===SANGHEILI DERADICALIZATION CLINIC=== SUMMARY: Dr. Anon uses a drug to "deradicalize" convicted criminal sangheilis. It makes them sugestionable, h*rny and pliable to have their minds changed permanently. One day he gets a particularly resilient patient who resists all the way through. Contains: 18+ g*y content, brainwash, non-consensual, rape, drugging, threesome > Be Dr. Anon, founder and chief medical officer of Zimbabwe Prime's one and only Sangheili Deradicalization Clinic. > You are not actually a doctor, your "Doctor's Degree" is merely a media-friendly lie to justify why the government is so eager to ship you unrepentant extremists. > In truth, your only academic achievement in life is the highly cl*ssified discovery that metamizole, an over-the-counter painkiller once thought to have no effect on sangheili's, in reality causes extensive psychological alterations under the right circ*mstances. > In low dosages metamizole has an aphrodisiac effect on a sangheili, but ramp it up and keep a patient under its effects for long and its trickier effects reveal themselves. > It makes them highly sugestionable — and vulnerable to "deradicalization," a process which at best can take a day if the patient is compliant (which they rarely are) or two weeks if they resist. > For 48 hours now your *ssistants have been interviewing the latest patient. > Going by the long chain of curses and expletives coming from the interrogation room, they have not achieved any success. Which means it's your turn now. > You go down to the clinic's bas*ment, a meticulously sanitized laboratory. > The interrogation room is a heavily-secured room with a one-way, bulletproof mirror. > Restrained to a reclining X-frame is Zako 'Dragum, a sangheili sentenced to death by lethal injection for an attempted terrorist attack against a densely-populated civilian zone. > Even humiliated, naked, restrained, gagged and now in a growing state of induced malleability, you cannot deny the sangheili in front of you is a fine, dignified specimen. Over 7'3 tall, weighing just shy of 500 pounds, Zako 'Dragum originates from a long lineage of selectively-bred warriors who have consistently achieved some of the highest military honors in their vast empire. > Bred and raised for glory, Zako had the body to prove his pedigree. Treetrunk thighs, a firm and protruding *ss, pecs so thick you could f*ck them and a prodigius d*ck — you'd wager he could easily get to 9 inches hard, and just slightly less thick than a beer can. He's a perfect sangheili specimen, the kind that would be used in an eugenics program's propaganda — if only he hadn't joined a disavowed extremist sect and achieved quite the criminal record. > It would have been a pity having him executed, and the Sangheilos Emb*ssy specifically requested his deradicalization in the hopes that he'd "be made an example for his sect, for its increasingly frequent attempts to disrupt the peace between our peoples. > As per the emb*ssy's request, some but not all of the procedure will be recorded and made available to the public. > The drug coursing through his system makes him aroused, everything you do to him will register as an er*tic stimuli — and will rewire his s*xuality, making it so he will still enjoy that act long after it's finished. > It also makes him malleable for other permanent psychological changes. > Still, there is an element of willingness. For the deradicalization process itself to take hold (beyond the s*xual effects) the sangheili needs to willfully go through the brainwashing interview. > If he gave in now it wouldn't take more than a hour and he'd go out free before nightfall, ready to become a productive member of society... or even one of your *ssistants. > But he won't. His hate for humans burns too bright. So it's your time to work. > You tell your *ssistant, Bill (formerly Biso 'Lotan, one of your first patients) to inject him with another dosage while you prepare your instruments. > You wait a few minutes for the effects to appear. By now you're already used to seeing them — Zako starts shivering, as if he was cold, he throws his head back and lets out a deep, throaty rumble. > You enter the room and introduce yourself to the patient. The whole place is reeking with the elite's m(u)sk, made more potent by his arousal — a somewhat sweet scent, mixed with something not too different from oil. By now his eyes are hazy, but you can still see a simmering hate when lucidity comes over him. > You remove the elite's gag and signal to the mirror, for your team to recline his frame so he is lying horizontally. > The sangheili's d*ck is stirring already, a single purple-ish drop of pre drips from his foreskin. You grasp it — he shudders and lets out a raspy grunt — and stroke it slowly, just to get him going. > "Ah... If you think you'll break me with this, human, ah, how sorely you are mistaken!" > "This is just