Author's Note: Based on characters from a series of similarly sick stories written by a friend (never posted online)


Wendy and her legion of very sexy, yet very twisted, friends led Jack from his cell down a long corridor. After nearly 10 minutes they arrived at their destination. On the door was a small brass plaque engraved only with the phrase "Capsule Room".

Having been held captive for five weeks now, Jack was weak from exhaustion and, despite his immense fear of his upcoming Lesson in Control, was unable to escape from the clutches of the tall and muscular nurses who held his arms behind him. He wanted to bolt from their iron-clad grips and run down the hall, diving out a window of The Clinic if needed, just to end this continuous series of horrifying sexual medical trials with him as the sole male subject. He didn't care that his mouth was gagged. If he was free from these insane women, he could run away into the nearby woods and remove it. Jack was not even bothered that he was completely bare and sporting a gigantic erection, maintained that way for over a month now by endless injections of Viagra and Levitra. These drugs were working overtime in a reproductive system that emphatically didn't need them. In fact, being a tad depraved himself, his treatment at the Clinic would have inspired a permanent hard-on even without this constant chemical enhancement, but his captors were never going to err on the side of caution. So, his penis was swollen to more than twice its usual maximum size and grossly discoloured.

Still, he was fighting through the feeling that his cock was about to be torn asunder, and even the urge to fuck each and every last woman in the clinic - all 1,442 of them - at least 100 times over. His mind was focused largely focused on his freedom. He could even stand being naked outside in the raw December weather. His determination kept him warm. Besides, it would only be a matter of time to find some clothes on a clothesline somewhere. As long as he was out of this place, this nightmare, he'd be safe.

Or so he thought.

In reality, only Jack's mind was buzzing. Alongside the administering of the misnomic erectile dysfunction liquid, he had also been fed a healthy dose of sedatives. His body was in such a weakened state that if he had been able to issue his defiance audibly - which the gag made impossible - it would have just induced a laughing fit amongst his captors. Inside his mind, Jack's absolute desperation to escape made him believe that he could fight off anybody, even the dozens of women surrounding him. But of course he couldn't. It would have been impossible even at full strength for Jack to have seen off all of these depraved bitches, let alone when he couldn't even stand up unassisted.

They hadn't even bothered putting him into any form of bondage (apart from the cock ring cutting into the base of his dick that kept his balls from leaking). There was no need to waste good rope and rubber on him at the moment. Lying face up on a gurney, the only part of him that seemed capable of movement was his cock, which pulsed angrily, desperately, pleading for attention.

Anyway, besides all that, what Jack did not know was that the massive windows lining the hallways of The Clinic were made of acrylic, not glass. Even if he managed the impossible and wrestled his way out of the hundreds of death grips in which he was held, a flying leap at the 'glass' would end with Jack merely bouncing straight back off into the arms of his guards. The only reward for his daring and athleticism would be some big bruises.

So, it was a good thing that Jack did not even contemplate any of this. Crashing through a glass window had become his only hope. And it was completely false and worthless.

Certainly, his captors had no second thoughts as they pushed their toyboy into the Capsule Room. All that was on their (much more sensible) minds was how exquisite his suffering would soon become.

Jack just about made out the key word on the door sign as they wheeled him into the room. His heart sank. 'Capsule'? That word only brought to mind cramped conditions, and usually underwater. He was close in his assessment, particularly the first part of it. Rows of women stood on either side of what looked like a glass coffin. It was about the most terrifying sight imaginable. They were going to bury him alive! He knew it.

As Jack was ushered nearer, he tried to scream out through the ring keeping his lips perpetually pursed. But his vocal chords had been severely underused of late and all that emerged was a dry wheeze. If his bladder and bowels had had anything in them, it would have soon been all over the floor. They tried to evacuate, but having been put on a strict fast over the past 12 hours, and having been thoroughly cleaned out with four bladder douchings and four enemas just an hour ago, there was nothing to come out, not even a small wisp of a fart.

Hauled to his feet, he tried to run, but if the two ladies holding him had let go, he would have just flopped to the floor like a fish. His chief tormentor Wendy, who stood next to the "coffin" wearing a blue leather catsuit that was so tight it almost revealed her shaved and powdered pubis through the material, took out a thick wire brush and held it up menacingly in front of Jack's face. In a flash, she dived down to Jack's crotch, grabbed his penis just under the purple head and scrubbed it as if she was trying to sand it down to a finer shape. For Jack, that was just what it felt like. Already especially sensitive thanks to the cock ring's effect, each bristle of the brush seemed to be a razor blade, chewing on a thousand nerve endings.

After roughly five minutes, Wendy relented. Not something she did very often. Standing next to him, giving him a good look at her award-winning svelteness, she uttered, "Now, Jack, calmed down? I hope so, because listen carefully."

"Ladies and... well there are no gents here. OK, ladies... and Jack. I give you the best Lesson in Control to date, The Capsule." With that she waved her hand across the clear casket-like structure beside her as if she were a hostess on a TV game show.

Looking more closely at the capsule, which had been turned upright, Jack now saw that it was more detailed than a coffin and not so well padded. Made of acrylic, its edges weren't at all straight. It was in fact a body suit. Jack, who had always had a more idealised sense of his body than was actually true, didn't register that it was shaped like him. In fact, exactly like him, the same squat height, the same portly dimensions. This was partly because it was missing a section on top for the head, but from his neck to his toes, it was a complete body suit in two halves.

