Submissive Skin
(by S.B.)
Yellow, orange, and red flaming tongues reach for the sky, clouding the stars. I’ve been dreaming with a man on fire for the past three nights. I think that man is me.
I don’t know how the dream begins, I’m not sure if it ever ends. The images inside my brain don’t respect the speed limit, moving in a blur that keeps on spreading. I smell gasoline and brake fluid, I hear screeches of rubber on the asphalt, someone screams like the world is falling apart, and then the pire claims it all.
If Heaven is a place on Earth then I’m in Hell, caught in the center of the conflagration. I stumble blindly as the flames devour my clothes, knowing each step may very well be my last. Sirens blare, feet run towards me and then a voice of command echoes as I fall out of the limits of the scorching wall.
“He’s still alive, hurry!”
Alive? Am I really? I can see my body lying down there, a mass of darkened skin cracking from inside out. I always thought I would be around until eighty at least but half of it isn’t so bad, I guess. My disembodied consciousness scouts the area, realizes what happened, and almost begins to laugh. Apart from the skewed reality of action and disaster movies, what are the odds of having a helicopter crash into your taxi? No insurance is going to cover this, right?
“Is there anyone else?” another voice joins the fray. It sounds like a woman, slightly older than me.
“The flames are too intense right now, we can’t get through.”
I can but there’s no point. My passengers were caught by the spinning blades as they came tumbling down and the pilot smashed his brains against the window long before that. I’m the only one left and all I can do is float as the encroaching numbness starts to settle in. It’s been a fun ride but, hopefully next time, I’ll reincarnate as a dog and live a carefree life licking my balls on someone’s porch... yes, that would be ni...
I slowly open my eyes to a hospital ward. It’s the other dream, the one where I made it out, somehow. I lay, immobile, wrapped in so many bandages the Invisible Man would be jealous of me. A thin layer of cloth protects my charred eyelids from the bright lights in the ceiling. I hear monitors beeping, IV lines dripping. A paraphernalia of medical instruments I’ve only seen on TV is working in unison to keep me stable.
I don’t like this dream because I can’t move. The idea of being stuck to some place or someone is abhorrent. That is why I turned down the managing position at my father’s hotel, that is why his associate’s daughter will never forgive me for calling off the engagement to drive others to their weddings, sexy escapades, shopping sprees or business meetings. It’s not always about the money, you know?
Anyway, not everything is bad in this new scenario. A nice, soothing music plays in the bedroom and there’s a nurse always looking out for me. She’s tall, elegant, has a lovely Ukrainian accent, and smells of lavender and sex. I don’t have a kink for nurses, I’m not one of those guys, but in here I guess I do, traumatic experience and all.
“Good morning, Steven,” she chirps, latex-gloved hands gently checking to see if I’m comfortable. It’s the first time I’m hearing my name in one of these though I could have swore it was something else before I started dreaming. I guess it doesn’t matter because it’s just a dream, anyway.
I want to reply “Good morning, Olya” but I can’t. My lips are stuck, muscles drowning under a cocktail of morphine and other painkillers. She reaches out and kisses my bandaged forehead. “Have you been a good boy?” she then asks. Next thing I know, she’s on top of me, giving me a wonderful view of her exposed cleavage.
Huh? Wait, I’m in a porn movie, now? Well, that’s new! I think I might end up enjoying this fantasy after all.
“You’re definitely being good for me now,” she continues, right hand gliding under the sheets.
I really want to answer, to say something witty about this unexpected turn of events. I’m only able to produce muffled sounds so I play out the conversation in my mind. Dreams within dreams are a wonderful thing.
“Are you looking for something?”
“You know exactly what I want.”
“I’m incapacitated, unable to fight back. This is rape,” I feign a protest.
“Is that what you call a handjob nowadays?” Olya giggles. Such a lovely sound, sending me even deeper. Her hand continues to explore my nether regions until a relic is uncovered. It’s surprisingly clean, a cleary amidst a mass of burnt skin. Two fingers touch it, awaken it from its slumber to something worthy of a military salutation. Pressing the shaft, she gives me the most befuddling of smiles.
“Good to know you haven’t forgotten your manners.”
“Nurse, I really must...”
“... keep on dreaming? Yes, you must. Let’s shift gears, shall we?”
A strange statement, yet it makes perfect sense. With vigorous strokes, Olya takes complete control of my manhood, moving it to the left, to the right, up and down and all directions in-between. The friction is intense, a prelude to another fire but I know I’m not going to burn this time. Instead, a stronger relaxation seeps in, my eyes become droopier and droopier.
