This six-chapter adventure for W began when a mysterious painted lady emerged from his lake. It concludes with that same lady winning a Sybian endurance contest and completing her assigned touch. But nothing is what it seems when W is around.
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.
All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 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) 2026 by The Technician (Technician666@Gmail.Com ).
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.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter Six - Seven Slaves for Seven Sybians
The lights dimmed while the slaves were released and helped out of the arena. Several staff persons dressed in black hurried in and quickly removed the punishment barrels. When the lights came back up, GrandMaster Karl and the two poster holders were in the center of the arena.
I don’t know if it was an intentional way of adding a little change or just an accident, but the female in the bright white microkini was now on the GrandMaster’s right, and the beefcake in the black Speedo was on his left. One of the posters said, “10, 10, 10, 8.5, 10.” The other said, “9.5, 9.5, 10, 9, 9.5." Again, lines were drawn under the numbers, and an average presented. On one poster, the average was 9.70. On the other, it was 9.50.
GrandMaster Karl began his standard speech: “Masters and Mistresses, Messieurs and Doms, Neutrals and Guests, I said that punishment was a very subjective category to judge, but our judges seemed to have agreed on the winner.”
He chuckled slightly before saying, “And I must say that I agree with them. It is rare for one of the punished slaves to cry mercy. But I have never seen an instance where both slaves being punished by the same person cried mercy– and on the exact same number of strokes.”
He pointed to the two posters and said firmly, “I wouldn’t want to be punished by either of these.” Then, after pausing for a dramatic moment, he said loudly, “But our winner is... ... ... Mistress Jasmine!”
As he spoke, both posters were flipped over. One said, “Mistress Jasmine 9.70.” The other said, “Master Wilhelm 9.50.” Both Master Wilhelm and Mistress Jasmine walked out to join GrandMaster Karl. They bowed to the audience. Then Master Wilhelm bowed slightly to Mistress Jasmine and stepped back to stand with the poster bearers as GrandMaster Karl handed Mistress Jasmine a small brass trophy declaring her the winner of the contest. After a rather long round of applause, he and Mistress Jasmine, accompanied by the poster bearers, walked out of the presentation area.
There was a flurry of activity as a dozen or so men and women in black jeans and T-shirts quickly assembled a stage area directly facing the judges’ stand. A rather large electrical cable was dragged out and laid beneath the stage. Then seven especially modified Sybians were brought out and set up on the stage. The modifications were relatively simple. There was now a motorcycle-style footrest a short way behind the saddle. A special leather restraint cuff would hold the rider’s feet firmly in place on those footrests. And the Sybians were prominently numbered from 1 to 7 on the front and both sides, almost like race cars.
The Sybians were also mounted on small platforms, about six centimeters high. At each corner of the platform, a shiny chrome pole rose about three meters into the air. A rectangular framework of chrome pipes connected the poles at the top. An extension of the frame extended a short way past the platform itself in the back. In the very middle of the front of that frame was a somewhat large pulley hanging from the pipe. Another large pulley, and two smaller pulleys, were attached to the very back cross-pipe. The pipes could be disassembled for shipment. I knew that because this was my design and a J&J modification.
Once the Sybians were in place and plugged into the heavy power cord, one of the stagehands, who was holding a large remote control, cried out, “Testing!” and all seven Sybians sprang to life. The wireless remote that controlled all seven Sybians was also my design.
He stood there pushing buttons as the Sybian motors roared loudly, and the vaginal dildoes on each of them began to wobble in circles. Another stagehand who had been standing with the Sybians called out, “All are working properly.” The dildoes stopped rotating, and the roar of the Sybian vibrators disappeared.
Next, the stagehands began threading the ropes. One rope, which had a small square piece of leather attached to the end, was threaded through the large pulley in front and then down through the large pulley in back. Two slightly smaller ropes were threaded up and then back down through the smaller pulleys. There was a loop on each of those ropes that went through a hollow wooden handle. After the ropes were threaded, they were securely tied to something that was sitting on what looked like a narrow table behind each Sybian. Much smaller ropes, not much bigger than heavy fishing line, were also threaded through each of the pulleys. The two lines that went through the larger pulley each had six wooden clothespins tied along the bottom end of the line. The two lines that went through the smaller pulleys each had something silver attached to the end of the line which glittered as it swung slowly back and forth.
After the ropes and lines were in place for all seven Sybians, GrandMaster Karl announced– almost brightly– “Time for the slaves.”
Seven naked women walked out and stood facing forward in front of the Sybians. Natasha, as expected, was standing in front of Sybian number three. GrandMaster Karl gestured toward the women and said, “This last contest is a contest between slaves. Each of these slaves has volunteered to participate in this contest to show their devotion to their Master or Mistress.”
