but yielding. Yanking the door open you catapult yourself through it and slam it shut behind, frantically thumbing the lock closed. Heaving deep breaths, you hope that 'M' doesn't have a key to this door--although given she's security, is that really likely? //'No. Damnit. I don't have long...'// Your eyes scan the corridor. Around you are various hallway doors, all locked tight. The corridor appears to be a dead end... Unless, what is that in the corner? //'Is that a cat-flap or something?'// Maybe you could fit through there? [[This is no time for pride, just get out of this hallway!->Is that a doggie door?]] [[Give up, and let M seize you->You find yourself outside]]] (else:)[ Frantically, you search around for options... ...and realize you're out of them. A door opens on the opposite end of the foyer, and a heavy set woman in what appears to be a glossy white blouse, brown blazer and a toughened laminate leather-look skirt that ends past her knees. Her black hair sits in a bob. She's wearing shades, which combined with the narrow line of her lips intimidates you. { (if: $metM is true)[ <br>It's 'M' again!<br> ] } <figure><div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/dADVBXA.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[CastielSkyfall]</figcaption></figure></div> She's not pretty like the receptionist is, but 'M' is still attractive. Confident. You're lost in vulgar thoughts as you drink in her figure. That's when her arms shoot out. You don't even realise you should dodge: and she's fast! She quickly twists you around and grabs your wrists. Then, she crushes them in the grip of one hand (she's so strong!') and claps her other hand on your shoulder. 'That's plenty son, you've had your naughty peek. Now be still and come with me.' She starts to push you toward the door. You wonder if you're oogling of her makes her decision any easier, or if people like you are just that common here. She certainly treats you as common, and her wrangling of you doesn't break a sweat. Disobedience is impossible. Even if you wanted to squirm, her hold on you is iron and all your attempts accomplish is the readjusting of her grip. You're almost at the entrance, the glass doors swilring as they await your inevitable, humiliating throw out. [[Whelp, that ended poorly->You find yourself outside]] ]

You swallow your frustration and lean closer, realizing it has prevented you from noticing something. The panel is marked. There are nine buttons in total, but only 4 of them have evidence of being pressed. Your high school mathematics is rusty, but even you know that leads to a maximum of 24 different combinations. Would it lock before you could try them all? Would an alarm blare if you pressed too many? All were possible. But your intuition says there's something important behind this metal sheet. The panel chirps green on your fifth try. A dearth of relief floods you. Luck is on your side. [[The metal curtains open, revealing...->FailedDistract6]]

//Oh god.// Behind the curtain is a glass enclosure you would expect at a zoo, but it isn't an animal inside. Instead, there's a woman, wrapped in layers upon layers of fluffy silk, wearing a maid uniform not out of place in a victorian mansion: a full black dress flowing down to her ankles. But that isn't what draws your attention. A complex rope harness lashes her breasts together and binds her arms behind her back. You can't see through the screen, but you suspect her legs are bound too. Her eyes are closed, drugged in sleep as she sways in her bondage. You avert your eyes, unable to watch, thinking of just how permanent and desolate her existence must be. [[Do something! Try to free her!->FailedDistract7]] [[Harden your heart. Leave while you still can->FailedDistractExit]]

Aside from stationery, there's nothing that could free the woman from her prison. The sheer glass imprisoning her looks several inches thick. There's some kind of door on the opposite side of the glass, but you have no idea how to get to it. You resort to hammering on the glass. It goes as well as you expect, the dull, limp thuds echoing through the room. Frustration lends you some vigour to the attack, then the adrenaline fades, and the pain starts rocketing through your knuckles. By the time you've stopped rubbing your bruised fists, those lethal heels are clacking outside the corridor once more. Shit, shit! What should you do now? <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)] <video src="ClosetOpening.mp4" width="80%" controls autoplay preload> </div> You're not given a chance to respond. Your pursuer, 'M', unlocks the door, flooding the room with light. You see her vicious grin as she charges you, pinning you to the glass wall you'd just tried to break through. 'How interesting,' she muses. 'A snivelling brat like you managed to find your way in here.' [[!!->Caught1]]

You try towards the right, and the lack of light hinders you. The lacking light hinders you, almost causing you to stumble into a wall as you skid to safety, only to find there is no safety to speak of. It's a dead end. Nothing. You whip around and see your pursuer has lulled into an arrogant trance. She studies you, licks her lips, her imposing form forcing you into a corner. 'Well well,' she drawls, eyeing you like a snake suffocating prey. 'You gave me a real chase, insolent boy. But this is where your luck ends.' [[She grabs you!->Caught1]]

You decide to toss away any sense of responsibility, and enjoy this place as if you're an explorer of uncharted lands. //'Besides, I ought to know the //lay-of-the-land// right?'// you ask yourself rhetorically. For all of its slick, black exterior, $company shows no signs of any alternative entrance or backdoor. It's just another imposing, pitch dark wall for you to strain your neck at. [[Hmmm, that may have been a waste of initiative...->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]] [[Wait around. Maybe something will happen->BackdoorEnter1]]

Well, one thing has happened: You've definitely missed your interview by now. As the sun arcs higher in the sky, you begin to sweat, this was perhaps a poor decision on your part. What did you really expect to find here? A secret backdoor? Some kind of criminal conspiracy? Perhaps some supervillain-esque plot to enslave people? You snort at the ludicrous things boredom lets a mind come up with: you never did lack for creativity! Too bad you never put yours to use. ...But surely there had to be //some// kind of back door? You weren't an Occupational Safety expert, but you were pretty sure all buildings--especially big corporate buildings--had to have multiple fire exits. You simply weren't //allowed// to have one with only one way in or out. Even if you were, where would you find somebody insane enough to //build// it? No, there had to be something far more clever at play here: some trick of architecture, some scheme of scaffolding propping up what your eyes tell you is a perfectly flush exterior. Curious, you run your hand along its surface, marvelling at the seamless black expanse. When suddenly, something //creaks!// A giant, metallic squeal groans up from the inside of the building. The wall facade gives, retreating upward like a projector screen. You gasp. Before you stands a great, metal door. A locked one. Flush to the wall, it contains no handle to open it and is absent of any grip to pull it aside. A futuristic-looking keyhole taunts you from the right-hand side. Every instinct is screaming at you to run away - what if you're trespassing, interfering with some business you should be nowhere near? But your heart thumps and throttles your reason because of one simple thing - you're excited. More excited than you have been about anything in your life. You have to know what's behind that curtain. An innocent, repressed sense of adventure begs you to. [[What the hell. Try opening the door->Backdoor Fail]] (set: $ExploredBackdoor to true) (set: $MissedInterview to true)

You take your first steps towards the dark, unusual basement. It goes down. And down. And down. <div align="center" >(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)] <video src="stairs_toSewer.mp4" width="75%" controls autoplay preload></div> After five minutes descending, you start to get a whiff of something foul. Then, the smell starts to climb; you turn a corner, and, for as long as you can manage, catch a splintered view of a sopping, algae-infested tunnel, and wince. The tangy sting of hydrogen sulfide pings your nostrils, while the sheer, dank cold encourages you to either turn back and grab a parka or a pair of clothesline pegs to plug your nose. Your lengthy descent apparently took you to the very bottom of the building. You're in a sewer. //'Yuck...'// The seething, foaming miasma of water and sewage overwhelm your senses as you enter. Trickling, lapping waves echo in the distance as you hear the pitter-patter steps of tiny animals scurrying above your head, beneath your feet, and ahead in the shadows. Muck and algae infest the air, alongside the tickle of rampant decay. Your nose tells you an entire city’s worth of garbage has been collected here. //'And //Dad// can't build a //shed// without the right permits...'// Progress seems impossible. Whole chasms unravel before you, tunnels splaying out in alien majesty, and they go on and on, winding like the carcass of a snake. At least it was dark: less chance of you being discovered, if nothing else. Much like the grayish globules bursting to the surface with their putrid gases, more questions bubble up. How could the smell be confined to down here? What does an office building want with its own private sewer? And, most pertinently: //What are they hiding here?// [[Continue->DownStairsQuest2]]

You approach the door. It's a flat sheet of polished chrome, standing vigil at the back of a giant office complex, and no key is in sight. Logic reminds you what you're doing is fundamentally irrational, but you shove, grunt, push, and heave anyhow. In two minutes you exhaust every option, and have no choice except to admit its a bust. [[Return, miserable, to the front of the building->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]]

You fetch the book key from your pocket and try it in the lock. You have to steady your grip -- you're shaking -- and shake more when the key slots in. It's a perfect fit! With other-worldly precision, the key almost turns itself in the lock: the mechanism so precisely shaped and balanced that you're met only with silence as you feel the tumblers of the lock yield. It emits the faintest //squeak//, and the door pops open a fraction, as though some air tight seal had been broken. The metal plate gives, soundless on its hinges as it swings open. Heady chills rake your back: you feel like a criminal cracking open a bank vault. This was so exciting! Your heart thunders in your chest as your anticipation builds-- Okay, maybe you needed to reel it back a little. After all, you're kind of breaking-and-entering, you should have your wits about you. [[Mastering your delusions, you tread carefully inside, plunging into the dark->BackdoorSuccess2.1]]

You are surrounded by darkness. No lights flick on at your entrance, no dull glow comes from emergency exit lights: not even a faint shimmer from a power supply. It's so quiet you can hear your heart surge in your ears. You are left blind but for the stray sunlight seeping through the door you just unlocked. Eventually though, your eyes adjust. You're in some kind of loading bay. Long horseshoe platforms surround truck-like depressions in the ground, and you can just make out the forklifts and ladders by the walls. Much like the foyer, it's a relentless wasteland of black and silver, stretching on out of sight. Why hadn't any lights flicked on? You didn't find a switch near the door when you skulked in, and nobody's around to answer any of your burning questions! ...Then again, might that be a good thing? Best you count your blessings. Nobody's rushed over and assaulted you, either. //Whatever.// This was too exciting! You jitter and struggle to keep yourself still. You feel the child-like pleasure returning. Time to investigate! [[Scope out the area->BackdoorSuccess2.3]] [[Check out those forklifts->BackdoorSuccess2.2]]

You approach the machines. They've suffered a black and silver paintjob that camouflages them against the walls and makes them look far more expensive, but otherwise, they're run-of-the-mill forklifts. Very enticing to four-year olds, completely alien to you. Indeed, up-close and in-person the hum of the chargers making the machines vibrate made them seem almost treacherous with their heft. You don't know how to drive a heavy vehicle like this, and judging by the kind of people you've seen riding atop one, you weren't sure you wanted to, either. An uncomfortable thought wriggles to the forefront of your mind. Your grandmother had never told you //what// kind of product $companyNick produced. Your educated guess had been that $companyNick was a logistics company: reports, administration for other firms, that sort of thing. But reports are transmitted electronically, and administration is a //service// not a product. //'So what do they need forklifts for?...'// You ask yourself. Forklifts were good for moving //heavy// things, and none of that weighed much of anything at all... So what on earth //were// they up to? [[Go back->BackdoorSuccess2.1]] (set: $investigatedforklifts to true)

You scope out the floor. It's the size of a basketball court, and you spend minutes taking it all in. Despite it's vastness, it feels cramped. Piled high in a labyrinthine maze of stacks, whatever they were moving through this warehouse was either very carefully organized, or hopelessly subsumed in the clutter. There appears to be much of interest--although you don't //quite// understand what half the stuff is. Huge metal armatures lurk in the dark corners of the ceiling, like those in a car factory. Dials and cables flow out of huge switchboards across the centre of the room, extensions of the manufacturing appartus. Something resembling electronic processors line the walls. '//That's probably what they are, right?//' You were never really good with tech. More contradictions strike you. If this is a loading dock for shipping things //out//, then where were the conveyor belts funnelling //in// whatever $companyNick is shipping? You can't see any evidence of that, the poor lighting making the walls is the distance difficult to make out. Footsteps echo from somewhere in the walls. Your excitement shrivels in an instant. You're in a place you aren't supposed to be, and you have no idea what consequences you might face if you are discovered. Quick, hide! [[Run for the exit, the way you came in!->FailedBackdoor]] (if: $investigatedforklifts is true)[[[Nestle between the forklifts->ForkliftHide1]] ] [[Duck under the loading dock!->LoadingDockHide1]]

You decide to take the already investigated option. Having inspected them before, you skulk over and nudge yourself in-between the forklifts. It's not the best camouflage, but you didn't panic. There's no reason for them to think they're not alone. The doors slam open, yet not from an urgency to find you. Two women enter, both wearing a glossy uniform like Esme, the receptionist. One storms forward, the other trailing at her side. 'This is farcical. Nobody worthwhile ships //anything// this late,' grumbles the first woman. She's short, and her raven-black hair is done up in a taut bun. She's thin, with a ferrety face, wearing a ribboned navy blouse with a frilly choker. She's storming ahead, fuming behind her glasses. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/w1vwWDX.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> '//Oh,// I know!' agrees the second lady. She is slightly plumper, though still curvy, taller than her colleague, with tossed blonde-red locks and thick, smoky eyes. Puffy, purple sleeves distinguish her uniform. 'I swear, if Lady Elizabeth doesn't fix this soon--' Ferret-face whips around in a cold fury. 'Do not speak ill of the Mistress,' she reminds icily. 'Otherwise you may end up working this room longer than you want.' The second woman, who you take to be her junior, gulps. 'Yes, of course. Forgive me for speaking out of turn.' Her superior swats the brown-noser away. 'Grovel at my feet later. For now, we need to ensure our shipments remain primed to send out.' They take up their positions by the two monitors in the centre then the screens light up. From your vantage you can't decipher their keystrokes, but you can see what they're looking at. Profiles of women. Lots and lots of women. They're a trafficking business! [[Listen and wait. Try to learn more about the sleekly-dressed traffickers->Traffickers1]] [[Rush out into the open, play hero->Traffickers2]]

You dash for the door you came through, jingling your key several painful seconds before it fits into the lock. But when you try to turn the key, it doesn't budge! You've trapped yourself, or set off some kind of alarm, and no one knows you're back here! Two women burst through the doors, spurred by your blatant running. They resemble secretaries, wearing tight, glistening rubber similar to the receptionist. The first woman is short, her raven-black hair done up in a taut bun. She's thin, with a ferrety face, wearing a ribboned navy blouse with a frilly choker. The second lady is slightly plumper, though still curvy, taller than her colleague with tossed blonde-red locks and thick, smoky eyes. Puffy, purple sleeves distinguish her uniform. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/w1vwWDX.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> They stalk in with urgency. You rattle the door again out of panic, and that's when they see you. You whip around, seeing them jerk in surprise and attempt to corner you, and put up your hands in a frantic wave. 'No, no, I don't mean to be here!' There's a slight pause. 'Who are you?' asks the blonde. 'Oh, don't waste time Greta,' says the first, Ferrety one. 'Get the slut-stunner.' The tall blonde, presumably Greta, pulls a plastic rectangle from the small of her back, and it takes you a second to realise what it is. A taser! She fires, and you try to dodge: but you're much too slow! Thousands of volts coil through you, searing you in thunderous pain before you crumple to the floor. [[You wake up, dizzy->Interrogation1]]

While your mind threatens to crack under the pressure of the ensuing, clacking footsteps homing in on you, you sneak over to the middle of the loading dock horseshoe. The depression at its centre is large enough to house a delivery truck. You jump in, then peek over the lip of the edge. You're just in time as the lights in the room thunder on overhead, flooding the area with a harsh industrial-grade brightness. The doors slam open, yet not from an urgency to find you. Two women enter, both wearing a glossy uniform like Esme, the receptionist. One storms forward, the other trailing at her side. 'This is farcical. Nobody worthwhile ships //anything// this late,' grumbles the first woman. She's short, and her raven-black hair is done up in a taut bun. She's thin, with a ferrety face, wearing a ribboned navy blouse with a frilly choker. She's storming ahead, fuming behind her glasses. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/w1vwWDX.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> '//Oh,// I know!' agrees the second lady. She is slightly plumper, though still curvy, taller than her colleague, with tossed blonde-red locks and thick, smoky eyes. Puffy, purple sleeves distinguish her uniform. 'I swear, if Lady Elizabeth doesn't fix this soon--' Ferret-face whips around in a cold fury. '//Do not speak ill of the Mistress!//' she reminds icily. 'Otherwise you may end up working this room //longer// than you want.' The second woman, who you take to be her junior, gulps. 'Yes, of course. Forgive me for speaking out of turn.' Her superior swats the brown-noser away. 'Grovel at my feet later. For now, we need to ensure our shipments remain primed to send out.' They take up their positions by the two monitors in the centre then the screens light up. From your vantage you can't decipher their keystrokes, but you can see what they're looking at. Profiles of women. Dozens and dozens of women. They're a trafficking business! [[Listen and wait. Try to learn more about the sleekly-dressed traffickers->Traffickers1]] [[Rush out into the open, play hero->Traffickers2]]

'What was that?' says the blonde, hand whipping to her heart. 'An intruder,' the shorter one tempers. 'Are you sure?' Ferret-Face nods. 'I streamlined this room to perfection years ago. The process, the harmony of it all, is immaculate. And as a general rule, nothing crashes on coincidence, dear.' Greta hesitates, backing away. 'Then we should go. We don't know who it is. They could be dangerous...' 'That's unimportant,' snarls Ferret-Face. '//We// don't back down from //ruffians//. He's trespassing...' she trails off as the pair continue their search for you. The air thickens. You feel your heart triple its weight, nestling into your stomach. No sound. You can't make a single sound. Their heels click in steady tandem as they close in on you. 'How can you be sure it's a man?' Greta poses. 'A woman wouldn't do something this stupid.' [[Shit, shit!->Try to Escape2]]

