The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Rick Sidelsky was on his way across campus to the sports center to shoot some two-on-two. It was late autumn, and the air had an enlivening coolness. The lights of the gym shone through tall windows and looked warm and inviting in the early evening darkness. Getting to the door, he went past the check-in desk and down the hall to the locker room. Tyrell Smith was just locking up his gear and getting ready to head out to the basketball courts. “Yo, Ty!” Sidelsky greeted his friend.

“Hey, see you out there, man,” Tyrell replied.

Sidelsky changed into his gym clothes, locked his things up, and went out to the basketball courts. Three courts were already taken, the sound of basketball shoes squeaking against the floor, balls being dribbled, and shouts between team mates filling the hall with their distinctive energy. Declan O’Brien and Mark Mitchell were already there. They’d staked out the one remaining court and were warming up.

“Hey Dec. Hey Mitch,” Rick greeted them.

“Hey, Sidelsky,” Declan returned the greeting. Mitchell was shooting baskets. Ty Smith was doing hamstring stretches. “So you still takin’ that chick to East Side?” O’Brien was referring to the termly bash called East Side Frolic named after East Side, the student rec. center where it’s held.

“Yeeaaaah...” Sidelsky began, extending that syllable to suggest, ‘maybe, but...’ He took a shot from about ten steps out. It hit the rim, circled, then dropped down through the hoop.

“Hey,” Mitchell addressed the other three. “Let’s go. Me and Sidelsky shirts; Smith and O’Brien skins.”

Declan O’Brien and Rick Sidelsky faced one another in the circle. By their custom, the shirt threw the ball in the air for the tip off. O’Brien got the ball. O’Brien side-stepped left, then right, then escaped Sidelsky’s blocking attempt, and charged up the court. Quickly finding a shooting stance at a comfortable distance, O’Brien shot... and missed. His teammate Tyrell Smith got the rebound. Smith dribbled briefly, turned around to fend off Mitchell, then executed a jump shot, which nicely sank the ball for the first score of the match.

The boys had set the clock for a 12-minute quarter. The first quarter play continued, aggressive and sharp. The buzzer sounded at the end of the quarter.

Gathering by their water bottles and towels, panting and dripping, Sidelsky and Mitchell sat on the bench running along the side of the court. After a moment, Smith sat down on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him, palms on the floor behind him for support. O’Brien joined him crossed-legged.

“Nice quarter, man,” O’Brien said regarding Tyrell.

“Yeah. You too, man.”

After a few more minutes, satisfied they’d rested enough, the four men got back onto the floor. Sidelsky and Mitchell looked ready to take the other two on.

Getting the ball at tip-off, Mitchell pounded it up the court, taking a final two strides to where he saw the opening, shot, and scored.

“Travel!” Declan yelled.

“Bullshit!” Mitchell stated back.

“That was so much a travel!” Declan insisted.

Tyrell, intervening, assuaged Declan. “Yeah, probably, but let’s drop it.”

Declan, shaking his head, nonetheless conceded and jogged into position to resume play.

Tyrell got the ball. Took three dribbles. Passed to Declan. Declan drove past Sidelsky who was trying to elbow him out of his lane. Passed to Tyrell. Who came under pressure; passed back to Declan. Who, ignoring both opponents rushing in on him to attempt blocking position, aimed for the briefest instant, shot... and scored.

“YES!” Declan shouted.

The remaining quarters proceeded accordingly—lots of energy, some anger vented, all as expected. With the final buzzer, it was the shirts’ game by a hair. All four men were satisfied. The post-game endorphins were kicking in nicely.

“Nice game!” Rick said to Declan, giving him a high-five. “Nice game,” he repeated to Tyrell and doing the same.

After hitting the showers, Tyrell and Rick, who got out of the locker room first, waited in the sports center lobby for their mates.

“So how’s Org. 10 going?” Rick the other day had mentioned that the advanced organic chemistry course was as hard as reputation had it.

“Yeah, it’s a ball buster,” Rick replied. “Hey. Did you ever end up taking that gig, the driving and delivery thing?”

“Yeah, still doin’ it. It’s pretty sweet. Just 10 hours a week, though.”

“What do they pay?”

“28 bucks an hour.”

“Nice,” Rick replied. He now glanced at the clock on the wall above them, moved as if ready to get going, then something caught is eye. “Hey. Look at this.” It was a poster on the wall. The poster read in bold letters:

ANATOMY, NEURAL FUNCTION, AND MALE SELF-IDENTITY... TEST SUBJECTS SOUGHT

Most impressive was the not-so-fine print mentioning a $1,500 pay-out.

“Woah. Fifteen hundred bucks. That’s REALLY sweet,” Tyrell said, roughly stating the same thought that ran through Rick’s mind.

Rick broke the slight pause. “Wanna do it?”

“Do what?”

“Volunteer. Or sign-up or whatever you do to be a ‘test subject.’”

Tyrell paused a moment. Then replied. “Yes. Definitely.”

Holding a burrito as he continued to stare across the table at Sidelsky and Smith, who were chowing down on their post-b-ball meals, Declan O’Brien repeated himself. “I totally don’t believe you guys are doing this.”

Through a mouthful, Sidelsky brushed off O’Brien’s incredulity. “Dude,” as he chewed, “It’s fifteen hundred bucks. And it says, no drugs. No physically invasive procedures. And just 10 sessions, an hour and a quarter a session. Do you know what that comes to per hour?”

“Yeah, I get that part,” Mitchell said. “It’s the part about being guinea pigs.”

“What’s that?” Tyrell directed himself to Mitchell, in good nature, but with a challenge intended: “The part about being pussies?”

Declan rolled his eyes, then absent-mindedly let them follow a couple of girls who were crossing the dining hall.

“Nothing about being pussies,” Mitchell continued. “It’s the part about being fucking CRAZY! You’re fucking CRAZY to go in for that shit! ‘Male Self-Identity’? Screw that. Sounds like psycho-babble.”

“Yeah. Psycho-babble with 1500 hundred bucks attached,” Declan says thoughtfully. He looks like he might be coming around to the idea.

“So Declan’s in!” Tyrell declares.

“No, wait!” Declan suddenly roused to greater energy. “I didn’t say I’m in!”

“Pussy.”

“Okay. Fuck it. Yes. I’m in.”

Now all three stare at Mark Mitchell.

“Mitch?” Sidelsky breaks the pause.

“Oh fuck it. I’m in.”

Tyrell, Rick, Declan, and Mark arrived at the non-descript building on the edge of campus. It was down a service ally alongside East Side, the campus rec. center. It looked like a semi-derelict industrial building, red bricks, barred windows, glass replaced with corrugated metal sheets. The door was a heavy security door. Rick hit the buzzer. After a pause, there was a loud click, Rick pulled, and the door opened.

