The sensation that you are captive in the Machine has started to bleed through into your day-to-day. You knew that the effects would linger – that you were being remolded to better suit your Master’s desires. What you hadn’t expected was the impression that you still wear the headset – the occasional flicker, those glitchy, striated multicolour bands that float by your vision. It happens even when you know that you cannot possibly still be inside of it.
You’ve heard that this happens, sometimes, to people who spend a lot of time in virtual reality. Eventually, your brain imposes the reality that it has grown accustomed to – the grids that mark the edge of your play space, screens that seem like you could practically fall into them. You’ve heard such reports before. It’s like spending a week on a small boat, and finding that parts of you – that cluster of nerves behind your ears, a part of your mind that wishes you were still there – think that you’re in the ship’s head when you go to take a leak, your sense of balance tilting and rolling with the movement of imaginary waves. A waking dream; an odd, but not unpleasant hallucination.
The Machine’s control extends further into your life than you anticipated, and with that knowledge comes a longing to return to it. So, when you ask for another session – practically beg – well, your Master brings you back. Such an eager, willing slave, asking to have your mind fucked open once more. A chemical rush floods through you in response to this correct behaviour – you are a good slave. The warm arousal of this reward response serves to reinforce your training.
You’re pretty sure that you see the Machine pulse in soft welcome as you walk into the vast, clinical room where it is kept. This is one programmed creature greeting another. Its algorithms grow more potent when it’s used, you know – that much has been explained to you. The Machine trains you, and, in turn, you teach it how to better subjugate you. How to better turn you into an obedient, hypnotized slave, open and ready to receive instruction. What a lovely little loop.
How many times has it been, now? It’s hard to keep track. You can hardly tell where one session ends and the next begins. Do you ever actually leave? Either way, you prepare yourself without thinking. You strip yourself naked. You clean yourself, inside and out. You take a moment to stretch your neck and roll out your shoulders. You climb in.
The curved, opaque walls of the Machine are very close – you’re encapsulated, enclosed in a warm, safe place where you can just give in and go deep into a receptive trance. That welcoming pulse of colour and light gently washes through the curved shell of the Machine, causing your pupils to dilate, relaxing you. You willingly lay down in the firm berth, molded to your contours. That’s new, you think – the Machine is learning more about you every time you come here. It has learned the shape of you. You pull the heavy, weighted sheets of that unknown, responsive space-age material – something like neoprene, with a lattice of wires and sensors woven through it – up over your naked body. The sheets immediately caress you in another gesture of welcome.
You come to your enslavement willingly. That’s what makes you such a good slave for your Master; that’s what makes you such a good test subject for the Machine.
Once you have settled down and pulled the sheets up over you, you are pinned. Restraints snake out and hold you, just in case you’ve changed your mind. Of course, your mind will be changed – that’s the whole point, isn’t it? But not about being here. Not about letting the sensations and tools of the Machine fuck that mind of yours further. At this point, whether it’s even yours is a moot point. You belong to your Master. In this moment, your mind belongs to the Machine.
There’s no slow introduction of each of the many wonderful tools that make up the Machine, this time. As amusing as it must have been for those observing your mind getting fucked open to watch your surprise and wonderment the first few times, you are getting to be an old hand at this. Frankly, you don’t know how many times you’ve been here anymore.
The feeding tubes penetrate your mouth as the full face mask descends over your head. The small earbuds enter your ear canals with the slightest of tickles. Your headset comes alive and, when it hums to life, you see, as before, the interior of the Machine. The sweet, musky gas – vanilla, maybe, and something like woodsmoke? – floods your senses. You couldn’t fight it even if you wanted to, restrained against your berth as you are, but you still feel a thrill of reward as you obediently allow it all to happen.
The lively cables, those technological tendrils, descend next. They caress your exposed flesh beneath the heavy blanket. Some penetrate your various holes, leaving behind plugs that will further connect you to the Machine, when the time comes. Others attend to various adjustments – the tightening of a restraint here, the application of a sensor there. Your genitals are fully encased in a flexible material that feels like silicon but acts like writhing flesh, wriggling against you and inside of you. The binaural audio in your headset is your own moans, played back to you at an amplified volume. You had scarcely realized you were moaning.
