Metamorphosis

In my version of Metamorphosis, I go one up on Kafka. Not only does a woman totally change, her entire world changes around her. More than that, she becomes something much, much more interesting than a cockroach.

The story is told in the form of “Autolog” entries. In the future, Autolog entries have replaced blogging, tweeting, and other forms of posting as a person’s thoughts are automatically recorded for all to see.

I don’t really like this story, but it is a writer’s equivalent of an “ear worm” that keeps playing in my head. The only way to get rid of an “ear worm” is to sing the stupid song. The only way to get rid of a “writer’s worm” is to finish the story and post it… so I did.

In one of my English courses in college most of the class became almost orgasmic about “Metamorphosis”. I didn’t like it. The professor asked each of us to say why we thought Kafka wrote it. I was one of the last to answer and I said, “He needed the money.”

According to the professor, I was right. Kafka always said that he hated “Metamorphosis” but wouldn’t say why. He was asked in a newspaper interview shortly before his death in 1924 if he had ever written anything just for the money. His answer, “Die Verwandlung.” Many think that it is his greatest work.

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2015 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Judith Conroy Autolog Entry 3619-107-09-27

I did it! I smuggled AIM out of the facility. No one is supposed to be able to get their hands on Artificial Intelligence Metal, but I did it! I have been planning this for a long, long time. And my plan worked!!!

My first plan was going to be misdirecting an emergency repair kit to a fictitious damaged space craft to replace one used on a mission. It was a good plan, but there are too many cross-checks meant to guarantee that every gram of AIM is accounted for. Misdirecting a kit would have been no problem. I send out replacement kits all the time, and as long as a shipment receipt was included to close the case file, no one would notice. But I knew that any kit issued is automatically cross-referenced against damage reports and vice versa. I would have also had to create a false battle or accidental damage report in the system. That would have involved getting into military planning records that I can’t access with my current clearances.

Besides, there aren’t that many battles or accidents. I would be able to get by with something like that only once, and one kit wouldn’t have enough Artificial Intelligence Metal for what I wanted to do. There isn’t all that much AIM in a repair kit because you don’t need a lot of AIM to repair a damaged spacecraft, regardless of how big it is or how badly it is damaged.

That’s the beauty of AIM. Once you put it in place and activate it, AIM merges itself with the metals already present in the craft and it changes the characteristics of that metal. For a short while, almost all metal in the whole ship can become quasi-sentient and self-repairing. So, all you really need is a little bit to start the process.

I need more because I am not going to use AIM on a space craft. I am going to use it on a human body– eventually. For now, I need to run a series of tests on lower life forms to prove that AIM can be used to repair or modify a living organism. Once I prove my theories, I can get investors and then legally obtain and market AIM for medical uses. A short while after that I will be rich beyond even my wildest dreams.

But first I have to prove that AIM will work for medical purposes, and the tests needed to prove that will take at least three times more AIM than is in just one kit. What I smuggled out of the facility today was the equivalent of four kits. I would never have been able to misdirect four kits.

Actually, getting the AIM out of the facility once I had acquired it was the easiest part. AIM isn’t explosive or poisonous, it won’t trigger the automatic vapor sensors. The scanners we have to pass through each day can’t penetrate the thick metal of our security briefcases, so we have to open them each morning and evening for visual inspection by the guards. The guards are so used to quickly shuffling through layers and layers of papers checking for contraband, that they didn’t notice that the inside of my briefcase, itself, was slightly brighter than usual. That’s because taped to the inside was a thin slab of AIM protected by an unmarked transport stability pack.

Transport stability packs are normally used to safely contain bulk blocks of AIM before they are broken up into the 4.5 gram nuggets used in the repair kits. The stability packs also help prevent the AIM from being accidentally activated. Proper activation is essential to AIM. The amount needed to “seed” a repair is only 4 grams, but to allow for the possibility that a portion of the nugget might not properly activate, all repair kits are stocked with exactly 4.5 grams of AIM.

The exactness of that measurement is what gave me the opening I needed to accumulate my needed amount of AIM. Getting it was tedious, but very easy. We have to sign out any AIM from Central Stores when we do experiments or tests in the lab. It is signed back in again when we return it to Central Stores. I took advantage of the fact that the scales at Central Stores measure to one one-hundredth of a gram, but the property ticket that it prints rounds to the nearest tenth.

We have been dividing and certifying AIM nuggets for repair kits for the past three months. Each time I started on a new kit, I would go to Central Stores and carve off a nugget that was exactly 4.54 grams. With an electronic scalpel, that isn’t as hard to do as it sounds. The property ticket would read 4.5 grams. When I got it down to my lab, I would carefully shave .09 grams off the nugget before I began my tests. The nugget, which now weighed 4.45 grams would be within spec for the repair kits, and the property ticket when I turned it back in would read 4.5 grams.

