Welcome to Your Dungeon
Chapter 3: Loss of Identity

Copyright© 2014 by Evestrial

BDSM Sci-fi Sex Story: Chapter 3: Loss of Identity - This is a story of a woman who is kidnapped and trained to be the perfect slave and personal attaché. This story will primarily focus on the emotional and mental state of the main character as she is pushed past her breaking point and remolded into something new. This is a heavy trigger warning. This is just the first 5 pages and I'm hoping to do 5 pages a week. There is not a lot of sex in it yet, or that many triggers, but be aware if you keep reading, it will get worse with more updates.

Caution: This BDSM Sci-fi Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft   Mult   Drunk/Drugged   NonConsensual   Rape   Slavery   Lesbian   Heterosexual   Science Fiction   BDSM   Humiliation   Torture   Exhibitionism   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Caution  

When I woke again there was light in the room, natural light. I felt so relieved to see the light coming in through a small window. I'm not sure why, it's just light, I've seen it plenty of times. There was something in the back of my mind that was telling me to treasure it while I have it. I close my eyes for a moment to try to concentrate on why I need the light; as soon as the darkness envelopes me I feel cold and alone. I feel empty and worthless; I even start to feel a little claustrophobic. I open my eyes back up and banish the darkness and cold walls that had encaged me.

Looking around I see the sparse, small hospital room, it's very bland and basic. How did I get here? What happened to put me in a hospital? I try to think, try to remember, but all I can bring out is a sensation of cold claustrophobia and hot despair. A little deeper I feel a different heat, one that's inside me instead of being subjected to me. For a moment I feel repulsed by it, then, a little deeper I feel released by it, sated even.

I come out of my momentary reverie, my eyes refocus on the wall across from me and I realize my right hand has slid into my gown and was resting on the inside of my thigh. Why can't I remember anything? What are these fragments of memories from, these sensations? What happened to me?

Just then a man entered the room, closing the door behind him. "Good morning Mary, I'm glad you're awake, it's a good sign." It was the same voice from last night, I think; even that's a bit foggy. I nodded. He had such a kind voice and manor, his crooked smile was relaxing and a bit charming, but his eyes, were a cold gray, like a room of icy walls. I looked away from his face and noticed he was wearing a simple gray suit, loose fitting for comfort but obviously tailored to him. He sat down in the only chair and said, "How are you feeling this morning?"

With a scratchy voice I respond, "Alright I guess, I don't remember why I'm here. What happened to me?"

He nodded and looked grave for a moment, but then smiled a little to put me at ease. He leaned forward and said, "Temporary and short term memory loss are pretty common with brain trauma." He leaned back and continued, "You had an accident and hit your head pretty hard."

"Is that why my head feels so fuzzy?"

He reaches to the end of the bed where he picks up the patient strip and holds it to face of his watch for a moment, then puts it back. He taps the face once and a hologram of my chart pops up. I'm too far away to see it, and I also don't have a personal assistant unit like that, so I don't know if I could even read it. "There is still some swelling in your brain and in the brain stem. The nanites are unable to deal with this level of damage, especially with your nervous system out of balance." He took a deep breath and read on through the chart silently for a moment before continuing. "The doctors want to perform another surgery; they want to put a small regulator next to your brainstem. This will send a secondary pulse to the nanites to have them produce different chemicals to help the brain heal faster."

I nod, not really understanding what he said past I needed another surgery. "Where did I get nanites? Did the hospital introduce them?"

He looks confused, "No, you've always had them; they were introduced to you in vitro. You're one of us, and we look out for our own. Only the best for a Mary." His smile widened, almost sinister, as he sat back and closed the chart. "Do you remember who I am?"

I shook my head, why did this sound so wrong, but he sounded so sincere, so correct. And what he said made sense, all of it made perfect, infallible sense.

"My name is John Natha, you should just call me Natha for now." Like Nathan without the second N, I can remember that. He sighed and his smile faded from his face, leaving sharp cheek bones and a pointed face that reminded me of a bulette. "I'm a little concerned," he continued, "about how little you seem to remember. But it will probably come back to you after the surgery, when you're properly on the mend." He smiled again, not quite showing his teeth. But it never reached his cold grey eyes.

"I'm a bit hungry," I said, "Is there any way I can get something to eat, and some water?"

"Of course," he says, "You should know all you need is to ask, and if you deserve it, it will be given to you." That was odd, but sounded right. Part of me remembers realizing this, I need to earn my food, I need to be good, and I need to ask nicely. Where did I learn that? Thinking is like swimming through quicksand, it just isn't going to work.

Natha stood up and got a bottle of water for me from a cabinet. He opened it and put a straw into it and handed it to me. "Unfortunately I can't get you anything to eat. No food within 24 hours of surgery. But your nanites can sustain you for more than a week without food or water by recycling your bodies resources and consuming the fat layers. They are pretty advanced. You'll feel hungry, but you should know that it won't cause any damage to not eat for a while."

That made sense. I took a sip of the water and it burned like alcohol as it flooded down my parched throat. Is that why I don't need to use the bathroom; I think to myself but don't ask. The idea that my body is recycling my own shit and piss is a little disgusting, but it does seem efficient. Natha is definitely taking care of me, all of my basic needs are met by this man, food, shelter, water, and even waste management. I owe him for this, and I don't even remember why, why am I being treated this way that will leave me indebted to him?

"Anyway," he says, "I had just dropped by to see how you were doing and I must be going now." The doctors will be in to get you in a bit, you should lean back and relax until then."

"Thank you Natha," I said as he walked out. He nodded a goodbye and closed the door, leaving me alone with the silence and my foggy, disheveled mind.

I was very weak and moving was very hard, I tried to read the bags hanging over my shoulder that were connected to my IV. One was yellow, one clear, and one a murky white, like diluted milk. There were labels on them, I just couldn't read them from down here, the text was so small. I tried to sit up to get a better look, but with only one arm and so little strength, I was barely able to move. And thanks to the pain in my head as soon as I moved that little bit the world around me started to spin in a circle. I fell back to the bed, slightly angled up, but still mostly flat. I picked up my bottle from the little table next to me and drank some more. It hurt less this time but was still tiring.

Setting the bottle back down I lay back to try to rest. Although I didn't feel sleepy I tried to close my eyes and sleep again. As soon as I closed my eyes the familiar fear of the dark cold room closed in around me. I felt my heart beat quicken and I snapped them open again, thankful for the light in the room. I was physically tired and my brain was obviously not working right, but I couldn't sleep. I felt as if I had done that so much lately.

So I lay back and stared at the ceiling. After a while even the silence seemed to begin to get loud, so I started humming to myself, nursery rhymes, not that I could remember where I had heard them before. But I did this to pass the time. And slowly time did pass.

Eventually two men in white robes came into my room, tapped the chart tab to their wrists and looked over my chart. One of them tapped a line and holo-keyboard formed under his hands, he entered a new line and closed the chart. The other said, "Hello Mary, we're going to take you to surgery now. Do you have any questions?" I shook my head, it was still too foggy to come up with anything useful to ask. "Good," he said and grabbed the side of my bed, pulled, and started rolling me out through the door.

The halls outside my room were simple gray walls, wide enough to allow three gurneys through side by side. There was a green stripe on the wall that we were following. A couple times I saw a blue stripe and a red stripe head down different hall ways. There were several doors like mine, numbers beside them. Some had a green tag next to them, some did not. I wonder what the green tag means.

As we walked the doctor explained the procedure, "What we're going to do is use a nano-scalpel to open up the back of your neck at the base of the skull. The blade has already been calibrated from the scans we took of you while you were unconscious, so don't worry about it eating through your skull." The way he said this sounded as if it was supposed to be a joke, but the thought hadn't even crossed my mind, now I was worried. "Once the scalpel has opened you up," he continues, "we're going to put a little box in there, it's about the size of your pinky nail, and it will have a tiny tether to a small indented nub on the skin. That will be your uplink point, just touch any data-link to it and you'll be able to download all sorts of information to your cortex. From there you can review it or pass it on to your nanites."

"How can I use it?" The idea of being able to access a computer through my brain never made sense to me. I know a lot of people had them, but still, is it like having another arm you can just innately use it, or do you have to train for it?

"That depends on what information you're pulling down. Most data you download will need to be converted to match your brain pattern in an analog format you can utilize it. The cortex implant will do a lot of the conventions for you, but some things will simply be too big or complex for it."

I nodded, it really didn't make sense to me, but okay.

After a few minutes of being pushed through gray halls and never seeing another person we arrived at a large room. There were several monitors, some strange and complex machines on a wall with several thin manipulator arms, and what looked like multiple camera lenses for eyes. It reminded me of a giant mechanical spider. There was also another, larger, bed with straps on it and a hole in the headrest. There were several lights that made the room incredibly bright with ambient light, there were no shadows in this room.

They rolled me up to the other bed and pressed the gurney up to its side. The doctor that hadn't spoken, in a very clinical and precise manor, removed the blanket and my robe, leaving me naked to the cool air of the surgical room. I felt a little odd, but not ashamed or bashful about being naked. Neither of the doctors seemed to care or really even notice. After he moved away with my coverings part of the bed lifted up like a forklift, cradling me at the knees, back, and neck, and carefully deposited me onto the larger bed. The quiet doctor came over and started pulling straps across me. "We can't have you moving around while we perform the surgery. I tiny twitch could kill you."

