Quinten’s face seemed to be everywhere; it was a work of art. Lauren walked down the street, and saw posters of him in windows. Even on a billboard nearby. Lauren absentmindedly began to browse a social media account, and saw an advertisement for his latest album. She smiled; there was no escaping Quinten Rose, the most famous musician in the world. Perhaps the most famous musician in human history. His career had lasted for over 40 years, and he hadn’t been off of the charts the entire time. Rose also hadn’t aged a day.
The omnipresence of Quinten was strangely motivating; Lauren had received an email from someone, who claimed to have known Quinten when he was young. Well, he was still young, but when he was in his 20s, way back in the 2020s. The journal she worked for was a little above writing stories about pop stars, but the prospect of something juicy relating to Quinten was too good to pass up.
Lauren arrived at the place. It was a small apartment in Greenwich Village. An old woman opened the door; “You’re Lauren, right?”
Lauren nodded, and walked in. There were books everywhere, and the computer looked like it was 20 years old. The woman led Lauren to a chair, and they both sat down opposite each other.
“I’m sorry about it being messy here, but I’m sure you have an unwieldy library of your own.” Lauren nodded.
“You said you know something about Quinten Rose? Something about how his career began?”
The old woman sighed; “Yes, yes I do know.”
Another crappy band finished their set. Mason continued to nurse his drink. It seemed more and more unlikely any good talent would show up. Another twenty-something walked onto the stage; long, unkempt black hair, stubble. Thin, at least. He sat down on a stool, with an acoustic guitar, and lowered the microphone.
“Hi”, he began, with a low, quavering voice. “My name is Quinn Resin. I would prefer to be playing with a band tonight, but circumstances prevented that from happening”. Mason checked his watch. The ambiance was depressing; the restaurant was under half capacity, and almost nobody was paying attention.
“I’m just going to play some acoustic versions of some tracks that are going to be on my next album. Sadly, there’s no point in trying to perform the time changes in a solo acoustic set, so I’ll just play dumbed down versions. I hope you all don’t mind.”
Quinn began to play through his set. There wasn’t much enthusiasm; he didn’t know why he was playing. This singer-songwriter shit was so compromised. After twenty uncomfortable minutes, Quinn thanked the audience, who gave no indication they’d noticed him, and he walked off the stage.
After Quinn got into his car, he began to take stock of what was happening. His new album was almost finished, at least. That was good. It was his last chance, though. Maybe his second to last chance. Great musicians make their best work before they’re into their 30s. Quinn was rapidly approaching that age. It would all be downhill from there. He knew he wasn’t a Scott Walker, and he knew he didn’t have a Black Star up his sleeves.
Quinn knew he was making great music, but it didn’t matter, because nobody cared. They just were too dense to understand his vision.
Quinn continued to thrust into Charlotte, who was on her hands and knees. He sank his fingers into her flesh, and began to feel the orgasm approaching. “I’m so close”, he grunted, increasing his speed, going harder and faster. Eventually, he came, and pulled out of Charlotte. Quinn noticed he had neglected to replace the grocery bag in his small trash can, so he threw his condom into a pile of dirty laundry.
“You always go so hard”, Charlotte said. Quinn and Charlotte began to lower themselves onto the bed.
“You like it, don’t you?”, he asked. Charlotte reached over, and gently stroked his still sensitive cock. Quinn shook and shivered.
“I do. You were so passionate tonight!”
“Well, I’m just really excited, about my new album being completed. I sent the mixes to a guy who owns a Fairchild comp, and I got the masters back earlier today. This one is going to be really good”.
Charlotte moved closer to Quinn, and gently held onto him. She loved Quinn’s music; it was so complex, so meaningful. Not the kind of fluff one might hear on the radio. Quinn’s art rock didn’t make a lot of money, and the money he did make went right back into gear and session musicians. But Charlotte was glad she was dating someone else who was as intelligent and cerebral as herself. Charlotte leaned closer to Quinn, and kissed his stubbled cheek.
Quinn’s phone rang. Who could be calling me?, he thought to himself. It’s probably spam. He answered the call, and there was a brief pause.
“Is this Quinn? The guitarist?”
