The Dionysus Project

A week after the photography session in the villa Dean was rising from his bed, ready for his morning shower, when the cell door opened on Moriarty. She offered him a wan smile and sat on the bed without a word. Her tense look hinted at bad news. She patted the bed and he returned to sit on the blankets.

"I'm afraid the Board have sent me new instructions." She wielded papers with the Genesis Corporation's symbol emblazoned on the masthead. "They've decided that they want to ... they want to expand your testicles."

"Expand?"

"Increase, make bigger."

"I know what expand means," he answered, slightly annoyed. "What I don't understand is why they want to expand my balls."

"They believe, and I don't know who thought of this, that if they inject your testicles with some sort of special serum it will expand your testicles to enable you to experience larger and more frequent ejaculations. They have some experts who claim that it will increase your semen production. Apparently, it's an important feature of adult films."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Neither of us have a choice." She held up the envelope, which actually contained the previous month's cleaning and catering bills, as proof of the Corporation's demands. "It will last just a few days, and then they'll lose interest."

"What are you going to do?"

"I have to do as they say. If we ..."

"To my balls. What are you going to do to my balls?"

"I'll inject this serum into your ... your testicles, your balls."

"That's going to hurt."

"I know. I've been told it's safe, but I just don't think it's going to work. You'll just have to be brave."

"I suppose I will."

"It will be fine, Dean." She touched his arm. "I know it will hurt, but it will only be for a few days."

The injections did not last just a few days. There were two doses each day for the first ten days followed by three doses for another ten days before the first phase of the treatment was complete. By the twentieth day his testicles were huge, almost dwarfing his penis. The scrotum skin was taut against his spheres and the amount of semen exceeded even Moriarty's expectations. She was hoping for 30 ml, but soon he was producing more than 50 ml, and the time between each 'release' was often no more than five or six hours.

Moriarty insisted upon more injections, with even larger doses, in the weeks that followed, and his testicles became distorted globes, the skin chafing against the inner thigh to leave the flesh crimson and raw. The parade sessions were cancelled and Dean now spent his entire day enduring either expansion therapy with the hot plastic rod or injections into his scrotum that left him sweating in agony. The pace was unrelenting and even the nurses complained that Moriarty appeared obsessed with the idea that Dean would be the envy of the entire porn industry with his massive discharge.

A month after the first injection Dean was in his cell after breakfast, waiting for the day's torments to begin, when the door opened and Cindi appeared, wearing a malicious grin. Only Moriarty and the night guard normally visited his cell, and the nurses had respected this meagre defence of his privacy, but now Cindi was in his room, carrying a dark red cloth in her hand. She threw the rag across the room onto the bed.

"Time to get dressed, and be quick about it."

Dean picked up the rag from the bed to find that it was a costume, a tight thong.

"Put it on." Cindi stood beside him, smiling as he examined his costume before stepping into the legs and drawing the cloth towards his groin. The straps slipped over his hips and the pouch hugged his genitals, though both testicles peeked out from the strained cloth.

"It could be tighter," Cindi commented, circling him for a view of the strap burrowing into the cleft between his two buttocks. She took hold of the strap and drew up the loose tag. Dean winced as his legs parted from the pressure against his anus. The strap sunk deeper into his crevice and the fabric tightened around his tender testicles. She took hold of the pouch and stretched the fabric over both his globes, leaving him sporting a huge crimson bulge between his legs. Cindi returned to his straps and pulled once more on the cord.

"Please, Miss Cindi, no more."

"You'll be getting more than just a thread up your arse before we're done with you, so get used to it." She stood back to examine her work.

"Now you really are the ultimate sex toy. Let's show everyone. They'll be delighted to see you."

Dean was led into the main reception to stand, hands on hips, by the main desk for the next two hours. He was prey to the leers, comments and caresses of the entire female staff, because after nearly a month without a 'parade' they were all eager for a sight, and a feel, of his naked flesh. As he had not been milked for hours, their caresses aroused him, making the swelling grow to stretch his pouch. Cindi supervised his session on the pedestal, forcing him to thrust his hips forward to greet the eager fingers reaching to probe his enticing lump.

Moriarty arrived at the end of the second hour to witness his ejaculation, which after more than ten hours without relief was likely to be spectacular. She would be denied the chance to measure his emission, but she was certain it would exceed 60 ml. The pouch was removed and his phallus rose to a full erection. News swiftly spread that the captive whore's cock was once more on display and he was about to shed his load. Moriarty was thrilled to see Dean attract more than thirty women crowding around the pedestal as he stroked his phallus, holding back from an orgasm until given the instruction by Cindi. He was clearly struggling to resist his natural urges and eventually a nod from Moriarty brought a slap of her cane and Dean was allowed to race to his orgasm.

