Just Business

Discussion in 'Other CIC Short Stories' started by Trystl, Apr 16, 2018.

  1. Trystl Bondage Heroine [__________] The Bondage Heroine

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    Eddy liked his job. He was the night security guard for Punicorp, “Pronounced pewn·ah·corp; not poon·ee·corp,” as his boss used to always tell him. There were other guards, stationed at other entrances, but he'd been with the company long enough that he'd secured the coveted front desk job, which meant that he didn't have to do hourly rounds. His job was to sit at his desk alone, watching the empty rooms on the monitors and coordinating any issues with the other guards at their various stations.

    Things were usually pretty quiet at night. The executives never came in to bother him, and the lab workers were just leaving as he came on shift. The janitorial staff spent a few hours cleaning the place up, and then the rest of the night he was usually free to sit around and read his books. He usually finished reading one about every two nights.

    About the only interruption to his nightly reading was when the guards radioed in that they'd finished their hourly rounds and he had to make a notation in the log book.

    Oh, and when Silfia O. Simmons came to pilfer a few more of her daddy's toys. Only her father was dead now—going on two years—so that made the toys hers now, didn't it. She was still sneaking in at night to take them, though. Eddy chuckled, wondering what she would select this evening. A chastity belt, perhaps; with attachable probes and wires leading off to the control box? Or maybe a grope suit? The possibilities were almost limitless, since Punicorp made virtually everything and anything the owner of a slave could want.

    Eddy liked to fantasize about what he'd do with those toys if he ever had that cute little body of hers to himself. She'd been making these irregular raids since before Eddy inherited his front desk position, so he'd watched her since she was a prepubescent teenager. Eddy still remembered the first time he'd seen her, this hot little number pounding on the glass doors in her black miniskirt. Even then she'd been something special, and he'd predicted that someday she'd grow up to be quite a looker.

    Somewhere along the line “someday” had come, and the way she walked, Eddy was pretty sure she knew just how great she looked. Sometimes he thought she walked like she had a stick up her ass—and he liked knowing that she probably did have one of her father's toys buzzing away. A young lady (so timid that she was still sneaking into her own factory to steal sex toys) was not the kind of person who would have sold those toys to the other girls at her school. No, she was experimenting with them herself.

    That thought always gave Eddy such a ragging hard-on that it was difficult not to take care of it during one of his nightly bathroom breaks.

    These days, Silfia didn't need to knock. She had her own key.

    Eddy quickly put his feet on the floor and tucked his book under the counter as he heard that key turning. Then he watched as two young ladies walked across the lobby towards him.

    Now that was unusual. Tonight, Silfia was with another girl. She was a little smaller, with almost white hair. This new girl was kind of cute, but not as beautiful as Silfia; and she was clearly nervous.

    “Are you sure this will really work?” she whispered, not realizing how the sound carried when the lobby was empty.

    “Of course,” Silfia said in a louder, more conversational voice. “I may not run this place, but I am still the owner.”

    Eddy couldn't help wondering what that was about. Who was this new girl? And what relationship did she have with Silfia.

    “Good evening, miss Simmons,” he said with a respectful nod. “I see you've brought a friend tonight.”

    “Yes, Eddy. This is Kara; she wanted a tour of the factory.”

    “Well, like you say, night is the best time if you don't want to interrupt the production schedules.”

    Silfia gave him her winning smile. He was pretty sure she knew that he knew, but over the years she'd grown comfortable with that knowledge. She wasn't as timid about it as she had been before her father died. Daddy's little girl, no doubt; afraid to disappoint him if she were caught stealing his sex toys. And yet she still couldn't keep away.

    ~How hot is that? I'll bet she'd fuck me like a tiger.~

    “As usual,” Silfia said, “I'd prefer to keep this visit a secret, if you don't mind.”

    He nodded. “Then I won't log it in.”

    “Good,” Silfia said, taking her friend's hand and leading her towards the elevators.

    As he always did, Eddy watched on the monitors as Silfia (and her friend) walked through the halls. He always liked to see what she was taking so he could fantasize about how she might be using it. Tonight, however, she surprised him. She led her friend to the research laboratory. And, she had a key. She opened the door to the research section without even looking around. Then the girls walked down the hall until they came to the one room where the monitor wasn't working.

    Now what were the odds of that?

    The head guard on day shift had mentioned the broken monitor when he came in. Maintenance was scheduled to fix it tomorrow, and the one night it was out, Silfia O. Sullivan decided to enter that very same room.

    Nothing suspicious about that at all. He wondered if it was because she knew that he watched her and didn't want him seeing whatever it was she planned to do tonight, with her girlfriend.

    The research lab was where they tested the more complicated and technical toys—the one's that weren't quite ready for the public just yet. Or, in this case, the ones that had been recalled. Between them, those two categories included a lot of larger contraptions, such as the automated body modification units, interactive cybernetics, long-term restraining cages, and all sorts of full body punishment units. Cutting edge technology for the discerning (and very wealthy) slave owner.

    Now what could those girls possibly want down that hall?

    Eddy wondered if it would be worth giving up his left nut to get the monitor that covered those rooms working again.

    He suspected it probably would be.



    2

    When Silfia was fifteen, a thoughtless comment during a chance encounter changed her life.

    A small group of boys from her school had cornered a timid girl. They were intimidating her with verbal threats and physical taunts—pinching her nipples through her sweater and lifting her skirt slightly as she tried to shy away. Unfortunately, the wall left her nowhere to go.

    Silfia didn’t even recognize the girl but she’d learned that other student’s often listened and did what she said. She rarely used this fact for her advantage, but she didn’t like bullies so she walked right up and order the boys to leave the poor girl alone.

    “Make us,” a dark haired boy replied, turning on her in a menacing way and eying her up and down, as if evaluating whether she’d make a better target for their teasing.

    “You don't frighten me,” she said, giving him a dark scowl, “and if you don't stop, I’ll...”

    “Come on,” one of the other boys said, as he pulled on the arm of the dark haired boy. “We're just having a little fun,” he assured Silfia, “we didn’t mean anything by it.”

    “She didn't look like she was having much fun.”

    The dark haired boy gave her a smirk. “She'll be having wet dreams about this day on her death bed,” he said with a smarmy smile.

    “You’re really full of yourself,” she said derisively, “but one day the girl won’t be so easy to intimidate and you’ll end up in jail.”

    Finally, the second boy managed to pull his buddy far enough away from the cornered girl to let her run off, without so much as a thank you.

    “Maybe if we let you take her place,” the dark haired boy said, “we can test that theory.”

    “It was just a joke,” the other boy said, and now he was pushing the dark haired boy back even harder; one of the other boys was helping.

    Together, these boys pulled the dark haired boy’s head down; they whispered something in his ear, which seemed to calm him. He looked over at her and raised his eyebrows speculatively. “Like Ryan said, we were just having a little fun. You should try it. Maybe you'd loosen up a little if daddy gave you one of his little toys?”

    Silfia wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but the look on his face told her that it was a joke made at her expense. “Maybe you'd be more pleasant to talk to if someone shot off your head.”

    “Owh, that’s mean little sister!” The dark haired boy said with a chuckled, “But I like it. Let me know anytime you want to help me shoot off my little head.”

    “You’re disgusting,” Silfia said, wrinkling her nose.

    The boys were laughing as they walked away, but it wasn't the sexual innuendos that disturbed her most. It was the earlier comment about daddy's toys. She couldn't help thinking that she probably had a pretty good idea what they'd meant by that. It seemed that she’d always known her father was rich, but she didn’t actually know what her father produced in his factories. Did he make sex toys? And if not, why would the boy say that?

    Later that evening, while they were eating dinner, Silfia asked her father what kind of products he made. It was the first time she'd asked him that in quite a few years. She remembered the other time quite clearly. He'd given her a pat on the head and told her not to worry her pretty little head. Thinking back on it now, she couldn’t help wondered if what he was really thinking was: empty little head.