the beginning," you respond while you put a c*ckring on his junk. He struggles against you, but it's futile, you grab his d*ck more firmly and make him squirm under your grasp. > Once in place the ring shines with blue highlights. You signal for your *ssistants and it shifts to an orange hue. > "With this you won't be c*mming until I give the command." > "Hah!" he spits, "as if I'd be aroused by the sight of such a vermin." > You go between his legs and start preparing the equipment. You pick the metamizole suppository — an egg-sized thing which will keep him in a permanent sugestionable state until removed — and a wide buttplug. > "This is your last chance to play along. If you enjoy being...'yourself,' you better comply." > "Do your worst, human! You'll see what a failure your procedure is." > You push the suppository against the elite's entrance, but he resists. They always do. > You could push harder, but it'd be a h*ssle — he'd just learn that resisting is worth it. No, in this sugestionable state you need to make him give in. You know what the solution is — you hold his d*ck and stroke it, jerk it as if you wanted him to bust a nut while circling his hole with a finger. > Immediately the elite reacts, first by yelping and second by struggling against his bonds, thrusting against your hand. > The medication makes everything er*tic for him — and rewires his s*xuality. > If his *ss is played with now it will have a permanent effect on his brain and make future anal s*x pleasurable. Whatever you do, in fact, will have a similar effect — you have full control over what will become this elite's s*xuality. > f*ck his mouth now and he will get an oral fixation, he will derive ple*sure from servicing men. sh(o)ve his face in your armpits, make him intoxicated with your m(u)sk, and you'll turn him into your personal m(u)sk-huffing elite pig. You could pierce his d*ck and he'd enjoy it and ask for more, even fisting him would have him yelling his lungs out in ecstasy. > It only takes a minute for his *ss to relax enough for you to slip in a lubed finger. The elite's throaty groan indicates it's working. > You fingerf*ck him, and little by little your patient goes from trying to hump your hand to forcing his rump onto your finger. He squeezes rhythmically around you and rocks back and forth. > "Enjoying it already? What were you saying again?" > But Zako's conscious mind is on the backseat. Two days worth of treatment is finally catching up to him, reducing the proud elite and terrorist into a bumbling bottom. > You slip the second finger in, then the third. He jerks suddenly, as his approaching *rgasm is stopped by the c*ck ring. He's ready. > Once more you rub the suppository against the elite's backdoor. "Relax, now, and I'll stroke you some more." > The sudden emptiness left by your fingers jerks him back to reality, if only for a moment. > "F-f*ck you!" Zako mutters, but his body disagrees — the egg slips in easily, and before he has the chance to push out you insert the buttplug. As soon as it's in it activates — it vibrates and expands, locking the suppository in. > "Good boy," you whisper. "Look at you, all geared up now. How are you feeling?" > "You depraved parasite, I'll rip your throat out! I'll burn your corpse! I'll kill all your servants..." > And he goes on and on. You left him finish his line of curses and threats before going on with yours. > "There's one final step left, however." > You activate the final piece of gear for today. From a hatch in the ceiling descends a contraption — a f*cking machine with a d*ldo at its end. > "This here will be your one and only source of sustenance. You better s(u)ck it well if you don't want to starve." > Before Zako can protest the machine finds its mark, plunges into his throat and squirts a sizeable load of nutritive paste. Under most circ*mstances the sudden invasion would have made the elite retch, but under the drug's effects everything takes on a s*xual quality. He rolls his eyes back, shudders and arcs his column — almost as if trying to pull the butt plug deeper into him. > Zako's mandibles cl*ck over the latex d*ck, trying to pull it in deeper. It only takes him a minute to realize that s(u)cking it will reward him more with that heavenly paste, and he settles into a rhythm — gyrating his hips and moving his mostly restrained neck to give more stimulation to the d*ck feeding him. > The f*cking machine brings down a VR visor to Zako's eyes — for the next twelve hours he will be kept in this state, plugged on both ends, forbidden from c*mming, and being exposed to point-of-view recordings in which humans are serviced s*xually by elites. > You look at his d*ck — yes, it's hard, but only halfway. The ple*sure your patient is feeling now is mostly mental, not at all related to his genit*lia. > You leave him there, he needs some time to mellow down. > On the following morning you