Three days in the forest had turned Josh existence into a monotonous loop of pain and arousal. His body, once just a CIA agent’s tool, had become an instrument of torment. The sun had just crashed behind the pines, casting long shadows across the makeshift camp where he had spent the night. Sam, his ex-roommate turned personal devil, stood over him with that cocky grin that never failed to make Josh’s stomach churn with a mix of disgust and unwanted lust.
“Breakfast time, champ,” Sam announced, his voice oozing faux kindness as he approached the cage where Josh was kept. The cage smelled of damp earth and dried blood—mostly Josh’s.
The bots—their metallic bodies gleaming even in the fading light—had just finished restringing Josh’s nipple clamps. They were removable ones, connected to a small battery pack, and Sam could control the voltage from a tablet in his hand. Each jolt sent white-hot pain shooting through Josh’s chest muscles. What made it even more humiliating was that the clamps were designed with wide, transparent rubber/plastic portions. Sam and Jonathan could watch his nipples swell with blood, darkening almost purple, the tiny screws tightening incrementally. Unfortunately, the hum of electricity and the constant tweaking of the clamps had made Josh’s nipples almost permanently erect and painfully sensitive.
“Remember the rules,” Jonathan’s voice crackled through the speakers hidden around the camp, his silenced presence more terrifying than any physical manifestation. “Maintain the form. If your body relaxes, the bots will be instructed to give you a negative stimulus.”
Josh grunted in response, knowing the warning was pointless. The robots with spindly metallic arms and glinting red optical sensors would carry out any order without hesitation. They moved with eerie precision, their zapping ability capable of inflicting a pain so specific and intense it could bring a grown man to tears.
Sam walked over to the transparent flask sitting on a nearby table. The thing was labeled “Josh’s Protein Supplement.” The label was a cruel joke. The liquid inside was thick, white, with a consistency one could only describe as a sickeningly opalescent cream. Josh had cummed over 150 times since his began this journey in the forest and Sam and the robots, following Jonathan’s directive, had meticulously collected them.
“The highlight of my day,” Sam crooned, swirling the flask for dramatic effect before he poured a perfect shot glass full of Josh’s own semen into his roommate's mouth. The musky, sweet scent of it hit Josh’s nostrils before Sam even approached the cage. His stomach roiled, a muscular spasm unconsciously flexing his abs.
“Open wide,” Sam commanded, tapping the rim of the glass against his teeth. “Remember, no spilling. If you drop a single drop, you get a shock.”
Josh opened his mouth and let Sam pour the fluid down his throat. The taste was repulsive—salty, corroded and medicationly. The cream-like texture made it hard to swallow, and he felt each swallow in his throat, a distinct act of consummating his own body fluid for the umpteenth time. As he gulped it down, he noticed Sam’s eyes had drifted down from his face to his chest, the nipple clamps with his erect, swollen nubs on full display. With a sigh of feigned boredom, Sam rolled up his sleeves and pressed the button on his tablet again.
The sudden, intense vibration from Josh’s clamps made his body jerk. His arms coudnt move much due to the the chains and padded leather, preventing any escape, but just enough to display his musculature. At 6 AM, just as the first rays of sunlight pierced the canopy, Josh had been forced to assume the position that was now ingrained in his muscle memory: kneeling on the cold, damp earth, back straight, arms behind his back, fists clenched, shoulders rolled back and abs and biceps contracted to maximum hardness. He had to be the perfect display of male physique for Sam before any of the “real” training began.
“Beautiful,” Sam had whispered, his eyes practically glued to Josh’s torso. He walked around the kneeling form, a cat circling its prey. With gentle fingers, Sam began to knead the perfectly rounded muscles of Josh’s pecs. The nipple clamps had a lever that Sam could use to tighten or loosen as he pleased. He was playing with simple, he was extending the torment. Josh gritted his teeth, but kept the pain from his expression. This was all part of the test.
“So tense,” Sam said, his thumb suddenly pressing into Josh’s left nipple, the clamp hard plastic and cold against his skin and the nipple itself. Josh bit the inside of his cheek, a sharp, quick pain that filtered the deeper, throbbing ache. “I wonder if we can get you to let go a little.”
Sam attached small weights to Josh’s cock and balls, which weren’t just for aesthetic. It forced Josh’s abs to work overtime to keep his pelvis tucked, maintaining the perfect arch. The last thing Sam wanted to see was that magnificent, oiled up six-pack being partially obscured by Josh's own throbbing erection. Josh focused on the contractions, the rhythmic clenching.