You come-to in a different place. It's still mostly dark, but there's a bright spotlight directly on you. It probably isn't helping your headache. A soreness permeates your body as you experimentally flex a few muscles. //Everything// hurts... It takes you a few minutes to try to move your head. What you can see isn't surprising; you're in a black, shiny room adorned with chrome-finish countertops and what resemble dentist chairs with leg stirrups. You attempt to twist your head back, and are met with a stiff leathery resistance across your forehead. You try to lift your hand to feel what it is, when you realize that your arms and legs are fixed as well. You're bound to one of these examination chairs! As your skin rubs against the material strapping you down, it feels a little odd and you notice something else... It's unusually cold in here... You're naked! Your struggles become frantic as panic sets in: you were stuck fast to this chair. Figuring the only way out was with some help you cry out... ...Or at least you try. 'MMmmmph mphee!' is all anyone can hear, your feeble attempt at communication completely blunted by the gag you can now feel squeezing against your teeth. 'MMMMPH!' you muffle out as you thrash in your chair. Almost as desperately though, you fall silent as another sound joins your muted protests. Metal-tipped heels were clacking across the floor towards you. [[Who is it?->Interrogation2]]

You leave through the front door, proffering a raised eyebrow from Esme, who observes your exit without a word. Pacing, you wind around to the back of the building. The metal door remains untouched, sentinel-silent as it awaits your decision. (if: $bookKey is true)[[[Try the book key->BackdoorSuccess1]]]

//Some days later...// You were nervous as you looked directly forward into the back of the head of the woman in front of you. 'All of you show excellent submissive potential,' began a petite yet imposing woman. You knew her name was Maria, but all you ever addressed her as was 'Mistress'. Bright red facings on a figure-hugging, double-breasted skirt suit flared brilliantly in the dark space, giving her a fiery aura as she surveyed her charges. You grew bright red as you flushed in shame. You weren't raised to be a submissive girl, you were raised to be a Dominant //man//. The small woman began pacing the lineup. 'And I know //all// of you are going to make $companyNick proud,' she stopped in front of you. A red and black riding crop shot out and cradled your chin with a precisely controlled motion. Gently she applied pressure to one side of your chin until you turned to face her. 'And $company does //not// ship out girls that don't make the grade...' You gulped, and nodded. 'Yes Mistress,' you reply quietly. She let the riding crop fall to her side as she smiled slightly at you. You figeted slightly in your white laminate straight jacket. //'Was this really necessary?'// you ask yourself, but Maria seems to be a mind reader. 'We know that needy sluts like you can't be trusted to keep your hands off yourselves--or each other, for that matter. Think of the straight jacket as a protective hug from $companyNick to keep you--ah-hah--//eager// on your way to the training facility...' A slight tug backward on your neck reminded you that you were but one girl in this coffle. All of you were chained together, standing in the loading dock, waiting to be sent away. 'I just know that as soon as you start to //listen// to your training, your perspective will take you to new--ah-hah--"heights," as it were.' Maria's speech finished just as a large black box truck reversed into the loading bay. The 'M and S' of MaidSlaves training centre were emblazoned in white on the side. <div align="center">Ending: Sent to Maid Slave Training ENDING CODE: 9MAIDSLAVE (link:"Start Over?")[(goto:"Beginning of Story")] <img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 50%; border-radius: 15px;" alt="game logo"></div>

As the sun beat down on your exposed back, you were grateful for the sunscreen some groom had rubbed you with earlier. Initially the thought of the gruff man rubbing lotion into your every crack made you grimace, but the heat of the day quickly dispelled your notion that the activity was solely puerile. Upon arrival you'd been shaved, washed, and harnessed into pony tack in under an hour in some nameless steel shack near the highway. Made to march over 5 kilometres in the hot sun, you barely resisted as the ranch hands fastned you into a sturdy frame with the other new arrivals. The purpose of your exposed position soon became clear as the ranch hands finished and walked back in front of the ponies where they could be seen. There were about half as many handlers as ponies, a half-dozen in all: three men, and three women. And the ones that weren't sprouting bulging packages were strapping on long smooth dildos: you gulped. You had a feeling you knew where that was going. A few winces and groans from the other ponies indicated some of them were worried about their fate as well: some of those dildos looked //big//. A short ranch hand, a man with heavy boots and a well-worn leather hat approached you with a double-ended dildo strapped to their body. The bobbing blue length smacked your face a couple times as the ranch hand fiddled with something you couldn't see. Fearing what was coming next you braced yourself, but you were instead surprised. Rather than beginning with a forced face-fuck, he's instead shoving a bottle of water into your mouth around the bit. After the march to the stockade you were very thirsty and drank greedily from the bottle, sucking down every last drop. Despite your predicament, you were instensely grateful in that moment for the cool water. You shiver briefly, then nod your thanks as he places a cool wet rag over the back of your neck, further cooling you. Moving around to your back, the nameless ranch hand uses a rag on a stick to wipe your sweaty body with cool clean water. It's so pleasant, that for a moment, you forget entirely about your situation and just revel in the relief of the tender care. He starts to wipe underneath much of your pony tack, swiping underneath straps, and undoing others to ensure you have a thorough clean. His progress is so methodical you barely register that he's removed the strap keeping your tail plug in place. You //did// notice when the plug was removed however, the cool sponging rag returning to your privates to ensure they were clean. Riding your wave of relaxation from earlier, you did your best to stay calm as something changed in the ranch hands touches... It was starting to feel somewhat //slicker// back there and as his fingers slipped into your tight hole, you whispered a small amount of thanks that you were at least being well-lubricated. '//That's// it little pony, relax and let Rusty sort you out...' he said soothingly, as one hand went to tickle and stroke your lower back and rump. 'Ponies get a little bit of a lesson when they come here,' he reassures you. 'Just think of it as a little "riding" lesson...' You felt your hole being eased and twisted open by small circular motions of the dildo, it's well-slicked length finding precious little resistance against your pucker: the plug had done it's job. 'Mmmhmm... that's a good little pony. //My little pony,// Hah!' Rusty chuckled as the dildo penetrated deeper. 'Mmmm... Ponies are for riding,' the dildo bottomed out, you grunted, the unfamiliar sensation provoking hidden pleasures in you. 'Ponies are for service,' he smacked a flat hand on your rump and you flinched at the sting. Your eyes widen as you see some of the other ponies serving their ranch hands orally. Rusty meanwhile slowly withdrew the dildo almost exiting your hole. 'But above all, ponies are for //perfecting//,' he finished as he slammed the dildo forward once more, making you squeal like a stuck pig. All pretence at slow lovemaking gone, Rusty proceeded to hammer into you at his preferred pace, riding the other end of the dildo as he defiled your butt-pussy. It doesn't take long before you're leaking. The constant assault of your prostate kills your erection for the time, but you still feel a building inside you. Moaning in time to Rusty's thrusts, it seems you and the ranch hand are edging close. You feel a warm gush on your butt cheeks as your body releases it's control and your cum flows out in an uncontrolled stream. 'Mmmmm.... you see little pony? Good ponies get rewarded here...' he heaved several deep breaths. 'Did you like your reward for that tough march?' he asks, as he unstraps the dildo from his groin. Carefully undoing all the straps, he pushes it forward off of him and back into you as he walks around to face you. You nod eagerly, before Rusty strikes you with a riding crop on your left pectoral. 'Ponies answer with their hooves. Now stomp once if you enjoyed that?' Coming down from your orgasm-high, you're once again conflicted, but Rusty's Dominant pose over your restrained form intimidates you, so you answer honestly. //Clomp// '//Good// pony. Let's get you bedded down in the barn, it's dressage training at first light tomorrow!' Rusty explained to you in obvious delight. It seemed as though training had only just begun. <div align="center">Ending: Sent to Pony Slave Training ENDING CODE: 8PONYBOY (link:"Start Over?")[(goto:"Beginning of Story")] <img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 50%; border-radius: 15px;" alt="game logo"></div>

You come-to when someone spritzes water in your face. Groaning, you wipe the moisture away. It's a little awkward -- there's something restricting your movement. As your eyes blink open, you take in your surroundings. You seem to be back in the loading area, but inside some kind of kennel cage, the sort used for large dogs or circus animals. You bring your hands to the bars, and aren't entirely surprised by the length of chain joining them together. Breaking up the empty warehouse are two pillars of black laminate before you. Peeling your eyes upward, you meet the stern face of Greta. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/ONDafzL.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'Good to see you're awake //slave//...' she muses. 'How are you feeling?' 'Mmmph!' is all the reply you can muster, your hands flying from the bars to feel your face. You've got some kind of bit gag in your mouth. 'Glad to hear it,' chuckles Greta. 'You know I wasn't sure what to do with you, at first...' she teased. 'You trespassed, saw too much, and understood less. These women aren't here against their will, but you shooting your mouth off would have ruined their //passionate// futures... 'So, what to do with you? Fortunately //you// provided me with the answer,' she laughed lightly again. 'Of all the things to pinch from shipping and receiving, you plucked a shipping bill, did you know that?' Bereft of speech, you shake your head. 'Do you have any idea what it's for?' she persists. Again, you shake your head. 'Hmmm... I'm not sure I believe you when you're such a //perfect// candidate.' Her tone was oddly warm. 'Maybe it was your subconscious, maybe it was fate, who's to say? But your little performance back there erased my doubts. You've got the physique, you've got the endurance, now we just need to fix your--curiosity...' she smiled. 'You're going to learn a lot I expect, and there's not better cure for curiosity than knowledge. '//Carnal// knowledge, specifically.' She winked down at you. 'You see $name, you picked up the shipping slip for none other than the Shiny Stallions pony ranch!' You're confused expression elicits only more amusement from Greta. 'You're going to be trained as a ponyboy! Won't that be fun?' You shake your head furiously and renew your struggles in your cage. '//Nonsense//,' she asserts, 'I think you're going to enjoy running around in a pretty little harness, being all shinied up for show... And basically being a portable sex toy, hahaha....' she descended into laughter as you gradually give up on your struggles: they got you nowhere. 'And here they are now...' she smiles as a horse trailer reverses into the loading dock. [[Ending: Sent to Pony Slave Training]]

Slowly coming into your field of vision is the smirking visage of Greta, looking down at you with some perplexing partnership of pity and play. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/ONDafzL.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'Such a shame you couldn't have come in the front door, we might've had SO much fun together...' her words ooze out of her ruby-painted lips as she starts to run her hands over your naked body. You shiver at her touch. Despite your desperate situation you can't help but find the idea of being at this woman's mercy unfathomably erotic. She giggles, 'Mhmm oh? Is our little intruder //enjoying// this, Hmmm?' She raises an eyebrow. 'Haha, well that will make this next part just //so much easier//. 'Well //little boy// you thought we trafficked women here,' she grabs your cock with one hand while she presses on your chest with the other. Her eyes catch yours and hold them in a predatory stare. 'And what would you say if I were to tell you that not only do all those women //want// to be exactly where they are--some of the actually //beg// for it?' 'Mmmphg phr phit?' you try to ask, squirmling slightly as she delicately strokes your hardening member. 'Yes, //beg for it//,' she replies. Clearly, she has a lot of experience interpreting people who are gagged. 'Let's see what else you can discover while you're here, shall we?' she asks playfully as she slowly pumps your cock. 'So, do you //like// being tied up?' she asks. You shake your head but she only laughs, light and flirty. 'Sorry darling, trick question. We already know the answer to that one...' [[Deny it with all your might!->Interrogation3]]

Greta leans in and smiles, dismissing your erratic shakes. 'Tell me, have you ever thought about serving someone? About devoting your life to their pleasure?' You shake your head at her continued questioning. 'Hmmm, //that// I believe, I think... But tell me, are you thinking about it now? Does that thought--//excite// you?' You try your best to deliver a firm, negative response, but as she increases her stroking pace, it gets hard. Her thumb starts to massage a small area right under the tip of your dick, lubricated by your pre-cum: your 'No' is lost in the shudders she elicits. 'Ooooh, //that's// a big yes!' she says approvingly. You want to keep denying, but there's no point, is there? Greta has graduated from any pretence at stroking to full-on jackhammer, tormenting you with wave after wave of pleasure. Then suddenly, Greta takes the pressure off. At first, you're relieved, panting from exhaustion. It takes you a second to realize she hasn't granted you release. Need fills you. Unbearable need. It's like the woman knew just how far to push your dam before it burst. Your neck strains, your body spasms in a fit, both eyes clawing, begging the woman to relieve you. 'Does my little girl need some help?' she asks coaxingly. You nod, fervent, and she leans over you until her nose is an inch from your trembling shoulders. 'I'm going to remove your gag, and in exchange for your cooperation, I will leave you satisfied.' You nod, more desperate than slavish, and Greta's laminated sleeves reach behind your neck. There's a rubbery pop, and then your gag falls, saliva-coated, to rest inside your adam's apple. 'Please...' you rasp, 'I'll do anything.' She strokes your neck, gently this time, and looks over her prize wistfully. '//That's// the right attitude, darling. If you wish to stay at $companyNick and for me to relieve you, you must proclaim your submission and loyalty right here. //Right now//. Does the little girl understand?' Your mouth quivers. Your cock twitches. Why did you get so aroused at that nickname? Perhaps anything would feel arousing when you were this wound up. You balance the pros and cons of obeying in your cum-addled brain. So what if you submitted to her? What did a fake promise really mean, anyway? You weren't signing any kind of contract, they couldn't hold shit over you. And you were going to do whatever got you release... 'Yes, Miss Greta,' you growl out, 'I submit.' '//Excellent//,' she coos, and gets to work. It takes less than ten seconds to relieve you, being so tense and pent up, and you orgasm right onto her laminated chest. 'Goodness, you're such a //messy// girl,' she chides, gathering up a swath of cum in her fingers. 'Here, you ought to clean this up.' You open your mouth on instinct and what feels like a pint of sticky, salty liquer funnels down your mouth. Mhmmm. Delicious. Your body shudders as (link-reveal: "you swallow a few times, exploring the unfamiliar taste...")[ {(set: $randomResult to (random: 0,1))} (if: $randomResult > 0)[<div style="padding: 5px; border: 2px dashed gray; border-radius: 5px;">(text-color: "gray")+(text-size: 0.7)[//Random Event Success!//]</div> 'I think that's all I needed to see!' she giggles as she finds a towel from underneath the table and wipes her gloved hands dry. 'I think you'll be a //perfect// fit for our program, as soon as we fix your--how to put it--mental space.' She finished brightly [[Ending: Sent to Maid Slave training]] ] (else:)[<div style="padding: 5px; border: 2px dashed gray; border-radius: 5px;">(text-color: "gray")+(text-size: 0.7)[//Random Event Failure!//]</div> 'Sadly though, I don't think you have //quite// the right temperament for docile, //obedient//, service...' she pauses as she considers. 'No, I think we'd best be rid of you in the most expedient way possible.' She withdraws from the examination table and dials a series of numbers into an archaic landline telephone. You struggle in your bonds, desperate to escape what she might have in store for you. So focused is your attention that you miss some of what she's saying into the phone. 'Yes, another tresspasser I'm afraid,' she pauses, listening. 'No, in the loading docks this time. Yes, I've got him immobilized here if you just want to come pick him up?' She looks up at you, and smiles as she watches you squirm. 'No, I don't think he's going anywhere at all...' [[A police officer eventually arrives...->Male Prisoner Processing]] ] ]

Answers will have to wait. Your foot snags on a pipe hidden below the surface, and you stumble into the shallow, murky water with a splash. Looking down in the dark, you make out that the bottom half of your trousers is soaked in sewage water. Ugh. Abruptly, the lights flicker on. The brightness is blinding, searing away the reliable comfort of the dark you've grown accustomed to, but the worst thing is what follows. (text-style:"condense")['Eerrrggggg.'] An inhuman groan whispers from somewhere far off, at the edge of your hearing, yet //definitely// from //within// the sewer. Your fall appears to have awakened whatever guardian roams these tunnels. Has $companyNick hired an animal tamer? Were you about to face a crocodile? The source of the voice turns the corner. //'Ah. No...'// you think to yourself, //'Much worse.'// It's a man. Or, something //resembling// a man. The figure is clad in black laminate, the lone exemption being nose and mouth holes, plus a reptilian tail poking out of its butt. It rampages past the corner, slobbering, slavering, seeking prey. //'Ah, "prey,"'// you sigh, //'That would be //me//, I suppose...'// [[Run!->DownStairsQuest3]]

You scramble away. Terror energizes you to unprecedented heights, sprinting with all your might, and yet--//somehow//--the blind, laminated furry is faster. It seems he knows these tunnels so well a lack of sight isn't slowing him down. Far from it: he's //gaining// on you. Loping forward on all fours, spittle flying from his jaws, ready to crush your torso between his teeth and death-roll you into oblivion. //Fuck, fuck, fuck!// When had everything gone wrong? This morning your only priorities had been on acing your interview, or at least convincing your family you'd tried. Never had you thought they would turn to finding a way out of this laminated hell of cubicles and secret passages, and this impossible, //fucked up// resurgence of slavery. You don't have time to panic. The creature is almost at your heels, gnashing its impossibly large teeth, growling sinisterly. If you don't come up with something fast, he will catch you. And you don't want to find out what he does after that. You scram. [[Keep running!->FailedDownStairsQuest1]] [[It can't see you with that laminate, right? Go still->DownStairsQuest4]]

