Captured Souls (7 page)

By the time I locked the door to his apartment for the night, with no shackles, no chastity belt, just him being free, I was feeling very optimistic about the experiment. Perhaps he was trainable. Perhaps it was just an act.

Only time would truly tell.

Specimen 2

He emailed and said that he wanted to see me. How could I not comply? It has been months since I’ve seen his hot little body, his big cock, his expressive dark eyes. I told him to come to my house.
 

This time I wore club clothes and drank about four shots of tequila before he showed up. He was cute in his jeans and T-shirt, and rather surprised when I pounced like a tiger—or should I say cougar—onto him as I led him downstairs, beyond Specimen 1’s apartment and into the wing I’d prepared for Specimen 2, which he didn’t know yet.

Specimen 1 was writing in his fortress, locked in the soundproof apartment, with no knowledge of my whereabouts.

Specimen 2 entered what was going to be his apartment.

“Nice place, but why do you stay in the basement when the rest of the house is so large? Don’t you sleep upstairs?”

“Yes, my bedroom is indeed upstairs. In fact, I have many bedrooms and guest suites. For me, it’s a change of pace to use this room, as I’ve not had a chance to test out this brand-new bed yet.”

The apartment was much smaller than Specimen 1’s, although Specimen 2 certainly wouldn’t know that. I pushed the mattress on the bed. In my mind, I was chuckling. His king-sized bed was made from wrought iron. I wanted his apartment to have a more modern, sleek feel and there were even framed pictures I had taken of him of him racing in triathlons over the past months on the walls.

He stopped to stare at the photos. He turned his head and looked at me questioningly.

“Why…”

“Why are you still wearing clothes?” I purred. “Where’s that hot triathlete body I’ve been craving.” I ran my hands along his arms, pinching him like the witch in “Hansel and Gretel”—just how much flesh was on these bones?

“Those photos…” he stammered.

“Yes, I have some photos of you. I was hoping you’d remember me one day,” I said, distracting him. “After all, why adorn my walls with strangers when I personally know an agile and fit award-winning athlete?”

Specimen 2 grinned and eagerly kissed me, his hand cupping my crotch. He wasn’t much of a talker, not like Specimen 1. He was focused on what he wanted and he set the pace for getting us there. The fact that I towered over him by almost a foot inspired my desire for him.

I helped him peel off his clothes. Muscles, tattoos and abs, oh my. How I’d missed his tiny, tight body and his big huge cock.

We started with him on top but it wasn’t long before I overpowered him and rode my way to ecstasy. He even let me put him in handcuffs while we played. It was so easy, too easy, and that was fine. Specimen 1 was taking all my brainpower to outsmart him; it was nice to have a lower-level brain to cope with. Specimen 2 only cared about his physical agenda, without thinking through the consequences. It made his capture so much easier.

Specimen 2

The next morning, Specimen 2 stirred at an ungodly hour. I lay naked beside him, snuggled up against his lean torso, his wrists and ankles shackled to the bedposts as he slept. I decided to let him have one last natural night of sleep before I started the programming.

When he lurched awake, I sat up. He looked over at me and tried to talk, but he couldn’t because he had a ball gag in his mouth. My head was swimming, the hour was so early, but it didn’t take me long to focus. After all, this was the moment I had prepared for.

Early morning rays of the rising sun glinted through the barred casement windows, casting orange lines across his face. His eyes were wide in terror as he pulled at the restraints.

I calmly stood and went over to the nightstand. I opened it and retrieved one of my prepared hypodermic needles.

At first, I attempted to calm him by stroking his chest. He stopped jerking and lay fearfully under my touch, eyes wide, like an animal caught in a leg trap.

“Don’t worry, everything is going to be absolutely perfect,” I whispered to him.

He shook his head “no” and his muffled attempts at screaming only served to create some saliva dripping from the sides of the gag. I wiped away his drool with the bedsheet.

“You’re so very lucky to be one of the chosen few,” I assured him. “You’ll see.”

The needle went into his arm steadily and soon the serum worked its way through his system so that he could relax.

As I did with Specimen 1, I unshackled him and lifted him from the bed while I lined it with the sterilized plastic sheets and coverings. He was nearly half the size of Specimen 1 (in body mass, that is); it was like lifting a child. Specimen 2 likely didn’t weigh more than 125 pounds. As with Specimen 1, I posed him in the rescue position.

After the bed was prepared, I lifted him back onto it. I didn’t even need to get the stretcher, as he was easily within my bench-pressing limit. The shackles weren’t necessary as he’d be out for a long time.

I checked the monitors in my lab and saw that Specimen 1 was still asleep. Any sane mortal would be, except athletes who had to jog at dawn. Never could understand how early-morning jogging was better than any-other-time-of-day jogging, but that’s how this athlete rolls and I was ready for it. While he lay comatose, I hurried up to my own bedroom and took a hot, steamy shower. Once I was clean, dry and awake, I slipped on one of my lab coats and returned to his room.

The lab equipment was set up as before. Electrodes, monitors, oxygen. I worked quickly, making small incisions in his head, his torso, his genitals, where I inserted the tiny implants. When they were all in place, I cleaned him up and sterilized his wounds, changed the bedding, and all seemed to be in order.

I studied Specimen 2 with great fondness, staring at the droplets of blood that marked his initiation into my experiment. He breathed easily as the sedative coursed through his system. With a grin, I slipped the headphones around his ears. When sounds started pouring into his unconscious mind, I adjusted the frequencies on my handheld device to the calculations in my notebook. Athlete. No drinking. No smoking. No body fat. And so it goes.

