Machine Story for Katie Ch. 02

This is the second part in a series of indefinite length. This story reads like chapters in a book, so if you are interested in reading Ch. 02, please read Ch. 01 first for a full understanding and appreciation of the material. Please don't forget to vote, and I look forward to any comments that you wish to leave, good, bad or indifferent. Let me know what I can do to make your reading experience more pleasurable.

Dear Obedient One,

Congratulations, Katie. You've made it to Round Two.

I didn't have any doubt that you would get here. You're strong willed, always rising to meet a challenge, for better or worse. No, there was never any question about whether or not you would get here. The real question was how many tries it would take you.

You told me you made it through with one attempt, but I'm not sure I believe you. Let me take a moment now to remind you that if you are not honest and forthright with me, this will not work. For a good while, your cunt will drip without my permission, and there's nothing I can do about that, but do not waste my time. You either want this or you don't.

As with the first chapter, you are not to come without my permission, only I'm raising the stakes a little bit. This time, if you do come without my permission, you are to post to this final product, and let me know what set you off...with an apology for an attempt to express control that you know you don't have. I'm sure my readers would like to be able to put a post to the name. Last I checked, Chapter One had 1,800 hits on it, and I expect this story to accrue nearly twice that. It would be in your best interest to stop and think of hockey when you feel yourself needing to be disloyal, and continue reading when you are able to serve me, again.

Now, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

I raise the microphone to my lips again and the feedback cuts through the black room like a knife. You don't wince against it. You look for it. Feel for it. Listen for it, and it is everywhere. My breathing is slow and predictable. Yours is accelerated. I have no intention of overloading your senses just yet, so please relax. This is as much about you trusting me as it is about my deceiving you, and I promise you that nothing will happen in the next ten seconds.

So start counting back from 10...9... 8...

"Can you see me, Katie?"

This is the first time that you have heard my voice since you woke up, and I watch your body jerk a little bit, trying to adjust to it. I give you a few seconds to come up with the answer, though I know what the answer is already. Your brain is as overwhelmed by the persistent lack of sensory input as it is by the sudden injections of it. Remember, you wanted this.

"No, Master." You tell me, and I know that your heart rate is up. I know this because in this half-baked, worthless response, you lose almost all of your breath, and take a few deep gulps of air to make up for it. I watch your chest rise and fall, as your wrists curl against the restraints. Part of the reason you're breathing a bit harder than normal is the position that you are in physically. Your knees, slid back against your chest and spread apart, with your ankles suspended above your stomach, puts the tiniest bit of pressure on your lungs. This pressure, however feint, will serve only to intensify in effect the harder you breathe. It's like a thorn in your side, not as painful but just as debilitating, and worst of all, bearable. It will train you to slow your breathing, or suffer for your efforts.

I pause for another few seconds, waiting to see if you'll say something else. You don't.

Good girl.

"Where am I, Katie?"

My voice is low and steady, though oddly unnerving. It takes you a few more breaths to respond, but when you finally do, your eyes compliment your lips. I watch your brow as it develops the slightest pinch at the bridge of your nose, and your confusion begins to mount.

"I don't know, Master." You force out. The fact that you think you are out of breath makes me smile, and it makes me smile even more watching you draw deep compensatory unabated throws into your chest. I watch your knees work themselves half an inch closer to each other before being held in place by the restraints. I told you, bitch. Don't come without my permission.

The acoustics in the room are controlled by a remote that I have attached to my belt. There are two silver switches on it. One is labeled 'breathing.' The other is labeled 'floor.' I slide my hand down to my belt and flip one of the switches to the right. The feedback is instantaneous, and you stop breathing.

Count backwards again, starting from 10...9...8...

The feedback from the microphone dies off a while, and I let you bask in the silence before beginning to breathe again, myself. This is to assure you that I am still with you, a notion that you will soon come to garner an equally powerful resentment against. Within moments, the sound of my footsteps begins to take hold of your attention.

Your breathing escalates.

"Where am I, Katie?"

You look around the room frantically, the soft sound of my footsteps no longer a comfort, but a distraction.

"I don't know, Master!"

I pause, and the sound of my breathing and footsteps cease.

Count backwards for your attitude.

20...19...18...

"I am everywhere, Katie."

I hear a whine escape your lips as you begin breathing again, jolted by the sudden break in the silence, and your legs try to close.

"I am this room."

I slide a finger down your naval, gently, and you gasp and jerk against it. For the first time since you've been awake, you have been rewarded by the touch of your Master. You arch your back, and the sound of the chains holding your knees apart reminds us both of your captivity.

"I am the Darkness...the air you breathe..."

I drag my finger farther and farther down, still nowhere near the hood of your clit...but that's where you feel it. You groan and I watch your eyes. This time they're not staring, they're searching for a distraction, as my touch, however minute in comparison to the rest of your sensory compilation, brings you closer and closer to the line I've forbidden you to cross without my permission.

"Master, please!"

"Who am I?"

I run my finger down over your clit.

"You are my God, Master!"

I smile and move my hand to your throat, pressing up and in. The pressure is minimal but the technique is genuine and effective. You feel your throat contract against my hand and you tilt your head back. I lean down, and my hot breath on your left ear lets you know that I am there with you.

"Come" I whisper.