Date: Sun, 25 Dec 2016 21:31:31 +0100
From: sharp Harper <sharper@inorbit.com>
Subject: The Compliancy Restraint PART TWO

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The Compliancy Restraint PART TWO

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The Compliancy Restraint PART TWO

We used to hang out together all the time, Christopher and I. We were a
classic muscle pair, I suppose, always prowling around for our ideal
fantasy man - the built, hung, top. We used to work out, cruise, and go
round bars, clubs and saunas together - but in the end we always went off
separately, depending on how we scored.

Christopher had a way of smiling that came over as condescending; it was
more of a smirk, like it was with the attitude that he was doing a favour
to, and belittling, whatever thing he was directing it at. He liked to be
admired and lusted after and in control in that sense. You could say that
for a bottom he was very toppy. I think he was what you call a
power-bottom.

Yes, that's it.

It felt like years after Owner and I met that I again saw Christopher. In
reality it had only been a few months. It was in the supermarket. I had a
trolley of shopping. I was looking at the beers. Christopher reached for
something at the same time as me, and our arms touched. I apologised
without looking.

"Sorry Sir."

He said, "Is that you? My god it is!!"

I realised who it was.

"Chris ... topher, Sir, oh, I, I guess ... Sir."

I looked at him, but I tried not to meet his eyes. The compliancy restraint
activated a small intra-muscular voltage.

I was different; I had changed, but he looked completely different as well;
bigger, more powerful than before, and distant in a way that felt like a
vacuum had been created between us. Unfamiliar. He had changed so quickly,
it seemed, but then, so had I.

Something buzzed. I saw Christopher actually enlarge in my eyes, like
through a lens, and grow, bigger than me, or it felt like I was, not
smaller, just, somehow, not smaller exactly, just smaller in
importance. Subordinate.

He smirked, looking at me for a while, examining the situation: I was
physically the same, but my appearance was now extremely and absurdly
sexualised. Whereas before I would wear the tank top, torn jeans and
sneakers uniform of your typical gay-scene jock - dressing to look cute and
available - now I was wearing the tight bulging dark polo-and-trunks get-up
Owner told me to wear whenever I went outside the house - indeed, whenever
I wore clothes. It was kind of like a sex-worker's uniform, and the
compliancy restraint was visibly apparent through. Wherever it attached or
protruded, my tight skimpy clothes emphasised each bump and mound. There
was no disguising the way a rigid and complex manifold pushed my cock
forward against the seams. From behind you could see the thick electrode
emerging from my anus before curving around my buttocks and re-entering the
muscle fold at the top of my thigh. Various other lumpy fragments created
small black shadows in the brilliant supermarket glare.

Christopher's curiosity was explicit, eating into me. I felt the twinge of
the compliancy restraint inside my gut initiate itself into a warning.

"What is all this, babes?" He said at last.

"It's... my ... compliancy restraint, Chris ... topher, Sir," I replied
painfully.

"'Chris'tophersir'," he mocked. I had always called him Chrissy. "I can see
what it is, but I've never seen one in real life. I didn't think they were
actual things, actually. I thought they were just made up for porn."

I smiled.

("I am porn," I thought.)

An urgent vibration told me that I was off-schedule. My tinnitus pitched
higher. Christopher stepped closer to me and ran a finger across the dark
nylon covering a small metal ridge that emerged from my shoulder. He looked
down at the cock assembly clearly pressing in my trunks and smirked. He
touched my shoulder again with a tap, and told me to spin round so he could
have a look at the whole effect. Something inside started throbbing, like a
very quietly excited alarm. As I turned he told me to lift my arms, and I
did as he said. He saw where some nodes were hidden in my pits, like golden
pearls. He investigated the parts where protrusions were visible, touching
each one with his forefinger like he was counting it and sometimes giving a
little press to see if it did anything, staring, like he was
mesmerised. His touch, exploring and stroking me and disturbing the devices
as he touched them, was like a delicious pain that made me excitingly aware
of my captivity within the control of the apparatus; I didn't want him to
stop, though, because of the growing tinnitus and the throbbing pain of the
increasingly excited compliancy restraint, it hurt me much more than he was
aware, I think - though, once I flinched and he said, "Are you ok babes? Is
it sore?"

