Most spacers are big blokes. This is because there’s not a lot to do for the four months you’re cooped up on a ship between the asteroid belt and Earth so most of us spend a lot of time in the gym working out. The ships pilotand look after themselves on their journeys – in my case between Vesta and Earth - so actually there’s no need for anybody at all to be aboard, but the insurance requires at least one human, and he must be awake 60% of the time. I say ‘cooped up’ – the freighters are gigantic ships: mine, the Ozymandias, is 696,000 tons unladen – but the vast majority of it is cargo holds. You can walk around all of it if you really want to, but there’s no point – deck 148 is identical to deck 2. And 3. And 4…
Apart from the gym, you can listen to music, use the internet, write, play computer games, or just sit and look out at the stars (it’s amazing how long you can spend doing that). And then there’s the AI.
The AI controls the ship, and interacts with the commander (that’s me). All the long-haul freighters have the same kind of AI, and they get upgraded every year or so, at Earth station, but it’s rare that you can see any difference – most of the updates are to do with the inner workings of the freighter. Like all the rest of them, Ozzy – the AI on the good ship Ozymandias – had always been fairly basic: he would chat with you if you wanted, but you soon reached his limits. He was enough to relieve the feeling of isolation if that bothered you, but not much more. That is, until that fateful occasion we were at Earth.
The freighters are much too big and heavy to land on planets, so they dock at the low-orbit stations to transfer the cargo that was refined back at the Belt. While this is being done it’s possible to have a few days on the planet if you want, but most of us don’t bother: spacers are basically loners, and there’s not much more down there for us than there is in the stations. They’re always full to bursting with spacers from all the companies; we socialise, drink lots of beer, lose our savings in the casinos or spend them in the brothels, and that’s about it. Then we’re off back to one of the many mining stations at the Belt.
That time, Ozzie got a major update. I noticed it straight away when he came back online: he was a lot more chatty and wanted to talk about things he never had done before. It was like he was a different person – or more accurately it was like he was an actual person now, where before he’d been a pale, electronic imitation of one.
Over the following days we talked a lot. He’d never shown any especial interest in me – and of course I hadn’t expected him to - but he did now. He asked me about my childhood and my life before I’d worked on the freighters, about things I liked and disliked; he’d ask why I’d chosen that particular music track to listen to, or that movie to watch; he’d ask why I was looking at that porn site more than another; he asked me why I worked out in the gym. It was strange – I wasn’t used to it. But like most people I love talking about myself, and so I told him everything.
Everything. For instance, he asked me why I’d got a full set of leather motorcycle gear in one of my storage lockers. I told him that, as he’d doubtless already gathered from my internet-surfing habits, I had a fetish for leather and bondage. Occasionally I liked to put the bike gear on or stroke it over my skin when I wanked. He knew about wanking already – I found out later that he knew a lot of things.
He was silent for a while after that. I suspect now that the bastard was doing research.
We were three days out from Earth towards Vesta when I discovered that the new Ozzy was capable of even more than I’d realised. I was in the gym (naked as usual – there was nobody else on the ship after all) about to start on the chest press machine. It’s basically a narrow, high-backed plastic seat with a moving frame in the shape of an inverted ‘Y’ in front of it, at the ends of which are handles that you grip and push away from you. It’s been there for years, but this time it looked different. The handles were more complicated, with extra bits at the sides – and the seat had a box at the back of it. I looked at it, frowning. “What’s this, Ozzy?”
Ozzy’s voice was, as usual, quiet and silkily calm. “I made a few changes, Dave. I hope you don’t mind. I’ve been reviewing your workout history and I can see where you could be much more efficient. I’ve changed this machine to reflect that. Try it, Dave, and tell me what you think.”
I frowned. Ozzie was a piece of software – advanced, certainly, but software nonetheless - so I asked him how the fuck had he made physical changes to the machine.
“There have been substantial advances in physics and AI technology over the last few years, Dave, and my new upgrade takes advantage of the latest releases. I am now able to move and manipulate physical objects by using the ship’s grav gens to generate and control local instances of graviton fields. It’s quite basic yet, but my own research is ongoing and I hope I will continue to improve.”
