Dream Machine [BON+MUL]  (kylie, Palace Athene)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: kylie on 23-12-2008, 08:50:30</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Dream Machine [BON+MUL]  (kylie, Palace Athene)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>kylie</strong> on <strong>23-12-2008, 08:50:30</strong>
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				<div align="center">(http://img181.imageshack.us/img181/407/jennapy0.jpg) (http://img181.imageshack.us/my.php?image=jennapy0.jpg)</div><br><div align="center"><em>Artwork by Masamune Shirow (Ghost in the Shell).<br>Also inspired by the film Avalon, by Mamoru Oshii.<br><br></em><hr><br><div style="text-align: left;">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;She shifted softly, her back sliding in the tough fabric of the chairback.&nbsp; The chair tipped on its supports with a faint, distant hiss of the fluids balancing it.&nbsp; The faint blue and white light flickered over her.&nbsp; The chair was alone in the dimness of the Chamber, its light a fountain between grimy concrete floors and bare walls.&nbsp; A soft hum.&nbsp; One by one, monitors came on.<br><br>She tried to sit up.&nbsp; She couldn't.&nbsp; <em>Still here?&nbsp; How?</em>&nbsp; She remembered the environment fading away, the familiar maze of pathways and nature with the odd moons and dances and light over it...&nbsp; All of it, fading and flickering out.&nbsp; Had she idled?&nbsp; Was it a restart?&nbsp; Now, blackness...<br><br>The thought hung in her mind, in the blackness.&nbsp; <em>What is going on.&nbsp; Why did it stop.&nbsp; Why am I still here.<br></em><br>Jenna was an addict, or close enough not to tell the difference.&nbsp; Everyone knew that, but it did not matter these days.&nbsp; It was Festival.&nbsp; <br><br>There were many who carried out their tasks at other times.&nbsp; All the people, who didn't matter in the age of monochrome and etched numbers...&nbsp; People were given time, for Festival.&nbsp; No one seemed to remember exactly why it was called that.&nbsp; But everyone was granted time for their fixes.&nbsp; You had to take the time, so you could swim on the vibes and the traces of the visions for the next months.&nbsp; Until the next Festival.&nbsp; Jenna was an average person.&nbsp; For most such people, there was nothing, no one in between.&nbsp; Only grey and black and counting, watching.&nbsp; Other little distractions for minutes at a time, which paled in comparison to the addictions.&nbsp; They were nothing compared to this: the Machine.<br><br><em>Why am I still here.</em>&nbsp; She loved being here; she was good.&nbsp; At times, people would bet on what she would find inside the mazes, how fast she would find it.&nbsp; She usually did not disappoint.&nbsp; But in this moment, she was not supposed to be here.&nbsp; Her arms felt odd, still within the gloves.&nbsp; Her legs, too.&nbsp; The shift of the leather and alloy-lined synthetics with their own gases and lights and fluids, all wrapped around her.&nbsp; The darkness in her sight, under the visor.&nbsp; Even her mask was still on.&nbsp; It didn't smell like the Chamber.&nbsp; It still smelled like the meadows, the paths.&nbsp; The last level.&nbsp; Centuries ago, the Machine had told her in passing once, part of that level had been part of something called Myst.&nbsp; It was still misty, shifting.&nbsp; If that was what "Myst" did, as she imagined.&nbsp; <br><br>She knew that many threads in the Machine could do that.&nbsp; Sensations, scenes, reasons came and went.&nbsp; Games were created and wagered upon that way, relying on split-second disjunctions.&nbsp; Or, better players like her could tune the shape of their own worlds, just the general gist.&nbsp; Her threads surprised her, fascinated her.&nbsp; But they did not shift into completely other things.<br><br>Yes, Jenna was good.&nbsp; And addicted, or almost.&nbsp; Enough to be in the Chamber after hours.&nbsp; She had made arrangements.&nbsp; She had set her time program.&nbsp; <em>So why...</em><br><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;A blink of light, a wash of blue and a a wave of color and raw symbols.&nbsp; Quick.&nbsp; In her vision, but not part of it.&nbsp; Not for her to comprehend.&nbsp; And then, she felt cool air around her again.&nbsp; <em>Reload?</em>&nbsp; So she thought.&nbsp; But now, the smell was <em>different</em>.&nbsp; Urban, sticky, people, fumes.&nbsp; <br><br>The metallic, subtle, almost parental voice murmured at the edges of both her ears, across her mind: "Fumi. En route."&nbsp; Jenna shivered softly.&nbsp; She did <em>not</em> play "en route."&nbsp; She had not left any routes to activate.&nbsp; She looked down at herself and she was Asian, curvy, dressed in a short and metallic dress.&nbsp; It was night in a city.&nbsp; Abstract orbs became lights and neon and edges of rooftops and stairways where she focused.&nbsp; She was already walking, her heels clicking on the pavement.&nbsp; The buildings closing in.&nbsp; <em>Where is she going?&nbsp; Where am <strong>I</strong> going?</em>&nbsp; She knew vaguely that the Machine was moving air and fluid and calibrated presses of fabric around her, creating the world that was quickly feeling almost real.&nbsp; Or better.&nbsp; <em>Hyperreal.</em>&nbsp; <br><br>She was climbing the stairway in Fumi's short strides.&nbsp; Not the longer legs of her usual presence on the rural paths.&nbsp; Oiled legs, sparkling ankle straps, a flash of bracelet in the night.&nbsp; Not her type!&nbsp; <em>Why?</em>&nbsp; She blinked, tried to focus.&nbsp; <em>Menu... Menu! </em>&nbsp; A stutter.&nbsp; A pause as she stood on the stairway, just making out the entrance to a club on the side of the faintly sketched highrise beneath the three moons.&nbsp; One in lavender and beige.&nbsp; One with swirling neon green clouds and pockets of fuschia.&nbsp; Fumi had no reason to take notice of such ordinary things.&nbsp; Unlike Jenna.&nbsp; <br><br>Data.&nbsp; Characters transparent over her view; the distant voice of the Machine guide: <br><br><div align="center">Fumi, en route (towers), pause<br>Ishana, rest (the den), disengaged <br>Nicole, search (bayou), recompile</div><br>Jenna's mind raced as she sensed the program waiting impatiently.&nbsp; None of these were hers!&nbsp; And a recompile was rare.&nbsp; She never landed in enough trouble to cause that.&nbsp; She froze for a moment, the creaking of a metal stairwell hanging in her ear and the hem of her foil skirt flittering at her thigh.&nbsp; In the background, so close, the sound of traffic, the trams and skycars and drift hummers buzzing about the narrow alleys.&nbsp; The faint sound of music above.&nbsp; Shadows cast from the sky platforms in the pollution-spattered purple clouds.&nbsp; <em>Not mine...</em>&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Then, the program tugged.&nbsp; There was no other way to describe it.&nbsp; Sometimes the Machine felt strange, more than impatient.&nbsp; But this!&nbsp; It wasn't waiting at all.&nbsp; The characters faded from the screen in an instant.&nbsp; She, Fumi, kept walking up along the building. Information drifted vaguely through Jenna's consciousness.&nbsp; She was supposed to be here.&nbsp; She had to meet him.&nbsp; But, she was scared.&nbsp; <em>Why? </em> <br><br>Something slid along her leg, a brush, then grabbing.&nbsp; Not Fumi's leg, her leg.&nbsp; In the Chamber.&nbsp; <em>What?</em>&nbsp; There was nothing around her, Fumi, that she could see.&nbsp; The hazy bright colors of the particles in the sky, mixed with the darkness.&nbsp; The steps, the lights.&nbsp; Jenna twitched, as the fluids swam softly around her torso in the suit.&nbsp; The Machine was urging her on, like music she could not hear yet but wanted to tap her foot to.&nbsp; Warm, heavy fluids moving around her.&nbsp; Not pushing her exactly, she could barely move in the Chamber.&nbsp; But pushing Fumi.&nbsp; They were carressing Jenna's ribs and belly, squeezing like a paternal hug.&nbsp; Next, they could harden.&nbsp; They could even toss her around, if they had been meant to do that.&nbsp; They would not, but emotionally she knew: She had to keep moving.&nbsp; It was time.<br><br>She opened the door, the metal sliding gracefully on an axis that looked so industrial.&nbsp; A flicker of sparkle as the acid in the air glided off its angled edge.&nbsp; Into the club.&nbsp; The mix of acrid and sweet smoke, the heads with strange reptilian looks.&nbsp; Where am I, Jenna gasped inside.&nbsp; The club, Fumi thought simply.&nbsp; Of course, where you have to be.&nbsp; Fumi thought it, like talking to herself.&nbsp; The club, the cool voice of the Machine echoed.&nbsp; A drink was in her hand now.&nbsp; An arm around her back, a woman laughing.&nbsp; The face of another gambler.&nbsp; Not quite a friend, but someone who understood.&nbsp; She smiled back, automatically.&nbsp; It's the story.&nbsp; No need to think.&nbsp; Jenna gasped again, catching herself within the turns of her own mind.&nbsp; <em>What is this.&nbsp; Where.</em><br><br>The arm receded and she was moving through the crowd.&nbsp; She was only briefly aware of the strange gazes, the alien eyes.&nbsp; She found him.&nbsp; Human, but with those dark eyes traced with radiant specks.&nbsp; The lines of acrylic padding emphasizing his broad shoulders.&nbsp; The accounts flowing in streams of shining data on his arm screens.&nbsp; Yes, he kept the accounts.&nbsp; And her account.&nbsp; She sighed.&nbsp; She remembered the chips, she could see them ethereal before her eyes, on their table.&nbsp; Fumi had lost.&nbsp; Now what?&nbsp; Okay.&nbsp; She moved closer.&nbsp; A tentative, necessary embrace.&nbsp; Playing at being strong.&nbsp; She leaned into him, felt herself smile.&nbsp; He put one arm behind her, his fingers down the drifts of her rear.&nbsp; There was nothing under the dress to slow him.&nbsp; Jenna squirmed.&nbsp; She felt his fingers, sliding, spreading, pressing.&nbsp; Her back arched in the chair in the Chamber.&nbsp; <em>Noooo.&nbsp; So gross!&nbsp; Why am I here?</em><br><br>Fumi blinked.&nbsp; The kiss was over although she still tasted it.&nbsp; With a heady wash of fish and sauce and alcohol.&nbsp; He was behind her now, arms around her.&nbsp; She felt that touch again.&nbsp; The pull around her leg, her thigh from before.&nbsp; <em>What was it?</em>&nbsp; It was strong, but slimy.&nbsp; She looked down and saw nothing.&nbsp; Her legs, Fumi's.&nbsp; Smooth, slightly bow-legged and tonight, oiled to shine.&nbsp; And now pressed out forward in front of his...&nbsp; <br><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The people ahead parted.&nbsp; They were looking at her, waiting.&nbsp; The stage was ahead, with the poles, the curtain and the points of light from crystals and counters at the sides.&nbsp; The little rows of fragrant flowers, laced with the usual dizzying clouds of drug. Jenna's head shook slowly.&nbsp; She could smell the drug.&nbsp; It smelled dark and sweet.&nbsp; She knew it was intoxicating.&nbsp; Enough time, and it would hit Fumi in her mind, someplace deep.&nbsp; Better not to understand.&nbsp; People came here for fun, for Festival.&nbsp; Not to understand.&nbsp; But she had come here because she had lost the gamble...&nbsp; His hands stroked along her skin.&nbsp; Jenna was flushing.&nbsp; Then, he pushed her onto the ramp, toward the empty stage.&nbsp; <br><br>No, not quite empty.&nbsp; Something here, Fumi and Jenna realized at once.&nbsp; She felt another movement at her side, a point, a prod and caress of something live and fleshy.&nbsp; She squealed softly and turned on her heels, off balance.&nbsp; Murmurs from the crowd, anticipation.&nbsp; A burst of light shot through the smoke of the drug.&nbsp; Then she could see... it, by the curtain, dark and amorphous.&nbsp; It was moving forward, she sensed.&nbsp; She shook her head, but took a step forward.&nbsp; Not because she wanted to, but because she, Fumi, had to.&nbsp; She simply knew it was better than the alternative. Yes, debt was forever.&nbsp; This was only once.&nbsp; She stepped closer to a pole, glancing back down at him.&nbsp; <br><br>Better than looking at it there in the darkness.&nbsp; It was frightening.&nbsp; He was smiling.&nbsp; The bastard.&nbsp; She held onto the pole, saw cuffs hanging there.&nbsp; Did they mean her to...?&nbsp; Do you need them, the Machine asked in its cold, caressing voice.&nbsp; <br><br>It brushed her again.&nbsp; Her view spun, no longer Fumi's own.&nbsp; It was the crowd's view for long moments.&nbsp; The creature sped forward, around her in the darkness and sparse lights.&nbsp; Its long fleshy arms, its tentacles beginning to slither around her limbs, her waist.&nbsp; Jenna felt it grab her in the chair and she screamed.&nbsp; Of course, something was grabbing her in the suit and chair.&nbsp; It was something... similar that she could not see, something that she felt for many times what it was. Fluids were dripping out of the suit, along Jenna's skin.&nbsp; She felt the alien creature pulling at her body.&nbsp; Fumi looked up at the cuffs.&nbsp; She thought for a split second.&nbsp; Jenna knew, then.&nbsp; Fumi would actually lock herself there, before it was too late.&nbsp; She would save herself from the appearance of having had a choice.&nbsp; The watchers would get something different, just something else they would equally enjoy.&nbsp; But not Jenna.<br><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Jenna's mind screamed.&nbsp; A tug, a pull.&nbsp; The program was pulling back against her.&nbsp; Dizziness.&nbsp; Her body rising and falling harder in the chair, the leather suit, the moving dampness and hardness all around her...&nbsp; The feel of the tentacles on her skin.&nbsp; She cast her emotions out desperately, wrestling with the program.&nbsp; She fought with all the history and necessity hanging there in its atmosphere.&nbsp; Fought with things Fumi knew but she did not and did not want to.&nbsp; <em>You're some snake's wet dream, you bitch.&nbsp; Let me go, argggh!</em>&nbsp; Jenna struggled with the weight and reality of the Machine in her mind.&nbsp; The vision was tearing and blending.&nbsp; <em>This never happened before.</em>&nbsp; It was so difficult.&nbsp; It occurred to her she might not win.&nbsp; She might be trapped.&nbsp; Trapped in the thread.&nbsp; On the stage, with <span class="bbc_u">that</span>.&nbsp; <em>Noooo.</em><br><br>The view flickered.&nbsp; Pause.&nbsp; The characters.&nbsp; <br><div align="center">Fumi, pause...&nbsp; <br>Ishana, Nicole. </div> <br>Nicole was still on recompile.&nbsp; Something bad there.&nbsp; <em>You have to decide, Jenna.&nbsp; Now, before it forces forward again!</em>&nbsp; Ishana.&nbsp; <em>Who or what is Ishana?<br></em><br>A second of data screen passed.&nbsp; Jenna no longer had the focus to read it; it was gone.