Honestly I really wish there was something that could (for awhile) make me physically unable to cum without permission. Anything so that I could stay right on the edge, trying as hard as can but I can’t get over. Reduced to a writhing, desperate, begging slut who’d do anything you wanted, but you still say no.

What an interesting idea.




She’d been a little nervous, at the clinic, as they lifted up the silly little gown and rubbed the topical anesthetic onto her. He’d held her hand, and winked at her, reminding her of the time they’d tried playing with numbing gel to desensitize her. (It hadn’t worked, of course; she just got too excited, too sensitive inside, and came anyway. Hair-trigger girl, she scolded herself.)

But her anxiousness was unfounded: she didn’t feel a thing as they did the installation, and it only took a few minutes. The crystal pattern they’d picked out together was a little extra, but he’d been more than happy to pay for it. “I like that you’ll be able to see it when you look down, just a little,” he said, holding the mirror for her as she gently traced her finger around the edges, watching it glitter as she breathed. “I like knowing that you’ll remember, even if the implant’s turned off.”

“And how often are you going to turn it off?” she smirked.

It turned out the answer was “never.”

It drove her fucking crazy. As soon as it became clear she wasn’t allowed to come, wasn’t ABLE to come, it was all she could think about. She thought about it at work, in the car, at her book club, at dinner. Her friends started teasing her about her attention span because of how often she got caught staring off at nothing, lips slightly parted, lost in embarrassing thought. The whole situation kept her so wet that she had to start carrying a spare pair of panties in her bag–then two pairs. When she opened it at the end of the day, she could smell her own need, and she usually had to shove a hand up her skirt and edge right then and there.

That only made it worse, of course. She’d known the implant would let her edge but not go over, but she hadn’t known, really known how high and keen that edge could be. It was a ragged knife inside her, a clamp on her brainstem, a drug that hooked her on her own cunt. He didn’t even need to get out her vibrator–though he still did anyway, sometimes. Just his cock or his fingers inside her were enough to send a spike of desperation all the way up her spine, and there was absolutely, positively no answer to her screamed or whimpered prayers.

“So,” he said softly in her ear, spent and satisfied as she lay there, breathing, lost in the throb of her own constant need. “Four weeks since the appointment. This is when we were going to decide whether to keep it, right?”

“Uh huh,” she managed, as if she’d had any idea. Had it been a day already? Had it not been a year?

He traced one finger from her mouth down her throat, over her arching belly, to brush the sparkling glow between her legs. Her body was immediately ready, deep ache wrapped around sharp pleasure. “What’s it like to be a hair-trigger girl,” he asked, “when the safety’s on?”

“Dangerous,” she whispered, and let him pin her into place again.


“Hi, baby. Can you hear me?” He squinted at the screen, looking at the little mirror image of himself in the corner, then tilted it so the camera wasn’t pointed directly into the light.

Her face appeared, frozen for a second, then block, then moving, grinning. “Hey!” she said. “Is it working? Is it there?”

“Yeah!” he stepped away from the monitor so she could see their surrogate, kneeling on the bed, lace mask pulled over its face and implant status light pulsing slowly at the nape of its neck. It was nude and still but for its breathing, curled slightly in on itself, waiting.

On the monitor, she bit her lip. “Fuck. You got a cute one.”

“Aww, you like it? I tried to pick one as close as I could get to you.” He looked down at it, tugging at his lip, his eyes hungry. “Wanna try it out?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” She picked up the collar and its trailing wires, fastened it, and made sure the cold contact metal patches were touching her throat. “Okay, try something.”

He reached out and ran the backs of his nails down the surrogate’s chest, around the side of its breast to its inner arm. Goosebumps rose on its pale skin. Through the speakers, she gasped.

“Fuck. Oh man. I didn’t think it would be that clear!” She wrapped her arms around herself and giggled. “Do it again. God, I miss you. It feels so good to have your hands on me again…”

He squeezed its arms, its shoulders, then settled his hands on its hips and pulled it in close to his chest. She let out a little hum of pleasure, feeling the heat of his body against her back. “Should I, like… move it so it’s sitting like you are?” he asked.

“I think you should move it so it’s sitting on your dick,” she said, hand stealing down into her shorts.

He laughed. “You sure?”

