Chapter 1

The iron gate rolled back and Dr Kerry Moriarty stepped into the darkness. A light glowed at the end of the long passageway and she walked slowly towards the figures emerging from the gloom. She was scared, but she knew that she must appear calm and confident before the three men who now towered over her. Two men wore grey shirts, and one wore white. Moriarty presumed that the man in white was in command.

       “Dr Moriarty,” she announced, holding out her hand. The man in white may have been bald and broad and his baton glowered from his belt, but he offered his guest a warm smile.

       “Harold Watkins, Senior Guard, but you can call me Harry. Miss Patterson is already in the Warden’s office.” Moriarty scowled at the news that Rebecca Patterson would attend the interviews. Patterson had promised Moriarty complete control over all aspects of the project, yet now she was involved in the choice of the pioneer.

       “Have you ever been to prison before, Dr Moriarty?”        

       “No. This is my first time.”

       “Well, it’s not a nice place to be, so don’t feel afraid of being afraid. I would like to think, Dr Moriarty, that honest folk should be a bit worried when they come in here. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to Miss Patterson.”

       Rebecca Patterson, six foot tall in high heels with wavy blonde hair and generous breasts, attracted attention even in the most exclusive clubs in Los Angeles. Many men presumed she was film star and more than a few suspected that she was a prostitute. The speculation was not entirely false, because countless times in her thirty four years she had employed her sexual charms to gain a business advantage. This evening was no exception, because Patterson was leaning over the desk, stretching her legs and almost thrusting her backside at the Warden standing behind her as she pretended to read a letter. His erection was visible from the office door.

       Patterson offered her colleague a warm smile. The Warden, in contrast, barely acknowledged her existence as they shook hands at Patterson’s introduction. Moriarty was not particularly offended by the slight, because in a room containing Patterson she was certain to almost become invisible. Five foot four, olive skin, dark hair and light blue spectacles was no match for the corporate maneater in the tight Gucci business suit.

       “Now, tell me Warden, who, to engage in double meanings, is longest in the showers?”

       “I don’t quite understand. I’m not sure …”

       Watkins helped his chief.

“I think what Miss Patterson is asking, Warden, is which inmate has the longest … equipment.”

       “I’m afraid that I cannot answer that question. It is not a subject that has detained me over the years.”

       “Warden, I can assure you that the size of a man’s … equipment is the most important feature of this evening’s visit. It is a subject that has … detained me more often than I care to remember.” She turned to Watkins. “Harry, have you got the candidates outside?” Moriarty noticed that she called the guard by his nickname. She envied Patterson her easy causal manner with all she met, a talent for making all around her feel relaxed and comfortable, and not just the men who gazed at her ample breasts.

       “Yes ma’am. There’s seven altogether.”

       “Well, let’s begin.” She turned to the Warden and explained that the nature of our conversations would require as few men as possible. “Officer Watkins will remain for obvious reasons.” She looked at the senior guard and winked. “Someone has to protect these men from me.” Watkins departed to return with the first prisoner.

Patterson asked the questions while Moriarty carefully studied each candidate. It was going to be a depressing hour for Moriarty. She had been promised complete autonomy when she proposed the ‘Dionysus Project’ to The Genesis Corporation, but now Patterson was interfering in ‘clinical’ decisions. She wondered whether all her preliminary research would be wasted.

       The interviews did not proceed well. The first three candidates were clearly perverts and unsuitable, the fourth was just ugly and the fifth had to be restrained when asked intimate questions by Patterson. That was only slightly less worrying than the tears that accompanied the sixth candidate’s recollections of his first sexual experience.

       Patterson turned to her colleague as the weeping convict was led from the room.

       “It’s not looking good. There are plenty of other jails, or we could always just place an advert.”

       “We will need a candidate for at least one year. I can’t perform miracles in less than twelve months. I doubt we can use anyone other than a convict, bearing in mind what we plan to do to them.”

       Patterson sighed and picked up the last file.

       “Well, let’s see what Dean Heladios Brown Cruz has to offer us, apart from a quite remarkable name.”

       The door opened on a very handsome young man. He was a good height, lean and muscular with dark hair and blue eyes that reached across the room to the two women behind the table. Patterson theatrically smacked her lips as he sat down in the chair. He offered them a smile that was both warm and engaging.

       “Now, Dean, I see your second name is Heladios. That’s an interesting name. Greek, from Hellas. Kerry, you have your Greek connection. See,” she looked across at Harry Watkins. “I’m not as stupid as I look.”

       “Kerry? That’s an Irish name.” Moriarty felt his eyes burning through her as he looked intently across the room. He was a convicted criminal and she was a research scientist who had never even visited a police station, yet she was not unsettled by his look.

       “I must have had dark hair when I was a baby. I’ve always had a liking for Greek mythology.”

       “Now, before we all regress to our childhoods, Dean, I have few questions for you.”

       For the next five minutes Patterson asked a series of questions, all of them devised by Moriarty to determine a candidate’s sexual inclinations. It was these questions that had provoked so much of the conflict with the other prisoners, but Dean answered them clearly, thoughtfully and, Moriarty judged, honestly. No answer excluded him from the experiment, and she was convinced that he was a highly suitable candidate. She also noticed that, in contrast to all the other candidates who had spent most of their interviews staring down Patterson’s open blouse, he was constantly turning to her as he answered the questions.

       The questions came to an end and Patterson closed her file. She looked across to Moriarty and gave a quizzical look. Moriarty nodded and Patterson offered Dean a smile.

       “Now we come to the more … delicate element of the interview. As you have probably guessed, Dean, our project, the Dionysus Project, revolves around the topic of sex and sexuality.” She paused for a moment to gauge his reaction, but he continued to stare impassively at both women. “We will need you to perform sex acts under observation.” She paused, but he did not speak, and Patterson wondered if he did not understand. “We will have to watch you, doing it. Is that alright with you?”

       Dean shifted in his seat.

       “I can’t say I’m pleased about it, but I knew when I came in here.” He cast a glance over his shoulder to Watkins. “I knew that it was some sort of sex test. I also know that if you’re in here looking for guinea pigs then …”

       “Research subject is the preferred title,” Patterson corrected him.

       “I also know that if you’re looking for a … research subject in here, then it’s not easy to get volunteers outside in the ‘honest’ world.”

       “Dean, we’re looking for normal healthy men, not perverts and exhibitionists. We need someone who does not normally want to undertake a sex test to undertake this sex test. We need to create … incentives for participation so that …”

       “What sort of incentives?” Dean leant forward as he interrupted, though his furtive smile softened the affront.        

       “There will be a short probation period to establish that you are not wasting our very, very precious time. However, once that is complete you have my word that you will serve out the remainder of your sentence either at the Research Centre or an open prison.” Dean nodded in approval.

       “Sounds fine to me.”

“Now, as a demonstration of your goodwill I would like you to strip.”

       Dean did not hesitate as he rose to his feet to remove his shoes followed by his trousers and finally his shirt. He stood for just a moment in his prison issue pale blue shorts before letting them fall to the ground. He stepped out of his shorts to stand naked before them. He was lean and muscular, with strong thighs and, both women noticed, a very generous penis.

       Patterson asked him to turn around and Dean obliged, revealing a coloured marking on his right shoulder and a broad grey badge on his left upper arm. “You have tattoos. That’s a slight problem.”

       Watkins stirred on his seat.

       “Miss, you’ll struggle to find any man in an LA jail without tattoos.”

       “It’s only a problem if you won’t have them removed. It’s quite painful, but the skin will look as good as new. No one will ever know they were there.”

       “I don’t mind.” He glanced down at the Spanish message on the marking. “The Diablos never did me much good.” He turned to look at Watkins behind him and the guard nodded in approval. This was clearly a topic they had discussed before, and Watkins was pleased with the prisoner’s answer.

       “Good. All we need now is to arrange for a full medical examination and …

       “We can do that now.” Patterson was surprised by Moriarty’s sudden enthusiasm. “I have the equipment in my bag. It would save time if we …” Moriarty was silenced by her colleague’s smile.

       “Fine.” She turned to Watkins. “I’m afraid that we’ll need you to step outside for just a few minutes while we … conduct our research.”

       “Are you fine with that son?” Dean nodded and Watkins left, leaning forward to slap Dean on the shoulders. “I’ll be right outside. Be gentle with him, Miss Patterson.”

       Both women left their seats to stand by the young man. Moriarty removed the blood pressure apparatus from her bag and slipped it over his arm. The measurement was fine and she smiled at the young man. She could not avoid looking down at his growing erection.

       “I’m sorry, Miss, but I have been here for three years. I’ve not even spoken to a woman in all that time.”

       “That’s alright. We understand.”

“Actually,” Patterson moved closer. “We’ll need to see you … in action. That’s part of the medical. We will need to see you at full length, so to speak.”

Moriarty listened to the pounding of his heart and then his lungs.

“Miss, how am I?” His tone was calm and deferential.

“You’re fine.”

“I think you’re more than fine.” Patterson stroked his arm and his erection was now raging. She reached down to caress his penis.

“Now, Dean, I want you to do something for us.” Patterson returned to her seat and motioned to Moriarty to join her behind the table. “I want you to masturbate for us. It will be good practice. I’m afraid there will be quite a lot of public hand jobs in this project, so we need to know that you can do it.” Dean seemed unsure about the request. “Listen, my lovable Greek god, I’ll make this very simple.” Patterson slightly raised her voice, and her tone was a touch more strident as she smiled at the prisoner. “Either you knock one out into this hankie or you can go back to your cell for the next fifteen years. Some other stud can enjoy cooked meals and a warm bed every night for the rest of their sentence. So,” Patterson leant back on her chair. “What are you going to do?”

The prisoner approached the table, picked up Patterson’s handkerchief and began to masturbate. He was standing no more than four feet away from Patterson, but then he turned and stood before Moriarty. The women exchanged a glance, and Moriarty tried to appear casual as she watched the man’s foreskin move back and forth less than a yard from her face.

Moriarty had never seen a man masturbate before, and none of the three men she had slept with in her twenty six years had presented themselves naked. She knew that she needed to appear assertive, to him and to Patterson. She looked across to her employer and smiled, as if she was calmly observing the young man’s performance. She looked up to his face, but he was staring down at his hand as he panted. She even asked him to stop and remove the cloth to allow her a closer look at his member. She announced herself to be satisfied and invited him, in a curt manner, to continue while she wrote a sentence in her file. The words were meaningless, but she wished to appear professional.

Finally, with a slight quickening of his breath, his hips jerked forward and his hand held firm over the tip of his penis. Moriarty saw that the handkerchief was now damp as the prisoner’s thrusting movement came to a halt. He wiped the semen onto the folded cloth and, looking around, walked to the far wall to throw the rag in the bin.

“They’ll be plenty more where that came from,” Patterson told him as she leant across to her companion. “He’ll do. He’ll do nicely indeed. I think you’ll have a lot of fun with him.”

       “This is a scientific experiment.”

       Moriarty sought to appear calm, but she was excited by the prospect of controlling this young man with the lithe body, deep blue eyes, winning smile and very large penis.

       “He came over and jerked off for you. That must mean something in Mexico. You’re probably engaged now.”

       “Behave yourself.” However, they both giggled as Dean came to stand before them, his penis beginning its gradual decline. He did not look to return to his clothes by the chair.

       “How do you feel?”

       “Fine.”

       “You’re not embarrassed to be masturbating in front of strangers?” Patterson asked.

       “A little, but I suppose I’ll get used to it.”

       “Great.” She turned to Moriarty. “Operation Bulge is underway.”

“Please, Rebecca, I’ve asked you not to call it that.”

Chapter 2

The prison van drew to a halt outside the ominous block of black glass that served as the Research Centre of the Genesis Corporation. The black sheets parted to allow Dean, in chains, followed by Watkins and another guard to step into a bright white room. They stood before the camera and all three looked up into the unblinking lens.

A buzzer sounded and a green light appeared where one it had glowed red. All three men stepped into a large bright foyer littered with elegant, expensive furniture.

“Dino, it seems very comfortable,” Watkins told his prisoner. “I thought it might be some sort of hospital. They talked about nurses. This is like a hotel.” Dino nodded, but Watkins sensed he was nervous, so he approached the woman behind a brilliant white desk who offered all three men a winning smile.

“Delivery for Dr Moriarty. One prisoner.”

The receptionist placed a call and asked the three men to be seated. After five minutes Moriarty appeared, wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard. She offered Watkins only a cursory smile as he handed over the paperwork.

“You can leave him here. I have some matters to attend to before we begin our processing.”

“Sorry, Doctor, but we need to take him to a secure location. That means somewhere with doors and locks. Then he’s your responsibility.”

The doctor was significantly less sociable than their first meeting, and Watkins was irritated by her dismissive tone as she led the three men to the lift and pressed for the fifth floor. She studied her notes while the booth rose, only the changing red number on the screen by the door indicating any sense of movement. The doors parted without a sound and they stepped out into a spacious hallway surrounded by glass walls.

Moriarty led the prison party to one of the doors. She punched a number into the key pad and the tiny red light over the door turned to green. They stepped into another reception area staffed by a nurse in a short white tunic. She offered a reverent welcome to Moriarty and cast a lustful glance at the young prisoner, setting her pen in her mouth. Another glass door and then they entered what appeared to be a doctor’s consulting room. There was a bed on wheels along with what appeared to be a dentist’s chair. Watkins was unsettled to see that both bed and chair were adorned with leather straps. He had witnessed many unsavoury moments in his twenty three years in the prison service, but he knew that straps were only for the hard core, dangerous cases. Young Dino was just a youngster who made a mistake and was almost through paying for his misguided loyalty.

They passed through another set of doors and walked along a passageway before ending their journey in a bare room with only one small window above the eye line. There was a simple bed with a stand and a chair. The guard laid the sack with Dean’s belongings on the bed.

“Where’s the wardrobe?” Watkins asked.

“Not all of the furniture has arrived,” Moriarty explained, almost surprised by the question.

Watkins removed the cuffs and took the prisoner’s hand.

“Be good, son, and do as they say. I’ll see you again when we’re done.” He left him with a slap on the back and walked out of the cell, followed by the guard who had not spoken, or even given the slightest indication that he was about to speak, during the entire visit.

Moriaty followed the two guards, casting just one furtive glance at the prisoner, her personal captive, as the door closed. He was surveying his new room and did not notice the woman at the closing door. 

The doctor and the guards retraced their journey to the reception area and they parted with a brief flurry of handshakes. She appeared eager to be rid of them and was stepping away before Watkins called her name. She spun on her heels and returned.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” The sharp tone was meant to be a reprimand for wasting her valuable time, but Watkins was not to be diverted by a midget with a clipboard and a white coat, especially a midget with a clipboard and a white coat that he did not trust. He had stared down serial killers, drug barons and deranged hitmen, so Dr Kerry Moriarty was no challenge.

“Yes, doctor, there is.” He paused, and noticed that she pressed her glasses, a sign of unease. “I want you to look after Dino.” She was about to speak, but a raised hand brought him silence. “I have signed him over to the Genesis Corporation, but I am placing him in your care. I have looked after that boy, and he is just a boy, for the past three years. If anything happens to him … I will be disappointed.” He turned and left without another word.

Three hours later, the cell door opened and an attractive young woman in a short white outfit and a nurse’s cap appeared in the doorway. She offered Dean a smile that he could not describe as friendly and beckoned him with a crooked finger to follow him into the passageway. She swayed her hips like a streetwalker, allowing her hem to ride up to reveal bright pink knickers. The glass door into the main room was open and two more nurses were waiting for him, dressed like his guide in short white tunics that revealed their pink underwear. All three women were young and appealing, but all wore a cruel smile that even a convict without sight of cute women for some time found unsettling.

“Good afternoon, Dean. My name is Cindi, and this is Kimberley.” She presented the young blond to her left who offered the prisoner a mock curtsey. “This is Tiffany.” The brunette to her left waved. He did not return the gesture. “We’re here to make sure that you deliver your … end of the bargain. Now, we need to make you presentable for Dr Moriarty.” Cindi reached behind her to collect a wire brush. “She has left specific, very specific, instructions about your appearance. Those tattoos have to go and frankly, there’s far too much body hair. So, we’ll start with the tattoos and then we’ll shave you everywhere, and I mean everywhere.” All three women giggled. “Then well give you a full hot wax and you’ll be fit for decent company. Now, before we start. Take off all your clothes and stand with your legs apart and your hands behind your head. I want to suck you off.”

Dean removed his clothes and adopted the pose demanded of the nurse. Cindi then gently massaged his penis until it was fully erect before fellating him while the other two nurses sat observing his performance. After three years in prison it was no surprise that only a few minutes later he detonated a milky cascade into her mouth. She rose from her knees to spit the semen into the sink to laughter and applause from the other girls. Though he had now shed his load, Dean was ordered to continue masturbating, looking at each woman in turn as they commented on his erection. The other two nurses called him over for a closer examination, and both enjoyed a prolonged stroke of his impressive shaft.

The session lasted for more than half an hour before the nurses decided to remove the tattoos and prepare Dean for his future life as a sex slave with a thorough shaving and waxing of his genitals. Moriarty arrived as the final coating of the yellow cream that would impede his hair growth was applied to his entire body. She looked blankly at her research subject as he stood, naked and yellow, before her. She examined the two areas where the tattoos had decorated his skin and complemented the nurses on their work. They meekly thanked her for her praise, adopting a deferential and meek manner in contrast to the brazen arrogance they displayed when alone with their ‘patient.’ Moriarty asked how long it would take for the coating to dry and was told an hour was the usual time. She ordered Dean to remain motionless for the next ninety minutes to ensure that the treatment was effective. Moriarty studied Dean’s genitals and anus and demanded a second shave as well as another waxing.

“We need to have this area both clean and clear. We’ll have a lot of work to do here.”

The nurses smirked as they contemplated another opportunity to degrade and discomfort their captive.

       Dean remained standing alone in the room for the more than two hours while the hot paste coating his body dried against his skin. He could see Moriarty in her office through the glass panels, moving around the room as she anxiously searched for some documents. She set her hand on her forehead, staring around her at the confusion of papers on her desk. Dean could see that she was agitated until she eventually lifted a dark blue folder from a pile and returned to her desk to read the contents.

       Shortly after four Dean endured a second waxing of his genitals and anus. The wax was hotter this time, to ensure a comprehensive scouring of the skin, so it was nearly three hours before the yellow coating was dry enough to be removed. Therefore, it was after seven when he was ready for his inspection by Moriarty, and only Kimberley remained on evening duty until the night guard arrived at eight. Moriarty sent her away to complete some filing, leaving her alone with the research subject.

       Moriarty ordered him to stand, legs slightly apart, as she ran her hands along his legs from his feet to his thighs, feeling for any stray hairs. She found four spots, one on the left and three on the right leg. She doused the offending follicles with a fresh batch of the hot preparation before coating in golden paste. Once the legs were checked she thoroughly examined the genitals and anus. There were a few traces of hairs, every one treated with the razor, wax and paste. The chest and back were all relatively clear, with only a dab of paste on each shoulder and a coating under the left armpit.

       She stood back to examine her work, nodding in approval before returning to her seat.

       “Was it an important file?”

       “Pardon?”

       “The file that you were looking for earlier. I saw you. You look a bit worried. I thought  …”

       “That’s none of your business,” Moriarty barked, stamping the button on her phone to call Kimerbley to her office. “Take him away.” She almost shouted as Kimberley arrived. “Take him to his cell.” They were half way across the main room when she called them back to issue another order. “No meal.”        

“Naughty boy. Sent to bed without any supper.” Kimberley slapped his buttocks and smiled as she led him away to his cell.

As soon as Kimberley brought him to her office, Moriarty was unable to concentrate on her work. She glanced up as the nurse left the room to see that he was still damp from the shower, so she called her to bring a towel. The thought of touching his clean waxed skin was so tempting, but she knew that she had to be patient or he would learn of her secret passion.

The towel arrived and she ordered him to be dry ‘everywhere’ before she examined him. Two minutes later he announced that he was ready to be examined. She continued staring at the pages of script in the file on her desk, turning the occasional sheet to offer the appearance of reading. She had brought her clipboard to the reception when he arrived with the guards to avoid looking at him in front of strangers. She cursed her own timidity and realised she should be more assertive, more in control of her own emotions. She was a twenty six year old doctoral graduate, in charge of three assistants and with her own secretary. He was a naked prisoner who would follow her every command or face years in a harsh prison. Eventually she could wait no longer and rose, as slowly as she could manage, to examine him.

She made him stand with his legs only slightly apart as she fondled his calves, pretending to be checking for hairs. She even shaved and treated the occasional patch of skin to justify running her hands over his gorgeous body. His shower had left him with a scent of shower lotion, and his skin, even the taut calves, was soft and warm. She struggled to control her breathing as she rose past his knees towards his upper thigh. Eventually, her hands trembling, she reached his penis.

She knew that her touch would arouse him, and he was firm by the time her fingers arrived at his shaft. She was pleased that she was wearing her jacket, because her rigid nipples were rubbing against the cloth of her blouse. He apologised for his erection in a calm voice no louder than a whisper, but she said nothing, wary that her voice would reveal her passion. She was professional enough to survey the shaft and foreskin without indulging her infatuation, and she felt a sense of pride that she had demonstrated her expertise without distraction.

