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The Compliancy Restraint
THE USUAL WARNINGS APPLY TO THIS TALE.
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The Compliancy Restraint
Definition.
The compliancy restraint is a totally invasive total control device designed to manipulate and replace the behaviours, expectations and functions of the owned subject by tapping into and appropriating physical and psychological areas of pleasure and pain, comfort and discomfort, bringing about a fundamental alteration in the subject, seamlessly undermining autonomy, imposing owner-defined constraints and implementing unselfconscious obedience in the form of a desire analogue.
It is an array or collection of bespoke intrusions equipped to infiltrate the subject system, establishing multiple controls accessible from any distance. For the owner, communication with the array is possible by a variety of means, though the programming is designed to deep-learn, to anticipate without intervention.
The manual is available online.
FAQ. What does it look like?
Difficult to describe. Well, see for yourself; I think my installation is pretty standard. It's not entirely visible, and it's not just a single thing. You'll notice the harness at once, across the shoulders, with a handle. There's a collar, of course.
I like that.
I like everything.
Various other controls are inserted clinically. You'll see where they enter my flesh, only part visible because the assembly is subcutaneous; sometimes, like the obvious cock manifold, or the scalp attachment, mainly visible, predominantly external. It depends in each case how the control is designed, but fully operational it concerts as a total agent, automatically aligning the subject's responses to the owner's objectives.
Look, I don't claim to understand it fully. I don't think it was ever explained. I took in that it would make him happy.
An operation is required to install the array. Normally, the subject is mendicant, eager, literally begging for it. I was. It is done under general anaesthetic where necessary; partly under local with or without sedation; partly with the subject fully aware, compliant and fully conscious of what is happening. The choice depends upon the degree of involuntary resistance encountered, since some, however cooperative, are not practiced in searing pain whilst others are equipped for it, experienced, and enthusiastic.
I don't remember much.
There's no discussion of the process in the subject's presence apart from the reassurance that, 'This will make you feel better.'
When we met, he immediately wanted to control me, totally.
I don't think I realised what a difference it would make.
I could tell he had a huge cock from the way he walked and stood, legs always separated. It was absolutely bulging. He stared at me, in a confident commanding way that seemed to express as much of my own hunger as his.
I was there with my friend Christopher, as usual. We went around together to cruise the gyms, bars and saunas for the strong, domineering, hung muscle tops we had developed our physiques to attract. We dressed to emphasised our attributes.
Christopher nudged me with his pint, immediately acknowledging that this was my catch. I was melting, suddenly shy; unable to break free of his eyes I allowed myself to walk up to him. As I got closer he said hello and took my drink from my hand with, "You've had enough."
I liked that.
He put the glass down on a dark ledge nearby, and I never saw it again.
We had been together as boyfriends for about a week. Not very long. He already had me on the ground to please him. He was always finding things for me to do; always hurting me if I didn't get it right; rewarding me with praise and cum. I crept around naked, obsessed with service, obsessed with obedience. Then he decided that he wanted me to go to the next level of compliance: Mindless total servitude. It drove me wild, just the name of it, but also because he wasn't completely happy, I wanted it too.
After he described it to me in the course of one night I could see its merits: I would never have to think for myself, ever again; I would never again have to feel that distressing anxiety that I might not be pleasing him. He explained in detail how the compliancy restraint has been designed specifically to replace my autonomy. If I am lead to drift or deviate outside of parameters it steps in with a correction.
It happened after we'd had sex. What I mean is, it was after full and prolonged penetration, since being with him was like sex all the time. Every moment was about my being his plaything, his servant, and satisfying him. Even asleep: I dreamed he was standing over me on a beach, his shadow engulfing me, the bulging nob, slit eye in my face, and I am desperate to fit it in my mouth, I open my head to consume it. I cannot breath. I choke. And wake.
I lay next to him on the bed, his powerful arm round my neck, and woke to find his hand cruelly gripping my pec. I pushed my nose up next to his ear. He smelt strongly everywhere, stiff and strong. I tensed my anus where he had just spent himself and held his still big cock with a helpless love for its selfishness.
'I want you to be better,' he said, hurting me with his hand. 'You can be better. You want to be better don't you? You can be better than you are at the moment. Now is the time to make that improvement. You've already wasted enough. Now that I've found you I'm going through make sure you are as good as your potential.'
I became super-excited at the thought I could be better - and that he wanted it. Better how? Better at what? Fucking? Serving? Being his property? Or better at being an individual, better at being me? Or better at everything?
