Odd, how a word can change its meaning. They call me an “administrator.” I’m no executive. In another time, I might have been a dungeon master, an executioner. Except I never take anyone’s life. Well, that may not be entirely true, but I don’t kill anyone. My job is to carry out the sentences of those criminals who are deemed beyond rehabilition. Not that I wanted this job, but these days, you don’t question an assignment, any more than you question the judges who determine who is beyond rehabilitation. I had to learn that the hard way. You see, I was a criminal, but someone on the panel thought I could serve their purpose, and so I was spared, in a sense.
Oh, they passed sentence on me, and my sentence was that I would carry out this function for them, a function for which, I complained, I had no taste. But, they said, they would give me a taste for it, and so they made me an administrator.
To tell you what I do, I have to begin by telling you what they did. It is the only justification I have. I had no choice.
It was quick, that’s the good part. It always is. Two guards took me to the chamber. They held me against the wall while the clamps popped out of the slits and pinned my arms, legs, waist, and neck. The guards, I should mention, were not men you would fuck with. They looked like mutant behemoths, more muscular than any men I’d ever seen before this. They wore what looked like wrestlers’ singlets, more deeply cut, and made of a fabric that clung to their frightening mass like gray skin, emphasizing their bulk, the cut of their gargantuan muscle, the striations and veins, and the genitals, the size and weight of which distended the material to such a sheerness that I could see the gigantic rims of their cockheads, bigger than my fist, and the testicles that weighted it down almost to their knees. Who were these freaks?
Once I was manacled to the wall, the administrator came into the chamber. He dismissed the two giants, who, by the way, had the faces of handsome young men, and who smiled at each other in a way that made me cringe. I’d never been comfortable around gay men. But my fear was such that all those observations barely registered at the time. The administrator smiled at the guards as he dismissed them, and nodded toward the mirror that made up one of the walls. Of course, I realized, it was an observation mirror.
With no ceremony, no words, no last statements, although I knew they weren’t going to kill me, he walked over and held out what appeared to be some kind of cranial clamp, almost like a futurisic version of a remnant of “ole sparky,” like they put on your head to electrocute you. I didn’t mean to, but I tried to dodge it. I wanted to be stoic, brave, show them I could take it, whatever it was to be, but my instinct took over. No matter. He placed it on my head and stepped back.
The administrator, I’ll mention, was menacing in his own way, but it had more to do with the leer on his handsome face than his physique, which was quite muscular, but nothing like the other two. He just looked like some guy they’d pulled from a bodybuilding gym—some guy with a great body and a real mean streak.
Anyway, a piece of the floor slides back, and a podium like thing zips up without a sound so that he’s standing behind a monitor or control panel of some kind. He watches me and he touches the panel in a few places, and I start to feel something like electricity going through me, into my head and all through my body. I’m vibrating, like I’m in a spasm. Did I mention that they made me strip, so I’m totally naked? Anyway, it gets stronger. The spasm turns into a full body cramp. I can hear myself moaning at first, then screaming, but it sounds far away. I’m having an out of body experience, but in reverse. I’m so in my body, I feel every cell, and I’m burning. I can’t look down, but I can tell I’ve gone hard, too. All these people, I’m guessing, are behind the glass, and I’m hard as fucking steel, and then I feel myself start to cum.
That's right. Even with the pain in my whole body, I can feel my cock, hard as a fucking iron rod, jerking, hard, shooting a load that feels like it’s going on forever. I feel really weird in my head, fuzzy a little, super aware but slow, and I can’t pull my thoughts together. I’m just this body, burning up, in total cramping spasm, shooting cum, and I can’t make myself care. All of a sudden, I don’t care. They’re letting me fucking live, and the rest is whatever the fuck they want.
The administrator comes over and takes the thing off my head. I realize I’m drooling. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. The clamps are off. When I lift my arm, I feel the muscle of my biceps bulge. He’s smiling, leering at me. I look down at myself. I’m built like him, now. My dick is still hard, but twice as big. The sight, the feeling of what they’ve done to me turns me on in a way I’ve never experienced before. There is no fighting it; I am what they’ve made me, and I can’t stop the feeling of being intensely turned on by my muscles and the huge cock I see jutting from my hairy groin. He doesn’t say anything, but he grabs my hair with one hand and my dick with the other and he pulls my head back and kisses me, and I’m kissing him back, and then I’m on my knees sucking his dick. It’s huge, too, like mine. I’m feeling so fucking hot. Fucking made me like him, and I don’t fucking care. I just feel totally fucking hot.
After that, they put me into the administrators’ dormitory. My sentence is that I’m one of them, now, and I do what they want. I carry out the sentences. Some are like mine, but not very many. I realize I was a lucky one. They went easy on me. The rest of the place, isolated completely from the society that puts away whoever doesn’t agree with it, is full of guys like those guards. That’s what they do, now, instead of executing them. Turn them into mindless muscle animals and keep them locked away. That’s what the administrators do. That’s what I do.
They bring a guy in, and I get to put that head clamp on him, and I get to play with that control board, and remove him from humanity, even his own. The first few times, I had a little feeling left, almost felt bad about taking away their minds, seeing their expressions when I release them from the transformer, blank except for their lust, their wills completely gone, subjugated. They act as slaves, completely, utterly compliant. They can be violent, if provoked, but their tendency toward violence is permanently redirected to their sexual satisfaction. And ours—we do have that.
Just now, I had a young guy, only sixteen. That’s as young as we get them. Younger ones get put on ice till they’re old enough for me. He was crying, begging, saying he was sorry, he didn’t mean it, please don’t “do” him. That’s what they call it: getting “done.” I don’t even know what he is supposed to have done. Doesn’t matter. I like my job now. He’s crying and looking scared as shit, and once he’s clamped in, I walk over, I know I’m smiling, just like the guy that did me, probably looking pretty mean to him, and I put the “cap” on him. He struggles some. They usually do. I wait a minute at the control panel, let him wonder what’s going to happen, how it’s going to feel. I watch him as the juice starts to flow, as I amp it up. I watch him go stiff, jerk, spasm, like they all do. I notice he’s a cute one. I like it when they start to moan, then scream, because I know they’re going all the way down into it, into that place where the agony becomes exquisite. His dick gets hard, his eyes are wide, then they sort of glaze over as he starts to cum and starts to grow. This part always makes me hard. I love watching their agony make them grow. Their cocks get so long and thick, sometimes as much as 22”, never less that 18” or so. I can tell this kid’s going to be a big one. Their balls swell up huge and drop almost to their knees. Their muscles thicken up and grow bigger and bigger. And all the time they’re shooting cum. This kid is a good one. He grows immense, he gets hair on him, which I know he’ll be feeling when it’s done. He’s shooting so much cum. He starts to drool when he’s so big I know he’s almost done. They always do. He’s not even fighting it any more. I know the feeling, sort of. I can only imagine. He’s deep in that huge, beautiful body of muscle, he’s feeling the weight of his cock and balls, feeling the ecstacy of the ultimate orgasm, no more worries, no more fear. It’s done.
I take off the “cap” and he realizes, like they always do, without the interference of any kind of intelligent thought, since all that has virtually been erased now, that he is magnificent, and that his magnificence is completely, absolutely, totally sexual. I smile. He’s blank, but I can see how turned on he is. I touch his pecs, feel their hard mass, show him the erotic wonder of what he now is. He looks at himself. He flexes, and I feel his muscles, hard, huge, unbelievable. When I touch him, he begins to ejaculate again. After I help him finish, putting his gigantic cock to his mouth so he can learn to completely enjoy himself, drinking the elixir of his animal manhood, I lead him away to join the others.
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