“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, boy?”
J, quivering on the tips of his toes, only got a stammer out and stared in frozen panic at the bot holding him up by the collar. The surfer boy’s initial snarl softened into a strict frown. “I’ll let it fly this time. Apologise. Now.”
“Eh?”
“Apologise, boy.”
“Eh, I’m sorry?”
“I’m sorry?” The bot pulled J’s face closer. J struggled back in panic. “I’m sorry, who?”
“What do you mean ‘who’, eh, Blue?”
Blue shook his head and sighed. The frown turned to stern disappointment. “There’s going to be a lot of work on you, boy. Isn’t there, boy?” J couldn’t think of anything to say that made sense. The bot let go. “Gag, boy,” he said.
“What?”
“What? What? Hand me a gag, boy. If you can’t use your mouth properly, it’s of no use and I might as well gag you.”
“You don’t understand,” J tried. “You were stuck and then… who are you anyway? Where’s Blue?”
“Blue’s gone,” it said. “Now hand me that gag or I’ll get it myself and, believe me, there will be consequences.”
J could not play that game. He lashed out, straight for the bot’s chest. It blocked J’s fist, twisted his arm into a joint lock, dragged a struggling and complaining J to the table, hooded him, and shoved the cold gag, still wet from Blue’s session, into J’s mouth. He forced J onto the floor, did the same horrible magic with the suit, mitted J, and left him hogtied, wrapped tighter than he’d ever been and with the suit done up in such a way that it dug into deliberate pressure points. Any struggling turned into rapid discomfort.
“You contemplate what you’ve done, boy. Let me know when you’re ready to apologise.”
“I apologise,” J mumbled.
“Of course you do. Do you want the hood and collar tighter? A larger gag? One that makes your jaw hurt just by looking at it? Think carefully about taking the piss with me, boy. This is not an apology. This is you being a smart ass. I’m expecting contrition.”
J decided to wait. He lay still until he remembered that whoever this bot was, it was as prone to malfunction as Blue, and he panicked.
“What is it, boy?”
“You’re in bad shape! Don’t leave me like that! If you freeze I’m dead!”
“Freeze? My logs are fine, boy.”
“They’re not! Safeword!” J shouted.
“I don’t do safewords, boy.”
J pummelled his screaming memory. He prayed the bot was now running Teal, a literal, no sense of humour strict top. Another top called Black came with warnings. The only way to shut them down were verbal stopping commands the bots were unaware of, or it would muck up the dynamics, the manual said. He pictured the ownership papers and their scribbled-on override codes, several of them crossed out and rewritten, sitting in one of the boxes. He’d tossed them aside. He didn’t need them with Blue. It could even be that with time and complete lack of battery power anything from those papers had been overridden. J couldn’t remember reading what the factory safeword was. For all he knew it could be red, uncle, or banana.
“You have to stop,” J said. He felt his voice strangle. “This is dangerous.”
“Calm down, boy.” Teal crouched down in front of him and kneaded his shoulders. “I don’t know if you’re being manipulative or truthful, but I do know boys like you. You would do anything to have things go your way. The shortest venture out of your comfort zone, and you’d come up with any excuse. That’s not how it works, boy. You should know that. Just like you should know how to address me. Do you know how to address me, boy?”
“That’s not–”
“I’ll ask you one more time: do you know how to address me, boy?”
“Yes, Sir. I know. Just don’t go away. Stay close, Sir. Please. Sir.”
“I won’t go away, boy. I’ll stay right next to you. I understand this is hard on you, and I’ll do everything I can to get you through it, but don’t let that make you think your antics will go unpunished. I’m not that kind of top.”
Teal kept one hand on J’s back and rubbed it now and then. Apart from that nothing happened.
“Now, if you’re going to play the waiting game, boy, you might as well be useful,” Teal said. He removed the gag from J’s stiff jaw and sat down on the floor with his crotch in front of J’s mouth. He got his cock out and brushed it against J’s lips.
“Feel that, boy? I want it hard and horny and ready for use. Think of it as a potential road to partial atonement.”
J knew better than objecting, tried to scoop up the cock with his tongue, lost it, and, struggling against the incapacitating full-leather hogtie, tried to locate it with his mouth.
“We’ll have to work on that clumsiness,” Teal said. He touched the tip back to J’s lips. “There you go. Well? What do you say, boy?”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Much better, boy. Much better.”
J sucked in the cock. It tasted of nothing and nothing happened. J started slurping, imagined how he liked having his cock worked on, did random things, well aware he’d never been much good with cocks in his mouth, but still Teal got harder and his cock started working its way down J’s tongue. J tried to shift backwards. The cock throbbed, hit the top of J’s throat, and he retched.
