DiamondStar IV

Chapter VII – Devices

 

            Jillian beamed as she led her new toy into her quarters on a leash.  They were large for a warship, although that still meant cramped and planetside – even stationside – it would barely count as a habitable size.  The single room contained a medium sized bed, a desk and chair, a small dresser and little else, although storage compartments were hidden behind many wall panels.  It was minimalist: everything was bare metal, chrome, and frosted white glass.  A translucent door led to a tiny bathroom, one of only a half dozen private heads on the entire ship.  To most sailors, forced to share quarters – even to “hot rack,” trading their cot between shifts – it would seem opulent.  Nysia looked around with obvious dismay. 

            “It’s late,” Jillian spoke lightly, “so I’ll excuse you from most of your duties tonight; we’ll go over those in the morning, love.”  Despite the hour, however, she felt energized.  A great deal of planning had gone into events tonight, and things had gone exactly as she hoped; she looked forward to a bit of play.  “But the things you need to know.  This,” a wall plate receded as she touched a thumbpad, and a thick ring and chain extended silently, “is where you sleep.  And no, the chain doesn’t reach the head, so in you go now – sit down, and be quick, Freckles.” 

            Nysia nodded and quickly moved into the bathroom to sit obediently upon the toilet, her hands still cuffed.  After a moment she looked up with an expectant pause, obviously waiting for Jillian to leave.  Instead, the major leaned against the doorframe, relaxing as though for a long wait, and held the end of the leash.  A moment later, a deep blush on her new slave told Jillian realization had dawned, and then the true fun began: Nysia struggled visibly with indecision and embarrassment.  She needed to go badly – she hadn’t been taken down all night – but she was betrayed by self consciousness.  “You uh…waitin’ for an invitation, fucktoy?” Jillian asked, just to increase the girl’s mortification. 

            “It’s um…hard with…someone watching,” the girl replied with trepidation.  She was adorable in agony. 

            “You did just fine with the drains in the harem.”  This was followed by more blushing and rounded eyes.  Clearly the girl hadn’t realized that place was monitored by video feeds. 

            “There were…I don’t know…people weren’t paying so much attention.”

            “You mean, when you weren’t busy raping your friend?” 

            Nysia actually began to cry at that, and Jillian saw real fear.  “Please…please don’t show that to Lisa.  Please.  I’ll do anything you want, anything at all!”

            Interesting reaction, that.  That would come in handy later.  “Piss.  Now.”  Jillian’s voice lost all trace of her usual playfulness, and she tapped her foot like an impatient owner waiting for a pet on the curb. 

            The implied threat worked well.  Nysia’s face grew red again; this time it wasn’t embarrassment but effort, a concerted strain to force her bowels to cooperate.  It must have been very painful and beyond embarrassing, but a moment later the sound of success echoed through the small head.  “Just need the proper motivation, eh, Freckles?  Tell you what…if you’re good, I’ll see you get some time with your friend.  If not…well, I’m guessin’ she wouldn’t appreciate those video feeds as much as I do, eh?”  Jillian grinned wickedly, and with a quick snap jerked her slave from the toilet and towards her hook.  The last few drops of urine spattered across the floor unheeded.  Before Nysia could regain her balance she was pulled off her feet and sent sprawling across the cold metal floor.  Even then, Jillian simply jerked the chain again, dragging the choking, panicked teen across the floor in small jolts. 

            Jillian quickly shed her uniform as the girl recovered.  Boots were tucked under the edge of the bed.  After skimming out of trousers and jacket, both were slung over a hanger in a small closet.  The undergarments – a tight fitting black top and matching underwear and socks – were thrown into a bin.  Within moments, everything was stowed and secured, and she lay back on the bed and spread her legs to reveal her pierced sex, which was still decorated with the spade of black hair.  “Now, my lovely, the last task of the night – of every night – you already know how to do.”  She twitched the chain teasingly, just enough to start the teen gagging again.  “Unless, of course, you need me to choke you again…that was kinda fun, eh?”  Despite her lighthearted tone, her eyes gleamed wickedly enough to show her seriousness. 

