Bent


It's tough getting dates when your body is bent and twisted. Ben knew
all about it. Ever since the accident three years back, women had given
him a wide berth.

He had been a letterman in both high school and college. Football,
baseball, wrestling, and even lacrosse one year. Picking up women had
never been a problem. He'd always had a steady, and usually three or four
others in reserve when his main squeeze was unavailable. He'd left a trail
of broken hearts behind him when he moved to Boston to enter law school.

If he hadn't been blind drunk that night, he probably could have avoided
the patch of ice. If he hadn't been doing 90 on a two-lane country road,
he probably wouldn't have lost control and gone over the embankment when
he hit the ice. It was sleeting heavily when his Hummer skidded and went
through the guard rail, and the next thing he knew he was hurtling toward
a dark shape and . . .

The surgeons had saved his eyesight and fixed up his mangled arms and
legs. But they couldn't do much about a shattered spine. He was lucky
he could still walk, even if only with a cane. But his back would aways
be twisted and contorted. At 28, with all his life in front of him, Ben
hobbled along like an old man, bent over and facing the ground. Bent-over
and bent.

Benjie Bubbles his friends had called him in an earlier and happier
time. He had been the golden boy, the intelligent jock, the guy who
got all the girls, the man most likely to succeed. He had succeeded all
right. Succeeded in destroying his life.

No career, no money, no prospects. Obviously he couldn't practice
law when even a small flight of stairs could defeat him, and when he
got bone-tired after sitting upright in a chair for more than a few
minutes at a time. Not to mention that clients looked at him with a
mixture of horror and pity. The partners at the law firm had, in effect,
pensioned him off with what had at the time seemed like a generous cash
settlement. A generous cash settlement that the hospitals and the doctors
had greedily carved up among themselves.

The hardest part of it all was the lack of female companionship. He
used to love the feel of a soft woman in his arms. It wasn't even so
much the sex, though that had been delightful, too. It was the kissing,
the talking, the interplay and the touching, even the occasional nuzzle
and playful grab-ass. The sense of being part of a twosome, of something
greater than himself . . . And here he lay confined in this nonfunctional
wreck of a body, in his prison of isolation, cut off from the rest of
the whole damned human race.

There was a new person coming later in the afternoon. The state agency
sent nurse's aides and caretakers to check up on him, to change the bed
linens, to do food shopping for him, and to help him with all the small
tasks he needed to do for basic survival.

The bell chimed and Ben painfully limped to the door. Whoa! That was one
hell of a good-looking redhead standing there. It was too much to hope
for that this was the agency person, but she *was* in nurse's uniform,
and hey, why not take in an eyeful while he had the chance.

"Hi! I'm Corliss Marlowe from the agency, and you're Benjamin Pinchbeck,
right?" She had a bright, cheery voice and a luminous smile.

"C-come in, please," he managed. Man, was this broad built! Big-breasted,
wide-hipped, curves out the wazoo. She had to be 5'10" easily, or maybe
even a bit more, and she towered over his pitifully bent-over, twisted
frame.

"Now, if you'd just sign and date this form, Ben, we can get right to
business. It's a standard consent for treatment. Don't bother reading
the fine print; it would only put you to sleep."

Corliss was a rehab specialist, she said. She was assigned to try out on
him an experimental type of physical therapy that had sometimes proved
helpful in cases of severe spinal nerve damage.

"First, a deep massage to relax and loosen you up. Here, let me help you
turn over."

Ah, that felt good. Her strong hands kneaded and rubbed lotion into his
neck and upper lower back. Ben was undressed, down to boxer shorts and
Corliss leaned over him as he lay facedown on the bed.

"Now, stay as you are, Ben. The second phase of this particular treatment
involves a prostate massage. But first we'll need to get you clean inside.
Squeaky clean. That means a full course of enemas."

Enemas? Ben wasn't sure he wanted any part of *this*. He groaned and
started struggle upright.

"Sorry, Ben, that's not an option any more. I can't let you back out
at this point. You *did* sign a consent, after all. Don't force me to
use restraints."

Restraints? What was going on here?

"Please, be gentle, will you? My mother gave me an enema once when I
was little, and it hurt."

"I'm very good at this, Ben. Just remember that who's the professional
here and who's the one in charge."

She put a firm hand on the small of his back and pressed him back down.

"Here, let's make you comfortable," she said as she slipped a pillow
under his chin. He felt his shorts being pulled from the waist down to
the knees, then she was rubbing some kind of aromatic cream into his bare
buttocks. It *did* feel good, and he let himself sink into the mattress.

"This particular type of enema nozzle is designed to minimize discomfort,
and I'll apply a dab of ointment to your opening to make things go even
smoother."

Ben felt her gently probing the valley between his butt cheeks, then
there was a cold and wet sensation on his bum hole . . . and something
had slipped *inside him*. He jerked backwards, involuntarily.

