Arla in Orgaplex

Prologue

Master told me to gather my thoughts.

When I am undressed and my body has recovered again, he wants me to begin writing about my experiences. He thinks that....

Oh my. It's starting again. This time at my pussy. It is spreading my lips and slowly pushing itself inside and expanding. The throbbing begins, slowly at first as it begins to press against my cervix. It grows still bigger and begins to move. It's like a cock, no, it's a fist. Oh, God. Yes. Yes. Faster. Please. Don't stop. More. More. Do it. Fuck me. Again and again. OOOOOOOOOOOH!

Gradually decreasing in size, it slides out. Once again I feel luxuriously spent. How many times has it been today? Thirty? Fifty? A thousand? But then, what day is it? What week? Month? My sense of time is not what it once was. I am in an endless moment, modulated at random by exquisite orgasms.

Depending upon how long until the stimulations again occur, I just might be able to think my story through.

A New Garment

It was July Fourth. Independence Day. A funny date for a slave to be remembering (giggle). I had just awakened from a nap in my capsule, naked but for my heels, when I saw my Master enter the library. Right on cue, the capsule opened. Once he was seated in the armchair, I crawled out and over to him. I knelt, my hands clasped in a worshipful way, my head bowed.

"Karla! Good evening, my lovely slut. Have you had a pleasant day?"

"Yes, Master."

"How did you spend it, apart from the Standard Routine?" (The Standard Routine might sound like a name for something mindnumbing and monotonous, but it's actually quite wonderful. I know what to do at every moment of the day, so I don't have to make decisions of any consequence. Decisions make me anxious.)

"I did manage to work in some transliterating. Erotica from the Tokugawa Shogunate, Master."

"Ah, Tokugawa time. Excellent. Now what will you be serving? Something light for such a sultry day, no doubt."

"Some ceviche to start followed by a cold curry chicken salad. A Pinot Noir to accompany and fresh fruit for desert.'

"You learned your lessons at culinary school well. I am pleased."

"Thank you, Master." With that I reached forward, unbuckled his belt and opened his trousers. I began to suck him. He stroked my head and told me what a good little slut I am. Some time back Master decided that a thank you from me should always be followed by a blow job or a pussy licking.

Someone who receives this show of gratitude for the first time is impressed by my submissiveness and subjugation. What they do not know is that I was born to be a slave and a slut and revel in my state. My master triggered my realization. When he was dating me, he introduced me to sexual experiences I had never encountered with my clumsy, inexpert college boyfriends or that my rigidly regulated childhood could have even implied. I had never had an orgasm until I met him. He had taught me to enjoy sex, but I still do not think that even he intended the consequences. I loved sex with him most of all and still do, but I also came to exist for it in itself. It was as though my entire consciousness had centered in my crotch. What this man was doing to me was all I could think about. When we were apart, I masturbated compulsively. I was in an continuous sate of arousal. Out in the world every man I met made me damp. Women were becoming sexually attractive. Everything seemed erotic. It was as though the entire Universe was creating within me a bottomless pit of sexual craving. I was helpless and beginning to question my sanity.

I left university after only a year (a freshman honors year, in case you are wondering) and took a succession of jobs, waitressing, cashiering, and the like, but was so often absent that I never lasted long at any of them. The tasks of everyday life, shopping, paying bills, housekeeping, had become obstacles to my need to cum without end.. Although the prospect terrified me, I was considering prostitution as my last option, hooking for some lowlife pimp in the hope that frequent although usually unpleasant sex could fill my perpetual need.

Then one day on his way from somewhere to somewhere else (he is a very busy man) Neil came to town. We spent several happy days together. On the last night, after I had come enough that my hunger was momentarily assuaged and we were talking, I said apropos of nothing, "You can do anything you want with me. Anything that you are capable of imagining. Anywhere. Anytime. Anything."

"Do you mean that? Really mean that? he asked, turning to look at me squarely.

"Yes, Neil. Whatever you ask of me. Forever."

The rest, as they say, is histoire.

Some changes were made. I had died. Or had been made to appear to. My car fell over a cliff with horrible results. Burned beyond recognition.

