fucking machines

Alone In Space 2: Evil Machines



Author’s Note:



If there hadn’t been positive (and amused (and amusing)) comments left after the publication of the first of these stories, there never would have been a second. “Alone In Space, Or: In Space Nobody Can Hear You Moan” was never meant to be more than a vignette, a single solitary tale standing all on its own and never to be followed up or tied in to any other, inspired by a single picture found on a Hentai web site and written because I was having trouble writing two other tales that I actually cared about.



But then you bastards wanted more.



So here it is.




And, if I may say so (and, being the author, I think I may) it’s even more pointless than the last one, and written even faster, with even less attention paid to quality. This story will have NO character development, it will have NO storyline development beyond the barest minimal necessary to justify a different scene (I’m justifying? Fuck that!) and there will be NO point of any sort save to explicitly and violently sexually abuse a lean, lonely, psychologically questionable woman, using a variety of machinery over which she chooses to relinquish control.



There, I’ve said it. Anybody attempting to find a moral with this story won’t just be shot, but Satan will use their intestines for condoms. By order of the author.



Oh, and in case you were wondering: This story also gains inspiration from a Hogtied.com model named Shannon. But only in the barest minimal sense.



A final warning: This is deliberately brutal and may shock you, although I suspect that YOU will only enjoy it the more for that. Remember: This situation is consensual, and I have no intention of portraying it as being anything else but her decisions, out of which she could pull at any moment. But hey, sometimes you want to whip, sometimes you want to be whipped.



I’m not even sure if this is physiologically likely, either, so join me in the fantasy that it is.



“Alone In Space 2″ Or: “Let The Fuckers Fuck Me”



In the semi-darkness of the Wolfhound, traveling at speeds that old Einstein would have had serious issues with, in a bubble of space that Einstein’s mathematics would have wept at trying to explain, a single red light started blinking on the control panel. A message, traveling with scientifically dubious manner through physically dubious space, had managed to intersect the Wolfhound’s own bubble of scientifically dubious space and burrow inside it like a sperm into an egg. Or, a better analogy, like a malignant virus into a perfectly happy cell.



The Wolfhound’s computers, stupid things at best, occupied so much with astronavigation and maintaining the impossible that there was no capacity left for sentience or even the barest minimal of Bayesian message filtering, decided that the message, by virtue of being a message, was important.



So it acted.



In the total darkness of the single crew’s bunk, halfway up the wall of the single corridor that curled around the ship from cockpit to gymnasium, the single crew-member was awakened from a self-hypnosis induced sleep by the bracelet on her left wrist delivering a small electric shock to her normally blameless skin.



“Sadistic fucks,” she muttered into rapidly disappearing darkness as her heartrate slowed, the same thing she always muttered when she was awoken by a message.



She knew it was a message. A normal crisis would have ejected her forcibly from the bunk and left her floundering in zero-gravity in mid-air delivering a torrent of far worse insults into a psychedelically strobing lightshow and ear-splitting siren. There were no abnormal lights, no sounds and she was still in her bunk. Therefore, it was a message.



Sighing, she pressed a button against the left-hand wall of the bunk, with fingers that still tingled slightly (“Sadistic fucking fucks,”) and was ejected smoothly and evenly into the gravity-free corridor whose every turn she knew by heart and hated passionately.



Perversely performing an unnecessarily elegant and time-wasting gymnastic backwards somersault to put her head in the right direction, she reached one long arm out to each side of the corridor and gave the merest of fingertip pushes, sending her drifting slowly down towards the bridge.



The ship, detecting that the message had not yet been read, gave a warning flash of the lights and beeped at her. She gave another infinitesimal push, wondering how far she could push it before it started trying to give her a headache.



Not, it turned out, very far at all. She was already swearing when she skated into the cockpit and halted her flight by ramming the chair with her shoulder, bouncing back and throwing herself into the seat angrily.



So the contents of the message were not received with equanimity.



“FUCKING CUNTS!”



