© Copyright 2010 - AmyAmy - Used by permission
Storycodes: M+/f; machine/f; F/f; dollsuit; latex; leather; bond; fantasy; bdsm; cons/reluct; XX
Part 8: Doll Dreams
We’re in the ADAM chamber. Jared and Gideon are wearing big coats and hats. I’m sitting naked on the chair. Some pieces of ADAM have swung down and plugged themselves into me. In front of me is the sarcophagus, all opened up like something from a Transformers movie. Behind the sarcophagus are five hospital trolleys. Each one has a box like a large glossy black coffin on it, and each box is cabled into the system.
I remember them starting the sarcophagus. It begins by closing up. Parts spinning into place with a metallic snick, snick, snick noise. It’s the puzzle box from hell. As it closes, it blasts more cold air out into the room making Jared and Gideon shiver. I remember ADAM descending like a dark shadow and then…
The next thing I know, Jared is telling me that we’re done for the day. Done for the day? We haven’t started yet. It’s still morning – isn’t it?
“What do you mean we’re done? I only just sat down.”
“You must have fallen asleep Kelly. It’s five o’clock,” says Gideon.
“That’s ridiculous. I only just woke up half an hour ago,” I say.
“Maybe it’s that problem you were talking about last night?” Says Jared.
“Don’t you start,” I say. “I didn’t just fall asleep. You did something to me.”
“It could be a bug, a blackout? I thought it was odd you were so quiet,” says Jared.
“If I was asleep, wouldn’t you know?” I say.
“How would we tell?” Says Gideon with a dry twist to his voice. I expect some crack about the peace and quiet, but he doesn’t even bother with that much. I find his answer upsetting. I don’t want to continue the argument any longer if all they are going to do is talk like I’m a faulty machine. They can’t even tell if I’m turned on or off unless I pester them with annoying questions they tell me not to ask.
Jared and Gideon are giving each other a strange look, like they know something I don’t. I have had a bellyful of that look over the past few weeks.
ADAM unplugs from me at this point, which seems opportune. I stand up, grab my tracksuit and walk out, still naked.
I stop and get dressed, using one of the deposition fabricators as a support to lean against. While I’m zipping up my top Jared comes out of the ADAM chamber, quickly closing the door behind him to shut out as much of the cold in as he can. He shivers and starts to undo his big coat.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “We’re just stressed over the next week, starting the new stage and so on. I mean technically we’re already in stage four but tomorrow it really begins.”
“I would have thought you’d be more stressed if I was having unexplained blackouts. That sounds like something wrong to me,” I say.
“Truth be told, that wasn’t exactly an unexpected blackout, we just didn’t think you’d react that way to it. Don’t tell Gideon I told you though,” he says.
“I’ll see you tonight in the informatics lab then?” I say.
“Well, I guess you will; I’m working late again. Funny you should mention that,” he adds.
“Why funny?” I ask.
“I’ll explain tonight,” he says. “I have to get moving now, it’s about the only chance I’ll get to grab some food tonight.”
“Lucky you,” I say as he hangs up his coat and hurries off. I don’t follow immediately. I don’t want one of those awkward ‘both walking the same way’ moments.
As a matter of routine I spend as much time as I can on my computer, reading about the science and mythology on the internet. I looked for information about the Doctor’s cult but there’s nothing. Tonight I’m looking up the Lilim again. The howling of the desert demons crops up in stories by HP Lovecraft and the Call of Cthulhu game. It doesn’t give me a warm fuzzy feeling. An alarm reminds me it’s time to head to informatics and plug myself in.
Jared and Kaiser are both in informatics when I arrive. Jared is drinking blue Gatorade and Kaiser is surrounded by empty junk-food wrappers. They seem busy. I don’t say anything and head over to my bed and start climbing onto it.
Jared spins his chair around to look at me.
“Evening Kelly,” he says. He has the sheepish look of someone who has just let you open the wrong Christmas present and now has to take it back.
“Hello Jared,” I say. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing wrong. I was just going to say they put in a new room for you today, a brand-new module for stage four. You can sleep there from now on,” he says.
“Oh… You don’t want me to sleep here then?” I say.
“Well. I guess I just want to show you where the new module is, but it would be better wouldn’t it? We’ll be working here late nights a lot for the next few weeks. It’s not really very private is it?” He says.
“I guess not. OK. Let’s go then,” I say. I’m surprised to find that I feel a little sad that I am being pushed out. It feels a lot like a rejection. It’s like they don’t want me in their club-house any longer.
Jared leads me to the new module. The access door is just around a corner from the high security area and a good distance from my old room, which was near the entrance.
He opens the door and the light flickers on automatically. The space is tiny, there isn’t room for much more than the white rectangular block that forms a kind of strange minimalist bed.
“What is this?” I say. I tried to say something far more colorful, but the software that controls my voice cut me back to three plain words and no expletives.
“Most of the module is full of support machinery,” says Jared apologetically. He goes over to the back wall and opens a hidden cupboard. “Look, there’s a wardrobe.” The door has a mirror on the inside. There’s something hung up inside, but I don’t pay it any attention right now.