Eventually she completed her examination of his genitals and, in a clear precise voice, ordered him to bend over an inspection of his anus. He turned around and reached down to grasp his ankles, the demeaning posture he had adopted for his two waxing sessions from the nurses. She did not dwell around his anus, recognising that this was a humiliating experience for him, and continued her journey from his toes to his head. Having controlled her mood during her visit to his genitals, Moriarty was unsettled by the delicious sensation of touching his stomach and his arms. His abdomen muscles rippled beneath her fingertips, and she fought to ease her panting breath as she circled him to caress his back. Her hands lingered, feeling free from his gaze. She dwelt over the pale skin where he once wore a tattoo, and he turned his head. Moriarty was flustered, as if her secret infatuation had been uncovered. She muttered that the tattoo had left no trace of broken skin, and she declared herself pleased with the nurses’ work.

She returned to stand before him, stroking his arms above the elbow. She felt exposed, now that she believed that he had discovered her lustful interest in his body. She would not raise her eyes from his arms, meticulously studying the biceps and dabbing a few drops of hot wax onto the skin. She reached the site of his other tattoo, his gang tag. She knew that he was looking at his arm. He touched the patch of skin and told her that he was glad it was gone. Now she could not avoid looking at him, and they exchanged a glance. She was almost hypnotised by his clear blue eyes, and she breathed deeply to remain calm as she completed her examination, worried that he had grasped the real motive for her meticulous inspection of his entire body.

Then he made a comment about watching her looking for her file, and her troubled look. She knew that, on this first day, she needed to assert her control over him, or he would use his vitality to overpower her. She had indulged herself by insisting upon caressing him, and now she was about the pay for her weakness. She could not let that happen, so she pretended to be angry, outraged at his impertinence. The outburst would also ensure that Kimberley would not be suspicious of her private scrutiny of the prisoner. 

He was a few steps beyond the door when she called them back to withdraw his evening meal. Kimberley issued a slap across the buttocks with her hand, which Moriarty thought was excessive, before leading him away. A moment later she regretted the decision about the meal, but she knew that, having issued a command, she could not retract the decision. She promised herself that she would not act so hastily in future when imposing penalties on her research subject.

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.

Chapter 4

It was eight thirty and Dean was sitting in his cell after his shower and his morning meal, fearful of the indignities that lay ahead. He knew now, after his first visit to the Treatment Room, that he would be enduring a painful and degrading sexual experience at the hands of these brutal women. Walton told him that the inmates had been allowed to ‘discover’ that he had offered information about his gang members in exchange for a transfer. He was uncertain whether Walton was telling the truth, but three years in prison had taught him the need for caution.

The door opened and Moriarty stepped into his cell. He rose to his feet, but she motioned to him to sit with a lowering hand.

       “Do you mind if I come in?”

       He shook his head, but he remained standing so she came to sit on the edge of the bed and patted the blanket beside her, summoning him to join her on the bedclothes.

        “Now, Dean, I just want to talk to you away from the others, away from everyone looking at us. These glass walls offer no privacy. You can see everything.”

“I know.”

She remembered his first day, and the loss of his evening meal. His blank look revealed nothing, but she now regretted the outburst. She could not even recall why she had been so vexed by his simple comment about the file.

       “Firstly, I’d want to say how sorry I am that the treatment of you yesterday was … excessive. It was my fault that I did not stay to stop them hurting you.” She was hoping that he would interrupt, telling her that she could not know about Walton and the nurses, but he said nothing. “Well, I just thought it was important for you to know how sorry I am about yesterday.” She held his hands and examined the bandages covering his thumbs. “Do they still hurt?”

“Yes.” She was hoping for a different answer.

       “There is something you should know, Dean, about our project, the Dionysus Project. Well.” She paused for a moment. “I’ve invented, or at least I believe I’ve invented, a means of increasing the size of a man’s penis.” Another pause. “I can make your dick larger.”

       “I’ve never worried about my … penis, Miss. I hope that doesn’t sound like boasting.”

       They both looked down on his member, which, she was slightly disappointed to notice, was limp against his thigh. Her presence was not arousing him.

       “Is it dangerous?”

“No.” Moriarty feigned a laugh.

“Then it will hurt?”

       “Why do you say that?” She was less dismissive now.

       “If you offered almost any man a painless and safe way to have a larger cock, they would all agree. I am here because you cannot find free men for the treatment.”

       Moriarty smiled, and touched his thigh.

       “You’re a very smart young man, Dean. You’re right. It will sting, but if you’re to become a great ... adult entertainment artist, you’ll need to have as big a cock as possible. How does that sound?”

“Fine.” She found his answers unconvincing, and she was uncertain whether this visit to his cell, his refuge, had been a good idea. Walton advised her to go to his cell whenever she needed to confide some bad news or to make additional demands. Her visits also offered her the chance to sit by his side, touching his body and talking to him, as if with a friend, a naked friend with a magnificent body and a huge penis. He appeared distant and unsettled, still fearful after his first visit to The Treatment Room, but Moriarty knew that he would learn to endure these sacrifices for the sake of the Dionysus Project.

       “You must also be shameless. This will be difficult, but you can learn. Cindi, Tiffany and Kimberley, along with Dr Walton, are a necessary evil. They will teach you how to become accustomed to these ... performances. You must learn to complete sex acts in public. We want you to be able to masturbate in front of complete strangers. I recall that Miss Patterson and I explained all this to you in the prison when you agreed to join us.”

She leant forward and touched his shoulder where a tattoo once declared his loyalty to The Diablos. She never missed an opportunity to touch his former badge, as if to remind him how he came to be part of the Dionysus Project.

“There is something else that you must accept, Dean.” She laid her hand again on his thigh. His flesh was warm and firm, and she could not muster the willpower to take it away. “I must treat you as a research subject, as a sex object, whenever we are in public. It makes it easier for you as well. I want you to know that I am always trying my best to keep you from harm, but sometimes, well sometimes, it is going to hurt. It’s a bit like going to the dentist. It hurts while you are there, but it’s all for the best in the end. Who wants rotten teeth?”

He smiled, and she clutched his thigh, feeling the taut skin and the muscle beneath, and she imagined taking hold of his buttocks, gripping him tightly as he drove his massive erection between her legs, forcing her apart as he mounted her on his bed. He would lay a hand behind her head as he entered her, filling her as he gazed upon her with his shining blue eyes.

“I know that you are looking after me, Doctor Moriarty. I trust you.” He offered her a radiant smile, and for a moment, just a moment, she hesitated before offering him a bland smile.

“Good. I know that I can trust you, but just to be sure I want you to perform for me.”

“Perform?”

“I need to know that you can be ... open. We told you that there would be probation, when we would test you. If you don’t feel that you can do as we ask, then we can find someone else, but I know that you can perform, you can perform for me.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to masturbate for me, just like you did for the nurses yesterday.”

There was a moment’s delay, a terrifying instant when she thought that he would refuse, before he stroked his shaft, holding the loose flesh with his fingertips. He slipped his finger over the moist tip as the flesh began to expand. Moriarty tried not to stare as the muscle straightened before her eyes.

“You will need to find some image, some memory, that will arouse you quickly, Dean. The nurses and Dr Walton will not be as understanding as I am.”

“I’ll try, Miss. I promise.”

Moriarty touched his arm in gratitude as she left him to sit in the chair near the door.

“Now, I want you to stand before me. I want you to put on a show, for me. You will need to practise your technique or Dr Walton will send you back. I can offer you advice, help you become a better … performer. You want to be a success?

“I do, Miss,” he replied, coming to stand before her. He was now fully erect, eagerly massaging the shaft.

“Move your hips back and forth as well as rubbing yourself. Good. Now, put your other hand behind your back. We want no distractions. Rub vigorously, pump as hard as you can. Good, now nice and slowly. Excellent. You need to be in control, Dean. You need to be able to delay your orgasm. Women will not pay good money to watch you spill your load after thirty seconds. This is hard work, Dean, and I want to help you.”

“I know, Dr Moriarty.”

For the next ten minutes Moriarty enjoyed a private show, as Dean followed her instructions, caressing his own body, spreading his legs wider and moving closer to her face with his penis tip. She thought him a convincing actor, and congratulated him on his performance. He was grateful for her praise and thanked her for helping him to prepare for Walton and the nurses.

“I will come and talk with you here in your cell as often as I can, but please remember that outside these walls you are pretending to be a slave and I am pretending to be your Mistress. If the nurses find out the truth, they will report you and me to the Corporation. I will be sacked and you will return to the prison. Do you want that?”

       He shook his head, and she smiled as she rose to her feet, turning him around as she reached into her coat pocket for the cuffs. The sound of the metal closing and the sense of her control over his bound body gave her a sexual thrill that dried her mouth and sent a quiver down her spine.

“Now we have to start work. Let’s go, and remember about how to behave in public.”

       She led him from his cell and she noticed that he trembled when he realised that he was going back into the Treatment Room. She was pleased to note the effect of his first visit. He was becoming more compliant with each day under her control.

       “Don’t worry, Dean, you’ll be safe with me.”

       The table in the Treatment Room had been set vertical with Kimberley and Tiffany standing waiting to leash him to the plastic moulding and tilt him back onto the stand. They each grasped an arm and forcefully tied him to the board. A few seconds later the prisoner was bound hand and foot to the perforated plastic plank.

Moriarty retrieved a syringe from her desk. She released a small dose of the red liquid into the air before kneeling down, dabbing the base of his shaft with a swab and inserting the needle. Dean winced as the spike sank into his skin, but within seconds the discomfort was replaced by warmth that spread the entire length of his penis. By the time Moriarty had returned the syringe to the desk and turned to examine her patient his member had become solidly erect.

       “Good,” she told him. “You respond well to my special preparation. The technical name is as long as … your cock. It will help you perform. In the months and years to come, Dean, you will come to be grateful for a dose of my potion before a performance.”

She held up a metal tube, about eighteen inches long, and placed it over Dean’s erection. “Now, let me place my instrument over your instrument. Then we close the lid and press my little button.” She looked at the gauge as the red numbers flickered for a moment before issuing the result. “Twenty five point two six centimetres. That’s impressive, Dean, but I think we can do better. I intend to take you out another … five centimetres. What do you think about that?”

       “If that’s what you want, Miss.”

       Moriarty removed the tube, took hold of his erect penis and massaged the tip, drawing her finger over the opening. She began to reach into the slit with her finger and within a few seconds she was able to work a wider breach. She then pressed a small clear tube into his exposed urethra and he smarted from the pain as the hardened plastic sank into his erect tool.

       “Please, Dean,” she whispered. “It will only hurt while I insert the tube. The sooner I am done, the sooner you will feel better.” She laid a hand on his chest to comfort him. “Nearly there,” she said, offering him a smile.

       The plastic rod was about a foot long, so it reached the base of his penis with about five centimetres protruding from the tip. Dean was gasping with pain as Moriarty filled the tube with a green fluid through a needle. She touched Dean’s bound arm.

       “It will be fine, Dean. Be brave.”

       Moriarty then left, leaving Cindi to send the electrical current into the tube to heat the serum while she joined Walton in the adjacent room to watch the first session of the treatment. They watched him struggle with his bonds as the current coursed through his penis, heating the tube to send the growth serum into the muscle. The nurses bound his chest, knees and neck to the table as he fought against the pain, shouting at him to be still. A flurry of slaps failed to quieten him, so he was gagged to stem the moans.

       “That doesn’t look much fun.”

       “I know, but there’s a lot of money out there sitting in women’s purses just waiting to be spent on high quality erotic entertainment. I intend to get hold of some of that cash and my own Greek god will help me get it.”

“Kerry, I sometimes think you’re the most ruthless woman I’ve ever met, and I’ve met some real bitches in my time.”

Dean’s first ‘expansion’ session lasted more than three hours, but he was allowed just half an hour to rest and shower before he was returned to the Treatment Room for his session with Walton. Once again he was strapped into place and left waiting for more than an hour.

       Eventually she strolled into the room, once more examining his bonds.

“Good afternoon, Dean. It is time we began our sessions. I am here to teach you the benefits of … obedience.” He breathed deeply as she fondled his scrotum and let her fingers wander towards his anus. She slipped her middle finger into the muscle.

       “Do you like that?”

       “Yes, Miss.”

       “I doubt it, but you have learnt that you are here to please me, to please the nurses, but above all, to please Dr Moriarty. Do you understand?”

       “Yes, Miss.”

       “Good. Now I’m going to play with your cock. Do you mind?”

“No, Dr Walton.”

“I’m making fun of you, Dean, by asking permission. Do you realise that it does not matter what you think? I would no more ask your opinion than ask my dog.”

She massaged the tip of his penis, sliding the inside of her fingers along the top of the shaft.

       “You have no choice because you’re strapped to this table. Soon you will come to realise that, whether you are bound or not, you have no choice. You will be staying here, to entertain us, for some time. We will train you like a dog, to be our pet.”

       She vigorously rubbed his cock, forcing him to beg her to stop.

       “I can do anything I like, and I will. Dr Moriarty believes that I am here to help you, to prepare you for your lucrative porn star career, but actually I only accepted this job so that I could get my hands on some A grade captive cock. We have an hour together for the next few weeks. That does not give me much time to teach you some lessons.”

       She placed the clamps on his thumbs and toes, setting the teeth on the bandages from the previous day’s outrage. Then she inserted a plug into his anus because “no decent conditioning should neglect your tender arsehole.” She held her hand over his erection and forced him to rub himself towards an orgasm. Today the bonds were loose enough to allow him to pound his cock into her hand until, to a clamour of grunts, he shed his milky load into her palm.

She wiped her hands on his chest in a gesture of sheer contempt after he completed his task. Then, after vigorously washing her hands and removing her dark blue Armani jacket to reveal a sunshine yellow blouse covering a fulsome chest, she began her conditioning session in earnest.

Walton orchestrated his torment through simple means such as stretching the ropes, a handful of mild electrical doses from the clamps and liberal use of the anal plug. His genitals were out of bounds, but Walton was a resourceful tormentor and he was in tears within half an hour. The constant repetitive questioning was clearly having the desired effect, and she was confident that he would be fully compliant within Moriarty’s highly demanding schedule. By the end of the hour he was smothered in sweat, trembling at the sight of Walton with her clamps. She was content with his progress and, after a farewell blast through his anus, left him for the nurses to administer his next ordeal.

Chapter 5

Six weeks after Dean’s arrival, Patterson decided to visit her ‘pet’ project. She arrived shortly after three to learn that the subject was toning his body to ensure that he remained irresistible to women, and gay men. She stepped through the door with Moriarty to see Dean pedalling briskly on the mounted bike, his face aglow and his arms glistening in the pallid light from the neon strips overhead. Tiffany stood behind him stroking his pulsating buttocks with her cane. She winked at the two women at the door.

“Come on, get that arse moving.” Patterson noticed that the bicycle was without a seat, offering the rider no respite from a relentless pounding of the pedals.

“Are you trying?” Tiffany lightly tapped the cane against his buttocks.

“Yes, Miss Tiffany.”

“Well, not hard enough.” She unleashed a blow across his back that made him wince before he feverishly turned the wheels.

“This is part of our research subject’s daily routine.” Moriarty explained. “He needs exercise to ensure that he can withstand our ‘treatment’ and to increase potential revenue. The female and gay markets admire muscular bodies.”

“His definition is excellent. He’s not too muscular, but the tone is exceptional.”

“I think it helps that he was in pretty good shape before he came to us.”

“You chose him, if I remember.” Moriarty noticed the traces of a smile on Patterson’s lips.

“I was part of the selection panel, along with you.”

“Well, I think I’ll leave my thanks with you for picking such a fine specimen. My goodness, he really does have a great cock. Kerry, this one is perfect. Why are you bothering with all these injections?”

Tiffany caned him once more.

“Onto the weights and be quick about it.” He leapt from the bike and almost ran to the weight apparatus to slide into the seat and begin lifting the pulleys with his hands and raising the bars with his feet.

“Now, this is even better.” Patterson stood before him as he lay back in the seat, straining his arms and legs as he lifted the weights.

Tiffany came to stand by her captive.

“Lift those arms, you useless turd. Get moving. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Miss Tiffany.”

“Are you trying?”

“Yes, Miss Tiffany.”

“Do you want me to get the buzzer?”

“No, Miss Tiffany.”

“Now pump that cock like the whore you are.”

She reached down and pulled his penis to raise his hips from the seat.

“Pump that cock, you piece of shit.”

       Dean took hold of his penis and masturbated, thrusting out his pelvis as if presenting his genitals to the visitor.

       “He does like to choke the monkey,” Patterson told Moriarty as they both observed the captive straining his back as he grunted his pleasure.

       “You can sit back, Dean. We don’t want you to pull a muscle,” Moriarty told him.

       “Thank you, Dr Moriarty.” Dean collapsed into the chair and resumed his exercises.

       “That’s all for now, Tiffany. You can leave the subject with me.”

       Tiffany murmured her displeasure at not being allowed to continue her abuse and marched out of the gym, slamming the door behind her. Dean continued his exercise until Moriarty asked him to stop and finish with some stretching drills. Dean leapt from the machine and stood on the mat by the far wall, reaching down to his toes and arching his back as he executed a set routine.

“You’re very lucky to have such a gorgeous hunk doting on you.”

“Well I don’t know ...”

“My complements to Dr Walton. She has him trained to be very obedient. He never took his eyes off you as soon as we entered the room. I also saw that he was … stimulated whenever he spoke to you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I was paying close attention to his cock, I can assure you. He got harder whenever you talked to him. When you called his name he almost came in the seat. You don’t have to worry about foreplay. Every time you want a fuck him you just have to talk to get him hard.”

“I’ve never had sexual intercourse with my subject.”

“Liar.”

“It’s true.”

“Not even a hand job, or a mouth job? I’m sure he’d be a great licker.”

“I don’t think it would be ... appropriate.”

“You have tremendous self control. If I had trained a naked handsome guy with a massive cock to follow me around like a puppy, I would definitely take advantage. Let’s just hope that he never finds out.”

“Finds out?”

“This is your plan. He seems to think that you save him from the excesses of those three pink witches, but I know that all this abuse is designed to increase his dependence upon you. It seems to be working.”

       Dean completed his stretching routine and came to stand before the two women. Patterson was not insulted to notice that he was looking at Moriarty as he panted.

       “I’ve finished my stretching exercises, Dr Moriarty. What do you want me to do now?”

       “Well. I think you can go back to your cell for a rest. You must be tired.” She touched his arm and stroked his elbow.

       “Actually,” Patterson spoke. “I was wondering if I could borrow you for a few minutes. I hear that you have been entertaining some of my colleagues in private sessions. Is that right?”

       “Yes, Miss Rebecca.”

       “Well, I was wondering, if you would mind if you … entertained me for a while before you have a rest. How does that sound?” She moved closer, taking hold of his penis in her hands as she spoke. He was becoming firm in her gentle grasp as she gazed into his eyes.

       “That would be fine, Miss. I would be happy to serve you, but …”

       “But.” The tone in Patterson’s voice gained a hardened edge.

       “I have been with four women today, and I’ve been milked twice. I cannot promise that I will be able to perform, even for a beautiful woman like you.”

       “Thank you.” She stroked his cheek for the comment about her beauty.

       “If Dr Moriarty would like to give me a dose of her special medicine. Then I can give you the performance you deserve.”

       The two women exchanged a glance until Patterson smiled.

       “A noble gesture. Who ever said that chivalry is dead?”

       “I owe it to you Miss Rebecca, and to you, Dr Moriarty, that I am here. I wish to show you both how grateful I am.”

       Moriarty shook her head.

       “I’m afraid that that’s not possible.”

       “That’s a shame.” His disappointed look earned him another stroke of the cheek from Patterson.

       “Never mind, my dear. I’ll have Dr Moriarty’s share. You can fuck me twice as hard for the both of us. How does that sound?” He smiled and she planted a kiss on his lips. He responded by leaning forward and stroking her arms, reaching past the elbow and taking hold of her hands. She leant over and took hold of his neck, running her fingers down his spine. Another hand reached down to his penis to find it growing in size.

       “Are you sure you need Dr Moriarty?”

       “It’s better to be safe than sorry, especially as you’re having a double ration. I want you to see me in action, to see the benefits of all of Dr Moriarty’s hard work.” He smiled at Moriarty, and Patterson could not avoid the thought that he was aware of her fascination for him.

       “Kerry. Is there any chance of that injection?”

       Moriarty left for her potion, returning with a syringe and two doses for her captive whore. She told him to place his foot on a chair and sent both cartridges into the base of his penis. Within seconds his erection began to grow. A minute later his phallus was almost bursting from his skin. Patterson touched the flesh to find it as hard as a dildo. A hot dildo. She allowed her hand to wander the length of the shaft before caressing his scrotum.

       “Now,” she turned to Moriarty. “Is there anywhere more private? Our friend here may be willing to fuck in public view, but I’m a bit of an old fashioned girl.”

       Moriarty led her employer and her naked prisoner with his raging erection to his cell.

