1 comments/ 18845 views/ 10 favorites The Comstock Institute Ch. 01 By: boyish_and_obedient June 1st 2042 I'd been to the Comstock Institute before; back in the days when my family had money. The Comstock Institute caters to a very exclusive sort of clientele. It's more than just an expensive brothel. Any brothel can provide their customers with an attractive girl who will strip naked and allow you to impale her on your swollen, erect penis, but the Comstock Institute provides you with attractive girls who are naked and helpless and then provide you with whips and riding crops so that you can punish their naked skin and leave them sobbing in pain. It's a service that many wealthy men (and women) won't admit to paying for, and yet the Comstock Institute has been making huge profits for the past thirteen years. They have an army of wealthy and loyal clients...even if their client lists are confidential. I used to be one of their clients, however I know find myself financially embarrassed and can no longer afford to avail myself of the services that the Comstock Institute provides. I meet with Melissa Mayer in her office. I've been in her office many times before and she's always been a joy to deal with. She's friendly, professional, efficient, energetic and discrete. Her office was large and tastefully appointed. She had a large mahogany desk, comfortable leather chairs and a mahogany bookcase with a concealed wet bar so she could offer drinks to her clients. Of course I was a client on all of my previous visits, however this time; the dynamic was going to be extremely different. I actually felt like I was disappointing Melissa by no longer having the money it took to be a paying client. "It's good to see you again, Scott," she said, shaking my hand warmly and flashing me a perfect smile. She sat down behind her desk, her smile never faltering and explained, "Vicky isn't available today. Her last client whipped her rather brutally and we're giving her three days off to recover. However we have some truly gorgeous girls that I think you'll just love. Wait till I show them to you. Two of them used to be fashion models and their bodies are just perfect...long, toned legs, perky breasts, tight abs, firm buttocks." I let Melissa spend a few more minutes gushing about the charms of the girls she currently had available. I tuned most of the words out after a few seconds. I couldn't afford any of them anyway, so what was the point in hearing detailed descriptions of what I couldn't have? Finally I just interrupted Melissa in mid-sentence and said, "Mel, I'm broke. I can't afford to be one of your clients anymore." Well, that wiped the smile off of her face and Melissa just stared at me as if just I'd grown a second head. The Alexander family had been famous for being one of the wealthiest families in Northern California. We owned a hotel chain and we were patrons of the arts. We were millionaires. We were the people that made the working class jealous. Melissa had a hard time wrapping her head around the idea that Scott Alexander could be broke. "Scott, how can you be broke?" she finally managed. I took a deep breath and began to tell Melissa everything. My parents had lied to me about everything. Their wealth hadn't come from wise investments, but rather from securities fraud, insider trading and real estate fraud. Also they'd apparently be hiding assets from the IRS. In the end they got caught by the federal government and all of their bank accounts had been frozen and all of their properties confiscated. Fortunately I wasn't involved in any of their criminal activities, so I wasn't in jail; however I didn't have any money of my own. As an Alexander, I had never envisioned the need for earning any of my own money, so I had just lived off of my parent's fortune and never bothered to learn any job skills. But now my parents were in jail and all of the family money was gone. "Scott, I'm very, very sorry," Melissa said, "But if you don't have any money, why are you here?" "I need a job," I replied reluctantly, "And I don't really have any job skills. But Vicky and some of the other girls have hinted at the large amounts of money they make working here. I was hoping that you would take me on as one of your slaves." "Scott," Melissa began, her sounding full of pity and frustration, "First of all, our people aren't called slaves. They're called R.E.P.s." "Reps?" "It's an acronym. It stands for Registered Erotic Prisoner. And being a Registered Erotic Prisoner isn't a nine-to-five job. You'd basically be a prisoner of the Comstock Institute. You'd have to sign away most of your legal rights before we even took you on...most significantly your eighth amendment rights. You do know what that means; don't you?" I hadn't really done well in history classes and I told her so. "The eighth amendment protects all American citizens from cruel and unusual punishment," Melissa explained. In an ordinary prison it would be illegal for the warden or the prison guards to deprive you of clothing, to whip you or subject you to nipple torture, but if you sign a contract with the Comstock Institute, you sign away your eighth amendment rights. Once you do that, you can be kept naked, spanked, whipped, cropped, caned and anally raped and it's all perfectly legal. Scott, do you honestly think you could handle that?" Without even thinking about the consequences, I