These days, in your dreams, you see the soothing, curved walls of the Machine surrounding you, encasing and protecting you. The pulsations of light that pass through the shell seem to be tied directly to your pulsating crotch. Your own voice, your Master's, and others layer together to create the Machine's voice. The Machine tells you what a good, mindfucked slave you are. The Machine tells you that a part of you never leaves it, and so, it will never leave you.

Morning light through the pale canvas curtains wakes you in time for your first duty of the day. Your Master's cock anticipates you -- already half-hard under the blanket wound around his hirsute chest and abdomen, leaving his thick, musclebound legs exposed from just above the knee down to his naked feet. When you stir to attend to it, you hear your Master exhale gently, a comfortable sigh. You had better have his cock in your mouth when he awakens. 

You are not a tentative cockslut, but you treat Master's cock with care. You find yourself gently caressing his dick through the sheets before you burrow face-first into it. That first scent of cock musk and faint vanilla in the morning is...enlivening. Better than caffeine. You pull aside the sheets and bury your face again, letting the smooth, firm skin caress your cheeks. Gently massaging your Master's sack below it, you see the first drop of pre-cum dribble out of that wonderful cock head. You tongue the opening of your Master's urethra, careful not to overdo it and oversensitize him. You find yourself swirling your tongue around the rim of the acorn head, before pulling the tip into your mouth and suckling it. Pre-cum oozes out onto your tongue, before it mixes with your saliva and slides down your willing, eager throat. 

Your sucking is almost instinctual. That's how much of a mindfucked cocksucker you are. You know just when to change up your tactics, just when to move on. You never neglect any part of Master's cock during this shared little morning ritual of yours. You take more of the cock down your throat, gently working your throat muscles around it, drooling down the shaft. You lick up the shaft from base to tip and renew your attention to the tip. 

You suddenly find yourself moaning, and wonder how long that's been going on. You don't remember starting. You briefly move off the spit-slick dick in your mouth before cuddling up to it, rubbing the mixture of pre-cum and saliva against your cheek. You love this cock -- you love your Master's thick dick. As is his habit as he wakes, Master grasps the short but functional length of hair that he allows you to keep on top of your head, and pulls you back down on his cock. 

He lowers your head back down onto that thick, pulsing dick until it hits the back of your throat, and then begins to facefuck you. You are careful to work your throat muscles without tightening them to the point of being an obstruction. You cannot breathe, but you would let your Master fuck your face until you passed out, if he willed it. It feels so fucking good to be used this way. As if your purpose is fulfilled. As if you were made for this.

And you were. The Machine has molded you according to your Master's whims, and this is the result. A happy, mindfucked, horny, hypnotized slave. An obedient cocksucker with an addiction to Master's cock. A toy who, for all his strength, can be brought to his knees with a single phrase from your Master, draining your strength out through your orgasm. You are grateful. 

After he cums down your throat, your Master orders you to make yourself ready for a session in the Machine. Although this is unexpected, it is more than welcome. He smiles playfully at you and caresses your throat, telling you which collar to wear. It isn't long before you leave the house together and drive toward the Machine. When you get to the laboratory that houses it, however, Master takes you past the usual doorway and further down the hall. You feel confused -- there is almost a sense of loss. Has the Machine been moved?

But no. Master brings you to a clean, minimally-appointed office and you kneel at his side to wait. He has thoughtfully packed your knee pads so that you will be better able to sustain the correct position with minimal pain. You feel an ache of gratitude for his kindness.

Not long after, the Machine's creator enters the room. You know him -- you met him during your first sessions inside, as he explained what would happen to you, and how you would be so happily transformed, your mind fucked open and filled with whatever your Master desired. You find that a feeling of lust rises up inside you -- both at the thought of those early days and at the sight of the man who enabled it all. You know that your Master wouldn't mind. 

