Date: Mon, 17 Dec 2007 19:52:36 +0000 (GMT)
From: Nexis Pas <nexispas@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: 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.