The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1

I’ve always hated needles. As far back as I can remember, the mere sight of them made me uncomfortable, and actually having one used on me for an injection or blood test made me pass out, puke, or both. It probably disqualified me for any “macho” competition ever held among my peers, but I didn’t exactly make any effort to hide it, and most folks didn’t really seem to mind. After all, I didn’t mind some other things that seriously freaked most of them, even the daring ones. I don’t think I ever got any response other than astonishment when I talked, straight-faced, about stealing my mom’s sex-toys as a kid, and of upside-down orgasms that left my chest, neck and face covered with my own semen. As far as my friends were concerned, I didn’t need to drink or take drugs to get twisted—I was inherently fucked up and didn’t need any help. Of course, my mental and sexual twists more than made up for any degree of normalcy I otherwise possessed.

I made it through high school in one piece, even a virgin—not because I was prudish, but because I was too weird for any of the girls in my town to get near me. My grades were okay, and I didn’t have any trouble getting into what I thought was the college of my choice. Of course, that was a very engineering-oriented school, where most of the girls wore chastity belts that matched their pocket protectors, and those that didn’t bore a strong resemblance to Pete Rose. I pretty quickly found out that there were other schools around, and that some of them were even inhabited by people as warped as I was. I let my hair grow, went from looking like a psychotic nerd to looking like a psychotic heavy-metal bass player, and made plenty of strange friends. It wasn’t too long before I lost what little purity I had left—on the floor of a university library, to a girl whose religion said she was basically buying a one-way ticket downstairs by doing it with me—and things snowballed from there. I didn’t sleep with everyone I dated, but then again, I didn’t date everyone I slept with, either. After a few years of recklesness, I decided that it was a minor miracle that I’d survived at all, to say nothing of surviving without acquiring thirty-seven terminal diseases, and called it quits. There weren’t a whole lot of new things to try that wouldn’t totally gross out everyone I knew, and I was starting to think that it might be nice to get a job, settle down, find a wife, have 2.3 kids—which I amazingly didn’t have by then—and a Dodge, and maybe run for a seat on the school board.

By this point, the old saying “all my exes are in Texas” wasn’t quite accurate—if that bunch had been let loose in the same state, they’d probably have had to call in the national guard. I still kept in touch with Christy, the one doomed to a nasty eternity by our late-night library skills class, but I’d lost track of her friend Nicki, who I’d had a one-night stand with in a mobile home. My longtime friend Jen had finally gotten out of some expensively and wonderfully bohemian school in the northeast, and gone to some inexpensive but terribly bland school in the midwest. I wasn’t sure what had become of Jen’s friend Nim. I didn’t find Runt attractive—she had gotten thrown out of her group-home after the house mother found her trying to have sex with me in spite of this—but she would call and harass me occasionally. Most of the time, though, she was busy chain-smoking, having seizures, and trying to follow any metal band still unpopular enough that the musicians would have time to sleep with her. Auburn-haired Stef worked near me and would sometimes wave as she drove by, but she spent the summers away, working at some sort of missionary thing. Clare had moved back home from her big-ten university after her parents drove up one weekend and found us in bed together, and was going to a local college in the next state. Judi had re-married and was doing fine, and I hadn’t heard from Wendy in years. As far as I knew, Laurel was living up to her attitude of “fuck the world,” one person at a time, without much regard to gender or marital status. Her friend Holli would (pun intended) sometimes run into me various places, but she never said anything. Staci had gotten married and had a kid, in that order, surprisingly. Eve and Kathy were both doing their best to not stick with any sexual orientation for more than a few months, and broad-hipped Lynn had moved back to the wheat farms of the northern plains. Myrna still lived nearby, but had apparently found someone else to tie to her furniture. Janie had gone back to Europe, and had probably enlisted half the guys in town to pick up where I left off licking her crotch. Lisa was playing her usual role as an innocent girl whose only flaw is that she can’t resist any come-on in the book, and getting sloppy seconds after Laurel finished with guys, Ankh was off increasing the cumulative sexuality of the state university by an order of magnitude, Beth was probably back home in the mountains being frustrated, and I’d no clue what became of Mary and Tammy.

