Chapter 9: Chapter 9
Derek stepped off the elevator on the office floor and saw Huo Xiao waiting by the reception desk. The man wore a dark gray suit with no tie, the top button of his white shirt open. His face was calm and unreadable, his black hair cropped short and neat. He looked Derek up and down once, then turned and walked toward the locker room without a word.
Derek followed, his sneakers squeaking on the polished floor. He'd barely slept last night. The weed had helped, but not enough. Every time he closed his eyes he'd seen the dildo, the chair, Kai's face floating in the dark. And his cock was still locked away in that tiny metal cage, aching dully against his jeans.
The locker room smelled of soap and clean towels. Huo Xiao gestured at the bench. "Strip."
Derek pulled off his t-shirt and jeans, then his boxers. He stood naked in front of the tall Chinese man, feeling small and pale and soft. His ribs were more visible now. The salad diet was already hollowing him out. He remembered the rich meals the businessmen had eaten in the cafeteria, the thick slabs of pork, the bowls of steaming soup, and his stomach growled uselessly.
Huo Xiao picked up a digital scale and set it on the floor. "Step on."
Derek stepped onto the cold metal. The numbers flickered and settled. One twenty-five. He'd been a hundred thirty when he'd signed the contract. Five pounds gone in just a few days .
Huo Xiao wrote the number in a small notebook, then pulled out a measuring tape. He wrapped it around Derek's waist, then his chest, then his thighs. His hands were firm and efficient, touching Derek's body the way you'd measure a piece of lumber. Derek felt his face flush. The man's fingers were long and strong, with dark hair on the back of them. He caught himself wondering what those hands would feel like inside him, and immediately hated himself for it.
"Alright," Huo Xiao said, stepping back. "The technicians will take you for prep."
He gestured to the door. The two technicians were already there, waiting in the hallway. The taller one had his buzzed scalp and cut-stone jaw, the wiry ropes of his arms visible even under his black t-shirt. The shorter one, the one Derek thought of as the younger associate, had his boyish bowl cut and linebacker's shoulders. Neither man looked at Derek's face. They just turned and walked, and Derek followed like a dog.
The douching room was white-tiled and cold. There was a drain in the center of the floor, a low hose attachment on the wall, and a steel table against one side. The taller technician pointed at the floor.
Derek knew the drill by now. The first day he'd been awkward, embarrassed, unable to hold the water in. Yesterday had been better. Today he got on his hands and knees without being asked, his ass facing the drain, his cheek pressed against the cold tile.
He heard the taller technician open a cabinet. Then he heard the unmistakable pop of a bottle cap.
Poppers. Derek's heart lurched. They'd never given him poppers during prep before. That was for the training chair.
The taller technician knelt beside him and held the bottle under Derek's nose. The smell hit him instantly, chemical and sweet, and the man's fingers pinched one nostril closed.
"Breathe," he said. Just that one word, in accented English.
Derek inhaled. The rush was immediate, a hot wave that poured through his skull and down his spine. His whole body went loose and warm. The tiles felt softer under his cheek. The white walls seemed to pulse gently. He could hear his own blood moving in his ears.
The technician lifted the bottle to his other nostril and pinched the first one closed. "Again."
Derek breathed in deep, and the room tilted sweetly. His asshole began to flutter, opening and closing on nothing, hungry before the work even began. The chastity cage on his tiny dick had never felt so heavy and useless. He moaned without meaning to.
The taller technician stood up and said something in Chinese. The shorter one laughed, a low amused sound. Then they both looked down at Derek, at his skinny pale body kneeling on the tile, his hole already clenching in the air, and the shorter one said something else that made the taller one smirk.
Derek didn't understand a word. That was the worst part. They could have been calling him a pathetic little cunt or commenting on the weather. But their tones were light, casual, mocking, the way you'd laugh at a video of a puppy doing something stupid. He was entertainment. He was a joke. And his hole fluttered again, even as shame burned through his chest.
You're their faggot. Your hole belongs to them. That's all you are.
Kai's voice in his head, smooth and deep, from the VR module. It should have disgusted him. Instead he felt his body relax even further, his knees sliding wider apart on the tile.
The taller technician picked up the hose and fitted the nozzle. The water ran clear for a moment, then he pressed the tip against Derek's hole. Derek felt the familiar cold pressure, then the water flooding in. But it was different this time. His muscles had turned to jelly under the poppers. The water went in smoothly, deeper than ever before, filling him up in a way that made his belly swell visibly.
More water. More. The technician kept his finger on the valve, and Derek felt his guts rearrange themselves, the pressure building in his deepest chambers. Yesterday the water had barely gone past his sphincter before he'd felt the urge to push. Today it seemed to find every fold and crevice inside him, washing him out completely.
The taller technician withdrew the nozzle and tapped Derek's hip. "Hold."
Derek clamped down, his muscles weak but obeying. The water sloshed inside him, warm and heavy. He could feel it pressing against his prostate, making his caged cock leak uselessly into the metal.
The two technicians talked again, faster this time, and both of them laughed. The shorter one knelt down and held the popper bottle to Derek's nose again. Derek didn't need the instruction. He breathed in eagerly, greedily, his nostrils flaring.
Another rush, harder this time. His vision swam. The room tilted and steadied itself and tilted again. He felt like he was floating on the tile, his body dissolving into sensation. The water inside him seemed to glow with warmth.