After I had tested 200 nuggets, I had 18 grams of AIM hidden in my work area. Just to be sure that I was not discovered in a random log audit, I instructed my Autolog Thought Recorder to erase any entries which dealt with shaving the nuggets or smuggling materials out of the labs or using AIM for medical purposes. I then set up this special log on a private portion of my storage area and gave detailed and explicit instructions to my Autolog profile to log everything that had to do with my special experiments to this log file… and ONLY this log file.

The Autolog doesn’t record everything, so this record will be somewhat incomplete. But it does summarize or make notes of anything which I consider be important. I very rarely have to edit my Autologs. They are almost as if I had dictated them later for the record. In case something goes wrong, I have set this log to become public if I no longer make entries to it for a period of 100 days.

Judith Conroy Autolog Entry 3619-109-13-51

Today is a rest day and I have taken the next two weeks as vacation so I will have time to conduct my experiments. If everything goes as planned, I may never have to return to work at the facility.

I am starting with a small rodent. I have intentionally broken one of its forearms– I used anesthetic– and am taping a very small amount of AIM to his now-useless paw. When I pulse the activator, the AIM should become active and merge with his flesh and bone. It will learn of the break and repair it. Then, if it follows design criteria, it should shut itself down so that it is once again safe to handle.

Judith Conroy Autolog Entry 3619-110-01-03

Something is wrong!

AIM almost instantly repaired the rat’s broken bone, but it didn’t deactivate as programmed. It continued to modify the rat’s body. It’s teeth began to grow at a tremendous rate and it began attacking the plastic sides of the observation cage. Luckily I had planned for all contingencies and had conducted the experiment in a military-grade biological test station.

I immediately triggered the primary containment protocol. Gas filled the test station– and the observation cage. This should have quickly euthanized the rodent, but it had no effect and the super rat continued to grow larger and gnaw at the plastic of the cage. When it chewed through the small observation cage I was forced to resort to triggering the emergency biological hazard containment response. The rat, its cage, and everything within the test station was instantly incinerated.

When the smoke cleared, there was nothing in the test area except ash and a very small nugget of Artificial Intelligence Metal. I brushed the ash into the waste opening and sealed the receptacle. The AIM nugget I put into a small containment case so I could transfer it back to the main block later today.

Judith Conroy Autolog Entry 3619-110-12-42

Something went terribly, terribly wrong when I picked up the block of AIM from which I had carved the small nugget to test on the rodent. It was still partially wrapped in the transport stability film which kept it stable and concealed it while I smuggled it out of the lab. But as I lifted the block, I felt it quiver. It was active!

My homemade activation device was evidently more powerful than what we use at the lab. Or, perhaps, my design allowed for a lot more radiation leakage into the surrounding area. Perhaps it has something to do with my changing the frequency of the pulse so it would activate the AIM for living tissue rather than standard space metals. In any case, when I pulsed the small nugget, the pulse must have activated the entire block. Maybe it would have made a difference if the stability pack had been resealed, but even open, the bulk block was farther away from the test bench than it would have been at the facility. None of that makes any difference, though. The reality was that, however and whyever it occurred, the main block was active.

I had safely handled accidentally activated AIM before, but the slight movement startled me, causing me to almost drop the block. When I grabbed at it to keep it from falling, my hand came in contact with the unshielded AIM– all 18 grams of it. The Artificial Intelligence Metal immediately attached to my hand and merged into my body. I tried to reach for the activator to send a deactivation pulse, but my arms refused to move.

The sensations are phenomenal. I can feel my body changing… no healing. My left ankle, which I broke many years ago and has bothered me ever sense, is suddenly like new.

Something is wrong with my vision. My vision is blurry.

I took out my contact lenses and my vision is perfectly clear. I’ve worn glasses since I was nine, but my vision is now perfect.

Every place in my body that I have ever injured is restoring itself to like new. Even the little scar on my knee is gone.

Oh my God! My breasts are starting to grow. I have always wanted larger tits, but have always thought that even the best implants look artificial.

I have to take off my bra. It’s too tight. My jeans are also getting tight. The waistband is cutting me in half because my flat butt is no longer flat. My body now curves rather than going straight down from my shoulders to my toes.

I had to take everything off. I am now staring at the changes in my body in my reflection on the front of the test chamber. I was a 34B. Now I am a 36C plus. They’re not udders, but they look really good on me. My waist is smaller, but my hips are slightly larger. My thighs have a slight curve to them on the outside, as do my calves. I look like what I always envisioned as a perfect me.

