The Top Machine
z119z
© by the author 2014
"It's a new product the company I work for is testing. It prepares the mind for meditation and teaches you to concentrate. This is just a prototype. For now we've loaded a simple relaxation program into it. I use it every night before I go to bed." Jason handed the helmet to Paul. "It shows a sequence of patterns—swirls and spirals—against a background of New Age music. It helps clear your thoughts. The program interacts with the user's mind through feedback loops. It monitors your responses and then makes adjustments to optimize the program for you. Once we get the hardware right, we'll develop more programs for it. Of course, all these wires and circuits on the outside will go inside the helmet when it's finished. For now we left them outside because it makes it easier to get at them."
Paul peered inside the helmet. "I don't see anything."
"You have to switch it on. It's that first button over the left earpiece. Here, I'll do it for you."
Paul waited while Jason fiddled with the buttons. When Jason handed the helmet back, Paul held it up and tilted it so that he could look inside. He watched for about ten seconds and said, "So it just plays this same pattern over and over?"
"Yeah, that's pretty much it for now. Eventually there will be a range of visual patterns programmed into it so that each user can choose what he likes. I find this one restful. It takes about five minutes for it to work. Try it out if you like."
Paul looked a bit dubious.
"It's totally safe. Go ahead. Try it."
Paul shrugged and put the helmet on. The program was still running. "What do I do now?" He lifted his chin as if he were trying to catch sight of Jason under the bottom edge of the visor.
"Just sit back and relax for a few minutes. Let me adjust the fit. That way you'll experience the full effect." Jason didn't wait for Paul to agree. He cupped the strap around Paul's chin, threaded it through the buckle, and then tightened it. Paul just nodded. The strap secured the helmet closely around Paul's eyes and ears, cutting him off from all sights and sounds except those coming through the program. Then he pressed the start button twice. Paul heaved a sigh and settled back into the sofa.
Jason stepped back quietly. It was important in the first minute or so to disturb the target as little as possible. The program was quick to take effect, but distractions early in the process sometimes had a strongly adverse impact. It wouldn't take long now. Getting the target to put the helmet on was the first—and usually the last—step. Paul had been less reluctant than many of Jason's subjects. Sometimes he couldn't persuade the target to play along. He always left the helmet on the coffee table, where it would catch the eyes of everyone he brought to his place. The many wires and circuits protruding from the bright red helmet and the mirror-like finish on the visor made it hard to ignore.
Jason's first act when a target arrived was to offer him a drink—beer, wine, pop, water—it didn't matter. The relaxant was tasteless and colorless. The glass for the target's drink was prepared. It already held a single drop of the relaxant in the bottom. Jason left the target sitting on the couch while he went into the kitchen. By the time he returned with the drinks, the target had often picked up the helmet and begun examining it. If the target was ignoring the helmet, a few sips of the drink made him more amenable to Jason's suggestion that the helmet was worth his interest.
Paul hadn't been holding the helmet when Jason brought him his drink, but the first words out of his mouth had been, "What's this?"
Jason was only too happy to explain his devotion to meditation and to extol the helmet's benefits. He didn't bother to enlighten Paul about the helmet's true purpose. It was better not to confuse the targets. They tended to lower their mental guards when they thought the helmet was only some sort of meditation aid.
Paul was already showing signs of succumbing. The visor shut out all external sights, just as the headphones shut out all external sounds. Paul would gradually be isolated from all sensory input other than those subliminally being implanted in his mind by the program. Jason checked his watch. Three minutes. Soon the images being fed into Paul's mind would subtly begin to shift. The initial spiral would pulse faster and faster, and the beat of the music would drive all thoughts from Paul's mind.
He had about twenty minutes before Paul would be ready. He picked up his phone and checked for messages. He set up an appointment for another target who had used the helmet several times. The man was progressing nicely through the programs. Several messages from the dating service indicated that more men had expressed an interest in him by flagging his profile. He would check them out later after he had finished with Paul.
Paul had relaxed into the couch. His shoulders sagged and the back of his head had come to rest against the sofa. His hands and arms lay loose and limp on the couch. Another ten minutes, Jason estimated. He had time for a game or two—something simple and quick. Like Solitaire.
He was almost through the second game when Paul stood up. Jason closed the game and put down his phone. He checked his watch. Eighteen minutes 43 seconds. Paul must be very susceptible. That was a new record.
Paul unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. He wasn't wearing an undershirt. He slowly rotated, exposing all of his upper body to Jason's view. It was everything Jason had hoped for and suspected the first time he had seen Paul. Nicely muscled, well-developed arms with a prominent vein running up the center of each bicep, great pecs, a six pack. Paul apparently shaved his body. At least no hair was visible.
