Again. The subtle beeps grow louder and more frequent, until they have transfigured themselves into a blaring klaxon, now accompanied by the harsh, blue flash of the alarm that tells me I am needed. The utterly shameless display case that is the lid to my chamber now opens, just as slowly and dramatically as ever. It’s not as frosty as often it is, so I know I must have really slept in.
Some mornings I wonder what it would be like if anybody besides me was ever in here. They’d see my naked body when they came to check on me. Or even someone who came through to sweep the floor and empty the trash – if such things were relevant to an empty room, anyway. They’d see me, wonder why I was in here, and whisper quietly theories of why I couldn’t come out. Maybe they would admire my form, or linger when they passed to smile at cheap fantasies they would discourteously muse at the expense of my dignity.
Typically I don’t really mind being woken, but I was having a very pleasant dream for the first time in what feels like weeks. Wasn’t mine, but it was still very enjoyable. It was a fabulous vacation from the nightmares I’ve been host too of late. This isn’t bad, and I’ve got new theories to reflect upon as I confront it.
Groggy. I miss coffee. The circumstances of my life have changed in many ways since I came to this place though, and that is certainly not the most substantial. I glance to the monitor on my right and see what it has to say.
Subject Name: Redacted
Subject Gender: F
Age Range: 25-40
Blood Type: O-
Date: Redacted
Days Since Admittance: Redacted
Examination #: 112
Last Orgasm: 52 min.
Last Conscious Orgasm: Redacted
BP: 79/56
Temp: 34.1°C
Pulse: 39.7 BPM
Respiration: 5.5
When I feel the numbers support the action, I stand slowly, prying myself from the venerated throne I am so often confined to by my own lack of consciousness. It feels strange not to have an escort in a circumstance like this, but it’s not like anybody is here to hold my hand. I step slowly forward and press the door button, but I’m still too cold for it to recognize that I’d touched it. Breathing into my hands helps only so much, but it gets me in the door faster.
The moment it opens I dash through it, and it slides shut immediately after me. This room is even cleaner than the last. It’s familiar, too. It’s still a touch chilly in here, but that’s going to be done soon. Two panels of the bare white walls reveal themselves to be slats concealing huge fans. A blast of warm breeze brushes against me, before an almost painful volley of heated air buffets me several steps back. Another pair of fans appear behind me and push me violently forward. I have to be sanitized.
When the airflow subsides and the panels close, every inching of the room begins to glow. At first it’s just as though someone turned up the lights and the brightness is just reflecting off the white surfaces. In moments though, a soft glow turns into a potentially blinding bath of sparkling radiation. The sparkles may just be in my eyes, though. They linger for a time after the room returns to its standard conditions.
Rain follows the sun. Tiny holes appear across the whole of the roof, and I am inescapably showered in soft streams of water and cool mist. The solution runs over my entire body, rinsing me of any final contaminants. I won’t be let through until I pick up the bottoms of my feet and wash them. Took me half an age to figure that out the first time, and I was so tired afterward that I didn’t remember for the second time. For the moment though, I’m going to enjoy this. This sort of relaxation doesn’t come along often in the further reaches and darker corners of my clients’ minds. Being a Processor in a med facility is not the same as commercial work. I feel like an invader. Of course, I know that I’m doing good. Not like I’m going anywhere for the time being, anyway.
Closing my eyes and submerging into my own imagination turns the soft, warm shower into tropical rain, filling me with a momentary but potent joy. Coming out of it as euphoric and blurry as coming down from a powerful orgasm. Just feeling myself outdoors for that fraction of a second is truly calming. Lights fade, and in five seconds it is perfectly dark. It wants me to be able to go anywhere I want for a short while. Feel anything I want.
Well… With a pretty major exception. I’m not permitted to cum. Definitely, definitely not allowed. Doesn’t mean I won’t touch myself a bit. I’m somewhere new now. The rain is still warm, but the sun isn’t shining. Everything is steam and moss and petrichor. Everything else is nothing, but it lasts only a moment. In moments the lights fade slowly back like an alarm pretending to be a sunrise.
Every time I’m in here I think about all the others who might pass through here. I don’t truly have any reason to believe that I am not the only one. It was obviously designed for more than one person – I mean, look at the thing. It’s huge. I think about them touching themselves. I think about the first time they find out they aren’t supposed to orgasm in here. The flinching, the clenched jaws, and ultimately, the enjoyment.
It’s hard not to wonder what it would be like in here if I had company. If it were as crowded as it could be. The steam, the bodies, their heat. Every one of us writhing, interlocking, biting, moaning… and not one of us allowed to cum. When the tension finally crescendoed and one of us broke, we would all feel the consequence of their weakness. All of us for each one of us.