For a moment, Jack believed it looked relatively roomy. His many years of midnight snacking were about to prove him badly wrong, but even if he had recognised the snugness straight away, he could never have imagined how cramped he was going to feel by the end of this treatment.

"Well Jack. What do you think?" asked Wendy. She left a pause as if Jack was able to respond. "Speechless? Well I don't blame you. We have been working with the mould-maker for weeks on making sure this was the absolute perfect fit for you. Do you know, I can't believe how generous we're being to you here? Why, it will fit you so well, you'll probably forget it's even there."

Naturally, in her faux naiveté, she had neglected to mention that Jack could never 'forget' he was wearing something he couldn't move a muscle in. Nor had she bothered to point out to him that the inside of it had been coated with five coats of pollen, extremely bad news for someone as susceptible to hay fever as Jack. Yet despite all of this, she continued with her claim that Jack was being treated like a prince

"In fact, the Capsule will be so extremely comfortable that we felt you'd have enjoyed what we had originally planned for you. So we felt we had to kick it up just a notch."

Jack despite his best efforts, wasn't a stupid person and didn't believe the Capsule would have provided him with a moment of comfort, but neither was he prepared for the full force of the torment ahead of him.

Wendy took the brush again and whacked Jack's inflamed cock with it, smack on the pulsing purple mushroom. For a split second, a couple of the bristles prised open his urethra. The sting went right up Jack's cock and spread throughout his groin, as he wailed behind his gag. Even his two bodyguards had trouble holding him as he threatened to collapse under them. In his throes, it emerged that this moment of corporal punishment was the cue to begin preparing Jack for the Capsule, as at that moment, one of Wendy's many assistants brought a surgical tube over on a metal tray.

This short but toned woman grabbed Jack's face and smeared his closed eyelids with a glob of the stuff from within the tube. Jack opened his eyes - and a few seconds later tried to blink.

He couldn't. That 'stuff' was surgical glue and his eyes had been fused open!

Sensing he was about to faint with fear, Wendy slapped him hard across both cheeks. "Don't you dare, fall asleep, mister! I work so hard to make a lovely surprise for you and ensure you don't miss a second of it. And that's the thanks I get? I don't know why I bother sometimes... That's it, I'm gonna make sure you get the full works of this contraption. You won't be released until you meet some small requirements now, sunshine."

Jack frantically tried to figure out how he was gonna be able to complete anything while frozen absolutely rigid. He soon realised he was about to find out that anything is possible.

Wendy extended her hand forward as if to shake Jack's. Instead, what she did next made even some of the watching women wince, though most of them cheered and laughed. With her extended hand, she grabbed another, danglier, softer, more sensitive part of her man and squeezed vigorously as though trying to drain a lemon.

Jack was already nearly hoarse and instead just wept. Having gone five weeks without an orgasm, but maintaining a permanently plump erection, his testicles had distended majorly with zillions of little Jacks and Jacquis fighting to escape. Even a breath on his balls would induce a dull ache. On the verge of rupturing in Wendy's choking grip, the pain shot out to every nerve in his body.

Even if Jack could have gathered his thoughts though, he probably wouldn't have had the sense to pray that his balls would break. He still harboured those delusions of escape and masses of hours of sex to get rid of his enormous build-up of spunk. Wendy of course knew better than to damage two of her most prized possessions. By this point in her life, she had perfected her 'iron claw', as it was known, and could keep Jack in this position for about 20 minutes if she desired.

There was no time for it now though. In fact, this was again a cue for the next stage of Jack's descent into the ultimate hell. Another of Wendy's assistants, a younger, thinner brunette, brought over another silver tray, on which, at two feet long, was the largest syringe almost everyone present had ever seen. A group that would have included Jack, if he could have seen what was approaching.

The stout woman took the syringe and the two ladies holding Jack up lifted his arms behind him (making sure to twist them into palms outwards first). There was only one clear target for the four-inch long needle and the pint of fluid it would deposit - namely, Jack's rump.

Turning her neck to look back at the assembled throng, Wendy spoke matter-of-factly. "I know it looks like overkill but it needs to be that long to get through the flab in Jack's butt. He always did put weight on in his ass before anywhere else. I mean, just look at the size of it on that capsule." Jack suddenly had a flashback to the many occasions when Wendy would slap his bottom and shout, "Hey Wide Load!" followed by some smart-alec remark like "You're crushing me over here!" or "Just go and take a dump man!" or "When's NASA gonna land their probe?"

This was an exaggeration of the truth. In reality, Jack had a very slightly bigger than average butt, but Wendy was sublimely cruel, drawing out even the slightest imperfection for the maximum humiliation. With the size of his ass now being mercilessly mocked in front of several dozen other misandrists, Jack would have blushed deep crimson but for two things. One, too much blood was being used to sustain his enormous hard-on. Two, his mind was sharply focused on a new pain - literally, as the entire needle was buried deep into his fleshiest area.

Once the full length of the needle was embedded deep in his ass cheek, the stout woman took her sweet time filling him with the contents of the massive syringe. Pressing only lightly - so as not to cause Jack to go into catatonic shock - it took a good five minutes to deposit the entire contents. Eventually though, Jack's butt had taken on every single drop. Wendy explained what the mysterious stuff was.