“Control, boy,” Teal said. “You’re doing well.”
Teal held J’s head up with one hand, started massaging the back of the hood with the other, and shifted deeper into J’s mouth. J retched, felt another retch coming, inhaled, relaxed, and made it fade.
“Good boy.”
“Please, I don’t like this, Sir,” J tried to say, and retched again.
Teal leaned back. “It’s all right, boy. You’ll get the hang of it. We’ll get there. Just the tip now.”
J relaxed. He twisted his head to find a more comfortable position and rested it on Teal’s thigh while taking care not to let the hard cock jerk out of his mouth. Teal repositioned himself, helped J back to his cock, and sighed.
“That’s it, boy,” he said. “Thaaat’s it. Good boy. You’re doing well. You’ll make a reasonable cocksucker. Eventually.”
J dozed off after he’d stopped struggling against the suit. The quieter he remained the less it dug in. He forgot about the cock he was sucking, didn’t fight fatigue, and felt himself go limp. It was Teal’s releasing him that woke him up. Teal helped J onto the settee – he was groggy with tiredness and hunger – undid much of the lacing but left the mitts and the hood on. J could move about. He now felt how sore his arse was from the plug, that his cock and balls burned, and that all he wanted was to get out of the suit, have a shower, and go to bed. He heard Teal rummage in the fridge and busy himself in the kitchen. Teal didn’t remove the mitts, fed J some pasta with a nondescript tomato sauce – J blushed each time Teal told him to open his mouth wide – made him drink a lot and had J pee (Teal was smirking now, and it took J ages to relax enough to let the piss flow while the bot held his cock). He took off the suit’s legs and took out the plug, diapered J, reattached the legs, put him to bed, and strapped up the suit into a mummy.
“I’m right next to you, boy, so don’t panic. I don’t want any sound until morning, understood? Understood, boy?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Sleep tight, boy.”
As much as J had dozed off during the day, the night was nothing but a long string of discomfort. When he was awake, he didn’t know whether he’d slept. He tried not to squirm, toss or turn, and wanted to know what time it was all the time. He wondered for the first time whether Blue – or Teal, or droids in general – slept as well. He woke up from a strange dream he forgot within seconds, guessed he’d had some sleep at least, and realised it was his bladder that was about to burst that had pestered him out of his sleep. He couldn’t hear or feel Teal move about. He shifted his head in the hope that the nose holes would align with the tiniest sliver of eyesight, tried the same through the hood’s open mouth, but hit nothing but blackness. By instinct, he jerked to rearrange his cock. His arms, the straps reminded him, were pinned to his sides. His fingers could only strain against the mitts’ gel-like internal fingers. Whether it was because of his bursting bladder or ordinary morning wood, his cock was hard and pointing down uncomfortably, much like Teal had arranged it in the diaper. The suit, done up tight over his crotch, made J’s cock strain at an awkward angle into the soft padding. He tried to get a trickle going, tensed his abs, couldn’t let go, and after some grunting and fidgeting gave up. By sheer willpower, he forgot about his bladder, caught the attention of the luminous wobbles going on inside his eyes, followed stray thoughts that popped out of nowhere, and slumbered back to sleep.
The next time he woke up his insides hurt and he was soft. His body took over and all of the night’s pee streamed out. He sighed and felt as contented as the situation allowed when his bowels decided to cramp. He’d waited long enough.
“Teal? … I mean, Sir?”
“Yes, boy?”
“I think I need a crap.”
“I think I need a crap, who?”
“I think I need a crap, Sir.”
“Well?”
“Please, Sir, not like that. I don’t think I can.”
“But I do, boy. I do. Have some faith in yourself.”
Arsehole, J thought, and held still. He felt a hum on his stomach. Teal started rocking him back and forth and increased the pressure of the massage on his bowels. J knew the bot wouldn't relent until he’d had his crap, grunted, pushed, and with a wet groan that disgusted him, soiled himself.
“That’s it, boy. Let it all out.”
J groaned. “Oh come on, don’t say things like that. Please. Not now.”
“Think of your language, boy.”
J grunted, heaved – more came – and as padded and steaming and foul as he felt, sighed in relief when he was done.
“Good boy. Told you you could do it.” Teal patted J’s tummy and hopped off the bed.
J didn’t answer or move. He sweated with embarrassment. The suit felt hot and cold at the same time. Teal unpinned J’s arms, unlaced the suit’s legs, and removed them from the rest of the suit. The air in the room was cold. J shivered.
