The Flesh Cartel #1: Capture

standing. He didn’t even lose his hard-on when the doctor drew three vials of blood.
    Then the doctor spun in his stool, back to the cart again, and produced a keycard on a little pull-line pinned to his scrubs. He swiped it in a slot on the side of the cart and a drawer popped open. From there, he pulled out a small hinged case, a little like a ring box, and took a metallic-looking grain of rice from it. This he loaded into an enormous needle that he shoved beneath the skin of Mat’s left forearm, huge and brutal and horribly painful, painful enough that Mat howled against the thick bit of his gag.
    The doctor cast him a baleful look— Don’t be such a fucking pussy, Mr. UFC Fighter— handed the giganto-syringe to his naked assistant, and picked up a handheld scanner, the sort you’d find stockers using in a supermarket, maybe. He ran it over whatever he’d just jammed into Mat’s arm, and Mat was able to lift his head just far enough to catch a glimpse of the scanner’s screen. He couldn’t quite see what was on it, but he thought he made out a string of numbers, a list of data. Probably all the things the doctor had been busily entering into the computer by the exam table: Mat’s new ID, vital signs, measurements, all that shit. Chipped like a fucking animal .
    “Excellent,” the doctor said, though to whom, Mat had no idea. He put the scanner down and looked to his assistant. “First video, Pet.”
    She nodded once, painfully graceful, paced to the far corner and opened a narrow cabinet door. For a moment Mat couldn’t see what she’d fetched, but then she turned around, and it hit him with all the force of an uppercut. Video camera. Tripod. Jesus fucking Christ, they’re gonna film this.
    The thought burned like bile up his throat and he clenched his jaw, turned his head, just in case he puked again. What if the gag made him asphyxiate? They’d probably film you dying. But what were they going to do with the video? Had they filmed Dougie too? A week from now, would sick fucks the world over be jacking off to this streaming on their computer screens? Is that why they’d been taken?
    The nude assistant set the tripod up about ten feet from Mat, peered through the viewfinder until she was happy, and clicked record. The little red light burned straight through Mat’s brain. Taping this, they’re fucking taping this. Like a fucking record caught in a groove, he couldn’t think of anything else.
    Until the woman bent between his legs and sucked his cock straight down her throat.
    God, no! Get her off me! He bucked against his bindings, which in hindsight only made things worse, only made her hum and gulp around him. His ankles twisted, body thrashing like an eel, trying to pull back, hitting the solid surface of the table underneath him, but she didn’t let up, didn’t stop, and God, who was she, why—
    The doctor, watching all this with an observant eye, clucked to himself. “This won’t do, Pet. Not for our purposes, I’m afraid. You’re dismissed.”
    She pulled off Mat’s dick, swept her hair behind her shoulder, and left without the slightest trace of insult on her features. What the hell was wrong with her? What the hell was wrong with this whole fucking place? Mat looked to the doctor, sure he was about to be punished, but the man didn’t raise a hand against him, just smiled. “Your brother struggled too, but his was more for show, I think. He came spectacularly, you should know. All over his own chest and face. They’ll love that. Shall we try again?”
    He went to the camera himself, this time. Fiddled with a couple buttons.
    Take two , Mat supposed.
    The doctor cleared his throat, made purposeful eye contact with the camera, then began to root in the bottom drawer of his cart. The first object he produced was a curved vibrator, black and masculine and no-nonsense, nothing like the frilly glittery things lining the walls of adult novelty stores. When he turned it on, it shook in his hand. Powerful. Relentless.
    The second object was one of those tube masturbators, peach squishy silicone wrapped in a blue hard shell.
    The vibrator, the doctor thumped into his ass in one merciless thrust, hitting his prostate instantly. The masturbator, he used to consume just the head of Mat’s cock, just enough to tease.
    “Look at the camera,” he directed, not showing the slightest hint of arousal, not affected by what he was doing at all. “And don’t be shy. Shy might work for some,