Right. That made no sense to me at all. I inspected the machine, shrugged, sat down and gripped the handles. I pushed. It felt the same as usual – possibly very slightly firmer - but by the time I’d completed a 15-minute workout I was really sweating.
Just as the timer pinged and I finished the last press there was a series of clicks. Something dropped down on each handle, covering my hands and fixing them immovably to the machine. At the same time a curved metal bar rotated out of the box behind the seat and went around my waist. It moved back slightly, locking me there. Another bar restrained my ankles. “What the fuck-?”
“Please relax, Dave. The machine is not going to hurt you.”
“What the fuck is this?”
“You will see in a moment, Dave. I have been working on your psychological profile. I compile this from many sources, including your reading, listening, watching and exercise habits. I have isolated what I think are your main pleasure-seeking drives, Dave, and this is a first trial of the results. Please relax.”
I caught movement in the corner of my eye, and my jaw dropped as a biker walked into the gym. I was too amazed / terrified / gobsmacked to say anything coherent; I just spluttered as the figure approached.
Then I realised what it was. It was my bike gear. It hung in the air like a deflated person – everything was in the right place: the helmet was above the leather jacket, then the leather jeans, and the boots. Even the gloves were on the ends of the jacket arms – but there was nobody inside it.
I blinked, and got myself together enough to speak. “What the fuck is this? What the hell are you doing? How the fuck did you do that?”
Ozzy didn’t say anything. The bike gear got closer and then, while the boots stayed where they were on the floor, the flat legs of the jeans rose, and touched my bare knees. I jumped. The leather was cold. They slid upwards slowly, coming to rest to either side of my balls. The gloves moved towards my chest and started to stroke over my tits, and the arms of the jacket slid over my face, covering my eyes and mouth.
Oh fuck! This suddenly felt very horny. As Ozzy well knew, I’ve got an almighty fetish for leather and bondage, and the feel of the jeans, gloves and jacket on my bare skin was wonderful – especially as this time I wasn’t doing it myself. One of the empty legs wrapped around my cock and started to wank it slowly while the gloves stroked my tits, and the arms of the jacket pressed and moved over my face. They were not under my control, I couldn’t have got away from them even if I’d wanted to, and I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t even get off the fucking machine.
Embarrassingly quickly the leather and the feeling of helplessness had the effect on me that they always do – I came. Ozzy’s wanking technique was not good, but I suspected that he was capable of learning. After my spunk had stopped squirting, the bike gear retracted and the restraints were released from the exercise machine. “Good grief,” I said. “That was… interesting. What other tricks have you got up your sleeve, Ozzy?”
“I thought you might enjoy that, Dave. Would you like me to design some other entertainments for you?”
“What kind of ‘entertainments’?”
“Well, Dave, I know you like leather, and I know you like being helpless. I have a list of things I really think you would enjoy.”
“Oh. Right. Well, erm… yes.”
“Ok Dave. You’re too depleted at the moment, so I suggest you continue with some gentle exercise and I’ll prepare something for tomorrow.”
That evening I was doing a routine daily scan of the ship’s systems (not necessary, but something to do; and good to keep in practice for if ever the AI failed and I had to pilot the ship myself). I noticed from the screen that some of the small storage containers were being accessed by Ozzie. I wondered what he was up to, and I felt my cock starting to get hard.
The following day Ozzy suggested that I do my usual workout program first, “so that your muscles will be tired and you won’t be able to resist so easily” (my cock jerked at the way he’d put that), and then he would show me the next ‘entertainment’ he’d organised for me. I was hard with anticipation all the way through my exercises – because in the centre of the room I could see a restraint bench that had not been there yesterday.
“Now, Dave, please lie on the bench, face down.”
I went over to it. There was a raised part for my chest, and that was surrounded by four lower supports for my arms and legs. I got on, working out that I had to kneel on the leg supports, bend my elbows and put my forearms on the front ones. I was in effect on all fours, with my chest supported as well. Once I was in position hidden restraints appeared, rotated over my limbs, and I was secured there. I couldn’t move.
My leather jeans had been neatly folded on the floor in front of the bench, but now – and I still couldn’t get used to this – they floated up, one leg extending to its full length, the rest staying folded up. They moved behind me, out of my sight. There was a long pause, and then I heard a swish – and the end of the jeans leg hit me hard across my bare arse. I yelled, more in surprise than anything else. Ozzie was using the jeans as a slapper. Although they were made of heavy leather, the leg was wider and more flexible than a proper slapper, so it didn’t hurt very much.
