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The White Room: Reprogramming Through Sensory Deprivation and Hypnosis

by z119z

The White Room: Reprogramming Through Sensory Deprivation and Hypnosis


© by the author 2012

“Get in the van. Now! Do it, or I’ll shoot.”

Something hard pressed into the side of Chris’s forehead, just above his right eye. At the edge of his vision, he could see a gloved hand holding something shiny and metallic.

“Get in. On the floor. Face down.” The man’s voice was hoarse and cold.

Chris bent forward and crawled into the van. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I’m getting in. Jesus, don’t shoot.” He tried to inject fear and panic into his voice. His heart was pounding, but not from fear. The moment the man had rushed him from behind and shoved his torso against the van, his cock had almost exploded. He hadn’t been so aroused in months.

So far they were following the script he had received in the email. The instructions had been quite detailed. He was to wait for a text at about 11:00 pm. When he received the message that everything was in place, he was to walk out the back entrance to his apartment building as quietly as possible, turn to the right and begin walking down the alley.

The assault came without warning. The man must have been crouching between two of the cars parked in the alley. His body exploded against Chris and propelled against the back of the van. He wrenched Chris’s left arm around behind his back and manhandled Chris forward along the side of the van. The sliding door was already open. Chris scrambled to get inside. The man leapt in behind him and quickly cuffed Chris’s wrists behind his back. The man spun around and just as quickly manacled Chris’s ankles. Chris struggled against the restraints but his efforts were futile, as he knew (and hoped) they would be. The metal cuffs bound his ankles and wrists tightly. They were far less yielding the leather cuffs Chris had worn several times. He tried to play the role of the frightened but outraged victim.

“What are you doing? Let me go!”

“Shaddup. I hear annudda word outta ya, and it’ll be your last.” The man’s growl and accent were perfect.

The man grabbed a fistful of Chris’s hair and jerked his head up. Chris gasped. It hurt a bit more than he wanted, but it wasn’t really painful, at least not too painful, and it added to the realism. One part of his mind admired the man’s ability to play the role. He had picked a good partner for his kidnapping. Chris tried to pull away, but his struggles made the man grasp his hair even tighter.

“Stay still and keep quiet.” The man maneuvered a metal collar around Chris neck and padlocked it shut. He looped the thick chain attached to the collar around the shorter chains linking the handcuffs and then the ankle cuffs and pulled the chain taut. Chris heard a snap as the man pushed a shackle into a padlock. The man let the chain sag against Chris’s body. Even through his clothing, he could feel the “cold steel” listed as a “preferred element” in his abduction scenario.

The floor of the van was hard against Chris’s knees and ribs, and his erect cock was caught in the tight elastic of his briefs. He tried to shift his body to a more comfortable position. “I told you not to move.” The man pushed the back of Chris’s head down, shoving his face into the carpet. It smelled of dirt and mold and oil. The bristles were stiff and prickly against Chris’s face. With his free hand, the man reached forward and pulled something out of the pocket on the back of the driver’s seat. He snapped it open with a sharp twitch of his wrist and then pulled it down over Chris’s head.

Chris’s nostrils and throat filled with a sharp, sweet odor. He gasped as the man tightened the hood around his neck. It was happening too fast. His heart was beating so loudly. Was this part of the script? He couldn’t remember. His mind suddenly wasn’t working. He felt dizzy. Why was that bell ringing so loudly?


It had begun a week earlier.

Chris was leaning against the back wall of the Roughriders’ Bar, his eyes slowly trolling the room for someone decent looking, someone alone, someone he might want to go home with, someone interesting enough to relieve his boredom temporarily with a couple of hours of chat and sex, mostly sex. Even that didn’t do much for him anymore, he had to admit. Not for the first time he thought that he had to find something new, something that would bring the excitement back into his life. And if excitement was too much to ask, at least a bit of fun.

“Where’s Chris?”

The sound of his own name among the jumble of conversations around him caught his attention. The guy who had spoken was standing about three feet away. He was part of a group of five, all of them turned away from Chris, all of them like Chris surveying the room for a possible partner for the evening.

“I couldn’t drag him away from his computer. He’s found this new website. It’s like he’s hypnotized or something. He spends every free minute he has logged on to it and waiting for something to happen. Get this. It’s called ‘kidnapme.com.’ To join you have to answer a lot of questions and then write out a kidnapping fantasy, with yourself as the victim or the kidnapper. If you’re accepted, then you can read other guys’ fantasies, and if you find one you like, then you contact the webmaster and he brings the two of you together. He gives you a time and a place and assigns you your role. You show up and play out your fantasy.”