I can’t resist these ideas. This isn’t a fantasy I can say no too. “I won’t cum.” I say aloud. As I consider the precision of my words, the echo of my words in this cavernous room is muffled by the sound of the water. “Orgasm, I mean.” I won’t let myself, but nothing is stopping me from enjoying myself a little… from making myself ready.
The very instant I touch myself I feel the blood flowing faster in me. My body is gradually but quickly turning warm within and without, and I feel the human passion growing in me in spiteful contrast to the cold, mechanical restrictions placed upon me even when the restraints are off. Deep breaths cool me, but it lasts only so long. I keep touching myself, knowing that I must ride the line of my own pleasure closely.
As I lightly graze my clit with the unexpected fleck of hard skin in the pad of my finger the sensation is overwhelming. Blue light swirls around the room along with the alarming of the raging klaxon. It’s truly overwhelming as it sparkles through the falling water. “I didn’t cum, I swear!” I yell, but the sensors were only reading the stimulation level, and my pleasure threshold is a bit above average. The water shuts off instantly, and my body is wracked with momentary pain. The sensation is like electricity, but not – like passion reversed, but only in the body. There isn’t enough power for it to be a punishment, though. I think it’s just meant to reset me – and it works. I am wrested from the fantasy, and ready for what’s to be done.
When the lights have returned to their typical harsh glare I blink in surprise and adjustment, but this has prepared me for the rest of what my morning has to offer. It’s morning because I just got up. I don’t actually have any idea to think a clock would be more likely to tell me one number more than any other. Nine long, shrill beeps precede the whooshing of the next door as it recedes rapidly into the wall to my right.
BP: 89/62
Temp: 34.4°C
Pulse: 44.2 BPM
Respiration: 6.5
Knowing exactly what to do I lay back on the cold, metallic surface not in fear, but in pure anticipation. It is hard to wait, so I focus on my surroundings. The surface of the table is not made of steel. It doesn’t feel right. Hard to get that glassy polish out of steel. I can’t believe I’ve never considered this before, but if it were steel – or any iron alloy – the ferromagnetic field generated by the metal could be a problem, depending on how sensitive the machinery in here is. Maybe it’s just that delicate, but I’m probably overthinking it. I know that I signed up for this, but not remembering creates a curiously empty feeling in me. Like a significant piece of me exists but somewhere else, unavailable to me and unable to guide me.
Not being sure what it is that happens in here makes it somehow more exhilarating, though… I honestly wonder some days whether it’s even really a part of my treatment, or my work. If I reported what happens in here in explicit terms, what would the staff tell me?
Probably that I’m “still a bit disoriented” by the experience of other minds dreaming in my own. Like I haven’t spent enough time with that having worked in the field since I was a fucking teenager. Maybe they’d say they have no idea, and when they investigate they’d just destroy it. Or kill it. Whatever it is, I don’t believe it deserves to simply cease. Something is obviously curious about me – or us perhaps – but in four years it has never once done harm to my knowledge. It probably doesn’t matter anyway.
The air is warming up in here now, which is nice. A little later in the game than usual, but it feels good nonetheless. Maybe better, actually. It waited until I was covered in rigid goosebumps to heat things up. The room is starting to adjust to my preferences all around. I can feel the changes in pressure, humidity, light, even the room tone.
The hairs on my arms are falling flaccid, like spent males. For a second I feel almost comfortable, and for a fleeting moment, I actually feel comfortable. That moment doesn’t last, though. It never does. The next thing I know another sense is stimulated.
A sound leaps out of the silence. A high, mechanical whir. It seems like it should be coming from the apparatus staring at me from above, but it’s emanating from all around. The ringing hum vibrates the air so powerfully I can feel the shrillness on my skin. Soon I can feel it in my chest, but only for a second. The moment it finishes testing, it returns all its workings to a dormant state. I still don’t know if it is a tool, or if it is alive.
Sometimes this initial sequence takes a bit longer than others. Every exam is different, like we’re being studied. Some days, when mine is the first appointment, I feel like it is having a hard time waking up. The way it behaves, the particularly organic brand of sluggishness, all of it makes me think one thing. The complexities of that thought are frightening and confusing, yet at the same time… that same complexity turns me on. The possibility of intelligent life so incredibly different than mine is dreadfully fascinating… and a more than a little titillating. The idea that it likes me, that it’s curious about me beyond its job – that I’m so universally interesting – it’s undeniably hot.
