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Extra Work Required - 2

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For Heru in the "Re-Education Facility" universe, featuring a rather interesting prison and its most unruly inmate in a tricky situation. Hope you'll find this a fun tale, and I look forward to your feedback!

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Director Crocker looked at the pair of lion and the dragon scientists standing by the window of his office, and had the distinct feeling that the men seemed somewhat out of place in these surroundings. Indeed, doctors William Walsh and Jupiter Tabard appeared slightly disheveled in their white coats and pocket protectors, and perhaps intimidated by their presence of the man who in the end was the one who decided whether they'd get paid for their work or not.

"You are very welcome here," said the drake, "I know you do not visit very often."

"We don't have a reason to, sir," the lion said," not to mention that our duties keep us very busy on our own wing of the facility."

"Quite, quite," Doctor Tabard said.

Director Crocker smiled to the dragon in a bit of species familiarity, and nodded towards the window.

"Do look down there, if you would," he stated.

They stepped slightly closer to the large pane windows before leaning over to glance upon the yard opening below them. The outdoors areas they had a vantage point to were not really open in the full sense of the word, being covered by an airtight glass roof in order to maintain the negative pressure and to contain the pheromone contents in the air that were designed to maintain the harmony of the prison population with one another. Even through this slightly reflective cover they could see the mostly nude men mulling about the yard, out to enjoy their free time in peace.

"That is what I want to see," Crocker noted," I am sure that it is the greatest wish of everyone in this prison, whether they work here or stay here as inmates. It is our goal, is it not?""

"Yes, sir," Doctor Tabard replied, "that is what we attempt to accomplish here. To re-educate and rehabilitate."

"To give everyone a chance, and to protect the people, sir," Doctor Walsh concerted.

Director Crocker gave them a faint smile.

"So, hence I have to ask you again...of course...what shall we do with Douglas Wenton?" the dragon stated in a polite yet obviously demanding timbre.

"The new functional MRI and bloodwork results are indicative of what we suspected before," Doctor Walsh said, "while the physiological conditioning is certainly having the desired effect, as of current the response is not enough to overcome the psychological resistance to the treatment."

"It seems that the glutamate release patterns - "

"Doctor Tabard," the Director cut in with a trill and his own comments, "I appreciate your professionality a great deal, as you know, but hearing about the biological faults present in inmate Wenton's central nervous system is not productive to this discussion unless you can provide me with answers on how we can help him as well."

"I apologize," the dragon stood back.

"Thank you," said Crocker," Doctor Walsh?"

"Iit is a complex issue, sir," the lion said, "while the testosterone stimulation and the pheromones have been having an effect on his sexual function, the oxytocin release in the hopes of creating comradeship and reduces aggression and anxiety have not had the effect we hope for."

"Creating a situation that is quite dangerous," Tabard added "increased sexual appetite without the positive aspects of the conditioning programme."

Crocker's own cock began to swell in his vent despite the seriousness of the topic. The idea of permanent sexual arousal and desire appealed to him, even if in this case it had literally driven the horse almost insane and into dark aggression.

"Do you think it was a mistake to keep him among the general population in the wing?" Crocker asked. "It was ultimately your responsibility, after all."

The two scientists exchanged glances before returning their attention to the dragon in front of them.

"We believe it was the correct decision at the time, sir," Tabard said, "he was showing good response to the treatment on the previous stages. Increased sexual appetite, reduced anxiety and aggression..."

"He was carefully monitored throughout, including while on the D Wing as well," Walsh noted, "he was not showing many signs of adverse reaction, not in his daily and weekly reviews."

"And the staff reports?" Crocker demanded. "The guards watch them throughout the day, you only meet them for their medical reviews. Their relationship with them is entirely different."

"We know that, sir," Tabard was defensive again, "and the staff are required to file in their observations about each inmate daily at the end of their shift for later review by their personal duty physicians to monitor their progress."

"And none of this data might have indicated that inmate Wenton was about to...freak out?" asked the Director.

"He is a pathological liar," Tabard replied, "while the treatment can improve his behavior and suppress certain negative behavioral patterns, it has very little effect on pathological issues of the psyche. Usually there is a marked reduction in the aggressive behavior, but..."

"But he freaked out," the Director smacked the floor with his heavy tail, "I think it's been well established that we know that this happened. Inmates and staff were either injured or put in danger. That cannot happen again, not with inmate Wenton or anyone else."

"We have had difficult cases before," Tabard noted. "We have dealt with them efficiently in the past, and I see why it would not happen now as well. There are things we can do."