“Baby, I have been fucking starving for you,” she growled. “We can cuddle after. I wanna see just how much of you I can feel…”

Needing little encouragement, he wriggled out of his shirt and pants, springing out hard and lifting the surrogate’s yielding body up to part its thighs. It was wet, of course, warm and slick, and if it didn’t feel exactly like she did, well…

“Oh fuck,” she gasped, arching a little on the screen. “Oh my god. Oh fuck, I didn’t think… I can feel how tight it is AND how hard you are, baby… you don’t have to put on a condom or anything, right?”

“Nah, the service takes care of all that,” he grunted, pushing deeper inside it. “God. This is so much better than jacking off to your snapchats, I can’t believe we didn’t try it before!” He picked it up and started to rock its hips back against him, and she groaned and lifted herself a little off her chair.

“They must be so well-trained–there’s no way I’d be able to hold that still if you were really inside me.” She bit her lip. “Can you make it move some more?”

“I think there’s a command, yeah. Um. Kivirmak?

It had already been trembling a little, holding back, but now it arched and bucked and–he thought–barely contained a whimper of its own. He grinned with pleasure, slowing his thrusts, and both she and it squirmed with frustration.

“You playing with yourself, baby?” he said, panting a little.

“Yeah, why? Are you–oh my GOD,” she said, eyes going wide as he reached down to roll its clit between finger and thumb. “Holy fuck! I can feel–you and it and me–all on top of each other–”

He moaned, grabbing it by the shoulder and settling back on his heels, pulling its weight down on top of his cock and making it bounce a little. He could feel its breath hitching; he gave it a playful slap between its legs. Both of them jumped, and she let out a little squeak.

“Is it close, baby?” she managed. “Because I am.”

“Sure feels like it,” he said. “Mmmmfuck. But I don’t think it can have an orgasm unless I give that command too.”

Her eyes were dark and glittering, and she had one finger between her teeth as she rolled her hips against her other hand. “Do it,” she said. “Make it come.”

Hadi,” he said.

The surrogate definitely did let out a little noise then, legs shaking, gripping the sheets. On the monitor, she caught her breath and rubbed herself faster. “Fffffuck,” she whispered, “it’s like I can feel it but not actually go over–oh God–can you–can you make it go again?”

He did, and that time, watching it and feeling it clench and writhe and shudder, they both came with it.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said lazily, afterward, running his fingers over its goosebump skin again, “but I kinda wanna rent one for when we actually do this again in person too.”

“Fuck yes,” she murmured. “Let’s get two.”


It takes at least a few hours to stop heaving and shaking after the unfreezing process; Maris had no chance to protest, much less fight back, when they pulled her out of the hissing cryo chamber and bound her taut in the echoing warehouse.

“Wh-what the fuck is g-going AUGH!” she managed, before a sharp smack landed on her bare pussy. You’d think being frozen would numb you, but no: every nerve in her body was tingling as if she’d been naked in the snow and then thrust in front of a fire.

“Interesting thing about cryogenics,” said her captor, a blurry face and a dangerously soft voice. “Did you know that if you’re frozen 364 days out of the year, you’re legally dead? A strange little provision for experimental treatments, I understand.”

“But I’m–I don’t even know why I was–let me G-GO!” Maris hiccuped, squirming in the ropes. Condensation dripped down her shivering body as she felt her legs drawn slowly farther apart.

“Oh, I don’t know why you were frozen either.” A shrug she could read through her blurry vision. “All the records for this facility were destroyed in a terrible accident. Isn’t that awful to hear?”

“Look, I can tell you, my n-name is Maris–” And with that, before she could react, she felt the ball gag forced between her chattering teeth.

“Ah ah ah! Don’t want to use your real name in this kind of video. Not while you’re being streamed live.”


That vicious little chuckle again, as one finger traced a droplet of moisture from her throat to her stiff nipple. “Oh yes. You’re our twenty-third show of the year, ice princess, and people pay quite a lot of money to see what we do to popsicles like you.”

Maris was finally starting to recover, but that sentence set her pulse to an alarm-bell pace. She cast her gaze around wildly, trying to make her eyes focus on what must be cameras and spotlights.

A hand drew itself down her body, gathering the slippery lube that had been used to keep her skin from freezer burn, and then slowly began to push up into her. Maris squealed as she realized the nerves inside her cunt were just as oversensitive as the rest of her. She tried to buck and jerk, but all her body would do was slowly writhe.