Then again maybe I’m just endowing it with the properties of an intelligent being because that’s the most interesting thing I’ve imagined so far. Maybe it’s just a tool, and there’s an organic being at a control panel who has been doing all these things to me. Maybe it’s an automated machine that checks our status. Hell, maybe it’s just an elaborate a sex toy that activates whenever my subconscious experience leaves me in need of some release. Processing isn’t exactly easy on the cortisol levels. For all I know, maybe I’m the plaything.
BP: 95/58
Temp: 34.8°C
Pulse: 48.8 BPM
Respiration: 7.9
From the perfect still of the silence I know it’s about to begin. The trepidation I feel in this room is a physical sensation. It’s like that every time. Regular examinations for as long as I’ve been here, and I’m still a little nervous that this will be the time the mercurial monster hanging ominously above me will turn on me. The thought that it might show its true, villainous colors at any moment is in fact utterly terrifying, but it’s also really fucking hot. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know that every time we’ve met so far it only makes me feel good.
What really scares me is that whomever operates this machine will reveal themselves, and we’ll see what’s behind the curtain. If they are anything less than majestic it will be such a disappointment, and probably a stomach-turning one at that.
My wandering mind is recalled by the tightening of my restraints, and the sound of machinery powering up again. Slowly and sensually, the various pieces of begin unlocking, uncoiling, and disengaging from one another. A tangled mass of robotic limbs and slithering, tentacular apparatuses opens toward me, reaching slowly, as if to claim my body in gradual, passionate embrace.
Alive with light and sound, it whirs and hums, varying tone and volume wildly as it works. The first thing that always happens is that it gathers a quick overview of the important data. They display in real time as simple values on a highly reflective black screen on the side of one of its armatures as it records them. It’s obviously for my benefit, but it’s formatted in such a way that’s very hard to read. Some of the data I recognize, like vital signs, but others I can’t decipher without more context.
BP: 95/62
Temp: 34.8°C
Pulse: 48.8 BPM
Respiration: 7.9
Huh. Blood pressure’s a little low for this point in the game. Body’s being slow all around, actually. I feel the air move around me like soft breath as the fans to cool it’s inner workings start activating as needed. Here we go again. Powerlessness facing off with power, plotting, scheming, and shamelessly enjoying. Lighted metal rings and circular joints strung together form its animated tentacles. The lights on each segment often change hue as it works, but not at all predictably. I think the different colors are representative of its mood. Maybe I just like to think that.
The coiling swarm of serpentine conduits tightens around me. The first time I didn’t know what was happening, but I thought I was either facing the wrath of aliens, or about to get eaten. Don’t know that much now, but I know it’s not any of those things. Oh… Good. It’s about to begin.
I’m ready. I want this again. Every time, really. I’m so ready that I forget the business which comes before. One of the tentacles wrapped around me has become a sphygmomanometer. Another forms a cuff and attaches to me. This is the part I have to grit my teeth to get through. There’s never a mark left afterward, but the way it pierces my vein is not a nice one. It’s like I’m being bitten. The liquid in the drip is incredibly cold, but I’m very glad it’s there.
Yet another of the serpentine arms has formed what appear as suction cups along the length of it. Knowing what they really are always frightens me without any rationale. I’ve just always been afraid of electrodes, but I hold still as the perfectly flexible appendage slides through my breasts, across my chest and my sides. I swear it gives me a little squeeze for no other reason than its own amusement. The cool, smooth metal of the tentacle’s exterior creates an almost wet sensation against me. Speaking of which…
There is a very wet sensation between my legs. I never get hard this early in the process. I guess waking up takes it out of me, but I’m always leaking at least a bit of pre-cum by now. A lot, in this case. Quite a lot, really. My thighs are slick halfway to my knees, and my cock is starting to swell. Oh… I do like the things that happen to me in here – that are done to me – but I would give anything to feel another human’s mouth on my cock… or their cock in mine. I miss it so badly. To feel someone’s slick pussy riding me, to be inside them.
BP: 119/74
Temp: 36.1°C
Pulse: 69.4 BPM
Respiration: 10.2
It’s not as though these… simulations aren’t pleasurable. They’re just so clinical. I want more, and I wish I knew when I could have it. Even dreaming of sex isn’t truly satisfying, no matter how detailed or sensual. Without even images of my partners and friends it feels a bit empty, and knowing that I am often with the friends and partners of my clients… It almost feels invasive. Seeing their wants, their desires, their bodies – for that matter their partners’ bodies and desires.
The strangest part may well be feeling someone else’s arousal for a partner they love but to whom I am not attracted in the least. It hasn’t gone without impact on the boundaries and inflexibilities of my own sexuality. Despite my confusion and inner conflict about it, sharing the fantasies and loneliness of the patients creates a commiserative bond between us. All of us in a way, and being the hub of that relationship is the greatest challenge and reward.
