Ohms

Nexis Pas (nexispas@yahoo.co.uk) Copyright 2007 by the author

`Are you warm enough?'

`Oh, yes, just perfect.'

`Comfortable?'

`Yes.'

`You're tired, aren't you?'

`Yes, now that you mention it, I am tired.'

`Then relax and go to sleep.'

As soon as I said the words, I could feel Patrick loosening up. He was lying on his side, nestled against my torso, with my right arm extending down his back holding him close to me. As the muscles in his neck relaxed, his head settled even more securely on my chest. His right leg fell even more heavily across my legs. Within a few seconds, his breathing had slowed. I felt his abdomen press slowly and repeatedly against me as he took deep and even breaths, just as I had taught him.

I had been training Patrick for over a year. At first, I used hypnosis just to help him relax. Then I gradually began to associate it in his mind with pleasure, and once that association was secure, it took only a series of patient steps to link obedience and submissiveness so strongly with pleasure in his mind that even the thought of obeying me gave him a virtual orgasm. He was perfect. He did everything for me. Every time I walked in the door, I was greeted by a devoted and obedient servant. He anticipated my wishes. He bought me anything I wanted. He didn't even look at or think of anyone else. He had become an incredible lover, tireless, insatiable, totally controlled. He exercised his body to perfection. He was beautiful. And he was beginning to bore me. `Be careful what you wish for, because you may get it.' Indeed. I had wished for total obedience, a puppet completely under my control. And I had created him, and now I had tired of him. There was no challenge, no victory in his submission. It was mindless, wearisome in its certainty. Patrick was incapable of resistance. I had begun to look forward to putting him to sleep every evening. It was my only respite from his incessant care and solicitude.

I lay there in bed that night, feeling the warmth of Patrick's firm, smooth body against mine. His breath lightly stirred the hair on my chest. Unless I told him to, he would not move until morning when I awakened him. He slept deeply, but for me sleep would not come. The thoughts of my predicament bedevilled me. I could simply programme Patrick to forget me and send him back to where I had found him. There would be a hole in his memories, but that would not concern him for long. He would not worry about it if I told him not to. I would just disappear from his consciousness. But I was reluctant to toss away all my efforts in converting Patrick. I had never been anywhere near as successful in training a subject as I had been with him. It would be foolish to throw away all my work and to start over, with no guarantee that I would find another as susceptible as Patrick.

I picked up the remote that controlled the lights in the room and switched them off. The remote was ergonomically designed to fit the human hand. It was a pleasure to hold and I kept in my hand, lingering over the enjoyment of holding it. I thumbed the button that turned the lights back on and held it down to push the rheostat to the highest setting. Gradually the lights brightened from dim to full and then back to off again. An idea formed in my mind. I had programmed Patrick to regard obedience and submission as his most important traits, the only traits that brought him pleasure. I could equally well programme him to resist me when commanded. Resistance would not bring him pleasure or satisfaction—no, that would be going too far. It would have to be more a flaw in his character, a petulant childishness that overcame his training occasionally. Unpredictable, whimsical, bipolar. He would regret it afterwards, but he would not be able to prevent it from boiling over.

***** `I'm busy right now. I don't have time to talk with you.'

`Patrick, you know you want to listen to me. To do what I tell you. There is no greater pleasure for you than to obey me, you know that.'

`Yeah, right. Sometimes you're so full of nonsense. And stop manhandling me. I have work to do.'

`Patrick, you know you like me to touch you. My touch makes you feel so good.'

`No, it doesn't. That's just another one of your fantasies.'

`Oh, Patrick, you know that's not true. Think how sensitive your nipples are to my touch, to my lips, to my tongue. You want me to touch your nipples, don't you.'

`Oh, stop it, go away and leave me alone.'

`Patrick, look at your hands. Even now your fingers are playing with the buttons on your shirt. You want to unbutton your shirt, don't you. Don't try to resist. You know you can't.'

`I can. I won't do what you say.'

`Patrick, just the top button. It's only one button. You know I like to look at your chest. You exercise just for me so that I can enjoy looking at you.'

