She was being filled. Filled and flushed. Intestinal cleanliness was crucial to correct operation of the machinery. She lay in repose, eyes closed, breathing slowly as she felt the water filling her and draining again. The mixture for the sixth fill was, as always, cooler, delivered more slowly and not drained for a while. She had, long ago, concluded that there was something different in fill six and she allowed the now-familiar fuzzy relaxation to spread through her body.

A mild discomfort heralded first emptying then filling of her bladder, again cooler than body-temperature, but her body didn’t seem too bothered by it. Her bladder remained full for a minute then drained slowly.

In the very depths of her vagina, the second interface began its work. Slippery gel was delivered in quantity until it dripped warmly onto the couch and, at her very core, a membrane was filled until it felt like a whole fist. It would remain there, along with viscous fill-seven, until phase 3: about 15 more minutes.