    This time her father's answer was a little less evasive. “Punicorp provides services and supplies for the slave sector of the economy.”

    “For the slave sector?”

    “Yes, sweetheart. Someone has to provide for their needs, and that's what we do.”

    Providing for the needs of slaves... the way he said it, it almost sounded noble.

    But what exactly did it mean to provide for a slave's needs? A slave had no needs. Slaves were forced to do whatever their owner wanted them to do—so really, he father was providing for the needs of slave owners. What did her father do when he wasn't reading her a bedtime story or dandling her on his knee? A quick search of the internet told her all she needed to know. Punicorp made a full range of restrains, sex toys and body jewelry, but it specialized at the highest end, targeting wealthy slave owners, who could afford frivolous things like computerized, gold plated chastity belts and collars or automated discipline machines. Some of the devices were one of a kind. Many were intended to create discomfort or even cause pain. Most were ridiculously expensive—although Punicorp also made a complete line of more affordable items, for the less discerning sadists.

    Silfia had been naive enough that this revelation came as quite a shock to her. It wasn't like her father was an activist in the Slavery Opposition Party, but she'd always thought of him as the kind of person who would oppose slavery. Unlike many of the rich men she saw portrayed in the movies and holovids, he was kind and respectful to all people, even his employees.

    Knowing what her father did changed her.

    The first time she went for one of her nightly visits to Punicorp was less than a month later. She'd purchased some clothes with her credit card—the kind of clothes she never wore—and she'd worn them as she took a taxi to the front door of the Punicorp lobby. The way the security guard at the front desk looked at her, she wondered if she would even have needed to flash her ID badge.

    Men were so easy to manipulate.



    3

    “This is going to be easy,” Silfia muttered to Kara as they walked down the hall towards the research laboratories. Her friend seemed even more nervous than usual.

    Silfia, by contrast, felt relatively calm. She'd never actually gone into the research wing, but she'd walked around at night often enough to know where it was; and with a duplicate of her uncle's key in her purse, she was pretty sure she'd be able to get into all the right rooms. She'd already spent numerous hours researching how to use an Overload Machine. There were more than half a dozen different models on the market and Punicorp made more than two-thirds of them.

    Cyber-Secretaries, of course, were becoming rather commonplace these days. Some people even had dermal jacks implanted just under the hairline, to make them easier to access. These days the surgery was safe and relatively inexpensive. Low-end models, which employed SQID (or Super-conducting Quantum Interface Device) technology started at less than half a Standard Gold Unit and required no installation. Top of the line models ranged no higher than five or six SGUs (pronounced Segue, as the new Gold Standard monetary units were called.) These used a self contained cybernetic interface, with secure wireless technology.

    The more advanced models were all the rage at Silfia's school. Since the CyberSec was located inside the student's head, the teachers couldn't very well make students take them off, even though those students who used them had a serious advantage, even if they didn't study. The y could activate the Cybersec while they dozed during class then have the CyberSec edit the notes as it transcribed the lecture. Reading assignments were just as easy, since all they had to do was scan the pages they were supposed to read and let the CyberSec process the information for a few minutes. With a CyberSec, a student had total recall. Some teachers had begun to ask questions that tested the student’s understanding of information and the ramifications, rather than simply expecting to regurgitate facts that a computer could easily process. But most CyberSecs had a high enough AI quotient to deal fairly easily with those kinds of questions.

    This made it possible for students who could afford a CyberSec to party all night, come into class hung over and still ace s test. Silfia had never really cared all that much about getting good grades. She was more interested in her CyberSec's ability to play music inside her head. The sounds seemed to resonate through her whole body; the experience bordered on being mystical, especially when combined with sexual stimulation. The musical choir in her head was like a drug that intensified her orgasm.

    Her CyberSec could do lots of other things as well. For example, it replaced her old-fashioned cell phone, reminded her of appointments, elevated her mood, took downloadable pictures or video of whatever she looked at; it even had a built in GPS, so she could ask it for directions. Anything her old cell phone could do, her CyberSec could do better; and quicker, since it responded to her desires at the speed of thought.

    Very few students at her school didn't have one.

    Silfia's dermal Jack would make things easier tonight, if she decided to go through with her plans to try out one of Punicorp’s Overload Machines.

    *****

    “I think this is the room,” Silfia said.

    She wiggled the key into the lock and opened the door. Lights came on automatically as she entered and for a moment they startled her.

    “At least we don't have to search for the light switch,” Kara said as she looked around the small room. “I'm not sure I can say the same thing about the OM.”

    Silfia realized her friend was right. The room looked more like a storage room than a place to test Overload Machines. Shelves covered much of the wall space and held all manner of strange looking instrumentation, with small gauges and probes and a slew of other things she didn’t begin to recognize. Some mobile stands seemed to hold some of the smaller testing equipment, but it was all covered with opaque plastic, so there was no telling for sure without uncovering everything. In one corner of the longest wall, there was a small door that looked like it led to a closet. Beside that was one of those small, high-school-style desks in front of a large mirror that took up about half of the wall surface, from the waist up.

    Kara was looking at the mirror too. “You know what this reminds me of?” She asked.

    Silfia hadn't given it much thought but, now she realized that she'd seen something very similar in movies and on TV shows.

    “It looks like a two-way mirror from a police interrogation room.”

    Kara nodded. “Want to bet what's behind this mirror?”

    Silfia walked over to the door she'd thought lead into a closet and found that it opened into another room, the same size as the one she'd just come from. In the center of this room, positioned against the far wall, was a large padded chair that looked like a cross between a dentist chair and a sexual interrogation device. The surface looked flat and hard, but when Silfia pressed her finger into the material it compressed under her finger, like foam. At the top of the chair there was a retractable, plastic hood with two yellow spheres that looked like they'd been cut in half and separated to make space for a slave’s head. The back of the chair was narrow and smooth, angling down at a forty-five degree angle to the seat area, with an open center and two supports for the legs that looked a little like ironing boards. The open center (between these legs) had a place to attach something once the slave was seated; and there were two thick, flexible straps with metal tongues, like the male-end of a seat-belt-buckle. Beside the seat, sticking up (sort of like stirrups at a gynecology exam) were two wrist sized cuffs.

    Along one wall, there were a couple of technical posters. One had instructions for connecting the various attachments and options, and the other contained information about how and where to attach different kinds of specialized testing equipment, most of which Silfia didn't understand.

    “This is it,” Silfia said, stating the obvious.

    “I don't like this place,” Kara grumbled, “It looks like a dungeon.”

    Her friend was right. This room wasn't nearly as cluttered as the observation room, but the shelves in here were scattered with bits of equipment, most of which didn’t look like the kind of stuff you'd expect to see in a laboratory—unless, of course, it was the lair of a mad scientist. Silfia had spent the past few days familiarizing herself with how to use an Overload Machine and she still couldn't entirely shake the feeling that these things belonged to some deranged mental patient who’d flown the coop. The idea of hooking herself up to the equipment terrified her, but it was terribly exciting too. Even the technical name of the device “Overload Machine” seemed intentionally designed to intimidate. Maybe that's why it was commonly called an OM. In any case, Silfia was determined to go through with her plans. Just because a girl was a slave didn't mean she should be forced to risk death at her master's hands.

    Overload Machines were capable of delivering intense pleasure or pain; with biofeedback monitoring to let it know just how hard it could push to produce the ultimate sexual high—or the ultimate punishment for a slave. It was one of the few things in the Punicorp arsenal that Silfia hadn't tried yet. Until now she’d never had the urge to try one, but the persistent rumors of slaves dying had caused her some alarm.

    It wasn’t every model; just the newest prototype in the ultimate S-series, appropriately called the Ravager.

