The Dionysus Project

Chapter 3

Dr Jessica Walton floated into the conference room like a fragrance to join Moriarty and the three nurses around the table. A petite woman in her late thirties, she dressed like a senior executive, exuding an air of calm corporate efficiency.

“Good morning ladies,” she chirped, gliding into her seat. “I thought I should introduce myself before my first session with …” Walton glanced at the papers in her hand. “My first session with Dean.” She crossed her legs, revealing sheer black stockings reaching down to expensive light blue heels. “Now, I believe that you have some idea about the nature of this project.”

The three nurses exchanged furtive glances until Cindi finally spoke.

“I know that there’s a prisoner from the county jail. He’s to perform sex acts. I think it’s a research project, but you plan to make money with … films.” Cindi’s tone highlighted her doubts and the nurses exchanged more looks until Kimberley added.

“We’re getting paid to abuse him in the Treatment Room. We’re to humiliate and torture him while you make his cock bigger with some secret drug.”

“Your role is to prepare him for his role in the Dionysus Project. Humiliation and torture are such … rough words. We are looking for something more refined, such as … debasement and conditioning. We are not selling a submissive sissy slave. We’re selling a stallion, someone that all women will want. Therefore, there is a great deal of careful work for you. We must tread a fine line between getting the subject to do what he may not want to do, and demeaning him to such a degree that he is unable to perform his sexual role.”

The three nurses nodded, though Walton was unsure that they understood the nature of the task ahead.

“We also need to provide the subject with a ‘refuge’ where he can feel safe. Now this could be a place, or it could be a person. Someone he can turn to when all the pain and degradation become too much for him, and I know there will be quite a lot of discomfort and humiliation to come. We’ve decided that Dr Moriarty should be his ‘refuge’ for the next few months. The subject needs to see Dr Moriarty looking after his interests, looking after his safety. She will be his saviour.” She looked across to her colleague and smiled.

“Good cop, bad cop,” Tiffany commented.

“In simple terms, that would be an apt description.”

“Even though the bad cops are only following the orders of the good cop?”

There was a tense silence after Tiffany’s remark until Walton spoke, her tone brisk and sharp.

“Your task is to prepare Dean for his future life as a porn star and sex slave. You must follow our instructions. The subject must endure a painful and demeaning experience if we are to achieve our objectives, and you are to receive your very generous bonus.” The mention of the cash bonus for a successful project silenced the three women until Cindi asked a question.

“Can we fuck him?”

“You may, but he must be bound. He must know that he is servicing you. He is to be just a sex toy for our enjoyment. He can only engage in bondage sex. I am not suggesting that you deny him pleasure. We need to maintain his morale over the next few years, but he must serve us. Is that clear?”

“He’s going to service me. I can get used to that.” The other nurses giggled at Kimberley’s remark, and the discussion around the table dwelt on the subject’s luscious body until Moriarty began to explain the scale of the degradation and the purpose of the main activities.

“We need to remove his sense of shame at masturbating in public. We will be gradually expanding the range of scenarios, to eventually include anal penetration. He must be subject to a wide selection of demeaning and degrading circumstances until there is simply no situation where he will feel uncomfortable being both naked and performing before an audience. He will be kept naked at all times. It is your task to make him both shameless and eager to please me.”

The three women knew that their contracts required them to perform a variety of shocking and disgraceful tasks, and to follow the instructions of Moriarty and Walton without question. Patterson had demanded that at least one of the nurses, Tiffany, was actually a registered nurse. Cindi was a former security guard and Kimberley had been a police officer before being dismissed from the LAPD for theft. Moriarty had insisted that they dressed and acted like whores in costumes. Dean was to learn to loath them, and to look to her for salvation.

“Now, as you know,” Walton continued. “The subject is currently lying on the table in the Treatment Room. We’ll be giving him ‘tremor therapy’ today, to set the tone for his treatment. You will administer the treatment, and you will abuse and insult him while it happens. Dr Moriarty will arrive to end the treatment, and then she will take the subject to his cell. Is that clear?”