These wonderful, familiar sensations are enough on their own to send you deep into trance, sending your open mind along familiar tracks of submission and obedience. You find it so easy to give in and go deep – deeper than ever. Just being inside the Machine is a trigger for you, now. Your mind knows that whenever you enter this space, you can let go and sink deep into trance. It simply feels good to be horny and hypnotized. You know that you’ll always ask to come back here and get your mind fucked open, again and again. It just feels too good to do otherwise.
Briefly, you wonder if this was what your Master expected when he first agreed to let you try out this experimental technology. You are a horny, submissive slave that loves to be hypnotized by the machine that opened you up and took your will away. You were stubborn, once, and now, you obey.
The screen on your headset flickers, drawing your attention – demanding it. Your plugs are quivering and pulsing hungrily inside of you. The cables caress your body, some of them extending small, sharp claw tips to scratch at your sensitive chest and nipples, at your inner thighs. The cables wrap around your limbs and pull you from the berth you were ensconced in. The tendrils pull back the covers. You are lifted into the air and rotated, providing access to your ass and back. A susurrus of voices tells you to give in and go deep, to open your mind like the Machine has opened your thighs.
You sink deeper, your awareness of the world outside of the sensations being inscribed on your body fading further and further away, pulled back only at the insistence of the algorithms that teach you new ways of being. Your body is restrained, and you have no more restraint. Years of living amongst neighbours with thin walls had once taught you to hold back noises that the Machine now draws from you freely. You’re so fucking loud, shuddering and moaning as you’re suspended in mid-air and toyed with by alien technologies.
The Machine plays it all back for you, layered with throbbing, droning tones, the binaural audio penetrating your mind along with whispers that catch at the edge of your subconscious. You are being told to pay attention. You wonder what could be left to learn. After all, you’re already so good at giving in, at being a horny, hypnotized slave, at letting it fuck your mind open and empty it out, at letting it fill you with submission, obedience, and pleasure.
The machine begins to rhythmically fuck your ass, drawing soothing, hypnotic patterns on your back with its tendrils. The plugs bottom out at about eight inches, but that’s really all that’s needed to fuck you open, for your will to drain out through your moans, though the sensations that thrill your body.
You realize that you are thirsty only when one of the tubes in your mouth fills with sweet, cold water, and you instinctively suck on it. You wonder if you are only thirsty because you have been told to be. The tube expands in your mouth, filling it like firm, yielding flesh. You know then, because the Machine tells you, that this training session will develop in you an oral fixation that will only be satisfied by your Master’s thick, firm cock. You’re amazed that it is possible to be more in love with your Master’s cock than you already are.
The Machine helps you remember the texture of the ridge of the glans on your tongue. You remember nuzzling it, allowing your Master to spread pre-cum on your forehead and cheeks, marking you. You remember the feel of warm cockflesh pressed against your cheek. The images that the headset shows you seem pulled directly from your mind. The feel of it, the heft of it, the warmth of it. You remember pressing your face to it through whatever clothing your Master is wearing, until you can convince him that you have earned the reward of freeing it. You remember being rewarded by sucking on it until your jaw aches, by getting slapped around with it, firmly but playfully. Through it all, there’s the trickle of cold, fresh water in that firm tube, not nearly enough to satisfy your thirst.
The scene loops around. This time, the water tube empties, and the feeding tube fills. When you bring your Master’s simulated cock to orgasm, the tube provides you with load after load of something that tastes convincingly of Master’s cum. Enough to slake your thirst. You learn this newest fixation through repetition and reward: the girth, the texture, the warmth, the shape. The feeling of your Master grasping your head as he thrusts into your mouth with his spit-slick cock. The sensation of trying to swallow as much of his cock as you can, pushing past the raw ring of muscle that tries to keep you from taking in the whole length. The sensation of having your ass filled and plugged while his wonderful cock fills your mouth. The twitching length as it pulses – in time with the pulses of colour on the curved shell of the Machine – as it pulses, and deposits its load in your hungry, wet mouth.
And then you begin again.