The cavernous, cathedral like laboratory, (hewn out in less happier times by slave workers of the ‘Thousand Year Reich’ from the steel grey granite of ’Tor Adlerstein’), was located deep below the main Klinik facility. It echoed to every faint sound.
Ari Sonderberg tilted each of the two selected Plexiglas DIU’s in the central row of twelve in turn, draining them of iridescent fluid, acutely aware of the amplified hydraulic drone that filled and reverberated in the cellar laboratories cool, arid air. He called out loudly above the din to the two girls a way behind him.
“Ready for loading in about two minutes.”
His thickly accented voice ricocheted from vaulted ceiling to rock wall and back.
“ OK… Thanks Ari, we’re almost done with our prep.”
Both insect-winged canopies lifted with a hiss of escaping gas, locking in an open position vertical to the bed of each DIU with a well engineered ‘clunk’ of finality.
The brief Celine and Rachel had received in mutually stunned silence earlier that morning from Doktor Webber had been short on detail, but long on inference. If together they succeeded in their combined tasking today, it would go a very long way to securing the crucially important signature of ‘Approval for Professional Certification’ from Frau Doktor Webber, and as the Klinik Direktor, she was, fortunately or unfortunately, the final arbiter of competence in their chosen field of endeavour.
To be a fully qualified, Klinik Industries trained, Psychosexual Ther****t was, and had been their ultimate goal since the first day of selection almost six months ago, and now, quite unexpectedly, at least a month ahead of the dreaded personal and project assessments, overseen by the normally unforgiving Direktor, they had been presented with a golden opportunity to succeed. Elevation to that sought after professional status they had both worked so hard to achieve was now within their grasp at last.
Ari assisted each of the virtually naked young women in turn.
Rachel stepped forward first, holding onto his proffered arm for support she gracefully slipped into the split shell of the DIU. He tucked a stray lock of long golden hair beneath her gel skull cap.
“Ready for the lenses Rachel?”
She nodded her assent, a tightly fitted breathing mask making any attempt at a spoken reply impossible.
From the tip of his index finger, blue-black elliptical slivers of glistening polymer were placed gently on the surface of her eyes. Rachel blinked to seat them properly and lay back whilst Ari connected up her breathing mask to the gas supply via a short snap-on hose.
He planted a delicate kiss upon her forehead.
“ Good luck.”
The canopy closed shut, locking her in with another hiss and a click. Ari turned to the waiting Celine.
“ Ready to go Mademoiselle?”
Celine allowed the warm, oily liquid to surge and swirl around her otherwise virtually insensate body, feeling herself begin to float as it crested her face. She remembered her first time, and how a feeling of claustrophobic panic had took hold despite all of her training.
Celine could hear only the slow, steady sound of her own breathing. She’d done this many times since that initial panic stricken descent into oblivion. Now it relaxed her.
Ari regarded the delicately wrought pale fragility of Celine’s slim body through a glowing filter of green viscous liquid as she floated, serene, almost ghost-like within the DIU. Lying next to her Rachel was certainly an outstanding beauty, with her long blonde hair and endless legs. In fact, Ari had grown so genuinely fond of her that he’d accepted the other students teasing him about those countless acts of overt affection he’d shown her these past weeks. But it was her closest friend and constant companion Celine for whom he secretly held a torch, and now longingly coveted with an aching lust. To him she was so incomparably perfect in form and function, no other could compare. Yet, although his crush on her seemed at times to be an unbearable weight to carry, he knew for the sake of his own future prospects at the Klinik, it was a burden he could not share. Especially with Celine.
He reluctantly removed himself to the control station. A slowly developing stiffness in his sex might be subverted if he busied himself with the proper task of monitoring their descent into a new computer generated virtual world of sexual fantasy. A world from which he was now separated and excluded.
He had the definite feeling it was going to be a long, frustrating mornings work.
They dropped out of softly warm oblivion into this newly created Virtual Reality world with a jolt of sudden sensation.
A moment of confused realisation passed.
Rachel and Celine regarded the twin reflections of their new selves with stunned fascination.
Chloe 1 and Chloe 2.
Cosseted from neck, to spike heeled and pointed toe in various parts, by a combination of either, closely fitted supple leather, or second skin of glossy black latex, their dual images came complete with tightly fitted armbands displaying the stark emblem of a nazi swastika. A pair of silver ‘SS‘ runes gleamed upon each shoulder epaulette.
The quasi military uniforms were surmounted on each of the reflected Chloe’s, with a distinctive black peaked field cap of the ’Waffen SS’ bearing the infamous deaths head insignia. They sat at identical, but disconcertingly jaunty, swaggering angles on each silken head of bobbed, jet -black hair.
Rachel-Chloe’s emerald green eyes sparkled with ill concealed glee, the crimson slash of her lips set within that unfamiliar porcelain-pale skin creasing to form a wicked smile.
“ Wow, …this is going to be something else!”
Celine-Chloe returned her friend’s reflected smile with interest.
“ We definitely need to do this more often…You…We, look hot!”
Silence then for a moment.
They stared in mutual admiration of one another. The harsh electric glare of blue-white light from an ancient, single bulbed angle-poise lamp placed at the foot of an equally distressed tallboy mirror provided the only source of light. In the otherwise inky black space it illuminated the identical young women theatrically. High contrast shadows revealed to each pair of glittering emerald eyes a perfectly formed dual amalgamation of smoothly tapering limbs, sinuously flat bellies rising to small, but delicately cuspate breasts beneath an all encompassing, stiffly high-collared skin of glossy black latex and burnished leather.
Celine-Chloe smiled again, nodding toward her own reflection.
“Mmmm, ..very sexy, ..very kinky……I just hope we can find proper employment for these fascinating little toys..’
Tethered at the right-hand wrist of each reflected Chloe, a shortened riding crop or switch dangled, silver capped and formed of braided leather with a wide black tongue.
‘.. perhaps on a certain young man’s hard cockstem some time soon!”
Far behind and above them, several green shaded electric arc-lights stuttered into life. It revealed in an instant those u*********s assumptions both Chloe’s had made about the confined dimensions of space around them to be purely illusory.
The two young women turned adroitly on spike heeled boots in the direction of the startling new light, staring out into the vast industrial emptiness of a huge, windowless, concrete cavern from a vantage point several meters above a detritus strewn floor. They saw they stood, along with the ancient lamp and battered mirror, at the centre of a house sized plinth of crumbling concrete ringed with a rusting steel handrail. Massive, dust streaked swastika banners lined each sidewall from floor to ceiling, hanging limp, motionless in the stale, hot air.
Only a neatly arranged semi-circle of linen covered medical trolleys, laid out toward the far end of the monolithic structure, and now harshly illuminated beneath the furthest-most pool of stark electric light, betrayed any recent evidence of human activity.