One would have half-expected to see a dark space of rusted machinery and empty oil drums, but, instead, the other side of the door was brightly lit. It was a corridor, with commercial carpeting, and doors down its sides. A voice over a speaker said, “Oh sorry. End of the hall. Just come on through.” It was a woman’s voice, and it all sounded conventional enough. The boys proceeded down the hall, where a large door faced them. Sidelsky opened it, and they went through.

The door led onto another conventional-looking space, a waiting area, with a desk by the side. A well-organized-looking woman sat behind the desk. The woman looked up. “Hello! So... Let’s see...” Looking at her monitor, then back at the boys, “Which one of you is Mr. Smith?” Tyrell Smith replied. “Here. Take this. Fill out the form, then if you take a seat, Doctor Drax’s assistant will be with you shortly.” Tyrell took the form, which looked like a standard waiver, and went over to one of the chairs along the wall. “Mr. Sidelsky?... Mr. O’Brien? ... Annnddd... You must be Mr. Mitchell.”

The boys, having filled out and returned the forms, waited. A few minutes went by, then a door opened on the side of the waiting area opposite that through which they’d entered. A vaguely clinical-looking woman stepped through. “Follow me, gentlemen. Doctor Drax is ready to see you.”

The four followed the clinical-looking woman. It was another corridor, and then an elevator. It was hard to tell where precisely they now were. The clinical-looking woman bid them enter the elevator. They entered. They started moving. It felt like they were dropping.

After what felt like a longer ride than the height of the building as seen from the outside would allow, the elevator came to a gentle stop, and the door opened. It opened directly onto a room. The room was slightly odd. Not quite a classroom, not quite a clinic. There were some EKGs off to one side. And a couple of plain wooden benches in the middle. In front was a white board, and in front of the white board, a woman. The woman stood writing some notes on the white board, so her back was to the boys and the clinical-looking woman as these five entered. Hearing them, she turned. This was Doctor Drax. “Hello. Please sit down.” She motioned to the benches.

“The male psyche,” she began without further introduction, “is an object of problematization in our society. It generates beneficial energies; and hurtful mistakes. Heretofore, little has been done to approach the problematic side of the male psyche in a constructive and scientific way. Our mores, our rules, our habits—these all conspire to affirm and exaggerate one side of the phenomenon of which I speak, while diminishing, even effacing, the influences that can bring the worst in the human male to heal.”

The boys looked on. Declan looked dubious. “Where do you think this is going?” Declan whispered to Tyrell.

“Fifteen hundred bucks,” Tyrell whispered back.

The Doctor caught the exchange.

“Where this is going, Mr. O’Brien, is anybody’s guess. The harm that your gender has inflicted in the world continues.” (Declan glanced sideways at Tyrell to give a ‘dude. WTF’ look). “The study that I am conducting may have only a... limited impact, or perhaps you will find it has benefits in unexpected places. For society. And, perhaps, for yourselves personally. But let us begin with an overview of our process.”

The doctor picked up a pointer and turned to the white board. Pointing to a chart drawn on the board, she began to explain. “As you know, you have agreed to participate in a study of anatomy, neural function, and male self-identity. The study’s methods are... somewhat unorthodox, but, as you understand, there is no risk to your health or your safety. We are not experimenting with drugs or any physically invasive procedures. We WILL be taking... measurements. Measurements of physiological responses and of neural function. We have EKGs, which you may have noticed as you came in, and we have equipment for brainwave measurements as well.” Doctor Drax looked to the side of the room. The boys glanced that way too.

“We will also be performing what we call qualitative tests—which is to say, subjective measurements. These tests are simply questions that we’ll be asking you. Now, as the subject matter is indeed male self-identity, the questions relate in various ways to that problem. Some of the questions will be quite obvious to you. Some less so. Your honest answers are essential. We’ll also insist that you not... over-think. The questions are designed to elicit immediate responses. They are not invitations to analyze. Or to BULLSHIT us.” The Doctor’s tone turned determined at the last sentence. Rick Sidelsky started. Mark Mitchell, in contrast, was in a posture of studied nonchalance.

Turning back on Declan, Doctor Drax maintained the stern tone: “Mr. O’Brien? Do you have a problem with avoiding BULLSHIT?”

Declan returned a doe-eyed look of innocence.

“We shall see,” Doctor Drax said and continued. “So the question sessions are an important part of the study. You will answer honestly.” Pausing briefly to let that idea sink in, the Doctor moved to her next point. “Now, then. We will begin by obtaining baseline readings of your brainwaves. Ms. Bolt,” Doctor Drax addressed the clinical-looking woman, “prepare these men. When they are finished, escort them to the interview room. Oh... And do any of you have questions before we begin?”

Sidelsky looked to Smith. Smith looked to Mitch. Declan gave his shoulders a shrug.

“No? Good. Ms. Bolt, please proceed.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Ms. Bolt replied. Turning to the four volunteers, Ms. Bolt asked Tyrell to follow her. Together, they left the room.

The other three boys sat on the bench and talked amongst themselves, taking advantage of the departure of Doctor Drax and her assistant from the room to ponder the situation.

“Why’d she rip on ME? She asked if I was a ‘bullshitter’!” Declan asked, whining at having been asked if he’s a bullshitter.

“Maybe because you ARE a bullshitter?” Mark Mitchell jibed.

“No, dude. She has it out for me!”

“Umm... and so what?” Rick asked. “We’re out of here in an hour. If she wants us to listen to lectures about ‘the male psyche’ or whatever floats her boat, cool. It’s HER study, and we’re the ones getting paid for listening.”

Ms. Bolt led Tyrell to the room. It was softly lit. A chair, somewhat similar to one you’d see in a dentist’s office, occupied the middle of the room. “Sit here,” she said.

Tyrell, looking around curiously, asked, “So this is like a brainwave monitor?”

“It has to do with your brainwaves, yes. Please sit.” Tyrell got into the chair. It was comfortable, and he sank into it deeply.

“Now remain still. Two pads will touch the sides of your head.” Ms. Bolt drew into position around Tyrell’s head two mechanical arms similar to the ones that hold an x-ray apparatus. A pad was attached at the end of each. Tyrell felt a pad now touching either side of his head.

“The reading will take about 5 minutes. Just relax. You won’t feel a thing.”

Tyrell could hear the flip of a switch, followed by a low hum. The hum had a slight pulse to it.