“Yes. But I’m actually a lot more than a guitarist. I’m something of a renaissance man”.
“Hello Quinn! My name is Mason Aphorsian. I’m a talent manager at Oscillator Records. I was wondering if you would be interested in joining our label?” Mason spoke with an affected tone, which sounded something like a Mid-Atlantic accent.
“I guess I could be interested in joining your label. There would be stipulations, of course. Relating to my control of my artistic vision, and the commercial uses of my music”. There was a light chuckle coming from the other end of the line.
“Yes, of course! Don’t worry, I’ll have my people draft up a nice contract for you. How about you send me your address? I’ll send over a limousine tomorrow for you to come to the label.
Quinn sighed; “A car will be just fine, thank you”. Quinn told Mason what his address was, and then he hung up the phone.
“Who was that?”, Charlotte asked. Quinn leaned back into the couch.
“It was just someone from a label; he’s interested in signing me on”.
“Really? That’s great!”
“I’m not so sure”, Quinn said, picking up a notebook. “They’re called Oscillator Records”. Charlotte furrowed her brow.
“Oscillator Records? Sounds like they’re an electronic music label. Probably releases nothing but dance floor trash”.
“Yes, exactly”, Quinn replied. “Maybe they’re trying to diversify. If they’re doing that, then at least that would probably mean they have a legitimate interest in my music. You know how labels sometimes keep niche artists, to attract other talent”.
Quinn felt unsure about being on a label without prestige. Prestige he cared about, anyways. Nobody he considered worthy had ever released an album on Oscillator Records. But a label was contacting him. Maybe this was the first step towards the recognition he deserved.
Quinn exited his apartment. He saw a man with long red hair, wearing a red crushed velvet suit and a cape, standing next to a black car. Quinn didn’t like the man; he looked flamboyant. Sure, a guy like Rick Wakeman could wear a cape, but this man clearly was not a genius. Quinn began to walk down the stairwell, and eventually approached the man. “You are Mason, right?”. The man nodded.
“Of course, the one and only. Please, after you”. Quinn climbed into the back of the car, and Mason sat next to him. “I’m so glad you’re going to be on our label”, he said, opening a briefcase that was on the floor.
“We’ll see about that”, Quinn replied. Mason pulled some forms out of the briefcase, and readied a pen.
“This is a pretty simple contract my lawyer drafted up; it’s my understanding that you have recently finished an album?”. Quinn nodded. “Excellent. Well, my label will release the album, with no alterations, and you’ll also have another two albums to provide us on contract. Does that sound good to you?”. Mason passed the suitcase to Quinn, and he began to look at the forms which lay before him.
“I think I’ll have to have these inspected by a lawyer”, Quinn said, flipping through the pages as if he could understand any of the legalese contained within.
“It will be such a hassle, to pay a lawyer to inspect these. Not to mention finding a lawyer in the first place! How about you just sign?”.
Quinn looked at Mason with a scowl. Mason smiled; “I know you’re probably wondering why I want to sign you”, he began. “I always felt that Oscillator Records was missing a prestige artist. We’ve released many great dance singles, but we still haven’t released our Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. I’m hoping you can provide us with that”.
Quinn looked at the contracts more intently. Mason handed him a pen, which he began to absent mindedly click. Mason moved closer to Quinn; “You know what, don’t sign this contract. Let’s make a deal. I’ll have my lawyer create a new contract, which will allow you to sue the label if your second and third albums don’t sell a million copies each”.
Quinn turned to Mason, doubting his words; “Why not my first album?”
“Because, you’ll be able to use much higher quality session musicians on your second and third albums. Don’t worry, I won’t damage your creative control.”
Quinn walked into the office with Mason. They immediately made a beeline for Mason’s office, where his lawyer was waiting with the revised contact. Quinn signed, and now was an artist for Oscillator Records.
