Chapter 39: The Oscillating Voltage
The recovery period was a joke. Thirty minutes spent shivering on the cot, feeling his seed trickle slowly from her ass, a warm, unwanted reminder. The soreness had crystallized into a sharp, specific pain that pulsed with every heartbeat. When Marcus returned, he didn’t speak, just jerked his head. The walk back to the theater felt longer, each step pulling at bruised muscles.The surgical lights were still on, bleaching the room of color. Ashford was adjusting the grey console.The cracked leather chair had been removed. In its place stood a tall, freestanding mirror with a heavy steel frame, positioned at an angle beside the gurney. On the trolley, next to the familiar wires and clips, lay a new object: a dildo made of clear, smooth glass, thick and veined with subtle imperfections.
“Position yourself,” Ashford said without looking up.
She climbed onto the cold vinyl of the gurney, the worn material sticking to her thighs.He strapped her down again, the ritual now familiar. He attached the clips.The silver jaws were becoming recognizable, their bite a prelude to the storm. But this time, he didn’t turn the dial right away. He picked up the glass dildo, holding it up to the light.It gleamed, cold and alien.
“Today’s variable is refractory control through sustained, sub-orgasmic stimulation,” he stated. “The conductive properties of borosilicate glass will amplify the electrical sensation.You will watch.”
He nodded toward the mirror. From her strapped position, she could see a slanted reflection: herself, spread-eagled, pale skin glowing under the lights, the dark metal rings stark against her flesh, the wires trailing away like puppet strings.It was a grotesque portrait.She looked away.
“Observe the subject,” Ashford commanded, his voice cool. “Awareness of the stimulus often heightens its effect.”
He coated the glass dildo in a clear, thick lubricant, then pressed the cold, smooth crown against her entrance. She was already slick from the residual current and her own traitorous arousal.He pushed it in slowly. The stretch was significant, different from the live intrusion of a cock.This was an unyielding, cool fullness that seemed to reach deeper. It felt less like being fucked and more like being examined from the inside.Then his hand went to the console. He didn’t jerk the dial.He turned it with precision to a marked notch. “Oscillating frequency,” he said.The current came, but it was wrong. It wasn’t the searing spike or the continuous fire.It was a wave. It built slowly, a tingling warmth that gathered in the five points of metal, then surged through her body, coiling in her belly and pulling a low moan from her throat. Just as the sensation peaked toward something unbearable, it began to recede, ebbing away to a mere whisper, leaving her clenching around the glass, desperate and empty.Then it built again.And again.
“Fuck,” she breathed, the word torn from her.
“Language,” Ashford corrected mildly, as if noting a typo.The waves continued, relentless. Each crest brought her shuddering to the very brink of orgasm, her cunt fluttering wildly around the solid glass, her back straining against the straps. Each trough dropped her into a frantic, aching need. She was trapped on a ledge, perpetually falling but never hitting the ground.Ashford moved behind her. She felt his hands on her ass cheeks, spreading them.He was already hard.He used more lubricant, then pressed himself against her other hole. The initial penetration was easier this time, the muscle memory of violation already etched deep. He slid into her ass with a single, slow, deep thrust, filling the aching emptiness there. He bottomed out and held still, buried to the hilt.The rhythm was inhuman. He began to fuck her ass with a steady, piston-like motion, each stroke long and complete.The timing was calibrated. His inward thrust coincided with the rising wave of current; his withdrawal synced with the ebb. The effect was catastrophic. The electrical surge would magnify the feeling of his cock stretching her, making every nerve in her rectum sing. As it faded, the gritty, stretching burn of his movement took center stage, only to be amplified again by the next surge.
The glass inside her cunt felt electrified, a live rod of sensation.She was being played. Two different fullnesses, two different rhythms, both tied to the cruel, oscillating tide in her metal piercings. Her reflection in the mirror was a contorted thing: hips bucking, mouth slack, eyes wild and unseeing.
“Please,” she begged, not knowing what she was asking for.
“The data on sustained neurostimulation is promising,” Ashford replied, his voice slightly breathless now. His thrusts remained perfectly measured.“Resistance is breaking down.Look at yourself.”
Her eyes flicked to the mirror. She saw a girl she didn’t know, covered in a sheen of sweat, body convulsing, impaled front and back.The sight should have horrified her. Instead, under the maddening, unfulfilling current, it fed a deep, shameful heat. She was watching herself come apart.It was the most intimate and terrible thing she had ever seen.
The oscillation continued, wave after wave, thrust after thrust. Her world narrowed to the cycle of almost-there and devastating not-enough.Her moans became a continuous, ragged sound. She was a instrument, tuned to a frequency of exquisite torture.
Ashford’s rhythm faltered for the first time, a slight stutter in his controlled pace.“Approaching threshold,” he gritted out. His hand went to the console.
With a final, hard thrust that buried him deep in her ass, he twisted the dial sharply clockwise.The current spiked.Not a wave, but a tsunami.
It crashed through her, white and absolute.The orgasm was not a release but an detonation. Every muscle in her body locked, her cunt clamping down viscously on the cold glass, her ass squeezing his cock in a series of violent, rhythmic pulses. She screamed, the sound ripped raw from her throat, her vision bleaching into pure light. She saw nothing, was nothing, just a conduit for the violent current convulsing through her.
She felt him swell and jerk inside her, his own control shattered by her clamping pressure. “Take it, you wired little whore,” he grunted, and she felt the hot gush of his cum flooding her rectum, a searing contrast to the cool glass in her cunt. The current began to fade, dialed back down to a low, aftershock hum.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the soft whir of the lights.He pulled out of her slowly. The glass dildo followed with a soft, wet pop.The clips were detached.The straps undone.
“Clean-up,” Ashford said, turning to his notes.His hands were steady.“The mirror proved insightful. Self-visualization during peak stimulus will be incorporated into future protocols.”
Mary slid off the gurney, her legs buckling.She caught herself on the steel edge. Fluids, slick and warm, dripped down her thighs.In the mirror, she saw the evidence smeared across her skin. She saw the dark rings in her swollen flesh.She saw the hollow look in her own eyes.
Marcus wasn’t at the door.Ashford didn’t look at her again. He was absorbed in his data.She took the towel and cleaned herself as best she could, the movements robotic. As she shuffled toward the corridor, she glanced one last time at the mirror. The girl there stared back, a stranger shaped by current and glass and calculated thrusts. Mary held her gaze until the door shut behind her, leaving the reflection trapped in the blinding white room.