    Surely, even this model couldn’t kill every slave who tried it, or the FDA wouldn't have approved it in the first place. It was only when a person abused the machine’s programming capabilities that it became truly dangerous. The problem was that many masters liked to abuse their slaves as much as possible, so they pushed the machines further than the warning recommended.

    Even the most derogatory articles admitted that much—but whatever the reason, slaves (mostly women) were still dying. Supposedly, the machines had been taken off the market, but far too many were still available on the black market—and people were still dying.

    If her uncle, Kirsch, was selling these machines on the black market, Silfia intended to find out and shut him down. It was still her family's name on the company, after all. She had a responsibility to make sure her customers were safe from unreasonable risks.

    But before she did that, she was determined to try the damned thing first. She wanted to see just how far it could push her; she wanted to experience that ultimate sexual high.

    “How long should I set the program for, once I've tied you up?” Silfia asked.

    “Me,” Kara sputtered, “I'm not letting you strap me into one of these things!”

    Silfia chuckled. “It was worth a try,” she said. She'd known Kara wouldn’t want to try it, but she’d wanted to lighten the mood. The way Kara was looking at her, it obviously didn’t worked. “Guess you'd better start strapping me in then,” she said.

    Kara breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

    “Yes, I want to see what it feels like.”

    “Are you still determined to use the new trototype?”

    “It’s the unit most commonly associated with fatalities,” Silfia said.

    “I still think it’s a bad idea,” Kara said with a little shake of her head.

    “I’ll be fine. Just keep the settings relatively low until I give you the word then slowly work your way up. I’ll give you a signal if I feel like I’m in trouble.”

    After a little searching, the girls found the right pubic attachment, sitting on a labeled shelf. The manual stimulating device looked a little like a transforming robot frozen halfway during its change. The small piece of metal had a flat base with a socket on the bottom that was clearly designed to snap into an open latch in the open center-part of the chair. Two little arms were clearly intended to wrap around the slave’s hips and, holding her in place as the machine did its work.

    “I think we're supposed to attach this thing before you sit down,” Kara said. She was reading one of the posters, looking at the ultimate S-series column of instruction as she tried to figure out how to attach it. “And you've obviously got to take off your clothes,” she said, as she turned the chair around so Silfia could see two massive dildos which were attached to the ends of motorized arms. “Why don't you take off your clothes while I try to figure out how to snap this thing on?”

    Silfia felt unexpectedly self conscious about removing her clothing in front of Kara. It wasn’t that they hadn’t gotten naked before, but usually Kara clothes were lying on the floor, right beside hers. And they were usually in the luxurious privacy of her room.

    This place had all the charm of a cheep hospital room, and the air was slightly cool.

    Quickly, before she could change her mind, Silfia unbuttoned her blouse and slipped out of her conservatively fitted skirt. She even removed her socks and shoes. No point doing this thing half-assed.

    By the time she was ready, Kara had the Ravager’s pubic base mounted to the chair. Carefully Silfia slid into place, slowly guiding the machines small probes into the appropriate orifices as she settled onto the seat. The dildos were large, but no larger than other phallic probes she'd used in the past. There were two of them, however, and the chair was obviously not designed to be used alone. The backrest tilted to a forty-five degree angle, as she put her weight on it, making her think that it was not designed to be used alone, since the angle actually made it harder to get in position without help.

    When she was in position, the machine activated automatically. The belts clicked into place, the straps pulling themselves snug but not too tight. It was the surface of the machine pressing against her, however, that surprised her the most. Somehow, it formed a tight seal against her pubic mound and the probes inside her began to swell considerably, taking on a flexible, elastic quality that she hadn't anticipated at all.

    “Whoa! Now that was kind of interesting,” she said, as her body slowly began to relax again.

    “The instructions say that your hands should be secured in these cuffs,” Kara said as she gently guided one of Silfia's arms towards an adjustable upright on her left. The padded metal clicked closed around her wrists.

    “Uh oh,” Silfia said, “how do we get it open now?”

    “Don't worry,” Kara replied. “See this little sliver on the side of the cuff? All I have to do is press this to open it again.”

    She demonstrated and the cuff popped open again.

    Silfia frowned. “I can't reach that when the cuff is closed.”

    “This was built for a slave,” Kara said, “I don't think you’re supposed to reach it.”

    “Right. Well, I guess you'd better snap them on.”

    When the cuffs were on, Silfia tried to move her arms and discovered that while the adjustable uprights provided some resistance they also allowed for a remarkable range of motion.

    “The final step is to plug in your dermal jack.” That was the link to her CyberSec, which would connect her to the machine. “Then I simply bring the SQID domes down, adjust the settings… and…” Kara paused in mid sentence and frowned. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”

    “I'm sure,” Silfia said, giving the thumbs up with both of her restrained hands. “Go ahead and power me up. It’s time to get fucked like never before.”



    4

    When Silfia's was eighteen, something else happened that changed her life.

    Her father didn't believe in public schools. Even before she was in grade school, he'd been paying for the best educational institutions that money could buy. This did not particularly please Silfia, for she didn’t particularly like the other students it forced her to be around. Not to mention that it seemed like a terrible waste of money. What did she need with all this schooling when her father was obviously filthy rich? She wasn't sure what she would do with her life, but she knew it wouldn't have anything to do with getting a job and working for a living, like most people did. All she had to do was make it through one more year of school and she'd be free to spend all of her time going to parties and trying to pick up boys.

    Like most of the other wealthy brats in her classes, she tended to set her CyberSec to record-mode while she daydreamed about more important stuff. Even walking from class to class, she could do pretty well operating in automatic mode, wandering around like a dimwitted zombie. Her eyes might as well have been closed, for all she actually saw, but it didn’t matter, the CyberSec planned her path and prevented her from bumping into anyone. If she wanted the CyberSec to stop off at a vending machine between classes, all she had to do was send a sub-vocal comment that she was thirsty and without missing a beat she would discover herself drinking something cold.

    On this particular day, however, it turned out that Silfia wasn't the only girl waiting in line. One of the girls ahead of her invited a friend to join her and as the people in line adjusted their positions, the girl directly in front of Silfia happened to back up against her leg.

    Silfia’s mind cleared instantly as she became aware of the girl's buzz-pants vibrating. Buzz pants were the name of one of the toys her father made. They came in several styles and varieties, from outerwear to panties—but what they all had in common was a built-in vibrator of some sort.

    “Whoa! Careful there,” Silfia said with a smile that was meant to be friendly. “You're going to get me all excited there, if you're not careful.”

    Silfia had heard that a person's face could turn red with embarrassment, but until that moment she'd never actually seen it happen. This girl's eyes went so wide it was comical and her pale face turned a delightfully bright shade of pink. For all that, she covered pretty well, saying, “I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”

    “Trust me,” Silfia replied, leaning closer and speaking very softly so that no one else would hear. “I know what buzz-pants are; and I’d say you've got yours cranked up pretty high.”

    She wouldn't have thought it possible, but the girl's face burned even brighter.

    “Please,” she begged, “you can't tell anyone.”

    “How can I tell anyone?” Silfia consoled. “I don't even know your name.”

    The girl frowned, obviously taking her comment the wrong way. “My name's Kara,” she said, “and you don't have to know my name. You've seen my face.”

    “True,” Silfia said, and she couldn't help smiling despite herself. It was kind of fun making her sweat. “So?” she said, drawing out the question. “Why shouldn't I tell? I'll bet there are boys around here that would love to know what a hot little slut you are. I suspect it might even improve your social life.”

    “You wouldn't!”

    It wasn’t until that moment that she decided to do something that was rather brazen, even for her. “If you don't want to find out,” Silfia said with an evil smile. “You’d better follow me into the girl's room. I have something I want to show you.”