“ This is a new one…Neat!”
A short way beyond the circular pools of crisp white light, at the far wall, a heavy steel door swung suddenly open. The reverberating dull clang of metal on concrete hung in the air, silencing further comment from Rachel-Chloe.
Four uniformed female guards emerged from a wide, steeply inclined ramp down onto the concrete floor. They flanked a wheelchair type contraption into which was strapped a male form, naked save for the ball-gag in his mouth and blindfold covering his eyes. The device was being wheeled along at a decent clip toward the nearest pool of light by another young woman, but dressed not as the flanking e****ts were, in tightly fitted black leather tunics and caps, but entirely in pristine white, a fetishist latex corruption of an old style ’Red Cross’ nursing s****rs uniform.
Once she had brought him to a halt, the female guards, on a whispered command from her, formed a loose protective cordon around the two central figures and waited at ease.
She loosened the ball-gag’s leather strap, it’s red rubber sphere, expelled with a softly wet ’pop’, now hung loosely at his throat.
Both Chloe’s stood motionless, unsure for a moment on how to proceed.
A decision was made for them.
The nursing s****r, apparently satisfied with her brief preparations, looked up from behind the wheelchair like contraption, directly toward them.
She snapped a stiff armed nazi salute.
“ The prisoner 3226, Ashe, Arran is almost ready for you now Frau Colonel’s…would you prefer he be made erect before you begin his,…er…special treatment?”
Chloe-Celine stepped forward toward the rusting handrail. Time to improvise.
“ Yes. Thank you s****r,… swollen and stiffly rigid if you please……We‘ll be down to join you presently. Heil Hitler!”
She turned to Chloe- Rachel smiling.
“ How did I sound?…Like an authentic Aryan super bitch, or not?”
Frau Doktor Webber pushed back her chair from the command console and stretched languorously.
“Chloe, keep an eye on Arran for a few minutes,…I should check in with Katja and Sophie…Make sure we don’t run into any problems with the Pharmacy Audit…OK?”
She stood, walked halfway to the door and hesitated.
“ I’ll bring us some coffee back…OK, Chloe?”
Chloe smiled sweetly.
“ Mmmm, that’d be nice…Thank you Doktor.”
A sly, not entirely pleasant smile wreathed the Frau Doktor’s lips all the way to her office. She had no intention of checking in on any bogus audit, but she would certainly be bringing back coffee.
The fact that Chloe’s would be spiked just made her want to smile all the more.
White latex gloved fingers thumbed chrome catches on either wheel rim, snapping them shut, locking the chair in position, so it tilted upward toward the blindingly harsh electric light overhead.
The cool Teutonic inflection in her voice, mirrored her youthful Aryan-blonde looks to perfection. She was blue eyed, clear skinned and very, very pretty. The sort of glacial prettiness that can so easily be without pity or remorse.
“ Lubricate a ‘no.3’ ring for me…and I’ll require an anal-probe, …the tapered chrome ‘no.6’ from the first cabinet… Be quick Frau Lieutenant!”
The young leather suited guard clicked her spiked heels and hurried to obey.
She released his blindfold, and what could now be seen of his features betrayed an obvious state of extreme tension. His breathing, shallow and ragged through flared nostrils, caught in a pale skinned, but well muscled and freely perspiring chest as she gave her instructions, his head inclining nervously toward each fresh sound.
It slavishly followed each creaking stretch, and soft rustle of latex and leather. A slow, deliberate metronomic ’tic-tac-tic’ of heels on concrete marked her progress around him.
She halted, hands on hips, directly before the open ‘v’ of his splayed legs.
The leather uniformed Frau Lieutenant returned from the semi-circle of linen d****d medical trolleys, proffering the items requested hesitantly. Her large, beguilingly innocent blue eyes, downcast, deferential.
“Hold on to them for a few moments longer Frau Lieutenant…this should not take long….”
She cinched the thick leather straps restraining and separating each leg a little tighter.
“Not too long at all…”
In dim, mote filled and murky twilight both Chloe’s carefully and wordlessly descended a flight of crumbling concrete steps laid into the plinth front as best they could. Holding tightly onto it’s rusting guide rail for support.
They heard rather than saw the nursing s****r begin their requested preparations of the male prisoner, and thereafter, his low, muffled moaning mixed and reverberated in the cavernous space with the hollow metallic clicking of their heels as they approached the source of this echoing tableaux.
They picked their way carefully but quickly across the vast rubbish strewn floor, drawing ever nearer, and now, beneath that evocative soundscape, came the faint but insistent murmur of an electrical hum.
Closer still, and at the periphery of those interlinked and overlapping discs of bright illumination an explanation for that insistent electrical droning was not in the least apparent. It was certainly intriguing, but not as intriguing, as the visually arresting scene laid out before them.
Chloe-Rachel gestured to a female guard.
She formed that part of the protective cordon closest to where they’d stopped. She held up her hand, placing a finger across her lips.
They did not wish to disturb proceedings just yet.
The tall, blue eyed and very pretty, sentry smiled her understanding, stepping to one side so that the two Chloe’s had a free and uninterrupted view of the man’s preparation as it unfolded.
They would observe for the time being.
The crouching figure of the Frau Schwester rocked forward, closer now, raising herself up a little, so as to be over him, above and between his outstretched and pinioned legs.
Perhaps inadvertently, perhaps deliberately, her adjusted stance now provided for the sharply pointed, weight of her latex skinned breasts, to flirt teasingly with the upward curve of the male prisoners now grotesquely swollen cockstem.
Only the stretched fingertips of the Frau Schwester’s white, latex clad right hand worked him directly though, forming a tented cone around a smoothly circumcised head. They applied a steadily insistent pressure to a lubricated band of pencil-thick vulcanised rubber necking the man’s sex. The oiled ligature was thus gradually drawn down, stretching and flexing under her gradual, but deft manipulation.
She murmured the words with a small, but well satisfied smile. It lightened, if only briefly, her otherwise coolly professional demeanour.
At length the band of glistening black rubber could be drawn down no further, it stretched taut and immovably tight about the base of prisoner ‘3226 Ashe, Arran’s ‘ impressive cockstem.
The Frau Schwester crouched low between his open thighs to inspect her work, her cool blue eyes on a level with his sex as it speared upward from his belly, a delicately curving arc of pale, slippery flesh, at once both velum soft and bone hard. An almost perfect fitting. She was satisfied. Stage One was complete, Stage Two could begin after a moment of respite.
It seemed only prudent to allow the urge that was no doubt filling his senses after her ministration to subside a little before it would be safe to continue.
