By Sang Freud

Total Behavioral Solutions Case Study: Conversion Therapy (Part 2)

In the back of the ambulance, Thomas Hathaway, the youngest son of Senator James Hathaway, lay strapped to the gurney. Nylon webbing is pulled tight across his chest and legs, pinning his arms tightly to his sides. A mask had been fitted over his nose and mouth delivering a heavy dose of nitrous oxide. Strong muscle relaxants flowed into his veins through an IV port in his right arm. The sedatives from the spiked drinks were wearing off, but even so he drifted in and out of consciousness.

“Let’s get this one ready for intake so we can get out of here by midnight.” The ambulance driver hopped out of the cab and helped the attendant in the back unload Tom’s gurney. They checked through the paperwork they were given for acquisition. “Just the basics, right?”

“Yup. Looks like this boy done fucked up one too many times. Get these clothes cut off of him.” The attendant produced a set of emergency shears and quickly clipped off Tom’s silk shirt and expensive jeans. “Damn, I think these cost more than my rent. Oh well.  Too bad now.” Tom stirred as the paramedics unstrapped his chest and legs, but he could barely move, let alone offer any resistance to the men gloating over his body.

“Ooh, look at these!” The driver called attention to Tom’s chest,  rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “How long before they put some rings in these tits?” Even sedated, Tom’s nipples responded to the man’s rough groping. “Yeah, those are gonna be fun! Well, maybe not for you, buddy,” he snickered, slapping Tom’s face affectionately.

Meanwhile, the attendant has snipped the waistband of Tom’s boxer briefs. “Ah, what a waste,” he exclaimed, looking at the helpless man’s flaccid cock. It was a beautiful specimen, 5 inches long and uncut, resting peacefully against heavy, well-proportioned balls. Unlike many straight men, Tom was meticulous about his pubic hair, so his carefully trimmed bush only enhanced his package. “Probably gonna get locked up forever. Think they’ll let him keep these?” he asked, cupping Tom’s balls and bouncing them gently. A startled moan escaped from beneath the breathing mask.

“C’mon, asshole! Quit playing with the merchandise. Let’s get Intake over here so we can get paid and get out of here!” The attendant sheepishly let go of Tom’s balls and went to the intake desk by the interior doors. After verifying receipt of Thomas Hathaway, Subject 5962, an intake agent came out with a wheelchair and two thick manila envelopes.

“Ok, gentlemen. Let’s get this one in the chair and I’ll get you on your way.” The agent gave each paramedic an envelope. “Another flawless delivery. There’s a fat bonus in there for taking this one out all smooth and quiet. Our sources say no one noticed a thing. Have a good night, and don’t spend it all in one place!”

The agent then turned to the former Thomas Hathaway, still struggling in the wheelchair. “You, on the other hand, have a long night ahead of you.” He grasped the handles of the chair and rolled Tom through the internal doors and into his new life.

***

A few hours later, Tom snapped to attention, at least as much as his current condition would permit. Despite a vague sense of having had a rough night, his mind was remarkably sharp. The rest of his body, however…it was as if his limbs were encased in a thick gel. He could feel his fingers and his toes, but they seemed impossibly heavy and somehow disconnected from his body. Tom tried to shift around in the chair he was sitting in, only to find that his muscles simply would not respond to his commands. Even a simple movement like bringing his hand up to scratch his nose seemed to be made of so many complicated steps that his mind had no choice but to give up. It slowly dawned on Tom that he was essentially paralyzed from the neck down, able to breathe and hold his bowels but not much else.

He could, however, move his head and neck freely, so he looked around the room and down at himself. He was sitting in a spacious doctor’s office, white and sterile with harsh fluorescent lighting. An examination table sat to Tom’s left.  Next to it was a computer terminal and  some sort of diagnostic equipment. There was a mirrored panel in the wall to Tom’s right that he figured (correctly) was a two-way glass. He didn’t see any means of entrance or exit, so he assumed the door was behind him.

Looking down at his body gave Tom a shock. He sat in a wheelchair, held in place by shoulder straps and a lap belt. His legs were spread slightly and strapped to the chair’s footrests, and his wrists were bound to the armrests by soft leather restraints. His clothes–which he was sure he put on last night–were gone entirely, replaced by a hospital gown draped over his body and tied haphazardly at the neck. Again Tom willed himself to move, to try to close his legs and protect his nakedness, but again he couldn’t summon the strength to budge even a quarter on an inch. That might, he realized, have something to do with whatever was flowing into his arm through the IV line snaking up and behind him.

There didn’t seem to be any signs of life around him–the examination room was empty, and he couldn’t hear anyone moving or talking in the hallway behind him. Later, he would realize that this was because every room in the facility was heavily soundproofed, so little to no excess noise could be heard. Tom was almost surprised to find that he still had his voice. “He–hello?” he called out, first weakly and then louder. “Is anyone here?” Silence. “Help! Where am I? I can’t move my legs! I can’t…excuse me, someone…” Tom grew more and more agitated. This was the longest time he could remember ever having to wait for a response to a demand. But all he heard back was the hum of fluorescent lights.