“There’s a good little dead girl,” laughed her captor. “Don’t worry–it’s only twenty-three hours and forty-two minutes before your time is up and we put you back on cold storage. In the meantime, we can do anything we fucking want to your perfectly preserved and helpless body, and no matter how many screens you appear on, no one’s going to do a thing about it. So settle in and enjoy yourself. You’ll get a year off to rest soon, after all.”

The click of a buzzing vibrator; the testing whistle of a whip. “Of course, I suppose it’s going to SEEM like every waking day is like this now. But don’t worry, sweet icebox. The novelty’s not going to wear off for me…”





Clones are frequently implanted with false memories of a past life of freedom so to make the housebreaking process more enjoyable for some clients.

=-O That’s just evil!!!

(hmmm… but what if…)

Can we just, for a moment, focus on the two girls in the back, gagged and being lead away?

They were always lead one in front of the next so that they couldn’t see each other’s identical faces. It was impossible to see features of the clones still in their containers. When they left, as far as they knew, they were as unique as the people they were sold to.

“Look how lucky you are,” they heard. “Look at all these girls who have to stay here. How many are there? A hundred? Lucky you! Out of 100 girls, YOU were chosen. You must be special.”

Because that little extra bit of arrogance was fun to break, too.

He ordered thirteen copies of Penny, one a week for three months. The process of breaking her rarely took more than five days, but even God needed a weekend.

Each of the new clones had a different implanted background–one thought she was an heiress, one a sorority girl, one an executive, one a whore–but there was always something essential to her that didn’t change. Finding it was the best part of the game. When they started, she’d react differently, sometimes trying to fawn in hopes of mercy, sometimes struggling and spitting in his face. But when he took her apart, twisted and stretched and snapped her over the twin edges of pain and pleasure, then her real self appeared.

“Oh, hello,” he’d say, watching her eyes as she trembled, trying to hold absolutely still for him despite the things the machines were doing to her breasts and cunt, despite the things he was doing to her mouth and throat. “There you are.”

This one is the eleventh, and he’s starting to put together his conclusions about the project. First: the high doesn’t wear off at all, not a bit, not in the slightest; the dawning realization in her eyes as she understands what he can do to her, the fear and lust and hidden need, is perfect every time. Second: he’s going to start having to sell them off if he wants to have the cash to buy new ones.

Third: she is perfect, every instance of her, and she is everything he needs.

He trails one hand down her taut body, feeling more than hearing her gagged whimper as he brushes fingertips over the place between her abdomen and hip. “Every time I do this,” he murmurs, “it’s a chance to find something new about you, do you see? I know you better than you know yourself–” and with one touch, she arches into him, unbelievably desperate “–but there is still always more to know.”

On the other side of the one-way glass, the original Penny watches him working, and touches herself, and maybe smiles.


I know how gifs work, but stick with me a second: the little skip between cycles on this one made me think of a dungeon with a time trap. Sci-fi, fantasy, whatever, just some method of consistently snapping the contents of one room back… say, thirty seconds or so…

See, Kiri here is a synthdoll: she’s wealthy, very wealthy, wealthy enough to have had a remote body custom-fabricated from the DNA on up. They’re legal, mostly, as long as you have a visible registration marker (like, say, those gorgeous fractal tattoos). Her original self is resting peacefully in a chamber, safe at home, her mind linked to this beautiful puppet via quantum entanglement.

The thing about diving synth is that it makes you reckless. There are automatic switches to cut out pain if it goes above a set threshold, and a maintenance contract to repair any damage you can imagine, to the point of growing an entire new doll if necessary. Rich girls like Kiri can taste the choicest poisons, cliff-dive without hesitation, seduce or be seduced by anyone they like and fuck away the consequences. Her synth doesn’t develop any bad habits, but Kiri is addicted to risk, the rush of danger with the safety of the automatic killswitch if anything goes bad.

So when a beautiful stranger at a glass-sheathed bar bet her she’d break in his little one-room chamber of delight and torment, she laughed and laughed and took him up on it.

He didn’t mention the chronoswitch, but then, she didn’t ask, did she?

They had the usual fun at first–dragging her in through the heavy door by her hair, letting her fight it a little, a rough kiss to bruise her lips and a grip on her breast to make her arch and gasp. None of it really hurt though, certainly nowhere near the safety cutoff level. Kiri was enjoying herself.