go down to the bas*ment to check up on your patient. > You find Zako shuddering and exhausted, no longer with the energy to move against the d*ck plugged on his mouth. The machine detected it and took control to compensate for it — for a few hours now his throat's been continuously f*cked by the machine. > His cr*tch and chest is covered by a splatter of pre-c*m. He's been dripping all this time. > You deactivate the machine and carefully remove the d*ck from his mouth. It takes a while for consciousness to fully return to the elite. Once his eyes focus on you the same fire from before comes back. > "D-die, demon!" he yells, even if his voice is completely different from what it was yesterday. The hours of d*cks(u)cking left him with an even graver growl. > You go between his legs and run a hand on his thighs — in his drug-addled mind he can't stop but shudder at the caress, briefly interrupting his curses. When you reach his hole you tug gently at the buttplug and the elite, despite his restraints, pushes his rear in your direction. > "You have two options," you tell him. "You can comply with the program and allow yourself to be deradicalized, or I will continue with the treatment... and today we have much in store for you." > Zako snaps his mandibles at you in response. "I'll rip your d*ck out, you monster! I'll kill you all!" > "Very well. Do keep in mind this is your choice." > With a snap of your fingers the f*cking machine descends again and sh(o)ves itself into the elite's mouth. This time, however, it remains still. > "The less you comply, the more of the medication will be administered orally." > He can't stop himself from mo(a)ning as a fat load is delivered to his stomach. While you wait for it to have an effect you call an *ssistant to remove the buttplug and prepare the elite for the f*cking of his life. > When you return half an hour later you find Zako thrashing against his restraints, although this time for a different reason. With his 9-inch d*ck standing tall and his hole quivering in anticipation, he's humping the air as one of your *ssistants, Bill, talks to him. > Bill is an impressive sangheili specimen, although not as purebred as Zako. A tall, dark sangheili, clad in a form-fitting jumpsuit with a lab coat over it. He is about 7 feet tall, even with his naturally hunched-over posture, and a brick sh*thouse even by sangheili standards. The open lab coat frames his chest, bulging and well-developed, and the jumpsuit strategically highlights his cr*tch. > As the drug's effects increase with each new administration, the patient becomes more disoriented — and it would seem Bill, being an elite himself, managed to get him relaxed enough to talk. > You silently enter the room and stand away, so the patient can't see you. > "Brother," mutters Zako, "where am I? What is happening to me?" > "You misbehaved and put many lives in danger. Now you are being trained to do better." > "I don't understand, I was good. Wasn't I doing the right thing? I'm so sorry for failing..." > "You must be misremembering, brother. I was in your situation once, too. Listen, the more you go along the easier it will be for you." > Zako's gaze goes hazy for a minute as the drug's effects come and go. He lets out a long mo(a)n, followed by a spurt of prec*m. > "Ah... It's so hard to think. I am so thirsty. Brother, can't you find me something?" > "Perhaps. But I will need you to do something for me in return. Our commanding officer is here and we need to *ssess your fortitude." > The elite's *ss is lubed and ready for you. You approach and run a finger over his hole, now completely relaxed and eager to be filler. The sangheili shudders under your touch and his d*ck lurches forward. Between his mo(a)ns, Zako manages to muster a response. > "Our commanding officer...? He's here?" > "Yes," Bill says while approaching his own cr*tch to the patient's face. "Don't look back now, focus on me. You have a task now. We will *ssess your discipline and dedication to the cause. Your commanding officer now will test you now, he will use you, and you must ple*sure him. Do you understand?" > "But brother... I am so thirsty..." > "Oh, don't worry. I'll get you something. How have they been feeding you lately?" > "They have a tube... I have to s(u)ck on it. Please bring it back, I'm so weak... When I'm not being fed... it feels horrible." > "Of course, of course" says Bill as he unzips his suit and fishes out his c*ck. "Here it is, brother. Don't waste a single drop, now." > Zako stretches his neck to reach the dripping d*ck in front of him, but before making contact Bill holds him off. > "Are those the manners they taught you, soldier? Where are my thanks?" > Zako's awareness comes and goes, even more often now that you are toying with his backdoor. His column arches and he seems entirely dedicated to squirming his backside, so much that Bill has to repeat what