"Not now, Sir. It's almost healed. I'm taking stuff that helps."

"So this, like, controls you? Does it?"

I nodded. "Sort of, Sir."

"Why d'you keep saying Sir?" he asked. I didn't answer.

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah. It's good, thank you, Sir."

"Is it controlling you right now?"

"More or less, it is, Sir."

"How can you tell?"

"I can feel it," I said, "Sir," feeling it, and feeling a rising unease at
the situation. I knew that Owner would shortly be receiving a message. He'd
be in contact.

Christopher noticed.

"Are you sure you're ok? You look nervous. What are you worried about? It's
me!!" He laughed.

I lowered my arms.

"I'm not sure if I should be talking, Sir." The tinnitus was burning into
my head. "I feel worried, Sir."

"There's no need to be. I'm not going to hurt you - And stop calling me
Sir! It's me, remember?"

He moved closer and put a hand on my waist, stroking it comfortingly,
rubbing me with his hard palm and provoking my compliance restraint even
more.

"I can't stop it," I said, "Sir, I have to. That's part of it, Sir."

"Christ," said Christopher. He gripped his forehead, "what the fk'veyou got
yourself into?"

but he was looking at the curious objects attaching themselves all over
me. He rubbed his palm over the shiny slippery woven nylon covering a piece
sticking out of my ribcage. "This is incredible. Look at you ... Amazing! I
can't," he found a new piece sticking out from the base of my spine and
rubbed it, "... oh man ..."

He fondled it gently with the tips of his fingers.

"Do you like it when I touch it? Like that?"

I wasn't sure.

The Eric Clapton supermarket muzak, became suddenly intrusive and absurd.

"What made you let him do this to you?"

"He wanted it. I wanted it, Sir," I answered, mechanically.

"Yeh, but even so. You wanted this? You sure? It's really strange. And look
at you. You're fkn extreme, babes."

"Am I, Sir?"

"You're insane! People must look at you and go, 'What the fuck!' Those
shorts alone, talk about 'Fuck. Me!!' ... Do you have any idea what you
look like? Sex on legs times a trillion!! I bet you get guys hitting on you
all the time, do you?"

"I need to do my shopping Sir," I said. The tinnitus was getting more and
more shrill, drilling into my brain and accurately hurting the part of my
mind most vulnerable to urgency. I turned my back on him, grabbing a pack
of beers, and pushed my trolley towards the checkouts.

Christopher had always been good. He had always looked out for me. But he
had never shown any interest in me other than just as friends. Now I could
feel him looking at me in a new way; he was watching the way I walked. The
pieces between my legs crudely accented my gait.  My wide shoulders hunched
in embarrassment. I knew he was looking at me with a mixture of concern and
sexuality. He was looking at my twisting bottom in my tight trunks. He was
looking at the pieces of metal in my neck. I felt the amazing certainty
that he somehow wanted to fuck me - and I somehow wanted that to be
true. All at once I visualised him desperately wanting to have my arse, to
ram his cum deep up inside my gut. I could feel his eyes on me, and his
attraction signalled clearly in the form of a warning from the compliancy
restraint where it penetrated a set of nerves at the base of my spine, near
to my coccyx, irritating me, making me arch my back and stick out my
buttocks in pain. It was too much! The compliancy restraint was, somehow,
picking up on his interest, converting it into a set of impulses
communicated directly into my posture of overtly passive availability, a
posture serving only to attract him harder, it seems.

How did that work? What was going on?

The tinnitus screeched in my ears and my implants vibrated so viciously I
could hardly walk. The cock manifold cut painfully into my groin. The anal
implant irritated electrically.

I got to the checkout in considerable pain, and hurriedly piled the
contents of my trolley onto the conveyor belt. Christopher was following me
all the time, watching like a bird of prey watches a wounded creature. He
put his basket onto the conveyor behind me with a thump.

"Hey, look at me, bitch!" he ordered.

I did as he said.