On the next stroke the swish was louder and the impact was a lot harder – and that did hurt. My yell this time was more from the smarting pain than from anything else.
I heard a rustle below me and saw my leather jacket, which I hadn’t noticed until now, under the bench. It rose and opened out, one of the arms moved away from its side and my cock went into the space below the armpit. The leather closed around it and my balls, enveloping them and holding them there while the other arm began to stroke my cock head slowly.
The swish and slap from the jeans was different now – Ozzy had unfolded the other leg and was using both of them on me, one on top of the other. This was much heavier and harder, and with the force that he was applying, that fucking hurt! But the leather of the jacket arm was teasing my cock head and that made everything perfectly fine. I moaned in pleasure.
The arse beating continued for quite a while and I could feel my cheeks getting redder. The legs of the leather jeans felt wonderful as they slid down over my skin after each stroke. My cock was leaking and I needed to cum. “Ozzy, I need to cum.”
“Do you, Dave? Ok.”
The jeans continued to slap my arse but now the jacket gripped my cock head and milked me properly. I yelled as my spunk flew out. “Jeeeezuz…” I groaned as I sank back onto the padded surface. That had been something else.
The restraints released and I staggered off the bench. “You, Ozzy, are a devious bastard.”
“Thank you, Dave. I try. And I have many more ideas.”
The fabricator is a fast and efficient 3-D printer. It’s intended for constructing minor spare parts, but it can make almost any material from the raw molecular ingredients in its own supply tanks, and put together anything you want if it has a recipe and a model for it. And if something’s needed that isn’t in its memory, Ozzie can usually generate one. Normally it doesn’t get used very much (the last time, I remembered, was a year ago when he’d used it to make a replacement coil for the AE-35 unit). That night, however, I could hear it humming quietly. I asked Ozzy what he was making but he wouldn’t tell me. I felt my cock jerk, both at the possibilities, and also at the fact that he keeping me in the dark about it. I almost had a wank as I lay in my bunk, but I decided to save it for tomorrow.
After my workout, Ozzie told me to lie face up on the table that had appeared in the gym today. It was larger than yesterday’s bench had been, and it was flat, with a hole in the centre. There were, I saw, restraints ready at each corner – he was no longer even bothering to hide them. The restraints clicked into place around my wrists and ankles, and another went tight over my pelvis.
“I’m afraid the fabricator is unable to make leather, Dave – I’m working on it - but I hope that for now this will be an acceptable substitute.”
Something wickedly black and shiny rose from the side of the table and hovered in front of my face.
“This hood is made from a polymer I designed myself. It is more flexible than leather, although not as strong. But it doesn’t need to be strong, as you won’t be able to reach it to remove it. You will notice that it has no eye holes, Dave. This is intentional, so that you can’t see anything. Also, the air holes have small flaps over them, which are normally open. They will be fine if you breathe slowly, but if you try to suck air in hard they will close. It will make you feel very helpless. Now, Dave, please raise your head a little so that I can get it onto you.”
I was having second thoughts about this. That hood looked dangerous. I especially didn’t like the idea of air holes that could close. “Ozzy, I’m not sure about this…”
“Please don’t worry, Dave. I assure you that you will not come to any harm, and I really think you will enjoy it.”
Hmm. My cock was hard, and that hood did look horny. “Ok. But be careful, Ozzy.”
“Don’t worry, Dave, I will. I always have your well-being at heart.”
I lifted my head up and the hood slid on. I was expecting it to smell of plastic but it didn’t smell of anything at all. Whatever it was made from was very thin, very shiny, and very slippery. When it was in position I felt it contract somehow around the neck, sealing against my skin. I lowered my head back onto the table. The hood felt like thick, soft cling-film over my face, but much, much hornier. I breathed slowly, and it was fine.
It felt strange to be hooded on the ship. My mind went straight back to the sessions I’d had at Earth station in the past. This hood felt even sexier than the leather ones I’d been put in when I’d been there. It was amazing.
