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Robert’s eyes creaked open — they felt sore, bleary and gritty like he’d been woken in the midst of a nap. His head ached, too, in the same nap-flavoured dreamlike barely-aware way. But that couldn’t be right. He’d been working, hadn’t he? He’d been dispatched on a mission. Something Waterboy had done. His very earnest, albeit villainous fanboy who seemed more of a joke than anything, coming up with pathetic villainous schemes to meet his favourite hero. Waterboy.
At the thought of the name he looked around, wildly; at least, as much as he could, lying on the floor with his limbs bound. A giant fish tank that spanned floor to ceiling lit everything up in an alien blue glow, a camera on a tripod blinking a single red light like a cyclops’ eye. A microphone was set up on a swivel arm, like a recording studio. Putting together the pieces of the puzzle in his mind, he tugged a little with his arms against the smooth bindings around his wrists, and found no give. This was some sort of ransom video, obviously. It occurred to him that he was naked, too— he’d been wearing his Mecha-Man getup when he’d left, originally. Maybe it was a deliberate humiliation thing. The whole room felt humid with the damp heat from the fish tank, so humid he could almost feel the water beading on his eyelashes, on his freckled cheekbones.
“Can we get whatever begging shit you want over with?” His voice sounded weak, though his words were as smart-assed as ever. Intentional bravado. Paint it on like lipstick for a lady, Robert, no matter how scared you actually feel. “Whatever cash reward you want, proof of life, all that bullshit. Let’s make it quick so nobody gets hurt or goes to jail. Right?”
Waterboy’s voice, in response, soft and even from behind him. “There might, uh, possibly be begging,” he agreed, and Robert twisted around on his back, lying painfully on top of his bound forearms to look up at the villain. He was dressed nicely in a short sleeved shirt over the three-quarter length wetsuit top he always wore— like he was going on a date or something — and with unease Robert watched the slow, easy smile melt onto his face in the blue glow. It transformed his rather gawky features, that smile; made him handsome and inhumanly so, as a fey prince in some fairytale. Inhuman and beautiful and savage with delight. “You might beg me for — well, for something, but not for money.” Waterboy’s familiar and storm-grey eyes flickered toward the camera on the tripod, and he cleared his throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first tape of the testing phase of my much-awaited prototype.” His words were clearly rehearsed and stiff, but despite the awkward delivery, the phrase testing phase made the hairs on the back of Robert’s neck prickle with fear. “Waterboy, what the fuck did you do?”
Perhaps it was a placebo, or just him being dramatic, but Robert would swear that he was starting to feel feverish. He was getting chills, as if he was coming down with a flu, though he knew intellectually that the room was warm and, in actual fact, uncomfortably hot.
The rough grip of Waterboy’s huge hand on his face pulled him upwards and wrenched him toward the lens. “You can see — fifteen minutes in, we’re starting to observe a, he’s experiencing, uh, pupil dilation and his skin is becoming more sensitive. Just look,” he sighed almost dreamily. “For those of you watching at home after the fact, I’m not sure if it’ll come out — if you can see it on camera that well, but look at those big, pretty eyes. They’re only getting bigger and prettier.”
The slightly wet, rough grip of Waterboy’s hand on his face should have been repulsive and should have made Robert shrink away. So why was he leaning into it, trying to get him to touch more? Why did he want to part his lips to mouth at the hand that gripped his jaw like a vice? Even the creeping feeling of wrongness and anxiety seemed a little further away now, when the touch felt so comforting. Strong, commanding touch just felt really good. Really right.
“It’s progressing a little qui — faster, than I thought. Pupils are fully dilated and he appears to be becoming very docile.” Robert shook his head, but it felt like he was doing it underwater, or under thick molasses; cinematic slow-motion and lazy and so hard to move. “I’m not docile, what the fuck did you do to me? What did you give me? I’m not going to just do whatever for the camera, I’m not a circus pony.” God, since when was his mouth so dry? His body was hot, now, blistering hot.