After signing the contract, the lawyer left. Quinn noticed a large picture framed on a wall; it was of Mason wearing silver face paint, wearing a leather catsuit. He laid on his side, and was surrounded by purple lights and fog. Mason noticed Quinn staring; “Ah, that’s a picture of me, from about thirty years ago. Back when I used to be a musician”. Quinn rolled his eyes; a true musician never stopped making music. Mason stood before the picture; Quinn noticed he seemingly hadn’t aged since it was taken. “I used to be an acid house artist, during the Second Summer of Love. My gimmick was I pretended to be a machine man. I had a few big singles, and then I tried to make an IDM album. My music career sort of dropped off after that”. Quinn nodded. Mason started to walk out of his office, and signalled Quinn to follow.
Mason began to lead Quinn to another part of the office. A receptionist rolled her eyes when she saw Mason and his new signee. Quinn noticed, and didn’t know what to make of it. Quinn had felt an unease with signing the contract, but he kind of wanted it to be over with. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just made a massive mistake. Mason led Quinn deeper and deeper into the building. “Where are we going?”, Quinn asked.
“I’m taking you to the beautician we have on staff. We’re just going to bounce around some ideas for how you’ll look on promotional materials”. As they walked through the halls, a woman walked past Mason, causing him to sigh.
“Who was that?”, Quinn asked.
“Cynthia. She’s another manager here. She irritates me. Thinks she can play with other people’s toys”.
“You mean she interferes with artists other people at the label are managing?”
Mason smiled; “Yeah, something like that”.
Mason opened a door, and walked in with Quinn. He discreetly grabbed a pair of headphones off of the wall, and began to listen to music on his phone. Quinn looked at Mason, confused. “I’m just listening to some demos”, he said.
Quinn turned to the other side of the room, and saw a mirror surrounded by lights. A tall woman with long black hair stood next to the chair. She turned it, and patted the arm of the chair. Quinn moved onto the chair, and furrowed his brow. “I’m just going to turn on some music, ok?”, said the beautician. Ambient music began to fill the room, and as Quinn turned to look at himself in the mirror, he noticed that the lights surrounding it were gently pulsing, slowly gaining and losing intensity. As the massagers in the chair began to activate, Quinn began to ease into the seat.
It wasn’t long before Quinn was drooling on himself, his eyes half lidded. Mason stood up, and the beautician left the room. He walked over to Quinn, and adjusted his headphones. They were playing a phase-inverted version of the trancing music Quinn was listening to. “Hello Quinn, how are you?”, he asked, a smug grin spread across his face.
“i’m . . . alright”
“That’s good. How do you feel about the contract you just signed?”
“i’m . . . not so sure”
Mason lowered himself, and moved closer to Quinn’s face. “I think you need an attitude adjustment. A new perspective on life. What do you think?”
Quinn slightly furrowed his brow. “i’m an intellectual, i don’t need a new perspective. i’m . . . so much smarter than you”
Mason pouted; “Well Quinn, I’m not so sure about that. You seem pretty dumb to me. You’re actually one of the most vacuous, moronic, airheaded sluts I’ve ever met”. Mason flinched slightly as he noticed Quinn move a little; he needed to slow down with the conditioning.
“i’m not a slut, i don’t sleep around. i only have deep and meaningful relationships”
Mason changed the subject; “So Quinn, what do you want from your music?”
“recognition, to finally be seen as a great artist. i’m so much better than anything on the radio right now, and nobody cares”
Mason rested his arms on the armrest of the chair; “You know Quinn, if you want people to like you, maybe you should be a pop star. Don’t you think?”. Quinn was so agitated, he almost fell out of his trance;
“no! i’m a serious artist! i write my own music!”
Mason gently rested a hand on Quinn’s shoulder; “You know Quinn, pop music is so much more complicated and meaningful than progressive art rock. Don’t you think?”
“Oh, but of course! Making a concise three minute track is so much more difficult than making a ten minute long track, where you just throw ideas at the wall. And pop has so much more metatextual significance!”
“m-metatextuality. i want that”
Mason smiled, and put a hand underneath Quinn’s chin. “Of course you do. You’re a real artist, right?”
Quinn continued to stare deeply into his own eyes, which were staring back at him. “yeah. i’m a real artist.”
Mason began to kneel slightly. “Good job. There’s just one problem though; if you stop making progressive rock, and you start making pop music instead, how are you going to be self indulgent?”