Gripping my pec forcefully with one hand and allowing me to suck on the fingers of the other, he described an intervention that would enable me to become more reliable and completely obedient. I wanted that. More than wanted: I found myself begging him to make the changes so that I could become pure owned, like he wanted. I was consumed by a vision of my own utterly subservient inferiority to him and desperate to experience my eclipse by another, superior man.
I wanted to be good.
I looked into his eyes. He was my master and we both knew it.
A day or so later he drove me to the Centre for the fitting. It was morning. I remember he put the radio on in the car and it was playing Eric Clapton.
All night he had been holding me in a grip I could not loosen. I adored it. The heat of his body was overwhelming. I was panting like a dog, but I couldn't move or get up for a drink. I didn't want to wake him. He was breathing on me. His breath, smelling of night, stank in my face. He dream- kissed me - kissed me without waking - and rubbed my buttocks, my arsehol, and my penis with his giant fast-asleep hands. I think I remember thinking that it would be nice to be his like this always, thinking that if I didn't obey him he would leave me, and that, if I were not restrained, I would be abandoned, like an unloved puppy.
He led me to the car and from it by a leash attached to a collar he had given it to me a day or so before to let me become accustomed to the feel of continuous total ownership. Henceforth I was to call him Owner; nothing else. Once inside the centre he unclipped the leash.
"Please, this way." That was the voice of the young male receptionist. I glanced up: short blonde scruffy beard; blue, amused eyes. He was wearing dark skinny jeans and, as I followed him through a door, I saw that the heels of his black shoes had little fluorescent logos. I was trying not to think about Owner who I was leaving in the room behind; trying not to think about sex.
We entered a room with loads of strange equipment. Placing a document on a corner desk, he turned and looking straight at me said, "You need to remove all of your clothes now, please. Er, everything."
I was only wearing my tight jeans and a faded blue muscle top, which I peeled off and put in a white plastic basket together with my socks and runners, and my collar.
He was watching me carefully, as if I might get it wrong, or might need some help, or enforcement. Perhaps he just liked watching.
"What about this?" I asked, indicating the collar "Leave that."
I stood in front of him naked and looked at his face. I wasn't sure what to do with my hands; I let them fall to my sides. He stared for a moment. He glanced at my cock which was rippled with blood, curving up and to the left. Then he looked at my face. Then he turned to the desk and wrote something on the document. Then he said, "Wait," and left the room.
I was still wearing my collar. The leash was still attached.
Shortly he returned with an older woman. Together they photographed and measured every single aspect of my physique. The data would be stored in a digital model which would calculate the precise dimensions and requirements of the compliancy restraint before it was fitted. I stood naked on a rotating turntable as a laser camera panned across my skin, faithfully registering every mound, crevice and space. They tested me psychologically too, using a series of mentally intrusive questionnaires to probe the type of motivations I responded to and the vulnerabilities upon which manipulative psychoses might be imposed. My weakness, I know, is a strong desire to serve a superior man, to inhabit a tangible inferiority. This was something they could use. Manipulations attacking my self-image would concentrate on removing any residual ego and reinforcing thoughtless obedience to the control of Owner and the device.
The apparatus would be designed to these specifications during the afternoon.
I stayed in overnight, in a cage, chained by my collar. They gave me a bowl of water and a pill they said would relax me. My clothes were not returned; I never saw them again. But it wasn't cold. I slept easily on the dry cement floor, overwhelmed by a feeling of safety. In the morning a nurse - a different young man with thick eyebrows and strong arms, who looked able to subdue any change of heart - unlocked the cage and told me to get out. I had my morning hardon. He looked me up and down without smiling. He pushed me into a tiled area with a shower and a toilet. He told me to empty my bowels and then shower-up, "quickly". The water was luke-warm. Once I was wet all over he said, "Ok, that's enough. He told me to face the wall and bend forward, "I need to inspect." He took a hose and squatted down behind me, looking at my anus. He touched it with his finger. "Ok, I have to make sure your rectum is empty and clean. Spread your cheeks for me." He pushed the hose up my anus repeatedly until the water was clear.
I followed him into the operating chamber. I noticed that though the his tunic was bleach white it still had brown blood flecks across his back. I could see a scar on his head where the short dark hair didn't grow.
I was still hard.
The apparatus was arranged in a large tray on a trolley by an articulated operating bed which was a mass of suspending, restraining, spreading and other pieces of equipment. Tools lay in cabinets all around. The asphyxiation and sedation console blinked its indicators on one side, whilst on the other a long reel of paper slid from a registering machine with a narrow dark line drawn on it - like a seismometer waiting for an earthquake to occur.