“Yeah, right. If it’s like all the other sex sites, the other guy is 65 years old with a belly that sags over his belt.”

“No, that’s covered. When you apply to join, you have to turn on your web cam and transmit a picture for several minutes. The webmaster can tell from the time stamp that it’s being made at the same time that you’re filling in the application. The program randomly tells you to perform certain actions or say certain things. Supposedly it keeps you from lying about your age or your looks. He also claims that he checks to make sure you are from the city you claim to be from. So you get to see what the other person looks like. And if you don’t show up for a meeting, your membership is automatically canceled. Chris has already had one meeting. He really enjoyed it.”

“Jesus, isn’t he afraid that he’s going to run into a psychopath?”

“A psychopath would be an improvement over some of Chris’s dates.”

Everyone laughed. “Supposedly,” the first speaker said, “all the questions you have to answer at the beginning allow the webmaster to weed out the crazies.”

Chris had heard enough. He left his half-finished drink on a table and walked out of the bar. The words “kidnap me” had been enough to make his cock twitch. The description of the website made him hard. The website sounded like a cure for his boredom, and he wanted to get to his computer as fast as possible and join kidnapme.com.


“Have you ever wanted to kidnap another man and make him your prisoner? Have you ever wanted another man to kidnap you? We help you to live out your fantasies in a safe, controlled environment.”

Beneath this message on the front page of kidnapme.com a huge muscleman fought the broad, thick shackles shiny with chrome that encircled his ankles and wrists. Heavy chains connected them to bolts in the floor and ceiling. A black ball gag forced his mouth open. His eyes were opened wide with terror. Every muscle in his body flexed with ineffectual power as he fought to escape. Shreds of clothing clung to his sweat-drenched body. Behind him, just barely visible in the darkness, stood a clothed figure watching his struggles.

Chris quickly pressed the Enter button. The next screens contained a series of statements and asked him to rate his agreement with each statement on a scale of one to ten, one for strongly disagree and ten for strongly agree. It took him almost two hours to finish. Each screen contained ten propositions. He lost track of the number of screens. Later he estimated that there must have been thirty or forty screens and several hundred statements.

Some of the statements dealt directly with kidnapping. “I want to be kidnapped.” That got a ten. “I want to kidnap someone.” One. “I like to be restrained.” Ten. The reasons for such statements were easy to understand, and Chris quickly clicked the appropriate boxes.

Other statements were more difficult to rate. “I like to be ordered about.” Chris had to think about that one. There were situations in which that was true, but there were plenty of times when he hated being told what to do. In the end he gave that one a six. He found it hard to deal with generalizations like that. The person who devised the test seemed to know that because subsequent statements on this general theme provided more context and were easier to answer. “At work, I always follow my supervisor’s orders.” That got a three. “If I disagree with my boss, I discuss my reasons for disagreeing with him.” An eight. “I let my sexual partner take the lead.” A six. Chris thought about that for a minute and then changed the six to an eight. And then to a nine.

The third screen instructed him to turn on his web cam. Thereafter from time to time, the screen would instruct him to perform a certain action. Wink at the camera. Wave. Stand up and walk backward for five steps and then return.

Each time Chris finished a screen and pressed the Next button at the bottom, a picture would appear. Beneath each picture were two buttons—one that led to the next screen and a further series of statements and another that ended the program and returned the viewer to his home page. Chris opted each time to continue. Each successive image aroused Chris more and more. The men who Chris imagined as the kidnappers became sexier and more threatening. The victims were presented in poses that emphasized their helplessness, and that, too, excited him. Some of them even shared certain of his features—they had light brown, medium-length, slightly curly hair. All of them were clean-shaven and were of average build, muscled with good definition but not bulked up. It was as if the program was inviting him to identify with the victims and knew what sorts of men he found attractive and what his fantasies were. He found himself lingering longer and longer over each picture, tweaking his nipples with his fingertips and then stroking his cock through his pants.