Sometimes, Stef would come over if she was feeling down, and we’d drive out to the nearest forest in her old Japanese pickup and sit there for hours, watching the stars and listening to grunge-rock. She was always going in and out of relationships, and I was never sure whether she was dating someone, engaged to someone, or all alone. But almost every time we went out to our favorite hilltop clearing to look at the night sky, we’d end up making out. We never went beyond kissing and a bit of groping, even when we were dating—she just wasn’t that type. I guess we both put up quite an effort to resist our urges to do more. Kathy’s visits were more mundane—she’d lean on my shoulder while we talked about our lives, but the thought of anything beyond hugging never crossed our minds anymore. Christy, though, had seen me go through the most changes, and had changed the most herself. She’d visit for days on end, sleeping on the couch in the living room, and we’d talk frankly about anything imaginable, just because we both knew that we were too far gone from what we used to be to ever do anything with each other again. It was almost a comforting thought to know that we just weren’t compatible in that way any more—our breakup, now years ago, hadn’t been very pleasant, and neither of us really wanted to take our chances again, I guess. I made a point of never introducing anyone I was currently dating to any of my exes. I didn’t hide the fact that there were quite a few of them out there, but I didn’t like volunteering too much unsolicited information, and after all, none of them really had much in common, other than that they were a little strange in one way or another, and knew me from somewhere. That’s the way it is when you sleep with people from four different time zones. A few of them had formed pretty bad opinions of their predecessors, though, from my answers to what questions they asked, and most of them weren’t too likely to get along with each other, or function together at all well. And their views of me were diverse enough that they’d never be able to agree on anything concerning me anyway. Or at least that’s what I thought.

2

Stef stopped by after work on a Friday early in November, four years after we’d broken up. She had some free time on her hands, and it had gotten dark early, so we decided to go out to the forest and see if there were any stars out. I pulled on some jeans and a sweatshirt, and offered her some warmer clothes since she was only wearing a long dress and a sweater—unusual for a tomboy like her. My clothes never fit her, though, so she just borrowed a coat and we climbed into her pickup. There were a few clouds, but the sky looked like it might be clearing, and the weatherman was forecasting one of those crisp November nights. As we drove across the river in her truck, the moon reflected off the water, and most of the houses in the old part of town were still decorated for Halloween. The truck’s finicky old heater was struggling to keep us out of hypothermia, but there was still enough power left for the radio to blare “Sister Christian” through the usual amount of static we got, being so far from anywhere that the signal was always on the verge of breaking up. We finally reached the entrance to the forest, and she downshifted, then took the truck lurching along a deeply rutted dirt road, then around a corner onto a little-used fire road to the left, overgrown with crabgrass and littered with discarded pieces of roofing shingle. A few hundred feet later, we reached a point in the middle of the clearing where she could turn around when it was time to leave, and she shut the truck off.

It wasn’t really much of a clearing, in the sense of being clear. Various patches had burnt over the years, then gotten overgrown again. The end result was a roughly circular area full of low brush and trees less than twenty feet tall, surrounded by the tall oaks and pines that made up the real forest. Since the clearing was on the top of a gentle hill, it was easy to stargaze, but at the same time, the taller trees around it blocked out lights from nearby towns and highways. All in all, it was a pretty nice place to be, except in the summer when the flies and mosquitoes took over. We’d been there countless times before, and felt very much at home with the clearing, and with ourselves and each other as long as we were in the clearing. I guess it was sort of the only place we really felt free of all the ties we had to other people and other places. After talking for a little bit about how her day at work had gone, and what I’d been working on lately in the way of programming, we braced ourselves for the cold, and stepped out of the truck.

The sudden temperature change was greater than advertised—any weatherman who described this as “crisp” was obviously spending his night indoors staring at forecasting equipment that had gone haywire. I personally thought “frigid” came closer; it was the sort of cold that froze from the inside out, almost as if someone had invented a microwave refrigerator. I got around to the front of the truck as quickly as possible, and sat on the hood. At least that way, I could keep my tailbone warm. Then a thought hit me, and I flopped back until my head was resting on the windshield, the warmth of the engine keeping my entire back warm. Stef caught on quickly and followed suit, noting that after all, looking at stars is easier when one’s on one’s back, anyway. As usual, I free-associated all the possible responses, picked the worst one, and said, “Actually, I like to be on my back as much as possible,” which got me a special glare from Stef. I’d seen this look before—it meant that I’d deeply offended her deeply ingrained philosophical, moral, and ethical standards, but at the same time, given her an idea. The frown turned into a grin, and she grabbed at my crotch. She’d pretty much left it alone when we were dating—the mere sight of me wearing my lycra bicycling tights offended her—but in the years since, she’d occasionally mentioned having become a little less uptight about the contents of guys’ pants. Even so, it was the first time she’d shown any sort of interest in the contents of mine, and that came as quite a surprise.

