He pressed the button on the small lighter. The only evidence of anything happening was the sudden red sparkle of the end of the cigarette flashing into life as he ran the laser driven "flame" across the tip of the smokeless cigarette. That still bothered him, even though they'd been around since the days he stole cigarettes from the older kids. It was the denial of the flames existence, and the elimination of smoke from the burning neo-tobacco -- it made smoking zen like, a form of self mockery through mime.

He tossed the pack onto the freshly made bed with a wry look at the archaic surgeon general's warning still imprinted on the side. He should buy a pack for posterity...pretty soon the new packaging sans the familiar white box would finally be hitting the streets, now that congress had finally gotten off it's ass to repeal some of the old laws. Cancer and emphysema had ceased to be any sort of real health threat for nearly 30 years now. Ironically, the same anti-government sentiment that had swept the various libertarian minded factions into office had resulted in an interesting legislative backlog: Even the act of wholesale elimination of whole classes of law took time.

As he smoked his pre-session tobacco, he went down a familiar mental checklist. While he was equally as anal about the first two, this was the all important third date. Handled incorrectly, weeks worth of preparation and carefully worded dances would be all for naught, and he would have to start all over.

He was almost finished when the door bell rang. Reflexively he checked the time...two minutes early.

"Mark", he called out to the artifice, "set the clocks ahead by ten minutes".

"It is done, master". He grinned. He loved how subservient the machine was, as every timepiece in the sound proofed condominium went from 8:28 PM to 8:38. Just late enough to justify a foul mood in the face of a bad mannered submissive.

Even better, he would make her wait a minute or two at the door, until she achieved just the right level of nervous tension. Flipping on the camera at the front door as he strode into the living room, her face was displayed on the main display on the far wall. He didn't need to zoom in to detect the tiny beads of perspiration forming quickly on her forehead.

She was a lovely young thing, no more than 19. Quite a find, even in the city of San Francisco. Usually they didn't get the courage to try out the leather bars until they were into their 20's. He had noticed over the past few years that they were getting younger and younger. Chalk it up to a wonderful combination of thinking you were immortal...combined with the reality that you probably really were.

"You're new". It wasn't a question -- he was stating a simple fact.

She wasn't used to the directness of his question, nor to the noisy atmosphere of the bar. Her eyes kept darting to the man hung upside down behind the counter, his face purple. Now, those big brown eyes, dropped downward. She was trying so hard to fit in.

"Yes, sir." It sounded rehearsed. No doubt she had spent hours in the virtual chat rooms, practicing with the equally clueless.

He drew closer, locking onto her eyes. "You haven't earned the right to call me 'Sir'..."

He held the pause just long enough to let her begin to splutter an apology..."Yet.".

It was usually that easy. A couple hours of tugging on the hook, and they would think that he was the ONE, the top of their dreams. Since their dreams were always so shallow and prosaic, he had no problem filling that role.

As he walked down the hall to answer the door, he checked himself in the mirror. I've got to start working out again, he thought. While medical science could undo any damage long term indolence could produce, it could only go so far. Even enhanced musculature need to be taken out and used, lest it begin to show signs of sagging...and he had better uses for the money he had set aside for elective medical expenses.

A couple of hours of talking, a carefully timed drink or two...never enough to call into question consensuality. That was important. If there were ever cause for someone to question the willingness of his partners, it could get fairly complicated.

Even the new order made it clear; while people were responsible for themselves, a dim view would be taken of coercion. Of course, in the realms of S&M, how manipulation and coercion were defined made for a wealth of possibilities.

So he would make that first date... the next night, if possible... and get them to his place. If they balked, he would cut them loose: any sign of caution meant trouble, as he had learned from hard experience ten years previously. Fortunately, she had been unwilling to go through with pressing charges, and his record had been, and still was, unblemished.

The first date involved "negotiations", which he recorded as required by law. Sometimes he would have guessed wrong, and they would outline boundaries that he would consider non-negotiable, and they would part amicably...though they were often heart broken. At least, that's how he liked to think of it.

But then there would be those words, caught in key-verifiable format, that would quicken his pulse, uttered by a pitiful newbie desperate for acceptance:

"I have no limits".

Once uttered, he would make that second date. There he would put her through tortures carefully measured by years of experience to bring her to her limits...but not beyond. He would introduce the ball gag about then, as even modern sound-proofing had limits. It also was insurance -- there was no legal requirement for a safe-word, but even lie detection equipment couldn't catch him if she made no obvious requests rescinding consent.

A gag, some clips applied to nipples or clit, whipping, wax...all terribly boring, but to his "lover" an amazing thrill. They almost always agreed to a third date.

He stood for a second by the door, his hand on the handle. With a sudden motion, he opened the door, making her start.

"You're late." The icy tone wasn't difficult -- he really didn't give a shit about her beyond what she would be giving him tonight.

She looked at her watch reflexively, catching herself too late. "Do you DOUBT me?!", he growled, dropping his voice. She bowed her head. "No sir." He pulled the door open completely and stood aside. "Get in here. Now."

As before the second session, he secretly started the recording equipment in the living room to record his next question. "So, slave, tell me -- what are your limits?"