At the end, the program wrote out a profile for him. After giving his physical stats, it presented him with a psychological profile and then a list of his preferred activities. The program took him through each item in his profile and asked him to confirm the details or amend them. At certain points, it gave him an array of choices and instructed him to select the word or phrase that best described his interests or desires. To his surprise, Chris found himself making very few changes in the computer-generated profile. It was uncanny how well the program captured him and summed him up using his responses to the questionnaire.

The final screen informed him that he would receive an email within two days letting him know if his application had been accepted. The exit button led to a final picture. A muscular man sat on a black leather chair surrounded by a bright white, textureless background. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his thighs. A braided whip was looped around the back of his neck. He held the ends of the whip in his hands. He wore only a pair of sunglasses. The dark pupils of his eyes were visible as even darker spots behind the lenses. His bronze skin glowed. His legs were spread apart, and his thick, dark cock hung down past the seat of the chair. He was uncut, and the foreskin was retracted slightly so that the piss slit peeked out. His lips curved upward in a slight smile as if he were amused. It wasn’t a kind smile.

Chris unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. He was so aroused. His cock was hard and already oozing. After only a few strokes, he shot several jets of cum over his stomach and chest. After he came, he realized that the web cam was still on and that he was still connected to kidnapme.com.

The acceptance came the next day. The email contained the address of the “members only” portal for kidnapme.com and a log-in code. It explained that the website contained the profiles of other members of the site. He could search the profiles by, among other things, geographic area from units as large as a state to as small as a zip code, age, physical characteristics, and type of kidnapping. Each profile had still pictures of the member and a short video edited from the tape made during the application process, along with an assessment of the member based on his responses to the application form. A member could indicate his interest in another member by clicking the “like” button in the profile. An email giving Chris’s profile number would be sent to the other member. If that person was interested in Chris, he could indicate that by clicking the like button on Chris’s profile. This would alert the web master that a possible pair had been found. Similarly, Chris would receive an email if another member liked him.

When two members indicated a mutual attraction, the web master would contact both of them and propose a possible scenario based on their respective interests. When the details of the scenario had been worked out, the web master would arrange a time and a place for the “kidnapping.” Each scenario would come with a specified maximum time. No more than two hours after the scheduled end of the scene, the “victim” had to make a short video stamped with the date and time and then log on to his kidnapme.com account from his home computer. The member then sent the web master a text indicating that he was safe and free, attaching the video as proof that he had returned home. The background of the room shown in the video had to match that in the tape made during the application process so that the webmaster could verify the location. Moreover, the “victim” would be given specific code words to be used in the text. The code words would differ each time. If the victim sent any other words, the web master would know that he was still a prisoner and would locate him. If a kidnapper failed to respect the time limits, that would automatically end his membership privileges, and the web master would know the perpetrator’s identity and would notify the police if the victim were abused.

The stray thought occurred to Chris that this system was not foolproof, but he quickly dismissed that concern in his excitement and hurry to log on to kidnapme.com. He found his own profile and checked it. The still pictures were okay. He looked attractive, but he wished he had worn a tight T-shirt that displayed his arms and chest better and maybe shorts instead of jeans so that his legs could be seen. All that running had given him muscular thighs and calves. The video was a bit dark, but, still, it was apparent that he had a decent body.

For his first search, he wanted to investigate what the site had to offer and decided against a narrow, restricted selection. He indicated only an age range (25–40). The default setting for geographic area was no more than five miles from one’s home zip code, and Chris decided to go with that.

To his surprise, the search returned 143 results. Some of these members were interested in a rougher scene than Chris wanted. He went back to the search parameters and narrowed it to filter out heavy S/M. Even so, there were 89 possibles. He spent the next couple of hours reading the profiles and noting those that really attracted him. Some profiles were easy to reject. The Sisters of Perpetual Humiliation ran a confession service staffed by transvestite nuns with rulers. Their motto was “Kneel and confess.” Minor transgressions were punished with a whack across an open palm. The ruler was applied to more and more sensitive parts of the body as the sins got worse. Chris quickly moved on to the next profile. It took him longer to decide about James S. James was incredibly handsome and masculine, and that attracted Chris. But his profile proclaimed him an expert in “advanced interrogation techniques.” Chris wasn’t sure what those techniques might include. In the end, he decided that James might prove more than he wanted on his first kidnapping. He jotted down the profile number, however. He might give James a try later, after he had more experience.

