Sarah was bored with her life. It felt to her that she was just moving from one job to another but just about making ends meet; one one-night stand to another; one failed relationship to another. She was 24 years old, slim with a toned figure, very pretty with brown eyes and long auburn hair. She kept herself fit and active. She socialised, but didn’t drink to excess. She lived for sex and took it where and when she could. Men tended not to turn her down.
What she really desired was to become a mother, in a stable marriage to a handsome, caring and hardworking man, who would keep her safe, warm, fed and, most importantly, sexually satisfied. To her it seemed impossible to achieve this dream.
Three days before her 25th birthday she was sat enjoying a coffee whilst out shopping. The table next to hers had been occupied by an older couple. When they had gone their newspaper had been left behind. Her eyes were drawn to a few words in an advert which was only partially visible, due to the way the paper had been folded. Reaching over she picked it up, unfolded and started to read the ad.
‘The Coleman Agency is looking for volunteers to take part in a surrogacy trial. Certain restrictions apply. Very generous remuneration. Call 0121 653 0011 for more information.’
The advertisement was very vague but it had piqued her interest enough for her to take note of the number on her phone.
Her remaining shopping and journey home were brief. It was on the tube back to her flat in Greenwich that she took out her phone and dialled the number. Three rings and the phone was answered by an automated voice.
“This is the Coleman Agency. Please leave your contact details and we will return your call. Thank you.”
Without thinking, Sarah left her full name, Sarah Samantha Stephens, phone number and, without knowing why, her age, 24 very nearly 25, and hung up. She loved her name, it was quirky, she thought. Her mother was Susan and father Simon. She had an older brother, Stuart Simon. Her parents obviously liked the letter S.
She had settled down for the night in front of the TV when her phone started to vibrate on her coffee table. The number came up as ‘Coleman Agency'. She thought it was strange for them to be ringing back so late in the evening, but answered anyway.
“Hello?” she answered, inquisitively.
“Good evening. Is this Miss Stephens? My name is Beatrice Coleman, from the Coleman Agency,” she introduced herself, with a beautiful, warm, slightly Northern Irish accent.
“Um, yes. This is Sarah Stephens.”
“Ah, good. I am just returning your call from earlier. I guess that you’re inquiring about the advert in the London Courier. I can give you information now but it would be better for you to come to us so I can show you our presentation. Are you available tomorrow? I know it's Sunday but here at CA we never close.”
Wow! she thought. “Yes, I can come to you tomorrow. What time and…”
“Great, a car will be with you at 9am. No need to dress up, just wear something comfortable. See you tomorrow.” Click! The phone hung up.
Sarah was still holding the phone to her ear 30 seconds later, trying to digest what was happening. I didn’t give them my address! she thought before trying to redial the number which had rung.
The phone went dead as soon as it tried to connect. She tried again...dead, again. This time she gave up, put her phone back on charge and restarted the programme she was watching while cuddling her mug of chocolate.
On going to bed, she took one of her many vibrators out of her bedside drawer. This one was about 2” thick and 10” long, she liked her cunt filled to the brim. It had nodules running up and down its length which added to the sensation. She laid on top of her bed sheets and started to rub it against her clitoris, occasionally thrusting it into her tight, shaven cunt. It never took her more than 5 minutes to come and this time was no exception. She couldn’t sleep without a climax of some form, whether self-induced or from a hard cock or tongue fucking her senseless. She’d been like this since she first started playing with herself as an adolescent when she discovered how good it felt. Not one night had gone by without coming, at least once. She had taken to using carrots when she was younger and progressed to cucumbers before plucking up the courage to buy her first rabbit toy.
Deeper and deeper, she thrust the shaft until it was pressing right up against her cervix. Her body started to shake, and she nearly passed out with the intensity of her orgasm. Sarah drifted off to sleep with the sodden vibrator next to her.
The next morning, she was awoken by a knocking at her door. Reaching for her phone she read that it was 9am, exactly. The knock came again, this time more urgently.
“Miss Stephens?” a male voice sounded through the door. “I’m here to pick you up for your appointment with Mrs Coleman.”
He sounds very sexy, she thought. “Sorry! I’ll be ten minutes,” Sarah answered in a shout, without thinking.
“OK. I’ll be outside in the black Bentley, waiting.”