That all makes it sound like a lot is coming back to me, but it isn’t. Vague memories and intense feelings are painting an evocative picture, though. It doesn’t matter, either. Not at the moment, anyway. Maybe not ever. Right now, I’ve got more pressing matters that I should allow to attend me. The beast above me is extremely active right now. Whirs, clicks, blinking lights, and flickers of chaotic rainbow escaping from its many joints and crevices.
The cluster of lenses on the radiological cameras squints and stares, peering into me, looking at anything it wants, for however long I want. I am exposed in the most profound way right now, and I am being examined in exquisite detail. The gaze of each mechanical eye feels new and different with every change of focus, every dilation, every constriction.
I can only imagine what effects the wide spectrum radiation might have on me if it weren’t for the transparent, nearly painfully icy liquid flowing into the perfect vain. It always knows which one to pick – which limb, which vein, the exact angle of injection. It’s perfect. The only reason it hurts so is the size of the needle and the rate of flow. It’s a little bit my fault anyway for declining the port. Oh, there’s a dollop of memory. How about that? Nothing else, but it is a whole detail, and that’s not nothing. Not that now is really the time to focus on that.
I’m almost frantic. I can stay inside my skin but it takes some effort. The serum is doing its thing, which is slowly more familiar as it happens. I can feel the tickling, tingling pleasure behind my eyes, at the base of my spine, in the pit of my stomach, and in my… Oh, wow. I’m growing quickly. In moments I’m hard. Very hard, in fact. A bit bigger than I remember, too. Kind of feels like I think that every time, but it’s so hard to remember. Ha. Hard.
BP: 134/95
Temp: 36.9°C
Pulse: 81.6 BPM
Respiration: 34.9
Blood pumping harder and harder, I find myself in a dizzying state. Everything about me is tightening – inside, outside, tangible, intangible… I hate this word, but it’s honestly the best descriptor; I’m literally throbbing. My thick cock is bouncing on it’s own, the small head trying desperately to exceed its natural limitations.
Clearly responding to my unusual stimulation level, the beast above me swipes a cold metal tendril across my body and coils rapidly around the base of my shaft and holds me to hold it at least partly still. Courteously, it warms the bits of itself which are touching me as soon as it lands. As it constricts a little tighter, the arm curled up and wrapped round my breasts starts to gently massage me, as though its only goal is to make me hornier than I already am.
The ring around me is already slick with my pre-cum, but it is slowly secreting its own lubricant. Doesn’t feel like medical jelly, which I’m grateful for. It’s actually pretty good. Something I might use in my life away from here. It’s been warmed but it’s not “warming”. It’s slippery without getting sticky. Not too viscous, not too watery. The tendril slowly raises its grip, tightening itself just slightly as it approaches the taper after the flare.
It knows what I want. It… They… She, he? Nothing sounds right. “It” is wrong because I feel something more about it – something living. I don’t know what though, and even if I’m right, it’s so alien to me that it is impossible to relate it. Maybe it has no gender, but maybe it has lots, or strongly identifies with a gender I’ve never even heard of. All I know is that it is.
When the beast touches me I feel only immense pleasure, even with the biting of needles and the soon crushing constriction of my chest. Tentacles aren’t the only thing I’d like there, though. I want hands running up my sides, racing to see which of them can seize a breast first – to feel them roughly grasping my tits. I want teeth, kissing, nibbling and biting nipple and flesh.
Behind closed eyes, I imagine it’s her. She’d be nobody special to me under normal circumstances. She’s just the last girl I hooked up with before I came in. That night was extraordinary. Well, not really, I guess. The date was boring, and she obviously didn’t know what to make of being seen with me. Had I not been so fucking horny I might not have actually slept with her, but in the end, we were taking advantage of each other about the same amount, and that’s what sticks out in my mind. That and the absolutely amazing sex, anyway.
It was a little bit the fact that I was irritated from the date and had built her up to be dealing with more of an internalized phobia than she probably was. Still, being kind of pissed made it hotter than it would have been, and she was already an astonishingly capable sex partner. After a while, it became very clear to me that she was fetishizing me more than anything else. It’s not good, but I let myself kind of like it anyway – being wanted for what I am instead of who.
Her pussy was so tight, so slick, and… so much like this. As far as I’m concerned, it must be reading my memories in order to emulate sensations, and right now it’s picked her. I wonder if it would change gears if I thought about someone else. Would it turn into my lost love? Or a processed memory of sex and terror? Does it have a failsafe to prevent the bad from manifesting along with the good?