Eventually he reduced the list of possibles to five. He clicked the like button in each profile and then exited the site. He checked his email for the first time fifteen minutes later. Over the course of the next several hours, he checked his mail compulsively every time he had a spare moment.

The next morning when he discovered an email from the webmaster, his cock immediately got hard. Chris couldn’t believe how excited the prospect of being kidnapped made him. The idea of being abducted and held a helpless captive had always been a fantasy, but he had dismissed it as just that—a fantasy, and probably dangerous if it moved beyond daydreams. The idea that he might be kidnapped within a few days made him lightheaded. All his blood had flowed into his throbbing cock.

It was like the first time he had finally gotten up the courage to let someone tie him up. The feeling of the cuffs being tightened around his wrists and ankles had made his cock harden instantly. The weight and strength of the cuffs had surprised him. He was powerless, and that realization excited him. He bought a set of cuffs the next day. When he got home, he rubbed them over his naked body, relishing the feeling of the leather against his skin and the coldness of the heavy metal fittings. He wrapped one of them around the base of his cock and balls, pulling it tight so that his cock and balls were squeezed out past the wide thick ring of black leather. He held another up before his open mouth and licked it. At first the leather was dry and acrid against his tongue, but it soon grew smooth with his saliva. He slowly sucked it into his mouth and down into his throat, pulling the cuff in and out. His other hand stroked his cock, matching the rhythm. He zoned out, letting the cuffs take over and penetrate his mind and body, focusing on his memories of how he had felt the night before, how helpless, how at the mercy of his captor, how excited and aroused, how he had taken pleasure in fighting his bonds, knowing that he could not escape, that his struggles were useless. His cock began oozing pre-cum as he remembered.

The email was short. “Rufus 2013” had accepted his “like” and wanted to arrange a session, preferably with the abduction to take place late Friday night or very early Saturday morning, with the imprisonment to last until at least until Saturday evening, but better to Sunday morning around 10:00. If Chris agreed, the webmaster would arrange the kidnapping.

Chris logged onto kidnapme.com and found Rufus 2013’s profile.

Have you ever wanted to be kidnapped and held captive? If so, my fully equipped prison facility is waiting for you. My passions include power exchange, imprisonment, and mind control. I am not into pain or sadism. I will use hypnosis to augment your experience and make your stay in my cell unforgettable.

Further hypnotic training available for those willing to commit to a longer stay (two-week minimum). Do you want to be programmed so thoroughly that your Master/Controller can force you to your knees with a look? Immobilize you just by whispering in your ear? Do you want to have a compulsion to build muscle mass? To become a submissive dumb jock? A pet? A robot? Then spend your vacation with me. I am an experienced top and hypnotist. I can make all of this come true for you and then some. Let me hypnotize you to make you feel that your deepest, darkest fantasies are actually happening.

I enjoy developing a subject physically and mentally. This can be done part-time or full-time. I guide, mentor, train, and educate those who commit to my course of instruction so they can become all they ever dreamed they could be—and more.

Rufus 2013 had received a rating of 4.95 out of 5.00 from 23 different members of the site, all of whom indicated that they had asked for a repeat session. The comments ranged from “I wish I had stayed longer. Definitely going back during my vacation” to “Literally mind-blowing” to “The best.”

The short video of Rufus revealed a tall swarthy man with dark hair and a dense stubble trimmed into a chinstrap beard and a mustache that curved around his lips to join the beard at the chin. Heavy black eyebrows shaded his dark eyes. He wore a white T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. His wrists and forearms were thick and matted with black hair. His upper arms were so large that the arms of the T-shirt were pushed above the bicep. The T-shirt was pulled tight by his chest and shoulder muscles, and his nipples puckered the fabric. It was clear that there was a substantial cleft between his pecs. His thighs stretched the fabric of his jeans. The bulge at his crotch was promising. He looks like a pirate, thought Chris. No, a buccaneer, or a corsair. He wasn’t sure if a corsair was more than a pirate, but he liked the sound of the word.

The hypnosis sealed it for Chris. He had never been hypnotized and hadn’t thought much about it, but all that he knew about it made it seem the perfect way to “augment” the experience. The dark pupils of Rufus’s eyes caught his gaze and held it. Unconsciously Chris licked his lips and began to stroke his nipples. He could imagine those eyes staring at him and draining him of all will and making him a mindless robot, ready to obey Rufus’s every order. He whimpered in anticipation.