She squirmed and bit his tongue for fun, and he tore her very expensive little red dress getting it off her. Kiri bucked against him, and he had his wrists in her hand, pinning her back over a cheap block of plywood as his cheek brushed the tattoo under her arm. She was surprised to discover that she was sensitive there, very much so, but not unpleasantly. Somewhere, on a cushioned bodyrest, she smiled a little.

Then he flipped her over and slapped a little lube on his hand, pushing a couple fingers into her, letting her squeal in mock dismay as he spread her lips and thoroughly, efficiently wet her inside and out. She was starting to wonder if he’d played with dolls before, and let her tart little tongue make a joke to that effect, which is how she got the ball gag.

She was breathing fast, pulse pounding, riding exactly the kind of risk she loved as she felt his cock nudge through his pants against her slippery pussy. Then he hauled her back away from the block, cuffed her hands up above her head, and kicked her ankles apart until autoshackles snapped onto them as well.

He stepped back, letting her glare at him as she shook her hair down over her eyes. What was he going to do? Whip her or something? That would end things quickly, kick her out and drop the doll limp until its retrieval company showed up. Not much fun… but no, he was doing something else, sliding a piston dildo under her and flipping it on.

The buzzing fuckrod slid into her easily, and she gasped and curled her fingers over the cuffs, letting herself enjoy it in the role-play of victim, damsel, toy. His hand traced her hip down to the little patch of fuzz, then found her clit, making firm circles in time with the machine as she struggled to tilt her hips.

It didn’t take long to bring her to the edge. She was panting around the gag, arching, dollbody stretched taut and trembling, certain she was going to come any second…

He stepped back again, just beyond a small ring of lights embedded in the floor. She was puzzled, but maybe he just wanted to watch. There was no stopping her orgasm now anyway. Fuck, she thought, oh fuck, oh fuck, here it was–

Then a skip, a hiccup, and her body twitched in a way she didn’t understand.

She was back on the edge, exactly at the point where he’d stepped away from her. The machine thrummed and thrust upward, stretching her, pushing her toward the edge–closer–closer–


The edge reset and rose again, making her ride it. She was definitely going to come this time, no question. Oh my, oh god, her body just starting to clench and then–


It began to dawn on Kiri that something wasn’t right.

He grinned at her from beyond the boundary marker and tossed a little ball of paper. Just as she arrived yet again at the point of no return, when the paper was about to touch her skin, it



Oh shit.

“How many edges do you think you can take?” he asked conversationally. “Me personally, I’d only last a few dozen before I snapped, but you’re a tough little double, aren’t you, girl?”


“See, if you were really in there, your memory would reset every thirty seconds with the rest of your body, and this little trap wouldn’t have much of an effect at all. But you’re not. You’re tucked away somewhere nice and safe, ready to retreat at the first onset of pain. But I didn’t say I was going to hurt you. I said I was going to torture you.”


Somewhere, Kiri was panicking. The pleasure was as real to her as anything, and the desperate need rising in her over and over again was unavoidable, the synthdoll reacting exactly as it had been when he first threw the switch. But there was no release, there would be no release: her doll wouldn’t get sore or tired in the timetrap, wouldn’t get thirsty, wouldn’t trigger any of the safety cutouts to get her back out. Not for hours. Not for days.


FUCK, she had been close that time! No no no no, she didn’t think she could take two more of these, much less a dozen, but here it was again, the pulse inside her and the flood of electric need rushing up her spine before–


“Takes a lot to afford a doll that flawless,” he grinned, “and I think you’re going to share it with me, girl. I think that before very long, you’ll break, and you’ll be willing to give me anything to unplug you. Your mind, your money, your cunt–this one or your real one, whichever I please. But you won’t be able to tell me where you really are with that gag in. Which means I’m going to have to get a list of registered dolls in the city and knock on doors… one… at… a time.”

The thought of actually being found did something to her, closed a short circuit in her dollbrain, and oh FUCK that was it–she was coming–the first microsecond of a massive, crashing–


She screamed through the gag, thrashing, the machine still buried inside her as she was dragged back over the edge like a raw nerve, her orgasm ripped away before she could taste it.

“It’s going to be some time, I’m afraid,” he murmured, letting his eyes drink in the sight of her sobbing body once more. “But I’ll find you, girl, don’t worry. And by the time I finally let you out of this trap, you’ll be more than ready to be MY puppet. Once and for all.”

The door slammed closed on another desperate edge, and she was left staring after him, tears leaking from her synthetic eyes before they vanished as if they’d never been.