A Study on Sexuality Plasticity

This story has non-consensual brainwashing, mind control, chastity, straight to gay themes, and hypnosis! Reader beware.

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My roommate and I showed up to the study early, both of us having forgotten to do the final medical background section of paperwork they had sent us.

We had already been through medical tests and clearances, but they told us we couldn't start until our last forms were done.

We sat in the lobby, checking boxes and scratching away at our clipboards as smooth elevator music played overhead. The walls, chairs, tables, pencils, and clipboards themselves were all a stark, sanitized white. A few framed pictures hung around the wall, macro renderings of neurons, firing, each looking like a beautiful web of electricity.

Neither of us read too closely.

Matt looked up at me. "Do we have home insurance?" He asked.

"I don't think that's the kind of insurance information they're asking about," I said.

Matt was an incredibly nice person, but he was always a bit of an airhead. I wondered if he had a few screws knocked loose playing hockey sometimes, or maybe as his muscles bulged, his ability to logic stuff out shrank. He towered a foot over me, and he kept his head firmly in the clouds.

He was handsome and blond, and girls flocked to him in droves. I had never had the same luck.

There were quite a few weekends that Matt would bring home a girl, and I'd have to turn my music up to drown them out.

"Hey," Matt continued, ignoring me, "how much money are we getting from this?"

"Like 1000 bucks or something crazy," I said flippantly.

The truth was, I knew that we were getting exactly $1102, but seeming desperate for money wasn't a good look. I absolutely needed this to pay my rent, but I didn't want Matt to know that.

As soon as I saw the flyer for this study, I had ripped the whole page down, and I did the same every time I saw another. I even started getting Matt in on it. We must have collected nearly thirty by the time we got through campus. They only needed a couple of participants, and like I said, I needed the cash. I knew it was an asshole move, but I didn't have much choice.

When both Matt and I had gotten the call that we would be participating in the study, I nearly fell down to my knees. That meant we were going to have both rent and beer money.

I only read some of the flyer's incredibly long text, and most of the words were too complicated for me to parse without Google, but from what I gathered, this was going to be research on the development of our sexuality alignment. Both Matt and I were straight and had always identified as such, which had made me doubt that we would get picked in the first place, but when we talk to them on the phone, they said we would be perfect candidates.

After we finished the paperwork in front of us, a nurse walked In from a swinging door, looking up at us. She was gorgeous, with smooth brown hair and rouged cheeks that gave her a fairylike appearance. "Matthew and Mohammad?"

"I just go by Matt," Matt said.

"Mo for me," I said, following suit.

The nurse nodded and made a note on her own clipboard. "Okay," she said, "I think they're ready for you in the research rooms."

We stood up and followed her through more white walls and hallways. Every detail of this place was pristine and spotless, as if it had been polished right before we had got here.

Neither Matt nor I had heard of this "NTek," a private medical research firm that had seemingly popped up overnight. There were no job postings that came with its new opening, and nobody here wore name tags. That plus the high payout for this study made me nervous that we were being scammed, but once again, I reminded myself, I had no room to doubt NTek or anyone else offering over 1000 bucks. I needed that money.

"Which one of you is the most physically strong?" The beautiful nurse asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Me," said Matt.

"As I thought," the nurse said. She took another note as she continued to walk.

I felt my cheeks turn a little pink. Not being as buff as Matt was nothing to be embarrassed about, but the way she had reacted confused me.

After many twist and turns in the labrynthian hallway, I had no idea where we were in relation to the entrance. Finally, the nurse slowed in front of a door.

"This room," she said, "will be for Matt."

Matt said thank you to her and dapped me up before heading into his study room. As the door swung closed, I could see more sterile surfaces, but I couldn't really make out any more details.

"And you, Mo," the nurse said, walking a little further down the hall, "will be in this room."

I follow her. This door was identical to Matt's, and I too said thank you to her before entering.

The lights in the room were brighter than in the hallway, an LED glow reflecting off of every surface. A bed sat in the middle of the room, and it had a human-shaped indent in its soft pink surface. A sensory headset was nested at the top of the bed. Around the walls of the room, different status screens and monitors were updating with streams of information.