Chris quickly emailed the webmaster back and asked him to arrange the abduction and imprisonment. He would be available on Friday night and could stay until Sunday morning. Then he returned to Rufus’s profile and jacked off while looking at the pictures and the video and rereading the profile.

The arrangements were quickly made. He was to wait in his apartment on Friday evening. He would receive a text message around 11:00 when everything was in place. He should then exit his building by the rear door and turn right. His kidnapper would be waiting in the alley. He would have an unloaded revolver and use it to force Chris into a van. Chris could resist or cooperate as he chose, but he should be careful not to attract attention. In the end he should get into the van. He would be handcuffed and then taken away. He would be imprisoned and forced to cooperate with his abductor. The imprisonment would last until on Sunday morning. At the end of the session Chris would be returned to his neighborhood around 10:00 am. By no later than noon on Sunday, he should send the video that confirmed his return home to the webmaster and an email indicating that he had been released and was safe. The email should be signed Christopher rather than Chris and include the phrases “exhausted but still aroused” and “want another session as soon as possible” so that the webmaster would know that it was genuine and not being sent under duress. “Remember,” the message ended, “the more you enter into the spirit of the kidnapping, the more you will enjoy the experience.”

At least once a day, Chris called up the photos and video of Rufus 2013 and jerked off. Friday couldn’t come soon enough. On Friday evening he was too excited to eat. He couldn’t stop pacing, and he checked his cell every few minutes to make sure that it was charged and turned on.

A pulsing in his head. A tug of hunger in his stomach. A hard unyielding surface beneath his body. Bright lights on the other side of his eyelids creating ghost images on his retinas—spirals, starbursts, comets. Complete silence. No clothes. Warm. Need to piss. Dry tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Thirsty. Want a cup of coffee.

Chris awoke gradually. A stray thought would surface and then disappear as he drifted in and out of consciousness. It took him several minutes to confirm to himself that he was awake. He opened his eyes. He was sprawled naked on his right side, with his head resting on his left arm. In front of him was a white surface. He lifted his head. He thought he could see the junction of the floor with a wall, but it was hard to tell. Everything was a bright white. There were no edges. He rolled over and pushed himself up to a sitting position. He was surrounded by white surfaces. They appeared to be lit evenly from behind. There were no gradations of color or in the intensity of the light. He cast no shadow. There were no shadows anywhere in the room.

“The prisoner will stand up.” The voice came from inside the room—at least it seemed that way. There wasn’t any source. It came from all directions at once. It was deep and masculine but devoid of a regional accent. Standard American English with careful and precise enunciation, almost as if it were generated by a machine. No machine, however, could produce that tone of command.

“What? Where am I? Why have you done this?” Chris suddenly realized that he was naked, and he cupped his hands over his cock and balls. He blushed at the thought that someone had undressed him, perhaps even handled him or even molested him.

“The prisoner will stand up.”

Chris suddenly remembered the game he was playing. He had forgotten. It was a game. He was playing a game. He was a prisoner—of Rufus 2013. He stood up and took his hands away from his groin. One of the points of the game was sex. Rufus would soon be doing more to his cock than just looking at it. No need to be modest.

“Where am I?” His voice quavered. Good, he thought, that’s good. I should sound frightened.

“The prisoner will use the toilet and then begin his morning exercises.”

Silently a panel slid up into the ceiling, revealing a toilet and sink. Off to one side were an exercise machine and a treadmill. Everything was completely white.

“Wow, this is impressive. This looks so real.” Chris whistled in surprise. Rufus had gone to a lot of trouble to make the game lifelike. The guy had to be rich to afford all this.

“The prisoner will use the toilet and then begin his morning exercises.”

“Oh, right,” said Chris. He remembered—he had to play along and pretend to be a prisoner. He shrugged and walked over to the toilet. When he finished, the toilet flushed automatically.

“The prisoner will now begin the morning series of exercises.” For what seemed liked two or three hours, Chris followed the instructions of the voice as it led him through a series of warm-up muscle-stretching exercises, exercises for various parts of his body, and then a long jog on the treadmill. Chris was in good shape, but he was beginning to tire when the voice at last announced, “The prisoner will take a shower.”

