The streets darkened and shadows fell across the landscape as the sun set into the horizon. Gregory Steeles zipped his jacket feeling the temperature drop slightly. This was his favourite time to walk around town, enjoying the shift into evening. A gradual change from bright, cheery sunlight to the dark, hidden shadows of night.
From an outside point of view Gregory was not a pleasant person. Mid-30s, slightly bald, slightly overweight, average height, average looks, and mean. Most people who knew him would consider him a mean spirited, sexist, argumentative, know-it-all. He also came off slightly bigoted and very snobby. None of his family stayed in touch with him, or actually wanted to talk to him for any length of time, he had no friends either. The best anyone would really say about him was "Yes, I know him."
What most people did not know about Gregory was his true view on women. To him they were simply a vessel for sex. He did not care about their feelings, wants or wishes. He only cared that they provided an outlet for his pent up frustrations. This view mixed with his unpleasant demeanor likely would not have been too much of a problem for him, had he not also been so absent in any empathy or concept of moral goodness, and unfortunately, due to these terrible qualities, a number of women suffered quite badly.
Tonight he was on the prowl again, looking for another vessel. Another outlet. His wandering took him closer to the restaurant and pub rich area of town, filled with crowds of people looking for a joy filled night on the town. This was one of his hunting grounds, but it had been a few months since he last visited. He walked casually, paying attention to the movement of the crowds, blending in with his lack of being anything special. Slight scowl on his face as he watched for her. The one he would pick tonight.
He saw her finally as he passed a small bistro near the end of a line of restaurants. She was walking alone, mid-length black skirt, three-quarter length coat slightly undone and black hair just below the collar of the jacket. She barely looked up from the ground in front of her as she walked towards the near-by parking lot, seemingly oblivious to his following of her. She was perfect, and he was already feeling his excitement grow with the anticipation of using her body.
As he stepped on the pavement of the parking lot from the sidewalk she suddenly looked back at him. He saw the panic in her face as she perceived the danger he posed and started to run. He ran after her and caught her just as she reached a black mini-van near the back of the lot. When he turned her around his face suddenly shifted to surprise, and then pain as the taser struck him in the shoulder. He heard the van door open and felt his sagging body being dragged into the rear of the vehicle, and then the painful prick of something stabbing his thigh. By the time the engine started he passed out.
When he awoke he found himself in a small bedroom. It was furnished very simply, with a single sized bed, a small window with bars mounted on the exterior, and a bed side table. Looking all around he discovered no clues to his location, the time of day, or anything else. The bed side table drawer was empty, the top had just a plastic cup of water. The bed was simply a mattress, and metal frame screwed to the floor and wall, and under that was a light covering of dust. The flooring was hardwood, well aged and in desperate need of refinishing. The door was solid, as he pounded on it, probably an exterior door as it sported a deadbolt lock, with the key side facing him. The handle was also very solid, and although he still tried his best to twist and yank at it, there was no movement. He looked out the window but saw nothing, there seemed to be some form of barrier mounted past the bars, maybe painted plywood, or some form of dark acrylic, it was hard to tell. He continued looking around the room, surprised to find no power of any kind either. There was light coming from the ceiling, he supposed they were embedded light fixtures of some kind, but ti seemed like the entire ceiling was just lightly glowing.
While looking around he heard a voice coming from all around him. "Welcome Gregory."
"Who are you? Where am I? What do you want with me? Let me go!" he yelled.
The suddenness of the electric shocks passing through his body surprised him and reduced his yells from anything coherent to pain-filled screams.
"We will not heed any unnecessary chatter from you. Shut up and listen." replied the voice.
"You have been brought here as an opportunity to be rehabilitated. Your actions in life have brought nothing but pain and misery to everyone you have ever encountered. We considered having you brought before the criminal justice system, but the jails today are overcrowded and we believe that prison would be too good for you. So you are here instead. We believe our program will provide you with the tools you need to be better. To become a well-adjusted functioning member of society, and over time hopefully you can repay all the hurt and damage you have caused."
Gregory was still whimpering in pain from the shock he had endured. "You can't hold me here. It's illegal!" Any more that he intended to say was cut off by another shock to his system and more screams. Tears started streaming down his face from the pain and the muscles in his arms and legs locked up as his body shook. He could not figure out what was causing him all this pain, but he bound and determined to figure out how to make it stop and get out of this room as soon as he could.
"You don't learn very well do you." the voice said. Gregory felt a different sort of shock and collapsed where he was, blackness overtook him as he passed out.
Before we start the next part let me first thank you for all the kindness you have shown me for my first post. Having read a number of stories on this site I can only hope to do the site justice with my contributions. There are so many wonderful authors represented here and the positive feedback from my first post brought a huge smile to my face.