He starts by pulling one across my chest, just above my breasts, and pulls it tight, slightly restricting my breathing. He then pulls another one across just below my breasts, making them stand out a little with the pressure. The restriction is actually a bit pleasant. Another one is pulled across my hips, immobilizing my pelvis. He then pulls a strap tight across my forehead, making it impossible to really look around. Next is a neck brace that clips into the bed itself, now my neck and head are completely immobilized. He pulls another strap up between my legs and clips it into the neck brace. The only things free are my arms and legs. He hits a button and all of the straps tighten down a bit, making it hard to breath, but not uncomfortably so.

Still, all these straps seemed a bit excessive until the bed tilted up and stood me nearly straight up. My feet were on a block at the base, obviously there to support me, but the straps were so good I was putting no weight on it. The monitor in front of me showed the back of my neck. "Alright," I heard a voice say, "We're going to begin. We're going to give you a little bit of local anesthetic so you don't feel much pain, but because the procedure involves connecting nano-tethers to your central nervous system we can't put you to sleep as we need to monitor brain and impulse function." I tried to nod, but that didn't do any good, I couldn't move.

I watched the monitor as a thin manipulator came up and pressed a dermal patch to my neck. I felt another come up and place electrodes to the top of my head, the little pins stabbing into my scalp with a pinch. Another manipulator came up and removed the dermal, but I couldn't feel it at all. I watched, a little in shock and a little amazed, as the nano-scalpel came and touched the back of my neck. It dissolved like it was made of water and rushed over the skin of my neck and formed an outline of a box, then coalesced into thin precise lines that seemed to melt into my skin. I watched as the skin, muscle, and fats just rolled apart in a box shape and pealed back exposing muscle and nervous tissue to the air. It started to bleed a bit, but it was delayed, clear then slowly filling with blood, like a glass cut that's so fine it doesn't bleed at first.

"Deploying coagulants," a voice said. I saw a clear liquid drip out of another manipulator and spread over the surgical are. As it spread over the bleeding area it pulled the blood away, stopping the worst of it. This stung a bit, I was starting to feel what was going on since the skin was removed.

Next I watched another arm bring up a small black chip, it was so thin I saw it ripple a bit from the movement. On a closer look of it I could see small hairs sticking out of one side. The arm pressed it to my spinal column and I felt a cold sensation run up my spine. I watched as more arms came up and started moving quicker than I could see, attaching the hairs to my nervous system. Every one of the hairs sent a fire of pain down my spine. I wanted to scream but the pain was so intense I couldn't move my mouth and the straps were so tight I couldn't bring in enough air to try.

I closed my eyes to try to close out the pain. The claustrophobia did not invade this time. Instead of cold darkness what I saw was red heat generated from the pain. I felt the metal arms deep inside me like a wire, twisted up and breaking me loose, it felt so wrong. I felt more violated than ever before. I tried to scream in pain, but all I could do was let out a sharp squeak and a rush of empty air.

Then it stopped. I opened my eyes to look at the monitor and saw the arms insert a small black concave disk and the nano-scalpel rolled the soft tissues back down and burned them closed.

"There," said the voice of the friendly doctor, "that wasn't so bad." The bed lowered down. I felt so dizzy and nauseous from the pain. Although I could no longer feel the direct pain of having part of my nervous system redirected through the device, there were aftershocks, memories of the pain that passed through my system.

"Alright," the first said as the second started undoing the straps, "we're going to give you a sedative and take you back to your room. It will be only a few days for that to heal up enough to use, especially with your nanite augmentations."

The bed lifted me like a forklift again and deposited me on the original gurney. One of the doctors put a large dermal patch onto my chest above my heart. I vaguely remember having a blanket put on me, but then I was asleep.


When I woke I was back in my room, naked but covered by a thin blanket. I peeled the dermal patch of off my chest and threw it at the trashcan near the door, it missed and made wet sounding splat when it hit the hard, concrete floor. The lights were off and there was no light coming in through the small window. So it must be night time now.

I tried for a moment to pull myself out of bed so I could at least see out through the window, although it was pretty high up the wall and had a thin curtain over it. Still, on my tiptoes I think I see out it. After just a moment I fell back against the bed, too tired to move. The drugs from the dermal had left me weaker than when I had woken up in the hospital. So I just lay back and breathed.

I wasn't tiered but I was still weak and every movement left me gasping for air. At least my arm didn't hurt. I look down at my arm, trying to remember how I broke it. I have these vague flashes of memory when I'm not paying direct attention, I remember falling, it was cold and dark; I was scared. I was alone.

I look around the small empty room, barely enough light to see the walls. Suddenly the small area and lack of light makes me feel claustrophobic. Being alone gives me this chill, like it's just a little too cool for comfort. I pull the blanket up to my chin and curl up a bit, trying to warm up. Being alone, I start to shiver. This doesn't seem right, was I always like this?