he said. > "By the Prophets, brother... thank you." > "Very good, soldier. I'll feed you now, and after that you'll serve our commanding officer. Is that clear?" > Zako does not answer, he's already out of it. Bill is merciful enough to plug the patient's throat with his dripping d*ck. By now Zako is used enough to the invasion that no gag reflex comes up. His eyes go hazy as the ple*sure of the drugs and s(u)cking d*ck cloud his mind. > There's no need to be gentle. Zako has been broken in already by a whole night of relentless d*ck s(u)cking. Whatever gag reflex he had is gone by now. For him it's a simple matter of being fed — even if s*xual ple*sure rips through him as he has his throat filled, he does not consciously know he's performing a s*xual act. > Zako is laying on his back — his saliva and Bill's pre-c*m starts dripping down his face and over his eyes. But he pays no mind at all, not even when one of Bill's harsher thrusts sends fluids into his nose. > He's in heaven, eyes rolling back and mo(a)ning like the sl*t he's becoming. > But it doesn't last long. Bill pulls out and slaps the patient with his slimy d*ck. > "How does it taste, soldier? How does it feel?" > "It's... it's heavenly, please let me have more. Give it to me..." > "But is it just the taste you like? How do you like it when it goes down your throat?" > "It feels like my body is on fire. Please, keep going..." > "No, soldier. You must ask properly, now." > "What...?" > "Say it like a man. Say 'Use my throat.'" > "Use... use my throat, brother. Give it to me now." > "Again!" > "Use my throat!" > "Say now: 'f*ck my throat.'" > The elite hesitates. Suddenly a flash of clarity takes over his eyes as he realizes his current situation. Thoughts skitter around as he tries to grasp his own mind. > But all it takes is for Bill to scoot an inch closer — and smell of his d*ck, ripe and sweaty, pulls Zako's mind under the surface again. > "F-f*ck..." > "Say it, soldier." > "Use my throat! f*ck my throat, by the Prophets, f*ck my —" > This time he gags, with the sudden intrusion of Bill's f*cking. But he's enjoying it, his d*ck spews a stream of pre-c*m over his chest. > It's your turn now. Zako's hole is open for you. Just rubbing your d*ck on it makes the elite squirm, his back arches like a sl*t's and he tries to push his rear out to receive your d*ck. > As you make your entrance, you signal to the one-way mirror for your other *ssistants to start injecting the patient with more of the drug. You'll push his limits, you want to see how far he can withstand. > As your d*ck grazes his hole he shudders, as you invade it he groans even with his mouth plugged. His back arches and with what little leverage he has, he pushes his rear back on your d*ck and gyrates his hips. > This isn't some delicate flower, it's your j0b to f*ck this elite until his brain melts. From the get go you dig your nails in his hips and ram all the way into his hole, all loosened up from the buttplug. > At the same time, you don't want to c*m too quickly. You want to make it last long enough for the new dose to turn him into a bumbling sl*t. Fortunately it doesn't take long, it's happening right in front of your eyes. > The elite's mo(a)ns become muffled yells with each thrust of your hips. If you so much as stop and take a breather he will still contract his hole around your d*ck and push back. > You give him a slap on the rear — he almost convulses from ple*sure, even if you can't see his face you know his eyes are rolling into his skull. > Bill pulls out and holds Zako's head near his d*ck. > "Your commanding officer is using you now, soldier." > "Sir, it's heavenly... Don't stop!" > "That's right... You are a good soldier, aren't you? Will you serve your superior?" > "Yes! By the Prophets, by the Forerunners, I'll serve my superior!" > "Will you give your life to him?" > "Yes! I was born to serve and fight!" > "Will you give your body to him!" > "I'll give him everything, I'll die for him!" > "What about your mind, soldier? Will you give that too?" > "I'll be whatever he wants. He owns me, I'll — I'll do whatever he wants, think whatever he wants..." > "Then say with me, soldier...'f*ck me, boss.'" > "F-f*ck me! Boss!" > "'I'm your sl*t,' say it." > "I'm your sl*t! I'm your sl*t!" > "Will you abandon the Prophets for your boss?" > And Zako hesitates. A flash of lucidity, of his old self, takes him over. He tries to look back to his rear, to the *ssailant violating him, but Bill holds his head in place. > "Please, no..." he mumbles, but you slap his butt again, and again, and again. Every stimuli registers as er*tic to him, thanks to the medication, and with each slap his consciousness is pulled down into the depths again. > "No, don't make me do this! Have mercy!" > But there is none. You keep f*cking him, making his body betray his soul and sending him deeper down his own doom. His own mind