"Jack, your body has now taken on board a... er... buttload of a stimulant that will keep you wide awake, intensely alert and extremely sensitive as we proceed with this, your second Ultimate Lesson in Control."

Satisfied, Wendy released her grip on Jack's almost numb balls. Jack was now ready to be encased. As the onset of pins and needles surged through his genitals, Jack was turned around and placed into the back half of the Capsule. He realised straight away that it was indeed the definition of form-fitting. Every last pore of his skin was being gripped by the rubber interior. He didn't have long to mumble a complaint that the buttock area on this thing was a little tight before the front section was unveiled. Jack only just had time to notice that there was a small hole in the groin area before, with extraordinary precision, the two halves of the Capsule were fused together, his swollen, purple genitals lined up to pop exquisitely through the hole.

Wendy had actually been a little naughty with this part of the design. The hole was designed only to accommodate Jack's erection in its normal state, not the absurdly bloated caricature of a prick it had become under her care. Jack's own cock was being used as a vice on his balls as the three objects all fought to squeeze through the tight opening. Every silent pulse of his super-bloated penis squashed his balls (each stuffed with weeks' worth of cum) against the tough exterior of the Capsule, each throb causing his balls to sting harshly. Jack's own horniness was being used against him.

Checking that every fixture was bolted on as tight as could be, Wendy called for the two girls with the twine to make their move. Well versed with the material, they threaded strands of it through small hooks on various parts of the Capsule - two where his nipples would be, two on his back, one on each shoulder. The other ends were already attached to the nearest walls, ensuring that no matter how hard Jack fought against his ghastly imprisonment, it would never topple, or even budge.

Which was necessary, because not only was the pollen (which also contained a liberal sprinkling of the chemical found in stinging nettles) already beginning to take effect on Jack's pasty skin, but also the chemical stimulant was returning to him a sense of full physical alertness. In fact, it soon went beyond that. Every hair and every nerve Jack possessed was standing to attention, soaking up each individual molecule of its environment. A lot of which would irritate Jack's sensitive skin at the best of times. Within a minute, he was literally ablaze with itching.

Instinctively, he tried to move his arm, but obviously he couldn't. At the same time, his muscles tried to contract, his torso tried to curl up and his brain tried to get him to leap and dance around, find something to lean against and rub, rub, rub. Anything to sate the tremendous itching that now infected him entirely. It was an excellent way to test out the dehumanising capability of the Capsule. Robbed even of involuntary twitching, Jack realised he was utterly helpless. His dreams of escape were shattered. He was barely more than a consciousness imprisoned inside a human-shaped mix of sin and organs. And his punishment for that would be something he would never have wished on his worst enemy.

All he had left was his face, which remained exposed, unaffected by the pollen. But it was only a necessary illusion of freedom. His instinct was to try and cry out. Beg for mercy. But his tormentors were having far too much fun taking in the spectacle to give a damn. Jack's exposed face was just a tantalising advert for the girls, the only, but best, possible clue to his internal suffering. Having not been forewarned of the Capsule's interior linings, Jack's expressions as he realised what was happening to his skin had proved very entertaining, his eyes bulging out of their sockets in blind panic.

Even more deliciously though, having fought to regain some composure, he scanned those brown eyes around the room, looking to establish a connection with at least one of the 150 women present. He looked each and every one of them in the eyes. To a woman, they all met his gaze, and betraying not the slightest hint of awkwardness signalled, "Nope. You Are On Your Own."

Those eyes started weeping. His cries turned from desperate pleas for mercy into lamentations for a god he knew could not possibly exist. And then, thanks to a combination of his tears and his hay fever taking hold, his ears blocked up (setting up a painful case of tinnitus) and his nose ran. "Ugh!" cried Wendy, belying her experience as a practice nurse. She was used to far ickier things than this, but liked to pretend to Jack that he was the grossest person who ever lived, in order to keep his esteem suitably low.

She personally walked over to the chemical toilet cubicles in the corner of the room and grabbed some tissue paper. She trotted back to Jack, far from impressed. Especially because his addled brain was attempting to escape by slinking back to more animal traits, causing him to ogle her bouncy ass and her even bouncier tits, in what slight remembrance he still had of happier times when he was thrusting his stiff cock in between either of those pairs of delicious, fleshy, female orbs. When he was able to fuck her - or indeed anything - of his own free will. Not now though. Now, clearing snot out of his sinuses was the last act Jack would ever accomplish of his own free will, underlining his descent into a most pathetic specimen.

Wendy then noticed a puddle of another liquid was rapidly forming at Jack's feet. Her boyfriend's cock was really brutalising those balls of his in their intolerably tight confines. But that was working to slowly drain him. Even the cock ring he had on was beginning to lose the fight as Jack's genitals were inflating to an even angrier state. But their rage was no match for Wendy's.

"Don't... you... DARE... even... THINK... of... blowing... your... load... sonny!" she hissed, digging her nails one by one into his urethra in time with each word. Scratching the one part of Jack's body he didn't want her to, she set about inflaming the inside of his cock head, which started to swell up from inflammation as well as the Viagra.

