Chapter Text
“Someone ought to teach you some obedience!”
Robotnik’s voice rang out in the lab, fierce and fiery in a space more accustomed to the steady, quiet hum and whir of machinery. Stone’s eyes flashed, jaw tight underneath his unflinching mask, doing nothing to hide his obvious anger. This wasn’t their first shouting match and he knew it wouldn’t be their last.
Stone had been hand-picked by the government to work for Robotnik, the general consensus being that he would be able to fulfill the duties of the job while keeping tabs on the scientist and keeping him relatively in-check. Stone himself hadn’t really had much choice in the matter. While he did fulfill his tasks with flying colors, Robotnik wouldn’t give him an inch more. It was easy to see that while well-matched in some departments, their temperaments were far from copacetic. Disagreements often ended in this manner, with the two of them at each other’s throats.
“You think I got this high up the government ladder not knowing obedience?” Stone retorted loudly.
Much of his white-hot anger had already burnt out, leaving him at a steady, dangerous simmer, waiting for Robotnik to finish so he could return to his office to stew, to complete his tasks perfectly but begrudgingly. Every time this happened, he spent the ensuing days praying for emergency reassignment before they actually came to blows, knowing one or both of them might not survive it.
“High up,” Robotnik scoffed before raising his voice again, “They may pay your salary, but you answer to me!”
He gripped Stone’s lapels, yanking him toward him. These were the unspoken rules of engagement. Robotnik could touch Stone, but Stone could not touch Robotnik. His fists closed loosely at his sides instead.
“I do answer to you-” Stone began, only to be abruptly interrupted.
“You’re an insolent fucking cretin,” Robotnik spat.
“And you’re fucking megalomaniac,” Stone replied, gaze hardening, voice threatening to rise again.
Robotnik yanked him forward again, leaving him in the undignified position of standing on tip-toe, inches from his face.
“This is what I’m talking about,” Robotnik hissed, voice low but incandescent, “You’re disrespectful. You don’t know your fucking place. You skirt the line and I’ve allowed it for too long.”
Well, it’s your fault then, Stone thought, isn’t it?
Before Stone could reply out loud, Robotnik released him with the slightest shove, putting him off-balance for only a second. He caught himself, unwilling to give Robotnik the satisfaction of watching him stumble.
“Tomorrow,” Robotnik said in a dread whisper, stepping forward, looming into his space, “things change. Now get out of my sight!”
Stone stepped back coolly, despite the roiling frustration that seemed to consume his body in increments.
“As in, back to my office?” he asked.
It wasn’t a disrespectful question. He wanted to ensure that he’d completed his work to Robotnik’s standards for the day. He would not be caught out, he would not give him the opportunity to throw this back into his face later.
“Get out of my lab!” Robotnik snapped, turning away harshly, stalking back to his console, heels clacking loudly, “You’re done for the day!”
“Yes, sir,” Stone said curtly.
He returned to his office only to shut down his computer and gather his things. He wasted no time in leaving. He was keenly aware of the tension in his body as he drove home, shoulders rigid, fingers gripping the wheel unnecessarily tightly.
It wasn’t until he got home that he began to force himself to relax. He shucked off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, loosening his tie as he went into the fridge for a beer. He popped off the bottle cap and left it on the counter alongside the opener, chrome with a chunky lathed olive wood handle. He walked onto his balcony and leaned on the railing, looking out at the city, the sky already gone mostly dark for the night. He took a drink and sighed.
“The things I do for work,” he said.
He often pondered his path, how each little decision and move had somehow led up to this very moment, from his unsatisfactory employment with Robotnik all the way to how they’d gotten to fighting that afternoon in the first place. He closed his eyes, the wind blowing across his face. This was the most daunting job that he’d ever had.
At least in a war zone, each day is different, he thought, bringing the bottle to his lips again.
His tenure under Robotnik felt Sisyphean. Every day, he pushed the boulder. Every day, he found himself back at the bottom of the hill, feeling the crushing weight. Every day, he was beholden to the whims and moods of a madman, unable to ever truly anticipate his next move. They argued often, with it always mounting in a gradual crescendo to a shouting match like tonight’s.
You’ve lasted longer than anyone else, he reminded himself.
That much was true. Stone had been in Robotnik’s employ for eight months. No one had ever lasted more than three weeks before him. He knew it bothered Robotnik, that he couldn’t break him, that he couldn’t run him off.
“You’ll wish you were dead,” Robotnik had once told him, “The ones that make it out of my lab alive require extensive reprogramming.”
He rolled his eyes and stood up. He rolled his shoulders back proudly as he walked back inside, locking the sliding glass door behind him.
“I won’t give you the satisfaction, fucker,” he said, “It’ll take more than you’ve got to break me.”
The following day, he’d forgotten about Robotnik’s closing remark. He wasn’t a man of empty threats, but he often did play the long game, leaving many threats as-yet unfulfilled.
“One of these days, I’ll reduce you to your base elements.”
“Don’t go crying to Uncle Sam when you’re vaporized.”
“You will leave here. One way or another. No one makes it out fully intact.”
Last night’s threat, though, had the unusual quality of being time-bound. Stone had become accustomed to letting his repressed rage melt away with a post-work drink and a shower, letting Robotnik’s words wash off of him. He did his best to treat every day as a fresh, new Hell to contend with.