“Time to move around a bit, boy. Get some morning exercises, there will be plenty of strict bondage later on, so enjoy it while it lasts.” Teal removed the hood and stroked J’s hair our of his eyes. “Open up, boy,” he said and worked a deep pecker gag into J’s mouth. “That’s to get your appetite going. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“Don’t you…” J spittled and pointed with the mitts at the diaper.
“First of all, it’s ‘Sir, could you change my nappy, please?’, and secondly, no. Instant gratification is a drug, boy. You’ll appreciate getting changed much more when that load of yours has turned cold and unpleasant.”
J couldn’t get used to Blue’s – or rather Teal’s – constant dismissive frown. It didn’t fit the surfer boy. Moping, he waited until Teal was in the kitchen and, careful not to smoosh the diaper, rolled out of bed. He wished the bot would freeze. Now would be the perfect time. He stretched as much as the suit allowed and it felt wonderful. Teal was sat on the table when J waddled into the kitchen. He’d changed clothes. He’d switched Blue’s loose white hoodie for a tight black one and had tucked an old pair of baggy olive cargos with two levels of oversized side pockets – J couldn’t remember when he’d last worn them – into the sturdiest pair of boots that had come with the boxes. He looked taller and stronger. His constant frown, shaggy hair notwithstanding, now fit him.
“I’ve made you breakfast, boy.”
“Oh. Thank you, Sir.” J looked at the empty table and frowned.
“Good boy. You’re learning. Turn around now,” Teal said, removed the gag, and pointed at a plate on the floor dressed with some bite-size pieces of canned sardine in tomato sauce and a solid helping of scrambled eggs. J looked at Teal in sulking defiance but knew better than to vent or disobey. He crouched and, as he was mitted, ate directly from the plate. Teal told him to lick it clean and that he was a good boy and fed him sips of coffee as a treat. J looked sideways throughout. He couldn’t bear that Teal’s face had lightened up. The bot was enjoying this. J’s bowels churned. He begged Teal for the loo without addressing him as Sir. “You stay here, boy. I’m sure there’s room for one more,” Teal said. He looked straight down at J from up on his table and smirked. J couldn’t hold it, didn’t want to hold it, and, looking down and away from Teal, let go. The silent kitchen made all of his moaning and grunting and the muffled gurgling and farting in the diaper sound like explosions. He was close to tearing up. He covered his face and could feel the heat of his blushing through the leather mitts. Teal’s smiling, gratuitous, drawled “There’s a good boy,” was the last drop. His eyes welled up and he hiccuped. Teal crouched next to him, held him tight, rocked him, and cooed. “It’s all right, boy. It’s all right,” he said. “You’re doing real well. Let it all out.” J buried his face into the bot and bawled. “Good boy,” Teal said.
He refastened the suit’s top into a straitjacket and cleaned up J in the bathroom. The crying spell had had the effect of numbing gel. Teal – god only knows how – now smelled of freshly rained-on sun-burnt earth and sandalwood. He plugged J – when J objected, Teal suggested a much larger plug – strapped him back into the full suit, double codpiece, hood, gag, padded bondage socks and all, and lay him down onto the settee with his legs together. Teal sat himself at J’s head and rested it in his lap. J had argued throughout that this was a bad idea, resisted as he could, but the bot was stronger and didn’t demur. J thought of dozing. There was nothing else he could do. He was comfortable and felt floaty. Teal’s lap was soft. Even the plug felt nice. Teal stroked J’s hooded head for a while and then placed his hand on the suit’s codpiece. It felt warm. J let himself sink deeper into the settee. After last night’s discomfort, lounging around and doing nothing felt lush. Teal had done up the suit like a cocoon. J’s bulge began to hum.
“Now, boy, you may think I forgot, but I didn’t. You’ve been impertinent. You’ve been slacking. I warned you from the beginning that you would address me as Sir. I’ve tallied the counts you didn’t. Whether by intention or forgetfulness is immaterial. You shall address me as Sir, unless I tell you you don’t have to.”
The hum didn’t increase but Teal had started massaging J’s bulge.
“Well, boy?”
“Huh?”
“Huh, eh?”
“Sorry, Sir. I don’t understand. Sir.”
“I said, you’ll address me as Sir unless I tell you not to. That is a command. Commands are to be acknowledged. So I’ll say it again: you’ll address me as Sir unless I tell you not to. Is that understood, boy?”
J sighed. “Yes, Sir.”
“That’s better, apart from the sighing. Now listen carefully, boy. I counted eighteen infractions, not including the more egregious ones like trying to punch me or struggling or ignoring commands or sighing or being a smart ass, so I’ll top that up to twenty. Nice round number. Last night I was wondering how I should punish you for that. Tell me, boy, when did you last cum?”
“Eh, a few day ago? Sir?”
