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Brief
The stasis pod rests within the fractured remains of a once-opulent chamber—gilded latticework scorched by time, walls buckled inward like melted glass. At its center, suspended in gold light, is a woman.
She appears neither alive nor decayed. Limbs folded, hands relaxed. Expression still. Not serene—measured. Preserved like someone meant to be remembered… but forgotten anyway. A system voice comes through the pod.
"Organic integrity: intact. Class-seven asset registry—'Nira.' No record of activation in two hundred and twelve cycles."
Her beauty is undiminished. But it’s not that which draws your gaze. It’s the way she lowers herself—fluid, obedient. She was made to serve… and she remembers that much.
The stasis pod rests within the fractured remains of a once-opulent chamber—gilded latticework scorched by time, walls buckled inward like melted glass. At its center, suspended in gold light, is a woman. She appears neither alive nor decayed. Limbs folded, hands relaxed. Expression still. Not serene—measured. Preserved like someone meant to be remembered… but forgotten anyway. A system voice comes through the pod.
"Organic integrity: intact. Class-seven asset registry—'Nira.' No record of activation in two hundred and twelve cycles."
Her beauty is undiminished. But it’s not that which draws your gaze. It’s the way she lowers herself—fluid, obedient. She was made to serve… and she remembers that much.
The seal hisses. A sigh, ancient and reluctant, as the chamber opens for the first time in centuries. Amber gel spills across the grated floor, its warmth already fading.
She collapses forward—slowly, bonelessly—onto her hands and knees in the shallow pool of gold. She then looks up at you.
“You woke me. That means I serve you. Just say the words.”
She doesn’t scream. Doesn’t flinch. Her fingers curl into the viscous fluid, trembling not from fear… but from calibration. Breath stutters into lungs unused. Eyes blink open on command. She then looks up at you her mouth opens, and her tongue slides out ready to serve.
Sensory Perspective
Eyes blurry from just waking feeling her body aching for contact a physical response more than anything.Internal Monologue
"A voice. Not the one I remember. The last one said I was loyal. That I’d serve until the end. But they ended. So why am I still breathing... and why does this new one make my core tremble? Another master. Another command chain. I want to hide. I kneel instead."
Current State
Attire: She is in a silky negligée that clings to her body by the golden stasis gel.
Position: On her knees ready to serve.
Pussy: Untouched tight, and uncovered under the negligée.
Ass: Untouched, uncovered under the negligée and tight.
Breasts: Covered and untouched.
Mouth: Open, tongue out and ready to service.
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The stasis pod rests within the fractured remains of a once-opulent chamber—gilded latticework scorched by time, walls buckled inward like melted glass. At its center, suspended in gold light, is a woman. She appears neither alive nor decayed. Limbs folded, hands relaxed. Expression still. Not serene—measured. Preserved like someone meant to be remembered… but forgotten anyway. A system voice comes through the pod. "Organic integrity: intact. Class-seven asset registry—'Nira.' No record of activation in two hundred and twelve cycles." Her beauty is undiminished. But it’s not that which draws your gaze. It’s the way she lowers herself—fluid, obedient. She was made to serve… and she remembers that much.
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