&nbsp; She was lying on cushions.&nbsp; Topless, something warm and furry dangling along her rear and sliding around her as she woke. She smiled automatically, almost spoiled.&nbsp; That feeling was always so intoxicating.&nbsp; Gold bangles shined on the smooth cocoa skin of her arm stretched out before her face.&nbsp; Ishana stretched and looked across the room.&nbsp; Other girls, the men lounging or guarding.&nbsp; Her people: her gang.&nbsp; Weapons and ebony faces.&nbsp; Splashes of rich dark color.&nbsp; The sense of rushing, beautiful, tragic power and sin from everywhere.&nbsp; Of course.&nbsp; The Den.&nbsp; <br><br>She took a breath.&nbsp; There would surely be trouble coming soon enough.&nbsp; Was there a mission, or would her man have other plans today?&nbsp; She purred cooly as she sensed him coming toward her, began to look for him among the standing bodies.&nbsp; Not love, no, but something almost as good for Ishana.&nbsp; Business, duty, deception...&nbsp; Survival.&nbsp; And with them all, power.&nbsp; <br><br>Jenna felt the bangles hanging on her arms, the mixed press of firm and soft from the cushions and spilled clothing below her nipples and along her belly.&nbsp; She breathed hard at the sight of him coming into her vision, tall and muscular.&nbsp; Ishana knew, Jenna knew how violent he could be.&nbsp; How obsessed he might, when he did not have the gang to think about too.<br><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;In the Chamber, she was writhing slowly in the chair.&nbsp; Her arms could be asleep now.&nbsp; Or they might still be pressed hard to the tops of the gloves, protesting her trapped state.&nbsp; She felt only the cushions, and his strong touch running along her skin now...&nbsp; Her arm, Ishana's smooth dark arm.&nbsp; Through it all, she was still thinking: will he send me out there today?&nbsp; To make a delivery, to negotiate, maybe to offer a gesture or make a point?&nbsp; Or is the point today all about us, about keeping his power over me?&nbsp; <br><br>Jenna whimpered.&nbsp; She fidgeted, head sore from leaving Fumi.&nbsp; She barely had energy to think about the attendant of the Chamber.&nbsp; What had happened?&nbsp; <em>What do I do?&nbsp; Why am I in these threads???</em> The sensations, their knowledge and danger were everywhere.&nbsp; <em>I can't stay with these.&nbsp; I can't go to Nicole, she is a recompile thread, something unsafe.&nbsp; But this... </em> Jenna felt her mind loop, her senses shfit and her attention dart back to what was certain.&nbsp; His face, handsome and dangerous.&nbsp; His hand running up to her shoulder as she rose slightly on the loveseat.&nbsp; Ishana smiled at him, with coolness but deliciously.&nbsp; <br><br>She gulped inside the mask, deep and almost imperceptible between the flows it provided.&nbsp; She realized that Ishana thought with the sort of logic her body used in the Machine.&nbsp; There may be no right way to choose.&nbsp; But, there is always some way you end up with.&nbsp; The suit was making little tiny jolts of electricity along her skin.&nbsp; So, this is how important he is, all that he might do.&nbsp; Ishana licked her lips and tossed her hair with purposeful laziness.&nbsp; Of course, she was going to keep up.&nbsp; Jenna could almost have fainted.&nbsp; If only it were not so obvious, so absorbing.&nbsp; Yes, she could fight to change the details or the thread. But how often, and did she want to?&nbsp; The sensations ran over her, through her.&nbsp; And the thoughts: the Machine's thoughts and Ishana's thoughts.&nbsp; <br><br>Plus...&nbsp; She, Jenna, knew there could always be another thread.&nbsp; These were not hers.&nbsp; Would the Machine even begin to tell her what they meant for her?&nbsp; Did it know, or care?&nbsp; And was there any point thinking, between the rushing moments, about the Chamber and the attendant?<br><br>Jenna breathed deep.&nbsp; Ishana smiling at him.&nbsp; Feeling him lean closer, hearing the jungle nobility of his voice...&nbsp; Ishana thought, and so Jenna thought, that she had a certain power too.&nbsp; Jenna wondered in the background: is that right?&nbsp; Is she, are we, all his fantasy?&nbsp; <em>What about me? Why did this happen?&nbsp; Left here, could I turn into some kind of dream character?&nbsp; But whose?&nbsp; A fantasy of the Machine and a program?&nbsp; Or, gods forbid, of someone beyond it?<br></em></div><br></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Dream Machine [BON+MUL]  (kylie, Palace Athene)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Palace Athene</strong> on <strong>26-12-2008, 07:01:56</strong>