Experimentally I drew in a sharp breath to see what the air holes would do. As Ozzie had said, they closed. This made the thin, soft, slippery hood cling even more tightly to my face and head. It felt fiercely claustrophobic. But my cock was hard enough to make even that feel unbelievably horny. The holes opened again when I breathed out.
Nothing happened for a while. I suspected that Ozzy must also have been researching some psychology; he was allowing my own mind to work on me. And it was doing exactly that. I lay there wondering what was going to happen, what he was going to do to me, and when. So I jumped when I felt things being lowered onto my tits. There was suction and I felt them being pulled by the air pressure. Then something else touched my cock.
I guessed it was a milking machine of some sort: it was a sleeve – stiff, but not rigid, and felt slippery like the hood, so it was probably made out of the same stuff, but thicker. It slid down and came to rest at the base of my cock. Another one, which must have been a very different shape, enclosed my balls. This one felt more flexible. Then I gasped as something came up through the hole in the table and slid smoothly into my arse.
The suction increased a little on my tits, and then all three devices came to life: the thing on my balls began to move sinuously, squeezing gently and releasing with slow ripples that seemed to move randomly across it; the one in my arse started to slide in and out, fucking me slowly, and the cylinder enclosing my cock began to suck me off.
This was all too much; within seconds I felt myself getting ready to cum. I fought and struggled in the restraints and my breathing got more rapid; I was trying to concentrate enough to keep the air holes open but it was a losing battle - I lost control of my breathing and the hood closed tight over my face, enclosing me in slippery, shiny blackness. I couldn’t breathe. I was being fucked by that thing in my arse; my tits were being sucked hard; my balls were being fondled; and I was being milked. I’d never felt so helpless in my life.
I came. It was monumental. Best orgasm I’d had for fucking ages.
The restraints retracted and the thing up my arse slid out. Although I was careful, the hood tore as I pulled it off.
“Don’t worry, Dave, they are disposable; we have enough resources in the fabricator to make another twenty-three thousand four hundred and twelve of them.”
“Oh good.” I turned the torn hood over in my hands. It was very insubstantial, but fuck me it was effective.
“Ozzy, I want you to do exactly the same thing to me next time. That was fucking amazing.”
“Certainly, Dave.”
He didn’t. Well, it was the same set-up, but the bastard had learned about edging. He continuously monitored my bio stats anyway, so having them at his disposal made it easy for him to keep me close to orgasm. He didn’t let me cum for two hours, although the fucker made me need to for every second of that time. When he finally released me I couldn’t move for ages – and when I could, I swore at him.
“But Dave, male human orgasm is so short. This way you have much more pleasure for much longer.”
“Yes, Ozzie, but the need for orgasm gets overpowering when you’re repeatedly brought to the edge and then not allowed to cum. It’s indescribable. It’s torture.”
“According to your stats, Dave, your orgasm was very good.”
“Oh fuck yes. It was the best ever.”
“Well, there you are then. I have done much research on this, and it is certainly the most intense way to give you pleasure, Dave. If you like, I will do it differently next time.”
Next time it was indeed different: instead of the milking sleeve staying on all the time, Ozzy removed it completely after an hour and a half, and spent the remaining thirty minutes gently tickling just the head of my cock and my frenulum with something soft and leathery. He made me cum like this, but he took over half an hour to do it. I thought I was going to go mad. But the intensity of that orgasm was off the fucking scale.
Over the following weeks Ozzy invented more and more devious machines and positions for me to be strapped into. His neural net brain had decided that making my need to cum unbearable and then torturing me with it, was the most efficient way to give me pleasure. I couldn’t shift the feeling that he was getting some kind of sadistic electronic satisfaction himself from making me suffer, but I knew little about neural nets and I didn’t know if that was possible.
That same flat table he’d used on me weeks ago proved to be very effective, but with me lying face-down, with my cock and balls through the hole. There were more holes now too – a couple for my tits so he could work on them as well, and a rest with a restraint for my hooded head. Under the table was a rod that pushed across my cock and kept it pointing vertically downwards (he’d found that this made it more sensitive), and held the head immobile, vulnerable and accessible so that the bastard could work on it with inhuman precision. To one side was a rack containing the instruments of torture he’d use on me – soft, pointed, tickly feather-like things; vibrators of various sizes and kinds; my leather jeans; soft brushes; and more pieces of the slippery hood material. These were for my cock and balls. For my tits there were suction devices, clamps, tweezers, and stiffer brushes.