“i . . . don’t know”
Mason smiled; “I have an idea; what if you started to really treat yourself. Physically, I mean. You want people to like you, right?”. Quinn nodded. “What if you started to become a slutty boy? Wouldn’t that be nice? You could dress up in cozy leather, and wear pink clothes, and makeup! Wouldn’t that be fun! Everyone would think you’re pretty, and want to sleep with you”.
Quinn’s brow furrowed again; “i’m not attractive. i’m lucky my girlfriend even likes me”
Mason gently stroked Quinn’s hair; “You just need someone to help you. You would be such a pretty boy if you actually tried to look good. You just need a makeover, sonically and visually. And then, everyone will like you, and you’ll finally get what you deserve”.
Quinn began to relax more, and sink even deeper into his seat. “that would be nice. but i don’t know about looking so girly”.
Mason smiled; “You just need to try it. I’m sure the first time you wear silk panties, with little bows, you’ll feel the most comfortable you’ve ever felt”.
There was a brief pause. Mason let his words sink in a little, as Quinn continued to drool on himself. Mason began to speak again; “How are you going to feel when you wake up Quinn?”
Quinn listlessly moved his lips before he began speaking; “i’m going to use my new record contract to make pop music. and i’m going to become beautiful, and start to sleep with more people. i’m going to be a pop star”.
Mason smiled; “That sounds good. But you might have some problems, because you’re going to probably start to feel shame. You’re going to start to feel like a sell out, and a man whore. That won’t do, will it?”. Quinn nodded. “You’re going to stop feeling shame. You’re actually going to feel good when you feel like you’re humiliating yourself. Because that’s when you’ll know you’re being a good boy”. Quinn kept staring into his eyes. “However, and you need to pay close attention to this, when I say ‘polyrhythm’, you’ll feel shame again. You’ll reflect on how you’ve turned into a pathetic whore, and you’ll feel bad. Do you understand me?”.
Quinn nodded. Mason stood up, and moved behind the chair Mason was sitting on. “Now, about your sexuality . . .”
Quinn woke up in his bedroom. His temporary bedroom. Mason had shown him the accommodations in the offices, and gave him a room to sleep in while some preliminary work was done. Quinn wasn’t quite sure what it was, because he would start working, and then black out. He climbed out of bed, and thought about turning on the TV. He then heard a knocking at his door.
“Hello?”, he asked, hiding his mostly naked body behind the door. It was that woman Mason disliked.
“Hi. My name is Cynthia. Mind if I step in?”. Cynthia pushed the door slightly, and entered the room. She moved to the bed, and began to take off her shoes.
“Yeah sure”, Quinn said, as if he had a choice. He began to feel something building up in him, a new feeling never felt before. Cynthia pet a space on the bed next to her.
“How about you come over here, and sit next to me?”. Quinn hesitantly moved across the space, and sat down next to Cynthia. She looked down on him, with a predatory grin. The feeling within Quinn continued to intensify; he softly whined. “Is something wrong, Quinn?”.
“I . . . want something inside of me, but I don’t understand how something can be inside of me. I, uh, don’t have a hole for that”.
Cynthia gently pressed a hand onto Quinn’s torso, and moved him onto his back. “Oh Quinn, you do have a hole for my cock”. She began to pull his panties off, and started to also push him up the bed.
“Wha, what do you mean?”
“Let me show you”. She began to take off her own clothes, until she was naked. Quinn looked at her nervously. Cynthia began to use some lube Mason had put in Quinn’s room, and she covered her cock and an index finger. “This might hurt a little”, Cynthia began, “but you’re a good boy, and I’m sure you’ll take well to it”.
Hearing Cynthia call him a good boy made Quinn feel good. A finger began to slide into him; Quinn gasped and shook. The sensation felt new to him, but there was no pain. Cynthia chuckled to herself; “It looks like Mason has already been training you. Maybe you just don’t remember?”. Cynthia stopped the foreplay, and began to insert herself into Quinn.
“You feel so nice”, she said, leaning down to kiss Quinn as she thrusted. Quinn could feel something was wrong; this wasn’t normal. Wasn’t the way things were meant to be. But that almost made it feel better. Spit landed on his face. “Whine and beg like a slut for me!”, Cynthia growled, temporarily pulling out.
