Installed

“Hold still. I need to make sure this won’t damage you,” the lady told me. I did as she said. She ran her tape around my naked body. The sight of her muscular body, obviously so much stronger than I could ever be even covered by her uniform, made it impossible not to shudder as she touched me.

I looked behind her. Her co workers, two similarly powerful ladies, had finished carving what could roughly be called a me-shaped hole in the wall, if I didn’t have any arms. I knew there would be sockets for my arms to go into: sockets that I could never remove them from myself. They were now padding the hole with foam. 

A slightly less muscular girl, my buyer and owner, admired my naked body. She seemed satisfied with her purchase.

“Okay, you’ll fit into your socket with no problem,” my measurement lady said. She put her tape away and grasped my hand. She lead my unresisting naked body toward the hole. “Go. Face outward.”

I nodded. Knowing there was no resisting, knowing that I was utterly trapped, I placed myself into the hold, with my arms resting to my side. I faced my buyer and “manufacturers”. My buyer was grinning. My manufacturers, aka my kidnappers, interrogators, and the people responsible for the stripping of my rights as an individual, inspected the sight to make sure nothing was off.

“Put your arms in the sockets,” my superior said. I obliged.

It was almost a relief to place my two hands into the holes beside me, since the cavity for my body was not made for them. I felt soft foam inside them. My kidnappers had explained that the foam hugging my body and arms was made of a synthetic vinyl meant to both relax aching muscles and nourish my body and skin.

“Get ready. We’re turning on the air,” one of my superiors said.

A machine was turned on and the foam around my arms and body inflated. It was comparable to that pump the doctors inflate around your arm to test your blood pressure, only smooth. It was soft, but did a splendid job at holding my arms and body in place. I struggled even though I knew I couldn’t escape this fate, just to see if I could make any leeway. I couldn’t. I was utterly sealed into the wall. 

I’m a boy-toy in a wall. Like a socket, a faucet, a light switch. Installed for her pleasure and convenience.

My superiors were doing something again: installing three doors to cover my socket. One covering my head, one my crotch and legs, and one my chest. For a while it was dark and loud as I could hear the buzz of electric drills. The drilling stopped and I could hear my superiors speaking with my buyer.

“So you see, you can use whatever part you want at a time. If you only want to see his face you can open this door…”

The door covering my head opened, and I was greeted with the sight of my superior’s face. She had her “company representative smile” on. 

“If you want to play with his torso you can open this one…”

“Or if you want his crotch or legs for whatever reason, this door…”

“Or all of him at once. And when you’re finished you can choose to close the doors and cover him. If you have people over this is a great way to cover your toy, and there’s a lock and key to keep him private.”

I saw my buyer nod. 

“Interesting,” she said. She smirked, “But what if I want to play with his… other side?”

“Well, the foam holding him can be deflated in various parts of his body, so you could reach back and play with any part of his hindquarters if that’s what you want. But if you want the full backside available I recommend you simply release him and tell him to get back in reverse position. He won’t dare disobey.”

“Oh, goody,” she smirked and looked at me with an eyebrow raised. I could gather that she would be asking that of me quite often…

“This is his food and drink for the month,” my superior said, handing her a Tupperware full of dried food. “Feed him at least twice a day and make sure he gets a restroom break once an evening. If you find yourself too lazy we have an upgrade available that takes care of that for you-”

“Oh no no, he can use my restroom. It’s fine,” the customer said. 

“Contact us if he misbehaves. Though we have personally trained this one and we doubt that will happen. He’s been properly handled, set straight, retrained…”

“And now installed in his rightful place. My bedroom,” my customer finished. 

My superiors nodded, gave me one last wink and left without saying goodbye. Even if they weren’t exactly family or my friends, it felt so cold. It reminded me of the truth: I am not a person but a tool…

My new owner slowly walked up to me. She swayed her hips as she approached and I had to wonder who she was putting the show for. She didn’t need to act sexy for me: I was just a tool installed into her wall, my body her toy to do as she pleased. Less than a pet.

She stood in front of me. I swallowed nervously. I have heard horror stories of tools like me being “broken” by particularly cruel owners. Helpless in the walls of a cruel mistress, being used as punching bags and scapegoats for people’s anger. The company treated us roughly and without care for our rights, but even they had a “rescue” system for abused toys. But they didn’t always get to them on time… if my customer turned out to be such a type of person I could not defend myself.

So when she placed her hand beneath my balls for the first time I cried out in fear. She simply stroked it with a finger, watching my member become erect to the touch. She smiled.

So, she was testing out her new toy. Okay, looks like I was making her happy. Maybe I got lucky. Maybe I didn’t have such a cruel owner after all… or at the very least maybe she would value my usefulness enough not to risk damaging me…

“Hello.”

I looked at her. Had she just said, Hello?

“I said, Hello! Aren’t you gonna say anything?”

She… she was talking to me.

“I… hi,” was all I could say. 

“There we go. For a moment I thought I bought a mute model. How are you feeling in there?”

How was I feeling? I… I didn’t know how to answer this question. Months of being hypnotized, wrestled to the ground by female interrogators and made to forget my rights as a human being had purged me of such thoughts. Her feelings. Not your feelings. Her feelings are YOUR feelings.