“And I sleep on this?” I say, doing what I always do when life tries to tear me apart. I focus, move on – try to do what has to be done.
“Not on it, in it,” he says, touching a near invisible white button at the head of the thing. Frosted white glass doors that form a cover over the top of it slide sideways and tip down into the sides of the ‘bed’. They expose a human shaped cavity that looks like I might fit into it as long as I have no intention of moving a muscle while I sleep.
“It’s a coffin,” I say. I try to say “fucking coffin” but I’m physically incapable of doing it.
“I think it’s rather stylish,” says Jared. “In any case, it can give you everything your body needs. It’s still a prototype but it’s properly built and designed, not like the jury-rigged mess in informatics.
“Is there a sink or a toilet?” I ask.
“I think there is,” he says. He starts poking about and finds a door that mirrors the position of the wardrobe. It opens onto a washroom about the size that you’d find on an airplane.
“Did we suddenly get short of room or something?” I say.
“Like I said, most of the space in the module is taken up by support machinery, computers, back-up power supplies – all the kind of stuff. Somebody told the guys in the Japanese design office that it all had to fit in one module, so I guess they took it literally. Anyway, I don’t think you need to do anything but sleep here.”
“I can still use my old room during the day?” I ask.
“Well…” He looks awkward again. This is really not a fun night for him. “You aren’t allowed off-site now, and there are some security issues that Gideon raised. Apparently, it’s all in your contract, but anyway, the front of the building is off-limits and your card won’t work there any longer. We can go and get your stuff from there tomorrow if there’s anything you left behind.”
“I want my phone and computer,” I say.
“Is that all? I’ll pick them up for you,” he says.
“This is awful. Why didn’t you warn me about it?” I say.
“You know how it is here, plans change fast. Last night I didn’t know about any of it myself,” he explains. “This morning they lifted in the module. I had an email about it. To be honest, I thought it would be nicer.”
“Is there any other bad news for me before you go?” I ask bitterly.
“Well… Probably… Apparently, you shouldn’t wear clothes with the new materials that we’re introducing from tomorrow,” he says.
“I have to go around naked now?” I say, indignant.
“No. I think there’s some kind of special uniform. They’re hanging up in the wardrobe. Gideon says I have to take all your clothes now so ‘she doesn’t disregard her instructions like she fucking usually does’, as he so kindly put it.” He impersonates Gideon’s voice. I ought to find it funny, but I know he’s just trying to divert my anger away from him. I have plenty of anger to divert.
“I’ll just strip off right in front of you as usual then. Not like anybody hasn’t seen my shop-window-dummy body naked anyway, especially you. Not like anybody hasn’t seen my real body naked in this place if it comes to it, Gideon saw to that,” I snarl, the software editing out half a dozen expletives from my rant. I unzip my top and throw it on the floor in front of him. While he’s picking it up I step out of my tracksuit pants. I don’t have any underwear, what would I need it for?
Crouched, picking up my pants, he looks up at my doll crotch without thinking. It’s inches from his face. I sneer.
“Does that look safe enough for you? No dirty bits corrupting your innocence? You wouldn’t touch the Doctor’s belt and then you do this to me,” I say twisting the knife. It feels good to make somebody else hurt for a change even if I know it’s not a free shot; I’m sure I’ll be well punished for it later and I’ll probably be the one at the front of the queue for that too – I’ve got self harm down to an art.
He blushes and wads up my clothes, passing them from hand to hand, he doesn’t know what to do with them. He goes to leave without further comment. I want to make another harsh remark about my crotch, maybe a female circumcision comparison or something about Germaine Greer, but I’m not even sure he’d get the reference. By the time I have something worth saying he’s gone. Angrily, I slam the door closed and turn back into the unwelcoming room.
I look for somewhere to sit down and wallow in self pity but there’s nowhere. I climb onto the ‘bed’ and slide into the recess that’s shaped to fit my body – even it doesn’t fit right. I feel something click into the back of my neck locking me in position.
The doors start to rise up and close over me automatically, sealing me in a featureless dome of directionless white light. Then the lights go out and I’m in complete and utter darkness. If there’s a button to open the doors I have no idea where it is, but knowing the way things tend to work here there probably isn’t one; once I’m in position I’m locked in for the night.
I awake to the sound of the doors on my ‘pod’ opening. Outside the pod my windowless room is brightly lit with harsh white fluorescent light. The neck coupling disengages and I am able to climb out of the soft padded recess in the top of the minimalist white block.
The doors to the wardrobe and washroom are wide open as Jared left them last night. I close the washroom door: I don’t have anything that requires washing. I’m not even completely sure if it’s even safe to wash my featureless plastic manikin face.
I look in the wardrobe where Jared informed me my new uniform is to be found. Hanging from a rail are several identical milky white plastic jumpsuits. I pull one out. It’s cool to the touch, soft and smooth. It slides over itself like silk, without sticking or catching. There’s no closure, zip or buttons – apparently I have to step into it through the neck hole.