In fact, he believed it to be another normal day by Robotnik Labs, Incorporated’s warped standards. He came in, checked his email, scanned some redacted documents. At the pre-prescribed time, he rose and proceeded to the employee kitchen to make the first coffees of the day. He left his on his own desk before taking Robotnik’s to the lab.
He entered the lab and Robotnik immediately turned toward him in his chair. He could see in his smile that something was very wrong.
“Good morning, Agent Stone,” he said, all teeth, gloved hands loosely gripping the armrests of his chair.
“Good morning, Doctor,” he said, approaching at his usual unhurried speed, arm slightly extended, entering the lab coffee-first.
Robotnik took the coffee from him and took a sip, closing his eyes. He appeared to consider it for a long moment before swallowing. Thankfully, most of his ire over Stone determining his coffee order through a strategic process of elimination had waned.
“Do you know what day it is?” Robotnik asked.
There was something terribly playful in his voice that immediately set Stone on edge.
“No, sir,” Stone said, not willing to prolong whatever game he was playing.
Robotnik stood up, turning his back to Stone to reach for something on the console that was obscured by his chair. He turned around quickly, both hands behind his back. Stone was on high alert but kept his expression calm.
“Today is your first day of training,” Robotnik said.
“Training, Doctor?” Stone replied, “Eight months in?”
Robotnik shook his head and clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment.
“What I’ve learned about you, Agent Stone,” he said, “is that you need a heavier hand.”
Stone waited. Robotnik studied his face, keenly aware that he was unnerving him despite his unaffected façade.
“Your rough and tumble defiance, your lack of fear, they may have gotten you this job,” he continued, “and while that may have been permissible behavior elsewhere, it is not the norm here.”
Stone nodded slowly.
“Your insubordination will no longer be tolerated,” Robotnik said, “Our little verbal spars have been enlivening on occasion, but I really think it’s time to put that behind us, no?”
He drew both hands out from behind his back. Stone looked at the long black strap that laid limp across his gloved palms, not entirely sure what he was looking at.
“Someone needs to teach you obedience,” Robotnik said, voice dipping low, the tone rapidly switching polarity from light to loaded, “and that person will be me. Put this on.”
Robotnik held it out now in one hand. Stone recognized it and despite his calculated calm demeanor, lurched backward slightly.
“You can’t be fucking serious,” he said.
“This is exactly why you need a little extra training,” Robotnik chided, “Is that any way to speak to your direct supervisor?”
Stone stared in disbelief. It was a collar. A bulky black collar with some sort of device attached.
“Put it on,” Robotnik said, looking at him coldly, voice now devoid of all its prior false joviality, “or I’ll put it on you.”
Stone closed his eyes tightly, controlling his temper. He took it into his hands, letting it drape across his palms. It was surprisingly heavy. His stomach churned as he looked at it. The strap was a high luster black leather with gleaming stainless hardware. The device attached to it was small, but heavy. The casing was emblazoned with Robotnik’s unmistakeable red logo. On the back of the device were two low profile metal prongs.
Stone recognized it now. His face was hot. He felt a fine sheen of sweat on his chest and back that he hadn’t been aware of before. He began to feel sick.
“Put. It. On.” Robotnik said, fixing him with a withering look.
Stone reaffixed his brave face and lifted the collar to his throat. He nestled it above his shirt collar and reached behind his neck to buckle it, slipping the excess length through both keeper loops, the steel cool to his touch. He tested the fit, wriggling it slightly with one hand. It felt immediately strangling.
“Would you look at that,” Robotnik said humorlessly with a half-grin, “It fits.”
Stone gave a slight nod, not trusting his voice to be steady.
“What you are wearing, Agent Stone, is a corrective device. The metal prongs will create a circuit against your skin. In the event of any undesirable behavior, you’ll be administered a low-amperage punitive shock,” Robotnik said, as though this were standard procedure.
He tapped his pointer finger into his palm, sensor clicking against sensor in a quiet warning, making it clear that the collar was linked to his gloves.
“How much of a shock?” Stone asked, one finger now beneath the strap now, subconsciously tugging it away from his neck, already believing it to be tightening like a noose.
“You’ll live,” Robotnik replied with a toothy smile, eyes gleaming.
Stone took a breath to center himself, wanting nothing more than to break the unspoken rule of one-way touch, to rip the collar off and take Robotnik to the ground, to wrap both hands around his neck.
“From now on, when you arrive, you will proceed immediately to the lab. You will put on your corrective device, supervised by me,” Robotnik said, “You will wear it until the moment you leave. You will return to the lab to remove it, supervised by me.”
“And you think this will help me?” Stone asked, incredulity creeping into his voice.
“Under my guidance, I know it will,” Robotnik said, “I’ve been allowing you to exist without intervention for far too long. That privilege has been revoked indefinitely.”
Stone nodded.
“Understood,” he said, “Are you going to test it?”
“Now?” Robotnik asked, jeering in disbelief, “That defeats the whole purpose of this exercise. You haven’t exhibited any behavior that requires correction.”
Stone took a deep breath.
“Understood,” he said simply, though his voice was stiff.
“If you’ve reached a suitable understanding, you’re dismissed,” Robotnik said.
He searched Stone as he hesitated, eyes daring him to speak up. His fingertip smoothed across his palm pad once, lightly, drawing Stone’s eyes to it, making the threat clear.
“Yes, Doctor,” Stone said with some effort.
He turned and left, feeling Robotnik’s eyes on him as he walked away.
