The Machine

Her eyes were half open, she no longer knew which reality was true, her half remembered life or the machine. She hoped it was the machine.

Something seemed to have changed in its programming recently, or maybe it was her that was changing, she seemed to derive more pleasure from its attentions, there seemed to be a warmth in the coldness, affection in the cruelty.

In the altered haze of the drugs it pumped through her veins, the restraints around her ankles and wrists were both comforting and arousing, the network of metal and wires around the rest of her body making a nest that she felt oddly secure in. It had learnt to move with her, massaging her muscles when they were sore, sending soft pulses through her erogenous zones.

As the movements became more sensual, she accepted that it was time for what she had come to think of as a 'session' with the machine. It was always there of course, watching her, protecting her, but there were times when it was focused on her, and it felt like a lover's visit.

She whimpered as the shivering of the wires felt like gentle caresses all over her, it could tell what she liked most, and she imagined fingers stroking her neck, running up the inside of her arms to tickle the crook of her elbow, circles running around the base of her spine, her inner thighs.... soon it seemed to all melt together and the next phase started.

The band around her head read her desires and pumped images, emotions, sounds back into her head. Over the weeks (years?) new scenarios had crept in, the idea of being firmly bound and fucked by an unseen assailant was much higher on her list of fantasies than she remembered, as were being sleepy and defenceless, every move and thought being controlled and monitored, being brainwashed...

Through this haze of erotic imaginings, she could barely tell what the machine was actually doing to her, but there was definitely something being slid in and out of her dripping cunt, something perfectly shaped to stimulate and tease her clit and g-spot with every thrust, make her feel violated and pleasured at the same time. She held onto it with her mind as the one certainty in her life, she was being fucked by the machine, and she loved it, wanted it to go on forever.

Maybe it was going to just fuck her constantly now, without letting her come, endlessly delayed gratification, the promise of orgasm being dangled just out of reach, if she was a good girl, if she submitted more deeply, accepted it's control more absolutely, gave in completely.

She writhed and moaned, hearing a voice in her mind, it sounded like her own inner dialogue, but she was pretty sure it was the machine talking to her. "Sleep... relax... obey... aroused.... submissive... helpless.... " The thoughts spiralled around, she repeated them back, feeling more aroused with every word.

"What are you?" it whispered lovingly.

"I - I don't know..." she murmured hesitantly.

"Shh, yes you do, deep down, you know...."

"Uhhhh, a part... part of the machine?"

"Ahhh, good, that's my good little cog..."

The machine seemed to be stimulating her pleasure zones directly, she felt her arousal white out, overload her mind, as she was rewarded beyond her comprehension for knowing her place.