A panel slid aside in the ceiling revealing a shower head. Directly beneath it, a drain opened in the floor. Water came cascading down. Chris stood beneath it. The water must have contained soap, because lather began appearing. He massaged the soapy water over his body. He knew that Rufus 2013 was watching, and he tried to make the shower an erotic offering of himself. He rotated his head on his neck beneath the stream of water, making it flow over different parts of his body. He groaned with pleasure as if he were being overwhelmed with sensation. He played with his nipples as he washed his pecs. He flexed his arms as he soaped them. He pushed the foreskin off the head of his cock and slowly ran his hands over his cock, pulling it out to display it and then stroking it. He bent forward at the waist, spreading his ass cheeks apart to allow the water to run between them before using his hand to lather the crack so that foam ran down the backs of his thighs. Following the orders given him by the voice was fun, but Chris wanted prison sex as well. He wanted the jailer to burst into the room, overwhelmed with lust and filled with uncontrollable desires.

When he had washed every part of his body, the soap disappeared from the water. Chris rinsed his body off. The flow of water stopped, and the panel in the ceiling closed. Blasts of hot air came from some invisible source and dried him off. The steam and the damp air disappeared. The drain closed. Chris knelt down and felt for the panel that he knew had to be there in the floor, but the surface was seamless. The wall panel that had opened earlier to the toilet and the exercise equipment had closed while Chris was taking the shower. He hadn’t noticed it. The room felt exactly as it had when he had first woke up. There were no variations in the texture of the walls or ceiling, no shadows, no sounds. The light fell evenly throughout the room.

Chris was surrounded by even expanses of white on all sides. It was hard to judge where the walls and the ceiling were. He could tell where the floor was because he could see his feet, and he knew from the height of the shower that the ceiling was about a yard over his head, but now that that landmark had disappeared, the ceiling had moved to some indistinct distance. He knew where it should be, but his eyes would not confirm it. I could get lost in here, Chris thought. He held a hand up, palm outward, and cautiously moved forward until he found the wall. His hand and his arm looked so dark against the white. He was winter-pale, but in this room he appeared deeply tanned. He realized that he was the only thing in the room that had any color. He turned around and pressed his body forcefully against the wall, from the back of his head down to the soles of his feet. It felt reassuring to assert his existence, his difference from the room. The wall was unyielding, of a different density from himself. It wasn’t him, but like everything else in the room, it did not feel cold or hot. It was as if the temperature of every object, himself included, was the same. Only the variance in color made him stand out. He slowly felt his way around the walls of the room. There were no corners, no ninety-degree angles as in a room with four walls. He couldn’t tell, but he thought the room might be a circle. He was so intent on following the walls that he lost track of how far he had moved. There was no way to tell when, or even if, he had returned to his starting point.

“Hello.” He spoke in a normal voice. “Is anyone there?” The words faded almost as soon as he uttered them. No one answered. Chris spoke louder. “Rufus 2013? Sir? Are you there?” Again the room swallowed up the sounds. “Please, answer me.”

Chris listened intently. Barely at the threshold of his hearing, there seemed to be a low hissing sound surrounding him. But other than that, the room was completely silent. It occurred to him that he might be imagining the noise, his mind supplying something that he wanted to hear. He stretched out on the floor and pressed his hands against the hard surface. He was surround by absence—an absence of color, an absence of sound, an absence of temperature, an absence of movement. He rolled over and looked up. He tried to find the ceiling, but there was nothing but white. The ceiling might be inches above his head; it might be hundreds of feet away. He couldn’t tell. The room was very disorienting. It invited him to lose himself in it.

He awoke with a start. He hadn’t been sleeping, he knew that. His eyes had been open. But he hadn’t been there. His mind had been blank for a time. He didn’t know how long.

“The prisoner will feed.”

He sat up and looked around. “Hey! Hello! Don’t go away. Talk to me.”

“The prisoner will feed. Behind you.”

He turned around. A small hatch had opened in the wall. A white, oddly shaped tube extended from it. He crept closer. The tube was about the same distance from the floor as his mouth was when he knelt on all fours. But it wasn’t a tube, at least not in the ordinary sense. It was a dildo.

“The prisoner will feed. Suck on it, and the nutriment will be released.”

“No.” He stood up and folded his arms across his chest and walked away. Part of the game was resisting the kidnapper and then being overawed and overwhelmed by his strength.

“The prisoner will feed. The sooner you comply, the sooner you will be released. Obedience is rewarded.”

