BDSM Library - Story: Rehab, Chapter: Part 2

Rehab 2

by Emile

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The rehab centre was no high Victorian pile with barred gothic windows and drab grey surrounds, it was a warm honeycomb classical pile set amid lawns and trees, the picture of mental and physical health. Patients and doctors could be seen strolling casually, sitting in groups under the trees for their outdoor therapy sessions, even greeting their families in the warm high ceilinged halls. The state cared greatly for the recovery of each of its wards, and attended to their special needs as the case suited them. Unfortunately, as a result of this, Cooper and Nesto saw little of the warm sunlit corridors and rolling sunlit lawns when they arrived, having been escorted straight from the van to the examination rooms deep in the main building for a personalised measure up and treatment plan.

Cooper and Nesto were sitting, no, squatting on the examination table in the admissions room. 'The fishbowl' as it was nicknamed by Nurse Brest when she brought them in, was a small glass room in the centre of a large columned hallway of the former mansion house, just big enough for a steel gurney and room to move on all four sides. Since they were being admitted together, they had to sit back-to-back on the gurney, and from the rippling of each other's broad backs and tensing of muscles, could only guess at the investigations being done to the other as their own took place. The sound of half a dozen doctors talking to each of them simultaneously made it hard to hear anything, and often their instructions were repeated, sometimes with a forcefully helping hand as well.

"Wider, Nesto, so the balls of your feet are in line with your nutsack. Balls-in-line, if you like. Try shuffling your heels back a bit, yes I know your thighs are straining, but we all need a good view of your privates..." Nesto's darkly tanned stalk was already in full view, arching out from his body, head slapped against the cool metal from the weight of dickflesh. His ballbag was a fleshy mass below, all clearly visible to the doctors and the guards and patients around the room beyond. One doctor leaned in, jabbing his scrotum with a ballpoint, leaving a blue mark as the nut jiggled. "Unnaturally large, they'll most certainly hurt as they swing..." he mumbled, but another doctor cut him off "really, Hedley, I beg to differ, I treated plenty of wetbacks in Guantanamo, and I assure you they're perfectly normal. If anything, we will need to stretch them a little to ensure he doesn't keep bruising them on his thighs." Nesto couldn't believe his ears (even muffled a little by his hands pinned behind them in an effort to keep his elbows out as instructed). Had the doctor used the term "wetback"?

Cooper wasn't faring much better. He had really freaked out when they brought him in, and they'd had to take him to a little 'restraining room' first, before the exam. Nesto hadn't seen him since he climbed on to the gurney, as he'd entered from the other side about 10 minutes after him, but he got the impression he was in some pain, because he struggled to get on the gurney, and shifted uncomfortably the whole time. Unbeknownst to Nesto, they'd fixed a spreader bar to his legs, much wider than necessary, his heels were on the edge of the gurney, inches from his narrow waist on each side, And while his hands were clasped behind his head similar to Nesto's, they had been cuffed tightly - something Nesto was only dimly aware of from the occasional tickle of the short chain against his hair. Of course Cooper would have explained it all - he would have shouted it from the rooftops - if they hadn't sprayed his throat with a numbing agent that rendered his voicebox hoarse, and choked his every sound.

But his shifting discomfort wasn't that, it was the suppository, which the doctors had chosen to hastily and cruelly force up his shitchute with ramming efficiency as he cried and screamed in the holding room. It was hardly a medical procedure, they hadn't even bothered to check the size, and Cooper felt - knew - they had done it to punish him for his lashing out, despite telling him repeatedly it was part of the cure. The spherical plug was wide and fat, tapering in both directions so it slipped in or out of his manpussy with every movement, churning his guts like fire. The end had a short leash, which they had wrapped around the base of his stalk, tethering the intruder to his body and keeping it uncomfortably half-plugged, which put the maximum strain on his sphincter. He couldn't force it out because of the gurney, nor would it slip in past the clenching ring because of the tether - just maddeningly stretching as it jiggled in and out. And the pressure on his arse, combined with the pavlovian training in that cellar, meant his dick was rock hard, foreskin retracted, and pearls of precum were forming on the exposed head. Taking this as some kind of invitation, one of the nurses whose job it was to daub the beads of sweat that formed under his arms and on his chest, took the opportunity to casually stroke and tickle him, kneading his nips and lats whenever the doctors were distracted. So he shifted, sending waves of pain up his crack, barely able to concentrate on the horrible treatments the doctors were debating. For both of them, the decision made then would have the most wide reaching and terrible consequences yet, and yet Nesto's confusion, and Cooper's hoarse discomfort, prevented them from having any say in their future treatment.