It stretches without difficulty and I slide myself into the soft yielding overall. It slides easily over my plastic surface. It doesn’t take me long to get my legs in place. There are built-in shoes with tacky non-slip rubber soles at the end of the legs.
It’s a little harder to get my arms in, and I find there are built-in gloves, which fit very well though I would prefer they had been omitted. The gloves also have a tacky coating that helps me grip, but everything still feels indistinct and it more awkward to work with, making the second part of donning the suit more difficult.
The suit’s high neck doesn’t snap back to its original size, but instead shrinks back gradually, like memory foam gradually returning to its original shape. It looks like I’m finished but then I look down at the somewhat baggy ensemble. It’s translucent but not transparent, and doesn’t provide a clear view of anything hidden beneath. There’s a hole that allows access to my neck port, and another for the socket in my belly, though the latter doesn’t line up very well. It has a wide tube connected to it that vanishes inside the wardrobe. I fiddle with it, pushing it down so it engages and clicks into place, making a seal with the edges of my belly socket.
To my surprise, the suit suddenly starts to deflate, vacuuming tight onto me. I imagine this is intentional, so I help smooth out the air bubbles. I don’t get rid of all of them, but the suit is now a perfect and very tight fit, but still unrestrictive and easy to move about in. The deflator tube falls away automatically. I guess now I really am ready to go.
My new uniform doesn’t leave much to the imagination about my shape, and the way it hugs my plastic backside is particularly revealing, but I suppose it is a little better than being completely naked.
I soon complete the thirty-second walk from my new room to the entry to the secure area. I simply stand outside waiting for someone to let me in. It’s not as if I have anything else to do. What am I going to do? Eat breakfast? I don’t even have a mouth.
After about a minute the door clicks open and I creep nervously inside. There’s nobody in the fabricator room and I head on into the ADAM chamber. Jared and Gideon are already there.
Gideon gestures to the chair. Jared starts the talking.
“Morning Kelly,” he says.
“Good morning Jared,” I answer, sliding myself into the ADAM chair mechanism, which gently takes my weight. “What part of my humanity are you removing today?”
Jared turns pale.
“You put all that work into the stage three helmet, just so that she can talk, but she never does anything but complain,” says Gideon.
“I should thank you for being turned into a crash test dummy?” I say indignantly. Jared remains slack jawed, trying to find his place in a dialogue I realize is quickly spiraling out of control.
“You agreed to it and you’re paid for it. I expect you to do your job with some professionalism. I didn’t sign up to work with a whining child,” says Gideon.
“To be fair, Kelly has delivered far beyond what we originally asked of her,” says Jared. I take the opportunity to shut the fuck up and stop digging myself in further. I dread to think what the Doctor will do when she hears about this little spat.
“I will be happier when we have an Eve to work with,” says Gideon as if I’m not there. “Kelly’s erratic attitude is an unquantifiable risk.”
Jared elects not to answer Gideon, instead addressing me.
“Kelly, you’ll recall when we discussed stage four that it wouldn’t impose any new restrictions on you, in fact I think you’ll be pleased with the improvements in functionality you get back, but this is still going to be the most challenging stage so far,” says Jared.
“Improvements in functionality?” I say, baffled.
“You’ll look and feel more human, more human than this anyway,” he says.
“And the challenge?”
“Your previous ADAM sessions have involved interfacing with pre-constructed skins. That’s not possible now. You will have to remain in ADAM throughout the entire fabrication process. It’s going to be about ten days,” he says in the kind of soft serious tone that doctors seem to use when they have to advise you of surgical risks.
“Ten days?” I say. I think about the pleasure of my encounters with ADAM before. “Can I stay that long up there? Will I like it?”
“Honestly, I have no idea what it might be like. We’ve done what we can to get the time down, but this sort of procedure might feel horrible. I don’t believe there will be pain, but there could be stresses we can only guess at. If you want you can be unconscious for the entire thing – you don’t have to feel any of it.”
“No. I want to know what happens,” I say.
“Are you absolutely sure?” He says.
“Absolutely,” I respond.
“This is exactly what I was talking about. Now if it turns out to be a hell-ride you can be sure we’ll be the ones to blame. If her whimsical choice to remains conscious throughout a procedure that nobody has ever experienced before turns sour, you can be sure that we’ll be to blame for her suffering,” says Gideon.
“I think Gideon is recommending you take the other option,” says Jared.
“If it turns out to be torture she can damn well live with it,” says Gideon.
“You can’t say you weren’t advised of the risks,” says Jared.
“No, I accept what I suffer during the procedure will be my fault, but the results of the thing, those will still be all your doing,” I say.
“Can we just get started? ADAM is ready to begin immediately,” says Gideon.
“Do I need to take off the suit?” I say.
“No need, ADAM made it, and ADAM knows how to take it off,” says Jared.
“I’m ready then,” I say, and I recline back fully into the weightless embrace of the ADAM couch.
