Linda barged into her small apartment, the shopping bag rustling in her hands, breath quick in her throat. Home! Finally!
Stepping to the center of her living room, she tossed off her clothing as quickly as she could before settling cross-legged onto the carpet. From the bag she pulled her purchase, a new Simucrom chip. The fingers that held it trembled.
She looked to the low shelf where the little black-plastic simucrom unit sat. Next to it was the "Janna" chip. Over the last two weeks, every moment not stolen by sleep or work had been devoted to Janna. Little Janna, with her dark little smile and smutty little torments. Linda had basked in the simulated sexual adventure. Sometimes, she gave herself away to Janna's control. Other times, she ran the sim in sandbox mode, mercilessly tormenting the little Indian.
But last night, while she'd hung inverted in ropes and Janna did erotically imaginative things with bamboo, she'd begun to wonder about what she was missing. What other blueware was out there?
And so, on the way home from work, she'd pitstopped at Best City and bought another simulation. The name was Mechasex. The product codes gave it three and a half whips.
Well, if she didn't like it, she could always return to India.
With nervous fingers, she slipped the head band over her temples, plugged in the chip, and fired up the unit.
No sluggish brown river. No darkening jungle. She was still sitting in the center of her apartment. Was this thing on?
Suddenly a woman appeared out of nowhere. She was tall, a touch over six feet, her black skin encased in a latex cat suit. Midnight boots and gloves sheathed her limbs. Her head was cupped in a black hood, the exposed face that of a exotic savanna Amazon, her hair threaded through the back in a crazed ponytail.
A black-leather Valkyrie.
Her voice flowed like rum over a wound. "This program disables all overrides." A haughty look. "Do you agree to this?"
Staring up at the towering dominatrix, Linda squeaked, "Yes."
The black woman smiled evilly. And froze. And flickered. An instant later, she popped into nothingness. The words "CHIP FAULT" hung in the air.
Linda pulled off her headset with a moan. Here she was, all atremble and ready to commit to who knew what, and she got a defective product. Worse luck, it was too late to exchange it. She'd have to wait until tomorrow.
Nothing else held her interest. She toyed with spending another night with Janna yet did not. The image of those flinty eyes, those full cruel lips, and that haughty expression remained with her. Frustrated, she padded down the hall and fell back into bed. In the darkness, she tried to masturbate to the leather-queen's remembered image but nothing would come. She ended up drifting in her own distraction.
She woke from a troubled sleep to her pitch dark room. Wearily, she slapped on the bed-side light. Her heart froze.
The black Amazon stood over her, leaning languidly on a long chrome lever, a lazy predator's smile on her cruel face.
Linda did not have a chance to speak, or even wonder what an industrial-sized lever arm was doing mounted to the middle of her bedroom floor. A second later, the dominatrix gave a wicked smile and hauled back on the lever. The mattress beneath Linda opened like bomb bay doors. A drop into darkness, then a slide along a polished ramp. While she squealed in fright, the logical part of her mind told her this was impossible, that this chute would have gone right through Mrs. Murphy's apartment, one floor down.
The program is still running, her mind realized. It had never faulted! She had been tricked!
A second later, she thumbed onto a moving conveyor belt. It rumbled along at a fast rate, battleship-hull walls slipping past to either side. The overhead was low - she couldn't stand, which meant she couldn't run. She tried to back paddle but the belt moved faster. Warm air gusted over her, reeking of oil.
She was naked, helpless, and being carried along by dispassionate machinery.
From the darkness ahead came a flash of light. From that direction, a woman shouted in the darkness, a mix of fear and alarm. From behind her came a squeal and a thump. She looked wildly back and forth. She wasn't alone on in this mechanized hell!
A woman's cry followed by industrial clattering pulled her attention forward. Ahead, a heavy roller lay low over the belt. Two more rollers swept in from the sides. She swept towards the small opening between them. Lacking any other option, she dropped onto her back and tucked her arms against her body, shooting feet-first into the gap. She shut her eyes as the heavy cylinders swept past.