His jaws wide, the croc-man hisses as he lumbers towards you, spittle dripping from his gaping maw. Keeping quiet, you back away, but your feet stumble in your terror! Slipping on the putrefaction-slick surfaces, you tumble in a wet slapping mass to the hard surface of the walkway floor. Instantly the croc-man leaps forward on to you. {(set: $randomResult to (random: 0,1))} (if: $randomResult > 0)[<div style="padding: 5px; border: 2px dashed gray; border-radius: 5px;">(text-color: "gray")+(text-size: 0.7)[//Random Event Success!//]</div> He sinks his teeth into your neck, in a biting, violent action! You push against his shoulders with all your might and thrash around. All you manage to do is throw him slightly off-balance and you take the opportunity to try to rock the motion further. You end up grinding your groin on his in a bruising dance that brings neither of you pleasure. You buck forward violently, hurting the croc-man who howls as he rocks to the side taking you with him! The pair of you splash down into the muddy foulness of the sewer. Uou scramble to stay afloat, but you're out of your depth. [[Ending: Died in the Sewer]] ] (else:)[<div style="padding: 5px; border: 2px dashed gray; border-radius: 5px;">(text-color: "gray")+(text-size: 0.7)[//Random Event Failure!//]</div> He puts his mouth to your neck in a sucking, needy action... It seems the croc-man has certain //needs// that aren't being seen to. A big turgid example of those needs was swelling up in the from of his laminate suit. You could feel the pressure and //oh// the //warmth// of his arousal as his hands began to rove over your clothed body and his legs wrapped around yours. Coiling around you almost like a snake, he dry humps you a little before his tongue surges up to your ear. 'You're //mine// now bitch.' he snarls. [[Ending: Sewer Slave]] ]

You take what sounds like the worst advice your brain could come up with, and go still. Water splashes in a torrent as you rattle your feet. You itch to turn around, your mind screams to. Yet you know that would only give you away. Miraculously, the 'crocodile' stops too. It snarls, sniffing, waddling up to you and missing you by an inch. You don't have much time. You have to think of something. You end up with two choices: (link-reveal: "Try running now!")[ You make a mad dash away from the creature, abandoning your pretext of secrecy. Initially, you think you've made some gains but it seems this croc knows these sewers all too well! Leaping out ahead of you, he exits from a shortcut and turns his menacing features towards you. [['Well, shit.'->FailedDownStairsQuest1]] ] (link-reveal: "Chamber of Secrets this shit. Throw a rock!")[ You find a fist-sized pebble in the water and toss it as far as you can. The 'crocodile' cranes its head in slow recognition. It grunts, scoops a puddle in irritation, and storms off. Phew. You're safe [[At least for now...->DownStairsQuest5]] ]

You slink away, your heartrate shot and your innards feeling hollow. You feel tenuous, like you weren't sure if an organ was going to slip out of your body. The tunnels wind on. As you wade forward, both feet making no sudden movements, you notice something. A slated metal rung ladder waits for you just ahead, promising salvation and a way to the surface. Hope strengthens you. You straighten your posture, and your mind feels as if it's been released from a fugue. Is it a trap? You have no way to tell, but going by your experiences today, you would be idiotic not to have reservations. [[Take the ladder->DownStairsQuest6.1]] [[Keep exploring. Maybe that crocodile was guarding something down here->DownStairsQuest6.2]]

The croc man drags you under, keeping your thrashing form beneath the foetid waters. Your last glimpses of the world are through tea-coloured foulness, and you drown in the filthy sewage beneath the building! It seems like $company has better protections than you could have imagined... <div align="center">Ending: Died in the Sewer ENDING CODE: 10SEWERDEATH (link:"Start Over?")[(goto:"Beginning of Story")] <img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 50%; border-radius: 15px;" alt="game logo"></div>

Shackled to a rusty bedframe, you squirm on the thin mattress. You were face down, which didn't help: your nose was pressed into the stained and smelly mattress, but by now you were used to this position. This was how Master croc left you every night when he went on 1st patrol, spread wide and waiting for his penetration. 'Unnph...' comes a moan from you, easily audible over the buzzing. A deep rumble near your prostate from a well-lubricated dildo kepy you company during the hourlong patrol. You hated how much you enjoyed it. No matter how gross and disgusting this place was, you couldn't help it when Master croc saw to your milkings and your fillings. You could never stop the flood of your juices that would erupt every time He bore down on you, nor stop your pathetic leaking while the vibrator warmed you up for him. Squirming again you were at least relieved for the blue laminate covering your entire form: at least it was easy to clean, something Master croc insisted on doing with an icy cold hose every evening. Barely fed, kept well-watered, and cleaned, you had everything a brainless fuck slave would need: and despite yourself you //loved// it. A heaving grunt alerted you to Master's return. //'He's back!'// you think in perverse delight, your rear perking up in anticipation of his attention. You're rewarded with a meaty slap on your right ass cheek: Master's way of waving 'hi'. 'MMMPH!' you moan out through your bit gag. 'Good to see you too slut. Ready for Master's Meat?' he asks, a dull, warm slapping against your thigh letting you feel how ready he was. 'Mm-mmmm....' you purr as his hands stroke your exposed buttocks. He toys with your dildo a little, making you squirm as he rubbed it up against your P-spot. 'Mhmm, good slave...' he cooed as the dildo slipped out with an oily //schluck//. 'Master loves it when his slave is ready...' With that Master Croc straddles both of your legs, rubbing your buttocks firmly, spreading fresh lubricant all over your crack. His hands slide up your back as he pins your down with this weight. 'mmmm-MMMM-mmpheee' you squeal as your Master slides deep into you with a firm, steady motion. You rumble and moan in pleasure as Master begins to slowly, deeply fill you, the warm mound of his groin coming flush with your pucker. Ramping up the pace slowly, his slick rod penetrates you deeply and yo squeeze back, pumping Master like a good living fuck toy. 'Mmmm that's right slut, squeeze me, show me how tight you can be....' His thrusts gradually increasing in pace to a frantic pumping fervour you lose all sense of time and space. You're lost in an endless ecstasy as you feel yourself leak into the putrid mattress. Master's warmth fills you deep inside: you both sigh. Sometimes submission can be satisfying. <div align="center">Ending: Sewer Slave ENDING CODE: 11SEWERSLAVE (link:"Start Over?")[(goto:"Beginning of Story")] <img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 50%; border-radius: 15px;" alt="game logo"></div>

Determined, you climb the ladder. It's taxing, especially for your drenched, unimpressive little body, and takes longer than you would ever admit to a girl. You always thought yourself a man of guile, of wit, who shed strength and the jocky lifestyle for a sharper mind. Too bad you were dumb as rocks, too. What //did// you have going for you? Luck, apparently. When you exit, you find yourself in a dusty, but lit, maintenance closet. As mercy would have it, there's a chemical safety shower in the corner above a drain. Your sweat having mixed with sewage, you're extremely grateful for the chance to improve your aroma. Turning on the water, you steel yourself for the tepid mixture that begins coming out a rusty brown before slowly clarifying. Whatever was in that sewer though, appears to have been extremely volatile. You can see entire holes in your pants, and there's a weird fizzing around the edges of some stains as they mix with the fresh water. There's a lump of yellow material in the corner, //'Hopefully that's something I can wear?...'// Shedding your destroyed clothing and washing yourself thoroughly of the sewer-stink, you drip dry in the humid space shivering slightly. Nervous about your nakedness, you gingerly pick up the yellow material with pinched fingers. It's a big yellow coverall! It seems like anyone working here would probably have put this on //before// entering the mysterious sewer, but 'any port in a storm,' right? Zipping up the coverall you find yourself a little disappointed. You were hoping that this might be a novel foray into laminate, but alas, the coveralls are made from mere mundane materials. Designed for function rather than form, the coveralls provide chemically-resistant coverage. //'Still, better than naked .Or sewage covered for that matter...'// {(set: $laminated to false)} The air is muggy, and when you open the door you find yourself back on the floor with the three corridors. Leyla stands by the entrance, smiling as you pull yourself out of a camouflaged trapdoor. 'Congratulations, $name,' she says, clapping her dainty hands together once. Guess you're not worthy of a full applause, yet. 'One down, one to go!' Well, it wasn't what you want to hear. But it was better than nothing. [[Pick your next challenge->Completed right corridor]] (set: $CompletedaChallenge to true)

Deciding a half-completed adventure is no adventure at all, you trample on, chewing through tunnel after tunnel. None lead anywhere, except to more of the same. You're starting to give up on whatever precious 'treasure' this laminated crocodile man is guarding that you've concocted in your mind. Then fortune vomits on you again. A cursory splash around the corner alerts you. A slither of movement makes you freeze. The giant, reptilian creature ambushes you from the tunnel corner you're about to cross. Your heart leaps into your chest. [[Run!!!->FailedDownStairsQuest1]]

You were woken early the next morning, not long after dawn. A loud banging on your cell door startled both you and your cellmate. 'UNIFORMS ON. UP AND OUT IN 30 MINUTES SLUTS!' came the cry from the gorilla of a man who'd used the pair of you last night. Fearing what might come from disobedience, you and your cellmate both quickly snap on your fresh prison uniforms from under the slot in the door, and wait. Your cellmate clearly doesn't find your communal attire as interesting as you do. She gives you a curious look as you fondle your sculpting once more. 'I guess... You kind of benefit from some of the shaping, don't you?'

'It will be good for you,' Esme insists, taking a delicate finger to rub your cheek. It's similar to what you experienced as a kid, but with an entirely different meaning. Next, she reaches into her bag. Two lumpy mounds follow, so big they engulf Esme’s hands. ‘H-hey!’ you blurt. ‘Those are breast forms!’ ‘Don’t be silly,’ she chides. ‘It’s to accentuate your chest.’ You don’t believe her, but then again, you don’t feel like stopping her. She slides the breast forms down your blouse, using an adhesive to stick them to the centre of your chest. You shiver at the implications. ‘How does that feel?’ she coos. Perfect. Unbelievably tight and silky smooth. You find yourself out of breath. 'I'll be back in five minutes,' she says. 'Try to be dressed by then.' With that, she leaves and shuts the door. You think you hear it lock. Shit. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/f6iDk0t.jpg" style="max-width: 90%" alt="a woman in pink latex office wear smiles. She has blonde hair and glasses.z"></div> The corset rides all the way up to the false breasts, jutting into them and pushing them up. The heels also help to push up your figure, gaining you several inches of much-beloved height. The door unlocks and Esme steps in. 'Oh, you look //fantastic//.' You look away. You'd never been complimented like that before. 'I couldn't get the corset done up much. Do you really think so?' She laughs, eyeing you over. 'Honey, I'm not going to lie to you. You look stunning. Although I would make a few alterations...' With that, she gets to work, straightening your blouse and helping you do up the corset at your request, directing you to place your hands on a wall as she tightens the straps. By the end, you have to suck in careful breaths to keep the world from going dizzy. 'That looks excellent. Oh, and you forgot these.' She kneels down and fiddles with your heels, wrapping the strange bands of leather from the suitcase around your ankles and winding it under each heel. Then you hear a clicking sound. 'That should help,' she says, standing up, which still seems miraculous in her tight skirt. 'What are those?' you ask. 'Ankle cuffs,' she says. 'They stop you taking off your lovely heels without a key. Should help with your temptation to throw them off, considering how hard they are to walk in. At least for beginners.' 'Okay,' you say, suppressing how you've just technically been put in bondage. 'Aren't I late for my interview?' 'Honey, they can wait,' she says. 'We're just going to put on some finishing touches. Ten minutes later, you stumble out of the storeroom. Esme has found a wig for you, and it nestles comfortably in your hair. She spent plenty of time putting an unsufferable amount of make-up on you, which you don't want to think about. 'Good luck!' Esme says as she waves, unable to hide her grin. Well, at least you fit in now. Time for you to begin that interview.' [['You can take the stairs.'->You can't resist the impulse. Head for the stairs.]] { (set: $laminated to true)} <!-- You are quickly strapped up, bound by tight belt ties that cinch deliciously around your wrists and ankles. --!> <!-- <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/bjRcGmZ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> --!>

You find a lucky break. Greta's interruption hints at their location some metres ahead of you, and, soft as it was possible to step, you circle around them. Lucky there were no twigs lying around for you to accidentally snap. 'Can you see him?' Greta whispers. 'Be quiet!' her boss snaps. With their attention focused in the opposite direction, you sneak through the door they entered through, taking care to be as quiet as possible. Only a faint light emanates from the crack below and above the door, leaving you squinting as you try to scope the place out. The room is much like the foyer, if more rugged and real. Black and silver colours wrap around every surface, gleaming in the dull light, but gone are the leather couches, the bowl of fruit, and the other vanilla dressings of the reception area. In their place are more utilitarian items--workstations, benchtops, and bills-of-lading--themselves no less crisply shining than the room. You seem to have walked into some kind of shipping and receiving office. Where on earth were they selling //slaves//? You grab a shipping docket--at least that's what you assume in the darkness--off of a clipboard, and fold it into your pocket. Maybe you can read it later in the light? The voices of the two women circle back to the doorway, it seems they might have deduced your attempt to circumnavigate them. You can see the shadow of their heeled feet obscuring the scant supply of light. Ducking behind a workstation, you blink in the light as the pair burst open the doors and locate the lightswitch. The pair split up and check the far recesses of the room first, you might just be able to run past them and back into the loading dock! You (link-reveal: "try to make a run for it!")[ {(set: $randomResult to (random: 0,1))} (if: $randomResult > 0)[ <div style="padding: 5px; border: 2px dashed gray; border-radius: 5px;">(text-color: "gray")+(text-size: 0.7)[//Random Event Success!//]</div> Launching forward with uncommmon agility, you make a mad dash for the doorway and it seems you were lucky! Flying through the doors, the pair of secretaries is no match for your grace and speed. Almost floating through the loading dock, you crash into the entry door and try to use the key to open the exit and regain your freedom. 'Damn! Damn!' you curse as the key is stuck fast. Clearly, either this key only unlocked the outside--or someone was trying to stop you from leaving! There's a small prick in your back that turns into a fiery jolt. You spasm violently as thousands of volts thunder through you from one of the secretaries' tasers. As you began to lose consciousness, you hear one of the women chuckle... [['He's actually quite a good runner...']] ] (else:)[ <div style="padding: 5px; border: 2px dashed gray; border-radius: 5px;">(text-color: "gray")+(text-size: 0.7)[//Random Event Failure!//]</div> Launching forward with uncommmon agility, you make a mad dash for the doorway and it seems you were lucky! Flying through the doors, the pair of secretaries is no match for your grace and speed. Almost floating through the loading dock, you crash into the entry door and it bursts open as you collide with it's rigid form. //'Ouch! I'll //that// later...'// [[You've managed to escape!->You find yourself outside]] ] ]

You decide to wait for your interview. And wait. and wait. You're a polite kind of guy. The first fifteen minutes, you think you're doing everybody a service. Then anxiety creeps in. Your toes start to wriggle against each other, your nails beg to be bitten, your armpits sweat up a storm under your plain interview shirt. You start doubting if your grandmother even organised anything for you at all. Perhaps this is some sort of trick to test your initiative, or hypothesis as to whether you have a spine. You stay rigid in your chair a while longer, until you mark half an hour passing on the vintage greyscale clock above reception. Unable to take anymore, you stand up and approach the secretary. 'I was expecting to have my interview by now.' You try keeping your tone civil, but outrage wobbles on the brink. 'That's not my problem,' Esme replies. 'But-' 'That's enough, boy.' She smiles. 'Since you're clueless, let me give you a piece of advice; the Mistress never employs somebody who whines. She's after go-getters. Disciplined and dynamic people. Someone who can really take control of their situation. Currently, you're displaying neither.' On that curt and cryptic note, she checks out of the conversation and continues to type away. You grumble and saunter off. Great. So even getting out of the foyer was some sort of test. Good thing you were a dab hand at games, right? [[Ponder your options->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]] (set: $WaitedforInterview to true)

Well, you can't just wait around and hope somebody else will solve your problems. Grunting, you attempt to summon the scaffold of masculinity you know you're supposed to wear. It's a poor fit, and you fear your chest is jutting out 10 inches too far, but you keep up the facade as you approach Esme again. If this is the mask you have to wear, so be it. 'I'm going through,' you say. 'Oh,' She raises a brow, though doesn't divert her attentions from her screen. 'Under whose permission?' 'My own.' The woman glances up then. A flicker of admiration crosses her face. 'And what has led you to believe you have any authority around here? Are you just another arrogant man?' 'Because I'm not going to wait to be told what to do.' You shoot her a look that says //dynamic go-getter my ass//, though the words never pass your lips. 'I'm going for my interview.' 'You're hardly ready, but that's a good voice,' she says slyly. 'Workshop it. It's almost believable.' Despite her tone, she doesn't stop you. You pause, just a moment, waiting for the world to collapse. When it doesn't, you stride on through. 'Good luck,' the secretary says, bouyant with faux cheer. Her words rake down your back. You hope you haven't just made an enemy. [[Continue->WaitInterview3]]

You sidle up against your hiding place, keeping a sly ear open to eavesdrop on the two strange women. They continue typing on the sleek monitors and pull up more headshot profiles, dozens of women pass by their vision. (if: $Exploredforklifts is true)[Just like the forklifts, these workstations are sprayed in black and chrome decals.] 'Ooh!' remarks the blonde one, swiping a fresh headshot into view, 'how about //her//?' The Ferrety woman taps her chin a moment. 'Hmm... No. She's pretty, and thin as a reed. Mistress will have our hides if we offer one of our best assets to a subpar buyer.' 'So we're looking for someone //ugly//?' The blonde giggles. 'I thought we didn't take in ugly girls.' Her superior winces at the word choice. 'Calling them 'plain' will suffice, Greta. Keep searching.' Your heart is pounding in your ears. What do you do? You could keep listening, hoping for some kind of slip-up, but your intuition suggests you've already heard the lion's share. Maybe there's a better option... [[Try to escape]] [[Rush out into the open, play hero->Traffickers2]]