She rolled over until she was facing me, and kissed me, which wasn’t quite as surprising. Never one to discourage her, I kissed back. I felt her unzip my pants and fumble around inside, then the bitter cold of the zipper’s teeth slid down my penis as she pulled it out. At this point, it didn’t matter that I had a nice warm truck engine heating up the hood against my back—any thought of being anything other than frozen stiff was lost. If my penis is cold, the rest of me’s cold too. Cold doesn’t have a particularly good effect on the male genitalia, though, and Stef had a bit of a challenge to keep it from retreating back into my pants. My balls had already pulled in as close to my body as possible, and seemed to be trying to find a way to get inside, and my penis seemed to be having similar thoughts. Then she pulled away from my face and sucked my penis into her mouth, for the second massive surprise of the evening. This felt a little bit better, since at least her mouth was warm, but whenever she took a breath, it felt like frost was forming where the icy air met wet flesh. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, as she’d never done anything like this before, even at times when it would have been much more appropriate. Of course, I’m never one to look a gift blowjob in the mouth, so to speak. On the contrary, I decided to not question why, and instead just enjoy it and hope that she didn’t bite.

3

In addition to hating needles, I also hate anything that causes pain to my genitals. As a woodsman, I know how it feels to have a small bug sink its mandibles into the tip of my penis and refuse to let go. Stef was doing an admirable job of avoiding any sort of pain, though. I could feel her tongue sliding around my glans, and her lips held the shaft tightly. After a few minutes, I closed my eyes and tensed my legs as I reached the point of orgasm, and then I felt it—surprise number three. Near the base of my penis, a tiny prick, and a slight pressure. I glanced down, and saw the glint of glass in the moonlight—she’d stuck a hypodermic needle in me! I grabbed for it, but halfway there, my hands went numb, my arms fell to the hood of the truck, and I blacked out, right in the middle of an ejaculation. Now, I hate needles as a general rule, but there are different kinds of needles. Needles that are used to take blood for tests are bad, but ones used to inject things into me are far worse, and one being used to inject something unknown into me without warning is absolutely the worst possible needle imaginable, especially when it makes me miss out on the second half of an orgasm.

Of all the flirts I’ve known, my consciousness has got to be the worst. Five or six times, I almost came to, but then it slipped away again. In those brief lapses of semi-consciousness, I felt movement, heard female voices around me, and felt myself being prodded. Finally, consciousness got too close for its own good, and I grabbed it, thus demonstrating that I never learn from experience. Immediately after regaining consciousness, I vomited, exactly as I did every time I regained consciousness after a blackout. Unfortunately this time, I didn’t have the time to sit up and lean over the edge of the hood, and instead I ended up simply rolling my head to the side and praying that I could somehow project it away from my face and off the truck. I opened my eyes, and was promptly near-blinded by a bright light, so I squeezed them shut again.

Something here didn’t seem quite right—actually, a lot of things didn’t. For starters, I couldn’t imagine why Stef would have given me an injection of anything. I wasn’t sure whether I’d blacked out as a result of the substance she injected, or just as a result of having a needle stuck in a rather sensitive part of my anatomy, since I’ve been known to black out as a result of having needles stuck in decidedly tougher parts. Most of all, I couldn’t figure out why it was so bright. If she’d kept me in the forest all night and it was now day again, that would at least clear up any doubt about the type of substance that was in the needle, but the old men from the town go through the forest on their way back to the river to fish, and they’d probably have noticed if a long-haired weirdo like me was lying unconscious on the hood of a pickup truck, so that didn’t really seem very likely. I also noticed the feel of cold metal against my back, and a ring of cold metal around the base of my penis, and realized that my clothes had been entirely removed. Even the few fishermen who are so unobservant that they could miss an unconscious long-haired weirdo wouldn’t be likely to miss an unconscious naked weirdo.

