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"Is this the first time you've had trouble with our product?"

"Yes. I haven't had it for very long. For a while I was kind of afraid to take it out of the box--but this weekend I finally got around to it."

"That explains it. It appears that your Feather-Touch Pleasure Cone has never been used."

"You can tell?"

"The cone is taking longer than usual to lubricate. But that's normal for its first use. It's never been primed."

"Mistress, the machine is tilting me forward. Is it supposed to do that?"

"Oh, yes. It's really uncomfortable, isn't it?"

"It's hurting my neck."

"I know. As you lean forward, it's moving weight off your feet and onto the yoke. You'll have to use your arms to support your upper body weight. If you don't, the added weight will be supported by the front of your neck, and then you won't be able to breathe."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"It's not me. It's the program. It's identified your reluctance to complete the exercise. It also knows that you'll become more compliant once you've been thoroughly fatigued, and forcing compliance is a high priority in the Discipline Queen setting. Why are you alone tonight, Edgar?"

"What?"

"Market research. Why are you alone? You're a good looking guy, and it seems like a waste. Why do you do this alone?"

"I don't know. It's hard to meet the right people. You know how it is." The clamp around his ankles backed onto an upwardly curving ramp, elevating his feet behind him even as his head and arms moved slowly downward.

"You don't have a girlfriend?"

"No. Ahhh!"

"Watch that neck. Do family members try to fix you up?"

"No. I don't have any close family."

"Really?" She started typing and muttered, "Physically fit . . . No close family."

"Is that important?"

"Market research."

His arms trembled under the added strain.

Marta (who'd been watching silently so far) whispered to her friend, "I thought he'd be crying by now."

"Just one more question," said his interrogator.

The machine stopped its relentless tilt. His reddened face was dripping sweat inches from the screen.

"When you say that you 'hate'me, youDOrealize that I have feelings, don't you?"

"Is this market research?"

"No," she said. "Oh, no, no, no. You see, Idohave feelings. And nobody likes to hear that they'rehated."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, mistress! I didn't mean it!"

"Is this an apology?"

"Yes, I'm sorry!"

"You understand, of course, that it's within my power to choose the formand the durationof your apology."

"Yes, mistress! I'm very sorry!"

"Although it's kind of late for an apology, since my feelings have already been hurt."

"I'm so sorry! I won't say anything like that again! Please, I'm really, really sorry!"

Her computer beeped.

"Look! Your Feather-Touch Pleasure Cone is primed!"

The device that he had forgotten was dangling near his groin suddenly sucked in his shaft and squeezed it in an unexpected but not unpleasant way.

His yoke and shackles slid back to their starting points, leaving him comfortably upright.

He gasped heavily as the cone rewarded him with gentle tickling strokes.

"Take deep breaths now. You're bound to be shaky after that. Your legs, arms, and chest might be sore for a few days. I had to maneuver your groin over to the cone, and it took longer than I thought for the cone to prime. But I used that time to warm the lubricant up to a comfy 99 degrees, so it should be having an effect now."

It was. He had no idea the device could be so lifelike with its gentle attention. He thrusted just once out of instinct.

He noticed that the mysterious mistress was holding an unfamiliar control device up to the camera so that he could see it. It looked like a joystick control for a video game, except the stick was shaped like a part of his own anatomy.

"Your machine didn't come with one of these. It's only meant for administrators like me. And while I'm sure you've never seen one, I bet you can guess what it does." She giggled wickedly as she fingered it. "If you thought I could control you before, this is gonna blow your fucking mind."

She moved the joystick to the right, and the cone (along with his shaft) also moved right. When she moved left, the cone moved left. Then she moved her thumb and forefinger up and down the sides of the stick, causing his shaft to throb as though she were in the room stroking him.

"How?" he gasped. "How are you doing that?"

"I don't know it works, but our tech girls are pretty awesome at what they do." As if he needed another demonstration, she slipped the joystick into her mouth.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" he said before he knew he was saying anything. The sensation was unexpected and thrilling.

"Pyah!" She spit the joystick out, and the sensation abruptly stopped. "This thing's been in the drawer for a while. I should have wiped it off first, but you get the idea." She wiped the joystick off with a paper napkin she found on her desk.

Even the dry napkin felt hot and moist through the technical magic of the cone. He was suddenly lost in the bliss of the simulation.