    When she turned and walked into the lavatory, Kara followed. She was obviously reluctant and expecting the worst, for she hung back and dragged her feet a little; and, as Silfia carefully checked every stall, to make sure the lavatory was empty, she wrung her hands nervously. Silfia took it all in, finding it increasingly hard not to break out laughing as she played her chosen role. Finally, when she’d proven that all the stalls were empty, she turned back to Kara and motioned for her to follow her into one of the stalls.

    Kara was watching her carefully, the way a wounded sparrow might watch an approaching wolf.

    “Coming?” Silfia asked.

    “What do you expect me to do?” Kara asked, uncertainly.

    Again Silfia smiled. She realized that she was being kind of mean, but she couldn’t help herself: she hadn’t had this much fun in a very long time. “You'll just have to come in here with me, if you want to find out,” she said, “or would you rather I go have a talk with the principle?”

    “The Principle?”

    “He's usually in his office about this time of day.”

    Still reluctant, Kara entered the stall. Silfia closed the door behind her and began to slip out of the plaid skirt that was part of her school uniform.

    “What are you doing?” Kara asked in alarm. “I'm not a lesbian.”

    “I suspect that's what's making this so much fun,” Silfia said. She took Kara’s trembling hand and began to guide it down, towards the space between her legs. “Don't worry, I won't bite... much.”

    Kara's expression changed dramatically as her hand came into contact with Silfia's own vibrating buzz-pants.

    “You've got one too!”

    “So now there's no reason for me to tell, is there?”

    “Oh my God,” Kara sighed with nervous relief; and then with a quick show of anger. “You could have just told me!”

    “I know,” Silfia said with an apologetic grin “But that wouldn't have been nearly as much fun.”

    “You thought it was fun?” Kara asked, clearly trying to sound angry, but by this time she was grinning too.

    “You have no idea! I swear I almost gave myself away by cracking up laughing—but then I can just imagine what you would have thought.”

    “You’re a bad girl,” Kara said with an admiring scowl

    “Maybe you should come over to my house after school. I'll bet we could think of all sorts of ways to entertain each other.”
    “I told you,” Kara said, “I'm not a lesbian.”

    “Neither am I,” Silfia replied, “but my father is THE Brian Simmons.”

    “Am I supposed to know that name?

    “Well, for the sake of brevity, let’s just say that those buzz-pants you're wearing were probably made in one of his factories.”

    “Oh,” Kara said. “Oh!” She said again, with sudden understanding. She chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip for a moment. “Alright. Give me the address; I'll be there.”



    5

    The one thing Silfia never expected was that the Overload Machine wouldn't be about simply creating physical sensations in her body, but rather, it was about creating on overall physical AND mental experience. The goal was to create an experience that challenged both aspects of a slave’s being with equal intensity.

    As the hood closed over her head, Silfia felt a slight buzz that seemed to enter her body from the back of her head and slowly spread out to her whole being. Slowly at first, but then with a growing intensity, it came over her in pulsing waves; and her senses began to fade. The world around her melting away, becoming hazy and far way—like looking at something through a dirty window.

    Her mind didn't fade though.

    She remembered what she was doing, despite the new sensations, it was just that she felt like that knowledge no longer had any connection to her body. For a few moments she existed in darkness, surrounded by a strange sort of cold-warmth. It warmed her skin, piercing to the bone. For a moment her hair felt like it was on fire, although the fire didn’t really burn. Still, she thought she could hear it sizzling before that too began to fade and another reality began to brighten all around her...


    ...She was nineteen, standing in the living room of her father's house; and there were lots of people around her, all of them dressed in black. Some of them were crying. Silfia thought she could feel tears on her own cheek.

    Yes. She wiped at her eyes and felt hot tears on raw skin.

    Her father had just died in a car accident and now she was standing in this room, surrounded by a bunch of strangers, crying over a man who was almost as much of a stranger as the rest of them.

    “Are you all right?” Uncle Kirsch asked.

    She could feel his hand on her shoulder, almost as heavy as the weight of her sorrow.

    Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she was aware that neither of these things had ever happened. Oh, she'd cried at her father's funeral, but her real sorrow was never this hard to bear. When he died, it had been years since they’d been close enough to leave her feeling this devastated. No, even as she lived this moment, she remembered the real funeral. She noted the differences, the way an athlete might notice a scratch during the heat of a game.

    Uncle Kirsch had certainly never placed his hand on her shoulder like that. And yet, it seemed so believable, at this moment. So close to what had happened; and yet so different.

    After a few moments, Silfia wasn't entirely sure if she could remember which parts were which.

    She did know that her best friend Kara was about to enter the room… and sure enough, the door burst open and Kara walked in. She was wearing an embarrassingly risqué Goth dress that was sprinkled with just a little (funeral appropriate) black material, but there was also white lace and red trim. Her bodice was black, but it only covered her breasts and shoulders, while leaving her chest uncovered. An open front skirt that draped around her hips like a cape, was also black—as were her shoes, the long ribbons in her hair and the cloth gauntlets on her arms. Beneath the black skirt and tight bodice the dress was made of purple tulle, with a black lace hem and red trim that pulled the see-through purple fabric together from just above her visible black leather panties all the way up to the black braw.

    I was a truly garish collection of colors and fabrics; the kind of outrageous dress you might expect to see at a night clubs, but not at a church service or a funeral. Despite its strangeness, however, the ensemble worked rather well with Kara’s thin body and long white hair.

    Silfia could feel everyone's eyes on her friend; they whispered behind their hands and stared at Silfia as if she’d told her friend to dress this way. For a moment, she couldn't decide whether to go hide in the bathroom and ignore Kara altogether—or just kill her.

    Finally she decided to walk over and greet her friend like anyone else, despite the crazy costume.

    “Couldn't you find something a little more appropriate to wear,” she hissed as they hugged.

    For a moment, Kara wore a puzzled expression on her pale white face. “We're at the funeral of a man who made sex toys for a living,” Kara said just a little too loudly, “This dress is from his clothing line. What greater tribute could there be?”

    “Come with me,” Silfia said, “Maybe I can find something else for you to wear.”

    She lead her friend back to her bedroom and began riffling though the clothes in her closet, but everything she had was just as bad and many were actually worse. Silfia had gone out and purchase the conservative black dress she was wearing. Everything in her closet was either too strange, too sexy, or too casual—from latex body suits and leather harnesses, to bikinis and boleros that left her breasts uncovered, to shorts and midriffs and see-through materials.

    Where are all of my regular clothes, Silfia wondered.

    “Oh, I like this one!” Kara said as she took a hanger off the rod and held the leather straps it was holding up to Silfia's body. “This would look wonderful on you. Why don't you try it on? It's black.”

    “You’re twisted,” Silfia said, trying not to grin. “We're at my father's funeral.”

    “That's why you're the one who has to wear it,” Kara explained. “We don't get many chances to mix our sexual games with such strong emotions, like the one's you're feeling today.”

    Kara pressed the leather against Silfia’s body and somehow it found its way beneath her clothes; Silfia could feel it touching her bare skin. Looking down to see how that could have happened, Silfia was surprised to realize that Kara had already opened the front of her blouse and was pushing down her skirt. The leather outfit had a strap that was designed to run between her legs and Kara was deftly sliding the strap through the loops on a pair of large dildos.

    “These will take the edge off your sorrow,” Kara said as she pushed the dildos into Silfia's orifices then walked around to the back to buckle the strap.

    Silfia grabbed the sides of her own head with her hands, running her fingers through her hair and pulling until her scalp hurt. “It doesn't seem very respectful,” she lamented. She wanted to resist what was happening but she couldn't. She needed those probes deep inside her. She needed Kara to turn them on before ordering her to go out into the living room and face all those vaguely familiar people.