       “Cosy,” Patterson commented as she sat on his bed. “I like it when a man takes me back to his place. Now,” she beckoned him to her and took hold of his erection, running her fingers along the shaft. “I think it’s time for us to become better acquainted.” She placed his tip in her mouth and began to lick the foreskin while        Moriarty remained by the door, observing the couple by the bed as they commenced their union.

“Miss Patterson, Dr Walton insists that the subject is bound whenever he engages in sex.”

       “Indulge me, Kerry. I can keep a secret. Can you?”

       “Then … I’ll leave you … I’ll leave you to it.” Moriarty closed the door quietly and returned to her office to wait for Patterson.

       Moriarty had been unsettled as soon as she heard that Patterson was visiting the Research Centre to see Dean. Once she appeared in Moriarty’s office she already felt undermined by her presence. Patterson asked to see him at once and Moriarty was relieved that he was being tormented by Tiffany when they found him in the gym. His body was superb, hot and sweating, as he danced on the pedals of the bicycle. The fact that his penis was flaccid only heightened the attraction of his tight stomach and rippling thighs.

       Moriarty was delighted when Patterson commented on his docile and deferential manner, but her interest in a private session with Dean changed the entire tone of the visit. When he came to stand before them he was looking at her, but Moriarty felt that he was really displaying his body to the visitor who, he knew from the interview in the jail, was the most important woman in the room. The request for sex was eagerly accepted, and the demand for her potion told Moriarty that her stud, her personal captive sex toy, was a male whore who would fuck anyone who could help him avoid mistreatment at the hands of the assistants.

       The memories of her college days, when boys would walk past the short bespectacled girl in brown shoes and grey jumpers as if she was invisible, flooded over Moriarty as she watched her employer and her naked prisoner engage in foreplay as if she was gone from the room. When they kissed she could barely control her anger and her shame. She left for the potion, her special mixture that enabled him to perform such remarkable feats of sexual prowess. He was profiting now from her expertise. She decided to administer a double dose. After his morning injection any dose would lead to considerable discomfort after the initial exhilaration. A second dose would condemn him to hours of agony.

       Moriarty returned to find Patterson sitting in a chair while he masturbated. She was appalled that he had sunk so low to be performing for her. She injected him with both capsules and within seconds his member was sporting an intense erection. Patterson was delighted, but Moriarty was pleased to notice that he was already looking uncomfortable by the time they arrived in his cell.

       Once they were in the confines of his cell, the sanctuary where she was meant to be his sole guardian angel, she once more disappeared from sight as they both concentrated on pleasuring one another. Patterson was so oblivious of her presence that she was down to her bra and underpants before Moriarty had even left the cell.

       It was nearly six when Patterson finally joined Moriarty in her office. She told her that he was a magnificent partner, a great licker and a superb kisser. She would recommend him to her friends at the Corporation in San Francisco. She apologised for taking so long, because she helped herself to a triple rather than just a double serving of young Dean. Moriarty offered a bitter smile when Patterson said that she was mistaken not to take advantage of his interest in her, explaining that while he was a research subject she could not indulge her appetites.

       “So, one day, you might take advantage of what young Dean has to offer?”

       “I am only saying that it is unethical and unprofessional to indulge myself.”

       Patterson left for her hotel and Moriarty headed for the cell. She found Dean lying on his bed, his erection still powerful after more than two hours of sexual adventures. He rose from the bed and she led him back to the Treatment Room.

       “Dr Moriarty, what have I done?”

       “You have not followed my orders. I am very disappointed in you. I expected better behaviour.”

       “What?”

       “Do not under any circumstances seek to have sex with me. If I wanted to have sex with you, I would. You are naked all the time and bound half of your waking hours. I can have you anytime I want, anyway I want.”

       She pushed down the table plank and he meekly stepped in front of the perforated plastic to be fastened by his hands. He was rolled horizontal and his legs bound very high, his ankles close to his wrists. He grunted from the discomfort, but her face was like stone as she stared down on his bound frame.

       “I am going to teach you a lesson. You will learn not to be anything other than a sex slave, here to service the women who chose to use and abuse you as they see fit.”

       “Miss, I was serving Miss Rebecca. She wanted me to be like a lover. I wanted to impress her. I wanted to please you.”

       “You are no one’s lover, is that understood?” She slapped his face to highlight her point. “You are a sex slave you will never be anything else.” She pulled the straps even tighter and went to the bench to return with a syringe and another two capsules. “This will keep you hard all night, and tomorrow morning Dr Walton will be dealing with your arrogance and your disobedience in her own very special way. I have spoken to her, and she’ll be staying for two hours.” She injected both doses. “Now, I suggest that you think about your mistake. You will have plenty of time before Dr Walton sees you in the morning.”

       Moriarty turned down the thermostat to cool the room to no more than a few degrees above freezing before turning off the lights, to leave him shivering in the dark. 

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.”

Chapter 7

Moriarty sat in the hallway, staring at the black doors. She had been waiting for the past hour, nervous and annoyed in equal measure. She had been told to be ready to make her presentation at three, but it was nearly four and she was still staring at the Board Room door. She surveyed her notes once more, practising her commentary on the video which would form the basis of her talk.

       Finally, the door drew open and a young woman in a tight black business suit that complemented her dark hair appeared in the crack between the two doors.

       “Dr Moriarty?” The voice was cold and brusque. Moriarty rose without a word and followed the woman along a corridor, the walls coated in dark wooden panels and the thick blue carpet almost swallowing her shoes. She saw the woman’s elegant footwear and regretted not wearing a pair of high heels, feeling inadequate and dowdy now in her plain work shoes. The passage ended with another ornate black door and the young woman, without a smile, led Moriarty into the slightly overcast light of the Genesis Corporation’s Board Room.

       The spacious room was dominated by an oak table that seated twelve, but today only eight seats were occupied by five women and three men. A woman in a bright blue jacket sat at the head of the table. Moriarty recognised Emily Fleming, Chief Executive Officer of the Genesis Corporation. She also noticed Rebecca at her side. They exchanged a smile and Moriarty felt slightly more relaxed in such exalted surroundings.

The light deserted the room as the blinds closed to cast the Board and Moriarty into darkness. The young woman handed Moriarty a remote control as a large white screen descended from the ceiling to dominate the far wall. She stepped forward and pressed the red button for Dean to appear, standing against a wall. He took a step forward and then placed his hands on his hips, legs apart as he smiled at the camera.

“This is our research subject. He is a twenty two year old male convict who has been transferred to the custody of the Corporation for the duration of the trial. As you can see he is flaccid in this sequence. I would …”

“Dr Moriarty,” Fleming shouted out from the darkness at the head of the table. “I think we can look at a film of a naked man without the need for a commentary. If anyone has any questions, they can ask them at the end of the film which, I believe, will last twelve minutes.”

Moriarty stood aside and attempted to disappear into the gloom as her audience watched Dean appear once more standing against the far wall before taking a step forward and placing his hands behind his head. The third time he stepped forward his penis bore the evidence of an injection, standing proud as he once more placed his hands behind his head. He then placed his left hand behind his back and masturbated with his right hand, moving his hips to gain friction. He looked down at his rampant penis before glancing at the camera to offer another smile.

The next three minutes was a detailed study of the expansion treatment. The men in the room groaned as the plastic rod sank into Dean’s phallus, and as soon as the segment began, Moriarty regretted showing Dean’s face as the rod vibrated from the electrical current. He was being brave, but the pain was etched into his jaw line.

The next scene followed Dean on his parade around the building. He was led in cuffs along a corridor into a room with about half a dozen desks, all occupied by young women. He went to a desk to be rubbed by a woman who offered him a shy smile as she timidly stroked his shaft. The next woman was less bashful, taking a firm grip of his member and licking the tip. A third woman stopped him as he walked to the door to stroke his erection, offering him a smile and a kiss on the lips

“That’s my niece,” called out a male voice from the table. “I hope my sister doesn’t see this.”

Dean spent the next two minutes of the film strapped to the Perspex machine while Tiffany caned him as he pumped into the box. The film ended with Dean on the stage of the Performance Suite shuddering towards an orgasm, shedding his load onto the floorboards to grunts of pleasure before the three nurses sitting on the front row couches. Moriarty noted that his ejaculation ended the presentation with just a dismal discharge of milky beads. The screen turned black and began to rise as the blinds were drawn open to shed light onto the Board and their visitor.

“Now, Dr Moriarty,” Fleming began. “We can see that your research subject, Dean, has considerable potential. When can we expect him to be available?”

“Available?”

“Available to start making money.”

“He can begin work in a limited capacity almost straight away. As you can see his conditioning is adequate, and we …”

“Dr Moriarty, you are more fortunate than I when it comes to spending time with delicious men. Dean’s conditioning is more than adequate.”

“I meant his emotional conditioning. He has almost reached the point at which we can expect him to engage in any sexual act. However, these acts have all taken place within the confines of the Research Centre where he is acutely aware of the consequences of a failure to perform or any evidence of disobedience. The subject may not be so … compliant in another setting.”

       “Then we need to establish another setting, and test him. We cannot afford, after investing so much of your time and our money in this venture, for us to be unable to recover our outlay. Is that clear?”

“It is, Miss Fleming.”

       “Gloria, you’ve been spending a lot of time looking at porn.”

       The comment brought laughter from the rest of the Board members.

       “Thank you, Emily. I’ve been looking at the potential revenue streams available to the Corporation arising from the Dionysus Project. The most notable feature of the adult entertainment industry is the fickle nature of male brand loyalty in comparison to female brand loyalty. The average male subscription membership for the leading company is less than six months. The figure for women is more than two and a half years, showing that women are more consistent, more loyal.” Gloria cast a glance at her male colleagues sitting either side. They smirked like schoolboys.

       “We just like variety,” one explained, unable to suppress a laugh.

“Also, women spend more than men, though this may arise from the greater range of merchandise. Julius Kaiser retains a membership base twice the size of the highest rated female star despite the fact that he is now above forty and ...”

“He’s fat,” called out one of the other women at the table. “I went to see him last year. It was pretty grim, but the audience loved it. Our friend up there has got great potential. I would like to see some proper, studio, footage, and possibly some work with a professional photographer.”

       “Good idea, Sarah.” Fleming turned to the dark haired young woman in the sinister business suit standing in the corner. “Penelope, could you arrange a session as soon as possible. I want a top photographer, and I want a woman.” Penelope nodded and reached into her pocket for her notepad.

       Gloria continued her account.

“We can use him for private shows. He has already been … entertaining some of the senior figures in our Los Angeles office. All have been impressed by his stamina, his … length and his manners.”

“His manners?” Fleming set down her expensive pen on the table.

“He’s a very polite young man. They find him … engaging.”

       “Dr Moriarty. Have you noticed that your sex stud is polite and charming?”

       “Yes, I’d say he does conduct himself in a deferential and respectful manner with every woman he encounters.”

       Fleming turned to Rebecca to her right, but said nothing. They exchanged a look.

       “Well?”

       “Well what?”

       “Gloria only has second hand information on the research subject, but I know you’ve taken him for a test drive. How did he handle? Was he a Lamborghini or was he just a Toyota?”

       “He’s a supercharged Ferrari. He’s a great kisser and he’s charming.” She paused for a moment. “I’ll have to be honest. It was the greatest fuck I’ve ever had.”

       “That’s quite a comment because I know you’ve had a few, Rebecca, in your time. I think I might need to pop down to LA to jump on board young Dean and take him for a spin. Fine, now let’s bring this to a conclusion. Dr Moriarty, is there anything you would like to say?”

       “Yes, we also intend to increase his sperm output. We are investigating means of increasing the size of his testicles to allow for greater ejaculation. In the adult entertainment industry the amount of discharge is almost as important as the size of the penis. It is a particularly important feature for women.”

       “How long will we be able to retain the services of the young man on the screen?” asked one of the men.

       “He’s a convicted murderer, so he’ll be incarcerated for … decades to come.”

       “By the time he’s free, he’ll be no use to us, or anyone else I would imagine. Are there any more questions?”

       “Yes, can you bring him next time?” the woman at the far end of the table who had witnessed Mr Kaiser in action asked. Her female colleagues at the table all nodded in approval.

       “If you wish to see me again, I will bring the research subject to the presentation.”

       Fleming asked for any further questions, and when her request was greeted with silence she smiled at Moriarty.

       “Thank you for coming, Dr Moriarty. Penelope will show you out.”

       Penelope took the remote control from Moriarty and headed for the door without a word. Fleming was already discussing the next item on the agenda before she had even opened the door.

Six hours later, Moriarty entered the canteen in Los Angeles to find Dean still standing on the pedestal by the doorway, legs chained to the two brackets with his left hand pinned behind his back to a metal band around his waist. Only his right hand was free to manipulate his erect penis. There were few customers left in the canteen because they only served coffee and cakes after six thirty, so he was massaging his tool without an audience.

Moriarty came to stand by her captive, to see from the towel lying between his legs that the discharge was minimal. Clearly, he had been pounding his flesh to little effect for the past two hours, and she remembered the comments of the porn star the previous week about the money shot and the importance of milking for male porn stars. She recalled the mild ending to his video that afternoon and wondered whether his magnificent thrusts could end with a white cascade rising from his shaft, smothering the whore fortunate enough to share his company in a shower of semen.

       The night guard arrived to join Moriarty before Dean just as three secretaries finished their coffee and headed for the door. They were wearing their coats, so they were clearly leaving for a Friday evening in the bars and restaurants by the coast road. They stopped to watch Dean, and he returned their look without shame, pulsing his hips as he once more heightened the pace of his chafing, panting as a sign of his sexual ecstasy after more than two hours perched on the plastic plinths. Moriarty could see the sweat on his thighs as he imitated passion for the three ordinary office workers, none of them worthy of his attention.

       One of the women, a burly woman in her thirties with unruly auburn hair, approached to stand before him. Dean massaged his member with long, slow strokes, even though the well was clearly dry, and his skin was chafing from the friction.

“Come on, big boy, you can do better than that.” She took hold of his shaft and seemed to twist the muscle, provoking a wince. Another girl leant down to kiss the tip of his member, and then dug her teeth into the foreskin, provoking another grimace. Moriarty was about to speak, to tell them to leave him, when they left, giggling as they passed through the canteen doors and down the stairs for a night on the town. 

       Moriarty told Dean to cease his futile polishing and ordered the night guard to take him to his cell. By the time the guard removed the ankle chains, fastened his right hand to the back of the steel waistband and marched Dean through the canteen to the door, Moriarty had already decided that she would investigate the porn whore’s suggestion about the semen for her stud. She knew that, after the expansion therapy, the emotional conditioning and the stretching exercises, it would ensure that she created the greatest porn star in the world. 

       

Chapter 8

The villa lay on the outskirts of the southern suburbs, near the main road leading to the border. The high walls offered seclusion from prying eyes, but Moriarty knew that even a gallery of a thousand braying spectators would no longer unsettle Dean as he walked naked and bound through the garden to the patio by the oval pool. He stood before the glass door, his reflection highlighting the outline of his firm legs and tight torso, until the glass pane slid open to reveal a young woman in jeans and a blue top, her dark hair drawn back in a band. She cast a glance over his naked body and offered him a disdainful smile.

       “You must be the convict whore.”

       “Yes, Miss, I am. May I come in?”

       She tilted her head as if resenting even talking to her subject and walked away. He followed her into the middle of the room to stand on a carpet.

       “You have a very nice home, Miss. Thank you for inviting me.”

       “This is not my home.”

       The sound of a flushing toilet announced the arrival of another woman, younger than the first with loose blond hair. She uttered a slight bark of surprise to find visitors, and a lower, more prolonged, growl when she saw Dean, naked and chained, standing in the centre of the room. He offered her a winning smile that brought an embarrassed laugh.

“This is my assistant, but she will be also taking some pictures once I am done. So, when she gives you an instruction, you will obey. Is that understood?”

The woman’s tone was stern, as if she was speaking to a child, and Dean was wounded by her hostile manner. Moriarty stepped forward, having lingered by the glass doors while the two women were absorbed by their first sight of Dean.

“Do you want the restraints removed, or do you intend to begin with some bondage?” The guard appeared behind Moriarty, bearing the keys to the cuffs.

“We’ll start with the bondage and then we’ll move onto the cock shots. We’ll use our own irons. They’re easier to use.”

Moriarty remained during the shoot, poring over some files at the table by the far window, while with the guard sat at the back of the room reading a magazine. She would occasionally glance up from the clandestine pictures of Hollywood weddings and lurid accounts of celebrity drunk driving to see Dean splayed across the furniture or lying on the rug.

For the next forty five minutes the photographer recorded dozens of different poses from a variety of angles. His backside was a favourite view, followed by close up shots of his penis, which would swell and wane throughout the session. He remained bound throughout the shoot, so whenever she demanded a strong erection Dean would be forced to lie on the floor and pump into a towel to rouse his penis. She would frequently change camera and lens settings, often spending minutes studying her collection of machines while Dean was expected to hold his pose until she was ready to resume. Any slight movement would provoke a barrage of demeaning abuse.

The photographer barked her instructions and he responded briskly to every order, raising a leg, bending a knee, staring into the camera or over her shoulder. She was disgruntled by the light, the shade, the tone of his skin. Her assistant was also victim to her disdainful manner, suffering condescending comments and curt instructions. She was clearly in a foul mood and Dean was grateful when, finally, she handed her camera to the assistant and declared that she was leaving.

“Download all the work to a memory stick and bring it over tonight. I’ll look through them in the morning.” She looked at the bound captive, his legs apart from her last set. “He’s all yours. Enjoy. Make sure you get some good money shots.” She went to the table and spoke a few words to Moriarty before leaving without even a last glance at her subject.

The assistant set down her employer’s camera in favour of a smaller model. She checked the settings and began to snap her camera at Dean. She did not ask him to move or to pose, just circled him slowly. She told him to remain still and then, every few seconds, to turn to look at the camera before returning to his original stance.

His shackles were removed and he was able to move more freely, though he was still required to follow the instructions of the assistant, a girl no more than twenty years old. However, she seemed less assured than her mistress, almost pretending to be assertive.

“Lie on the couch, legs apart.” She barked at him. “Wider. Now, take your cock in your hand, get it hard, really hard, but don’t come.”

“Yes, Miss.”

He massaged his penis and it began to rise. He looked across the room to see her kneeling down, watching his erection. Their eyes met and she quickly looked down to study the readings on her dials.

“Can I have a look?” Dean rose from the couch and approached, his erect penis bouncing with every stride. She stepped back in alarm and looked to the guard sitting at the back of the room.

       “Stay away from me. Don’t take one step nearer.”

       “Why? I won’t hurt you.”

“Is that what you said to that young girl?”

“What?”

“The girl you raped. Did you tell her she was safe?”

“Who? Rape?” Dean turned to look at Moriarty, still studying her files at the table and paying no attention to the conversation by the couch.

“Miss, what is she talking about?”

       Moriarty shifted in her seat, setting down her glasses.

       “What is she talking about? Rape? She says I raped a girl.” The tone in his voice changed from surprise to a trace of anger. The guard was moving towards him, her hand by her holster.

       “Well, I thought …” Moriarty hesitated and suddenly the other women in the room were looking at her as she replaced her glasses before removing them again and returning them to her nose once more. “I was told that you were … you were … a rapist.”

       “Who? Who told you that?”

“It was something someone said, I … I don’t remember the details.”

“I do,” the young woman spoke out, glaring at Moriarty. “Fifteen years old. Abducted and taken to a camp site. Raped all weekend. Bite marks and cigarette burns. You were very specific.”

“Who told you that?” he asked the photographer. “How told you these lies?”

“She did.” The photographer looked across the room to Moriarty who was rising to her feet, her face crimson and her hands searching to press her glasses against her nose. “You’re a vicious rapist who’s a charmer most of the time, but you turn violent without warning. Those were her words.”

“Listen, I just told you what I heard,” she tried to explain as she collected her folders.

       “You know that’s not true. We spoke about the man I shot. How I felt guilty, and how I hoped one day to leave all that behind. Did you not listen to me?” His voice was rising towards a shout, but the guard was no longer reaching for her revolver.

       Moriarty dropped one of the folders, the papers littering the tiles around the table legs. She reached down and grasped the loose pages in her fist and marched out of the villa. The photographer, Dean and the guard watched her wrench open the glass doors, shedding more pages onto the patio stones as she headed for the back of the garden and the green wooden door that led to the street.

       Dean turned to the photographer.

       “I shot a man. I’m not proud of it. I regret it now, and I’m in jail because I deserve to be there. But, you have to believe me. I have never harmed a woman in my life, not even a slap, I swear.”

       “I believe you. She’s been telling vicious lies.” Dean smiled and squeezed her hand in gratitude. “Now, do you want to carry on?” Dean looked uncertain, still agitated by Moriarty’s deceit. “I won’t blame you if you ask to go back.”

       “No,” Dean returned to the couch and taking hold of his penis. “Let’s carry on.”

       The photographer moved closer, kneeling down only feet from his crotch, but she was pointing the camera at his face. He stared intently into the lens.

“Good, turn your head to the left. Keep your head to the left and look at me. Excellent, now …”

       She drew the camera from her face.

       “What’s your name?” she asked.

       “Dean, but my friends call me Dino.”

       “What would you like me to call you?”

       “You believe me, so I’d like you to call me Dino.”

       “I’m Dara.”

