Date: Tue, 7 Sep 2021 02:00:48 +0200
From: corey_grant@gmx.com
Subject: Out of Sight 5

Every inch of Max's bare flesh was breaking out in a cold sweat as his
heartbeat thumped in his ears and his legs -- despite how desperately he
wanted them to stop -- conveyed him swiftly on his way to Clark's office.

Of course, the sweat was not a sign that Max was warm. To the contrary,
Clark always kept the thermostat low, set to a temperature comfortable for
a fully-dressed man but which, if not for the devices of torment attached
to Max's chest and crotch, would most certainly cause the almost-always
naked man's nipples to harden like diamonds and his dick to shrink up close
to his body.

Nothing external was causing the young man's flesh to glisten with wetness
like this; rather, it was instead an involuntary reaction to the panic that
was seizing him to his core.

Max could barely think, Clark's cold and firm instruction from the Mastr
app ringing in his head: "My office. Now."

If Clark had caught on to Max's plan, he knew he was well and truly
fucked. To say nothing of how his weeks of strategizing (and fraternizing)
would all be for naught, Max knew all too well that Clark would not
hesitate to dole out a undoubtedly terrifying and unparalleled punishment
for his disobedience.

He swallowed hard as his bare feet slapped against the wood floor on their
way down the hallway to Clark's office. Only a few more steps separated him
from his fate.

He asked himself desperately: Was there some way he could deny what he'd
been trying to do? Could he spin this some other way and make it seem like
innocent friendship -- or, hell, even a gay relationship, if that's what he
had to say -- between himself and Mohammed?

Max -- who had once been an unshakeably confident man -- felt a hint of
tears starting to well up in his eyes and realized (with horror and shame)
that he would not be able to present any arguments, explanations, or
rationales in front of Clark. He knew in that instant that, if Clark had
caught him in the act, there was no escaping the nightmarish punishment
that would ensue. He knew that, in a mere moment's time, when he finally
stood in the doorway to Clark's office, he would start blubbering like a
child, begging and pleading for his Master's mercy as he wailed
pathetically before him.

However, in the instant Max reached the doorway and his eyes took in the
man sat behind his desk (looking intently at the computer monitor which
faced him, yet which mostly faced away from Max), he froze, the gears in
his head turning in an attempt to reassess the situation.

This was not what he had expected to find. He had anticipated an angry
Clark, standing tall and glaring at him, his phone in his hand about to
send whatever order would start Max on his way into heretofore unimaginable
punishments. Instead, Clark was sitting calmly, smiling pleasantly and
nodding casually, evidently listening to someone speak. Since Clark was
wearing his wireless headphones, Max could not hear any of the words, and
the positioning of the screen made it such that he could tell there was a
video-call in progress, though not tell whose faces that video showed.

Unsure of how to proceed, Max stood frozen in the office doorway.

To any outside observer, the scene was doubtless one that would cause all
eyes to widen. Naked from head-to-toe and glistening with sweat, the
in-best-shape-of-his-life Max now displayed a well-muscled, toned, and
exquisitely sculpted physique that would put Adonis himself to
shame. Moreover, even if Max's Greek-godlike physical form were not enough
to make his appearance remarkable, the two accoutrements that adorned his
body also made the sight of him hard to forget: the garnet-coloured dome
that crushed his penis into a mere nub that sat shamefully atop
shrunken-from-the-cold balls between his legs and the angry-red
indentations all over his pectorals from the shark-tooth gold clamps that
bit into his chest rendered him not as a "sexy man," but as a "sexual
object" that appeared to belong to someone else.

Yet, that "someone else" barely glanced up from his computer screen to look
at Max. After all, Clark was used to seeing this sight by now. Max's
appearance was a perfectly ordinary sight for his Master.

Clark looked up only long enough to catch Max's eye, gesturing downward
toward his own crotch before returning his full attention to whoever was on
his screen.

Understanding immediately what Clark was telling him to do, Max let out a
sigh of relief, catching himself and stifling the sound before Clark could
hear it.