`No, I exercise to stay healthy and so that everyone will admire me. It has nothing to do with you.'

`But think, Patrick, do you ever look at them—all those handsome muscular men at the gym? Do you ever want their hands on your body? Do you want any of them to touch you? Could any of them make you feel as good as I do, simply by looking at you? And has anyone ever made you feel the way I make you feel?'

`What difference does that make?'

`You know what difference it makes, Patrick. Think about it. Think about unbuttoning your shirt and pulling it out of your waistband and then taking it off. I stand behind you, our bodies not touching. And then I reach around your chest and slowly, lightly begin to stroke your nipples. A gentle circular motion, just on the tip of the nipple. You know how good that makes you feel. You know how your nipples contract and swell when I do that. How hard they get. Then I rub them gently between my fingers, maybe tug on them just a bit. A few light pinches. I cup your pecs in my hands and rub your nipples with my thumbs. Maybe scrape a fingernail across them. Think how your entire consciousness becomes compressed to those tiny bits of flesh as the waves of pleasure flow through your body. And how you bend forward at the waist and thrust your arse back into my groin so that you can rub yourself against my hardness, and how the hair in my groin scratches your butt. You love that. My hard cock against your arse, that hard round column of hot flesh between the cheeks of your buttocks, exciting you with the promise of entering you. You might even begin to beg me to clamp your nipples. The gentle clamps at first, but we both know that soon you will want the alligator clamps. You will beg me to make those little teeth bite into your nipples. Pain and pleasure mixed together exciting you. Each time they close around your nipples, there is that wonderful moment of sharp pain as the teeth squeeze the flesh. The pain that soon changes to an electrical charge of pleasure surging through your body. Over and over again as the clamps open and close, leaving those marks upon your nipples. And then think how it feels once the nipples are so sensitive when I take them into my mouth and suck on them. It's an orgasm. The thought of it makes you so hard, doesn't it, Patrick?'

`Please.'

`Please what, Patrick?'

`Please don't make me do this.'

`I don't make you do anything, Patrick. I'm only talking. Just words. You like to hear me talk. Sometimes my words soothe you. Sometimes they arouse you. But I simply guide you where you want to go, Patrick. It's just a matter of releasing the thoughts and the desires that are inside you already. You know you want to undress for me, Patrick. Already your hands are straying to the top button on your shirt. The first one is always the hardest one to undo, isn't it, Patrick. There now, you feel better already. The next ones will be much easier.'

`Please don't trance me again.'

`Trance you, Patrick? I'm just talking to you. It's only words. Words can't make you do anything. Words won't make your cock get hard. I can't command you to get hard. You do that all by yourself. It's all inside your head and body. Just words inside your head, Patrick. That's all they are. Words that make you hard and then soft. Words that keep you at the edge of orgasm for hours. Words that make you beg for release. But there is no release, is there, Patrick? No release until I tell you to. And you know that the more you submit to me, the more you obey me, the greater the pleasure you will feel. Submission and obedience—they are such beautiful words, aren't they, Patrick? Submission. Obedience. You love those words. You love to submit to me. Nothing gives you more pleasure than submitting to me. Obedience. You love to obey me. Nothing gives you more pleasure than obeying me.'

`Yes.'

`Why don't you take the rest of your clothes off, Patrick? That's good. You will feel much better when you are naked. See, Patrick, you feel much better now. Come closer. Just stand there while I stroke your body. You feel so good when I stroke your body. No one can make you feel this good. Only me. I alone can make you feel this good. Submission. Obedience. Pleasure. Submission. Obedience. Pleasure.'

`I'm sorry.'

`Shhh. I know you are, Patrick. Just forget those thoughts. Concentrate on Submission. Obedience. Pleasure.'

Patrick began to tremble as I stroked him, as I took him to the brink of orgasm. His body shuddered and swayed. The lightest stroke of the tip of a finger against his neck made him moan. My breath against his skin made his skin shiver. I made his body rigid. I love to touch him. To trace the blood vessels that have been forced to the surface of his body by the hard muscles that I have made him create, to caress his firm thighs, to take the pecs in my hands and press my fingertips into them, to taste his flesh, to kiss it, to lick it, to place my hands on his biceps and command him to flex them, to move them up and down beneath my hands. His body is so alive.

