Cyberrat
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2nd Drabble of August 2019
🕑 Added 2019-08-10 07:42:17 +0000 UTC
They purposefully keep him confused, putting him under and changing his location before he wakes again from the narcotics. It keeps him docile and weak for one, and discourages him from finding a grasp on his abilities for another.
They can’t have him become too powerful before they haven’t managed to finalize his implants and suit which will help them to manipulate him to their own will.
However, there is also the hidden bonus of Dr. De Kuiper not being able to protect himself from them even though he is a much taller and broader man than any of them.
They don’t give him clothes; haven’t done so in almost as long as he’s been in their care, and every time he realizes it is delicious all anew.
He’ll struggle and whine, his cheeks flushing a fetching shade of brick red when he realizes that he can feel the cool air of the room brushing across his naked cock. He’s kitten weak and helpless to them manipulating his body; putting him on his side so they can urge his leg up and have his hole free for use and inspection.
Or roll him on his belly, putting him in a nice little gurney that leaves him free to be lowered enough so they can utilize his wet, confused mouth, his eyes big and guileless and brimming with tears as he looks up at them, helpless and wordlessly begging for mercy – biting seems beyond his abilities.
Sometimes, they let the agents have at him while the scientists stand outside, gazing in through an observational window and taking notes as he is put through his paces, the Talon agents even less gentle than the scientists are.
They kick and slap him when he doesn’t move quickly enough, and Dr. De Kuiper, an absolutely brilliant man, is reduced more than once to a sobbing creature cowering in a corner of the room, arms above his head to shield himself from the blows.
It is the sweetest when he cries. When he gives them a reason to curl their big hands around his throat to choke him until his eyes look about ready to pop out of their sockets, face going blue and long legs kicking spastically.
Sometimes they keep at it until he can’t help but piss himself in fear, shaking and clawing ineffectually at their arms, trying to gasp for air and getting way too little oxygen.
They’ll guide him with their rough hands until he is kneeling in his own piss, put down like a misbehaving puppy, watching him gasp and wheeze for air when they finally let go off him.
Bruises are littering Dr. De Kuiper’s body, every movement aches. They have reduced this man capable of manipulating gravity into little more than a frightened animal that still is crying fat, humiliated tears when he has to wet himself in front of them because they deny him bathroom privileges or kick him in the bladder just for the fun of it.
And these are only the beginnings of his training.