What was left was sent to my parents. Divorced and hateful of one another that they were, I am sure that they nonetheless observed all of the appropriate conventions and then put me behind them in short order. It hurt me to know that I was just a detail to dispense with.

Neil arranged for an autopsy result and a death certificate. Within the space of a few days I now longer existed so far as the world was concerned.

We observed the event with a somber dinner. After a meal that I had merely picked at was removed, Neil said, "Get on your knees and give your assent to each statement I make."

I knelt before him.

"You exist only because I allow it.

"I own you, body and soul.

"Henceforth, you will do nothing unless I tell you to.

"You will refer to me forever more as Master.

"You will never again ask a question of me.

"You will never again use the word No in my presence"

I agreed to each statement. Then he asked me to rise.

"Slut, you are about to become one of the happiest women who have ever strode the earth."

A year or so later after one of my Master's sumptuous dinner parties, Master Hideo, my Master's best friend and physician, told me how lucky I was. "You have a sexual obsessive-compulsive condition more severe than any I have seen, with the possible exception of my slave Michiko. If Neil had not acquired you, the prognosis would have been bleak. Sent to an institution and given much medication for your own safety. Left on your own, either disease or violence would surely have killed you. You are highly intelligent. Stultifying such an otherwise fine mind with pharmaceuticals would have been a pity. And you are so beautiful. Your death would have been a waste. By allowing you to become an utter slut, Neil has given you emotional stability, an outlet for your compulsions, and a structure for your life, actually. Without the control he exerts over you, the things that you have come to appreciate, music, literature, languages, and all of the other components of a rich, fulfilled life would have been forever beyond your reach."

Then he fastened the ball gag and the blindfold, and I began writhing happily in my chains while he probed me everywhere with Heaven only knows what.

Master came with his usual explosive force. I rose and left to get dinner.

During dinner we talked about my cello lessons and his recent lab experiments - the physical sciences being one of his many interests. At meals I can speak freely, not waiting for him to talk. Even so, I still cannot ask questions or use the word no in his presence.

Uh oh. It's beginning to move. More orgasms. No, wait. I'm just changing position. I've gone from my hands and knees to the Lotus position.

As I was saying....

"I practiced a piece by Scarlatti this afternoon. I think that Melissa will be pleased with the improvement in my bowing," I said, refilling our wine glasses.

Master chewed thoughtfully. "Music from that period is so rich and elegant, I think. You must play it for me soon. Or better yet, I will arrange for Michiko to come over and have Melissa work it out as a duet. That way you may entertain Hideo and I. That would be pleasant."

"That would be fun, Master."

"Things went very well at the lab today. The prototype I have been designing is finally ready for a test. I would like you to help me." His enthusiasm was evident and his excitement can be contagious.

"I'm always happy when I am of use to you in addition to being used by you, Master."

"Fetch the box on the desk in the library."

I placed it on the table. I was dying to ask him what was in it.

"It is not a very big box, Master."

"No, Karla. But this, you little cocksucking fiend, is one of those instances in which size doesn't matter."

Smiling, he took off the lid. First he removed a small device that looked a bit like a pager. Then he took out some kind of malleable black mass, hefted it in his hand, and held it out for me to inspect.

"What do you think?"

"What a nice, shiny, black, uh, blob, Master."

He laughed.

"This 'blob,' as you put it, may well have a major impact on you. Now clean up and when you are finished, join me in the library."

"Yes, Master."

He was running some calculations on a laptop when I entered and squatted down on my stilettos next to the chair.

"There you are, Karla. Take the 'blob,' and place it on the floor a few feet from me."

Once I did so, I stood aside. He took the pager thing and pressed a button. The blob began to change shape until it formed a flat disk about two feet round. Then it stopped.

"Master, it seems to be alive."

"Only seems to be. In fact it is a machine. Or more to the point tens of millions of machines. Each one the size of a molecule. They function in concert to change the shape of the experimental polymer in which they are embedded. I call it Orgaplex."

"I suppose it has lots of potential applications, Master."

"To be sure. But for the moment I am interested in only one. Step into the center of the disk."