As I turn, I can see that my ass is nicely rounded out also. I was always teased about my slightly flat butt, but now it, too, is perfect.

One surprise is that all hair from the neck down seems to be disappearing. That isn’t really healing, but I have always hated the hairy thatch between my legs that was way too dark, way too thick, and way too bushy. If I didn’t keep it trimmed, it grew out of my panties within a month or two. If I tried to shave it, I got razor burns and ingrown nubs. My one attempt at waxing was a painful disaster. Now my pussy is beautifully smooth, and so are my legs and arms and underarms.

My teeth are repairing themselves. All of my fillings are gone. The chipped tooth from where I fell in eighth grade has even filled itself back in.

I turn slowly in front of the mirror-like front of the test station. My body is PERFECT!

But it isn’t stopping. I can feel it talking to my brain. I know that sounds weird, but the AIM is gathering up my thoughts. I know it is!

I often wished that I was a blonde with blue eyes. It has somehow recognized that wish and my hair is lightening. My skin is getting paler. The eyes looking back at me from the reflection are now linen flower blue.

Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! What if it picks up on my fantasies? Will it think that those fantasies are actually what I want?

I need to shut it off! But the de-activation pulses are not working! Maybe if I inject myself with a powerful sedative, it will stop AIM’s mind reading until it cycles down on its own and deactivates in twenty hours or so.

Injecting now. This will knock me out for at least 72 hours.

Judith Conroy Autolog Entry 3619-112-22-74

It’s dark. I woke up here a few minutes ago, naked and lying on the soft floor. It took me several moments to remember what had happened. I had accidentally infected myself with Artificial Intelligence Metal. I took off all my clothes because of how it had changed my body. Then I injected myself with a powerful sedative so I would be unconscious until the AIM deactivated itself.

I know where I am. I know why I am naked. I’m in the lab. I’m lying on the carpet naked in my home laboratory.

Wait a minute! The lab has concrete floors. Why am I lying on a carpet?

The room has changed. It is still my home lab… but it isn’t. I can see the test station in the background, but the lighting is different, and I’m definitely lying on a carpet.

I know this carpet! I’m trying to remember from where. It has a strange pattern on it. It looks like… Tinkerbell Wings! This is the carpet from my bedroom growing up. I don’t know what the pattern was supposed to be– maybe butterflies– but I always called it Tinkerbell Wings.

Walls are forming around me, shutting off the rest of the lab. There are large images on the walls. A four-poster bed– my bed– is rising from the floor, building itself as it grows higher.

I know where I am! This is my room as it was when I was a senior in high school.

Something is moving me… or my muscles are rippling in an odd, snake-like way and slithering me up into the bed. In any case, I am literally flowing across the floor and up into the bed.

I am now on my back in the middle of my bed. I can see something on the bed between my legs. It is my Addam’s Family Coin Bank.

My parents gave me that bank when I was a small kid. I don’t know where they got it, but it has a picture of the Addam’s Family house from the TV show on its front. On the top are pictures of Gomez and Morticia. If you place a coin in a little groove on the lid, it plays the Addam’s Family theme song and the dis-embodied hand, Thing, reaches out from the box and snatches the coin back into the bank.

When I was a senior in high school, I used to have this weird fantasy about that hand. After a particularly unsatisfying evening with one or another inexperienced and bumbling young man, I would lay in bed and fantasize about what should have been and bring myself off. Because I wanted to imagine that it wasn’t really my hands pleasuring me, sometimes I would set the coin bank on my bed between my legs and imagine that Thing crawled out of his box and came up between my legs to take me to the heights of pleasure.

Of course, that never really happened… until now. Morticia and Gomez were laughing on the lid of the strange bank as it opened and Thing slowly crawled across the sheets between my legs. My mind wanted to slam my legs together, but instead my body opened wider for him.

The fingers tickled slightly as they wiggled their way between my thighs and up onto my mound. The hand danced around so that the fingers could, oh so gently, begin to trace the outline of my cunt. As the fingers moved over my mound, I found myself becoming totally wet and aroused.

I started to bring my own hand down to my breast, but couldn’t. Somehow my hands were now restrained. Black, satin ropes ran from the corner posts of my bed to leather cuffs which encircled my wrists. I felt a tug at my legs and realized similar ropes were now pulling at my ankles.

This was exactly what I would envision in my 18-year-old fantasies. I know what is coming next… I mean, besides me. Thing’s fingers continue their slow circles around my cunt and now begin to also nudge my pleasure nub.