He had a fitted olive green top. I could remember him buying it when we
were scoping out a mountaineering shop once on the Kings Road. It was
designed for climbing practicalities, but he wore it so gay: his pecs
showed through ostentatiously, pulling dramatic darts where the cloth
lifted over his prominent nipples. He had massive biceps that stressed the
woven sleeves. Chest hair curled out at the neck. His beard - black and
perfectly groomed - split apart to reveal a wide set of large teeth,
perfectly white and perfectly even. His hair was short in the current
style. He looked great. He looked really great. I looked down. He looked
great. He looked really great. He looked really great.

I looked back at his face. His large blue eyes stared into mine as if he
were trying to see inside an unlit cave.

"Hey babes," he said, "what is it with you? You never used to be like
this."

He reached towards me and grabbed my arm.

The young woman behind the checkout was speeding through my shopping,
ignoring us. I needed to be packing bags.

"I need to get packing Sir," I said.

"Here, I'll help you."

He wound past me, brushing my backside with his crotch in a deliberate
manner which told me that he now had an erection, and touching my waist
slowly, sensually sliding his hand up and down around my stomach like a
snake.

I think I heard him murmur something like, "Oh ... jesus babes," and I felt
his breath on my neck.

He grabbed some bags into which he started to throw stuff, commenting
occasionally on the unfamiliar things I'd got, "Is this for him?"

"He likes it, Sir."

I paid with a card and started to roll away.

"Hang on. Don't run off! Wait. Let me get mine."

He quickly packed his stuff - some beers and snacks and a box of tissues -
and paid. I waited, then wheeled off to the car. He followed me with one
hand lifting his bag like a disco gym-weight, flexing his tan bicep. We
loaded my stuff in the boot. Then I said, "OK, nice seeing you Sir."

Christopher stepped forward and pushed me against the side of car,
deliberately mushing one leg into my groin so that the cowl around my penis
dug into me painfully. I winced.

"Ooo sorry babes, does that hurt?"

"I'm fine Sir."

"All this shit," he groaned.

He put a hand, again, on my waist, the other on my neck, and he held me in
that lock. I didn't think I had to resist, but he had me fixed.

"I feel strange. I don't know what it is. You're so horney, babes, in all
that sexslave getup ... I'd, I'd really like to fuck it babes," He said
loudly, as if talking into a microphone. "Is there anywhere we can go?" He
was grinding his erection against my genitals. "I just want to fuck it."

I couldn't speak; the pain in my head was overwhelming me. He pushed me
harder. He felt enormous. He'd never done that before.

"Can you touch it please, babes? "

I grabbed hold of his shorts. I'd never touched his junk before. It was
filling with blood. I held it tight.

I said, "You're not usually ..."

"Top?" He said, "Hey, I'm versatile, babes. You should see me."

"I didn't know, Sir."

"How would you know? It's not like we ... ever..."

"You never ... came on to me, Sir."

"I never wanted to ..." - I squeezed his gigantic bulge - " ... before
... "

Our faces were really close.

"Look I really, REALLY need to get on Sir," but I didn't let go of it.

"Under orders?"

"You don't understand Sir. I can't do anything."

"Can't? Too scared?"

"Can't can't. You don't understand this thing, Sir. It's stopping me."

"What's stopping you?"

"This, Sir" I said, and I pointed to the piece coming out of my head.

My hands were shaking as I gripped him and felt him throb.

By now our lips were almost touching and his huge eyes were directly
looking into mine, like the windows of a neighbouring flat across a dark
narrow alley, and I could feel the moist bristle of his beard.

"Look, alright, babes, it's just, look, all I'm going to do ... is this..."

Before I could stop him he opened my mouth with his tongue and held me in a
grip whilst he snogged my face off. The noise exploded and my whole body
was vibrating with terrifying pain. He grabbed my biceps and held them
firmly. When he finished I was panting and in tears. He let go and slipped
his arms around my chest. I could feel where his fingers had been
gripping. The screaming in my head was unbearable. My anal thing and my
cock thing were ripping me up. The thing in my head was burning like a hot
knife, and the other bits were going mad. I nearly collapsed on the
ground. He held me tighter still, groping my backside with his big fingers
and forcing his throbbing penis against me, and said, "Want it. Want it,
babes."