In all, the sealing of Jack into the Capsule and his immediate reaction hadn't even taken 10 minutes. But if Jack had been able to guess, he would have estimated almost an hour. Time was already inching at a snail's pace and he had yet to encounter the most horrific part of this treatment. That was currently heading through the double doors at the back of the massive room.

Heading straight towards him was a metal tub on wheels. Not at particularly great speed, which unfortunately for Jack gave him plenty of time to examine it. He noted that it took five of the women to push it along and that they had to exert their petite frames quite harshly to shift it (though much of their strained effort was in fact only for show). He also noted that dangling out of the top of it was a section of hosepipe attached to a rudimentary spigot tap.

Displaying an almost miraculous mood swing, Wendy switched back to host mode. "OK, Jack now that you're acclimatised to the Capsule, we need to make sure you're properly refreshed."

He began to grasp what was in store for him, but still his mind couldn't grasp the sheer weight of the container. As it loomed ever larger in his field of vision, his heart started to race (bad news for his erect penis). He tried to avoid the sight. Unable to blink, or even turn his head, he was left with no choice but to stare at it, and attempt to compare its size with his own.

He knew whatever was inside that enormous tank would very shortly be inside something closer to home. Something, softer, flabbier, smaller. Something not designed to hold gallons of liquid.

"You're wondering what's in there aren't you Jack?" Wendy chirruped, as if the surprise would in any way delight the immobilised plaything already attempting to deal with about 147 different aches at once. "Well look, we have plenty of time before we get round to that. You always were an impatient sod, weren't you?" She paused her scolding to signal the arrival of yet more implements of male misery. Yet another assistant was wheeling into the room a surgical tray with two unmistakable silver, metallic items. Jack was grateful from the distraction of the tank for precisely 1.83 seconds. He immediately knew what was about to happen to him and despite having wrong his throat hoarse with his earlier pleading, tried again to plea for his release.

Wendy was now completely ignoring him. She picked up the larger, rounder object first and went round the back of Jack. In his plastic cocoon, the suffering man couldn't even quiver despite the knowledge that his body was no longer his own property, and that it was about to be vandalised still further.

"I'm sure you recognised what this is Jack," Wendy purred. "Awww, they just keep getting bigger and bigger don't they? " She turned back to the audience. "Now you might be wondering, 'how will she insert this butt plug into Jack's enclosed butt?' Especially one that's - she paused - "12 inches long and 2.5 inches wide at the base." She sultrily elongated her pronouncing the dimensions of the plug, allowing Jack time to contemplate the minutes ahead.

"Well, if you look closely, you'll see that the fat-ass section of the Jack Capsule is screwed on. So, we can detach it. If you want to have a look at this big old rump as it bursts free, then brace yourselves because it will be an even less pretty site than you imagined."

As she was rattling off this section of her spiel, two more assistants were busy undoing the screws in Jack's butt plate. As it came away, Jack's buttocks instantly spilled out into the fresh air, their mass extenuated by the capsule's tight fit on the rest of him. Aiding this effect was the fact that Jack's infected, intensely itchy skin had swollen inside the Capsule. There was absolutely not a spare millimetre of room inside. Unsurprisingly, Jack's sore and swollen ass-cheeks were also blotchy and red raw. Several of the women openly mocked the sight. And there was plenty to mock. Jack was in his most pathetically subordinate state yet.

"Now that's a plump rump! Looks good enough to eat! Oooh, don't worry Jack, we're not that cruel. We know it would taste foul. Especially with what we're about to put into it."

As she said those last words, Jack felt two gloved hands grab a buttock each. In his head, he prayed for even the slightest scratch of his inflamed derriere, but his assailants were too smart for that one. The next thing he felt was a small poking at his quivering anal orifice. The sensation lasted just a split second - but only because it was immediately replaced by the incredible pain of his entire colon being stretched and stuffed beyond its limits as the butt plug was rammed home.

Jack's colon spasmed furiously around its invader, which unusually was not moulded rubber but some kind of metal - some kind of cold metal. On the other side of his bowel wall, his already overworked prostate was given a sharp wake-up call.

Jack tried to scream, and his body tried to clench every muscle, attempting its best to fight against the pain. It was to be denied in every department, forcing Jack to focus on the sensation of the insides of his ass being torn apart. He had found his limit with these damned plugs. Sadly, that had come many moons ago with an instrument less than half the size of the one stuck up his quivering bottom at this very moment. Desperately trying (and failing) to compress the invader, and still unable to turn his face away from the next stage of his hellish descent, Jack was utterly defeated before the real fun had even begun.

"Now, Jack," continued Wendy, very much into her element now. She was about to move onto her pet topic as Jack's keeper, basic nutrition. "Even you can probably estimate as to why we have taken you up a level of your tight, sore ass." She turned round. "Believe me ladies when I say that it is absolutely imperative for the sake of our health that Jack's butthole remains airtight for the duration of our next exercise."

She wasn't about to reveal or even hint at the extent of that duration, but everyone - including Jack - knew it would not be a brisk experience for the man in the unyielding Capsule. On the previous occasions he broken into a new plug - or to be more accurate, it had broken into him - it would be quite a few hours before the extraction. And even then he had to wait until the flushing out of his colon before that could happen.