"Special things," the lion doctor added.

"Hmmm..." Crocker rubbed his snout thoughtfully, "It will require a lot of special effort alright."

"We are ready to begin as soon as we have the word from you, sir," Tabard said. The drake sounded enthusiastic about the prospect while he addressed his fellow scaley.

"Of course," Crocker said, "you may use your discretion in this regard."

Tabard smiled.

"Oh yes sir!" the dragon trilled.

"Indeed," nodded Doctor Walsh.

Crocker gave them a further look before he turned his gaze to the exercise yard again.

"Yes..." the drake murmured, "yes indeed..."

*

Douglas Wenton, also known as the Brute, remained on the padded examination couch in his isolation room. All of his limbs, his hips and his torso were secured onto the platform with thick elastic bands that meant that he could breathe but do very little else. They'd given him something to drink with a straw when he'd asked for it but nothing else had been provided, and the horse has begun to grow more and more frustrated.

"You planning to starve me?" he yelled again, towards the mirror on one end of the room he suspected served as a secret viewpoint into the room, much like the cameras on each corner of the small space he occupied.

The horse huffed and nickered again, in his displeasure. He hated the place, hated what'd been done to him. His huge cock was still enclosed in the transparent plastic, and if he craned his head a little he could see it alright, flopped against his belly, turgid and untouched. He desired to stroke it, to orgasm in any way possible, like he'd been doing for weeks now ever since a strange lust had overtaken him. The Brute was sure that something had been done to him, maybe through the food or the water, to make him horny all the time. He had seen it happen to the others, jerking off constantly, and now, when they were locked up and unable to do so, and then proceeding to hump one another, pretty much.

The horse sneered at the thought. Something was going on with them, something strange that made even the hardened criminals, tattooed, violent, cursing, rough, yellow teeth, rap sheets as long as the New Testament, to become oddly feverish, gleamy-eyed, and all too touchy-feely for The Brute's liking. All those shoulder and butt pats, those smiles, shared bedding, the grinding in the showers that seemed inevitable when hot water cascaded over them and also stimulated their desperately aroused, often permanently hard cocks.

Fuck them all, the horse thought. Fuck this fucking place in the ass.

Not him, though, the Brute thought. He'd never joined that bunch. Let the faggots and desperates to cornhole each other all they liked, but not him -

The door into the room opened with a hiss and admitted figures in green clinical gowns and black gloves, their muzzles covered by black gas mask respirators with curling hoses lingering away from them. They appeared ghastly to the nervous stallion, especially with the rattling noises their breathing made with every exhalation. There were three of them, of indeterminable species and identity due to their outfits that covered them from head to toe and made it impossible to tell who they were. The thick, heady smell of antiseptic that permeated the room made even identification by scent something the horse couldn't try.

"Mister Wenton," one of them spoke in a rough voice.

They brought equipment with them, he could see, several stainless steel carts loaded with items he couldn't properly identify. The carts were parked next to the horse's bed. The Brute nickered and slapped his tail against the edge of the bed.

"What the fuck is going on here?" the Brute questioned the trio in his room. "This ain't normal! Or right!"

"You are the one who is not normal," the same, tall character spoke from the side of the horse's bondage bed," but do not worry, inmate Wenton, we are here to help you to get better."

The horse whinnied loudly.

"I don't want what you fuckers call help!" he yelled.

"I am sure you will change your mind very soon," the figure spoke in his deep tone. "Open the cage now, Doctor. Let's install the machine."

"What machine?" the horse shouted.

One of the green-clad figured stood by the horse's groin area and his black-gloved paws touched upon the plastic cage. It felt warm, from the horse's own body heat, and the huge meat that throbbed untouched within the confines of this transparent prison. The Brute let out another displeased snort, and tried to wriggle his hips away from the touch he considered to be an intrusion. The bindings did not allow him to escape from the touch, however, not while the nameless doctor manipulated the cage and employed his personal key to unlock the rings that held it in place, around the stallion's huge, churning balls. The Brute let out a gasp at the feel of the rubbery fingers touching his nuts - it'd been so long since he'd managed to rub one off that even this simple stimulation made his whole foot-long shaft to throb almost violently against his muscled belly. He tried to stay quiet, but couldn't entirely remain silent while some sort of a cold cloth pad was applied over his testicles to clean them, perhaps, the scent of a cleaning solution increasing even more.

"You better keep your paws off me!" the Brute huffed.