    “Nonsense,” Kara countered. “We’re using the dead man's toys at his own funeral! What could be more respectful than that? Oh, right... powering them on.”

    She clicked a button and Silfia screamed as sexual energy surged into her body, radiating in all directions from her father's purring toys. What a wonderful man her father was, to create all these wonderful things just for her.

    “Something tells me you really need this,” Kara said as she pinched both of Silfia's nipples between her fingers. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

    Her friend’s voice suddenly sounded panicked. Silfia felt her hand on her shoulder, shaking her as if trying to wake her from a deep sleep. Only she couldn't be doing that because Kara's hands were busy pinching her nipples.

    Wait a minute... that can't be right, Silfia thought with a sudden sense of self awareness.

    Despite what she was seeing, she was really in a small lab room, sitting in the ultimate S-series chair, with the ravager installed and activated.

    Slowly, the bedroom (and the dream Kara) began to fade and the real world began to form around her again. Only then did Silfia realize that she was pinching her own nipples. How was that even possible with her wrists in those restraints? She opened her eyes to look around and saw that the flexible restraints were apparently holding her hands in the perfect place, just above her breasts.

    “Are you alright?” The real Kara asked again. “You were screaming.”

    “Yeah. I think I'm doing okay.”

    “So how was it?”

    “Kind of nice in a really strange sort of way,” Silfia said. She breathed a deep sigh and let her body begin to relax. It was amazing how anxious and unsettled she'd become. “It was pretty intense,” she admitted, “but nice.”

    “It won’t be nice for long,” her uncle said as he burst in through the lab’s door. Behind him, another man she didn’t recognize was holding a gun. For a moment Silfia wondered if this weren't part of her dream too, but after a moment she dismissed the thought. The moment she’d remembered herself, she'd been able to tell the difference between her dream and reality.

    “Uncle Kirsch, what are you doing here?”

    “Perhaps I should ask you the same thing, young lady.”

    “I... I wanted to make sure these units were safe for use,” Silfia said.

    “Really! I had no idea you were so interested in being one of our experimental test subjects.”

    “I needed to know how dangerous theses units were.”

    “Dangerous enough to be recalled,” Kirsch said with a deprecating little shrug, “That's why we're doing tests to determine what goes wrong, why people sometimes die and how much the average person can take before they do. And, most importantly, how we can prevent if from happening in the future.”

    “That’s great,” Silfia said as she eyed the man with the gun. “Maybe you should let me out of this thing and we can talk about that.” The gunman was a large beefcake, with the chiseled good look of a typical Hollywood marine. He hadn't given the slightest indication that he intended to lower his gun.

    “I don't think so,” Kirsch said. “Unfortunately, if you want to make an omelet, you have to break a couple of eggs. You wanted to see what it was like for our experimental test subjects; and I think you need to live through the whole experience. I’m just afraid that nothing short of that could really set your mind at ease.”
    “Leave her alone,” Kara said.

    Kirsch glanced at her and frowned; then he looked over at the beefcake. “Why don't you tie her up,” He said with a nod towards Kara, “I don't think she's going to keep quiet while we work.

    “Hey you can't do tha...”

    Apparently the beefcake was as fast as he was strong. In one fluid motion, he tucked his pistol into the back of his pants, moved towards Kara and clamped hand over her mouth while twisted her arm behind her back. He pressed her up against the wall so he could pin her arm between her body and his before grabbing a handful of breast.

    “Easy there,” Kirsch said with a grin. “Don't break anything we can't fix.” He turned back to Silfia and waved abstractly at the Ultimate S-Series she was attached to. “You do realize that you're doing this all wrong?”

    She frowned. “It seemed to work just fine.”

    “Oh the machine? Of course. But this is an experimental laboratory, you need to hook up all the testing equipment and initiate the testing protocols. There are questionnaires to answer; blood tests, psychological profiles, and, of course, legally binding permission forms to be filled out. I'm sure we can dispense with a few of those niceties, given the situation.”

    “What situation?” Silfia asked.

    Kirsch held up a finger. “Hold that thought,” he said, “I need to go get a desk and some forms.” He left the room for a few moments and came back pushing the high-school-style desk Silfia had seen earlier. On the top of the desk was a small box which he dropped to the floor before pushing the desk right next to Silfia's bondage chair.

    “Now,” he said, slipping into the desk and leaning closer. “Do you think you can answer some embarrassing questions truthfully, or do I have to administer a drug to help you... relax your social inhibitions?”

    “I think I'll manage without the drug.”

    “Excellent,” Kirsch said. He stood for a moment, unbuckled the leg straps and removed the Ultimate S-Series, placing it carefully on the floor beside the bondage chair. Then he reached out and took one of Silfia's nipples in one hand while he slipped his fingers into the slit between her legs with the other.

    “Hey! What are you doing?”

    “Something of a truth detector,” he replied calmly as he continued to pinch and squeeze and twist her nipple.

    “Ow! That fucking hurts!”

    “And yet you seem to be reacting to it with a positive sexual response.” He held up the finger that a moment before had been exploring inside her. To Silfia’s shame it was clearly glistening with wetness. He held it to his nose and sniffed it, then stuck the finger in his mouth and smacked his lips—as if analyzing the flavor. “Not too bitter; not to sweet,” he announced with satisfaction, “But it would have been interesting to compare that to what you were like before sexual stimulation.”

    “What kind of silly game are you playing uncle? Let me go this instant.”

    “Ah...” he said, as he made several notations on a very long and official looking form. “I’m afraid the permission form is one of those things we were able to dispense with. You gave your implicit permission when you voluntarily sat down, uninvited, in this chair and turned it on.”

    “I'm sorry. It was a mistake.”

    “A mistake? You mean like accidentally driving 13 miles with your best friend in tow... and then accidentally unlocking a locked door and entering a room marked “official personnel only” and then accidentally sitting in a potentially lethal bondage chair and turning it on?” He finished making his notes and turned to Silfia with an upleasant smile. “Kind of like that?”

    She shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah… kind of, I guess.”

    “Don't worry, young lady,” he said, as he slipped his finger back into her pussy. “This will only take a few hours. Without question, we will be finished before the night is over... Now, tell me, how long have you been fantasizing about scenarios like this one?”

    Suddenly she'd had enough of his probing hands; she squirmed on the seat, trying to free her hands from the cuffs and kicking out at her uncle with her feet. He jumped back a bit and shook his head at her. “If you can't sit still, like a civilized person, I'll have to bind your feet. That may give you a fetishistic thrill, my promiscuous little pervert, but I promise, I won’t make your position a comfortable one.”

    “Fine, I’ll be good,” Silfia said, settling down a little.

    Kirsch helped reposition her then stuck his finger inside her again.

    “What's with the finger,” Silfia asked.

    “You might call it a mutual benefit,” he admitted, “a win-win situation. You see, the testing equipment is capable of running these same tests all on their own, but I prefer the hands-on approach for personal reasons…”

    “Yeah,” Silfia muttered, “I'm sure you do.”

    “As I’m sure you do. Now, are you ready to answer the questions? Or should I loosen up your tongue with a little social lubricant.”

    “I suppose I could use a drink, if you have one.”

    “The drug in question is not as pleasant as alcohol, or so I've been told. But then, I must admit that this part of our evening is really just for my own curiosity. As I explained, you've already invalidated any findings by starting the machine prematurely.”

    “Alright,” she said. “I'll answer you're questions if you'll tell me why you ask them. Normally I mean.”

    “The questions have many purposes: including an evaluation of the subject’s potential as a slave and their aptitude for certain … slavish things. It can also be used to provide more effective fodder for the interactive portions of their experience in the Overload Machine, creating a more intense experience, if you will. In your case, it’s more about my own curious… and the fact that I think it will be fun to humiliate you.”

    “I see.”