Some of the electronics were easy to understand, like a screen with an electric thermometer, but others were incomprehensible, with complex shapes and graphs labeled with words I'd never heard of. I tried to remember what was written in the small script on the flyer. I knew it was about our sexuality and how it changed over time, but I hadn't cared to figure out any of the specifics. I had figured that even if I wasn't the right fit, I would lie my way in.

I now regretted the decision to throw caution to the wind.

Why were they offering so much money?

This thought was chased from my mind when I heard a voice over the room's PA. It was tinny and feminine.

"Please take off your clothing."

I spun around in surprise. I was jumpy, that was for sure.

I decided to hold off on removing my clothes until I could talk to someone.

"Please take off your clothing if you would like to continue to study," the voice said, now more insistent.

I whipped my head around. This time, I was looking for a camera. They were able to see me somehow, but I had no clue how. I guess it really didn't matter, but it creeped me out.

With a great deal of apprehension, I took off my shirt, shoes, and jeans. I was left standing, cold and exposed, in my socks and underwear. I usually wore baggy clothing to hide my slim body, and I wrap my arms around myself.

"Take off all of your clothing, Mo."

That sent to shiver down my spine. I knew that they could see me, but using my name added a different level of creep to it.

no matter how disturbed I was, I still needed that $1102.

I sighed and slid down my boxer briefs before kicking off my socks. I held my member in my hands, trying to hide it from the prying eyes of the camera.

It wasn't hard to hide my whole package. I was a little less than average fully erected, and I was a grower. That meant that, while flaccid, my dick was not particularly impressive.

Again, my cheeks burned.

"Lay down for us," the voice said with the same cool passivity as before.

For

us

? As in more than one person? How many people could see me naked right now?

I had signed every form and waiver put in front of me, but I didn't realize I'd be putting on a striptease for an audience.

This was all scientific, I told myself. Even if there were a hundred people seeing me in the nude right now, it was all on a clinical basis. I couldn't let it get to my head if I wanted the money.

I walked over to the bed, still holding my cock and balls in my hand, and I stepped up onto the bed, turning and settling myself back onto it as well as I could while protecting my modesty.

I had thought that the surface was some kind of foam, but it wasn't. It felt warm and sticky, almost like firm Jell-O. Laying down, I used my free hand to poke at it, and I felt my finger sinking as I applied more and more pressure. That was bizarre. I pulled it out, and I watched as the hole I had created sealed back up.

For all the weirdness, I still had to admit that it was pretty cool.

I settled my head back into the mess of wires. I had seen cradles like this before in movies. It was meant to detect and record brain activity.

At least that's what I thought before my body stopped working.

I heard a click and felt a hum starting in my spine. It spread over every inch of my being, and suddenly I was paralyzed, unable to move or speak. I could still breathe and move my eyes, but as I tried to scream, nothing came out.

Once I laid down, I was trapped inside my mind.

I heard the door open again, and I could only move my eyes to see who was walking in the room. From the angle my head was stuck at, they were hard to make out at first, but as they approached, I saw it was a new nurse. She wore the same scrubs as the one who had gotten us from the lobby.

I mentally sighed in relief. I was just thankful to see her. They must have realized something was wrong.

I had to ask her for help. I moved my eyes frantically, trying to let her know that I had been seized by sudden paralysis.

She ignored my eye movements, and she reached down and grab the wrist of my hand that was covering my genitalia. She calmly removed it, and I felt the cool air on my small cock. She adjusted each of my limbs, placing them more directly into the body shaped divots.

After she finished readjusting me like a doll, the nurse pushed a series of buttons on the bedside.

The slimy surface below me reconstituted itself, shaping and molding to my body. I felt it fit into the arch of my back and fill up until it was snug around my waist.

What the hell was happening? Did she not realize something was wrong?

Also, what kind of technology did they have? How was this supposed to help in research on the history of my sexuality? More importantly, why the fuck could I not move?

