Soylent corporation. The biggest, most profitable, most important corporation in the world. Not only do they train almost every person working in the world, they’re helping stymie the dramatic decrease in fertility. Hell, I was trained by them in their Soylent White program to be a writer and journalist. I helped break the story in 2015 when they introduced their Soylent purple line of women. Women specifically made more fertile… and sold to the wealthy for millions of dollars.
The hardest part of the day isn’t the chores. Mr Simonson’s tasks were all easy; laundry, vacuuming, dusting, cooking. It wasn’t the equipment I had to use. While the world was falling apart, he was wealthy enough to afford fully working appliances and tools and all the food he could want. It wasn’t my appearance. Mr Simonson liked me in light makeup with my hair straight and simple. He liked me in simple tight-fitting dresses and allowed me to wear an apron for anything that might get me dirty. I didn’t even have to wear nail polish. No, the hardest part of the day was the constant voice programed into my head. The voice reminding me that I’m nothing but furniture. That I’m to follow any man’s commands. That I’m to look and act pleasant and sexy and appealing. Even when I’m alone, like now, I have to smile and shake my hips… those damned curvy foreign feminine hips.
So naturally when they cam out with their Soylent Pink line of domesticated women, I started looking into it. On one hand it would make sense. There were so few women left that if they couldn’t be made fertile, Soylent could train them and make them over to be the domesticated, sexually submissive, beautiful women that the wealthy men also wanted. But on the other hand, the numbers just didn’t add up. Soylent’s own numbers said that they could make 99% of the worlds women fertile. So how did they end up with enough stock of women left over to be trained as Soylent Pink furniture?
While I’m not allowed to speak unless spoken to, and even then only enough to give the answers the man expects to hear, I can think all I want. It took me about a year to realize I could think around the voice and while I can’t drown it’s commands out, I can now ponder how I got here and what I am now. Furniture. I’m furniture. NO! Damnit that’s the voice. I’m a Soylent Pink woman… I was made into this against my will. The most advanced technology in the world made me over. Gave me these damnable hips, this soft skin that responds to anybody’s touch, this feminine sexy face, this lilting soft subdued voice, these eminently kissable lips, these huge bouncing breasts, and of course that sweet juicy void between my legs where my own cock once stood.
Breaking into their office was hard, but worth it. When I found their artificial intelligence reports from 2015 I thought I had struck pay dirt. They weren’t making women, they were making androids or robots or something like that. But when I took the discs to the exchange, they told me that the report shows that the AI system just wasn’t ever going to be feasible. If I wanted a real answer I would have to go to the source.
I sometimes wonder; do they know I was a reporter? Do they know I was about to break this story and let the world know what their Soylent Pink products really were? Or did they just assume I was one of the escapees and therefore just threw me back into their process. Did they hear me screaming out all that information while they made my body over? Did they hear me crying out my name and Soylent training number while their AI system started programing my mind? Could they see into my eyes that I wasn’t a willing subject when they pulled me out of that room for inspection?
The Soylent Pink processing center was huge. I scouted it out for days and saw dozens of busses going in and just as many busses going out. The busses going out were easy enough to follow and they were full of beautiful women being taken to the Soylent Pink sales distribution center. Tracing the busses coming in was far more difficult though. I only found the origin of one and it was at the back of a Soylent training facility. But it just didn’t make sense…. Were they pulling in specially trained technicians? I mean, it couldn’t be women as women were all forced to go to the Soylent purple facilities.
I feel that thrill run through my entire body as soon as Mr Simonson walks into the door. Those damned technicians had made sure I’d always respond that way when my owner came home and of course the voice enforced that training. I could feel my pussy moisten as I heard his footsteps grow closer and my nipples grow in response. Even though he doesn’t directly acknowledge me… you don’t say hello to your couch after all… I still feel the anticipation building in me. When he’s standing behind me, flipping through his mail I turn just enough to be available to him and when he tosses the junk mail into the recycling bin he gives me a possessive kiss. As soon as his hands cup my ample behind I respond by rubbing him through his pants. No amount of training can make this pleasant for me. They can make me smile and be compliant and be as sexually knowledgeable and skillful as any whore, but they can’t ever make me enjoy it. After 30 seconds the voice reminds me that he hasn’t moved on, so I began with my new task and started undressing my owner.
When I’d finally snuck around enough to find an empty office I got into their computer and started looking for Soylent purple files. As my inquisitive mind had feared, there were none. None of their ‘inventory’ ever started at their fertility clinics. But what was horrifying was finding out that their stock didn’t come out of a silicone box and a computer but instead came from their own training facilities. They were taking men that had failed three of their programs and transferring them into the Soylent Pink program. I should have taken those files and ran, but I had to witness it. I had to have visual proof that the Soylent Pink program wasn’t AI or robots or androids or even women. I had to have visual proof that Soylent Pink were men!
