Ghost in the Machine

There was a knock at the door.

---

This night run was helping him get some perspective. He couldn't believe he'd destroyed his phone just because it kept powering up and broadcasting porn at random intervals. Freaking out in a classroom wasn't the way of the warrior, and it certainly didn't fit with the image of a future king of the world. If anyone had seen him lose his cool like that, his name would have been mud, much more than it would have been from the original incident. Sure, they might whisper about him behind his back now, but he guessed he could laugh it off as a prank.

But something was going to have to be done about this Jenny situation. He'd sent her an email that afternoon, calmly laying out why she needed to stop messing with him. Although probably he should have taken a bit longer to reflect, as there were phrases in there he'd regret if psycho decided to forward it to his friends. Clearly, it hadn't done the job, as almost straight away he'd had another anonymous email from "Protector," this one saying simply:

YOU NEED TO LEARN YOUR LESSON

He crossed out of the woods and entered the near-empty parking lot. Maybe he was going to need to talk with a few friends about this situation, for all that it might make him seem like a pussy who couldn't handle a girl. If she'd got into both his phone and his computer, she could probably do anything to him -- delete his course assignments, email his search history to his grandma...

Tom was so preoccupied with the possible threats to his wellbeing that he barely noticed the white truck speeding towards him in time. With a sudden sprint, he dodged out of its path. The truck slowed down, and stopped, its engine idling. Nobody got out.

"Hey, buddy!" Tom shouted, "Hey, asshole! You need to be more careful!"

The truck started backing up towards him. Maybe the driver was coming back to apologize, he thought, but then realized that not only was it accelerating too fast, but it was angling to hit him. He sprinted in zig-zags towards the concrete posts that protected a grove of trees in the middle of the lot, the truck rapidly gaining on him, and got to safety just in time. There was a dull thud as the truck impacted, reversed, impacted again, reversed further away and sat there with engine idling.

Fighting to regain his breath, Tom angrily walked round to the driver's side, sure that it had to be Jenny. Girl or not, he thought to himself, I'm going to have to get physical. He flung the door open. The cab was empty. She must have jumped out before it hit.

Above him, the parking lot floodlights abruptly switched off. His eyes strained to penetrate the unexpected darkness, then experienced pain deep in the retina as another car switched its headlights on full beam in his face. The car revved its engine aggressively.

"OK" he called to her, shielding his eyes with his hand, "Look, I don't know what's going on here, but maybe we can just talk? Like adults?" If I can get her near enough, he mentally added, then I can beat the shit out of her.

Another car started up, a little further down the lot. Then another. Then another. They began to creep forward towards him and he retreated once more to what suddenly felt like his very small sanctuary. The sound of roaring engines grew louder. The first car began to circle the grove, quickly followed by another, until he was completely surrounded by cars, their lights almost blinding him, the sound of their engines impossibly loud, moving too quickly for him to break out of a circle that was getting tighter and tighter on him. He looked desperately up at the trees, wondering how fast he could climb.

With impossibly coordinated speed, every car's engine and lights suddenly cut off. They drifted silently to a stop, ending up almost touching, nose to tail, encircling him completely. The lot lights came up again, and he realized with mounting horror that there were no drivers.

The giant LED screen at the end of the lot, normally used for announcements, lit up with stark white letters on a black background.

LESSON LEARNT YET?

Then, almost ridiculous in its banality, a second instruction:

CHECK YOUR EMAIL

He stood up straight. Every bulb in the lot blew out, one by one, sending showers of sparks cascading to the ground.

---

When the internal screams subsided, and the doctors had sent their regrets, and my family had cried their tears, I realized that it was necessary to think differently. If I am to be alone with my thoughts, I reasoned, then I needed to get my thoughts under control. The tube down my throat would keep me alive, no matter what my desire -- there was no use in despair.

---

"I have some packages for a Miss Jennifer Stoker? Sign here, please... and here... thank you, miss. Watch yourself -- they're quite heavy."

The two cardboard boxes were plain apart from a gigantic and ornately tied purple bow on the larger. Stuck to its front was a thick white envelope.

Dear Jenny,

I need to apologize to you for my behavior.

I was cruel and stupid, and I didn't think you were good enough for me. I was wrong, I see that now. It's me that's not good enough for you. I will do anything to prove it to you. Anything.

In the small box you will find all my secrets. My journal is in there. The numbers for all my bank accounts. My family's addresses. If you want to finish me, open that box and use it.

In the larger box, you will find something else. My biggest secret, if you will.

I will be outside your door at 1 am. If you don't want to see me, if you want to use only the small box to destroy me, don't answer my knock. I'll leave and you'll never see me again.

Otherwise... you can have me. However you want.

TOM

"What the hell?" Jenny muttered. She looked at the two boxes. The note sounded sincere, almost... desperate? What was going on in the head of this guy who she'd lusted after for months, but now felt that she didn't know at all?

Grabbing a kitchen knife, she slit open the lid of the small box. Inside it, as the letter had said, were bundles of documents, USB drives, photographs and more. It was a staggering gesture of trust. She leafed idly through the printed pages of his journal. His thoughts, she observed, rarely seemed to rise above the most obvious ideas of an insecure but ambitious male, but there was definitely material in here, to do with his thoughts about some of their classmates, that could be used for blackmail. Her own name, she noticed, only came up very briefly, on the day that she'd asked him out, and all that entry said was Found out the goth chick in class wants my D. Definitely not up to code.

Flushing with anger, she turned to the photographs, and was surprised to discover that many of them were nude self-portraits. He had a good eye, she had to admit. One in particular caught her eye. His face wasn't in the frame. Even through the welter of conflicting emotions she felt a brief returning ache of desire as she looked down at the hard body, framed in a black and white filter that gave every muscle its maximum definition. It was everything she'd imagined. His penis was in full view, standing proudly erect, every throbbing vein accentuated by the monochrome. He was larger than either of the boys she'd been with, and circumcised. A small drop of precum shone at the very tip of his glans, caught by the flash. Unbidden, the image came of herself, on her knees, taking this cock in her hand.

Why did he have to be so damn hot, she thought, but put the question aside, to pull open the ribbon on the second box. After a moment's struggle, the lid lifted off, and she was able to see inside.

Her eyes widened. Whatever she'd been expecting, this wasn't it.

---

Tom shivers as he brings his knuckles up to rap on Jenny's door.

The instructions are precise. He has showered, put on his first-date clothes, and his best cologne. He's not to speak with her about any of the things that had happened. He must convince her that he wants to be there -- more, he has to be the lover of her dreams. Any failure, the email said, would have a far more serious result than the games they've played thus far. He should forget, too, any thoughts of revenge. If anything happens to her, indeed if she is not completely satisfied with his performance, then everything -- everything! -- will be taken from him.

There is a long pause after his knock. In the witching-hour silence, he hears rustling and the sound of things being quickly put into place.

"It's open."

He pushes the handle and enteres the apartment. Where only that afternoon he'd been throwing his weight around, he now feels powerless. The room is empty. He is startled to see the table covered with his own naked selfies, more proof of the sword she holds over him. A voice comes from the dark depths of the bedroom.

"Take your clothes off."

He moves towards her.

"Where you are."

He pauses, a horse rebelling against the bit.

"Now."

Screw it. He can come out of this with his pride intact. If she wants a show, then a show he will give her. He begins at the top and slowly undoes each button of his shirt, gradually revealing his sculpted abs. Rolling his body in a move he picked up from the movie Magic Mike, he kicks off his shoes and turns around in one fluid movement, letting the unseen eyes feast first on his tight posterior and then, as he pulls the shirt off his shoulders, his strong shoulders. He deftly frees his arms of each sleeve, balls the shirts, and throws it into the corner. As he poses in the light he can just hear her breathing in the darkness. Moving slowly, teasingly, he looks directly towards her as he unzips his pants, pulls them down, removes his socks at the same time, then throws them to join the shirt.

He stands there for a moment, as though waiting for applause, letting her eyes take their fill. He has to satisfy her -- nothing is more important.

"All of it." The voice is low but firm.

