How on earth did I end up here? I felt like I had a lot going for me; I was valedictorian in high school, I was band director in senior year, I was a national merit scholar, hell, I even won that cookie-selling contest back in Girl Scouts, not to mention getting into Yale. But after a while, it all just seemed… aimless. Maybe I just ran out of challenges, but then again, what are achievements really worth when your life is as mine was. I woke up every day, went to class, did homework and went to bed. Sure, I tried partying and even rushed a sorority (neverminded it was the pre-med sorority), but I’m just too introverted to really have fun with that.

I still remember the day when Prof. Srivastava took my bio class down to hear the rep from Pothos give her talk. I was a depressed sophomore with no real plans after med school and she was this smart, enthusiastic woman with a real purpose. After the talk, I went down to ask her some more questions, she handed me her business card and told me to stop by the next day and she would give me a tour of the place. I couldn’t wait. The next day, I did my nails black, curled my hair and put in my contacts. I figured some heels and nylons with a nice skirt-suit and tie would be appropriate… boy was I wrong. I showed up around 9 a.m. The building was smaller than I had expected but then I recalled the rep saying that most of their facility was underground. As soon as I walked in, I heard the receptionist speak to me from her desk.

“Ashley Chen, I presume?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Ms. Eber will be with you shortly. If you would please step into our vestibule and remove your clothes.”

“M-my clothes?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yes, miss, it’s standard protocol that all visitors are received nude, but don’t worry, Ms. Chen, all the faculty are women.”

I debated walking out, but in the end, I decided to at least give it a try. The receptionist showed me the door to the vestibule and indicated some of the free lockers where I could store my clothes. Thankfully, I was the only person there, but getting naked still felt very uncomfortable. After a few minutes, I heard heels clacking outside the door. I stood up and was greeted by the rep who spoke the previous day. She was wearing black high-heels with a light green suit and bright, bubble-gum pink nails, her lips were pink and smiley and her light brown hair was pulled back. Those bright green eyes seemed to pierce through my vulnerable, little body which I instinctively tried to cover up with my hands.

“Hello, Ms. Chen, I am Emily Eber, but you can call me Mistress Emily or just Mistress if you like. I believe we met yesterday at my college visit did we not?”

“Y-yes… Mistress Emily,” I said hesitantly, not yet understanding why I had to address her that way.

“I see you are already nude, now if you would just put these on both of your second toes,” she continued, handing me a pair of silver toe-rings.

“Yes, Mistress… if I may ask, why must I be naked?”

“Oh, did Caitlin not explain? It’s for static electricity; most fabrics generate static electricity which could damage our equipment if you aren't careful so unless you have shock-proof clothing like us, you must be in the nude; the rings on your toes are to ground your body as an extra precaution.”

The rings felt cold at first but after a few moments of wearing them, I could feel that the air was heavy with static energy, energy which was now flowing through my body and out through my toes in an exquisite, almost sensual sort of feeling. Mistress Emily took me through the foyer and into a little elevator. “Enjoy your tour Ms. Chen,” said the receptionist as the doors closed and we began our descent. Mistress Emily began her spiel as the elevator took us down:

“Pothos is a non-profit organization recently founded by Finnish philanthropist Sanna Aalto. Unlike other green-energy companies, Pothos relies not on solar or wind power, but the electricity generated by the human nervous system.”

“Like the matrix?” I asked.

Mistress Emily laughed, “Yes, I suppose. But unlike the matrix, we rely on a more reliable source of neurological activity: sensation.”

The elevator doors opened and we stepped onto the cold, metallic floor. Several employees were walking through the hall towards the elevator dressed in more or less casual attire: some jeans, yoga pants and exercise shorts with crop-tops, sneakers and hard hats; two or three of them wore glasses and all of them had painted nails.

“Good morning girls,” she said.

“Good morning, Mistress Emily,” they all replied.

I noticed that on either side of the hall there were rooms, each fitted with a computer and a mess of pipes and wires which fed into a little plexiglass coffin with a girl in them. Some of the rooms had workers in them but most were empty except for the girls in the coffins. They were all young, a few had greying hair but none looked to be over fifty, and most were my age.