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It was much later in the day now, almost dusk. To keep their approach scientific, and avoid any undue influence one might place on the other, the two men had been now split up between two separate trauma teams, and were having very different first experiences. Cooper, for instance, was now strapped to the gurney (still slick with his and Nesto's arse and ball sweat), straps across his abs and chest, pinning his arms to his sides. His head was free to scrunch against his chest, giving him a limited view of the room between his raised and spread legs, currently strapped into stirrups and spread wide, so his brutalised hole faced the centre of the room. This was no darkened exam room, but the ward he'd been assigned to, with seven other beds around him, and wide double doors facing a busy hall, where anyone passing could see in. Most of the beds were empty, except one almost directly opposite Cooper. The patient opposite, Ricky, was superficially similar to Cooper - also strapped down, ankles strapped and spread wide, hole on display, with a fat hairless package flopped against his belly. Both were muscular tough looking dudes, both had dread in their eyes.

But Ricky was no rape victim, he was in for very different treatment - treatment he was receiving at his own request, from the team of male orderlies around him now. One of these orderlies was toying with the ring on the base of the dong that stuffed his hole, gently tugging it an inch or so and letting his tightly stretched ring them suction the mega dong back in. Every time he did so, the guy hissed, sucking air in between his gritted teeth, matted with a cold sweat from the extreme discomfort he was clearly in. "See Rick" the orderly continued "there's no pleasure in this, only pain. Soon you'll see how much better real sex is, when we take you down to the fucking room..." Rick was addicted to S&M, and gotten dangerously reckless, the cause of him checking himself in for rehab. Their solution was simple - aversion therapy, to dissociate pain from pleasure, and then lessons in 'healthy' love, in his case the gentle ministrations of one of the orderlies nicknamed 'Tiny Tim'. The aversion therapy was coming along in leaps and bounds - Ricky had overcompensated for an average package by beefing up his body with steroids and growth hormones, but part of their treatment included lengthy penis pumping and saline injections, giving his tackle a grossly oversized dysmorphic look. The skin was stretched and pallid, and repulsed even him. They said it was the point - to get him to recognise his dysmorphia, and to push away his previous desires for body modification, although to Rick the cure was much worse than the illness. Case in point was the 12.5 x 4 inch rubber buttstuffer they had rammed up his overstretched hole the day before, and were now slowly teasing out, until finally the lube and arseslime covered dong plopped out of his chute with a clang onto the metal tray.

Until he'd checked in, his biggest cock had been a 9 inch, wrist thick guy that had punch fucked him so bad he bled for days after. He admitted this shamefully to the doctors when he checked in, and how he'd deliberately cruised the thug when he caught the outline of his XL tool against his tight jean leg. The doctors felt the solution was to go bigger - to deny his hunger would just feed it - until his desire for being ploughed reverted to 'normal' urges. And with the 12.5 inch dong, he still remained stubbornly consistent in his attitude - in extreme pain, contrite and uncomfortable, but sporting a hard on for all to see. The doctors neglected to factor in the penis pumping, the weeks of orgasm denial, and the constant abuse of his prostate, and dismissed Rick's pleas as the cries of an addict (who wasn't qualified to comment in any case).

As one orderly wheeled the goop covered enormous dong over to Cooper, he heard the snap of a rubber glove, as another orderly readied Rick for the next phase of treatment. He wanted to scream - they both did, but in the silent efficient hum of the wards, only the slurping and slapping of their naked flesh was audible, loud as a bell, since the orderlies kept squirting their throats with a 'drying spray' that turned their voices harsh and raspy, making any sound difficult and painful. They hadn't explained the reason for the spray (in fact almost none of their methods were explained to the patients beforehand), but Ricky had experienced the spray on much more of his moist tissue, and had flailed violently when they stuck it down his throat. Not Cooper, though, who was now trying to be pliant, to avoid a repeat of the morning's punishment, and hopefully even get freed from the bonds. Unfortunately for him, their hearts were hardened - he had been labelled a troublemaker, and first impressions count - so the tall muscular nurse had approached him, parted his gums and squirted efficiently just as the others were spreading his legs in the bed. Ricky could have told him a lot - information that would have made his tanned flesh crawl - but the little fuckstud was helpless to help him, or himself, anymore.