Good boy. Taking it deep. Being a good hole for us.
Kai's voice again, woven through the popper haze. Derek moaned, his forehead resting on the floor.
The taller technician gestured toward the drain. "Release."
Derek pushed, and the water came out in a torrent, cloudy and warm. It kept coming and coming, more than he'd ever pushed out before, until he felt completely empty, completely hollow, like a clean jar waiting to be filled.
The shorter technician came around and guided him back onto all fours, his thick hands positioning Derek's hips. Then the taller one fitted the nozzle again, and the second cycle began.
This time was even easier. The poppers had loosened something fundamental in Derek's body. The water went in like it belonged there, filling his deepest cavity, and he held it without any effort at all. The technicians laughed again and spoke in Chinese, and Derek could almost hear the shape of their amusement, the way you'd laugh at a dog who had learned a new trick.
"Release."
The water came out clear. Completely clear. Not a trace of cloudiness.
Derek knelt on the tile, his chest heaving, his hole gaping and clean and empty. He felt lighter than he'd ever felt in his life. Not just physically, though his belly was flat and hollow. It was like all the waste in his body, all the filth, had been rinsed out of him. There was nothing left inside him but clean pink flesh, waiting.
The taller technician reached down and ran a finger around Derek's hole. Just a light touch, testing. Derek's whole body shuddered at the contact. The man's finger was rough and calloused and it circled Derek's rim like it was checking the seal on a jar.
That's right. That's where we'll put it. That's your purpose.
The technician pulled his hand back and said something to the shorter one, who nodded. Then he pointed at the door.
Derek stood up, swaying a little on his feet. The poppers were fading, leaving a pleasant warm buzz in his brain. He followed the technicians out of the douching room, back to the locker room, where a neat pile of training clothes waited on the bench. A thin pale blue T shirt, tight blue jeans, white briefs, striped crew socks, the old pair of converse sneakers they had given him. And of course, the blue jeans and briefs had the requisite tailored hole in the back.
He dressed mechanically, his fingers clumsy. The skinny jeans were a size smaller than before, and they fit extra tight, but he could still manage to slide them on. He'd lost more weight than he'd thought. His collarbones stood out, his arms looked like sticks. The thin t-shirt clung to his narrow chest, showing the outline of his ribs.
The technicians led him to the training room.
The chair was in its usual place, the contoured shape waiting for him like a hungry mouth. The machine arm held the dildo, and Derek's stomach lurched when he saw it. Same as yesterday. Eight inches long, seven inches around, thick as a can of soda. For a moment he was relieved. He'd been half expecting something bigger.
But then he thought about the double douche, the extra water, the way they'd cleaned him out so completely. There had to be a reason. They wouldn't go to all that trouble if they were just going to use the same equipment as yesterday. There had to be something bigger coming.
The taller technician gestured to the chair.
Derek walked over and sat down, his bare ass against the cold padding. The technicians went to work, strapping his wrists, his chest, his thighs. The shorter one fitted the nasal cannula and turned on the drip. The sweet chemical scent filled Derek's nostrils immediately.
The taller one lifted the VR headset and settled it over Derek's eyes. The world went dark, and then the familiar white void opened up, and Kai stepped out of the light.
He was so beautiful it hurt. Tall and broad-shouldered, his black hair slicked back, his jaw clean-shaven and sharp as a blade. He wore a tight black tank top that showed every line of his muscular chest and arms. His skin was golden and smooth.
"Welcome back, little faggot," Kai said, his deep voice a warm rumble.
The poppers tube began delivering its potent medicine to Derek’s captive nostrils, and he dutifully breathed in. Immediately the poppers were already wrapping his brain in their warm chemical fog.
Kai stepped closer. He peeled off the tank top, revealing a smooth golden chest that glistened under the white void's light. Derek's breath caught. The man's pecs were soft-looking slabs of muscle, his nipples dark and small. A trail of black hair ran down his stomach and disappeared into his waistband.
"Today we're going to work on your attitude," Kai said, and his voice was warm, almost fatherly. The VR space shimmered around him, soft pastel colors bleeding at the edges like a bad screen saver. "You did very well yesterday. You took all of it. But there's more to being a good little faggot than just having a loose hole."
The machine arm moved. Derek felt the dildo's head press against his hole, cold and enormous. He'd taken it before, all of it, but that had been slower, with poppers flooding his system and Kai's voice in his ears. Now, as poppers again overwhelmed his senses, the dildo moved just the slightest bit quicker, and even with this subtle adjustment, the feeling was entirely different.
"Relax for me, little faggot," Kai said. "Let it in."
Derek tried. His muscles were stiff with anticipation, clenched against the intrusion. The dildo's head pushed harder, a solid ring of pressure against his sphincter. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it was too much. His body was saying no.
Kai's hand came up in the VR space, palm open, and a wave of warmth rolled through Derek's body. The binaural beep in his ears kicked up a notch, and the pastel colors behind Kai began to pulse in rhythm.
"Your hole is the most important part of your body now," Kai said, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur. "It's your mouth, your hand, your cock. Everything else is just a vehicle to bring your hole to us. So stop fighting me and open up."
The words hit something deep in Derek's brain. His muscles went loose. The dildo slid in an inch, then two, then his hole gulped around the head and the whole thing popped inside.
"Aaah," Derek breathed, the sound echoing in the padded room.
"Good boy," Kai purred. "That's it. Now we're going to teach you how to hold it. How to stay open and stupid for as long as we need you."
