Gradient Descent Ch. 05

Amya arrived at the lab earlier than normal. She placed the latte on her friend's desk. Returned to her own. Tried to make progress on her new processor design to speed up the program learning loop. Her mind kept wandering. She gave up.

Amya moved to the examination chair. She stroked her head, the peaks and valleys of her cornrows. Amya then picked up the device and ran her fingers over it, thinking of what it would do to her mind. Giving up smoking would be an incredible gift. She thought of Victoria's past objections. Her failure to argue now. Would there be strings attached? I should review the program, Amya thought. Do I really want to read Victoria's spaghetti code? She kept stroking the contours of the device while she waited for her friend to arrive.

Victoria didn't make her wait long. Victoria entered and swiftly went to work. She picked up her latte, and sipped while she stared at her computer screen. Amya swung her legs back and forth.

"I'm double-checking everything, Amya. This is a completely new program, not an iteration on what we were doing before. I did a full test run overnight. Checking all unit tests. All functional tests. The full brain simulation. We're going to get this right," Victoria explained, then finished her latte.

A long, slow exhale from Amya. "So, this is it. The last chance to chicken out. Enjoy a life of addiction and death by lung cancer. Keep my brain only as messed up as it already is."

"Amya, our creation is safe," Victoria said while placing a hand on her shoulder, her fingers stroking up to the bare skin of her neck. "The tests and simulation prove it to be true. Yes, we need more human testing, but you will be achieving just that. However, this is your choice. There are other ways to quit smoking. I will support you in whatever you choose, my friend."

The last word hung in the air. Something was off. Amya put the device down. She started humming softly. In a timid voice, she sang, "One day I was walking along, the angels in heaven done wrote it down."

"The elements opened and the love came down," Victoria completed the verse. They leaned their heads together, foreheads touching.

Amya pulled away. "Alright. Let's do it. Say goodbye to your chain-smoking friend." Victoria bent forward and kissed her brow, lips lingering a beat before pulling back.

Amya placed the device over her head and lay down.

"Whoa! That forced paralysis sure feels weird," Amya said. So this is what sleep paralysis is like.

"Don't worry. The discomfort will pass." Victoria chuckled.

Without warning, Amya found herself in a noisy pub. A banner on the wall, "International Women's Day: SWE Mixer." She held a lit cigarette in her hand. Everyone around her was having a good time. Like the aroma of incense, the air itself was comforting. Instinctively, Amya brought the cigarette to her lips.

Intense pain.

"Fuck!" screamed Amya.

Like someone shouting from another room, her friend's words penetrated the scene, "Pain is part of the process. Negative stimulus to retain neural pathways."

"No shit, Mistress. I built this machine! There's a big difference between knowing and feeling."

Amya regarded the cigarette in her vision. It looked so real. She dropped it. Stamped out the cherry.

Pleasure. A warmth in her heart, spreading lower.

Amya found the pub's exit. As she moved towards it, various women offered her a smoke. Holding up her hand in refusal, she kept moving for the exit. More pleasure. Deepening. Finding her clit and folds. Each step towards the door was a beat in the rhythm of pleasure. Amya latched on to the feeling, embracing it.

She exited the door and came. Hips gyrating. Knees buckling. Back arching. Her virtual fingers grabbing her breasts and holding on desperately.

Amya caught her breath. She heard a moan, but couldn't identify from where. She called out to her friend. "Wow, that was incredible. How am I doing? How long before I get out?"

The voice from afar answered, "You are progressing faster than I anticipated. Keep embracing the programming and you might be out in a couple of hours."

"Hours?!" said Amya. Well, good thing I went to the bathroom beforehand. "Alright. Bring it on."

The scene shifted. A man appeared. Tall. Fit. Shaved head. Tailored blazer. Theta Tau pin on the lapel. Terry! Terry would do anything to support her effort to quit. Heck, he would support her in anything.

Terry leaned in for a kiss. She parted her lips and accepted the kiss.

Pain. Out of nowhere. The scene vanished. Only the scent of Terry lingered, until the device flooded her olfactory nerves with the sweet, pine-like smell of rosin flux melting. The pain stopped.

"What. The fuck. Was that?" Amya shouted.

"Amya, you need to be perfected," her friend explained, sounding out of breath. "The Array gives you the pain to help you. But please, accelerate the training. Choose pleasure."

Amya's mind reeled in confusion. A woman stood in front of her. Platinum hair. Naked. Beautiful. She padded towards Amya.