Walton ascended, as gracefully as a model, to pass her hands along her tight light blue skirt. She always selected the most elegant attire, even when burrowing into the bowels of naked suspects in icy cellars in eastern Europe. She was an acknowledged authority in ‘conditioning’ suspects and potential threats, who chose profit before patriotism when she resigned from the CIA to exploit her expertise.

“Now, I think it’s time I was introduced to Mr Brown. Has he been prepared according to my instructions?” she asked Cindi.

“He’s ready and waiting, and he’s been there for thirty minutes.”

“Only half an hour? Let’s leave him there a little longer. Kerry, let’s have a cup of coffee and a cake. We’ll leave our subject to stew in his own juices for a while.”

Moriarty and Walton entered the Treatment Room an hour later to find Dean strapped to the table, his hands by his side with his knees spread apart, exposing his anus as well as displaying his penis. Walton stood over him, smiling down on him as she inspected the binding, tightening the knee restraints to draw his pelvis higher from the table. He grimaced at the discomfort, his body taut within the belts.

“Now, Dean,” Walton began. “I want you to relax. I’m here to help you reveal everything. I want you to tell me all of your secrets, all of your darkest fantasies. That is why you are naked and bound to this table. You can have no secrets from me. You are revealing all of your body, your fantastic body.” Walton could not resist letting her hands rest on his heaving chest. “Do you understand?”

“Yes Miss,” he gasped, looking down at her hand on his sweating body.

“Good. I want us to be friends. Good friends.” Her hand wandered along his stomach to reach his erection, and she began to massage his glistening tip. She was pleased to note a compliant movement of the hips as she took hold of his foreskin to rub the flesh against the palm of her hand.

“I’ve brought Dr Moriarty along because she needs to know all of your secrets. She wants to help you. Do you want that? Do you want Dr Moriarty to help you?”

Dean stared at Moriarty, a calm look without fear or anger.

“Yes. Yes, I do.” Walton was delighted by the desperation in his voice.

“But if we are to help you, you have to become our slave. You must serve us. I think there’s only one way for you to show me that you want to serve us, to serve Dr Moriarty. Dean, I want you to rub yourself off in my hand. Now push hard.”

Dean, his legs held fast by the straps could barely move his body. There was no chance, even as he became more aroused, of masturbating against her hand. He grunted as he tried to force his member against her palm, and Moriarty was pleased to note his eagerness to satisfy Walton’s demand.

“Come now, Dean. You can do better than that.”

“Miss, I can’t move … can’t move my legs.”

“Now Dean, you should be able to get yourself hard for me. You’re not really trying.”

“I am, Miss, I am.” Dean grunted as he fought to throw forward his hips.

“Dean, I don’t like your attitude. I’ve tried to be kind, but you’re just insulting me now. Dr Moriarty, I am sorry, but I cannot agree with you when you say that Dean is an enthusiastic research subject. I think he’s fooled you.”

“I’m not so sure, Dr Walton. He has seemed so cooperative.”

“I think we should administer some ‘tremor therapy’ to improve his attitude.”

“Are you sure?” Moriarty asked, casting a swift glance at the naked and bound man on the table. “Tremor therapy is very painful.”

Dean gaped at Moriarty at the news of the painful treatment and then renewed his frantic thrusts.

“Let’s get the nurses for their opinion.”

Dean shuddered at the mention of the three women in short tunics and pink knickers, his ruthless tormentors for the past two days. He knew that they would cast their vote for the most degrading and painful treatment imaginable.