"That was just a demonstration. I'll put it down now and set it for auto-tickle—just enough to keep you interested, but not enough to get you off." She set the joystick on her desk.

Marta the trainee said, "I want to hold that. Is the cord long enough?"

"It's wireless!" said the mystery girl.

"Oh, neat!"

The mystery mistress handed the joystick off camera. Marta could be seen in the smaller window accepting it.

By now there were four small windows filling the left edge of the screen. The woman in the fourth window was on a lunch break. She ate popcorn as she watched, and shared some of it with the woman in the third window.

Meanwhile, Marta the trainee stroked the joystick with a couple of fingers and was delighted by his involuntary gasps and spasms.

"Just relax and take deep breaths," said the mystery girl from the main window. "You'll need your strength for what comes next."

He felt something he didn't expect. Something he couldn't see, something unfamiliar, was lifting his balls.

"What's that?"

"Just a scrotum ring. In the remote administrative mode, the Feather-Touch Pleasure Cone can also be a cock cage."

"Oh . . . . Ummmmmmmm . . . . What's a cock cage?"

The lunch break woman spat popcorn.

"Oh, Edgar!" giggled the mystery mistress. "You're my favorite! My best caller ever!"

All the faces on the screen were giggling now as more faces appeared on the periphery of the screen. When the screen's edge reached its capacity, a scroll bar appeared, and faces of new women started to automatically scroll into view as others scrolled out.

The mystery girl continued. "The automatic scrotum ring couldn't engage you right away because your nutsack was too tight. But now the warmth of the lubricant has loosened the skin around your balls rather nicely, so the ring is able to automatically deploy around the base of your scrotum. By now you should feel the ring constricting a bit. Yes?"

"Y-Yes."

"Good. I wouldn't try pulling out now. It won't let you."

"Ah! It's tight! It's too tight!"

"Yes, I know you're very delicate down there. You'll get used to it after a while--probably. Actually, I've never asked how it felt, but the machine always knows what it's doing. You didn't even notice when the cock ring wrapped around the base of your shaft. Marta?"

Marta twisted a ring on the joystick.

Edgar flinched in surprise.

"Feel that?" asked the mystery girl. "That's a cock cage. We can prolong—or if necessary inhibit—your erections, but not in a way that you'd necessary enjoy. It's just another motivator to help you concentrate."

Her computer beeped again.

"Edgar, you've been approved for our Most Desired Customers Program! Would you like to take a moment to go over some of the benefits?"

"What? Really? Now?"

"It will only take a few minutes. Based on the data that we've recovered from your SBU-590, we've determined that you respond exceptionally well to domination. This makes you eligible for certain opportunities not available to other customers. Edgar, have you ever considered committing to a lifestyle of submission?"

"No! No, I haven't."

"Liar. You just bought a big damn domination machine. You must have at least thought about it."

"Well, I may have thought about it, but--"

"Of course! You think about it all the time. You're a natural slave."

"Don't call me that."

"What? A slave?" She leaned closer to the camera. "But youarea slave, Edgar. Why does it bother you to be called one?"

"I'm not a slave."

"Hmmmm, I don't think I heard you."

"I'm not a slave—mistress."

"Ha! Do you realize you've never called me anything other than 'mistress?' Aren't you admitting that you're my slave?"

"No! I don't know! I just want to get out of this!"

"Calm down, Edgar. I'm speaking as a representative of a powerful organization of dominant women who want to meet men like you." She turned to someone off screen. "Marta, please give him some more encouragement."

"Yvonne has the controller now," said Marta. "She wanted to hold it."

Yvonne (in the second small window) slid the joystick into her mouth and slurped affectionately.

Edgar convulsed to their amusement.

"If you're willing to relocate," the smiling girl continued, "you can live the lifestyle you've always fantasized about. We'll pay your travel expenses, your food, your board, and all your other living expenses. And you'll have the best, kinkiest sex you've ever had—every day. Doesn't that sound appealing?"

"What would . . . What would I be giving up?"

"Well . . . Edgar . . . You'd be a slave, so—everything."

"No. No way. I don't want to be a slave."

"Are you sure? You're reallygoodat it."

"I don't want to!"

"Oh, Edgar! Very well. Then turn the black knob."

"What?"

"Just turn the black knob to decline this once-in-a-lifetime offer. The shiny rubber thing on the bottom of your screen console."