You bolt from your hiding place, righteous indignation lighting your steps. 'You two! Stop!' your voice comes out firm. They turn to you. 'I demand you surrender yourselves and stop what you're doing! What you're doing is illegal! And wrong!' you finish emphasizing your point with a stomp to the ground. You meant it to be authoritative and intimidating, but to your ears it sounded almost bratty and juvenile. 'Who might you be?' the blonde asks. Her left eyebrow arched in curiosity. 'And just what do //you// think you're doing in here?' 'What //we're// trying to do is our jobs,' the Ferret-Woman says. 'Who are you? Is this another police raid?' 'N-no,' your confidence falters, and you note that for all your bravado, there are still two of them and only one of you. Given the impracticality of their uniforms, is that really going to be a big hurdle? The Ferret woman steps forward, obscuring her colleague. 'You need to explain yourself. You're trespassing on private property and almost gave my colleague a heart attack.' She glares. 'If anybody needs to be arrested, it's you.' What do you say to that? You don't exactly have much evidence. You point your finger and decide to use what you do have. 'I saw you swiping through women's profiles. (if: $eavesdropper is true)[I heard you talking about the women you were going to ship away. ]Like they're animals!' Ferret-Face scoffs, stalking closer, her heels driving like needles into the floor. 'You poor, //confused// boy. We don't //sell// people. Everybody works at $company of their own free will. It is you who have made the mistake. You're trespassing.' She turns. 'Greta, would you despose of him, please?' '//Aww...// I sort of like him,' the other lady says. She smiles at you like you're some kind of stunted child, or a hedgehog without its quills. From the small of her back she withdraws a small plastic rectangle, and it takes you a minute to realise what it is. A taser. She fires, and you're too slow to dodge. The twin-prongs latch onto you, and thousands of volts coil and sear through your body in thunderous pain. Gasping, you crumple limp to the floor. [[You wake up, delirious->Interrogation1]]

(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:green)[Scanning Complete! <tw-hook style="animation: 0.5s steps(1, end) 0s infinite alternate none running fade-in-out;">//Good slave//</tw-hook> ] '//Wait, what was that?//' but the text had already disappeared. (text-style:"condense")+(text-color:green)[Clothing Profile Selected! Profile Chosen: SECRETARY Conditions: MINIMAL RESTRAINT <tw-hook style="animation: 0.5s steps(1, end) 0s infinite alternate none running fade-in-out;">//Please remain calm//</tw-hook>] '//Just how much is INITIAL?//' you think. Your mind scrambles for a solution. Of course, anything short of an EMP grenade was useless now, given the machine has you in its grasp. Unable to help yourself, you think back to how easy it had been to enter the elevator. Of course nobody was going to stop you entering the elevator, it was booby trapped! And you'd just signed your own death warrant! Your heart rebounds to your throat. The scanning ring from the floor springs to life once again as your nervously wriggle in your bondage, teetering slightly on your heels. The machine senses your flailing balance and helpfully snatches your ankles with cuffs, each tightly fixing them in place. The rising ring brings with it a certain //wetness// as it coats your skin with a fine layer of laminate, the liquid spray forming a perfectly smooth elastic enamel over your skin. It pauses as it passes past the highest part of your thighs, moving silently until it reaches your bust area. Once again its fine jets spray a perfect layer coating and stretching tight over your flesh. (text-style:"condense")+(text-color:green)[Base Layer Complete! User Compliance Level: GOOD SLAVE Base Layer Restraint Installation Commencing... <tw-hook style="animation: 0.5s steps(1, end) 0s infinite alternate none running fade-in-out;">...</tw-hook> INITIALISING RESTRAINT] The floor rises up under your feet, and you lean forward thrown off balance. The machine deftly catches you, and quickly ensares your elbows, carting your arms off to the sides. Your feet meanwhile feel a pressure, as they're bonded to the impossibly steep platform heels the machine has extruded beneath your feet. The machine releases you then. Your mind plummets back to earth as the autonomic limbs snake back into their sockets along the elevator wall, sliding perfectly back into place. The experience leaves you dazed, uncoordinated. Teetering from your newfound, involuntary footwear, you take a moment to regain your balance as the elevator chuffs open. An overhead digital display claims you have reached the fourth floor. (set: $EquippedHeels to true) [[Next->HUB 2]]

You halt, and toss up between freeing the stranger that obviously isn't here of her own free will. It's hard, but you know the right answer. The rubberised world inside this building, whether part of some secret society or something more, clearly has different rules from everywhere else. You think you're starting to understand it to the point of increasing your odds of survival. What you do know is you're not going to stick around to learn what happens to stragglers. Through the strain and turmoil, you come to one grim realisation: showing compassion isn't how you're going to survive here. Strengthening your resolve, you leave the imprisoned maid to her fate and storm down the corridor. In your wild distraction attempts, you've carved a path far enough into the empty halls of the building to not be noticed. Perhaps this is all going to plan in a way, after all. Shock spreads through you as you find what you were looking for. To your left is an elevator - you might just be able to attend your interview after all! [[You don't have much choice. Get in ->ElevatorSuccess3.1]]

'Very well,' Miransa replies, clearly unhappy. (if:$name is "Rope Bunny")['But I think it would do you some good to consider my offer, Bunny.' She giggles. You suspect if her arms weren't bound, she'd be covering a hand over her face right now.] A couple of swipes on her desk, and apparently the appointment is made.

You shake your head. 'I already tried waiting. Half an hour of it. What is it going to take to get the interview I was promised?' Esme dismisses you with a look. 'Not acting like that, I can assure you. I told you, the Mistress doesn't like whiners.' She finishes that verbal slap by bouncing her eyebrows eyebrows up and down, trying to egg you on. You grit your teeth and snarl. She was really starting to piss you off. And she wasn't the only one. This building made no fucking sense. They wanted you to know rules they had never explained, procedures only they knew, and now the blasted //receptionist// was challenging you on etiquette she'd never bothered to share. What were you supposed to do, read her mind? 'You said you wanted a go-getter? Somebody disciplined?' you snarl. 'What the fuck does that even mean?' You slam your hands down on the countertop, and Esme flinches. Silence. Your outburst echoes through the open space, and you suddenly recognise how far you've overstepped. Just as you're about to apologise, Esme grins, cagey, her chest fluttering with her heartrate. 'The rules here are something you are meant to discover. It is not my place to tell you them, just as it is not your place to question.' 'Right, except -' 'I'm sorry,' she says abruptly. 'I know how difficult it is for new hires. Think of it like a puzzle. You look like you're good at those.' You don't know what to say to that. So you nod to her in thanks and slink away. [[Leave->Explore the foyer- HUB 1]]

You walk straight ahead, because why not? You've had to deal with far too much crap today, and you don't need another bundle of joyous problems ramming themselves into your chest. Speaking of problems, the heels are killing you. They turn your footsteps into needling, echoing clacks, and you nearly hurl over after you bump a nearby office desk. You hitch a breath and steady yourself. That's the third time in five minutes you've almost fallen over. And your feet ache. Christ, how did girls handle it? Your first instinct was to rip them off, but whatever glossy material they're made from has stuck with pitch-like viscosity to your feet. Like they're welded together. Eventually, you'll get used to it. It's not //uncomfortable//. If you had to describe it, you would say they resemble little slabs of cold honey pressed against your skin. You shake away your minor feet problems and head for the elevator. Pressing the button firmly, you wait, anxious, until the door chuffs open, revealing... [[!!!->LeylaHub2Reveal]]

<div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/5VDYfOJ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%" ></div> {(set: $metLeyla to true)} The woman is beautiful. She's arabic, and like the rest of women here, dressed entirely in laminate. A demure ruffle spreads down from the top of a tight navy blouse with sharp bishop sleeves, flowing into a high-set laminate dress that ends at her ankles. A wide buckle belt cinches it all together, along with a headscarf to cover her hair. 'Hello $name,' she says in a reserved, precise voice. 'Um,' you say. 'Who are you?' 'I am so glad you asked,' she says politely, inclining her head. 'My name is Leyla. I am the Mistress's personal assistant and head of company operations. I have been so looking forward to your visit. (if:$runaway is false)[It is not often we can be assured of one's character.'](else:)[Even if you did not follow correct procedure.' You blush. Being led through the reception, entirely bound and helpless, has shattered your pride. And yet, paradoxically, you feel your groin swell.] (if: $laminated is true)['I see you have decided in join us in sampling the company attire.' She approaches you, brushing a laminated finger over your laminate blouse and tight, glossy skirt.] 'Why are you here? For me?' She smiles, offering a petite nod. 'Yes. I am to escort you to the Mistress's quarters, when you are ready.' Your heart swells. In between the lust-provoking and dangerous corridors of Venivos Industries, you'd half-forgotten why you'd come here in the first place. Being led to your interview by a woman as elegant and sensual as Leyla, well... you can't imagine your day getting much better. 'So,' she says at last, and you suddenly realise you've been gaping at her a minute, 'are you eager for your interview?' You grin. Eager might be too soft a word. 'Absolutely!' you blurt, nodding frantically. 'Can it start now, please?' She smiles, and you figure she's used the very same tactic to crush a hundred suitor's dreams. 'Not yet. I said I would take you to the Mistress when you were ready. Unfortunately, I do not believe you are.' That uplifting thermal inside you craters and sinks. Shit. You should've expected this. There was always some stupid crap coming up here, some petty condition keeping you in check. Restricting you. Tugging at you. Keeping you back. You cross your arms and frown. Leyla continues. 'As I am sure you have gathered, the Mistress likes to... use games on her potential employees. I am to take you through several tasks the Mistress has devised. When you have completed two of these, I shall consider you properly equipped to handle the Mistress yourself.' Ha. Games. That was one way of putting what you were doing here today. You'd probably use a more apt metaphor; a cat playing with her food. Strutting back into the elevator, Leyla beckons you inside. You walk in. This elevator looks pretty grey and nondescript compared to the previous one, and you can't see any signs of an involuntary changing machine embedded in the walls. Leyla presses a button, and the doors snap shut, a dull electronic note accompanying your glide up several stories. 'I don't see why I have to do this,' you say, bitter. Your grandmother said nothing about participating in any stupid challenges. It's just a job, for pete's sake. 'Have patience, $name,' Leyla comforts. 'Everything will be explained in time. You might even enjoy the games. Trust me.' 'Not much of a game if I don't know the rules,' you reply grumpily. 'The rules will be explained when you enter each challenge. Besides, that is part of the game,' Leyla explains. 'Think of it as a test of character. The right candidate will know how to navigate past the traps and temptations Mistress has put in their way. They will resist their impulses, remain composed, and keep a level head. That is what her challenge tests.' The elevator abruptly stops. The doors open to a plain office floor foyer, what you had expected would be the beginning of your journey when you came here. Dim hallway lights give the impression of a long-abandoned carnival ride. There's a receptionist desk in the middle, though nobody sits there, and beyond it, three separate corridors extend to the left, front, and right. You peer down the three separate corridors. The hallway lights falter about two metres in, and all you can see of them are murky dark corridors. 'I thought you said there were only two.' Leyal shakes her head. 'I never said that. There are three challenges, but you only need complete two. The Mistress is a generous woman. She likes her employees to have choice.' Two out of three. Your cocky side reasserts control and has you pacing while Leyla watches. Can't be too difficult, right? [[Head for the corridors->Challenges1]] [[Talk to Leyla first]] {(set: $challengeChoiceList to (a: "Choose left","Choose right","Take the central corridor","Step back. Maybe Leyla has some useful advice")) (set: $CompletedaChallenge to false)}

'Did you have to complete these stupid tests when you were hired?' you ask, grunting and crossing your arms. She nods. 'Of course! There was much preparation on the day. I accomplished what few people before me could, because I knew the secret of the place.' 'Which is?' 'You have to give in.' 'What?' you stammer. 'You have to understand, $name,' she coaxes gently, 'this place is not for the stubborn and ignorant. It is for people who know their place.' 'What is that supposed to me?' She smiles cryptically. 'I'm sure you can figure it out for yourself.' [['Then what do I have to do?'->LeylaChat1]] [['Is there a time limit?'->LeylaChat2.2]] [['Can you get these shoes off?'->LeylaChat2.3]] [[Head for the corridors->Challenges1]]

'You're a smart boy. I know you can figure out what to do yourself.' You frown. Right, just fumble around and figure it all out yourself. Brilliant career advice. You hoped this woman wasn't visiting any schools. Although it does get you curious. How was this 'challenge' meant to be administered normally? If this is a routine thing, that meant every woman in this building had to complete them. Which eases your fractured mind a little. They shouldn't be too difficult if a whole building's worth of office ladies. Not that you're being sexist or anything. It was just the law of averages. Of course, there was a chance your tasks weren't the cakewalk other women had done. Which sends your nerves spiralling right back up into the stratosphere. [[Ask how she got the job->LeylaChat2.1]] [['Is there a time limit?'->LeylaChat2.2]] [[Head for the corridors->Challenges1]]

{(set: $challengeChoiceList to it - (a: "Step back. Maybe Leyla has some useful advice"))}'Is there anything else you can tell me?' [['Then what do I have to do?'->LeylaChat1]] [[Ask how she got the job->LeylaChat2.1]] [['Is there a time limit?'->LeylaChat2.2]] [['Can you get these shoes off?'->LeylaChat2.3]]

You inhale deeply. No point stalling. You're going to have to pick a lane and hope it works out. You step up and survey your options. On your left is a hallway of subtle, neon lights. They filter and claw through the occluded, occluding, thick darkness, beaming throughout the corridor, and you catch the barest hint of metal glimmering at the end. If you had to guess, you think a sci-fi theme awaits you down there. Turning, you catch harsh, sinewy smells wafting up from the corridor on your right. The air hits your tongue, and it tastes acrid. You spit and try to wipe the scent off your skin, the efforts fruitless. What's down there, a waste disposal plant? Instinct tells you not to wander down that corridor, unless the other challenges are somehow worse. And then there's the central corridor. Whatever challenge it's hiding, the hallway gives you no clues. It's blank, scentless, bland as you would expect. Which do you pick? (if: $challengeChoiceList's length is 1)[ (if: $CompletedaChallenge is true)[ Leyla returns, with a happy look on her face. "I apologize for the rigorous testing, but the nature of our work is so delicate, that we must be truly thorough with all of our candidates... I'm sure you understand?" She had phrased it as a question, but you knew inherently it was an instruction. You were to understand, simple as that. But, at least it seems you were successful. (set: $alarmActive to false) [[Leyla guides you away from the corridor->Interview Bridge]] ] (else:)[ Leyla returns, with a sad look on her face. "Alas, it is not a test if everyone succeeds..." It seems that you have failed to complete enough challenges, and that you must accept the consequences. (set: $alarmActive to true) [[Leyla guides you away from the corridor->Interview Bridge]] ] ] (else:)[ (if: $challengeChoiceList contains "Choose left")[ [[Choose left]] ] (if: $challengeChoiceList contains "Choose right")[ [[Choose right]] ] (if: $challengeChoiceList contains "Take the central corridor")[ [[Take the central corridor]] ] (if: visits is 1)[ (if: $challengeChoiceList contains "Step back. Maybe Leyla has some useful advice")[ [[Step back. Maybe Leyla has some useful advice->Talk to Leyla first0.5]] ]] ]

{(set: $challengeChoiceList to it - (a: "Take the central corridor"))}You stride down the central corridor, holding your head high. Time to see what door number 3 has in store for you. (if: $CompletedaChallenge is true)[Maybe it's stupid to be prideful, but you've just completed one challenge. You'll ace this, piece of cake, and then finish up there. Right, and then the rainbows and daisies would come out and you'd get laid. Hell, knowing your luck, this challenge was going to be the hardest of the bunch.] What you're not prepared for is how quickly the hallway changes. The dim atmosphere vanishes - beam lights installed snap to life across the ceiling, half blinding you. This is accompanied by a rattle of sound at your back, and you whip around just as a metal door slides gruesomely shut where the corridor begins. Your throat knots up. Somebody didn't want you seeing what was inside and leaving easily. You prep yourself, swallow, and march on. Another sound adds to your unease; you can hear a tumbling whir, like laundry, echoing from afar. It doesn't take an engineer to figure out some highly complex mechanism lurks within the walls. (if: $EquippedHeels is true)[And after your encounter with the involuntary wardrobe elevator, you're even more on edge. Your inexperience in your heels start to show again, causing you to take uncertain, hobbled steps.] Mastering yourself, you head through. [[Continue->CentralChallenge2]]

{(set: $toreiTalk to false)(set: $challengeChoiceList to it - (a: "Choose left"))}Pushing open the door, your eyes take a moment to adjust to new lighting. Glaring neon and argon tubes flared brilliantly coloured light around the space, the reflected lights combining to reveal the true colour of objects while the space seethed an unearthly gradient. Everything glitters. The light bouncing off of the metallic surfaces and crystalline objects, reveals this to be some manner of specialized workspace--you assume. Laminate still dominated things like the chair cushions, the wall panneling, and some of the other coverings, but much of the equipment here seemed to be made for function, rather than form. Although what that function could be escapes you entirely. The displays seem to be reading out non-English text, green text blaring strings from some alphabet with which you're unfamiliar. The controls likewise seem to be buttons and dials, but in combinations that betray a complex but ultimately mysterious task. Perhaps you shouldn't touch them. There are three workstations in the room, but only one seems operational at the moment. There's a circular pad next to the unit, what looks like a microphone in the middle of the desk--and what looks like it might be an emergency exit. [[Step onto the circular pad->Transport to Torei]] [[Use the microphone, maybe you're supposed to communicate with someone->Torei Dialogue]] (if: $challengeChoiceList contains "Take the central corridor")[ [[Emergency Exit->DownStairs Bridge]] ]