Sam made a show of it. He trailed a finger down Josh’s sternum, over the ladder of his abs, and down to the weights hanging from his pulsating mounted shaft. He watched the frustrated twitch of Josh’s muscles, the faint groan of effort as he fought to keep his form tight. Just to prove a point, Sam gave the clamps another sharp jolt. Josh’s entire body stiffened as he continued to consume his own jizz, a cream-like texture made it hard to swallow, and he felt every swallow in his throat.
As he finished the last bit and opened his eyes, staring at Sam with a mixture of hatred and submission, he noticed Sam’s hand had gravitated towards his own cocked, which was straining against Sam’s own pants.
Sam walked over to the control panel and noticed that Jonathan was there. He gave the order. “Group, we’re going to the next checkpoint. Josh, you carry Sam. You are the pack animal, and he is the very precious cargo.”
The bots adjusted their formations around them. Josh was freed from the cage and handed a utility harness, which Sam effortlessly slipped into. Josh realized with dawning horror that Sam was going to ride him like an animal. This was a new level of degradation, and as he felt the weight of his ex-roommate on his back, smothering him and the scent of cologne mixed with his musk, the task ahead felt monumental.
Jonathan, as always, would be watching from his remote location, but Josh suspected that this time, it was more than just monitoring.
“Stay tense,” Sam whispered in his ear, his breath hot and wet against the skin, as he touched Josh's abdominals. “If I feel one muscle relax, we get a big shock.” To demonstrate, Sam tapped the tablet. A mild jolt of electricity coursed from his nipples, as he worked to regain his balance with the extra weight.
The path to the next checkpoint was a treacherous path down a ravine. The robots flanked them on all sides, occasionally reaching out to stabilize Josh or give him a light tap on the back as a warning if he began to stagger.
“Faster, Josh-pack,” Sam goaded, his arms draping over Josh’s shoulders and his fingers finding Josh’s nipples under the pretense of “security.” With every step, Josh could feel Sam’s growing erection pressing against his lower back. Josh tried to ignore it, but the constriction of the harness was unforgiving.
They had been walking for over an hour, Josh’s thighs burning with the effort, his chest now slick with sweat under the tremendous physical strain. When they finally ascended the final ridge, what lay before them was a sight that stopped him dead in his tracks.
There was no “next checkpoint.” Instead, there was a small encampment—large teepees, a central fire, and dozens of semi naked men moving about. They were larger, bearded, heavily tattooed, with a custom-built and strange ambiance. Most importantly, as Josh struggled to regain his breath under Sam’s weight, he noticed something that made his blood run cold: the men’s eyes. They were all fixed on the path they had just come from. They were looking at him.
“Welcome to the ‘blue corpse tribe,'” Jonathan’s voice crackled from the small speaker sewn into Sam’s collar. “They speak no English, but they have a particular fascination with well-built men. Feel honored, Josh. You’re being gifted to them.”
Before Josh could protest, Sam unbuckled himself from the harness and patted Josh on the ass. “Be good, pet toy. Don’t disappoint the natives.”
The men surrounded Josh instantly, their hands running over his muscles, their low murmurs a cacophony of a different language. Josh could feel the panic setting in. He backs were still straight, his arm still not restrained but he stood perfectly still, resigned to his fate. They led him to the center of the camp, where a thick, weathered pole had been erected. With practiced efficiency, the men used thick, leather straps to secure Josh to the pole.
His position was perfect: his arms were semi-curled next to his head, forcing his massive biceps to bulge. His chest was jutting outwards, pecs perfectly displayed. His abs remained intact and tight, a direct result of the constant muscle stimulators and the earlier morning regimen. Despite his fear, the posture was deeply ingrained now, a part of his muscle memory. Josh kept flexing and clenching, presenting himself as the prime specimen Jonathan had promised them.
The tribe leader, an older man with a braided beard and oil-slicked muscles, stepped forward. In his hand was a small, metal case. With a click, he opened it to reveal an assortment of fine, thin needles.
Josh swallowed hard.
Using careful precision, the tribeman began to penetrate Josh’s abs from the sides and around the nipples. Needle by needle, Josh felt the cold steel pierce his skin, deep into the muscle tissue. A sharp gasp escaped his lips with each insertion, but a strong hand around his throat silenced him.
"Steady" Jonathan reminded of the grimacing hunk as he watched in glee the sight of Josh's abdominals rippling at every penetration. "They are known to have impossibly high standards of their subject."