There was nothing noticeable at first. In a moment, however, Tyrell felt a heaviness enter his head. Together with the heaviness, he also felt a deepening curiosity. He felt a deepening curiosity about that slightly pulsing hum. Like he had to pay attention to it. So he did. His curiosity deepened even more as the hum continued. And so he payed even closer attention to it. As his attention to the hum, the pulsing hum, deepened, Tyrell felt his eyes grow heavy. Then a wave of something like dizziness, but quite pleasant, passed over his face. It crossed from temple to temple, then back again. And again. The heaviness in Tyrell’s eyes grew suddenly much, much greater. He felt his eyes roll, and darkness settle around him.

The next thing Tyrell knew, he was in the corridor, walking back to the main room with Ms. Bolt. “So...” he said a bit dreamily, “You got the brainwave readings that you require.”

“Yes,” replied Ms. Bolt. The brainwave readings are excellent. Precisely what we require. And you will remember to tell your friends just that.”

Back in the room where they’d received Doctor Drax’s lecture, Declan and Mark Mitchell turned to Tyrell. He’d just returned under Ms. Bolt’s escort and sat down. Ms. Bolt, after returning Tyrell, had taken Rick Sidelsky.

“So how was it?” Mitch asked.

“No biggie. The brainwave readings are excellent. It’s just what they want,” Tyrell responded somewhat blankly.

“Okay,” Mitch responded, a bit dubious. “It was quick anyway.”

“Yeah,” Declan said, looking at his watch. “But there won’t be much more than a half hour left for this ‘interview’ room or whatever she said is the next step in her ‘process’.”

“Fine by me,” Mitch said. “What? Were you hoping for Doctor DRAX to interrogate you and get to the root of your ‘male self-identity?’”

“Yeah. I figure it might help me understand why you’re so gay for me.”

“Fuck you,” Mitch replied in a good-natured way. Declan looked again at his watch.

The boys were quiet for a minute or so. Then Mitch and Declan got up to look around some more. Almost as soon as they’d risen, Ms. Bolt returned with Rick Sidelsky in tow. “Thank you, Mr. Sidelsky. You may sit down. Mark Mitchell, you are next.”

“Okie dokie,” Mitch replied. “Wish me luck,” he joked to Declan. Mitch left the room led by Ms. Bolt.

Declan stepped back over to the bench. He regarded Ty and Rick. “Hey, Sidelsky. Ty. You dudes look kinda out of it. You okay?”

“Mmm,” Tyrell replied. “Just sorta tired.”

“Sidelsky?”

“Yeah. Just sorta tired. The brainwave readings are excellent,” said Sidelsky in a dazed tone.

“Huh?”

“Yeah. It’s just what they required.”

“Umm... I see.” Declan’s eyes narrowed. “Uh, hey, Tyrell. How was it with you? How were the brainwave measurements or whatever that was?”

Tyrell repeated as before. “The brainwave readings were excellent.”

“Okay. This is fucked up. That’s what both of you are saying. Exactly.”

“Umm... yeah... but it’s true. We... uh... we have real good brainwaves or something, I guess,” Sidelsky puzzled through the problem.

“Yeah. That’s it,” Tyrell concurred. “It’s what they said.”

“Uh huh. That’s weird, man.”

Giving his head a slight shake, like he was throwing off the last hazy remnants of sleep, Sidelsky continued. “Yeah. It’s weird. It’s just very quick. And there’s not really much to it. I didn’t notice her taking notes or anything.”

“Maybe the readout gets recorded on a monitor or something?” Declan suggested.

“Yeah. Maybe. I dunno.”

Before the three boys could resolve this question, Ms. Bolt returned with Mitch, and gestured to Declan. “Mr. O’Brien.”

Hesitating, but then putting aside his doubts, Declan started toward the door. “Okay, guys. See you in five.”

In a different room now, the boys are seated in plastic chairs. Doctor Drax and Ms. Bolt, out of earshot, conferred. “And all went as planned in the Programming Chamber?” the Doctor asked.

“Yes, Doctor Drax,” Ms. Bolt confirmed. “The initial triggers are installed.”

“Good. Then we shall begin.”

Walking over to stand in front of the boys, Ms. Drax spoke. “The questioning process, as I mentioned, is essential to the study in which you have agreed to participate. That is why we conduct the questioning here, in the Interview Room. The Interview Room is equipped to put you at ease and to focus your attention. You WILL answer readily and openly.” Ms. Bolt, standing by a control console, looked to Doctor Drax, who gave a nod. Ms. Bolt activated something on the console.

A noise began. It filled the room. It was the hum. That same, fascinating hum. Sidelsky felt a bubbling, upturning feeling in his eyes, like he was about to pass out, but then he steadied, and just stared ahead. His friends had similar reactions. Doctor Drax surveyed all four boys and was satisfied with their now-slack and blank expressions.

“Good. Very good. Now... Let us begin the questions. Oh. And one more thing:

Sidelsky felt the strange rhyme join the hum and merge into a repeating, all-absorbing wave across his brain.

“Question 1. How many times in the past 7 days did you ejaculate?”

One by one, Doctor Drax took the answers from her subjects. None seemed to need a moment’s hesitation to find the answer.

Mitchell: “Ten.”

Smith: “Six.”

Sidelsky: “Fifteen.”

O’Brien: “Eighteen.” O’Brien grew hard rapidly after answering. His member pressed against the inside of his jeans.

“Question 2. How did this happen, by masturbation or by sex?”

Mitchell: “Masturbation eight times. Sex twice.”

Smith: “All by sex.”

Sidelsky: “Masturbation fourteen times. Sex once.”

O’Brien: “All by masturbating.”

“Question 3. “Why do you fail to please women every time you insert your penis in a vagina?”

Mitchell: “Umm... EVERY time? Maybe I cum too fast. But sometimes she seems to like it...”

Smith: “I... I... think I’m pretty good.”

“Hmm... interesting.

Sidelsky: “Maybe cuz she’s a bitch and doesn’t know how good she’s getting it...”

“Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Sidelsky. And you, Mr. O’Brien?”

“I’m... I’ve only done it once. It was great!”

“I see. Good.”

“Question 4. How do you feel when you masturbate?”

Mitchell: “Like it’s second-best but it does the job. Gets it outta me.”

Smith: “Fucking great. Like I’m the boss.”

Sidelsky: “Like I’m doing what I gotta do.”

O’Brien: “I love rubbing myself off!”

“Question 5. How do you feel when you have an erection?”

Mitchell: ”Like I need to get my balls off, soon.”

Smith: “I love that feeling. Locked and loaded.”

Sidelsky: “Hoping no one notices.”

O’Brien: “Hoping some one notices.”

“That concludes the questions for now,” Doctor Drax said. All the while, Ms. Bolt was scribbling notes on sheets on a clipboard. “You will know that you obediently answered. The questions were uninteresting and so need not concern you.” The four boys sat with heavy eyes as they heard these words and felt them land inside their heads. “Ms. Bolt, you are in charge now. Complete the first phase of the neural adjustment protocol, and then dismiss the subjects for the day.” With that, Doctor Drax left the room.