rebels against him and tries to pull him down as well. > "Kill... kill me instead... just don't take my soul away, please... I served the Prophets..." > His eyes roll back and he stutters. When he manages to look up to Bill again, only embers remain of his soul. > "I was born to serve... to serve..." > But he doesn't finish the thought. He keeps repeating the same phrase again and again until whatever memory of what he was talking about before is gone. > This time you speak. > "Say it, soldier: I'm a sl*t for my commanding officer." > The elite's tongue lolls out of his mouth, you can hear splatters of saliva and pre dripping from his mouth. Still, he finds it in himself enough self-control to follow your order. > "I'm a sl*t for my commanding officer..." > "I belong to him, in body and mind..." > He howls as you punctuate the last word with a slap. > "I belong to you in body and mind..." > "Your commanding officer is your god. Your soul belongs to him." > This time there is no hesitation, and the ple*sure dripping from the elite's voice seems to be multiplied by the profanity he's about to embark in. > "You are my god, my soul belongs to you and only you!" > This is what you wanted. > "Bill," you say to your *ssistant. "Inject him with the maximum dose. And you..." you punctuate sl(a)pping his *ss, "say it again." > "You are my god, my soul belongs to you..." > You keep him going, ingraining these words into his mind. Your cl*max is ramping up, alongside with patient's drug-induced stupor. > Bill fishes out his d*ck again and lines it up with the once proud warrior's eager mouth. The two of you then ride out his ecstasy, enjoying his body's convulsions as he goes deeper into levels of ple*sure his brain was never meant to endure. > His mind drowns and only his body's deranged lust remain, riding up until the cl*max, that mind-breaking moment when you and your *ssistant arrive at your own cl*maxes and flood both of his ends with your seed. > Bill f*cks him to the hilt, making sure he's stopping the elite's air flow. For the minute or so while you two are riding our your own cl*maxes, Zako is locked inside his head, restrained completely and denied even a breathe of air. > His d*ck keeps spewing spurt after spurt of pre, and would have ejaculated were it not for the c*ck ring. > Zako's eyes rolled into his skull. When the two of you finally unplug him he falls limp, but still convulsing, spilling seed and throat slime. > While you are cleaning yourself, however, you look back to the patient one last time — and his eyes are locked on to you now. > And there it is, the simmering hate, his consciousness returned. > "You..." he says. His face is streaked by tears, slime and c*m, he coughs up the remnants from his abuse. "You demon... I won't give in... You'll kill me before I give up..." > For the next twenty four hours your *ssistants take shifts breaking in your patient. > He can't be allowed to rest. Sleep would allow his mind to repair itself, it would let him steel himself for what's to come. > The treatment from this point onwards must be fast and brutal, leave no chance of rest. > Nonetheless, he proves himself impossibly resilient. No matter how long or brutal his treatment is, as soon as your *ssistants take a minute-long breather his mind returns, ready to curse them all. > No patient has ever resisted this far. > Still, you have more cards up your sleeve. You know, for instance, he can be made temporarily dazed when the new dosage hits. Even if he immediately reacts against you, a human, for a brief while he is compliant with Bill's questions. > On the following day you go down to the bas*ment again. > Before you arrived Bill has interviewed him about his childhood — using his own d*ck as an incentive. > When you arrive Bill is just starting the next stage. > "I'm afraid you are misremembering your own childhood, soldier." > He looks up to you and Bill, and for a moment you see again the proud elite, the cold-blooded killer radical, although this time there is no simmering anger. He is destroyed and he knows it, now he's only trying to hold on to the last shreds of what he has left. > "Please, don't do this to me... Not this..." > "It is my duty as your commanding officer to make sure you are healthy, soldier. Are you questioning your superior?" > Zako's eyes battle for lucidity. He knows what you are doing, he knows this is his weak spot. But knowing won't save him, little by little his lucidity gives in to moments of weakness again. > "Sir..." > "That's right. You are gravely mistaken, soldier. Your "family," if I could call it that, abandoned you in my care when you were a juvenile. You are the son of a wh*re and a traitor who fought against the Prophets, that's what you are." > "But... I've fought *for* the Prophets..." > "You are mistaken once again, soldier." > You caress your elite patient — run a finger around his c*ck, trail