       “Hello, Dara. Do you want to take some great pictures?”

       He lay on the couch and she moved closer, capturing his smile. He rolled onto his back and she stood over him as he reached for his penis before laying his hand on his stomach just above his member. He looked down and then up into the lens.

       “Great,” she said, offering him a smile.

       “What about some shots by the window?”

       He offered himself in a variety of poses, stretching his limbs to refine the shot. She was surprised to discover his expertise in knowing how the image would look through her lens. He would come to the camera for a view of her work, and he would suggest modest changes that almost always produced a better picture.

       The air outside was surprisingly cool as the light began to fade so he suggested running a hot shower, and stepping out onto the patio for a portrait with the steam rising from his body.

       “It may not work, but it would make a great shot. What have we got to lose?”

       The water was scorching hot and he howled as he warmed his body beneath the steaming spray. She waited for him on the patio as he came running across the room and through the glass doors. He stood gazing across the pool as she took four pictures of him from the rear before asking him to turn around. She could see the vapours rise from his shoulders and the haze of the steam against his chest. He returned to the shower for another dose and she was able catch the vents rising from his arms and his chest as he turned to face her, his face and hair glowing from the warm water.

       They returned to the room and she recorded him drying himself, asking him to drape the towel across his genitals because “what you hide is sometimes more enticing than what you show.” Once he was almost dry he engaged in some stretching exercises, shaping his body to create alluring profiles. She moved around him, sometimes calling for a look into the camera. He followed every instruction, but her tone was different now, encouraging and amiable, as she collected dozens of prints. 

       They were interrupted by a call on the guard’s mobile. It was Moriarty. The prisoner was to return immediately to the Research Centre.

       “A shame. This is hot stuff,” she told him.

       “Maybe we’ll have a chance to meet up again, some time.”

       “Perhaps.” She stroked his arm.

       “Until then, why don’t we go into one of the bedrooms and I can show my gratitude. I’m sure the guard won’t mind.” She pretended to be uncertain, but she did not resist when he took her hand.

       “Listen, I know this sounds arrogant, but I want to show you how much I appreciate you believing in me.”

       “Well, if you put it like that,” she said, stroking his phallus that was once more rising towards a full erection. He kissed her and she offered him a shy smile as he led her into the bedroom.

The cell was dark and Dean was almost asleep when the room burst into light and the door opened on Moriarty. He did not move. She stepped inside and approached the bed. He was facing the wall.

       “Dean,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

“I am.” He did not turn to face her.

“I just had to come to see you before I went home. I am so sorry about today. I never knew that … that Tiffany could be so cruel. She assured me that she had spoken to a friend in the prison who knew about you. Her friend, according to Tiffany, said that you were a notorious rapist, a smooth talker. I was convinced, and I’m so sorry that I never believed you. I’ll never listen to her again, I promise. Can you ever forgive me?”

He did not reply, and for a few moments she wondered whether the entire Dionysus Project was facing collapse. Then, he slowly turned to face her. She asked him again if he would ever forgive him for her lack of trust.

“I’ll make Tiffany apologise to you tomorrow, I promise.”

“Why did you run away? Why didn’t you tell me then that it was Tiffany’s fault?”

“I was too embarrassed. I should have stayed. I’m sorry.” A slight turning of the head offered her hope that she was winning him back, and she touched his arm, his left arm, to emphasise her regret. He smiled and she was able to grasp his hand. “I’m so glad you understand. I thought you might never trust me again.”

She rose from the bunk and left him, turning out the light to cast him back into the darkness.

Chapter 9

A week after the photography session in the villa Dean was rising from his bed, ready for his morning shower, when the cell door opened on Moriarty. She offered him a wan smile and sat on the bed without a word. Her tense look hinted at bad news. She patted the bed and he returned to sit on the blankets.

       “I’m afraid the Board have sent me new instructions.” She wielded papers with the Genesis Corporation’s symbol emblazoned on the masthead. “They’ve decided that they want to … they want to expand your testicles.”

       “Expand?”

       “Increase, make bigger.”

       “I know what expand means,” he answered, slightly annoyed. “What I don’t understand is why they want to expand my balls.”

       “They believe, and I don’t know who thought of this, that if they inject your testicles with some sort of special serum it will expand your testicles to enable you to experience larger and more frequent ejaculations. They have some experts who claim that it will increase your semen production. Apparently, it’s an important feature of adult films.”

       “Do I have a choice?”

       “Neither of us have a choice.” She held up the envelope, which actually contained the previous month’s cleaning and catering bills, as proof of the Corporation’s demands. “It will last just a few days, and then they’ll lose interest.”

       “What are you going to do?”

       “I have to do as they say. If we …”

“To my balls. What are you going to do to my balls?”

       “I’ll inject this serum into your … your testicles, your balls.”

       “That’s going to hurt.”

       “I know. I’ve been told it’s safe, but I just don’t think it’s going to work. You’ll just have to be brave.”

       “I suppose I will.”

       “It will be fine, Dean.” She touched his arm. “I know it will hurt, but it will only be for a few days.”

The injections did not last just a few days. There were two doses each day for the first ten days followed by three doses for another ten days before the first phase of the treatment was complete. By the twentieth day his testicles were huge, almost dwarfing his penis. The scrotum skin was taut against his spheres and the amount of semen exceeded even Moriarty’s expectations. She was hoping for 30 ml, but soon he was producing more than 50 ml, and the time between each ‘release’ was often no more than five or six hours.

Moriarty insisted upon more injections, with even larger doses, in the weeks that followed, and his testicles became distorted globes, the skin chafing against the inner thigh to leave the flesh crimson and raw. The parade sessions were cancelled and Dean now spent his entire day enduring either expansion therapy with the hot plastic rod or injections into his scrotum that left him sweating in agony. The pace was unrelenting and even the nurses complained that Moriarty appeared obsessed with the idea that Dean would be the envy of the entire porn industry with his massive discharge.

       A month after the first injection Dean was in his cell after breakfast, waiting for the day’s torments to begin, when the door opened and Cindi appeared, wearing a malicious grin. Only Moriarty and the night guard normally visited his cell, and the nurses had respected this meagre defence of his privacy, but now Cindi was in his room, carrying a dark red cloth in her hand. She threw the rag across the room onto the bed.

       “Time to get dressed, and be quick about it.”

       Dean picked up the rag from the bed to find that it was a costume, a tight thong.

“Put it on.” Cindi stood beside him, smiling as he examined his costume before stepping into the legs and drawing the cloth towards his groin. The straps slipped over his hips and the pouch hugged his genitals, though both testicles peeked out from the strained cloth.

“It could be tighter,” Cindi commented, circling him for a view of the strap burrowing into the cleft between his two buttocks. She took hold of the strap and drew up the loose tag. Dean winced as his legs parted from the pressure against his anus. The strap sunk deeper into his crevice and the fabric tightened around his tender testicles. She took hold of the pouch and stretched the fabric over both his globes, leaving him sporting a huge crimson bulge between his legs. Cindi returned to his straps and pulled once more on the cord.

“Please, Miss Cindi, no more.”

“You’ll be getting more than just a thread up your arse before we’re done with you, so get used to it.” She stood back to examine her work.

“Now you really are the ultimate sex toy. Let’s show everyone. They’ll be delighted to see you.”

       Dean was led into the main reception to stand, hands on hips, by the main desk for the next two hours. He was prey to the leers, comments and caresses of the entire female staff, because after nearly a month without a ‘parade’ they were all eager for a sight, and a feel, of his naked flesh. As he had not been milked for hours, their caresses aroused him, making the swelling grow to stretch his pouch. Cindi supervised his session on the pedestal, forcing him to thrust his hips forward to greet the eager fingers reaching to probe his enticing lump.

       Moriarty arrived at the end of the second hour to witness his ejaculation, which after more than ten hours without relief was likely to be spectacular. She would be denied the chance to measure his emission, but she was certain it would exceed 60 ml. The pouch was removed and his phallus rose to a full erection. News swiftly spread that the captive whore’s cock was once more on display and he was about to shed his load. Moriarty was thrilled to see Dean attract more than thirty women crowding around the pedestal as he stroked his phallus, holding back from an orgasm until given the instruction by Cindi. He was clearly struggling to resist his natural urges and eventually a nod from Moriarty brought a slap of her cane and Dean was allowed to race to his orgasm.

       A groan announced his climax and a gasp from his audience greeted the stream of sperm pouring from his tip, a flow that spurted more than two foot from the stand. Moriarty counted five surges, from a white fountain to just a cough of white paste. Dean panted as he evacuated his testicles, holding his quivering shaft until he had discarded the last drops. Moriarty, from the edge of the crowd in the reception hall, smiled at her prisoner to see him continue to stroke his shaft, keeping a solid muscle without the benefit of an injection.

Moriarty was also delighted by the animated response of the audience in the reception hall. Dean, naked at their desks, had become a familiar sight, and they were perhaps slightly too accustomed to unfettered access. Now, they were enjoying a sight of him once more, and by the reaction of his audience, they were impressed by his immense flow. Moriarty knew that the adult entertainment scene measured a male porn star by the size of his penis and the quantity of his ejaculation. Dean would soon be unleashed upon the market and she expected him to be a spectacular success, but before his debut she wanted to present him to some old friends and a few recent enemies.

The following day Walton visited Dean for another conditioning session, which now revolved around an hour of fellatio interspersed with the occasional burst of electric shock to ensure his obedience. She found that any contact with his enormous testicles appeared to evoke the same response as her electrodes. She enjoyed her session, but she noted that he was barely able to service her without enduring agonies at her hands. Walton prided herself on possessing, when necessary, a light touch, so after her session she shared her concerns with Moriarty.

“He seems to be permanently in pain. I don’t think that’s such a great idea. He’s looking stressed, and you cannot keep him on this regime for long. He’ll be unable to perform. I barely managed a blowjob, and I can be very persuasive.”

“He’ll have to learn,” Moriarty insisted, rising from her chair to stare through the panes of glass to the Treatment Room. “This is only temporary. I intend to have him up to thirty centimetres before summer. Then he can relax.”

“That may be difficult. You’ll have to accelerate when, and I’ve seen the figures, he seems to be slowing down.”

“I have some plans that will keep him … motivated.”

       “Kerry, you’re pushing him too hard. He can only take so much.”

       “No,” Moriarty almost shouted the word. “I need him to be ready for next Thursday.”

       “What happens next Thursday?”

       “I’m returning to my old Biomedical Faculty. I’m exhibiting him to my former colleagues. When they see him they will know that I was right all along.”

       Walton said nothing, but now she was fearful for their young charge. She doubted that Dean would survive many more weeks of this treatment, or Moriarty’s personal mission for some strange form of vindication before her alma mater. She knew that Rebecca Patterson was paying close attention to developments, and she knew that she must share her concerns about Moriarty’s delusions.

       In the days that followed the intensity of the expansion therapy and the scale of the injections increased until Dean spent almost every waking hour in the Treatment Room. He was chained to his bed at night to avoid nocturnal masturbation and Moriarty took daily measurements of his releases. She also withheld ‘milking’ to enable him to ‘build up some steam’ and she measured both the distance and the weight of individual emissions. He was reaching beyond a metre, and issuing more than 75ml in the final days before Moriarty took him to her former faculty.

       On the last day she paraded him in his thong, ensuring that the thickened fabric would not tear during his ‘performance’ the following day. Her review was almost complete when she suffered a moment of doubt about the colour. Bright red alternated with navy blue before she briefly considered black and then white. Eventually, she returned to crimson, the colour of blood. Each costume change was agony for Dean as the viewing required full extension of the straps, drawing the cords into his buttock cleft and straining his scrotum as the pouch was set taut to highlight his outstanding bump.

       He was shaved twice and waxed three times to leave his skin glowing before a two hour session in the sweat room for a last toning of the muscles. Then, he was chained to his bed at six, ready for a busy day. She came to sit with him after Cindi had bound his arms by his side. He asked for simple chains so that he could rise from the bed in the night if he needed the toilet, but she claimed that he could rub himself to an orgasm with free hands. He promised he would control himself, but she assured him that this was the only safe option.

       “This is an important day for you, Dean. You have to give a really outstanding performance. Do you understand?”

       “Outstanding. Yes, Miss.”

       “You must be energetic and when you come you have to be … sensational. Do you want to be sensational?” He nodded as she stroked his bound arm. They both stared at his erect penis, already aching from eight hours without ejaculation. She knew the discomfort would be intense by the time he appeared before her former colleagues in the afternoon, but it was an unfortunate necessity to ensure an ‘explosion’ when Dean performed in the Faculty Hall.

       “I won’t let you down, Miss, I promise.”

       “I know, Dean. Now get some rest. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Chapter 10

Dean was led into a small hall containing only a small table bearing a television surrounded by a dozen young men and women in white coats. He saw Moriarty, with her clipboard, standing in the centre of the group. The closing of the door alerted the entire room to his presence and all eyes turned to him as he walked across the hall. The small screen was showing him bound to the Perspex box, and he could hear Tiffany’s strident voice barking orders and the sound of the cane on his flesh.

The audience who had been avidly observing his painful degradation lost interest in the image in favour of enjoying a sight of the captive whore in vibrant life. It was a testament to the training of the past four months that he approached an audience of young men and women wearing only his crimson costume with his hand cuffed behind his back without a tremor. Dean had been told by Moriarty to adopt a confident, almost arrogant, bearing when he met the medical students and researchers. He did not know that this initial pride was designed by Moriarty to highlight the intense humiliation that he would endure over the next hour.  

       He stood before his audience, staring at each face even though he could see that all of the women, and most of the men, were surveying his costume which was now inevitably beginning to stir from an erection. The assembled specialists all studied Dean with an air of authority. He was a convict whore, who was about to suffer severe cruelty on the torture table hidden behind the screen in the corner. Some even smiled, wondering if he knew the fate that awaited him.

       Moriarty turned off the video from her Board visit to begin her description of the captive.

“This is the subject. A twenty two year old male with, as you will observe, unusually large genitals.” The audience drew closer now, the women gathering in the front row. “His testicles are three times the normal size for a man of his age and, as we will witness later, this has a significant impact upon the quantity of semen discharge.” Moriarty circled her captive and, as instructed, he watched her all the time when she was speaking. “The subject is a convicted criminal who volunteered for this project. However, while he is outside the confines of our Research Centre he must remain cuffed at all times unless he has an armed guard.” The presence of the guard in the corner of the hall was finally noticed by everyone else in the hall as she came to the prisoner to remove his cuffs. Dean then stood in his pose of hands on hips with his legs wide apart, a stance designed to denote confidence, arrogance and vanity.

“You mean his testicles are not the result of a medical condition?” one of the men asked, moving closer to study his enlarged organ. He pressed the prisoner’s left testicle. Dean managed to suppress a groan, but he could not avoid flinching from the pain. The medic took hold of the testicle and squeezed, provoking a growl of frustrated anger.

       “That’s right. The present size has been induced using chemical compounds specially developed to enhance semen flow.”

“How often does the subject need to ejaculate?”

“The optimum time is about six hours. After that there is increasing discomfort, and he attempts to ejaculate through masturbation or penetration.”

       “Penetration? Does he engage in sexual intercourse in the Research Centre?”

       “No, we have a special plastic box that he … mounts. This serves as an artificial vagina that enables him to achieve full erection and, eventually, ejaculation.”

       “You have trained him to perform these acts? How did you ‘persuade’ him to masturbate in front of a group of complete strangers or to penetrate a plastic box?” The researcher glanced up at Dean, smiling as he contemplated the methods employed to secure his compliance.

       “We have our methods, which I do not wish to discuss here.”

       Only the sound of the prisoner thrusting forward his genitals at the women in the room disturbed the uneasy silence.

       “Now, it’s time for the main event.” Moriarty took hold of the crimson straps and let the costume fall to the ground. No one spoke, but the heartbeat of every woman and most men in the room rose at the sight of Dean’s phallus free from the constraints of the pouch. He noticed their fascination and began to act his role, thrusting his hips forward as he stroked his shaft, moving his fingertips towards the moist tip before rubbing the shaft between the inside of his fingers.

       “Now, everyone wants to have a good look at your body, so move closer.”

       Dean stepped forward two paces to stand within a few feet of the circle of white coats.

       “I’m a whore, a slut. I love showing my fantastic body. Look at my magnificent cock. I’m a porn star whore, and I love pussy. I love fucking holes with my enormous cock.” He crouched low, rubbing his hand across his lower stomach, as he explained how much he enjoyed anal violation. He thrust forward his erection, gazing at the women and issuing an invitation for a bout of fellatio, an offer that a few of the women appeared willing to consider.

       “What’s the male equivalent of a slut?” asked one of the men as Dean’s chafing became ever more vigorous.

       “I don’t know, but we’re looking at one now.”

“Where did you find him?” one of the men asked Moriarty.

“Obviously in the gutter.”

Dean closed his eyes and lifted his head, simulating sexual pleasure as he massaged his organ. He knew he was being diminished and degraded as he masturbated before these privileged college educated youngsters with expensive cars and houses in the hills. However, Moriarty had insisted that he act as a conceited slut, so he continued to act like a vain porn star, displaying his penis to the women who caught his eye. After five minutes he informed Moriarty he was about to ejaculate. She spread two scrolls of tissue paper on the floor, stretching more than three feet from the end of Dean’s tip.

       A sense of anticipation gripped his audience as he reached his climax and, pulsing his hips, a spout of semen sailed through the air to fall beyond the edge of the paper tissue onto the floorboards. The women gasped at the sight of his fertile stream gushing from his foreskin. Another spurt was followed by a third and then a slightly feeble fourth issue and finally Dean groaned as he forced out the last drops. He adopted his haughty pose, his erect penis trailing semen along his shaft to the floor, while his audience studied the stains he left on both the tissue and the floorboards.

       “As you can see the discharge is plentiful. It is both longer and stronger than ordinary ejaculations. Now, unless anyone has any more questions about his ejaculate we can progress to the second phase of our examination, the expansion therapy.”

       Cindi appeared, wheeling a table fitted with the usual movable board and attendant straps, to the centre of the hall. The students were delighted to notice Dean give Moriarty an uneasy look.

“Not so smug now, big boy.”

       “Is your magnificent cock ready for a pounding.”

       “Time for some hard medicine for the slut.”

       Dean was laid out on the table and the students gathered around the bound convict, admiring the view of his naked body strapped to the board. Moriarty noticed one of the female doctors slyly fondle his thigh.

       “The subject is a sex slave, available to anyone who wishes to enjoy his body. Please feel free to touch him. We have plenty of time, and he’s not going anywhere.”

The women spent the next five minutes caressing, stroking and massaging Dean’s body. His firm legs and his glistening torso were popular choices, but eventually their attention turned to his magnificent pink baton, still damp and standing proud over his taut stomach. The female professionals swiftly descended into a gaggle of giggling women, encouraging each another to ever more intimate intrusions.

       Eventually, their curiosity sated, they allowed Moriarty to continue her demonstration. She injected a double dose of her potion into the base of Dean’s shaft, and within a minute he was displaying another magnificent erection. The tubes appeared and the crowd moved closer, intently watching Dean as Moriarty sent the plastic tube deep into his phallus. The tube, as he expected, was an extension and the agony was intense as Moriarty drove the bar deeper into his flesh. He was able to present a brave face to the gallery of sneering faces above him, but when the electrical current ripped through his body he howled in pain, provoking laughter and a round of applause.

       “That’s wiped the smile off his face.”

       “I wonder if he knows what that current will do to the lining of his urethra?”

       “That has got to hurt.”

       The pain pulsed through his body, and Dean knew that Moriarty had raised the power of the charge to leave him in agony on the table, so that his suffering provided entertainment for her audience.

       “Kerry, this guy’s such an idiot. Why he would volunteer to serve such a sadist like you …”

       “Bill. I think that’s for another time.” A finger to her mouth brought a raised hand of apology. Dean endured a scorching penis for more than five minutes before Moriarty turned off the machine and drew out the rod, showing traces of blood on the stem.

       “Now, for the next phase of this afternoon’s demonstration we will need to leave the subject’s genitals alone. We don’t want to damage his precious assets. We’ve invested far too much in his cock to singe them today. However, the research subject’s fingers and toes are a different matter.” She held up two clamps, and Dean’s face turned white with fear.

       “Please, Miss, no. I’m begging you. I’ve done nothing wrong, I swear.”

       The audience drew near once more, eager to witness the debasing of the arrogant porn star with the massive cock and the huge ego. He strained against the straps as Moriarty placed a clamp on each thumb, provoking giggles from some of the women, who were now really just girls in white coats. As soon as the toe clamps were biting into his nails, Moriarty examined the straps. Once satisfied that they were sufficiently firm for her purposes she explained the mechanism in her hand. The length of the therapy would be entered along with the number of shocks each minute. The incidents would be entirely random, offering the subject no rest from the pain. She announced that the session would last ten minutes with twelve jolts each minute. Moriarty decided that Dean’s pathetic pleas, though wonderful to hear, needed to be silenced by a ball gag.

“Colleagues, the subject is still undergoing intensive conditioning exercises to ensure that he is compliant and submissive. He is kept naked, except when dressed in special costumes, and he remains bound for prolonged periods during the day. We have been experimenting with the most demeaning form of bondage, but we cannot agree. The subject will be leaving constrained in my favourite, but they are all very humiliating.” She smiled at her bound whore. “We inflict pain, because we find agony is the most effective means of ensuring that he performs all the disgraceful and degrading tasks you would expect from a bondage whore.”