“Mark Mitchell: stand and follow me,” spoke Ms. Bolt. He complied. As for the remaining three, there was no need to say a thing. The hum of the mind control machinery kept them zonked out and content sitting as they were. As before, Ms. Bolt spent about five minutes in the Programming Chamber with the subject. The process was repeated with Tyrell, Rick, and Declan. On returning Declan to the Interview Room, Ms. Bolt informed the men, “As you leave the building, all memory of this session will fade. You will only know that you are eager and interested for the next session. Dismissed!”

O’Brien caught up with Mitchell the next day at the gym over by the squat racks. “Hey, Mitch!”

“Hey, Dec. Sup?”

“So what’d you think?”

“About what?” Mitch said as he was re-racking the barbell.

“The test subject thing.”

“Pretty easy for the money. Glad I’m doing it.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dec agreed. “You heading over there after this?”

“Yeah,” Mitch said. “What’s the time? Shit. I’d better get this last set in. See you over there.”

“See ya,” Declan said and sauntered off.

“Thank you, gentlemen, for your punctuality. For your second session, we will have some follow-up questions. These are to compare with your responses yesterday.” The boys sat attentively. “Then we will take certain... PHYSICAL measurements. You may find these... rather intimate. But it will be easy for you to comply. Ms. Bolt? Samantha?” The woman who had greeted them in the waiting room on the first day now had joined Doctor Drax and Ms. Bolt.

Ms. Bolt activated the mind control system on Doctor Drax’s cue. The hum filled the room.

As on the previous occasion, each of the subjects felt a sensation like a wave of warm water had just crashed into his brain, only to feel himself settle into a calm but alert compliance. Each stared forward.

“We would like you to clarify your answers to Questions 3, 4, and 5.

“Question 3. “Why do you fail to please women every time you insert your penis in a vagina?”

Mitchell: “Cuz my cock is small and I don’t know how to do it.”

Smith: “I’m a loser.”

Sidelsky: “Women deserve better than me.”

O’Brien: “I came before I finished even putting it all the way in.”

“Good,” Doctor Drax said. Ms. Bolt was taking notes. “Now to ask for your clarifications about Question 4: How do you feel when you masturbate?”

Mitchell: “It takes away all my energy, and so what little use I am disappears when I jizz.”

Smith: “Horrible. I feel so pathetic and lonely.”

Sidelsky: “Like I’m a dirty pervert rubbing one out in a sex shop.”

O’Brien: “I hate it. It makes me into a filthy little boy.”

“Question 5. How do you feel when you have an erection?”

Mitchell: ”It needs controlled.”

Smith: “Like a pathetic wank-artist, cuz all I can do about it is jerk it.”

Sidelsky: “Ashamed at what a rampant loser I am.”

O’Brien: “Terrified of the humiliation that would come if I got caught.”

“Good. Thank you. Now STAND AND DISROBE.”

The boys rose from their chairs. They stripped down, not a thought of resistance crossing their minds.

Doctor Drax addressed Ms. Bolt: “Measure them.”

Ms. Bolt approached O’Brien. “Keep your hands at your sides.” Taking a caliper, Ms. Bolt lifted O’Brien’s flaccid penis and measured it from pelvis to tip. “Length: 11 cm.” Samantha made a note on a handheld device. Ms. Bolt then measured the organ around. “Circumference: 9 cm.” Ms. Bolt then measured Declan’s right testicle. “Right teste, 4 x 3 cm.” Then his left. “Left teste, 3 x 2 cm.”

“Mitchell. Hands to your sides.” Mark Mitchell’s measurements were taken. Then Sidelsky’s. Then Smith’s.

“Make yourselves erect.”

Each man began to touch himself. Sidelsky rubbed his palm up and down the underside of his member, pressing in at the base with more and more pressure each time as it responded. O’Brien took his penis as a guy might when aiming to piss and gently but rapidly tossed his fingers up and down its last 4 or 5 centimeters, giving particular attention to its head. Mitchell kneaded his scrotum while sliding his thumb in little movements just at the base. Smith took the glans in his thumb and forefingers, teasing it through the foreskin. Very quickly, each man displayed an erection. Ms. Bolt took their measurements.

“Now sit down and place your hands on your thighs.” The subjects complied. “Samantha, may we have the data projection?”

An image appeared on a screen above the white board. It was a chart. The chart was like this:

Doctor Drax surveyed the chart intently. The expression on her face was one of faint disgust. But also of resolve.

“Ladies, take the subjects to the Programming Chamber. We are ready for the next stage.”

Declan O’Brien’s body squirmed and writhed under the sheets. If one had been watching through the dimness of his dorm room, one would have been right if one guessed he was having a dream. After the day’s session with Dr. Drax had concluded, he’d felt kinda spaced out, and he had gone to bed early and fallen fast asleep.

The dream was weird. O’Brien was in a place like a stable. There were horses. Hay. Stirrups. Harnesses. Leather. And Doctor Drax.

The Doctor was in riding kit. She carried a riding crop.

A touch against skin. Movement, compulsory. Restraints, unyielding. Strange position; pelvis pushed forward; back arched. Hay. Horses. Stirrups. Doctor Drax approaches. Closer still.

A pail. A squeezing sensation. Down there. A ring. A tightening. The pail! Sudden intensity. Doctor Drax. The PAIL! Tighter still. So wet. Into it... NOW! SQUIRT! Liquid onto metal. Squirt! SQUIRT! Louder still, the tinny rattle of liquid onto metal! Oh fuccckkk.... SQUIRRRTTTTT!

Declan subsided into blackness. The sticky residue soaked his sheets.

“Hey, Mitch,” Sidelsky jogged to catch up with Mark Mitchell as he rounded the corner into the ally along East Side. “So another day...”

“Yep,” Mitch replied. When they got there, Tyrell Smith and Declan O’Brien were in the waiting room. “Yo, dudes,” Mitch greeted his mates.

“We are ready,” the well-organized Samantha said.

The group went down the now-familiar corridor, passed by the room with the white board, down the second corridor, got into the elevator, felt the drop, and entered the Interview Room. Doctor Drax and Ms. Bolt were waiting for them.

“Good morning, men. Sit.” They did. “By now you readily accept the sensation you are about to feel.” Ms. Bolt activated the mind control machine. The hum penetrated each man’s head.

“The attention you crave for your penis is the source of much that troubles us. It is time to change your MENTAL STATE. Watch the image on the wall.”

On the screen above, an image appeared. It was a large, black and white spiral. It moved, its arms swirling round and round. Tyrell felt his eyes pulled into its center. After several minutes, the following words flowed across his mind:

The sensation of words pouring into the stream of their thoughts was steady and unbreaking. The men stared at the spiral. After some time, the Doctor, satisfied, moved on to the next step. “Take the subjects to the Programming Chamber.” As before, one by one, the men were escorted to the Programming Chamber. The changes were accumulating.

The next day, Mark Mitchell felt himself go through his classes in a haze. It was hard to concentrate. Sure, there was the normal horn that sometimes distracted him: like he’d have felt casting a glance at the girl to the right in the lecture theater. Today, it was beyond the normal horn. Everything, and nothing, made him think of release. It’s not that that didn’t sometimes happen anyway. Not every day, but there was the occasional day like that. And Mitch never had much minded it. In fact, he liked thinking about sex. About fucking. About how he’d yank down his trousers back at his room and jack his cock until it creamed. But this time was different. With every stimulus toward sex, with every single thing he saw or thought that steered his mind or body to humping, to rubbing, to stroking, to thrusting, to thoughts of delicious penetrating, the result was a jolt to his nervous system, followed by a warm, squishy feeling of relaxed, sensuous need. It was like his every sex thought—and his sex thoughts were following one after another by the minute today—made him crave, but something would intervene so he could not act. Any intention to act, any plan, any even whisper of a thought to act, and he felt another jolt, a thought-evaporating, almost painful stimulus stopping him before he could so much as start to move a hand toward his crotch or form some plan to get off. In place of action, just the craving. And the craving was not to act on his own impulse or for his own pleasure. The craving was, instead, to obey, to serve, to worship. But not to stroke. Not to fuck. Even as the onset of each new thought made him practically beg out loud to STROKE. Beg out loud to FUCK. The contradictory reactions and the build-up intensified as the day went on. Back and forth, they assaulted Mitchell and stoked the frustration that grew inside him.

Back at his dorm room, Mitchell threw off his back pack and didn’t even bother taking off his trainers. He fell into bed. Staring at the ceiling, setting his jaw firmly with resolve, dispelling as much of the haze as he could, he half-formed a plan. The plan was simple: to rub through his trousers until this pressure, this urgent need, would at last release. It felt like pulling a huge object through a thick, barely-yielding fluid, but, with much effort, Mitch got the plan to take shape inside his head. Now all he had to do was carry the plan out.

A slight motion began, a nerve impulse having reached arm and hand, muscles and tendons having pulled open palm, muscles further up the arm having started palm on the path to crotch. But then, right there, at the first hint of motion, at the first movement toward executing what had seemed the most difficult plan ever to devise, there it was: another one of those jolts! It ran through him head to toe, fast gathering right behind his forehead. He felt as though a magnetic force sprang into being between has hand and his loins. A force that sprang faster than any arousal, faster than any thought. A force stronger than he would ever overcome. His hand was repelled away. It jumped so hard it almost hurt.

Breathing heavy, Mitch whispered to himself, “What the fuck? Please...” and formed the image of joining his hips over the wider, curvier ones on this woman he’d been banging last semester. GOOD BOYS DO NOT FUCK. The words erupted inside his head. “Fuccck... what the...?” The words couldn’t be denied though. They intruded forcibly the instant he even contemplated fucking. So he took a slightly different tack. Soft fingers undoing his belt buckle; the muffled sound of the night club at the other side of the parking lot pounding; leaning back in the seat of his car, using his hand to guide a long head of blond hair toward his crotch—and then that same jolt. GOOD BOYS DO NOT... “Ohhh... please. PLEASE!” This time, as Mitch audibly pleaded, he made a sensual stretch of his limbs, and a sigh ran through his body. Weaker this time, but still gathering enough resistance to try it, he took yet another line of thought aiming at the same ambition. This time, he summoned the simple recollection of browsing porn online in his room back home, forming the intent to wank his rigid flesh. And then the JOLT. It was no use. So this time he agreed, “Good boys do not masturbate...” he murmured in meek affirmation. But from another part of him, another, albeit even weaker, attempt; then another jolt; and another slide into submissive acceptance. “Mmmm...oooh... good boys... do not... masturbate...” A sensual, sexy feeling saturated him as he felt those words, their affirmation, rising up inside.

Then, as if some new opening appeared, Mitch felt images and feelings and sounds take shape all on their own. It was as if in a dream, but he was not asleep, at least not asleep in the nighttime, ordinary dreaming sense. No, he was in bed, eyes half shut, in a transport of sensation and obedience. He wasn’t summoning the images and feelings in any conscious way; they weren’t deliberate withdrawals from his inventory of wank material. They instead bubbled up from someplace deep inside him.

It was the time Mitch had been on a work site. The summer job he’d had last year. But on the work site THIS time, as he lay there in bed being flooded with the image, Doctor Drax strode into view. He felt Her eyes upon him. A shudder passed through his frame. He knew he craved to cream, but he craved to please Mistress even more. Doctor Drax walked down a row of heavy, grungy equipment, like parts and pieces of some strange machines built for outdoor work. She paused at one place, keeping her gaze fixed on Mitch. In the way of dreams, Mitch stared back directly into those eyes, and yet also saw her hand. Oh yes, HER hand. On a spigot. A valve. The movement of Her wrist. Her Hand. The spigot. The valve. Pipes. Steaming, pressurized, sounds of hissing, escaping, building. The spigot. The hand. The valve. A gentle twist. Turning. Turning more. Then HISSSSSSSS!!!! Loud, sudden escape, a jet of hissing steam rushing from the valve. But only the image of Declan! Fucking Declan?! In unison with the hissing sound of hot release, Declan’s face convulses and then a smile of orgasmic bliss plasters him from ear to ear. “No! Please, Mistress,” Mitch pleaded.... “Please! Make me cum!”

The Doctor steps forward again, calm, not letting Her prey out of sight. Another valve and spigot! Hissing. Ready. Building. As if the whole apparatus behind it is ready to explode. Dripping condensation everywhere. Metal joints actually bulging from within. Her HAND! On the VALVE! A flick of the wrist... Another explosive gush of pent-up, over-heated vapor. And this time... FUCK NO! It’s fucking Sidelsky! His face too... that same smile... his eyes fluttering to show quick flashes of pure white behind... Mitch is frantic. “Please... Please Doctor! Please! Let me cum! I need it! Please! PLEASE!!!”

