A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Eight - Electrical Banana (It's Sure to be a Sudden Craze)
Rated: R+ (sexual) - FINALLY!
Warning: Kids, Do Not Try This At Home! The side effects of Electronic Muscle Stimulation are *sometimes* as described. Sort of. Involuntary responses can be painful. Think muscle cramp, not sex. EMS is a serious rehabilitation tool. No reputable therapist would use it for entertainment. Consult your own health care professional.
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Napoleon and I are dressed - in a fashion - and we have finished all the juice. Television is possible, but frankly makes my head ache. There is no chess set. I am looking for a deck of cards when this morning's orderly returns, along with Ragsac and two other bruisers. Oh well, at least I had breakfast.
They are polite enough, but *very* insistent. Napoleon signals 'go along'. We do not know where we are here. Perhaps a better chance to escape will appear as we are moved. That often happens. I concur.
Unfortunately, we travel only as far as the end of the hall. A fair sized room holding a large steel tank, two padded tables with straps, surfaces covered in plastic. This does not look good. Several more large men in green are there, along with a Asian woman. I hate when it's women. There always do the most damage.
They walk me to one uncomfortable looking table, and Napoleon to another. Even worse. I hate 'team sports'.
"If you could just undress?" The woman holds out a towel. "This will really be easier without the clothes."
"Do I have a choice?" I ask. Just in case.
She shows her teeth. "Not really."
Perhaps she wishes for psychological advantage. This entire scenario, I remind myself, is likely a psy-ops operation. I nod. It will make no difference. I have fought naked before. I wrap the towel around my waist.
"Sit down please." Courteous, but the woman is clearly in charge. She positions herself just in front of where I have been seated, and says. "Hold out your arms like this."
Shocked, I do so. Out, up, forward, bend.The exercises are reassuringly familiar. Perhaps this is not T.H.R.U.S.H. after all.
"Not your first time for this?" She asks.
"I'm familiar with the concept."
"Excellent." She starts another series of moves. "It's always more effective when people know what to expect."
Napoleon shadows my moves at the next table. His trainer is one of the bruisers. Perhaps the nurse was being truthful when she said the staff had been warned about his charm.
The movements are not easy, and I am beginning to reconsider the prospects that this might indeed be torture - all be it in a strange form - when the third 'therapist' calls out. "Time."
She points to the man standing in front of Napoleon. "Hot tub."
The other man helps open the freestanding steel tank surrounded by pipes. The water is bubbling , and I catch the sheen of oil on the surface. I tense as they guide Napoleon over. Boiling oil is a very nasty thing. Napasha touches the surface, sighs, and slides in. Obviously, it is not unendurable.
The dark-haired woman turns back with that smile that I do not trust. "And for you, Mr. Kuryakin, we have something really special."
I follow her through a door into a much smaller room. One 'couch', flexible interrogation lamp, and a large device topped with cables. One pillow and a small blanket folded neatly on the only chair.
"Given your background, you should appreciate this."
I consider an escape, but...there are no visible restraints. And Napoleon is not in a good position. And we still do not know where we are. So - I glance at the wires. Very thin. They would break easily. And the door has no lock. Decided. If I see no restraints I will cooperate. For now.
"Lay down," she directs.
I do, sliding the pillow under my neck.
She opens the drawer and removes a small tube of thick gel. She smears it on the contact pads. I was right. Electricity. The size of the pads match the reddened spots I had observed in the shower. But why would you torture someone in a coma? Sense memory? If torture was even what they had in mind, which for some reason I was beginning to doubt. Just a little.
"Huum..." She ran a finger around the marks on one shoulder. "Damage. I'll have to try some new sites." The thought apparently displeased her. She continues to hem and hum as she fixed the pads to my shoulder, arms and legs. Finally she removed the towel covering my groin. "Bad," she muttered. "Not enough..." I felt a bit insulted. Perhaps I was not in top form, but I had seldom before recieved *that* criticism. I was relieved when the finger poked again. Apparently she was referring to the red patches at the top of each hip. Better. I took no particular pride in my hips. After a few more thumps, she finally places the new pads slightly in.
"Stay still now. I wouldn't want the pads to slip." She turns to the machine. A red light flashes, then a green. I hear the hum, and feel a slight tingle at the contacts where the current passes. I observe a few twitches of involuntary muscle response. Nothing severe. "Tell me if this hurts."
Tell her what? I would tell her nothing!
"Here is the call button." She turns one more dial, covers me with a towel, and leaves.
I ignore it. I would not give her the satisfaction.
More green lights come on as the current gets stronger. There is a gauge on the side indicating voltage. Rather large numbers. Very large. The amperage must be low.
Very interesting. I watch my toes twitch with each swing of the needle. Standard neurological response. But why? To cause later sensitivity? The program seems unnecessarily complex. Treatment? I can think of no positive reason to wish one's limbs to jerk like a pithed frog's. Still, it is *not* unpleasant. I lean back. Not unpleasant at all. In fact? Another pulse, then a tingle, and I become aware of a movement below the terry cloth. I pull the fabric away.
The current has somehow shifted course. Interesting. I watch the needle swing and feel my cock contract in response. A very peculiar sensation, but not - I decide after some thought - in any way painful. Just...different. The sensation is centered at the root, almost in my balls. Not in the head as customary.
Strange, I decide, but not bad. Not bad at all.
The current has a rhythm of sorts, Two light jolts, one heavy. Then a pause. It is...erotic.
I lean back, pressing my thighs together a bit to ease the tickle in my balls. It helps - somewhat. But the pressure seems to intensify the contact.
Each pulse of current brings a certain numbness, so it is a while before I notice my cock beginning to fill. I watch with a certain detachment as it curls up, shading red, then towards purple as the blood swells the head. A drop of pre-cum beads on the tip.
The needle swings, and I feel a sharp charge slice up the underside of my cock. My foreskin pulls back in sympathetic response. Obviously semen is an excellent conductor.
With each pulse a new surge of blood presses against the sensitive head, reminding me of how long it has been since Napasha and I were safe in New York.
I would reach down, but the tangle of wires limits my movement. I do *not* wish to risk a sudden shock. Not at these levels. Not there. Not now.
Another surge. Shoulders twitch, thighs twitch, and half a pulse behind my cock twitches. I watch it jerk forward, each movement coordinated with the swing of the needle on the electrical machine. And with each twitch a new drop of fluid leaks out to catch more of the current.
I grip the side of the table, watching the needle and counting the surges that now seem to race solely to my groin. I breath deeply. I will *not* moan. This is *not* unendurable!
My balls jerk up, twisting in response to the electric waves. I close my eyes as a final surge of current sends a shower of seed splashing onto my chest. Clear and white. It looks healthy.
I taste a bit. Same as always. At least it doesn't *seem* burned. I decide that there has been no damage. And my release seems to have altered the circuit again. I watch my twitching toes with a sense of calm.
With the towel, I clean up as best I can. I still feel sticky. Perhaps I should ask to try Napoleon's tub. But how would I phrase the request?
A tap at the door. I roll the towel and toss it under the bed.
I have just steadied my breathing when the Asian woman enters. She looks at my now-bare body, and hands me a robe.
"Sorry," she says. "Were you hot in here?
END CHAPTER EIGHT