The music started again, and she knew it was going to start all over soon.
Tamara sighed as small jets of cool air blew over her, drying the sweat off her exposed skin, breasts and thighs. The mechanical jets paid special attention to the wrist and ankle cuffs as well as the leather corset that she wore. He didn't want them to become too wet. He'd told her why, but now, after hours in the machine, she couldn't remember.
The jets moved and focused in on her breasts and crotch. First blowing a general, easy air; then focusing much more strongly. Her nipples hardened under their ministrations. Then the one at her crotch began to blow on her clit, sending pulses of pleasure through her whole body.
The chains tightened as she writhed against them.
It had all begun when she had wandered into that online chatroom.
He had been all suave and domineering, there. And she'd been more than interested in the fantasy. The little power games they played out had been quite enjoyable. And when he'd started telling her to do things when she was offline, she had done them, too.
And it had been fun. Very fun.
Then they had met. Somehow this man who was interesting, literate, and intelligent had been physically blessed as well.
He was tall, with deep mocha eyes that drew her in and kept her captive. Thirty minutes later and they were in his hotel room, fucking. She was tied to the bed and his prodigious member was sliding in and out of her wet, wet hole, while she begged for more.
The music began again.
The chains pulled her arms and legs tightly into the shape of an X. The platform tilted back a bit, leaning in a 60 degree angle this time.
Something like feathers began slowly teasing her sensitive nubs back into hardness. She sighed aloud at the feeling and felt her heat begin to rise again.
She felt a small dildo, almost the size of a finger, begin to move slowly across her slit, massaging it. Gently, oh so gently.
She tried to buck against it, but no, she couldn't move at all. It just began to vibrate, ever so little.
She heard another whir, and each of her nipples was being massaged and tweaked by three metal fingers, sending little jolts of electricity through her whole body.
This went on for a while, building the tension and heat in her pussy. Lubrication gushed out of her; a sheen of sweat was all over her flushed and heated body.
Her head thrashed side to side, the clamps tightened a little more. The small dildo was replaced with a larger vibrating one, sliding, thrusting, slamming into her. She was so close, her arms and legs tensed, the taut chains humming. It all stopped.
Cold water in a fine mist sprayed over her, lowering her temperature, and dousing the fire in her loins. "Nooo!!!!" she cried out, "not again!"
The music started over.
"This," he had said, "is my machine."
It was glorious and complex: an entire room dedicated to a device of pleasurable torture. She had seen dungeons before, but this was no dungeon: it was designed to cocoon one person; to please and excite one person; to drive one person to lustful insanity.
"It's all automated, too."
Of course, she had thought, what else would you expect from a rich programmer?
He'd shown it to her then, the electrodes in the corset, the robotic arms and their attachments, the carefully programmed AI. How it was all designed to control and excite.
It was several weeks before she acquiesced to his request.
The music skipped, and started over.
Metal clamps seized her breasts, and tightened on her nipples. Chains attached to them began to shorten, pulling her breasts up and away from her body.
She cried out in pain at her tortured nipples.