A groan announced his climax and a gasp from his audience greeted the stream of sperm pouring from his tip, a flow that spurted more than two foot from the stand. Moriarty counted five surges, from a white fountain to just a cough of white paste. Dean panted as he evacuated his testicles, holding his quivering shaft until he had discarded the last drops. Moriarty, from the edge of the crowd in the reception hall, smiled at her prisoner to see him continue to stroke his shaft, keeping a solid muscle without the benefit of an injection.

Moriarty was also delighted by the animated response of the audience in the reception hall. Dean, naked at their desks, had become a familiar sight, and they were perhaps slightly too accustomed to unfettered access. Now, they were enjoying a sight of him once more, and by the reaction of his audience, they were impressed by his immense flow. Moriarty knew that the adult entertainment scene measured a male porn star by the size of his penis and the quantity of his ejaculation. Dean would soon be unleashed upon the market and she expected him to be a spectacular success, but before his debut she wanted to present him to some old friends and a few recent enemies.

The following day Walton visited Dean for another conditioning session, which now revolved around an hour of fellatio interspersed with the occasional burst of electric shock to ensure his obedience. She found that any contact with his enormous testicles appeared to evoke the same response as her electrodes. She enjoyed her session, but she noted that he was barely able to service her without enduring agonies at her hands. Walton prided herself on possessing, when necessary, a light touch, so after her session she shared her concerns with Moriarty.

"He seems to be permanently in pain. I don't think that's such a great idea. He's looking stressed, and you cannot keep him on this regime for long. He'll be unable to perform. I barely managed a blowjob, and I can be very persuasive."

"He'll have to learn," Moriarty insisted, rising from her chair to stare through the panes of glass to the Treatment Room. "This is only temporary. I intend to have him up to thirty centimetres before summer. Then he can relax."

"That may be difficult. You'll have to accelerate when, and I've seen the figures, he seems to be slowing down."

"I have some plans that will keep him ... motivated."

"Kerry, you're pushing him too hard. He can only take so much."

"No," Moriarty almost shouted the word. "I need him to be ready for next Thursday."

"What happens next Thursday?"

"I'm returning to my old Biomedical Faculty. I'm exhibiting him to my former colleagues. When they see him they will know that I was right all along."

Walton said nothing, but now she was fearful for their young charge. She doubted that Dean would survive many more weeks of this treatment, or Moriarty's personal mission for some strange form of vindication before her alma mater. She knew that Rebecca Patterson was paying close attention to developments, and she knew that she must share her concerns about Moriarty's delusions.

In the days that followed the intensity of the expansion therapy and the scale of the injections increased until Dean spent almost every waking hour in the Treatment Room. He was chained to his bed at night to avoid nocturnal masturbation and Moriarty took daily measurements of his releases. She also withheld 'milking' to enable him to 'build up some steam' and she measured both the distance and the weight of individual emissions. He was reaching beyond a metre, and issuing more than 75ml in the final days before Moriarty took him to her former faculty.

On the last day she paraded him in his thong, ensuring that the thickened fabric would not tear during his 'performance' the following day. Her review was almost complete when she suffered a moment of doubt about the colour. Bright red alternated with navy blue before she briefly considered black and then white. Eventually, she returned to crimson, the colour of blood. Each costume change was agony for Dean as the viewing required full extension of the straps, drawing the cords into his buttock cleft and straining his scrotum as the pouch was set taut to highlight his outstanding bump.

He was shaved twice and waxed three times to leave his skin glowing before a two hour session in the sweat room for a last toning of the muscles. Then, he was chained to his bed at six, ready for a busy day. She came to sit with him after Cindi had bound his arms by his side. He asked for simple chains so that he could rise from the bed in the night if he needed the toilet, but she claimed that he could rub himself to an orgasm with free hands. He promised he would control himself, but she assured him that this was the only safe option.

"This is an important day for you, Dean. You have to give a really outstanding performance. Do you understand?"

"Outstanding. Yes, Miss."

"You must be energetic and when you come you have to be ... sensational. Do you want to be sensational?" He nodded as she stroked his bound arm. They both stared at his erect penis, already aching from eight hours without ejaculation. She knew the discomfort would be intense by the time he appeared before her former colleagues in the afternoon, but it was an unfortunate necessity to ensure an 'explosion' when Dean performed in the Faculty Hall.

"I won't let you down, Miss, I promise."

"I know, Dean. Now get some rest. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow."