More Painful Experiments

With a flick of her wrist, the Technician activates a series of machines that begin physically pounding your dick. Through the red flashes of pain, you dimly think to yourself that this wasn’t the pounding you expected to receive when the Technician started stripping.

You’re groaning in pain, wondering why you subjected yourself to this procedure, when the robots abruptly stop. The Technician walks up to you, swaying her hips, and looks curiously at your erect cock. She leans down, until her mouth is within touching distance of it. She puckers her lips, her tongue running across it, and it almost darts out, before withdrawing back into her mouth.

“We’ve collected a wealth of information,” the Technician says, the hot air of her breath stimulating your cock further. “But there’s one last thing we’ve got to do. Spill your seed onto some female skin.”

“Yes, do it,” you say, excited. Is she going to finally get around to riding you?

She takes three quick steps backwards, creating some distance between the two of you, and then she snaps her fingers.

“Robots, collect a semen sample and administer it to our test subject here,” she says, pointing at some random woman standing at the periphery, taking notes.

A machine begin wheeling towards you, with another long thin syringe, pointing straight at your balls. Fuck. You scream as it stabs into your testicles, sucking in your semen, and then it pulls out. From your angle, you can’t see the damage, but a healing robot quickly approaches, bolstering your natural healing factor and patches up the damage. Still, no painkillers, because they don’t work on you. You know the reasoning – they mostly have other side-effects that damage your ability to react and function – but it doesn’t make you wish for them any less at the moment.

“Alright, fire at the subject now,” the Technician commands.

The robot depresses the syringe, firing your white seed onto the woman’s face. She flinches in disgust, and you have to admit, this is a decidedly less sexy way to cum on somebody. Abruptly, you feel your powers draining away.

“Quick, run tests subset sixteen,” the Technician says, and the machines hovering over you lower back down again.

This time, the tests are a bit closer to what you expected them to be. A variety of sensors and probes attach to your brain, reading mental activity, while various flashing pulses of energy measure your ability to access your powerset.

Then, the machines pull up, and another set come down. This is one that you’re less pleased to see. As the drills begin going into the base of your feet, you wonder just how badly they intend to cripple you.

“What in the world are you doing?” you gasp, blinking away the tears forming in your eyes.

“Oh, are the drills hurting your fragile little body, Apotheosis?” the Technician croons. “Don’t worry, we’re justing testing your tolerance for pain right now. You’re doing a great job.”

“Right. You’re telling me there are no better fucking ways to do this?”

“No, not really,” the Technician says, shrugging. “Plus, we need the holes in your feet to insert the experimental phase 2 solution.”

“Phase 2?”

“Yes, the second round of testing. I’m expecting you to show up at the same time tomorrow here.”

“I thought you said we’d be done testing today.”

“I lied. Besides, you’re getting extra services pro-bono. I really should be charging you something for this,” the Technician muses.

You sigh, resigned, when your powers suddenly flood back.

“That’s time,” the Technician says, looking at some digital screen. “Approximately 1 minute, 37 seconds and 82 milliseconds without powers. An interesting number, don’t you think? Why do you think Richards chose it? Or maybe that was just the natural convergence point. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

The others around her nod, intrigued, but you have no idea what’s going on.

“Am I free to leave?” you ask, looking around.

“Sure,” the Technician says. “Although I would wait until my feet healed up, if I were you. Stanley, if you could.”

The healing robot wheels back up to you, and some sort of green webbing and hologram screens over your feet. It feels cool and sticky, but the technology seems to work. Within ten minutes, your feet look undamaged. All the while, the Technician has been poring over graphs and charts, muttering technical things to the people around her, who mutter back jargon that you swear you’ve never heard of, despite your extensive education.

“Thanks for the help,” you say, undoing the straps and getting back onto your feet.

When nobody even glances at you, you take this as your cue to leave, and walk out of the Technician’s room.

Where do you go?