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Your head hangs low as you step into the evaluation room, awaiting your grade in which you know will be lower than you’d like. Mother Gooseberry’s trials are never easy but since you can outrun her, it gives you an upper-hand. It has been a while since you have been here, but without a calendar it’s hard to say exactly how long. At the beginning, you did keep track of the days like some prisoner, marking lines under your bed. Although, the lines have been covered by spider webs. You persevered but after day 63 you gave up on the notion you might’ve been able to leave.
With a sigh and wiping some blood from your arm, a step is taken. The water is just deep enough to be annoying, and shallow enough so your knees are above the small hole. The speaker has a small static sound before the prerecorded messages plays (yes pre recorded, you found out the hard way after your fellow reagents were giddy when Dr. Easterman also asked if they could be his How High). “Grade B, passing.” You’ve heard this one maybe a few times before, his voice already sullied with a sickening indifference. “But, if it was a steak, I wouldn’t eat it. If it was milk, I wouldn’t drink it. Are you happy with Grade B?” For some reason, being compared to a steak and milk greatly upsets you. Of course you’d want Dr. Easterman to eat and drink you, only if you were milk or steak of course.
Wondering how you even got Grade B with how horribly you thought you did, you feel a bit better as you enter the sleep room. Emily Barlow, the nurse, stares at your group of four as you enter back. Her lips curve into a welcoming smile where her eyes remain as devoid of life as ever. She was nice at one point, but everything became more robotic compared to the Engineer, Cornelius Noakes. For some reason, you can’t shake the feeling that she is just as stuck and lonely as you, so you walk up to her little station. “You have to take care of your heart, it’s my second favorite organ.” Something about the words along with her dull expression makes you instantly leave. She is so fucking strange. Maybe it’s all the pills she’s hopped up on.
You follow your friends, if you can even call them that, into the main area. Everyone departs, leaving you alone. The solidarity of this place is less lonely than the streets you lived on before you even heard of this place. Maybe that pink flyer did save you. Compared to the other reagents, you think the therapy is working. Dr. Easterman is right, if you just accept it, it gets better. It also helps that you absolutely love the sweet praise he offers you for every A+. Some reagents are downright crazy, nowhere near the Ex-Pops from Mount Massive Asylum, but close. The two tables in the Sleep Room are full, chess and arm wrestling. There is a small line forming at the arm wrestling table and you’d rather not wait. There is a machine nestled in the corner, some game called Pong. Apparently Murkoff has the money to get the newest and greatest technology since you were all graced with it. No one likes it though, it hasn’t been used in a while.
A grumble comes from your stomach, reminding you of the mush they call food here. You walk up the stairs, ignoring the pain in your leg that Pouncer gave you the other day at one of Franco Barbi’s trials. The cafeteria is empty for the most part. The Shadowy Dame sits in the corner, smoking a cigarette with half pride, half dissatisfaction. You’re unsure of her full story, but she offers good advice. “Reagent number?” The chef asks as you sit in front of the thin glass panel that separates the stuck and the less stuck. “Reagent number 67420, dinner please.” Every one of you was given a number, one thing that provides uniqueness. You wonder how anyone in their right minds could find anything funny with that number, 67420. Nothing funny about being known as a number rather than your name. Although, if Dr. Easterman said your number maybe it’d give you a bit of pride.
The slop is eaten quickly, peas and ham with bread on the side. It’s filling enough, and more than what you had on the streets. You walk the halls, finding your room and closing the door. You grab the blood stained washcloth on your sink and taint it more, wiping the sweat and blood from less than an hour ago. It has been a while since you have properly showered, their cleaning schedule here sucks. It has been more than a week, you smell, but not as bad as others. With no point in changing clothes, you convince yourself in brushing your teeth. The faint minty taste filling your mouth, ridding the weird aftertaste from that ham.
Your room is just that, yours. The one place you have called yours. It’s not like this place is an asylum or prison, so they don’t do room checks. You have posters stuck up from ones you found in trials and around the sleep room. A poster with a spaceship, one with the Skinnerman (you aren’t sure why they have a poster of him but whatever), another one showing off Project Lathe, and then a few small boxes showing off preserved insects. Turning to your side, you rummage through your bedside table, hand reaching past the dual-sided razor and other sharp objects and you grab a necklace. This necklace they gave everyone, essentially a glorified chew toy for dogs, but for humans. It’s a blue silicone gem, on a fabric string already with plenty of bite marks from previous uses. Apparently some reagents have had problems with chewing and destroying things, so to lessen damage, everyone was given a chew toy and use it as intended. You slide the smallest bit of it into your mouth, gnawing like a dog with a bone.