"Relax, Ben. That was just my finger. I was lubricating your sphincter
and checking the muscle tone there. Now I'm  ready to insert the nozzle."

It didn't hurt at all going in. He was rather shocked when he found
himself actually starting to enjoy the experience -- the sense of being
cared for and nurtured, of having Corliss's free hand caressing his bare
hind cheeks while she seated the business end of the enema hose hose in
his bum hole. Of listening to her hum in a low murmur words he could
almost, but not quite understand. Of sensing the warm liquid slowly
trickle into him and feeling his gut gurgle and roil in response. It
was comforting, he was starting to get hard underneath. Strange. He
couldn't remember getting an erection since before the accident. It was
an affirmation of his manhood. It felt good.

"This is an infusion of mild Castile soap to clean you out. Since you're
a beginner at this sort of thing, we're starting with half a quart. Now,
see if you can hold it in for ten minutes."

His stomach had begun to cramp before she finished speaking. He gasped,
then clamped down with his abdominal muscles.

"Good, Ben. Just a little longer. You're doing fine."

She helped support him as he hobbled into the bathroom, then stood watch
over him as he noisily expelled fluid and gas and solid matter. Somehow,
it didn't seem at all unnatural or intrusive to see her there in the
doorway, looking down at him, witnessing his noisy bowel movement,
hearing his defecation sounds and smelling the stench of his waste. He
was still erect as he sat there naked on the toilet seat but it didn't
occur to him to feel embarrassment. It was as if he had been regressed
back to a young child, and Corliss was his mother. . . .

Ben was lying flat on his stomach on the bed again. Two more enemas,
one of saline solution to "rinse out any remaining residue" and one of
"electrolytes" had left him completely exhausted and he was starting
to drift into sleep. Then he felt her comforting hands massaging his
buttocks once more.

"We'll end today's treatment with a prostate massage. You'll find it
rather enjoyable, I think."

Her finger found its way into him with almost no resistance and he felt
himself being palpated and stroked from inside. It was both soothing and
intense in a way that he had never before experienced -- being penetrated,
opened up and turned inside out -- and there was an unfamiliar tingling
sensation in his gut. It was as if an electric current were coursing
through him. Then his body was releasing its aching need in a gentle,
explosionless orgasm as the liquid seeped out from his softly throbbing
organ underneath.

Corliss was massaging his neck, then she whispered goodbye into his
ear and softly kissed him on the cheek. He heard the door click shut
behind her.



"WHAT? There's no such person on your staff? That's impossible! She
was here just a couple of hours ago!"

"In fact, Mr. Pinchbeck, it has been determined that you are no longer
eligible for our services and accordingly, your account has been closed.
You would be well advised to apply for an emergency grant from Welfare."

Something very strange was going on here, Ben thought as he hung up
the phone. The treatment *had* helped him, as his back pains were less
intense and he could actually unbend a bit further than before when he
stood up. But who the bloody hell was Corliss Marlowe, and what was she
doing to him?



Four days later the bell rang. Damned if it wasn't that Corliss woman
again. Should he let her in? Ben hesitated, torn between suspicion of her
motives -- she *was* an impostor, after all -- and the uncontrollable
urge to submit himself to her and her compelling touch. Oh, all right,
he'd give her a chance to explain -- but before he could unlock the door,
Corliss had inserted a key in the lock and was letting herself in. Where
in hell had she gotten a hold of a door key?

"What do you think you're -- "

"Ben," she said, "it's so good to see you again! I would have been back
sooner, but I was called away on an emergency. No matter. Well, it seems
we've got something very special planned for today's treatment. You won't
believe how much it will help you. Ready to start?"

She had unbuttoned her coat and beneath it her nurse's uniform seemed
even more tight-fitting and revealing than the last time. Ben gaped
open-mouthed at the ripe lushness of her form.

Ben was bent over forward, facedown on the bed. Surprisingly, this posture
caused him no discomfort at all. Corliss had simply pressed certain spots
on his lower spine, and this had instantly unlimbered stiff muscles and
tendons enough to enable him to bend. His broken body responded to her
magic hands.

When he felt his buttocks being parted it sent chills down his ravaged
spine. This was an essential part of the treatment, he now understood.

He felt her finger enter him, then probe deeper. Ah, yes, now she was
tickling his prostate, but just when it was starting to arouse him,
she withdrew. Now something else was pressing into him, something
larger. Something cold and slippery.

"Two fingers," Corliss said. "Today's session will involve different
techniques, but first we need to stretch you. How are you holding up?"

He felt her fingers rotating inside him, then stretching his hole sideways.

"I'll manage," he said.

"Let's try a third finger. Remember to exhale and gently push outward
with your sphincter muscles, as if you were evacuating a stool."