replied, "I need the money, Mel. I'll do whatever it takes." Melissa kept giving me that incredulous look and said, "Scott, you're a member of the privileged class-or at least you were. Do you have any idea how traumatic a whipping is? Have you ever even been spanked before?" "No," I admitted. "I've never been whipped and I've never been spanked, but seriously I don't see as if I have much choice in the matter. I've never worked a day in my life. I have no real job skills. All I've got going for me is my good looks." Melissa looked me over and shook her head. "You do seem to be in a terrible bind," she admitted. "And we do have some clients who would flip over you. You've got the sort of innocent, slender, boyish good looks that some of our clients really love, but I can't even offer you a contract until you've met with our evaluating committee." "I don't know what that means," I admitted. "Every time a person requests a contract to become a Comstock Institute R.E.P., they have to strip naked and present themselves to be evaluated first by senior management. That includes Paula Gantry, Barbara Beaumont, Emily Wedge and Benedict Knightly. If a candidate can impress them, they'll be offered a contract. If a candidate isn't good looking, or has some sort of flaw that the evaluating committee can't abide, then they get rejected." My heart thudded in my chest and I had a sense of foreboding. I suppose I should have guessed that a place like the Comstock Institute wouldn't have anything like a normal job interview, but the idea of stripping naked in front of a group of clothed strangers and allowing them to assess, judge and criticize my naked body filled me with apprehension, anxiety and dread. I would be naked and totally at their mercy while their eyes roamed over every inch of my naked skin, examining my cock, my buttocks, my anus and everything else; pretty much like examining a slave on the auction block! I never imagined that they would humiliate and debase me like that before I even got the job! "I'll meet with them," I told Melissa. I was filled with dread at the thought of meeting with them, but I didn't tell Melissa that part. "I need the money." "Scott, if you need money," Melissa suggested, "You could become a stripper. You're definitely good looking enough and it would be less humiliating and painful. It's not like you'd requite a great deal of training. Mostly strippers just take their clothes off on stage." Melissa's suggestion was a good one, but I'd already looked into it. I went to every strip club in San Francisco, Oakland and Alameda. Most of them only hired female strippers, and the ones that hired male strippers claimed that they already had a full roster of men working for them. Personally I rather suspected that they were lying. I'm pretty certain that they had heard about my family's legal troubles and didn't want to hire anybody associated with David and Georgia Alexander. "I already thought of that," I told Melissa. "Nobody's hiring male strippers right now. I checked." Melissa got a resigned look on her face and her shoulders dropped. "Alright Scott," she said. "I'll arrange a meeting between you and the evaluating committee." June 2nd 2042 I wasn't due to arrive at the Comstock Institute until 9:00 am, but I arrived early; partially because I had no place else to go, but also because I wanted to make a good impression. I'd always heard that employers prefer employees who are punctual. I was filled with apprehension, but I just reminded myself that I intended to do this no matter what. My parents had made their fortune by breaking the law, but I wasn't going to go that route. I was going to support myself financially, but in a very law-abiding sort of way. Being a Registered Erotic Prisoner of the Comstock Institute would be a humiliating and humbling way to make money, but at least it wasn't against the law. Melissa gave me a long questionnaire to fill out that mostly asked questions about my medical, psychological and sexual health. She also gave me a form for me to sign so that would allow them to obtain all of my medical records from my family doctor. I filled out the forms and Melissa led me to a waiting room where I was told to sit and wait for the evaluating committee to summon me. There were magazines to read and free coffee, bagels and fruit to eat, however I was far too nervous to drink coffee, eat food or read magazines. I had butterflies in my stomach and I felt overwhelmed by the enormity of what I was doing. I was too nervous even to sit. I spend ten minutes just pacing frantically from one end of the room to the other. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest as I paced up and down the waiting room. I was Scott Alexander! I used to be one of the wealthiest men in San Francisco! How did I end up in this place, waiting to strip naked in front of a group of officious strangers? After an agonizing long wait of about thirty or forty minutes, two uniformed security guards came to summon me. They were both female, but not the cutesy kind of females like you see figure skating or doing cheers at football games, they were more like the females who do kick boxing or the mythical Valkyries from Norse mythology. They were tall, athletic and humorless looking. One of the officious, unsmiling women made eye-contact with me and said, "You need to come with us, Mister Alexander." They looked really serious in their uniforms, with their badges, their handguns, handcuffs, pepper spray, ammunition pouches, latex glove cases and expandable batons. Did they really need to send two fully equipped, armed security guards just to escort me to the evaluating committee? At any rate, I was marched down the hall and into a large conference room where the evaluation committee was waiting for me. There were four of them, just as Melissa said there would be and they sat behind a large conference table. I wasn't given a chair. I was made to stand in front of them while they evaluated me. Three of them were female and one of them was male. They were all well-dressed and sophisticated looking. They looked to range in age from early to mid-thirties. None of them smiled, they all just looked me over with serious, analytical interest. "You're Scott Alexander," the well-dressed man said as he glanced at some papers in a folder he had lying in front of him. "You're twenty-two years of age, no known medical problems and appear to be in good health. You also want to be a Registered Erotic Prisoner of the Comstock Institute. You are applying to us for financial reasons." I just nodded. He pretty much knew everything I was going to say, so there was no point in my saying anything more. "You do realize what being a Registered Erotic Prisoner involves," the stylish female with the red hair and refined British accent asked. "Your body will be at the disposal of male and female clients. They will use you for sex acts. You will be made to perform cunnilingus on women and fellatio on men." To her left was a woman in a tailored, black blazer. "You will also be subject to painful corporal discipline," she explained. "You do understand what that means; don't you?" I swallowed nervously and replied, "I'll be whipped." "Have you ever been whipped, Mister Alexander?" asked the third woman. Her accent was also British and sounded even more cultured than the redheaded female. I suspected that she had gone to Oxford. "No ma'am," I replied. She gave me an imperious, judgmental look and asked, "What makes you think that you would be able to endure the experience? It's quite painful, you know." I dreaded being whipped. I feared that it would be just as horrible as this woman was intimating it would be, but I really had no choice. I had already sold everything I owned (except for the clothes on my back) and I needed to find a source of income immediately. "I need the money," I replied. "Very well, young man," she said, sounding somewhat annoyed with me, "Let us see what you have to offer." Her request was so proper; I didn't even understand her meaning at first. "I'm sorry, Ma'am," I said, "When you say I should let you see what I have to offer..." Sounding agitated, she interrupted me and adamantly replied, "I mean Mister Alexander that you are to strip naked. This committee needs to see what you are offering up to our paying clients." I knew this moment would eventually come, but I couldn't look her in the eye as I removed my blazer and began to unbutton my shirt. The security guards who had ushered me into the conference room had never left and I was embarrassed at the fact that I had to undress in front of them as well. It seemed like an unnecessary humiliation to me, but I didn't argue. When I was standing there barefoot and completely naked it seemed as if the eyes of the evaluating committee were burning holes through me. My clothes were then taken up by one of the security guards and placed in a cardboard box. The female with the red hair looked my naked body up and down and asked, "Mister Alexander, hasn't anyone told you the Comstock Institute's policy on erotic prisoners and body hair?" My blood seemed to freeze in my veins. Melissa hadn't said anything to me about body hair. Eight accusing eyes stared at my naked body and seemed to be finding fault with it already. "I'm sorry, I replied humbly, "Nobody said anything to me about that." The woman with the Oxford accent gave me a look of impatience and then as if she were speaking to an especially slow child she replied, "Registered Erotic Prisoners are not permitted to have body hair of any kind. Before you came here, you should have shaved your legs, your armpits, your cock and your balls. You are totally unpresentable for an evaluation the way you look right now." "I'm sorry," I said apologetically. The redhead turned to one of the security guards and said, "Take him to Fabi. Tell her that he's applying to be an erotic prisoner. She'll know what to do with him. Then bring him straight back to us as soon as she's finished." I was then grabbed forcefully by the arms. One security guard took me by the left arm and the other took my by the right arm and then I was led naked down the hall and past several fully clothed employees and windowed offices and to a room that was appointed with showers, sinks, lockers, barber chairs and what looked like medical examination tables. I'm certain that I was blushing when I was pushed stark naked in front of a slender brunette woman who was dressed all in white and introduced as an erotic slave applicant. "Well, he's a pretty boy," the brunette said. "But he'll never pass with all that pubic hair." Then she looked my naked body up and down and down again. She smirked ever so slightly and said, "Raise his arms up please." The security guards grabbed me by the wrists