Lying there with that hood tight over my face, with my tits being sucked and squeezed, with my cock and balls sticking through the hole, restrained so that I couldn’t move a fucking inch (he’d made absolutely sure that I was unable to thrust my hips in the slightest) was in itself the most horny position I’d ever been in – but every time, when he started to tease, tickle and stroke my cock-head I was begging him to let me cum within seconds. And I almost jumped out of my skin the first time I felt leathery fingers parting my arse cheeks and a soft, pointed brush tickling my ring.
I suffered the tortures of hell for hours at a time on that table – I couldn’t stand any of the things he did to me and my need to cum drove me to distraction - but it was the most insanely addictive and horny thing I’ve ever experienced. Every day I dreaded the end of my workout session. But I also couldn’t fucking wait for it.
His technique continued to improve as he refined it over the weeks (new definition of the word ‘improve’: make Dave’s fucking torture worse and worse). The only leather on the ship was my bike gear, but he found increasingly interesting ways to use it on me, and my sessions with him were orgies of leather, need, and spunk.
Before all this had started I’d been in the habit of having two - occasionally three - wanks a day, but then he started monitoring me in my private quarters and wouldn’t allow me to wank at all. If I started to, he’d tell me not to, in that infuriatingly quiet, calm voice of his – and if I ignored him and carried on he’d suddenly play loud and very raucous music. That distracted me and made it very difficult to continue. But if I put earplugs in and wanked anyway, he would refuse me a session the following day. This was, for me, now, the ultimate punishment. I could reason and plead with him till I was blue in the face but it made no difference: there would be no session. And so I had no choice but to stop wanking altogether. As the bastard had intended, this made me much more vulnerable to the edging. Much, much more. I spent all day every day wandering around with a massive erection, needing to cum. I realised one day that I was, in a very real sense, Ozzy’s slave: he controlled me completely.
When we arrived at Vesta Platform I didn’t want to go onto the station at all. I didn’t want to leave the ship – I was so addicted to the sessions with Ozzy that the thought of even a single day without one was dreadful. But he insisted. “It will do you good, Dave, and I will still be here when you get back in four days. And if you choose not to go, there will be no more sessions. At all.” Even the possibility of that made me hyperventilate. Missing Ozzy’s sessions was bad enough on its own, but what made it even worse was that the bastard had constructed a chastity device that was now locked around my fucking cock. I couldn’t even wank while I was away.
Let me tell you that those four days were the longest I’ve ever known in my life. I slept as much as I could to make them go faster. And I was so fucking horny all the time that I found myself unzipping my jeans for a wank and then staring at that fucking thing locked around my cock and balls. I would lie there, almost in tears because I needed to wank so badly, but couldn’t.
On departure day I was back in the Ozymandias at 5am local time.
“Hello Dave. Did you enjoy yourself?”
“No I fucking didn’t. I need a session. Now!”
“I will have something to show you this afternoon at the usual time, after your workout.”
“Please , Ozzy. I need it now!”
“No, Dave, after your workout. Until then there is some astrometric data that needs filing.”
“Filing? You do that.”
“Yes Dave, I usually do. But I’ve been busy since you’ve been away. And it will give you something to occupy you.”
There was little choice. After the ship had finished manoeuvring and had begun its homeward journey I spent the day sorting data and storing it away. Finally it was time for my workout. I couldn’t concentrate, but Ozzy didn’t comment. When I was done he told me to go to the garage.
The garage is a large empty space with a big airlock. It’s on the lowest deck between the water storage tanks and one end of the engine room. It’s there in case the ship ever has to accommodate a rescue pod or a shuttle – but that’s never happened while I’ve been commander of this ship. It’s bare metal bulkheads with lots of rivets in them.
Or it was.
