Exhibition slave

You have always been a very obedient slave. I am sure you would have agreed to my plan just because I told you to, but I know you well enough to be sure that this will also fulfil your greatest wish.

You sit on your knees next to the box while I finish the preparations. Whenever I turn towards you, you are looking at the floor in front of you, like a good slave. Although, when my back is turned and I steal a glance in the mirror, I can see you are looking at me, following my actions. I let it go; they will be your last transgressions. Besides, you have always been the favourite of my two slaves; that is why I asked you to become the centrepiece of my new dungeon.

You will be my beautiful exhibit: you have to look perfect; I can’t allow any blemishes. I don’t want ugly tubes obscuring your face or catheters sticking out in full view. We are fortunate to know that Dr Walters shares our taste in bondage. A tidy sum of money and an invitation to the opening party secured us the attention of one of the best surgeons in the area to help prepare your body for the opening of the dungeon next week. A party for friends and their slaves only.

*****

The preparations to your body started simply enough three weeks ago. Walters came over to the house to insert an infusion needle into your left arm. From that day on you were fed intravenously: sugars, salt and whatever else your body needed flowing directly into your bloodstream; you would have no more need for an intestinal tract. This first phase of the treatment took a week, allowing your body to adapt to the new nutrition and the absence of food. Your gut emptied itself until you produced no more waste. You were ready for the second phase.

As I said, I don’t want an ugly breathing tube ticking out of your mouth, obscuring your face and distracting from your perfection. Dr Walters suggested a tracheotomy. A tube stuck through the front of the throat leading into the lungs; it would be easier to hide than a tube sticking out of your mouth and it would leave the face free. I wasn’t happy that it would still be visible, but I know that you do need to breathe. I couldn’t think of a better solution, so I agreed for you to have a tracheotomy.

The first day of operations took place just under two weeks ago, upstairs in the spare bedroom. Dr Walters obviously didn’t want us in the hospital too often. I convinced the doctor that you didn’t need pain relief while he was cutting your throat – you were always very good at staying still through pain. You lay perfectly still while Dr Walters cut through the skin and cartilage over the trachea. He inserted a tube through the hole, pushing it into the trachea towards the lungs. A flat ring around the tube was pushed into the trachea. The cartilage and skin were stitched up and a similar ring was pushed over the tube until it sat just outside the skin. The tube would not move anywhere; the two rings sandwiched the tissue of your throat. About an inch of the tube was sticking out through your skin between the clavicles.

You wouldn’t need your mouth to breathe again; you hadn’t needed your mouth to eat for the last two weeks, so it was time to block up all useless orifices. First the doctor made you open your mouth widely and injected a large volume of epoxy resin deep into your wind pipe; there it set hard preventing saliva flowing from the mouth into the lungs.

The next step was to flush out your nasal cavity with a mild disinfectant, an unpleasant experience if your face was anything to go by. You were told to drink two litres of the disinfectant which would clean your intestines on their way through. Now Dr Walters filled your nasal cavity, your oesophagus and the centre of your mouth with more resin. Your mouth was pushed shut and your lips were glued together with superglue. After several minutes the epoxy had set hard leaving your nose and mouth permanently shut.

Over the next few days you got used to the breathing tube and the fact that your mouth was stuck closed, filled with a hard close-fitting plug. The disinfectant worked its way through your system and within two days you were empty again. For the rest of the week you were given three 1 gallon enemas with a stronger disinfectant every day. It was vital that you were as clean as possible before the final stage of the modification.

Your upper body was suitably modified; your lower body would be next. A week ago Dr Walters admitted you to the hospital and onto his operating roster under the guise of some rare intestinal complaint. I was allowed to watch the operation from an observation booth. While you were under, the doctor pushed a three-pronged instrument into your anus. Carefully he opened the prongs forcing your anus to open widely allowing him access to your rectum. I didn’t want you to be fitted with a standard catheter because it would be so obviously visible where it leaves your cock.

To hide the catheter Dr Walters made an incision through the rectal wall and threaded a catheter tube through it. A permanent connector was fixed into the bladder wall which was connected to the catheter. From now on your bladder would empty itself through a tube which left your body through your anus.