{(set: $challengeChoiceList to it - (a: "Choose right"))}You stride down the corridor, pinching your nose. It's foul. You're reminded of smells long repressed, guttural, repugnant smells, and as you trudge further down the corridor, they only get worse. At the end sits a staircase, forever leading down. You wend your way along the fetid, dank steps, its twisting structure and passage contorting your sense of direction. [[Continue->DownStairsQuest1]] [[Turn back->Challenges1]]

'I can take as long as I need, right? It's not like this place is going to blow up in 24 hours.' Leyla shakes her head. 'There is a time limit,' she confirms. 'The candidate has one hour to reach the Mistress from the moment he or she walk through the front door of the building. If they cannot...' 'They get fed to the crocodiles?' Leyla laughs, high and sweet. 'Young man, you have a rich sense of humour. But that does not happen. They simply do not get the job.' [['Then what do I have to do?'->LeylaChat1]] [[Ask how she got the job->LeylaChat2.1]] [['Can you get these shoes off?'->LeylaChat2.3]] [[Head for the corridors->Challenges1]]

As you pace, you revert back around to Leyla, troubled. 'Yes, $name?' 'I...I just...' You shake your head. 'It's fine. You're probably right. I'll know what to do when I go in.' She inclines her head. You sense worry clawing at her gaze. 'I am sorry I can't help you further. Mistress wants you to complete these tasks unaided. I would be jeopardising both our careers if I said anything further.' [['Then what do I have to do?'->LeylaChat1]] [[Ask how she got the job->LeylaChat2.1]] [['Is there a time limit?'->LeylaChat2.2]]

Leyla chuckles. 'Oh no, my dear. Those are permanent additions. At least for today.' She parts her dress, and you spot a similar pair of heels, a pristine white, entrapping her own feet. 'They are a mark of the company. You //must// wear something laminated in order to work here.' 'B-but I didn't ask for them!' She shakes her head. 'Nonsense. You must have realised what kind of facility you had entered. What the dress code demanded of you. You may have dismissed such concerns, subconsciously, but the fact you are still here tells me more than enough. You are comfortable wearing laminate. Whether it is something you merely tolerate in order to work here, or something more, is not for me to say.' You stutter and step back. Was the woman telling the truth? Did you truly enjoy laminate, even something as girly as //high heels//, or were you simply enduring them while you awaited your interview? That's a catastrophically loaded question. You'll revisit it when you have more time to spare. [['Then what do I have to do?'->LeylaChat1]] [[Ask how she got the job->LeylaChat2.1]] [['Is there a time limit?'->LeylaChat2.2]] [[Head for the corridors->Challenges1]]

Pushing open the emergency exit, you're greeted by a foul odour, and a staircase that only seems to lead down. The door snapping shut behind you, you tug on the knob, only to find that it has locked. You're stuck now! The only way out, is //down//... [[Keep going down...->DownStairsQuest1]]

(if: $alarmActive is true)[ The second you step fully on the pad, a cylindrical wall snaps down around you, closing with a pneumatic //schnuckit//. You push on the wall desperately, but it's clearly a high-performing alloy: it's rigid and firm. There's a hissing of gas as an octarine-purple cloud rises from the floor, slightly clouding your vision. From up above, an arm telescopes down with a display on the end. Close to one wall, its text is large enough for you to read. (text-colour: "green")["WELCOME TO TOREAN TRANSPORT--$company TRANSPORT HUB"] Blared the screen in big letters. '//OK, well, at least I know where I am...//' (text-colour: "green")["USER STATUS IS: //Un-cooperative//..."] '//Huh, what the hell? That can't be, unless they meant the...//' Your mind reels as you recount your steps through the building, '//Did I trip some kind of alarm?!//' (text-colour: "green")["USER WILL BE RESTRAINED PRIOR TO TRANSPORT"] 'Restrained?' you ask aloud. (text-colour: "green")["WELCOME TO TOREI... SLUT"] Just as the text was fading from the screen, you looked around once more to see if there was some way out of this chamber. As your hand brushes the sidewall once more, a robotic clamp flies down from the ceiling and seizes your wrist. Desperately trying to free it with the other, another arm comes slightly forward and snatches your other hand. Pulling you up, and taking the weight from your legs, you kick futilely as a circular saw armature comes from a hatch in the floor and cuts your clothing to ribbons. 'No! Please stop!!' you scream as you're fully exposed to the chambers machinations. (text-colour: "green")["SUBJECT REQUIRES FURTHER RESTRAINT"] A hinged arm swings from the ceiling with alarming speed. You gasp in surprise and shock, only to have the machine target your open mouth specially. A brief *//gluck//* is your only audible protest as something with ridges and bumps is forced over your lips and across your tongue. Straps deploying from the sides snug the dildo gag tightly to your face. You moan and try to spit it out, but the straps hold it tight. You swallow a little of your saliva only to lodge the dildo more firmly against your epiglottis. There's a faint taste of something sweet dripping down the back of your tongue, some coating on the dildo that tingles as it trickles down your throat, relaxing it. ... and relaxing you too, it seemed. Taking another few swallows, you're overcome by a slight euphoria and your arms go limp as the machine proceeds to guide you into a bolero straightjacket, and gently binds your ankles and thighs together. You sigh gently as a pole rises from the floor, and the machine firmly straps you to it. (text-colour: "green")["SUBJECT IS PREPARED FOR TRANSPORT"] ] (else-if: $toreiTalk)[ You step forward onto the pad, flush with the knowledge of your action. The cylinder walls slowly descend and form a seal with a slight hiss as it clamps to the base. There's no denying you're nervous, but you've decided that it is time to leave behind this meagre world and the trappings of your mundane existence. You yearn to live a life beyond the shackles of the ordinary--if perhaps //beneath// the shackles of someone else. Perhaps you yearn to be a Dominant Sire, transitioning and becoming a successful Freewomb, or maybe you're helpless drawn to the submission of the lower realm of Torean society, either way: you're ready to embrace it from your head to your toes. (if: $laminated is false)[Alas you feel inappropriately attired for a debut in //Torean// society... The clothes you're wearing clearly do not fit the aesthetic of this company, and your interlocutor indicated that $company was a bastion of Torean culture for your world to learn from. Not seeing other viable options, you decide that naked is possibly your best choice, and certainly preferable to conventional textiles.](else:)[Fortunately, $company has provided suitable clothing for your debut in Torean society...] A cushioned chair erupts from a hatch in the middle of the pad. Next to it is a small display. (text-colour:"green")[USE OF G-SHOCK CHAIR IS RECOMMENDED FOR OFF-WORLD TRAVEL] The chair looks a lot like a dentists chair, except with some seatbelts. There's other mounting points where it looks like the machine //could// have mounted some more serious restraints, but instead it sits empty, waiting for you to take your place. As you shift in the seat, there's a whirring noise coming from somewhere. It's only after you've buckled your seatbelt however that the display changes. (text-colour:"green")[PASSENGER IS READY FOR TRANSPORT.... //Pleasant Trip!//] ] (else:)[You nonchalantly stride onto the pad. The second you step fully onto it, a cylindrical wall snaps down around you, closing with a pneumatic //schnuckit//. You push on the wall desperately, but it's clearly a high-performing alloy: it's rigid and firm. There's a hissing of gas as an octarine-purple cloud rises from the floor, slightly clouding your vision. From up above, an arm telescopes down with a display on the end. Close to one wall, its text is large enough for you to read. (text-colour: "green")["WELCOME TO TOREAN TRANSPORT--$company TRANSPORT HUB"] Blared the screen in big letters. '//OK, well, at least I know where I am...//' Aloud you ask, 'Uh, how do I exit this pad?' (text-colour: "green")["USER STATUS IS: //Curious//..."] The machine seems to pause a moment, as if recalibrating. (text-colour: "green")["USER MAY ELECT TO BE RESTRAINED FOR TRANSPORT"] 'But I don't want to be transported anywhere?' you venture, blinking around trying to see the source of the voice. (text-colour: "green")["USER MAY ELECT TO BE RESTRAINED FOR TRANSPORT"] (cycling-link: Bind $bondageChoice, "No restraints, just let me out please!","Not needed, thank-you!") (link-reveal:"You make your choice...")[ (if: $bondageChoice contains "restraints")[(text-colour: "green")["WORD RECOGNITION 'Restraint'... //Congratulations!// //Curious// USER HAS CHOSEN TO BE RESTRAINED FOR TRANSPORT"] You swallow hard. '//Oh crap... Just what did I just agree to?//' (text-colour: "green")["WELCOME TO TOREI... //SLUT//"] 'Slut?' Just as the text was fading from the screen, you looked around once more to see if there was any interfaces in this chamber. As your hand brushes the sidewall once more, a robotic clamp flies down from the ceiling and seizes your wrist. Desperately trying to free it with the other, another arm comes slightly forward and snatches your other hand. Pulling you up, and taking the weight from your legs, you kick futilely as a circular saw armature comes from a hatch in the floor and cuts your clothing to ribbons. 'Ah! This isn't the safety restraint I imagined!' you scream as you're fully exposed to the chambers machinations. 'Please stop!' (text-colour: "green")["AUDIO SIGNALS INDICATE SUBJECT REQUIRES FURTHER RESTRAINT"] A hinged arm swings from the ceiling with alarming speed. You gasp in surprise and shock, only to have the machine target your open mouth specially. A brief *//gluck//* is your only audible protest as something with ridges and bumps is forced over your lips and across your tongue. Straps deploying from the sides snug the dildo gag tightly to your face. You moan and try to spit it out, but the straps hold it tight. You swallow a little of your saliva only to lodge the dildo more firmly against your epiglottis. There's a faint taste of something sweet dripping down the back of your tongue, some coating on the dildo that tingles as it trickles down your throat, relaxing it. ... and relaxing you too, it seemed. Taking another few swallows, you're overcome by a slight euphoria and your arms go limp as the machine proceeds to guide you into a bolero straightjacket, and gently binds your ankles and thighs together. You sigh gently as a pole rises from the floor, and the machine firmly straps you to it. (text-colour: "green")["SUBJECT IS PREPARED FOR TRANSPORT"] ](else:)[(text-colour: "green")["USER HAS SELECTED TRANSPORT WITHOUT RESTRAINTS"] The screen goes instantly blank almost the moment you've finished reading the words. 'Hey! No! I wanted out of here, not off-planet!' You begin to panic and try to hammer at the display, the walls, anything that might react. But nothing does. You feel a rumble below your feet, it seems that whatever transport you've triggered, to wherever 'Torei' was supposed to be, it's already begun. Perhaps you dream of being a Dominant Sire, transitioning and becoming a successful Freewomb, or maybe you're helplessly drawn to the submission of the lower realm of Torean society, either way: you're about to embrace it from your head to your toes! (if: $laminated is false)[Alas you feel inappropriately attired for a debut in //Torean// society... The clothes you're wearing clearly do not fit the aesthetic of this company, and your interlocutor indicated that $company was a bastion of Torean culture for your world to learn from. Not seeing other viable options, you decide that naked is possibly your best choice, and certainly preferable to conventional textiles.](else:)[Fortunately, $company has provided suitable clothing for your debut in Torean society, at the very least...] A cushioned chair erupts from a hatch in the middle of the pad. Next to it is a small display. (text-colour:"green")[USE OF G-SHOCK CHAIR IS RECOMMENDED FOR OFF-WORLD TRAVEL] The chair looks a lot like a dentists chair, except with some seatbelts. There's other mounting points where it looks like the machine //could// have mounted some more serious restraints, but instead it sits empty, waiting for you to take your place. As you shift in the seat, there's a whirring noise coming from somewhere. It's only after you've buckled your seatbelt however that the display changes. (text-colour:"green")[PASSENGER IS READY FOR TRANSPORT.... //Pleasant Trip!//] ] ] ] Suddenly above you there's a roaring whoosh noise, as though some great fan above you was sucking you up. Slowly the cylinder you're in starts to rise from the floor and accelerate upward. Just as you're starting to feel the weight of the acceleration a massive *//BOOM//* sounds from beneath you and you're whole body becomes ten times heavier. Unseen forces propel you to the stars... (External Link!) (link-reveal: "Head to Torei")[ (goto-url: "https://iconoclast.neocities.org/Lost%20in%20Laminate%208.0.html?")]

{(set: $toreiTalk to true)}Nervously approaching the microphone, you look on the panel to see if there's anything that might help you understand how to use the terminal. There's a hatch on the wall underneath a red light, which is currently (if: $alarmActive) [flashing](else:)[not lit]. The handle looks well worn, as though it is opened often. '//I may as well give it a try...//' (if: $alarmActive) [ The hatch will not budge, it feels as though there is some kind of electronic lock keeping it tight shut--probably something to do with that slightly alarming flashing red light. '//Oh well, I tried...//' you sigh to yourself, you'll just have to fumble blindly if you want this thing to work. Sitting at the operator station, you see a large red button, that might be an "On" button. Shrugging, unsure of what else to do, you push it. ...or at least you try. Despite your pressure, it doesn't depress. Frustrated, you slam a palm onto it, forcing it to snap down and close the circuit. Immediately the machine springs to life, all lights flashing, it sounds a cacophonous klaxon blaring at you. The volume is so loud, and the sound so rancorous, that you're momentarily stunned. '//I guess that was the wrong way to turn it on?//' you think feebly to yourself. The machine seems to go quiet for a moment, almost as suddenly as it came to life, and you heave a sigh of relief at the sudden peace. The machine doesn't stay silent for long, though, as it gradually whirs back to life in what looks like a controlled reboot. A green cursor blinks upon a blank, black screen for 30 seconds while various whirrings and clunkings alternate in their frequencies. A faint static hiss slowly grows louder as the machine finishes its startup routine. Finally, a voice cracks through the static... 'PLEASE IDENTIFY USER' comes a garbled, pixelated voice, the tone faintly urgent. 'Uhh, it's me?' you offer dumbly into the microphone, realizing that whomever it is cannot see you. 'I'm just $name?' 'USER WILL PRESENT FACE TO SCREEN FOR IDENTIFICATION' demands the urgent voice again. As you lean towards the screen, it flashes a bright white and something somewhere clicks. 'USER IDENTIFICATION WILL BE USED FOR MINISTRY OF CORRECTIONS RECORDS' '//Huh, that definitely doesn't sound good//' you think to yourself. Aloud, you say 'Look, I'm really sorry if I damaged anything... I was just trying to turn the machine on--I don't really know how it works.' 'MINISTRY OF CORRECTIONS RECORD CAN BE TERMINATED IF SUITABLE AMENDS ARE PROPOSED.' 'Uh, yeah, amends, that sounds kind of right? I'm sorry if I broke your machine, and I'd like to make it better?' 'DESIRE FOR SUBMISSION NOTED. //WELL DONE//. APPROPRIATE SUBMISSION IS REWARDED' 'Look, I'm not exactly sure what you're getting at, but if you'd just tell me how to make this right I'm happy to do it.' You weren't sure, but it sounded like maybe your interlocutor had a bit of an accent--it seemed like maybe there was a cultural disconnect here. 'APPROPRIATE SUBMISSION WILL CONSIST OF STATING YOUR FULL NAME FOR THE RECORD, AND STEPPING ONTO THE PAD.' 'That's it, I just have to tell you my name and step over there? It's $name $lastName, but that can't be all...' 'APPROPRIATE SUBMISSION DOES NOT REQUIRE UNDERSTANDING... $name $lastName WILL STAND ON THE PAD.' The tone of the robotic voice was somewhat unnerving, but you didn't want to frustrate it anymore. Shrugging, unsure of what else to do, you step onto the circular pad next to the machine. As you turn away, the screen comes to life again, unseen by your eyes. On the screen is a magnified version of some kind of identity card, bearing your face as it looked as you leaned over the screen. It sat on a bright orange background, above black text screaming out in bolded font '<b>MINISTRY OF TRUANTS - VOLUNTARY SLAVE REMEDIATION CARD - INFRACTION: DAMAGE OF TOREAN PROPERTY - DURATION OF INDENTURE: TBD</b>' [[You're stuck now...->Transport to Torei]] ] (else:) [ ] The hatch glides open gracefully. You see at the top, there appears to be a lock wired into the light above the hatch--fortunately neither are active. Inside the hatch is a manual, with the simple title 'How To Operate the Torean Communication Array' '//Kind of them to make the title so clear...//' you think to yourself as you peel open the pages. It all seems fairly straightforward: there's a startup switch at the back of the console, and there's voice activation for most commands. The red button was the emergency disconnect. What the manual //didn't// make clear was just where or who Torei was, despite mentioning its communications protocols several times. It seems that in order to find that out, you'll just have to turn the rig on and see whom you can reach. Following the instructions, the machine calmly powers to life. A green cursor blinks upon a blank, black screen for 30 seconds while various whirrings and clunkings alternate in their frequencies. A faint static hiss slowly grows louder as the machine finishes its startup routine. 'System awaiting command!' comes the oddly sweet voice of the machine. Clearing your throat, you try to keep your phrasing simple. 'Connect me to someone who can tell me what Torei is.' 'System working!' was the reply as the machine spooled up its fans and drives. It seems to 'think' for a while, as it processes your request. Finally, through the static comes a strange, robotic voice. 'CONNECTION ESTABLISHED TO AMBASSDOR DRONE 76efb0' [[Ambassador drone?->Torei Dialogue 2]]