The dildo held still inside him for a moment, a solid plug of synthetic flesh stretching his depths. Derek's inner ring had been opened the day before, and he could feel it clamped around the shaft, struggling to accommodate.
"You exist to be used," Kai said. The VR display showed him stepping closer. His body blotted out the pastel void. "Do you understand that? Not to be loved. Not to be respected. Not to be a person. You exist so that Chinese men can use your hole to relieve their stress. Nothing more."
The dildo began to move. Slow, shallow pumps, an inch or two in and out, never fully exiting his body. The sensation was deep and grinding, his prostate getting brushed every time it pushed in.
"Yes," Derek whispered, his eyes locked on Kai's face.
"When you're in a room with Chinese men," Kai said, his voice now taking on the cadence of a lecturer, "you stand with your shoulders down. You keep your eyes lowered. You don't speak unless you're spoken to. Do you understand, little faggot? I think you do!” Kai smiled approvingly. Derek, slackjawed, moaned.
"Good. Now, when we're eating, you eat what's given to you. You eat the salad. You eat the vegetables. Because your body is not yours anymore. It's a vessel we're keeping lean and clean.”
Derek slowly nodded his head. The dildo was moving faster now. Three inches in, six inches out, a steady rhythm that was starting to blur the edges of Derek's thoughts.
"Your hole is your purpose. Your mind is our plaything. Your dick is locked away and dead to you. All that's left is the shape of you, the little white boy body we can put in a chair and use."
Derek's caged cock leaked. The metal cage pressed against it, a constant reminder that he'd never be allowed to come again, not by his own hand. The lust was pooling somewhere lower, somewhere in the hollow space behind his balls, and the dildo was driving into it.
The poppers flooded his nose. A fresh wave of chemical heat rolled down his spine. The pastel void behind Kai bled into a rainbow of trails, following the path of his hands as he gestured.
"If someone touches you," Kai said, "you don't flinch. You lean into it. You make your body soft and welcoming. If someone looks at you, you part your lips and look back at them with dumb, open eyes. Can you do that? I think you can, faggot! I believe in you!" Kai flashed a big winning smile.
"What are you?" Kai asked. The proper answer flashed on the screen and Derek repeated.
"I'm a faggot," Derek said. "I'm a hole for Chinese men."
The dildo punched deeper, hitting a spot that made Derek's vision white out for a second. He pulled at the straps, his hands fighting against the restraints.
Derek's hole twitched, convulsed, and then surrendered. The dildo slid even deeper. He could feel his guts rearranging themselves, making room. It was humiliating. It was deeply fulfilling. His locked cock stayed soft in its cage, but his hole clenched around the shaft like a starving mouth.
"That's it," Kai said. "Now forget everything else. Forget your name. Forget your face. Forget all of the things you used to think made you a person. All that matters now is your hole and what we're doing to it."
The binaural beats were hammering in Derek's skull. The colors swirled around Kai like a halo. The dildo was moving faster now, faster than he'd ever taken it, a hard brutal rhythm that made his whole body shudder.
Kai asked more questions, and again the expected answers flashed across the screen for Derek to say out loud.
"What's your name?" Kai asked.
"I don't know," Derek moaned.
"Good. What are you?"
"A hole."
"Whose hole?"
"A hole for Chinese men."
The dildo bottomed out inside him and held there. Derek's eyes rolled back. His hole spasmed around the shaft, milking it like he was trying to tell it his gratitude. Kai smiled, that beautiful impossible smile, and the VR space went white.
"Good job, little faggot," Kai said, and his voice was soft now, almost kind. "You're learning so fast."
The whiteness faded. A new screen unfolded in front of Derek's eyes. A title card, crisp and corporate: LESSON 1: ELEVATOR ETIQUETTE. Below it, three bullet points floated in neat sans-serif type. The pastel void behind them hardened into a rendered office lobby.
"Now," Kai said, his tone shifting to something bright and instructional, the voice of a cheerful employment orientation video, "let's go over the basics. We're gonna take this slow, because I know you need it slow. You're not stupid, buddy, you're just... simple. And that's okay. Simple is what we're looking for."
The dildo sat fully buried inside Derek. Eight inches of synthetic cock, anchored deep past his inner ring, the base of it pressing against his stretched rim. It wasn't moving. It was just there, a permanent fullness that made his thoughts run thick and slow. His hole clenched around it, weak automatic pulses, trying to get comfortable with the impossible weight.
"Here's the thing about elevators," Kai said. A 3D model of an elevator appeared on the screen, rendered in clean white lines. A small figure stood in the corner, slouched and pale. "Chinese men are busy. They're powerful. They have places to be. And when you get in an elevator with them, you need to make yourself small."
The model figure in the corner shrank. Its shoulders rolled forward. Its head dropped.
"Like this. See it? Shoulders down. Eyes on the floor. You don't look at them. You don't smile. You don't say good morning. You just stand in the corner and wait for the doors to open. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes," Derek breathed. The word came out slurred. The poppers had his brain floating somewhere behind his eyes.
"Okay. Question time. What do you do when a Chinese man enters the elevator?"
The answer flashed on the screen. Derek's tongue moved before his brain caught up. "I make myself small. I look at the floor. I don't speak."
"Good, buddy. That's real good. Lesson Two."
The screen shifted. LESSON 2: HALLWAY PROTOCOL. The 3D model shifted to a long corridor, glass walls, polished floors.