Jack's mind was ablaze again, with memories. The burning, the searing, the profuse sweating. The sweat reacting badly with the rubber that was constricting every angle of every muscle. All those most embarrassing muscles that so badly needed just to relax, to allow nature to take its course. The absolute, unending pain! Some of which, in this current immobile, all-over body crush, known as the Capsule, he was physically experiencing again, yet the Capsule was already worse than anything he'd ever known, even before his insides were brought into the equation. Oh yes, the memories were flooding back. Ironically in a not dissimilar manner to how his colon would be invariably filled with a gallon and a half of undiluted lemon juice. This Proustian rush was broken only by his noticing some frantic preparation at the top of the platform over the enormous tank in front of him. Copious amounts of some unidentified liquids were being poured into the drum without anyone bothering to check measurements or even labels. Instinctively, he knew what was going into the mixture. And broke down.

Though muffled by the giant gag in his mouth, Wendy heard the blubbing and turned back to her captive male. "Jack I don't think you want to be losing any more fluids. I imagine being locked inside that sweatbox Capsule is costing you pints by the minute, and you were looking pretty dehydrated before you even got into that thing." As usual, she was right. Jack's enforced fasting coupled with the previous day's thorough cleansings had left him somewhat emptier than normal. Ever since the gag had popped into his gob, he had been subconsciously gnawing on it, (or at least trying to) grateful for any satiation of his sandy taste buds.

"Just as well then isn't it?" piped up a black haired matron currently pouring a box of powder into the tank.

"Sorry, what?" said Wendy momentarily lost in a train of thought as she watched another of Jack's tears run down his face and then continued unopposed down the incredibly smooth surface of the Capsule. Down his sealed chest, past his enclosed stomach, narrowly missing his painfully purple, pulsing, spunk-filled gonads, right down to his entombed and bound feet.

"Just as well we're ready for stage 2", the 50-something plump woman confirmed, her eyes betraying a giddiness about the unprecedented levels of suffering that their captive would soon be experiencing.

"Oh, of course, sorry. Just got distracted for a second." Wendy shook herself out of her trance - mentally noting how easy it had been for her to do so in comparison to the only man in the house - and addressed Jack again. "OK, we're nearly all set, time for dinner." With that, she climbed to the top of the podium behind the tank and gestured behind Jack for yet another piece of apparatus to be wheeled into the chamber.

Slowly, a group of about 20 women were pushing and hauling an enormous video screen. They placed it just in front of the tank, pointing squarely at Jack, who suddenly realised yet once more there was always an element of his torture he hadn't planned for. As the hubbub of the effort to position the big screen died down, the hyperventilation of Jack's nostrils slowly replaced it as the loudest thing in the whole room, although that was quickly replaced by a loud guffaw from the female throng before him, marvelling in sadistic glee at the despair and fear they had reduced this immensely-bound male to.

Wendy forced everyone to quiet down so they could listen to all the acute sounds Jack was able to make. Slowly but surely, he fought against his entire nature to calm down and bring an end to the exquisitely humiliating sideshow he was generating. Even after his breathing had calmed down again, his pulse was racing. Even his heart was not feeling confined as the blood simply raced around his body, ensuring his painfully swollen cock and balls grew to even scarier proportions. His stomach acids gurgled with even more decibels than his breathing and his face went green.

"Oooh dear. You look - and sound - like you could do with a good meal Jack-o. Well, let us never say we don't treat you right. In a moment we are going to bring forth the most bountiful and the healthiest meal you have ever been served. And you won't have to move a muscle. Isn't that nice?"

She pressed a button on the podium, which triggered a peal of small bells at opposite ends of the room. Through three more sets of doors came a more than moderate number of two-tier trolleys, each loaded with a particular food. "See here Jack?" bellowed Wendy, gesturing towards the big screen below her, "take in the great feast, before you, er, take it on. All the kitchens have contributed something towards it." At that moment the screen flickered into animation and Jack got the shock of his life.

He could see the trolleys and more importantly, what was on them. Even without the sealant, he wouldn't have been able to turn away. Greeting him in 20-foot wide, 11.25 foot high, glorious high-definition was the most dazzling array of fruit and vegetables he had ever seen, so finely cultivated they looked freshly gathered from the Garden of Eden. There was a trolley of broccoli, a trolley of cabbages, one for marinating prunes, one for baked beans and one for...

Uh oh.

Instinctively, his prised-open and very sore bottom began to quiver around its portly metal invader and his stomach felt curiously less empty. Jack may have loved his veg, but he knew it didn't love him back.

"Getting the picture, Jack?" Wendy punned. "Yes, I feel this is due payback for all those times you nearly killed me with your foul eruptions. Practically the only fresh air I ever got in eight and a half years was those nights you were round banging that slut Sandy. If only you'd had better self-control over those years, Jack. You only needed to hold it back one, er, puff at a time. But oh no, you felt you had to share. Well mister, today it's all about to catch up with you."

With that, the view on the screen changed to the mass team of caterers. The final part of their prep was to commence. Together they each gathered a bowl from their respective trolley and formed an orderly queue. Behind them had also been wheeled a man-size blender. With Jack gagged, his food needed to be liquefied, but its digestive potency was not diminished, especially as it was being sprinkled with a mixture of disgustingly flavoured urine, blood and sweat from a menagerie of different creatures. Dogs, cats, horses, pigs, all the way down to frogs and toads had been mined for their most hideous fluids. All mixed in with raw human sewage. Unaware of this sickening detail, Jack's fevered curiosity was at least partly sated by the presence of the blender. He was not prepared for the revelation of the final mystery, but it was coming whether he liked it or... well, despite the fact he wouldn't like it.