and raised my arms above my head. I could easily have raised my arms if she had asked me, but it seemed that she had more fun by have my naked body manipulated by security guards. "Okay, the hair on his armpits and his legs will have to go too. Oh, and I just noticed some very fine chest hairs just around the areola of his nipples. He could have saved himself a lot of pain if he had just shaved this morning," she said. "Pain," I asked filled with fear and trepidation. "I thought you were just going to shave me." "Oh no," Fabi replied. "I'm a big believer in waxing. Shaving has to be done every day, but waxing removes a prisoner's body hair four approximately four weeks. It's far more productive than shaving." I tried not to panic or resist as the security guards took me by my arms and led me over to a medical examination table. Too much was happening too rapidly for me to suppress the fear response. I desperately wanted to run out of the room, but that wouldn't have been very practical. Also, the security guards would never allow me to get very far. I doubt I'd even make it to the corridor. And if by some miracle I had made it out of the building where would I go? I was naked and penniless! "Come along," Fabi said with a cheerfulness that seemed out of place. "Let's get him up on the table and positioned for his procedure." Seemingly without effort, the security guards lifted my naked body up off the ground and slid me onto the cold surface of the medical exam table. I wanted to complain about the sensation of cold table on my naked skin, but the grim faces of the security guards told me that I should keep my mouth shut. Then, finally speaking to me, Fabi looked me in the eye and said, "What's your name, Pretty boy?" I knew I must be blushing at that point, but rather than complain about how embarrassed I was, I replied, "Scott." "Okay, Scott," she said, still sounding cheerful, "I want your little bottom sitting on the end here." And then she tapped the edge of the table. "There, that's the way," she said encouragingly. "Just shuffle your bottom forward and let your legs hang down over the end." I was embarrassed at the frank way that Fabi was staring at my naked body and I risked covering up my cock and balls with my hands. I assumed that she was probably going to start with my legs, so I speculated that I could probably get away with a small amount of modesty for a few minutes. Apparently my speculation was wrong, as the security guards in short order grabbed my wrists and forcefully pulled my hands away from my groin and dragged my arms back. "Now Scott, let's get you into position," Fabi said brightly and the security guards pulled me backwards so that my entire upper body was lying back on the cold surface of the stainless steel table. The guards of course, maintained a tight grip on my wrists even after I was lying back and in position. The reason for this was soon made clear, as leather straps were soon produced and buckled tightly around my wrists and used to fasten my wrists down to the examination table, far from my groin. Then, speaking to the security guards, Fabi said, "Now if you two could help me secure his ankles, I'd really appreciate it." Much to my shock, medical stirrups (of the kind used by gynecologists) were produced from underneath the table and raised up. Using more leather straps, my ankles were soon secured to the stirrups and then in a move that I found excruciatingly humiliating, Fabi positioned the stirrups carefully so that my legs were spread widely apart and high in the air. The Comstock Institute Ch. 01 Alost immediately I became aware of how exposed I was. My naked bottom was completely raised from the surface of the bed as the stirrups were raised up and my legs were spread obscenely wide. Fabi gave me a flirtatious smile as she looked directly and unashamedly at my exposed anus, scrotum and the shaft and head of my cock. I'm certain I must have blushed when she shamelessly ogled my naked body like that. "Don't be embarrassed, Scott," she said in a voice that was supposed to be soothing. "I've done this to a lot of prisoners and applicants, both male and female." I failed to see how that knowledge was supposed to make me feel less humiliated or exposed. I had a difficult time coping with the knowledge of how openly and lewdly my body was displayed for these women. I didn't even have a contract yet with the Comstock Institute and already my naked body was being displayed like some sort of naked male model performing in a bondage porno. Fabi gently stroked my inner thighs and my exposed anus before she moved on to the next step of my "procedure". This step involved getting a stainless steel bowl which apparently contained some sort of hot, thick liquid that she referred to as wax, although this didn't really seem like any sort of wax (melted or solid) that I'd ever seen. Fabi took a tool that looked very much like a tongue depressor and got a generous helping of the "wax" on the depressor and smeared the gooey substance between the cheeks of my buttocks, across my anus, over my entire scrotum, up and down the shaft of my cock and all around my pelvis. Now that I was helpless and bound and didn't need anyone to keep me from fleeing, the security guards assisted Fabi by getting her long white strips that looked very much like bandages. Fabi efficiently and competently pressed the strips over