Once I was in position, Master manipulated what I now realized was a controller. The disk began to contract. Then it began to rise up over my heels and climb up my legs. It continued its upward advance until it reached the top of my neck. For a few moments it sort of quivered as it distributed itself evenly over me, finally coming to rest. I was perfectly encased.

"Move around a bit and tell me how it feels."

I walked around the library. It was the strangest sensation. I was conscious of wearing something. Orgaplex, I found, is never truly still. There was this almost imperceptible humming. All of those miniscule machines thrumming away. But were it not for that, it was almost like wearing nothing at all. It moved as I did. The fit was so perfect that when I looked down even the rings on my labia and clit hood were perfectly covered, their centers still open. I touched myself there and felt a slight though seemingly impermeable cleft between my lips.

"Well, my latex slave, may I have your expert opinion?"

"This is a marvelous material, Master. It is incredibly comfortable. And it fits much better than any latex outfit you have ever given me. Thank you so much for letting me wear it."

While I finished my show of appreciation, Master continued to talk, almost to himself "It is still of limited functionality. But there will be improvements over time. More programming to do. Perhaps dabble with the polymer's coefficient of elasticity..."

Then he looked on me as I swallowed and licked my lips.

"It is getting late, he said. "Wear it to sleep to night. We'll talk more in the morning."

I went to wash up, not there was much of me left exposed to clean. Returning to the library my capsule opened. Just before I got in my Master told me that since my holes were covered, I could not penetrate myself. So he gave me a vibrator for my evening's toy and bade me goodnight. I crawled into my capsule which promptly sealed itself. Soon after Master left the library.

I was alone, if you overlooked the millions of invisible devices covering my body. Running my hands across the Orgaplex, I thought that it was the smoothest thing ever to exist. Somewhat like polished marble but flexible.

Smoothness has been a thrill to me for a long time. My Master knows this, but then, what doesn't he know about me at this point? One of the first things he did after I became his slave was to have every hair on my body removed save for my eyebrows, lashes, and of course my crown of auburn hair. So my body is as smooth as it can be, especially with the Spa regimen that is part of the Standard Routine. But even hairless skin has some texture, while Orgaplex is intoxicatingly devoid of any.

I continued to marvel at the fit and feel. It hugged me so closely that when I tried to pinch it and pull it away from my skin, I couldn't. I wondered if it was bonded to me. The smoothness and the idea that I had almost been transformed into a new kind of creature, part human, part machine, were very arousing. OK, I admit it. I am never very far from being very aroused. Mere arousal is my basic state of being, slut that I am. But these were new stimuli, and I drank them in. I reached for the vibrator and for about an hour 'gasmed myself to near exhaustion. As I nodded off I noticed that all of the cum that had shot out of me (I'm a really juicy girl) had not made a puddle in my crotch. It instead was being distributed all over me. The machines at work? Pondering this new and pleasant sensation, I drifted off.

The Music Lesson

The bed's vibration signal went off, stirring me to wakefulness. The capsule unsealed, and another day began. Getting ready to crawl out I noticed that my skin was almost dry, although the capsule definitely smelled like pussy. More mechanical magic? I had a lot to tell my Master at breakfast.

But once I stood up I had a nasty surprise. Houston, we have a problem. My bladder was bursting. I hadn't peed since yesterday before dinner. I didn't have the controller, and even if I did, I wouldn't have used it (some things slaves just know they shouldn't do). And it was still half an hour at least before my Master came down for breakfast.

I don't have an aversion to water sports. Wetting myself has its pleasures when I'm wearing a diaper, as Master had me do once for a time. But this was something else. Walking around jacketed in piss had no appeal whatsoever. I resolved to wait.

All during breakfast preparations, I practiced Kegel exercises. Squeeze. Squeeze. Fortunately, all of the muscles are strong down there (my Master jokes that I could crack a walnut.) The sound of the water I drew and poured into the coffeemaker nearly made me lose it. While I tended to the rest of breakfast, I recited prime numbers. Got only as far as 97. What do guys do when they try to postpone cumming? Laundry list? Baseball statistics? Oh, Master, please come downstairs!

Finally, he arrived, settling in at the table in the solarium. I rapidly walked over and knelt, waiting for his greeting. He lowered the morning paper and peered down at me.