He paused and looked down for a moment before continuing, “Obviously, only one of them can win, but that does not mean that they are less devoted to their Master.” His face, as well as his voice, became harsh as he said, “And so there will be no punishments for any of the losers.” His face brightened as he continued, “The fact that they have willingly entered this contest shows their devotion. Whether they win or lose shows what they are naturally able– or properly trained– to endure.”
There was a quick ripple of murmuring from the crowd as many– including me– caught the GrandMaster’s not-so-subtle implication that if a slave failed, it was as much the Master’s fault for not properly training her. That’s true... almost. But there are some people, whether they be Masters, Mistresses or slaves, who can naturally endure much more than other people. That ability to endure, combined with proper training, will result in a winner in a contest such as this. The ringer in this particular contest was Natasha. She was doing this to save her child. And a mother will endure almost anything to protect her child.
The GrandMaster continued, “Because they are doing this willingly, these slaves will not be restrained or strapped to these machines, as would normally be the case. They will stay in place until the end to prove their devotion to their Master or Mistress.”
I triggered my lapel mic and said softly, “We need to find out who suggested that to the GrandMaster.” A deep chuckle met my comment. Then Sam Two Feathers said softly, “... already have someone checking that out.”
My computer switched to an evaluation screen, and GrandMaster Karl called out, “slaves, mount your machines!”
All seven slaves knelt over their Sybian and slowly lowered themselves so that the large dildo entered their cunt, and the smaller one their ass. Normally a slave’s feet would be pulled back slightly and lashed to the footpost. In fact, the foot posts had been specially added to these machines for this contest. Not using them didn’t make any sense. The people forcing Natasha didn’t gain anything from her being free. The trap opened almost between her legs. Her target was right in front of her. She didn’t need to be free to take her shot. What in the hell was going on?
I continued to ponder that question as two stagehands dressed in black hurried up to each Sybian. They worked swiftly to clip the clothespins to the slave’s abdomen with six pins on each side, beginning just below the breast and trailing down from there. Then they grabbed the silver object and clipped it to the slave’s nipple. After they were done with that, they placed the handles of the smaller ropes in the slave’s hands and put the square of leather in the slave’s mouth. When all of this was completed, they signaled GrandMaster Karl that everything was ready and walked to the back of the Sybian where they stood awaiting further direction.
After all seven sets of stagehands had signaled the GrandMaster, he looked out at the crowd, held up a remote control, and explained, “Once I start the Sybians, the stagehands will very carefully remove the supports from under the weights that hang at the back of each Sybian. At that point, the large weight will be held in place only by the leather clenched firmly in each slave’s mouth. The smaller weights will be held in place by the slave’s hands on the wooden handles. I will slowly increase the vibration and wobble of the Sybian until all seven slaves have orgasmed powerfully enough to totally lose control.”
“Now,” he continued, sounding like the university professor that he was in real life, “when the slave loses control during an orgasm, she will most likely open her mouth and her hands. The heavy weight will crash to the floor, ripping all twelve clothespins from her body. She may– or may not– have opened her hands, which releases the smaller weights. But if she does, the clover clamps attached to her nipples will be painfully ripped off, and the smaller weights will fall to the floor.”
The GrandMaster smiled almost evilly as he said, “The smaller weights hitting the floor will shut down the Sybian, which will still be tormenting the slave. If she has not unconsciously released the weights during orgasm, she will continue to be driven into one orgasm after another until she finally releases her hands from the weights.”
He chuckled, “Some slaves have discovered that if they lift their hands up far enough, the Sybians will slow down, and provide some relief from that torment. Doing that, however, means that the pull of the weights will be tightening the clover clamps on her nipples. That will make it even more painful when those clamps are finally pulled off. How each slave handles this will be very interesting to watch.”
This time there was an actual drum roll played through the sound system. When that stopped, GrandMaster Karl held up his remote and pushed a button with his thumb. All seven Sybians sprang to life with a tremendous roar. The female masturbation devices are not quiet, even on their lowest setting, and seven of them vibrating together on a wooden stage was impressively loud.
All seven slaves sighed slightly and began concentrating on controlling their bodies. The slave on Sybian number five was rotating her body in small circles. My first thought on seeing this was, “She is trying to lose.” If she had been rotating her body counterclockwise, I would think that she was trying to minimize the effect of the vaginal dildo wobble by rotating with it. But she was going clockwise, and thus increasing the effect of the dildo.
I triggered my lapel mic and said, “Something is not right with the slave on Sybian five. Keep an eye on her.” A quick response in my earpiece said, “Roger that,” and I went back to watching the seven slaves on seven Sybians.