“Wait! No! Please don’t stop! Come back inside!”, Quinn begged. He would’ve begged even if Cynthia hadn’t told him to. Cynthia put herself back into Quinn, and began to thrust again. Quinn felt the pressure building up inside; he was going to cum. It was going to feel better than it ever had before, and -
Cynthia pulled out. “Polyrhythm”.
Quinn’s conditioning temporarily went away, and he then had to suffer through his ruined orgasm. Cynthia put a hand around his neck, and began to squeeze.
“You were such a good little cocksleeve for me today”. She kissed Quinn, and then left the room. Quinn would’ve followed, tried to do something, but he could barely move. This indignity; he could hardly stand it. Someone else entered the room; Mason.
“Has someone been in here?”, Mason asked. Quinn frowned.
“You! What have you done to me?”. Mason jumped onto Quinn, and pinned him down. Quinn could swear he was weaker than he had been.
“I’ve turned you into a gorgeous little pet. But it seems someone else has been playing with you! It was Cynthia, wasn’t it?”. Quinn nodded. Mason didn’t care that Quinn had been hurt. He was the cause of all of this.
“Change me back! Let me go!”.
“No can do, Quinn. You signed a contract! You’re mine now”.
Mason began to lower himself after skillfully taking his pants off. He gently inserted into Quinn’s lube filled hole, and started to suck on his neck. Quinn tried to resist, but couldn’t. Mason wasn’t even that strong.
“I’m going to put you under again. It’s fun, humiliating and degrading you like this, but I’ve had a hard day, and I need to unwind with a cutie who’s happy to see me”. Mason began to whisper words in Quinn’s ear, and it wasn’t long before he was enthusiastically doing everything his Daddy wanted him to.
Mason’s assistant was straddling him, and gently kissing his face. “Did you get the files for Quinn’s latest album?”, he asked. She continued to unbutton his red silk shirt.
“Brilliant. Well, we do have to release the album, now don’t we? We did sign a contract, after all!” Mason laughed to himself, and his assistant politely laughed as well. “Press about 20 vinyls for me, and release them in Uruguay”. The assistant began to pull Mason’s pants down, and she spit in her hand.
“Consider it done”. Mason sharply inhaled as she began to play with the head of his cock.
“By the way, make sure all of his social media is erased. There can be no trace of his old, unremarkable self”. The assistant nodded.
“He actually didn’t have any social media. He probably fancied himself being above that kind of thing”.
“Do you have any more news for me?”, Mason asked, placing a hand on her head and guiding it to his cock.
“The people in the lab have been getting a lot of interesting work done. I think you’ll be quite pleased to see it”. Mason grinned, and started to push her lips to the base of his cock.
“Perhaps we’ll be able to start working on the second album sooner than anticipated”.
Charlotte had received a voicemail from Quinn; he said he wouldn’t be coming home for a few days. Apparently the offices of the label had accommodations, and he had a bunch of work he needed to take care of, being a new signee. Charlotte was confused about what work could possibly need to be done, but Quinn assured her there was a lot of it. He said he would see her in three days.
It had now been three days, and Charlotte awaited Quinn’s return. Charlotte paged through a book, while thinking about having sex. She was sure that Quinn would be so eager, having been away from her for so long. She heard a knocking at the door, and she threw her book onto the coffee table. Charlotte was confused when she opened the door.
“Quinn?”, she asked, inspecting the person who stood before her.
“I’m Quinn!”, he said, leaning in to hug her. “It’s so nice to see you Charlotte!”
Charlotte could already tell there was something wrong with Quinn. Not only did he look very different, but he was holding onto her so affectionately. There was no emotional distance, no reservation. She could even hear Quinn make a contended moan as he squeezed her. His voice, it was higher than it had been.
Charlotte and Quinn moved onto the couch. Quinn’s face was completely smooth, and his long black hair was layered and conditioned. His body looked so much thinner, because he was now wearing form fitting clothes; pink pleather pants, and a long sleeve mesh shirt. Somewhat agitatingly, Quinn was wearing makeup.
