Dean breathed deep as he tried, once more, to stretch his back on the table as Cindi cast an ominous shadow on the stained wood.
"Get on with it, you piece of fuckmeat. I want the palms of your hands and the soles of your feet touching the line. Ten seconds or it's another caning."
Dean balanced on the edge of the table and leant back, reaching for the tabletop. He managed to plant his hands, but they were still more than a foot from the lines drawn on the table. He was required to place both his hands and his feet within the box by arching his back until his feet were no more than two feet from his hands. He was preparing for the final ingredient in Moriarty's scheme, her crowning moment and his supreme humiliation, when he would fellate himself before the Board.
Cindi collected her cane and administered three sharp blows to Dean's chest, leaving a trio of scarlet lines across his torso. He winced, but he maintained his pose, reaching back with his hands as he desperately sought the line before his tormentor delivered another swipe.
Moriarty and Walton walked into the room to see Dean balanced on the table, his hands only inches from the line.
"Isn't he the wrong way round?" Walton asked. "He'll never suck his dick from there."
"We stretch him both backwards and forwards to heighten suppleness."
"Impressive," Walton commented, smiling at the scale of the research subject's obedience.
"Not really. He should have both his hands and his feet on the line. We're still days from success."
"I thought he had managed to reach ..."
"Reach, but he's licking and not sucking, and my task will only be complete when he achieves full fellatio."
"You have high standards, Kerry, or should that be low standards." She turned to the nurse glowering as she stood over the contorted figure balanced on the table.
"My compliments, Cindi. He seems to be making great progress." Walton circled the captive, but she halted her tour to stare at his buttocks. "You've been very busy with his anus."
"We find the anus is the most effective route to subservience," Moriarty explained. "Also, anal discipline trains the subject for his future as a gay whore."
"He'll be used as a gay whore?" Walton looked at Moriarty. "I thought it was only films."
"There's been considerable interest. Our secret porn star is not such a secret anymore." Walton ran her fingers over his stomach, feeling the moist skin quiver at her touch.
"I know that the pictures from the villa made their way onto a website." Walton caressed the underside of Dean's erection with her fingers. "I'm sure they can't wait to get hold of his cock, and I don't blame them." She squeezed his moist tip, and felt a flicker from his taut body. His erection was splendid, but Walton was disturbed by the sight of his testicles, now the size of small oranges. She stroked his thigh, feeling the firm muscles straining to hold the pose. Moriarty and her team of sadistic sluts had succeeded in creating a compliant sex toy, but Walton was unsettled by Moriarty's obsessions with his semen.
"He's due to begin making gay films within a month," Moriarty continued. "He's also got some bookings later for private parties."
"Will they be expecting to see him sucking his own cock, or will that just be a pleasant surprise? How did they know to call here? I saw the pictures, but there's nothing to link him with the Corporation."
"We employ more than fifty women, and none of them can keep a secret. Therefore, it was only a matter of time before we were approached by some very influential figures who wish to 'borrow' him for a day or two. In fact, representatives of one of the most distinguished callers will be arriving within the hour for a viewing."
"In that case we should enjoy our subject before those queers get their hands on him." Moriarty scowled. "Oh Kerry, don't be so PC. Now, do I get to play with his cock or not?"
"You can, but no milking. He's going to show off to our guests."
"In that case, he can bend over backwards another time. I want him washed and on that stage in five minutes. I'm going for a coffee."
An hour later Moriarty led a young man with long dark hair tied in a pony tail and dressed in a purple frock coat and an even younger woman, no more than twenty, in a grey business suit into the Performance Suite. Dean stood before the small table with Cindi, cane in hand, by his side. She ordered him to perform the 'spreadeagle' pose. He placed his palms together and balanced on the table, drawing his legs apart while he leant forward, presenting his anus to anyone who chose to stand behind him. His leg muscles rippled as he held the pose, and his panting breath betrayed his struggle to keep his toes pointing forward.
"Superb," commented the woman, moving closer for an intimate examination of his glistening tense body. "His muscle tone is quite superb." The woman's accent was French, but Moriarty also recognised a Canadian lilt. She recalled that the business magnate owned an extensive range of companies in Canada.
"May I ask, Mademoiselle Moriarty ..."
"Doctor Moriarty." The smile was cold enough to freeze meat.
"I beg you pardon. Doctor Moriarty, may I ask whether your subject is a homosexual, or displays homosexual tendencies?"
"No."
"Excellent. My client prefers using reluctant participants. It adds to his pleasure that they endure humiliation as well as pain." She ran her palm along his inner thigh towards his anus. "May I have him on his hands and knees? I wish to examine him." A stroke of Cindi's cane brought him down from the table.
"You heard your mistress," she growled. Dean leapt back onto the table and spread his knees to display his hole.
