Editor's note: this fictional work contains scenes of fictional mind control, rough, reluctant, dubiously consensual, consensually non-consensual (CNC), or non-consensual sex or scenarios.
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Dear Reader,
The following is a work of erotic fiction and may contain content that is unsuitable for sensitive readers. This story contains non-con, and other potential trauma cues. Any resemblance to real people or entities is unintentional.
This story also contains themes of science-fiction, dollification, and human furniture. Accordingly, I ask that the reader forgive the liberties I took with popular medical science. Whether I write sequels will depend on this entry's reception.
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Sitting in the back of the lecture hall, Harry Tonelli stretched his arms in front of him, then twisted himself to each side. He was proud to have stayed awake for the first hour of his most boring semi-weekly course. But doing so was not without struggle. As a collegial rugby player, Harry hated sitting still for long periods. His muscles would cramp, his legs would jitter, and his mind would wander to the world outside.
This tendency was unfortunate. Harry's continued athletic scholarship required at least a semi-respectable grade point average. This required Harry to pay attention during his lectures.
Within the first hour of each lecture, Harry would feel his powerful thighs and glutes tightening up. Accordingly, he usually found some excuse to stand up and stretch himself: Dropping a pen across his desk, needing to grab his laptop charger from his backpack, or even leaving to go to the bathroom. His powerful chest, abs, and arms would tense and cramp unless Harry periodically stretched and moved himself.
Harry knew that his daily soreness was a natural consequence of his intensive weight training. Harry further knew that this inconvenient tendency would be ameliorated if he simply stretched more after training. But sitting in the back of his course on 'Current Advancements in Biotechnology,' Harry endeavored vainly to limber himself up without causing a scene.
Harry's focus returned to Professor Canterbury, who continued to droll along while prodding the specimen on his table, which sat at the front of the lecture hall. The professor preferred to stand behind the podium. His lean, 6'4" frame forced him to bend deeply over the podium and accompanying table at the front of the hall. Accordingly, as he spoke, the professor would take turns running his hands through his dark, subtly greying beard and bending down to turn the pages of his notes.
The professor spoke with a monotone, but deep, authoritative timbre. Though he'd lived in Boston for several decades, his unique accent portrayed a life living between London, New York, and Berlin. Several of his students had commented that the professor's cadence and pronunciation were reminiscent of the 'Transatlantic' accent of silver age Hollywood.
Professor Canterbury was fond of bringing physical specimens to his 'Current Advancements in Biotechnology' in class. That these specimens were often grotesque—even bordering on the macabre—was of no consequence to him. Much to the dismay of the more squeamish students, today's exhibit was a live laboratory mouse.
"The specimen is fully conscious," the professor continued, "But the chip implanted into the back of its neck has separated its higher decision-making functions from its automated functions. Thus, the brain's automated activities—most importantly, breathing and organ operation—are controlled only by the subconscious, as if the specimen were sedated or asleep. By contrast, the specimen's sensory functions are fully intact. In short, it can see, hear, smell, feel, and even taste everything around it. But the specimen cannot do anything on its own volition."
Murmurs rumbled across the room. Harry could tell that the tone of the students' reactions ranged from fascination to disgust. Harry felt empathy for the little mouse. Stuck in a desk that was too small for his hulking, muscle-bound body, and wanting nothing more than to leave the classroom to play rugby with his mates, Harry felt similarly trapped.
"What's more," the professor continued, "I have injected the specimen's muscular system with a recently patented chemical cocktail. We discovered this combination when researching treatments for degenerative muscular disorders. When injected into key points throughout the muscular system, the muscles become taut while remaining pliable by outside forces. Accordingly, the researcher can pose the specimen in whatever position is needed for the experiment. Perhaps most importantly, the chemical cocktail allows the specimens to stay motionless for days at a time without causing adverse effects on blood circulation and without causing muscular atrophy. To oversimplify, the specimen could be conceptualized as a living, breathing, pliable doll. A researcher can pose or reposition this doll at their convenience."
To demonstrate his point, the professor picked up the mouse in both hands, gently repositioned the mouse such that its limbs were positioned slightly differently, then set the mouse back down. The mouse kept this position without moving. The professor then gently bent the mouse's back, lifted its legs, and set it on its behind, as if it were sitting like a person. The professor configured the little creature into a few more poses before settling on an awkward face-down pose.
Harry could infer which of his classmates were more conscious of animal rights and well-being by the dichotomy of faces around the room. Some of the students looked intrigued while fervently taking notes. Others removed their hands completely from their pens or laptops, staring at the professor with concurrent shock and terror. Others still looked bored, lazily scribbling notes.
"Finally," the professor ignored the responses from around his classroom, "Because the specimen does not need to move its muscles, we've slowed the specimen's metabolism considerably. The subjects can be kept alive by being injected daily with nutritious saline to keep them hydrated and to provide sufficient calories for brain function, blood circulation, and basic life-preserving organ functions. But they produce practically no bodily waste—that is, there is no urine or feces to clean up—and there is no more need for oral feeding."
The professor looked at the clock. Realizing that time was short, the professor set his notes next to the dollified mouse, took off his glasses, and looked around the room.
"I've been speaking for a while. We've covered quite a bit regarding advancements in the maintenance and control of laboratory mice. Does anyone have any questions before we end?"
One hand shot up toward the front of the room. Harry recognized it as Cameron's. Harry had found Cameron to be one of the hotter girls in his section. And Harry admired her for her outspoken social justice-minded stances in class, as well as the activism she took part in around campus. But Harry also perceived her as more of a "performative ally"; as far as Harry knew, the girl never participated in a single protest or organizing role without a slew of social media posts advertising her involvement.
"Professor Canterbury," Cameron spoke up before being called upon, "What about the ethical questions that the use of laboratory animals brings up? Especially where we're PARALYZING these poor things so that we can pose them like dolls and run experiments on them?"
The professor blinked, looked around the classroom, and then at Cameron.
