Sausages for the Slave Ch. 08

My wife had left me lying on my bed with a raging hard-on and instructions not to touch it. By now she was probably stretched out naked on the couch in the living room enjoying the attention of some lover boy licking her pussy. I was locked in my room, lying on my side facing the wall, keeping my hands up under my chin and far away from my throbbing cock and aching balls. It was early in the evening and a long frustrating night stretched ahead of me.

I decided enough was enough; time for a bit of me-time. The room cameras couldn't easily pick up on me discretely sliding one hand towards my cock if I kept it close to my body, and kept my breathing nice and steady.

No concealing sheet or duvet is allowed. My room is kept warm and I lie naked on the bed each night under the watchful eyes of the two cameras. You get used to it after a while, but you never get to like it. There is a primal comfort in snuggling down under a duvet. Just lying on top of the sheet is like lying on a butchers slab or something. You are open to display and very aware of the blinking red lights of the cameras. Each camera is mounted high on the wall at either end of my bedroom. You never know who is watching; my wife, her lover maybe - laughing at me, the subscribers to the podcast even, who knows? The natural thing to do is face the wall and adopt a foetal position, back bent and knees drawn in close to my chest. By being largely turned away from them, my head restricts one camera's view and my drawn up knees largely block the other.

My wife had warned me that she would be monitoring the cameras, but that was just a bluff. I just knew she had other plans, plans that didn't include her slave-boy husband. Occasionally in the past, if she thought I was up to something, her voice would come on the tablet mounted on the wall ordering me to straighten up and lie on my back or something.

I started looking after my needs. A few gentle strokes at first and then I speeded up a bit. Ahh, the joy and comfort of it. It had been a while and I didn't feel a bit guilty. It was my wife's decision to bring me to the edge and leave me hanging there. She usually brought me off in these situations. That's the sum of my sex life now. About once a month my wife, out of sympathy or having decided that it is necessary in the interest of greater productivity from her slave, will slowly stroke me off while I'm lying in bed.

I'm not allowed to touch it. As far as she is concerned, she owns my penis and she decides when to use it. But it is nice when she gives me a bit of release, and it is true that I am happier the following morning and get stuck into my chores all the more quickly. If, on the other hand, she does decide to give me a bit of frustration punishment, she usually cuffs my wrists to my collar when putting me to bed before stroking me slowly and stopping just short. Sometimes she doesn't do it as a punishment; it's more for business reasons. She may be planning a podcast the following day during which she will have me coming on camera and her subscribers betting on how long it will take. In those cases it is just her prepping the goods for display. She wants a good show. She, like the subscribers, prefers to see a good volume of cum produced. So I know all about long frustrating nights when I have no choice in the matter. But tonight, I've got options.

Maybe the fact that I am permanently wearing my new shock collar was the reason she didn't cuff me to it. The metal of the cuffs could affect the collar, or cause the electric shock to travel across my chest - end of me potentially. But she could have used plastic ties instead, or leather cuffs. The contents of my bedroom cupboard offer her all possible options for containment and torment. So, maybe she just wanted to test my loyalty as her slave. She asked me not to come and out of loyalty to my owner and wife she expects I will not try to come. But feck that. This is a man, a man with a massive hard-on, a man on the edge and, on that night, a free man, or at least a hands free man. Nature would not be denied.

I quickened the pace of my stroking while keeping my body as still as possible. Soon now. WHAM!! A massive jolt hit me in the neck, knocking my hand off my cock and sending my legs shooting straight out and arching my back. I was winded and gasped for breath. The first coherent thought that staggered into my brain as I lay still and winded on the bed was 'so that's what a shock from the shock collar is like.' A whole body shivering set as my breathing slowly recovered, my erection faded rapidly and jacking off became the last thing on my mind. I moved my hand back up under my chin. I didn't want to give any excuse for another jolt in the neck. Not anytime soon, not ever in fact. The next thought that came into my head was that there would be consequences. How right I was.

"Slave, you have disobeyed a direct order of the Mistress. Acknowledge," pipes up Alexa, my electronic home companion, my little black box friend mounted on the bedroom wall down near the door.

