by DaelyDriver

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© Copyright 2022 - DaelyDriver - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; M+/m; mpov; bedtie; straps; gag; mittens; kidnap; electro; conditioning; cd; nurse; nc; XX

**This is an erotic short containing themes of entirely fictional events. All characters present are over twenty one, and any resemblances to persons real or fictional are entirely coincidental.

Any non-consent present in this story is an ENTIRELY FICTIONAL plot device, and NO ENDORSEMENT of non-consensual play are present in this work. No events contained herein are to be treated in any way other than forms of entertainment fiction. No imaginary characters were (permanently) harmed in the writing of this very naughty erotic fiction!

Chapter One

Ken flexed, and writhed. It helped a little, but the only part of him that was close to unfettered were his feet. His predicament was an imposing and comprehensive set of leather medical restraints securing him to the twin bed in the dark room. The temperature was comfortable, if a little cool, and the mattress was soft, so there was that. Ankles, thighs, waist, chest, wrists, biceps, a peculiar head harness, shoulder and crotch straps kept him efficiently in place. His hands were ensconced in some sort of mitts-- they had him grip a sort of racquetball in each fist before donning them. A muzzle pressed against his lips snugly, keeping in a chewable yet mouth-filling wad. Somehow he could breathe through it, but it kept him from making much noise. The harness about his head kept his mouth compressed around the wadding, and straps employed the harness in keeping his head positioned and still as he lay in the sleeping position they had put him in for several nights now– on his back, and entirely immobile.

Ken had lost track of the time somewhat, and how long he had been here (five or six days now?). It had been a whirlwind time for sure, and he was also quite sure this fast pace and the full days had everything to do with wearing him down; conditioning his mind. He was anything but willing to comply with these people, but direct resistance, even passive resistance really, were met with all flavors of punishment. The rewards have become punishment too, on some levels. At times the punishment and the reward were so similar as to be indistinguishable. Ken was quickly losing ground in the fight to remain in control of his life, and he wasn't sure what waited once he lost. These people were doctors, and it seemed likely they were above board as far as the law was concerned. Of course that left infinite room for corruption and shady dealings. Everyone had heard the rumors. And thanks to his experiences, Ken had no small amount of worries as his possible future came within view.

The night concluded with fitful sleep and some episodes of unnerving arousal. The door opened quietly and in came Nurse Emily. Maybe the sun had risen. Maybe it was the middle of the night, there were no windows here, and Ken could never trust what they said, beyond the promises of pain if he did not comply-- in that he had unshakeable faith.

"Good morning, duckie! Did we sleep well?" She completed a quick inspection of the restraints and checked limb circulation, before giving a few playful yanks of Ken's crotch strap. The grin on her face and the predatory unbroken eye contact when he responded with "mmmph!" withered his determination. He knew what came next. The locking leather belt was fed under his body, and he arched his back to aid in its being fastened around his torso, about at navel height. He loathed it, he loathed this place and the people working there. But he knew things could always be made more unpleasant for him. Nurse Emily cheerily thanked him for cooperating before locking the hasp, as he lowered his waist back onto the bed. The familiar presence of the black plastic box pressing into his lower back as he lay atop it made him shudder. On his first day they triggered it repeatedly, so he would be incapable of ever forgetting what it meant to make trouble. Once his discipline belt was secured, she began removing his other restraints. There was no need for warnings, he was not going to move in any way they didn't want him to. If Ken were to resist, it would have to be in other ways.

"Alright, duckie, let's go do our business quickly so we can start our day!" Ken proceeded to the toilet in the corner, and sat atop it. Emily politely turned away, but the cameras in the corners gave him no actual privacy. He did his business and cleaned his rear with the wet wipes on a small shelf by the toilet, and washed his hands. The nurse, hearing the sink, clapped her hands, and two large, young and muscular orderlies rolled in his transport horse. The thing put its captor in a hybrid position that was a mixture of sitting and kneeling. It left all the important bits exposed, and allowed them to perform most of his "treatments" without removing or altering his restraints. He was left naked since he arrived at this facility, and the clothes he saw the other, profoundly rare, captives wear made him less uncomfortable with his constant nudity.