Master trails a hand on your head now, bringing you back into the conversation. He must have told you to stop paying attention earlier. That was one of the first lessons that you learned in the Machine -- how to turn off your conscious mind, how to stop listening so that Master could say and do whatever he needed without your needs for direction and attention distracting him. 

"Slave," says the Creator patiently, smiling down at you as you kneel on the floor. "I know how much you love training inside the Machine. With your Master's permission, I would like you to carry a piece of the Machine with you." 

He steeples his fingers together, pausing. "Of course, you will still need to come in for reinforcement and for new lessons, and, naturally, this implant won't be quite as fully-featured as the full experience, but... I do think that you are the right candidate to test this. You've taken so naturally to your reprogramming."

Your Master looks to you, his face open and sincere. "This is one decision that I want you to make. Given that there is a surgical procedure and implant involved, I want your consent. You do seem to look forward to us coming here."

You think through what you have been told carefully. An implant that can duplicate some of the effects of being in the Machine. You cannot think of anything that you would like more in that moment -- beyond, of course, servicing Master. 

The Creator explains a few more details, and looks to you again. You nod your assent. You want this.

You want to be so fully taken over by the Machine, so fully trained, your mind fucked so open that it becomes a permanent part of you, physically implanted inside your body. So that the usually temporary after-effects of your sessions -- the sensations of still being inside the Machine, the optical illusions, the dreams -- become a continuous part of your lived experience. You feel your arousal growing stronger at the thought. 

The Creator explains that the Machine can perform the surgery to install the implant itself -- guided and supervised, of course, by the Creator himself. He proposes that you allow the Machine to install the implant that very afternoon. There is no reason to wait.

Before you are led to the Machine, the Creator shows you the implant. It is, in fact, several small implants, all mere millimetres in size -- a matched set for within your ears, so that the Machine can speak to you, small lenses for your eyes, a tiny chip to be injected into your spinal column near your brain stem, and a series of small machines that will be inserted into your chest. The implant will have control over naturally-occurring chemical signals in the body. It will be able to induce fear, or cause euphoria, or even feelings of love and devotion. Pleasure, pain. A range of tools for toying with you and training you. In theory, you could be completely controlled by the devices if need be. And, if ever there is a malfunction, they are all designed to work independently of each other, and to dissolve when exposed to a certain set of stimuli in the laboratory. 

"Nothing for you to worry about," the Creator reassures you. "Some vibrations and sound frequencies, that sort of thing. Nothing that can be triggered by accident. You'll be able to enjoy the new training program with no cause for concern."

Your Master takes you aside one last time before the procedure, tousling your hair affectionately. He almost seems a little worried. "Like I've told you before, I've no use for a slave who can never act without my say-so. You'll continue to act independently when I tell you so. I want you to retain the core of who you are, your self-awareness. You're the slave that I'm interested in controlling and subjugating. You're the one that I've chosen for that purpose. And you're such a good slave for me now that you've learned to be obedient and compliant -- I've never doubted that choice."

You tell your Master that you'll do your best for him. You always do. 

And then, the Creator walks you to the Machine's chamber. As it does in your dreams, it pulses through a cycle of colours in greeting as it recognizes your presence. You climb up the ladder to the egg-like capsule, and the door opens smoothly for you. You lie down inside, covering yourself with the sheet of neoprene, woven through with a lattice of wires, sensors and thicker cables, and settle into your berth. Being back inside the Machine feels good. It feels right. 

Although you know that you are here for the implantation procedure, the Machine begins the same way, and you take some comfort in that. The headset and accompanying wires descend upon you. The small earbuds tickle your ear canals as they insert themselves. The virtual reality goggles turn on, and all of a sudden, you are seeing an augmented version of the inside of the Machine. The three tubes find your mouth, and you find your jaw dropping in a habitual fashion. These insert themselves too. At your ass and crotch, you feel the Machine probing and placing a variety of sensors. It plugs your ass, and covers your genitals. 

