Chapter 4: The girls begin Randy's oral conditioning by having him practice on a dildo strapped to his chair while the hypnosis video plays, his eyes glazing over as his throat opens eagerly for the fake cock.
The new routine had the weight of liturgy. Randy woke before his alarm, his body already humming with a low-grade expectation that had nothing to do with his trapped cock. He checked the encrypted app immediately, his morning coffee forgotten. The cage was a footnote, a piece of minor jewelry. His focus, a laser now, was trained deeper.
There was a new module waiting, as promised: “APERTURE_PROTOCOL_01.mp4”. The instructions were clipped in the accompanying message from Kandiss.
Proceed only after completing your morning prep. Ensure cleanliness and have lubricant and your graduated plug set within reach. This is foundational work.
He obeyed. The shower was a purification ritual, his hands scrubbing with clinical focus. The apartment, usually buzzing with the silent pressure of work, felt like a monastery. His phone, his laptop, his expensive watch—all were distractions from the primary text of his body.
He set up on the bed, the dawn light harsh and revealing. The graduated silicone plugs, a set he’d purchased days ago, lay beside him like surgical instruments. He queued the video and put in his earbuds.
The visuals were different. No soothing fractals. It opened on a stark, high-definition shot of a glistening, pink rosebud opening in extreme slow motion, each petal peeling back to reveal a deep, velvety center. The voice was Katie’s this time, but stripped of all her bubbly affect. It was calm, instructional, and utterly commanding.
“Today we begin training your secondary mouth,” her voice said, as the image cut to a slow pan over a smooth, polished steel plug. “This is not about pain. Discomfort is a signal of resistance. Your body knows how to open. It wants to open. We are simply reminding it.”
A deep, resonant tone began to pulse in the soundtrack, syncopated with the visual of the plug slowly, inexorably, penetrating the rose in a seamless edit. Randy’s breathing automatically slowed to match the rhythm.
“Your throat is a muscle tube. Your rectum is a muscle tube. They are siblings. When one learns to relax, to welcome, to swallow… the other remembers. Feel the warmth in your throat now. Feel it soften.”
To his disbelief, a soothing heat bloomed in his neck. His jaw relaxed, his tongue lying flat against the floor of his mouth. He hadn’t been told to do anything. His body was simply listening.
“Now,” Katie’s voice cooed, “transfer that feeling. Down your spine. Into your pelvis. That deep, velvet warmth. That readiness. Your hole is not a barrier. It is an invitation. A hungry mouth. Tell it to open. Whisper it.”
Unthinking, Randy’s lips moved. “Open,” he breathed, the word barely audible. His sphincter, which had clenched instinctively at the start, gave a tentative, involuntary flutter.
The video guided him through applying lubricant, his movements dreamlike and precise. The smallest plug, when he pressed the tip against himself, met with less resistance than he’d ever felt. It wasn’t effort. It was admission. The silicone slid in with a smooth, cool fullness that made him gasp. The sensation wasn’t in his ass; it was in his mind, a profound click of correctness.
“Good,” the video purred, as the rose on screen was utterly filled. “Now breathe into it. Let your body hug it. That fullness is your natural state. Emptiness is deprivation.”
He wore the plug for two hours while working, following the module’s instructions. Each tiny movement sent a ripple of awareness through him. By the time “THROAT_TRAINING_PROTOCOL_02” arrived that evening, his body was primed, whispering to itself.
This video was darker, more intimate. The camera lens was like a single, unblinking eye. It featured close-ups of wet, parted lips, of a tongue extending, of a smooth, veined dildo gliding past a tonsillar arch with obscene ease. The audio was a mix of wet, rhythmic sounds and Kandiss’s voice, now the one guiding him.
“Your primary mouth has been neglected,” she stated. “It gossips.It lies. It argues. It must be repurposed. Its true function is service. It is a sheath. A vessel. Watch.”
The dildo plunged deep, disappeared. Randy’s own throat convulsed in a dry swallow.
“Your gag reflex is a psychological fence. We will dismantle it. When you feel the urge to gag, you will instead feel the urge to swallow.To take more. To drain. The sensation of fullness in your throat will trigger a sympathetic response in your colon. They will learn to ache for the same thing. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Randy whispered to the screen.
“Prove it. Sit up. Open your mouth. Wide.”
He did, kneeling on the bed, facing his own reflection in the dark window. He looked absurd, jaw unhinged, a dumb animal waiting for feed.