    “Now... Tell me if you can remember the specific number of times that you've engaged in sexual intercourse?”

    “I can.”

    “Are you a virgin?”

    “No!”

    “Do you regret that fact?”

    “... I suppose so.”

    The interrogation went on like that for what seemed like a very long time—starting with questions that were rather difficult to answer because of their personal nature, and quickly getting much worse.



    6

    It was just another party she was attending, when Silfia meet the next person who changed her life.

    After their first little encounter at the drinking fountain, Silfia and Kara became best friends. She provided the toys from her father's factory, and Kara provided a safe place to play with them—away from the prying eyes of Silfia’s father and his house servants. Quickly the girls learned to trust one another with their secrets as they explored deeper and deeper into the dark fantasies of their shared world.

    When Silfia's father died, surprisingly little seemed to change.

    Uncle Kirsch, who she saw no more than her father, sent her a weekly stipend that was always far more than she needed to spend—even with all of the bondage furniture she had built and the sex toys she had commissioned by specialty toy makers. There were companies online where you could purchase blueprints for almost anything. And it would have been cheaper to build the toys herself with her 3D printer, but Silfia didn't trust having her information out there on the internet. Some people still did that, but she'd learned her lessons from history. She knew that during the second revolution the internet had been one of the primary sources for finding incriminating information during the time of reckoning, when those most responsible for creating the world's largest National debt ever were sold into slavery to save a bankrupt nation. Silfia preferred to visit her toys makers privately, assessing their work before discretely commissioning a new work.

    Finding suitable partners to try out those toys was a little more of a challenge.

    She and Kara could always test the toys out on one another, but both of them vehemently denied being into girls; so they preferred having males around when they played their games. Unfortunately, finding a guy who was good at playing bondage games was a lot harder than it sounded... unless, of course, one searched the fetish parties, where like minded people dressed up like it was a Halloween party and paraded around in front of each other. Silfia didn't like going very often, but when she did she could often find a guy capable of entertaining her for a few nights before she got bored with him.

    This night, however, was destined to turn out differently.

    The party was on her father's birthday; and Silfia wasn't exactly in a partying mood. Kara had talked her into going, because Silfia had the invite and Kara wanted to meet a guy who was supposed to be there. So Silfia went and Kara quickly paired off with the boy she'd wanted to meet, leaving Silfia alone to brood over what she'd lost—and gained—when her father died.

    She couldn't understand why her father's birthday put her in such a bad mood. They'd never been close; never spend a lot of time together on birthdays—or any other day for that matter. It surprised her that she still missed her father so much. She hadn't expected that from someone she had so little contact with. There was something comforting about knowing that she wasn't alone in the big old house.

    As a strange sort of compromise, Silfia went out on the balcony, where she could be alone in the crowd. The clatter and chatter from inside was comforting but she didn't have to deal with other people. She just looked out at the night’s lights and thought about life… and death.

    After a while someone came out onto the balcony, but they didn't come to the rail; they stopped a few paces away. She wasn't sure how, but Silfia sensed that this intruder was a female and that she was staring. After a while the feeling became stronger, so she finally turned to face the woman.

    “Did you want something,” Silfia asked, looking her up and down.

    The woman was rather young; wearing a pair of denim shorts over a slick, black, rubber suit that appeared to cover her whole body, from her neck to her feet. She was wearing black gloves and black, platform boots, made of leather and laced tightly. Silfia wouldn't call her beautiful—more like a girl next door face—but her body seemed to curve in all the right places and there was something captivating about the shiny suit… and the way she carried herself. The poor girl was obviously embarrassed to have Silfia confronting her, even thought that was clearly what she’d been waiting for.

    “I'm sorry,” she said, casting her eyes down. “I didn't want to intrude... you seemed so... intensely attuned to your own... inner space.”

    Silfia couldn't help smiling at the irony of that statement. “So why did you?”

    “I had no choice,” the girl said, looking up uncertainly. “I am a slave. I must do as my mistress bids me... although I must admit I did not mind so much this time.”
    “Oh?”

    “I've been watching you,” she admitted, “from the moment you walked into the room I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you. When you came out here on the balcony I... I couldn't help wondering what made you look so sad.”

    Silfia frowned and said, “It's my father's birthday.”

    “And that makes you sad?”

    “He died about a year ago.”

    “Oh, I'm sorry. Do you want me to leave?”

    “No,” Silfia said, shaking her head. There was something compelling about the girl. She had the kind of body that drew the eye—and the shiny black outfit complimented her perfectly. It made her look all the more alluring.

    “You can stay, if you'll tell me your name,” Silfia said.

    “My mistress likes to call me Merry.”

    “Why such a plain name?” Silfia said, glancing down the length of the girl's body.

    “She calls me that because I'm always so cheerful and willing.”

    “Ah... Merry, like the emotion, not Mary.”

    “Yes.”

    “A long time ago the word 'merry' used to mean strong,” Silfia said. “Did you know that?”

    The girl shook her head, but she seemed interested.

    “When they said Robin Hood and his band of merry men, it was because he had a small army that actually rivaled the army of England—especially when they had the advantage of hiding in the woods. They weren't a small, rag-tag group the way the movies usually depict them.”

    “I didn't know that. It puts a new spin on my name, though. Doesn't it? ”

    Silfia smiled. “So Merry. You haven't told me why your mistress sent you?”

    “She wants me to invite you to her table.”

    “Will she punish you, if I don't go?”

    “No,” Merry said, “but I don’t really mind when my mistress punishes me.”

    That surprised and intrigued Silfia. “Ah! I see. So you like being punished?”

    Merry smiled ever so slightly and Silfia couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or amusement.

    “I prefer to please my mistress, but I entered into my servitude willingly.”

    “Really?” Silfia scrutinized the girl even closer. “For how long?”

    “One year. I've never signed a contract longer than that.”

    “But you've signed more than one?”

    Merry nodded.

    “With the same mistress?”

    “No. I've served three contracts with three different mistresses.”

    “You're embarrassed by that,” Silfia observed, pleased by the way her question made the girl fidget. She was almost unbearably cute when she did that—which was probably why Silfia was asking so many pointed questions.

    “I have not yet found the mistress that I can give my whole heart to.”

    “So why sign the contracts?”

    “I am compensated very generously,” Merry said, “and I really do enjoy pleasing my mistresses. I will continue signing contracts until I find the one I want to be with… until she dismisses me.”

    “And then? No more contracts?”

    “That will be up to her. By the time I find her, I’m hoping I'll have saved up enough to retire on, so she won’t need to pay me, unless she wants to. My service will be sweeter, if it’s voluntary.”

    “You're a strange girl,” Silfia said with a smile.

    “I'm sorry...”

    “No! That was a compliment.”

    “Oh...”

    Silfia laughed, looking back down over Merry's exquisite body for at least the tenth time. “I'm kind of strange too.” She reached out hesitantly, as if to touch the girl's rubber suit. “Do you mind?”

    “Not at all,” Merry said, moving closer.

    Silfia placed her hand on Merry's hip and ran her fingers up over her flat belly to her small, but firm breast. It was obviously pleasurable for Merry and Silfia found that she was enjoying it as. So much so that she was reluctant to remove her hand.

    “You're beautiful,” Silfia said.

    “So are you.”

    Despite her fascination with Merry, Silfia was surprised by the impact of those simple words. She'd seen beautiful women before, of course, but she'd never had any particular desire to be with them in a sexual way. Sudden the idea of exploring that possibility seemed a lot more interesting.

    “I don't suppose your mistress would be very pleased if I took you home instead of going to meet her.”

    “I am not my mistress's only slave,” Merry said. “If you asked, she might be willing. But I can't leave with you if she doesn't permit it.”

    “Well then,” Silfia said, “Maybe I should go and meet your mistress.”