my anus, my ball sack and all of the other coated areas. Much to my surprise, I could feel my cock begin to swell as Fabi manipulated my cock from side to side as she wrapped about six or seven of the white cloth strips up and down my shaft. And then with businesslike efficiency, Fabi yanked each of the cloth strips from my naked skin. She started with the one that was plastered across my anus and I screamed as it was the sharpest, most severe pain I'd ever felt in my life. I struggled against the bonds that held my legs far apart, but they were made of stern stuff and no matter how hard I struggled they held firm. "Jesus Christ," I blurted out. "What the fuck? Am I bleeding?" Fabi held up the cloth strip and it had dozens of hairs on it, but no blood. "I'm just grooming you, Scott," Fabi said. "The pain you feel is because I'm yanking body hairs out by the roots, but I promise you there won't be any blood. I know what I'm doing, and none of the prisoners who are groomed by me are ever seriously hurt. I'm very skilled at what I do." Fabi continued to yank the cloth strips off of my naked body, ripping out hairs as she went. Removing the hairs from the shaft of my cock was just as painful as when she removed the hairs from the sensitive skin of my anus, and I reflexively struggled to close my legs, but the leather straps buckled around my ankles held me perfectly immobile. I squirmed and trembled as best I could and screamed in excruciating pain and by the time Fabi had completely removed all of the hair from my pelvic area and between my buttocks I had tears running down my face. I had no idea that hair removal could ever be so painful. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Fabi spoke to me in a cheerful, encouraging tone of voice and said, "See Scott? Now, that wasn't so terrible." Still sounding encouraging, she added, "And you look so much more beautiful without all of that unsightly body hair. You look smooth and adorable; so much more attractive now" Much to my horror, Fabi also began to smear the hot wax on my legs, armpits and across my nipples. She was determined to make sure I didn't have a single follicle of hair anywhere on my body. Cloth strips were plastered firmly across my nipples, my armpits and anywhere they could find hair on my thighs, calves or shins. "I'm very efficient at this, Scott," Fabi said reassuringly as she leaned down and comfortingly stroked my forehead. "This will all be over soon." "Argggghhhh," I screamed as tiny hairs were ripped out by their roots from the sensitive flesh around my nipples. And then Fabi went to work on my legs, removing every last trace of hair from my thighs, calves and shins. She saved my armpits for last and they were far more sensitive than I thought they'd be. By the time Fabi was finished, my throat was sore from all the screaming I'd done. Mercifully, Fabi then proceeded to rub some sort of cream on my legs, my nipples, my cock, my anus and every part of my anatomy that she had just denuded. Fabi didn't explain what it was, however it reduced the stinging sensation of having my hairs yanked out by their roots, so I decided I was very much in favor of it, whatever it was. Since Fabi had completely removed every last trace of hair from my body and I was completely smooth from my neck down to my toes, I assumed that Fabi would unbuckle the leather straps and let me get up off the examination table; however she just stood there, looking down at my naked and helpless body. "Scott you've gone soft," Fabi said admonishingly after staring intently at my naked genitals for about two minutes. "The evaluation committee won't like that." "It's the pain," I explained. "Ripping hairs out of a guy's cock and anus really hurts, and you can't expect a guy to keep an erection when he's in that much pain." "Actually, we can," Fabi said with a slight smirk on her face. "Doctor Estrich could give you some powerful aphrodisiacs and those would make certain that you had an impressive erection for the evaluation committee to admire, but she's not here today." With those words, I thought that Fabi and I were done, but she still had plans for me. She rummaged around in a cabinet and came back with a tube of something. "This is calorex gel," she explained. "When applied to the skin, it raises the temperature of the flesh and dramatically improves blood circulation." Fabi snapped on some disposable latex gloves and then squeezed a generous blob of calorex into her left hand. "This will give you an instant erection," Fabi explained, "And it should last for a minimum of four hours." Fabi used both hands to smear the calorex gel all over the head and shaft of my cock, lubricating every millimeter of it in the thick gelatinous substance. She smeared a generous amount on the head of my cock and slid her hands up and down the shaft of my cock as if she were masturbating me, and then a few seconds later I felt a hot, stinging sensation. "AAArgghhhhhhh," I exclaimed in pain. "It burns!" The head and shaft of my cock were suffused with stinging heat and I couldn't seem to stop screaming, gasping and panting in pain. The calorex gel was like liquid fire. "The stinging sensation only lasts about six minutes," Fabi explained calmly and without concern for my distress. "After that it just feels tingly on the skin and it will keep your cock nice and erect for hours." My eyes were filled with