Each breath passes so violently into and out of me it feels as though the next is trying to muscle the last to the side in their race to the finish line. The frequency has only increased, and my brain can hardly keep up with the hyper-oxygenation. My sight sparkles in time with the tingling in my extremities.
Without a doubt, this is the best sex I’ve ever had – and it’s with a machine. There’d be a joke there if I primarily or exclusively slept with men. Okay, maybe half a joke. The sensation is so intense it’s actually hard to focus on. Fortunately I’m continuing to wake up, and my consciousness leaves me with no shortage of distractions. Questions beget answers, answers connect to memories, and my memories are a raging mob with questions of their own.
The edge of this particular orgasm is a fucking razor. I can feel it cutting into me as the Machine slides the essence of me along it, excruciatingly careful not to let me tip to one side or the other. Pleasure like never before and perhaps nevermore wracks me with agonizing delight. Adrift, I bask in my exquisite helplessness.
BP: 142/94
Temp: 38.1°C
Pulse: 114.6 BPM
Respiration: 44.4
At once I am relaxed and on fire – sedate and infuriatingly manic. I want to do it. I want to seize the reins and be the one in control for once. “Why won’t you fuck me?” I beg. The Machine says nothing in return. “Is this an insane experiment in the science of teasing?” Nothing. “Maybe you’re just torturing me for fun now. Is that it?” I’d estimate that sounded roughly one percent hostile, but it was enough to turn its attention. Every part of it stops mid motion, and tightens. The cuffs, the ring on my cock, everything.
The beast focuses every camera and array at me, squinting tightly with sarcastic zoom, and forms two clips out of narrow branches from the metal tentacle on my chest, and closes them on my nipples, with incredible spite. The tendril that still hovers above me extends now toward my throat. Its slow reach is meant not as intimidation but a reminder of my role in this. The light lowers a bit further and now nearly all of what I see is the glow at each joint of the tentacles which envelop me, and the dim, sparkling frenzy in rainbow that rests at the core of the main apparatus.
Deep breaths and intentional focus are guiding me toward the safe side of the edge. The calm only lasts a moment though, because soon it does exactly as I have asked. A warmth is pressing against me, ready to penetrate me and far more patient than I. The finale is about to begin.
Never before this time in my life have I needed a word which defines the intersection of torment, delight, and bewilderment. My body is at the will of something beastly, and powerful. The blood pumps in my body, throbbing in time with the artificial phallus pressed against me, preparing to enter me. I am holding it snuggly just outside the entrance of me, exerting the one last illusion of control I have. When the tension begins to fail I smile for the cameras and relax for it completely once again.
BP: 152/99
Temp: 38.0°C
Pulse: 107.9 BPM
Respiration: 39.3
Well, that hurts. A lot, in fact. “Fuck!” I yell toward the beast above that holds me down. My word changes nothing, but I want it to. “Wait!” I continue, “Wait, wait… I need a second.” Incredibly slowly, the Machine begins retracting what it has put into me. “No,” I tell it, “No, you can leave it in. I just need to adjust.” It does as I suggest.
I feel myself begin to relax around it and expand the space available for the Machine’s pulsing erection. It isn’t changing size today. At least not yet. We’re waiting for something. The pain has yet to subside, and the readout on the monitor is scrambling to keep up with the output of abbreviations and numbers. The tool inside is reading me, but it’s never taken even half so many measurements as this.
Through shallow, rapid gasps I find the way to open myself. The tight, slippery ring around my cock has changed tempo, stroking me with more urgency and a far more delicately calibrated grip. It’s enough to split my attention between the painful and the pleasant, and suddenly it feels good as it begins to push into me again. At first it moves at a barely perceptible rate, and as it does it begins to taper, that it might better suit my need. By the time it is halfway inside I start to feel like I’m about to truly be fucked.
It happens. It’s all the way in. Right now I am the kind of full that either makes your cock swell with the threat of dubiously mature ejaculation, or shrivel in fear of the pleasure below it. Today I stay strong, though. Hard, I mean. The blood is pumping into my shaft with such fervor that I appear ready to burst at any moment. I’m not certain that I’ve defeated the weak orgasm boiling inside of me, and it must show, because the Machine has prepared the tools to collect what it extracts just in case.
BP: 170/108
Temp: 38.2°C
Pulse: 127.9 BPM
Respiration: 39.3
The Machine is scrutinizing the pre-ejaculate oozing from the tip of me, rolling down one side of my shaft or the other. My nipples are hard, pointing upward as straight as is possible. My areolae are even starting to puff up. The tendrils wrapped around each breast squeeze, while two others – narrow as prehensile threads – descend slowly, teasingly to place small clips upon them. They are masquerading as tightly clamped, but I can tell that they are not trying too hard. These are for something else, and I think I know what…
Within a moment, I am proved right. The tingling is light at first, but I know the shock will intensify if I get too close to the edge. Other connections between my body and the machine begin to sparkle, sting, and tickle. It’s like a shiver, but in each infinitesimal part of me individually and at once. It’s a familiar sensation, but still curious.
Seconds after that, the whole of me tingles, but not only from the live electric current. I am getting close, and I don’t think it can stop me. It’s like when you’re jerking off, and you know somebody is approaching, but you can’t make your hands stop doing what they are so focused on… Like when your cock is too close to back down, even as the door swings open. The notable exception in this case being that it still feels fucking amazing.