From the very beginning something feels different. I rise up into the heart of the machine as cables engage in the back of my neck and my abdomen. The thousands of tiny probes do not so much buoy me up as surround me, pressing in. There’s no pain but I feel as if I’m being penetrated by thousands of tiny needles as they prickle into every part of me.
My vision fades away to white, as if I’m floating in some vast empty sky. It’s like being in the new sleep chamber, but many times more intense an experience – or perhaps the opposite of intense.
My body feels remote, far away – I can barely sense it at all – I have the vaguest sense that parts of me still exist. I am disembodied. The only thing that I can feel clearly is ADAM, and this time there is a sorrow, a regret to his touch that frightens me. The strangely clear emotional message, the aura of care and security that seems to radiate from ADAM has never been tainted before.
I have never been in ADAM for more than a few minutes at a time, but this time the experience doesn’t end just as I’m starting to get a handle on what’s happening. This time it goes on … and on. It seems as if I float in the featureless white world for hours, maybe days, sleepless yet dreaming.
My mind drifts off into strange fantasies, sometimes of nothing more distinct than a color or a sound, sometimes of places; endless green fields scattered with flowers beneath a perfect blue sky; a rugged coastline where the sea crashes against huge irregular boulders and little streams crack their way down through channels in the cliffs – they don’t seem to be images from my mind at all, or perhaps they are just something I have forgotten.
At other times I dream of my past, or a future that never happened; sometimes I dream of a life with Jared, a brand-new sprawling bungalow where I dip in the indoor pool, quiet parties with café music and dim lighting; at other times I dream of the Doctor and Susie. My dreams of them are strangely specific.
I’m sitting in the Doctor’s car wearing rubber and leather, my hands cuffed together and chained between my knees. The Doctor is unlocking me, leading me inside her house. The house and grounds are surrounded by a twelve foot tall wire-link fence, except at the front, where there is a solid brick wall just as tall, pierced by a heavy wrought-iron gate operated by remote control. A continuous hedge of pine trees hides the fence from view once inside the grounds.
At the front of the house is a formal garden of grass, rosebushes and gravel paths. The roses are at that stage where they are big and overblown, the flowering season is over and they drop yellow petals and fall apart in the breeze. Their heavy scent blows across the driveway as we walk towards the house.
Behind the house I catch a glimpse of a tennis court, some kind of gazebo and perhaps a pool. I make it sound enormous, but really it’s not more than about two acres.
The house itself is three stories tall, old, I estimate from the thirties, but built in a traditional rather than deco style. It is a forbidding edifice of dark redbrick. The dream of the place is incredibly detailed and realistic, yet I have never seen the Doctor’s house, or even heard her speak of it.
I dream of the house on and off, seeming to drift in and out of a story, in between I dream of other things. Sometimes I dream that I’m curled up inside a kind of cocoon attached to the roof of the ADAM chamber, swimming in blue and surrounded by his arms. Numerous conduits and cables connect the cocoon to ADAM who tends it lovingly with his myriad manipulators.
I am afloat inside the cocoon, little more than a network of nerves suspended in a soup of nutrients. It’s a strange and impossible dream. I imagine that my body is reforming, piece by tiny piece, cell by cell, and every single one is lovingly nurtured and positioned by ADAM.
The Doctor says, “This will be your room while you make up your mind.” She locks the chain tight around my ankle but my hands are now free. The room, like my dreams is light and airy with white painted walls. Two large sash-windows extend almost from floor to ceiling, offering a view from the top floor, out of the front of the house and across the garden towards the wall. I can feel a chill draught from outside coming in through the old, ill-fitting windows.
I examine the bulky canopied bed to which I am chained. It’s not the usual cheap light-weight thing that you can buy in a dozen furniture chains across the country; this one is custom made from heavy steel and covered in thick white baked enamel.
The chain allows me to reach the windows, the distressed white painted wardrobe and a chest of drawers but not the door. There is no chair in the room. I lie down on the bed and think. I imagine I will be kept in this white limbo until I decide one way or the other.
Lying on the bed I remember how damn horny I’ve been lately. With nothing to distract me it starts to prey on my mind. After a while I drift into a dream that I’m inside a bubble, inside ADAM, dreaming that I’m back here in the bedroom. It’s like a hall of mirrors.
I regain full command of my senses when Susie comes into the room. She’s dressed in a black leather cat-suit, looking rather like Mrs. Peel from the Avengers.
“Hello Kelly. It’s so strange to finally be able to talk to you. Mistress Alex has gone,” she says.
“Gone? What do you mean? Oh, sorry, hello too. I know what you mean, so strange. It seems like we’ve been so close for so long and yet we could never speak.”
“We can now,” says Susie. “Mistress Alex has gone.”
“You just said that before. What do you mean?”
“She’s gone to hide from the cult of the black spider, from that witch Dehlia and her army of zombie maids.”
“The cult of the what? Are you talking about Lauren?” I say.
“Yes, now you say it that name rings a bell. She said ‘Lauren will be distracted right now’. She packed some things and drove off. I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again. I didn’t realize until now how much I’m going to miss her.”