“I’ll know if you take it off,” his voice said from behind him, low, casual.
Fuck, Stone thought as he walked down the hall, urging himself not to hurry, Fuck, fuck fuck. What the fuck?
He sat down at his desk, finally allowing his studied countenance to drop. Before he unlocked his computer, he saw himself reflected back in the dark screen, a nightmare version of himself, eyes wide, shaken, collared. He closed his eyes tightly and let his muscle memory take over, typing in his password followed by the harsh, audible clack of the enter key.
When he opened his eyes, he stared at the generic desktop background that he hadn’t bothered to change. He swallowed hard, the collar’s contact points pressing against his throat.
You can do this, he assured himself, opening a spreadsheet that contained the current parts closet inventory, ready to place the bi-weekly supply order, This is just some bullshit stunt. He can’t keep it up forever.
By the time he was preparing the afternoon coffee, Stone was ready with a question. He entered the lab as before, arm extended, coffee-first. He set it down on the console and stepped back before speaking.
“Doctor,” he said.
“Yes, Agent Stone?” Robotnik replied without looking up from his work.
“Should there be paperwork about this new office protocol?” he asked.
“There already was,” Robotnik said, eyes still focused on the screen, “Check your hiring contract.”
Stone returned to his office and did just that. He had, of course, signed a contract with the government, followed by a second, site-specific contract with Robotnik. He skipped ahead to the section on disciplinary action and began speed-reading.
All employees of Robotnik Labs, Incorporated will submit to disciplinary action as deemed necessary by Dr. Ivo Robotnik, depending on the frequency and severity of the infraction(s), including but not limited to: psychological operations, corporal punishment, and actions deemed unlawful per the Geneva Convention.
“Fuck,” Stone breathed, sinking back in his office chair.
I thought this meant, like, collective punishment, he thought.
He laid low the remainder of the day, not leaving his office, relieved not to be summoned. He gathered his things – his messenger bag, his tote with the empty glass containers he’d brought his lunch in, left half-eaten, as he’d found himself without much of an appetite. He walked into the lab before leaving, an unaccustomed stop on his usual route out the door.
“Doctor,” he said, “I’m leaving.”
Robotnik turned around and beckoned him forward with a lazy gesture of his hand. Stone approached, feeling a frustrated heat rising in him.
First a collar, he seethed internally, and now you’re calling me over like a dog? Bastard.
He reached up with both hands and unfastened the collar, setting it into Robotnik’s waiting palm. Even with just one day’s wear, the leather had already started to shape itself to his body from his warmth. The strap was more flexible than it had been that morning, already bearing a subtle curve as it relaxed into Robotnik’s easy grasp.
Stone watched as Robotnik opened a the top-left drawer of his console and put it inside, closing it silently.
“Goodnight, Agent Stone,” he said, satisfaction clear in his voice.
“Goodnight, Doctor,” Stone said, trying to keep his anger hidden.
That night, after his shower, Stone caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. A faint red mark caught his eye, right at the front of his neck. He touched it, feeling the heat from where the leather had subtly irritated his skin. With a frustrated sigh, he pumped lotion into his palm and moisturized the area, hoping to soothe it.
He met the eyes of his reflection and lightly pressed the tips of his index and middle fingers into his neck, mimicking the metal contact points of the collar.
“Okay, alright,” he said to himself seriously, setting a fresh goal, “The name of the game is Don’t Get Shocked.”
He was successful for three days. Three days of quiet calm, of obedience, of keeping his thoughts to himself. By then, the collar had already become part of his work routine. Clock in, put on collar, start up computer, make coffee, work, make coffee, work, take off collar, clock out. Part of Stone was mortified that it had become normalized so quickly.
On the third day, he applied moisturizer to his neck after the shower, the inside of the collar not yet worn smooth.
“All in a day’s work,” he told himself, “Don’t make it a problem, won’t be a problem.”
On day four, he broke. It wasn’t premeditated. He hadn’t even realized he was about to do it, leaving him unable to stop himself. The catalyst was Robotnik berating him over a late assignment.
“This was supposed to be done by noon!’ Robotnik snapped, “Is it so difficult to put your head down and do what you’re told, Agent Stone?”
This was always how their fights started. Stone acted before he thought.
“It would’ve been done by noon if you hadn’t dropped that pile of records on me to-” Stone retorted.
His eyes didn’t move quick enough to catch sight of Robotnik’s finger pressing into his palm. His words died in his throat as an unexpected bolt of pain overtook him. His throat constricted. His eyes rolled back. His hands locked into claws. Every muscle in his body contracted to the point of pain. He felt his balls tighten. It was over so fast that he didn’t even realize he was on the floor.
When the pain stopped abruptly, both of his hands reached for his own throat reflexively. His knees ached from the impact. He drew a starving breath with an undignified, tortured gasp. His whole body shook. With wide eyes, he looked up at Robotnik, who now towered over him, looking down at him imperiously. Stone couldn’t stop his aching, wracking breaths.
“Don’t talk back to me, Agent Stone,” he said coldly.
Stone scrambled to his feet clumsily, eyes wild, body expecting to be pursued.
“Incorrect answer,” Robotnik said, unmoving, “Try again.”
Stone couldn’t make a sound.
“Perhaps you need some assistance,” Robotnik said, “Try yes, Doctor.”
Stone cleared his throat. His first attempted died at the end of his tongue. He tried again against the rising animal panic in his body.