“Now, take your fingers. Two. Push them to the back of your throat. Now.”
His hand rose. His index and middle fingers slipped past his lips. The taste of skin and salt.He pushed. His epiglottis spasmed, a violent, choking revolt. He choked, eyes watering.
“Do not pull back,” Kandiss’s voice cut through, sharp as glass. “Breathe through your nose. Focus on the burning. That is the fence breaking. Now swallow. Swallow around your fingers.”
He tried, gagging again, strings of saliva dripping onto his chest. It was visceral, humiliating.
“Again.Swallow. Imagine it’s a thick, salty cock forcing its way down.You want it. Your throat wants it. Swallow.”
On the third try, something shifted. The painful spasm softened into a powerful, muscular contraction. He swallowed, and the sensation of his fingers buried to the knuckles transformed. The choking pressure became a deep, thrilling stretch. A jolt of electricity, startling and intense, shot straight to his plugged ass, which clenched hungrily around the silicone.
“Oh god,” he moaned, the vibration around his fingers another new sensation.
“You see?” Kandiss murmured, a smile in her voice. “The connection is made. Your body is wiser than your pride.Continue. Practice. We will send you the tools for practical application.”
The “tools” arrived by discreet courier the next day: a long, slim, flesh-toned dildo of a considerable girth, and a second, shorter, cruelly thick one. Both had a pronounced, helmet-like head. A note from Katie was taped to the box: For your dual-mouth curriculum! xoxo
That night, Randy didn’t watch a video. He implemented one. He set the laptop on the bathroom counter, playing a loop of the throat-training segment, the wet sounds echoing off the tiles. He knelt on a folded towel, the cold floor a sharp contrast to the heat in his face.
He greased the longer dildo, his hands steady now, purposeful. He looked at his reflection in the mirror—flushed face, wide eyes, mouth already glistening. He opened.
The initial push was easier. His throat, re-educated, offered a tight but yielding resistance. The silicone head bumped against his soft palate. His eyes watered instantly, but he didn’t choke. He breathed sharply through his nose, as instructed. He focused on the unbelievable sensation of something rigid invading that sacred, protected channel.
He pushed further.
The head popped past a ring of muscle he’d never been aware of. A deep, groaning vibration tore from his chest. The feeling was one of profound violation and even more profound rightness. His vision blurred. He pulled back, then pushed forward again, establishing a rhythm.Swallow. Take it. Your ass is empty without it.
The thought wasn’t his. It was Kandiss’s, implanted. And it was true. The glorious fullness in his throat made the plug in his ass feel like a taunt. He was a circuit with only one node activated.
He pulled the dildo from his mouth with a slick, sucking pop, saliva webbing from his lips to the tip. He was gasping. Without a thought, he turned, bending over the counter, his reflection now a view of his own back, his cheeks parted around the small plug. He removed it, his hole winking open, obscenely empty.
He lubed the shorter, thicker dildo. This was the real test. The connection.
He pressed the blunt head against his exposed hole. It yielded, not with the gradual acceptance of the plug, but with a hungry, greedy gulp. The thickness was a burn, a glorious stretch that scraped a raw sound from his lungs. He pushed until the fake balls rested against his skin.
He was full. Crucially, totally full. But it was asymmetrical.Wrong.
He straightened up, his ass crammed with silicone, his throat aching with emptiness. The looped video continued its wet, rhythmic sounds. He looked at the longer dildo, slick with his spit.
He took it, and without kneeling, angled it towards his mouth.He needed symmetry. He needed completion.
He deepthroated it in one smooth, practiced motion this time, his nose pressing into the fake pubic mound. Both ends of him were filled, stretched, claimed. The dual fullness created a feedback loop, a crescendo of sensation that had nowhere to go but through his entire nervous system. He fucked his own face with short, brutal thrusts, each one driving the ass-plug deeper, each clench of his ass tightening his throat.
The pleasure wasn’t located. It was everywhere. It was a white-hot wire running from his tonsils to his prostate. He was a vessel, and he was being used perfectly. He cried out, a muffled, gurgling scream around the cock in his mouth. His body shook, not with an orgasm—his caged dick was a tiny, irrelevant stone—but with a full-body submission so intense it bordered on religious ecstasy.
He collapsed onto the towel, both fake cocks sliding from him with messy, wet sounds. He lay in a puddle of sweat and spit and lube, panting, wrecked. A profound, soul-deep satisfaction radiated from his core. This was better than any orgasm he’d ever had. This was the thing he’d been built for.