After a minute, Paul bent over and removed his shoes. He slid his jeans off his generously full buttocks and then peeled them off his thighs. He wore a pair of ordinary white boxers under his jeans. After he stepped out of jeans and threw them aside, he hooked a thumb under the waistband of his underpants on each side and slowly lowered them as he did a bump and grind. When he liberated his cock from the pants, it swung from side to side as Paul rotated his hips. The cock slowly grew erect. It was cut, Jason noted with satisfaction. Another plus in Paul's favor. About six inches, he estimated. Paul had shaved off most of his pubic hair, leaving only a triangle of cropped black hair above the cock. The balls didn't droop as much as Jason would have liked, but then you can't have everything, he reminded himself. Paul would do nicely, very nicely.
Paul came to a rest facing Jason, his cock jutting straight out. Jason knelt before Paul and began licking the head of Paul's cock.
The idea had come to him several months before. He had been registered with the dating service for three years as a bottom. He got some responses but not as many as he wanted. And so many of the "tops" were creeps. The "Me Tarzan, You Jane" types. Especially when they met Jason. At six feet four and 250 pounds of muscle, he seemed to bring out the worst in tops. As soon as they met him, they wanted to push him into a submissive role. The idea of topping a man who looked like a top's top proved too great a temptation. "Down on your knees, boy. Suck me and get me hard and then I'll give you the best fuck you've ever had." Yeah, right. Dream on.
"There are just more bottoms than tops," his friend Lars had said. "You'd have much better luck finding what you want if you were a top."
"But that's the problem. I'm not a top. It's not that I can't find tops. It's just that I can't find the type of top I want."
That was the problem in a nutshell. He was a bottom, but that meant only that he liked to suck cock and get fucked. It didn't mean he wanted the attitude that most tops brought to sex. Plus, most of them were so self-centered. All they wanted was to satisfy themselves. They could care less about satisfying the bottom. What he needed, he decided, was someone who was sexually a top but as anxious to please as most bottoms, someone who would focus only on pleasing him.
The solution had taken a bit longer to work out. He had spent three months designing and building the first version of the helmet. The theory was sound. Jason was sure of that. It was devising the application that proved tricky. The first few experiments had been moderately successful, and the problems that had arisen had pointed him toward the improvements he needed to make. He had achieved total success four months earlier. Since then, he had tested the helmet on twenty-six targets; four of these had turned out so well that he had brought them back for further training.
Lars was right. It was much easier to find the type of partner he wanted when he advertised himself as a top. When Jason was sure that the helmet was working, he had deleted his old profile and written a new one under a new screen name. He was now a top. All six feet four, 250 pounds of him. He posted several pictures of himself posing and showing off his muscles. He didn't mention the size of his cock in his profile. He didn't have to. The red thong he wore did nothing to hide his considerable assets. He even made a video of himself to prove that he was genuine. To judge from the remarks left by viewers, the energetic jets of cum that shot out of his cock as he slowly stroked himself were fueling a lot of fantasizing.
Whatever the reason, the responses had poured in. He got more offers in a night than he used to get in a month. Most of the men who contacted him began, "I'm taller/bigger/more versatile/ than you want, but I thought I'd write to see if you're interested." Well, he wasn't. He was polite but firm in his responses. He had definite standards—a bottom no taller than five feet five and no more than 140 pounds but with good definition and well-developed muscles. Smooth. Only a small percentage of the respondents to his profile fit his qualifications, but there were enough to provide a fair number of candidates. It was harder to gauge if the bottom had the right personality. He tried to get each of the respondents who met his physical qualifications to answer questions that would reveal how he approached sex, but it wasn't a foolproof process. That's where the helmet came in. The helmet created the right attitudes.
The helmet was his top machine.
Jason had to crouched down on all fours and lower his head and shoulders to take Paul's cock comfortably into his mouth. Paul was only four feet eleven. His ivory-toned skin shone as if it had been waxed. He was almost perfect physically. Jason's hands could circle Paul's hips with several inches to spare, but Paul's chest was twice the size of his waist and was capped by wide shoulders, the deltoids well-defined mounds of muscle jutting over his biceps. Gorgeous full thighs and buttocks. Rock-hard abs and arms. It was like having sex with an action figure who was almost life size.
The instructions pouring into Paul's mind taught him how to pleasure Jason orally. There was no need to hurry. Paul was now programmed to accommodate Jason's every move. Paul now knew exactly how to respond to Paul's signals. He was so happy to oblige Jason. Nothing gave Paul greater pleasure than pleasuring Jason. And no matter how aroused and excited he became, he would not cum.
And when Jason had satisfied his oral urges, he would lie down on his back and lift his legs back, exposing his ass. The fucking program would kick in, and Paul would begin rimming and then slowly fucking Jason. He would not stop until Jason signaled him to have an orgasm. It would be the greatest orgasm of Paul's life.
Jason made a mental note to bring Paul back for further training. He was close to perfection already, and with more training he would grow even better. That brought his total to five trainees worthy of development. Soon he would have one man for each day of the week. He could even begin to pair them so that he could have threesomes. Jason was looking forward to being the middle. But enough planning. Time to surrender to the top's ministrations.
(Comments are appreciated. Please email them to z119z2000@yahoo.com.)