Date: Sun, 4 Dec 2016 13:07:09 +0100
From: sharp Harper <sharper@inorbit.com>
Subject: The Compliancy Restraint

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The Compliancy Restraint

THE USUAL WARNINGS APPLY TO THIS TALE.

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The Compliancy Restraint

Definition.

The compliancy restraint is a totally invasive total control device
designed to manipulate and replace the behaviours, expectations and
functions of the owned subject by tapping into and appropriating physical
and psychological areas of pleasure and pain, comfort and discomfort,
bringing about a fundamental alteration in the subject, seamlessly
undermining autonomy, imposing owner-defined constraints and implementing
unselfconscious obedience in the form of a desire analogue.

It is an array or collection of bespoke intrusions equipped to infiltrate
the subject system, establishing multiple controls accessible from any
distance. For the owner, communication with the array is possible by a
variety of means, though the programming is designed to deep-learn, to
anticipate without intervention.

The manual is available online.

FAQ. What does it look like?

Difficult to describe. Well, see for yourself; I think my installation is
pretty standard. It's not entirely visible, and it's not just a single
thing. You'll notice the harness at once, across the shoulders, with a
handle. There's a collar, of course.

I like that.

I like everything.

Various other controls are inserted clinically. You'll see where they enter
my flesh, only part visible because the assembly is subcutaneous;
sometimes, like the obvious cock manifold, or the scalp attachment, mainly
visible, predominantly external. It depends in each case how the control is
designed, but fully operational it concerts as a total agent, automatically
aligning the subject's responses to the owner's objectives.

Look, I don't claim to understand it fully. I don't think it was ever
explained. I took in that it would make him happy.

An operation is required to install the array. Normally, the subject is
mendicant, eager, literally begging for it. I was. It is done under general
anaesthetic where necessary; partly under local with or without sedation;
partly with the subject fully aware, compliant and fully conscious of what
is happening. The choice depends upon the degree of involuntary resistance
encountered, since some, however cooperative, are not practiced in searing
pain whilst others are equipped for it, experienced, and enthusiastic.

I don't remember much.

There's no discussion of the process in the subject's presence apart from
the reassurance that, 'This will make you feel better.'

When we met, he immediately wanted to control me, totally.

I don't think I realised what a difference it would make.

I could tell he had a huge cock from the way he walked and stood, legs
always separated. It was absolutely bulging. He stared at me, in a
confident commanding way that seemed to express as much of my own hunger as
his.

I was there with my friend Christopher, as usual. We went around together
to cruise the gyms, bars and saunas for the strong, domineering, hung
muscle tops we had developed our physiques to attract. We dressed to
emphasised our attributes.

Christopher nudged me with his pint, immediately acknowledging that this
was my catch. I was melting, suddenly shy; unable to break free of his eyes
I allowed myself to walk up to him. As I got closer he said hello and took
my drink from my hand with, "You've had enough."

I liked that.

He put the glass down on a dark ledge nearby, and I never saw it again.

---

We had been together as boyfriends for about a week. Not very long. He
already had me on the ground to please him. He was always finding things
for me to do; always hurting me if I didn't get it right; rewarding me with
praise and cum. I crept around naked, obsessed with service, obsessed with
obedience. Then he decided that he wanted me to go to the next level of
compliance: Mindless total servitude. It drove me wild, just the name of
it, but also because he wasn't completely happy, I wanted it too.

After he described it to me in the course of one night I could see its
merits: I would never have to think for myself, ever again; I would never
again have to feel that distressing anxiety that I might not be pleasing
him. He explained in detail how the compliancy restraint has been designed
specifically to replace my autonomy. If I am lead to drift or deviate
outside of parameters it steps in with a correction.

It happened after we'd had sex. What I mean is, it was after full and
prolonged penetration, since being with him was like sex all the
time. Every moment was about my being his plaything, his servant, and
satisfying him. Even asleep: I dreamed he was standing over me on a beach,
his shadow engulfing me, the bulging nob, slit eye in my face, and I am
desperate to fit it in my mouth, I open my head to consume it. I cannot
breath. I choke. And wake.

I lay next to him on the bed, his powerful arm round my neck, and woke to
find his hand cruelly gripping my pec. I pushed my nose up next to his
ear. He smelt strongly everywhere, stiff and strong. I tensed my anus where
he had just spent himself and held his still big cock with a helpless love
for its selfishness.

'I want you to be better,' he said, hurting me with his hand. 'You can be
better. You want to be better don't you? You can be better than you are at
the moment. Now is the time to make that improvement. You've already wasted
enough. Now that I've found you I'm going through make sure you are as good
as your potential.'

I became super-excited at the thought I could be better - and that he
wanted it. Better how? Better at what? Fucking? Serving? Being his
property? Or better at being an individual, better at being me? Or better
at everything?

