The Dionysus Project

Chapter 6

Dean and his team of tormentors soon settled into a hideous routine. Every morning at seven he would be taken by the night guard to be showered before returning to his cell for a morning meal. Then, at eight sharp he would be taken to the Treatment Room for a hot tube to be inserted into his urethra for two hours. Each day the pain diminished by a small fraction, but after two weeks a new, wider, tube was used and the agony returned before easing once more with every passing day. Dean knew that he would soon be enduring another, wider, tube, shoved down his penis and every morning he waited for the agonising sting of his insides being scoured by the porous plastic. After his ‘therapy’ there would be another shower to remove the sweat and the urine before he would commence his daily dose of humiliation and abuse.

Dean would then spend two hours ‘on parade’ around the headquarters of the Genesis Corporation, a dose of Moriarty’s special compound ensuring that he was constantly erect during his shameful tour. He was openly displayed naked to enable him to become accustomed to public disgrace, so each day the nurses inflicted fresh indignities upon their captive. The shackles would change from cuffs to rod restraints, he would have his legs bound tightly so he could be caned to speed him on his way, and sometimes he would even tour the building unhindered, as if to demonstrate to his audience that he was now a complete whore. The occasional butt plug, decorated with tinsel during the Christmas holidays, also proclaimed his appeal to gay men. 

The office workers were encouraged to relish Dean whenever he appeared, though few of the female workers needed encouragement to enjoy his body, and his heartless escorts missed no opportunity to require him to provide a demeaning performance. However, as Dean’s stay at the Corporation came to be counted in weeks rather than days, his sense of shame during his outings began to fade. Moriarty and Walton were delighted to learn that by the end of the first month he readily went to any woman who beckoned him to their desk to present his erection for their entertainment. He was becoming a performer.

Senior members of staff soon enquired whether Dean was available for private performances away from the prying eyes of their colleagues, and the nurses began taking bribes to provide Dean for thirty minute sessions, either in the executive’s office or in one of the private lounges in the basement. The trade only lasted a fortnight before Moriarty learnt of this private enterprise and brought the prostitution of her research subject to an end. She would earn something greater than money for selling her captive’s body to her colleagues.

       Moriarty sensed that her Research Centre had been dismissed as a trivial feature of the Corporation. Now, the most important executives in the building were coming to her for favours, a thirty minute session with a bound and captive stud. There were no payments involved, just Moriarty’s pride that her prisoner, her creation, was now sought by powerful women who had not even spoken to her before the Dionysus Project. Now, they called her Kerry or Dr Moriarty, and would stop her in the corridor to enquire about the progress of her project and, almost in passing, discover when he would be available. Kerry limited all sessions to just thirty minutes and would only allow two bookings each day, almost all appointments confined to the senior members of the Corporation. She knew she had to ration her prize asset.

       By noon Dean was ready for his meal in his cell to be followed by an hour of exercise and a brief session under tanning lights, because there were too many humiliations, too many indignities to be endured to allow Dean the time to be bronzed by the sun.

The afternoon was dedicated to ‘performance development’ in the new Performance Suite. Dean was obliged to stretch and bend to hold a variety of positions. He needed to be flexible and supple, able to present himself in virtually any stance demanded of a client or a film director. The exercises also underlined his need to ‘perform’ at all times. After his practice he would be forced to mount a special device in the shape of a large box built to Walton’s specifications for at least an hour without rest to strengthen his body for his forthcoming displays. Walton continued to visit Dean, but only to tutor the nurses in the methods necessary to maintain a submissive and compliant stud.

       The evening was dedicated to another two hour bout of expansion therapy, one hundred and twenty minutes bound to a table while scorching hot fluid seeped into his phallic muscle, and the day ended with a few hours of masturbation while his penis was still erect from Moriarty’s potion. The nurses had created special footholds for his masturbation pose. He would place his feet on these pads, spread far apart, while he attempted to ejaculate. The evening session also offered the opportunity for the nurses to beat him with their hands or with Cindi’s special short cane. Dean would remain, massaging his dry penis in the vain pursuit of a last orgasm of the day, until he would be sent to his cell to eat his evening meal before the lights went out at eight fifteen. As Moriarty had told him the night before his savage torture at the hands of Walton, Dean spent all day naked and most of his waking hours in chains.

Dean’s entire existence revolved around perfecting his sexual performance in readiness for his forthcoming career, yet after more than two months of the fitness and abuse regime, he was almost accustomed to his daily routine. He could now walk naked through a crowd of clothed men and women without a thought for his demeaning condition. He could produce an erection within seconds, even without the use of his hands, and his training now enabled him to perform even the most degrading positions without any sense of shame. He knew that any resistance to the nurses’ demands would be severely punished, and he knew that only Dr Moriarty offered any hope of relief from his ordeal.

