It was done--tonight's symphony. Tim looked up from his laptop with an anticipatory grin. It was true, composing was part of his day job, but he took satisfaction in his work. And there was a special savor to writing a piece for someone he knew personally.
Tonight's piece would test out his newest modifications to the machine. Over the last few weeks, he'd created a new sensation module and programmed it into his composing software. When he'd finally sat down to write today's symphony, he could feel the rightness of the new element. Today's composition would have a richer tone than any he'd written before.
He got up and stretched, then moved to the boxlike machine that took center stage in his office. There were just a few more adjustments to be made before he met Amity for dinner. He moved the seat down to fit her stature and rechecked the small screws that fastened the newest part of the apparatus. He'd already brought in clean towels. All that was left was to make sure the data had transferred and the symphony played smoothly. His laptop was already queued to begin playing in test mode as soon as he pressed the machine's power button. He'd chosen the round white button with a sense of irony: it had been made to ring a doorbell. In this case, ringing a doorbell was an entirely inadequate metaphor.
With an almost inaudible hydraulic sigh, the machine came to life. Tim opened the front access panel so he could more fully assess the movements of the components. Buzzes, whirs, clicks, and tiny puffs of air being released hinted at the music Tim heard in his mind. It would take the melodic moans and sighs and shrieks of Amity to truly bring it to life.
Tim's machine always startled Amity a little when she walked into the room. He had the top of the line Orchestral, of course, but he'd modified it in so many ways it looked less like a luxury device than a 20th century artist's rendition of a time machine. Lights blinked, mysterious plastic and metal parts protruded. The side panels were off, of course, and tangles of wires ran down the machine's four-foot height to spill onto the floor. It would be a humorous sight, if she didn't know exactly how intense an experience the machine could deliver.
Tim hadn't told Amity anything about the new module. She wondered what part of her body it might be intended to stimulate. It always seemed to her the machine did everything imaginable - and then Tim would come up with something more. With a shiver of anticipation, Amity undressed.
Amity was so beautiful naked. Tim spent a moment admiring her, before coming to give her a kiss and help her into the machine. The Orchestral had been designed for easy self operation, but Tim's unending tinkering made his version a bit more difficult to enter. Amity ducked her head to avoid some low hanging cables and seated herself on the towel-covered platform. She lifted her feet to avoid some loose wires as he spun her to face the front of the machine. The genital armature would need to be readjusted a little, and he still hadn't perfected the auto-engage on the toe grip. That had been last month's new addition. Amity hadn't thought it would add much, but she found herself very much mistaken. It's amazing how sensitive the nerves are on the feet.
At last he had everything adjusted and was able to close the front access panel. The last steps were to latch the headband and wrist belts from behind. Technically, these modifications were not approved by the company. Safety was paramount to Orchestral Instruments. A bound "listener", as machine users were euphemistically called, could not end their experience at will. But, understanding the diversity of their market, they closed their eyes to Tim's occasional moonlighting in secondary-market accessory design. The head restraint, in particular, was a safety concern. Still, Tim often made more from such off-brand add-ons than he did from official Orchestral modules. And Tim never left his test subjects alone in the machine. Their biometrics unspooled on his computer screen, and he watched them with rapt attention as he listened to his work being performed.
Every sensation had an instrument. Every touch had a tone. The best of Tim's pieces could be played in a concert hall without anyone knowing their secrets. The reverse was true, too: A great piece of music, fed into his software, would create an extraordinary experience. The kinks of that, so to speak, had a bit more to be worked out--Tim felt the machine did not yet have its full complement of instrumentation--but the day would come when one could simply feed in Beethoven or Mozart and feel the music as naturally and completely as it had rung in the composer’s head.
Inside the machine, Amity would be hearing the notes through multiple speakers as she felt the experiential analogs stimulate her nerves.The music would seem to guide and control the sensations, though in fact they were one in the same. Perhaps even colors and shapes would appear inside her closed eyelids, as her mind struggled to make sense of the complexity. Synesthesia is the natural state of a mind being overloaded. A well composed piece could induce sensual immersion unmatched by any other form of stimulation. Tim, watching Amity’s biometric readouts as the music began, listening to the small moans and sighs tonight's symphony was already eliciting, was himself deeply aroused.
Tim had often debated with himself about his response to his work. As tester, he ought to remain detached. And yet the joy of his work was in vicarious experience. Why else would he bury himself in endless hours of code and tinkering, composition and isolation, if not to enjoy giving others the most perfect sexual experiences anyone could imagine? And, too, many of Orchestral's customers purchased his symphonies as gifts. Though the machine held only one listener at a time, many users had appreciative audiences. Tim was, in a way, calibrating the experience for them, too. And tonight... well... tonight required his vicarious immersion. He'd written himself a part in the score.
Tim had been right about the extraordinary nature of tonight’s score. It took only a few measures before Amity’s rational mind began to fade away. The orchestra had begun with her toes, her most recently discovered erogenous zone. Clarinet and violin had licked and sucked, as a slow drum beat pulsed around her breasts. It was impossible to tell if the attendant throbbing in her belly had been the bass reverberating or the emergence of arousal.