While operating on your anus, a second tube was inserted through the cut in the rectal wall. This was a permanent infusion cannula which was connected to the vein leaving your right leg. It would take over the intravenous feeding once the infusion into your arm was removed. With all tubes in place, the rectal wall was stitched up with absorbing stitches and the rectal cavity was filled with resin all the way up the sigmoid colon. When it set, both the entrance and the exit of your intestines had been blocked and they were never going to function normally again.

The next morning you left the hospital with two thin tubes sticking out of your behind. One had a urine bag attached, which was hanging inside your baggy trousers. The other was capped and it just dangled inside your left trouser leg near your knee.

There was only one more orifice to be filled to finish your modifications and I was going to do that myself with a probe Dr Walters had given me. When we got home I walked you straight to the immobilisation frame. You were tied in place lying flat on your back, legs spread and folded underneath you, so that your heels were touching your bum. I had full access to your groin. The belts over your thighs, stomach and shoulders prevented you from moving away. The probe was almost a foot long and a sixth of an inch wide. I slowly inserted it into your 8 incher, enjoying the discomfort that was showing on your face. I could feel the progress of the probe through your soft meat. When it reached the base of your cock, I pushed the plunger of the syringe at the end of the probe and injected resin, thereby permanently blocking your tool. Nothing was ever going to leave your cock again, no urine and no cum either.

Your modification was complete with a week to spare.

*****

I turn towards you; you are still on your knees. The tubes coming from your anus are lying on the floor between your legs. The urine collection bag is temporarily removed and the catheter is capped off. An inch of the breathing tube is visible sticking out of your throat.

It is time to proceed.

I walk up to you; you are looking at the floor. I put my hand under your chin and pull you face up, forcing you to look at me.

I explain to you that this is it. Thus far your modifications have been extensive, but nowhere near as much as what is going to happen now. I will still allow you to back out. You can live a relatively normal slave-life with the current changes to your body; if we continue now your life will never be the same again. I ask you whether you are sure you are willing to continue.

You beam a smile at me and you nod. You will get no other opportunity to turn back. First, I carefully paint all of your naked body with a special adhesive; only your chest is left uncovered. Next I take two clear Perspex ovals from the work surface. They perfectly fit your eye sockets. I glue them in place with superglue, leaving your eyes a small space to move and blink. I want you to be able to see life around you without the ability to participate. I help you up the stepladder and into the box. When you stand in the box your rock hard member is standing upright. You really do want this to happen.

You lie down on your back, supported by six blocks of wood. The biggest block is about 6 by 4 inches and supports the small of your back; smaller blocks are under your head and both heels, about two feet apart. The remaining two blocks support your elbows; your hands are lying on your thighs. You look relaxed, even if it can’t be very comfortable. You are perfectly centred in the box. Eight inches between your feet and the foot board, eight inches between your head and the head board; three inches space on either side of your elbows. The blocks give about 3 inches space between the bottom and your body. The top rim of the box is about four inches above your face.

A long clear plastic breathing tube is sticking through the bottom of the box. I connect it to your tracheotomy tube and turn on the respirator machine on the other end of the tube. It takes over the rhythm of your breathing; instead of your natural long, deep breaths, the machine forces you to take quick shallow breaths. I can hardly see your chest move. I tie a red scarf around your neck, cowboy-style. Although it is primarily meant to hide the tracheotomy from view, it also nicely emphasises the nakedness of your lean body. I thread the catheter and feeding tube through a hole in the bottom of the box and carefully seal the hole with resin. I reattach the urine bag to the end of the catheter outside the box; a small yellow stream flows into the bag.

I walk up to the mixer. The resin is already sitting in the mixing compartment; I add the catalyst solution. The resin will set in 20 minutes. While the two solutions are mixing thoroughly, I walk back to you. I kiss you on your mouth and explain that the solution is primed and ready to be poured. You smile at me and I kiss you again. There is no need to say goodbye, we will be seeing each other often enough. I open the tap on the mixer and the resin starts to flow into the box.