'I'm sorry, I just don't think that's for me...' your voice trails off as the speaker crackles with a hum of interstellar interference. The silence stretched for a long moment before your interlocutor spoke again. 'Very well.' The tone of the mysterious voice was cordial, if slightly crestfallen. 'Torei always welcomes visitors--and immigrants-- perhaps you may yet find your place here.' '//Well that was a little ominous...//' You open your mouth to reply but the machine turns off, a faint red glow slowly fading on the screen reading. (text-colour:"red")[TOREAN TRANSPORT REJECTED] '//Wow...//' you think to yourself. '//I withstood temptation!//' Honestly, you weren't sure you had it in you. The blatant appeal of such a lascivious place was a deep yearning pull to you, yet either by resilience--or perhaps by reticence--you said a firm 'No.' Someone is speaking through a speaker system in the room, it sounds like Leyla's voice. "Well, your choice in that regard is made. But by now you must realize that you know far, far too much about what our operation is trying to achieve here...' This perks up your attention. '...and as a result you will be detained until such time as you are deemed no longer a threat to operational security.' The voice cut off. '//Crap crap crap crap... Time to make a move out of here!//' Looking around frantically, you see only the door you entered through, and an emergency exit at the other end. It seems like you could either try to make a run for it past Leyla and whatever lay beyond that door, or take your chances with the emergency exit. (cycling-link: Bind $ponyChoice, "Take the emergency exit","Try to outrun whomever is chasing you") Decisions, decisions... (link-reveal:"You make your choice...")[ (if: $ponyChoice contains "exit")[ (set: $CompletedaChallenge to true) If you're going to 'exit' this building, you may as well try to go for an 'exit'! Thrusting open the door, you're confronted with a staircase that only goes down--and it smells like someone made an awful mess down there! But with footsteps coming from the opposite side of the door, you have no choice left but to 'take the plunge' and head through the emergency exit passage! (if: $challengeChoiceList contains "Take the central corridor")[ [[Take the emergency exit!->DownStairs Bridge]] ] (else:)[ [[Take the emergency exit--or is it? where is this taking you?->Challenges1]] ] ] (else:)[ You resolve to try to exit the way you entered. Bracing yourself against the closed door, you fling it open trying to gain the element of surprise! It seems as though Leyla has predicted your escape attempt, however, and tries to block your path. Standing in the space between the desk and the wall, she's wielding something that looks a lot like a miniature cattle prod. Seeing little other choice, you catapult yourself up and over the desk into the space beyond. Landing with a gentle thud, you spring forward down the hallway. Leyla gasps in surprise and wonderment at your display of physical fitness--loudly enough to make you look around briefly. ...Long enough for you to run headlong into the security guards that just rushed through the opposite end of the hallway. Quickly tased, subdued, hogtied, and gagged, you're left struggling while your captors debate your fate. 'It'd truly be a shame to waste such //physical// potential, don't you think?' Leyla asks M, who's arrived to oversee your transfer. 'One that can jump like that was never meant for desk work, I agree...' 'She'll make a great little filly, I think...' were Leyla's sickly sweet words as she tased you once again, and you lose consciousness. [[Ending: Sent to Pony Slave Training]] ] ]

<div align="center"><figure><img src="elevators.png" style="max-width: 90%" alt="a rendering of the view of the elevators in reception"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> You march on. The third and final tier of the foyer is flush with gold trimmed tiles and several marble caskets stuffed with plants. Going by the brickwork, the black and chrome decals, the architecture of this place, you begin to suspect a billionaire owns the building. Seriously, the amount of money they put into here is frivolous. The elevator dings, chrome doors opening. You steady your breathing. Just as you've about to step inside, you see another figure walking down the adjacent stairs from your periphery. <div align="center"><figure><img src="stairs.png" style="max-width: 90%" alt="a rendering of the view of the staircase"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> You stop. Your heart urges you inside the elevator, but your head holds you back. You already know this building is some kind of demented power game. The obvious choice might not be the best one. [[Head inside the elevator ->ElevatorTransition1]] [[Wait for the newcomer to show themselves->LeylaAlternative1]]

You take your chance. Thanks to your hesitation, the doors are already beginning to close, but you make it, sliding straight through and slamming the button for a random upper level. The doors shut, and the butterflies in your chest pass. You think you've made the right decision. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="elevators_close.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" autoplay preload controls alt="animation of elevator doors closing"></div> The elevator doesn't carry you for long. It climbs, and climbs, then stops. But it doesn't open. You suddenly feel trapped. A screen inside the elevator blares on, roughly at eye level, and green text appears... text-style:"condense")+(text-color:green)[Welcome: OCCUPANT... <tw-hook style="animation: 0.5s steps(1, end) 0s infinite alternate none running fade-in-out;">SCANNING...</tw-hook> ] With a gentle whirring, a grey metallic ring descends from the elevator ceiling, a curious red light gleaming out around its circumference shining inward. You jerk away, but there's nowhere for you to run, and so far, it hasn't gorged out your innards. Best to let the mysterious machine do its work. As it passes over you, you feel a slight tingle as a band of gentle heat accompanies the scanning ring. Shifting in your stance, you relax a little as the machine passes over you like a warm shower washes stress away. As the scanner passes over your curves, you can see and feel the band point up and down, scanning the undersides just as well as your oversides--this scanner was getting //every// measurement imaginable. As it gets to your feet, you follow the pose of the stick figure on the display, and obliging lift each foot in turn to ensure it is well-scanned. To support yourself, the machine conveniently provided two hand holds for you to balance. Each foot scanned, you move to release your grip on the hand holds, but as soon as your grip slackens, a cuff springs over your wrists, locking them in place! Your fingers scrabble for purchase, but all they can find are the handles--you hold tight! [[Hold on for dear life!->ElevatorTransition2]]

<div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/5VDYfOJ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%" ></div> {(set: $metLeyla to true)} As the figure turns the corner, you gasp. The woman is beautiful. She's arabic, and like the rest of women here, dressed entirely in laminate. A demure ruffle spreads down from the top of a tight navy blouse with sharp bishop sleeves, flowing into a high-set laminate dress that ends at her ankles. A wide buckle belt cinches it all together, along with a headscarf to cover her hair. Even with everything covered, her curves strain and twist beneath the laminate. You're imagining lude, crass things when she interrupts. 'Hello $name,' she says in a reserved, precise voice. 'Um,' you say. Your head is spinning, and not just because she knows your name. 'Who are you?' 'I am so glad you asked,' she says politely, inclining her head. 'My name is Leyla. I am the Mistress's personal assistant and head of company operations. I have so been looking forward to your visit. It is not often we can be assured of one's character.' 'Wait, you're here for me?' She smiles, offering a petite nod. 'Yes. I am to escort you to the Mistress's quarters, when you are ready.' Your heart swells. Given Esme's information about the frustrating games you were expecting you would have to play, this is a welcome change. Plus, being led to your interview by a woman as elegant and sensual as Leyla, well... maybe this day would turn out well after all. She beckons you to join her by the stairs, which you happily oblige. [[Continue->LeylaAlternative2]]

The staircase is no different. A pure black and steel affair, it highlights Leyla's curves, and the chrome reflects the pretty blue fabric of her laminate. 'So,' she says at last, several floors up. You realise you've been side-eyeing her for close to a minute, 'are you eager for your interview?' You grin. Eager might be too soft a word. 'Absolutely!' you blurt, nodding frantically. 'Can it start now, please?' She smiles, and you figure she's used the very same tactic to crush a hundred suitor's dreams. 'Not yet. I said I would take you to the Mistress when you were ready. Unfortunately, I do not believe you are.' That uplifting thermal inside you craters and sinks. Shit. You should've expected this. There was always some stupid crap coming up here, some petty condition keeping you in check. Restricting you. Tugging at you. Keeping you back. You cross your arms and frown. Leyla continues. 'As I am sure you have gathered, the Mistress likes to... use games on her potential employees. I am to take you through several tasks the Mistress has devised. When you have completed two of these, I shall consider you properly equipped to handle the Mistress yourself.' Ha. Games. That was one way of putting what you were doing here today. You'd probably use a more apt metaphor; a cat playing with her food. Strutting back into the elevator, Leyla beckons you inside. You walk in. Leyla presses a button, and the doors snap shut, a dull electronic note accompanying your glide up several stories. 'I don't see why I have to do this,' you say, bitter. Your grandmother said nothing about participating in any stupid challenges. It's just a job, for pete's sake. 'Have patience, $name,' Leyla comforts. 'Everything will be explained in time. You might even enjoy the games. Trust me.' 'Not much of a game if I don't know the rules,' you reply grumpily. 'The rules will be explained when you enter each challenge. Besides, that is part of the game,' Leyla explains. 'Think of it as a test of character. The right candidate will know how to navigate past the traps and temptations Mistress has put in their way. They will resist their impulses, remain composed, and keep a level head. That is what her challenge tests.' The elevator abruptly stops. The doors open to a plain office floor foyer, what you had expected would be the beginning of your journey when you came here. Dim hallway lights give the impression of a long-abandoned carnival ride. There's a receptionist desk in the middle, though nobody sits there, and beyond it, three separate corridors extend to the left, front, and right. You peer down the three separate corridors. The hallway lights falter about two metres in, and all you can see of them are murky dark corridors. 'I thought you said there were only two.' Leyal shakes her head. 'I never said that. There are three challenges, but you only need complete two. The Mistress is a generous woman. She likes her employees to have choice.' Two out of three. Your cocky side reasserts control and has you pacing while Leyla watches. Can't be too difficult, right? [[Head for the corridors->Challenges1]] [[Talk to Leyla first]] {(set: $challengeChoiceList to (a: "Choose left","Choose right","Take the central corridor","Step back. Maybe Leyla has some useful advice")) (set: $CompletedaChallenge to false)}

Back in the challenge hall, you have some time to think your options over. Which would be better? You could ask Leyla for a hint, which you suspect has a marginal chance of gaining you anything, or you could try figuring it out for yourself. (if: $challengeChoiceList's length > 1 )[ You gloss over both options again. The neon lights of the corridor on your left continue to entrance you. You notice the metal at the end more clearly, this time, although that's as far of a hint as you're going to get. The central corridor remains a mystery. You think, after surviving that grotesque sewer, that there might be a clinical smell coming from inside, resembling antiseptic, though you're not sure. ] (else:)[You only have one choice left... ] Your information remains sparse. That leaves one choice - going in blind. (if: $challengeChoiceList contains "Choose left")[ [[Choose left]] ] (if: $challengeChoiceList contains "Take the central corridor")[ [[Take the central corridor]] ]

<div align="center"><figure><img src="felixWoodHallway_blender3.png" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 700px;" alt="a well-lit wood-panelled hallway stretches before you. There are several doors."><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> The hallway transitions to a rose-tinted corridor, carpetted in a vintage style. It would look quaint, except for what lies behind the doors. When you push inside each one - they're unlocked - you find a boxy room decorated with what at first appear to be mirrors. They're arranged in pairs across all three walls, are the size of large paintings, and finished in a delicate silver frame. There's a button beneath each. A healthy sense of curiosity doesn't seem like something this place will punish, so you push the button of the closest panel. Suddenly, the tiles beneath you shift. The floor rumbles like an earthquake. You fear you've overestimated the generosity of this building's designers, when the room goes still once again. The mirror above the button you pressed starts to rise. It's not a mirror, it's a screen! What lies inside makes you gasp. Behind the glass screen is a padded white cell. Inside hovers a woman in a pink laminate catsuit, suspended in a complex web of rope to the ceiling, her perfect lips gagged, her eyes frantically silently begging you for release. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="suspendedDoll.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" preload autoplay controls alt="video showing panning view of cubicle-farm"></div> Oh god, you've got to help her! [[Attempt to free her->CentralChallenge3]] [[Back off->CentralChallenge4]]

Dread funnels up through your throat. You can't imagine what that woman is going through. How it must feel. Trapped, forgotten, bound and left out to dry like a pig on a meat rack. You don't know what you can do to save her, but your sense of decency demands you try! Several minutes pondering the conundrum convinces you of the impossibility of the task. There isn't exactly a button waiting around marked RELEASE. Besides, how were you even meant to break in? The glass echoes dimly when you tap it - it had to be several inches thick - and it wasn't like there was a fire extinguisher laying around for you to improvise as a weapon. Oh hell, like real considerations has ever stopped you before. You run and slam the glass panel with both fists. The woman inside jitters with what you think is excitement, and miraculously, the screen begins to crack. Over the course of several minutes, you chip, crack, and ultimately shatter the laminated woman's prison, leaving you free to stumble in and rescue her proper. You take off her gag first, then finish untying the rest of her. 'Are you okay?' you ask, unable to keep the heroism from your voice. 'I am now,' her voice is delicate, and she smells of roses. 'Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.' She collapses, and you take the opportunity to gingerly cradle her in your arms. Your cock threatens to swell, but you suppress it. You've got to keep this hero image unspoiled. 'It's alright. I won't hurt you.' 'I know,' she says. Then she yawns, and her voice breaks. 'Fuck, it's nice to have a break.' You cock a brow. The ropes trickle to the cell floor. ''Break?' With your heart hammering in your ears, you don't hear the faint swish of the door being opened and shut behind you. If you had, you might have recognized the delicate patter of someone trying to step lightly. Suddenly, your charge jerks to life, whipping around and holding you tight. Believing it to be a grateful, perhaps even lustful embrace. Scant heartbeats later, you feel a surgical pain in your neck. You blink, watching as your would-be damsel's removes an empty syringe from you, and then your vision starts to blur. 'You've got a good heart, kid,' she says, sounding about ten years older than she had a moment ago, 'time you lost it.' And then your world goes black. [[Wake->Bad Ending: Suspension Bondage]]

Pushing on, you can't help but notice you've exited through one of a dozen doors, all of them a replica of each other. You peek through each door in the corridor and find the exact same picture: a sullen, nondescript tiled room, and 6 glass screens - prisons - hovering inside each one. God. That woman's predicament has pulled your heartstrings. And worse, there are dozens of them here, other prisoners suspended from the same miserable, padded cell, committed to the same fate, all in this hallway. No, it's not a hallway. It's a prison. One you're expected to just...pass. [[Harden your heart. Push on->CentralChallenge5]] [[Head back inside->CentralChallenge3]]

{(set: $CompletedaChallenge to true)} You decide that whatever is happening to the people in these pods: it's none of your business. Whatever $company has arranged with these people--you hoped it was consenual--was not your concern. A plaintive cry makes you check your steps briefly, but you steele yourself and press ahead to the end of the hallway, finding only a small corridor leading you back to where Leyla had left you. [[It seems like you've passed this test...->Challenges1]]

A harsh, blinking light bursts through your vision, its harsh glare penetrating your closed eyelids. Blinking them open, you find yourself feeling stiff. As you try to work the morning funk out of your system, you strain to remember where you are. Greeting your open eyes is a view of a white tiled floor, with a single drain in the centre. Oddly, it doesn't seem to be sitting still--indeed the harder you try to shift your head to focus on it the more it seems to... sway? You must have one //hell// of a hangover--but how? You remember turning up for your interview... Then a series of events that seemed altogether improbable... And finally that poor woman you found in her cell! Hold on, there was something there... You'd found her, pitied her, and released her. She had seemed grateful... And then... Nothing. '//Weird.//' As you try to dismiss what were clearly the hallucinations of yesterday, you try to rub some of the tiredness from your eyes. That's when you start to really worry. First with one arm, then the other, and finally with both legs, you try to move only to find yourself held fast! Further worrying you is the floor--far from having stopped swaying, each movement you made only made the movement more erratic. As you start to spin and pendulate you realize you're suspended from the ceiling! Worse yet, you seem to be in the same suspension you'd tried to release that poor woman from! Worried, and still slightly groggy from whatever it was they dosed you with, you slowly raise your head. Fighting the nausea coming from the drugs, the vertigo, and the motion sickness you raise your head, blinking in the bright light. There, on the other side of the glass, stands the woman you'd just freed. Your places reversed, she smiles up at you. She holds some kind of computer tablet in her hand. Tapping on the screen with delicate swipes, she's rewarded with a shudder and a moan from you. Deep inside you, something starts vibrating. It's a steady buzz that slowly grows into a rhythm of quick buzzing pulses. You try to form a question, only to find you are gagged, much as she was when you found her. As she pushes and holds on some screen button, an unseen speaker crackles to life. 'You see dear, you really shouldn't go exploring the suspension rooms without one of these!' She waves the tablet at you, it's covered in sliders and dials with a stream of data graphs and tickers along the top. 'This app lets you monitor company property subject to suspension...' She points at the top of the screen where you can see a picture of your own unconscious face next to bright, bold, red text that read... {(set: $TimeString to (current-time:)) (set: $TimeNow to $TimeString's (a:1,2,4,5)) (set: $DateString to (current-date:)) (set: $YearString to $DateString's (a: 12,13,14,15)) (set: $MonthDay to (monthday:)) (set: $NumberText to $TimeNow + (str: $MonthDay) + $YearString) } (text-colour:red)[**INV LOCATION: SE-VI-056 ACQUISITION DATE: (current-time:) ASSET-ID#: $NumberText INV TYPE: WORKING ASSET CONTRACT TYPE: PERMANENT STATUS: INITIATION-TRAINING **] The EKG indicating your heart rate was betraying the panic you were feeling. '//Asset ID? Inventory?... I came here for a //job//... ...And I certainly don't recall signing any contract....//' Your struggles became more urgent. Whomever it was you had tried to rescue, only laughs and slides her finger upward on the tablet. 'MMM-PPPHH!' you moan out into your gag as the anal vibrations she's subjecting you to reach a new plateau. Your body shivers in uncontrollable ecstacy, your hands desperately trying to reach the stimulating invader--but it's not use, your fingers merely flex uselessly in the air. She giggles. 'Just you wait dearie! What //is// that American expression? //You ain't see nothing yet//? Is that the one? haha...' she inhales deeply and has a wistful moment of reflection. 'You really are SO lucky...' a hand traces down her front as she casually plays with her glossy-smooth chest on the way down. 'Suspension orientation is //really// intense but //really// rewarding...' Her eyes glaze over as she recalls her own training. 'You're going to get to stay up there for as long as it takes...' she pushed another button and the anal stimulation retreated to a lower level, but with more irregular patterns. 'You'll stay until you lose track of time... 'Until you can't tell where you stop and the air around you begins... 'Until you're so lonely, desperate for attention, and scared you've been forgotten that you'll //beg// me to torture you. //Just// to feel something at all... In fact, you'll be here until you've completely lost that silly little sense of self you have...' She pushed another button, and a faint murmurring began at the edge of your hearing. Words, ones you couldn't quite make out, spoken softly, overlapping each other, becoming almost a white noise ebbing at the edge of your consciousness. 'And once you're ready, you'll become the good little worker drone you were always destined to be....' <div align="center">Ending: Suspension Doll ENDING CODE: 12SUSPENSIONDOLL (link:"Start Over?")[(goto:"Beginning of Story")] <img src="gameLogo.png" style="max-width: 50%; border-radius: 15px;" alt="game logo"></div>