Amity’s slip into pure sensation was aided by her utter immobility. Her forehead was locked against the front panel, her hands tied behind her back. Twin tubes encased her breasts, with tiny electrode-embedded clips lightly gripping her nipples. Her waist was belted to the seat so she couldn't damage the delicate mechanisms that embraced her clit and teased her labia. And soon, she knew, her cunt and ass would be pinioned between dueling invaders. Her legs were, in theory, free, but her two longest toes were held in a delicately inescapable grip.
A harp sent shivers along her spine, and then a single, clear, pure note sounded, a concert piano, and something cool touched her lips. So, this was the new component: a mouth piece. No wonder Tim had been so excited to have her try it out. Oral stimulation was something that had never been satisfactorily realized by machines. At best one might find a pacifier like knob intruding, something to suck and bite in the heat of passion. Amity liked those, but so much more was possible. If Tim had created something he felt was worth testing, it was sure to deliver.
To highlight his new creation, Tim had written in a piano solo. He watched the biometrics eagerly, as the mechanical tongue began to explore Amity’s mouth.
Amity opened her mouth as the tongue pressed against her lips. She tested it with her teeth. It was pleasantly bitable without feeling like it might be damaged by her teeth; perhaps made of silicone over metal. It slipped into her mouth, thinner than she’d expected, more flexible. The tip met her tongue, withdrew, and entered again. Unlike a real kiss, Amity realized, there were no lips. She’d have to mention the lack to Tim. The music gained force and the tongue claimed more of her focus. It swelled in her mouth, like a cock waking from slumber. Amity sucked on it, drooling a little. Alarmingly, it continued to swell. Rampaging chord progressions echoed Amity’s heart as she began gasp. “Tim wouldn’t let me choke,” she told herself. “He’s watching; he wouldn’t let it hurt me.” Despite these thoughts, she found herself struggling against her restraints. Was the machine malfunctioning? The tongue was thrusting now, and Amity gasped for breath. She tried to clamp her teeth on the thing, but found it slick and hard now it had stretched to its full girth. It forced her mouth open painfully wide and pushed against the back of her throat. Amity choked, and the tongue drew back.
Amity’s breath came hard and fast. She wasn’t really hurt. The tongue subsided a little and moved more languidly. Other instruments rejoined the symphony, one by one. As the strings began, again, to tingle within her nipples, Amity realized how aroused her fear had made her. Low woodwinds moaned and throbbed. Her body thrummed and sang. She could feel a baton against her pussy (Orchestral eschewed any other term for the “vaginal and anal stimulators”). Her labia opened and closed against it, as if to pull its gently vibrating shaft inside her. Her ass was already being tantalizingly stretched by a staff the size of her pinky. It would grow, she knew. It would grow, and throb, and thrust deeply inside her. She hoped.
The music rippled in and out of minor key. Amity’s mind’s eye conjured up storm clouds and gusts of wind. The tongue had changed shape again, forming a ball in her mouth that filled it completely without blocking her breath. The two batons inside her warred against each other almost painfully. Amity felt herself riding into a jagged orgasm, sharp and jarring and bone-achingly spasmodic. She cried out through the gag in her mouth. The constriction of sound seemed to free something in her, and she screamed in a way she’d never allowed herself to scream before. Her cunt hurt from clenching its phallic invader.
The music fell and rose again, drums beating heavily. Her nipples were being sucked and pulled intensely, her breasts constricted. Jangling tones sent flickers of pain into her spine, while a sweet, high clarinet still drew faultless pleasure through her clit. The rod in her pussy only pulsed gently as the one in her ass rolled and battered at her. Amity was close to another orgasm, as shattering as the last, when the tongue suddenly shrank and slipped away. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been clinging to it. Her eyes flew open in alarm. And then light flooded in as a small hatch opened where the tongue had been, and something warm touched her mouth instead.
Amity opened her mouth eagerly. The light disappeared, blocked by Tim’s body. His warm, human shaft tasted wonderfully sweet. For a moment, Amity lost touch with the music, wholly absorbed in the texture of Tim’s cock against her tongue. As it drifted in and out of her awareness, the symphonic storm passed. Luminous tones spoke of sunlight emerging. A warm, golden feeling grew in Amity. Her veins were full of honey. The transcendent sensation that swelled and shook her was hardly even recognizable as orgasm. Tears ran down her face. Tim cried out and thrust into her. His cum pulsing into her mouth mingled with the last melting notes of music. It was over.
Tim withdrew from her mouth slowly. Amity had responded to his composition even more intensely than he’d intended. He wanted to treat her tenderly. He opened the box, released the wrist and head restraints, and took Amity awkwardly in his arms. She draped herself against him, sleepy and satisfied. “There’s something you’re forgetting,” she mumbled against him.
“What is it, Amity?”
She breathed in his scent: sweat and sex. His shirt was soft against her cheek. What had she meant to tell him? A fragment of melody came to mind and she hummed it into his neck. Tim joined in, adding the next phrase. Amity felt an answering surge of arousal. “Take me to bed,” she said. “I want your skin this time.” Tim bent to undo the belts and clamps of his mechanical wonder, and carried his lover away.