Ten weeks after his arrival at the Research Centre, Moriarty and Walton felt Dean was ready to be presented to some special guests, four former porn stars who now acted as talent scouts for the largest adult film company in the city. They were wined and dined in the Executive Board Room before being taken by the three nurses, who attracted a great deal of interest in their short tunics and pink underwear, to the Performance Suite.

       The Suite contained a small circular stage encircled by a three curved sofas, with a second row of leather chairs raised above the sofas to allow an audience of about twenty guests to view the show. The audience settled into their seats in the front row as Tiffany placed a strange clear plastic box on the stage. Moriarty stepped forward to offer an explanation.

“This is our latest invention, which is about to be demonstrated by our research subject.” She turned to the door and Dean appeared, led by Cindi to stand over the box. He was brought to his knees and shackled with his erect penis forced into the opening at the back of the box.

“As you can see the subject has been mounted on the device with his penis inserted into the orifice. The pads lining the passageway offer sufficient purchase without constraining the member, broadly similar to a female natural passage. As you will notice, the tip of the penis is protruding from the end of the passage.” Moriarty bent down to demonstrate her point and her eyes met Dean’s stare. She looked away. “This enables us to measure the extent of penetration using a beam of light. The penis must break the beam of light at regular intervals otherwise a small electrical impulse travels through the passageway, inflicted a minor shock to the subject. This encourages the subject to sustain his momentum for prolonged periods. It will also train him to maintain the operation even after ejaculation. No falling asleep after he has shed his load.” The women chuckled.

       Moriarty slapped Dean’s buttocks and he began pumping into the box, the tip of his penis emerging from the hole within the box like a shy pink snake. Moriarty stepped off the stage and pressed a remote control button to set the stage revolving, allowing every guest a full view of Dean’s desolate performance.

“The subject is firmly attached to the device by the ankle and wrist. This merely serves to demean and degrade. As you will notice, his anus is exposed, and there may be modifications that will enable us to exploit this position for some anal preparation. As I am sure you’re aware, we intend to utilise the subject for homosexual activities, both for film and personal appearances.”

“Is he gay?” one of the women asked. “His backside looks like it’s taken quite a battering.”

“No, I do not believe that he is a homosexual. However, we employ his anus for disciplinary purposes.”

“You mean you rape his arse if he’s naughty?” she asked with a giggle, winking at Dean as he revolved on the stage.

“Well, in simple terms, that would be the case.”

Moriarty was unimpressed by these women, dressed in tight garish dresses and high heels though it was only four in the afternoon. The cosmetics were brash and all four seemed to be aroused by Dean’s performance, with one guest even fondling her crotch as she listened to her neighbour. Moriarty returned to her description of Dean’s training schedule as he pounded his pelvis against the padding of the box, groaning in delight to be beating his cock into a plastic box. Dean had been instructed to exaggerate the sounds of his sexual excitement, just as all porn stars constantly dwelt in the throes of sexual ecstasy

“We steer clear of his genitals for obvious reasons, having invested so much time, money and effort in fashioning his phallus.”

“Does he feel shame? He’s looking at me as if he’s enjoying us watching him fucking a rubber hole.”

“The subject has been trained to undertake all of his tasks with enthusiasm. He has been taught to look at the women in the room, especially any visitors, while performing. This is partly a consequence of attempting to avoid pain, but also due to the excellent work conducted by Dr Jessica Walton. She has been demolishing the subject’s sense of value, his worth. The intention is that he will become utterly shameless in his sexual activities. I am sure you have considerable experience of these matters in your long adult entertainment career.” The former whore sent a withering look across the stage that Moriarty chose to ignore. “We believe that this bold, almost arrogant, attitude will enhance his value if there comes a time when he is made available for purchase.”

“You mean to sell him?”

“We have not excluded the possibility that he could be sold once we feel that his value to the Corporation has come to an end.”

A blonde past thirty, dressed in a crimson skirt and blouse, mounted the stage to stand over Dean as he pumped his thighs into the machine. She reached down to caress the muscles on his back and then grasp his testicles as his penis disappeared back and forth into the machine. He grunted slightly from the pressure on his precious globes.

“How many times does he come each day?”

“He ejaculates between two and three times each day.”

“That’s impressive.”

“We have been providing him with a diet enriched in proteins and additives that enhance his sexual prowess as well as using our special compound to maintain an erection.”