Having relinquished the arse splitter, the orderly began working a finger up to the first knuckle into Ricky's pisshole, making him gasp quickly. The worst he had done to himself was to stretch his foreskin a little between two fingers, but somehow the doctors had seen that admission as an early sign of cock play, which they would have to nip in the bud. Sounds, pinkies, and now larger digits were being rammed down his piss tube in the name of preventative medicine, and they wouldn't be satisfied until he was cured (whatever that meant), or until the orderlies could each get their thick index fingers wedged the full depth of his cock. And some of those men had blunt, spatulate fingers on their meaty hands. The orderly leaned over Rick, brandishing a long rounded metal rod, like a thin pen. "Now Rick, I'm just going to insert this sound in your urethera until the evening rounds. It may burn a little, but just focus on the pain, and it will help you cure yourself..."

Meanwhile, the orderly that stood over Cooper fingered the tray, and began explaining his own treatment. "Now Hooper, this implement happens to be almost the exact size your doctor recommends you start on for your arse strengthening practice. In a moment, we will begin the process of insertion - and we understand how this may stir up memories for you, which is why we are sedating you, and putting this wood block in your mouth to bite down on. Now don't struggle too much, new starters often get all sweaty and worked up, especially difficult ones, and it just makes our job harder. It will all be in soon..." By now Cooper was thrashing as predicted, and sweating heavily, so they doubled the dose in the needle. As they pressed it against his arm, he felt another sensation, pressing on his recovering arse nub. Unfortunately for Cooper, since he'd volunteered his last butt stuffing was a 13 inch thick meatgrinding dildo, they had spared him the 'indignity' of checking the elasticity of his hole - despite the fact that it had tightened significantly since his rapist had first punchfucked the brutal dong into his arse canal - and since the dildo, albeit large, had only been in him for a few minutes (until the guy had spurted his load at Cooper's screams) - much shorter and less damaging than the round-the-clock treatment they were about to impose. If it hadn't been for the buttplug treatment in the admissions hall, even the head of the plastic pounder would have been too wide for his chute, but as it was, he'd been stretched out just enough for the mega-tool to force through his arse-jaws, and nothing would stop its progress now. While the orderly noted that despite being slick with Ricky's arse slime, the dong was still stubbornly hard to insert, requiring 'more than the usual force' to ram home, he didn't think it medically relevant to record on his chart, or remember.

Many floors below, in a cellar in fact, under the pallid light of fluorescents, Nesto was also being treated. But his medical team were concentrating on more external appearances, particularly his selective lack of hair. He'd feel much better, they explained, if he was more uniformly shaved, it would bring less attention to his mauled body. While the procedure was underway, one of the others brought Nesto his clothing range, to get him used to the gear he could expect to wear in coming weeks. This, they said, would allow him to mentally psyche up to each new item of clothing, "given his likely trauma induced aversion". There wasn't much to get used to. Week one and his 'clothing' was basically a loop of cord that went around his neck, cradling his ballbag in a leather cradle that barely cupped the base. The sling (as they called it) pushed his dork up and out, which would "approximate the support of a jockstrap, without the confines of cloth against your abused glans". A week not just naked, but in a fucking fetish costume! Week 2 would cover his ballbag and cock - well almost, the lycra cock sock had the end removed to let his cockhead 'breathe', while the other material gripped hard on the shaft and nads. The assistant rummaged around for Week 3 (having lost it under the papers), while the orderlies began ripping off the wax sheets, making Nesto scream and claw vainly at the bench. But, as they said afterwards, waxing is a very effective long term solution, so the means justified the ends.

At least the pain would distract him from the humiliation of being told he would be kept not in a ward, like Cooper, but in an unused gardeners hut on the grounds. It wasn't that they were short of beds, they explained, but that they didn't get many 'ethnic' trauma patients, and were worried that giving him 'the royal treatment' could anger their mostly 'ethnic' workforce. From now on, he'd been spending his days either outdoors, exposed to the elements, or in the basement getting treatment - at least they finally determined that his sunkissed brown hairless body was finally 'cured'. It was all for his own good. By their logic, the fully clothed hick Mexican janitor would be less likely to assault him if he was slumming it like him in the drafty shitty derelict huts around the lawns, exposed to every crazy fucker who wanted to come in and abuse him instead. "Trust us, this is the most racially sensitive treatment we have yet devised." they chirped, as they widened his legs further to get at the cuntlicks of hair that still clung to his inner sanctum. We'll even get one of your kind to drag out a mattress for you, and put up a sign on the door. It was a sign Nesto would itch to tear down, if only he could - "Male Rape Victim" it read in bold scrawl "Visiting Hours strictly 10 - 3". Of course, he would have to be restrained every night when they took him to the hut, which wouldn't help him much when the locals came visiting, 10pm to 3am as instructed...