“Neither did I,” I admit.
She nods, then her expression changes, as if putting aside foolish things and considering serious matters.
“She said that you were considering entering into a genuine power-transfer relationship, that you were hoping that I would take control. Did she really explain what that would mean for you?”
“No. To be honest, and don’t take this like I’m being rude, I really wanted to get to know you, to maybe form some kind of bond. I didn’t want to just show up here and become your pet, or your slave, or live-in lesbian lover or whatever it is that you’re talking about,” I say.
She nods. I’m on the bed, chained to it. She’s standing like Uma Thurman ready to kick ass. I feel hopelessly out of my depth. Even if I could overpower her I’d still be chained to a bed that weighs about half a ton, but why would I want to?
“I know, it’s funny that we’ve been bound together in sex and pain for months, but now we’re like two strangers,” she says.
“Maybe I should just beg to lick your snatch and we can just go back to what works,” I say.
“You can call it what you like now, she’s gone,” she says.
We both laugh, sharing that moment of how the Doctor controls everything, even the vocabulary – especially the vocabulary.
“Do you prefer Susan or Susie?” I say.
“Sue will do,” she says with a smirk. “What about you?”
“I’ve always been Kelly,” I say. “Is it alright if I call you Susan?”
“I don’t have a problem with it,” she says.
“So, what is a ‘power transfer relationship’? Its sounds like something to do with car engines,” I say.
“It’s when one person, the submissive, gives all the power in the relationship to the other, the dominant. In theory, once that transfer is made, there’s no way for the submissive to ever take it back. In practice I suppose things are more fluid. It requires commitment and effort on both parts. It takes drive and determination to genuinely submit. Most people who toy with the idea never have the strength or commitment to follow it through all the way,” she says.
“I know Mistress Alex always believed that I am incapable of making a genuine considered decision or genuinely deferring to another – that even in my continual submission I was just doing what I wanted to do: make someone else responsible,” I say.
“You know that does sound a bit like a committed submissive: someone who is determined to submit no matter what and damn everybody else,” says Sue.
“I can’t imagine going back to a vanilla sex-life after what’s happened, but I don’t know if I really have what it takes to be in the life-style twenty-four-seven. Honestly, I think I’d get bored,” I say.
“And you’re afraid of losing the illusion of control?” She asks.
“When you put it that way…” I don’t know how to finish.
“Are you afraid of me?” She says.
“No. No. Well, maybe, just a little,” I admit.
“Total power transfer doesn’t have to be about sex, latex, or bondage, or pain, but I’ll be honest: Mistress Alex made me what I am, and all those things are part of me – part of you in a way too,” she says.
“I think … or I’m afraid … that if I walk away from you I’ll just end up looking for somebody to take your place down the line – probably the worst somebody I can find, I have a knack for bad choices,” I say.
“Mistress Alex said that you wanted to give yourself to her, begged her on occasions. Then, just a few days ago she said that if you had the chance to be mine instead, you’d jump at it, grasp it with both hands. Now you seem reticent. Do you think that Mistress Alex manipulated you into saying what she wanted you to?”
“Yes. That’s what I think, but I won’t deny I meant it when I said it too. I’m just a bit conflicted,” I say.
“Why don’t you try a little taste of what we might have together? And if I can make you beg to be mine, make you debase yourself groveling for it, then we’ll know for sure that you mean it, won’t we?” She says seductively. I feel a warm wetness down below and a literal weakening at the knees.
“Oh yes… That sounds like the answer,” I say, suspecting deep down that I’ve probably already made my decision. She just needs to keep her promise.
“Don’t think I’ll let you even consider backing out once you’ve made your commitment, so you better be sure. Once you say the words, you’ll be mine for life,” she says. “In fact, I don’t think you have any idea of how impossible it will be for you to back out.”
“You need to make me ask for it first,” I say. She smiles.
“You look sweet in that outfit, but I think it’s time for you to get into something a little more comfortable, don’t you? Undress yourself please,” she says.
“How would it work if I said no?” I ask curiously.
“Firstly, from now on I expect to be addressed properly as Mistress, or Mistress Susan. Secondly, I don’t want to hear from you unless I’ve asked you a question. Thirdly, don’t imagine that I haven’t experienced every punishment that Mistress Alex had to offer. I know exactly how to make you wish you’d never made that flippant disrespectful remark but let’s not forget that you have punishments due already: you were unspeakably disrespectful to Mistress Alex on several occasions, in particular when you showed your chastity-belt to all and sundry at the company in a deliberate attempt to soil her reputation,” she says sternly.
I don’t know how to respond.
“Every moment that you fail to obey my instruction is making things worse for you,” she says.
I could put up a determined fight, but that would be nonsensical given that in my heart I want her to win. Instead, I start to take off my clothes, starting with the latex blouse. When I’m done getting naked the red rubber panties are still wrapped around the end of the chain.
Susan pulls open one of the drawers. To my slight surprise, it’s filled with bondage paraphernalia: many items I’ve seen in the Doctor’s magazines, or in pictures online, but never in real-life.