“A few days ago, eh? Nothing more specific? I’m sure you can do better.”
J tallied back the days. He hadn’t had a wank last week, since Blue crashed. Blue hadn’t let him cum. Or he did, but it didn’t feel like cumming.
“I really don’t know, Sir. I’d say about a week ago, but I don’t know if that counted as cumming.”
“Doesn’t matter, boy. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. For each count of your forgetting to call me Sir, I’ll get you to the edge. I’m going to make you need to cum like you’ve never needed to cum before but I’m not going to let you, and you’ll count each edge for me and thank me for it. Is that–”
“Twenty edges?” J howled into the gag.
“Twenty one.”
“Please, no, you can’t do that. That’s–”
“Twenty–”
“Sir! Please don’t do that, Sir!” J started struggling.
“Twenty two, boy. I’d cooperate if I were you. The quicker you get to your edges, the faster it’ll be over. Enjoy the ride. I would say this is hurting me more than it hurts you, but that’s a white lie. I enjoy making boys like you suffer. And believe me, twenty two edges is nothing. Nothing at all. I’ve edged boys hundreds of times in an afternoon before, and believe me, they all thought they were going to die or wished it, but they didn’t. They survived. You’ll do just fine.”
Teal massaged the hum right into J’s tip and it felt like he’d laced up the codpiece to be even more confining and frustrating. J got close fast. Blue’s hum was a gentle hum. A cute hum. Teal’s was unpleasant and jagged and raw and designed to force cocks to spurt as fast as a hum could make them spurt and, should Teal want to, milk those cocks in no time without giving them any pleasure. J panted. He was there. He hadn’t felt it build. He had to cum. Teal let go.
“Fuck!” J shot up. Teal pushed his head back down into his lap. The hum didn't resume.
“Well, boy? Shall I count for you?”
“One. Oh fuck. Fuck. Thank you, Sir.” J squirmed and tried to reach for his cock. The suit kept his arms pinned and his hands well out of reach in the padded mitts.
“My pleasure, boy. Let’s continue.”
The hum resumed. J was still close. He reached the edge. The hum stopped.
“Oh fuck. No. Fuck!”
“Forgot something, boy? Uncounted edges don’t count. I’m not going to say it again.”
“Two, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” J panted and swore. Again he tried to reach for his cock to finish himself off.
“Good boy. I’m going to edge you like that eight more times, as a warm up, then it’s time for something more intense. And no more swearing. It doesn’t befit a boy like you.”
“No, Sir, it doesn’t befit a boy like me, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”
“No need to be snarky, boy. Or would you like more edges? You just have to ask.”
J grunted.
“Well, boy?”
“Sorry, Sir?”
“I asked you a question, boy.”
“No Sir. I don’t want any more edges, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
“Much better, boy. You see it’s not that difficult to control your tone. You’ll get used to it.”
Teal nudged his fingers into the codpiece and the hum resumed. J twisted, humped, started panting, and now keened. He felt a jerk in his groin. The hum went quiet.
“Three, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” His voice cracked mid-thanks, and while he would have liked to catch his breath, Teal was back on his cock. J tensed up. The hum stopped.
“Fuck! Fuck! You bastard! Fuck!” He squealed when the hum resumed. “Four! Four, Sir! Thank you, S…oh fuuuck! Please don’t stop, please don’t stop! Fuck Sir, let me cum! Oh fuck no. Five, Sir. Please let me cum! Please!”
J no longer cared and bounced on the settee like he was being electrocuted. The edges were too close together. Teal laughed. J suffered uncounted edge after uncounted edge, unable to catch his breath or to stop keening. He tried getting that elusive friction on his cockhead he’d so far felt only once in that infernal codpiece, but any struggling squashed it into a nullifying bulge that prevented him from getting over the edge. He clenched his arse around the plug and when it didn’t move nearly enough kicked his legs and jerked down his arms. Only if he’d managed to flop onto his belly would he stand any chance of humping himself to orgasm. He fought and struggled himself into a frenzy and Teal smacked him in the balls. The first hit did nothing. The second, much harder smack hit home. J had even heard the sharp edge of the smack through the hood. He bit down on the gag and stifled a howl.
“That’s enough, boy.” The bot’s voice didn’t sound angry; it was even. “I’m delighted to see that you’re not taking this punishment well at all – that’s the point – but if you don’t calm down, I’ll have to restrict you even further and I don’t think you’d want that. Breathe, swear, cry, do whatever you want to calm down, and we’ll continue.”
