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“Bend over. Spread your ass.”
Derek gritted his teeth but obeyed.
He couldn’t afford not to.
The clinical setting of the inspection was cold, and made everything worse. Once a month, Derek would arrive with the massive, reusable water containers, just a few too many so that he was always conspicuous. He would unload them from the back of his car, stand in front of the cold, grey doors of the odd building, and wait to be let in.
“Flex,” the emotionless, flat voice said, and Derek could hear their pencils scratching on paper as they took their notes.
With a grunt, he pushed, flexing the plush, soft ring of his ass outwards.
He knew what it looked like by now--he had seen plenty of pictures and heard the way the clinicians talked about it, as well as the gushing praise from anyone who had the privilege of fucking him.
A rosy pink, dusty and soft, the wrinkled furl was always perpetually flushed and swollen with blood, like a true, aroused cunt. His insides were pink and velvety soft, and due to the training and rigorous testing, Derek always maintained a healthy gape.
He blushed hot now, as he felt his ass open up, cool air from the rest of the clinic flooding into him and making a wave of goosebumps crawl up his spine.
“He looks clean,” one clinician commented.
“Swab,” another said, and Derek cringed, feeling the dry cotton probe into him, sinking easily into his defenseless ass. They hummed in consideration as they pulled it out, inspecting the white, clean surface for any debris. “He’s clean,” they declared.
“We can move onto the interview.”
And Derek hated that even more.
Still, he didn’t put up a fight, straightening wordlessly and following the scrubbed men out of the room and down the hall.
He swallowed hard when he spotted the interview chair.
Was the probe getting bigger?
Normally, he didn’t hesitate about slipping the thin toy into his gape--he was certainly open enough for it--but now, it protruded from the chair, nearly the size of a typical cock, with the equally intimidating mess of wires extending out of the bottom.
One clinician cleared their throat, sensing his hesitation, and Derek flinched.
“Sorry,” he said reflexively.
He knew better than to push his luck.
With a nervous swallow, he spread himself open, sinking down onto the toy and settling on the seat with a soft moan of pleasure. He couldn’t help it.
“Derek,” the interviewer said warmly, clicking their pen and giving him a predatory smile. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
Derek recognized the voice.
Rawlings was the man who always performed his interviews, and he always seemed to take some sick pleasure in making Derek squirm.
“Hello, Sir,” Derek said. He couldn’t push his luck not being respectful.
“I’m excited for this month’s evaluation,” Rawlings said with that familiar shark-like smile.
Derek shivered in horror, and he winced Rawlings tablet chimed with a notification.
“Hm . . . that was a clench,” Rawlings said, clicking through the screens to study Derek’s body’s reaction. “But it was still below the minimum threshold, so I’ll let it pass.”
Derek wanted to shrink away from the man, but anything less than perfect posture would put unneeded pressure on his bowels, and that might risk him failing the evaluation. He forced himself to remain straight, looking Rawlings in the eye.
“I’m . . . sorry, Sir,” he said.
Rawlings waved a hand like it wasn’t even that big of a deal. “This is just the beginning. Relax , Derek.” He grinned. “You know how difficult these tests can be.”
Derek swallowed and forced himself to take the man’s advice.
“So,” Rawlings started conversationally. “How has the last month been for you?”
Derek hated that he made it sound so casual.
“Good,” he managed through gritted teeth.
Rawlings clicked his pen. “And how many sexual partners would you report?”
Derek flushed. “Forty-seven . . . Sir.”
Rawlings eyebrows ticked upwards, and Derek knew he had impressed the man.
“Very nice,” Rawlings said, making a note on the pad. After a moment, there was the tell-tale chime, alerting Rawlings to the way Derek’s ass had clenched down just a little too hard to make the sensors on the dildo jump.
Rawlings narrowed his eyes a bit. “And you haven’t been training your ass, have you?” he asked.
Derek felt all the nervous butterflies jump from his stomach to his chest as his anxiety rocketed into fear.
“No! No, Sir!” he protested. “I . . . I would never!”
Derek’s ass was broken.
No, not broken. Trained.
He had a permanent gape, and the trainers who had originally kidnapped and worked on his education ensured that both of the inner sphincters of his anal passageway were so thoroughly ruined, that Derek had to be transitioned to a liquid diet, or he would constantly be soiling himself and sitting in piles of his own waste.
As humiliating as that was, once the trainers realized that this invisible leash worked so well on Derek, they allowed him to go free.
They provided him an apartment, well monitored with cameras in every room as well as remote controlled locks on every door and cupboard. Derek was allowed to get a job and return to the relatively typical life of a middle-aged man, except for a few attached strings.
