Thomas Shorts: Shock
#3 of Thomas Shorts
"Robert. It's time to wake up, Robert."
Thomas didn't want to wake up. He felt too good. Like his entire body was covered in warm, comforting blankets that made him feel safe and happy.
"Robert? Come now, boy. I took time out of my very busy schedule to be here for you when we woke you up from your month of recuperation. It would be very impolite to ignore me. Open your eyes, Robert."
A month? That was just silly. No one slept for a month. Silly rhino.
Keeping his eyes closed, the mouse couldn't help but grin like a addled fool as he mumbled out, "But my name isn't Robert, so that means I can stay in bed."
That logic made perfect sense to the former law student, whose brain swam in series of mood-altering pain medications that were given to product that was lucky enough to be given the extra consideration.
Smiling back at Thomas (not that the lad had his eyes open to see), the surgeon patiently explained, as one might do for a small child, "That's right. You're name isn't Robert anymore. Thank you for reminding me, Sugar Tits."
The slave instinctively scowled at this unpleasant cold bit of reality that slipped through his cozy mental blanket. Shaking his head ever-so-slightly, Thomas softly whimpered the half-hearted denial, "No..."
Feeling himself firm up in slightly too-tight jeans (the doctor made a mental note to visit his tailor soon), he allowed himself to truly enjoy this verbal sparring between free man and object.
"Yes, Sugar Tits. Don't you remember? In exchange for some temporary relief, I re-imagined your identity. And I've certainly lived up to my side of the deal. Not to belabor the point, but I've had Nurse Pussycat prostate milk you almost every day of your recovery. Including yesterday, if memory serves. Don't you feel nice and relaxed? I'd estimate it'll take several days before you're back to your previous condition of horny and desperate."
Still half-asleep, the mouse's groggy mind couldn't process most of what the rhino had to say, but something in his subconscious told him he had to disagree... He had to fight back... to stand up for himself, before it was too late.
But all that he could manage was groan, a small frown, and another shake of his head.
"No? Don't believe me? Well... I thought that might be the case. That's why I ordered the nurse to collect, store, and refrigerate all of your output over the last month. And here it is, the proof. Right in this glass beaker I've warmed up for you. Now, say 'awww' for me. We have to dispose of medical waste properly, needless to say."
Feeling something hard and warm press against his lips, Thomas tried another feeble to attempt to argue back. Which only served to provide Dr. Stone the opportunity he was looking for to get the lip of the glass beaker between the mouse's front teeth.
Checking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't accidentally blocking the line of sight between his camera and the patient, the rhino began gently tipping the container which held well over half a liter of warmed up slave spunk into the product's mouth.
Watching the pooled cream-colored liquid drip then gush over 'Robert's' tongue turned the dominant on greatly. Since slave goo was a near useless substance, it felt right to the surgeon that it should be recycled back to where it came from. The boy made the mess, after all. It only followed that he should be the one to clean it up.
Thomas, for his part, at last opened his eyes as he felt his mouth flood with his own salty seed. Too late to protest, the drug-weakened mouse's only choice was to begin swallowing as fast as he could as he stared into a river of jizz as it flowed unceasingly between his lips.
"Drink up, slut. Don't you dare turn your nose up at it. We use advanced storage and re-warming techniques, so it's guaranteed to be as fresh as when you spewed it. You even start acting like you're too good for your own spunk and we're going to be having another one of our heart to hearts in the attitude adjustment room."
Dr. Stone watched with a pleased expression as he poured the result of a month's worth of milkings back into the slave. Though he said nothing about it out loud, the rhino sincerely hoped that whoever ended up purchasing the lad instituted a policy that ensured that this was the last large batch of cream the product would ever produce. Normally the surgeon would recommend a straightforward castration for preventing boys from abusing their pathetic slave testicles. But in Sugar Tit's case, the rhino felt this would wreck the hard work he'd put into making the product's hefty sack a work of art.
None the less, it was simply unseemly to contemplate the thought of young objects like the mouse to exercise their balls more than once every year or two. And that was only if they'd been especially well behaved, as far as the the rhino was concerned.