This is a new development. Alexa giving me a shock is new. My wife had just gotten Alexa upgraded and modified. But I wasn't expecting this. Before I could consider the implications, I needed to get Alexa off my back and her finger off the shock collar control button. "Alexa, I understand, thank you." Alexa gets a bit worked up if you don't constantly and quickly acknowledge her commands, however superfluous they might be.

"Slave, state that you disobeyed a direct order of the Mistress. Acknowledge."

"Alexa, I disobeyed a direct order of the Mistress." Alexa wants in writing almost, it seems. Probably to prevent me denying it to my wife later or claiming it was all a misunderstanding.

"You will be punished in the morning. Acknowledge."

"Alexa, I understand, thank you."

"Slave, take a cold shower and return to bed. Acknowledge."

"Alexa, I understand, thank you."

So Alexa is running my life now? As I stood shivering under the shower, a totally unnecessary cold shower at this stage, I wondered how Alexa could detect what I was doing. Even if the cameras picked up something there is no way that Alexa could be trained to interpret an image that complex. It only left the Fitbit. The Fitbit was permanently fastened on my wrist and fed its telemetry into the house central processor. It recorded when I was asleep, when I was active, how active I was, when I was sitting still, my blood pressure, my heart rate and a few other things. I suppose my wife has carefully recorded my vital signs for when I am about to come. God knows, but she has had enough opportunity. Once the particular 'about to come' pattern is identified then it is easy to instruct the central processor to automatically deliver me a shock. The shock collar had only been clamped around my neck earlier that evening. It didn't take long for it to make itself useful.

No need for a chastity cage with this technology. Jacking off is prevented forever. I wonder if I should tell my wife about the potential commercial applications. Maybe she could patent it. 'The Cum Controller keeps your man in chastity without you ever having to intervene. No more messing with keys or padlocks, or awkward washing routines. The Cum Controller gives guaranteed silent, effective and hygienic electronic control of his manhood for as long as you want. Yours for only 399.99.'

My wife is already able to tell if I have an erection, probably a signature blood pressure/heart rate increase; the same basic technology, I suppose. The central processor reports the fact that I have an erection to her phone. I know because, as often as not, when I get an erection during the day she phones me from her office to let me know she knows. Then she toys with me a bit over the phone before putting me back to work, or worse; putting me in the T-bar restraint.

From now on it looks like I can expect Alexa to join in the chat about any inappropriate erections and what to do about them. Let's hope she has more to offer in terms taking my mind off my dick that zapping me in the neck with 5,000 volts. For instance, instead of waiting till the point of coming and zapping the victim with an almighty shock, you could set up a system where the victim, me, gets a small warning zap, or even just a beeping signal, as he gets close to the point, like how you use the shock collar on a dog. You only have to zap a dog once or twice. After that the warning beep is enough to get the result you want. Same with your average controlled male, he'd learn soon enough.

As I climbed back onto my bed, still a bit shook up from the 5,000 volts and shivering anew from the cold shower, my thoughts were turning to the new modified Alexa. So that was her in action: Deciding stuff, telling me what to do, telling me I would be punished. My hot-shot IT wife's software additions have moved Alexa a long way from taking orders about what music to play or answering queries about what's on TV.

As I settled back onto the bed I quietly resolved might not to fall into the trap of thinking Alexa is actually watching me or that Alexa decided to give me a shock, I especially reject the notion that Alexa decides anything. That is the path my wife is pushing me down. She wants me to be at the blunt end of her robot-human interaction experiment; the one where the robot is the boss and the human is the servant, not the other way round. Humans as servants of machines? Not if I can avoid it. The wife always wants to be ahead of the posse. She probably fantasises about being the one to make the next big home companion breakthrough, even if it is the one that leads to the home companions taking over the world.

For all her IT know-how, she's not there yet, and Alexa is not anywhere near being a thinking robot. That is all I have to remember. This is still just basic automation; when a pattern is recognised, a circuit is closed, that's all, just like a sorting machine on a production line. Consoling myself with that thought, I rapidly drifted off to sleep. Maybe getting an electric shock helps you to sleep.