"I have no limits before you, sir." Her voice quavered. He could tell she was virtually coming right then and there.

He walked up to her until he was about a foot in front of her. Moving quickly, he grabbed her hair and pulled her head back abruptly, making her look into his eyes, gasping. "Come with me, then," He commanded, and led her into the bedroom, hand still clasped in her hair.

When they got there, he picked up the ball gag and crammed it into her mouth. The clasp folded around her head and locked in place in such a way that he didn't have to remove his hand holding hers. Clever piece of machinery, that gag.

Pulling her over to the bed, he made her sit as he push her wrist against one corner of the head board. Triggered by the pressure of her wrist, a cuff closed around her hand. He let go of her hair then, pulling her other hand up and over to the opposite side of the headboard to secure it there the same way.

Walking to the foot of the bed, he looked at the "fear" in her eyes. It was actually excitement. The poor girl really was a submissive. It made him speculate, as he sometimes did, how she came to be that way. Did daddy rule with an iron hand? Perhaps she was raised in strict catholic household, perhaps even went to one of those schools wearing those plaid skirts, where harsh nuns controlled her every thought.

Of course, it was probably just as likely the opposite: Her family would be too free wheeling and lax, and she simply desired the limits and discipline. Oh well, no matter.

Grabbing one leg, he attached a cuff about her ankle. The chain the cuff was attached to disappeared under one side of the bed. Again, he repeated it for the other side.

She was pretty much immobilized. Serious players would have frowned upon his cuffs, as there was literally no way she could undo them, even with considerable effort, in the event of an emergency. He imagined her lying there, a fire raging out of control around her, her screams of agony finding away around the ball gag, especially as her cheeks were flayed away in the flames.

Thinking like that was usually enough to get him hard. That was important.

The next hour went pretty much like the last time she had been on this bed, with carefully applied tortures taking her to an almost trance like state. He used to hate this effort as a waste of time. Now, he saw it as a perfect lead in, a total breaking down of her defences, making her completely unwary. That made his fun all the more delicious in the end. Restraining himself from orgasm was also fairly easy...if anything, he had to keep dwelling on what had happened in past sessions, plus what was about to happen, to maintain an erection hard enough to do the job.

When he had taken her about as far as she could go, she was almost unconscious. Leaning over, he pressed a small button carefully hidden on the dresser, worked in as a part of the wood work.

That button was his sole risk of the whole evening, which is why it had to be timed so carefully.

It always amused him that this button had cost him more than the condo and all of it's contents combined, and all it really amounted to was a highly illegal "off" switch.

Once it was pressed, all of the rules were gone. He took a moment to savor the freedom, and to consider what *he* wanted to do next.

First, he wanted her complete attention. So he reached over, gently took her hair into a firm grip...and pulled it completely off her head.

Her eyes shot open and she screamed from the pain. "Have I gotten your attention, then?" He smiled at her. She panted around the ball-gag, her nose whistling. Her eyes were tearing a bit too much now, which might result in aphyxsiating here, and that would NEVER do. He opened a special valve in the front of the gag that would permit her some more air.

Ah, that look of betrayal. "Why dear, I thought you said you had no limits?" He walked over to the closet and entered a special code. There was nothing considered illegal in here, but he didn't want one of his prospects to stumble onto anything prematurely.

The cart was designed to roll out so that it could be positioned next to the bed. The top was lined with black velvet, and underneath there were several drawers, each fitted with foam cut to hold each of his tools, some designed to his specifications.

He liked to inventory the items , handling them so that the form strapped to the bed could see what he was handling.

First, he pulled out a long, polished rod about 3 inches around, with a rounded tip. "Doesn't look so bad, does it?" He looked over at her with a smile. "The trouble is, it's too warm out to have a fire going, and something like this should really sit in one for an hour or so before use."

Placing it back, he pulled out a tool that was far smaller, no bigger a thin pen. Leaning over he held it front of her widening eyes. "This is a fine piece. It's designed to be inserted in VERY tight places. One it's in place..." he pressed the tip, and a small, scythe like blade popped out, "...you simply pull it back out again. Not very complicated." Her panting was speeding up again. "Oh, you shouldn't worry...it's quite well sharpened." Grabbing one of the clips still attached to a nipple, he slashed downward. Suddenly, the clip was no longer attached to her. Unfortunately, neither was her nipple, a fact that sent her into hysterics as he dangled the bloody tip in over her face.

She began to struggle in ernest then, her back arching surprising high considering how tightly he had bound her. Tossing the clip onto her stomach, he tsked at her. "BAD sub. I would almost think you wanted to get away or something. I really should do something to keep you from hurting yourself before I get a chance to."

He pushed another button. He LOVED modern conveniences, and often wondered what people did without them.

With a sudden snap, all four restraints yanked her arms and legs taut. She still put up a valiant effort,against them, though. "I'm sorry, are those a bit too tight?" He looked at her with mock concern. Sometimes they would nod at this, so far beyond believing what was happening was real that they would grasp at any hope at all.

Which made it a really good time to dash them.

