Pleroma – Part 07

By Taurus

Part 7 – incarceration-adx_20x

Flanked by boring concrete walls, Luke had to try and find new and interesting ways to keep himself active that was not touching himself – the hologram that now formed the ceiling of the cell bore this very commandment, among other warnings that safewords are not in play, that any attempts to escape or pleasure oneself would result in the swift application of extremely strict and punishing bondage, and that excretion of waste matter would be automatically enforced for him.

Luke was no philosophist, but he was at least aware of the fact that if he wanted to truly escape, he would have to first escape digitally by countering the super-powerful software that knew his every thought, then escape physically by getting his naked body out of whatever shackles that held him.

In short: “difficult” was the word.

Naturally, with Luke being a bodybuilder and fitness coach, he turned his mind away from the sexual desires of playing with his dick and pinching his nipples, and directed his frustrations into physical exercises.

Quickly, Luke decided that whenever he felt compelled to touch his dick, he would go through the full workout routine: crunches and push-ups, followed by a short stretching break that consisted of yoga poses, finally followed by jumping jacks and running in place. Before long, he found his armpits had stunk up as his body glossed itself with sweat.

However grueling the exercise may seem, electing to not do it means facing down the temptations of Luke’s perpetually hard cock that he was absolutely not allowed to touch.

It felt like a couple hours had passed when glowing chevrons directed Luke to lie back down on his bed, to “await instructions”. As he did so, the bondage of many chains and cuffs that he had previously experienced returned and immobilised him completely. He was left to watch as his warden – assuming the form of Matt – entered the cell and began setting up a feeder system similar to the one he was hooked up to in real life.

Luke quite accurately predicted that his sustenance was to be energy paste and energy paste only. However, he did not account for the possibility that his sense of flavour would be deactivated momentarily for maximum suffering – he noticed this fact because as he ate, he felt as if he was drinking distilled water despite the fact that the paste in the physical feeder was chicken flavoured.

Or it should have been. No telling whether Matt had switched it out for plain military emergency rations, of course.

Having consumed the whole bag of paste, Luke expected the bondage to cease, but instead was alarmed to discover that he was still chained up as tight as ever even after the warden had left with the feeding system.

Before he could struggle for any meaningful amount of time, however, the ceiling rulebook was replaced with a message to him, charmingly addressed to a “Prisoner.”

“You have been given the opportunity to leave this cell. Do you accept or decline?”

Luke accepted. It felt fine now, but he knew he would go crazy if he was trapped inside this cell – suffering was better than looking at concrete.

***

Luke was barely able to open a crack in his eyes for any longer than a few tenths of a second at a time. The sun hung directly overhead, ready to overload his pain receptors if he were to resist his biological urges to keep his eyes intact. That said, he was still able to catch a few glimpses of the scenery around him.

The air was still, and eerily silent – no birds chirping or shrubs rustling far off in the distance. The promised grassy plain was perfectly flat and stretched off into unthinkable infinity. As he tried to move his body – slowly being baked – he found that the heat seemingly had an oppressive weight that denied him the last pleasures he could find in this infallible incarceration.

Luke’s olfactory senses told him that the grass was sterile, perfect from day zero – there was no refreshing smell of cut grass, or the scents of herbs and flowers. Or perhaps it was just the gag in his mouth preventing him from appreciating the scents that did exist.

Maybe both.

With breathing through the mouth gone from the already very short list of ways he could vent heat, Luke’s body began producing sweat. Every time he blinked, an anxious thought that maybe a drop of sweat from his ample brow hairs would enter his eyes and it would sting painfully with no way he could stop it invaded his mind.

Was this what being staked out would feel like? Minus the bed and more itchy grass?

Despite the obvious fact that Luke was not exactly enjoying his bondage, he knew this was the right choice –

***

“Prisoner.

“You have been given the opportunity for physical movement and exercise outside your cell. Do you accept or decline?”

Luke accepted, however painful this obvious invitation to back-breaking

***

In a fade to black, Luke was teleported to a cobblestone walkway, seemingly floating in the sky as gleaned from the context clue that all he could see over the railings was clouds.

Mesmerising as the scenery was, Luke was now most concerned with his task – to drag the cube of stone half his height he was bound to across the path in front of him.

Two holographic faceless guards marched alongside to his pace, whipping him with lashes of light that were simulated, but nonetheless delivered very real signals of pain to Luke.

The guards demanded a pace that was impossible to keep up (with); Luke was convinced that the pace was bullshit, and that they simply decided to require at the last moment everything he just gave, plus slightly more. He was always at least a foot or two down from his target, and his punishment would be five lashes to the backside.