The leader of the tribe then produced a small vial of an oil. As he spoke to his people in low tones, he applied a drop to each of the needle pricks.
The sensation was immediate and horrifying. The sensitizing oil worked fast on the hundreds of tiny punctures. Where there had been pain, now there was a wave of hyper-sensitivity. The cool breeze drifting through the camp made each needle feel like it was caressing him from the inside out. The thin leather of his restraints against his skin felt like a thousand insects crawling. But most of all, Josh’s own blood pounding through his body, his own muscles clenching and releasing to stay in form—they were magnified exponentially, sending waves of agonizing pleasure directly to his groin.
“Continue contracting your muscles,” Jonathan ordered through the speaker. “Make it worth their while. I expect a show, Josh.”
Josh picked up the rhythm, his body a willing instrument of explicit torture. The tribe watcher in rapt fascination, murmuring to each other as Josh flexed, making his chained muscles dance under the hundreds of needle tips and oiled punctures.
The real humiliation was just beginning. Two younger men from the tribe approached him next, their eyes locked on his pumped up pecs. They reached up and began to gently suck on his hypersensitive, needle-pierced nipples.
Josh’s eyes widened, the pleasure-pain of the clamps and needles suddenly redirected to his most sensitive erogenous zones. Their tongues were clever and skillful, swirling around the hardened, erect nubs pressing against his clamps. They nipped and sucked, adjusting their technique based on Josh’s involuntary muscle reactions. The intimate contact was almost enough to send Josh over the edge, a building pressure focus around his crotch and broken nipple clamps.
But just as Josh felt that familiar tightening at the base of his spine, the building of his impending orgasm, the two men communicated with a small nod. The man on the left pulled back and produced a thin, metal sound.
Josh understood immediately. With cruel precision, the sound was inserted into his piss-slit, stroking him internally right as he was on the verge of climax. The unexpected violation forced the building pressure back. Instead of the glorious release he was anticipating, Josh was assailed by the most frustrating and intense feeling of denied orgasm, his body screaming for release that it couldn’t have. As with all good torture sessions, Sam and the tribes nestled against his abdominal walls.
The men didn’t stop there. They returned to tormenting his nipples, their hot tongues and gentle teeth sending Josh to the edge again and again. Over the next ten minutes, they drove him to four denied orgasms, each one leaving him gasping, sweat pouring down his face, his wrists straining against his sleeves. He could see the small crowd of tribeman growing, all watching his despicable performance with eager eyes.
Josh’s nausea only intensified, the humiliation escalating with every denied release. The official musk of the forest, the scent of smoke from the central fire, and the strange aroma of the oil mingled with his own body odor to create a heady, confusing aromatic.
“Very nice,” Jonathan’s approving voice came through. “You are performing exactly as expected.”
After what felt like an eternity, the tribemen backed away. Josh felt a moment of reprieve—false as it turned out.
With a separate signal, the original “sensitizing oil” began to course through his heavily implant nipple area. Josh felt the overwhelming sensation and a new, bizarre pressure began to build. He felt the familiar clenching of his stomach muscles, the unfurling of heat across his chest and throbbing of his nipples, but this time, something different. A warm, creamy liquid started to ooze from the punctures. His breathing hitched, his eyes rolling back in his head as hormonal surge from the implants and the prolonged violation combined.
Josh watched in growing horror and fascination as the warm milky-white liquid began to bead and run down his chest. He couldn’t believe it. He was lactating. This was a form of violation he had never imagined. Yet through it all, his body was still a perfect, unconsented audience to his skin AND leaking form.
Jonathan was ecstatic, his follow up orders clear. The tribemen came forward now, almost reverently. One by one, they knelt, and drank directly from his nipples, their tongues lapping up the delicious, nutritious straight from the manly source. The sensation of being milked by a foreign tribe was beyond any depravity Josh had ever witnessed. Josh groaned, his back trying to arch but held in place by the pole.
The tribe’s prime attraction was now in full session.
As if things were not difficult enough for him, he suddenly felt a cold metallic rod penetrating his anus from his behind.
He let out a loud groan in response. "FARRGHH!"
The robots continued pounding him as the tribemen feasted on his manjuice.
After about an hour, nearly everyone had had a taste of the uncomfortable alt-white liquid. Josh, however, was barely conscious, his body a collection of overexposed nerve endings, semi-conscious and yet still holding an inexplicably upright form.