            Nysia stepped forward to the cot and kneeled down, her pale skin contrasting with the grey coverlet.  She glanced up hesitantly, about to say something, then glanced down and sighed with resignation.  Small, dainty hands reached up to tuck wisps of long brown hair behind her ears, and with a quick breath she lowered her mouth to the glistening folds and ran her tongue along them experimentally. 

            It felt like heaven; the serving slave earlier in the night had pleasured her well – of course, failing to do well in such a function would have led to a great deal of pain – but the lone orgasm Jillian had experienced had only increased the desire ignited by the entire erotic evening.  The ship was fairly open, sexually, and while indolence of any sort was forbidden on duty it wasn’t uncommon for crew members to engage one another casually, sometimes even in common areas.  For officers, however, it was different: a certain aura of command had to be maintained and wanton, sluttish behavior wasn’t in keeping with that: so the public affair had been a rare and special treat. 

            Owning her own slave was an even better treat.  Watching the slaves displayed and abused had aroused her all night, and now Nysia’s tongue explored her thoroughly, finding all her most sensitive parts.  It twined around her clit and tugged lightly on her piercings.  When forced lower, the teen drove deep into her cunt almost without hesitation.  What the girl lacked in skill – and she was clearly inexperienced, to Jillian’s personal delight – she more than compensated for with eagerness. 

            Within only a few minutes Jillian’s hips bucked as she came.  Her legs clenched together as she tensed, locking her slave tight against her cunt.  When she recovered and released her, the girl’s face was nearly covered in moisture and she was sweating and flushed from the effort; but before she moved away she leaned forward to place a single kiss on the tiny patch of black pubic hair.  Jillian giggled like a schoolgirl at the sight.  “I love you too, Freckles.  Now back to your corner and shut the fuck up.”  She reached up to touch the wall control panel again; a moment after the light vanished the chain whirred to life, retracting quickly and forcefully.  There was a strangled sound, a heavy thump as Nysia was jerked off the bed and fell painfully to the floor, and the whisper of skin over metal as the machine dragged the slave to her corner.  It seemed hilarious somehow, and Jillian giggled again before abandoning herself to sleep. 

 

            Nysia huddled in the corner, her hair draped around her body in an attempt at warmth, and struggled with her emotions.  She wanted to cry – she should cry, that was the thing to do after such a horrific event.  The poor, lost waif, abused, would whimper in the corner and small, darling tears would drip down her cheeks just before the camera faded to the next scene. 

            No cameras were fading out, however.  She was lonely, and cold, and her neck hurt something awful from being dragged around.  Her sex, too, hadn’t quite recovered from its beating and tingled frustratingly. 

            But the worst part, by far, was that she was hardly in the mood for crying; she was dripping with excitement.  With each new abuse more and more since this horrid thing began.  Her own, or those around her, it didn’t matter.  She could no longer dismiss her escapade in the assembly as just a welcome distraction: the audience had been the fun, and she had been acutely aware of them when she was enjoying it.  Even after it had turned bad – even after she had been used – she had cherished the memory because it had given someone pleasure.  Now, she understood she never wanted to know who had used her; she wanted to imagine it was anyone and everyone, that perhaps any person she remembered, she could have given that to.  It could be Mr. Carlson, or Brian, or some stranger or even – she shuddered with delicious horror at the thought – her own father, and it was okay, because she’d seen how she enjoyed such a thing. 

            When she had used Lisa so horribly, she had delighted in it.  She was a monster, enslaved already by sex and passion.  Very well, she thought.  I am a monster.  But that’s because we all are: everyone in this crazed place did whatever they wished to take their pleasure.  I’ll take mine, then, and enjoy every moment of it. 

            Newly determined, she spread her legs, reached down, and began to give herself of her new, immoral pleasure.  She thrust quickly but silently, holding the chain taut with her left hand to prevent any rattle.  Closing her eyes, she thought of how the major had led her through the passages to these quarters on a leash.  She’d stumbled along, naked and exhausted, and everyone who passed her had brutalized her with looks.  It was clear in their eyes she was simply property, no longer a proper girl, no longer even a person.  A couple had even touched her; one had tweaked her nipple as he brushed by.  Another, following behind her, had cupped her bottom in his hand, fondling it like Radley used to do.  None cared what she thought, or what she permitted, and that had excited her most: to be used like an object.  She licked her lips, tasting the other woman’s sex all over again.  At first she’d wanted to beg to stop, but then she’d realized she wanted to, and the major wanted her to, and it seemed ludicrous to let morals stand in the way of that.  She’d enjoyed every moment of giving the woman pleasure.  Her rather painful dismissal had simply reinforced that. 

