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DIALS
🕑 Added 2019-01-30 19:49:29 +0000 UTCPhil woke up rather abruptly from having been knocked out. He hadn’t a clue where he was or the circumstances of which he arrived there…
He thought, “Where the hell am I? The old guy asked me for spare change… then… I’m hit in the back of the head… and I end up… here… strapped in this chair…”
The direness of the situation reached full-scope once Phil was able to open his eyes to see himself secured tightly into a classic-style chair one might find in a mental health facility. The room was coated with cement blocks and lacked much in the way of furnishings. There was a tangle of wires leading from the base of the chair to a control panel full of dials and meters. In front of the controls was a chair with a lab coat hanging on the back of it.
“What is this place?” Phil thought. He fought against the restraints.
Footsteps sounded first, then the heavy metal door opened. Without saying a word, the gentleman of around 50 walked over and took his seat. He cleared his throat a few times before speaking.
“I see you’re awake.”
Still silence from Phil. The technician took his seat and ceased in his efforts to make nice with Phil. After more calibrating and tinkering, the man’s motives became clear…
“I’ve been working on a method of DNA manipulation at the core levels. Each of these dials represents a different facet of your genetic makeup. I can alter your predispositions to select traits.”
Phil chimed in… “Select traits??”
“Yes, traits like your cum production, for example. I can alter any part of you I see fit… your body hair, cock size, muscle density, or even your voice and accent.”
“Accent??” Phil seemed shocked.
“And using rapid brainwashing mechanisms I’ll be able to change certain personality traits.”
Phil ran out of things to say. “So…”
The older man pushed a few buttons now. “You know, I’ve always been interested in the Russian mentality of super-alpha and cocky.”
Phil looked horrified as the man continued to disclose his intentions…
“You see, a Russian dude is super vulgar, willing to fuck any woman, and he’ll always have the body to match that ego. …That and they can hold their liquor.”
Without a pause he said, “Let me show you how it works.”
At that, Phil’s heart raced a million miles an hour. He saw one of the dials getting inched upward.
“This one is for facial hair.”
Phil felt certain growth on his face as the turning of the dial continued. The man was only nudging the dial up one or two ‘tic marks’ but it felt like a million tiny ants were crawling over his face. His normal smooth skin was being replaced…
“What are you doing to me?!” Phil hated the image of himself with scruff.
The man replied. “Now-now calm down, let me make this easier for you.”
The man then grabbed a pair of noise-canceling headphones and placed them atop Phil’s head.
“Listen…”
On repeat Phil heard the mantra on repeat:
“I have fast-growing facial hair. I have a five o’clock shadow every day by noon.”
“My face is hairy.”
“I have fast-growing facial hair. I have a five o’clock shadow every day by noon.”
“My face is hairy.”
The whole operation of mental stimulation lasted five minutes as the man slowly inched just one of the many dials further up. Eventually he yanked the headphones off Phil’s head. It didn’t take long for him to snap out of his haze. He looked over to see the ‘facial hair’ dial turned to a good 80-percent on the scale.
“Whaaa—”
“How do you feel Phil?”
Phil lifted shoulder to his face in order to scratch it.
“Let me go-- out of here!”
Tell me Phil, when was the last time you shaved that face?”
Phil seemed shocked over the question, yet somehow, he was forced to search his memory for the answer. The pause seemed unneeded as Phil searched for his answer…
“I don’t bother shaving cause I have fast growing facial hair. It’s a decent shadow by lunch. Why??”
“Oh?” The man asked.
Now seeming annoyed further, Phil reiterated his previous answer before asking again to be freed.
“Look. I’m sorry if I did anything. I won’t tell anyone—"
Phil was cut off to the sounds of a hum coming from the technician’s machine. There were many fluidic tubes and exposed wires, and as the man began nudging another dial it made a mechanical noise.
“What are you doing??”
“Do you make precum?” The man asked.
“No… never have.”
“Well, most people around the world, like some of our Russian counterparts for example, are some of the top producers of precum.”
“What?” Why are you---?” Phil got cut off…
Tingling along with a slight pulsating erupted within Phil’s ballsac now. The man merely smiled as he looked directly at Phil’s average-sized dick.
“How high should we go?” The technician muttered.
Phil looked at the man in disbelief. “I don’t want to make precum at all! It’s a mess!”
“Nonsense! If you’re going to be my Russian creation, you will be a heavy producer.”
Now seeming provoked, the man inched the dial up a tad faster now. At current, it rested at 40% of max. Phil felt a slight buildup within his balls. He squirmed inside the chair and felt a droplet of precum escape his cockhead. As he locked eyes on it, another droplet pushed outward, spilling down the side of his shaft.
“N-No!” Phil saw the man place his hand on the precum dial once more…
“40% is nothing for a Russian.” The man began. He reached for the headphones once more. “Here, this will help ya.”
Another mantra sounded on repeat, confusing Phil again. He had to close his eyes in order to attempt focusing…
“I precum a lot. I have always leaked into my underwear.”
“Every time I get hard, I leak a ton.”
“I precum a lot. I have always leaked into my underwear.”
“Every time I get hard, I leak a ton.”
This session went on for a few minutes as the man continued increasing the levels of the precum dial. At its end, he had spun it to near 95-percent of max. Only then did he remove Phil’s headphones. He jumped in with a peculiar line…
“Wow, you’re really leaking.”
Phil took stock of the state of his penis… the heavy precum presence he definitely noticed. As it glistened in his eyes, he remembered the countless times it happening… “In my underwear, all my life…”
Phil wasted no time directing his attention back to the man. “Let me go!”
The man simply responded: “My my! You are one aggressive Russian man.”