Thank you o very much,
Erika
Now for part 2....
As consciousness slowly returned Gregory stretched his cold, stiff body and slowly climbed up to his feet. 'Why am I naked' he thought to himself and looked around to see what may have changed about his situation. His room was mostly the same as it was before his enforced sleep, other than a plate of food on his side table and what looked like a fresh cup of water.
"Hey! Let me out." he called out. Not quite a yell, but definitely filled with frustration and anger. He started to feel a tingle coming from the back of his neck and whimpered expecting the pain of yet another horrible shock.
"You have been told to be quiet. Will you obey?" came the voice from all around him.
He nodded and the tingles stopped.
"You will not be getting out any time soon, but we are willing to make your stay more comfortable. Is there a way we can help you with that?"
Gregory was nearly whispering as he answered "Could I have some clothes? And I need to pee."
In the corner of the room a small section of the wall opened up and a toilet slid forward and stopped when it fully cleared the wall opening.
"You will find clothes in the drawer under you food. Don't forget to eat." Gregory heard as he walked towards to toilet. He was rather concerned about being watched and tried to hide his body as best as he could while starting to lift the seat. Or at least he tried to, but it would not move.
"Oh well." he muttered quietly and started to settle his stance, and then he felt the tingles again. His legs felt weak and numb and he started to collapse. To save himself he dropped heavily onto the toilet. Once he felt he was fully settled and certain he would not collapse he realized the tingles had stopped. The shock, concern and fear had started the process he had planned on doing standing up so he finished and started to stand.
"Don't forget to wipe and wash your hands."
"Right." he grumbled as he grabbed a handful of toilet paper from the roll attached to the side of the toilet. Once he stood up the toilet disappeared back into the wall where it had come from and beside that space a sink appeared the same way. He washed his hands, making sure to use the provided soap. Finishing that he took the four steps over to his bedside table and opened the drawer to survey what clothes were provided.
He found a pair of pants, the stretchy type that women wear often for sports, in a teal colour, matched to a baby blue tank top, but the straps seemed very thin, and a pair of white ankle socks.
"What is with these clothes? They look like something a chick would wear."
"You are being given a lot of latitude because you are new here, but right now you are pushing it. You wanted clothes and they have been provided. Wear them, or do not, that is your choice, but stop your complaining or the pain you felt previously will be like a tickle compared to what can be done."
Gregory paled slightly at the brisk tone and implied threat of further pain. He looked at the clothes again and then closed the drawer, feeling that nudity was preferred to wearing what he was offered. Sitting on the bed he set the plate of food on his lap and ate the provided meal. The utensils were a hard plastic, with blunt edges, like something you would give a toddler, or use for camping. He struggled with anything that needed spearing like the bottom layer of his salad, and ended up using his fingers.
Finally finished with food and having drank his water the sink again appeared from the wall. He washed his hands, with more of the floral soap, and then just paced about the room. His thoughts swirled, confused about where he was, how long they would keep him, who 'they' were, what more torture would he have to endure, and as he continued to pace and ponder his situation he started to feel small, and vulnerable. He was used to being in control of his life, being 'the man' and in charge. Now he felt, well, weak, and he had not felt like this since middle school. Back then the bullies ruled the school and he was smaller, too shy and too timid to stand up to them, so they ruled over him also. That was the last time he let someone else control his life until now.
Gregory stopped pacing and stared at the wall with a distant look. He would survive, deal with whatever they threw at him, put up with the shocks and the pain, but he would not be the timid, shy, small thing from those days in school. Never. He had made a promise back then and he was not breaking it now.
The shivering of his body caught him by surprise. In his pacing and musing he had not noticed how cold he had gotten. 'They must have dropped the temperature of the room' he thought. He looked to the bed but there was just a mattress, no pillow, blankets or sheets to use for warmth or comfort. He looked back to the drawer he had closed previously and looked away. Wrapping his arms around himself he shivered again. 'Fuck it, I need to stay warm and they are just clothes.' he relented and opened the drawer again. The tank top was first, and it hung barely to his waist, and the hem was so light that it seemed to constantly shift and move, brushing his stomach and sides with every movement of his body, almost tickling him. The pants were tight, stretchy and took a while to drag up his legs. Once they were fully pulled up and in place he felt like they were squeezing his waist, and pulling at his legs. He looked down at the pants, noticing for the first time the sheer panels on either thigh and how here and there was evidence of his leg hair poking through the spandex. Finally he put the socks on. They barely covered his soles and heel with how short they were, but at least he was covered, and he already felt warmer.