it down to his hole, poke and prod it gently, pry it open and see how he gapes. It sends shivers all the way through his body, pushing what is left of Zako's mind deeper and deeper. > "I raised you, we raised you after your family abandoned you to die. And this is how you repay my charity and love?" > Your voice alone makes him convulse under your grasp. He pushes his rear against your hands hoping, dreaming you'll ravage him. > "Are you such an ungrateful b*stard that you have no love in your heart for the father that raised you?" > But he does not speak. What is left of Zako's mind clings on to his memories, to the childhood he knows he had. > You slap his *ss. By now he's learned well to *ssociate the pain with ple*sure, and each slap drowns him further. > "Sir...!" > You keep at it until his cheeks are raw, with each hit his *ss relaxes further as if expecting your inevitable invasion of his most private place. > "Sir!" > "Do you have no love for your commander?" > "I... I love you sir!" > "Say it with me: my family abandoned me." > "My... my family abandoned me!" > "Tell me your story, soldier!" > "My family... abandoned me! My commander raised me, and I love you, sir!" > "And you belong..." > His training under your hand kicks in, and before his conscious mind can react he is going down the mantra you taught him. > "I belong to you in body, mind and soul! You are my god!... and my father." > "That's right. And you are being punished here because..." > He draws a blank. His mind is too jumbled up to come with an answer. > "Because you rebelled against everyone who loved you, soldier. You rebelled against the humans who raised you!" > But then... Something cracks in him. You pushed too far and now he struggles against his bindings. > "Please, no, let me go! I hate humans! Don't... don't do this to me..." > You plunge your d*ck into his hole, into that sweet embrace which he no longer controls. His body has given in completely by now — it is eager for your invasion. And his mind shifts and turns in your favor as well, working to silence whatever is left of that rebellious voice inside the patient's head. > He starts crying as you ravage his body, mind and, finally, soul. > But it can't last long. With each tear and second that p*sses the memories of why he was crying in the first place leave his mind. It isn't long before he's crying out in ple*sure, grasping about for his lost thoughts. > "Father... My father was... I wasn't... Was I...?" > "I raised you, ungrateful b*stard..." you tell him. > "I...I hate humans... It can't be..." > "Listen here, elite. I can do much worse than this. What is your name?" > You punctuate with a thrust, sending the elite just enough over the edge to comply with your question. > "Zako... Zako 'Dragum!" > "No, that's a sangheili name. Your name is Zach, Zachary!" > The elite sees through your charade, he knows what you are about to do. And for a moment pride swells in him, that this time he is lucid and will be able to hold on to this essential part of his self. > And indeed, he does... For a brief while. > You keep f*cking him for ten, twenty, thirty minutes, repeating the same question... > Until his mind slips away and he no longer can readily answer it. > And then you do it — you remind him of his name, how you raised him, how you loved him. > "I raised you properly, soldier, but you have a fire in you. You tried to seduce your own father, and ever since then I've been punishing you, putting you in your proper place. You are a vessel for my c*m, now. This is what you wanted, soldier." > It only lasts a moment — the conflict in his eyes rages, but they go hazy and the entirety of the elite's body relaxes under your grasp. > There it is. His soul, his mind, yours to rape and destroy. > "This... This is what I wanted..." > "You are a wh*re, my wh*re, just like your mother. And you are happy here, with the man you love." > "The man... I love my commander... My body and soul and mind... You are my god... You raised me, my mother was a wh*re, I belong to you in body, mind and soul, my god... I am a sl*t for you, a vessel for your c*m... I belong to you... I rebelled against my god, and I'm being punished... My name is Zachary... My commander is my god..." > Just as he loops back he starts convulsing around your d*ck. It pushes you over the edge and with a final mind-breaking thrust you dump your load inside his eager guts. > "Father... Thank you for breeding me... You are heavenly..." > You did it. You broke him, finally... > But... > As you are cleaning up the sangheili keeps his eyes on you, and little by little drops of resistance return, even if clouded by his decreasing capacity to think. > "No... You can't..." he mumbles. "My father wasn't a human... I must... hate humans." > You are about to call your *ssistants to discuss this exceptional case when you are interrupted by his continued