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The files were extensive of course. They had to be. If he wanted the perfect result he would need to put the right amount of work in.
He had been following the life of Dick Grayson since he was a boy of six. He had seen his and his parent’s family act. Had even taken a picture with him. He had the photo framed. Him sitting on Dick’s lap as they smiled for the camera.
That was their very first connection. He was certain Dick remembered it too. It was an important day, the day the Flying Grayson’s died, leaving their son.
Tim had wanted him—not as he did now of course, no, he wanted the older boy to live with them. Be his big brother. Be protected. He had been so beautiful and perfect—even in his tragedy he was perfect.
His father and mother explained to him why not, but he was so angry. He threw a tantrum, stayed in his room all day, unless to grab the newspaper. He could read every third or fourth word now. Even some of the big ones. Mostly he just stared at the pictures. He was so mad when Bruce Wayne took him. It meant they couldn’t adopt him anymore. It meant things couldn’t be perfect for them.
Now it would be perfect. After a moment’s pause he clicked delete. All the files. Years of his work gone in an instant, but he smiled. He didn’t need the files anymore.
“Mffpfh!!!”
“Sorry, I had to take care of that,” Tim said speaking into the microphone. He felt a chill of satisfaction rush over his body. Nightwing was trapped in the small room. It was made up of see through mirrors. Tim could see everything. Dick would only see his beautiful reflection. The vigilante was held by the metal robot arms, forcing him down into position on the table. His mouth was stuff by one of the arms shooting him with a muscle relaxant. Tim leaned back in his chair, watching as all his work came to fruition. The robotic arms shredded the vigilante’s uniform, unaffected by the electrical zap it set off for breaching it. Soon Dick was naked and forced down into position. Tim shook in delight. His arms and body were locked in place by metal restraints. Not even Batman could get out of those. Tim had tested it. Tim had checked. Everything had to be perfect for Dick.
The vigilante was positioned on his hands and knees for now. The machine was multi-functional, and adaptable. He realized early on there wasn’t any one position he wanted Dick to experience, so he would have to ensure movement.
Tim pressed a few buttons on the control panel. The arms came down and started coating Dick’s body with a thick sticky goo. The top half of his head—all his hair and his eyebrows were protected, covered from it. Tim watched as Dick cried in pain.
“It’s only a mild acid. It won’t scar you. I’m just getting rid of your body hair.”
Another button was pushed and water rushed over Dick’s body, then towels and he was dry and permanently smooth.
Dick was then force down onto a metal table. The arms pushed him, now forcing him flat on his stomach. The muscle relaxants were working. He couldn’t put up much of a struggle, even if he could, the arms were strong enough to hold him. The mirrors would be reflecting every perfect angle of his body to him.
Tim leaned back in his chair and watched.
“Don’t be afraid, they’re just prepping you. I want you to be comfortable after all.”
The arms forced the metal collar around Dick’s neck. Tim watched with careful interest as the machine fused the ends together. He smiled in satisfaction, you could barely even see the line where it used to disconnect.
“Wha-did-ou-do?” Dick demanded sluggishly, the feeding arm pulling out of his mouth.
“The collar is so you can’t get away. I wouldn’t want you to leave before understanding the safety and pleasure of your new home.” He said happily. The arms attached to Dick’s wrists and ankles and spun him so he was lying back on air. The table was removed and the wires were connected.
“The collar is locked permanently around your neck now. Its main function is so the machine knows where your head is, and can keep you in place while it fulfills tasks. In the unlikely event that you get away from the arms, the room will lock, it won’t allow the collar to leave. It will keep you in there.”
Dick didn’t seem to be listening. He was angrily squirming, trying to get the arms away, but they didn’t even pause in their work. This was an important point. First the anal attachment was inserted. It had a smooth, round head resembling a penis. Its function was not only to give pleasure, but to also clean and flush out waste. It was slick and wet and pushed into Dick’s ass slowly, Tim positioned the arms so Dick’s ass was pointed toward him. He watched as it sunk in deeper and deeper.
More arms and a table was added to keep Dick perfectly still. Dick shouted as the concave tube came up, fitting around his penis perfectly. It would give Dick lots of pleasure. It would be able to jack him off, deny orgasm, and doubly functioned as a catheter. Dick screamed as it slowly worked its way inside him.
“Those are permanent too, like the collar,” Tim explained, “Don’t worry, they’re self-cleaning, and they’ll clean you out too. I wouldn’t want you to get sick. That’s the last thing that I want—”
“’Ou sick bast—”
The phallic feeding tube was shoved in the hero’s mouth again, this time going a little deeper, making Dick gag.
Tim frowned, “I’m sorry, it’ll be uncomfortable at first, but you’ll grow used to it. That’s where you’ll get nutrients.”
The machine’s extra arms ran up and down Dick’s body, pinching and teasing Dick’s most sensitive places. All the data was imputed. The machine knew exactly where to touch to pleasure Dick.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Tim laughed at himself. “I know this isn’t the sort of voice you like, but I figured out a way to give you what you want.”
Dick’s eyes widened, perhaps not understanding? He would in a moment.
Tim typed a commanded. Two arms came to either side of Dick’s head and pushed in the tiny hearing aids.
“There,” Tim smiled knowingly, “Is that better?”
Dick gave a muffled cry of anger.
“I know everything about you, Dick. The voice you respond to the most is Bruce Wayne’s—or should I say, Batman’s? It’s eighty-nine present more effective than other voices. The deep growling voice is what you like. I’m giving you that.” Of course to Tim, he still sounded like himself. But to Dick, he would have the same cadence and rough tone Batman sported. Tim had even practiced speaking in Batman’s rhythms. He wanted it perfect.
“Now then…Robin,” Tim said and watched. He schooled his face as he saw the quick shudder running up Dick’s spine. “We’re going to begin.”
Dick was put on his hands and knees. The arms held him in place and the anal end began moving in and out of him steadily, mercilessly. It kept going and going, making Dick cry out in pain and pleasure.
Tim didn’t like pain himself, but he knew Dick got off on it a bit, otherwise he might have made it a bit softer… although Tim did like hearing Dick whimper. Dick was so perfect. Exactly what Tim had always wanted.
Tim sat back down in his chair watching the machine fuck Dick. The machine on his cock began its own functions, milking Dick, getting him hard.
“Now, then,” Tim said, his voice probably dark honey in Dick’s ears, “I want you to feel pleasure in everything.”
One of the arms whirled and a needle came out. It passed in front of Dick’s eyes. The vigilante shook his head vigorously, but of course the machine wasn’t about to stop. It pressed the needle into Dick’s ass, administering the drug.
“You’ll get one of those every day. It’s to increase your sensitivity.” After a few minutes Dick’s moans grew louder. The machine increased its fucking speed and Tim saw him shudder, probably cumming into the tube around his cock. The cum would be sucked down through the tube, warmed and… reused every now and again. Sometimes for feeding and sometimes it would be loaded into the anal attachment and be shot back into Dick’s body.
The clamps and hands and tentacles of the machine touched Dick’s body again. Dick writhed. Everything was super sensitive now. Everything caused pleasure. His nipples were pinched and played with. A paddle came down smacking at his ass.
Tim sighed happily unzipping his pants and running his hand up and down his own cock. Dick was loving it. He might scream and cry, but that was all pleasure.
“And wouldn’t you be happy to know?” Tim hummed squirming in his chair, “It’s forever. You’re mine now, and I want to see you at your most content. You’ll be very happy here, Dick. It’s all because you deserve it. Because you’re perfect.”
***
Everything was sensations now.
The never ending in and out, the sparks of pleasure rushing through his ass and cock. The touch of metal under his knee and at his collar bone. Being full constantly.
After the first day his vision was taken. A panel put over his eyes. He was shown pictures, all of himself. Him as Robin, him as Nightwing, him as Dick Grayson. All expertly taken. All made to highlight his features. Make him look beautiful. He was played these images over and over as he was fucked and milked. If he tried to close his eyes for too long, he would be spanked, or given an electric shock.
Sometimes the feeding cock—it was shaped like, and was soft like one—was taken out and he was allowed to scream and cry and plead, but the person who took him, would never let him go, he made that perfectly clear. Sometimes he was punished for his desire to leave. Sometimes he was punished for no reason. The machine spanked his ass red, or tickled him, or pinched and pulled his nipples. Everything the machine did seemed to be more and more pleasurable. It hurt, the endless ecstasy. The dark voice—Bruce’s voice—told him not to worry, that he was monitored, his heart wouldn’t give out on him or anything like that. Then the voice chuckled like Bruce would chuckle.
More often than not, the feeding cock was firmly shoved in his mouth. At first he refused to suck on it, even if it did provide food. If he was in poor health, maybe his captor would unplug him, but it didn’t work. Every few hours the machine would force a horrible goopy slime down his throat that he was sure tasted like cum.
He hated it at first but…
After two exhausting days he realized he craved it. He wanted more. He felt a bit dribble onto his tongue, but no more came out. He felt a panic. What if it wasn’t working? He started trying to suck at the mechanical cock, like a kitten might suckle on its mother, haplessly. The dribble increased a bit, but no more came out. Dick realized maybe, maybe…
He started trying to please it. Pleasuring the cock and he was rewarded by a steady stream of the horrible gloop which he sucked down eagerly.
It must have an addictive substance in it, he realized instantly, but the cock was coated in it. He couldn’t stop himself from licking and sucking on it. Soon the feeding cock was rarely removed because whenever it was Dick begged for its return.