            Her hand moved more quickly, alternating between deep thrusting and rapid pressure against her clit.  The best part of tonight, though, was watching Lisa punished for me.  She pictured Lisa’s face, contorted with pain beneath lashes she’d taken for her friend, and the orgasm exploded within her. 

 

            The belt slammed against the small of her back, sending waves of pain through Nysia’s body as the crack echoed through the quarters.  She had left a scuff on a boot she’d been told to polish; a minor mistake, but a painful one.  Mistress had given her two dozen strokes already, and seemed ready for a dozen more.  Gripping the chains holding her wrists to the wall, she repeated again to herself, Enjoy it.  You know you want to.  It’s delicious.  Enjoy the pain.  Another stroke; she bucked against the bulkhead, screaming in agony as the backs of her thighs burned, but she knew she’d imagine this tonight as she brought herself off. 

            The last few days had passed in a blur.  Nysia was shown her duties: she learned to polish chrome insignia, to make a military bed, clean the quarters and iron uniforms.  It was all terribly domestic and fairly boring, but punctuated with abuse and control that she eagerly enjoyed.  Jillian – now Mistress – continued to use her every night, but she grew adept at scrambling to her corner and was almost never dragged.  She was also required to kneel and kiss her Mistress’ boots when she returned to quarters; this would often lead to undressing her (another skill she was learning) and that, in turn, often led to more use.  Mistress rarely returned the favor, and only for her own pleasure; she was more likely to abuse her. 

            And there were a lot of things to abuse her for.  Nysia learned she was incompetent; she learned she was scum.  She couldn’t do anything right, from cleaning the bathroom to using it.  She felt herself broken down by the assault; too little sleep, too much to do.  Even this time, she’d thought she’d done perfectly: she had presented the boots to Mistress with pride, but now, forced onto her knees in front of them, there was only dismay. 

            “Take a breather, Freckles,” Mistress chirped merrily.  Perhaps the most disturbing thing about her was the ability to inflict so much pain and agony with a friendly smile.  “Then you need to get that scuff out.  Now, I know you have no standards, and I’m really trying not to take this personally, but there’s no way I’m going to be seen with that while inspecting my Marines, cunt.”  Nysia nodded, and obediently reached for the cloth and polish.  Mistress stepped on her outstretched hand with a beleaguered sigh, as though a child were trying her patience.  “No sweetie, only good girls get to use that.  You finish up with your tongue – you need the exercise anyways, after last night’s performance.”  Nysia squeaked with the pain, and blushed with the memory; Mistress had only cum once despite her slave’s best efforts, and had finally grunted with disgust and sent Nysia to the deck with a fist.

            The heel ground her wrist against the metal deck.  Although she was polishing one set of black leather boots, Mistress was wearing another: she seemed to have a set for every occasion, half of them the exact same style.  “Better?”  She nodded quickly, although she certainly wasn’t.  When the pressure stopped she grabbed up the boot, ignoring the way her wrist barely worked, and speedily went to work with her mouth.  It was hardly less pleasant than other things she’d been told to do: bad girls didn’t get to use dusters or toilet brushes, either.  “Hurry up, now.  We need to leave soon.”

            Still working her mouth over the leather, tasting the acrid polish as she swirled her tongue lightly, Nysia felt a panic.  The last time she’d been out of the quarters had been the night she was won.  While she no longer felt much embarrassment at her nudity – hadn’t, in fact, since the harem – she felt she had changed somehow under Mistress and was embarrassed to let others see.  It mattered little, of course.  She would do as Mistress commanded anyways; but she was nervous about more than one thing when she brought the re-done boot for inspection. 

            Mistress hardly glanced at it as she set it into place, nicely dismissing all the effort invested in perfection.  Lifting out the leash, she attached it to Nysia’s collar and led her from the room. 