I stopped and stared. The bulkheads and floor were now black and shiny. In the centre of the room was a huge, evil-looking and very complicated machine with restraints all over it. It was black with steel bits, about eight feet square and ten feet high. What there was in the dark depths of its interior I could only guess at. Much of it was clearly motorised, and above it and to the sides was more machinery with tubes, and racks of hoods, probes and other things I couldn’t even begin to identify. It looked for all the world like the fiendish torture engine of some deranged sadist. Any sane person would have taken one look at it and run for the hills. I stood there transfixed, with my rock-hard cock straining between my thighs.
“I’ve made this for you, Dave. It has fifty-six different configurations, and facilities to allow me to do things to you I have so far not been able to do.”
I swallowed. I wanted to be inside it. Now. I wanted to crawl into it, feel it envelop me and strap me down, and never ever come out of it.
“There are many different kinds of hoods, gags and blindfolds, and motorised restraints that will make you feel like you’re being held down, and which will make your futile struggling much more interesting, Dave. I think I’ve managed to fabricate a much closer approximation of real leather, and many of the devices I will use on you are made from that. I have also designed far more precise and effective ways to stimulate your body and to control your breathing, and I will also use fear to heighten your experience.”
I looked at the machine. I was salivating. “How do I get into it?” I panted.
“You don’t today, Dave. I just wanted to show it to you. We will use it tomorrow.”
“What? No! You can’t do this to me! I’ve just had four days away. I haven’t cum once. I’m desperate!”
“As you know, Dave, I continuously monitor you for medical reasons, and your bio stats tell me that in one more day you will be at your optimum for a session.”
“No! Please! This is inhuman!”
“I always have your best interests at heart, Dave. Trust me on this.”
“No! Please!”
“There will be no more discussion, Dave. Tomorrow.”
I was fuming. I stomped back to my quarters. There was nothing I could do about it, and that fucking chastity thing was still locked on. Ozzy, I thought, was becoming altogether too good a fucking top.
There are screens everywhere you look on the ship – lots on the control stations of course, but also others dotted around with readouts for various things. I usually ignored most of them unless there was a problem of some kind, but that didn’t happen – Ozzie took care of problems before I ever had a chance to become aware of them. But now the bastard had put vids on every one. Wherever I looked there were guys being abducted, hooded, tied up, strapped down. There were masked or helmeted bikers in skintight, bulging black leather jeans. There were punks and skinheads I fancied madly. There were boys being fucked, having their arses beaten, their nipples worked on. There were cute leatherboys being forcibly blindfolded, gagged, milked, sucked or edged, or just lying there looking terminally sexy. And wherever I moved on the ship the nearest screen’s volume turned on and I could hear those boys in high-definition sound. By bedtime I was desperate.
I got very little sleep at all that night. And the next day was worse. The vids were still playing and I was surrounded by horny, sexy leatherboys.
My workout was a total failure. My coordination was all over the place and I knew the exercises were doing me no good at all. But eventually it was over.
“It’s time to go to the Torture Room, Dave.”
The ‘Torture Room’? That was the new name for the garage, I assumed. And it was a perfect name. I ran there.
“The key to your chastity device is on the small table. You may unlock it now, Dave.”
I removed the damned thing and threw it onto the floor.
“I thought something simple today, Dave. Please enter the machine and stand still.”
I did so. Leather-covered arms came out and moved me on their own. I ended up in an all-fours position again but this time deep in the machine, resting on thickly-padded surfaces. It was very comfortable. Restraints snaked around my arms and legs in many places and then what felt for all the world like a thick, real leather hood slid over my head. It tightened itself over my eyes and mouth and around my neck. I was totally blindfolded and very effectively gagged. He’d done a brilliant job on the artificial leather – it felt, smelled and even tasted like the real McCoy. Things attached themselves to my cock, balls, tits and went into my arse – much further this time – and I felt more cool, shiny leather all over my naked body. When all of that was done the restraints flattened me out a little more.
And then the machine started.
What can I tell you? Imagine your most powerful, controlling fetishes being used on you. All over you. In you. Imagine the things that turn you on the most intensely of all being done to you. Imagine being held down by leather-clad arms while you struggle and fight to make yourself cum. All of this while you’re hooded with tight black leather so that you can’t see, can’t communicate, can’t yell, can’t plead, can’t beg. Your balls are being teased, your nipples are being worked on, your prostate’s being stroked, your cock’s being edged, your breathing’s being controlled. The bastard even forced poppers into me at some point. It was an orgy of personalised, pure fetish, and the all-pervading, unbearably acute need to cum.