The torment began and Dean writhed on the table with every jolt, screaming into his gag. Moriarty had ensured that the straps were not too tight, so the audience could enjoy the sight of Dean flailing on the table, panting for breath between each violation. His rigid penis trembled as he desperately thrashed to escape his torment. The ten minutes of agony ended and he was taken from the table to stand before his audience, notably less assured and confident than when he arrived in the hall. Moriarty was now convinced that he would be ready to entertain her guests, eager to provide the most abject sexual services.

       Dean spent the next hour as the sex toy of the party of doctors and researchers. His erection was the focus of attention for the first half an hour, but the second half was dedicated to the abuse of his anus. A dildo was produced and Dean was violated by a number of the men and a few of the women before being obliged to misuse himself. He was ordered to squat on the table to insert a metal tube into his anus. Eventually he was able to shove in the cold steel, but the plug chafed his passage. A caning from Cindi, her blows drawing applause from the medics and researchers, was required to ensure that he pounded his own anus, gritting his teeth to endure the pain and the intense humiliation of the taunts from the spectators who stood only feet away.

Dean was reaching down to grasp his ankles, in readiness for one of the women to violate him with the same vibrator, when one of the men asked Moriarty if Dean could ‘blow his own trumpet.’ Moriarty was confused until he explained the mechanics of auto fellatio. Moriarty doubted the possibility, but one of the researchers assured her that his college fraternity had once hired a male whore who had managed to lick his own foreskin. The feat required flexibility, a generous penis and the absence of anything approaching shame.

“Your whore meets all three conditions. Let’s put him to the test.”

For the next five minutes Dean was forced to bend his back and reach for his foreskin. Cindi’s cane and the guests grasping his head to thrust it towards his erection was not enough to achieve success. He was about three inches short of his goal, which was testament to his stretching exercises. However, he failed the task and the female medical students insisted upon a penalty. Therefore, Dean’s visit to the Faculty Hall concluded with another trip to the table. The girls also convinced Moriarty to administer fifteen minutes of suffering so that when the table was lowered and Dean staggered to the centre of the hall, soiled and wet, he was barely able to stand. A caning from Cindi brought him to his standard pose, legs wide apart with his hands on his hips, while she cleaned his backside with a hose. The pose remained as before, but now his head was bowed.

       “A last view of his anus if you please, Dr Moriarty.”

       “You heard your master, turn and show your superiors your arsehole.”

       Dean obliged, grasping his ankles in the ‘crab’ pose, to be rewarded with a round of applause. Cindi placed him in his costume, though the erection meant that the pouch failed to cover his penis. However, the tight strapping still ripped through his buttock cleft. Moriarty offered them a last view of her “bondage whore dressed as a sex toy” before the guard stepped forward to place a neck brace and ankles cuffs.

       “Nice necklace. How do you get one of those?”

       “By being a criminal whore, that’s how.”

       Moriarty stroked Dean’s thigh, like stroking a wild animal, while the guard fitted two short chains, no more than a foot long, to the metal collar. Dean’s hands were then held by his shoulders.

“I like these chains because they expose his entire body. They’re almost an invitation to enjoy this bound and naked whore.” Moriarty placed her hand on his penis and, encouraged by a stroke from the cane, began to pulse his hips to laughter from her colleagues. She ordered him to bow and he left shuffling towards the door, sent on his way by more blows from Cindi’s cane, each blow greeted with applause, praise and laughter from the students as they enjoyed the departure of Moriarty’s sex slave.

       Moriarty had been waiting for nearly two years for this moment. The guard appeared at the door at the far end of the hall and Moriarty offered her the slightest of nods, a gesture noticed by some of her former colleagues who turned to see the guard by the door. Moriarty was delighted to observe that her respected associates, all doctoral scholars and researchers, were just excited women eager for a sight of her prisoner’s massive cock.

       The guard disappeared to return with Dean, and the slamming of the door alerted everyone in the hall to his presence. He strode across the hall to the waiting doctors and scientists, stunning in his crimson costume. She knew that some might view his enlarged testicles as absurd, but she thought he look magnificent with his globes stretching the red fabric as he paced across the room. He was chained and almost naked, indeed the costume was actually more demeaning than wearing nothing at all. However, he dominated the room as he came to a halt before them, legs apart to highlight his wonderful genitals.

       She introduced him as he stood in his costume, allowing one of the men to draw near to prod his member and ask questions. His curiosity was annoying the others in the party, keen to unveil the captive’s equipment. The exposure of his phallus tightened the air in the room and there was total silence as he was unchained to stand, hands on hips, displaying his taut and tanned body. He expertly performed his role as the vain porn stud eager for sex, his lewd display provoking repulsion and arousal in almost equal measure.

Moriarty noticed that the women were delighted by his performance and they almost ran to the table, gently jostling for position, as he was hoisted into place. Though the women giggled at the insults and the degrading comments, it was the men who showed their unease in the presence of such a splendid example of manhood by highlighting his nudity, his arrogance and his diminished status as a prisoner.

       The expansion treatment was a useful means of reminding her colleagues of her doctoral thesis, and an opportunity to strap a superb naked man to a table and play with him for a few minutes. The electric torture was simply designed to demonstrate her complete control over the subject. She was the domineering powerful woman and he, despite his outstanding physique, was just her slave. She had demonstrated her power over him, subjecting him to a miserable hour of humiliation and torture. His subjugation was a powerful riposte to all those barbed comments about her randy monkeys that she had endured during her four years of intensive research. Now, these same scientists, former colleagues with larger grants and doctorates from the most distinguished academies, were watching her control a tremendous and vibrant male. She could almost taste the jealousy as she stood beside her captive and stroked his thigh.

       So, when he emerged from his second spell on the torture table, soiled and stained, his legs quivering as he tried to adopt his initial arrogant pose, Moriarty felt immense pride in her work. She also felt avenged for all the slights she suffered from the men and women who now admired her command of her shattered and terrified sex slave.  

Chapter 11

Dean breathed deep as he tried, once more, to stretch his back on the table as Cindi cast an ominous shadow on the stained wood.

       “Get on with it, you piece of fuckmeat. I want the palms of your hands and the soles of your feet touching the line. Ten seconds or it’s another caning.”

       Dean balanced on the edge of the table and leant back, reaching for the tabletop. He managed to plant his hands, but they were still more than a foot from the lines drawn on the table. He was required to place both his hands and his feet within the box by arching his back until his feet were no more than two feet from his hands. He was preparing for the final ingredient in Moriarty’s scheme, her crowning moment and his supreme humiliation, when he would fellate himself before the Board.

       Cindi collected her cane and administered three sharp blows to Dean’s chest, leaving a trio of scarlet lines across his torso. He winced, but he maintained his pose, reaching back with his hands as he desperately sought the line before his tormentor delivered another swipe.

       Moriarty and Walton walked into the room to see Dean balanced on the table, his hands only inches from the line.

       “Isn’t he the wrong way round?” Walton asked. “He’ll never suck his dick from there.”

       “We stretch him both backwards and forwards to heighten suppleness.”

       “Impressive,” Walton commented, smiling at the scale of the research subject’s obedience.

       “Not really. He should have both his hands and his feet on the line. We’re still days from success.”

       “I thought he had managed to reach …”

       “Reach, but he’s licking and not sucking, and my task will only be complete when he achieves full fellatio.”

       “You have high standards, Kerry, or should that be low standards.” She turned to the nurse glowering as she stood over the contorted figure balanced on the table.

“My compliments, Cindi. He seems to be making great progress.” Walton circled the captive, but she halted her tour to stare at his buttocks. “You’ve been very busy with his anus.”

       “We find the anus is the most effective route to subservience,” Moriarty explained. “Also, anal discipline trains the subject for his future as a gay whore.”

       “He’ll be used as a gay whore?” Walton looked at Moriarty. “I thought it was only films.”

       “There’s been considerable interest. Our secret porn star is not such a secret anymore.” Walton ran her fingers over his stomach, feeling the moist skin quiver at her touch.

“I know that the pictures from the villa made their way onto a website.” Walton caressed the underside of Dean’s erection with her fingers. “I’m sure they can’t wait to get hold of his cock, and I don’t blame them.” She squeezed his moist tip, and felt a flicker from his taut body. His erection was splendid, but Walton was disturbed by the sight of his testicles, now the size of small oranges. She stroked his thigh, feeling the firm muscles straining to hold the pose. Moriarty and her team of sadistic sluts had succeeded in creating a compliant sex toy, but Walton was unsettled by Moriarty’s obsessions with his semen.

“He’s due to begin making gay films within a month,” Moriarty continued. “He’s also got some bookings later for private parties.”

“Will they be expecting to see him sucking his own cock, or will that just be a pleasant surprise? How did they know to call here? I saw the pictures, but there’s nothing to link him with the Corporation.”

       “We employ more than fifty women, and none of them can keep a secret. Therefore, it was only a matter of time before we were approached by some very influential figures who wish to ‘borrow’ him for a day or two. In fact, representatives of one of the most distinguished callers will be arriving within the hour for a viewing.”

       “In that case we should enjoy our subject before those queers get their hands on him.” Moriarty scowled. “Oh Kerry, don’t be so PC. Now, do I get to play with his cock or not?”

       “You can, but no milking. He’s going to show off to our guests.”

       “In that case, he can bend over backwards another time. I want him washed and on that stage in five minutes. I’m going for a coffee.”

       An hour later Moriarty led a young man with long dark hair tied in a pony tail and dressed in a purple frock coat and an even younger woman, no more than twenty, in a grey business suit into the Performance Suite. Dean stood before the small table with Cindi, cane in hand, by his side. She ordered him to perform the ‘spreadeagle’ pose. He placed his palms together and balanced on the table, drawing his legs apart while he leant forward, presenting his anus to anyone who chose to stand behind him. His leg muscles rippled as he held the pose, and his panting breath betrayed his struggle to keep his toes pointing forward.

       “Superb,” commented the woman, moving closer for an intimate examination of his glistening tense body. “His muscle tone is quite superb.” The woman’s accent was French, but Moriarty also recognised a Canadian lilt. She recalled that the business magnate owned an extensive range of companies in Canada.

“May I ask, Mademoiselle Moriarty …”

“Doctor Moriarty.” The smile was cold enough to freeze meat.

“I beg you pardon. Doctor Moriarty, may I ask whether your subject is a homosexual, or displays homosexual tendencies?”

“No.”

       “Excellent. My client prefers using reluctant participants. It adds to his pleasure that they endure humiliation as well as pain.” She ran her palm along his inner thigh towards his anus. “May I have him on his hands and knees? I wish to examine him.” A stroke of Cindi’s cane brought him down from the table.

       “You heard your mistress,” she growled. Dean leapt back onto the table and spread his knees to display his hole.

       “Good doggy,” the man in the frock coat said with a giggle.

       The young woman removed the jacket of her business suit along with her bracelet and her rings, placing them on the small table in the corner. She then slipped on a pair of plastic gloves before standing behind Dean, peering between his buttocks. She inserted her middle finger and began to push. The muscles parted and she was able to massage another two fingers into her subject.

       “Have you been conditioning him for his new role?”

       “There’s been a little work done in recent weeks,” Moriarty replied. “Our focus has been on other issues. We’re hoping …”

       “There is a great deal more to be done. His passage is very tight. A gay whore is expected to be able to accommodate a fist without friction. The whores in my client’s … collection are able to house at least six centimetres to a depth of twenty centimetres.”

       “Pardon? Could I have that in feet and inches?” Cindi asked.

       “About two and a half inches wide and eight inches deep,” Moriarty told her assistant.

       Delacroix opened her briefcase to show the two women a wide black tube with a plastic handle.

“That, Mademoiselle Delacroix, will be quite a challenge,” Moriarty replied, taking the plug from her visitor.

       “If you want your whore to be a success you’ll …”

       “We prefer the term, research subject,” Moriarty interrupted with another icy stare.

       “Research subject?”

       “This is a medical and psychological experiment. We are developing new conditioning methods that will enable us to enhance the sexual performance of adult entertainment artists.”

       As Moriarty explained the basic features of the Dionysus Project, Delacroix ordered Dean to turn on his back while she examined his penis, casually massaging him towards a firm erection. Once she was satisfied with the rigidity of his penis, claiming him to be ‘very hard,” she removed her gloves and replaced her jewellery. Only then did she speak to Moriarty.

       “We are not paying you six thousand dollars to be part of a clinical trial, Doctor Moriarty. We expect the man we viewed in those pictures to be brought to serve us as a gay whore for a period of exactly twenty four hours. Is that understood?”

The tone of the young woman, no more than a girl, turned colder and shaper with every word. By the end of her speech she was almost spitting the words. The two women glared at one another across the naked whore splayed on the desk between them.

“Miss Delacroix, you can assure Mr Downing that this man will be brought to the allotted place at the allotted time. I also promise him total discretion. Whatever happens on your uncle’s yacht will remain a secret.”

The young man stepped between his employer’s niece and the young doctor. He placed a hand on Dean’s backside and ran his hand down his leg, stroking his inner thigh.

“May I take your research subject for a test run?” he asked Moriarty, eager to distract her from young Lillian Delacroix.

“A test run?”

“May I taste a sample?”

“A sample?” Moriarty was still confused.

“Mister Porter wishes to bugger your research subject, Doctor Moriarty.”

“Only if that would be fine with you, Doctor,” he said, moving away from the naked slave on the table. “I don’t wish to cause offence. I can wait until his visit, if necessary. I’m in no hurry to fuck the monkey.”

“No, Mr Porter. It is time for him to be fully introduced to this aspect of his future career.”

“May I have him bound?” Porter asked as he removed his cravat and coat, handing them to Cindi without a glance.

“I can assure you that he will not resist, or if he does …”

“It’s a fetish of mine. I tie up my partner, and we’ve been together for six years.”

“He is here to satisfy your desires, so we will bind him. His hands behind his back, or do you have a special preference?”

“No, any form of bondage will be fine. I don’t want to be any bother.”

Cindi stepped forward, offered a deferential nod to Moriarty and an opinion.

“Doctor, what about the fuckbox?”

“Thank you, Cindi, that’s an excellent idea.”

       “I’ll clean him first, Doctor, if he’s going to be performing with our guest.”

       Cindi grabbed Dean’s face, and now she returned to her arrogant tone as she stared into his eyes.

       “Have you heard the good news? You’re about to get some real meat in your hole. I’m sure you’ll enjoy every minute. Now every dog needs a leash.” She tied a collar around his neck and led him to the shower room for a three minute deluge of cold water before returning him to be tied to the ‘fuckbox’ for the enjoyment of Mr Porter.

       Porter removed the last of his clothing to reveal a fine physique and stood, naked, behind Dean strapped to his box.

       “Fucking a whore with your trousers around the ankles is such a sordid sight,” he told Moriarty. “It makes me feel so …. furtive.”

       Porter coated his penis with gel before placing the tip against Dean’s anus and gradually forcing himself into the slave. Only when he was at least three inches inside did he begin to pulse back and forth, inducing a slight moan from his reluctant partner. The shaft sank deeper, every stroke testing the muscle until he had fully entered his bound captive.

Then the abuse began. It was, like his entry, a slow gradual quickening of the pace until he was vigorously thrusting the full length of his shaft.

“Head up,” Cindi ordered. Dean looked up to stare at the three women observing his first experience of sodomy. Cindi leant forward, her face no more than a foot from Dean.

“Enjoying that cock in your hole? How’s our first real rape? Well, get used to it. Your butt is going to be having lots of visitors soon.” She showed him Delacroix’s broad plug and smiled.

Porter’s enthusiastic pulses became almost frantic as he gasped for breath until he leant forward and his legs quivered while he sent his load into Dean. He remained inside his victim for almost another minute before he withdrew to wipe his penis on a cloth and ask for the shower room. He followed Cindi out of the Performance Suite, not even looking back at the man he had just buggered, his anus now splattered with Porter’s semen.

“Mister Porter is a former professional who now works for my client in a … consulting capacity,” Delacroix explained. “Even now he spends a great deal of his time servicing my client’s sexual needs, either indirectly or directly.”

Delacroix moved around the table to examine Dean’s anus after his rape. She noticed his enormous testicles and grasped one in her hand, provoking the first pathetic sound since Porter entered his passage.

“The subject’s testicles have been expanded to allow for massive ejaculations. We believe it will be a selling point with our customers.”

“May I now enjoy a taste?”

“Of course, do you need a vibrator?”

“No, I’ll suck him for a while.”

       “The subject will warn you when he is about to ejaculate. He does issue quite a flow of semen.”

       “Thank you for the warning, Doctor Moriarty, but I am regularly served by my client’s stable of whores, and all of them provided excellent practice.”

       Dean was instructed to lie on the table, his legs draped over the side, to allow Delacroix access to his erection. Delacroix began her ritual, licking the shaft before enveloping the head and commencing a slow pulsing of the tip. She looked up at Dean as the tip of her tongue explored the head of his penis. He wrapped his legs around the table legs for a firmer grip as he began to move his hips in response to her fellatio. She raised and lowered her head as she teased his shaft, occasionally drawing away to lick the tip with her tongue. Dean remained calm, but his grip on the table legs tightened as his moment of climax approached.

       Porter returned, drying himself with a towel after his shower. He was accompanied by Cindi who came to stand over Dean as his orgasm approached.

       “Come on, you fucking slut. Work that arse. Don’t make Mistress do all the work, you lazy whore.”

       Dean pulsed his hips for no more than a minute before he threw back his head.

       “Coming, Mistress. I’m about to come.” Delacroix continued to hold his shaft in her mouth, so he issued another warning. “Mistress, I’m coming. I’m …”

       Delacroix gasped as the seed filled her mouth, coughing his semen onto his testicles as she struggled for breath. She lifted her mouth clear of the tip, but the pulses of white cream continued, spraying her face as she opened her mouth to catch the last drops of the stream. She rose from the table and stared at her blouse, now stained by his discharge. Porter laughed at the sight of her soiled face. 

       “That was like swallowing a fire hose.” Cindi handed her a towel.

       “What have you been feeding him?” Porter asked.

       “It’s a special diet. We’ve expanded his testicles and he can now expel more than eight times the average amount of semen.”

       “He’s a freak.”

       “No, he’s a marvel,” Delacroix replied, caressing Dean’s thigh. “I can’t wait to taste him again.”

Chapter 12

Moriarty was led into a darkened room by Penelope, the solitary window covered by a heavy blind. She counted seven figures, only one a male, sitting in a semi circle in the centre of the room. Fleming enjoyed the middle chair, flanked by Patterson and another blonde in a business suit. Moriarty was unsettled by their blank stares as she stepped into the circle. Patterson answered her look with only a grave nod, sitting erect in her chair.

       “Good afternoon Dr Moriarty,” the Chief Executive Officer spoke in measured tones. “I am pleased that you could spare the time to visit us. I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

       Moriarty nodded, and then realised that more was needed.

       “Yes, thank you. It’s a short flight.”

       “You flew? I thought you were coming by road.”

       “I flew this morning. The subject was driven overnight.”

       “Overnight.”

       “Yes, in a van.”

“I hope that he’s in good shape after his long journey. I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say that we are all looking forward to seeing him. I’ve seen the video and the photographs, but nothing quite beats the real thing.”

       “Would you like to see him now?”

       Fleming only needed to smile to send Moriarty to the door. She returned within seconds, leading Dean in his thong with his hands chained to his neck brace. They both stood before the circle of corporate dignitaries, the bound and naked whore more at ease than the woman with her black briefcase and blue business suit.

       All seven pairs of eyes were absorbed by Dean, standing before them with his pouch bulging from his rising erection. The women were obviously entranced by his torso and his erection, but even the man seemed to be overwhelmed by the vitality of their visitor.

“I think I had a dream like this one time,” one of the women commented, gazing at the bugling pouch.

       “Now, with your permission, Miss Fleming, I would like to demonstrate our subject’s … capabilities.”

A cursory nod to the guard brought her to draw down his costume to reveal a hardening penis. Moriarty ordered him to bend over, stand on his toes and raise his buttocks to allow her to wipe the base of his penis with alcohol and slowly insert the needle. Only when the spine had been driven into the flesh up to the hilt did she press her thumb against the plunger, gradually injecting the serum. She gave him a double dose, because he was on display and she could not afford for him to be anything other than rampant today.

Once the syringe was out she returned her bottles to her bag and removed her gloves, leaving her obedient subject to capture the imagination of her audience. Only when she was ready did she ask Dean to rise to stand before them with a superb erection.

“As you can see, the penis is becoming erect. The full impact of the serum is normally only visible after about two minutes. However, the subject was already aroused.”

“Why so long?” the man asked. “Most stimulants act within seconds.”

“This stimulant also influences his mentality so …”

“You mean he’s aroused as a consequence of the serum.”

“Yes. Most stimulants simply invoke muscle spasm, so that the penis becomes rigid. There is no sexual pleasure involved, other than possessing an erect penis with which you can pleasure others.”