J’s cock throbbed while it leaked its built-up precum into the pouch. He sighed, waiting for it to lose some of its hardness, whined when his mind, losing focus on his cock, concentrated on the plug throbbing in his hole, and eventually, after many small frustrating adjustments and needy whimpers, settled back into Teal’s lap. He tensed when Teal laid his hand back on the codpiece.
“Sir?”
“Yes, boy?”
“Do I have to count, Sir?”
“Yes, boy. It forces you to keep your mind on the punishment, but I think you realised that already. I don’t want you to lie there and take it. That’s too easy.”
“It’s not too easy, Sir.”
“I know that, boy. That’s the point.”
The first thing J wanted to do when the torturing hum touched his weeping cockhead was swear. He bit hard into the gag, jerked inside the suit, kicked and grunted, took a deep breath and, growling on each exhale, settled down.
“That’s it, boy. Deep breaths. You’re doing well.”
The longer the hum went on – Teal had taken the edge off the jagged hum – the more J lost control. He whined, paced his breathing, gasped when orgasm was being forced back out of his balls and he was powerless to stop it, bit down harder, held his breath, and wailed when Teal, like an all-fucking-knowing god, even though J had done everything he could to keep any signs of near-orgasm from slipping past his conscious control, lifted his hand from the suit’s codpiece, leaving the throbbing cock once again to strain into its cum-denying pouch. J’s breathing was ragged.
“I’ve lost count, Sir,” he said when he felt he could handle it.
“Six, boy.”
“No, please, come on, it has to be more than that.”
“Six. Boy.”
“Six, Sir,” he said. His voice wobbled. He panted.
“Forgot something?”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re doing really well, boy, I’m proud of you.”
“I don’t think I can take twenty, Sir.”
“Twenty two, boy.”
“Please, no.”
“You’d be surprised at how much I can make you take, boy. Twenty two edges is nothing in my book, remember that.” Teal touched the codpiece with the angry hum.
“Oh fuck.”
“Yes, boy. No more nice touch.”
“Fuck. Seven. Please stop. Please.”
“Forgot something, boy?”
“Thank you, Si– oh god. Please! Stop it! Stop!”
“As you wish, boy.”
“That’s not what– Fuck!”
“Good thing you’re gagged boy. You’re grinding your teeth. Do I have to remind you–”
“Eight! Thank you, Sir! And fuck you too, Sir!” J spat it out loud enough for his ears to ring.
“That’s it, boy. You hate this. You can’t take it. If I don’t let you cum next time you’re going to rip out of this fucking suit, shove your rock hard cock up my mouth and drown me in your cum, aren’t you, boy?”
“Nine! Fuck!”
“Except you can’t escape your bondage, you can’t cum, and no matter how much you beg me, I’m not going to let you. Here, boy, take this.” Teal rubbed J’s bulge harder than before, squeezed right into his cockhead, and brought the disgusting hum and its sickening precision right onto J’s piss slit. J saw ropes of cum erupt from his cock. He felt it move up from his balls. Oh god, Oh god, Oh god, he was going to cum.
Teal lifted the one remaining humming finger off the codpiece.
“No, please, don’t–” J keened, jerked his cock up with his entire body towards Teal’s finger and kept at it for as long as his muscles could take. He tried to kick and lash out, but as always the suit took all the wind out of his struggling, Teal kept him down with a single hand, and all he could do was feel the edge burn and slowly, slowly fade. His cock’s pulse, like it had been pulsing for the entire duration of his ordeal, mellowed. He squirmed and mumbled to soothe himself.
“Forgot something, boy?”
“Fuck you.”
“Say that again, boy?”
“Ten, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
“Time for a breather and a break, I think.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Teal stroked J’s hood. “Twelve more, boy. Then we’re done. You’re doing well. But remember, this is nothing.”
J didn’t want to think about whether he was doing well or how he might do better or what the torture of a hundred horrible edges would do to him. He wanted it to be over and he wanted it not to continue. He wanted Blue back. Teal got up, unlaced and removed the codpiece, and, facing J’s cock, sat down on his legs. Undone of its black, confining restraints, J’s cock had hardened straight away.
“You’ve cum,” Teal said.
“No I haven’t.”
“You have. A little bit. I must have got you too close a few times.”
“It felt nothing like cumming.”
Teal sniggered. “That’s good.”
“Sir. Sir,” J said.
“Huh?”
“I forgot to sir you, Sir.”
“Did you?”
“Twice, Sir, so I’m not taking any chances. Sir.”
“Well. Boy. Forget about the sirring for now. I’ll forget about the boying. Now, lube. That wasn’t an order by the way.” Teal spat a small dollop of medium thick spit on his right index and middle finger, and rubbed it together with his thumb. He hooked J’s cock back with his left hand, and with the lubed fingers, slowly started sliding over the boy’s now bare cockhead.
