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  • The Spy Rider Ch. 01

The Spy Rider Ch. 01

123

I must have known something was amiss even before I woke up. I don't even remember sitting up, but I can sense that she is there staring at me. Sure enough, when I turn I see her sitting on the other side of the sound proof glass wall. Her eyes are dead and her face expressionless. Immediately, I hate her.

I am surprised that my reaction is so strong and so singular. After all, I haven't seen another human being in almost two years. I would have thought that I would welcome companionship (if you could call it that). Instead, I only feel a sense of invasion. This woman is cutting in on my own solitariness. Her presence is not just sullying my view. It feels like an attack on my psyche.

I stare back at her. I want to taunt her with lewd gestures, but for some reason I am afraid that would give away whatever power I might hold. Instead, I return her expressionless glare, daring her to move first by focusing directly on her eyes.

Obviously, she is just like me - an inmate participating in the same experimental rehabilitation program. She has big brown eyes, high cheek bones and full lips. Her head, of course, is bald. We are allowed no hair during the course of our confinement. And she is as naked as I - her curves would have been attractive perhaps in a different circumstance. For now, though, to me, she is ugly. We could have been twins, I suppose.

I simply hate her.

After a moment, I let my eyes wander over to the large countdown displayed over her cell door. Six days and some hours. The cunt will be freed exactly one day before me.

I stand up from my bed and walk over to my sink where I look at my face in a mirror. In the reflection I can see her still sitting and staring into my cell.

I can't believe that after two years my jailers would put another person into the adjoining cell. Maybe this is to prepare me for the real world again. After all, there was some point in my incarceration, long ago, when I was desperate for another human to be placed in that cell. I had imagined that if there was someone there we would have developed some form of sign language or entertained one another somehow. But now, with this scag... I have no desire to interact with her.

My cell is very plain. Everything is a dull white color, the floor, the sink, the padding on the shelf that I use as a bed. There are no hard corners anywhere - all surfaces are a little flexible. I suppose they don't want me to bang my head on something strong enough to kill myself. They need not worry about me though. I have no desire to die. There are too many things waiting for me outside this rotting hole. That's the reason why I volunteered for this program - to get back into the world as fast as possible where my beloved Mistress is waiting for me.

There are two doors in my cell on opposite walls. The door underneath the orange flickering lights of my countdown clock has not been opened since I was locked inside so long ago. The second door opens occasionally by some automated system and gives me access to a shower and my "conditioning" room - at least that is my name for it.

I lower my head toward the sink until I trip a sensor. A stream of water arcs from a spigot and I drink. When I straighten up, I notice that the intruder has moved. She is now laying on her shelf, her hands folded behind her head, staring at the ceiling. I almost envy her. I know every inconsistency of that ceiling. I even know how many black dots there are up in the paneling. I count them often to see if the number ever changes. It doesn't. This intruder now has an entirely new ceiling to explore. I almost wish that they had moved me into her adjoining cell.

The light next to the food nozzle is not illuminated. I'm not hungry, but eating is doing something. And at the moment, I feel a great need to do... something. Anything to take my mind off the intrusive cunt.

"Cunt!" I say loudly. I know that there is no way she can hear me. No sounds enter or escape these cells. "That's my name for you! Cunt!"

Generally, when I become as restless as I currently feel, there is one thing that I can do that never really seems to grow old. Masturbate.

Indeed over the course of two years, I have made sure that I masturbated in every single square foot of my cell. I have divided the room into coordinates based on the length of my foot. Every time I masturbate, I move to a new coordinate and sit or stand or lie and frig myself off. After I have achieved an orgasm, I rate it, and over time I have developed a ranked list of locations and orientations where I'm most likely to have a more satisfactory orgasm. But now... Cunt is watching.

I am not under any illusion that my previous indulgences were not viewed. I'm certain that there are cameras all over this cell watching my every naked gyration. I'm certain that behind every camera there is some security employee jacking off watching my display. But still, with Cunt in the adjoining cell, I feel repressed. I don't want to give her the satisfaction of watching me.

Eventually, I return to my shelf and lie staring at my countdown clock. Seven fucking days, fourteen fucking hours, thirty-two fucking minutes and twenty-six god-forsaken, fucking seconds.