After getting Mr Simonson undressed I started exposing myself to his touch. Once all of our clothes were nicely folded on the table I pulled out a chair for him and had him sit down comfortably. I could see in his musculature that he was tense and assumed it was a hard day at the office. Or the factory. Or the court. Even after spending 2 years as Mr Simonson’s Pink, I still had no idea what he did for a living. I only knew he was incredibly wealthy… and that he loved my blowjobs. Once he was seated I kneeled next to him and started. My gorge still rises every time his cock lands on my tongue, but from the outside you’d never know it. After five minutes of felating him I heard his light snoring from above and knew that my back and knees would be aching by the end of the night. I don’t know how a man can sleep through a blow job as good as the ones I give, but when he’s stressed out, my owner can. And until he orgasmed into my throat, pulled me off of his cock, or stood up, I can’t do anything but continue to bob my head up and down and make those quiet needy moaning noises that he likes so much.
I guess it was easier to get the guys stated on their new training unconscious as they were all wheeled in via wheel chairs. I got my last bit of proof when I saw one going through an evident inspection. Two technicians looking over one of the men and discussing how he’d look as a woman. They even started filling out his eventual properties… blonde, plump lips, blue eyes, small athletic build, overly sensitive but small breasts. That’s when I felt the blow to the back of my head. The last words I heard directed to me by a human that knew me as a man was “And you thought you could get away… no one escapes Soylent Pink my friend!”
Thankfully he only slept for an hour. His cock throbbing let me know he was awake long before he stood up. There must be an unconscious need to force himself on women because I couldn’t disobey him if I wanted to, but my owner still loved to grip my hair and fuck my face, either cumming deep down my throat or like today all over my face. All I can do is smile and cuddle against his softening cock while he gathers his breath and decides what he wants to do next. He might let me clean up. He might pull me into the bedroom for a night of fucking. He might just leave me here, kneeling and waiting for him until morning. It doesn’t matter what I want as I can’t even offer a suggestion. I’m just furniture. I’m just Soylent Pink.
When I woke up they’d already started my transformation. All of my hair was gone and I was strapped to a table. Two robotic arms were hovering above me and had just given me an injection into each side of my chest. I must have spent months in that room with those damned robotic arms. They’d turn me and position me. They’d inject me with drugs in my butt, my back, my chest, my throat, and my face. They’d force things into my mouth; sometimes to deliver food and sometimes for me to suck on. They’d force things into my ass; sometimes to clean me out and sometimes to fuck me. I’m not sure, as I was thankfully unconscious for it, but I think those arms even did the SRS surgery on me. God knows they did all the after care. And all the while that voice was speaking, letting me know that I was property. That I was a docile woman. That I was Soylent Pink.
source: fuskator
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So I watched Soylent Green this morning. I love that movie and must have watched it a dozen times by now. This is the first time though that I thought of it in these terms... I could practically hear Charlton Heston screaming 'Soylent Pink is Men!!!'
The idea actually came to me about a third into the movie and it didn't budge, so I watched almost the entire film with this idea in mind. And lemme tell you, it would make a great TG story with just a few minor tweaks. Instead of overpoulation being the problem, the world has a problem with women and fertility. Instead of Soylent making food, they train people and eventually make women into fertile machines again. Of course the dystopia doesn't end there as now women are a prized commodity for their fertility (think in terms of The Handmaid's Tale), so now men will pay for women as domestic and sexual servants.
You can probably tell that part way through this story I kind of changed my mind. I tried to backtrack and fix it, but I bet that it's still there. For this short of a story I wanted to use non-fertile women as the thought of what a Soylent Pink starts out as... but for a longer story I would make it an android or robot or something like that. It helps solve a morality problem in that if men treated Soylent Pink women as property, that would be just cruel. But if they were just robots, then of course you'd just treat them as furniture. But in this short of a story I didn't want to get into why there weren't other androids out there or why they couldn't be used like the Soylent Pink ones.
Of course, that would make his inquiry all that much more interesting. If he found that AI wasn't good enough to do what Soylent said they were doing, maybe he thinks they're using women and wants to prove how cruel it is to treat a human like this. Then the big reveal that they don't even use women, and instead use men.
If it were a long enough story I could even picture following the story line of the movie a little closer, but where the heroine is the furniture and is trying to escape to live with the cop as he slowly finds out the truth. That might even be fun to think of what would happen when the cop realizes that the furniture he took from the dead rich man's place is not only not a robot, but is also a man... and finding out that after he's fallen in love with his new property.... yeah, that might be fun.
BUT... I have yet to have the stamina to write out any of my longer story ideas so I didn't even pause to make this into an Obscura. I thought for just a moment that I might make it a cap (hence me finding three images to use!), but even with that much space, I wrote too much. Halfway through writing it I changed up the format just to be a little more interesting... writing it both from the past and the present perspective. I could probably clean it up and make the paragraphs meld together a little more, but I'm already done with this idea and am happy enough with it.
One good thing though... I started having these 'Soylent Pink' ideas at around 9:00 AM. It's now 2:30 PM. That's a good 5 and a half hours of feeling feminine. Maybe this is a good sign that Caitlyn is on her way back in a more full time role. God knows I've been having more and more instances of thinking like her and feeling her presence.
Anywho, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Ta Ta!
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