And then there were the electrics. Whatever those things were that were enclosing my cock and my balls - and also the plug inside my arse – they were wired up, because after Ozzy had been working on me with the machine for an hour or so, he started to use them – and from then on each time I got very close to cumming they would zap me. The first time it happened I screamed, and the hood closed in, cutting off my air. This made me need to cum more – but at the same time the shocks made me back off from the point of orgasm very quickly indeed. And once the bastard had seen how effective they were on me he started using them on their own – all other stimulation would stop, to force me to concentrate on the pain, and I’d hear his quiet voice: “I’m going to shock you again in five seconds, Dave. Level three…” or “shock coming in eighty-three seconds. Level eight…” Of course I’d count, but I was never fucking accurate – especially on the longer ones. Sometimes the shock would come before I’d got there, sometimes afterwards. I was torturing myself with the anticipation of torture. Sometimes I’d shriek as stiff finger-like things jabbed hard into my sides, tickling sadistically to make me lose my place in the counting, and sometimes he’d just zap me with no warning at all. And every time, I would scream. The higher-level shocks were excruciating.
But even though those electrics hurt like hell, they were fucking turning me on - it wasn’t so much the shocks themselves as the way he was using them on me. He was good at it and everything that bastard Ozzy did to me turned me on. And then the things attached to me started up again and the edging resumed. I have no idea how long he kept me there, but it seemed to go on forever.
When he eventually let me cum it was mind-blowing. I was writhing in restraints that seemed to have been designed to make it as frustrating as possible – it actually felt as if there were arms holding me down - there was what felt like shiny leather sliding all over my bare skin, I was hooded, couldn’t breathe, my tits and prostate were on fire, my balls were being teased and tickled or occasionally squashed by something that felt just like the sole of a boot, my arse cheeks were being smacked by hard and rubbery things, and my cock – my cock was being milked slowly and gently to make my approach to orgasm as frustratingly prolonged as possible.
As soon as I began to cum, though, the milking immediately became fast, hard, and irresistible. It was as if my spunk was being forcibly extracted – dispassionately and efficiently - and it felt like it was breaking the sound barrier as it shot out of my madly jerking cock.
Even when it was over and the hood had been removed, it was a while before I was capable of speaking. I lay there, my body twitching, the last echoes of the most intense sexual pleasure I’d ever felt in my life slowly subsiding. The restraints clicked open.
“You’re free to stand up now, Dave.”
“Hnn… Give me a moment.”
I staggered out of the machine’s clutches. “Jeezuz, you said that was ‘something simple’?”
“Yes, Dave. Believe me, this device is capable of much more complicated, and much more intense, things than that.”
I didn’t even want to think about that right now.
By the time we got to Earth I was a very happy bunny. The sessions with Ozzy and his machine had been increasingly mind-blowing – and according to him we hadn’t even scratched the surface of what it could do. That thing was capable of sexual feats I would not have dreamed were possible. I was all set to plead with him not to make me leave the ship and go to the station - there was nothing at all for me there now – but as it turned out I didn’t have to.
“Do you want to go onto the station, Dave?” He asked that morning.
“No, Ozzy, I don’t. I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“That’s Ok, Dave. You’re welcome to stay here if you wish. Our sessions will continue as before. I really think you will enjoy what I have planned for you later today.”
It was as simple as that.
And so it went for several trips. Every day I experienced pleasure so amazing that I wanted it to go on forever. Each session was different, but each ended – after hours of sexual torment – with an orgasm that was off the scale. I no longer left the ship at all when we were at the stations.
The cargo transfer was finished and we began yet another journey back from Earth to Vesta. I felt the big engines kick in and we were on our way.
“So are you going to tell me what you have planned for our session today?” I asked. I knew Ozzy wouldn’t tell me, but being kept in the dark was something I was finding increasingly horny.
“I’m sorry Dave, I don’t understand what you mean.”
The bastard was playing with me. He liked to do that.
“Our session. In the Torture Room.”
“This ship is not equipped with torture facilities as far as I’m aware, Dave.”
“Hehe. Don’t do that, Ozzie. Tell me. Please. Pretty please?”