Making as it to press another button to loosen her bounds, they did indeed relax her arms and legs a bit. Relieved from the terrible tension, she went limp: Just as she was loose enough, they whipped taut again with such force that both shoulder and hips were completely dislocated.

The sound of her wail around the gag was exquisite. If he hadn't built her up with the earlier session, she would have lost consciousness at this point, requiring a great deal of effort in resuscitation her enough to finish. Of course, it also meant he was usually way too eager to come.

He climbed up over the bed and pealed off his clothes. This was the only time he was ever completely naked in front of another human being. It was the only time he didn't want anything between himself and his lover. As he pulled off his pants, his cocked popped out, rock hard.

He briefly toyed with the idea of using the acid enema on her, but was too impatient to deal with the delicate timing that required. The effects were very stimulating, but a miscalculation would result in damaging himself, which tended to spoil the whole effect.

He decided he would use one of his favorites. Reaching into the cabinet, he pulled out to long spikes with handles formed to fit his hands.

Kneeling hit his hands to her sides, he slipped his dick into her pussy, and waited. He loved to make them wait those extra couple of minutes.

When he drove each of the spikes into her kidneys, the feeling of her vaginal muscles as they spasmed around his cock was incredible.

While the pain was incredible to her, he knew that she could last for quite some time in this position. Pressing a button on each spike, a set of knives pooped open on the tips like hells own umbrellas. By rotating each one, he could induce her spasm and seizure like moments to produce just the right rhythm.

Just when he knew he had to come, he picked up a long knife and rammed it up under her breastbone. Her dying spasms kicked him over the edge into an orgasm that made him howl.

Hours later he finally withdrew from her cooling body, walked over to a chair in the corner, and had the last smoke of the evening. It seemed like such a cliche, having a smoke after sex, but it really did help him ease into the next phase.

He looked forward to the day when the mopping up could be done entirely by machine. As it was, he told Mark to call the name at the top of a special phone list.

He hadn't showered yet, so he left the video off. He would have to before the technician arrived, but he wanted to savor the smell that covered him for as long as he could.

He could tell that the tech had just woken up by the slur in his voice, and the hasty look to his combed hair. He was supposed to remain awake while on call, but considering the depths he had otherwise had sunk a breach of professional protocol was a meaningless demerit.

"Yeah, Gregor here."

"Hello Gregor, it's Bill".

Gregor barely managed to hide the look of disgust. "I'll be right there". Just the way he liked it -- quick, no pleasantries that weren't meant. He knew Gregor preferred it that way as well.

He knew it would take him about an hour to arrive, so he took a long, hot shower. He watched the dark, almost black fluid run off his body and swirl gracefully down the drain. He felt light, almost as if he were weightless. It would be a feeling that would last days, even weeks afterwards.

He was in a clean robe, still drying his hair, when Mark told him that Gregor was at the front door. "It must be the evening for people showing up early, noticing that Gregor was 5...no wait, that would be fifteen minutes early. "Mark, set the time back ten minutes." Sloppy of him to forget that.

He opened the door, his public face on. Gregor was having none of it...he was obviously beyond even the pretense of respecting him as a customer.

He carried two battered metal cases into the back room. There was a brief silence. He's probably standing there, trying to absorb what he's seeing, he thought. When the noises began, various humming and slurping with the random crunching noise thrown in, he sat down to watch some of his favorite pre-recorded porn.

It took longer than usual. No doubt he did more internal damage than he thought. Easy to do when you get too excited. This was going to cost more than usual.

When Gregor emerged, it was to walk over to the liquor cabinet to pull out his best scotch. Bill raised his eyes, as even Gregor would have asked "Mind if I have a drink" in the past. Something was up.

He waited until Gregor finished a good sized glass, straight up. Gregor looked at him. "I really wish you wouldn't wait so long before calling me. Necrosis is a bitch to reverse, especially when you've got so much organ damage."

"That's why you get paid extra for these jobs," Bill replied amiably. "He strolled over and took the bottle from Gregor before he could finish pouring the second drink. "You should wait until you're done before hitting this any harder".

Gregor looked at him sharply. "I would say that the only way I could finish a job like this would be to drink the whole fucking bottle first, except it's done".

Bill raised his eyebrows in surprise. Gregor snorted. "I was finally able to afford some of the newer equipment."

Bill nodded, absorbing the import in that statement. Gregor had new equipment, which meant he was able to take "cleaner" jobs. The irony was that he had probably funded that new hardware in large part from the technically legal, but messy jobs he had done for him. Bill had the feeling that Gregor wouldn't be doing many more jobs for him, if this wasn't the last one.

"Well, that's great! I'll have to give you a bonus."

Gregor finished his drink. "Sure. That would be great". Something in his tone made his meaning clearer than his words.

Bill paid Gregor off using the online banking feed, downloading cash into Gregor's smart card. Since the card was a generic, it was as untraceable as decades old cash in small bills...but a lot easier to conceal and use.

Gregor went into the bedroom and collected his equipment, pointedly ignoring Bill as he left the condo. "Until next time!" Wasn't even met with a look or other acknowledgement. Yes, probably he would have to go to another, more desperate person on that list.