“Yes, Doctor,” he said, already backing up toward the door.
Robotnik narrowed his eyes and nodded. Stone didn’t wait for more. He turned and rushed out of the lab.
“Plenty more where that came from,” Robotnik said from behind him, voice low, “Now go finish that assignment.”
Stone went straight to the bathroom. He locked himself in the accessible stall and pressed his hands to either side of the sink, the steel cold beneath his shaking palms. He looked at his own reflection. He was pale, skin gleaming, as he’d broken out into a sweat.
“Fuck,” he said, voice breaking somewhere in that one syllable.
His whole body shook, muscles seeming to react of their own accord to the sudden explosive tension and release of the shock. His stomach hurt. He soaked a paper towel and wrung it out, moving from the sink to near the toilet. He returned to his prior position on his knees, but of his own will this time.
Stone’s body slumped against the cold black Formica of the stall partition. With an unsteady hand, he pressed the damp towel to his face, one hand on the toilet bowl to orient himself, still unsure if he could keep himself from vomiting.
The shaking was gradually turning into a full-body throbbing that worked in time with his racing heart. His eyes were still closed. Everything was too bright, too loud, instantly oversensitized. The vision of Robotnik looking down at him flashed before his mind, instantly unsettling him. He’d expected hateful jeering, or at least a derisive laugh. His stern, cold demeanor was unexpected, and it filled Stone with dread.
A tremor gripped him. His stomach flipped. He lurched forward, over the bowl, retching a few times before his body accepted that nothing would come up.
“Oh, god,” Stone said in something that sounded like a sob but wasn’t, “Oh, fuck.”
His chest was tight. His head ached. He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye socket, squeezing more water out of the paper towel, feeling the droplets fall and soak into his suit jacket. He hoped for only one thing: that the collar didn’t have a microphone. He didn’t want Robotnik to have the satisfaction of hearing him like this.
He gave himself another few minutes before wrenching himself up from the floor. He rearranged himself in the mirror, drying his face, straightening his necktie. His color had come back. His body still thrummed, but the side effects were waning noticeably.
He returned to his office and worked the rest of the day through a thick fog. He delivered the afternoon coffee wordlessly. At the end of the day, his fingers trembled when he removed the collar and placed it in Robotnik’s waiting hand.
After showering, he noticed the welt where the prongs had delivered the shock directly to his skin.
“Looks like a fucking hickey,” he said, disgusted with the whole situation.
He rolled his eyes as he prepared for bed.
“New day, same plan,” he told himself, “Don’t get shocked. Don’t give that fucker the satisfaction.”
The following morning, he pulled down the collar of his shirt with his fingertip before putting on his necktie. He still had a faint red mark.
“Damn,” he said quietly, “At least I know what it feels like now. It can’t be worse than yesterday.”
Stone managed to be on optimal behavior for the next ten days. The first three were excruciating, letting Robotnik’s insults roll off of him unacknowledged, letting his attitude go unchallenged. By day six, he’d reached a strange new mindset.
I wonder if this is what reaching peak zen feels like, Stone considered as Robotnik shoved his index finger in his face.
He managed this cool equilibrium for several more days before slipping. It all fell apart on day eleven. The cause of it was familiar enough – Robotnik was in a foul mood and had decided to go after, of all things, Stone’s personal grooming habits.
“Agent Stone, make an appointment for a haircut,” he said, “Preferably sooner than later.”
“Where do you get your hair cut, Doctor?” Stone asked.
“Not for me,” Robotnik said with a derisive laugh, “For you. You’re getting shaggy on the sides.”
“What?” Stone gasped, “I got a haircut less than two weeks ago.”
“Congratulations. Now go make another appointment,” Robotnik said, “If I must have you in my employ, I won’t have you looking untidy.”
It was such a petty thing. Unfortunately, it was unexpected enough to touch a nerve. Stone took his personal appearance seriously and didn’t appreciate any commentary in that regard. He prided himself in wrinkle-free shirts, shined shoes, his neat beard.
“Doctor, that is over the fucking line!” he spat indignantly.
His body immediately bucked all of its forced calmness. His posture changed from neutral to on the offensive. Robotnik tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes at him.
“How fucking dare you-” Stone began, louder than he’d spoken in almost two weeks.
He should’ve seen it coming, but somehow, he hadn’t. He felt it in his neck first, what he later imagined it might feel like to get clotheslined with your head out the window of a moving vehicle. The voltage of it tightened his chest, stopped his breathing. His muscles tightened, knees locked before his shins hit the floor.
When Robotnik took his finger off the button, Stone kept going, the pain of it stoking his fury.
“Doctor, what the fuck?!” he roared, attempting to get up, his body uncooperative, “What the fuck are you do-”
A second shock, even stronger than the first. He hit the ground, vision going dark, everything consumed by a hateful, acrid, sizzling heat. His tongue was caught between his teeth. When the shock stopped, shorter than the first, he tasted blood. He looked up at Robotnik, gasping for breath, his body alive with awful tremors. He balled his fists to try and hide the shaking in his hands.
“Get up,” Robotnik said.
Stone attempted, but his legs seemed to be a step behind.
“Get. Up.” Robotnik said sharply, “Go make that haircut appointment.”
Stone managed a ferocious look, the sort of look a circus animal gives its handler when they’re close enough to the cage bars to maul. He pushed himself up and made a show of straightening his lapels in a silent rebuke of Robotnik’s prior indictment about his appearance. He spared him one last cutting glance before leaving.