He lay back on the bare mattress and closed his eyes, feeling the boredom of the empty room and exhaustion of his ordeal so far. Attempting to settle into a comfortable position he found constant irritation from the clothes. The way the tank top moved brushed against his nipples, the pants kept pulling at his leg hairs and the socks kept threatening to slip off his heels. All this annoyance caused Gregory to shift again and again on the bed, trying to alleviate himself of the sensitivity he was feeling everywhere.
"Problems?" the voice called out.
"Yes, these clothes are bothering me."
"Would you like that fixed?"
"Yes please."
Thank you for reading part 2, and sorry for how long it took me to release part 3. I have a plan for this story, but putting everything on 'paper' is a lot more involved than I had originally thought. Funny how that goes when you have never written anything this long before.
Anyway enjoy part 3,
Erika.
"You want me to wear a bra? Are you fucking serious!?" he was definitely unimpressed with his options. "Just give me a normal t-shirt. I don't care what colour, but come on now, this is..." he rant was cut off as a jolting spike of pain shot through his neck, down his back and caused his whole body to tense so much his breathing was cut off momentarily.
"We keep rehashing these same problems. This is not a hotel, you are not a guest. You are accused of multiple accounts of raping women. You are a disgusting man and have been brought here as an opportunity for you to be rehabilitated. This is not a pleasure cruise, deary. Now the sports top is there for your comfort and humiliation together. You can put it on, it stretches and will fit, though you may find it rather tight, or you can leave it there and enjoy chaffing your nipples raw. The cream will help your legs feel better, but again it has some purposeful humiliation component."
He had caught his breathe by the time the voice had ended its tirade. He carefully did not show his disdain for everything he heard. What power did these people have to hold him against his will? There was no trial, no justice in any of this. He was kidnapped, plain and simple, and that was unamerican!
"Fine, whatever, they can try their humiliation tactics, shock me, trap me, dress me like a girl, I don't care. they have no legal rights here, so this is just abuse." he thought to himself as he slipped off the chaffing top and struggled into the bra in hopes that it would alleviate some of the irritation.
Next he opened the lotion and took a sniff. The odor was offensive. Slightly floral while also being mildly noxious. It was definitely not a moisturizer, given the smell, but what else could it be? He replaced the pump top and pumped out a half handful. He spread a thin layer evenly over his legs, noticing that it did not absorb into his skin like he expected. As he finished to the tops of his thighs a tingling sensation started near his ankles and moved up his legs, building into a burning feeling. He started looking around desperately for a way to remove the cream as the sink slid from the wall with a cloth resting at the bottom.
Gregory soaked the cloth, wrung it out and started wiping the lotion off his legs. As he was rinsing the cloth to continue removing the burning from his legs he noticed small clumps of hair sliding down the drain. Now it all made sense, this was some form of hair removal cream, which explained the burning and noxious scent. Well the burning was not going to end without help. In fact it was getting worse, so he continued to soak, wring and wipe with the cloth until the cream was fully removed. The burning sensation still lingered but it was definitely feeling better. And now his legs looked patchy, and a reddish pink hue.
Figuring air cooling would be better than those yoga pants he climb onto the bare mattress and lay back watching the ceiling, pondering his situation. The bra was definitely helping the chest issue, in fact he realized now that his chest was feeling slightly numb, which was weird, but an improvement over the annoyance of earlier. His legs were starting to feel better. Hopefully they would not freeze him again, forcing him to put those horrible pants on again. He realized that his partial or full nudity did not really disturb him, probably because unless the voice filled the room he mostly felt like he was in a private bedroom. Obviously someone was watching him somehow, most likely hidden cameras somewhere in the walls or ceiling. And this room was very modern, the seams where the toilet, sink or tray appeared from were almost invisible from just a few feet away. He wondered if there were other objects hidden behind wall segments, like a shower, which he was wishing for.
Thinking about all the hidden parts of the room caused him to recognize the pressure that was starting in his bladder. He looked around, trying to figure out where they may be watching him from, whoever 'they' were. Nothing was obvious, whatever lenses were being used blended in incredibly well. 'Must have to ask, or I could just pee on the floor and see how they feel about that. Probably would just take it out on me with that shocking thing they do. That is some pretty weird technology. Under the skin obviously, near the spine in my neck it feels like. Wonder if I could rip it out?' His thoughts started to ramble at that point, mostly about how he could find some form of sharp blade, how much opening up the back of his neck would hurt, would it kill him, and further down the spiral he went. Finally his bladder shifted his focus enough to break the cycle.
"Bathroom, toilet, something." he called out.
The toilet again appeared from the wall, along with an audible sigh, "Would it hurt you to be polite? It could be enforced but at this point brain damage concerns are becoming legitimate."