---

It is not too long after lying down that I hear a soft tone and the sound of a door opening. Thank god! I quickly stand up and walk through the second door of my cell that leads to the shower and the "conditioning" room.

No one ever told me what to do. I haven't heard another voice since my internment. I have not seen any written word either. You just learn the routines over time. There are no penalties if you don't do something correctly (if there even IS a correct way of doing things). You just learn.

Early on, when the door would open, I wouldn't go through. I thought I was rebelling somehow. My jailers though didn't seem to care. The open door would simply sit there, taunting me. Over time, I slowly gave up my rebelliousness since it seemed like a fairly useless attitude. Now, I jump at the chance to visit the second room. Once I have done whatever it is that my jailers want me to do and return to my cell, the door closes again until the next time.

Of course, I've counted all the dots on the ceiling and masturbated over the entire surface of that room as well.

I am particularly happy for the chance to go in there today. It provides me an escape from Cunt. There is no sound proof glass wall in this room. It is completely private.

I start from a corner and use my feet to pace out to one of my favorite places in the room near the foot of the conditioning shell and lie down on the floor with a sigh. I flex all my muscles and relax them. Then I begin to tickle myself until goose bumps appear like schools of fish swirling about my skin. I pinch my nipple and feel its firmness under the palm of my hand. I am no longer in prison, but free, and the sun is shining on me as I lay on a bed of soft moss by a cool pool. The air is full of the scent of honeysuckle. I slide my hand between my legs and softly stroke the lips of my sex with each finger in turn. I group my fingers together and jiggle my clit clockwise and then counter clockwise. I systematically begin to push my fingers into me until I feel lubrication. I begin to dream of my Mistress. She walks down from the trees and slowly lets her dress drop off her shoulders into the dirt. She kneels down next to me. I begin to dream of making love.

I am breathing heavily and I can feel the approach of an orgasm. I lift my legs off the floor and roll them over me, doubling myself up, letting my knees rest on the cold floor on each side of my head. My cunt is like a cauldron twitching above my head. I look up between my breasts at my hairless vagina. I watch my body shake and the muscles of my sex clench, gaping for my fingers as they lightly pull at my clit. I reach around my hip with my right arm and begin to tease fingers into my vagina from behind, occasionally tickling my anus with a thumb.

Mistress' face appears over my sex. She is sucking on something. A crystal dildo slides out of her mouth and she begins to push it in and out of me. Oh, fuck me, Mistress!! A flock of birds are interrupted somewhere in the forest nearby and their rush to take flight becomes deafening and leaves, soft and green, fall to the forest floor around my quivering thighs.

---

There is a tube in this room. When you stand in it the tube slides up around you and a series of jets begin to spray you with water and soap. Actually, there must be something more. This, certainly, is the mechanism that has rendered me hairless for these two years. I (and Cunt as well I suppose) don't even have eyelashes. I assume my hair will grow out again after I am free.

After a thorough washing (which is actually quite invigorating), jets of air are applied and by the time the tube slides down again I am perfectly dry.

After my shower there is a tone by the conditioning shell and the top surface pops up a couple of inches.

Initially, I was terrified of the conditioning shell. You have to lay inside the shell with arms and legs positioned in isolating cavities. Devices are shoved in various orifices - mouth, sex, and ass - to maintain all bodily inputs and outputs. The top of the shell then presses down on you and seals in place leaving you immobile and blind.

I thought that this was the device that they were going to use to rehabilitate (er... brainwash) me. But, ha ha! the joke is on them. I am guilty of murder and even after two years of lying in the shell, I still feel no remorse. In fact, I'm certain that I would do it again if my Mistress asked me. I would have no qualms at all. So, maybe their equipment is simply broken and no one has realized it.

Actually, a session in the shell is quite pleasant. Your body becomes numb, your brain detaches. It's like an out-of-body experience. I often have vivid and intense dreams about flying and exploring. Truth be told, it feels more free than even the real world outside of my cell.

Sometimes a session in the shell will last a couple of hours, sometimes days. I hope that this one will last a long time - anything to avoid Cunt's company.