"Well, don't just stand around, mister! We have a full day for you, and we'll be rather upset with you if you force us to waste time on discipline!" Ken flinched at this threat, and his cheeks burned red under the head harness as he quickly took two steps to the "horse", turned his back to it and straddled the rounded surface and put his knees on the rails that supported his lower legs from knees to ankles. He dutifully settled the back of his neck against a padded surface, and the orderlies swung a solid collar across the front of his throat and he felt them lock it. It was snug but quite padded and allowed him some movement about his neck and to breathe freely. All of the surfaces of this contraption were soft, in fact, and allowed the captive to be more or less comfortably restrained within it for hours. He put his arms behind him, and they were pulled by the wrist downward and locked into the padded cuffs. His upper arms were then locked in similar cuffs, and they slid on a short rail until they came closer together, almost becoming uncomfortable before a clang was felt, locking them in place. Cuffs secured his ankles, then thighs, and two straps went full around his torso, pinning his arms to him, above and below his chest. Lastly, the discipline belt was secured somehow to the post that held the horizontal padded supports for his back. He was now once again heavily strapped and restrained, and only now was his muzzle removed, to be replaced by something different...but no better.

"And here comes your best friend! We got a lot of work to do, because you shouldn't gag so much, duckie. Open wide!" it was almost reasonable to resist, or refuse this humiliating bit. But it would result in pain, and what he refused would occur anyhow. He opened his mouth wide, feeling himself overwhelmed with hate and nihilism. He had been able to work his mouth for a minute, if that, and once again his tongue was depressed and his jaws creaked as an obscenely girthy soft silicone penis shaft was driven between his teeth and lips. It wasn't the same one every day, because every day it seemed to be longer. Bigger around. This one was nearly four inches long, and he gagged a little as the leather panel pressed against his lips. Nurse Emily backed the phallus out some, fed it back in, and this fellatio was playfully prolonged a few moments until she was able to hold her palm over his mouth with the cock fully seated without him choking on it. She did up the various straps that went around and over his head, as well as the chin strap that all these muzzles seemed to have. A tube was connected to the front of the penis gag, and that was attached to a bag that was hung on a pole that put it two or three feet above him. This was how he was fed and how he drank. There was no solid food for him, not in the time he had been here. He sucked on the cock head that went partially down his throat, and so his thirst was quenched. It was not great stuff, something akin to a meal replacement beverage in texture, flavored like a fake vanilla.

Ken had finished his breakfast shortly after he arrived in the room where he spent most of his time. Parked over a floor drain, surrounded by an essentially open space perhaps twenty feet square, he focused upon the three carts that were always there. There wasn't much to look at beyond those three items, except some anchor points below for his humiliating throne, and the arms directly above him, mounted to the ceiling, which supported some of the gear on the carts, as well as several fluid bags like the one that held his meals.

The carts dominated the space. All were parked in front of him, as if it were paramount that he study their contents. One was occupied by the virtual reality headset and associated equipment. It sat atop its holding mount, ready for him. Another cart had the "stimulation equipment": electrode pads for a device similar to a TENS unit, two plastic bowls that went over his chest, laden with tubes and wires, and a bit of parts inside them which interfaced with nipples, a tube that went over his penis, with its relevant internal sleeves, and all the numerous connecting tubes and hoses for all of these. The control boxes for the various gear on this cart lived on the top shelf, with three shelves below filled with all of these things. The third cart was the centerpiece. 

Forward of the other two, closest to him, it was by far the most memorable. The top shelf contained a device that drove an arm, which was designed to be mounted beneath him. There were four shelves below this, and the shelves were designed so the bottom shelf edge was closest, and the top shelf was farthest when one faced it. Each shelf contained one or more standing rows of dildos. The least among them up top, the most disturbing in size at the bottom. They were arranged in a graduating order, and some were anatomically human, others perhaps modeled after animals or fantastical designs. There was a set of what he heard called dilator plugs on the top shelf next to the device. They used these to assess the thing with which they would next violate him.

This room was kept cooler than Ken's room, but his brow began to sweat all the same. A week now? Maybe less. He was done with the top shelf and part way through the second. On a primal level he knew every one of those things were likely going to be driven in and out of him. And there was little doubt they would fit, when their time came. Of all the forms of pain they inflicted on people here, this rape was not among them. They dilate you, lube everything abundantly, and in the dildos go. And out. Ad infinitum. And shamefully, it didn't hurt. In fact, each day, it felt better…

Ken was fighting to fight; he knew without intervention it would stop nothing. His dreams often betrayed him of late, the imagery of the VR headset planting seeds of disturbing fantasy, so in his sleep, Ken was sapped gradually of disgust and felt the loss of a waning desire to object to what they were steering him towards.