Robotnik’s voice stopped him once again. He ground to a halt.
“Agent Stone, if you don’t like this arrangement,” he said, his voice full of a dark humor, “you can make it stop.”
“How?” Stone asked, not deigning to cast him an over-the-shoulder glance.
“Beg,” Robotnik said simply.
Stone clenched his fist. He was sure Robotnik saw it. He shook, restraining himself. He gritted his teeth and left the lab, not trusting himself to continue the conversation without earning another punishment.
Again, Stone retreated to the bathroom. First, he checked his tongue. It wasn’t a deep bite, the tip of his tongue scraped just enough by his clenched teeth to taste blood without there being a distinct wound.
This time, he remained standing. He still felt nauseated, queasy as he hung his head over the sink. He turned on the water to cut through the silence of the bathroom. He damped one hand, almost steady now, and drew it down over his face, the coolness instantly soothing him.
The wave took longer to pass this time, but it wasn’t excruciating like it had been after his first shock. He silently chalked it up to knowing what to expect in the aftermath, even if he hadn’t, somehow, seen the shock coming. He straightened his back, standing back up to his full height. His muscles felt as though he’d run a marathon, aching all over.
He looked at his reflection, particularly at the sides of his head, where he kept his hair shorter. He decided quickly that Robotnik must have just wanted something to fight about today. For a moment, his anger turned inward, frustrated that he hadn’t recognized it as bait, that he’d gotten too hot, too fast and paid the embarrassing, painful price for it.
“Untidy,” Stone said in ridicule, “My ass.”
He stood very still a moment, paying attention to the tactile ringing that seemed to suffuse every particle of his body, as though he’d been too near an explosion or a jet taking off, as though he had been fundamentally rearranged on a molecular level.
He reached down between his legs, readjusting himself in his underwear, making sure his fears were unfounded. The shock had been so unexpected, the pain had been so sharp, that he’d nearly pissed himself. He drew his hand away, dry, relieved.
Oh, thank god, he thought, imagining the mortification.
He zeroed in on the way his heart was beating. It wasn’t uneven, but it felt distinctly wrong. He was sure it was his imagination, that he’d just suddenly become very aware of something he never really paid attention to. He wondered what sort of damage this might do to his heart longterm.
He forced himself to move, to make it back to his office as quickly as possible, sure Robotnik was timing his bathroom break, perhaps even half-watching a camera trained on the door. He stepped out into the hallway and lifted his phone to his ear, listening to the dial tone, clearing his throat to steady his voice when someone picked up.
“Hey there,” Stone said, trying to even out the seethe in his tone, “I was wondering if you had any cancellations for this evening? I just need a quick side-shave.”
That night, fresh home from his haircut, Stone went into the drawer of one of the small tables that flanked his sofa. He pulled out his TENS unit, looking down at the dark screen. His muscles still ached from the rigor of the shock. He thought he should do something to rehab himself before another day and another possible punishment.
He peeled the electrodes away from their clear plastic backing sheets and stuck them to his back. He turned the unit on, cycling to his favorite setting (“Deep Knead II”) before dialing up the intensity. At the first jolt, his body reacted disproportionately, tightening up like he’d been shocked again.
Stone flicked the power switch and sighed loudly, annoyed. He hadn’t considered that the low, curative voltage of his at-home pain relief machine might take him back to work. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, and unfortunately, Robotnik’s words came back to him.
You can make it stop.
Stone closed his eyes.
Beg.
He let out a frustrated sound. He’d known in that moment that Robotnik aimed to break him, to shock him into submission and make him admit it.
You must be getting off on this, he thought, unwilling to say it aloud, you sick bastard.
Stone felt a flush of rebellious pride. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. His finger found the intensity buttons on the TENS unit. He forced himself to relax back onto the sofa as he brought the unit up to moderate power click by gradual click.
“Let’s try this again,” he said.
When he reached the edge of what was tolerable, he let his head hang back against the cushions, considering how the TENS unit was different from Robotnik’s shock collar. Something about the latter just seemed to seethe, to leave a lingering sting that felt like hatred.
Stone upped the intensity of the TENS unit by three clicks. Subconsciously, his knees pressed together, the vibration seeming to settle briefly in a tender area of his guts somehow before he straightened himself out again.
The following morning, he returned to the lab. Robotnik seemed to eye him longer than usual as he affixed the collar around his own neck. He made it to the threshold before Robotnik spoke, forcing him to turn back toward him.
“Agent Stone,” he said with a mean, clever smile, “That’s a very tidy haircut.”
Stone swallowed the flicker of anger and instead, nodded.
“Thank you, Doctor,” he said, before adding with a false note of positivity, “I’m glad you like it.”
Though every shock proved to be a terrible surprise, the fourth one blew the others out of the water. It was nearing the end of the day. Robotnik was working up against a deadline that had shifted a forward a few days in the schedule. As such, he was noticeably more gruff and irritable than usual throughout the week. Stone worked quietly, making a point to speak as little as possible and stay out of his way.
By Friday, though, Stone had reached his breaking point. All of the nastily little remarks had piled up, pushing him closer to the edge. He brought in an extra coffee after 4:00PM, setting it down on the console.
“Get out of my lab, Stone,” Robotnik said flatly, devoid of much feeling at all.
Stone made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. It had slipped out before he could stop it. Robotnik’s chair whirled toward him. His hands were steepled beneath his nose, shoulders hunched. He looked at Stone with burning eyes.