“Have you tried injecting growth hormone? They use them on bulls, but it must be the same principle. You can significantly increase the amount of semen produced, which will enable him to have bigger orgasms. I can assure you that female customers expect to see a lot of milk at the end of the show. Dr Moriarty, it’s not called the money shot for nothing. Do you mind if I entertain myself with him?”

“Not at all. You’re welcome to engage in any form of sexual activity with the subject. He’s here to entertain our special guests.”

She reached into her bag for a bright blue dildo, drawing a round of applause from her female companions.

“There’s a girl who’s always ready for action.”

“I knew we would be meeting a captive stud, so I thought I might indulge a fantasy of mine.”

She removed her clothing with the assurance of a porn star, revealing silicone breasts and a bald vagina, and slipped into the harness before setting the azure dildo into the bracket. She went to stand before Dean to display her instrument.

“Looking forward to this in your arse?”

Dean did not answer, provoking a slap on the buttocks from Moriarty.

“The slave will answer the mistress.”

“I am happy to please you, Miss.”

“Good answer, slave.”

“Go, Roxy, go,” shouted the woman with her hand on her genitals as Roxy strolled to Dean’s rear and placed the head of the dildo against his anus. “Rape that hole.”

“After three, ready or not, here I come.”

The countdown concluded, she began to push the plastic tip into his passage. After the third thrust the dildo began to part the muscles. A few more strokes and the entire head had entered the bound slave. Dean was not gagged but he only grunted with each quickening stroke, a barely audible moan as the muscles surrendered to the force of her thrusts.

As he revolved on the stage Moriarty came into his view. He fixed his eyes on her as he rolled past. She was uncertain whether he was blaming her for this humiliating violation, and questioned whether the slap on the buttocks to evoke an answer to the woman’s question had been necessary. However, she knew that gay men would be as interested in Dean as their heterosexual sisters, and his anus could withstand a great deal of abuse, as Walton had already demonstrated during her training sessions. He would learn to endure these tests.

Roxy spent more than half an hour pounding into his anus, at one point removing the pelvic harness to manually batter his passage. Eventually, the other women insisted upon paying attention to his front rather than his rear so he was removed from the box and displayed, to masturbate in a lewd display that would have shamed most lap dancers. The next guest, huge plastic breasts in a purple cheerleader’s top that, Moriarty thought, she probably borrowed from her daughter, climbed onto the stage. She removed her pants to reveal more swollen and shaven lips and began to ride Dean as he lay on the stained floorboards.

Twenty minutes and three orgasms later she rolled off her partner, declaring him to be a fantastic lover, and immediately another woman called Dean over the lick her mound before she stretched her legs wide apart and invited him to “pummel my pussy.” Dean obliged with a vigorous barrage that left the woman screaming out each of her four orgasms while her pink stilettos quivered overhead. The woman with the blue dildo found a cane and administered a flurry of strokes that heightened his pace, provoking the woman on the couch beneath him to cry out in ecstasy.

These women, Moriarty concluded, were no better than whores, their bodies the outcome of silicone and the plastic surgeon’s skill. They readily disrobed to show their privates to an audience while they brashly enjoyed their time with Dean. They did not deserve him, especially the fourth women, the oldest and plumpest of the set, who insisted on fellatio while inserting her gigantic fingers into his anus. The last woman, Katya, spent more than twenty minutes sucking and licking every part of his penis until she ordered him to descend to offer her a similar service on her shaven and misshapen genitals.

Dean’s show had been two hours of unrelenting sexual might, and Moriarty felt immense pride as she watched him perform on the revolving wooden stage. After the prolonged anal penetration she wondered if he might be unsettled by the ordeal, but once he was commanded to stand on the edge of the stage, no more than five feet from his audience, he offered a brilliant show. The power of his onslaught against the woman in the pink shoes had moved the heavy sofa back almost a foot while his partner appeared to have been drilled into the cushions. Soon there was nothing other than her flailing legs and the occasional moan.

Moriarty studied the audience, and she knew that they were all impressed by his display. These were experienced figures in the world of porn, not easily staggered by a naked man with an erection. She decided that Dean had earned a treat for his labours, and that tomorrow would be a day of rest from abuse and exercises. Katya finally collapsed against the sofa, breathing hard as she trembled a final orgasm. Then she slipped into her knickers and planted a passionate kiss on Dean’s lips.

He closed his show by standing, hands behind his back, on the stage as it revolved before his audience. The guests stood to applaud the sexual artist before the nurses led them away, leaving Moriarty alone with Dean, panting on the stage while he held his pose. She mounted the stage and touched his arm above the elbow, the site of his badge.

“You did very well today, Dean.”

“Thank you, Miss. I tried my best.”