Both Chloe-Celine, and Chloe-Rachel knew from recent experience that it would have been difficult, not to mention uncomfortable in such a fetishistically styled uniform for the young Frau Schwester to perform such a task so quickly, so professionally. The Frau Schwester had seemingly not only managed that difficult task, but neither Chloe-Celine, or Chloe-Rachel had ever witnessed, let alone attempted to induce a male students sex too such a state of pleasured extremis so quickly, and yet manage to successfully subvert the inevitable reflexive desire to spill without any apparent pharmaceutical assistance, especially when that sex belonged to a certain Arran Ashe, an as yet raw trainee completely unschooled and untested in the dark arts of orgasm denial.
It was certainly impressive.
His cockstem was still as yet refreshingly receptive to pleasure, virtually untutored, and as such would’ve almost certainly rushed to deliver up a spurting flood of milt under their combined influence in similar circumstances.
They were very, very impressed.
Although as equally appreciative as her Chloe-Rachel double at the clinical efficiency of the beautiful young nurse’s demonstration in sexual manipulation, Chloe-Celine couldn’t help but notice Frau Schwester’s meticulously performed work had drawn the pristine folds of that softly pliable latex skirt taut over slender hips and peach-like rear, emphasising a subtle curvature of form in its shining, glossy tightness. It was a virtually unavoidable, if gorgeously kink tinged sight, when all of it balanced on such vertiginously heeled boots.
“I’m glad we don’t have to wear that at the Klinik…”
Whispered Chloe-Celine, as much to herself as to a rapt, silently intent Chloe-Rachel alongside.
An instant later though, and a Sapphic pang of almost tangible lust for both the s****r and her uniform gave lie to Chloe-Celine’s whispered words of a moment earlier.
An indistinct but deliciously kinky fantasy featuring herself, a beautiful blonde nurse, and a latex uniform had popped unbidden into her minds eye.
“…Well perhaps not too often anyway. Once, or maybe twice it might be quite fun to...”
She tailed off, somewhat lamely.
That indistinct but all pervasive electrical hum which had so fascinated them earlier, but had been temporarily subsumed as a topic of interest by the more obviously attention grabbing exploits of the Frau Schwester’s master class resurfaced as a point of interesting phenomena in Chloe-Celine’s thoughts at that moment.
It’s sound suddenly dipped an octave lower. Now it had a deeper resonance. From light tenor hum to an ominously darker, and altogether more intense bass note buzz in the blink of an eye.
Stage Two could now commence.
She moved the vibrating length of silvered metal within him slowly, working against the grip of his anal muscle on its lubricated chrome shaft, feeling within for that tight curve of hard muscle anchoring sex to belly like the prow of a ship connecting to its keel. She knew where to find, and how best to exploit that particular little known point of its anchoring within the male form as a place where the darkest of pleasures could be induced with the right stimuli.
The Frau Schwester gently but confidently tilted the domed head of her chromed instrument upward, pressing against a tight knot of tissue, and in response a short spasm like tremor transmitted itself through her finely attuned fingertips, pulling weakly at the device within him for a moment before subsiding.
“ Good,. Now you will learn a little about the unusual pleasures a trained Masturbatrix can teach a willing pupil, Herr Ashe.”
Her fingers began to impart a subtle rhythmic pressure upon her chosen instrument of tortuous pleasure as she spoke to him.
“..You …want …to …learn, …don‘t …you?”
It’s subtle tempo underlined her softly lilting and accented words precisely.
“ Just …nod …once …for …yes…”
Arran’s reply was swift, and under the circumstances both telling and very appropriate thought a spellbound Chloe-Celine.
He made his assent.
Shivering, like a young sapling in a sudden breeze, his cockstem trembled briefly, resulting in a gruel-thin line of contiguous slippage escaping its engorged crown as he nodded.
“Good…Then we‘ll begin you‘re education. ..”
The device’s humming drone resumed its higher vibrato tone as the line of slip descended the swollen shaft.
Chloe-Celine watched her ever more closely now. She could sense, almost taste the static charge of sexual and psychological tension building in that bright, dead air between the encircling cordon and those Two protagonists at its core from which this elemental electrical charge was emanating.
The Frau Schwester studied him, motionless, watchful, intent on his corruption. She waited for the flow of leaking milt to subside a little before she would test him again.
The ragged sound of his breath through clenched teeth slowed and abated like a sprinter who believes his race has been run, the tightly bunched muscles of his belly, arms and thighs, bathed in a sheen of perspiration, began to relax.
That soft electrical drone, the creak of buckled leather restraints and rustle of latex on warm skin suffused the somnolent warmth. It was hypnotic, mesmerising in its stillness.
Neither Chloe could, would or wanted to look away for even a second.
But, tilting her precariously balanced form forward Frau Schwester broke the spell.
Her sudden, silent, and effortlessly graceful movement toward the unaware, and unknowing Arran Ashe sent a charged jolt of electric anticipation through both them, and the silent cordon of guards who stared as intently at the scene as the Two Chloe’s did.
The Frau Schwester, akin to some nymph-like hummingbird, unfurled her tongue, pinkly moist and pointed.
She leant forward to taste his leaking milt. Once, twice, rocking back on her heels then, observing his reaction to this new stimuli.
Satisfied, she leant in once more. Closer this time, pressing her lips low on the cockstems shaft, soft and full, flat against him, sucking slowly at a point where the slip had begun to pool and drip from the fat lip of vulcanised rubber.
She rose up a little after a short while, as if in slow motion, tilting forward on those improbable spike heeled boots, and accompanied by the creaking protest of a stretched rubber skirt, released him momentarily from her slip stained lips.
Her tongue tip drew a line of wet from belly to throat as she rose.
Again, consciously or not, it allowed for the twin weight of those latex skinned breasts to trap his cockstem neatly between them, trapping his sex, immobilising it, wrapping him in its soft, pliant warmth. Simultaneously her sharp white teeth began to nip and nibble at the sweat soaked chest above.
That trickling leak of slip, briefly reduced in it‘s flow, resumed a slowly oozing suppuration under the influence of her novel stimuli.
A stimuli that also drew renewed murmurings of a dark pleasure from his lips to accompany the reinvigorated flow.
The twin silver topped crops twitched restlessly at Chloe-Rachel, and Chloe-Celine’s side like Two cats tails swishing erratically with barely concealed anticipation. So watchful and appreciative of each nuanced application of stimuli by a consummate masturbatrix were they, and it‘s subsequently delicious effect upon the innocent novitiate, that they almost purred with the implicit promise of pleasurable wickedness to come.
Arran’s wet belly muscles sharpened hard, flat and tight.
The anal probe was about to be withdrawn.
In a single, fluidly smooth action, her gloved fingers drew the gleaming chrome instrument into the harsh glare of electric light from whence it had been hidden.
She slipped the device first into it’s oiled leather pouch, and then a pocket at the wheelchair contraption’s side, making a final visual check of her work in anticipation of her report to the two senior officers waiting behind her.