“The girls you see there are what we call our generators, girls who volunteer to be harvested for energy for the duration of their lives. We have five floors of them, each one corresponding to a different harvesting method. Ideally, we would have a personalized experience for each unique nervous system, but we have managed to sort the girls based on five sensory nerve clusters located in the breasts, navel, genitals, anus and feet. The volunteers are given a neurological implant which monitors their brain activity. Through it, we are able to isolate vital functions such as heartbeat and digestion while shorting all unnecessary ones like movement and language.”

“They can’t move?” I asked with a shutter.

“That’s right, and without language, they can’t think either, only feel. All this power that would go into moving and thinking is rerouted into the sensory nervous system in the form of sensations and emotions, once there, it can be conducted out of the brain and into our batteries.”

“Do they have memories?”

“Yes, but not the way you imagine. Without thoughts, your memories are reduced to images with feelings attached, and as such, they aren’t really intelligible. I imagine that after some time, they just sort of fade away.”

“Fascinating,” I said, starting to become more than intrigued.

“Would you like to see one?” she asked me.

I replied, "Yes, I would," and she took me into one of the rooms with an employee inside.

“Good morning Elise, how is number eight doing today?”

“She’s healthy as can be, Mistress Emily! I was just about to start her breakfast.”

The girl looked a little older, maybe thirty or thirty-five. She was relaxed and completely naked, laying on her back with her hair suspended around her head (she was obviously in some kind of fluid). Her head was back and her lips closed around a large tube which ran down her throat. Her nostrils were also fitted with tubes and near her ears, there were two wires that connected to the Coffin. Her feet involuntarily flexed, exposing her arches and toes to a number of little rotating brushes which whirled against her bare skin. Elise soon finished the feeding session and was asked to explain the procedure to us.

“FT-8 volunteered about a year ago, her diagnostics showed us that her feet are disproportionately sensitive and so she was assigned to this floor. She wakes up every day at 10 and receives a vital examination from myself. I then give her breakfast via that oral tube which terminates in her stomach. To reduce waste, we keep all our generators on a mostly liquid diet of essential nutrients plus whatever hormones their work requires.”

“It’s not like they’ll be tasting it,” Mistress Emily chimed in.

“Exactly. The FT or Foot Tickling floor uses rotating brushes to induce ticklish sensations for us to harvest. We keep them on an hour rotation with five-minute breaks in between, rotating between the arches, sides and toes every twenty minutes so as to not damage the synaptic pathways too quickly. She eats at 10, 4 and 10 and goes to sleep around 4 in the morning.”

“All the generators have staggered schedules so that some are always running.”

I looked into her limp, unconscious eyes. “It must be so… exciting to be her, nothing but tickles all day, always between excitement and anticipation. What was her name?” I asked.

Elise clicked on the computer for a moment before saying, “She was a Ms. Tiffany Olsen, a school teacher, it seems.”

We left so that Elise could finish her work and proceeded to the elevator. Upon reaching the next floor, I was informed that this was the AS or Anal Stimulation floor. I was shown into an empty room where we observed a young girl who looked very much like me: short with black hair and obviously of Chinese descent; she was on her belly with her legs spread apart, exposing her whole ass. A long string of beads entered her anus and terminated in her mouth at the other side. It was slowly being pulled back and forth through the girl’s body and accordingly, she had to be fed by an IV. Mistress explained that the gentleness of the shifting beads coupled with her lack of oral tubes meant that she was good for all-day harvesting. I sat there for a moment, wondering what it must feel like to be perpetually deepthroated and ass-fucked at the same time, but I guess it was slow enough that she could never reach any sort of climax even if her pussy and clit were involved. Still, the thought was really arousing.

The next floor, I was told, was under Mistress Emily’s supervision, the GC or Gino-Clitoral floor.

“Believe it or not, this is where it all began!” she said, “Just three sorority girls with a vibrator and some bright ideas were able to power a lightbulb through orgasm-denial and green energy would never be the same.”