“Explain,” he said, voice low.
“Explain what, sir?” Stone asked.
“Explain that noise you just made,” Robotnik replied.
Stone nodded, considering for a few seconds before answering.
“I was taken off-guard by your comment, Doctor,” he said evenly.
Robotnik didn’t move. His eyes didn’t leave him. Stone felt compelled to continue.
“I don’t feel like I did anything to earn that,” he said.
His intention was not to irritate Robotnik, but the effect was there all the same.
“Agent Stone,” he said slowly, coldly from behind his joined fingertips, “have you considered that your mere existence, your presence in my sanctum, is enough to beleaguer me at any given moment?”
“I had not considered that, sir,” Stone said, still walking the straight and narrow.
“Note it now and note it well, Agent Stone,” Robotnik said, “if the government didn’t require some pathetic, futile level of oversight in my day-to-day operations, you wouldn’t be here. I’m sure you would prefer to be elsewhere. I would prefer you elsewhere.”
Stone’s grasp on his neutral façade wavered. He held tight, but felt it slipping.
“If I do not ask for your presence, make yourself scarce,” Robotnik said, “I am not, as you surely know by now, a fan of interruptions. I did not send for you. Leave.”
Stone wavered. His frustration had risen considerably. All he’d done was make the choice to build another coffee run into the day, a choice that had clearly worked against him.
That’s what I get for trying to be helpful, Stone thought.
“Get. Out.” Robotnik said, finally lowering his hands, face a mask of displeasure.
“Okay,” Stone said flippantly, “Sure.”
He took a step toward him and took the cup of coffee, shocked when Robotnik didn’t say anything to stop him. His mouth, in that moment, worked faster than his brain.
“Bring you a fucking coffee,” he said, “get treated like a criminal. Sure. Fine.”
He’d only made it a few steps away when a blistering shock seized him in its grip. He fell to his knees. The coffee sloshed against the lid of the disposable cup, a few droplets flying out. His chest constricted. It was the same punishing voltage as last time, ending in just a few terrible seconds.
Robotnik stood in a whirl of black cloth and moved to stand over him. Stone was about to gather himself when another shock, shorter, abrupt, rocked his system. His eyes were only open long enough to see the first and second of Robotnik’s staccato presses into the palm of his glove. He pulsed the shock on an off with every word he spoke.
“Don’t. Fucking. Talk. Back. To. Me, Agent. Stone,” he said through gritted teeth, sounding as though he were at the edge of completely losing his temper.
Meanwhile, Stone writhed on the floor, convulsing lightly as his body contracted and relaxed between each shock. He lost control of his grip, squeezing the coffee cup, sending hot coffee down his hand and arm, onto the floor. He gasped and curled up on his side when the last lingering shock wracked him, shorter than the first long one, longer than the ones that matched time with Robotnik’s words.
When Robotnik released the button, Stone made a desperate sound. He had no memory of curling into a fetal position, and in the moment, couldn’t move if he’d had to. His body felt as though it still pulsed with electricity. He imagined his whole being flashing a hot, bright blue in time.
“Fuck,” he sputtered, shaking off his hand, dripping wet with hot coffee.
Robotnik’s voice, when he spoke, was unsettlingly close.
“Have you had enough?” he asked.
Stone’s head wrenched up. Robotnik was crouched in a worryingly dynamic position, knee pressed to the floor, as though ready to spring. He still towered over Stone. The tips of his middle and ring fingers hovered at the center of his glove, ready to continue.
“I have had enough,” he said, eyes boring into Stone’s, “but if you need more discipline, if you don’t feel you’ve been sufficiently reprimanded, if you’d like to keep playing-”
Stone drew a sharp breath, heart now hammering faster than the cadence in which his body throbbed with the echoes of electricity.
“I will make the time,” Robotnik said, staring down at him unflinchingly.
In that moment, Stone felt terror, an awful animal fear that came from some underutilized part of his brain. He scrambled up from the floor and away from Robotnik, pausing once just to look at him in his frightening crouched position, still appearing ready to pounce.
Robotnik held his gaze with a dread-inducing steadiness, waiting several seconds before slowly standing. Stone heard his knee crack softly, but the reminder of Robotnik’s human mortality didn’t lessen the adrenaline-laced fear that gripped him.
“Take the collar off,” Robotnik said.
Stone nodded slowly, eyes wide, dry from being unable to blink, unwilling to take his eyes off him for even a second. He became aware of something he hadn’t noticed.
“Put it on the hook by the door,” he continued.
Stone reached for the buckle, keeping both hands where Robotnik could see them. His eyes moved rapidly between his stern face and his hand, watching for any sign of an incoming shock. He removed the collar from his neck, feeling it go limp in his palms, as though all the life, all the power it had over him drained the moment it wasn’t around his neck.
“Get out of my lab,” Robotnik said, “You’re done for the day.”
Stone couldn’t speak. A terrible realization began to settle in. He glanced once more at Robotnik as he turned away from him, returning to his console to work. He glanced down at the puddle of coffee, at the crushed paper cup, the lid a foot away, separated forcefully by his clenched fist somewhere in the blaze of pain.
His hands shook violently as he shut down his computer and gathered his things. Now, in the privacy of his own office, he allowed himself to feel the magnitude of what had been slowly dawning on him. He pressed his forehead to the desk. His hand slipped beneath the table, resting first on the inseam of his slacks, against his own thigh, feeling a wet spot where the spilled coffee had soaked in.