Doctor Drax smiles. Strides yet another step along the hissing, heaving assemblage of parts and pipes, a dominating figure interspersed with vapor and heat. Fast this time. No warning. SQUEEK! goes another valve. HISSSSSSSSSS! goes the release. Mitchell can even hear Tyrell’s response—‘unhhhhhh!!’—and that stupid grin of climax, the zombie-eyes of blissed entrancement. “Nooooo!” Mitchell practically screams. “I need to CUM!!!” And at the same time, he begs, he pleads, that this reverie not end here. That this strange, waking dream continue. And it does. For a moment anyway. Doctor Drax closes the final distance to Mitch, his work boots still fixed to the spot he’s been standing at since the start. She is right upon him. Her eyes! Her skin! Even Her breath! “Oh please, oh please... please, please, please!” Now Her hand. She’s gently petting a valve. Then almost fondling it. Then petting it some more. A drop forms at the valve’s aperture. Forms and grows... then drops. Then, faster, another drop forms and grows and drops. Then faster still. The drops turn to a rivulet. The rivulet to a stream. Hissing vapor now accompanies the flow. The hand. HER hand! Fingers caressing the metal. The only thing he can see. Her eyes and the metal and her fingers and the liquid. And... She GRABS it. She TURNS it.

Tight. And SHUT. The flow and the hissing stop. Completely and immediately. Somewhere inside, Mitch was braced for a torment like no other. But at that instant, instead, it is as if an ocean wave morphs into a thick bubble, expands, and rises from his loins up through his core into his head, across the whole of his being, and back again, but not a drop of it escaping. The pleasure is like none other Mitch can remember. “Oh, thank You, Mistress!” he meekly speaks. “Thank You... I don’t EVER want to cum...”

The subjects walked together to the facility at the appointed hour. It was the fourth session. After the usual preliminaries, including the activation of mind control, the session began in earnest.

“We will start with Subject S 0.1.” Doctor Drax spoke the designation as “S zero one.” “Stand and drop your trousers.”

By now, compliance was natural. Declan rouse and pulled them down.

“HARDEN. You are exposed and you are a filthy wanker. Good boys do not masturbate. My words are true. You feel humiliation and arousal at showing your erection, but you crave more than ever to show it. Now sit, keeping your trousers down. Remain HARD.”

“Subject S 0.2. Get on the floor. Sex thoughts shall enter your mind.” A chime sounded. “Lick my boot.” Mitch complied. “Any thought of wanking, any desire to fuck or to cum in any way, and all you can think of is your rampant need to get on your stomach and lick.”

“Subject S 0.3. Stand. You do not grow erect except when commanded. You have no memory of your erect cock.” The chime sounded. “Resume your place.”

“Subject S 0.4. Stand. Strip completely. Spread your legs. Your balls are tiny and pathetic. But they overflow with semen. You will leak through your flaccid penis whenever you have thoughts of sex. This will humiliate you. Now sit.”

The strange series of instructions concluded. Doctor Drax again handed the men over to Ms. Bolt for a further procedure in the Programming Chamber.

As after each session, the men had no precise idea what had been done to them. But the aftereffects grew only stronger by the day.

The session went by in a blur yet again. This was the fifth time the men had been in the facility in Doctor Drax’s care.

The rhythmic hum of the mind control machine saturated them.

Sidelsky was lying in bed with a lamp on and clapped shut a textbook that he still couldn’t get his focus to center on. ‘What’s the matter with me?’ he thought. The breakup with Marsha, maybe? Oddly, that hadn’t bothered him at all. It felt... right. ‘I don’t want to fuck her,’ he thought. ‘Actually, I’ve been finding it hard to think about fucking at all... Maybe that’s... somehow NOT FOR ME.’ What kept Sidelsky up this late and what made it so hard to concentrate was a sense of expectation. He had no idea what he was expecting, but the feeling of expecting it was strong. He felt primed. Ready. It’s just that he wasn’t sure for WHAT. He moved to turn out the light and make another attempt at sleep.

Then his cell rang. No caller ID. He answered anyway and held the phone to his ear.

The sonorous sounding of the chime inundated him. His mind went blank.

Lights. A familiar space and smell. A man to his right. A man to his left. Waiting. Eyes forward.

Footsteps. And now Her presence.

The Doctor surveyed the four men. They stood in trainers, socks, and jockstraps. Their faces wore slack expressions. Their eyes were glazed.

“How did they respond?” Doctor Drax asked Her assistant Ms. Bolt.

“The trigger is strong, Doctor. They follow their programming. They are clad precisely as instructed, and they arrived on time. None required additional intervention.”

“Good,” Doctor Drax said. “And this... facility? It is secured?”

“Yes, Doctor. The night watchman has been made to cooperate, and the sports center is otherwise empty except for ourselves.” There was, naturally, nobody else on the basketball courts at two in the morning.

“Now, to test the further routines that we have embedded.”

Taking out a chime and a mallet, the Doctor hits the chime, which produces a distinctive tone. “WAKE,” She commands.

All the men suddenly look aware.

“Wha... What the fuck?” Mitch declares.

“Where are we... wha... the gym? Holy shit.” Declan stands confused.

Though fully conscious, none of the four thought to run, or for that matter even to move very much at all from where they found themselves standing. Ty slightly re-positioned his weight. Sidelsky adjusted his cock.

“Good morning, men,” Doctor Drax began. “Thank you for being such good, cooperative subjects. I know this is outside our normal hours and our normal place, but I understand that you are familiar with these surroundings.” Mitch noticed that they were standing just in front of the baseline on one of the four basketball courts. “Mr. Mitchell looks surprised to be here,” Doctor Drax said. “But no matter. You may discover some more ... surprises... over our next several sessions. Now let us begin. BEARD INSPECTION!”

A wave of sensation passed through the front of Declan’s head. He instantly snapped to attention; drew his feet close to together; straightened his back; stuck out his chest; grabbed his jockstrap by its waistband and yanked it to his knees.

“Good,” said Doctor Drax as She surveyed the row of attentively rigid subjects. Each displayed a clean-shaved scrotum and no more than stubble on his pelvis.

“STRAPS UP. And JUMPING JACKS!”

The boys pulled up their jockstraps and began the old school-yard Phys. Ed. drill. As they jumped, they sounded out a cadence in unison:

They continued the drill for the mandated three minutes, then stopped. Though catching their breath from the drill, they stood otherwise calm. Doctor Drax spoke:

“The neural processing has fixed itself deeply in your minds. This is because the male psyche eagerly opens to the special procedures that I have used on you. Now, the time has come to consider the EXTERNAL anatomy.” Doctor Drax reminded the trance-ready subjects of their imperative when She struck again the chime. “SLEEP.”

A deeper drop, a thicker fluid of swimming mental bliss. Then steadying and settling, the subjects looked on intently, receptive.

“HARDEN.”

Without touching or thinking or doing anything at all, each subject went erect.