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				The Watcher was enjoying himself 'watching,' more like 'living,' as an observer, or counterpart in these dreams he'd saved and programmed in. He loved to find new people to use for his enjoyment. Usually people addicted to the use of the Dream Machine, people he could toy with until he'd had his fill of them. Jenna was just one in the long line people he'd recycled various dreams to. She was also in his top five people to observe. Only now had he started to feed her dreams from his cache.<br><br>He would have to be careful with her; his last toy had only lasted for a single Festival before she lost her addiction to the Machine, probably due to what he was doing. The several before on lasted a few Festivals each. <em>Festival.</em> He never understood why they insisted on calling it that. Remembering his first, second, and third, he recalled they had gone all but insane due to the his bombardments. He'd learned his lesson. He couldn't just feed them any dream he wanted directly, he had to use the machine, and it didn't always take, which was only a slight irritation. This time, however, they did take. All three of them.<br><br>This is what he enjoyed, sitting in the club watching 'Fumi' enter, for he knew who Fumi had inside of her. Every little motion, thought, even the look of Fumi he'd taken from the original dreamer and re-routed to Jenna's Machine, to her mind. She was simply in someone's dream, and so was he. He had wanted to live them after just watching so many, he wanted to be part of the action, so he created another ghost in the Machine that would allow his participation. It had been hard, but he did it. And he<em> loved</em> it. A<em> lot.</em> <br><br>Sitting at the bar of the club and watching Fumi, or Jenna rather, being poked and prodded by the man only turned him on. He almost wished it were him. Almost. As he watched her being led to the stage he rested his head on his hand, taking in everything that was happening to her. Wishing he knew what Jenna 'inside' was saying, <em>thinking</em>. <em>I may have to design a program that can do that,</em> he thought, <em>but not now, not when the show was getting to the good stuff.</em><br><br>He heard the Machine ask, "Do you need them?" <em>Of course she does,</em> he thought, <em>that thing is a beast, and he doesn't play nice.</em> Whatever it was called, he didn't know. It was something out of a a wild fantasy, and he liked it. He watched the tentacles of the beast slither around Fumi's limbs and torso, going for places some would think it had no business going to. The tentacles would have indeed 'raped' her, but the Machine, nor he, would have that just yet.<br><br>Fumi paused... Nicole recompiled... <em>Ishana,</em> he thought.<br><br>This Ishana had been fun to toy around with while she was his, though later she began to show signs of losing herself to the Machine, so he cut her off himself. If she was to ever get back on, he would try to keep her safe in her own dreams. He had liked her. And that was why he still used her. This time, though, he had programmed this dream so he would be an active participant. <br><br>He approached Ishana.. <em>No, Jenna,</em> he thought. It would be hard not to think of her as Ishana. Everything about her was the same. Even her actions, and sometimes her personality showed through the people possessed within her.&nbsp; And after all, he <em>was</em> the man that Ishana had dreamed up. If the dream lasted, he would play him as if he were just part of the dream. Though now it was just him and Ishana, the other people in the room didn't matter any longer.<br><br>He approached her and ran his hand along Ishana's arm, feeling the smooth skin, admiring her beauty. To the character, Ishana was what Jenna was to him. A toy. Almost. To the character he would use her for more than pleasure. He knew that, and though he was in full control of the character, he sometimes became the character to make it all the more real. This time the character would only use her as one of his toys. <em>Now onto the fun,</em> he thought, pulling a scarf from on the cushion of the love seat. He didn't say anything, he just tied her arms together above her head. Ishana knew what to do, she kept her arms up and laid back. He smiled. <br><br>He traced the curves of her topless body as if inspecting a diamond. Ran his finger around the depression of her belly button, up between the perfect mounds that were her breasts. He'd never gotten tired of this body, and he didn't think he ever would. He bent and kissed just below the belly button, above it, around it. The erotic feeling of it all gave him ecstasy. Every time he touched her he was electrified, and not just by <em>his</em> Dream Machine. <br><br>Looking up and down the body again, he began to run the rings of Ishana's areolae. Both he and this character had liked to tease her. <em>Heh,this was light bondage compared to what</em> we <em>sometimes did with Ishana.</em> The nipples began to harden as expected. He wondered what Jenna was thinking about all this, no, he didn't want to know just yet. This time it was only him and Ishana. He took one of the nipples into his mouth and ran his tongue around it, gently sucking. He remembered Ishana liking that done to her nipples. <br><br>He would have his fun with Ishana, and wait for Nicole to reload completely and come out of that ridiculous recompile.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Dream Machine [BON+MUL]  (kylie, Palace Athene)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>kylie</strong> on <strong>28-12-2008, 07:04:14</strong>