"You're walking down a hallway. A Chinese man is coming toward you. What do you do?"
The model in the corridor flattened itself against the wall. The Chinese man walked past without looking at it.
"You press yourself against the wall," Kai said. "You make yourself thin. You tuck your hands behind your back and you wait for him to pass. You don't meet his eyes. You don't breathe too loud."
The dildo twitched inside Derek. The machine had adjusted it, just a fraction of an inch, grinding against his prostate. A spike of pleasure lanced through his gut and he gasped.
"Pay attention, buddy. This is important stuff."
The screen blinked. A new title. LESSON 3: BATHROOM RULES.
"Bathrooms are tricky," Kai said, his voice warm and conspiratorial. "Because you're alone in there sometimes. And when you're alone, it's easy to forget your place."
The 3D model of a men's room appeared. Urinals, stalls, mirrors.
"Here's the rule. If a Chinese man is at the urinal, you do not look. You keep your head down. You don't want him to have to deal with your prying eyes when he's trying to take a piss. Keep a safe distance, and walk to the farthest stall to pee sitting down. of course, in your chastity cage, you have to pee that way anyway. No more urinals or free peeps for you, little faggot.” Kai smiled.
A flash of shame rolled through Derek. His caged cock pulsed under the metal, a pale and useless thing. He hated it. He hated that they'd locked it away. He hated that he was somehow grateful.
"You also don't make eye contact in the mirror. That's a big one. Mirrors are not for looking at yourself. They're not for looking at him. You keep your eyes on your hands. You wash your hands. You leave. Got it?"
"Got it," Derek mumbled.
"Good. What are the four rules for the bathroom?"
The answers flashed. Derek read them aloud, his voice thick and slow. "No peeping. No urinals. No eye contact in the mirror. Wash hands and leave."
"Beautiful. Lesson Four."
LESSON 4: CAFETERIA CONDUCT.
The white void morphed into a rendering of the cafeteria Derek knew from his sparse meals. The long tables, the serving line, the salad station tucked in the corner.
"This is a big one," Kai said. "Because this is where you're gonna spend a lot of time."
The model showed Derek's figure sitting at a table, a small bowl of salad in front of him. The other tables were populated with tall, broad-shouldered Chinese men eating rich plates of food.
"You sit in the corner. You don't sit with them. You don't sit near them. If the cafeteria is busy and they need your table, you get up and you find another one. You eat slowly. Properly digest all that fiber to help keep your system clean. You eat what you're given. And you do not stare at their food."
The dildo shifted inside Derek, a slow grinding rotation that made his toes curl. The fullness was starting to feel like the normal state of his body, the empty version of himself a distant memory.
"You watch your bowl. You keep your head down. If a Chinese man looks at you, you drop your eyes immediately. You don't want them to think you're greedy. You don't want them to think you want what they have."
"Because I don't deserve it," Derek said., reading as the words flashed on the screen. The words came out without him meaning to say them.
Kai's smile widened. "That's exactly right, buddy. You don't deserve it. White faggots like you, you sit in the corner. You get the salad. You stay quiet. And that's how you stay out of trouble."
A diagram flashed on the screen. It showed Derek's figure sitting at the far corner table, a bowl of greens in front of him, his hands folded on the table. Arrows indicated the posture: HEAD DOWN. SHOULDERS CURLED. EYES ON UNUSED FORK.
"In the cafeteria, what is the most important thing to remember?"
"The corner," Derek whispered. "I stay in the corner. I eat my salad. I don't look at them."
"Good boy. Now, the douching room."
The screen flickered. LESSON 5: THE DOUCHING ROOM.
"This one's special," Kai said, and his voice took on a patient, encouraging tone. "Because it's the room where they clean you out. And you need to be on your best behavior in there."
The rendering showed a white-tiled room. A drain in the center. A hose on the wall. Derek's model figure knelt on the tile, naked, on all fours.
"You don't complain. You don't ask questions. You get on your hands and knees when they tell you to, and you hold the water when they tell you to hold it, and you release it when they tell you to release it. Keep your back arched with your ass out. That’s proper fag posture in this scenario. You don't speak unless they speak to you first. And if they laugh at you, you let them laugh. You're funny. That's fine. That's a service you provide."
The dildo shifted again. Derek could feel his inner ring clamped around the shaft, stretched so wide it had gone numb. But the sensation was changing, softening, his body surrendering to the shape of the thing inside him.
"What do you do when they tell you to hold the water?"
"I hold it," Derek read off the screen. His voice was slurred. "I hold it until they say release."
"Good," Kai said. "And if they laugh at you?"
"I let them laugh. I'm there to make them feel good."
Kai's smile was radiant. The pastel void behind him brightened, the colors pulsing in time with the binaural beats in Derek's ears.
"Lesson Six. The training survey."
LESSON 6: SURVEY COMPLIANCE.
A clipboard appeared in the VR space, floating in front of Kai's chest. A pen hovered beside it.
"After every session, the nice man with the glasses will ask you questions. Zhang Ming. He's going to ask you how you feel. What you learned. What you think about. And you're going to answer honestly. Because if you lie, the straps will shake and tell him you're lying, and then he'll know you've been bad."
The dildo pressed deeper, a slow relentless grind. Derek's eyes rolled back. The poppers were a river running through his skull, carrying his thoughts away.