Gripping my pec forcefully with one hand and allowing me to suck on the
fingers of the other, he described an intervention that would enable me to
become more reliable and completely obedient. I wanted that. More than
wanted: I found myself begging him to make the changes so that I could
become pure owned, like he wanted. I was consumed by a vision of my own
utterly subservient inferiority to him and desperate to experience my
eclipse by another, superior man.

I wanted to be good.

I looked into his eyes. He was my master and we both knew it.

A day or so later he drove me to the Centre for the fitting. It was
morning. I remember he put the radio on in the car and it was playing Eric
Clapton.

All night he had been holding me in a grip I could not loosen. I adored
it. The heat of his body was overwhelming. I was panting like a dog, but I
couldn't move or get up for a drink. I didn't want to wake him. He was
breathing on me. His breath, smelling of night, stank in my face. He dream-
kissed me - kissed me without waking - and rubbed my buttocks, my arsehol,
and my penis with his giant fast-asleep hands. I think I remember thinking
that it would be nice to be his like this always, thinking that if I didn't
obey him he would leave me, and that, if I were not restrained, I would be
abandoned, like an unloved puppy.

He led me to the car and from it by a leash attached to a collar he had
given it to me a day or so before to let me become accustomed to the feel
of continuous total ownership. Henceforth I was to call him Owner; nothing
else. Once inside the centre he unclipped the leash.

"Please, this way."  That was the voice of the young male receptionist. I
glanced up: short blonde scruffy beard; blue, amused eyes. He was wearing
dark skinny jeans and, as I followed him through a door, I saw that the
heels of his black shoes had little fluorescent logos. I was trying not to
think about Owner who I was leaving in the room behind; trying not to think
about sex.

We entered a room with loads of strange equipment. Placing a document on a
corner desk, he turned and looking straight at me said, "You need to remove
all of your clothes now, please. Er, everything."

I was only wearing my tight jeans and a faded blue muscle top, which I
peeled off and put in a white plastic basket together with my socks and
runners, and my collar.

He was watching me carefully, as if I might get it wrong, or might need
some help, or enforcement. Perhaps he just liked watching.

"What about this?" I asked, indicating the collar "Leave that."

I stood in front of him naked and looked at his face. I wasn't sure what to
do with my hands; I let them fall to my sides. He stared for a moment. He
glanced at my cock which was rippled with blood, curving up and to the
left. Then he looked at my face. Then he turned to the desk and wrote
something on the document. Then he said, "Wait," and left the room.

I was still wearing my collar. The leash was still attached.

Shortly he returned with an older woman. Together they photographed and
measured every single aspect of my physique. The data would be stored in a
digital model which would calculate the precise dimensions and requirements
of the compliancy restraint before it was fitted. I stood naked on a
rotating turntable as a laser camera panned across my skin, faithfully
registering every mound, crevice and space. They tested me psychologically
too, using a series of mentally intrusive questionnaires to probe the type
of motivations I responded to and the vulnerabilities upon which
manipulative psychoses might be imposed. My weakness, I know, is a strong
desire to serve a superior man, to inhabit a tangible inferiority. This was
something they could use. Manipulations attacking my self-image would
concentrate on removing any residual ego and reinforcing thoughtless
obedience to the control of Owner and the device.

The apparatus would be designed to these specifications during the
afternoon.

I stayed in overnight, in a cage, chained by my collar. They gave me a bowl
of water and a pill they said would relax me. My clothes were not returned;
I never saw them again. But it wasn't cold.  I slept easily on the dry
cement floor, overwhelmed by a feeling of safety. In the morning a nurse -
a different young man with thick eyebrows and strong arms, who looked able
to subdue any change of heart - unlocked the cage and told me to get out. I
had my morning hardon. He looked me up and down without smiling. He pushed
me into a tiled area with a shower and a toilet. He told me to empty my
bowels and then shower-up, "quickly". The water was luke-warm. Once I was
wet all over he said, "Ok, that's enough. He told me to face the wall and
bend forward, "I need to inspect." He took a hose and squatted down behind
me, looking at my anus. He touched it with his finger. "Ok, I have to make
sure your rectum is empty and clean. Spread your cheeks for me." He pushed
the hose up my anus repeatedly until the water was clear.

I followed him into the operating chamber. I noticed that though the his
tunic was bleach white it still had brown blood flecks across his back. I
could see a scar on his head where the short dark hair didn't grow.

I was still hard.

The apparatus was arranged in a large tray on a trolley by an articulated
operating bed which was a mass of suspending, restraining, spreading and
other pieces of equipment. Tools lay in cabinets all around. The
asphyxiation and sedation console blinked its indicators on one side,
whilst on the other a long reel of paper slid from a registering machine
with a narrow dark line drawn on it - like a seismometer waiting for an
earthquake to occur.