Quinn cocked his head to the side; “Is something wrong?”, he asked, a concerned look on his face. Charlotte took a deep breath, trying to be discreet by breathing as quietly as possible.
“No, everything is fine”, she replied, her gaze shifting back to her book. Quinn moved closer to her, and kissed her cheek.
“I’m so happy to see you again!”, he said, before nuzzling against her hair. Charlotte gasped as he moved down, and began to suck on her neck. She began to lower herself onto her back, guiding Quinn to move on top of her.
Charlotte felt a warmth building up in her; she couldn’t wait to feel Quinn inside of her again. It would be any second now. Any second. Charlotte opened her eyes, and saw Quinn gently sucking on one of her nipples. “Quinn?”, she asked, watching him softly suckle and moan.
“Yes Mommy?”, he replied.
Charlotte’s entire body shuddered, as if she had just seen a spider on her wall. Quinn, agitated, lifted up his head. “What’s going on?”, he asked, confused and afraid.
Charlotte grabbed Quinn’s arms, and began to sit up. “What’s going on with you? Why are you acting like this?”
Quinn sighed peacefully; “Please, push me around Mommy.”
Charlotte got off the couch, and looked at Quinn. “You need to stop doing this!”. Quinn looked like a wounded puppy; he gazed around the room, as if something was causing an interference. Charlotte sighed; “Get out”.
Quinn got off the couch. “I’m sorry”, he murmured, while trying not to cry. Charlotte felt bad too, but she tried to keep remorse out of her heart. Quinn wasn’t the same. She didn’t need to treat him the way she used to. Quinn left the apartment, and Charlotte went to her room to take a nap.
Quinn returned to Oscillator Records, and began walking to Mason’s office. Quinn felt an uncomfortable warmth spread throughout his body, as he noticed various people in the office smiling at him. They weren’t friendly smiles. These people didn’t have his best interests at heart. Quinn pushed open Mason’s door, and stood in front of his desk. “Mason?”
Mason turned around in his chair. “Ah, Quinn. You’re here. How was your visit?”
Quinn sat down in a chair; “Charlotte said I’m not the same as I used to be! And I’m starting to feel like I’m different too!”
Mason arched an eyebrow, and smirked; “How so?”
Quinn’s cheeks began to turn red; “Um, I’ve been more girly than I used to be. And I used to be so strong willed, but . . .”
Mason moved to the other side of his desk, and sat in the chair next to Quinn’s. “You are starting to feel more submissive, aren’t you?” Quinn nodded, and looked at Mason with pleading eyes.
“I think I need, um, can you help me? My girlfriend broke up with me.”
“What do you need help with?”, Mason asked, moving his chair closer to Quinn’s. Quinn furrowed his brow, as he looked at Mason’s erection, clearly visible in his pants.
“Wait”, Quinn said, his voice lowering. Mason gave a predatory grin. “I'm turning. Wait. This isn’t right.”
Mason stood up; “What isn’t right?”.
“Me wanting to sleep with you, me dressing up like a sissy, me mewling and giggling like an idiot! Something is wrong!”. Quinn stood up in turn, and his breathing began to speed up. He glared at Mason; “What’s going on here!?”.
Quinn felt a wave of pleasure ripple through his body; his legs weakened, and he almost fell down. “Good boy”, Mason repeated, and Quinn lowered himself into his seat. Mason began to straddle Quinn; “Good boy”, he repeated once more.
“Stop”, Quinn whined, weakly. Mason placed a hand on either side of Quinn’s head, and moved it back. He slowly leaned in to kiss him. Quinn moaned and wrapped his arms around Mason. “Daddy”, he mumbled, his voice getting higher. Mason could feel Quinn’s cock growing harder underneath his thigh.
Mason turned around, and saw the syringe laying on his desk. He picked it up, and gave Quinn another kiss. “My researchers have been doing some exciting work”, Mason said.
“Yes, very exciting! And I want you to benefit from this exciting work that they’re doing! The only problem, is that you can’t be awake!”
Quinn whined. Mason ruffled his hair; “I’m going to give you a shot, ok? And when you wake up, you’re going to have a special surprise!”.