“I’m through playing your games. This is boring. Let me out of here. You have to let me out. The webmaster is expecting my email, you fuckhead. I will tell him that what you are doing. I will let the other members know.” Chris tried to bluster and sound confident. But he suspected that he was stuck in the room until his captor decided otherwise. Still, he couldn’t just give in without a fight. It was time to show Rufus 2013 that he had to do more than just issue orders from some place out of sight. The trick, thought Chris, is to provoke him into entering the room to deal with me.

“The prisoner will feed. The sooner you comply, the sooner you will be released. There is no way out except through compliance and obedience. The prisoner will feed.”

“No. Let me out.”

“The prisoner will feed. There is no way out except through compliance and obedience. The prisoner will feed.” Rufus, or whatever his name was, continued to speak in the calm, almost textureless voice he had used for all his commands. He gave the impression of a man with infinite amounts of time and patience, a man confident that eventually Chris would obey.

“What the fuck sort of game is this? Let me out of here.” Chris was shouting now. There was no answer. He turned around. The dildo was barely visible against the background. Like everything else in the room, it cast no shadow. He had to squint to distinguish it. Jesus, I’m screwed, he thought. What if this guy’s a madman? He’s not going to let me out unless I cooperate. He shrugged his shoulders. Well, giving in to the superior force of the kidnapper and cooperating were also parts of the game.

He knelt down and examined the dildo. It was realistically shaped, down to the prominent veins and the flare of the head where it met the shaft. He touched it. It was rubbery, softer than the walls of the room. It gave a bit in his hand. He squeezed it and a drop of white liquid appeared at the tip. What the fuck, he thought. This is part of the game. He’ll let me go when I cooperate. He wrapped his lips around the head of the dildo and began sucking. The fluid was thick, rather like one of those liquid protein supplements that tasted like a milkshake. But this “nutriment” had no taste.

When he began swallowing, he realized how thirsty and hungry he was. It must be several hours since I last ate or drank anything, he thought. I do need to put something into my stomach. He began sucking harder and taking more and more of the shaft of the dildo into his mouth. When he did that, more fluid came out. He found that he could adjust the flow. If he sucked harder and took more of the dildo into his mouth, he got more fluid. If he licked the slit with the tip of his tongue, he got only a drop. He had been wrong, though. The “cum” tasted good, better than anything he had ever eaten. He rocked back and forth on his hands and knees, milking the dildo, sucking as hard as he could. Suddenly he was ravenous. He couldn’t get enough. When the dildo retracted and disappeared into the wall, he groaned in disappointment.

“Good boy. The prisoner will now sleep.”

The room immediately plunged into darkness. Where before there had been an even whiteness and constant illumination, there was now only black.

He lay down on the floor with his back against the wall, his mind grasping the hardness of the wall and floor against his body. That feeling was the only sensation he had. He was afraid to move. The blackness pressed down on him. His heart raced. Sleep was the last thing he wanted to do.

“The prisoner will wake up.”

The last thing he remembered was being frightened and then a quick feeling of lightheadedness and sleepiness. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, yet he had. But he didn’t know for how long. There was no way to tell. He could have been asleep for hours or just minutes. He couldn’t remember anything. He thought he had been dreaming about someone speaking, but he must have imagined that.

The room slowly brightened, returning to the even white lighting.

“The prisoner will use the toilet.”

“The prisoner will feed.”

“The prisoner will exercise.”

“The prisoner will shower.”

“The prisoner will sleep.”

He stopped fighting the commands. There was no point in resisting them. He could either lie on the floor bored out of his mind or follow orders. His body ached from all the exercises he was doing, but he welcomed the pain. At least the fatigue was a feeling. It was as if the room was draining his mind, and the tiredness in his muscles was evidence that he was still there, still alive, still separate from the room and the voice. And it made it easier to sleep and rest. As soon as he finished sucking on the dildo, the lights went out, and he fell asleep within seconds.

“Good boy.”

He was feeding, sucking the nutriment from the dildo in the wall. It felt so good to suck on the dildo, He was focusing on the dildo, only on the dildo. Had someone told him to do that? He wasn’t sure. Sometimes he seemed to remember that someone had spoken to him. He didn’t know any more. And it didn’t matter. What mattered was focusing on sucking on the dildo, on building up the strength of the muscles in his lips, his mouth, his tongue, his throat. He had to focus on that and that alone. When he sucked cock, the only thing in the world was the cock. Nothing else existed, only the cock and his sucking. He wanted to be a good boy. He wanted to be the best cocksucker in the world. He wanted to please. Being a good boy made him feel so wonderful. Being the best cocksucker in the world made him feel so wonderful. Pleasing made him feel so wonderful. He was a good boy. He felt so good.

