The Gift.

                                                                       By DemonMonsterDave

       

       Part One.  New horizons and new house. The gift and finding an assistant.

                       

       There is a device which can create just about anything one can imagine. It allows one the most awesome of abilities, treasures and experience limited by only the imagination, and I have much. It is a deep power to possess this gift, and with it comes the greatest of responsibilities and a basic fundamental choice.

       Nihilistic by nature, this choice has only one sensible answer for me, and that is to explore these unlimited abilities to the full, rather than in any morally-constrained and thus limited manner. The choice of course is between good and evil, for those foolish enough to believe in such things. Yet such as me sees a cold uncaring void of a universe, and feels that morality may have its place but that it is in no sense an obligation or absolute.

       The device brought me wealth, incredibly quickly and in amounts hard to imagine for the boy I had been before. The wealth was, as often in such cases, a ticket for me to create my imaginings in the flesh, as it were. It was a ticket to power, for one thing, and power brings such fantasies of mine a big step closer.

       My dreams as all others were merely a step on the endless ladder of experience. So I did not see the wealth as an ending in any way. It was, like everything, merely a step to more. With both of my mundane jobs cast aside, family paid-off for their prior use to me, and friends consigned to social networking sites I moved away from my home city and just travelled the world on whim-bought plane tickets, living in hotels in a place until I got bored. I spent the journeys planning, me and my laptop conspiring together.

       Some could call it a gap year if I was that sort of lad, but like those who followed the robot's path I too lost my fascination with a world full of varied cultures for a life back home, but my life would be very different to theirs:  creation demands experience and varied experience has more inherent value. I was enamoured now of my imagination, as I had always been; the need to create was upon me. It was this that really put an end to my travels. I used my new found power to secure citizenship in a new country.

       I purchased an extensive property in a secluded part of a poorly populated state and set about building a retreat worthy of housing my dreams. It took over a year for just the above ground work, and I was chomping at the bit by the time the lower levels were completed and my expansive new home was ready. I had lived in various places while waiting, working fervently on educating myself in the fields that would be necessary, diligent as a drone at my plan. It was with a sense of wonder at myself, and the reality I was playing in that filled me when I was finally, achingly, able to move in.

       Having few possessions initially, moving in was easy and the big house felt rather lonely, so on the first night there I utilised my gift to help me complete my plans for some other occupants for the place, and then on the first morning I took a rental car out to the nearest large city and did some shopping and took care of some business.

       My first task was to employ a full-time business agent who would take care of my external affairs so that I could concentrate on my fantasies. Under strict instructions to never visit my home, they seemed professional and efficient in line with the commission they charged. Truth be told, the money meant nothing to me, although appearances of caring about it did. As I left their office for what I expected would be the only time, I smiled at the thought of how ironic it was that my first 'member of staff' would be the only one who really worked for me in a normal sense, and it was on this thought that I used an Internet cafe to finalise my search for a more personal assistant.

       It had been about two years since I had come into possession of the power, and I do believe that I had made good time and hardly wasted a second in the furtherance of my plans. As well as dealing with the construction of my residence and the inevitable financial considerations that came with such a sudden and steady fountain of wealth, I had also been interviewing various people online as potential occupants of my house and had got to know more than a few excellent candidates. My recruitment requirements were strict and all the work had to be done personally, but there was an unending stream of applicants to my plethora of web site profiles and, in that limbo intermediary period, I'd had no other constraints on my time.

       The first position needed to be filled immediately and my best candidate for that was Jennifer Willis, a 20 year-old shop worker from the other side of the country. Being the first, she was also the one I'd need to be able to trust the most and so in many ways, her recruitment was the most important. I arranged a meeting for two days' hence in a third city and looked through my list of other potential candidates for the remainder of the afternoon.