 

            Nysia reacted even more badly to the modifications than Jillian had expected.  She’d started well: marching down the hall, she had maintained her place behind and to the left, keeping in step, performing with skill the turns she’d been forced to practice for endless hours.  When they’d reached the medical bay she’d only broken into a sweat at the sight of Lieutenant-Surgeon Royce, which was understandable considering what he’d been planning for her. 

            When she’d been told to lay on the medical table, however, her control had broken.  It had taken Jillian, the Doctor, his toy Aspen, and a pair of slightly injured sailors to overcome her panic and strap her to the machine.  After that, of course, a half dozen needles impaled the slave and she lost consciousness. 

            The operations were brief.  Largely automated, the saws and knives were interspersed with lasers and monofilaments; really, the Doctor did little more than Aspen during routine surgery.  The first flicks stripped back the flesh from her neck, and an array of saws set to work on the bone: within moments Nysia looked ghastly, nearly beheaded.  But just as quickly the composite titanium vertebrae was locked into place, its microprocessors fused to nerves, and the lasers went to work again, cauterizing the skin together on a cellular level.  Despite all the grisliness, there would be no pain or marks within a couple days.  All that would show was a single large metal ring, piercing the vertebrae frame but projecting past the skin like a piercing to lie in the hollow of her throat. 

            The machines paused, and Aspen stepped forward silently to unlatch and move each of Nysia’s legs, spreading them wide.  It looked awkward with her hands fastened behind her, but Jillian could appreciate the contortions she was put through for such a mundane task.  She even considered it, briefly, and asked the Doctor a series of questions about implanting it on her new slave, but in the end decided to at least wait until the girl was skilled with her nightly duties before limiting her abilities further.  “Perhaps in a couple months,” she decided at last. 

            Once she was repositioned, the machines came to life again and various arms and appendages darted between Nysia’s thighs.  The removal of her reproductive organs and appendix took place entirely internally.  All they could see watching were a few movements beneath the skin, and once an unconscious twitch of the body.  The wasted was sucked out – no doubt to contribute to one of the Doctor’s tissue vats – and again internally cauterized.  Finally, the last procedure was almost comical for a machine of such complexity: a series of titanium rings were forced through her tongue, nipples, labia, and clit.  As the machines fell silent, the rings – and a few faint lines around her neck – were the only indications anything had taken place. 

 

            Pain tore through Nysia’s body.  She lost control of her body as it felt engulfed in fire: she dropped to the floor in a heap, writhing spasmodically.  With a nauseating twitch she felt her bladder release, creating a warm puddle beneath her.  She screamed; she had never screamed so hard before, not even beneath Gunther’s whip, but now she’d beg for it if she had the chance.  When she ran out of breath she still tried to scream, making pitiful rasping, popping noises deep in her throat, punctuated by short gasps. 

            Mistress sat on the bed cross legged, one hand deep in her own sex while the other held down the button on the control.  Only when her own back arched in orgasmic pleasure did she release it, and both women panted for several breaths, recovering. 

            “And that,” Mistress giggled with excitement, as though they were girlfriends up late on a sleepover talking gossip, rather than practicing torture, “is how it feels to be burned alive.  Pretty neat, huh?”

            Nysia was in no condition to respond, of course, but certainly wouldn’t have agreed.  Curled on the ground, her body was trying to believe the lack of pain after experiencing the incineration first hand.  She whimpered a little, and drool trickled from one corner of her mouth. 

            “Oh yeah, right, that,” Mistress responded sympathetically, the tone one would use when learning that no, little Johnnie can’t play today because he has a cold.  “I’ll just give ya a moment then, ‘kay hun?”  The major stood up, pulling her hand from her panties and licking it idly as she walked to the head.  She stepped over Nysia without even bothering to look down and proceeded to brush her teeth and use the toilet. 

            On the way back to her bunk, Mistress nudged her slave with a toe, prompting another cry.  “Stop whining like a silly girl, I don’t want to be kept up all night with that.  And clean up your mess before I wake up – bad girl style, of course.”  Nysia tried to work her mouth, but could only nod; by then, however, Mistress was in bed and the lights were flickering off. 

            It was an hour or more before Nysia could move normally.  As she bent over and set to her work, images from the last night flashed through her mind.