"Motor coordination has been subdued successfully," she said, checking my pulse. "His heartrate is semi-elevated, and his brain waves are reading back at a standard level."

Subdued? Was that with the headset was for? Was this on purpose?

"Penis is flaccid," she said, moving her hand to my soft dick, "and blood flow looks normal."

Even though I couldn't move, I was sure that my cheeks and chest were turning red. I felt like I was being looked at under a microscope as the nurse inspected my junk.

She reached under the bed and pulled open a drawer. I could hear her moving things around, but without being able to move my head, I saw nothing. Eventually, she pulled her hand back up, and she held what looked like a VR headset, but it had speaker attachments where my ears would be. It looked a lot more heavy duty than other VR goggles I had seen in the past, and a bundle of wires ran from its back.

As she slipped the headset over my face, though, I realized that it was incredibly lightweight. The materials were superior, but it was meant to be comfortable. It fit perfectly into the neural cradle, not interfering or bumping with its parts at all, clicking together like a pieces of a puzzle.

I realized that these were two parts of the same headset: one to directly stimulate my brain and one for sensory input. With the goggles on, I could see nothing, and the headphones were thick and plush, blocking out nearly all external sound.

I was really starting to panic. I didn't care how many things I had signed, this was fucked.

It didn't help that, as I lay there in darkness, I felt her fitting more devices and items over my body.

First, she slipped a face mask onto my mouth and nose, with one piece fitting snug around my nostrils and another covering my mouth. They provided a steady flow of oxygen, but the air had a chemical aftertaste as I sucked in deep breaths.

Then, while I was still getting accustomed to the mask, the nurse latched something over each of my limbs. They were steel cuffs.

That wasn't good.

Finally, I felt her touch my cock again. I couldn't tell exactly what she was doing, but I felt her pull each of my testicles through something before sliding a rigid sleeve over my shaft. It was as small as I was flaccid, and I could already tell that, even if I was able to get erect in such a fucked up situation, I wouldn't be able to teach my full length. I felt her plug in and run wires from the device around my cock.

I started to hyperventilate, and I heard my first words from the headphones.

"Subject exhibiting signs of distress. Administering treatment."

The face mask hissed, and the chemical taste suddenly grew stronger. At the same time, the headphones let out a low, dull buzz, and I felt a significant amount of static energy radiate from the headset.

I didn't really need to worry. there was nothing to worry about. This was okay. I was okay.

Wait... My speeding heart rate had slowed almost immediately, and all the concerns that were spinning through my head only moment before were gone. What had just happened?

"Testing completed from collected samples. Subject cleared for testing," the voice said.

When the hell had they collected

samples?

A few moments passed, and as the nurse adjusted the last of the accessories to the bed, the VR headset blinked on, presenting me with a pink loading screen

"NTek: Leading the World in Human Technology" was emblazoned over the progress bar.

Human technology? My confidence in the study had been wavering before, but now it was gone. I thought that this was going to be a review of my sexual history, and maybe I would have to take some kind of written tests, but this was something so much different.

Where was OSHA? The FDA? Where was whoever the hell was supposed to regulate these things?

Another voice was in my headphones. This one wasn't the same tinny feminine voice that had appeared over the loudspeaker, and it didn't sound like the robotic voice that had administered whatever "treatment" I've been given to calm me down. This one was male.

"Hey, Mo. Thank you for volunteering today," it said. "It's been really hard to get test subjects willing to participate, but we really think that this technology has a future. This sexual alteration study is the first foray into the future psychological treatments."

Sexual alteration? What the hell?

"This is the future of sexual therapy," the voice said. "We can reshape the very libido of our subjects."

With a frog in my throat, I realized that they weren't researching how my sexuality had already changed, but they were researching how to change my sexuality.

Oh, God.

I tried to yell out, thrash in place, but the neural cradle made sure that my body refused to listen.

"Jesus... I can see from the feedback that you're unfortunately experiencing some distress," the voice said, "but I'm going to level with you: this is where I would stop the experiment here and move onto the next test subject..."

