Performance Management

The mechanism whirred as the twin arms of the casing clunked into place, the large, thick, rubbery cups mounted to them fitting easily over her exposed breasts. The woman squirmed even as the snowboard-like platform rose, lifting her upwards in her standing position, and parting her legs, her feet locked in place, allowing a previously retracted crotch piece to twist smoothly upwards, the curved black formation looking as smooth as black chrome and fitting her shape snugly, the upper edge stopping just above her belly button. A second later, the bulbous headpiece descended over her head, sealing her features from view, the thick rubber ring around the base of the chamber sealing tightly against the base of her neck.

A few moments later, the machine buzzed and thrummed powerfully as it came to life, and the woman inside it stiffened from head to toe as she stood helplessly in its embrace. There was a muffled moan, and her hands floundered for a few moments, searching for something--anything--to grab onto to help her, finding only the solid handlebars that smoothly curled from the machine's framework like so much more moulded, sealed, shining black plastic, placed there specifically for this purpose. A few seconds after the moan, everything went silent, leaving only the ominous sound of thrumming motors and buzzing transformers. At last, with an almost inhuman noise, there came the rubbery sound of stretching, almost as though something hidden inside some part of the machine or other was expanding. The sound sang out above the discordant chorus of the mechanical parts for a few seconds, and then died away. Shortly after it, the machine's activity died away too, and with a hissing, gaseous expulsion, the four components that had slotted into place atop the woman's body retracted away from her.

Only, she was no longer the woman she had been before the machine had gone to work on her.

As the crotch piece of the black plastic chamber retracted, strands of a stringy clear secretion were left in the air, conjoining the bare womanhood beneath it to the soft, rubbery insides of the machine for a few moments more. They broke gently as the distance grew, leaving a glistening, gently dripping coating of slightly sticky wetness clinging to both ends. Unseen inside the core of the contraption, two tubular protrusions had already withdrawn beneath the rubbery skin, their work done, having moments ago been buried deep within her body.

Further up the woman's length, the two portions of the chamber that had swung into place over her breasts began to withdraw, pulling outward and sideways, swinging like doors away from her body. She hadn't had small breasts to begin with, but as the two thick, church bell-like cups pulled back from her body, her new bosom made them look like mosquito bites. The two voluptuous mounds stuck to the insides of the cups as they pulled away, the pressure of their immense size actually forcing the skin of her new tits to grip the innards of the cups, springing free eventually as the expansion cups retracted to reveal two thoroughly engorged nubs that seemed to be as stiff as a man's erection and as thick as a finger. Firm, pert and almost inhumanly big and buoyant, the twin mountains that were her new breasts jounced and rolled as they hung fresh in the air, as taut and perky as if half-filled with helium.

Lastly, the contraption that looked like a hairdresser's big overhead hairdryer split in two and began to lift away from her head, the rear section lifting to reveal a freshly dyed shock of frizzy blonde hair. Her face remained obscured for slightly longer as the contraption removed itself, but when it finally came into view, it was as bloated and unrecognisable as the rest of her. The woman's lips had been enlarged and now protruded generously, a thick coating of a glittering pink lipstick applied perfectly around them, making her lips look like the over-accentuated lips of a doll--which, admittedly, was the intention. Similarly, her face now bore a generous application of perfectly applied makeup and her cheeks and neck seemed to have tightened, as if they had been plucked up by some invisible wire, tautened artificially.

The final straw in the effect was the woman's eyes. Where before they had been a soft, intelligent green, now they were a shining, almost too-intense blue, and they sparkled without quite seeming to look at all, all in the centre of flashing, buffeting black eyelashes that seemed almost as long as her pinkie finger and which starkly contrasted the unbroken white of her eyes.

The woman was still naked as the chamber set her back down again and as she waddled from the now unlocked and retracted stirrups, some unseen hand of guidance seemed to direct her to her left, up a hallway - one that the silent, hidden onlooker knew with grim certainty would lead her deeper into the mad, dominating, womanising, bimbo-ifying, sexualising, and no doubt, illegal operation running here. As the watcher gazed at the engorged female, she turned and began to totter unsteadily off, her new size and shape altering her balance atop what seemed to be far more precarious legs.