Sarah threw on some clothes, shoes and tidied her hair. Closing the door behind her and heading down the two flights of stairs she realised that she hadn’t put any makeup on nor washed herself so was still sporting last night’s cum juices in her knickers. No problem, she thought, I’ll have a shower when I get back. As her birthday was on a Tuesday, she’d arranged to go out for a meal and a few drinks that evening, with a few close friends, to celebrate.
The tall, slim, well dressed chauffeur opened the door to the rear of the car and Sarah climbed in. She felt like royalty or a pop idol or movie star. In the back to greet her was an elegant lady, maybe 45 or 50 years old. Her clothes looked expensive and her makeup impeccable.
“Good morning Miss Stephens. I spoke to you last night. My name is Beatrice. Can I call you Sarah?”
“Yes, no problem. I’m confused. How did you know where I live?” Sarah asked quite bluntly.
“The Internet is a wonderful resource, Sarah. A quick look up of your very unique name on the electoral register yielded your address. How much do you know about our company?”
Sarah hesitated, a little unsure as to how to answer. “Um, nothing, really. I just saw your advert and was interested.”
“Well, you fit the bill. You’re under 25, female, single, VERY good looking, fit and healthy and, most importantly, here, with me, now.” She paused a few seconds and then, “I am not going to beat around the bush, Sarah. We are developing a treatment for women who find it difficult to conceive. You see, many women leave it too late to start trying for a baby and their body starts to work against them, reducing the odds and making it more difficult to successfully get pregnant. We have developed a drug which effectively stops the ageing process, where reproduction is concerned, and allows a woman to have children much later in life.”
“Oh, so you want me to be in the trial?” Sarah butted in.
“You really don’t beat around the bush, do you? What would it involve and are there any risks, to me or my future, I mean?”
As she asked, the car pulled into an underground car park beneath a tall hotel style building. Sarah didn’t recognise it but knew the area. It was in Kensington, so very expensive.
“Here we are,” said Beatrice, “we’re on the top floor. There’s an elevator just for us. It offers us a great deal of privacy, which is important in our line of work.”
The lift was quick and silent. It only had two floors available, the car park and floor 56, the offices of Coleman Agency. The doors opened and exposed a plush reception area (unattended) with four leather chairs, a large oak desk and four oak doors. Beatrice led them to the leftmost door and opened it.
“OK. Here’s my office.” She walked through and Sarah followed, nervously. It didn’t look like a pharmaceutical factory to Sarah, but she guessed there was a facility nearby and this was just the administration building. “Take a seat,” Beatrice offered, gesturing towards the desk near the floor to ceiling window in the corner of the room.
When they were both sat down, Beatrice opened her laptop, pointed to the large screen on the wall and set a presentation running. It detailed much of what she’d already heard but not what she really wanted to hear...what was in it for her?
“I suppose you want to know what you’ll get out of it?” Beatrice offered, pre-empting Sarah's question.
“Well, yes, I guess! I mean, I’m helping others but there must be something for me, for my time, risk, you know?”
“If you accept, you will be paid £500,000 each complete year that you remain in the trial with the benefit of being biologically no older when you leave the trial as when you enter. It will be paid each year into an account of your choice. You will be fed, housed and medically covered throughout. All we ask is that you think about this, seriously before signing. However, in two days you will not be eligible, it being your 25th birthday.”
Sarah’s jaw dropped and remained open for a few minutes while it sank in.
“Let me get this straight. I sign up for, let’s say 5 years, you do your trials on me and I walk away two and a half a million richer but biologically 25 still?” Sarah asked.
“Yes, technically 24 but, yes. You can sign up for less or more time at the beginning and can extend your time with us but not shorten. This is why you really need to think long and hard before committing.”
“What would I need to do?”
The chauffeur dropped Sarah at home. She had a contract and some reading material.
At 9am the next morning there was a knock at the door. This time, Sarah was ready. She had a bag, her phone, the rental agreement for her apartment and, most importantly, a signed contract.
At the offices, Beatrice was already waiting. Sarah handed her the contract which she quickly read.
“I see you’ve written 10 years in the availability box. Are you sure?”
“Yes, I understand it’s a minimum.”
Beatrice turned to the last page and signed it. She offered the pen to Sarah and she signed also.
“I’ll just get a copy of this for you.” And left the room for a few minutes. When she returned she gave the copy to Sarah, showing her the last page where they had both signed.
“All OK with that?” she asked.