God, finally. Finally, somebody was listening to me, and they could get me out of this thing.

"... However," the voice said with some trepidation, "we've been having an even harder time than usual finding research subjects around campus. Our flyers keep on disappearing, and if we want to extend funding, we need results yesterday."

My heart dropped out of my chest. Flyers disappearing? I had been tearing down every one I saw trying to get into this study.

"Since it's just you and me on this line, nobody else can hear me. I know the ethical ramifications of what I'm doing," the voice said, "and I'll live with that guilt, but you signed every waiver, and this is all theoretically reversible, so I'm just going to go ahead and turn off the distress sensors. I'm sorry. I really am... I promise we'll do our best to make this an enjoyable experience."

A fucking enjoyable experience?

He didn't understand. It wasn't that I had some last-minute nerves. This was the first I was hearing about it all.

I mentally kicked myself for not questioning the whole sketchy process leading up to this scenario, and I promised myself to sue the pants off of NTek when this was over, but as my lungs filled with more chemical laced air, I felt my anger damping.

No.

I would not let them break me.

The loading screen completed, and suddenly my view was filled with rainbow light.

I blinked, inundated by a wall of colors.

The chemical scent changed, becoming more sickly sweet, like the coating of a pill. I tried to take shallow breaths, resisting whatever drug they were pumping into me.

However, no matter how little I breathed, I couldn't escape some of it leaking into my lungs.

I had to hope and pray that it wouldn't be enough to affect me.

Slightly different images were beamed into both of my eyes, creating a complex three-dimensional field of iridescent color.

I realized that, as I breathed, the field in front of me moved, reacting to my body's rhythms.

I tested it out, holding my breath for as long as I could, watching the color sap away until I inevitably had to start again, letting the color saturate my field of view.

It would've been really fucking neat if I didn't feel like I was in some futuristic Saw movie.

"Beginning calibration and calculating current sexual preferences," a voice hummed in my ears. It was the same robotic voice as before, androgynous and digitized.

It was as if the rainbow waves parted, splashing back to reveal an image. It was a beautiful woman, and with the 3-D effect, it seemed like I would be able to reach out and touch her if I would've been able to move. They even pumped in a perfumed smell, and I breathed in deep, enjoying the scent of honeysuckle infinitely more than whatever else they were putting it to me before.

The woman had blonde hair that reached out to her chin, and she was completely naked. She was dancing to some silent son, moving her hips as her hands wandered up and down her body. I felt myself salivate a bit. She had two dimples above her round ass cheeks, and I saw her lithe muscles flex as she moved.

Then she was gone, replaced again by the rainbow sea.

"Response recorded," the robotic voice said.

Response? I hadn't said anything, and even if I had been able to speak, there was no way I was going to play their little game.

The cradle... While it clearly had some influence over my body, it must also have been recording my brain waves, letting them know what aroused me and to what extent.

Fuck. I had no option to not participate. I couldn't just turn my brain off.

The center of my vision part again, and this time there was a recording of a chubby woman in glasses, her thighs on either side of my head and a hand between her legs. She was masturbating, and suddenly I could smell sex.

This time, I could hear her. She let out little moans, but I could barely hear her voice over the sound of her fingers sliding over her clit. Her stomach was tensing up, and I thought she was about to come.

Her thighs tightened and relaxed unconsciously as she tried hard to cum.

As she reached the crest of orgasm, she too disappeared.

I became shockingly aware that my dick, trapped in its strange constraint, was straining against its prison.

How was I not supposed to be turned on when this is what they were putting me through?

"Response recorded," the voice said.

Maybe this wouldn't be that bad. All they said was that they were going to alter my sexuality. Maybe I meant that they were going to make me more sexual, or they were going to try to change my preferences to lean towards one kind of woman.

That was not the case.

The colors faded away again and moved to the side, but now there was no woman.

With the goggles, everything looked three-dimensional. Things had depth, and they looked real.

So when the Technicolor clouds parted, it seemed to me that I was only inches away from a huge, veiny white cock.