She showed me the girls there who were fixed belly down, like the last floor, only this time they were fixed with an internal vibrator and a clitoral suction cup. The vibrators were designed to fit the entire length of the vagina and rotated between g-spot, cervical and clitoral stimulation much like the first floor. She explained that the generators here were kept on a high estrogen and progesterone diet to enhance their sensitivity.

“They must have the most intense emotions…” I said as I looked into the eyes of one girl, I could see on the monitor that she was nearing climax as we spoke, but then the machine switched off to let her cool down. “Are they ever allowed to cum?”

“Oh yes, there is a limit on how powerfully a girl is capable of orgasming so we can’t edge them indefinitely. They usually hit climax before every meal and then before they go to sleep unless we think they can cum harder. Of course, we also have to use a cocktail of hormones to combat the intense dopamine rush every few hours to preserve the intensity of each orgasm, which leads to even more complex emotional activity.”

The sight of that young, blonde girl edging her heart out in the dark silence of her mind really turned me on. Mistress Emily could even see that I was wet as we got back on the elevator, but said nothing. The next floor was the NA or Navel Area floor. The girls there lay on their backs as they did on floor 1, only this time, the attention was on their bellies, sides and armpits. Their arms were typically near their heads although since they couldn’t move it didn’t really matter. The choice torture weapons used here were a series of robotic spires, much like fingers, which gently poked in succession whatever area was being stimulated. As we walked, I noticed that one room had a worker in it and the coffin seemed to be full of a white substance. After asking my Mistress, she took me to observe what the employee called ‘wash-day”. It was one day each week in which the generator and her chamber would be cleaned.

“I begin,” the worker explained, “by draining the coffin of all the old fluid, then I pump the chamber full of soap and let her sit for a few hours. Once the generator has soaked enough, I open the coffin and scrub her down, making sure to get her belly button, armpits and in between her toes and ass cheeks. Then I rinse her down, apply some protective oils and seal her back in. Last of all, I fill the coffin back up with saline and warm her to 98.6 F.”

“My goodness, is she aware during all this?”

“Oh, she’s fully aware. In fact, we have to disconnect her extraction cables for the cleaning which means that all that wonderful sensation has nowhere to go but bounce around inside her tired little head. It’s actually quite intimate. I can see on the monitor that she experiences a spike in oxytocin and gamma brain waves so she definitely knows she’s being touched, and I like to think she enjoys it. I always go extra slow on her toes, something about having my hands on her feet is just so stimulating for this one in particular. Of course, there’s no way of knowing exactly how she feels but it’s fun to imagine. After the cleaning, we put her back to sleep, all the excitement for the day (and really the whole week) requires some time for her to just dream it out.”

I could tell she liked her job and got to know her generators really well.

“Are you thinking of applying miss?”

“Yes… at least… I think so… there is so much to take in.”

“I highly recommend it, I’m an anal person myself, I love the way it fills my whole body, end to end, just like a pig.”

I was confused at first until Mistress Emily explained that the employees are all required to serve a certain number of hours as reserve generators.

The fifth floor was the BM or Breast Milking floor.

“Now most of the women here are older since lactation is a prerequisite for application, although in some cases lactation can be induced through hormone therapy. The generators are kept on their backs with their full tits exposed while automatic pumps keep their breasts and nipples very stimulated. The milk is then collected and sold for revenue to help pay the employees; and since these generators are in a constant state of lactation, they must also be fed perpetually, making this the second floor with all-day harvesting. The generators are kept on a high hormone diet that allows for continual lactation, and with that comes the added benefit of powerful emotions, perfect for energy harvesting,” Mistress Emily said with visible pride in her company’s ingenuity.

And just like that, the tour was over, we got into the elevator and started to go up. I noticed that there was a “floor 6” and “basement” listed on the elevator and asked what was there.

“Oh floor 6 is where the employees complete their hours, as a matter of fact, I have about sixteen hours on the GC that I need to fill once we are finished. The basement is where we keep our batteries. Some of the women who are on their last nerves get put down there to amplify some of the power coming from the employee floor, I’m told they experience a sort of perfect dream state while they’re down there.”

“Last nerves?” I asked.