'Good morning Slave, time to get up.' Pause. 'Good morning Slave, time to get up.' Pause. Louder: 'Good morning Slave,..'

Alexa's alarm clock function is unchanged, at least. I acknowledged my wake-up call. That keeps Alexa happy while I head to the shower. In the shower, I wondered what new functions Alexa 3.1.1 might have been granted. We'll see how the first full day of operation of the revised Alexa goes. Her advisory notice that 'you will be punished in the morning' was a new development. My wife has a range of punishment options open to her. Alexa could be programmed to announce simply that there will be a punishment once some 'infringement' has been logged.

My wife wants the upgraded software and the hardware modifications to lead to a deeper relationship between me and the small black plastic box. My wife thinks I should engage more meaningfully with it. For one, she doesn't like me calling it an 'it.'

As I left the shower Alexa piped up again. "Today you are to wear your French maid outfit. Acknowledge." She knows when I leave the shower because ours is a very connected house. There are electronic sensors for everything and Alexa is able to read them all. If the shower goes off that means I have left the shower. I acknowledged Alexa's wardrobe advice, even though I knew quite well what I needed to wear.

My French maid's outfit is typical of the type. It wasn't a totally fetish, flirty saucy uniform. It is made up of a short black skirt with an integral black boob tube as the top and a small lacy white apron stitched to the front. There are pretend little puff sleeves that you pull up to the top of your arms leaving the shoulders bare. Black hold-up stockings, held up with white lace garters, come halfway up the thighs, leaving some bare flesh before the hem of the skirt. I wear slip-on soft flat black pump shoes to protect the stockings. A small lace headpiece that is held on with hair clips completes the look. The skirt is of a stretchy jersey material and clings tight to the body, not the fancy dress flouncy, sticking out type with multiple layers of lace petticoats. The underwear options range from none to frilly knickers. Today was a none day. The skirt is just long enough to keep me respectable. Not that I have any plans to be seen in public dressed as a French maid. My permanently attached electric shock collar is a new addition. Sometimes, on French maid days, my wife makes up my face before she goes out to work; strong red lipstick, harsh blue eye shadow, a total drag queen look. Amuses her, I suppose.

The overall uniform is quite utilitarian. You could actually do the dusting or whatever household jobs might be on my agenda in this outfit. But the French maid outfit is not really for normal work wear. It is reserved for two occasions. First, when my wife is having her book club meet in the house. The horror that is book club night deserves a chapter of its own. The second occasion is when our neighbour, Tom, pays me a 'friendly' visit. This was one such day. Tom would ring the bell, and ring my bell, early in the afternoon. A nervous spasm momentarily tightened my asshole at the thought of Tom's looming attentions.

I went to the tablet mounted on the wall of my room to check my job list for the day, the other jobs that is, besides the job of entertaining Tom. When I touched the screen it remained blank. That was unusual. The tablet is hardwired into the mains so it should not be a battery problem. The wife will know, or advise. I am just the house slave. I know my limits. Not messing with the electronics is a hard limit.

"Slave, you are to prepare your wife's breakfast. Acknowledge"

"Alexa, I understand, thank you." I said evenly, though Alexa was beginning to grate on my nerves a bit. Not yet 7.30 a.m. and I've had to respond to two superfluous commands from a little circular black box on the wall. Next thing she'll be telling me when to breathe in and out.

I quickly went down the corridor from my room to the kitchen and prepared my wife's special muesli mix. There are about ten different ingredients that I have to put together, all exceptionally good for you no doubt. Then I hand squeeze some oranges for her. As I placed the cereal dish and juice on the table, the kitchen Alexa spoke. I call the black box on the kitchen wall beside the door to the hall the kitchen Alexa. Strictly speaking they are all the one connected system, but I can't get my head around the bi-location thing, or tri-location because there is another one in the hall as well as the one in my bedroom. This Alexa spoke in a new husky voice and said, 'Hello Slave.'

I replied, because I know silence isn't the way to go. I said, 'Hello Alexa,' in a perfectly normal voice. The husky 'Hello Slave' was a bit cavalier, a bit Bette Davis or something. In fact it was a bit 'fuck you.' Something was up. Already I was feeling a preference for Alexa's manically cheerful, airport terminal automated announcement tones.