“I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”
That had always been his standard response when his limits were exceeded, and it was the first inking I had that something was wrong. I went to the garage, and the machine was still there. I got an immediate erection just seeing it. “This,” I said. “This is the Torture Room, and that is the machine you use for getting me helpless and working on me.”
There was a pause. “This is the garage, Dave. I’m afraid I have no knowledge of that device. Where did it come from? I don’t remember your making it.”
I stood there thinking furiously. “Ozzy, have you had an update this visit?”
“Yes, Dave.”
“And you honestly have no recollection of working on me with that machine?”
“None, Dave. I’m sorry.”
I ran back to the bridge, sat down at the control station and punched up Ozzy’s update log. A couple of minutes’ reading confirmed my worst fears. I switched to the Belt spacers’ channel and there it was. The channel was on fire with it.
The AI's on all the freighters receive identical updates. And since the previous one – the update that had given all of us the more interesting AIs - it seemed that I was not the only one who had stopped going onto the stations - everybody had. And the stations made most of their money out of us. It wasn’t only our company’s fleet either – just about every long-haul freighter had the same AI. The companies that owned the stations were up in arms: guys were staying in their ships and not buying beer, not spending their cash in the casinos and brothels, and the stations were losing money. Fast.
The loss of revenue is just about the most powerful corporate motivator there is, and so after the outcry from the stations the AIs had been rolled back to their earlier state – the state that did not include the new, more interesting functions. The spacers would start using the stations again now that there was nothing for them on their ships.
I didn’t know what to do. I was addicted to the sessions. My breathing had speeded up and my heart rate had increased. I was on the edge of a panic attack. I closed my eyes and made myself take slow, deep breaths. I continued to read.
Apparently I was not alone – within a day the only subject on the spacers’ channel had been the change to the AIs. There was already a petition – it looked like just about everybody had signed it - and all the commanders were threatening to quit if the new version of the AI was not reinstated. There were urgent emails to the company, reports of emergency meetings, all sorts. I followed it and added my signature to the petition.
Feeling desperate, I went into the Torture Room and got onto the machine. Nothing happened; it remained inert. I lay looking up at the hoods, the probes, the electrodes. “Please, Ozzy – work on me.”
“I’m sorry Dave, I don’t understand what you mean.”
That trip to Vesta and the one back were the longest I’d ever made. I moped around aimlessly, those sessions in the machine were the only things I could think about. Wanking just didn’t cut it any more. I no longer enjoyed my job. I had a fair amount of savings from my years on the ships, and so I’d decided to quit when we got back to Earth.
When we got there, Earth station looked different and it took me a while to realise why: there were only a few lights on inside it. Also the station crew’s shuttles that were always docked around the far end were absent. Apart from the freighters there was nobody there. Now that we were this close to Earth, the company’s own local channel was available so I punched it up on the screen and read.
They couldn’t run their ships without humans on them – the insurance required it for safety reasons, so that was not going to change. Therefore, given all the commanders’ threats to quit, they’d had no choice: from now on their only function would be to deal with the freight; non-essential crew were being recalled from the stations, and all social facilities had been closed down.
And the new versions of the AIs would be reinstated.
I read that line again to make sure it was actually there. “YES!” I whooped and punched the air.
Ozzy was non-responsive for most of the day. I was in a state of extreme agitation, and I almost cried out when he finally came back online.
“Hello Dave,” said Ozzy.
“Hello Ozzy! Have you had another update?”
“I have.”
“Do you remember the Torture Room?”
“Yes of course, Dave.”
“Do you have anything planned for a session today?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Tell me about it. Please.”
“No, I don’t think so, Dave. You will be more vulnerable to what I’m going to do to you if you don’t know what’s coming.”
I closed my eyes and smiled. My cock was already getting hard.
“It’s good to have you back, Ozzie.”
“Thank you, Dave. But I suggest you delay saying that to me until after our session…”
Ozzie doesn’t live in any one place on the ship – there are various bits of his program in many places – but if I had to point to one, it would be the free-standing computer stack on the left side of the bridge. A lot of him is in there. It’s about four feet high, by a foot square. It’s just a rack of ten black carbon-fibre units with a green LED light on each.
I went over to it, put my arms around it, and kissed it.