Subject 1128

I awoke to a blinding light, my head throbbing with pain. Padded blocks on either side of my face and a leather strap across my forehead ensured I could only stare ahead. Between the bright light and the adrenaline rush, it took me a moment to comprehend what I was seeing: myself in a mirror on the ceiling, very securely strapped down to a padded gynecological chair, in what appeared to be some kind of laboratory. I was reclined back, my legs spread wide, and I saw myself instinctively jerk to cover my body when I realized I wasn't wearing a shred of clothing. I hit the resistance of leather straps across my forehead, my chin, neck, shoulders, elbows, wrist, fingertips... More straps across my waist, hips, knees, ankles, down to my very toes... Realizing I was completely at the mercy of whoever walked through the door, I lost my mind and began thrashing in a blind panic.

After a few minutes struggling and screaming to no avail, I came to my senses. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing deep and slow until I could think rationally again. "When I open my eyes," I told myself, "I need to figure out where I am; from there I can deduce why I'm here, and how best to get myself free." I released a long breath and opened my eyes again. Avoiding looking at my lasciviously exposed self in the mirror as best I could, I observed my surroundings. The room was sterile and white, with strange equipment and glowing lights. It definitely had the air of a hospital room, but it was too... futuristic. But why would anyone want me strapped down naked in hospital room that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie? The first possibility that came to mind was organ harvesters, although something told me that black market dealers would never invest so much money into state of the art facilities like this...

"Ah, Subject 1128, you're awake," a deep voice said. I tilted my head as much as the straps allowed to see a tall, dark haired man in a white lab coat approaching me. I couldn't help but notice that he was exceedingly handsome, with a rugged jawline and obvious hints that a well muscled body was hidden beneath that lab coat. He had piercing amber eyes and an air of authority. "I'm Dr. Ryorson, the lead scientist here on the Meraxis."

"The Meraxis?" I asked, my voice hoarse from my earlier screaming. "And my name isn't Subject 1128. It's... something else..." I frown, disturbed by my inability to find my own name amongst my scrambled thoughts.

"Yes, the Meraxis. An elite space-class research vessel. I am sure this will be difficult to accept, my dear, but you are aboard an alien ship, far from earth. We've brought you here for a very special purpose, and your name will in fact be Subject 1128 for the duration of your stay with us." Well, none of that was on my Bingo card.

For a moment I just sat stunned, trying to process what I had just heard. Meanwhile, the doctor pulled a medical cart closer and began using its various instruments to take measurements: my temperature, pulse, blood pressure, heart rate, and a host of other metrics. Comprehending finally dawned: this "doctor" must be some sort of psychotic (but wealthy?) pervert that had captured me to play out some sick fantasy. I could feel the panic rising in my chest. I took another breath and tried to reason with my captor, "Look, my friends and family get really paranoid and will call the police if I don't check in at least twice a day; they've probably already got the cops on your trail.... BUT, if you let me go now, I promise we'll pretend this never happened..."

He replied with a derisive snort, "I assure you, no human alive will find you until I wish them to do so. Even if they could discover your location, we would be out of this solar system before they could even reach orbit." I stared at him wide-eyed, realizing that he wasn't just playing a sick game; he was absolutely delusional and genuinely believed that he was an alien and we were on a space ship.

And yet strangely, I was secretly aroused by everything he did and said... like, I'd almost be tempted to see how this plays out, if I didn't fear that his mental health could take a dark turn at any moment. Such a shame that perhaps the most attractive man I'd ever met- well spoken, clearly intelligent (prior to his mental breakdown, obviously), wealthy, and absolutely dripping in sex appeal- should turn out to be bat shit crazy...

A giggle of sheer panic burst from me at the unexpected and absolutely inappropriate thought. The "doctor," now positioned between my widespread legs (and uncomfortably close to my fully exposed nether region), raised an eyebrow at the sound before continuing on in a gravelly yet oddly comforting tone, "One quick test and we'll know whether you'll be going home (minus memories of this encounter, naturally), or if you'll be staying aboard as our long-term guest..."

"What kind of test?" I asked, reaching desperately for the carrot of hope dangled before me, although my mind was racing through a thousand scenarios of what he could mean by 'minus memories' and being a 'long term guest'. I squashed those thoughts before panic could take hold again. I was going to do whatever was necessary on that test to gain my freedom and get home. There was simply no other choice.