To my surprise, it was not number five who failed first; it was number one. She screamed out in orgasm and then screamed again as the clothespins were ripped from her body. She had not opened her hands and now sat quivering on the Sybian. It looked like she was rapidly moving toward a second orgasm as she swayed forward and back on the Sybian saddle. Then she screamed again. This time it was a mixture of pain and passion as she intentionally opened her hands and let the small weights fall.
“I hadn’t even taken the Sybians to setting two,” GrandMaster Karl said, sounding somewhat surprised. He then held up his remote and again pressed the button with his thumb. The noise increased significantly, even with one Sybian now shut down.
I was watching Natasha. She was breathing slowly as her body responded to the intense vibration and stimulation. Then she tilted her head up and let out a shuddering breath. She had released her first orgasm almost unnoticed by most people. The key to winning an orgasm control contest is not to hold your orgasm back, but rather to let it out prematurely, so to speak. By having many mini-orgasms, you can keep your body under control. I noticed that number six was also letting out a shuddering breath. The final contest would most likely be between number three and number six.
It took about two minutes at this higher speed before the next slave orgasmed. Slave number four screamed loudly in passion and then very loudly in pain as the clothespins and the clover clamps were pulled from her body. She sat on the now silent Sybian, crying. I could read her lips even though there was no chance of hearing her through the noise of the remaining five Sybians. She was sobbing, “I’m sorry, Master, I tried. I tried.”
Thirty seconds later, number five screamed out. When she opened her mouth, the clothespins were yanked from her abdomen. There was a slight delay before she opened her hands and released the weights, which pulled the clover clamps off of her nipples. The result was an extended scream of pain... or perhaps a fake scream of passion. Something was definitely not right about slave five.
GrandMaster Karl again held up his hand and pressed the remote control. Sybians actually use variable speeds both for the vibration and the dildo wobble, but for demonstrations like this one, a stepped control is more dramatic. If it were just a single person on a single Sybian, gradually raising the controls until she... or he... orgasmed would be more dramatic. But for this “Seven Slaves on Seven Sybians” bit, the control had a single button with seven steps, the seventh step obviously being maximum vibration with maximum rotation.
He waited a full minute and then again pressed the button. Before the next minute was up, slave number seven went into a full screaming, thrashing orgasm. There is a reason beyond controlling the slave for using restraints of some sort on a Sybian. Some women can be driven to uncontrolled, almost extreme bodily movements. Two stagehands in black outfits with a white Red Cross patch centered on the front and back of their T-shirts hurried in and helped slave seven walk wobbly into the darkness.
I heard GrandMaster Karl mutter, “I told them we had to use the restraints.” Then he held up his hand and said loudly, “Step Five.”
The noise of the vibration motors had barely increased when slave number two gave a deep moan of passion. As the clothespins ripped off her abdomen, that moan of passion deepened and intensified. She lifted herself up and very intentionally let go of the rope handles. There was no scream as the clover clamps were pulled free. Instead, her moan of passion peaked, and she sat on her now silent Sybian, vibrating in a pain/pleasure orgasm.
The GrandMaster waited for her moans to die away before holding up the remote and saying loudly, “Step six!”
Everyone waited expectantly for either slave three, Natasha, or slave six to break. Neither did, so after a bit over two minutes, GrandMaster Karl held up the remote and said, “Step seven, maximum vibration, maximum wobble.”
When he pushed the button, both Natasha and number six gasped, but otherwise did not respond. I could see people in the crowd checking their watches. The Sybians had been at maximum for over two minutes. The sound of two Sybians at maximum was at least equal to the sound all seven had made at minimum.
Both Natasha and number six were sweating heavily. The sensations from the vibration and the rotating dildo had to be very intense. Number six was very devoted to her Master, but Natasha was a mother protecting her child. It took almost five minutes, but number six finally broke. Her cry of passion was almost gut-wrenching. The leather square had slipped from her mouth during the orgasm. She took a deep breath and then released the smaller weights. She flinched, but did not cry out as the clover clamps flew upward.
Natasha waited until number six was quiet, and then opened her mouth and her hands. She did not cry out in pain– or passion. She leaned forward and triggered the trap which held the two-shot pistol. Then she rolled off the Sybian and lay flat on the floor. There were two quick shots, and the head of judge number three exploded like a ripe melon. It was a good hit. Red fragments were falling onto the table.
As soon as the shots rang out, the place went black, and Sam Two Feathers’ deep bass voice boomed through the speakers. “This is security,” he said firmly. “Stay in your seats, and put your arms on the tables.” He paused, and said, “This is VERY important! When the lights come back up, anyone with a weapon will be shot. Do not draw a weapon if you have it with you. I repeat, when the lights come back up, anyone with a weapon will be shot.” He paused, and then said in a slightly less firm voice, “That does not include you, W and Natasha.”