Sarah nodded and folded up the contract and put it in her bag. She hadn’t noticed that Beatrice had added a zero to the availability box. It now read 100 years but Sarah hadn’t seen that. Beatrice had been very manipulative when showing her the document.
“Have a seat, and some coffee. I'll go and find the nurse.”
Sarah sat, alone and looking at the fantastic view. She drank her coffee quite quickly.
Sarah’s eyes opened. It was as dark as when they were shut. Her head ached, not badly. It was more like when you have a cold and you’re aware of your head. She went to rub her eyes but found her arms wouldn’t move. She could feel something around her wrists and upper arms, something that was preventing her from moving. She tried to lift her head but couldn’t. It became apparent to her that her head was restrained. A band was holding her forehead down also stopping any sideways movement. Sarah started to panic and gulped. This revealed that her neck was being held fixed in position by some solid feeling band.
Becoming more aware of her predicament her now heavy breathing was laboured by more bands, one above and one below her 38D breasts. They were tight enough to stop her moving but left enough for her breathing.
Sarah’s legs were bent up with her feet by her arse and knees spread far apart. There was no moving them either. It felt like they were held rigid by steel bars. Her hips were painful and any attempt to straighten her legs increased the discomfort. She mentally worked through her body, trying to work out if she had any freedom of movement.
There was none.
Worst of all, her cunt ached. She felt like that one time when she’d taken three guys back to her apartment and spent nearly twenty hours fucking, sucking and drinking their cum. At least she had a good time then. OK., walking was tricky for a few days but it was worth it.
“Help!” she tried to shout. Nothing came out. Just breath. She tried again but she just made a breathing sound. Her jaws were wide apart.
Strangely, she couldn’t hear anything. There was no sound of anything. She could only hear her breath.
A faint light was turned on and she blinked. Her sight adjusted and she realised the seriousness of her predicament. Above her there was a full-length mirror. She could now see what was restraining her. Bright, shining steel bands. The pain in her cunt was now explained as she could see there was a large steel clamp device holding a steel dildo inside her.
“Good evening Sarah,” came a voice over a speaker system, “welcome to your new life, for the next 100 years, anyway. You may wonder why you are restrained like this. The simple reason is that the drugs will stop the aging but you must be held absolutely still in order for them to work most efficiently.”
Sarah’s eyes began to water.
“I’m sorry you are upset but this is only for the first year while the drugs take full effect. After this time, you will be allowed a small amount of movement. This will only be to allow you to feed your baby with its first milk after giving birth. You’ll then be milked for three months, in this position, until you are pregnant again. You will produce a child every year for your full time here.”
She paused, allowing the information to sink in before continuing.
“I suppose you’re wondering about muscle wastage and joint problems. There is no need. The drugs take care of all of that. You will have nothing to do. Just lie there, get fucked by whoever wants your child and deliver it to them in nine months. Your waste is taken care of. You have a catheter for the piss and will automatically be flushed out by enema twice a day. Oh, by the way, you won’t be allowed to orgasm as this can affect the treatment adversely. Your clitoris has been numbed to help this. You’ll feel the childbirth as we cannot give any other pain relief. Again, this can adversely affect the process. The device in your cunt is there to keep you supple and ready for a client. It will vibrate, twist and expand from time to time. Not enough to make you come, but enough to get you nice and wet. It will happen at random times based on sensors which detect the condition of your insides.”
Sarah was panicking now. “I didn’t sign up for this!” she tried to mouth but the jaw spreader and feeding tube stopped any sound coming out.
“Don’t try to speak, you’ll not be able to. The tube and spreader will keep you quiet. We’ve disabled the muscles in your voice box until you leave, just so you don’t disturb the fathers when they’re implanting their seed.”
How am I supposed just to lie here, for 100 years, I’ll go insane. I need to leave…NOW! Sarah thought. How was she to convey this to Beatrice?
Beatrice continued, “That brings me to the final thing. If you become infertile, unlikely but possible as we are not sure how long it lasts yet, you’ll be kept here for the remaining time as a test subject for improvements in drugs. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
The light went off and the speakers were quiet.
100 years. 100 years! she thought. The length of time didn’t really register with her. 100 years without an orgasm. I can’t go one day. I’ll go mad with frustration.
Maybe she was focusing on the wrong thing here.
Suddenly, the dildo started vibrating and her cunt started betraying her by getting wet. The thought of not being able to achieve orgasm was a huge turn on…
To be continued