Sasha did not know how long he had laid in place in the dark before he had dared to open his eyes. There was something over his head, something over his ears, something on his hands and feet, and there were things pushed deep inside him that made his mind go tight and blank when he thought about them. He thought he had been blindfolded—perhaps even blinded—but he could see something. It was blue and glowing above him, a single LED viewed through a dark visor, with a hundred dimmer copies of itself glinting off the mirrored walls of his otherwise pitch-black cell.
He had been left in the fetal position, and as he felt his back pressing up against the wall he realized this was for practical reasons: the cell was barely a meter long and across. His wrists and ankles were cuffed, and those cuffs were attached to a metal rail going up the right-hand wall. As he wriggled and moved, to ease the pressure on his skin as much as to test his bonds, he saw that both of his wrist cuffs were clipped tightly to his right ankle. Both his feet had a little give, but wherever his right foot went, both hands followed.
His neck cracked with a series of dizzying pops as he turned it. As he tried to clear his throat he found there was something jammed in his mouth. He ran his tongue over it, and felt every muscle in his body tense up as he felt the contours of a rubber cock. The images and sounds, and worse even the smells, of being orally raped flooded his mind. He whimpered.
The moment he made a noise something in the headset whirred to life. "Hello Sasha, welcome to the Milk Cow Induction System." It was a woman's voice with the odd inflection of a speech synthesizer, and as it cut through the silence it banished all other thoughts from his mind. "This program will introduce you to your new role as a Milk Cow. We request your full cooperation to make this as productive and comfortable for you as possible. Resistance will lead to discomfort, and may cause diminished output leading to further discomfort."
Sasha squealed into the gag as he felt a shock on his nipples.
"That was a level one pulse through the MCIS disciplinary system. Disobedience will lead to further shocks at higher levels, up to level six in intensity—"
The voice cut out suddenly, replaced with the background hum of an answering machine. Jane's tinny, pre-recorded voice came through. "Sasha, honey, I just wanted to let you know, that cattle prod Doctor Rose had fun with? That was level four. So be a good little boy, okay?"
The machine returned. "Begin to gently suck the cock in your mouth."
He steeled himself, took a deep breath through his nose, and squealed again as another zap went through the soles of his feet.
"Begin to gently suck the cock in your mouth," the machine reiterated. Sasha did not even pause to whimper, nursing the gag like a dummy.
"The MCIS helps Milk Cows maintain their health and fitness through nutritional and medical inputs and moderate physical activity. It will prevent pressure sores and muscle atrophy from compact working conditions. These exercises will require an improvement in flexibility."
There was a click and a low whirr, and Sasha felt tension on his ankle straps. He stopped sucking for a moment and started again after a zap on his upper lip. He could see something clinking in the vertical rail on the wall, drawing the chain on his ankle upwards. His right ankle was being pulled up the wall, his bound wrists going with it.
The machine seemed to sense his struggles. "Please relax during the flexibility exercises. While there may be some discomfort, the MCIS will not push you past the point of injury."
He sucked his gag frantically, forcing himself to take in deep, wavering breaths when his instincts were pushing him to hyperventilate. His ankle and wrists were pulled up the wall inch-by-inch, first dragging him closer to the wall, then lifting his shoulder off the ground, then his hip off the ground, and then only his left foot remained on the floor as the rest of his body was drawn upwards. His thighs and hamstrings burned as his feet were spread a meter and a half apart but the ratchet kept clicking upwards until he was close to doing the splits. His nipples were shocked when the strain disrupted his concentration for a moment and he struggled to suck consistently—he was almost doing the splits against the wall, his back and arms were on fire from being forced to hold his ankle, and he felt like he was two ratchet clicks away from his tendons snapping like old rubber bands.
It clicked three more times before stopping, and nothing broke. Sasha couldn't bring himself to celebrate this turn of events.
"This setting is at ninety-eight percent of maximum safe hamstring tension," said the machine. "Please do not attempt to stretch any further."
He groaned in pain. The way he was hanging meant his whole body was weighing down against his ankle and both wrists, pulling at his joints. Trying to push himself up on his other ankle or bend his arms only stretched his legs and hips further, sending pain shooting deep through his pelvis. His torso was twisted cruelly so his wrists could reach his ankle, and all the muscles in his back and arms felt either strained or horribly cramped. Even his skin felt sore, like he was chafing against something.
"Muscle tension is detrimental to flexibility, and can lead to injury. Preparing electrostimulation."
He heard a beep, but instead of a painful shock he felt a mild tingle all over his inner thighs that ebbed and flowed in intensity, never worse than a prickle. It was almost like a gentler way of being tickled. New currents ran through his shoulders, his buttocks, and his nipples, and he almost stopped sucking on his gag to giggle at the sensation.
Unfortunately it began to work, his straining leg muscles relaxing, forcing him deeper into the stretch. Pain shot through his hips like his legs were about to pop out of place, and without his abdominal muscles staying tense he felt the plates in his lower back grinding into each other, a wishbone seconds away from splitting between gravity's fingers.
"Unsafe posture detected, deploying spinal support."
Sasha felt a jolt—not an electric one but a physical jerk—as something against his skin stiffened. He realized he wasn't naked, he was wearing something breathable and form-fitting, and a series of soft tubes within it had become rigid ribs. He felt a weight on his lower back, part of the same mechanisms that had been forced deep inside him that he was still desperately trying not to think about, and with a mechanical whirr he felt the ribs slowly shift his torso, just enough to take the pressure of his spine. No such relief came for his thighs, and the electrical stimulation only increased in intensity as he grew used to it.
"Administering nutrient solution, three litres."
Last year, though it might have been a decade ago for how distant it felt, he'd been persuaded to drink a horn of lager during a birthday night out. It ended quickly and stupidly with him dropping the horn and vomiting all over the coffee table. The alcohol was only the trigger, the sheer volume made it inevitable, a belly-splitting fullness that had to go somewhere. That horn had been four litres, and he didn't finish it.