“Open wide,” she says, holding up the rubber ball-gag. I comply as quickly as I can. She stands behind me and settles the large rubber ball into my mouth. It tastes bitter, like sucking an inner tube, and it’s harder and less yielding than I expected. I feel her pull the strap tight behind my head. She struggles with the buckle; it’s obviously not easy to work and would take a long time for me to unfasten it sight-unseen.
I feel her leather encased body pressed against my naked back, her breasts squashed against me. She reaches under my chin and tightens the chin strap, locking the ball firmly into my lower jaw and behind my teeth. There’s no way I can possibly work it out now.
She pulls a rubber hood over my head and for a moment I panic, unable to breathe. Drool and muffled noises of distress escape from my mouth like bubbles from the mouth of a drowning girl. She settles the hood into place. It’s made of translucent yellow rubber and there are no eye-holes. I’m blinded: I can’t see anything other than vague blurred shapes through the rubber. It effectively seals my mouth. There are just two little holes that allow me to breathe through my nose, and it’s not easy. The feeling of not being able to get enough air is terrifying but I’m not actually suffocating, yet.
My hands instinctively come up to reach for the hood, but she slaps them down. The shortness of breath makes me weak and I know she has me exactly where she wants me with no trouble at all.
“I’m going to unlock your foot now. Don’t try and run anywhere in a hurry: I don’t want you to fall downstairs or run full-tilt into a wall,” she warns me.
I feel the chain come away from my ankle. I’m technically free, but in practice I’m weak, soft and pliant in her hands. With my air supply restricted I can no more struggle against her than a kitten could.
I feel her hands on my body, warm, slippery hands; they’re covered in some kind of lubricant – she’s smearing it liberally all over my body, and incidentally taking the opportunity to touch every part of me intimately. Her fingers linger on my nipples, teasing them to full arousal. When they brush past my crotch I shudder.
“Lift your left foot,” she says. I obey. She puts my hand on her shoulder so I can balance. She’s kneeling down pulling a rubber garment up my leg. I feel it slide part way up.
“Now your right foot,” she says. She slips my other foot in and I feel the leggings pulled all the way up. I sense now that there’s more than just leggings, there’s a whole suit. She slides my arms into place and closes a zipper at the front. The suit has built-in hands and feet and there’s a substantial cut-out area that leaves my crotch and bum-crack bare.
I feel her wrap a thick piece of rubber around me. As it settles into place it feels like a heavy boned corset. It takes her a while to close it at the front with interlocking metal clips. Then her expert fingers tighten the laces. I can’t help thinking that the Doctor was better at this, but coming second to her isn’t anything to complain about.
As the laces tighten up, I feel even more restriction on my breathing. Unlike the corset I had on before, which was quite stretchy, this one doesn’t give much at all and though it does give a little, it’s incredibly hard work fighting against it.
To my surprise, there are more straps to the corset. Susan pulls them tight and buckles them over my shoulders. The unyielding shape of the corset makes me arch my back, pushing out my breasts and bottom to stay balanced. My shoulders are pulled back, thrusting my breasts even further forward.
Next she puts me in heavy rubber panties. Even as I step into them I know they aren’t ordinary underwear. She rubs her lubricated finger around my anus, and slides it inside me; I have an inkling of what’s coming next. Her finger slides out again and there’s a brief flash of pain as she forces the plug inside me. The pain increases as she pushes the widest part of the flange inside me. Another heavily lubricated plug, much larger, slides effortlessly into my sex, spreading me wide, textured bumps pressing against my g-spot and clit.
She pulls the panties up tight around my corset-reduced waist, tightening them a little more with a strap and buckle at the back. Then she fastens the heavy straps dangling from the back of the corset through my crotch, pulling them tight and buckling them in place. Each tug on the straps forces the plugs deeper inside me. When she’s done I can barely move a muscle in my core without stimulating myself.
Susan tugs the hood off and a huge glob of drool runs down my front. I feel dizzy and helpless as she spins me around to face her, it’s an electric sensation. The rush of oxygen makes me feel like I’m flying.
She towers over me in her high-heeled boots. I think that even if she was in bare feet and I was in heels she’d still be able to look me in the eye. I shiver with anticipation as I feel her hands gripping my wrists, holding me, controlling me.
I’m standing facing her, she’s holding up each of my arms by the wrist, almost as if we’re about to dance. She pulls me close to her and just holds me there. She smells of new leather, mango body-wash and perfect fresh young skin. I’m aching to bury my face in her sex, to relive that well rehearsed ritual with a difference – this time she’s giving nothing back but the chance to serve her – but her sex is sealed away, inaccessible inside her leather cat-suit.
I want to beg to lick her cunt, but I’m gagged; I don’t even have a choice in the matter, I just have to empty my mind, let myself go with the flow and do whatever she tells me to. I never felt like this with the Doctor, I’m not afraid, in fact I’ve never felt safer except inside the arms of ADAM. I know I can’t ever return there but this is the next best thing. There might be pain, it might be agony – it doesn’t matter – it’s simply beyond my control.
