Machine Story for Atie

This is the first part in a series of indefinite length, but Pt. 2 will be along shortly. Don't forget to vote. I hope you all enjoy Katie as much as I have.

This story has been written for Kathleen.

*

Dear Obedient One,

You have always enjoyed being dominated. You appreciate the confidence needed to control someone else, and the self-control needed to keep that in check in situations that could turn dangerous or even deadly. So what I have decided to do is take you into a world where control is mine, and the fruits are yours.

Your name is Katie, and it will be for the entirety of the story. I have chosen this name because in your case, it strikes particularly close to home. It's easy enough to allow yourself to be manipulated when you're using someone else's name. Katie, in your case, will do.

You will not be controlling your orgasms. I will. I will be doing this for two reasons. One, it will train your mind and body to respond only when prompted. This is how you will be expected to act in the future. Two, your body is not yours. It's mine. It always has been and it always will be. If you do come without my permission, you will be required to start this adventure from the beginning, rereading the dedication, and making your way down from there.

I will not be using words like 'slut,' 'slave,' or 'whore,' because they are already embedded in your psyche. When you think about ownership, certain words and phrases come to mind. You will eliminate those words and phrases right now, because I say what goes in your head, and what doesn't.

Now...take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

You look down and notice that an intravenous tube has been placed expertly into one of the veins on your right hand, though the standard drip tube is missing. There are no machines present, no silly little gray boxes that monitor your heart rate (which, by now, should be fairly high), your blood pressure, or your blood-oxygen level. These are not required. By now, you trust that I know what I'm doing.

The Machine is in the next room, my Dark room, and you know as well as I do that the word 'dark' has more than one meaning in this case. You've been in there before. You know what it's like. I'll save the descriptions for when you are completely helpless. You can still get up and walk away now, but you won't, will you? You need me too much.

I insert a small syringe into the tube and press lightly with my thumb, pumping the anesthetic into your veins. You don't resist, in fact you welcome it, with a half-smile playing across your face. You know where it will lead you, and you know the results.

Now, count backward from 10...9...8...

When you wake up, you are, in fact, in a dark room. I built it that way. The only light coming through is what you have left in your heart, in your dedication to me. There is no sound, save for your breathing. This will eventually become your friend, and a mutual psychological and physical bond may develop between you two. For now, it is the only connection you have to the feeling of being physically alive.

Because of the lack of light in the room, you have no idea whether you are on your back or suspended just inches above the floor on your stomach, like you're used to. I can tell you that you are on your back. Your arms are pinned behind you, at either side of your head. Your elbows and wrists are strapped down with leather. This puts a considerable amount of pressure on your rotator cuffs, and your upper neck. The pain, which you enjoy anyway, will serve not only as an extension of my control over you, but also a marker from which to base the pleasure that I will provide you with.

Your knees are pulled halfway to your chest and spread apart like the wings of a butterfly. I use this analogy because it is symbolic of the freedom that you do not have. This puts pressure on your hips. Your ankles have been bound with leather, keeping them above your stomach, suspended by something that you cannot and will not see for the entirety of this journey.

You are naked.

I take a certain pleasure in turning you into something that you are not. Outside of this room, you are a free spirit. Outside of this room, you take the world and run with it, a quality that I have always admired about you. When you are in this room, however, all of that disappears, and your desire to be free gives way to your desire to be dominated, to be owned. I know that there is a part of you that will always be tied into this machine, and all of the good times that we had with it. There is a part of you that will always yearn to be stripped of itself, leaving only an extension of my own body and mind. Here, you can satisfy that, and you'll be expected to.

The silence is deafening, and I can see you squirming against it. I have night-vision goggles on so I can see everything. Sight and sound are the most basic of the five senses, the most devastating to have removed of a sudden, to be replaced by nothingness. It gives me a thrill to watch your eyes move, searching frantically for something, a focal point by which to center yourself, to give you some idea of where you are in comparison with everything else. I watch your chest and stomach rise and fall, each breath perhaps a bit shallower than the last, each breath falling closer to the last, as the anticipation mounts.

I smile as I watch you spread out before me, and my breathing quickens. To break the silence for you, I bring the microphone that I have attached to my collar an inch closer to my lips. Speakers have been placed high along the walls in the circular room, at various intervals. This is to give you the impression that I am everywhere at once, a sickly maddening notion, and while you welcome the sudden audial input, you have no idea where I am in comparison to your writhing naked body, and your breathing escalates.

Come.

Now relax. Come down. That was just the first of many if you're obedient. I move the microphone back down to where it was, and watch the silence take you. I remember when we did this the first time. It was beautiful watching the silence slice the post-orgasmic bliss into pieces, creating an almost uncomfortable ride back down to earth. All you could hear was the sound of your own breathing, and all I could see were your eyes, but they weren't searching. They were staring. Your body, your orgasm, had centered you, and that was all that mattered.

This room is about testing the senses, pushing them to their limits. It always has been. I know where your breaking point is. Your body, like everyone else's, is capable of tolerating immeasurable amounts of physical input. Could you claim that you are lucky that I've not yet brought you to that leading edge? No. If I really wanted to, I could have, but I want you to crave it. We have discussed, on many occasions, the option of my guiding you towards an addiction to sex. You have always entertained the idea for two or three-minute intervals before asserting that it is not in your best interest, and that you would prefer it if I didn't follow through with my intentions...and yet, you still let me stick a fucking needle in your arm, knowing where it will lead you.

All roads lead back here for you, Katie...back to this machine, back to this pitch black vacuum of ultimate physical and psychological surrender.

Keep fighting, because all you're worth is the end result.

Until next time, Dear Katie,

Your Silent Mercy