ramblings. > "My mother was a wh*re, my father a traitor, my commander raised me... I tried to seduce him, I became a vessel for his c*m... I belong to him in body, mind and soul. He is my god. He is like me, an elite, he can't be a human. Please bring him back... I feel so empty... Tell father Zachary needs him..." > Well, well... > Perhaps you aren't so far from success, after all. > It's been seven days of treatment. Longer than any elite has ever been through. > Zako has been f*cked non-stop by you and your team of five elite *ssistants. When none of you had the energy for it you used the automatic f*cking machine again. > A lesser sangheili would not have survived this sort of punishment. But Zako was bred for greatness. > No matter the dosage that was pumped in him and how much he reacted during the throes of ecstasy, nothing so far had managed to extend that compliance to humans after s*x. > On the sixth day, after what must have been his 80th f*cking, you and your team left him overnight, being f*cked by the automated systems. He still rejected you as his commanding officer and would reject any of your advances if he could see you. > On the seventh day it would change. You were determined to break him. > You came alone this time. Zako looked at you with his hazy eyes, nearly completely broken and hopeless. Something inside his mind still tried resisting, but it was drowned out by everything else. > You injected the dose yourself, the highest yet. In minutes Zako's eyes were completely dulled and he writhed under your touch. As his consciousness faded he pleaded. > "You... you are going to kill me! Please, don't... Don't make me..." > "Give in, sl*t. Say it! Say you are a human's b*tch!" > "No... Please, don't destroy me..." > With no care you invaded his hole, digging your nails into his flesh as his body convulsed around your d*ck. The elite's crying ceased quickly as his training took hold of him. > "My god is breeding me... You raised me, my mother was a wh*re, I belong to you in body, mind and soul, my god... I am a sl*t for you, a vessel for your c*m... I belong to you... I rebelled against my father, and I'm being punished... My name is Zachary... I am father's sl*t..." > "Zachary..." > "Yes, father?" > "Why do you resist me still? Can't you see your soul belongs to me?" > mo(a)ns > "Father... I am afraid of what comes next. These thoughts keep eating away at me... I want to be yours but I'm afraid of the voices..." > "My soldier... I can wipe it all away for you. Is that what you want?" > "I... The voice is telling me no... I shouldn't... He hates humans..." > "I know just what to do, soldier. Do you trust your god?" > "Yes, with all my soul..." > "Then let the voice take over one last time, and I'll squash it." > The patient's eyes go dull for a minute as his mind battles it out, but slowly you see the anger and hate rising up to the surface a final time. > He knows what you are about to do. And here, in this final moment, there is only fear in his eyes. > "No... Please, no... Don't do this to me..." > "You are over, Zako. There's room for only one soul inside this c*m vessel, and my son Zachary needs a home." > Finally you deactivate his c*ck ring, allowing him to c*m, and as soon as that happens he feels the rush crawling up his spine. > With a final thrust you push him over the edge — after a never before seen spree of drugs and s*x, Zako was allowed to relieve himself with your d*ck ravaging his hole. > His scream is cut midway through as his body goes limp, only for his d*ck start spewing — first a clear, continuous stream as if he was spewing. It drizzled down to an almost stop, but then a measure of life returned to him — his back arched as a shot of spunk flew off, then another, and another, and before you know it he's locked in a silent convulsion as his c*m coats his body and even pools on his open mouth. > You ride out the elite's *rgasm with your d*ck inside his twitching hole. This is it, you know it. > This time when you go around him he does not react. His eyes are glazed and his mouth has a pool of his own c*m. > You deactivate his restraints, and he remains on the table, at most only twitching. > But then... he swallows, and his tongue snake's around for more. > You walk back to his read and see his hole tightening to hold your load inside. > You put your d*ck in front of his mouth and the elite's husk took it. > His eyes were empty — at first. His mind was gone. Only his c*cklust remained, until... > There is just a tinge of familiarity as his eyes focus on you. > "Father... The voice is gone..." > You caress your new *ssistant's face. "It's ok. He's gone now." > "Have I... Have I done well? Have you forgiven me for rebelling?" > "Yes, Zachary. You did so well." > The elite relaxes at last — even if his eyes are now on your d*ck, his jaw cl*cking in anticipation. > "I live to serve, my soul is yours..."