She kisses me, cutting off my air, tasting my lips stretched around the gag, tasting my freely-running drool and smeared lipstick. I think to myself, she could be my mistress. Isn’t this exactly what I wanted?
She steps back and lets go of my wrists.
“Hold your hands out for me,” she says. I obey willingly.
She slides a sort of rubber glove over my left hand, and then another over my right. It’s a glove inside but on the outside it’s a mitten. There is a strap around the cuff with an attached d-ring. On each of them, she tightens and buckles the strap around my wrist; there’s no way to pull them off now without undoing it. I really feel as if I’ve crossed the point of no return now. Up until this point I could easily release myself given time, but from here there’s no way back.
She uses a rubber bulb to pump up each of the mittens into a tight hard ball. My hands are forced into fists, rendered completely useless. I can’t even punch properly.
She leads me out of the room and through a doorway opposite. Behind the door is a windowless room lit with harshly bright halogen down-lighters recessed into the ceiling. I glance with trepidation around this bondage dungeon. I see stocks, wooden saw-horses, an X shaped cross attached to the wall, and chains hanging from the ceiling.
Each step moves the gel-filled butt-plug and dildo around inside me, nubs teasing me with no hope of release. I was on fire with desire before all this started. About now I’d sign away a fortune for a chance to get myself off.
Susan leads me up to an ordinary four-legged stool made unusual because it’s bolted to the floor. She cuffs my ankles to the legs, then bends me over it, clipping chains onto the d-rings on my wrists. I could easily unclip them if I could use my fingers. The frustration of it is delicious. I’m bent double over the stool, immobile, helpless, vulnerable – completely at her mercy.
“You’re probably wondering when the sexy stuff is going to start? Well, it’s isn’t. This is your punishment for smart-mouthing me earlier. Your punishment for being slow to follow an order, well, that can come later. As for your disrespect of Mistress Alex, I’m going to have to think long and hard about how to punish you for that, but make no mistake you are not supposed to enjoy these punishments,” says Susan.
So far I have taken quite a guilty pleasure in the whole process. I wonder if what Susan has in mind will knock me back to reality with a bump or whether I’ll just float on through it on a haze of desire.
She picks up a heavy plastic paddle with a padded striking surface. I can see her inspecting it, upside down.
“You probably think this is not going to hurt much. Let’s see shall we?” She says and administers the first strike. She hits me solidly across both bum-cheeks and waits. It takes a few moments for the stinging pain to sink in. It’s not so bad.
Blows follow, for a few strikes she alternates between cheeks. The thin rubber suit does nothing to soften the blows. She stops and waits. I can feel my cheeks warming up to a cherry glow. I can feel them swelling and they’re becoming tender now, the next strikes are going to hurt more.
She starts again. This time it feels as if she’s striking harder. Am I supposed to count the blows or something? I don’t remember her mentioning it, and I lost count ages ago anyway. This is hurting a lot more than before but it still hasn’t cut through my buzz. I’m moaning through the gag but it’s as much desire as pain.
She takes her time, walking around me in circles while she waits for my bum to really heat up. She grabs me by the hair and pulls my head up so she can look into my eyes.
“Don’t worry Kelly, when I’m done just the idea of sitting down will bring tears to your eyes,” she says. “It’s for your own good really: proper discipline demands respect and respect is something you need to start to learn. I don’t expect it to sink into your contrary head right away, but it will, it will,” she promises. She lets my head flop back down.
She holds true to her word. Each flurry hurts more than the last and she takes her time to rest between them while my bum gets more sore and tender each time. It isn’t long before I can’t concentrate on my arousal any longer, all I can feel is my bum cheeks on fire. She’s working her way down my thighs, concentrating on the firm chunky part where they merge into the cheeks, but sometimes she slips lower.
I’m sweating profusely inside the rubber suit now, water pooling between my fingers and toes. I can feel my hands turning to prunes inside the gloves but there’s nothing I can do about it. I feel like I’m standing in an inch of tepid water, and in one sense I am. Sweat runs into my eyes, making them burn, my back is aching, the stretched out tendons in the backs of my thighs are burning. Gradually, everything is turning into discomfort and adding to my misery in little increments.
I feel badly dehydrated. I think the sky is probably darkening outside but I haven’t had a thing to drink since lunchtime. Precious fluid continues to dribble from my gagged mouth though it’s starting to feel dry and horrid. I wish I could beg for mercy. I wish I could beg her to take off this tight sticky suit and hard ribbed corset that sticks into me all over.
Susan just keeps on paddling my behind. She adds a few good solid strokes, striking really hard, then takes her time to rest. While she’s relaxing she drinks from a bottle of water, which I know she lets me see on purpose.
The beating feels like it’s dragging on forever now. I’m starting to get really nervous. Maybe Susan is actually a sadistic psychopath. The fear that she is simply going to keep on beating me long past the point where I black out, pounding at my bloodied purple mess of a backside until white bone begins to show and I die of a heart-attack brought on by dehydration, blood loss and being kept doubled up, barely able to breathe for so long.