       I entered the restaurant exactly on time, my throat dry from the long flight, surprisingly long - I still wasn't used to living in such a big country. I felt a slight nervous excitement, unusual for me, as I entered the bar area and ordered a drink. She would be here, I was sure, having taken a very long train journey of her own to meet me in this random place; however, she may have backed out at the last moment, the human heart is unpredictable - and thus my flutter of emotion. I sat at the bar and ordered a drink, looking around at the bar and craning my neck to peer into the darker eating area above. She would be here, what else did she have? I smiled and took my time with the drink, she could wait.

       I entered the men's room and immediately spoke the password phrase we had agreed on the phone. My heart fluttered when I heard the unmistakable answering groan from the second cubicle to the left, also as we had agreed on the phone. I held my calm and strafed across the plush marble flooring, scanning the other cubicles for occupants and finding none. Back before the door to hers, I paused for a moment, imagining the path onward from here and giving thanks to myself for my ability to create these wonderfully vibrant situations.

       She was as beautiful in the flesh as the hours of video and countless pictures had attested. Young Jenny, my first subject, stood uncomfortably in the very high heels I had requested, her legs trembling with her trepidation as I entered the cubicle and closed the door. Her legs were darkest black encased in the opaque pantyhose ... long slender and firm were her legs. She was wearing the demanded red tartan miniskirt, pleated and frisky - it flicked seemingly of its own will as she shook there, leaning awkwardly over the toilet to give me room to get within. I pinched the hem between my fingers and pulled her a little towards me. She sighed behind the gag, dripping clear spittle onto the front of her white blouse, bringing the dark line of the bra beneath to greater focus as a wet patch grew there. Her large bosom was heaving, and I stopped to study her for a few long moments, drinking her emotions and savouring this first real life sight.

       I had planned not to speak, and didn't, but it was hard. She was breathtaking in the flesh, as much as I had seen and expected and more. Her dark hair hung low on her shoulders, her neck long and her skin a creamy tan. She was elfin and beautiful, the girl-next-door mixed with a button nose and almond eyes that hinted some Asian in her ancestry. She looked up at me with those delicious brown eyes, groaned something unintelligible, shook her body in an attempt to demonstrate her discomfort. Her hands were handcuffed behind her back, hidden by the leather jacket she wore. This I knew, but turned her to check any way. Then I looked down into her beautiful face, locked eyes.

       "Don't talk at all," I ordered. She nodded and I reached around to unstrap the ball gag which was disfiguring her delightful mouth. She didn't speak, she sighed with what I guess was a mixture of fear and excitement or some such, yet she didn't speak all the way out of the building and into the new car I'd bought with cash on my way from the airport.

       I un-cuffed her in the car and we drove round a few branches stores that I didn't have handy to home. She walked with me as my girlfriend but was silent and submissive at all times. She knew this was a job interview and trial, and that her employment depended on excellent behaviour. Thus, silent and undemanding, she was the finest shopping partner one could imagine. Further, cuffed secretly under the jacket, she could spend no money. Then, when my small wishes were fulfilled we started the long drive back, a circuitous route including one stop and a change of vehicles to the big outdoors rig I really needed.

       As dusk descended and we neared home, I wondered on her feelings. It has long  fascinated me to learn the motivation behind the automatons we call people, to see why they react in the ways they do to the difficulties they create for themselves or why they choose the courses of action they do. I looked across to my quiet obedient passenger, so much smaller with the murderous heels settled in the foot well, and gave her my winning smile, full of warmth and comfort. She returned it immediately, biting her dark bottom lip nervously at first but then beaming with a radiance that startled me to a surprising degree. I turned back to the road, awash with amusement, bursting with the nature of humans and looking forward to the real start of both our new lives.

       It was comforting to me to now be able to confirm her manner. She was indeed the shy and deeply submissive girl I'd known so well during months and months of Internet tests, games and conversations. She actually was the needy and unsure girl I'd looked for. I was therefore still under the impression she had presented the complete truth from the very beginning, and none of my other exhaustive investigations had demonstrated otherwise. The complete truth is an elusive thing on the Internet. My cock rose with the irony that virtually nothing I'd told her was true. I looked across and gave her another charming smile. It mystified me how quickly she was able to return it.

