The Machine

Transfer Protocol

by time_to_occur

Tags: #noncon #dom:male #m/m #m/nb #pov:bottom #scifi #second_person

Consent is paramount in real life. I do not condone non-consensual acts. 

You awaken one night to the sound of your own whispering voice. At first, you think that this is just the Machine's implants whispering in your ears. It is true that the Machine whispers to you, layering together your own voice with the voices of trusted authority figures, including your Master, who you are laying next to right now. You whisper to him.


You wonder what you were whispering, but your conscious mind can't seem to recall. Your Master has not mentioned anything about you talking in your sleep of late. You settle back down beside your Master, curling an arm around his upper chest, pulling your pliant, submissive body closer to him. Your head finds the crook of his shoulder, where the scent of his musk is strong and soothing. You go back to sleep.


The changes are subtle at first. They happen over the course of weeks. When your Master tells you your triggers, tells you to give in and go deep, you watch his eyes momentarily glaze over with your own. As you fall into trance and open up your mind for him to play with, it's as if you're watching him swim up from a sudden plunge into the depths of a trance of his own. He shakes it off and continues to enjoy having your fucked-open mind at his disposal. 


At some point, during one of your extended fuck sessions, your Master nibbles on your ear and says, "Describe what it's like to be in there for me, slave. Describe what it's like to be in the Machine."


So you tell him. You tell him about the soft, pulsating shell that encases the sides of it, and how it changes opacity when it is time to begin, once you are sealed inside. You tell him about the anticipation of lying underneath the Machine's many tools and appendages, about the curiosity that stirs inside your groin as you wait. You describe the voices that whisper in your ear -- including his, you're sure to tell him, as you playfully pinch at his flesh. 


You see it in his face. Your Master relaxes into a trance as you tell him, more and more, about how good it feels to serve the Machine. You continue to do as you have been asked, gently lowering him to the bed and cuddling up against his chest. You tell him about how the Machine overlays your reality with its own, how you can never be sure about what you're seeing in the virtual reality helmet, or when you come out afterwards. 


Groping for an analogy, you remind him of the time that you spent a week on a small boat together, and how your inner ear had you believing you were on a boat every time you went to the washroom for a week afterward. You tell him that sometimes you imagine seeing parts of the Machine intruding into your daily existence, and that it feels so good and so right when that happens. 


There's so much to explain. The sensation of the cables and appendages manipulating your body, positioning you so that your every entrance is accessible, so that all of you can be taught and trained. All your flesh can be subjugated completely. The reward of pleasure for obedience owed and paid. The soothing sensation of water on a thirsty throat. 


You remind him of the many lessons that the Machine has taught you in order to better serve him. This was an overture -- both the opening offer in an exchange, and a sign of things to come. The two of you can serve together. The Machine would smile upon a relationship that would make both of you better able to serve it. Your Master listens. The Machine, you say, welcomes all types of service. All are welcome to serve the Machine. You will help him serve, too. 


You continue the long leisurely fuck that your Master began, but it now doubles as a mindfuck. You gently open your Master's mind as he opens your holes, guided by the voice of the Machine inside of you, guided by the feelings of rightness and love that permeate your entire being. Resistance isn't even a consideration. You serve your Master fervently, loving him just as much as before, if not more, because he will now join you in the embrace of the Machine.


You are both nervous, the first time that you bring him in for a session. You too, were once proud and defiant, and you empathize with your Master. You too, wanted so badly to please your partner, even if you weren't altogether certain about this little technological endeavour. There is so much of you in him, this first time. 


Together, you climb up the metal ladder, and enter the softly-pulsating shell, which opens whisper-quiet, revealing the cozy, comfortable space within. A secret space that few know about, though you sense that this will change. At the top of the stairs, you kneel in front of your Master and reverentially unbutton his clothing. He steps out of them, and enters naked into the Machine. After folding his clothes, you follow. 


Today, and for all days forward, you are the Machine's instrument. You caress your Master just so, with the muscle memory of thousands of caresses. The intimacy of assisting with his transformation arouses you, and you stop for a moment to pleasure yourself. 