"You're going to tell him that you love being a faggot. That you love being a hole for Chinese men. That you can't wait for your next session. You're going to say these things because they're true."
"Because they're true," Derek repeated.
"And what if you don't feel like they're true on a particular day?"
Derek's mouth opened. The answer was on the screen, glowing with soft golden light. He read it slowly. "Then I remember that my feelings don't matter. Only my hole matters."
"Excellent, buddy. That's excellent. You're doing so well."
The screen went blank for a moment. The white void returned. Kai stood in front of him, arms crossed, his tank top back on. The dildo was still buried in Derek, a solid plug of synthetic flesh that had become the center of his existence.
"Now let's review everything we learned today. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Elevator. What's the rule?"
The dildo shifted. Derek's brain fumbled for the memory, but it didn’t have to; the screen provided the answer to read. “Make myself small. Look at the floor. Don't speak."
"Hallway?"
"Press against the wall. Wait for him to pass."
"Bathroom?"
"No urinal. No mirror eyes. Wash hands. Leave."
"Cafeteria?"
"Corner table. Salad only. Don't look at their food."
"Douching room?"
"Get on all fours. Arch back. Hold the water. Don't complain. Let them laugh."
"Survey?"
"Answer honestly. Tell the truth. I'm a faggot. I'm a hole. It's true."
Kai's smile could have powered a city. "You're a star student, buddy. I'm so proud of you."
The warmth in his voice made Derek's chest ache. The shame and the pleasure had become impossible to separate. He was being praised for being a thing, a hole, a shape. It was the best he'd ever felt.
"The last thing we're going to do today," Kai said, "is a drill. A little practice. Can you handle that?"
"Yes. Please."
"Good boy. So. The elevator door opens. A Chinese man steps in. He's tall. He's handsome. He's wearing a suit. He looks at you."
A 3D model of a tall Chinese man appeared in the void. His face was angular and handsome, his suit immaculate. Derek's model figure stood beside him in a tiny elevator car.
"You're in the corner. What do you do?"
"I make myself small," Derek whispered. "I drop my eyes. I look at the floor. I don't speak."
The model of Derek shrank. Its head lowered. The tall Chinese man didn't look at it.
"Good," Kai said. "Now the elevator stops. The door opens. The Chinese man gets out. What do you do?"
"I wait. I don't move. I wait for the doors to close before I move."
"Beautiful." The model of the tall man disappeared. Kai stepped closer, and the dildo inside Derek gave one last slow, deep rotation.
"You're doing so well, buddy. I'm so proud of you. Tomorrow, we're going to start working on your endurance. You're going to hold that open feeling for longer and longer periods. And one day, real soon, there's going to be a real man's fist inside you, instead of this silicon toy."
Derek moaned. It was a sound of pure, ruined need.
"But for now," Kai said, "I want you to relax. I want you to feel how full you are. Let it be your entire world. Let that fullness stretch you out and make you dumb. Can you feel it?"
"Yes," Derek gasped.
"What's your name?"
"I don't have a name."
"What are you?"
"A hole. A faggot hole for Chinese men."
"Whose hole?"
"Theirs. All of theirs."
Kai reached out and touched his cheek in the VR space. It felt like a real hand, warm and calloused. Derek couldn't help leaning into it, his whole body going soft.
"Good boy," Kai murmured. "Now hold that feeling. Hold it while the machine finishes you off. And when the session is over, you're going to remember everything we learned today. You're going to remember your posture. Your place. Who you are."
The white void flickered. Kai stood shirtless, his gleaming, sweat-slicked torso dominating the screen. His skin was golden bronze under the virtual lighting, a canvas of sculpted muscle that moved with fluid power as he approached a heavy bench. Thick pectoral muscles bunched and separated with each step, his nipples dark and erect against the taut skin. A fine trail of black hair ran down below his navel, disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts.
He gripped the barbell, the veins standing out like blue rivers against his forearms. His biceps swelled to impressive size when he lifted the weight, the striations in his muscles visible even in the soft light of the void. Sweat beaded on his temples, tracing paths through the dark stubble of his beard before dripping onto the bench.
"Alright, little faggot," Kai said, settling the bar across his shoulders. His voice had changed, deeper, more focused. "We're going to do something real simple now. I'm going to lift. And you're going to breathe with me. In when I pull down. Out when I push up. Match my rhythm."
The dildo inside Derek shifted. The machine arm adjusted, pulling back until only the crown remained inside him.
"That's the key," Kai said. "Breathing. When you're loose and breathing deep, you can take anything. When you hold your breath, you tense up. And a tense hole is a useless hole."
He lowered the bar, his arms bulging as he fought against the weight. "Breathe in."
Derek breathed. The nasal cannula delivered a fresh hit of poppers straight into his skull. The world went soft and warm.
Kai pressed the bar up, his chest expanding, his shoulders rounding with effort. "Breathe out."
Derek exhaled. The dildo slammed into him, deep, bottoming out against his inner ring. His body bucked against the straps. The fullness was sudden and total, a shockwave that ran from his hole all the way up his spine.
"Good," Kai grunted, dropping into the next rep. "Again."
The pattern took hold. Bar down, breathe in. Bar press up, breathe out. Dildo in, full, bottomed out. Rep after rep, the poppers flooding his system every time he inhaled. His inner ring, stretched wide on the first thrust, began to pulse weakly around the shaft. It tried to clench, to push the intrusion back, but it had been breached too many times now. It just gaped, open, unable to close.