Walton left the room in search of the nurses, leaving Moriarty alone with her captive. Two minutes later she returned to see her embracing his erection. Moriarty’s voice was soft and comforting, encouraging him to abandon his pride and force himself into her grasp. Walton enjoyed a view of his waxed body, shorn of all hair, glistening with sweat and envied Moriarty for securing so much research funding to enjoy a stud as a personal sex pet. In her six years with the agency she had only enjoyed about three or four chances to torture good looking men, mainly because most candidates had endured savage beatings before they engaged her more refined methods. Now, she was being given the chance to manage a genuine stud, and she would be able to enjoy him for months. She smiled at her victim as she attached metal clamps to each thumb, provoking a frenzied shove against Moriarty’s fingers.

“Push, Dean, push. You can do it,” Moriarty told him.

Walton stood for a moment, enjoying the spectacle, before placing a clamp on both big toes.

The three nurses arrived, and they all laughed to see Dean trying to pump himself using Moriarty’s palm.

“Ladies, I think you need to settle a disagreement between myself and Dr Moriarty. I believe that our subject is arrogant and lazy while Dr Moriarty believes that he is trying his best.”

“He’s a slut. He thinks he’s above all this.” Cindi was the first to speak, moving closer to spit her words into his face.

“He’s just a poser,” Tiffany added. “I don’t think he really wants to help us.”

“He’s using us to get out of jail. We should send him back, and get someone who really wants to help Dr Moriarty.” Kimberley was the last to speak as all three women moved closer to observe his disgrace.

Dean’s efforts were now shaking the table, but he was still no more than erect in Moriarty’s hand. She whispered a few more words of encouragement, leaning close to his face, but eventually even Moriarty was forced to accept that Dean was refusing to perform. She sighed and stepped away.

“I’m sorry,” she told him as she walked to the door.

“Please Doctor, I can’t … Please don’t go.” He thrust his body against the straps in frustration, but he was too tightly bound to do more than quiver in his bonds. Moriarty remained at the door, watching him writhe on the table in a desperate attempt to rouse his penis.

“Dean. I’m very disappointed.” She left, leaving him alone with the nurses, all eager to witness the electric shock torture.

“Are you ready for the shock of your life?”

“This is going to make you piss and shit yourself, you slut whore.”

“Man whore, that’s what you are. Get used to this fuckmeat. You and your pole belong to us now. Now we’ve got rid of Moriarty, let’s have some fun.”

Walton placed the camera tripod at the end of the table and set Kimberley the task of filming the ordeal.

“We need to keep a record, to show the scale of this young man’s arrogance.”

“Smile for your fans, slut.” Kimberley giggled as she set the focus on his face and then his erect member.

“Please, I’m begging you. I can’t move my legs.”

“Enough,” Cindi slipped a ballgag into his mouth as Walton set the timer and examined the settings before telling everyone to step away from the table.

Moriarty watched from behind the glass screen as Dean jolted, rising in his straps and releasing a vicious wail through the gag. He remained aloft for a second before collapsing to the bench. The nurses offered their victim a sarcastic round of applause.

“That was high, but I think we can go higher.”

“Are you up for that?” Kimberley asked.

“Ready for another. Well, ready or not, here we go.”

Walton pressed the switch once more and Dean shot up from the table to hover, his legs quivering, before sinking once more to the table.

Cindi took his erect penis in her hand and he began to pump his thighs in a desperate effort to ejaculate into her hand.

“Pathetic,” she said, looking into the camera and smiling. Walton administered a third and then a fourth dose while Moriarty watched the ordeal from the neighbouring room. The fifth jolt was followed by a look from Kimberley behind the camera to the glass panel. Walton delayed before sending the sixth blast into their victim. The taunts had ceased and all were now awaiting the appearance of Dean’s saviour to end the torment. Tiffany motioned to Walton to turn down the control to issue a lower dose, but it was too late and the seventh jolt almost shook the room. The prisoner lay still on the table.

Tiffany ripped the clamps from the thumbs while Kimberley reached down to release the toes. No one spoke while Tiffany, the only genuine nurse in the room, checked his pulse. She sighed with relief and removed his straps to roll him onto his side. Walton was explaining to the others that she had tried to turn down the voltage but had accidentally increased the dose as Moriarty finally returned to the Treatment Room.