He turns away again, swaying his hips to an invisible beat. Looking back over his shoulder, he hooks his thumbs in the elastic of his shorts and tugs them to half-mast, exposing one firm cheek. Then, with a deep breath, he bends his knees and pulls them all the way down.

"Turn around."

He does as instructed, hands on his hips. Even soft, he knows his dick is nothing to be ashamed of, especially as he's recently waxed, and he wants to make sure she gets the fullest of views. Maybe he might end up getting blown? Despite his fear, his cock begins to swell.

With a soft click, the room where he stands is plunged into darkness. A beat, then a bedside light comes on, with Jenny's form silhouetted against it.

"You're doing well. Get on your knees. Now. Come to me."

His cock and balls swinging comically between his legs, he moves towards her with head down, stopping as he nears her feet. His eyes adjusting to the lower light, he looks up. She is transformed.

---

A half-remembered line from Hamlet I'd read for a class came to me: if I had good thoughts, I can be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself the king of infinite space.

The mantra echoed silently around my skull. I stared up into the florescent light and listened to its electric whine, stared and stared until my mind cracked open. And I was reborn.

---

It has taken her nearly an hour to decide what to do, walking around and around, running through all the reasons this was a bad idea. He is acting strangely, he is crazed, she might end the night in a river... but her eyes can't stop returning to the boxes. She pulls out the nudes, drinks in the perfection of his body. She thinks about the contents of the other box, and what they represent. She's never confided this to anyone, not even to her journal. Only at the moment of climax, her vibrator buzzing on her clit, her hips thrusting upwards, has she even allowed this image to cross her mind. Her head is awhirl.

Finally, she can't resist. She takes the clothes from the larger box, discarding layer upon layer of tissue paper, and puts it out, item by item, on her bed. Her fingers linger on the light purple bustier, and she takes an unnecessary moment or two straightening out the pleats of the black, shiny miniskirt. The imitation PVC is warm to her touch, and it shines in the light, buffed to a high sheen. She extracts a suspender belt and a pair of gleaming black stockings, gently placing them in their correct place below the skirt, then reaches back into the box for the long-sleeved matching gloves. An invisible girl is outlined on her bed. No, not a girl. A powerful woman. A mistress.

Her conservative upbringing whispers in the back of her head -- "Nice girls don't do this!" But another voice, lower, darker, speaks from the depths of her body. "Who says you're a nice girl?" She's not committing to anything just by trying this on, and when is she going to get the chance to play around with what must be at least a thousand dollars' worth of lingerie and other items? She reaches toward the bed.

It takes a few minutes to work out how to put the bustier on, but once she has adjusted the lacing and done up the hooks, she is amazed at how the material melds to her body, a perfect fit. It lifts and sculpts her large breasts, moves with her curves, changes her from the girl that nobody looks at, into a goddess that holds every eye. Her arms and legs are sheathed in the wetlook fabric, which is warm but not unpleasantly so on her skin. Looking at her reflection, she runs her hands down her sides, under the skirt, over the bare flesh at the top of the stockings, and on between her thighs, where the edges of the crotchless panties tease the edges of her outer labia.

Quickly, she brushes her hair out, tying it into a tight, high ponytail, and takes up the makeup items from the box. Some of them are brands she already uses, but most are ones she only looks longingly at in the store. She applies mascara, followed by dark eyeliner, lines her lips in black, and uses a light foundation to cover a few blemishes and whiten her already pale skin. If she's going to take full advantage of this night -- and by now there is no question in her raging loins that she could turn down her ultimate fantasy -- then she will be the goth queen of her dreams. And, apparently, his. Her unrecognizable reflection sneers back at her.

There's a knock at the door.

---

He's never felt so ridiculous, on his hands and knees like a dog, his knuckles digging into the soft carpet weave. But he has to admit, she's done the very most with what she has. She looks so confident and in control, completely unlike the mess he and his friends were laughing at only that morning. The shiny tight clothing, unlike anything he's ever seen in real life, changes her shape, and his eyes flicker to her breasts and then, uncontrollably, further down. The darkness beneath the shiny miniskirt just barely conceals the tops of her thighs, and he can see the fleshy rolls where her skin escapes the tight black stockings. He could swear he can smell her arousal.