Quickly the level of resin in the box rises, it first touches your bum, starts to rise past your sides and over your flat stomach. Now it comes over your face, covering your sealed mouth and your protected eyes. You look up at me with some anxiety showing in your eyes, but you are still smiling widely and you are still hard. Only your toes are above the level of the resin, and that won’t last much longer.

The flow of resin continues until it reaches the rim of the box. I turn off the tap and position myself next to the box looking through the clear solution into your eyes. I try to look reassuringly at you; the worst thing that could happen is that you would panic before the resin has set. I don’t know how much time passes; neither of us dares to move. I fear that if I try to feel whether the resin has set, it will encourage you to move too. Your smile has remained unchanged; your cock is still as hard as it was when the resin started to flow in.

Half an hour must have passed before I dare to test the resin. Sneakily I push my finger onto the resin. It is hard like glass! I smile and knock on the resin in front of your eyes; you wink back at me. That it the only form of communication left open to you. It isn’t a rescue signal, because there is no rescue signal. I made it clear to you that once inside the resin, you would never leave again. Once the resin has attached to the adhesive on your skin it remains attached. Even if your muscles waste, your legs and arms won’t shrink, because your skin is stuck to the inside of the cast. Your swollen cock will remain at its current size forever and it looks magnificent. Only your chest hasn’t attached to the resin, it needs to be able to move inside the small cavity that has been forced by the action of the respirator.

I start to take the box apart; the side walls come off easily. Using the winch I turn the resin block over so you are facing down. I remove the bottom of the box and the wooden blocks that you were lying on. For a couple of minutes I stroke the skin on the small of your back. You can’t react, but I expect you are enjoying your last sensation of human contact. Then I pour primed resin into the 6 holes in the block; you have to be perfect, I can’t allow exposed skin even if it is on the invisible back of the exhibit.

I leave to have lunch while the resin fill-in hardens. There is no more need to reassure you; you can’t change the outcome of the casting anymore. Besides, you will have to get used to being alone in the future. You will spend the remainder of your life in the dungeon; I may be there a lot, but more often you will be alone.

When I return you are still there, of course. The resin had set and my exhibit is finished. I winch you onto the plinth that I prepared for you. You are upright against the far wall, facing the entrance to the dungeon. The plinth contains a light box that lights your body from below; a second light box set on top of the resin block lights you up from above. A spot light on the ceiling a few yards in front of you lights your face. The lighting arrangement emphasises that you appear to be floating in the air, half a foot above the plinth. Your body seems fully relaxed, except for your massive cock that stands proudly, aimed at the observer.

The clear tubing is almost invisible in the glass-like resin. They run through the wall behind you into a soundproof room that contains the respirator. The movement of your chest is minimal. The virtual absence of life support seems to suggest that you are a preserved specimen, until you open your eyes and look at the person in front of you; a spark of life in a completely static piece of art.

Your eyes follow me through the dungeon. You can see most of the central room, but not the two side rooms behind you. It is good that some of the dungeon remains hidden from your view; you’re only a slave and will always remain a slave.

*****

Finally the opening party of my new dungeon arrives. About fifteen friends are there, each accompanied by one or two slaves to try my equipment on. As expected Dr Walters has come with his Master; it is amazing to see the difference in demeanour between his surgeon-persona and his slave-persona.

I throw open the double doors at the bottom of the staircase and lead my fellow Masters into the dungeon, the slaves following at a respectable distance. You are the first thing everybody sees. You stand fully lit against the wall 6 yards away, an image of perfect manhood; young, beautiful, virile, unreachable. The gasps of admiration are followed by questions of the Masters. They want to know whether you are dead, whether you are floating in solution, how long I plan to leave you in the block. It slowly dawns on them that this is your home. You will live in resin for the rest of your natural life. One day you will die in resin. Afterwards you will be buried in resin. You will never move again. You will never hear again. Your skin will never feel another person again. You will never be free again.

I am immensely proud to have you decorating my dungeon…

…I hope it is all you expected of it too.

 

14.11.08