I squinted and tried to see where the light was coming from, but it seemed to be coming from all different directions at once. My head hurt something fierce, but eventually I managed to figure out that there were actually dozens of individual lights, all pointing at me, at various distances from my head. Most of them seemed to be fixed in place, forming a hemisphere around my head, but a few of them moved when I moved, staying pointed directly at my eyes. I started to hear the voices again, from behind the lights.

“Okay, he’s conscious again.” A pair of lights moved closer to my eyes.

“Let me wipe this puke off my boots.” A pair dipped out of sight.

“You shouldn’t have been so close to him when he came to, silly.”

I tried to put a hand over my eyes to block some of the light, and realized that it was held in place by something fastened around my wrist. It didn’t take very long to figure out that my other hand and both my feet were similarly bound.

Another voice. “Well, he knows he’s tied down, now. Should we go?”

“Yeah, we’d better, while it’s still dark—unless anyone wants another turn.”

Giggling, then another voice. “I haven’t even had my first turn, yet.” As I struggled to count the different voices, two of the lights were withdrawn, and I felt the weight of a body sitting astride me. I gasped, realizing that my entire lower abdomen felt like it had been subjected to some sort of nasty ergonomics experiment involving repeated impacts. Then a hand grasped my penis, and I gasped again. Apparently for however long I was out, I’d been some sort of group toy—the ring was helping it stay erect, but it was as raw as I’d ever felt it. Then it was slipped into a lubricated orifice, and my pelvis began to get the anvil treatment once again. Despite the pain, I quickly became very aroused, but when I neared orgasm, I hit a wall of pain that streaked down into my testicles. I groaned with agony, and was met with laughter.

“Hey, he’s dry! Who used up the last of it?”

The pounding continued briefly, and then I felt contractions as my mysterious rider had an orgasm. Unlike me, she seemed to be enjoying it, and let out a low shriek.

“Quiet, you’ll get the neighbors over here!”

“What neighbors? There aren’t any houses for five hundred feet.”

Okay, so I was still in the clearing—that was a relief. Once daybreak came, it would be hard not to be found by someone.

“Okay, then, you’ll get the owls over here. Let’s go.”

The weight shifted, and I slid out of the vagina of my latest conqueror. She—whoever she was—climbed off, and I felt the truck bounce slightly as she stepped down from the bumper. Sore and exhausted, I watched the lights dive toward my eyes, two at a time, then slide quickly away to the side, as the people behind them moved out of sight around the edges of the truck. Doors and the tailgate slammed shut quietly, and the motor started. This was more like it—at least my back would be warm again, even though by now I was sure that the cold metal of the cock ring and the wet flesh of my penis would never be separated without serious pain. On the other hand, the idea of possibly being driven through town in the middle of the night, strapped naked to the hood of a pickup-truck like a dead deer, was a little unusual. But then again, I’m the sort of person who’s twisted just enough to enjoy that.

4

The truck slowly turned around, and headed back to the main dirt road. Riding on the hood isn’t very comfortable, but at least I didn’t have to worry about falling off, tied in place as I was. When we reached the main road, the driver—I guess it was Stef, but I wasn’t sure any more, as there were clearly other people involved in what was happening to me—didn’t turn right toward town, but instead headed deeper into the forest. I wasn’t particularly worried by this, since I know my way around most of the forest at least as well as any man alive, and knew we’d have to come out sooner or later. After all, the whole place is only about six hundred acres on a peninsula, between two branches of the river, and once I got my night vision back, I’d be able to recognize every road and hill at a glance. The only way out is back toward town, and if I could get free, I’d have no trouble finding my way out of the woods. At the next fork, the truck veered right onto a road that runs down a bit of a gully, toward a lowland portion of the forest along the river. The ride got pretty bumpy here, and I could feel some low pine branches slapping against my legs as the driver swerved to avoid the worst of the erosion. At the bottom of the hill, the road curved to the left—I’d ridden it a hundred times on my old bicycle—but the truck swung right, rocking sideways as it went over the berm alongside the road. Now I was out of my territory. I knew there had been a road through here long ago, but it hadn’t been used in years, and the paved road that used to meet up with it was now a dead-end. I’d never explored this part of the forest, since I didn’t want to accidentally end up in someone’s back yard and get mistaken for a squirrel and shot by one of the more nearsighted local hicks. We had to be within a quarter-mile of houses, though, and I knew I could just follow the river upstream if I had to find my way out.