(if: $CompletedaChallenge is true)[ Leyla guides you to a long ascending staircase. You finish climbing the stairs to find one final door. In the grey dimness of the stairs, it looks sublime in comparison, a rich, dark wood that belongs in a castle. Leyla pushes it open, and inside you see a perfectly-carpeted corridor, with the elevator on the right hand side and glass doors to your left. Leyla steps ahead, opens a door, and welcomes you in. You step through, hesitant. The air of this place is one of grandeur and class, something you feel inadequately equipped for. A single wooden desk and several tall cabinets grace a small room. Another wooden room is buried into a nook on the right. No one is there. You turn to Leyla. 'Where is he?' She chuckles. 'The //Mistress// will see you when she is ready. You must wait for her to come to you. Try to relax, she won't be long.' With that, she steps out. You are left to think and wait, and out of habit you take a seat opposite her immaculate desk. //The ceo is a lady too? Are there no men here at all?// It's unnerving for an office to be entirely segregated by sex. You supposed it //would// be historically accurate if the genders were reversed, and women sought empowerment in all sorts of ways, so did it really matter? Nope, still super creepy. And until you met a living, breathing man in this place, you were going to take Leyla at her word. Minutes pass. Any sense of patience is cannibalised by your long-standing anxiety about even coming to this place. [[You've come too far to do anything but wait for Her->Interview2.1]] ] (else:)[ With a slightly sombre air, Leyla expertly guides you through the maze of corridors and brings you to the central lift. Her laminate sidles up against you, caressing you with its glossy, silken sheen. 'Don't fear. You haven't been ejected from $company fully. Let's get you where you need to be.' The elevator dings and releases you. You step out not into the foyer, but a proper cubicle farm. Well, you wouldn't call them cubicles, really - they look more like pods. Each one has glassy walls heavily tinted the colour of gauze, the silvery surface distinguishing them from anything you've ever seen. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="cubeville_lowerFrameRate.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" preload controls alt="video showing panning view of cubicle-farm"></div> Each cubicle grows larger as you approach it, with blurry outlines silhouetting more than just the standard desk-chair-computer combination. Some are empty, but most are occupied by some human figure that appears as a dull blur inside the pod. 'Hang on, are those people?' Leyla nods. 'Secretaries. We keep them in here for their own safety. They can be easily distracted outside their cubicle.' You stop outside a vacant pod. You touch the cubicle dome, and find your hand almost sticks. It's texture is like a gooey laminate. 'Wow...' Leyla splays her hands, gesturing to the whole room. 'Isn't it beautiful? It's one reason I was first attracted to $company. There is incredible harmony here. People obey the chain of command. Women know their place. I fear the true reason Mistress dismissed you today because she believes you are yet to know yours.' 'What do you mean?' Leyla averts her eyes, pensive. 'Perhaps you need to be taught the value of submission. Of understanding that while your superior is not always right, they must always be obeyed.' You nod absently. Perhaps Leyla's right. You have too great an independence streak. And what do you have to show for it? You need to be hammered out, smelted from crude crude ore into a professional ingot. Extending a hand to the cubicle dome, you again feel the tacky stick of the pod surface. It feels so supple, so sleek... 'What would I need to do to learn to submit?' Leyla grins. 'I'm glad you asked.' Then she shoves you into the vacant pod. [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - naked!]] ]

Well, 'connection established' was progress, but 'ambassador drone' sets you back again. Considering your words carefully, you stick to the basics. 'Greetings Ambassador Drone...' you clear your throat, uncomfortable at the unfamiliar words, 'I, uh, I want to know what Torei is.' 'DRONE 76efb0 REQUESTS CONFIRMATION OF SIGNAL ORIGIN TO PROPERLY FORMAT REPLY.' At this, you're a little nervous, you're not exactly sure you're supposed to be using this communication rig without permission--and yet Leyla had indicated that this was some kind of challenge for you to overcome. You quickly rattle off the city, region, and country you're in, much as you do a thousand times a week online, but the ambassador remains silent. Finally, you try '$company?' 'DRONE 76efb0 REQUESTS CONFIRMATION OF $company LOCATION' What more could this thing want? Desperately, you try to list the location again, only frantically adding the continent, and finally for good measure, '...EARTH!' 'DRONE 76efb0 WELCOMES THE INQUIRIES OF INQUISITIVE TERRANS SUCH AS YOURSELF.' '//Finally, some answers!//' 'AS PER USER QUERY, TOREI IS A PLANET OUTSIDE OF YOUR SOLAR SYSTEM. IT IS THE CAPITAL OF TOREAN CULTURE IN THE GALAXY. IT IS THE LOCATION OF THIS AMBASSADOR DRONE.' One of your arms go slack. Your knees actually buckle. You knew something odd had been going on in this place, but actual //alien// life? It all seemed too much to believe-- was this all some stupid game --and yet there was something about this communication rig, the eerie delay in responses, and the strange lettering marking several of the dials on the panel that made you start to believe in the utterly improbable... '//Well, that's a mouthful to say isn't it?//' you reflect mutely. [[What???->Torei Dialogue 3]]

The reveal that complex life existed on other planets--and that you could talk to it--should have been the type of realization that split your mind apart for days... But there was no time for that, not when you had their ambassador on the phone! 'May I ask what an "Ambassador Drone" is?' 'DRONE 76efb0 WELCOMES ALL REQUESTS. FULFULLING REQUESTS IS THE ESSENCE OF DRONE EXISTENCE. THIS UNIT THANKS YOU FOR HELPING IT FULFILL ITS PURPOSE' There was a pause. 'AMBASSADOR DRONE IS A DESIGNATION FOR DRONES ASSIGNED TO OUTREACH COMMUNICATIONS WITH OFF-WORLDERS. DRONE 76efb0 IS TASKED WITH ANSWERING ALL QUESTIONS RELATED TO TOREI AND TO ENCOURAGE VISITORS TO EMBRACE ITS CULTURE.' Well, that answer was at least fairly staightforward, even if the first part seemed a bit overdone. '//But that's diplomacy, right?//' 'Can you explain what you mean by Torean culture?' you venture. 'TOREAN CULTURE IS BEST SEEN AND EXPERIENCED, BUT THIS DRONE WILL ATTEMPT TO COMPLY WITH YOUR REQUEST. FULFILLING REQUESTS IS THE ESSENCE OF DRONE EXISTENCE.' The voice fell silent again for a moment, as if thinking. 'FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF A TERRAN, TOREI IS A PLACE OF SEXUAL FREEDOM. 'ROLES ARE RIGIDLY DEFINED, OFTEN IN CONTRACTS. SIRES AND FREEWOMBS LIVE AT WILL, AND CONTROL THE SLAVES AND PETS THAT ARE BENEATH THEM. EVERY CITIZEN AND VISITOR TO TOREI BEGINS AS A SIRE OR FREEWOMB--AND EVERY CITIZEN FINDS THEIR PLACE. TOREAN SOCIETY BELIEVES PEACE, PROSPERITY, AND HAPPINESS COME FROM DUTY, DEVOTION, AND DOMINANT CONTROL. 'DRONES ARE TOREANS THAT HAVE SOUGHT CONTROL IN HARMONY WITH EACH OTHER. DRONES ARE NEVER LONELY. DRONES ARE NEVER WITHOUT PURPOSE. DRONES ARE CONTENT.' [[Continue->Torei Dialogue 4]]

'So, what? People are running around with sex slaves and what, like puppy girls?' you ask laughing in disbelief, certain that something must have been lost in translation. 'SEX SLAVES, PUPPY GIRLS, AND MORE.' Silence fell again, 'DRONE 76efb0 REQUESTS YOUR ASSISTANCE IN FULFILLING ITS MANDATE. DRONE 76efb0 REQUESTS PERMISSION TO ASK A QUESTION.' You ponder for a moment, it hadn't asked your permission to ask the other questions before, but now--was it possible this 'drone' (whatever that //really// was) was nervous? Could drones get shy? 'You may ask your question.' 'WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME TO TOREI TO SEE FOR YOURSELF?' There's a subtle flutter in your chest. 'What, like, go off-planet? Just like that?' 'DRONE 76efb0 CAN FACILITATE YOUR TRANSIT SWIFTLY, IF THAT IS YOUR MEANING.' It paused, 'WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME TO TOREI TO SEE FOR YOURSELF?' it repeated. 'You mean leave here and go to a place where I might end up as a sex slave?' you ask sarcastically. The voice seemed to almost purr... 'A PLACE WHERE YOU MIGHT //ENJOY// BECOMING A SEX SLAVE. OR OWNING ONE. TRANSPORT IS SIMPLE FOR TOREANS. YOU ARE WELCOME TO STEP ONTO THE PAD AND EMBRACE YOUR TRUE ROLE.' Your head, already scrambled, was becoming a flighty mess. This was crazy right? You couldn't just step onto the pad and leave everything behind? Could you?... 'JOIN US, $NAME, PROSPECT FOR MINERALS AND BECOME RICH. BORROW MONEY AND BECOME OWNED. COME TO TOREI.' The tone of the voice was insistent, you should really make your choice... [[Step onto the pad->Transport to Torei]] [[Maybe this isn't for you...->Pony Slave Bridge]]

You push your legs to the limit, sprinting as fast as you can to avoid Esme's line of sight. Pounding down the left corridor, you find the usual office accoutrements, desks, small wooden sculptures, blasé paintings, the works. Then a double door appears around the next corner. It's not locked. You slam through! The room you burst into catches you by surprise, even for this place. It's got the same silver and black flooring, and is about as big as a basketball court, but there's a series of long tables that cut through the place, and what you find sitting there... Are at least a dozen beautiful women. Naturally, they're wearing laminate. The rubber material clings tight to their hips - all of them sporting a crisp laminate blouse with some variation of either a pencil skirt or leggings. And every single one has craned their perfect neck in your direction--necks adorned with gleaming laminate chokers. <figure><div align="center"><img src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/2a200368-490a-438d-aaee-48c6dcd642f5/dgjslyl-547fc4bd-4b15-4680-9dc2-e823605331e1.png/v1/fill/w_932,h_858,q_70,strp/secretary_outfit__kkl_only_code__by_veltrox101_dgjslyl-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTE1OSIsInBhdGgiOiIvZi8yYTIwMDM2OC00OTBhLTQzOGQtYWFlZS00OGM2ZGNkNjQyZjUvZGdqc2x5bC01NDdmYzRiZC00YjE1LTQ2ODAtOWRjMi1lODIzNjA1MzMxZTEucG5nIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyNTkifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.AO7zF0VkC43L54Atl91FMvbFlppkWrEZYZucEBU4muE" style="max-width: 90%;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[LRKS-Art]</figcaption></figure></div> <!-- Shock and horror. They gasp, their manicured nails hovering by their ruby lips. --!>The delicate prattle of manicured nails on keyboards falls mute. A silent expectation fills the room. You <!-- think you're supposed to--!>feel like you should say something. 'Hi,' the room seems to drink in your words without offering anything in return. All that greets your greeting is the same silence, the waiting stares. About nine pairs of fluttering lashes bat gently waiting for your reply, while three more sets of eyes sparkle from behind cat's-eye framed glasses. //Blink.// 'I'm, uh, new?' you venture. '//Might as well start with something plausible...//' Once again, you're met with silence. Only now, the silence is not still, as you notice the eyes of every woman go from laser focused on yours, to roving up and down your body, scanning your every millimetre. Their expressions slowly shift, from questioning, to disgust, and finally settling on pity. Twenty-four eye balls slowly shifting their gaze back to your face, now framed in sympathy. Finally breaking the silence, is a secretary wearing glasses in a bright red frame. Her nails and lipstick match the crimson colour of her eyewear, and her eyes glitter with a silvery sparkle as her face breaks into a warm smile. 'My, my, you //must// be new, dressed like //that//...' she teases you as she gestures to your comparatively mundane attire. As soon as she had spoken though, it was as though a spell cast had been broken, and the other secretaries dutifully returned to their work, fingers crackling a fightful staccato. Sliding gracefully up from her seat, the lone speaker from the group glides towards you. Her hair held up in a seemingly effortless bun atop her head barely shifted as her hips oozed forward on her stilleto heels. Her every movement //looked// like simple elegance, but as your eyes drift down her figure the complex dance of her motions becomes clear. What seemed like effortless simplicity, was in fact polished dedication to perfection. A pursuit that she clearly extended to the rest of her being: her ahir, her makeup, even the faint hint of of a thong pantyline below her pencil skirt had clearly been painstakingly crafted. She extends a hand to you. 'Cherie.' [[You shake it gently]] [[You kiss it ceremoniously]] [[You imitate her gesture exactly->You shake it gently]]

Bianca nods, ‘Come here, dear.’ Shyly, Miranda obeys. She struts over to her superior, unable to hide a shake, and glances up with trepidation. Bianca must be over a head taller. ‘Is this about my typo last week?’ she asks sheepishly. ‘No. Stay quiet and Present.’ Suddenly, the shy young woman loses any trace of hesitation and thrusts out her chest, staring straight ahead, her gaze piercing a wall. Bianca circles round her, like a shark, brushing her shoulders in a soft, laminate caress. Bianca turns to you. ‘Do you know why we don’t employ any male workers in this company, $name?’ ‘Uh, no. But I’m curious.’ ‘Well, let me enlighten you.’ The fingers creep down Miranda’s shoulders in deft movements. Slowly, Bianca unbuttons the secretary’s blouse. You get hints of soft, pink flesh, then a pink, padded bra, which Bianca unceremoniously rips off. Revealing… ‘Oh my god.’ Miranda’s chest is... well, not empty – there are two harsh steel clamps dangling from her exposed nipples, the surrounding flesh swollen and red, but you see no sign of a growth, of substance where it should be. No breasts. Bianca drinks in your reaction. ‘The reason,’ she laughs, ‘is because the few times we find a competent man, it turns out they’re really not a man at all. They’re something else entirely.’ She cups Miranda’s chin in one firm hand, and the secretary leans tenderly into her grip. ‘And at this company, we allow them to become what they were always meant to be.’ [[!!!->InterviewBianca7]]

'$name' you offer in return. 'Welcome to $company secretarial pool,' Cherie gestures around the space. 'We perform the majority of the company scheduling, data entry, typesetting & drafting--and //other// duties as required--right from this very room!' Small smiles showed under the focused faces around the room, showing that they were both listening intently and glowing with a certain amount of pride. '//Clearly a very tightly knit group...//' you reflect. Despite their listening, you can still see their focus, their chests jiggling with a tight rhythm as their fingers fly through their blurry kata. '//True keyboard warriors--hah!//' 'Well, you're not well dressed for the position, but you can at least stumble your way through a polite conversation--most of the rest we can teach... But hmmm.... Do you think you can fit in with our team here?' Cherie's expression was on the edge of seriousness. 'Fit in? I--I'm not sure exactly what you mean?' You look around at the secretaries again, and look down at your own clothing. 'You mean like the dress code?' you gulp, sweating. 'The dress code is one aspect yes...' Cherie starts to circle you. Stopping she takes stock of your figure and uses her arms to do some rough figuring of proportions, 'But I think we can probably sort you out... We keep some clothing around for--unseen circumstances.' She circles back to face you. 'But I was actually referring more to the team climate we--ah--embrace here...' At this she breaks eye contact and blushes slightly, looking away. A slightly awkward silence hangs between you for a moment, broken finally by a chiming coming from the desk phones of each of the secretaries forming an eerie, echoing electronic resonance. 'Break time!' came a cheerful chorus from a handful of the secretaries as they each shoved back from their workstations and locked their screens. While some made the obvious dashes to the restroom or break area for coffee, it was the actions of a half-dozen of the assembled team that took you aback. The nearest secretary to you, a blonde with a gleaming white choker spun in her chair the second the screen was blank, reached out a delicate finger, and snaked it into the metal ring set into the chok--no collar!--of the raven-haired beauty neck to her. The frizzy curls of her hair turned, bouncing, towards her neighbour, a giant smile plastered on her face as she let herself be pulled forward into a passionate kiss. Looking more carefully, what had appeared to be chokers around the necks of the secretaries were clearly collars! Collars, suspiciously, without any opening mechanism that was obvious. Nor were the two closest secretaries alone. Four more appeared to be engaged in some multiway play, involving a lot of kissing, and a breast massage for the best endowed secretary in a cream-coloured outfit. She was held in her chair not by bondage, but by the intense attention she was receiving from her colleagues. Cherie reaches out and grabs your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours. 'So do you think you can embrace our team atmosphere?' Despite her obvious beauty, her expression is filled with worry. [[Biting your lip, you nod nervously in turn]] [[Being the only dude around all these sluts? Sign me up]]

'W-wha-I... Well!...' Cherie is taken aback by your cordiality. 'Aren't you the polite little thing? And so //respectful// too...' You can almost feel the warmth of her expression radiating down on you as you keep your head bowed. <figure><div align="center"><img src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/48dfd3da-b9fe-4d75-91fa-ec626d574e39/dk10h3t-bccba469-c5ac-4e69-b1be-fb4188139049.png/v1/fill/w_839,h_953,q_70,strp/vermilion_casual_uniform__censored__by_lrks_art_dk10h3t-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9Mjc1NiIsInBhdGgiOiIvZi80OGRmZDNkYS1iOWZlLTRkNzUtOTFmYS1lYzYyNmQ1NzRlMzkvZGsxMGgzdC1iY2NiYTQ2OS1jNWFjLTRlNjktYjFiZS1mYjQxODgxMzkwNDkucG5nIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTI0MjYifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.0XYrrl9t168bvXFR_ikOjV-Rpehwky86tGvTwBzCgoM" style="max-width: 90%;"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[LRKS-Art]</figcaption></figure></div> Picking your chin up with one hand, she directs your gaze into hers as she looks at your face more carefully. 'A respectful man who understands the way to treat a lady with appropriate care will always have a place here at $company,' she says quietly, your own slightly nervous stare reflected back at you in her glasses. 'And you say you're new? Have you been assigned a department yet?' Too enraptured to speak, you simply shake your head. 'Good boy,' Cherie coos, as she releases your chin and pats your head patronizingly. 'Tell me, would you be interested in a position in our department?' You nod quickly, after all: you'd come here looking for work, and the idea of being the only man working with these impossible beauties all day certainly sounded like a pleasant predicament. 'Mhmm... Do you think you can take instruction?' Again, another nod. 'Adapt to meet--ah--//desirable// outcomes as needed?' Another, slower nod. '//Just what did that mean?//' 'And are you willing to put the happiness and satisfaction of your superiors above your own?' Finally, a slower nod. '//Well, it //is// a job after all, it's not like they'll pay me to have fun...//' Her bright red lips split to show her gleaming white teeth as she smiled wide. 'Aren't you just //purrrfect//...' she rolled her 'r's as she reached out a delicate finger and brushed a hair from your face, making you quiver. 'We just need to get you into a more //appropriate// uniform.' 'Uniform?' you ask confused. 'Something that fits with our dress code--' here she paused. '--and will best suit your new //duties//...' You gulp as she leads you through a door at the other end of the room, beckoning you with a crooked finger and a quiet whistle. [[Over here, boy!]]