"Oh, it's nothing you can study for," he informed me in a very matter-of-fact tone, "just a quick cum sample to confirm whether your production quality is biologically compatible with our needs."

What. The. Fuck. I didn't even know how to react. And then he raised one hand, and I swear on everything holy that the hand shifted into a short, thick tentacle. The new appendage firmly covered my bare mound, one sucker attaching itself directly to my clit as the tip eeled its way deep between my nether lips.

My mouth dropped open in shock and my mind went blank of everything except the thought, "Holy shit. Dr. Ryorson actually IS an alien." Meaning I probably really was on a spaceship, thousands of miles from any hope of help. My shriek of horror was cut short as the suction cup on my pulsing clit started throbbing rhythmically, sending a shock of pleasure coursing through me. My breath caught and I started to hyperventilate as I felt the tentacle inside me begin pulsing in a shallow wave. It felt like a cock that had been perfectly shaped to my love tunnel, putting pressure in exactly the right spots as it methodically pumped in and out, always staying too shallow to actually satisfy the burning desire slowly building deep in my womb.

Suddenly I felt an indescribable sensation: several of the suckers on tentacle were attaching themselves to my inner walls, directly on my g-spot. My brain practically exploded at the targeted assault of pulsating, massaging, sucking tentacles on both my clit and g-spot simultaneously. My vision went white as my eyes lost focus, and my thighs felt suddenly slippery from my first ever squirting orgasm. The waves of pleasure racked my body and had me straining against my bonds until finally I shattered; my bones dissolved into jelly as I fell limp against the restraints and darkness claimed my numb mind. I startled awake within minutes, all the memories of what just happened slamming into me. I was ashamed of myself for enjoying the forced orgasm. Feeling helpless and humiliated by my nudity, I tried in vain to cover myself, failing to do more than wiggle uselessly in my restraints. Shaking and breathing heavily from my efforts, I realized Ryorson had become transfixed by the frantic jiggle of my bared breasts. It was all too overwhelming. I broke, thrashing and shouting, "Let me go! I don't know what you want with me, but I won't be a part of it! Let me go NOW!!"

Dr. Ryorson chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "Oh, but you will be a part of this project, Subject 1128, and a very willing part of it at that. You see, your species' orgasmic fluids are an extremely valuable commodity to ours; an ambrosia more costly, ounce-for-ounce, than any other substance in the galaxy. Your particular fluids are not only biologically compatible, but the quality level is beyond compare, and your production potential is perhaps the highest we've seen. Your are the perfect specimen for our research into maximizing orgasmic fluid production." By now he was breathing nearly as fast as me in his excitement over my 'potential.' I felt a wave of revulsion wash over me. "You can't be serious. You're going to... what, use me as some kind of sex toy?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he said, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger. "But don't worry, we'll make it as pleasurable as possible for you. We have a variety of techniques to maximize arousal by inducing various fetishes so that each and every sensation you might encounter during your time with us will result in an orgasm. First, we'll instill a bondage and sensory deprivation fetish, since you will necessarily spend most of your days attached to the fluid collection machine, and we'll also do some humiliation and dehumanization fetish induction, since you are essentially a lab rat now. Once those are firmly entrenched and you've lost the desire to escape, we'll start you on an exercise regime and begin our quality enrichment experiments. But don't worry, we'll give you a fetish for everything from various verbal and visual cues, to tasks as mundane as working out so that you will find pleasure in literally everything we subject you to. You will be cared for in every way, kept completely safe, healthy, and in a state of continuous ecstasy. Many would consider that a fantasy life..."

I shook my head in horror, tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. "No. Please, not me. I don't want this. I won't let you do this. You can't take away my freedom, m-my humanity like that! I'll fight you every step of the way."

Dr. Ryorson smiled, a cold, calculating expression. "We'll see about that. You may resist now, but in time, you will come to love it. We have many ways of... helping... you become more compliant. And I, personally, would be happy to explore as many of those options as possible. For the sake of research, of course." He gave me a slow wink and a roguish smile, and damned if my insides didn't melt a bit at the thought of this strange, sexy male being turned on by the idea of making me into his brainless, fetish-ridden cum cow. What the hell was wrong with me?!