She thrust herself back out of the chair, delivering a savage kick in passing to the control panel that she could never damage no matter how hard she tried, and whipped around in mid-air, meeting the padded gray bulkhead at the back of the cockpit with the full force of her well-toned arm, delivered via her tightly clenched fist.



“FUCKING BASTARD CUNTS!”



She attacked the wall again and again with her right fist, bracing herself against the chair, the punches punctuating her screaming, unless it was the other way around.



“FUCKING! BASTARD! FUCKING! CUNTS!”



It had taken a mere two lines on the 60-character message screen to turn her day from annoyed to rage.



“Dock strike at destination TST1812. Expect delays up to
a week. Maintain holding pattern upon arrival.”



A week? One more fucking week, when she had been in this claustrophobic, lonely, mind-warpingly boring shell for two months? One more week of being alone when there were people swarming around the Transitory Space Terminal, and even more on the world it serviced? One more week of playing pathetic games of strategy against a computer that was programmed to let her win 75% of all games no matter how little she cared? One more week of watching movies that were idiotic when they had been made but had been chosen for their box-office popularity and just made her horny by showing her an endless string of well-built bodies that couldn’t distract her by acting or even showing real sex?



“FUCKING! BASTARD! FUCKING!”



Although she stood no chance of ever damaging the ship, there was enough rational thought left in her brain to warn her that her hand would be grateful if she stopped, so she drove her elbow into the wall instead.



“CUNTS!”



One more fucking week of being fucked by fucking machines instead of sweaty, smelly, warm-blooded /men/?



That gave her pause for thought. “If you’re going to be fucking with me, I may as well fucking enjoy it!” She snapped at the ear-less, emotionless, unresponsive computer, and flung herself out the door, kicking savagely against the wall to send her on down the corridor, slamming into the outside of corners and kicking with both feet to send her on.



She had enough presence of mind to realise that her impulse to try and rip her uniform off and leave it in shreds, while it would be enormously satisfying, would never be achievable with mere human strength, so she was undoing it as she went, managing to snag it on a handhold and have it peel off her feet as she hurtled around the final corner.



Her uniform panties went almost as quickly, and she was naked as she hurtled into the cool, dimly lit gymnasium.



She was going as fast as she had ever gone, but still managed to punch the correct buttons by the door on her way past. The automatic systems, taken by surprise, brought the lights up faster than they were supposed to, and started pumping warm air in to raise the temperature to living-quarter standards.



Luckily, there was a built-in delay before the walls started opening to disgorge the desired equipment, or her impact against them would have triggered the safety mechanisms, slowing everything down and doing her mental state no good at all.



But the panels were opening as she drifted back from them, chair and ceiling boss and all the lovely, personally impersonal arms sliding out as swiftly as their makers had intended them, the chair today laughingly sinister in Jade’s eyes instead of warmly embracing.



Which was exactly how she wanted it. If the company wanted to fuck her, let them do a decently sadistic job of it.



The pre-recorded, mandatory health warning being read out at the same time sounded sinister too, but was so banal and she had heard it so many times before that she just barely managed to keep most of it out by shoving her palms over her ears, gritting her teeth and staring intently at the growing sculpture of the chair and its hydran arms.



Before even the final component had been locked into place, she had launched herself at it, twisting in mid air with the careless accuracy of long practice so that she impacted buttock-first, back second, without having to move up or down or to either side before the chair, reacting to her presence, whipped the sensory collar around her neck, the restraints over her shoulders and the sensory helmet over her head. The belt around her waist was even quicker, but it was the neck and head attachments to the chair that gave her the deepest of perverted erotic pleasures. She was trapped now, tied in, her body merely an extension of the machine, an experiment, a toy to be played with according to a distant engineer’s permanent rules laid down according to a distant physiologist’s definitive researches.



Which was bullshit, of course. She could choose to control everything it did, and everything that it didn’t do, and usually chose to do more or less that, but today she didn’t wish to even consider that possibility, seeing in this enveloping contraption of polished, shining metal and carefully moulded plastics only a manipulative machine mind.