Isobel didn't care to see any more and didn't have the time to stick around anyway. As the equally enlarged bare ass wobbled and swayed away from her atop two teetering legs, the last thing Isobel saw of the freshly converted woman was the flash of a slight discolouration around her ear. Frowning at it, she just made it out as a skin-coloured hearing aid of some kind. Knowing that it had to be part of the conversion process--no doubt how they controlled their newly converted bimbo chicks, through some sort of brain implant or auditory control, or just simple instructions spoken to them through the earpieces--she pursed her lips, acutely aware and growing all the more so that her safety here relied on her making it out of the place without being caught by one of those machines, a camera, a guard, or a trap. The last thing Isobel wanted, she thought with a shudder, was to find herself struggling and screaming helplessly as one of those smooth black chambers hoisted her naked body into the air, sealing itself around her and pumping her full of god knows what while she grew and expanded and converted into one of those--

She stopped herself with force, knowing that thinking like that would do her no good right now and only serve to make her more terrified of being caught. Gathering herself, she tucked a spare strand of wavy black hair over her ear, wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, and prepared to make a run for it.

Isobel was an attractive young woman. At twenty-nine, she had always been the star of the show; her classrooms had fawned over her as a girl, her dormitories and lectures had always carried not a few wistful, perhaps slightly aroused onlookers who were more interested in her soft features and likely even softer body than the lecture or their homework, and, unfortunately, the workplace had been no kinder to her. She had been sexualised from nearly the youngest moment she could remember, and she was ostensibly used to it by now, accepting that her looks came with attention, adoration and a little desire--or envy, perhaps both at once--philosophically.

But she had thought NuTEC would be different.

She had thought that NuTEC, with it's twenty-five years of flaunting successful, well-dressed, accomplishment-driven women and female-centric technical developments--the PeriodT period management cup, the AutoPad sexual health panty clip, the wireless, offline breast cancer scanners, the Magi-Lift Bra, the Sex-Safe Bra and runaway success of the sex-proof Sex-Safe Shorts, and tens of other empowering, life-improving feminine products that had taken women the world over by storm--had been different.

And she had thought that her application there, and subsequent acceptance into her role, had been a sign that she, too, was destined to do something to make the lives of girls around the world just that little bit more bearable, manageable, and perhaps even safer. Hell, NuTEC products hadn't just been a favourite of hers before her application; their products had literally improved her life, and even saved it before.

Silently, in that half-hopeful, half-disbelieving way that people do, she had even hoped she might top the Sex-Safe line. She had quite liked the high-riding, cool-touching, skin-clinging invisibles when she had seen the ad for them, and found them to be quite comfortable, but she had loved them after she had found herself being grabbed from behind on her way to her car one Friday night by a pair of drunk men, only for the suction-like microdot material, clinging tightly--yet not compressively--to her skin, to deny them any access to her body, forcing the infuriated and unsatisfied males to pull up their shorts, throw her to the ground and dismiss her in search of an easier target. She had bought one for every day of the fortnight after that and rarely went out without at least the shorts on. Thinking back now to the female-empowering invention and how it had saved her from vile, dehumanising abuse, she frowned wryly, disappointed. Who would have thought that the company making products to save and empower women against sexual abuse would also be the one subjecting them to a hereto unknown form of it?

Sucking in a fresh lungful of air, her eyes warily casting a final look over the black chamber embedded in the white tile wall across the hallway from her hiding spot, Isobel pulled the door to the storage room open and stepped out, her plain black office shoes making next to no sound on the tiled floor as she hurried down the hallway. Knowing she had to look like she was supposed to be here, she forced herself against her every instinct to slow down and walk with purpose despite the thundering heart in her chest and shaking nerves. She was sure someone, anyone, would be able to hear the discordant song of her nerves and heart from meters away, but had to simply hope that no one would get close enough to make it out.