Oh, fuck… I don’t care at all. I can’t. This feels so fucking good. Spectacularly, amazingly so. Just like her. As I remember the way she slid off of me and slithered down to press my cock against her face as she looked me in the eye, the Machine tightens around me teasingly and retracts just as she did, squeezing the blood back from the tip of me with its tightness. The hardness of me pulses with precariously potent pleasure, and the entity prepares the final suction, moving it rapidly toward the tip of me just in case. If I had cum now though, it would have been a moment too late.
“Reflexes a little slow today, love?” I joke aloud.
Every lens zooms in as far as it goes, and constricts as tightly as possible in what feels clearly like a semi-joking, sarcastic-angry squint. I know I’m probably imagining it with intelligence it doesn’t have, but it’s impossible not to wonder what it would mean if I’m not.
BP: 144/102
Temp: 37.2°C
Pulse: 90.7 BPM
Respiration: 39.8
I can’t focus on anything but the Machine for long, though. The way it touches me is so knowing – some days even loving – and I can feel that it cares about my experience here, even if that’s not really the main goal or function of what’s happening. In keeping with her actions, a simulated tongue has slithered from the ceiling, behaving at first just as hers. It licks me from balls to tip, making me feel powerful and taken care of at once. I would have never imagined I would be capable of this kind of passion for a beast such as this.
The way it wants me is so sensual, so intimate, and so cold. Being wanted then discarded has always been a pleasure of mine, if only because I was always using them as much as they are using me, but it’s different here. Here I simply don’t know whom or what is using the other.
Another limb reaches down, gestures toward my face as though it is looking at me, and pauses. The terminus of the flexible tool gradually transforms, shaping itself into the form of a mouth. Terrifying and wide, the maw smiles at me. With its grim grin the lights warm and dim. It’s like candlelight without the obnoxious flickering, and just the slightest sway.
The tone of the room seems to change with the light, and my whole experience has become vaguely musical. Almost like it’s trying to soothe me and keep me going. I’m getting edged by many-tentacled metallic beast. If someone had asked me at really any time before I came here if something like that would ever happen, I would have laughed at the absurdity. As would we all, I think, and quite reasonably.
BP: 128/84
Temp: 37.3°C
Pulse: 79.6 BPM
Respiration: 30.0
Every visit to this chamber of dizzying multitudes is slightly different, but this is… unusual. Today it’s doing more to me – taking more from me, putting more into me. The meds, I mean. I’m sure it will begin putting the other things into me anytime now, though. Symptomatically speaking, calling me “lightheaded” would be a true understatement, but it’s not coming with any of the bad side effects. I’m not nauseated, or dizzy. My fingers and toes are bit tingly, but I can feel everything.
For that matter, I can even think anything I want to also. Still a little fuzzy, and a lot of thoughts still don’t feel like mine, but I’m in control of my mind. It’s more like a curious high that I’m not familiar with than what I typically think of with the term “side effects”. It’s kind of turning me on more, honestly. Psychologically. Whatever this stuff is has always made me hornier physically speaking. I guess my natural arousal isn’t relevant data.
Despite all that happens here, all that is done with me, to me, and for me… I still feel safe. At least, I feel like I’m supposed to feel that, and that impulse comes from within. Being awake here is not unlike the calm moments when their ocean of nightmares calms and the chaos recedes. Love, companionship, support. Wisdom, joy, serenity. Home.
Part of me really loves this place. The more I wake up, and the more warmth emerges from my memory, the more I relax, settling into pure calm. My body relaxes completely. I’m not paralyzed, but it would take great focus to rouse myself from this state. The Machine wants me pliable. I’m to be its doll now.
With a silly smile and an involuntary giggle, I cry out loudly and urgently, “Faster! Don’t make me wait so!”
I like this part, and I am not keeping it to myself. The grinding of the lenses and socket joints tells me that we are about to begin. Every unused arm lurches outwards in sudden life, and each one becomes something. Massagers, vibrators, even a throbbing dildo that I truly can’t tell is artificial. Well, I couldn’t if this one did change size moment to moment to suit my desire.
One tendril remains itself, though. It’s the one that coils around me. The one that chokes me. I love a human hand on my throat, and this cold metal is about as far from that as it can be, but this does feel more honest, and more intimate. Like a recognition that we are both aware, and that we are connected, consensually gazing into each other as we fuck like robotic rabbits.
“Do what you are here to do,” I whisper, “Give me what I came for.”
BP: 160/99
Temp: 38.1°C
Pulse: 114.6 BPM
Respiration: 67.4