Doctor Drax inspected the row. Different sizes contorted and bulged each jockstrap at a different angle and showed a different length and shape. All pulled the fabric of the front pouches away from the thighs, Sidelsky’s arousal pulling the fabric so far that his balls were clearly visible.

“Such tumescence, as you have learned, has no use. Indeed, the fixation of the male on the attainment of release through the phallus brings about a great deal of discomfort for society. As you have learned over the past number of days, it also brings discomfort to each of you. Your frustration and pleading demonstrates the pointlessness of the flesh that draws the blood between your legs. It is time to ADJUST you.” With a motion to Ms. Bolt, the Doctor cued the start of a new phase of the study.

“AGAIN: PULL DOWN YOUR JOCKSTRAPS.”

Through the haze of tranced numbness, Sidelsky felt his hands reach and pull, bending at the waist to complete the action. He stood back up, his jockstrap bunched at his ankles.

“Commence,” Doctor Drax commanded. Ms. Bolt performed some function on a device unseen.

The next sensation was new. A tone grabbed hold the subjects’ attention. It resembled the sound a flute makes, or some other wind instrument, but not in any definite way. The tone sounded four notes. Descending. Rapid. Emphasis on the first beat. And then immediately repeating from where it started. LUH luh luh luh. LUH luh luh luh. LUH luh luh luh. LUH luh luh luh. And on it repeated. Sidelsky, from the instant the tone began, felt a warm languor seep down between his legs. It was as if a thick, slow-moving mass of something wet and soothing formed waves from somewhere in his solar plexus, down, down, down, into his genitals and ass. It took less than half a minute for his previously obscene hardon to diminish to its smallest flaccid size. The descending tone continued. It had the same effect on the other subjects. All now were flaccid and dreamy.

With the tone continuing, Doctor Drax regarded the line up, and her gaze settled on Subject S 0.2—Mitchell. The Doctor spoke.

“You all are disgusting and useless. So much better to adjust you into a more pleasing and useful... form. Subject S zero 2!”

Mitchell felt himself snap to attention, while remaining deep in trance.

“Step in front and turn around.” He complied. His 3 centimeter flaccid dick sat, retreated, atop his average-sized balls. “The rest of you, stare at your friend’s tiny organ.” The tone repeated, over and over. All the other three stared.

“Subject S.01!” the Doctor addressed Declan. “How does it feel having such a length of flesh as yours between the legs?”

“Please, Mistress! It feels disgusting!” Declan pleaded. The humiliation in his face was intense.

“Good. Then continue to stare.”

The tone continued. LUH luh luh luh. LUH luh luh luh. A sensation oozed into Declan’s loins. It was strange, but felt ... PERFECT. It was... a corrective. Yes! The corrective he had needed, since first he yearned to display his length, to pathetically seek to draw attention to it. The sensation oozing into him down there, this would ease his problem. It would bring things into line. Especially THAT thing. It would make... an adjustment. As the tone continued, waves of pleasure coursed through Declan’s body. He made gentle sighs, little pleading noises.

And he felt his cock change.

With every repeating descent of tone, a feeling of diminishment began. It eased from the head down to the base. It was intensely pleasurable, almost as if it would move him to orgasm. But it did not. It just held him. Held him in an inescapable yearning. He yearned to look like Subject S 0.2. He yearned to have a tiny, flaccid dick, just like Mitchell.

Before he knew it—but long after he ceased to want anything other than for this feeling to go on forever—Declan, Subject S 0.1, felt it stop. The tone. The sensation. Gone. All the subjects found themselves coming up a bit, shaking off some of the effects of the spell cast over them.

Doctor Drax spoke. “Subject S 0.2, resume your place.” Mitchell went back to where he’d been standing between O’Brien (S 0.1) and Sidelsky (S 0.3). The Doctor surveyed the line with satisfaction. The subjects continued to come out of trance. But then they felt the Doctor’s gaze. Her eyes ran below their navels, from one boy to another. A wicked smile crossed Her lips.

Declan was the first to think to bend his head and look where the Doctor looked. He bent. He looked. His once snake-like flaccidity was gone. It had been changed. He stared down at 3 centimeters of penis nestled on balls the size of small grapes. Exactly the size, exactly the shape, of Subject S 0.2. Subject S 0.1 felt a rush of humiliation. The feeling spread from his newly-disciplined organ and up through his middle. He twisted on his feet, bringing his thighs together in a pathetic movement like this might hide the humbling adjustment. Instead, it sent even more pleasure up his spine, through his little flaccid member, and back again.

Sidelsky and Smith, too, now were looking down, each at his own genitals. Each stared in wonderment. The conformity... the size... The impossibility of it all, but the self-evident fact right there between each man’s legs. Everybody had the same apparatus. Sidelsky and Smith, too, felt humiliated, urgent need course through them.

“Good. I see you have accepted your adjustment,” Doctor Drax stated. “Now let us see you in your erect state. HARDEN.”

Each subject felt a rush. Compliant, their cocks rose. The results were impressive, if not complete. Though obviously now conformed completely to one model in their softened state, the subjects, though all smaller than before—some MUCH smaller—when erect continued to display differences. “Ms. Bolt,” the Doctor said, “Measurements, please.”

Ms. Bolt took her calipers to each subject one by one and, with more than faint disgust, which each subject keenly felt, measured his erection.

The results were recorded in the table, with the previous measurements now crossed out with a strike-out line:

[start point: 27/11/20]

{first adjustment}

Doctor Drax was nevertheless pleased with this progress.

“You have pleased me tonight. Subject S 0.1, come to me.” O’Brien dreamily complied. “GOOD BOY,” the Doctor said. S 0.1 fell to his knees, then to his stomach, as his lips planted themselves hungrily on the Doctor’s boots.

“Subject S 0.2, come to me.” Mitchell approached. “GOOD BOY,” She said. Mitchell felt himself melt into a puddle at Mistress’s feet, the touch of his tongue to Her boot leather feeling far better than his pathetic former orgasms.

“Subject S 0.3...” The same praise. The same response. Sidelsky was in bliss.

And Subject S 0.4. Summoned, Ty approached. “GOOOODDD BOY,” the Doctor purred. Mindlessly consumed, Subject S.04 collapsed, joining the writhing scrum of entranced flesh competing for places to lick and suck.

“Hey, Declan,” Mitch said, getting closer in a sensual way. Declan was in the queue getting a salad at the canteen.

“Oh... hi... Mitch,” Declan said, looking his buddy up and down.

“So... are you enjoying Doctor Drax’s... study?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s great,” Declan said, feeling a slutty little drip starting to form inside his 3-centimeter flaccid cock. “How about you?”

“Very much.”

Now deep in the process of adjustment, physical as well as mental, the boys had even less idea what precisely was going on. Also, they had almost totally stopped caring. It just seemed so right.