“Wait!” I yell urgently, but it doesn’t listen. It can’t. Regardless of what it may or may not be able to think, it has to be programmatically controlled at an autonomic level, and there’s no way for it to override. “Oh…” I tell it in tumultuous inner conflict, “That’s amazing.”
No… I don’t want this. Well, I want this. Everything it’s doing feels so good, and I am its unwaveringly willing subject. What I meant was that I don’t want to cum. I don’t. I’m not ready for this to end… Or to go back to sleep.
The tendril probing inside me works wondrous magic upon my glands and my soft inner flesh. My heart is in my – well, everywhere. I can feel it throb throughout every iota of my physical being. The beat of it is steady, but unbelievably fast. Looking at the readout, it’s bordering on severe tachycardia. The excitement of the physical stress is enough to push me even further over the edge. Far enough that I don’t think I’m hitting anything on the way down.
“Please,” I beg it in vain, “Don’t let this end yet.” I know there’s no choice now anyway, but I want more.
One powerful, tremendous, mind-breaking, explosive pulse is building; like an army charging across the battlefield to the castle gates – and they’ve just broken out the battering ram. It knows. Somehow, it always knows. Even on the days that it wonders and gets ready to catch what may spurt forth from me at any time, I know it’s just being cautious. The real penultimate moment is always clear to it, and I can always see the way it feels silly for being uncertain of the close calls, and I always laugh quietly to myself at the nonverbal interchange.
Now. Everything inside me tightens, but especially my cock and all that lies beneath it. The tip of me swells greatly, and my shaft follows suit. I get so big when I’m about to cum. It’s probably only a little, but it feels like it. My breath is involuntarily forced into me and out again. Each time I’m gasping desperately for more. More air, more sex, more… love. This is all I need… Just don’t let it end.
Of course my thoughts of control are an illusion, broken by the hot pulse of fluid starting to rushing from within me toward my shaft. Just before it erupts forth the Machine slams its collection vessel down upon me, and the soft interior begins pulling everything I have out of me. It feels amazing – not like vaginal walls, not like an asshole, not like a mouth, but somehow like all three at once.
It truly is only one massive burst of fluid, but it takes a few full seconds for it to flow out of me. I give it so much cum that it pools at the end of the cylinder before it is slurped down a smaller tube for analysis.
BP: 148/100
Temp: 37.7°C
Pulse: 102.5 BPM
Respiration: 31.3
Used up for the time being, I relent and fall back against the table. I’m already dozing – ready to get back to sleep. The many tendrils of the machine help me to my feet so I might saunter slowly back toward the place of my slumber. It takes me several tries to remain upright, but with each stumble I know I will be caught. Ever so softly it catches me with five or six carefully formed hands, and patiently helps me again.
Blinking myself to temporary clarity I put one foot in front of the other. More or less anyway. Once or twice I put one in front of itself and then slip a little, looking foolish – if only to myself. As I enter the shower the lights violently strike at my eyes with their glare. I can even feel it on my skin. “Too bright!” I yell, and they immediately lower. “Lower, please.”
Seems I get a bit more say in things on my way out. I’m allowed to cum now, as though I could. The water starts. “Too hot.” It cools. “Now warmer.” It warms. “Okay, good.” Despite my confirmation that this is fine, the temperature goes up just slightly more, reaching the exact point of my preference in this moment. Unsure if the controller somehow knows what I want or if they’ve made an excellent guess, I deeply appreciate the perfect shower right now.
I spend indeterminate minutes under the water, feeling warm air waft past me as hot water runs down my body. When I’ve been scrubbed of sweat, bodily oils, and any background radiation from the machinery, the water gradually cools to prepare my body for my return to sleep. When the water stops I progress from the room, dried instantly by a blast of air when I leave the room.
As I reach my destination I pivot with exceeding grace and set myself gently into the seat. The easy-to-slip restraints slide into place to hold me gently still, keeping me from sleepily sliding to one side before the process is complete.
BP: 89/60
Temp: 36.1°C
Pulse: 79.7 BPM
Respiration: 21.0
As I am snugly fastened in, I smile in vague satisfaction and slight bemusement as the oval, dome-like glass case lowers with a high, mechanized whir of its own – the last I’ll hear until I wake up again. Even the chair’s graceful transformation into a bed. Every muscle, bone, and connective part of me is stretched and gently set back into its place by the subtle twists and shifts of the bed, leaving me prepared and in perfect shape for my next visit. Once more I am engulfed in the chill of my unconsciousness. That I suppose, and the rapidly lowering temperature of the chamber.
Time now beings to slow as well. Artificial sunset is dimming the lights for me. Soft music creeps in to sleep at my side, through speakers I cannot find. The sound is clear. Devoid of any discernible distortion, in fact. It’s like I’m in here with an invisible orchestra. It doesn’t take long for me to start slipping away. Precious moments of consciousness give way to a temporary void through which I will make my transition.
BP: 67/51
Temp: 34.6°C
Pulse: 42.1 BPM
Respiration: 7.2
Now is the moment I begin to feel them coming back. It’s always around this time that I remember the most of what I’m doing here, but I get distracted by the paradox. Remembering yourself not remembering ad infinitum into the depths of time is a strange sensation, and what makes it stranger is that it’s the same strangeness – new every time. It is only in this fragmentary array of time, the seconds before I am overrun, that I truly remember. I’m going to be okay again. This all really is going to be worthwhile. Everything. Now, time to get back to nothing.