Your life before this place was good for a while, until things changed. The midwest was your home, growing up among cornfields and sprouting businesses. A hard working father and a lovely mother. You were never expected to go to college thanks to your parents setting up your whole life. You did rebel, getting detention once but after a good hit from your father you knew not to test them again. Your father was friends with a family from New York, and they had a son about your age… so they arranged a marriage. With a suitcase, you had a lavish wedding in the city and moved into a house just outside of New York City where your husband worked. It took a few months for things to feel normal, having sex and such. Kids were in the talk, but at 19 you weren’t so sure.
Things changed slowly through the years, your husband getting home later and later and smelling like different colognes every day. You never once asked, the fear of being told you had hysteria and being sent to an asylum being more fearsome than your husband being unfaithful. Then, something happened. The same day you had a miscarriage all alone in your bathroom, you walked into your bedroom seeing your husband lying with another man. The door was closed slowly, and you sobbed quietly to yourself on the couch. The loss of a child and the loss of who you thought was your husband weighing heavy on you. You didn’t do anything crazy, just leaving the house with nothing but the clothes on your back.
You became homeless, willingly. It was a better fate dying on the streets than unloved and a burden on a man who never loved you. Months were spent wandering the streets, losing yourself to your own mind. If you weren’t mentally ill before, those conditions definitely made you crazy. A salvation eventually came, the cold November air drifting a pink paper over your head, promising so much for people like you.
This place, Sinyala, in whatever state it may be in, it did save you. You’d like to leave, but there is no life to go back to. Lost in your reminiscences, you didn’t notice a guard at your door. “Reagent 67420, come with me.” He says harshly, police gear and a helmet covering his face. You stand up, follow him through doors and hallways you’ve never been. You have seen reagents who have done consistently bad in trials be taken like this, replacing The Snitch or otherwise useless beings to be killed on trials. Maybe thats you, a useless being taken like a lamb to the slaughter. Do you accept this fate offered by this facility that offered you so much hope, or no? Well, unfortunately you have no time to think as a large wooden door is opened in an area that looks no way at all like the facility you have come to know so well.
The guard walks in with you, closing the door behind. It’s an office, open but empty. It’s pristinely cleaned, nearly impressively spotless. There is a large dark wooden desk in the middle of the room, in front of the window with blinds over it. A man sits at the desk, sliding papers to the side. He stands up, walking in front of his desk. He’s dressed neat, in a dark suit and a dark tie. His height is noticeable, taller than you but then again most men are. He looks older, although you cannot put a number on it while his hair speaks for itself. It’s dark and grey, thin as it seems to be balding. “Well, if it isn’t my little How High.” The sweet gruff voice sings to your eardrums, and your eyes widen. You wonder why you were brought here to him, if not to be repurposed in a trial, why here. Are you really his How High? “Don’t worry, you can speak to me. I know you’re awaiting commands.” Sickening sweet words, almost numbing your brain immediately. “Hi, Doctor.” You manage to say aloud, at which he chuckles softly. He then sighs, “You smell of shit and blood. This guard is going to take you to the showers where you are provided clothes and then you come back. I need to examine you, 67420.” Suddenly, that string of numbers no longer has a bitter taste to it. Before you are seen off, Dr. Easterman hands you a pill and watches as you swallow. “An added supplement.” He says softly.
You are led to a bathroom with a shower. It has Prell shampoo and a bar of Dove, both completely untouched. There are clean clothes on the counter, underwear, a pair of dark shorts, and a large blank grey shirt. You take a while to shower, cleaning off every smell that might taint you. You rinse the shampoo from your hair maybe 4 times before it fully lathers. You stare back at yourself in the mirror afterwards, examining scars from Ex-Pops, Prime Assets, and yourself. You aren’t as badly wounded as others, so you’re lucky. You put on the clothes and walk back with the guard, the door shutting behind leaving just you and Dr. Easterman. He is sat back on his chair, his overcoat hung up on the hanger beside the window. Standing behind his desk right next to him, you have an urge to look outside to see what the weather is in a desperate attempt to see how long you have been here. However, you don’t. “Do you have any clue as to why I summoned you?” He questions, eyes looking right into yours sending a small shock into your core. “No, Doctor.” It seems as though every syllable you utter he laughs at, warmly and oddly comforting. You have never been told anyone has talked to him one-on-one.
