No!

"Liar, liar," the voice replied, almost human in rhythm, "But maybe you're just not ready for that level of intensity yet."

Zac felt a sharp pain on the back of his neck as he faded into darkness, fearful but excited about where he would awaken.

The smell of sweat reeked in his nostrils long before he could open his eyes. The light was cool-toned and the air was humid. He adjusted to the brightness quickly and glanced around the room - a locker room, beige brick and linoleum floor. He was sitting on a bench. Around him were a few men of various ages, builds, and states of undress. He peered into the shower room to his right, where a chubby, older man was rinsing suds off his hairy stomach.

Zac could see himself in a mirror. He was wearing booty shorts far shorter than anything he'd ever select for his self, and a pink tank top that cut off above the midriff - clearly attempting to show off assets he didn't think he had.

He continued surveying the room, stopping when he locked eyes with a massive man, lightly tanned with brown hair and muscles poking out from his wifebeater that would put Hercules to shame. He gazed into the piercing blue, mesmerized. He was aroused and intimidated at once, but sat still, staring.

The man smirked and changed his socks, slipping the used ones into his black gym bag before tossing on a pair of basketball shoes. When he stood to walk out the door, everyone else in the room vanished, as if ghosts dissipating at dawn. Zac couldn't help but notice the prodigious bulge that swung in his grey track pants as the man left. He wanted to follow - desperately - but found himself unable to move.

A few moments passed, Zac still staring at the door through which the man had left. He stood up, instinctively, and walked to the door, peeking out into the hallway. He was gone. Zac sighed and slumped onto the bench where the man had been sitting. He noticed under the bench a gym bag - the one the man had been using.

He should bring it to the lost and found. He wanted to bring it to the lost and found. He couldn't bring it to the lost and found. He couldn't even bring his arm to even reach for it. He didn't have control of his arm. He didn't have control of his body.

Instead, he found his self, unwillingly but not unhappily, sliding to his knees, plunging his face into the bag, breathing in the heavy musk - heavenly.

He reached into the bag and pulled out a well-worn jockstrap, originally white, turned beige from use. He naturally pulled down his shorts, realizing he wasn't wearing any underwear. Still on his knees, he continued sniffing the underwear, slowly tugging on his growing member. He found a pair of sheer black socks and impulsively held them up to his nose. Zac had never had a thing for feet before, but he must. They smelled of pure masculinity. His arousal grew further, precum dripping from the tip of his penis. He continued digging through the bag and found a support cup, slick with sweat. He began licking it, in worship of the man who wore it.

He positioned the cup under his balls, ready to blow his load into it, but just as the cum began to shoot from his throbbing member, he felt a crushing grasp on his neck, pulling him backward. His spunk shot inhumanly high, painting the floor in creamy white globs. Zac looked up to see blue eyes staring down at him, upside-down.

"You like that, fag?" the man asked. His voice was a dream, "How about a real taste of me?"

Zac was terrified, but his head nodded anyway. "Yes, Sir," he replied. He never called anyone sir, but the words came out nonetheless.

"Show me how badly you want it. Let's see you lick up that jizz."

Zac was revolted. Licking his cum off a locker room floor? Was he really that depraved? Maybe not, but his body did it without hesitation. He crawled to the nearest puddle, swirling his tongue in the pearly mess, putting on a show for this 'Sir.' He continued to each puddle, one by one, cleaning them in kind.

"You depraved freak!" the man exclaimed, smiling ear to ear. He lifted an arm, "Now come worship my armpit." He spat a mucous-filled gob into his hand and rubbed it all across his right armpit.

Unwavering, Zac lunged for the hairy enclave, lapping desperately. He continued onto the other pit, eventually worshiping nearly every inch of the man as commanded: his feet, his abs, his arms, his ass. The only thing left was the piece he desired most.

The man chuckled, "Good faggot," he reached into his bag and retrieved the jockstrap and socks, bringing them into a stall in the shower room. Zac knelt back on the ground.

"It's been awhile since I fucked a real lowlife, and I have a feeling you'd let me go as hard as I like." Zac heard a stream flowing into the toilet, "Isn't that right, fag?"

Zac agreed posthaste, before his mind could even process the question. He heard a flush.

"Good. Close your eyes and open your mouth."

He heard footsteps approaching and the sound of ruffling in the bag. Suddenly, his mouth was filled with fabric, the taste of piss trickling down his throat. He started gagging.

"Don't fucking ****," the man slapped him across the face, before rolling duct tape all around his head to hold it in place. "Stay still," the man barked as he bound Zac's hands behind him.

He pushed Zac forward, arching his back up and preparing for insertion. Zac opened his eyes. In the mirror he could see the man towering over him, dick as thick as a plastic bottle and even longer. His ass clenched and released with anticipation. The man thrust in with full ****, tearing his hole in two.

And then everything faded to black.

Zac awoke in darkness. The robotic voice appeared, startling him.

"Did you enjoy that?" it asked.

"Asshole! You took me out right as things were getting fun," Zac replied.

"I scanned your brain. You enjoy humiliation and suffering far more than you could ever enjoy sex. You experienced the full scenario." Before he could reply, the voice abruptly said, "The session is over. Signing off."

The lid popped open, Calvin standing beside the VBox. He started helping Zac out of the machine. "How much cum?" he called out to Red, who was seated at the main computer.

"125mL in 45 orgasms - he's dry as bone," Red replied. Calvin smiled, clearly satisfied.

"What the fuck? I only came once." Zac interrupted.

Calvin tapped him in the balls, enough to sting but not very severely, "No, you only remember cumming once. You experienced 38 different scenarios in that session, and it took about 4 hours altogether. People usually only remember the last scenario, but your subconscious remembers everything."

He reasoned that that's why he felt so out of control - he'd probably been slipping deeper and deeper into his subconscious depravity this whole time.

"4 hours? It felt like I was only in that locker room for 15 minutes!"

Red snickered, walking over with the chastity belt.

"What?" Zac asked.

Calvin replied in a low tone, "A locker room? Seriously? Isn't that a bit cliche?" Zac felt a tinge of embarrassment. "Now let's slip on that belt again."

"No way! That thing is awful," Zac pulled away.

Red grabbed his wrists and pulled him close. "Listen, you signed the contract, you're getting a free ride through college, and we're both bigger than you. I don't care if it melts your balls off - I don't have time to deal with whining today. Shut up and do it."

Zac complied. He was escorted back to the lobby by the receptionist. As he left the room, he heard Red's voice: "Kid had 38 scenarios and 26 of them took place in a fucking locker room. What is he? A 13 year-old just figuring out he's gay jerking off in the bathroom stall during P.E.?" Calvin chuckled in response.