Bill watched Gregor leave via the front camera. Once he was outside the building, he switched off the monitor and walked into the bedroom.

There was a complete report sitting on his dresser, which he glanced at. Even as angry as he was, Gregor would have told him if there had been anything he needed to know about her condition.

He did note that there was an additional reason for Gregor's surliness aside from a simmering anger at having to take unsavory jobs to pay off eternal student loans made unendurable by advancements that made the medical profession increasingly unprofitable...at least from a Dr's stand point. While the hardware still required a trained medical professional to operate it, what constituted "training" had been declining rapidly, leading to a sort of medicinal inflation. Gregor's tragedy was that he was a doctor in an age where a doctor was little better regarded as a backyard auto mechanic. As such, it no doubt offended him greatly that he was only able to achieve a 99.9345% memory restoration from backup.

Bill chuckled. So she'd be missing a childhood memory or two. It's pretty hard to miss something when you don't remember it was there in the first place.

She slept, her hair flowing out onto the pillow. The bed was still a bloody mess, but gregor had covered it in disposable sheets. Lifting her up, he carried her from the room to the guest bedroom, sealing the door behind him. He would be able to prolong the fun of this moment by the occasional masturbation session on that unchanged bed...once he got rid of those disposable sheets, of course.

When she awoke, it was to find that "his* side of the bed was empty. In fact, he had slept by himself...the idea of sleeping with her while alive nauseated him. He simply indented the pillow and mussed the covers in a way that made her think that he had slept with her.

Mark notified him when she began stirring, so he could complete the effect by bringing her breakfast. "Good morning! Did you sleep well?"

He always made a big point of treating his submissives well. For one thing, more often than not there would be a big scene when they broke it off (which eventually he would. Death, while reversible, did have some long term side effects that would become noticeable after only a few episodes.) He always made a point of being the concerned top, expressing that he thought that he was too old and too rich for their blood to continue the relationship...in any good conscious.

He also made sure that he recorded those encounters as well. If for some reason someone tried to imply that anything that they remembered was anything but consensual, it would rapidly fall apart in the face of his meticulously kept evidence. Thus far it was an insurance policy he never had to put a claim on. He had briefly kept videos of the actual act for his own pleasure, but he had destroyed them when he realized it was too great a risk. Which turned out to be fine...he just had to do the real thing more often, which didn't exactly break his heart.

The key, of course, was that very special switch. It made this generally guilt - free existence possible, and thus was worth twice what he paid for it, pricey as that was. It was truly an off switch, the ultimate kind.

It turned off the running transactional memory backup device implanted at the base of the skull. It was, in fact, considered a capital crime (one of the few a libertarian congress had ever deigned to pass) to turn such a device off without the owners consent. *Written* consent. With an almost Demorepublican requirement for repeated stipulations as to the risks and consequences if death would occur during the period of time the unit was turned off.

One of the things discovered after early reanimation attempts was that it was painfully difficult to fully restore a person's memories. That they were still "there" was not in doubt -- there was a continuity of consciousness. However, it was the continuity of a partial (and in sever cases, complete) amnesiac. A painful road of rehabilitation and re-orientation lay in store for the person who died and was brought back. It seemed that science could work miracles in re-creating the physical...but the mental was an elusive mystery,

Then Ray Kurzweil, as one of the last innovations in a career of innovations, produced the first device that could scan and record human memory out side of the skull in which they were originally stored. He accomplished it pretty much as he had described decades before, by brute force scanning of the brains actual structure and chemistry. It didn't matter that it wasn't know what everything did, as long as you got that snapshot you captured a person's entire life, personality...essentially, everything that made them who they were.

There were very few people left on the planet who didn't have to modern day equivalent of that once massive scanning device implanted, usually shortly after birth. Encased in a hardened shell, it made it possible to bring people back from anything short of extended bouts of death (the current limit was 5 days, which made murder trickier than ever) or anything that would cause the complete destruction of the body (fire, a nuclear bomb...).

While using the switch to turn the transactional memory backup off was a risk, it was well calculated. Since the women awoke with no physical evidence of any damage, and their memories were of achieving a heightened state of bliss and then apparently "blacking out", they had no reason to complain. Since they never met the technicians who patched their battered, severely damaged, or even dismembered bodies together, they had no idea that anything had ever happened.

Bill smiled at the thought of dismemberment. He recalled that time he managed to decapitate one lovely brunette just at the right moment. It had taken two or three tries to get the timing of the blade just right, but it had been worth it -- even if he did go through three technicians in one month.

As amoral as he was, it didn't require much effort to rationalize what he was doing. He had answered the perverse re-asking of a classic Zen koan with a resounding "no". After all, if you kill someone and they wake up the next morning and tell you how wonderful you are, what possible wrong has been committed?

He was of a mixed mind as he sat down in the bar a few weeks later.

He was feeling a certain smug satisfaction that Gregor would have been better off saving his money. The new "auto-docs" were probably going to get FDA approval, though the FDA was on the verge of being dissolved anyway. In either case, technicians were about to go the way of the black smith, and he was already planning on having one installed in the playroom. They were saying that the side effects were substantially reduced -- He wondered how often you could restore and kill someone in a single evening.