Thing seems to know exactly what I want. His motions are slow and consistent, causing slow, consistent waves of pleasure to flow from between my legs and travel throughout my body. The hand is now slowly penetrating me. It is so gentle, almost as gentle as I, myself, was back then. Very slowly two, then three fingers push their way into my sopping pussy. I remember wondering back then what it would feel like to be fisted, but never had the guts to push my hand all the way into myself.

I shouldn’t have thought that! The AIM can read my thoughts!

Thing’s hand is now pushing deeper and deeper into me. The cone formed by four fingers and a thumb is stretching me. The sensations are overwhelming. It is stretching me tremendously, but it isn’t painful like I thought it would be. The pressure pushes against my clit as the hand forces its way deeper and deeper and deeper into me. And as the hand withdraws it pulls on the inside of my cunt creating strange sensations within me.

I am getting close. I can feel my pussy twitching with anticipation. The hand is going deeper, deeper, deeper.

It went inside of me!

Thing is fisting me! But thing has no arm, so his hand has disappeared up inside me. I can feel it wiggling its way back out. The fingers are reaching out from between my pussy lips and reaching up to massage my now throbbing clit. I close my eyes. The feelings of pleasure are intense, but my mind cannot handle the image of a hand masturbating me from within my cunt.

Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I can’t believe how high I am going. The world is exploding around me. Everything is going dark.

Judith Conroy Autolog Entry 3619 114 09 21

I don’t know how long I was unconscious– or asleep– or both. I feel like it should be the next day, but there are no windows in the lab area, so I can’t see outside. Wait! I am outside! The sun is shining down on my skin. Am I hallucinating now?

I can see the trees in the back yard. There are flashing lights all around, but I really can’t tell what they are. I can also hear the noise of many large motors. Some of them are lugging down as if doing very hard work, but even so, they sound like they are far away, or perhaps beyond very thick walls.

Now, I am suddenly back inside. But where? This isn’t my lab anymore. There is nothing that looks familiar. I’m in a bed once again, but it is smaller than the bed that was in my bedroom at my parent’s home, and much smaller than the bed in my current bedroom.

The ceiling seems too close. Wait! That isn’t a ceiling. It’s the bottom of an upper bunk. I know where I am. I’m at Green Valley Summer Camp!

My parents talked me into being a camp counselor the summer before I started college. A friend of my dad’s ran the camp and they were desperate for someone over the age of 18 with a good driving record to drive their vans back and forth to and from the creeks and lakes and so forth.

I argued that I didn’t want to be a glorified babysitter for three months, but dad promised I would have a cabin of my own and wouldn’t have responsibility for the little campers. He was almost truthful. Karen, the other driver, and I had a cabin to ourselves up on the hill behind the garages. And there were always regular counselors with the kids when they rode on the busses.

What dad didn’t tell me is that there was absolutely no TV reception at the camp; wifi was available only in the main lounge; and the closest cellphone signal was four miles outside the main gate.

After two months of absolute boredom, Karen and I were sitting alone in our cabin one rainy night and I asked, “What did people do with no internet and no cell phones?”

Karen laughed and ran her hand down the back of my T-shirt while she whispered in my ear, “They had sex. Lots and lots and lots of sex.”

“Are you propositioning me!?” I sputtered out.

She smiled back at me and said, “No, I’m offering… if you’re interested. If not, I’m going for a wet hike in the woods with that scrumptious secretary who lives in the rooms beneath the offices.”

I declined her offer, but after she left, I found myself in my bunk fantasizing about what could have been if I had not been such a chicken.

A voice brought me back from my remembrances. “Having second thoughts?” Karen asked me.

Was this another hallucination? Or maybe none of it was hallucination and AIM was actually constructing the people that I imagined.

Karen certainly felt real. I pulled her close to me and said, “No, I’m just not hiding the thoughts I had back then.”

Karen laughed. It was the deep throaty laugh that I remembered from that summer. As she laughed, I felt her hand slip beneath my sweatshirt. Her lips found mine as her hand found the clasp on the back of my bra. Her lips were much softer than a man’s. Or more accurately, her kiss was much softer. She knew exactly how much pressure to use to create the maximum pleasure.

She also knew how to unhook a bra one-handed because somewhere between the third and fourth kiss, I felt my bra come loose. I reached beneath Karen’s camp T-shirt and found that she was not wearing a bra. She never did, despite having been warned about that several times by the camp manager. My hands moved to her breasts and I rubbed the palms of my hands very lightly against the tips of her nipples.

She responded with a moan and slid her tongue very slightly into my mouth. I opened my lips just a little to let her know that it was OK and she pushed further into me. Her breath blew into me as I lightly pinched her nipples and she again moaned.