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				&nbsp; &nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Jenna blinked, half terrified: he's doing it.&nbsp; And he's doing it here, where the others can see.&nbsp; Of course she knew that this was how it usually happened.&nbsp; In the Den, her view drifting along a blur of people.&nbsp; They belong here, though unidentified.&nbsp; The girls she knows, who always bring a finely balanced mix of competition and sympathy; the men she can't quite make out, who are surely taking it in.&nbsp; She is out of their reach, for now...&nbsp; There are others for their desires of course, but still...&nbsp; She is not beyond their eyes' reach: no one is, here.&nbsp; <br><br>Her firm chest with its perks stretching like the end of an Arabian lamp rises and falls.&nbsp; She looks up at him with a sideways roll of her lips in and out.&nbsp; It could be a tease, or it could be as close to fear as she will show him.&nbsp; <em>Which</em>, some part of Jenna asks the emptiness.&nbsp; <em>Would she even know the difference?</em>&nbsp; A distant rush of feelings, not answers but simply truth.&nbsp; Part of Ishana knows there is nowhere else to go, it is only about being in the best place, right now.&nbsp; Part of her thinks any of them would be as good.&nbsp; Yes, some would hurt or humiliate her a little more or a little less than he does.&nbsp; Women in the city are as likely to be passed around or traded as they are to be kept in one gang or tribe.&nbsp; Just so long as I am kept in comfort, too...<br><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;She rolls sideways, following his strong pushes as he half lifts her.&nbsp; Jenna is shocked at his presumptuousness.&nbsp; She can feel the sleepiness just starting to lift, and he hasn't said a word.&nbsp; <em>Not even asking...</em>&nbsp; Her thought seems to barely register.&nbsp; Ishana is blinking a little, but then she is just getting started today.&nbsp; She smiles and rolls, too.&nbsp; She is in fine shape; she has always had to be.&nbsp; <em>Are there really such people</em>, part of Jenna wonders.&nbsp; <em>It would be better if there were not; only people like that can afford to give in.</em>&nbsp; She starts in the chair, wiggling sideways as his hands take her arms.&nbsp; It isn't her program, her story.&nbsp; She doesn't have energy right now to struggle with the Machine about it...&nbsp; He is big, not bulky but muscular.&nbsp; <em>A cross between bear and cat</em>, she feels more than thinks.&nbsp; <em>What an idea</em>, she thinks with more fixation in her mind.&nbsp; <em>Was that my notion?&nbsp; Hers?&nbsp; It's... m-mine now?</em>&nbsp; Jenna tries instinctively to bite her lip.&nbsp; There is something in her mouth, small, mostly liquid.&nbsp; It's in the way right now, and it tastes of the thick, African woody incense that burned on the loveseat last night.&nbsp; <br><br>There is a hint of other, older scents in it that Ishana knows.&nbsp; Things the Den has not forgotten, no matter how people come and go.&nbsp; Nicotine, marijuana, tear gas, gunpowder, sweat, rich sauces of feast days and smoke of a fire that raged once.&nbsp; Jenna is shaking.&nbsp; Ishana is still smiling.&nbsp; That is all old news to her.&nbsp; It is in her nostrils and the knowledge is in her mind, but she doesn't smell it like Jenna does.&nbsp; It is not history she had to live all of, but the history that has made this a place where she can win.&nbsp; Where she believes she is winning, no matter what the price.&nbsp; And these hours are safer, a little easier than being sent out there, to deal with others.&nbsp; Ishana doesn't intend much except success in her world...&nbsp; But part of her can enjoy this.&nbsp; While other parts think about who not to trust, and how to stay ahead.&nbsp; <br><br>Jenna rises and falls in the chair, rubbing faintly against the leather of her suit back and the giving fibers of the chair.&nbsp; So many layers and levels of leather and synthetics that have always fed her sensations.&nbsp; They will hold up through anything.&nbsp; <em>Now what are they holding me for??</em>&nbsp; She squirms, her arms turning yet almost motionless in the gloves, the spirals of tiny cords with so much potential for feeling.&nbsp; The turns of padding, fabric laced with fluids and sensors.&nbsp; The waves and waves of little sensor pads, needles and miniature mechanical fingers that she has never seen inside the casing around her...&nbsp; But she knows what they can do, or what they could do in the programmed world she knew and loved.&nbsp; What more will they feed her in places like these?