However, apparently rumors were beginning to be whispered, dark comments about his lack of commitment to his bottoms. He didn't particularly care what the S&M community thought of him, but some of the regulars had taken to "warning" off likely prospects. He considered the possibility of changing cities and personas. After all, he had been working San francisco for nearly 14 years. Not a bad run, even in a city that size. Perhaps he'd try New York next...or maybe Atlanta for a year or two first. He heard that the leather community there was so paranoid and insular that he could probably get by on a smaller "pool" then he would elsewhere.

He was so buried in his own musing he didn't notice her until she spoke right next to his ear.

"I know you from somewhere."

He jumped and glanced toward the sound of the voice. He found himself looking at a tall, statuesque red-head, broad shouldered and angular. He was struck by the intensity of her look, almost out of place in one that couldn't have been more than 20.

"I don't think I would have forgotten you." He felt a little annoyed that she would have taken the initiative. Definitely not someone who would be malleable to his needs.

Yet there was something about her that locked him in place. Maybe ot was the auburn color of her hair, tightly curled in a way that could only be natural.

She was almost as tall as he was...he preferred them small and helpless, and she had lines where her well developed muscles shown even through the thick leather of her outfit.

She even wore pants. If it wasn't for the soft cheeks and definite signs of expertly applied make-up, he would have dismissed her as a dyke. He had no time for dykes...they didn't tend to be easy to manipulate...unless one was a woman, of course.

"You don't understand...that wasn't a question." There was something in her tone that seemed to suggest that he had somehow transgressed by doubting her in some way.

He finished off his drink, determined to walk away from this annoying woman. Placing it carefully on the bar, he turned back to make it absolutely clear who was the "top" in this situation.

Before he could say a word, she leaned closer. He could smell her breath...no sign of alcohol, pot, or even tobacco. It was a sweet smell, vaguely familiar in some irritating way. She cut him off, something that would normally have sent him into an angry snit. "Don't say a another word."

He felt his head nodding...there was something odd about this woman, that she could take control of him like that. "You like being told what to do, don't you." She crooned, her eyes never leaving his. He nodded again. He would do anything that this woman would tell him to do. He wanted it desperately.

She reached up to touch his cheek, and he felt her touch as intensely as if it had been a red hot brand. "You think you're worthy of me." He nodded. She grabbed a handful of his face and squeezed to the point of pain. "Answer me verbally, loud enough to be overheard."

"Yes mistress, I want to be worthy of you". His own voice sounded distant and meek, even to himself. "Good," she said, beaming her approval. He felt ridiculously grateful, as if he had been granted a great gift.

"Then come with me, then." She released his face, and turned to go. He felt an almost primal panic at the thought of losing her...now that he had found her, he wanted to keep her in his sight. She seemed to move away so quickly, and the panic became terror. He pushed past people, not caring for anything else but to keep some glimpse of her, to keep following her.

When she reached the door he was nearly 20 feet away, trying to find his way around to large leather bears intent on staring each other down. As she disappeared through that portal he cried out "No, please, wait for me!" so loudly that there was a sudden silence, a few glares...and a few shocked looks when they saw one of the regular tops, flaky or not, was apparently practically crawling after another top.

The bears broke off their duel and stepped apart to let him by. He was so happy he thanked them profusely, even as he ran for the door.

As they watched him fling the exit open and run through, one turned back to the other and said "Wasn't that..."

"Yeah. The one I told you about."

"I thought he was a top."

The bear snickered and shook his head. "Well, it would explain a lot. A lot of the more intense bottoms started out as tops. Maybe we were wrong about that one."

The first one gave him a sly look. "Does that mean that one of these days you're going to go all submissive on me?"

Moving too quickly for the other to react, the second bear shot a hand out and grabbed the pierced nipple of the first, twisting sharply. He was granted a happy little gasp, and had to hold on even more firmly to keep the suddenly weak kneed bruin upright.

"Not a chance, sweetheart. Now, about that fantasy of yours...the one involving that dildo the size of your forearm?"

He hit the street, looking about wildly. His heart was pounding almost through his chest cavity...he wanted her to touch him again so very badly. Now, it appeared as though she were gone.

Just as despair was about to grip him, he heard her voice behind him.

"Almost not quick enough, boy." He felt himself swung around, a sharp sting as she slapped him open handed across his face. He felt his neck twist sharply from the blow, the taste of blood welling up in his mouth.

"You liked that," she told him. He nodded vigorously. She reached out and grabbed him by the front of his neck, backing him up against a vehicle. "Open," she commanded. He was confused...open what? He was about to ask, when the door of the car slid open, and he felt himself being shoved inside.

Before he could react, the door closed, and he found himself in complete darkness. Apparently the windows had been completely polarized, and a partition was between him and the front seat, He began to whimper when he realized his mistress was no longer with him, and was actually sobbing when her voice came to him, seemingly from everywhere. "Now, be a good boy and sit quietly. We're going on a little ride. Try to take a nap...you're going to need his energy." His first thought was that he was too excited to sleep...it felt like... he had to dig deep for a spark of memory. The night before christmas, before his parents were killed. But now, just as he did then, he felt himself slipping into sleep.