            Two days had passed since the visit to the medical facility and the needles descending into her body as she lay tied down between saw blades and jagged forceps.  Two days since she had awoken on the same table, suddenly covered with blood, and seen jars newly filled with flesh and bone around her.  She’d thought, for a while, that she was going to be killed after all, or that she might even already be dead: for most of the time since the operation she’d been heavily drugged. 

            Late in the evening, however, the last of the effects had faded away leaving only a small pain around her neck and a tummy ache.  With a clear mind, she’d been able to explore what had been done to her body.  The piercings were obvious, of course, and Nysia realized she shouldn’t be surprised: obviously Mistress liked them, as she wore many more herself.  It was perhaps even a compliment!  Mistress enjoyed her this way, found her beautiful!  Nysia was also much skinnier; she’d guessed she’d never have children before Mistress even told her, and surprisingly it had made her cry: kind of funny, as she didn’t ever feel like the mommy type.  Mistress had also told her the reason for all the rings along her labia; she was to be kept chaste.  The device itself was simple: a piece of perforated titanium about four inches long shaped like a narrow triangle, it had a series of locks around the edges that matched up with the rings.  She could simply urinate through the perforations, but nothing larger than a pin could get in.  A thumbscanner near the top locked and released it, and Mistress teasingly announced it would detonate if tampered with, which made Nysia break into a cold sweat.  Across the front, where her hair used to be, it was engraved PROPERTY OF MAJOR JILLIAN TRAVIS.  Being goods was official. 

            It was official in another, subtle way that also explained why she’d grown no stubble down there in two days.  One of the injections had loaded her with nanoids that rewrote her DNA on an atomic level.  It included some minor physical alterations – she would be hairless from the neck down, and was assured it would leave her healthier – but it would also leave markers that would falsely identify her as a genetically constructed person.  Genetically constructed meant artificial, made in a lab, and that meant owned by the lab or whoever bought its product.  Legally speaking, she wouldn’t even be considered a person anymore, just property.  With unrecognizable DNA, she could be turned over to police, tell them her whole story, and be rejected as a bad hoax.  Her old life was truly over, with no going back. 

            As she’d staggered under that realization, Mistress had gone on to talk about the implant.  It was fused directly into her nervous system, with just enough power to override all her biological signals, and was tied to a series of remote units.  All this had made no sense at all, and Mistress had finally stopped mid sentence as she merrily related the surgery. 

            “Well, your nerves tell your brain what’s happening to your body, yeah?”  Mistress smiled, the gleeful expression of a child with a new toy that Nysia had already learned to fear terribly.  She nodded in agreement, and dreaded what came next.  “Well, now I tell your brain what’s going on.  And since I want to play with this, and you were very, very naughty with Doctor Royce and gave Aspen a nasty black eye, we’re going to torture you tonight!”  She positively beamed with innocent joy, and then started pushing buttons. 

            The device was everything she’d claimed and more.  Any sensation the body could send to the brain, she could as well, and probably several more beyond that.  The first program was a recording of someone being stabbed – first a thrust to her gut, and she actually felt the skin part under the knife, and then blow after blow as she was stabbed across her body, in her back, legs, groin, and breasts.  The signals kept her awake, and prevented any attempt to act; she couldn’t hold herself or bite her tongue.  The program only ended when the person who was first recorded had finally perished, with a thrust through the face. 

            After the stabbings, she was drowned, electrocuted, and finally, hours later, she ended engulfed with fire.  Had the experiences been real, she would have died four times tonight.  Had she lived through any one of them, she would have been mentally scarred, unable to get near a flame or panicked at the least loss of breath for the rest of her life.  Instead, they hadn’t been real events; just Mistress cross legged on her bed with a lazy smile, pleasuring herself as she watched the pain and asking, very nicely, “You aren’t going to disobey me anymore, will you toy?”

            Oh no, Nysia thought as she finished cleaning the floor and curled up to sleep, I would definitely never, ever again disobey Mistress.  

 

 

To be continued:  Please submit a review of this story – the author needs feedback!  Comments, suggestions, and ideas for inclusion can also be sent to ElectricBadgerAccessories@yahoo.com.