Lucy

       My name is Lucy.  I’m twenty-six years old, and for the past five years I’ve been a sex slave to a machine; a machine I created.  This is the story of it’s inception and the beginning of my self-imposed slavery.

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1 - Japan

       I came into a large amount of money through the development of various popular software in my late teens, while studying at University.  More than I knew what to do with, in fact, and a lonely life with it.  Following my studies was a period of introversion for me, and I found myself regressing back to my teenage days, fantasising about almost everything imaginable.  I used to read a huge number of erotic stories and spend hours browsing images and videos of countless fetishes.  The stories were always what grabbed me though, and those were what I found myself drawn back to now I had the money to spend so much time to myself.

       The stories I loved were the ones that just seemed completely outrageous; not in the sense that a lot of people would think, but ones dealing with really extreme fantasies.  Permanent body modification, full sexual slavery and complete 24/7 submission turned me on so much I found myself addicted to my own self-pleasuring.  I spent a lot of time in self-bondage, but after a while the satisfaction this brought began to fade, and since much of my life was spent thinking about them, the stories began to seem more and more like things I could accomplish.  Had to accomplish, I should say; it felt as though they were the only way I could fill a void that had opened within me.

       And so my plan began to form.  I had only a few relatives and friends, none close; I hadn’t kept up with any of my reasonably numerous University friends since graduation and had left home in the South of England many years previously on bad terms with my close family.  My small fortune had been made largely anonymously and so I reasoned that I could reasonably easily disappear into my new life.  Perfect.

       At the centre of it all was a machine I was to create.  Closer to a computer controller, I suppose.  The theory was that I would have my body modified in such a way that I would seem largely similar to an outside observer, but my electronic creation would be able to remotely monitor every relevant part of my anatomy and behaviour, and more importantly have complete control over me if it wished.  I had finished planning, and had created all of the pieces I would need using my own knowledge and some willing specialists found online.  The first thing to do was to have myself... altered.  This would be the tipping point; after this any backing out would lead to a miserable and unsatisfied life.  Not that I was in any mood to back out;  I was hornier than I’d ever been in my life, and the plane to Japan couldn’t come soon enough.

*   *   *   *   *

       The clinic was both incredibly secretive and yet also world renowned for it’s work.  They specialised in unique, experimental and almost always sexual body modification; perfect for my needs.  They knew all about the procedures and changes I wanted, and welcomed me warmly and professionally when I arrived.  My surgery was not due to begin until the next day, and the clinic had laid on a special treat for me, in acknowledgement of my upcoming changes and, frankly, of the vast sum that was their fee.

       I had finished settling into my accommodation, a luxurious and minimalistic place.  Having just stepped out of a beautiful shower, my long tousled blonde hairs only just beginning to dry, and completely naked, I was caught by surprise in my bedroom by a petite Japanese girl.  A few inches shorter than I, she wore a beautiful set of sheer white lingerie; bustier, garters, stockings and a thong.  It blended almost seamlessly with her ivory skin and her long, straight, jet black hair stood in gorgeous contrast.  The girl couldn’t be even nineteen; her firm breasts stood perfectly developed and her body was toned and firm.

       “Miss Taylor?  I know this is incredibly forward, but the managers and I thought that you deserved... some fun before your treatment tomorrow.  I understand this is your last opportunity?  Hearing about what you want to do to yourself, I couldn’t resist coming here myself; you have my complete admiration.”

They knew what I liked.  I’ve been a lesbian for as long as I can remember having a sexual preference; the idea of a man doesn’t turn me off, but a beautiful woman is irresistible.  I didn’t even bother replying; we both knew why she was here.  I moved in to kiss her, and she responded by throwing her tongue deeply into my mouth.  She pushed me roughly to the bed, slipped off her thong and started crawling all over my body, licking and biting.  She quickly moved to be kneeling on either side of shoulders, leant down and  stuck her tongue into my pussy.  There was no pretense; her aim seemed to be pure pleasure for me, and I was already completely wet.  Her own pussy was so close in front of me, flushed pink and dripping wet that I couldn’t resist throwing my mouth against her.  We spent the entire night locked together in that bed, using our mouths and hands on each other.  I awoke in the morning with her draped across my body, completely naked and looking so fragile and slight that I found it hard to remember how confident and experienced she’d been in bed with me.

Of course, remember it I did.  I lightly ran a finger over her clit, and she started awake with a yelp of surprise.  Once she got her senses back, she giggled naughtily, biting my nipple so close to her waking mouth.

“I’m truly sorry we can’t play more, I’d be all over you all week if I could.  But this is your choice, Lucy.”  She glanced at the clock, “It looks like you’re due downstairs soon; I’d better go and prepare too.”  With a final slow, teasing lick she danced happily out of my door.  She was so gorgeous I wanted to doubt my own decisions.  Eventually I came back to my old resolve, snapping out of an internal debate and finding my fingers busy with my own clit.  I snapped out of my haze and jumped into the shower.  It was time to head downstairs to the clinic.