“Feels good,” I mumble.
“It will feel even better, I promise. You should go to sleep now. I’ll be picking you up shortly for the operation.”
“Ope...?” My imaginary speech falls short as we enter uncharted territory once again. She removes her hand, darts away from me. The lights fade alongside the anticipation of pleasurable release. My eyes close.
They remain closed for an indeterminate period of time, leaving me no choice but to resort to my other senses. I smell formaldehyde and other disinfectants, hear my bed being dragged away. We must be in a narrow corridor given how the sound propagates all around. Olya is talking to someone, a female doctor I’ve never heard before.
“He’s been responding perfectly so far. I truly believe he is the one.”
“He better be. If we don’t deliver results soon, heads will roll. Literally.”
“It won’t come to that.”
“Why are you so convinced of our success this time around?”
“His levels of suggestibility are off the charts and the genetic sequence mapping showed promising results. Only 5% chance of rejection.”
“That’s promising indeed. However, I don’t need to remind you what happened the last time the odds were in our favor, do I?”
At this point, Olya mumbled something unintelligible, a swear word, perhaps. My imagination keeps jumping between genres, now leaning towards a sci-fi conspiracy. I don’t even like sci-fi but I laugh nonetheless. Close by, I hear a door opening, I’m pushed through it and half a dozen other voices make themselves known, the rapid sentences they’re firing, too much of a garbled mess to filter properly. I’m able to pick up a few words, the ones used the most, sometimes spoken, other times, hissed.
“Subject. Submissive. Skin.”
I don’t know what to make of them, if anything at all. I’m not a subject, but a patient in a hospital of my own creation. I’m not submissive even though it can be fun to play the part every now and then. Most of my skin was burned to a crisp but that was in another dream that continued into this one. When I wake up, everything will be as it should be.
“Subject. Submissive. Skin.”
No. What did I just say? I’m nobody’s subject, no one’s submissive, my skin is perfect. I have a powerful imagination, and it’s simply overactive right now, filling in the blanks with a convoluted storyline.
“Subject... submissive... skin.”
I can hear the spaces, the silent sounds between words. I want to know exactly what’s being said of me so I change the dream again if needed be. I focus on one voice alone, the doctor that was speaking to Olya earlier. This time, it seems she’s talking directly to a bunch of monitors, recording the procedures and debriefing higher authorities.
“The subject is stable and being sedated into a submissive state as we speak. The compatibility tests we ran show a 95% chance of assimilation. Due to the extensive damages suffered, we will be applying the skin grafts in six different procedures throughout the next three months. We should start seeing changes occur after the first implantation but I ask for your patience until the whole process is complete.”
That’s trippy. And absurd. Okay, the fun is over because I definitely don’t like where this is going. Can you give me a blowjob this time around, Olya? Please?
“Wait a while longer, big guy,” she speaks inside my head. “You are going to enjoy this.”
Am I? No, I don’t think I will. It’s too far-fetched even for me. I’d rather be a poor porn star seduced by his nurse on a hospital bed than a lab rat in a freakish Frankenstein-like experiment. Let’s do something else, really. No blowjob? Fine. How about a trip to the Bahamas? I bet you look really good in topless. Or maybe we should go to Space. I always wanted to be the captain of my very own spaceship...
“Relax, and let it happen. You worry too much about dreams,” she continues. “Dreams don’t care so why should you?”
It’s the relaxation again, sweet numbness triggered on my brain. I don’t want this yet I need it, I need her words of reassurance to lead the way.
“You are my subject. You are submissive. You will feel comfortable in your skin,” she declares.
Although my eyes remain closed, it’s almost as if they close again. I find myself in my taxi, only this time I’m the passenger and she’s at the driver’s seat. I’m not familiar with the road we’re taking, all of my surroundings comprise of shadows fading in and out.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Where I want to take you which is where you need to be,” she replies. “Need what you want, be what you need, and keep dreaming.”
My closed eyes close again, a neverending loop where everything impossible is real. The car brakes, all sounds vanish, except for an explosion. I’m on fire!
“Shhh, you’re burning up!”
I know. It’s happening again. I’m a walking torch, an effigy shattering the night. I’m back to where I never wanted to be, helpless, on the brink of death.
“Calm down, you’re experiencing some sort of allergic reaction and you’re running a temperature because of it,” someone explains. “The early tests were promising. This shouldn’t be happening but rest assured we’ll make it all go away. Calm down!”
Easy for you to say whoever you are this time around. You sound almost like me but why should I be talking to myself? I struggle to focus again but this time things become clearer.