"This is for your own good," spoke the green figure next to him, "it is obvious that your serious sexual frustration is increasing your level of aggression, Mister Wenton. Hence we must relieve this tension so that you may feel more relaxed and calm."

The horse tried to kick and struggle, to no avail.

"Well I don't want to calm down!"

The green figure gestured at the third party in the room, near one of the equipment carts.

"Let's mask him. I believe it will be easier to proceed then."

"What the fuck!"

A black rubbery mask appeared in the strange man's paws, and it was quickly placed over the struggling horse's snout and head. It covered his entire face and muzzle, his eyes included, and its tight straps secured it firmly and indeed airtightly onto him. The horse's rapid breathing rattled out of two holes on the sides of the mask, the material stiff enough so that it did not balloon with his respirations .

"What are you doing!" the horse's voice was muffled and somewhat garbled, since he could move his lips only a little, constrained within the black, smelly mask.

"Hook up the gas leads and the electrodes."

A panel was opened on the wall and out of it a flexible metal arm was pulled out. Two hoses were clamped onto this same arm and they telescoped out of the wall compartment along with the extension of the arm, the tips dangling freely from the end that reached the head end of the table. The wordless assistant held the horse's head still while the taller figure attached the hoses onto the mask via quick release connectors that snapped onto place, with a click of the brass.

"FFFFFUUCKERS!" the horse's voice had become even more dulled now, by the thick material, now basically yelling through the pipes.

"Turn on regular air."

To the horse's relief, fresh air began to flow over his face at a constant stream, allowing him to breathe inside his claustrophobic head prison now. The cool air only brought a moment's respite, however.

"LET ME GO!" the horse argued. "STOP THIS!"

"You have relinquished your right to make that choice with your behavior and with your conviction by the the judicial service," the tall figure announced darkly.

Glue-on electrodes were slapped into place and connected with leads onto a computer unit, beginning to display the horse's heart function on a monitor that sat on top of one of the equipment carts.

"All vitals are normal," the tall figure spoke to his colleagues," proceed with the probe and the machine."

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" the Brute complained.

The tall figure gripped onto the horse's dong and lifted it up and away from his body. The huge cock stood as a mighty pole, throbbing in the gloved paw while its owner tried to struggle in his bondage.

"Lubricant here, please."

A nozzled bottle was handed over, and the entire shaft was covered with the glistening substance with a series of long strokes that left him very slick, and groaning into the mask from the sudden stimulation. The horse was so very pent up, even the unwanted contact felt surprisingly good and it made the dick pulse uncontrollably within the masked figure's grasp.

"Sleeve."

The device in question was a transparent tube over a foot in length, and wide enough that it could be slipped over the horse's big cock without trouble. Once through the opening on the bottom, the mottled pink and black shaft slid into the transparent, rubbery soft interior that squeezed and squished softly upon the horse's tool. The Brute tensed and his hips tried to jerk upwards, involuntary trying to thrust into the more than welcome tightness.

"Hggngggg!"

The device was strapped into place by a black rubber band, around the stallion's balls so that it stayed in position, even without the help of the combination of a wire and a tube that extended from the ceiling. The end result was the horse's cock standing fully upright, and enclosed in the mysterious device he could not see but he very well could feel it, the cool material rapidly heating up to match his body temperature.

"Looks good."

"it's standing by," the figure by the monitor said.

"The probe then."

The clear lubricant was slathered onto a black, rubbery item, with several bulbous sections along its length and a slim, soft tip for what was obviously planned to be easier insertion.

"Lubricate the anus and the rectum."

The horse heard these words, and went into a frenzy.

"FUHK!"

The Brute's tail was gripped to expose his muscled horse opening, and the blunt nozzle of the lubricant bottle was pushed against this newly vulnerable hole. A squeeze brought a cold injection of the liquid into his ass, a strange, alien sensation that made the horse bellow into the mask.

"Put it in."

The horse felt the probe press onto his asshole. The muscle stretched under the gentle but consistent pressure, and suddenly opened so that the very much slippery object budged its way in. The horse grunted, suddenly being filled in such an odd manner.

"HUEH!"

"All the way in."

The black probe was pushed all the way in, until the flare at the bottom stopped it from going any further. It was now buried inside the aggressive stallion's clenching rump, his taint forced open by the flare of the object.

"HOHUHUHH!"

"Now the hookups."