“Do you want a look past the blinds? It is lovely this time of year.” Dr. Easterman tempts, following your gaze as he spins his chair. “Only if you permit it, Doctor.” Words followed by, yet again, a chuckle. You feel a warm hand rest on your hip, holding it gently. “Wow, Daddy trained you well.” His hand yanks, pulling you onto his lap. He’s steady underneath of you, surprisingly strong as well. His hand rests on your thighs, caressing you softly. “I’m going to examine you to see if you can be of any more use to me.” He explains, his hand caressing more, moving further up! up! up! with every pass. “I see you when you hang your head when you don’t do well during trials. I see your puppy dog eyes when you await my praise when you do good. We are going to achieve something miraculous.” Sweet, Sweet words you could blindly listed to until the end of time. His hand continues, making your arms and legs feel buzzy, almost numb but not.
Dr. Eastermans face buries itself into your neck, kissing it softly. The furnace kicks on, leaving a dull hum to the otherwise empty room. “I am going to test you. See if you’re truly as special as I see, and then use you to my hearts content.” You feel your body go slack against his, flush against his chest while his hand reaches under all of those pesky bottoms. Your husband never did any of this, probably because he favored men. He never touched you like this, just shoved himself in until he was done. You wonder, is this right? Dr. Easterman is a doctor after all, but you are his How High, and how dare you question his authority. You aren’t even sure how or when, but your bottoms are off, leaving you fully exposed. “Spread these legs for me.” He mutters, spinning the chair back around towards the desk. “How wide?” He smiles against your neck. “How High turned How Wide, i think you’re perfect for me. Jus’ set them up there.” Your legs open, lying lazily on his desk. He touches you, finally, fingers toying with your clit. “What a good puppy, huh? You have dreamed about this.” A pet name perfectly befitting someone like you, an obedient person lost in the world and then found and saved.
Easterman’s free hand rests around your neck, holding it gently. “Oh, I have watched you touch yourself in your room countless times. You’re so desperate for love, and I am providing, don’t I deserve thanks?” Fingers dip down to grab your slick, making it more fun to toy with you. “Th-thank you, Doctor.” You whisper under your breath, hips bucking ever so slightly to feel just a bit more. “Pathetic mutt, I give you touch and yet your body wants more. Brainless little thing, writhing in my lap.” Praise mixed with embarrassing degradation, a blend of all that is perfect. “Sorry, I-,” He chuckles at you again as you begin to beg for forgiveness. “It is a given with what I gave you. Oxycodone to help numb your body and brain and make you more complacent for Daddy.” He drugged you, and you took it without hesitation. It could have been anything, poison to kill you and you could be dead. Easterman would never do that, he’d never hurt you. In fact, right now he’s doing the opposite. You’re lucky. Even if he did watch you at night, he saw your attempts and found hope.
In this numbness, you find yourself with an odd heightened sense of it. Each touch and movement he makes is deliberate, the only feeling you’d ever need to experience. A feeling tightens in your core, a feeling you haven’t felt in weeks. It’s been a while since you’ve found yourself lonely and desperate enough to touch yourself, and even longer since you’ve actually finished. Your breathing turns into whine and pants, drool already dripping from your lips. “How do Daddy’s fingers feel, puppy?” He whispers his question into your ear, lifting your head to look at his eyes. “Good, really- hah~,” Cut off by your own groan as his fingers pick up pace. He’s surprisingly gentle with you. Despite what you’ve heard about him, he’s different. He clicks his tongue before he speaks, “Special pups deserve special treatment.” His hand moves away, resting back on your thigh and tracing scars from those pretty razors in your bedside table. “Oh, pup, I am famished. Sit up here for me.” He taps his desk as he helps you up.
The desk is cold beneath you, but warms slowly. One hand holds your waist while his other meets your pussy, a single finger so slowly entering. His head tilts up, watching your face twist into greed and lust as you’re reminded this is no better than screwing a priest. Deadly sins, so euphoric to commit. “Tell me, is the therapy working?” His voice is genuine, as if he’s speaking during a normal conversation and like his finger isn’t stuffing itself inside of you. You still recall your first A+. Day 25, Gather the Children of God- you remember working tirelessly. You planned and worked with your fellow reagents and walked into the evaluation without a scratch, only sweat beading down your forehead. You remember Dr. Eastermans praise, being told you were beautiful after surviving flawlessly was fuel. “It is, Doctor.”