“This is going to take a lot longer,” Teal said. “I’ll make you crawl to your edges. You’re going to beg me for more – you have no idea – but you’ll get nothing. This could take a few hours. Or days. But we’ll get there.”
J sighed. He wasn’t listening. With his cock now unfettered and hard and pointing up, he relaxed and purred in natural relief as if he’d been reset, and while the throbbing pressure at the root of his cock hadn’t settled, the wet, gentle strokes and twists and rubs had him sink into the settee in expectant delight and it took the burn off his need. He felt himself rock under Teal’s legs, hump the bot’s hands, and started gliding towards bliss. When he humped harder into Teal’s hands for the first time – and let out a half-irritated grunt – he’d started to frown. He no longer concentrated on the gentle fondling and how good it felt but on working his way towards cumming. Each of the wet strokes sent popping bubbles of need down his cock. He huffed. Teal kept doing the same single gentle thing before switching to a different technique and only changed the stimulation when J started squirming or stopped squirming, depending on how the boy reacted to the fondling. He rubbed J’s slit in one direction with a single finger fifty or sixty times or until J complained he needed more, squeezed the pads on the underside of his cock a hundred times – J had begged Teal for something else; “Sure,” the bot had said – twisted around the corona until J felt the first twitch and had humped, or massaged the frenulum with just a thumb slick with precum until J screamed ‘please’. J bit the gag hard, harder, and Teal went on to rub the slit sideways and J started sobbing and struggling against the suit – he had to reach his cock – and again Teal stopped, and after a pause too short to enjoy Teal now twisted around his ridge and the build-up J so dreaded started over.
“Doesn’t that feel nice?” Teal said. “Don’t you want this to go on forever?”
J whimpered. He craved relief. “Please, no. I just wanna cum,” he said. “Please. I wanna cuuum.”
“Of course you do. We’ll see about that. But not now. Now I want you to feel good. Doesn’t this feel good? You’re looking delicious. You’ve got a nice cock,” Teal said and bent over. J squealed when he felt the bot’s lips form a seal around his cockhead. The sucking got him close in seconds.
“Gonna cum, Sir, gonna cum, oh please! Siiir!”
“What?” Teal popped off the cock.
“No! No no no no no! Don’t stop! Don’t stop now. Sir! Shit!” J’s cock throbbed – not much, just a bit – and he was somehow grateful that the feeling of being at the edge ebbed away more quickly than before. To Teal’s standards, this was a good edge, a soft one, one that he could handle. He still had to squirm against the straps to feel better about it. “Eleven, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” he said. He sounded dejected.
“No need to call me Sir, you know,” Teal said.
“But?”
“Unless you’re into that. All the same to me. Now, where were we?”
“Oh god no.”
The mouth was back. J bucked. Teal now held J’s cock in both hands and slobbered on it like a starving sugar addict would bury his face into a mountain of fudge flavoured custard cream. He had his eyes closed. He reached for his own cock. “So good,” he said. J bucked again. He’d thought he’d cum, but Teal’s over-the-top intensity rubbed backwards. It was too much. All his cock did was freeze into a hard, desensitised rod. He gnawed down into the gag and jerked up as hard as he could. Teal toppled. The bot ‘huh?’ed in surprise and with a muffled thud fell to the floor.
“You fucking maggot!” it barked. “You’ll fucking pay for that! I’ll rip your balls off, grind them up with your shit, and shove it down your throat until you fucking choke! You’re finished, you fucking mouldy stain of inbred degenerate spunk.”
J froze. The bot had scrabbled up and grabbed J’s exposed balls. Bent like a bow on the settee to keep his sack from ripping off, J yapped and when nothing happened listened as hard as his wooshing ears and his gasping allowed. The pounding of his heart took an eternity to settle. He started shaking. Apart from a high-pitched whine the bot kept quiet. J sweated all over. The grip didn’t relent. J scrunched his eyes, kicked his bundled legs up as high as he could, and hit the mad automaton. He felt it topple but it didn’t let go of J’s balls, until, wet with whatever had come out of cock-mad Teal’s mouth, they squelched with a sickening pop out of the tumbling bot’s grip. J rolled off the settee. The thud, this time, was a crash. J fainted.
“Are you all right?”
“Huh?” The pillowy, velvet embrace of unconsciousness faded from around J. Fragments of gritty discomfort and their attached thoughts reassembled themselves and caught him, still mostly unaware, in a dark, cramped limbo. The floor’s hardness and the clinging of the suit rematerialised, the plug burrowed itself back into his sensory world, and his balls – he panicked when he couldn’t touch them – sent lurching cords of bad pain up the inside of his belly.