       We arrived home. It had been a tiring drive in a 4x4 bought again with paper a few hundred miles away, the last leg particularly difficult due to the remoteness of my house and the resultant lack of roads.  I stopped the car in the centre of the courtyard that sat in front on my mansion, looked again at my victim. She was asleep, her head rested peacefully against the window and leaving a small patch of condensation there, her hair splashed awkwardly around her face. The browned rays of dusk were lined across her face, making me think of magic. I quietly unhooked my seatbelt, leaned over her, sniffed. She was soundly out. I unhooked her seatbelt very very carefully, ran my finger through the wetness on the glass near her pouting lips and licked it.

       Her nap was a bonus. I nipped quietly into the house to get the bottle and chloroformed her neatly in the car, her beautiful eyes flashing open for just a second of recognition before they misted over and I was able to hoist her over my shoulder and carry her indoors. Not exactly the vision of being carried over the threshold that most girls imagine. I chuckled as I carried my little victim into the basement, operated the security measures and then carried her limp form downward another level into the dungeon. It was a matter of moments to get her into one of the cages in the foyer. I left her un-gagged and fully clothed in the small iron cage, so vulnerable and sweet, and it made me literally shiver with lust at the thought of the fun I was to have.

       My dungeon was a complete second underground building, as large as the main house and fully equipped with everything I had so far imagined I might need. Now, this soft innocent little girl, believing I would be easy on her - kind like my fake persona online - was in amongst it, a soft morsel of delicious flesh trapped forever in this nest of hard stone, sharp metal and evil imagination. I grinned and went to bed.

       

       Sometimes I like to be rather primitive in some ways. I like the way that the more basic resolutions to problems, while being inelegant, are usually at least as effective as the more popular, more 'fashionable' systematic methods. While she was still unconscious, I hooked up a large battery cell to the wire of the cage with a padlocked connector that her small pink fingers would have no joy with. I liked the way the yellow cable snaked across the bare concrete floor to the hard metal. I liked the contrast to her softness within. Next, I placed a computer monitor on a stand in front of the cage, close to her but out of her reach. Finally I pulled a comfortable armchair next to the battery control, outside the yellow chalked indicator for the arc of the cameras, four of which had been installed on two-metre tripods around the cage. I toyed with the box, which was black with a single prominent red button for the power, and mused to myself as I watched her breasts rise and fall and the flutter of her eyes behind sleeping lids.

       She'd expected something like a paid fuckable house slave's position, though that part was not clarified. What had been made clear between us was that I would go very easy on her in the beginning and stick to her limits. It amused me how well I'd played the role of the respectful guiding Dom. Her limits included the obvious - all of which I intended to break, at least to her mind - and electricity. She was terrified of electricity.

       I pushed the button and she woke up, the jolt was such that she banged her head a good one on the bars above her, finding quickly that the cage was big enough only to curl up in. She didn't scream, and I guess it was only the shock of the banged head and the cruel wrench from sleep that silenced her as the pain from her multiple contacts with the bars must have been terribly agonising. The remote only had one setting and that was very painful.

       She shook her head, stunned and shocked, looking around in a daze. The brightness of the mounted spotlights on her and the darkness around made me hard to see in the shadows, but my voice brought me her attention.

       "Remove all of your clothes and push them out of the cage."

The Gift.

                                                               By DemonMonsterDave

       Part Two. Finding my sponge. Challenges and refusals. Living in a box.

                                                               

       I won't bother to bore you too much at this stage with the girl's immediate training, save to say that being confined to such a small, cramped cage and being dosed regularly with extremely painful shocks is a very effective yet rather boring to relate process. It was relatively easy for me to set her into a routine of severe slave-conditioning, allowing her out of the tight confinement only a few times a day to prevent her limbs from atrophying and the rest of the time spent in darkness with the occasional, variable length intensity and duration shock as determined by one of my computer applications. The monitor served to give her instruction, with a microphone and voice-recognition software able to determine accuracy of responses, and reading assignments which could be regulated by the computer fully, leaving her in a more or less completely automated prison, with regular superficial training provided for.