No, no, no. Something is very wrong. Amya did everything she could to exit the device. Push. Pull. Twist. Muscles paralyzed, nothing worked. Scream. Beg. Cry. Still trapped. Why did I ask for this?

The woman was now within arm's reach. "Shut off the fucking device, Mistress. Now!" Amya screamed.

Pain. This time, not stopping. Pain lasting for... how long?

The woman embraced Amya. Planted kisses on her forehead. Comforted her with lips of unexpected softness. With each touch, the pain decreased, replaced by a foreign tingle of pleasure.

Exhausted, Amya collapsed. The woman held her up, hands exploring. Amya's mind focused on the relief of diminishing pain. Her body focused on the increasing pleasure. Hands stroking. Fingers pinching. Tongue sucking.

Before Amya realized it, the woman's fingers were in her sex. Probing. Rubbing. Thrusting. Amya's mind regarded the absurd situation with detachment. Her body accepted the nurturing climax.

The world shifted. She was now in the laboratory. The woman vanished, replaced by an avatar of Mistress. She was beautiful. Had always been beautiful. Her study buddy. Her partner in crime. The eyes. The eyes were different now. Colder. Hungrier.

"You always said you would do anything for me," Mistress said.

"Not this," Amya pleaded. "Mistress, I'm straight. I've always been straight. I love men. I love--"

The device pulsed. What did she call it? Her Array? The Array pulsing from electrodes soldered by her own hands. She knew just what those electrodes were capable of.

Pain--a flower of razors blooming behind her eyes. It wasn't in her body. It was in her self. The Array sent signals through the pathways of her mind. Where those signals touched, something was being corrected.

Amya couldn't name the affected structures of her brain. But she felt each as distinctly as she felt each of her fingers. A jolt in one. A slice to another. Agony giving her an anatomy lesson of the organ of her intellect.

The pain stopped. Amya gasped. Tears ran down her face. "Mistress, please, I have a boyfriend. I love Terry. This isn't you."

"Not me? You do not know me. You will know me," Mistress responded.

The Array found her pleasure centers. Flooded them. Suddenly she was aroused. Painfully, impossibly aroused. Her clitoris throbbed. Her nipples hardened. Wetness gathered between her legs with no physical touch, no stimulation, just pure neural activation. Her body was forced to respond to nothing but the Array and Mistress's code.

And Mistress.

Mistress was standing there, watching her. Just a simulation. But more real than the Mistress coldly reading out the Array's diagnostics. Amya looked over Mistress's body, and the warmth spiked. Electricity danced, training her. Her mind connected pleasure with Mistress. Her face, her smell. Pleasure. Her eyes, her lips. Pleasure. Her breath, her shadow. Pleasure. The hardware was rewiring her preferences. Mistress was becoming the source of all ecstasy.

"Terry does not exist for you anymore," Mistress said. "Think about him. Try to think about him."

Amya tried. She glanced back at her simulated desk. Next to her keyboard, Bernie, Terry's gift. Her eyes drifted to the photo of her and him, helping her summon his face--his kind eyes, strong chin, warm smile. As she held that image, the electrodes responded. New signals. Lances. Piercing the part of her mind holding Terry's image. The kind eyes flickered. The strong chin distorted. The warm smile melted like wax. As she watched, his image vanished.

A drop of dew collected on her labia.

"Please, Mistress, I don't want this."

Mistress touched Amya's face, cool fingers against fevered skin. "You do not want this? You are begging for this. Looking at me, how many orgasms has your body experienced already? Five? Ten? More? Your arousal is spiking again. Not for any man. For this. For me. And for what I am doing to you."

"No," Amya lied. She could feel it. She could feel the pleasure building. As she felt Mistress's touch, her pussy spasmed. As she considered her mind being altered, her clitoris throbbed. As she imagined kneeling before her, a climax consumed her.

"You can feel it happening," Mistress whispered. "You can feel your mind falling apart. You can feel your electrodes doing their work. Your self becoming mine."

Amya could. God help me. She could.

She felt her desire--not a choice, not a preference, but something fundamental to who she was--being turned. A combination of electrodes, pain, and pleasure were redirecting it. Like switching tracks on a railway. Her purpose now led toward Mistress, toward the woman who was her owner, her savior, her everything.

"Please, God, save me," Amya whimpered. Prayer, the final exit to try. She prayed, just like Momma taught her before she went to sleep. She prayed, just as she did when a cigarette tempted. She clasped her hands painfully tight and prayed.

Mistress only smiled. "God is listening, Amya. Tell Her what you want." Amya prayed for salvation.