You have spent countless night replaying the tapes on the radio next to your bed, hearing Dr. Easterman saying you were a princess made for this place, call himself Daddy for the first time and how it made you tingle, how his voice sounded pathetic while stating he needs you to stay. You listened, like an obedient dog, you listened. You longed to be special, and now you finally are. “Im proud of you. Scooping you from the street just to pile on humiliation and see you emerge as my personal, obedient mutt.” He adds in another finger, finally pumping them in and out. He doesn’t just move them in and out, but he curves up to hit a bundle of nerves that catches your breath every time. You have never felt a feeling so unique before. “Doctor,” You pant the title as though it’s a mantra. His eyes stare at you, a smile on his face. “Oho, yeah?There we are.” He keeps hitting that spot, slowly kneeling down. At this point, your head is floating thanks to that pill and you still remain sensitive.
Easterman kisses around, teasing your now neglected clit. A few kisses barely make contact but just enough to make you gasp and squirm. “Hah, Doctor, please.” You lean up the smallest amount to watch him as he moves, his fingers still curving up into that spot. His mouth latches, looking up at you while his tongue swirls around. “Doctor,” You pant, your body slowly leaning back until you’re lying back onto his desk. The room fills with lewd sounds, wet slapping and loud lapping, both thanks to your pussy. The knot in your core returns, coming back with an almost burn to it. Your breathy whimpers overpower it all, begging for God knows what. “You sound beautiful, taste lovely, just cum and then Daddy’ll stuff you.” A promise making you yipe for more. Its more than just this? You are about to be graced by God. “Move your hips, pup. Cum for Daddy.” Blindly believing and listening, your hips grind against his tongue. Each movement is jagged and uneven. All you can do is whine at your own wrongdoings.
“Pathetic thing you are. So stupid you can’t even make yourself cum? Daddy can’t do all the work.” His words are both poison and antidote, you need them but want to prove him wrong. You move your hips more, panting and groaning with each desperate inch. “You got it. C’mon, cum for me.” His voice returns to sweet praise only makes you want to work more. “Please? Fu-, I need,” You beg, chest moving erratically with each breath. Your hands move around, trying to find anything to hold onto before you arrive where you need. Luckily, Easterman is nice and lends you a hand to hold onto. Your hips continue bucking against his tongue and his fingers keep curling. Each movement is more messy and sloppy than the last. “Good pup. Keep going, almost there.” His fingers curl up more so with each movement you’re sure to fuck yourself on his tongue and fingers. In a final desperate attempt, your movements speed up, words try to come out but you’ve become too dumb to. The knot grows and grows until the finale, causing you to unravel for once. “Fu-, thank. Holy-, oh my-,” Each statement or word is unfinished, Dr. Easterman sucking and lapping up everything he can while he helps you ride it out.
You’d hope for any semblance of break, but Easterman is probably on a tight schedule. You are lucky to even be in this position, high on pills and being used. “C’mon, pup, you can do one more for Daddy.” He fiddles with his belt, the metal ting ting tinging! on itself. He holds himself in his hand, messily moving to push himself inside for once. Pregnancy is no problem, you haven’t had a period since before this place. “Look at me and breathe with me, hm?” His fingers snap!, grabbing your attention quickly. With wide eyes, you steady your breath. In. Out. “In…, and out. You got this, angel.” His encouragement is sweet, music to your ears. With each breath, he pushes a bit further, just stretching your aching pussy. “Ha-, almost- fuck. Almost there. Keep breathing for Daddy.” His dick twitches as he talks you through it, eyes looking into yours.
Your breathing matches with his, steady and even while he speaks words of encouragement. “Gonna make you relapse. Keep you for myself. Daddy’s free use mutt.” He says in a low tone, spit dripping from his mouth and onto your pussy. His hand rests on your lower stomach, pushing as his thumb extends to your clit. “Oh, I am going to break you.” Despite the sick words, your brain finds no problem with it. If breaking you is what Easterman sees fit, that’s what’ll happen. With one last breath, he’s fully in, tip kissing those nerves he found earlier so tortuously. It as though his promise is being fulfilled because it feels like he’s ruining you from the inside out with each thrust.
Gasps escape your lips, and you find your hands trying to grasp at anything and everything. Of course, the lovely doctor offers his hand for you to hold onto tightly. Your mind feels empty, mush thanks to so much stimulation and that little pill. “H-how is it? Puppy, is it-?” He asks, moving in and out so slowly. “Love it~!” Is the only thing you can squeak out between ragged breathes. Your arms bring his hand closer to you in attempt to keep yourself stable, holding it under your face and above your neck. Each vulgar movement of his stuffs you perfectly, those nerves inside of you being abused at this point. “You take me so well, my pup.” He gulps his words, breathing surprisingly carefully compared to you. His thumb moves so generously on your clit, so disgustingly perfectly. It’s as though he knows you inside and out.