Quinn’s eyes grew wide; the last of his resolve began to rise from within. He tried to push Mason off of him, but Mason had an arm wrapped around him, and he was too strong. “Get off of me!”, Quinn shouted. Mason temporarily moved the syringe away, not wanting to mess up his shot.
“You know you want this, Quinn. You want to be a dumb twink! You want people to fawn over you and fuck you!”. Quinn began to stop pushing as hard, feigning resistance. “Good boy”. Mason gently inserted the syringe into Quinn’s lithe stomach, and began to inject the chemical. Quinn’s eyelids began to flutter.
“daddy”, he mumbled, “i’m tired.”
Mason kissed his forehead; “Good boy. Take a nice nap.”
Quinn began to stir to awakeness. Something was different. He moved his fingers; they made faint mechanical sounds. Quinn began to move his back, and heard a clanking noise. Where was he? He opened his eyes, and saw fluorescent lights.
“That’s, not my name”, he said. His voice sounded funny. A strange, slightly metallic resonance. Fear began to set it. Something wasn’t right. Quinten sat up, and saw Mason staring at him, a toothy grin spread across his face. “What’s going on?”.
Mason pointed at a wall; Quinten turned, and saw himself in a mirror. He wasn’t the same. Not at all. His skin was chrome, shiny. His black hair had been restyled, and his face was a different shape; more angular, more lewd and fetishistic in its perfection. He climbed off the operating table, and moved closer to the mirror. His frame was lithe and cut, almost impossibly so.
“What have you done?!”, Quinten growled, smashing a fist into the mirror.
“Good boy”. Quinten saw his eyes turn into pink hearts; dozens of hearts danced around him in the fractured glass. “Polyrhythm”.
Quinten turned around; “You! You’ve ruined me! You first turned me into a stupid fucking slut, and now you’ve turned me into a robot!”. He tried to grab Mason, but he found his body fighting against him. He fell onto his knees, and found his mouth opening. He noticed Mason had a strange device attached to his temple.
“Now now, Quinten, that’s not how you speak to your Master. Say you’re sorry”. Mason began to pull down his pants and silk underwear, exposing his cock to Quinten.
“D-Daddy! Please!”, Quinten begged, moving closer, hugging Mason as he accepted his cock into his mouth. Mason shivered.
“f-fuck! So cold!”, he moaned, as Quinten began to suck and massage with his metallic mouth. Mason looked down, and grinned. He could see the hate and rage in Quinten’s eyes.
“I have made you perfect, Quinten. You now are everything you were ever meant to be; a loyal slave, a shameless whore, and a beautiful machine”.
Quinten continued to suck; it was easier now, at least. His jaw didn’t grow tired. Mason ran his fingers through his black hair, and then gave him an affectionate pat on the head. “Good boy”, he said. Mason slowly inched his way backwards towards a chair, and sat down, as Quinten continued to suck his cock. He relaxed, and let the robot drain him.
Quinten was surprised to learn that he could still taste the cum so vividly; it actually tasted better than it ever had before. He was on the edge of his conditioning; half aware that he was being forced to suck, half into his altered state because of Mason’s praise. Mason sighed contentedly; “You can stop now. You did a good job. Polyrhythm".
Quinten returned to full awareness. He found he couldn’t speak. “Go to your room, relax, do whatever. I’ll use you some more later”. Mason got off the chair, and kicked Quinten in the stomach before leaving the room.
Quinten returned to his room. It now had a charging station for him to use in a corner. He tried to take stock of his situation; he was a sex slave now. Maybe he could escape. His body was probably powerful; he just needed to outsmart Mason. Quinten saw a guitar in the corner of the room. A good way to unwind. He picked it up, and put the strap around him. The body of the guitar kept making a knocking sound against his metal skin. Quinten sighed. He tried to pick up a guitar pick, but his metal fingers made it difficult to get a grip on the smooth plastic.
After some struggling, he eventually managed to get it between his fingers. Then, he turned on the amplifier. The guitar knocking against his metal body caused it to keep making an annoying sound. Quinten eventually moved onto the bed, in an attempt to keep still enough. He put his fingers on the metal strings, and found that they made a scraping metallic sound. Quinten tried to play a scale, but he just made knocking sounds and atonal noises.