The tall figure's assistant procured two lengths of clear tubing that were carefully attached onto their installation points so that one tube extended from the base of the probe onto the top of the cylinder covering the stallion's cock, while the other reached from the opposite side of the cylinder and curled down to a little attachment nub on the front piece of the stallion's new mask. The tubing made the horse's setup to seem even more bizarre than before, as if he had been taken by aliens and now subjected to bizarre biological and medical experimentation at the hands of his captors.

They might even not have hands...

"Are we all set?" the tall figure asked from his colleagues.

"Yes, sir."

"Indeed."

"Now, Mister Wenton," the figure spoke again, "now we will make sure that you are intensely relaxed, receptive, and open to new possibilities. You'll find out just how much nicer it is to forego all that aggression and instead to simply relax and enjoy yourself."

The horse was barely listening. He was growing anxious, strapped on, masked, with strange violations upon the most private of his body parts.

"Hhumhphph!"

"Start the evaporators and the pump," the order was given now. "Let's give him what he deserves."

The horse tensed again. What would this mean?

He found out soon enough. The stallion felt a squeezing around his shaft, and with a kind of a lewd slurping noise the cylinder jerked upwards, tugging its soft insiders over the horse's excessively sensitive flare and the shaft of his cock. He groaned into the mask, and again, when the cylinder repeated its motion, time and time again.

"UGH!"

The trio watched how the milking tube began to bounce upon the horse's shaft, with the added stimulation of his testicles since the movements of the cylinder were transmitted onto his huge nuts by the strap that kept the device in place. It slurped and suckled on the horse's flesh with a relentless pace.

All this set the horse's whole groin into a frenzy of pleasure. His cock, his balls, and the weird pulses of pleasure coming from his ass as well when his hole clenched around the so-called probe lodged within his rear. These sensations were alien to the horse, who tried to push them out of his mind almost like out of his butt - yet he could not expel the toy, no matter what he would do.

"Pulse is increasing, as is perspiration," the fur by the computer monitor announced.

"I doubt it'll take very long for his first orgasm to come," came the reply.

The horse's pleasure levels only grew and grew, and quite suddenly his large, heavy nuts drew closer to his body and his jerking shaft began to spurt huge globs of cum into the still suctioning cylinder over his cock. Droplets of white nectar could be seen upon the transparent collection reservoir on the top, momentarily, before the fluid pressure and the up and down motion of the cylinder forced the horse's spunky offering into the tubes curling away from the milking machine.

The horse groaned, almost blinded by the climax that was his first one in several weeks. His pent-up seed was swallowed continuously by the milker, and ever more of it flowed out of his prostate and his nuts. The produce was truly prodigious in amount, and yet the stallion produced more, his body working to reduce the incredible tension that had been let to grow on its own.

"There'll be no wasting of your precious seed," the horse heard the gruff declaration, even through the pleasure that still washed over him. "I am sure this will be quite novel, but it will be of benefit to you."

The Brute was blinded by his mask and could not see the contraption that he'd been connected into, but the onlookers could very well observe how the stallion's cum filled the tubes leading away from the milker and approached the end points, one inside the horse's ass and the other upon his maw.

Still the milker worked on, and the pressure that generated pushed the liquid in soft dribble into the stallion's rear and several globs onto his tongue as well. The horse let out a surprised nicker when he felt the thick, hot droplets fall, yet he was forced the swallow when they slid onto his tongue and began to pool on the back of his mouth.

The Brute knew the flavor, recognized the scent that assaulted his sense. The tangy, slimy substance covered his tongue and made him taste only but himself.

"Tone down to maintenance setting, we'll have to see how he responds to the refractory phase," the tall figure ordered. "And continue the oxytocin and pheromone spraying. We'll see when we have to activate the vibrator to produce even more prostate stimulation.

The horse huffed and grumbled, his oversensitive cock still being slowly jerked by the untiring device covering him. His sweaty chest heaved with the breaths that unbeknownst to him transmitted strong pheromone-laced air into his system with every guff he took.

"You'll be very relaxed, soon, Mister Wenton...simply relax and enjoy the ride..." the previous gravely voice noted.

*

Behind the one way mirror, Director Crocker was all smiles when he saw Doctor Tabard, the tall green-clad figure, give him a stealthy thumbs-up while he hovered over the post-orgasmic horse.

The drake let out a pleased trill of his own.

It had begun.

*

Thank you for reading! I hope you had a good time, and I look forward to your feedback! Hopefully you remember that besides the comments, votes, faves and watches will help others to find these stories to enjoy as well!

Cheerio!