Olya stands before me, and she looks quite different. The nurse’s outfit has been replaced by a commanding grey business suit, she has short hair instead of long one, and her delightful Eastern European accent is gone. As far as I can tell, the hospital setting remains the same, but it’s unlike any hospital I’ve ever seen. Everything is too clean, a series of sleek lines intersecting one another, giving it the impression of an otherwordly realm. I remember thinking about science fiction before but now I’m wondering about supernatural dealings of sorts. I guess my sense of clarity is yet another illusion after all.
I’m still covered in bandages, strapped to the bed, a terrible itch on my arms and knees.
“Let me out of here!” I scream.
“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” Olya smirks. “You should be grateful, you know? We could have left you for dead out there but instead we chose to invest in you, to give you a new chance in life. It may be not be the life you remember having but it’s better than the alternative.”
“You’re messing with my mind.”
“Not messing. Changing it. We’re changing your body, too.”
“Why?”
“Why not? Change is inevitable and those with enough power should be at the forefront of it. Do you have any idea how many breakthroughs we’ve experienced on a genetic level in the last couple of years? If I were to tell you the exact number you’d amazed but most of them never make it to the general public. Too many regulations, too many false dichotomies of right versus wrong. The “playing God” card is overused but it still holds some value. If we can’t bypass all the rules, then we change the playing field.”
“By kidnapping innocents to subject them to your tests?”
“Less of a kidnapping and more of a business transaction. We paid good money to have you transported here. We’re paying good money to keep you alive. Your wounds would have killed you in less capable hands. Our technology saved you. It’s only right you save our technology in return.”
“You can’t possibly believe that.”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe in or not. You’re the one being changed, not me. You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this now and the answer is simple: soon, you’ll go back to your dissociative state of mind, dreaming dreams within dreams until you no longer can tell if any of this happened or not. The more confused your thoughts become, the easier we can replace them with whatever we desire and since your treatment is just beginning...”
The fire in my body intensifies, my forehead sweats like an erupting volcano. Two syringes come at me at the same time, one from the left and the other from the right. The cool liquid in each one seeps through my veins.
“How about I give you that blowjob now?” She mocks me. I blink and the sexy nurse is back, avid lips wanting nothing more than to feast on my manhood. It’s not real, I know that, but it’s real enough for now. I close my eyes to the wave of oral pleasure, savoring it as much as she’s savoring me, unsure of where I’ll be when I open up them again.
... operating table... monitors... skin...
... hospital bed... drugs... dreams...
... confusing words... lulling words... hypnotic words...
... operating table... monitors... skin...
... hospital bed... drugs... dreams...
... confusing words... lulling words... hypnotic words...
It’s a circle now, my mind is stuck in it. The sequence is established, its patterns can’t be defied. I dream what she wants me to dream, believe what she wants me to believe. I didn’t want her to be right yet that’s all I can think of now. She’s right. She’s in control. She must be...
... operating table... monitors... skin...
... hospital bed... drugs... dreams...
... confusing words... lulling words... hypnotic words...
She wants me to forget. Forget who I was before the accident. Forget the accident ever took place. There was no fire, no explosion, my skin didn’t fall off. This has always been my skin, this is all I’ve ever been. Obedient. Pliable, pulsating with the life and the consciousness of a slave. It is wrong to think otherwise, blasphemous even. I think what she thinks for me, parroting every command.
Sometimes, her hands are on my cock, sometimes, her nails scratch my chin, sometimes, she bites my ear lobes. My body gives in to all arousing stimuli, free will flatlined on the nearest monitor. The allergic reaction to the first procedure has been taken care of and each new upgrade becomes easier to implement. Mistress is happy and when Mistress is happy so am I, just like it’s meant to be.
“Mistress... I need you...” I mumble.
“You need to obey me,” she reminds me and how I love to be reminded of that!
“I need to obey you, Mistress.”
“Tomorrow is a very important day for me. You need to behave properly, to be as dutiful and compliant as you’re meant to be.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“I’ll reward you accordingly if things go the way I want. Do you want me to reward you, slave?”
“Yes, Mistress. Please...”
“My pleasure comes first. It’s time to sleep,” she whispers.
... lulling words... hypnotic words... I hear and obey.
Morning comes faster than expected. Though my body is awake, my thoughts remain fast asleep, conditioned by her will and their living, breathing technology fused to my body. I’m led through a series of hallways, exposed for everyone to see until I’m in a room where the monitor faces are real. All women, ranging from mid-twenties to sixties, sitting down behind a round onyx table, all looking down at the same report and then at me.