The clattering rang in her ears. Something contracted around her body. In the flash of passing lights, she realized that the rollers had forced her to lay in position the machine had desired. Thick metal belts had snapped over her, pinning her arms to her sides and her feet together. She looked down to see her trim body pinned beneath the cold banding. The belt beneath her accelerated. Her hair crackled in the wind.
If only she'd gone to Janna this night. If only she'd yielded her flesh to her simucrom lover's demands. But here she was, pinned to this belt, racing towards who knew what.
In the pulse of maintenance lights, she realized a woman lay before her on the belt, strapped down in similar fashion. She couldn't see much of her fellow captive save her dark outline. A thought came and she craned her head back. A similar distance behind her, another low shape, pinned beneath banding. The bare feminine feet looked so out of place in the mechanized surroundings.
Rhythmic metallic snaps sounded out of the darkness, accompanied by the shouts and cries of women. What now? Linda just started to look down her body when something whipped out of the darkness. A cold band of steel belted around her big toes, pulling her feet back, aching her soles. Simultaneously, smooth metal hooks slipped into her nostrils, their connecting line hauling her head back. She felt (and looked, thanks to the nose-clips) like a pig readied for slaughter. Helpless, she watched the ceiling rush past, a trickle of nervous sweat running down her flank.
The belt slowed. Stopped. Ahead, a roar of spinning machinery and hysterical shrieking. The belt rolled forward slowly. More whines, more shrieks. Again, the stop.
Linda looked back down the belt, easy what with the nose clips hauling her head back. Taunt feet shimmered in nervous sweat, toes wigging. The belt lurched forward again.
A red light washed over her. By rolling her eyes down as far as they would go, she could just see forward. Two lights, red and green, were mounted in the ceiling, the red illuminated. On a low platform lounged the black dominatrix, her hand on another chrome lever. She smiled a smokey smile at Linda.
The screams of women and machinery brought images of sawmills to Linda's mind. Cramming, the hooks pulling painfully at her nose, she managed to glance down her body. Before her lay three massive cylinders, one overhead, one to either side. Each of them were studded with white shapes. Feathers.
Linda looked to the black woman perched on her platform. "Please, no," she begged. "Let me out of this simulation. I don't want this!"
With a smirk, the dominatrix pulled the lever. The light switched to green. The belt lurched forward. The cylinders spun up.
Linda struggled against her banding, as desperate as any Nell in any sawmill. She thrust and heaved, pulling against the bonds. But flesh was flesh, steel steel. The cylinders swung closer. The first feathers pattered across her taunt soles. She screamed desperately, imploring the dark woman to stop the unholy process.
The belt continued. Feathers pattered against her shapely legs and thighs. Her nerves turned to lightning. Her belly brought confusion - the feathers across her twat flashed her towards orgasm while those along her hips dragged shuddering laugher from her tortured lungs. Her ribs almost killed her. When the feathers rippled across her nipples, her screaming curled back to a horse moan. And then her neck - taunt and exposed, it was every bit as horrible has her feet had been. She shut her eyes as her face was dusted. The flickering across her ears elicited a final giggle. And then she was through.
Her emotions turned into a bubbling sob. It had been frightening, frustrating, and fantastic.
The belt stopped. From somewhere beyond the drums, a voice ringing with an English midland's accent called for mercy. Sinister laughter. The drums started again. As Linda trundled away, she heard cries and screams that echoed her own.
The belt rumbled onward, starting as stopping as each victim was run through the horrible feathering gauntlet. From somewhere down the line came a ringing sound. Linda shuddered, her small fists clinched with dread. The hammering grew closer, sounding in time to the belt's stops.
The next clang sounded right on top of her. Linda twisted in her banding. "Stop the program, please," she quietly pleaded.