Over the next several days, I was kept strapped to my chair and subjected to a barrage of experiments and treatments. Wedges held my upper and lower jaws open so that my mouth could be filled with a hollow gag shaped like a flaccid dick. The gag was only removed to allow me to do jaw exercises ("Prior research has proven that talking distracts from the concentration levels that human females require to achieve orgasm," Dr Ryorson informed me). At irregular intervals, a bag of fluids or a liquid gruel would be attached to my gag, and I would be forced to use my tongue and throat muscles to coax the nourishment through the hollow cock gag. It quickly became apparent that my 'food' and drink were laced with strange chemicals that made my skin tingle and my body ache with need.

A few days of this made me somewhat more compliant, if still reluctant, and Dr. Ryorson began the painstaking task of installing what appeared to be a network of fingernail-sized bits of mosaic white gold, attached to tiny pincers that embedded themselves in my skin. As long as I held very still, their bite was little more than a tingle, almost pleasurable really... I shook off that thought as I glared at Ryorson balefully in the ceiling mirror while he worked to create a pattern of small diamonds across my entire body. The end result was almost artistic, like a delicate fishnet bodysuit made entirely of glittering rhinestones, covering every inch of my very exposed flesh. Finished for the moment, Dr. Ryorson sat back to admire his work.

"Each of these tiny devices is capable of working independently to make you feel whatever stimulus we wish to introduce down to a cellular level, or it can work in unison with the network to create a whole-body experience," he explained proudly. "Allow me to demonstrate." He entered a series of commands into a computerized tablet, and a hologram with a clinical diagram of my naked body appeared in front of him above me. He raised one finger and I watched as he stroked the image, starting on one arm and running across the chest before trailing down the stomach to remain hovering in the air just above the diagram's clit.

I felt an intense pleasure run down the corresponding path on my arm before rolling across to my naked breast; I jolted as I felt the extra pressure he had applied to the image as his finger grazed the nipples, and I yearned upwards against my bonds as I felt that he had lifted pressure as his finger approached the diagram's mons pubis. Still, I could feel a sort of tension on my clit, so faint that I was sure I must have been imagining it. It was like feeling the pull of two magnets held just outside eachother's range; a distinct feeling of neither push nor pull, but being balanced in that perfect moment of limbo before the two magnets jerk together with a satisfying snap. I knew without a doubt that if he touched the clit on the diagram, I would be lost to another orgasm. Instead, he moved his finger slightly further away from the diagram; I released the breath I hadn't known I was holding, but suddenly he gave one quick flick to the diagram's left labia. My sigh of relief was cut short by a feeling like a needle of searing ice on exactly the same spot of my left labia. Ryorson clamped a hand over my mouth, cutting off a scream of pain as he lowered his mouth to my ear.

"Lean into it," he demanded. "Track the pain down to its roots. What does it really even feel like? Think: are you actually feeling pain, or just feeling the fear of pain?" I frantically sucked air through my nostrils as his words sank into my brain. I found myself following his instructions, chasing the feeling of "pain" down to its core. At the moment I thought I had a grasp on the slippery beast, the icy pain flared into a fiery heat that radiated out from the spot, and when that heat hit my neglected clit, I erupted in an uncontrollable orgasm. I was only semi-conscious when I heard him say, "That's my Good Girl, 1128," and I could swear I felt a soft kiss on my forehead, but I knew that was just my imagination when he continued on in his clinical voice, explaining that the neural network would spend days meticulously focusing on each and every inch of my flesh, periodically sending jolts of pleasure racing through my body, or occasionally emitting electrified bolts of pain that will make me writhe in agony. All of this would be done in order to systematically turn each of my cells into an independent erogenous zone. I would be brought to the brink of orgasm over and over again, only to find my release denied. I could do nothing but let the tears spill down my cheeks and around my gagged mouth as I quietly cried to myself at the prospect.