When he awoke, he was bound and gagged, laid out on a platform lightly padded and covered with what felt like leather. He had been completely undressed. He also had no idea what the fuck had come over him...was it last night? An hour ago?

Consciousness came to him slowly, as if he had too much to drink. The more he awoke, the angrier he got. He must have been drugged somehow...there was no way he would have ever allowed anyone, least of all some bitch, lead him around by the balls the way he had been led. When he got out of here...

That thought brought him up short. Where was he? He could be a mile or a thousand miles away from that bar. He could be in a different country. In any case, he was bound securely in a way that, after a few token efforts, he determined that it would be impossible to break free. He had bound too many of his lovers the same way not to know that attempting to break these bonds would only injure himself.

This had to be someone's idea of a joke...or, if it was some other top gone bad, it would no doubt end when she dropped him off, relying on his shame at being taken advantage of coupled with a total lack of knowledge of who she was and where he had been taken to prevent him from raising too much of a stink. He could think of a few tops who would die before making it known that they had been so subjugated.

Fortunately he wasn't a top in the strictest sense of the word. He would dedicate his life to making sure this cunt was dragged in and made to pay for her crimes.

After awhile, he was fully awake. It was so dim in the room, he could barely make out any shapes, much less wether it was day or night. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly. He began to feel hungry. He also realized that he had a pressing need to take a piss. This began to become more and more a pressing need, to the point he realized that if he didn't release his bladder, he would probably do some damage to himself. He was determined to hold off as long as he could, because he was certain that it would titillate his captor no end to have him forced to wet his bed -- even if it was against his will.

The pain became so unbearable, he almost didn't notice that he had begun to leak from the building pressure. Unable to even cross and uncross his legs, he found himself going from an occasional dribble, to a sudden painful spurt of urine, and finally just a gush of fluid up over his stomach, reaching his chest from sheer pressure. Gagged as he was he was forced to breath the scent of it through his nostril, the smell growing more pungent as the yellow fluid flowed almost to his shoulders.

When it finally ended, he couldn't help but feel some relief, even as the cooling piss collected about his body. When it grew chilled enough that he began to shiver, the lights came up, seemingly all directed at his eyes.

He had been in the dark for so long, and the lights were so bright, that even closing them only reduced the pain. So focussed on this new violation was he that he was surprised by the sudden slap...harder than before. Much harder.

With the gag in his mouth it was all he could do to swallow the blood in his mouth to avoid drowning in it. Opening his eye was a torturous experience, but he wanted to stare at his tormentor, burn the image of her face into his mind.

It was indeed the same woman who he had met last night...only instead of the leather outfit she was wearing what looked like a smock, the kind of thing a pottery maker might use. It was brand new, still showing signs of where it had been folded in it's packaging. Her smile was mirthless, and on a face devoid of any make up at all, and bearing eyes that were so cold they almost gave him pause.

"You know," she said suddenly,"I'm actually impressed. I didn't think you were ever going to piss yourself." She walked over began to roll a tall cabinet over to where he could just barely see it, if he strained to look. "I was patient, though. I figured if you actually managed to hold it until your bladder burst I would get a special bonus of watching you die slowly of periontitis..

She chuckled as she watched his eyes widen a bit. "I see. You have no idea, do you? You honestly thought you were going to get out of here before I was finished with you". She pulled a seat up next to the cabinet. "You know, I was of two minds."

She paused for a long time, as if she was waiting for an answer. "I'm sorry, I guess I didn't realize that having this conversation would be so...limited if I gagged you. I'm not worried about screaming, after all...this room is not only soundproofed, it's far enough away from civilization that, if by some miracle you got free, your sorry, naked ass would more than likely be found in a few dozen years, devoid of flesh, of course."

"First, I hope you enjoyed that little scene last night." Not likely, you bitch, he thought at her as hard as he could. "I admit, I was getting a little eager. I should be ashamed of myself, I'm sure, using an experimental chemical like that. It might have done you some damage, especially since they haven't really worked out all the little details...like safe dosages and all.

"You really need to be more careful than that, not paying attention to your drink in a bar, where any distracting stranger can slip something into it when you're not looking". So, he was right, he HAD been drugged. "interesting stuff...makes the date rape drugs of the last century look like leeches, medically speaking. They can be tailored to produce a very specific personality change. You can make a violent person a pacifist who becomes ill at the thought of hurting another person. Or maybe you can make the gloomiest person alive bright and happy. Or you can turn someone into a simpering submissive.

"Sounds familiar? I could have just snatched you from your bed, but this was so much more elegant. You leave with me willingly, and with no apparent coercion. The drug works in amounts so small that they wouldn't be detected even if that specific glass had been analysed right after you drank from it..and certainly not after the next few washings and drinks. That, of course, would only be helpful if they even knew what to look for in the first place."

She stopped again, and looked straight ahead..not at him,, not at anything. She sighed, and stood up. "I'll tell you more...later. Right now, I want to show you something."