“I… I don’t know…” I said.

“Hmm,” The lady, my owner, casually inspected my penis with her pinky while she hummed. “Yes, the manufacturers warned me that if I wanted you to talk to me it would take some… breaking in.”

At the sound of the word “breaking” I tried in vain to bring my legs together to cover my testicles, but a big piece of foam between them kept my feet apart and genitals exposed.

The blow never came. She seemed to notice my sudden tension, though.

“Am I really such a scary person? Or maybe you’ve been in that factory or wherever they kept you for so long you think all women are going to punish you if you speak?” she said.

Seeing as I had been trained to react to the word “punishment” I loosened up my tongue at this.

“I will oblige any punishment my owners wish to enact on me without resistance,” I said, almost mechanically. 

She looked at me funnily.

“Um… what I mean to say is… I just… um… please don’t harm me,” I almost whispered.

She giggled and got up. 

“Oh I’ll hurt you, alright, my new little toy.” She got really close to my face but didn’t touch it. She placed a hand on my chest with her right hand and with her left she traced my neck with a finger. “I’m gonna be biting you often… might leave a bruise or two… and if you’ve been naughty I might just give you a firm spanking and make you work extra hard… accept extra bites…”

Biting. Spanking. There were some biting horror stories, but the way she spoke made it sound…

Was she implying she wanted to be… intimate with me?

Not that I didn’t expect something like that. I’ve been installed, after all. I was to be used in any way they wanted, barring extreme damages to my body and therefore function. I was to gratify a woman sexually, this I knew. My body was theirs to use, but… biting was something people did to those they shared a type of bond with, right? The thought that this woman who bought and owned me wanted to use me as something other than a tool was frightening, terrifying, and exciting.

I mustn't get my hopes up… I mustn't think she’ll treat me better than my “manufacturers”…

She giggled and poked my erection. It must have amused her to see how aroused fear made me.

“Have I sufficiently put the fear and admiration of God into you, little toy?” she said, coyly.

“Y-yes, ma’am.” She giggled at my admission and stroked my chest. 

“Good. Now tell me… what were you before becoming mine?”

“I was trained in the company’s farm-”

“Before that…”

“I… I shouldn’t speak about it…”

“I’m your master, little toy,” she said, and suddenly bit, softly, against my neck making him shudder. She pressed her hips against my crotch, squishing my erection between her jeans and my pelvis… “You will do as I say. Tell me about your past.”

“Um… I was a writer. Not a good one, I think,” I said.

“Oh. You never got published?” she said between exploring my neck with her lips and teeth… 

“I… don’t remember,” I struggled to think. Her bites hurt and felt amazing… but I reminded myself that she was my owner. She was probably teasing me, or exploring the “functions” of her new toy curiously, like a new laptop or TV set.

“Do you remember your name?” she said, now facing me. I could feel her breath against my chin, her hand stroking my chest…

I had spent the last few months being firmly and sometimes brutally stripped of my name and “persuaded” with means painful and pleasurable to forget my old identity. They had warped my brain, I believed, beyond repair.

So I didn’t know how she did it, but my owner undid all of the company’s hard work with her bites and loving hands.

“My name… was Nolan,” I whispered.

“Nolan… I like it. I’ll call you that,” she said.

“But Ma’am! I’m… I’m just a toy…”

“I use to name my teddy bears and dolls after TV show characters. Toys can have names, silly,” she said. 

Could it be? Was she giving me back my name?

“So, Nolan, do you know what I want from you?”

“W-whatever you want from me, I will give to the best of my abilities,” I recited.

“I want your nice… firm… ass… and I’m going to treat them like the stress balls that they are,” she said. Then she smiled and pressed some buttons on a remote control. The foam holding my pelvis softened, allowing her to reach around and wrap her hands around my ass cheeks, squeezing them. She had a firm grip and I bit down to stop myself from yelping.

“Do you moan, Nolan?” she said. “If you do, I would greatly appreciate it.”

And so I did. She played with my ass and not so gently at all. She seemed to want to soften them with her massaging and pinching, like dough. I shook my hips in “resistance” and did more than just moan; she made me cry and my erection grew and grew…

And I discovered the extent of her cruelty when she gave a satisfied sigh and let go. My erection remained untouched as she withdrew her arms from around my waist and pumped the foam. I could feel the vinyl wrap around my buttocks, giving aid to the abused muscles.

She then looked at me with a serious expression.

“I won’t always be so gentle with you, Nolan. Remember that,” she said. Then her expression softened and she winked. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

I swallowed, nervously. Then she bent forward and gave me a quick kiss… before closing the doors on me, sealing me in.

I closed my eyes, feeling disappointed and unsatisfied, but oddly filled with hope. And then I heard her whisper…

“Get some rest, boy. You’ll need all of your energy for tonight…”

And I didn’t know whether to be excited or afraid.

*******

(This story was inspired by a Thevalkyrie.com story that I can't find anymore. It ended with the idea that the dominant muscle woman would "install" the boy into the wall. I found the idea of being a permanent tool for mere use to be... interesting to say the least)