“You took your fucking time,” Tiffany growled.

Dean stirred on the table, opening his eyes and gasping for breath. Moriarty laid a hand on his hot, damp forehead. He recognised her and he smiled.

“It’s alright. I’ve told them to stop. Everything will be fine.” She whispered the words as she stroked his face. “Everything will be fine. I’m here now.”

As Walton stepped away from the table to search for the nurses he looked at Moriarty, beseeching her to help him. The door closed and she came to his side, a vision of compassion, to tell him that he had to please Dr Walton. She was a harsh women, a sadist appointed by her employers as their spy. If Dean did not perform, they might close the project. She offered to help by allowing him to masturbate against her hand. She laid a gentle hand on his taut body, the flesh now covered in sweat.

“Come on Dean, let me help you.” Her voice was low and soft, almost soothing, as she enclosed his penis in her palm, pressing gently on the shaft. “Let me give you a helping hand.”

The bounds held him tightly, but he was able to move his foreskin about an inch, straining his back to thrust his penis into her palm. She whispered words of comfort and support as he grunted in panic, almost in tears as he laboured for precious friction. Now she was able to lean down, her lips no more than a few inches from his panting mouth. She could feel the heat of his breath as she told him to try his best, and pleaded for him to not let her down.

Walton returned to attach the clamps, followed by the nurses. Their cruel taunts contrasted so sharply with Moriarty’s kindness. She touched him on the arm, where his tattoo once adorned his flesh, and told him that she could do nothing unless he was willing to help her.

“Do you want to help me, Dean?”

“I do, Miss, I do, but these straps there too tight. I can’t …” He gritted his teeth.

“Shut up you whore, take your punishment.” Tiffany was eagerly playing her role, slapping her victim as she offered the insult.

Moriarty stroked his shaft one last time before stepping away, a look of profound despair on her face. When he pleaded for her to stay she felt a quiver of remorse, but she managed to steel herself to tell him of her disappointment, allowing the words to catch in her throat as if almost overcome by his failings.

Moriarty hurried to the next room to watch the events in the Treatment Room through the special window fitted to allow observation of the research subject’s therapy. The nurses gathered around him, though they kept away from the window to allow Moriarty a clear view of the torture. He continued to struggle, even though his thrashing against his bonds only provoked laughter from his audience. Walton prepared to dispense the first jolt with a cruel countdown that concluded in an understated buzz, a muted scream and a frenzied thrust into the air. The nurses applauded and every successive jolt brought forth more abuse and savage taunts. One of the nurses even reached down to fellate the tip of his penis between bouts.

Moriarty was delighted with the first session in the Treatment Room. He had looked to her, and only her, for escape from the torment while the nurses were performing their role as vicious and cruel perverts. She had not welcomed Patterson’s decision to employ three assistants to help train him for his future life, especially when she learnt that stunning bodies and a depraved personality were the main elements of their job description. She sensed rivals for his attention, and had insisted that they avoid any private contact with the prisoner. They might have better bodies and be able to wear pink panties, but they were to be his enemies, and she was his only true friend. She had no doubts after this first session that he would loath them beyond measure. After this, he would belong to her, and her alone.

As he writhed on the table after each bout of electric torture, his subdued screams mingling with their mockery, she knew that the Treatment Room would be a place of terror for him. It was there that she would show how much she cared for him, by easing his torment and even halting abuse sessions. He will learn to worship me, she thought, and come to truly love me.

Moriarty was so distracted by thoughts of how she could fashion opportunities to shield him from the sadistic nurses that she failed to notice that their taunts had ceased. Walton was standing over him, hesitating before inflicting the next charge. The table jolted as a minor explosion seemed to strike the room. He bounced on the table, but then lay motionless. Moriarty returned to the Treatment Room to find him lying on his side. She leant down and issued her words of comfort, and he offered her a gracious smile. She knew then that his first session in the Treatment Room had been a great success.