The doctor in charge was a white haired and deeply tanned man of about
sixty. He did not smile as I clambered onto the bed. My embarrassing
erection baffled me. Apparently alert to my anxiety he said, "the drugs
will deal with that." Before I had time to wonder what he meant, the strong
male nurse grabbed my feet, forcing them up in the air, spreading my legs
apart, and buckled my ankles, vulnerably exposing my erect penis, my
testicles, my perineum, and my anus.

We had shaved the night before. Owner had watched as I'd soaped and shaved
most of my body but then took the razor in his own hand to remove my pubic
hair. He did this with the concentration of a craftsman carving a flower
out of lime-wood. I had held my legs up to my chest, pulling them apart by
the knees. When he was finished he breathed deeply and looked at it, and
then he'd kissed it, and then he'd fucked it, like he was fucking it for
the first time, and came inside with a massive grunt. I rolled over and
knelt in front of him to kiss him and thank him, his cum running down my
thighs.  "You had better shower," he said.

My arm-pits were exposed once my wrists had been strapped up in an assembly
to either side of my head. Now I couldn't move. Even my head was held in a
kind of tight fitting collar, making it impossible to turn.

I was so excited.

Naturally, I had been sedated. The nurse had given me pills and a glass of
water. I can remember listening to gentle muzak : Rock guitar.

The doctor said, 'Is he clean?'  The nurse nodded.  'Papers?'

The nurse pointed to a pile of documentation owner had signed on my behalf
committing me to the procedure and accepting any and all consequences.

'Put him under.'  The nurse injected my arm. He pushed a mask on my
face. As I struggled, I remembered a beach I had once seen in a magazine
about holiday encounters and a man I had met there, walking in his swims by
the moonlit water. He had casually grabbed my arm, taken my hand and read
my fortune with a stiff dark finger tracing a dog track round the paths,
tickling my sandy palm. He pulls me into his arms. A starburst explodes in
his face.

When I wake up, alone, the silence of the room is frightening. I try to
move my limbs but they are not working. I can feel something breathing
somewhere within my body; it is purring like a cat. I can open my eyes,
open them and close them. They close.

Next I am standing up by my bed. The doctor has finished his inspection. He
smiles through his white beard and his eyes twinkle.  "All seems in
order. You can take charge now."  Sounds sound strange. People talking are
sort of distant. I can feel stuff moving inside my body. I can hear myself
breathing. I try to speak. The doctor asks me a question. My voice sounds
unfamiliar; it's the voice of a stranger and has a tone of innocence that I
cannot recognise; it's the sound of my voice when much younger. I smile at
the doctor and he smiles back and pats me on the shoulder. An implant
vibrates when he touches me. I feel a little unsteady and then I'm
alright. I look at Owner. He isn't smiling.  "Ok?" He says.  "Ok," I reply
and feel a jerk of pain somewhere. I splutter with surprise. My voice
sounded like the voice of a simpleton. The pain subsides.  "Better say
'Sir' from now on," says the doctor with a smile.  "Sir. Sorry Sir," I
respond. The pain subsides and fades. I smile. I understand.

"Is it alright?" He asks the doctor.  The doctor says, "Yes of course. All
yours. Enjoy."  They shake hands.  Owner says, "Follow." And I follow. I
don't know how I know but I now know exactly what Owner requires of me. I
can anticipate him. I follow him down the corridor and through the foyer
and into the grey sunlit car park outside. I am totally at peace. I am
absurdly happy. I can feel the apparatus inside me, operating me.

I carry a medical kit to prevent rejection or sepsis.

He wanted me to chauffeur. He handed me the fob. As I sat in the driver's
seat the cool leather pressed against my naked skin and the device pushed
uncomfortably into the flesh where it had been buried. The anaesthetic had
begun to wear off affecting both how the implants felt and how I responded
to them. I was pleased by the feeling of having been invaded and
colonised. As I pushed the vehicle into drive I felt for the first time
that I was part of the machine, somehow physically included in the machine
world, the world that men had created for themselves and that they
controlled. I felt as if my veins and ligaments joined the car, that I was
the engine and the wheels. As the engine revved I






perceived the oil flowing through its valves as organically the same
material flowing through mine. The fluids within my skin felt hot like they
had been turbocharged. My breath burned in my chest. I could read the
display without looking at it. An implant in my seat pushed against my
organs with a continuous vibration, an insistence that felt like it was
embedding itself deeper and deeper into the root of my guts, working out a
permanent connection between itself and the fundamental motivations of my
behaviour.