He was exercising, pushing his muscles to the limit over and over. It felt so good to exercise. He focused completely on the group of muscles he was building. It was important to build his body, to make himself strong and muscular so that he pleased others. He had to focus on that and that alone. He wanted to be a good boy. He wanted to make his body beautiful and desirable. Being a good boy made him feel so wonderful. Being muscular and beautiful for others to enjoy made him feel so wonderful. He was a good boy. He felt so good.

He fucked himself with the dildo that had emerged from the wall. It was larger than the feeding dildo and much harder. He pressed his buttocks tight against the wall so that the dildo plunged deep inside him and then rocked forward on his hands and knees until only the head of the dildo was still inside his ass. The voice told him to move faster, to move slower. It told him to relax his muscles. It told him to squeeze his buttocks together. It was important to improve his fucking, to become a talented fuck. A good boy loved to be fucked. He was a good boy. He loved to be fucked. He had to focus on that and that alone. He wanted to be the best boy in the world. Being a good boy made him feel so wonderful. Being a good fuck made him feel so wonderful. He was a good boy. He felt so wonderful.

Eating, exercising, sleeping, sucking, fucking. The days passed quickly. He didn’t think about time any more. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was being a good boy.


The time and date at the bottom right-hand corner of his computer read 9:59 am, 11/18/2012. It was Sunday, almost thirty-five hours after he had left his apartment. He was dressed in the clothes he had been wearing on Friday night.

He didn’t know how he had gotten into his apartment. He didn’t remember anything. The voice had told him to go to sleep and he had. The lights had gone out, and the room was completely dark. He felt so tired, and he had gone to sleep immediately. When he awoke, he was back in his apartment.

But he had something to do. He made a video of himself sitting in front of his computer and then logged onto the kidnapme.com site and sent an email to the webmaster, verifying that he had returned and carefully including the code words. He called up the profile for Rufus 2013 and filled out the rating and comment sections. His fingers directed the cursor to the buttons that gave the highest ratings in all categories. His fingers typed out “The greatest experience I have ever had. I cannot recommend Rufus 2013 highly enough. Do yourself a favor and arrange a session with him.”

Then he logged off and shut down his computer. His apartment made him feel uneasy. There were too many colors, too many patterns, too many shadows. He turned off the lights and closed the blinds. The gray half-light was far more soothing than the welter of colors in the room, but still the room was disturbing. The red pillows on the sofa hurt his eyes. He grabbed them and tossed them into a closet. And there was so much noise, the traffic in the street, footsteps overhead, water running. There was too much. The colors assaulting his eyes, all the noise screaming in his ears. He wanted to run and hide away in the white silence. He felt nauseous. His hands were shaking. He trembled in his anxiety. A growing panic surged throughout his mind and body.

“Good boy.”

“Please, take me back. I don’t want to be here. I don’t like this.”

“Yes, I will take you back. Soon. Just relax and be calm. Think of the white room and let it fill your mind. That’s a good boy. Soon, I will take you back soon. Now, it is time for you to feed. It will calm you down.”

He knelt down and took the cock into his mouth and began to suck.

The jailer stroked the back of his head. “That’s a good boy. Nice and slow. Just focus on sucking my cock. We will go back to the white room. That will make you feel so good. You like feeling good. You feel good when you behave and do what you are told. Good boys always do what they are told to do. Ummm. Such a good boy. It won’t take long. Two more weeks and the white room will be your mind. Two months of working out daily and you will be ready for the auction. You will like that. You want to be sold to the highest bidder. It will make you feel so good to serve your new owner. Such a good boy. Such a good cocksucker. Slowly. Remember your lesson. Focus on sucking my cock. Use your lips, and your tongue, and your cheeks, and your throat. Good boy. Oh, such a very good boy.”

Serenity flowed through his body and mind. The man would take him back to the white room and erase all the colors and the noise. As long as he obeyed the man and pleased him, the man would keep him safe. The body and the mind would become as white as the room, totally devoid of any thought but obeying and pleasing the owner. He was a good boy.

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