I don’t remember her removing my blouse, but when I pulled her T-shirt over her head, her naked breasts suddenly were pressed against my own. I felt her hand on my ass. My shorts were evidently now gone also.

I had fantasized about her many times since that summer, but have never truly been with a woman. I wasn’t sure what to do. Karen sensed that and said softly, “We have several options. We could take each other high with our hands… or with our mouths… or just by rubbing against each other.’

As she finished that last sentence, she slid over slightly so that her leg was between my legs pressing hard against my cunt. That meant that my leg was also between her legs and she was slowly humping herself against my thigh while sliding her thigh against my sex.

I gasped loudly as she pressed into me and then moaned as her leg moved slowly up and down. I tried to return the movement so that Karen would feel what I was feeling but I wasn’t able to move against her in the same way she was moving against me. Still, we were both climbing higher and higher.

I could hear her grunting as she thrust against me. I didn’t realize it at first, but I was grunting even louder than Karen. Except for the grunting, Karen said nothing as we approached climax. I, however, was screaming something. I think it was “God!” but it might have been Karen’s name. Then I totally let go as I screamed and shook and went over the top and once again, everything went dark.

Judith Conroy Autolog Entry 3619 115 08 17

Again, I have no real idea of how much time has passed, but it feels like it is at least the next day. When I first opened my eyes, I was outside, but almost immediately walls again began to form around me.

Everything is wooden. It is dim, almost dark, and there are strange, terrible smells in the air.

I try to stand up, but cannot. The floor is moving. Everything is moving. I can hear the creaking and groaning of wood as the floor rises and falls.

I know where I am! I am on a ship!

Oh, please no! I look around at my surroundings. I am definitely between decks on an old wooden sailing vessel of some sort. This can mean only one thing. My pirate fantasy!

I was in college when Pirates of the Carribean came out and I had a deep crush on Johnny Depp. I had this fantasy where… NO! Don’t think about it. AIM reads my mind. If I think about it, it will do what I think. I have to just let things happen. Maybe it will be different from my weird college coed thoughts. Maybe it won’t happen at all.

I can hear people coming down the stairs– I guess they call them ladders on a ship like this. There seem to be six or eight men. Since this is my Fantasy, I look hopefully for Captain Jack Sparrow, but my hopes are dashed when Captain Hector Barbossa instead steps in front of me and says, “Be careful what ye wish for, Missy. Ye just might get it.”

Two of the men grab my arms and pull me to a large area in the center of the deck. Wooden grates are being pulled open above me. It must be night because no light comes into the hold from above.

In the dim and flickering light of the ship’s lanterns, I can see a heavy, old-fashioned hemp rope descending through the opening. The large rope is fastened to the middle of a short spar which spins slightly as it hangs from the rope. On each end of the spar hang smaller ropes with leather restraint cuffs attached to them. I don’t remember this from my college fantasy.

My wrists are now bound in the leather cuffs. A second, smaller spar is attached between my ankles so that my legs are spread wide. I should never have looked at those porn sites with women suspended and stretched by spreader bars. Or at least, I shouldn’t have gotten wet while looking at them.

One of the scruffier-looking sailors steps forward and rips open the top of my dress.

Dress!? I hadn’t realized I was wearing clothing until he began to tear it off me. Soon I was once again naked and hanging slightly off the ground. Having had clothing even for such a brief time made me notice that much more that it was gone and I was naked in front of these terrible men.

My body begins to slowly rotate and I watch the faces of the six pirates. Their eyes burn with lust… or maybe they just reflect the increasing lust that is probably showing in my own eyes as my body responds to thoughts that used to be hidden deep within me.

Captain Barbossa reached up and stopped me from spinning. He leaned in close to me and said in his overly polite-way of speaking, “Well, Missy, we need a wee bit of information from ye.” Picking up a long whip he gave me a very broad smile and added, “… and I think ye will tell us.”

Wait a minute! This isn’t at all like my fantasy! I am supposed to be in the Captain’s cabin in bed with Jack Sparrow, not strung up naked for all the crew to see. I am supposed to be making wild, passionate love, not getting flogged!!!!

A sudden, intense pain slashed across my back as the whip struck the first time. “That was just to get your attention and encourage ye to answer me properly,” he said, again with his overly-effusive smile.

“What do you want to know?” I answered back through gritted teeth. The pain was gone from my back almost as soon as it had appeared and I could feel the AIM healing the deep welt the whip had made. Because of the AIM, the whip could not truly damage me, but it could really HURT. Why didn’t the AIM stop the pain?