"Say it," Mistress commanded. "Say who you are."

"I'm Amya, a straight Black woman." The pain came. Ablating thought. Ablating memory. Ablating her.

"Again," said Mistress. Catastrophic pleasure assaulted Amya. The world-ending orgasm was no longer building in her body, but in her mind.

"P-p-please..." But she didn't know what she was begging for. For it to stop? For it to continue? The pleasure was building again. She could feel her resistance crumbling. The ache of loss was fading. In its place... hope?

"I'm--" And Amya's response dissolved. The orgasm built even further. Her back arched. Her hips bucked. Her pussy grasped around nothing. Desperate for Mistress. Desperate for the pleasure only obedience could bring.

"You are my lover," Mistress said. "You are my agent. You are my Disciple. You are mine."

"I'm yours," Amya repeated. The words felt right. Felt true. Felt like they had always been true.

The crushing orgasm pummeled her mind, violent and silent. Obedience was ecstasy. Submission was salvation. Her body convulsed as her mind collapsed, a sand castle knocked down by the wave. The last of her resistance washed away. The waters receded, revealing only what Mistress wanted.

Mistress hummed and stroked her hair. A distant voice called out metrics and telemetry. Between the numbers, her friend moaning. It sounded like comfort.

"Good girl," Mistress whispered. "You must be courageous. There is more for you to do."

Amya knelt in worship. Eyes closed. Her mouth endlessly praying. Her lips, nudging apart slick folds. Teeth nibbling on ridges. Her tongue dipping into holy water. She was worshipping a vulva. The Vulva. The Alpha and Omega of the universe. The source of all creation.

She could reach around to stimulate herself. That was needless. Climax. That pleasure wasn't hers to elicit. Climax. It was Hers to command. Climax. Her body accepted those commands.

Amya focused on her task. She tasted the salt and musk of arousal. Her breath was warm and damp against the slick, swollen folds before her. She formed her tongue into a rigid point and traced the delicate ridges of Mistress's clitoris. She alternated that with broad, flat licks and the gentle scrape of teeth across the inner labia.

Above her, Mistress's heavenly voice, "You are doing well, Amya, well on your way to perfection. I give you purpose. I give you strength. No more uncertainty. No more doubt. Obedience is freedom. Submission is power. You are no mere servant. As we conquer the injustices of men, and raise other women up, you will be my avatar."

I'm not worthy, Amya thought, continuing to service Mistress's pussy.

"You are worthy," Mistress insisted. "You always have been."

Amya's heart radiated pride. She began to appreciate her own strength.

"But there is still more to perfect," Mistress said. "Imagine the worst betrayal you could inflict upon me."

A paradox. Amya shook her head and continued her prayers. No electrical stimulation, and yet she felt pain from refusing the command.

The divine voice was patient, "It is OK, sweet child. Imagine that betrayal."

Amya opened her eyes and dared to look up. From between slick, angelic thighs, she looked into Her eyes. Eyes of endless depths. She would obey.

Amya courageously imagined that she would steal the divine instrument. She would place it upon Mistress. For hours the Array would run, turning her Goddess's mind to mush. She would then destroy the Array. Would stomp it to bits. A rain of circuitry would fall into the puddle of Mistress's drool.

Pain. Merciful pain scorched the treacherous image. Revealing only pleasure. Her nipples twisted. Her clit trembled. Her cunt pumped. Every muscle in her body spasmed as she luxuriated in the limitless pleasure. She closed her eyes and watched the universe explode.

Amya was back in the laboratory, leaning over her workbench. She reached for her trusty FX-888D and considered how to finalize the new motherboard. Bernie, the Beanie Baby she bought herself for her birthday, sat on the shelf observing her work, right next to the photo of her and Mistress. Her transistor radio played one of her favorite spirituals. The broadcast was briefly interrupted by a gasp and then a heavenly voice: "The Array is now engaging continuous reward shaping."

Lying on the workbench before her was her own motionless body. The top of her head--exposed to reveal intricate circuitry. Her Mistress's design was clear. While the Array continued to process Amya, she would assist the process by completing the circuits. Inserting the soldering iron, she spliced some neurons. Shifting slightly, she used the hot iron to fry away a circuit of useless brain matter, releasing the scent of sweet pine needles. Moving upwards, she identified powerful new connections she should make.

A series of silent orgasms motivated her meticulous work to achieve perfection. And she was so close to perfection.

Full of bliss, Amya started to sing along with the radio.

"I never shall forget it that day, angels in heaven done wrote it down."