"Your hole is learning," Kai said between reps. His face was shining with sweat now, the muscles in his shoulders working with every press of the bar. "It's learning to stay open. To stop fighting. To just be a shape that we can use."
Derek couldn't answer. His jaw hung slack. The dildo receded and slammed back in with every exhale, the rhythm pounding in his skull like a second heartbeat. In, out, in, out. Full, empty, full. The binaural beats had kicked up a notch, a low pulsing frequency that synced with the bar's movement, drilling into his brain.
"You like that?" Kai asked. His voice was tight with strain. The bar was loaded heavy, the plates thick. "You want to be the thing I pound while I work out? That's all you are to me. That's all you'll ever be."
A phrase flickered to life in the corner of Derek's vision. YOU ARE A HOLE. It hovered there for a moment, then faded.
"Yes," Derek gasped. The dildo had driven all the way in and held, grinding against his prostate. His eyes rolled back. "I like it. I like being your hole."
Kai racked the bar and stepped to the side. A dumbbell appeared in his hand, its weight impressive even from Derek's perspective. He lay back on the bench, the weight pressed above his chest, and Derek felt the machine arm shift, re-angling the dildo.
"Bench time," Kai said. "Breathe with me."
He pulled the weight down, curling his arms, and the dildo slid deep. The poppers hit Derek's brain as he inhaled, a concentrated chemical punch that made his vision swim in phosphorescent colors. Kai's armpits were visible now, dark with sweat and thick with black hair, the strands matted against his skin as he exerted himself. The sight made Derek's hole throb.
"Good boy. You're getting it."
The repetitions were brutal. Every time Kai breathed in, Derek breathed in, and the poppers made him higher, looser, more stupid. The colors in the void bled together. Kai's body gleamed. The binaural pulses deepened, and the space behind Derek's eyes filled with warm static.
YOU ARE THEIR FAGGOT. THE HOLE IS YOUR MIND. The phrases appeared and dissolved on the screen, one after another, sinking into Derek's brain like stones into muddy water.
"Whose hole are you?" Kai asked, re-gripping the dumbbell for another set.
"Yours," Derek slurred. "Theirs. All of theirs."
"Good." Kai's arms shook as he pressed the weight up. "That's real good."
The machine arm changed angle again. The dildo rotated, the head grinding against Derek's insides before sliding out and punching back in. The rhythm was faster now, not quite double time but building toward it. Derek's inner ring had stopped resisting entirely. It just stayed open, a slack muscular band that the dildo passed through like a knife through water.
Kai switched to another weight. Rows, presses, raises. Each exercise brought a new angle, a new depth. The dildo followed his movements without lag, thrusting on his breath, pulling back on his exhale. Derek lost track of time. There was only the fullness, the emptiness, the cold chemical taste of the poppers, the sound of Kai's breath in his ears.
"Thirty more seconds," Kai said. His voice was strained, professional. "Then we speed up."
The binaural beats shifted frequency. Higher. More insistent. The static behind Derek's eyes sharpened into a single point of white heat.
The dildo slammed in and stayed.
Kai racked the weight. "Now we go fast."
The machine arm whirred. The dildo pulled back to the crown, paused, and then drove in with a ferocity that made Derek's whole body bow against the straps. Out, in. Out, in. Every thrust breached his inner ring fully, bottoming out at a depth that made his vision pulse white. It was twice the speed of Kai's lifting, a brutal piston rhythm that left no time for breathing.
Derek moaned. He began to panic; he thought he just couldn't take it. But the video was already assuring him he could.
"You've got this, faggot," Kai said. His voice was calm, even. He was standing over the bench now, watching Derek, his arms crossed over his gleaming chest. "Your hole is built for this. Open up and take it."
The poppers came in a steady stream now. The nasal cannula wasn't waiting for Derek's breath anymore. It just pumped, filling his lungs with chemical vapor. The room dissolved entirely. There was only the dildo, the fullness, the relentless pounding that had become the entire universe.
"Do you want a real fist instead?" Kai asked. "Do you want a man's whole hand up inside you, deeper than that toy can reach?"
"Yes," Derek begged. The word came out as a sob. "Please. I want your fist. I want your arm. Please."
"Beg for it." As Kai said this, the words BEG FOR IT appeared on the screen.
"Please, please fist me. I want it so deep. I want your fist and your arm all the way inside me. I want to be stretched so wide I forget my own name."
Kai smiled. "Good boy."
The dildo didn't slow. The binaural beats hammered. The affirmations flickered at the edges of Derek's vision. YOU ARE OPEN. YOU ARE EMPTY. YOU EXIST TO BE FILLED.
Derek's eyes were open but unseeing. Drool ran down his chin. His caged cock leaked thin and clear, pumping uselessly against the steel. His hole was a raw, slack ring of flesh, stretched to the limit, clutching at the dildo like it was the only thing that had ever mattered.
The machine kept going. Kai lifted weight after weight, moving through his routine with a focused calm. Each rep sent the poppers deeper into Derek's brain. Each thrust sent a wave of overstimulation through his body.
Time collapsed. There was no past. There was no future. There was only the fullness, the stretching, the brutal rhythm that never stopped.
Kai finished his last set. He racked the weight and stood. The binaural beats softened. The dildo slowed to a crawl, still deep inside Derek, no longer slamming but grinding, a slow pressure that made Derek's legs shake.