“‘Tis simple, lass,” he said with a laugh. “We just need to know exactly how you got the Artificial Intelligence Metal out of stock without anyone knowing. We know you carried it out in your briefcase, but what we don’t understand is how you got your hands on it in the first place.”

My mind was swirling. Was this my own subconscious fear of getting caught creating a living nightmare? Was this a corrupted form of one of my own fantasies? In any case, I somehow knew that I couldn’t reveal how I had obtained the AIM. I was afraid that my life depended on me not saying how I did it.

The whip fell again and again and again. But the AIM had read the desperate plea in my mind. On the second strike, the AIM began blocking the pain as well as healing the cuts on my back. With each strike, the pain became less, and I started laughing. Anyone watching would have thought that I had lost my mind. After all, here I was hanging in a big naked X in the hold of a pirate ship with a large, brutal man swinging at me with all his strength. I was being brutally flogged, but I was laughing hysterically.

“You can whip me all you want,” I finally answered. “The AIM will protect and heal me.”

“I told you that wouldn’t work, Hector,” said a very pleasant voice from behind me. “But you always fire the cannons before you’re in range.”

The person speaking slowly walked around in front of me. Captain Jack had made his appearance at last. He reached up with one hand and softly caressed my breast. “What my mutinous first mate doesn’t realize,” he said with a smile, “is that the magic metal will protect you from pain because that is what it is designed to do. Pain means something is broken, and AIM fixes things that are broken.”

He rolled my nipple slowly between his fingers and it stiffened slightly to his touch. “But pleasure means things are working properly. AIM will not protect you from pleasure… no matter how intense that pleasure becomes.”

Captain Jack Sparrow’s smile seemed much more genuine, but at the same time, much more frightening than Barbossa’s obviously false one. He leaned forward and gently pulled my nipple between his lips. At first he was kissing it, but soon he was softly suckling as moans began to escape from my mouth. His fingers were now moving slowly and softly up and down my entire body. For a moment he stood alongside me with one hand running down my front and the other running down my back.

As his hands reached my middle, he brought them together between my legs so that his fingertips touched beneath me. He then lifted slightly with both hands so that the hand in front was pressing against my cunt and the hand in back was pressing against my rosebud. After a moment of pressure, the fingers continued their gentle journey down my right leg.

When he reached my foot, he reversed his path and returned to my crotch where he once again pressed against my cunt and ass before going down my left leg. As he reached my left foot, his hands continued downward and off my body.

I was breathing very deeply as he lightly kissed my lips and softly said, “Are you ready to tell us what we need to know?”

I tried to answer, “No!” But it came out as “Nooooooooooooooooooooooo,” as his hand returned to my cunt and his fingers began to lightly swirl around my clit.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked.

My only answer was another moan as his hands continued to move on my body. For just an instant I thought to myself that a couple more sets of hands would feel even better.

I immediately regretted that thought as four more hands joined Jack’s on my body. I looked around to see who the new people were and looked into the eyes of two more Jack Sparrows.

“You get used to that after a while,” the first Captain Sparrow said with a musical laugh, “especially if you’ve ever been to the locker.”

Six hands were roaming all over my body. Two of the Jack Sparrows were in front of me now, their mouths slowly engulfing my nipples. My moans were becoming louder and I was starting to buck and swing as I hung from the spar.

I wondered where the third Jack had gone, and I thought to myself, “I know where I want him to be.”

“Don’t add to the fantasy!” I screamed aloud to myself, but it was too late. The third Jack was now kneeling in front of me with his face pressed against my glistening cunt.

My body was thrashing and waving in my restraints. My arms were held outstretched by the restraints from which I hung and my legs were similarly outstretched by the restraints attached to the lower spar. Held in a taut X, all I was able to do was twist and buck like a loose sail in the wind.

I know I have orgasmed at least twice, but I am still being driven higher and higher.

“You can end all this, Missy,” said Barbossa. “All ye have to do is tell us how ye stole the AIM.”

I tried to look him in the eye, but my body was too far into the orgasms to allow any control. “Why would I want to stop this?” I asked in a very shaky voice before screaming out in another orgasm. And then another. And then another. Each orgasm was more intense than the one before.

“AIM makes things perfect,” Barbossa answered with his evil sounding laugh. “Do ye think ye can survive a perfect orgasm?”

I tried to answer, but a fourth Captain Jack joined the trio. This one was naked. His manhood was jutting upward in front of him as he stepped between my legs. He made a motion with one of his hands, and the rope was lowered slightly so that I settled down onto that magnificent prick. He began thrusting inside of me. Almost immediately, my cunt once again spasmed and my body thrashed and bucked against his thrusts. I screamed out in the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced and everything went dark.