And then, with dispassion, the belt advanced the final time. Linda was drawn beneath four parallel black cylinders, mounted to an overhead frame. When the belt stopped, the cylinders thudded down, stopping the moment they touched her flesh, making her wince. One had come down just above her knees, another her hips, the third below her breasts. The forth, running slightly behind the others, hummed down towards her mouth. The nose hooks whined back, forcing her mouth to gape. The cylinder pressed into her mouth like a bit gag. Beneath her teeth, it felt slightly spongy.
Instantly, a clatter announced another mechanized change. Guiding robotic arms drew belts out of the cylinder ends, slipping them beneath her body, drawing them tight. Now she was banded to the rods above by belts beneath her knees, hips, back, and neck. The other belts remained. An image flashed into her mind of what would happen should the belt advance while she was fixed to the overhead rods, an image not unlike grated cheese. She sobbed into her gag in fear.
Her fear was misplaced. The bands pinning her to the belt retracted clear. Toe bands and nose hooks snapped away. She gasped in relief, wiggling her feet, flexing her neck. A moment later, both belt and overhead rods lunged forward simultaneously. Her feet, unsecured beneath the knees, dropped as the belt ended. Suspended by an overhead track to which the four cylinders were mounted, she sailed into a vast enclosed space.
She felt her heart hammer; the chamber must have been a mile across. Its depths were lost in darkness. And through it all, along countless tracks, woman locked into similar devices rumbled over the void. Hundreds of women. Thousands of women, all naked and strapped, on their way to further processing.
She felt dizzy at the scale. She knew that simucroms linked back to their central computers so that adventures could be updated. But all these women! Linda realized that maybe they were all sharing the same adventure together. Right now, all over the world, thousands of women were sitting before their units experiencing the same imagined adventure of soaring over this metal chasm while locked in a machine's cold embrace.
She wondered what she would do if she saw anyone she knew.
It took some time to cross the expanse. When she let her feet dangle, the wind seemed to blow into her very private places. When she raised her feet, her legs got tired. There was no getting comfortable.
She looked forward over her shoulder like an engineer in a locomotive cab. Far ahead was the small shape of the woman in line before her. Some distance behind, the other woman followed. When she looked forward again, the far wall was sweeping closer. Whatever was waiting for her would soon have her. The belts felt tighter than before.
Within moments, she reached the wall. Linda instinctively raised her feet as she shot through the opening, the brakes in the overhead tracks squealing. Dead ahead, the corridor ended with a blank wall. The rack holding her stopped just short.
A click, and suddenly she was moving sideways to the left, perpendicularly along another set of tracks. Like bullets in a clip, she thunked into place next to another woman, stopping. The woman following her shuddered to a stop to her right. More clangs announced more women coming to rest in their line.
Linda took a moment to look to either side. The woman she had been following was young, her coppery skin and exotic features denoting a North African heritage. Linda had heard that simucrom access had come to that coast. Perhaps this woman had discreetly procured this chip, curious to explore her own sexuality. To Linda, it looked like she was regretting her decision. The dark eyes over the bit gag were wide with concern.
To her right was the woman who had been following her throughout this adventure. She was middle-aged, her curves slightly exaggerated yet still attractive, an English housewife out for her secret little jaunt. Evidently, she'd run this course before. Noticing Linda's attention, she gave a weary little wink.
Linda looked down her prone body. Before each woman was a large metallic object which looked like a closed flower. Linda stretched a toe towards it and couldn't quite reach it.
Around her rose the sounds of gagged femininity. Some women moaned. Some grunted pleas or demands. It rose like a symphony of captive maidenhood. Oddly, the sounds of Linda's fellow captive made her moist.
It was the bootsteps that caught her attention. Beyond their heads ran a catwalk. Above each trapped woman was a lever. Walking along that catwalk, examining her victims, came the black nightmare, a cruel, lazy smile playing across her sensuous lips. She looked down at each woman as she passed. When the midnight eyes met Linda's own, she felt a tremble in both heart and pussy. And then the woman was past, swaying down the platform with its line of levers towards the far wall. Two illuminated buttons awaited her there.
