The Caretakers Invention

Note: In addition to non-consensual sex, this story contains some themes we don't usually write about that may be triggering to some readers. Sensitive readers should look at the tags before continuing.

As always, this is just fantasy. Treat your partners with respect, and practice affirmative consent. Yes means yes. Anything else means stop and check in.

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M didn't think of the other woman anymore. Not who she was, not how they'd been connected, not any of it. The only relationship she permitted herself with B was with her body. And still, the two were closer than she'd ever dreamed.

M had been 16 when she'd first experienced love. It hadn't really been the boy himself who had impressed her — even at the time, she was dimly aware that he was a sort of placeholder for the sensation that everything in her life had led to this moment. And so when the relationship had ended barely three months later, the feeling had stuck with her — the pleasure of something overpowering pulling you and someone else together.

First love had felt just a little like her new life with B felt, in the same way that watching a stick float down a stream might feel just a little like being swept away by a flood.

At 16, that power had seemed magical and cosmic, vast and dangerous, but ultimately kind. Now she understood how it really worked: as geared teeth in a machine, built and driven by her Caretaker. The trick in either case was to give yourself over to it entirely, to savor the undeniable pleasure of being a thing in motion and in use.

It hadn't happened all at once. When she'd been captured, M had fought for every scrap of her old life. She'd remembered her real name for a long time after that, set against the pain of what her Caretaker named her, and what he'd make her do. Then she learned not to hear the new name in full. Just the letter M, like a designation for a washer in a piece of IKEA furniture. Sometimes she'd convince herself that it was "Em," or even "Emma" or "Emily" for a while, although that game was too fanciful to survive.

Now, she didn't hear a name — she was simply activated by it. Her name would make her pay attention, do what she was trained to and remade for. It would make her experience anticipation, pleasure, and pain.

Strangely, M now enjoyed acting like a human more than she ever had when she was free — when she was always human, and never a piece of her caretaker's machine. Now it was a special treat: the moments in her daily routine when she could speak, and touch, and cum. She'd cum nearly every single time she was human, even when she was punished. But the best part was the anticipation.

As a free woman, M had been an adventurous lover when she could. She'd especially enjoyed orgasm control. The way anticipation could be prolonged, extended, even denied by a lover, until it became an end in itself.

In her new life, orgasms were the only thing her Caretaker didn't command — she could have them any time her body was stimulated enough to oblige.

It was everything else that was denied. Her whole body would be stored, fucked, and put away again, sometimes by her Caretaker's machines, sometimes by him directly. She was denied everything but helplessness, pressure, and friction. Her orgasms were simply an incidental benefit of being a thing, and moving in the way she was made to.

She was wet all the time now.

Some things would break the rhythm. Sometimes M would daydream and forget something, or B would struggle to fit something inside of her, and they'd have to speak up. It felt awkward and unnatural to think and act out of turn, like the dérailleur had slipped or the gears had stripped, and she was temporarily useless and unchained.

Fortunately, it didn't last. Her caretaker was merciless, but not gratuitously cruel. He simply wanted the machines to work. He preferred to have them fucking smoothly, their own bodies providing the motivation rather than his sharp switches or heavy hands. He even loved them in a way; together, they were one of his favorite inventions.

Their training was built around his lifestyle. Their Caretaker didn't separate work and play, except at the early stages of training. He'd frequently used them to entertain his guests, even setting up little scenes. Last night had been the most complex one yet. M and B had started kissing and teasing each other in the middle of the room while the guests had gathered. Then, when all attention was focused on them, M had gotten more forceful, stripping off B's little white blouse, leaving her in a front clasp demi bra that displayed the thick, dusky nipples on her small, shapely breasts.

But when B tried to free M's soft, pendulous breasts, M had slapped her. B had looked shocked and tried to grab her top, but M had rallied the audience to attack, the men holding B down as M finished stripping her and ground against her face in triumph. The show had ended with B's arms and legs doubled over, scrambling awkwardly after M who paraded her around on a leash, offering her holes and tongue to the guests like a saleswoman touting samples.

It was an intensely rewarding night for M, especially once everyone had had a round with B, and was looking for variety. Nights like this were always rewarding, as long as the men (and occasionally, women) were clear with their instructions; M and B were made to be used by people, after all.

Entertainment nights were harder for B, because she drew more attention. She was younger and more energetic. She'd cajole the boys, tease them in subtle ways, try to play them off each other. By the end of the night, the boys would grab her and fuck her viciously, and she'd lose herself in a sea of grasping arms and thrusting cocks.

More often though, The boys would devise creative punishments for B — punishments her Caretaker allowed for and even encouraged. Often, she'd end up tied to the table, the guests alternately spanking her and fucking her from either end while they snacked and drank.

Last night had ended with B scuttling to and from the kitchen on all fours with a drink tray on her back, and a little bag of joints and a lighter dangling precariously from a chain attached to her buttplug. M had alternately loaded her with refreshments, wiped her down, handled her thirst and toilet needs, and fluffed the guests, encouraging them to take another round with either of them.

B's eyes had shined so brightly, even during the moments when she was crying with exhaustion, and M had felt a strange joy for her charge. She'd suspected that the whole night was, in a sense, for B's benefit. It had never occurred to M that B had not received the same instructions, and had been genuinely baffled when M had first slapped and overpowered her. But if she had known, it only would have confirmed her suspicions.

M knew something was different today. Both girls were on silent mode, doing their morning practice of repeatedly deep throating fake cocks while they pumped a double-ended dildo between them. For the first time ever, her Caretaker had dressed them in metallic latex outfits that blended almost perfectly with the rest of the machine, save for their lips and eyes. B's lips were shockingly red around it, and there was something about how she sucked the dildo that M couldn't look away from, an intense need to please bordering on worship — something she hadn't seen before.

M could tell B was tired and overstimulated. Her cunt quickly started to twitch and cum out of rhythm with the electric plugs that controlled the movements. It broke the rhythm before M had been fully warmed up, something that would have normally irritated her. Today, it was incredibly hot, the erratic rhythm of the dildo pressing back into her, like an echo of the overheated thrusting of the men into B last night, while M proudly touted her perfect, trembling holes. She risked the corrective shocks of the machine by squeezing extra hard, just to see those eyes widen and catch hers for a moment, so beautifully overwhelmed and over-sensitized by her last orgasm.

She had not been this close to B since-

Her collar passed a message to M with a series of light shocks, and she pulled her mouth off the cock.

"Take it Baby," M said, her throat hoarse and trembling as she pushed the dildo out. The responding push was fierce, and M groaned in pleasure. "Take Mommy's cock." M came so hard the world whited out, but never broke the rhythm, the shocks guiding each convulsion into B.

And M realized that the night had changed her too. That her wise Caretaker had broken B to her, and within their shared slavery, had given her the confidence to rule. She was so proud she thought she might cry.

Her Caretaker, satisfied with the test, slid out the dildo connecting them and stored the two for transportation, nestled and packed securely inside the machine. Normally, she'd go silent again as she had been trained, but she found she couldn't this time.

She'd expected her Caretaker to be angry about it when he came to check her before loading. Instead, he'd stroked her head through the hood before lowering the top. She'd smiled in the tiny crate with the soft, shifting lights, and continued to whisper to herself.

"Take it slut. Take Mommy's cock. Take it Baby. "

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