“What…? I’m not Russian! I’m American you freak!”
The goals of the evil man were reiterated now. “Oh, you’ll be one built Russian. So arrogant… animalistic… all you’ll think about is vodka and getting a good fuck.” He added, “Just look at your hairy face and your leaky cock.”
Phil was confused. “I’ve always had a beard and a lot of precum…”
He looked over the man turning another dial. “What are you doing?!”
The man said, “How many times a week do you work out?”
A familiar humming filled the room as more fluid traveled to Phil’s body via the intricate tubing. The friction against Phil’s skin began to increase as his body seemed to inflate with muscle.
“I- don’t- want to be big…”
Every movement led to a pump-up in muscle. Phil saw the man push a button on the headphones and another audio file began…
“You work out five days a week. You love the gym.”
“Muscle is a top goal.”
“You work out five days a week. You love the gym.”
“Muscle is a top goal.”
Once Phil came-to, his head was dripping sweat. He looked down at his swollen figure and quickly enjoyed seeing the muscle. The technician smiled now.
“You are one built foreigner if I’ve ever seen one.”
Phil got his strength back as the growing slowed. “I am American, and so what I’m big. I like the gym and I’m bulking right now.” The tone was that of pure annoyance. “Let me go!”
“You’re so cocky, and so vulgar. Do you ever stop cussing?”
Phil squinted his eyes. “I’m not cussing…”
The man looked into Phil’s eyes now. “The next adjustment will be to your vocabulary.”
“My vocabulary? No. Stop!”
It was too late, the machine began its operation, leading to Phil’s decision to tightly shut his eyes in order to attempt holding onto his mind.
“I have to stop this guy! This fuc—damn machine!”
Phil caught his vulgarity and stopped it! He continued to fight…
“Fuck this bro! Fuck this shit! I’m going to rip this cunt a new one after I break out.”
“Fucking asshole!”
When Phil opened his eyes, he felt alright, but he looked down to see a patch of chest hair that’d grown in almost instantly. “The fuck!?”
“Looks like that put a little hair on your chest too.” The man scribbled some notes down onto a clipboard.
“Fuck, let me go, fucking clown.”
The man interjected, “—Ah ah, let’s fix that voice while we’re at it…”
Fully aware, Phil watched a dial labeled as ‘Adam’s apple,’ get turned to near-max. An almost unpleasant pushing sensation erupted in his throat as he yelled for the man to stop!
“DudDE, fuckin’ StoOp.”
The entire operation took ten seconds but once it was finished Phil felt a golf-ball size lump in his throat. His voice must have fallen several octaves.
By now Phil looked very unlike himself… Not only was he sporting way more body hair than normal, but his voice and vocabulary had him sounding like a different person. His cock continued to push out spurts of precum that slid down his shaft.
The technician looked over some of his dials and alerted Phil to the progress. “Just two more and we’re finished.” … “Let’s finally update that cock to spit out Russian sperm. I’m sure you’ll want to make some Russian babies…”
“Russian sperm??” Phil expressed major discomfort.
“Oh yes, this will take some getting used to for you. Young Russian men like you are always on the prowl.” The man motioned to turn another dial forward, this one labeled as, ‘Russian cock size and sperm output.’
Like clockwork, Phil felt the machine interact with his body. “Ahh! Fuckin’ bitch!” He felt a sudden and sharp pain deep within his balls.
The technician chimed in, “That’s the Russian sperm fighting for control, consuming your American parts.”
“Ouch, fuck!” Phil was forced to squirm as best he could within the confines of the chair. Over a few seconds time the pain turned to a more pleasant sensation.
“It fucking….”
“It……”
“Fuck, ahh, I just… ahhhh.”
“Mmm, fuck… my dick is growing…”
6 inches… 7 inches…. 8 inches…. 8.5 inches….
“Fuck man make it stop! Fuck!”
9 inches…
The humming and throbbing ceased. Phil looked right at his dick to see a steady stream of pre sliding down the side… “It’s so huge, but- I’m- I’m Ameri---”
“This last dial will help.”
‘Living and Personality’ was the label square-below the last dial. The man inched it upward just a smidge before he looked back to Phil.
Phil took in the small percentage of changes but fought back against them. “Why do I want a drink? I don’t want to drink! You can’t make me like that life, you can’t!”
The man only smiled and turned back to his machine, this time jacking the dial to the MAX.
Phil’s eyes rolled back into the back of his head as he stretched his body purely out of discomfort. In rapid chemical form, a change was being forced down his throat and into his mind, permanently.
“I—Like--- to be American…” Phil hadn’t noticed his degrading English in thought.
“I need vodka to relax now, fuck.”
“I don’t need the gym, but girls, fuck I need to fuck Americans because I am American.”
“Fuck this, I need to beat this stupid ass to let me go so I can enjoy my life of-- vodka fucking gym… fuck!”
The operation went on for minutes. Phil was talking to himself and fighting the new programming as best he could but his speech patterns kept changing, and telling a different story altogether of what Phil wanted to do next. It appeared Phil was being taken over with a new mindset.
Once Phil woke up, he hadn’t a clue of the time elapsed. “Ughh…”
The man had vanished and the machine powered down. Not only that, the restrains were loose. Phil hurried to stand up, his cock bordering on the line of arousal.
“Fuck bro I need to escape this place.”
A visitor arrived at the door to the cell. A woman wearing only a bra and a short skirt stood at the doorway. The very nude Phil stood there for a second as his eyes, like magnets, began undressing the women before him.
Phil’s cock rose to a quick erect state, dripping drops of precum onto the floor.
“Come fuck this dick you bitch,” Phil said, without a moments hesitation.