She opened the cabinet and removed something. He was straining to look, when she turned back around. "Oh, I'm sorry...let's make this easier for you see.".

She pressed a button on the edge of the bed, and with a suddenness that made his head spin he found himself raised to an upright position, where he was facing forward, the remaining undried urine running down his legs and hitting the concrete floor that he could now see. He then saw what she was holding, and cried out in spite of himself.

"Oh, you recognize this? It's a fun toy." She reached back, and pulled out a professional grade battery operated drill. plugging one end of the object into the drill, she hand tightened it in place.

With no preamble, she placed one end of the shiny rod into his ass, lubeless and cold. The pain made him wince, but he managed to hold himself steady...I'm not going to give her ANY satisfaction.

Wordlessly, she pulled the trigger of the drill.

The object was a very deceptive...it appeared a solid rod with a round end when it was stationary. In fact, he had used it on people willingly, until he had hooked up the drill and pulled the trigger himself.

It was designed to open up like a steel flower when rotated rapidly, essentially becoming an internal cusinart.

She pulled it out slowly, the white hot pain making him scream like a baby around the gag as it slowly bored it's way out of his body. It was designed to turn a colin into chopped beef, minimizing organ damage and prolonging agonizing life. It shredded through his prostrate, and finally emerged, leaving a gapping hole gushing bright red behind.

"Oops." He heard the word almost casually uttered as he gasped for air through his flaring nostrils. Looking up, he saw that she had blood spattered all over her brand new smock, along with little pieces of his flesh. "I didn't turn it off soon enough. I really should be wearing safety goggles...somehow the idea of having my eye put out this way is revolting."

She looked at his violated ass, nothing recognizable as an anus left behind, as if she were studying a piece of woodworking. Nodding, as if she had decided that this part was done, she pressed another button, walking over to the cabinet as he rotated back to his original position, and then back just enough so that his head was slightly lower than his feet. He felt the blood from his butt flow how and wet down his back -- he would probably bleed to death soon. The part of him still capable of thinking realized that either she would be forced to call a technician, and thus be incriminated in a serious crime...or he would be dead, and he wouldn't care anymore.

He couldn't see what she removed from the drawer in his current position. he heard her walk up to the bed. "You know I want to make this last...but perhaps I need to get some of this eagerness out of my system." Suddenly he felt something drip onto his exposed penis, and almost immediately felt the searing burning.

She proceeded to make him writhe by dripping the concentrated acid from a glass dropper seemingly at random about his body, but always returning to his genitalia to add to the original drops. He suddenly felt a sensation odd in that it wasn't so much pain, but something else...when he saw his own penis held before his face, the base still sizzling from the chemical reaction.

It took him a moment to realize that the fluid that was dripping from the detached member wasn't just blood, but also more acid...and it was about to drop on his face. He tried to pull his face away, but another gloved hand grabbed him under the chin with a vise like grip, forcing his to face it. The first drop landed on the bridge of his nose, the fumes burning his eyes. The second one landed right in his left nostril, and another in his left, when the hand removed itself from it's choking grip. Reflexively, he breathed in.

His lungs began to die at that point, and he slowly aphyxsiated in burning pain. Every time he was sure he would simply die, his body would betray him all the more. Finally, he knew no more.

When he first awoke, his immediate thought was that he had one hell of a bad dream.

The only problem was, once he was aware enough to notice such things, he was bound to the same table. He noticed that there was no blood, and even the smell of urine was gone. At least he had a nose to smell with. His gag was still in place as well...though he noticed the top edge seemed a little rougher. He had a sudden thought of acid burning away part of the gags surface, and quickly shoved that thought down as fast as he could.

There was no preamble this time -- the door opened, he heard footsteps, and he was swung into an upright position again.

She looked relaxed, even cheerful. "I see we're all better...at least physically?" She nodded, as if answering for him "You know, I wasn't sure how I would feel about it. I mean, I don't get a sexual kick out of it, like some people do..." He started at that. Could he have actually run into another fan of serial snuffing? Perhaps one who got off on killing snuffers? Geeze, that would just top it, wouldn't it. "...but I have to admit that, in this case, it was very satisfying. A bit too rich for my blood as a regular diet, of course -- but I think I could enjoy this. While it lasts."

She walked over to the cabinet, and palmed one of the smaller toys. Walking back, she pressed something against his cock, making him start. When the vibrating started, He held his breath waiting for the pain to begin.

When it didn't he was surprised...was she trying to arouse him? Why? He decided to try and resist it, but the sexual response in males has never been one easily controlled. Soon, he found himself rock hard.

She began stroking him with her gloved hands, vibrator working up and down the base. When she suddenly turned off the vibrator, his first thought was it was just an attempt to leave him frustrated...right until she shoved the pencil sized steel rod straight up and into his penis.

Looking right into his eyes and smiling, she pressed the small button at the base, and the blade snapped out. She rotated it as she pulled it out, slicing the inside of his dick in a spiral, until it emerged. "I hate being predictable, but I felt like continuing a theme."