"This just in, conditions to be a little windy tonight," wisecracked one of the younger girls as she absentmindedly tossed a family-sized portion of prunes into the mix.

"I heard we could expect gales of up to 70 mph," said a slightly older redhead applying the most hyperactive of ingredients, the humbly-attired Jerusalem artichoke.

"Now, now ladies," soothed their great ringmistress. "We will be completely safe. After all, we've made all the necessary reinforcements and... er... blockades." Having put the emphasis on the first syllable of this word, everyone burst out laughing again. Jack died a little inside at the none too subtle inference to his intimate, invaded, utterly stuffed rear end. And on top of that, his limbs, torso and neck were beginning to cramp up from their enforced paralysis. Utterly, maddeningly unable to ease the tremendous pain coursing through every single molecule of his body, his agony felt total. But it wasn't.

"Uh, wait a minute, Wendy," interjected a flaxen-haired tall woman, whose looks belied her age and wisdom. "I notice there's something we haven't defended ourselves against."

Of course, Wendy hadn't actually forgotten anything. "If you'll bear with us a minute, you will be most satisfied." She turned back to Jack. "Well, there you are, a meal fit for a king. King Henry VIII it would appear. Two gallons of a most revitalising tonic. Tuck in." A funnel was attached to Jack's gag and the container of the blender was detached and winched over to his face.

Jack tried his best to quake, but the Capsule was having none of it, remaining as solid as ever. In frantic fury he desperately tried to avoid contemplating how he would cope as the tonic swelled out his gut, let alone take deadly effect. He tried to savour the seconds, the last few precious moments he had of being sore only on the outside. Before a single drop was inside him. But he couldn't, and in a flash, the first drops of the tonic hit the back of his throat.

He nearly gagged immediately. His captors were ready for this and stopped the flow of the spigot. Wendy leaned in closer, right up to his face. "Jaaaaa-aaack," she whispered, her breath like a tiny puff of heaven to Jack's desperate sinus. "If you don't comply with our feeding, I will punch you in the balls so hard and so often you'll beg for them to be cut off, even though you know I won't be able to hear you? Comprende?"

Jack peered into her eyes, trying to understand the madness that possessed her. He took this opportunity to gaze right into her soul and establish just why the two of them were in their respective positions. All he wanted was a clue as to why his life had become a never-ending series of the most intense physical and mental torture, why he, a fundamentally, nice, decent, charitable man was being subjected to suffering unimagined in the history of the world. It wasn't forthcoming, so he tried to communicate his distress to her, reach out to the small, tiny, buried but undoubtable portion of her psyche. Basic human empathy. He silently pleaded for an understanding, a recognition that beneath this twisted and degraded approximation of a man, was contained an actual man. A real, live, breathing, conscious, sentient being - in immense corporeal and emotional misery.

And at that moment, Jack's engorged penis was savaged. Already itching like hellfire, his urethra was now made to expand to the point of annihilation as Wendy rammed home a half-inch wide sounding rod. As with the plug in his asshole, every last particle of air was forced back up his piss pipe as the rod split his cock wide open and after a solid minute of hot pain, eventually reached the opening of his bladder. With one last push, this tight, fleshy valve was torn asunder and the domed head of the rod clamped around it.

As the modified Prince Albert like arrangement at the other end was pierced through the tender flesh of the plum-shaped cockhead, locking it in place Jack's dick was totally stuffed and his mind had but two cogent thoughts:

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW! THAT. HURTS. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. MUCH!

And

THIS. IS. NOT. A. DREAM. THIS. IS. REALLY. HAPPENING! RIGHT. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!

"I knew you'd understand," beamed his tormentor-in-chief, though she couldn't resist the temptation to punch him square on the nose, fracturing the bone inside. "Fuckin' asshole," she grumbled as she stepped away. Somehow, Jack could help but peer at her leather-clad, perfectly formed butt. As the foul sludge began to flow into his mouth again, Jack gave in to the despair.

He hated Wendy. He utterly detested this woman, this sociopath. Who made every last moment of his existence - his one experience of this beautiful world - a hideous carnival of pure, unflinching, horror. Fighting a great and still growing urge to vomit, his stomach began to swell with the tonic, or at least tried to. The Capsule didn't even have to try, as it easily resisted Jack's belly's need for more room. As the liquid continued to pour into him, the sheer weight of it alone was awful enough. He felt at his wit's end. He needed to GET OUT OF THE CAPSULE. NOW! He needed to SWITCH PLACES WITH HER. He NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDED HER to SUFFER.

Yet however much he thought about it, reality just wouldn't comply with his stubborn demands. Every single millisecond carried a reminder that it was him inside the Capsule. Him whose gut was being filled yet had nowhere to go. Him who was, yet once more, in a whole new world of deep pain. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. HIM. HIM. HIM! HIM! HIM! RIGHT AT THIS EXACT MOMENT AND FOR ALWAYS, HIM!