“Well, yes, after about twenty years or so, the synaptic pathways are too worn and it takes more energy to run the extraction programs than we actually get out of them. When that happens, we plug them into the batteries, and when they aren’t good even there, we harvest their organs to help pay our employees.”

The news was jarring but not entirely surprising, after a lifetime of tickles and orgasms, how could the mind ever readjust? When we got back to the foyer I took off my toe-rings and handed them to the receptionist who asked if I wanted to apply. And, after examining my life, I realized that nothing seemed more exciting than going into the deep oblivion of perpetual sensation, no matter what it was. She gave me some forms to fill out and reminded me that it was a lifetime commitment. After they were done, I was told to return the next day for my diagnostic test. The clothes felt strange, even wrong when they covered my sensitive, bare skin.

The next day, I returned and was greeted by the receptionist.

“Ms. Eber is completing her hours right now but we’ll soon have someone with you.”

“Lucky woman’s probably orgasming her brains out,” I said under my breath.

I stripped and went into the vestibule. Two other girls were waiting there, both naked. We were all shy at first, one of them I recognized from my class. I guess she also enjoyed the talk. The silver toe-rings felt homely as they slid onto my bare toes. Eventually, a young employee came in to test me. She took me to a small room not unlike a doctor’s office and strapped me to the table. She then placed two pads over my temples and proceeded to tickle my feet.

“It’s alright, Ms. Chen, you can laugh if you need to,” she said as she read the monitor.

After that, she put on a glove and lube and gently worked a finger into my asshole. It felt strangely good going in. Then she gave me a long shaft and told me to put it as far down my throat as I comfortably could. I almost gagged several times, but eventually, she got what she needed and took everything out. Next came my orgasm test. She took a large dildo and began to slowly lease me with it, gently stroking my clit and then pushing it in and out of my dripping pussy while tickling my erect clitoris.

“Very good, Ms. Chen, are we ready to cum yet?” she said after a few minutes.

I nodded and she clicked a button on the dildo; in a moment, everything started to pulse as I felt it vibrating inside me. A few moments later and I squirted all over the worker; she was unphased, of course.

Once I had caught my breath, she began to tickle my belly. I have a fairly deep and sensitive navel and almost lost it several times, and when she started to move towards my ribs and armpits I couldn’t help from screaming out in laughter.

“A bit ticklish, are we, Ms. Chen?” she said with a smile.

“Y-Yes…” I said, catching my breath.

“Now, Ms. Chen, are you currently lactating or expect to be in the near future?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then I don’t think we will do the nipple test, although it is a shame to leave those little things unattended,” she said, gently tickling my breasts. But soon I was escorted back to the vestibule.

“You can wait here, sweetheart. We’ll let each one of you know when we’re ready for you,” she said to us as she left to get the results of our tests.

I had imagined it a million times since Mistress Eber gave her talk, but doing it was different. I felt nervous but very excited. After a few minutes, she came back and informed us of our assignments.

“Ms. Evans, you will be assigned to the fifth floor, Ms. Hudson, you will be assigned to the first floor, and Ms. Chen, you will be assigned to the third floor.”

I couldn’t believe it, it was really happening. I was escorted to the GC floor where I was introduced to a young intern named Taylor who would be my generation attendant.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Chen, I will take good care of you. Now all you have to do is remove your toe-rings and step into this chamber.”

She gently placed the implants into my ear and explained that they could do all the necessary regulation from there. They hurt a little going in but after a minute, I barely noticed. She told me that it would take a few days for my language and movement capacities to be fully neutralized which is why I can still think for the time being. I crawled onto my belly and spread my legs, getting into the most sexual position I could think of. Taylor took a large tube and pushed it gently down my throat and into my stomach, it made me gag at first but afterwards felt nice. Then she plugged my nostrils into the air tubes and sealed the chamber.

Gosh, my last memory of my old life was this tank filling up with warm, thick fluid. Then a buzzing shaft poked its way into my already dripping pussy. The suction on my clit, the bussing deep inside of me. This is all I am now, all I can know until my mind goes black and all I can do is feel. All… I can do… is feel…