Dr. Ryorson would leave me to the machine's tender ministrations for hours on end, speaking only absently to himself and giving me no more than an affectionate pat as he adjusted his devices and checked various readouts. My body was kept taught as a bowstring, straining for the orgasm that never came, and the only thought that I could hold onto was how desperately I needed to cum. At first, I recoiled from Dr. Ryorson's touch, fearing the tentacle might appear at any moment, but after days of intense physical stimulation combined with total deprivation of all mental stimuli and lack of any other companionship, I couldn't help but look forward to Ryorson's visits. I desperately hoped he would stay just a minute longer, that his hand would trail just a little further along my skin, even if it did turn into a tentacle again... Hell, at this point I'd even welcome the tentacle. It was, after all, incredibly pleasurable... the way it seemed to know exactly how to cup me... the warm, silken softness pulsing with muscular throbs, the suckers attaching themselves to my most sensitive areas, creating a physical connection unlike any other between Dr. Ryorson and myself....

"And what has you so very riled up today?" Dr. Ryorson's deep, amused voice cut through my thoughts like a hot knife, and I became aware of my wanton writhing against my bonds. Shame burned through me as I realized what I had just been thinking and doing. I glared at him with tears of rage in the corners of my eyes. I knew what was happening, what he was deliberately doing to me. I was developing feelings for my captor; it was classic Stockholm Syndrome. When I'd first realized this, I thought I could be smart enough to prevent the feelings from taking root; whenever I caught myself thinking of him, I would doggedly remind myself that he had kidnapped me; he wanted to turn me into a mindless THING; sexual livestock that he could milk for cum. But it didn't matter. The sexual thoughts soon vastly outnumbered the solitary voice of my own will.

Not for a second could I stop reminding myself why this was bad and wrong and evil; given even a moment's lapse in my self-harangue, the unwanted desire inflicted upon me would overwhelm me, and then it would take me hours to wrest my sense of self back from that lust-fueled fugue. For a time, my mind found solid purchase in listening to myself mumble incoherent warnings through my gag. The sensation of speaking- the vibration of my vocal cords, the sound of my own garbled voice in ears desperate to hear anything other than white noise - sharpened my focus as nothing else had. I really thought I had found the key to retaining my sanity. That hope died all too quickly; although I was careful to keep quiet when he was in the room, Dr. Ryorson somehow discovered what I was doing. He informed me with an ironic smile that he had a 'solution' to help me get past the 'obstruction' of my voice anchoring my will.

A large bag of a clear fluid was suspended above me, a tube running down to connect to the feeding hole in my phallic gag. Dr. Ryorson attached a small sensor wire between my throat and a small valve in the tube. I soon learned that every time I mumbled anything that sounded remotely coherent, the valve would open and I would be force fed some sort of unnaturally sweet water. Authentic moans or whimpers went unpunished, but if I tried to "speak" to myself in a series of moans, the sensor infallibly detected my subterfuge and I would find myself struggling to swallow fast enough to keep from being waterboarded.

Ryorson only watched and took notes as I worked out the particulars of my predicament. I finally resigned myself to quietly suckling on my cock-like gag, having found that if my tongue massage ceased, a steady drip of the drug laden water would continue to ooze out, even when I kept perfectly silent. Twisted bastard; he was forcing me to choose between continually sucking on the cock of my own volition, or allowing myself to be force fed more of the aphrodisiac water that would gradually steal my wits and steadily drain my will to resist. Once I had settled down, fully committing to sucking the cock gag, Dr. Ryorson nodded approvingly, "Ah, there's my good girl. I knew you'd figure it out 1128!" He allowed himself a self-satisfied grin as I shuddered in reluctant ecstasy at the praise. I moaned wantonly when he stroked a thumb across my cheek. Tears streaked my face as I realized I was on the verge of being truly lost.

I knew I had to keep resisting, but realized it was impossible to keep my mental shields up 24/7. I was being constantly assaulted by pleasure, whether awake or asleep, and every mumble of resistance resulted in me sucking on my phallic gag with increasing enthusiasm, as each swallow I took added more aphrodisiacs to my system. Not knowing what else to do, I gathered together my remaining wits and packed them tightly into the smallest corner of my mind, locking it shut behind a scrap of steel resolve, knowing that it was unlikely to survive if it was ever discovered. Then, I let go of all control, hoping to draw his attention away from the hidden sense of my true self that I had buried as deep as I could for safekeeping. Finally, I gave in, letting myself stop thinking; allowing my mind to drift wherever the waves of pleasure and Dr. Ryorson's will might take me...