As her ankles were strapped to the legrests, she slapped her wrists down on the arm supports and tapped out a quick code upon the controls under her left hand. The visor had barely settled in place over her eyes before it was flashing demand of recognition of her request. She gave it the recognition it wanted, then repeated the request and entered her authorization code just to make the machine happy. /Let that/, she thought spitefully, /Be the last thing you make me do voluntarily, ogre/.



There were programs built into the chair for those who wanted to use them. Only self-assured, dominant personalities tended to fly these ships, but even so there were programs for those who wanted to have their pleasure given to them instead of taking it for themselves. And some of those programs, to give credit to the semi-liberated times in which they were made, were a little out of the ordinary. In the recesses of Jade’s memory, each of those program codes lurked, waiting to be recalled. She had only ever used one of those, and only once, before deciding that relinquishing control was not one of her turnons.



But the opportunity is always good to have.



With a red flash in her visor, the chair signified that the program had been accepted, and would be executed.



The restraints over her shoulders whipped back with shocking speed, the armrests straightening and then swinging up and back as the chair dropped her, stomach-clenchingly fast, from reclined to horizontal, relative to the room, her legs pulled straight and her wrists brought together above her head. With a sudden jolt, gravity was applied, making the horizontal by convention the horizontal by relative fact.



The belt around her waist tightened, locking her to what was now a couch, before the armrests straightened, pulling her painfully tight, slacking off only just enough to let her joints survive the full run of the program. The legrests spread, stretching her wide until the tendons in her groin screamed with pain, slacking off themselves just barely enough for health reasons. Then the couch humped, thrusting up her hips and her chest, bowing her back, the new gravity that had flattened her small breasts causing them to roll back towards her head as her back was bowed and stretched until she could barely gasp out adequate breaths, everything straining to open her like a flower, exposed brutally and lecherously.



For one split second Jade almost panicked, wondering if this was really what she wanted, if it was really going to make her feel better, but when the chromed, gleaming arms above her quivered, she forgot all about that in a sudden rush of perverted, guilty pleasure to her out-of-sight, defenseless cunt.



It was not the arms she could see that moved first, however. A bar slipped up and over her chin out of her sight, forcing her mouth open. Before she could react, two wide metal loops slipped inside and pulled apart, stretching her lips open and making it impossible for her to swallow the saliva that was already building in her mouth.



Two arms she had never noticed before then plunged down, appearing delicate but tipped with long metal cylinders that slapped the sides of her breasts with startling force, shocking her flesh red and making her gasp through her opened mouth in surprise and the sudden, quickly fading pain. The arms whipped back up again and then descended over her nipples.



She had marked the similarity of these arms to the “milkers” she knew and loved so much, but the engineers who built this chair do not lightly duplicate any functionality, and these arms clearly had a different purpose.



As they touched her skin the ends contracted, pinching her nipples brutally, then retracting slightly before the entire cylinders turned so agonizingly cold that condensation dripped onto her breasts. Her nipples expanded so fast that that too hurt, then the cylinders, warming enough not to stay painful but still cold enough to make sure that her nipples stayed just as hard as they were, contracted again, closing around some of the most sensitive flesh in Jade’s body so tightly than when the arms pulled up and slightly apart her breasts followed until their nearly flat domed profiles were turned into sharply pointed, almost straight-sided cones and she was making gargling whimpering noises with pain and consenting helplessness.



As her eyes squeezed shut to try and blink out the tears, she felt a narrow greased rod butt against her asshole, bludgeoning itself entrance with an efficient speed that completely hid the care with which it was done.



Her eyes flew wide again in shock. She /never/ liked anal sex, never! But the cylinder buried itself deep in her arse and then began to vibrate nastily, the sensation making her stomach roil but also her pussy clench. For the first time in her life, Jade began to get some idea of how liberating humiliation can be when there is no free will.