The day’s session at the facility out by East Side was to start at 1 pm. Mitch and Declan headed out of the canteen together and walked briskly in the autumn sun to the appointment.

After the session, all four boys went about their business on campus, and all retired early for the night. That sense of expectation—undefined yet definite—was again palpable in each.

Again, the basketball courts. This time, playing two-on-two. The sports center is otherwise still, empty in the deep of night.

And nobody much wants to win.

Sidelsky feels the faintest recollection of aggressive intent. He takes in a flutter of breath, as a languid pleasure replaces the urge to fight.

It’s not shirts and skins now. The four subjects are stripped down to their jockstraps, socks, and basketball shoes. They can barely concentrate on who is on which side. Trying to figure it out only makes it matter even less. Ty half-finishes a bounce pass toward Declan, the ball falling much short. Declan practically stumbles over the ball as he reaches down to retrieve it. Mitch makes a faint show of getting into a blocking position astride Declan, but it’s a languid, almost sensual movement. Not that it matters; Declan doesn’t try to avoid the “defense”. Sidelsky and Smith are attempting a stand off under the hoop, but they just look at one another, only a glimmer of the impulse to take a fighting stance showing through. “Ty...” Declan says wanly. “Oh, Ty... here...” Declan makes a pathetic, limp-wristed toss of the ball in the general direction of Ty. It flops, bounces, then rolls away. Ty sleepily regards the ball as it rolls out of bounds.

Doctor Drax and Her assistants stand on the sidelines. They are laughing with one another. At the appointed time, the Doctor blows a whistle. “Line up!” The subjects comply. They are eager for Her attention.

“Subject S 0.4 and Subject S 0.1. Step forward.” Smith and O’Brien step forward. “Your pathetic little match amused us very much. And it appears that you scored more baskets than Subjects S 0.2 and S 0.3.” The boys stand dazed, as little ripples of pleasure ran through them. “But now let us see what is in YOUR baskets. PULL DOWN YOUR JOCKSTRAPS.”

Compliantly, the boys expose their groins.

“Good. This looks promising. Now HARDEN.”

What Doctor Drax had praised was a tiny nib of flesh retracted into each boy’s pelvis, under which clung a pair of beads, no larger than pinheads. Responding instantly to Her command, the adjusted boys perform their little salute. A centimeter and a half at full length, each cock strained identically, eagerly, and uselessly. Both drip wantonly in the pleasure of being exposed to Mistress and Her command.

“Now Subjects S 0.2 and S 0.3. Show Mistress what YOU’VE got.” Sidelsky and Mitchell comply, as shudders of pleasure and humiliation pass through their frames. “Lovely,” Mistress states. “Now HARDEN.” They do. Their size and shape in every particular are identical to their friends.

“Wonderful. None of you will be needing those for sport from now on,” says Mistress regarding the athletic supporters around the boys’ knees. “There’s not enough between your legs to need such equipment.” S 0.2 and S 0.3, O’Brien and Smith, move to shuck off the jockstraps that had been bunched up at their knees. The Doctor intervened: “No. Stop. There IS something that you will be needing them for in a moment. Pull up your straps.”

Now turning to S 0.4 and S 0.1—the nominal “winners” of the pathetic basketball match—Doctor Drax instructed them differently: “S 0.4 and S 0.1—remove them.” Sidelsky and Mitchell obey. They now stand naked, except for their socks and basketball shoes, little niblets of cock jutting pathetically from their smooth-shaved groins. “Kneel now, and face so you can see.” They comply.

Turning back to O’Brien and Smith, Doctor Drax regards their groins with satisfaction. “Do you feel your penis barely pressing the cotton of your pouch? That’s right. It barely presses. You display practically nothing now. THIS is the pathetic feeling that you deserve. It fits you well to feel this way. And, rightly, you did not care to win. Your failure at this silly sporting effort shows that you are much the better beta-males than your peers.”

S 0.3 and S 0.2 are watching as Doctor Drax continues to address O’Brien and Smith. Her attention on them intensifies.

“Subjects S 0.4 and S 0.1: You have both been VERY ... GOOD... BOYS....” And She snaps her fingers. “Very, very SUBMISSIVE.” [snap!] “Very, very obedient!” [snap!] “And you know what sometimes happens to good, obedient BOYS...?” [snap!] “Good obedient boys sometimes get to CUM! [SNAP!] Feel your jism start to churn. Yes... that’s right... feel it. It’s rising. GOOD BOYS!” She then says the word. “ORGASM. ORGASM for Your Mistress.” With that word, Subject S 0.4 and Subject S 0.1 each feels as though his puny cocklet has opened wide, spasming to form an orifice larger than he could imagine the space between his legs ever spreading enough to embrace. The opening is instant, reflexive, irresistible.

And through this sudden gaping sensation, Declan begins to spill. Ribbon after ribbon, jet after jet. His insides quake and clench. His mind widens even wider than the widening sensation in the obedient cum slit at the tip of his tiny hard-on. As torrents of semen pour out his cocklet, another storm pours INTO his mind. Mistress’s words. Her needs. Her pleasure. They all pour in, and, as if to make more space for themselves, they feel like they are cramming Declan’s fluids out. Tyrell undergoes the same.

All the while, Sidelsky and Mitchell, kneeling, buck and writhe in painful denial. They have seen the reward a good beta-boy might get. The lesson saturates their brains, as much as the cum saturates O’Brien’s and Smith’s otherwise near-empty jockstraps.

So wet in fact are S 0.4 and S 0.1 that, from both, drops of milky white have hit the floor between their legs. Mistress notices. She turns to the ardent Sidelsky and Mitchell. “S 0.2 and S 0.3: to make amends for your inexcusable display on the basketball court, now you will clean that same court with your tongues.” The dirty, slutty implication of the Doctor’s statement sends jolts of pleasure through the prostrate Sidelsky and Mitchell. Like a pair of hungering dogs, they bound to the place and begin to lap and lick frantically. There is very little there, but they thirst to obey.

“Now line up! Jump with your cadence.”

Sidelsky and Mitchell, craving to stay on the floor to lick their friends’ errant jizz, crave even more to comply with the newest command. They scramble to their feet. All four boys now form a line. With the tone of Mistress’s chime, they start their jumping jacks. As they move, they repeat:

The study had gone very well. Doctor Drax was pleased with all the boys, because there was no more pretense in any of them of manhood, or at least no compulsion to pursue the misguided goals that society for so long had associated with that construct. Each boy now truly yearned only to serve Mistress, to worship, adore, and obey. Their new life had begun.

With plans to repeat the study on so many other campuses, Mistress would be putting Her new slaves to good use.