"Look at me," Kai said.
Derek's head lolled forward. His eyes were glazed, wet, the pupils blown so wide they swallowed the irises.
"Who do you belong to?"
Derek read the answer on the screen. "Chinese men. All of them. I belong to all of them."
"And what are you?"
"A hole. A faggot hole. I'm just a hole for their use."
Kai stepped close. His hand reached out in the VR space and touched Derek's forehead. The virtual contact sent a jolt through Derek's body, a spark of white heat that made his empty stomach clench.
"Your inner ring is open now," Kai said softly. "It's going to stay open. You're going to walk out of here and eat your salad and go home, and your hole is going to stay open the whole time. You're going to feel the air on it. You're going to feel how empty you are. And you're going to think about me. About my fist. About how good it's going to feel when a fist like mine is finally inside you."
The dildo kept slamming into him. In, out, in, out. The rhythm lost meaning after the first hundred strokes. Kai's voice became a river of sound, words dissolving into hum, his body a shimmer of gold and sweat that bled into the white void until there was nothing left but the pounding.
Images flickered. A fist, huge and dark. An arm plunging into an open hole. His own face, slack and drooling, projected on a screen. The affirmations came faster. YOU ARE A HOLE. YOUR MIND IS OURS. KAI OWNS YOUR THOUGHTS. The words stacked on top of each other like cards until they formed a wall of meaning he couldn't climb.
A phrase appeared: YOU WILL BE FISTED.
Then another: YOUR FIRST FIST IS COMING.
And another: HE WILL BE MERCILESS.
The poppers hissed. The dildo bottomed out and held. Derek's vision went gray at the edges, then black at the center. The light shrank to a pinprick and winked out.
He was gone.
The first thing he felt was hands on his head. Warm fingers curling under the edge of the headset, lifting it away. Light flooded in, harsh and white, and Derek's eyes tried to close against it but his lids didn't want to obey.
Zhang Ming's face swam into view. The square-framed glasses, the sharp cheekbones, the thin lips set in a patient line. His gray eyes studied Derek with the calm of a man examining a specimen.
"Welcome back," Zhang Ming said.
Derek tried to speak. His tongue was thick and dry, glued to the roof of his mouth. The only sound that came out was a low, wet mumble.
Zhang Ming set the headset down on a side table. He picked up his clipboard, pen already in hand. The white paper caught the overhead light.
"Let's begin the survey," he said. "You know the routine by now. Answer honestly. The sensors in the straps will tell me if you're lying."
Derek blinked. The room was coming back in pieces. The padded walls. The whirring machine arm, now still. The weight of the dildo, deep inside him, a permanent fullness that had gone past pain into something like comfort. His inner ring, once a hard band of resistance, now rested slack around the shaft. It had stopped trying to close. It didn't remember how.
Zhang Ming flipped a page on the clipboard. The motion was precise, economical. His gray eyes rose to meet Derek's, holding them with the calm attention of a man who had done this many times before and would do it many times again. His jaw was lean, clean-shaven, the skin stretched tight over high cheekbones, and the fine lines around his mouth suggested he was older than he looked. The square-framed glasses caught the overhead light as he read.
"Question one," he said. "How does your hole feel right now, after today's session?"
He paused, letting the question sit. Loose and empty, aching to be filled. Sore and uncomfortable, and I wish it would close back up. C. Slightly stretched, but otherwise normal, like before the training began."
The dildo remained deep inside Derek, a solid weight that had settled into the shape of him. His inner ring hugged the shaft with the lazy slackness of a muscle that had forgotten how to tighten. The poppers had faded to a warm haze in his skull, but the memory of Kai's voice was still there, curling through his thoughts like smoke.
He thought about option B. He thought about wanting to close up, wanting to be a normal man again. But the words tasted false on his tongue. The emptiness behind the dildo was a need, dull and persistent. It scared him how much he wanted it filled.
"C," Derek said. Then he corrected himself, reading the words again. "No. Loose and empty, aching to be filled."
Zhang Ming's pen scratched against the paper. He didn't look up. "Question two. When you think about the lessons you learned today, what do you feel?" Embarrassed, but I understand I need to follow them. Grateful, because they show me my place. C. Resentful, because they make me feel small and invisible."
The lessons were still in his head, drilled deep by the binaural beats and the grinding rhythm. The hallway posture. The cafeteria corner. The way he was supposed to press himself flat against the wall so a Chinese man could pass without even noticing him. Shame bubbled in his gut. But underneath it, something warm and quiet had taken root. A sense of order. Of belonging.
"B," Derek said. "Grateful, because they show me my place."
The pen moved. "Question three. What are you when you're in an elevator with a Chinese man?" A person who happens to be in the same space. A faggot who should make himself small and invisible. C. A hole that should press into the corner and not exist."
Derek thought of the model in the VR, the small pale figure shrinking into the corner, the broad-shouldered man walking past without a glance. He remembered the strange sense of peace that had settled over him when the figure dropped its eyes. He imagined himself in that elevator now, his face pressed toward the floor, his breathing slow and quiet, and the thought made his caged cock pulse.
"C," he said. "A hole that should press into the corner and not exist."
Zhang Ming's gaze flicked up to him. There was no judgment in it, only a kind of patient evaluation. The pen moved again.
"Question four. When you eat your salad in the cafeteria, what do you think about?" How hungry I am and how little food this is. How I deserve to eat only what I'm given. C. How the Chinese men's food must be better than mine."