Herman brought his face close to Robert’s, eyes half-lidded and languid. “He’s blushing all over his body, just, um, look how pink he is. Any minute now and I’ll — we’ll see…” A quick glance downwards towards Robert’s legs. He gently laid Robert backwards down on to the floor again and stood to readjust the camera, double-checking to make sure that his body was in frame. “You’re doing very well, Mecha-Man.”
Robert closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to ignore the waves of heat and cold now radiating up and down his body. It felt like his skin was electrified all over with thousands of little pinpricks, buzzing under the surface. He gasped at the feeling of cool hands on his skin, rubbing across his stomach, squeezing his thigh. He’d meant to protest, but somewhere between his brain and mouth the signal had become scrambled, and it came out as a low moan.
Waterboy’s voice came to him like a drowning man’s buoy, something to hold on to as his body overwhelmed itself, short-circuited along his nerves. “Now that he’s har — erect, we are almost seeing the full effects of the shot.” He sounded detached and clipped and clinical. Rehearsed. How long had he been planning this?
That train of thought disappeared like Alice’s white rabbit down the rabbit hole of Robert’s increasingly swirling brain when his hips bucked involuntarily. He opened his eyes, craning his neck desperately to see Waterboy’s fingers on his now incredibly hard cock — achingly hard, in fact, and leaking already. Waterboy’s thumb swiped across the bead of precum on the tip of his cock and smeared it down his frenulum, making Robert shudder. “Please,” he whined, not quite sure what he was begging for. For him to touch more? For him to stop?
“Where we see the practical applications of my in— this product,” Waterboy cleared his throat, addressing the unseen audience once more. “Is what I will now demonstrate to you.” Something slim and plastic was slotted against the shaft of Robert’s dick, fixed in place with some type of rubber strap; the slight touch made him whine, a high-pitched and filthy keening noise he didn’t quite recognise as something that could come from his very own mouth.
He realised that it was a vibrator when Waterboy clicked the remote to the lowest setting. It felt overwhelmingly frustrating and delicious and infuriating all at once; much too low to make him cum, but just about high enough to stimulate him and bring him closer and closer to cumming, like spiralling endlessly around a centre point. Robert’s back arched and his cock twitched wildly under the steady, constant torture of low buzzing. His mouth was open — had it been open for a while? It felt dry, so terribly dry, and empty somehow. Like when he’d given up cigarettes and just kept lifting his fingers to his lips for months after he’d stopped, anyway. That was exactly it; he felt the aching absence of something in his mouth, the desperate and pointed want the shape of it left behind.
Evidently, Waterboy had known he would feel this particular flavour of desire, because he had already yanked down his pants and underwear in preparation while Robert was lost in the sensations; his own impressive erection hung above Robert’s head. His hand found the back of Robert’s neck and lifted him to a sitting position as easily as though he was feather-light, guiding his waiting, eager mouth to wrap around the shaft of his cock.
The taste and sensation were divine to Robert — chemically altered as he was, nothing could be as delicious or desirable as the slightly salty taste of Waterboy’s skin or the scent of sweat and musk. He could drown himself in it, rub his cheek against Waterboy’s thighs like a cat to get his scent all over him, it was that overpowering; the vibrator whirred just a touch faster in response to his eager nuzzling. It made him feel like a dumb animal, the non-verbal praise and reward, like a dog with a clicker. The shameful and degrading thought of that only made him harder: him being reduced to a horny, brainless creature unable to respond to or understand verbal praise. Fuck, he wanted to cum, so, so badly— he hastily swiped his tongue along the cock in his mouth in hope of another taste of reward.
Waterboy moaned when Robert’s tongue massaged the underside of his dick, a long teasing lick up his frenulum making him sink his teeth into his lower lip to hold in a swear. The blowjob was sloppy and eager and wet; so eager, in fact, that Robert had taken him deeper into his mouth, flushed-pink lips decorating the base of his cock like they were made to be there. The little soft noises of enjoyment he was making — like there was nothing more addictive in all the world than this, sucking his cock — were the most erotic sounds that Waterboy had ever heard.