There comes a point where the fear gets too much, even though I’m so dry and exhausted, so completely helpless I go into a kind of thrashing panic, mumbling and screaming into my gag for her to release me. I completely lose control, all humanity and logic dissolved in a black fit of pain and fear. She takes no notice. Another three rounds of paddling take place distinguished only by continued dry sobbing on my part.
At last she stops, unclipping my hands and slowly pulling me upright. My back growls in pain. I’m still cuffed to the stool but she undoes my gag and offers me water to drink.
“Have you learned your lesson about smart comments, or do we need to keep on going?” She says.
“I’m sorry Mistress,” I hesitate, wracked by a sob. “I… I won’t speak disrespectfully like that … again,” I say in a cracked whisper ripped by sobs.
“Can you stay silent? Or do I need to put the gag back in?” She asks. I wonder if this is a trick question, but I see no hope of winning if it is.
“I’ll be quiet Mistress,” I say weakly.
“Good girl,” she says, following by stopping my mouth with a kiss. She winds her hand into my hair and twists hard, pleasure and pain mixing as she explores my mouth.
“Power transfer relationships don’t necessarily require sex or physical pain, but I require both in large amounts,” she adds, breaking the kiss, finally allowing me to breathe.
She unfastens my legs. I wonder what will come next, perhaps now sex? I don’t think I have the strength left to pleasure her. She leads me across to one of the saw-horses and makes me straddle it. She kicks my legs apart and cuffs my feet to d-rings bolted to the floor.
I’m sitting on the hard wooden cross-plank of the horse. It’s about three-quarters of an inch across. Between me and the plank are the thick rubber panties with their invading plugs and the tightly cinched crotch strap of the discipline corset.
As I rock gently back and forth, one plug or the other is rammed into me. With the big plugs in me the little perineum gap between them is stretched away almost to non existence, as if my ass were joined directly to my sex.
“I’ll leave your hands free so you can use them to take some of the pressure off,” says Susan. “If you’d obeyed me instantly you’d be sleeping in my soft, warm bed – as it is you can spend the night here on the horse. Would you like some more water?”
I nod my assent and she lets me finish off the bottle of water.
“I don’t think it’s very easy to pee with those panties strapped on tight – it’s like trying to pee when somebody’s glued a seal over your urethra – so I won’t give you any more water than that. I just want your bladder to be a constant nagging pain, not give you a ruptured kidney or a serious infection. You might be able to squeeze out a few drops if you’re desperate enough. I strongly recommend you try if the pain is that bad.”
Naturally, I do nothing to interrupt her monologue. She can say whatever she likes: it’s my job simply to listen.
“It’s not even eight yet, so it’s going to be a long night and you’re probably hungry as well as thirsty. Too bad. Maybe a little discomfort will help remind you not to be such a mouthy disobedient slut in future. Don’t feel too sorry for yourself though: if I have to repeat this lesson I’ll hook your nose to the ceiling and hang weights from your nipples,” she says. As if to make her point she grabs my nipple and twists it hard. Crippling pain spikes through my body and I bite down on a scream.
“Goodnight Kelly darling,” she whispers in my ear.
After she closes the door behind her I hear her locking it. Then the lights go out, leaving me in total darkness.
There is no chance of sleeping. While I’ve still got enough sense left to think about it I guess at her plan. She probably plans to keep me awake for days and use the promise of sleep as a powerful carrot to control me. I’ve been sleep deprived before. I get a pounding headache and my entire body begins to ache. Some muscles cramp or go into spasm. It’s horrible. For now, the pain is worse.
The hot sweat quickly turns cold, and I find myself shivering. My hands and feet feel like they’re dissolving in the sweat pooled in the suit.
I can wriggle about on the horse to relieve the pressure, putting more weight on one plug or the other. It doesn’t give me any pleasure. I can lean back a little and rest some of my weight on my bubble encased hands or I can take the weight on my legs. As time goes by I cycle through the alternatives faster and faster until none of them seem to offer any kind of relief.
My bum cheeks are eye-wateringly hot and sore. Though I’ve been unable to get a look at them I’m sure they’re a mass of puffy swelling and blotchy broken blood vessels. I’m sure I’ll be permanently scarred. The muscle beneath is bruised and sore too, it really hurts to tense or relax my buttocks, which just adds more misery to my whole situation. I remember Susan’s own patina of scars built up over years.
The stiff controlling corset forces me keep my back upright. I can’t slump back or forward to rest. If I do start to sag the pressure soon reminds me to straighten back up again.
As Susan predicted, my bladder is painfully full. As she suggested I try to pee, but the panties are stuck tightly to my sex and won’t allow even a drop to escape. I’m so determinedly miserable that there’s no hope of feeling a shred of desire or sexual excitement whatsoever.
The dreams and hallucinations come in the darkness. I fantasize that I’m inside ADAM, feeding like a fetus in a comfortable blue-fluid-filled cocoon, tenderly supported by his myriad manipulators.