Each month, he met with his old trainers and was tested to make sure that any sort of strength or dexterity wasn’t returning to the worn out muscles of his new hole.
If they decided he was still as weak and pathetic there as they had trained him to be, they would provide him with a month’s worth of the liquid supplemental diet that allowed Derek to eat without worrying about shitting his pants.
Every time he clenched down, he risked not earning that reward.
If they suspected he was attempting to undo all of their hard work, they would send him away empty-handed, and Derek would be forced to resort to regular human food--and suffer the consequences.
“We’ll be the judge of that,” Rawlings said ominously.
Derek wasn’t expecting the slap, and really, it came out of nowhere.
He barely had time to register the other clinician stepping up from behind them before their open palm cracked across his face, hard enough to jolt his vision.
Derek barely managed to keep his palms flat on the table, but that wasn’t enough either.
Rawlings tablet beeped and chimed merrily as Derek’s body seized up at the pain instinctively. With a gasp of horror, Derek forced himself to relax, mewling as his hole went lax around the toy and the tablet finally went quiet.
Rawlings just smirked at him, triumphant.
“Passable,” he declared. “But barely.”
Derek took a deep breath, focusing all of his energy into keeping his core muscles relaxed and open.
He couldn’t afford to fail this.
“How are things at your job?” Rawlings continued, making casual conversation.
The clinician who had slapped Derek stood off to the side, arms folded ominously over their chest, and Derek knew that the strike would be the first in many to gauge his body’s response to the pain and shock.
“G-Good,” he managed. “I’m still working for the promotion, but I think they’re starting to consider candidates.”
Rawlings tutted condescendingly. “Awe. . . and you think they’re going to choose you?” he teased.
Derek’s jaw tightened at the mockery, and then he winced as the tablet beeped.
No pressure. Don’t let him get a rise out of you .
“I . . I hope so, Sir,” he responded meekly, hating that every ounce of bite and malice, even if he were able to conjure it in his words, would be completely discredited by the visual and auditory knowledge of his gaping hole on Rawlings’ screen.
It was hard to be intimidating knowing that you couldn’t even squeeze down at the sex toy plugged inside your body.
“We’ll see, won’t we,” Rawlings said. “Maybe you can give us another update next month, hm?”
Derek shuddered, hands twitching on the table. It was just a reminder to how endless this all was. How much control they had over him.
This was the rest of his life. He could never retrain his ass, not unless he wanted to endure the humiliation of potty training all over again. He would be pushing fifty years old by the time he’d be able to even use the toilet properly again, and Derek wasn’t sure if he could put up with the decades of humiliating re-training he’d have to go through to get there.
He hung his head in front of the clinicians.
“Face up, please,” Rawlings immediately corrected with a click of his tongue.
As soon as Derek brought his chin up, the clinician’s open palm cracked across his face.
This time though, Rawlings’ tablet stayed quiet.
“Impressive,” Rawlings allowed. He opened new files on his screen, looking over the data that made up the rest of Derek’s life in his hyper monitored apartment. “Your bathroom breaks are consistent, but a tad too frequent,” he said. “We might be cutting those down in the coming weeks to develop better control of your bladder.”
Derek wanted to sob.
The bathroom in his apartment only unlocked a couple times a day, and the toilet only locked during some of those times as well. And there wasn’t even a promise that the timing of the two locks disengaging would align either.
One time, Derek had been walking past the locked door of the bathroom and heard the toilet pop open. He had wailed and sobbed, throwing himself against the unmoving door that refused to open. After five minutes of sobbing and begging the cameras for access, Derek had listened to the toilet re-lock.
It wasn’t until a couple hours later that the door of the bathroom unclicked, but at that point, Derek had danced and minced in front of the porcelain throne, bladder desperate and twinging, only for the toilet to remain closed and his bathroom time to lapse without any chance for relief.
“We’re also adjusting the formula for your feed,” Rawlings continued, and god, why did he have to make it sound like Derek was a zoo animal. He gave Derek a saccharine smile. “We’re playing around with flavors.”
Derek didn’t trust that one bit.
“Push,” Rawlings prompted with little warning.
Derek grunted and obediently bore down. He jolted in his seat as the lax muscles were shocked, cementing their training and keeping him loose and open.
“Tell me about your life,” Rawlings said.
Derek hated this part most of all.
“It’s been . . . . okay,” he started.
“Push,” Rawlings directed.
Derek grunted, gasping when the shock stung through his muscles.
“Work has been stressful but . . . consistent.”