He was so sweet, lying in bliss, his stigmata gleaming in the sunrise. He stayed like that for a few days.

Specimen 1

After the pub, haircut day, I took him to have a professional photo shoot the following day. That was a wonderful day. He was tamed with chastity underwear, a lightweight mesh and cotton that could fry his balls into bacon within four minutes, or kill him in five with a flick of the switch. He needed a portfolio for his book covers and various interviews. The photographer placed him into various poses for author photos—serious, playful, dog lover, coffee connoisseur, sexy, seductive, exploratory…

Specimen 1 was a natural, with his brooding good looks and lanky frame. He posed in front of a green screen and the photographer would add in various backgrounds to my specifications at a later date.

Today was that later date. I looked through the printed copies of the final set we had decided to use for press and media. My heart fluttered as I looked at the photos—his eyes were so blue, his chin strong and his firm body fit but not sculpted.

I was excited to go down to his suite and show him the pictures.

Over the course of the experiment, there was a bar set up for all of his cravings. There was alcohol of all kinds. Three kinds of scotch, four flavors of vodka, a beer fridge with a range of imported and domestic beer and wine. There was also a freezer full of ice and cartons of cigarettes. I bought several of those room purifiers so that he wouldn’t be living in cigarette smoke, although he might as well be since he seemed to be a perpetual smoking machine.

I had to keep the air pure for my experiments. I determined how to set up a ventilation system that would send the smoke outside in a stronger manner than the bathroom fan could pull out.

So far, the ventilation appeared to be working well. There was barely the hint of cigarette smell in the air, and I could see one burning in the ashtray.

“Scott?” I looked around for him. I heard a bark from the side of the bed. “Scott?”

I walked over to the bed and there was Specimen 1, naked on all fours like a dog. He eagerly lapped at my feet and barked at me when I stood before him.

“Playing doggie today, are we?” I asked with my hands on my hips. He rubbed up against my leg, begging to be petted.

“Well, you’ll like this. Your proofs came today.” I waved the envelope at him but he did nothing but sit up.

“Enough, Scott, check it out, your proofs!” I tipped the envelope so that the multisized pictures would slide out. Specimen 1 tore the pictures out of my hands much as a dog would.
 

“Bad dog,” I shouted as I gathered up the fallen pictures. Some had been destroyed, but there were still a few that were intact. It didn’t really matter; they were just the proofs.

“Fine, you don’t get to see your pictures. I’ll choose what to send.”

Scott circled around me on all fours with what appeared to be not a care in the world.

I sighed and fastened the envelope.

“Okay, go get dressed and we’ll go do something.”

I left the room quickly, but instead of getting dressed, Specimen 1 followed me down the hallway. I stopped and turned to him.

“Go get dressed,” I spoke firmly. Specimen 1 sat on his haunches, tongue out, begging with his hands limp in front of his chest like paws.

“Okay, fine, you can watch me work.”

He followed me up the stairs to my second-floor office. He wasn’t to know about the basement office laboratory, nor about any of the other suites yet, but he already knew about the upstairs office and bedroom so it was better to go there.

I tossed the envelope onto my desk and slid into my chair at what I called Command Central. The security cameras were hidden behind the wall panels and I pulled up innocuous university papers on the computers.

Whatever I was working on, he would try to see it, would rustle through whatever papers and files I had stacked on the floor, knocking over my cups of pens and paper clips.

After a few hours of me trying to work with a human dog vacillating between demanding my attention, snuffling through my papers and sleep barking, I had to finally put him back down in his own office.

It was amusing and disturbing, all rolled into one. I wasn’t too certain why he was suddenly in full-blown dog mode when we weren’t playing a fetish game, but there it was. I poured over my calculations to see if I could bring his affections down a notch.

A part of me wonders if it’s just an act. A scheme to lull me into complacency.

Specimen 1

The next day when I went into his room, he lunged at me angrily. This time instead of friendly dog, he was angry dog. He’s a strong man and he took me off guard. His hands pressed around my throat, his legs wrapped around my chest trying to crush me.

“Why are you trying to kill me?” I screamed at him.

He barked and howled, his lips curled back as if he were showing drooling, dripping fangs when, in fact, he was just a pasty English guy having a temper tantrum.

In his attempts to grab my bracelet, he only made it worse for himself by knocking one of the charms that controlled some of his implants. He howled and screamed in pain as jolts of electricity shot through him. I took his painful moments as opportunities to kick him away from me and run across the room.

Specimen 1 twitched and yowled on the ground, his face grimaced in agony, turning so red I wondered if he’d have a stroke.

“Stop…” he screamed, at last uttering human words after two days of dogdom.

I found the charm that was hurting him and clicked the settings.

Specimen 1 lay panting on the floor.

“What the fuck?” he groaned. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

He rolled over onto his stomach and sobbed. I watched his shoulders shaking with his anguish. Part of me wanted to go over to him and comfort him, but the other part of me was waving red flags that this too was another ploy, another attempt to get me closer so he could try another attempt at escape.

When his sobs were reduced to whimpers, I crept out of the room and left him to his personal sorrows.

Specimen 1

The newest edition of a literary magazine arrived one day, the one that used the photos for the interview and PR patter to generate interest in the book he was working so hard on. The article was flattering and it would likely cheer up Specimen 1. I was happy to see him working on that very book when I entered his office. He took a sip of scotch before turning around to face me. His eyes were distant as I pulled him away from his fantasy world.

“Scott, look at this.” I showed him the article. He took the magazine from my hands and read the piece. His expression turned to pleasure at first but by the time he finished the article, he was angry.