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The Dionysus Project Ch. 03

By: FP37



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

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

The three nurses exchanged furtive glances until Cindi finally spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

"Good cop, bad cop," Tiffany commented. 

"In simple terms, that would be an apt description."

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

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

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

"Can we fuck him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He's ready and waiting, and he's been there for thirty minutes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come now, Dean. You can do better than that."

"Miss, I can't move ... can't move my legs."

"Now Dean, you should be able to get yourself hard for me. You're not really trying."

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

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

"I'm not so sure, Dr Walton. He has seemed so cooperative."

"I think we should administer some 'tremor therapy' to improve his attitude."

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

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

"Let's get the nurses for their opinion."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He's just a poser," Tiffany added. "I don't think he really wants to help us."

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

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

"I'm sorry," she told him as she walked to the door.

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

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

"Are you ready for the shock of your life?"

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

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

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

"We need to keep a record, to show the scale of this young man's arrogance."

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

"Please, I'm begging you. I can't move my legs."

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

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

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

"Are you up for that?" Kimberley asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

"You took your fucking time," Tiffany growled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you want to help me, Dean?"

"I do, Miss, I do, but these straps there too tight. I can't ..." He gritted his teeth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Dionysus Project Ch. 04



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

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

"Do you mind if I come in?"

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

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

"I know."

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

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

"Yes." She was hoping for a different answer. 

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

"I've never worried about my ... penis, Miss. I hope that doesn't sound like boasting."

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

"Is it dangerous?"

"No." Moriarty feigned a laugh.

"Then it will hurt?"

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

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

Moriarty smiled, and touched his thigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Perform?"

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

"What do you want me to do?"

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

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

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

"I'll try, Miss. I promise."

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

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

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

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

"I know, Dr Moriarty."

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

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

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

"Now we have to start work. Let's go, and remember about how to behave in public."

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

"Don't worry, Dean, you'll be safe with me."

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

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

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

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

"If that's what you want, Miss."

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

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

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

"It will be fine, Dean. Be brave." 

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

"That doesn't look much fun."

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you like that?"

"Yes, Miss."

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

"Yes, Miss."

"Good. Now I'm going to play with your cock. Do you mind?"

"No, Dr Walton."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



The Dionysus Project Ch. 05



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

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

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

"Yes, Miss Tiffany."

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

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

"His definition is excellent. He's not too muscular, but the tone is exceptional."

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

"You chose him, if I remember." Moriarty noticed the traces of a smile on Patterson's lips.

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

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

Tiffany caned him once more. 

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

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

Tiffany came to stand by her captive. 

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

"Yes, Miss Tiffany."

"Are you trying?"

"Yes, Miss Tiffany."

"Do you want me to get the buzzer?"

"No, Miss Tiffany."

"Now pump that cock like the whore you are."

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

"Pump that cock, you piece of shit."

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

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

"You can sit back, Dean. We don't want you to pull a muscle," Moriarty told him.

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

"That's all for now, Tiffany. You can leave the subject with me." 

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

"You're very lucky to have such a gorgeous hunk doting on you."

"Well I don't know ..."

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

"Are you sure?"

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

"I've never had sexual intercourse with my subject."

"Liar."

"It's true."

"Not even a hand job, or a mouth job? I'm sure he'd be a great licker."

"I don't think it would be ... appropriate."

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

"Finds out?"

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

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

"I've finished my stretching exercises, Dr Moriarty. What do you want me to do now?"

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

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

"Yes, Miss Rebecca."

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

"That would be fine, Miss. I would be happy to serve you, but ..."

"But." The tone in Patterson's voice gained a hardened edge.

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

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

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

The two women exchanged a glance until Patterson smiled.

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

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

Moriarty shook her head.

"I'm afraid that that's not possible."

"That's a shame." His disappointed look earned him another stroke of the cheek from Patterson.

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

"Are you sure you need Dr Moriarty?"

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

"Kerry. Is there any chance of that injection?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then ... I'll leave you ... I'll leave you to it." Moriarty closed the door quietly and returned to her office to wait for Patterson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dr Moriarty, what have I done?"

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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



The Dionysus Project Ch. 06



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, in simple terms, that would be the case." 

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

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

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

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

"You mean to sell him?"

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

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

"How many times does he come each day?"

"He ejaculates between two and three times each day."

"That's impressive."

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

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

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

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

"There's a girl who's always ready for action."

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

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

"Looking forward to this in your arse?"

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

"The slave will answer the mistress."

"I am happy to please you, Miss."

"Good answer, slave."

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

"After three, ready or not, here I come."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You did very well today, Dean."

"Thank you, Miss. I tried my best."



The Dionysus Project Ch. 07



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Available?"

"Available to start making money."

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

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

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

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

"It is, Miss Fleming."

"Gloria, you've been spending a lot of time looking at porn."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gloria continued her account. 

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

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

"He's a very polite young man. They find him ... engaging."

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

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

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

"Well?"

"Well what?"

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

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

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

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

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

"He's a convicted murderer, so he'll be incarcerated for ... decades to come."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



The Dionysus Project Ch. 08



Chapter 8

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

"You must be the convict whore."

"Yes, Miss, I am. May I come in?"

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

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

"This is not my home."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Miss."

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

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

"Stay away from me. Don't take one step nearer."

"Why? I won't hurt you."

"Is that what you said to that young girl?"

"What?"

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

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

"Miss, what is she talking about?"

Moriarty shifted in her seat, setting down her glasses.

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

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

"Who? Who told you that?"

"It was something someone said, I ... I don't remember the details."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean turned to the photographer.

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

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

"No," Dean returned to the couch and taking hold of his penis. "Let's carry on."

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

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

She drew the camera from her face.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Dean, but my friends call me Dino."

"What would you like me to call you?"

"You believe me, so I'd like you to call me Dino."

"I'm Dara."

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

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

"Great," she said, offering him a smile. 

"What about some shots by the window?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A shame. This is hot stuff," she told him. 

"Maybe we'll have a chance to meet up again, some time."

"Perhaps." She stroked his arm.

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

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

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

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

"Dean," she whispered. "Are you awake?"

"I am." He did not turn to face her.

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

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

"I'll make Tiffany apologise to you tomorrow, I promise."

"Why did you run away? Why didn't you tell me then that it was Tiffany's fault?"

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

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



The Dionysus Project Ch. 09



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

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

"Expand?"

"Increase, make bigger."

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

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

"Do I have a choice?"

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

"What are you going to do?"

"I have to do as they say. If we ..."

"To my balls. What are you going to do to my balls?"

"I'll inject this serum into your ... your testicles, your balls."

"That's going to hurt."

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

"I suppose I will."

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

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

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

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

"Time to get dressed, and be quick about it."

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

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

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

"Please, Miss Cindi, no more."

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

"Now you really are the ultimate sex toy. Let's show everyone. They'll be delighted to see you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I have some plans that will keep him ... motivated."

"Kerry, you're pushing him too hard. He can only take so much."

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

"What happens next Thursday?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Outstanding. Yes, Miss."

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

"I won't let you down, Miss, I promise."

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