The computer monitors for the judges must have been on a separate circuit because they were still on and were providing just enough light for me to see the stage. Slave five was reaching forward into an opening just forward of the saddle. She was just bringing it up to fire when I tackled her off of the machine. She was relatively small and wasn’t expecting me, so we went down hard. The small two-shot pistol flew from her hand. She began crying as I lay on top of her, holding her down. “They will kill my Master. They will kill my Master,” she sobbed repeatedly.
“What is your Master’s name?” I asked firmly. She stared wide-eyed at me for a moment, and then stuttered out, “Master Carlson. Master David Carlson.” I activated my lapel mic and said, “Slave five was under duress. They threatened to kill her Master. Master David Carlson needs attention, and possibly protection.”
Sam’s voice was unusually soft as he replied. “There is a weapon detected at his table. We will move to neutralize, but a lot depends on who has the gun.”
Sam’s voice again boomed over the sound system. “We are turning the lights back on now. Remember, there are security snipers in the roof beams. Anyone with a weapon displayed will be shot. Anyone with a weapon displayed will be shot.”
The lights popped back on, and several things happened in quick succession. Visible red aiming dots appeared on the front of several men– or women– at various tables. One man was stupid enough to attempt to pull a gun. He was shot in the arm. At two other tables, the Masters and Mistresses attacked and subdued red-dotted intruders they didn’t recognize. And finally, a virtual army of men and women in black tactical gear with “FBI” on the front and back in big yellow letters swarmed into the room and began making arrests.
Natasha was lying on the ground with a Glock in each hand, but she was sobbing softly. As I approached her, I said, “It’s me,” and she pulled herself together.
“I’m alive, but Nikki’s dead,” she said flatly. “And there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Nikki’s alive, and on a private jet headed for the States,” I said softly but firmly.
When she looked at me strangely, I said simply, “Your father wasn’t the only one with friends who owed him favors.” Then I grinned slightly, and said, “Especially when they were told that an assassination plot was coming from a bunch of former KGB types in an attempt to start another war.”
“That didn’t save him,” she said flatly. “I made the touch just like you told me. Two shots in the head.”
I looked toward the judges’ table, and called out, “Xavier, are you alright?”
The third judge slowly stood up like a zombie rising from the grave. Then the headless suitcoat fell forward, revealing a very small man who was looking very tired. “I expected the bulletproof vest to be heavy,” he said in irritation, “but that damn watermelon was like a bowling ball. And I never expected those bullets going through it to be that loud.”
I laughed slightly, turned to Natasha, and said loudly, “Meet the Amazing Xavier.” Then I said a little more softly, “I borrowed him from his Vegas act for the night. He is usually the Papa Bear in an animatronic costume. Tonight’s costume was easy because we didn’t have to animate a head.”
Natasha just stared at me, slowly shaking her head as she tried to assimilate all that had just occurred.
Sam Two Feathers was walking slowly toward me. “Everything is secure,” he said in his slow, deep voice. “Only one shot fired, minor injury, no collateral casualties.” He paused, and then added, “Approximately thirty-two arrests, not counting number five.”
“We won’t count number five,” I said, looking over at where she was huddled on the ground. “She was trying to protect her Master.” I laughed, and said, “And she probably couldn’t have hit Natasha even at such short range.”
Natasha suddenly looked worried... and angry. “What about my father’s old friends who started all this?”
“I am sure,” I said tightly, “that Uncle Aleksandr will explain it more clearly to you, but apparently all of the conspirators were on the same flight going somewhere when their plane was downed by a Ukrainian drone. They will be buried as heroes of the Motherland.” I spread my arms, gesturing toward the Sybians and the judge’s table. “None of this ever happened,” I said softly. Then I chuckled and continued, “And there was no internal attempt to topple the Russian government; there was no attempt to start a war; and absolutely no CIA operatives were ever in Russia to retrieve a hostage.”
Sam Two Feathers started laughing. His deep bass laugh rumbled through the arena. “For an old retired fart,” he began, “you sure have a way of getting around and getting things done.”
“It always helps to have friends,” I said slowly. Then I turned to Natasha. “When you think the time is right, I would like to visit my godchildren. I haven’t been around much, so if they don’t remember me, just tell them that I am an old friend of the family.”
Natasha looked at me and said something in Russian. When I looked confused, she said, “That means, ‘Thank you, my friend.’” Then she kissed me on the cheek.
When I looked up, Boris/Barry was standing there looking slightly confused. “I think it’s time we went home, husband,” Natasha said firmly. “Yes, wife... Mistress... darling...,” Barry sputtered. I watched them walk off into the crowd. Partly I was watching Natasha’s marvelous ass as she walked alongside her husband. But mostly I was thinking how good it felt to be able to return favors to one of my friends.