The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

AFTERMARKET

CHAPTER 2: OBJECT

Mister Talv inspected the Object carefully.

It was very beautiful. It was voluptuously curved, and it had striking red hair that cascaded down its back in a waterfall of curls. Its mouth was wide and full, with deep red lips. He did not need to see its eyes to know that they were wide and grey and sensual. It was kneeling in tight position, oblivious to its surroundings.

The Object was wonderfully toned, and it was looking good. He stroked one large, firm breast and then pinched another nipple, enjoying the way the object writhed in surprise and pleasure. The multicoloured patterns on its skin shifted and stretched in an elaborate trompe l’oeil. There was very little movement allowed to it, given the fastenings he had designed, but it tried nevertheless to offer up its breasts to him, straining at its bonds.

Before this trip, Mister Talv had considered investing in some further customisation of the Object, perhaps small improvements. However, on reflection he was perfectly happy with the Object in its current form. He had never liked the brute force approach.

He takes a little time to tighten the blindfold obscuring its eyes and to ensure that its earbuds are securely fitted. Its mouth works as he checks its gag. Its full lips are naturally red.

He can tell it is exercising. Its belly and hips move slightly in a gentle squeezing rhythm.

He is not annoyed that Tokyo has yet to deliver. He knows this will take time. Unusually for a man so self-aware, Mister Talv has no clue why he has instructed this particular search, for something so specific. The thought had become fixed during that night on the East Coast with malleable little Katya, and for some reason he couldn’t shake it off. Whatever: it is important to him, and whatever is important to him is what he gets, and so be it.

Mister Talv’s phone beeps, and he sees Sergei has finally deigned to get in touch. He will be here in half an hour, an hour maximum, or maybe two to be on the safe side, and if he isn’t, then he’ll call. He sighs at the tediously predictable unpredictability of his Russian colleagues. Still, there is time at least to entertain himself a little.

The Object kneels, quite still, except for the faint twitching of its belly and thighs. Tighten, tremble, tighten, twitch.

He believes that in its current state, every touch and variation will be a surprise, a shock, to it. He is correct.

He is tempted to remove its gag so that he can hear it squeak, in pleasure or in pain.

* * *

The second thing you learned was that he was a very creative man.

No cheap off the-the-shelf equipment and accessories here; each piece is entirely custom designed and manufactured to his precise specification, and no expense is spared in getting things exactly right.

For example, take the following item.

Its wide shaft is finely crafted steel, intricately ribbed in a kind of spiral pattern. At various points along its length you can see small nodular buttons and protrusions. You were scared of the thing at first, and your eyes had widened at the sight of it, and your cheeks had flushed almost scarlet. In its compact density and complication, it was more frightening even than the things he had had you over in his apartment, the wooden crossbar, the whips, the … machine. Still, you had ended up enjoying that, hadn’t you?

At first insertion you can immediately tell that it has been precisely designed for your body and yours alone. The length fills you with precision, and it is wide enough to stretch you just a little, to the exact boundary between comfort and discomfort. He had explained that it was modelled to his own dimensions, and you can feel that this is indeed true.

One of the protrusions nestles exactly against your G-spot. At the outer end of the shaft, another, larger protrusion fits snugly against your clit.

He had explained that the device was designed specifically for exercise. You hadn’t known what he meant.

“Try squeezing your muscles, down there,” he had ordered. “It is always better to learn by experience. This is good exercise, and good discipline.”

You squeezed, and the device came to life with a tingling, vibrating sensation. You actually gasped at the sudden sensation. You squeezed harder, and were rewarded with an increased intensity of stimulation. Your breasts trembled, and you felt your nipples grow hard. Your hips began to move to an unconscious instinct.

Now, you understand, fully.

You practise. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. Shifting position slightly, you can feel the vibe at your clit and G-spot throb harder. Out of nowhere, a blast of pure stimulation that almost has you on your knees. You gasp. You realise that the buttons on the shaft, and you can feel quite a few of them in different positions, delivers a different extra … configuration … of stimulation.

You are flushed, and aroused, as he had clearly expected. He watches the muscles in your belly tighten and quiver, and you shiver under his inspection.

“The added bonus of fine muscle control will improve your offering significantly. You will practice controlling and using these muscles in different ways.”

He smiles. “It will be worth it for the rewards you will gather along the way.”

The device quickly becomes second nature. After a few days of practice, he even compliments you on your improved tightness and muscle control, and you resolve to exercise even harder.

His approval is hard-earned, and extremely important.

* * *

It is unaware of its surroundings. It has lost track of time, but time is irrelevant to the Object.

Back straight, breasts on high display, nipples standing proud, strapped in position, it kneels. It enjoys kneeling for Mister Talv. Not that it has a particular choice in the matter.

Mister Talv has bound it particularly tightly. Its ankles are fixed to the structure on which it kneels, and with its wrists chained to its ankles, there is very little room for manoeuvre. However, it is used to this position now – its muscles have adapted to it well, and it could hold position for hours without significant discomfort. If anybody had asked, it would have explained that it now considered this a completely natural state.

It can see nothing. The blindfold has been carefully moulded to fit its face, and no light enters at all. It kneels in complete darkness.

This will increase the Object’s ability to concentrate on its exercises, he says.

It can say nothing. Mister Talv has silenced it, using another useful piece of equipment of his own design. The gag has been designed to fit its mouth exactly, and does. No strap is required, which is much more aesthetically pleasing, and there is no prospect of spitting it out. The gag simply expands or contracts as the Object opens and closes its mouth, and fills its mouth completely until removed.

This will stop the Object’s squeaks distracting him while he works, he says.

It can hear a little, but what it hears is white noise, the gentle sussuration of a low tide. The high fidelity earbuds are very discrete, and moulded to fit so that no external sound can intrude. The white noise cancels out even residual external sonic vibrations. Every so often the white noise is punctuated by a series of phrases, first in English, then in Russian. It is only a small number of phrases, and they repeat and repeat in an endless cycle.

This will help the Object learn some useful new words, he says.

It thrills at a sudden unexpected jolt of sensation as its nipple is squeezed. It tries to offer itself but it is constrained tight in position.

It arches its back harder, pushing its chest up and out, in the hope this will tempt another touch. It is rewarded by a tweak of its other nipple. It almost comes, but coming without permission is not an option. It rolls its muscles down there and gives itself a sweet vibration instead. As always, it kneels on the edge of orgasm, and it is only deeply ingrained discipline that keeps it the right side of the line.

It twitches in involuntarily yearning. The soothing white noise and Russian phrases blur on through the darkness.