The going was very slow now, and I could hear small fallen branches snapping under the tires. Within a minute, the truck rolled to a stop alongside a small steep hill covered with brush and trees. This time, there were no lights shining in my eyes. A shadowy figure appeared alongside the truck, and began rummaging in the underbrush. I then received what I hoped would be my final nasty surprise of the evening—the leaves parted, revealing one of those nifty stretchers that medical technicians use to put people into ambulances, and the ground of the hill itself parted, revealing a narrow concrete passageway slanting down into the ground, dimly lit by small lights along the walls. The figure turned around, and I saw her leer, crooked-toothed, in the moonlight—Laurel. What was she doing here? Obviously, if it involved me, it couldn’t possibly be good, but I had already dismissed any ideas that what was happening could be at all beneficial to me. A larger figure appeared next to her—Holli, easily identified by a chest that would have challenged Sir Edmund Hillary. Both were wearing long dresses—the better to ride me with, I suppose—and sweaters, much like Stef. For a brief moment, I wondered if I was merely having a horrible dream brought on by a bad childhood experience at a sock hop, but having been born too late for sock hops, I gave up and returned to reality, to feel the rope tied to my right wrist being unfastened from the truck.

I tried to strike at Laurel, who probably deserved anything I could give her in the way of a punch, but one—or several—of my captors pulled on the rope, holding my arm fully extended away from me. It turned out to have been a bad idea, as Laurel made a fist and swung it, table-pounding style, into my testicles, none too gently. Half-blinded by the pain, I felt my wrist being tied to the stretcher. My right leg followed, then the ropes holding my left limbs were briefly loosened, but I had the sense to not move this time. Hands pried my flesh off the cold metal of the truck hood—I swear I lost three layers of skin then and there—and hoisted me onto the stretcher, then made sure I was tightly restrained. Finally, the stretcher was carried into the corridor, and I glimpsed more shadowy forms, too far away to identify, pulling fallen trees into place to mask the truck from sight. As my vision began to clear again, I realized that I was being pushed down the corridor by Lisa and Myrna, and I heard the hatch come shut with a thud behind us, then a voice that could only have been Runt’s.

“What should we do to him now, Ste—”

“Quiet, you’re not supposed to use names.”

Oh, so this was all Stef’s idea after all. Strange, considering she had done less with me than any of my other exes, that she’d be masterminding some sort of bizarre plot to fuck me to death, which is what she seemed to be doing. The voice chiding Runt hadn’t been Stef, though. I tried moving my head around a little bit to see who was there. The first thing I saw was Myrna. If Holli’s breasts were the Himalayas, Myrna’s were at least the Rocky Mountains. Lisa was walking next to her, and had a faint smudge of dried semen on her cheek—it was easy to guess how she’d spent at least part of her “turn” in the clearing. Between them, I could see quite a few women I’d either dated, or had flings with, most of whom I didn’t think would want to do anything like this, let alone do it to me. Lynn was there, hair neatly French braided as always. I could just make out Christy’s unruly blonde hair behind her. Jenn was walking to one side, followed by Clare and Wendy, and on the other side I could just make out Stef’s auburn hair and pale features. I could hear the footsteps of several others behind them, but couldn’t see who they were.

5

The corridor went on for what seemed like forever, but probably wasn’t. At the end, we passed through another hatchway into a large chamber. A few seconds later the hatch closed with a dull thud, but I wasn’t paying much attention to it at that point. This place looked like some sort of shared hallucination by Frankenstein, De Sade, and Timothy Leary. Picture, if you will, a twenty-first century dungeon. Fill it with restraints galore, then toss in the inventory of a medium-sized computer wholesaler, and a wide assortment of medical devices, all of the sort that the doctor insists “won’t hurt a bit,” and you’ve begun to grasp it. At least the lighting was a little bit better, and it was nowhere near as cold as the outdoors. The freeze-dried combination of semen and vaginal lubricant on my penis began to thaw, along with the rest of me, and also begin to itch, as I was wheeled to the center of the room and strapped into a some sort of holding rack. My arms were fastened in place straight out to the sides, supported at the elbow, and my legs were fastened at forty-five degree angles. A thin metal rod with a ribbed rubber covering slid into my anus and locked in place, making movement next to impossible. Someone behind me quickly braided my waist-length hair into two pigtails, and tied them both to bars above my head, mirroring the angle of my legs and forcing me to keep my head still. Finally, a piece of black electrical tape was stuck across my mouth to keep me quiet.