Nurse Emily and the rotating staff of orderlies did not reign in that terrible room. Instead, it was a team of the same five technicians, every time. Their hair was all a little longer than shoulder length, they all had smallish breasts, perhaps a C cup at most, and they all wore the same one-piece white low-cut nurse-style dress that ended a little too high. Their black matte mid-wedge ankle boots left them all similar in height, the shortest sporting taller wedges, the tallest, shorter wedges. And as they performed their work on Ken, they all became aroused. They always applied the headset last, and they always had– all of them– throbbing erections by that point. Wearing none of them any underwear, this caused tents beneath their dresses, precum to soak through, and the protruding members to displace their dresses by that time. If they leaned forward and over him, and that allowed an engorged cock to pop out below the dress line, these technicians showed no modesty and would allow the rude display to remain.

As always, the warm water pouring over him snapped Ken out of his fugue. Time in this place was already difficult to reckon, but his "sessions" in that room went a good few hours, as best as he could tell, and the nature of the constant stimulation, pleasure and pain alike, along with the endless bombardment of visual and audio feeds rendered a flavor of trance. Except for the first visit there, he never even knew when the gear was detached from him, and when he was rolled out and into this washroom down the hall. It was the water that washed away the daze, as some of the familiar orderlies scrubbed him by hand with soap and shampoos. They were not unkind in their touch, in fact all of his pain had been via device and contraption. No one here touched him harshly, he realized. For all the indignity and clinical abuse, all human contact was gentle, loving even. The washing concluded with a final rinse, before they toweled his hair and used handheld warm air blowers to dry his body as he sat, bound still on his horse, if not entirely uncooperative even so. It was time for the final room.

The last stop in Ken's now-daily routine was somewhat mundane, though the room was by far the most interesting to the eye. This was the Fitness Room, where Ken was strapped into a full body device that allowed him to be manipulated at every point of articulation the body offered. In this device, he could have every muscle and tendon stretched, and all of his flexibility preserved, while having absolutely no freedom whatsoever. The first two days he resisted, and the plastic box on his discipline belt, always there when out of bed, corrected that behavior. Painfully indeed. 

The process of this limbering was predictable, and he was slowly guided from one pose to another, like a marionette. If he relaxed and bent with the device, it was honestly invigorating, as these movement sets were the closest he came to feeling unfettered since his arrival at this forsaken facility. The poses he experienced even shunned gravity, as some held him completely suspended. It felt interesting to be in a posture that one would never experience without the support of this complex frame of rods and wheels which posed him as effortlessly as a child would an action figure. Perhaps two or three hours of this contradictory liberating bondage preempted his return to his horse, and a bedtime serving of his liquid sustenance as he was returned to his room. 

Ken was allowed to suck his dinner bag empty through the cock that lived ever deeper down his throat, before he was removed from the horse and strapped into bed. Gagged with the softer mouth-stuffing sponge and the somewhat less strict muzzle, strapped in for bed, Nurse Emily lastly removed the discipline belt. Ken writhed around a little, settling much as he could. The wide crotch strap was not uncomfortable. Being soft, if a bit snug, it still left room for his bits, and a curious pleasure to lean into. Nurse Emily checked all of his restraints and bid him a good night. 

As he felt slumber crawl into him, it occurred to Ken that they might be drugging him through his "meals". It was curious– why had this not occurred to him before? Whatever the case, he was healthy still, they seemed to know what they were doing, especially nurse Emily. And perhaps anyone would be afraid and angry if they were in the middle of something they didn't understand. Afraid and angry was no state to be in if you wanted to see things clearly. Being mechanically fucked was wrong, right? But the technicians seemed attractive…though Ken was straight (most definitely!), he could see that your partner penetrating you was common. Half the world was women, and they enjoyed it. And too, transgender porn was popular, so plenty of people must find it acceptable to be aroused by, and prefer, such partners. Isn't it a bit bigoted to be contemptuous of gay guys too? It really wasn't that unusual or wrong to like it anally then. Ken might have even chosen to experiment himself, most likely…

…Sleep stole Ken away.


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