Robot

I stare through the glass of my case - my prison - at the normal, suburban living room and I sigh inwardly. Such an utter waste of my life, and yet I can do nothing about it. I stare out at the empty living room and watch the world pass by. Real people living their lives through the other side of the net curtains. Only metres away from me, I see people walk past me on this busy high street. I see cars and buses. The rest of the world continuing to turn, alive and experiencing their lives. All oblivious to my plight, as I stand and yearn for freedom. I listen in vain, but all that I can hear is the ticking of the mantelpiece clock, as time ticks slowly by.

My owner is at work. I estimate that it must by now be mid morning. There are several more hours before he will return and even then I am unsure if I will be used today. He may just keep me in my case, an ornament observing the world go by. Unmoving. Still. My whole body an aching monument, a testimony to his total control over me.

I used to be normal. A free man. A 19 year old jock boy with a bright future ahead of me. I was training to be a doctor at the city university and was the main man around campus. Captain of the university hockey and athletics teams, a promising runner and my body honed to physical perfection. I was destined for a promising life: a beautiful wife, a family, a rewarding career and even maybe sporting recognition. How I regret our first meeting, as I stand here naked, my muscular body on full display to an empty room and my mind remembering what I once was. The free man that I could have been. Instead of a naked ornament on display for no reason other than the whim of another man.

There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think about our first meeting. Most of my daily life is spent in still contemplation, and memories are all that I have. On that day, last June, I had noticed him out of the corner of my eye, watching me as I completed my sprint training on the track. I had been surprised to see him come over, dressed casually. He had introduced himself as a scout for a professional athletics club. He had talked about my potential, and how he could train me to perfection. Even now he laughs about it, twelve months later. How he has kept his word and trained me to perfection.

If only I could go back. If only I could undo coming to his house. If only I had ignored his advice to tell no-one until he had outlined a contract with me. Naively, I had turned up at his house. I had lain on his low couch. He had insisted that it was to test the suitability of my mind and, like a fool, I had allowed him to relax me and then to hypnotise me. I know it now. I understand now that I have been hypnotised. I know the depths of my control and humiliation. He wants me to be aware of what I have become. But I am completely powerless to do anything about it, despite my conscious awareness of the ridiculous object that I have become.

And I know, deep inside, that I will never be released. I will never again taste the freedom of life. My destiny is to live this life of utter desperation and humiliation. Helplessly controlled for the rest of my life.

After the first session, I was totally enslaved. I knew my destiny. I knew what would become of me. He told me, simply and calmly. As if he were telling me about a round of golf, he outlined my future. He told me what would become of me for the rest of my life. And yet, despite the fear and the loathing of what he was doing to me, at the end of the session I was completely under his power. He brought me back to consciousness and I rose from the settee. Shaking my head I looked at his smiling face in horror. My mind screamed in indignation and horror as I found myself following his instructions to strip. Without hesitation, I had removed my clothes and stood naked, legs apart and arms behind my head before him. My whole body on full display as I struggled to comprehend what my new future would be.

I can feel the shame inside me even now, as I felt him rubbing his hands all over my naked and displayed body, calmly giving me instructions and the time and date when I would return to his house one month later.

Why had I not run away during that month? That one month of seeming freedom when he had let me out of his clutches. My mind understands that I was physically unable of doing so, but I still find it difficult to accept that all of this could have been avoided. That I could have escaped this terrible fate.

It was a month in which I was forced to prepare for slavery. A month when I went to the local salon and asked for my blond hair to be shaved away. I sat in the chair, tears trembling down my reddened cheeks as my beautiful hair was shorn away at my own request, but unable to tell the stylist what the problem was, and why I was transforming my head to a bald and shiny beacon.

It was a month in which I reported daily to the hospital clinic of my respected owner : he was – is – a renowned hospital consultant in corrective and beauty therapies. Daily, I stripped and laid in place as my skin was subjected to lazer treatment. All of my body hair gradually fell away, never to return, as a result of the intensive treatment. Treatment at the hands and medical direction of my respected consultant. My owner.

It was a month in which – one week prior to my full enslavement – I reported for medical surgery at my owner’s clinic. At his direction – I don’t know how he managed to ensure that this happened, but he did – I was subjected to a number of horrific surgeries by his own hands. My beautiful manhood, my cock, was amputated. Only a flat square stub remains where once I had a cock. A nub without a piss slit. My urethra now re-routed out of my arse, to remove any sense of remaining a man. My balls remain, sewn inside my body, under the skin between my muscular legs. They ache for release but are of course unable ever to release their contents, as I am now a cockless object. He wanted my balls to remain, so that I retained my masculine body. And so that my desire for release as a young, virile man remained ever present. A base desire to cum that tortures me on a daily basis. I have the desire to cum, to release my sperm. But it is a desire that can never be realised.

That was the most radical change, but not the only one. Two metal cylinders were installed inside me. One forms a funnel inside my mouth, preventing any form of speech and flattening my tongue permanently on the floor of my mouth. A tunnel through which I accept whatever my owner places inside me.

The second is inserted up my anal chute. Fitted with a stopper, it keeps my arse opened up in a wide tunnel for his amusement and the stopper keeps my waste plugged inside me until my owner releases it. I am not even given the dignity of being able to defecate.

I was released back to my student room the day prior to my enslavement. I remember vividly stripping for bed on my last night of freedom, and staring in the mirror at the human doll in the mirror. Bald, shaved all over and devoid of genitalia. Like an obscene human mannequin. I examined my alien body. I examined the metal funnel in my mouth, and pulled in vain at the stopper locking my arse. What had happened to me? Why I had allowed this to happen? Why was he doing this to me? And yet still I walked into his control the following day. Enslaving myself.

Twelve months on, I know the answer. As I stand here frozen in this glass display case, my ridiculous naked body on full display, I wait for my owner’s command. The voice that activates my body from its frozen state and allows me to at least move as I follow his commands. I am completely enslaved by my own mind. And there is nothing that I can do to prevent it.

As I feel my anal chute begin to fill with my own shit, and feel it clog up behind the plug I feel like screaming. But all I can do is wait. Wait silently. A human robot. Programmed by my owner.