Now laying before her, at eye level, the Frau Schwester regarded with a justifiable degree of professional satisfaction a broadly tapering cockstem, it’s pale, thin-skinned underside, running wet with slip was rigidly swollen. It speared upward from between sweat drenched thighs, a fraction over 9” from black rubber ligature to circumcised crown, it’s bowed shaft drawn taut, scimitar-like above the flat outline of belly muscle.
“You’re ready for them.”
The proud young nurse straightened from her low crouch, smoothing out the wrinkles and creases in the tailored latex where it had ridden up.
Smears, smudged streaks of glisteningly pale coloured pre-milt stained her lips and cheek, evidence of how, barely a minute before, she’d suckled, albeit briefly, upon him.
It’d also soiled her otherwise immaculate uniform. Tainting it’s buttoned and belted bib front, corrupting it’s softly gleaming contours with smearings of thin slip.
There was no time correct these minor imperfections. She turned to face her superiors, leaving the pocketed chrome probe to continue it’s muffled droning unattended.
“ He is prepared as requested Frau Colonel’s.”
Perfectly proportioned, tall, long legged and blue eyed, with neatly pinned hair the shade of sun-bleached corn.
“Thank you. …Schwester..?” Replied Chloe-Rachel quizzically.
Chloe-Celine marvelled at the gravity defying shape of her breasts beneath the clinging tunic. Like two soft cones capped by spiked points.
“ Schwester Mariel Weitz, Frau Colonel.”
“Please, …let’s relax the usual formalities Mariel. I’m Rachel, and this is Celine…”
“Your work is an inspiration to us both…The best we’ve ever had the privilege of witnessing…Stunning, Mariel… Truly stunning!”
Those youthful features, evident beneath the stiffly creased angles of her white nursing cap, warmed with new, unexpected softness. A tentative, almost shy smile illuminated her pretty face, revealing a previously concealed innocently girlish facet to that familiar icy beauty.
“Thank you… Thank you so much Frau Colonel,.. Er,..Rachel. Thank you.”
They waited patiently for Mariel’s softly intoned instructions to be carried out before attempting to proceed with the task laid out for them by Frau Doktor Ilse Webber earlier that morning.
With an echoing clang of bolted steel door, the four guards departed obediently for other undisclosed duties.
The dead air was hotter directly under those lamps. Everything was still again.
Accompanying the rhythmic crump of fast receding footfalls, Arran’s breathing slowed to normality.
Only a cabal of Schwester Mariel, Rachel-Chloe, Celine-Chloe and the prisoner ’3226 Ashe, Arran’ remained.
The triumvirate of masturbatrix’s gathered around him slowly, silently.
Rachel-Chloe struck him, flat and hard across the exposed underside of his cockstem with her switch, pausing momentarily, then twice more in rapid succession.
He bucked and twisted in a brief but violent and vain struggle against ties that bound him fast.
The broad tongue of leather licked sharply around his swollen shaft for a fourth time in quick succession,
The instinctive snarling grimace of shock and stinging pain in his face melted away, dissolving like ice under the relentless heat of a summer sun.
Fascinated, Celine-Chloe read the open book of emotion and feeling that was his upturned face. First there had been shock, sharp pain followed by fearful anger.
A further dose of the same sharply stinging pain now borne with resolute intransigence.
A flickering of uncertainty, unsure now of his senses, confused and introspective.
Then the shocking realisation of a darker pleasure growing within. A sinuous coiling pleasure that stripped the sting from Rachel-Chloe’s switch, its broad leather tongue licking him to a new, deeper level of arousal.
His breathing came fast and shallow from an open mouth flecked with spittle. His pale, tightly muscled torso and limbs glowing, in a sharply defined sweat-slick relief of agonised sensation.
Rachel-Chloe paused, now slightly breathless, her hands on hips, booted heels on shiny latex skinned legs set well apart. Strident and upright, with the instrument currently most responsible for ’3226 Ashe, Arran’s’ continued state of gross engorgement, dangling loosely at her wrist, now temporarily idle.
“Mariel, adjust his ligature would you …”
The low, fitful keening, and sound of too rapidly a snatched mouthful of air that’d accompanied her strokes thus far ceased abruptly, to be replaced with only a muffled rumble of protest. She absentmindedly smoothed a stray lock of raven-black hair back into the bobbed, glossy whole.
Celine-Chloe flexed the short sprung length of braided black leather between gloved fingers, zealously testing its supple strength over and again, her eyes never wandering from the nine and one quarter inches of broadly tapering cockstem, it’s entirety lacquered in slip, and bearing the fresh marks of her s****r masturbatrix’s work upon it in broad, livid bands.
The softly spoken word escaped Celine-Chloe’s lips without knowing, without conscious thought. It hung in the air, a simple statement of feeling. A verbal expression of her own, as well as those of her s****r masturbatrix’s, increasingly obvious physical indications of arousal.
She checked herself.
Neither of them could afford to overly indulge in private fantasies at the expense of failing in a task Frau Doktor Webber had made clear their combined futures as certified professionals depended upon achieving. She must think clearly. Concentrate, focus on playing her part in attaining the required outcome no matter what diversions, or illicit temptations this new, intoxicating ‘Virtual Reality’ world would subsequently offer herself, or for that matter, Rachel.
Celine-Chloe recalled the Frau Doktor’s final instructions verbatim.
“…The task is really quite simple ladies; Once contact with Arran has been established within the VR environment you are required to use whatever skills, method, VR characters, medication and equipment available to induce an ‘Involuntary Auto-Ejaculatory Conditioned Response’ through a combination of verbal, touch, breath, or visual command‘…and subsequently,…produce two separate and methodologically different instances of the ‘Involuntary Auto-Ejaculatory Conditioned Response’ for confirmation and evaluation…Clear?”
Easily achieved, no. Most definitely, no.
‘Involuntary Auto-Ejaculatory Conditioned Response‘, or ‘I A E C R’ was fraught with all sorts of pit-falls, and notoriously difficult to achieve, even with a subject student experienced in the rigours of ‘reflexive conditioning’, and Arran was most definitely not experienced.
What they had been effectively asked to accomplish, although horribly difficult in practice, sounded relatively straight forward in theory: Take one untutored male student and condition him in the space of one virtual reality session to suffer involuntary orgasm by means of a singular element of stimuli, whether that be a key word or other trigger, such as a particular sight, smell, sound or touch.
It was certainly possible to condition the response into almost any male, or female student given an extended number of virtual reality sessions, but this was almost unheard of.
“Make a fist of your left hand if you hear and understand me…”
Rachel-Chloe’s voice purred low and seductive, like an iron hand in a velvet glove.
“…Good. Well done…From this point on you will listen and obey…Do you understand?”