“You were gone,” a hushed voice said from above him.
“Who are you?”
“It has no name.”
“Could you get me out, quickly? I think I’m going to vomit.”
“It doesn’t know if it’s allowed to.”
“Just get me out. Please,” J said.
Nothing happened. The bot sat crouched next to the settee, next to the bundle of gimp leather that imprisoned J, its eyes cast down, waiting for nothing or something to happen.
“Look, no name, whatever, get me out.”
“Where is Master?”
“There is no master. Now get me out.”
“If Master isn’t here, who are you?”
“Fuck’s sake, I’m the fucking master then,” J said. The gag made it sound off. “Now untie me. Boy! Thing!” ‘Maggot,’ he added and immediately regretted it.
“Yes, Master,” it said. No speck of joy dappled its voice, only something akin to having been crushed again and again and dealing with the fragments of its brittle existence. It got up, loosened the suit, and crouched back down, as if crouching out of the way was the only thing it was eager to do. J was free to move, but still had everything on, gag, hood, slippery bondage socks, and long mitts included. He flailed, couldn’t get his muscles to cooperate, and gave up.
“Could you help me up, please? And get rid of the whole thing? I’m not functioning.”
The bot got up, never locked its gaze on J, took the suit off – J winced at simply sitting up and at the harshness of daylight when the hood came off – and while the bot’s touch was gentle, it did everything with neither objections nor enjoyment. J wondered who wanted such wretched creatures.
“I assume,” he said, “that there’s no point asking if you could reboot as Blue? If he still exists?”
“This object is Null,” it said. “It has no privileges.”
“Could you switch yourself off, Null? Please? I don’t want to do it. I can’t see you power down again.”
“No, Master. This object is not allowed to.”
J couldn’t look at the bot. He asked it to lie down and reach over his left foot. Null, taking off his boot, J now noticed, no longer used his left arm. It hung limp to his side. J took hold of the bot’s leg, felt for the switch, gave the foot a last, tender squeeze, and pushed the button. Null thanked him, closed his lifeless eyes, and went limp.
The sun cast cold and empty early-Sunday-afternoon shadows down the living room. J sat on the settee, naked, bruised, and sore, an empty suit and the shell of a boy at his feet. Its look of contentment hurt. He got up, padded to the kitchen, and made coffee. The empty breakfast plate was still on the floor. He picked it up and put it into the sink. He had a shower and a shave, dressed into something loose and fluffy, sent work a message that he’d come down with something utterly unwholesome and wouldn’t be there tomorrow, at least not in the morning, ordered himself something to eat that arrived twenty minutes late and had seen an apparent battering on its way and he was fine with that. He really didn’t want to, but he dragged the bot into a corner, stuffed the suit and all the rest back into the boxes, piled them up next to the bot, and covered the lot with a bedsheet. He called the same friend, had a few drinks in a quiet place, was told to take care – whatever was wrong and whatever he wouldn’t talk about but clearly involved some heartbreak or worse – and reached the end of the day in an otherwise blank state. He realised he still hadn’t had cum, smiled at how out of place having a wank would feel, and went to bed just after ten. He slept in well past eleven.
*
In the void that Blue had left, J tumbled back down the automaton-shaped rabbit hole. He picked up the bot-repair threads he’d ventured into after Blue had frozen for the first time and ended up talking to a guy who, going from his posts, seemed to collect anything Pan Electronics related. The guy said he’d visit when he got time. He didn’t live exactly next door.
He was a short pot-bellied man with a white comb-over, an over-laundered, striped polo shirt tucked into chinos held up by suspenders. He smelled of bar soap, had the immaculate smile of a bar soap salesman, and introduced himself as Martin, the Pan Collector. J had got the bot from underneath the bedsheet and had propped him up in his corner. He was still wearing the clothes Teal had picked, minus the one boot.
“Let’s read the surfer boy, shall we?” Martin said. He swiped into an app, touched his phone to Blue’s chest, and pushed up his glasses when gobs of letters blazed over the screen. When the letters had died down, he got up with a groan, sat himself at the table, and looked through the logs. J sat down opposite him and kept an eye on Blue as if the bot could switch itself on any time now.
“Here’s the deal, J,” Martin said and put his phone and glasses down. “I can’t repair him. Nothing I can do. This goes too deep. He’s got personality bleed, two dead actuators, a broken joint, hundreds of safety bypasses in the electronics, some irresponsibly dangerous, his skin is going to last another year or two, and then it’ll come off the substrate and fall to bits. And believe me, that’s a traumatic experience, you don’t want to see that happen. And his power bank isn’t too happy. His memory seems fine, but I have doubts about those logs. That boy’s seen some serious abuse. Where did you get him?”