His dick was hard.
He drew a shuddering, pained breath and pressed his hand over his fly. His whole body still seemed to be flickering with electricity, though the intensity had waned considerably. He grabbed his shaft through the fabric of his slacks and underwear and squeezed hard enough to cause pain, to draw an unexpectedly loud pained groan out of him.
What the fuck, he wondered, finally able to form a coherent thought as he walked out of the building, not daring to look back, What the fuck? What the fuck.
He drove home, unable to focus on the music playing over the car radio.
What the fuck. Oh my god.
He slipped in through the service entrance of his condo, unwilling to be seen by anyone in this state. He rode the elevator alone.
What the fuck. What the actual fuck.
He walked the maintenance hallway that eventually led to the emergency stairwell on his floor. He unlocked his door quickly and stepped inside, double-locking it behind him. He dropped his bag in the entryway.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked, voice sounding very loud in his own ears.
He dragged both palms down his face slowly and then physically shook it off.
“Freak thing,” he said between his fingers, “Doesn’t mean anything.”
He decided quickly what the best course of action would be. He changed into his workout clothes and put in his wireless earbuds. He left his unit in favor of the condo’s gym, relieved to find it empty, silent, the lights too bright, the mirrors spotless, the AC humming.
He picked the treadmill furthest from the door and set it to a quick pace, not giving himself time to warm up. Instead, he tried knowingly to outrun the thoughts he wanted to avoid. He put on a high BPM playlist and got to work. Every five minutes, he upped the speed a little more. By the third adjustment, his shirt was plastered to his back despite the air conditioning.
The workout did its job. Between the music piped directly into his ears and the pounding of his sneakers on the belt, his thoughts were silenced. He raced on until his body said it was time. He pressed the “stop” button and the machine began to slow, his feet feeling heavier with each step until the screen read 0 MPH.
He’d remembered his towel, but had forgotten his water bottle. He wiped his face and forearms before slinking out to the elevator again, feeling lighter after a half-hour at a near-sprint. He went back to his unit and straight to the kitchen, opening a beer before making his way to the shower.
Under the spray, which he started cool and gradually adjusted to warm, he took a long swig from his condensated bottle with a deep sigh. He tilted his head back and took a deep breath of the steamy air.
Much better, he thought.
Afterward, he toweled off and dressed in his pajamas without feeling compelled to examine his own neck in the mirror. Instead, he settled in for a quick meal of leftover homemade enchiladas and a few episodes of reality television, content to slip out of his own personal dramas in favor of someone else’s.
Finally, when the clock flashed past 10:00PM, he decided it might not be a bad idea to call it an early night.
Forgot I technically got off early, he thought, smiling as he finished loading the dishwasher.
He brushed his teeth and settled into bed, turning out the lights. He wasn’t exactly tired, but it felt good just to stretch out in bed, to not feel like he was rushed or running behind.
For about fifteen minutes, he rolled and shifted, trying to find the optimal sleeping position. He slipped his arm beneath his pillow and turned onto his side. He rolled onto his back, squeezing a pillow to his chest. He rolled onto his other side with a sigh.
He had no choice but to admit it to himself. The run had helped, but he still felt the antsy, unfulfilled ache of a hard-on that had gone nowhere.
Maybe I could just-, he thought.
“No,” he said aloud, rolling onto his stomach, voice muffled by his pillowcase, “Don’t do it.”
He moved his leg, attempting to bend his knee for comfort, accidentally creating a friction point against the mattress. He winced subtly.
“Well,” he said, trying not to feel too defeated, “Maybe it’ll help.”
He lifted his hips and wedged a pillow between himself and the mattress, giving himself room. He reached into his pajama pants with one hand and began to stroke. He perused his usual stock footage fantasies, the generic old reliables that always got him where he needed to go, bits and pieces of porn he’d watched and books he’d read over the years.
After a few moments of gentle, futile touches, he rolled onto his back.
“Well,” he said, again “Shit.”
He thought back to earlier in the day, to the hum of electricity pulsing through him, cock straining against his underwear while his ears rang and his heart thundered. An idea struck at that moment and Stone hardly had to consider it before tossing the sheets off himself and padding out to the living room.
He fetched his TENS unit and returned to bed. He slipped a hand beneath his shirt, sticking two electrodes to his middle back before sitting back against his headboard. He tapped his fingertips on the stiff fabric of the device’s little zippered case.
He reached into the net pocket and pulled out a second wire and another pair of electrodes. He rigged the unit in the dark by sense of touch alone. He strategized a moment before making the decision. He knew he couldn’t put them on his neck or chest for his own safety.
He lifted his shirt to his chest and peeled the electrodes off their thin plastic backing, adhering them both symmetrically above the navel and below the ribs. With bated breath, he switched on the little handheld unit, the blue-lit screen too bright in the dark, and turned it up one level from zero.
Placement’s not right, he thought, switching it off.
He lifted his hips just enough to shimmy his pajama pants down, elastic resting at the base of his cock. He moved the electrodes one at a time, placing each carefully below the navel now, moving them further apart on his stomach, midway between the midline of his body and both hips.
He turned the unit on again and even at the lowest level, not much more than a subtle vibration, he could felt that he’d gotten it right the second time. He reached over in the dark, taking his lube and a few tissues from the bedside table drawer. He adjusted his waistband lower still to free his cock, slicked his hand, and started stroking. He was already hard.