"But I can't reach it."

"Hurry, Edgar. I don't have all day."

"I said I can't reach it."

"Of course you can. It's right in front of you."

"I really can't!"

"If youreallywanted to decline, you would try harder!"

"I can't . . . Wait! Maybe I can reach it with my mouth."

"Yes, Edgar! Use your teeth. Be quick about it."

Edgar lurched forward as far as his yoke would allow. His teeth found their target and twisted.

He heard a sudden hiss of compressed air. The "knob" got suddenly bigger inside his mouth—much bigger.

"Psych!" said his tormentor. "You don't have a knob! That's the Ultimate Silencer Inflatable Gag you just bit. Our marketing staff calls it the Final Word in Getting the Final Word."

Edgar tried to let go. He tried to push it out with his tongue, but the gag in his mouth held him firmly to the screen console. He started to panic.

"Don't get all upset! This is the part you knew was going to happen, so relax. As it turns out, I have some discretion on how much the gag inflates. Are you able to talk at all?"

"Ohm-ly a lih-ull bih!"

It hissed again. "How about now?"

"Lughhh, lughhh luh-ugllllll!"

"Perfect!"

The gag popped off the screen console, staying firmly implanted inside his mouth. He was finally able to see the screen again.

All the faces were leaning forward to see what he looked like, including his mystery mistress. Some of the women exchanged whispers. Others just laughed. All continued to look at him with unrelenting fascination.

"Sorry, Edgar. You're awfully funny looking with your mouth full, but there's no going back now. In case you're wondering, there's a valve stem's on the front of your gag. When we're done, you can just place the stem back on the console to deflate it."

Edgar reached toward the console with his mouth to deflate the gag, but it didn't work.

"Not now, dummy! I said when we're done!"

Never before had Edgar's jaws been forced so far apart, and already they started to hurt. He flexed his fingers and shook his head vigorously as if the gag could be shaken out.

His tormentor disapproved of this display. "Now don't throw a fit! You're attempting an exercise that's never been done before, so there's bound to be a little discomfort." She turned away from the camera. "Yvonne, give him some more encouragement."

"I gave the controller back to Marta," said Yvonne.

"No, you didn't," said Marta.

"Yes, I did! You should have it."

"I don't."

"Then someone else must have taken it."

"Ladies!" said the mystery girl. "One of you must have the controller."

This Edgar already knew. Someone was anonymously giving him "more encouragement"--with uninhibited enthusiasm. Laboring to get air past his gag, he snorted uncontrollably.

Now another window appeared, this one in the lower right of the screen. Unlike the other girls who were dressed in some variation of office attire, this girl was wearing a tight vinyl mini dress. She was sitting in the dark and was operating some kind of--

It was a car. She was operating a steering wheel. Light from passing streetlights intermittently revealed her face.

"There you are, Famke. Where are you?"

"I just turned onto Arbuckle Lane," said the dominatrix in the car.

"Okay. See you in a bit."

Famke's window disappeared from the screen.

Edgar's bewildered face caught the attention of his tormentor.

"Oh, Edgar, you must have so many questions! If only you could ask them. Tell you what. I'll throw you a bone. I'll start to answer some of those questions for you."

She leaned toward the camera so only her mouth filled the screen. Slowly and without pity, she said,"Caaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrooooooolllllllllllllll."She leaned back. "My name is Carol. Since you're on a speaker phone, I could have forgiven 'Karen,' but where did you get 'Mindy?' That was just weird."

He tugged his arms against the yoke harder than he ever had before. It would be worth the loss of a thumb, he thought, if he could get one hand free of it.

"Oh, slave, don't hurt yourself! You're only two steps away from being done!"

He calmed down, but he suspected a trick.

"That's right, my little cutie slave! All that's left is for me to flip you upside-down and squeeze you 'til you cum. And then it's over!" Her computer beeped again. "Hang on. New information."

She read her screen and was quiet for a long time. First she smiled. Then she laughed. Finally she covered her gaping mouth as if she couldn't contain her joy.

"Oh, Edgar! I said you were my favorite, but I never imagined! The computer says that you're responding so well, you've qualified for a bonus procedure—one that's exclusive to Mistress Kathy's Most Desired Customers! Do you want to hear about it?"

He vigorously shook his head to show that he didn't.