Without prompting, a single clenched fist signalled two crucially important factors. Firstly, he seemed well predisposed toward this form of female dominance, and secondly, as being possessed of a highly suggestible nature. An ideal combination. They could begin in earnest.
Frau Doktor Ilse Webber crouched over Chloe Renis in the gloom, her Personal Assistant’s emerald green eyes shifting lazily, unfocused, heavy lidded with sl**p. The whispered words at her ear sinking deep into her receptive u*********sness like strings of complex software.
The Frau Doktor sat back, admiring her work.
“sl**p now Chloe,…and when I wake you, you’ll feel relaxed and rested, with no memory of this event ever having happened…sl**p…sl**p now.”
The trap was set.
She glanced briefly over at Arran’s palely luminescent form floating serenely within the DIU, and smiled, scooting her chair back behind the banks of monitoring equipment. Streams of data continued to ebb and flow across each screen in blips and pulses of light, tracking, recording the netherworld of pleasures into which she, the Frau Doktor, had submersed him.
It was now time to visually check his progress within this world she’d created. She punched in code, waiting for a wall mounted plasma screen to flicker into life behind her before swivelling her chair to view it.
Chloe mumbled a few incoherent words from the couch on which she lay, newly bathed in shifting patterns of pixelated light and slept on. Slept on as a dual manifestation of her own likeness, and that of a latex clad nurse filled the screen above her.
Another tongue joined hers in slippery, playful exploration. Painting the thick, pillar-like shaft rising between them with a flurry of nimbly applied, darting strokes until his double clenched fist signalled an imminent crisis, forcing them to desist for the fourth time in as many minutes.
A lithe, sinuous black-suited figure, that of Chloe-Rachel stood behind the wheelchair, ever present and watchful.
She spoke briefly in soothingly calm modulated tones to the pallid male figure bathed in a sheen of sweat below her.
“Hold on…Breathe deeply. Relax…Your Mistress hasn’t given you permission to spill yet… you’ve yet to prove yourself worthy of receiving that ’special’ word, or the nice medicine that goes with it, …have you?…Good boy,…Hold it back a little while longer…Relax.”
Chloe-Celine took this moment of enf***ed respite to try to regain some point of focus for herself. But, the heat from his swollen sex, (its close proximity bathing her cheek in its radiated warmth), merely served to reminded her of the hot liquid ache now ever present between her own legs.
Opposite, and partly obscured by the d***kenly swaying cockstem that separated them, Mariel’s features seemed as flushed as her own would undoubtedly appear to be. Those azure blue eyes, with their now dilated saucer shaped pupils partially hidden, stared back at her, heavy lidded, weighted with the same shared arousal.
Chloe-Rachel tapped his belly with her switch. A gentle reminder.
“…Signal when you’re ready to begin again.”
Chloe-Celine Pressed her latex skinned breasts more firmly into the sweating flesh of his thigh in preparation for the resumption of activities. Although it did nothing to assuage a maddening, deliciously tingling sensitivity at their stiffened tips, she moved against him, slowly, surreptitiously, just the same.
At length, Prisoner ‘3226 Ashe, Arran’ relaxed his tightly clenched fists with a muffled groan, and, through widely flared nostrils, took in a great whistling lung full of air in final preparation for the continuation of his ordeal. So, with hands held flat against the gleaming chrome and leather padded armrests, he motioned slowly with gagged and blindfolded head his reluctant acquiescence.
Mariel took the initiative, leaning forward once again to tentatively resume their joint fellation of him with delicate, gentle caresses, open mouthed and soft, her beckoning gaze drawing the waiting Chloe-Celine in like a powerful magnet back to a shaft they had made iron hard, but which they’d necessarily had to neglect in the short interlude of enf***ed respite.
Once again he groaned pitifully upon contact being resumed. The self same muffled and weak sounds emanated from beneath his refastened rubber ball gag as before, accompanied by the same futile writhing attempts to pull himself free from the inescapable sensation of their flickering and tortuous tongues.
“Take it,…Hold on. But, remember the aching pleasure,…That achingly delicious pleasure their lips are now giving you…Obey me, and I will grant you your release…Good. Good Boy!”
An all pervasive aroma of seeping milt, warm leather and sweat, complemented by piquancy of taste, salt-sweet on her lips combined to drown Chloe-Celine’s fading resolve to be utterly professional in a sea of heady sensory overload.
Her companion masturbatrix’s shyly vulnerable smile, complicit with fingers that’d reached surreptitiously beneath the prisoner, had between her legs, discovered the small, peach-shaped swelling there, and began to tentatively stroke it. It was almost too much to bear in silence.
She sought her out then, relishing the slippery softness of touch in Mariel’s inquisitive tongue with her own, a contrast to the hot, unyielding rigidity of a cockstem to which it’d been pressed just moments before.
Slowly, deliberately, Mariel’s unseen fingers now blindly traced her softly bulging latex skinned shape.
Chloe-Celine felt she would melt.
Together Chloe-Celine and Mariel worked him thus, the magical catalyst to their shared pleasure his bowed shaft, a pale wand that had cast its spell of enchanted lust upon them both. Tongue slid against tongue, lip pressed to shining lip time and again along it’s wetted surface.
Chloe-Rachel saw the drowsy, heavy lidded pleasure, velvet smooth and syrupy, steal over her two colleagues like a slowly rising tide, drawing down the brightly fluttering tempo of their caresses to a languorous crawl.
She could afford to indulge her friends obvious pleasure for a time. Why not? Things were progressing better than she had had any right to expect.
His fingers curled, hesitated, straightened and curled again to form a fist. Gradually, with white teeth biting against the gag, in a grimace of effort they straightened once more.
Rachel-Chloe waited for him.
They snapped closed.
Reluctantly, with a softly wet ‘pop…’ of disconnection they drew back.
“You’re ready to spill for me now.…”
Not so much a rhetorical question, as a statement of fact.
Rachel-Chloe’s hushed tone, soft, like liquid velvet, compelled him. Dripping into the u*********s pleasure centre of his mind at this point of maximum arousal, to form both barrier and precursor to relief. A trigger. A trigger that’d provoke an instant, spurting release without further physical stimulation from the masturbatrix‘s below.
“…But, only when you hear that ’special’ word… A word that I‘ll give you when you breathe in your medicine…You remember what it is, don’t you?”
A single fisted response snapped back in reply, white knuckled and tense, desperate now for deliverance.
“Good.…Then I’ll be saying it to you soon, so stay nice and hard until I do… Listen for it carefully, I expect my word to be obeyed without hesitation.”
Rachel-Chloe motioned almost reluctantly to her collaborators, close-in on either side of the wheelchair contraption within which their monstrously priapic male subject lay securely fastened, to follow her lead and quietly withdraw to a point beyond the immediate circle of harsh electric light.
It was a shame to interrupt Chloe-Celine and Mariel’s mutual pleasure, but they did have a very important task to accomplish before their own needs could be met.