“So, to be blunt Dr Moriarty,” Fleming leant forward for a closer view of Dean’s erection. “He’s not just hard, he’s horny as well.” Moriarty nodded, staring down at the erection that was now complete. “Doctor, if that thing gets any bigger, we’ll have to find a bigger room.”

“He has undergone the enhancement therapy?” The woman at the end of the row of chairs, a smartly dressed plump fifty year old with jet black bouffant hair asked as she leant forward in her chair for a closer view of his penis.

“Yes, though there has not yet been a significant difference …”

“Has it altered the constitution of his penis?”

“I have not noticed any significant change in the condition of the subject’s genitals. However, you are welcome to a closer inspection.” She exchanged a glance with Fleming as Moriarty ordered Dean to “present your genitals for inspection” to the plump woman with charcoal hair.

“Yes Dr Moriarty.”

Dean stood before the woman, who offered her neighbour a quizzical look before turning to study Dean’s member.

“The serum is very effective. Feel this.” She offered Dean’s shaft to her neighbour. “It’s as hard as rock.” The neighbour gasped to feel the prisoner’s rigid flesh.

“Suzie, you have to feel this.” She sent him to the woman at the other end of the row of chairs who enjoyed an entire minute of running her hand back and forth along the shaft. Fleming suggested that everyone should enjoy a feel of Dean’s erection, “even if we all be having a much closer feel later on.” The man declined the offer.

“Tom, don’t be shy, or jealous.”

“Emily, I’d rather be sitting here than standing there. That skin’s very tight. Does it hurt, son.”

“No, Sir.”

“I think you may be lying.”

The tour ended and Dean returned to stand before his audience as the guard stood behind him and removed his shackles.

“I have to say that was magnificent. Is he as good as he looks, Doctor Moriarty? Will we see him in action?” Fleming turned to her colleagues. “Do we have a volunteer?” The women giggled when the man exclaimed that he was not available for the task.

“Ladies.” Moriarty attempted to restore restraint to the proceedings. The women were getting excited, just like the female medics at the Faculty. “We would like to demonstrate the scale of our subject’s … flexibility and his subjugation to our wishes.” She smiled at Patterson as she called Dean to stand beside her. “I will be a few moments. Meanwhile the subject will prepare himself for his next routine.” Moriarty marched out of the room to leave Dean squatting on the floor, stretching his calves, crossing his legs, bending over to set his nose against his knees and stretching backwards so that his head almost touched the ground. She returned as he attempted to perform the splits on the carpet.

Moriarty was pushing a dentist’s chair decorated with straps across the carpet. She set the chair in front of the Board and the captive clambering into place, allowing Moriarty to secure his ankles and bind his hands once more against the hardwood board pressing against his back. One press of a lever and Dean’s feet were lifted above his head, pressing him against the wooden board. Moriarty began to turn a wheel and the angle between the two boards started to shrink. Only when he opened his mouth did his audience realise the nature of the forthcoming obscenity.

“Oh my goodness,” one woman exclaimed. “That’s the most disgusting sight I’ve ever seen.” She left her seat for a closer view of the coarse and demeaning act. Moriarty believed that the ‘auto’ chair once more highlighted her skills and her power over him, and emphasised the potential for gay sales. The pink dollar was important in San Francisco, and she believed that he could earn vast amounts of money in this city blowing his own horn for a fee.

The penis tip had now disappeared into Dean’s mouth, but even though he had swallowed his own foreskin, Moriarty continued to turn the wheel, leaving Dean in agony. Only when the groans from her captive had become unrelenting did she end her torture and Dean began his fellatio, rocking his head back and forth to consume his own phallus. He even halted to lick his own foreskin during his perverted display, provoking chuckles from the man and few gasps from the women. The fellatio continued for about five minutes before Moriarty ordered Dean to cease.

“I don’t want him to ejaculate in this position. I wish to highlight another feature of our training regime and our … modifications.”

Dean was removed from the chair and returned to stand before his audience, rubbing his hot skin.

“Do you feel any shame?” the man asked as Dean’s erection stood out, his shaft and head glistening from his own saliva. “You’ve just performed a most degrading and uncomfortable act, yet you are now standing before us without any appearance of embarrassment or humiliation.”

Dean turned to Moriarty.

“Answer the gentleman’s question. How do you feel?”

“I’m a porn stud, ready for action.” He thrust his pelvis forward to emphasise his point. “I want to show off my magnificent cock.” He accelerated the massaging of his shaft, staring at the women as he feigned sexual frenzy.

“Now the subject will demonstrate his potency.” She laid a dark towel on the carpet before Fleming and turned to Deam. “Masturbate, slowly at first and then vigorously. Alert me when you are about to ejaculate.”

“Yes, Doctor Moriarty.”

Dean slowly stroked the shaft. He looked at the women and then down at his penis as the rhythm gradually increased towards a frantic rubbing. He placed his left hand behind his back while his right hand worked his genitals. Moriarty ordered him to spread his legs wider.

“The subject has been trained, though highly stimulated, to avoid premature ejaculation. This enables any spectator to enjoy a prolonged show.”

After a few minutes Dean announced that he was approaching his peak and asked for permission to come. There was no answer, so he continued to work his shaft.

“Please, Mistress.”

“Proceed.”

Dean crouched even lower and, moaning and gasping, he ejected a stream of semen that travelled more than six feet to land beyond the towel on the carpet by Fleming’s expensive dark blue shoes. Gasps greeted the first pulse, followed by more exclamations as the flow continued, six pulses that ended with a last discharge that rolled down the shaft to Dean’s quivering fingers. He stood for a moment, panting as he looked down on his stained penis, before placing both hands on his hips, to announce that his expulsion was at an end. His gesture brought forth applause from the audience, and Dean could not resist a timid smile that endeared him to all the women in the room with the exception of Moriarty.

Fleming leant forward to examine the semen decorating the dark towel before looking up to the naked whore, who had returned to stroking his hard shaft.

“You’ve shoot out quite a load, young man.” He smiled once more, and she decided that she would enjoy his favours. The arrogant pose, she knew, was just playing a role. The playful, almost innocent, smile told her more.

“Now, does anyone have any questions for Dr Moriarty?” The plump woman at the end raised a thick finger.

“Yes, how much … progress has there been with his penis?”

“We’ve had growth of approximately two point one four centimetres.”

“That’s less than an inch, Dr Moriarty.” Fleming stared at her guest.

“That is correct. We’re hoping …”

“You’ve been engaged in this project for nearly eight months, and that has earned your subject just one inch.”

“That’s a lot of pain for just an inch.” The man spoke in a low, disquieting tone.

“Well, I’m not sure I would call it pain. Perhaps a degree of discomfort …”

“Dr Moriarty,” he interrupted. “I’ve seen the video. Ladies, you will all have to take my word on this. I can assure you that sticking those rods down his tract and setting off an electrical current hurts like hell.” There was a silence, broken only by the sound of Dean rubbing his stained shaft.

“Dr Moriarty. How often is your subject … subjected to expansion therapy?” Fleming asked.

“Well, I’m not sure …”

“Daily?”

“Not daily.” Moriarty shook her head as if to dismiss the idea. She took a step back and now she was glaring at the carpet. The meeting had suddenly taken an unpleasant course.

“Are you sure?” Fleming was distracted by Dean, loyally thrusting his hips forward and panting in excitement. “Dean.” The naked whore masturbating before her was startled to hear his name. “How long do you spend each day strapped to the table in the Treatment Room with electrodes shoved down your cock?”

“Well, I don’t know … I mean, not very often at all. It doesn’t hurt really.”

“I admire your loyalty, Dean. I am not sure your allegiance is well served.” She was looking at the naked prisoner, but her comment was aimed at Moriarty, who seemed to have lost the colour from her face. “Now, unless anyone has any more questions, I suggest that we take advantage of our resource while his rigidity remains.”

“I’ll pass on this one.” The comment drew a laugh from his neighbour.

“I’ll also pass,” Patterson said. “I’ve had the pleasure of … being pleasured by our friend here. I’ll give the chance to someone else.”

“Emily, as the sponsor of this project, I think you should be offered the first chance,” the plump woman at the end of the row said, and the others nodded their approval.

“Fine, but I hope his battery lasts until he gets to the end of the line.”

“I can assure you, Miss, I can keep going for a long time. Some of you may have to be patient while I serve the other ladies, but I hope I am worth the wait.”

Emily rose from her chair, carefully stepping over the stained towel, and approached the naked whore, still vigorously rubbing his thick shaft. 

“You can save yourself some wear and tear, young man. Penelope.” The young woman in the black business suit appeared from the shadows. “Is the suite ready?”

“Yes, Miss Fleming. There’s a shower and fresh linen.”

“Excellent. Now I would like to thank you all for coming today and to Dean for … well coming today. Let’s hope the second half of the show matches his first performance. Dr Moriarty, I will see you before you go. Rebecca will take you for lunch while I enjoy the benefits of your work.”

Fleming enjoyed thirty minutes with Dean before she passed him onto her blonde neighbour in the meeting room. She took a more gentle approach and only returned nearly fifty minutes later. The third woman, the youngest of the group, almost ran to the suite, but she was less energetic when she returned, grasping a cushion as she joined the others on the couch in the executive lounge. She gingerly took her seat, drawing laughs from the other women.

“It’s not funny. I thought I was a bit of an animal, but he nearly ripped me in half. I think I’m in love,” she continued, sipping her coffee.

“Actually, he is charming.” Fleming spoke. “That posing is just an act. The women in LA said he was very polite, except when he’s around Moriarty.”

“Is it just me, or is she a bit of a bitch?” the plump woman with ebony hair asked Fleming.

“More than a bit. We’ll have to put a stop to her fairly soon. An inch in nearly nine months. He’s been on that table for about four hours a day for the past month. My contacts tell me that he has to be carried from the table after his treatment. I can’t imagine that men will pay good money for that, especially if it’s going to take hours out of your day.”

“So, what are we going to do?” the young woman sitting on her cushion asked.

“We’ll carry on, for now, but I’m not sure that the Dionysus Project has a great deal more life left.”

This time they did not make her wait for an hour. As soon as the van arrived, Moriarty informed the pompous Penelope that the day’s sexual entertainment was sitting in the courtyard. She watched Penelope as Dean stepped out of the van, and she relished her lust as she surveyed Dean, naked and bound to his neck brace. She ordered him to stand still while the guard placed him in his costume, insisting that she draw the straps tight to accentuate his mound. Then, he was commanded to revolve slowly to allow her a last inspection before his presentation and to give Penelope a full view of his magnificent body. She required him to turn twice before announcing herself to be satisfied, and no more, with his appearance.

The party was led into a small and empty reception room where the guard and Moriarty sat while he stood. She told him to be compliant and respectful and to “give a really fantastic performance.” He promised her that he would make her proud, and she stroked his thigh as a mark of her gratitude.

Penelope appeared once more, smiling now, as she asked Moriarty to step into the room. She returned almost immediately to lead her trophy to the Board, sitting expectantly for a sight of the stud. Moriarty felt a sense of pride as she looked at Dean, staring at each Board member with a look of calm dignity that offered neither malice nor petition.

Moriarty was thrilled to be demonstrating her control over the young man who was exciting such interest from her employers. So, she slowly set her bag on the table beside her subject and carefully removed her syringe, the small bottle of serum, a gauze pad and a bottle of alcohol. There was no need to wear gloves, but she slipped on a pair of surgical gloves for a professional image and to leave him bending over, waiting for her.

“Higher,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. His immediate reaction, raising his buttocks to expose the base of his penis, sent a wave of sexual excitement coursing through her body. Finally the serum was in the syringe and she was ready. Moriarty delayed for just a moment, leaving him exposed before her. After the injection the syringe remained in his body a few seconds longer than necessary, and she could feel him quiver from the pain. She could not resist delaying the withdrawal to highlight her command over this naked man.

Once he was fully erect she sent him to one of the Board members, the plump one at the end of the row, for a close view of his penis before he returned to perform his auto fellatio. She stood to the side, listening to the gasps mingled with the sound of Dean licking his own foreskin. She allowed him five minutes before removing him from the chair for the climax of his show, the ejaculation. The towel she intentionally placed too close so that, if Dean delivered as he had delivered over the past week, he would send his seed beyond the towel onto the carpet.

As he approached his crescendo she wondered whether he was standing too far away, but he did not fail her, sending his stream over the edge of the towel and onto the expensive blue rug. Fleming looked down to her shoes, and she could not resist a gentle laugh to see such a spectacular ejaculation. Moriarty was hoping that he would stain Fleming’s shoes with his seed, but that feat proved to be beyond him. Patterson looked at Moriarty in the aftermath of Dean’s explosion and winked. Moriarty knew then that the visit had been a success.

After Dean had been escorted to the private lounge to entertain Miss Fleming, Moriarty left with Patterson for a meal in the cafeteria. There she learnt that the future of the project was not quite so promising. Patterson outlined the problems.

“The costs are high and so far you have not got his dick that much bigger.”

“They seemed to enjoy the show.”

“They thought he was fantastic, but he was pretty sensational when we first met him.”

“They’re going to cancel the project?”

“No, but you’ll have to start making money. Forget the injections into his balls. No man really cares about how much semen he pumps out. We will never sell that idea. Frankly, it was a complete dead end, and I’m sorry I allowed it to continue for so long. Stop it now.”

Moriarty seethed as she heard her manager’s criticism, having invested so much time and effort in producing the cascade that had so impressed Dean’s audience. At the moment of her triumph she was being told to abandon her achievement. Moriarty glowered into her coffee and said nothing.

It was more than two hours before one of the assistants came to the cafeteria to inform Moriarty that the last of the Board members had finished with Dean, and that she could collect him from Miss Fleming’s lounge. She arrived to find the Board members had gone, and Dean stood with the guard, already dressed in his thong and chained at the neck. She decided to parade him one last time before the office workers. It was meagre compensation for her setback in the cafeteria, but she would display her whore before Penelope and the other pompous toads in tight Armani skirts.

She led him through the main hall and left him by the reception doorway, pretending to visit the toilet to allow the women to behold his body and, perhaps, draw near for a touch of his glistening flesh. She remained by the sinks for more than five minutes before returning to find a dozen women surrounding him in his crimson thong. She was pleased to notice the pretentious Penelope loitering by his side, leering at his bulging costume.

“I’m sorry ladies, we have to leave.”

A groan from the audience greeted Dean’s departure, though one or two women comforted themselves with a parting stroke of his bulge and a few grasped his buttocks. Moriarty was not appeased by showing the Corporation functionaries that she owned a stud. She was still angered by Patterson’s betrayal, and she allowed herself to vent her anger on the prisoner. When Dean was placed in the van and his neck brace fastened to the bracket in the ceiling she ordered the guard to attach his ankles to his wrists, leaving him swinging from the low ceiling. The fat driver and her companion who, she knew, would be halting every hour to rape his hole and taste his shaft, came to giggle at the bound whore dangling from his chains with his anus exposed to the hot air. Moriarty completed her revenge by administering a double dose to keep him hard and sore on the long hot road from San Francisco to Los Angeles.

Chapter 13

Three days after Dean’s visit to the Board, Rebecca Patterson arrived at the Research Centre, trailing Givenchy perfume in her elegant wake and bringing bad news. The Dionysus Project was coming to an end.

       “The therapy is simply not effective. Sorry, Kerry, but the procedure is just too painful.”

       “But it works,” Moriarty insisted, almost striking the table to emphasise her point.

       “No, Kerry, it doesn’t. At least it doesn’t work for normal men who do not have four hours a day, everyday, to sit with a hot stick rammed down their pisshole. It won’t work. I should have brought all this to an end much sooner, and saved everyone a lot of money.”

       “What about the research subject? What about Dean?” Moriarty was not only concerned by the setback to her research career. She would be losing her gorgeous sex slave, her toy.

       “He’ll remain here until we find somewhere for him. We should keep our part of the bargain after he has suffered so much for the project.” Moriarty sensed a critical tone in Patterson’s voice, yet she had sanctioned all of Moriarty’s schemes. She may have been hesitant, but she had ultimately agreed to her plans. Patterson was disowning her and the Dionysus Project.

“We’ve taken bookings, and we’ve taken money. They’ll be disappointed, and very angry.”

“Fine, we’ll keep our promises. I’ve come to let the nurses and your secretary go, today. The only ones who’ll be staying will be the night guard, because we have to provide security, Tiffany, as the only actual nurse among your team and, for the moment, you.”

“What will happen to me?” Moriarty bluntly asked.

“You’re on the payroll until the end of next month, but I wouldn’t turn down any lucrative job offers if I was you.”

Moriarty sank into her chair. She knew that she had not fully reached her ambitions for the project, but to learn that the entire scheme was coming to an end was a bitter disappointment. She asked if they had been unhappy with her presentation.

“The presentation was fine. They all enjoyed that.” Patterson could not suppress a laugh. “However, they don’t need to pay you, three nurses and a secretary as well as fund a course of expensive injections for a great fuck with Dean, especially as the expansion therapy has made very little difference. He was, as you recall, pretty sensational when we found him. Where is he now?”

“He’s in the Treatment Room having his morning dose of therapy.”

“Let’s pay a farewell visit. I will miss that wonderful body and that quite amazing cock.”

They arrived to find Dean sweating on the table, his eyes closed as the hum of the generator reminded everyone that the electrical current was still pulsing through his body.

“Turn it off,” Patterson ordered Tiffany. She looked at Moriarty, but Patterson repeated her message, adding “Dr Moriarty works for me, and so do you.” The tone was polite, but the message was clear. Once the machine was silent and the probe extracted from his shaft, Patterson sent the nurse from the room. She examined his radiant body, touching the skin to sample the sweat and casting a glance to Moriarty by the door as she raised a damp finger, highlighting the brutal price of her therapy.

“Thank you, Miss Patterson,” he gasped.

“My pleasure,” she replied, laying a hand on his chest and letting it rest there for a moment before allowing herself to stray towards his gleaming erection. “Now, Dean. I have some more good news. Your therapy is now at an end. No more zappers down your pisshole. I’m sure you’re pleased about that.” She returned to the head of the table to stroke his chest with a towel. “You can treat it as an early birthday present.”

“Is it the seventeenth?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Is it your birthday?” Moriarty asked, and immediately regretted the question because Dean and Patterson both offered a disappointed stare. It was Patterson who spoke.

“I thought you would know that.” The tone was distinctly unfriendly, and Moriarty was aware that the mood around the Research Centre would be changing now that the Dionysus Project, and her value to the Corporation, was coming to an end.

“Now, Doctor, I have some important matters to discuss with Dean.”

“You have?” Dean looked warily at the woman standing over him.

“No. I just want a farewell fuck. You’ll be leaving here soon, and I’ll miss your winning smile and your … massive cock.” She took hold of his shaft and stroked the moist tip.

“You want me here?” he asked. “Miss Patterson, I can offer you a far better service in one of the private rooms.” She considered his offer. “I want to give you my full routine, as a farewell gift.”

She answered with a smile as she loosened his straps.

An hour later a tired, but very contented, Patterson called the entire team into one of the meeting rooms in the main building to inform them of the end of the Dionysus Project. Cindi was furious at the news, and the cheque for a month’s pay did not alleviate her rage.

“Why is Tiffany staying?” She glared at her colleague, the sole survivor of the team.

“She’s the only member of the staff with medical experience, even though you’re all supposed to be nurses.” Moriarty was resolutely staring ahead, but she suspected Patterson was issuing another disapproving stare.

“What about Dr Moriarty?”

“Well I’m surprised she didn’t mention this before,” Patterson offered a swift glance to her neighbour before revealing that “Dr Moriarty is not a medical doctor. She’s … what are you?”

“I have a doctorate in biological and psychological sciences.” Moriarty barely whispered the words.

“So you’re not a real doctor?” Cindi almost spat the words.

“You’re not a real nurse,” Patterson retorted. “A qualification in advanced first aid does not make you a suitable candidate for the sole remaining post. I’m afraid that prisoners, like animals, require certain conditions. Only Tiffany satisfies those conditions.”

“Well, if I’m going, I’m leaving in a blaze of glory,” Cindi insisted, and Patterson readily agreed to the two departing nurses and the secretary, who was only returning to the reception desk in the main lobby but who still felt entitled to experience Dean one last time, enjoying an hour each with the captive whore. Cindi agreed to be last, because she needed to complete all her administrative tasks and “after I’ve finished with that slut, he’ll be good for nothing for a while.”

Kimberley and the secretary tossed a coin for first choice and the dime fell in favour of the secretary, who retired with Dean to the private room to depart just over three quarters of an hour later and leave the building without a word of farewell, stopping only to collect her bag and the coffee cup from her desk as she left.

Kimberley took Dean to the Performance Suite where she enjoyed one last performance, fellating him as he lay on the stage before riding him for more than half an hour, enjoying four orgasms during her jaunt. After her quartet of climaxes she kissed him on the lips and left for a shower. She changed into her civilian clothing and left her uniform on the bathroom floor, though she kept her pink underwear as a memento of her time at the Research Centre.

Cindi was the last of the departing trio to enjoy Dean. She demanded that he be bound to the table in the Treatment Room while she inflicted a final dose of therapy. When Patterson objected to her sadistic request, she pointed out that Patterson had sanctioned that Dean endure hundreds of hours of such therapy, as well as dozens of agonising injections into his testicles. One more hour would cause little further damage to either Dean’s penis or Patterson’s conscience.