I climb inside the shell (with all orifices appropriately filled) and as the top is lowering I notice a new addition to the inside of the shell. Circular rubber tubes begin to press into the flesh around my eyes. I stare into the blackness of the tubes as the familiar clicks sound around the shell locking me in.

I relax and might have drifted off for a while. Time is meaningless in the shell. Who knows how long I have been laying here, numb? Suddenly, though, I begin to feel a tickle across my torso. I can feel goose bumps crop up on my flesh and swirl around. I jerk suddenly when I feel something tweak my nipple. I feel a hand rest upon my breast. It must be my own hand because I can feel a hard nipple pressing into my palm. Maybe part of the shell has popped open and I am masturbating myself reflexively. I smile and settle back. This is a new sensation. I am starved for new sensations.

Suddenly, there is a flicker in front of my eyes. Slowly the flickering settles and I realize that I am looking into my empty cell. My view is focused on my countdown clock - the seconds falling off like water leaking from a faucet. My view changes suddenly. I am looking through the sound proof glass wall at Cunt's countdown clock. There is another shift of perspective. I am watching Cunt standing in the middle of her cell. Her right hand is cupping her left breast. I feel a light touch slide down my abdomen and press against my sex.

Oh, my god! I am somehow feeling the things that Cunt is feeling! She is touching herself, but somehow I am feeling her sensations. If I concentrate on my arms or legs, I can sense that they are still captured in the cavities of the shell, mostly numb and immobile. However, at the same time I can feel myself touching myself. Or, apparently, to be more accurate, I can feel Cunt touching herself.

Her touch is light. She grazes across the lips of her sex. And I feel it! My arousal blossoms quickly. After two years of being the sole dictator of my physical intimacies, suddenly, I am being manipulated by someone else. Rationally, I feel a bit of struggle within me to give up control so easily like this, but my rationality is quickly eclipsed by the sensation.

Cunt is good! No doubt she has spent her time in prison practicing as much as I have. She takes her time rallying her arousal. I can see her face. Her eyes are closed and her mouth slips open a bit. She is losing herself in the sensations, and as I watch and feel her caresses I find that I am quickly swept up and carried along as well.

I feel my knees start to buckle a little. Except, not my knees. Cunt's knees. With her fingers still buried within the folds of her sex, she staggers to the sink. She lifts her leg over the spigot and triggers the water to arc through the air. I begin to laugh silently in my shell as I feel the stream land on my clit. Such a creative little slut, this cunt!

I watch as she shifts her hips up towards her hand. I feel the pressure of teasing fingers increase across my sex, slipping through the folds of my labia. She arches her back a bit and shifts her hips around seeking the best placement for the stream of water. I feel the thrill of arousal spark along my own spine. I am a doll, a marionette. I'm watching myself masturbating and loving every touch.

Her stomach muscles flex and the rhythm of her manipulations increase. I feel the tension build through my own torso. Her head falls back and her mouth opens more, a distressed look upon her face. She's about to go over the edge. I'm about to go over the edge. Oh, god!

With a great thrust of her hips she leans further back and shifts around under the involuntary flexing of muscles as an orgasm takes her. Her face is red, her eyes tightly closed. She has gone before me. I feel her response, although it is stunted.

"Don't stop, Cunt! Use your fingers a little more! Get back into the stream of water!"

I'm not quite there. Please! A little more.

Cunt has turned off the water and has staggered across the cell, still dripping wet, and collapsed onto her bed shelf. She is laying still as the unrequited arousal I feel slowly, painfully settles. My sense of love for my companion quickly reverts to pure hatred.

I know it's unfair for me to hate her so much. I assume that she doesn't even know that I can feel her feelings. Still. Two years of isolation will generate a large cavity of hatred. So, it's okay that I hate her. It doesn't hurt anyone, if I hate her. And I do! I hate her! How could she leave me hanging like this?

The image of Cunt flickers off. After a bit of time, the shell clicks and pops open. I disconnect myself and climb out. I'm torn by a desire to find a spot in privacy and masturbate and a desire to go back into my cell if just to intrude upon Cunt's post orgasmic bliss.

Indeed, I walk quickly through the open door which slides closed quietly behind me. Cunt is lying on her shelf. Her chest is rising and falling slowly and deeply. Asleep!

