The poster was very professional looking. “Participants needed for drug study. Penis must be less than 2 inches.”
I called up right away and made an appointment, I’d been humiliated over and over with every girl I’d been with. My tiny penis brought me so much shame. Maybe these scientists would cure me and give me a penis with the length and girth of a Real Man, not a sissy man-baby as I was so used to being treated.
"Meet us at 8 pm tonight in room 103 of the Psychology building." the stern voice came.
The hours dimmed as I impatiently waited. Students, organised as moths around the orange flame of the streetlights, became scarce as I waited in anticipation of my experimenters.
As it struck 8 I entered the building. Two lithe girls, surely no older than 20, were standing by the entrance of room 103. They giggled accusatorily as I waddled up to them.
"So you’re here for the experiment?" she asked as though there was any doubt that a man as unattractive as me wouldn’t have a 1.3" cock.
"Yes, I think we spoke on the phon…"
"No talking. You may not speak. You will ruin our experiment if you dare to interact with us. We have been given ethics approval to use up to a Class B punishment device if you act outside experimental parameters…that is, as long as you sign this form."
I had second thoughts but I didn’t trust that they’d let me go so easily. I meekly signed the form, like the man-baby I am.
"Good. Now get on the floor. Lie down. Ass up. We’re going to hit you for every one of your disgusting stretch marks. Stretch marks release flambo particles which reduce the ability for our study to get P < .05. We are obliged to punish you for this."
They hit me 153 times. I remember this number well because it is also a numerical representation of how much I hate myself.
"Now we’ve got that out of the way, time to strap you in. We’re going to inject you and you’re going to sit there and take it."
A sharp puncture infiltrated my vein. A cold rush surged through my forearm and up through my chest. It burnt. I started to fight. I thrashed at my captors, particularly the petite brunette, I was hoping that if my thrashes were wild enough I could touch her boob and blame it on a general sense of violence rather than being a perverted little man-baby.
"Ok that’s it. We have approval and we’re going to use it, while this drug does its work I’m going to hurt you. Hurt you like you deserve."
My arms were restrained and I was tied spreadeagle upright. The brunette wheeled a device under me.
"Enjoy" she smirked, pressing a button.
The device retracted its slappy pad slowly. I could see what was to happen but the surge of pain was still a surprise. Who knew that being hit in the testicles could be painful? I certainly did not predict this. It hit me over and over, harder and harder. I had no escape, I was being punished as I deserved and I grew to accept that there was nothing I could do and that I should only be grateful for what was happening to me.
As the device slapped, I realised what was happening. The drug was making me into a real man. My penis expanded like the slide of a trombone playing jazz. A six pack erupted through my stomach fat. My biceps became large calibre guns. My breasts stayed the same because I guess the drug doesn’t affect that part of me? I don’t know I’m not a scientist.
"Finally I am a real man, not a mere sissy-boy" I shouted triumphantly, tied up, being whipped in the testicles by a machine.
End of part 1.