Patterson, however, insisted upon witnessing Cindi’s final session from the adjacent room.

“I’ve never trusted that bitch,” she muttered to Moriarty as the nurse hauled Dean from the Performance Suite.

“Let her have her fun.”

“Her fun is tormenting Dean.” Patterson turned away from the scene of torture unfolding behind the glass window to face Moriarty. She crossed her arms and stared at her colleague. “I have to say, Kerry. You’ve never shown any concern for your … research subject in all the time we’ve been here.”

“That’s harsh. I’ve never taken advantage of him, unlike some.”

“Now who’s being harsh. A good fuck never did anyone any harm. He never seems to mind …”

“He’s a whore, Rebecca. He’s trained not to mind. Walton’s training has transformed him into a … a slut.”

“You spent months trying to convince him that you were his saviour, yet it was you who insisted that anaesthetic would ruin the experiment. It was you who introduced those appalling injections that almost cost him his balls. Remember.” She leant forward to emphasise her point and Moriarty looked away at the recollection of that fascination. 

They both turned to the window to witness Cindi exacting her revenge on the Corporation, sending him bouncing on the table with each successive pulse from the generator.

“Dance, boy, dance.”

“God,” Patterson exclaimed. “She really is a fucking monster that one. Where did you get her?”

“Walton’s idea.”

“That’s no commendation. I’m no angel, but Walton is one very vicious lady. I don’t think I’d like to annoy her without a very good reason.”

Cindi was now enjoying a session of face sitting, rubbing her vagina lips against his mouth while shouting at him to pleasure her with his tongue. Once she was naked it was obvious that Cindi had spent more time in the cake shop than the gym, the uniform having hidden the folds of fat slipping over her stomach. As she ground her backside into Dean’s face her flesh quivered like a summer’s breeze across a lake, gentle undulations disturbing the calm.

Eventually Cindi’s hour came to an end and Patterson was delighted to enter the Treatment Room to show her the time on her watch. Cindi dismounted, slapped Dean across the face and was contemplating another blow until Patterson told her to leave or be removed by the Corporation’s security staff. Cindi briskly dressed and left, with no word offered or exchanged, to disappear without trace through the glass doors. 

Tiffany removed Dean from the table and took him for a shower before returning him to his cell while Patterson completed the paperwork for the exodus of nearly half of the Research Centre’s staff. Once all the documents had been signed, photocopied and filed in the drawers, Patterson paid a final visit to Dean in his cell, accompanied by Moriarty.

Patterson told him that he would remain for only a few days, and that she was hoping to send him to a detention centre in the north of the state. The only disadvantage would be that it was a long way from Los Angeles, but Dean replied that he was happy to be far from his former gang members. He asked about the cold weather at this time of the year and Patterson promised that he would no longer be naked once he left the Research Centre. He kissed her on the cheek as she left, and he promised to behave in his final days.

Moriarty escorted Patterson to the reception desk where they shook hands and parted. Patterson was almost through the glass doors that separated at her approach, but she returned to Moriarty for a final word.

“Frankly, Kerry, if I’d known about the procedure I’m not sure I’d have sanctioned the entire project. Did you know it was going to be so painful?”

       “Well.” Moriarty thrust her glasses against her face three times before she managed to speak. “I knew that there would be a degree of discomfort …”

       “This is really my fault. I should have read all your research papers.” Patterson stared through the glass to the manicured garden. “It was there in the final report.” She finally turned to face her. “Why didn’t you tell me when we first met?”

       “Tell you what?”

“Tell me that all your research monkeys died.”

Dean was resting on his bunk as Moriarty opened the door. He rose to his feet, but she asked him to sit and then inquired about his treatment by Cindi.

“She enjoyed herself. I think, Dr Moriarty, she is a very sick woman.”

“I think you’re right. It was a mistake to employ her, and I should have insisted that they follow my advice and dismiss her.”

“Never mind, Doctor. I am sure you did everything you could for me.” She only smiled at his devotion, confident now that she would be enjoying his body before he left for his new prison. She was already considering how she would secure his return. It was easy enough to obtain his transfer, and she was confident that she could persuade either the Corporation or a similar company to sponsor another research project now that Walton and the nurses had transformed him into a submissive sex slave.

She moved closer, sitting beside him on the bed. She could smell the shower cream on his warm skin, and struggled to avoid caressing his ridges of his stomach. She confined herself to a stroke of his upper arm and a friendly pat on the thigh, though the hand lingered longer than usual.

“Tomorrow we’ll have a party for your birthday.” She smiled as she allowed her hand to return to his thigh, this time higher than before. “We’ll have a party, just you and me, and later I’ll give you a little treat.” She winked.

“That would be very nice,” he said and she left him, excited by the prospect of enjoying a passionate evening alone at last with her personal sex slave.

Chapter 14

Dean’s twenty third birthday party was a modest event, with only Moriarty, Dean and Tiffany sharing the small selection of sugared slices and the large black bottle of coke. However, Moriarty was convinced that he would appreciate her kind gesture. She sipped her fizzy drink and looked across at Dean as he stared through the window at the mild, late autumn sun. His plump phallus was limp against his thigh while his stomach and leg muscles glinted from the mellow rays of the noon sun. She had admired his body for the past year, able to control her emotions because she knew there was no chance of enjoying his body without compromising the project. Now, the end of the Dionysus Project was a dark cloud with a silver lining because, at last, she would be able to savour him without guilt or consequence. 

Dean’s special birthday lunch did not seem to be easing his despondent mood, so she joined him by the window. She asked if he was sorry to be leaving, and he seemed startled by the question.

“How do you know I’m leaving?”

“Miss Patterson told everyone yesterday. Don’t you remember?”

“Of course, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not leaving yet. That is unless you know something I don’t.” He smiled at her comment and looked out the window before asking the time. He was told it was just before one in the afternoon and he smiled once more. She was perplexed by this unusual behaviour, but then he turned to face her and told her that he would miss some of the staff at the Research Centre. She could not avoid blushing at such a compliment as she sipped her drink.

After his birthday lunch Moriarty asked Tiffany to give Dean a full medical check before sending her home, because “you’ll need to start looking for a new job as soon as possible.” So, by three o’clock Moriarty was alone in the Research Centre with her captive stud. She knew she had Dean to herself until the night guard arrived at eight.

Moriarty, more than anyone else in the Corporation, deserved to taste the fruits of her work. Every single member of the Research Centre team, including both secretaries, had enjoyed Dean. She was entitled to him, and her heart pounded when he casually looked away from the window and cast a mellow smile. Walton’s therapy and the situations she had devised to show her kindness and compassion would have left him feeling grateful for her efforts to keep him from harm. Now it was time for her reward.

       Time and again she had gazed at his naked form and wondered at the sensation of grasping his thighs as he drove himself into her moist opening, and now there was no time to waste. Patterson implied that he would be sent away within a few days. Moriarty had asked for him to be sent to his former prison while she tried to convince Fleming to reverse her decision because she wanted him somewhere he would be keen to leave if she revived the Dionysus Project. Once more, she would save him from harm, and he would be so grateful he would be utterly faithful to her every command.

       Moriarty asked him to spend an hour in the Exercise Room

“You need to run off those two slices of cake.”

She allowed herself a friendly pat on his tight stomach as he left to exercise his body and after a few minutes she joined him to see that he was already perspiring as he danced on the pedals of his static bike. She knew now that she would offer herself to him while he showered, but she was willing to be patient so she found a chair and sat behind him, watching his buttocks rise and fall as he rode his static bike. She enjoyed the sound of his panting, the noise so similar to the groans of his remarkable sexual performances. Countless times she had listened to him gasping for breath as he shoved himself into his partner, his Perspex box and his own hand, but soon she would hear him breathing deep as he held her in a passionate embrace. It would be his first performance of the day, and she was almost frightened by the intensity of his impending barrage.

       After twenty minutes she sent him to the weights, and she was pleased to notice that he remained compliant even though her authority over him was coming to an end. She watched as he grasped the rough matting of the grips, tensed his superb legs and lifted the bar onto his chest. He breathed deeply as he concentrated on the final phase of the lift. A moment later he stood, legs apart with the bar hoisted over his head. He remained motionless for a moment, allowing Moriarty to admire his tense frame before he lowered the bar and looked at her, as if seeking praise. She decided to be dominant and asked him to increase the weights.

       “I am sure you could lift more,” she claimed. He looked down to the matting before slipping off metal circles from each end and replacing them with wider weights. He prepared for his lift.

       “It’s just you and me now, Dean.” He did not seem to understand. “All the others have gone. I’ve sent Tiffany home for the day. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the other two have gone. I’ve finally convinced Miss Patterson to end your expansion therapy, and thankfully I was able to end those dreadful injections into your testicles.” Dean did not respond and she presumed his silence was due to his stupidity, though both Patterson and Walton believed that he was reasonably intelligent. “I hope you are grateful.” Now she was fishing for compliments.

       “Dr Moriarty, I know how much you care for me.”

She was pleased by his answer and settled in her seat to enjoy him labouring with the weights for her entertainment. After a few lifts she asked him to face the wall to allow her a view of his buttocks. Eventually he was ordered to stop because, she explained, she did not want him to strain any muscles before his transfer. She had to deliver and fit and healthy prisoner to his next jailor.

       “I hope they treat you well in your next prison.”

       “I don’t think anyone could ever treat me the way you have treated me.”

Moriarty was almost embarrassed by such devotion, and decided the moment had come for her to finally enjoy her treat. She came to stand beside him, savouring the warmth radiating from his body. She touched his left arm above the elbow, her usual destination, and told him that she was glad that his body was saved further abuse. It was, she told him, such a beautiful body. She edged closer and allowed her hands to stray across his shaven chest and around his back, sinking lower towards his taut stomach before, after just a moment’s hesitation, she reached out with her little finger to stroke his penis.

Moriarty realised that this was the first time she had stroked him. Almost daily she had witnessed others commit the most brutal violations, and during her inspections and injections she had often brushed against his shaft, but never before had she sought to enjoy him. She offered him a gentle, almost shy, smile as she took a light grip of his shaft. Suddenly he parted his legs, placed both hands behind his back and began to pump his hips into her hand. Moriarty stepped away, horrified. She was trying to seduce him, and he was treating her like a customer, performing as a male whore. She retreated to her chair, reaching for a handkerchief to clean her damp palm. He remained on the mat, legs apart and hands behind his back as he pumped his hips.

       “It’s time for your shower,” she said, trying to restore her authority. He turned and left for the simple square room with a basic faucet set into the wall and a concrete floor tilting into a metal drain. She followed him into the darkened room, feeling the dampness of the concrete beneath her feet as she slipped out of her shoes. He turned and she caught a glimpse of his penis as he took it in his hand for washing, parting his legs to reach under his testicles.

       Now, she knew, the moment had come. She rolled down her stockings and placed them on the towel bar before removing her jacket and her light blue shirt. She looked around for a clothes peg until she realised that Dean had no need of clothes pegs in the Research Centre. She folded her jacket and shirt and left them in the corner before sliding down the zip of her skirt and stepping out, dressed now only in her underwear.

She felt awkward. His nudity had offered her a distinct advantage in her dealings with him over the past year. He had experienced the humiliation of being naked and bound before groups of clothed men and women, often masturbating or being sexually assaulted for their entertainment. She was able to assert her authority over him and now she was surrendering that advantage. She was still considering her choice when he turned to see her wearing only underwear. Moriarty offered him another shy smile, but was unsettled by his blank, impassive, stare.

“What are you doing?” His voice was low, the tone deliberate.

“I thought … I thought you might … like me to …”

“No.” Her eyes fell to her pink feet, warming in the hot stream from the shower head until she finally found the courage to look up at his face. It was hard and cold, a look she had never seen from him before. He repeated the word, no louder than a whisper.

“But …” Her voice faltered as she tried to explain, but she was shamed into silence. A moment later she was franticly grabbing her clothes and running from the shower room. She left her shoes behind in her panic as she headed for her office while Dean turned away from the door to continue his shower.

Half an hour later Moriarty returned, accompanied by two security guards from the main building. They cuffed him and took him to the Treatment Room.

“Who’s been a naughty boy?” one of the guards inquired as they removed the cuffs and strapped him to the table. “Touching up your boss in the shower room. You should know better.”

As soon as the guards left Moriarty circled her prisoner, who remained silent, closing his eyes as if asleep.

“How dare you,” she hissed, leaning down to spit the words into his ear. “I’ve kept you safe for the last year. Those whores have tried to tear you apart and I’ve been the one …”

“The one who gives the orders. They all work for you.” He did not look at her as he spoke, staring up into the bright light. “This has been your project from the beginning. Every humiliation, every rape, has been ordered by you. I’ve been your latest research subject. Only this time, Professor Moriarty, you don’t get to kill your monkey.”

She slapped his face and gagged him before once more removing her clothes, administering a huge dose into his shaft and climbing onto the table to sink onto his erection. The door opened on one of the receptionists from the main hall who looked aghast for no more than a second before informing Moriarty that there was a guest in the main reception hall. When Moriarty, poised over her prisoner with her vagina brushing against the tip of his penis, told her to take a message she was informed that he had come with release papers for Dean. Moriarty stomach almost heaved as she stumbled from the table.

A short middle aged man with a greying moustache rose from the couch as Moriarty approached, offering a handshake and a smile.

“John Lomax. I have been retained to ensure the release of Dean Heladios Brown Cruz. He is, I believe, currently detained in this Research Centre. Is that correct?”

“I cannot discuss this with you.” Moriarty attempted to appear authoritative, but she was faltering, her voice betraying her unease. This man with the plastic briefcase was coming to take Dean away.

“Fine. Tomorrow I will return with a court order and a federal marshal. He will release Dean and arrest you for obstructing justice. Dr Moriarty, I’ll make this very simple for you. I have a court order releasing Dean from jail from noon today. Unless you can convince a court to prolong his detention then he must be released immediately. If you fail to do so, the Genesis Corporation will be pursued through the courts. I can promise you a rigorous pursuit.”

“This is impossible.” Moriarty simply could not find the words to resist, and she knew that she was sounding frantic as she stared at the pages of script. One simple line in bold glared up at her from the page. Noon on today’s date.

“I apologise, Dr Moriarty. I am not making myself clear. Dean has served his sentence and he is due for release. The state of California has sanctioned his release. You do not enjoy a veto.”

“I need to speak to Rebecca Patterson.” Moriarty stepped away, almost hoping that if she disappeared, Lomax would simply leave her alone, with Dean.

“Please do so now, and don’t be long.” He returned to the couch to offer a flamboyant display of impatience. 

Moriarty retreated to her office to call Patterson to relay the dramatic news from Lomax. Patterson told Moriarty to send her the court documents by email. Five minutes later Patterson returned the call.

“I thought he was sentenced to life for murder.”

“So did I. We could ask for more time. There must be some legal …”

“Why? Even if we wanted to keep him, and we don’t, if he has papers from the prison service releasing him, then he goes. He should have gone at noon, so we will have to let him go.”

“Today?”

“Right now. Get him ready. Find some clothes. Kerry, I’m not happy about this. I don’t like unpleasant surprises. We will talk once you’ve sent him on his way.”

Moriarty returned to the main reception to find Lomax was talking on his mobile phone. He ended the call with a promise to his listener.

“My client will be arriving shortly. We expect to see Dean, here, by the time she arrives.”

“The prisoner will be available shortly.”

“The former prisoner, Dr Moriarty. At noon this afternoon he became a free man. You are breaking the law by keeping him, but I am a reasonable man, so I will forgive the oversight. I’m surprised that you have not made provision for his release.”

“I … well, you see … There have been …”

Moriarty could not admit to her visitor that she was completely unaware of Dean’s impending release. It had been after four when she had slipped out of her shoes in the shower room and now it was not yet five. It had been a dreadful hour. Dean had rejected her after all her work and now he was being taken away just as she was about to finally enjoy him. She could barely avoid tears of sheer anger and frustration as the main doors parted without a sound and the night guard walked into the main hall.

“Your services will not be needed tonight, Miss Rodriguez.” Moriarty was too distracted by her own problems to notice that the guard was not wearing her uniform. Rodriguez ignored Moriarty and turned to the lawyer.

“Good afternoon, Mr Lomax. Is everything in order?”

“It is, Miss Rodriguez. I can assure you that Dean will be a free man within the next ten minutes.”

Chapter 15

Roberta Rodriguez began her career in the security profession as a Saturday night guard in the local mall, walking the dark and empty passageways and climbing the sleeping elevators while the rest of the city enjoyed the height of the weekend. As a young woman without either children or a criminal record, it was easy to find such menial work that required only a gun license. Her mother wanted her to study at the community college, but Roberta developed a taste for the isolation and the freedom of working alone at night.

Roberta applied for the assignment at the Research Centre because the prison service offered the prospect of increased pay and a pension, though she was surprised to learn she would be guarding a solitary prisoner. The short woman with blue glasses in the white coat who took her on the tour of the medical rooms told her that the prisoner was a dangerous rapist, but Roberta, eager for experience in the prison service and a regular salary, accepted the offer.

       On her third night at the Research Centre the bell rang. Roberta checked her revolver before walking to the cell door to see a naked figure standing before the hardened glass. She pressed the button on the wall and told him to put on his uniform. He leant forward and pressed his button to tell her that he had no uniform. She insisted, but he too insisted that there was no uniform in this prison. His blank look at the door indicated that he could not see her through the glass. She told him to stand against the far wall, warning him that she carried a gun.

       She found him leaning against the far wall, his hands pressed against the rough brickwork. The first feature she noticed was his buttocks, his taut muscles almost glowing in the pale light from the open door.

“What do you want?” she asked, trying to sound assertive while admiring his body.

       “I’m thirsty, Miss. I would like a glass of water.”

       She noticed that the room was warmer than the rest of the building, but she was reluctant to take him from the cell just for a glass of water.

       “I have a gun.”

       “I know, Miss.”

       “I’m not afraid to use it.”

       “I’m not dangerous, Miss. I swear.”

       “They all say that.” She did not want him to know that she had never served in a prison, conscious now of being alone with a dangerous rapist.

       “Just one glass of water, Miss. Please.” He turned his head and she saw that he was a young man, a handsome young man. She ordered him to turn and place his hands behind his head, allowing her to enjoy a full view of his body. She stole a swift glance at his genitals and saw that they were impressive.

       “Where’s your uniform?”

       “There is no uniform. I’m naked all the time.”

       She was pleased to hear that he would remain naked throughout her shift, but she was conscious of maintaining a stern look as she stood only yards away from the largest penis she had ever seen. She ordered him to turn once more and place his hands behind his back while she swiftly cuffed him and guided him to sit on the bed. The temptation to fondle his buttocks was almost overpowering, but she managed to control herself long enough to plant him on his bed.

“I’ll get you a glass of water, but if you’ve moved one inch by the time I return, you … you’ll regret it.”

She found a glass and filled it to the brim, returning to find him on the bed where she left him. She considered her choices for a moment before sitting on the bed beside him and holding the glass for him to drink. The glass was nearly empty when she deliberately spilt a few drops on his chest and reached into her pocket for a handkerchief to wipe away the water. His skin rippled beneath her touch, and she struggled to remember that she was sitting beside a brutal rapist.

“Thank you, Miss.” His voice was soft and low as he spoke, and she suddenly wondered if he was exploiting his appeal. She leapt to her feet and marched to the door.

“Miss. The handcuffs.” Roberta returned to the bed, lifted him to his feet and almost threw him against the wall. Once the cuffs were removed she ordered him to remain facing the wall while she almost ran from the room.

       In the days that followed she remained by her desk in the main office, struggling with her craving to see the naked captive once more. However, about a week after their first meeting Roberta arrived for her evening shift to find that the prisoner was still in the Treatment Room. The nurse invited her to witness his ‘treatment’ regime. She pretended to be uncertain, but agreed to watch him through the glass mirror in the next room. He was strapped to a table, his erection glistening from the nurses’ saliva as they interspersed fellatio with electric bursts from the generator. His erection was massive, a thick pole rising from his groin, and she envied the nurses their unlimited access to his bound and rigid penis. However, she was careful to appear disinterested as she watched him writhe on the table.

       “Why are they giving him electric shocks?” she asked the nurse who was also enjoying the spectacle.

       “Tremor therapy,” she explained. “It conditions him to know his place, which is to be naked and serving as a sex slave.”

       “Why are they sucking him? Is that part of the therapy?”

       The nurse only smiled as she left to join her colleague in abusing their prisoner until the session was ended by Moriarty and he was taken to his cell, his legs trembling beneath him as the nurses slapped his buttocks and taunting him for his helpless situation. Roberta wondered if the nurses’ treatment of the prisoner entitled her to enjoy his sensational body, but she could not overcome the feeling that, even as a rapist, he did not deserve such cruelty.

Roberta confined herself to watching him through the cameras from her desk until one evening she decided to induce another thirst by raising the temperature in the cell. She watched him twist on the bed until he finally came to the door and she heard the sound of the buzzer over the main door. She kept him waiting for a few minutes until he rang a second time before finally paying him a visit.

