The metal bar hurt her teeth. Katie glared up at James, nostrils flaring, trying to keep her jaws clenched and not let him pry them apart, but he was always so damn patient. As soon as her tired muscles slackened the slightest bit, he pushed it a little farther, and farther still. It didn't take long for Katie to find her mouth distorted by it, grimacing around the thing, like a rough iron bit to which he held the reins.
She was still unprepared when he actually used it that way, though. His sharp yank back forced a little grunt of surprise from her, and let him twist the bar so its broad side was turned up, wedging her jaw open farther still.
"Let's review, shall we?" James murmured in her ear. Katie tried to snarl at him, but barely made one choked-off noise before she found herself struggling not to gag on metal.
She was back in the basement, in the most fearsome room at all, the one with the reconfigurable machine and its endless array of armature devices. This time James had her in a deeply uncomfortable inverted C-shape: shoulders resting on a flat bench, head hanging down, torso lifted up and curled over, her hips positioned over her chin. She was naked, of course, her pale body spotlit, brown hair a tumble down below her. He'd even removed her plug-belt and control collar for the time being. Her arms were pulled out straight to each side; he'd made the sadistic choice to bind them to the bench at intervals with zip-ties, pinning them across her biceps, elbows, wrists and individual fingers with sharp tight lines of pain. Her knees were doubled over two metal bars, set at angles to each other, which served the dual purpose of keeping them elevated and keeping her thighs open. And her calves were bound up against her thighs, secured with their own set of thin, horrible plastic bands. It was impossible to breathe deeply, and the pressure of being upside-down made her ears pound. And here he was yanking her around like a pack animal and talking about a review.
"Lesson one," he said, and flipped on a monitor, angled down just right for her field of view. It was a video of her: three simultaneous feeds, one of her full body, one of her upper torso, one of her vulva. The only thing it didn't show was her face, hidden by a dehumanizing rubber hood. This was a recording of the first time he'd brought her down here and made her come on command. She trembled with humiliation, seeing it. She also felt an uncontrollable swelling flood between her legs.
"Lesson two," he said, and flipped to another video—their session the following day. Different configuration, different techniques, same unbelievable humiliation as he forced her body to writhe to his tune. Despite herself, she did realize she was reviewing the last several days, going over the things he'd forcibly taught her about her own capacity.
Katie had learned that her that nipples were, in fact, sensitive enough—with the right mix of stimulation and adrenaline—to bring her to orgasm. She had learned that the region on the anterior wall of her vagina, which James regularly tormented with the angular steel buzzer, was in fact an internal adjunct to her clitoris, a larger organ than the little hooded glans with which she was familiar. It, too, could drive an orgasmic response, and indeed could do so over and over until her body tried to double up with cramping pain.
There were weirdly-named places deeper within her, too, that his machines had violently fucked: so deep they made Katie almost sick, pinned down on her belly, feeling her internal organs actually shift with each thrust of a long metal shaft. That could make her orgasm. The painful, pleasurable, humiliating things with which he had penetrated her ass were
not
enough to make her come—yet—but vibration and pressure on her perineum, the place she would have called her "taint," certainly were. And, of course, direct electric current through pads applied to the nerve cluster branching from the base of her spine could induce a response that technically qualified as orgasm. It was a revolting, dehumanizing feeling, possibly the one she hated most.
"And lesson seven," James concluded, with a recording of her convulsing like a wet fish, mouth open and gasping as he dialed down the current through her sweat-drenched and thrashing body. "You're doing exceptionally well so far," he said. "Everything's going as expected with induction—your nervous system has accepted the trigger word as a strong climactic motivator. Remember when I said one word and made you come even with the numbing gel on your clit?" He smiled fondly, and she shuddered, unwilling to think about how that one had felt. "That's usually the marker I use as a clear sign to move forward. I'm certain we have your gas pedal well installed."
He ran one hand along her rib cage, feeling her shallow breaths, and gave her a proprietary slap on her hip. Katie didn't even flinch. She was too busy thinking that, in this metaphor, he had to start talking about giving her a set of—
"That's right," James grinned, reading her eyes. "Brakes."
Katie didn't like that thought at all, but she wrinkled her nose in disdain at him anyway. What the fuck was he going to do to stop her from coming? Hurt her? She wasn't exactly thrilled about it, but he had shown her already that pain was no impediment to orgasm—several times, she had come
from
pain, screaming through her teeth as he struck or shocked or wrenched her most sensitive places.
Do your worst, she almost wanted to dare him. He'd performed unthinkable torture on her. He'd twisted and raped and wrecked her. But she knew that she, alone out of all his victims, hadn't broken yet.
James locked eyes with her. His gaze was light and mocking. He picked up a little square of plastic, maybe half an inch on a side, glossy and transparent; she only caught a brief glimpse of some kind of tracery etched into it as it flashed in the glare of his spotlights. Then he reached into her mouth, still forced wide open, and pressed it against her hard palate.
"You should be grateful for this part, Katie," he said, eyes crinkled in that almost-smile. She didn't think she'd ever hear anyone speak with tolerant amusement again without feeling a murderous rage. "Girls like you who get trained into induction, but not aversion, burn out pretty fast. I've seen it happen; it's not very nice—" She choked on something like a laugh. "—And frankly, it's a waste of a precious commodity. So don't worry about your safety. Given the way you've been shaped already, I promise, it's for your own good."
Katie's tongue was busy and frantic, trying to find and dislodge whatever he'd stuck to the top of her mouth, but she couldn't even find it. Maybe there was something that felt a little slippery, tiny, clinging—but the bar was in the way. Fuck!
As she grunted in frustration over that, he was reaching up to one of the limbs of the machine, drawing down one that was tipped with a large, silicone tool. It had three asymmetrical prongs, and a quick glance was enough to give Katie a guess at their purpose. The smallest, most distinctly flared part was going in her ass. The one with the tip shaped like a little bag of marbles was going to press her clit and upper labia. And the thing that looked like a barely-tapered rubber beer can was going to push its well-lubricated way into her cunt.
Once, such a thing would have intimidated her—and it did make her pulse speed up to think about how fucking thick and tight would feel, taking that cylindrical shaft. But by now she'd taken bigger and survived. She could even glean from her glance an idea of both precisely how much it would hurt and how fast it would be able to drive her to the edge of orgasm.