Lowering himself to his hands and knees, Max began to crawl over towards
the other man on all fours. The Mastr order Clark had sent now took on a
different meaning. Having thought that Clark had caught on to his
disobedience, the "My office. Now." message had seemed like a furious
demand. What Max realized now, however, was that the message had connoted
something quite different: not anger, but urgency.

Apparently stuck at his desk in what must be an important meeting, Clark
had not ordered Max to come here to punish him. Rather, Clark had another
reason to summon his erstwhile bully: he had to take a piss.

Thank God that was all!

Yet, as Max crawled into place under Clark's desk and out of sight of
whomever he was in his video-call with, the panic that had filled his body
mere moments ago seeped out and another feeling began to overtake him
instead: revulsion.

The worst part was that Max was not revolted by the amber liquid that was
going to spray out of Clark's dick and into his open mouth shortly. In
fact, the lack of revulsion towards that only intensified the revulsion Max
experienced towards the feeling's primary target: himself.

Max was revolted by what he had become.

Rather than being disgusted, alarmed, or incensed, Max had been RELIEVED
that Clark had called him here to use his mouth as his personal
urinal. What made it all that much worse was that that had not even been a
Mastr app hypnotic order, nor even something he had been verbally
instructed to do. Instead, with only the most minimal of gestures from
Clark, Max had instinctively dropped down on all fours and crawled into the
space between Clark's legs. Acting without a second thought, Max had
perfectly filled the role of a piss-drinking faggot.

If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck... Well, Max did not want to
follow that thought to its inevitable conclusion.

Thankfully, Max's attention was diverted elsewhere, with Clark's voice
cutting through his internal monologue.

"That's exactly what I was thinking," he said warmly.

Max hesitated for a moment. Had he said something out loud? Was Clark
agreeing with his humiliating self-assessment?

"If you don't mind, I'll share my screen right now so I can show you,"
Clark added.

Oh, of course: he was giving his full attention to his Zoom call. The "mere
receptacle" currently under his desk and crouching between his legs was
apparently the last thing on Clark's mind.

"As you'll see, the data from the past few months is overwhelmingly
positive," Clark continued, a couple clicks audible to Max as the other man
called up whatever window he wanted the others on his call to see.

Meanwhile, Max knew his role, having performed this far, far, far more
times than he could count. He reached up and undid the buckle on Clark's
belt slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible, lest the others on
Clark's call catch on to what was happening off-screen (something which,
Max was certain, would earn him a swift and not-easily-forgotten punishment
that -- if past experience is to be trusted -- would likely involve a
croquet mallet, his testicles, and a hypnotically-implanted inability to
close legs as the former connected with the latter).

"Although there were some early setbacks," Clark continued to say as Max
continued his task and unzipped the other man's fly just as quietly, "the
latest data shows 98.5% effectiveness once the audio-neural mapping is
complete."

Max had just been about to pull down the waistband of Clark's briefs and
find his cock when he tuned in to what he had been saying. "Audio-neural
mapping"? Wasn't that what Mohammed had been telling him about?

Max resumed his task, now listening in closely as he delicately withdrew
Clark's manhood from his underwear. Even distracted in trying to pay
attention to what Clark was saying, Max had been well trained in exactly
how to handle Clark's dick: he had to hold it with respectful tenderness
and treat it with loving reverence, as though it were absolutely the most
important thing in his entire world.

Maneuvering the appendage into his mouth -- with all the respectful
tenderness and loving reverence Clark demanded for it -- he wondered, not
for the first time, how others had treated Clark's cock in the past. Was it
possible that others had been in awe of it by their own free will? Max had
always thought Clark was a loser: chubby, nerdy, and not particularly
manly. No doubt Max was therefore not the only one was shocked to discover
what Clark was packing below the belt, his one-eyed snake having a length
and thickness that would, in fact, rival some actual snakes out there in
the world.

"With additional funding from you," Clark said as he began to unleash urine
into the orifice his cock-head now sat in, "we'll be able to increase the
sample size of human subjects from our initial dozen to several hundred in
the coming months."