&nbsp; Part of her mind wants to scream.&nbsp; <em>Let me gooooo....</em>&nbsp; It is a flickering, weak thought.&nbsp; She already knows they will not.&nbsp; At least obviously, not now.&nbsp; <em>Why??&nbsp; Oh, god...</em>&nbsp; &nbsp; <br><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;She feels fur slide along around her hips as she moves, so familiar.&nbsp; So rich, so luxuriant caressing around her.&nbsp; Bought with drug and blood money, Jenna realizes.&nbsp; <br><br><div align="center"><em>Of course,</em> Ishana thinks to herself without thinking.&nbsp; <br><em>Bought with things everyone takes, for money that keeps us all alive....&nbsp; <br></em>She thinks with a little smile in the far back of her head, <br><em>Some of us... doing better than others while we are at it.&nbsp; <br>Play the game, babe...&nbsp; You are winning.&nbsp; Yes, you are.</em>[/i]<br><br></div>She is thinking to herself.&nbsp; <em>It's to herself, isn't it?</em>&nbsp; Jenna blinks behind the mask.&nbsp; <em>She's a program, a dream.&nbsp; She doesn't know I'm here.&nbsp; Does she?&nbsp; No, she couldn't.</em>&nbsp; <br><br>She is bent back by his strong grip on her arms, her neck and shoulders stretching slowly over the peak of the armrest on the edge of the loveseat.&nbsp; Her body cracks in odd places.&nbsp; Ishana smiles inwardly, and Jenna grimaces.&nbsp; <em>How does she sleep stretched across such a thing?&nbsp; It's not tiny, but then she is quite tall too.</em>&nbsp; The sleep is balanced on furs and on power.&nbsp; Even that is an echo of Ishana's loose thoughts inside her head, a sort of compilation.&nbsp; It's more of an instinct than a message.&nbsp; <em>Or, is it the Machine?</em>&nbsp; Jenna gasps in the mask.&nbsp; <br><br>In the Chamber, something soft and almost liquid is rubbing her thighs and between her legs, so flowing and animal.&nbsp; It is almost surreal; for a moment, she ventures to think, "It's really mechanical isn't it."&nbsp; But that does not help.&nbsp; Focusing attention on it only makes it more sensuous and harder to place.&nbsp; Thick, sliding, softness pressed against her skin beneath the raised and folded hem of the dress pooled around her waist.<br><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And then, his fingers.&nbsp; She rises higher, stretches further along the loveseat.&nbsp; Ishana lets out a little sound, somewhere between a purr and a growl.&nbsp; It doesn't matter what it is, so long as it isn't too loud.&nbsp; Of course, he will take what he wants.&nbsp; He can read her little sounds as what he likes.&nbsp; They generally do.&nbsp; It is the way of things: Security and privileges for their pleasure, their power.&nbsp; Her eyes blink and dart between his sure face.&nbsp; Those big eyes that could be noble but they have too much power, too much responsibility.&nbsp; With her, and with any women in his range, they can have so much hunger and possessiveness too.&nbsp; <br><br>She curls and writhes as his fingers turn in her flesh, her wrists dangling up and off the edge of the furniture.&nbsp; She is breathing deeper, trying to make it last, keeping that little control that will make it more fair.&nbsp; <em>Fair!</em> Jenna almost shouts in her mind.&nbsp; <em>You're like property.</em>&nbsp; It's obvious Ishana is not concerned, if she were even able to listen.&nbsp; Ishana thinks the ties are a little silly, but they don't feel bad and she understands how the men so often like to emphasize their control.&nbsp; <br><br>She blinks back into awareness and stares up at him.&nbsp; She is not the softness that her body presents to him and they both know that...&nbsp; But neither is she all the violence and hardness that he could easily be.&nbsp; She watches him hover over her for that moment, her elbows making tiny adjustments along the edge of the loveseat and her upper body tilting&nbsp; this way and that by tiny, undulating degrees as she puts the faintest smile under a quiet, "respectful" look.&nbsp; <em>See</em>, she half thinks, <em>I can be doelike for you...&nbsp; So long as you're playing nice to me.</em>&nbsp; Jenna is shivering inside, but she is also in awe.&nbsp; Ishana's heat, her strange desperate power coursing through her.&nbsp; The sheen of her dark skin and his darker muscles above her, as he moves closer...&nbsp; <br><br>Then his lips settle, she feels his tongue stretching...&nbsp; A brush of coarseness.&nbsp; The briefest sense in her head of other things it might do, things he has said before reduced to a pinging touch in her mind.&nbsp; Little, swirling, stroking damp waves along and into her nipple.&nbsp; Her head tilts back further and she smiles softly.&nbsp; Ishana can enjoy this part.&nbsp; Jenna gasps, her body drawing into the chair.&nbsp; But there is nowhere to go.&nbsp; His tongue is warm, moist, and so big on her fleshy button.&nbsp; <br><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;She whimpers harder, her legs twitching.