Another black chamber passed her by on the wall as she walked, and she forced her eyes away from it - she couldn't believe that she had worked here for nearly a year and never questioned them before now. Her only explanation came from the fact that she rarely came down here - in fact, as an admin girl herself, she had always worked on the complete opposite wing to where she was now, and so had never known the depraved sexualised conversions that had been going on over here in the "warehouse" until she had stumbled across it while delivering a parcel to one of the managing employees here, not even an hour ago.

It only takes an instant, Isobel thought to herself as she walked, wondering distantly what she would have done if she had never followed the man inside, never seen that white glow through the emergency exit across from his office, and never walked over there to peer through it, seeing black chambers and striding, bimbo-ified women behind it. Had she not been caught and forced to run through that door away from the man, she would very likely have walked calmly back to her office and sat down at her desk, where her polite and very non-touchy manager would have respectfully asked for her daily report at her convenience and queried her for her opinion on some matter or other, making her feel as safe and intellectual and as welcome as if she were at home... While just across the parking lot, girls just like her were being puffed up and brainwashed like robots to become... What? Sex dolls? Servants? Slaves for sale?

And what, she wondered with a shudder, if she, Isobel, had misbehaved or performed poorly? What if she had been forced to stay home for a few weeks or lost her drive? If her timesheets had not been kept pristinely up-to-date and her work neatly and properly prepared as per company code, would she have been reprimanded back here to be turned into a woman of "more value"? Was the only thing stopping her own breasts from ballooning from her chest like two car airbags, the fact that she was good at her job?

In a way, she thought, that was the most demoralising, sexualising, womanising thing of all, worse than a male employer that simply liked the power he wielded over women and the feeling of their skin as he made them squirm beneath a slightly too-firm shoulder squeeze or a somewhat too handsy meeting. At least that man was a constant, a norm in society, she thought - men like him existed the world over, and things like NuTEC's Sex-Safe Shorts and Bra were there for precisely that purpose, making sure that whatever he got his grubby mitts on was separated, protected, and slipping from his fingertips, resisting his advances as if her very body refused to become his plaything.

But try as she might to rationalise it, to dismiss the possibility that the most woman-centric and female-empowering firm in the modern era was a sexist, womanising, criminal sex trafficking ring... There was only one NuTEC, and only one place where girls were turned into dolls like this. And she worked for them.

Had, worked for them.

Rounding a corner now, having passed by countless black plastic chambers awaiting a suitable host for conversion, Isobel sighed with relief as she saw the stairs opening up before her. Taking them two at a time, her inside sneakers squeaking softly, she dashed downwards, finding herself stepping blissfully out into a far more normal warehouse area. Breaking through another gas hinged safety door, she stepped out into rows of shelves and containers, seeing the lifts that she knew would take her down to the carpark and the fire stairs beside them and knowing at long last that she was safe. All she had to do was get down to her car and out - she'd even smash the barrier if she had to, carparking fee be fucking damned.

The hand came out of nowhere, and it almost gained a good seal around her mouth before she jerked away, feeling the rough fingertips scraping her skin as it tried to stifle the scream before she could make it. Acting on pure reflex, Isobel flinched and ducked, knowing instinctively that the hand had come from her right. She threw herself left, hoping that she could roll to her feet and just managing, clumsily, to do so, coming up in time to see the warehouse worker that had tried to grab her. He strode towards her, and she raised her fists, keeping them close to her chest, ready to defend against any attack and more than ready to pound this fucker's nose in if he tried it on with her - but he seemed to be slowing, his hands morphing from grasping grips to more of a... What was that, a gesture? Was he gesturing to someone--

Isobel dived away, smashing awkwardly into the shelves ahead of her, narrowly avoiding the swinging grip of two arms as they brushed her black-haired head. She stumbled, staggered away, boxes and loose items tumbling from the shelves she had hit as she moved. Adrenaline surged inside her, switched her to pure reactions, allowed her instincts full control over her body. She was running before the painful ache in her head could start to throb.

But Isobel was out of luck. Not ten steps ahead of her and closing quickly was the warehouseman, having dashed forwards around the far side of the shelves, predicting her wild rush to get free. Isobel slowed, considered ducking past him, taking her chances with what she assumed was the smaller of the two attackers, perhaps trying to tackle him or punch him somewhere painful to get by him.