Drinking down the acrid liquid streaming into his mouth was such second
nature by now that Max barely thought about it as he absorbed Clark's
words. "Increase the sample size"? Max might not be the brightest bulb in
the box, but he could put two and two together.

If Clark was talking about what Max thought he was talking about, he also
knew what the man currently pissing into his wide open mouth was
suggesting: Max was one of the "initial dozen" and -- if Clark were to get
further funding -- what Max had been subjected to for countless months was,
very soon, going to happen to hundreds of others.

This wasn't just about himself anymore, Max thought as he dutifully
swallowed what was filling up his gob. Who knew what other unsuspecting
individuals Clark might inflict his fiendish control upon? What totally
innocent people might end up being tormented and reduced in exactly the
same way Max had been?

"Yes, that's right," Clark said enthusiastically in response to a question
Max had not heard. "We've already received approval to try it in three
separate prison populations."

As the stream going into Max's mouth subsided, the young man's thoughts
also changed direction. "Prison populations"? He was now mentally walking
back what he'd just been thinking, the "innocent people" characterization
of soon-to-be test subjects now seeming harder to sustain.

Clark chuckled good-naturedly, again in response to something Max could not
hear. "Well, that's really the point, at the end of the day," he said
warmly. "To make the world a better place for everyone."

Clark had now finished unloading the contents of his bladder, but Max had
yet to remove his Master's manhood from his mouth. The thick head of the
other man's member still sat there such that, when Clark looked down at Max
-- finally giving him some modicum of attention -- their eyes met with his
dick still resting on Max's tongue.

"I'd never try anything like this on someone who didn't deserve it," he
said, holding Max's gaze just long enough to ensure he got his point
across. It had only been an instant -- whomever Clark was on his Zoom call
with no doubt just thinking he was glancing at something on his desk -- but
it had been long enough for Max to get the message.

Max knew he'd been a bully. He knew he'd spent four years of high school
making life into absolute hell not just for Clark himself, but for everyone
who was even a little bit like Clark. He knew that that was why Clark was
doing this to him -- that Clark thought turnabout was fair play, that it
was only fitting that Max, who used to use his own fists to give black
eyes, break glasses, and land punches firm in the stomach of everyone lower
on the social hierarchy than he was was now getting fisted up the ass
almost daily.

Max knew he'd been a bastard. He'd been a fuckboy who'd used women left,
right, and centre. He'd been a scoundrel who'd fucked married men's wives
without a second thought. It didn't matter to Clark that he and his own
wife had all-but-separated when Max started fucking her behind his boss's
back -- it was the principle of it all, the fact that Max would so readily,
eagerly, and repeatedly cuckolded Clark the first chance he got. Max knew
that that was why Clark was so intent on changing everything about his
sexual being -- on making sure he never used (or even saw) his dick ever
again and turning every hole in his body into an entry point for absolutely
anything Clark fancied shoving into it.

But Max refused to believe he deserved this.

Calmly, Max finished his duty. He carefully removed Clark's cock from his
mouth as the other man listened to those on his video-call. He quietly
zipped up Clark's fly and did up his belt. He silently crawled away from
his place under Clark's desk and between Clark's legs, his belly now full
of the other man's urine.

When he reached the doorway and stood back up -- standing to his full
height, rolling his shoulders back and giving the confident stance of a man
who would not be beaten -- he left the room and strode back to his own
workspace with a renewed determination.

He would escape Clark's clutches. He would get his old life back. He would
get so far away from this place and this time where he'd lived every day as
fist-taking man-cunt and piss-drinking faggot that it would seem like
nothing more than the faintest memory of a nightmare.

And he wouldn't do it alone.

Clark had given him new information. He was one of an "initial dozen." That
meant that there were at least 11 others out there who were unjustly
suffering the same fate he was.

Max still didn't fully understand everything that was happening and still
didn't know exactly how to end it, but he did know that -- as Clark's
"personal assistant" -- he could find the allies he desperately needed now
that he knew what he was looking for.