But the tribemen finally cut the binds and Josh dropped to the ground. His muscles just kept pulsating – climaxing, pulsating, leaking.
“This concludes round one,” Jonathan’s voice finally sounded, echoing through the camp with disorienting clarity.
Sam, who had hung back and watched the entire procedure with a visceral, almost envious intensity, stepped forward. He reached out and nudged Josh with the toe of his boot, rolling him over onto his back with a grunt of exertion.
But the test wasn’t over. Sam reached into his medical pack and produced a small vial of clear liquid and the more structured, muscle-stimulating compound. Without preamble, he plunged the needle into Josh’s neck. The effect was immediate and visible.
Josh’s groans turned to alarms as his overwhelmed body began to transform. The stimulant sent synthetic hormones directly into his bloodstream. His muscles, already painfully engorged from three days of grueling training and the den’s previous work, began to swell. Josh could feel the twinge and burn of his chest and ab muscles expanding, each fiber straining against its tendons, stretching the skin beyond its natural limits.
He looked down at his own body and screamed in revulsion. Not just from the pain, but the sheer mutability. His pecs grew in size and his abs became more defined and larger, each valley a deeper canyon. His biceps and triceps swelled, veins popping out in stark contrast against his swelling skin. To an outside observer, it would have looked like superhuman inflation – to Josh, it felt like his body was being torn apart by a fungal infection. Despite this, he still looked human. A physically perfect human, almost devoid of fat, that is.
Sam watched with hungry eyes, the stimulant doing its work in record time. Two minutes might not seem long, but in the world of forced evolution and this intense pain, it was an eternity. Josh was writhing against the damp earth of the tribemen’s campsite, his hands – finally freed from the pole – gripping his own nauseous body, trying to contain the transformation that felt more like an over-inflating balloon than natural growth.
“Pin him down,” Sam instructed the robots, pointing at Josh.
The robots advanced with a glinting purpose, their spindly arms snapping out and pinning Josh’s wrists to the floor next to his head, right where he had fallen. This caused his biceps and shoulders to bulge perfectly on the ground.
Josh stared up at Sam, his eyes dilated with pain and an unexpected spike of arousal, a chemical cocktail of his own body’s reaction to the impossible volume of his increased mass. He was wide open, displayed on a platter of hardened earth. His strength was already depleted.
“Perfect,” Jonathan’s voice crooned from the speaker. “The final act is about to begin. Do not disappoint us. Remain still.”
Sam’s expression was a total mess of lecherous hunger as he dropped to his knees over Josh’ pumped body. Sam extended both his hands to grab onto Josh's football sized biceps for support, feeling their firmness before he made his next move.
His eyes zoned into Josh's leaking tits.
Sam’s saliva glistened as his tongue darted out first, lapping at the still-flowing milk from Josh’s swollen, oversized milk leaks nipple. The liquid mixed with Josh’s own sweat and the damp of the forest floor as Sam began to feast.
Josh groaned loud and threw his head back as he allowed his roommate to defile his hard earned body once more. He closed his eyes in frustration.
After about 30 seconds, Sam's attention soon moved to the other nipple, which was just as erect and hypersensitive. He wrapped his lips around the fleshy peak, sucking hard enough that Josh could feel the tug deep in his chest, a vacatic pull that sent jolts of dark electricity through his entire system.
At the same time, Sam’s hand wandered lower, stroking Josh’s impossibly engorged cock, the thing was as thick as a softball and throbbing with a life of its own.
The pleasure was a garbled mess. The humiliating milking, the physically painful muscle swelling, the intense sucking on his nipples, and the hard, deliberate pumping of his swollen cock – it was all too much. All that torture since day one, senses overloaded simultaneously. Every waking moment of keeping his muscles engaged was coming to a head. His brains failed, a violent storm of sensation swirling into a vortex of sexual helplessness and humilation. The tension had been building for days, the hours of denied orgasms, the constant need to be aware and “in form” for abuse, now finally melting into a crushing, all-consuming wave of release.
Yet, as the robotic arms held him down, Sam continued to assault him. Not stopping when Josh reached his peak, but pushing him past it into a place he never knew existed – an eternity of coming and coming. Josh’s eyes rolled back into his head, his body a quivering mass of uncontrollable pleasure mixed with profound stimulation exhaustion.
Josh’s vision blurred and flickered, his consciousness one of shattered pieces receding further and further, until he finally welcomed the merciful blanket of darkness, passing out against the chilled sweetness of the ever willing dirt.