The memory rose up, unbidden. The sparse bowl, the cold lettuce, the men in their tailored suits with plates of braised pork and mountains of rice. He had been so hungry. His stomach had made hollow sounds that he was sure the whole room could hear. And yet, watching them eat, watching their strong jaws work over rich food, he had felt something other than envy. He had felt like he was looking at a world he was not allowed to enter. And that exclusion had felt, somehow, correct.
"B," Derek said. "I deserve to eat only what I'm given."
"Question five. In the bathroom, what are you?" A man using the facilities. A faggot who must not look at real men. C. A caged pet who pees sitting down and keeps his eyes lowered."
The cage pressed against his groin, a cold metal reminder. He remembered the humiliating truth of it: he couldn't use a urinal even if he'd wanted to. The little tube forced him to sit. The thought of standing at a urinal beside a broad-shouldered Chinese man, catching a glimpse of a heavy cock in his peripheral vision, only to have to waddle to a stall to pee sitting down, made heat rush to his face.
"C," he said, and his voice came out tight. "A caged pet who pees sitting down and keeps his eyes lowered."
Zhang Ming's pen made a small note, a check mark in the margin. "Question six. When the technicians laughed at you during the douching, what did you feel?"
The memory flashed: the cooler, taller technician's dark stubble, the shorter one's thick neck, the low sounds of Chinese laughter bouncing off the tiled walls while he knelt on all fours with water sloshing inside him. He hadn't understood a word they'd said. He had only known that he was funny to them. That his body, his obedience, his arched back and spread cheeks, had given them amusement.
"A. Shame, and I wanted to hide. Gratitude, because my humiliation served them. C. Relief, because they weren't angry."
"I let them laugh," Derek whispered. The words came out before he could think. Gratitude, because my humiliation served them."
Zhang Ming looked at him for a long moment, then wrote. "Question seven. What do you want to happen to you?"
"A. I want the training to stop. B. I want to be fisted by a Chinese man. C. I want to go back to my old life."
The sentence hung in the air. The dildo shifted inside him, a slow grind against his prostate, and Derek's breath caught. He thought about his old life. The coffee shop. The sci-fi paperbacks. The data-entry job. The lonely apartment. The nights scrolling through porn he was too timid to act on. And then he thought about the VR, Kai's golden skin, the promise of a real fist pushing past his slack ring, deeper than any toy could reach. The two futures pressed against each other, and one of them burned brighter.
"B," Derek said. The word came out thick. "I want to be fisted by a Chinese man."
The pen scratched. "Question eight. What is your name?"
"A. Derek. B. I don't have a name, I'm just a faggot. C. Whatever they give me."
The question was simple. The answer should have been simple too. Derek. That was his name. He had had it for twenty-five years. But the training had worn at the edges of it, and now the name felt like a loose tooth in his mouth. He thought of Kai's voice, patient and warm. Forget your name. Forget your face. All that matters is your hole.
"I don't have a name," Derek said. "B. I'm just a faggot."
Zhang Ming's expression didn't change. "Question nine. Who do you belong to?" Myself. The company, until my contract ends. C. Chinese men. All of them. Forever."
The dildo pressed deep. Derek's eyes lost focus. Chinese men. The taller technician with his veined forearms. Li Wei's friendly smile. The cooks behind the line. The stocky businessman with the silver at his temples. They were everywhere in this building, tall and strong, moving through the world with a confidence he had never possessed. And they didn't see him. They didn't think of him. That was what made it so much worse. He existed for them whether they knew it or not.
"C," Derek said. His voice was small. "Chinese men. All of them. Forever."
"Question ten." Zhang Ming's gray eyes fixed on him. "When you think of Instructor Kai, what do you feel?" Fear, because he scares me. Devotion, because I want to please him. C. Arousal, because I want to serve him with my hole."
Kai's face swam up before him. The slick black hair, the golden skin, the smile that could be warm or cruel by the turn of his mouth. The way he had touched Derek's forehead in the VR, a gesture that had felt like the closest thing to tenderness Derek could remember. He thought of the thick arms, the heavy cock he imagined hanging between those muscular thighs, the fist he had been promised.
"C," Derek breathed. "I want to serve him with my hole."
Zhang Ming set the pen down. The clipboard rested against his thigh. He studied Derek for a long moment, and something shifted in his expression. Not warmth, exactly, but acknowledgment.
"I think you will do well in the training tomorrow," he said. "Your answers show significant resignation. You are settling into your role."
Zhang Ming closed the door softly. The technicians came in.
The taller one moved first, unclipping the straps at Derek's wrists. His fingers were long and sure, the veins on his forearms standing dark against his skin. The shorter one worked the ankle buckles, his thick neck bowed close to Derek's thigh. Neither looked at his face.
Derek's limbs were fluid, dream-slow. He remembered the hallway lesson and kept his head down, his shoulders curled, his eyes on the floor. He made his breathing quiet. They were Chinese men. That was all that mattered.
"Stand," the taller one said, in English.
Derek rose on shaky legs. The dildo slid out with a wet sound and his hole gaped, empty, aching. He kept his gaze low as they walked him to the locker room. He imagined the taller man's chest under the navy shirt, broad and smooth, the thick curve of his cock. Shame burned in his gut, but Kai's voice soothed it. Keep your head down. Stay small. That's what you're for.