But Isobel was too late. Her momentary hesitation had given her second attacker time enough to reach her, and before she could spin to face him or run at the warehouse worker, she felt two surprisingly strong arms go around her body, clasping together wrist to wrist over her folded arms. At the same time as the arms encircled her, she felt the attacker's chest pushing against her like a fulcrum, two soft cushions pressing into her back, and realised with a shock that it must be one of the converted women who was holding her, not some massive bear-bodied man.

She was in a bad place, her arms pinioned in the woman's grip. Struggling, sure that the girl couldn't be that strong, certain that they were built for sex appeal rather than any kind of true strength, Isobel struggled for all she was worth, but quickly realised that she was gravely wrong. Despite her best efforts, she could barely even budge the tight snare formed between the woman's arms and her breasts, and she even found that her kicks were ineffectual, the woman holding her even further at bay than a normal attacker could thanks to the extra reach her ample bosom provided. Those arms, despite their size, were like cord, and as she held Isobel back, Isobel felt her lungs struggling to fill as much as her racing body wanted them to.

'Tried to escape, huh?' The warehouse worker said as he approached her, his hands going to his hips. 'Dumb bitch like you thought you'd get out of NuTEC?' He sneered, pointing at her face. 'No one gets out of NuTEC, not us, not them'--he gestured with a dismissive finger at the unseen bimbo behind Isobel--'and certainly not a whore like you.' He grinned more fully, casting a loose eye over Isobel as she struggled. 'Hurr, well, we'll soon have the look of you fixed up. You could use a little enhancement.'

And with that ominous proposition, the man turned, gesturing with one hand for the bimbo holding Isobel to follow. Try as she might to break free, with a sinking heart akin to a metal ball tumbling through her insides, she realised that she was out of luck... And destined for the chamber she had so detested not minutes ago.

As the pair escorted Isobel bodily back up into the sterile white-tiled space one floor up, the man paused by a panel on the wall, depressing a button and speaking into the microphone. Isobel couldn't make out everything he said, but the amount she did hear terrified her beyond anything else she had seen all day.

'... Yeah, another one... Dunno, looks like an office bitch. She's......Yeah, will send a profile through. We'll process her immediately......Thanks, my boys could use a few new toys to play with. Alright......Later. Out.'

Isobel was bodied back upstairs, her feet dangling a foot off the ground the entire time, and her heart racing more and more with every step.

The black plastic felt almost soft on her skin, but Isobel wasn't going to be soothed by it. She stood in the chamber, three men opposing her, her clothes, shoes and socks being picked up from the floor, having just been removed from her body. Jokingly, the man holding her casual office runners lifted one up to his nose, making an exaggerated sniffing motion before sliding one hand over his crotch as if the scent drove him to erotic thoughts. Laughing at her expense, she heard one of the other men make a crude joke about "using the socks to jerk off tonight" and "sniffing her panties" and she would have bitten back harshly at his crude words if she hadn't presently been gripped in the most intense terror of her life.

Isobel had been forced, humiliatingly, to strip before the chamber. What she had refused to take off had been cut from her while her arms were held above her head, the tall, heel-wearing bimbo woman acting like a restrainer as well a captor, and she had felt a few of the knife slashes nick her skin as the blade bit carelessly into her clothes. Conceding, at least hoping that her nakedness might buy her some bargaining room, she had finally raised her hands in defeat and reluctantly removed the last of her clothes for them, finishing last of all with her underwear. Dejectedly, she realised she hadn't worn her Sex Safes that morning, feeling safe in the knowledge at the time that her workplace was almost as unlikely to abuse her as her own empty apartment. She regretted that decision bitterly now as she saw the pair of plain black panties and casual, uninteresting bra disappear in the bundle of her clothes. She was sure that, having invented them, NuTEC would have a way around the revolutionary clinging fabric, but perhaps it might have saved her from the worst of the machine's effects, or bought her some time to fight her way free. Now, she stood as naked as the woman she had watched earlier, her body on full display, knowing what came next.