At this point, I was left alone for a period of time—I don’t know how long. I could hear sounds from behind me, echoing through what I guess were more corridors leading to some sort of living quarters. The sound of spraying water—showers, I guess. And then talking, impossible to make out through the overlapping echoes, and footsteps getting closer. Finally, a chorus of voices. “Hello.” One by one, my captors, now as naked as I, walked around from behind me, forming a line in front. Runt was first, looking as gawky as usual, and a little bit shy. I’d never seen her entirely naked before, and her thin, misshapen frame looked even more vulnerable than ever—but then, I was the one who was restrained, and she had apparently had her way with me while I was unconscious, so this was clearly not the place for me to contemplate vulnerability. Long-haired Nicki was next, then Lisa, her breasts even more pert than usual. Dark-haired and freckled, Judi was followed by Laurel, and then slim, muscular Stef. Stef stopped and knelt in front of me, while more participants took their places. Tall, blonde Christy and dark-haired Staci were joined by Eve, her hair dyed a bright red as usual. Then Nim, with her wavy hair, Lynn, with her hips that just beg for a swishing horse’s tail hanging above them, natural redheads Wendy and Mary, and Kathy, with her long, dark brown hair. Stef grasped my penis and squeezed its raw flesh. As I whimpered in pain, Beth paraded out, nipple-ring shining, and was followed by Tammy, blond stocky Janie, and Clare. Stef yanked the now-thawed cock ring off, eliciting a yelp of pain from me, as Holli, Myrna, and Jen jiggled into place. Finally, Ankh strode out, her dark hair, skin and eyes looking more exotic than ever, and addressed me from behind Stef.

“I’m sorry you weren’t awake for the events that transpired this evening. I’m sure you would have enjoyed them—particularly the ones involving me.”

Not very likely, I thought. The first time I saw Ankh, she spent three days giving me the worst case of blue-balls I’ve ever experienced. Yes, she was ecstasy incarnate, but she could be very frustrating, at times. Something told me that she was one of the ones who had had her “turn” at me after I was already dry, and had contributed a great deal to my current raw, sore state. Then again, I suppose they all had. Now that they’d all showered, there was really no way to tell who’d done what to me from the cum-stains, but I’m sure Ankh wasn’t totally to blame—though on second thought, I wouldn’t have put it past her. The others fanned out around me, and began making adjustments and connections to the frame that held me. First to come were metal rods with pointed tips, fastened to the frame at various points with the tips near my flesh, apparently to keep me from moving. Then, much to my discomfort, a trio of needles were clamped to each rod, their tips extending just beyond the ends of the rods. Small clamps were connected to everything possible—fingers, toes, ears, eyebrows, lips, even the folds of skin on my scrotum—and electrodes were glued to sundry parts of my anatomy. Finally, Stef shaved all the hair on my head—she’d always said it was far too long—and once again ruined my day by sticking a needle in my arm.

I don’t know how long I was out this time, but at least I didn’t vomit again when I came around. I’d pretty well emptied myself last time, and there wasn’t much to regurgitate now. I could feel some serious pain around the shaved areas on my head, and the skin and bone seemed to have been removed. When I moved my head a tiny bit, I could feel the tug of more electrodes, which had apparently been applied to my brain through holes drilled in my skull. I wanted to ask Stef what she was doing—well, what they all were doing this to me for, but I could only make small noises with the tape over my mouth. At least no one seemed to have inflicted any more damage to my genitals while I was unconscious, for a change. In fact, someone had apparently applied a lotion of some kind to the raw flesh, which made things feel a little better. That was offset, though, by my captors deciding to amuse themselves by taking turns spanking me with whatever they deemed useful. Most of them stuck to conventional things like whips, belts, and ping pong paddles, but a few—I’m not sure who, as I couldn’t turn my head to see—used electrical cords, meat tenderizers, rattan or bamboo rods, and bicycle chains. Some were even a little less than cautious, swinging their weapons between my legs from behind, and jostling the clamps on my scrotum. Fortunately, they decided to give it a rest after a few turns each, and smeared some lotion on my lacerated buttocks before they once again exited the chamber, leaving me fastened in place.