               After the first few days, I began to limit my visits to the dungeon, only going to feed her or hose her down still caged with the icy water from the powerful separate water supply. I could watch her from any monitor in the house, and I had more than two in some rooms, watch her squirming constantly in the tiny place, always trying to find a comfortable position. She had drinking water in the form of  an overlarge rabbit-feeder bottle clipped to the bars which I also used for mandatory medications. She soon started to look forward to my presence somewhat, despite the obligatory increase in pain, and to associate it with a relief from the darkness and automated boredom, the cramping cage and the semi-random pain. So, an effective method, yet a rather boring one to narrate.

       I needed another toy almost immediately, and the ease and effectiveness of my adventures so far had given me the confidence to move forward more quickly than I had previously planned. The beat and rhythm of it all made me sure of the course ahead, and my confidence, as ever, was careful yet brisk. It comes as a shock to the few who have the faculties to piece together the mystery of what most would call destiny in their foolish ignorance, to use this factor of reality to one's own advantage. So, using the sharpest tool at my disposal, I spent much of my time online again in Internet cafes dotted around the country, sometimes leaving the girl for more than a couple of days alone while I travelled, staying in the most expensive hotels with cash and false ID, while she waited with only the constantly goading, threatening, playfully painful computer for company, regulating her life in the dark, lonely playroom. (It always pleased me to see how she was more abject, thinner and weaker in mind and body each time I returned, gobbling leftover scraps from my journeys from my hand through the cage bars like a sad little animal.) There was a growing burn in my balls these days, and I had been denying myself ejaculation in order to follow accurately the carefully constructed process; it was incredibly difficult to not yet play with my new toy, however. Holding myself back is always a delicious challenge for me.

       Any way, my best choice for 'employee' number two was someone I'd met even before the  girl, a rather well known writer of bdsm fiction, with extreme stories on many such web sites. He had a penchant for the intense, and had contacted me after I published a few tantalising yet clearly derivative pieces of my own in order to entice him. I'd lain in my bed in a sordid city with the stench of a pointless job still reeking on my naked form as I formulated this future, and it was ironic that the bed I slept in now was so opposite to that one of just a few years ago - oh the power of the gift! So, he had been brought to me by the power of this magic secret I knew, and we had spent the longest time dancing around each other in false cyberspace.

       

       Today, in a far place from my home, we had arranged to meet. I entered the pub and picked him out in a booth in the corner. I sat down and neither of us spoke for a while, just smiling at the long period it had taken to get us here. Then, we shook hands. A waitress interrupted before conversation, stretching out the strangeness I'd wished for, and we ordered drinks.

       "It's nice to finally meet you," he said. His voice was strong, and it had been smart to limit our web cam contacts. The intensity of coming into contact with this being was enhanced tenfold by the mystery I'd infused, and so the value of these moments was multiplied before our creator.

       "I came to make you an offer."

       He was a little startled, and the line of his strong chin stiffened a little. His eyes told the tale, however, they were piqued and sparkled that grey-green I'd loved in his photos. I'm not sexually attracted to males at all, my intention for this one was solely the indulgence of another urge, and his surprise at my promised offer - an offer that coming from me and by the nature of our online relationship could be only the offer of total enslavement.

       He looked at me directly. "I don't know what to say, I can guess what you are offering. We've discussed it enough times." His tone was weaker now, and it made me smile to see that he was flustered, this great painter of the wills and emotions of others so easily laid bare by this sharp, brutally real game we are playing together. "But.."

       "No buts. Yes or no?"

       "We need to agree limits beforehand, I can't live with what you want. It's insane."

I laughed harshly, perking the heads of the few other occupants of the bar. He frowned, but I hammered it home.

       "What limit of yours do you think I'll remember when I've got you where I want you?" I asked, "and what assurances would mere words between us give? don't be a fool, we've been here around and around. Yes or no?"

       "No."