tears, but I looked between my widespread legs and saw that my cock was harder, longer and more swollen than I had ever seen it before. My best guess was that it was about ten inches long now. I hated the pain, but somewhere in my brain I was feeling a degree of pride about the size of my erection. Fabi also gave me an enema, as she assured me that the evaluating committee likes to examine applicants from the inside as well as the outside. "Just think of it as a body cavity search when they stick a finger inside of you," Fabi suggested. "I've never had a body cavity search before," I replied, and I inwardly cringed at the thought of a finger being inserted into my virgin anus. "Really," Fabi asked. She seemed genuinely surprised. I wondered what sort of social circles she ran in that she believed body cavity searches were commonplace. When I left Fabi's domain, I was marched naked by the security guards down the corridor and back to the evaluating committee. My now embarrassingly large erection bobbed slightly as I walked. Several employees smiled and openly ogled my naked body as I was marched past them. "Scott Alexander is ready to be examined now," one of the security guards announced to the evaluating committee as I was marched naked into the room. "Fabi has taken care of all of the necessary grooming." The four cold-hearted dictators who were to stand in judgment of my naked body looked up and deigned to take notice of me. The red-headed female replied, "Well, he looks much better without the body hair; smoother, cleaner." The woman with the Oxford accent nodded in apparent agreement. "The shaved bare look always makes them look more vulnerable. That's what our clients want; vulnerability." One of the women ordered that I be brought closer. The security guards tightened their grips on my arms and marched me over the members of the committee. The three women arose from their seats and approached me, keen to get a closer look at my naked body. The gentleman seemed content to remain in his seat and watch from a distance. "Scott, while we examine you, I shall require that you stand with your body as available to us as possible. With that goal in mind, I need you to stand with your feet approximately thirty-sex inches apart and your hands behind the back of your neck, with your fingers laced together." It was a position that would leave me both open and vulnerable; however these people stood between me and hundreds of thousands of dollars. I spread my legs and placed my hands behind the back of my neck and felt like a slave being inspected at a slave-auction. "Don't look at us, Scott," the woman with the Oxford accent said. "Look straight ahead, and keep your chin up." I attempted to follow her instructions, however maintaining my extremely vulnerable pose and looking straight forward was exceedingly difficult while the three well-dressed women squeezed my buttocks, cradled my ball sack, examined the foreskin of my cock, pinched my thighs and my calves, pinched my nipples, felt my abdomen, felt my back muscles and subjected me to about six-dozen other indignities as they examined my naked body. "He has excellent muscle tone," the red-headed woman remarked. "Not bulky, but well-toned; very firm buttocks and thigh muscles." "Slender, but not scrawny," the Oxford woman replied. "He has a body like a figure-skater." "Very well-endowed," said the third woman, encircling the girth of my swollen cock with her thumb and forefinger. "Also he has very nice skin; very smooth with no scars or tattoos. I think we should keep him." At this juncture, the well-dressed man got up from his chair and came over to examine me. He had me open my mouth so he could examine my teeth and tongue. He also shoved his finger down the back of my throat to check my gag reflex. He cradled my ball sack in his hand, pinched my foreskin and pulled on it until I whimpered in pain. He also pinched the underside of my cock in three separate places, making it very hard for me to maintain my pose and keep my eyes focused directly ahead. I think this was all part of some test to see how well I followed orders under difficult circumstances. I whimpered in pain each time, but I think I passed his test. I kept my chin up and kept my hands obediently behind the back of my head and my feet spread apart the whole time. I was worried that my erection would soften again with all the abuse my cock was being subjected to, but apparently the calorex gel was just as effective as Fabi said. Even with the way this man subjected my foreskin to cruel pinches and stinging pain, my cock remained swollen and impressively erect. Eventually he ordered me to place my hands on the surface of the table in front of me and bend over. I did this with fear and trepidation about what would come next. He surprised me by first grabbing one of my ankles and lifting it up so that he could examine the sole of my foot. After he had examined the soles of both of my feet, he then proceeded to squeeze my buttocks, checking their firmness, and then he pulled by buttocks apart and examined my anus. No one had ever done that to me before and I felt a certain degree of awkwardness mixed with dread. My anus was stroked by unseen fingers and suddenly I felt lubricant, cold and thick, being applied to the sensitive, virgin flesh of my asshole. Then, before I even had a chance to adjust to the cold sensation of the