His captor didn’t want him to focus on anything, but what the machine did to him. It took away his sight, the accuracy of his hearing, only white noise unless Bruce’s low tone started talking to him. He could only smell a dark musky scent, it permeated the entire area.
He tried to meditate, tried to rise above the physical, but it was impossible with the drugs in his system. The machine wasn’t at a steady rhythm. It would speed up and slow down. His body was moved and twisted into different shapes changing the angle of the thrusting cock. To his embarrassment and horror the cock would cum into him. Sometimes it would leave the cum inside him for hours. Other times it would suck it back out, but the worst was when it was cleaning him. He had no control of his bodily functions. He would be filled to the point of cramping and then ‘cleaned out,’ sometimes several times in a row.
And the machine kept going. He was exhausted but it didn’t stop. He lost all track of time, but knew it had to have been three days since he slept. The dark honeyed voice explained.
“You look tired. Don’t worry. I’ve calculated how much sleep you’ll need between the pleasure. About three hours every three days.”
It was impossible to think in his exhaustion and in the pleasure. His mind was fading into nothing but sensations. Being a thing. Being fucked, and sucked and sucking. Being hit and tickled and pinched. Seeing the pretty young man in the pictures that was himself, until that lost meaning to him.
He thought, even with the machine moving him, twisting him into positions he would lose all his muscle mass, but that was taken care of too. After the first three days the fucking suddenly stopped. The arms, except the ones up his ass and around his cock went away. He whimpered at the loss of the feeding cock, but knew it was his chance to escape. His feet were even on the ground, he began to run.
Then he was yanked back—the collar. The collar, it was fused around his neck. Even if he could pull the other things off he—
“You want to run, Dick?” Bruce’s voice asked, “Some training is in order.”
He began running again and realize he was placed on a treadmill. He stopped. He wouldn’t play the game. He wouldn’t—
Suddenly his ass was whipped hard, making him lurch forward. It continued until he began running. It would smack him whenever he slowed, or if it wanted him to go faster.
“That’s it, Dick. I want you to look your best. Faster now.” Another slap of the whip.
His ‘exercise’ came in a variety. Not only running, but jumping jacks and squats, chin-ups, pull ups. The voice would always be there ‘encouraging him’ making sure he was living up to his potential. He felt sick. Why did it have to be Bruce’s voice. It was like his mentor was taking his time to torture him.
But thoughts of Bruce faded. Everything faded. With little sleep, filled with drugs, and high on pleasure constantly, Dick couldn’t keep a hold of himself. He realized what he was. He was a slave. He belonged to the machine. The machine wanted to look after him, pleasure him, and in turn he would do his best to please it. He tried hard to suck and stretch himself. To work his hardest at his exercises and not complain when he was filled with the machine’s cum.
And if the Machine was his Master, then there was his God. The voice. The voice which was so perfect, deep and dark, that sent shivers down his spine. His God complimented him on his beauty, and his eagerness. How perfect he was.
The sound of his God’s voice could make him cum right away. His Master, the Machine always approved of his worship, and rewarded him for it. His beauty and hard work pleased his God.
And Dick knew. He was so proud of himself. Dick was perfect. Dick was perfect in every way he knew that now.
-
Tim smiled as he watched Dick happily suck at the feeding tube, a bit of drool sliding down the corner of his mouth. That was no problem though. The machine lovingly wiped his face. Tim had it speed up, rubbing hard on Dick’s g-spot. Dick gave a muffled mewl of delight. Tim grinned in satisfaction.
Sometimes he would even remove the panel showing Dick the constant evidence of his beauty and let him watch the machine. Watch it in the reflections of the mirrors as it pleasured him.
Tim came, being sure not to get any of his cum on the keyboard. Dick was so happy being his, in his new home. Tim was glad, but he had known it all along. His perfect pet thrust hard into the tube, cumming himself. Tim checked the monitors. He would need his exercise soon, and then maybe a deep cleaning.
He input the settings. After a pause he added a tickle before being cleaned. Dick could use a laugh, and Tim liked hearing him laugh.
Tim wiped himself off and stretched. With all the inputs in place he would let the machine take care of Dick while he went to the grocery store.
Of course he wasn’t imprudent. He knew there was a chance something could happen to him while he was gone and Dick would be left defenseless. It was okay. He set the machine to run its own program if Tim didn’t come back after a set period of time. The machine would continue to take care of perfect, perfect Dick. This is what he deserved after all. For being so … beautiful and kind and smiling.
The machine could run for decades without Tim to manage it, that was the best part. Not that he wanted that. He wanted to be there to see his love every day.
Groceries. He reminded himself.
His eyes shifted to the keyboard and he increased the vibrations… just a smidge. He couldn’t help himself.
He finally pulled himself away from the control panel.
“I’ll be right back, Dick. Be good while I’m gone.”
Dick’s joyful muffled response was the only reply he’d ever get.