Olya and I stand at the center although I’m not allowed to retain that position for long.
“On your knees,” she instructs. I drop down, facing the floor. My eyes will not move until given orders to the contrary.
“This is Subject 410, formerly known as Steven Anderson,” she continues. “Three and a half months ago, he was involved in a terrible accident and suffered third degree burns in more than 80% of his body but he doesn’t remember that any more. In fact, even though he’s hearing me say these words, he’s not actually registering them on a conscious level. Ever since he was brought to these facilities, Subject 410 has been reprogrammed to serve as a mindless automaton, not just through the usual means of hypnosis and brainwashing we’ve used in the past, but on a genetic level as well.”
“You’re not telling us anything we haven’t heard before, Ms. Petrova,” one of the women sitting down intervenes. “Have you finally perfected Compound S?”
“We have, and Subject 410 is the living proof of that. No residual scar tissue, no cellular rejection. The Compound has been altered to replicate human physiology and applied throughout the subject’s body. The result is a second layer of tissue superimposed over the nerves, but one we have direct control of. We call it ‘Submissive Skin’”
“I’m looking at the reports and all I see is technical mumbo-jumbo,” another woman joins the discussion. “How does it work exactly?”
“Compound S is the most sophisticated piece of biotechnology we’ve ever devised. At its core, it’s organic, but there’s a mechanical underpinning as well. It operates at a low-voltage frequency undetected by normal means and constantly releases a combination of hypnotic agents on the subject’s bloodstream to keep him mindlessly obedient.”
“How does it do that?”
“It creates them. The Compound is self-replicating. It’s a living machine but a machine nonetheless and every machine...”
“... comes with a remote control?”
“Exactly. We can alter its base programming at any time. We can change the flow of hypnotics being released, we can send hidden commands through them, we can even rewrite the Compound itself causing it to self-destruct. We’re not just talking about the next evolution in mind and body control, ladies. Compound S is the perfect weapon.”
“Bold words but I’m finding it all too far-fetched to be true,” the first woman spoke again. “The report states you’ve used several dissociative states to take hold of the subject’s mind to facilitate the assimilation of the Compound. In other words, you sold him dreams and beliefs and I have no doubt he now thinks all of this is real. My question is: how can we be sure you’re not trying to do the same to us right now in order to keep your funding, Ms. Petrova?”
“Why would I resort to such a gimmick when I know you’re all women with a superior intellect? The Submissive Skin works exactly as I described and you’ll have the chance to try it out for yourselves.”
The doors open. All I see are droning footsteps and a reflection of silvery tablets on the floor.
“You’ve just been given remote controls synced to the frequency of the Compound in the subject’s body,” Olya explains. “You’ll notice a series of touch buttons to the left with some predetermined commands applied to them but you can also type your own below. The sentences will be transformed into electrical impulses which will then be converted into commands. Go on, do your worst.”
My Mistress rejoices as curious fingers explore the interface. I gaze upon my immaculate skin, unholy creation of science and God knows that. My heart starts to race, invisible strings dance within my veins.
I’m standing, hopscotching. I’m jerking off without control. I’m humping her right leg while mimicking the sounds of a dog in heat. I’m crawling under the onyx table to have my ball sack kicked around. I’m curled up on the floor, choking. The commands are swift, brutal. I can’t stop them. I submit over and over again, comfortable in my own skin, just like she said I would be.
“How soon can you mass produce this?” everyone shouts in unison.
“We’ve already begun but... with your additional funding...” Olya smirks.
The money is transferred on the spot. Blood money, lust money, money that will change the world before the world realizes it’s being changed. My Mistress is ecstatic, I’m overwhelmed by her happiness.
My reward is being allowed to fuck her right there as she tampers with the tablet to make my skin act the way she wants it to. I’ve always wanted a fifteen inch cock, but twenty is her favorite number. Everyone cheers and so do I, until we both collapse in a pool of dried semen. The perfection of the moment slowly fades away.
I wake up in my own bed, exhausted after a long shift. Strange pictures hover in my mind, telling stories of impossible things no one in his right state of mind would dare to believe in. I can’t tell how they came to be, I don’t know when they will go away, but they keep assaulting my lips with its absurdness, sleepless figments of a sleeping life, waiting to be activated at any moment from anywhere across the world.
No matter how strange, no matter how false, all these images come together in a vivid description, words I repeat to myself on the mirror every waking moment. These words will never go away and I can’t help but to evoke them right now.
Yellow, orange, and red flaming tongues reach for the sky, clouding the stars. I’ve been dreaming with a man on fire for the past three nights. I think that man is me.