Fifty sets of eyes watched her catlike motions. The muffled pleas rose as the woman fingered the top button. It clicked home.
The rod suspending Linda's knees rose, bringing her legs up. Likewise was it with every woman along the line, giving them the appearance of an aquatic dance in Hell. Her legs were drawn up until they were vertical. The only movement she was capable of was to mill her feet back and forth.
The dom smirked into their frightened expression. After a tormentful interlude, she pressed the second button. Before each woman, the steel flowers opened, their petals revealed as paddles of various makes and functionality. As one, the fifty spanking machines whined into position before fifty exposed posteriors.
To Linda's left, the Moroccoian watched the device with growing fear, grunting as she twisted helplessly in her bonds. To her right, the housewife shut her eyes and readied herself.
The dom reached over and pulled the nearest lever. The associated paddler activated, abusing the woman farthest down the line. The next lever came down, engaging the device of the next woman in line. Paddles crackled over muffled distress. The dominatrix strode down the line, pushing down each lever as she passed. The noise of paddles and the humming of agitated females rose. Linda squirmed but her banding was as inescapable as Janna's ropes. And now the dom stood over the North African who shook her head as best she could, silently begging. Down went the lever. Linda could feel the whirl of air as the adjacent paddlers went into motion. Now the face sneered down into her own. Linda braced.
A paddle cracked over her left buttocks. A thin steel one with airholes whirled up and down her thighs. From knees to tailbone, the multiple arms of the paddler worked up and down, a platoon of punishers. Linda shook under the impact, biting down on her bit gag.
Of course, it hurt. It was designed to. But it was also erotic. Amongst the pain, Linda found her lust rising. She braced with anticipation for each impact, grunting with pleasure at each strike. In her mind, the leathery black woman was swinging each paddle, her smile grim. The machine spun, bringing different punishment devices into play. Linda's rack shook under the impacts.
She didn't notice the dom's return trip. Peripherily, she saw that the first woman's lever had been thrown. One by one, the devices fell silent. It was only when it was the turn for the dark woman to her left that she realized what was happening. When the paddles stopped, the constricting rods and belts rolled down to the end of the line and sprung open. She had a glimpse of the woman's dark form as she dropped through a hole in the floor.
The dom seemed to hesitate as she stood over her, smirking as she allowed Linda a last few licks. And then the lever ratcheted home. The air felt so cool on her battered cheeks. And then she was slinging down the tracks to the far end. The straps cut away and she dropped.
She fell into a huge cone of polished steel, looking for all the world like a giant drain. One woman was just falling though the hole. Halfway down, the African slid, squealing in despair. Linda tried to spread-eagle, to stop herself, but there was no purchase. Skidding on her battered ass, she slid towards the dark maw. She teetered for a moment on the edge, then tumbled inside.
It was indeed a drain. The air rushed past. Feet first, arms over her head, screams echoing in the constricted space, she shot down the tube, falling towards who knew what.
A blast of air slowed her. She settled to a stop on its cushioning effect. A little up, a little down. When the dark machines running the huge device judged her ready, they went into action. Straps slapped around her raised wrists, he forearms, elbows, armpits. One band above her breasts, another under them, and two more across the belly. More bands around her thighs, knees, and ankles. Then the air cut off and she dropped once more.
This time, it was only a short distance. A robotic arm threaded a hook between her wrists with unerring accuracy. The hook caught her, leaving her dangling by her arms in a line of woman rolling along an overhead track. Down the line, woman moaned in fright, pain, or sexual arousal. The aroma of agitated females hung in the air.
They swayed like slabs of beef through the gloom.
Cries and shouts caused Linda to bring her lulling head up. Something was going on up ahead. What could be worse than what had happened already? Pinned between the constricting straps, her butt felt like it was glowing red. In the passing light, she studied the buttocks of the trim African woman hanging before her. True, her tan cheeks glowed an angry scarlet. But somehow, it turned Linda on. Then she realized the middle-aged housewife was probably examining her own ass. She hoped it excited her, as well.