“Push.”
Grunt. Gasp.
Derek forced himself to continue talking, cheeks burning and hot. He had to act like his body wasn’t being taken away from him, like he couldn’t feel the small bits of control he had over his life weren't slipping through his fingers like loose grains of sand.
“Like I said, there’s a position open for promotion and I’ve been doing my best to get my work noticed.”
“Push.”
Derek shuddered as this time the shock was accompanied by a slap, and Rawlings tablet chimed as Derek unsuccessfully squeezed down on the toy.
“Well, you’ll definitely want to earn your supplement then,” Rawlings said with a laugh. “I can’t imagine soiling your pants in the middle of a meeting would make a good impression on your boss.”
Derek blushed.
He didn’t even get a chance to open his mouth to retort.
“Push,” Rawlings ordered.
Grunt. Shock.
This was Derek’s life. Gaping and open. Any progress he made in retraining the muscles was completely undone with each monthly interview. The threat of not earning his liquid supplement was enough to keep him under their boot, and Derek didn’t dare disobey.
“We’re going to shift into the deep anal analysis now,” Rawlings said. “Stand, and we’ll swap the sensor.”
Derek shivered, moaning as he stood and pulled himself off of the thick toy. He always felt loose and goopey after an interview, the muscles not even able to squeeze down despite his straining efforts.
It was times like this where he was grateful that his stomach and colon were completely empty. It would only add insult to humiliation to have a dripping mess coating his thighs and plopping onto the floor in the middle of the clinic.
Another clinician entered the room, carrying the up-sized sensor that would be used to measure the muscle development--or lack thereof.
It was larger, obviously, as well as more flexible so it could worm its way up Derek’s rectum all the way into his colon. Each knobby protrusion made his stomach flip, but Derek was actually relieved when he didn’t feel his ass immediately tighten up in fear.
The almost alien shape would fill his guts almost to the brim, giving him plenty of stimulation that could potentially trigger his body’s reflex to bare down.
Derek would have to fight against each and every instinct.
He shivered as the clinician attached it to the seat, holding its wobbling length upright so he could spread his ass over the chair and feed the toy into him.
He shuddered as he felt it fill up every inch and centimeter inside of him, bulging out his unused intestines and finally pressing on nerves that immediately created a feedback loop in Derek’s brain with intense desire to shit .
His eyes rolled back in his head and he gripped the edge of the table, knuckles immediately turning white. His toes curled on the bare, cold floor, and Derek could feel the confusing sensations immediately start to make his cock harden.
“ O-Oh~ ” he moaned, horrified that the sensation was getting such a humiliating reaction out of him.
His insides had never been more sensitive, and without the regular stimulation with the passage of unused food matter, Derek found himself hyper-aware of each knob and gummy, silicone knob of the toy now stuffing him full like a sausage.
Rawlings’ tablet beeped.
And then beeped again.
“Naughty, naughty,” Rawlings tutted. “So your opening is pretty well-behaved, but it's your naughty guts that need more training, hm?”
Derek moaned in horror, now terrified that this would be the reason that he didn’t pass his evaluation.
“P-Please, Sir!” he begged. “It’s just . . . so foreign. It feels like I need to shit--”
“And you haven’t done that in . . . what? Years now, hasn’t it been?” Rawlings said, cutting him off abruptly. “Surely your body isn’t that whore-ish that it would perverse such a common, bodily act.”
He said it with a roll of his eyes, and Derek’s cheeks burning hot with embarrassment.
“‘M sorry, Sir,” he mumbled, just barely managing to hold himself back from squirming in his seat.
Rawlings’ tablet beeped, and he narrowed his eyes.
“I guess the real test begins now,” he said threateningly.
Derek wasn’t prepared as the two other clinicians in the room grabbed his arms, yanking his wrists behind his back and then cuffing them into place.
Rawlings’ tablet beeped.
Derek was losing his focus, the zen part of him that he escaped to to help himself relax, and now he was panicking too much. Another open-handed strike across his face had him gasped, shuddering, and the tablet just chimed again.
A hand fisted in his hair, wrenching his head back, and Derek moaned, scrabbling at the table.
It prevented him from doubling over when a fist connected with his gut, and Derek gurgled.
The tablet just beeped impassively.
Rawlings tutted, continuing to make idle notes off to one side.
“I’d be careful if I were you,” he said, taunting Derek as he heaved and moaned, willing his body to submit to the treatment instead of tensing up defensively.
“ Hah , y-yes, Sir,” he managed.