"Good morning, Karla. The morning is as beautiful as my stunning slave in her new outfit.."

I looked up. "I suppose it is, Master."

His face became concerned. "You certainly look distressed and uncomfortable."

"I have to pee, Master. Really bad."

He began to laugh. You haven't peed since yesterday?"

"No, Master."

More laughter.

"I don't know why I find your predicament so funny. Where did I put that controller? On the desk? Or was it the nightstand. Hahaha."

He left the solarium, still laughing heartily. Finally, after what seemed forever, he returned. He gestured with the controller. The Orgaplex slid down my body to the floor.

"Than.."

"No Karla, save the thanks for later. Off you go."

I made it to the bathroom about a millisecond before the dam burst.

"I slept well in the Orgaplex," I said later while nibbling on some toast. "But a curious thing did occur."

He cracked the top of an egg. "Tell me."

I explained about the disappearing cum.

"And now your capsule smells of cunt. Elementary, my dear slut. Orgaplex can become semipermeable. When the machines are programmed to sense moisture, as they currently are, they fashion what amount to micropores in the material. It allows you to respirate normally. So unlike latex, there isn't that clammy feeling, and you can wear it for long periods of time, indefinitely, I suppose."

We finished breakfast, chatting amiably about this and that. Then he said, "Come here, Booful." I got up. He lifted me into his arms and carried me upstairs to the master bedroom. He lay me on the bed and began to undress. He lay down next to me, embraced me, and gave me a long, delectable kiss. I looked into his slate gray eyes.

"Master, I haven't thanked you yet."

"You have a rare one time exemption. Your capsule isn't the only thing that reeks of sex. I can only control myself so long when you smell like that. With that he began to kiss, lick, suck, and fuck me thoroughly for the rest of the morning. The time seemed only too short.

"Now it's off to the lab to see if I can get some modifications to the Orgaplex finished in time. And it's time for you to get a late start on a truncated Standard Routine. Omit everything but the jogging and the cello lesson. And of course I don't want you to miss your nap. Anon then." One last kiss and he left.

In time for what, I wondered? Oh, well, on with the Spandex and the running shoes. I rushed out to the grounds surrounding the mansion and started jogging. It was not long before I had my usual company. Loping up to either side of me were Lancer and Hugo, Master's Alsatian shepherds. Large, gorgeous animals with fur white as snow. They were devoted to Master. They liked me well enough, I guess. When I gave them a command they obeyed, and when I petted them they wagged their tails. But they responded to me in a subtly different way. When they looked at me, their intent, alert faces made me wonder if they were in some sense thinking and about only one thing. (Don't be surprised, you must have realized how my mind works by now). But any new sexual exploration had to be introduced by Master. I had never sensed that his tastes ran in that direction, either with the shepherds or the occupants of the stables that I was now rounding on the way back to the mansion. But, if he ever did desire it, his dutiful slave would go at it with her typical enthusiasm. Teehee. I am just such a slut.

I made it back, changed into a black latex skirt with red halter and 4-inch stilettos and entered the music room with no time to spare.

"You were very nearly late, slave." Melissa was standing at the grand piano, her impatience evident.

All of the instructors, masseurs, masseuses, beauticians, or designers I encounter have been selected by Master only after exhaustive vetting. Personal histories, full medical exams, and psychological profiles are required. And I am required to obey them in all things. However, should I come to any harm, they will be dealt with severely.

"I am sorry, Ma'am," I replied in the most demure voice I could muster.

Melissa was an imperious, demanding woman. At a muscular five feet 10 inches with ebony skin and braids, she cut an imposing figure. When it came to cello and to a lesser extent violin, she was among the best in the world, having been a guest soloist in most of the quartets worth listening to. It was a mark of the esteem in which she, as many others, held my Master and Master Hideo that she consented to accept me and Michiko as her only students.

I began to play the Scarlatti. Melissa listened. When I finished, she took the cello and sat.

"Slave, that was about as interesting as watching paint dry. You played it, but you did not express it. A piece of music is not like a recipe. It's worthless unless you give it a piece of yourself."

She began to play. It seemed that she was playing a different composition. There were passages that I had never realized could twist your heart in knots.