She bends down and takes his chin in his hand, forcing his eyes back up to meet her own. It is an uncomfortable position to be in, and the discomfort grows as he is compelled to meet her searching, smoldering eyes.

"Did I give you permission to look?" she demands.

"No, I-" he begins, but she squeezes his mouth to cut him off.

The cold voice continues. "You will address me as Mistress. Do you understand?" His face is released for a moment. He quickly hangs his head and looks down at the stockinged feet. His mind is racing.

"I didn't know this was what you..." he begins, weakly, but again she cuts him off. This time she grabs a handful of his hair and yanks his head up, then slaps him across the cheek. It isn't hard, but both the sting and the humiliation of his position are intense.

"One more chance, or there will be consequences. You are to address me as Mistress. Now... Do! You! Un! Der! Stand!?" She pulls his hair a little harder with each emphatic syllable, then let his head drop.

The mention of consequences sends another ball of fear into his stomach.

"Yes, Mistress," he hears himself say.

"Good." She pats his head softly. "Good pet. Now, stay exactly like that. I have a gift for you."

She moves away. There is the sound of a bedside drawer opening. He can't help but peek, and is rewarded with the sight of her facing away from him, bending at the waist, her mini skirt riding up. Her black panties have a long open slit lined with lace in the middle, and her neatly trimmed vulva is winking at him. His cock swells, against his volition, just a little.

Jenny straightens up, and he fearfully drops his head again before she can turn. She returns to him and fixes a black slave collar round his neck. She has to come close to do so. His hair lightly brushes on her stockinged legs.

"Pet, did you look up my skirt when I was turned away from you? I'll know if you lie."

He gazes at the carpet pattern, raging internally. "Yes, Mistress."

"Good boy. You're learning. Now - kiss my foot."

One foot moves forward till it's positioned directly under his face. He can see the outline of each toe, encased in the tight fabric, and also small bits of carpet dust and fluff that she's picked up in her walk.

His mind revolts against the idea. This is too much. An alpha like him does not meekly submit to such treatment from anyone, let alone a woman. Somehow, he feels, if his lips touch her toes, he has lost something, something that he can never get back. A momentary flash comes to his brain of rising up, taking back the power, choking the life from the bitch. It takes all his self-control not to act on the impulse, to remind his lizard brain what the message said -- that she has backed everything up in several places, with emails ready to go out automatically, each containing enough to ruin him. There is no choice here.

The alpha dog meekly presses his lips to the proffered big toe.

---

It took five years of struggle to turn the lights on and off in the room with my mind. Ten to learn to set my consciousness free, to follow the power lines out of my room and into the hospital corridors. By then, devices were everywhere, digital and electric. I hoovered the web, scuttling from microchip to server, from screen to battery, learning the secret language of everyday things. I can arrange for my parents to win the lottery, for my flesh to be transferred to the best hospital. I have any credit card I want, an infinity of information. I can enter any machine. I have escaped the flesh.

---

Jenny can't believe how easily the words are coming to her, or how much she is enjoying being so completely in charge. She experiences an electric shock of pleasure directly from her toes where he continues to mumble, all the way up her legs and directly to her clit. His swimmer's back, with its sinewy ridges, is bent to pay her homage, sticking that beautiful ass up into the air for her to ogle as she likes. It's all she can do to resist the impulse to pull him onto the bed immediately and ride him. But she owes it to him to keep control. And she has to remember the prize in the box. But the deep, grinding need between her hips cannot be denied any longer.

She sits down on the edge of the bed, instructs him to sit back on his haunches. Her legs slowly part, the skirt riding up, revealing once more her naked sex, framed by the shiny stockings and the delicate crotchless G-string. His eyes flicker back and forth, unsure whether to meet her gaze or stare at her most private area.

She smiles languidly.

"Do you like me opening my legs for you, slave?"

"Yes." His voice is hoarse. Though she has enough self-control to keep her eyes fixed on his, at the edge of perception she can make out his beautiful cock beginning to stir and lengthen.