Subject 405 is a male human of 37 years of age. He has been housed in our facility in northern Montana for 152 days. As you can see from these images, he is healthy and fit. He experiences frequent sexual tumescence both when he is awake and (as in this picture) asleep. We've found that tumescence in sleep is normal in males of his species.
The chip we installed in his brain controls his sexual responses, with the effect that he has not experienced sexual release for the entire duration of his captivity. It has rarely been necessary for us to stimulate his sexual centers to keep him in a state of arousal - he seems to be naturally highly-sexed. That he is both emotionally and physically frustrated is plainly evident from this graph ...
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Captain Matthew Jordan, U.S. Army, completed his 200th crunch. He allowed himself to rest for a few minutes, sweating on the cold concrete floor. Then he drank some water, rolled over, and began to do pushups.
Matt didn't know how long he'd been imprisoned, naked and alone, in this windowless blank concrete cell. The recessed fluorescent lights never went off; he existed in a state of perpetual bright artificial light. He received food - granola bars, apples, corn tortillas, peanuts - through a hatch in the door, along with bottles of water. Whoever they were, they gave him more food than he could consume; he kept it stacked neatly in the "pantry," the corner farthest from the drain. The drain was his latrine. They also made sure he had soap and extra water, for washing.
He hadn't seen another human being, or heard another human voice, since he awakened here.
He was well-fed and treated, but subject to sensory deprivation and solitary confinement. Torture, according to the Geneva Convention, if it went on long enough. Matt had learned about its effects in the army: prisoners in could begin hearing voices, could lose track of reality.
Matt's restless mind had begun manufacturing violent, frighteningly vivid fantasies some time ago. Elaborate, wildly erotic fantasies of sex, agonizing because they never resulted in orgasm. Cruel, vengeful fantasies of torturing and mutilating his imaginary captors.
The sexual deprivation was the worst part. He didn't understand it - they must have done something to his head - but he couldn't masturbate. If he was hard, he couldn't touch himself; he couldn't even rub up against a wall. He hadn't come, not so much as a wet dream, in ages. Not that he didn't want to. Jesus, he had nothing to do in here but think, think of all the things he wanted - and, as time went on, he wanted two things. To fuck, and to murder his captors.
He could still tell the difference between fantasy and reality. So far.
Physical exercise was the only thing keeping him sane. He'd tried leaping up to break the lights, but they were housed behind thick plastic shields, and the ceiling was too high for him to gain any purchase on them. He'd tried shouting, pleading, feigning illness, refusing to eat. Nothing had ever garnered any response.
The hunger strike was a bad idea anyway, he'd decided. He needed to be in good shape if he was ever going to escape from this place, wherever it was.
And he would escape, he told himself, grunting slightly with each push-up. He allowed hatred for his unseen captors to flow into his veins and muscles, turning his boredom, loneliness, and frustration into hot venom. He would escape, and he would come back, and he would slaughter every one of the bastards. Whoever they were.
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Day 153. Subject 405 is continuing his regimen of callisthenic and aerobic exercises. Crew G is in place in a nearby cell, and a heavy snowstorm has been forecast for tomorrow morning. Blackout is scheduled for three hours after dawn.
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Matt lay on his back in the corner of his cell he had designated as his "bedroom." He closed his eyes against the bright light, and saw the glowing red of the inside of his eyelids. Inevitably, he longed for human touch, and his cock began to grow and throb. "Damn it," he whispered. He imagined reaching down, grabbing his shaft in his fist, stroking up and down. His hands didn't move. He strained for it, but nothing happened, except that he became hard as a rock. A bead of moisture seeped out of the tip of his cock. He imagined that he weren't alone, that a woman was there to take care of his need - she would stroke him, rub him between her breasts, lean down and suck the head into her wet mouth. No relief. Pain, a constant companion, spread out from his testicles and radiated through his pelvis. He groaned.
Then the red light in his eyes disappeared. There was a loud click.
He opened his eyes. It was dark. Pitch black. For the first time in God knew how long, the lights weren't on. A power failure? Matt got to his feet, feeling dizzy and disoriented. He held the wall for support.
There was a little light, though - a thin vertical wedge of gray against the blackness. After a moment, he realized what it was:
The door to his cell was open.
A power failure. The lights were out. The electronic locks on the doors had failed - that was the sharp click he'd heard. He went to the door, which was standing ajar, and looked out into a dim corridor. It was daytime. There were narrow windows high above his head, giving him a view of a stormy gray sky, lighting a long, featureless concrete hallway. Matt looked up and down the corridor, hesitating in the doorway.
He was naked, alone, defenseless. Afraid to leave his cell.
"Get a fucking grip," he snarled at himself. This was his chance. He turned back to his cell, grabbed a bottle of water and a package of tortillas, and forced himself to walk out the door.
He turned right at random and began to walk, quickly, but not in a panic, his bare feet silent on the cool floor. His heart was pounding wildly with excitement; adrenaline was pouring through him. He forced himself to breathe deeply, to move deliberately.
As he passed the open doorway to another cell, he shoved it open, letting the dim daylight shine in. The cell was empty. So was the next one. He pushed the third door open, and paused. He didn't see anyone, but there was a store of food in one corner, like his own "pantry." This cell had housed a prisoner. Had they already left? He stepped into the cell and cautiously looked into the hidden space behind the door.
It was a woman. In the dimness, he could see that she was as naked as he was. She cowered in the corner behind the door, trying to hide her breasts with her hands. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
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Every effort was made to make Crew G attractive to Subject 405. She appears to be a young and fit human female, somewhat smaller than him (as is the norm with this species), with prominent secondary sexual characteristics. Some debate went into her features; standards of attractiveness among human females are highly variable. She is equipped with relatively large eyes, prominent lips, and plentiful hair, all of which are generally considered desirable in Subject 405's culture.
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Matt dropped his tortillas.
He hadn't seen another human being in so long, he was speechless. She was a vision of curvy bare flesh, tousled hair, huge dark eyes. Full breasts, inadequately hidden behind her hands; sweet thighs pressed together, a triangle of soft hair hiding her sex.
For a moment he didn't know if this was reality or fantasy. Lust surged through his body. He wanted to grab her and throw her on the floor, spread those thighs, bury his aching cock inside her. The need to escape was almost overridden by his intense desire to fuck her, hard, now. His hands obeyed him: he couldn't touch himself, but he could touch her. He reached for her.
She whimpered with fear. Belatedly, he noticed that she was terrified, shrinking back into the corner away from him. She was scared to death, staring at his big hands and quivering erect cock like he was her greatest nightmare.
Jesus. This was real, and he was not a rapist.
Matt stepped back, away from her. He managed to get back out into the corridor, and pressed his hands against the wall, head down, breathing hard. After a moment, he managed to say, "Come on out, honey. I won't hurt you."