The cabal of masturbatrix’s gathered together before one of a semi-circle of medical trolleys.
Barely concealed exultation lit Chloe-Rachel’s whispering voice.
“ I’m sure we’ve got him. …He must be hooked!”
Connected one to another, arm over loosely folded arm, the elegantly kinky troika of beautiful creatures stood silent and still, watching over him.
Her statement needing no more testament to its simple truth than that of the evidence provided by their own eyes.
But, and it was a big but, they needed to witness that he could neither spill, nor let his level of arousal wane, without further intervention by the masturbatrixes that had successfully combined to induce this unnatural state within him.
Therefore it was crucial that they do nothing.
They must confine themselves for a proscribed minimum period of time to merely observing, monitoring the subjects level of arousal for any sign of non compliance with the conditioning.
Time began dripping away inexorably, welling to fill first one minute, then another.
To fully and unequivocally demonstrate separation of physical stimuli to his conditioned ejaculatory response.
They had to wait.
Chloe-Celine hoped, a little reluctantly, that this state of extreme arousal she’d combined with Mariel to induce, produce an extended, slow burn form of ejaculatory response when Chloe-Rachel’s word of command triggered his release, as it had before with other trainee male subjects. Or perhaps less likely, but perfectly possible given his novitiate status, Rachel-Chloe’s word of command would be greeted only with a gradual waning of his current priapic state, and an excess of groaning from the frustrated subject.
They’d have to start all over again if that were to be the case. Not an entirely unpleasant prospect in her view.
He did however do neither.
But then, neither did the achingly tight points distorting her jacketed front begin to soften, nor the slippery-wet heat between her legs begin to fade.
It was as if the normal ebb and flow of tidal pleasure itself had been channelled through a one-way valve. You couldn’t fall back if its flow ebbed, but were suspended in it, trapped. Held up at that same point by pleasure-pressure until it’s tidal flow resumed to lift you even higher still.
It wasn’t only prisoner ‘3226 Ashe, Arran’ that was hooked.
Chloe-Rachel checked her wristwatch. Not long now.
‘Now, ..for the really fun part!…’
Whispered Chloe-Rachel, separating from the loose embrace of her colleagues with a kiss for each of their flushed cheeks.
His time was up in more ways than one.
The softly clicking ’tic-tac-tic’ of her heels propelling her into bright arc-light, echoed from wall to concrete wall, alerting him to her presence immediately.
’3226 Ashe, Arran’s’ pallid, sweat stained muscles reflexively tensed to its hollow echoing sound.
She stopped. Removing a small brown bottle from within her tunic.
Chloe-Rachel stood hands on hips, proud of her work so far, silent and still before the open ‘V’ of his heavily strapped legs, waiting a moment longer. A slim, waif-like silhouette of gleaming leather and clingy black latex.
Ghostly reverberations of staccato rhythm hung on in the air around them, fading slowly to nothingness.
Chloe-Celine stared hypnotically, wide eyed and flush with arousal, only dimly aware of Mariel’s light fingered touch about her waist, and a nuzzling of lips at her ear.
The gently lilting inflection of her whispering voice guided her thoughts.
“Look at how monstrously hard he is,…how beautifully swollen. So ready for milking.…”
Sly fingers spread across her belly, unfastening the buttoned tunic from hem to stiff collared neck effortlessly. Slowly.
“…So heavy and tight below.”
Her fingers slipped between open folds of supple leather, reaching up, stroking the silk-smooth weight of pointed breast beneath in a single fluid movement.
“…It must ache terribly.”
Chloe-Celine gasped, pressing herself back against Mariel, wanting to turn and kiss her, but unable to tear her eyes from the scene she described so vividly.
“Look at his schwanz, …How slippery and wet it is still…How good it would taste Celine.”
Now those delicately slim fingers turned to draw out the already stiffened tips of her breasts, working them deftly, squeezing, caressing, teasing each cone-like swelling with its firm resilience to a sharp, achingly hard point.
“…So swollen and hot against our lips,…remember?.”
Mariel reached down, cupping Chloe-Celine’s latex skinned sex in the palm of one hand and gently squeezed.
“…She’s ready now… to make him cum for us… fur die damen spritz jezt.”
With the clockwork precision of a music box automaton Rachel-Chloe’s slender form bent slowly from the waist, stretching out her arms to rest black gloved fingers on either of his pale-skinned shoulders.
The stretched tautness of her latex sheathed legs on spike heels as she leaned in close, head tilted, with lips to his ear, gave the watching Chloe-Celine a powerful visual jolt of eroticism. They seemed impossibly beautiful. Her legs rooted to the grey concrete, rising as pillars of sinew straining muscle, as did his still swollen cockstem. Straining upward like a curved ivory spear in the dark umbra of shadow cast beneath the stretched outline above it.
With one hand Chloe-Rachel’s dextrous gloved fingers uncapped the bottle within its grasp, discarding its screw top. It clattered noisily upon the concrete floor below her.
She introduced the open neck of the small bottle to him without warning or preamble. Flared nostrils, open and ready to receive its vaporous content hesitated, waiting for permission to inhale.
Permission was granted.
She breathed a word to him. One word only.
He sagged slightly, as if momentarily drained of energy.
Again he inhaled, both vapour and word simultaneously at her softly spoken command.
Chloe-Celine felt herself trapped in a delicious haze of visual and sensual pleasures.
Between her thighs Mariel’s fingers gloved her, pressing insistently, rhythmically at the slight, rounded swelling of her sex, defining its shape, pressing the thin lipped seam as if it were a ripened peach ready to be split.
It was impossible for her not to.
The vision before her seemed to take on ethereal qualities, like that of an intensely erotic ballet performed for her, and her alone.
She was so close to bliss now, so close to losing control.
“Look …She’s making him spill for us….”
Mariel’s fingers released their tender hold upon her at that moment.
“ Not yet Celine….”
The sliver of sound born of involuntary, mind-numbing levels of restraint, and unbearable pleasure-pressure. Now explosively. Dramatically vented.
It was an intense but temporary release. Of a sort.
One which he would come to crave as well as dread in equal measure.
Without even the faintest scintilla of further physical contact a fiercely expressed plasma of milt shot upward from the immobile prisoner ’Ashe’s’ engorged cocks tem like a liquid spear. Ribbon thin jets, met the blackly gleaming contours of his tormentors latex skinned breasts in a violent, spattering collision.
Mariel breathed in her ear as she watched spellbound. A deliciously soft counterpoint to the initial hollow fizzing spurt of emission, and subsequent pitter-pattering dance of spent milt on concrete, as the jets which failed to connect and spatter Chloe-Rachel, fell noisily to earth like heavy rain drops preceding a sudden summer storm.
“Congratulations are in order..”