In all, it took about 30 minutes for the container to drain into Jack. It was quite some time before that when the tonic started working. The combined efforts of all those gas-producing foods wasn't about to hang around and wait for an opportune moment. It never does.

With his stomach as full as it was, and every nerve so highly sensitised, each individual bubble of methane and nitrous oxide sent a sharp stabbing sensation through his whole midriff. His belly craved extra space but just couldn't get any. Robbed of that option, it had no choice but to inflate back the other way, squeezing his liver and pancreas into hideous submission.

Meanwhile he still had to swallow and swallow and swallow, his tongue forced to dwell on every last foul-tasting fragment. At least by the end of the drink, the majority of the gas had moved on to his intestinal tract but that only brought greater agony. The methane continued to multiply. Every square inch of Jack's digestive piping was being blown outwards and simultaneously compressed by another section. He knew he was going to explode.

Even as the head of the enormous fart train reached his colon, the tonic still wasn't done, provoking his tract into producing yet more and more of it. The entirety of his bowels were distended beyond imagination. And the gas just kept coming. For hour upon hour.

Back in the room, the watching hordes were agog listening to the incredible sounds emerging from within the Capsule, and within Jack. Starting off as small rumbly pockets, it had now reached the levels of a big cat's roar. A few dared to go behind Jack. But there was nothing to fear. The butt plug remained so firm it barely even twitched. Unlike Jack's butt, the muscles of his gluteus were literally dancing as every last one wrestled with intense cramping. For many the most incredible part was that Jack, totally sealed into the ultimate human prison, remained absolutely still, even as his body was clearly being taken to the extreme edge of its tolerances.

And then... even through the haze of his internal whirlwind, Jack was made to realise something else. The liquid had to go somewhere too. Ever so slowly, he felt his kidneys expand. And expand. And expand. And fill. And yet, STILL expand.

He couldn't believe it. Every single time. EVERY SINGLE TIME! He thought it couldn't possibly keep on getting worse. It just couldn't!

But it did. It - or more accurately, She - ALWAYS found a way.

At what point would it finally all end for Jack? When?

Certainly not any time soon. After reaching the size of boxing gloves, compressing his stomach which was at least emptying again, the tonic began to travel down to his bladder. His bladder that was sealed off from emptying by the bulbous and utterly painful sounding rod sealed inside Jack's achingly fat cock.

The former tonic, now pure gold piss, still amounted to half a gallon in amount. And it was all headed for a dead end. For Jack his bladder felt full after half a pint. This time he had no choice but to feel it balloon far beyond that. The pain from that was such that his entire head began to throb from the effort to process it. The only other thing that was on his mind was to just goddamn it... move! His entire body was consumed with the urge to curl up and swish rapidly from side to side. His need to visit the little boys' room was overwhelming beyond all known experience.

But he just couldn't go. He pushed and pushed and pushed. But his anal and penile plugs prevented even a smidgen of relief.

In all, this entire scene had taken six hours to unfold. His entirely female audience watched, utterly captivated at the spectacle of male suffering before them, creaming themselves at the thought that maybe they had finally found the depths needed to wipe out that previously accepted standard of destruction, the masculine ego. And with it herald the dawn of a feminine utopia.

Unfortunately for Jack, Wendy wasn't so convinced that this frontier had been breached just yet. Even before his bladder had taken on board half of the ex-tonic, she had news for him. "Wow Jack! You look fucking terrible. I really thought our tonic would calm you down, settle your stomach. Well not to worry. We have something else that can."

Through the deep-seated agony coursing through his inflamed, reddened skin and his immensely swollen - and still swelling - digestive organs, he just about heard her. He glared at her, once again aboard the podium... above the tank.

He'd forgotten about the tank.

Remembering his earlier, correct guess if what had gone into that metallic butt, he wanted to die. Again, he tried to scream. NO! MORE PAIN! MORE! MORE! MORE! STILL MORE! How was it even possible that he could be made to withstand even further suffering?

"Oh yes, Jack. I guarantee that these refreshments will purge ye of anything that ails you." Across the big screen were being printed the names of every laxative brand found in a typical chemists - and yet more that weren't.

Ex-Lax, Dulcolax, Miralax, Pentalax, Megalax, Magmalax, Turbo Lax, hot chocolate laxatives, a laxative for cows, a laxative for horses. Even some little known attempts at laxative brews that were deemed atomically unsafe for human consumption. All of that and more was percolating inside that tank - a three gallon cocktail of diarrhea-inducing medicine that would drive anybody to the edge of mindlessness - let alone someone who was already volcanically bloated with fart gas within an unyielding Perspex cocoon.

With no physical alternative Jack began to pray, to pray for some unforeseen medical time bomb to strike his ex-girlfriend right at this moment and halt this unspeakably evil treatment. He kept praying even as they attached one end of a garden hose to the tank, and he kept praying even as the other end was fixed over his mouth gag. He dissolved into a mentally frantic state as they released the valve and he saw the hose engorge with the first few mouthfuls of laxative liquid.

As the bulge travelled towards him, his mind was filled with only one word; PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSE! And then, as he felt the first trickles, quickly followed by a steady flow which even more rapidly turned into a rush of liquid, hit the back of his unwelcoming throat, that thought turned into the more prosaic, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Having reached the absolute depth of his fear, his memory bank brought out the big guns in its bid to keep him sane - he thought of his mother. He thought of her kissing and cuddling him, picking him up when he fell, tucking him in at night, giving him medicine...