On the other side of the two-way glass, Case Manager Brian DeWitt happily noted Tom’s return to consciousness. He was a top psychology specialist at Total Behavioral Solutions, and he loved the chance to completely remake a man’s psyche. The physical mods team might have all the flashy toys, but Brian could make much more drastic changes just by reaching his fingers into his subject’s brain. When the boys in physical conditioning got–he looked down at the dossier in front of him–#5962, they’ll get an eager blank canvas who would almost lock devices onto itself in order to please its superiors. The thought got Brian a little bit hard even though he had been in this business for years.

“Find a job you enjoy doing, and you’ll never work a day in your life,” Brian said to himself as he prepared to go meet the soon-to-be-former Tom Hathaway. Other specialists didn’t bother to do a real intake meeting–it’s easier to install the hardware and do all the prep work while the subject is still unconscious, and there’s no real reason to tell a subject what will happen to it, but Brian loved watching the realization dawn on them. Plus he found it useful to let his subjects try to fight the drugs and restraints and conditioning for a bit. When a man fights as hard as he can and still loses, he will be broken that much more thoroughly. Reading 5962’s chart, however, he suspected this would be a much easier transition than it might first appear.

“Ah, you’re awake! So glad you could join us!” The door behind Tom opened and Brian appeared in Tom’s field of vision. He was a wiry, brown-haired man in a lab coat who looked to be in his early forties, with a close-trimmed beard and kind blue eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses.

“Where am I? What is this place? Why can’t I move?” Tom covered his rising fear with aggression.

Brian remained unhurried. “Yes, yes. I’m sure you have all kinds of questions.” He slipped a hospital wristband onto Tom’s right wrist that said “5962” in large letters next to a QR code. “You had an…incident while partying last night, and now you are in a secure treatment facility getting the help you desperately need.” He grabbed an ankle monitor from a drawer nearby, wrapped it around Tom’s left ankle, and clicked it on. “You’re currently having trouble moving because you’re on a moderate dose of our muscle blocker blend. Shuts off control of all skeletal muscles below the neck. You’ll get some more mobility back in due time, but we will always make sure you’re well-controlled from here on out.”

“An ‘incident’?! You mean when some asshole spiked my drink at a club? I do not need help, I do not consent to treatment, and I demand to be released this instant!” Tom hoped he sounded threatening, but even he recognized that tossing off commands was ridiculous in his current state.

“Oh, that? No. You were downright well-behaved there. There was the Vegas party last month with those girls from Mexico–did you have any idea where they came from, or how old they were? Of course you didn’t. Not to mention all the times in college when your daddy had to make rape charges disappear. You’ve been having problems for awhile, but that’s all in the past now. Hold on. This might pinch a little bit.” Brian unwrapped a silver disk the size of a quarter and pressed it to the back of Tom’s neck.

“None of that bullshit happened. It’s all fake news the media makes up to get viewers–hey! What did you just do to me? Do you have any idea who I am?” Brian had pressed the disk harder with his thumb. There were needles on its other side that hooked into Tom’s flesh so that it  would take a special tool to remove it without shredding his cervical nerves.

“I know who you *were*, 5962, but that life is over. Thomas Hathaway no longer exists. This is probably the last time you’ll be able to speak freely, so choose your words wisely.”

Tom was not willing to give up entirely. “You have no idea what you’re doing. When my dad…”

“Your dad?” Brian smiled. He had hoped 5962 would make this gambit. He held up a photocopy of a check and a consent form. “Who do you think arranged for our services?” Brian got exactly what he wanted: a spark died in Tom’s eyes as he read his father’s signature on the commitment orders and the huge check. Brian pressed the issue. “No one is going to come get you out of here, 5962. Anyone who actually cares about you—and I don’t think there are many—knows this is exactly where you belong. Everyone else will forget you in time.” Brian removed the IV from the port on Tom’s arm. “But enough about the past. Let’s get you ready for your future. It looks like you’re going to be…” Brian flipped through the dossier again, “hm, we’ll have to get you uploaded to the catalog. But you’ll be auctioned off. I’m guessing for that body, since there’s nothing else particularly special here.”

As the medication was backed off, Tom regained more control of his limbs. He struggled against the straps holding him in the wheelchair. “But that’s slavery! That’s illegal!” he sputtered.

Brian laughed outright. “You should know as well as anyone that money accomplishes what the law cannot. Besides, most buyers at our prices want servants and bedroom companions. It’s not like you’re gonna be sent to a mine. I mean, unless you really fuck up. Now let’s see what we got.” He whisked the hospital gown off of Tom’s seated form.