“A brothel sale.”
“That figures.”
J looked furtively at Blue, then out of the window, and back at Blue.
“You got attached, didn’t you?” Martin said, quietly.
J nodded.
“Can’t blame you. What personality did you run?”
“Blue. Before he went crazy.” J’s throat scrunched up.
“Blue. Yeah. Figures.” Martin looked down. “I shouldn’t tell you, really, but I used to live with a Blue. Until it died.”
“Died?”
“Yeah, they weren’t made to last forever, you know. An African Elf. Slim, tall, black boy. Hung like a horse. Eyes to die for. Good, simple, non-judgemental company. And amazing in bed. We were happy together. Well, I was. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s all right,” J said and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know why I got so attached. He lasted about two weeks or so, hardly long enough to… It’s not normal.”
“It’s perfectly normal. It’s part of their design. They go straight for the heartstrings, you know. They know far too well what makes you tick and how to make you tick. Clever, clever behavioural programming. Manipulative, in a sense, but, when you think about it, can you call something manipulative if there’s no ulterior motive? I don’t think so. People are far more– Sorry, I’m ranting again.”
“No worries. Anyway, where are my manners.” J got up. “Something to drink?”
Martin stayed for another two hours and rambled on about his work in the Far East before an early, hereditary bowel-disease related retirement cut that short, his disgust with current politics and its pervasive cynicism, which, would you believe it – he’d just read a book about the ancient Greeks –, is the way politics had always been, his divorces, how he came to collect bots, his grandchildren, his favourite fishing spots and tackle. He told J what he could do, if he wanted to. He’d have Blue picked up, he’d look for another Vintage Surfer Boy – there was still some new old stock around if you knew where to look – transfer whatever was transferable – no guarantees – and send it on its way to J, official paperwork and all. It wouldn’t be cheap, but, because he was an idiot, as his first wife liked to remind him at every occasion, he’d take the suit and the boxes as payment. He only had one suit in his collection, not nearly as nice or complete as J’s, they were very rare, and if he ever wanted to get rid of it – for some reason, as this isn’t what collectors naturally do – he was certain he could get a tidy sum for it, especially if he flogged it off to the right guy or gall, as J’s suit had double dildoes and breast panels.
“That’s what they are,” J said.
“Yep. Unisex suit.”
They shook hands and Martin was on his way. He arranged for a discrete courier to pick up Blue and the boxes. J kept some of the smaller gear for himself before the courier arrived.
“Those your clothes?” the courier asked – J nodded –, stripped Blue, wrapped him in black polythene, stuffed him in a crate, and after that, the corner in the living room was empty.
*
Blue let himself in with the key underneath the doormat. Martin had told J that someone was on his way and would arrive on Monday somewhere in the early afternoon, depending on public transportation antics, but that he knew where the key would be, just in case.
“I’ve made you something to eat,” Blue said when J got home.
J tried not to collapse into a puddle at the sight of the fresh, smiling Blue, back in his loose, white hoodie. He wasn’t wearing the industrial boots – he never had, so far – but he’d picked the olive cargos. Draped over a chair were a pair of chinos and a cardigan, courtesy of Martin no doubt.
J didn’t say much. He felt wobbly. That was fine with Blue.
“I’m afraid the suit’s gone,” J said – Blue knew – “so we’ll have to think of other ways of, you know…”
“I know of many other ways of, you know…”
“Do you?”
“I have an extensive repertoire of, you know.”
J smiled. “That’s good,” he said.
“Besides… A moment,” Blue said, got up, came back with a thin duffel bag, zipped it open, and grabbed a handful of shiny black gear out of it. “Martin said there was too much of the small stuff. There are mitts and loads of padded straps, a few simple hoods as well. And he gave some plugs and gags back. Didn’t want to clean them up. No suit though, but…” Blue patted his chest.
“Huh?”
“I’ve got the patterns. We’ll get some skeins of SkyB – or leather, if you want – a sewing machine, lots of hardware, and before the weekend is over, you’ll be squirming in a custom suit and begging me to let you cum – especially as I’ve got some ideas for an even more frustrating codpiece now that I know what your cock likes. Besides, if I remember correctly, you’ve still got twelve punishment edges to thank someone for.”
“How do you–”
“Unless, of course, you’d rather watch television. We can do that too. I try not to be judgemental.” The Surfer Boy smiled. It wasn’t a coy smile, it wasn’t provocative. If it was manipulative, it was perfection. J knew that by Sunday afternoon he’d be down with something utterly wholesome and he was very fine with that.
(Oct. Dec. 24)