She was given five seconds to try and recover her breath in gasps as the pain in her nipples and the foreignness of the vibrator in her ass became a little less impossible to believe before she felt the cool plastic of the speculum jabbed between her shamefully puffy nether lips and spread wider than it ever had before, wider than she was comfortable with or than she could bear without pain.



Anticipation made eagerness war with fear in her battered mind. She always loved the tireless fucking of that dildo, always, but what would this program give her that she could like unconditionally?



As her stomach tried to clench in expectation, she suddenly realised that if she was going to be fucked with that dildo she loved, it would have happened by now. For a brief moment the pain from her stretched body was replaced in her mind with bewilderment, but only for a brief moment.



She felt a familiar pair of rubber-coated metal jaws close around her clitoris gently and vibrate. The familiarity of it made her relax and a delicious warm glow start to spread through her, but when her clit was hard the jaws pinched hard enough to make her scream. The jaws pulled upwards and held her just on the verge of too much pain to concentrate, then she felt, with no warning, /something/ enter her past the limit of the speculum, something bigger than anything that had ever before been inside her. It butted against the limits of her vagina and then settled there. Abruptly, the speculum was withdrawn, making her almost sob with relief but leaving the achingly uncomfortable object, which must be more or less a sphere, inside her. All she could feel of the rest of the arm was a thin shaft passing through her lips.



All at once her mind leaped to a conclusion and, the angrily buzzing vibrator still churning her insides inside her anus, silently begged for the sphere inside her /not/ to start vibrating, please.



For another second nothing changed, the sphere inside her neither vibrating nor making any other kind of movement and for a second she was bewildered until the cap that snugly cradled her head, electronic fingers lovingly plugged into her brain, yanked her head back between her stretched arms, tilting it until her throat was stretched wide open behind the wire gag.



Around the side of the chair-turned-couch-turned-rack, avoiding her held-together arms, reared the smaller of the two available dildos, the one Jade never bothered to use. Her eyes widened as the only available possibility battered against a brain too incredulous to take it seriously despite the evidence in its favor.



Coldly contemptuous of her mind’s skepticism, the dildo swung above and behind her head, rotated, and plunged straight down her throat.



Jade was no stranger to fellatio and no stranger to deep-throating, but she did prefer to warm up first and she did prefer to have control of the act. If she had been thinking rationally she would have realized that no program would ever be allowed to cause lasting harm to a user, but rational thought had been shocked out of her, which was of course intentional: If she was thinking rationally, she might not find the program so effective.



The dildo jabbed inside her mouth like a striking viper, unerringly finding her throat. She wasn’t quick enough or concentrating enough to realise that it jabbed, withdrew slightly and then jabbed again, fooling her throat into opening to admit it so that it was buried as deep as it could ever comfortably go before she had a chance to accept its penetration. She was not aware either that the gag reflex had been tampered with as an added safety precaution, or even that it withdrew far enough after every thrust to give her a chance to suck a breath.



Unaware, she still chocked, tears springing to her eyes as the dildo started to fuck her throat.



The necessity of holding still, even more obvious now that her throat was being raped as well as her nipples and clitoris extended painfully, made her realise her helplessness so starkly that for the first time she had time to think.



What hit her was that although she felt humiliated, violated and controlled so utterly that she had no free will left, she hadn’t yet found it enjoyable. Wasn’t that supposed to be the point? Wasn’t the equipment supposed to reject or modify a fixed program if that didn’t happen?



It is said that you should never tempt fate. But should fate be seduced to make you helpless in the throes of an orgasm, or merely left to its own devices?



As surprise and consternation were growing in Jade’s mind, the sphere sitting painfully large deep inside her woke up.



Convulsing despite the danger, Jade gave a squeal of pain around the dildo which was, at that moment, bottoming out deep down her throat. In the numbing aftermath of the electric shock that had twisted her belly like the kick of a horse, rage flared inside her again.



Then two things happened at once. First, another jolt from the sphere, then the arms attached to her nipples and clitoris jerked, just enough to send another spear of pain through her.

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