For the next ten minutes, the doctor varied the angle at which he held the transparent beaker, desiring to draw out the seed recycling for as long as possible. He intended to enjoy the resulting video tape many times over the coming years, so he it was worth the added effort in the short term.
The entire time the now almost-awake mouse could only plead at Dr. Stone with his eyes as his throat worked to dispose of the strong-tasting liquid as fast as it could. To Thomas it felt like the container must have been bottomless; each gulp resulting in another mouthful of milked seed taking its place in his muzzle. A couple times he experienced pangs of worry that he might be drowned in his own spunk!
Near the end, the slave realized that the worst part of all of this was that he hadn't extracted a single ounce of pleasure or genuine release from these countless milkings he'd been unconscious for. He'd given up his name... his very identity for absolutely nothing.
The warm blanket that had been wrapped around his brain was slowly being ripped away, layer by layer. As the rhino poured the last drops of stored nut-butter onto the mouse's cream-soaked tongue, Thomas bitterly regretted that he'd woken back up in this terrible place instead of his own bed back at home.
Patting the side of his patient's cheek with his other hand, Dr. Stone sat the beaker down on the side tray and said, "All done? There's a good slut, Sugar Tits. I hope you'll accept that as proof that I honored my end of the agreement. Now... it's time to show you what your capitulation earned you."
Fully aroused from the spectacle of the lad doing away with his own juices, the rhino had been sorely tempted to pause his little show-and-tell demonstration and order the slave to suck him off -- to use his own cum as a chaser, of sorts.
But rearranging the camera's direction toward the mirror in the corner of the room, the surgeon decided to follow his original plan.
Standing between Thomas and the full-length mirror, Dr. Stone used his superior strength to pull the slave up, urging the youth in friendly terms to, "Get up, my dear. On your feet now. There's a good mouse."
Higher mental functions just now coming online, the enslaved student followed the insistent man's instructions, getting out of the bed and trying to steady himself on two unsure and unsteady feet.
Keeping in front of the mouse so as to not spoil the surprise, the rhino said, "This way, this way. Almost there. Close your eyes now. I said close them, slut. Now. There we are... just like that. Now... reach out with your right hand and steady yourself on the wall. We don't want any spills, do we? Keep those eyes closed. No peaking!"
Thomas conscious mind was split between struggling against self-pity and trying his best to follow the man's instructions so as not to be punished (yet again). But the mouse's subconscious was trying desperately to bring his attention to something else. Something important. And it had something to do with the odd, unexpected weight the drugged lad hadn't yet noticed was pulling down on his chest.
But before the boy managed to put two and two together, the doctor had moved behind him and called out, "Okay, Sugar Tits. Open your eyes!"
Eyelids and lashes fluttering open like two startled butterflies, Thomas silently examined the odd sight standing in front of him. A mouse like him, but with massive tits and a dim, uncomprehending expression on his face.
Then his world tore apart as he realized he was looking into a mirror.
Left hand cupping one of his new breasts, Sugar Tits was so struck by what he was seeing -- by what had been done to him -- that he was unable to find any words of anger or denial to hurl in the merciless rhino's direction.
Instead, he simply continued to gawk, mouth open, ears flat, and felt himself begin to shudder... his hand cupping and groping at his freshly installed, highly-sensitive tits.
Undoing his too-tight belt, the rhino reached into his pants and began to fondle himself alongside Thomas. Both stroking and squeezing their individual sex organs. Dr. Stone his cock, and Thomas his shocking, unwanted breasts.
Interrupting the silence, the surgeon talked up his own accomplishments and said, "Look how perfect you are, Sugar Tits. Hyper-masculine sack... hyper-feminine tits. You're going to make someone very, very happy. Hell... if I didn't consider owning slaves to be a bit distasteful, I'd buy you myself."
Sagging to his knees in front of the mirror, Thomas tried his hardest to shut out both the man's words and the unforgiving world he found himself in.
After adjusting the camera's angle so as to not let the slave slump out of frame, the rhino finished taking off his pants and underwear. He decided to be the very first person to receive a tit-job from the cute, large-breasted product.