       I respected him for his firmness, the drugs in his food and drink eroded it rather rapidly though, more quickly than I had expected and so between that and the alcohol I had to half-carry him out to his car - but we went to mine. Another long, tortuous journey with vehicle changes and him semi-conscious all the time from the cocktail of sedatives I'd injected him with, we made our way steadily back to the centre of my web.

       He followed me into my house, his eyes dim and his gait that of a zombie. I'd taken a lot of drugs with me and had not been afraid to keep stabbing him with the syringes. It kept him compliant. He followed me into the foyer of my large house like a little puppy, a small glistening spot of drool threatening to break free of his jutting lower lip. I led him into the kitchen area and forced him down onto a stool with my hands on the shoulders of his tweed jacket. He sat silently, staring around the kitchen with eyes half-closed.

       I dropped the bag of medications and restraints on the large oak table and sat opposite him.

       "You can run ... if you want to," I softly whispered.

       It took him a while to look up at me, his attention seemed to be on delay. There was little indication in his gaze that he had understood me at first but after nearly a minute he said: "run." His tone was monotonous, as if he was under deep hypnosis. He didn't move, maybe was simply trying to work out what it meant. I laughed out loud, threw a wrap of Ketamine onto the table in front of him. "Snort that, or I'll kill you."

       Pretty soon I had him in a cage next to hers, same size, so more cramped. In his drugged condition he had followed my every command as if he accepted his future readily, and the drugs simply gave him an excuse to no-longer flaunt his long-conditioned but erroneous preference for freedom. I suppose the electricity had given her the same gift, the same freedom to stop pretending to be real or alive or independent. The freedom to admit that in their deepest soul, all such humans, the majority,  yearn for this.

       She was very thin now, and she was beginning to look sick. Her hair had begun to fall out from the lack of nutrition and her skin had an unhealthy pallor that spoke of long-term damage. She was silent and unmoving when I led the male toy in, terrified of me picking up the manual remote, or starting a punishment routine on the computer, both of which she knew well. She eyed us as I locked the pliant boy in his cage, pushing his face in with my boot heel  in order to push closed the tight door.

       She was out of water, must have been waiting to die when I didn't return to refill it for so long, but she was silent, mind controlled into utter silence lest she stimulate me in any way.

       He looked on sheep-like as I stepped to her cage, hefting the heavy remote with its one evil button as I did so. She looked up at me from her cruel little prison, her pale skin stark against the dark bars of unyielding metal, her face crushed between tightly folded knees, pussy obvious due to the position. She looked at the remote with terror, its cable snaking away behind me as I stopped to stand above her.

       "You must be thirsty," it was not a question. She nodded carefully anyway, her eyes the mad of the rabid animal but with the ever-human guile behind them still - the reasoning to avoid punishment that the mere animal cannot fathom.

       I unzipped my trousers and took out my cock. It was the first time she had seen it. I had been holding my bladder since the motel this morning, and I let it stream at her now, sighing with the relief as my kidneys contracted pleasurably. She opened her mouth to catch the brownish semi-dehydrated piss, a testament to the efficacy of the computer program that had been training/torturing her for the past week and longer. She struggled to swallow it, but of course there was too much too fast so it soaked her face, hair and body, pooling in a stinking puddle at the foot of the painful cage. She gulped nonetheless, desperate both to drink something, anything, and to be obedient, to be a good girl lest I push the button.

       I finished, pushed and held the button while I zipped up. The piss had increased the connectivity and I swear I saw the blue glint of the cruel current shimmering over her wet breasts as she bucked and screamed beautifully, smashing her head on the bars repeatedly and leaving bloody patches of hair there. I laughed, holding the button and enjoying her screams. The sheer power of the sound reverberated around the oval foyer of my play area, echoed back to me in a million waves; I drank it in, feeling invigorated by it, powerful, sublime and godlike. The boy watched all this dumbly, still deep in the mystifying world of the drugs.

       I hooked his cage to hers, so that the current would be shared, and then left them to retire and rest while one of my more intense punishment routines ran for them during the night. They were screaming in unison as I opened the door to my dungeon, the sound abruptly cut off as I closed it and bounded up the stairs to my warm and comforting mansion.