His phone buzzed on the counter. He crawled to it.
Katie: Wearable data shows phenomenal neuromuscular compliance. Throat and anal sphincters syncing at 87%. You’re a natural! 😘
Kandiss: The foundational work is complete. Tomorrow, we move to integration. You will be provided a partner for your training. Prepare to serve.
Randy stared at the words, “prepare to serve.” A thrill, sharp as a blade and just as dangerous, cut through his post-submission haze. A partner. Not a toy. The real thing.
He looked at the two dildos on the floor, then at his spent, smeared reflection. A slow smile spread across his raw, used lips. He wasn’t afraid. He was ravenous. He typed his reply with trembling, eager fingers.
Randy: I’m ready. Thank you for preparing me.
Thank you for preparing me.
The reply sent, a void opened up inside him. The profound satisfaction of the night before curdled into a sharp, gastric anxiety. A partner. Not silicone, but skin and heat and judgment. He cleaned the apartment with a frantic, unnecessary energy, his eyes darting to the floor-to-ceiling windows as if the glittering city might offer an escape route. By noon, the instruction arrived.
They will be there at 3 PM. Their names are Leo and Marcus. You will answer the door as you are. You will offer refreshments. You will follow their lead. Your only words are ‘Yes,’ ‘Thank you,’ and ‘More.’ – K.
The cage felt heavier. He showered again, scrubbing until his skin was pink, preparing his apertures with a trembling, clinical thoroughness. At 2:58 PM, standing in the silent, sterile living room in only his grey sweats, he felt more exposed than he ever had on a video call.
The buzzer sounded. His heart hammered against his ribs. He pressed the door release.
He heard them before he saw them: the low rumble of voices, the confident, heavy tread in the hall. Then they filled the doorway. Leo was first, tall and broad-shouldered with a close-cropped beard and dark, appraising eyes. Marcus followed, leaner, with a sharp smile and blond hair tied back. They were dressed casually, but their presence was a physical pressure. They looked at Randy, at the apartment, with a casual ownership that made his skin prickle.
“Randy,” Leo said, not a question. His voice was a deep baritone.
“Yes,” Randy whispered, the first approved word.
They walked in, not waiting for an invitation. Marcus whistled low, appreciating the view. “Nice place. Perfect for this.” He turned, his gaze landing on Randy’s sweats, lingering at the crotch where the cage made a small, tell-tale bulge. “So. Katie and Kandiss say you’ve been a very good student.”
Randy’s throat was bone-dry. He remembered his duties. “Can I… offer you anything? A drink?”
Leo smiled, a slow spread of lips. “We’re good. We’re here to work. Let’s see what you’ve learned.”
The casual command unmoored him. This wasn’t the digital domain where he had the illusion of control. This was flesh and blood and looming physical reality. Leo nodded toward the open space of the living room, the soft rug before the panoramic window. “There’s fine. Get on your knees.”
The order, so blunt, triggered a cascade within him. His training overrode his panic. His body moved before his mind could protest, lowering itself to the plush wool. The city sprawled beneath him, a vast audience to his shame. He kept his eyes down, watching their booted feet approach.
Marcus crouched in front of him, a hand tilting his chin up. “Look at me.” Randy obeyed, meeting pale blue eyes. “They said you rewired your gag reflex. That true? You hungry for it?”
“Yes,” Randy breathed.
“Prove it.” Marcus stood, his hands going to his belt. The sound of the buckle, the zip, was obscenely loud. Leo moved behind him, a solid, warm presence. Randy’s world narrowed to the view in front of him: the fade of Marcus’s jeans, the plain cotton of his briefs being pushed down. Then his cock, heavy and uncut, swinging free. It was thick, veined, and already hardening, the head a dark plum emerging from its hood.
“Open,” Marcus said.
Randy parted his lips, the conditioned response as natural as breathing. He expected Marcus to shove in, to claim. Instead, Marcus just smiled that sharp smile and guided himself forward, the broad, spongy head resting against Randy’s lower lip. “You don’t get to just suck it. You show me how hungry you are. You beg for it with that pretty mouth.”
A whimper escaped Randy’s throat. This was a new layer. He leaned forward, taking the head past his lips, lapping at the slit. The taste was musky, clean salt. He heard Leo behind him, the rustle of clothing.