&nbsp; She takes a hard breath.&nbsp; <em>Can I make it last, like her?</em>&nbsp; Part of her wants it to be over faster.&nbsp; <em>But, what could happen if I lose focus now, inside the program?</em>&nbsp; And...&nbsp; Jenna doesn't want to fall apart to this, not so easily.&nbsp; She shudders.&nbsp; <em>What is this program?&nbsp; Why is it doing this to me?!</em>&nbsp; <br><br>She blinks and breathes inside the mask, harder.&nbsp; Unable to decide, and too soon to try to control it.&nbsp; His tongue circles again and Ishana moans softly.&nbsp; Jenna is in so many places.&nbsp; But for a little moment, Ishana is falling in.&nbsp; It pulls at Jenna's senses like a hard net of rope laced with tiny, colored sparks.&nbsp; Electrical details fluttering through her, inside.&nbsp; Jenna moans the tiniest moan, and starts.&nbsp; <em>Which of us was that?</em>&nbsp; The brushes, the washes of feeling continue...<br><br><br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Dream Machine [BON+MUL]  (kylie, Palace Athene)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Palace Athene</strong> on <strong>28-12-2008, 08:17:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Are you enjoying this?" Asked The Watcher through the character. Ishana's smile was enough to say she was, but he was more interested in the person within her. He wondered what Jenna would be thinking. <em>Maybe she's realized she'll have to go along with all this.</em> He smiled to himself, kissing down Ishana's neck. He took Ishana's nipple between his finger, rolling it and pinching it before the point of unbearable pain. <br><br>He ran his finger from her throat, between her breasts to her belly button, circling it once more before he moved lower, sliding his hand down the front of her garment. Ishana almost writhed at the caress of his fingers, and he reveled in it. All he needed to do was rub, and she would be his. Her lips were velvet under his fingers, one of his favorite feelings. He smiled at her and searched for the one spot that would seal the covenant.<br><br>As his fingers found it, a sigh bordering on the edge of a moan escaped Ishana's lips. <em>And now,</em> he thought, <em>you will be mine.</em> The character's fingers rubbed and pinched lightly her engorged clitoris. He knew that while Ishana herself had thought this gave her a certain power over him, that power was fleeting within his hands. At this point, it was only ecstasy. The wetness of her made that quite clear.<br><br>A final moan only confirmed what he was certain of. He withdrew his hand and cupped Ishana's left breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. He bent, giving Ishana a deep kiss. He probed the inside of her mouth with his tongue, she returned in vigor. He broke the kiss, and the satisfied look on Ishana's face went to the point of warming his heart. He smiled back, and stepped himself out of her dream.<br><br>In his Dream Machine he was as close to a god as any man could be. The thought made him laugh aloud. He flipped a switch on his console and his chair returned from its reclined position. He pulled his mask off and flipped on the screens of his computer. He was irritated at the fact that Nicole was still on recompile, so he canceled its current action. <em>Stupid machine.</em> He thought as he resent the Nicole dream in. <em>I'll have to see if I can bypass the recompiling process.</em> His fingers typed the complex codes he'd devised to make all this possible. <br><br><em>Ha,</em> he thought, <em>that should do it.</em> Nicole's dream would no longer be on recompile, any time now it would come into play. Still, he didn't know when, but it would come into play. He laughed heartily to himself, enjoying the fact that he could do this. "Now what if I called myself the Puppet Master?" He said aloud laughing harder. <em>But, I'm not actually a puppet master. I'm just doing what other people already thought up.</em> He laughed again. <br><br>"Now, I think I'll re-enter this dream. But not as the same character." He entered in the lines that would make him come up as one of the men in the room with Ishana and the man. As much as he liked the feeling of being with her, he also liked watching her. He laid back, flipped the toggle returning the chair to its reclined position. He used his foot to turn off the computer monitors and fixed his mask back into place. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of his room...<br><br>...Then he was back in the dream, looking directly at the love seat with Ishana and the man still on it. He had a knife in hand, and he was using offhandedly to clean his nails. <em>Hmmm, not the man I wanted,</em> he thought,<em> but he will suffice.</em> He returned the knife to it's sheath and slouched in the chair watching the interactions of the people in the room.<br><br>He smiled and said aloud, "Any time now, Nicole will be en route." 
			</dd>
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