lubricant, I felt strong, hard fingers stabbing deep, exploring inside of me. I gasped and I wobbled, my knees felt shaky and I had a hard time adjusting to the foreign feel of fingers in my ass. My legs began to tremble. "He is rather tight," the authoritarian man observed. "Our clients rather prefer our R.E.P.s to be tight." The Oxford woman replied. "He's a bit too tight," the domineering male observed. "I don't want for the institute to have to deal with rectal bleeding the first time he has a client. He should be fitted with a number three anal plug starting today to stretch out his sphincter muscle. In about three weeks we can move him up to a number four plug." "So, you agree that we should offer him a contract," the third woman asked. "Oh, he's adorable," the male committee member replied. "He's boyishly cute with a slender, athletic body and he's very well hung. He's obviously an anal virgin and very skittish about being dominated, however we can condition him and improve on his faults. I say that we offer him a contract, most definitely." It wasn't until after he had finished speaking that the imperious man removed his fingers from my anus. Then he smacked me hard on my buttocks and told me I could stand up. I was still naked and still sporting an embarrassingly large erection when the evaluating committee presented me with a contract. It was explained to me that during the time that I was a prisoner of the Comstock Institute I would not be allowed any contact with the outside would and I would not be permitted to wear any clothing. My grooming would be controlled by Fabi. A strict exercise and diet regimen would be imposed on me by a personal trainer naked Angel. Clients would be permitted to have sex with me and impose cruel and painful punishments on me. At night I would sleep in a cell and I was forbidden to masturbate for the entire duration of my incarceration. After informing me of all those drawbacks, I was asked how long I wanted to be incarcerated for. Ignoring all of the dreadful things that would be inflicted on me while incarcerated, I asked, "How much money can I make in a week while imprisoned here?" All four of the committee members seemed to consider their answer very carefully before responding, finally the Oxford woman replied, "A truly popular R.E.P. can make slightly over seven thousand dollars a week; of course your first week you wouldn't be likely to make that much. Your first week, most of our clients won't even know that you're on the menu. We'll put photos of you up on our database of course, however advertising a new prisoner takes time." I stood there naked in front of the evaluating committee and did some mental math. I knew approximately how much money I wanted to have when I left this place and based on what my likely weekly earnings would be I came up with my answer. "I'd like a ten month contract," I replied. There were several raised eyebrows and the redhead cautioned me, "Scott, you do realize that once you sign this contract, you are legally obligated to serve out the entire term. If you discover that it's too much for you to endure, there will be nothing that we can do for you. Once you sign up for ten months, you'll be forced to endure in this place for ten months. Are you certain that you wouldn't prefer to begin with a much shorter contract? If you discover that it's something you can handle, you can always sign up for a much longer contract as soon as your first contract expires." My male pride refused to let me back down. Besides, I intended to do more than just get enough money to pay rent, buy food, buy furniture and pay for utilities. I intended to raise enough money to start my own business and make an honest living; something my dishonest parents had never done. "Ten months," I insisted, "I can handle it." The redhead exhaled heavily and said, "Very well, Scott. I'll have the paperwork drawn up and you can sign it, but when you're lying naked in your cell and you can't sleep because you've been whipped and your ass is welted and you desperately want to go home, don't come crying to me, because I won't lift a finger to let you out even one day early." Actually I was sort of counting on that. I was worried that I wasn't tough enough to handle this sort of abuse and humiliation on my own, so I was deliberately locking myself into an unbreakable contract. If I lost my courage, it wouldn't matter. I'd be forced to see this through and stay here until I earned the money I needed. It would be traumatic, but at the end of my ordeal I'd be a stronger person and I'd have enough money to be self-sufficient. After I'd signed away my freedom, the woman with the Oxford accent ceremoniously informed me that I was a prisoner of the Comstock Institute and subject to their authority. "As of right now," she said, "the outside world does not exist for you. The Comstock Institute is your entire world." Then she turned to the security guards and said, "We'll need to place photos of him up on our database. Take him to Simon and tell him to do a series of photos. Simon will showcase his best features and make him look irresistible. I'll choose the best ones myself and upload them." I was then handcuffed and led naked down the corridor by the two grim-faced security guards so that nude photos could be taken and shared with strange people with a prurient interest in humiliating and abusing me.