He mewled as, out of the corner of his eye, he watched one clinician don silicone gloves, the palms of them textured with nubs and ridges intended to tease and torture. He moaned, but knew better than to close his legs defensively.
With the one hand still gripping his hair, Derek was pinned like a moth to a board, unable to escape as the clinician gripped his cock, slowly starting to tease his length as he struggled not to cum.
Cumming would make his ass tighten up, clamping down with the pleasure.
If Derek hadn’t already lost the evaluation, that would surely be his weak point.
Tears prickled in his eyes as he looked imploringly to Rawlings, wordlessly begging the man for mercy. Rawlings just studied him with the cold, cruel fascination of a scientist watching their newest experiment.
“We’re going to be making some adjustments to your living situation as well,” Rawlings said conversationally.
The silicone glove squelched on Derek’s cock, the stimulation driving him crazy as he clawed at the table, toes curling as he felt his balls starting to draw up.
“Please, Sir!” he begged, no longer able to maintain his stubborn attitude. His voice was breathless and desperate, finally broken. “Please, don’t make me cum.”
Rawlings acted like he hadn’t made a noise.
“New locks will be installed on both the kitchen cupboards and your wardrobe and dresser,” Rawlings said. “Earning the privilege of both cookware and clothing will be up to you now.”
Derek moaned, feeling his insides quiver, threatening to squeeze down on the sensors and ruin his life until he could get re-evaluated next month.
“We’re also including a diuretic in your feed,” Rawlings continued. “Though your bathroom access will remain the same. We want to encourage you to get more walks in, as well as promote outdoor bathroom times as we transition you into a more animalistic role in your own life.”
Derek sobbed.
His resolve was breaking, he could feel it. He struggled in the chair, pulling against the restraints, but the clinicians only responded by strapping down his thighs and doubling up on the stimulation on his cock.
Derek moaned, feeling himself starting to approach the edge of a threatening orgasm.
“Hmmm, anything else?” Rawlings said, tapping his pen as he thought. “I don’t think so, though, if there is anything, I’m sure you’ll notice the adjustments right away.”
Derek’s eyes rolled back in his head and he strained on the chair, torn between thrusting his hips against the hand still stroking him and trying to pull his cock away.
“We’ll let you have one last decision,” Rawlings said with a smile that still lacked any bit of warmth. “Do you want a cock cage? Or no?”
Derek keened, throwing his head back.
“Cock cage!” he wheezed. “Please! Don’t make me cum! I don’t wanna cum!”
He could feel his cunt spasming, fighting not to clench. He was just barely able to keep himself loose and open, but he could feel that resolve slipping. Just a single mistake, and he wouldn’t be allowed to take home his liquid supplement.
If his bathroom access was already being reduced, Derek couldn’t bear the thought of having to empty his bowels outside as well as his bladder.
He babbled his thanks as he felt the hand pull away, nearly doubling over when a chilled ice pack met his throbbing cock. He wheezed, tears streaming down his face, as the clinicians bustled around him.
He barely even felt the slim, metal tube of the cock cage compressing him down, shrinking him into a more manageable size. He had managed to hold off his orgasm, but now it was locked away from him as well. He was more concerned about other things.
Derek just bore down, jaw tight as he did his best to keep other parts of him loose.
Slowly, restraint by restraint, the clinicians freed him, finally pulling him up by the armpits.
The sensor slurped out of him, tugging out of his guts in a way that made Derek’s eyes roll back in his head. Its shape was unsatisfying--all knobby balls and nubbed spikes. His body shook with the instinct to clench and shit but his hole was too well-conditioned to be a cunt.
His cock gave an ambitious squirt of precum as the final knob of the sensor popped out of him, and Derek slumped across the table, limb and boneless and breathing hard.
“Hmmmm,” Rawlings hummed, looking over the results of the entire test.
Derek shuddered, biting his lip to hold back his sobs.
If he lost, if he didn’t pass the evaluation after all that, he was going to cry. Nothing would be able to hold him together then.
He held his breath, waiting for Rawlings to make the final judgement.
“Fine,” Rawlings said. “There were a couple times where the odd twitch applied enough force to the sensors that it would be considered a clench, but overall, it doesn’t seem as if you are attempting to retrain your muscles.”
Derek gave a moan of relief, dropping his head to the table and pressing his forehead against the wood.
“You’ll find the bottles you brought with you filled and waiting for you in the lobby,” Rawlings declared, pushing back his chair and collecting his notepad as his tablet.
He smirked down at Derek’s trembling body.
“Until next time, slut,” he said.
Derek mewled, feeling his cock twitch, already fighting against the cage.
He had passed.
For now.