       Ten hours later I returned. I was fresh and alert, filled with morning coffee and a hearty breakfast. I wore my jeans and a sweatshirt, it had become cold suddenly over night, the first snap of winter, and as I entered my dungeon my breath made a mist in front of me. They were screaming still, their voices hoarse and cracked but echoing weakly in unison as I opened the door, bringing a smile of delight to me. I took my seat in the soft armchair before the two little cages with the meat packed so tightly within, watched and waited until the current shock cycle ended and they both lay there, rolled into uncomfortable balls panting and dripping the sweat of such long and repeated pain. Mist rose from both in the cold room.

       Finally, I reached to the keyboard and ended the program. I sat their for a while, at the expensive computer, soaking up their twin vibrations, so similar yet so different. She was a throbbing little meek package of terror and nightmarish desperation, he was still lost in intoxication, the pain horrific yet meaningless to him. She was broken yet clear, he was cloudy and confused except for the low-pitched and delightful thrumming of misery he projected.

       I pushed the remote for his cage into hers, unhooked the connection between them. From where I sat I could poke her with my feet, but not him.

       "Do you understand my words, girl? You are allowed to speak."

       "Yes, my Lord." It was hard for her to speak, the rawness of her throat was clear in the sound. She was speaking correctly, the computer had taught that well at least. You may find it hard to believe that I have for a long time shied away from technology, and so the delightful power of this custom-built system thrilled me. I could leave them here being trained for as long as I wished. I had food hoppers and I could easily leave them a water supply. The power to my dungeon, indeed my entire property, was on a back-up electricity supply so that they could probably live here alone almost indefinitely whatever happened in the world above. But no, not for these two at least, I would get another for isolation, loneliness and such. These two were already assigned their purposes. I snapped back into focus on the moment.

       "The current to his cage his double yours. While you hold the shocker for his cage, your cage is removed from the circuit." I spoke slowly, the way one speaks to an idiot. "You must hurt him to save yourself hurt. Do you understand?"

       "Yes, my Lord," she was crying. I absorbed the emotion with relish, gasping at the sharpness of it. I pissed in both their drinking bottles, flushing the copious and strong coffee, mixed an assortment of pills and medications into each, then started a near constant shocking program on the computer, it would activate for 50 seconds out of 60.

       She screamed, her bladder letting loose all over the bottom of the cage, dropped the remote control, scrabbled for it, then punched the button and he took up the shrieking horribly, instead. Her look of guilt as he writhed in terror and agony, smashing himself to unconscious on the steel, was  absolutely delightful. She bit her lip and sobbed when he passed out, his unconscious body still jerking with the current and the smell of burning flesh rising in a cloying horrific stink from the cage. She screamed as she released the button, biting into that lovely bottom lip as the electricity threw her again into the writhing of the dancing toys of my dreams. The remote was quickly lost to her as she screamed and bucked in the tiny space, her body wrecking itself against the bars from the terrible shocks. Finally, the ten second grace period arrived, and she shrieked in panic and terror, arms thrusting out between the bars at the snaking control cable, screaming not from pain but from fear of not reaching the remote in time. She pulled it inside, holding the button depressed and cringing away as the boy was flung awake by the next evil shock.

       It occurred to me that double power might be too much for the boy, as his skin was strip roasted off him due to the wetness of the piss-soaked bars. He was vomiting, loosing his bowels uncontrollably, jerking spasmodically and still spraying piss everywhere around him. Hot smoking rinds of his flesh were sizzling on the insides of many bars, further strips attaching, sizzling, clinging as he rolled and bucked. The stench was horrible, and the sounds of him cooking still a raspy undertone to the sharpness of his broken screams, yet the girl cringed away as best she could, the button held firmly down. I glanced at all my cameras, delighted.

       I sat to watch for a while, trying to enjoy even the smell. The ability to surpass our boundaries can only make conscious reality pleased with our commitment to the experience. I am serious in this commitment, so I held my nose while I watched her cook, or cook him. Blessed be those who are not quelled by the conditioning of such fake morality.