Weak with pain and discomfort I started to sink to my knees. His prick was
totally filling out the fly of his brown shorts - a thick and hard angry
ridge. I pushed my face into it, nuzzling it and licking it, begging for
it, wanting it, and I wanted it to be over so the pain would stop. Would he
do it here? He opened his fly in my face and it flew out and slapped
me. The foreskin was wet; precum dripping. I caught the tip in my lips and
let him drill it into my neck. Holding the back of my head, he let me taste
the full flesh burst in my throat.

"Fuck yeh," he said. "Ooh yeh."

My eyebrows and nose met his bush of cock hair, soft and sweet, smelling of
groin sweat and active sport.

He held my head down deliberately, choking me on his meat which he pumped
unyieldingly beyond my gag. I could feel an alarm call inside me. That
would be Owner trying to get through. The devices in my groin were
searingly painful and the attachment to my head was cutting into my scalp
where Christopher's hand pushed it. He was completely unaware or
indifferent to the pain I was in. How could he know? I could feel his nob
bruising my airway and a pulse rippling along the thick curve pressing my
jaw open and flattening my tongue. Gradually he started fast face
fucking. All I could hear was screaming tinnitus. All I could feel was
tremendous pain. Then his ejaculation was shooting down the back of my
throat, thick congealing spurts. His big hand curled round my skull. He was
moaning stupidly, and finally let me go. I fell to the ground. I was
coughing and swallowing. He had cum such a lot. My face was sore. Tears
streamed from my eyes. I was in spasms, trying to catch my breath, but that
hardly mattered compared to the torture I was receiving from the compliancy
restraint throughout my body. My brain filled with conflicting thoughts of
having given satisfaction to Christopher, which I was strangely so proud
of, though I wished he hadn't made me do it, and of how I had betrayed
Owner, who had never told me I should give BJs to any man who wanted... And
there was the question that Christopher had become changed, this new man
full of rough dominance, and I didn't know why or how it had happened to
him.

Meanwhile, Christopher was tugging on his foreskin. He tapped me on the
back of my head and said, "Look up."  I did so. He was towering above me
with a spaced-out look. He squeezed out the last slime of cum from his slit
onto my tongue, then folded the meat back into his shorts.

"Cool, babes," he said. "You're good. Well, we always knew. You were always
the most popular."

He had changed. Before, we never used to touch each other except as a
joke. We prowled around the gay places and tried to score; we were never a
thing. We never did it together. And we never made crude observations about
each other.

Christopher smirked.

"You're a good cocksucker babes," He said. "Face made for fucking," he
smirked.

"Cocksucker Sir," I repeated.

Then his eyes lost focus and he looked unwell. "I feel ... "

He closed his eyes and leaned on the car with his head on his big arm. He
slouched. At the same height as my face his fat penis was still filling out
his shorts. and then he slumped forward,

He collapsed further, and his thick leg hit me in the chest.

"I mean ..." He dropped to his knees and squatted next to me on the ground,
put his arm round my neck, trying to snog me, like he was drunk, "... your
cute bum ..."

I stayed still for as long as I could.

I was thinking he'd want to do something more.

"... your cute bum ... it's like I ... really want to fuck your brains out
babes. I mean I really really do. Tell me you want it."

"Look Sir, I've got to be going. I've got to get back. I'm expected. I
really am expected. You don't know, Sir."

I wanted the pain to stop.

"Let's get in the back of the car. You can sit on it. Do ... as I say."

He was talking all like this but he was slumping further. His head fell on
to his chest.

"You need to rest Sir," I said.

"S suck me ..." he said, laughing stupidly.

I could still taste his cum in my mouth. His thick load was sitting in my
stomach like a meal.

Christopher's head fell to one side. Then his whole body toppled over.

At that point a message appeared ... somewhere. I don't know where. It was
inside me. I could read it. It said, "Assault deactivated." I knew I had to
leave. I pushed Christopher; he did not respond.

"Assailant has been neutralised."

Christopher had lost consciousness.

"Oh, Christopher ... " I said.

I pushed his body away from the car with my foot, got in, and drove.


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END OF The Compliancy Restraint PART TWO