“So good.” Herman choked out, turning up the vibrator again to a delicious little jolt of Robert’s hips, another swipe of his frenzied tongue this time up Herman’s balls, painting a long wet stripe of saliva along the dark auburn hair. “You wanna — you want to cum right now, don’t you, Mecha-Man?” Robert’s muffled agreement vibrated the tip of Herman’s cock at the back of his throat and he threaded his hand into Robert’s hair at the crown of his head in response, yanking it backwards to pull Robert off his cock.
The sight of him was glorious. Huge brown eyes, pupils blown wide like he was high as a kite. His skin was flushed and pretty, his cheeks and shoulders and elbows pink; he looked like a doll who had been perfectly, beautifully blushed in all the right places. His lips were parted and almost red with how vigorously his mouth had just been fucked, still slick and shiny with drool that trailed from the side of his mouth, dripping from his chin; his cock was similarly leaking and bright pink at the tip. He looked just like he’d been fucked stupid, with those big, soft, brainless eyes; Herman could almost see the yawning and empty chasm where his thoughts used to be. Pointless thoughts, wasted on witty smartass remarks, when his mouth could be used in much more amusing and pleasurable ways.
“You look so very pretty.” Herman tilted Robert’s chin with a fingertip and thumb, Robert’s tongue roaming out of his mouth to seek the digits. “So very pretty and so very, very stupid. Doesn’t it feel good?” Vigorous, frantic nodding; though with the state he was in, he could probably get Robert to agree to strapping a bomb to his chest and sending him to the mall. He seized the camera in his other hand, pulling it closer to angle it down into Robert’s face, turning the preview screen so he could see himself in all of his glory.
Robert’s own image on the tiny screen doubled and quadrupled, blurred. Was that really him? He looked like something you’d see on some seedy website, some guy bound and exposed and obviously fucked up out of his mind. “Don’t you look pretty?” Waterboy prompted again, and Robert bashfully nodded. The vibration slowed once more and Robert’s rapid look of alarm made Waterboy chuckle deep in his throat. “Well, then, if you agree, and you want — if you really need to cum, you’re going to have to tell the people watching at home.”
Robert’s gaze slid away from the lens, and he mumbled something that might have been ‘pretty’.
“Not good enough, you have to be more convincing. Look right into the camera. You’re not just pretty, either. What kind of person cums on camera for a guy they barely know? What would you, uh, call someone like that?”
Robert’s cock pulsed again maddeningly; his balls felt so heavy and so, so tight. He needed to cum, needed the sweet and blinding release of his orgasm. “I’m pretty, I’m a…” Big brown eyes fixed on the camera, fringed with lovely dark lashes. Pretty as a doll. His back arched like he was displaying himself, displaying the lewd arc of his cock bouncing against his scarred and muscular stomach, the way his chest rose and fell with each heaving and desperate breath. A thing of beauty, perfection etched in muscle and sweat and arousal. “I’m a pretty, mmh, pretty slut, please let me — please make me cum, please…”
His words were pulled taut like wire with the effort of saying them, and they gratefully teased themselves out into a whimper as the vibrator kicked back into speed, Robert opening his mouth once more — gratefully, his wet pink tongue outstretched and waiting and obedient — for Waterboy to furiously jerk off into. Water was pooling and dripping down his forearms, leaving little rivulets of his water running down onto Robert’s cheeks, dripping to gather in the hollow of his collarbone.
It was the burning desire to taste his seed obvious in Robert’s huge, dilated eyes that made Herman cum, splattering Robert’s tongue white. Some had landed on his freckled cheekbone, more again in his hair, along an eyebrow, the bridge of his nose. Robert gave a little cry of pleasure as his own orgasm rocked his body, making him tip forward into Herman’s frame, sagging with what looked like relief at having finally orgasmed.
Herman tilted the camera back to his own face, smiled in his hazy, unfocused way at the lens. He clicked the button of the vibrator’s remote, raising the vibrations even higher again. “And now, you’ll see that — it’ll be obvious that the effect of this chemical is that there is no refractory period, that is, um, that is to say that your subject will not lose their erection despite ejaculating, and they can, in fact, orgasm as many times as they — well, as many times as you want…”