Ahead, she could see motion. Then she realized that the women were entering a vertical shaft and being lofted upwards. They looked like a line of supergirls, leaping skyward. Curiously, every other one would be spun around before ascending. It made no sense.
The woman from Morocco entered the shaft, the side-lighting turning her skin into bronze. She spun to momentarily face Linda before lancing upwards. The face that met hers seemed worried yet curious. The fear was fading.
Now Linda was in the shaft. With a creak of her belting, she soared.
At first, she feared it was a malfunction. A pair of black belted feet swam into her view. Then trim legs and strapped knees. Was the machine slowing down? She was still rising, yet she was overtaking the woman before her, sliding up her body. Toes briefly touched her nipples and she grunted. The event seemed to be occurring all down the line. Warm flash touched her own feet. They were being bunched.
The line slowed to a stop.
Linda found herself staring directly at a dark pussy. She smelled the leather of the straps. She also smelled the woman's nervous sweat and her womanly juices. Rocking slightly in her creaking straps, her nose bumped into the dark lips. Pubic hair tickled her cheeks.
Something touched her private area as well. Womanly mutters and moans filled the vertical steel tube. The air rapidly became hot and musk-ladened.
Someone sighed contentedly.
Linda gasped. A knowledgeable tongue curled into her box, flickering off her pearl. She shuddered in her straps; a saucy chuckle rose from the darkness. She didn't even think; she nuzzled her face into the mound before her, nipping, licking, biting. A voice rasped in Arabic above her. A few more words, and then came the sound of lapping. The air filled with the sound of industrious effort and the odor of contentment.
She did not know how long they hung there. All she knew was she had been brought right to the edge of orgasm several times. Each time she felt a climax rising, the woman beneath her would become distracted, or the woman above would desperately thrust her box forward. They hung like desperate sausages, each tormenting the next up the chain, none able to satisfy their urges.
The line shuddered. The black thighs rose, followed by knees and feet. And then Linda was rising as well. Her cheeks were wet with tears and fluid. She would have given her life savings to gain a concluding orgasm.
At the top of the shaft, they entered another horizontal line. Linda swayed in her bondage like a sack, battered, molested, weary. The line stopped and started, making the captives rock back and forth. Linda studied the dark strapped torso before her, the long, perfect limbs, the strong lines on the smooth back, and the firm buttocks. With the woman's scent drying across Linda's cheeks, she considered how delightful it would be to own her. Linda could imagine the girl hanging strapped like this in her bedroom closet. How wonderful such a plaything would be.
The line stopped again. Several robot arms moved to the front of the girl before her. She shouted in her native tongue, twisting in her straps. The voice rose in pitch, and was quite suddenly shut off. The line moved forward.
Two robotic arms hummed forwards, with tiny claws ending poised over Linda's nipples. An ejector arm moved forward, a red ball gag in its grasp. It halted just short of her lips. Then the claws began their work. Linda knew that resistance was futile, flinging her mouth wide open. A second later, the ball was jammed home and buckled fast. The belt moved forward, hardly stopping for the next victim. Linda figured the experienced woman behind her already had her mouth opened. She supposed it was a matter of taste; you would resist only if you wished a little breast torment. In the end, everyone ended up gagged. It really didn't make any difference.
And so the line rolled forward down grimy metal halls, through vents of steam and drizzles of water. The women had been reduced to bundles of female passion, helpless and receptive. One last process remained.
The final room was long and narrow. The floor made up of exposed piping and cables, but beneath the spot where each woman gently rocked was an ominous hole. In the corner stood the dominatrix, surrounded by levers and buttons, looking over her captives, a black-gloved hand on a lever. Scarcely had Linda stopped rocking when clamps shot out of the floor and captured each ankle. A moment later, all the leg belts disengaged and were whipped away. The clamps pulled apart, spreading her legs, tuning her into an inverted pink "Y". A collective moan rose from the woman as they settled into their enforced splits.