She had pulled out, and now he *definitely* felt the stretch as she
inserted again. Except for a slight burning sensation, though, it felt
just fine. In fact, he was getting to *like* having his ass stimulated.
He could feel his organ starting to harden.

"Now, Ben," Corliss said, "the purpose of all this is to prepare
your anus for a special type of bio-electric probe. Calibrated doses
of high-frequency current applied from inside the rectum have proven
effective in stimulating self-repair of damaged nerves in the spine. This
is the reason that you've been stretched and loosened, to give me access
to --"

She had again removed her fingers from inside him. He managed to crane
his neck to look back over his shoulder at her (he was just barely
limber enough for that after the previous treatment). She had strapped
on a wide belt of some sort of metallic mesh. Attached to it there seemed
to be some cables leading to a box with flashing multicolored lights and
various switches and dials. Now she was inserting a shiny cylinder through
a cutout in the front of the belt, at groin level. It had a rounded,
bulbous head. In fact, it looked like a large, chrome-plated dildo!

She was smiling and shaking an index finger at him. "I know exactly
what you're thinking, you naughty boy," she said. "Yes, it does somewhat
resemble a strap-on rig -- the sort of thing you might find in a sex shop,
but this one has a special function. It's actually the output terminal for
a 20,000 volt power supply. If it delivered ordinary 60 Hz house current,
it would, of course, be instantly lethal, but at ultra-high frequencies
it will pass from your rectum through your spinal cord and up into your
hindbrain without tissue damage and affect only the nervous system."

SHEEIT! Twenty-thousand volts!!! This crazy broad was gonna *fry* his
butt! Electrocute him! Help!

Ben squirmed to his knees and tried to struggle upright, but by then
Corliss had a powerful hand clamped on the back of his neck and he felt
a stab of blinding pain as his limbs folded up and he collapsed back
onto the bed. He was totally immobilized. Paralyzed and helpless.

She had manacled his arms and legs to the bedposts with resilient
plastic straps, probably the "restraints" she had threatened him with
in the earlier session. Lying there, flat on his stomach, he felt the
bed indent to either side as she straddled his rump.

He didn't try to resist when she pulled apart his buttocks and inserted
a finger into him, then two.

"Good. You're nice and loose in there. Now, don't clench your sphincter
as you're being entered. That could cause discomfort, or even damage,
and we certainly don't want *that*. Breathe out and push out gently,
as before."

Something impossibly huge was trying to press into his hole, and he
couldn't keep it out. Then it popped past the narrowness at the entrance
and it was sliding, sliding up inside, up into his guts, and further up,
and he was being broken open and split apart. . . .

Corliss' groin ground into the crack of his ass and that had to
mean she was all the way into him. Ben lay there, unable to move,
utterly transfixed by the impaling shaft. Then came a warning tingle of
. . . something. Electricity! There was a faint crackling sound and the
air reeked of ozone. And his body spasmed and went rigid as great jolts
of current blasted into him and stole away his mind.

He was only dimly aware of his surroundings. He was lying on his stomach,
floating, bobbing on the rolling waves of a horizonless sunlit sea. And
something was piercing him, right up into the very center of him (it
was a mauve-colored ache; a deliciously sensual agony). And there was a
woman present, touching him, caressing his forehead with a cool hand,
crooning to him. And he heard his own voice, babbling an incoherent
stream of words. And he felt nauseous, hideously bloated, and his mouth
had a strange taste in it.



Ben awoke in his bed. He was desperately thirsty, and when he called out
for Corliss there was no answer. There was moonlight streaming in through
the half-open curtains of the window. It was night! How long had he slept
(or been unconscious)? His watch told him that forty hours had passed
since Corliss had rung the doorbell.

Damn it! This shit couldn't go on. But what were the alternatives? Call
the police? Hire a private investigator to get to the bottom of this?
Engage a bodyguard to protect him from that woman?

That fucking woman! She was doing *something* to him. What?

He rolled over off the bed and got to his feet. No pain! Just some
residual stiffness, but he was almost fully limber again. Whatever it
was that Corliss had been doing to him, it was healing him. She was
healing him. And fucking him in the ass with that weird metal dildo. And
sending thousands of volts up his back passage. And doing all sorts of
other bent things to him.

He was going to get to the bottom of this, even if it meant drastic
measures.



Three days later the doorbell rang. Ben got up to let Corliss in. He had
been expecting her.

"Don't need a cane any more, do you, Ben?"

"Thanks to you and your treatments, no."

"Well, after today's session, you should be fully restored to health.
What do you say we get started."

He was flat on his stomach on the bed again. He had let Corliss know
that no restraints would be necessary this time. She had smiled and
commended him for being a good boy.