       He was standing against the far wall, his fine buttocks facing her, as he asked for water, his hands behind his back. She felt a tremor of sexual excitement as she placed the cuffs around his wrists and set him on the bed. She returned with a glass of water that he eagerly drained. He whispered his thanks and offered her an endearing smile. She decided to be kind, even if he was a vicious rapist. She believed in redemption and now he was paying for his crimes, so she did not need to heighten his torment. There were more than enough women in the Research Centre eager to perform that role.

She left him and returned with another glass of water, having lowered the air conditioning. He sipped this glass and smiled once more, and she could not avoid looking into his deep blue eyes that almost glowed in the pale light from the corridor. Once the second glass was drained he rose to his feet and returned to face the wall, ready for her to remove the cuffs and leave. She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether she wanted to leave or finally enjoy his shackled body. Eventually she came to him to remove his chains. He set his hands against the wall and she retreated to the door, torn between her lust and her conscience. He wished her a good night, but she did not answer as she shut the door.

A few days after her second visit to the prisoner’s cell, Moriarty called Roberta to her office to offer her work as a guard for an outside visit. There was a promise of regular daily work, and mention of a permanent post. Roberta agreed, and only later realised that it was the thought of seeing him rather than the additional money that had enticed her to accept Moriarty’s offer.

The visit to the villa was to end Moriarty’s deception, and to mark the beginning of Roberta’s passion for her prisoner. The sensation had been no more than a shameful lust for a perverted rapist, but once Moriarty’s deceit was unearthed by her abject silence as she scampered from the villa her feelings became passionate infatuation. Roberta was shamed by her dismissal of his plea that he was not dangerous, and it was two nights before she found the courage to visit him in his cell.

She turned on the light and opened the door to find him standing against the far wall, his hands against the bricks.

“There’s no need for that,” she told him. He slowly turned and she beckoned to him to return to his bed. She thought for a moment how she could justify her actions, but ultimately she knew that she had to admit her error.

“Dean, I owe you an apology.” He smiled as she had called him by his name for the first time.

“I shot a man.”

“You’re not a rapist. Moriarty was telling lies.”

“It was Tiffany, Miss. She was the one who lied to Dr Moriarty.”

Roberta knew that Moriarty was responsible and had only deflected the blame to escape being exposed as the author of her prisoner’s woes. She was tempted to reveal to him all the sins she had perpetrated against him, but she feared for her job. She knew she could find other work, but now she wanted to see him every night.

He forgave her lack of trust and she sat on the chair, talking, until after two in the morning before she noticed that he was tired.

“You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

“Will you come again tomorrow night? I like it when you come. It’s pretty lonely in here.”

“It’s pretty lonely out there,” she sighed.

Three weeks after her apology, Roberta witnessed the scale of Moriarty’s contempt for her prisoner. They visited a university campus where he languished in the van for nearly two hours before a call from Moriarty called him forth into a small hall to find a gathering of men and women in suits and white coats. As they approached she noticed the women almost licking their lips at the sight of Dean in his costume. Roberta left him before their disdainful gaze and retreated into the shadows by the door.

Roberta was called back to remove the cuffs after they discussed and poked him as if he was no more than a caged animal, and once the chains were removed the abuse began, Moriarty leading the torment of her captive. Dean was forced to masturbate for his viewers, drawing scornful comments from the jealous men. Moriarty insisted upon Dean playing the role of arrogant porn star and slut, boasting about his sexual prowess and acting without shame before his audience, who were shocked and excited in equal measure by his lewd performance. Dean’s spectacular climax brought the first phase of the show to a close as he panted before his audience, still holding his drained shaft.

After this shameful ritual, a degrading routine perfected over months in the Performance Suite at the Research Centre, Dean was strapped to a makeshift table to be mercilessly tortured by Moriarty with electric jolts. The gag could not hide all of Dean’s screams as he writhed on the table for the entertainment of Moriarty’s educated friends. Roberta loathed Moriarty for her misuse of science, pretending that her actions were motivated by the pursuit of scientific knowledge rather than just depraved lust. Moriarty and Cindi orchestrated the abuse, encouraging their audience to torment their naked captive. Roberta was appalled, especially when Dean was required to violate himself with a metal tube while his audience filmed his disgrace. The session ended with another round of vicious abuse on the table before Dean was obliged to present his ravaged anus to his audience and Cindi caned him from the room to the mocking applause of his audience.

In the weeks following the university visit Dean endured a succession of painful injections that expanded his testicles. Roberta learnt that Dean was to be taken to San Francisco to perform before the Board of the Genesis Corporation and Moriarty was determined that he should produce a spectacular ejaculation to gratify Moriarty’s obsession with the ‘money shot’ and Dean’s porn star career. Roberta also witnessed the cruel training for his auto fellatio, watching him choke on his own foreskin as the nurses laced his back with cane marks.

Roberta told Dean of his forthcoming visit to the Board in San Francisco, and he was excited by the prospect.

       “I’ll be performing for real experts.”

       “You treat this like a job.”

       “It is a job. I intend to make a career out of being an adult entertainment artist. I’ve finally discovered something I can do well.”

       “They’ll humiliate you, as usual. You’ll be bound and naked and they will use you as a sex toy. They will make you suck your own cock. Is that a career?”

       “It’s just acting. I’m an erotic actor.”

       “They’re not acting when they send electric bolts up your arsehole or beat your backside raw. I think you like being abused.”

       “No, but it is part of my job, for now. My work involves me performing, and all the pain is just a necessary evil. Besides, I know that nothing serious will happen if you’re with me.”

       “I’m not worried about the trips. I don’t trust Moriarty. I’m worried about what happens here. I don’t think you realise that she’s a heartless bitch.”

       “I know. I’m not stupid.” Roberta looked surprised by his admission. “I need to get out, and this is my best chance. Besides, she’s training me to be the greatest porn star of all time. I’ll make a lot of money.”

       “She’ll make a lot of money. You’ll be used and then tossed away. She’s an absolute bitch.”

       He shook his head.

“I’ve a little surprise in store for Professor Moriarty.”

       “What? What are you going to do?”

       “That’s my secret, for now. Why are you telling me?”

“I want you to be safe.” He moved closer and she blushed, offering him an engaging smile. He leant down for her to plant a kiss on his lips. Seconds later they were joined in a passionate embrace and a minute later she was lying on his bunk as she slipped out of her trousers and reached for the strap of her bra.

In the weeks that followed their first night together Roberta spent every night in his cell, only leaving after midnight to allow him to rest in readiness for another day of systematic abuse and ritual humiliation. She brought him books to read and he would listen to music on her player. She was surprised by his tastes.

       “I would never have you marked as a Jazz fan.”

       “That’s not something I want everyone to know,” he admitted. “My grandfather was a pianist in the clubs, and he met some of the greats.”

       Dean also asked for books, in both English and Spanish. Roberta knew few of the writers, mostly European authors and classics from the nineteenth century. He would read sprawled on his bed while she usually sat by the door with her magazines, listening for anyone who might catch them together in the cell, a set of cuffs lying on the table in case of surprise guests.

Roberta’s precautions proved to be a wise choice, because one Friday night she heard the sound of glass doors opening and female voices. She ran to kill the music and he rose to meet her at the table, turning swiftly to present his hands to be shackled. By the time Tiffany appeared at the cell door, dressed in a bright green outfit with three giggling and inebriated friends, Roberta was sitting on the bunk while Dean squatted before her as she massaged his penis.

She gave the four visitors a casual glance, as if she frequently entertained herself at her prisoner’s expense.

“He’s all floppy. He must have been busy today.”

“My girls came to have a look, and a feel, of our research subject. Girls, this is Dean. He’s our stud.”

The girls filed into the room, captivated by his growing erection.

“I’ve a solution to his … flagging interest. Roberta, would you do me a massive favour?”

“Sure. What can I do for you?” she asked, already knowing Tiffany’s request.

“Could we borrow Dean for a couple of hours? We’ll bring him back before dawn, I swear.”

One of the girls sank to her knees in mock prayer, and her companions also dropped to the floor, though one of the visitors could not stop at her knees and fell to the ground with a stifled laugh. Roberta consented, because “I can taste his meat any time I choose.” Tiffany blew Roberta a kiss as they led him away in chains.

       They agreed not to have sex again until he was a free man, and he promised that he would be free within months. The pledge lasted just three days until she came to his cell wearing her visit uniform and they enjoyed rampant sex on the bunk, the floor and the shower room. She was spending most of the night in the cell, and within a month she was bringing her knitting to sit by the door while he slept.

The night he returned from the Board meeting in San Francisco he asked a favour of his night guard and lover. It was a risky demand.

“I want you to smuggle someone in here.” She was reluctant, but he promised it would be a short visit. Once he told her it was a prison guard named Watkins she was appeased, though intrigued. She asked the reason for the visit, and was told that it was to help with his rehabilitation.

“Then why doesn’t he come during the day?”

“I don’t want Moriarty to know. It is important. Very important.”

She agreed, and three days later Watkins appeared at the main door of the building just after midnight. He came in his prison uniform and Roberta told the main night guard that he was an old friend. Watkins spent an hour with Dean, who was wearing a tracksuit borrowed from Roberta’s brother for the occasion. Dean rang the bell to invite Roberta to join them, and she was formally introduced to his guest.

“I can see, Dean. She seems like a nice girl. Why is she hanging around with a low life like you?”

“She’s only after my money.” They both laughed. “Roberta, I have one more favour. I want you to visit this lawyer. You need to pay him three hundred dollars. Harry has the money. Here are his instructions.” Watkins handed over an envelope along with thirty ten dollar bills. “Harry cannot be involved, because he’s employed by the prison service. Give these papers to the lawyer. He’ll know what to do.”

Roberta read the name on the envelope.

“John Lomax.”

Chapter 16

Moriarty left her desk in search of the project supervisor and found her sitting in her office, reading the local newspaper. She looked up from her broadsheet as Moriarty appeared at the door and offered a mild smile.

       “The cultures have been separated and the discs are now in the freezer,” Moriarty announced, seething to be reporting to a mere graduate student.

       “Good. Has every disc been labelled with the entry time?”

       “Yes.”

       “Then I’ll see you on Monday, Kerry.” The supervisor returned to her paper while Moriarty collected her coat from her chair and left the laboratory, stepping out into the warmth of early June.

       It was more than six months since the Dionysus Project ended with Dean’s abrupt departure, taken away on the day Moriarty decided to break her vow and enjoy his wonderful body. Her contract was terminated as soon as the Corporation bureaucrats sifted through her files to find the letters from the prison service outlining the terms and the date of Dean’s release. She could not explain why she had not read these documents, or the fifteen page report of the prison visitors who recommended that Dean be released at the earliest opportunity. Patterson was furious, partly because Fleming was equally livid that Dean had escaped their custody. Patterson, the corporate player, was able to deflect the greater part of blame onto Moriarty and within days she was gone.

Moriarty soon discovered that her doctorate carried less weight than she hoped in the scientific community of southern California. She was reduced to working as a laboratory assistant on a standard research project, designing a new form of sleeping draught for dogs. Her boss was five years younger and yet to complete her PhD, which accounted for the unconventional lack of titles on the staff page of the project handbook. Moriarty was exploring her options, but there were few vacancies at this time of the academic year, and she would have to wait until the autumn to see whether any of the major laboratories were hiring researchers for projects. Her brisk departure from the Genesis Corporation had discouraged Moriarty from considering reviving the Dionysus Project in a new guise.

       It was after six when Moriarty climbed the stairs of her apartment block. She was opening her door when the mobile leapt in her pocket. It was her old college friend, Helen, with news of a friend of a friend due to marry in two months who wanted to begin her celebrations with a special treat.

       “I’ve got us five tickets for the hottest show in town.” She paused for a dramatic moment before pronouncing the word with a loud whisper. “Fabian.” Moriarty almost dropped the phone. “Kel, are you still there?”

       “Yes, I was just opening my door,” she replied as she stumbled into her dishevelled apartment.

       “It cost me an arm, a leg and my good name. The show starts at eight. It goes on for two hours. Can you believe it? I’ve never seen him live, but Sally says he really is hung like a horse. God, I’m a bit wet already.”

       “I’m not sure I can come. I have a lot of work …”

       “Kel, it’s Friday night. There’s no way you’re going to work tomorrow. I’ll pick you up in an hour. We need to be there early if we want to sit near the stage.”

       Moriarty and her companions arrived just before seven, but the club was already crowded with more than three hundred women sitting at tables and gathering along the sides of the hall. The noise from the horde of excitable women was intense, and the opening of the show was still an hour away. There were women wearing nothing but thongs and tight tops amidst the respectable women enjoying a furtive night of sexual fantasy. The other girls complemented Sara, a friend of the bride, on her contacts in securing such a choice location.

       “My sister knows the guy who owns the club.” She leant low to whisper more good news. “He’s promised us a backstage visit after the show.” The women at the table all shrieked with delight, except Moriarty.

       The show began with the lights dimming to a thunderstorm of hysterical shouting. A blast of music and then two women dressed as nurses appeared, marching across the stage in tandem to squat on the edge of the stage. The underwear, Moriarty was not surprised to see, was pink. The two women marched around the stage as the music built to a crescendo and then there was darkness for a moment before a spotlight fell on Dean, dressed only in shorts, in the centre of the stage. Moriarty recognised the crimson colour of his scanty clothing. The noise was deafening, and his mellow smile only heightened his reception. He stepped forward and a calming hand gesture brought a semblance of calm to the hall.

       “Good evening ladies.” Another chorus of shouts and another mild smile. Eventually the noise subsided. “Thank you so much for coming to join me tonight.” There were more shouts and a few declarations of love as he introduced his assistants, Cindy and Candy, who both greeted him with a passionate kiss that raised the noise level to new heights, and then he disappeared once more into the darkness at the back of the stage.

       The show involved four separate performances. Firstly, Dean was brought, bound in cuffs, onto the stage. There were some theatrical scenes of mild abuse with canes before he was tied between two poles, his body splayed for the entertainment of his eager audience. After more counterfeit caning and a drum roll Dean was stripped of his tiny costume. It was nearly five minutes before the audience had returned to their seats. The first session ended with Dean mounting one of the nurses close to the edge of the stage and riding her for nearly ten minutes. Then, to more screams, he was dragged from view.

       A handful of dancers writhed on stage to entertain the audience for about five minutes before Dean returned, this time with two policewomen in tow. The girls briskly stripped, leaving only their boots, hats and sunglasses, to begin their performance, riding his massive erection and drawing him towards the edge of the stage. Some of the women rose from their seats, but a handful of large shadows appeared to return the women to their seats. The men were polite, and the youngest guard earned a few kisses for performing his duty.

       The second session lasted twenty minutes and after another ten minutes of lewd dancing Dean returned, but this time he spoke to the crowd and invited a few lucky women to join him on the stage. They performed fellatio or rubbed his shaft and all left with a kiss and a fond farewell. After pleasuring these four women he left once more to return for the finale, a thirty minute extravaganza of sodomy, beatings, fellatio and bondage, culminating in a massive ejaculation onto the floorboards. The four encores lasted more than twenty minutes and it was after ten when the lights rose and the crowd dispersed into the warm Friday night.

       Helen and Sara disappeared towards the stage and returned after five minutes, looking like a couple of small children on their birthday.

       “We’re in,” Helen hissed, jumping from foot to foot in her excitement. They waited for the hall to empty before approaching the bulky security team. After a few words from Helen they were ushered along a dark passage to a room full of excited young women, many barely dressed. 

After ten minutes Roberta Rodriguez appeared at the door leading to the dressing rooms. She explained that Fabian would be coming soon, and he would talk to all of the women, but everyone was to remain calm. The twenty women in the room all nodded eagerly, anxious for a sight of the porn legend.

A moment later Dean arrived, dressed in a short black dressing gown. A passionate sigh filled the room and for the next forty minutes he strolled through the audience talking to each girl, offering a picture and bestowing many kisses. Any girl willing to be gentle was invited to massage his erection, and a battery of phone cameras recorded four genuine nurses, two insurance officials, two police officers, three civil servants, two lawyers and a bookshop owner fellating the great Fabian.

       Moriarty was careful to avoid Dean’s gaze, but as the tour was coming to an end she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Roberta Rodriguez retreating to the door, beckoning her from the room. Moriarty followed her into the darkness to another room, Dean’s private quarters.

       “It has been a while, Dr Moriarty. How are you?”

       “Fine. How are you?”

       “Tired and worn out,” she replied, sinking into a chair. “Dino is working virtually every night. I wish he would take a break, but he wants to keep going. I think he’s scared that it might all stop at any moment.” She smiled. “He’s keen to secure a future for his family.”

       Moriarty listened to Dean on the other side of the wall, his calm and friendly manner drawing laughs and giggles from his enraptured audience. Roberta rose to her feet and stretched, and Moriarty noticed the bump just above her waist. Roberta patted her stomach, her face beaming in reply to Moriarty’s congratulations.

       “Do you want to see him?”

“We parted on bad terms.”

“I’m sure he would like to see you. I know that ...” Roberta was interrupted by a joyful shout from the next room as one of the women was clearly enjoying a touch of his magnificent erection.

“We’re going back to Japan in three weeks. We were there in the spring. If you think this lot are wild, just come to a Fabian show in Tokyo. We were stuck in the theatre for six hours. They had to call the police. It made the evening news. I’ll be going with him, but I’ll miss the trip to Europe. Doctor’s orders.”

       The two assistants appeared, now dressed in jeans and tops. They kissed Roberta farewell and she asked if they were taking a cab home. They said that it was Friday night and they would be touring the clubs.

       “Enjoy it while you can,” Roberta told them. “I’ve already written a babysitting rota and your both on it.”

       The women left and ten minutes later Dean walked through the door, having seen off the last of his backstage guests, dressed now in jeans and a dark blue shirt.

       “Have Rosie and Babs gone?” he asked. “Did they take a cab home?”

       “They’re going to a club.”

       “I hope they’re careful, because I know they won’t be good.”

       “Dino, there’s someone to see you.” Her voice was no louder than a whisper. “Someone from the Research Centre.”

       Dean turned to see Moriarty, standing in the corner of the room. He thought she looked so different without her white coat, somehow diminished without her status and her injections. She seemed smaller now, and he sensed her nervousness, searching for her opening line like a novice actor. He decided to break the silence.

       “Have you found another victim?”

       “I’m not working in that field now.” Her hands moved from hair to glasses and back to hair, and she seemed to be retreating into the corner.

       “Why not? You seemed to enjoy it.”

       Roberta touched his hand and told him in Spanish not to be rude and to end the conversation. He nodded and turned to smile at Moriarty. He stared intently at her for a long time, and she knew that he was recalling all the brutal violations, the humiliating rituals and the casual exploitation of his body during his time at the Research Centre. She could not hold his stare and finally looked to the floor.

       “I wish you all the best, Dr Moriarty. Goodbye.” He left and a few seconds later there was a chorus of screams from the women gathering outside for a view of Fabian as he left the club.

       “I made some terrible mistakes, I know,” Moriarty told Roberta, her eyes welling with tears. “Do you think he will ever forgive me?”

       “I don’t know, and you probably never will know. You had your chance for a whole year, and again just now. You should have asked him to forgive you. Goodbye, Dr Moriarty. I would be grateful if you did not come again to any of Dean’s shows.”

       Moriarty reached her apartment shortly after midnight, collecting her mail from the box. There was a letter from a research project in Seattle, examining the impact of constant sunlight on primates. The Faculty was grateful for her application, but the strength of the field meant that they were unable to pursue her submission. Moriarty returned the letter to the envelope and left it on the table. The room remained in darkness, because turning on the lights would only remind her that she had not cleaned for the past three weeks.

       Moriarty reached below her fridge for the plastic folder containing her laptop, judging beneath the fridge to be a place few burglars were likely to look for valuables. She turned on the machine, bathing her room in a pale blue light. She typed in the name Fabian and the computer lit up with dozens of websites. One was the official website, followed by a succession of fan sites and pay sites offering videos of the great man. She found stories, photographs, even a copy of his signature. One site appeared to consist entirely of women posting pictures of themselves with Dean accompanied by accounts of their encounter. Almost all spoke of his charm, his attentive manner and his beautiful eyes. Surprisingly, few described him in purely physical or sexual terms.

It was almost three in the morning, as she was trawling through random pictures on a fan site, when Moriarty noticed an intriguing shot. Dean was lying naked on a table with a woman in a white coat standing over him. His hands were free, but she was holding a clipboard and wearing a haughty smile and familiar blue glasses. An hour of relentless searching finally unearthed a copy of the entire performance. Moriarty offered her credit card details, paid her fee and downloaded the video.

Dean was brought into a room and required to lie on the table. A woman in a white coat entered to ask him a series of demeaning questions. Dean was then strapped to the table and tortured by the woman, named Dr Kelly Morrison. The film ended with Morrison removing her clothing and riding Dean until both achieved a most spectacular orgasm.

She sat by her computer, naked with her legs splayed, enjoying another sight of Dean’s body. By the time she had played and replayed her favourite excerpts until her vagina lips were raw, it was after six and the sun was rising over the supermarket at the end of the street. Her front room was now exposed as unkempt, with the debris of the past two months littering the floor and the couch. Moriarty turned off her computer, slumped onto her bed and started to cry.

THE END