    *****

    In the end, Silfia did indeed take Merry home.

    They spent a gloriously interesting evening together, exploring all sorts of things that Silfia had never thought to experience. And it turned out that Merry was not only enthusiastically obedient, she was also quite skillful. She made Silfia feel things she'd never dreamed of.

    They made love long into the night, until they were both nearly exhausted, and then they lay in each other arms before eventually falling asleep. “Maybe your mistress knew the old meaning of your name after all,” Silfia said softly, as she breathed in the girl’s essence.

    The next afternoon, when they finally woke, Merry made them both a delicious breakfast, which they ate together. Then, quite reluctantly, Silfia called a taxi and paid to send Merry home.

    Over the next few days, Silfia thought about her often; in fact, she found it difficult to think about anything else.

    “What's wrong?” Kara finally asked when it had become clear that Silfia wasn't listening to her.

    “Nothing's wrong! I'm just...”

    “What?”

    “I don't know... I think maybe I'm in love.”

    “That's wonderful,” Kara said, taking her hands and bouncing up and down on the bed like they were still school girls. “You've meet a guy?”

    “Well, not exactly.”

    Kara's face fell even as her eyebrows rose in surprise. “You've meet a girl!”

    Silfia couldn't keep the smile off her face. “I think maybe I have.”

    “Who is she?”

    “Her name is Merry, and I meet her a few nights ago, at that party you forced me to go to. She's a slave girl and she already has a mistress, but her contract will be expiring soon. I've been thinking about offering to buy out her existing contract, and give her a new one.”

    “That's wonderful,” Kara said, a little less enthusiastically. “I don't know what to say.”

    “Lets wait until we see what happens,” Silfia said, “I still have to talk to my lawyer about trying to buy her. Until then, there's no way to really know if Mistress Walters will be willing to sell her.”

    “Denika Walters?”

    “Do you know her?”

    “Yes,” Kara said, “And I saw you talking to her at the party, but...”

    “...Good! Maybe you can put in a good word for me?”

    *****

    The next few days were a flurry of activity. Silfia spoke to her lawyer about making the offer—but she couldn't stand to wait, so she began redecorating some rooms. Making the perfect little bedroom for Merry to live in.

    When the lawyer got back to her, however, his voice was somber.

    “She doesn't want to do it?” she guessed.

    “It's not that,” he said.

    “Then what?”

    “Silfia,” he said, taking her hand. “Merry is dead.”

    “Dead!” She couldn't believe it. “How? What happened?”

    “Apparently she overdosed on an Overload Machine.”



    7

    “Nooo! Plesz stopf! I don't wanh ta duh dis,” Silfia said, through the ring gag in her mouth, as tears streamed down her cheeks.

    She was sitting beside Merry's coffin, which was recessed into the floor. And the poor girl was wearing the same black outfit she'd been wearing when they meet, only now the latex body suit was torn and melted in numerous places. Beneath the smell of burnt rubber was a fainter smell of burnt flesh. Silfia could see burnt flesh beneath the gaping black holes: a fringe of crisp black around angry rings of festering red.

    Silfia couldn't take her eyes off the dead girl's body, even though Kara was busy trying to kiss her. “Let me take your mind off your loss,” her friend said, as she rubbed eagerly against Silfia's clit with one hand and pinched a nipple with the other.

    “No, plesz,” Silfia begged. The incessant rubbing had long ago become unpleasant, and the pinching of her nipples felt like a jagged sliver of metal being pushed into her erect nub. She wasn't sure which was worse, the misery of knowing that Merry was dead, or the agony of being touched. There was nothing Silfia could do to stop either, since she was tethered to a chair, right beside Merry's coffin; her eyes clamped open with little metal springs that fit uncomfortably beneath her eyelids. Kara was bouncing playfully on Silfia’s lap as she leaned forward to lick and suck on her friend’s face. Something else—something cold and sharp and hard—hwld Silfia's head so she couldn't turn it.

    “You're not paying attention to me,” Kara teased sulkily. She blew a small puff of air directly into Silfia's eyes causing more tears to stream down her face. Kara bounced up and down a few times on Silfia's lap and the movement caused the large spiny probe in her ass to grate up and down. For a moment Silfia couldn't understand what it was, but then she remembered how the chair was fixed with a large, spiked dildo.

    “What's the problem?” Kara asked, licking more tears from her face. “Aren't you having any fun?”

    “I think you're going to kill her,” another, softer Kara voice said from somewhere far away.

    “That's the idea,” an equally far away Kirsch voice said.

    “But not so quickly,” the softer Kara’s voice said. “I thought she'd be allowed to savor the experience for a good long while.”

    “Very well, I'll bring her down,” Kirsch said, “I wouldn’t mind saying goodbye to her anyway, before we leave.”

    *****

    As had happened before, the world around her slowly began to fade. It was like a window screen had been put in front of her face and then slowly moved closer until it was impossible to ignore. Only this screen was the real world coming back into focus.

    Silfia was still breathing heavily from the after affects of her induced nightmare. She still could feel her heart pounding and the shadowy ghost of pain in her breast from dream-Kara's last mauling.

    “Welcome back,” Kirsch said as he pushed the plastic screen cover away from Silfia's face.

    She could feel a slight, cooling breeze as the plate was lifted, and realized that her whole body was drenched in the sickly sweet stench of her own sweat—as pungent as any gymnasium.

    “I see you're not dead,” he said, looking down on her with mild amusement. “I've managed to get a lot of excellent test data from our last little session. I doubt I'll get much more from another. And, frankly, I don't think you'll survive another.”

    The dream wasn't real, Silfia thought with relief. She let out a shaky breath and managed to croak, “I think I'm ready to be let out of this thing.”

    “Yeah,” Kirsch said with a shake of his head. “I'm afraid that's not going to happen.”

    Silfia's eyes widened in fear, but her body was too exhausted to do much more.

    “You see, the things is, it took a lot of patience and planning to get you into this damned chair.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “Well, after that little slut-friend of yours died, it took nearly six months of Kara dropping hints and trying to make you feel guilty—not to mention me leaving paperwork and keys lying around—before you finally took the bait. Seems like all that would have been an unfortunate waste of time, if I was just going to let you go free again.”

    Silfia looked over at Kara, and the expression on her friend's face was confirmation enough. What Kirsch was saying was true.

    “Why?” She asked.

    Kara frowned. “I loved you,” she said.

    Silfia shook her head, confused. “But...”

    “If you were going to fall in love with another girl, it should have been me!”

    “But you said you weren’t a...”

    “I know you didn’t really believe that,” Kara scoffed, “you’ve always been able to see right through me… when you wanted to.”

    “I’m sorry, Kara, I didn’t…”

    “You never wanted to know. You pretended to ignore my feelings, which was okay when I thought you were into boys, but…”

    “You can't control who you fall in love with, Kara.”

    “Maybe not, but when I told your uncle what was going on, he made me a generous offer... if I was willing to help him out a little.”

    “Unfortunate we had to do your girlfriend like that,” Kirsch said, “she was a rather fetching creature. Shame she had to meet her end at the hands of a crazed psychopath. Although I have to admit, that was a rather fun role to play.”

    “You killed her,” Silfia moaned.

    “If it's any consolation, I don't believe she suffered quite as much as you're going to.”

    “You fucking bastard!” Silfia said, pulling against the flexible arm restraints.

    “Now, now,” her uncle said, “we wouldn't want you to have a heart attack before we start the machines again. I’m sure this new knowledge will provide just the right fodder you needed to be push over the edge. Such an ironic tragedy that you’re going to die in one of your father’s own fucking chairs.”

    “No!” Silfia screamed, as he reached towards the controls. “You can't do this to me! You'll never get away with it!”