He smirked at the obvious annoyance, serves them right, and made the effort to sit on the toilet in order to avoid more pain, finished, wiped and washed his hands in the provided sink. Once he was finished the fixtures slid back into the wall again, disappearing completely, and he settled back on the bed, lost again in his thoughts, until he felt a brief shock and blackness took him.
When he awoke he felt mild discomfort from his neck, head and chest. Specifically his nipples. The discomfort from his neck seemed to pass quickly, and his head pain felt mostly like a headache, probably all that shocking of my system they keep doing, but his real concern was his chest. He reached down to determine the cause and noticed immediately how puffy his nipples felt, even under the compressed fabric. 'What have they done to me?'
Another chapter in the story of Gregory. I tried to include some of the feedback I have received regarding the previous chapters when writing this one, and specifically putting more time into editing to make the read more enjoyable. Everyone has been so kind so thank you once again.
Erika.
"May I ask what you did to my chest?" his tone was as polite as his situational frustration allowed.
"You may ask. There is no guarantee of any answers." This voice was a little different. Still genderless, and somehow monotone without truly being monotone. Like any expression of emotion was stripped from the tone. It was so generic you could mistake it for being a computer, except the fluidity of speech was too human.
"I felt the indents, did you give me very tiny implants or something? I know you put something under my nipples."
"You do not have implants in the typical understanding of implants. What you felt are injection sites." This time he could almost hear the hint of humour. Whoever was talking to him seemed to find pleasure in informing him of what was done to his body. He was reminded of the action movies where the evil captures the hero and gleefully relates the brilliant plan to his captive audience. Was he the hero then, a captive audience for this villain, or villains? How many people were involved in his capture? Was he the only one? Certainly with this operation there must be at least a few people involved, otherwise how could they watch him all the time.
Thinking of time, and the, so far, pleasant conversation he risked asking more, "How long have I been here?"
"Your politeness is appreciated, but that does not mean all your questions will be answered." this was not a helpful answer, and he again felt the frustration of his circumstance.
Trying not to show too much of that increased anger he tried another tactic, "Why did you inject my chest with whatever, and on that note, what did you inject?"
"Oh that is a surprise for you. It would take the fun away if it was spoiled too early." Whatever technology was being used to mask the voice failed this time to hide the laughter, instead it sounded slightly mechanical and decidedly unpleasant. A hollow, humourless laugh, promising pain, humiliation, and who knows what else.
With this Gregory retreated back into his mind. Unfortunately what his mind came up with was just bleak. Visions of giant boobs, pink and sparkly clothes, 80's big, blonde hair, and random images of not him, but still kind of him, danced around his head, causing his body to shrink into itself in protection, until the explosion of pain from his chest pressing into his knees broke the whirlpool of turmoil. Sitting up to avoid anymore unwanted contact, Gregory realized he had been silently crying. This was becoming too much, how could they do this to him. Wiping the tears from his cheeks he set a determined look on his face and ran through his mantra of strength and perseverance, promising himself to survive regardless of what these lunatics chose to do to him. Survive, hell, he was going to rise above all this and show them he was no weak girly man, no matter how they tried to alter his appearance, he was an alpha, and that would never change.
He caught himself rubbing his nipples, trying to make them feel better, noticing that the pain was not as bad, but now there was some form of itch, deep under the skin. Dropping his hands from his chest, he forced them to his side, hoping the new sensations would pass if he left well enough alone. Laying on his bed, hands tucked under himself, and staring at the ceiling, it occurred to him that he had been topless for some time and nothing seemed to have been done about it. He was comfortable, neither too hot, nor too cold, and so long as these uncomfortable feelings finally passed he figured he would be happy to stay this way. Being set free would make him a lot happier though.
Having awoken recently, and being mostly inactive Gregory was finding the lack of real movement quite unsatisfying. He stood up, walked to the window, expecting nothing, and finding exactly that, and then just pacing the room. Six steps to one wall, two steps to the bed, three steps to the window and then six steps back to the wall. The walking was not really activity enough for him, but certainly a lot better than sitting, laying, sitting, eating and then laying again. Boredom was truly a worse torture than he ever would have suspected.
In a vain attempt to find anything else to do he opened the bed side table drawer, and to his immense surprise it was not empty. No, he was staring down at a pretty face and a lot of outlandish claims in bold letters. Would a teen fashion magazine be better or worse than just pacing this room. The attempt to slam the draw shut was made quite laughable by the soft close mechanism kicking in before the satisfying clunk.
"You guys are so funny." he called out, but somehow his bellow still had a timid quality to it, his unconscious fear of pain softening his tone. Silence answered him.