"Not even curious? Any procedure called Satan's Crooked Gothic Hanging Yoke has to be interesting." She picked up her mouse to manipulate an unseen control on her screen. "It's not even mentioned in our manuals, so it must be some kind of Easter egg. You're the first one to trigger it!"

He shook his head. As he did, cables pulled his yoke higher, forcing him to rise to his toes. The clamp that held his ankles together remained firmly anchored to the floor.

"But maybe you prefer the unknown. Maybe you'd rather charge ahead without knowing the details. Sound interesting?"

He continued to shake his head. The yoke continued to rise. With his ankles attached to the floor, his back and neck began to stretch.

"Of course, I'm supposed to tell you that the bonus procedure is strictly optional."

The motor pulling the yoke started to whine as the tension on his spine reached the limit of the program's safety protocol.

"So Edgar, I have to ask, do you want to skip the bonus procedure?"

He tried to nod—and couldn't. In the elevated yoke, his head could move neither back nor forth.

"Thinking it over?" She held her hand steadily on her mouse—which maintained the tension on his neck and spine. "No pressure, mind you. If you want to skip this part, just say so. Or nod—just a little."

He thrashed his arms uselessly within his restraints, but his head wouldn't move.

She leaned closer and smiled. "Going once."

He tried to scream, but the puny sounds that came through his gag were inaudible.

"Going twice."

He tried to blink an SOS. . . .

"He's going to go for it!" She jumped out of her chair with uninhibited glee. The cheers of an office full of horny women filtered through his console. On the screen, Edgar could see only Carol's bouncing tube top.

Wrapped around the base of the ClampTite DoubleLock Shackle which held his feet firmly to the base was a canvas strap. He assumed it was a safety strap—until an unseen cable from behind pulled it up over his calves and tightened it around his knees like a noose.

"Oh, Edgar! You've inspired us! To volunteer for such an ordeal without even knowing what it is? You're fearless!"

Although the ClampTite DoubleLock Shackle did not open, it suddenly came loose from the base. The tension on his spine ended, but he was still suspended in the air. Immediately another cable attached to the shackle started to pull his restrained feet in front of him.

"We're in uncharted territory here, but my screen has a script that I'm supposed to read to you."

He thought he was being pulled into a fetal position, but that was not the plan. As his feet were pulled upward, his knees were pulled backward, which had the effect of forcing him into the shape of a tilted letter "L."

"Insolent slave," she read from her script. "Your worth will now be tested in the trial of Satan's Crooked Gothic Hanging Yoke."

His head was tilted forward as his ass was elevated. As this happened, a control arm (which he had assumed was only part of the machine's frame) unfolded into a metal paddle. It positioned itself behind his ass.

SWAT!

He could do nothing to dodge the blow, and the pain was immediate.

"You are to be swatted repeatedly by the Discipline Queen Punishment Arm. The strength and frequency of the swats will gradually increase over the course of the next twenty minutes--"

SWAT!

"—as is fitting for your kind. Meanwhile, a random number generator will determine--"

SWAT!Bzzzzzzzt!"LLLUGGGGGHHHHHHHH!"

"—which swats will be electrified. The frequency and intensity of the jolts will likewise increase during the twenty-minute trial."

SWAT!

Even as the paddle struck, his shaft throbbed as the cone continued its maddening massage.

"Do not ejaculate. An ejaculation before the end of the trial will cause the machine to lock down in its current position until you again become erect--"

SWAT!

"—and the procedure will repeat itself--until you complete a successful twenty-minute trial. Good luck, you undeserving worm."

Enduring the relentless spanking, Edgar spotted a beautiful long-haired woman in a small window at the edge of his screen sitting in her office chair with her legs apart. She was busy thrusting something beneath her skirt. She briefly opened her eyes toward the camera to let him know exactly where the handheld controller was and how much she enjoyed his reaction to it.

He would have shouted at her to stop--if he could have shouted anything.

"That's all the script says," said Carol, now sounding a bit breathless herself. "And I'm getting awesome data from your SBU-590!" He heard her type on her keyboard again, but the keystrokes were slower and more erratic than before—as if she were typing with only one hand.

He became lightheaded. A part of him knew that the spanking would stop—temporarily--if he just surrendered to the cone.

The more sensible part of him (weak as it was) realized he may be lucky just to avoid passing out.