“Good,” Marcus murmured, carding a hand through Randy’s hair, not gripping, just testing. “Now, let’s see the other end.” He looked over Randy’s head. “You ready back there, Leo?”
“Oh yeah,” Leo’s voice came, tight with anticipation.
Randy felt strong hands on his hips, hiking up his sweats, pulling them down to his thighs. The cool air hit his exposed ass. Leo’s thumb, blunt and calloused, swiped through the cleft, pressing against his hole, which immediately fluttered open, slick from his preparation.
“Fuck, will you look at that,” Leo growled. “It’s practically winking at me. Did you prep this for us, Randy?”
“Yes,” Randy mumbled around Marcus’s cockhead.
“Good boy.”
There was no more preamble. Randy heard the tear of a foil packet, the slick squelch of lube. Then the blunt, immense pressure of Leo’s cock, bigger than the toy, infinitely more alive, pressed against him. Leo didn’t push. He just waited, letting Randy feel the threatening, glorious pressure.
Marcus chose that moment to thrust forward.
The twin invasions happened in a brutal, perfect sync. Marcus’s thick length speared into Randy’s throat, popping past the trained ring of muscle in one smooth, devastating glide. At the exact same second, Leo leaned his weight forward, and Randy’s body, programmed for this symmetry, opened for him. The burn of stretching, the shocking fullness, the sense of being utterly impaled from both ends—it short-circuited Randy’s brain.
He gagged, but it was a shallow, throaty convulsion that only tightened his throat around Marcus. Tears sprang to his eyes. A raw, animal sound vibrated around the cock in his mouth.
“There it is,” Leo grunted from behind, his hands digging into Randy’s hips as he seated himself fully, balls deep. “Fucking perfect. Told you they conditioned him. He’s built for this now.”
Marcus began to fuck his face in earnest, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in, his pubic bone hitting Randy’s lips. “Suck it, you greedy whore. Swallow it. You wanted a real cock, didn’t you?”
Randy couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. He was a conduit. He focused on the rhythmic choke, on the slap of skin behind him, on the obscene, wet sounds filling the room. The pleasure was a deep, subdermal current, erasing his identity. He was a throat. He was an ass. He was being used according to his design.
The pace intensified. Leo’s thrusts became harder, driving Randy forward onto Marcus’s cock with jarring force. Marcus held his head still, fucking upwards into the constricting heat. “Gonna cum down this trained throat,” Marcus gritted out, his breathing ragged. “You’re gonna drink every fucking drop. And you’re gonna thank me.”
Randy’s own trapped dick ached, a distant, irrelevant throb. His entire universe was the brutal pistoning, the crushing fullness, the degradation that felt like worship. He heard himself sobbing, drool and pre-come slicking his chin.
Leo’s rhythm grew jagged, his grip brutal. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill this greedy hole. Take it. Take my fucking load.”
Marcus came first. With a final, deep grind, he erupted, hot jets of cum spilling directly down Randy’s throat. The command and his conditioning merged; Randy swallowed convulsively, guzzling the bitter salt, his throat working milkingly around the pulsing shaft. The sensation triggered a violent, sympathetic clenching in his ass.
“Oh, you fucking bitch,” Leo roared, and Randy felt the hot flood deep inside him, a claiming, impossible heat. Leo pumped into him, spurting again and again, filling the channel Randy’s body had been taught to crave.
They stayed lodged in him for a long moment, both men catching their breath, their weight heavy and consumptive. Finally, they slid out. Randy collapsed forward onto his elbows, coughing, strings of saliva and cum dripping from his lips. His ass felt gaping, used, a trickle of Leo’s release already seeping out onto his thigh. The city lights blurred through his tears.
Marcus tucked himself away, looking down with cool appreciation. Leo clapped a heavy hand on Randy’s trembling back. “Outstanding product. Tell the girls the therapy works. We’ll be back next week for a… follow-up session.”
They left as casually as they arrived. The door clicked shut. Randy lay on the rug, aching, stuffed with their seed, the taste of Marcus and the feel of Leo inside him a brand. His phone, on the floor nearby, lit up.
Kandiss: Integration successful. Wearable data shows sustained pupil dilation and endorphin flood consistent with profound sub-space. Your body accepts its purpose. Rest now. Your training continues tomorrow.
He didn’t move. The anxiety was gone. In its place was a hollow, pristine certainty. He was a vessel. And now, he knew exactly what he was meant to hold.