Quinten clenched his synthetic teeth together, and his body began to shake. He snapped the neck off of the guitar, and threw it into the amplifier. He then threw the body onto the floor, and smashed it with his feet as he screamed and yelled, eventually falling to his knees.
Quinten began to cry. His new approximation of crying. Thinking was too hard. Trying was too hard. He wanted to be happy. He just wanted to be a good boy. Just thinking the words were a balm to his tortured artist’s soul. Good boy. He began to think of Cynthia, how good it felt to have her inside of him. Good boy. How nice to felt when Mason demeaned and degraded him. Good boy. How pleasant it was to no longer have ambitions. Good boy. He began to sigh, began to moan. “Mommy”, he mewled. Good boy. Quinten wasn’t a genius. Good boy. Quinten was just a nice twink for his Daddy. Good boy. Quinn was a light sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss.
Charlotte sighed, and sank into her chair. “Anyways, that’s the story of Quinten Rose. Quinn. Whatever you prefer to call him”. Lauren nodded, and looked out the window, studying the nighttime skyline.
“How did you know about all of that? You broke off contact with him before most of this happened”. Charlotte pushed her glasses up her nose;
“Well, after Quinn had been changed, I guess he had a moment of lucidity. He came to my apartment, and tried to win me back. He told me about everything. He wanted me to save him from Mason. Of course, there was nothing I really could do then. I had the story, but the next day, I found a note on my door, with my address, and my mother’s address. So, I didn’t do anything. But I doubt there’s anything they could do now”.
Lauren knew that the veracity of Charlotte’s claims might be challenged, but she was confident that she could sway her editors. Charlotte got up from her seat; “It’s late now. Would you like me to make us some dinner before you leave? If you don’t eat now, you’ll be so hungry by the time you get home”.
“Thank you, that would be wonderful.”
Charlotte began to walk into her kitchen; “You can turn on the TV and see what’s on. I’ll only be about fifteen minutes”.
Lauren picked up the remote, and turned on the television. She found it funny that Quinten Rose was on, and that he was doing some kind of infomercial. He was laying on his side, atop a couch. The couch and background were concealed by flowing pink silk, and Quinten was lit as if he were a golden age starlette, glistening and shining.
“Hello, fans, potential lovers, and muses”, Rose purred. “Today, I would like to introduce you all to something you didn’t know you were missing in your lives”. Quinten acted as if he were performing a slight of hand trick, and a metallic dildo appeared in his palm.
“This is a reproduction of my very own cock, for you to love and enjoy! Finally, you can live out your wildest dream; pretending I’m making love to you!” Quinten adjusted himself on the couch, and revealed that he was, infact, naked. He spit onto the dildo; his spit looked like cum.
“You will be amazed by how good I feel, and how pretty you’ll feel with me inside of you”. The chrome twink began to move the dildo down, and began to slowly insert it into himself, while stroking his identical cock at the same time. He began to shiver and softly moan.
“If you need help edging yourself, which you surely will, as you imagine my delicate features and indescribable beauty, just think of progressive rock music! That will make it almost impossible to cum!”. Lauren could’ve sworn there was a slight quaver in Quinten’s voice, a look of remorse in his eyes. Quinten’s well known hatred of progressive rock; did it really mean something? The glambot’s eyelashes fluttered, as he bit his lip. “I guess I’m showing my age, talking about music that came out a hundred years ago”. A smug grin spread across his face; “Well, that would be impossible! I never show my age. I’m the same young gun slut I was when you first fell in love with me”.
Quinten’s image began to move out of focus, as ordering information began to appear on screen. Lauren changed the channel, and was shortly joined by Charlotte in channel surfing. Eventually, Lauren gathered her things and left the apartment. As she began to approach the elevator, she was greeted by a man in a red silk shirt, wearing leather pants. His skin looked fake, and plastic, and Lauren swore she could hear mechanical sounds when he moved.
“It seems you’ve learned too much”, Mason said. He pulled off a hand, revealing a blade. “It’s time I tied off some loose ends. Loose ends I should’ve got rid of a long time ago”.