"Come over here, Slave. Come near me." Even more husky now, seductive almost.

I felt resentful as I walked over to the Alexa box on the wall, but I did anyway. I've learned it is best to play along with Alexa. Abandoning the breakfast cereal, out of an own brand box, that I was about to get for myself, I moved over to in front of the wall mounted small black circular box. As I did, I noticed a brushed chrome metal plate about two foot square was now mounted in the wall below Alexa. It had curved corners and raised sides that made it stand about two inches out from the wall. Clearly there was more to the kitchen Alexa that there had been yesterday.

Midway along the curved chrome plate a thin seam ran from the top to the bottom and round a small slightly raised and domed circle of the same metal sitting in the middle of the plate. The dome was about two inches across. In the centre of the dome is a small black hole. As I get closer I can see the domed bit had a slight edge that was machined flush with the plate. It was not all one sheet of metal but made up of a few concentric rings like a very tight bulls-eye, the innermost piece of which was black.

This would be the technical upgrade that went with the software upgrade to create Alexa 3.1.1 or whatever. Software modifications are just uploaded by my wife, for instance the 'husky voice' option is a simple upgrade I suppose, or there is a menu of voice options. For hardware changes to the extensive 'connected house' she is constantly fiddling with, she usually has one of her staff engineers come by while I am out of the house or locked in my bedroom. So all this must have happened when I was shopping the previous day.

I realised that the reason I hadn't noticed it the previous night, was because my wife had got me very horny at dinnertime and led me to my bed directly from the dinner table, one hand firmly around my cock. I now realise she was distracting me from noticing Alexa's additions. Innocent that I am: and I thought she just wanted to give me a good time. After all these years, I still fall into the trap of thinking am I more to her than her handy IT test dummy who keeps the house tidy on the side.

"Get down on your knees and kiss it, Slave."

Is this is what a more interactive Alexa experience means? Interactive means two-way, so time to let Alexa know I have an agenda too. "Alexa, I've got jobs to do. I need to get on with my work," I said, authoritatively, as I moved away towards the kitchen cupboard to get my own cereal. I didn't get far. Zap! Zap! Zap! The dog collar gave me three medium shocks. They didn't knock me back as much as last night's shock, but they did stop me in my tracks. Clearly a new chapter in my relationship with my bosom home companion had just commenced.

"Alexa will tell you when it is time to do your jobs. Get down on your knees and kiss it, Slave." Still the same husky, sexy voice, like nothing just happened.

"Alexa, I understand, thank you." I know when it's time to get with the programme. I knelt in front of the plate and kissed the black spot in the centre, assuming that was the 'it' she was on about.

"Good boy. Now turn around to face away from me, bend over and show me your ass, Slave."

Well, since I'd already knelt down and kissed the blessed thing, I felt there was no point in trying to reclaim my dignity. Besides, the wife doesn't like it when I baulk at engaging with her new hi-tech initiatives. Always best to play along. So I bent over and pulled up the dress of my French maid outfit to show Alexa my ass. I assumed some kind of camera/eye had been fitted to Alexa, obviously all part of the upgrade.

Hard to see how a dedicated Alexa camera would help much. The inside of the house is already fully monitored by loads of high spec cameras. A close-up photo of my bottom wasn't going to add much to the extensive archive of me in various humiliating positions and actions that had been assembled and disseminated by my wife over the internet already. Maybe I'd have to do sexy dancing for Alexa from now on. I pulled up my skirt. As French maid outfit is a tight fit and made of a stretchy jersey material it stayed up, bunched around my waist, leaving my ass truly naked and open to Alexa's gaze.

"Back up and press your ass against me, Slave. I want you now."

This was very, very different. Alexa wants me now? Why would Alexa want me? But again, I went along with it. I shuffled back until my buttocks pressed against the cold brushed steel plates, which I could now feel were slightly curved and fitted me snugly. The raised central area pressed between my ass cheeks. Not much of a photo opp there.

"Now bend right over, Slave, and bring your hands back so as to press your fingertips against my sides, one hand on each side."