With a shuddering breath, he moved to the second-to-last pattern, “Rhythmic Pulse.” At the lowest setting, his toes still curled. He increased the tension, clicking the button every few seconds until his body seemed to flare to life, arching off the bed with a dry, surprised gasp.
“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck!” he breathed, forcing himself back down onto the mattress.
He stroked his cock fast, impatiently, as though he had a time limit. He paused longer between changing the intensity of the TENS unit, trying desperately to slow himself down. It was no use. He needed more.
He knew he could’ve paused at any point, letting the abrupt pulses sit squarely in the region of pleasure, but he was already toeing the line between pleasure and pain. Two more presses of the button had his heels digging into the mattress. A third caused him to toss his head back against the headboard with a pained hiss.
It wasn’t the voltage he’d experienced earlier, but he’d known going into it that it wouldn’t be the same. It was more than enough to get him through. The electrodes on his back created a familiar sensation. The ones on his stomach were new, the area sensitive, each pulse causing his abdominal muscles to tighten.
He was starting to feel the aching tension in his body. He was already thrumming, pain and pleasure fighting in him when he paused at about three-quarters of the TENS unit’s maximum power. He stroked himself faster, body writhing like it had on the floor of the lab that afternoon. He squeezed the base of his shaft, paused to play with the tip, pulling out all the stops to make himself cum. He needed it with a desperation that would’ve been concerning if he weren’t already so far-gone.
He glanced down at the glowing blue screen in his hand and saw that he was three clicks away from maximum power. He pressed the button three times quickly, gripping the device too hard in his hand, hearing the plastic casing stress. The increase in current made his body stiffen, wrenching a desperate, broken moan from his throat.
He lasted several seconds at maximum power before his orgasm gripped him. The combination of that massive release of tension with the steady, throbbing pulse of the TENS unit brought him closer to the new unattainable ideal that the shock collar could deliver.
”Oh, god!” Stone gasped, “Oh - Oh, fuck! I’m - Oh!”
His whole body went rigid, muscles almost lightly convulsing as he came with an intensity he didn’t know was possible. As soon as he had finished, though, the scale tipped drastically away from pleasure, the TENS unit’s pulsing suddenly unbearable to his overstimulated body. His stiffness broke all at once, both hands fumbling for the off switch.
With shaking hands, he pulled both sets of electrode wires from the unit, unable to countenance any more stimulation. His body went through a lighter, safer version of the aftermath he’d come to associate with the shock collar. His heart beat too hard. His stomach churned. He trembled and throbbed all over. Sweat started to cool on his skin. His body was alive with electricity, but everything inside felt shaken up, fragile. He breathed through it, absolutely certain he’d never had an orgasm like that in his entire life.
Instead of forcing his way through, of standing and retreating before he was ready as he’d become accustomed to, he allowed himself to linger in the feeling, safe in his comfortable bed, away from fathomless scheming eyes. Eventually, his trembling hand reached for the bedside lamp, turning it on to the lowest setting.
He sat up just enough to look down at his body, shirt and pants disarranged, cock almost completely softened in the time he’d been lying so still. He squinted, dizzy and still enraptured, focusing his eyes in the new light, still a bit too bright for his liking. His stomach was covered in a startling amount of cum. The bifurcated wire and stick-on electrodes didn’t make it out unscathed, either, all of it speckled and spattered in pearly white.
“Damn,” was all he could manage hoarsely.
Eventually, he reasoned that it was about time to wash his sheets, anyway. He pulled all four electrodes from his skin, the ones on his back damp with sweat, and dropped them all in a heap of tangled wire onto the sheets. He wiped himself with a handful of tissues and rearranged his clothes, turning off the light and rolling onto his side with a low groan, his body still coming down from the high of his climax.
Sleep fell like a heavy curtain. Stone woke the next morning refreshed. Within a half hour, he was sitting down at his dining table with a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee. It was still early, the sun not quite up yet. Usually, he would stay in bed a while longer on a Saturday, but he felt oddly recharged.
He leaned on one elbow, the other hand taking turns between his spoon, his mug, and his phone screen, which laid flat on the table. He found himself clicking through Wikipedia pages. Even with the brightness lowered, when he reached the right words, they practically leapt off the screen at him.
Erotic electrostimulation (abbreviated erotic e-stim[1] and also known as electrosex) is a sexual practice involving the application of electrical stimulation to the nerves of the body, with particular emphasis on the genitals, using a power source (such as a TENS, EMS, violet wands, or made-for-play units) for the purposes of sexual stimulation.
“Huh,” he said, pausing to stir his oatmeal.
He’d added a handful of dark chocolate chips today and was stirring them in gradually as they melted. He took a mouthful and clicked another blue hyperlink, continuing his journey.
“Learn something new every day, I guess,” he thought, knowing that he was perhaps too calm for this discovery.
He spent about an hour doing research and reading articles, ranging from frothy to medical, before he realized the inherent folly in his actions.
“Oh, shit,” he said aloud, setting his phone down.
He was immediately hit by the gravity of his current situation. No matter how he followed this thread, he knew it would absolutely lead back to the lab, to his job, to Robotnik. He shook his fist loosely, frustrated at the situation as he factored in the revelatory climax he’d experienced the night before. He sat back and covered his face with his hands, again sighing.
“Shit,” he said quietly, “I’m fucked.”