Contrary to his assumptions, Luke would find no respite in being “ahead” either. Luke would take lashes to his chest and abs if he went too far ahead.

Just like the bondage he had experienced just now, the only pleasurable thing about this was the scenery. Pointless yet infinite labour, designed only to make him suffer. Still, he was thankful for it. Anything was better than –

***

It felt like a couple hours had passed when glowing chevrons directed Luke to lie back down on his bed, to “await instructions”. As he did so, the bondage of many chains and cuffs that he had previously experienced returned and immobilised him completely. He was left to watch his warden entered the cell and began setting up a feeder system similar to the one he was hooked up to in real life.

Luke very accurately predicted that his sustenance was to be energy paste and energy paste only. Additionally, his sense of flavour was deactivated momentarily for maximum suffering – as he ate, he felt as if he was drinking plain water despite the fact that the paste in the physical feeder was chicken flavoured.

Or at least it should have been. No telling whether Matt had switched it out for plain rations, of course.

Luke was getting very used to the cuffs and straps and chains. When he wanted to move his hips by an inch to one side, the muscles in his leg on the other side would tense up instinctively to “pull” him over. This description would have been more comprehensive, if not for the limiting factor that shifting his hips was the full extent of Luke’s allowed movements.

Even that came with its own caveat: he would incessantly pray that this freedom would not be removed from him. He was but a single naked man, powerless against the simulation that could easily deny him this movement with hundreds of methods.

More or less, blinking and breathing were his only concerns.

***

“Vantage, run diagnostics; check Subject’s neural activity.”

It took the highly powerful AI but a few seconds to produce a full report on Luke.

“All variables are as predicted in prior simulation. Telemetry indicates Subject’s neural activity levels are 23 percent under the First Dangerous Threshold. No issues foreseen.”

“Cross-reference previous simulation data.”

“Subject’s performance in current test is extremely positive -“

“Vantage, it’s exactly this that concerns me. Do the cross-reference.”

As quickly as ever, Vantage was able to present on Matt’s tablet a broken line graph of Luke’s average neural activity in each test.

“Factor in memory intensity.”

The last data point for the current test dipped uncomfortably low – for an extended, memoryintensive scenario that required a primer like the incarceration scenario Luke had entered, he was doing shockingly little work.

***

One summer, as I strolled along the coast, singing the songs of the fishermen, a man emerged from his bathing in the sea, and sang for me without fail accompaniment and counterpoint, in subtly shifting harmonies and scintillating overtones that compelled me to look at him – one wizened, thoroughly mature, and unmistakably powerful, who could send tides gentle like the pull of the breeze, or drown cities with storms howling like Charybdis of the deep.

I inquired how he could sing as he did. He replied simply, because of practice – the many years of hearing the same melodies over and over became his ataraxia, yet eventually he would find delight in rippling the static waters.

He had curious sensibilities; he was laissez faire enough to embrace my improvisational glissandos and admittedly slightly excessive rubato, but he had an acute sense for the details – insisting that our song was in C-sharp major, and not D-flat major.

***

A couple hours had passed when glowing chevrons directed Luke to lie back down on his bed, to “await instructions”. As he did so, the bondage of many chains and cuffs that he had previously experienced returned and immobilised him completely. He was left to watch as Matt entered the cell and began setting up a feeder system for him.

It was a given that his sustenance was to be energy paste and energy paste only. This was the only diet that was befitting of a prisoner – utilitarian and almost industrial in its application.

***

Inane Ramblings

The silence has a sound:

Yearning most profound;

Pains that hound;

Twisting, ‘round and ‘round.

The above,

Parlance without resound.

***

“Master, I think I know how to answer you.”

“Finally!” Hans joked, stroking his slave’s shaved head. “But answer honestly – I promise I won’t punish you, whatever answer you give.

“I want to know.”

A large grin appeared on Bruno’s face. His master really did care for him like a human and not like something he could throw out and replace on a whim.

He made up his mind.

“I think every slave wants to cum, Master. Secretly, we all hope we get to cum because we think we did something big, like breaking what we thought was our limit, or cleaning more of the house than you asked.”

“But?”

“But,” Bruno placed some comedic emphasis on the word, “it’s not going above and beyond, it’s just doing something we should do.

“So…yes, Master, I tried my best at sucking you because I was hoping for an orgasm, but I didn’t suck for an orgasm, if it makes sense.”

“It makes a lot of sense, and I think you’re a good slave,” Hans said, patting his slave on the back.

***

“Vantage. Stabilise subject.”

***

“Vantage. Stabilise –

***

“Vantage –

***

***

***

“Interfacing halted.”

To be continued…

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