She, Rachel Darian, with no small amount of help from Mariel and Celine, had successfully induced in her subject an’ Involuntary Auto-Ejaculatory Conditioned Response’ for the very first time.
She’d relished each hot spurting discharge, feeling, as she stared into the dilated vacuum of his eyes their fierce power splattering repeatedly, one after another up against her throat, breasts and belly.
She felt omnipotent. Turned-on to a point of sublime euphoric bliss herself.
A slow, dreamlike smile of sweetly radiant innocence suffused her features.
“A little more,…and again. Good boy!.”
He dutifully obliged his mistresses sweetly cajoling entreaty.
Transfixed, in awed silence, on legs made weak with aching lust from each successive fountain-like spume of ejaculate, Chloe-Celine watched the scene unfold unto its final cum soaked conclusion.
She felt light headed, breathless. Her heart raced.
Look at them. Him.
Chloe-Celine thought then of the ‘word‘, it‘s power to control.
The prisoners pallid, slip soaked cockstem still retained a curvingly taut rigidity even as his emissions had slowed to a weakly pulsing trickle. He was spent, a limp rag of sweat stained male muscle that breathed in ragged gulps between incomprehensible murmuring.
She found herself both proud and jealous of her friend Rachel in the same instant, marvelling at the sheer volume of milt she’d just witnessed him expend for her.
Chloe-Rachel had induced him to spill without any form of physical sexual contact between them. Incredible.
Just one word and a single explosive hit of amyl nitrate.
Amyl, she knew from the interminable lectures on sexual pharmacology they had all had to endure, was supposed to retard ejaculatory response, not precipitate it.
She whispered it then, allowing the power of his trigger word to resonate in her thoughts.
Mariel nuzzled close to her ear, arms wrapping about her like a favourite comforter in a soft, warm embrace.
“A beautiful word isn’t it…But be very careful how you use it. Very careful indeed Celine.”
Chloe-Rachel straightened up, releasing her grip on his shoulders to stand hands on hips before him as before, surveying her ruined conquest for a moment before issuing a brief set of instructions for Mariel to carry out in an authentically Teutonic manner like the genuine Nazi ‘Uber-Bitch‘ she had designs on becoming.
“Release his ligature, then dispose of the Amyl for me Mariel…”
She swivelled on spiked heels to face her two fellow masturbatrixes, indicating the location she’d selected for his next ordeal.
“ …Then fit him with a full face hood, gag and e-stim unit with a flexible triple point harness …Use a wrist and ankle bar to secure him before you put him up there for his next therapy session Frau Schwester Weitz.”
Rachel-Chloe pointed with her silver topped riding crop to toward a sinister looking arrangement of heavy steel chains hanging in the gloom beyond the immediate circle of bright electric light in which they all stood.
“…Oh, and give him something from the pharmaceutical trolley that’ll replenish his supply of ejaculate straight away…I want myself and Frau Colonel Celine to resume work on him as soon as we possibly can.”
Mariel released Chloe-Celine abruptly, clicking together the spiked heels of her boots in proper military fashion. “At once Frau Colonel!”
Mariel wheeled over one of the linen d****d medical trolleys, exchanging position in front of the prisoner ’3226 Ashe, Arran’ with Chloe-Rachel before setting about her appointed tasks with brisk efficiency.
This overt display was for his eyes and ears alone, evidenced by the broad, winking smile that passed between the previously severe Chloe-Rachel and a barely straight faced Mariel once he’d been gagged and hooded.
The twin Chloe’s reunited, standing side by side, an arm from each loosely d****d, folded upon the others hip, watching Mariel as she prepared him. She worked quickly, adeptly ungloving his swollen cockstem of its black rubber ligature in one slowly fluid movement like a mistress removing a lovers wedding ring. Seemingly untroubled neither by its slippery tightness, nor the convulsive jag of his shaft in her hand that’d preceded her stripping it from him.
A sly smile crept upon the corners of Chloe-Celine’s mouth.
In a moment of black humour she’d noticed that the initial source, and constant enf***er of prisoner ’3226 Ashe, Arran’s’ initial aching stiffness at the hands of Frau Schwester Mariel Weitz, and bar to any hoped for early spurting release, now lay discarded as just another piece of detritus in a puddle of his own tortuously spent milt. The very same puddle in which the same latex uniformed masturbatrix now knelt, deftly affixing a very different, but equally effective a restraint to any further ejaculatory pleasure that she guessed he would sooner rather than later, longingly wish for.
But it was another, more visually compelling phenomena upon which she chose to comment in hushed tones to her fellow masturbatrix, and friend.
“I can’t believe how swollen he still is Rachel…I mean after the amount of ejaculate you milked him for…” She whispered incredulously.
Chloe-Rachel considered her response for a moment, recalling once again the thrilling sensations of a mere five minutes ago.
The feel, the ozone smell and sound of each keenly expressed jet. His milt spattering against gossamer thin latex. His eyes blankly vacant. His ragged breath warm upon her face.
And, as she remembered, her latex gloved fingers absently sought out a memento from a firmament of jewel like translucent droplets. They adorned her from slender necked throat to a mid-point on her belly, beneath the tightly drawn outline of her steeply pointed breasts.
She tested its familiar thin viscosity as she recalled whispering that secret word again and again, smiling sweetly as he’d continued to spew beneath her, utterly powerless to resist her milking of him.
“Mmm,…I know what you mean…Beautiful though, isn‘t it?”
Mariel finished fitting him to the restraint as efficiently as she’d dealt with the rubberised ligature and tightly cinched hood. Both rigid ankle and wrist bars took a little longer, but proved no more troublesome than any other piece of equipment had been before it.
She wheeled him purposefully into the gloom beyond, placing his chair contraption, into which he’d remained strapped, beneath the dangling links of heavy chain and proceeded to snap on a series of spring loaded connections. Before long she felt him secure enough in his new restraints to release those heavy leather straps which had up to this point tethered him successfully.
Mariel hauled hand over hand on lengths of chain, pulling him unceremoniously up from his seat in a cacophony rattling steel that echoed and reverberated throughout the vast concrete emptiness.
She secured each chain in turn to thick iron rings set in the floor around her, adjusting his height and attitude from a many stranded web of clattering steel links until she judged him suitably positioned for the next session of therapy.
Mariel, a little flushed from her exertions pushed away the redundant wheelchair contraption, and sought out another of the linen covered medical trolleys, wheeling it in close to his stretched and suspended form as the Two Chloe’s looked on in fascination.
The prisoner ’3226 Ashe, Arran’, naked save for a thick leather hood, and ’restraint’ breathed heavily, his pale but athletically muscled body tense and starkly defined was displayed to advantage by its tautened suspension. Almost at once fresh rivulets of sweat formed to streak his already sweat stained skin, dripping onto the dusty concrete floor and pristine linen atop the medical trolley.