I sit on my shelf and watch her sleep for a while. I began to wonder how I could feel her touch. It must have been the shell that transmitted the feelings to me. Certainly, she cannot feel things that I do... unless, of course, she also has a shell... maybe.

I begin to touch myself. I'm determined to finish the job that she has left incomplete. But, as I do, I keep my eyes on Cunt, looking to see if any sign of my arousal flashes across her face. It does not take long before I am able to force out an orgasm. It's not the best. I kept checking up on Cunt, but she sleeps peacefully through the whole thing. I hate her!

---

I am doing my fifth rep of pushups when I hear the tone and the sound of a door sliding open. I am happy that they are going to allow me another shower. I'll be out of this cage in two days, after all. I wouldn't want to stink too bad for my glorious re-entry into the real world. I wouldn't want to stink too bad for my Mistress.

I stand and walk quickly towards the door. Cunt has sat up and is staring at me. There is an excellent chance that I will never see her again. Her door will open in less than twenty four hours. I stop and stare into her eyes. I couldn't help myself. And what does it matter anyway? I raise my hand with my middle finger prominently displayed and shake it at her.

"Fuck you, Cunt!" I scream and walk triumphantly through the door. Good riddance.

Once I am in the privacy of my conditioning room, I quickly masturbate twice, take a shower, and then masturbate once more before climbing into the shell. A session in the shell would pass the remaining time quickly. Soon I will be free!

With a practiced ease I grab the inserts that take care of my waste, lubricate them appropriately and slide them into place with a joyful little grunt. I climb up into the shell and slide each leg down the padded tubes that hold them so tightly. I lie backwards and push my arms into their tubes at my sides. I reach within them and grasp the handles deep inside. As I lay my head back I can already feel the pads along my arms and legs swelling, grasping me in a tight, secure grip. With a soft hissing sound the top of the shell lowers towards me. I open my mouth to accept the gag, letting its bulbous end slip past my teeth. The inner surface of the shell cups my jaw and pushes it closed around the gag.

The recently added tubes press around my eyes. I wonder if I will get the thrill of watching Cunt masturbate again. Cups squeeze around my ears. I am held firmly and comfortably and soon I let myself drift off.

---

I awake suddenly. I am staring at the countdown clock in Cunt's cell. In a few minutes the door will open and she will be free.

I admit that I am a little disappointed that I did not get to experience another of Cunt's orgasms. Oh, well. But, my body is comfortably numb. If anything, the shell feels a little tighter than ever before.

My throat is a little sore too. I try to swallow, but something obviously has been forced down it. It is probably a feeding tube. They have done it to me before during a particularly long session in the shell. I suppose that I will become hungry, if they leave me locked inside for the next twenty-four hours. Er... twenty-four hours and forty-nine seconds.

The final seconds on Cunt's countdown clock fall away and I hear her outside door open. This is my first view outside these cells in the past two years (minus one day). I see a long hall, brightly illuminated with irritating, fluorescent light. I see Cunt walk up to the door. She pauses for a second, turns to look back into the cell for a moment and then walks on out into the hall.

I am so excited. I can feel my heart pounding somewhere deep inside me. This will be me soon!

My view changes to another camera, I assume somewhere further down the hall. I am up near the roof looking down on a green line painted on the floor with an arrow pointing in the direction that my camera is angled. Shortly, bald Cunt, still naked, comes ambling down the hall, occasionally, letting her fingers brush along the walls as she makes her way. She seems pensive, or confused. I suppose that would be natural. I kind of feel the same way even though I am just an observer.

I feel a short, sharp shock suddenly which scares me intensely for half a second. Luckily the sensation fades quickly. It takes me a moment to recover enough before I realize that I feel some kind of pressure on the bottoms of my feet - cold, lacquered, concrete. Holy shit! I am feeling what Cunt is feeling. I can feel the floor under her bare feet as she makes her way down the hall.

I feel the smooth surface of the walls on my fingertips when she reaches out to touch them. I feel the cool air swishing across my skin. I never would have noticed such a thing without the contrast from which my sensation has just transitioned, tightly pressed and numb within my shell. If I concentrate hard, I can still feel the pads along my body, but the sensation is just a shadow compared the feeling of cool air swishing past me as Cunt slowly makes her way down the hall.

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