The doctor in charge was a white haired and deeply tanned man of about sixty. He did not smile as I clambered onto the bed. My embarrassing erection baffled me. Apparently alert to my anxiety he said, "the drugs will deal with that." Before I had time to wonder what he meant, the strong male nurse grabbed my feet, forcing them up in the air, spreading my legs apart, and buckled my ankles, vulnerably exposing my erect penis, my testicles, my perineum, and my anus.
We had shaved the night before. Owner had watched as I'd soaped and shaved most of my body but then took the razor in his own hand to remove my pubic hair. He did this with the concentration of a craftsman carving a flower out of lime-wood. I had held my legs up to my chest, pulling them apart by the knees. When he was finished he breathed deeply and looked at it, and then he'd kissed it, and then he'd fucked it, like he was fucking it for the first time, and came inside with a massive grunt. I rolled over and knelt in front of him to kiss him and thank him, his cum running down my thighs. "You had better shower," he said.
My arm-pits were exposed once my wrists had been strapped up in an assembly to either side of my head. Now I couldn't move. Even my head was held in a kind of tight fitting collar, making it impossible to turn.
I was so excited.
Naturally, I had been sedated. The nurse had given me pills and a glass of water. I can remember listening to gentle muzak : Rock guitar.
The doctor said, 'Is he clean?' The nurse nodded. 'Papers?'
The nurse pointed to a pile of documentation owner had signed on my behalf committing me to the procedure and accepting any and all consequences.
'Put him under.' The nurse injected my arm. He pushed a mask on my face. As I struggled, I remembered a beach I had once seen in a magazine about holiday encounters and a man I had met there, walking in his swims by the moonlit water. He had casually grabbed my arm, taken my hand and read my fortune with a stiff dark finger tracing a dog track round the paths, tickling my sandy palm. He pulls me into his arms. A starburst explodes in his face.
When I wake up, alone, the silence of the room is frightening. I try to move my limbs but they are not working. I can feel something breathing somewhere within my body; it is purring like a cat. I can open my eyes, open them and close them. They close.
Next I am standing up by my bed. The doctor has finished his inspection. He smiles through his white beard and his eyes twinkle. "All seems in order. You can take charge now." Sounds sound strange. People talking are sort of distant. I can feel stuff moving inside my body. I can hear myself breathing. I try to speak. The doctor asks me a question. My voice sounds unfamiliar; it's the voice of a stranger and has a tone of innocence that I cannot recognise; it's the sound of my voice when much younger. I smile at the doctor and he smiles back and pats me on the shoulder. An implant vibrates when he touches me. I feel a little unsteady and then I'm alright. I look at Owner. He isn't smiling. "Ok?" He says. "Ok," I reply and feel a jerk of pain somewhere. I splutter with surprise. My voice sounded like the voice of a simpleton. The pain subsides. "Better say 'Sir' from now on," says the doctor with a smile. "Sir. Sorry Sir," I respond. The pain subsides and fades. I smile. I understand.
"Is it alright?" He asks the doctor. The doctor says, "Yes of course. All yours. Enjoy." They shake hands. Owner says, "Follow." And I follow. I don't know how I know but I now know exactly what Owner requires of me. I can anticipate him. I follow him down the corridor and through the foyer and into the grey sunlit car park outside. I am totally at peace. I am absurdly happy. I can feel the apparatus inside me, operating me.
I carry a medical kit to prevent rejection or sepsis.
He wanted me to chauffeur. He handed me the fob. As I sat in the driver's seat the cool leather pressed against my naked skin and the device pushed uncomfortably into the flesh where it had been buried. The anaesthetic had begun to wear off affecting both how the implants felt and how I responded to them. I was pleased by the feeling of having been invaded and colonised. As I pushed the vehicle into drive I felt for the first time that I was part of the machine, somehow physically included in the machine world, the world that men had created for themselves and that they controlled. I felt as if my veins and ligaments joined the car, that I was the engine and the wheels. As the engine revved I
perceived the oil flowing through its valves as organically the same material flowing through mine. The fluids within my skin felt hot like they had been turbocharged. My breath burned in my chest. I could read the display without looking at it. An implant in my seat pushed against my organs with a continuous vibration, an insistence that felt like it was embedding itself deeper and deeper into the root of my guts, working out a permanent connection between itself and the fundamental motivations of my behaviour.