Mariel selected a small tube of nondescript medication, a pencil torch and a thin but flexible instrument of chromed steel from a drawer to the side of the cabinet.
“ Frau Colonels,…Rachel,…Celine,… I will need a little more light to complete his preparation,…If you could hold this torch for me please?…Don‘t worry he can‘t hear us very well now, not with that hood on… just keep your voices to a whisper,.. unless of course, you want him to hear.”
The Two Chloe’s hurried forward as one into the deepening gloom to assist her.
Soto voce then, “Rachel if you hold him absolutely still,…and Celine, you keep the head of his cockstem in the light for me…Thank you…Perfect.”
Mariel extracted what looked like a small blue-green pearl from the small tube of medication, fixing it to one tiny cup-like end of the gleaming steel instrument.
His body hung suspended and immobile a couple of feet above the floor at a shallowly inclined angle above them, his limbs splayed to form an elongated, outstretched ‘X’.
Ambient light escaping the circle of bright electric illumination behind them provided an eerie spectacle in the half light, but when combined with the sound of creaking chains and laboured breathing from within that leather hood, Chloe-Celine thought it positively ghostly, like some fantastical gothic wet dream.
Chloe-Rachel, and Chloe-Celine, stood close in, flanking either side of him, their black, silver braided field caps level with his waist, with a slightly taller Mariel facing his defined slab of sweating belly muscle, still slick and greasy with his recently spent milt.
With a solid click, Chloe-Celine thumbed the rubberised button, focusing a narrow beam of bright torchlight upon his still firmly erect cockstem. Chloe-Rachel wrapped a Steadying arm about his waist as Mariel introduced the fingertips of one gloved hand to his sex very slowly, tentatively. Allowing an interval of time for that initial pleasure shock of her touch to subside, for his senses to become lulled by her gentle rhythmic manipulation so that his breathing eventually steadied, and the first mumbled entreaties of rising pleasure filtered out to them from within that all encompassing leather hood.
She smiled conspiratorially.
He was ready.
Frau Schwester Weitz took a delicate Two-fingered hold of the smooth head with her left hand, easing its slit-like opening wide, and with her right, placed the pearl tipped steel within this mouth-like gape, and with all the slowly gentle patience of a considerate but insistent lover, slid it deep within him until barely an inch of gleaming silvered taper from a total of over a dozen remained visible without the shaft.
A muffled groan accompanied his abortive, and ultimately futile attempt to pull free of the invasive instrument.
“It is nearly done Frau Colonel‘s…We’ll leave him be for a minute, or so…Just long enough to allow the capsule within him time to melt and release its cargo, so to speak…Then we can start afresh.”
They all three stepped back, Chloe-Rachel releasing her hold about his waist cautiously, allowing him to slowly twist in mid-air, suspended as he was on web of creaking chains.
“Excellent work Schwester Mariel…”
Chloe-Celine’s torchlight fitfully illuminated the freshly curving tumescence as it swelled perceptibly. It soon jutted prow-like from between his splayed thighs, in capering shadow. Alternately, pale and luminescent or an inky black outline skewered at its tip by a thin chrome spindle.
“…Please continue as you see fit.”
They waited then in still silence. Content to watch without comment, immersed in solitary contemplation of what had passed, and what was yet to come.
Schwester Weitz broke the spell, stepping forward, motioning the others to join her.
Her latex skinned fingers tugged experimentally at the remaining inch or so of protruding chrome, carefully testing the weighted pearls resistance.
He moaned pitifully. A muffled gargle, part pleasure, part plea.
“He’s ready!” She whispered triumphantly.
Deep within him the little blue-green ball had all but dissolved.
Slowly, and with gentle care evident in its application, her gloved fingers now smoothly withdrew the thin rod from him in one single deftly performed action.
A creaking squeal of chain, link upon rusted steel link groaned with him, protesting the drawing out, with rivulets of sweat instantly appearing to streak his limbs and torso, only to be shaken from the sinuously muscled surface in a flurry of heavy droplets, brought on by a series of trembling spasms. Quaking after-shock‘s to extraction, and also perhaps to the beginning of some newer, faintly felt at first, but slowly growing pharmaceutical assault upon his senses.
Something of infinitely darker origin to that which he had been subject to up to this point. An insidiously creeping pleasure-pressure within him that would continue to grow and deepen its roots with every passing minute, blossoming flowerlike and thence into a sweetly narcotic fruit made heavily ripe and ready for plucking at a time of his persecutors choosing.
Chloe-Rachel looked enquiringly to Mariel to confirm what she already suspected. Her whispered reply to the unspoken question met with smiling approval.
“The capsule’s pharmaceutical content are beginning to take effect Frau Colonel…It’ll make him more receptive to pleasure,…will accelerate, and massively increase the production of milt,…as well as retard his ability to ejaculate…”
A conspiratorial and deliciously wicked smile wreathed the Frau Schwester’s lips.
“…These,… shall we say,… somewhat unusual properties,… have been proven most entertaining and effective with previous male subjects Frau Colonel‘s….”
The twin Chloe’s shifted uneasily, almost queasy now with anticipation, from foot to foot.
“Shall we begin?…”
Ilse Webber held the receiver close to her ear, speaking in hushed tones.
“ Yes Ari, could you ask Rachel and Celine to meet me in my office for a debriefing once their program has completed, and they’ve had a chance to freshen up?…”
She supported the lolling head of her Personal Assistant‘s chin with her free hand.
“…I’m afraid I can’t visit you down there as planned,…”
“…Yes, it is a pity. But there appears to be a problem with our Pharmacy Audit unfortunately,…and I need to sort it out with Katja and Sophie…Thanks Ari.”
Frau Doktor Webber hung up, turning her attention to Chloe Renis propped in the chair beside her. She checked the streams of incoming data a final time, shutting down her live visual feed once satisfied events were progressing as planned.
“Time to wake up ‘sl**ping Beauty’ I think…”
Her fingers snapped in time to a stern voiced command.
“…Three. Two. One…Awake!”
Chloe’s eyelids fluttered briefly. She awoke with a start, wide eyed and slightly confused. A vaguely embarrassed question hovered, but remained unasked, upon her lips.
Frau Doktor Ilse Webber blithely ignored the startled look, busying herself with a sheaf of papers.
“Sorry to do this Chloe, but it seems Sophie and Katja have gotten themselves into trouble with this wretched Pharmacy Audit….”
She smiled winningly.
“…Would you mind supervising the rest of Mr.Ashe’s VR Session for me?…I imagine I’ll be back in time for a debrief …I shouldn’t be too long, but just in case his program finishes before I return,…help clean him up, and have him wait here with you…OK?”
And, without waiting for a reply from a still disoriented Chloe Renis, strode purposefully toward the door, papers in hand.