Before each captive, twin robotic arms hummed down from the ceiling. Gimbaled hinges allowed the arms to swing their cup-tipped ends into place. Linda gasped as the two cold units settled over her breasts. Something snuggled up on her nipples. She tried not to breath.
The final act came from below. Fifty shafts rose from their access holes, ratcheting upwards towards the helpless vaginas. Linda could not see her own, but she could study the one thrusting slowly upwards beneath her North African companion. The end with made of clear plastic topped with a cap of cilia. Inside the sheath, clever lever arms changed its shape and dimensions. As it rose past the helpless girl's spread knees, the tip began to spin up. Linda watched it in horror as it continued its ascent. Right before she lost sight of it between the shapely cheeks of the girl before her, she realized that there was an identical unit rising up beneath her. Squeaking into her gag, she tried to pull herself higher using her arms, as it that would aid her in escaping her coming mechanized rape. As one, the women of the line squawked and shrieked into their gags. Linda shuddered as she felt the spinning tip whirl against her lips. And then it was moving deeper and deeper into her, expanding as it went. She tried to fight it, but then her experience crossed a hidden line. What was vulgar and unwelcome a second before suddenly became a delight. She melted like hot butter, allowing her body to go limp and fall a little firmer over the spinning rod.
The cups on her breasts where working their magic, too. They pulsed and nibbled like a lover's careful teeth, working her until she was screaming into her ballgag. The entire line was screaming, fifty women held just short of orgasm.
Gasping and whining, Linda's eyes cracked open. From her corner, the dom met Linda's twitching gaze, smiling like a sated carnivore. Everything that had happened to Linda had come from this woman. The entire process had been performed to fold anticipation and pain into submissiveness, welding it through abuse, and heating it until it became an incandescence climax. Linda hung, prisoner of the machines, body trapped, her sex wide open, her brain awash in crazed signals and sexual chemicals. She was there, there, there, hanging just short, screaming into her gag in agonized frustration.
The black princess smiled, then pushed a final level. Fifty shafts spun up a fraction more. Fifty women shuddered as one. The orgasms took long minutes to wind down from. Eventually every woman in the room hung listlessly in their straps, the air heavy with the tang of their juices.
Quietly, the dom returned her levers to their home positions. The rods shrank down through the floor, slick with juices. The cups swung away. Then, one by one, the dom moved her controls, sending each woman forward to drop through an open hatch in the floor. When the straps came back up, they were empty.
Linda watched as the lady from Morocco trundled forward, moaning in her straps, more cargo than captive. Down she went through the hole, a sated bundle. Up came the straps a moment later, empty.
And now it was Linda's turn. Her webbing carried her forward past her leather-clad machine operator. She stared at the woman in passing with empty eyes. The harness stopped, the opening yawning beneath her hanging toes. And then the line reeled out.
She fell into a small room, her feet thumping into the thick mattress of her bed. The line continued to drop, depositing her in a kneeling position. Every buckle cracked open, and like a conjuring trick, the empty harness reeled away. She lulled her head up; no hatch overhead now, just an empty ceiling to her little bedroom. Her welts and bruises, as well as the dried juice that had painted her face, were gone, products of the simucrom. She was back in her room, back in the real world.
In weariness, she collapsed face-first onto her bed, her little butt high in the air, instantly asleep.
Some hours later, Linda's eye cracked open. Daylight shown around the curtained windows. She lay in a languid sprawl, her body empty of passion. She had not known her emotions could run that deep. But then she thought of the Moroccan's battered ass, and the shrilling scream of the English housewife beneath the feathers, and she felt her nipples grow hard. She giggled to herself in the headiness of her recollections. What an adventure.
She rolled in her bed. In shock, her eyes flew open.
The black dominatrix stood over her, leaning on the lever arm.
"You never terminated the program," she laughed. She yanked the lever back.
Linda screamed as the bed opened up once more and down she fell, into
the workings of her simucrom unit....
20.09.05