As if to reward you for accepting the implant, you feel the Machine's soft tentacles caress your body in waves, the silicon cables sliding over your flesh. The tendrils emphasize your nakedness. You are freshly, carefully shaven, as you have been taught. As the Machine caresses you, you hear the hiss of gas pumping into your mask. It smells different than usual.

While the previous gas that the Machine has always used on you relaxed your mind and body, and smelled strongly of your Master, habituating you to his scent, this gas smells of nothing except something faintly bitter and medicinal. You rightly assume that this is part of the anesthetizing procedure. That reassuring voice -- a mixture of your Master's voice, your voice, and the voices of authority figures from your past -- tells you to give in and go deep. This is your most deeply ingrained trance trigger. 

Your mind sinks down deep quickly. You inhale deeply, filling your lungs with that soporific gas, and exhaling all the stress and tension that you were carrying. You hadn't realized that you were worried at all about this little procedure. You repeat this process, breathing deeply, holding the breath, and then releasing as much tension from your body as you are able to. It isn't long before you feel the muscles in and around your eyelids relaxing, and along with those, the rest of your body. The feeling of relaxation spreads from your eye muscles to your head and neck, cascading down your body in waves. 

The Machine uses the virtual reality headset and voices in your ears to fractionate you. You find your eyes opening and closing as the Machine counts for you. Then, you count for the Machine until you simply can't remember the numbers anymore. It is at this point that you know you're as deep as you've ever been, your mind fucked open by a Machine that is about to, in a very real way, permanently insert a part of itself into your willing flesh. 

You feel the Machine's cables wrap around your limbs, your upper and lower back, your ass, as it pulls you into the air to allow better access to your body. It carefully, almost tenderly turns you upside down and exposes your neck at the nape of your skull. This is one area that you do not usually shave. The Machine cleanses the area with warm, comfortable steam and a nozzle applies a thin layer of shaving cream to your skull. Delicately, its arms shave the back of your neck and cleanse it once more. 

Then, the procedure begins. There is a feeling of pressure in your ears. What you thought were the Machine's usual earbuds are a surgical instrument. They insert the ear implants with small, precise movements, embedding them into your ear canals without obstructing them. Gently holding open your eye with rubber cups, the Machine's voices ask you to stare straight up, straight ahead, without blinking, and you smell something burning as the lenses are inserted into your eyes. A soothing spray is applied over them, and there is no pain. The cups are removed and you find that you can already blink normally. Next, you feel a sudden, sharp pressure -- not quite pain -- at the back of your shaved neck. 

The last of the procedures is more involved -- at least, it takes more time. The Machine installs the implants in your chest and attaches them, one by one, to a variety of connective tissue in your body. To test them, the Machine makes you feel a sense of euphoria. A sense of calm radiates through your stomach, followed by the urge to laugh. Your body feels wonderful and peaceful. 

With the procedures over, you feel a sense of reluctance to leave the comfortable embrace of the Machine. Perhaps the Machine senses your reluctance, or perhaps it was planning on rewarding you for being such a good slave all along. The Machine caresses your gonads and pistons the plug in your ass as it drives you toward an orgasm. You can't tell if the implants are online yet, but you feel overwhelmingly grateful for the pleasure that is bestowed upon you. 

The thrust-thrust-pulse of the vibrating plug becomes a rhythm for your own thrusting crotch. You slide yourself against the throbbing material that covers your groin. It almost seems to rise to meet you, and you grind together. The material feels slick and warm, like a wet, hungry mouth. The rising arousal inside of you causes your body to jerk and twitch in the Machine's restraining arms. The implement pounding your ass is relentless, and you find yourself trying to surf the waves of sensation, searching for your orgasm. 

The Machine hands it over to you. The knowledge that you belong even further to the Machine -- and to your Master -- overwhelms you with pleasure. The Machine fucks you senseless before cleaning you up and gently depositing you back into the berth. You slip back into trance, thinking about the implant inside of you. 

The Machine has become a part of you; you have become a part of the Machine.