Judith Conroy Autolog Entry 3619 116 14 34

When I awoke, I was once again outside. This time, I tried to concentrate on what was going on around me. The sun was high in the sky. I was definitely at my house… or where my house used to be. I could dimly see the houses across the street. I could almost make out the trees in my neighbors’ back yards. For some reason the large maple tree next to my house seemed to have disappeared.

Concentrating as hard as I could on what I thought I was seeing, I could make out deep trenches that seemed to be dug in the ground around where my house used to sit. There seemed to be many very large pieces of construction equipment nearby. Hundreds of flashing lights reflected off the enclosure in which I was lying.

A loud voice vibrated the plastic. “Judith, can you hear me?” it said. “If you can, nod your head.”

I nodded my head and stood up. I was totally naked. There was nothing there except me and the plastic which surrounded me.

“Do you know where you are?” the voice asked.

I shook my head no.

“We have contained the contamination,” the voice explained. “You are in a containment vessel.”

I looked at the plastic around me. Except for the fact that it was many, many times larger, it was exactly the same as the observation cage in which I had tested the rodent. Fear flooded my mind as I remembered what happened to that rat. Was I to be incinerated as it had been to contain a biohazard?

No sooner had I thought that than a solid metal cube surrounded me.

“No, no, no,” I screamed out, but it was too late. I was now trapped within whatever my mind– and the AIM– had formed.

“What have I gotten myself into?” I wailed. “I should never have done this.”

No sooner had I said that than the room around me began changing. Again everything was wooden, but this time it was more modern. A strangely-shaped wooden bench filled the center of the room. My body did that strange rippling thing with my muscles and I flowed across the floor and up onto the bench.

As soon as I was in place, leather restraints formed to hold me in place. I wish I didn’t know what this bench is, but I have seen it many times on some of the websites I visit. It is a spanking bench.

A rough voice calls my name, “Judith,” it said, “do you know why you are being punished?”

I want to say “No!” but the truth is I know why I am being punished. I stole Artificial Intelligence Metal from the government facility where I work. I had hoped to prove that it could be used to heal people and get rich producing and selling it for medical purposes. Instead, all I had done was to create this constantly changing hell in which I was trapped.

“Yes,” I sobbed out.

“How many strokes should you receive as punishment?” the voice asked.

“One hundred eighty,” I replied. “That is ten for each gram of AIM that I stole.”

I don’t know why I said that. Perhaps I thought that if I was sufficiently punished I might escape this purgatory.

The man walked around in front of me. I was surprised that he looked artificial. Then I recognized him. This was the man in the dungeon on that CGI dungeon site that I sometimes visited.

“Now we know how much you took,” he said. “All you need to do for all of this to stop is to tell us how you gathered together 18 grams of AIM without anybody knowing… or even suspecting. The last person who tried to steal AIM got caught when he attempted to misdirect a kit… and that is only 4.5 grams.”

Then he started whipping me. I concentrated as hard as I could for the AIM to both heal me and take away the pain. Maybe I overdid it, because on about the fourth strike of the whip, it started feeling good… really good.

I don’t know how many times he brought that terrible whip down on my back and ass. I do know that each time he struck I gasped, not in pain, but in pleasure.

I am now screaming, “More! More! More!” It seems to anger him and he swings higher and puts more muscle behind each strike. I am starting to feel pain along with the pleasure. It is a strange mixture of sensations that is driving me higher than even my previous fantasies.

I can feel it boiling from deep within me. I know it will be tremendous, but I want it. I can hear Barbossa’s warning that I would not survive a perfect orgasm. I don’t care. I want it. I want it.
I … “Aieeeeeee”

Judith Conroy Autolog Entry 3619 116 19 08

I must have passed out for a short while. He is still whipping me and my body is still responding with pleasure. “This can go on forever,” said the artificial man. “Just tell us how you stole the AIM.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but instead screamed out once again as another orgasm overwhelmed me.

Judith Conroy Autolog Entry 3619 117 01 14

I passed out again. I don’t know for how long. “AIM can’t protect you from pleasure,” the CGI man said with a sinister laugh. “This WILL eventually destroy you.”

He swung the whip upwards so that it struck between my legs. Evidently that took both me and the AIM by surprise because blinding pain washed over me only to be replaced almost immediately by pleasure that I thought I could never experience.

“He is right.” I admitted to myself. “I can’t survive this forever. I need to tell them.”

“4.54 grams out, 4.45 grams back in,” I shout out. “The receipts say 4.5 grams either way.”