The world outside seemed closer than before. It seemed to be displayed directly into my mind rather than through my eyes. I had a sense of only seeing what Owner wanted me to see, whilst at the same time being aware of everything; like he was in charge of focus.
It's difficult to describe.
One of the skull inserts produced a low continuous buzz like tinnitus. I would have to get used to it. It's pitch would increase violently under certain circumstances though I didn't understand the significance of this. Generally the device operated subliminally. The discomfort would settle down but never become unconscious. I would alway be aware of its restrictive significance. There is now so much I cannot do, or want to do, or feel. Sometimes the tinnitus tells me I am doing something wrong and I correct myself.
Owner said, 'How do you feel?' '... not sure. I feel ... better than I did before,' I said, or heard myself saying. I know I was smiling. I wanted to hug him and feel his arms around me but something made me stand still with my hands crossed in front of my genitals. 'Excited,' I said, "Sir." I don't know what made me call him that, but I liked it. He smiled. I wanted to stare at him but something made me look at his feet. He lightly touched my hands and they immediately separated and clasped themselves behind my back, without me thinking what to do. 'And what is your function?" "To serve you Sir! To make you happy Sir!' I wanted to go home with him and do everything for him that he needed. I was so excited to get on with my new life. I knew I would be happy.
Once back at the house, I parked and got out to open the door for him. He got out and I shut the car. He walked towards the front door. The gravel grinding beneath his leather shoes seemed loud. I could feel the tiny stones moving against each other under my feet. Though I was barefoot - apart from the appliance I was still totally naked - the path wasn't hard to walk on. The gravel seemed to part gently for my feet to dunk into.
Owner stood at the door and I ran to open it for him. These were my first acts of complete subservience and it delighted me to obey the drives I now felt impacted my me - assured impulsive instructions that I could obey without wondering what to do or how to do it. The liberation filled me with ecstasy. The moment we were in the house I dropped to the floor and started licking his toecaps energetically, just to let him know I was happy.
Owner did not speak. He knew.
I knelt up and took out his fat prick and put it in my mouth. Pretty soon he was fucking my head, holding it down.
When he had cum, I felt light, nauseous and fit to faint. He caught me as I collapsed.
"It's alright. It's just embedding itself. It's getting used to you; you're getting used to it."
He held me and brushed my face with his hand and looked at me with light-hearted concern. "You'll be fine soon. Don't worry about it. This is the process. As you tune more finely you'll reap the benefits. You'll do as I want and only what I want. You'll no longer have any worries. Sh sh. Don't try to speak. Let it take over. Totally."
A thing that happened is that when he wasn't there, I panicked. That was because the focus of the restraint was initially un-attenuated by feedback programming. Over time I was able to occupy myself with chores or obeying instructions without it being necessary actually to be continuously in his presence. As the apparatus knitted into my psychology it was able to operate its procedures independently of supervision, though this is always experienced as a kind of neural agony. But to begin with Owner kept me with him, literally by his side, holding my hand. He had bought me a tight navy polo and dark trunks to wear when we went out - showing off my muscular tan-brown legs, my packet, my broad shoulders and hard waist. I was always barefoot. My hair was cut short but not shaven. I was presentable. In the streets, holding his arm like a child, or suddenly kissing him impulsively, I think I was an embarrassment, but had he left me alone in those first hours and days of initial adjustment it's possible I might have gone into shock, rejection, or self-harm. It's not something I'd've been able to deal with.
Even now my thoughts dwell on his image when I am not with him. My duties have only ever been a mild distraction. I think about how I am doing everything for him. The restraint monitors me and I have the feeling he is always aware of what I am up to, so I always feel like he is watching me. I've got used to the restraint hurting when I go wrong and I like the feeling that this is proof that he is remotely in charge of my behaviour at all times. So I am never really quite by myself. I can feel him inside me. He is always deep. He is always touching. He always pressing himself into my head.
When he comes home, or I go out to meet him, he reminds me that I am his property by finding some fault. He punishes me; not directly: the compliancy restraint does it for him. I can see the pleasure in his eyes. He likes that I find it so exciting. He likes to watch as the compliancy restraint initiates its punishment routines and, as they ramp up, my peaking excitement as the pitch of the torture mounts.
Afterwards I am so grateful and he always hard fucks me when I am like that.
I suppose my main feeling now that I've been fitted is one of happiness, of deep contentment. It's extraordinary. When I wake in the morning the first thing I check for is the hum and vibration of it. It's there, now. I can feel a deep throbbing like a ships engine.
There it is again.
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END OF The Compliancy Restraint
The compliancy restraint.
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