I can touch him for hours, and he only grows more and more rigid, more and more aroused, more and more excited. And if I want, I can erase everything from his mind and begin over. To make him focus only on the pleasures of the moment, to take him from height to height, to build an orgasm that rips him apart, every muscle in his body writhing in total, complete bliss. I love the control I have over him. It is addictive. Every time I give Patrick an orgasm, I want to do it again. To turn him into a mindless, willing puppet. And I enjoy it so much when he tries to resist me, when I have to force him to obey, to tempt his body and his mind into submission, the dog biscuit of pleasure that makes him obey. That was an inspiration. To be able to control him as if I had a rheostat, to strengthen and dim his resistance as my mood takes me. I must work more on that aspect of his training. Today was one ohm of resistance; we will work our way up.

`Wake up. Wake up now.'

My eyes slid open and then shut again.

`Wake up. Wake up now.'

I felt so warm. The fur rug soft and silky beneath my body. My eyes briefly fluttered open and then closed again. I did not want to wake up.

`Wake up. Wake up now.'

I was lying on the fur rug in front of the fireplace, with my head toward the grate and the gas log. I could feel the heat of the fire on my scalp. I was quite comfortable, warm and relaxed. I did not want to move. The room was lit only by the fire. I could tell it was turned low. The far corners of the room were obscured in shadows. The couch that faces the fireplace had been pushed back a bit so that I could lie at full length on the floor. I could see the dark fabric gleaming in the light of the flames. Elsewhere in the room shiny surfaces caught the light and threw it back toward me. The dim light rendered the familiar room uncanny. I could not recall how I came to be lying on the floor. The last thing I could remember was eating supper. I was seated at the table. Patrick had just poured me a glass of wine.

I tried to sit up. The choke collar tightened around my neck before I had lifted my head a few inches. Brief glimpses to my right and left revealed that my wrists were enclosed in steel cuffs. Chains attached to the cuffs led to rings set in bolts and anchored in the brickwork of the fireplace. When I attempted to move my legs, I discovered that my ankles were cuffed as well and my legs were spread apart. At that point I panicked. My screams echoed in the empty house. My heart began thudding and I broke into a sweat as the extent of my bondage became clear to me. Someone had invaded our house and tied me up and left me. Despite the heat of the fire, I began to shiver. `Is anyone there? Help me. Help.' I struggled against the restraints. The links of the choke collar cut into my throat, and I started to gag.

`Stop struggling. You will only hurt yourself.'

The voice came from the corner of the room to my left and behind me. A deep voice. Peremptory. Commanding. Certain of being obeyed. I tried to stop struggling, but I was shivering so much in fright that the chains were rattling against the floor.

`Relax. Your body relaxes. Even though you fear me, your body relaxes.'

And it did. A wave of relaxation swept through me. But the mention of fear made my throat dry. My tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth. My forehead felt clammy with sweat.

`Who are you? What do you want?'

I have what I want.' The voice was coming closer to me. If I need something, I will take it. For now, your fear will suffice.'

At the word `fear' I was blasted with dread. A hollow feeling inside myself. I almost pissed myself. Only at the last minute was I able to clamp down and stop myself.

`Please, if you want money, I can get it for you.'

There was a snort of derision and then a whisper. `If I want money, I will make you give it to me. Do not bother to make offers to me. I will take what I need.'

To my left, a shadow detached itself from the background and moved forward to stand above me. The man was dressed entirely in black. Not even his eyes were visible. From my position on the floor, he rose over me. He walked around me, examining me from all angles. He stopped just beyond my feet. He was visible only as a darkness against the background. There was no motion or sound for several minutes. I thought he had left me. Then first one hand and then another shone white in the darkness. The hands began tugging at something.