The world outside seemed closer than before. It seemed to be displayed
directly into my mind rather than through my eyes. I had a sense of only
seeing what Owner wanted me to see, whilst at the same time being aware of
everything; like he was in charge of focus.

It's difficult to describe.

One of the skull inserts produced a low continuous buzz like tinnitus. I
would have to get used to it. It's pitch would increase violently under
certain circumstances though I didn't understand the significance of
this. Generally the device operated subliminally. The discomfort would
settle down but never become unconscious. I would alway be aware of its
restrictive significance. There is now so much I cannot do, or want to do,
or feel. Sometimes the tinnitus tells me I am doing something wrong and I
correct myself.

Owner said, 'How do you feel?'  '... not sure. I feel ... better than I did
before,' I said, or heard myself saying. I know I was smiling. I wanted to
hug him and feel his arms around me but something made me stand still with
my hands crossed in front of my genitals.  'Excited,' I said, "Sir."  I
don't know what made me call him that, but I liked it.  He smiled.  I
wanted to stare at him but something made me look at his feet. He lightly
touched my hands and they immediately separated and clasped themselves
behind my back, without me thinking what to do.  'And what is your
function?"  "To serve you Sir! To make you happy Sir!'  I wanted to go home
with him and do everything for him that he needed. I was so excited to get
on with my new life. I knew I would be happy.

Once back at the house, I parked and got out to open the door for him. He
got out and I shut the car. He walked towards the front door. The gravel
grinding beneath his leather shoes seemed loud. I could feel the tiny
stones moving against each other under my feet. Though I was barefoot -
apart from the appliance I was still totally naked - the path wasn't hard
to walk on. The gravel seemed to part gently for my feet to dunk into.

Owner stood at the door and I ran to open it for him. These were my first
acts of complete subservience and it delighted me to obey the drives I now
felt impacted my me - assured impulsive instructions that I could obey
without wondering what to do or how to do it. The liberation filled me with
ecstasy. The moment we were in the house I dropped to the floor and started
licking his toecaps energetically, just to let him know I was happy.

Owner did not speak. He knew.

I knelt up and took out his fat prick and put it in my mouth. Pretty soon
he was fucking my head, holding it down.

When he had cum, I felt light, nauseous and fit to faint. He caught me as I
collapsed.

"It's alright. It's just embedding itself. It's getting used to you; you're
getting used to it."

He held me and brushed my face with his hand and looked at me with
light-hearted concern. "You'll be fine soon. Don't worry about it. This is
the process. As you tune more finely you'll reap the benefits. You'll do as
I want and only what I want. You'll no longer have any worries. Sh
sh. Don't try to speak. Let it take over. Totally."

---

A thing that happened is that when he wasn't there, I panicked. That was
because the focus of the restraint was initially un-attenuated by feedback
programming. Over time I was able to occupy myself with chores or obeying
instructions without it being necessary actually to be continuously in his
presence. As the apparatus knitted into my psychology it was able to
operate its procedures independently of supervision, though this is always
experienced as a kind of neural agony. But to begin with Owner kept me with
him, literally by his side, holding my hand. He had bought me a tight navy
polo and dark trunks to wear when we went out - showing off my muscular
tan-brown legs, my packet, my broad shoulders and hard waist. I was always
barefoot. My hair was cut short but not shaven. I was presentable. In the
streets, holding his arm like a child, or suddenly kissing him impulsively,
I think I was an embarrassment, but had he left me alone in those first
hours and days of initial adjustment it's possible I might have gone into
shock, rejection, or self-harm. It's not something I'd've been able to deal
with.

Even now my thoughts dwell on his image when I am not with him. My duties
have only ever been a mild distraction. I think about how I am doing
everything for him. The restraint monitors me and I have the feeling he is
always aware of what I am up to, so I always feel like he is watching
me. I've got used to the restraint hurting when I go wrong and I like the
feeling that this is proof that he is remotely in charge of my behaviour at
all times. So I am never really quite by myself. I can feel him inside
me. He is always deep. He is always touching. He always pressing himself
into my head.

When he comes home, or I go out to meet him, he reminds me that I am his
property by finding some fault. He punishes me; not directly: the
compliancy restraint does it for him. I can see the pleasure in his
eyes. He likes that I find it so exciting. He likes to watch as the
compliancy restraint initiates its punishment routines and, as they ramp
up, my peaking excitement as the pitch of the torture mounts.

Afterwards I am so grateful and he always hard fucks me when I am like
that.

I suppose my main feeling now that I've been fitted is one of happiness, of
deep contentment. It's extraordinary. When I wake in the morning the first
thing I check for is the hum and vibration of it. It's there, now. I can
feel a deep throbbing like a ships engine.

There it is again.


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END OF The Compliancy Restraint


The compliancy restraint.



^^