The artificial man’s voice became very soft, almost caring. “This is for your pleasure only, now.” he crooned. “Relax. Let it overwhelm you. You will find sleep in the darkness. And when you awake this will be over.”

He swung again, softly this time. The result when the whip hit my cunt was waves of extreme pleasure… and darkness overwhelming me.

Judith Conroy Autolog Entry 3619 119 09 43

I woke up slowly. I knew that I had been asleep, but wasn’t sure for how long. Waking up is different from regaining consciousness, so I am pretty sure that I had been asleep. Besides, I felt rested.

I look around. I am once again outside, but the plastic observation cage seems to have been moved out to the road and is slightly higher off the ground. I feel like at least a day has passed. Things seem slightly clearer than before. I can see vehicles and construction equipment and people walking around in various types of protection suits.

I can hear a voice that I seem to recognize. It is calling to me. “Judith,” it says, “concentrate on my voice. Try to block everything but my voice from your mind.”

Something like a drum is beating slowly. “Listen to the beat of the drum,” the voice continues. “It and my voice are all you should think about. If you can concentrate on my voice and the beat of the drum you can remain in control.”

I try to do what he says. The beat of the drum is very comforting. Things are coming into focus. I can now clearly see that I am in a huge plastic observation cage sitting on a flatbed truck in front of where my house used to be. The house and most of my yard is gone. There is nothing there but a huge hole in the ground. My neighbors’ houses are still there, but appear to be weirdly warped and damaged. Above me I can see small newsvid fliers as well as various military airships.

Someone steps up to my cage. I can see through the visor of his protection suit that it is Doctor Hendricks, the supervisor of my lab. “Can you hear me, Judith?” he asks.

I nod my head yes.

“You did something very dangerous,” he says. “We were very lucky to be able to contain the contamination.”

He paused and paced in front of the cage for a few moments. “No one has ever activated such a large amount of AIM into a living being before,” he said. It almost sounded like he was genuinely concerned… or perhaps impressed. “We have read your autologs. We understand you had good intentions, but…” His voice faded away into silence.

“Can you de-activate it?” I asked. I could feel tears flowing from my eyes.

The long pause and the look on his face told me more than any words he might have said. “You and it are one,” he finally answered. “We’ve tested a couple more rats. The only way to deactivate the AIM is to kill the host.”

“So I’m going to be incinerated,” I said glumly.

“No,” he answered with a crooked smile. “You are safe from the fire. You have become much, much too valuable to incinerate. You are the only person in the world who has ever survived being merged with AIM. It has happened a couple times before in accidents, but the process was always fatal.”

He looked intently at me and pursed his lips as he formed his next words. “We need to find out why you are still alive,” he said slowly. “And we need to find how to control it.”

He sounded almost excited as he asked “Do you realize what a self-repairing soldier that can modify his or her surroundings would be worth?”

“So I am going to be an experiment at the facility?” I said. “That’s not a whole lot better than being incinerated.”

“We have been able to watch everything,” he replied.

I felt myself growing very red as I thought about what “everything” must have looked like.

His eyes continued to bore through me as he said in his professional, matter-of-fact tone, “I know that having your innermost sexual fantasies played out in public is very embarrassing. But those sexual fantasies seem to be an important part of how you have survived this.”

He coughed slightly and added, “We also noticed that questions we tried to ask you changed your fantasies– sometimes quite dramatically. So, there is evidently some way to control this… eventually.” It had been a very long pause before he said “eventually.”

He suddenly looked away, perhaps because he had just admitted that they couldn’t really help me, or perhaps it was because he was afraid to admit that he somehow had projected some of his own fantasies into the AIM. I had never noticed before that he does bear an uncanny resemblance to Captain Barbossa.

“Once we are back at the facility,” he continued, “we will… ah… encourage you to go back into your fantasies and then see how we can guide what happens. Perhaps some day we can even figure out how to control what happens.” He shrugged. “We may even discover how we can de-activate.”

“I guess that is better than being incinerated,” I replied.

He just smiled in response.

“It would probably be best if we allowed you to fade out while we transport you,” he said as he glanced over at several workers standing nearby. After a quick flash of another smile that I guess he intended to be reassuring, he added, “We will protect you from the eyes of the public en route.”

He made a motion with his hands and a large tarp was pulled up over the observation cage. The only sound is now the sound of straps being pulled tight over the covered cage. His voice is gone. The beat of the drums is fading away. The plastic cage is also starting to fade.

“So what will it be?” I ask myself aloud.

As if in answer, stone columns began to rise out of the plastic. Torches appear on the stone walls that now surrounded me.

“Ah, yes,” I say with a smile of my own. “It looks like I’m going to be visiting the King’s Dungeon.”

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