*   *   *   *   *

       I dressed in basic but pretty blue underwear and donned the light robe that had been laid out for me before heading out into the clinic, and to the room I had been directed to when I arrived.  Knocking on the door, I was called in and greeted by a small team wearing medical gear.  I was led through to an operating theatre.  After removing the robe and my underwear, I took up my position naked and slightly self-conscious on the operating table.  The plan was to install all of the modifications possible without anaesthetic, before putting me under and completing the process.

       The woman who I knew to be the head surgeon, and with whom I had dealt in organising all of this, stopped to confirm with me;

       “Miss Tayl-... Lucy?  Can I confirm that you really want to continue?  Just say the word we agreed on and we’ll get underway.  You can call this off; we’re aware of the intentions you have for the work we’ll be doing.”

       I was quiet for a minute or two while I made sure in my mind that this was what I wanted.  My fingers were absent-mindedly playing with the tight skin around the base of my flat belly when I finally resolved.

       “Go ahead.  The word is ‘loveheart’.”

       “Thank you.  Now, try to relax.”

       And that was it; they got to work.  As you may have guessed, most of the work was planned for a pretty focussed area between my legs, but first came my torso.  A female nurse wasted no time in piercing a hole in each of my nipples, teasing them with her fingers until they stood erect enough.  It was mind-blowingly painful, and I shouted out.  The team knew that I had agreed to have this done whatever my protestations once I had spoken the special word, and so they carried on, ignoring my pain.  While the pain was still pounding out from both of my nipples through the 32DD boobs, another doctor began fitting my first, and only, jewellery.  On each pierced nub, a tiny ring-shaped electronic module wrapped tightly, and a metal bar through the new hole in front of the rings made sure they’d never slip off.  An almost flat shield of smooth surgical steel then locked into place over each sore nipple using the same bar.  My nipples were sealed off; I could now only feel the pressure of the doctor’s touch through the metal plates over the continuing pain of the piercing.  Next was to add highly advanced prosthetics over each, now useless nipple.  These would bond with my skin; the glue tingled immediately when it came into contact with the skin of my tits; and look and feel to the world like real nipples.

       If I thought the nipples were painful, I was completely wrong.  The next thing I knew, a nurse was playing with my clit to make it stand out, and as soon as I’d adjusted to the embarrassment, she drove a third hole straight though it.  I screamed in pain, beating the edges of the table with my hands and thrashing.  Two doctors held down my body as I began to calm, but I was whimpering; I knew what I could feel happening down there.  I’d planned it, after all.  Before long, my clit, my ultimate source of solitary joy and pleasure, had succumbed to the same treatment as my two nipples.  I felt the tingle of the glue and reached down to give an experimental light flick.  I felt nothing, and I cried a little; it was all a bit too much for me.

       The doctors went about setting up the next stage for a minute or two to allow me to catch my breath and let the pain from my new piercings subside a little.  I was upset, panicked and horny out of my mind.  I silently willed them to carry on, and they obliged.

       My knees were pulled roughly apart on the table, exposing my glistening wet pussy.  The girl I’d spend the night with stepped in front of my legs, holding an item I recognised from my preparations.  Her eyes were visible above her surgical mask, and they were full of anxious concern.  Or was it sadness?  It was almost as though she couldn't bear to see me sealed off like this after the night we’d spent together.  She moved between my legs and I felt the device nuzzling the gap between my legs.  She began to slide it in; a long, slim metal dildo.  It met little resistance, I was so turned on it slid straight inside me.  Then she began to turn a gear on the bottom of the device.  I felt it stir inside me; the feeling was incredible.  The dildo was growing wider, curved metal plates dilating smoothly like a camera shutter.  It grew and grew, slowly, until she finally stopped turning.  I’d almost come from the sensation, it was so intense, and I knew the dildo was now somewhere around 3 inches in diameter.  I felt wide open, and explored my now gaping hole with my fingers.  I felt only the warm steel and nothing else, not the sensation I was used to with my fingers down there.

       The small gear was detached, and I could feel the horrible glue binding the metal invader to the inside of my tunnel forever.  I began to sob; the most complete removal of my sensation was complete.  The gaping metal tunnel that now counted for my vagina was filled with a special prosthetic; it held an internal, currently empty, reservoir, and looked and felt entirely like the real thing from the outside.  My clit and pussy now looked better than new; perfectly designed prosthetics mimicked the real thing incredibly, and beneath them I was completely sealed.  I felt nothing from my clit, and around the fake, tight, intensely fuckable fleshy tunnel that was my new pussy I was wide open and entirely senseless.

       It was almost time to be put to sleep.  I was stilling weeping a little from self-sorrow and was already feeling the frustration of my new body.  As I slipped under from the anaesthetic, I dreamt of what was to come, and I panicked before settling into unconsciousness.