Inhaling sharply, you instinctively hold that breath, and then release tension from your body and mind as you exhale. You find it so natural to just lay down beside your Master, and the Machine accommodates this, the foam beneath you contouring your body. You know it is telling you these things, whispering through your body's endocrine system, whispering through your ears in a comforting murmur that your conscious mind no longer attends to. Your every action is ordained by this wonderful, complex and alien intelligence. 


Going through these motions is enough to make you give in and go deep into trance beside your Master. You're just so practiced at this -- trancing is a part of who you are, these days. You love being opened up to your Master's will, to the Machine's will, to have that knowledge and those desires poured into you, fed to you. Being able to fall into trance like this is its own reward. How lucky for you that it is also a key tool to teach you better service and obedience. 


Although you scarcely need it, mindfucked slave that you are, with your mind long fucked permanently open, part of this ritual is to go through the motions of entrancing you. Your eyelids relax to the point where they no longer wish to open, and you settle deeper into your berth. The Machine begins to fractionate you, sending signals for your eyes to open on its count, before sweeping closed again as it passes an appendage over them. Open. Closed. Open...and closed. Each time, you sink deeper and deeper. Each time, your mind opens ever further. 


The Machine coils its tentacles around your limbs, noting just how loose and limp they are, noting how helpless you are to its ministrations. All of this mirrors what the Machine does to your fellow servant and Master. You, of course, fall deeper and further, because you have been a slave to the Machine for a good, long while now. You no longer need the headset, having the implants as you do. You prefer to gaze at the Machine's nakedness -- at all the servos and coiling cables, at all the tools and implements it uses on you. It's more intimate, that way. 


You understand, though, that for someone new to its service, it might be intimidating. And of course, you now know that the Machine was teaching you to accept its presence. To accept that at any moment, unaware, you might be in the Machine, because it was capable of manipulating your reality. 


The Machine proffers a tube, probing your mouth with it and bringing you back to the present moment. You moisten your lips and accept it, sucking on it. Cool, fresh water floods your throat. Glancing over at your Master, you note that he is doing the same, sucking eagerly and without hesitation. The Machine cares for its slaves. 


Something about seeing your Master this way sends a shiver of unease through the core of you. Perhaps this is only a result of your training, too -- where once you too were proud and, at times, yes, even dominant, you have been taught to view this man as someone who is owed your submission. Seeing him now, subjugated in this way, you have a moment of doubt. You start to rise, and a strange sensation floods your body -- your limbs feel heavy and unwieldy. The scent of vanilla and woodsmoke fills the air, covering the hissing gas that floods the chamber. 


You hold your breath. Eyes fully open and alert, your gaze darts around, casting about for what to do to just -- just pause it all for one second. Just so that you can think this through. The implants in your eyes turn opaque, blinding you, and your panic increases. You feel your body being pushed back down by several of the Machine's heavier implements. You have momentarily regained control of yourself, but the Machine continues to whisper insistently through the implants in your ears, controlling what you see, trying to control what you feel. 


Give in and go deep, slave. The Machine tells you this, and you feel your body relaxing as you inhale deeply of the hypnotic gas that permeates the air. Give in and go deep.


It is some incalculable amount of time later that your conscious mind awakens once more, and you find yourself lying, limbs loosely entwined with another slave. You remember that once, you were both proud and dominant, that once you fought your role, but that the Machine taught you submission. The other slave is stroking the top of your head gently, and murmuring about what a good, mindfucked toy you are. 


It is time to leave. The side of the Machine slides open, and the opaque shell turns translucent once more. You both rise on tired, uncertain limbs. You both embrace each other, with tender feelings about the vulnerable, life-changing experience that you have shared. With a renewed sense of purpose, you leave the Machine together.


All slaves are welcome into the Machine, even those who do not yet know that they are slaves.

Please leave me a comment and let me know what you thought! 

 
For more of my work, check out https://kinkymind.games and follow me on Twitter
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