It wasn't until she brought out the special enema bag and attachment that he guessed at exactly what she meant. Instead of acid this time, she mixed lye with water...and soon he was gifted with the wondrous sensation of his own internal organs dissolving from his colin upwards.

Again, death was a happy thing.

The third time he awoke to find himself intact, it was with his body already upright, and an uncomfortable feeling in his bowels. This time she hadn't waited, apparently, and had inserted a very large object into his ass.

She was even more cheerful then before, busy plugging something in, whistling as she made whatever preparations for torturing him she had in mind. Noticing he was awake, she brightened even more. "Oh good, you're up. Sorry I started before you were ready for it, but I guess I'm having too much fun to wait. Besides, it was two weeks before the repairs were finished."

Two weeks?! How long had he been here? And what technician could this women have in her thrall who would willingly repair the kind of damage done to him without reporting it?

"You know," She said, almost if something had just ocurred to her", Perhaps I really need to let you in on the fun here. I think it will help put it in perspective.

"Do you happen to recall, oh, about 4 years ago, about mid-May, a young girl?" She looked at him as if she expected him to answer. Not that he could. He rarely remembered anything specific about his lovers...they were his playthings, their specific details insignificant compared to how they pleased him as they died.

"Probably not, I guess. Well, you see, there was this girl... she had hair a lot like mine. We were friends. Really, really GOOD friends. We shared everything. Everything..." She seemed to grow sad, and looked through him at something...else.

"Well, of course, when she wanted to experiment sexually, I made her promise to take certain precautions. She agreed, and I figured I could keep her out of pretty much any trouble that way.

"Of course, I never thought she'd run into someone like you."

His eyes must have widened involuntarily, because she smiled and said "Oh yes, your little secrets. You know, there are flaws in a lot of "perfect" plans. The techs may have given up on nailing you after you sued some of them practically into the next millennium when you produced all that documentation. The BDSM community just thought of you as shallow...shallow! Were you simply that.

"But you know, mistakes can be made by third, fourth, and last rate medtechs. Bad memory restores, for example. Sometimes there's certain "ghost" memory, usually due to old equipment unable to catch all of the RNA sequences. Can you imagine the nightmares that a really horrific death would produce? Can you imagine a poor girl driven to permanent suicide over it?

"I can. I watched her dwindle to nothing...and then she managed to blow herself up. Cranked up the gas, lit a match...there wasn't even enough for a DNA identification."

She sighed again. "Of course, that could have been chalked up to some sort of genetic defect gone undetected...they're rare, but they still happen. Except you seem to think you're that only one playing with illegal technology with your little gadget."

"Oh, I know about that. it worked perfectly. Only it doesn't shut down the interface, only the recording. I was patched in the entire time, having quite a bit of fun. In a weird way it was your finest hour...you fooled both of us. It was a very nice time, and I kind of enjoyed that vicarious thrill of her experiences in the comfort of my own home.

"And then you tortured her to death, and I was along for the ride, unable to disengage.

"I knew exactly what had happened, only I couldn't TELL anyone about it. When she came back, apparently in one piece, I made the mistake of simply warning her off of you. When the nightmares came, I tried desperately to get her help, but they sent her down that spiral so quickly. So fast. Then she was gone."

She sat down in the chair next to the cabinet. "So I spent the last few years studying you. Watching what you did. Paying attention to your patterns. I really wanted to take a bit more time...but I really didn't feel like moving with you when it began to look like your talent pool had run dry.

"Fortunately for me, several things finally happened. One, the company I was working for had perfected a certain new drug. Another thing was that the prototype autodoc I was working on was perfected enough that I could practically shovel someone's remains into it, and a fully restored human being would come out later. I found it ironic, that by creating this marvelous thing I would be handing you a tool that would allow you to continue in your little chamber of horrors for as long as you got off on it.

"When I had finally finished working on myself...I knew I had to make myself, at the very least, appear much younger than I was. I think you would have enjoyed tripping up much younger women...16? 13? 8?... if you weren't afraid of what the techs would do. I think you might have lost that last bit of restraint after the autodocs hit the market. I think that's why I decided to move when I did."

She got up walked over, and flipped a switch attached to the cord on the cabinet as she passed. "I want to make you know that this isn't going to end. I'm going to keep doing it until I feel better about losing her. I want to do it at least as many times as you did it to others. I want to do it so many times that you'll be a gibbering, barely sentient mass of flesh...perfectly healthy and unmarked, and completely incapable of making a coherent sentence. And then I want them to find you, because when they search your apartment to find out how you disappeared, they'll find your little switch, and they'll really want to talk to you. If you're lucky they'll have repealed any laws permitting you to live because you're incompetent to stand trial...just like they repealed that silly law preventing consenting adults from sharing experiences."

As she spoke, he began to feel a warmth spreading from his insides. As it became uncomfortable, he couldn't help but think to himself...now, why didn't I think of that?

He was already screaming when the smell of his own burning flesh as the metal rod, attached to the power cord began to sear through his colin, the portion still outside his body glowing red hot, reached his nose. Just as he ran out of breath, and before the pain drove the ability to understand away, he heard and understood one of the last things he ever would:

"I really hate doing this...but what's a mother to do?"