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Seungjun straddled the toilet half-heartedly, gripping his limp cock and shaking it.
“Huu… ha… fuck…”
No matter how much he jerked it, there wasn’t even a hint of stimulation—just a sore arm. Only then did he realize that frontal stimulation alone wouldn’t cut it.
“Hngh… uu… ah…”
His fingers abandoned his cock, slipping past his hairless balls to probe the hole beneath. His ass welcomed the intrusion, but a single finger was pathetically inadequate in both girth and speed. Seungjun closed his eyes, conjuring the image of the man he’d just seen—his face twisted in ecstatic abandon, unashamed in his desire.
This is Hyeontae’s doing, he thought bitterly, twisting me into this depraved mess. The memory sharpened—the men in the park, Hyeonjun, everyone on this floor. They hid nothing, shame nothing, spreading their legs without hesitation, craving ruin, chasing pleasure like animals.
His indifference toward them stemmed from fear. The sheer wrongness of it all blocked any other emotion.
Then the flashbacks hit—himself, mounted by the dog, the desperate count to 100 collapsing under the need to cum. The burning stretch of the knot, the way his body had betrayed him yesterday—
He came with a choked gasp, semen pooling in his hand.
Wiping himself clean, his body shuddered with regret.
Hypnotized or not, he’d never had a choice. The only difference now was that Hyeontae wasn’t whispering suggestions in his ear—just applying pressure, relentless and inescapable.
Seungjun scrubbed his hands raw in the sink, then bolted from the building without looking back.
***
No one contacted him about leaving early. The next day, no one questioned his absence. It was unclear if anyone had even noticed. The receptionists glanced at him once before returning to their tasks. Had he overreacted? A bitter laugh escaped him.
He braced himself for another day of perverse experiments as he descended to the basement. But the researcher just shrugged—”Test results aren’t back yet. Just kill time today.” Ten minutes in, and Seungjun was already useless.
He had no desire to “explore the facility” like yesterday, not when the air itself seemed to warp his mind. The image of Hyeonjun, tangled in tentacles, surfaced—less obscene than the chilling question: Had he actually enjoyed it?
Maybe he should sneak upstairs, record everything, and report it.
Would that even work?
What crime would he accuse them of? Everyone here willingly fucked like animals. Better to gather evidence of what Hyeontae had done to him—the coercion, the hypnosis. Seungjun hesitated at the stairwell before slipping into the café next door.
It was… normal. Sunlit, fragrant with coffee, clean. A stark contrast to the dim, sex-saturated basement. People sipped drinks, worked, existed peacefully. Seungjun ordered something and sat, unsettled. Playing hooky wasn’t the issue—it was the humanity of it all. Sitting in a chair. Acting like a person. It felt alien.
He’d spent nearly a month crawling, panting, existing as a dog. The habits lingered. Time blurred; the ice in his drink melted. He left as dusk fell, resolving to never skip work again. It’s just a job, he told himself. I need the money.
Hyeontae repulsed him. Hyeonjun’s transformation terrified him. But he had no choice.
***
Over the next days, minor “stimulation experiments” continued—nipple sensitivity tests, erogenous zone mapping. They never ran back-to-back; the company had “ethical” limits on overworking subjects. Only Seungjun was uneasy. His body, conditioned to daily ravaging by the robot dog, craved ruination, not fleeting teases.
Ten days in, he cracked. Masturbation with his fingers wasn’t enough. Post-work routines dissolved into stripping, fantasizing, aching for something—anything—to fill him. He’d hump the air, desperate.
On the eleventh day, the researcher burst in, giddy. “Finally finished! A product tailored for someone as… niche as you. Ten days—can you believe it? Well, we were in the final stages when you arrived. Perfect timing! Try it. Your reactions are the default settings, so feedback is crucial.”
Seungjun tuned out the rambling. Only one thing mattered: Would it fuck him today?
The man led him to the second floor—a familiar layout, deceptively quiet. “This is your testing room.”
The door unlocked with a biometric scan. Inside, a single vaulting-horse-like structure dominated the space. Nothing like the elaborate descriptions from earlier. Seungjun’s pulse spiked.
“Sit there. They’ll be up from downstairs.”
The man left, dragging in something draped in cloth. Judging by the smooth glide, it was wheeled. Seungjun’s stomach twisted—equal parts dread and morbid curiosity.
“It’s an honor to meet an ass as desperate as yours,” the man grinned.
Seungjun scowled. Pick a lane—polite or crude.
With a flourish, the cloth dropped, revealing the man’s “masterpiece”: a horse-shaped machine. The last robot had been unmistakably mechanical, but this? The craftsmanship was uncanny—down to the hooves (which hid wheels). If not for that tell, he’d swear it was real.
“Clothes off.”
Seungjun obeyed without protest, stripping bare. His hairless cock twitched in the cold air.
No way. Not with a—
It’s just a machine. Shape doesn’t matter.
The man ordered him onto the structure, legs spread. Seungjun climbed up, gripping his thighs as the researcher powered it on. The horse whirred to life, recognizing him.
A long, silicone tongue lashed between his legs, lapping at his balls, shaft, the slick trail sending shivers up his spine. Seungjun bit his lip—mortified. Even half-hard, being watched made his skin crawl.
The researcher, mistaking his tension for nerves, reminded him to “write a thorough review” before slipping out.
Now it was just him and the horse.
“Ha… uhn… nngh…”
The tongue’s ministrations drew his gaze to the machine’s cock—thicker, longer than the dog’s, veins bulging obscenely along its crimson length.
That’s going inside me?
Terror rooted him in place. His thighs trembled—not just from fear of physical harm, but from the gnawing curiosity: How good would it feel to be split open by that monstrosity? To lose himself to it?
And once he took it, could he ever go back?
But the horse was already active, the remote long gone with the researcher. As Seungjun’s mind raced, the machine shifted, rubbing its cock against his inner thighs. A test model, perhaps—it fumbled, the glans prodding blindly, missing his hole.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