    “Ha!” He laughed, “Never get away with it? Why, we have the death of your lover; your own lawyer will testify that you were so in love with her that you tried to purchase the remainder of her contract. You even cried when he told you of her death. Not to mention Kara, who will testify about your obsession with these machines; that will lead the detectives to your many internet searches, and I've already taken the liberty of disabling the recording machines for this section of the building, so there won't be any record of what happened here.”

    “What about the security guard? He saw me and Kara coming in together.”

    “It's a rather unfortunate story,” Kirsch said. “Kara sneaked into the laboratory, at your urging, because you were so insistent on trying out an Overload Machine. But when I unexpectedly came to the office after hours and was about to discover you in such a compromising situation, Kara (like the good friend she is) graciously volunteered to give herself up so I wouldn't realize you were here and what you were doing. She may receive a reprimand for her foolishness, but she wasn't breaking the law. Technically, after all, you are the owner of this building. And I certainly won't press charges. No need to complicate her time of grief. No, given the long history of your friendship, when you're found dead on this machine, the police will simply assume the obvious: you were experimenting with dangerous test equipment. And you accidentally got yourself killed.”

    “You bastard,” Silfia said again, but she was beginning to realize that she really was going to die—and soon. That knowledge (along with her recent experiences inside the machine) left her feeling too drained to fight the inevitable.

    “Are there any other questions, before I tuck you in for the last time?”

    “Fuck you!”

    “Don't worry,” he said as he turned up the machine to very close to its highest setting. “When the researchers discover you on Monday morning, I'll be sure to give you the lavish funeral you deserve.”



    8

    Eddy was a little surprised (to say the least) when a short time after his niece entered the building, Kirsch Simmons entered with another dangerous looking man. The CEO almost never came to work this late, but he never went anywhere without his security guards. Curious to see the fireworks, Eddy watched them carefully as Mr. Simmons made his way through the building. He went to his office first and took something out of his desk. Then he made his way to the research division, where the monitors weren't working.

    “Damn,” Eddy muttered. Of all the times for a monitor to be out. He pushed the power button.

    No picture. Then he checked the power cord to make sure it was plugged it. It was a long shot, he knew, but he really wanted to see the show.

    The cord seemed fine but maybe the problem was something as simple as not being plugged in. He followed the cord down to the power strip and sure enough... Not only was the plug not plugged in, but the ground prong had been bent severely to one side. He looked through the drawers, searching for a pair of pliers. Nothing. So he took two coins out of his picket, placed them on either side of the prong and squeezed them as tight as he could while trying to bend the prong back into place. It straightened a little, just enough to force the plug into the socket.

    He hit the power button and the monitor came on.

    What he saw was shocking.

    *****

    Mr. Simmons left the building with Silfia's friend in tow, his hand on her upper arm as if he thought she might try to make a break for it at any moment. But Eddy knew better. He'd not only been watching the monitor, he'd had enough good sense to turn the recording setting back on and put in a fresh recording disk, so he could take the only copy home when the night was over.

    After they'd left the lobby, Eddy turned the monitor back on. He'd turned it off when he saw them coming, just in case. But now he turned it back on. Silfia looked pretty frazzled. He didn't know how much longer she could last. And he didn't know what to do.

    He’d read about slaves dying from being kept on these Overload Machines for too long? And that was obviously the point. With Silfia out of the way, Mr. Simmons probably stood to inherit the business. He wouldn't just be the CEO anymore—he’d own Punicorp outright, with one less trust fund siphoning off his income.

    Surely, that was something worth killing his niece over.

    Eddy didn't like the thought of leaving Silfia to die like that, but he didn't like the idea of having Mr. Simmons send his goon after him either. If he was willing to kill his own niece, what would a nosy security guard mean to him?

    On the other hand, this was probably something he'd be willing to pay a lot of money to keep quiet. If Eddy quite his job and went into hiding, he might be able to transact a bribe and get a nice little retirement payday out of this gig.

    If only that didn't mean that Silfia had to die!

    Earlier he'd thought he might be willing to give up his left nut, just to see what she planned to do to herself in the research laboratory. How much more would he be willing to give to have her as his own personal sex slave? No one else knew where she was, obviously, or Mr. Simmons wouldn't have been willing to leaver her on the machine to die.

    Decisions; decisions!

    That was something Eddy had never been any good at.

    When they were younger, Eddy and his brother Ted used to fantasize about kidnapping a beautiful young girl and doing whatever they wanted with her. They actually went so far as to cruise around the local neighborhoods in their car, rating the women they saw as potential candidates.

    “That one is too fat.”

    “Oh… I’d like to do that one. Let’s follow her and see if she goes some place a little more secluded.”

    Eddy always thought it was a game, until his brother actually opened the car door and started walking towards the girl they’d been following for the past half hour or so.

    “Wait, Teddy. Stop!”

    Ted looked back at him and frowned. “Come on, man,” he said, “What are you waiting for?”

    Eddy shook his head. “We can’t actually do this.”

    “Why not? She’s right there. It will be easy as pie. In ten minutes we’ll have her all tied up and be screwing our brains out.”

    “I’m not doing this,” Eddy said in a sudden panic. “If you go over there, I’m going to drive away and leave you here. I mean it. Its one thing to waste time playing some stupid game; actually kidnapping this girl is completely different. I’m not going to jail for one lousy fuck.”

    Ted looked back over at the girl, still torn between listening to his brother and going after her alone—so Eddy put the car in gear and began to slowly creep away. That was enough to let his brother know he was serious about leaving. When push came to shove, Eddy hadn’t been brave enough (or stupid enough) to go along with his brother’s plan. Maybe that was why he’d never gone to jail and his brother had—but he couldn’t help wondering how he’d deal with another critical real-life situation. This time it wouldn’t just be a couple of horny boys testing out a teenage rape fantasy. This time human lives would be at stake—and not just the girl’s. If he set this ball in motion, there wouldn’t be any turning back out at the last moment—not this time.

    On the other hand, Silfia obviously enjoyed playing with her toys; and she liked it rough. If she didn’t, she wouldn't have tried to tangle with an Overload Machine. So maybe what he was thinking wouldn’t really be rape. Maybe it would be more like being given a reward for saving her. Perhaps, if he and Ted gave Silfia a safe harbor, she would be willing to voluntarily pretend that she was their slave for a few days.

    A rich girl like her might even be inclined to feel generous when she was safely back in control. Would she go straight to the police or would she need a place to hide out for a while as she planned revenge on her uncle and her best friend.

    Eddy took a deep, calming breath and picked up the phone. He began dialing a number. Halfway through he placed the phone back in its cradle. If he was going to do this, he'd have to be smarter than that. He’d have to think and do things right. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the same number again.

    It rang for a long time, before his brother finally picked up and said, “Who the fuck is calling at this hour?”

    “Hey Ted, it's me,” he said. “Sorry about calling so late.”
    “Jesus Christ, man! What do you want? It's like four in the morning.”

    “I know but... Do you remember that fantasy we used to have about what we might do to certain... girls... if the right opportunity ever came along?”

    There was a long pause.

    “Remember how we used to drive around looking for possible… candidates for…”

    “Yeah, I remember.” Ted said, a little less angrily. “What's this all about?”

    “Well I think I've found the perfect opportunity. Any chance you’d want to help me break the law?”

    “Why should I think you won’t punk out on me again?”

    “This girl is rich and beautiful… and she’s going to die anyway, if we don’t do something. Can you bring your van over to the Punicorp building where I work? You remember where it's at, right?”

    “Yeah, I remember.”

    “So? Can you get here in the next ten minutes?”

    “You're serious? You're not shitting me? This isn't some prank to fuck with me...”

    “No, it's real!” Eddy said. “The target is extremely hot, and she’s already naked. She couldn’t be in a more vulnerable situation... She’ll be desperate to let us save her, but you have to hurry. I don’t know how much longer she’ll last.”