Ben voluntarily opened himself up to the metal shaft, and it slid
smoothly up into him. No pain at all, in fact there was an exquisite
sensual pleasure to the liquid friction of the chrome penis pumping in
and out of him. He had asked Corliss to fuck him with it before turning
on the current, just so he could find out what it felt like, to find out
what queers got out of being being the bottom in anal sex. She had been
eager to oblige. She *enjoyed* fucking him in the ass. And he found that
he enjoyed *being* fucked.

All too soon, he felt the tingle of electric current deep in his gut.

"Sorry, Ben, time to get down to business."

He was floating in a dream-trance once more, with his limbs flailing
around spastically, babbling nonsense. But this time, this time, it
would be different. Ben had prepared . . .



The image on the monitor showed Corliss from the rear. From time to
time there were glimpses of the gleaming dildo protruding from her mesh
belt as it penetrated into the man's ass. Now the body laying on the
bed went rigid, as if from a massive jolt of electricity. And he was
babbling something.

    "Earthquake in Nicaragua . . . 7.6 on the Richter Scale . . . Positron
    Semiconductor up 10% on news of a new breakthrough in fabricating
    . . . SEC halts trading in Barbary Pirates Group shares on news
    of CEO Harl Groombie's fraud indictment . . . Dark Desire wins the
    Preakness at 11 to 1 odds . . . Fed Funds rate increased a full point,
    mortgage rates expected to rise . . . Terrorist strikes in . . . "

The news. Not today's news, though. None of this had happened. But
suddenly Ben got a premonition that it *would* happen -- tomorrow,
or next week, or next month, or . . .

Foretelling the future? He had heard vague rumors about a super-secret
government "Remote Prediction Project." Supposedly, subjects had
the precognitive parts of their brain awakened by a jolt of current,
or something like that. This was supposed to make them temporarily
clairvoyant, able to peer into the future, but there had been problems
of some sort. . . . Shit! It was all beginning to make sense now. This
was what Corliss was after!

If you knew what the future held, you could make a killing in the stock
market, on horse races, and in a dozen other ways. You could avoid both
natural and man-made catastrophes. Hell, you could easily end up ruling
the fucking world!

Ben had come up with a bright idea, all right, hiding a video camera
overhead so he could record the action when Corliss dropped in for a
visit. But he hadn't expected anything *this* strange.

Curing him of his crippling injury? Making a whole man out him again? That
was fine and well, but it paled in comparison to . . . Yeah, Corliss had
done him a huge favor, all right, but the payback, oh, yes, the payback
. . .

Now the screen showed the shining dildo withdrawing out of him. But,
what was *this*? She was pulling what looked like a metallic glove over
her right hand.  The glove went all the way up her arm, past the elbow.
Now she was attaching a wire harness to it -- and what was that? --
dipping the gloved hand into a jar of something, and now . . . She
was inserting the hand into him, into his ass, fingers first; and
the metal-gloved hand was disappearing into him! She was fisting him,
*fisting him*, and now her arm was pumping in and out!

At one point Corliss had her arm inside him almost all the way up to the
armpit, it looked like. And all the while, he kept babbling. Forecasting
the future. The future that he now had a glimpse into. The future that
held certain very interesting possibilities for him . . .



The doorbell rang.

"No treatment today. I'm here to say goodbye."

"It's been a pleasure knowing you, Corliss."

"Likewise, Ben. I see that your circumstances have improved a bit since
I was last here. You're moving around without any impairment, but that
was to be expected. And you've made some expensive-looking alterations
to your house. Your financial situation has improved, apparently. That
was also to be expected. My associates were wondering how long it would
take you to catch on and record one of the sessions."

"Yes, I'm doing much better now, thank you."

"So, before we part, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"You know there is, Corliss. I've desired you since the first time I saw
you walk through that door. At the time I wasn't in much of a position
to do anything about it, but now . . . "

"I take it then, that you wouldn't settle for a farewell kiss."

"Bingo."

"Well, in that case . . . "

In a sudden fluid motion, Corliss pulled down her uniform skirt and
stepped out of her drawers. She winked, then turned away from Ben and
bent over forward.

"I'm yours, Ben, all yours. Take me . . . if you can."

He couldn't. Even staring hungrily at her bare ass and the naked pink lips
of her shaven pussy, he couldn't, just couldn't get it up. Couldn't.

Corliss straightened up and drew up her skirt. She looked at him and
smiled.

"You see, Ben. For all the benefits you got from your treatment, there
happens to be one rather unfortunate side-effect. You've been rendered
conditionally impotent. You can no longer be physically aroused by a woman
in the normal manner. The only way you can get release, and experience
orgasm, is to be anally penetrated. You're healthy and you're wealthy,
but you're permanently bent."

"I was intending to thank you for healing me, Corliss. Now, I don't know
if I should curse you instead. Get the hell out of my sight before I do
something we'll both regret."

"Goodbye, Ben."

"Fuck you, Corliss."