A sliver of white appeared at waist height. It took me a few seconds to realise that he was undressing and that I was looking at his back. The black fabric was peeled from his body, revealing more and more of it. His back flared up from a narrow waist, the furrow over the spine deep and surrounded by thick muscles. His shoulders were wide and the cuffs of muscles where the arms meet the shoulders were broad and high. His hands moved back to his waist and slowly pushed the fabric over his buttocks. The deep shadow in the crack between the cheeks emphasized how developed his glutes were. He bent forward and eased the fabric down his thighs and calves and off his feet. They were so large that he had to roll the clothing off his legs. It was as if it were reluctant to let go of his flesh.

He turned around. The muscles of his thighs swelled up from the knees. His veins stood out from the skin, straight up his thighs and then curving around his sex and rising over the scallops of the abdomen. The nipples were large and erect at the very centre of his pecs. Every muscle stood out. From somewhere he picked up a bottle. He turned it upside down and then squirted something into the palms of his hands. He began stroking his body, massaging it with oil. His flesh began to gleam in the firelight, reflecting the flames. Comets streaked across his body as his hands stroked himself with the oil. His body became a mass of reflected flames, flickering as he moved.

He moved forward to stand at my waist. His hands reached up and removed the hood that covered his head. `You recognise me now, don't you?'

`Patrick. What the fuck are you doing? Take these chains off me.'

`I don't think so. You are quite comfortable for now.'

`Patrick. Submit. Obey. Only by submitting will you feel pleasure. Only by obeying . . .'

`I think not. Not this time. Now be quiet. Speak only when you are spoken to.' He knelt down so that he was straddling my body and sat on my stomach. His fingers began to caress his nipples.

`You like my nipples, don't you? You are always touching them. They are beautiful, aren't they? So large. So soft and lickable. You like to take them between your lips and make them hard, don't you? Look at them. They are so large. You want to touch them so much. To lick them. To suck on them. See how the flames light them up.'

My mouth opened. I struggled to sit up. I moaned in frustration. Patrick bent forward and brought his chest to about an inch from my mouth. I snaked my tongue out. He laughed. Oh, you want to lick me so badly.' He reached out a hand and clasped it on either side of my mouth, forcing it open. He stuck two fingers into my mouth and rubbed them back and forth on my tongue. Oh, you want it so badly.' He pulled back from me and fingered his nipples again. The flames danced on his chest. The aureoles around the nipples glowed gold in the light. `It excites you to watch me touch myself. You want to touch me. To caress me. To stroke me. Watch.'

Patrick stood up. He began stroking his entire body. My eyes followed every movement of his hands as they moved up and down his body. His body glistened in the firelight. His hands settled around his cock and began stroking it. Slowly back and forth. `Watch. As I stroke myself, you become more and more aroused. Watch my hand as it slowly moves up and down. It arouses you to watch me. Your entire body becomes more and more rigid as I stroke myself. More and more aroused. More and more excited. You cannot move. You can only watch. Watch as I stroke myself. You have trained me to wait for my orgasms, sometimes for hours. I can stroke myself for hours now. And the more I stroke myself, the more excited you become. And the more aroused and excited you become, the more obedient and submissive you become. You want me to come. But I won't come until you are totally obedient and submissive. And you want me to come. You want to be totally obedient and submissive.'

I couldn't take my eyes off Patrick. His hand slowly moved up and down his cock. Slowly. His voice a gentle murmur in my mind. Obedience. Submission. Pleasure. My mind relaxed. Obedience. Submission. They are such beautiful words. Patrick is so beautiful in the firelight. The flames dancing on his body. His hand slowly arousing me as he strokes himself. My body and mind becoming rigid. My body and mind becoming obedient. My body and mind becoming submissive. More and more aroused. More and more obedient. More and more excited. More and more submissive. Obedience. Submission. Pleasure.

Patrick reached orgasm. The cum jetted out of him and fell on my body. Sticky hot pulses of cum on my body. Living ropes of fire on my body. He reached down and dipped his fingers in his cum and lifted them to my lips. I sucked on them greedily. Obedience. Submission. Pleasure. Submission. Obedience. Pleasure.