“Pathetic, so pathetic.” Easterman groans, hips speeding up while his tip brushes against the nerves continuously. He coos, chuckling with a soft smile. The knot, so innocently arrives back in your core. It burns as it grows, each kiss on those nerves making it grow wildly. “Sir, I-,” You breathe out, his face plastered with fake innocence, as though he has no idea how he’s making you feel. The act doesn’t change the fact that you’re about to cum. “Fu-, cum! Ngh, ‘m cumming!” Your jaw clenches as you cum once again, groaning as his movements do anything but slow down. “Tsk,” He clicks his tongue, lips in a pout as he keeps up his speed. “Poor thing.” He laughs, starring down at you with a look you cant quite make out. “Puppy is so cock drunk that she forgets about please and thank you.”
Of course, in your hazy state of greed, you forgot about formalities. “‘m sorry. God, thank you.” At this point, he isnt even riding you through your orgasm, he’s pumping one more out of you. Your poor pussy used to be so neglected, she is finally being overstimulated for once. “God?” Easterman coos, eyes soften as he looks at you trembling beneath him “Yeah, I suppose I am your God.” Eastermans calloused fingers hold your face, thumb grazing your lips to wipe the drool seeping past them. His movements become jagged, erratic in the best way imaginable. “You look so beautiful jus’ taking all this, so braindead from a couple orgasms. Pathetic perfect puppy.” Eastermans breathing matches yours again, matching the uneven pace as he nears his own orgasm.
“Hah-, ngh, jus’ one more, pup.” Sloppy movements as his thumb pops! itself into your mouth, feeling around every nook and cranny. Your head nods by itself, agreeing although you aren’t even sure if you can take one more. His cock, so annoyingly, finds those nerves deep inside your pussy- angling to get one last orgasm. “Breathe pup.” You hadn’t even noticed your body holding your breath. Gasping mixed with such sweet whimpers and whines finally escape past your pretty lips. “Good job. Mutt’s can get so braindead. Good thing you got someone like me to do all of your thinking.” It’s as though he’s known you for years, or perhaps he’s created this new version of you since you’ve entered these walls. Perhaps you have been carved into the perfect cock sleeve for him from the beginning. Before you know it, with a last few sultry thrusts, you are cumming together. “What a good. Fucking. Puppy.” White, hot, and sweetly agonizing. A loud, wet, sluuurp, and he’s pulling himself out of you, starring at the mess with a look of satisfaction. “Mutt.” The word is laced with disgust, your widened eyes awaiting any more words or commands, but nothing comes to.
And then, you are whisked back to the showers where you put back on your soiled clothes from before. The guard walks you back into the sleep room where the smell of sex and distain trails behind you. A few pairs of eyes are on you, but only due to the wonder of where they hell you just went. You shut the door behind you and sit in your bed, alone.
___
Dr. H. J. Easterman is a man of many words, promises he keeps. Pussy drunk words are sober thoughts, so-to-speak. So, you relapse, pumped full of drugs that keep you woozy for a few days and your body oh-so weak. Luckily for Easterman, that just meant you had no energy to run away or say no. Although gone from the sleep room for those few days, all you can recall are his words encouraging you through every single orgasm.
You still live in the sleep room, but periodically are brought up to him. For those few hours, you couldn’t even fight if you want to thanks to the ‘precautionary’ measure. He has become nicer, not just shoving you out of the room. He has also started talking about taking you out of the program to parade you around as the prime example for who reagents should turn out- complacent and obedient, always awaiting orders with wide eyes. Easterman has also allowed you to see past the blinds, and showing you a calendar. 146 days, thats how long you had been here when he fucked you the first time.
Spider. Eye. Lamb. Sure, you see blood and dead bodies afterwards, but if you get to come back to head pats from Easterman, it makes it all worth it in the end. You have become his inspiration, his final gift to science. You are the perfect masochist in his eyes, trying to earn more and more of his love every time just to be bitten while his canines draw blood. Added scars on your body thanks to his cigarettes burning you during sex have become driving points for you.
You’d never want to leave. Who in their right minds (or wrong) would want to leave someone who gives such sweet words and praise every time you see them? You have become nothing more than an obedient lap dog, and if thats what Easterman could ever want you to be, thats all you will be. You have no voice in your head anymore, for it has been replaced with a perfect replica of him perfecting you from the inside out.