I roll onto my side and say out loud, "Mary, get ahold of yourself." That sounded so wrong, it felt odd in my mouth, like Mary was stale bread, or a protean paste that had gone past date. I know what that tastes like. And it hits me; how do I know how that tastes? Why would I know what stale or expired food tastes like?

The thoughts confuse me. My heart starts to race. Why can't I remember? What's wrong with me? Where am I? Who am I? The questions flip around my head like fireflies I'm unable to catch. I hear the monitor above me start to beep faster as my heart rate goes up. The loneliness, the emptiness, the quiet, and the darkness are too much. I feel myself start to panic over these things; things I know should be simple and trivial. I put my gel cast over my head and start to cry into my other arm. I don't even know why I'm crying.

After a few minutes of crying and repeating the questions in my head I stop and wipe the tears from my eyes. It's just the drugs, I decide. I'm still confused from the surgery, I'll be able to remember more in the morning. That's got to be it. Mr. Natha said the surgery would help, and he and the doctors has been so nice, and Mr. Natha is taking such good care of you like he's always done. Hasn't he?

That seemed right and wrong at the same time. I feel like I'm being torn in two directions, part of me knows that I'm the only one who looks out for me, that I need to scrape everything I can from the ground with my own two hands. But part of me also knows that someone's been looking out for me, giving me what I need when I ask for it, taking care of me, picking me up when I fall. Comforting me after being alone. He was the one there when I woke up, he waited for me to come to after my accident, he's taking care of the hospital arrangements for me. Obviously he cares for me and he wants to help me.

Knowing that Mr. Natha is protecting me I feel a bit more relaxed, and the exhaustion and traces of the drugs in my system take their toll on me. Coupled with the pain in my neck and a little nausea from the surgery, I manage to drift off into an uncomfortable sleep. I dream of a cold empty room where I am alone, but Mr. Natha is looking down on me through the ceiling.

When I woke again I was feeling better, although a little sleepy still. Mr. Natha was in the room with me, standing by the only chair and there was pale light coming in from the window, it must still be early. "Good morning, do you remember who I am?" His voice was smooth, slow and nurturing, always that simple, warm smile, and those cold hard eyes. The man always seemed split between energy and apathy, love and indifference. Still, I was so happy to see him, my protector, in the room with me.

I nodded, "Mr. Natha," I said.

His smile broadened and he sat down in the chair, "Good, although, call me Natha, no mister." I nodded. "Good than, do you remember who you are?"

"Mary," I said, rolling my tongue over the strange sounding name. "Although I still can't remember my last name." I tried to keep the quiver out of my voice, but it shook just a little, making me sound smaller, like a child.

He shook his head and the smile faded a bit. I felt my heart drop a little at that, "You don't have a last name, you're just a Mary." The shot was apparently plain to see on my face. "Tell me, do you remember anything?" I shook my head, "Then why would you think you had a last name? Only people have last names."

My heart started to beat faster; it felt like my soul was sinking when he spoke. Why was he being so mean? But his voice and demeanor were not mean; they were pitiful, like he was sorry to have to tell me. "D-Doesn't everyone ha-ha-have a last name?" I asked, my voice shaking on the verge of tears.

"You don't remember who you are or why you're here." He sighed and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "You're a Mary, you've been raised to be part of the Attaché program. You had an accident, hit your head pretty hard and was out for a couple weeks while the doctors tried to repair the damage." He moved over to the bed and sat down next to me, placing a hand on my naked shoulder. "It's not uncommon for people with head trauma to be confused when they wake up. Disoriented by the delusions their subconscious makes out of the things going on around them while unconscious. But these delusions usually fade within a few hours. It's been more than a day."

His hand on my shoulder and his presence was comforting. But this all sounds so wrong, and he says it like I should know exactly what all this is. His voice is full of calm understanding and reassurance. The way he says it makes me feel like I did something wrong, like it was my fault, almost patronizing, but not quite. I wanted to show him that I could do it right, that I would be worthy of his respect, and not just his pity.

He stood up and walked over to the chair, there was a bag sitting in the floor next to it that I had failed to notice before. He pulled a book out of it, an actual paper book, thick and heavy with words and knowledge. "I'm hoping this will jog some of those memories loose." He handed me the tomb, a simple elegant script on the cover read, 'Manners and Etiquette, the Art of Social Appeasement.'

I opened it to the first page, and started reading, but Natha interrupted me fairly quickly, "I'm not going to be able to come by for a couple days," as he spoke I felt my heart sink a bit, "read all of that by the time I get back, I'll have someone with me to test you on it." He knelt down next the bed and looked me in the eyes, can you do that for me?" I looked at him and nodded, feeling a little trepidation of the task of reading and understanding this entire thing in only a couple days. "Good," he said standing up, "good luck, I'll see you soon," and he walked out the door.

 
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