And with that, he realised Wendy had brought him to rock bottom. All he could do now was sob. Even his memories of his beloved mum, his best friend in the whole world, had become horribly stained by his current tortured state.

Meanwhile, his surrogate mother - Wendy - was giving yet more instructions. Two of her many minion ladies were busy unscrewing some of bolts in Jack's Capsule of Misery. For the splittest of seconds, Jack had some small relief as his swelling belly sprang free from its confines. The vegetable tonic had already brought about some awful expansion, and to keep Jack from rupturing, it now needed to breathe the fresh air for the first time in several hours.

Jack was now so lost in his pain though that he barely even noticed. Especially as the laxatives were already beginning their work. Again, the women stood almost dumbfounded at the sight as Jack's midriff became rounder and rounder and ever tauter. His skin, bright red and blotchy from the poison on the inside of the Capsule, stretched out before him, as though it should tear into a million shreds any second now. Quick as a flash, two more of Wendy's cohorts began pouring yet more of the irritant over the now exposed and already raw flesh.

Even as a little more of Jack was displayed, revealing the extent of actual, live human suffering underneath the Perspex cover, his audience were in thralls of laughter for three very good reasons:

1. The general noise coming from Jack's inflated midriff, an amusing cacophony of embarrassing rumbling, groaning, bubbling and squelching that ran the many miles of Jack's stomach and intestinal tract

2. The way Jack's big gut was beginning to crush his hyper-inflated cock and balls. The sheer weight of his belly bent his rock-hard penis toward the floor. Meanwhile, the rhythm of his dick's violent pulsing was helping to churn up the painful mixture of gas and laxatives in his system.

3. The knowledge that - according to their own twisted estimations at least - a man was finally suffering as women before him have suffered.

And still they weren't finished. Though Wendy felt there was still a good window to relax and settle down as Jack finished downing his laxative brew, before it went to work on him properly.

"Good God! What do you imagine is going through his mind right now?" inquired the buxom, bookish, blonde Jill, who was studying Jack's tortures for a psychological lecture.

"I have absolutely no idea!" barked Wendy in return. "And to be honest, it makes fuck all difference to me. Do you think he ever expressed concern for me when I was troubled by my body? No. Sadly, a complete lack of empathy is the only language men understand - hopefully he's busy calculating how he can heal the wounds in our relationship. Maybe Jack will emerge from this hardship the first ever man truly in touch with his feminine side. Though personally I think he'll need some more work before we reach that point. We'll work out how far down the road he is when he's given his next chance to speak."

"And when will be that be, exactly?"

"Not just yet, that's all I can say for now. First let's allow our cocktail its chance on the dancefloor."

As Wendy, spoke the last sentence, Jack began to make an inhuman noise. Or at least his digestive tract did. It was a sound more comparable with the splintering made on board a wrecked cruise liner as it begins to disintegrate under pressure from the roaring South Pacific currents. Steadily, the sound developed in decibels until it resembled the full shipwreck, the entire hem of the vessel being torn away.

Except Jack would remain in one piece... and agonisingly motionless.

The sound maintained this fevered pitch for a few minutes before everyone realised it was here to stay until Jack was emptied. The full force of the laxatives had struck and Jack was being rapidly dehydrated. Every drop of fluid was being extracted from his frame and hurried along towards his colon, collecting every tiny speck of solid mass in its way, though the horrible process was stalled by the enormous cloud of bodily gas in his stomach and intestines.

Jack still hadn't even quite finished drinking from the laxative well when this level of pain hit his gut like an ethereal chainsaw. He almost stopped swallowing until he saw the ever attentive Wendy flick open a cigarette lighter and take up a position dangerously near to his bloated, exposed testicles.

Every major state of matter was now engaged in a full-scale war inside Jack. Like all serious wars, it was for a vital resource - space. Also like all wars, it was ultimately futile. And as the elements fought for control of each of Jack's digestive organs, so his organs fought each other for room inside his rather flabby structure. The chief loser in this battle was his prostate, which was crowded in all directions by his rock-solid colon, rectum and bladder. The unfortunate effect of this was for it to be forcibly drained, ensuring Jack's whole scrotal area was plumped up even further, to the point where even a stray hair landing on his balls would generate the same level of pain as a vice.

Inside the Capsule, Jack had reached the precipice. His body was not only stuffed to the brim, but host to myriad potent chemical and biological reactions. Yet while his insides were a supremely agitated swirling dervish, the outside of his existence remained utterly immovable. His entire stimuli were forced inwards, with the exception of his eyesight. He felt as though he was being torn asunder at the rift in the centre of the universe, yet all he could see was an entire audience of women transfixed in near silence. Everything pointed to his suffering being not only natural but seismically important.

Then, as he came to associate his incredible pain with his being the centre of attention, the more a small part of him grew to want it. The predominant part of his psyche didn't even want to deal with this, the most horrific detail of all, so he ignored it and tried to remember the word 'freedom'.

The tiny masochistic part of his mind was lucky.

There would be no respite for a while yet.

A long while.

It was the end of day 1 inside the Capsule. But there were still 41 more to go.