The room looks like a mostly ordinary break room, except for a small flap in the far wall. As soon as the door is shut behind you, Cherie sets upon you! Seizing you first in a kiss, she starts to frantically tear at your clothes. You're only too happy to help her, your sexual drive overwhelming your senses as you undo buttons almost as fast she does. With a //flump// your clothes hit the floor in a heavy pile. Leading you over to one of the tables in the centre of the room, she sits herself down, scooting backward. 'Such //heavy// clothing for such a pretty boy...' she says as she returns to her passionate kissing. 'Doesn't it feel good to be out of it?' she asks as one her hands snakes below her skirt and starts rubbing. You nod your reply, not trusting your ability to speak through her needful oral assault. Cherie breaks the kiss for a moment, stroking your brow with one hand, and massaging herself with the other, her skirt slowly hiking itself up around her waist. 'Now you did say you were willing to put the satisfaction of your superiors above your own?' She raised an eyebrow. 'That you'd adapt to meet //desirable outcomes//?' You nod slowly, your eyes transfixed on hers. 'Then listen here my horny little boy: there is only one desirable outcome your superior has right now, and you're going to adapt to it!' With one hand she swept her tight, laminate thong to one side, and with the other grabbed your head and shoved it at her most intimate parts. 'Lick me out like a good little boy!' Your face already pressed into her wetness, every motion you make is rewarded with a shiver of sensation from Cherie's sensitive flesh. Despite your inexperience, you extend your tongue and try to be guided by her pleasurable reactions--and her instructions. She keeps up an encouraging, but ultimately instructional guide coming in shorter and shorter gasps as she coaxes you to her climax. Finally, her thighs clamped tightly to the sides of your head, you can't hear anything but a humming moan coming through her very bones as she squirts her climax all over you. '//Thank goodness I'm naked!//' you reflect. The pressure releasing, she keeps a hand in your hair, gently stroking you as she comes down from her orgasm high. 'That's a //very// good boy...' She heaved a big sigh. 'I think you're going to be //perfect// for our department.' Still on your knees, centimetres away from her dripping snatch, you nod mutely, unsure of what to say. With her hand still in your hair, she slowly shifts to her feet, and gently pulls your head along. She keeps a gentle downward pressure indicating you should stay on your knees. Slowly, you're brought over to the flap in the wall of the break room. 'Now be a good boy and go through here, someone will set you up with the right uniform.' Before you can object to being exposed to a second person naked, Cherie shoves your behind with surprising force and you stumble through the flap in the wall. {(set: $alarmActive to false)} [[You stumble through the flap->Is that a doggie door?]]

Cherie drags you to the break room, and collapses into a seat. 'Hey girls, can you give us the room? Won't be more than five minutes?' she asks her compatriots in the break room, who shrug and file out. 'Thanks my lovelies! I'll make it up to you, promise!' she calls as the door swings shut behind them. Cherie collapses into a seat. 'So you want to be the *ahem* "only dude around all these sluts"? I believe that was what you said?' You shrug and nod. 'It's not my fault if you're all hot.' 'I see...' She eyes you coldly. 'You're one of //those// are you? Ugh.' She grimaces. You clap your hands on your sides, taking the posture your grandfather said to use when a woman got uppity. 'Hey babycakes, it's just biology! And all I'm doing is complimenting you!' you protest. //'Men can be such dogs.'// she whispers, rolling her eyes. Silence envelops her a moment. Seemingly seized with inspiration, she preens her laminate to accentuate her breasts and pouts her lips a little. 'So, you like the way I look honey?' she oozes as she gets up from her seat. 'Well, yeah, you're fucking hot!' you exclaim. Finally, the broad had gotten on the same page! She closes the distance between you quickly, and you're intoxicated by her scent. 'And you're just a simple thing aren't you? You have needs: food, sleep, and sex, right?' she coos as she extends a finger to stroke your brow. You shiver. Your manhood twitches. 'Y-y-yeah, I think we're all just simple machines in the end...' you answer. 'Hmmm, no not machines dear, //animals//. He's just a beast. He has //drives// doesn't he?' she asks, referring to you in the third person. She turns her hand to stroke your face with the back and it slowly, oh so slowly, pulls down, folds, and her fingertips slip easily past your shirt, and worm their way into your underpants. Taking hold of your manhood, you gasp as she whispers in your ear. 'Come with me dear and we'll see you get the treatment a man like you deserves...' You nod quickly as your led by your dick across the hall. She kisses you quickly, deeply, greedily, promising lurid acts you've always dreamed of as her other hand cups your neck. Finally she comes up for air. 'Enjoy your stay...' she says. You're face betrays your confusion, but she just smiles wider. With a shocking, sudden force, she grabs your neck roughly and shoves you through a small flap in one of the doors. [[You're shoved through a small flap in the door->Is that a doggie door?]] {(set: $alarmActive to true)}

While keeping your attention on Cherie, you failed to notice the approach of a secretary on either side of you. '//What are they, velociraptors?//' you think to yourself, before you feel them start to touch you. '//Oh goodness... Maybe more like pythons...//' Their hands start to snake through your clothing as they start to undo buttons one-by-one. As you're about to form a protest over the apparent denuding, Cherie seizes forward and latches onto your open mouth to kiss you deeply. Overwhelmed by sensation, you return her passion in kind, mostly forgetting your care about the shirt that's being gently lowered off of your shoulders. Slightly panicked, you begin 'But--' your words are cut-off again as Cherie renews her passionate assault of your senses. However, when someone begins to undo your belt you manage to break free, 'I-I-I thought this was a place of business!' 'Haha!' giggled Cherie, 'Right now your business is Rosa-Lee, Madeleine, and me!' She pecked you on the lips again as she knelt before you. As she lowered your pants, looking up at you with a wink, she grabbed your underwear with it. Rosa-Lee--you guessed--had your right hand in hers as she traced a gold-painted fingernail from her left hand down your back. Madeleine, for her part nibbled your ear, her hot breath on your neck. Her other arm she kept in a half-hug, pinning your left hand to your side. 'Surely, if you're our new hire, someone will have explained to you the benefits package?' Cherie pouts up at you, your stiffening cock centimetres from her face. You can only offer a blank expression as she continues to slip you out of your shoes and socks. 'The team-building exercises?' she winks up at you as she gives your tip the faintest lick. You gulp, and give a fervent nod. 'The dress code?' *Nod* Cherie circled your tip with her tongue. Madeleine began circling your nipples with a teasing tickle. Rosa-Lee grabbed you by the hair and thrust her tongue deep into your mouth. You shivered through your whole body. 'And are you ready to become $company's good little secretary?' Cherie's tone was sickly sweet, but it lay over a bare power. (if: $alarmActive)[ 'Or have you been a //bad little boy//?' she purrs. It's clear from her tone, that she doesn't think being a 'bad little boy' is such a terrible thing at all... 'Right now I'd be anything you want' you reply earnestly. [[Be her good 'bad little boy']] ](else:)[ 'Cherie, right now I'm ready to do whatever you want.' Your reply in comes in gasps as your breath heaves, your hair still held firm by a grinning Rosa-Lee. 'Perfect, you're going to //fit right in//...' Cherie says as she deepthroats your raging boner, humming slightly. 'Welcome to the secretary pool!' chime Rosa-Lee and Madeleine in unison as they trade you back and forth between them. 'You're going to be //so// happy once you //learn your place//,' coos Madeleine. [[Fit right in]] ]

Cherie deepthroats your cock and begins pleasing you with a steady rhythm. Madeleine and Rosa-Lee trade you between them for a while until you begin to get lost in the sensations from Cherie's expert attentions. '//Where did she learn to do that //thing// with her tongue?!//' is the only thought that can enter your mind as Rosa-Lee steps aside and you're left in the expert care of her two colleagues. You shiver as a bit of pre-cum shudders out of you. Cherie giggles as she tastes it and winks, pulling back. 'We wouldn't want you to finish too soon, would we?' she pouts. 'I wouldn't want to ruin the first time!' you gasp, suddenly embarassed. You notice though, as you say 'first time' that Cherie briefly breaks eye contact. 'Bad boys like you need a little teasing!' she winks at you, you smile, believing you understand the game now. Behind you, Rosa-Lee waves the kit she fetched from a desk cabinet where Cherie can see you. Seeing everything was going to be soon in hand, Cherie repositioned her specs delicately upon her nose, and resumed her perfected blowjob technique. You're so entranced by hers and Madeleine's attentiones that you completely relax. You offer no resistance as Rosa-Lee strokes you all over--but repeatedly strokes your neck, and your wrists. Again and again, her hands did their circuit of your quivering flesh. Your skin slightly cold in the exposed air, you welcome the warmth of her touch. There's a warmth now around your neck, where her hands had just been--something giving you a warm feeling. Making you feel safe. There's a similar warmth around your wrists as you gasp, preciously close to climax. Whimpering into Madeleines eager embrace, you peak, losing all control and letting loose a giant stream of your seed. Cherie manages to keep it all in her mouth, before spitting it into a nearby coffee cup. You couldn't care less, as your body goes limp, your arms drawn behind you as Rosa-Lee links your wrist cuffs together. Cherie reaches up, unlooking, her palm held flat in the air, as she accepts a gleaming black chastity cage from Rosa-Lee. Still lost in Madeleine's attentions and post-orgasmic bliss, you barely flinch as Cherie begins to manipulate your genitals. Putting your balls through the ring you begin to wonder what's going on, but it isn't until she starts crushing your precious pecker through the chastity ring too that try to stop her. Your arms checked fast by your wrist cuffs, you try to throw Madeleine off you, but it's no use. You're met only by giggling as Cherie locks the chastity cage onto you. 'Don't worry, $name: //bad boys make the best girls!//' she cackles as Rosa-Lee hooks a leash through your collar and tugs you after her, still struggling against your bonds. Hauling you along a corridor to an elevator, she takes you to an upper floor. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="cubeville_lowerFrameRate.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" preload autoplay controls alt="video showing panning view of cubicle-farm"></div> Bringing you to one of their bizarre bubble-cubicles, Rosa-Lee unhooks your leash. 'What kind of cubicles are these?' you ask in confusion. 'And why have you led me here naked?' 'Both excellent questions...' muses Rosa-Lee, 'And fortunately you will find answers to both directly ahead of you.' 'But there's just a--' you begin to say, but Rosa-Lee interrupts you by shoving your head forcefully against the bubble membrane. With her other hand she releases your hands, before shoving you between the shoulder blades forcefully. [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - naked!]]

Between the various stroking, kissing, and unbelievable penis pursuit, it was hardly long before you finished. Somewhere between promising Cherie you'd die before betraying someone who could do //that// with her mouth, and assuring Rosa-Lee you'd do //whatever// she asked you'd lost track of time, space, and everything in between. Completely mindless in sexual pleasure, you thunder an orgasm out into Cherie's mouth, who swallows it almost casually--as though it's something she does here all the time. Your body collapsing from exhausting and stimuli overload, you let yourself continue embracing Rosa-Lee and ignore the others slowly stepping away. When you finally come up for air, you gulp. Looking at the floor, your old clothes are nowhere to be seen. Cherie sports a massive grin, and with one hand holds up a golden yellow set of laminate lingerie. It's thin, but stretchy material seeming microscopic on its metal hanger. Her other hand, she holds behind her back. Madeleine, for her part, holds up a classic black-skirt, white blouse secretary outfit--done entirely in laminate! She tries to keep her other hand hidden as well, but with a burst of bright enthusiasm swings forward a pair of steep Mary Jane heels to go with the outfit. 'Well, you said you knew about the dress code!' pipes Cherie, her mad grin hinting she knew you might not have been aware, at all. '//Too late now!//' You nod nervously, too embarrassed to back out now, //after// the blow job. Suddenly more self-conscious of your nudity, you realize that without your old clothes on offer, you should probably wear //something//. Taking your nod as all the consent she needed, Cherie holds out the bikini-cut panties for you to step into. She rises as she pulls them up, as you take care to position your package. You can feel the edge of her glasses on your temple as Cherie nibbles your ear as she seats the panties high on your hips. Looking back, and twisting slightly, you can see Cherie's smiling reflection in the warped mirror of your laminate-covered backside. Right before she plants a smarting slap on it, on with a Cheshire grin. 'Couldn't help myself!' she giggled as she helped you into the sculpting, padded bra to match the panties. It took three of them to get you into your secretary uniform the first time, it's unfamiliar pressures squeezing on you in new and creative ways. The result though, is undeniable. Running your hands up and down your sides, you realize you have //curves// in a way you'd only ever dreamed of. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/Z4Dh9ZB.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> The waist tight around your midriff gives you a much more feminine silhouette, and the underwear is shaping you in all the right ways. While not nearly as voluptuous as some of the secretaries you've been having fun with--what you see when you look down looks a lot more like one of //them// than it did one of //you//. At least the old you... 'Now dear, before you get fully integrated into the secretary program here...' Cherie continued a conversation you didn't realize you'd dialed out of, lost in your own transformed appearance. '...we'll need to get you through your probationary period. Your employee training.' 'That means only one thing!' cried Rosa-Lee. 'Time to take her to the bull-pen!' [[Follow Rosa-Lee to the bullpen]]

Guiding you along a corridor, your hand in hers, you come to an elevator. Swiping her ID card and pushing a button, she takes you to an upper floor. <div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess) <br>]<video src="cubeville_lowerFrameRate.mp4" style="max-width: 80%;" preload autoplay controls alt="video showing panning view of cubicle-farm"></div> Bringing you to one of their bizarre bubble-cubicles, Rosa-Lee gestures at the opening in the cubicle wall. 'Well, it's up to you from here. $company likes to challenge new hires.' She shrugs. 'So this is my work station, now what? How do I qualify for the secretary pool?' you ask. 'From here it's up to you, climb in and see what you can figure out!' she finishes brightly. 'Hopefully you're not having second thoughts?' she pouts a little. 'Uh-uh-uh no! Of course not!' you rush to reassure her. Truth be told, on the come-down from your orgasm you //had// started to have doubts about this. '//Maybe there's still a way out of here?...//' you think as you ponder the depravities you've already encountered here. '//But maybe I don't want to leave...//' you finish as you reflect on how much you've enjoyed it. [[Climb into the cubicle->You're absorbed into the cubicle - in laminate!]]

You catch yourself and step back. No. While your heart might yearn to do some good, the ember of pragmatism within you screams a trap. You were actively participating in a challenge, after all. This had to be one of the building's tricks. Consent seemed an important theme of this place. Whatever predicament this women had gotten herself in, she'd done it //alone//. You can't help a glance back. The woman strains harder and more desperately with every step you take towards the door, pleading with every fibre in her face. God, it's excruciating. You'd have to be a husk of a human not to be moved. Pragmatism takes over. Logistically, you're reminded that no matter what you wanted to do, she was always going to be stuck in that cell. You can't steal her away under the nose of an organisation this complex and sinister. Not without terrible consequences, at least. You tear your gaze away - it takes a second or three - and head out the door. [[Push on->CentralChallenge5]] [[Try not to think about her->CentralChallengeConsiderFreeing]]