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DISCLAIMER: The following work of complete fiction contains topics & actions that some may find difficult. Non-consensual sex, t0rture, bondage, imprisonment, abduction, violence, and sex-slavery are all part of the story.
Choosing to proceed with that knowledge and warning is your own choice.
Ch. 2 –
Mason sat at the control panel, looking over at the captive figure in the chamber. Item 884, said the chart in front of him, as well as all the monitoring screens built into the panels. He’d been in there for four hours so far today, eight hours the prior day. The guy didn’t know it, but he had at least another week of sixteen-hour daily treatments to go before his first evaluation. Whether he got another week after that would depend on how effective the first round was.
The door to the control room slid open, and a young, slim blond boy walked in. Mason side-eyed the guy casually as he kept his gaze on the consoles, apprised him at maybe 18 or 19 years old, probably some college kid here for a summer assignment. Heh, maybe. The boy’s eyes went wide as he entered the room, flanked by two burly security guards in black fatigues and fabric masks.
“Hi, I’m Ben? I was told this is to be my station?”
Mason looked up from his console with irritated disinterest.
“Mason. Have a seat.” He motioned to the chair next to him, in front of the observation window. The guards stepped back into the hallway as the steel door slid shut with a silent whisper.
The boy slid into the rolling office chair, never taking his eyes off the tall glass window that looked out into the chamber, and the panting, sweating, struggling man in a blue lycra catsuit that was bathed in spotlights and strapped spread-eagle to a wicked looking metal cross. Evil-looking devices lined the walls of the chamber, and some kind of cup seemed to be clamped over the captive man’s crotch.
“You new here, Ben?” Mason inquired. After the boy didn’t reply, continuing to stare through the control room window, Mason jabbed him in the shoulder with a finger. Ben started and quickly looked at his counterpart.
“Sorry, yes… yes, I just started for the summer today,” he stammered. “… what IS this? I thought this was a medical research center… I’m supposed to be evaluating hormone production drugs for my internship,” he blurted out, bewildered. He surveyed the panels and displays of readouts and controls before his gaze returned to the chamber window.
“What are you doing to that guy?”
“Medical research, eh?” Mason chuckled at the boy. “Well, this place is something like that.” He leaned back in his seat, and looked up at the struggling subject. “See, Item 884 up there in the preparation chamber has been… selected… to take on a very special assignment. We provide a service at this facility, Ben.
We supply sex slaves to very rich clients. Made to order, more or less.”
The blond boy’s eyes got even wider. “… what?”
“Mmmhmm! Clients come to us with what they want in a male sex slave, maybe they even had someone specifically picked out already. That person is brought here, and then they’re prepared for their new life in the prep chamber.” Mason motioned half-heartedly at the twisting, struggling, sweat-soaked man on the table behind the glass, desperately trying to unstick his body from the platform.
“See,” he continued, “the chamber uses a number of different technologies to get into someone’s head. Hormone stimulation, adrenaline production, endocrine manipulation, we can even affect nerve centers or induce hallucinations through direct microwave brain stimulation. We use these things to break them down, make them far more susceptible to what we want them to be. Item 884 in there is now on day two of the process.”
Ben stared through the glass, a mix of horror and fascination on his face. Chase, Item 884, stared back through bloodshot eyes, chest heaving and body writhing as he lay stretched out on the platform. Ben couldn’t help but stare at the device covering the guy’s bulge, its lights flashing, it clearly doing something to the guy’s junk….
“Hear, have a listen,” Mason chortled.
The technician flipped a switch, and speakers in the control room began relaying the panting, frantic gasps that echoed through the chamber itself, accompanied by buzzing mechanical whirrs and hums that varied in pitch and intensity. “Please…” came the begging whine through the speakers. “Please stop… I’m… God, I’m so… please…”
“But what is it doing to him?” Ben breathed quietly.
“In basic terms?” Mason explained, turning the speaker volume down a bit, relegating Chase’s moans and pleas to the background. “You could say it’s making him horny… but that’s a bit like saying a nuclear bomb makes a loud noise. We use mechanical, electrical, chemical, and electro-magnetic induced sexual stimulation to generate arousal far, far beyond anything he’s ever felt in his life. Have a look.”
The older technician leaned over and punched a few buttons on the console in front of the visibly shaken boy. Readouts began appearing on the screens, accompanied by 360-degree scans of the subject’s body.
“Heart rate 150 bpm, testosterone production at 150%, adrenalin at 120%, serotonin at 150%, respiration elevated, looks like he’s getting a bit dehydrated too, we’ll have to note that for his rest period in a few hours,” Mason mumbled, listing off the readouts and making a note in a paper pad. “He’s got four more hours now at Level 1 before we take him for a rest period. Don’t want to give him a heart attack or a priapism!”
Ben continued to stare at the struggling man. “So… you’re sexually stimulating him? Like, he’s super horny? But this doesn’t make him… y’know… like, orgasm?” he finally managed, blushing furiously.
“Oh no, he can’t orgasm,” Mason grinned. “This panel over here, see? It’s a neural block. A very specific targeted microwave beam that disrupts the nerve center in his brain that signals for an orgasm. See, that’s how this works – we spend days or even weeks keeping him at highly elevated levels of sexual arousal, or horniness I guess in layman’s terms, but the block prevents that climax. It’s that never ending, relentless, overwhelming craving without any way to achieve relief that finally breaks their minds. After just one week of it, he’ll basically do anything we want in order to get it to stop, or to just have an orgasm. After a couple weeks, he’ll be totally broken.”
This was all too much. Ben just shook his head in disbelief. “Wait, weeks? You do this to them for weeks?”
“Oh yeah, well, that depends on where the subject starts on the Kinsey scale,” Mason explained. “Item 884 here is supposedly a Kinsey zero, totally straight guy. But the client saw him in the gym, and well… we’re going to keep him in there until he’s at least a Kinsey five. By the time we’re done with him, he’ll do literally anything to achieve sexual climax, with anything, or anyone. It’ll take at least a week, maybe two. Maybe three, if he’s really stubborn, but from what I’m seeing here, I don’t think it’ll be that long. He’s still at Level One too, if he continues to be resistant, we can always go higher. Took a guy to Level Three once, that was quite a sight.”
Ben tore his eyes away from the crazy scene in the chamber, to flash Mason a look of alarm as if something had just occurred to him.
“And… he… volunteered for this?”
“Oh God no,” Mason laughed. “He was abducted from his car at a traffic stop by a friend of ours on his town’s police force. Dude got ‘arrested’, cuffed, stuffed in a back of a cop car.” Mason grinned to himself. “They tranked him, and next thing he knew, he woke up here.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ben breathed. “This is… this is just wrong…”
“Aw, it’s not so bad,” Mason chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe what it pays, far better than what I was getting at the tattoo parlor.”
“Yeah, but that guy! He’s been kidnapped? And is being basically tortured for weeks until he’s a mindless sex slave to be sold off to someone?”
A light came on atop one of Mason’s consoles, accompanied by a brief text message. The technician cocked an eyebrow, and dismissed the message before he swiveled his chair to face the younger boy. “Oh, no, it won’t be weeks. Maybe two, at the most, like I said he’s a Kinsey zero.” A smile spread across Mason’s face.
“You, on the other hand, are a Kinsey four, I’ve been told.”
The door behind the boy slid open again, and the two burly security guards quickly stepped in, grasping the slim twink boy by the arms and bodily lifting him from the chair. Mason swiveled his chair back to the console, with a grin.
“I doubt you’ll take anywhere near that long.”