“Bedroom companions? I’m not some faggot and I ain’t gonna fuck men!”

“You’re right. You’ll probably never fuck anyone again,” Brian ignored 5962’s agitation. “A shame, really,” he said, gazing pointedly at the bound man’s cock. “You will, however, be on your knees or on your back just about every day. I hope for your sake you can learn to enjoy it, but it doesn’t really matter.” Was it his imagination or did 5962’s cock just jump a little?

“Fuck no. You can’t make me and I’ll fucking kill anyone who tries!”

“Oh, you will if you ever want to leave this building. Maybe I’ll take you on a tour of our back wards one day. Trust me, you don’t want to be one of our permanent residents.” Again Brian thought he saw 5962’s cock twitch a bit. He decided to press on this new interesting avenue. Brian started running his hands over 5962’s pecs, kneading and evaluating the muscle. The boys over in Fitness will have to cut a little fat and build a lot of muscle, but this one had kept itself in shape for the most part. He chuckled to himself as he felt his subject’s nipples harden under his touch. “Oh look! I think you’re agreeing with me!” he exclaimed in false surprise, pointing out 5962’s ever growing hard on. Brian turned his attention to the face, grabbing its chin firmly with one hand and tracing Tom’s full lips with the other. 5962 tried to wriggle away, but there was no breaking Brian’s vice-like grip. “And this mouth! It’s just made for blowjobs. Once you’re properly trained, these sweet cockwrappers here will make real men lose their minds!”

Tom finally had full control over his body, and he was desperately trying to squirm away from the case manager’s invasive touch and his disgusting words, but the straps and cuffs held firm. To his horror, he could feel his cock stiffening every time this filthy pervert manhandled him.

“Get your fucking hands off me you fucking piece of shit faggot perv–“ his tirade collapsed into a defeated moan. Brian stepped away, grinning from ear to ear. 5962 will be even more fun than he thought!

“I think you’ve said enough, 5962.” Brian reached into the pocket of his lab coat and withdrew a small remote with a keypad. He typed a short sequence of numbers, and Tom felt the disk at the back of his neck buzz three times in quick succession. Then a sort of strange heat began traveling down his spine into his abdominal cavity. The heat steadily increased and turned into a sort of corrosive stabbing, as if his internal organs were being slowly dissolved by some kind of acidic lava.

“What–what is this? What is this what the fuck are you doing to me aaargh!” Tom trailed off into an inhuman scream as the acid lava traveled through his intestines, every nerve along the way absolutely lit up. Tom was certain his guts had been liquefied and he was finally about to die when the heat and the pain just…stopped. Tom’s ragged screams continued for another twenty seconds or so.

“Amazing what modern technology can do, isn’t it? We used to use shock collars and stun belts for training, but they sometimes cause burns and some subjects even developed a tolerance to them. That little disk there lets us directly interface with nerves throughout your body. A shock is a just a shock, but we can set your whole stomach on fire, or make your head feel like it’s going to pop, or…well, let’s just say I have a lot of choices. And none of it leaves even a hint of damage to the body. Those three little buzzes at the beginning are your warning right before the fun begins.” Brian loved demonstrating the nerve interface. Watching a subject’s eyes get all wide and teary when it feels the warning buzz, hearing it blubber incoherently as the warmth runs down its spine, seeing it stare in wonder afterwards, amazed that its body remains unharmed. If Brian weren’t such a professional he would have jizzed himself watching 5962’s introduction to the system. “The program’s intensity goes from one to twenty. You have just experienced level two. Will I have to show you level three, or will you remain seated and silent when the restraints come off?”

Still shaking from the near-death experience he’d just had, Tom nodded, blubbering. “Please please please no more no–” he shut up immediately when he felt another warning buzz.

“I said I want silence, 5962. And remember, the nerve interface can last as long or as short as I want it to. One of our permanent residents has been experiencing level sixteen for….it looks like 19 days straight and counting. His body is still in perfect shape.” Brian called in two orderlies from the hallway. “Joe, Mike, get this one shaved and scanned and then put it back here after lunch. I want to get the program started this afternoon.”

The orderlies were both enormous men whose biceps threatened to tear out of their crisp white uniform shirts. They unstrapped Tom from the wheelchair and marched him out of the exam room. Tom’s prick once again betrayed him as he felt their meaty paws grip his shoulders. “Look at this, Mike! This one’s a bitch already! I think it likes you!” Their laughter could be heard down the corridor.

About forty-five minutes later, Tom was returned to Brian’s exam room, this time buckled tightly into a canvas straitjacket. Not a single hair remained on his body; even his eyebrows had been washed down the drain with industrial strength depilatory. The orderlies had strapped an enormous red ball gag into Tom’s mouth as a favor to Brian; they knew he enjoyed thoughtful presentation, like a roast pig with an apple in its mouth.

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